#even for the rare rare rare non ms paint art

[chatosha]

Pinned post time wahoo

Who is Chat Osha?

He’s a hybrid moray eel orc man that I once played in a Pathfinder game, but now he is much more. I only draw him in MS Paint cause if I put more effort in I’d feel bad about being bad at art.

Are you Chat?

Kind of? I use him to represent myself online, so partially I suppose.

What is this blog?

A sideblog (that I use as my main) cause I felt like interacting with stuff on tumblr again after lurking for years. I follow from @rocketbluetulip!

Anyways here is they guy. he’s slimy btw don’t touch him unless you want eel mucus on you.

[rizatouchesthewalls]

Retracing the Footsteps of Those Who Got Lost in The Snow

so desperate for content they got me writing my own material

pjsekai card ass title 💀

stream arctic monkeys

cw: hurt/comfort, gn reader, lots of cuddling damn, implied family issues so true, so self indulgent that it’s insane

Deleting soon

New York always looks different painted in white—it sort of catches you off guard every time. Not in a bad way, but a more or less hopeful way. The world is still spinning and you’re still living. Somehow.

So after months of having little to no tension with your family mid-winter, you were sort of shocked at the sudden conflict that arose. You didn’t want to ruin an otherwise perfect winter—so you did what you always did whenever such things happened. Run into the always open arms of the Morales’.

“I’m sorry for bothering you all again,” You whispered. You were always on the quieter side but whenever fights went down you lost your voice far easier than any other time.

“Nonsense! You know us, we’re always going to be like a second family to you.” Ms. Rio said. She never failed to make you guilty, not because ever purposely did so—but because her kindness was overwhelming. You felt as if you could never repay that.

“Yes, we always have a home for you here,” Mile’s dad gave a rare smile, not that he didn’t smile, it was just more heartfelt than the ones he showed when he was joking or laughing. All these observations you knew over the years because you depended on them often. It had been easier when you were younger though, mostly only coming over because you were playing with Miles. You balled one of your hands up into a fist trying to fight that overwhelming nostalgia.

“(Name)? Are you alright? I’m going to call Miles to come dow—,”

“N-no sir. —Go up there myself… th-a-ank you.” You fought back tears and made your way to Mile’s room, avoiding his parent’s concerned gaze.

A knock on a door. Just a simple and quiet knock that takes you back that far. You can almost see your younger self racing around with glee, being reckless. When you didn’t lie about being loud and extroverted just to please a crowd; it felt so long ago but it was just a few years ago.

“Dad I’m not hungry!”

“A-ah! It’s not—!”

The door swung open before you could finish and you were quickly wrapped into a tight hug. You couldn’t help melt into it. It was so warm and comfortable—you could feel your heart pounding. You did your best to cling on to the wall that was holding back the hot tears that were basically begging to be released, but you kept it in anyway.

“It’s pretty snowy outside, huh? I’m drawing a picture of it—actually.” He always did his best to distract you. And who were you not to give in?

You nodded, signifying that you wanted to see. You entered his room and immediately felt calmed down by the familiar atmosphere. The tranquility of it was dear to you, but so ways a utter messiness of it that made it feel like home. The windows had those same yellow curtains draped over them, but in between the cracks you could see a winter scene outside.

Hopping onto the bed, you wrapped yourself with the blankets. Miles sat next to you, bringing you into his arms. He kissed your forehead and flipped through the pages of the art book, reaching a page with a sketch of Mile’s home from the exterior view. “Alright, now give me those art skills.” He nudged you.

Alright, yeah, you did art every once in a while. You didn’t do it as much though. Not after…

“Dunno… em…phasize the frost in the window. They wouldn’t look that normal.”

“See! You’re good at art without even trying.” He started to add shading to the windows, making sure to leave snowflakes on top of them.

“Th…” You didn’t want to stutter but at this point it felt like at any moment you were going to overflow. So you stayed silent. It engulfed the situation uncomfortably. In between those non-existent lines layers of trauma was stacked in your words. And it was separating you and Miles. You knew it was.

A tune interrupted the silence. It was so soft and quiet that if the two of you had been speaking neither would notice. You gradually made your way to the window and looked out down onto the street. There it was—a double decker bus decked out with Christmas decorations and playing to the tune of Jingle Bell Rock. You stared at it in awe with child-like wonder. Then the feeling of nostalgia hit you like a truck.

You remember begging your parents to take you on one of those busses, so short that you thought the top of those busses might as well be the empire skate building. That if you reached high enough you could touch the stars. Did you ever end up going on one?

You already know the tears are falling down your face. They are just as silent as the room was before. And you can feel the comfort of the Miles’ hands wiping them away, and just for that night, your fears and terrors were wiped away too.

And somehow someone found you in the middle of a blizzard.

[i-dont-want-your-hysteria]

a message.

This whole post is full of things I’ve wanted to say for a very long time. So yes, this is going to be very long.

Before I begin, I just wanted to say I’m sorry to the innocent people who had nothing to do with this. I’ve never ever been involved with online/fandom drama before, I hate being in this position so fucking much with all my heart and soul, and I never thought in my whole life that I’d be in this position, either.

Secondly, this is about the DEF LEPPARD FANDOM ON TUMBLR. If you’re not part of this fandom, kindly fuck off :^) This is not about you.

This post explains why I feel this way. And to those innocent people who aren’t involved with this, I’m sincerely sorry if any of this has changed your opinions of me.

I’m in a mood and a half, so I’ll do my best to effectively tell everything from my perspective. Read if you want, but this is just what I’m thinking.

I’ve been running this blog for almost three years now. When I first joined this fandom on tumblr at the beginning of 2018, there wasn’t really a ‘fandom’ per se; all the main blogs were dead, no one ever really posted, and there wasn’t much content. I decided to start a DL blog of my own to vent my love into it and not spam my main account. 

Within a month, I could quickly see that some sort of renaissance was happening in this fandom; more blogs were popping up, more people were posting, and more people were just participating in general. There were memes now, there were conversations now- it was great! There was a real community; it was all about sharing information, spewing our love, getting creative, and interacting! 

There was integrity, and there was respect for the band as well as one another.

I, as part of this community, wanted to do everything in my physical power to contribute in any way I could. I was insanely active and hyper-productive and could not be stopped. I still haven’t stopped, but I certainly have slowed down significantly (due to lack of new activity from the band and increased mental health issues I won’t get into). I don’t want to be self-centered and say that I was “running” this branch of the fandom for the past 2.7 years, but I was certainly a big player in it, and I feel everyone agreed (and some still agree) with that as well.

There were some times where disagreements happened. There were times where many of us knew that someone else was crossing a line in a post. We knew what qualified as “not okay” in terms of being perverted and such. We’d solve this by not blaming, not hounding, not sending anon hate, not calling out, but by presenting facts, talking maturely, and trying to right the wrongs as maturely as we could.

Yes, it was possible. Was.

I don’t think you guys realize just how much content I’ve contributed to this fandom. I have spent basically every single day of the past 3-ish years trying to spread information/content/photos/videos/links/etc. to everyone who follows me (and everyone who doesn’t). This fandom was (and I cannot stress this enough), literally my entire life for the past 3 odd years, and I really wanted to spend the rest of my life contributing to it the way I’ve been.

I don't think anyone on here realizes everything that I have done for this community. Because of me:

this fandom has access to Animal Instinct for free

this fandom has access to the rare picture disc interview

this fandom has numerous scans of photos that may have not ended up online otherwise (I also paid $70 to have access to some of these. You're welcome.)

we have Fabulist Icons content

we have a decent amount of fanfiction that doesn't only focus on the boys banging each other/sex in general (seriously, this simply didn’t exist on here before I started posting my shit)

we have a little more fan art

we have content from Phil's and Ross's books

we have hundreds (yes, literally, HUNDREDS) of edits/moodboards/memes/etc. that I made myself

we have gifsets of things that no one else would have made

we have achieved justice a lot of the time when content was stolen because I have defended everyone without question/rallied up armies the second I heard it happened

some of you have gotten updates on news/facts/history/details/etc. that you’ve never even heard of

probably a shit ton more things, but that’s all I can think of for now. You get the point.

But that’s only half the story. This band and fandom has given me so much to cherish over the past few years.

Because of this fandom and the people (that were once) in it, I have:

met Rick in person

met, quite honestly, my two best friends ever, @ballistic-lipstick-dream-machine (my true Terror Twin) and @paper-sxn (adopted little sister/cousin)

became in contact with Phil's guitar tech from the mid-80s (Mike)

gained creative ambition to play guitar, create art, write stories, make edits/gifs, travel, and basically just better myself

began a record collection that is now in the hundreds and gained a lot of knowledge from it

discovered a whole new genre of music

found a community/culture where, for the very very first time in my life, I felt like I BELONGED.

fallen in love with something and someone for the first time

felt like I actually mattered to people, like I was actually important (because people would always come to me for information or help if they needed it)

basically impacted every corner of my life

just about a million other things, too, but I will be here all night if I try to list them all.

To put it delicately: Def Leppard and this fandom on tumblr absolutely changed my life, and was the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me.

I have spread so much information around, you newer people wouldn't imagine. I have gathered and seen so much information, you wouldn't believe how much I know and how much I've learned. I have bounced back and forth between formats time after time again that I feel like I’m stuck in a time warp. I have edited so many things on non-professional programs that I am an MS paint expert. I have been here so long, that I’ve seen 98% of the people in this branch of the fandom rotate in and out at least two or three times. 

That being said, all of the toxic people in this fandom will most likely be gone within the next 6 months. 

Def Leppard has taught me so much, but a big thing was love and loyalty. It's clear that the majority of people in this fandom (read my lips- I am N O T saying anyone’s names. I mean that.) do not know the meanings of either of these words. I've been practically running this fandom on Tumblr for nearly three years now, you’ve seen all that I’ve done for you, and what have I gotten in return?

Slander, cyberbullying, disrespect, consistently stolen content, etc. That’s what I’ve gotten. I’ve never attacked anyone on here, and that is still something I won’t do.

Yes, I am against slash fic, and I can’t believe that THAT’S the only reason why I’m being torn down like this. Something so dumb and immature as that has torn my beloved community in half. I have never attacked ANYONE for writing slash fic, yet I’ve been getting attacked since August (it is November now) for simply believing it is wrong to openly admit you want the boys to fuck each other.

(I’d also like to point out that someone from the KISS fandom ((god knows why)) had the balls to call me “homophobic” for hating slashfic. I can’t even begin to explain how much I laughed at that.)

I just wanna say that these are REAL people you’re writing about, you know. Don’t you think THEY would be against it? I know I cannot stop anyone from writing slash (I’ve said that before, but no one seems to remember it). I don’t think any of you realize that there is a certain line you shouldn’t cross when it comes to the internet, and being perverted in such an explicit and disrespectful way is one of them. We always had integrity in this fandom, and slash was never part of something we stood for. We knew when to stop, and we kept the slash on rockfic.com (where it belongs imo. That’s like their element).

I was very confused when more slash fics started appearing on tumblr this year. Now, it seems like that’s all there is, and I’m disgusted.

Whenever something close to that happened in 2018, everyone would be totally against it, and we’d talk it out and explain. While we all had our fair share of horny (and maybe then some) in this fandom, but we always knew where to draw the line. That was the line. That line doesn’t exist anymore, apparently, and nobody knows how to be mature and respectful to the band, to each other, and just for fuck’s sake. Now, I’m being slammed that being perverted for them fucking their best friends is “just fandom, bitch” and “the norm” and that it’s done “out of respect”, which I will never understand. You can’t use “slash” and “respectful” in the same sentence, and you can’t change my mind, but I know I can’t change yours, either. 

Slash is not, nor will it ever be, respectful. This fandom has become toxic.

Fanfiction is an outlet for creativity to be used for fun, not to be used as an excuse to project your sexually perverted sexuality headcannons/fetishes onto innocent, REAL, LIVE people. If all you write/read is them having sex with each other, then it really makes you wonder if it’s about “respect” anymore, doesn’t it?

In my opinion it’s fucked up that it’s “normal” and “just part of fandom” to create sexualities for- again- REAL, LIVE PEOPLE, and it’s everyone’s first instinct to argue that it’s fine, apparently? If you “respect” your idols so much like you claim you do, then why don’t you maybe respect their actual orientations instead of creating masturbation material for random 12 year olds and boomers, perhaps?

I don’t know what I did that was so fucking wrong in your eyes, as I’ve always tried to keep integrity in this area of tumblr. 

I'm very deeply hurt, more than I've ever been by this. It physically hurts me to admit that this fandom has become as toxic as it currently is. I don’t feel welcome here anymore at all, despite practically running things on here for so long.

I don’t know how I could ever live without this fandom, but now it looks like I’m going to have to try, or at least try and rebuild it on my own (again). I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop posting about Def Leppard, and after all, I only started posting about them for myself to begin with.

We were supposed to be the good fandom, the happy fandom, the fandom with no drama. I am ashamed to be associated with you now. I tried to stop it as best as I could, and hoped people would back me up, but I’ve received nothing but hate for simply trying to preserve some dignity.

You guys have been immature to say the least, and I find it very hard to believe that some of you are legal adults (but let’s be honest; most of you toxic people are probably too young to even be behind a computer, anyway). 

I’ve had to block some people that I really didn’t want to, but the deed is done. Keep your slash to yourself, tag it, do a read more, post it somewhere else, even- that’s how you co-exist. Just don’t come after me because I think it’s wrong. I never came after anyone specifically like that.

This isn’t goodbye, but I certainly am leaving for a while. I hope I got my point, my history, and my perspective across.

And I hope you’re fucking happy, because you’ve destroyed something I loved.

-Rachel

[ot-hoe-me]

Student File (Sweet Elite)

BRYNN MCALLISTER

- Fine Arts - Concentration: Creative Writing (Poetry and Fiction)

General Information

Full name: Brynn Marie McAllister

DOB: September 3rd, 20XX

Nationality: Canadian

Citizenship: Dual Canadian/American citizenship; (technical) Non-Foreign Student

Height: 5′7″ / 169 cm

Weight: 135 lbs / 61 kg

Professional Affiliation: N/A

Academic Record

Strengths: Fine Arts, Performing Arts, Humanities

Weaknesses: Chemistry, Mathematics, Physics

Notes from teachers: We haven’t had her for long, but from what I’ve seen of Brynn’s work she can paint a clear picture with her words in her emotionally-charged, character-driven works. However, I urge her to reach out towards her peers to help her regain her footing in order to flourish in her new environment. I look forward to fostering further growth and creativity in Brynn, and am eager to see what she has to share. - Prof. Robert Boss

Disciplinary Actions

N/A

Awards & Honours

There is a list including every award and publication she has earned for her short fiction and poetry; some from her former high school, but most through professional contests or publications.

Health Record

N/A

General Comments & Forecasts

Brynn is a balanced student with a brilliant mind and a hard work-ethic, though it is clear that she thrives in and enjoys the arts and humanities rather than the sciences. Courteous, friendly, and always willing to lend a helping hand wherever she can; Brynn has a natural charm that draws others to her, however, she rarely if ever takes advantage of this. Watching her pursue her passion for writing has been a privilege, though at times this has caused her to become somewhat single-minded, pushing other parts of her life to the wayside. She must find a healthy balance between her studies, passions, and personal life in order to truly shine at her best. Overall, it has truly been a pleasure to have Brynn in my homeroom and I wish her the best in the rest of her high school career at Arlington Academy. - Ms. N. Deep

Skills

Creativity: 10/10

Academics: 9/10

Teamwork: 8/10

Extracurricular Activities: 6/10

Technique: 8.5/10

~~~

MISCELLANEOUS 

Defining Trait: Kindness

Sexual Orientation: Biromantic Asexual

Crushes: Axel, Neha and Tegan 

Closest Friends: Ellie, Tegan, Tyler, Axel, and Neha

Likes and Hobbies: Brynn loves to read and write (and watch movies and cartoons and anime within) the fantasy, or supernatural genres in either historical or modern settings. She loves listening to many types of music, though rock, alternative, classical and new age tend to inspire her writing the most so by default, that’s what she ends up listening to the most. Though she also likes pop, j-pop, j-rock, metal, indie, game/movie/tv soundtracks, and musicals too, she’s always open to listening to new things! Cosplaying, playing story-driven RPGs or dance games, baking are all things she enjoys doing. Brynn also likes binge-watching fiction shows, but also things like Great British Bake-Off and other food shows as well. She also really enjoys photography and would love to travel the world one day.

Personality: She’s loyal, honest, patient, curious, and pretty openly affectionate even to her friends, though she’ll be sure to tailor it to each individual comfort-level. (Quick hugs, long hugs, is not afraid to shout ‘I love you’ from across the hall.) She’s also very receptive to many types of humour and is steadfast and reliable in standing up for herself, her friends, and her own beliefs. Be aware SHE IS A CUDDLE MONSTER, she loves hugs. Though she is an ambivert and is just as happy to go out and party as she is to stay in and have a quiet evening with a book or have a junk food and movie or video game night she is just the happiest and most relaxed bean when she and her partner have time for a long cuddle session. Best way to recharge her batteries. If they happen to fall asleep like that, even better because these kids don’t get enough sleep!!

In a Relationship: When she’s with someone she’ll go out of her way to try to spend extra time together whether it’s doing homework together, studying, or just being in the same room together while she’s working on her writing and is in her own little world, and they’re doing something else. They all have busy lives so even if they’re not on a date or relaxing she’s happy just being in the same room as them and having them near. Brynn will also send them things that remind her of them or something to make them laugh or smile whether it’s a meme, a cute animal video, or something relevant to her partner’s interests that she think they’d like. She’ll also love to write heartfelt love-letters or cheesy-and-cute poetry for her significant other, but wouldn’t show them right away. Instead, she’d save them for a time when her partner is having a bad day or feeling down on themselves and give/send/or read it out loud to them as a pick-me-up and to remind them why she loves them. And then they can keep them for later to look back on when they need a reminder and she’s not readily available to give it to them.

Trivia and Headcanons

- I’m not really sure if this needs saying, but Brynn loves mermaids and the mermaid aesthetic.

- She’s a cat person, but in the future will compromise and get a dog as long as her partner agrees to get a puppy and a kitten and raise them together. (Or an adult dog and cat that are already a bonded pair.)

- Her birthday is on the third day of school, so since she celebrated with her dad and friends at home the day before she left for Arlington, the others besides Tadashi don’t find out when her birthday is until halfway through the school year at LEAST. (Ellie and Raquel take it as a personal affront and begin to organize a party immediately ‘to make up for lost time’. The others are much more understanding of how awkward it would be to just announce your birthday to a bunch of strangers.)

- Hair-dyeing sessions with Axel and Ellie. Yes Axel may be subjected to professional touch-ups the next day anyway, so even if it’s partially moot it is a BONDING ACTIVITY therefore you can’t convince me otherwise.

- One day Karolina just. Hands her a bag with a stylish brunette wig the colour of her natural hair in it, when her roots start showing in a bad way. So Brynn doesn’t “disgrace the image of the academy if she has to make a public appearance again.” Aka she realizes how poor Brynn is that she can’t always get a touch up on her complicated dye-job when it starts looking bad asdfkadfshfklf.

- Some of her most treasured possessions are her sapphire blue instant print camera, her polaroid pictures, her album for them, and the hanging clips she has for her wall.

- Will add more as I think of them.

[storibambino]

If It Ain’t Broke Ch. 2

A/N: Here we are for chapter 2. I went back and changed some things because inspiration changed so I apologize for the delay guys. Please enjoy it! Thank you so much again to @wakanda-inspired for this request. This is 9,528/30,000 for the challenge that apparently I’m still doing. 

Still no beta so all mistakes are mine

Pairings: ErikxNakia OkoyexW’Kabi, T’ChallaxOroro(Storm) featuring our merry band of BP characters

Warnings: None 

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 - It’s a Secret

“How is it I’ve never heard of any cousin?” Nakia asked over the speaker on her phone.

“None of us had until about this time last year,” Okoye responded. Okoye followed Nakia in her own car on their way to meet the mechanic T’Challa suggested, “None of us ever saw it coming.”

“That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

“Eh, it’s not really my story to tell. It’s the building on the left. You can pull up to the garage,” Okoye stated quickly and hung up.

The shop was a fairly large black building with ‘Golden Jaguar Repairs’ written ornately above the doors. Nakia pulled up to the open garage doors and hopped out to meet Okoye at the door of the lobby area.  Okoye threw the door open and called out to signal their arrival. Quite the feat over the music playing throughout the area. Heavy bass and playful strings were the only response until a man dressed in a black coverall with gold detailing to match the rest of the décor emerged from a side door. He swaggered over to greet them, rag in hand.

“Wassup General,” He nodded to Okoye.

“Stevens,” Okoye responded politely but Nakia noticed a tightness in her tone, “This is Nakia. She is the woman T’Challa called you about.”

Nakia extended her hand but the man didn’t take it.

“No offense ma, but I’m covered in grease and I would hate to dirty up those lovely hands of yours,” he said with a wink.

Nakia pulled back her hand and crossed her arms over her chest, regarding the stranger. Okoye only rolled her eyes.

“The car is why we’re here,” Okoye interjected.

“Yeah, yeah you can follow me to the office Princess to get this paperwork done,” Erik said and gestured for Nakia to follow.

Erik led Nakia to his back office while Okoye stayed in the lobby. The office was decorated much like the rest of the building. There were papers strewn all over a spacious mahogany desk, spilling onto the floor. Two black leather office chairs are the only other furniture in the room. Nakia took a seat in one of the chairs while Erik stood behind the desk. He opened a drawer and pulled out a few forms then handed them with a clipboard and pen to Nakia.

“Your filing system is a little unorthodox for someone’s that ex-military,” Nakia while eyeing the forms.

“You got jokes I see. The price just went up,” Erik shot back.

Nakia held up her hands and laughed, “I’m just saying. You might want to invest in a file cabinet.”

“I have several out in the garage and behind the front desk but that’s not your business is it?”

“I guess not,” Nakia went back to read over the papers.

“Who told you I was ex-military?”

“You did. The general joke was kinda obvious,” Nakia smiled to herself but didn’t look up from the documents.

Erik took a step back and looked the attractive woman up and down. He took in her soft features and deep brown skin. Her beautiful hands made quick work of all the signatures needed and her eyes scanned the pages effortlessly.

“All these say is I’m leaving my car with you and a payment agreement. You haven’t even looked at my car.” Nakia said finally looking up from the papers.

“True. I didn’t need to look at it to know you need the works,” Erik sat down next to Nakia and took the paperwork, “I could hear you coming from a mile away, princess.”

“I am no princess.”

“Car like that. You’re someone’s princess that thing is a work of art.” Erik clapped his hands and stood up swiftly, “Let’s go get a look under the hood.

Fifteen minutes later Erik had pulled the car into the garage, looked under the hood, and was currently under it checking oil pans or something else. He moved quickly and with precision, jotting down notes here and there. Nakia and Okoye stood nearby chatting idly about their plans for the rest of the day and trip. Okoye kept one eye on Erik at all times. Which Nakia noticed but kept to herself.

“Ok Ms. Nakia I’m all finished with your assessment,” Erik slid from under the car and stood to face the women.

“What’s the damage, sir?” Nakia responded.

“Don’t call me that. I might like it,” Erik gave her another wink.

Okoye cleared her throat rather loudly.

“All work no play General,” Erik gave Okoye a brilliant smile, all white teeth and a bit of gold, “Back to you. You need brakes, spark plugs, ya transmission flushed and a whole gang of other shit. She’s pretty but her personality needs some work.”

“So it’s scrap metal?”

“I ain’t say all that. All she needs is some love and she’ll be rollin’ smooth. I can get started first thing in the morning,” Erik finished.

“What time?” Nakia asked.

“I usually roll in here bout 7. I don’t have any others to finish myself,” Erik answered.

“Ok, I’ll be here.”

“Excuse me?” Erik and Okoye answered in unison.

“I want to be here while you’re working on my car,” Nakia responded nonchalantly. She looked between the two of them for a moment before Okoye pulled her off to the side asking Erik it excuse them.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Okoye pressed.

“I’m getting my car fixed,” Nakia deadpanned.

“I mean with him. Why would you want to spend an entire day here? With Erik.”

“I will not leave my dead father’s car in the care of a stranger without being observant,” Nakia stated. Okoye didn’t budge, “I’m curious. That’s all Ye.”

The nickname wasn’t fair. Nakia only used it when she didn’t want Okoye to ask any questions about her actions. Like when they went on their first joyride or got into their first fight. It was always ‘That’s all Ye’ and she would immediately back off. Okoye studied her for a few more seconds then sighed and walked back over to Erik who wasn’t eavesdropping at all.

“Y’all settled up then?”

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Nakia answered. Okoye stayed silent. The two women headed toward the open garage door.

“How you gonna get here?” Erik called out, “I got your car ma.”

“You’re picking me up. I’ll be ready at 6:30. Okoye texted you the address. Don’t be late.”

Nakia didn’t look back to confirm Erik agreed to her terms. However, she didn’t need to in order to know he would be at her door the next morning.

At her door, he was indeed. Well, not technically her door but the door of one of T’Challa’s many properties in which she was staying at the moment. He insisted a luxury condo was better than a hotel and she was not about to give him the satisfaction of agreeing with him openly.

Erik was inexcusably chipper at 6:30 in the god damn morning. He greeted her with coffee and a chocolate chip muffin.

“I don’t drink coffee,” Nakia said through a yawn although she took the cup.

“I know. That’s mine princess. I got tea for you in the car,” Erik gently slid the cup out of her hands and stepped aside so she could exit the condo. She didn’t quite glare at him but it was damn close. A smug little smile and nod were all he offered her then followed her out and let the door shut behind them. Neither of them worried about locking the door. Shuri installed automated locks and biometrics on all the Udaku properties.

Outside Erik’s truck was waiting. It was exactly what Nakia had expected, black on black with gold details. As she slid into the front passenger seat she noticed the body was reinforced and the glass bulletproof. Maybe not exactly what she was expecting after all. Erik got in and gestured toward the lidded paper cup in the holder closest to her. She took it and sampled the tea he brought for her, lavender chai. It was perfectly (but not too) sweet and complemented the muffin well, of course, none of his business.

“This isn’t from Starbucks,” Nakia stated plainly.

“Nah. That shit is terrible. I got a spot around the way I like,” Erik kept his eyes on the road and Nakia kept hers on him, “I can show if you like.”

“How did you know I like tea opposed to coffee?”

“I’m observant,” He quipped and flashed his too pretty white and gold smile.

Nakia didn’t respond just kept a calculating stare at his profile, enjoying her gifted breakfast.  Erik reached down and turned on the radio. Nakia braced herself against the impending bass but was greeted by horns and keys.

“Jazz?”

“Jazz,” Erik confirmed.

“Jazz?” Nakia repeated.

“I grew up in Harlem for the most part,” Erik shrugged, “So yes, jazz first thing in the morning is good for the soul.”

Nakia made some non-committal noise and sat back in her seat. By this time she had eaten half of the muffin she the other half she sat on the center console. Erik picked it up, taking a large bite and mumbling something about crumbs in his whip. The rest of the ride passed in an easy silence. They arrived quickly at the shop, Nakia memorized the route for future use.

Erik pulled into one of the bays at the far end of the garage. Erik disappeared into the office leaving Nakia to wander around alone. She went to her father’s car, her car now. The last piece of him she had with her in the physical world. She ran her fingers along the hood. Anyone else looking at the car would think the custom paint but Nakia knew better than that. There was the faintest scratch on the hood near the grill.

When she was a little girl her father would take her to sit by the water on Lake Shore. He would lean against the hood while she sat on the car listening to the waves and counting the clouds. On those evenings fights were rare but not completely eliminated. On one warm summer afternoon, she kicked the hood in anger. She had begged her mother for converse with little studs in the toe and she got them for her, one of the last gifts she received from her before she passed. Naturally, Nakia wore them every day. The fight was started small but snowballed when he asked her not to wear the worn shoes anymore. They were old and a proper little lady should have new shoes.

How could he ask, no how could he tell her that she had to throw away all she had of her mother left? Of course, the shoes were not the only part of her mother she had left, but when you’re fourteen your logic isn’t exactly rational. When she kicked the hood of her father’s prized car she meant it. All she did was leave a small scratch and severely bruise her toes, which caused another argument. She touched the scratch again and smiled fondly.

“I can get that out for you,” Erik startled her from her memories.

“No,” She answered a bit too quickly. Erik raised his eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Nakia began to explain herself but stopped. She hadn’t noticed Erik enter the room but now she looked at him and a smile spread across her face, “Those are adorable.”

“Hush,” He scowled at her from behind is gold frames, “I was doing paperwork.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me. I’m just saying I think the glasses are a good look.”

“Yeah, yeah. Have a seat and don’t touch my shit,” Erik had donned a pair of navy coveralls and gestured to a workbench near the vehicle. Nakia took a seat and Erik got to work raising the car on a lift and examining it piece by piece, “You sure you wanna chill here all day?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Nakia glanced around the garage again, “Where are your employees.”

“It’s just me.” The hush was heavily implied.

Hush she did, for a while anyway. She texted Okoye and let her know she was ok and she definitely did not need to come and get her. After asking more and more invasive questions Erik shooed her away into his office. While in there she checked her email. The contact she’d reached out to for files on Erik had gotten back to her.  The files were thin but it was a start. She spent the next two hours or so doing research on the man in the other room.

Erik came and got her right around when she finished her snooping, “Ordered us some lunch. Should be here in a few.”

Nakia followed Erik back out into the garage area. The tires were off her car and various tools were strewn about. She took up her previous seat on the workbench. Erik went back to his work sliding under the car to finish something she couldn’t see. She watched him for a moment analyzing his body language, looking for an opening. Leaning forward she decided on a plan of attack.

“Tell me, Erik. How does someone go from Special Ops, a SEAL no doubt, to a mechanic in Oakland?” Nakia asked from her perch on the workbench near Erik’s feet.

“I came home. After the…incident my pompous cousin offered to welcome me with open arms. Be a part of the family business, Thanksgivings, and all that shit.” Erik rolled out from under the car and looked up to Nakia, “But it didn’t feel right. All this time I thought I wanted revenge or some proverbial piece of the pie. I guess what I really wanted was for them to see me.”

“You wanted a family,” Nakia leaned down to meet Erik’s eyes. They were a little glossy but she didn’t mention it. She wasn’t expecting this level of honesty from the man. She was looking forward to some form of mental chess before getting any kind of emotional realness from him, it was refreshing but it felt far too intimate for what she needed to accomplish.

“Yeah, I guess now I got one. They are a complete pain in my ass but mine all the same,” Erik said before standing up. Nakia leaned back to give him room.

“I’m sure they would say the same about you,” She smiled and eyed him closely as he wiped grease from his hands. Erik didn’t return her smile.

He drew his eyebrows together and tilted his head to the side slightly, “So tell me Nakia what’s an active CIA operative doing in my shop?” Nakia’s mouth fell open, “You ain’t the only one with friends.”

Nakia quickly regained her composure, “I’m here because while visiting a friend my car broke down. That same friend was kind enough to suggest you, his cousin, for the repairs.”

“Does your friend, my cousin, know why you’re really here?” Erik was playing a very dangerous game and he knew it.

“Friends in high places I see,” Nakia responded, avoiding a direct answer.

“Low places too. Why didn’t you tell him?”

“That isn’t your business is it?” Nakia dropped her façade for a moment and became serious, “I couldn’t, not yet. Question is: Are you gonna tell him?”

“Nah, like you said it ain’t my business but watch yourself things like this get real messy real fast”

“You worried about me? I think that’s cute,” Nakia teased.

“I protect my family,” Erik said looking at Nakia directly, “By any means.”

Before Nakia could respond there was a loud knock followed by the voice of a man announcing delivery. Erik’s demeanor changed and he smiled at Nakia again, “I hope you like Thai.”

Nakia nodded and watched him leave to get the food. She had so many decisions to make. Could her mission be compromised? How much did Erik know about her? Could she protect her friends? More important at this moment was a different question. How did Erik know she loved Thai food?

Tags:  @ovoxosavage @therevolution-willbelive@mamipeachy @wakandas-vibranium @wakandan-flowerz@texasbama @randomwordprompts @bartierbakarimobisson@maya-leche @theultimateblacknerdwithglasses @great-neckpectations @kumkaniudaku @blackgirloneshots@soldierandawar @babygirlofwakanda @to-the-water-ixazaluoh@sithlordslut@thorsthot @stevesthot@thattinycookiemonster @killmongersaidheyauntie @sunigyrl@daytimeheroicsonly @unholyxcumbucket @melaninmarvel@skysynclair19@pocmarvelworks @wildaboutchrisevans @non-stop-imagines @alanastormborn @tutufufuface @killmoncoochie@chefjessypooh @inlovewithmakeupcomicsanimelove @bakarisangel

[razmahdaz-art]

Thunder Rolls Over The Rockys Chapter 1

       Hanzo Shimada’s family was relentless and merciless. Raising him from birth to be nothing but a cold blooded business man with a way of weeding out the weak that didn’t fit his family’s standards. But what truly forced Hanzo’s hand was when his father passed and the council of elders demanded that he eradicate his own brother. He’d finally had enough and the pair ran, going in separate directions. And Hanzo’s direction lead him to the most desolate place where the clan would never look, Midwestern America to a town called Gibralter, Montana. He doesn’t expect much at first, but with a more than welcoming community and bright eyed, wide smiled Cowboy may make this more enjoyable than he once determined.

Words: 3,084

The night was quiet. A rare quiet that settled in all the right ways, the feeling that as if the Earth itself was asleep. The night air whispering to the trees through every breath of wind that rolled through a forgotten canyon that stretched till the visable horizon. The road that rested high up on one edge was ragged and rarely traversed, the asphalt losing all paint while plants sprouted through the cracks on the borders where a year of man-made work meets mother nature’s centuries of carving. Pine trees both stood tall and fallen, bushes grew in wild patches, and rocks lay resting and marked by moss and scratch marks made from fauna that passed through time to time. The sky was decorated with stars that glistened like crystals, the milky way visible clearly against the soot black sky. No clouds dared to obscure the view, all being swept away from the expanse to make room for the piece of art millennia in the making.

It was such an odd sight, Hanzo mused. Growing up in the nest of bright city lights where every star was muffled by the gleaming blaze of artificial light, that seeing even one constellation was to be considered lucky. But looking up from where he stood, pulled over on the side of a high roadway, leaned up against a Jeep that had seen far better days, just done relieving himself after hours of travel with only occasional breaks, Hanzo has a moment to muse the idea of that he may enjoy living out in here.

Driving through the golden California and Nevada deserts, the rich and untouched forests of Idaho, the foreign wildlife he got the pleasure of glimpsing while traversing Yellowstone National Park, all of it mixed into a picture that he had long misinterpreted for years. He was always taught that the Midwest of America was a festering mess of “Hicks” and nothing but either flat plains or forests holding dangerous animals and people. He was pleasantly surprised to see it was more than just that. Even if he held quite a few hints of doubt, in this moment he felt a small tinge of optimism start to expose itself for this new venture.

He took one last deep inhale of the fresh air, savoring it as if it is the last breathe he might take before he wondered back around to the drivers side of the filthy dark blue Jeep and reclaiming his seat behind a well familiarized drivers wheel. The small clock on the radio displayed 10:48 pm as a song that had been long paused scrolled across the bottom of the screen. He pulled his seat belt over his torso and then pulled back onto the abandoned road to make the last miles of his journey. The trees blurred into a smear of green as he drove through the vast canyon. His headlights illuminated the long path in front of him, his window down to keep the cool air ventilating through the cabin, and tired eyes all work to help him find his way to his new home.

The digital clock read 1:32 am in obnoxiously green letters as Hanzo pulled his car into the long, non existent muddied driveway that branched from a secluded dirt road. As the vehicle shuts down and the lights dim, Hanzo overlooks the small wooden cottage that almost blends into the foliage around it, vines of Ivy grafting up the left side of the building that held a brick chimney. He yawned as he grabbed the duffel bag that sat in the front seat next to him for the entire length of his journey, deciding to get the remainder of his things tomorrow afternoon when he wakes up. His feet carried his numb body and sore back to the porch while his hand rummaged through his parsel for the house keys that accompanied the bungalow. The wooden steps creaked under his weight as he reached the leaf and pine needle covered porch and he unlocked the front door to finally see the inside of his new living space.

It held only the bare essentials, but it was still somewhat cared for. A plain, black sofa with a few matching chairs seated around a dust covered mahogany coffee table and all sat in front of a long neglected fireplace with a mantle that only held one small potted succulent. A large bay window was just off to the left, the same wall as the door, and curtains drawn over them that fail to block out the moonlight that shone in. A kitchen towards the back that held only the essentials with nothing more than a fridge, sink and gas oven where a small island acted as the barrier to a dining table that only held two chairs.

Hanzo closed the door behind him as he headed through the living area, dropping his bag on the couch as he marched by. He trudged up the short staircase and into a large open room that held a queen sized bed whose frame was made of logs, two wooden nightstands, and a small dresser that sat at the foot of the bed. Hanzo didn’t have to direct his body to do what it did next. He rapidly kicked off his shoes and jeans, before pulling back the surprisingly comfy bed sheets and his body exhaustively crashing into the mattress, his hands barely managing to drag the blankets over him before he passed out, sleep engrossing him for the first time in his new environment.

The night passed by and faded to day, and as quickly sleep grips Hanzo, he’s pulled back into consciousness seemingly just as quick.

He groaned as he’s jostled awake, daylight streaming in through the one large window that was framed by half drawn, cyan curtains. But the sun wasn’t the only thing that awoke him. The faint sound of knocking on the door downstairs had somehow penetrated Hanzo’s deep slumber. It was occasional and without much rhythm, but still an obnoxious constant. He sat up in the bed, his back stiff and tense from the constant driving, cracking when he twists his torso to help relieve the aches in his bones. His hands messed with the tangled mass of black hair that needed to be washed into a tight but ragged bun as he slowly crept towards the window to catch a glimpse of any life.

Sure enough, there was a small white truck parked outside along his Jeep, but it’s owner couldn’t be seen from this angle. He attempted to wipe the last remnants of exhaustion from his face as he threw on the pants he had worn last night so that he was decent when he finally met this mysterious welcoming party. His feet almost stumbled down the stairs as he came to finally answer the door.

Facing him was a blonde haired woman who wore comfy looking outside wear, a maroon V-neck, open collar shirt and a pair of shorts, her hand hovering in the air as if she was about to knock once more. For a moment she looks surprised, caught off guard assuming that she wouldn’t get an answer. She gives Hanzo one quick glance before offering a sweet smile to the new comer.

“Good Afternoon!” she greeted in a chipper tone. Hanzo was caught off guard for a moment by his own sleeping in. He’d never once in his life slept past nine am.

“Sorry for disturbing you, truly. I just saw you come in last night and i had to see who bought this old cottage,” She said in a thick Swiss accent, her hand running over the wood frame of the door. “My name is Angela Ziegler, I run the clinic in town. It’s always a pleasure to see a new face in town,” she greeted, her other hand extending to shake the muscular man in front of her.

“Shimada, Hanzo. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Ms. Ziegler,” Hanzo replied as he shook the other’s hand out of courtesy. Her grip is like a bear trap, strong and surprisingly so. He hadn’t expected it from a woman with such a small frame. She almost sneered at him, but a smile still adorned her lips.

“Now, Mr. Shimada, I did not go to six years of Med school to simply be a ‘Miss’,” She said with a small chortle. “I’ll let it slide this once, but I hope to be called Doctor in the future, alright?” Hanzo smiles a small bit before nodding and retracting his hand that now made its home in his jean pocket. “Of course, Doctor Ziegler. It won’t happen again,” he apologizes.

The Doctor looked over the expanse of the house, taking a few steps back on the porch to view it all, Hanzo even stepping out to see if she had found something he hadn’t. She looked over the cottage with a gentle fondness, as if happy that it was being inhabited now.

“You better thank Satya for getting this house ready for you, i haven’t seen her work that hard since the new residential street went up in town,” she said, her hands on her hips. Hanzo had remembered that the house was going to be cleaned up for his arrival, after all, this residence hadn’t been lived in since the early part of the decade. Ms. Vaswani was the one that had sent him the keys in the first place. And beside the lack of decorations and the use of minimal furniture, Hanzo can’t deny that it was all neat and comfy in it’s own way. He made a mental note to send a thank you note or walk in to personally thank her when he was settled.

Hanzo’s shoulders sank for a moment at the thought of unpacking even the few things he had brought with him. He looked back at the Jeep that held his belongings, and almost shuddered at having to drag all his belongings inside and sorting through them seemed somehow worse. Angela’s gaze joined Hanzo’s, examining the Jeep and knowing exactly what he was dreading. Her hand’s clapped together to knock them both out the shared gaze, before she started to make her way off the porch.

“Well, Mr. Shimada, as much as i’d love to stay and help, I should really get back to my clinic. Have to be there in case someone gets mauled by a bear or something,” she chuckled out in a charming excuse to get herself out of helping him unpack. Hanzo rolled his eyes at her jokes as she made her way back to her truck. Her hand already pulling the door open and her foot lifting her on the step. But over the hood she could peer a hint of red just past the tree line that connected to the dirt road, and the sound of a roaring engine echoed through the small patch of forest.

Hanzo had to take a few more steps off his porch, but never stepping onto the jagged ground without shoes, cautious to not get anything caught in the joints in his prosthetic. He stands on the balls of his feet to try and catch a glimpse of this mysterious vehicle that carried with it a monstrous roar. Angela’s hand waved at something that was just out of his site, and almost in an instant, a red blur flashed just past his driveway. His eyes were too slow to comprehend any detail about what had just passed them, but the noise didn’t dissipate. In fact, it seemed to be coming back, and from the way Angela’s head turned to see where it went as well as her hand still waving, it was all evident that he may get a chance to fully see what had just flashed by.

The roaring finally revealed itself, belonging to a bright cardinal red motorcycle that gleamed in the bright afternoon sun. It had a logo that had been jaded by time painted in white on the side of the tank, but from where he stood, Hanzo couldn’t make out exactly what it said. But the bike wasn’t alone. Atop it was a tall, built man with dark skin and an obnoxiously red serepe around his shoulders. As the bike shut down he swung his leg over the bike so that he may stand at full stature. This man was full cowboy, chaps, jeans, boots with a dusty hat placed atop his head with brunette, neck length hair that was wind swept and tangled with a wild beard to miss.

“Jesse, you aren't supposed to make U-turns on these roads,” Angela scolds while hopping off the step of her truck. She walks over to him with her hands on her hips, but gets repaid with a warm chuckle.

“Couldn't help myself, Doc. I just had to see who bought this little ol’ cabin,” this curious visitor said with a voice laced with the most stereotypical country drawl that Hanzo had ever heard.

Angela’s hand motioned towards the porch where Hanzo was standing, and Jesse’s gaze met his in an instant. Even from yards away, he could see that the cowboys eyes were a dark, charmingly warm brown that seemed to introduce Jesse for him. The spurs on the heels of his boots jingled as he waltz forwards to formally meet Hanzo face to face.

“Jesse McCree, nice to meet ya,” He said with an extended steel hand. Hanzo responded by shaking it in a firm grip similar to Angela’s before him.

“Hanzo Shimada. A pleasure,” the stoic man greeted. His eyes shifted to the bike once more, just for a glimpse before they joined back with Jesse’s. “I hope you are courteous when you go about riding that,” He says in a deadpan tone. As rude as it may have come off, the taller man’s smile turned to a smirk.

“No need to worry, I only ride it when I want to piss people off,” he retorted, his metallic forearm tipping the brim of his hat up just a tad. Hanzo’s arms crossed and his weight shifted to one leg, making his shorter than he already was, a small shit eating grin on his face. Jesse let out a low chuckle that came from deep in his chest before looking back at the bike.

“Don’t fret, I only ride during the day, if that’s what you’re worried about,” He answered sincerely. “Won’t ever have to worry about me wakin’ you up from your beauty sleep,” he teased with a small chuckle.

The small doctor stepped in for a moment, her hands on her hips, and giving a reassuring smile to Hanzo.

“Mr. Shimada, I can guarantee if you need anything, Jesse is always happy to help,” she said in an almost suggestive tone. Hanzo knew what she was doing, hoping to force McCree to help unpack as she make her escape. Jesse side eyed her with one of his bushy eyebrows raised before peeking into the barren house through the door that was left open behind Hanzo. Angela nudged McCree’s arm with her own before speaking once more. “I’m sure he’d be glad to help you settle in, if you need it,” she coyly said as she took slow steps back.

They watched her as she made a poor attempt of being subtle before Hanzo finally asked formally. “Jesse, would you mind helping me unpack?” Jesse took off his hat and bowed in an exaggerated fashion just for Angela to see.

“Hanzo, it would be my unforced and own willed pleasure,” He answered a tone of regality and boisterousness. The pair shared a laugh as Angela quickly returned to her truck and fly the coop before she was put to work. Jesse stood straight and placed his hat back over the mess of hair on his head and looked back at Hanzo. “Love Angela, great gal. But good lord does she hate heavy lifting,” Jesse gossips a bit with his thumbs looping in the belt loops of his pants.

Hanzo rushes in for a few short moments to grab his shoes before he joins the cowboy again, who’s serepe was folded over the leather seat of the motorcycle so that he may work without having to fiddle with it. Hanzo opens the door to the back seat so that they may get to removing the surprising amount of parcels and boxes that had made the trek with Hanzo all the way here. Jesse stacked some boxes high and began to carry them towards the abode while Hanzo carried a few bags. It took multiple trips before everything was placed in or near the living room ready to be reopened and assorted.

“Thank you, Jesse,” Hanzo said appreciatively. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and fixed his hair from where it had fallen out of its tight ponytail. Jesse rested his hands on his hips as he overlooked their work. “You’re welcome, it’s what a neighbors for,” he reassured.

Hanzo turned his head back to look at the cowboy. “Neighbor?” he inquired.

“Well, sorta. Live quite a few miles down but yeah, neighbor,” McCree replied, his hand gesturing back towards the road and back from once he came almost an hour before. “I own the small ranch at the end of the road. You ever wanna come up, you’re more than welcome,” Jesse invited.

“I may once I’m comfortable,” Hanzo says, dreading the second half of this process. He lets a small groan of disdain leave his lips as he turns to Jesse to thank him one more time. Jesse tips his hat in a polite manner. “Godspeed, Hanzo Shimada. Godspeed,” he says as McCree finally takes his leave. Hanzo replaces his position in the door frame and waves the other off, the engine erupting to life once more and then following the dirt trail that he intended to travel earlier.

Hanzo closes the door once he could no longer see his neighbor or his incredibly loud coloured bike. His eyes dragged over the work that awaited him and he felt his muscles physically tense. He kicked off his shoes once more, walking towards a small room besides the staircase while taking off his shirt and pants.

Before he started, he desperately needed to do one thing he hadn’t done for far too many days.

Shower.

[toyhouse-dramas-archived]

We really pretending 90% of the sale threads and listings is mq-hq adopts? My peeve is when the users with hq adopts post that cheap ms paint crap for my decent quality designs as if they think trading a 50 cent adopt for a $45 one is perfectly reasonable. Ignoring price value, a scribbly flat color chibi in a tent folder for a character with a fully shaded ref sheet + 3 extra art pieces is their idea of a good trade offer and they'll block you for declining. Then you have the rest who see a base by a pop artist and spam 5 pages of the poor thing in the listings. HQ non pop designs are rare and getting a pop artist adopt without trading your entire TH and your first born is even rarer. That's my little vent on trudging through hundreds of pages of TH trades & sales.

[timetogoslumming]

cheeky lil sprace soulmate au for yall!

The lines started appearing when Race was seventeen. One moment in class, he was working through a few physics problems, completely focused, and the next, he was staring at the black line on his arm. It was thin and scratchy like a ballpoint pen, and didn’t seem to follow any discernable pattern. Race watched in shock at the line continued slowly across the top of his forearm before coming to a close back at the start. He stared at the shape, trying to find any meaning in it, before realizing that it looked a little bit like a dog. After uncapping his pen, Race drew a quick face on what may or may not have been a dog, along with a bone.

The lines started appearing when Race was seventeen. One moment in class, he was working through a few physics problems, completely focused, and the next, he was staring at the black line on his arm. It was thin and scratchy like a ballpoint pen, and didn’t seem to follow any discernable pattern. Race watched in shock at the line continued slowly across the top of his forearm before coming to a close back at the start. He stared at the shape, trying to find any meaning in it, before realizing that it looked a little bit like a dog. After uncapping his pen, Race drew a quick face on what may or may not have been a dog, along with a bone.

“Antonio?” someone was calling, although Race didn’t notice. “Antonio? Race!”

“Huh?” he asked, looking up at the teacher at the front of the room.

His teacher pointed at the complex equation on the board. “Do you have an answer for us?”

“Uh…” Race stared down at the half-finished problem on his paper. “Not yet. But I’m working on it, Ms. Smits.”

“Mhm,” Ms. Smits said. “ Try to pay attention, Antonio. Jackson, do you have an answer?”

Race drifted back away from the class in his mind, still lost in staring at his arm. No more marks had appeared, but the shape didn’t fade.

He barely paid attention for the rest of the class, when they were finally released for lunch. Race just wanted to get to his friends to show them his arm. He was the only person in their friend group in advanced physics- most of the others had English during that time.

The bell finally rang and Race was up in a flash, shouldering his backpack as he shoved past the rest of the class on the way out the door. The elevator dinged on his way down the hall and Race stopped, waiting for Crutchie, who rolled out in his wheelchair as soon as the doors opened. “Hey, what’s up?” Crutchie said.

“I’ll tell you when we get to lunch.” They made their way through the crowds to the cafeteria, where Jack, Davey, and Specs were already taking their seats.

Davey handed Jack a sandwich, and Race spotted a glimpse of the painting on his hand, which matched the one on Jack’s hand perfectly. Jack had started painting on his hand as soon as Davey’s homework assignment showed up on his arm one day. He wanted to impress his soulmate. Of course, Davey instantly figured out who his soulmate was, since Jack’s paintings were hung all over school. They hadn’t even known that the other person existed before that, and now they were absolutely inseparable.

“What did you want to tell us?” Crutchie asked after they all had food.

Without a word, Race put his arm dramatically on the table. Everyone stared for a moment. “What the fuck is that?” Jack finally asked.

“I thought it looked kind of like a dog,” Race replied. “Point is, I didn’t draw it. Except the face.”

“Your soulmate?” David asked excitedly. They had been waiting for Race to find his soulmate. He and Crutchie were the only ones left. Specs, for instance, was always constantly covered in notes from his soulmate, Romeo, who lived two states away.

“Guess so,” Race said.

“Your soulmate can’t draw,” Jack commented with his mouth full of food.

Crutchie, Race noticed, had gone quiet. His soulmate rarely wrote on himself. When he did, it was all in Korean. They had all been incredibly lucky, finding people relatively nearby, who at least spoke English. Not everyone had such good fortune.

Spot had started seeing his soulmate’s writing when he was fifteen. He looked at the palm of his hand one day, where a list of Spanish verb conjugations were hastily scribbled. “Cheater”, Spot wrote back, but no one ever responded. Soulmates generally didn’t start seeing each other's writings at the same time. He figured that his soulmate just hadn’t gotten there just yet. But still, knowing that his soulmate was out there, cheating on Spanish tests, writing numbers to Chinese restaurants, and every now and then, working out math problems on his arm was comforting. Every time another bit of writing showed up, Spot felt like he knew his soulmate a little bit better, whoever they were.

He was in history class one day, absently drawing on his arm, when the face showed up. A goofy smiley face, making the abstract shape on his arm turn into a dog. Spot almost fell out of his chair. He raised his pen to write something, but the words wouldn’t come. He had been waiting for this for so long that now that the moment had arrived, Spot had gone tongue-tied. Or, pen-tied.  

After school, Spot tracked down his friends, Albert and JoJo. “Look!” he said, showing them his arm.

“It’s an ugly dog,” Albert said, eyebrows raised.

“No,” Spot replied. “The face. I didn’t draw the face.”

“Your soulmate can finally see it?” JoJo asked. “So what are you going to do?”

“Have you written back?” Albert added.

Spot shook his head. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Ask them to meet up!” Albert suggested.

“They might not even be nearby,” JoJo pointed out. “For all he knows, his soulmate could be in Nebraska or something.”

Spot went home that night and kept meaning to write back, but the words just wouldn’t come. Finally, he settled for drawing a tic tac toe board on his leg, putting an X in the middle spot.

Five minutes later, an blue O filled itself in and Spot grinned, uncapping his pen and adding another X. They played seven games, with Spot losing five. Finally, as he yawned, a note appeared on his hand. “Wash this off. I have a job interview tomorrow. You suck at tic tac toe.”

Race grinned at his hand, watching as half of the ink on his body slowly disappeared as whoever was on the other end washed it off. He went to the bathroom and followed suit, scrubbing at the stubborn ink on his skin. Most people understood soulmate writing- after all, everyone got it at some point, but Race had an interview at a movie theater the next day, and he didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot.

When his alarm went off in the morning, there was a note written on Race’s upper thigh, where it could easily be covered. “Good luck today.”

The interview was typical, filled with “what are your greatest strengths” and “tell me about a time you failed” and “why do you want to work here” questions, which Race bullshitted as much as he could. A deep understanding of physics, especially for his age, and gambling. Two English classes and a history exam. Money to make up what he lost playing cards and to buy gas with. For all the interviewer knew, Race had always dreamed of serving popcorn to preteens going to see the newest Dystopian romance.

At the end, though, he got a handshake and a smile. By the time he got home, there was a voicemail offering him a part time minimum wage job, complete with maroon polo shirt and non-slip shoes.

Race told his dad the news on the way to his room, where he dug through his closet for a washable marker. There was an underused art set that he had gotten for his birthday one year. He could only remember using it once. After selecting a blue marker, Race carefully drew out a hangman board with ten blanks underneath. _  _ _ _  _ _ _  _ _ _! Nothing happened for a solid ten minutes until the faintest scratchings of a letter showed up, completely illegible. There was a pause before random scribbling appeared on the back of his hand, along with a note. “My pen was dying.” The letter A materialized under the hangman board and Race drew a circle for the hangman’s head.

Their game continued for a while until most of the letters were filled in. The person on the other end filled in the rest. “You got the job?”

Later that night, Davey and Jack watched over Race’s shoulder as another abstract shape slowly materialized on his forearm, dipping in and out seemingly at random. “God, this person really has no respect for your skin,” Jack commented.

“What are you going to do?” Davey asked.

Race shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t even know his name.”

“He’s a guy?” Jack asked.

“His handwriting looks like a guy’s.”

Davey shook his head. “That doesn’t mean anything. Just ask them their name!”

“No way,” Race said. “I’m not asking till he does.” He studied his arm. “Huh. It looks kind of like a dolphin.”

Jack grabbed Race’s arm and stared at it for a minute. “It looks nothing like a dolphin.”

Unbeknownst to them, three blocks away, a boy laid on his bed, listening to music and absent-mindedly doodling on his arm.

The week passed uneventfully. Race continued to write to his soulmate, with hangman games becoming their conversation form of choice. He started work, which was mostly boring, but the concept of money coming in regularly was a nice thought. And Jack worked at the theater, too, which certainly helped pass the time.

One Thursday after finishing his training, Race was manning the concessions counter alone during a lull. A group of guys about his age came into the theater, joking loudly with each other. “Spot!” one of them barked. “Play me in air hockey!”

The shortest one shrugged. “Let’s make it interesting.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Spot looked around the theater for ideas. “Loser buys popcorn,” he concluded. They shook on it and the taller boy fished out two quarters for the game. Race didn’t even realize that he was openly staring at the game until the shorter guy looked up and they made eye contact. Race looked away sharply and busied himself with wiping down the counter.

After a brief but furious game of air hockey, the third boy, who was serving as referee, declared the short boy the loser. He grumbled and stalked over to the concession counter, where Race was waiting. “Large popcorn,” he said.

“Butter?” Race asked.

“Is butter extra?” The guy had a heavy New York accent.

“No.”

“Then yes.”

Race started pumping butter onto the bucket of popcorn when something on the boy’s arm distracted him. There, on his forearm, was an abstract shape, drawn in ballpoint pen, which perfectly matched the one on Race’s arm, which was covered by his long-sleeved uniform. He stared openly, not even realizing that the popcorn was now drenched. “That’s good,” the boy said, jerking Race out of his reverie.

“Oh. Yeah,” he said absently. “Here you go.”

“How much do I owe you?” the short guy asked, holding his wallet open, where Race could see a wad of crumpled one dollar bills poking out.

“Uh… don’t worry about it. I put too much butter on. It’s on the house.” He allowed himself to look at the boy while he was putting his wallet away. He was short, probably not more than five foot four or so, with dark hair and tanned skin, but a large smattering of freckles still peeked through. His face seemed to be set into a permanent grimace, but it somehow seemed confident.

“Thanks,” the guy said. “If my friends ask, I paid.”

“You got it,” Race replied. “Enjoy the movie.”

“You, too- I mean…”

Spot took his popcorn and went back to the guys, where they were waiting to go into the theater. The boy at the counter- Antonio, according to his name tag- had been cute. Sort of dangerously cute. And it seemed like he was either incurably awkward or into Spot.

Dating was tricky with the soulmate system. A lot of people didn’t even bother trying to date before finding their soulmate. If things worked out, someone was bound to get heartbroken. Either someone in the relationship would find their soulmate and leave, or their soulmate would be out there somewhere, miserable and alone.

They took their seats and JoJo grabbed a handful of popcorn. “Damn, Spot,” he said, shoving the popcorn into his mouth. “Got enough butter?”

Race watched until the guys were inside their theater before half-running to the box office. He knocked sharply on the door until Jack poked his head out. “Take a break,” Race said  urgently. “We need to talk.”

Jack made sure that the other guy in the box office was okay on his own and followed Race back to the concessions counter. “What’s up?”

“I just saw my soulmate,” Race said, eyes wide.

“What?” Jack yelped. “Who?”

“One of those guys that was just in here.”

“Which one?” Jack asked warily.

“The short one.”

Jack nodded slowly, a smirk spreading across his face. “And? What did you say?”

Race shrugged. “Nothing, really. I gave him a free popcorn because I got distracted and fucked his up.”

“You’re sure it was the short one?” Jack asked. “Little guy? Danny DeVito?” Race nodded. “You’re in luck. I know him.”

Race grabbed Jack’s arm. “You what ?”

Jack grinned. “We were in the same foster home for a while. Not long, only like a month. His name’s Spot. Actually, I think that’s a nickname. I don’t actually know what his real name is.”

“ When ?”

“I think in middle school?” Jack replied uncertainly. “We haven’t talked since then until today, which was still pretty quick. So, does he know-”

“No,” Race replied. “I only figured it out because he’s wearing a tank top and I could see those doodles he does.”

“You need to go tell him!”

Race shook his head. “Just because you and Davey worked out immediately doesn’t mean everyone does!”

“You’re like, the least shy person I know,” Jack said. “Why is this any different?”

Race stared at Jack in utter disbelief. “You’re kidding, right? This isn’t like asking the waitress to bring me a new fork or saying hi to some old lady at the laundromat, Jack. This is my soulmate .”

Race went home that night and went straight to his computer, where he typed the name “Spot” into Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Google, and even LinkedIn. Nothing relevant came up. He texted Jack for a last name, but Jack couldn’t remember. “Maybe something with a K?” he said. “Just write to him!”

Race picked up a marker and tapped it, cap still on, against his arm for a while while he thought. Finally, slowly, he wrote out a note on his arm. “Enjoy the movie?” he wrote, hand shaking. “How was the popcorn?”

It took a long time before a message showed up. Race had almost given up home, and was getting ready to text Jack that he had scared Spot off, when a single word appeared on his hand. “Antonio?”

Race’s face split into a grin and he felt his heart leap up into his throat. Finally, he wrote ten digits out under his name. His phone vibrated within thirty seconds. “This is Antonio, right?” the text said.

“Just call me Race. Spot?”

“You know my name?”

“Jack Kelly is my best friend.”

A few minutes passed while Race waited for another text. Finally, Spot responded with an address. “I’m guessing you live in the city,” he said. “Can you meet me? Now?” Race took a closer look at the address and realized that it was a diner two blocks away. He had walked past it a million times without going in.

“I’ll be right there.”

Spot was already there when Race arrived, drinking a cup of black coffee. He looked up when the door opened, and he and Race locked eyes. It was like time slowed down. Nothing else existed in that moment except the two of them- not the waitress, or the taxi honking its horn outside, or the fry cook yelling orders across the counter.

Race dragged his feet, which each felt like they suddenly weighed about forty pounds, across the floor and took a seat across from Spot. “So, uh…” he started awkwardly. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Spot said with a smirk. “You got here fast.”

“I live nearby.”

“So do I.” They sat in total silence until a waitress came and asked for Race’s drink order.

“A Coke,” he said, dazed.

Spot watched as she left to get Race’s drink. “You’re not messing with me, are you?” he asked, eyes focused on the waitress’ back. “I mean, you’re actually him, right?”

Race pulled up the sleeve of his jacket, where their notes were still visible, as well as the random shapes that Spot was always drawing. “Does this look fake to you?” He pointed to the doodle. “What is this? You’re always drawing stuff like this.”

Spot finally looked back to Race, as the waitress came back with a Coke. “Are you boys ready to order?” she asked.

“Uh…” Race started.

Spot shook his head. “Not quite.” He waited until she was out of earshot before holding his own arm out. He suddenly looked self-conscious. “It’s just something I do when I’m thinking,” he said. “I trace my freckles.”

Race looked down and sure enough, what he thought were random lines were actually connecting the freckles on his arm. “That’s really…” he started. Spot looked at him expectantly. “Cute,” Race finally finished.

Spot bit his lip and took a sip of his coffee. “Tell me something about yourself,” he said. “Something I don’t already know.”

“Well, what do you already know?”

Spot counted off on his fingers. “I know you like games like tic tac toe and hangman. I know you’re really good at math. I know you like Chinese food. I know you write to-do lists on your wrist. I know you cheat on your Spanish tests- by the way, I’m actually good at Spanish, so if you ever need help with that…”

“How do you know all that?” Race asked. He had no idea that he was such an open book.

“You write on yourself a lot . And because I’ve been able to see it for two years now.”

Race almost choked on his soda. “ What ? How?”

Spot shrugged. “You know it doesn’t always happen at the same time. I was just hoping you weren’t just ignoring me. Now stop avoiding the question. Tell me something.”

“Well…” Race tried to think of something. What do you tell your soulmate the first time you officially meet? “I’m allergic to bananas.”

“Bananas?”

“Yeah. I break out in hives.”

“That’s hot.”

“Shut up.” They grinned at each other across the table, already feeling the awkwardness beginning to subside. “It’s your turn. Tell me something.”

Spot thought for a moment. “You make really shitty popcorn,” he said.

“It was my first day on my own after training. Try again.”

“Okay, fine. I’ve seen you around before,” he said.

“When?” Race asked.

“I told you,” Spot continued. “I live nearby. I didn’t really put it together until I just saw you but yeah.” He gestured to the menu. “Want to order something? Split some banana pancakes?”

“Oh yeah,” Race said. “And then you can take me back to your place to pump me full of Benadryl and ointment.”

“My kind of date.”

The waitress came by then. Spot ordered a large serving of eggs and some toast, and Race got a stack of bacon and a (non-banana) pancake. “Are you kind of freaking out?” Race asked finally. “I’m freaking out right now.”

“Why would I freak out?” Spot asked in his thick accent. “This is a normal day. Nothing special has happened today.” He took a long drink of coffee. “I’ve been losing my mind all week.”

Their waitress brought out their food soon. “Want any of my bacon?” Race asked.

Spot waved a hand. “I’m a vegetarian,” he responded.

Race eyed Spot’s arms, clearly on display because of his tank top. “Aren’t you a little… jacked to be a vegetarian?”

Spot rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Protein doesn’t only come from bacon, Antonio.”

“What’s your name?”

“Spot?” he said, staring pointedly at Race.

“No, your real name.”

“Oh. Sean. Sean Conlon.”

“Antonio Higgins. Nice to meet you.” Race held out a hand, which Spot shook from across the table.

They stayed there talking for what thirty minutes, but Spot happened to see the time on his phone, showing that they had been sitting there for almost three hours. “We should probably go,” he said reluctantly. The waitress had brought their check long ago, and they both reached for it. “I got it,” Spot said. “You bought my shitty popcorn.” He counted out a stack of crumpled one dollar bills.

“Are you a stripper or something?” Race asked.

“Yeah,” Spot replied seriously. Race blanched. “I’m a waiter. Relax.”

They slowly walked out of the diner, standing awkwardly in the doorway. Neither of them wanted to be the first one to walk away. “Want to take a lap around the block?” Race asked.

“Yeah,” Spot said in relief. They started walking. It had gotten late so not many people were out anymore. As they reached the corner, Spot glanced over at Race. “You’re tall,” he commented.

“You’re short,” Race countered. They turned the corner and their hands bumped together by accident. “So…” Race started. “Are we going to address the whole soulmates thing at any point?”

Spot sighed. “I’m gay, Race. I don’t know if you are. And I’ve been watching everything you write for two years. I don’t know if you even like guys, but… I’m in if you are.”

Their hands brushed together again, and Race closed the gap by weaving his fingers into Spot’s as they walked. “I’m pansexual,” he said. “And I’m in.” There was something like an electric current running between their hands. Race didn’t know if it had anything to do with the whole soulmate thing or if it was just the natural chemistry that they seemed to have.

Spot squeezed his hand and they kept walking. Finally, Race stopped at the stairs of his building. “This is where I live,” he said.

“Wow,” Spot responded. “I’m three blocks over.”

“That’s convenient,” Race replied with a crooked grin.

Neither of them wanted to say goodbye, and they stood quietly at the bottom of the steps. Finally, Spot tugged on Race’s hand. “Just fucking kiss me already.” He pulled Race in close, and Race tilted his head down, until their lips met and the world exploded.

[toldnews-blog]

New Post has been published on https://toldnews.com/technology/entertainment/the-week-in-arts-cher-42nd-street-and-at-the-heart-of-gold/

The Week in Arts: Cher, ‘42nd Street’ and ‘At the Heart of Gold’

Film: Ever So Much to Say in ‘Non-Fiction’

May 3 and May 10

The Parisians at the center of Olivier Assayas’s latest romp, “Non-Fiction,” like to read and write. They also like to banter, cajole, debate and spar — about the state of literature and the evolution of publishing, the printed page and the digital realm, the timelessness of the letter and the art of the tweet.

“Non-Fiction” sets the stage with a mopey novelist, Léonard Spiegel (Vincent Macaigne), controversial for drawing on his real-life celebrity passions, and his suave editor, Alain Danielson (Guillaume Canet), who is fed up with the name-checking and exploitation, and refuses to publish his new manuscript. All the while, Alain is oblivious to the fact that his actress wife, Selena (a winking Juliette Binoche), has been having an affair with Léonard for six years.

Alain, after all, is distracted: increasingly anxious about the changing industry, he is seduced out of middle-age complacency by Laure (Christa Théret), the young, hyperarticulate head of digital transitioning at his publishing house. And in no time, Léonard, Alain, Selena and Laure find their words — and their bedsheets — a tangled mess.

“Non-Fiction” opens on Friday, May 3, in New York and May 10 in Los Angeles, followed by a national rollout. KATHRYN SHATTUCK

Pop Music: Cher at Barclays Center

May 2; ticketmaster.com

There are pop stars, and there are pop supergiants. With a music career going back nearly six decades, award-winning appearances in films alongside Meryl Streep, Nicolas Cage and others, and recent recognition by the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts, Cher — with whom the world has long been on a first-name basis — certainly qualifies for the latter category.

Lately, the singer has stepped back from original music to pay homage to some Swedish pop phenoms whose longevity rivals her own. Last fall, she released a studio album, “Dancing Queen,” made up entirely of ABBA songs, and appeared in the film “Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again,” the sequel to the ABBA jukebox musical “Mamma Mia!” Cher has taken her tribute on the road with her “Here We Go Again” tour, which stops in Brooklyn on Thursday night. Expect this 72-year-old to perform a handful of covers, like “Waterloo” and “S.O.S.,” as well as her own classics, like “Believe.” OLIVIA HORN

Art: The Can-Can in Color

Through Aug. 4; mfa.org

An argument could be made that our image-obsessed celebrity culture reached its aesthetic peak more than a hundred years ago in Paris. Color lithography was a fresh new process, and the walls of Montmartre were plastered with graphic advertisements for music-hall dancers, many of them designed by a louche aristocrat and prolific artist named Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (1864-1901). His way with a silhouette — the knack he had of capturing a person’s whole character and affect in the shape of a nose or chin — let him add unparalleled depth and specificity to flat, Japanese-style pictures that read clearly from down the street. Mounted by the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, in collaboration with the Boston Public Library, “Toulouse-Lautrec and the Stars of Paris” includes hundreds of the paintings, posters and lesser-known drawings in which the artist immortalized the night life that has inspired many an English and American daydream. WILL HEINRICH

Theater: ‘42nd Street,’ on the Big Screen, Briefly

May 1; fathomevents.com

“By tomorrow night, I’ll either have a live leading lady or a dead chorus girl.” Such a delectably bloodless pronouncement, and when the director Julian Marsh utters it in “42nd Street,” only 36 hours remain before the opening of his musical “Pretty Lady” on Broadway. That’s all the time the young triple threat Peggy Sawyer has to learn the part after the star, Dorothy Brock, is injured.

Lavish glamour and bounteous tap rightly wowed critics at the recent revival of the show in London’s West End, directed by Mark Bramble, one of its writers, who died in February. Now American audiences can catch that production on hundreds of big screens across the country, in a one-day event on Wednesday, May 1. Starring Clare Halse as Peggy, Bonnie Langford as Dorothy and Tom Lister as Julian, it’s also coming soon to the streaming service BroadwayHD, with the exact date to be announced. LAURA COLLINS-HUGHES

Classical Music: Young Musicians at Carnegie

May 1 and 2; carnegiehall.org

If Michael Tilson Thomas’s work with the San Francisco Symphony became less adventurous in his final years as music director there, it may be because he already had the New World Symphony available as a kind of musical playground. The Miami-based orchestral academy for young musicians arrives at Carnegie Hall this week to perform two programs that insightfully balance the old and the new, as part of Tilson Thomas’s curation of Carnegie’s Perspectives series. Wednesday’s concert features Yuja Wang in Prokofiev’s Piano Concerto No. 5 and Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique, but also the New York premiere of “Fountain of Youth,” a new work by Julia Wolfe. Perhaps more intriguingly, Thursday’s program features Wang as well as the soprano Measha Brueggergosman in rarely heard music composed by Tilson Thomas himself. WILLIAM ROBIN

TV: Innocence Lost in ‘At the Heart of Gold’

May 3; hbo.com

“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” When that sentence — written by Larry Nassar — was read aloud during his sentencing for multiple counts of sexual abuse, courtroom spectators gasped.

“The line really says it all,” Judge Rosemarie Aquilina said later about Nassar, the former doctor for U.S.A. Gymnastics and Michigan State University. “He has no respect for women.”

Pain. Outrage. Incomprehension. And finally, hope: Those are the emotions Erin Lee Carr churns up in her documentary chronicling the abuse Nassar inflicted on victims in the guise of therapy — and the inaction of parents, coaches and officials who chose not to believe them. Or not to care. More than 150 women spoke at his sentencing hearing; the number of accusers exceeds 250.

The survivors in “At the Heart of Gold: Inside the USA Gymnastics Scandal” are steadfast and brave — among them, Rachael Denhollander, the first woman to formally accuse Nassar; the Olympic gold medalist Aly Raisman; and Trinea Gonczar, a former gymnast and longtime family friend of Nassar’s who says at the hearing that she was abused by him some 800 times.

“Wow — what have you done?” a tearful Gonczar asks Nassar as she reads her victim-impact statement. It’s the first time in the case that Nassar, who is ultimately sentenced to up to 175 years in prison, cries.

“At the Heart of Gold” will also run May 3-9 at the Laemmle Playhouse in Pasadena, Calif., and May 10-16 at the Cinema Village in New York. KATHRYN SHATTUCK

Dance: Conversing with Merce Cunningham

May 3-4; nyuskirball.org

Just because his 100th birthday has passed — observed with the breathtaking multicity event “Night of 100 Solos” — doesn’t mean we are done celebrating Merce Cunningham or contemplating his vast legacy. The year of his centennial continues with “In Conversation with Merce,” an evening of new works by three contemporary choreographers: Moriah Evans, Mina Nishimura and Netta Yerushalmy.

Presented by N.Y.U. Skirball and organized by Rashaun Mitchell, a former member of Cunningham’s company, the program features each artist exploring her connections to Cunningham. In “Hi, Merce! I Have a Question,” Ms. Nishimura reflects on her time as an international student at the Cunningham school, considering its relationship to her current methods. Ms. Yerushalmy assembles a cast of 17 for a piece inspired by 100 single movements from the Cunningham repertoire. And Ms. Evans works with three male dancers: Cyril Baldy, Silas Riener and Carlo Antonio Villanueva. The program also features Cunningham pieces performed by Keith Sabado and Shayla-Vie Jenkins. SIOBHAN BURKE

[worldhammerer-old]

Day 2: Geography

(if you make fun of my shitty ms paint solid-color maps that’s biphobia)

LONG body of text below the cut:

The body of water separating these two continents is the Kymnutari Ocean; deep, vast and cold, nearly in totality claimed by the seafaring Hambric Empire (black on the lower map). The chain of islands along the south are collectively termed The Cracked And Wretched South: frozen, mostly barren, with what little vegetation there is hostile to human life. Here the kansiuq live, or lived, hunters and magicians of light who the Empire uses to fill the royal navy and the marines. To the northeast, Qamnangansset, a large island full of the ruins of ancient humans, deep shaft cities around the coast and who-knows-what hidden by thick forest in the interior. Muttonfat-ice artifacts are known to have been made by the civilization that left the ruins behind, but plumbing the depths is hard and dangerous work, and the tariffs against export of Qamnangansset’s historical cultural heritage are far too steep to make such ventures worthwhile, except perhaps to certain smugglers. To the northwest, a chain of islands known as The Spine, volcanic spires of basalt and black glass. A deeply devout people live there, churches and monasteries nearly as plentiful as houses. In the middle of the ocean, two large islands: the Island of the Seeds of the Whale, and the First Conquest, the Island of the Bones of Nights. These two and their attendant stonespits are the seat of oceanic power in Hambry; permits sealed in blood are required to sail even within sight of their shores. The four islands in the north are the Zrii Isles; warm, sunny, and tropical, they were the last to be conquered by the Empire. The annexation did little to dampen the local’s practice of their religion, a curious offshoot of the Hambric state faith, differing in small specific ways that they refuse to relinguish. They say that it’s for their observance and devotion that they were given the techniques to process and work Zrii metal, unusually light and durable, the stuff their legendary armor and their cities alike are built of. They refuse to allow non-initiates to learn this art. The bulbous swell of the northwestern mainland corner is the Continental Prominence, not quite as hot or humid as the Zrii Isles but the difference is rarely noticeable. Rice is the common crop here, grown on terraces cut into the sides of hills or farmed on vast flooded paddies where crawfish burrow. The legend that the very young or the very old will tell you is that the mountain at the heart is riddled with goblin tunnel-roads, and that the center is a hoard of precious metal and jewels. Goblins themselves, naturally, will tell you what you could already assume for yourself: that had they a hoard of metal and jewels they’d have sold them long ago, and be eating sweetened bread instead of gamey newts and cave-swallows. To the south of this is the River, and at the mouth of that river the Holy City, where Imperial desire and Imperial will flow into the mainland. Far enough upriver, a land of cliffs and waterfalls produce enough mist to blot out the sun some days, and the forests they hide are not composed of trees but fat mushrooms taller than ksui. To the south of this is Niva, a region that itself has three subdivisions. The coast is where wizards weave magic fabrics and fishers ride on the backs of giant crabs; the middle forest is where the petty nobility live in walled settlements while the Bala Fa, the foresters’ guild, fancy themselves kings and gods outside; and on the snowy peaks and in hidden emerald valleys, a hardy, earthy folk herd cattle and yaks.

To the northeast of Hambry is Vuatlieo, land of magic and refinement. The western reaches are arid desert and hardpan, interrupted here and there by irrigation projects, some ancient, some modern. The land is known for its cattle ranches, whose history stretches back further than Vuatlieo as a state. Moving east, we find a valley carved out by a river draining into the sea. The river floods annually, and along its banks the vuatlieone harvest rice and sugarcane. The center of Vuatlieo is a huge, flat plain like an anvil, mild more year round, where for miles all one can see are cornfields, and the occasional vineyard or orchard. The city in the center, where two great rivers meet, was once the capital of a kingdom now forgotten, and all wizards eventually pass through it as they ride the Vuatlieone astral highways. Offshore are a number of islands, for the most part rather small and beneath notice, where goats and olives flourish. On some of these, magically resonant towers were erected, to turn away dour and dangerous weather and only allow fair winds through. In the south, mountains, and thick jungles full of delicious fruits and perilous ruins. At the very eastern edge, the lake country, where the Old Imperial City is slipping beneath the waves, a little more each year. The northeastern corner of Vuatlieo is a land of mangroves and temples, and rumors of a tree that has been burning forever.

I’ll level with you here and say that Belkharoz is one of the areas i’ve fleshed out the least despite being one of the oldest parts of my conception of the world. That said, I do know that it’s a land cursed to languish in eternal winter, that forests grow tall and thick and menacing but are not particularly common, with most of the ground being barren, frozen earth, and that a huge stretch of the heart of it has been eaten by an orcish geoweapon, dissolving huge geometric chunks out of the earth and leaving behind a  void like the cavity of a tooth, to be filled with rainwater and dirty ice.

Szaomngba is a land dominated by an enormous shield volcano, one that the locals insist is the navel left after the physical and spiritual realms were forcefully severed from each other, and it belches noxious ash and dust into the air with wild abandon. Fields of bare basalt from abortive lava flows it’s issued darken the land for miles around. Even after escaping its most noticeable influence, ancient trees can be found leaning back away from its lordly roar, whether they stand in ancient crater forests or isolated at the peaks of mountains or the tops of wind-carved mesas. Riders here can gallop for days and see little other than endless rolling grasslands or else hardened deserts.

The Black Territories are an amassment of contradictions, cruel and cold but dotted with spindly volcanoes and belching geothermal vents, and everywhere the endless fields of wind-deposited pink salts. The people here hide in fortresses with deep-sunk central shafts to draw power from the rumbling heart of the world, while outside fearsome insectile beasts roar and rattle their claws.

The Firsthomes are mostly desert and grassland, though they also lay claim to the Tooth, the thickly forested huge island for which settlement is strictly forbidden, and the Horn, the realm of stinking mud across the narrow sea.

[pyxel-spree]

Types of Teachers Masterpost

*squeals* first masterpost yay! And if you can’t already tell, this particular masterpost is about dealing with your teachers. When you click with them, your teachers can be some of the most helpful people on the planet. But if you’re struggling with a teacher that’s mean, irritable, incompetent, or unhelpful, this post will hopefully help you handle them. Note that some teachers can be combinations of the types below. 

Alright, let’s begin!

Speed Racer: This teacher is fast. Really fast. They cover all their material like it is an Olympic sprinting contest. No daydreaming permitted in this class-lost time will guarantee that you’ll miss material. The pros? You definitely won’t get bored in this class, and this teacher definitely knows their stuff. The cons? Well, there’s only one, really. If you don’t work your butt off, you’re going to be left behind. 

how do i handle?: take really good notes, especially if the class is something that you’re not naturally good at. form a study group with people who are both better at you in the class and worse at you in the class. if you can explain the material to each other, chances are you understand. don’t be afraid to talk to your teacher after class and ask for clarification or extra practice. bring friends if possible as backup! if they see that you are committed to getting better at the subject they will be more willing to help you. do not complain about how hard the class is to your teacher, however. teachers like this cannot be swayed by whining, and it will not endear you to them. also, if you’re really struggling, don’t feel pressured to pull a big fat a+, and drop the class if it’s becoming a strain on your mental health. work as hard as you can, but reasonably. there will be other classes. no need to beat yourself up over this one. 

Preacher-Teacher: This teacher will often tell you that they’re not here to teach you x subject, they’re here to teach you “life.” Generally, a middle-aged to elderly teacher. They are prone to long, painfully boring lectures, and one student making a mistake will often lead to the whole class getting a “lesson.” Favorite phrases include “back in my day.” A blowhard. 

how do i handle?: realize that this teacher, for the most part, genuinely cares about you and the rest of the class. they may seem annoying or trite, but they are actually trying to help you, albeit somewhat ineffectually. if you get lectured, stay calm. know that this does come from a good place, but this person also likes to hear the sound of their own voice, so if you disrespect them (i.e. visibly ignoring their lectures, which they regard as gems of once-in-a-lifetime advice), they will only continue to lecture, only this time louder and angrier. stay polite, stay calm, and stay respectful, and you should never have a problem with this teacher. 

Friendly Fire: This teacher is noted for their snarkiness and for making fun of their students. This is done jokingly, never maliciously, but their sarcastic wit can make you unclear where you really stand with them and when they are actually serious. 

how do i handle?: honestly, just play it by ear. if this teacher is really mad at you, they will drop the sassy thing pretty fast. also, prepare to get embarrassed by this teacher if you are caught doing something stupid. if you are shy, don’t be afraid of them, they will allow you to joke with them as long as you keep it reasonable. and if for whatever reason this teacher actually crosses the line with you, talk to them about it after class. just say, “hey mr./mrs/ms. so-and-so, i really don’t like it when you joke about this thing. it kind of hurts my feelings because of x, and if you would just not do that in the future i would appreciate it a lot.” they will listen to you, because this teacher’s main goal is to be liked by their students. if something makes you uncomfortable, they will not do it. 

Mock’n’ Roll: Not to be confused with Friendly Fire. This teacher makes fun of students in a cruel or unpleasant way. It is clear that they are not joking when they say these things, and they will often cross the line between what is acceptable and what is not. Students are afraid to speak in class because they don’t want to be targets. 

how do i handle?: this teacher is a serious problem, especially if they make you feel unsafe. if this is an issue that you are having, talk to an administrator with other students. do not confront the teacher about their behavior. they are going to tell you you are being too sensitive, and chances are they will up the ante even more. if possible, get parents to complain as well. if enough people are upset with this behavior, the teacher will be forced to change, or at least there will be some oversight. 

Big Ideas/No Ideas: This teacher is erratic and obsessive, switching things around often. They’ve seen this cool idea on teacher Pinterest and they’ve decided that they absolutely must use it in their classroom. This is used for two weeks, then is dropped and replaced with another idea. The classroom looks like a paint bomb hit it. Art, group projects, sitting at tables or beanbags instead of desks, and other such clever concepts are the norm. Although the teacher longs to be perceived as fun, many students find the constant change of plans confusing and frustrating, and more work goes into redecorating the classroom then actually teaching anything. 

how do i handle?: stay calm. don’t let this teacher’s indecisiveness ruin your interest in studying this subject. if you’re serious about learning, study on your own or with friends who are like-minded. go along with the teacher’s style, but if they ever ask for feedback (which this type loves to do because they really want you to tell them how great their class is) give them honest, but respectful answers. say, for example, “i really liked it when we did x and y throughout the year, but i’m a little confused as to the point of z.” they probably won’t take your feedback, but on the off chance they do, it’s always good to say something. the good news is, this class is rarely too difficult because of this teacher’s loose style, so passing will probably not be a problem. 

The Nitpicker: This teacher is really petty. They will deduct points from your work for incorrect headings, misspellings, you name it, if they can take points off for it, they will. Thinks their class is more important than any other. While their directions are always clear, having a different essay format can cost you nearly your entire grade. Excuses for late work or missing assignments are seldom accepted, and even then only in the most extenuating of circumstances. 

how do i handle?: good news is, this teacher is so rule-oriented you can use this to your advantage. have a list of the rules on hand when you are doing their work, and triple-check everything after you are done to make sure you won’t lose points for something silly like forgetting your name. as stupid as it seems, these petty little rules are the teacher’s way of exerting control over you and your classmates. and if you rebel against them, your grade will suffer for it. better to just grin and bear it. also, it helps to have a planner so you can make sure you don’t turn in anything late. and if you have a really serious circumstance that your teacher will not make allowances for, talk to administration. 

BFF Teacher: This teacher wants to be seen as a friend to you and your classmates. They will often wear the same clothes that you and your friends are wearing, with interesting results. They will use your slang, and may even want to gossip about other students. May follow you on social media. A little creepy, but more just pathetic. 

how do i handle?: as cringe-worthy as they are, these kinds of teachers are just desperate for you to like them. be polite, but you don’t have to follow them on instagram or snapchat if it makes you feel uncomfortable. it’s nice to have some boundaries. 

If You’re Not on the Team Don’t Talk To Me: This teacher is a coach or mentor of some kind. Whatever activity they sponsor is their life, so much so that they may neglect their teaching duties in favor of the team. Meanwhile, kids on the team who are also in the class get special benefits, and they may offer extra credit to non-team members for helping them manage the team (giving money to the team, buying team shirts, etc.) 

how do i handle?: this situation is frustrating, but don’t feel like you have to be on the team to survive this teacher. of course, join the team if it’s something you’re really into, but don’t just join to get an in with the teacher. chances are you will be miserable. remember, there are more important things in life than being one of this teacher’s favorites. 

The Cult of the Sun King: If your school has one of these teachers, you probably know exactly who I’m describing without reading the description. For the rest of you, this is a teacher who has a small, but loyal following of students. Think favoritism on an extreme level. If you get on this teacher’s good side, the class will be easy, but if you make a poor first impression you are doomed for the rest of the year. The class will be legendarily demanding and probably take up much of your time. You will be warned by older students not to take it, and if you do, that you will fail. 

how do i handle?: if you are in this class, try to stay on their good side. do your work and be respectful and polite. however, don’t feel the need to smarm up to the teacher like some of their following will. you don’t have to buy them snacks or gush over every lesson. fakery makes no friends, and the other students will see through it. the class is probably not as hard as people tell you it is, but probably will be challenging. if the class is unreasonably demanding (i.e. forcing you to stay up until four in the morning doing lab reports) or takes up time you’d rather use to do other things, drop it. you don’t need that kind of stress in your life. 

Emotional Pendulum: This teacher is, for whatever reason, a hot mess. They will end up telling you way too much about their personal life, and they will be notorious for breaking down in tears or yelling at students over small offenses. They are dramatic, and they will take actions by one student as indicative of the behavior of the whole class. See the class as confidants. Inconsistent and fickle. 

how do i handle?: keep your head down and do your work. accept that you cannot control the behavior of this teacher. do not attempt to argue or reason with them. this will only cause them to behave even more irrationally. don’t get angry at them, however-this teacher clearly has some personal problems that you do not know everything about. if it gets to be too much, contact administration. 

Grumpy Gus: This teacher will never be in a good mood. Nothing you can do will ever seem good enough, and there is nothing you can do to break them out of their funk. Has a low tolerance for jokes of any kind. Bonus-plays no favorites because they hate everyone equally. 

how do i handle?: don’t expect them to like you. even if you’ve always been the teacher’s favorite. it’s not going to work, and they’re going to mark you as a suck-up. conversely, don’t goof around or try to be funny, as this teacher has the world’s shortest fuse. however, you can count on this type to teach consistently. as long as you aren’t looking for a friend, this teacher is easy enough to manage. 

Politically Active: You know where exactly on the political spectrum this teacher falls because they make it very clear. Not only do they go out of their way to tell you their politics, their whole class is an indoctrination on why their politics are right and anyone who disagrees with them is stupid. Although they may say that they are an “independent,” everyone in the class knows they are anything but. Usually a history or social studies teacher of some kind. May invite debate, but it is clear that students who disagree with them are immediately written off in their book. 

how do i handle?: this can be hard, especially if your own politics are completely divergent from the teacher’s. even if you agree with the teacher, the blatant over-politicization of the class may be hard to take. just remember to think critically about everything they tell you and that there are at least two sides to every story. avoid debating this teacher, but if it is absolutely necessary, stick to your guns, but be respectful. you are entitled your own opinion, even if that puts you at odds with them. 

Grade Games: This is not so much a teacher as a tactic. Essentially, the teacher in question will neglect to put in grades, avoid or be confrontational when asked about grades, and tell you that “grades are not the only thing that are important.” As a result, you feel unsure whether to come forward with any questions about grades. 

how do i handle?: all right, i had two of these lovelies last year and i can tell you it is not fun. in my experience, if you do care about your grade, you have to confront this teacher about it. it’s hard, it’s annoying, and it may lead them to dislike you, but this is better than having a poor grade in the class. bother them about putting grades in. ask to see your grades. if your school has an online gradebook that you can access, look at it frequently. they won’t like you, but they’ll at least be careful when grading your work. 

Cell Phone Appreciation: These are certain teachers who have very little control over the class. Generally these are gym or health classes, but they can be core classes as well. Students will disrespect teachers like this because they are pushovers. As a result, everyone in class will be on their phones or doing work for other classes. The teacher is powerless to stop this. 

how do i handle?: you can’t make the teacher discipline these students, but if you want to get something out of the class, restrict your own screen time (even if other people aren’t) and try to pay as much attention as you can. the teacher will appreciate you for it, and you’ll see better grades than those who are horsing around. 

The Comedian: Remember Michael from The Office? Remember how funny he thinks he is, but how un-funny/dorky/stupid he is in reality? Now dial that up to eleven and you’ve got the Comedian. This teacher thinks that they are hilarious. In reality, nobody thinks that this teacher is funny and everyone thinks they are weird and trying too hard. Some people laugh to be polite, but most don’t. Often this teacher is also a BFF Teacher. 

how do i handle?: unfortunately, there’s no easy fix for this one. you can’t complain about them unless they joke about something that is really inappropriate, in which case they don’t really fit into this category. for this one, you’re just going to have to go with it. don’t be rude and burst this teacher’s bubble by telling them they’re not funny. remember, you don’t have to like them. 

The Bigot: This teacher is overtly racist, sexist, or LBGTQI-phobic. They will make inappropriate jokes, encourage bigoted discourse, or single minority students out as targets. Some students may laugh or agree with them. Others will stew silently but be afraid to confront them. 

how do i handle?: you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, especially if you don’t want to be attacked. however, if it comes to a point where you feel like you absolutely must say something to this teacher, keep your cool. you want to seem like the reasonable one in this scenario. and it is a must that you report this behavior to your school’s administration. 

The Perv: This is pretty much what it sounds like. Will put their hands on your shoulders or make comments about your clothes. May refer to students as “hot,” “cute,” etc. They will check the students out and make suggestive comments about them. 

how do i handle?: do not confront this teacher about their behavior. they are a sexual predator who needs to be dealt with by administration. keep a log of everything creepy this teacher does so you will have evidence. also, the police should be contacted in an event that this is happening. remember, if enough people get involved this teacher will be removed. 

tldr: dealing with teachers can be difficult, but if you stick to your principles, stay organized and on top of your work, and don’t try to be a teacher’s pet, you should be fine. and if a teacher is making you feel unsafe, contact your school’s administration. 

[amorremanet]

@gaymoregirls See, I like Heath Ledger’s Joker, but I agree with Amanda that he got (and still gets) a lot of hype that isn’t entirely deserved bc it was Heath’s last complete role before he died (—and now I’m grumpy at L*to for exploiting that as part of his, ““prep”” for Suicide Squad again, oh joy).

Otoh, Heath also got a lot of over-hype because he was in the Nolanverse, which gets a lot of over-hype as a general rule because it has Chris Nolan at the helm and it’s supposed to be all ~Serious And Edgy And Artsy And Cool, Ooooo~ — I mean, it even has parts that I enjoy, but is the Dark Knight trilogy overall really better than the average comic book movie series, or does it get hyped up because it’s the cinematic cousin of shit like The Dark Knight Returns (which gets over-hyped because it’s supposedly an ~Edgy Deconstruction~ when…… actually, it’s more like “Why Pseudo-Fascism Is Totally Legit If You Are Filthy Rich And Wear A Batman Costume,” by Frank Miller)

Example of this principle in action with someone other than Heath: when The Dark Knight Rises came out, Actual Marxist Intellectual Guy, Slavoj Žižek, put out some “think-piece” about how Tom Hardy!Bane is a the real hero, a crusader for the common people, representing the rising up not of The Dark Knight but of the people who are oppressed and downtrodden by late-stage Capitalism, and this means the movie is totally a crypto-Marxist treatise, even though……… no, man, I’m preeeeetty sure it’s not?

—but, y’know, the movies are Serious And Shit, so Bane must have some legit deep, intentional sociopolitical significance (—I mean, I would say there’s a level where you can read him with that in mind, but it’s not that deep, it’s probably not intentional, and he’s definitely not a Marxist hero or whatever)

and because Žižek is a Marxist Intellectual (which I guess means that he isn’t allowed to just enjoy a movie anymore, he has to come up with some kind of ~Deep Reason~ or other for that), that (alleged) deep significance must be that Bane is the REAL hero of TDKR and blah blah blah, Bane In Leather Pants With A Marxist Paint-Job

…which all goes back to Heath’s Joker because a huge part of him being overhyped, in addition to the whole, “Heath died” thing? Has generally been that he’s a Nihilistic weirdo who spouts off a lot of lines that he cribbed from, like… a badly translated Edgelord’s Introduction to Nietzsche, The Killing Joke, Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth, the Man Who Laughs story, a badly translated Edgelord’s Introduction to Camus, and some How To Be A Nihilist series on youtube. Because…… being on the nose and open about your ““philosophical ideas”” means you’re Serious and Artsy or something??

So… idk. I enjoy him — and there was definitely always an element of it that came down to The Heath Factor, because I’m fangirl garbage, oops — but it’s also kind of like? He’s the best Joker for the Nolanverse, but trying to apply him to non-Nolanverse Bat-stories isn’t going to work, not because, ““nobody can replace Heath,”” but because he has a very particular mood and way of doing things that only really works as a take on the Joker within the walls and by the rules of the Nolanverse.

Then, his appeal (at least, in my experience) tends to depend a lot on how people feel about the Nolanverse in general. Like, it’s rare to find anyone saying that Heath didn’t create a good performance with the material — and arguably salvaged it from being a complete dumpster fire, given how many things he improvised or went, “hey, Chris, what if we did this differently” about — but a lot of the bigger, broader criticisms of the Nolanverse have a clearly expressed form in Heath’s Joker, so it’s like…… If their take on the Bat-Mythos isn’t something general-you like, his Joker isn’t likely to be high up your list, either

……idk, my favorite reading of him is that all of his “philosophy”-spouting nonsense is actually an in-character tic (—I mean, even by the kinda broken standards of the Nolanverse, the Heath Joker parrots on about “philosophy” more than the average person), and that he’s essentially a pretentious performance artist who woke up one morning and went, “I think I’ll go be a criminal today” because he had an abusive dad, or his wife left him, or he was a US soldier in Iraq and something something Hollywood PTSD, or whatever reason anybody likes, and he has a lot in common with some of the other creative arts people who I went to undergrad with

(namely, the ones who insisted that everything they did was Hella Significant, even when they literally just threw paint at a canvas while on their fourth day without sleep, because it was finals time and their portfolio was still a few pieces short, or who made shit up in all their theatre classes because they didn’t do the work but didn’t want to get called on it, and they were so charming and had a passable familiarity with the terms and concepts, so they got away with it, or similar)

—but that’s also clearly not the reading that CNolan wanted the audience to walk away from the movie with (I mean, he clearly wanted us to see Heath Joker as a criminal mastermind and a terrorist — which he really wasn’t subtle about, even by Nolanverse standards, between the, “lol let’s invoke the popular imagery of Osama bin Laden and his video threats” shit, and Alfred and Harvey literally calling the Joker a terrorist when they said shit like, “Should we give in to this terrorist’s demands?” and, “Perhaps both Bruce and Mr. Dent believe that Batman stands for something more important than the whims of a terrorist, Ms. Dawes”)

So, TL;DR: as much as I personally like Heath’s Joker…… eh? There are a lot of very fair reasons why someone wouldn’t like him, he’s over-hyped just like everything about the Nolanverse, and he really only works in the Nolanverse, which limits his appeal by a lot

@megaevolvedthot …I had something more that I wanted to say here before I got distracted and over-talkative at Boxy, but I can’t remember what it was, apart from, “Yeah, I agree. He’s one of my personal favorites because I’m fangirl garbage and have a very non-Nolan-approved reading of him that I like better than the official one……

“……but he really doesn’t have the versatility of, say, Mark Hamill’s Joker, and being one of the most notable Grimdark McEdgelord Jokers — and probably the most popular of them, since the ones who go further in that than he does tend to be in the comics, more contentious with fans, and definitely not as widely-seen as the Nolanverse flicks — affects things in several ways”

—sooo… yeah. I agree, and that thing I just said

[mindlessvoyaging-blog]

Portable Peruvian Protests — The Politics Of Allegorical Floats.

Peru is very much a democracy. With elections scheduled for this November, political advertisements are literally everywhere. Massive murals of Incan Warriors and llamas titled “Somo Peru” or “Hector for Calca” can be found painted on the sides of houses, pinned to cars, covering public walls and walkways throughout the country.  The names of hundreds of politicians, local, regional and national, fill voids wherever they are found. Ahh…the sweet sight of refreshing, chaotic non-partisan democracy.

Like many democracies south of the border, political participation, and protest, differs greatly from what we are used to in the United States.  It should be noted that voting is mandatory. Refusing to take part in the process could land you a hefty fine.  Thus, it is rare to come across a Peruvian who is completely ignorant of politics - the same way they are less likely to be a diehard supporter of a single party. Candidate research is essential to a healthy Peruvian political process - and considering some of the political disappointments the country has faced in the past - it makes complete sense.

My favorite manifestation of Peruvian democracy is what I have come to call “protest floats” (though I’m not sure the locals would refer to them the same way.) Every year students at the school of fine arts labor for hours on their creations in preparation for the annual parade. They are often displayed alongside less political charged displays- everything from cultural and religious setups to lighthearted cartoons for the kids. Themes touched on ranged from corruption and energy issues to food safety and world peace.  There was even a triptych of Catholic saints with football players plastered over their faces – a tongue and cheek critic of society’s football worship and abandonment of Catholic values.

I have fallen in love with the idea of using allegorical floats to convey messages to the public. It’s hard to ignore a giant steak in the shape of Peru covered in rat poison and empty pesticide bottles. The fact that the parade, and the subsequent displaying of floats takes place near Plaza de Armas in Cuzco’s historic center makes the experience all the more powerful. This is not a quick burst of local angst on the back streets of Huancaro. These floats were meant to be seen, by locals and extranjeros alike.

-MS

[jerusalemstraycat]

Homestuck Fanventure Recommendation Post! (updated July 2020)

I am a big fan of Homestuck. I think it’s awesome. You know what’s also awesome? Fanworks based off Homestuck, that explore territory left uncharted in the HS canon. Here are some fanventures I have read/am reading. You should go read them too. Especially the ones with an *asterisk; these are the ones that are even cooler than Homestuck IMO.

Q: Why isn’t [insert popular fanventure] on this list?

A: I haven’t read it yet.

It’s going to be long, so I put it all under the cut.

Homestuck AUs - fanventures that are based directly off of Homestuck

Guidestuck (discontinued) - the kids swap places with their Tier 1 prototype object (ie. John and the harlequin doll, Rose and Jaspers, Jade and Bec) except Dave, who swaps with Cal for some reason.

Protostuck (ongoing) - Alpha Kids AU in which the pre-retcon sprite fusions are the players (Tavris, Erisol, Fefeta, and Arquius).

Hivebreak (on indefinite hiatus) - no Sgrub. The trolls are adults and Karkat is wondering what he is going to do. Short, but good.

TLCstuck (completed) - AU in which the Game Over timeline is the main timeline. Lots of character development and things that were not addressed in HS proper.

Act 8 (ongoing) - continues Homestuck from where it left off in Act 7.

Act Omega (ongoing) - another continuation of Homestuck from Act 7, much better than Act 8 IMO.

*Dead Shuffle (completed) and its sequel *Apocrythesis (completed) - Mobsterswitch AU. I can’t express how good the storyline is, how well the characters are written, and how touching the ending is. Just go read them right now.

Midnight Sleuth (completed) - companion/prequel to Dead Shuffle. Team Sleuth and Midnight Crew meet their Mobsterswitched selves.

Be R# [Character] (some ongoing, some completed, some not even started) - Homestuck from the perspectives of characters from various iterations of the pre- and post-retcon timelines. It makes tracking the convoluted storyline much easier, especially in the aftermath of A6A6I3 (and later, the Epilogues).

Janestuck (deleted, partial archive) - Homestuck, but everyone is Jane.

*Heartstuck (discontinued) - Humanstuck dating-sim-themed story, in which Kanaya goes to boarding school.

Nightfall (on hiatus) - an antique Homestuck AU from way back in 2012 (the beginning has since been rewritten), set three years after Homestuck begins. Aliens invade New Earth, and there is plenty of fluffy Johnvris.

Heinoustuck (discontinued) - it began as a bunch of body horror sprite edits, now a partial fanventure. tw: all kinds of gore and stuff.

*Be the Sea Dweller Lowblood (discontinued) - no Sgrub, trolls are adults, and the hemospectrum is reversed.

Vicissitude (on indefinite hiatus) - Alpha Kids AU in which everyone lives in the 21st century.

Pawnstuck (discontinued) - the carapacians play Sboard and the trolls and humans are the exiles.

Lifeswap (on indefinite hiatus) - the post-Scratch trolls meet their Oppositestuck counterparts.

Fansessions - fanventures that are tangentially based off Homestuck, often involving OCs

Team Paradox (discontinued) - a session of fantrolls, in which lots of unusual game-breaking things happen. The adventure was discontinued on MSPFA, but you can read what the creators had planned for the rest of the story here.

*Alabaster (ongoing) - holy guacamole this fanventure is so terrifying, but so GOOD. It’s the only one whose genre can be properly be described as horror. Even the most gruesome of body horror sprite edits can’t come close to the levels of gruesome, surreal, and uncanny that Alabaster reaches. Also, the storytelling is beautifully intricate and the panels are all (yes, even the landscapes) made with MS Paint. tw: gore, body horror, age regression, non-con, and basically every other warning in the book.

Hackbent (ongoing) - a nice fantroll session with a unique take on the concept of dancestors.

Octave (ongoing) - a pretty standard fansession so far, but with lizards.

*Hexane (discontinued) - a very non-standard fansession, with humans and phoenixes and weird sprite stuff that somehow has to do with the ancient history of a lost continent...it’s hard to explain.

Dungeons of Sunnydale (completed) (fixed version here) - is to Hexane as the Intermission is to Homestuck. Read it first, before reading Hexane, because it eventually becomes very important to the story.

Ke$hastuck (ongoing) - Ke$ha and friends play Sburb.

Edgestuck (completed) - it’s very rare to find a proper completed fansession, much less one that subtly ties in to Homestuck without sounding forced. The ending is a bit weird though.

Homesick (on indefinite hiatus) - Ozzy & Drix meets Homestuck. For those who don’t know what that means, including me, a bunch of human and troll cells play Sbio.

Sandswept (on indefinite hiatus) - remember that time Hussie tweeted that 48 squiddles played the Sgame to create the trolls’ universe? Well, this fanventure concerns those very same squiddles.

Other things - fanventures that are unrelated to Homestuck

Superego (discontinued) - a fascinating and surreal adventure following some people in a psychological experiment as they find themselves, make friends, and try to escape a truly inordinate number of dangerous glitches.

*A Beginner’s Guide to the End of the Universe (completed) - a heartwarming story about the persistence of human creativity.

וורפסיטי (completed) (English version here) - I don’t know why I’m putting this here. I haven’t really been paying attention to the story, so I don’t even know if it’s good or not. I’m just so happy that there’s a fanventure in Hebrew. As far as I remember, it’s a story about a detective, and werewolves are involved.

Lassitude (deleted) - a girl enters a portal to another world, where she meets a fish alien with whom to wander around a bit. Some other stuff happens too. Very cute art style.

The Nobleman and the Ancillae (on indefinite hiatus) - I put this here and not under Homestuck AUs because it doesn’t really have anything to do with Homestuck. This fanventure is about an old highblood troll and his slave girl, and looks so far to be a slice-of-life type of story. Every panel is hand-drawn.

[lionokoye]

Vestige

Thread about Zaki meeting Marigold. It was the first time he had seen her after getting kicked out of his home about 4 years ago. Marigold was his, his baby mama, and his child’s next door neighbor while living in Vegas. Zaki meets with her as a new student and offers to protect her for the event that weekend.

@paintsplattered

The Dean of Students.  It felt so official and so formal, and to find such a thing here where she was suddenly a freaking slave of all things, it felt absurd.  Marigold clutched her files to her chest as the secretary ushered her into his office, stopping dead in her tracks as she realized she knew him, more than knew him.  Could remember the way his lips had felt one summer night a few years ago, could remember the beautiful eyes of his daughter as well as his girlfriend and partner, could remember the way that she ran as far away as possible and yet her influence had still ruined everything … “Zaki?” she asked quietly, muscles already threading as if prepared to run.

---

When Zaki saw the name on his agenda, his heart skipped a beat. It felt as though it was going to beat out of his chest as anxiety overtook him. He wanted to think it had to be a different Marigold Martin. Certainly not his old neighbor, the one his ex was certain he had to be fooling around with. The last thing the incubus wanted to do was to research the student to confirm if it was her. He tried to convince himself it had to be someone else. But as she entered his office, he stared in disbelief. Zaki was standing behind his desk and tried to give her a smile that didn't tip her off to the fact he was on the verge of a panic attack. “Ah, Mari-- Ms. Martin. It's good to see you again,” he told her.

---

While Marigold might not have been the brightest bulb in the box, she was at the very least adaptable.  Hearing Zaki call her “Ms. Martin” rather than what she expected felt like it was setting a tone, and certainly one she couldn’t blame him for.  And yet still it stung slightly, emotions apparent on her face even as she sat down across from him, paperwork still clutched to her chest.  “You too, Zaki.  I mean Mr. Okoye.”  How was this her life?  How was he here? Marigold swallowed against the collar that remained circled around her throat, theories running wild in her mind what his position might mean.  “They told me I needed to see you?”

---

Memories flooded Zaki’s mind. Yes, it caused him a great bit of anxiety, but it also made him feel as if he were back home, where he wished he was able to remain. “Please, you of all people should know to call me Zaki,” he instructed her. Any student that came into his office was allowed to go on a first name basis with him, in hopes it would help to relax them. “Yes, I meet with all new students here, especially if they have come into the semester late. May I see your paperwork?” he asked, his hand reached out. He felt as though he was doing a good job of containing his emotions. It was crazy to think the small, beautiful woman could instill so much worry in someone his size or age.

---

“Then please, don’t … call me Ms. Martin like we don’t know each other,” she replied quietly, arms extending to pass him her paperwork.  It felt so awkward, especially when she recalled the last time they’d seen each other, just how much she’d mucked everything up unintentionally.  Marigold hesitated for a moment before she continued, shifting slightly in her seat.  “How’s Athena?  Is she here with you?”  In truth, she missed the child.  Everything was always so much easier with children.

---

Zaki smiled, but this time it was different. He give one to simply fight a frown, but he felt genuinely comfortable around her, at least in that brief moment. “Yes, of course. You’re right,” he agreed, nodding to her. She passed over the paperwork to him and opened the folder up. As he was about to sit, she spoke of Athena which prompted him to pause his movement. He shook his head, peering down at his desk. “No, she’s with her mother,” he said softly, placing the folder down. Zaki could usually speak about her in a positive tone. But seeing as Marigold knew her personally, and most of the situation, his reaction was very different. “But thank you for asking. Hopefully I will be able to see her again soon,” he added as he finally took his seat.

---

Marigold nearly sighed in relief as he gave the concession, flashing him a small smile of her own in response.  While she may have been a tease, it was rare for her to have had her efforts turned down even despite his relationship status the last time they’d seen each other.  It made the situation somewhat uncomfortable enough but the presence of her collar and his having none gave a new tone to the meeting that she couldn’t have anticipated.  “I’m sorry,” she replied back genuinely, her tone soft.  From what she’d seen of him as a father, Mari knew it had to be difficult for him to be apart from her.

---

Zaki whipped his hand in the air. “No it’s fine,” he started, looking down at the various files she had brought in. She couldn’t know for sure what had happened, that a big part of why he was no longer welcome in that house was because of her. Zaki didn’t blame the woman for it. Not only did Eliza not even know the two shared a kiss, but it was his own fault that it even happened. “It’s nice to see a familiar face,” he said, bringing his eyes up from the documents to meet hers. Even though it had been about three years since he last saw her, her eyes were still incredibly endearing. “What have you been up to?” he asked her innocently.

---

Zaki may have assured her that it was fine, but still she wondered if it truly was.  Usually it was easy to take things at face value, to believe what she was told, but something in the pit of her stomach made her doubt just how honest the words were.  Not one to stir up trouble when it didn’t need to be, however, Marigold didn’t question him, the gaze of her blue eyes meeting the soft warmth of his own.  “Other than being tricked into slavery, you mean?”  The question came out harsher than she’d intended, a light pink flush coloring her cheeks as she wished that it could be taken back.

---

Zaki gave a small chuckle to her. There really wasn't anything funny about it, it was more of an uncomfortable laugh. His eyes shifted back to meet hers. “Yes, I don't agree with it. I hate the whole idea of owning another person,” he started. Zaki has only claimed one slave, and that was incredibly short lived. Since, he'd never even entertained the idea.The incubus wished he could have warned her. He was certain there had to be a good reason for Mari to get here. “So, you are looking into painting for your major? I’m glad you are continuing with that. You have real talent. Not that I know much about art,” he added.

---

“But you’re still here.”  It slipped out without any real thought, Marigold taking a deep breath to try to calm herself at least somewhat.  Though she couldn’t help but wonder how he’d gotten such a position if he didn’t agree with the things the Institute upheld, with how they ran the school in the first place.  She nodded at his question and she couldn’t stop the small smile that blossomed at his compliments.  “Yes, Si- … Mr. O … Zaki.”  Each title was halted before she could finished the word, the young girl still somewhat uncertain about just where she stood with him.  The last they’d seen of each other, she’d kissed him, or tried to at least.  To be faced with it here … Mari shook her head slightly, as if to clear it, sitting up a little straighter.  “Thank you,” she eventually settled on.

---

Zaki nodded at her. She had no idea he was forced to work and live so far away, it wasn't by choice. There was no good way to explain it, so he'd try to dance around it. “Yes, that's true. It was the only job I was offered,” he told her. That was true,  but he hadn't looked or applied anywhere else. “My office, my home here, it is a safe haven for slaves. Always open to you, Mari,” he offered. He nodded as she accepted his compliment. “Of course. You will fit in well here. What have you been up to? Have you been working in that field since I last saw you?” He asked her.

---

It was so unlike her to feel uncomfortable in most situations.  Usually even when things were awkward, it was easy to glance over the underlying issues and subtle nuances and take things at face value.  But with Zaki, somehow, it was difficult for her to feel at ease.  Marigold took a few moments of silence (likely noticed) to try to gather herself, a couple of deep breaths and she was plastering her typically charming smile on her face.  “Then it was other places’ loss.  But I wouldn’t want to take advantage.”  For most people, it would have been simply lip service, a token protest before taking them up on the offer.  But for Zaki, who she genuinely liked despite his position, she meant it.  Her shoulders rose and fell as she crossed her legs, finally starting to find her confidence despite the situation.  “I’ve been working at the non-profit.”  She supposed it went without saying that Eliza no longer sought out her company, also keeping her second job mum, not wanting Zaki’s judgment.  It was usually there when people found out, and she didn’t know if she could take the look on his face if he held it.  “As for my art … showing in galleries sometimes, though not many people bought any.  Not enough to do it all the time.  That’s how they found me.”

---

Zaki’s mouth was still completely dry. His hands a little shaky from the shock that Mari was here, in front of her. He peered through her document some more, but most of the information listed, he already knew. “That's good. You had a knack for that job, really. But this place is an opportunity for bigger and better things,” he encouraged with a smile. Zaki wondered if she was the reason Athena enjoyed painting so much. It wasn't because of Eliza, and it certainly wasn't because of him. Zaki wished he could have warned Mari. Not because he didn't want to see her because of the terrible memories she brought up, which was true, but because she didn't deserve to be here. “I’m sorry. Someone really tricked you. I will do all that I can to make sure that you are comfortable here though,” he promised. It wasn't unusual, it was something he told all the new students.

---

“Is it?” she queried before she could stop the question from leaving parted lips, her fingers combing through her hair to tuck it back behind her ear.  Yes, the Institute was an opportunity to enhance her painting, perhaps find a job that called to that part of her with a degree under her belt.  But in the moment, it was difficult to see the potential benefits when she was destined to be used whether she liked it or not.  Anger was not an emotion Marigold felt easily, but at the mention of someone tricking her, she felt a lick of it flame in her stomach.  “Somebody did.”  Without realizing it, her finger slid to tug gently on the collar she was still growing accustomed to, head tilting as she surveyed him.  She knew Zaki to be genuine and so she didn’t doubt the offer, she just truly couldn’t see how he could make her comfortable.  “Like what?” Mari asked curiously.

---

Zaki was nervous to ask more questions as to how she was tricked here. He would just grow more upset at the situation. Those emotions should have been directed ed at Marigold, however. Most people would have considering she unknowingly costed Zaki his relationship with his daughter, and her mother. “That's a good question,” Zaki replied, a bit shocked she would ask that. He was hoping she wouldn't. The island had done a good job of minimizing the benefits of a protection claim. Not that Zaki would claim her. He had done that once before and it ended poorly. Not to mention she would rather find someone who she has romantic, or even friendly feelings for. “Well, my home is open to you whenever you'd like. Safer than being in your cell, or out and about. You're sure to be taken by a master,” he warned. A cute, young woman like herself with a collar was sure to be noticed and sought after. “It's not much, but it's something. I'm usually not even there, so you wouldn't have to worry about me looking for your company,” he added.

---

Anyone else and she would have quipped back that he was a Master, he could surely take her up if he was that concerned with her safety.  But on some basic level, Marigold understood that the male was keeping his distance for a reason.  Maybe he did blame her for his separation from Eliza and Athena, and he would be right to.  She’d kissed him knowing that he was attached, even if she still had no idea why she had lost all sense of inhibition and done it.  Her head tilted slightly at the offer of his home, brows furrowing slightly in confusion.  “I thought the rules said you have to be there too or they’ll come looking for me.”

---

Zaki shrugged. He wasn’t entirely sure why someone would be out to prove that he was hiding Marigold. Not that she wasn’t popular, but Zaki was a trustworthy guy, no one would think he was lying about it. “That is true. Just make sure you’re very quiet,” Zaki said, offering a smile. He’d take the blame for it if something were to happen anyway. “I’m just trying to help. I know, it seems hypocritical, but the last thing I want is for any student to get hurt. If that means skirting the rules, so be it,” he added as he placed the folder down. He still felt anxious, seeing her here, in this room, but there was a small bit of relief, compared to when she first walked in. As much as he didn’t want to, he felt especially responsible for looking after her here.

---

Before she could realize it enough to stop it, a small laugh bubbled out at his response that she should simply make sure she stayed quiet if she were to take him up on his offer.  Why it was funny, Marigold wasn’t quite sure, but the humor came all the same.  But it helped ease some of her tension with Zaki, somehow, and start to trust the words that were coming out of him despite his position.  She gave him a warmer smile, likely the most genuine yet, the edges of it as close to bashful as Mari got.  “I … might have to take you up on that sometime, Zaki.  Only if you’re sure.”

---

Zaki shrugged, his face growing warm as she accepted his offer. He never expected anyone to take him up on that offer, which he gives just about anyone, for any reason besides looking for safe haven. But maybe the fact he knew Mari and her personality, and the way she responded, his imagination ran a little wild before he came back to earth. Okay, she definitely didn't mean that for any reason other than avoiding abusive masters he thought to himself. “I am sure, of course. I offer it to anyone here who needs some place safe to go. At least until you find a master or mistress you would rather hide out with. I can be a placeholder of sorts until then,” he told her.

---

Marigold bit her lip, her turn to read too much into what the other was saying.  He offered it to all the slaves.  Them knowing each other previously meant little to nothing, maybe even less considering she’d once come onto him in a very unacceptable way.  It made her more hesitant to move forward with the acceptance, but after the previous night’s activities and the rumor of something big happening this weekend, she wouldn’t yet push it aside.  She forced another smile towards him as she nodded.  “It means a lot, thank you.”  Pausing, Mari debated asking the next question.  But if anyone here yet understood how her mind worked, it was him.  “Zaki, I heard … some of the other slaves.  What’s supposed to be happening this weekend?”

---

Zaki nodded to her, “of course, anything I can do to help to make you more comfortable here i’d do,” he offered. He didn't explicitly say that to every slave he met, but he felt that way. Saying it to Mari was again just more evidence he felt more of a responsibility to protect her, an artifact from his previous life before coming here. “Yeah, I heard about it too,” he said before he looked away from her. “I'm not really sure. Nothing good, I do know that,” he started before he shifted his vision back to her. “Just from my experience with the events they shold here. I hear there is a way to protect slaves though. If they find a master or mistress that would be interested in protecting them,” he said, sharing the facts of it that he knew.

---

Even with the offer, Marigold made a personal resolution not to ask Zaki for more than the safe haven he’d extended.  He was the last person she wanted to take advantage of here, especially when she knew him to be kind.  Lifting her gaze back to his as he started to speak, a shiver traveled down her spine at the ominous tone more than his words.  It sounded like whatever plans were being made for the weekend, it wouldn’t end well for her.  Mari’s heart skipped a beat as he spoke of protection, tongue darting out to wet her lips as her resolve was immediately tested.  Fear that she hadn’t quite felt yet settled on her lithe frame, trying to still the tremble that wanted to take up residence in her hands.  Surely he had someone he already wanted to protect, the slave nodding her understanding.  “I … I see.”  She paused, glancing up at him once more.  “Is there anyone you might know?  I met some Masters last night but … I’m not sure if they would protect me or not.”

---

Zaki didn't mean to scare the poor, new girl. He was desensitized a bit, after being her for for a year and a half. The expression on her face, it was the look of a. Recover as they discovered how horrifying this place was. And she hadn't even truly experienced it yet. Zaki didn't know many master or mistresses here, honestly. And the ones he knew had someone to protect, everyone. It seemed to have someone special to them here, aside from himself. “I don't. Sorry,” he said. He didn't mean for it to sound so cold. “I don't get out much. It's really, sad now that I say it out loud. I can keep an eye out though. Is there something you would like in a master? Or even a mistress if that is something you like too,” he said. He didn't mean to assume she was only interested in men. That was an unfair assumption, especially here.

---

In truth, it was probably better to hear it from Zaki’s mouth than anyone else’s.  At the very least, he understood her to an extent, probably already knew that she wasn’t precisely the brightest bulb in the box.  Marigold swallowed hard as he admitted he didn’t know of anyone that could protect her for the weekend, fingers shaking slightly as she moved to push a curtain of her hair behind her ear.  “For this?  I … anyone, Zaki.”  Once again her resolve was tested not to just simply ask him flat out - anyone else, anyone but him and she would if she could only be certain that they’d protect her and not simply stand aside for whatever the weekend would hold.  “Master, Mistress, dog or cat, if they can help.”  Her eyes were pleading as they met his, trying to hide the fear behind them.  It was as if until now, despite the prior night’s events, she hadn’t realized just what a position she had been tricked into.

---

Zaki could see a rush of anxiety course through Mari as she struggled to think of anyone to protect her. She was brand new, chances were, any experiences she might have had already were terrifying. “I see,” he started, taking a long moment, trying to offer a few names. Abbi would probably be protecting her new claim. Qhuinn most likely was protecting an employee of hers. His job required him to be in contact with more slaves, than masters or mistresses. “I mean… I don’t have anyone to protect,” he said as he lifted his eyes up. He didn’t want it to be forward, chances were she wouldn’t want him to protect her. But he felt compelled to offer. “I could, I mean, if you wanted, try and protect you for it?” he asked her.

---

Marigold’s head popped up at the casual statement that he did not, in fact, have someone to protect.  Even if she had been warring with herself about asking in the first place, there had still been the certainty that even if she did, Zaki already had someone he would keep safe.  How could he not?  He was handsome and kind, and his title meant he met with a lot of students, didn’t it?  Hope, shining and buoyant, bubbled in her chest at his question.  Anyone else would be met with a token, flirty ‘oh you don’t have to do that’ before she accepted it.  But Zaki knew her and she had no urge to pretend, especially with the fear that was still zinging up her spine.  “Please,” she whispered softly, eyes dropping down to the hands in her lap for a moment before lifting to meet his gaze again.  “Yes, please, Zaki.”

---

Zaki was a little shocked to hear her agree to it. And she didn’t sound remorseful or hesitant about either, maybe that was the most shocking aspect of it. “You’re… sure?” he asked, double checking to make sure she wasn’t saying it to be polite. “I mean, it’s just for this event. There’s no string attached or anything,” he said, wanting to make sure he put that out there. The last thing he wanted was to make her think she owed him something for it. Whatever was asked of him for the event, he’d be fine with. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. I’m sure it’s going to be fine,” he said as he tried to comfort her.

---

Marigold nodded at his question, more than certain.  “I’m sure.”  In truth, she would have jumped for the opportunity with anyone, but the fact that it was Zaki helped to settle and calm her somewhat.  She’d seen him be a rock for Athena, knew the sort of care and love he was capable of with Eliza.  If there was anyone she’d met or knew so far that she would trust to protect her for whatever this weekend held, it was him - even if he did expect some sort of recompense in return.  “No, I know that.”  Far too well.  He didn’t want her like that, that much had been made clear all those years ago on a crisp summer evening.  “Thank you, Zaki,” she finally said, a bit louder than before, hoping that his reassurances would be right.  “You don’t have to do this, but it means a lot.  Thank you.”

---

Zaki could hear his internal Eliza, scolding him. Her glare was burned into his mind’s eye as she found out that she was doing something like this for their former neighbor. It couldn't help but to make Zaki’s mouth run even drier, thinking Eliza would catch wind of this, no matter how ridiculous than sounded. “Really, It’s nothing,” he said as he raised his hand up. He wanted to downplay it as much as he could, just so she knew he wasn’t seeing it as anything more than a friendly gesture. “I don’t want you to get your hopes up. I don’t think it means your first weekend here is going to be perfect by any means. But I think it will make it a bit better at least. At least, until you’re claimed. Then I would say you’d notice more of a difference in terms of your safety and protection,” he told her.

---

The only hope that she currently had burgeoning in her chest was that Zaki might be able to protect her this weekend.  Other than that, she’d found her hopes for this place dashed fairly quickly.  Not even twenty-four hours and Marigold could already feel some of the changes taking place.  It may have been nothing to Zaki but to her it was at least something to hold onto, even if it was just for a few days.  “I guess I’ll have to find a claim fast.  If last night and this weekend is anything to go by, that would be the smart thing.”  Even she had to snort at the word ‘smart’ coming from her mouth, knowing she was anything but.  Not that she thought there was any hope of that with the man seated across from her.  “Still, thank you.  It’ll help the wait, at least.”

---

Zaki was sure it wouldn’t take long for Mari to find a master or mistress. Sure he said that about most slaves he met with, but he genuinely meant it with her. She was sweet, and beautiful. He was confident she was capable of landing any partner she desired. He almost suggested she wear a coat around, so she wasn’t such a target of the masters here if it wasn’t so hot all the time. Even then, her face would still be more than enough to attract someone. “You’re very welcome. I mean it when I say I’m here to help you,” he told her. It hurt to say, knowing just how it would have been perceived back home if they had heard him make that offer. “I will put that in for you. I don’t want you to worry about it. Can I do anything else for you to try and make your stay here more comfortable?” he asked her.

---

“I know.”  It slipped out without her permission, eyes darting forward before dropping back down.  Marigold could have easily judged him for his position, but she wasn’t one to judge most - and especially not Zaki, not after the initial shock of seeing him again had worn off.  Deciding that she’d all but had enough, she stood, though she didn’t reach for her files back from him quite yet.  A snort threatened to make its way out, Marigold reminded of a concierge at a fancy hotel as he asked if there was anything else he could do to make her stay more comfortable.  “You’ve done plenty, Zaki.  Just trying to protect me from this … it’s plenty.”  Her gaze once again met his even as she shifted on her feet.  It shouldn’t have mattered that she knew he didn’t want her, but she couldn’t help it - he’d been one of few that she’d ever come across to feel like that.  “Thank you,” she said again, at a loss for anything else to say.

---

She might have said it, but he didn’t feel as though he had done anything to help her. Her assurance did little to put his mind at ease about her, or any of the other slaves whom he could only assist so much. Zaki nodded back at her. “I want you to meet with me in a week, tell me how things have been going, your concerns, I can see what I can do about them. Maybe help you get a job too. Having your own source of income will give you some level of independence,” he said, offering her a trying smile. “I don’t have anything else for you right now. Just, head to your cell. Wear lots of clothing that covers you well. That’s my advice,” he added.

---

Marigold nodded at the request to meet with him again in a week, though how much he could do about any concerns she might have at the time felt negligible.  Her brows raised at the mention of a job, the slave not having realized the possibility was open to her.  A temptation to ask if there was a strip club on the island bubbled up, though she immediately tamped it down.  Zaki was the last person she wanted to ask, wanting to avoid any potential judgment once again.  In truth, she should have had more money than she did, but she’d gone on a shopping spree before leaving Vegas.  One hand clapped over her mouth as a giggle threatened to slip out at his advice and it was all the slave could do to nod and escort herself out of his office.  With whatever came this weekend, at least she was able to leave Zaki’s office with a smile on her face.

END

[biofunmy]

What Leonardo da Vinci Couldn’t Finish

The 500th anniversary of the death of Leonardo da Vinci will bring big doings to Paris this fall with the largest-ever and one-stop-only career survey at the Louvre. And New York gets a shot of buzz in advance with the opening at the Met on July 15 of a single-painting show of one of the most rawly emotional images in the Leonardo canon.

Leonardo was a star from the start. According to the 16th-century art historian Giorgio Vasari, his contemporaries found him terrifically attractive. (Vasari calls him “divine” a dozen times in a 20-page Leonardo biography.) Genial, gorgeous, brainy and a fashion plate (partial to pink), he had the poise of a prince and a philosopher’s ruminative mind. In his long career as artist, architect, scientist and inventor, grace and talent combined to smooth his path from rural Tuscany, where he was born in 1452, to the courts of Milan and papal Rome, to France where, as pet artist to Francis I, he died in 1519.

But that ruminative cast of mind caused problems. Basically, before Leonardo did anything he had to know everything: how his paints and varnishes were made, how the human body was internally structured, and what creating art might mean in the cosmic scheme of things.

This entailed, Vasari notes, research, experimenting, lots of conversation, and long stretches of silent thinking, and rethinking. In the biography, he has Leonardo himself explain, for the benefit of an importunate patron, that “when the greatest geniuses are working less they actually accomplish more.” The net effect was that relatively little painting got done, and a lot of what got started was never finished.

The painting at the Met, “Saint Jerome Praying in the Wilderness,” on loan from the Vatican Museums, is one of those unfinished pictures. It was likely begun around 1483, and you see instantly that it’s a work in progress: fined-tuned here, slapped down there. Incompleteness is part of its power. And powerful this picture is, as dramatically rich as a three-act opera, with a full-throttle aria of scorching anguish at its center.

Equally important, its “non finito” state is formally instructive. It lets us see Leonardo’s distracted, stop-and-start painting method in action.

The picture is one of a dozen or so works widely accepted as being, without question, from his hand. It depicts an early Christian saint who, after a self-punishing stint as a desert ascetic, settled for years in Rome where he turned his attention to translating the Bible from Hebrew and Greek into Latin. Many Renaissance paintings of Jerome (347-420 A.D.) show him immersed in this scholarly labor, usually accompanied by a snoozing lion, a kind of emotional support companion. The mood of such pictures tends to have a cozy Peaceable Kingdom vibe.

Leonardo’s painting does not. Here saint and beast alike are untamed. This is the Jerome of desert wildness, or maybe the one who ended up dying far from Rome in a rock-hewn cave near Bethlehem. Aged, nearly toothless, and sun-scorched, he holds a stone in his extended right hand, as if about to deliver a penitential blow to his chest. At his feet is the lion, sleek, alert, tail curled like a scimitar, mouth opened wide in a growl.

We know nothing about why, or for whom, the picture was made. Carmen C. Bambach, the Met curator who organized the exhibition, proposes that it was started soon after the artist relocated from Florence to Milan. Although it reflects Leonardo’s Florentine style — and there’s a tiny sketch of what could be a Tuscan church in the upper right corner — it’s painted on a panel of walnut, a wood commonly used as a support in Milan, but very rarely in Florence.

Conservators have found evidence that Leonardo left off work at an early point and picked it up again, possibly more than once, later. Standing in front of the picture, which hangs, spotlighted, in a darkened gallery in the Met’s Lehman wing, you can get a sense of restless layers of activity.

In some areas it never progressed beyond a preliminary stage. The lion, a tawny silhouette with washy internal detailing, is a compositional place marker. The same is true of Jerome’s unmodeled rock-holding arm. But beginning just below the shoulder, this changes. Flesh suddenly gains shading; musculature develops. This naturalism spreads to the face, a construction of sinew and bone that brings Leonardo’s autopsy drawings to mind.

Even within this clinical precision, though, certain features are hard to read. At a glance, the saint’s eyes seem to be sightless or downcast. In fact, they are directed upward to a fleetly sketched, apparitional image of a crucifix seen in profile.

And, enchantingly, just behind the saint, a misted landscape appears, bringing the refreshment of color — sky-blue, tree-green — to a penumbral scene. In the exacting depiction of Jerome’s face and torso we see the hand and eye of Leonardo the anatomist. In the landscape, we see the naturalist, the botanist, the weather-watcher, the world lover. It may say something about this love that we find traces of the artist’s fingerprints in the landscape passage where he dabbed and smooshed paint by hand to create a soft-focus atmosphere.

Still, the painting’s real focus is Jerome’s agonized face. And its real subject, to my eye, is inflamed spiritual grief.

What we know is that Leonardo kept the picture with him till he died, then another history took over. The work drops from the record until the late 18th or early 19th century when the Swiss painter Angelica Kaufmann (1741-1839), then living in Rome, acquired it. At some point, pieces were cut from the panel — probably with the idea of selling the more finished sections — and later reassembled. At the Met, thanks to raked lighting, you can see repair lines around the saint’s head.

Why Leonardo left this and other pictures unfinished, we can’t know. Ms. Bambach, who organized the Met’s 2003 Leonardo drawing survey and whose awesomely ambitious four-volume study of the artist called “Leonardo da Vinci Rediscovered,” will appear later this month, suggests that the answer may lie in his relentlessly inquisitive personality: in a now-familiar internet way, every search for information he made turned up links to other searches, which he couldn’t resist pursuing.

And in this she’s in agreement with the forgiving Vasari, who wrote: “Leonardo’s profound and discerning mind was so ambitious that this was itself an impediment; and the reason he failed was because he endeavored to add excellence and perfection to perfection. As our Petrarch has said, the desire outran the performance.”

The result, both historians seem to suggest, is an art that, consciously or otherwise, privileges process over finish, experimentation over resolution: never having to say “done” was Leonardo’s comfort-zone mode. And in the case of the Vatican painting, this has a fantastic payoff: It leaves an expression of fever-pitch emotion ever burning. It will burn all summer, this furnace of anguished devotion. The Met better keep its air-conditioning on high.

Leonardo da Vinci’s Saint Jerome

July 15 through Oct. 6 at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1000 Fifth Avenue, Manhattan; 212-535-7710, metmuseum.org.

Sahred From Source link Travel

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