#screen time for web developers

[financia012]

How Do You Manage Screen Time for Yourself? Tips for Digital Balance

Feeling like you’re spending too much time on screens? 📱💻 As a blogger and web developer, I know how easy it is to get lost in digital work. Managing screen time is essential for focus, productivity, and mental well-being! 🌱 In my latest post, I’m sharing tips to help you create a healthier balance—like setting screen-free hours, practicing the 20-20-20 rule, and prioritizing offline activities. Check it out and start taking control of your screen time! ⏳👀✨

How do you manage screen time for yourself? Introduction: Why Screen Time Management Matters In today’s digital world, screen time has become an essential part of daily life, especially for bloggers and web developers who rely on technology to create and communicate. But too much screen time can lead to burnout, fatigue, and a lack of focus. So how do you manage screen time effectively while…

[dragonsongmakhali]

Was gonna do some glam crafting/arcadion posing on my one free night of the week, but I have been assigned a dire purpose (put together furniture) from heaven (amazon delivery), and I cannot stray from it any more than the sun can stray from rising each morning 😔

[ghosttrolls]

I used to use a free drawing website as my introduction to digital art. The thing is, the site I used would time out and give your prompt to somebody else if you took too long, and the only way to "save" a drawing would be to not close the tab... and I hated that uncertainty of whether it would still be there when I got back, or if my prompt would be given to somebody else. So I got very used to sitting down and doing an entire drawing, start to finish, in one sitting. I still struggle to remember to save in csp BEFORE I FINISH THE ENTIRE DRAWING because of this years-long habit I built. Spending more than 2 hours on art is exhausting!!! I've only ever lost I think two drawings on csp though because (my beloved) it comes with an auto save feature, and the tablet I used to use that would crash my computer sometimes is no longer with us. Thankfully.

[bf-rally]

i figured out how to collapse the dropdown for the navbar by reading stuff!!

[bispacecadet]

first day of my apprenticeship is over and I've got a headache 👍

[river-selkie]

Someone stole my pelt.

It wasn't a man that took it from me to steal me as his bride like a traditional selkie story.

It wasn't my mother or my father, trying to hide the truth from me because I came into the world wearing an animal skin.

It wasn't even the doctor who delivered me, trying to make me live a human life because I was some "abomination".

I should have had a pelt, but it never came. My blood, my bones, my very soul seem to cry out for a life I never got the opportunity to live. Born for a pelt I would never wear. A body I could never change into. Something I could only imagine by watching others of my kind, sitting on the docks in communal groups in comfort while I'm "other". The furless, bipedal creature that can't enter the water like they can, watching them with my tiny eyes and hair that sprouts from my head and wearing my funny clothes.

To me, I am them.

To them, I am human.

This fact never killed my instincts. Since I could move, I have wanted to be near water. My infant hands would play with cubes of ice and reach for videos on the old TV screen of oceans and pools and water spraying from broken pipes with a smile on my face. I couldn't keep my hands out of the duck ponds and city fountains once I was able to walk. Then, when I could swim, seemingly no one could take me out of the pool. Even a near drowning experience only made me frustrated, wanting to learn how to swim better so I could go under the water next time.

One year, I found the show H2O: Just Add Water, and I was mesmerized. The idea of being able to visit some magical moon pool and suddenly be able to stay in the sea, swimming effortlessly with a tail I could conjure up at any time was a dream come true. My unrestricted internet access led me down the wormhole of "real spells online", and I was wearing a necklace everyday blessed under some full moon and drinking salty water from a jar every day. I could cry and cry and cry all day when I never developed a single scale, never got a selkie pelt, and couldn't go under the water the way I wanted to.

I can't explain it. I don't know why I am the way I am, but clearly something about me was misplaced when I was born. My wiring, my soul, something innate is meant to be off the land. My hands feel webbed and like they're missing claws. My teeth feel too short compared to what I seem to know they should be. I always want salmon and tuna and trout, yet will never be able to take a bite of any of them. I was born in a dry place, as if trying to keep me away on purpose. I don't know anyone in my life who doesn't think of me as some sort of water being, comparing me often to seals, otters, mermaids, water birds, and yet I feel so much like a selkie who has been forcibly trapped in a house, being told to forget who I am, to not look for the pelt, to not dip my toes in the tides.

It's unfair. I was robbed. Someone took my pelt, and there's nothing I can do about that. But it will never stop me from trying to get as close as possible to living how I was meant to. It won't stop me from walking into the freezing waters at the marina. From digging through sand with my bare hands. From eating every shellfish that crosses my path. From immersing myself, clothes and all, into the running river hidden away behind the trees. From walking the halls with a fur blanket draped around my shoulders, dragging along the artifical floors while I pretend they're sand and rock. From visiting my kind in the wild, even if they look back at me and cannot see what I feel. I'll be waiting forever to get in the water, but I have done what I can by moving towards the coast and out of the mountainous alpine desert.

Nothing will take my spirit from me, even when everything else has been stripped away.

A selkie is a selkie, even without her pelt.

[arduennadubaidivorce]

IWTV Social Media Headcanons

Louis: Maintains a LinkedIn profile, used business networking. Liked the early internet in the 90s, and was an active member of s small photography forum. Was very disappointed when it shut down. Wishes he could have eaten his forum nemesis, who couldn’t tell the difference between good lighting and overexposure.

Lestat: Contractually obliged to be on social media to promote his music. Loves it. Constant thirst traps on insta. Has no fear of being cancelled, so his twitter is raw and unfiltered. Insane number of followers. Constantly trending. Constantly feuding with other posters. Posts weirdly like an old man in some ways – starts off his tweets with ‘Hello Twitter! Lestat here!’

Daniel: Also contractually obliged to be on social media for his work. Slightly addicted to it, even though he thinks it’s rotting his brain, His twitter has two distinct eras – pre-interview twitter is current affairs hot takes and snark. Post-interview twitter is all vampires all the time. Doesn’t realise people can see his likes so has liked a bunch of explicit vampire fanart. Claims to Louis it was a misclick.

Armand: A deeply unsettling online presence. Many sockpuppets, used for stalking. On the dark web for finding victims. Will watch one obscure twitch streamer for a week straight, develop a deep parasocial relationship, and when the twitch streamer disappoints him, he doxes and eats them. Averages 14+ hours of screen time per day.

[darkwicks]

Homecoming

You’re a casual fan, you think. Spider-Man is cool, and you just really like him. That’s all... until you learn that the friendly neighbourhood web-slinger is so much closer than you think.

PAIRING.⠀Xia Yizhou | Caleb x Reader

CONTENT.⠀female reader | superhero AU & Spider-Man Caleb | descriptions of anxiety, fluff, happy ending, mentions of blood and bruises, secrets, slice-of-life (as much as it can possibly be), some angst and hurt/comfort | ~7,6k words

A/N.⠀I really said "I'm going on a writing hiatus" and "I'm gonna lock in" with my whole chest knowing damn well I'm a liar ... anyway yeah this fic was inspired by this Spider-Man Caleb fanart... it made me go crazy.... I hope you enjoy!

available on AO3 | reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

@hunters-association @theseabreezestreet

You were on the verge of a breakthrough. You just knew it.

You were absentmindedly swinging your legs back and forth as you sat at the table. Your laptop was open and displaying several windows—some were images of Spider-Man, some were news articles. Your tablet, and in turn, your notes, had gone completely forgotten. Spending time passively scrolling social media was far from productive, but compared to what you were reading, exam revision was totally dull.

Developing an interest in Spider-Man had been unintentional. You saw him mentioned in the news. Out of curiosity, you looked him up, and all of a sudden, you found yourself deep in the rabbit hole. Before long, you were up-to-date with daily news, keeping up with his movements and making friends with fellow Spider-Man fans. It was swift and unexpected, but you found it more fun than whatever you were previously doing.

He was far from the first superhero Linkon City had seen. There used to be rumours about the God of the Tides and how he ruled the seas for centuries before he found the love of his life. There was also Lumière of the N109 zone, a vigilante who suddenly stopped being active about fourteen years ago. Legends of the Abysm Sovereign and the Foreseer were passed down through generations. No one had proof they existed, only the product of their labour. It was as if they didn’t want to be seen. Still, that didn’t stop your interest from getting piqued.

The difference between Spider-Man and the past legends of Linkon City was that Spider-Man was still active. A web-slinging genius with a no-kill rule, he made the streets significantly safer. Photos and surveillance footage of him were constantly shared, but no one had any luck finding his identity yet. You weren’t investigating him for malicious reasons. You were just, for the lack of a better word, nosy. You wanted to know the man behind the mask instead of the neighbourhood guardian the news always talks about.

You looked at your screen. There was a rough timeline of his appearances the past week. He was in different parts of the city, catching robbers and other criminals with his presumably handmade technology. There wasn’t a strict pattern to how he operated. It seemed that he liked to lurk before making a move. It was how he brought down the corrupted colonels of the Farspace Fleet. Fighting crime appeared to be easy for him, and he wasn’t as destructive as some were. It was impressive. Everything he did had you in awe. His dexterity and swiftness, his strength and courage—he was just what Linkon City needed, you thought.

Just as you were about to go into another deep dive, a hand pushed your laptop shut. Caleb was towering over you when you snapped your gaze to him, brows furrowed as you gave him an offended look. He lightly jabbed your forehead and only smiled in response, seemingly pleased with your reaction.

“You’re supposed to be studying.”

You sputtered. “I was studying!”

“No, you weren’t. You were looking at Spider-Man again.” He tapped his fingers on your tablet, reilluminating the screen once more. “Your exams are next week. You need to focus.”

“I can multitask,” you argued half-heartedly. “And, I’ve never let you down, have I?”

Caleb took the seat across from you with an exaggerated sigh. “I guess not.”

“Why do you hate Spider-Man so bad anyway?” You frowned, trying to move his hand away. He didn’t budge. “He’s keeping the city safe. That’s a good thing!”

“I don’t hate him, but you’ve been distracted. I’m trying to help you.”

“You sound jealous,” you joked. Resting your cheek in the palm of your hand, you looked up at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Are you sad I’m not giving you enough attention?”

He pursed his lips, visibly unimpressed. “Set the table. Dinner’s ready.”

“You’re no fun!” you whined. “It’s not my fault there’s finally something interesting!”

You begrudgingly moved your items to the side and got up to make your way to the kitchen, slippers sliding against the floor. The savoury aroma swirled into the air, making your stomach growl involuntarily. Your irritation now forgotten, you made quick work of setting the table and pouring two glasses of water. With your job finished, you waited at the table, eyes drifting over to the TV on the wall. The screen displayed two reporters behind a desk beginning the evening segment. It faded into a clip of men webbed stuck to a lamppost, undoubtedly the work of Spider-Man himself. They were looking to rob an innocent passerby before the webslinger caught them red-handed.

“Huh. That’s where we live,” you spoke up after rereading the headline.

Caleb placed the plates on the table. “That’s why I always tell you to be home before curfew.”

“It’s not like I break curfew anyway,” you grumbled. “You know I hate being out when it’s dark.”

Distracted, you kept your eyes on the screen. The public had mixed opinions about Spider-Man himself. You, along with your circle of friends, thought of him as a hero, feeling safer knowing that he was out there protecting innocent people. From helping an old woman cross the street to busting evil plans, he was using his talents and intelligence for good. He worked tirelessly every day to keep the streets pristine and harmless. The police, on the other hand, weren’t as fond of him. The LCPD openly expressed their distaste for Spider-Man, citing that he was an obstacle in their investigations. Some people thought he was just another guy with a gimmick. These criticisms didn’t seem to bother him at all. If anything, every time someone said anything negative about him, he’d work even harder just to prove them wrong.

You knew it was far from wise to idolise a public figure, but with Spider-Man, he inspired you to do your best every day. You liked to imagine he’d be proud of you if he knew you. You worked hard and powered through no matter how many setbacks you had. As silly and childish as it sounded, he made for great motivation. He was a good guy, he was cool, and—

Caleb waved his hand in front of your face, a warning tone in his voice. “Pipsqueak.”

You jolted, snapping back to the present. “Sorry!”

“Why do you like Spider-Man so much?” he asked, poking at his food. “You got a crush on him?”

You sputtered. “What? No!”

He gave you a look that urged you to continue. Heat rose to your face as you felt a spotlight shining down upon you, giving you the floor. It was hard not to feel embarrassed about something that felt so childish. You hummed thoughtfully, trying to think of words to say. Knowing you were going to sound like a child regardless, you sulked, defeated, and finally gave him a response.

“It’s just… I really like superheroes,” you mumbled timidly, fiddling with your fingers. “I admire people who use their strength for good. Like you!”

The corners of his lips twitched. He seemed pleased. “So do you like me or Spider-Man more?”

“You are jealous!” you said with an accusatory tone. “Caleb, it’s not like that! It’s like… You know when you have a favourite celebrity? That’s what Spider-Man is to me.”

He made a face, though he ended up relenting. “Okay. I get it.”

“Yeah! It’s kinda like how you used to like—”

“Your food’s gonna get cold,” he interrupted, flustered. “I put all my effort into making your favourite. Don’t let it go to waste.”

“Fine,” you drawled out, unable to hold back the smile from stretching across your lips.

Spider-Man eventually faded to the back of your mind throughout dinnertime. You found yourself engrossed in conversation with Caleb, slipping into the normal banter and routine with ease. Somewhere in between, he changed the channel to natural documentaries instead. When you gave him a questioning look, he just shrugged and said that you should take a break with him. Not one to deny his requests, your laptop went forgotten as you spent the remainder of the night on the couch with him.

It was nearing midnight, and from the way that you yawned, you were nearing your limit as well. The documentary was long finished; the past few minutes were just advertisement after advertisement, regular products with unnecessarily catchy jingles. You glanced over at him, suddenly curious. Unlike you, he didn’t seem to be tired at all. If you were more awake, you’d notice the anxious bouncing of his leg or the worried furrow in his brow, but fatigue was catching up to you fast. With another yawn, you pushed yourself to your feet, taking the throw blanket with you.

“Goodnight, Caleb.”

He smiled at you. “Goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Fully sated and worn out, sleep came as easily as breathing. Images flickered behind your eyes, displaying dreams and vignettes in film reels. You dreamt of endless summers and sweetness, of growing up and exploring the world. When you woke up the next day, only a fragment of those memories remained. Caleb was already gone when you left your room. He left a note saying he’d left early and that breakfast was in the fridge. After treating yourself to his homemade cooking, you set off for classes and got the day started. It wasn’t very eventful. Classes weren’t particularly interesting. Lectures were about things you already knew, and a majority of your classmates were absent, leading to little to no conversation. Before long, the academic day was over, and it was time to return home.

The streets were bustling with activity as you waded through the crowd. Clamour and chatter were more than loud, people surrounded you, and the scent of car fumes mixed with savoury food bombarded all of your senses. You were starting to see now why people liked to say that Linkon City never sleeps. With everyone getting off work, the city was beyond crowded. Restaurants were fully seated, as were the cafés. Traffic went by incredibly slowly. Dogs barked to the sound of car horns and people were emerging from the train station in groups. You gripped your bag tightly, anxiety clawing at the back of your mind. News and posters about pickpockets were nearly a regular occurrence; it was better to be safe than sorry.

You managed to make it to a street where there were less people. You recognised some of the vendors out and about, offering them warm smiles as you walked past. Occasionally, you stopped by and bought a few snacks to take home. Now having your hands full, you were more than ready to go home and unwind. You hummed a catchy pop tune under your breath, leisurely walking down the path when the TV screens in the electronic stores came alive. You came to a stop, standing in front of the clear glass. It was a news segment. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the screen displaying surveillance of Spider-Man was context enough.

He single-handedly stopped a burglary, moving with inhuman agility and fighting with incredible strength. It showed a group of men bound together by his webs, cursing and fruitlessly struggling to break free. It took a few seconds before the familiarity of the background sank in. The convenience store, the townhouses and the DVD store… The incident happened not too far from home. A frown overtook your features. Despite the crime rate being significantly lower thanks to Spider-Man’s efforts, the curfew was still in place, and the unrest remained. It was not any different for you.

As you made a move to continue your walk, you felt something being snatched from your grasp—your bag. The thief ran at full speed, deftly navigating through the crowd as you yelled for help and followed him, aggressive footfalls slapping against the concrete. Absentminded apologies left your lips whenever a complaint was heard from a passerby. Your chest was beginning to ache, but you needed it back. It had everything. Your phone, your wallet, your house keys with the chain Caleb bought for you. You couldn’t afford to lose it.

The traffic light turned red just as the thief crossed to the other side. You contemplated just dashing through, but anxiety kept you rooted to your spot. They were going further into the distance. You bounced on your heels nervously, eyes glaring at the timer. 40, 39, 38…

It was now or never.

Cars honked at you as you ran to the other side, the combination of noise nearly sending you jumping out of your skin. You pushed through your fatigue and kept running until you tripped over your shoelaces, collapsing to the ground with a loud thud. You hopelessly reached out, watching the thief’s silhouette disappear into the distance. Tears of frustration sprang up to your eyes and you buried your face in your hands, uncaring of how you looked to other people. You weren’t fast enough. All your important things were gone, about to be left somewhere you could never find, and your information would be stolen—

“This yours?”

Your bag was dangling in front of you. Were you so distraught that you were hallucinating having someone come to your aid? You blinked and stared at it dumbly, your mind trying to grapple with the situation. The person crouched down to your level, and Spider-Man’s face came into view.

Wait…

You screamed in surprise, frantically pushing yourself away from him. “What—”

“Hey, hey, It’s okay. It’s just me. I webbed him. He’ll be stuck there for another three hours,” he said casually, speaking as though he was just another regular pedestrian and not the famed vigilante of Linkon City. “I had to look at your ID card to make sure it was you, but I’m glad I got to you in time. Here, take it.”

You barely managed to catch the bag as you were still gawking at him. What felt like a thousand questions were popping up rapidly in your head. How did he know? When did he get here? What was going on? How was he so fast? Caught off guard by your stunned silence, he brought a hand up to scratch the back of his head sheepishly, feeling awkward under your stare.

“Everything okay?” Spider-Man asked tentatively, waving a hand in front of your face. “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, your reaction slightly delayed. “N-No.”

“Listen, I have to go. There’s gonna be a robbery on Ninth Street.” He helped you get on your feet, carefully making sure you had your balance. “Get home safe, okay? And don’t leave past curfew.”

“Okay,” you said, dumbfounded. It didn’t take long before you managed to snap yourself back to awareness. “Yeah, okay. Thank you for getting this back to me.”

He did a casual salute before aiming his web shooter at a building, swinging away with ease. Digging through your bag, you were relieved to find that everything was intact. Once the confusion went away, excitement came rushing in. You hastily grabbed your phone and dialled Caleb’s number, lips curling into a grin. He picked up after the first ring.

“What’s up?”

“You will not believe what just happened to me,” you said in one breath. “I just met Spider-Man.”

A loud crash was heard in the background.

You hesitated. “Are you busy? It sounds like you’re in the middle of something…”

“Everything’s fine, don’t worry about it. So, you met Spider-Man?”

You nodded, forgetting that he couldn’t see you.

“Uh, pipsqueak?”

“What? Oh, yeah. I did! I’m walking home right now. Someone tried to steal my wallet and I couldn’t catch them, but Spider-Man did and he got it back for me. Isn’t that crazy?”

“Someone tried to rob you?” You could practically hear the frown in his voice. “Why didn’t you call me?”

You blinked. “You’re at work. What were you gonna do?”

He fell silent. It took a couple of beats before he spoke up again.

“Well, I’m glad you got your stuff back. Just make sure to be home before sundown. Tell me when you’re back, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be back in time for dinner, I promise.”

“It’s okay! Take your time,” you reassured him. “I’m heading home now. See you.”

You had a pep in your step for the rest of the way, feeling in high spirits after the encounter. The weight on your shoulders was lifted, leaving you feeling lighter. You didn’t realise how much you needed to breathe. Relieved would be an understatement—it was as if everything fixed itself in front of you. You didn’t generally consider yourself a lucky person, but today, you had won. The encounter with Spider-Man replayed itself in your mind, echoing his voice, reminding you of the proximity you shared.

After sending Caleb a quick text to let him know you got back safely, you began to cool down from the day. You tossed your keys on the counter and went straight for your room, determined to change out of your sweaty clothes. Since he was normally the one to cook dinner, you didn’t have to do much preparation in the kitchen. You put away the clean dishes, washed the leftover ones in the sink, and decided to tidy up a little. With your tasks done, you returned to the living room and flopped down onto the couch with a groan. Though you didn’t hold high expectations for what was on TV, you turned it on for background noise anyway, half-listening to the dialogue in the show that was playing.

The clock on the wall continued to tick. Caleb would get off work soon. You ended up smiling to yourself, excited to tell him about your day. Lying comfortably on the couch, you continued to passively scroll through social media to kill time. You were beginning to hear the telltale sounds of people returning home. The sound of a car door closing, your neighbour’s doorbell ringing, eager dogs overjoyed to see their owner home. Considering the traffic you’d seen earlier, Caleb returning a little later than usual wouldn’t be that irregular.

With that in mind, your worries were eased a little. But as minutes faded into hours, nighttime came, and not a single call or message from Caleb was seen. Worried, you sent him a text, only for them to be left on delivered. Calling him led straight to voicemail. Growing increasingly agitated, you called him again and again, only to achieve the same result. He always told you if he was going to be late. He always picked up after the first ring. But your attempts to get through to him went unseen, and it was getting harder trying not to sink into your anxiety the longer his silence went.

You paced around the room, fingers clutching your phone as the call went to voicemail again. Your eagerness for dinner had long dissipated and was replaced by immense dread. Worst-case scenarios were starting to appear in your mind, fuelling your panic with its increasingly violent visions. You chewed on your nail as you paced back and forth, trying to reach Caleb to no avail. The situation was growing more dire with each passing second.

You glanced at the time. It was three in the morning. You were wide awake on pure adrenaline and distress. You couldn’t bring yourself to feel tired. It was as though all of your senses were on high alert. Everything was too loud, too much, and your clothes felt rough against your skin. Instinctively, you made your way into his room and crawled into his bed, hugging his pillow and rocking back and forth. The smell of his detergent and perfume soothed you enough to have you breathing normally again. Your fingertips dug into the material, knuckles going white and shaking from how rigid your grip was.

The world started to feel less daunting when you finally calmed down. You felt exhausted, completely boneless. Your eyelids were getting heavier, and as you lay there surrounded by everything he owned, you found yourself falling slowly. The room is dim with only the city lights outside peeking in through the curtains. You felt a cold draft coming through the window, sending shivers running down your spine. Fabric rustled and you felt the mattress dip, immediately jolting you awake. A mixture of relief and fury washed over you.

“Caleb?”

His breath hitched.

You blindly patted the nightstand in search of the lamp switch. Once the room was illuminated, you squinted at him through half-lidded eyes. “Where the hell have you been?” you asked groggily. “I’ve been—”

Your eyes dropped to his outfit. It was the same suit that Spider-Man wore, although more torn and worn down. Whatever tiredness was left in your system dissipated when you saw him. You sat still for a few moments, trying to contemplate whether you were imagining things or if this was real. You didn’t know where to begin. It was as if time stopped. There he was, the person you had been waiting for, standing at the foot of the bed like a deer caught in the headlights. You stared at him with your mouth agape, your mind struggling to put the pieces together despite the obviousness in front of you.

You didn’t know where to begin. Did he always sneak back home like this? What happened to him? In the end, you settled for the most urgent one in your mind—

“How long have you been hiding this from me?”

He forced a smile, the gesture awkward and tense. “A couple of months.”

“Months?” you asked, voice rising in volume. “You’ve been—you—god, I don’t even know what to say.”

“I’m sorry.”

You pursed your lips. “Come here.”

He tentatively complied, sitting down in the spot next to you. Your hands cradled his face, thumbs brushing over the bruises and making him grimace slightly. He didn’t say a single word. It was as if he was also dumbfounded himself. You were still upset, but the longer you looked at him, the more the anger faded. At least he was home. Injured, but still home in one piece. It was leagues better than the thousands of scenarios your mind was conjuring up earlier.

“You have a lot of explaining to do.”

“I know,” he murmured, voice uncharacteristically meek. It was unlike the Caleb you grew up with.

“But it can wait,” you said, pulling him into a hug. “I’m just glad you’re okay. I was worried about you.”

His arms wrapped themselves around your waist and he held you close to him, a shaky breath escaping his lips. He held onto you with a desperation you’d never seen before. He relaxed into your touch just the slightest, reassured by feeling your warm body against his. You pressed your cheek to where his heart would be, feeling its steady rhythm remind you that he was here—that he was home.

Your voice was meek when you spoke. “I thought you left me.”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“So you decided with radio silence?” you snarked back. Something in his expression flickered, making you calm down once again. You frowned at the amount of bruises visible on his face and the dried blood on his split lip. Softening, you told him, “Go take a shower and get changed. I’ll patch you up.”

He didn’t argue. He only nodded and disappeared into the bathroom, walking sluggishly. The sound of running water filled the stifling stillness as you took a proper glance around the room. There was an evidence board, several open books, and a well-used first aid kit on the desk. Your heart sank. Just how long had he been doing this, getting himself hurt and having to mend himself? Didn’t he trust you? Why did he keep this a secret from you? You heaved out a sigh and hid your face in your hands, frustration and sadness simmering beneath the surface.

There were a lot of questions you wanted to ask, but this wasn’t the right time. Right now, all you could do was be there for him.

He emerged a handful of minutes later, dressed in comfortable clothes. You scooted over and patted the space next to you, lips pressed in a taut frown. Now that the suit was off, you could see the hits he’d taken more clearly. Splashes of blue and purple were scattered across his skin, some big and some small. There were a couple of cuts and scrapes close by, both old and new. It was the worst you’d ever seen him.

“Sit,” you urged timidly. You gingerly applied the ointment on his bruises, careful not to hurt him as he stared up at you. He looked so vulnerable and so fragile that it made you feel like your heart was going to burst out of its confines. “Talk to me. Please.”

“It was Gran,” he said. “She made a serum. I didn’t know it until a few days later. I was stronger, faster… I could hear everything. I could feel everything.”

“How come I never knew this?”

“I didn’t want to worry you. I’m supposed to be your hero, remember?” He laughed in a self-deprecating way, avoiding your gaze. “I had to stay strong. Figure things out, get stronger… Make sure you’d always be safe.”

Setting the first aid kit aside, you pulled him into your arms once again. He held onto you tightly, fingers grabbing the fabric of your shirt so tightly that his hands were trembling. You raked your fingers through his hair and brushed them back, keeping them away from the wounds on his face. For a moment, it felt like there were only the two of you in the world. All you could hear was his quiet breathing as he latched onto you, unwilling to let go.

It broke your heart to see him this way.

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t rely on me.”

“No, that’s not it,” he sighed. “I’d go through anything for you. I just… I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t keep any secrets from me anymore.” You pulled away. He looked up at you with a pained expression, years of secrecy and isolation making themselves known in his glossy eyes, the quiver of his bottom lip. “Can you do that for me?”

He nodded weakly.

“I need words, Caleb,” you said, your voice firmer than intended. You cupped the side of his face, feeling him clasp your hand with his own, warm and calloused. “Can you promise me that?”

“I can,” he exhaled shakily. “I promise.”

The tears you were holding back brimmed at the corners of your eyes, small droplets sliding down the sides of your face. A hushed whimper broke out of you. Caleb held on to you like you were his lifeline, refusing to let go for even a split second. The gravity of his words weighed heavy, as did him baring his heart. He melted in your embrace, sinking deep into your comfort as you gently scratched his scalp, easing every worry he was holding.

“Don’t lie to me again, okay?” you murmured into his ear.

“I won’t anymore. I swear.”

—

Though months seemed to have passed in the blink of an eye, the emotional turmoil stayed deep in your heart the entire time.

Life had turned completely upside down. With the new knowledge of him being Spider-Man looming over you, you were having trouble placing yourself. Some days, you felt excited and happy for him. He was more open with you when it came to his successes. He’d tell you about the petty criminals he caught or the passersby he helped while swinging through the city. He was passionate about his identity as Spider-Man, and he was committed. You wanted to support him in every step of the way. Some days, you’d feel like you were sinking. You previously didn’t worry all too much when Caleb returned home late, but since that day, fear and anxiety kept you company on lonely nights.

He didn’t always return looking completely beat up. Sometimes he was unscathed. Sometimes it was just a couple of bruises. But you hated being home alone, especially in the dark where everything seemed to get much worse. You were losing sleep because you’d stay up to wait for him to come home. You needed to see him with your own eyes, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to go to sleep in peace. He tried to give you estimated times to soothe you, but it didn’t always work. You’d wait in the living room, rock yourself back and forth as you wondered if he was coming home.

Your mind wouldn’t let you forget that he lied, either. You already forgave him a long time ago, but you remembered. You’d question yourself, question him, and what would come after was an overwhelming sense of guilt. He was trying. He was more open. He was showing you an important part of himself, bringing you along with him on his journey, yet doubts still lingered in your mind. He kept his cheerful disposition, constantly reassuring you that everything was going to be fine, but your mind was filled with what-ifs. What if he was hiding more from you? What if he was lying? What if he thought of you as a burden?

It was irrational to feel this way. You knew that very well, and yet, you still felt like you were fading out of his life. You talked to Caleb normally, interacted with him like you always did, but something felt different. It was as if he was drifting further and further away from you. Your outstretched hand, desperately trying to reach him, and his fading silhouette. Everything had changed. You felt like you were losing him in real time and there was nothing you could do about it. Everything had changed, yet it was all the same. You still had breakfast together. He still picked up the phone after the first ring. He still smiled at you, looked at you like you were his whole world. You were teetering between security and uncertainty. You didn’t want to feel this way, but you were helpless. These feelings came by themselves, and the more time you spent alone, the more difficult it became to ignore them.

Your sentiments towards Spider-Man had only grown stronger with the knowledge that Caleb was him. His name was more well-known in the city, growing popular among kids and women, and he was constantly being praised by the press. You supported him. You had total faith in him, trusted in him and his strength. But sometimes you’d stay awake stressing about how safe things truly were. More fame meant more notoriety among criminals, and you’d often wonder how long it would be before something drastic happened. You wanted the best for him, you really did, but something guttural gnawed at you. The desire to keep him to yourself, the need to protect him. You wanted to sink your teeth into his flesh, to keep him in your maw. You wanted to hide him away somewhere only you knew.

You dreamt of it sometimes—of risking your life for him just to keep him safe. You constantly wondered if things would be easier for him if you left. You knew there was much that he wasn’t sharing with you yet. You knew it would take time regardless of how much he trusted you, Still, you felt as though you were being kept in the dark. Being Spider-Man seemed to be so easy for him. It suited him, even. You couldn’t see anyone else doing the same thing that he did. But you didn’t know what you were meant to be. You felt for him very deeply, as did he, but the vagueness in the air bothered you more and more every day.

Were you only being selfish?

You thought back on one of the mornings you spent with him. A full spread of breakfast lay across the table and the news played in the background. The sun was shining bright, peeking through the gap between the curtains, and the weather was good. But there was a sense of foreboding that loomed over you, one that you couldn’t keep to yourself. You called his name softly, leading him to look away from the screen.

“Are you okay?” you asked. He blinked at you, confused by the question.

“Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

Somehow, it wasn’t enough.

“Are you okay?”

You didn’t know.

“I’m good. Sorry, I just thought you looked a little distracted.”

The lie slipped out of you with ease. You felt childish. You felt burdensome for needing reassurance from him that he wasn’t going to leave you behind, but you could never bring yourself to say it. Between your pride and the overwhelming fear of rejection, the words you desperately wanted to stay would remain within the confines of your mind. He didn’t seem to be convinced by any means, but he didn’t push the matter. A part of you wished he did.

It wasn’t a fight. There was nothing wrong. Even when he returned home blood and bruised, exhausted out of his mind, you took care of him with love and care. It didn’t matter that you didn’t understand why he was risking his life. Caleb never broke his promises or broke away from the path to his goals. He wasn’t about to let you stop him. With great power comes great responsibility, he said. But was this responsibility thrust upon him, or was he doing it out of his volition?

You hated feeling helpless. You knew he didn’t need you to do anything, but you felt like you weren’t an integral part of his life anymore. You felt like a bystander, like someone he was slowly forgetting. You shouldn’t feel this way. You should feel happy that he still cared about you, that he cared about the city to give his all into protecting it, yet your mind just wouldn’t let you. Your thoughts on Caleb hadn’t changed. You still thought he was the most important person to you, but what used to be admiration and even love for Spider-Man was turning into resentment little by little.

Some days, you hated him. You felt like a little kid without her favourite toy. You felt like a lonely child in a class full of people. You knew it was useless to dwell on these things, so you tried to occupy yourself. You put all your effort into your studies. You kept yourself busy doing chores even on the days when it was his turn. You didn’t wait to eat dinner with him; you went out for food and drinks with your friends, came back a bit later than the sunset. It wasn’t as if he’d notice. He wasn’t home when you needed him to be.

His name was constantly trending on social media. Spider-Man rescues bus from hijackers. Spider-Man stops bank robbery. Spider-Man comics and merchandise releasing. His name became the talk of the town, earning the attention of the rest of the country. The newfound fame kept him even busier to the point where people were starting to dig deeper into his true identity, leading fans and investigators to wait outside your home. You kept ignoring them, but they were persistent. Your declining of their questions only made them more curious. Not only did you feel like he was slipping out of your grasp, but also like the safety of home was in jeopardy.

It wasn’t his fault. You couldn’t blame him for it. But sometimes you wondered if he knew just how much this was affecting you, as self-centred as it seemed. The satisfaction you expected from uncovering the truth about Spider-Man never came. The final piece of the puzzle was right in front of you, living and breathing under the same roof as you were, and all you could harbour was disappointment.

What Caleb was doing was major. He was keeping the city safe—keeping his home safe, for you and everyone. You found yourself sinking further into guilt and bitterness, the light at the surface growing smaller as you fell deeper and deeper. It was childish of you to be throwing a tantrum over something like this. So, you decided to grin and bear it. He understood you like the back of his hand; doing the same to him was the very least you could do. You pestered him less about his missions, stopped trying to call again and again when he didn’t respond. He’d always come home, even if it took days. He never broke promises. He promised he wouldn’t.

If he noticed the change in you, he didn’t mention it. His actions, however, said otherwise. He did his best to pay more attention to you. He tried to spend as much time with you as he could despite your conflicting schedules. He listened to everything you spoke about, promised you to be careful when you asked, and continued to protect you in his own way. You didn’t know exactly what it was that seemed to switch the dynamic completely, but at a certain point, you were no longer drowning in the pool of negativity. The sun seemed to shine brighter, the flowers in full bloom, and your cheeks ached from how much you’d been smiling. The lingering sense of foreboding faded into nothingness, replaced by pure optimism and trust. The future didn’t feel so glum anymore.

You supposed all you needed was time.

Time to heal, time to process everything. Time had a way of turning wounds into scars, healing phantom pains into a comfortable stillness. The claws that had your heart in a death grip had loosened, letting go of the chains they wrapped around it. You felt lighter, happier. Some semblance of normalcy had returned—as normal as it could be considering his dual life, but you weren’t going to take it for granted. You felt like you could finally breathe after being underwater for so long. Even here, where you were alone in the apartment, you didn’t feel lonely. It was… normal. A relief. It didn’t feel so suffocating anymore.

It was quiet save for the sound of your nails tapping against the keyboard. It was a sunny afternoon. Having had a productive morning, you aimed to finish the rest of the day in the same way. You were focused and determined to finish the essay quickly so you had more free time. But as the hours went by, that determination waned, and you found yourself at a dead end. You blankly stared at the blinking cursor on the word document. It almost felt like the thing was mocking you. Fatigue and boredom were catching up to you increasingly quickly. You knew the material by heart. You knew what you wanted to talk about. Yet no words came to mind—you were drawing a blank, and the thoughts in your mind were already drifting off elsewhere.

The counter was littered with snacks, surely something Caleb would chide you for. Your tumbler was long empty, left with nothing but melted ice cubes at the bottom. The dishes awaited cleaning in the sink and the TV remained turned on, playing a rerun of some generic soap opera. Defeated, you closed the word document, eyes drifting to the window beside you.

Outside, the skyline was painted in hues of orange and blue. Birds flew over the horizon, ready to migrate elsewhere for the upcoming spring. Your chest rose and fell with your exhale as you let your mind wander. You used up your creativity for the day, you thought. You haven’t made significant progress on the essay since you started it a few hours ago. Before you could beat yourself up about it, three loud knocks were heard from the window. Caleb’s masked face peeked over the wall as he gave you a gentle wave. Giddy, you got off your chair and skipped over, fingers deftly undoing the lock on its doors. You slid it open, allowing him to crawl in.

“I thought you were busy fighting crime,” you teased, watching as he took the mask off. His hair was tousled and his cheeks were flushed from exertion. “Are you slacking off?”

He huffed, amused. “I can multitask.”

He unhid his hand from his back and handed you a large bouquet of sunflowers, the gesture immediately making you melt. Flowers weren’t that out of the ordinary. Caleb liked bringing you gifts and trinkets he thinks you’d like. You got an equally large bouquet during your high school graduation and another one when you were accepted into university. You took it with a smile, murmuring a quiet ‘thank you’ and curiously looking at him. He bounced on the heels of his feet, seemingly nervous about something. His brows knitted together.

“You okay?”

He met your gaze. “Do you still think Spider-Man is better than me?”

You blinked a few times, confused. From the way he said it, it appeared that it wasn’t the first time he thought of something like this. You chuckled and crossed your arms over your chest, shifting your weight to the other leg.

“Getting jealous of yourself, Caleb?” It was your turn to be amused. “I never said he was my number one hero.”

“You never said I was your number one hero either.”

You sighed in mock exasperation. “Why is this important? You’re the same person.”

“I just wanna know,” he said, uncharacteristically sheepish.

“First of all, that happened once,” you corrected, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Second of all, I love you. Spider-Man or not.”

His lips curled into a smile. “You love me?”

Warmth blossomed across your chest, rising all the way up to your cheeks as your lips parted in surprise, sputtering incoherent syllables. You awkwardly turned your head away, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. Love had never been discussed, not really. It just felt like an unspoken commitment since you were children. He was the most important person to you, and you were the most important person to him. You never really thought about labelling your relationship.

Your eyes widened when you remembered you always referred to him as your partner whenever you spoke of him to your friends. You already gave it a label without realising it. You opened and closed your mouth like a fish, struggling to come up with a reply. You could feel his gaze on you, hear the satisfaction and mischief in his words. Clearing your throat, you tried to compose yourself and decided to follow through. You couldn’t take it back anyway, and even if you could, you didn’t want to.

“Yeah. I do,” you said, feigning indifference. “I thought you knew that.”

He couldn’t stop the smile from expanding into a grin. A breathless chuckle left him. His cheeks seemed to be getting even pinker as he fidgeted in his spot. He scratched the back of his head with flustered giddiness, struggling to keep eye contact with you. You didn’t think you ever saw him this shy. He was always your brave hero Caleb, the same boy who held you when you had nightmares, the same boy who held your hand when the thunderstorms got too loud. He was the same boy who defended you from bullies and got into trouble for getting into a fight with them. He was the same man who held nothing but affection in his words for you, the same man who would fall into playful banter with you.

You sighed softly, the corners of your lips twitching up. “You’re not gonna say it back?”

Though he didn’t need to, there was still a hint of insecurity in your tone. You looked at him expectantly, still watching as he tried to maintain composure. You weren’t used to seeing him this way, but you thought you could learn to do it. It made for a rather nice sight.

“I love you too, pipsqueak,” he finally said.

You beamed at him, placing the bouquet on the counter before leaping into his arms, delightfully laughing when he caught you effortlessly. You looped your arms around his neck and hooked your chin on his shoulder. Your legs were wrapped around him, your body supported by his arms around your waist. He held you as if you were as light as a feather. He nuzzled into your hair, letting out a content sigh. The air felt so light, so carefree. The remnants of your worries disappeared into the air, replaced by pure joy and unbridled affection.

“So… What’s the plan? Are you done with the day?”

“I’m going back to work. They need me,” he replied. With a jovial tone, he continued. “But I’ll be back for dinner.”

“You mean it this time?” You pulled away, searching into his eyes for honesty. You were still prone to worrying. His vigilante lifestyle was full of unpredictable moments, so it consistently kept you on your toes, leaving you unaware of what to expect. You were desperate for his words to be true. You felt as though you’ve been away from him for way too long. You craved his presence, his warmth—you craved him.

He gave you a boyish smile. “Yeah. I do.”

And that was a promise.

[lovesodeepandwideandwell]

Here is my official vision for a Queen's Thief on-screen adaption:

The Thief: live action road trip adventure movie. First half road tripping and character dynamics, next sixth the temple and Gift, final third escape from Attolia and winding down in Eddis. Stories of the gods are claymation

Queen of Attolia: seven-episode limited series, lots of nighttime conversations and interiors and shots of bare landscapes. E1 is capture, hand cutting off, return to Eddis. E2 is slow difficult recovery ending with the reveal of being at war and "stop whining." E3 is intense war strategy with stealing the magus as the high point. E4 is Gen's fear of Attolia and developing his plan, interspersed with flashbacks of Attolia's backstory. (Does it give away too much for this episode to start with Horreon and Meridite, in super stylized 2d animation, like I'm thinking mostly black background, flat colored objects, and people as gold line drawings?) E5 is the kidnapping, extremely long tense proposal/cliff scene, ends with Nahuseresh attacking. E6 goes from that to "diplomacy in my own name", incredible drama and tension through the middle until we realize she's wearing his earrings (as late as absolutely possible). e7 is working out engagement difficulties, up to "she believed him"

King of Attolia: 25-minute sitcom, full length season. Every little event gets its own moment, multiple running plots are introduced and resolved, and we see Gen's power and relationships developing over time.

Conspiracy of Kings: 3-part limited series. First episode is the magus and Sophos getting to Attolia and trying to get through to Gen and Irene as humans and work out the politics, second Eddis arrives and Sophos tells her his slave backstory with voiceover, super saturated lush scenery, melodrama, etc. third part is a snappy political drama as Sophos takes back Sounis.

Thick as Thieves: most of it is a 5-7 minute web series (no fourth wall breaks). Those little episodes keep coming out for a few months and then when Kamet gets to Attolia we have a single 40-minute episode giving his backstory with Gen, Mede fleet stuff, new spy assignment, etc.

Return of the Thief: five-hour two-act stage play

[oviraptoridae]

research & development is ongoing

since using jukebox for sampling material on albedo, i've been increasingly interested in ethically using ai as a tool to incorporate more into my own artwork. recently i've been experimenting with "commoncanvas", a stable diffusion model trained entirely on works in the creative commons. though i do not believe legality and ethics are equivalent, this provides me peace of mind that all of the training data was used consensually through the terms of the creative commons license. here's the paper on it for those who are curious! shoutout to @reachartwork for the inspiration & her informative posts about her process!

part 1: overview

i usually post finished works, so today i want to go more in depth & document the process of experimentation with a new medium. this is going to be a long and image-heavy post, most of it will be under the cut & i'll do my best to keep all the image descriptions concise.

for a point of reference, here is a digital collage i made a few weeks ago for the album i just released (shameless self promo), using photos from wikimedia commons and a render of a 3d model i made in blender:

and here are two images i made with the help of common canvas (though i did a lot of editing and post-processing, more on that process in a future post):

more about my process & findings under the cut, so this post doesn't get too long:

quick note for my setup: i am running this model locally on my own machine (rtx 3060, ubuntu 23.10), using the automatic1111 web ui. if you are on the same version of ubuntu as i am, note that you will probably have to build python 3.10.6 yourself (and be sure to use 'make altinstall' instead of 'make install' and change the line in the webui to use 'python3.10' instead of 'python3'. just mentioning this here because nobody else i could find had this exact problem and i had to figure it out myself)

part 2: initial exploration

all the images i'll be showing here are the raw outputs of the prompts given, with no retouching/regenerating/etc.

so: commoncanvas has 2 different types of models, the "C" and "NC" models, trained on their database of works under the CC Commercial and Non-Commercial licenses, respectively (i think the NC dataset also includes the commercial license works, but i may be wrong). the NC model is larger, but both have their unique strengths:

"a cat on the computer", "C" model

"a cat on the computer", "NC" model

they both take the same amount of time to generate (17 seconds for four 512x512 images on my 3060). if you're really looking for that early ai jank, go for the commercial model. one thing i really like about commoncanvas is that it's really good at reproducing the styles of photography i find most artistically compelling: photos taken by scientists and amateurs. (the following images will be described in the captions to avoid redundancy):

"grainy deep-sea rover photo of an octopus", "NC" model. note the motion blur on the marine snow, greenish lighting and harsh shadows here, like you see in photos taken by those rover submarines that scientists use to take photos of deep sea creatures (and less like ocean photography done for purely artistic reasons, which usually has better lighting and looks cleaner). the anatomy sucks, but the lighting and environment is perfect.

"beige computer on messy desk", "NC" model. the reflection of the flash on the screen, the reddish-brown wood, and the awkward angle and framing are all reminiscent of a photo taken by a forum user with a cheap digital camera in 2007.

so the noncommercial model is great for vernacular and scientific photography. what's the commercial model good for?

"blue dragon sitting on a stone by a river", "C" model. it's good for bad CGI dragons. whenever i request dragons of the commercial model, i either get things that look like photographs of toys/statues, or i get gamecube type CGI, and i love it.

here are two little green freaks i got while trying to refine a prompt to generate my fursona. (i never succeeded, and i forget the exact prompt i used). these look like spore creations and the background looks like a bryce render. i really don't know why there's so much bad cgi in the datasets and why the model loves going for cgi specifically for dragons, but it got me thinking...

"hollow tree in a magical forest, video game screenshot", "C" model

"knights in a dungeon, video game screenshot", "C" model

i love the dreamlike video game environments and strange CGI characters it produces-- it hits that specific era of video games that i grew up with super well.

part 3: use cases

if you've seen any of the visual art i've done to accompany my music projects, you know that i love making digital collages of surreal landscapes:

(this post is getting image heavy so i'll wrap up soon)

i'm interested in using this technology more, not as a replacement for my digital collage art, but along with it as just another tool in my toolbox. and of course...

... this isn't out of lack of skill to imagine or draw scifi/fantasy landscapes.

thank you for reading such a long post! i hope you got something out of this post; i think it's a good look into the "experimentation phase" of getting into a new medium. i'm not going into my post-processing / GIMP stuff in this post because it's already so long, but let me know if you want another post going into that!

good-faith discussion and questions are encouraged but i will disable comments if you don't behave yourselves. be kind to each other and keep it P.L.U.R.

[jc96]

[this story is currently in its early development stage.]

The world is divided into two—the “normal humans” and the “powered humans”; people with mutations and abilities that put them above the rest.

It is unknown how the powered humans came to be but it started, one day, when a baby was born with gills on his neck—Case Zero. As the boy grew, so did his mutations—his hands and feet became webbed and it became clear how the boy was born to be in the water.

The next one was a girl—Case One, who was born with wings on her back, which only grew larger as she grew older. Soon, her wings grew so large it dragged on the floor. In a matter of years, her ability to fly and speed became even greater than planes and jets. A girl born to be in the skies.

What started with a baby every few months soon became a baby every month, to a baby every other week to a baby every week.

Today, 1 powered baby is born every 100,000 babies.

With the increasing number of powered humans, the governments of the world decided to implement the Powered Registration Act which aims to, as with normal human beings, register and regulate the powered humans. In line with the Act, the governments of the world created the PHSO - Powered Humans Statistics Office, the governing body solely for the powered humans, led by powered humans for powered humans.

With the emergence of the powered humans, a new occupation is created-heroes.

Registered and regulated by the government, heroes are employed by the PHSO to maintain order and peace while working together with the non-powered force.

Of course, when there are heroes, there are villains—powered and non-powered alike who do not agree with what they call “hero worship” given to heroes.

A never ending cycle of fights between good and evil, peace and chaos which span decades. Nothing new.

Of course, all of these do not concern you. You are not a hero nor are you a villain.

You are a barista with your own café in Sinagtala City.

[rating: 17+ for depictions of blood, non-detailed descriptions of violence, alcohol and cigarette use, off-screen character death(s), and others. this is subject to change as the story progresses]

You are a barista. Sure, your cafe may be a bit odd, compared to others but it is a cafe, nonetheless. Your pride and joy.

You’re the most ordinary citizen in Sinagtala City. Sure, you have secrets you’d do anything to keep, but who doesn’t?

This is a story following your daily life as you entertain customers, buy ingredients and stock your cafe.

...Sure.

— customize your mc! customize your name, pronouns and appearance!

— name your cafe!

— note: this story is set in the philippines and the mc is canonically filipino. as such, customization options are limited to those that are common in filipinos.

— romance 1 out of 3 love interests! are you going for the classic, best friends-to-lovers route? or maybe you'd prefer the enigmatic regular customer? how about the no-nonsense police captain?

— ₜᴿʸ ₜᴼ ᴹₐᴵₙᵀₐᴵₙ ʸᴼᵤᴿ "ₙᴼᵣᴹₐᴸ" ₗᴵᶠᴱ

The Best Friend 

Miguel Rivera [28 years old, he/him][ro]

— your best friend since childhood, Miguel is a constant presence in your life, the one person who has been with you through everything; from childhood quarrels with bullies to the death of your father. Miguel was the first person to come in during your opening day and has been your #1 supporter from day 1.

— going by the hero name “Torch,” Miguel has the ability to control and produce fire, able to use it for short-distance flight, shoot fireballs as well as turn his whole body aflame for a short period of time. 

— tall, at 188cm, with a muscular build (but not bodybuilder muscles) from years of training. Brown (kayumanggi) skin, black, wavy hair that reaches his ears and light brown eyes. All of Miguel’s clothes are made from a special thread created from his hair to ensure their resistance to his fire.

The Regular

Kahel [26 years old, they/them][ro]

— a regular customer, Kahel is one of your first customers. They’ve been coming to your cafe for the past 5 years almost daily, with no fail. Through the years, the two of you have formed a friendship. Despite your years of knowing them, you know almost nothing about Kahel’s past and what they actually do for work (they told you they’re a ‘writer’). You don’t know Kahel’s abilities, only that they have physical mutations.

— average height, at 170cm, with a thin build. Pale skin with long, straight hair they keep to their lower back and tied into a braid. Kahel often changes the color of their hair, so often, you don’t know their real hair color. Their eyes are a light gray, and their ears are pointed, like an elf’s ears.

The Captain

Cristina Solomon [34 years old, she/her][ro]

— the captain of the Sinagtala Police Force, Cristina is tasked in ensuring the peace and safety of the inhabitants of Sinagtala City. The youngest to ever hold the position of captain, Cristina holds deep confidence in her abilities and in the pride her colleagues have of her. In her 2 years since becoming captain, the number of crimes have decreased even further, to the point that other cities have called on her expertise and guidance.

— Cristina has the ability to produce shields and force fields which are able to withstand even a direct hit from a bomb. Cristina possesses amazing control of her abilities, even using them for maneuvering. Although powerful, the more shields she produces, the weaker they get until they’re barely stronger than a glass panel.

— tall height, at 178cm, with a thin but muscled build because of her training as a police officer. Brown (kayumanggi) skin and short, straight, dark brown hair she keeps in a bob, stopping just above her jaw. Cristina has dark, almost black, brown eyes and a beauty mark under her left eye.

The Part-timer

Lib Santos [20 years old, they/them]

— a college student who works part time for you. they’re very happy to work for your cafe because it’s the only one they applied to that’s able to accommodate their schedule. They’re able to attract small objects to themself, an ability they use in working.

— short, at 150cm, with a round build. Brown (kayumanggi) skin with freckles on their face. Round glasses hide their dark brown eyes. Their hair is short, a pixie cut, and dyed a light blue.

The Mayor

Penelope Pascual [45 years old, she/her]

— Sinagtala City’s mayor. Unlike past mayors that were personally chosen by Sinag, Penelope was voted for by the public. A well-known figure in the city, it was only a matter of time before Penelope was voted mayor. Penelope is able to control and manipulate air. She mainly uses it to allow herself flight while patrolling the city.

— tall, at 175cm, with a curvy build. Tan skin accentuated by her light brown eyes and long, straight dark brown hair usually tied in its tight bun.

Papa

Lito [45 years old, he/him]

— your father.

hello! jean here, bringing you a new story. of coffee beans, heroes and villains is an interactive fiction in it's early development stage. the story will be released in chapters and will be completely free from start to finish.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

By David Brooks

Opinion Columnist

You might have seen the various data points suggesting that Americans are losing their ability to reason.

The trend starts with the young. The percentage of fourth graders who score below basic in reading skills on the National Assessment of Educational Progress tests is the highest it has been in 20 years. The percentage of eighth graders below basic was the highest in the exam’s three-decade history. A fourth grader who is below basic cannot grasp the sequence of events in a story. An eighth grader can’t grasp the main idea of an essay or identify the different sides of a debate.

Tests by the Program for the International Assessment of Adult Competencies tell a similar story, only for older folks. Adult numeracy and literacy skills across the globe have been declining since 2017. Tests from the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development show that test scores in adult literacy have been declining over the past decade.

Andreas Schleicher, the head of education and skills at the O.E.C.D., told The Financial Times, “Thirty percent of Americans read at a level that you would expect from a 10-year-old child.” He continued, “It is actually hard to imagine — that every third person you meet on the street has difficulties reading even simple things.”

This kind of literacy is the backbone of reasoning ability, the source of the background knowledge you need to make good decisions in a complicated world. As the retired general Jim Mattis and Bing West once wrote, “If you haven’t read hundreds of books, you are functionally illiterate, and you will be incompetent, because your personal experiences alone aren’t broad enough to sustain you.”

Nat Malkus of the American Enterprise Institute emphasizes that among children in the fourth and eighth grades, the declines are not the same across the board. Scores for children at the top of the distribution are not falling. It’s the scores of children toward the bottom that are collapsing. The achievement gap between the top and bottom scorers is bigger in America than in any other nation with similar data.

There are some obvious contributing factors for this general decline. Covid hurt test scores. America abandoned No Child Left Behind, which put a lot of emphasis on testing and reducing the achievement gap. But these declines started earlier, around 2012, so the main cause is probably screen time. And not just any screen time. Actively initiating a search for information on the web may not weaken your reasoning skills. But passively scrolling TikTok or X weakens everything from your ability to process verbal information to your working memory to your ability to focus. You might as well take a sledgehammer to your skull.

My biggest worry is that behavioral change is leading to cultural change. As we spend time on our screens, we’re abandoning a value that used to be pretty central to our culture — the idea that you should work hard to improve your capacity for wisdom and judgment all the days of your life. That education, including lifelong out-of-school learning, is really valuable.

This value is based on the idea that life is filled with hard choices: whom to marry, whom to vote for, whether to borrow money. Your best friend comes up to you and says, “My husband has been cheating on me. Should I divorce him?” To make these calls, you have to be able to discern what is central to the situation, envision possible outcomes, understand other minds, calculate probabilities.

To do this, you have to train your own mind, especially by reading and writing. As Johann Hari wrote in his book “Stolen Focus,” “The world is complex and requires steady focus to be understood; it needs to be thought about and comprehended slowly.” Reading a book puts you inside another person’s mind in a way that a Facebook post just doesn’t. Writing is the discipline that teaches you to take a jumble of thoughts and cohere them into a compelling point of view.

Know someone who would want to read this? Share the column.

Americans had less schooling in decades past, but out of this urge for intellectual self-improvement, they bought encyclopedias for their homes, subscribed to the Book of the Month Club and sat, with much longer attention spans, through long lectures or three-hour Lincoln-Douglas debates. Once you start using your mind, you find that learning isn’t merely calisthenics for your ability to render judgment; it’s intrinsically fun.

But today one gets the sense that a lot of people are disengaging from the whole idea of mental effort and mental training. Absenteeism rates soared during the pandemic and have remained high since. If American parents truly valued education would 26 percent of students have been chronically absent during the 2022-23 school year?

In 1984, according to the National Center for Education Statistics, 35 percent of 13-year-olds read for fun almost every day. By 2023, that number was down to 14 percent. The media is now rife with essays by college professors lamenting the decline in their students’ abilities. The Chronicle of Higher Education told the story of Anya Galli Robertson, who teaches sociology at the University of Dayton. She gives similar lectures, assigns the same books and gives the same tests that she always has. Years ago, students could handle it; now they are floundering.

Last year The Atlantic published an essay by Rose Horowitch titled “The Elite College Students Who Can’t Read Books.” One professor recalled the lively classroom discussions of books like “Crime and Punishment.” Now the students say they can’t handle that kind of reading load.

The philosophy professor Troy Jollimore wrote in The Walrus: “I once believed my students and I were in this together, engaged in a shared intellectual pursuit. That faith has been obliterated over the past few semesters. It’s not just the sheer volume of assignments that appear to be entirely generated by A.I. — papers that show no sign the student has listened to a lecture, done any of the assigned reading or even briefly entertained a single concept from the course.”

Older people have always complained about “kids these days,” but this time we have empirical data to show that the observations are true.

What happens when people lose the ability to reason or render good judgments? Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Donald Trump’s tariff policy. I’ve covered a lot of policies over the decades, some of which I supported and some of which I opposed. But I have never seen a policy as stupid as this one. It is based on false assumptions. It rests on no coherent argument in its favor. It relies on no empirical evidence. It has almost no experts on its side — from left, right or center. It is jumble-headedness exemplified. Trump himself personifies stupidity’s essential feature — self-satisfaction, an inability to recognize the flaws in your thinking. And of course when the approach led to absolutely predictable mayhem, Trump, lacking any coherent plan, backtracked, flip-flopped, responding impulsively to the pressures of the moment as his team struggled to keep up.

Producing something this stupid is not the work of a day; it is the achievement of a lifetime — relying on decades of incuriosity, decades of not cracking a book, decades of being impervious to evidence.

Back in Homer’s day, people lived within an oral culture, then humans slowly developed a literate culture. Now we seem to be moving to a screen culture. Civilization was fun while it lasted.

[the-broken-truth]

Leaving The Web [Part 1] - Platonic Yandere Miguel O'Hara w/ Daughter Symbiote Spider Reader

Summary: As the eldest and only daughter of Miguel O'Hara, a member of the Spider-Society and host of the Venom Symbiote, you have experienced heartbreak from your father's neglect due to his work. Despite your understanding, his decision to leave your universe to raise another daughter was the final straw. You sought refuge in a universe where you don't exist and made it your new home. However, when your father's actions caused the collapse of that universe and the death of his alternate daughter, he realized the value of the daughter he already had - you. Unfortunately, he discovered that you were gone and has since gone to great lengths to find you.

[Earth-928]

Your eyes were filled with tears as you hugged your legs closer to your chest while you sat in your bed in the darkness of your room; your heartbeat irregular as you sobbed and your breathe was stuttering while you tried to calm down but this situation was too much for you to handle at the moment - a fifteen year old shouldn't be dealing with this at the moment or even at all - it was all the fault of your father.

Your name is [Name] O'Hara - Elderst & Only Daughter of the Leader of the Spider-Society, Miguel O'Hara - you are a member of the Spider-Society and you also just happened to be the Host of the Symbiote - Venom. You were bitten by a Radioactive Spider when you were five years old and started developing powers when you were around 8, the members of the Spider-Society aided you in understanding your powers but the one you wanted to help you was just ignoring you - Your Father, Miguel O'Hara. He was so consumed in his work - worried more about tracking Anolomies and dealing with the Spider-Verse rather than raising his daughter. Peter was more of a father to you than Miguel was but you still wanted him to accept the blood bond between the two of you so you worked as hard as you could for the Spider-Society to make your father recognize you but all your efforts were in vain.

At a particular mission, after you turned 15, you successfully captured an anomaly by yourself. With a smile on your face, you presented it to your father, but instead of acknowledging your achievement, he took the creature and left without a word. This left you in tears and looking down at the ground. Peter, noticing your distress, comforted you by placing his hand on your shoulder and giving you a hug, while Mayday patted your head.

One night, Miguel didn't home that night and you were concerned so you went back to the Spider-Society and went to look for him. When you arrived at his platform office with all the screens still active and got curious so you decided to take a look at the screens and what you saw was completely heartbreaking: He was spying on another version of himself - one that had a daughter - but was killed while trying to save someone's purse but was gunned down. Miguel had traveled to the universe and replaced the dead version of himself and according to the log: "I'm going to raise his daughter as my own, one that I can be proud of rather than a burden who was forced on me.". Your heart broke as you left out of the Spider-Society before webbing all the way back home, going into your room, and crying.

"[Name]."

'What is it, Venom? I don't want to talk about it.' You sobbed as your lifted your head from your hands and wiped the tears from your water-soaked eyes before placing your hands back around your legs.

"You need to talk about it. I understand that you are upset but you need to move on. Miguel O'Hara doesn't deserve you and it's time that you made a move to leave him and the Spider-Society. I was looking at the computer while you were reading his log - the best way to live in another universe without it collapsing is to find a universe where a version of you never existed. We need to get the things we need and find a place where we don't exist and make that place our new home. We can protect it and never have to worry about the Spider-Society." Venom explained. You blinked and listened to the Symbiote before nodding and getting out of bed and collecting everything you needed from the money you've been collecting from birthdays and some clothes before burning your personal documents so you never existed in this world.

After putting on your backpack, you headed back to the Spider-Society and made your way to Miguel's Research. There, you discovered a universe where neither you nor Venom existed: Earth-564B. Using the Go-Home Machine, you set a course for this new universe and stood on the platform as the White Spider Machine enveloped you in a webbed dome, teleporting you to your destination. As you traveled through the Time Tunnel, you couldn't help but feel excited about your new home. The portal opened on top of a building in bustling New York City at night. You quickly ran off the building and began swinging through the city, keeping an ear out for any trouble. However, before doing anything else, you needed to obtain new documents.

[One Month Later - Afer The Universe Collasped]

Miguel returned to the Spider-Society after the world he had been living him collapsed and the people were gone, including the daughter he took was his own. He walked out of the total with tears in his eyes before he looked around and was that he was alone in the Spider-Society, he jumped up to his platform and looked at the image of him and the daughter he took that was now gone - looking at her, she looked just like his daughter - the one he abandoned - [Name]. He looked at his desk and noticed something - A Bracelet - [Name's] Bracelet. He picked it up and looked around, she was here, she knew he left her bracelet there. Did she find out why he had left?

"Lyla! Where is [Name]?" Miguel asked his A.I. Assistant who materialized over his shoulder and looked rather upset.

"She's not here, anymore. She found a location where she and Venom didn't exist and decided to take that universe as her home." Lyla explained, causing him to look at his assistant with wide red eyes.

"What do you mean she left?! Where has she gone?! Why would she leave?!" Miguel asked Lyla.

"Are you serious, Miguel? You're seriously wondering why she left you and decided to go to another universe to make a home for herself?! You ABANDONED HER, MIGUEL!!! YOU CALLED HER A BURDEN AND TRIED TO TRADE HER FOR A ANOTHER VERSION OF HER AFTER THAT FATHER WAS GONE AND YOU CAUSED A UNIVERSAL COLLAPSE BECAUSE OF YOUR GREED! SHE WAS SICK OF BEING IGNORED AND NEGLECTED BY HER FATHER!!!" Lyla yelled at Miguel before fading away, leaving the man alone as she looked at his daughter's bracelet in his hand. His daughter was gone and it was his fault. He was going to find her and make everything right at first, he needed to find out what universe she went to.

[writingquestionsanswered]

Outlining Plot for Film School Application

Anonymous asked: I love stories and am applying to film school in a few months, but I struggle with understanding how stories work, as well as with outlining a plot, which is required for the application. I need to learn how to do it quickly and effectively, especially since I don't have a portfolio to strengthen my chances of getting accepted. Is there a workshop or network that focuses on story comprehension and development, rather than actual writing, that is beginner friendly?

[Ask edited for length]

A couple of recommendations:

-- Save the Cat! The Last Book on Screenwriting You'll Ever Need by Blake Snyder is a screen writing book that comes highly recommended. And, as a big fan of the the novel-writing version by Jessica Brody (Save the Cat! Writes a Novel), I can tell you it's about as comprehensive and is usually considered to be great for beginners.

-- The Helping Writers Become Authors web site, by author K.M. Weiland, has a huge story structure database that analyzes the structure of popular books, but also movies. Each story is broken down into its critical plot points: inciting incident, first plot point, first pinch point, midpoint, second pinch point, third plot point, climax, climactic moment, and resolution. The summaries are brief, to the point, and very helpful.

-- YouTube is an incredible resource for when you need to learn a lot in a short amount of time. While I don't have any particular videos to point you toward, I promise if you search "how to plot a movie" or "how to outline a movie plot" you will find a ton of videos, and you should be able to find some that resonate with you.

That's all I've got, but keep an eye on the comments in case others have suggestions!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[comfy-whumpee]

The Speaker

The lights in the lecture theatre are more yellow than white, and the floor is carpeted with thin grey material. It makes the space in front of the seats feel more like a sparse living room than one of the largest halls on campus.

The lectern’s surface is a simple rectangle of wood, but does have enough space for his laptop to rest on. Connected to the screen, he’s free to move away from it with his Bluetooth clicker in hand. Resting on his cane with each alternate step, he makes his way over to the chair that rests alone at the front of the room, and sits. The cane hooks over its arm, and he props his leg out in front of him.

Gone are the days when he could claim only to have a bad ankle. Physio and surgery are behind him, and while the pain is lesser, it has spread as he’s aged. The years of compensating have left its mark on his knees, hips and back. He has never delivered a full lecture standing, and he probably never will.

He waits there, patient, as the students filter in. He likes this lecture hall for the lighting, but its main appeal is that the doors are on the sides instead of at the front, to one side of the projector screen. It allows him to observe as people enter.

This lecture is an annual event, and always attracts a range of attendees. Mostly he sees second- and third-year teens, and a rare keen first-year, still exploring their options and interested to learn. Occasionally he picks out an older student, although mostly it is impossible to tell whether they are undergraduates or higher up in the academic ladder.

Every year, the audience has more female and gender-nonconforming students. He enjoys seeing the shift and broaden of his field. Although there will always be a high proportion of nerd-aligned young men before him, he relates to both sides. Even now, he keeps his hair long enough to pass his shoulders, and wears a smart cardigan instead of a blazer.

Last of all to enter, forgivable because she also helped him set up, is Doctor Lee. She is probably the only student of astrophysics in the room, but she’s the one who asked him to start this yearly talk for Careers Week, so she’s honour-bound to attend. She wears a blazer, and it suits her well.

The students must never, ever know that they are not just friends, but exes.

He waits patiently for the room to settle, being careful to keep his shoulders relaxed. Then, he flicks the mic on.

For a moment he is gripped, as he often is, by the memory of a version of himself that could never have done this. He was, once, someone who couldn’t even speak aloud to a loved one in a private room. Raising his head, hair tied back, showing his face to the two or three hundred students in the seats…

Iz has climbed the central staircase and is sitting halfway to the top, right in the centre, as she always does. His eyes find her when they need a place to rest. His voice comes loose without a conscious effort.

“Good morning, everyone, and thank you for joining me. My name is Ellis Reece, and I’m a freelance full-stack web developer. I’m here to talk to you today about my field, and the careers and skills that relate to it.”

Another voice flickers in. Rule five.

He ignores it. “Let me start by telling you about what I do, before we explore related roles. I’ve been working as a freelancer on and off for twenty years. I started as a front-end developer, and quickly expanded to back-end, so I could pick up more work.”

He taps the clicker to progress to the next slide, which shows examples of his recent sites and clients. It stands in place of what other speakers usually give, which is more like a CV extract showing roles and skills undertaken. He prefers to let his work speak for himself, and always has.

Besides, those slides are often year by year, and his has a noticeable gap, near the beginning that would only distract them.

“I have also worked in some corporate positions,” he acknowledges, “and spent some time on software and UI teams. I will touch on those in a moment. For the majority of my career, I have been a solo developer, responsible for every aspect of a site design and implementation.”

Nic played a big part in writing his lines, although he knows them by heart these days. Self-promotion was never his strong suit. But facts are facts, after all.

Another comment from a voice. I don’t know what’s real. Nobody is close enough to have said it.

“I will be happy to answer questions about any of these experiences,” he adds. “As it is, my day consists of the technical work you would expect, alongside conversations with clients, collaboration with branding teams and other stakeholders, self-development and training courses, and, I’m sorry to admit, self-assessment tax returns.”

There is a reliable murmur of chuckling at the gentle quip.

He no longer admits, for me, the hardest aspect is the boundaries.

“Self-employment requires you to have knowledge in your chosen profession, but also administrative skills. The perks,” as the slide now shows, “include setting your own wage, taking holidays when you want them, more control over the work you do, and flexibility in where and when you work. The downsides…” He brings them on screen. A few of the quicker readers in the room grant him another soft laugh. “…are exactly the same. The boundaries, motivation, creativity and discipline all come from you and you alone.”

You don’t get boundaries, pet.

It’s no longer true.

Instead, as he often does, he pauses for early questions on self-employment, and then moves on to an additional point that draws non-compsci students to his talk year on year.

“Another underrated benefit of self-employment is how well it combines with self-advocacy. For example, my capacity for work fluctuates depending on my level of pain and how suitable my work environment can be made.” He moves his free hand to gently encircle the chair, cane and clicker. “When I worked as an employee in a team, I benefitted from their support, the structures of policies and HR, and accessible workplace wellbeing measures, including a useful occupational health referral. However, I made the decision to return to freelance and consulting to regain the ability to refuse work that would be detrimental to my health.”

The students before him will be picturing high workloads, horrible offices and inflexible bosses, and mostly, that is exactly what he means. They have no reason to think any different.

Another university reached out to him once to do this talk, and he declined. He told them he only did it at all as a personal favour, which was true. Their old economics guest lecturer was ancient history.

“This includes when work is offered to me, but also during the course of a project. I am fortunate to be in a position where I can, if needed, walk away from an employer who does not treat me as I deserve.”

It’s been years since he felt a flutter of nerves at saying those words. Instead, now, as he often does, he smiles with pride.

[nymphomaniaa]

something about us [XX] "parasite" — a preview!

summary: this snippet includes part of a scene where the reader sets up a photoshoot for a merch drop featuring the lunch club members.

warnings: slightly nsfw joke

notes: FINALLY finished this monster of a chapter! it's really long because it sets up the current "arc" ending and the next one beginning, so it's... kind of a roller coaster of emotions. below is the only part of the chapter that i felt was fluff-ish enough to include as a lighthearted preview, so make sure to buckle in when you read the actual chapter because... oh boy. it's a lot.

Returning from the postal office (where the Lunch Club P.O. box was now up and running in hopes to receive packages from fans in the future, thanks to you, of course), you held the most important package in your arms three weeks before the start of TwitchCon.  Inside this large hunk of cardboard were the finalized versions of the new merch that you had painstakingly worked on throughout the past spring and summer.  It made it past weeks of reviews, tweaks, and packaging delays, and was finally in your possession, ready to be distributed to the boys so they could finally promote a project that had been on the works for months.

In the basement's common area, you spent most of the morning by yourself, working on setting up a photoshoot area for the group using a backdrop screenprinted with a repeating minimalistic pattern of the official Lunch Club logo — courtesy of a manufacturing company Ryan suggested weeks ago.  By the time you finished setting up the studio lights borrowed from Ted, arranged a couple of chairs on the set, and unpacked the box of merch to take a peek inside, most of the group had finished eating brunch upstairs.

Ted was the first to come down, since he was the one with the camera you would use for the shoot, so he was the first one to be spoiled by the surprise.  "Woah," he's taken aback by the set at first, bewildered by how official you made it look despite the very limited supplies you had.  "This looks really professional for only costing, what, like, two hundred bucks?  And my lights?"

"One hundred and eighty bucks, actually, with shipping and taxes," you snarkily reply, placing your hands on your hips with pride.

Ted lets out a halfhearted laugh, then after fiddling with his camera, hands it over to you.  "Take good care of her.  I've had her since the beginning of film school, she's practically my baby."

You wrap the neck strap around your head gently, and offer Ted a thumbs up while looking down at the camera screen, trying to orient yourself to its panel.  "We're all good to go, I think.  If you could bring all the boys down for me, please?"

"Yes, madam," Ted beams, then suddenly runs up the stairs, shouting, "Alright fellas, get all of yer asses down here right now!  We're aboutta' start rootin' and shootin'!"

A distant drawn out "yeehaw" (likely from Charlie) above you makes you roll your eyes.  These boys never ran out of ways to make noise echo throughout the house.

One by one, each of the Lunch Club members step down into the basement with 'oohs' and 'aahs,' until all of them convene in front of you and are now ogling the box behind you.  Methodically, you explain that you would start with getting shots of each member with their respective pieces of merch, then you would get photos of each of them wearing the group merch, then a few group pictures with all of them together: one set with their group merch, and one set with them wearing whatever they chose to wear.  All of these stills would be displayed on a new merch website that had already been prepared in advance by one of Schlatt's web developers he worked with, but you also intended to get some short candid video clips of them just goofing around and chatting with each other that could be used for a video promotion that could go on their channel.

If all went well, they could start promoting their merch exactly one week from now, and by the time TwitchCon rolls around, the manufacturing company should have enough pieces shipped to Ryan to be sold at the Lunch Club booth.

The shoot went as well as expected.  Each member had their turns modelling their own pieces, with the remaining boys being hypemen behind the camera.  As each session went by, you had a difficult time containing your excitement.  Your art and your designs were on official pieces of merchandise that people all over the world had access to.  You were directing a photoshoot, which granted, you had never done before nor had interest in, but for your first time trying it, each member seemed happy with the results when their mini modelling session was over.

Of course, when Schlatt's turn came around, you took the opportunity to get him in certain poses that accentuated his features.  Partly for you to shamelessly stare at his good looks in your own time, but also partly because you knew a certain part of his audience would be more inclined to support the merch drop if he looked overwhelmingly handsome in his own clothes.  If he could take advantage of you being a woman in his Love or Host show, you could take advantage of him being eye candy in clothes you designed.  More money for the group.  Everyone wins, and the score will be even between you two.

"Let's have you lean a little onto that back leg, and put your left thumb in your pocket...  Then just look at Travis behind me...  No, chin a little more to your right.  There you go.  Intense stare, and…" you directed the tall man, as you kneeled on top of a nearby stool to compensate for his height.

"Can you roll up your sleeves a little, like so the hem goes about an inch below your elbow?  Then just do that exact pose again...  Yep, that's it.  No, stop giggling.  You're serious.  You're calm.  You're serious."

"Sorry." You’re unsure what is so funny, but he stifles his laughter, then settles into the same pose as before.

"Okay, then can I maybe get you on the stool?  Yeah, just sit like you normally would.  Push your right knee outwards a little more, then let's get your elbows resting on your knees.  Yep, and then clasp your hands together, and lift your head and look towards Trav, but not too much?  You're trying to showcase your hat, so only let your eyes look up at him, not your entire head.  Chin to the right.  Perfect."

"I feel like you're shooting a fucking porno of me," he tries to contain his laughter.  "It's like you're recreating that one face reveal photo of me looking up at the camera,"

"Just trust the process, J," you roll your eyes as the shutter snaps a few more times when he closes his mouth.  "Here, you wanna look?"

You open the camera's preview gallery and show the rest of the boys first, who burst into a roar of overexaggerated gasps and whistles.

"Holy shit, he's hot!" Charlie moans, pretending to fan off his face.

Schlatt pulls himself off of the stool and meanders towards you, reaching a hand out to ask for the camera.  Once you give it to him, and he clicks through the photos, he raises his eyebrows in approval.  "Holy shit, I am hot."

"You sure are, handsome.  Now get back in that damn chair, we have more porn to shoot," you tease.  He shakes his head, chuckling as the boys keep cheering him on, chittering in excitement for his newfound confidence after seeing himself on camera.

read the entire chapter here, or start from the beginning here.