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lemonsandstrawberries · 3 years

Text

Hashtag: RelationshipGoals

fandom: Stony (Steve x Tony)

summary: Steve is being forced into getting a Twitter accounts and logs into Tony’s for inspiration - one mistake later, he finds more than he asked for. Meaning, his boyfriend has a tickle kink and Steve has a lot of thinking to do.

length: 5 468

a/n: Happy Friday 13th! *throws confetti* To celebrate I am posting a fic that contains one of the biggest fears for people with tickle kink - someone finding out when you are not ready to tell them. It has a happy ending, promise! Hope you all will enjoy this fic, feedback, reblogs and likes are appreciated and needed! fic inspired by this prompt.

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Hashtag: RelationshipGoals

Long story short - Steve was getting a Twitter account.

Long story long...

It all started with a certain PR meeting held for the Avengers team, just this time, it was Steve vs the whole PR team. The problem was simple - Steve didn't like social media and didn't have an account on any of the numerous websites and apps. Fighting with aliens, planning new missions, schooling SHIELD agents - those were the zones he felt comfortable in. Some thought that the hidden reason behind the hostility towards social media was, that Steve, born in the 1920s, had a problem with using modern technology. Some called it endearing, some pathetic, the truth was, that Steve fairly quickly mastered each piece of technology he was given, skillfully using any given device. After all, he wasn't dense. Many apps were quite useful, some just plain entertaining, and it required a lot of navigating, but he managed to find some favorites. Just when it came to social media… Steve didn't feel like sharing his private life with unknown faces. Call him old-fashioned, but he liked having direct contact with people and as much as he liked to take a stop during his random walks in the city to talk with people who called themselves his fans, it quickly became too overwhelming. He wasn't good at such things and always thought he was too awkward and not what people expected. Steve didn't like that kind of pressure and didn't like the almost weekly notices from the PR team that he needed to make himself more 'accessible'. By no means, he was expected to stop and talk to everyone who ever called him or share mission details with strangers, but he needed to create a more public persona for Captain America and Steve Rogers.

Hence, Steve was encouraged to take a plunge into the world of social media.

And he really, really, really didn't want to do that.

One - it was pretty tedious to keep up with everything. Tony eagerly showed him all social accounts he had - Twitter, Instagram, Facebook profile, Youtube, and it all just gave him a headache as Tony chattered which media was good for what and gladly showed him his own Instagram page (mostly workshop photos and meals Steve had prepared for him, which was kinda sweet) and if Steve became slightly interested in that, his interest dropped after hearing about filters and tags. Too much work.

Second - he didn't have time to keep his theoretical accounts active and post new content regularly. Or more, he didn't want to make time, preferring to spend it on reading or training or hanging out with Tony or anything else, really. He had been gently suggested, that some celebrities (Steve's eyes widened a little after hearing that - was he a celebrity?) hire someone else to run their social media accounts. Steve shook his head at the proposition, knowing that none of his teammates did that and so he shouldn't either, not mentioning that everything posted wouldn't be sincere.

Third - Steve considered himself not an interesting person. He didn't have Tony's charisma, who, of course, had the biggest social media following ever, Thor's flair, which made his Youtube channel where he tasted food sent to him from all over the world by his viewers a huge success or Clint's humor, whose Internet activity limited to commenting on funny animal photos and home videos and people loved him. Even Bruce, seemingly even more awkward and distant when it came to dealing with a privacy-invading crowd, was doing great, kindling the interest of young kids in science with a series of easy to repeat experiments at home and railing about the importance of protecting and preserving the environment. Even Natasha didn't have a problem, her social media accounts full of useful self-defense tips for everyone who needed to feel safer. Steve just couldn't find anything in himself he would like to share with the world. He liked to keep his art private, his relationship private, and his whole life private.

It should be the ending statement.

It wasn't.

And so Steve, feeling scolded, got back to his and Tony's shared floor, planning to hide, except that he was assigned a very simple task for the week.

Get a Twitter account.

Steve sat heavily on the couch, putting elbows on his knees and palms around his cheeks, definitely not pouting. Why on Earth did he need a Twitter account? Wasn't it enough that from time to time he appeared on Tony's account, being the supportive boyfriend, and allowing Tony share the photos of their date nights or even the short movies from Steve's training when Tony was proudly showing off Steve's impressive physique and using those damn filters and making small stars and glitter swirl around him.

Speaking of Tony, he could use his boyfriend's advice... Steve checked his phone and knew that Tony was still stuck in a business meeting, and won't be back for an hour or so and as much as he wanted to not think about the Twitter issue it kept coming back to him. What was he supposed to write on Twitter? Something that wouldn't give too much about him, but would be safe and entertaining. He needed inspiration. Maybe a walk would clear his mind but as Steve was getting up, he noticed Tony's tablet laying at the edge of the coffee table.

Well... Tony wouldn't mind if he took a peak, right? Granted, he never used Tony's tablet before without his boyfriend’s permission. It felt too personal and barging on privacy and it was almost a silent agreement between them that Steve won't touch Tony's electronic devices and Tony won't look through Steve's sketchbooks without prior agreement. But it was different, right? Tony's Twitter account was out there, for everyone, so it didn't matter if Steve would install the app on his phone and check the account, or go to the source and look through Tony's account. It might even help him to understand better how the app was working.

Steve took the tablet and unlocked it, searching for the Twitter app. Letter T on a blue background. Steve pressed it and skimmed over the screen, looking at the design of the app. Huh, it looked very different from the account owner's point of view. He scrolled down the screen, seeing a lot of text, too much text because wasn't there a limit of signs per tweet? Further, into the app, Steve saw more of things he didn't recognize, didn't see any posts from other Avengers, instead of images and gifs and -

"Woah," Steve gaped, taking in what he was seeing. He quickly scrolled up, his face becoming heated, unsure what he just saw. For a minute, he turned the tablet in his hands, trying to decide if it really belonged to Tony and not someone else, but who else would have a hot red and gold cover, resembling the design of the Iron Man suit. It had to be Tony's tablet, which meant...

Those posts were Tony's. That account was Tony's. Tony had two Twitter accounts? Steve looked back, just now noticing that it wasn't Twitter after all. At the top of the screen on a background of dark blue in white letters was written Tumblr. Steve didn't hear of the app, it wasn't listed as one of the most popular ones for celebrities and that's probably why Tony used it for -

Steve wasn't exactly sure for what. For something secretive. Something he wanted to hide. Things he didn't admit even to Steve.

Cautiously, Steve scrolled down again, trying to keep an open mind and be more cautious. He wasn't a prude, he knew that people had different kinks and it was completely normal. Heck, he and Tony had a very healthy sex and intimate life and the sight of Tony tied down for their playtime always made Steve's blood boil with lust and desire and they did indulge in some kinks, Steve current favorite one included spanking Tony's bouncy ass and watch it jiggle and the skin turn red. Tony had no problems with sharing his kinky fantasies and Steve was always willing to give it a go, sometimes proposing things on his own, like wax play, which wasn't only sexy but also artistic - Tony's body colored with drips of different colored wax was a beautiful sight. This... This was something different, Steve didn't think to consider.

There were pictures, that without context seemed innocent, like an array of feathers on a pillow. Some were less subtle and showed a part of sucked in stomach, escaping from a coming closer feather duster. The gifs were the most intriguing - a tied up, blindfolded man, laughing and squirming, while a different man was...

Tickling him?

Steve's brow furrowed as he watched the gif, frame by frame. There was no doubt that it was tickling, fingers gliding over tied man's armpits and sides. Steve expected this to be a prelude, something more to follow, but it was all. Tickling was the main point. Steve blushed when he realized that if there were gifs, there had to be a video and who knew how long it was. How many minutes would it take to bring someone to the brink of hysterics, to make them crumble, but at the same time make it pleasurable? People were not forced into filming porn and following that principle, there were not forced into filming tickle kink videos.

And that being said...

"Huh..." Steve mused out, bits of information falling into one picture. They never discussed it, but in the back of his head, Steve had this thought that Tony enjoyed being tickled, or at least didn't mind terribly. The way he squirmed between Steve's tickling hands but didn't try to run away. How he laughed and screamed for mercy whenever Steve targeted a sensitive spot and always seemed a bit disappointed when the tickling ended but masked it with a smile and complaints of being assaulted. Sometimes, Steve just felt provoked into tickling his boyfriend, like that one time, Tony had taken his sketchbook and hid away, refusing to say where he hid it and Steve had to tickle the information out of him until Tony was absolutely incoherent from laughter and breathless.

That was cute. All those shared tickle moments were cute, but Steve never thought that they could be... hot. And intimate. He looked back at the gif, at the way the tickled man arched and bucked, but was not able to escape the ticklish strokes delivered over his skin. What if Tony was the one tied and spread in the chair and Steve was the one standing behind, dotting his fingertips over the bare torso, having that sense of power and control, enjoying the ticklish tremble of the bothered skin. It became a tempting image in his head.

'Guuuuys, I don't know what to do.'

Steve's eyes caught on some text among the images and gifs. A separate post.

'I still can't tell my bf that I like being tickled. I just can't! There is this block in my head -'

Steve read the text, feeling that he might know the author.

'I even did that thing you recommended with hiding his stuff away -'

Definitely knew the author. At the top of the post, he saw a name, probably the username and clicked on it. Blue background color, and image of feathers and the username in white bold font. The Spare Parts Man.

That was one major hint...

Steve scrolled down this page, seeing more text and images of people being tickled, some like, a gif that was of a zoomed in stomach, the belly button tickled by a tip of the feather, signed with a 'omg, goals', whatever that meant. Steve tried to search for the text he saw on the previous page, but couldn't find it anymore, instead saw more posts, where people seemed to be interacting with the author.

'Hi, SP! I was the one who sent you the asks with hiding your BF's stuff -'

'I am sure your BF will understand, from what you said, you are dating for a long time -'

'You still didn't tell him??? What are you waiting for, GO GO GO!'

Steve pursed his lips together, feeling upset that Tony was so willing to share with strangers, but not with him. This whole site seemed so secretive, and while Steve felt a bit betrayed, he started to think about things from Tony's perspective. Tickling wasn't a mainstream kink. Bondage, spanking, food play - all the things they had tried seemed to be more acceptable in the sex world while tickling... Some people enjoyed it, some hated it. Steve was somewhere in between. It could be a fun thing among loved ones, but could quickly become overwhelming and unbearable. Steve didn't think about it earlier, but he really liked tickling Tony. He loved the way his body twitched, the sound of his laughter, and the feeling of closeness and trust in the action. For Steve it was fun. For Tony, it had to run much deeper, forming stronger connections than it did for Steve.

'I don't want to lose him. What if he thinks I am a freak?'

No, Steve would never think that. Tony was the great love of his life and Steve accepted him on every level.

"Oh, babe..." Steve sighed softly, reading more posts, some screaming nervousness as Tony was pouring his heart out, feeling miserable with his inability to tell Steve the truth, some so heartwarming and oozing happiness when Tony was describing Steve's last tickle attacks and how incredibly good and completed it made Tony feel.

That. Steve wanted to make Tony feel like that every day. Satiated and fulfilled and safe.

No more secrets.

Carried on the moment, Steve pressed on an icon with a pencil and began to write.

***

Tony was bored. So, so bored. He caught a glimpse of Pepper sending him a scolding look and straightened up in his seat, pretending to pay attention. He just wanted to go back home and curl up next to Steve, feeling Steve's fingers stroking his hair and maybe, if he got lucky, Steve would rub his belly, using just enough pressure to make him smile and feel like melting. He started to smile at the thought and Pepper sent him a confused look. Uh oh. He better control himself. Tony grinned sheepishly at Pepper and set his face in a schooled, thoughtful look, trying to focus his attention on the meeting. Just half an hour more... It was all ending statements, so it was nothing bad if he decided to check his social media, right? Cautiously, Tony took out his phone and unlocked the screen, keeping the phone under the table. A new tasting video from Thor, with a package of sweets sent from the Netherlands. Tony made a mental note to drop later to Thor's floor and ask if he had any stroopwafels left to share because they were amazing with black coffee. Clint commenting on funny cats videos, Tony added it to his watch later list. As usual, his own social media were bursting with notifications, people raving over Iron Man and asking for more videos of Steve training routine, which, Tony couldn't blame them, the sight of his boyfriend working out was heaven. He even decided to check his Tumblr, curious if anyone sent him some more tips or maybe just left him a nice message -

Oh, that was weird. Usually, he had maybe two or three messages, some reblogs, and a few comments. This time, his app was bursting with notifications and Tony didn't post anything that could cause such a commotion in the last days.

'WHAT. WHAT????"

'Nooooooo... Please don't break up with him! He loves you so much!'

"The hell, dude! You invaded your bf's privacy like that?? You're the worst!"

Tony didn't understand anything. Maybe he clicked and shared something by accident. There was a slight possibility that his account was hacked. Maybe -

Maybe it was way, way worse.

There was a new text post on his main, one he didn't write.

'Hi, this is Spare Part Man's boyfriend. I found this account by accident and me and my boyfriend have a lot to talk about once I see him.'

No. No, no, no.

"Tony? Tony, are you okay?!"

Tony didn't realize he started to hyperventilate until Pepper's voice brought him back. Everyone was staring at him and Tony felt like vomiting.

"I am fine," Tony said, not meaning it, his voice coming out squeaky. "Can we - excuse me, I have to go," Tony rambled out, sending a sorry look in Pepper's direction and trying to walk out of the conference room as calmly as possible. It felt like the whole world was spinning around him, making him feel nauseous. Tony stumbled to the window and pressed his face against the cool glass, trying to soothe his heated skin and get his thoughts back in order.

It wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this. Maybe it was never supposed to happen, staying as his hidden fantasy and dark secret. What if he deleted the account, right here, right now, would he be able to convince Steve that it never existed?

No. Steve wouldn't fall for it. And Tony felt so stupid for creating that account in the first place, but he needed a place to vent. He didn't plan on socializing, sharing his life, just get the urges out and move on. He just... Wanted to feel accepted. Find people who thought the same as he did. Not feel so alone.

And he would end alone because Steve definitely was going to dump him.

***

"I am back!"

Tony was a genius. He had numerous diplomas to prove it. Yet, he decided that the best thing to do would be to march into his and Steve's shared floor, acting like nothing ever happened. Maybe if he managed to keep his cool he could put this whole Tumblr thing as a social study. Just a research on kinks. No biggie. He could do this.

"Tony, come to the bedroom for a second!"

Somehow hearing Steve's voice made this situation very real and not like Tony imagined it. He couldn't say anything from the tone of Steve's voice, it was neutral, not angry, but also wasn't the cheerful, loving one Steve had towards him. On usual days, Steve would come to him, resembling an excited puppy and lick his face - kiss, Tony meant kiss, and then they would sit on the couch and share their day. Their bedroom was a private, closed space and once Tony set his foot there, there was no way back.

Feeling a nervous twist in his stomach, Tony peeked into the bedroom, just to feel if the situation was as bad as he feared. Steve was on the bed, forehead creased in thought, and was looking at the space in front of him until he spotted Tony from the corner of his eyes.

"Tony - " Steve started, sitting up straight, pulling shoulders back.

"No, Steve, I - " Tony walked into the bedroom, trying to make his voice strong. Just remember what he had planned and it would be fine. "I want to talk first, okay?"

Steve blinked and frowned lightly, but kept his lips tight. Alright, if Tony insisted.

"Okay," Tony nodded, trying to give himself some courage and began to pace around the room. "I know you found my Tumblr account," he said the obvious, struggling to keep his voice firm. "And - and it was not true, you know that, right? I just - research - an experiment to - ahh," Tony quickly got lost in his words, noticing Steve's look changing to a confused one. "I - ah, fuck, fuck, fuck - " Tony couldn't get any coherent words out and stopped and hid his face in hands. He continued to quietly curse, not knowing how to get out of this mess and not lose everything.

"Babe..."

Tony almost jumped away, when Steve came closer and wrapped arms around him. After a moment of hesitation, Tony buried himself into his soldier's arms, his face pressed against Steve's neck. Probably the last hug he would receive from Steve. This whole thing won't make Avengers stuff awkward at all. What if Steve would quit the team? Tony couldn't imagine not being able to see Steve anymore. He needed him. He would change, he would do better. Steve couldn't break up with him.

"Of course that I am not breaking up with you," Steve said suddenly, and Tony winced, not realizing he said it out loud. "Is that what you thought?" Steve asked, sounding shocked. Reluctantly, Tony nodded. Somehow he was used to being rejected and walking away from problems was one of the things he did and expected the same happen to him.

"God, Tony," Steve said in an exasperated huff, not believing how quickly this whole thing could escalate in Tony's mind. Then again, he should know, because Tony did think too much and sometimes didn't stop his thoughts on time, letting them drag him deeper and deeper. "Tony, I am not breaking up with you," Steve said again, just to make sure the words sunk in his boyfriend's head. "And I am sorry," Steve gently put his thumb and forefinger under Tony's chin, encouraging him to eye contact. 'Sorry you turned out to be messed up in the head,' Tony finished in his mind, looking into Steve's blue eyes.

"I am sorry for barging into your space when you didn't feel ready to share yet," Steve said, closing the distance between them and leaning his forehead against Tony's.

What?

Tony didn't reply, just stared, his brown eyes widening. Steve was... apologizing to him? Not the other way around?

"I read some of your blog," Steve said and Tony panicked again, Steve holding him closer when he felt brunet's body tense, "and I understand how hard it is for you to talk about it and how important it is for you. I really do. If anything, I am... a bit disappointed you didn't tell me. Why didn't you?"

Tony's mouth twisted into a scowl. He was disappointed with himself too, but it was hard. Harder than admitting that he liked being pinned down by Steve, or spanked, as it all seemed... simpler. It was obvious why people who enjoyed it were turned on by it. Tickling wasn't easy to explain.

"I wanted to," Tony finally spoke, his voice coming out quiet, "I didn't know how," this wasn't a good answer. Tony closed his eyes, not able to look at Steve. "I was embarrassed, I guess."

"Hmmm," Steve hummed in understanding, waiting for Tony to continue, but he didn't say anything more. Tony had no problems with voicing out his needs on his site, but face to face with Steve, he was fumbling and struggling for words. Anonymity gave him a sense of control which was being stripped away from him, layer by layer. Maybe with time, Tony would open more, and it was on Steve's side to nurture that vulnerable mindset until Tony would feel strong enough and confident to voice out his true needs.

"Then... can you tell me why you like it?" Steve tried, sounding gentle and not judgmental. Keeping an open mind was the key here.

"I don't know," Tony said quickly, sounding defensive. He didn't mean to, but it was stranger than him. He didn't want Steve to judge him, to think less of him, but... It was Steve. Steve who was always so understanding and didn't laugh at him and did his best to keep Tony feel accepted. It won't work if Steve would be the only one willing to share. "I guess," Tony corrected himself, trying to be more open, "I like the trust in it. And closeness," he said, tugging on Steve's clothes and hiding more into his boyfriend, "and, uh, it feels good."

"Feels good?"

"Yeah," Tony admitted, burying his heated face deeper into Steve's neck. "Feels really good. Especially when you are the one ti - doing it."

"Oh," Steve said, carding his fingers through the short hair on the back of Tony's head. Tony shivered, just slightly, from the light touch, smiling against Steve's skin and Steve felt an urge to touch him all over. This time differently, more aware and more intimate, paying closer attention to the reactions. "So... you wanna do it?"

"Do what?"

"You know what."

Tony moved away from Steve, showing a confused face. That kinda felt like mocking him, but Steve's face was honest. And it would certainly change the mood and make Tony feel better about this whole day. "I don't know," Tony said, just to be safe, "do you want to do it?"

"Heck yeah."

"What? You do?" Tony asked, his mouth falling agape at the enthusiasm.

"Sure. You like it and I like tickling you too. It's a win-win, right?"

Tony started to smile in relief. It was really happening. Steve accepted one of Tony's darkest secrets and even wanted to take part in it. Tony could barely wrap his mind around it, already feeling excited and giddy.

"So?" Steve asked again, eyes sparkling, waiting for permission from his boyfriend.

"If you keep asking, it takes the surprise factor AWAAHHAHA!" Tony's newly found boost of confidence was efficiently cut off when Steve latched hands to his sides and squeezed repeatedly. Tony doubled over in laughter and squirmed away, watching with a pounding heart as Steve followed him, smiling beautifully mischievous. "No, no, no, wait, Steve! STEHEVE!" Tony screeched in laughter when Steve ran forward, pushing Tony on the bed, and falling with him. "ACK! STE - hahaha! Waaait!" Tony wailed when fingers were going up and down his body tickling intensely. When Tony became pink in the face and a little breathless, Steve stopped, leaning in and kissing Tony's smiling lips.

"I love you, babe," Steve whispered, looking at his lover.

"I love you too," Tony answered, his heart hammering from the ticklish rush and all love he had for Steve.

"Are we good?"

"We are good," Tony assured, still not believing that everything turned out so great.

"Good," Steve smiled, and just now Tony realized that somehow both of his wrists were in soldier's hold and Steve easily pinned his hands above his head, leaving his torso exposed. "Because now," Steve said, sitting on Tony's thighs and slowly sliding his free hand under Tony's shirt. "I want to test every ticklish spot on you."

"Oh fuhahahck - " Tony wriggled uselessly, his stomach sinking in when Steve gently ran fingertips over the soft skin. "Steve, Steve, pleaheehehehese!"

"This is just your tummy and you already are so ticklish. It is a very promising start."

"Ahhahaha!"

"Oh, is this rib ticklish? How about this one? And this one?"

"GAAA HAHAHA!"

"Oh look, the higher I go, the more you laugh. Sooo, this means that when I do this -"

"PFF HAHAHAHA!"

"That's one ticklish armpit you have, babe! Let's find out if the other one is as ticklish -"

Steve was grinning, watching Tony crumbling and laughing, coming apart under his fingers. Steve was right, it was a win-win for both of them.

***

"You should write on your Tumblr."

"Huh?"

"You should," Steve repeated, rolling on completely naked Tony and kissing his lips, "write on your," a kiss on the chin, "Tumblr," Steve finished, blowing a raspberry into Tony's neck.

"HAAHAHA! Stoooop," Tony tried to swat Steve away, feeling too blissful to move. Of course that a long, intimate tickle session changed into an amazing make out. It was incredible how the tickle foreplay increased their appetite and how wonderfully responsive Tony became.

Steve laughed and rolled on his side, looking at Tony with adoration. Laughing made Tony ten times more attractive in Steve's eyes, and Tony was off the scale to start with.

"I am serious, babe," Steve tried again, gently poking his finger all over Tony's bare belly, making him squeak funnily and curl up, "write on your Tumblr. Everyone has to be worried."

"Ah hahaha... Ohkahay!" Tony agreed, shielding his stomach with one hand and using the other one to reach for his phone. "Uhh... Should I update and delete it?" Tony asked. With everything working out so great, there was no reason for him to keep that account. No more secret lusting, when he had it all in real life.

"If you want to," Steve said truthfully, "or maybe you can keep it for a bit longer because I might need some inspiration on how to take you apart."

"Ahhh, not sure if I want to give you access to that sort of power," Tony teased, opening the app. "Huh, people kinda hate you."

Steve shrugged, understanding that what he wrote, did sound menacing, even if it wasn't his intention. "Just write that we are fine and your boyfriend plans on fulfilling your each and every one tickle fantasy."

"You do?" Tony asked, voice trembling with excitement.

"All of them, babe," Steve assured, smiling broadly. He had remembered some of the things he read and gifs he saw, and could easily imagine Tony on the receiving end.

Looking enthusiastic, Tony got to writing. Soon, Steve got up and leaned over Tony's shoulder, looking at the screen.

'Hi, guys. Sorry for the sudden silence but as you saw we had a situation here. It is all good now, me and BF talked, and he turned to be all sweet about it, not bragging, I just had my first tickle session and it was amazing! So, I just wanted to give you an update, that I am fine. More than fine. My BF said that I can keep this Tumblr if I want to and he will even use it as an inspiration, so aaaah, can't wait. Just don't give him any ideas! I am gonna talk to you all soon, but for now, I and my BF have plans. See you later!'

After the post got published, Tony and Steve didn't have to wait for a reaction.

'AAAAH! I AM SO GLAD EVERYTHING IS FINE! YOU BOYS HAVE FUN NOW!'

'Awesome, couple goals.'

'That's great, dude, but I hope your BF apologized.'

"That's the one that doesn't like me, right?" Steve squinted his eyes, pointing at the last comment. Tony laughed and nosed Steve's cheek playfully.

"It is okay, I like you," he smiled. "Do you want to have a nickname? That will make it much easier for me to write when you are involved."

"Um, sure," Steve said, not entirely sold on the idea, but not wanting to shot Tony's idea down. "You call yourself Spare Parts Man, right?" Steve asked and Tony nodded. "Soooo... How about you call me Iron Man?"

Tony's smile dropped in surprise, and he laughed mockingly. "Seriously, dude?"

"Hey, the darkest place is under the candle," Steve said, sounding defensive.

"Fine," Tony agreed, rolling his eyes dramatically. He reblogged the post and added an update.

'BF wants you to call him Iron Man. I know, lame.'

"Ack!" Tony almost dropped his phone when Steve scoldingly pinched his side. Soon the first comments came.

'Ah you sound like a superhero couple, how cute!'

'I am shipping you both. #relationshipgoals'

'Wow, your BF is not very creative, isn't he? But fine, let it be IRON MAN.'

"Write to this one that I don't like them either," Steve hissed, looking at the last comment.

Tony laughed and turned to Steve, pressing their lips together in a kiss. Long and sweet. The kind of kiss that was the perfect happy ending to a tickle kink coming out story.

"Oh, interesting!" Steve suddenly said, ending the kiss too soon and looking at one of the comments, smiling wickedly.

"What is int - noooooo!" Tony wailed, understanding the reason behind the smile. It was stronger than him and Tony started to panic. "It is a lie, Steve! Don't believe the lieeee no no aaah HELP!"

Steve laughed, wrestling Tony down and pinning his hands once again. If Tony was already getting this worked up, there was no way Steve would back up.

"No, please!" Tony giggled, kicking his legs, trying to wriggle away, as Steve's menacingly moving fingers were getting closer and closer. "I cahahahan't!"

Somehow, Steve didn't believe him. Instead, he believed the comment.

'Hey, this is for Iron Man - I am sure you know already, that SP's stomach is really ticklish, but did you try tickling his belly button specifically? From what SP writes it is a very ticklish outie. Have fun!'

When Steve pressed his finger over Tony's outie delicately and Tony burst into giggling, almost maniacal laughter, Steve was in heaven. It was settled, Tony was keeping his blog for further tips for Steve.

#stony #steve rogers #tony stark #superhusbands #stevetony #tickling #tickle kink #tickle fic #upperbody tickling #fanfic #fanfiction

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mythgirlimagines · 3 years

Photo

Monitoring your every move, ready to strike when least expected, is this week’s talent swap! Introducing Myth, the Former Ultimate Chess Player!

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BACKSTORY AND TALENT

Having an overly analytical mindset ever since she was a child, Myth solved the puzzles she was given quickly and burned through mental stimulation toys like it was nothing. It really put a dent in her parents’ wallet, and they needed to find some way to entertain her daughter before they become flat broke. One day, when Myth and her parents visited the toy store to find a new toy for her, Myth became enticed by the board games section, particularly a chessboard, which her parents managed to buy. Myth picked up on the rules of chess very quickly, and dominated both her parents and older sisters in the game. Eventually Myth signed up for chess clubs and defeated each and everyone of the other participants, and in turn, managed to reach grandmaster rank. One tournament, Myth decided to wear a chess themed dress to throw opponents off and make them underestimate her, before completely decimating them. She is still wearing the dress to this day.

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RELATIONSHIPS

Wyre Anon, Former Ultimate Freelance Artist

Having garnered fame on the internet for her realistic drawings of animal corpses and dinosaur bones, Wyre has been Myth’s friend ever since childhood. In fact, Wyre was the one who came up with the original design for Myth’s dress. Wyre regularly attends Myth’s chess tournaments as a bodyguard of sorts, with Wyre’s intimidating glare and feral personality scaring anyone who decides to toy with their little friend. While Wyre is a great friend and everything, Myth is heavily concerned with her friend’s work schedule and the toll it has on their mental health and fortitude.

Outfit: A black ski cap with a skull pin on the front, a black leather vest with a white dragon design on the back over a brown hoodie with bone designs on the sleeves, black fingerless gloves with skull designs, black shorts, socks, shoes, glasses and piercings from original designs.

Anon Scar, Ultimate Grave Digger

Being the daughter of a mortician and a funeral planner, Scar has been interacting with the dead ever since she was a little girl, and is currently working in the funeral home as a grave digger. Being ostracized for both her interest in the dead and her middle school persona, (aka. Death’s Messenger) Scar tried her best to shake the facade, but she can’t help but fall back on that facade. Scar seems to be fully convinced that Myth is some sort of esper, for she managed to uncover her true personality within the first couple minutes of meeting her. ”The Pawn’s Empress” is one of Death’s Messenger’s biggest foes yet.

Outfit: Original outfit but with dirt stained boots and gloves and her funeral home’s logo on the back of her jacket.

Fusion Anon, Ultimate Boy Scout

Having collected all of his scout troupe’s merit badges in record time, Fusion currently works on educating younger scouts in getting merit badges and even teaches his fellow con-mates the art of the boy scout. Ever since coming to the Kibo-Con, Fusion has established leadership amongst the younger Ultimates, a bit like a father to the group, and gives them seminars on scouting skills. Myth’s natural genius made her ace Fusion’s seminars with ease. Fusion’s happiness at showing off his knowledge and scouting skills seems to imply a less-than-stellar self-confidence/an inferiority complex.

Outfit: A green visor, a tanned cargo jacket with badges sewn in, bandages wrapped around his hands, a green sash with badges crowded on it, glasses, pants and shoes from original design.

Fusion Anon II, Ultimate Private Investigator

Despite her lackadaisical and sarcastic attitude off of the job, you would be hard-pressed to find a more capable private investigator. Fusion II claims that she went for a private investigator as her job as opposed to a detective, because she can turn down cases she deems too easy or not worth her time. But Myth eventually realized that underneath Fusion II’s memey, rebellious, and sarcastic demeanor, Fusion II is secretly very insecure about her detective skills, especially after getting an innocent man convicted once. Fusion II is currently working to uncover the mystery that is Myth.

Outfit: A light blue fedora with a black band and a red rose, a light blue trench coat over a white shirt and a red necktie, a long blue skirt, black and white laced boots, sunglasses from original design.

Just Anon, Ultimate Toymaker

Famous for his expertly-crafted stuffed rabbits, Janon usually spends all of his time either sleeping or insulting people. Within the first few minutes of meeting Janon, Myth has already uncovered a fear of failure, a perfectionist attitude when it comes to making toys and a soft spot for children, particularly the two Jr. Ultimates that are attending the Kibo-Con with him. Janon is sick and even more tired of Myth constantly exposing him like this. Janon is currently trying to make a voodoo doll of Myth to make her suffer, as revenge for constantly exposing him and making him seem like less of a jerk.

Outfit: A lazily buttoned up shirt, an untied red tie, a tool belt, a face mask with a “w” mouth and blushy cheeks, pants, boots and hoodie from original design.

Sparkle Anon, Former Ultimate Seamstress

Famous for being the scion of the ”Spectacular Threads” company, Sparkle is famous for her glittery and elaborate hand-crafted formal wear. While Wyre designed the original design of Myth’s dress, Sparkle was the girl Wyre sent the design to, to get it created, which means Myth and Sparkle go further back than one would expect. Myth knew Sparkle before they both reinvented themselves with new flamboyant personalities, and when Sparkle was just a shy magical girl and theater fanatic. Even as an adult, Myth can still see Sparkle is still the same nerd she was when Myth first met her, deep down.

Outfit: Same outfit from her original design, but with sewing supplies attached to her clothes.

Egg Anon, Former Ultimate Ghost Hunter, and Wet Sock Anon, Former Ultimate Police Officer

Despite their two different talents, Egg and Wet Sock have many things in common, with the biggest similarity between the two being their appearance, their uniforms, and above all, their penchant for cursed comments. Even Myth‘s analytical attitude is no match for the nonsensical and violently cursed comments of the freak duo. It’s very clear that years of dealing with violent criminals and supernatural horrors would take a toll on anybody’s psyche. Even Myth doesn’t want to think about what horrors the two have witnessed within their careers that twisted their minds to such cursed degrees.

Outfits: Gakurans, police caps, white gloves and a golden badge. Egg has a purple uniform, and Wet Sock has a black uniform, glasses from original design.

Curious Anon, Jr. Ultimate Tutor

Despite their age, Curious has college-level academic prowess and uses that knowledge to help tutor students of all ages, and can turn underachievers into overachievers with their infinite patience and flawless study strategies. It didn‘t take much time for Myth to realize one of the main flaws of Curious: their passiveness and willingness to let people walk all over and take advantage them. Myth would often organize tea parties disguised as study sessions to talk to Curious more, for they are basically an open book, despite what their vocal and facial range would suggest.

Outfit: Hair pulled into a small ponytail, fake glasses, a green vest over a white button up shirt, tie, pants and shoes from original design.

Anon Nerd, Former Ultimate Lifeguard

Originally getting the job purely for some extra pocket money, Nerd quickly rose through the ranks and quickly became an emergency technician for beaches. Nerd’s good looks were seen as both a blessing and a curse by him, for many admirers purposefully drowned themselves, just so Nerd can give them mouth-to-mouth. This, along with poor pay in the early parts of his career, lead to his hostile attitude towards everybody, particularly people with a crush on him or people he has a crush on. Myth told Nerd the truth, and got thrown into the nearest body of water by him, and he didn’t save her.

Outfit: A tight grey muscle shirt, red swim trunks with black stripes on each side, red flip-flops.

Eldritch Anon, Ultimate Competitive Eater

Despite Eldritch’s small size, Eldritch has an appetite rivaled only by Fusion’s. Eldritch originally entered the competition as a poison tester, in order to prevent the participants from being sabotaged and perhaps murdered, but Eldritch managed to dominate the competitions. Eldritch has now participated in 255 eating competitions all across the country, and even outside of the country. Eldritch seems to be the first person to look past Myth’s little cutesy facade, and seems to want to avoid Myth at all costs, which makes it difficult for Myth to get a read on him.

Outfit: A purple jersey with “Poison Tester” on the front in yellow letters, dark grey cargo shorts, white socks, black and yellow sneakers.

Dream Anon, Ultimate Street Artist

Dream is famous for her paintings of rainbow clouds on random buildings and roads. Despite Dream’s rough life on the street, somehow she remains as bright and cheerful as her infamous murals. After being busted by the police for her vandalism, Dream got accepted by the Hope’s Peak scouts, and got to get out of jail, in exchange for food and shelter at her Hope’s Peak dorm room. You will bet that Dream would accept the offer full-heartedly. Myth totally didn’t expect someone as cheerful as Dream to have one of the roughest pre-con lives, but Myth now wants to adopt Dream.

Outfit: Wild hair, a denim jacket stained with paint over a pink shirt, black paint-stained boots, skirt and shorts from original design.

Iris Anon, Jr. Ultimate Child Prodigy

Having one of the highest IQs for a child her age, Iris already graduated college with several degrees, mostly in science. Iris’s determined attitude and love for learning made many universities consider her for their adorable mascot. While everyone else views Iris as a clumsy and dorky optimist who never gives up when it comes to her work, Myth knows the truth behind Iris. Because of her status as a child prodigy, lots of pressure was put upon her, which only served to arouse her already existing anxiety. From that point onwards, Iris and Myth gather for weekly chess games.

Outfit: A dark blue sweater over a white sailor uniform with a red tie and skirt, grey stockings, blue Mary Janes, glasses from original design.

Purple Anon, Ultimate Couples Dancer

Growing up in a high-class family that is known for their equally high-class masquerade balls, Purple’s skills on the ballroom dancing floor are unparalleled. Unfortunately off of the dance floor and deprived of her masquerade costume, Purple is superbly timid, regularly staying in her room, until Hope’s Peak accepted her. Purple’s vocabulary is about as elaborate and old-fashioned as her family’s masquerade balls. Luckily Myth is smart enough to understand her vocabulary. Myth is currently working on giving Purple confidence lessons, knowing that it could help her find her chosen one.

Outfit; Mid-back length hair, a mask that is black on the left and white on the right, a black sunhat, a matching black dress, black gloves, purple heels.

This series revolves around this enigmatic chess champion exposing people for their emotional problems, while some people (read: Scar and Fusion II) try to find out the secret behind her.

—————————————-—————

PERSONALITY

The best way to describe Chess!Myth would be a more benign version of Celestia, right down to the fashion. She is very intelligent and analytical, which is how she discovered chess in the first place. Myth gets easily bored and needs constant mental stimulation, usually by competing with chess champions or buy simply kicking back and watching people interact. People are unpredictable creatures, after all. But perhaps the most prominent trait about her would probably be her ability to read people like a book. It’s very hard to lie to her face, for she will expose your lies to YOUR face. This helps a lot in chess, but this also makes her a very empathetic and kind-hearted individual.

——————————————————-

APPEARANCE

Myth wears her purple-dyed hair into twintails with a black and white scrunchie in each, and wears a black crown with red gems embedded into and on it. Myth wears an entirely black and white dress with asymmetrically-colored sleeves and dress tails. On her nails is black polish on her left hand and white polish on her right hand.

——————————————————-

I hope you like this version of you, Myth! Let me know what you think! See you soon, kiddos!

-Fusion Anon

---

Two things! One, love this!!! Two, when you said “Celestia” I automatically thought of the MLP:FIM character XD I’m so used to calling Celestia Celeste, lol

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weirdlandtv · 5 years

Text

Like the 1960s generation had The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, and Bob Dylan, the Big Three of the 1980s were Prince, Michael Jackson, and Madonna. Their new albums weren’t just song collections, they were messages uttered by the Oracle up on the mountain, echoing across the valley. They were events, statements, re-incarnations. Each new album presented a new persona for fans to imitate and for critics to evaluate, or, in the case of Prince, decipher. (Artists, back then, had to change with each new release or else be considered irrelevant. David Bowie entered the 1980s a smart yuppie, George Michael in the span of 7 years went from sparkling teen idol to sensitive, searching biker cowboy.)

Michael Jackson and Prince were regarded as rival gods, with the former more commercially successful but the latter preferred by most serious music critics (though in reality, fans, like me, liked both). Michael Jackson played games with tabloid journalists, who in turn responded with growing hostility; Prince played pranks on music critics, who wilfully allowed themselves to be deceived and wowed by this inscrutable prodigy.

Michael Jackson’s Avalon was Neverland, a fantasy dream that always invited ridicule (though not from me); Prince’s Mount Olympus was Paisley Park, a place deemed so mythical that fans constructed their own maps from the few photos and bits of footage that existed of it, and then endlessly speculated on what life was like inside of it: the parties, the concerts, sacred rituals, whisperings, the spontaneous nightly sessions. “Did you know,” they’d say, wide-eyed, “Prince has this huge vault of original masters and unreleased music right under Paisley Park? Only he knows the key code.” Whole albums (all masterpieces of course) had disappeared into that vault, never to be heard by ordinary mortals. And he never slept: nobody had ever caught him sleeping. He just went on and on, creating music. That was Prince, the enigmatic wonder, the living love symbol, and flamboyant question mark.

I still find it strange to realize so many of the artists I just mentioned, who so energetically populated my childhood and early teens, are dead. Michael Jackson, Prince, David Bowie, and George Michael all died within 7 years of each other; but there’s also Whitney Houston, Freddie Mercury, Kurt Cobain, and so many more. (Compare 1960s giants Paul McCartney, The Rolling Stones and Bob Dylan, who are still touring and releasing records.)

When Prince died, a little more than three years ago today, I was on Texel, an island to the north of Holland, where I live. I checked my phone, checked the news, like you so stupidly do every now and then, and then saw the incredible headline. A sunny day, clouds seemed to appear that moment. Some people love celebrity deaths and follow juicy rumor sites about who punched who and who stepped out of the limo without their knickers on; me, I get depressed. It’s like having swallowed a stone. The sensationalist cries around every celeb death to me are like a beehive of bad vibes, a pest, and I have to stay away from it as far as possible if I want to protect my mental health, or what’s left of it. Prince’s death made me take things slow for a week or so. I have to mentally chew on such things, change my settings, ease into the new reality, let my heart adjust to its new weight. I’ve often had to deal with death in my life, sometimes it’s as if every high-profile death shocks me back into that familiar feeling of dread and despair.

Though Michael Jackson’s Neverland has turned into a derelict theme park that carries the curse of being unsellable, Prince’s Paisley Park has become a museum. Occasionally, browsing the internet, I see photos of it, and I’m always struck, kind of uneasily, about how soulless it seems. What does the lair of an extravagant hermit look like? What did I expect? Not something that looks like the atrium of a New Age company maybe. Looking at the interior, those sad police photos that were released last year, I can’t help but see the stupendous mundanity of it all. The building itself, somewhere in a suburb outside of Minneapolis, resembles a bunker, and though the pyramid skylights, that vaguely resemble guard towers, provide some natural light, the rest of the building is artificially lit, but dark. The recording studio is just that. Some of the walls have sayings like “Everything You Think Is True”. Stained glass with stars, clouds, and guitars. There’s a potted plant here, and an ugly tangle of phone cords in the corner there. Prince’s bedroom was sparse with empty green walls, and a plastic trash can you can buy at your local Walmart (but he never slept of course). The legendary vault reminds me of the storage room of my dad’s old electronics company, with its disorderly shelves and half-opened cardboard boxes. And everywhere, in every corridor and every space, there’s Prince iconography, but it’s rather bland, like the cover of a cheap unofficial biography.

For Prince, it must have been strange living in your own mausoleum.

The music that came from that place though. I believe PARADE (1986) was the first full album he recorded there, and then everything that came afterwards. My uncle was a real Prince fanatic, taking a slew of albums with him whenever he stayed with us, bootlegs too, so from an early age I became quite well-versed in all things Prince. Bits of his lyrics are as familiar to me as old family sayings. Personal favorites are the albums 1999 (1982), BATMAN (1989), and the LOVE SYMBOL ALBUM (1992). I like the street-smart humor of his early stuff, the raw passion, the in-your-face sex metaphors, with symbols as loud as cymbals, just the wild mercury sound of it; later on, his work became more spiritual, and harder for me to follow. His whole being though was music, every movement was a melody, every step a beat; he created music the way other people breathe. He had more songs in him than a duck has quacks. If you listen to the posthumous release, PIANO AND A MICROPHONE 1983, it’s as if the piano, microphone and artist aren’t three separate things, but one organism, bleeding and generating music; it features some wonderful, loose playing. It seems to me that towards the end of his life, in physical pain and unable to play a piano or guitar unless stuffed with elephant tranquilizers, he started to drift, and drift further, until he fell over the edge.

Like Bob Dylan, whose mystique and inaccessibility he shared, Prince had a habit of frustrating his fans, by deliberately excluding a great song from an otherwise so-so album and storing it in his vault, or by making his music hard to buy or even find (online, before he died, there was almost nothing). That’s one reason I kind of stopped following him; the other is the depressing decline of his songwriting since the 1990s. Looking at his later albums, which I first dutifully bought until I didn’t anymore, there’s hardly anything I really like. None of the best-of compilations collect anything from after the 90s. What happened? Age is part of it of course. A decline in quality is inevitable, most musical artists do their best work in their 20s and 30s. It’s also possible Prince’s brand of singing about his women like they are divine vaginas simply went out of style. Once cheeky and outrageous (his work was why Parental Advisory stickers were invented), his songs no longer shock us 21st centurians. We’ve seen so much already. Dirty sex wasn’t the only topic he sang about of course (far from it), but it’s the one he pushed forward the most as part of his image; his “royal badness” was part of his appeal. (The BATMAN soundtrack originally was going to feature Michael Jackson as Batman, the force of good, and Prince as the Joker, representing decadence, sin, evil.)

But his supposed “badness” was an act of course. The cocky poses, flashy gestures and mean diva looks were an obvious shield against the outside world, a theatrical defense mechanism. An attempt to dazzle people before they can get to you. When you’re shy—and he of course was the shyest—you feel like everyone is constantly watching you, and you become overly aware of how you look, how you walk, how you come across; you are constantly aware of your physical being taking up space. So what do you do when you’re an artist? You perform. Everything you do becomes a kind of performance, a conscious act. It gives you a feeling of control: you know why people are watching, because you’re making them watch you. But the essence of it is always shyness and nerves.

There’s something endearing about that 1983 footage of him being invited on stage for an impromptu jam by James Brown, who a few minutes earlier had invited Michael Jackson up. Ready to upstage his rival, who had just performed some killer moves, Prince takes the stage, struts, plays some random riffs, struts some more, suddenly takes off his jacket and does some tricks with the microphone stand, claps to whip up the audience—and then as he wants to make a fast and sudden exit, he clumsily goes down knocking over a prop, stage hands hastily arriving from all sides to help him up.

He died in an elevator near the lobby, but the spot itself has been covered up by a new wall (it’s near the watchful eyes in the third image). I keep wondering what happened. Was he making his way down to the ground floor from his production offices, or was he going up from the recording studio to his bedroom to maybe sleep? One associate, questioned by police, stated that Prince had told her he “was depressed, enjoyed sleeping more than usual and was incredibly bored”, and that at his last concert, he felt like he was going to fall asleep on stage. Those were rare remarks. An intensely private person, he mostly hid his problems, not just from others, but even from himself. The end, then, was inevitable. As with Michael Jackson six years before, the drugs relieved him of his pain, and then of his life.

He never slept, and when he did, it was 4ever.

#prince #paisley park #photos #inside #interior #studio #music #pics #pictures #images #house #home

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misssophiachase · 5 years

Note

Mini Prompt - Klaus kisses Caroline at midnight on NYE and it leaves her a bit flustered, although she'd be lying if she said she didn't enjoy it.

Thanks anon! I wish I had this for Klaroeve. I hope you like my take. It’s based on lyrics from New Year’s Day by Taylor Swift, one of my faves. As per usual I’m not too good at sticking to the whole ‘mini’ premise of a drabble, must be your amazing prompt!

New Year’s Day

Hold onto the memories…

PresentDay – Austin, TX

Caroline Forbes hated New Year’s Eve.

Well, since five years ago.

It had become a well-known fact within her family andclose circle of friends both in her hometown of New York and now more recently in Austin. Thankfully no one had dared to askwhy she’d changed her tune so suddenly and that was just fine.

So much so that she insisted upon being left aloneevery year. And for the most part they did so because she was like an extremelygrouchy bear with a sore head. Obviously December 31st, 2018, was anotherstory altogether. Her friends had bravely, or stupidly, decided to poke said bear.

Caroline had bought the supermarket out of ChunkyMonkey and was preparing her first movie. Who didn’t want to watch the Notebookon New Year’s Eve? It wasn’t like the occasion could get any moredepressing, right?

“Ohgod, kill me,” she heard that familiar voice before she saw its owner. “Talkabout depressing.” It was like she could read her mind.

“Idon’t know, Ryan Gosling isn’t too bad to look at, Kat,” the other familiarvoice offered.

“Weare trying to get her out of this sick and twisted situation not remind herthat Ryan Gosling is hot and a totally worthy reason for staying home on New Years.”

“Wayto convince her to come out,” Bonnie drawled, sarcastically.

“Yourealise I can hear you both, right?” She murmured, chomping on some butteredpopcorn and not bothering to turn around knowing her best friends were standingimpatiently in her kitchen. “And while we’re at it, remind me toconfiscate your keys to my apartment.”

“Canyou just drop this whole hostility act, it’s not attractive, Care,” Katherinechided.

“Saysthe girl who is crashing my private movie marathon?”

“Youneed an intervention, enough is enough,” she huffed, her high heels clicking onthe floorboards. Caroline didn’t have much time to react given her supposedbest friend had stolen the television remote and turned everything off.

“Youdidn’t just do that, real mature Pierce. Who are you anyway? The fun police?” She snapped, a comment more than a question. Katherinelifted the remote above her head so she couldn’t snatch it so easily.

“If you think she’s the fun police, you really do need help,” Bonnie added. “This whole, weird tradition needs to be broken.”

“Ithought you were on my side, Bon?”

“Notsince you decided that outfit was acceptable even behind closed doors,” shesuggested. Caroline looked curiously at her combination of pinksweatpants and a blue and orange Knicks jersey and decided it was just fine.

“Iknow you’re a Spurs fan Bonnie but even that comment is low.”

“Justplease stop being snarky and put this on,” Katherine drawled, holding up whatlooked like a small, black garment.

“Byitself?” Caroline baulked.

“It’sa dress, Caroline,” she shot back.

“Areyou sure it’s not a belt?”

“Howold are you again?” Caroline narrowed her eyes in her friend’s direction. Shewas on the older side of twenty-seven but there were moments her Great Aunt Mabel decided to takeover her body. Caroline chose to think this was one of those occasions.

“I’mnot getting off this couch until you tell me what’s going on?” She scoffed.

“Fine,”Kat replied gruffly, relinquishing the dress (or belt) momentarily. “Youknow that guy I was telling you about?” Before Caroline could mentally trawl through theoptions, Bonnie interjected.

“No,not the Italian model, the Australian magician or the Scandinavian fisherman,” sheclarified. “This one is an art critic.”

“Wow, those are the hardest nuts to crack,” Caroline replied knowingly. She was a singer by trade, doing mostly small gigs around town but had met a few of those in her time performing at art gallery exhibitions. “ And I reiterate my previous observation,” she whistled thinking back to the most difficult of them.

5 years earlier…NYC

It was that ominous New Year’s Eve five years ago when she met a difficult art critic for the very first time. While his suit was impeccable, his attitude and supposed manners were grating on her last nerve. She was hoping to escape as soon as their set was finished.

The room was full, barely enough space to breathe in fact. Caroline had finished her song and made her way to what she thought was the back exit for some air but obviously took a wrong turn.

Caroline didn’t consider herself an art expert but she was neither excited nor moved by the works on display. She’d walked in circles, not expecting to meet someone obviously worked up and pacing the length of what looked like a back room.

“Sorry,” she offered, his eyes meeting her gaze unexpectedly. Caroline would be lying if she wasn’t aroused in that moment by his sinful, crimson lips and a stray dimple. “I took a wrong turn.”

“Do you like the art?” His question blind sighted her briefly. Caroline knew exactly what she thought but given they’d never been introduced formally and this guy was the artist paying her bills she was reluctant to speak.

“Well, um…”

“This work is rubbish don’t you think?

“Well, it’s not really my place…”

“Why, cat got your tongue?”

“Fine. If I’m being honest, it seems kind of forced.”

“How so?” She paused, wondering why this guy was so eager for her amateur opinion. “The truth, please,” he implored, she couldn’t miss the desperation in his tone and those pleading eyes.

“Honestly? It has no heart, it’s cold and unfeeling,” she admitted. “But please don’t tell the artist, I’d like to be able to pay my rent next month.”

He’d stared at her for a good few minutes and she wasn’t sure what he was going to do next. Turns out he didn’t have to say anything. She’d obviously said too much and kicked herself mentally. Caroline always spoke without thinking and this instance was no different.

The chants from the art gallery increased in volume and they could hear each number as it was articulated for countdown purposes. Still their eyes never lowered or deviated.

8….

“I hate New Year’s Eve,” Caroline murmured trying to break the tension.

“Me too,” he replied, a slight and unexpected grin tugging at the ends of those lips. “Even more than gallery showings when you hate the work your publicist has chosen without permission.”

6….

“You’re the artist?” She squeaked, “I thought it was the rude guy in the suit.”

“No, that’s my older brother,” he murmured. First she’d insulted his art and now his own brother. “He’s an art critic and thinks he knows everything. My sister is the publicist.”

“Well, I’d be firing their incompetent asses now, unless it makes things awkward at Christmas, of course.” she smiled, hoping a bit humour would dig her out of this big hole.

4….

“Who says it wasn’t awkward beforehand? I know you’re a singer but if there’s any chance you want to be my publicist let me know.”

“I’m not the nagging type but I’m also not the kiss-your-ass type either.”

3….

“Why? Don’t you like my ass?”

“If I was your publicist right now I’d say that ego is not attractive,” she shot back slyly. “And it might be difficult for me to lie if I was asked to deny it.”

1…

“I wouldn’t want you to lie, love,” he murmured. “Your honesty is the best part about you.”

As the countdown ended and the cheers sounded out, it was as if an invisible magnet pulled them together. She thought he was a bit of an ass and he seemed to be going through an artistic crisis, but their kiss lasted much longer than the prescribed time.

And it felt good.

So good.

Caroline didn’t want to enjoy it or him but the idiot had messed with her resolve. She pulled back, trying to find her balance and bearings as she did. “I’ve got to get going and sing some Auld Lang Syne.” She couldn’t miss the disappointment as it crossed his face.

“Thank you,” he offered as she walked away.

“For what?” She couldn’t resist, turning around briefly.

“For being honest.” She smiled briefly, the warmth flooding through her body before heading towards the make-shift stage.

She left not long after her set finished making her way from the venue. She hadn’t seem him again, probably best because guys like that weren’t her type. It was only when she passed him conversing with a very annoyed brunette who was questioning his absence during the countdown that Caroline realised he had a girlfriend but was kissing her instead. Her instincts were obviously right.

Unfortunately she hadn’t stopped thinking about him or that kiss since. He’d sparked something inside that Caroline hadn’t expected. Bastard. She’d even shamefully looked him up on the internet and realised he had multiple girlfriends around the place. She really should have known.

Caroline had always hated New Year’s Eve but now she decided it was best to avoid it at all costs. It was too much trouble.

They will hold onto you…

“He’sholding a party tonight at a place called the Original Gallery. Ineed to be there,” Katherine pleaded, choosing to ignore herindiscretions. “I think this guy is my soulmate Care, I can just feel it.”

“Andthis is your way of convincing her to come, how?” Bonnie rolled her eyes.

“You know art, Care. It would help if you were there as my wing woman.”

Granted she loved to visit galleries in her spare time and had recently enrolled in an art history course at UT but it didn’t make her an expert. Far from it, in fact. This was most definitely a stretch on Kat’s part, not that she was surprised.

“How about no?”

“How about you think about it and lose some of that Creature of the Black Lagoon act, you know hating everyoneand everything in your wake?”

“Another stellar reason for her to agree,” Bonnie observed.

“Please Care, you can stay in the corner of the room away from all people if that helps.”

“And Ihear the Hors d'oeuvres are going to be phenomenal if that’s anyconsolation,” Bonnie suggested.

Caroline bit her lip, torn between helping her annoying friend and the comfort of her couch. If she had any doubts, they were sealed when Katherine removed the remote control batteries and placed them securely in her purse.

“You are officially evil,” Caroline scowled.

“Howabout we talk about this while you change,” she smirked, throwing the dress (orbelt) in her direction. She was tempted to wipe the triumphant expression fromher face but decided to leave that for when she needed it most.

“Ihate you.”

“Ilove you too, Forbes.”

Fastforward three hours and Caroline was attempting to pull down her dress withoutmuch luck, it was still too short for her liking. If she had something else She was gladat least that Katherine and Bonnie seemed to be otherwise engaged.

Turns out Katherine had a thing for the art critic she’d met all those years ago. He still looked good in a suit but if anyone was a match for his disdain it was Katherine. His brother Kol, an indie film director, was in deep conversation with Bonnie.

It gave her chance to peruse the artwork, and it was some of the most brilliant she’d ever seen. What she hadn’t expected on entering was it to be at his show.

Of all people.

Caroline had no intention of seeing him again. She wasn’t some groupie even if his work was suddenly brilliant. She also noted that the clock was moving freely past midnight and the lastplace she wanted to be was in a big group of strangers.

Carolinetook the opportunity to escape towards the toilets. In her haste shemissed the marked doors and found herself in what seemed like a makeshiftstudio. It wasn’t her first getting lost, after all.

The lights were dimmed but she could make out the canvases lined upagainst the walls and the easel in the centre of the room which caught herattention.

Carolineshivered slightly, not sure whether it was the cool temperature or thespectacular art stealing her attention. She noticed a white, paintsplattered shirt hanging nearby, slipping it over her barely theredress without much thought. Suddenly she felt extremely comfortable, it didn’thurt that the familiar scent emanating from the collar was the perfect mixture of spiceand soap.

Shemade her way towards the easel, her hand reaching out and tracing the longbrush strokes.

“Doyou usually break and enter and steal people’s clothes?” She couldn’t see him but his crisp, Britishaccent was messing with her concentration. Mainly because of just how familiar it was, even after five years.

“Itook a wrong turn,” she shot back. “And it’s pretty cold when your bestfriend decides you should wear a belt disguised as a dress.”

“Funnyyou mention it, I have that problem all the time.”

“I’llbet you do,” she laughed. It was nice to let loose for a change. As he came into view it was difficult not to react. The semi insecure artist from years ago was oozing confidence in dark jeans and a grey henley. “I’m sorry to tell you this but your work is kind of…”

“Kind of?” A low, self-conscious growl emanated from his throat.

“Is someone worried?”

“You were the one who made me better before but if I need a kick up the ass I’m willing to take it.”

“Well, given our history, you know I’m not a fan of your ass,” she teased. Apparently he was an ass but it was so difficult not to react to his banter.

“I signed up to the gym straight away, my New Year’s Resolution,” he shared. “I also tried to track you down but you never returned my messages. I’d be lying if I said you didn’t give me a complex and not just because of the body shaming.”

“Says the guy who was absent from sharing a midnight kiss with his brunette girlfriend. I saw you two when I left.”

“I didn’t have a girlfriend,” he murmured, his mind obviously racing. “Hayley and I had a brief thing but she turned up that night insisting we get back together. I haven’t thought about anyone but you since that night. She was never really my type.”

“And what is your type exactly?”

“Smart, beautiful, feisty and outspoken. Tells me my work is bad, tells me my family are overbearing and that I’m an arrogant ass. And looks far better in my shirt than me. All of it factually correct.”

“Was there any question? But also….”

“Hang on, I wasn’t finished,” he interrupted. “You were the only person who was honest about my work. You saved me.”

“Now, I think you’re being a little dramatic,” she murmured, hoping he wasn’t. “Why are you here of all places?”

“I’ve been trying to track you down for years,” he said before clarifying. “I hate New Year’s Eve but you made it better five year’s ago and I’m hoping you’ll consider..”

“Consider what?”

“A truce of sorts.”

And I will hold onto you…

#ask #answered #thanks anon #klaroline drabbles #misssophiachase #new years day

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whitehotharlots · 5 years

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M.I.A., Fariha Róisín, and the rhetorical triumph of passive listening

I’ve been thinking about the rise and fall of M.I.A., the might-aughts musical sensation who was briefly the most celebrated alternative pop artist in the world. 2004’s Piracy Funds Terrorism and 05’s Arular generated some of the most positive press I’d ever seen from outlets like Pitchfork (which, back then, still kinda counted as an alternative to dominant culture). 2007’s crossover hit Kala was one of the most genuinely dangerous and experimental records ever to enter the mainstream of American culture. Then... she just kinda went away.

M.I.A.’s politics were miles beyond the limp, bland positivity of the era’s liberalism. She was literally militant, lending her support for the Tamil Tigers. A lyric on her song “Sunshowers,” (“Like the PLO I don’t surrender”), was considered dangerous enough that it got her banned from entering the US for several months. This was not the fuzzy, feelgood liberalism of Obama, nor even the “fierceness” of someone like Beyonce, whose material accomplishments are considered a substitute for actual politics. This was a literal refugee woman telling the world that, actually, things really fucking suck, and if you want them to get better you you’re going to have to fight.

Of course, this engendered pushback--first and foremost from the “liberals” at Pitchfork. M.I.A. complained, rightfully, that music reviewers tended to give far too much credit to the male collaborators of female musicians. No one would attribute the genius of Purple Rain to Wendy and Lisa, so why did all of her reviewers spend so much time talking about Diplo? Pitchfork responded by viciously smearing her next album and accusing her of uneven and naive politics. Other outlets followed suit, and by the turn of the decade she had fallen out of mainstream favor.

And so you’d think, with recent developments, that the liberal-leaning press would have switched positions in regard to M.I.A., maybe even apologize for the horrible treatment she received. After all, the meat of her criticism is now practically unquestionable. And so I was confused by this article from affidavit.art, which is a rather woke-leaning website. The piece’s author, Fariha Róisín, purports to demonstrate herself taking a nuanced and forgiving tack toward M.I.A., but in doing so she reinforces some of the most reactionary and regressive impulses of our current social justice paradigm. In reading through it, seeing how deftly it continues to smear M.I.A. for the crime of being a genuinely dissident artist, we can get a good bead on the self-destructive tendencies of wokeism.

Róisín’s article is a personal reflection upon her relationship with M.I.A. as an artist, starting with her infatuation with the M.I.A’s early work, and moving into political disappointment that culminated in her asking hostile questions to the artist at a MoMa panel. She frames things by explaining

I hadn’t listened to Maya’s [M.I.A.’s] work in a couple of years, after she somewhat embarrassingly responded off the cuff to a question about Black Lives Matter: “Is Beyoncé or Kendrick Lamar going to say Muslim Lives Matter? Or Syrian Lives Matter? Or this kid in Pakistan matters?”

MIA’s comment, I would argue, is tone-deaf. Within the context that Róisín presents it, it certainly comes across as insensitive. The US criminal justice system is a world-historic atrocity that has ruined countless lives. It should be discussed in stark terms, and it’s fine to criticize someone who appears to not regard it with the severity it deserves.

But let’s look at MIA’s full quote, as it appeared in The Daily Standard:

“It’s interesting that in America the problem you’re allowed to talk about is Black Lives Matter. It’s not a new thing to me — it’s what Lauryn Hill was saying in the 1990s, or Public Enemy in the 1980s. Is Beyoncé or Kendrick Lamar going to say Muslim Lives Matter? Or Syrian Lives Matter? Or this kid in Pakistan matters? That’s a more interesting question. And you cannot ask it on a song that’s on Apple, you cannot ask it on an American TV programme, you cannot create that tag on Twitter, Michelle Obama is not going to hump you back”

Knowing anything about MIA’s personal history makes it clear that she did not intend to diminish the horrors of American judicial violence. When one reads the full quote (oh, the horror of having to parse an entire paragraph!), it’s clear she’s stressing a bigger picture here, criticizing the fact that the vast majority of US liberals still refuse to criticize US militarism, even as they’ve become near-pathological in defining themselves as social justice crusaders. She is, in short, criticizing the ineffective and narrow politics of people like Róisín.

I cannot speak for Kendrick and Beyonce in specific, but I have known dozens of putatively woke people--people who consume all the right cultural artifacts, who would never speak over a black person in a workplace meeting, who have been very vocal critics of police violence for upwards of 4 whole years--who still proudly celebrate the armed forces.

Through direct military action, support for brutal dictatorships, and otherwise meddling in the affairs of other countries in pursuit of our own financial interests, the American Military Industrial Complex has been the single biggest purveyor of human suffering worldwide for the past 70-odd years. They have killed literally tens of millions of people, ruined the lives of a few hundred million more, and immiserated billions. US foreign policy spends trillions of dollars killing brown people and enriching a handful of elites. And, to most American wokeists, that constitutes at best a complicated situation worthy of consideration and debate--unlike, say, someone who supports the wrong movie to win best picture, or who doesn’t celebrate Cardi B--these people deserve uniform and unambiguous condemnation. This perplexing mindset is what M.I.A/ was criticizing.

Of course, those who operate within this mindset are going to reject this criticism. They will refuse to just listen to those who question their approach to social justice. They will speciously declare such criticism as evidence of the evil nature of the person who uttered it, demand the “cancellation” of said person, and use all criticisms of their condemnation as proof of their own righteousness--if what they were saying wasn’t good and true, then why did so many bad and wrong people disagree with it?

Unless, that is, they take so-called “nuanced” route outlined by Róisín. In the face of overwhelming evidence of the vicious self-certainty of her peers, Róisín attempts to deflect such criticism by introducing a new plane of equivocation. MIA isn’t evil, she says. The artist is just deeply ignorant, a defect born of her inability to listen in the correct manner:

Cancelling people is exhilarating, especially when it’s done by marginalized folks, those who so often experience the world through white supremacy—sometimes as a soft and subtle barrage, other times through vicious and terrifying means. The ability to dictate someone’s fate, when you’ve long been in the shadows, is a kind of victory. Like saying “Fuck You” from underneath the very heavy sole of a very old shoe. But while outrage culture has its merits, nuance has evaporated. So often it involves reducing someone to their mistakes, their greatest hits collection of fuck-ups.

This does not mean that we should simply forgive an untoward statement. It certainly does not mean we should try to understand where that statement came from. Nor does it even mean we should read a statement within the context of the full paragraph in which it appeared. Oh no. It means, instead, we should ascribe that statement to ignorance:

What I believe Maya is trying to say is that American issues have become global. What she lacks the language to say is: how do we also care about the many millions of people around the world who are dying, right now? Why does American news, American trauma, American death, always take center-stage?

It’s pretty fucking insulting to insist that M.I.A. “lacks language.” But Róisín makes the exact same assertion again, a few paragraphs later. She ends the lead-in to her description of the moment in which she calls out M.I.A. (which is interminably long and ponderous) with the following, deeply chilling quote: “You can understand Maya’s perspective without agreeing with her, but I had another question. How do you hold someone you love accountable?” Indeed. Even if you try in earnest to understand someone’s perspective, that does not absolve you of your duty to punish them for their word-crimes.

During the talk, M.I.A, rightfully, defended herself against accusations of racism. We can all agree that’s a mistake. In reality, it’s a mistake because wokeists considering defending oneself to constitute proof of guilt. In “nuanced” woke framing, it’s a mistake because it reveals a refusal to just listen:

Her incomprehension that people could be upset by her remarks reflected her naivety about how the internet kills its darlings. Two weeks prior to our meeting, Stephon Clark was murdered, shot twenty times in the back by two police officers. To this she responded: “Yeah, well no-one remembers the kid in Syria who is being shot right now either. Or the kid that’s dying in Somalia.” It made me wonder if she was unwell, not on a Kanye level, but just enough to lack the mechanisms it takes to understand perspective.

[ … ]

Laconic and aloof, I remind Maya on stage that anti-blackness is not an American issue, it’s universal. Perhaps it’s ego, or shameful anger, but I know she cares. Before she begins to speak I realize that you have to build empathy when someone fails you. That they’re not yours to own. You have to try your best to talk to them, and that it’s never helpful to reduce them to a punchline. I believe in Maya’s possibility to grow. I believe in the possibility of change. Maybe that’s my own naivety, but it’s also my political stance. It’s not about compromising ideology, or even making space for the existence of those ideas. It’s about creating dialogue. She begins to speak, and I listen. Holding space for her when I can without biting my tongue. But, mainly, asserting myself as hard as I can, with as much compassion as the situation deserves. We are sisters in this fight, and we’re butting heads—but both critique and accountability are important. So I remind her with a glance, with an interjection, that I’m here to talk, too.

Ascribing an ideological disagreement to one side’s refusal to listen to the other side is perhaps the laziest form of argument. It is, after all, the preferred tactic of Jordan Peterson’s idiot fans. The assumption is that one side is manifestly correct, and so the only way someone could disagree with them is they didn’t bother to listen to what that side had to say. Even if they claim to have listened, they must have listened incorrectly. Otherwise, they would certainly agree with what the other person was saying.

Róisín takes this process well beyond the Peterson fans’ simple wailing of “you need to watch more of his videos!” She instead crafts an ethos of false humility out of a long and detailed description of attempting to not dismiss MIA’s viewpoint even as she does exactly that, of announcing how little pleasure she’s taking in describing the manifest evil of the horrible, ignorant pop star.

This displays the bizarre definition of “listening” as the act of simply remaining silent while another person speaks. You’ll notice that Róisín doesn’t bother to cite anything M.I.A. said--it’s unlikely she retained anything, other than perhaps appropriate pull-quote that would, outside of context, allow her to present the artist as an ignorant racist. Listening remains, by definition, a unidirectional affair. But turning it into a completely passive act turns it into a powerful rhetorical tool. Listeners need not attempt to understand speakers (that might actually go against the spirit of proper Listening). It’s still okay to demonize someone for something they never actually said. The power of passive listening is that it allows us to feign humility and claim its mantle of righteousness, to disguise dismissal as empathy.

Those who have actually studied race theory might notice a pretty incredible contradiction in Róisín’s penultimate paragraph. Her belief that anti-blackness is a universal constant is perhaps ascendent now, at least within middlebrow woke media. But this is by no means an accepted understanding within actual scholarship: Adolph Reed, Barbara and Karen Fields, Asad Haider, Walter Benn-Michaels, Stephen Steinberg, and Kenneth Warren would all strongly disagree with such an assertion.

Broadly, these scholars (and dozens of others, all erased by Róisín) argue that such a conception of anti-blackness is actually incredibly regressive, as it is based on an understanding of race that cannot be combatted through personal or political action. If Róisín had bothered to actually listen--in the sense where she not only received but actively engaged with what other people were saying--she might not have made such a comment. But that’s not what she does. That’s not what is safe. That’s not what is possible. What is safe, and possible, and popular is exactly what Róisín does in this article: she presents an incredibly imperious argument in the guise of pathological humility; her perspective becomes validated precisely because of its dismissiveness. Nevermind its self-contradictions. Nevermind its profound inefficacy. She’s right, her critics are wrong, and that is all that anyone is allowed to say.

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charliejrogers · 3 years

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Paddington (2014)

Sometimes you watch a movie and want to be challenged. You want your head to explode. You want to get lost in a world of plot twists and double-crosses. Other times you don’t. TV more often than movies fills the role of comfort food for people looking for passive media, but let’s all take a moment to recognize the power of a good comfort movie. Sometimes your comfort movie is that dumb rom-com you’ve seen 1000 times, other times a mindless action movie of good vs. evil. Many comic book movies certainly can fall into this camp, but really any series like Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings can become comfort food whenever those fans begin to think of the characters more like old friends than avatars on a screen. And never is that more true than when a childhood friends makes their way onto the big screen.

I don’t believe I have ever read (or has someone read to me) a Paddington book. In fact, after writing that sentence I had to Google whether Paddington was a series or a single book. I’m not from the U.K. so please excuse my ignorance. It’s not that people in America don’t know Paddington he’s just not as popular here as he is across the pond. Therefore when this hit theater six years ago and I heard critics rave about it, I didn’t get it. Christ, it was even nominated for the best British film at the BAFTAs in 2015. There was Paddington, a family movie about a walking, talking bear, right next a serious drama about Stephen Hawking (The Theory of Everything) and the very adult ScarJo sci-fi film Under the Skin. Plus, think also I was at an age where I was “too cool” for kid’s stuff. I was in college, so why watch a movie that could make you happy when you could watch something that could project to others how smart you thought you were. All of this is to say that, I went into this movie without the advantage of nostalgia, something I suspected might have been boosting audiences’ and critics’ scores.

Paddington from director Paul King tells the story of one unnamed Peruvian bear who is among the last of his kind. What makes this particular species of bear so special is their uniquely high intelligence. The film starts with a black-and-white film reel documenting the journeys of the explorer who was the first among men to stumble upon this particular subset of bear, sometimes back in the early 1900s. The explorer first instinct is to hunt and kill the bear to bring back to a British museum, but he is eventually won over by the sheer intelligence of the bears. They are already master builders and have developed unique, modern-looking housing structures when the explorer first finds them, but quickly he discovers they can understand English, can even reproduce it to some extent, and are adept at new technologies. The explorer leaves them with a phonograph and a record of him talking about how to be a proper gentleperson in London.

Fast forward some hundred years, and the original two bears the explorer essentially perfected their understanding of English based off the explorer’s record. They also know quite a bit about early 20th-century etiquette and about a hundred different ways to tell fellow Londoners that it is raining outside. And though now aged and frail, they have passed much of this knowledge onto their young nephew whose character can be summed up by the following four traits: 1) undying love for his aunt and uncle who raise him 2) utmost and strict adherence to etiquette 3) deep desire to belong to a home 4) obsession with marmelaide.

All four of those things turn out to be of vital importance when disaster strikes his home in Peru and he is forced by his aunt to seek a new home in the only other place they know: London! With only his uncle’s hat and a marmelaide sandwich on his head, the bear stows away on a freighter to London. He heads to the nearest train station as he has heard stories about how during WWI, orphaned children would show up to train stations wearing certain necklaces to signify their need for a home. The bear does just that, but the world of 1914 is very much different from the world of 2014. People don’t so much as look at the bear. If they do, they assume he’s a poor beggar, vendor of cheap goods, or just a plain con-artist. They’re too busy rushing this way and that. “In the age of technology, Britain has lost its way” the film seems to suggest. Or, more cynically, it seems to make a comment (albeit) on xenophobia and Britain’s lack of openness to immigrants, especially prominent given the distinctly colonial feel of the explorer’s documentary and his attitudes towards these “primitive” creatures.

Except, of course, this is a light-hearted family film. A fantasy film at that. For example, no one is freaked the fuck out like they would in real life by a talking bear roaming around a major metropolitan area, in some cases doing serios damage (albeit accidentally) to various property throughout town. E.T. this is not, so there’s no plotline of the government trying to snatch him up for research purposes, nor does this apparently talk place in our reality where the bear would become an instant viral internet star.

Instead, as a family film, the movie mostly focuses on the idea of “family.” The bear is eventually approached by Mary Brown (Sally Hawkins), the matriarch of the Brown family who are a well-off family who live in a cozy townhouse in a quaint London neighborhood. Mary is more empathetic to the bear’s plight than her ill-tempered husband Henry (Hugh Bonneville) who is a risk analyst who sees the bear for what he is: a risk! Still, he begrudgingly agrees to let the bear, who names himself Paddington, stay with them for one night, but then he’s off to the orphanage institution for young souls whose parents have sadly passed on.

Mr. Brown’s not wrong about Paddington (voiced by Ben Whishaw) too. Despite his undeniably genuine nature and complete absence of my ill-will, he’s a natural klutz. His childlike innocence and curiosity finds him tinkering with things that just ought not to be tinkered leading to a movie defined by its many great misadventurous set pieces, such as when Paddington accidentally floods the Brown’s bathroom to when a pickpocket accidentally drops a wallet that he stole and Paddington begins chasing him around London in grand fashion, not understanding why the thief doesn’t want his wallet back.

More than anything, though, Mr. Brown’s hostility towards Paddington stems more from his concern for his children, specifically that his son Jonathan (Samuel Joslin) will end up being hurt either as a direct result of Paddington’s activities or will simply try more daring things inspired by Paddington’s free-wheeling and wild spirit.

What I love about the character of Mr. Brown, who truly seems to be the secondary character after the titular bear, is the way he is a true character and not a one-dimensional rule-follower. The way the film (comically) demonstrates that Henry Brown was not always Mr. Brown, but was a motorcycle-riding Wildman who was suddenly and permanently changed by fatherhood makes him an incredibly relatable character, and grounds this silly cartoon in something of a reality.

Less can be said about Mary Brown. Sally Hawkins does a wonderful job portraying her seemingly boundless kindness and love, but ultimately there’s not more to her character than just being nice and kind. Her only story arc revolves her relationship with the Browns’ daughter Judy (Madeleine Harris) who is a stereotypically moody teen who doesn’t want to introduce her boyfriend to her Mom because, as Paddington puts it, “she suffers from a terrible disease called embarrassment.”

But no one’s watching this movie to watch the Browns or learn about their characters. It’s nice that Mr.’s character is so well-established as it makes his little sacrifices and gestures to try to help Paddington so satisfying. One second he was pushing to get Paddington out of his home, the next he’s in a dress breaking into an archives to learn more about the explorer who originally visited Paddington’s aunt and uncle one hundred years prior.

This little detour to the archives relates to one of the two other sub-plots to the film. The first is how Paddington’s quest to find a new home (since Mr. Brown refuses to let him stay with his family forever) leads him to want to find the explorer (or at least the explorer’s family) since he figures they of all people would love to take in as family a bear whom their father had so loved. The second subplot (and the more hackneyed and boring plot) deals with Nicole Kidman’s Millicent, a deranged, taxidermist employee of London’s Natural History who has a nasty side hobby and collecting (and stuffing) rare animals. She hears rumors of a talking bear, she starts to hunt him. Kidman actually does a very good job leading a cartoonish seriousness to the role, but just the whole subplot feels very perfunctory, like the studio was afraid no one would want to watch a movie that didn’t have a clear bad guy. Add in a sub-plot to this sub-plot where the Browns’ sad-sack neighbor Mr. Curry (Peter Capaldi) teams up with Millicent in the hopes of being her lover, and you got my least favorite part of this movie.

Taking away the villain plot would deny the Browns the opportunity to rescue their little friend from the jaws of danger, and prevent me from seeing that tear-jerking display of love with which the film ends, so I suppose it’s worth it. With snow falling around them and love in the air, Paddington with its focus on the importance of family, is almost a Christmas movie, or at the least is a perfect movie for the holiday season.

It’s also funny for all ages. I can imagine sitting in a theater with children and hearing the little cackles of children as Paddington fights a shower head using a toilet seat lid as shield and toilet brush as sword. The film does not go for easy jokes. Its physical comedy is often elaborate, and there are plenty of jokes meant for the adults in the room that aren’t necessarily sexual in nature. For example, the Browns’ daughter is learning Chinese “for business,” which means she’s learning phrases such as “How do I get to the business center?” and “I’m being investigated for tax fraud.” But more than anything, it’s a distinctly British film in its humor, favoring throw-away lines and sight-gags over fart jokes. One of my favorites in the idea that Millicent’s office is full of taxidermied heads of exotic animals, and when she walks into her workshop on the other side of the wall, we see all the rear-ends of these same animals. Another pitch perfect moment is when a downtrodden Paddington finds himself at Buckingham Palace and having revealed the sandwich he keeps under his hat for emergencies, we find out what things the Queen’s Guard keeps under their Bearskins. It’s silly and ridiculous in a way perfect for a kid’s film.

I also love how the film gives us a view of the world through Paddington’s eyes, and I give much credit to the film’s director Paul King for translating for us through film Paddington’s essential innocence. Twice, once towards the beginning, and once at the end, the film presents us with a toy-house that is an exact replica of the Brown’s home and we can actually see the Browns walking about and interacting in this odd meta-moment as Paddington narrates their goings on and provides his interpretation of what is happening. It lends an air of frivolity to our lives. Yes, the world is sad an hard, but for those innocents, the children, it’s a world of wonder and curiosity, a dollhouse in which anything is possible.

In the end, this movie is damn near perfect comfort food. It’s family focus creates a heart-warming tale that helps tries to inspire us that, despite our splintered isolated world, the world can be a place of love and welcoming. I wish the villain weren’t such a drag, but I am happy to report that despite not having any contact with Mr. Paddington in my life previously, I fell in love with his character almost instantly and am very happy to count him among my cinematic friends and follow him on any of his next adventures.

*** 1/4 (Three and one fourth stars out of four)

#paddington #paddington (2014)#paul king #ben whishaw #sally hawkins #hugh bonneville #nicole kidman #peter capaldi

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lastgeeksdying · 7 years

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There is no Left, Right or Moderate: You are just as bad.

There is an element of obstruction happening in America. It is being done by way of obfuscation and arbitrary divides that have been created by a small, hateful group of people. Too much of this has been caused by the last three to six Presidents. It depends on your age. For a lot of Americans, actually a Majority, it was the last three that matter. Bush was a reaction to the Clinton era. It was upsetting for Democrats and they yelled and whined and disagreed with how violent of a presidency he had. Then came Obama. And the Republicans had their time. And when it came to the next major election, it was Trump who won(let's just assume it was directly a reaction to Obama and move on. The election, voter fraud, and voter suppression is a conversation too large for me to tackle right now. ) But the people who really changed things surfaced around 2010. It was this very vocal crowd that is now called the Freedom Caucus but was called the Tea Party. These are an extremist anti-establishment group. They are famously puppetted and funded by the Koch Brothers. The details of that group aren't important to this discussion either. You see, we became accepting of this very extreme side. Moderate and Liberals found the Tea Party to be the niche, fringe group that could be a threat but felt so out there that it didn't seem real. But the internet made it real. The internet let groups of people find each other. So voices that have always been fairly big, but scattered, slowly and naturally found each other. And what happens when you get grouped together is you get more vocal. More willing to stand up for what you want. This went both ways. Tumblr has united feminists that led into creating things like the Women's Marches. This simply wouldn't have happened on such a scale twenty years ago. The internet has let us find others like us. But we quickly learn, we are all different. We have opinions and ideas. And in some groups we gather further, and in others we splinter further. Suddenly there are layers of groups. It's not just feminists. It's a whole hierarchy of women and men starting with Male Feminism leading White Feminism leading to partially intersectional feminism and trying to achieve total intersectional feminism. So those of us who believe in equality are on different levels on how we define this goal. But it get's even more hectic. Because people aren't just one thing. We fall into these buckets. One bucket is pro gay rights. Another is anti gay rights. One is total freedom of speech, another is limited freedom of speech. One is pro gun rights. One is anti-gun rights. And the problem is we fall into multiple buckets, sometimes even buckets that seem to be or actually are opposite. Because we are people, we are complex. It is important to know that Feminism will be Intersectional or it will be bullshit. This is because you can't just support women's rights without also addressing racism since many, a majority, of women aren't white. And because a lot of women are Bi or Gay or Trans or Disabled, we can't avoid addressing those issues either. This creates a problem, because many people only want progression to the point where it inconveniences them. People are willing to say that Black Lives Matter, that Trans Lives Matter. They will even watch a show staring a black trans woman like on Orange is the New Black. But a bunch of them don't have any black trans friends. They don't stand up for Black Trans Women when they are being barked down from speaking. When they won't read a book by a trans author, where they won't call out atrocities of misogynists doxxing Trans Comic Artists (Shout out to Sophie Labelle). You aren't a Moderate because you think the Right and the Left are both too extreme. You are just as extreme for thinking there is no line in comedy, for thinking there should only be the government that is necessary. You see, a lot of us generally agree that we all deserve freedom. It's how we define that that comes into question. I believe the government needs to be involved in our lives in ways that benefit us. That we have allowed capitalism into way too many industries. For example medicine and medical care should never be allowed to be for profit. Totally free capitalism allows for rampant corruption and opportunists like Donald Trump to rise to power. Communism and Socialism don't fix the problem either. But I think that each of those buckets I mentioned above are coming to a head because we don't all agree that Life should be guaranteed. That food, water, and body autonomy should be allowed. This is a core tenant of the left now. But because within the left we are so divided we can't decide on anything. The right has the same problem. In 2011 it would have seemed super likely that Republicans wanted to stop Obamacare. And it's sounded like that for all of the Obama administration. But when they finally had the means to do it, they had to scrap to barely scrape through the first stage. We are all divided. And we all think everyone else is wrong if they aren't part of our specific buckets. . Again, going back, we all got pushed. And each time one group of people succeeded at making a major change like Gay Marriage, or electing a Game Show host, the opponents of the decision decided to dig their feet in deeper. I don't have an answer to this problem. But because we have all become so hostile we are heading towards war. And if that happens, none of us get what we want. All of these different groups of people have become so obsessed with winning that they can't see through the cloud of anger. Even when they have a genuine point. It isn't unreasonable to support equality for women. For Women of Color. For disabled Women. For Queer Women. For trans women. It isn't unreasonable to not want to die. But being infinitely hostile is just empowering the other side to stand and dig their feet further. We need to find a way to avoid this inevitable conflict. We need to find a solution so that these groups which feature people who want you dead but are majority reasonable people don't let the vocal death spewing become the majority. So I'd like it if you are someone who sees themselves as Fiscally Conservative, Socially Liberal to consider this: Those Fiscal programs you don't want to help? They keep those Social groups that you want to protect from dying. I will soon be writing full reasons why I am for or against some Amendments.

#feminism #left #right #white feminism #racism #sexism #wrong #fiscally #socially #liberals #conservative #death #taxes #politics #america #we suck

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markettakers · 7 years

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Market Outlook | May 15, 2017

“Life is the art of being well deceived; and in order that the deception may succeed it must be habitual and uninterrupted.” (William Hazlitt 1778-1830)

The Long Game

Amazingly, the market status-quo does not change much, as tame volatility and stable stock market prices continue to persist. Calls for bubbles, from high-profile and average investors since 2008, have proven to be loud screams without substance (at least in precision timing). Even after the Tech Boom, markets quickly recovered and rediscovered the next bubble, which was infested in the mortgage related areas. Since 2008, fears have accumulated at a rapid pace, from Brexit fears to the commodity correction to Eurozone instability to perceived risk of low interest rates. Yet, the stock markets keep going higher. Taking a slight step back, it is not a shock for markets to go higher over an extended period. From mid-1990 to 2001, from 2003 to 2008 and from spring 2009 until today, the slow and steady upside move resumes in a familiar directional pattern. No wonder, from the incentives of large institutions to the taxation on profits to the ongoing collective, faith in the Federal Reserve and the concept of buy and hold is deeply ingrained in the mindset of American risk-takers.

Perception Wars

The slow and steady upside move is worth understanding beyond the week-to-week point of view. First, the influential financial players need to be identified and simply dissected. Most of the investor sentiment and dominant themes are driven by a few large financial institutions (the usual suspects, aka Wall Street Banks), which impact the mindset created by research and expressed in trading across the board.

For good or bad, the key originator of investor sentiment still is the Central Bank, which now has mastered the art of public relation, television and newspaper. Not only is the Fed the well-crafted wordsmith, but also the Fed has transformed into a media genius that can manipulate realities and reshape collective perception of reality. Holding press conference often, dominating financial headlines and having market participants follow the desired script (by staying bullish and not causing major volatility) demonstrate the expansion of Fed’s influence on financial markets. No mater weak real economic data, brewing tensions of hostile global regimes, loss of jobs due to machines and lack of wealth creation, the stock market interrupted through the Federal Reserve in the US operates as an engine on its own. It is quite remarkable. Perhaps, the media-savvy US president can learn few things from the made-for-TV drama artist: the Fed.

Secondly, the Central banks can choose to emphasize one indicator over another and trick observers into thinking real economy weakness is immaterial for day-to-day activities. Yet, there is something truly stunning, Trump and Brexit did not break, shackle, or call out the trick-infested Federal Reserve and their like-minded colleagues. Finally, the players that range from large financial institutions to political establishment, play a vital role, more on this below. The highly coordinated messaging between the Central Banks, big media, large financial companies and, ultimately, politicians that benefit from a “slow & steady” stock market rise is the machine that keeps on turning. This steady stock market appreciation seems to occur regardless of any visible economic weakness. This is the trickery that’s misleading. From the European Central Bank (ECB) to Bank of Japan (BOJ, the low interest rate polices of advanced countries, helps feed into the global message. As for small businesses or others, who don’t see the benefit of this coordination the uproar has been reflected in elections and political groups.

While, the outrage about savers being severely penalized due to low interest rates gets a lot of attention, the equity market has become a “quasi- income generator” and a dangerously predictable tool to mildly grow one’s wealth. In other words, the appreciation in stock prices has create a notion that the run is steady and given the low volatility, turbulence has died out.

Inevitable Vulnerability

The retail and financial sectors seem to have shown weakness last week, which hints toward them being vulnerable areas in the public market. Retail is seeing an all-out blitz from Amazon and Walmart, where both companies offer quick delivery, robust logistical infrastructure and, of course, competitive prices. “Already about 89,000 employees in general merchandise stores have been laid off since October, more than the entire number of people working in the coal industry….[Meanwhile] “The internet retail giant's stock [Amazon] is up 32 percent over the year and it's devouring bricks and mortars while expanding its real-world experiments into bodegas, drone delivery, and airship warehouses.” (CNBC, May 12, 2017).

Financials continue to see migration to electronics and machine-learning. The regulatory climate enhances costs and limits the profitability for very few. Not to mention, low interest rates and low economic growth hurt the fundamentals of consumers.

In terms of the health of the economy versus the roaring stock market indexes, these questions remain:

If the US economy was so strong, then why is the US 10 Year Yield below 3%?

Retail and financial services seem vulnerable, isn’t that damaging for the real economy?

Given high healthcare and education costs, is there any noteworthy wealth that’s been created in the last 5 years?

The gridlock in Washington DC ultimately is the bottleneck to solving tangible issues. The record or near record high stock market movement is a clever attempt to mask some pain or unsolved issues by mainly establishment forces from the traditional left and right. Therefore, financial analysts cannot ignore this factor when being too bullish or bearish. The ferocious civil-war like political rift is not comforting. Sadly, a major correction might be needed again to restore some sense and priority to real economy matters rather than the cheer-leading of share prices that go higher due to very low interest rates.

Article Quotes:

“Many of Europe’s largest investors are now turning their attention to another risk to their portfolios that is rapidly gaining momentum: the rise of Italy’s Five Star Movement, and its potential to upend the economic bloc. The concern is that Five Star, the anti-establishment party set up in 2009 by Beppe Grillo, the Italian comedian and blogger, could win the country’s next election, which is due to take place within 12 months. Mujtaba Rahman, managing director at Eurasia Group, a consultancy that advises large investors on political risks, says: “The biggest risk in Europe is Italy. The euro area is not working and as long as it fails to deliver growth, populism will continue to grow.” (Financial Times, May 15, 2016)

“China has emerged as a leading fintech player, with banks joined by huge internet players such as Alibaba and Tencent, pumping billions of dollars into areas such as mobile payments and online lending. The central bank says that this fintech revolution has "injected new vitality" into financial services but also throws up "challenges". In response, it is organising an idepth study on how financial and technological developments impact monetary policy, financial markets, financial stability and payments and settlement. In a separate move, the central bank is backing a venture capital firm called Silk Ventures that plans to invest up to $500 million in US and European tech startups, with a focus on fintech, AI and medical technologies.” (Finextra, May 15, 2017).

Key Levels: (Prices as of Close: May 12, 2017)

S&P 500 Index [2,390.90] – Another record high, yet again. The breakout above 2,100 marked a key trend of a bullish run.

Crude (Spot) [$47.84] – Recent months have showcased Crude’s inability to stay above $55. The supply-demand dynamics seem unclear for now.

Gold [$1231.25] – Surpassing $1,250 in the near-term remains a challenge. Interestingly, the 50-day moving average is at $1,258.

DXY – US Dollar Index [99.25] – Peaked at 103.82 in early January and since then the Dollar strength has slowed down.

US 10 Year Treasury Yields [2.32%] – Yields remains low, but that’s all too familiar these days. March 17, 2017 highs of 2.62% may be the peak for the year but 3% again seems very illusive.

Dear Readers:

The positions and strategies discussed on MarketTakers are offered for entertainment purposes only, and they are in no way intended to serve as personal investing advice. Readers should not make any investment decisions without first conducting their own, thorough due diligence. Readers should assume that the editor holds a position in any securities discussed, recommended or panned. While the information provided is obtained from sources believed to be reliable, its accuracy or completeness cannot be guaranteed, nor can this publication be, in any Publish Post, considered liable for the future investment performance of any securities or strategies discussed.

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Making Videogames the Old-Fashioned WayOn a 52-Hour Train Ride

As I settle into the plush seat of my sleeper car, a game development student from Australia sitting across from me, I feelan intense sense of myown smallness. Claustrophobia has a strong foothold deep on anAmtrak train; you realize very distinctly that you’re in a cramped metal tube with no way off. And in this case, rolling out of Chicago on a late February day, through the unrelenting grayness of the city’s outskirts, the comingjourney seems unending.

Our goal, more than four days away, is California. First the Bay Area city of Emeryville,and then onward tothe Game Developers Conference in San Francisco. But during the 52hours of our journey, the people on boardthe more than 300 designers, programmers, artists, writers, and musicianswill have another goal, one that will eat sleep, time, and all the energy they have to spare. It’s the reasonthey all got on this train in the first place: they want to make videogames.

This is Train Jam.

On the Rails

Game jams, like hackathons, are finite, coordinated campaignsa chance for developers to formulate and execute an idea much more quickly than they normally would. Intense and usually rushed, often with a theme that constrains creativity even more, game jams can be a source of incredible strain. Train Jam, though, by juxtaposing its challenge with the leisurely experience of a long train ride, seems designed to minimize some of that anxiety.

The event is the brainchild of developer Adriel Wallick, whostarted Train Jam aftera cross-country train tripshe took in 2013; she found the trip created a refreshing ideational space, a relaxing break with little internet and nothing but the scenery to distract her from playing and creating games. Now in its fourth year, Train Jam attempts to capture the spirit of that original trip, givingcreators a stress-free environment that allows them to explore whilethey hurtle towardGDC, the largest professional event of the year for anyoneinvolved in creating videogames.

That creation takes all forms. As we prepare to depart Grand Union Station in Chicago, gathered in a large Victorian-style lounge, Elie Abraham walks around the room holding a bigposterboard signreading, in big bold letters, “I want to make music for your game!”Immediatelybefore creators start to lump themselves into small teams, before the jam’s theme iseven announcedpeople rush totake Abrahamup on theoffer.

Abrahamis bright, energetic, and ambitious, with a shirt to match:it’scovered with Gremlins. “Isn’t it amazing?” they say. (Abraham, who isgenderqueer, prefersthe pronoun they.) Based in Finland, Abrahamtells methat this is the first time they’ve been in the United States in five years, since graduating college, and they were nervous to return. Betweenthe US’vacillating border-control policies and the possibility of gender-based discriminationnot to mention general anxiety about whether GDC and Train Jam would feelwelcomingtheir worries aren’t far from the surface. “People were asking me if I was going to the States on vacation,” Abrahamsays. “Hello no. This is not the time I would choose to go to America just for fun.”

Elie AbrahamTom Barker/Dub3

As the greeting period winds down and the Amtrak staff preps the passengersfor departure, Walick comes to the front of the room to introduce this year’s theme:Unexpected Anticipation.The sense that you’re waiting for something, but you’re not quite sure what. It’s not the most evocative theme, vague and emotive as it is, butAdriel explains that the theme is based on theour journey itself. The western states we’ll be traveling through have been gripped byblizzards and other extreme weather events for a couple of weeks now, jeopardizing our route; only this morning did we learn for surethat we wouldn’t be re-routed along a detour that would have added 10hours to the ride (and the jam).

Theme in hand, attendeescluster and re-cluster, formulatinggroups based oncommon ideas and the complementaryskills needed to see them through. Pamela Figueroa, a young developer from Bolivia, quickly finds a team to work with, and I watch as the group—strangers up until minutes ago—begin to sketch out ideas for a two-player game on a Surface tablet. This goes on for a few minutes, then it’s time toboard a train.

The first day on the train is devoted to settling in and getting to workwhich, on a train, can be challenging. Internet is spotty, if it exists at all; there’s no on-board wifi at all, meaning that you’re stuck with ambient signals picked up from the surrounding lands and whatever lousy reception your phone can pick up. The train is effectively an island, one thatcuts off programmers, artists, and designers from integralresources:documentation and support for their game engines and various coding languages. The hardship goes beyond technological impotence;the train itselfis hostile, prone to jittery movement that jostles computer screens and sends anything unsecured tumblingout of reach.

Tom Barker/Dub3

I settle in the observation car, where large, panoramic windows frame the outside world as it passes. The space, which is typically for leisurely sight-seeing, becomes an impromptu shared office space. Teams huddle over cramped tables strewn with laptops and MIDI keyboards, bulky specialized keyboards and drawing tablets filling every inch of space. No outlet goes unused. Throughout the trip, I linger here as much as possible, to watch and listen to people as they work, but I’m often forced to retreat into other parts of the train due to a sheer lack of space.

I spend most of the first afternoon sitting across from Abraham,who’s been going up and down the train, taking requests for music. Instead of working on one game, theytell me, they want to contribute a bit to everything, meeting as many people and making as many connections as possible. After one trip down the length of the Amtrak superliner, theyalready have plenty to do. They dance while they work, occasionally sharing samples of what they’re working on—first a 16-bit hiphoppy track for a 2D brawler idea, all motion and groove, then a glam fashion party tune, on and on.

Figueroasits nearbywithher team,building a version of a Wild West standoff:two cowboys on the top of a train, each waiting to draw their weapon. This being a game jam, though, there’s a twist.The two players need to share a single controller in order to play, an innovative conceit that will force them into a physical contest as well as a digital one. Silliness runs rampant as well; the guns will shoot gag objects instead of bullets, and if no one fires well, I promised I wouldn’t tell. You’ll have to play to find out.

Tom Barker/Dub3

The workflow moves through Pamela’s five-person team. First, create a working prototype in the game-creation software suite Unity. Use placeholder assets in order to get all the features running in at least a semi-recognizable form. That’s the first day’s work; then it’stime to fillin the details. Animations, logos, real character art. See how far you gethopefully you’ll end up with something that works.

Meanwhile, the scenery scrollsby. The California Zephyr route carves a west-southwesterly path from Chicago, passing through Illinois towns like Naperville and Galesburg before heading west in earnest. Iowa, Missouri, Nebraska, the Rockies. Travelling through the United States this way can be eerie; whenyou’re uncoupled from roads, the countryside moves independent of your own trajectory. Even newscenery becomesfamiliar,homes and schools and big-box commerceand corner stores wherever you go. Moving into rural territory is a relief, like something has come to life. Here we are, in the oldest form of industrial land transport, passing through beautiful, vast swaths of the most preserved parts of the country’s natural landscape, and we’ve hacked it all into a game development studio.

As we pass into Iowa, we all look up momentarily to gaze at the wide shores of the Mississippi River. Then everyone gets back to work. It’s early, after all. There’s too much to do.

Tom Barker/Dub3

The metabolism of a game jam leads to certain structural similarities. Short gestation and shorter deliverymeans the offspring tends toward simple play mechanics, using easily accessible technology and the most straightforward hacks designers can come up with. They tend to be both silly anddeeply strange:half playful blue-sky imagination,half ideas too provocative to find a place in games witha real life-cycle.

The titlesunderdevelopment all around me embodythat oddnessperfectly. Next to me, creators Alex Zandra and Ashley Nicollette are creating a game that will eventually be called Entertain My Alien Guests, I’ll Be Right Back, a multitasking game about, yes, entertaining aliens at a party. An developernamed Creatrix Tiara is in the midst ofWhat the $!#&@! Do They Need Now?, about traveling in the age of the Muslim Ban;there’s alsoSchrodinger’s Litterbox, an augmented reality title that uses a touch screen to simulate the experience of trying to pet an invisible cat.Perhaps my personal favorite, though, is Ghost Dentist VR, which combines aVR headset and acustom jaw-basedsensor for a game where you, as a ghost, possess people and force them to do dental work on themselves. All told, they’re a mixture of creative, surprising, and transgressive.

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As one day turns into another, though, the mood grows more sedate. Figueroaand her fellow programmer take to sleeping in shifts, to better get the work done without sacrificing basic rest. Elie Abraham, meanwhile, takes longer and longer breaks from work, trying to balance the need to create with the other compelling aspects of the trip. “I don’t want to be parked in front of my laptop all weekend,” theytell me. “I realized I really also just want to hang out with people.”

The urge is understandable. The train hosts an impressive variety and level of talent, from students just figuring out what types of things they want to make to industry veterans looking for a space to breathe and tinker. There’s alsoa substantial number of gender nonconforming, transgender, and non-binary individuals on the trainmyself and Abrahamincludedand there seems to be a significant concerted effort by everyone involved to treat this as what it should be: normal. Even the Amtrak staff calls me by my preferred pronouns.

Train Jam, then, has the feeling of both a limitless creative explorationand an intimate social event, both workshop and slumber party. As we pass through multiple time zones and into the mountains, it’s easy to lose a sense of time and just focus on the aesthetics of it. Frantic typing, the hushed exchange of ideas. Some laughter. When the final day rolls around and the jam enters its last hours, the mood is almost mellow. Snow streams down around us through Utah and Nevada, and the surroundings finally begin to pull attention away from game development. The conductor describesthe history of the canyons and mountain ranges we’re passing through.

Tom Barker/Dub3

“This is very different from how I normally do game jams,” Pamela Figueroa says. “Usually, they’re very stressful, and the last two hours swing around and I’m, like, ahhhh! This is so different. It’s been amazing, to be able to do this in a way where I can just calmly do something I love.” Travel, and motion in general, has a galvanizing effect on creativity. The train’s quiet journey becomes a metaphor, a useful distraction, a salve for boredom and frustration. Peaks and valleys, winding roads and small oases of civilization in the middle of nowhere. By the timewe finally pull into the station in Emeryville, Elie Abrahamhas recorded nine tracks for as manygames and Figuerohas finished her team’s gunfighting game.

Speaking days later after GDC,both Elie and Pamela have unambiguously positive things to say about their journey. “Seeing into game development by travelling to such a big event was eye-opening, even though I had been making games for a few years,” Abrahamsays. “I got a better idea for how it is these people interact with each other. I got a sense of how to do you in this high-level-of-entry field that I didn’t have before.” They’ll continue their work, they say, as part of the international development team Ian & Elie.

Figueroa, meanwhile, will go back to Bolivia with a stronger sense of international focusand a newnetwork of friends to lean on as her career progresses. “Last year when I went to GDC, I felt like I was on the outside looking in at these creators who were super awesome,” she says, “This time, it felt like I went in with a community.” The games, like so many others, may fade, but the creativity that spawned themlives on.