#mr. wiggins

[bidisaster-peanut-romano]

Throughout the entire game, who do you think are some of the most underrated or under-appreciated characters?

stumbling into the askbox whyyy hello there!!! it had been a while!!

OKAY SO. let's start from one fact: every. single. character has something special about them. so like the easy answer is... anyone, lmao. truth be told we (the whole community) has been around for llke, 18 years (WOAH) and some sides are completely unexplored. even just from the idea that... have you guys ever noticed how little content there is around about nerds and jocks, for exmple? and i don't only mean art but also writing, analysis, metas, thoughts and such. not to mention the townies, the townies, when, having some of them been given some actually adult attributes, there would be a lot to unpack.

i feel like this is a) mostly for the nerds, that the rightful fisgust for the horrible thing they did to mandy discourages a lot from engaging with them as characters too, and b) because they are quite overshadowed by the fan favorite preps and greasers. which, i mean, very legit. but i think that they do have a lot of potential, again, in terms of characterization and themes, and i feel like we are collectively missing out on a lot.

and there's also the fact that, even with the fan-favorites, there is so little tapping into the more serious and sometimes mature aspects. i wouldn't say christy is neglected by the fandom, but it's not often that i read someone talking about her repressed anger that explodes whenever she feels too much, that heirloom of her father that of curse she doesn't have, she isn't a problem boy like her brother, what do you mean with that, i could use this tie to strangle you goddammit! or vance, that we all love as the sunshine jokester of the greaser and heartbreaker queer icon, but how come none of us ever mention him having a canonical addiction, and what if his messy dating habits have to do with that, too? what if he's running from something inside himself, rushing to next best thing just so he can feel something?

but this is just me rambling as an introduction oops. so, just trying to list a couple of my favorites:

thad carlson (& dan wilson) (putting them together bc they're intrinsecally connected and while i do stand by the fact that he's wildly underappreciated in the fandom i would hit dan in the face with a brick): i would lterally give my first born for these two. they are what they actually wanted to write when they wrote about cain and abel. i'm not sure what is the exact reason why they have different last names, and i don't wanna enter headcanon territory here. what it does unavoidably indicate, though, is that they were doomed from the start. like it was written in their names. so, picture this: they were in the nerds together. they suffered the bullying, the abuse together. the humiliation tasted like blood in their mouths and shone like the stars they'd see with their heads smashed in a locker, but at least they knew their brother would've been there to hold them. there's something very visceral about suffering together with a brother. like the blood they share creates somewhat of a shell, one that can protect them from what is outside, that can give them the comfort that they will never be alone. whether they like it or not, their brother will forever be with them; it's inside them. except that thad had the rage of a wounded animal; dan had the fear of a small prey. so, while thad kept standing tall and proud and chin high against his bullies, dan started training and morphing until he could be accepted in the jocks. dan wasn't the bullied anymore. he was the bully. while his brother was still on the other side of the war- the side of the eternal losers, that is. the side that, no matter how many battles they will win, they will always be at a disadvantage. so thad has got all the hurt of having been betrayed by a half of himself, like the phantom pain of a lost limb. and the hurt makes him angrier and angrier and when he wants to take revenge on the jocks his brother is the first target he wants, because, see, he is the victim, his brother is cain who has killed abel. but also dan has got his head on backwards to look out for enemies and for anyone who might uncover him as the fraud he is, the way he just thought- they are just bullying me for what i am, so what if i become someone different? except that it's not like he didn't feel like a loser anymore, he just feels like a loser with a football sweater. so at that point you look at the direction of that violence, at where the anger and the resentment lies, and you stop there and wonder. who's cain there? who's gonna be the victim, who the executioner? like nathaniel orion said, "i want to kill him sometimes. i think sometimes he wants to die". i love them ur honor.

otto tyler: i have no literal idea why there is so so so little about him. admittedly, content about townies is in gnereal harder to track down, since they have... no last names.... for the most part. but the otto tag is absolutely desolated. this boy is what you'd call too angry to be this young. his first response to anything is extreme violence and fantasies of it. playing his audios you will be met with die, kill, die, kill, kill, die, die. and all of his vitriol is poured on the school, like they have all come together specifically to hunt him down. and he's been canonically hospitalized, as well; when you walk in the asylum for the first time (galloway away i believe) he tells you not to "anger the watcher"- but who is this watcher? the composition of the scene seems to implies it is the statue in the courtyard; the most coherent correspondence would be the orderlies you will have to avoid as you walk past them; maybe otto himself has just been told not to anger the watcher by the people who are supposed to take care of him, but that are just playing with his mind to make him too afraid not to behave. which, incidentally, doesn't sound too different from what he might have suffered at school. otto will ask you if you have ever punched a wall. he will swear he hates everyone in the school, that everyone in the school hated him, he will threaten to destroy it. otto is a landmine, he's an unstable kid who just needed some ground to stand on, and instead they placed him all alone on a shaking earth. all is anger is desperation, it's having spent too much time without a support system, too much time bound -to a chair, in a cell, in a straitjacket- surrounded by people who couldn't understand him. who stifled his expression instead of channeling all the feelings he had all the time, exploding and intense in an overwhelming and violent way. i like to think of him as an artist. he mentions tattoos; i like to imagine he's learning to do them himself. that he's finding that as an outlet for his expression. and yeah overall. i am a lot fond of otto, and i think he would have a lot to say.

mr. wiggins: look, this guy is super unlucky. he's the only teacher with no class minigame; he's only ever walking around, and if you saw him you probably mistook him for the more familiar mr. matthews. but believe me when i tell you he's a real one. example 1: when someone snithces to him, he says something along the lines of "thank you, but i will never be able to trust you again". BRO. let me tell you, in 1968 this guy was OUT on his college campus and he was MARCHING and RIOTING with workers and students. he even mentions having spent a night or two in JAIL. he will walk into class and say the nastiest things about reagan while he keeps saying that as a teacher he will have to be politically neutral as if he didn't just have a fight with hattrick about socialism.

[snarky-enigma]

I made a comment that Nigel Bruce's Watson has big Pooh Bear energy, and that created either the greatest or dumbest thing I've ever drawn.

[thneederinaartdump]

Some random wips and sketches I never finished

1) Once-ler and Thneeodore

2) A design I did for Audrey (experiment)

3) Mr plant Sir sprout

4) Pouting Argos

5) A wally

6) A confused Norma

7) An uncomfortable Mr.Plant

8) Wally munching on an Apple

[thereddevils]

70s Mrs. Hudson & Billy Wiggins

I love these two so much. I put them together since they're like family. Mrs. Hudson is the widowed land lady of the building the boys live in. She's a hard working, sweet woman with a lot of love to give. And the reciever of most of her love is young Billy Wiggins, leader of The Irregulars gang. Wiggins likes to play tough, but he's really a nice, humorous kid. He calls Mrs. Hudson 'auntie', and in return she's the only one allowed to call him by his real name 'William'. The two middle pieces are of an older Wiggins, post-Hiatus.

[lavend-ler]

you're literally so real and based about the misogyny in the onceler fandom like none of the plot would've happened without audrey or norma (although i am a bit biased when it comes to norma cause she's my fave), and mrs wiggins helped A LOT and everyone just ignored them. also the vitriolic hatred towards the onceler's mom (yeah she sucked but still) is kinda weird where is that treatment towards the rest of his family

thank u dear anon 🙏

I posted my post out on a whim from my drafts but lemme elaborate - the lorax/onceler fandom is incredibly misogynistic. from the fact that ppl make fun of younger often girls having fun and being attracted to Once-ler. I was also a young girl when I first joined this fandom and I could completely feel the mockery over the years. all bc I dared to have fun abt one of my fave characters. and over the years I feel like the nature had become even more so hostile against fans, esp abt women who just join

my another glaring issue is with the fact that this fandom completely overlooks female characters. as u've said, the plot wouldn't have happened without Audrey and Norma. and when u join the fandom discussions u see ppl complaining abt how thinly they are written, the fandom does nothing to expand on them

I'll start with Norma bc she's my absolute fave too - u can barely find anything with her these days. yes I love Normaler but it doesn't have to be all there is to her. if u don't like Normaler, why can't u make Norma be Once-ler's friend? why aren't u exploring her life as a young woman, single mother and then a kind and upbeat old woman? why can't u pick up the pieces in canon abt her spunky but lighthearted nature, love for stories, enigmatic but understanding personality, nostalgia towards different times but still living in the moment, even affection towards things as gentle as nature and as extreme as sports? she fckin drives a crane all by herself! Norma is such a fantastic character to explore but this fandom just doesn't want to. and then when ppl DO explore her character it's dismissed as a self-insert fantasy for girls. even if so, so what? are we circling back to hating young girls for having interests?

Audrey is a similar case. she's either used as a mouthpiece, side piece for Ted or fucking shipped with an adult. why don't u explore her life beside this? why won't u talk abt her being an artist, softspoken dreamer and an introverted character who has to make choices? I love when ppl make her more active but she can also be passive, not everyone has to be an adventurer. and if u make her active, she could make a fantastic protag. all I'm saying is, do better

I'd argue the story of The Lorax also couldn't have happened if it wasn't for Mrs. Wiggins. she's such a fun character too, lovable and sweet and energetic, but also no nonsense and stands up for what she believes in? when I read this ask to my bestie they looked at me and said "Mrs. Wiggins has more personality than Ted" and I AGREE. she deserves more spotlight as a single woman who tries her hardest and balances her life all around. she's so so good

as for Once-ler's mother, she is a total bitch but like........so is his whole family. yes, she's the abuser but everyone else enables her abuse so they're also guilty. like fuck them. I do totally get hatred for Once-ler's mother but she's also a pretty good antagonist. her manipulative behavior and mood swings are very well written in a realistic way. why can't we even say that a woman is a good antagonist? besides, she can also have her past (which does not excuse the abuse ofc, just makes her a deeper character). I see a lot of potential and it's just wasted a millionth time

can I also say that female OCs in this fandom are super scarce? I remember there were a lot of times when fem!Once-ler blogs got deactivated bc they were relentlessly bullied. all for the sake of shipping two mildly different flavors of the same guy. and u don't have to make them side pieces to ur Once-lers. women deserve their own stories to tell. when I was developing my Lorax OC Felicia, her relationship with Once-ler was the last thing I thought of

anyways, it's a total tangent at this point but I wanted this to be an ode to female characters of the lorax/onceler fandom. they deserve their stories and they deserve to be treated with respect. do better

[xxdoubledaisyxx]

If my dreams come true, I become a resident in this ghostly valley, and open the [redacted] to live out the rest of my days and then haunt this place ever after:

Then I will officiate an occult black magic wedding on behalf of the Lady in White and her beloved hero.

They will always have a vacation home in Hell secured by my personal authority as the god-emperor of Hell where the sanctity of marriage is even more secure than that of heaven (can u guess why?)

[bundys-boys]

[starlightz4mj]

It’s Our Anniversary

Summary: Michael, once again, fails to show up for an important event you had plans for–this time, your anniversary. Tangled in a web of uncertainty, disappointment, and intoxication, how will his untimely arrival unravel the suppressed feelings and unspoken words you’ve both kept hidden?

Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!reader

Era: Bad

Setting: Encino, California. Spring of 1987.

Category: angst, fluff, smut, oral (f! receiving), sexual intercourse (p in v) 

Word Count: 10,472

Note: For plot's sake, you'll have to pretend that the Havenhurst house wasn’t inhabited by the whole Jackson clan. Sorry if there’s any grammatical errors, btw. Also, I was listening to Anniversary by Tony! Toni! Toné! when the idea for this popped up, hence the title. I think using songs for my imagines might be a recurring feature. Anyway, enjoy! R.I.P. to D’Wayne Wiggins <3

Do you know what today is?

It's our anniversary

Made for you and me

Appareled in a Prussian Blue Valentino gown, you sit in the lavish dining room of the Havenhurst home designed with warm, Victorian elements. The intricately paneled walls display expensive oil canvases from the Romanticism and Renaissance periods. It was your boyfriend’s taste, not yours in particular, but still a stunning sight to take in. A pair of French antique chandeliers, adorned with crystals and bronze candlesticks, dimly light the space—accompanied by the silky notes of Jazz Noir drifting from a record player—blending together to set a mood of intimacy and relaxation.

Yet, as your dolled-up reflection looks back at you in discontent through the polished wood of the mahogany table, you are anything but relaxed. The loud dong of the grandfather clock adjacent to your right tolls aggravatingly for a third time, marking the three hours ago that Michael was supposed to be here. Unsurprisingly to you by now, he is not. That doesn't make the ache of disappointment any less painful.

For nearly the last year of the two you have been a couple, Michael’s packed schedule has been a constant interference to the increasingly rare occasions you spend with each other. Around when you had met him, he had concluded his activities for the Victory Tour, taking on less strenuous pursuits in his career after the success of Thriller. There were the infrequent appearances or interviews here and there, but overall, it was the least busy he had been for most of his life. And in that time, he and you had plenty of it to build a connection.

Being an attorney and starting out on a semi-business basis, you assisted in some of the proceedings he and your colleague took in purchasing the ATV Music Catalogue. There were a few times they came to you for advice on matters of intellectual property, that aspect of law being your area of expertise. Yet, unusually, despite Michael hiring nothing but the best for his legal selection, he hadn’t given any indication that he wanted to have a fiduciary relationship with you, even though you were the top IP lawyer at your firm. Your initial reaction was to be offended. After all the guidance he seeked, what could he possibly have against hiring you? 

“Well, Mr. Jackson, I don’t quite understand why you’d request my help, but decide to not appoint me to a position on your team. Is there some reason you think I’m unqualified for the job?” Voicing your potentially out-of-line assumption, you still maintain a courteous tone, even though your pride was slightly wounded. However, he simply lets out a giggle at the question.

“It’s the opposite, actually. I’d love for you to be a part of my team, but… it would conflict with another interest I have.” His aviator-shielded eyes cast downward toward the ground as he smiled coyly.

“And what might that be?” Your arms folded across your chest as your intrigue was piqued by the ambiguous statement, waiting for him to provide clarity.

“Taking you out to dinner on Saturday night. If you're up for it, of course.”

Your face donned with pleasant surprise as his words registered—a bold approach to make with such a shy demeanour. Though you wouldn’t say it aloud due to professional conduct, you had been an admirer of him since you were a girl in pigtails, starstruck by his strong voice and cherubic charm during that monumental premiere of The Jackson 5 on American Bandstand. 

Having a celebrity crush as a youth was nothing uncommon, but actually being presented with the opportunity to pursue a romantic gesture from them as an adult was inconceivable. The part of you that subdued the adolescent fancy you held for him felt as if it had been sparked again.

And with indignation replaced by delight, previous aggrievance long forgotten, you happily accepted his offer. From that point on, you and Michael went on numerous dates. You remember the more intimate ones—taking walks at night on the beach in Malibu or going to high-end establishments, such as opera houses and fine dining restaurants. The fun ones like going to the movie theater or to arcades in whatever crazy disguise he threw together. Most of them made you erupt into fits of laughter. 

You always voiced the theory that the zany costumes were more of an attention grabber than if people actually saw him in his normal attire, to which he proved otherwise. Long story short, on one of your many visits to Disneyland, you both, along with the Mickey Mouse mascot you were being photographed with, were swarmed by a herd of hysterical fans in the blink of an eye. You’re still not even sure how the limousine managed to get through the crowd as his security guards threw all three of you into the backseat. 

“Holy fucking shit! What the hell is going on?!” The heavily muffled shout of the man beneath the cartoonish mouse head would have been comical, if not for the overly excited group enveloping the vehicle, packed in close and trying to get a glimpse at the King of Pop. You yourself were staggered at the mob and attempting to calm your jittery disposition. All the while, you looked over to find Michael simply smiling and greeting the rowdy bunch, as if this were an average day for him.

Realizing that it was just that, you acknowledged the grace and composer he held himself with as an extremely admirable trait. You couldn’t fathom handling this lack of privacy and fanaticism since childhood. It was moments like this that made it click for you that being Michael Jackson, the popstar, came at a great price. To the world, he was this magical entity to marvel at—a wizard of entertainment. Before, due to the lack of familiar proximity, you used to hold that same image of him to some extent. But now, he was just Michael to you.

Michael, who had an affinity for Peter Pan and old Hollywood and Tchiakovsky. He always approached learning opportunities with eager curiosity, whether it was the sudden interest he’d taken in anatomy in recent months, or his humility in seeking mentorship from those he collaborated with in the industry, despite being a master himself. Michael, who was susceptible to internal struggles like anyone else and oftentimes wore himself down with his own expectations, but only because he believed in himself so fiercely. Michael, who was a beautiful fusion of contrasting energies—childlike spirit and wise, old soul, both wrapped in one. And the more of him you got to experience personally, the more profound and loving your relationship blossomed.

It carried on like this for a while, leisure time filled with frequent rendezvous, until his life started to pick up pace again. With the many filming projects he starred in, paired with countless hours of recording for his upcoming album, the days where you hardly saw him were steadily growing. You were able to distract yourself from his absence by getting lost in your own taxing work of large files riddled with dense jargon. Still, that only served as a temporary solution. 

“I miss you, Michael. We never see eachother anymore.” You utter into the phone while absentmindedly twirling the coil cord around your finger. You were bundled up in Michael’s bed, relaxing on your day off. But for him, he was busy in the studio, perfecting his sound for this new era of artistry. 

An exhaustion-filled sigh is let out into the receiver. “I know. I miss you too. I keep running into all these problems with the tracks. And Quincy-–he wants to go in a completely different direction with the sound than I do. It’s like, I can’t get anything worked out right today… Maybe I should just drop all of this and come home to you.” 

“Well, as much as I’d love that, I wouldn’t let you do it. I know how much this album means to you, to your fans… I want you to give it your all. You’ll get where you need to be. I know it. Just keep trying.”

He’s deeply appreciative of your encouraging words, grateful to have someone so supportive in his corner, even though he’s aware his hectic schedule no doubt takes a toll on you as well. “Yeah… I guess you're right. But still, I wish we had as much time together like we used to.” 

You think for a moment. “Well, how about we try our best to set some time aside out of the holidays for ourselves?” The suggestion was favorable enough, given the circumstances. And although there was some lingering resistance to practices outside of his past religion, such as festivities, he had opened himself generously to trying new things with you—some, more willingly than others…

So, that was the arrangement you both agreed upon. For a brief period, while still new, it was upheld fairly well-–until it wasn’t. The more activities Michael started to be bombarded with, the less he was able to keep his end of the agreement, and many of the days you had reserved for yourselves were cut into or entirely canceled by his heightened workload. But each time, you were understanding.

Like when he missed Valentine’s Day due to a conference he had for a potential brand deal with a fragrance line, which, by the way, ended up falling through, leaving the meeting pointless. Or when he got held back to reshoot some scenes for the Captain EO short film on your birthday, even though he was supposed to wrap up earlier to celebrate with you.

He would always return home with a peace offering, profusely apologizing for not being able to make it. And taking into account the extent of relentless demands in his career, it felt juvenile to be upset. So, you never truly expressed how much it bothered you, keeping it inside in favor of savouring the few moments you did have with each other. 

However, tonight is a different case. It’s your anniversary. And with each of the many reminders you gave over the last few weeks, he promised that no matter what, he would make it here by eight this evening. Instead, you found yourself alone, staring into the porcelain plate of chicken piccata you prepared, which has gone cold by now, with the hands of the clock moving farther and farther away from that designated time. As the minutes dragged on into hours, there wasn’t a single call sent as a courtesy to explain his nonappearance.

For him to not only be a complete no-show but also fail to at least leave you with prior warning—you were nothing less than seething at this point. The fretful bounce of your stilettoed foot carries on as you take a large swig of Chardonnay to ease the perturbance, waiting for the telltale sound of loafers padding down the marbled floors of the corridor. 

Meanwhile, the fluorescent lights of Los Angeles pass by in a blur as Michael heavily steps down on the accelerator of his Mercedes-Benz. Rush hour has long since been over, leaving the roads relatively uncrowded, thankfully making his race home quicker than usual. As the traffic light turns red, wheels halting in place, his right hand rummages around in his pocket to pull out a velvet box. How could I have forgotten? He inspects the small item, twirling it around with his fingers. 

What happened today was nothing short of chaos. Yet again, he and Quincy spent what felt like forever clashing over creative differences. Quincy, favoring the music production, wanted Al Capone to be on the album. Michael, on the other hand, preferred Smooth Criminal. Although both had the same thematic origins, with this song, he had a clearer, conceptualized idea of how it would look and feel in a movie short—the 1920s speakeasy scene, gangster suits and some influences of jazz in the dance style. After much discussion and weighing the pros and cons, Michael's decision ultimately prevailed.

The real trouble began when they actually started recording. From too much echo and reverberation polluting the sound of the tracks to Michael’s vocals not landing where they needed to, he found himself stuck in a continuous loop of scrapping various sections of his work just to start all over again. The constant mishaps couldn’t easily be pinpointed to one thing.

The stress of the ever-nearing approach of deadlines for this album, from music videos to preparations for the upcoming tour. Fatigue from rehearsal-filled days and sudden bursts of inspiration at night—lyrics, harmonies, choreography—that left him sleep-deprived. Or the nervousness from the much more immediate cause that, somehow, amidst all the madness, had completely slipped his mind.

As he returned to the sound booth from a restroom break, fully intending to keep recording until he felt the song he’d been working on was perfected, his eyes caught the red numbers on the digital clock hanging above the entrance—10:39 PM. Panic set in as the realization dawned on him: he was supposed to be home three hours ago for his anniversary. And though being so late to this very important event that you both had greatly anticipated did nothing to ease his anxiety, it was not the primary reason for it.

Michael had planned to turn this celebration of two years together into something even grander—a marriage proposal, but the potentially disastrous outcomes he had conjured up loomed over him like a dark cloud for weeks. As result, this entire studio session ended up in no meaningful progress, and astonishingly, he’d forgotten the one thing he promised he wouldn’t. Quickly pivoting on his foot, he scrambled towards the rack where his leather jacket hung, clumsily throwing it on.

“Smelly, what’s gotten into you all of a sudden?” The quizzical tone of Quincy’s voice doesn’t falter his rushed escape out of the room.

“I’m sorry, but I really gotta go! I’ll explain it tomorrow!” He hastily offers to wrap up their session before rushing towards the elevator. After impatiently waiting for the platform to ascend and dashing in upon its arrival, he soon reaches the first floor of the main lobby, booking it towards the exit of revolving doors. 

His attention is snapped from the burgundy colored cube in his hand as out of his peripheral, the stoplight turns green, putting the vehicle back in motion. As he carries on with his journey of about ten minutes left until he reaches home, his mind wanders back to the day you first met.

“There’s some parts of this document that are vague. You think you could come over and take a look?” John, Michael’s entertainment lawyer, had just had a brief exchange over the phone with someone moments ago before three loud knocks were heard at the closed door of his workspace. When it opened, in pranced a stunning woman, clad in a form-fitting red skirt suit, instantly drawing in Michael’s intrigue.

“Good afternoon. It’s truly a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jackson,” you chime in a genial tone, approaching with a beaming smile and extended hand, which he enveloped gently to shake—a fluttering giddiness erupts at the touch. As the two attorneys began to delve into the content of the forms, their words hardly registered to Michael. He was too focused on the concentrated gaze with which you scanned the documents, the shape of your rouged lips curving over vowels.

His eyes wandered to your accentuated curves as you leaned over the desk to examine the papers—voluptuous and alluring. And as you closed your revision of the material with an ‘I’m here if you need anything else,’ he couldn’t stop himself from watching the sway of your hips as you made a swift exit from the room.

You frequented over the next week, offering advice and providing context when needed. Sometimes, he would feign confusion with some parts of the text just so you could stay a little longer. Realizing that this was not the most practical way to prolong your being, nor considerate of your actual work duties, Michael finally decided to voice an inquiry.

“Hey, John, what’s your policy on dating clients?” The brunette man sipping on a latte pauses mid-drink with a puzzled look before lowering the mug.

“I’m flattered, but I don’t go that way.” 

“Not you, silly. I’m talking about her.” Michael waves in the direction of your office, lightly chuckling at John’s humorous remark. “Lawyers and clients aren’t allowed to be romantically involved, right?” He had done some research of his own about the situation, but wanted further confirmation just to be sure.

“Correct. But technically, you aren't an official client of hers, so you could still go for it.” And with that answer, he was asking you out later that very same day. 

Michael had been relatively green to the world of dating by the time you two had met. The seldom flings he had with women, kept under the radar, never developed into anything serious. With the way most of them soured, he wasn’t exactly sure that he would ever find what he was looking for. He often encountered people who were more enamored with his status and what luxuries it could offer than with him.

And though he was more than happy to shower his lady companions with anything they desired, he mostly did so out of the fear of being alone rather than the rapture of being in love, yearning to experience the joys of having a significant other. But little did he know, a certain lively attorney would be the end to his string of unfulfilling situationships.

Of course, he hadn’t initially come in with much expectation that the dynamic between you would deviate from the usual—gifts and opulence in exchange for company. Yet, surprisingly, when he did make such gestures, there was often protest and reluctance from you to accept them. You let it be known that while you were appreciative, he should never feel as if your affection needed to be bought, emphasising that just being together was enough.

And in the time he’s got to share with you, you’d become both his best friend and the light of his life. Mirroring his childlike tendencies, you enjoyed the likes of practical jokes, whimsical films, amusement parks. You both gave each other an equal dose of mischief and excitement—a temporary escape from the pressures of adult life.

On the other hand, the womanly side of you was self-assured and sophisticated. Despite the stipulations that came with his public persona, you weren’t one to crease under the weight. With poise and level-headedness, you managed to navigate both the harsh anatomization and glitzy display of his idol life. And though the expectations and prying scrutiny were unrelenting, your devotion to him never faltered.

As the demands of the day faded and it was just the two of you, your tenderness was given space to flourish in the sacred confines of one another. In the sentimental conversations you found yourselves getting lost in late into the night—confidences, dreams, worries—you had become a part of him he didn’t know he needed.

You possessed the ability to truly see and understand him, even when he tried to mask the parts of himself he feared would make you grow tired and flee. The solitude of his stardom, the sadness from past traumas, which he had believed for so long was impossible to escape, were eased away by the comfort of your unwavering presence and acceptance.

While these gloomy moods burdened Michael at times, he still held a great love and optimism about life. When it came to his craft, he was fiercely passionate and hopeful about all the possibilities he envisioned for himself, even when others thought he may have been overachieving or setting his expectations too high.

But you never doubted or dissuaded him from his aspirations. You were his biggest supporter. Always uplifting, always giving your undivided attention to his enthusiastic ideas about the next big thing he was going to do, eager to get a glimpse into the innovative makings of his mind. And when the work was tiring, your love and support motivated him to keep going.

As your endearments were reified through these saccharine partakings, he was certain that he wanted forever with you. He found refuge in your affections, your embrace—your peace sheltered him from the harsher aspects of his success and internal pains that, at times, would well up so much he thought he could drown. When he felt as if he would lose himself to those turbulent waters, you were the gentle wave beckoning him back to shore.

And in all these things, his resolution to ask for your hand in marriage was absolute. However, there was an additional reason why he decided an engagement was fitting—to convey that his adoration had not been swayed or dulled for you. He was aware that the requirements of his work agendas held great potential to cause a rift in your relationship. 

Consequently, he flipped between confidence that your feelings for him were so strong that you couldn't possibly reject him, to doubts clawing from the darkest corners of his mind, trying to convince him that his fame, his tireless routine, and himself, were still too much for you. As the in-house security guard granted him access through the ornamental gates of his estate, he began to feel that unease bubbling to the surface again.

Easing down the herringbone pavement leading to the main entrance of the house, he sees your car in its usual parking spot and places his directly behind it. With a sturdy twist of the metal key in the ignition, the rumble of the engine dies down, leaving him to collect himself in the still silence.

He gets out of the car, taking calculated steps as he approaches the double doors of the entry, apprehension swirling around him as he suspects that his untimely arrival will not go over well with you. His ears catch the faint rise and fall of music as he steps inside, quietly sealing the door shut. Slowly carrying on down the hallway, timidly walking past the threshold of the dining room, he is greeted by the upward flick of your gaze over the rim of a glass of wine—cold and distant. Without breaking eye contact, you chug the last remnants of the intoxicating potion before firmly setting the glass down.

“Happy anniversary. Glad you could join me.” Between your sarcastic remark and the displeased expression, he’s wary that he might not be able to recover easily from this one tonight.

“Baby, please don’t be like that. I’m really sorry. I ran into some trouble at the studio and lost track of time.” He offers his regret as he takes in the elegant layout you put effort into, left abandoned by his lack of show for the event. A twinge of guilt twists inside him.

“Save it. I’m really not in the mood to hear any excuses. You swore you’d make it, and you didn’t. Again. Simple as that,” you mutter with contempt as you move to grab the plates of untouched food, your heels clicking briskly as you make your way towards the kitchen.

From the wine you had been downing these past hours, to finally hitting a breaking point from the repeated absences from Michael, you let your frustrations flow freely for the first time. He’s taken aback by the bluntness of it, and although his contrition is strong, he feels a growing urge to defend himself as he trails behind you.

"Yes, I know I promised, and I wanted to be here with you today more than anything. But with everything I’ve had to do to get this album ready, I have a lot on my plate. I don’t think you’re being fair to me. It's not like I did this on purpose.”

His response only irks you more as you scrape the wasted meal into the trash bin. From his attempt to justify his actions to the fruits of your labor being overlooked, your tip-toe around full on confrontation has come to an end. With a heavy toss of the plates into the sink, not caring if they broke from the force, you sharply turned around, vitriol, tinted with liquid courage, pouring from your lips.

“No, what’s not fair is for you to leave me sitting here like a damn fool for three hours, and on top of that, not even call me to let me know where the hell you are!” 

Michael has never heard you yell like this before. In fact, during this whole two-year relationship, you’ve never once had a serious argument. Small disagreements that were resolved so fast you both hardly remembered what you were upset over? Yes. But full-blown, furious disputes had never found their way between you. However, there’s a first time for everything. 

"Look, honestly, it just slipped my mind, okay?! You have no idea how bad my day has been. Can’t you just hear me out? I don’t know why you’re giving me such a hard time all of a sudden.”

He finds himself gradually raising his volume as well. Despite his plea, his fortified reflex drives his actions, clouding the more rational approach of trying to wind down this heated energy between you instead of fanning its flames. And you’re ready to throw back just as much fire.

“Because I’m fed up with you not being here! I have been for a while now. And I’m busy too, Michael. My job is high maintenance, but I still show up for us. It feels like you're not even trying to do that!” 

Deep down, you knew that wasn't a fair or honest stance to take. Yes, you put in many more hours than most, plus the mental muscle necessary for your job was hefty. But Michael’s career required even more of him to succeed. Truthfully, you just wanted him to feel the same hurt you were feeling. And as the anger in his gaze momentarily wavers into something dejected, you were certain it worked.

“I am trying! If I wasn’t, I’d still be working instead of standing here right now.” There’s a slight quiver in his exasperation as he feels his worst suspicions coming true—he had let you in, and finally, it had become too much for you to bear.

“Well, what do you expect me to make of it, huh?! I’ve been very lenient all the times you’ve failed to show up—a full year, Michael. And now, this one time I desperately ask you to be here, you can't even do it!” You exclaim as you feel the familiar sting of tears threatening to spill. Somehow, you are able to uphold an unshaken demeanor of hostility.

You don’t know exactly where this shouting match is taking you, but you weren’t betting on the cruel grin that takes over Michael’s face as he lets out a bitter cackle. Though, it’s quickly replaced by a scowl that shoots daggers through you. 

“Right. So, I’m just a terrible boyfriend who always forgets about you? When we got together, you knew how demanding my life was. I can’t change that. And you said you understood, but it doesn’t seem like that anymore. If it’s not something you can handle, what are you still here for?!”

There's an uncomfortable silence that settles in the air before the unmistakable sound of a sniffle breaks it. He immediately wishes he could take his words back as he watches the tears brimming your eyes begin to trickle down your face.

“You know what?! Fine! Maybe I’ll leave then!” Your voice cracks as you exit the kitchen with a hurried stride, heading toward your shared bedroom—more accurately, your shared suite—to retrieve what you’ll need for your departure.

Hot on your tail, he’s following you up the path winding stairs, shame and dread brewing in his conscience as he takes your declaration as an act of permanence. Contrarily, you were just heading back to your apartment in the city for a while to cool off. He feels foolish for ruining the evening and the proposal he had planned, sullied by his own vexations and rash need to have the last word. And the thought of this possibly being the end of your relationship has sent him spiraling.

“Wait, that’s—that’s not what I meant.” A desperate attempt at an explanation to backtrack your decision comes tumbling from his mouth, but you are done listening as you barge through the door, determined to get away from him.

“Well you certainly said it, so you must have meant it.” Your vacant tone pulls at his heart, knowing that you’re shutting him out now. Still, with an earnest plea as he watches you shuffle around inside the dresser trying to locate something, he attempts to get through to you.

“No, I just—can you stop and listen to me for a second?!” He soon finds out what you were looking for—the silver glare of your car keys dangles from your manicured fingers. No, no, no. This is not how the night was supposed to go. 

“I’ve already heard enough from you.” Your assertion leaves no space for bargaining as you turn to exit the bedroom, but Michael is towering over you with brooding eyes before you can take another step. Swiftly, he yanks the keys right out of your hand.

“You’re not leaving me.” He can’t lose you. Not like this. With firm conviction, he is hell-bent on not letting you set foot outside of this room. Aggravated by his antics, you try to grab the keys, but he just moves them farther from your reach. Like a childish game, he extends his arm higher and higher away from you as you stand on your tiptoes, pressed flush against him and struggling to retrieve the metal object.

“Michael, give me my keys back! Now!” You exclaim with heightened annoyance, slightly stumbling over your feet as he roughly pulls away from you, walking towards the glass doors of the balcony. He wouldn’t dare…

“I said you’re not leaving, dammit!” You watch, mortified, as he twists the golden handle to open the door before tossing the keys two stories down to get lost in the flower bed beneath, not even bothering to close it before he turns back around. Both breathing heavily from the exertion of your previous scuffle, you exchange a hard stare down from a distance.

“What…THE FUCK is your problem?!” You shriek incredulously as he just stands there, glowering and not saying a word. Shaking your head in disbelief, you once again move to exit the suite—this time, to search for your keys—but startlingly, Michael makes fast strides in your direction. Before you can register what’s happening, he seizes your wrists tightly, pushing you until your back is pressed to the mural-painted surface of the wall.

Both puzzled and shaken by the impact of it, you’re ready to protest this strange action, but are quickly interrupted as the sudden crash of his lips to yours cuts you off. Wide-eyed with surprise and unable to break free from his vice-like grip, the vigorous motions of his mouth forces yours to do the same.

As your eyelids reluctantly start to flutter shut, getting lost in the sensation, Michael abruptly tears from the kiss before you fully cave in. Curiously, you watch as he walks over to the bedroom door and shuts it—the snap of the lock setting in place rings through the hushed space.

His eyes are darkened with a new aura as he prowls back toward you—something fervent and burning. Suspense looms over you once he fully approaches, simply standing with his intense gaze sauntering over your flustered form. Clearly consumed by his thoughts, his close inspection leaves you wondering what’s about to happen. That uncertainty is shattered by a low command that has heat stirring inside of you.

“Take your panties off.”

“Are you seriously trying to-” stunned at the vulgar statement, you start to question him, but are silenced by the sharp slap of his hand on your behind.

“Do it right now. Don’t make me repeat myself.” The gruff command leaves no room for debate as he moves back, giving you just enough space to maneuver out of them. Though it takes you a moment to adjust from the initial shock of his harsh touch, you timidly do as he says.

The lacey undergarment slides down your legs with ease, briefly snagging on the rhinestone accents of your blue heels before laying crumpled on the floor. Slightly kicking them out of the way, you watch with anticipation as Michael hastily unzips his leather jacket, casting it aside without concern for where it landed.

He pounces back on you, meshing your lips together with fluid, eager movements that make your heart race. With just as much longing, your fingers tangle into the loose locks of his hair as your tongues become entwined through desperate pants into each other’s mouths. His usual note of cinnamon, warm and sweet, dances on your taste buds, drawing you in more. With excitement heightened by this carnal entanglement, you can feel the slickness of it starting to build in your nether regions.

His kisses trace downward to the unblemished expanse of your neck where he begins to etch dark bruises, causing soft whimpers to fall from your lips. At the same time, his hands deftly shift the sparkly fabric of your dress up higher until the skirt crumples around your waist.

“Hold this up for me.” He whispers softly, pulling away from the marks he’s painted into your skin—a canvas stained with burning desire. Obediently, your hands clumsily bunch up the coarse, lurex material as your core aches with need and expectation.

Once he’s sure your grip is secure, he impatiently falls to his knees, draping your right leg over his shoulder and grabbing hold of your hip to keep you steady. You gasp as his mouth now sears welts into your thigh, sucking and biting at the flesh with urgency as he inches closer and closer to where you crave him most.

His breath fans hotly over you wet folds before you feel him take a broad, firm lick over the surface. He prods farther, parting your lips to swipe directly at your slit, languidly moving his tongue up and down to collect your honeyed nectar. Carrying on like this for a while, muscle deliberately stroking along the strip of your womanhood, the erotic mixture of his saliva and your arousal making the movements smoother, he soon hones his attention onto your throbbing pearl.

Your breath deepens as he flicks and circles it at a steady pace, only using the tip of his tongue for the assault. And while the feeling is wonderful, it doesn’t do enough to soothe the pain deep within you. With hips canting upward, you try to get more of him, but he pulls back to deliver another hard smack to your backside. With a yelp, you jolt at the sting, looking down at him with longing and frustration.

“You’re only getting what I decide to give you. Understand?” He questions with blown out eyes. You’re both intimidated and thrilled by the wild intensity in them. You nod your head stiffly, swallowing to alleviate the dryness in your throat, but you take that’s not the response he was looking for as he slaps your behind again, much more powerful than the last. With eyes clenched, you grit your teeth from the lingering bite of it.

“I wanna hear you say it.” His stern declaration sizzles in the space between you, thick with tension, waiting for you to give a proper answer. Slightly quivering at the weighted feel of the atmosphere, you utter with avid compliance;

“Yes, I understand.” Although quiet, it is satisfactory enough for Michael as he delves back into your warmth, resuming his manipulations. The pressure continues to leave you just teetering on the precipice of what you seek. You have to concentrate to restrain yourself from moving your hips again. Sensing your struggle to hold back, the rigidity in your limbs is obvious as you now release more constrained breaths, he fully envelops your bud into his mouth in an act of mercy.

As he builds the intensity of his motions with harder laps of his tongue and the harsher suction of his lips, he is practically making out with the drenched bundle of nerves. Finally getting what you yearned for, wanton moans climb from your throat freely as your body begins to slacken against the wall, swept away in this pleasant feeling.

Your soft, pleasured utterances fall upon Michael’s ears like a sweet symphony—high and melodious. His length is straining in the tight confinement of his pants, begging to be freed as the sugared and earthy scent and taste of your sex fills his senses.

With eyes peering up, he hungrily takes in the state of your form: the rapid rise and fall of your chest with each inhale you take, eyes shut, furrowed brows and mouth agape in blissed-out desire. The elegant bun your hair was neatly pulled back into has somehow come undone in the midst of this interaction, now flowing over your shoulders. God, you’re so beautiful like this. The salacious sight sets him ablaze, making him more zealous in having you fall apart for him.

The plush skin of your thighs curve over his fingers, grip squeezing firmer and opening you more as the fluctuations of his mouth become more vigorous, devouring you until he’s drooling on your sopped and weeping petals. In embarrassment and sweltering lust, heat rises to your cheeks at the slick and tacky sounds of his mouth passionately unwinding you.

The ravenous motions of his tongue against your clit causes your walls to deeply throb, sending a new wave of your essence to mix with the messy concoction between your legs. As Michael can feel the dribble of it streaming down his chin, he moves his thumb to continue the work on your button while shifting his head to take greedy laps at the dripping source, reveling in the taste of you.

As his tongue swirls and plunges deeper inside of you, he comes to the delightful realization that he would die happily here—face basking in the warm paradise of your love, drinking down the sweet waters of your orchid. Getting lost in these elysian pleasures through tender ministrations and fervid caresses.

“Michael, I’m so close!” You wail through needy cries as you feel the muscles in your pelvis beginning to be pulled taut. There’s hot pressure growing in your lower belly with the wish for release. The fibrous cloth of your dress itches your skin as your clammy hands struggle to hold it up, trembling as you can feel the force in you, building unbearably.

Michael groans enthusiastically into your core at the gratifying revelation, gripping your hips even tighter, intent on making you come undone on his tongue. The rumble of it vibrates deliciously against your lady bits, bringing you even closer to your peak when instantly, his mouth is surrounding your whole mound with loud, eager slurps, loosening his jaw to take more of you in.

And as he hotly consumes your sensitive parts, you’re finally granted that explosive release you’ve been waiting for. Uncontrollably, ardent moans tumble over your lips as the tension in your walls spasms without reserve, sending bright tingles of pleasure radiating throughout your entire body.

Michael drinks your pleasured sounds and the sap of your orgasm with elation as he can feel his own organ twitching with excitement behind the barrier of his briefs. Slowly, as you come down from the rush of it, gasping for air, he pulls away to examine the results of his work—you’re enticingly engorged and soaking. With a more delicate touch, he brushes featherlight kisses to the inflamed hues on your thigh before gingerly removing it from its place on his shoulder.

Rising eagerly, he brings you into another searing kiss. Although, the movements are slow and relaxed as he takes his time letting you taste yourself on his mouth. As his lips flow languidly against yours, sinking into the warmth of your embrace as you let go of your gown to wrap your arms around him, you both have a quiet understanding that you’re attempting to make amends for the hurtful things said and expressed during your earlier clash.

When you both slowly part from the kiss, the amorous, yet reverent stare he fixates on you with those deep, soulful eyes sets your heart aglow with a tender longing. Delicately, you lift your hand to cradle the side of his face, stroking the smooth skin with affection. His eyelids close in comfort, nuzzling into it as his lips gently peck at your palm.

Softly grabbing your wrist to break the contact, he sets your arm down, quietly stepping back while maintaining his gaze. His hands move downward to unbutton his shirt, fingers tactfully untangling the brass knobs from the red article of clothing. His expectant stare calls for you to follow his lead.

The plunge back making of your dress causes the sleeves to glide down your shoulders with little to no resistance, unveiling your bare chest to the cool, night air the open window lets in, causing your nipples to stiffen up. The textile plummets to your feet where you shuffle it aside, kicking your heels along after. With added effort, Michael eventually disrobes himself entirely of his leather and buckled garments, leaving him nude and just as exposed as you are.

Your pupils dilate as you take in the gorgeous sight of your boyfriend. The olive contours of his lean physique are illuminated by the pale glow of the moon. Your vision moves along the faintly defined muscles of his chest and torso, down to the neat trimming of his pubes, until they land on his impressive member, hanging proudly between his toned thighs and scattered with a constellation of vitiligo markings.

With hands trembling in inclination, you reach out to pull him back to you. This time, you’re the one to initiate the passionate dance of your lips. You feel him shudder, whimpering into your mouth as you firmly grasp his thick appendage, stroking it with purposeful motions. Pushing the skin back to circle your finger around his slit, a dribble of precum glides down, smoothly aiding the up and down caress of your hand to the velvety surface of his length.

Once stiffened to full capacity, he moves your hand to take hold of himself, placing the tip between your drenched lower lips, dragging it through the slick blendings of your previous foreplay. Leisurely, he rubs through your folds at a steady pace to liberally lubricate his girth before you feel the head gently breaching your entrance.

With breath fluttering into your neck as his head rests on your shoulder, he’s slowly inching into your awaiting canal. You feel slight discomfort at the burn of his width stretching you tremendously, but you do your best to relax the muscles, inviting him deeper into you. Finally, you’re stuffed full of him with his pelvis pressed flush to yours.

He peppers light kisses onto your throat, lifting your left leg up with a secure hold to cozily lay on his hip. And then, he begins to move with a slow, steady rhythm, pulling out all the way to the tip before delving back into you. By the slight grimace on your face, he can tell that you need more time to adjust to his size. But the slick, warm grip of your tight walls has him biting his lip in resistance, struggling to hold back the need to thoroughly ravage you.

Finally, he hears it. You let out small, pleasured sounds as he’s succeeded in fully loosening you up for him. The pain has been ebbed away into dazzling sparks of pleasure as you angle yourself upward to take him in deeper. With that queue, Michael gradually breaks from the slow tempo until he is rapidly driving into you, no longer able to contain himself.

Losing yourself in the feeling, desperate moans begin to fall from your lips in staccato with each powerful thrust he delivers to your watering core. Panting and groaning just as loudly, his nails dig crescent-shaped imprints where he grips your thigh, stroking into you relentlessly. Your own carve long, red scratches into his back, being overwhelmed by the sensations taking over your body as he hits your walls in just the right way.

“Damn, you feel amazing.” He speaks lowly through shallow breaths against your collarbone, hips continuing at a dizzying rate as he gets sucked farther into your wet and fleshy opening.

“S-So do you.” You barely are able to get the words out. The dizzying way he pummels your walls has heat stirring beneath your bladder. Blood rushes to all of your erogenous zones, heightening their sensitivity, begging to be touched. One hand rises to the aching buds of your breast while the other heads down to rub at the one between your legs, but Michael pulls back to quickly swat them away.

“Baby, please! It’s not enough.” You let out in agony, desperate to have those extra flares of stimulation. Discontented at being prohibited from it, you feel tears of frustration stinging your eyes. She’s so needy. Michael thinks to himself with amusement as he takes in your expression.

“Yeah? You want more?” The teasing tone of his question, paired with the lazy smile his lips are curved into screams of devious intentions. You’re unsure of what he has up his sleeve, but you hope it’s something that puts an end to your suffering.

“Yes!” You gasp out as he has now decreased his speed to deliver slow, long thrusts, stimulating you in a new and electrifying way as you can more distinctly feel him brushing against every ridge inside of you.

“Okay, I’ll give you more.” He stops his movements entirely to hoist your other leg around his hip, suspending you in the air. Quickly, you scramble to wrap your arms around his neck and lock your ankles to keep from falling. Just as soon as you are situated, once he’s certain his hold on you won’t slip, his hips begin to snap upward rapidly, hitting deeper and pressing right to that spot that has you keening with ecstasy. 

“Oh, fuck!” The hammering force of his strokes are so powerful that it has you roughly sliding up and down the wall. Your brace your legs tighter around his waist, unintentionally pulling him deeper into you. The lewd slaps of skin on skin, paired with the untamed moans and groans of rapture that rise from within your chests, echo pornographically off the walls of this ample suite.

His lips travel from your neck, down the swell of your breast where he takes your nipple into his mouth, suckling and nibbling it with fervor. While not fully sure if he means to or not, his pelvis rubs delightfully against your clit from the way he grinds you, giving you the relief you were after. He drifts his oral manipulations to the other breast, making sure it receives the same treatment.

With a wet pop, your tit falls from his mouth as he lifts up to press his forehead to yours. And then, he does something that has you nearly floundering out of his hold, not knowing how to handle this heightened pleasure that has jolts of electricity shooting up your spine.

Lightly undoing the lock you have around his waist, his arms allow the back of your kneecaps to rest on either side of him, causing you feet to dangle freely. In tandem, his arms mount you up to the tip of his erection, before dropping you back down all the way to the hilt with smooth thrusts meeting the falling motion. He does this over and over again until the stimulation of it buzzes in your nerves like static.

As wanton cries spill from your lips, back arching to take in more of his wild loving, he offers a smug question; “You like that?” 

“Oh God, yes!” It breathily rushes out as his hips are angled just perfectly to abuse the sensitive, spongy bump that lies on the upper part of your walls. 

“I know you do. No one else can do your body like this, baby. Only I can.” He seduces huskily, breath fanning warmly against your mouth as he pulls you into a brief, yet searing kiss before moving to lick and bite at your neck.

Everything is steamy, slick and wet between you. A thin sheen of sweat coats your bodies, causing a light glisten to waver off of your gyrating forms. The mixture of your heady arousals strings off of him like gooey webs when he pulls out, acting as a glue that sticks you together as he slides all the way back in. It pools around where you two are joined, dripping onto the ground as more from each of you overflows.

And as he melts back into you, over and over again, you let out sounds that gradually expand in octave as the friction of him rubs you in a blissfully disorienting way. That hot and familiar coil in your gut is starting to wind tight, waiting to be snapped free. He lets out his own pleasured noises against the shell of your ear as he feels his own release building, eager to spill out. And from the way you clench around him, he can tell that you’re nearing your climax as well.

But somewhere beneath these carnal sensations, lies an inkling of distress in Michael that once this is over, it may also be the end of you two. The worry has vulnerability pouring through his words as he says;

“Tell me you won’t go anywhere.” The tone pulls at your heartstrings as you feel him press a delicate kiss just below your jaw—a silent request for compromise. You lean into the mild touch as your arms squeeze tighter around his neck. You feel his heart beating sporadically as his chest lies atop of yours.

“I won’t go anywhere, Michael. Ever.” Full of devotion, the words pass your lips, holding him closer to you as he litters more affectionate kisses to your skin. 

“Tell me you love me.” He whispers against your cheek, hopefully awaiting your response. Much like the storm of passionate emotions raging within him, he rolls into you with frenzy as he can feel an orgasm steadily approaching, setting his loins aflame.

“I do… I love you so much.” The declaration comes out in a desperate sigh, spoken against his lips resting on the corner of yours. He delivers a delicate kiss to it—a stark contrast to the wild way he works your body.

“You gonna cum?” Michael’s question rings in the air with eager expectation, wanting to feel you come apart on him. And from the way you’re constricting around him, he knows you're getting ready to.

“Yes, yes, yes…” You chant in a daze as you feel the simmer of your release starting to bloom with heat deep within your walls. 

“Go on, girl. Give it to me.” The raspy command has you gripping him tighter, crying out as your canal overflows, showering Michael’s groin with the rains of your earth-shattering crest. The waves ride out within you, currents of electricity shooting up from your pelvis, to your chest and spreading outward to every extremity of your body. You lean back limply against the wall, basking in the feeling.

As you descend from euphoria, Michael’s thrusts continue, rubbing you into overstimulation. However, you make no complaints as his hips start to stutter their movements, signifying that he is on the cusp of his own climax.

And as he struggles to maintain his composure, the warm and gummy grip of your cunt tempting him to let go inside of you, he musters a moment of strength to pull all the way out, carefully letting you down to your feet as his hand takes over to replace your walls. 

Your ears are doused in the shlick sounds he creates with fast and smooth tugs along his length. With eyes closed and face furled up in concentrated bliss, his mouth hangs ajar, emitting high, breathy moans as sweat beads down his brow. You don’t think you’ve ever witnessed something so beautiful, yet so erotic in all of your life. 

Finally, with back bowed and fist clenched beside your head, his load shoots out of him in heavy spurts, coating his fingers and landing on your lower abdomen. He continues to stroke himself until every last drop has been squeezed out and his erection has died down before collapsing into your chest, wrapping his arms around your waist.

As you both use this moment to catch your breaths, your hands lift to gently stroke his head, curling the locks around your fingers, as he places a faint, yet lingering kiss over your heart, shifting the atmosphere into something soft and affectionate. You remain this way for a while, silently marinating in the calm of each other’s presence, before Michael rises from your chest to lay a light peck on your cheek.

“Wait right here.” He whispers it into your skin, pulling away to disappear into the bathroom, switching the lights on. It sends rays of yellow beaming across the floor, bringing some brightness to your dim surroundings. Your ears pick up the distant downpour of water from the shower running as Michael emerges back into view, walking over to carefully scoop you into his arms, taking you both to get cleaned up.

The calming scent of lavender permeates through the humid space, refreshing waters cascading down your bodies as your hands tactfully assist each other in washing away the remnants of your love making. Though you don’t speak as you go through the motions of bathing, the quiet between you is peaceful. The care with which you attend to each other conveys the love you are feeling.

Soon, you both find yourselves half dressed, Michael in his standard pair of briefs and you clad in a pale night slip, laying in the plush and spacious comfort of his king size bed. Your fingers idly twiddle with each other as you lie face to face, not having said a word yet, though there is a growing urge for someone to do so. Coincidentally, you both break the silence with an uttered ‘I’m sorry,’ at the same time. Staring at each other, you wait for one of you to carry on with what you want to say.

“Let me start.” You take the initiative to speak first, the satin sheets sliding off of you as you sit up to gather your thoughts.

“I’m sorry for how I acted tonight. I’ve always admired how dedicated you are to your career. It’s just that, I’ve been so lonely without you this past year… I guess I just lost my cool from not saying anything about it for so long.” You say in a small voice, now feeling embarrassed for your earlier outburst. Michael holds a solemn expression as you reveal to him what you’ve been holding back on, his thumb ghosting over the back of your hand in a soothing manner.

“No, I should have been here to celebrate with you. I know it’s been a lot to deal with, me being gone all the time, but I never knew you were struggling with it this much. Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?” He questions with a tone full of concern. Weighing on him like a great failure, he feels upset with himself for not truly knowing the extent of the suffering you’d been dealing with.

“Your work means so much to you, Michael… I didn’t want to get in the way of that.” You mumble the last part so small that he almost didn’t hear it, but when it registers, his fingers delicately grip your chin, turning you head upwards to be eye to eye with him.

“You could never do that, angel. You’re important to me too, and I want you to let me know when things are difficult for you. Don’t ever feel like your worries are a burden to me.” He proclaims in a soft, yet vehement manner, lighting your heart aglow with adoration.

Internally, Michael feels a deep settling nervousness as he decides whether or not to state his next words. But in keeping his troubles from you, that would be hypocritical to his previous declaration. With that reasoning, albeit a murmur, he’s saying them before he loses the strength to.

“When you told me you were leaving, I couldn’t handle it. I never wanted you to know, but I think it’s best you do… I get scared sometime. Scared that you won’t stay with me. That what I do, who I am—it’ll be too much for you and one of these days, I’ll come home and you won’t be here.” 

As a lone tear rolls down his cheek from the forlorn statement, you swiftly pull him into a tight embrace. Rubbing gentle circles on his back while he quietly weeps into your neck, regret fills you as you realize that you failed to even consider that he was being tormented by such doubtful beliefs.

“Oh, Michael… After all this time, don’t you understand that I’m not going anywhere?” You say as you move him to face you once again, wiping away the wet streaks that stain his face.

“You should know by now that you can’t get rid of me that easily.” It’s spoken with a light lilt of mirth to lift the mood, to which Michael offers a weak smile that fades just as quickly.

“Well, what about what you said tonight?” Raking through your brain, you scan to recall what he is talking about. It finally hits you that he mistook your ‘I’m leaving’ as an ‘I’m leaving for good.’

“Wait, did you think I was talking about forever?” It shouldn’t be funny, but the fact that he had such a big reaction over a minor misinterpretation of words has you stifling a laugh.

 “...Weren’t you?” He asks with genuine confusion, looking at you with a pouty expression that you find so adorable, you can’t help but crack, giggling at the hilarity of it.

“Hahaha! No, baby. I just needed to clear my head for a bit… I’ll always come back to you.” Your laughter gradually fades into a tender utterance as you lovingly gaze into his gentle eyes while caressing his face. A bashful grin stretches across his lips, also finding humor in what transpired due to the misunderstanding. Still, there is a crucial, unresolved aspect of the night that keeps him on edge.

“I can’t believe the night turned out so bad.” He mutters, thinking about how the sole thing he wanted to accomplish this evening was squandered by the fight.

“Well, I’d say we definitely made up for it with something else...” You lightly muse, but it’s hardly noticed as Michael seems to be intensely absorbed in his thoughts.

“No, it wasn’t just the anniversary…” Contemplation pulls at his mind like a match of tug-of-war. Should he seize the moment and go forth with his plan right now, before he loses the courage to, or wait for another day to prepare more and make the event better thought out and more special?

“I’m…not catching on. What are you talking about?” There’s something unreadable in his stare that has you growing puzzled. It only increases as Michael gets up from the bed, going to where his clothes are strewn on the floor, fishing out his leather jacket before removing something from one of the unzipped pockets. What’s he up to? 

Michael takes one last look at the velvet box, mind set on going through with the proposal, taking a deep breath to steady himself as he treks back to you, each step seeming to span for an eternity with all the overwhelming emotions swirling inside of him. He comes around to your side of the bed, gently shifting your legs over the edge so you can see him better.

Much to your confusion, you’re about to ask him what’s going on, but the words quickly get trapped in your throat with astonishment as he drops down to one knee. Is he getting ready to do what I think he is? Your wonder is confirmed by what he nervously verbalizes next;

“In the two years you’ve been in my life, you’ve become my everything. I never knew it was possible to be so in tune, so connected with another person, until I met you. Now, I can’t imagine spending a single day without you by my side. My love for you is infinite, and I want to share that infinity with you. So… would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

He pops open the box, revealing a beautiful, gold Art Deco-style ring adorned with white and emerald diamonds. Heart pounding in your chest with joy, you’re so excited and in disbelief that you almost can’t speak. Somehow, you manage to rush out a small whispered ‘yes,’ as your answer.

“You will?” Michael’s eyes lighten up as you start to nod exuberantly with a radiant smile on your face, dropping down to join him on the floor.

“Yes, Michael! Of course I will!” You warble out, being overcome by exhilaration as his own hand shakily slides the shimmering jewelry onto your finger, wrapping his arms securely around you for a hug full of relief. And now, you're crying again, but for an entirely different reason this time.

“I just got you that Mickey Mouse watch you’ve been raving about. I guess it kind of pales in comparison to your gift,” you let out a watery laugh as joyful tears flow freely. Giggling at your remark and just as elated, he eases his firm hold on you to pull you into a swooning kiss.

Giddily, Michael starts to plant smooches all over your face, which you giggle at and try to bat away the ticklish feeling. Though, he abruptly pauses his affections to give voice to something you had almost forgotten.

“Oh! And, uh… sorry about your keys, by the way.” He offers sheepishly, feeling that the earlier action was a bit theatrical.

“That’s okay, sweetie. You’re definitely looking for them by yourself tomorrow, though,” you lightly jest, not even really concerned about it. And as you nuzzle back into Michael, squeezing him tightly, those terms are more than fine with him.

Note: Credits to @cafekitsune for the divider. Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, likes and reblogs would be appreciated :)

mentions: @mjfavgirlie2006 @h4rtz-f0r-lm @thatoneliberiangirl

@tsunderesheepme @st4rwild @local-she-wolf @kenzie2cool4u @kpopfan-03 @joyboxx88 @marionnas-world @dollika2w8 @margeoww @xgrisleyx @callingallbaddies @moonwalkerdiana

© All Rights Reserved

[ladykailitha]

Sir Steve, Knight Protectorate Part 3

Here we are at the last chapter. Thank you for everyone who liked, commented and reblogged, especially those that left lovely comments in their tags.

This isn't the last we'll see of this universe, as the next one I want to do is Christmas. Steve talking to Jonathan about the camera and not just saying it was joint present from him and Nancy.

In this we have some people who just never learn, Eddie getting heart-eyes non-stop now, and the basketball game of the century.

Part 1 Part 2

~

Larry Wiggins learned nothing from getting decked in the face by Eddie Munson, Steve decided. He had been the worst of the “accidental” bullies.

If there was a massive collusion of some poor bastards, you could make a pretty safe bet that Larry was seen leaving the area. The teachers turned a blind eye to it because and he quotes, “You have no proof he’s doing anything wrong, besides as captain of the basketball team, he’s afforded a little grace because he’s under soooo much pressure.”

Steve was pretty sure he threw up a little in his mouth when he heard that from the principal, the vice principal, the basketball coach, and at least three other teachers despite him doing it right in front of them multiple times.

So just before the winter break it all came to a head and if Steve was honest, he wasn’t surprised when he saw the victim was one of Eddie’s own sheep.

Steve had really needed to pee in history class. It was horrible, but Mrs. Click adored him and let him go to the bathroom, then immediately turned around and told a girl that is she wasn’t on the rag, she had no need to use the bathroom until after class.

He felt bad about that one, because unlike students, Steve couldn’t do jack shit about the teachers. Not without losing whatever status he actually had.

He pushed open the doors to the boys’ bathroom and instantly sagged against the doorway. There cowering in the corner was one of Eddie’s freaks. He had curly brown hair and blue eyes, though one was shut from a reddening welt that no doubt would turn into a black eye later.

Then the bell rang and students came flooding out of their classes, just in time to see Steve dragging Larry out of the bathroom and throwing him against the lockers across from the bathroom.

Before anyone could protest Steve’s over-reaction, the little freshman came limping out of the bathroom.

“Gareth!” Eddie called out and Steve was distracted for a moment by the sound, let Larry out of his grasp.

But instead of taking off like what would have been the smart thing, Larry pushed Steve off of him.

“You would take the side of the little pervert, Harrington,” he sneered. “I caught this little freak checking under the bathroom stalls. No doubt he’s a fag looking for dick to ogle.”

Gareth opened his mouth to protest, but Steve held up his hand.

“Or, he could be,” Steve scoffed, “and get this, looking to make sure no one was in the stalls so he go into the one he wanted? Like a normal person?”

Eddie and Gareth both snorted at the ‘normal’ description, but wisely kept their mouths shut.

Larry rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest. “You think you’re so hot, don’t you? You’re not even a senior but everyone around here walks around here kissing your ass and why? Because Daddy’s money. If you were as poor as these chucklefucks, the only kiss you’d be getting is mouth to mouth when someone finally put you down like the dog you are!”

Gareth threw back his head and laughed. Just started laughing and laughing, doubling over from the laughter, tears streaming down his face.

Larry raised an eyebrow. “What the fuck is his problem?”

“His dad owns three of this town’s car dealerships, dude,” Steve said raising both eyebrows. “Like he lives in Loch Nora.”

Larry’s eyes go wide. “What the fuck? Then why is he dressed like trailer trash?”

“Hey!” Eddie growled and moved to take a swing at the guy, but again Steve held up his hand.

“Dude is in designer jeans and high tops and you have to ask that?” he shook his head. “You really are stupid. How did you become captain of the basketball team again?”

Steve tapped his lip for a moment, his other hand on his hip. Then he snapped his fingers. “Oh, that’s right, you mom blew the coach!”

Larry lunged forward to take a swing at Steve but Tommy and one of the other guys on the team managed to pull him back.

“You want to put your money where your mouth is punk?!” Larry shouted, trying to get out of his restraints.

Steve looked him up and down. “You’re on. One on one in the outdoor basketball court. First one to twenty points wins. We need an unbiased ref...” he looked around until he found a black sophomore standing off the side. “You, you tried out for JV this year, right?”

The kid pointed to himself and looked around but Steve nodded. “Yeah, I mean, I didn’t make it, but yeah I play.”

Steve turned to Larry. “That okay with you?”

Larry nodded. “If I win, you quit the team and stop this fucking crusade you’re on.”

The crowd oohed and ahhed.

“And if I win,” Steve said with a knowing smirk, “you step down as captain and make me captain instead. And if you lay a single finger on anyone again, and you know what I mean, I’ll be sure to spill every dirty secret you ever uttered in the locker room. Don’t think that I won’t.”

Larry gulped heavily. The sound loud in the now dead silent hallway.

Steve stuck out his hand and Larry eyed it for a moment. He looked up into Steve’s steely gaze, then at the gathered crowd. He shook the offered hand and pumped it once.

“Saturday 10am,” Steve said with a grin. Larry nodded and Steve walked over to the kid who was going to be their ref and slung an arm around his shoulder. “Hey, kid, what’s your name?”

“Patrick,” the kid mumbled shyly.

“Well, Patrick,” he said, leading him away from the crowd, “the team will be down one player regardless of what happens, you should try out again.”

Everyone is left staring in shock as the two boys walk away talking about basketball.

Nancy, who had been watching the whole thing turned to Tina, “So that was hot, right?”

Tina just nodded, her mouth open and her eyes wide. She fanned herself with her hand and shook her head. “Girl, you fucked up when you let that one get away.”

Nancy bit her lip, but privately agreed. It had been a month, and Jonathan still wasn’t biting. Perhaps...

Perhaps she might have another, tastier option.

~

The bullying full on stopped as the whole school held their breath. Even the teacher had noticed the whispering in the hall, but time and time again, students would refuse to say why. The nerds sided with Eddie and his club, the popular kids sided with Steve, and everyone one else but the bullies wanted to keep out of it.

When the teachers finally reached out to the kids who were doing the bullying, therefore proving to the whole school the teachers knew, but didn’t care, the bullies had been forced into silence or admit to the bullying.

The morning dawn bright and clear. The frost clung to the windows of the school and a couple of the basketball teammates arrived at nine to shovel the outdoor court as it had snowed the night before.

Steve showed up with longjohns under his shorts and a sweat shirt with the team logo on the front. He stood there, basketball propped on his hip as he waited for Larry to arrive. He was wearing sweats and a t-shirt, headband over his eyes.

10:01am.

Patrick came running up the court waving a whistle. “Sorry I’m late! I couldn’t find my whistle and had to go to the store to get another one.”

Larry grumbled, but Steve just threw Patrick the ball.

Larry and Steve stepped up to the middle line and Patrick stood between them with the ball. The two players shook hands and then Patrick threw it in the air.

Larry got the ball first, but in the end didn’t even matter.

Steve was far and away the better player. Whether Larry’s mom had done favors for the coach to make him captain was irrelevant. Because it soon became clear that he had only gotten the post due to some kind of favoritism.

Steve outmatched him on defense and was the better shot, making more of his shots than he missed.

Larry started panting halfway through as Steve outmatched in a different and just as vital way. Stamina.

Kids from all the cliques were pressed against the fence. Nancy in the front, cheering loudly for Steve along side all of his friends.

Tommy H. was shouting obscenities and Carol was calling Larry names.

But there was the silent section who had come out to watch. The one whose very lives depended on the outcome of the game.

You could call it hyperbole, but Eddie didn’t. It was apt. In those few scant weeks of not having his friends bullied, his grades actually fucking went up. Because he could concentrate on homework, instead of if tomorrow was going to be the day one of the bullies went too far and he lost one of sheep.

He still called out the bullying when he saw it, but now knowing that there were other people watching his sheep too? He could actually rest.

And if that was happening to him? He couldn’t dare to image what it was like for the kids who were being actively bullied. That first breath of relief knowing it wasn’t just a one time thing. That it was going to keep happening. That they were going to be able to just function. Must have felt like a god damned miracle.

Steve moved past Larry and slamdunked his final two points making it to twenty.

Larry sank to his knees as Patrick ran out on the court. “With a score of twenty to fourteen, Steve Harrington wins!”

He raised Steve’s hand over his head like a prize fighter. The gathered crowd roared to life, even those who had been watching silently at the other end of the court. The ones who didn’t understand what a layup was or how fouling worked. They began cheering too.

Steve walked over to Larry and got down on one knee, draping his arm over the other knee. “Some people are bullies because their home life is shit, some people are bullies because they don’t know how to be anything else. And some people just like you who are just fucking assholes who like make others miserable. Get the fuck off my court.”

He stood back up and waved at the crowd.

~

Steve managed to find an unlocked door and slipped into the locker room for a well earned shower. He still would have to put his gross clothes back on but at least he wouldn’t be dripping in sweat.

He heard the door open and close but decided to ignore it. Whether it was a well wisher or one of Larry’s ilk, he didn’t give a shit. He just wanted to be clean.

“Steve?” a warm and very welcome voice echoed through the empty chamber.

“Eddie?” he called back, poking his head out the shower stall to see him.

Eddie grinned. “There you are, big boy.”

Steve was grateful for the steam already painting his cheeks red so that Eddie wouldn’t see him blush.

“Hey,” he muttered softly.

Eddie came bounding up to him with a big grin on his face. “I went home and brought my PE clothes for ya so you didn’t have to put that sweaty shit back on.” He held up his bag. “We’re about the same size in everything but thighs, so this should get you home at the very least.”

“Oh you’re a lifesaver!” he breathed. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know, I wanted to.”

Steve pointed down at his sudsy body. “Just let me finish washing down and I’ll be with you in a moment.”

A few minutes later he shut off the water and called out, “Hey can you grab me a towel?”

“I could...” Eddie teased, “but then I’d miss the show of you waddling naked to grab one yourself.”

Steve’s eyebrows went up. “I wasn’t sure you’d be interested, after all the ball was in your court after your impromptu marriage proposal.”

Eddie licked his lips slowly and stalked over the low wall that separated the showers from the rest of the locker room. He looked Steve up and down, noting the high blush on his cheeks that had nothing to due with the heat. Or at least not the heat of the shower. Steve pushed his hair back and looked Eddie right in the eye.

Eddie smiled and reached out with one finger to trace a water droplet that had slid off of Steve’s collar bone to run for his belly button. Steve’s breath hitched as Eddie licked the water off his finger.

“I’m more than interested,” he murmured, leaning in close. “Just wasn’t sure if the offer was made in jest or if you were serious.”

Steve closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. Then he opened them slowly to see Eddie with his eyes wide and expression hopeful. Steve leaned in and pressed his lips to the other boy’s. It was soft and it was sweet.

Eddie leaned back, blinking. “So yeah, definitely serious then. So how about this, sweetheart, why don’t you get dressed in the things I brought you and you go home and get changed. Then I pick you up around, say... five for dinner at the diner?”

Steve’s face transformed with his smile. “I’d say that sounds like a date.” He kissed him again. Just as soft and just as sweet as the one before.

“I’m going to get cavities if you keep that up,” Eddie teased, walking away.

“Where are you going?” Steve asked tilting his head in confusion.

Eddie came back to locker room. “Getting you a towel, obviously. As much as I wouldn’t mind a sneaky peek, I think I’d rather wait to see you naked, spread out underneath me.”

Steve’s jaw worked up and down but no words came out.

“Catch you later, big boy!” Eddie called out over his shoulder after handing the towel to him.

As he was leaving he bumped into Nancy.

“Oh sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t see you there.”

Nancy chewed on her bottom lip. “Is Steve in there? I couldn’t find him after the game.”

“Yep!” he replied popping the P. “I brought him some clothes he could change into.”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh!”

“Catch you around, Wheeler,” Eddie said giving her a salute.

As the door swung shut, she could see Steve in there happily singing a love song as he got dressed.

Nancy looked back at Eddie’s retreating form and then back at the now closed door. She sighed. She had a feeling that she was too late in getting Steve back.

He had moved on.

She blushed and ducked her head. Maybe it was a good thing. She needed to work on herself and Steve needed someone who was with him because they wanted to be and not just because he was the current available option.

By the time Steve came back out, she was gone.

~

Tag List: COMPLETED

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

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5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

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7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @gringa-rae-jepsen @bluelightsinthevoid @mamafaithful @allmyworldsendwithtears @xxbottlecapx

10- @sadisticaltarts @yeahhhh-suga @ohimamarigold @imamixofeverthing @samsoble

[detectivejay]

Here's a new poll I thought up over the weekend, after discussing a few Sherlock Holmes adaptations with friends.

Bonus points for if you answer as to whether a poor adaptation of said character would be a dealbreaker for watching/reading/etc. as well.

[bayoubashsims]

Longtime residents of ToadVille, Marguerite Bellefleur and Georgina Wiggins, at the veranda of Mrs. Wiggins, where they have spent over 60 years chatting and laughing up a storm over tea and sandwiches and a game of gin rummy. Every morning after breakfast, Mrs. Bellefleur would waddle down the street in one of her famous floral frocks and her big ol' sun hats and sit down to a nice cuppa with her BFF. Mrs. Wiggins, always the gracious hostess, would bring out a variety of refreshments from her impeccable kitchen. Every day, from morning until the afternoon, these ladies would wave and greet those who pass them by. They are those friendly old ladies down the street who know your names and who your mothes are. They send you pies on your birthdays and casseroles on your funerals. Not many would suspect, of course, that these ladies are agents of the SCIA. Who would be better CCTV than a couple of stationary old ladies who knows everybody's business?

[longitudinalwaveme]

DC Comics' Who's Who: Flash Entries

My brother and I recently bought all of the DC Comics Who's Who issues that contain Flash characters in them (except for the ones with Abra Kadabra and Thinker, who I somehow forgot about). These issues were published between 1985 and 1987, and they provide a very interesting snapshot into how the characters were viewed around the time of Crisis on Infinite Earths.

As such, I decided to post the relevant Flash entries and give some of my own commentary.

The most interesting thing about Captain Boomerang's entry, at least as far as I'm concerned, is that it's the first time that we see the name "Ian Harkness" attached to Digger's father. Prior to this point, Digger's dad (who had only appeared once, in Flash vol. 1 #227) had been referred to solely as "Pop" (by Digger) or as "Aussie Green" (by the narrator). Since "George Green" was the alias Digger used to land the Captain Boomerang job at Wiggins' Toys, I think that Cary Bates forgot that Digger's last name had been established to be Harkness, and that his father's last name should therefore have been Harkness as well. As such, I suspect that the writer of this Who's Who entry decided to fix Bates' mistake by giving Aussie Green the more appropriate name of Ian Harkness.

But what's really fascinating about this is that, since this issue was published in 1985, it means that the "Ian Harkness" name predates Suicide Squad #44 (published 1990), the story where Digger's stepfather was called Ian Harkness. I had always previously assumed that Ian Harkness was created for that issue, and that Aussie Green had been retconned out of existence, but it seems that there's an argument to be made that he instead was just given a major personality overhaul, much in the same way that Wally West's father, Bob/Rudolph West, was.

I love that the entry talks about Digger's ability to use his own body as a boomerang, a hilarious feat that only appeared in Flash vol. 1 #227.

The art for Digger was drawn by his original artist, the late, great Carmine Infantino (and Murphy Anderson). I like that it includes Digger shooting the Flash into space on a giant boomerang.

I love the art for Captain Cold's Who's Who entry. Interestingly enough, it was drawn by Bob Smith, rather than by his original artist, Carmine Infantino.

Technically, since this entry is about Alvin, not Albert, his first appearance should probably be listed as Flash #287, since all of the earlier Dr. Alchemy appearances were Albert, not Alvin. But since Showcase #14 was the first appearance of Dr. Alchemy as a costumed identity, I can understand why it was chosen.

I don't think this bio is inaccurate to state that Albert didn't have the ability to telekinetically control the the Philosopher's Stone, since to my knowledge he had not shown that capability up to the point that this issue was published, but for a modern reader it is somewhat odd, since it was established that Albert also had psychic control over the Stone in Flash vol. 2 #40-41 (published 1990), and it was a major part of his powerset during Geoff Johns' run in the early 2000s.

Much like Captain Cold, Alvin isn't being drawn by his original artist, Don Heck. Instead, the art for his entry was done by Mike Vosburg and Dick Giordano.

In speaking of Albert, here's his entry.

Some interesting observations:

Albert is an inch taller and 3 pounds heavier than Alvin. So they wouldn't be physically identical in the costume, as one might assume.

Alvin's parents are identified as Mr. and Mrs. Herman Desmond, a name taken from Flash vol. 1 #288. This is very helpful, as it clarifies that he was the Al born in San Diego, California, and also establishes that Albert was born in Tampa, Florida (as per the backstory given in that issue). Flash #288 states that Albert's parents are Mr. and Mrs. Herbert Desmond, but that was a mistake on writer Cary Bates' part, since in Flash vol. 1 #221, Albert's father was named Peter Desmond. This Who's Who entry correctly identifies his parents by that earlier name, which is a level of ridiculous nerdiness that I can respect.

The claim that the Philosopher's Stone is more powerful than the Element Gun does make sense.

There's also an interesting omission in the entry. In Flash vol. 1 #221, it's made explicit that the Element Gun is at most a conduit for Albert's own natural powers. It doesn't work for the Flash, and Albert is able to use his elemental powers even when the gun isn't in his hand.

I am not surprised to learn that Albert has "little strength in hand-to-hand combat". Nor am I surprised that Alvin is more physically adept than Albert is.

Albert was drawn by his original artist, Carmine Infantino.

At 6'1", Fiddler is a bit taller than I expected. And he is a "vile" and "villainous violinist". I appreciate the Silver Age-esque alliteration.

And the Fiddle Car makes an appearance, both in the text and in the artwork. I love the Fiddle Car. It's so gloriously goofy.

I'm not sure exactly when the Fiddler gained weight, but I guess it's good to know that his diet plan worked out for him.

Artists Sandy Plunkett and Joe Rubinstein did a great job on the main drawing of Fiddler for this entry.

I like that Jay Garrick's name is written in the font that was used for the 1940s All-Flash series, of which he was (unsurprisingly) the leading character.

I actually didn't know that Jay was specifically the head of Keystone Research Laboratories, Inc. I knew that he was a research scientist, but not that his place of work had been specifically named.

Artist Eduardo Berreto did an excellent headshot of Jay, and I like that he included the Fiddler and the Three Dimwits (Winky, Blinky, and Noddy) in the background. That being said, I'm not the biggest fan of the main drawing of Jay here. He looks a bit stiff as he runs.

Barry Allen gets a massive two-page spread. The really interesting thing about this is that, while this issue was published in October 1985, after Barry's series had ended, it was published just before Crisis on Infinite Earths #8 (November 1985), the issue where Barry actually died. As such, he's still alive here, but will be dead by the time the Who's Who series wraps up in early 1987.

Weirdly, Ira West (Iris' adoptive father) is described as Barry's stepfather-in-law, which doesn't seem quite right.

Carmine Infantino, Barry's original artist, does the art with help from Murphy Anderson. He does a good job, as is expected, and in addition to the headshot and the main drawing, he includes a picture of the accident that gave Barry his speed, headshots of Iris and Wally, a picture of Barry shooting his costume out of his ring, and headshots of a ton of Barry's villains.

The villain headshots are especially amusing in an oddly-drawn way, and include, in the words of @gorogues, "shampoo ad Digger, movie star Kadabra, middle-aged Roscoe, and ate-too-many-Twinkies Sam".

In most modern DC guidebooks, Lisa is listed at 5'5" and 115 pounds. Here, she's listed as 5'5" and 105 pounds. In case it wasn't clear that she was tiny, I guess.

The issue with Golden Glider's entry was published in November of 1985, and, sure enough, it's noted that the Flash is dead in her entry.

The notion that Lisa's gem weapons were adapted from some of the Top's designs isn't something that was explicitly stated in any of her appearances, but it is an interesting idea, and it does make sense as an explanation for how she was able to build them so quickly.

Golden Glider's art is drawn by her original artist, Irv Novick, with assistance from Dick Giordano, and it all looks amazing. I'm especially fond of the drawing of her with Captain Cold in the bottom right.

I love that Gorilla Grodd's occupation is "Would-Be World Conqueror".

It's also nice to get confirmation that the gorillas of Gorilla City have amplified strength even when compared to normal gorillas, as I hadn't been sure if that was the case before now.

Grodd's art was done by his original artist, Carmine Infantino, alongside Bill Sienkiewicz. He doesn't really look like an actual gorilla, but there will basically be no realistic-looking gorillas in Flash comics until the early 1990s.

Also, while Grodd is usually big and muscular (since he's a gorilla and all), he's especially massive here.

I think the most noteworthy thing about Heat Wave's entry is the fact that it highlights a very important fact about him: namely, the fact that he was the second-ever Flash villain, and first Rogue, to reform (specifically, in Flash vol. 1 #312, in 1982). He reformed some two to three years before the Trickster (James) semi-reformed in Blue Devil, and six years before the Pied Piper reformed in Flash vol. 2 #20 (1988)! Most people seem to have forgotten about this nowadays.

Another aspect of Heat Wave's character that seems to have been forgotten is that Heat Wave's gun isn't just a flamethrower....it's also capable of superheating the air around it and effectively firing "beams" of heat.

Oh, and Mick's suit used to be made of asbestos. So if you're wondering how he got terminal cancer in Jeremy Adams' run on the Flash, now you know.

I've always thought that 5'11" seemed short for Heat Wave. For some reason, I can't shake this mental image of him as this 6'6" giant (even though the artists don't usually make him that much taller than everyone else). Maybe it has something to do with Dominic Purcell's portrayal of the character on the CW Flash show...but even then, Purcell is only 6'1" (so tall, but not enormous). Maybe it's just because he's often depicted as the least intelligent Rogue, and unintelligent villains tend to be very large in fiction.

Heat Wave's art was drawn by his original artist, Carmine Infantino, alongside Joe Giella.

Wally's entry claims that his parents have never been named, but his father was named Bob West in Flash vol. 1 #116, so he at least had been given a name by this time. (Post-Crisis, Wally's dad was renamed Rudolph, and his mother was named Mary.)

The issue with Wally's entry was published in February 1986, a month before he would take up the mantle in Crisis on Infinite Earths #12 (March 1986). As such, he's still Kid Flash here, even though Barry is dead.

It's interesting that this entry states that Wally was in high school when he became Kid Flash. This is mostly consistent with what we see in the early Wally stories from the Silver Age (even if the art makes him look 10 to 12 years old rather than 14 or so), but it is a noticeable contrast to William Messner-Loebs' and Mark Waid's takes on Wally's backstory, which both claim that Wally was 10 years old when he became Kid Flash.

Also interesting, and sometimes forgotten about, is the fact that Wally went to college towards the end of his career as Kid Flash, and was even hoping to settle down and start a normal life before Barry died. The events of Crisis on Infinite Earths threw a wrench in these plans. Wally became the Flash full-time, and as a result never finished college.

The art for Wally's entry was done by George Pérez, who unsurprisingly did a very good job.

Mirror Master's entry was published in May 1986, four months after his death in Crisis on Infinite Earths #10 (January 1986). As such, his death is described here. His successor, Evan McCulloch, wouldn't debut for another three years (first appearing in 1989 in Animal Man #8).

The entry underlines Sam's popularity in his day; he's described as "one of the Flash's most formidable and persistent foes", and he is accurately credited with forming the Rogues. This is something that often gets forgotten now that Len has taken the spotlight as the de facto leader of the group.

Sam appears to be the least physically capable of the Rogues described thus far ("only a fair hand-to-hand combatant"), which makes sense, given that he was primarily an inventor.

Something else interesting is that it's only starting in this issue that "the Flash's Rogues Gallery" is listed as a group affiliation for the people on the team. Len, Digger, and Mick weren't listed as members of the group, even though they were definitely part of the team. (Golden Glider is a borderline case. She worked with Len and Roscoe before Crisis, but didn't appear alongside the full group until afterwards.)

Carmine Infantino, Sam's original artist, did the art here, alongside Steve Mitchell. I like the background art, but I'm not a huge fan of the main drawing or the headshot, primarily, I think, because Mirror Master looks way too buff. There are a number of better Infantino drawings of Sam.

In speaking of weirdly buff Rogues, here's the Pied Piper, about two years before he reformed (the issue his entry is in was published in August of 1986, and he reformed in late 1988).

The entry claims that "Henry Darrow" was the alias his parents paid to establish for him, while "Thomas Peterson" was the alias he chose for himself. This is an interesting idea, but it doesn't seem to fully align with the Flash comics of the time. For example, during the interminable Trial of the Flash arc, Digger called the Pied Piper "Henry", which suggests that Piper told gave at least him the "Henry Darrow" name, which wouldn't really make sense if "Thomas Peterson" was his chosen alias. (That being said, Cary Bates' habit of confusing characters' names really doesn't help here. Since he later called Piper "Henry Rathaway" by mistake, it's possible that he was intending to have Digger call Piper by his actual name, but forgot that the actual name in question was Hartley and not Henry.)

I am not surprised that Hartley is a poor hand-to-hand combatant. Even if he had a weird period in the early-to-mid-80s where the art made him look like He-Man's stunt double (and you can still kind of see that here), he's usually drawn as being fairly skinny, and he was also a sheltered rich kid. It makes sense that he wouldn't know how to fight.

Pied Piper is kind of the opposite of Heat Wave in that 5'10" somehow seems too tall for him. There's no good reason for it, but I always picture him as being short and slight. Maybe it's just because he's often so thin?

It's also interesting that Hartley's hair is listed as being blonde here. It swapped between red (as per his first appearance, Flash vol. 1 #106) and blonde all the time before eventually seeming to settle on a light red/strawberry blonde color.

Pied Piper's art was drawn by his original artist, Carmine Infantino, and Dennis Jensen. Like with the Mirror Master, I like the background art, but not the main picture or the headshot. Infantino has drawn better Pipers too.

I did not know that Rag Doll was an "eccentric dancer" in addition to being a contortionist until now.

The fact that he used to work for the circus also makes him one of three Flash villains who can make that claim. The other two are Heat Wave (who worked as a fire eater) and the Trickster (who worked as a hire wire and trapeze artist).

Ragdoll was drawn by Steve Leialoha, and I think his take on the character is really unique and interesting. He makes the character look appropriately bendy and rubbery.

Somehow I never realized that Rainbow Raider's eyes were grey.

I appreciate that the Who's Who entry treats Roy as a legitimate threat. Enjoy it while you can, buddy. It won't last.

Rainbow Raider was drawn by Don Heck, his original artist. I especially love the headshot here.

I think this may be the first time that "Professor Adrian Zoom" was established as an explicit alias. (This name, like Sam and Roscoe's middle names, exists entirely because Cary Bates forgot a character's name.)

Barry, Jay, and Eobard are all 5'11" and 179 pounds, and Wally is 5'10" and 179 pounds. I guess we now know why Eobard is so good at impersonating Barry.

Carmine Infantino, Eobard's original artist, did the art alongside Murphy Anderson. This may be the best Eobard's hair has ever looked (although that's a very low bar to clear). It's also darkly amusing that the two background pictures are of him creeping on Iris and getting killed by Barry.

Rose and Thorn's story is very interesting and tragic, and I really need to track down the issues where it happened so that I can actually read them.

She also seems a lot like a proto-Poison Ivy. They're very similar looking physically, and Rose and Thorn had natural plant-controlling powers long before Poison Ivy did. (Notably, Ivy's Who's Who entry states that her only power is immunity to poison. Her other plant creations are attributed to her scientific acumen, rather than to any inherent abilities.)

Rose and Thorn was drawn by Todd McFarlane.

Moving on to another Jay Garrick villain, we have the Shade, who won't get his natural darkness-controlling powers for another eight years or so. (This issue was published in September 1986, and Shade's natural powers weren't established until he appeared in the Starman series, which began in 1994.) At this point, he was dependent on technology (more specifically, his cane) to control shadows.

At 6'2", Shade is one of the taller Flash villains. He's the same height as Len, but at 170 pounds to Len's 197, he's a lot lighter.

Shade's white hair is probably attributable to two factors. First, he hadn't yet been established to be immortal, and so would have been an older villain during this time period (since he was an enemy of Jay Garrick). Second, and probably more importantly, the Shade actually did have white hair during his first (and only) Golden Age appearance:

Yes, that really is the Shade. He looked different during the Golden Age.

It's interesting that the Shade is stated to have little experience in hand-to-hand combat here, but I suppose that the fact that he's so reliant on his shadows may have something to do with that. (I think I'm surprised because his later appearances in the Starman series gave him a ton of life experience, including experience in at least some athletic endeavors.)

The Shade was drawn by Carmine Infantino and Rick Magyar, who did a great job with him. Both of the background drawings seem to be based on scenes from Flash vol. 1 #151, in which Shade fought both Barry and Jay.

"Presumably the Top's spirit is no longer active on Earth." The issue with Top's Who's Who entry was published in February 1987, almost six years after his last appearance (Flash #303, from November 1981). It would be another three years before he returned in Hawk and Dove Annual #1 (1990), and an additional year before he properly returned to the land of the living by possessing the body of Senator Thomas O'Neil in Hawk and Dove #27-28 (September-October 1991). It took a while, but he did come back!

The entry also states that the Top "could spin at high, but not superhuman, speed". Since we saw the Top spinning fast enough to outpace the Flash and deflect bullets, I have my doubts about the accuracy of this statement.

The fact that Roscoe has blue eyes bothers me irrationally. He really seems like he should have green eyes.

The Top was drawn by his original artist, Carmine Infantino, and Joe Giella. I love the background art, and I like the main image, even if Roscoe is maybe slightly more buff than it seems like he should be. The headshot is one of the vanishingly few drawings of Roscoe without his mask (basically all the others are either of him before he became the Top, or from Flash vol. 1 #219, the only issue where he's out of costume for the majority of the story).

Remember how I said the Top looked too buff? Here's the proof. The Top is 6 feet tall and weighs 179 pounds. The Trickster is also 6 feet tall and also weighs 179 pounds. So either the Top is too buff in his entry, or James is WAY too skinny here. And I'm definitely leaning towards the former, given that having a lot of muscle mass will increase weight.

Trickster's list of known relatives does not mention his mother, who had not only appeared but been named by this point. (She's called Helen in Flash vol. 1 #113, the Trickster's debut issue).

Interesting fact: James actually reformed before Hartley did! James is already listed as being reformed in this issue, which was printed in 1987; Hartley won't be shown to be reformed until late 1988.

I really wish Trickster's brief career as a special effects artist was reference more often.

Trickster was drawn by Paris Cullins and Gary Martin, who were not his original artists. That being said, I love their take on him, especially his rubber chicken.

Both the Golden Age Turtle and the Silver Age Turtle Man share one entry, with the primary art being of the latter. The Golden Age villain only appears in the background art.

I always confuse the Turtle and the Turtle Man, probably because they have nigh-identical names, very similar M.O.s, and don't appear very often. The fact that neither one of them has a civilian name also doesn't help, since I can't even distinguish them that way. I guess the main difference is that the Turtle Man is somewhat more of an inventor than the Turtle.

Also, at 5'6", the Turtle is very short. He's only an inch taller than Lisa (though he's 73 pounds heavier)! The Turtle Man, at 5'11", is a lot taller.

The Turtle and the Turtle Man are drawn by Peter Laird, who was not the original artist for either character. Their drawings of the two characters are still effective, though.

Last, but not least, is the Weather Wizard, who, in a continuing trend, is weirdly buff. It's especially noticeable in his case, since he's usually drawn to be quite slender (although it is in keeping with the way Infantino drew basically all the Rogues during the Trial of the Flash arc).

Weather Wizard's reformation didn't last terribly long, but, due to the fact that he didn't show up very much during the late 80s and early 90s, it lasted a bit longer than you might expect. He reformed in Blue Devil #30 (published November 1986, about 3 months before the issue with his Who's Who entry was published), and wasn't shown doing anything illegal again until Flash Annual #5 in 1992. So he was more-or-less reformed for five to six real-world years.

I love that his entry includes the ridiculous fact that the Weather Wand is telepathically linked to his brain (as established in Adventure Comics #466 in December 1979), and that it makes mention of his habit of riding around on clouds.

Weather Wizard's art was done by his original artist, Carmine Infantino, and Murphy Anderson. I love the background art of him fighting Batman, and I like the art of him battling the Flash, but I think he looks a bit too buff in the main drawing and in his headshot. That being said, that headshot must be the neatest that Mark's hair has ever looked. Usually it's way more windblown than that.

[local-new-kid-super]

Toolshed/Stan Marsh x GN!Reader

"Wiggin' Out!"

Featuring: Randy, Mysterion, Professor Timmy, and guest star LORDE!!!

Warnings: None! Just a bit of drinking and usual Randy shenanigans.

Synopsis: You have to make a suprise visit to the Freedom Pals hide out after a weird encounter with Mr. Marsh...

You're the New Kid, you work to protect the city because that's what heroes do. You look after the citizens, stopping robberies at City Wok and finding cat for some of the more... flamboyant members of the town. However, regardless of whether or not you work with Raccoon and Friends or The Freedom Pals, or even alone, you end up dealing with Randy more than the other citizens of South Park...

"Oh! H-hey, New Kid! I need to tell-you, urpppp..." Randy Marsh comes stumbling down the steps of his porch one night while you're trying to focus on patrol, and he puts his hands on his knees as he meets you height. "New kid, listen... I jus' wanna say, it's really fuckin' cool that you've got sssecret identity. It's important, doing good and shit-" He puts a hand on your shoulder. At least he's not actively fighting you about keeping his car keys again, he did a number on Scott.

"Thanks, Mr. Marsh, is there anything else you needed to tell me?" You ask, needing to either get back on patrol or get Mr. Marsh back into his house. He nods and stands fully, almost grave.

"Yes, I do need to tell you something, I'm glad you can tell." He looks of dramatically, and you can sense he's going to go on one of his Randy-Rants. "I understand the weight of a secret identity who does only good, and all the shit that comes with it. Having to sneak around, change outfits, hide money from fucking Sharon..."

"Sir, what are you-"

"That's right, New Kid. I am Lorde." He continues after taking another swig. "And *urp*, I'm willing to teach you, be your Mr. Miyagi, you just gotta help me out-" He stumbles over to his car, unlocking the back. You sign and post up, prepared to take his keys again, when he pulls something from the back seat. "Take ,y w-wig to the dry cleaners, I need full blow out f-for my next show. I'll start training you when you get back-" He chucks the wig at you with poor aim, and it just flops onto the ground beside you, now caked in stray hairs and snow. You pick it up with a gloved hand, sure to avoid touching your skin with it. Before you can even ask him if he'll pay you or tell him that's not what you do, he's back on his porch, asleep and mumbling "Yeah, yeah, yeah... I'm Lorde... yeah..."

Reluctantly, you make your way over to the suburb in the northeast part of town, 'Dark Meadows', and make your way over to the Freedom Pals base. The Raccoon would kick your ass if he knew you were here, but frankly, you just want to get this wig handed off to someone before it gives you some sort of disease or infection.

Ringing the doorbell of Tupperware's house, you wait until a lady with her hair up in a red headband opens it, quirking a brow before nodding. "Oh, you must be one of Tolkien's hero friends! The boys are in the basement, refreshments are upstairs."

You nod, as as you approach the basement door with a nanny cam, you can feel a harsh shiver run down your spine, as if the cold hand of the reaper just smacked you right on the ass. Turning around, the caped crusader known as Mysterion is glaring at you from the shadowed corner of the Black family living room.

"State your business, Raccoon Friend." He spits, posture tense as if preparing for battle. Even if you don't pose a threat right now, chances are Mysterion will still kick your ass. You know how he can be. Putting your hands up in a sign of surrender, you shake your head rapidly.

"I just need to talk to Toolshed, that's all. I'm not here for Raccoon, I'm not trying anything. I came alone, a-and I'm unarmed." You stammer out. Mysterion freaks you out, he was the first hero in town and clearly the most capable. It doesn't help that he's the only hero whose identity you don't at least have a suspicion about.

"I don't fucking buy it." Mysterion stands up from his leaning position, approaching with a snarl. "Get out, or I'll send you back to that fatass in a box-" Before he can get close enough to physically make good on his promise, a voice echoes in your mind, and apparently Mysterion hears it too, as he stands at attention with a huff.

"Now, now, Mysterion," Professor Timmy chides, coming up the stairs with the help of Toolshed and Tupperware, his chair clanking at the two heroes struggle to move it up. "We see the best in everyone, and I can sense the New Kid's intentions are genuine. We must grant everyone a chance to plead their case. Toolshed, take a break. Mysterion, come back downstairs for the briefing, and keep your temper in check." Mysterion casts you one last stinging glance before he heads down the stairs. Tupperware shakes his head as he motions for Wonder Tweek to help him out.

"G-gah! Can't you get a wheelchair lift, T-tupperware? You have money!" Tweak stammers as he begins to descend the stairs.

"You'd think with Professor Timmy's psychic powers he could do this himself..." Tupperware mumbles as the three disappear from view. Toolshed turns to you, giving you a once over. Ever since you prevented his dad from drunk driving, he's been a little warmer to you than the other Freedom Pals.

"Uh- hey, New Kid? What do you need?" Toolshed asks, clearly a little wary, seeing as you still have some ties to Raccoon and Friends. All you can do is hold out the gross wig, unsure how to even explain what happened with his dad earlier. Luckily for you, he understand immediately, brows flattening as he rubs his forehead. "Jesus fucking christ-" He looks back up. "He told you he's Lorde?"

"Yeah, and he gave me this wig, told me to-"

"Go to the dry cleaners and get his wig a blow out, yeah, he's always doing shit like this. And don't let him 'Mr. Miyagi' you either, he did that to me when I took Karate in third grade. He just wants you to fix the dents in the car and clean the windows before my mom notices he messed it up.Here," Toolshed flinches as he takes the wig. "I'll handle it, New Kid. Thanks for helping out my dad... again. I hope this doesn't mean I know you another favor because I'm not really interested in helping Raccoon again." He says, and you both chuckle.

"Yeah, it's no problem, is your dad like, okay though? He kind of all over the place."

Toolshed just shrugs. "Eh. He'll be fine, he always weird like that. Listen, take this." He hands you a slip of paper with his Raccoonstagram tag and his phone number. "I don't think Mysterion will like it very much if you keep showing up in case you see my dad being weird again, so just message me whenever and I'll swing by and deal with it."

You smile as you type the info into your cell. "Gee, thanks, Toolshed. Maybe I could text you even if your dad is perfectly fine?" You asks with a teasing tone, causing the raven-haired hero to go stiff.

"Uh- yeah. Yeah." He says, gulping a little as his grips his tool belt. "I gotta go, I think m' gonna be sick-" he rushes off towards Tupperware's bathroom, leaving you worried you said the wrong thing.

Later that night though, you get a reassuring text. "Hey, New Kid, sorry to rush off on you. Think I just ate something weird. Text me anytime." This is followed by a "Please."

You just laugh and shake your head as you plug in your phone, setting it on the nightstand. One things for sure, that guys just as weird as his father.

[bikinibottomdayz]

JULY 5, 2025 RELEASE

All my videos can be found here, full release under the read more! I am also offering the three Notebook videos as a bundle for 40 USD!

ORDER FORM HERE

This release includes: Gypsy (Montego), Eurydice, Joy, The Notebook x3

GYPSY June 30, 2025 | Broadway | 4K MP4 (11.67GB) | bikinibottomday’s master Cast: Montego Glover (t/r Rose), Danny Burstein (Herbie), Joy Woods (Louise), Jordan Tyson (June), Kevin Csolak (Tulsa), Lesli Margherita (Tessie Tura), Lili Thomas (Mazeppa), Mylinda Hull (Electra/Miss Cratchitt), Mila Jaymes (Baby June), Ken Robinson (u/s Uncle Jocko/Kringelein), Summer Rae Daney (Baby Louise), Marley Gomes (Uncle Jocko Kid), Jace Bentley (Carmichael/Newsboy), Brandon Burks (Georgie), Hunter Capellán (Uncle Jocko’s Kiddies), Tony d’Alelio (Little Rock), Kyleigh Vickers (Balloon Girl), Kellie Jean Hoagland (Edna), Aliah James (Geraldine), Brittney Johnson (Agnes), Zachary Daniel Jones (Angie), Ethan Joseph (Uncle Jocko’s Kiddies), Andrew Kober (Mr. Goldstone/Cigar/Bourgeron-Cochon), Krystal Mackie (Thelma), Joe Osheroff (s/w Weber/Pastey/Phil), Cole Newburg, Majo Rivero (Dolores), Sally Shaw (Marjorie May/Renée), Brendan Sheehan (Yonkers), Thomas Silcott (Pop), Jayden Theophile (Uncle Jocko’s Kiddies/Newsboy), Iain Young (s/w) Notes: Excellent 4K capture of Montego’s debut as Rose! Act Two starts about 40 seconds late. Some washout on wider shots. Blackout between one of the strip sequences, no action missed. Wandering and some extended periods of unfocusing throughout (longest being about 30 seconds). Includes curtain call, audio fed from external source. https://flic.kr/s/aHBqjCk3Hh | ASKING $20 USD NOT FOR SHARING EXCEPT THROUGH ME UNTIL JANUARY 2, 2026

EURYDICE June 27, 2025 (M) | Off-Broadway | 4K MP4 (6.4GB) | bikinibottomday’s master Cast: Caleb Eberhardt (Orpheus), Maya Hawke (Eurydice), Brian d'Arcy James (Father), Maria Elena Ramirez (Loud Stone), Jon Norman Schneider (Little Stone), David Ryan Smith (Big Stone), T. Ryder Smith (A Nasty Interesting Man/Lord of the Underworld) Notes: Good 4K capture of the closing matinee! Starts about a minute in. Some head obstruction on the left that blocks off some action. Often at an angle. Frequent wandering and unfocusing throughout. Includes curtain call, audio fed from external source. https://flic.kr/s/aHBqjCjBYR | ASKING $15 USD NOT FOR SHARING EXCEPT THROUGH ME UNTIL JANUARY 2, 2026

JOY June 23, 2025 | Off-Broadway (Previews) | 4K MP4 (8.34GB) | bikinibottomday’s master Cast: Betsy Wolfe (Joy), Nora Mae Dixon (Young Joy), Adam Grupper (Rudy), Jill Abramovitz (Toots), Brandon Espinoza (Tony), Honor Blue Savage (Christie), Charl Brown (Dan), Gabriella Carillo (Ronni), Paul Whitty (Cowboy Eddie), Dana Costello (Ensemble), Ryan Duncan (Ensemble), Gaelen Gilliland (Ensemble), Sydni Moon (Ensemble), Manuel Santos (Ensemble), Brian Shepard (Ensemble), Allysa Shorte (Ensemble), Lael Van Keuren (Ensemble), Alan Wiggins (Ensemble), Briana Brooks (Ensemble) Notes: Excellent 4K capture of this new musical. Some blackouts when there are people in the aisles. Wandering and unfocusing throughout. Includes curtain call, audio fed from external source. https://flic.kr/s/aHBqjCj5NV | ASKING $20 USD NOT FOR SHARING EXCEPT THROUGH ME UNTIL JANUARY 2, 2026

THE NOTEBOOK September 28, 2024 (M) | Broadway | 4K MP4 (9.23GB) | bikinibottomday’s master Cast: Maryann Plunkett (Older Allie), Dorian Harewood (Older Noah), Joy Woods (Middle Allie), Ryan Vasquez (Middle Noah), Juliette Ojeda (u/s Younger Allie), Charlie Webb (u/s Younger Noah), Andréa Burns (Mother/Nurse Lori), Happy McPartlin (s/w Nurse Joanna/Others), Chase Del Rey (Lon/Others), Hillary Fisher (Sarah/Others), Dorcas Leung (Georgie/Others), Carson Stewart (Johnny/Fin/Others), Charles E. Wallace (Father/Son/Other) Notes: Excellent 4K capture of Juliette and Charlie together! One very minor head obstruction on the right that blocks off a tiny bit. One short blackout after “Time” due to latecomers. Increased moments of wandering / readjustment, shaking, and unfocusing throughout. There was a glitch with the camera that led to some zooming out without input, which occasionally affects the video. Includes curtain call, audio is fed from external source. https://flic.kr/s/aHBqjBKoxG | ASKING $15 USD NOT FOR SHARING EXCEPT THROUGH ME UNTIL JANUARY 2, 2026

THE NOTEBOOK October 2, 2024 (M) | Broadway | 4K MP4 (9.12GB) | bikinibottomday’s master Cast: Maryann Plunkett (Older Allie), Dorian Harewood (Older Noah), Kim Onah (u/s Middle Allie), Alex Benoit (u/s Middle Noah), Juliette Ojeda (u/s Younger Allie), John Cardoza (Younger Noah), Andréa Burns (Mother/Nurse Lori), Yassmin Alers (Nurse Joanna/Others), Chase Del Rey (Lon/Others), Hillary Fisher (Sarah/Others), Dorcas Leung (Georgie/Others), Carson Stewart (Johnny/Fin/Others), Charles E. Wallace (Father/Son/Other) Notes: Excellent 4K capture of a great set of understudies! One very minor head obstruction on the right that blocks off a tiny bit. Some moments of wandering and unfocusing, the beginning of both acts are a little rough and the stuff on the far sides are sometimes missed. Includes curtain call, audio fed from external source. https://flic.kr/s/aHBqjBL7ND | ASKING $20 USD NOT FOR SHARING EXCEPT THROUGH ME UNTIL JANUARY 2, 2026

THE NOTEBOOK October 9, 2024 (M) | Broadway | 4K MP4 (9.12GB) | bikinibottomday’s master Cast: Maryann Plunkett (Older Allie), Dorian Harewood (Older Noah), Hillary Fisher (u/s Middle Allie), Ryan Vasquez (Middle Noah), Anna Zavelson (Younger Allie), Benji Santiago (Younger Noah), Andréa Burns (Mother/Nurse Lori), Yassmin Alers (Nurse Joanna/Others), Chase Del Rey (Lon/Others), Juliette Ojeda (s/w Sarah/Others), Dorcas Leung (Georgie/Others), Carson Stewart (Johnny/Fin/Others), Charles E. Wallace (Father/Son/Other) Notes: Excellent 4K capture of Hillary, Anna and Benji’s second performances in their respective roles! Act One is filmed from center mezzanine and has head and bar obstruction that occasionally blocks some action. Act Two is from the right and has heads along the bottom that do not block anything. Some wandering / readjustment and unfocusing throughout. Some washout on the wider shots. Includes curtain call, audio is fed from external source. https://flic.kr/s/aHBqjBMbDy | ASKING $20 USD NOT FOR SHARING EXCEPT THROUGH ME UNTIL JANUARY 2, 2026

I am also offering the three Notebook videos as a bundle for 40 USD! If interested, you can fill out the order form: https://forms.gle/XaXsNEg8TKBMcPGK9

[rbtbc]

After all this time…I’ve finally reviewed Mrs. Wiggins by Mary Monroe. Here’s the video, blog post to follow in next post.