#but I think that these people are either doing a sales pitch; missing the big picture; or both when they talk about this

[medicinemane]

"DIY tiny home you can build in weeks", ok... now lets see the cost

...seven and a half minutes later, the answer is $75k... so when you include land and all the rest of it, so basically nothing right?

This is my problem with tiny homes stuff, it's for rich people

[historicity-was-already-taken]

I do have several questions about publishing serious non-fiction with a trade press... My first question is affiliated, and is about whether you're still in academia or not. If you're not, I'd be interested in hearing how you go about your work - whether you have peer reviewers etc. and whether you know them from uni (either as classmates or professors) or not.

Secondly, how did you approach finding a press? Did you have a draft finished when you secured your deal, and what are the major differences a trade press versus university press request/demand?

I'm sorry for the load of questions by the way, I finished my MA degree in history (medieval) last year, I miss doing the research and writing, and you're really the first person I've seen online who has found a trade press. I considered asking you some of those questions before actually, so I kinda jumped on the chance with... much enthusiasm, lol.

First, affiliation. I ~identify~ as an independent scholar. However, as you know, connections and status mean everything in both academia and the publishing industry (and as an academic writing for a trade press, you have to demand respect from both), so I always make my credentials very clear:

MA in Modern Jewish History from the University of Maryland, thesis defended on first try with no revisions; I also name drop my adviser and certain committee members depending on who I'm talking to.

MLIS from the same institution, focus in Archival Science.

Seven year's employment as an archivist and content creator at the American Jewish Historical Society at the Center for Jewish History

Six figures of followers on social media

The combination of education, platform, and work experience is particularly important for convincing agents and publishers that you're a worthwhile investment.

In terms of reviewers, I networked with and cold emailed two well respected academics in my specific subfield(s), and just asked them if they'd be down to peer review my work. I will be paying them out of my own pocket. The press doesn't require this as, as far as they're concerned, I'm the expert; but it's something I require for myself. It's important that this book not simply present a strong, readable, gripping narrative, but that it's also accurate and rigorous.

Now on to your second question. For serious nonfiction the first step is to get a literary agent. Literary agents sign clients for non-fiction based on book proposal and ~two sample chapters. They neither want nor expect the entire manuscript at this point. The agent is the party who has the relationships with acquisitions editors at the major publishing houses.

Once an agent signs you, you do some editorial work together, if necessary, and then you go on submission. The "on sub" process is basically your agent doing a series of targeted sales pitches to acquisitions editors. If an acquisitions editor wants to buy the project, they will have to present it to their team(s), and argue in favor of investing in the project; ie, they have to convince potentially multiple teams that this project will make them money.

The book proposal is an incredibly weird, complex piece of writing, and I advise hiring an editor to work with you on this. The best editors/consultants for book proposals tend to be what I call "behind the scenes big shots." These are usually people with journalistic training, who ghostwrite for a lot of very big names. These editors do not come cheap. In fact, I paid for mine with a round of crowdfunding y'all helped me with a few years ago. If you're interested, I could potentially put you in touch with mine.

Now once the proposal is ready and you've workshopped your query letter, you need to do some heavy research and make a list of lit agents you think could be a good fit for your project. You should have an A List, B List, and C List, and send them out in batches of 5-10 to keep this manageable. I can answer further questions about this research process, if you'd like.

The getting-an-agent process is probably the hardest part. It took me five years to get from "Holy shit this is my book I'm gonna do a book," to "I have an agent and we're going on sub." It's HARD and you'll really be forced to reframe how you understand success and failure. Like, the first time I got a personalized rejection with feedback I fucking PARTIED. A personalized rejection is huge, and FEEDBACK, omg.

The big difference, is that for academic presses you need a PhD and a genuine intervention in the historiography. For trade press, you need to convince multiple parties that the project can sell, and that you're qualified to write it.

Now some candor: you have to be incredibly single-minded to push through this process. Like, to the point that you're willing to sacrifice your day job and let your health fall by the wayside. Which leads us to: privilege!

It's very difficult to be able to put all your single-minded energy behind this process if you a. are not independently wealthy; b. are not married to a person with a lot of money; or c. do not have well-off parents who are able to support you. I can honestly say that, if I were not in category c, the process would have been much slower; I'm not even sure if it would be happening yet.

My publisher's advance--which was generous for a first time, untested writer--over one year was enough to MAYBE cover my health insurance and my monthly storage unit; I also have two part time jobs. And that's it. My parents handle the rest [ETA: to clarify, I do live with them]. Publisher's advances are not something you can live on unless you already have clout, or fame. And if you have a one year deadline, your writing will be full time. I'm not telling you this to discourage you. Professionally I have found myself in many fields where the silent part is "we assume you have family/spousal wealth because lol no one can live on this amount of money." It's not okay and it pisses me the fuck off. I feel like, if I didn't make this clear, I'd be complicit in maintaining those structural inequalities. I don't know how to dismantle them (it's gonna take way more than one person) but saying the quiet part out loud is a start. Anyway, hope I answered all your questions and also didn't discourage you! Also, you never need a reason to ask me about this stuff.

[prosperingwithgary]

You’re Doing Affiliate Marketing All Wrong

The Easiest Way to Make Money Online

What’s the easiest way to make money online, without having to create a product or a sales page? Affiliate marketing, of course. :)  Most affiliate marketers are doing it all wrong. So, why is it that most affiliate marketers never make nearly what they could make? Anyone has the potential to make HUGE money in affiliate marketing, yet 90% or more of affiliates make a pittance (I’ll wager the number is closer to 98%, in fact.)

Think about this: If you earn an average of $50 on each sale in a sales funnel you promote, and you make 6 sales, you’ve made $300. Sounds good, right? But guaranteed, there is someone else who made 600 sales and walked away with $30,000. Why did they make 600 sales when you made just 6? There are reasons why a handful of affiliate marketers do amazingly well, and everyone else barely makes a profit. And marketers who understand this will always have a tremendous advantage over marketers who don’t.

1: Build a Relationship

I know you’ve heard it before, but are you doing it? People buy people, not products. If you want them to open your email and click your link, or visit your Facebook Group and click a link, you’ve got to have a RELATIONSHIP with your people. This is so simple to do, yet few marketers take the time. Start with a blog post that is all about you, and then send new opt-ins to the post so they can get to know you. Make the post silly, funny and most of all REAL. Talk about the stupid stuff you’ve done, the mistakes you’ve made, where you live and so forth.

You have a strange. or interesting hobby

Do you have a strange hobby or unusual taste in food? Include that. Maybe you have 17 pets, talk about them.  Are you one of those people that like to work until 3 in the morning and sleep until noon? Mention that. Reveal the real you. Not the details people don’t want, but the ones that amuse and interest. You’re looking to make a real connection, not give a resume. Tell them how the dream stealer got you.  And above all else, don’t make your life seem like a series of magnificent accomplishments. No one is going to relate to someone who turns everything they touch into gold. But they are going to relate to the time you bought Bitcoin when it was worthless and sold it just before it took off, or the time you thought you could fly and jumped off your uncle’s barn into the manure pile. And don’t stop with your ‘about me’ page, either. Use this relationship building in your lead magnet, your emails, your other blog posts and so forth.

Be something about yourself

Always inject a little bit about yourself. Not so much that you bore people, of course, or make everything seem about you. But just enough to keep it real. Think about relating an event to a friend. Arerselfn’t you going to give your own perceptions of what happened, as well as tell about how you got out of your car and stepped in the mud puddle just before your big presentation? Use this same method of personal, one-on-one friend communication with your readers as well. Post on your blog as often as possible, and we’re talking every day or two. Encourage your list to subscribe to Feedburner or the equivalent so they know when you add a new post. Your readers will realize you’re a real person who isn’t out to pitch them a new product every 5 minutes. And they’ll gladly read your sales emails much more readily when they know there is a real live human being who is sending them these messages.

2: Use Your Own Voice

How many emails do you receive that say something along the lines of, “Buy this product - this product is the greatest product ever - you will be sorry if you miss this - so rush right over and buy it now.” Yeah. Same old stuff, over and over again. There is a marketer (or maybe several, but I’m thinking of one in particular) who sells MASSIVE quantities of this exact type of emails as a swipe file to new marketers. Like a brand-new marketer couldn’t write their own 25 word email that basically says, “GO BUY THIS NOW!” People are TIRED of getting these emails. You’re tired of getting these emails. I’m tired of getting these emails. Same phrases, same message, same B.S. If you’re not going to stand apart from the crowd, then you’re going to have to share the same crumbs they’re getting. Instead, take 30 minutes and write your own promotional email in your own voice.

No hype. Sincere and Honest

Forget hype. Be sincere. Be honest. “Hey, this product isn’t for everyone. I don’t even know if it’s for you. But if you have this problem, then maybe this is your solution. Check it out and decide if it’s right for you, because I know it’s worked like crazy for some people. And it’s on sale right now, too.” I’ve written emails where I basically tell people not to buy something unless they really really want it or need it. “Don’t buy this if you already know how to do xyz.” “Don’t buy this if you’re not going to be doing this type of marketing.” This is only for people who want (fill in the blank.) It’s like I’m trying to talk them out of it, which paradoxically often results in more sales, not fewer.

No trickery

But the point isn’t tricking them into buying; it’s to be honest. Because you know what? That latest, greatest product you’re promoting ISN’T what everyone on your list needs. Some of them, sure. The rest of them, no. Do you have any idea how refreshing it is to open an email that says, “Here’s a new product, thought you might want to know, but please don’t buy it if you’re not going to use it.” The first time I got an email like that, I bought the product without even reading the sales letter. True story. I was just so happy that someone wasn’t ramming a sale down my throat, that I jumped at the chance to buy it. Weird but true. My point is, be you. Be honest. Talk to your readers as though they are your best friends and you don’t want to lose your best friends by acting like a carnival barker who is here today and pulled up stakes (vanished) tomorrow with their money.

3: Email a LOT

This is the one where people like to argue with me, and I understand that. You’ve heard over and over again that you shouldn’t email too often, or you’ll upset your subscribers, right? After all, every time you email, there is the potential that a subscriber will hit the unsubscribe button. Have you considered what the potential is when you DON’T email? Nothing. No opens, no clicks, no sales… not even any relationship building. Do you want people to open and read your emails? Then send out those emails EVERY DAY. Here’s why: First, almost no one will see every email you send out. Let’s say you’ve got a sale on one of your products. Don’t you think your readers might like to know about it? But if they miss the one and only email you send that lets them know, then they’ve missed out on the discount and you LOST a sale.

Email at different times

Second, send emails at different times. I opened someone’s email just yesterday, decided I was VERY interested in the new membership he was selling, clicked the link and discovered it was no longer available. What happened? This particular marketer only sends out emails at 1:00 a.m. my time, so I don’t even see most of his emails in the avalanche of mail I get before I wake up. Third, if you’re sending email once a week or once a month, your readers are forgetting who the heck you are. And when you finally do send an email, they think it’s spam. Fourth, if you mail more often, you will make more money. Don’t take my word on this, just do it for one month. Send out one email per day, every day, for 30 days. Put a promotion in each one. See if you haven’t made more – a LOT more – money during that time period than during the previous month. And by the way, I’m not saying JUST send out a promotion in each email. Make sure you have some content in there as well, even if it’s just an amusing anecdote.

4: Think of affiliate marketing as a BUSINESS

This isn’t a hobby, nor is it an add-on for an additional income stream. Even if you go on vacation, be prepared to send out an email every day. Schedule them in advance or write them on vacation. Either way, affiliate marketing to your list is a business that you can’t just jump into when you need cash and forget about the rest of the time. You don’t have many support issues, since the product owners handle this. No need to worry about creating products, sales pages and so forth. You don’t have to drive traffic unless it’s to build your list bigger. With so much you don’t have to do, there’s no reason not to focus your time and energy into building relationships with your list and promoting to them every single day. Affiliate marketing can be some of the easiest money you’ve ever made, if you put in the time and effort to make it a real business. Read the full article

[workwithdale]

You’re Doing Affiliate Marketing All Wrong

What’s the easiest way to make money online, without having to create a product or a sales page? Affiliate marketing, of course. :) So, why is it that most affiliate marketers never make nearly what they could make? Anyone has the potential to make HUGE money in affiliate marketing, yet 90% or more of affiliates make a pittance (I’ll wager the number is closer to 98%, in fact.)

Think about this: If you earn an average of $50 on each sale in a sales funnel you promote, and you make 6 sales, you’ve made $300. Sounds good, right? But guaranteed, there is someone else who made 600 sales and walked away with $30,000. Why did they make 600 sales when you made just 6? There are reasons why a handful of affiliate marketers do amazingly well, and everyone else barely makes a profit. And marketers who understand this will always have a tremendous advantage over marketers who don’t. 1: Build a Relationship I know you’ve heard it before, but are you doing it? People buy people, not products. If you want them to open your email and click your link, or visit your Facebook Group and click a link, you’ve got to have a RELATIONSHIP with your people. This is so simple to do, yet few marketers take the time. Start with a blog post that is all about you, and then send new opt-ins to the post so they can get to know you. Make the post silly, funny and most of all REAL. Talk about the stupid stuff you’ve done, the mistakes you’ve made, where you live and so forth. Do you have a strange hobby or unusual taste in food? Include that. Do you have 17 pets? Talk about them. Do you work until 3 in the morning and sleep until noon? Mention that. Reveal the real you. Not the details people don’t want, but the ones that amuse and interest. You’re looking to make a real connection, not give a resume. And above all else, don’t make your life seem like a series of magnificent accomplishments. No one is going to relate to someone who turns everything they touch into gold. But they are going to relate to the time you bought Bitcoin when it was worthless and sold it just before it took off, or the time you thought you could fly and jumped off your uncle’s barn into the manure pile. And don’t stop with your ‘about me’ page, either. Use this relationship building in your lead magnet, your emails, your other blog posts and so forth. Always inject a little bit about yourself. Not so much that you bore people, of course, or make everything seem about you. But just enough to keep it real. Think about relating an event to a friend. Aren’t you going to give your own perceptions of what happened, as well as tell about how you got out of your car and stepped in the mud puddle just before your big presentation? Use this same method of personal, one-on-one friend communication with your readers as well. Post on your blog as often as possible, and we’re talking every day or two. Encourage your list to subscribe to Feedburner or the equivalent so they know when you add a new post. Your readers will realize you’re a real person who isn’t out to pitch them a new product every 5 minutes. And they’ll gladly read your sales emails much more readily when they know there is a real live human being who is sending them these messages. 2: Use Your Own Voice How many emails do you receive that say something along the lines of, “Buy this product - this product is the greatest product ever - you will be sorry if you miss this - so rush right over and buy it now.” Yeah. Same old stuff, over and over again. There is a marketer (or maybe several, but I’m thinking of one in particular) who sells MASSIVE quantities of this exact type of emails as a swipe file to new marketers. Like a brand-new marketer couldn’t write their own 25 word email that basically says, “GO BUY THIS NOW!” People are TIRED of getting these emails. You’re tired of getting these emails. I’m tired of getting these emails. Same phrases, same message, same B.S. If you’re not going to stand apart from the crowd, then you’re going to have to share the same crumbs they’re getting. Instead, take 30 minutes and write your own promotional email in your own voice. Forget hype. Be sincere. Be honest. “Hey, this product isn’t for everyone. I don’t even know if it’s for you. But if you have this problem, then maybe this is your solution. Check it out and decide if it’s right for you, because I know it’s worked like crazy for some people. And it’s on sale right now, too.” I’ve written emails where I basically tell people not to buy something unless they really really want it or need it. “Don’t buy this if you already know how to do xyz.” “Don’t buy this if you’re not going to be doing this type of marketing.” This is only for people who want (fill in the blank.) It’s like I’m trying to talk them out of it, which paradoxically often results in more sales, not fewer. But the point isn’t tricking them into buying; it’s to be honest. Because you know what? That latest, greatest product you’re promoting ISN’T what everyone on your list needs. Some of them, sure. The rest of them, no. Do you have any idea how refreshing it is to open an email that says, “Here’s a new product, thought you might want to know, but please don’t buy it if you’re not going to use it.” The first time I got an email like that, I bought the product without even reading the sales letter. True story. I was just so happy that someone wasn’t ramming a sale down my throat, that I jumped at the chance to buy it. Weird but true. My point is, be you. Be honest. Talk to your readers as though they are your best friends and you don’t want to lose your best friends by acting like a carnival barker who is here today and pulled up stakes (vanished) tomorrow with their money. 3: Email a LOT This is the one where people like to argue with me, and I understand that. You’ve heard over and over again that you shouldn’t email too often, or you’ll upset your subscribers, right? After all, every time you email, there is the potential that a subscriber will hit the unsubscribe button. Do you know what the potential is when you DON’T email? Nothing. No opens, no clicks, no sales… not even any relationship building. Do you want people to open and read your emails? Then send out those emails EVERY DAY. Here’s why: First, almost no one will see every email you send out. Let’s say you’ve got a sale on one of your products. Don’t you think your readers might like to know about it? But if they miss the one and only email you send that lets them know, then they’ve missed out on the discount and you LOST a sale. Second, send emails at different times. I opened someone’s email just yesterday, decided I was VERY interested in the new membership he was selling, clicked the link and discovered it was no longer available. What happened? This particular marketer only sends out emails at 1:00 a.m. my time, so I don’t even see most of his emails in the avalanche of mail I get before I wake up. Third, if you’re sending email once a week or once a month, your readers are forgetting who the heck you are. And when you finally do send an email, they think it’s spam. Fourth, if you mail more often, you will make more money. Don’t take my word on this, just do it for one month. Send out one email per day, every day, for 30 days. Put a promotion in each one. See if you haven’t made more – a LOT more – money during that time period than during the previous month. And by the way, I’m not saying JUST send out a promotion in each email. Make sure you have some content in there as well, even if it’s just an amusing anecdote. 4: Think of affiliate marketing as a BUSINESS This isn’t a hobby, nor is it an add-on for an additional income stream. Even if you go on vacation, be prepared to send out an email every day. Schedule them in advance or write them on vacation. Either way, affiliate marketing to your list is a business that you can’t just jump into when you need cash and forget about the rest of the time. You don’t have many support issues, since the product owners handle this. You don’t have to worry about creating products, sales pages and so forth. You don’t have to drive traffic, unless it’s to build your list bigger. With so much you don’t have to do, there’s no reason not to focus your time and energy into building relationships with your list and promoting to them every single day. Affiliate marketing can be some of the easiest money you’ve ever made, if you put in the time and effort to make it a real business. Read the full article

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

The Logical Epilogue

Epilogue to The Logical Progression

Pairing: Nathan Bateman x Reader Rating: Mature Warnings: Cursing; sexual innuendo; Nathan being Nathan Notes: Honestly was kinda stunned that so many people asked for an epilogue 🥺 Sorry it took so long!  Just as a note, the painter mentioned in this piece is entirely fictional Summary: At first, it was exciting.

Berlin worked.

Berlin worked for a while.

You settled into your new position, your new office. Your new boss, Mark’s replacement, was out in California, and the time difference was a little bit of a bitch, but you made it work.

You made it work for a while.

You saw Nathan most weekends, at first. Most, because he got consumed with his work so often, and so did you, sometimes. Truth be told, you couldn’t always take the time out of your schedule to take the two hour flight from Berlin to Oslo, and then the hour long helicopter ride from the airport to the drop zone near the estate, and then the forty five minute hike from the drop zone to Nathan’s house.

At first, you did.

At first, it was exciting. At first you were optimistic, and in love, and brimming with hope because this was a compromise—and sure, it wasn’t something that the two of you had come up with together; it had been your idea, but he had said yes. Yes to your idea, yes to Berlin, yes to your new title – in his company. You had carved out your own place in his company, gotten to where you were by your own merits. You were happy. He was happy.

It worked at first.

After the first few months, though, the bloom was off the rose.

It started with the travel. 

Four hours was a lot one way – and that was four hours if everything was running on time and the weather permitted. It was eight hours all told, round trip. Eight hours every weekend, back and forth, was a bit much. So after a few months, every weekend became every other weekend – and it was still a lot. Of course, any time you mentioned that to Nathan, he was unapologetic at best.

“If you’d just moved in with me like I’d planned, you wouldn’t be tired.”

The first couple of times, you’d laughed. The fifteenth time, it wasn’t so funny anymore. You finally stopped mentioning it to him.

Then, it was the work.

It took you four hours to get to his house. Four. Three flying and an hour of a hike – sometimes through the snow. Silly you, you’d thought the man might stop for more than a kiss and a, “Hey, honey,” when you got there.

At first, the two of you were fucking like rabbits. And then your visits became more infrequent, and even when you were there, Nathan was sometimes too locked in to whatever it was that he was doing to give you the time of day, so much so that you felt like his damn Jackson Pollack: you were around to be looked at occasionally, contemplated, and then left to your own devices.

You’d made the mistake of mentioning that to him, too.

“I’d have more time for you if you were here, honey.”

That had started as a tease, too, but you knew Nathan. Every little joke and jab had a thin layer of saccharine shielding the spike he really wanted to stick you with.

And it stuck.

It didn’t help that your work had felt stagnant since you’d moved. Blue Book was still flourishing; your performance reviews were all positive; the Berlin office was thriving, but… But ever since you moved, you just felt so disconnected.

-- 

“You’re not coming this weekend?”

Nathan’s voice didn’t manage to lose any of its petulance despite how tinny it sounded through your headphones.

“I can’t, we’re going through tissue sessions for the pitch on Monday,” You told him.

“I haven’t seen you in, like, a month.”

“Oh, you noticed that?” There was a pause on Nathan’s end before he dryly asked, “You driving at something, sweetheart?” “Look Nate, I’ve got work to do,” You retorted, “I’ll call you later and try to make it out next weekend, alright?” Nathan let out a scoffed laugh and hung up. No ‘goodbye’, no ‘sure’, no ‘noon will be fine’. Looking back, that should’ve been a warning. With Nathan, there wouldn’t be a goodbye. There would be a drift. The time between your trips to see him became longer and longer, and your countenance in one another’s company became more and more icy, more static. The trips stopped, the calls stopped, and then a box with the things that you left at Nathan’s place showed up at your door. No note, no letter from him, nothing. His Maya console was right at the bottom. He’d finally ripped it out of the fuckin’ wall. Mommy and Daddy had broken up and you got full custody. -- 

The decision to leave Blue Book wasn’t a result of the break up. You’d had other job offers before - Nathan knew that-- No. No, you told yourself to take Nathan out of the equation as you handwrote your resignation letter. Handwrote, because you were still under NDA, and you didn’t want the drafts of this to be caught in one of the regular data audits that Blue Book did. 

You weren’t leaving to join Google, Apple, or IBM, or any of the other companies that had offered you positions with them over the years.  One of the reasons that you had moved up in Blue Book as quickly as you had was your ability to look at a product release and translate the jargon-heavy language into something the average person could understand. You’d done it for a few friends in the tech industry on the side now and again, when they were getting started with their own companies. And as much as you liked Blue Book, you liked the idea of being your own boss more. -- Your last night at Blue Book was no less than a fiasco - you’d been there a long time, so they made an effort, a fuss. They threw a party at a swanky art gallery in Berlin. People had come up to you all evening, asked you what your plans were, if you were excited, what you would miss. You’d told them - you were going to become a freelance writer, focus on technical writing. You already had a number of jobs lined up. You were incredibly excited, but a little nervous. Blue Book had been one big cyber safety net. You’d be alone.

“You hear Bateman was here?” It was a whisper behind you - from one member of the sales team to another, but loud enough for you to hear, loud enough to distract you from the conversation that you’d been in the middle of. There was no way. You hadn’t heard from the man in months - four of them, if you were going to be precise. There was no way he would turn up at your going away party - to do what? Make a fucking splash? All eyes on him? You wondered exactly how much shit you’d get for leaving your own party. You heard the ping of Blue Book’s messaging system on your phone and you pulled it out of your pocket, going cold when you saw the message. N. Bateman: Ferrar room.

No. No, you wouldn’t let him do this. This motherfucker wouldn’t get the chance to just swan back in and sweep you back off of your fucking feet after he was such a shit. -- “So you haven’t plugged Maya in yet.” “...Well between my phone, laptop and the NDA, I’ve kinda already got enough of your spyware in my apartment.”

Nathan chuckled, still wandering around the little back room of the gallery. You’d had to ask an attendant where the Ferrar room even was - but it was full of some of the most vibrant work you’d ever seen. So maybe, for that reason, you’d briefly forgiven Nathan for not even turning to look at you since you’d walked in. And yeah, it had stung, but considering everything that had happened and-- and not happened -- considering the things that the two of you had never said and the fights that you’d never had, and the compromises that he’d never made and every single compromise that you had made, it was no wonder that the man didn’t bother to turn and look at you when there was canvas after canvas after canvas of life in vivid color all around him. “Armel Ferrar,” Nathan said, “French painter, born in Peillon in 1868. Moved to Paris in 1885. Heavily influenced by Seurat and Cézanne -- more Cézanne than Seurat. You can see it in the color use, but… the way he plays with light, that’s all Seurat.” You weren’t looking at the painting that Nathan was looking at. Hell, you weren’t even looking at the paintings. You were just looking at him - at the back of his fucking head. At the back of his fucking head, and the slight tapering that you could see of his beard; at the way his shoulders sloped, and where his hands were tucked into his pockets. Your eyes drifted up his back again, over his neck, his head. The painting he was looking at, whatever painting it was, had bursts of yellow - wheat, maybe, or stars, or the sun, it was difficult for you to tell at that distance. From where you stood, it was as though the man was haloed and framed. Bright and shining and on display, this man that liked to keep to himself and spent his days underground in his office. “Stayed in Paris, too--” He was still talking, of course he was still talking, “Most of his life, or what was left of it. Never married, had one kid outta wedlock… Died in 1891, same year as Seurat. His daughter, Marie-Thérèse, married a military man that moved her to Berlin after the second World War. She brought his paintings with her, that’s how they wound up here.” 

Nathan went quiet for a few moments before, “What do you think?” “...I’m wondering why you had me come back here when you very well could’ve given that TED talk to an empty room. Or better yet to any one of the people out there that are utterly fascinated with you. Either would suit, considering how much you love your own voice.” You had already turned yourself to look at a painting, made yourself distracted by the time you answered, because you’d known that that would get a look from him. You were right, too; you saw him turn to look at you out of your periphery. “Can we skip this part?” That bored tone was back. You dug your nails into the palms of your hands, letting your eyes hone in on the vivid splashes of red on the painting in front of you - petunias. “Which part would that be?” You asked. “The part where you tell me what I did wrong and I pretend that you’re right so that I can say sorry and we can get back to what we were doing.”

You laughed. You actually laughed. Not a fake one, not a haughty one, but a real peal of laughter left you in shock. “Wow,” You sighed once it had passed, “I forgot what a dick you are, you know that? I actually kinda managed to forget.” “Look--” “No,” You turned to face him, holding a hand up to stop whatever he was about to say, “If you came to fake some sincere bullshit, or to tell me that everything would’ve worked if we had done things your way--” “They would’ve--” “Shut the fuck up, Bateman,” You snapped, “You don’t know that, alright? You don’t. I don’t care if you have it in your head that it would’ve all been perfect because you said so.” 

“You really think my way would’ve been worse?” “Well, we’ll never know,” You shrugged, folding your arms over your chest. Nathan was quiet for a single, blessed moment. Then-- “Why are you leaving Blue Book?” “I don’t wanna sound egotistical here, but I kinda refuse to believe that you didn’t read my resignation letter.” “I did.” “Then you know the answer.” “Were those the only reasons?” You looked over his face for a few moments. “... It wasn’t you,” You shook your head, “I don’t know if you wanted it to be, or didn’t, but it wasn’t you.” “Why the fuck would I want it to be?” “Because you think the universe revolves around your beard.” 

He seemed to fight a smile for a moment, and your stomach twisted. You’d seen that look - the way he had to work to pull down the corners of his mouth - in the first video he’d ever sent you, yelling at Maya to remove you as an admin. Maya, which was still sitting in a box in your apartment, because you couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of the damn console. You didn’t want to plug it in, but you couldn’t just fucking throw it out. “...So, this new job,” He approached you slowly, and you were careful to hold your ground - not just because backing or turning away felt like weakness, but because stepping backward would mean knocking into the work of a French artist whose life sounded pretty fucking tragic. “Yes?” “You staying in Berlin?” You were quiet for a few moments before you shook your head. “I don’t know. I can do it from anywhere, so I haven’t really decided what my next move is going to be.” “Anywhere?” Nathan repeated. “Whatever you’re thinking, un-think it.” “Can’t unscramble an egg, honey.” “Don’t.” “Don’t what?” “Bateman, I’m serious. You think I’m just gonna crawl back to you?” “Who the fuck is doing the crawling? I’m here!” He snapped. “Oh, look. Nathan did one thing,” You cooed mockingly, “Nathan put on something other than sweatpants and left his estate--” “It’s a four hour trip--” “Oh, you cannot fucking tell me about the travel, Bateman, don’t you dare. I did that for months and you acted like it was nothing, you acted like I was nothing!” 

And then Nathan stopped. Nathan stopped and lowered his chin to his chest for a moment. “You’re not,” He spoke softly - so softly you almost didn’t hear, “You’re not-- You know that. That's your insecurities talking--” “Knowing and feeling are two different things. I’m not a console, I don’t run an OS, I can’t just go in and fix the buggy code that tells me differently,” You had to work to keep your voice steady and get the words out, “What you just did once to get here? I did that for months, Bateman. And that’s after I pulled my whole life up and moved to a new country. That trip, two days a week, every week, and half the time I was there, you acted like I wasn’t. I may as well have not been, so I stopped going.”  “You could’ve talked to me.” “...You know what, I’m not even going near that one, because I really don’t want to yell in here,” You managed through gritted teeth, eyes diverted to another painting. Nathan lifted his head then, looking you over before he stepped forward, muttering, “Stop that.” “What?” “That.” He reached out, taking hold of your hands from where they were crossed under your arms. He ‘tsk’ed softly as he uncrossed your arms and unfolded your hands, running his thumbs over the small half-moon dents that your nails had left in your palms. “... Alright, maybe gatecrashing wasn’t my best idea,” He glanced toward the door to the room before his eyes scanned your face. “I don’t think it even breaks your top five.” “Would you care to list that top five now?” “I would not, at the risk of puffing up your beard.” You heard him chuckle, felt his thumbs continue to smooth over your palms. “...You remember that first Rise of AI, when I told you why I’d pulled you up on stage to give that presentation?” He asked. You frowned, turning to look at him again. He was watching you closely over the top of his glasses, eyes knowing and dark. “You wanted to see what I'd do if you threw me in the deep end.” He nodded. “That was Blue Book, something we both knew. This…” He wrapped his hands around your, gave them a gentle squeeze, “This is new for the both of us. We jumped into the deep end and uh…Starting in the kiddy pool might’ve been better.”  “Did Nathan Bateman just admit defeat?” “No. No,” His gaze went stern, then, “Because kiddy pool or not, you’re still in the fuckin’ water.” You looked down at where his hands were holding yours still. “I want to try again,” Nathan crowded closer to you, “And I know-- I know that I am an asshole and that I fucked up, and you know what, I’m probably going to fuck up again,” He raised one hand to cup your chin, raising your head to meet his eyes, “But I wanna give it another shot. I just… I just need to know if that’s even an option here.” When the box of your things had arrived at your place, you’d told yourself that it wasn’t. You’d told yourself that Nathan was an asshole, and a shitstain, and a dickwad, and a douchecanoe, and a host of other derogatory names that you’d dreamt up in your most frustrated moments. Because, yeah, he could be those things. But that didn’t change the fact that you still had feelings for him. It didn’t change the fact that you’d made mistakes in that relationship, too. “So?” He prompted you as you looked at one another, “How do you think we’d do in the kiddy pool?” You gave him a small smile and murmured, “Swimmingly.” The force of Nathan’s kiss nearly knocked you off of your feet - your head would’ve hit a Ferrar if his hand hadn’t come up to cup the back and cushion it. (The gallery owner saw the two of you and was horrified.) (But Nathan bought that painting and like five others, so they got over it.)

Tag list: @spider-starry​ ; @mylittlelonelyappreciation​ ; @grogu-pascal​ ; @blueeyesatnight​ ; @kid-from-new-zealand​ ; @revolution-starter​ ; @kindablackenedsuperhero

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: West Coast Avengers #1: Avengers Assemble!

September, 1984

WHO will answer Hawkeye’s call to join the new team?

I assume Mockingbird? I see her silhouette in the cover box and the assumption was that she and Clint were a package deal? I don’t know what it’s being played like its not a given.

Some good or at least interesting options here for the second team.

Red Wolf, Iron Man, Puck, I thiiiiink Crystal?, Doc Sampson, Mockingbird, Cyclops, Black Widow, Wonder Man, Tigra, Quicksilver, Hercules, Ant-Man, Namor, and the Shroud.

A lot of interesting options. I really want it to be Cyclops and I know its not going to be Cyclops.

STOP TEASING ME WITH AVENGERS CYCLOPS IF YOU’RE NOT GOING TO GIVE IT TO ME!

Also, this issue #1 of West Coast Avengers. Or at least the first issue #1. The team is introduced in a four issue miniseries before getting an ongoing - and a second issue #1 - about a year later.

This will be moderately confusing for my numbering but I’m brave enough to barrel on through anyway.

Last time in Avengers: Vision became the chairman of the Avengers and announced that due to the threat of the Dire Wraiths, the Avengers would be opening up a West Coast team led by newly married Hawkeye. In one page reminders of the subplot in various issues, Hawkeye and Mockingbird arrived in Los Angeles, went real estate shopping, and set up a new HQ in a nice compound that used to belong to an actress.

The team is only missing one thing.

A team.

Maybe it’s just me but I’d think that you’d get the team sorted out before you spent who knows how much renovating a compound up to the level required for a superhero team.

It’s going to be really embarrassing if you open a new Avengers team and nobody comes.

(Vision agrees and has taken the liberty of reaching out to several likely candidates.)

Mockingbird confirms that Hawkeye has invited her onto the team but she’s not even sure she’s Avengers material, she doesn’t even have powers.

Hawkeye: “Neither does Captain America! Neither do I! If I can be an Avenger -- !”

Mockingbird: “Anyone can, right?”

Hawkeye: “And people wonder why you took the code-name Mockingbird!”

Haha! I do like their chemistry!

He does clarify that its totally not just because she’s married to him (although I would point out that he kept trying to get Black Widow on the team based on them dating) but that she’s totally earned it! She has years of experience as a SHIELD agent!

Hawkeye calls Vision to let him know that the place is all set up and Vision lets him know about the reaching out to several likely candidates biz.

BOOM SCENE TRANSITION TO DOWNTOWN SAN FRANCISCO at the office of private investigator Jessica Drew.

Because, yeah, Jessica Drew did the PI thing as an ex-superhero way before Jessica Jones. And Jessica Jones is probably Drew with some of the serial numbers scratched off.

ANYWAY, she’s talking to hardboiled Tigra, who helped her on the Enselmo case.

Jessica Drew: “I still laugh when I think about the way you ran our pigeon up and down Telegraph Hill!”

Tigra: “That was the best part of the case! After all... bringing pigeons to ground is second nature to a lady who’s half-cat!”

Jessica tries to offer Tigra a job (since this is before the internet and Tigra can’t find a lot of modeling jobs for models covered with fur) but Jessica’s secretary interrupts with a call for Tigra.

The call sounds ominous from Jess only hearing half of it but I’m 99.9% sure its Vision offering Tigra a spot on the West Coast Avengers.

Read Tigra’s replies with that context and you’ll laugh.

Tigra tells Jess that she’s got to book it to LA for business that she has to settle on her own but they’ll talk about Jess’ offer later.

Tigra: “Don’t worry, I’m a big girl... I can make my own mistakes!”

I feel like a little bit of clarification would have gone a long way here, Tigra.

Because Jessica assumes that Tigra is in trouble and decides to call someone to tail (ha) Tigra.

Meanwhile, a car chase in the Mojave Desert.

To cut to the car chase, this is a movie set filming a stunt spectacular car chase scene for what I’m pretty sure is James Bond.

Pyrotechnics are easy if you don’t stress blowing up the stuntman.

Because he’s near invulnerable.

The stuntman (Simon Williams, Wonder Man) does need to have buckets of water thrown on him to cool him off after being in an explosion but he’s otherwise fine.

Cool that Wonder Man found an acting job he can handle. He seems pretty thrilled with it.

One of the staff on set tells Simon that his trailer is buzzing and he realizes its his Avengers transceiver.

He receives his offer from Vision (although apparently a much more vague one than Tigra) and flies off after making sure he has no more stunts scheduled for the day.

An hour later and hundreds of miles elsewhere, Iron Man (the James Rhodes version) is flying around, minding his own business, thinking about how cool it is to have relocated to California to help Tony Stark open a new business, admiring the Standord University Linear Accelerator Center.

Just as he’s thinking that he hopes that Tony isn’t in a hurry to being Iron Man since he’s gotten used to it, Vision cuts in on the secret Iron Man radio frequency to call him in to the meeting.

Iron Man arrives twenty minutes later at the West Avengers compound on the Palos Verdes Peninsula bluffs and paraphrased does an impressed whistle at what a nice place it is.

Iron Man: “Some spread! This looks like the kinda place Tony would’ve hung out... before he lost Stark International! The best part of being his pilot in those days was ferrying him to spots like this! Who’d have thought I’d ever be invited on my own? Then again, who’d have thought little Jimmy Rhodes would grow up to be Iron Man?!”

Future knowledge bums me out a little with this. This is spoilers for a year from now and several issues from now but in the time gap between the West Coast Avengers limited series and the ongoing, Tony does take over being Iron Man again. I hope you enjoy all this while it lasts, Rhodey. And hey, War Machine is only like eight years away!

Tigra arrives and starts acting familiar with Iron Man because she thinks she knows its Tony and they were teammates for a bit.

She ditches the briefly identity obscuring trenchcoat and hat because dammit she has a year round fur coat and its hot in California!

She also might be flirting, although hopefully not as bad as she’ll get later in the ongoing. Spoilers for a year and several issues for now but it is a bafflingly bad subplot that Tigra gets given.

The other reason I bring it up is that this is the exact situation that led Rhodey to quit the Avengers when he became Iron Man. He felt it would be awkward interacting with people who already knew Iron Man well.

I guess he’s more comfortable with it now.

The West Coast Avengers roster that we already know about are all people who either quit the Avengers or don’t feel like they’d be a good fit. Which is just a great start so I’m interested to see if we’ll get justifications for why they’d sign up the minute a franchise opens.

Hawkeye takes Tigra and Iron Man off on a tour while a mysterious shrouded figure watches.

The tour concludes without us seeing the tour, boo. But it comes up that neither Iron Man or Tigra know why they’re here.

Iron Man was just told he was needed but didn’t get any more details. We know that Wonder Man got the same vagueness. And Tigra was just offered a $1000 dollar stipend to fly out to LA and see if she could “help the Avengers out!”

So Hawkeye gives them the sales pitch.

That Captain America made it a rule that except in emergencies, the Avengers’ roster would be limited to six members. But Vision decided that they need more than six Avengers but wanted to keep the team from becoming unwieldy so told Hawkeye to set up an expansion team: the West Coast Avengers!

It’ll basically be the same thing as the original Avengers in terms of by-laws and rights and privileges and both groups will be affiliated but the West Coast Avengers will be running their own show west of the Rockies.

If everyone here agrees to sign up, that’ll make a team of five with a sixth spot to fill.

But Tigra objects that she left the original team because she felt out of her depth and why would that be different here?

Ah, now there it is.

Justify it, Hawkeye.

Except he doesn’t because the intruder alarm goes off.

The intruder alarm all the way in the first basement level, which means their intruder has already penetrated deep into the compound and bypassed a lot of the security systems.

Hawkeye is sure that the intruder is actually a highly organized commando raid and he’s instantly proven wrong with an infrared scan shows just one guy.

Womp womp.

Hawkeye is also sure that however this just one guy got as far as he did, the security system in the next area will totally--

Womp womp.

Hawkeye is fed up at this point and seals off the security levels, forcing the dude back through the domestic areas. He then orders Iron Man, Tigra, and Mockingbird to split up to cover more ground that way and surround the intruder.

Not having much better to do, they do, but everyone has some misgivings in their thinky thoughts.

Iron Man: Hawk sounds like he really gets into giving orders. I don’t know if I like that.

Tigra: I must be some sort of masochist to get involved with Avengers again! They always seem to know what they’re doing... not like me! What am I doing here? What am I trying to prove?

Hawkeye: Should I let the others catch our intruder... or rush in and collar him myself? How would Cap handle this?

Mockingbird: Poor Hawk... He wants so much to be a good leader! I know he can do it, but I wish he wouldn’t try quite so hard! In a way, though, it’s funny... His first act as leader was having the team split up!

Mockingbird is the first to run into the intruder, suddenly being enveloped in a cloud of darkness. She can’t see anything but hears someone moving and launches one of her staves from her spring-loaded sleeve launcher.

Its a near miss, breaking a lamp instead of the intruder, who turns out to be Shroud. Y’know, that friend of Jessica Drew’s we met in that two-parter about saving Jessica Drew’s ghost?

Shroud realizes how skilled Mockingbird is and that he might have trouble if he takes her lightly so he goes right for the Vulcan neck pinch, knocking out Mockingbird. But she hits Shroud in the stomach guts with her second stave as she’s passing out.

Hawkeye then shows up, concerned that he hasn’t run into Mockingbird yet and drawn to the cloud of darkness, except not the Final Fantasy villain.

He shoots a light arrow, except not the Legend of Zelda powerup, into the cloud to no real effect so shrugs and shoots a sonic arrow instead.

Shroud flees the area and Hawkeye finds Mockingbird who tells him to shut up with the EEEEE arrow.

Hawkeye: “Where’d our man go?”

Mockingbird: “How should I know? It was dark!”

Hah.

The cloud of darkness passes through the area of the mansion/compound that Tigra is in and she recognizes it as Shroud’s darkness. She calls out to him but he doesn’t hear her because he’s in another wing about to be tackled by Iron Man who can see Shroud with his in-helmet radar.

Controlling darkness is all well and good until technology.

Ain’t it said, Rumia?

Shroud is also blind so all he knows is that an armored man is lunging at him until Iron Man calls him a fool for trespassing on Avengers turf.

And that’s when he realizes that he done goofed.

Hmm. What is that symbol on Shroud’s hood, anyway? It looks kinda like Aku.

Shroud manages to escape Iron Man’s grasp, sacrificing some of his neat cape. Although, it tears into an even cooler look so is it really a sacrifice?

He decides that he’s just going to get out of here.

Shroud: Have to get undercover and think out my next move. I don’t want to fight Avengers! That could become a life’s work -- and I have better things to do!

I can’t decide whether he means that he’d be at it all day or that this misunderstanding fight would lead him down an unwilling path of villainy as some third-string grudge holder.

Probably the former?

Anyway, Shroud is just leaping over the balcony when Wonder Man finally arrives and spots him. And unfortunately for Shroud’s ribs, he has been cultivating a reputation as a crimelord so Wonder Man flies in and tackles him into a tree.

Womp womp, except for Shroud this time.

Tigra shows up and jumps on Wonder Man from forty feet away to stop him from hurting Shroud any further, explaining that he’s her friend.

Shroud: “I’m certainly glad I’m not an enemy... I’d hate to think how I’d be treated then!”

Hah.

Later, in the medical room, I guess, Mockingbird applies bandages to Shroud’s ribs except on the outside of his costume. Does... does that do anything? Obviously not for open wounds. But for bruised bones, I guess the point is compression. But it feels less than ideal because he’d have to take off the bandages to take off his shirt. Just feels better to apply the bandages under the clothes, MOCKINGBIRD.

What makes it weirder is that we see him a couple panels later pulling his shirt down over the bandages. Which makes me think Mockingbird bandaged him on top of his costume and he had to pull his costume top out from under them and pull it down. He didn’t just stop her because that would be rude?

Shroud explains that Jessica Drew asked him to keep an eye on Tigra because of how the phone call made her act all weird. He followed Tigra from the airport to here and ran into a gaggle of superheroes. 

In the meantime, Hawkeye has verified Shroud with a report Captain America filed on him so Hawkeye believes he’s a good guy now.

Wonder Man and Iron Man apologize for going in swinging and Tigra for not just telling Jessica what the call was about. But Shroud tells them no permanent harm done.

Hawkeye decides to offer Shroud the last spot on the team (assuming that everyone already invited is going to choose to stay).

Hawkeye: “That trick you do with the dark is one slick little number... and anyone who can hold his own against us as long as you did obviously has what it takes in the skill department. Besides, what you did reminds me a little of how I introduced myself to the Avengers -- I broke in, too! Come on... What do you say?”

Shroud say... no.

He’s honored and a couple years earlier he would have jumped at the chance. But Wonder Man’s assumption didn’t come from nowhere. Shroud has been spending the last many months building up his outlaw rep so he can take down gangs from the inside.

Like the Green Hornet, I guess?

But since it’d be hard to be an Avenger West Coast AND keep up the fake outlaw thing, Shroud has to turn them down.

Shroud then pulls his cloud of darkness disappearing trick and nopes out.

With all that tied up, Wonder Man asks whats the big thing that Vision called him out for, leading an exasperated Hawkeye to start his West Coast Avengers sales pitch from the top.

Mockingbird: “That’s the spirit, fearless leader! Just remember, it can only get better from here!”

Hah.

So, that was the first issue of West Coast Avengers.

And there’s still no West Coast Avengers team.

Tigra and Iron Man still have reservations about the idea. Wonder Man has no idea why he’s there.

Its an interesting decision to hit the ground walking with this team. But it makes sense. The initial plan wasn’t for the West Coast Avengers to get an ongoing. This limited series was supposed to establish the concept, give a few Avengers affiliated characters something to be doing off-panel, and be able to be pulled in for crossovers and guest appearances as needed.

So the book can focus more on Hawkeye’s trials in actually getting this team going. He’s finally gotten to be a leader of the Avengers like he’s always wanted and now has to deal with all the frustration that Captain America or Hank Pym had with him, and then some.

Still, funny that the West Coast Avengers’ first adventure has them not only not a team yet but spending their time beating up a friend due to mistaken identity.

Will they get their act together by the next issue? Only time will tell. I tell a lie because Chronos never spoils stories. Only me will tell or maybe the Internet.

Follow @essential-avengers​ for the rest of the West Coast Avengers limited series. And for eventual bafflement when they get an ongoing. Also, like and reblog.

[whatanoof]

Luck Be the Lady Tonight

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x Reader

Word Count: ~4.4k

Content: blood, violence, fluff, death, gods who like to fuck around with peoples' minds, oh did I mention swearing yet?

Prequel to I Wished For Your Happiness

Dawn filters across the sky like the coming of the tide. It pushes into the inky twilight gradually, so slowly that one doesn’t notice the changing colors until it’s in full swing. Reds and oranges and yellows and the slightest hint of pink streak across the clouds and chase away every memory of the previous night.

Not that you were awake to see it of course, Max made sure of that last night when he exhausted you with… um… certain activities. But shortly after the dawn, the door to the bedroom creaks, waking you from peaceful sleep to the drowsy world of the waking. The creak is the only warning you get before the seven-year-old boy equivalent of a mortar shell drops onto the covers, bouncing the bed violently and bringing weak protests from the man under the covers to your left.

You thank every star in the faded night sky that Max had the awareness to redress both you and him last night before falling asleep. Good luck.

“Good morning!”

Max groans sleepily and pulls the covers over his head, “Alistair…”

You smile and blink blearily, “Good morning, Alistair.” You stretch under the covers luxuriously, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“Come on, come on! We have to go soon!” Every other word is accompanied with another bounce on the sheets, and you wince. Ali is pretty much situated completely on top of the Max-sized lump under the blankets, and that can’t feel good.

“Okay,” You laugh, sneaking out from under the sheets. “Come on, let your dad sleep in just a little bit more. What do you want for breakfast?”

“Silvia usually makes eggs,” You nod. Silvia is Alistair’s nanny that accompanies him back and forth between his parents, but you had given her the weekend off. It was her twenty first birthday, and you only turn twenty-one in America once.

So you decided to take time off too, and to take Alistair for a day on the town. Max had been more reluctant to take the day off, but you’d pestered him until he’d given in. And you’d promised him a weekend of nighttime fun in return, so who was he to deny you? “But I want pancakes!”

You laugh, “Pancakes it is! Chocolate chip, or strawberry?” You don’t even have to ask, you already know that Alistair is going to pick chocolate. That child is just like his father: a ridiculous sweet tooth and too adorable for you to say no to.

You’re halfway through the mixed pancake batter, and Alistair is most of the way through his second pancake by the time Max stumbles into the kitchen, hair mussed and eyes half-open without coffee. It’s a struggle to hide the giggle that threatens to burst from your throat, but you manage and pass him the steaming mug that’s been sitting by the stove to keep warm.

“Woman, you are a true goddess.”

“I know. No need to feed my complex.” You smile as Max hugs you from behind and buries his nose into the crook of your neck before going to sit beside his son.

“Big day planned?”

“Yep.” You flip the last pancake onto the plate. It’s a little crooked, but passable considering your normal amount of cooking talent. “Sight-seeing, museums, walking around…”

“And parks!” Alistair interjects, “And the airplane museum!”

“Of course the airplane museum!” You place the dishes in the sink and pick up your own plate, “You coming, Lorrie?”

“Have some work to do, but I’ll be done before noon.” His shoulders hunch even as you stare him down. “Promise, baby. Something came up right before I left the office last night. It’s urgent.” You raise a single eyebrow at him, and he raises his hands in mock surrender, “I didn’t plan on it. Bad luck, that’s all.”

“I--” You level the dirty spatula at him, “--will take your word for it, Lorrie.”

He grins and stands, taking the kitchen tool from you and gently placing it in the sink. “Thank you, my love.” He folds your hand into both of his and kisses the tip of your nose, and you giggle as he nuzzles into your neck.

“Gross!” Alistair claps both of his hands over his eyes. You and Max laugh together as he detangles himself from you.

“I am going to get dressed.” Max grins at you rakishly before walking over to his son, who still has his hands covering his face. “And you--” He taps Alistair on the nose, and Ali giggles as Max leans in and gives him a hug. “--have a good day at the airplane museums.”

---

The minute you step into the Metropolis Space Museum, Alistair is heads over heels in love. You truly can’t believe that it took the kid seven years to get to the most iconic airplane museum in the city that he grew up in, but his childhood wasn’t exactly normal. You understand Max’s work ethic and schedule all too well, having parents who were workaholics as well. So when you’d first met the starry eyed little kid, you’d silently promised yourself that he was going to have a better childhood than you. You’re not his mother or his nanny, but Max is a dedicated father. And you’ll be dedicated to this kid too.

Alistair sprints through the museum with all of the speed of The Flash himself, and it’s all you can do to keep up with the little ball of energy. You wonder how he’s able to even take in the aircraft with the combination of the speed and his small stature, but this is his day, and you’re just the chauffeur.

He finally hits a wall when he reaches the astronaut exhibit. You’re walking among the space shuttles when you find Alistair gazing up at the Artemis I craft.

“See something you like?” You stop beside Ali and grin down at him. He hasn’t ripped his eyes away from the craft, and you can see the fluorescent lighting reflecting in his dark eyes. You turn to admire the shuttle again.

“That.” Alistair only speaks the one word, and you raise an eyebrow down at him. He’s pointing, “I want to be able to fly in that when I grow up.”

You chuckle, “It’s possible. You work hard, and you can be an astronaut when you grow up.”

“Work hard like Daddy?”

“Yes. Just like your Daddy.” Your gaze softens as you look down at the boy, seeing shades of his father in his determined expression. You check the time on your phone, “Speaking of, he should be meeting us soon. Wanna grab a snack, then we can go see him?”

You can see Ali’s obvious reluctance to leave the exhibit. “Alistair, ice cream…” You trail off with a teasing grin as Alistair turns.

“Yes please!”

You grin, “Alright! Come on.”

Alistair speeds ahead yet again, and your phone buzzes. You take it out, and it’s from work. You send a text off to your partner as you reach the stairs.

Your heel hits the edge of the step wrong. Your heart drops in your chest as you pitch forward, your arms wheeling in the air. A scream lodges in your throat as you fall forwards down the steps.

You land hard on your chest and you feel a stabbing pain in your chest as the air is knocked clean out of your body. Alistair screams your name, and you roll over to find the gazes of dozens of concerned strangers fixated on you as Alistair rushes to you.

“Are you okay?” A woman crouches over you.

You chuckle dryly, the air coming back to your body in small increments. Embarrassment floods your cheeks with heat, “Yeah, missed that last step. Bad luck, huh?”

“Good luck that it was the last flight. Could have been much worse.” She straightens and extends a hand to help you to your feet. “Anything hurt?”

“Besides my pride? No, I’m fine. Just got the wind knocked out of me.” You accept her help and stand, wincing at the residual pain in your chest. You remember what you’d distracted with that led to the misstep, “Where’s my phone?”

Alistair holds his hand out with a solemn look on his face. He’s holding your shattered phone, “I think it’s broken.”

You sigh. Bad luck. “Thank you Alistair. And thank yo--” You turn, but the woman is gone. Huh. Interesting. You look all around you at the bustling crowd, but no one looks familiar, and all of the gapers have gone back to their business. You prop your hands on your hips, “Well. How about some ice cream now?”

---

Max’s brow furrows as he stares down at the glinting ring. A twenty-four karat gold band, platinum setting with tiny obsidian studs and a diamond the size of a pistachio. The ring is exactly his style, and it’s the ring that he always imagined himself buying for the hypothetical girl that he would have if he ever got his work done. But ever since meeting you, he’s been learning to remember that his likes aren’t necessarily the likes of the others.

For example, you don’t like flashy. Which is ridiculous, because his entire existence is flashy, so he can’t begin to imagine how you ever were attracted to him. The memory of your first meeting draws a grin to his lips. But now he knows better after a couple of botched Valentines and anniversary gifts. Your look of horror at the massive bouquet of flowers and yards of chocolate will be forever seared into his mind. Flashy and gaudy is a big no no, though maybe he can make the proposal a little more to his tastes. His gaze is drawn to another ring to his right.

“Excuse me?” The sales associate comes over to him. “Can I see that one?”

---

“Alright, you don’t tell your dad, and I won’t tell either.” You plop the massive ice cream cone into Alistair’s hand before settling down next to him with a cone of similar size.

Alistair grins mischievously at you, “This is a lot of sweets for one day.”

“Ah!” You hold up your free hand, effectively silencing the kid, “Snitches…?”

“Get stitches!” With that, Ali digs into his chocolate fudge cone with sprinkles, and you start with yours, gazing at the city across the water. The beach is empty on an early spring day that is much too cold for swimming. Seagulls screech across the sky, and the sand looks fun and inviting, but Ali seems content to sit beside you on a bench and look across the water at Gotham City.

The sun is shining, the water is glowing in the afternoon sun, and it’s a perfect afternoon. Until an explosion rocks the building that you’d been admiring in Gotham City across the bay and the miniscule figure of a supervillain appears as a shadow in the dust. You sigh. Bad luck. “View ruined.”

Alistair shrugs, “Pretty. Big booms are cool.”

“Since when do you like explosions?”

Alistair looks up at you, and makes a zooming motion with his hand before mimicking a takeoff with massive engine explosions. Oh. Right.

You finish your ice cream and reach for your phone to check the time before remembering that it’s broken. “Hey, Ali. What time is it?”

He shows you with his little digital watch, and it’s half past noon. Max is probably looking for you. You rummage in your pocket for some change, and pull out the coins to count them. Oh good, you have a quarter left over from the ice cream cones.

“Come on, we’re going to find a pay phone.” Alistair stands and follows you off of the beach and towards the street.

Only, I shit you not, a chunk of building hits the water with a boom near shore, and water explodes into the sky like a geyser. Debris scatters the beach, and you wince as you see the amount of rocks that hit the bench where you had been sitting not five minutes before. You stare for a split second, then over at Gotham, where you can see the supervillain hefting cement chunks over his head and lobbing them at a speck in the sky. That’s an interesting combination of luck that you’re not sure you want to dissect mentally at the moment.

Alistair whines, “How did we miss Superman in the sky?!”

---

Max walks out of the museum, squinting in the sun as he fumbles in his pocket for his phone. You’d said that you would be at the museum until afternoon, but he’d waited at the entrance for an hour and you and Ali never came out. He calls you, but the line rings to voicemail.

The little velvet box weighs heavy in his breast pocket. It almost feels like it is burning a hole in his chest with how hyper aware he is of the promise pressing on his chest. He can’t even remember when he woke up feeling like this. Well, of course he only recognized the feeling today, but he’s been feeling it for sometime now. That swelling in his chest when he looks at you, the one that seems to increase everytime he sees you with Alistair, or when you’re laughing, or when you raise that single infuriating eyebrow that communicates every feeling of skepticism within your body. It’s been building over the past years, it’s not new. The label is new, it’s the one that he realized this morning after you got up and promised Alistair pancakes for breakfast.

He’s ready to make this promise. He’s ready to swear to spend the rest of his life with you. Now, if only he could find you. Bad luck, it would seem.

His phone rings right as he pulls it out of his pocket, and he glances at the caller ID. It’s you, and he swipes the ‘answer’ icon excitedly and raises the phone to his ear.

“Hey, I’m at the museum, where are you?”

You sound a little harried, “A payphone near Stryker Beach. Sorry, my phone’s busted up, so I couldn’t tell you that we left the museum.”

“No, no it’s fine. I’ll come get you. Give me an address.” He swipes around on his phone until he gets to his maps, but he’s interrupted by a resounding boom on the other end of the line. “What was that?”

“Nothing. There’s another Gotham villain, and Superman is fighting him over the bay. On second thought, you probably shouldn’t come here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you two could be in danger.” He already has the car keys in his hand when you cut him off.

“Lorrie.” Your voice is every bit as intimidating over the phone as it is in real life. “Stay there. Traffic is awful over here anyway, we could walk to the museum and back twice by the time you get through it. See you in a few.” He can’t wait, excitement thrilling in his chest even as worry tamps it down a little.

---

His palms are sweating. Why are his palms sweating? He hasn’t been this nervous since his first kickstarter campaign for Black Gold Corporations. He’s scanning the crowd for any sign of you and Alistair, though he’s simultaneously dreading your appearance as much as he’s anticipating it.

There! He sees a flash of your hair through the mass of people, and then you’re standing on the other side of the major street, gorgeous and windswept and smiling at him while holding Alistair’s hand. Cars whizz through the intersection, but even the minor interruptions in his line of sight to you can’t detract from your beauty. Fuck, he’s nervous,

So nervous, apparently, that he fumbles his phone and drops it on the sidewalk. As he bends over to pick it up, the velvet box slips out of his pocket and falls to the ground with a small thunk that may as well have been the impact sound of a meteor.

His gaze darts up nervously at you, and your eyes are glued to the small black box. They flick back to his, and read the nerves as clear as the day. Understanding floods through your face, then shock, then your mouth falls open and he can hear your joyful laugh from where he crouches twenty feet away.

Shit. He had wanted to do it differently. Maybe by the massive fountain, or on the Ferris Wheel by the bay. Something that brings a little bit of pizzazz and flash and romance, something that is distinctly him. But he sees the giddy look in your eye and everything else falls away.

The pedestrian sign flicks on, and the rest of the crowd starts moving across the street, pushing you and Alistair with the flow of people. Your hand still firmly grasps Ali’s as you move across the street, and his heart fills at the sight of your love for his son and steadies his hand as he picks up the box and opens it towards you. His knees bend, and he sinks to the hard concrete, awaiting your approach.

His knee is centimeters away from the sidewalk when a swoosh echoes overhead and Superman rips through the intersection. The crowd tracks him with a rush of murmurs, but you’re still watching Max and walking forward with a spark in your eye.

Then the gunfire starts. Everyone ducks as Lex Luthor’s latest mech suit flies overhead in pursuit of the flying hero. Bullets whizz through the air, pinging off of telephone poles and shattering windows. You’re only a fraction behind the crowd, your eyes widening in panic as you finally notice your surroundings. Max is frozen in time, watching you cover Alistair with your own body. Bad luck.

Then the spell breaks, and everyone is running and screaming, and Max’s heart rises into his throat. He loses sight of you in the middle of the road, and he stumbles to his feet and begins shoving through the crowd.

“Alistair!” He screams your name too, but his voice is lost in the surrounding noise.

Finally, finally, he catches sight of your hunched form in the middle of the road. Right as he sees you, your head raises and begins scanning around you, and he allows himself to breathe. Good luck.

He grabs your arm and yanks you to your feet, his other hand securing around Alistair’s upper arm. Then he’s moving and dragging you to the other side of the street. You’re almost there, you’re almost safe when the explosion happens.

It’s small, a stray thermal charge that’s miniscule compared to the previously witnessed destruction. But a shudder passes through your group. Max’s heart sinks in his chest and he turns to look. Alistair is staring up at you with a look of complete horror on his face. Your hand lets go of Max’s, drifting up to your chest where a bloodstain is rapidly spreading over your chest. Your eyes meet Max’s, and then your eyes roll back in your head and you pass out.

---

The ambulance ride is a blur. Alistair is crying into his chest, and it’s all Max can do to keep it together while he holds your hand. You’re still unconscious, but the ambulance had gotten there fast, and you’d been one of the only casualties in the intersection. Hope. He has to hope, because he has to hold it together for Ali.

Words float around his head from the paramedics, words like random, ricochet, shrapnel, and bad luck. Bad luck. Fury swells in him. Your life is worth more to him than simple bad luck. Villain or hero, how can it matter? Who gave them the right to leave charges in public places, to scatter bullets like rice on a wedding day?

But what can he do about simple bad luck? What can he do about super-powered people who hold the power of gods in their hands? The answer is nothing, not right now anyway, because Alistair needs him, and you need him, and he will bide his time.

---

You wake up when the ambulance gets to the hospital. The gurney jostles as they lift you down from the ambulance and he wants to yell at the paramedics. But he holds himself back. Your voice echoes in his head, ‘They’re just trying to do their jobs, Lorrie. Leave them alone.”

So he does, clinging to you as your eyelids flutter. “Lorrie?” Your voice is a painful rasp that hurts in his own chest. You tighten your grip, bringing your interlocked hands up against your chest, slightly to the right of the roughly bandaged wound.

“I’m here.” He grips your hand all the more tightly, pressing a kiss to your knuckle. You murmur something, and he doesn’t catch it the first time. He leans in, “What? Say it again, baby.”

“Yes.” You whisper into his ear. With shaking hands, Max takes out the little black box and puts the ring on your bloody finger. It’s a simple gold band, curling around a teardrop onyx gem. Perfectly you and him. You only have time to lift your hand to gaze at the ring before you're whisked away to surgery. Max is left standing there with empty hands, feeling like the world has been yanked from his grasp.

---

When you wake up again, the world is sterile and cold and Max is gone. Your hand instantly flies to your chest, where the phantom wound throbs. But your hand grazes over nothing but your own skin and clothes. A glance downwards confirms your suspicions. The wound is gone, the ugly shrapnel vaporized as if it never existed.

But the glance down confirms another suspicion that only just started brewing in the back of your mind, one that you hadn’t dared to confront.

“Am I dead?” Your eyes widen in shock, and you reach to touch your lips. They hadn’t moved, and yet you had heard your own voice echoing into the void. You whip around, your toes hovering above the surgical table where your body rests. Surgical tools scatter around the trays, and the monitor emits a continuous, flat tone. Doctors lay down their tools, taking off their masks and caps with an air of exhausted defeat. Your body is still, covered in tubes and sheets so that you can barely see a hint of gray skin. Fuck, Max is going to be devastated.

“In a way.” The voice is wonderfully melodic, and you look to find that one of the doctors is staring at you while the rest look right through you. Her mask is still up, but there is a familiar air about her that you can’t place. “You are caught in-between right now, unable to move on, but unable to return.”

“So, purgatory?” Again, your disembodied voice speaks the words directly from your mind.

She laughs, and the tinkle settles somewhere deep in your soul. “No. Powers of another sort, past the Catholic tradition.”

You work your jaw, testing it before mouthing the words along with your voice. It just feels right, more natural. “I don’t understand. I’m trapped here?”

“Not trapped. Suspended, perhaps.” Her eyes are a piercing gray. “The Lords’ refuse to let you go. One might say that it’s luck. Good or bad, depending on if you are scared of what’s after. I hear you and Maxwell like to keep count.”

You blink. She’s right. You and Lorrie had a running joke that bad luck seemed to follow the both of you wherever you went. Today had been especially heavy with bad luck. “And if I’m not scared?”

“Luck is entirely dependent on perspective, child. But, I will admit, your death was more accident than anything.” There’s a cold, callous tone in her voice as she remarks about your death as no more than a minor inconvenience. “Couldn’t have been avoided, and that’s true bad luck.” Her brow furrows, then it lightens and she claps her hands, “But, good luck now! You get to go back!”

Your spirits lift. Back to Earth. Back to Alistair and Max. Max. You bring your right hand up in front of you. The ring is gone.

“Missing something?”

Your gaze darts back up to the woman, and she’s holding the ring to the false light, examining it closely. You try to keep the tremor out of your voice, “That’s mine. Give it back.”

She gives you a long side-eye, “You do not command me, girl.” You shudder at the tone of her voice, vibrating through your non-existent body and threatening to dissipate it. You grit your teeth, and continue to stare her down. She raises an eyebrow, and you think that it’s a look of approval in her eyes. “But, I suppose it is yours. Catch.” She tosses the band back to you, and you snatch it from the air. She continues, “Consider that my token to you. A favor from luck itself. Not many mortals ever gain such an item.”

“I don’t care what it is to you.” You only care about what it means to you and Max. It’s a promise. There had been a shared understanding in the emergency room, that you probably wouldn’t make it. And that understanding had been correct. But he promised anyway, and you’d promised him right back. “Who are you?”

“Lady Luck, at your service.” She winks, pulling her mask down finally. It’s the woman from the museum, but there’s a different air about her. An air of power that didn’t exist back on Earth hovers in her every word and motion.

A chime echoes through the air, and Lady Luck straightens. “That’s my cue. Don’t worry, you won’t remember this encounter when you wake up on Earth.”

“What was the point of this conversation if I’m not going to remember it?”

She looks back at you with a hint of humor in her eyes. “There wasn’t one. Just me testing out my wisdom on a mortal. Don’t get much chance for that anymore.”

“Any last wisdom then?” Your lips twist in a wry grin.

Lady Luck regards you, “Luck isn’t everything. But it isn’t nothing. Remind your Lorrie of that for me.” Then she turns and waves her hand, and the world filters to blackness around you.

A/N: This made me sad, but it was actually pretty fun to write and play around in the DC universe. I don't get over there much, it's mostly Marvel over in Oofville these days. But yes, now I'm expanding this universe as well too, because it's not like I don't already have enough WIP yet. It's fine, it's all going to be fine.

But Max's planning for the engagement?! Gave me life, it made me so happy.

Taglist: @alliterative-albatross

[superman86to99]

Superman #84 (December 1993)

Superman takes a short Paris vacation! Like, one day short. What's the worst that could happen?

Oh, man.

So, for the past few issues, we've been hearing about children being abducted in Metropolis. Now we see that they're being kept inside a giant toy house by some creepy bald man in Quasimodo clothes who seems to be obsessed with toys -- a "Man of Toys," if you will. Side note: no wonder the children haven't been found... all the articles about them are just gibberish! (See clip below.)

The kidnapper thinks that these kids' parents don't deserve them, and that they're much better off here, in an underground hideout with a man who threatens to starve them if they don't play with him. (And I do mean literally play, with action figures and stuff.) Meanwhile, as these children cry for help, Superman is having the time of his life. While helping move a stranded ship with some huge-ass chains, Superman spots a sunken galleon with a treasure chest inside and fantasizes about keeping the booty...

...before turning it over to the authorities anyway, the big boy scout. Then, he wakes up Lois at 6 AM and tells her they should go to Paris right now, which usually means your significant other is having a mental breakdown, but in this case they can actually do it. And so, after deciding that he deserves to use his powers for fun every once in a while, Superman and Lois drop everything and fly to France with super-speed for the rest of the day/issue.

Anyway: back to the child abduction! Cat Grant and her son Adam attend a Halloween party at Adam's school, but there's a disturbed weirdo in a hideous costume lurking among the crowd. Yes, I'm talking about Jimmy Olsen in his Turtle Boy suit.

Shortly after that, a guy in a dinosaur costume (see, all the creeps are dressed as reptiles) lures Adam out of the party with the promise of "superb video games." What child could resist that? Of course, that turns out to be the kidnapper and Adam ends up in his hideout along with the rest of the missing children and, worst of all, not a single "Lextendo" console.

The kidnapper gets angry at Adam when he refers to the toys at the hideout as "old-fashioned junk" (he was REALLY looking forward to those video games), and even angrier when Adam tries to free the other kids. Adam is brave and puts up a good fight, but...

And those were Adam Morgan's final words. "Uh-oh."

Next, we have a pretty harrowing scene of Detective Turpin letting Cat know Adam’s body was found, and Jimmy and Perry White taking her to the morgue to identify the body (most people probably wouldn't bring their former boss to something like that, but Perry sadly knows more than most about losing a kid). As for Lois and Clark, they were gone so long that the Daily Planet had time to print a headline about the murders. The issue ends when the lovebirds walk into the office smiling like two people who just spent the night fooling around in Paris... only to feel like jackasses when they find out what happened.

To be continued!

Character-Watch:

And that's it for little Adam Morgan who, unlike the also tragically diseased Jerry White, didn't even get any post-death appearances. Adam went from a little kid scared of Superman, to a huge brat, to a character who was approaching likeability as of last week. That's why I hate it when DC kills off young characters like Adam or Liam Harper: in long-form storytelling, children represent potential. Look at how much Wally West or Dick Grayson evolved over the years compared to their mentors! Sure, there's a huge probability that Adam would have ended up disappearing from comics for 25 years anyway, but who knows, maybe we'd now know him as Teen Gangbuster or something. GangbusTEEN.

This issue also represents a turning point for the kidnapper, who is never named or seen clearly in the story itself but I don't think I'm shocking anyone by spoiling the fact that he's Toyman (it's in the cover, for one thing). In his last two appearances before this storyline, Toyman helped Superman save some kids from Sleez and looked genuinely sad to learn about Superman's death, so this is a pretty dramatic change for the character. We'll find out why he went from big softy to child killer in Superman #85 (but don't get your hopes up).

Plotline-Watch:

The most disturbing part of the issue, all things considered, is still the part where Toyman climbs into a giant crib and hugs a huge stuffed bunny. Look at serial killer Tommy Pickles here:

Don Sparrow says:  “Even with the upgrade, Toyman is still just a man in a suit, a common complaint about Superman’s rogues gallery.” Funny you should say that, because I JUST shared an old Wizard interview in our Twitter in which Dan Jurgens talks about how Doomsday came out of his frustration with the fact that most Superman villains are dudes in suits (plus other interesting tidbits from the era, like how it was actually Roger Stern’s idea to bring back Hank Henshaw, so check out that link!).

Don again: “The entire Superman storyline of this issue feels like filler. Diving for buried treasure and soaring off to Paris -- it all feels like wasted time next to the Adam storyline.” I have a theory that the entire ship sequence is there as an excuse to put Superman in those big chains and make that Spawn joke (which I didn’t get until now, since I’ve always read this issue in Spanish).

Superman says that pulling that big ship was "a little easier than expected" -- that's either another hint that there's something going on with Superman's powers since he came back, or a subtle dig at the state of American ship manufacturing.

Another adorable "window tap" scene for the books, and this is the sexiest one so far. Is it me or has Jurgens started copying more than just Teri Hatcher's hairdo from Lois & Clark? (For anyone who thinks Lois has gotten implants, I refer you to this clip.)

While in Paris, Lois asks Clark if he's ever wondered what would happen if his rocket had landed in other countries. Don: “Clark’s conversation with Lois sounds like a bunch of concepts for Elseworlds stories. We eventually would see a Russian Superman, and a British Superman, but not yet the French Superman. (Hire us, DC!)” Yep, got my French Superman pitch ready, Jim Lee. Or just let us do Russian Superman again, since Red Son wasn’t even the first time you published that idea.

Don once more: “Another thing that makes no sense about the ‘new’ Toyman is his resentment of technological toys—when in previous appearances he himself had deadly high-tech toys to vex Superman over the years.” I especially resent his hatred of video game consoles. Incidentally, I wonder what types of games are available for Adam’s beloved Lextendo. Star Lex 64? Mega Man Lex? Sonic the Hedgehog 3 & Knuckles & Lex?

No one is more upset at Lois and Clark for going AWOL than Whit. NO ONE. He's so furious that his usually grey mustache turned black.

Patreon-Watch:

As always, shout out to our patrons, Aaron, Murray Qualie, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, Samuel Doran, Bheki Latha, Mark Syp, Ryan Bush and Raphael Fischer! Last month’s exclusive Patreon article was about the recently unearthed sequel to Superman 64 for the PlayStation, featuring Metallo, Parasite, and Lois looking even hotter than in this issue:

Hot damn. Find out more at https://www.patreon.com/superman86to99!

And believe it or not, Don Sparrow has even more to say about this issue. Read his section after the jump:

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow​):

I should start off my section with a big caveat:  I flat out hate this issue. There were several weird decisions made in the post-Death-and-Return era (most of them along the same lines of making the Superman titles more grim-and-gritty), and this story was one of the worst of them.  My theory is that, despite the praise and record-breaking sales of the Death and Return storyline, the Superman creative team felt pressure to have more extreme storylines, perhaps in response to the wildly successful Image books coming out at the time.  Between this story, and the upcoming “Spilled Blood” storyline, the Super books take a hard—but temporary--turn into more violent and upsetting storytelling—even though these stories are by the same writers as the previous few years. While death has always been a part of comics, and Superman comics was no exception, there is a jarring glibness and unfeeling toward the way violence is handled in these pages that is quite different from the stories that preceded it.  It’s made all the more jarring by the fact that well-established personalities suddenly veer wildly out of character, Toyman chief among them.  

We start with the cover, and while it is technically well-drawn (by the familiar team of Jurgens and Breeding) it’s also a very upsetting visual.  I think they should have gone with the pieta type pose with Adam and Superman, OR the scary badass bowie-knife Toyman (who apparently has a Cheshire cat smile now) but not both.  But the cover is a good hint at the tonal dissonance of the comic within.

We open with a splash of the now-extreme 90s looking Toyman, with his serial killer shaved head and spooky cloak, ignoring the pleas of hungry kids he has locked up in a tiny jail cell for days at a time (if that sentence doesn’t ring alarm bells for how wrong this is for a Superman story, I don’t know what will). For much of the issue Toyman’s eyes are obscured by glare on his lenses, further de-humanizing a character who was once one of Superman’s more empathetic bad guys.

We cut to Superman tugboating a huge tanker with giant chains and it’s a cool visual (one repeated in the Batman V Superman film).  It feels especially out of place to focus on, given how upsetting this issue is otherwise, but throughout the whole comic, Lois is drawn smoking hot, especially on the two page spread on pages 9-10.

The scenes depicting the actual murder, while still wildly out of place in a Superman comic, are well done, and give a real sense of darkness and menace, which I suppose is the intent.  Perhaps my least favourite visual is the Big Bird stuffie, silently bearing witness to what’s about to occur.

The edges of the panels on get more slashy and off-kilter (to me, looking very much like the layouts more typically seen in Image comics of the day) and I suppose I appreciate the restraint of how little Dan Jurgens shows of the death of a child, showing only a bloody slash on a black background.  This is still a pretty baroque image for a Superman comic, but certainly less violent than it could be, given what is happening.

Cat Grant’s silent horror is well staged, and powerful in its way.   Lastly, Clark Kent bending in sorrow and regret is a powerful image.

While this issue is handled marginally better, and more maturely than other comics on the shelf at this time, I still believe it is one of the biggest mistakes of the era.  Giving a long-established character an unceremonious death for shock value is gross on its own, but making it a child definitely crosses a line for me.  Making it worse is that, while the Toyman is a criminal and a killer, he has shown in past issues (a similar kidnapping storyline involving Sleez) that he genuinely cares for the well-being of children.  So for a long-time reader, this also felt like a betrayal of a long-established, fully developed character.   Adding to the ugliness of this is that Adam dies heroically, trying to free the children who have been caged, unfed, for days, but even in that regard, he fails.  The headline at the end of the issue confirms all the children are dead.  Adam’s death did not buy the other kids enough time to get away. It was all for nothing. Had Adam died, but the other children lived, maybe this issue wouldn’t leave quite as bad a taste. [Max: It’s weird because it’s all told in a way where it’s told in a way where it would make sense, narratively and within the story universe, that the other kids survived, but then it’s almost casually revealed that nope, they died too. A scene of one of the kids relaying Adam’s heroism to Cat in a future issue would have gone a long way.]

Superman doesn’t come off well in these pages, either.  It’s honestly the type of story they should just stay away from, because the more you think about all the calamity that is going on around the clock, the less defensible the whole Clark Kent persona becomes. Superman carving out time to romance his fiancée directly led to the preventable deaths of innocent children—how do you come back from that?

STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

I’m always looking for hints that perhaps Jimmy or Perry know Superman’s secret identity deep down, and Jimmy’s anger at Lois and Clark on their return to the Daily Planet offices would seem to give that theory some credence, as he’s as angry at them as if he knew Clark really were Superman.  Either that, or he’s ticked that it fell to him, and none of them to escort Cat into the morgue. [Max: Has this issue finally converted you to the “Jimmy is terrible” side now, Don?]

I don’t think I’m the only one who disliked the new Toyman—SPOILERS BE HERE: years later, in Action Comics #865, Geoff Johns retconned this whole story, reverting Schott into the criminal who over-relates to kids, rather than the child-killer of this story.  Apparently the infantile Schott, who speaks to “Mother” a la Norman Bates, is a robot so lifelike it fools even Superman, and the “Mother” he’s constantly replying to was the real Winslow Schott trying to recall the malfunctioning robot. [Max: That’s one Geoff Johns retcon I really didn’t mind, even if it felt kind of derivative of his similar “all the Brainiacs are robots made by the real Brainiac” reveal.]

[toplinetommy]

You Bring the Moon and Stars to Me (Part Two) - Tyson Jost

Synopsis: A Soulmate!AU where your soulmark only appears once you fall in love with your soulmate

Words: 4.8k

Part One

--

September 2017 - Denver, CO 

NHLers + 1 Tucker: heard you got a job in Denver Tucker: you know who else got a job there Y/N: what are you going on about Brock: tyson jost plays for the avs Brock: you should catch a game when the szn starts Y/N: he barely knows who i am Tucker: he thinks youre cute *Brock emphasized the message* Y/N: that was months ago Brock: whats the worst that can happen Y/N: hes literally a pro athlete Tucker: im a pro athlete and I still talk to you

You set your phone back onto the patio table, changing it out for your margarita. You were sitting on your new best friend and coworker, Caitlyn’s, back deck enjoying margaritas in the early Denver fall when she said a name you hadn’t heard in months.

“So, when were you going to tell me you know Tyson Jost?” 

You nearly spit out the alcoholic beverage, choking as it goes down the wrong pipe. “Uh, because I don’t? He played hockey where I got my undergrad, not a big deal.”

“Then how come I’m scrolling on Instagram, and Tyson Jost shared to his IG story a picture that you, my friend, are in?” She pushes her phone across the table to you and you look at the picture. Sure enough, it’s a picture Brock had shared to his story, that Tyson had reshared, from the 2017 senior banquet. You’re standing between Brock and Tucker in the back of the photo, barely seen as you were tucked in a large group of hockey players. You weren’t even tagged and yet, somehow Caitlyn had been able to pinpoint you, with none other than Tyson Jost standing right in front of you.

“I’ve had maybe three conversations with him? He only played the one year there and I wasn’t tutoring him.” You shrug, not getting what the huge deal was.

“You were a tutor?”

“Yeah, for athletes, but towards the end I was mainly tutoring the hockey team. That’s why I’m in that picture, I was pretty close to a few of the guys. That was their senior banquet my senior year and I went as one guy’s date, and no, it wasn’t with Tyson or Brock. It was with a guy named Tucker, he plays for the Jets actually.”

 Caitlyn asks a few more questions about your college life before the sun starts to set, and the hockey conversation gets dropped.

“Trust me, I’m not ‘immersed’ into the NHL community or whatever. I just have a few friends in the league that I don’t even talk to that much besides sending memes in a group chat.” You say closing out the topic, choosing to move onto something else.

“Anyways, tell me more about Jack! How come I haven’t met your soulmate yet, huh?” You ask giddly. Soulmates were one of your favorite things to talk about, mainly because you were a hopeless romantic at heart; always fantasizing about the day you’d meet yours and listening to other people share their stories about it.

“Well we met in March when we were at a tech conference while he was still going to school, but I had already graduated and moved here. He still has another year before he graduates and he plans on coming out once he does, depending on if he can get a job in the area.”

“Do you think he’ll move to Denver?”

“I think so, he loved it here when he came and visited over the summer. He loved this house, and he loves the outdoors. I don’t really want to leave, either. I mean, Denver’s my home.” She says, smiling at the thought of her current surroundings.  

Hearing others talk about their soulmates kind of made you envious, but you were happy for your friend. Watching her face light up as she talked about Jack was something you only wished for and couldn’t wait to experience for yourself.

--

Two days later, you’re back over at her place for your weekly Taco Tuesday’s - a tradition the two of you had started not too long after you met at your job a few months back. You hop out of your SUV, noticing the moving truck next to your friend’s house, and definitely not missing the large group of burly men unpacking it.

Walking into the house you shout, making your appearance known. Entering the kitchen you set the grocery bag on the counter. “Did you see that people are moving in across the street? Looks like it’s a group of guys.”

Caitlyn shrugs before continuing, “Took ‘em long enough to sell the house. That house was up for sale when I moved here in June.” She starts walking around the island, back towards the front of the house to further inspect the new neighbors, you close behind. A few of them have their shirts off, even in the brisk fall Denver air, and even with the distance, the both of you can tell there’s some serious man-candy going on across the street.

The both of you retreat back to the kitchen, getting ready to make your weekly tacos, catching up on work, friends, drama, and what had happened on this week’s episode of Grey’s Anatomy. As Caitlyn was finishing up the taco meat, you went to get beers from the fridge in the garage when you heard a voice other than your friends’ in the kitchen on your way back.

Walking into the room you’re shell shocked at the group of men in front of you. No, scratch that. Shocked at one particular man in front of you. Your jaw drops as none other than Tyson Jost looks right back at you.

He marveled at the sight of you, “y/n y/l/n?”

“In the flesh” You laugh lighty.

“You live here?” He inquired, with a hint of shyness in his voice.

“No, Caitlyn lives here, but I live in the area” you respond pointing over to the blonde standing in between the two of you. You look around at the rest of the guys, remembering that it’s not just the two of you standing in your friends kitchen, having what seems like a reunion of sorts.

A deep cough comes from next to you, pulling you out of your confused, yet awe-struck state. “Hey, uh, I’m JT,” comes from the burly redhead standing a few feet away from you, “This is Alexander, Nate, and then Tyson, who I guess you already know?” He points to everyone as he says their names, a hint of question in his tone when he goes over Tyson’s name. 

At this, Tyson jumps in, “She went to North Dakota, too. She knew the hockey team.”

“Oh?” JT asks, eyebrows raising towards his hairline in question.

“Uh, yeah, I was one of the tutors.” You explain briefly.

“You still talk to any of them?” Tyson asks, centering the conversation around you rather than the relationship between the two of you.

“I talk to Brock every now and then, and I’m still pretty close with Tucker.” You answer, not wanting to give too many details about your friendships with other NHLers. Tyson nods his head at you, before JT speaks up once again, steering back to the original reason of the conversation.

The boys had stopped by because they saw the open garage and needed a pair of scissors. Something you assumed a group of guys would have when moving into a new house. As the conversation came to a halt, and the boys started to leave, wanting to let you guys get back to your dinner, Tyson stops on the front porch to continue talking to you. 

“So, you ended up in Denver, eh?” He asks, shoving his hands into his short pockets.

“I did, and I like it a lot so far. I got offered a job as a project manager for a company that has their corporate offices here. Couldn't pass up the opportunity to move to a new city.” As you finish talking, you realize you had started rambling a little bit, a slight blush rising to your cheeks.

Tyson smiles widely, noticing the joy and passion in your voice. A voice in the distance calling out for Tyson breaks the moment you two are having. “I should probably get back, but, uhm, if you ever want to catch up or anything don’t hesitate to text me or something.”

“Uh, yeah, for sure. I’ll let you get back to moving.” You exclaim with a hint of nervousness. You weren’t sure if you should hug him goodbye, but you were a big hugger, so you awkwardly go in for a hug, to which Tyson happily consumes. The two of you go your separate ways as Tyson jogs across the street back to his house. 

Walking back into Caitlyn’s kitchen, you’re snapped back to reality by the look on your friends face. Dropping your shoulders, you groan, “What?”

“I don’t know Tyson Jost, she says. We just went to college together, she says,” she mocks in a high-pitched tone. “That interaction had way too much something in it for you two to have just been acquaintances or whatever you were.”

 “I promise you I barely know him. I just always thought he was cute like everyone else did and the guys loved to make fun of me for it. He’s also four years younger than me.” You reveal embarrassingly, a small smile coming to your face thinking back on some of the memories you had. “Like, my senior year, they made me show up to a jersey party at the hockey house wearing his jersey. I think I was the only one at the whole party even wearing something NoDak related, too. It was just dumb, little stuff.” 

“Aw, that’s kind of cute.” Caitlyn gushes, taking a sip from her beer. The two of you start to make your tacos, and sit in a comfortable silence while eating.

It’s halfway through dinner you realize you don’t even have Tyson’s phone number, contemplating on whether or not you want to text him. “Should I text him?” You ask. “I barely know him and now he’s an up-and-coming professional athlete.”

“You’re both new to the city, so I don’t see the harm in it?” Your friend reasons.

You nod in agreement, trying to figure out how you’re even going to get his phone number. Picking up your phone, you go to text Tucker.

Y/N: would you happen to have tyson josts number :-) Tucker: thought you didnt want it Y/N: yeah funny story actually Y/N: i guess he lives across the street from my coworker now Tucker: ur kidding Y/N: i wish i was Tucker: i knew you two would somehow find each other Y/N: whatever

Tucker ends up texting you Tyson’s phone number a little bit later, and after a lot of typing and retyping you finally settle on a simple “hey” with a simple smiley face, letting him know it’s you.

--

Once you had sent the first initial text to Tyson a few days ago, it seemed like the two of you had been friends all along. Conversation flowed easily between the two of you, only texting one another when you really had the time to. 

Part of you was nervous that the two of you had really never hung out, apart from those few occasions back at school, but even then it was never just the two of you. You had contemplated asking Caitlyn to come over in case it got awkward. In the end, you didn’t let your nerves get the best of you and you went through with going over to his house to meet up with him.

Knocking on the front door, you twist your hands together in anticipation. 

The large wooden door swings open to reveal a very smiling Tyson, “Hey!” He moves to the side to let you in but as you pass him he opens his arm signaling for a hug. 

You wrap one arm around him, half leaning into his side for a side hug as you greet him in return. “How are you?”

“I’m doing great, development camp just ended. I got the letter saying I made the opening day roster, so still trying to get used to that.” He answers with a small laugh. His hands are resting in his front hoodie pocket, and you notice how nice his posture is. You look over him, also noting that his legs look much thicker than you remember and his chest is much broader, even under the expanse of his hoodie.

“That’s great” You compliment, feet planted to the ground once you slip your shoes off. The two of you are still standing in the foyer of his home. The air around the two of you almost makes it feel like one of those ‘we met online and we’re now meeting each other for the first time’ moments. 

Tyson starts walking, leading the two of you to his kitchen before asking if you want anything to drink.

“Water would be awesome.” You answer, moving to take a seat on one of the barstools at the kitchen island.

Tyson closes the fridge, handing you a water bottle. “So how long have you been in Denver?”

“Since June, so three months?” You say, counting on your fingers. “I got the job not too long after I graduated but I went on vacation with some friends before moving. What about you?” 

“I actually came down in April after the UND season ended, but only for a few games. I just got back, like, two weeks ago.” He starts, leaning his elbows down against the counter in front of you. “I was in a hotel until you saw us moving in the other day, actually.”

“Why’s that?” You ask, knitting your eyebrows in confusion.

“So like, the way it works is that you have to make the team during development camp and if you don’t you’ll go back to wherever you were playing before. I already lost my NCAA eligibility when I left, so if I didn’t make the team I would’ve gone down to San Antonio where our AHL team is.” Tyson explains, hands moving around in the air as he speaks.

You nod your head as he speaks, starting to understand the process of how one makes the NHL. “Well, I think you’ll love it here. I’ve only been here for a few months and I can’t stop thinking about how perfect this place is.” You gush.

“Yeah, I’m really excited for the season. The guys are all really nice and welcoming already.” He muses. His eyes crinkle a little bit, a sure sign of happiness as he smiles.

You smile in response, “From what I remember back at school, you were pretty good, too.” 

A small blush rises on his tan cheeks and the tips of his ears. He pushes a hand through the curls on the top of his head with a shrug. “You majored in marketing?” Tyson asks, changing the subject. He was never one to talk about himself too much, even with all of his accomplishments.

“I did!” you exclaim, surprised he even remembered that about you. “I’m a project manager, so I basically manage a few different projects at a time at a marketing firm. I like it a lot so far. That’s how I know Caitlyn, the girl across the street.” You point in her general direction, gesturing to the house across the street.

“What part of the city do you live in?” He asks curiously. He stands up straight again, leaving his hands resting on the counter. 

“Over in Westwood, in a townhouse.” You answer, once again stunned at his ability to remember small details from previous conversations. “It’s just southwest of downtown and like, 20 minutes from here.”

“I haven't really gotten the chance to really explore the area too much, so I have no idea where that is.” He laughs. 

You laugh along with him, “We can always figure it out together if you want, because I haven’t done too much either.” You freeze up slightly at your request, not really knowing where your bravery came from. 

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer,” He agrees. “Being around a bunch of hockey players all the time can be a little much. Besides, it’s nice to have familiar faces around, eh?” He quirks his eyebrow at you.

“For sure.” You agree, taking another sip from your water. “You have any other plans for the day?”

“Other than this, no.”

“I was thinking,” you start, “we could order food or something? I can start showing you the best food places around.” 

“Yeah, I’m actually getting kinda hungry. What’re you thinking?” He asks, making a show to rub at his belly.

“I found a really good ramen place a few weeks ago that I really liked if you’re down to try that?” You suggest, pulling your phone out planning to pull up the menu for the two of you.

“Sure, I’m down to try anything.” 

You stand up from where you were sitting to move over to him, placing your phone on the counter so both you and Tyson can look at the screen. He moves closer to you, shoulders now touching as you both look down at the phone in front of you quietly. He’s comfortable enough to scroll on the website on his own, even with the newness of your friendship. 

As you move to fully stand straight up next to him, the brush of the side of your upper arm against his sends a sort of static through your body. You shrug your arm, moving a few inches away from the man next to you.

“Do you know what you want? I can call and place the order.” You suggest, gesturing towards your phone. He pushes the phone over to you, telling you what he wants before saying he’ll venmo you for his part. 

A little while later, once you’ve driven to downtown Denver and back, you have ramen in front of you as the two of you sit out on the back deck trying to enjoy the last of the warm weather.

The two of you sit across from one another eating in the quiet when JT walks out. “You guys got food and didn’t ask me if I wanted any? I’m hurt.”

Your eyes gaze between him and to Tyson, before Tyson speaks up, “Not my problem you weren’t around when we ordered it.” 

You chuckle lightly at the interaction in front of you as JT rolls his eyes looking for a response. Instead of verbally responding, he walks over to take a seat next to his roommate, giving him a shove as he passes by him.

“So, y/n, have you found your soulmate yet?”

“Bro, what is with you and your need to ask every single person you know that?” Tyson groans, dropping his fork into his bowl.

“What, it’s fascinating!” He exclaims, leaning back into his seat.

“Yeah, because you basically already know who yours is.”

“You already have a soulmate?” You ask, swallowing the bit of noodles in your mouth.

“Technically, no,” He starts, dragging out the ‘no’. “But I’m convinced I know who it actually is.”

“He met this girl over the summer and felt some ‘connection’ to her or whatever.” Tyson says, doing finger quotations around connection. 

“Shut up,” JT groans. “I swear the world stopped when we made eye contact and then we talked and I was just blown away.”

You look at him as he talks, but you notice Tyson next to him, mouthing the words JT is speaking. You giggle a little, causing Tyson to smile.

“I think that’s great, you’ll have to keep me updated on it all.” You say with a smile on your face. Tyson and JT continue to bicker like the best friends you're starting to see they are, as you sit and continue eating your ramen. The way Tyson easily chirps him and laughs makes your stomach do tiny little flips. 

January 2018 - Pepsi Center, Denver, CO 

“Have I ever told you that you’re the best friend ever?” Caitlyn exclaims with glee.

You laugh loudly, holding open the door to the Pepsi Center for your friend to walk through. “You mean have you ever told me that you love that I’m friends with NHL players so I can get good tickets? Once or twice.”

The Winnipeg Jets were in town, meaning Tucker would be playing Tyson for the first time at the NHL level. Tucker had let you know a few weeks ago that he would be in town briefly to play the Avs, and what he didn’t know was that Tyson had also told you the other day about the game. Tucker offered to get you and a friend tickets to the game, which you happily took.

Now, the both of you are walking around on the concourse level, looking for a good place to stop and get drinks before puck drop.

Caitlyn turns to you after you both get your drinks, “Does Tucker know that you’re talking to Tyson?”

“No, I’d thought I’d let him figure it out on his own. I mean, he was one of the guys that always pushed us two to get to know each other so I don't want to make a big deal out of nothing yet.” You shrug.

“Didn’t you say we’re all getting brunch tomorrow though? Won’t he know then?”

“He knows, yeah, but he doesn’t know that I know Tyson will be there. Just a little payback for all the pranks he pulled back in college.”

You guys finally locate your seats in the lower bowl, drifting your conversation to the game itself. You knew Caitlyn was a big hockey fan, her being from Michigan and all, so you were happy you finally got to see her in her element.

The Avs scoot by with an overtime win, not seeing too much action from either Tyson or Tucker on the official score sheet. As you guys exit the arena, you shoot a text to both Tyson and Tucker individually, letting them know they played good games.

The next morning both you and Caitlyn are running a little behind getting to brunch, catching an odd amount of Denver traffic on the way to the chosen restaurant.

Walking through the glass doors of the restaurant, you wipe your snow covered feet off on the mat before looking up trying to either spot the mop of curls atop Tyson’s head or Tucker’s broad shoulders.

You catch Tyson’s eyes before Tucker spots you, giving him a small wave and smile before you and Caitlyn make your way over to their table. Tyson stands to give you a hug before Tucker can and when you pull away, you see a look of confusion on Tucker’s face. You move to give him a tight hug, letting him know how much you’ve missed having him around.

Once Caitlyn introduces herself to Tucker, the two of you take your seats across from them in the booth.

“I feel like the two of you are all grown up! My two not-so-little NHLers,” You squeal jokingly. Tyson laughs with a slight blush at this, while Tucker, who’s across from you, rolls his eyes.

“No no no, we’re not doing that.” Tucker laughs. “You can see how we’re doing with one google search. How’re you? How’s work?” 

“Very good!” You exclaim, “Caitlyn and I have this really innovative project coming up that we’re super excited for.”

“The one with Finish Line?” Tyson jumps in, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Yeah that one!” Caitlyn answers. You can tell she’s about to explain it further with the way she leans forward over the table.

Tucker cuts her off before she can continue to explain it, “What the fuck? How did you know that?” 

“She was telling me the other day about it when I was at her place.” Tyson answers quickly.

“You were at her place?” Tucker asks, growing even more confused.

“Yeah, he was helping me with my new desk. Caitlyn was out of town so she couldn’t help.” You answer without hesitation.

“Oh! You got it set up?” Caitlyn asks the two of you. “You’ll have to send me a picture when you get home.” The way Caitlyn jumps into the conversation doesn’t help Tucker’s confusion one bit as he stares at the three of you blankly,

“So you’re telling me the two of you, like, hang out?” Tucker asks, pointing between the two of you. 

“Mhhm,” you hum with a tight-lipped smile. “Not too often, though.” Before Tucker can muster up a response the waitress appears to take your breakfast orders.

“We’ve only really hung out a few times since we reconnected a few months ago,” You continue once the waitress walks away. “Like, maybe two or three times?” You look at Tyson for confirmation to which he nods his head with a quick ‘yep’.

“So, you actually ended up texting him?” Tucker asks you.

“Uh, yeah? Why wouldn’t I have?”

“You literally avoided him all of spring semester.” Tucker states. Realization of what he’s talking about hits you and you sink back into the cushioned booth, your stomach tightening up with nerves.

Tyson, who looked like he was just checking something on his phone, whips his head up to look at his old teammate next to him.

“I did not,” You stutter, eyes shooting daggers at the Jets player across from you. “He drove me home from the bar once and then I didn’t see him again until a few months ago.”

“And you guys hooked up and then we never saw you in the same room again.” He says casually, reaching for his glass of water and bringing it to his lips. You choke on your coffee at his remark, going into a fit of coughing once you set your mug back down in front of you.

“Dude,” Tyson warns roughly and slaps at Tucker’s chest.

“What? No one knew where the two of you went and you wouldn’t really say anything about it when we all asked!”

“You told everyone we hooked up?” You ask, staring blankly at Tyson in disbelief.

“I literally told the whole team that some asshole spilled his drink on her and drove her home and then ended up going home right after instead of back to the bar.” Tyson says through gritted teeth. His stern gaze turns from Tucker towards your face, eyes turning soft when he sees your mouth slightly agape.

“I swear I never said anything happened between the two of us.” He promises to you, eyes locked on yours. Your eyes stay focused on him for a while longer. The breath you didn’t mean to hold in is let out a huff of air once you see the sincerity behind his eyes.

“Tucker, that was literally just a coincidence that we never saw each other, and besides, Tyson told me he left school to come down to Denver right after the banquet.” You say, turning your attention back to him.

“Okay, sorry about the assumption.” Tucker apologizes, moreso to you than to Tyson. A smirk plays at his lips and you know exactly where he’s taking this conversation. Before you’re able to derail him and switch the topic to anything else he opens his mouth once again. “Everyone knew you guys were attracted to one another so it wasn’t a stretch to think.”

Your previous embarrassment comes back full force with your cheeks heating up. You pick up your coffee mug once again taking a sip, this time to hopefully hide the pink tint on the apples of your cheeks. You take notice at how Tyson doesn’t move to discount Tucker’s comment this time and especially notice the tips of his ears turning pink.

It’s almost like you’re saved by the bell as the waitress walks up the table, arms full of your food. The rest of your brunch is spent catching up and telling Caitlyn all about what it was like at UND, while she shared stories about herself as well as her soulmate.

All throughout brunch, you couldn’t shake the feeling of the pull you felt towards the man that was sitting kitty-corner to you. Even as you and Caitlyn parted ways from the guys once you left, you swore you felt a part of yourself walk away with them. It may have been a feeling you couldn’t shake, but you still chose to ignore it as the two of you walked back to the parking garage Caitlyn’s car was located.

tag list: @REAVENEDGES-LIES (if you want to be added just let me know)

[scullysexual]

Time Can Heal

Season Two | Abduction Arc | Canon Divergence | Angst 

Mulder realises that his quest for the truth costs too much.

CHAPTER ONE

I decided to go ahead with this and turn it into a full fic after the response the original post received. I’ve deleted that now. This is the full chapter. Scully’s part is the same as it was but I’ve now added Mulder’s. Factual-wise, this is not going to be perfect and it’s more about improving my writing than it is about being right. Basically Scully’s abduction isn’t dealt with as soon as it should have been and my plan is to do that and to deal with the repercussion of that from the get-go. I’ve always wanted to write early msr too but I could never figure it out but I think I’ve done it. This isn’t going to be a happy fic for the most part, if you read the original you know the angst involved but I really want to write this no matter what and I hope you want to read it just as much. Let me know what you think having been given the full chapter now and I’m happy to continue. I don’t usually ask for comments but with this it would help so much. 

- - -

Her apartment was up for sale. There were promises made to get it back. Scully didn’t want it back. They could sell it on for all she cared. She didn’t think she wanted to step a foot back into the place.

Right now she only cared about this bed. This blanket of safety she had made for herself. Up here, she could listen to the faint noise of the radio downstairs, her mother puttering about, a spoon clanging against a mug. The sounds made her feel protected, a promise that nothing would happen to her so long as she stayed here and that was much better than a soundless, empty apartment made for one.

And what exactly was she afraid of?

There was nothing in her memory beyond Duane Barry dragging her up that mountain.

Maybe that is what she’s afraid of. Perhaps those memories are worse than not remembering. Not remembering has it perks, right? Well, that would be if it wasn’t for the ache in her abdomen, for how tired she feels every day, for the feeling that something is missing yet she can’t place what, like knowing you had forgotten to do something but not knowing what that was exactly.

The question remained: Why her? Why did Duane Barry come after her? All she did was ask questions about the implant, look for answers to help him if not anything else. So why take her?

She guesses that would Mulder’s new obsession. Find answers for Samantha. Find answers for Scully.  She wants to tell him to stop, that more people will get hurt if he continues but she doesn’t have the energy to fight and argue with him. Not anymore. Not again.

Her mother had told her how Mulder responded when he found out she had returned. How he vowed to whatever it took to find out what happened to her. It was appreciated but it was unnecessary. The whole this was unnecessary. For the past year she had seen nothing but cover-ups and lies, why would this be treated any differently?

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Mulder visits some time into her second week back. She’s sleeping but she sleeps pitifully, waking up through the night, startling at any questionable sounds. She’ll wake in the pitch black, her hand reaching out to grab her gun before she realises she doesn’t have it anymore. It’s in evidence like a lot of her stuff. She wants her gun back, a gun, it doesn’t have to be her own, just anything so she has something to defend herself with. Just in case.

The door opening wakes her. It’s still light out, she can still see around the room and she sees Mulder standing there, half in the doorway and half out. Scully sits up, her abs protesting still after all these weeks. What did they do to her?

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Mulder says, looking apologetic.

Scully shakes her head, tells him it’s okay.

“Why are you here?” she asks. Not that she doesn’t want him here. When she was taken, lying in that trunk, all she wanted was for Mulder to open the trunk and get her out of there. She would chide herself that she was relying on him, waiting for him to rescue her and free her from the big bad wolf. Eventually those thoughts subsided and it became her only saving grace, imaging him shooting Barry point blank and watching him bleed out on the car seat, on the gravel, on the grass.

“I just wanted to see how you were doing.” He moves into the room, closing the door. “Your mother said you were spending most of your time up here. I was worried.”

“I’m fine,” she responds quickly.

Mulder sighs. “Scully, I’ve been where you are right now. I know that feeling, how the bed is the only place you want to be but, believe me, once you get up, be with people, you’ll find it so much more recuperative.”

“Is that your final diagnosis, Dr Mulder?” Her voice is cold. If he came up here to lecture her about how she wants to recover, to deal with her trauma off of one conversation with her mother he is free to leave right now.

Mulder, rightly so, is taken aback by it. His mouth falling open slightly, his head shaking in bewilderment, eyes blinking in confusion.

“I’m…I’m only trying to help you, Scully,” he says. “As a friend.”

Scully looks away, pulling the comforter closer to her chest and feeling shitty about the way she snapped.

“I also came here to talk to you,” he says after a moment. “May I?” He motions to the end of the bed, asking to sit, the cold guest room devoid of any seating.

Scully pulls her knees towards her, wrapping herself up with her arms and resting her head against her knees, listening.

Mulder sits and Scully waits. Whatever he has to tell her, it’s difficult. She watches him searching for the words, possibly the right words, and sighs and swallows and Scully waits patiently.

“I, um…I think I’m gonna leave.”

Scully’s head lifts from her knees, surprised. “The Bureau?”

Mulder shakes his head. “No…The X-Files.”

He couldn’t be serious.

“Mulder, you can’t.” He turns to her, surprised by this. “What about your quest. Your search for the truth. About Samantha?”

“There’s too much risk,” he tells her. “Too many people being hurt. Deep Throat, you…” He reaches a hand out and places it against her covered knee. She can feel the heat of it even through the duvet. “All for some selfish quest. It isn’t fair.”

It was hard to comprehend what he was saying. For the year she had known him he’d been nothing but committed to this cause, to unearthing every secret, every lie, every ounce of the truth he could find. It seemed strange he would abandon it all.

“But I thought that was what we signed up for?” Scully asks. “That we know the risks doing what we do.”

But Mulder is shaking his head. “I’ve lost Samantha, I’ve lost Deep Throat. I almost lost you. I can’t…risk that again.”

She can see him beating himself up. Understands this has evolved from the guilt he feels towards her abduction.

She grasps his hand still resting against her knee, clasps it in both of her hands, anchoring her to him.

“I don’t blame you, Mulder,” she tells him, her eyes glued on his, willing him to believe. “And you shouldn’t either.”

He smiles sadly, pulls his hand away from hers. He’s considered what she’s said yet his mind is already made.

“I’ll come back,” she says, trying another tactic. “I’ll pass the psych exams, the physicals, and I’ll be back and we can work together again.”

Mulder is shaking his head. “It’s over, Scully.”

She refuses to believe that. Tired, the tears have began forming. She never thought she would cry over a department in the FBI but it’s more than that. It’s a one-of-a-kind partnership she knows she’ll never get to experience again, a friendship like no other.

But they will still be friends. They will still see each other about the building. Maybe spend an occasional lunch together but it won’t be the same. She’ll never have anyone she trusts as much as Mulder, loves as much as Mulder.

She swallows the lump in her throat.

“There’s one other thing,” he says, turning away.

Oh god, there’s more? She looks at him through her tear-clouded eyes.

“I’m leaving Washington.”

It’s a blow to her stomach. Hurting more than any unexplained aching abs could. It twists her inside and makes them drop through the ground.

“No.”

“Scully-“

“Stay. Go to another department if you have to. But don’t leave.”

He looks at her trying to get her to see his side of it but Scully won’t, she refuses to.

“Can’t you see I’m giving you a way out? A chance to get away from me?”

“I don’t want to get away from you!”

It’s one blow after another and she can’t take it. She throws her legs back down, thinks she kicks his thigh in the process but doesn’t care (Good, he deserves it) and turns onto her side facing away from him, pulls the covers right up to her chin.

“Fine, go then,” she tells him, her voice laced with hurt and anger. “I don’t care anymore.” She’s never told a bigger lie.

“Scully…”

“Shut the door on your way out. I’m tired.”

She shuts her eyes, listening. He doesn’t move for a few seconds before he seemingly faces defeat- faces the consequences his decision has caused. This is what he wanted, wasn’t it? For Scully to become completely non-respondent to him.

He sighs and moves, the bed shifting with the loss of weight. She listens to his footsteps treading across the carpet before they come to a stop.

“I’m doing this to protect you, Scully. So this doesn’t happen again.”

She pursuers her lips, shutting her eyes tighter against the tears, breathing heavily.

Only when she hears him turn does she speak.

“I don’t want your protection.”

His footsteps walking away are his only response.

Mulder doesn’t shoot Duane Barry. She takes the gun herself and hits him right in the centre of his forehead.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

“Are you sure this is what you want, Agent Mulder?”

Skinner holds Mulder’s transfer papers in his hands, looking through them.

It had come as a surprise when Mulder at hold him he was requesting a transfer. The X-Files had just been reopened, it seemed odd to ask for one now. Mulder had his reasons, the same reasons he’d given Scully and while it was broke him deeply to see her become so cold and despondent towards him he knew it was better that way. He hated the thought of her hating him but she’ll understand that it’s for the best soon enough.

“This isn’t another self-punishment, is it?” Skinner asks.

No. The resignation had been self-punishment, Mulder could admit that now. Resigning out of failure to protect those closest to him. Why should he carry on when the one person he held above everything else was lying in a hospital bed because of him? It wasn’t right.

But it was a punishment. This was something else. A chance to start over.

“It’s rare for agents in the Hoover Building to demote themselves to field offices,” says Skinner eyes flicking over the forms.

“But not unheard of,” Mulder counters. He’d done his research; a total of 3% has done what he’s doing but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that it was possible.

“And Agent Scully,” Mulder swallows, fearing the question. “Is she aware of this transfer?”

Mulder nods. “I’ve told her. It gives her a chance to be reassigned now there’s no one left to spy on.”

He didn’t view Scully as a spy anymore. In the beginning, he’d been weary, distrustful but she had proven herself loyal to him time after time that he really had no reason to treat her as an outsider anymore. She had been dedicated, treated him as an equal- not matter how wild his theories would get- when so many others had been quick to scoff and roll their eyes. It had been disorientating at first, thrown him off guard but he had come to value it soon enough.

Now he worried he had destroyed all that.

“I’ll speak to Agent Scully when she returns,” Skinner tells him. “In the meantime, you can go. I’ll call you when an office opens up.”

“Thank you, sir.”

And with that Mulder was dismissed. He makes his way out of Skinner’s office, to the elevator, and down to the basement.

It could be the last time I step in here, he thinks as the elevator doors open and he steps out. He regards his name on the door before opening it, wondering where it will end up once he’s gone.

He’d been down here a few times since the files being reopened. Wrappings still cover the furniture. At the time, he’d been too tired, too devastated with Scully’s disappearance and coma to take it off. He wonders if there’s any point to doing it now?

He looks around, taking it all in. His eyes linger on the area at the back. A swivel chair that Scully would occupy. They had stolen that from another office upstairs. A lone Saturday when the building was virtually empty. Scully had lamented that she wanted a swivel chair and that had been their mission for the day. Case Reports forgotten as they made their way upstairs. There had been a lot of giggles that day, Scully keeping lookout while Mulder tried to drag a chair across the carpet. He’d given up and carried it above his head. An AD from another floor had rounded one corner while they ducked behind another, stifling laughter before the AD was out of sight and they made a dash for the elevator, making it to the safety of their office. Mulder had bestowed his gift to Scully and that chair had remained since.

That had been a fun day. A day where professionality hadn’t existed and he felt like he had unlocked another piece of Scully- another piece of Dana- just like he had in a graveyard in Bellefleur.

Pulling his gaze away from the chair, he removes the wrappings covering the desk and pulls open a draw. A pen and sticky note in his hand he writes his message. He places it on the counter with the hope that she will come down and find it before he begins packing away three years of his life into one tiny cardboard box.

[sushiandstarlight]

“Cookies”: NaNoWriMo 30 Days of Prompts

Today’s Prompt

Read this story on AO3

Summary: I’ve started a sequel to Of All The Beds In All The Hotels In All The World!  A Christmas Holiday special.  I don’t think it’s absolutely necessary to have read my Too Many Beds fic first, but it will give you a better understanding of where the characters stand and who my original characters are.

Rated: G, for now.  I will warn if the rating changes.

This post will include the first 3 chapters because they’re short and I don’t think each one needs it’s own post (also I have had a long day and I’m zonked).

The call came from Gladys two weeks before Christmas. Crowley answered the phone, startled to see the number. She had given it to him before they left the little Bed and Breakfast- “in case you ever need to talk, dear”- and he had dutifully put it in his mobile while she watched. He thought he might call again in the spring to book a getaway. What he wasn't expecting was for her to call him.

“Gladys is everything alright?” He could hear the edge in his own voice, if anything was wrong he would be there in an instant to make it right. He wasn't exactly sure when Gladys and Edie had become his to protect, but apparently they were.

“Oh, Crowley, good!” She didn't sound like someone in deep distress. He felt his hackles settle a little. “How are my boys?”

“B-boys... Oh, we're fine.”

“Glad to hear it, glad to hear it,” there was a pause, “Look, I've got myself in to a bit of pickle over here and I wondered if you boys might be able to help me. Unless you've got your own holiday plans.”

“Not a big Christmas fan, me. Aziraphale's got the tree up and he keeps secreting away so I know there are gifts happening.”

“Tell me you got him something, too.”

Crowley was silent.

“Crowley.” Her voice was stern. He had never had a real parent. Not one that spoke with him like that, anyway. And yet, her tone managed to reach inside him and pull out the truth. It wasn't the first time she'd done that and, though he didn't know how it worked, he doubted it would be the last.

“I have, I'm just a bit nervous about it, is all.”

“Oh, I'm sure he'll love whatever you give him. It's from you, after all.”

“Yeah, let's hope.”

There was another pause. This was why Crowley preferred texting.

“So, I know I said we're fine and we are,” Gladys took the conversation back to it's origin, “but Edie's son has taken ill and she's busy tending to him...”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

“Yes, but you see, we signed up for the bake sale here in town over a month ago and I'm afraid I don't think I can do it all myself.”

“Your grandson?”

“He's never been interested in baking, Crowley.”

“The breakfast ladies?”

“They've all signed up, too. They have their own baked goods to make,” Gladys sighed and it sounded to Crowley to be a little put on, “I can tell them that I'll make what I can make, I suppose. Any amount that goes to the charity will help.”

There was a silence and Crowley swore he could hear her smirking. He let it drag on for another few seconds.

“What charity?” He put his face in his hand. He was being suckered by a little old lady in a bed and breakfast out in the country. He could feel it happening just as surely as anything. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“The orphanage a couple towns over. Their heater has been limping along for a couple years now, but I don't think it'll keep through this one. Those poor dears. But, we're going to raise the money to have the furnace replaced.”

“With a bake sale.”

“What better way is there?” How could someone's eyes twinkle through a mobile phone? That was impossible. He was losing it. He nearly suggested an online campaign. There were plenty of people who would open their wallets for cold children this time of year. But, he doubted Gladys even owned a computer.

“I can be there by tomorrow night.”

“Oh, do bring Aziraphale, too.”

“I think he has plans here in the city, Gladys.”

“I think he probably has plans to be wherever you are, Crowley. Ask him. Maybe he would like to get away with you to the country side.”

“Maybe.”

“I'll have a room made up for you, dear. For both of you. Best room we have. Our honeymoon suit.”

Crowley choked and coughed awkwardly.

“All that means is it's a bit bigger, dear, don't get your knickers in a twist.”

“Sure.” His voice did not squeak, it really didn't.

“And it's got a nice, big bath tub,” Her voice was doing that thing where he could hear the twinkle in her eye again, so weird, “big enough to share.”

“Alright then,” his voice had now definitely risen in pitch, “So, I'll talk to Aziraphale and you'll see one or both of us tomorrow night.”

“Oh, thank you, dear,” she sounded relieved at least, even for her meddling, “I really do appreciate the help. Time was, I might've tried to do it all on my own... But, wisdom tells you when you need a little help.”

“Sure, Gladys.”

“Bye-bye! Can't wait to see my boys.”

“See you soon.” Crowley swiped the phone to hang up and sat and stared at it. Time was, he might've tried to get out of this. Surely, there was an excuse somewhere. But, well, Gladys had wormed her way into his heart like a spindly vine, hadn't see? She was largely responsible for his current happiness. He owed her a lot. Maybe everything. What were a few days baking cookies, anyway? They could be back here by Christmas and his plans wouldn't have to change.

-

He dropped the subject over breakfast the next morning, suddenly.

“Gladys called me last night.”

“Gladys... oh, from the Inn?”

“How many Gladys' do you know?”

“I'm not sure, I've never done an inventory. I would have to consult my rolodex.”

“Roll- Of course, of course you have one. You're you.”

“No need to get snippy,” Aziraphale took a sip of his coffee that was more like cocoa than anything else and Crowley could see him hiding a smile, but he let it go, “I mean, how much more prying can the women do? I suppose she could ask if we're married yet.”

Crowley choked spectacularly on the black coffee he had been drinking, only narrowly keeping from spraying the table and the angel across from him.

“Alright there?”

“Fine,” Crowley wheezed and set his coffee down, thinking perhaps it was best to not try that again during this conversation, “No, she wasn't mettling. Well, no, I'm sure she was because that's who she is.” Now he wondered. But, what could she be up to? She couldn't know.

“What was the reason for her call then?”

“She needs our help- well, my help.”

“Which is it?”

“She asked me, but she told me to invite you.”

“Hmm.”

“Hmm?”

“Hmm!” Aziraphale winked at him. Crowley wondered if perhaps they had all got together to test him.

“You don't have to come. I can drive over this afternoon and help her with her cookies and then drive back when we're finished. Our plans don't have to change. You can stay here.”

“Do you want me to stay here?”

“What?”

“Do you want some time away? Maybe we've been spending too much time together,” Aziraphale was staring at him with an alarming amount of earnestness, “It's okay if you want to go away for a bit. I'll miss you, of course, but I won't take it personally.” He reached across the table and squeezed Crowley's hand.

“Don't be absurd.”

“I wasn't!”

“Angel, I-” and he cut himself off suddenly, looking down at the table and taking a deep breath before looking back up, “I want you to come. If you want to come, that is.”

“It's settled then,” Aziraphale took a tiny bite of the scone on his plate, “I can't wait to eat her scones, so much better- real butter, I think that's the key.”

“We'll be baking cookies, though, I'm not sure there'll be time for scones.”

“There will be scones,” he patted his lips free of crumbs.

“How... How can you know that?”

“Because she knows I'm coming round.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. This smelled like a conspiracy.

“She likes me Crowley, you know that.”

Crowley kept staring.

“Dear, she likes me because I make you happy. You're the favorite. Don't get all... bothered.”

Crowley nabbed the last bit of scone off his plate and popped it in his mouth just to watch his angel fluster and fume.

“Rude... Demon.”

“As charged!” Crowley smirked, rising and offering his elbow, “I'm packed. I'll take you to yours so you can pack, too.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale let him lead the way out of the café.

“You're welcome. I know I'm in for a sit and wait.”

“Rude, again!”

Crowley opened and shut the passenger door of the Bentley, chuckling. Maybe they were conspiring. Or maybe it was Pick On Crowley day. Either way, he would have his fun, too.

-

Crowley was right in the end. He sat for over an hour, staring at the Christmas tree- “oh, Crowley, it's OUR Christmas tree now!”- while he waited for Aziraphale to finish packing. He should have given him a luggage limit, he thought belatedly.

Two suitcases and a leather duffle bag appeared on the floor by his feet and Aziraphale descended the stairs.

“We aren't going to be there very long.”

“You're not sure how long we're going to be there.”

“I said we'd be back before Christmas.”

“Are you sure of that?” Aziraphale was standing in front of him now, hands on his hips. Crowley pressed his lips together. He didn't know if he wanted to bop him on the nose or kiss him.

“Bastard.”

“As charged,” Aziraphale sing-songed, picking up the duffle and heading for the door, “you coming?”

Crowley muttered and picked up the two suitcases, following him out.

“These are books.”

“Of course they are.”

“'Of course they are...' Aren't you going to help with the cookies? You bake now.”

“I bake cakes.”

“Cakes, cookies, what difference is it?” Crowley shut the luggage into the Bentley and ushered him to the passenger door, opening it for him.

“They are completely different things,” Aziraphale sat down primly. Crowley shut the door on him. He'd be squawking by the time he sat down inside, but in the moment it had been satisfying. The Universe was definitely testing him.

Aziraphale was quiet when he slid in beside him. Crowley turned the car on and edged out into the street before hitting the gas.

“I can help.”

“Neh, you don't have to.”

“I could be moral support.”

“Gladys and I can handle it, you can just relax and read.”

“Do you mean that? You can change your mind, you know.”

“Nah, you just have a couple days off your feet, eh?” He slid his hand over the angel's knee and gave it a squeeze.

“How did she manage to twist your arm into doing this, anyway?” Aziraphale's hand was over his, warm and soft. Crowley felt himself relaxing by degrees. This wouldn't be so bad, not with his angel along for the ride. Even if he didn't have the foggiest idea how to make cookies, either.

“Orphans.”

“Oh, oh dear.”

“Cold ones.”

“My goodness. She did lay it on thick.”

This was most certainly a trap. A cozy little trap. And he was driving right into it.

Can I get, he thought, a wahoo?

Chapter 4 Now Up!

[arcticdementor]

“Hey bro! Check out this Nike ad!” This was my entry point into a new world.

…

Since Carlos had lived mostly outside the United States, he was able to follow soccer on a level I’d never encountered in my hometown. Back then, before social media and the advent of scarf-wearing Northwestern fútbol hipsters, big-time European soccer was like the metric system: Known to almost all but ourselves. But Carlos knew, and immediately used LimeWire to curate me a massive archive of 1990s through early 2000s soccer highlights. What was I doing in the world without them?

Oddly enough, in trying to inculcate me in soccer fandom, he started not with game highlights, but with the advertisements. Yes, Carlos was an educator and a voluntary footsoldier for Big Apparel. Going in, I had no clue about high-quality, internationally popular Nike soccer ads. The ads, written by the legendary Wieden+Kennedy firm, were miniature movies, films that were often creatively daring but also quite funny. The most popular of these ads might be “Good vs. Evil,” from 1996, where Nike’s best soccer players team up to play Satan’s literal army. The blending of sacrilege, theology and comedy just worked, like a more ambitious version of Space Jam that somehow took itself less seriously than Space Jam.

…

Yes, I know ads aren’t supposed to be high art. I understand that they are the purest distillation of manipulative greed. And yet, they sometimes are culturally relevant generational touchstones. While Nike was weaving soccer into enduring pop culture abroad, it was having a similar kind of success with basketball and baseball stateside. These ads weren’t just pure ephemera. Michael Jordan’s commercials were so good that, as he nears age 60, his sneaker still outsells any modern athlete’s. “Chicks dig the long ball” is a phrase (a) that can get you sent to the modern HR department and b) whose origins are fondly remembered by most American men over the age of 35.

Modern Nike ads will never be so remembered. It’s not because we’re so inundated with information these days, though we are. And it’s not because today’s overexposed athletes lack the mystique of the 1990s superstars, though they do. It’s because the modern Nike ads are beyond fucking terrible.

…

They’re bad for many causes, but one in particular is an incongruity at the company’s heart. Nike, like so many major institutions, is suffering from what I’ll call Existence Dissonance. It’s happening in a particular way, for a particular reason and the result is that what Nike is happens to be at cross-purposes from what Nike aspires to be.

…

For all the talk of a racial reckoning within major industries, Nike’s main problem is this: It’s a company built on masculinity, most specifically Michael Jordan’s alpha dog brand of it. Now, due to its own ambitions, scandals, and intellectual trends, Nike finds masculinity problematic enough to loudly reject.

This rejection is part of the broader culture war, but it’s accelerating due to an arcane quirk in the apparel giant’s strange restructuring plan, announced in June. Under the leadership of new CEO John Donahoe, Nike is moving away from its classic discrete sports categories (Nike Basketball, Nike Soccer, etc.) in favor of a system where all products are shoveled into one of three divisions: men’s, women’s and kids’. Obviously Nike made clothing tailored to the specificities of all these groups before, but now, Nike is emphasizing gender over sport. Gone is the model of the product appealing to basketball fans because they are basketball fans. It’s now replaced by a model of, say, the product appealing to women because they are women.

And hey, women buy sneakers too. Actually, women buy the lion’s share of clothing in the United States. While women shoppers are market dominant in nearly every aspect of American apparel, the clothing multinational named after a Greek goddess happens to be a major exception. At Nike, according to its own records, men account for roughly twice as much revenue as women do.

You might see that stat and think, “Well, this means that Nike will prioritize men over women in its new, odd, gendered segmentation of the company.” That’s not necessarily how this all works, thanks to a phenomenon I’ll call Undecided Whale. The idea is that a company, as its aims grow more expansive, starts catering less to the locked-in core customer and more to a potential whale which demonstrates some interest. Sure, you can just keep doing what’s made you rich, but how can you even focus on your primary business with that whale out there, swimming so tantalizingly close? The whale, should you bring it in, has the potential to enrich you far more than your core customers ever did. And yeah yeah yeah, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, but those were birds. This is a damned whale! And so you start forgetting about your base.

You can see this dynamic in other places. For the NBA, China is its Undecided Whale. It could be argued that the NBA fixates more on China than on America, even if the vast majority of TV money comes from U.S. viewership. The league figures it has more or less hit its ceiling in its home country, so China becomes an obsession as this massive, theoretical growth engine.

…

Here’s the main issue for Nike in this endeavor: The company, as a raison d’être, promotes athletic excellence. While women are among Nike’s major sports stars, the core of high-level performance, in the overwhelming majority of sports, is male. Every sane person knows that, though nobody in professional class life seems rude enough to say so. Obviously, there’s the observable reality of who tends to set records and there’s also the pervasive understanding that testosterone, the main male sex hormone, happens to give unfair advantages to the athletes who inject it.

Speaking of which, there’s a famous This American Life episode from 2002 where the public radio journos actually test their own testosterone levels. The big joke of the episode is just how comically low their T levels are. Sure, you would stereotype bookish public radio men in this way, and yet the results are on the nose enough to shock.

As a nerdy media-weakling type, I can relate to the stunning realization that you’ve been largely living apart from T. Before working in the NBA setting, I was an intern in the cubicles of Salon.com’s San Francisco office, around the time it was shifting from respectable online magazine into inane outrage content mill. Going from that setting to the NBA locker room was some jarring whiplash, like leaving the faculty lounge for a pirate ship. To quote Charles Barkley on the latter culture, “The locker room is sexist, racist, and homophobic … and it’s fun and I miss it.”

…

The “Good vs. Evil” ad boasts a “Like” to “Dislike” ratio of 20-to-1 on YouTube. On June 17th of 2021, Nike put out an ad ahead of the Euro Cup that referenced “Good vs. Evil” as briefly as it could. In this case, a little child popped his collar and used Cantona’s catchphrase. As of this writing, the new ad has earned a thousand more punches of the Dislike than of the Like button.

When you see it, it’s no surprise that the latest Euro Cup ad is disliked. I mean, you have to look at this shit. I know we’re so numb to the ever-escalating emanations of radical chic from our largest corporations, but sometimes it’s worth pausing just to take stock and gawk.

…

But today we are in the land of new football, where we take dictatorial direction from less-than-athletic minors. After her announcement, we are treated to a montage of different people who offer tolerance bromides.

“There are no borders here!”

“Here, you can be whoever you want. Be with whoever you want.”

(Two men kiss following that line, because subtlety isn’t part of this new world order.)

Then, a woman who appears to be breastfeeding under a soccer shirt, threatens, in French, “And if you disagree …”

And this is when the little boy gives us Cantona’s “au revoir” line before kicking a ball out of a soccer stadium, presumably because that’s what happens to the ignorant soccer hooligan. He gets kicked out for raging against gay men kissing or French ladies breastfeeding or somesuch. Later, a referee wearing a hijab instructs us, “Leave the hate,” before narrator girl explains, “You might as well join us because no one can stop us.”

Is that last line supposed to be … inspiring? That’s what a movie villain says, like if Bane took the form of Stan Marsh’s sister. Speaking of which, was this ad actually written by the creators of South Park as an elaborate prank? It’s certainly more convincing as an aggressive parody of liberals than as a sales pitch. Why, in anything other than a comedic setup, is a woman breastfeeding in a big-budget Euro Cup ad?

It’s tempting to fall into the pro-vanguardism template the boomers have handed down to us and sheepishly say, “I must be getting old, because this seems weird to me,” but let’s get real. You dislike this ad because it sucks. You are having a natural, human response to shitty art. This a hollow sermon from a priest whose sins were in the papers. Nobody is impressed by what Nike’s doing here. Nobody thinks Nike, a multinational famous for its sweatshops, is ushering us into an enlightened utopia. Sure, most media types are afraid to criticize the ad publicly. You might inspire suspicion that what you’re secretly against is men kissing and women breastfeeding, but nobody actually likes the stupid ad. No college kid would show it to a new friend he’s trying to impress, and it’s hard to envision a massive cohort of Gen Z women giving a shit about this ad either.

Now juxtapose that ad not just against the classics of the 1990s but also the 2000s products that preceded the Great Awokening. Compare it to another Nike Euro Cup advertisement, Guy Ritchie’s “Take It to the Next Level.”

…

Here’s the problem, insofar as problems are pretended into existence by our media class: The ad is very, very male. Really, what we are watching here is a boyhood fantasy. Our protagonist gets called up to the big show, and next thing you know he’s cavorting with multiple ladies, and autographing titties to the chagrin of his date. He can be seen buying a luxury sports car and arriving at his childhood home in it as his father beams with pride. Training sessions show him either puking from exhaustion or playing grab-ass with his fellow soccer bros. This is jock life, distilled. Art works when it’s true and it’s true that this is a vivid depiction of a common fantasy realized.

Nike’s highly successful “Write the Future” ad (16,000 Likes, 257 Dislikes) works along similar themes.

…

The recent Olympic ads were especially heavy on cringe radical chic, and might have stood out less in this respect if the athletes themselves mirrored that tone on the big stage. Not so much in these Olympics. It seems as though Nike made the commercials in preparation for an explosion of telegenic activism, only to see American athletes mostly, quietly accept their medals, chomp down on the gold, and praise God or country. Perhaps you could consider Simone Biles bowing out of events due to mental health as a form of activism, but overall, the athletes basically behaved in the manner they would have back in 1996.

But Nike forged onwards anyway. This ad in celebration of the U.S. women’s basketball team made some waves, getting ripped in conservative media as the latest offense by woke capital.

…

“Today I have a presentation on dynasties,” a pink-haired teenage girl tells us. “But I refuse to talk about the ancient history and drama. That’s just the patriarchy. Instead, I’m going to talk about a dynasty that I actually look up to. An all-women dynasty. Women of color. Gay women. Women who fight for social justice. Women with a jump shot. A dynasty that makes your favorite men’s basketball, football, and baseball teams look like amateurs.”

When she says, “That’s just the patriarchy,” the camera pans to a bust of (I think) Julius Caesar. At another point, the girl says, “A dynasty that makes Alexander the Great look like Alexander the Okay.” Fuck you, Classical Antiquity. Fuck you, fans of teams. You’re all just the patriarchy. Or something.

Nike could easily sell the successful American women’s basketball team without denigrating other teams, genders and ancient Mediterranean empires that have nothing to do with this. Could but won’t. The company now conveys an almost visceral need for women to triumph over men because … well, nobody really explains why, even if it has something to do with Undecided Whaling. In Nike’s tentpole Olympics ad titled “Best Day Ever,” the narrator fantasizes about the future, declaring, “The WNBA will surpass the NBA in popularity!” ​

…

There are theories on the emergence of woke capital, with many having observed that, following Occupy Wall Street, media institutions ramped up on census category grievance. The thinking goes that, in response to the threat of a real economic revolution, the power players in our society pushed identity politics to undermine group solidarity. Well, that was a fiendishly brilliant plan, if anyone actually hatched it.

I’m not so convinced, though, as I’m more inclined to believe that a lot of history happens by happenstance. If we’re to specifically analyze the Nike Awokening, there is a recent top-down element of a mandate for Undecided Whaling, but that mandate was preceded by a socially conscious middle class campaign within the company.

This isn’t unique to Nike, either. Given my past life covering the team that tech moguls root for, I’ve run into such people. They aren’t, by and large, ideological. Very few are messianically devoted to seeing the world through the intersectionality lens. They are, however, terrified of their employees who feel this way. The mid-tier labor force, this cohort who actually internalized their university teachings, are full of fervor and willing to risk burned bridges in favor of causes they deem righteous. The big bosses just don’t want a headline-making walkout on their hands, so they placate and mollify, eventually bending the company’s voice into language of righteousness.

…

All the guilt and atonement transference make for bad art. And so the ads suck. There’s no Machiavellian conspiracy behind the production. It’s just a combination of desperately wanting female market share and desperately wanting to move on from the publicized sins of a masculine past. So, to message its ambitions, the exhausted corporation leans on the employees with the loudest answers.

There’s a lot of interplay between Nike and Wieden+Kennedy when the former asks the latter for a type of ad, but the through line from both sides is a lot of cooks in the kitchen. Based on conversations with people who’ve worked in both environments, there’s a dearth of personnel who are deeply connected to sports. In place of a grounding in a subculture, you’re getting ideas from folks who went to nice colleges and trendy ad schools, the type of people who throw words like “patriarchy” at the screen to celebrate a gold medal victory. The older leaders, uneasy in their station and thus obsessed with looking cutting edge, lean on the younger types because the youth are confident. Unfortunately, that confidence is rooted in an ability to regurgitate liturgy, rather than generative genius. They’ve a mandate to replace a marred past, which they leap at, but they’re incapable of inventing a better future.

…

Ironically, Nike mattered a lot more in the days when its position was less dominant. Back when it had to really fight for market share, it made bold, genre-altering art. The ads were synonymous with masculine victory, plus they were cheekily irreverent. And so the dudes loved them. Today, Nike is something else. It LARPs as a grandiose feminist nonprofit as it floats aimlessly on the vessel Michael Jordan built long ago. Like Jordan himself, Nike is rich forever off what it can replicate never. Unlike Jordan, it now wishes to be known for anything but its triumphs. Nike once told a story and that story resonated with its audience. Now it’s decided that its audience is the problem. It wouldn’t shock you to learn that Carlos hated the new Nike ads I texted to him. His exact words were, “I don’t want fucking activism from a sweatshop monopoly.” He’ll still buy the gear, though, just not the narrative. Nike remains, but the story about itself has run out. Au revoir. 

[prosperingwithgary]

You’re Doing Affiliate Marketing All Wrong

The Easiest Way to Make Money Online

What’s the easiest way to make money online, without having to create a product or a sales page? Affiliate marketing, of course. :)  Most affiliate marketers are doing it all wrong. So, why is it that most affiliate marketers never make nearly what they could make? Anyone has the potential to make HUGE money in affiliate marketing, yet 90% or more of affiliates make a pittance (I’ll wager the number is closer to 98%, in fact.)

Think about this: If you earn an average of $50 on each sale in a sales funnel you promote, and you make 6 sales, you’ve made $300. Sounds good, right? But guaranteed, there is someone else who made 600 sales and walked away with $30,000. Why did they make 600 sales when you made just 6? There are reasons why a handful of affiliate marketers do amazingly well, and everyone else barely makes a profit. And marketers who understand this will always have a tremendous advantage over marketers who don’t.

1: Build a Relationship

I know you’ve heard it before, but are you doing it? People buy people, not products. If you want them to open your email and click your link, or visit your Facebook Group and click a link, you’ve got to have a RELATIONSHIP with your people. This is so simple to do, yet few marketers take the time. Start with a blog post that is all about you, and then send new opt-ins to the post so they can get to know you. Make the post silly, funny and most of all REAL. Talk about the stupid stuff you’ve done, the mistakes you’ve made, where you live and so forth.

You have a strange. or interesting hobby

Do you have a strange hobby or unusual taste in food? Include that. Maybe you have 17 pets, talk about them.  Are you one of those people that like to work until 3 in the morning and sleep until noon? Mention that. Reveal the real you. Not the details people don’t want, but the ones that amuse and interest. You’re looking to make a real connection, not give a resume. Tell them how the dream stealer got you.  And above all else, don’t make your life seem like a series of magnificent accomplishments. No one is going to relate to someone who turns everything they touch into gold. But they are going to relate to the time you bought Bitcoin when it was worthless and sold it just before it took off, or the time you thought you could fly and jumped off your uncle’s barn into the manure pile. And don’t stop with your ‘about me’ page, either. Use this relationship building in your lead magnet, your emails, your other blog posts and so forth.

Be something about yourself

Always inject a little bit about yourself. Not so much that you bore people, of course, or make everything seem about you. But just enough to keep it real. Think about relating an event to a friend. Arerselfn’t you going to give your own perceptions of what happened, as well as tell about how you got out of your car and stepped in the mud puddle just before your big presentation? Use this same method of personal, one-on-one friend communication with your readers as well. Post on your blog as often as possible, and we’re talking every day or two. Encourage your list to subscribe to Feedburner or the equivalent so they know when you add a new post. Your readers will realize you’re a real person who isn’t out to pitch them a new product every 5 minutes. And they’ll gladly read your sales emails much more readily when they know there is a real live human being who is sending them these messages.

2: Use Your Own Voice

How many emails do you receive that say something along the lines of, “Buy this product - this product is the greatest product ever - you will be sorry if you miss this - so rush right over and buy it now.” Yeah. Same old stuff, over and over again. There is a marketer (or maybe several, but I’m thinking of one in particular) who sells MASSIVE quantities of this exact type of emails as a swipe file to new marketers. Like a brand-new marketer couldn’t write their own 25 word email that basically says, “GO BUY THIS NOW!” People are TIRED of getting these emails. You’re tired of getting these emails. I’m tired of getting these emails. Same phrases, same message, same B.S. If you’re not going to stand apart from the crowd, then you’re going to have to share the same crumbs they’re getting. Instead, take 30 minutes and write your own promotional email in your own voice.

No hype. Sincere and Honest

Forget hype. Be sincere. Be honest. “Hey, this product isn’t for everyone. I don’t even know if it’s for you. But if you have this problem, then maybe this is your solution. Check it out and decide if it’s right for you, because I know it’s worked like crazy for some people. And it’s on sale right now, too.” I’ve written emails where I basically tell people not to buy something unless they really really want it or need it. “Don’t buy this if you already know how to do xyz.” “Don’t buy this if you’re not going to be doing this type of marketing.” This is only for people who want (fill in the blank.) It’s like I’m trying to talk them out of it, which paradoxically often results in more sales, not fewer.

No trickery

But the point isn’t tricking them into buying; it’s to be honest. Because you know what? That latest, greatest product you’re promoting ISN’T what everyone on your list needs. Some of them, sure. The rest of them, no. Do you have any idea how refreshing it is to open an email that says, “Here’s a new product, thought you might want to know, but please don’t buy it if you’re not going to use it.” The first time I got an email like that, I bought the product without even reading the sales letter. True story. I was just so happy that someone wasn’t ramming a sale down my throat, that I jumped at the chance to buy it. Weird but true. My point is, be you. Be honest. Talk to your readers as though they are your best friends and you don’t want to lose your best friends by acting like a carnival barker who is here today and pulled up stakes (vanished) tomorrow with their money.

3: Email a LOT

This is the one where people like to argue with me, and I understand that. You’ve heard over and over again that you shouldn’t email too often, or you’ll upset your subscribers, right? After all, every time you email, there is the potential that a subscriber will hit the unsubscribe button. Have you considered what the potential is when you DON’T email? Nothing. No opens, no clicks, no sales… not even any relationship building. Do you want people to open and read your emails? Then send out those emails EVERY DAY. Here’s why: First, almost no one will see every email you send out. Let’s say you’ve got a sale on one of your products. Don’t you think your readers might like to know about it? But if they miss the one and only email you send that lets them know, then they’ve missed out on the discount and you LOST a sale.

Email at different times

Second, send emails at different times. I opened someone’s email just yesterday, decided I was VERY interested in the new membership he was selling, clicked the link and discovered it was no longer available. What happened? This particular marketer only sends out emails at 1:00 a.m. my time, so I don’t even see most of his emails in the avalanche of mail I get before I wake up. Third, if you’re sending email once a week or once a month, your readers are forgetting who the heck you are. And when you finally do send an email, they think it’s spam. Fourth, if you mail more often, you will make more money. Don’t take my word on this, just do it for one month. Send out one email per day, every day, for 30 days. Put a promotion in each one. See if you haven’t made more – a LOT more – money during that time period than during the previous month. And by the way, I’m not saying JUST send out a promotion in each email. Make sure you have some content in there as well, even if it’s just an amusing anecdote.

4: Think of affiliate marketing as a BUSINESS

This isn’t a hobby, nor is it an add-on for an additional income stream. Even if you go on vacation, be prepared to send out an email every day. Schedule them in advance or write them on vacation. Either way, affiliate marketing to your list is a business that you can’t just jump into when you need cash and forget about the rest of the time. You don’t have many support issues, since the product owners handle this. No need to worry about creating products, sales pages and so forth. You don’t have to drive traffic unless it’s to build your list bigger. With so much you don’t have to do, there’s no reason not to focus your time and energy into building relationships with your list and promoting to them every single day. Affiliate marketing can be some of the easiest money you’ve ever made, if you put in the time and effort to make it a real business. Read the full article

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #380

“so tear me open, but beware: there’s things inside without a care”

What do you want more than anything else? Good health, on both fronts. Have you ever tried coconut water? No, but I've heard it's gross. Who was your first love? My first "real" boyfriend, Jason. Have you ever been to a convention? (comic, YouTube, etc.) I've been to a reptile convention. Have you ever done a first aid course? No. What internet browser do you use? Well, I typically use Google Chrome, but because it hasn't been loading webpages for me, I've been using Microsoft Edge lately. Are you addicted to any energy drinks? No; I don't like energy drinks. How often do you see your mother? Every day, because I live with her. Do you like croutons in your salad? No. Are you the one who vacuums your house? Mom and I both do it. When was the last time your living room furniture was rearranged? It hasn't been rearranged in this house, but arranged when we moved in. What company do you get your internet through? Suddenlink. When you were little, did you like watching Cartoon Network, Disney, or Nickelodeon more? Disney tops 'em. I didn't watch very much Cartoon Network. If you have siblings, when was the last time you saw them? I see Nicole usually every Wednesday because she eats dinner with us. I haven't seen Ash in a little while. Misty and Katie both visited the house pretty recently, and I haven't seen Bobby for a few years. I really miss him and his son. How many cars does your household own? One. What’s your favourite meat? Chicken or pork. What’s the best amusement park you’ve ever visited? Disney World. How old were you when you got your first car? I've never had my own car. What colour is your shampoo? White. Are you listening to music right now? If so, what’s the theme of the lyrics? "Pet" by A Perfect Circle. Manipulation of a child would be my guess. What was the last thing you had to eat? I had cookies 'n cream yogurt. Are you picky about brand name for anything? Probably for some things, but nothing's coming to me right now. Do elevators freak you out? Yes. The idea of getting stuck freaks me out. Are you still in touch with your best friend from high school? No. Have you ever visited any celebrity gravesites? No. How do you feel about archaeology? I think it's very fascinating. How do you find new music to listen to when you want it? YouTube recommendations, usually. What is your favorite thing to do on The Sims? I only played the animals one, in which case I loved breeding them to see the babies, haha. Do you have any tattoos? Ye boiiiii If yes, is there any meaning behind them? All of them. If no, do you want any? What would you like? N/A Have you dyed your hair more than once (and different colors)? Oh yeah. Which hair color you’ve had has been your favorite? Red. Your favorite place to be aside from your home? Sara's house, haha. If you were stupid-rich, would you ever actually want a mansion? Nah, I don't need that much space. And I'm not really into hiring a maid or something to clean the place. Did you ever sit alone at lunch in school? Yes. I was usually too shy to "force" (as I saw it) my way into other's space, so I really only sat down with friends or acquaintances if I was asked. What is your least favorite beverage? Probably cranberry juice. Do you shave up past your knees (if you shave your legs)? If I shave, yes. Any old home remedies you use when you’re sick? Just sipping ginger ale. Do you like fruits or vegetables more? Fruit, definitely. Who was your last text message from? Sara. What was your first job? Sales associate at GameStop. Do you live near any volcanoes? Nope. Where does your best friend live? Illinois. How many people have you truly fallen IN love with? Two. Has anybody ever called you a tease? Yes, but only by my then-boyfriend, and he only meant it playfully. What about kinky? No. What’s your favorite bird? Probably barn owls. Have you ever been high? No. Who did you last confide in? My mom. How many keys are on your keychain? One. Where was your mom born? New York. Do you know how to tap dance? I took many years of clogging classes, which is very, very similar; the shoes are just a bit different to create a unique sound. Have you ever seen your siblings naked? My little sister and I used to bathe and take showers together as little kids, plus she is literally shameless and has walked into the living room looking for a towel after a shower on many occasions, haha. I actually don't think I've seen my older sister naked. When eating string cheese, do you dive right in or just peel it? I don't like string cheese. Do you have your own personal water jug? If so, where did you buy it? No. Well, Mom bought me one, but... we did NOT realize it was HUGE. We returned it, so now I don't have one. How do you get rid of your hiccups? Just wait it out and suffer. I've tried every trick in the book, and none work for me. Do you know how to take screen shots on your computer? Yes. When you sneeze, do you sneeze into your hand or the inside of your elbow? Into the crook of my elbow. What’s your ultimate favorite bagel? I really just enjoy a plain 'ole bagel with cream cheese. When you have chocolate, do you eat it room temperature? Or are you like me and stick the bar into the fridge first? I like it at room temperature. Are there any constellations you recognize just by looking at them? Well, I know either the Little or Big Dipper when I see 'em, but idk which is which. I just know one's upside-down. Which insect do you find the most beautiful? Butterflies. Moths can be gorgeous, too. What was the last thing you got very excited about? Someone is FINALLY adopting the dog this weekend. Mom and I have lost every ounce of patience with her. The family that wants her though came to visit, and they all adore her. Which Disney villain is your favorite? Probably Scar. I think he was pretty sly, plus he had a bangin' song, lol. Have you ever had a bedroom with a specific theme? Not really. Just filled with stuff I like. If you had to design a room with a theme, what theme would you choose? I would love to make a like, woodsy sort of room, if that makes any sense. Maybe like pine green walls with wooden accents and realistic decor. It'd be SUPER cool if I could build like one of those catwalk things along the walls that look like branches for my cat to maneuver along. Have you ever given money to a homeless person? No, I'm too distrustful. Have you ever designed your own Facebook timeline cover? Yeah. What is one site that closed down that you wish would come back? I used to really enjoy Dragons of Atlantis on Kabam! or whatever it was called. It transferred to a phone app that I have, but it's just not as fun. The dragons were super cool, and the artwork in general was just dope. If you have a partner, have you ever had to sleep in separate beds? If you don’t, how would you feel if a future partner wanted separate beds? I sometimes worry my future partner and I will have to have separate beds because of my nightmares/terrors that frequently cause me to lash out and basically attack the air. Sleeping separately would feel weird to me, but I'd far rather not hurt my partner. Hopefully, getting a CPAP mask really will help me. Though I don't imagine cuddling with one is comfortable. ;-; Or does having a partner even matter to you? I mean I want a partner someday, so I wouldn't say it "doesn't matter" to me, but it's not something I'm currently pitching a fit over not having one. How many languages can you count to a hundred in? Two. What is something you are skeptical about? The government lmao. What is something you find absolutely unethical? The meat industry, honestly. You look into it and it's just... disgusting, what they do to animals. I wish I could go without meat, I really do. What is something unethical you would not mind doing? Uhhhh? Is there a murder case you find absolutely fascinating? Okay so have you ever heard about or seen that video of a woman acting all strange inside an elevator at some hotel? Well, she disappeared after leaving that elevator, and some time later, residents complained about the water quality. They found her fucking body in one of the water tanks (I think that's what they're called?), and no one could explain how someone could have 1.) gotten up there and 2.) gotten the tank open to put her corpse inside. It's fuckin weird and creepy. What is an unusual item somebody you know owns? No idea. What’s the oldest TV-show you like? When was it made? Uhhh I don't know which is older, but I love I Love Lucy and The Munsters. Have you ever won a trophy for something? If so, what was it for? Yeah, sports and academic stuff. Have you ever been interviewed to a newspaper? If so, what was it about? No. Do you have a mug with your name/initials on it? No. Have you ever designed your own mug? No. Have you ever gone mud riding? No, that is not my definition of fun. I don't like being dirty. Have you met somebody that you want to spend the rest of your life with? Yes. Who was the last male you talked to? Does he have facial hair? My psychiatrist, and he does. Have you ever dressed up as a Disney character? Which one? Not to my recollection. Have you ever played chess? If so, are you good at it? No. If I wanted to buy you a chocolate bar, what kind should I NOT get? Don't get anything with coconut.

[smash-64]

Ok so I typed up a super long review of Starlink: Battle for Atlas, and I spared nothing in what you might call a scathing review. It’s below the cut, but if you’d like the TL;DR part, I’d summarize it as follows:

The Starfox stuff is fun, but the rest isn’t. 5/10

Starlink Battle for Atlas review

Being a huge fan of Starfox, I’ve had my eye on this game for a very long time. However, the whole “toys as games” thing was a huge turnoff, coupled with the fact that apparently even getting the physical version meant you needed to devote 15GB of storage space to the game, which makes no sense to me. 

Anyway, I watched the reception closely, and it was pretty lukewarm, at best. People generally had very little to say about the game, so I only ever occasionally looked into whether it was on sale or not. Luckily for me, I got my hands on a 400GB microSD card for my Switch at the same time that the digital version went on super sale at 70% off, so I decided the time was right to try it out.

The Good

The Starfox team is at their graphical best in this game, by far. They looked great in Starfox Zero, but they look exactly how I pictured they would in my most fantastical dreams from when I was little. They all move smoothly, have perfect fur and feathers, emotive expressions, and they just fit so well with all the other characters in Starlink. There is a wide variety of allies and NPCs in this game, and they all have just as wide a variety of races and species. One guy looks like he should be a grass type Pokemon. I really think the character design is fantastic in this game. The fact that the entire inclusion of Starfox was an afterthought, yet they all fit in so perfectly is really a huge victory for Starlink. 

In addition to how they look, the Starfox team also sounds great. They got the original voice actors back for Fox and Slippy (and I do mean the originals from Nintendo 64!), and the rest of the squad, plus Wolf, came back from the 2011 remaster of Starfox 64 for the 3DS. That game was a great remaster, and the voice work was phenomenal. The characters and their personalities all shine through just as you expect them. They banter slightly less than on the N64, but part of that might just be because sound bytes were at a premium on that system, so they had to pick and choose what lines to include more carefully. So, I don’t think you can really count that against Starlink, which is a game that can include just about as many lines of dialogue as it wants. Fox, for one, has a TON of dialogue and I loved every bit of it. I kind of wish I lived in the Seattle area so I could hear Mike West’s radio show (and hear Fox’s voice all the time), which is how Nintendo discovered him for the original voice of Fox McCloud way back in 1997. Another great piece of work here.

In what very well might have been the source of the “Star Fox Grand Prix” fake leak a few years ago, there is a planet called the Crimson Moon where you can take part in what is essentially pod racing with your Arwing. Now, I really did not enjoy the pod race scene of Star Wars Episode I, and aside from Mario Kart 64, I really don’t find racing games very rewarding. However, these racing levels are actually pretty fun. There are hidden shortcuts you can take, plenty of obstacles, and the computer racers are actually fairly difficult. I honestly found myself getting really into these races. The only downside is, there aren’t very many of them. They’re also kind of long, which is no problem for a veteran of N64’s Rainbow Road, but I was a bit surprised at the length of some of the courses.

The Meh

The music, which I have come to believe might be the element of games that really determines whether I just like a game, or love it, is fairly generic. It sounds like your average Marvel movie soundtrack, except without any real bangers. The Corneria remix is too short and not often played, and the Star Wolf theme is the same deal. That’s just about it for Starfox music, and the rest of it is just so generic that I can’t even comment any further. A real letdown for me, although it doesn’t particularly take away from the game or produce any grating tracks.

The difficulty was a mixed bag as well. I played about 70% of the game on Hard mode because I’m very experienced with Ace Combat and Starfox games, so I thought I’d be fine with the air/space combat. But, the difficulty slider didn’t really make the game more difficult, it just made it take a lot longer. I guess that could be seen as a good thing for people who get upset about dying really quickly on harder difficulties, but it felt like a way to cheat at padding the game’s playtime. I ended up lowering the difficulty just so I could finish faster.

The Starlink characters are a really big missed opportunity. They all have very distinct personalities, but I was shocked at how little content actually featured them. They each have a backstory cutscene that highlights them, but those scenes are so short that it’s more of a 30 second elevator pitch than anything else. None of the characters have more than a sentence or two to comment about said cutscenes, and none of them ever show any growth. Even the “main” character of Mason is basically the same by the end of the game. Although, I do think their designs are excellent and their personalities stand out from one another well enough.

The Bad

Spoilers ahead for the next three paragraphs! The story itself is pretty crappy. I’m still not really sure what was going on or why the Equinox (the main ship) was where it was. In more than one of the character-specific backstory cutscenes I already mentioned, they talk about Earth. So, ok, we understand that almost everyone on the Equinox is human, that’s fine. But...how exactly did they get here and why do they want to recapture the solar system of Atlas? As you play, you essentially claim territory in the name of Atlas, but it’s not clear at all who that exactly is. Does that mean the Equinox is in charge? Is there a government somewhere? Military affiliations or alliances? Because plenty of territory seems to be independent, in addition to enemy-controlled territory. Maybe there was a single line of dialogue I missed somewhere.

But, ok, we just want to fly spaceships and shoot stuff, who cares about politics! Well, there are still issues with the story because I honestly could scarcely care less about any of the plot in this game, which makes it tough to get into any of the battles or things at stake. The entire Starlink team was so unimportant that I literally never used ANY of them even one time, and the game never encouraged me too, either. Maybe I’ve been spoiled by the unparalleled writing and character development of the Kiseki series of JRPGs, or maybe I just really don’t like the storytelling methods and style of western RPGs, but I feel like the story should make you WANT to learn more about characters. Instead, I was just constantly asking questions like “Why does any of this matter?” 

Now, that would be a totally unimportant question if the game was all about space battles and explosions and pew pews, but it pretends to have this really deep, engrossing story with characters wracked over the (spoiler!) kidnapping and death of their leader and captain. We barely even get to know who this dude is before he’s kidnapped, and then the rest of the story is so bare-bones that most of what we’re “supposed” to be feeling has to be completely assumed under the guise of “Well, I guess he was the captain so we’re supposed to feel bad, right?” He did apparently act like a father figure for many of the Starlink pilots, but we are only briefly told that in those previously mentioned 30 second elevator pitches. We never actually see it.

Ok spoilers done, but I’m not. The enemies that you fight in this game are also horribly boring and repetitive. We get about 10 enemies in total throughout the entire game, and most of those only have very slight variations. They try to spice it up a bit by adding in “elements,” but about 70% of what I fought ended up always being the fire type anyway. Sure, we get five or so “boss” type enemies, but they’re not particularly special, either. Most of these enemies are copy-pasted all over the planets you visit to give the impression of a planet full of activity, but really it’s just the same things over and over. 

The real issue here is how the Big Bad, a bird guy named Grax, is supposed to be really feared but we only get like two cutscenes about him. His army is completely faceless. It’s really shocking that we got significantly more development from the Star Wolf team almost 25 years ago on the Nintendo 64, and all of that was delivered in five second one-liners spread through only a couple levels! 

All I’m going to say about the “toys as games” thing is that it’s stupid and clunky and should never be used, especially the way they make you mount the ship onto your controller. What an absolutely idiotic method. I can understand having a portal like they did with Skylanders. Still not a fan, but you can toss something onto it and it doesn’t weigh down your controller. If it was required to play, I would have never even tried this game.

Gameplay is supposed to be the real winning point here, with an honestly unbelievable amount of content available for each planet you visit. I think there were six or seven planets you could visit, so there was actually a ton to do. But I can’t imagine beating my head against the wall so many times on each planet to complete any of it. If you really enjoy grinding, monotonous, pointless gameplay, then by all means, try this game.

Conclusion

I mean, if you like Starfox, I think you’ll have at least some fun with it. The Starfox levels are fun, and it feels like legitimate Starfox content. It also shows that Starfox could branch out into something different, but I’m not sure I’d be a big fan of it going such a repetitive route with regards to gameplay. If a game like this were fully devoted to a Starfox story, and not just including Starfox as an afterthought, then I do think it could be a good game. But as it stands, Starlink: Battle for Atlas is an example of something that looks and sounds great, but revels in gameplay mediocrity and fails at story-telling. 5/10. If there was no Starfox content, it’s honestly a 3/10.

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: West Coast Avengers #2: “BLANKING OUT!”

October, 1984

"Up Against the BLANK!”

Beware his crosshatching!

So the formation of the West Coast Avengers continues! I guess! It looks like Tigra, Wonder Man, and Iron Man stuck around at least long enough to be on this cover.

We’ll see if the prospect of being on a team led by Hawkeye manages to win them over.

So last time on West Coast Avengers: Hawkeye was sent by the Vision to create an All-New All-Different Avengers team on the West Coast. A kind of West Coast Avengers. Like the Avengers but in LA.

Vision sent out invites to Wonder Man, Tigra, and Rhodey Iron Man but didn’t tell them what they were being invited for. Leading to not only some hesitance to commit once they learned what was what but also Tigra’s friend the Shroud following her to the LA Avengers Compound because the vague invite worried Tigra’s other friend Jessica Drew. Phew.

The Shroud puts up such a great fight when the hypothetical West Coast Avengers attack him (assuming that some dude breaking in is up to something) that Hawkeye offers him the open spot on the team but Shroud turns it down.

By this point in the East Coast Avengers’ history, depending on where you count it starting, they either got punked by Loki or by a Space Phantom. So, the West Coast Avengers aren’t actually doing so bad, even though they’re not technically officially a team yet.

Its all a matter of perspective.

Huh. We’re like ten years too early for Iron Man to be trying to kill everyone.

To kinda spoil the game early, this is a training exercise.

Hawkeye is attempting to prove a point that Captain America told him “with the proper teamwork, even the strongest opponent can be beaten!”

It gets back to the Avengers’ whole Earth’s mightiest heroes banding together to fight the foes no single hero can overcome thing. It’s a sales pitch for why these reluctant West Coasts should Avenger.

And even given that Iron Man far outmuscles Hawkeye, Mockingbird, and Tigra, teamwork and skill does prove capable of bringing him down. Kinda.

Hawkeye uses some smokescreen arrows to try to cloud Iron Man’s vision but he has infrared lenses. He tries to tackle Tigra but she outmaneuvers him and jumps on his back. Distracting him so Mockingbird can bonk him in the head with her staves and Hawkeye can gum up Iron Man’s boot jets.

Its good teamwork but while Hawkeye is explaining that it’s good teamwork, Iron Man repulsors the ground and knocks the other three on their asses to demonstrate another important lesson.

Iron Man: “Never count your enemy out, until you’re sure he’s really out!”

Although. This WAS a training exercise.

While you raise a good point, Rhodey, surely you didn’t want them to break your armor or knock you out for a training exercise?

Anyway, after the exercise is over, Hawkeye tells Iron Man (James Rhodes) that it reminds him of when they used to go at it (back when Hawkeye was an accidental villain) and Rhodey Iron Man just awkwardly says that he’s glad they’re buds now. Because THIS IS EXACTLY WHY HE QUIT THE AVENGERS IN THE FIRST PLACE!

Having to awkwardly tip toe around not being the original guy!

But on the other hand, he liked working with the Avengers in Secret Wars, which made him reconsider the team thing. While he doesn’t want to lean on someone else’s reputation, he also doesn’t want to be treated like an amateur. So awkward it is.

Hawkeye tells Iron Man maybe don’t knock him on his ass so hard next time.

I do love Clint and Bobbi’s relationship. They’re delightful.

While Rhodey is rethinking his reluctance to Avenge, Tigra isn’t. This training exercise about how weaker heroes can team up to bring down a stronger opponent is not landing.

Tigra: I’ll bet Iron Man could have blown us away whenever he felt like it... He was probably just toying with us during the whole workout! I’m not anywhere near being in his league... Why did I let Hawkeye talk me into joining his new Avengers team?

There’s always one person on the Avengers whose whole thing is insecurity and the West Coast Avengers is practically full of them. Hawkeye, Wonder Man, Tigra have all served that role in the past. Mockingbird is worrying that she doesn’t belong.

I’d rather Tigra stuck with the insecurity rather than what she gets when West Coast Avengers gets an ongoing...

Anyway, over at Simon Williams, Wonder Stuntman’s house, he’s packing up his house to move to Avengers compound.

Since the house was prefab and pretty shoddily built, the whole wall swings up like a garage door so Simon can just pull all his possessions out and put them in a big crate.

Simon’s good stuntman pal Freddy asks if Simon is really going to go back to the superhero life.

Wonder Man: “Freddy, for good or bad, Wonder Man is what I am! It’s taken me awhile to become comfortable with that. But I finally have. And you know, I think being a stuntman these last few months helped! Doing stunt work day after day has really given me a sense of my own worth. You and the rest of the stunt crews helped me find a new life... I owe you a lot! But I also owe the Avengers! When Hawkeye offered me an active role in the Avengers new west coast expansion team, I surprised myself by signing on. I guess what I’m saying is that the Avengers is part of my life, too. And I found myself missing it more than I’d expected!”

Good for you, you waffling man. But you’d better be careful you don’t end up in a Hank Pym spiral where you bounce between your superhero and civilian lives and don’t find satisfaction in half assing either. Find yourself a good work life balance.

Anyway, Simon doesn’t plan to quit the stunt work. He’s going to try to juggle it and the Avengers.

Now that I’m not sure he’ll manage. Movies and super-heroics both have demanding schedules without set hours.

Simon and Freddy take a break to go buy more nails at the hardware store for Simon to hammer in with his bare hands. But on their way, they hear an alarm at the bank.

Crosshatch man from the cover is robbing the bank, just casually strolling out with a bag of money while bullets bounce off of him.

The Blank: “I have a gun too! And it doesn’t shoot blanks! Hah-haha-ha!!”

I’ve long held that the unspoken rule in comics book is that one of the first things someone shouts about you becomes your name.

Just ask poor Ben Grimm, the Thing.

So when a random person shouts that the bank robber is blank, the robber is like ‘huh, that’s catchy!’

Anyway, the robber confidently strolls out of the bank and right into Simon Wonder Man Williams.

The Blank shoots his gun at Simon and to his dismay finds out that he’s not the only one who bullets bounce off of.

Then Simon punches the guy twenty feet back INTO the bank.

The Blank woozily proclaims that Wonder Man can’t stop the Blank so Wonder Man just kinda picks him up and tucks him under arm. Although the Blank does manage to pistol whip the sunglasses right off of Simon’s face.

Doesn’t hurt him but it does freak everyone in the bank out.

Dunno if you remember but due to being reborn as an energy being, Simon’s eyes are red and full of kirby krackle. He can turn it off if he concentrates but he prefers to wear the glasses.

And while Simon is telling the people in the bank that there’s no need to panic on his account, the Blank slips right out of his grip and jumps through the window.

When Simon comes out to the street, he finds that the Blank has somehow managed to disappear into the crowd, despite being a screentone man.

Probably because the Blank just turned the effect off and pretended to be a Perfectly Normal Man on the Street.

Sneaky.

The guy returns to his apartment and yuks it up at the news report about him making a clean getaway, police baffled.

The Blank: “After a lifetime of bad breaks, Lady Luck has finally smiled on me! Hah-ha! And to think I owe it to lousy bus service...”

So this origin is a lot. And its amazing.

In the Blank’s flashback, he’s waiting at the bus stop for a late bus when an ex-employee of Stark International who quit when Stane took over the company shows up and starts complaining about the bus service. And then smoothly shifts to complaining about his old job.

Very annoyed scientist: “If it’s not one thing it’s another! But it’s no wonder the world’s in the shape it’s in... Not with the quality of management today! They’re idiots... all idiots!”

He tells this random guy he doesn’t know that when he quit, he took his newest invention with him.

Very annoyed scientist: “I put too much work into my brainchild to let that leech Stane get it! I’m going into business for myself!”

And then, as he’s boasting that he’ll be rich enough to buy and sell Stane in a year, the very annoyed scientist walks into the street without looking and gets hit by a car.

The very annoyed scientist’s briefcase lands right at the pre-Blank’s feet who definitely doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. So he took it home and after a few months figured out how to operate the invention: a slippery force-field.

Back in the present, he charges the force field belt up and then heads off after a big score. Not noticing a man shaped cloud of energy coming out of the charger pleading for more energy.

Huh.

Weird.

Over at Avengers Compound, the West Coast Avengers are assembled. Hawkeye has gotten the go-ahead of the LAPD to take this Blank case but Wonder Man insists that the Avengers can find him but he’s going to make the collar.

Yup, Simon has gotten a bug in his collar about letting the guy get away.

Wonder Man: “I had him in my hands, and he slipped right through them! What good am I to the Avengers if I can’t handle one gimmicky bank robber by myself?”

Hawkeye: “No good at all, if you worry more about personal performance than you do about how you work as part of this team! What do you want to do, search all of Greater L.A. on your own? That’s crazy!”

Geez, Wonder Man. That’s how gimmick criminals are supposed to work. Its not a gimmick if you beat it in the first encounter. The gimmick trips you up at the beginning of the story so you look like a smarty for figuring it out for the resolution.

The other Avengers chime in a plan divide the city into sections and each search that section. And whoever finds him will call the others.

Wonder Man admits that the plan makes a lot of sense and storms off in a fit of ‘WHAT A REASONABLE SUGGESTION, GOODNIGHT.’

Mockingbird: “Well, hotshot, you just weathered your first leadership crisis. Why the thoughtful look?”

Hawkeye: “I was just remembering how I used to be the one who always blew his stack. Honey, all of a sudden I feel old... real old!”

Hah!

You’ve wanted this for years Hawkeye. AND you’ve built up a lot of lets say debt with the universe by being a jerk about it at times.

Although, Wonder Man isn’t really a great Hawkeye. He’s pretty mellow most of the time. Of the people I expected to get a random obsession with a not very dangerous criminal, it wasn’t Wonder Man.

He has always had a streak of insecurity (which is the secret ingredient when making a Hawkeye) and not being able to stop this guy right when he was feeling good and ready to superhero again. A real situational case.

But Tigra is the one feeling the insecurity the hardest so I’m afraid you’ll need another character beat, Simon. Hothead is available.

So the West Coast Avengers split up and patrol different parts of the urban sprawl. Tigra lurks the rooftops of Chinatown, Iron Man scans the area around the Santa Monica Mountains, Hawkeye flies above the high-rises of Marina Del Rey on his skycycle, Mockingbird cruises L.A.’s freeways in her custom pink convertible, Wonder Man hangs out on the L.A. City Hall in the downtown searching by binoculars, and I learn what the different bits of L.A. are.

Productive night for everyone.

But over in Inglewood, the Blank prepares for his Big Job.

He’s going to heist a Wells Fargo armored car.

Wait, would an armored car be a bigger heist than robbing an actual bank??

And if you somehow got the idea that the Blank is a criminal mastermind, he’s not. The armored car guards spot him coming and just decide to take off when a screentoned man starts running at them.

The Blank shoots one of the guards so he doesn’t manage to lock the rear of the money car but the other guard is locked up tight in the front and refuses to stop even when the Blank is threatening to kill his partner.

Wow. Guess other people’s money is more important to the guy than his co-worker’s life.

Since the guy tells the Blank that he’s driving the armored car right to the nearest police station, the Blank just grabs as much money as he can carry. Then he jumps out the back and slides to a stop on his belly like a penguin.

What a useful force field.

But the Blank’s bad night gets worse because then Mockingbird, Hawkeye, and Iron Man all show up, alerted by the police report.

The Blank at least has a realistic view of his capabilities. In that he’s not the guy that thinks a simple gimmick will let him start taking over the world. He just wants to rob a few banks and armored cars. And he does not want to fight the Avengers!

Especially not Iron Man!

Iron Man’s armor has all kinds of stuff in it and he might figure out a way through the force field!

So the guy decides to tackle some gas pumps.

Which naturally causes an enormous fire.

Not a bad plan, really. The explosion will launch the Blank from the scene with the force field keeping him safe and the heroes will stop to save lives as heroes tend to do.

While Hawkeye and Mockingbird help the gas station employees away from the fire, Iron man picks up a dump truck full of sand and puts out the fire.

Wonder Man and Tigra arrive as he’s doing that and Hawkeye has to tell Simon that the Blank got away or exploded.

Simon actually takes it pretty chill, just betting that no way a tough customer like the Blank died in the explosion.

And he’s right. Although the guy isn’t really a tough customer.

Actually, he’s planning on skipping town.

Avengers heat is too much heat for him. Plus, yeah, the force field protected him from the explosion but he was blown three blocks away and the impact of landing knocked him silly for five minutes and he was terrified he’d be caught anyway. Plus, he lost all that sweet Wells Fargo money.

So he’s going to take the bank robbery money from the morning and move somewhere with fewer superheroes.

He’s just gonna charge the force field for the road and- whoa dang a whole ass man popped out of thin air.

And its Graviton??

What were you doing in thin air, Graviton?

The Blank assumes this guy - wearing a costume and a cape - why he’s gotta be a superhero! And he immediately surrenders! He’ll return the money, turn over the force field device, go to jail, just don’t make him deal with those Avengers again!

Graviton is like hey buddy, I’m not with the Avengers and if you’re skipping town because of them, don’t bother. “Help me, and you’ll never have to worry about Avengers again!”

Ruh roh.

Now Graviton is, historically, kind of a dingus considering he’s a mad scientist, but he is powerful enough that he soloed a pretty powerful Avengers roster which had Iron Man, Thor, Wonder Man, and Vision.

The West Coast Avengers has Iron Man and Wonder Man but also has the more street level Hawkeye, Mockingbird, and Tigra. They don’t have the do-anything bullshit of Scarlet Witch or Vision’s robot brain or Cap’s strategy. Or whatever esoteric power the wild card Avenger of the era has like Captain Marvel’s command of the electromagnetic spectrum, Starfox’s PLEASURE POWERS or Moondragon’s psychic powers.

If Graviton decides to set up in L.A., then the newly formed West Coast Avengers could be in big trouble.

Maybe even two issues worth of trouble!

... What? This is a miniseries! There’s only so much he’s going to be able to do in the time left!

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