#feel good. i built him well so far :) even if he is only 80% done

[gachaparadise]

eheh ^w^ finally got my first beetle clear in the SimU :)!!! only level one but i'm sooo happy. with how bad it beat my ass when it released being able to take my really poorly considered team and beat it felt sooooo good.

Also!!! i did a couple of celebratory 10 rolls and i got Lynx! two of her even! (i also got 2 hooks but let's not talk about those)

[blazingstar29]

Top Gun Workouts - Slider

Everyone’s favourite [living] RIO

Disclaimer: I’m not a PT. In this series i break down characters muscle composition and how i think they’d exercise, if this may trigger you feel free to enjoy my other general shit posting!

Find the rest of the series under #top gun workouts :) So far there’s Mav and Ice

Slider is is also very interesting in his muscular make up. He’s tall, about 6’2 (?) and this DOES matter but not how you think and it’s something I’ll get into in more detail with Goose. Also keep in mind a lot of shirtless photos of Slider are during the volleyball scene so the actors will be in peak physique and probably have done some exercise before shooting to give themselves a ‘pump’.

I know forearms are a big deal for some of y’all and you’re right to be obsessed with them. Hold out out your arm in front of you as if you’re reaching for something. Does your for arm flex like Slider’s? Some might, some won’t. But for the hollow above the inside of your elbow to appear at the same time as the muscle at the top of your forearm (the sort facing the ceiling) that’s actually very impressive. It’s a combination of low body fat and muscle.

Sir, put them pits away. It’s pretty blurry but the concave of the arm pit, huge lateral bulge, front deltoid and shoulder are flexed here but even so, that doesn’t appear by itself.

Slider’s got a low body fat. Flexed on the left and relaxed on the right you can see his muscling pretty clear. Like with Maverick, we see those obliques. Unlike Mav, Slider’s got a slightly narrower waist. And those boulder shoulders are ginormous, well done Rick. His traps aren’t super big which makes sense when we look at his legs in a minute.

Everyone say thank you Rick for the effort he put in flying into sand and those arms. Full, well defined shoulders, good biceps and impeccable triceps. Yes flexed, no less impressive. Rick knows what hes doing in the gym. In the bottom photo you see those lats and scapular being flexed which shows us the muscle composition nicely. But like everyone, there’s thing that he didn’t focus on as much.

Slider please work on your legs. I’m kidding but it’s interesting to see that he’s got lean legs but next to know muscling. I have a theory for this but it’s more applicable to Goose so I’ll go into detail there with him. Something I’m noticing about the cast is that they don’t have huge chests. Like, these dudes are pretty built but they’re chests aren’t. Especially if you take a look at these guys either side of Goose.

Probably the typical 80’s lads. Beefier and more built chests. Perhaps there was a focus for the cast to have big stereotypical dude arms? I feel mean calling picking a part their lack of muscling in some areas but there is very few pectoral muscles on stand out in the cast. Hollywood and Ice perhaps being the only ones. Maybe a creative choice for the cast to focus on the ‘hotter’ parts of their body but also may have been a fitness trend in then80’s?

I hate to say it but the tag “Ron Slider Kener’s tits” isn’t…I’m sorry guys but these are not certified jugs im SORRY (I’m kidding, use that tag it’s hilarious and i love it)

Now onto what sort of exercise Slider would do? I have some ideas and a lot of them are built around this.

Slider you are a show OFF. This is a body building pose if I’m not mistake. He’s doing the vacuum stomach to flex his abs and angling his arms to show them off. Body building is time consuming and requires a certain diet so I don’t think Slider would be purposefully training whilst, I think he may have dabbled in it during College where he had a bit more freedom. Regardless he puts a lot into his physique.

Further more:

That’s an ankle wrap, now this might just be ankle support for beach volleyball but let me tell you something. If you’ve sprained your ankle badly, and I mean badly, that shit fucks you up for life if you don’t rehab it right. Now again, this may just be for support because both Ice and Slider have the same wrap on the same foot, but taking into account Slider’s lack of muscle on his legs, there’s a potential injury there. Which if you ever need to shunt Slider away out of a story, it’s a good option lmao (guilty as charged.)

If he’s not deadlifting then that may contribute to not having huge trapezoids. For how built his shoulders are I expected them to be bigger. I understood with Ice because his overall physique is just different but Slider confuses me.

Okay, now the actual exercises:

Back, bi’s and tri’s BABY. Over and over and over. They are his pride and joy.

Wide grip bicep barbell curls, hammer curls, arnold press, lateral raises. Tricep dips, tricep cable extensions. Anything and everything.

Rowing, either on the water or on a rowing machine. It takes the weight off his ankle. Potentially cycling too but he’d likely have bigger calves.

[thedawningofthehour]

I don't know how you do the hurt/comfort so well in the book even though it is really messed up.

One example is the chapter 5 in the botanist portion. Specifically the eating the orange section and the “you know what my fathers work is.” hopefully I quote that correctly.

But when I am writing I can hurt but comfort is difficult. Like I feel like I do good with hurt no comfort fics. But I don't usually like those fics.

Ironically, that scene was supposed to have minimal angst lol, they were there so I could show Gale infodumping about plants and let Raph have a swim. Which is why I have Gale cut away when the conversation gets too heavy-that's not the purpose of the passage.

I think something a lot of people get hung up on is trying to do EVERYTHING. They want to acknowledge every injustice, represent every kind of person, explore the entirety of someone's character and trauma or whatever in one scene. (I could write a paper on the new trend of having eight-episode shows and allowing every plot point and character exactly two seconds of exposition because that's all the screentime they can get when the studio wants an epic told in the length of a novella and how this is affecting people's expectations for how storytelling should be done, but my oven timer just went off and I'm gonna eat soon) The thing you have to remember, nothing can be everything. You have to specialize at least a little bit or your ocean of storytelling becomes a wide puddle of meh.

One thing I ask myself is what is the goal here? What are the themes that I want to get across in this scene? Do they work with each other or is it jarring for the reader? What do you want the reader to take away from this? The scene in the first chapter where Draxum and Gale are doing Raph's intake exam, part of it's just exposition and me dumping background information and psuedo-science on the audience. But it's also meant to show how Draxum interacts with Raphael now that he's an ally, and show Raph how Draxum and Gale typically interact with each other. The scene with Gale taking out the explosive charge in Raph's collar is meant to highlight how very much Donnie Gale still is, how he isn't entirely obedient to Draxum and does what he does because he genuinely believes in what he's doing-and likewise, he doesn't believe Raph should be here if he doesn't believe in their goals.

The greenery scene is meant to show Raph's pre-conceived notions of who Draxum is being challenged. He sees Draxum as wholly evil, whose only goal is to do bad, like the villain of a cheap 80s Saturday morning cartoon. So far he's rejected every suggestion that Draxum has genuinely positive intentions and goals besides destruction, that might have a point even if he's going about it the wrong way. Seeing that Draxum grows fruit, that a major area of study for him is agriculture cultivation-food has traditionally been a symbol of life, peace, support, so the fact that Draxum is a horticulturist challenges the image of heartless, evil Draxum that Raph has built up in his head.

But at the same time, in the same place where he grows oranges lovingly cultivated to provide nutrition for the people who will consume them, there's poison meant to kill. It shows the depth of Draxum's intentions and the full breadth of his actions, that he wants to help life thrive but will not hesitate to take life if necessary. And Raph is also coming to terms with what he was created for, what his purpose in life was supposed to be and how he's playing into it now. He wasn't just a weapon, he was a sword meant to be wielded along with a shield. He was made to kill, and Raph doesn't agree with that-but he doesn't wholly disagree with the logic that led Draxum there. And he's very unnerved by that.

Another thing, the actual storytelling is definitely important but don't forget-it's secondary. Your real priority is manipulating the reader into feeling things against their will. You can have a completely shit story and get by if it's told entertainingly or if it made people cry. The most interesting plotline will still be a slog to get through if it's boring. You're trying to write like Donnie, but you gotta be a Leo first and foremost.

[hawkinsschoolcounselor]

It's so annoying to see people in the tag comparing Byler to other queer ships that didn't happen like no Byler is unique and wasn't made by bad writers. Idk if you were in one of those fandoms but it would be amazing if you could explain to all those people why Byler was written differently because I am tired of the classic: "they are queerbaiting you,deal with it". I am like :" wow they queerbaited the Lgbt+ community and the heterosexuals too then because a huge majority of the GA audiences who see Byler aren't from the Lgbt+ community". They also made the "main" ship do unlikeable that it lost at least 40% of their supporters between season 3 and season 4.

Well, I can see where they're coming from, even if I don't agree.

I have never been involved in a fandom before, but I have been a fan of shows/movies where I thought "so and so would make a good couple" only for nothing to come of it. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, though. This is the first time I've ever thought it was going to happen, and I've felt that way since season 2. Each season since has left me disappointed, as I don't want it to be a final episode "twist" in order to avoid losing fans, but it's still only become more and more obvious to me that it's inevitable.

I think a lot of fans get caught up in headcanons, particularly between seasons. As a result, they end up forgetting what is actually canon, and they create elaborate predictions that just don't fit the reality.

Yes, queerbaiting is a thing. I'm not familiar with many of the fandoms that this is used with, but I'll give the fans the benefit of the doubt on it. If a show hints at a queer couple, that's not enough for it to be queerbaiting. But if they continually build it up, only for it to go nowhere, then it might be. If they actively use it as a means to market the show, then it definitely is.

Without knowing more about specific fandoms, it's hard for me to make any direct comparisons. I suppose, should, somehow, Byler not be endgame, then I'll probably understand a lot better. However, I will also be extremely confused and will have lost considerable respect for the Duffers as writers.

However, Byler is a unique animals, as far as I can tell. It's something that has had seeds planted to it from the very beginning of the show. It's not some response to fans that the producers felt they could then exploit for marketing/merchandising purposes. It may not have been obvious back in season 1, but the clues were there. There was no retconning done to make Byler fit. There was no sly stoking of the flames in the fandom to get fans excited about it. That all happened organically as more and more people caught on.

I don't think the Duffers are dumb. They built a slowburn same-sex romance between main characters over the course of an entire top-tier series. As much as it annoyed me that it's taken this long, it does make the most sense, both in-universe and as a matter of mass appeal. Both the fans and the characters themselves had to come to terms with teen boys falling in love in the 80s. That's not something to be rushed if it's to be taken seriously.

Will, the one we've been told was gay, has come to terms with his feelings, only to come to the conclusion that it's not meant to be.

Mike, the one we've seen to have more-than-friendly feelings for Will, is still not ready, yet.

Season 5 will be the catalyst for Mike to realize what his deep feelings for Will really mean, so he can show Will that love is something for him to experience.

[mercurygray]

A Ghost! Joan AU, because @shoshiwrites started it.

He was only doing this as a favor.

Every time he said that, people laughed - that’s a pretty big favor, renovating a whole house, but none of them understood what Lew had done for him, really done for him, since he’d gotten home, and if fixing up the ancestral mansion so that Lew could sell it was the way he could pay it all back, then that was just what he was going to do.

It was a beautiful house, with turn of the century wood paneling and built-ins for days, but Lew’s mother had made some renovations in the 80s that hadn’t aged well, and after no one had lived in the house for the last fifteen years there were problems that needed to be solved before it went on the market again, desirable features to be added back in so the real estate listing would sound good - new furnace, new roof, granite countertops, refinished hardwood floors.

“And the ghost, of course.”

Yes - the ghost. Dick had actually laughed when Lew had brought it up the first time, like this was actually a feature people would be interested in, but his friend was adamant. “She’s pretty benign, as far as spirits go -  Story goes that they were having a party celebrating the war being over and then she got the telegram that her fiance was dead. She was so overcome she wandered outside into traffic - got hit by a car. My sister claimed she could see her, sometimes, when my parents had people over, but I never did." Lew grinned. "Makes for a great story, though, doesn't it? It'll be a nice story for the buyers - people love that kind of stuff."

‘People’ might, but the idea held little appeal to Dick. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in ghosts - he was just as prepared as the next guy to admit there were some things that he simply couldn’t understand. But an actual ghost, haunting this house? Just a story, as far as he was concerned - and after three weeks of living here, he had no evidence of any spirit, benign or no. Drapes stayed unruffled, paint remained in its cans, no doors closed of their own accord. It was an old house, like any old house, filled with the remnants of several lives - loads of furniture to be junked or salvaged, old photo albums to be hauled out of corners, closets of clothes that needed to be consigned to the junk bin - or the local charity shop. 

It was the first time in a while that he’d had a place to think of as his own, and he was finding he quite enjoyed it - he was living out of what had once been the drawing room, on the first floor, pocket doors open to the sitting room beyond. These spaces had needed the least work, so it was the easiest to set up his bed here. It was a room in transition - a little of everything. He’d moved in a kitchen table to use as a desk, sheets still over some of the room’s armchairs. The truly ancient couches had gone to the curb, but he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of the record player, a huge sideboard thing in dark mahogany that somehow matched the paneling, if not the feel of the rest of the house. The records, too, had stayed - a time capsule of a different era, mostly light listening from the 40s and 50s. Not a bad way to spend an evening.

Dick flipped idly through the records in the cabinet and selected one at random - some big band conductor. The machine turned on straightaway when he moved the arm, carefully settling it along the record's edge so that the vinyl could crackle and pop for a moment before starting up.

He fiddled with the volume knob for a moment and sat back down with his coca cola and the parts catalog for the kitchen cabinets, legal pad and pencil at the ready. He already had the measurements and if he made the list, it would be easier to go shopping tomorrow with a complete picture in mind.

"You have good taste."

Dick didn't scare easily, but he nearly jumped out of his chair, eternally glad he didn't spill his soda pop in the process.

There was a woman on the other side of the room - vaguely misty, like he needed to clean his glasses to see her better. Her short, dark hair was elegantly arranged, and she was wearing pearls and a party dress - or what looked like a party dress, anyway. 

"Did I...leave the door open?"

She shook her head, still smiling a little. "I heard the music and thought I'd...make an appearance. Tuxedo Junction," she offered. "By Glenn Miller. Our favorite."

Dick realized what she was saying, really saying, and tried to get his galloping heart under control. "You're the ghost."

"My mother taught me it was impolite to address people when you don't know their names," she said, just a little pointedly, and he felt himself blush.

"Dick Winters," he said, hurriedly, though he wasn't sure why, holding out his hand and then realizing, belatedly, that she wasn't going to be able to take it. "I'm sorry, Lew never said -"

"Joan Warren," she said, smiling at the brief comedy of him offering his hand, looking down at it, and then shoving it into his pocket. (She had a nice smile. Could he say that?) "It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Winters. And I'm sure Lewis has forgotten my name - if he ever knew it at all." 

Lewis - like he was a younger brother or a cousin she had to put up with occasionally. Well, he'd grown up in this house, hadn't he? If she'd been here that long, maybe he was still a child to her. The prospect of being forgotten didn't seem to make her very happy, and Dick decided to change the subject. "So have you...been here long?" God, Dick, what kind of question is that?

Another enignmatic, patient smile. "Since the night I left. Isn't there always something about unfinished business? I think you know what mine was."

"I'm sorry," Dick offered, not knowing what else there was to say. The record had moved on to the next song, and he was forming an image in his mind of what this room must have looked like, the night of that party - men in tuxedos and women in party dresses, everyone drinking champagne and high on life.  Lew's...grandfather, probably, or his great-grandfather, presiding over the whole thing. The war was over, and soon everyone would be coming home. Everyone except her fellow, I guess.  "That must have been...indescribable."

"Truth be told, I don't remember much of it," she admitted. "Mrs. Nixon was wearing gardenias, and there was too much rum in the punch. Then I remember - the buttons on the Western Union man's jacket. After that..." she gave a slight shrug. "I was gone, and then I...came back."

"Do you...make appearances very often?"

She shook her head. "No, not often. But when emotions are high - a party, or a fight." A brief, dry chuckle. "I think you know this house has seen a lot of fights." God, did he ever. "Blanche and I had an understanding. I'd sit by her bed and sing to her." A thought occurred. “Is she doing all right? Blanche? I haven’t seen her in the longest time.”

Dick thought about Lew’s younger sister, last seen on Instagram in Bali on a yoga retreat for the rich and famous after having dumped yet another deadbeat boyfriend. Still trying to find herself - that was what he always thought of when Lew’s sister came to mind. Both of the Nixons were trying to find themselves - Lew at the bottom of a bottle for a while, and Blanche by - wandering. “She’s doing okay,” he said.

“I suppose I should let you go. You were - in the middle of things.”

He shrugged. As hauntings went, this one had been pretty pleasant - and if he was being really honest, he was glad for the company. "It was very nice to meet you, Miss Warren. I know you're around, but you're welcome...any time.”

She smiled at that, turning around and walking out of the room, slowly fading out as she went. Dick stared at the empty space near the doors into the hall, and suddenly realized something. If there wasn’t a fight or a party - why did she come? He looked at the record player, circling now in silence, and rose from his chair to turn it off, reading off the eventual real estate listing in his head. 

Recently refinished hardwood floors and exterior landscaping. Also comes with well-behaved ghost who enjoys Glenn Miller.

[abstractkind]

Your tags on your boomer post reblog struck me square in the chest: https://www.tumblr.com/abstractkind/723326609719984128?source=share

My Nan is 80, and never really unpacked that her father was an abusive alcoholic from whom her older brothers protected her; older brothers who joined the ww2 effort asap to get away from him and left her and her mother and sister in law behind

I had success in talking about divorce increase as "even if it did 'go too far' whatever that means, as the response of my father's generation to what was done to people like my Nan his mum." It's a selfish argument but one that eases by acknowledging trauma, and encouraging the understanding that they weren't the only ones who were going through it, and that the help might be too late but it is intended as help

I'm saddened others can relate, but it's affirming to know I'm not the only one who's seen it.

I'm just old enough to have boomer parents as well, largely in part because they had me rather late in their life, and my grandparents were much the same. We've found countless ration tickets from the Great Depression in handling estates, and only know part of our family back home because my grandfather reconnected with them while he was drafted in Europe. I never met my grandfather, and I'm rather glad I didn't. He sounds much like your Nan's dad.

Once I was deemed old enough to not be carefully sheltered from reality, I was always aghast at how casually my grandmother, aunts, and uncles all spoke about the alcoholism and abuse like it was the most commonplace thing. And it gave me context for a lot of the things I saw from each of them in their own relationships with their spouses and children, including my own parents– even if I didn't forgive them for some of the shit they did. And it was commonplace. Of course, I can only talk from the perspective of the people I grew up around, but "poor immigrant or residential school families devastated by the wars and a system built to try and keep them out" was the common denominator, and most people I knew had similar stories. Me and my cousins were regularly told to marry within our cultural group because our husbands "might beat us, but at least they'd put food on the table". And that was just... accepted. My grandmother left and returned to my grandfather twice, because there just wasn't support for a single mother with kids at the time, and she plainly couldn't get by in the world alone.

My aunts and uncles (blood and otherwise) all seem to reflect this. I hear a lot of the same from that age group: that they would never do what their parents did. But a lot of them seem to consider that the bottom line, the one standard of parenthood to maintain and all that really mattered. They didn't terrorize us the same way as their parents, so they were good parents, end of. They still refuse to look critically at any other behaviors because they seem to feel like comparatively, we have it easy. And in some ways we do! I'm grateful for what is available to me now, and that if I ever faced what my grandmother did, my neighbours wouldn't shrug and call it my husband's right. But it didn't excuse their own failings, or the ignorance they still seem to cling to now when my cousins' kids try to explain what they're going through. Or how my union-pensioned uncle keeps railing about entitled kids on strikes.

But man, it hangs heavy on some of them still. Generational trauma as a concept felt like a gut punch when I learned about it, because that was absolutely the face of the people who raised me. Understanding that has absolutely helped me with conversations with them.

[koraesrambles]

The Watchmen

The Great Reading Adventure Part 3!

It's time for the Watchmen, guys and hooooooooboy did I have a lot of expectations going into this one. Buckle up!

The Writing

I took notes the entire time I was reading this. It's only 12 issues long, so I decided to read it in its entirety.

I didn't like the first little bit. Don't get me wrong, I could see the crumbs in there, and I could see why people were drawn to it, but as far as gripping premise that pulls you in, it was a little lackluster to me. There were interesting moments in the beginning, but I didn't really become invested until Issue 9, which is 3/4 of the way through the story.

That said, once these guys gripped me, they GRIPPED ME. Issue 9 was beautiful, by far my favorite issue of the whole thing.

Part of the reasons things were confusing to me was because all of the "good guys" kept being compared to far right wing extremists and Nazis. Like, Rorschach is definitely supposed to become cooler and cooler throughout the books, and be kind of the moral backbone in a lot of ways. But like . . . I dunno. Hard to sympathize with someone who repeatedly got called a Nazi and blamed the dedregation of society on jews and communists. Like, I get it was the 80s, but the people in universe who defended him also defended the KKK. I just . . .I'm not down with that. I can't make myself think he's the good guy.

However, I had no idea that the famous quote "None of you understand. I'm not locked in here with you, you're locked in here with me." Came from the Watchmen. That moment . . . man. It gave me absolute chills. It was excellently built up to and brilliantly executed. I loved it. If I EVER have a moment in my writing career where I hit people as hard as that, I'll have more than achieved my dreams.

I also think that they pretty much nailed the ending. At least the atmosphere and feeling that I think they were going for. That horrible, sick feeling that the day is saved but actually everything is ruined and all it'll take is another day for everything to have been for nothing. It was a powerful ending, I liked it a lot.

That said, I did not like Adrian's solution. Maybe it's because I've lived through Covid, maybe because it's been 40 years since this was written and some tropes have been done more than others, but pretending an alien threat is coming in order to unite the world just . . . I dunno. It didn't hit for me. I didn't feel compelled by it. I get the reasons he did it, I understand what the writer was going for, I even can acknowledge that it does the job. But it felt incredibly lackluster to me, and not worthy of the really fun villain they had made to execute it.

The Art

The art is better than anything I am currently capable of, and I want to acknowledge that first, but also admit I didn't love it. It's ugly, which of course was by design. This is not a pretty story, it's not meant to give you warm and fuzzies. It also very much is in the style of many other comics I've seen from the 80s, which is just one I'm not as fond of. It did the job, but isn't something I'll be combing over looking for ways to emulate it.

The way the panels were laid out was also interesting to me. It was very repetative, just multiple square panels in a row. I imagine that this is also a result of being from the 80s, and as comics evolved so did the many different layouts, but it was kind of comforting to me as well. If it serves the story best to just have four panels in a row exactly the same size and shape to tell your story, by all means do it. I didn't even notice anymore once the story picked up for me.

As far as things I can learn from the art? Perspectives and the use sof perspectives were MASTERFULLY done here. Both with zooming in on specific details or zooming out. How it was used for emphasis. How it made you feel sick when something horrible was being said and something as mundane as the side of a coffee pot was being shown. It was truely masterful. It also helped make long conversations more interesting.

The Characters

This is probably where I have the most thoughts. The characters in this story are INTERESTING, full caps definitely needed. I mentioned in the writing section that it was kind of hard to root for the main characters when they were being compared to Nazis all the time. But over time they did grow to, at the very least, compel me, even if I still didn't "like" them.

My favorite character probably ended up being Laurie, who out of all of them seems to be the least crappy person. Not that she wasn't crappy, but she was at least trying, you know? I also liked her as Jon's tether to humanity. I feel like she was the audience surrogate in a lot of ways.

Jon was extremely fun, but it creeps me out that humans are like ants to him and he was having sex with them? I dunno, maybe it's the ace in me, but I don't understand when things like that happen. I love that he killed Rorschach at the end, I think that was absolutely the right call. I like how they showed us who he was and how he thought, all compelling and interesting.

Rorschach himself could be very cool one minute and a scum bag the next. He's an excellent character, but I'm glad he died. I think I'm supposed to be glad though. I also think he's the most clever of any of the characters. Not the smartest, but the most clever. He dies, but he's the only one who really wins in the end.

Dan was . . . he was fine. He felt like a knock-off batman and was by far the least interesting of all the characters to me personally. He was a good foil for Rorschach AND Laurie. He didn't compel me much though. That said, there was absolutely a lingering hand holding thing between him and Rorschach where i was like . . . "Are they implying something? what's happening here?"

This was after they revealed that two of the old superheroes were gay and a bunch of weird examples of homosexual couples and I just . . . I'm not imagining things here, am I? I thought things were going to go in a very different direction for a second.

Adrian as a character was utterly uninteresting until he was hypercompetant and defeated all of the "good guys" saving the world by essentially doing a really big trolley problem (greater good, and all that.) That said, nothing is sexier than a competant villain. I was on his side by the end, honestly.

The other background characters were all fairly well fleshed out and interesting. A lot of the women ended up being a little 2 dimensional, but every once in a while they'd surprise me. Almost everyone felt like a horrible person, or like they were just waiting to become a horrible person. They were all good characters even if they weren't good people.

Final Thoughts

I could write pages upon pages of analysis on this comic run. Which would probably be me just repeating what people much cooler and smarter than me have already said. I didn't get into the ways it's aged poorly or the homophobia littered throughout it. But, even with flaws, it was absolutely worth the read, if only to understand how it influenced the rest of the comic world. I understand other comics better now because I've read this one.

Concrete things I learned to apply to my own work:

Take advantage of differing perspectives, both to emphasize important background details and as a way to keep the audience engaged during long dialgoue.

If you need to put a few square panels in a row to get your point across, do it. Why fix what ain't broke?

Your characters don't necessarily have to be likeable to be compelling. You can make terrible people still worth reading about.

[stellocchia]

Got some sleep, so now I'm on the Manifold grind!

Stream starting with Jack spending his birthday alone, drinking in his empty hotel is... quite depressing man...

"I don't think I left this room in 80 days" damn, welcome to the world of depression man...

He's wearing the L'Manburg uniform as well. Haven't seen that since Tommy's death

He's gonna tour the smp

He also keeps having "momentary blindness" (the screen going black) and I'm pretty sure he decided it's canon

Jack and Shroud one interaction my beloved <3 ("We're the only one on the server, guess that means we gotta become friends" yes, yes you do)

"It's been quiet without him, you know, Tommy. It's been really quiet. I'll be honest I've actually- there's been very little to do with him gone" man... it really does makes you realize how much Jack was reliant on his semblance of a connection to Tommy (the whole "muse" thing Wilbur mentioned in his own stream seems to apply quite a bit for Jack)

Ooooh, he's talking about the heist that he, Quackity, Tommy, and Tubbo did! Man... remember the cartel? Good old days...

Jack just discovered the remanents of the beetroot cult

And now he's going to the museum. Glad that that museum is getting the attention it deserves

Mood immediately going down upon entering the final control room as it usually is. Though Jack wasn't actually there for that but, you know, he joined just one day after

"I miss that part, I miss L'Manburg. This was a lot easier when we all were friends. And, I mean Dream- I mean, there were enemies, sure, but, I don't know, we fought them together. Everyone feels so distant now" I wish c!Phil heard this when talking about his bs on how people are better off now that L'Manburg is gone...

"This [Manifoldland] was my cut of- cut of the woods. And it was untouched as well until I-" o7

And now he's going over where Tommy was exiled through the Nether, trying to find the point where he was killed

*staring into lava* "I don't think I wanna visit this place. I don't think I wanna look at this one. I think I wanna go back. This isn't really where I wanna be" Jack your trauma is showing

"Since when was Tubbo's house back? Didn't Tommy burn that down? I think? It's what Tubbo told me" One of the times for sure, but wasn't it destroyed the final time by Dream? Do I remember that wrong?

"Let's go to Fundy's place. I have not seen him in FOR-EVER. I don't even know what he did. I don't even remember what he did after L'Manburg" In all fairness, Fundy also probably doesn't remember...

Oh yeah, I forgot that Jack was the one who built Fundy's tower. And now it's blown up... man...

"I don't know if you could tell, but I've been pretty purposeless for the past 80 days"

"I just wish that someone would have logged on" See, that's why I say that it would honestly be beneficial for Jack more than anyone if he and Tommy mended their relationship. He just really desperately needs a friend...

"Everything I care about on this server gets blown up or destroyed or taken advantage of or... or they- it betrays me"

"I know Niki became an anarchist or whatever- at least she's happy. At least she's happy" My rocket duo crumbs for the month...

Also, Jack noticing that Quackity's business offer fell through, though, to be fair, Las Nevadas is also without customers and still unfinished

"I've never done anything for me. Anything at all" That's sort of a stretch of course. I mean, he wasn't trying to kill Tommy for someone else. He didn't take over the Hotel for someone else. But I get why it feels that way to him...

And his new objective is to create a place for himself, that caters solely to himself and where he's the only inhabitant, which will not end well for him because clearly isolation has not worked this far either

"No one came looking for me"

Final thoughts under the cut

I genuinely enjoyed the stream. It feels like he brought up quite a few of the stagnation problems there have been with the server lately and he integrated them well in his own storyline. I do hope that this is gonna go somewhere though. Maybe get integrated with the sort of bigger storyline we got going on? The one revolving around Las Nevadas and Quackity in particular at some point. Because it feels like season 3 so far has just been a bunch of loose threads that never gave us any kind of payoff.

[agent-cupcake]

As a resident Claudefucker, I know am curious to know what our fave charming schemer is doing during this Mafia!AU. He'd look lovely in a suit.

~It was quite the headline when Godfrey Riegan died. The details are a little hazy, a little convenient, but people don't talk about that sort of thing. Car accidents are common. Tragic, but not unreasonable. There’s no reason to smear a man’s perfectly respectable political career for the sake of some sensational gossip.

~In the right circles, however, there was a huge uproar, questions about who was going to take over the Riegan family when the elderly boss Oswald died. The Riegan’s had been dominating Leicester for quite some time, but a lot of people began to predict that the Gloucester family was going to move in. They had powerful friends, it seemed. Friends with money, no less.

~Claude Riegan, grandson of Oswald, appeared out of nowhere just when he was needed. Stories of the lost daughter Tiana still circulated, sure, but there were still a lot of questions about Claude’s origins when nobody except Oswald were able to vouch for him. He obviously had military leadership experience—his skill with guns and ability to lead was just too excellent for any other explanation—but he dismissed the question out of hand. There’s no documentation of him, either, leading some to wonder if even his name was false. But Oswald said he was family, and that was that.

~Claude was quick to establish himself, in any case. Despite his cavalier attitude, his efficacy in overhauling the power dynamics of Leicester were profound.  

~He decided, first and foremost, that the way to win the people over was to invigorate the local culture, which had seen a sharp decline as a result of new laws that were unfavorable to business, Adrestia’s growing market monopolies, and the bad reputation of the red light district Ailell. This included some perfectly legitimate campaigning and some under the table type schemes. 

~The result was a flourishing Derdriu Street. While it lacks the prestige of Enbarr Square in Adrestia, it welcomes entertainment that would be considered too “low brow” like comedy, trendy new restaurants, and music venues. Even better, all of it is built on the recently cleaned up river. The Riegan family is involved in all of  it, of course. 

~Casino owner Claude. This exists solely to thirst but maybe it was preexisting and he took it over due to its poor management? If there’s going to be gambling anyway, it should be done right. The extra money’s not so bad, either. But, Claude lounging in a big leather chair in a dark blue blazer with gold brocade, his white shirt unbuttoned low enough to see enough his chest. Enough to make you drool. Enough that you’d definitely get caught staring and probably called out for it because he can’t help himself. Claude with his elbows on the arm rests and fingers folded in front of him as he considers you, gold rings winking because he’s just that ostentatious and appearances are important. Claude asking you how you feel about taking risks in a way that really feels like it has nothing to do with cards, staring at you with a friendly smile that doesn’t meet those calculating eyes—eyes that you know will pick up on every tell. 

~Claude also struck a deal with the Kupala Distillery. They’d been fighting to keep hold of their historic business for years, and Claude offered to help them with that. You know, not for free, but he’s good at making deals that leave everybody happy. 

~The second biggest thing he tackled was the drug trade. For the most part, no one family had ever had a complete handle on that market. The Goneril’s had a hold over the docks for years, but the Edmunds had been moving in and working with the Gloucester family to bolster their power. Distribution was scattered and hard to keep track of as it ultimately circulated wherever there was a profit to be made. Looking at it like this, Claude decided that the only way to fix things was to take control over all of it. In his line of work, shady things like the drug trade are impossible to avoid. At the very least, if he has control over it, he can ensure the product is clean and expel far more unsavory ventures.

~Through these escapades, Claude was able to make alliances with all of the major families. A lot of them had only remained loyal to the Gloucester family out of fear so as soon as they had an alternative, they bolted. This has an unfortunate side effect of revealing how his power is perceived. Every day is a balancing act for Claude. He allows each family to function as they please as long as they’re aware they do so at his mercy. It’s better to keep friends than to control enemies, but even that requires a delicate maneuvering of power.

~However, Claude likes the conflict. He enjoys the game and he especially enjoys winning the game. There’s a certain level of his excusing amorality for the sake of his family and Leicester, but there’s an equal part of him that understands his wrongdoings and deals with it separately. He wouldn’t hold to the naïve “ends justify the means” idea to excuse himself, but he would still argue that his actions have value and are even necessary. If it weren’t him, it would be somebody a lot worse than him. That’s probably something that would linger in the back of everybody’s minds whenever they shook his hand or paid their respects, whenever they began to think of how easy it would be to take him out. Fear, too. So far, Claude’s never done anything shockingly bad, only what was necessary. But with his power and intellect, it’s always a question of what he could do.

~If someone asked him that, Claude would smile that friendly smile and tell them that he would do anything to see his vision made real. Whether or not that’s true remains to be seen. 

~Luckily, Claude’s not alone! Hilda is the stereotypical crime family princess. She joined Claude because he offered her freedom from the overbearing control of her father and brother. Her skill in manipulating everybody around her combined with her reputation as a ditzy rich girl makes her fantastic at gathering information, assuming Claude can get her to do so. But, as long as he’s not being too forceful, she’s surprisingly motivated to weave her way through social circles and charm everyone. Although she would never say it, the order he brought to Leicester, not to mention the entertainment, made everything a lot better for her and her family. Plus, she likes being useful after spending her entire life watching Holst give his heart and soul to family while she did nothing. Ultimately, the information she provides is essential and her relationship with Claude is one of the few either have that’s built on trust, respect, and loyalty. That said, sometimes even Claude gets a little shiver as he watches how easily Hilda can manipulate people.  

~Lorenz was one of Claude’s most disdainful detractors, although a part of that was jealousy. Claude just swept in and did things that Lorenz had been waiting and planning to do once he became the head of the Gloucester family. Even after being on the receiving ends of such vicious attacks, once Claude undeniably had the upper hand in Leicester, he went behind the Gloucester boss’s back to Lorenz and told him that they were going to be friends or enemies, it was Lorenz’s choice. Not threatening him, just pointing out that the fall of the Gloucester family was inevitable under his father’s leadership and that Lorenz didn’t have to suffer for his father’s sins. Probably over mimosas and brunch. Lorenz is proud and has no appreciation for Claude, but he’s not stupid. After they worked out their disagreements and more or less accepted each other, Lorenz and Claude became pretty close. Claude knows that having someone to openly and aggressively disagree with him isn’t a bad thing. Not only that, but Lorenz’s a solid ally with a better grasp on some of the things Claude has difficulty with due to not being a native. Lorenz is willing to admit that Claude is a good leader.

~Marianne is well educated in the realm of the law and political action. The reason the Edmund family saw such success despite their lesser status was because of her adopted father’s genius. which he made sure to share with Marianne. She is invaluable in aiding Claude on the perfectly legitimate side of his business, and helping him hide his tracks for the shady stuff. Raphael is the muscle. Lysithea is a computer genius. Being a sickly shut in with issues that only recently saw treatment, she’s on the Mr. Robot level of hacker mode activated. Ignatz is an architect which is useful since so much of Claude’s power is in the property and infrastructure. He also designed a lot of places to have some neat-o hidey holes. Claude loves buildings that have secrets. Leonie is manages a lot of the physical and pettier side of the work. If someone’s stirring up trouble, she’s likely to pay them a visit as a warning before Claude has to get involved. She used to be a mercenary but being on Claude’s payroll is a lot better of a gig.    

~As for the suits, one thing is very important. Claude would not, under any circumstances, wear something tight on his thighs. I actually kind of like the idea of him going for a 1980′s style modernized. In his post timeskip outfit, he’s already got a hint of that going on with how oversized his outfit looks. The 80′s (rightfully) gets a bad rep for fashion, but it’s also very iconic with those wide-collared suit jackets, matchy-matchy three piece suits, sportscoats with a fun patterned shirt underneath, open blazers, pleated pants with an oversized jacket, and—in particular—the trend of summer suits in shades of tan and cream with colored shirts underneath. Then, combine that with a pair of Ray-Ban Aviators and a topless convertible and you’ve got a distinctly recognizable mob boss who doubles as a devastating heartthrob. I’m not saying he’d do a 1:1 recreation, but you’d definitely see references to the fashion of the era in his outfits. He would wear oxfords or ankle boots. Whatever it was, they’d have to be comfortable. He also doesn’t shy away from jewelry. The earring, of course, and rings when he's feeling particularly decadent. When he’s wearing his shirts unbuttoned Claude could possibly wear a gold chain. I mean, what are you gonna say, no? That gold doesn’t look gorgeous against his skin? That it’s tacky? You’re talking to the man who wore quilted pants. Claude’s not afraid to stand out because he knows he will anyway, nor is he afraid to be seen as unfashionable because he doesn’t particularly care about trends. I also enjoy the idea of him emulating the 80′s as someone who didn’t grow up in a western culture and thus mainly saw things through the lens of movies. Whatever he wears, however, he would look very handsome.

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 3-1: 海水与火焰 Seawater & Flames Translation

“The flames of the sunset flicker within your orbs; and the leaves flutter, falling upon the water surface that is your soul.”

*Light and Night Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *CG Image used with permission from 蓝咕咕 ☆ *Main story tag will be #For Light and Night

Brother Mao: It's soooo god-damned hot out today! A new coffee shop opened down the east street with huge grand opening sales. Come on, come on, everyone grab your share!

Brother Mao had just returned to the office after completing his out of office assignment. He didn't even have a minute to spare to put the bag of goodies down, only wiping his sweat before giving said goodies out to everyone.

MC: Thank you, Brother Mao!

Brother Mao waved his hand in dismissal and threw the neatly folded plastic bag into the bin, only for his eyes to suddenly stop on the handle of the door. He incredulously widened his eyes.

Brother Mao: Since when did our door handle get all fixed up?

Li Man'man: No idea. It was already fixed when I came in in the morning.

Hao Shuai: Sister Zheng Lin, did you nag at the administrative department for this?

Zheng Lin: She fixed it. I saw her fiddling around with it when I clocked in this morning.

Zheng Lin retrieved her documents from the photocopier and jerked her chin at me.

Brother Mao: So this is our beloved heroine of the day! Do humbly pardon me!

MC: I'm the one who broke it after all. Plus, it didn't take that long to fix anyway.

Brother Mao poked his head in front of me, curiously twirling the sleeve of the formal dress I was currently fixing up and doing corrections on.

Brother Mao: You're changing it up that much again? You don't have to reply to me, but you're adding these butterflies? That's real creative! ...And they're all made of twisted metal wire?

MC: Yeah. I started out using soft tulle mesh, but it was all droopy and didn't seem very nice for wings that are supposed to look powerful and lively.

Brother Mao: Now not only does this give it a dynamic feel, but also brings about a romantic yet cruel one!

Brother Mao: Not bad, not bad! Keep at it, and you'll definitely be able to finish fixing it up before next week!

MC: But the Deadline got brought forward… She's going to be doing the fitting tomorrow morning, so I have to finish it by today...

Brother Mao: No way! Don't tell me it's that agent again...

He glanced around, checking that no one had their attention turned to us, before leaning down to my ear.

Brother Mao: I asked around about it earlier, and I heard that the agent has a pretty foul temper.

Brother Mao: Not just to the staff, but her daughter as well. She'll start scolding people at the drop of a hat, even if they did nothing!

It felt as if I could hear the piercing and horrid lashing from that day resounding in my ears again. Her words had been ingrained into my very brain like a needle stuck into a pincushion.

Brother Mao: Geez, Lin Yao's such a brilliant kid. What's there for her to be so unhappy about?

Brother Mao: My mom always told me not to blame myself, and that health always comes first, whenever I fail the promotion. She even said that if I couldn't make it big, then I could just go back home and she'd raise me.

MC: I don't know either. Maybe all these feelings we take for granted come on a conditional basis for her, I guess.

He'd stared at the table and spaced out for a long while. It was almost as if he'd retreated into his memory palace as his expression turned a little sad.

Brother Mao: I'll help you twist them into shape too. Just treat it as my way of thanking her for helping us get out of the pickle we found ourselves in that day.

MC: Okay.

Time passed silently, and it wasn't till nightfall that we finished our work. The office had already cleared out a long time ago, and sporadic stars glimmered in the ink-blue sky up above.

Brother Mao: Done!

I nodded at him in gratitude and kept the now completed dress away. That was when a message notification popped up onto my phone screen.

Housing Agent: Miss (Y/n), don't forget that we're supposed to sign the agreement today at 8 PM. Be there or be square!

Brother Mao: What's wrong?

MC: I'm supposed to go check out the new apartment I'm getting with my agent at 8 PM today, and sign the agreement if all goes well.

And the time displayed on my phone right now was… 7:28 PM.

MC: I should run! Thanks for today, Brother Mao! I'll treat you to food next time!

Grabbing my bag and my work ID, I made a mad dash downstairs.

❖☆———————————★❖

I thought that I'd make it there right on the dot if I'd left now, but who knew that the taxi-hailing app had 80+ people waiting in line! Seeing as how the app wasn't an option anymore, all I could do was to run to the nearest taxi stand.

MC: Why's it not here yet…?

I paced back and forth at the stand, but no taxi ever made an appearance. Just as my anxiousness was about to reach a tipping point, a black sports car drew to a stop before me. The car's windscreen slowly rolled down.

MC: ...Evan?

Evan: Waiting for a ride? Headed somewhere?

MC: Yeah. I'm going to take a look at an apartment. The place I'm renting right now is too far from here, so it isn't terribly convenient.

Evan: Location?

MC: Guangqi-Century City.

He slightly inclined his head, glancing at his watch before getting out of his car and opening the door to the passenger seat for me.

Evan: Get on. I'll send you there.

★Night Choice: Turn him down

MC: No need. I'd be causing you too much trouble.

Evan leaned his arm atop the door of the car, beaming as he looked at me.

Evan: Not at all.

Evan: Besides, I don't have anything on tonight. On the other hand, you seem like you're in quite the rush.

Evan: It'll be bad if you end up late for it because you dawdled here.

His eyes were filled with such sincerity that it made me feel like I'd be doing him a disservice if I refused.

I eventually nodded, seeing as there was no way I could shimmy myself out of this without feeling bad about it.

MC: Thanks.

☆Light Choice: Accept his offer

I glanced back at the taxi stand. It didn't seem like a taxi was coming anytime soon. And I'd really be late if I didn't get a suitable ride soon…

MC: Thanks. Don't mind if I do then.

8 PM, right on the dot. We reached the entrance of the housing estate where the agent was already waiting.

MC: Here it is. Thank you for this! I'll treat you to a meal someday!

Evan: Sure.

❖☆———————————★❖

I hurriedly got out of the car as the two agents quickly rushed up to me upon seeing me.

Agent A: You have a good eye, Miss! This apartment's a hot favourite! 10 over people booked slots to come check it out the moment the listing went up!

Agent B: We've kept this apartment for you till now since you seemed especially keen on it!

Agent A: Let's get the contract agreement signed tonight if there are no problems lest it keeps you up at night!

MC: Sorry, but I'll still have to confirm with you again later. Let's go check the house out first.

Both agents sidled up side by side, enthusiastically explaining and introducing things to me on either side as they urged me forwards.

Thud.

The sound of a door closing behind me made me turn, only to see that Evan hadn't left, and had gotten out of his car.

MC: ?

Evan: I'll go with you.

The agents continued their endless stream of marketing chatter as they pointed out every selling point of the apartment.

Agent A: —And that's all from us. If you sign the agreement contract today, then we can persuade the landlord to give us a little discount...

MC: Okay, then I'll-

Evan: Sorry, but we'll think it through a little more. Could you recommend us some other apartments as well? Sorry about that.

I looked at him in surprise, but he gently shook his head. Hence, I calmed my initial excitement down and turned down their request to have the contract immediately signed.

❖☆———————————★❖

The night was already deep into the throes of darkness by the time we returned to the car park.

The riverbank was coloured with streams of yellow light from the streetlamps above in picturesque disorder. I could smell the refreshing scent of blooming greenery that hung in the air.

MC: Was something wrong with the apartment earlier?

Evan: I don't think you'd like to stay in an apartment filled with construction noises, yes?

MC: But I didn't hear anyone renovating anything?

It was only after the words left my mouth that I realized something.

MC: Oh, right. It's nighttime right now, so all the construction workers should be off work by now… Still, how did you know?

Evan: I noticed that there were paint stains at the edge of the neighbouring apartment's door frame upon entering, and it looked rather fresh too.

Evan: Plus, that housing estate was built 10 years ago, yet the elevator has its interiors boarded up with temporary protective boards.

Evan: So, I'd garner that the neighbouring apartment's most likely, not the only one undergoing renovation recently.

MC: I'd never have realized if you didn't point it out…

Evan: And adding on to that, I observed the surroundings a bit when we entered the housing estate and the security personnel stationed nearby seemed rather sparsely spread.

Evan: So it wouldn't be too safe for you to be staying here alone.

MC: Yeah…

Evan continued talking about the pros and cons of the apartment as the enchanting lights from above reflected in his eyes, melding into the smile that wavered within.

MC: You're so knowledgeable when it comes to this. Did you rent an apartment before?

Although, for someone with his family background, he shouldn’t ever need to rent an apartment on his own.

However, Evan nodded, affirming my suspicions.

Evan: I’ve rented a couple of places for my company back when I was in university.

MC: You mean, the company you founded back when you were studying in Lordton?

Evan: You know of it?

MC: I’ve heard of it before! It’s truly a legendary tale!

Evan: Looks like I’ll have to personally clear up the rumours for you then. It wasn’t exactly a smooth experience.

Evan: I, too, encountered a great many difficulties that I hadn’t thought of before during my first time renting an office.

Evan: For example, unreliable agents. The relevant renting procedures never came to pass for a long time due to that.

Evan: Hence, the office wasn’t ready even if all the employees were already in place.

Evan: And another example would be poor property management, with robberies aplenty as a result.

Evan: Also, I had no choice but to take drastic action and relocate the entire office to a new location since I hadn’t initially considered office expansion.

MC: Wow, I never knew that starting a business would be so hard. You’re amazing to have done it!

❖☆———————————★❖

Suddenly, my phone vibrated.

[Guangqi Rental] Whole apartment for lease. Felin Avenue, 199 Street. 1 bedroom and 1 living room. [Guangqi Rental] Whole apartment for lease. Changle Heights. 1 bedroom and 1 living room.

It was the agent, recommending me a couple more apartments.

[Guangqi Rental] How about any of these?

MC: Now that's way too many…

Evan: You can forward them to me if you don't mind. I can check them out with you.

Evan: I might not be very experienced in this, but nothing will go wrong with having another person to think it through with.

MC: Thank you, Evan.

The night breeze blew past, gently ruffling the loose hairs that had fallen out of place in front of Evan’s forehead.

Evan: We've been talking for so long that I forgot that it's already 9 PM. Are you hungry? Do you want to eat anything?

MC: I said I'd treat you! How about we do it now?

MC: Is there anything you'd like to eat?

Evan: Just pick anything you want to eat. I'm fine with anything.

MC: Don't say that! I'm going to need a proper answer from you today.

Evan: Alright then. I'd prefer for it to be something cooling, if possible.

MC: Hmm… Something cooling?

I glanced around, my eyes sweeping past the signboards of teahouses, food stalls, fast food outlets… until it finally stopped on an old and aged sign that stood not too far away.

MC: I know! Wait for me for a while!

❖☆———————————★❖

MC: Auntie! Can I get two servings of red bean ice and two servings of fruit soup?

Many customers surrounded the small shop. The owner stirred the pot of soft red beans, filling the air with a delectably rich scent of sweetness.

Due to the auntie being the only one manning the store, the demand for the red bean ice far exceeded the available supply. Hence, I had to wait for quite a while before my order finally got done.

Just as I happily took the icy delights from her, the pitter-patter of rain sounded from behind.

The rain came down hard and vicious.

The raindrops that pelted against the roof were akin to silver metal wires, trapping me within the confines of the narrow eaves.

With no other option in sight, I held the two cups of icy treats to my chest using my wrist and freed a hand to shoot Evan a message to inform him of my predicament.

However, before I could fish out my phone… a silhouette had come to a stop before me. He put the umbrella away.

MC: I was just about to ping you. What are you doing here?

Evan didn’t say anything, only smiling gently as he took the icy treats from my arms, quietly standing by my side.

Evan: The rain should cease soon. Let's wait together.

MC: ...Okay.

The curtain of rain secluded us in our own little world, and the puddles, reflecting the neon lights of the signboard above, rippled from the night breeze of summer.

And like a domino effect, this soft and gentle ambience made our moods calmer and much more relaxed in turn.

❖☆————— ⊹ For Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 2-24 Light) / (Chapter 2-24 Night) | Next Part: (Chapter 3-3)

[mandoalorian]

Sugar and Spice [Maxwell Lord x Reader] - Chapter 3

Summary: When you are evicted from your apartment by your toxic ex boyfriend and have no place to go, who do you turn to? Alone in the city as the countdown to Christmas begins, you find yourself applying for a job as the assistant of the world’s biggest entrepreneur; Maxwell Lord. Little do you know, he has other intentions for you. No doubt about it, this Christmas will truly be like no other.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: Eventual smut, mentions of a previous verbally abusive relationship, typical 80s misogyny (but very little of it), mentions of food and drink, alcohol consumption. This is a sugardaddy x sugarbaby fic soooo… a daddy k!nk too oops.

But in this chapter - more tension and also male and female masturbation

Author’s note: Chapter 3 wheyyy! I'm super sick at the minute, but nevertheless I hope my illness isn't reflected in this piece of writing. Yikes. I hope everyone is enjoying so far! Remember if you wanted to be added to my taglist feel free to let me know!

MASTERLIST | SUBMIT REQUESTS

PREVIOUS - CHAPTER THREE - NEXT 

The rain drops pelted heavy against your skin as the cool winter ambience sent a shiver down your spine. Once dismissed by Maxwell Lord, you practically raced out of the building. The contrast between the heat you felt in his presence and the December air was immeasurable. You took a big gasp of air, letting rain drops fall on your face and soak through your clothes. You stood there in the middle of the busy street trying to process what just happened.

You had been successful. Your elaborate plan had worked out and you had gotten the job. Only, it was unlike anything you had ever done before. Maxwell told you to expect a call sometime tomorrow and before you left, he made sure you were comfortable with the prospect of his job offer. First things first— tell Tristan the good news. Hopefully then, he would let you stay in your apartment a little while longer.

Before you could grab a ride from a cabbie, the doorman tapped you on the shoulder. "Ms Minerva?" His tone was completely different than earlier, more polite and friendly. "Ma'am? Mr Lord has requested his driver take you home. He didn't want you to get wet in the rain but," the doorman looked you up and down. "I see you're already drenched from this God foresaken rain. I’m Andreas, by the way."

Maxwell had asked his own, personal driver to take you home? You felt butterflies erupt in your stomach from his kind gesture, but you worried about the authenticity of it. How genuine was he? Maxwell Lord was someone who built up his reputation and business on lies and false hope.

"Oh really, that's quite alright," you dismissed the offer. "I can just get a cab."

Andreas put his hand out, halting you from walking away. "I'm afraid Mr Lord insists." He told you, taking out a sleek black umbrella and opening it up. He held it above you, protecting you from the rain.

"Could you tell Mr Lord that I'm grateful for his offer, but I can make my own way home?" You said through gritted teeth.

"I'm afraid not," Andreas said with a short shake of his head. "Whatever Mr Lord wants, Mr Lord gets."

So that's how it was going to be.

Before you could reply, a black limousine with tinted windows pulled up on the road in front of you. A few passer-bys on the street, hands full of their Christmas shopping, shot you a strange glance as you slipped into the car. Andreas shut the door behind you and suddenly you found yourself sitting in a car that probably had more worth than your entire life’s savings.

The seats were sleek and black leather, the floor was carpeted and you spotted a small ice cooler by your sofa seat. You carefully clicked it open and examined the insides. It was just various bottles of alcohol- mostly spirits. You couldn’t help but smile as you continued to explore the limousine.

Upon meeting him, Maxwell Lord was not what you expected, but now you had found the perfect opportunity to learn more about him. You spotted a velveteen box nailed to the floor so you opened it up and found a variety of odd things. It was like a rich man’s junk drawer. Everything from gold fountain pens, jewellery, condoms, multiple checkbooks were mixed inside this box. Nosily, you scurried through it all, taking out the occasional item and examining it closer. You couldn’t believe it. You had never met someone who was just able to leave such expensive items lying around in a random box inside their own limousine.

This whole experience felt like a fever dream.

The lights in the limousine were dimmed and so you searched around for a switch or button of some kind to brighten the interior of the car. Your fingers tapped into a switch and rainbow disco lights flickered on, illuminating the limousine multi-colour. It looked more like a party bus. You didn't even realise the driver had already got into the car and as he turned on the ignition and began to drive, you jolted and fell back at the sudden force, into the plush leather seat. You scrambled to belt yourself up and compose yourself.

"Ma'am, where will I be taking you?" the driver called from the front of the limousine, as he tried to navigate through the busy Christmas roads of DC. You yelled your address back to him and he made a brief sound of acknowledgement.

After a few moments of sitting in still silence, despite the rainbow disco lights beginning to give you a headache, you heard a buzzing noise. You scrambled around in your seat, looking for where the noise originated from, when you found a phone nailed to the wall of the limo. Maxwell Lord’s limo had its own carphone! Of course it did.

Your eyes widened when you realised it was ringing and you contemplated answering it. It could be anyone! It could be someone important or a business related matter. It could be private. Thoughts raced through your mind as the phone continued to buzz.

"Are you going to get that?" The driver called out again.

You took a deep breath and took the phone off the hook, nudging it between your ear and your neck. "H-hello?" you asked, your finger anxiously twirling in the wire connecting the phone and the dock.

"Apologies for calling so early on, I usually wait a few days before calling back my female suitors," you weren't sure if your heart rate eased or increased when you heard Maxwell's voice. His voice sounded easy-going, and you were sure you even heard him chuckle slightly at his own remark. "I trust you weren't made uncomfortable by Andreas insisting you got a ride home."

"I have to admit, Mr Lord, I don't usually get into cars with strangers." you huffed, squeezing your eyes tight shut.

"Smart," Maxwell replied quickly. "So why did you this time?" His voice was dark and had a lulling undertone. He sounded similar to when he saw you during the interview earlier on, and the memory made that familiar heat erupt once more in your stomach.

You struggled to find your words. "I- I uhm-" you weren't exactly sure why you had agreed to Andreas. You would've never agreed to such a proposition before. But this is what Maxwell Lord wanted. And you didn't dare want to disappoint Maxwell Lord. You didn't understand because you didn't even know the man— nor did you have any care about him whatsoever prior to your meeting today. But since you exchanged those words in his office, you had been feeling a certain kind of way. "I trust you." you admitted with a defeated sigh. It was true. You trusted a man you had barely even spent half-an-hour with. You trusted a man who built his business on lying to the people of the world.

On the other end of the line, Maxwell was smiling to himself. His feet were on his desk and he was nursing a glass of his favourite whiskey. He could never tell you, but he craved to hear your voice again. He was already thinking about the next time he could see you. He put the glass down on his desk and with his free hand, palmed at his hardening manhood.

"I'm glad," Maxwell replied smoothly. "Trust is going to be very important in our kind of arrangement." There was a beat. "Speaking of which, would you owe me the pleasure in accompanying me to dinner tomorrow night?"

"D-dinner?" you blurted out, feeling your cheeks heat up. Dinner with Maxwell Lord— this is not how you thought today would go. Sitting in a limousine and being asked out by the cover boy of Forbes magazine.

"I know a really nice restaurant by the river. Black-tie dress code type thing." His voice was like silk. It was getting hot in the limousine. You needed air. The thought of him taking you out for dinner at a restaurant, having a nice meal and enjoying his company felt like a dream. Then you were hit with the reality of your financial situation.

"Oh Mr Lord, I'm sure it's lovely but I don't think I can afford-"

"I think you're forgetting the terms of our arrangement darling," Maxwell snickered on the other end of the line. It was true— you had. For a moment you thought it would be a normal date. But this wasn't a relationship. He was right, it was an arrangement. "What I have, is yours. You are to want for nothing."

There was something romantic about his sentiment, you once again found yourself forgetting the true nature of his words. "Well then," you gulped."Dinner sounds great."

Maxwell's smile grew wider. "And then back to my place." his invitation sounded more like a command than a question, and the authority in his voice was enough to get your panties wet. You pursed your lips together to suppress a moan at the thought of going back to his house. You wondered what it would be like. Would your arrangement commence tomorrow night?

"I'd really like that." you let out a shaky exhale. Your hand dropped in between your legs and you slowly began to touch yourself through the thick material of your denim jeans. You ached to get home and take them off. There was something that felt so naughty about getting off in the car of a man you had just met. Especially when that man was Maxwell Lord.

Maxwell felt the same. He had intended to take you back to his place to go through a contract and discuss the specifics of your arrangement— but if the night led to something else, he certainly wouldn't be opposed. You were driving him wild; like no other woman had ever. He unzipped his pants and slipped his hand under his boxer shorts, slowly beginning to pump his length while holding the phone in the crook of his neck.

"You- you have something pretty to wear?" he asked, trying to remain as composed as possible.

"Maybe, maybe just my little black dress." you whispered in response, pressing your forehead against the cold window to try and release some tension.

Your description left much to the imagination, but Maxwell wasn't complaining. He wondered about the black dress: how short it was, exactly? How did it fit you? Did it accentuate his favourite parts of your body? Maxwell's eyes fluttered shut as he carried on stroking his length, a small grunt escaping his lips. It didn't go unnoticed by you.

"I'll have my driver pick you up tomorrow evening," Maxwell hummed. "6pm."

You couldn't even reply— he already put the phone down. Maxwell slouched back into his chair and worked at his already hard length. His thumb swept the precum that beaded at his tip and he continued pumping, wishing that the wetness around him was from your mouth as you devoured him.

He imagined your pretty lips suck him and his cock began to throb in his hands. He imagined having to push your hair out of the way so he could get a good look of your face whilst you took him in your mouth. He imagined your eyes wide and your cheeks hollowed as you fit him inside of you. He wanted to fuck your mouth, wanted to make you gag and have your saliva make a mess all over him.

Maxwell gasped as he spilt his seed all over his tailored suit pants. He kept his sensitive cock in his hand for a few moments after, feeling it soften. He wanted to soften inside of you. Already, he was enamoured by you. Desperate to feel your touch, your wetness. Desperate to hear your screams of pleasure.

When you got home, you had planned on seeing Tristan, alerting him of the good news. New job. Then maybe, he'd let you live in your apartment just a little bit longer until you could afford rent. You decided he could wait until tomorrow. Hurrying into your small flat you locked yourself in the bathroom and turned on the shower.

You discarded your clothes, letting them pool into a puddle on the floor. In your frenzy, you had forgotten to open a window, so the steam from the hot water warmed your skin and small beads of sweat drew along your collarbones and chest as you ran your hands over your body. You bit your lip, hard, remembering the image of Maxwell's hands in the office which you had so carefully ingrained into your head.

You thought about his thick hands squeezing your tits, the pad of his thumb rubbing over your nipples and pinching hard enough to make you squeal. You wondered how his touch felt. You imagined him rough, and ruthless, but since meeting him today, and the way he diverted all your expectations, you wondered if he would have any surprises up his sleeve for your time in the bedroom. You let your fingers gently trace the skin of your stomach, a feather light touch that tickled slightly. You closed your eyes, imagining the wealthy CEO stood behind you, arms wrapped around your naked body and planting sloppy wet kisses into the crook of your neck.

With complete certainty, neither you or Maxwell could stop thinking about each other. Maxwell wanted to call you over in the dead of night when he couldn't sleep. His body ached for you. He felt a neediness that he had never felt before. Of course he could just call one of his assistants. He paid them enough, they would be able to come over and satisfy him (to some extent), but the problem was, they weren't you.

You had done something to him, and now nobody else could even begin to compare to you. You consumed his every thought. Maxwell had once almost married a rival CEO. He was meant to be in love with her but… the feelings were not the same as this. The feelings he felt for you were far beyond lust, but he couldn't put his finger on what exactly they were. He cursed himself, feeling frustrated. This wasn't him. But he was completely and utterly whipped on you.

And you weren't much different. You swore you were in love with Tristan. You had been in an on and off relationship with him for two years but once again, the feelings you had for him were so different to the feelings you now possessed for Maxwell. It was indescribable. You wrecked your room, trying to find the perfect shoes and accessories to wear with your promised little black dress. You wanted to be perfect. You wanted to look perfect. And it was all for Maxwell.

He had you whipped, and you hated him for it.

You lived your life wanting to only impress yourself. You didn't think twice about the way men felt about you. It never mattered. But this was Maxwell Lord. Everything was just different.

So when your 'date' finally came around, you were both equally bursting with anticipation.

When you slid in the back of the limousine, Maxwell couldn't keep his eyes from you. His gaze was glued onto your amazing figure which he loved so much, and the way your little black dress clung to your body and accentuated all your perfections. Your little diamond earrings sparkled under the car's dim light and there was something so beautiful about the simplicity of it.

Truth be told, Maxwell Lord was nervous. He didn't date. He couldn't remember the last time he went on a proper date (he wasn't even sure if you classed this outing as a date). He wasn't one for relationships either. Hell, a woman could count herself lucky if she lasted a week with him. He liked the spontinuity of fucking different women, no strings attached. Throwing them away like garbage the second he got bored. He had the power to do that. It was just the way he was and he had no intentions of that changing.

Although, maybe his intentions were slowly changing and he hadn't yet realised. You offered him the kindest smile he had ever seen, your eyes glistening like jewels. And oh, he felt his cheeks warm up. He leaned over to the window on his side and pressed his face against it, the cool winter air calming his nerves. When your fingers graced the material of his tailored suit pants, just over his thigh, he swore his heart stopped.

"You look nice." you beamed at him, your heart blooming when he finally turned and his brown eyes met yours. You didn't expect Maxwell Lord to disappoint, in any sense, but especially not when it came to fashion. The power suit he was wearing was practically dripping in wealth, and you were almost certain every inch of him was wearing designer names from his suit jacket to his gold cufflinks in his shirt.

"So do you." Maxwell returned the compliment, gawking as he took in your exquisite form. You felt your cheeks heat up under his gaze and you awkwardly looked down at your match black heels, scraping them against the carpeted floor of the limousine. "That dress- I saw it in Louis Vuitton last year?" Maxwell pointed out and you looked down, reacquainting yourself with the outfit you had chosen to wear.

"This? Oh no no," you chuckled earnestly. "I got this from the thrift store for seven dollars like a month ago."

You regretted those words as soon as they left your lips. You did not just admit to Maxwell Lord that you had bought the dress he had been so enthralled in, from the moment you entered the limo, second hand. To your surprise, he gave you a toothy grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling in delight and that adorable little dimple appearing in his left cheek.

"We're here," he announced as the driver pulled up on the side of the road. You gazed out the window in awe. The whole street was lit up in gold Christmas fairy lights, and the restaurant that Maxwell had selected, was highlighted with tinsel and a huge Christmas tree in the front window.

"Wow," you couldn't help but whisper at the gorgeous view. You hadn't even realised Maxwell had already slipped out the car and opened your side door for you. He held his hand out for you, and of course you grabbed it. His hands were soft and warm… he definitely moisturized. He helped you out of the limo and shut the door behind you, sliding an arm around your waist as he guided you into the restaurant.

"Be careful not to slip on the black ice." he warned as he helped you slowly walk in your heels. Still hand in hand, you looked up at him with the biggest smile. You hadn't felt a happiness like this in a long time. He didn't look at you back, instead of focusing on successfully navigating inside the restaurant without falling over.

The restaurant was empty. Not a soul in sight. Your eyes snapped to Maxwell, waiting for him to give you an explanation. He caught on, offering you a small and understanding nod.

"I rented the restaurant out." He explained, raising an eyebrow as he examined his surroundings. Your gaze followed his as you took in the merrily strung Christmas lights and the beautifully decorated tree by the front bay window.

"Why would you do that?" You quizzed him.

"You never know who is sitting among us," he explained. "Journalists, paparazzi, crazed fans."

Ah, there it was. The part about Maxwell you had completely forgotten about. He was famous. Everyone in the world knew who he was and if you had known anything about Maxwell before meeting him, it was that the tabloids loved to pry into his personal life. So, you were somewhat understanding. But that didn't stop the devastating feeling of your heart sinking into your chest. He wanted to hide you. It made sense, I mean, you had only just met and you were only his sugar baby, but it still hurt. You done your best to ignore the strange feelings and told yourself you could still have a good night with him. But the thoughts didn't escape your mind.

You and Maxwell were ushered to a seat by a lit fireplace and passed menus by a beaming waiter. "Can I get you a drink while you decide on what to eat?" he asked with an enthusiastic smile.

"Just a bottle of your finest champagne with two glasses," Maxwell replied, not even looking at the waiter but flicking his wrist and gesturing for him to scurry away. The waiter left both of you in a frenzy, and you couldn't help but giggle. "Is something funny?" Maxwell prompted you, raising an eyebrow. You pursed your lips again but shook your head 'no'. Maxwell's eyes flicked back down to the menu and you burst into another fit of giggles. "Seriously, what is it?" Maxwell asked sternly and you straightened your posture, taking a deep breath and trying to compose yourself.

"That poor waiter looked so afraid of you." You admitted quietly. Maxwell shrugged his shoulders like it was no big deal.

"A lot of people are afraid of me."

"Why?" you beckoned, leaning closer to him.

Maxwell hesitated and put his menu down. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"A lot of people used to be afraid of my mother," Maxwell admitted. "I'm afraid I'm going to end up like her."

"Why were they afraid of your mother?" you questioned him, thanking the waiter as he promptly brought you the two glasses and bottle of ice cold champagne. You began to pour it out.

"She was so cold. Bitter… heartless…" Maxwell scowled, quickly taking a glass of champagne and downing it in one quick gulp. "I worry that, maybe, others perceive me in the same light as they perceive my mother."

"That they think you're cold, bitter and heartless?" you quizzed, and Maxwell winced at your words. He didn't reply, instead buried his gaze into the cream coloured table cloth.

You extended your arms and reached out, taking hold of his soft ring clad hands. Maxwell's breathing hitched under your touch. You noticed the way his hands were considerably larger than yours but even still, you rubbed comforting circles into his skin with your thumb. He interlocked his fingers with yours and you offered him a warm smile. "I don't think you're cold, bitter and heartless."

Maxwell sighed. "You don't know me."

"I see the warmth in your eyes," you whispered. "I know there's more to you than meets the eye."

Taglist: if you want to be added let me know! (if your name is crossed out it means I can't tag you)

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[thiswasinevitableid]

For the meet uglies, 41, Sternclay, NSFW?

Here you go! And if you're a fan on "Let me be good to you" this has very similar vibes.

41: I’m at the 24/7 gym at 2 in the morning and I thought I was alone so I’m singing in the showers, but when you start singing with me, I’m startled and slip so the first time we meet, we’re both wet and naked

Stern blames the playlist he had on at work for the fact his morning devolves into chaos. He works better to the blues (or 2000s pop hits, but those don’t feel right when going over files on suspicious incidents in Appalachia). So he hums as he rinses the remnants of his workout down the drain. He’d never sing where someone can hear, but since no one is here.

I want a little steam on my clothes

Maybe I could fix things up so they'll go

What's the matter daddy, come on, save my soul

He goes to rinse his hair and realizes the song is still going.

I need some sugar in my bowl, I ain't foolin'

I want some sugar in my bowl

His lizard brain yells two separate messages; “baritone voice very hot” and “oh god who’s there.”

The second message leaps into the driver seat and, in his attempt to turn, peer out of the stall, and be sure it’s just another patron, his foot finds the traces of soap on the floor.

“Shit” He falls backwards out of the stall, thudding to the floor.

“Oh fuck.” A man emerges two stalls to his left, soaking wet and flailing for a towel, “I’m so fucking sorry, I’m so used to singing along with the radio. Are you okay?”

Joseph scans his body, finds nothing broken, “Yes.”

“Thank god.” The other man flicks shaggy hair from his face. In the split second before he gets the towel around his waist, Joseph’s gym manners fail him and he glances down. At least he’s getting several weeks worth of masturbation fodder from this humiliating moment.

“Here man, lemme help you up.”

Joseph takes the offered hand, then grits his teeth and swiftly turns to grab his own towel from where he hung it. He’d rather not show a stranger his ass, but this is how his night is going. As he turns back, he spots the other man quickly redirecting his stare from his ass to the floor.

Once both showers are off, Joseph changes and packs his bag. The stranger is at the mirror, tying his hair back and combing his beard.

“I’m sorry, my singing probably startled you too.”

A shrug of broad shoulders, “I work in kitchens, I’m so used to background noise some of it barely registers. And I always have the radio on when it’s just me in the mornings.”

“Hence the singing along?”

“Yeah, and why I’m here so early. I try to get my exercise in before work. Gotta admit, when I joined this gym I didn’t expect anyone else would be in for a 2 a.m workout.”

“My hours are all over the place. I’m with the FBI and when I’m on a case I tend to, um, lose track of time. Or work way later than I should.” He shoulders his bag, raises his hand in a wave, “it was nice meeting you. Even it was alarming at first.”

“Same to you” the man smiles at him over his shoulders, “and if you’re ever here at zero dark thirty again and want a gym buddy, I’m happy to keep you company.”

--------------------------------------

It’s a month before Joseph runs into him again. He swipes his card at the gym, finds the clank of a weight rack in place of the usual silence. The man from the showers smiles at him as he puts his bag near medicine balls, and when he’s done with his set he crosses the 80s-colored carpet to join him.

“It’s much nicer to see you when I can see you coming.” Joseph smiles politely, not catching his own subtext until the other man blushes.

“No kidding. I, uh, this may sound weird, but could I work-out with you? I’ve been doing the same routine for years because it’s what I know, but it gets so fucking boring.”

“I wouldn’t mind the company, though be warned that I do a lot of core and don’t use the machines all that much.”

“Totally fine. I’m, uh, I’m Barclay, by the way.” He holds out his hand and Joseph pictures twisting it behind his back while pinning him over one of the benches.

Instead, he shakes it, “Joseph.”

-----------------------------------------

“I’m serious about skipping this if you need to” Joseph starts up the treadmill as Barclay jogs on the one beside him, “if you’re on your feet all day at work this could make that really uncomfortable.”

“Nah, I’ll be fine.”

It’s the truth; he may not be as in-shape as Joseph, but he’s still pretty fit, and they only do thirty minutes of running. But it’s equally true that he’d rather suffer some extra-sore legs than lose out on a half-hour of his limited time with his friend.

He’d been hoping for someone to spot him and maybe teach him some new lower body exercises, with the added bonus of having some basic things (like music taste and bonkers work schedules) in common. What he’s gotten is someone with a dorky sense of humor, and extensive knowledge of cryptozoology and mystery novels, and the stamina to make engaging conversation about those things while running or working a rowing machine.

It helps that Joseph is so hot that he could caramelize sugar just by looking at it. The glimpses he caught of him when they met were tantalizing; the way his dark hair gradually loosens from it’s gelled state, the way his cheeks turn pink when flushed and sweating, the few times his voice turns truly breathless? Barclay is ready to get on his knees and beg for him to do obscene things in the locker rooms.

What makes this desire impossible to shake is the suspicion that it’s shared. He’s caught Joseph looking at him in a way that isn’t just about his form, and when he shows Barclay a new exercise he stands closer and lingers longer than strictly necessary. And his Freudian slips are so frequent and obvious they may as well be Freudian nightgowns.

Just when he thinks Joseph can’t get any hotter, the agent texts him around their three month mark of working out together warning that he’ll be late. When he arrives, Barclay drops the five pound plate he was moving.

Joseph hasn’t changed clothes. He’s in a full, black suit, shined shoes, and a silver and blue tie that Joseph wants him to take off and loop around Barclays throat instead. The agent smiles with a promise to be right back, seems bemused when he returns to find Barclay in the exact spot and position he left him.

“You okay, big guy?” The nickname is one of the many ways he built a home for himself in Barclays daydreams.

“Uh. Uh, yeah, sorry, got lost in thought. I haven’t started on the full workout, did some extra stretching since I’m kinda tight from yesterday. You wanna do weights first?”

“Sure.”

Their routine lasts about an hour. It’s an act of god that Barclay gets through it unscathed. Joseph is even more hands-on than usual, and his cologne (bergamot and citrus, if Barclay has his scents right) hasn’t had a chance to fade. The most distracting element of the whole morning is his friend’s voice; there’s an edge to it, like a knife in a velvet sheath, and Joseph gives fewer suggestions and more orders.

Barclay wants him to sound like this forever. But only if he can rearrange his life so that he can follow every command.

After a very cold shower, he falls in next to Joseph as they push through the double doors into the warm night. When he reaches his car, the other man touches his cheek.

“Drive safe, big guy.”

He wonders if Joseph can feel him blush in the dark, “I will, agent. I promise.”

-----------------------------------------

“I told them to get those dark spots checked” Joseph shakes his head at the notice on the door informing them the gym will be closed for the next two weeks to repair massive water damage in the ceiling.

“I’m just bummed I won’t get to work out with you. It’s not as fun alone in my apartment.”

“You could come over to mine, if we can find a time where it works.”

“I’d love to.”

Barclay double checks that the address on the apartment in front of him matches the one Joseph sent, while trying not to fixate on the text that came with it.

Joseph: Be ready, big guy, I’m going to work you hard

He knocks on the designated door, pushes it open when Joseph calls for him to come in. There’s a yoga mat on the floor and a stationary bike in the corner, and far too little space for two grown men to work out together.

“Do you want me to help move the couch? That might give us...more...room.”

Joseph, in his full suit and dress shoes, leans against the kitchen doorway with a confident smile.

“Y-you’re not working out with me, are you?” Barclay’s hopes hurry to the front of his brain, tripping up his tongue.

“No. I did mine earlier today.” He runs a finger along Barclay’s chest, “I designed a special one, just for you. If you get through it all, you get a reward.”

“What kind?”

Joseph leans in to kiss him softly and swiftly, “I’ll let you fuck me.”

Barclay’s hands fly out to grips his shoulders as he groans, “fuck, babe, really?”

“Really. But first, you have to pick two things from this list.” He hands Barclay a sheet of memo paper with a neatly written list of the lewdest exercises he’s ever seen. He’d offer to do all of them, but then he might not have enough energy to enjoy his reward.

“The, uh, the push ups and the crunches.”

Joseph raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“Please?”

“Okay, big guy, we’ll do those. Get on the mat, push up position.”

Barclay hurriedly obeys. Freshly shined shoes step onto the top edge of the mat.

“We’ll just do thirty today. I’ll count. Ready?”

He nods.

“Good boy. Down, one”

Barclay bends his elbows, only stopping when his lips touch the top of Joseph’s shoes. He holds there a two-count, then rises.

“Down, two.”

He repeats the motion, keeps time with Joseph’s count as a hint of polish curls into his nose. It should be boring, maybe even degrading, but fuck him if it isn’t the hottest fucking thing he’s done in years. Joseph is so put together, so poised, Barclay feels like an unkempt beast next to him in his gym clothes. Yet he’s letting him kiss his lovingly shined shoes, telling him he’s a good boy as he works up a sweat.

“Down, thirty.” Joseph joins him on the floor as Barclay sits back on his heels, “well done. Now, on your back please.”

Barclay lays down. Joseph grabs a silver item from the side table and holds it in front of him. It takes his lust-glazed brain a second to grasp it’s a cock cage.

“Can I put this on you? You’ll have to wear it the rest of the workout.”

“Ohfuckplease.”

Joseph leans forward enough to kiss his chest, then shifts his shorts down to his thighs and locks the cage into place.

“If you need to stop, just say red. Okay?”

He nods frantically.

“Okay?” Joseph repeats with a stern look.

“Okay.”

“Good boy.” Joseph lifts his legs and sets them over his left shoulder. Barclay whimpers as there’s a snap of a latex glove and a pop of lube. Joseph smirks as Barclay whines at his teasing touches.

“Two sets, forty each. Go ahead and count in your head.”

“Okay” He curls his body, only gets through two more crunches before a finger presses in. “fuck!”

“Focus, big guy.” Joseph kisses his knee.

“I am, I’m focusing on the fact you’re a fucking genius.”

“If you lose count, you’ll have to start over” he presses in the second finger, “and that means longer until your reward.”

“I’m, I’m on twenty!”

A kiss to his calf, “Keep going.”

By the time he hits the second “forty” his legs are burning and Joseph is stretching his ass open with three fingers. He pulls them free but keeps Barclays legs in place, tugs the glove off and removes a blue, silicone plug from his jacket pocket . It slides in comfortably, but Barclay whimpers his name all the same.

“You’re doing so well Barclay. Are you ready to keep being my good boy?”

“Yes, please yes.”

Joseph sets his legs on the floor, guides him to his knees so he can pull his shorts up, and then helps him to his feet, pausing to kiss him sweetly and run his lips along his neck.

“Twenty minutes on the bike. Whatever speed you like.”

Barclay eases himself onto the seat, starts pedaling and watches longingly as Joseph heads into the kitchen saying he'll be back in a minute. The plug isn’t too uncomfortable to sit on, so this should be a breeze.

He hunches forward with a moan as it starts vibrating. Joseph strides back into the room, remote control in hand, only stopping to give Barclay another kiss and run his fingers through his hair before dropping onto the couch.

“Let me know when you’re done.” He picks up a copy of Empire and starts reading, heedless of Barclay’s increasingly loud moans.

The vibrator starts and stops, sometimes a gentle buzz and sometimes a furious pulse, and Barclay fights to keep the pedals going under the onslaught, desperate not to lose time and eager to please the man stealing tender, hungry glances at him from the couch.

“Time” He gasps, pulling his feet free from the pedals. Joseph is up and to him before his legs have a chance to wobble. Once he’s on the couch, shirt soaked with sweat, Joseph straddles him and kisses him demandingly, mouth moving from lips to cheek to neck without a care for sweat.

“Will you be a good boy and let me get off on you?”

“You know I fuckin will, fuck, babe, wanna be so fuckin good for youAH, ohgod” He throws his arms around Joseph, clinging and groping as he grinds on the cage and the aching cock within it.

“You look so good like this big guy, exhausted and obedient for me.”

“Yes, yesyes all for you, Joseph, please cum on me.”

“I will baby, don’t worry.” He brushes their lips together, “do you want some more kisses while I do.”

“Uhhuh” He whines, the noise only growing as Joseph kisses him and works his hips recklessly, his hands slipping up Barclays shirt to squeeze his pecs and toy with his nipples. When the tempo of his jerking hips changes, Barclay holds him tighter, needing to feel the way his body tenses and shudders as he cums more than he’s needed anything in his life.

“There” Joseph grins, panting, and pulls the key to the cage from his breast pocket, “now you can have your reward.” He slides to the floor, yanking Barclays shorts with him on the way. The cock cage hits the carpet and then a wet, enthusiastic mouth swallows him almost to the root.

“Ohfuck, Joseph, babe I’m gonna cum in like two seconds you, you might wanna-”

The agent pulls off, lazily licking the head, “I don’t want cum on the carpet, big guy. So be a good boy and cum down my throat.”

He gets exactly three and a half ecstatic thrusts into Joseph’s mouth before his orgasm knocks the breath from him and he cums, moaning out thanks as he does. When he’s spilled the last of it, Joseph sits back, breathing deep and wiping his lips.

“J-joseph? Will you, uh, will you kiss me again?”

The other man clambers into his lap, bitter taste on his tongue when Barclay glides his own against it. When he finally stops to breathe, Joseph pets his beard.

“Was all that okay?”

“So fucking okay. It was incredible. I, I feel so fucking good. Sweaty, but good.”

A kiss on the cheek, “Shower is just down that hall. Go get clean while I order dinner.”

“Okay.” Barclay looks at him with dreamy hope, “do you, uh, wanna do this again sometime?”

“Often. If, um, if that’s okay with you?”

Barclay nods, “as long as we can still work out together? I like doing that with you.”

“Of course, big guy.”

[welcometowcwmondaynitro]

WCW Monday Nitro 09/09/1996

Shit be exploding, so you know what time it is.

Yes sir.

Once again we are not given a location this week, which generally means the town is too small-time for the big shots at WCW to even consider giving a shout out to. My research tells me this broadcast comes from the Columbus Civic Centre in Columbus, Georgia.  

As always we are introduced to our first hour announce team, Schiavone and Zbyszko.

Tony is looking quite smart this evening. Larry as expected has a horrific multcoloured abomination on underneath his jacket. It’s basically his gimmick a this point so whatever. 

They talk about how the balance of power has shifted to the nWo and Larry says Giant is “the biggest traitor since Benedict Arnold”, nice ancient reference there, Larry. We get a recap of last week’s awesome show-ending brawl. 

Once they’re done wrapping this up, Goldberg’s music plays. What? I check my file - yes, definitely 9th September 1996. Has Goldberg time travelled back to 1996 and changed history by debuting early?

Well, either that is one hell of a disguise or no, actually Goldberg’s theme music was first used by this Japanese guy called Pat Tanaka. It’s really weird seeing this random fella walk out to Goldberg’s music. The crowd boo mildly - I guess just because he’s Japanese? I don’t remember there being any storyline reason to boo him, anyway. 

Pat’s opponent is... this.

Looks like a mascot from a early/mid-90s video game brought to life. If this is Super Calo then I am curious as to what regular Calo is like. I am unsure as to what makes this version ‘Super’, but maybe we’ll find out in the upcoming match. Mike Tenay joins the announce crew because it is Calo’s debut and Tenay is the only one likely to know anything about him.

Pat Tanaka vs Super Calo

I was kind of hoping Tanaka would start the match with a spear and then jackhammer Calo into oblivion, but no such luck. 

As one would anticipate from a man dressed like a stereotypical kung-fu master in an 80s movie, Tanaka starts the match off with some kicks.

Calo jumps around pointlessly and then gets kicked in the face. Bants.

Tenay tells us Calo’s name and look comes from the “top rap group” in Mexico. He does not name this group. Confusingly wikipedia claims Calo is named after a Mexican rock group with the same name, but his image is meant to convey a rapper. So, just... what? Also what rapper has ever looked like Super Calo? In Mexico is that how rappers dress? 

Well anyway this odd fellow somersaults over the ropes onto Tanaka outside of the ring. 

The screen then cuts to this.

 Then we’re back to the match. OK then. 

Tanaka hits Calo with a powerbomb, which leads to Tony talking about him being “so schooled in the martial arts”. Yes, because we all know that classic martial arts move the powerbomb. Often followed by a leg drop and a scorpion deathlock. 

The ending to this match is beyond ridiculous. 

First, Tanaka puts Calo onto the top turnbuckle.

Neither man seems to know what is meant to happen next, so they awkwardly wrap their arms around each other.

Tanaka then lifts Calo up like he’s going for an inverse piledriver and falls backwards.

Apparently he knocks himself out, gets pinned, and loses.

What an idiot.

Super Calo defeats Pat Tanaka via Pinfall.

Nothing too super about our friend Calo in this one I’m afraid. His victory came largely because Tanaka is a super dunce.

We got some lads in the front row who are big fans of the classic moustache.

They seem quite pleased that Calo emerged victorious.

Just under seven minutes in and we throw back to Mean Gene in the locker room with Rick Steiner. This should be good.

Shirts hanging out of the lockers behind them, as you do. 

Gene asks Rick Steiner about Nick Patrick’s questionable officiating - referring to the incident last week where Luger was disqualified in seconds for basically nothing. Rick says that he had Luger, and Gene saw it. Total bullshit as the match had barely started, and Gene does point that out. 

Luger walks into the frame as we see last week’s replay. Rick is continually going on about how he was going to win, sounding like a mentally challenged three year old. On the other hand this is a guy who also genuinely thinks he’s a dog, so... I should probably be impressed that he is able to form words and put them into a somewhat coherent structure.

Gene says that Steiner is “a little confused” in the understatement of the century, 

Luger tells Rick that he’s “a great tag team wrestler” but he feels like he has the edge in a singles environment. Rick continues to fail to understand basic english and keeps repeating “I can beat you, ask Sting” and then starts calling for Sting.

Gene then ushers Rick away like an unruly child as Luger walks off as well. Gene says that Luger was alluding that Rick “doesn’t have it upstairs”, pointing to his head. Wow, what a dick. Luger didn’t say anything like that. All he implied was that he was a better singles wrestler than Rick. Not sure where Gene has gotten his interpretation from, but my guess is he just wants to stir the pot as usual.

Next it’s nWo announcement time.

Just the usual t-shirt ad with Nash saying “all proceeds go towards the Ric Flair retirement fund”. Joke’s on him, that fund must have accrued some serious cash before it was finally paid out.

We’re back and...

Somebody buy these poor kids some real nWo t-shirts. 

Where did these people come from? Did they decide to stop by Nitro after a corporate dinner or something? 

Are these pilots in the audience as well? Wtf? Why are all these people coming to the show dressed in their work clothes? Is this a common thing in the States?

Oh, hey, guess what - Glacier debuted. I would say “remember all that hype” but if you’ve been reading this sad collection of nostalgic drivel then you will indeed remember the many Glacier adverts that have been on every Nitro broadcast since May or so. We’re now in September and Glacier finally had his first match... on WCW Pro.

Seriously.

WCW Pro is like... Sunday Night Heat or Velocity in WWE terms. It’s below WCW Saturday Night for fuck’s sake.  Tony calls it “one of the most eagerly anticipated debuts ever” - which is why he made his first appearance on WCW FUCKING PRO. Oh WCW, what are you like?

Larry says Glacier will be “a force to be reckoned with”, which, spoiler alert. turns out to be the opposite.

  Oh good, these two walking charisma vacuums.

And these two lumbering idiots. WCW, the best wrestling on the planet. How could WWF in 1996 find no way to entice people away from Pat Tanaka vs Super Calo and The AFC vs the Nasty Boys? Seriously. It isn’t that difficult. 

The AFC do their usual schtick of singing the Canadian national anthem badly and the crowd get angry because ‘Murica fuck yeah and whatever. The Nasty Boys say “fuck this” and attack the AFC after about 10 seconds of this bullshit, getting the match started.

The Amazing French Canadians Vs The Nasty Boys

You don’t care about this match. I don’t care about this match. Let’s just skip to the end.

Knobbs whacks the eyepatch guy with the flag the AFC brought out. Saggs pins for the win. 

The Nasty Boys defeat The Amazing French Canadians via Pinfall.

Mean Gene comes scurrying out to interview the Nastys, for some reason.

Saggs says everybody has been pointing the finger at the Nasty Boys, accusing them of being with the nWo (can’t imagine anybody really cares but OK, sure). Saggs says the Nasty’s are only worried about the tag titles which are in WCW, ergo they aren’t interested in joining the nWo. Does he not realise that faction affiliation is irrelevent as far as challenging for belts is concerned? I mean, Hogan is literally WCW Heavyweight champion at this point in time. 

Knobbs says that the Nasty’s don’t care about the nWo, they’re in WCW and they’re coming for Harlem Heat to take the tag team titles. Short and to the point, which is fine by me, even if the Nasty’s appear to be under the mistaken impression- that joining the nWo would invalidate them from challenging for the tag titles. 

We’re back from a commercial break to find Scott Norton and Sgt Craig Pittman in the ring.

Sgt Craig Pittman Vs Scott Norton

The commentators bill this as a “hold versus hold” match and I’m not sure what this means, as I was under the impression every match is hold versus hold. But whatever. 

After some back and forth Pittman decides that it’s time to ram his head into Norton’s sternum. 

It looks pretty painful and not especially effective, but Pittman enjoys it so much he does it again. 

They head to the outside of the ring. Norton gets whipped against the guardrail, the entirety of which moves upon impact, but then Norton regains control by slamming Pittman’s shoulder into the ring post. 

Norton locks in the armbar but the Sarge will not give up. Long gets onto the ring apron to beg Pittman to give in, but he won’t. WCW, for reasons beyond my understanding, is very careful about protecting Sgt. Craig Pittman. He never gets pushed, as far as I remember, but this man WILL NOT QUIT.

Then... 

Ice Train wanders out wearing this abomination. Seriously - what the fuck? It’s like a demin vest with a backpack built in. It’s something you would expect to see an eight-year old girl in the mid-90s wearing over the top of a t-shirt or something. What clothing brand figured that this design was suitable for huge, beefy dudes? I don’t know, but they clearly have a customer in Ice Train.

Train throws in the towel for Pittman.  

Scott Norton defeats Sgt. Craig Pittman via Forfeit. 

He enters the ring and stares down at Norton, who is looking at Train’s vest top and moobs like “dafuq?”

The two former amigos have a staredown which doesn’t lead anywhere. 

Pepboys Power Pin of the Week is a submission. Go figure.

We head to the locker room where Gene-o is with Ric Flair, Arn Anderson and Lex Luger.

Three of these men are dressed appropriately. The other is Lex Luger.

Apparently Sting is supposed to be a part of this interview as well but is nowhere to be found. Luger assures Flair & Arn that Sting is in the building, but the Horsemen are having none of it and are concerned that Sting doesn’t have his head in the game. Flair starts going crazy and practically flings himself into an alternate dimension with his erratic movements.

Like a jet propeller is being put directly in front of his face.

Anyway eventually these two sad sacks come lumbering in...

Mongo looks like he’s about to explode, whilst Benoit as usual appears barely awake. Mongo yells about not being able to count on Luger and Sting. Luger reiterates that Sting is in the building somewhere, he’s just not around for the interview. The Horsemen do seem overly paranoid here - how hard would it be to track Sting down and talk to him if they are this pissed off? 

Arn says he’s called ahead to Winston, Salem (where Fall Brawl/War Games is being held) to pre-book himself a hospital room as he assumes he’s going to need one. Seems like a somewhat pessimistic thing to do, but is it even possible to pre-book hospital room? Arn is talking like he’s booked a hotel room for the night. Strange lad. He also suggests Hogan uses battery acid to burn out his eyes which... I mean, don’t give the guy ideas, Arn.  

Interview ends with everybody talking over each other and Flair wooing a lot - so, the same as most Horsemen interviews.

People in the crowd are holding these signs which say “nWo - you haven’t seen bad... but it’s coming!” - indeed, Hogan Vs Piper is coming.

We get a recap of this thrilling DDP/Eddie/Chavo storyline which nobody cares about, but why this is recapped is beyond me as the next match has nothing to do with any of those three. 

Instead, out comes “the desparado” himself, Joe Gomez.

Somebody throws a wad of paper at him as he enters. Obviously not a fan.

His opponent is Juventud Guerrera,  who Tony repeatedly refers to as Juventud Guerrero. 

As Juvi enters he runs past these ladies, who appear both baffled and unimpressed with him.

Cold.

Joe Gomez Vs Juventud Guerrera

The match starts off okay, but descends into disaster fairly quickly as Juvi starts trying various lucha things which poor Joe is clearly not comfortable with. First Juvi stands on the apron, jumps onto the ropes as Gomez slowly walks towards him and does this...

It’s clear from this angle alone that there is no way in hell Juvi is going to reach Gomez. In fairness to WCW they switch camera angle just in time to make it look slightly less terrible, although I imagine it was more down to luck than skill. Nonetheless Gomez at least tries to sell the move, falling backwards theatrically.

Weeee! Points for effort if not execution. 

This happens next, and thanks to Uproxx “Best and Worst of WCW Monday Nitro” series (check it out, it’s great) I have a GIF to put into pictures what I would struggle to put into words.

Speaks for itself.

After this Juvi seems to want to go for a hurricanrana from the top turnbuckle but I‘m not sure if they botch this as well or it was the plan, but Juvi ends up backflipping away from the turnbuckle and then catching Gomez with a weak looking dropkick as he jumps towards Juvi.

Juvi just about manages to hit the finishing move...

But even that looks a little bit dodgy. At least Joe just had to lay there for this one. Ref counts to three and mercifully this one is over. Not sure if Gomez or Juvi are to blame for this shitshow, but either way I advise never putting them together again.

Juventud Guerrera defeats Joe Gomez via Pinfall.

For some reason Mean Gene is on the ramp to interview Nick Patrick. Oh good, more of this storyline.

Before they start the interview though, as Juventud walks past Gene and Patrick, Gene says “very good match there on the part of Juventud Guerrera”, then gives Juvi a disdainful look and mutters “guy just kind of... wanders around here”. LOL. Why is Gene throwing shade at poor Juvi? “Guy just wanders around here”, like he’s a lost child or something. I guess Gene is still salty about the interview with Juvi that went wrong a couple of weeks ago, but come on, that was hardly Juvi’s fault. Obvious Gene is still holding a grudge though. 

I don’t think anybody really wants to hear from these two ballbags but here we are anyway. 

Gene is accusing Patrick of making too many controversial calls for it to just be coincidence, whilst Patrick is accusing Gene of being a shit-stirring cock cheese who needs to get a life. Neither are lying but nobody really cares either. What is funny is that Okerlund is very haughty and dismissive of Patrick - until Patrick threatens to take Gene to court - at which point Gene stutters “well I-I hope that doesn’t happen” before saying “thank you very much Nick Patrick, sir, thank you” to Patrick as he walks off. Pathetic. 

Meanwhile Hogan, Hall, Nash and the Giant are outside in the pouring rain putting those nWo flyers with the “you haven’t seen bad... but it’s coming” slogan on random cars. This seems like a total waste of time as by the time the car owners get back to their vehicles the rain would probably have destroyed those flyers anyway.  Do these guys really have nothing better to do? Tony tells us the nWo are “literally” in the parking lot - as opposed to what, being there in spirit?

Ted DiBiase is the smartest of the lot as he 1) has an umbrella and 2) isn’t wasting his time putting up useless flyers in the pouring rain. He’s talking to somebody in the car, and the announcers are shitting themselves as to who it might be, as they tend to do. For all they know DiBiase might just be talking to the driver. 

“HERE’S A STORY OF TWO BROTHERS, RICK AND SCOTT!”

Just Rick tonight. He comes out doing that sad half-bark he does whenever something is troubling him. 

His opponent, of course, is Flexy Lexy.

Rick Steiner Vs Lex Luger

These two are not exactly known as ‘ring generals’ so I am not expecting a classic here. Let’s see, though. Perhaps we will all be pleasantly surprised. 

After various arm drags, headlocks, shoulder blocks, and so on, this happens.

Uh...

Yeah. Rick is basically molesting Luger in the ring and keeps this up for a disturbing amount of time. I guess it’s meant to show his amateur wrestling background but it basically just looks like sexual assault. Rick’s hands are going to places they really should not. 

Hour two begins with the usual fireworks. Bischoff, Heenan and Tenay come in on commentary for the rest of the show. 

Rick hits Luger with a nice powerslam, and Randy Anderson cannot bear to watch the impact. The crowd bark their approval which, personally, I don’t think is helpful. Rick’s clinical lycanthropy is only going to get worse if people bark at him when he does something good. Or bark at him in general, really.

More cuddling. Back away, Rick. Even Randy Anderson is telling him to cut it out at this point.

Luger takes control with a powerslam and signals for the rack. However, before he can attempt his finishing move...

This dicksplash comes running out waving his arms around. Looks like he’s doing the sieg heil there but fairly sure it’s just the timing of the screenshot.

Anyhow, Patrick tells Luger to follow him out the back, yelling something about the nWo beating up Sting.

Considering Patrick’s recent behaviour, Lex, it might not be wise to...

OK. Never mind. Of course Luger goes running after Patrick, abandoning the match entirely and getting himself counted out. 

Everyone looking towards the entrance way like “where’s he going?” 

Rick Steiner defeats Lex Luger via Countout.

We get a shot of DiBiase talking to the mystery man in the limo. Sting’s voice is heard but it is blatantly piped in from some other promo. He says he’s “tired of the DTA stuff, don’t trust anybody”, so I guess he’s not a fan of Stone Cold Steve Austin. DiBiase pretends to talk to the pre-taped Sting voice until Lex shows up.

A guy who is clearly not Sting gets out of the limo and starts beating up Luger whilst Bischoff screams “NO! NO!”

I have the advantage of hindsight and my monitor is probably bigger than most people’s TVs back in 1996... but still, it’s really obviously not Sting. Were people genuinely fooled by this? 

The nWo along with “Sting” beat Luger down and leave him laying in a broken heap in the rain...

It has not been a good night for Luger. First he got yelled at by the Horsemen, then he spent ten minutes getting inappropriately touched by Rick Steiner during their match, then he gets smacked around by the nWo and left on the ground in the pouring rain. Bad times for sure. Although if you’re stupid enough to follow Nick Patrick anywhere... 

Luger does manage to get back up but ends up just kind of wandering around in the rain looking confused whilst the nWo flee, leaving the limos parked outside the building.

These bois are not impressed by what they have just seen. Tenay looks like a dad who is about to grab his belt and put a whippin’ on somebody. Bischoff is indignant. Heenan wears the expression of a man who was just forced to sit through every Raw from 2015. Pure torture. 

Bischoff says he has an update which is literally “we don’t know where [the nWo] are. I’m sorry. I don’t know”. Well thanks for that. Very helpful. 

We get a long recap of last week’s angle including more footage of the amazing all-out brawl that ended the show. Then we get another nWo advert for their t-shirt. 

A bunch of random jobbers are outside with Luger and Rick Steiner milling around the limo yelling out “DIBIASE!” - as if he’ll just pop up and be like “sup bois?” - pointless endeavour. Rick Steiner is the only one smart enough to bring an umbrella outside. Let that one sink in. Luger chucks a bunch of stuff out of one of the limos onto the floor which seems unnecessary. 

Out comes pre-Flock Billy Kidman. The commentators could not care less, just droning on about Sting’s supposed “defection”. 

The other combatant in this contest is Cruiserweight champion Rey Mysterio Jr.

Rey Mysterio Jr Vs Billy Kidman

The announcers spend the entire match in ‘sad voice’, like their dogs have all collectively died. It’s really annoying.

The match spills to the outside very quickly. Rey gets the advantage and rolls Kidman back in. He attempts to jump off the ropes from the apron, but Kidman knows what’s coming and meets Rey with a dropkick to the chest.

Kidman slams Rey in the centre of the ring, runs over to the turnbuckle and leaps off.

Just a two count though. Rey wins the match soon after this by flipping off the ropes onto Kidman.

It looks weak but whatever. This wasn’t anything special.

Rey Mysterio defeats Billy Kidman via Pinfall.

We come back from a commercial and the Dungeon’s of Doom’s “music” is playing, and I put that in inverted commas because it isn’t really music, just a pseudo-creepy OTT villainous laugh accompanied by some kind of chant. Whatever. Normally any sign of the Dungeon is enough to make me want to hang my head in despair, however!

If Meng is involved, it might be somewhat entertaining. Just to note those aren’t two random arms sprouting out of Meng’s shoulders – the Barbarian is behind him.

The announcers are still going on about how tragic Sting’s supposed betrayal is – and Bischoff apologises for “not giving Rey Mysterio the attention he deserves in his match”. I mean, kind of tough to take that apology seriously considering how often this has happened and will continue to happen until Nitro goes out of existence. It is the only time I can recall any commentator in WCW actually apologising for the routine ignoring of the cruiserweights in favour of talking about/complaining about the nWo, though.

These two are the opponents. Yeah, Public Enemy, they definitely deserve that pyro. Sure. Look at them waving their hands in the air like they just don’t care.

By the way, the commentators are still going on about Sting. I wonder if we’ll get another apology for ignoring this match as well? Not that I’d necessarily blame them here.

Some diehard wrestling fans here. I think we saw them previously – seemingly someone in production has taken a liking to these ladies. They look like they got lost on their way to a PTA meeting, but fuck it, might as well enjoy themselves now. Watch out for the dude behind you though, ladies. That smile worries me a little.

The Faces of Fear Vs Public Enemy

We go to a commercial break, and as soon as we come back Bischoff says “I hate to keep repeating this, but apparently Sting has joined forces with the nWo”. Bullshit, if you hated it that much you’d have shut up about it by now. I mean, jeez, we get it.

This contest is just a brawl, as you’d expect. Not exactly a match for the ages, but all of a sudden, randomly…

This dude on the left appears and begins running/skipping around the ring.

The fuck? It’s like Rockstar Spud’s demented uncle or something. 

He briefly chases Jimmy Hart, then just… vanishes? Oh, and by the way, the commentators make no mention of this. They do not acknowledge this at all. Why? Because they’re talking about everything except the match itself. Literally, I’m not kidding, it’s like this match is not happening. It’s like listening to a radio show or a podcast spliced together with unrelated WCW footage.

Wait, what? What’s happening now? The match is ongoing and they just cut to the back. Judging from the faces of these lads you’d think someone died. It’s a sombre scene to say the least – but seriously, why even have the match in the ring? What’s the point? The commentators are acting like it isn’t happening and we cut to an interview as the match is happening. Bischoff doesn’t even note that we’ve cut away from a match in progress, he just says “take it away Gene”, like this is totally normal. Whatever, I guess. It’s not like I’m desperate to see the Faces of Fear versus Public Enemy, but what a bizarre way to structure… everything.

Gene asks Arn to explain what happened in the parking lot earlier. Seemed quite self-explanatory to me and the commentators have not stopped talking about it since it happened, so the viewers really don’t need any extra information.  

Arn says he doesn’t give a shit about Luger losing a friend, or that he’s lost a team mate, he’s just shocked. He brings up Sting’s loyalty to WCW.

They actually move to a split-screen here – I guess someone in the production truck remembered there is actually a match going on. It wouldn’t be fair to deprive the dozens of Faces of Fear/Public Enemy fans the chance to see their favourite grapplers go at it.

Anyway, Arn says he has a sick feeling in his stomach, he’s shocked, and he’s out of words. He’s said quite a few already, though, so not really.

Flair stands there with his arms folded, eyeing the audience like a disappointed father.

Luger says he doesn’t have any answers, and that his “best friend in the whole world” stabbed him in the back. He then says he knows where Sting lives and where he works out, and he’s going to go and find him “right now”. Sounds like Lex is planning to murk Sting. However, he should keep in mind this is a guy who only last week tried to murder somebody by chucking a rock through the window of a limo, then stole a police car. Come to think of it, I’m not sure why Sting isn’t in jail. Regardless, I wouldn’t be chasing after him without a good plan.

Flair screams that he’s “sick of it” and just generally yells about how they’re going to beat up the nWo at War Games (including Sting). Arn says “it’s a fight to the death – yours, not ours”. I suppose that was worth emphasising? Also Arn has a tendency to see these matches as ending in death, even though it never comes close to that.

We return to the Faces of Fear/Public Enemy match. By “we” I mean the audience – the commentators are still talking about War Games. I genuinely don’t think they have said anything about the match – oh, wait a minute, Bischoff does mention the match, finally. Although he says the teams are “literally fighting for their lives” which is not exactly accurate. What is up with these people thinking matches are going to end so tragically?

Anyway, the brawling continues for a while and eventually, somehow, Rocco Rock ends up lying on a table. Barbarian heads for the top turnbuckle.

Guys, I don’t foresee this ending well. Seriously, what is the absolute best result of this? Rocco (who can clearly see Barbarian on the turnbuckle) for some reason lays there and lets Barbarian jump on him. It’ll be brutal for both. Or, Rocco moves and Barbarian crashes through the table. Either way Barbarian doesn’t win in this scenario.

Uh oh. Jimmy Hart is absolutely useless at holding Rocco down, kicked away like an insect as Rocco sits up.

That is a fucking sick bump. It’s funny because Barbarian barely takes any serious bumps at all, on Nitro at least, then he decides to say fuck it and leaps to the concrete through a table because YOLO I guess?

Well anyway he dead. Rocco brings a second table into the ring.

Looks pretty old. Nick Patrick wags his finger in disapproval, but incredibly that isn’t enough to persuade Public Enemy to stop. They lay Meng on the table, then Rocco goes to the top turnbuckle for a moonsault…

He almost misses the table entirely, only catching Meng with his legs. The table is weak enough that it breaks despite the soft contact.

You’d think that would be the spot that ends the match, but no. Meng gets up like nothing happened and starts brawling with Rocco again. Barbarian is also somehow revived and back in the ring fighting with Grunge. This is weird because the outside table spot with Barbarian getting wiped out, and then Meng getting put through the table by Rocco’s moonsault, felt like the end sequence of the match. Now it’s like we’re back at the start again. Keep in mind the match has been going for about 10 minutes now. That’s at least 7 minutes longer than is ideal for these teams, really.

Whilst Rocco and Barbarian are hugging it out in the corner, Meng puts the Tongan Death Grip on Grunge and now this one is over.

No explanation as to what the fuck was going on with that random ginger guy running around the ring earlier by the way. Oh well. During the replay Heenan accidentally calls Meng “Haku” and then goes silent immediately. Oops.

The Faces of Fear defeat Public Enemy via Pinfall.

Suddenly Okerlund appears at ringside, accompanied by the Dungeon of Doom.

Maxx, Jimmy Hart, Big Bubba, Gene, Kevin Sullivan, Hugh Morrus and Konnan. To quote Rufus from Final Fantasy 7 – “what a crew”.

Sullivan is no longer painting his face with those stupid markings, but for some reason is now wearing a white headband. Does he think he’s the Karate Kid now?

He also starts making this derp face - and this isn’t just a screen grab catching an awkward expression momentarily, he’s making this face on purpose.

For some reason we go to Jimmy Hart first, who tells the Giant “it’s the beginning of the end for you, you just don’t know it yet”. I’m sure he’s quaking in his boots.  

Big Bubba then rants about Glacier, talking about him saying he’s coming for “6 or 7 months” and asking if he’s not debuting because he’s afraid. Slight exaggeration on the 6 or 7 months from Bubba, but to be fair it does feel like those vignettes have been running for at least that long. Bubba actually doesn’t seem to be aware that Glacier debuted on WCW Pro, but it’s WCW Pro, so... understandable. Bubba calls the Dungeon of Doom “the masters of intimidation”…

What he means is that Meng is the master of intimidation. The others aren’t exactly adding much to the equation. Maxx is standing off to the side looking distinctly unimpressed by the entire thing.

With that said, bored does seem to be his default expression regardless of what is happening. I imagine he’d have the same expression even if Bubba was in the process of sprouting three heads whilst doing a kossack dance.

After calling Gene “homes”, Konnan calls Sullivan a “hardened veterano”. He then says Sullivan has seen and led gang wars from coast to coast.

Yes, Kevin Sullivan wearing that silly white headband is exactly what I think of when I think of leaders of gang wars. Sullivan’s ‘wut?’ expression here says it all. I’m not sure you can call the Dungeon of Doom/Alliance to End Hulkamania Versus Hogan and Macho Man a “gang war”. I’m not sure two people can even constitute a gang. Also Sullivan may be worried Konnan is unintentionally (?) implicating him in genuine gang wars… which probably isn’t in the Taskmaster’s best interests.

Konnan challenges the nWo to come out and confront the Dungeon, who he calls “the toughest set”. Yeah, sure. The challenge is not accepted, because the nWo are for sure terrified of a “gang” featuring the likes of Maxx, Kevin Sullivan, Big Bubba and Hugh Morrus.

Sullivan says that Savage thinks he’ll owe the Dungeon “a debt” for carrying him out from the ring last week. I doubt it in all honesty – maybe if they’d actually done something to help him before he’d been beaten down and spraypainted. Carrying him out after the fact didn’t really help much.

Anyhow, Sullivan says Savage can repay this fictional debt by first beating John Tenta, because why not I guess, and then by getting rid of the Giant. That doesn’t really seem like a balanced deal. We carry you backstage after you’ve been beaten up, you make it even by beating John Tenta and the Giant. Hmmm.

Time for some nWo propaganda.

Hogan tells us that they “aren’t here for a stinkin’ reason” – directly contradicting Nash and Hall, who had previously made it clear they’d come in specifically to take over WCW. He then randomly says “we’ve got our boss with us” and points to Ted DiBiase, who’s sitting in a chair behind them.

Homely. DiBiase looks like he’s being held prisoner, but whatever. Hogan says DiBiase makes Ted Turner look like a “pauper”. Honestly I could try to recap this whole thing but it’s really just a bunch of random sound bytes ripping on WCW for the most part. They talk about wanting “their own tag team tournament” for some reason. They also want a segment (on Nitro, presumably) where they can “highlight” their talent. What they actually mean is a segment highlighting Hogan, as we’ll discover going forward. Scott Hall says “nWo 4 life” with the hand sign (might be the first instance of this?) and they all end the segment laughing like it was an amazing joke.

I was a satellite dish owner back then – or rather, my parents were - but no WCW PPVs in the UK, sadly. We only got a butchered hour-long version of Nitro on TNT UK during 1996 & 1997. I didn’t find out that I’d been watching an edited version of the show until many years later. At least now I can sit back and relive the glory of the Faces of Fear Vs Public…. eh, maybe TNT UK were doing us a favour after all.

Back with your bois at the announce desk. Tenay once again has that “stern dad” look, whilst Heenan seems to be whimsically remembering something from years gone by. Take a guess as to what Bischoff is talking about?

A)     The upcoming main event

B)     Meltzer being wrong about everything

C)     Blue Chew

D)     Sting’s betrayal

If you’ve been following along thus far, you’ll know the answer. The lad does genuinely hate big Dave though, and loves that Blue Chew. Come to think of it, what is the main event? I can’t even remember. Sting’s supposed betrayal has been hammered into my brain so many fucking times at this point I can barely conceive of any other event occurring at any wrestling show.

Chris Jericho’s music plays, but…

It’s John Tenta? Still got that stupid haircut by the way. Seriously, fish man, you’ve made your point. Get that shaved.

But yeah, I’m confused here. I thought Jericho was coming out. But hold on, that’s Jericho’s second theme, “One Crazed Anarchist”, aka the Pearl Jam ripoff, not the one he’s using at this point in WCW, which I believe is the Journey ripoff. So John Tenta is in fact the OG “One Crazed Anarchist”. For the record, the theme suits Jericho far more than it suits the former Shark.

As he comes out Tenta says “Savage, you’re not putting me down”. You think so, John?

What exactly has that guy in the hat been up to? That is not the look of an innocent person.

Ohhh yeahhh, it’s the Macho Man. The commentators are pretending that the result of the match is in any doubt, which I suppose they have to do.

John “anti-fish” Tenta Vs “Macho Man” Randy Savage

Savage storms to the ring, but that turns out to be a bad idea as Tenta stomps on the Macho Man’s back as he slides in and then clobbers him with a forearm to the back.

Bad strategy, Macho. Tenta’s moobs though… whoa.

That’s an interesting choice of attire for a wrestling event, madam.

Tenta works over Savage in the corner for a bit. Savage then begins to make a comeback, before for some reason attempting to slam Tenta…

Goes about as well as you’d expect. Macho really needs to work on his strategy.

Bischoff actually specifically says here that Heenan accidentally referred to Meng as “Haku” earlier and wants to make it clear Meng now works for WCW and not the WWF. I guess they were really taking this kind of thing seriously due to the lawsuits flying around at this point in history. Funny though, as you hear these kinds of slip-ups all the time. I mean, if TNA or AEW were sued for every time a commentator accidentally used a competitor’s ex-WWE name there would need to be a legal department created specifically just to deal with the fucking volume. At least Heenan didn’t call it “WWF Nitro���.

Tenta hits Macho with a decent looking drop kick – quite impressive considering his weight. Outside of the ring Savage hits Tenta with a steel chair…

He isn’t disqualified because…? He whacks Tenta twice more with a chair. This is not a no-DQ match, but it is WCW, so fuck the rules unless we need them for storyline purposes, right?

Flying elbow drop!

Macho goes up for a second, but then Teddy Long comes to ringside yelling “Macho!” – what could the so-called “godfather” want with Savage? Also where’s my man Ice Train at? Come to think of it, I just remembered what he was wearing earlier… best for him to stay backstage.

Savage still hits the second elbow drop. Long is gesticulating wildly at Savage and yelling something about the nWo. Savage leaps over the top rope with nice agility.

But before we go any further…

Son, I am disappoint. I can’t even say “A for effort” because that is the lowest tier of effort.

Anyway, Savage follows Teddy to the outside of the arena where Teddy announces “YOU GONNA GO ONE-ON-ONE WITH THE UNDERTAKER PLAYA!”

Actually, they run towards a limo.              

The limo drives off as soon as Savage approaches it. What was the point of that?

Flair and Mongo randomly appear as the limo drives away.

There’s another limo there, but only a box of spraypaint inside it. There are a ton of WCW guys out there now – the Horsemen, the Dungeon, Public Enemy, Juvi, Super Calo, Savage… basically everyone who was on TV tonight. They start spraypainting “WCW” on the limo windows… or rather, they try to. Due to the fact it’s been raining and everywhere is wet it ends up just looking like a green smudge. As an aside, if that is in fact not an nWo limo, somebody is going to be in for a surprise.  

For some reason the commentators are all standing up. Tenay is looking more evil every time he’s on camera. It’s like he wants to reach through the camera and strangle each and every viewer.

Seriously though, he is repeatedly making a “pissed-off dad” face.

“Dad, I borrowed your car…”

“Um… and… I got a speeding ticket…”

“And there’s a dent on the front as I kinda sorta knocked over the mailbox…”

Grounded forever.

Anyway, once they all sit back down Heenan goes on a rant about the nWo which concludes with “if we don’t stop them now then they can’t be stopped”. If only you could glimpse into the future and nWo 2000, Bobby.

Oh, by the way, I guess John Tenta won the match against Savage by count out? It wasn’t announced or shown, but Savage jumped out of the ring and never returned, so…

John Tenta defeats “Macho Man” Randy Savage via Countout.

I guess Tenta was right, Savage didn’t put him down after all. Score one for the fish hating weirdo.

Double A suddenly appears on set. Heenan gives Arn his headset. Can’t help but think it’d be better for Anderson to be in the ring with a mic, as the fans in the arena can’t hear any of this… but whatever.

Arn says that the world is “in shock” and “outraged”. The world is probably a bit of a stretch, but OK. Flair turns up as Arn is talking, as do Benoit and Mongo. Arn says that this all began ten years ago with the original Horsemen, and that they paved the way and showed the nWo how to do it. Technically true. Arn says the nWo want to be the Horsemen “when they grow up”.

Tenay continuing to give that evil stare, even at Arn. Bischoff looks kind of sad.

As an aside, I may have mentioned it before, but I really like this shirt design:

Bischoff begins talking about making mistakes, but Flair interrupts him. Flair screams so loudly that the headset seems to take some damage as the volume decreases slightly. Flair explains War Games – although if you don’t know what it is by this point then what have you been doing with your life? – and says Hogan won’t leave War Games alive. Spoiler alert: he does.

Bischoff then talks about how maybe bringing Hogan in to WCW was “a mistake” and that the Horsemen “haven’t been given their just due”. The same exact sentence could have been said in 2000 and been even more relevant.

WCW then ends the show with a replay of Luger getting beaten up by “Sting” and the nWo. I’m sure he appreciates that. A good thing they reminded us, as I think a whole ten seconds passed at the end there without mention of Sting’s betrayal and my memory had started to go hazy.

[edward-little]

so does crozier the 80s DM end up joining the campaign or not? 👀

crozier the 80s DM ends up joining the campaign. he's no one's first choice because he has terminal DM syndrome-- he's very into strategy and rules and mechanics and worldbuilding at the expense of his ability to play a single character, and he asks a lot of questions while the rest of the table gets annoyed that he's slowing the pace of the session, and he tends to say "i'm going to roll such-and-such" rather than asking "what can i see?" or "do i believe them?" or whatever. fitzjames, who is very much towards the other side of the spectrum where he's more willing to engage in the story at the expense of mechanics, is pretty miffed by this.

crozier isn't used to playing an individual character himself, but he spends a lot of time deliberating and asking the others at the table what they're thinking of playing in order to fit himself into the party last; if he's not going to be enjoyable, he can at least be useful. this approach doesn't gel with the rest of the table, who tend more towards play-what-you-want-and-it'll-all-work-out. he resigns himself to absence during roleplay but functionality during combat, and he'll be decent at travel/exploration too. he settles on a good utility character-- a variant human hunter ranger, outlander background, with the observant feat.

he doesn't intend to roleplay very much, if at all. he figures he'll just stick to the back of the party-- with 11 CHA amongst 14/16/18 CHA characters he's hardly the face, anyway-- and wait for combat. during combat he'll do a decent output of damage, and provide good healing during and after. during exploration he'll basically ensure they don't have to worry at all about food or water or getting lost. his character passively makes everyone's lives easier, but he frustrates the players. does francis not like playing? well, there are so many other things he could be doing. if he doesn't want to play he should just leave the table.

this comes to a head during the tail end of their fifth session. fitzjames, who plays a wild magic sorcerer and always manages to come in clutch with a well-placed enchantment spell, begins making digs at his character; at first it's entirely in-game, one character trying to start a conversation with the other, but out of game, it reads more like fitzjames criticizing crozier for not being a team player. he's not invested in the party. crozier tells him of course he's fucking invested, he built his whole fucking character around the party, and it's their fault if they've gone this far without realizing how much he's done for them. the problem is they've not given him the respect he's owed.

23 to hit, 1 + STR bludgeoning damage.

during their next boss fight, crozier decides, pettily, not to put out any healing and only deal damage. blanky's character loses a leg. mcdonald, present for this session after a couple of months of tight scheduling, can only do so much with cure wounds.

after that, they all have some time to think. crozier sits out the next session, feeling guilty over a stupid decision, even one made in character, that cost another player so gravely. it's just one more reminder that his own actions don't just have consequences for him-- the fallout can land upon others, too. when he comes back a session later, he apologizes. blanky's just glad to have another old man at the table again-- all these young lads who've only played 5e don't have the heads for any gamebreaking shit. in-game, crozier's character makes an effort to mend his relationships with his party members, an olive branch from him to the party and from crozier to the table. his level 8 ASI goes into a 2 point CHA boost, sacrificing the utility of a DEX or WIS increase in favor of showing an effort to invest more in the story and in the character interactions.

his character and fitzjames' character have a bit where they decide to talk about their fight in the fifth session. crozier stumbles his way through the roleplay, and fitzjames gives him more slack than he would ordinarily. fitzjames' character's level 8 ASI goes into WIS; he feels this newfound and growing understanding between them has made him just a little bit wiser.

the thing is, crozier's knowledge of the game, his understanding of mechanics, and his knack for using the rules of the game in service to strategy makes him a good leader for the party. now that he's talking more-- both in- and out-of-character-- there's more discussion at the table about how to go about things. if fitzjames drops a silence on such-and-such area they can wait until the guards reach that spot and fight them unnoticed, or if dundy casts animate objects at the banquet hall they've got 10 forks each doing an average of 6 damage for ~60 damage per turn, and such. of course, blanky already knew crozier was capable of this sort of fuckery, but for the others, it's a pleasant surprise. where before they flew by the seat of their pants and happened to come out the other end with a harrowing story to tell, now they're playing both more carefully and more riskily, with bold strategic moves. this is where their game begins feeling more like a narrative, a story they're playing out but know the ending will be satisfying.

this also means it's time to raise the stakes. the survival mechanics become less forgiving. they're out of crozier's character's favored terrain, and long rests are harder to come by. more attacks happen at night, before they can get a full eight hours, and exhaustion begins to play a factor. crozier's character, now at 13 CHA, takes the inspiring leader feat-- this isn't a character decision, but an effort to keep the party alive by giving them 13 temporary hp per rest. it can only go so far. fitzjames' character eventually racks up 5 levels of exhaustion and is unable to move. the party picks him up and carries him with them in the wagon, and he dies the next morning as he picks up one more level of exhaustion.

after that session, they have a talk at the table about whether or not they want to continue with the campaign. there's been one player character permadeath and things look bleak. the decision is made that the party would wish to continue, and so they do. meanwhile, the DM has allowed fitzjames to take up one of the NPCs to play-- a human swashbuckler rogue with the actor feat.

[romanianseba]

Pretty Dresses

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes, you, and the way you love your dresses throughout the seasons.

Warnings: some angst, mentions of death, major fluff. A very, very smitten Bucky.

Word count: 6.9k

A/N: This is very special for me and I’m so proud of it, loved writing it sooo much. ‘Everybody but them knows they like each other and they don’t even think about the possibility of being liked back’ kinda fic. Enjoy!

—

winter~

Your focus goes from Bucky to the man in front of him. You study the man’s expression, analyze his body language and the speed in which he talks to Bucky through the lens of your weapon. Not a hint of suspicion in his features. What an idiot, you smirk satisfied. Bucky’s very good at this, you think proudly.

“Who’s gonna listen to my ideas from now on? Yep, Tony Stark. You better thank me properly, Anthony.” You whisper to yourself as your eyes flicker from Bucky and the guy to the small classic diner behind them and you’re relieved to see that there’s barely five people inside.

The guy seems to have no suspicion at all up to now but you never know. So you feel thankful to find the place as empty as you wanted it to be. And, as far as you can see from your position, there aren’t any other cars around besides the one your target came in. Good, he came alone. Because you’re here just in case he didn’t.

The guy you’re aiming at is about three inches shorter than Bucky, hair that reaches his ears and slightly built but not even close to match the size of a super soldier. He’s a member –a low range member, you believe, but a member nevertheless– of the criminal gang Tony and Steve had been trying to track down for almost four months. They’ve been trying to find where they hide, following them from a distance but never coming close enough. The gang is credited with about twelve innocent deaths in the past months.

Tony was desperate, until you came up with a not so original plan. Really, you didn’t understand how nobody came up with the undercover concept before.

Although you were elated that your idea was taking the form of a plan, your eyes went wide open with disbelief when Tony suggested Bucky would be the one doing the undercover part.

He would try to infiltrate and pretend to want to be part of a criminal group. Your heart raced. Pretend enough for them to allow him into their places. Your stomach churned.

Do you think he is capable? One hundred percent. Are you still terribly afraid something really bad could happen to him? One hundred and fifty percent.

I’m in. You had said determined when Tony asked who wanted to be covering Bucky’s back in this one. Haven’t done that job in a while. You shrugged when all heads on the table turned towards you, realizing only then how immediately you throw yourself into it. I want him to get comfortable with all members of the team. You should go with him next. You lied to Natasha with a sweet smile when she smirked at you knowingly after that meeting. She didn’t believe a word you said.

The dirty roof of an old, abandoned warehouse is were you lay over your stomach, across from that diner you can’t tear your eyes away from.

You smile when you see a young couple sharing a pink drink over the red table by the window. A woman in her forties sips from her coffee cup on the other side of the counter, newspaper in hand and glasses over her nose. She wears an uniform that matches the diner’s paint inside. You wish for it to stay that way as you keep an eye on Bucky and your aim on the target. You hope you won’t have to shot anybody nearby those shiny windows.

It’s an enchanting diner. You haven’t seen one in ages. It has some old 80’s vibes to it; soft blue, white and red tones, and it seems to be taken care of very well. It’s parking spot is where the team decided the first step of this mission was going to take place.

You had always wanted to own a diner like this one. Yeah, you just remembered now. Own a diner and a much more simple life. But not everything is as easy as you think it is, right? As aunt Marlize used to say. She also happened to be the reason you wanted to own a diner. That woman was the owner of the one you used to go to as a kid -every Sunday at around 11 a.m. for late breakfast of lazy Sundays.

You also remember aunt Marlize complaining about how much she hated it. Evey time I sit down to finally have my lunch because is dead empty around here, someone walks in right away. This job. It’s gonna make me die sooner, she would say. But aunt Marlize would complain just about everything really. There, that’s what made her die sooner, you think as you watch Bucky making his way back to your hiding spot once he is sure the target has left.

Your muscles relax immediately. Bucky is okay. This step was successful. You didn’t have to shot anybody and that diner will remain pretty and peaceful. Letting out a sigh you stay in position, you don’t want surprises, you watch Bucky’s back all the way until he’s by your side; all body parts where they belong.

“Hey,” Bucky lifts his left hand as he climbs the ladder to get to where you are. “You can put it down. It’s me.”

“Yeah,” You chuckle, peeking over the edge. “I’m just watching your back.”

“Thank you, doll. I felt very protected over there.” He says once he is on top and smiles at you, that million dollar smile of his. Lord, he’s beautiful.

“It is my duty to ensure your safety, Sargent.”

He laughs, “You can rest now, loyal guardian.” He swallowed the word wanted to say the most. He wanted to say my loyal guardian. Because Bucky wanted you to be his.

“Here, let me hold that for you.” He reaches and takes the heavy weapon from your hands.

"Let’s get out of here, that rat smell only gets worse every second.” You wince, shaking the dust off the front of your black dress.

Yeah, you’re wearing for this mission. You love dresses. So much. Way too much. Your mother loved dresses, your grandma loved dresses, even aunt Marlize loved dresses. Dresses feel right to you, they feel familiar, they feel like home. Naturally, you wear dresses most of your days. Comfortable, loose, flowy, colorful sundress, but also neutral sundress, dresses with an old vibe to them. It was a strange connection to you mother that you felt through the dresses you wear.

This avenger job, if you can call it a job, a responsibility maybe? It doesn’t allow you to wear them every day but you take advantage of it when you’re able to. Like today.

Today, hopefully, you were not going to fight bad guys. Today you weren’t going to get blood all over. Today your clothes weren’t going to get ripped. Today, oh pretty please, you weren’t going to run towards saving someone’s life. Today you could wear a dress for work. So you did. Of course you did. It stops just above your knee and it blows with the late evening breeze. Dark thick tights underneath because it’s the first week of winter. Combat boots, the only remaining of your official on-duty suit. And Bucky’s jacket. Because he couldn’t decide what to wear for his undercover rol, so he had thrown a bunch of his clothes in the backseat of the car that drove you here and asked you to help him look appropriate. He handed you one of the many jackets he brought when you stepped out of the car and into the chill wind in only the thin three-quarter sleeves of your dress.

“You know, I just remembered,” You tell Bucky, walking by his side as the two of you make your way to the car you were given instructions to leave a couple of miles away.

Guess this’ll have to be your workout for today, the one you avoided this morning because it’s Monday, you told Steve when he looked disapprovingly at you at breakfast.

“I always wanted to own a diner when I was a little kid,” You make a pause, “Hmm, maybe just work in there, I’m not really a boss lady.”

Bucky smiles, and it hurts. Whenever you’re the reason smiling always hurts for Bucky because he can’t control how long it stretches on his cheeks.

“It’d match your style.” He says after a moment.

“My style?”

“Yeah, the way you dress.”

You laugh at that and Bucky frowns.

“What?” His eyes meet yours with amusement and wonder.

Pretty blue eyes hold yours for a second until you shake your head and look away, faint flush painting your cheeks and a small smile lingering in your lips. “Didn’t think you notice.”

Bucky noticed. Yeah he does. He does every day. Bucky notices when you’re wearing a new dress and he knows which one you’ve had since he moved to the compound.

He remembers the dress you were wearing when he met you- and oh, how he wishes you wore it more often. He loves that baby blue dress you wear in the summer. He knows how many floral dress you have, because it’s his favorite imprint on you. It makes him feel lighter, brighter, it makes him remember picking up his mother’s favorite flowers in a spring field, it makes him feel happy.

He knows which one is your favorite because he can talk about all the times you’ve worn it in the last three months. It’s on the days that are the most special for you; the days that you look particularly happy. And if he were to buy you a dress, he knows, Bucky knows you would love it because of how much he has noticed your style. He knows the colors, patters and what lengths you usually go to. Yes, Bucky does notice.

“Why?”

You shrug. “Well, men never notice those things. It’s a miracle when they do once in their whole life. No offense.”

“Not that,” Bucky laughs, the corners of his eyes wrinkle. “Why did you want to work there?”

“Oh! You know, free strawberry milkshakes and fries.” An adorable giggle bubbles from your mouth and you shake your head when Bucky narrows his eyes playfully. “It’s just a cute place in my opinion, Bucky.”

Bucky nods.

“Do you feel like having a strawberry milkshake now?” Closing the driver’s door, Bucky has finally gathered enough courage to ask.

Silence fills the car momentarily and he rushes to believe he has crossed a line until he risks looking your way. A big grin and brighter eyes look back at him from the passenger seat. “Absolutely.”

–

spring~

“You alright, doll?”

You wanted to believe he caught you because it’s you. No, he would do it for anybody. He would. But you wanted to believe he caught you extraordinary fast because he was watching you. No, it’s just the serum running in his veins. The serum had nothing to do with that. He caught you fast because it’s you. He caught you as fast because he was watching you, your every move, since the moment you stepped out of the elevator that brought you here from your bedroom.

The way the skirt of your yellow sundress swayed as you walked. The way you were smiling at your friends, so genuine, no restrictions; your smile was as big as it naturally wanted to be, Bucky noticed, and you weren’t trying to hide it. The way your eyes lit up as they took on everything around you, decorations that Bucky thought matched your being; colorful, simple, beautiful, lighter. A flower. Like those little spring wildflowers covering the grass around the compound. The way you kept coming closer and closer to were this spring party was being held, at the spacious compound’s yard. Closer to were he was, sitting on one of those expensive looking outdoor chairs. The way your eyes stayed a little longer in the chocolate cake in the middle of the room. The way you drank your strawberry drink- which was now stained on your pretty dress. The way you looked like an angel.

Yes, an angel.

“Careful there, darling,” Tony, who was nearby when you stumbled with God knows what, walks past the two of you as Bucky balances you to your feet. “Thank God we have super soldiers around here.” He says over his shoulder, stopping in his tracks when one of his guests abruptly comes to stand right in front of him and starts talking in a smug millionaire voice.

Strange faces with expensive looking clothes and fancy mannerisms. The place is full of people that Bucky doesn’t know. And, judging by the way he has watched him exchanging barely three sentences with every person he comes across, he doubts even Tony Stark himself actually knows any of them.

Bucky didn’t really understand the actual reason or intention behind this outdoor party. He only remembers Tony’s annoying reminders for the team that Friday delivered daily for an entire month and he remembers little of the simple explanation Steve tried to give him while he was busy trying to find you in the crowd before you even arrived down here.

“Thanks, Bucky.” Your embarrassed mumble is almost not even there and Bucky thinks the flush in your cheeks is the prettiest pink he has ever seen.

God, you’re considered to be part of the earth’s mightiest heroes and you almost crashed face first onto the neatly trimmed grass if it weren’t for Bucky’s quick reaction because you were not paying attention to what was in front of you.

“Hey,” He exhales softly. “Like Tony said, thank God I was around.”

You can’t help the grin that reaches your eyes. It made you happy, the way he no longer referred to Tony as Stark, now he calls him Tony. Now he feels more comfortable. It’s been almost three years. The team is no longer a group of strangers for him. He wants to know them. He wants to go out with them and get close. He knows he can trust this people. He has noticed how this people trust him. Now he knows he belongs.

Yes, yes, Bucky. Thank God you’re around.

“I got a little distracted and…” Words die in your tongue as you squint at the hem of his dark grey shirt. “God, it got to your shirt, too. I’m so sorry, Bucky.”

Looking down he spots a faint red stain but he doesn’t care one bit, he’ll remember this moment and how adorable embarrassed you look whenever he wears it.

“It’s fine. It’ll wash off.”

“If it doesn’t, you know where to find me. I’ll take the responsibility.”

He chuckles. “Don’t worry about that, doll.”

“Well, I think I’m gonna need another drink,” You look down to your dress. “And a change of clothes.”

“That’s a good color on you.” It escapes his mouth before he can think it over as he usually does.

And it’s only then, when his deep husky voice falls right over your ear, that you realize how close he is and, looking up, everything you see is baby blue. You smile at him, all teeth and rosy lips and bright eyes that reflect the sun and Bucky swears he’s dreaming.

“You think so?” A sweet, sweet and nervous laugh falls from your lips and it’s angelic; Bucky thinks the sound is angelic.

“Yeah.” He sounds almost out of breath.

And you have to tear your eyes away from him because it feels like you are about to drown in his intense blues.

“I think you would rock yellow, Bucky. I’d love to see that.”

Bucky always hated to wear yellow. Were man even allowed to wear yellow? He doesn’t care. Because now he would stand to wear it, as long as he sees you smile about it the same way you’re smiling at him now. He would wear yellow every day if it meant you were going to smile like that for him.

“Welcome, welcome, everyone! It’s a wonderful afternoon and we’re just getting started…” Your heads turn to where Tony is standing holding a mic when his energetic voice is heard through the entire place.

Bucky groans inside. Just getting started? Been here for about an hour already.

But then you face him again, sweetly smile up at him and suddenly Bucky doesn’t care how much longer he’ll have to stay.

–

summer~

“Where do you get all these cute doll dresses from?”

It comes out unexpected amongst the chaos in the kitchen over breakfast. Unexpected for you. For the whole team bumping against each other, taking turns to make their individuals breakfast. Unexpected for Bucky, the owner of the voice that just made that question. Muttered but clear, loud enough for everyone to hear. Did he intend to say that out loud? Was it just a casual thought that escaped his grasp way too fast? It was debatable; for you, for Bucky, for everyone now exchanging discreet knowing looks and badly hidden half smiles across the kitchen.

It is questionable in Bucky’s mind whether he had wanted to say that out loud. But he is positively aware about the one unquestionable truth; the connection between mind, thought filter and speaking was inexistent when you are near him.

And you are. Delicately setting pieces of your sandwich together right beside him at the adjacent side of the counter. You are pretty close to him and he can’t help his thoughts about you ever, but especially when you are this close.

Damn Sunday mornings when everybody feels like spending a ridiculous amount of time and effort making breakfast, gathering all enormous shoulders and muscle in the relatively spacious kitchen -but enormous shoulders and muscle-, all at the same time, ridiculously early for a Sunday morning because everyone in this house seems to have a permanent hen-like biological clock.

Bucky’s cheeks turn pink the moment you lay your eyes on him; eyebrows high, wide eyes, mind processing what you just heard, mouth open but nothing comes out, cheeks equally flushed because damnit if you’re not internally struggling to chill. Was that a compliment? From Bucky? Bucky? Buc-

“Uh, I-” You swallow, lick your lips nervously, “Do you-” Inhaling to regain some sort of maturity. Dang it, how old am I? “Do you like my dresses,” It’s more of a statement than a question.

Bucky shifts awkwardly on the counter stool, “Yeah, I-” Clears his throat, looks down at the oatmeal bowl in front of him.

“Do you think they’re cute?” A smile starts forming on your lips when his eyes lift to yours again.

Sam groans from the stove, dramatically rolling his eyes, “You idiots, stop acting like you’re not in lov- ouch!” He whines when Wanda pinches his bicep.

“Not your business,” She hisses.

“It’s so obvious, are they blind-”

“Shut up,” Natasha demands with a grin, washing her vegetables in the sink while Sam glares at the back of her head.

It doesn’t matter because whatever everyone else is doing or saying is muffled in the back of your lovesick minds.

The smile tugging on Bucky’s lips eventually matches the size of yours as he answers, “I mean… yeah. They look good on you. And you have your own style, that’s… pretty cool actually.”

He shrugs slightly. As if he weren’t affected by it everyday, as if he didn’t love it so much.

“Well I-,” You go back to your unfinished sandwich with shaky hands because he’s doing that thing again when he stares like you’re the only person in the room. Like you are an exotic discovery that must be put under scrutinized inspection. And you can’t breathe properly when he does. “I buy them online, or-”

“Wow, really?”

You laugh at his amazed tone. “Yeah.”

“How do you know they’ll fit?”

“It’s a process, Bucky. But it’s fun! I also go out there to see what I can find. And I’ve made some of them myself.”

“Are you for real?” He sounds amazed. It’s adorable. Absolutely astonished.

“I can teach you,” You laugh playfully.

He laughs along, “That’ll be fun.”

“For real, I will teach you.”

“Doll, I’m in.” Bucky beams as he watches you place thin sliced tomato over lettuce. “You like them so much, don’t you?”

“Dresses?” You catch his nod by the corner of you eye. “I do a lot.”

“Why?” He asks with nothing but curiosity and you smile bigger.

“It’s a special connection with my mother. She’s not here anymore but that’s how it feels when I wear them.”

When your eyes find his again, Bucky notices the light in your eyes is brighter and his heart goes fast. He can see right through them; the sincerity and how much you mean what you said. And God, do they shine so beautiful.

“That’s amazing, doll.” He whispers with genuine interest.

You stare dumbly at each other for a moment until you look back down shyly, flushed cheeks, timid smile; Bucky looks down at the same time, clears his throat again as if stepping out of a trance and hides his equally timid smile with a spoon full of oats and berries.

After a minute, you speak again, “Also, it’s so easy to put one on, and you don’t really have to think about combinations. You’re done when you throw a dress over your head,” You chuckle, “So, emotional value but also practicality. And comfiness, let’s never forget you can move around with liberty.”

And Bucky doesn’t care how crowded the kitchen is on Sunday mornings, or the overwhelming smell of all sorts of different dishes when you beam at him warmly, like the sun outside.

-

It’s one of those days. All he wanted was to stay home. There are various steps of progress, just as there are steps back. Trauma isn’t something you can move on from easily. It takes years. If it actually even comes to an end before death reaches for you first. Sentiments of unworthiness plagued him once in a while. Not as often as it used to, but they’re there. Days like today. Mentally and physically exhausting missions adding to it all this time around. One after another during the last two weeks.

Bucky’s eyes squint with the summer sun as watches everyone from afar. People he wants to get to know better when it’s not a day like today. He hears the laughs, the bantering, but his eyes keep coming back to you. Sunlight hitting your face gives you rosy cheeks, wide smile matching the light of that infinite light, half of your hair tied up messily, the sound of your sweet laugh as you chat with Wanda standing on wet sand, water covering your feet when a new wave crashes against the seashore. Bucky thinks you’re as bright as the sun, small embroidered flowers covering the white dress that stops bellow your knees, a walking ray of sunshine.

You look pure and innocent and so, so sweet. Sweet, like the coconut water you were drinking a few minutes ago. And he finds himself wondering how someone so sweet can be so lethal when required. His minds travels for a second to your sparring sessions with Steve, the confidence and strength you show on missions.

“Man, you have to stop just looking at her,” Sam leans down beside him to bury his beer in the sand. “You’re wasting time over here.”

It provided reassurance for Bucky. Words he didn’t know he desperately needed to hear. Some sort of confirmation outside his mind that he is allowed to fall in love and receive that kind of love back at this point in his life. It’s possible, it’s still wanted, it’s needed and deserved. It is not too late.

His heart aches when he thinks about how he’s been a little distant with you since that Sunday breakfast conversation you both had a week ago. You’ve noticed the exhaustion in his eyes, deciding it was good to give him some time and space; unaware of the actual reason behind his exhaustion. Forget about tough missions. Undeserving thoughts plague him specially right after getting a bit closer to you. His heart flutters and he believes and he hopes. And then, he’s not good enough, and you’re too good for him.

Giving Bucky one last glance and a smirk, Sam runs to join the rest, splashing salty water all over Wanda when he gives it a hard kick with his foot.

Pushing away wet hair sticking over her face, Wanda stands still, staring down in disbelief as your hands rush up to cover your mouth, attempting to suppress your laughter.

Still from a distance, watching everything with a grin on his face, Bucky leans down to bury his own beer right when the beach chair next to him lights up in a reddish tone, floats on its own and goes flying in the blink on an eye towards Sam, who crouches down with his arms tightly wrapped over his head just in time for the manipulated chair to fly over him and land on the water. Bucky’s eyes go wide, seeing nonliving stuff floating around by control of Wanda’s hands always takes him by surprise.

“Guys, can you stop acting like first graders?” Tony shouts from further away, his head being the only part of his body visible outside the water. Natasha floating peacefully on her back behind him.

The chair crashes against Sam’s side repeatedly when Wanda makes it slide over the surface pulling an exaggerated groan out of its victim. “Hey! Okay, I’m sorry! Wan!”

Shaking your head at such displays of affection of your friends for one another, you turn around, smiling indeed as bright as the sun when your eyes find Bucky’s and waving hello from afar. His mouth mirrors yours as he waves back. Eyes stay connected while both of your overthinking minds debate whether it’s a good idea to approach the other or not.

You win first against yours. Heart drums at a fast speed inside his chest when you approach him slowly, your white dress creating moving shadows on the sand.

“Come, Bucky,” You say sweetly when you reach him, leaning down to grab his hand in yours. “The water is so nice.” You add, tugging at it for him to stand up. “Wanda won’t throw things your way as long as you don’t bother her.”

A sweet laugh falls from your lips as you hold his hand all the way back to the seashore. Not letting go even after fresh water crashes against Bucky’s feet and goes up his ankles.

“Close your eyes, Bucky. Feel everything that is around you.” You whisper next to him. Hands still clasped together.

Feel everything that is around you

Eyes closed, he does what he’s told; the weight of your hand around his, fine sand under his bare feet, refreshing water covering his feet, sunlight touching his heated skin, sea breeze ruffling loose strands of hair that fell from his bun, an entire awe-inspiring ocean in front of him. And Bucky only feels you.

_

autumn~

Ice cream cones, dogs, pineapples and stars imprints. The dresses you wear started to get very peculiar by the end of the summer and through the few first weeks of autumn.

It’s like a door was opened and I have new endless possibilities before me. You said enthusiastically one time Sam asked about your current dress situation.

Until you stopped wearing them.

Bucky is aware you don’t wear dresses every single day of your life. There’s this particular week every month that it’s actually not that comfortable, nor convenient to wear a dress, Bucky. You had told him with a tender smile dancing on your lips at his curiosity when he –pre- rehearsed, pre-meditated and over-considered– had asked you casually why you weren’t wearing any dresses during a certain week a few months ago. And with flushed cheeks, once Natasha had illuminated him with what you meant by that, Bucky nodded. And he got it. He understands.

The thing is, you haven’t in four weeks. Three of which were spent at the compound. Three weeks at home, one week on a mission overseas. Three weeks off duty and you haven’t worn a dress. For three weeks. At home. Where you’re free to wear them anytime you want.

“No, Bucky. It doesn’t. For the hundredth time, it doesn’t last three weeks.” Natasha groaned during breakfast today when he asked her again if your time of the month could last that long.

Over and over again, for all the time you’ve been acting weird, Bucky has been going to her with the same question; ~but what if… ~Nat, you sure there’s not a chance… ~would Wanda know better… -to which Natasha had sent him daggers in the form of a glare- ~why would it be three weeks? ~is she okay? ~haven’t you talk to her? ~but why…

Because not only were you not dressing the way you loved, you had also lost that optimistic attitude and that joyful behavior that lights up every room. And lastly, Bucky noticed sadly, the light in your eyes was gone.

“She’s acting the same way, are you really that sure?” He pushed desperately that morning, absently moving the cereal inside the bowl in front of him. “Looks like the same symptoms, only so much worse.”

Natasha sighed in defeat, talking slowly, “She’s going through a hard time right now. And I’m only telling you this because I hope so profoundly that you will stop asking the same question every single day. Bucky, I appreciate you a lot, but you are driving me crazy. It is not my place to tell you how she feels right know. Only she decides what she wants to share with each one of us, I’m not taking that away from her. I know it’s not easy for her right now and that’s all I’m gonna give you. And no, it’s not because of that time of the month so please stop it.” She begged exasperated.

Looking into his uneasy blue eyes, her expression softened.

“Look, I know she trusts you and she feels comfortable around you. Why don’t you just ask her what’s going on?” She had encouraged him with tender eyes. “She’ll have a better answer to how she’s feeling than I ever will.” Sending a wink his way, the redhead jumped off the stool beside him, dropped a dirty bowl by the sink and walked out the kitchen door.

And that’s what he does. At least, in a way. In his way.

Leaving out a shaky breath, Bucky stares at your closed door, sweaty hands holding the envelope tightly.

He decided wrapping a gift rather than throwing it into a gift bag or a box would give more intention and meaning to it.

It turned out neatly done, a brown-ish ribbon going around and tied on top. Wanda helped when she found him cursing the red tutorial app on the screen of his phone, balls of ruined gift wrap on the floor all around him. I think she’ll love it. She had said. You don’t know who this is for. Bucky replied. Right… I don’t, right? She smirked knowingly.

Looking down at the note he wrote attached to the ribbon, Bucky sighs one more time and places the envelope gently on the floor in front of your door.

I hope the reason you don’t wear them anymore is because you ran out of them; and not because you’ve grown tired of them.

Bucky.

This was Bucky’s way. A silent reminder that he cares about you.

Questions like how are you feeling? can I do something for you? do you want to talk about it?, those didn’t really worked for him. When he was new into this word, those questions didn’t help. He needed space and time, not a constant reminder that something was wrong with him.

And so he was grateful every time you would do something for him, no words spoken. Just little actions that showed him you were there, and that you cared and appreciated him being around.

No pity. Not being sensitive around him. Actions that showed him you were not afraid. Pouring a cup of coffee for him in the mornings. Making space for him on the couch without looking. Normal. He felt normal when you did things like that. Like he didn’t need to be treated a special way. Eyes weren’t on him the whole time to see his every move when you were the only one in a room with him.

Bucky didn’t want to come up to you with those questions. He didn’t want to make you feel like you had to share something with him when you weren’t ready. A dress is what he bought for you. A silent reminder; I’m here for you. I notice, and I care.

It takes you some time to find him, but you finally spot him by the tall bare trees around the compound. Hundreds of dry, colorful, autumn leaves covering the ground, creaking under your feet. And, if you weren’t in such state of mind, you would be laughing and throwing handfuls of fallen leaves into the air. Autumn is such a wonderful time of the year.

His back is to you and his hair looks messy, and curly, and so soft; makes you want to get your hands on it.

“Bucky.”

“Hey, doll.”

Bucky takes you in when he turns around. Dress or not, you’re beautiful. Sweatpants, an oversized shirt. Always beautiful.

“Hi.”

He smiles fondly, “Hi.”

“Thank you. For the…” Your lip trembles and Bucky isn’t sure, but he thinks he sees your eyes get watery before you bolt forward, surprising him when you wrap your arms around him tightly. “Thanks, Bucky,” Your voice is muffled against his hoodie. “It means a lot to me.”

He exhales, his smile grows, his heart drums happily. Unsure of how much he should hold you, his arms go around your shoulders lightly, even when his whole body wants to hold you so close until it is impossible to know whether there are two bodies or just one.

“I thought it would cheer you up,” He whispers, his breath tickling your scalp at the top of your head. “I don’t know what you’re going through. It’s okay if you don’t wanna talk about it. But I’m here. If you need me. I’ll do anything for you.” He speaks slowly as his flesh fingers squeeze your shoulder gently and you pull away with a smile; though, he notices, it doesn’t reach your eyes.

“I know you would.” And he knows you’re being sincere when you hold his gaze.

Taking a deep breath, you walk past him. Facing him again after a minute when you lean your back against a big tree catching a yellow leaf as it falls, twisting its little stem between your fingers. He watches you cautiously.

“Remember when I told you about what dresses mean to me?”

Bucky blinks and then nods, smiling. “I do. It makes you remember your mother.”

“Yeah,” Your voice cracks a little and his smile falls. “My whole family actually. Dad always loved them,” Your eyes are on his shoes as your continue. “He loved seeing mamma, me and my little sisters wear them.” Bucky watches one side of your mouth slightly twitching upwards. “It was tree years ago… when I lost them all.”

You finally look up and Bucky sees tears pooling your eyes.

“I guess I had deprived the grief before because I was always busy and we never stopped working after what happened,” Your voice is totally trembling now and tears are falling free down your cheeks. “I pushed it aside for so long, and I’m truly just now processing everything, and my younger sister,” You choke a little and Bucky clenches his fists because he wants to hold you so tight and wipe the hurt away. “Little Lyla, she would- would have turned four two weeks ago and it’s just so much, Bucky. She was- she was just a baby.”

Both of your hands cover your mouth as you sob, full of years and shaking violently. And Bucky can’t take it anymore, he strides towards you hastily and cages you in his arms. Tight.

“Oh, sweetheart. I’m so sorry,” His metal hand cradles your head against his chest and there are tears in his own eyes as he mumbles against the top of your head, “So sorry, baby.”

He has heard about what happened with your parents, in the New York attack; but he never knew you had little sisters.

“I’ve protected so many people and I couldn’t keep them safe. The most- the most important for me.” Your fingers grip the fabric on his back.

“No, doll. No,” Bucky closes his eyes, jaw clenched, tears covering his cheeks, pained to the core. “It was not your fault, not your fault.”

He wants to shatter the guild and grief that you’re feeling and protect you from it forever.

“My parents would have been twenty five years of being married yesterday and it was mom’s biggest dream to celebrate it, she would talk about it all the time and I don’t know what to do, Bucky.” You sob against him, letting everything out.

“It’s okay, I’m here.” His fingers stroke your hair soothingly.

And he just hold you for a moment and you let him; you need it. More leaves slowly falling all around you. It would be magical and romantic in different circumstances.

“Sorry.” You cry, throat dry and it hurts and Bucky’s heart falls in pieces.

How someone so sweet can be so broken.

“Hey,” He says softly. “No, you don’t have to apologize about anything.”

“I was so distant…”

“It’s okay, doll. It’s okay.”

“That’s why I didn’t- I couldn’t wear anything that remind me… I would see them all if I- if I put a dress on I would see my family,” You sob. “I miss them a lot.”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry,” He whispers. “I’m sorry if I made you remember. I didn’t know.”

“No, Bucky,” You shake your head firmly. “I love it. Thank you. Thank you so much. It made me feel so much better. I love it.”

Bucky holds you some more, until you’re not shaking and your breath is almost even.

“I want to try it on,” Your voice is raspy. Pulling away, the back of your hands go up to sweep against your cheeks. “I want you to see it first.” A small smile graces your tear stained face as you look up at him shyly.

“Okay.”

His hand outstretches to you and you take it without a second thought, letting him lead the way back to the compound.

Anticipation running hot in his veins, and he feels the excitement in his belly when he waits patiently outside your bedroom door. Bottom lip trapped between his teeth because all he can think about is how you’ll look with that dress and he’s grinning so hard.

The enhanced ear catches every little shuffle inside and he arranges his hair and straightens his posture when he catches the soft paddle of your feet approaching the door. And the air is kicked out of his lungs as soon as you open it and he takes you in.

“What do you think?”

“I think it was made just for you.”

“I really love it. It’s my favorite now. Just wanted to let you know I’m gonna wear it a lot.”

Bucky chuckles; smiling so big because the scene in front of him is so much better than image he had in mind. “Can’t wait.”

“It’s the best thing I have ever been given,” You look down, running your hands over the soft fabric of the beautiful green dress. “Thank you again, Bucky.”

“I’m glad you still like them, you know,” He shrugs.

“Of course.”

And, taking a leap of faith –and courage–, Bucky steps closer. One step. Then, another one, slower and more hesitant than the first. Your breath hitches when your shoes touch the tip of his, and you find his eyes when his left hand touches your cheek. The cold metal a welcoming temperature to your flushed skin.

“You look beautiful,” Thumb gently strokes under your eye, “And– you’re so strong. I’m proud of you,” His voice is so gentle, his eyes even more, they hold so much sincerity and tenderness, looking at them makes your heart believe what others have told you. “You’ve made it this far. So many would have given up long ago. I’m so proud.”

Bucky doesn’t miss the way your eyes lit up the longer he holds you. Eyes that compete with the stars look up at him; hopeful, bright, wanting. And Bucky jumps, the leap of faith, erases the distance that keeps you two apart. Tender lips pressed to yours, soft and lovely.

He met you wearing a dress. He fell for you wearing a dress. He hold your hand first time when you wearing a dress. Kissed you for the first time when you were wearing a dress. Loved you wearing a dress. Made love to you for the first time, a floral dress rucked up around your waist. He wanted to marry you, and you would be wearing a dress. Bucky wanted to grow old watching you wear pretty dresses for the rest of his life.

[popculturebuffet]

Tex Avery Birthday Spectacular!

Hello all you happy people! And welcome to a celebration of the only cartoon director I knew as a kid and one of the finest whose ever lived, Mr. Tex Avery. 

Avery is a legend in the animation industry and rightly so. Starting out at a few other studios, and loosing sight in one of his eyes due to some tomfoolery at one, Tex was annoyed with the restrctive enviorment and eventually found his way to Termite Terrace, the animated shorts wing of Leon Schislenger Productions, aka the future Warner Brothers Studios and the makers of Looney Tunes. And his impact on the franchise is vast, cannot be overstated and I only learned about just how much recently: The man created Daffy Duck and Bugs Bunny, created the prototype for Elmer Fudd, and created the design for Porky we’re all far more familiar with. 

Eventually though while he was happy there, his career when ended when he eventually got into a squabble with Leon schsinger over the ending of “The Heckling Hare” and left soon after. Given he got a four week unpaid suspension for it , a bit extreme given all he’d given the studio, I can’t blame him. He instead went over to MGM who badly needed his wacky energy, and thus got to go as nuts as he wanted, with creative control a better budget and the result was his peak and classic characters like Red and my personal faviorite and personal boy: Droopy. I will try and do a birthday thing for him next month, we’ll see if my rather packed schedule will allow for it. Point is I watched the guys cartoons a lot as a kid between looney tunes and his shorts being repacked for the Tex Avery show in the late 90′s, and until recently I had no idea the depth and scope of his career: The guy gave looney tunes it’s standard fourth walll breaking and made it a huge part of the industry, and he was the one to hlep htem break out of being a Disney knockoff and into what we know today. The guy has my utmost respect so today I honor him as the first animator to get one of my birthday specials: As is my standard ten shorts, my patreons get to pick one each (I now have two but she start’s next month so her benefits will too) if they so choose (Kev opted out of the porky pig one next week) and I went to my friend blah for a recomendation as he’s an avid fan of the golden age of animation and thus usually has a really good choice up his sleeve. Now that’s out of hte way join me under the cut for some shenanigans as old tex would want it that way. 

1. The Gold Diggers of 49 (1935)

This was Tex Avery’s first short with warner and the first of his I could find, not ot mention his first time working with Chuck Jones and Bob Clampett, who he’d mentor and go on to be the heart and soul of Looney Tunes and define the characters Tex created. And since this is more significant than his earlier work i’m coutning it as his first. And as a start it’s.. ehhhhhhh. 

I don’t blame him for it though.  Most don’t hit it out of hte park their first time up to bat, and frankly the deck was stacked against him. He was saddled with Beans the Cat...

No one brak no one. He was part of an attempt by warner to create a new star as part of a Little Rascals/Our Gang style group of kids debuting in the short “I Haven’t Got a Hat”. This short is notable not for Beans, who no one cares about, but for the debut of Looney Tunes first star: Porky Pig. Porky was just one of the various characters but the only one audiences really liked. It took some time for Warner to get the hint though, hence Beans starring here and Porky playing his girlfriend’s father.. and also now being much older than him for some reason. 

So instead of being a Little Rascals ripoff bean is now a mickey mouse ripoff, as the short gives me mickey mouse vibes.. but without the things that made those shorts actually good and feels mostly built on studios trying to make what they think audiences will like. There’s sparks of waht Tex would become.. but just not enough wiggle room for him to make something special. Also porky looks and sounds weird in this one and Bean’s girlfriend has a REALLY annoying voice. Oh and two horrible Asian stereotypes, because it was acceptable at the time but lord was it never okay. Then again I should be at least mildly greatful none of the shorts had blackface.. because tex apparently REALLY had a problem with that, something I obviously didn’t know as a kid as they edited it out but given most of his MGM shorts have “blackface edited out of x version”, yeahhh.... I may like the guy, quite a bit and feel those gags weren’t done out of malice.. but it dosen’t make them okay, they were never okay and he should’ve done better. 

2. I Love to Singa (1936) Thankfully our next entry is 800% better, as we get a classic from my childhood and probably multiple childhoods. Admittedly part of the reason this one stuck in my head is the title song, sung by a young jazz singing owl whose dad doesn’t like that he sings Jazz instead of classical, enters a contest and nearly looses singing classical to please his dad only for his dad to intervene and finally accept his son. It’s a wonderful story of acceptance with some decent gags, beautiful animation and one hell of a title track that will probably never leave my head. The song is really what makes this short and sometimes that’s okay. Also just to note so someone else doesn’t: This short was a parody of the Jazz Singer one of the first talkie’s.. and also a film that uses blackface and whose 80′s remake bafflingly also uses blackface for some reason. Yes really. 

3. Tortoise Beats Hare (1941)

One of Tex’s only four Bugs Shorts.. but given 3/4 of them are certified classics, and one of them involving a horrible stereotype.. to the point it’s part of the rightfully infamous “Censored 11″ and the ONLY one involving Bugs Bunny. 

So as I said, Tex has a bad history with casual racism, and while it was the style at the time and I don’t THINK he was actively malicious towards black people.. it doesn’t make some of his work any less harmful. The rest of his bugs work though is remembered for the right reasons: his first appearance, and early classic we’ll get to next.. and this standout everyone who saw it as a kid or an adult fondly remembers. 

You all know the premise: Bugs finds out, in an utterly brilliant wall shattering bit at the start where he reads off the crew names and then the title, that this picture will have him beaten by a turtle and taking offense to that challenges the guy. This is honestly one of the few Bugs shorts where he’s the out and out villain of the picture. He’s doing this race purely out of ego, yells at Cecil whose perfectly nice in this one, and in general is the bully set up for a fall he’d later be famous for taking on. But it works, both because this si early in bugs career so it’s entirely in character, and because Mel just really sells the obnoxiousness while still being funny. 

This short also has one of Tex’s trademark setups as this is essentially a prototypical droopy cartoon: A meek, goofy voiced protagonist whose shorter than his large obnoxious enemy and who torments him by showing up every where he’s going to be and casually doing it. Cecil even does so using an army of fellow turtles with Droopy later using a similar trick in one of his shorts. As a big Droopy fan i’m clearly not complaining and while Droopy would do it better, this short’s still a classic for a reason with tons of great bits and is a fun break from the usual bugs setup, though in full fairness the usual bugs setup is still solid gold so take that how you will. 

4. The Heckling Hare (1941)

Originally I was going to have Daffy in Hollywood in this spot as I thought it was on Max, it was not,  so I swapped it out with his final bugs cartoon. For the record his first, and Bugs, is being saved for Bugs birthday this summer. And honestly i’m glad I did because this was 7 mintues of pure joy that has another setup that Tex himself and other Looney Tunes animators would resuuse: Bugs being pitted up against a far dumber antagonist. One who often still fully deserves it but allows him to just have fun for several minutes at this dumb bastard’s expense. It works well here, with tons of clever gags, my faviorite being the two doing dumb faces with each other only for bugs to stop and pull out a sign as seen right above. 

It’s also an approriate capper to our warner made Tex shorts for the day, as this would be the one that got him fired. He and Schisnger argued over it and he got suspended as I mentioned and I found it again a bit fucking extreme. So did Tex and after a handful of shorts elsewhere, he’d move over to MGM, whose cartoons would ironically be bought up by warner. They needed a shot in the arm to compete with Disney and Warner and Tex was happy to provide hte needle filled with nonsense. And the results.. are pure gold. 

5. Dumb Hounded (1943)

I’ll admit as a kid I didn’t know Tex’s MGM shorts were theatrical, or any shorts but somehow I knew they weren’t looney tunes. Besidds obviously having hteir own show they just had their own tone and pacing and style. While the Looney Tunes aren’t bad, at all honestly, Tex’s work here was in a class by itself with MGM gladly giving him a higher budget and even more creative freedom. And the results speak for themselves and one of those results is one of if not my faviorite classic cartoon character. And since I might not be able to get to his birthday with one of these next month, though i’m certainly going to try march is just VERY VERY FULL. Anyways point is our happy hero was introduced here. And given i’m frequently depressed and often withdrawn, not that you could tell from my reviews here, I related to this depressed bulldog who always won anyway despite being an outsider, finding love, sucess and always beating a much larger, much more assholish antagonist. But Droopy is good on his own merits as his shorts are just that funny. 

This was true from Day One as dumb hounded is fucking perfect: The Wolf that Avery always used in his cartoons escapes from jail and is hunted by bloodhounds including our boy, who charmingly introduces himself with “You know what, i’m the hero”. From there it’s a simple setup but a great one as Droopy finds the guy.. then chases him from here to enternity with one amazing gag after another. Simple, utterly hilarious and the dawn of a legend, with the ending having Droopy go a bit nuts after getting his reward money before returning to his usual demeanor “You know what? I’m happy” So am I bud, so am I. 

6. Red Hot Riding Hood (1943)

Yup same year. Tex hit the ground sprinting. This one is his signature MGM toon and for good reason. Using his usual forth wall breaking style, both the wolf and red riding hood rebel when it opens with a typical telling, so it changes to a 40′s nightlife setting: Grandma lives in a penthouse and is man hungry, Red is a fanservicey night club act and the Wolf is a sexually harassing asshole who chases after here and has some over the top reactions to her that are iconic in some’s mind.

The short is gorgeously animated with Red’s dance sequence and Wolfie’s reactions being the highlight and the short isn’t as bad as it could be as the wolf is treated as a scumbag for hitting on her and generally being a creep. SO the first two thirds aren’t bad with nice touches like the narrator clearly improvising the new story. It’s just badly hampered by the last half where Grandma sexually harasses Wolfie and it just doesn’t work. This double standard stuff annoys me and “haha get it it’s funny when a woman stalks a man” isn’t funny. Wolfie stalking her really isn’t that funny either it’s just not you know an entire third of the film. So a classic for a reason.. but one that really has degraded with time. Still worth analyzing and what not, just not great. 

7. Who Killed Who? (1943)

Yes still. It was a good year. This is another one off like Red Hot Riding Hood and as is tradition since the Tom and Jerry one, my patreons each get to pick one and Kev selected this one. And this.. was a great choice. 

Seriously I could not stop laughing with a great gag a minute, WAY too many to mention, a classic ending, and just nothing but net the whole time. I don’t have much to say really.. but because this one’s just good. The whodunnit genre hasn’t really gone away, it’s cliches are welll known even today and this is a lovely parody of it that hits the ground running after a live action intro and runs right through the wall across a lake and straight into droopy “You moved.”. 

The only real observation I have other than “This is fucking awesome watch it immediately” is that the villian looks exactly like the Phantom Blot. Who knew the Phantom Blot was a live action guy with a weird haircut the whole time huh?  Seriously this one is a masterpiece, an instant faviorite, and I highly recommend it. 

8. Screwball Squirrel (1944)

As you can probably guess by how I lead it in this one is not very good. It is tex TRYING to make a bugs or daffy type character again and somehow failing at it. He created them, he did plenty of shorts like theirs with other characters and got how the cat and mouse antics of the old theatrical shorts worked.. so I have no idea how this one happened. 

I’m really not overselling it: The short is about Screwy, who hyjacks it from a cute widdle bunny clearly parodying bambi.. who he beats the shit out of, then decides to get things going asks a dumb dog to hunt him, then insults him to provoke him to attacking him. He then spends the entire short tormenting the poor dumb bastard who again HE PROVOKED. It feels like a poor imitation of dumb hounded, as while Bugs clearly outclassed the dog there, he’d die if he lost, so while he was punching down, he clearly didn’t have a choice and you can’t honestly blame him. Here, Screwy is fine, he just wants someone’s head to fuck with and spends a whole short torturing him. We don’t even get catarsis as while the dog does catch him at the end via  weird gag, they end up deciding to beat up the bunny instead. 

His voice is also just the worst, just utterly grating and making me wish an anvil woudl fall on HIM instead. Screwy would return for some other shorts but I have no idea why. This was easily the weakest of these ten shorts and I will probably not return to the guy next year.

9. Bad Luck Blackie (1949)

This is one i’d forgotten till I got a ways in. It’s also weirdly one of the only MGM Tex shorts on HBO Max as this was included in the Tom and Jerry collection for some reason, the dog in it clearly isn’t the tom and Jerry verison of spike... though the dog Droopy fought a lot was indeed called spike. Yes that is confusing, no I don’t know why MGM thought this was a good idea. 

 As a result though I have been saving giving out about this till now but seirously , put the tex avery shorts on HBO Max. Their on Blu-Ray, their on boomerang, especially Droopys. I do not get why they aren’t on here. I’m tired of them holding things out for the boomerang app when not everyone subscirbes to that. Let me have my morose dog dammit. 

That giving out aside i’m glad this one caught my eye via i’ts weird name as it’s another masterpiece. It also does what one Tom and Jerry short I reviewed, the one where tom’s a millionare,  earlier this month failed to: properly make it’s antagonist loathsome enough to deserve the parade of abuse he gets. With that one Tom is tourturning jerry for like 30 seconds, but Jerry torments him for most of 5 minutes. 

Here we get about two minutes of our lead kitten getting torremnted by a mean bulldog. It’s not only still a bit entertaining to lessen the horror just enough to be watchable but not enough to make the bulldog likeable, but it makes what happens for the rest of the short oh so fucking satsifying. While the previous short today really didn’t get the karmic ballance neded for a good classic screwball comedy short this one overwhelmingly does.

Our kitten gets some help in the form of Blackie, a professional black cat who agrees to turn the tables, sauntring across to a wonderfully catchy tune. any time the little guy whistles. The result from there is 5-6 nonstop minutes of comedy genius, as Tex finds new and creative ways for the cat to come out of nowhere, and even shakes things up to keep it intresting towards the end iwth the dog getting the whistle.. only for it to still not work out, and for our little kitten to get his revenge at last by painting himself black after the bulldog paints blackie white. As should be obvious by now, it’s really good, showing Screwball Squirrel was the exception not the rule. In general Tex was this good during his mgm and when he was at his peak we got gems like this. Truly sensational, watch it if you have max it’s under the tom and jerry section for some reason. 

10. T.V. of Tommorow A decent one I remember seeing as a kid. Not much to say though, it’s mostly a bunch of gags about “future” tv’s based on their viewer’s needs. Some good stuff.. not as good as most of what was here today but still better than the worst of it and still very memorable and part of a memorable tetralogy i’ll probably come back to when I do Tex’s birthday again next year. Not a bad note to end on though. 

Overall these shorts show just how strong a creator tex was, gleefully taking convention and ripping it to tiny pieces. As i’ve mentioned many times i’ll be coming back to his work next year.. and probably be watching a hell ofa lot more in the time between. Might even do a second special on him in between birthday ones. We’ll see how this does. The Tom and Jerry one sadly wasn’t quite the hit I hoped. 

Until then I have many other reviews. And since Today (This review is late) was supposed to be the 90′s tom and jerry movie but that turned out not to be on Max for some reason. I still plan to cover it some day i’ll just have to find it and buy it first. But tommorow if I have the time i’ll be continuing the Lena retrospective with an intresting little side trip. So until then, i’ts been a pleasure and you know what? Thanks for reading.