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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years

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70 for sternclay, nsfw please :)

70: you’re planning my best friend’s wedding which we find out the day after you drunkenly hit on me at a bar and I reject you.

“God I hope this guy isn’t a jerk.” Dani plays with her hair as Aubrey fidgets with her phone.

“Hey, if he is, you’ve got me as back-up.” Barclay pats her shoulder reassuringly, “plus, like, you two are the brides. You’re the bosses of the wedding.”

“If we really were the bosses, we wouldn’t be working with a wedding planner in the first place.” Aubrey grumbles.

There’s a knock on the door and Barclay stands, “I’ll get it, you two finish mentally bracing yourselves.”

He opens the door to find a tall, dark haired man with bright blues and a well-cut suit staring at him. Their expressions morph to shock and recognition at the same instant.

“Hi, hic, big guy, what’s your name?” The man’s blue eyes are noticeable even in the dim light of the bar.

“Barclay.” He turns on his stool, giving the man a once over that he can’t help but notice.

“You, hic, here, hic, with anyone?”

“Nope.”

“Want to, hic, be?”

The man is clearly built under his v-neck t-shirt, and Barclay would dearly love to get a closer look at his ass. Trouble is, his ass is having a hard time staying balanced in that chair.

“Sorry, blue eyes, not tonight.”

The man slinks away before Barclay can even ask if he wants him to call him a ride.

“I’m looking for Aubrey Little’s residence?”

“You found it. She and Dani are in here.” He ushers blue-eyes inside, doesn’t envy him the look of suspicion he gets from both women.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Little and Ms. Coulice, I’m Joseph Stern, and I’m here to help your wedding go off without a hitch.”

“Great. Let’s get this over with. Honey, can you go get the notes AH Dr. Harris Bonkers put that down!” Aubrey dives off the chair, grabbing a phone charger from the jaws of the ten pound white rabbit.

As one bride opens up her laptop and the other re-cages a disgruntled small mammal, Stern turns to him.

“And, um, how do you know the brides to be?”

“Dani’s been my best friend since middle school, so I’m her man of honor and helping with the wedding planning.”

“I see. Oh, thank you Ms. Coulice.”

“Dani is fine.” Dani returns to her spot in the loveseat while Stern sits down in a nearby chair with her laptop. He reads for several moments without comment, Aubrey trading worried looks wh Barclay and Dani as he does.

“Are these the specific venues you have in mind, or just examples of the type of location you’d like?”

“Mostly examples.”

“Got it. Would you mind sending me these files? That way I can have them as reference when I’m looking into possible venues.”

“You’re not gonna, like, try to talk us into the Yacht Club or something?”

Stern looks at Aubrey with a warm, polite smile, “Ms. Little--Aubrey--, your father may have retained me, but my job is to make the wedding as close to what you want as possible. I’m not here to undermine you.”

“O-kay” Aubrey still sounds wary, but she and Dani relax as Stern goes over his planning approach with them and works out a tentative schedule of meetings. When he’s done, Barclay offers to walk him to the door.

Just as he steps outside, he turns, “I, um, I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention our exchange last night to either of them. Or to Mr. Little. It’s not a habit of mine, I just had a bit too much, um, liquid courage.”

“You got it. Kinda feeling like I dodged a bullet myself.”

“Oh?” A dark eyebrow arches playfully.

“Rather not sleep with the enemy.”

“Wh-did you miss the part where I said I was here to help them?”

“Nope, but you and I both know it’s a lie. You’re here because Aubrey’s dad has a bug up his butt about this wedding causing a scandal or not being fancy enough or some bullshit, so he called you in to make sure it stays bland.” He sighs, “Look, Mr. Stern, I’m sure you’re a nice guy, but Dani is like a sister and Aubrey is one of my best friends; I’m here to make sure the wedding is actually what they want.”

Stern pinches the bridge of his nose, “is there anything I can to convince you I’m not trying to make them miserable?”

“Yeah. Quit.”

“Not a chance.” Is the immediate reply.

“Well, there’s your answer then.” With that, he shuts the door. There’s a frustrated huff on the other side, and then footsteps fading away.

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

Stern sighs, checks his appearance in the front window as he waits for Dani or Aubrey to open the door. He’s been working with them two weeks now, and while both women (and Dr Harris Bonkers) have warmed up to him some, Barclay remains polite but distant the times they’ve crossed paths. Lord almighty Stern can’t believe he almost slept with him.

Yes, the man looks like his wet dreams made flesh and yes, Stern would like to ride him like a show-horse, but what a nightmare it would have made this whole assignment. Even if Barclay’s reasons insult him, he’s glad they’ve settled on keeping their distance.

Maybe this more casual look will help the other man see he’s not some stuffed suit out to ruin his friend’s wedding.

“Oh, you’re early.” Barclay opens the door with his usual pleasant but cool expression.

“No, I’m not. It’s three.”

“Wait, shit really?” Barclay pulls out his phone as they walk inside, “damn, I must’ve lost track of time when I was cooking. Oh. Uh.” He looks at Stern, apologetic, “and I have a text from Aubrey saying she and Dani had a change of plans and won’t be here until seven.”

“That’s not great, but it’s workable. I can leave and come back.”

“Don’t you live kinda far--uh, huh, she says for us to just test out the menu together and leave her and Dani some for dinner.”

“I guess we can manage tha--why are there ingredients and pots everywhere?”

“Because...I’m…Cooking?” Barclay glances sideways at him.

“What happened to the entire conversation about caterers? When did they change? What’s-”

“Hold on.” Barclay raises one hand, voice calm and deep, soothing over Stern’s rising worries like waves over hot skin, “think you’re mixed up; we’re trying out the food for the rehearsal dinner today. The one I’m cooking. Not the reception.”

“Oh thank the lord.” Stern slumps forward on the counter, “I thought I was about to have a whole day of calling disgruntled employees to tell them to nevermind about a quote.”

“Nope. Now have a seat, look like you’re gonna pass out on Dani’s floor. You want something to drink? We got water, beer, iced tea…”

“Water’s fine, thank you.” He tracks Barclay through the kitchen as he retrieves a glass from an upper cabinet, shirt riding up to show a patch of a dark, fuzzy belly that Stern instantly wants to feel pressed against him as it’s owner pins him to the nearest flat surface.

Cooking seems to relax the other man enough that he actually chats with Stern, rather than keeping their conversation focused on the wedding. Stern learns he’s a personal chef and cookbook editor, though his original background was in baking.

“Okay man, I gotta know” Barclay stirs something cardamom scented over the stove, “what’s with the shirt?”

“It’s from the radio station that first broadcast the story of the Michigan Dogman.”

“The what?”

“The Michigan Dogman, it’s a cryptid, um, nevermind” he curses himself for choosing casual clothes, “it’s niche and nerdy, you don’t want to hear about it.”

“Wrong, now you gotta tell me everything.” Barclay grins at him over his shoulder.

So he does, gradually at first in case Barclay regrets pushing this geekery button and needs to change the conversation, but the other man simply listens, really listens, as he cooks while Stern talks about his journey to the radio station and his talk with the DJ who accidentally started a legend.

They keep talking as they eat, swapping travel stories and book recommendations, Barclay laughing when Stern shares some of the more ridiculous requests he’s gotten while working as a wedding planner.

When Aubrey and Dani arrive home, they take one look at him and Barclay, stopped mid-anecdote and smiling at each other, and trade a surprised glance.

All Stern can think is you and me both.

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

The planning goes more smoothly after that night, Barclay beginning to trust Stern more and more. Stern also learns that he trusts Barclay’s judgement , and the other man is invaluable in helping him narrow down options to present to the brides, both of whom are overall pleased with his work.

He’s particularly proud of his find for the wedding venue. The Madonna Inn is perfect, brightly colored and fancy but still just a bit kitschy, like the locations Dani originally showed him. Both brides were overjoyed, which is why all four of them came down for the weekend to make preparations and start scoping out vendors for the food and flowers. Dani and Aubrey went back up to the city Sunday night, but he and Barclay are staying at the inn the rest of the week, Stern in hopes of having everything scheduled and coordinated and Barclay there in case he needs a second set of eyes (he’s working on a new cookbook and his clients are traveling, so taking the week down the coast is no trouble).

Today has been a work day, but Stern is taking tomorrow off basically because no one has time to meet with him. So after a late afternoon spent lounging on the beach, the two of them go out for a leisurely dinner. On a whim, Stern lets Barclay select and order his meal for him. He doesn’t mean for it to be flirtatious at first, he just trusts Barclay’s culinary instincts and is tired of making decisions. But one look at Barclay’s face, his widening pupils and sudden blush, tell Stern all he needs to know.

“You gonna be good and eat whatever I give you?” Barclay murmurs, so low he’s almost inaudible under the clank of silverware and hum of conversation.

“Of course.” Stern puts on his sweetest smile, shores up his defenses against the self-doubt curling up his spine. He’s not fast enough, and so orders another cocktail.

Halfway through the meal, he notices Barclay watching him, and another piece clicks into place; the cook keeps eyeing his lips and throat as he eats, often shifts in his chair if Stern makes a delighted noise after a bite. When dessert comes, the accidental sounds are replaced by deliberate ones and he luxuriates as he eats his tiramisu, licking the fork to be sure not a drop of cream is wasted.

Barclay asks for the check, and two more slices of cake to-go, without ever taking his eyes off of Stern. He’s feeling confident, and a bit wobbly, as Barclay drives them back to the Inn, taking the larger man’s hand and pulling him towards one of the beds before he can even get the lights on.

A large, gentle hand on his shoulder, “no can do, blue eyes.”

“But I, hic, we, hic-” the world goes sideways as Baclay unlinks their hands.

“Go get some sleep, Joe.”

He changes while Barclay’s in the bathroom, huddles under the covers and faces the window so the other man can’t see him burning top to bottom with shame.

Things get worse in the morning; he’s awoken by a phone call saying the florist has an open slot to meet with him in an hour and so he throws on the nearest nice clothes and dashes out the door. That meeting is followed by a phone call from Mr. Little who is none to pleased with the location choice and Stern spends forty-five minutes convincing him that the Inn is perfectly tasteful and also it’s what the brides want and that counts for a great deal wouldn’t you agree?

His nerves are firing full-strength when he gets back to the room. Barclay, freshly showered and clothed, looks up at him from the bed where he’s thumbing through Cooks Illustrated, reading glasses perched on his nose.

“Rough morning?”

“ Yes.”

He shuts the magazine “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Do you wanna talk about last night?”

“Also no.”

“Well, I do.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. You simply aren’t interested in me that way and I’ve made an ass of myself twice by misreading the situation.”

“You’re wrong. You’re my type, blue eyes-”

“Clearly not, since-”

“-When you’re sober.” Barclay sits all the way up, “which is why I wanna know why you only flirt with me when you’re so drunk neither of us can try anything.”

“Because...because approaching people like that makes me nervous. I’m already under enough stress as it, running block for Aubrey and Dani against Mr. Little without getting myself fired, and the thought of trying to flirt, it’s, everything starts going wrong, it will all go wrong and-” the panic is back, his composure leaving him and taking whatever respect Barclay had for him with it.

“Joe, breathe.”

“Breathing is not the issue here!”

Barclay stands, face calm, and walks over to him. Instead of stepping in front of him, he circles behind, and a hand rests at the base of Stern’s neck.

“Let’s try that again. Inhale, blue eyes, a nice long one.”

Stern complies, Barclay’s voice carrying no threats but leaving no room for protest.

“Breathe out, count to four while you do.”

Stern exhales, nerves diverting energy from panic to desire, Barclays fingers on his skin and dominant baritone in his ear.

“Good boy. Do it again.”

Stern takes another deep breath, then another, over and over as Barclay leads him to the bed and slips off his jacket, followed by his shoes and socks.

“That’s it Joe, you’re doing so good.” He sits beside him on the bed, stroking his hair and Stern follows his touch, “what do you need? What helps when this happens?”

“Something to, to focus on, until I calm down. Just not work related or too complicated.”

“Hmmm” a thumb brushes over his lips, then down his chin, “I got a few things in mind, but they’re pretty damn dirty. Should we try something else?”

“No, please, I, I want that, want, want to be good for you like that.”

“Okay blue eyes, we can do that. You gotta promise me you’ll say ‘stop’ if something doesn’t feel good, okay?”

He nods, heart shaking his ribs, and Barclay leans and kisses him once, tenderly, before laying back on the bed, hands resting beneath his head.

“Get my dick out, yeah, there we go, good boy, I want you to use your mouth, can you, OH, ohhhhyeah.” His cock bumps Stern’s cheek as his hips tilt, a response to Stern lapping teasingly at the base. He drags his tongue all the way up the shaft, takes the head into his mouth, doing his damndest to lock eyes with Barclay the whole time.

“Babe, fuck, that’s it, oh fuck you look good like that, knew you’d look good with my dick in your mouth, been thinking about it since that first night.”

Stern whimpers, hungry for more and pushes his head down. Having Barclay’s cock in his mouth forces him to keep his breathing measured, and so he savors it, senses filling with salt and skin and lingering hints of soap.

“That’s it babe, nice and slow, we got all day. Long as I get to cum sometime before noon I’m happy.”

Stern rolls his tongue over the tip as he pulls off, switches to kisses and licks as he slowly jerks him off. Occasionally he skates up, nudging Barclay’s shirt with his nose--his hands uninterested in leaving his cock--so he can leave deep, longing kisses across his stomach and hips. Every movement elicits a groan or a sigh, every kiss and suck earns him praise. It’s only when his hands are slick with pre-cum and his own saliva that Barclay bucks his hips more intently, growling when Stern takes him back into his mouth.

“Shit you’re good at this, not, fuck, not surprised, look like you would be, like all you need is for me to take care of you and you’ll open that fucking perfect mouth whenever I ask FUCK, oh you like that, don’t you babe? Fuck, shit, like the idea of taking what I give you?”

He whines, rubbing his thighs together as Barclay’s cock bumps the back of his mouth.

“You got three seconds to decide how you wanna take this.”

Stern locks eyes with him again, and dips down the barest bit more. Barclay’s hands tangle in his hair as he groans “good boy” and cums, bitter and warm, down Stern’s throat.

His hands flop onto the bed, allowing Stern to sit up.

“Did...was I good?”

“So fucking good.” Barclay thwacks a hand dramatically onto his forehead to wipe it, “do you want to keep going? Or do you want to stop?”

“I want” Stern presses his hand against his cock, as if this will help rather than make him wetter, “please, can we keep going?”

“Yeah” Barclay sits up, kisses each cheek, “pants and underwear off, leave the shirt and tie.”

By the time Stern is appropriately undressed, Barclay is back on the bed with the to-go box and a plastic fork. He reclines on the pillows, box on his upper chest, “come straddle me, knees about here” he pats the bed near his waist. Stern scoots up into position, Barclay licking his lips as he does.

“Good boy. Now, you’re gonna show me how you get off, so I can know just what to do tonight to make you cry into the mattress.”

“Fuck.” Stern gasps, fingers already rapidly stroking his dick.

“Mmmm, look at how slick you are. Think that deserves a reward.” He spears a piece of cake, “open.”

Stern opens his mouth, leaning forward so Barclay can more easily feed him.

“You do like being spoiled. I can work with that.” Barclay rumbles, pleased, when Sterns fingers work frantically after a second bite.

“Please, Barclay, I want to kiss you, please say I can kiss you.”

“Not until you finish.”

“The, the cake or myself.”

“Yourself, blue eyes.”

He’s panting now, sweat soaking through his shirt, and slowing his hand and hips to take the bites Barclay offers. When he cums it doubles him over, and as he’s bracing his hands on the headboard, trying not to collapse on his partner, Barclay moves everything aside and cups his face, gently guiding him down to kiss him. They stay like that as Stern slowly explores his mouth, tastes leftover cake and laughs when a coppery beard scratches his neck. And when he begins to drop, breath shallow and fingers shaking, Barclay rolls them onto their sides, holds him close. Tells him over and over that he’s proud of him, that he did so well, that he’s right here and he’ll take care of him, give him whatever he wants.

“Honestly, breakfast sounds better than anything else right now.” Stern mumbles against his chest.

“I’ll order us some. You still need me to dom you, or are you ready to start calling the shots again?”

“I don’t call all the shots.”

“Just most of ‘em. Don’t tell anyone, but I kinda like that about you. You’re good at what you do.” Barclay kisses his forehead.

“I...I think I’d like to rinse off while you order breakfast.”

Barclay offers one more kiss before they roll out of bed, has Stern’s robe waiting for him when he gets out of the shower and brings him the room service tray as soon as it’s delivered. They lounge together on Stern’s bed, watching the Inn come to life as the afternoon draws near. From here, they can even see the spot where their friends will get married.

“The ceremony is gonna be perfect.”

“As perfect as I can manage, yes.”

“You got a date for it yet?”

“No.”

“You want one?” Barclay smiles at him, the sunlight making him look as if he stepped out of a daydream and into Stern’s bed.

“Depends; would that date be you?”

“Yep.” Barclay kisses his shoulder.

“Well then,” Stern grins, tips his chin up for a coffee-flavored kiss, “there’s your answer.’

#meet ugly #sternclay #agent stern/barclay #prompt fills

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dmsden · 5 years

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The Doom that Came to the Table - Can a PC ruin a whole campaign in under an hour?

Hullo, Gentle Readers. I feel that this week's Question from a Denizen comes from a place of deep pain. An Anonymous reader asks, "What do you do if a player ruins the whole campaign under an hour on the first session?" Part of me wants to give this reader a hug, because they sound very sad, but, instead, I'm going to give some tough love.

Anonymous, get a grip. There's no way that all your campaign notes and planning could have been so spun-glass fragile as to be rendered completely useless by whatever your player did. And that's because of one of the most powerful and freeing things that there is about being a DM...your players have no idea what you were planning.

What I mean when I say this is that your players don't know where you intended the story to go, what NPCs were lynch-pins for the campaign, what your ultimate intentions were for the doodingus of power, etc. They only know what they see, and, when they take action, what you tell them happens. If they go to do something that would utterly derail your campaign, the only person who can allow that to happen is you.

Let's take an example from The Fellowship of the Ring. Midway through the Council of Elrond scene, as they discuss destroying the One Ring, Gimli attempts to solve the situation by hacking the One Ring in half with his axe. Sure, that would seem like it was going to utterly foil the plot, but, instead, Gimli's axe doesn't put a dent in it. Nope...that solution won't work...it has to be unmade in the fires of Mount Doom. You could think of this as a quick-thinking DM preventing a player from derailing the campaign. And yes, there are built-in reasons why having the Eagles fly them to Mount Doom won't work either, and I'd be glad to answer that in a later article if someone really wants to know (but get ready for some deep Tolkien geekery.)

Did your players kill the major villain of the campaign right off the bat? Well, the only person who knew that was the major villain was you. Just keep things moving until the end of the game session and, before the next game, flesh out the "real" major villain of the campaign. Maybe the person the players killed was just a cat's paw of the real villain...a Saruman to your campaign's Sauron.

Without knowing exactly what happened in this Anonymous DM's campaign, it's hard for me to give specific advice on how to rectify the situation. Suffice to say, no matter how bad things seem to be right now, there's almost always a way to come back. You can always change things to get the story back on track. Just be careful of railroading your players.

I suppose it's possible that the players did something monumentally stupid...the equivalent of handing Sauron the One Ring. If they did, that's no reason for the campaign to end. If anything, that's an incredibly intriguing direction for the campaign to go. In this case, don't magically give them back the One Ring in some kind of mystic "do-over". Instead, make them live with the consequences of what they've done. Now the world will be engulfed in a seemingly unwinnable war, and their big chance to prevent conquest will have been handed over to the enemy. Now they have to quest to see if there's a way for them to undo what they've done. Maybe they need to make some kind of counter-weapon to the One Ring. Maybe they need to find another evil power to help counter Sauron. Whatever happens, it might be darker than you'd originally intended, but there's no reason the story couldn't move forward.

I hope this helps our wounded Anonymous friend. Perhaps they'll let us know what happened someday.

#d&d #dungeons and dragons #dnd #dungeon master #dungeons & dragons #d&d 5e #dnd 5e #dnd stuff #dnd shenanigans #d&d 5th edition #dungeon master advice #dm advice #gm advice

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sirfrogsworth · 6 years

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On letting go and being friends.

jicklet replied to your post “A review that turns into a rant.”

This means a lot to me. I've lost a lot of, well, what I thought were friendships with dudes due to the not moving on thing. You've got a good attitude about it, Froggy.

Sadly, this lesson took me way too long to learn. I was influenced by peers and society to think of every friendship with a woman as a potential romantic entanglement. It wasn’t until my late 20s that I realized how toxic and ridiculous that attitude was.

When you view everything through that romantic lens, it taints the friendship. You stop trying to bond normally and everything turns into strategizing.

“Maybe if I think of more flattering compliments.” “Maybe if I give unexpected gifts.” “MAYBE IF I’M A NICE GUY™.”

I had this notion that continued effort could win hearts. I had seen it in movies and TV shows. My friends even told me that I should keep trying. Perhaps I could wear her down and magically she would see me in a different light.

If you persist you can win your prize!

But people aren’t prizes. You can’t exchange your Nice Guy™ points for romantic rewards. And feelings of attraction rarely change.

I wish more young people understood that attraction is a fickle thing. Much of it takes place in that stubborn lizard brain. The feeling is either there or not. One look. One conversation can be all it takes to decide.

Yes, sometimes people can take a bit longer to warm up.

But not that long.

Once someone has a decent perception of who you are as a person... if they aren’t feeling that biz in their brain and bits... move on.

(I know not everyone feels things in their bits, but it was good alliteration and I couldn’t help myself.)

And maybe give some serious consideration to friendship. Real friendship. If for one second you think “Aww, man. I’m in the stupid friendzone!”... that isn’t real. Friendship is not a substandard consolation prize. If you feel that way, kindly punch yourself in the face, apologize for being a buttmunch, and excuse yourself from their life.

If someone had just explained this to me at 15, I could have saved myself so much heartache. So much embarrassment. And there are probably some friends of mine who I put into uncomfortable situations that were completely unnecessary. I shouldn’t have needed 32 hints to understand. The fact that some of those women still talk to me decades later is a miracle.

But the worst part is the regret. I ruined two very close friendships because I kept trying to create a spark that didn’t exist.

And I wasted soooo... much... time.

I didn’t even consider exploring other, more realistic options. I let potential romantic pairings slip away because I wouldn’t let go.

My brain got switched into angsty melodrama mode.

“She’s the one.” “She’s my soulmate.” “She just doesn’t know it yet!”

I’m so embarrassed to even admit I was like that.

Eventually, I realized that once I dropped the romantic pretense, I got along better with the women in my life more than the men. It was a huge lightbulb moment. (And no, this isn’t a “grrr... men suck” deal. Those specific men at that time just sucked, okay?) I found my interactions with the women in my life more rewarding. It was so much easier to be emotional. It felt freeing to open up in that way. To talk about deeper things. To have more intimate conversations without any awkwardness. Even the hugs were better. Hugging men was always like... *pat pat* *release* and then no eye contact for ten seconds after hug completion. I had more fulfilling handshakes.

My guy friendships all seemed to focus around pure geekery and my ability to make them laugh. Video games or sports or computers or the latest cool media franchise. I enjoyed talking about shared interests. I liked making people laugh. But then I’d talk about my depression or poor health and they’d get uncomfortable. If I wasn’t happy-fun-guy all the time they’d just nod and try to change the subject. As I got sicker, I didn’t have the energy to be “on” all the time. It was exhausting to try.

Once I finally started accepting the women in my life as nothing more than friends, I found a source of emotional support that I really needed. And I was decent at returning that, so our friendships were more even. Mutually beneficial. I could be funny when I wanted to. I could be serious when I wanted to. I could be a shoulder to cry on. They could be a much needed hugging companion. And that was so much more important than trying to find a date. My body was falling apart and romance seemed so trivial. The women in my life took care of me. The men faded away.

Then I started being bothered with how my male friends talked about women. Bragging about sneakily watching girls in yoga pants work out. Talking about their significant others looks as if those were their only admirable features. Detailing sexual conquests as if they were recapping a sporting event. Asking me when I was going to “hit that” about my friends. Then making fun of me when I told them it wasn’t like that.

As I got closer to women, the more I saw them as equals and well... human beings. I mean, I wasn’t very directly sexist or misogynistic in general. But I also never thought about sexism or misogyny even when it was right in front of me. My issues were more internalized.

These conversations with men started really frustrating me. I found myself playing the part of “bro” and feeling scummy afterward. If that happened today I’m hoping I’d have the courage to say something. But I was just figuring this stuff out and was a bit of a chicken then.

Ever since that lightbulb moment I’ve been much more open to just being friends with women. And I’m a bit pickier when befriending men. I know someone is probably going to read this and think I’m trashing all men. It’ll be the M&Ms all over again. All I can say is that these are anecdotal examples of my personal experiences. If people generalize beyond that scope, that is up to them.

What’s the expression?

Not all men? Some of my best friends are men! My father is a man! My dog is a tiny furry man!

All kidding aside... I think the quality of all my friendships (men/women/non-binary) has increased substantially since I had this epiphany. I just sought out more fulfilling relationships in general.

I think I’ll end with a relevant story.

I had a crush on my current best friend in the whole world.

For about 3 days.

We were exchanging Facebook messages. Getting to know each other. I thought she was cute. After a few days she mustered up her courage and let me know that she was gay. She feared that would be the end of our communications. In the past, many guys would just disappear once that bomb dropped. She worried it would be the same with me.

Maybe 15 years ago that would have been me. I don’t know.

But she was hilarious and talented and smart and adorable. Our conversational chemistry was incredibly in sync. Talking to her took almost no energy because everything came so naturally. And for someone with CFS, that is a rare delight. I don’t know if I have ever connected that strongly that quickly with anyone in my life.

After that message, I immediately ended my crush and started our friendship. The easiest and best decision I’ve ever made.

I was just like... “You’re awesome! Let’s be friends!” She was like “YAY!” And I was like “YAY!” And the rest is history.

It’s been 5 years and we’re closer today than we’ve ever been.

But the fact that we even had that exchange is the reason I think we need to be teaching this to young people. Telling someone you are unavailable romantically should not even be a bomb that is dropped. It should be a low pressure FYI.

I’m not saying you can’t be disappointed. Or that you should be able to instantly turn off feelings like a light switch. That takes time and experience. I’m also not saying you need to be friends with every person that rejects you. I’m just saying don’t pass up a good thing.

You can learn to move on.

Once you accept the reality, it’s actually not that hard. And the more you do it, the easier it is to let go.

You can just be friends.

Once you abandon the romantic nonsense, you might even find a closer, more rewarding bond.

This mindset changed my life and gave me a best friend. I feel like a less sucky person too.

I highly recommend it.

Epilogue

I will now patiently wait for angry messages from men who say I drank the feminist Kool-Aid and I’m saying all this just to attract women. Even though that is contrary to everything I just said and it has had a 0 percent success rate so far. (Not that I’m keeping track. It’s just that 0 is pretty easy to count to.)

Or that I’m white-knighting and trying to appear virtuous even though the things I’ve described are mostly the bare minimum for being a decent human and require no adulation. You shouldn’t expect a cookie for doing what is... well... expected.

Also, I’m not putting all women up on a pedestal either. I’ve encountered plenty of sucky women in my life. I just think sometimes men can have this layer of societally influenced suck that interferes with emotionally rewarding friendships. If that layer of suck was removed I think we’d all be better off. And happier. And maybe the hugs would be nicer.

Yeah, I’m still gonna get messages. Oh well.

#jicklet

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pass-the-bechdel · 6 years

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The Middleman Full Series Review

How many episodes pass the Bechdel test?

100% (twelve out of twelve)

What is the average percentage per episode of female characters with names and lines for the full series?

41.34%

How many episodes have a cast that is at least 40% female?

Seven.

How many episodes have a cast that is at least 50% female?

Four.

How many episodes have a cast that is less than 20% female?

None.

How many female characters (with names and lines) are there?

Twenty-two. Four who appear in more than one episode, three who appear in at least half the episodes, and three who appear in every episode.

How many male characters (with names and lines) are there?

Fifty. Seven who appear in more than one episode, two who appear in at least half the episodes, and one who appears in every episode.

Positive Content Status:

Casting aside—a series centering on a Latina Woman of Color remains notable—the series isn’t particularly interested in excelling on this score. And while there’s nothing huge bringing the score down, there’s a quite a few tiny things which do. (Average rating of 2.92).

General Season Quality:

Quite strong, both as a comedy and when appreciated on its own terms. Understands the appeal of comic books and manages to replicate it more consistently and better than more traditional, and arguably more accurate, takes.

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) under the cut:

When I chose to revisit this series, I was afraid that the decade between when it aired and now would make the show less enjoyable than it originally was. Things have changed considerably since 2008, and not only has TV come to embrace superhero narratives of the sort The Middleman often makes reference to, it has also made considerable leaps when it comes to representation. Going back into it, I was nervous that what had once felt fresh and funny would now feel familiar, offensive, or simply unfunny. Fortunately, no. While there are certainly things that feel more bothersome now than they did in 2008—for example, the series feels heteronormative in a way it did not before—taken as a whole, The Middleman holds up better than I’d hoped.

I read a lot of comic books. My father, who has who has been collecting them for roughly fifty years, instilled in me a love for the medium, and while time has increased my disappointment in mainstream comic books, and their consistent inability to make the most out of the toys they’ve created, my affection for them as a whole continues undiminished. The Middleman, then, is right up my alley. It loves comic books too, and is actually better than many of them.

The Middleman is,first and foremost, familiar. Its elements recall a million things. Wendy Watson has a lot in common with Buffy. The Middleman would fit right in with the Doctor. The universe the characters inhabit plays by comic book rules, and knows that the audience is aware of them. Taken together, all of these things, could have very easily led to a very derivative package, which makes it all the more surprising that the series feels as singular as it does.

Part of the appeal of super-hero comic books is the way their diverse, sometimes contradictory narratives, told by various creators, interlock over years, and even decades, to create larger stories, which in turn help make the world’s setting feel large and interesting, and worth exploring even if it’s not through the eyes of the stories’ protagonists. It’s an approach that requires a certain amount of time and looseness, and it’s one that has proven somewhat difficult to translate to the screen.

In a landscape that has become saturated with superhero narratives, The Middleman still stands out as one of the few which best captures the appeal of superhero universes. It’s one thing to tell the story of Supergirl; it’s another to tell the story in which Supergirl exists as part of a world that feels just as dense and weird and funny as she is. Even the Marvel Cinematic Universe, in ten years, hasn’t quite managed it, at least not consistently.

The Middleman, however, feels large. It feels dense. Its adventures may be confined largely to a limited set of locations set within a single city, but nevertheless, the series manages, in twelve episodes, to convey a larger world and more history than other shows manage in three times the space and four times the budget. What’s more, it does so effortlessly and fearlessly. It gets that the audience is willing to buy stories of fish that turn people into zombies, or vampire puppets, or two werewolf administrations, and is willing to do so without trouble, as long as the stories are told with confidence and are bolstered clever writing and good characters.

Fortunately, The Middleman has those in spades.

As a character, Wendy Watson is fascinating; like the series itself, she’s both very familiar and yet stunningly unique. As mentioned, she exists in the same ecological niche as Buffy—snarky, clever, unconcerned with tradition, zealously determined to not let her job take over her life—while at the same feeling quite different in important ways, largely centering around the fact that the series isn’t concerned with making Wendy miserable. While Buffy’s destiny is considered a burden, Wendy’s job as a Middleman-in-training is not only something she got to choose (and can presumably abandon at any moment) but something that ultimately makes her life richer. In fact, that Wendy is satisfied with all aspects of her life may be the most radical thing about the series: yes, she can have it all, and it doesn’t cause the world to explode. That this is all true for a Latina woman of color makes it all the more notable, and important.

As a Puerto Rican of color, I really appreciate the depiction of Wendy’s Latinidad, which informs her character in subtle but defined ways. She feels like my friends and I do, which is not something I can say about a lot of Latino characters. Furthermore, I love that Wendy has friends and people who love her and are concerned for her happiness. While it makes perfect sense for her, as a Buffy analogue, to have them, that she gets to have them as a woman of color makes it all the more important, given the frequent explicit and implicit expectation that women of color be supporting characters in other people’s stories, without wants or desires or weaknesses of their own. Wendy cares and is cared for; that matters.

Another element that makes Wendy familiar is that she is a geek, one who feels considerably more authentic than that character type usually does. Not only are her interests more specific and varied than the norm—her reference pool goes beyond Star Wars and the X-Men—her geekery is not presented as an obstacle in her life,or something that prevents her from being socially and romantically successful. In a world in which loud, misogynistic, and often white elements within the geek communities would claim that they are oppressed because of their interests, it feels heartening to see the show make a counter-argument. The Middleman understands geeks better than those who would most violently claim that label do, and that makes me happy.

Take all of these elements, add Natalie Morales’ consistently fantastic performance, and the fact that Wendy Watson is the honest-to-goodness protagonist of the show, and you have a character that remains a standout in the television landscape, even now.

Then there’s The Middleman.

Now, I quite like the Middleman. Not only is he responsible for many of the show’s laughs, the writing and Matt Kesslar’s acting manage to ground all his peculiarities and make them feel plausible, compelling and human, instead of allowing them to overwhelm the character. At the same time, though, there are parts of him I no longer care for as much as I once did.

In general, I find The Middleman hard to pin down. Parts of him remind me of characters like Sherlock’s Sherlock—quirky geniuses who are allowed to run roughshod over other people’s lives because they are allegedly the only people who can do what they do (and, subtextually, because they are white and male). Early on, that impression feels borne out, as he does things like manipulating events to ensure a second meeting with Wendy, or suggesting that Sensei Ping, another quirky (if non-white) genius, should have free rein to be an ass. At the same time, there is a refreshing lack of ego to him: as he’ll tell you, he’s just the Middleman, one in a decades-long line, and this is both a vital element in his characterization and the show’s overall narrative: if he could become the Middleman, there’s no reason why Wendy can’t. Together, these two elements feel somewhat hard to reconcile.

Another element that bemuses me about the Middleman is his sensibilities, which suggest a certain type of conservatism—he’s a fan of old westerns and their brand of rugged masculinity, drinks milk, foregoes swearing, styles himself in a way intended to honor Dwight Eisenhower, and expresses a degree of gender essentialism—and are therefore hard to square with his overall demeanor and actions, which suggest a generally more open character. It feels as if the parts of him that recall fake 50’s wholesomeness should define him in more fundamental ways than they actually do; instead they just exist, both being and not being a fundamental part of his personality, and feeling contradictory in ways I’m not sure are intentional. It’s not enough to ruin the character, but it’s the sort of thing that makes me newly skeptical.

The Middleman spends most of his on-screen time with Wendy, and aforementioned hiccups aside, the series absolutely nails their partnership: its evolution, from the moment of their accidental meeting to their reunion after Wendy is temporarily lost in a parallel Earth, is the one of the series most enjoyable long-term stories. They are, without question, one of my favorite screen duos ever. However, a large part of what makes The Middleman special is that this is far from the show’s only crucial dynamic. The Middleman may grow to be a crucially important person in Wendy’s life, but he is far from the only person, and that matters a lot.

A tendency I’ve noted in television is that love and affection tend to be portrayed as finite resources, which can only be divvied among people in uneven slices—there’s the one single central relationship, and every other becomes peripheral. Exceptions to this are scarce: Nikita was one; this is another. Wendy not only has the Middleman, but she also has Lacey, and Tyler, and Noser, and the people in her apartment, and even Ida, and all of these feel as important to Wendy as saving the world; it is a key part of the series’ appeal.

Which brings us to Lacey.

As Wendy’s best friend and the Middleman’s love interest, Lacey is a far bigger character here than she was in the comic book the series is based on. She is also, thanks to the scripts and Brit Morgan, a consistent pleasure. At the same time, rewatching the show, Lacey became another of my chief sources of unease. While I continue to enjoy Lacey and Wendy’s relationship, I now enjoy her relationship with Middleman considerably less than I once did. The two characters together are electric,but there’s so much iffy stuff in the margins that it’s hard to actually root for them the way the show wants me to. In other words, it really bugs me that Lacey doesn’t care to know the Middleman’s name, and it especially bugs me considering the other characters she is romantically tied to.

It’s one thing for Lacey to be so smitten with The Middleman that she doesn’t care about his name—that can be explained away as a necessary conceit of the story. However, when she also shows signs that she instantly taken with the Middleman of 1969, and when the show plays around with pairing her with canonical-waste-of-space Pip, then it feels like something else is going on here. Like with the Middleman’s quirks, it suggests something, but I’m not sure what that is, and it’s prominent enough to make me wary. It’s almost enough to make me wish for her to get over the Middleman and actually got romantic with Wendy—at least, as long as they make a space for Tyler.

Of Wendy’s three core relationships, the one with Tyler is the most superfluous to the narrative, insofar as the narrative does just fine without him when he’s not around. And yet, I’m glad to have him around, in part because of how refreshing it feels to have a white male character confident enough to have no ego that needs defending. Given his and Wendy’s circumstances—he’s broke, unemployed, and struggling as an artist, while she has a job she enjoys and takes up most of her time, which also happens to be the job he could have had—it would have been the easiest thing in the world to have struggle with his insecurities, and to have him be the character in the relationship most in need of support. Instead, he manages to feel shockingly mature, and subsequently far more appealing than the usual love interest. That the show feels no need to attempt to make him Wendy’s equal feels particularly refreshing.

The Middleman’s web of interconnected characters and relationships helps ground a series that could easily feel insubstantial or bogged down by either its humor or superhero elements in something real. While part of me wishes the series’ universe included more people of color in general, and more Latino people specifically (the only other one is Wendy’s prominent but perpetually offscreen mother) their presence would only improve what is already a very solid group. Overall, it’s quite easy to imagine the series working as a “proper” superhero show, in part because the characters work so well.

Not that I’d want a more serious The Middleman. A case could be made that it is precisely because it is not interested in being a Serious Superhero Story that it succeeds where many Serious Superhero Stories don’t. It is because the series isn’t concerned about making a boy band made up of four Joshes five exiled intergalactic tyrants feel like an insurmountable threat (until the inevitable surmounting) that it can focus on making them entertaining and memorable and fun. It is because the series isn’t interested in making superheroics the only thing that matters that it can make it feel so vibrant and vital. It is because the series isn’t interested in filling its romances with angst that they are so appealing and important. No, The Middleman isn’t interested in that: it knows what it is, and what it is is a damn satisfying package, even after all these years.

#The Middleman #full series review #Bechdel Test #female representation #submissions #mimeparadox #submission

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bosstoaster · 7 years

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About and FAQ

So who even is this douchebag, anyway?

Hey, I’m Bosstoaster, also known as Boss, BT, and to some, Chao. I have been in many fandoms over the past 15+ years of geekery, but most recently has been Voltron. That’s probably why you’re here. I am a bonafide adult who pays bills and has a job, and both of those things suck but here we are. Cis / She/her pronouns / mid-20s / Aro / Bi

Down to business

Age Headcanons?

If you go through my writing, especially Spectrum, in one fast sitting, you can see the progression of my thoughts on this (as the age discourse rose and fell).

I think it’s the intentions of the writers that they’re all in the teenage bracket, because that’s the protagonist demographic that appeals to young children (like the show wants to do) and to older audiences. I’m almost certain that’s a top-down decision as well. If I had to put a nail on what they’re supposed to be in the show, it would be 17-18 for H/K/L, 15-ish for Pidge and 19-20 for Shiro (and maybe Allura). This matches the show’s timeline and their interactions, and since none of the staff seem to have discussed this, it’s a nebulous topic to begin with.

How I treat/write them is that Pidge is 16-17 (old enough to be trusted to drive a goddamn car), H/L/K is 19-20 (old enough to be going to a school that teaches you how to fly a spaceship/be proper military academy as is implied), and Shiro is 23 (based on the math of when Shiro had to be born given the dates of the show). Allura would be 21-ish on this scale. To me, this makes the most sense given the world building and dynamics of the show, and at this point I don’t care anymore.

But don’t you know that-?

[World’s longest fart noise]

Discourse?

Ship and let ship. While there’s some ships I won’t hide my distaste for (The Pairing That Shall Not Be Named specifically), it’s never going to be for any bullshit Woke Points nonsense. I don’t tend to be interested in Pidge ships either, mostly because none of them stand out to me. Once in awhile I do let my salt get the best of me (please stop sending me ‘I hate woobie Lance’ posts or painful examples of ‘Lance deserves to be the Black Paladin!!’ posts, I want to live my life, let me be), but I try to keep that to a minimum. Mostly, just do what you want, and don’t be an ass. If you’re a salty asshole spreading negativity and hate, I block you. End of story. If you’re too negative, I unfollow you. If you’re yelling in my inbox, you’re instablocked. End of story.

Can I translate one of your fics?

Yes! Please send me a link when you’re done.

Can I make art/edits/photosets/podcasts for your fics?

Yes! Please send me a link and link back to the fic in question

Can I send you prompts?

Yes! You always can. I have a backlog of them in my inbox, and so they tend to get filled slowly as I have time. I’m also picky, so sending it is no guarantee of it being filled. These are for funzies for me. NSFW is also equally accepted!

Is it okay if my prompt involves [violence, abuse, something triggering]?

Yes! However, these are also subject to my whims, and they’ll a) be heavily tagged and b) aren’t always something I’ll fill.

Can I send you a list to a post?

Is it a salt post? Please don’t. Please don’t. Please do not. I’m really sick of that.

Is it a fun post about sci-fi or something funny or puppies? Send away!

I’m trying to promote X event/post, will you reblog it?

Not if you ask me to. I might if I find it myself and get interested, but this is not an advertising or promotional blog. This is my personal tumblr that just happens to be Voltron-focused. If you want me to advertise for you, pay me like my day job.

Will you write Lance-centric/Langst fics?

No. I will not. Do not send me prompts of this. If you want something like this, please go to the front page and take your goddamn pick. You don’t need this from me. There’s plenty of it. If you want this prompt filled, please go ask it of one of the hundreds of Lance-stans furiously churning out works that make Lance cry big woobie tears. I won’t be part of it, and I won’t invite them to my door.

TL;DR: I would rather gnaw off my wrists than write Lance-centric works.

Are you continuing X?

If it’s a series like Spectrum Adjacent or Ten Years On? Probably. If it’s a oneshot? Feel free to ask, but prooobably not.

When Rome’s in Ruins is officially discontinued.

Can I message you?

Sure! I talk to a ton of people, especially on Tumblr Messenger. But be aware that I’m often on during work and that I have a queue going. I may seem to be on when I’m not, or I just might not be able to talk to you at the moment. Please ask before sending anything NSFW.

#About #FAQ

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swipestream · 6 years

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DC Blew up Batman and Wrecked Retailers’ Revenues!

Wedded Bliss… ?

DC Comics is about to learn an expensive lesson: never f*** over the fans.

Yesterday the New York Times posted a thorough preview of the upcoming Batman #50, the issue wherein Batman and Catwoman are supposed to get married. The article spoils pretty much everything about the comic, up to and including the “let’s spit in our fan’s faces” ending.

It’s not a bright move, and bids fair to become DC’s The Last Jedi moment. Here’s the three ways they screwed people over:

Giving away the ending. DC colluded with the press to spoil the comic, front to back. This is IDIOTIC. People read stories to experience the story, and when you give the entire story away, it ruins people’s enjoyment. Imagine if, three days before its release, Marvel had posted the entire script for Avengers Infinity War online. Worse, imagine if they had a story in the NEW YORK TIMES which gave away the movie’s entire plot, with pictures depicting the action. Every key moment in the movie, spoiled. That ending, spoiled. Everything significant, spoiled. No one in their right mind would do this, because sales would tank.

Screwing over retailers by giving away the ending. The story was posted on Sunday, and retailers rapidly chimed in on social media, letting people know that fans were cancelling their preorders, and even taking Batman off their pull list. This is devastating, because in addition to their regular orders, DC issued 110 variant covers, most exclusive to one specific retailer or venue.

Don’t get me wrong, the art is PHENOMENAL. I’ve included a gallery of it below, because, seriously, you have to see this art. It’s some of the best cover work ever done in comics, and involves the majority of the top-name comics artists, all of which has a huge price tag. Stores purchase comics from the distributor, and if no customer buys their comics, they just eat the cost. Each unsold issue is a hit to the store’s bottom line. In an industry that lost 2.5% of its outlets in one year (and all the future sales they would have generated), whose sales are down 9% this year (on top of a 10% decrease last year), a huge, expensive flop like this could push many retailers over the edge.

Of course, the mere fact they spoiled the issue isn’t what’s caused the most damage. What really hurt was this: the ending just plain sucked.

(Gallery next, because there’s SPOILERS for the ending below it.)

Screwing over fans by writing such a crappy ending. The Batman-Catwoman nuptials is a medium-sized comic event spanning a dozen different comics. A dozen individual issues of romance, the proposal, complications, a last-minute attack on Batman by the Joker, and finally, the culmination of the entire series: Batman blue balls.

That’s right. After all that buildup, after all that fan investment, Catwoman leaves him hanging at the altar.

Now, I don’t think this was ever going to be the event DC thought it would be. But even if it were, this ending would have scuttled the whole thing. It’s a monumentally awful ending, one that deliberately spits in the faces of the fans.

Tom King—Batman’s writer—is lauded by many, and while the King Batman issues I’ve read had a few great moments, they also show that he just fundamentally doesn’t get why comics work. Example: In one of the issues leading up to the wedding, Catwoman reveals that she always knew Clark Kent was Superman. His disguise never fooled her.

This is STUPID. In one single panel, King changes Superman from a paragon of superherodom into a moronic chump, a chump who never once—in almost 80 years—thought that he should get a better disguise, because everyone else had already seen through it and was laughing at him. Yes, the glasses thing is maybe unrealistic—but not as unrealistic as people think, a conversation for another time—but comics and comic characters absolutely depend on certain “unrealistic” tropes, and subverting those tropes destroys the character and also destroys the cohesion of the comic universe.

Subversion is destruction, and Tom King indulges overmuch. He has genuine affection for the characters, and maybe he thinks of it as “realism”, but what comes out is anything but.

Now, I’m on record as saying that the marriage was a bad idea in the first place. Catwoman is a thief, an unrepentant thief, and she doesn’t deserve to nab Bruce Wayne, a moral paragon on the level of Superman. In a variant continuity, where “comic time” doesn’t exist, Catwoman went to jail for her crimes, reformed, and her and Bruce then got married. Their daughter—the new Huntress—took over for Batman when age and infirmity sidelined Gotham’s hero of the night.

This is the only way Selina Kyle could ever be worthy of marrying Bruce Wayne: by wholeheartedly reforming and paying for her crimes. Bruce Wayne might lust after Selina Kyle, as she is eminently lustable, but he would never, could never love her. She’s the femme fatale, the fallen yet consummately alluring woman the hero lusts after, while understanding that to attain her would bring damnation. The test of the hero is to resist her wiles, and find another, one worthy of his affections.

Tom King’s Catwoman is not worthy. King’s Selina Kyle is not repentant, has no desire to be repentant, and indeed has not even a faint belief that she should be repentant. She steals a man’s wallet while her and Bruce Wayne are on a double date with Lois Lane and Clark Kent. She steals a wallet when Superman—the Kryptonian who can see and hear everything going on in not just the restaurant, but the entire city—is in the same building as her. That’s not just criminal, it’s criminally stupid, and no matter how many times Tom King has Catwoman save Batman’s life from the Joker (this really happened, in issue #49), she’ll never be a fit mate for Bruce Wayne.

That beautiful wedding dress, above? She stole that. She’s marrying a billionaire, and she steals her wedding dress.

Under King’s pen, Bruce Wayne not only falls in love with this unrepentant miscreant, this foolishly criminal cat burglar, but she spurns him and his love, and leaves him standing at the altar. (Presumably in the rain.) (Presumably weeping helplessly.) This is not a fit ending to a romance. It’s pure subversion, and the audience hates it.

So yes, the entire storyline was stupid from the beginning, and yes, voluntarily spoiling it in the New York Times was even stupider, but this ending was the stupidest move of all: like Rian Johnson, turning Luke into a pathetic loser drinking green milk from an alien boob-testicle, Tom King has made Batman into a pathetic loser, endlessly waiting on a Gotham rooftop for the woman who left him at the altar, a woman he never would have fallen for in the first place.

Batman the cuck.

Jasyn Jones, better known as Daddy Warpig, is a host on the Geek Gab podcast, a regular on the Superversive SF livestreams, and blogs at Daddy Warpig’s House of Geekery. Check him out on Twitter.

DC Blew up Batman and Wrecked Retailers’ Revenues! published first on https://medium.com/@ReloadedPCGames

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clairedelunacy · 7 years

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COMPANION UPGRADES: PIPER (3 Images) Everyone knows Piper is Bae. Piper is Love. Piper is Life. But sometimes, even the pluckiest reporter of the post-apocalyptic wasteland needs a makeover. Who's that coming toward us? Why, yes, it's EMBEDDED PIPER. She's on the job* and ready for action. You'll find plenty of Piper overhauls at the Nexus, but I prefer to take a more hand-crafted approach, because part of Piper's charm is that she is this cute, hardscrabble reporter fighting for justice and truth and sugary snacks in the Commonwealth. I used Armorsmith Extended, Custom Combat Armors, Eli's Armor Compendium, More Weaves, Ponytail Hairstyles by Azar, and (naturally) CBBE and BodySlide** to achieve this look. I tossed the hat because CCA lets you turn helmets into hair, providing protection without ruining your 'do. *Not that job, you dirty bird. **I am an adherent of the Frank Cho School of Attractive Lady Rendering. #Fallout #Fallout4 #Bethesda #Gaming #PCGaming #PCMasterRace #LesbianGamer #GamerGirl #LadyGamer #VideoGames #VidyaGames #Companions #Piper #PiperWright #PiperIsBae #PiperIsLove #PiperIsLife #Mods #CustomArmor #DiamondCity #Mods4Days #Gaming #GamingMods #Geek #Nerd #NerdyNerderson #Geekery

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cbilluminati · 7 years

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#gallery-0-4 { margin: auto; } #gallery-0-4 .gallery-item { float: left; margin-top: 10px; text-align: center; width: 33%; } #gallery-0-4 img { border: 2px solid #cfcfcf; } #gallery-0-4 .gallery-caption { margin-left: 0; } /* see gallery_shortcode() in wp-includes/media.php */

I’m here, for Outright Geekery to report on Toronto ComiCon as a newbie to cons and now, an addict to them as well. My first time was exactly what I expected it to be and yet somehow I was still unprepared.

Let me preface this whole thing by telling you all that I have anxiety and am not from a big city. I live on a river as a matter of fact and Toronto has approximately 6 million people. Moderate culture shock every time I go there. As if to remind me, my music player shuffled to Journey’s Don’t Stop Believing as I was getting turned around coming off the GO train. It really was an interesting start.

As I approached the building I encountered the Dreamworks promoters doing first shows of the trailer for their new movie The Boss Baby. I honestly was too psyched to be headed to the con to do what I should have which was stay around and get some more information but there was a convention waiting and way too much to see. I left after a minute of chatter with a Ring Pop and wordsearch for swag-score! The word search was a bit easy but the Ring Pop was delicious.

Fast forward a few hundred feet and I am at Toronto ComiCon. It’s quiet, I hear first days often are and there are dozens of people, pieces of cosplay and escalators to take you down to the main floor.

I can honestly say that first day was a blur and ultimately kind of like getting dressed up to go out somewhere fun, you know it’ll be great when you get there but there’s stuff you have to do before you leave. As soon as I exit the escalator I see this great sign that tells you Cosplay does not equal consent. They earned instant respect seeing acknowledgement of an important rights issue upon entrance.

From there, the entire weekend felt it like moved far too quickly. With no basis for comparison, I can’t tell you how this would rate to other conventions but I can tell you that by Saturday’s exploration I was thoroughly in love and any reservations I had about organization or structure (I’ve seen some fantastic ideas completely ruined due to this) were completely put to rest. Toronto ComiCon knows their stuff.

I went into this weekend with a ton of advice from seasoned con-goers including pack water, snacks, plan your Q&As out with first, second and third choices (I did this), I was told they would be long days. All of this was sage advice but kept going out the window as I spent the entire weekend flitting like a butterfly from one colourful thing to the next. There were large periods of time where I honestly wondered how people still had so much energy.

Neganpool probably had to have been the highlight of the con with his Hello Kitty backpack and spot on persona attached. I talked to him and Wolverine for quite a bit while waiting to get a shot with Laurie Holden (Silent Hill, The Walking Dead, The Mist, The Americans). He was probably my best sport and I ended up doing an impromptu photo shoot that had people giggling around us. He was genuinely a ham and a great subject. Just as I’m collecting myself from his antics- seriously this guy was a riot, I turned around and there was a full size inflatable T-Rex right behind me dancing down the aisle.

Not knowing what you are going to see next and the constant surprises around every corner was the coolest. I’d just be walking through a patch of DC cosplayers and then all of a sudden there would be light sabers clashing as people played. General consensus amongst the entire community seemed to be Toronto ComiCon is warm up for FanExpo in August, with many members already deciding on their new cosplays as they perused the vendors for items to use.

Overall, vendors were well organized, attentive without being pushy and well versed in their respective products, I even learned a bit about collectibles in the process. A little piece of advice for you Funko POP collectors, there are a lot of those bad boys that go for way more in Canada due to lack of availability. It’s the same as anything that way, supply and demand of course however with the flood of awesome POPs, this has to be noted as a useful piece of advice for newer collectors.

Collector’s Editions of comic books, autographed pictures, clothing from every fandom imaginable, action figures, POPs to fill probably my whole house, cosplay accessories, and some truly amazing sculptures and planters of Transformers, Star Wars, TMNT had me fangirling all over the place. A genuine note must be made of these sculptures as they were incredible to look at.

Fernando Ruiz and Dan Parent’s Sketch Duel was another great highlight of the event as, of all the Q&A’s, these guys had it down to a fine art. Their banter with the audience and laidback attitude as they pumped out individual drawings in under 15 minutes was delightful. If you ever get the chance to catch either of the two at a place like this- take it. They’re funny, down to earth and just a blast. Kudos to Metro Convention Centre and Toronto ComiCon for the fantastic managing of these, lineups were not crowded and the moderators were personable and well spoken.

My overall thoughts here are whether you’re a seasoned con-goer or new to conventions, if you can attend this one. The vendors were many, the cosplay excellent, organization well done and the people friendly. After this experience- I’d have to say that these are four things that I would consider to be of main importance in making for a good con. I’d have to agree with everyone I spoke to, this was in fact the perfect opening of con season up here.

Toronto ComiCon

I’m here, for Outright Geekery to report on Toronto ComiCon as a newbie to cons and now, an addict to them as well.

Toronto ComiCon I’m here, for Outright Geekery to report on Toronto ComiCon as a newbie to cons and now, an addict to them as well.

#comic con #Conventions #Toronto Comicon

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outright-geekery · 7 years

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Toronto ComiCon I’m here, for Outright Geekery to report on Toronto ComiCon as a newbie to cons and now, an addict to them as well.

#comic con #Conventions #Toronto Comicon

0 notes