#I feel like...rudy would be the kind of person who like spiders

[shyravenns]

I have a bad habit of wanting to see very big guys and animals, and here’s a bunch of nonsense about it. 

it’s a bit of an open secret, but Simon is very much a dog person. He won’t admit to it, and he absolutely won’t say more than what is absolutely necessary over it, but he quite enjoys the chaotic energy that only a dog can bring. Has a *very* bad habit of befriending strays during missions even when he’s not actively trying to do it himself, and tends to be very lenient towards the smaller dogs he comes across. He’s not *stupid*, and he knows how dangerous dogs can be, but he’s oddly charmed by them and has to be told more than once to stop whatever it is that’s he’s doing, and leave them ALONE. Soap is the only one who can call him the Dog Whisperer without getting the glare of a lifetime. 

And if Simon is getting yelled at for befriending the local strays, then Johnny is getting fussed at for befriending the birds. He’s very much the type to befriend a crow, and gets more than a little excited when they bring him back a gift (”Or junk”, as Simon likes the remark). Brings bird seeds with him almost everywhere, and is absolutely a bird watcher in the sense that he tries to sketch the birds of whatever region he’s in. Would love to own a small bird of his own one day, but he would never be home enough to properly take care of them. But he does have his favorites, and has been yelled at more than once about the trail of birdseeds that have leaked out of his pocket. Also, was that kid who collected bird feathers he found on the ground. 

Kyle is the cat person to Simon’s dog preference. He grew up with cats, and will defend them against anyone who has anything negative to say about them. He doesn’t have one of his own, but he can't help but *melt* at the sight of a stray kitten and has on more than one occasion scooped them up and tried to bring them to somewhere that *wasn’t* in the middle of a busy road. Very open to the nickname Cat Whisper, and he’s the favorite human of the base’s cat. His favorite memory is waking up in a safe house, and seeing a random cat asleep on his stomach.  

Price has a squirrel outside of his flat that bullies him. He used to *hate* that little bastard, but he’s grown to tolerate it and it’s antics. Even if that tolerance has made him buy a feeder and food for the little guy, and leads to him being low-key worried about it during the colder months when he's not there. Had nothing to say when someone asked “is there someone at home waiting for you, Capt?”, and tried VERY hard not to think of the fat grey squirrel curled up in the feeder. Isn’t much of an animal person, but is open to the idea of getting a pet that doesn’t require too much of his time. 

[rosyvvoods]

Not that anyone had asked for it but I got hit with inspiration for a His Dark Materials / dæmon au for CoD characters so !! For those who don't know it's generally just the concept that you're given a soul companion when you're born and they take the form of an animal that is representative of who you are as a person- its a concept I love and figured I'd tack on to some characters I've come to love [:

Price ; Bateleur

Ghost ; Bearded Vulture

Gaz ; Red Fox

Soap ; Indian Grey Mongoose

Laswell ; Wolverine

Alex ; Rhodesian Ridgeback

Farah ; Crested Caracara

Alejandro ; Coyote

Rudy ; Kit Fox

Nikolai ; Wandering Albatross

Graves ; Beauceron

Shepherd ; Bloodhound

Valeria ; Black Footed Cat

Hassan ; Secretary Bird

And bc I can't not include ocs-

River ; Common Nightingale

Markus ; Beagle

Some explanations under the read more!! And sorry for the long post in general 😭

A lot of the animal analysis came from THIS website!!

A lot of it comes from actual in-universe lore about what kinds of personalities align with certain animals. In the His Dark Materials universe for instance, dogs and canines tend to align with those who dedicate their lives to being in service of others, because of basal attributes dogs have: loyalty, devotion, protectiveness, etc. Birds are sharp witted and driven, especially birds of prey- and they can also travel further away from their person than other dæmons, and for longer periods of time. They also tend to be solitary though they can work in groups. Dæmons also tend to change forms more when their person is young and discovering themselves, and they settle as they get older. This is both interesting, and very sad- considering characters with trauma can have dæmons drastically change from what they were as a child.

I also tried to steer clear of stereotypical answers as well. Animals like snakes, spiders, and insects have long been associated with "villainous" characters and associated with characters from locations like Mexico and the Middle East.

I'm still working on BlOps CW dæmons bc it's fun to figure out, and I don't know what any of the MW dæmons would be named per say, but!! On to the brief analysis.

Price & his Bateleur;

Bateleurs are birds of prey, known to be hardy, thick skinned, and unflappable. They're associated with passionate individuals, loyalty, close bonds, and strong boundaries. Work ethic is resourceful and efficient, dutiful and cooperative while being ambitious.

Ghost & his bearded vulture;

So first things first- aside from the fact that I think they're cool as hell and Ghost deserves a cool as hell dæmon- these things are STARTLING to look at. They're large, and very distinct in their appearance. They're extremely private, socially selective, slow to trust, straightforward, and non-expressive. That being said? They're also patient. They're cooperative and the bonds they make are close. In work ethic they can represent efficiency, dedication, prone to obsessive tendencies, and proactiveness. But despite its terrifying appearance, it only feeds on the dead- specifically on bones. They can get the reddish coloring seen above by mud bathing or drinking mineral rich water- despite how bloody it may seem, the reality isn't quite as frightening.

Gaz & his red fox;

I think Gaz can be written off sometimes, overlooked and underestimated- but he's very clever, adaptable, cautious, and expressive. He's got a lot of big thoughts and feelings that he's had dismissed in the past. I went with a fox because they've got a similar loyalty to canines but have a bit of a skittish edge to them, are a little more opportunistic and methodical. They're tenacious and confident while being very perceptive- and I feel like Gaz would be represented well by a fox!!

Soap & his mongoose;

Now, Soap initially seems like a canine type; ridiculously loyal, dedicated, so on and so forth. But I still uphold the bit from the original games that he and dogs do not vibe!! And he doesn't seem the type to not vibe with himself!!

That being said: mongoose are notorious for taking on enemies far larger than themselves or those that have some kind of an advantage, including venomous snakes (as in the notable story Rikki-Tikki-Tavi). They're capable of living independent lives and being solitary but are also capable of deep set loyalty and devotion to a family group. They're also scrappy and make use of their surroundings.

Laswell & her wolverine;

Laswell is a force to be reckoned with, as seen in-game both in the field and behind a desk. She's happy to interact with her people, but outside of that she's a little more curt and to the point. Wolverines are confident, assertive, and opportunistic, and can even be a bit aggressive at times. Laswell herself I think is more willing to compromise than what this choice implies, but I feel like that's more of a learned nature; inside, she's ferocious, and isn't one to back down from larger and more formidable targets.

Alex & his Rhodesian ridgeback;

Alex is loyal, willing to do what it takes to complete his mission- but for the longest time he was looking for something meaningful. Something more than just orders.

Rhodesian ridgebacks were bred for endurance, to protect against large predators, and are hardy in harsh environments. But too much alone time- too many orders that have no heart behind them- can make them unhappy and on edge. They prefer well known, trusted company over strangers. They're also notoriously stubborn. I don't know Alex as a character all that well but I think the connection is there!

Farah & her crested caracara;

While Farah is very intrinsically tied to her people and her community, she stands out as a leader as being guarded and forward thinking. She has a keen eye for skill and tactic, and her loyalty is only to those she chooses and it's something she holds close to her chest. She works smarter AND harder, holding her duty above all else. Most of these traits are associated deeply with the crested caracara. She, and the caracara, can also both be thick skinned and untrusting (understandably so).

I can only put so many pictures into one post so 🫣 I'll have to continue on in another one!!

[collecting-stories]

Frostys - Pope Heyward

Request: Could you write some fluff with Pope? Like maybe he comes over to your house bc you’re home alone and scared and it’s like friends to lovers 🥺👉👈

A/N: If you’ve never had Wendy’s before they have a soft serve ice cream in a cup called a frosty and it’s v popular to dip fries in it. 

Outer Banks Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

-Hey-

-You up?-

-Pope?-

You sat in bed, waiting anxiously for his to text you back. You cracked your knuckles, trying to calm yourself down as he continued not to respond. Finally, too anxious to wait around anymore you pulled up his contact, calling him and hoping that he answered.  

“Hello?” Pope’s groggy voice came through the phone and you frowned.  

“Hey, sorry did I wake you?” You asked, though you already knew the answer.  

“No, of course not...why would I be sleeping at 2am?” He said, holding his phone out in front of his face as he checked the time. The notifications of your texts popped up on his screen but he didn’t bother checking them.  

“Sorry, sorry.”

“What’s the matter?” Pope asked. You could practically hear the exhaustion in his voice.  

“Nothing, no it’s just, nothing.”

“Give me like, ten minutes and I’ll be right there.”  

“No, no, Pope...it’s fine, really. Just...go back to bed or whatever, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.” You insisted, face feeling hot with embarrassment as you leaned forward, forehead almost touching the bed.  

“Are you sure?” He asked, sounding hesitant. He sat there with one foot already in a shoe and the other halfway in, his fingers still jammed between his ankle and his sneaker.  

“Yeah.” You nodded, sitting in bed with your blanket wrapped around you.  

It was stupid, really. Probably. Your parents were out for the night on the mainland, celebrating their anniversary, and you just couldn’t get to sleep. You’d tried everything that usually worked. Reruns of Parks and Rec and Psych. Turning the fan on high with the blankets bundled up around you. Even the sleep yoga tutorial you watched on tic toc didn’t do anything to enhance your ability to fall asleep. And while you laid there in the light of the screensaver on your TV, you swore that you heard a creak in the house. The most logical explanation was that it was your cat, lurking around the house, but you couldn’t help being nervous. So much so that you called Pope.

Your phone rang again and you twisted the blanket until you found it, stuffed up under your leg. Pope was calling you.  

“Hello?”

“Hey, let me in.” He said, followed by three raps at your front door that you heard both through the phone and in person.  

You got up, grabbing your blanket to keep it wrapped around you as you walked down the steps to your front door. Through the frosted glass on the side of the door you saw Pope’s blurry figure waving beneath the porch light. “What are you doing here?” You asked, door still locked and closed.

“Open the door and find out?” He asked, a hint of laughter in his voice. You undid the two locks and opened the door for him to come inside, hanging up your phone and slipping it in the pocket of your sweatpants. Pope came inside, take away bags in hand as he pushed the door shut behind him. “Alright, I’ve got frostys from Wendy’s and fries from Mcdonald’s.” Pope said, holding out the bags.

You wrapped your arms around his waist suddenly, surprising him and making his cheeks heat up at the feeling of you against him. “Thank you,” you said, squeezing gently.  

Pope knew he seemed like the lovestruck hopeless friend who was desperately waiting to be noticed, especially when he showed up at two o’clock in the morning with frostys and fries but he just didn’t care. If you called and needed him then all he could do was come over and help. Whatever it was. You could have called him to kill a spider and he would’ve come over.  

“Where’re your parents?” Pope asked, following you upstairs to your bedroom.  

“On the mainland for their anniversary.” You replied, climbing back onto your bed, a little calmer now that Pope was here with you. You sat with your back against the headboard and Pope sat across from you, handing over one of the frostys and spilling the fries onto the bag between the two of you.  

“I don’t think my parents ever celebrate their anniversary. My dad just gives my mom cards and flowers.”  

“They wanted to do a big night or whatever...” you shrugged. You didn’t know all the details but you were sure they were taped to the refrigerator if you checked. “I just, hate being in the house by myself.”

“Well, you’re not alone.” Pope replied, grinning around a spoonful of frosty.  

You dipped a fry into your frosty, “thank you, seriously, for coming over. I would’ve been hiding under my bed if you hadn’t shown up.” You admitted. “You’re the best.”

Pope shrugged, taking a handful of fries and starting to talk, not even thinking about what he was saying, “I’d do anything for you.”  

“You’re too nice to me.”

“I’m serious.” Pope said, deciding in that moment that he had already said something and he might as well blaze ahead. What was the worse that could happen? Obviously, there was always the chance that you absolutely tore his heart out but you were his best friend. “I love you.”

“I love you too Pope.”

“No, seriously...I love you. As more than a friend.” Pope admitted.  

“Pope-”

“I know, I know...you wanna be just friends and you didn’t invite me over here so that I could be that creepy guy friend who reads too much into a friendship and-”

“Pope-”

“-totally just expects you to like me cause I like you or something like that. I mean, it’s fine, I just wanted you to know cause it’s important I guess...not really I mean but kind of, you know just to be honest with-”

“Pope!” You snapped, “shut up!”  

He looked startled, sitting up a little straighter, eyes wide as you leaned forward and grabbed the strings on his hoodie, pulling him in to a kiss. Fries pooled around your knee as you pushed yourself up enough to deepen the kiss, trying not to spill ice cream all over your comforter.  

“I like you too,” you said when you finally pulled away.  

“Awesome.” He replied, almost breathless and dazed as he smiled at you.  

-

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[txemrn]

Catalyst

a Prequel to the Nanny Affair

Chapter 2: Covalence

Need to catch up? Chapter 1: Acquiesce

Rating: 18+ (Mature Audiences only)

Word count: 3255(+/-)

Warning: language; sexually suggestive language; mention of physical abuse, drug abuse, assault and adoption

"Alright, Pine Shadow family, here are your finalists!" Principal Larson's voice booms over the gym speakers. One would think he's announcing a night of rough and rumble with the WWE rather than announcing the award winners for a middle school science fair. Regardless, his enthusiasm is contagious much to the science departments delight. "Let's give them a big Wildcat round of applause for all of their hard work!"

As the audience abrupts into cheers, there she sits, melting into her chair as her knees bounce feverishly in fear. Her French-braided hair accompanies a denim headband, keeping the stray strands of brilliant wheat out of her gray eyes. Against her mother's disgust, she picks at the rubberbands attached to the hardware in her mouth. In her young 12-year-old mind, the audience seems to be doubling--no, tripling in size.

She worries if her hard work will payoff with a shiny blue ribbon--if any ribbon at all. Mrs. Ferguson and Coach Kincaid gave her nods of approval when she created elemental silver from the glucose mixture and Tollen's reagent-- who wouldn't be impressed with a 6th grader with an advanced passion for chemistry? But still, she worries.

"And," the principal continues, "our first place winner is--" The anticipation thickens the air as every movement seems to propel through space in slow motion. Like a dramatic montage of Rudy sacking the Georgia Tech quarterback to clutch the W for Notre Dame, or an injured Danny LaRusso crane-kicking Johnny Lawrence to become the All-Valley Karate Champion: this was her field; this was her stadium; this was her Hail Mary. All of the hours of research at the library; all of the frantic trips to the hobby store; the redundant presentation practices; the late evenings followed by the early mornings accompanied with the inevitable break downs. It all came down to this.

"Our first place winner is… Brynn Schuyler!" The applause is defeaning as time seems to stop. Did she hear the principal correctly? The name sounded very familiar--like her own name!

"Brynn Schuyler!" Did she really just win the coveted first place ribbon at the science fair? She froze, her tiny little body unable to process the abundance of emotion she was encountering all at once.

"Where is Brynn?" Outside of being gifted her hamster and her mom letting her wear clear lipgloss, this is the most incredible day of her life--

She feels a tap on her shoulder. "Ma'am?" The veiled-look from her eyes washes away; the clouds around her head vanish. Reality hits.  "Are you Brynn Schuyler?" She feels the warmth of rose flood over her fair complexion as the barista interrupts her morning ritual: reminiscing.

"Uh--yes," as she brushes her fingers over her brow, as if to create a shield to her embarrassment.

Smooth. Real smooth, Brynn.

She quickly brightens, extending her hands, "I'm sorry. That's--"

"Iced venti white mocha latte with a blueberry muffin… and two mini cinnamon maple scones?"

I don't know what would be nicer: reading out my order for everyone to hear or calling me a 'fatass'.

"--me. Yes, thank you," she whispers with gnashed teeth behind a courtesy grin. As she slithers back down into her seat at the local coffee house, Brynn hides the pastries in her backpack, keeping them well within her reach as she continues to work: scouring the wanted ads.

Next Tuesday makes four months of no job and no steady income. She has been on seven 'promising' interviews with no avail. She is able to keep her bill collector's away with her savings account, but even that was beginning to dwindle like her existence.

Brynn is a scientists, a chemist to be exact--or at least she was. Her love for science led her from the suburbs of 'the City of Brotherly Love' to the University of Massachusetts at Amherst where she studied education. Her dream was to impose the wonders of science on young minds as they experienced the physical world around them. But, after her personal observation of the devastation of Alzheimer's disease with her grandmother, she took an unexpected internship with the Massachusetts's Alzheimer's Disease Research Center. She realized she didn't want to just teach science; she wanted to do science. One Master's degree in Chemistry later, she was well on way to making a real difference in the world. Or so she thought.

'Benson's BBQ: Host needed'--maybe. 'Browning Steel: Welder with experience'--no. 'Bus Depot: driver wanted, great benefits'--no. 'Cutshall Clearance Store--stalker needed'-- surely they don't mean 'stalker', but they may need an ad editor.

She had scored the chance of a lifetime when she was hired on as one of the first female level I Chemists at the Lincoln Laboratory at MIT. She quickly graduated from fetching coffee, dry cleaning and business lunches for her superiors--also known as a research assistance--to finally being a project manager of her very own, very first multi-million dollar research study. But after twenty-months with no success, the funding was pulled on the project, the wind knocked out of her sails. The punches didn't stop there: her team of men threw her under the metaphorical bus and it was 'off with her head,' her moment of glory now over. She often feels foolish that she thought she could actually make a difference in the world; even worse, she felt agonizing guilt for being a woman that couldn't hang in a man's world, feeling as if she was responsible for a sudden shift backwards in equality.

'Danny's Barber Shop: receptionist'--maybe. 'Danny's Cake Decorating: baker'--no. 'Danny's XXX videos: call for details'-- uh, Mr. Danny has his dick in one too many pies.

Bzzt.

Saved by the text.

She giggles to herself in seeing she has a message from her roommate Jenny. Knowing that this is about to become a full-on text conversation, probably more suitable for an actual phone call, Brynn folds up her marked-up paper, and stretches her legs. She grabs her second scone, placing it into her mouth to hold as she piles her greasy hair into messy bun on top of her head, secured with a pen.

She swipes across her spider-cracked screen; the message: 'Turn around whore! ;-P'

"Brynny!" Brynn ducks as if she is about to be hit. "I thought that was your Corolla parked outside!"

"Jenny! You scared me!" She exhales loudly. "What are you doing awake? It's--" Brynn looks at her phone, "holy shit! Is it really almost noon?" She has no place to be; she just hates the feeling of time slipping by unnoticed, especially with her not being an active participant in life these days.

"I'm sorry, girl--"as she sits her coffee cup down at Brynn's commandeered table, "And you're right--I should probably still be asleep." She stifles a yawn, "I had a very busy night--"

"At the bar?" Brynn raises an eyebrow, "Or with Xavier?" her lips curling into a knowing grin.

Xavier is the first intact penis Jenny had ever been with--and she was loving it. It had been the topic of conversation during their 3AM chats this week, but when Jenny didn't come home from her shift at the bar last night, Brynn automatically knew Jenny must be exploring the new uncharted territory at his place.

"I didn't--I mean--" Jenny let's out a scoff. "Fine. Both."

A giddy Brynn scoots her chair closer. "Ooooo do tell."

"I--" Jenny pauses for dramatic effect, "happen to have a very--"

"Insatiable appetite? Ferocious needs?" Brynn giggles as she wraps her delicate fingers around her straw, gradually sliding them up and down its length.

Jenny clears her throat, straightening out her overall posture. "I was going to say, 'healthy sex life,' but since you have to be a thirsty bitch about it--" she leans in closely to Brynn, grabbing the remains of her scone. She flanges her lips around the breakfast pastry, fluttering her eyes closed, finally letting out a soft moan when she takes a nibble. "Oh honey, he was ferocious." She draws a sip from her hot coffee before lowering her voice. "And he satiated my appetite very��� very… well."

Brynn jokingly sticks her fingers in her ears, pretending to be disgusted, yet squealing in excitement. Jenny playfully hits her arm as the two women uncontrollably giggle as they continue to enjoy each other's company.

Jenny Browder and Brynn Schuyler were a very unlikely pair. They met in undergrad in a entry-level sociology course during their first semester freshmen year. Of the two, Brynn was mature and focused, especially when it came to her education.  Often times, she had to be the voice of reason with a newly uncaged and untamed Jenny who was more concerned with socializing and drinking.

Jenny was brought up in a strict, Fundamentalist household, the kind that saw dancing and playing cards as evil. She somehow convinced her parents that God was calling her to attend UMass after a life-long career of being homeschooled. It was 'Goodbye, long dresses,' and, 'Hello, Bombshell Bra.'

She never returned back home. Even when she failed out after Sophomore year, she packed up her guitar and headed for Nashville to become a star. The two friends had quickly turned back into strangers.

Brynn will never forget they day Jenny stumbled back into her life. In the midst of grad school, Brynn had volunteered at a free/low-cost community health clinic offered to lower-socioeconomic families. Jenny was waiting outside the facility, chain-smoking her last four cigarettes. Brynn was unloading testing equipment when she recognized a very familiar purple butterfly tattoo.

"Jenny?" Hearing her name, she instantly responded. She looked so different--older even, weathered. Her once-lustrous auburn hair looked as if it hadn't seen a brush--or soap, for that matter-- in weeks. Her eyes had lost their glow, surrounded by gray bags. Even though she kept her arms crossed in an attempt to hide it, her stretched-tight shirt boasted a growing bump. But, perhaps the most bothersome was the severely picked scabs, scratches, and bruises, littering her entire body.

They made cordial small talk until Greg, her alcoholic and abusive fiancé, honked his horn from his rusty Ford Ranger, notifying Jenny it was time to leave. Before she could run out on her again, Brynn quickly dug a pen and Post-It pad from her white coat, and wrote down her cell number. Truth be told, she never expected her to call.

Two o'clock in the morning about 3 months later, Jenny called. In his usual anger fueled by Wild Turkey, Greg had beaten her and forced himself on her until he passed out from the exhaustion of his stuper. But, something was different this night; something snapped in Jenny's brain. Enough. Her body was frail and bleeding; but her spirit was kindled, coming alive with courage, telling her she was not broken, telling her to fight.  Fueled with what could easily be described as courage--or insanity--she stole $12 from his wallet and packed an old duffle bag with a change of clothes and a water-stained Post-It note.

At a gas station outside of Boston, Brynn picked up a very pregnant Jenny. They sat in the darkness, the cabin filled with silence and stillness; but the conversation was loud and clear: Jenny was terrified. Terrified to talk, terrified to act, terrified of her past and terrified to even imagine a future. Brynn reached over and grabbed Jenny's hand as they both quietly sobbed. They weren't freshmen anymore.

All of a sudden in the quietness of the car amongst all of the chaos, a baby began to dance. Waves and ripples fluttered across Jenny's abdomen; flips and tumbles quickly ensued, becoming stronger and stronger. They took her breath away for a moment, but quickly returned in the form of tiny giggles.  Brynn's eyes sparkle with wonder as she gently places her hand on her friend's belly, gently rubbing circles with her thumb and fingers. Jenny places both her hands on Brynn's, guiding her around her bump, occasionally pressing deeply until finally they are greeted with a kick.

For the first time in a long time, Jenny wasn't terrified. Her head wasn't pounding from an incessant ache, a craving for just one more hit. Her body was breathing, healing in between the throws. For the first time in a long time, Jenny had clarity. And she was ready to talk.

Jenny got the necessary help she needed. She spent time at a battered women's shelter where she was safe and protected; she was able to receive prenatal care and some deeply therapeutic counseling. She even painfully detoxed from her methamphetamine addiction. But her biggest victory:  she was beginning to forgive herself, allowing herself to heal.

Six weeks later, a very round and overdue Jenny gave birth to a beautiful red-headed,  9 pound 8 ounce boy. Her heart swelled with love--a love she had never experienced before--as they placed him right on her bare chest. Overcome with joy and tears, the new mom kept him safe and sound, snuggled in a blue receiving blanket in her healing arms. She had already missed so much--she didn't want to miss another moment: she wanted to remember how his chunky cheeks felt against her lips as she kissed him. She wanted to remember the gentle smell he had after his first bath. She wanted to remember that tiny, fierce grip around her finger, a grip that would extend past her finger and right around her heart. A grip that would never let go, even well-after she laid him into his new mother's arms.

Jenny Browder is the strongest woman Brynn knows--and probably will every know. Even while she was still rummaging through the train-wreck that was her former life, Jenny had the selfless spirit of a saint and the bravery of the finest medieval warrior. She had nothing of value to her name except for her battered heart; but being the mother of all mother's, she gave her last possession away. She knew that in order to give her son the world, she had to place him in a new world.

Jenny celebrated five years of sobriety last month, and has empowered many women throughout the New England area with her story, speaking at meetings and volunteering part-time at a crisis center. She reconnected with her cousin Sean and his husband Charlie a few years back; feeling a pull to be near family, she moved to Newark, a few blocks away from the happy couple.  She now has a home--an apartment--of her own, a car, and a steady income, bartending at a local, lively bar called Annex. As an added benefit, she also gets to perform twice a month with the house band. Going back to school might even be in her future; but for now, she is happy to be living life again--even if that meant hosting a squatter on her couch in the form of her best friend.

"Any luck on the job front?"

Brynn blows a raspberry with pressed lips in her exacerbation.  "Well, today's options include wearing daisy duke's at a BBQ joint, or becoming a baker--possible porn star--with a man named Danny--"

Jenny laughs, "Ewww, gross. Do I even want to--"

Brynn waves her hand in front of her face, erasing the air of the horrid idea, even if it was a joke.

"Well, the perfect job is out there."

Yeah, yeah, yeah…

Brynn sighs, "Oh, Jen, you have to say that--"

Before she can hang her head down,  Jenny interrupts the pity party, grabbing the remains of massacred muffin from Brynn's hand. "No, I don't. And believe me--" She stares warmly into Brynn's stormy eyes, "You are a catch. You are one in a million--"

"Are we still talking about jobs, or--"

"The perfect job is out there for you--trust me! We are one day closer to it." Not missing a beat, "Speaking of which--" Jenny rocks back and forth in excitement as her heart-shaped lips spread into a smile.

Oh, God…

"What are you doing tonight?" The words almost slur together like a waterfall crashing out of her mouth.

Don't invite me out. Don't invite me out.

"I think I'm gonna--you know--stay in, order out. Look for more jobs--"

"And feel sorry for yourself?"

Damnit, she's good.

Brynn sighs deeply as she lays her head down on her crossed arms.

"Well, it's a good thing we're not going out. You are just--" she lies, "accompanying me to work--"

"Jenny!"

"Brynny," Jenny fires back as both women compete in a staring--moreso glaring contest. She gives in first to the silly gesture, her look warming with affection. "Look, I-I know things have been have sucked recently--"

That's an understatement.

"You need this. It's time to join the world again. You can't just stay cooped up in the apartment all the time--"

"Um," Brynn clears her throat. "I do believe I am in a coffee shop right now." She smirks while delicately fanning her arms out in the air, as if she was showcasing a brand new car on a game show.

"C'mon, girl," Jenny whines, "You know what I mean. Just come up to the bar. Sit and talk with me. Keep me company. Meet some of my regulars. You will feel so much better about yourself--"

"You know I have nothing to wear."

12 pounds, fucking 12 pounds, and my entire wardrobe seems to have shrunk overnight.

"We'll figure something out--I promise! C'mon!" Jenny quickly bounds to the door with a sluggish Brynn in tow. "Besides," Jenny whirls around to continue, "You have a lot of miles left in this thing--" spanking Brynn's butt. Reflexively, Brynn immediately shields her pained bottom, her mouth gaping open. Jenny continues. "I've gotch'ya with shots all night. At least come window shop--it's Thursday night, which means the corporate hotties are shopping for some young ass--"

"Oh, yes. Because a one-night-stand and a raging case of chlamydia will cure my problems--"

"Hey, a shot in the ass, and you're good as new," Jenny jokes, making her apprehensive bestie crack a smile. "That's why I said, 'window shop.' Plus they're rich and love flaunting that they are rich. So--" Jenny shrugs her shoulders, "More free drinks for you!"

Brynn folds her arms across her chest, averting her gaze into the bustling traffic. She starts chewing on the sides of her mouth while letting out a long-winded sigh, clearly uncomfortable with the whole idea. The fact is she was embarrassed of herself, of what had become of her life. There she was, merely existing, living on her best friend's couch with no prospects--job-wise and love-wise. And now that her former-slender body sprung unwelcomed curves, she feels more comfortable in hiding--from the world, and from herself.

Jenny steps back out of her black sedan. She pushes her sunglasses back into her short hair, the sunshine illuminating her scarlet layers. She places her hands on her hips as she silently challenges her friend to a battle of wills.

Brynn feels her piercing gaze, but she can't bring her self to match it. Jenny never pushes her to do anything--and now, all she wants to do is help pull her depressed house-guest out of her mucky misery. And Brynn knows that she will be grateful for the night, especially tomorrow morning. She just needed the little shove.

Brynn breaks their silence with a long, drawn out sigh. "Okay."

"Yes, yes, yes!" squeals Jenny. She slides back into the driver's seat, adjusts her sunglasses and bellows across the parking lot: "Get in loser! We're going shopping!"

Brynn could only hope it was for a new life.

@choicesficwriterscreations​ 

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Ask Naboo

Author: Nonexistantpup

Year: 2010

Rating: PG

Characters/Pairings: Naboo, Bollo, Spider Dijon, Rudi Van DiSarzio, The Braincell, Howince, Moss/Roy

Bollo slid his glasses up to his forehead and rubbed his hairy temples with two fingers. “It no good,” he said with a frown. Naboo looked up, annoyed. He was busy relaxing and smoking and hated to be interrupted. “What’s no good?” “Books no add up,” Bollo said. He sigh. “Bollo warn Naboo that monkeys not make good book keeper.” “What are you saying?” asked Naboo, with an impending feeling of doom. He’d have said he had a bad feeling, but didn’t want to steal Bollo's favourite phrase. “Need money,” Bollo explained. “Stop paying the losers workin’ downstairs then,” said Naboo. “Done that. Sold beach house too. No more money. What else can Naboo spare?” Naboo frowned. There was his submarine, but he never felt comfortable without one of them in the house. His Rudi & Spider memorabilia couldn't go either, of course, and his rug collection was pretty vital. “We better fix this,” he said unhelpfully. “Otherwise I’ll have to sell you, Bollo.” Bollo paled. Or - well, he didn't really pale. His fur remained the same colour. He seemed unnerved, however. “But - Naboo need familiar!” “I know,” said Naboo. He tapped his chin. “We need make money.” Naboo clicked his tongue and took another drag from his hookah. “I suppose I can go back into pop psychiatry,” he said thoughtfully. “I do sort of miss it. Hearing about peoples’ problems. Imparting wisdom. The regular income...” “What about Bollo?” asked Bollo. Naboo shrugged. “You could be my editor.” Bollo seemed appeased by this idea, and put his glasses back down onto the table. “Now,” said Naboo, “Call up the newspapers and tell them I'm willing to reinstate my relationships column." Dear Naboo, I can’t fulfill my partner’s sexual needs anymore; I'm exhausted! If it was just a good, hard romp four or five times a day, it would be no problem, but he’s practically insatiable! He has eight cocks, you see, which means every time we make love, we do it eight times in a row, each time lasting at least a month and a half. Now, I'm not great at mathematics, but I contacted a local mathematician, who informs me that 4 x 8 x 1.5 equals 48. Which means that every day, I have sex for over forty-eight months - in other words, more than four years! I'm exhausted! What should I do? - A Worn-Out Woman ‘Worn-Out Woman’, As I see it, your options are threefold. 1. Dump the freak and get some sleep. 2. Let me tell you the story of the broken flute. Once upon a time, there was a flute. One day, he tripped over one of his shoelaces and fell onto the footpath, breaking to pieces instantly. All the little shards of flute were scattered all over the place, causing passing bare-footed pedestrians to cut their feet. One of these pedestrians happened to be a passing eccentric billionare, who limped home, not realising the shard was still in his foot. The shard of flute had never been in a mansion before, and hopped off gleefully to look around, and liked the place so much that, that night, it cut the millionaire's throat while he slept and inherited his entire fortune. See what I'm sayin’? 3. Get over it. Sure, it may be hard to deal with at times. I get that. But think about it, yeah? You’ve got a man who alters the very laws of physics, the axioms of reality, just in order to have enough time to spend in the sack with you every day. There’s not many men who would do that. Love, Naboo

= =   

To Naboo, How can I make my boyfriend take our relationship more seriously? I mean, we have so much fun together and I know he cares about me, and yet whenever people ask him about me, he lies as if he’s ashamed, saying he is merely changing one of my strings. I love him, but if this doesn’t change, I don’t think I can go on seeing him. Please save our relationship? - Irritated Instrument Irritated Instrument, I had a similar conundrum in the forties, as it happens, when my girlfriend at the time wouldn't admit to being deeply in love with our cutlery drawer. They got together eventually, and are still together today, I believe, and expecting their second child. There are two options I can reccommend: 1. Don’t give up! If he cares for you, he will come through. Speak to him openly and honestly and tell him how you feel. 2. Give up! He’s a loser who seems to enjoy getting off with inanimate objects anyway. Find somebody more your type - a cello or perhaps a ukulele if you’re strung that way. Love, Naboo = = Deer Naboo, It’s got to the point where I just don’t no what to do anymore. I am married with children, yet I can’t seem to think of anything except the other people I’d like to shag and how much the drudgery of an unhappy marriage is marring my carefully pampered image. It would be alright, you know, but the person I’d really ideally like to fool around with just sees me as her boss. I’ve tried everything! I invited her to work late, and she worked late. I told her she was cute and she said ‘thank you’. I even custom-designed a sparkly soot, just to get her attention, but she still doesn't notice me. I'm starting to doubt my dead sexiness and although I know I have quite an important job, my work ethic is crumbling like a fresh piece of shortbread. What can I do?! - Suffering Cell Suffering Cell, I have some words of wisdom for you, although I can’t be sure they will be anything new. You have not been specific about many of your problems, but my crystal ball has kindly filled in most of the blanks. What you must consider very seriously is this tale - the tale of the ant and the grasshopper. Once upon a time, there was an ant and a grasshopper. They were experiencing a fruitful summer. For the whole season, the ant worked hard, storing up food for the winter while the grasshopper just hung around smoking joints and watching the telly, not collecting any food except for what he wanted to eat that day. The ant warned him that laziness came with consequences, but the grasshopper didn't care. When winter came, the ant had a huge stockpile of food - enough to keep it and its family nourished all the way through until spring, while the grasshopper was left outside, cold and hungry. He had run out of weed and the electric company disconnected his telly. Desperate, he knocked on the ant’s front door to beg for food, but frustrated with the grasshopper’s lack of responsibility, the ant said he would only share his family’s food if the grasshopper sold his body, prostituting himself off to the ant in exchange for food. The grasshopper, who wasn’t into that kind of thing (in fact, he was a bit of a prude) turned away in disgust, and the very next day he hopped aboard a plane, smuggling himself in the luggage of a slightly inebriated badger. He found himself on the other side of the world, where it was summer and food was plentiful, paid his way out of debt quickly and hired a lawyer so he could sue the ant for sexual harassment. I hope this has cleared some things up for you. Love, Naboo.

= = Alright, Naboo? Probably are. You seem to be pretty on top of things, being a shaman and that. Anyway, I live with a friend of mine who drives me nuts. He has no taste in clothes or music (ie. wears tweed and listens to jazz), is finicky (ie. Control Freak!) and I just fancy the pants off him. Well - not literally. Do you think it would be possible for me to actually do that though? But that’s not my question. See, he's taken to walking around the place wearing nothing. Well, nothing except this monocle of his - something to do with ‘going au naturale with class’. Whatever the reason behind it, it’s making me mental. I can’t even fancy the pants off him from afar, because a whole lot of the time he ain’t wearing them to begin with! So, what do you reckon? - A Very Randy Socialite Very Randy Socialite, You batty crease. Can't you tell? He's trying to seduce you. Just don't do anything unless you're sure there’s nobody else in the house, yeah? Love, Naboo P.S. I mean it. If I hear you two humping away in the next room, I'm throwing you out on your naked arses. I don't need that shit.

= =

Dear Naboo, I'm having the most awful trouble getting girls. See, I'm not bad to look at and I'm a clever, sensitive man, but none of them will look past my career. I am a homocidal maniac (hoping to climb the ladder and become an official genocidal maniac). I can't give that up! How can I get girls to accept me? - Bloody Lonely Bloody Lonely, I had a friend with the same problem. He worked in Dickson’s and girls could never come to terms with it, judging him and all that. Here's some wisdom that helped him and will hopefully do the same for you. This is the story of the green crow. Once upon a time, there was a crow. He was a normal crow, except for the fact that he was green and looked like a big, feathered, mouldy potato. In fact, one day Marilyn Manson saw him and was so disgusted that he kicked the poor crow into the recycling bin at a local primary school. The green crow was very upset, especially since he was such a huge Marilyn Manson fan he had a milky lens in one eye and hadn't drunk any water since 1997. Depressed, he sat in the recycling bin for days, ‘caw’ing miserably. On the fourth day, however, a whole lot of colourful craft paper cuttings rained down on him. The green crow was newly inspired. He found some old chewing gum and made himself a turban and cloak out of the colourful paper. From that day on, everybody treated him with respect because they thought he was a mouldy, green, feathered shaman and Marilyn Manson issued a public apology. That should clear up your problems. Love, Naboo.

= =

To Sir/Madam (I'm sorry, your name is quite androgynous), I must admit I am quite distressed. My best friend and I are always doing things together. We should be seeing girls but instead we’re always in each other’s company like an old married couple. I'm at the end of my tether. Thank you in advance, - In A Flippin’ Rut In A Flippin’ Rut, The answer to your problem is so simple, I'm frankly staggered that you’ve even found the need to ask my advice. Obviously, you and your best friend are meant to be together. The real problem is just that you have all the elements of a successful marriage except for a healthy sex life. So, you know. Get it on. Duh! Love, Naboo P.S. I do have more specific advice regarding what you should do, but it is inappropriate material to have published here. Send me a private email and I shall tell you the story of the phallus-shaped coral.

= =

Dear Naboo, Just what kind of an advice columnist are you? My friend wrote to you, complaining that we can't meet anyone because we're "like an old married couple" and you send him some story about coral willies and tell him to seduce me in the most disgusting way imaginable. You are obviously a pervert and shouldn't be allowed to give advice to anyone. -Thoroughly Repulsed P.S. Just to clear things up, we are NOT like a married couple in any way. 

= =

Thoroughly Repulsed, That’s gratitude for you. From your indignation, it’s pretty clear to me that the seduction worked. If you wanted it to happen in another way - one that perhaps didn't involve an aquarium, smelling salts or three feet of chicken wire - you should have stepped up and made the first move on your ‘friend’ long ago. What are you, some kind of selfish, absent-minded, narcissistic slacker? You pompous bloody wanker. Love, Naboo P.S. Whatever. P.P.S. Bite me. P.P.P.S. Prick. P.P.P.P.S. Watch your step, yeah? Or I will turn my back on you.

= =

Naboo, I'll have you know that the seduction did NOT work. What I saw when I got into work this morning made me want to vomit. It's pretty clear to me that you're a wanker with nothing better to do than corrupt perfectly nice people with your kinky fantasies. My friend and I haven't spoken to each other all day and it's been very awkward for the both of us. I hope you're happy. -Repulsed P.S. You're the prick. And how dare you call me narcissistic. 

[renaramblesaboutcomics]

Wednesday Roundup 6.9.2017

Here we are with a fairly straightforward week! I know, I’m surprised by my restraint, too! Who could have imagined I’d ever manage a week with less than five comics. My wallet definitely would appreciate if I did so more often. 

Regardless, let’s get right into the bones I have to pick. With one of these entries. Because it’s a bone and a half. And I use a lot of UPPERCASE so uhhh Guess which one gets that treatment!!!

Marvel’s Generations: Iron Man & Ironheart, Dark Horse’s Usagi Yojimbo, DC’s Wonder Girl: Adventures of a Teen Titan

Marvel’s Generations: Iron Man & Ironheart (2017) #1 Brian Michael Bendis, Marco Rudy,Szymon Kudranski, Nico Leon

Whooooooooo boy. It’s been a long time since I picked up a new comic at release date and just.... did not have a pleasant experience reading it. Like at all. So this was kind of a disappointing conclusion to what has for the last year been a pretty solid record of maintaining great comic book readership. I don’t know why I’m even a little surprised it’s a Bendis comic.

Here’s the thing, I don’t... aggressively hate BMB as others do. I’m just critical of him on what I feel are pretty logical issues to be critical of someone on and in turn that leads to this dagger’s edge of when his comics are good, they’re really damn good. But when they’re bad? It’s like this collision of all the things in comics possible that work as my personal pet peeves. Which is why, though I genuinely adore Riri Williams as a character, and had been enjoying her book, I moved it to a trade wait status right along with Miles Morales: Spider-Man -- it’s easier to take the good with the bad when it’s not an issue by issue basis. 

And... well. Let’s just say that for being THE guy at Marvel who usually gets all the very best talent to lift up even most of his comics I didn’t personally enjoy? There was not that saving grace this time around. Believe you me. I wish there were. But let’s just jump into the details.

Story: TONY STARK AS THE SORCERER SUPREME. TONY. STARK. SORCERER. SUPREME. Who asked for this. Who wanted this. Who thinks this future makes absolutely any sense whatsoever other than calling what everyone has thought since Tony “died” in Civil War II which is that Marvel doesn’t have the actual guts it takes to permanently kill off a franchise character that isn’t the original Jean Grey? Who thought this was a good idea? Bendis. Basically because Bendis likes to pretend he’s doing Morrison-style shake ups of continuity and bringing things together but rarely delivers it in a way that is either consistent or satisfying. 

The one reason I’ve been giving a good number of these Generations books a chance isn’t because I’m particularly interested in the event itself. Truth be told I have absolutely no idea why it’s happening or why Laura was sent back through time to meet up with Logan in Japan or just... anything. I didn’t catch a single clue of what was going on. And I didn’t really care because I’ve read comics long enough that I just want the issues themselves that center around the characters I care about to make sense and be enjoyable on their own. That, for me, is the most valuable part of an experience comics can grant me. And when it doesn’t, I would hope that at the very least it would be because they were providing me some insight on the event as a whole because it was substituting characterization and plot for the Event. Which happens. 

This comic managed to not only provide neither of those things for me, I would argue that it made me unerstand less about the event and less about Bendis’ own characterizations for Riri and Tony than I had a handle on before. Which is... frankly impressive. Also... what a fucking bland future. Like I appreciate it not being a nightmare dystopia like every other comic book future, ESPECIALLY at Marvel, but..... damn, man. There was exactly no life in the city of mushrooms and LSD of tomorrow. Apparently the only inhabitants of a positive future are.... oh my god I can’t believe I have to type it again, Sorcerer Supreme Tony Stark, and the blandest version of the future Avengers I think I’ve ever seen. Like at that point why even bother. 

Oh and adult Franklin Richards is special. Shocking. YES. FRANKLIN IS AN OMEGA LEVEL MUTANT BUT WHY WOULD STARK GO TO HIM TO FIX TIME TRAVEL SHENANIGANS WHEN IT’S VALERIA WHO IS THE SUPER GENIUS AND WAS THE ONE IN THE PAST RUNS OF FF THAT INVOLVED FUTURE FRANKLIN TIME TRAVELING WHO CREATED THE TECHNOLOGY FOR HIM TO DO SO. BENDIS HAVE YOU NOT BEEN KEEPING UP WITH THE FF FOR THE PAST TWO DECADES OR SOMETHING WHAT THE HELL. Moving on... 

Art: One thing I can usually always count on with Marvel is that they love to match their best artists with the leading talents they have writing, and there’s no one shaping the entirety of the Marvel Universe right now more than Bendis, so usually the art for his comics is easily some of the best to come out in any given week.

....

That’s not.... really the case here??? Is it terrible, no not at all. And there’s definitely nice sequences. The problem arises from the page layouts which, ngl, utterly awful. There were multiple pages in a row where I had to reread the whole page again just so I could follow the dialogue. It was not easy to follow from one panel to the next, and the psychodellic affects just made me wish for 70s comics. Back when they had rulers. 

Characters & Dialogue: Sorcerer. Supreme. Tony. Freaking. Stark. No I’m not over it. Especially since this entire issue was more dedicated to beefing up how awesome and amazing Tony is. Riri’s fine, but her biggest part in this issue is to be Tony’s fan and to learn that she’ll be awesome!!!... in the future. She’s only 15 now! She’ll have to grow up into a more prominent hero in the next 45 real world years. But mostly it was... just really lazy. What’s interested me about Generations is that it’s given an excuse for Legacy characters to team up across timelines with versions of their predecessors that in all honesty would have not made sense in other context. What was great about the Wolverine issue I covered before wasn’t just that we got to see Logan and Laura the way we had back when Logan was alive. We got to see Laura with a version of her father that she had never met before. And to make it even more unique, it was viewing this older, more matured Laura almost entirely through the eyes of the father who didn’t yet know her. It was creative and it added depth for both characters even if it’s not going to be the source of some great shift in the main comics for them, it provides a refreshing look into who they are and even how far they’ve come. This issue? Honestly I can’t even tell you what Bendis’ goal was here. And that cover -- the name of the issue? -- the idea we’d get to see Iron Man and Ironheart team up together and kick ass is apparently just too predictable and lame for an event that is literally advertised as being that exact premise. 

I’m so annoyed with this comic. But I’m really more annoyed with myself for expecting something more interesting and paying Marvel’s outrageous and nearly unethical price gouging of their comics. $4.99 for this comic. I’m never getting that $4.99 back. That’s... That’s like five bags of chips from the vending machine at work. That’s a Hot & Ready pizza at Little Ceaser’s. I spent it on this comic. What’s wrong with me. What did I expect???

Dark Horse’s Usagi Yojimbo (1984-present) #161 Stan Sakai, Tom Luth

Why are the best comics always the most difficult to explain in quality? This thing has been going on for thirty years, has never changed writer or artist, has impressed by the hundreds of thousands, and drastically impacted the atmosphere and tone of comics publishing since the 80s right alongside Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, all without truly getting due credit. I would tell anyone who asked to just immediately drop what they’re reading and go catch up on Usagi, but it feels like that should go without saying. 

Instead I’ll say, this issue is the first of a new arc and since you can jump into Usagi Yojimbo comics at any point in continuity and be assured to have a good time and pick up what you need to know along the way, pick up today’s issue and get started.

Story: We see the collision of a few of Usagi’s favorite supporting casts and as always it leads to a lot of ruckus and a lot of fun. Though not specifically fun for Kitsune this time around as she’s been seemingly framed for murder. Fortunately Usagi comes in to vouch for her and due to Ishida’s immense respect for Usagi earned over the years Kitsune gets off relatively lighter than usual. But there’s still a murderer about. 

Now one of my compliments to Usagi Yojimbo and really the genius of Stan Sakai in general is that he’s maintained a high quality solo comic for over thirty years and somehow still makes new stories always keeping hot takes and ideas for characters refreshingly new and refreshingly fun. That remains true of this story, too, since this match up of supporting characters hasn’t exactly been seen yet, but at the same time I’m suspicious of the retread of the idea of Kitsune being framed for a crime other than the one she really did and Usagi having to figure out the mystery. I don’t expect that plot to be repeated beat for beat, especially since Inspector Ishida is here and that almost always develops into a more thickly plotted mystery story. So part of me talking up all that flowery wording on my adoration of these comics is to explain why, despite my usual instincts to be distrusting of a repetitive plot beat in comics, I know to expect more from the upcoming issue continuation and don’t have that fear of disappointment that has been instilled in me for the past two decades. 

Also new to the comic is the addition of a one page sub-story at the end of Chibi Usagi which might be the most adorable idea ever and Stan Sakai truly is the hero we don’t deserve. 

Art: I once read a comic reviewer’s explanation of Usagi Yojimbo’s art as being “deceptively simple” -- the bold lines, the character designs, the adherence to a completely black and white comic -- what is seemingly such a simple comic in theory dazzles with its true complexity and tight control of action sequences and blocking. Stan Sakai uses Japanese patterns and crosshatching as well as detailed background art to turn almost every sequence into an unmistakable landmark that makes every town and prefecture that Usagi travels to feel unique. 

It’s just one of those amazing things you have to see for yourself to truly believe. 

Characters & Dialogue: This section is pretty much purposeless on an Usagi Yojimbo comic because Sakai has been writing these characters so long and giving them all such identifiable traits and voices that they’re just always good. If you enjoy these characters then Sakai meets every heightened expectation along the way.

DC’s Wonder Girl: Adventures of a Teen Titan  John Byrne, Bob Kanigher, Bruno Premiani, Neal Adams, Ross Andru, Bob Haney

One thing I have liked recently that DC’s been doing is these recollections of their properties that for a long time they haven’t capitalized on the most, and there’s probably no better example of that exact thing than the severely underrated Wonder Girl Legacy, which has finally earned a short and cute collection going over all the (three) Wonder Girls over the years and even includes the introduction of SOLSTICE! One of my favorite underutilized characters. 

It’s a super neat collection, especially if you’re unfamiliar with the history of Wonder Girl (which is a bumpy ride to be sure) but it also spans so many generations and so many writers and story arcs that I can’t really summarize it the way I do my usual reviews. I can just say that if you’re curious about the Wonder Girls, it’s a great collection to check out. 

Also as a side note, as someone who was deeply disappointed by the lackluster to downright confused and insulting use of Cassie Sandsmark in the New52, DC is apparently doctoring the character to resemble more of what she was in the preboot because the New52 is utterly ignored in this collection, hilariously enough.

Oh, those tides. How they turn. 

The unsurprising pick of the week is, obviously, Usagi Yojimbo. It’s one of the best comics ever made, it continues to be one of the best comics ever made, and also the competition was thin if only I’m being lenient. But regardless, this comic was a fantastic start to the new storyline and I’m so excited to see what twists and turns shall be weaved. 

Now that’s all for this week, but I’m curious about your opinions! Did you agree with me? Disagree? Think I missed out on some great comic I didn’t pick up? Please let me know!

And finally, another necessary plug:

I am in a bit of a financial crunch for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which being the medical bills I’m paying for my dog, Eve, who experienced a catastrophic dog fight and underwent surgery recently.

As such, I really would appreciate if you enjoy my content or are interested in helping me out, please check out either my Patreon or PayPal. Every bit helps and I couldn’t thank you enough for enjoying and supporting my content.

You could also support me by going to my main blog, @renaroo, where I’ll soon be listing prices and more for art and writing commissions.

RenaRoo Patreon

RenaRoo PayPal

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Leggings Quotes

Official Website: Leggings Quotes

• As a revolutionary people, we Americans won a probable victory over the best and biggest army in the world because we learned to fight from the Indians. You can do a lot of damage with a Kentucky rifle from behind a tree. You don’t put on a peaked hat and a red coat and white leggings and crossed white bandoleers with a big silver buckle in the center of the X and march uphill into a line of Howitzers loaded with chain and chopped horseshoes. – James Lee

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'legging', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_legging').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_legging img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Fashion as we used to know it doesn’t exist. The dress as we know it today-it’s dead. The dress has become so short it’s really a tunic worn with leggings….Fashion is fantasy, it’s a child’s game….Now I’m going to be this, and then I’m going to be something else. – Rudi Gernreich • He Looked and smelt like Autumn’s very brother, his face being sunburnt to wheat-colour, his eyes blue as corn-flowers, his sleeves and leggings dyed with fruit-stains, his hands clammy with the sweet juice of apples, his hat sprinkled with pips, and everywhere about him the sweet atmosphere of cider which at its first return each season has such an indescribable fascination for those who have been born and bred among the orchards. – Thomas Hardy • Honestly my style sense, I guess, started in high school when I was a volleyball player. That was just what I wore: leggings every single day with my sports bra so I didn’t have to change into it in the girls’ gym locker room and that’s kind of how it started. – Gigi Hadid • I always feel better and more beautiful in things that I’m comfortable in so I was fine with putting a little makeup on and keeping my leggings on and going to a party. – Gigi Hadid I didn’t invent hot water. But when I approach menswear, I do it in a very honest way. And my menswear and womenswear are very similar, in the sense that I put men in leggings and lace shirts. – Riccardo Tisci • I have my own style and don’t really follow fashion, but I like leggings. They’re easy to wear and can go with anything. – Eva Green • I have two pairs of stretchy maternity leggings and jeans, which I will never give up, because once you experience an elastic band for a waist, you will never go back. – Daphne Oz • I love black leggings with cowboy (I mean cowgirl!) boots, and other-slightly less trendy-things like my boys’ Wrangler jeans and my husband’s worn deerskin work gloves. I love most things country, because country, to me, is home. – Ree Drummond • I love meetings with suits. I live for meetings with suits. I love them because I know they had a really boring week and I walk in there with my orange velvet leggings and drop popcorn in my cleavage and then fish it out and eat it. I like that. I know I’m entertaining them and I know that they know. – Madonna Ciccone • I wear women’s leggings under my clothes, but no lingerie. – Dennis Rodman • If I had the power, I would ban leggings. – Jil Sander • I’m a massive fan of the Stones, and I don’t think anybody should deny them the right to carry on making music. I just wish they wouldn’t wear leggings. – Noel Gallagher • I’m so not interesting in having to try and make something out of foil.” What, you didn’t like the poncho with wraparound leggings?” It was beyond hideou- wait a minute. You watch that show?” My mom loves it.” But your suppose to be sulking in the basement getting ready to light fires.” What can I say? I’m a failure as a teenager. I watch TV with my mom. – Elizabeth Scott • I’m wearing black leggings and a loose top festooned with a Menger sponge of empty pockets stitched out of smaller pockets and smaller still, almost down to the limits of visibility woven in freefall by hordes of tiny otaku spiders, I’m told, their genes programmed by an obsessive-compulsive sartorial topologist. – Charles Stross • In “Curvy,” they are superhappy with their sizes. We help them dress fashionably. We say: It’s pointless for you to buy leggings, take this because this will look good on you. We help them choose. We don’t talk about diets because they don’t want to be on a diet, but it’s not a ghetto. Why should these women slim down? Many of the women who have a few extra kilos are especially beautiful and also more feminine. – Franca Sozzani • Leggings are everywhere, indeed. Personally, I’m not crazy about them, but they can look great with the right look, a tunic, for instance, or a long cardigan. Just don’t try to dress them up! – Tim Gunn • Leggings killed velour sweat suits! I used to only wear them until leggings came along. – Kim Kardashian • Packing is basically: If you’re going on a weekend, then just take what you’re really going to wear. And how many times are you going to leave the room? If that makes any sense. Like if you’re going to sleep, read, and sit by a fire – chunky knit sweaters, leggings, comfortable boots. But if you’re going on like a party weekend, then bring your favorite pieces and make sure you’ll wear them. – Rachel Zoe • Style is not a reward for the skinny. It’s not, ‘iI I’m rich, thin and young.’ You may not like your size, but then don’t invest in leather leggings. Let yourself want the expensive bag and really love it and show it off and have a ball with it. – Stacy London • The black bubble dress is a must! The leggings are absolutely amazing too, they fit perfectly and let you breath when still being super high-waisted. They are everything and so easy to pair anything with. – Beth Ditto • The last time I wore an animal hide; but this time I settled for this.” Eric had been wearing a long trench coat. Now he threw it off dramatically, and I could only stand and stare. Normally, Eric was a blue-jeans-and-T-shirt kind of guy. Tonight, he wore a pink tank top and Lycra leggings[…]They were pink and aqua, like the swirls down the side of Jason’s truck. – Charlaine Harris • What I hate is leather leggings and an ankle boot. I hate the line.- Tamara Mellon • When I moved to New York, leggings were always a staple piece in my closet and I’m always with leggings, a T-shirt, a cool jacket and shoes cause that’s what would be easier for me when I was a kid. – Gigi Hadid • When I’m older, I want to have my own workout clothes line, like leggings and cute jackets in bright and fun colors. – Aly Raisman • You deserve to die,” I whisper, suddenly realizing Iv’e said the words aloud. “Excuse me?” “Nothing.” “Not nothing. You just told me that I deserve to be maggot feed.” “Not maggot feed, just-” “Dead!” “Forget it” “I don’t know why I said that. Just daydreaming, I guess.” “Daydreaming about my death?” “Forget it”, I repeat. “Are you sure you aren’t still mad that I wouldn’t let you borrow my vintage fishnet leggings?” “More like I didn’t want to borrow them. – Laurie Faria Stolarz

[equitiesstocks]

Leggings Quotes

Official Website: Leggings Quotes

• As a revolutionary people, we Americans won a probable victory over the best and biggest army in the world because we learned to fight from the Indians. You can do a lot of damage with a Kentucky rifle from behind a tree. You don’t put on a peaked hat and a red coat and white leggings and crossed white bandoleers with a big silver buckle in the center of the X and march uphill into a line of Howitzers loaded with chain and chopped horseshoes. – James Lee

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'legging', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_legging').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_legging img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Fashion as we used to know it doesn’t exist. The dress as we know it today-it’s dead. The dress has become so short it’s really a tunic worn with leggings….Fashion is fantasy, it’s a child’s game….Now I’m going to be this, and then I’m going to be something else. – Rudi Gernreich • He Looked and smelt like Autumn’s very brother, his face being sunburnt to wheat-colour, his eyes blue as corn-flowers, his sleeves and leggings dyed with fruit-stains, his hands clammy with the sweet juice of apples, his hat sprinkled with pips, and everywhere about him the sweet atmosphere of cider which at its first return each season has such an indescribable fascination for those who have been born and bred among the orchards. – Thomas Hardy • Honestly my style sense, I guess, started in high school when I was a volleyball player. That was just what I wore: leggings every single day with my sports bra so I didn’t have to change into it in the girls’ gym locker room and that’s kind of how it started. – Gigi Hadid • I always feel better and more beautiful in things that I’m comfortable in so I was fine with putting a little makeup on and keeping my leggings on and going to a party. – Gigi Hadid I didn’t invent hot water. But when I approach menswear, I do it in a very honest way. And my menswear and womenswear are very similar, in the sense that I put men in leggings and lace shirts. – Riccardo Tisci • I have my own style and don’t really follow fashion, but I like leggings. They’re easy to wear and can go with anything. – Eva Green • I have two pairs of stretchy maternity leggings and jeans, which I will never give up, because once you experience an elastic band for a waist, you will never go back. – Daphne Oz • I love black leggings with cowboy (I mean cowgirl!) boots, and other-slightly less trendy-things like my boys’ Wrangler jeans and my husband’s worn deerskin work gloves. I love most things country, because country, to me, is home. – Ree Drummond • I love meetings with suits. I live for meetings with suits. I love them because I know they had a really boring week and I walk in there with my orange velvet leggings and drop popcorn in my cleavage and then fish it out and eat it. I like that. I know I’m entertaining them and I know that they know. – Madonna Ciccone • I wear women’s leggings under my clothes, but no lingerie. – Dennis Rodman • If I had the power, I would ban leggings. – Jil Sander • I’m a massive fan of the Stones, and I don’t think anybody should deny them the right to carry on making music. I just wish they wouldn’t wear leggings. – Noel Gallagher • I’m so not interesting in having to try and make something out of foil.” What, you didn’t like the poncho with wraparound leggings?” It was beyond hideou- wait a minute. You watch that show?” My mom loves it.” But your suppose to be sulking in the basement getting ready to light fires.” What can I say? I’m a failure as a teenager. I watch TV with my mom. – Elizabeth Scott • I’m wearing black leggings and a loose top festooned with a Menger sponge of empty pockets stitched out of smaller pockets and smaller still, almost down to the limits of visibility woven in freefall by hordes of tiny otaku spiders, I’m told, their genes programmed by an obsessive-compulsive sartorial topologist. – Charles Stross • In “Curvy,” they are superhappy with their sizes. We help them dress fashionably. We say: It’s pointless for you to buy leggings, take this because this will look good on you. We help them choose. We don’t talk about diets because they don’t want to be on a diet, but it’s not a ghetto. Why should these women slim down? Many of the women who have a few extra kilos are especially beautiful and also more feminine. – Franca Sozzani • Leggings are everywhere, indeed. Personally, I’m not crazy about them, but they can look great with the right look, a tunic, for instance, or a long cardigan. Just don’t try to dress them up! – Tim Gunn • Leggings killed velour sweat suits! I used to only wear them until leggings came along. – Kim Kardashian • Packing is basically: If you’re going on a weekend, then just take what you’re really going to wear. And how many times are you going to leave the room? If that makes any sense. Like if you’re going to sleep, read, and sit by a fire – chunky knit sweaters, leggings, comfortable boots. But if you’re going on like a party weekend, then bring your favorite pieces and make sure you’ll wear them. – Rachel Zoe • Style is not a reward for the skinny. It’s not, ‘iI I’m rich, thin and young.’ You may not like your size, but then don’t invest in leather leggings. Let yourself want the expensive bag and really love it and show it off and have a ball with it. – Stacy London • The black bubble dress is a must! The leggings are absolutely amazing too, they fit perfectly and let you breath when still being super high-waisted. They are everything and so easy to pair anything with. – Beth Ditto • The last time I wore an animal hide; but this time I settled for this.” Eric had been wearing a long trench coat. Now he threw it off dramatically, and I could only stand and stare. Normally, Eric was a blue-jeans-and-T-shirt kind of guy. Tonight, he wore a pink tank top and Lycra leggings[…]They were pink and aqua, like the swirls down the side of Jason’s truck. – Charlaine Harris • What I hate is leather leggings and an ankle boot. I hate the line.- Tamara Mellon • When I moved to New York, leggings were always a staple piece in my closet and I’m always with leggings, a T-shirt, a cool jacket and shoes cause that’s what would be easier for me when I was a kid. – Gigi Hadid • When I’m older, I want to have my own workout clothes line, like leggings and cute jackets in bright and fun colors. – Aly Raisman • You deserve to die,” I whisper, suddenly realizing Iv’e said the words aloud. “Excuse me?” “Nothing.” “Not nothing. You just told me that I deserve to be maggot feed.” “Not maggot feed, just-” “Dead!” “Forget it” “I don’t know why I said that. Just daydreaming, I guess.” “Daydreaming about my death?” “Forget it”, I repeat. “Are you sure you aren’t still mad that I wouldn’t let you borrow my vintage fishnet leggings?” “More like I didn’t want to borrow them. – Laurie Faria Stolarz

[biofunmy]

The Nightlife Outlaws of East Los Angeles

The Look

Club Scum, a monthly party that embraces punk and drag, is a distillation of the fringe-friendly gay underground on the Eastside.

Photographs by Daniel Jack Lyons

Text by Daniel Hernandez

Produced by Eve Lyons

Let’s get one thing straight, so to speak.

There’s mainstream gay club culture — homogeneous house music, international circuit parties, rainbow flags everywhere, which is fine! — and there is underground gay club culture, which is more like a spider web of alternative scenes. The underground reflects themes and identities, as well as literal geographies, that are usually marginalized, or are, in a word, “queer.”

In Los Angeles in early 2016, two queer club denizens put a party together at a strip-mall gay bar in deeply Latino eastern Los Angeles and called it Club Scum. Far from the posher dance floors of the gay enclave of West Hollywood, the goal of the organizers was to mix scenes that hadn’t often met, even on the widest of webs: drag and punk. They were nervous.

“The first Scum, yeah, some people were leaving, and the manager was worried,” said one of the co-founders, Rudy “Rudy Bleu” Garcia, referring to their venue, Club Chico in Montebello, Calif.

“But at the same time, those punks who took the bus were rolling in late,” added Ray “Hex-Ray” Sanchez, the other co-founder. The pair shared a laugh as they recalled the hint of what was to come. The punks mixed in with goth drag queens and the club’s masc, down-low regular clientele. Something clicked. “By the end of the night,” Mr. Garcia continued, the bar owners said: “‘Wow, this was great, the energy was great, the performers were great.’ And the regulars” — pause — “have the rest of the month.”

More than three years later, this monthly party featuring art and drag performances, D.J.s, go-go dancers and sometimes live punk bands, has become a staple of underground East L.A. night life. The mixture has worked, its founders said, because Scum spoke to a cultural current that was hiding right before them.

“For us, it’s just fun to play X Ray Specs and then Banda Machos, or like, Gloria Trevi to the Germs,” said Mr. Garcia, 41, referring to the sounds of Scum playlists, but also to the musical styles that might echo against one another across city streets in East L.A.

Dress is central to Scum’s subculture. The club’s adherents show up reflecting all kinds of alternative styles, often with a gender-bending or drag bent. Body positivity is functionally boundless. Extravagant face makeup is a norm. Prosthetics are encouraged.

On a recent night in September, the latest Scum night at Chico was going strong. The music and vibe veered — seamlessly — from New Wave, to techno, to traditional Mexican ranchera to hard-core punk. A few people approached me and said they’d never seen me there before, just as a regular said might happen. Inclusivity reigns at Club Scum. I smiled and embraced strangers, informing them that, yes, I was a party virgin.

“Scum is that place where you can be your true authentic weird self,” said Mr. Sanchez, 30, and I knew exactly what he meant. In a way, I’d been to this party, in some form, many times before.

I had a pretty great time living in Los Angeles in my 20s in the mid-2000s.

It was in its last few years in the ranks of megacities that were considered underrated, and, for its sheer vastness, Los Angeles felt like a place where wonderlands for any fancy beckoned from behind discreetly marked doors. There was always something going on, always another room to peek into, always another entrance. In that decade, L.A. was the city of secrets.

I was convinced that in order to really understand the place, I had to get to know as many distinct night life scenes as possible. After dark, I got in my car and went out. I plunged into the neighborhoods that radiate from downtown, hurtling into backyard ska-punk shows in El Sereno, experimental art happenings in Chinatown, and smoky trip-hop after-hours in warehouses in South-Central. Most of all, I was at the underground gay club nights.

In L.A.’s central neighborhoods and its Eastside, denizens followed the underground gay calendar from club to club, week to week, where we made bands of friends and notched strings of enthusiastic bed mates. There wasn’t a lot of overthinking going on; labels weren’t in style. Maybe this was because the period came right after the vibrating trauma of Sept. 11, but also well before dating apps, necessitating analog contact with strangers in order to have a life in a driving-heavy metropolis.

The corresponding flow was fluid and bent slightly toward the nihilistic in everything from music to sexual practices to street fashion. As a result, it’s taken me some years to realize that there were actually two alternative gay underground cultures in Los Angeles at the time, and that many of us had firm footholds in both.

There were the more mainstream-adjacent scenes that centered in East Hollywood and Silver Lake: leather, bears, rockers, “creative” types, the people who congregated at places like Akbar, MJ’s, the Eagle, Cuffs and Faultline. Then there was the immigrant-led underground, dominated by working class gays and lesbians, Latin drag queens, trans people. These venues included the old Le Bar on Glendale Boulevard (now the hipster haunt Cha Cha Lounge), the now-defunct Circus Disco in Hollywood, the divey New Jalisco on Main Street, and Tempo on Santa Monica Boulevard, a veritable club of worship to gay vaqueros and queens.

Farther east, there was the little known lesbian bar Reds in Boyle Heights, and Club Chico, a “cholo bar,” as we called it back then, that catered mostly to Mexican or Mexican-American guys who shunned the traditional L.G.B.T. identifiers but could definitely be described as “men who have sex with men.”

Being a gay underground clubgoer in L.A. at the time meant almost by default being some shade of brown. Nearly half of the county’s population was already Latino, but it was a time, almost two decades before Latinx entered the dictionary, when the city was weirdly un-self-aware about it. Everyone was just mixed in.

The deeper I got into downtown and the Eastside, the weirder and freer things would get. Which is why, when I first entered a Club Scum night in Los Angeles in 2019, I knew, in club-going terms, that I had effectively returned home.

Scum sits at the intersection of queer culture, punk culture and drag culture. It is for women, men, and literally every gender expression in between. Mr. Garcia is a veteran underground night life maven, part of a generation who created intense community at the L.A. queer party nights of the late 2000s, like Mustache Mondays (whose co-founder and beloved impresario Nacho Nava died in January) and Wildness in MacArthur Park.

The community at Scum, like that of similar parties that exist in its orbit, touches on the propensity among alternative-leaning, young Eastsiders to be drawn to anything goth, gore, electro or hard core. For drag personalities in particular, Scum is seen as a community home-base; several drag houses have organically formed around the party.

Scum also serves as a beacon to the essential identity of the Eastside of Los Angeles County. Montebello, where Chico has kept a low-key presence since 1999, is a couple blocks away from the boundary of unincorporated East L.A., which, remember, is a distinct entity; its natives — including Mr. Garcia and Mr. Sanchez — don’t ever let a newcomer forget it. The location keeps the club rooted in the various cultural pillars of the region. East Los Angeles proper is more than 95 percent Latino, according to the U.S. census, and largely some form of Mexican.

From here, Scum also becomes the party that arguably fits best for those who feel like they’re the strangest in their neighborhoods, anywhere. Maybe they love the Misfits, but also know their Juan Gabriel. Or they skate, but also do some drag. To some adherents, it’s all “queerdo,” a construction of “weirdo” and “queer” — apt, though of uncertain provenance.

“It just feels safe,” said Amanda Estrada, 31, a regular clubgoer and musician, who once had a band with Mr. Sanchez. She attends regularly with her partner Rocío Flores, who also D.J.s at the club. They were there together on the very first night. “At Scum, you know you’re among your people, your community, and I know that sounds cheesy, but that really is the vibe when you walk in,” Ms. Estrada said.

Mr. Garcia and Mr. Sanchez came into the scene through their bands, and by promoting clubs and making zines. These activities will sound familiar to elder Eastsiders, as they have flourished in the gay underground of the Eastside since at least the 1970s, said C. Ondine Chavoya, a professor at Williams College, and co-curator of “Axis Mundo,” a 2017 museum survey exhibit that charts queer visual arts and cultural production on L.A.’s Eastside. “It was about being the punk kids at the gay disco, or being the Latino queers at the bar in the West Hollywood, which didn’t always work out,” Mr. Chavoya said.

For the misfits, the outcasts, the night crawlers, it works. “Scum provides a space for people to be themselves, and take risks, and try new things with the way they dress, perform, communicate,” Mr. Garcia said. “And to meet other people who are like you, and are not just trying to fetishize you for being brown or for being punk.”

Mr. Sanchez added: “It’s been nice to bring people to our gay bar, in the hood, where we grew up.”

Daniel Jack Lyons is a photographer who divides his time between New York and Los Angeles. Daniel Hernandez is a Styles West reporter and the author of “Down and Delirious in Mexico City,” a nonfiction exploration of youth subcultures in Mexico.

Sahred From Source link Fashion and Style

from WordPress http://bit.ly/2pG5KW0 via IFTTT

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Anything Is Possible

Author: IDeserveYou

Year: 2013

Rating: R

Pairing: Rudi Van DiSarzio/Spider Dijon

Rudi and Spider wake in a heap on the verandah, looking out over the neatly hoovered courtyard, the morning sun bright in their narrowed eyes. The girls are nowhere to be seen, though from the bar comes the sound of snoring. The bongo brothers look at each other, and cautiously unwind their tangled limbs. ‘We didn’t…?’ Rudi looks hastily away. Spider throws back his tatty mane and laughs raucously. ‘No, my friend, you would know about it if we had. Although…’ And then the laughter has gone from his voice, and he is speaking honestly, as he never has all through the years Rudi has known him. ‘Although I think per’aps we would have liked to. And maybe one day we will, no? You think zat might be possible for us?’ ‘I do not know.’ Rudi watches the sparkle of sunlight on the water-trough. ‘I cannot see how.’ ‘Look into your mind,’ Spider says. ‘Use the door.’ ‘I do not think the door was put there for this kind of purpose.’ ‘Who is to say why ze door is zere? But it is zere, and ma door is telling me zat if you look behind your door you will see what it is zat might be possible. So look.’ Rudi pushes the door open, just a crack, and looks. Spider waits with an air of expectancy, hopefulness even. His eyes are very blue. Presently he says: ‘Tell me.’ ‘Your body...’ Rudi struggles to find the words to describe what he saw last night: the sinuous twist of Spider’s slim hips in silhouette against the torchlight, the tangled fall of his hair, the abandoned joy in his face. And how his own mouth had suddenly gone dry with wanting. ‘What about ma body?’ Spider stretches his legs out, glances casually downwards and shrugs. ‘It is ze same one I’ve always ’ad.’ ‘The way… the way it moves.’ Rudi looks at Spider’s belt, the way it lies flat across his belly. ‘When the music takes you, and you dance, you are… you are…’ ‘What am I?’ ‘Beautiful,’ Rudi says, and then he turns away, blushing. ‘I never saw it before. It makes me want to… to do things…’ He hears Spider shift beside him; about to get up and walk away, perhaps. He cannot look round. Then a hand is laid over his own. ‘Tell me of zese things.’ Spider’s hoarse, harsh voice is almost gentle. ‘Many people, zey want to do things with Spider, zey tell ’im ’e is sexy and charismatic and a bongo genius, but nobody ever told him he was beautiful.’ Rudi looks down at their joined hands, and takes a deep breath. ‘Promise me one thing, brother. Promise me you will not laugh.’ ‘I promise,’ Spider says. ‘I promise I will not laugh.’ ‘Thank you.’ Rudi opens his mind; dares to push the door open further, and look closer. ‘I want… I want to take you away from here. Just you and me, like it was at the beginning, when we were young and laughed a lot more than we do now.’ ‘Back to Cancun?’ Spider says hopefully. ‘Spider had a great time there, yeah, got drunk for two weeks and laid every senorita on the beach at least once…’ ‘That is not what I am talking about.’ Rudi sighs. Perhaps it was a mistake to think Spider could ever understand. ‘Listen, you got drunk for two weeks and had sex many times. I spent two weeks looking for you and another week sitting by your bedside in the hospital fending off weeping women and their aggrieved boyfriends. Spider may have had a great time, but Rudi certainly did not.’ ‘So, this time it would be different.’ Spider tightens his grip on Rudi’s hand. ‘Spider is older and wiser, knows how to have a good time without killing himself, yeah?’ ‘Spider, what I am trying to say is, that that was a good time for you but not for me.’ ‘Oh… but it ’as always been zat way, ze bongo brothers make an album an’ go on tour, Spider gets wrecked, Rudi takes care of Spider, Spider gets better, zey make anozzer album, zey go on tour again…’ Spider falls silent. Then looks up, his eyes full of sudden tears. ‘But zis time, ze door is telling me, it does not ’ave to be zat way, and I think you are telling me too, no? Zis time we ’ave a good time together, both of us, and Rudi my brother, I am sorry for all ze ozzer good times zat were bad times for you.’ He wipes his eyes on the back of his hand. ‘I am sorry,’ he whispers. ‘That’s… all right.’ Rudi pats him awkwardly on the back. ‘So will you tell me more?’ Spider asks, sniffing. ‘More about what you want?’ ‘Very well. I want to take you to a fancy hotel, it does not matter where. And hire a suite, run a big bath full of hot water…’ ‘Hey, you tellin’ Spider ’e smells bad?’ ‘No. Not at all. You are not the biggest advert for personal hygiene, but…’ Rudi leans down and breathes in the dusty, sweaty, spicy fragrance of Spider’s matted dreadlocks. ‘I like the way you smell. I should like to get to know it better.’ ‘Oh, by takin’ off all ma clothes, hmmm?’ Spider is smiling again now. ‘Yes,’ Rudi says, taking courage, ‘I want to take off all your clothes and look at you.’ Spider shrugs. ‘Precious little zere zat you ’aven’t seen already over ze years.’ ‘Yes, but I will never have looked at you in quite that way before. And when I have looked my fill, I want to bathe you all over, touch you all over –’ ‘And per’aps Spider could do ze same for you, no? Take off your dress –’ ‘This is not a dress. It is –’ ‘Ze sacred robe of ze psychedelic monks, I know, I know, I wear ze same dress too now. Just not all ze time, Spider likes ze support of nice tight trousers around his specially gifted parts.’ Spider hitches at the bulge in his crotch, then looks up and grins. ‘And you like it too,’ he adds thoughtfully. ‘I –’ Rudi is stilled, quivering, a rabbit caught in headlights. Spider’s grin is positively predatory. ‘Even you,’ he chuckles. ‘Even you, Rudi van der Sarzio, you cannot resist ze Spider and ’is eight –’ ‘Exactly. I cannot resist, I no longer wish to resist, I want us to free ourselves of our sacred robes and be together, with nothing coming between us.’ Spider splutters with laughter. ‘Except for nine ’appy cocks, per’aps.’ Rudi frowns. ‘Do not be coarse, my friend. This is a delicate matter. It may not be easy. I will admit, I do not have quite your… experience. I will need to feel my way…’ ‘Fine by me,’ Spider murmurs, shuffling a little closer. ‘You can start now, if you like… Ah. Too much too soon, hmmm? Is OK, stay zere, keep talkin’, tell ze Spider ’ow it will be when you make love to ’im, I am thinkin’ of you bollock naked on ze bathmat and then… does a bed per’aps feature in your plans for our future?’ ‘A bed… Yes.’ Rudi lies down again, his head on Spider’s chest. ‘A big bed with crisp white sheets. I want to pick you up in my arms and carry you to that bed and lay you down, and then…’ ‘And zen what?’ Spider’s heartbeat is loud in Rudi’s ears. ‘What will you do wiz Spider when ’e is all washed clean and lying in your bed?’ ‘I will kneel,’ Rudi whispers, ‘kneel beside the bed…’ Spider chuckles wickedly. ‘You will find it easier to reach if you kneel on ze bed. Zen you will ’ave ze choice of all eight, no?’ Rudi feels suddenly dizzy with the marvellous visions that Spider’s words are spinning in his head. ‘Very well. I will kneel on the bed. And I will lean over and…’ ‘Slide your big mouth over one of ma big ’ard pricks…’ Spider breathes, reaching up to trail a fingertip suggestively over Rudi’s lower lip. ‘I will not be in such a hurry.’ Rudi takes the finger briefly into his mouth, feeling Spider shudder beneath him as he licks at it and then lets it go. ‘First, I will kiss you. On the mouth, then on the nipples, perhaps, if that is something that you would like.’ ‘Oh.’ Spider wriggles ecstatically. ‘Oh, yes, zat is most definitely a thing that Spider would like. An’ when Spider’s nipples are as rock-solid as ’is cocks, zen what will you do?’ ‘I will kiss your beautiful flat belly, and your thighs, and then –’ ‘You missed something. What about ma belly bouton?’ ‘What about it?’ Rudi’s never really noticed Spider’s navel, but now he comes to think of it, peeking above Spider’s low-slung belt, it does have potential… ‘You want me to kiss you there too?’ ‘Ohhhh yes. An’ per’aps slide your tongue in, or a wet finger, as though it were ma –’ Rudi shivers with delicious anticipation. ‘I will do those things for you, my brother, and then I will kneel between your legs and – and – ’ He closes his eyes, breathing hard. ‘And do… exactly what you said earlier. With my mouth. And my hands…’ Spider gentles him; strokes his hair. ‘Easy there, brother. I know, zese things zey are not easy for you to say. But Spider is getting ze message, loud and clear.’ He shifts his position a little, just enough for Rudi to feel the hardness pressing against his lower back. Then he chuckles. ‘An’ when Spider ’as come all over your face an’ your ’ands, an’ ‘e ‘as finished apologizing an’ cleanin’ you up, zen what will you do?’ ‘I will roll you over,’ Rudi says with sudden boldness, ‘face down on those crisp white sheets with a pillow under your... specially gifted parts. And I will kiss you and touch you all over your back and your delectable arse until I am as hard as rock and you are begging me to – to –’ ‘To fuck me.’ Spider’s hoarse, needy whisper almost undoes Rudi on the spot. ‘Yes. To do that. I will prepare the way for myself, carefully, so carefully, I will of course have obtained the proper lubricants and prophylactics, I will work my fingers inside you little by little until you are wet and open and ready for me...’ ‘You seem to know a lot about ’ow to prepare a man for fucking.’ ‘I... read a lot about it. On the internet.’ Rudi blushes. ‘Many women write about it in great detail, and it seemed to me to be something it might one day be necessary for even a psychedelic monk to know.’ ‘It’s good zat you know. An’ one day you will know it with your body, an’ not just in your mind...’ Spider puts his arms around Rudi, and holds on tight. ‘Go on. What will ’appen next?’ Rudi heaves a deep breath. He has thought about this so often, but saying it out loud is an entirely different matter. And actually doing it – if this turns out to be real, and not just another of Spider’s crazy fantasies – will be an entirely different matter again. ‘I will...’ He clears his throat. ‘I will kneel once again between your thighs, and when my erection is suitably protected and lubricated I will spread you apart with my hands, and press the hot, hard head of my cock against your...’ ‘Entrance,’ Spider murmurs. ‘Or my ’ole, or my ring, I do not care what you call it so long as you get inside it.’ ‘I will be gentle, but persistent.’ Rudi’s cock twitches under his robes. ‘And eventually you will let me in, I will slide smoothly inside you and...’ ‘Oh. Oh...’ Spider grinds his hips desperately against Rudi’s back. ‘Oh, my brother, you ’ave undone ze Spider with your lovely filthy talk, I cannot ’old back ze floodgates any longer, I am coming, with all eight at once...’ Rudi doesn’t know what to say; just rolls over and holds the quivering, jerking Spider tight until the climax appears to be more or less finished. ‘Thank you,’ Spider whispers. His face is wet with tears; and when he pulls away from Rudi’s front, his trousers are wet with something quite different. He looks down at himself with a faintly puzzled expression, as though unsure what to do next. ‘Perhaps... a wash?’ Rudi suggests. Spider’s blue eyes come gradually back into focus. ‘Yes, I will go and wash and put on ze dress again, at least it is clean.’ He looks from his own groin to Rudi’s, where the purple fabric is standing up in an impressive tent, and grins like his old self. ‘Zat barn over zere is a good quiet place for a monk to practise some meditation while he is waiting...’ The barn is dusty and peaceful. Rudi pushes the creaking door shut, leans against it, and takes himself in hand under his robe. He summons up the image of Spider, dancing and swaying in the moonlight, and it takes only a couple of strokes before he’s spilling over his fingers and onto the dirt floor. As he’s wiping his hands clean on a wisp of hay, he hears shrill welcoming cries from the courtyard, running footsteps, and then deeper voices: the men of the village are coming home. More running footsteps are followed by a sudden creak, and Spider reappears in the doorway; somehow Rudi knows that he’s wearing nothing underneath that purple robe. The thought is intoxicating. And so is the music that’s just started up again. ‘Can you hear it?’ Rudi asks. ‘The new sound, in the music?’ Spider snorts. ‘Forget about ze new sound, let’s get out of ’ere. Some of zese men are big and tall an’ zey will not be too pleased to find zeir girlfriends ’ave ’ad some Spider Loving... do you think our doors will tell us the way to the nearest travel agent?’ ‘You mean that?’ Rudi is amazed. He didn’t think Spider could possibly be serious. ‘Of course I do.’ From now on, all of ze Spider Loving, it is for you.’ Spider kisses Rudi on the cheek. ‘Now come on, you big man in a dress, stop staring at ze Spider, an’ get moving. I wanna book zat trip. An’ it ’ad better be somewhere far away.’ ‘Why?’ Spider laughs, and takes his hand. ‘Because, ma friend, you ’ave told me what you would like to do to me, an’ now we’ll need a long flight to give me time to tell you what I would like to do to you...’