#i did tua AUgust in a week and a half

[carry-on-my-wayward-hobbit]

I wasn’t sure if I was going to but screw it im putting my name down for fucktober

[ibroughtyoumybullets]

You said not to ask so please ignore this if you don't want to explain, but could you elaborate on your March 19th / May 1st theory? thanks!

ahfkafhksfh yeah no problem. its not a theory its just ... brain worms that have taken a specific shape but thats not new this is just the latest form. under a cut because i hate like. getting peoples hopes up over something ive entirely made up

greentext format but make it wordy

> i think frank has been like. suspicious lately. i dont know how to explain it beyond that. he’s done a LOT of press-but-not-press in the last month or so. sure, he’s definitely bored and stuck in his house like the rest of us, and he had a new EP come out, and the EP is technically the reason for the press. but it also ... isnt. like the bulk of it has been AFTER the EP came out, and none of it has been wholly focused on the EP. and to me, at least, it feels like, i dont know, easing the band back into public consciousness thru a press circuit without the band ACTUALLY doing a press circuit because MCR been pretty hard and fast about the ‘we dont need or want ur press’ when it comes to the reunion. 

> continuing off the last one, in the ... jim ward interview he did, i think? one of the more recent ones, at least - he got asked about his writing process and mentioned working with gerard in present tense. very very likely it meant nothing at all, but also like ... i dont trust him LOL part of me thinks it was on purpose. Im just suspicious of him after the broken clock thing. 

> not only did frank mention working with gerard in the present tense, for Months now, but especially during his recent mini press tour, frank has been really vague but consistent in talking about working with people on music remotely. id have to go looking for it and i dont feel like it, but it’s been something along the lines of ‘working with new people And people you know’. suspitcheous. 

> ONTO GERARD. Gerard like never uses social media. but then a couple days ago he pops up to mention franks EP (which is sweet) and makes sure to sign it so its like, obviously not something his social media manager wrote up for him. and in that post he mentions being down in the lab. and LORD KNOWS WHAT THE FUCK THAT MEANS besides the fact that he’s working on something. but hey, its gerard, when isnt he. 

> But Gerard’s also doing that charity stream on the 2nd. and we havent seen gerard in MONTHS. since august, maybe? and he’s not just speaking, hes PERFORMING. besides the shrine show, the last time he performed was for the muppet charity thing with ray in 2016, and before that, it was the last hes alien leg in 2015. None of us even expected him to perform when it got announced - it had to be confirmed by the event organizers. and that just ... pings something in my brain, same as franks little press tour. It’s gerard emerging from his cave, Being A Musician, you know? 

> SPEAKING of the last time we saw gerard, he teased us back in the summer by mentioning that he has something he’s been working on thats not comic book related that he cant talk about. maybe its a fucking line of hot sauces or a tripp collaboration. 

> Or maybe its music. 

> this is where we depart from reality a little bit more: 

> this has been trotted out again and again on here as a talking point, and i dither between agreeing with it or not, but: MCR spent two years planning their return. they had a plan, for whatever the fuck was supposed to happen - even if all that was supposed to happen was the tour. 

> and their plan got pissed on, doused in gasoline, set on fire, extinguished, and thrown into the mouth of a lion. But They Had A Plan. And theyve been fucking radio silent except the hipdot collab, and before that, rescheduling shows. I ASSUME their almost-year of silence has been them, in part, reformulating their plan. Changing whatever it was going to be to fit the new timeline, or making a back up plan in case things get worse. 

> But the original plan had them all free - as far as we know - after november of 2020. so they wouldnt have had active MCR stuff happening for the national anthem comic book release, the electric century album + comic release, the you look like death tua comic release. But those things still happened, because they didnt require having to be in the real world where the plague is. 

> so, what the worms hinge on, is that whatever the New Plan Is, Whatever They Are Doing Now, it involves waiting until all their obligations and projects that SHOULDNT have interfered with MCR stuff - but had to the potential to because of covid - ended. 

> and thats now. thats the next couple weeks. you look like death just finished up, mikeys album and comic are out, and national anthem finishes up in like a week in a half. 

> and then theres nothing (that we know of) until the rescheduled shows happen, or *knocks thrice on wood* they have to reschedule again. 

> and this is where we really enter crazy town:

> so i was thinking about all of these things, and the imagery / themeing for the return (what little we got of it) and how a year ago everybody was pulling out the wheel of the year trying to figure out what they would do next, and when. 

> and March 20th (i know i said march 19th originally, i’ll get into that) is Ostara. 

> if youre not vaguely witchy, its basically a festival for the spring equinox. light and dark are in balance, yadda yadda yadda. and i could go into full on insane depth about the black and white aspects of the return, the witchiness of an offering + a summoning but i wont. it boils down to: its the closest festival to when all of MCR’s calendars are clear as far as we know, and its almost a year to date of when they had to reschedule the shows. 

> and March 19th is a Friday. which is new music release day. Ostara / the equinox are technically on saturday, but its at 5am on saturday morning so ... technicalities. 

> so the worms in my brain say new single on march 19th. or Something on march 19th. or 20th. one of those days. 

> and the worms in my brain also say MCR are a bunch of cruel little shits, and theyre gonna make us wait before they give us anything substantial. 

> so we move to May 1st. 

> May 1st is also known as May Day, also known as Beltane. (We’re back to the wheel of the year for this one) Its the halfway point between the spring equinox and the summer solstice. And its a Saturday. which is NOT new music release day - but hey, its close enough. 

> may day is also like, similar to halloween / samhain in that the veil is supposed to be thinner on those days, and i think theres a connection the imagery and over-all plan wise between coming back on halloween, and possibly doing something on mayday. i dont think they just came back on halloween as a birthday present to frank. 

> so second single on may day, or album? or announcement that theres gonna BE an album? maybe they wont give us a single on ostara but just tease us with something. i dont know. but i think theres something here. 

> im aware this was a lot of words and i basically gave you nothing, but i can only give you what the worms give to me. 

> sorry for being the way i am. hope this helped. 

[red-moskito]

24. April. 2020

Málaga, Spain

For many of us, the last time it felt like the whole world was having the same conversation was on September 11th, 2001. For me, it was also the day I left London for Faedis, Italy. A few people around me on the train were murmuring about some kind an attack. When I got the airport, it was so quiet. People stood frozen in front of televisions watching two plumes of black smoke rise into a blue sky.

I’d met Marco while he was in London for a couple days to sell some wine. We both quoted Biggie Smalls and the Big Lebowski. He was just getting the family vineyard going as a proper business. I had no plans beyond the next weekend. I said I liked the idea of working on a vineyard. He said, cool. 

The house was a kitchen and a bedroom above the cantina. Almost everything inside was older than me. The roof in the bedroom sloped down to the floor. We opened a few bottles and ate dinner. 

While insects buzzed and chirped outside the windows, we watched our world reorganize itself towards endless war on television. It was cold that night. We slept under scratchy blankets on little beds made during times of less abundance. 

I stayed until the end of October. We often ate lunch in Orsaria with his parents, Paolo and Miriam. I liked them. They acted as if Marco had just found a younger brother they had somehow misplaced. I also liked their house. It was big, beautiful and warm. They had comfortable sofas and a computer for sending sentimental emails and downloading mp3s. 

I did my best to match their enthusiasm for every course. E buona la pasta, Tito? Si, si... buonissimo! Marco, perché non mangia di più? When I got sick, they had a doctor come to the house. He brought a stethoscope in a leather bag. Nonna introduced me to grappa as medicine. The first glass felt like hot wax going down my throat.  

I annoyed Marco with my plans to marry his sister Barbara, even though she thought I was a sfigato. We drove down gravel roads to parties in little bars where his friends played reggae like some of mine did back home.

No matter how late we stayed out, or how many bottles we left empty on the table, Marco was up with the sun and ready to work. He’d drink flat Coca-Cola before his coffee. Some fuel to get the engine started, man. Good for the stomach. 

Winemaking is agriculture, science, art, design, engineering, sales, marketing, gambling, guessing…. When there aren’t vines to trim, there are tanks to check, fertilizers to buy, grapes to take to the laboratory, grass to cut, cases to deliver, bottles to label, fill, cork... People we’d meet throughout the day said, buon lavoro as goodbye. 

Whenever something could go wrong, it often did. Marco’s momentary frustration would quickly just become something else to laugh about. Stay calm. Piano, piano. We have to be the Tom Cruise of the situation, man. 

Sometimes he would sketch out the plans for our day on scrap paper. Little cartoons of machines, grapes, tanks and tubes with arrows between them. Numbers and notes floating around the edges. He never drew us. We were always moving anyway. 

During the vendemmia a crowd arrived to help. Friends, traveling workers and his family, of course. Nonno laughed and shook his head at me and my allergies. I never really got the hang of the tractor, but I loved cutting the grapes free. We stacked crates and tipped them into presses. They all knew far more about my country than I did about theirs. We debated the merits of Sublime, compared Berlusconi to Bush and retold our favorite Simpsons episodes. Every day we all ate lunch together on the patio beneath a sunshade of interwoven vines. 

The wine we made went to tables all around Friuli-Venezia-Giulia and parts of Europe. I brought a few bottles with me when I left for Torino. Some went to rest on shelves in the cantina.   

The last time I was in Faedis was in August 2016. Marco still sings while he’s walking between the rows of vines. 'Biggie Biggie Biggie can’t you see…’ I mean come on. man. He was really the best. You know it. The best... ‘It was all a dream. I used to read Word-Up Magazine…’ 

The TV in the kitchen is gone. There’s a wood stove there now. They watch movies projected on the wall of the room we used to sleep in. A futon for guests has replaced the little beds. Marco had remodeled the house to make room for another proper bedroom. 

He dug out some grimy bottles of our wine. It was six years younger than I was when we made it. I didn’t get to see Barbara. Paulo and Miriam’s house is now a bed and breakfast. Go there if you’re ever near Orsaria. It’s even more beautiful now. 

Friuili is 300 km from Lombardia. In February, Marco and I started talking and texting about the virus. I’d already started veering away from people on the sidewalk. There was a movie I wanted to see in the cinema, but I didn’t go. I avoided the port full of cruise ship passengers. But I still went out. 

On March 6, I’d had an internal debate about going to the botanical gardens on my day off. It’s outdoors. It’s low season. It’ll be empty. It’s windy and warm. And anyway, Málaga isn’t Bergamo. I rode my bike there, and while I was locking it, I reconsidered again. I saw a couple walking down from the mountains across the road. Should I just hike up this trail instead? Instead I went inside. I’d only been in summer before. I wanted to see what it looked like at the beginning of spring. 

While I was having my coffee, a woman sat at the other end of the picnic table. When she started blowing her nose, I told myself it would be silly and rude to get up. Then she started coughing. I looked at the unwrapped sandwich I had brought from home. My open water thermos. Mentally measuring metres and wind speed. Still feeling like I was being ridiculous. Her daughter brought the drinks and sat down. Ecco la tua mamma... I picked up my things and moved to another table.

I spent the next half hour telling myself I was being paranoid while trying to focus on the plants in the sunshine. Doing impossible math in my head. There are 60 million Italians.... they could have been traveling for weeks... maybe they live here... anyone could have it... there are so many old people here... I heard that man couch under is hat... it could have been on the coffee cup anyway… the bartender washes them in the sink... how hot is that water?

I walked to the end of the gardens where a gazebo was built for the view of the cathedral and the sea. I watched turtles swimming around the little pond. Marco texted me. Stay at home. I called him to tell him about the Italian women and my paranoia. They walked by while I was on the phone, and I moved upwind. Still feeling ridiculous. 

He was calm as always. The main problem is there aren’t enough beds for the, how do you say... the reanimation. The people they are just fucking dying in the corridors. They don’t know for sure who is the patient zero, but the patient one or two. He’s a 38 years old guy. He’s been on the fucking respirator for weeks. In Cividale there are three cases. It’s crazy, man. What we have to do is just fucking close everything like they did in China. But that will never happen you know man, because this is Europe. 

Two days later the Italian government locked down Lombardia and fourteen other provinces. The following day they extended to it include the entire country. Within a week, most of Europe followed suit.

Seven weeks later the Italian government agrees with many of you about the essential nature of wine. So Marco is still working. Since the lockdown started, he’s been in the hospital twice. He was in a car accident in March, and then something more serious happened in April. 

He sent me a selfie from the hospital bed. I called him and he answered laughing. His wife had thought he was faking a stroke to play a trick on her. Fucking unbelievable, man. I tried to drink the juice. You know in the morning, the orange juice, and I put it all over my t-shirt. I couldn’t put it to my mouth. I couldn’t say nothing. I was like blah, blah, blah. My brain was no good. Anyway, how are you, are you good?  

The hospitals in Udine aren’t overwhelmed, but he was only allowed one visitor per day. He asked his mother to bring his laptop, so he could get some work done. Everybody say rest. Rest, rest, rest. Okay, I’m in the bed. 

When he was discharged he sent me a photo with his wife and baby walking between the vines. Their daughter, Emilia, has unruly red hair. In every photo she looks overjoyed and a little surprised to have found herself inside her new body. Are you ok? Super ok, man. Super ok. They were all smiles. Glowing in the green grass. Paola looks far too smart to have fallen for either of us back when we would try to out-charm each other every time a woman arrived at the vineyard. 

Marco’s still getting up with the sun. But fewer and fewer Italians have money for wine. He’s not loading pallets with boxes bound for dinner parties in Oslo or Chicago. No American tourists will be giggling at his accent this summer. The local restaurants are dark and full of stale air. 

For almost twenty years, whenever I’ve called Marco to talk about moving or just getting away, he reminds me of my house in Faedis. 

Next to the front door there are photographs of family and friends working together since long before the days of color. Behind the house, up on top of the hill, there is a little shack with the year 1867 written above the door. It will still be there once our world has reorganized itself yet again. 

So will we. 

https://www.cecchinimarco.com/

http://www.dorsariabedandbreakfast.it/index.php/it/

[janiedean]

fic, steve/bucky: a trotskyist baker in the rome of the seventies (light r, 100% crack)

....... OKAY GUYS I PROMISED @electricalice​ THIS DAMNED THING YEARS AGO AND I HAVE A FEELING NO ONE WHO DOESN’T HAVE AN IN-DEPTH KNOWLEDGE OF EITHER ITALIAN POLITICS/CULTURE OR NANNI MORETTI’S MOVIES WILL GET WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE so: if you wanna read a fic where bucky’s a trotskyist baker in rome in the seventies and steve is the local knife-sharpener this is your thing, if not... just skip. MARTINA I MADE YOU WAIT A LOT BUT I HOPE IT’S FUNNY AT LEAST XDDDD (rated r for light sexual content and horrible puns about cannoli.)

È arrivato l'arrotino! Arrota coltelli, forbici, forbicine, forbici da seta, coltelli da prosciutto!

Donne è arrivato l'arrotino e l'ombrellaio; aggiustiamo gli ombrelli; l'ombrellaio, donne -

“Oh, shit, I’m going to murder that son of a bitch,” Bucky groans as he sits up in his bed, not even trying to turn on his side and go back to sleep - there’s no way. He knows how that fucking business works. The motherfucker is going to circle his building some three times, because of course someone is going to want to have their kitchen knives sharpened at seven thirty in the fucking morning on August 15th in fucking Rome, as he does every damned time.

Damn it. Who the fuck is up in that trap of a car with a megaphone on a fucking Sunday morning? At seven thirty? Maybe if he had actually went to sleep at a reasonable hour he might have taken that a lot better, but he hasn’t.

Fine, fine, it’s also his fault because just an idiot could have stayed up baking pastries up until three in the morning just to realize that the following day was a national holiday, and he’s lived in this country for years by now, maybe he should have remembered it. Except that he had forgotten, so now he has a closed shop full of cakes and pastries half of which will spoil before tomorrow, he has barely slept three hours since he dragged himself back home, and now - now the fucking knife grinder is waking him up at the crack of dawn on a Sunday.

For the umpteenth time.

Fuck this, he decides, he’s going to go downstairs and if he manages to talk himself out of murdering the bastard he’ll give him a piece of his mind. After all ten years here did do wonders in teaching him a fair number of colorful insults, and while he’s been told his accent still shows, he’s sure he can do a plenty good job of terrorizing the idiot into going to some other area next week. Or at least into showing up at a normal time. Possibly not at seven thirty in the morning, for starters.

He puts on the old pair of jeans he had on yesterday evening and a pair of sandals he bought at the last festa dell’Unità, and he doesn’t even bother putting on his shirt. People are usually put off by the metal prosthesis, and sometimes he’s still fairly self-conscious about it even if it’s been years since he left the American military, good riddance, but he’s too angry to care. Also he wants the fucker to be put off, anyway.

Ripariamo cucine a gas: abbiamo i pezzi di ricambio per le cucine a gas. Se avete perdite di gas noi le aggiustiamo, se la cucina fa fumo noi togliamo il fumo della vostra cucina a gas.

For fuck’s sake, Bucky thinks as he grabs his keys, slams the door closed and runs down the stairs in a flurry of righteous rage, my kitchen is electric. It’s the seventies, goddammit, who even owns a gas kitchen anymore? Okay, fine, maybe in some small town, but this is hardly a small town, is it?

Good thing he lives on the second floor. He follows the sound - it’s pretty damn loud, so the guy has to have parked somewhere around. It takes him a moment to locate the car. Which is clearly parked in front of his shop - he thinks the universe is trying to tell him something today and he’s not sure he likes it.

Well then. He’s downstairs now, and he’s slammed the door on his way out, and he’s very glad to verify that the car is, in fact, really in front of his shop. He spares a moment to notice that the knife-grinder in question has to be really desperate, or he wouldn’t be driving some old red 126 Fiat that’s probably not been in production for years which is even more battered than Bucky’s own. And Bucky had thought that his thrice-used VAZ-2104 couldn’t be beaten when it came to cars that had seen better days. Never mind that no one with some sense of mind would use a fucking 126 to bring knife-sharpening tools. At least a small truck.

Whatever. The fact that this idiot can’t even grasp the basic of being a knife-sharpener isn’t his the point.

Now, the point is that he needs the idiot to understand once and for all that he’s not welcome (not at this time at least) and he’s been living in this city long enough to master quite some of the local swearing. Not half as much as he wishes he could - because he’s heard some seriously fine swears he still hasn’t been able to quite replicate in all the times he’s been here. Still, enough. He hasn’t completely lost his accent, but usually whenever he demonstrates his more than fairly accurate grasp of the art, locals tend to at least respect him some.

So he’s going to do just that, show this idiot how much this is not Bucky’s day and then he’s going to try and go to sleep again - yeah, fat chance of that.

“Ma all’anima de li mortacci tua, c’avevi proprio bisogno di buttare la gente giù dar letto alle sette de mattina o è che devi esse stronzo a tutti i costi?”

Now, Bucky’s angry, all right, and he knows he can’t be looking very friendly right now. Metal arm regardless, and face of someone-who-was-in-the-military regardless, he was just thrown out of bed earlier than nine in the morning on a festive day, he knows he must look murderous. That’s perfectly fine as far as he’s concerned. He did want to give the guy the scare of his life, which is why he had been striding towards the 126 without hiding his arm or the horrible state of his hair or his absolute lack of fashion - not that he’s that great at it, but when he’s just woken up and has barely dressed, it tends to show.

Too bad that the moment he’s face to face with the infamous arrotino, the one thing he can think of is, shit he’s cute.

For one, he definitely doesn’t look local -- not many people around here have natural blonde hair and blue eyes, but this guy does, and fine, he’s a good head shorter than Bucky and he’s kind of scrawny, it’s obvious from what he can see under the hoodie he’s wearing (with this weather? Who does that even?) over a pair of slacks that have seen better days. But, no one has ever said that Bucky was not into scrawny guys, even if the last time he hit on one he was still in Vietnam and still had an arm, and his rage kind of maybe melts a bit when the other man makes an apologetic face as Bucky comes his way, as if he knows that he’s in the wrong here.

And that makes Bucky stop dead in his tracks enough that he almost trips into the goddamned sampietrino under his feet -- he does love this city but damn if he doesn’t hate its streets’ pavement.

“Er,” the knife-grinder sputters, apologetically, “mi scusi, immagino che --”

“Wait a fucking moment,” Bucky interrupts him, immediately recognizing the accent. Like, he speaks Italian perfectly and without a hitch, but he can fucking hear an accent when he hears one, and this specific kind of is one he really can’t forget anytime soon, “are you from Brooklyn?”

The knife-grinder’s blue eyes go very, very wide.

“How - well, uh, sort of,” he says, “wait, are you?”

“I asked first and you woke me up,” Bucky says, feeling slightly calmer, and wait, how long had it been since he talked in English to anyone?

“Fair,” knife-grinder says. “Uh, I’m Steve. And like, I actually was born here, but my mother was from Brooklyn. She came here with the Red Cross during the war, fell for an Italian soldier and never quite left. Also, uh, let’s say my health’s never been the best, so she figured I was better off here. But I’ve been there a few times. And she taught me the language, obviously. I suppose it wasn’t your experience, was it?”

“Uh, no,” Bucky shakes his head. “I was born there, no fancy foreign parents. Then I got drafted to Vietnam, lost an arm, decided I was done with whoever decided to send me to get slaughtered even if sure as fuck the communists never forced me to go anywhere, picked somewhere at random to relocate and here I am. Well, fine, I figured I could do with some sun and decent food,” he shrugs. “Uh, I’m Bucky.”

“Short for what?”

He shrugs. “They named me James Buchanan, and everyone else was named James in elementary school. And anyway, that’s no car for knife-grinding.”

Steve shrugs sheepishly. “What can I say,” he answers, “it’s a living and I can’t do better right now. Also, sorry for waking you up, but these are the standard hours.”

“You know people would be more inclined to let you grind their knives if you didn’t wake them up at fuck in the morning?”

“... Yeah, well, fair enough, but I’m not my own boss. Not that going around now was a good idea in the first place.”

“How so? Because, oh, wait, it’s a vacation?”

He has the grace to look at least apologetic. “Yes. The boss isn’t exactly understanding, though. He surely isn’t not going to Ostia to drive around getting a sunstroke and offering knife-sharpening to people who aren’t even home.”

Bucky thinks he does like the edge to that tone. “And how is that knife-sharpening going for you?”

Steve shrugs. “Not too great. Then again, still better than trying to be an artist without having gone to the academy. But I do portraits in Piazza Navona once in a while.”

Bucky glances down at Steve’s hands. They have long fingers. They also look rough, and stained under the tips, but then again if he sharpens knives when he’s not drawing or painting or whatever, that’d be understandable.

“Anyway,” Steve says, “sorry for waking you up. Honest, if it was for me I’d have avoided this one trip, but what can I do.”

“Well,” Bucky says, “not like I’m going back to sleep anytime soon, but for what it’s worth, sorry for the outburst. I went to sleep late.”

“I get it,” Steve says, and then his stomach makes a noise.

“Am I wrong or you skipped breakfast?” Bucky asks.

Steve shrugs again. “I shouldn’t,” he says, “but I woke up early, I didn’t feel like it and now I’m regretting it, I guess.”

Bucky thinks, do I really want to ask him if --?

He hasn’t really done this for a very long time. But then again, he also tends to not mingle with anyone that’s not from the local PCI section, and Steve hasn’t run away at the sight of his very shirtless self when just having woken up, with hair not even combed and in his worst mood.

At worst he can make a friend, he supposes.

“Listen,” he says, “let’s say that having lived here for years I still forget most of the local holidays, which is the reason why I went to sleep at fucking three AM yesterday.”

“Wait, because you worked?”

Bucky nods toward the shop. Steve’s eyes go wide as he reads the sign. The rough translation would be equal pastries, but he figures Steve wouldn’t need it.

“You’re a --”

“Baker? Yeah,” Bucky shrugs. “I figured that I’d go into something that was the entire contrary of, y’know, being in the military. Anyway, I’ve got the shop full of pastries and no one’s eating them today, so if you want a not-so-late breakfast, since it’s fucking fifteen to eight AM, feel free.”

Steve stares at him for a long moment, but then he shrugs after checking his watch.

“You know what, fuck that noise. I’ll take the pastry. Let me just close this.” He locks the 126 up and follows Bucky towards the shop -

Just to crash into that same broken sampietrino that had almost killed Bucky before. Bucky reaches out and grabs his arm to avoid a fairly bad crash to the ground, steadying him on his feet. He can’t help noticing that scrawny as he is, Steve does have some muscle on him, and he tries to not let show that he did notice as he lets his arm go.

“Mind it,” he says. “Those things are a death trap.”

“I know,” Steve sighs. “Thanks. I love this city but don’t I hate them.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Bucky smirks, and grabs his keys. He tells Steve to wait for him to put on a shirt, runs upstairs, puts on the first tank top he can find in his closet (red, of course, but at least it doesn’t have any embarrassing print on it), and then he runs back downstairs after putting his hair in a bun, at least he looks somewhat more presentable.

“Right,” he says, “follow me.” He leads Steve to the back entrance of the shop and opens it, and he kind of can’t help grinning as he sees Steve’s blue eyes widen the moment he sees how many damned pastries he had baked the night before.

“Holy shit,” he says, “I see why you might have gone to bed late.”

“Yeah, well, I should’ve checked the calendar. Anyway, there’s pastries, there’s cakes, there’s more cannoli than I could have bothered with and those are definitely spoiling before tomorrow, just have your pick.”

“Hm,” Steve says, “maybe -”

Then he stops as he stares at the picture hung above Bucky’s cash machine.

“Let me guess,” Steve says, slowly. “This place is named equality pastries also because you’re the only baker in this town with a picture of Trotsky hung up on the wall, or am I wrong?”

Bucky can’t help grinning slightly as he puts his elbows on the counter right next to the machine, staring straight at Steve in the eyes. “Why,” he says, “do you have anything in common against the concept of permanent revolution?”

“Oh,” Steve says, “I see you also read Trotsky.”

“‘Course I did,” Bucky says. “Hey, I was born in the same country as McCarthy, doesn’t mean I have to agree with his extremely wrong takes on communism. And I think I’m done with not checking for myself anything first.”

“Fair,” Steve says, “but as far as I’m concerned, it’s a bit utopian.”

“What, the concept of permanent revolution?”

“Nice,” Steve replies, “but utopian. I mean, come on, Marx and Engels made pretty clear that communism can’t exactly work anywhere unless society is ripe for it, and if you ask me, nowhere actually is. Still, their analysis is still spot-on.”

“So what,” Bucky quips back, “you’re the purist kind of comrade?”

“It’s not being a purist,” Steve protests. “I’m just realistic. Though admittedly, if I had to pick one, your guy is almost the least bad choice.”

“Almost? Please don’t tell me that Stalin’s the least bad.”

“What? You fucking kidding me? Marx never advocated for that bullshit.”

“Hey, every other person ‘round here is on that side, especially at the local section. Can’t even try to argue about it.”

“Yeah, well, fair. Same in mine. What can we do, right?”

“Okay,” Bucky says, “but now other than telling me what you want to eat I’d like to know who is the least bad person who tried to make communism a reality and how can you even be around in a hoodie with this weather.”

“You know what,” Steve says, “I’ll go for the cannolo.”

“You can have two, you know,” Bucky says, taking a couple from the display cabinet and handing them over to Steve. Steve takes one and bites down on it, and a moment later he makes a sound that kind of sounds like a few porn movies Bucky’s seen recently.

Well, good to know his cannoli are appreciated.

“Fuck,” he says, “these are good.” He swallows another half, then puts the pastry on the counter. “Well, I’ll finish it in a moment, but let’s just say that I tend to feel cold. As a predisposition. And it was cold-ish this morning, when I left. That’s why I’m wearing the hoodie. About the least bad…” He grins, opens the hoodie and reveals a bright red t-shirt with Che Guevara’s face printed in black all over it. “I mean, at least he did try without profiting from the first victory,” he says, and then grabs the cannolo again, eating a third piece.

Bucky’s mouth has probably gone a lot drier just watching it happen.

Christ, he needs to get a grip here - he reaches out, grabs a cannolo for himself and takes a bite. Okay, right, this batch came out pretty good, but then again never say that Bucky Barnes couldn’t do anything he really set his mind to, including baking damn good pastries.

“I think,” he says, “I can compromise on your guy.” He can feel that some filling stayed on the corner of his mouth - he licks it off, noticing that Steve’s eyes are staring at his tongue.

Huh.

Maybe - maybe he could actually give it a go.

“Say,” he keeps on, “would your boss even care if you were late on schedule?”

Steve swallows the last of his cannolo, reaching for the second one. “My boss only knows when I come in and leave because he’s lending me the machinery to sharpen the damned things. Why?”

“Because you know that you won’t sharpen any knives today.”

“I knew that the moment I left home. Tell me something I don’t.”

“Well, my apartment is upstairs. Instead of standing here like two idiots, we could bring some of the other cannoli upstairs, share them while sitting down and if you wanna discuss why you don’t think permanent revolution is a feasible concept, I’m all ears to be convinced.”

“You know what,” Steve says, “suddenly the idea of sharing cannoli with you sounds good. And I think I have fairly good arguments as for why permanent revolution is not feasible whatsoever.”

Bucky grins at him, staring at the filling that is now staining Steve’s mouth.

“Then do follow me, comrade. Can’t wait to hear all about it.”

Turns out: the concept of discussing permanent revolution is very quickly abandoned in favor of Bucky licking that filling off Steve’s mouth.

Turns out, Steve might be scrawny but he definitely likes driving the show, which is Bucky’s favorite combination albeit more rare than he likes, which means that fifteen minutes later all his carefully crafted cannolis they brought upstairs have been eaten or are adorning Bucky’s bed or skin in various states of destruction.

Which is entirely fine with Bucky.

No, really, especially if Steve wants to eat that ricotta filling off his chest. He also doesn’t seem to mind the prosthesis at all, and by the time Bucky’s come thrice and Steve twice and they’re laying next to each other on the bed, the sheets dirtied with both cannoli remains and their own come, Steve breathing like he’s run a marathon with his cheeks flushed in a frankly adorable way, Bucky has decided that there’s no bloody way this is over here.

“Say,” Bucky breathes, “would you mind leaving me a number in case I need someone to, hm, sharpen my knives?”

Steve groans, hiding his face in the pillow before moving closer to him again, his arm going around Bucky’s waist as he uses his elbow for leverage and moves on top of him again. “I don’t know,” Steve says, “I just might, but I’d be devastated if you only needed me for my knife-sharpening skills.”

“Well,” Bucky retorts, “if you’re half as good as that as you are at sucking dick, I think you’d have half of this city outside your car.”

“Damn, and here I thought that my best skills were at convincing people of the uselessness of having a communist government if it’s just fascism in disguise.”

“Oh, you’re pretty good at that, too, but I still think I want to know more in details why you’re so against the concept of permanent revolution.”

“Do I get more pastries in exchange?”

Bucky doesn’t think he’s grinned at someone this hard in ages.

“You can have your fill downstairs. Unless you want more now.”

Steve licks his lips, his hand going to Bucky’s dick, which is still twitching in interest even if he’s completely spent, but hey, it’s been a hell of a long time.

“And what if I want both?”

“Take it,” Bucky tells him, and a moment later Steve’s moved downwards, his mouth taking him in again as Bucky grasps at the sheets.

Fuck. He’s definitely never ever complaining about the unholy times the kinfe-sharpener shows up, even if he has a feeling he’s never going to look for a different one.

And if Steve wants to go downstairs and try some more pastries, well, the shop is closed until tomorrow, after all.

End.

[x-puerbulla-x]

Im drainned dude

hi 10:33 18/08/2019

i need to vent my minds a mess idk, i havvent stopped in months and it has been very draining so i guess idk i didnt wannaa sounds cocky saying all the things i did but for the sake of me wanting tto le it out i will and all of this to lead uo tot he present that was me being eith my dad today and how it was, how i feel about it i guess. So it all starts back in may, 3 months ago, where i was trying to survive with my grades i had to make sure everything was gonna go smoothly in my desenho exam and then i also was starting to feel pressure cause june was coming uo and tbh june is just streeeessssfull, theres first mels birthday on 1st June and one week before we took her to the tosquia too, then theres Beas burthday but also my sobrinho santiago was born, on the 5th an then beas birthday is on the 6th, then theres the aniversary off bea and i's first date in the 16th wheere we had previously planned wed recreate to celebrate and then theres bea and i's actual birthday on the 22nd and we went to pride but i was all very hard cause idk i guess we wanted our first birthday to be good (or at least i really dis which gave it some pressure), but it happened;; we celebrated at pride cause we were lucky enouh this year it was on he 22nd, the 2 days later its my moms birthday and i usually dont do anything but this time i decided i was gnna do something and i did, i recreated her gradma's torta, clean the whole house spotless and then i recreated a card i had made for her back in '06;;; on top of all of these ne is exam seasson and i had to hardcore study for gd everyday trying to reach a unreachable goal of 67 exercises, with so much gd i ended up forgetting a litte about portugues and had to study last minute, luckly i knew what i was doing cause m aware i know pessoa pretty well so my plan was just to study the rest but i dont think i gave it enough time sinse i had an 8, the to desenho i didnt study cause cockly, i dont need to, i had a 13,4 which i wasnt happy with but thats life i guess, it wasnt woth the money tryng to ask for a revisao, well, and at gd i had a 5, when i needed a 10 cause i was aluna externa this resulted that after this hell of a month i had to suffer another one cause i neeeded to learn everything i didnt lean in 1 and a half years id gd, in les than a month so i had to stuy like a crazzy person, this time i didnt have to do 67 exercices it was a lot less but still i couldnt do it and i did as much as i could and more i broke down 10000 billion time ad i thought i couldnt do it i didnt fee prepared and tbh i was terrafied cause if i faied this exam i didnt have my 12th grade done and it as a pain in the ass to think about but still after madess of stdying gd all day and until 5 am i did it only with a 11;;; but i didd  it then that hell of a month ended and we get to this present moth but before that had sams birthday coming up and i wanted to surprise him with a cake cause bea and i had offered him cookie cake not knowing he was vegan now and it was dissapointing when we were like ,,, so you cant have it? cause we didnt know we wasnt jus veegetarian anymore blah blah blah, i had to do preaparations for his birthday and it was stressful, i wanted it to be good, the the day after we celebrate sams birthday im still not able to sit and relax a little cause its 2nd august and bea and i are going to veiros, dont get me wrong i was the one deciding to go but god i was tiring, i had more fun than last time i was there but theere wasa lot more stress too cause renataa was trying to cionvince us to go to university the whole time and it was a pain tbh cause i didnt know what to do but i ha a slight ide that i did wanna go bt then the problem was that because of that they ere all using me as an eexample to convince bea and i felt pressure to be like yeah im absolutely for sure going;;; at the end of the say i didd decide i wanted to go but then i was more stressed cause the dates were ending an i didnt havee my passe for dges cause there was a problem with it and my fcha enes was stuck to cause apparently you had to do thing in the secretaria to pik it up so i emailed the help line of dges for the password and asked my mom to go to school to ick up my ficha and ii did manage to have the pass in time but then the lady lied about the time the secretaria was open apparently cause when lena and my mom went there it was closed and i gess that meant that steess was over but id didnt manage to do the cadidatura in the 1st fase,;;;; which later on i found out i couldnt even do in the first place cause people with exams in the 2nd fase cant do the candidatura in the 1st fase soyahhhh unnecesary stess and now i need to wait until 9th september to do my candidatura and pray im accepted indesenho or pintura cause i do not want escultura as a everyday thing or at least i dont think i do ~ so;;; were n veiros also therees tension in the air cause tia tania an vo rosa are mad at each other, we did a lit of things everyday ehch made it less boring but i was so tired already that doing so much stuff wasnt my favourite at times now we came back 4 days ago but i still havent stoped and im tiredddddd, i think i only stayed 1 day home and it was to clean, we arrived in the 12, i slept in beas house and stayed ther the 13th, then i was home on the 14th, then there was the attempt to go to school take care of the ficha and it as closed but then spent the day with david and sof and bee, then my brother invited me to go meet santiag and then i actually went to school again and go stuff done and then the day arrived and i spent the day with andre and the baby, a friend, lena and rafaela, and her mom too for a bit (she was nice). all pf this leading up for today and this week, today i met with my dad just outside my house, he had miriam and pff idk he was having a talk to me cause we walked shiro and he was just saying o ho mirriam remind him of me and how were very alike and idk what to think of that, he said or drawings are the same and that she has my feitio, asked me to go to his place some day and all and idk it was confusing, he made me remember memories i was repressing, good ones but idk if itss good for me to remember those things, he reminded me of when i used hus bike and surprised him cause i was sall and he used to be on a bike aand id always ask like you could let me use it and etc etc and he was like come on mariana podes la tua andar com a bicicleta do pai its too big and all that and i told hm i couldnt go on it alone cause it was to tall but if he put me up there i could ride it and he did probably just to shit me up and i rode it to the end of the street did a cirve and got back and he was choked and all of this cause he said he really wanted miriam to learn too. he compared me a lot to her and talked about ho he still has lots of my stuff;;;;;;; i complainted about my doctor octopus;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; i guess it was to avoi talking about the situation with lena but he did meantion her at all ot as little as possible and it was weird cause that made it so that the way it was talking it was like i was his only daugther or that lena was never there which made me wonder about things idk i guess i never realised to what degreee i was ay closer to my dad than lena, its no surprisse we always knew lena got the looks of his side of the family but i got the personalty thats why me and andre get along so well (also andres sun is my moon cough) im pretty sure me seeing my dad makes my mom sad too, understandably so i dont plan to do it often, not everyone can be happy in this story and its definitely not my mom going to be the one thats not happy, i own her everything i ever had and tbh i only acceot the times i do see my dad out of ity and guilt and cause admiditely i do miss and crave having a dad idk i guess i never had one for real but id like to, but it doesnt sound very realitic so im not too expectant i dont believe i is ever going to happen i hope days fro here forward are a little more chill although i doubt that, at least for a week or so, maybe a few days if im lucky but today im meeting bea and sleeping there se if thats a bit relaxing, then tomorrow im supposed to go soewhwere with david and sof and then the day after with david, sof and sam so yah know, a bit busy i wanted to pint and to draw do thins in my sketchbook cause there hasnt been much time ffor that or cabeça i guess and knoowing myself i feel like that might work on making me a little better before the mess starts again cause of the candidaturas in like 2 weeks

anyway

12:46 18/08/2019 bye

[jesjanae]

Yeah I know it “Hurts.”

This week blog will be about the talented Jalen Hurts. Jalen Hurts is a junior quarterback at the University of Alabama. He is from Channelview, Texas and was born on August 7, 1998. 

Hurts was rated as a four-star recruit in high school and was ranked among the top quarterbacks in the Class of 2016.On June 15, 2015, Jalen committed to the University of Alabama after being recruited by defensive line coach, Bo Davis and offensive coordinator, Lane Kiffin. Jalen was a phenomenal person on the field and in the classroom. He graduated being #39 in his class. 

His freshman year went well excluding the fact that they lost the National Championship game against the Clemson Tigers in Tampa, Florida.He was the first player in Alabama history to pass for 300 yards and rush for 100 yards in the same game.He was also the first quarterback to rush for 120 yards or more in multiple games.

His sophomore season, went well but didn’t end as he expected. In the sugar bowl game against Clemson, he won offensive MVP. During the National Championship game, Jalen was benched the second half and freshman quarterback, Tua Tagovailoa. It was so much tension among everyone in association with Alabama Football because of this switch. 

Starting the season, it was so much anxiety among the football fans while they waited on Nick Saban to announce who would start as quarterback. Guess who it was. Not Jalen thats who. Rumors began going around that Jalen was gonna leave, but that was wrong. 

This season, Jalen didn’t play as much as he did before, but last night he showed the world that he hasn’t lost his game. He saved the day yesterday after coming in after Tua got hurt. Jalen came and made phenomenal plays to score and took the lead over Georgia to win the game.

After the game interview Jalen was very humble while speaking on Tua’s behalf. And for that very reason Jalen is successful in my eyes and will continue to succeed in life because of his humbleness. 

[zeroviraluniverse-blog]

For Dodgers and Indians, spring training is about turning the page from their 2017 postseason heartache

Visit Now - http://zeroviral.com/for-dodgers-and-indians-spring-training-is-about-turning-the-page-from-their-2017-postseason-heartache/

For Dodgers and Indians, spring training is about turning the page from their 2017 postseason heartache

GOODYEAR, Ariz. — The morning after the Cleveland Indians fell to the New York Yankees in the American League Division Series, general manager Mike Chernoff’s fatherly duties took him to a local elementary school to watch his 6-year-old son, Brodie, perform in a first-grade concert. Chernoff’s heart was in the endeavor, but his mind kept flashing back to the Tribe’s 5-2 loss the previous evening and an ending that came far too abruptly for comfort.

“I am sitting there in a fog,” said Chernoff, inadvertently lapsing into the present tense. “I’m enjoying my son’s event. In some ways it’s helpful because you can separate your work life from what’s happening in this amazing moment for your son. But it was hard. It was really hard.”

The defending champs have the best chance at winning this year’s World Series, but a half-dozen rivals have cases for why they can prevent a repeat.

As spring training begins, we identify baseball’s elite — the teams with a chance to compete — and the teams that aren’t even trying to win this year. Where does your squad land?

Rewarding Luis Severino for a breakout season might seem like like the easy call, but manager Aaron Boone has a rotation full of alternatives.

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About 18 miles from Cleveland’s spring training camp in Goodyear, the folks in Dodger Blue know the feeling. Alex Wood, a starter for the National League champions, landed tickets to college football’s national title game between Alabama and his beloved Georgia Bulldogs, and he was counting the downs toward a victory when quarterback Tua Tagovailoa threw a 41-year touchdown pass to DeVonta Smith to pull off a win for the Crimson Tide.

For Wood, a product of the UGA baseball program, the moment wasn’t a fraction as painful as watching the Astros cavort on the Dodger Stadium infield after World Series Game 7. But it did put a crimp in his recovery process.

“That was two tough losses there, not far apart,” Wood said. “I saw the pass go up, and I was like, ‘Aww.’ Then my heart sunk into my stomach when I saw him about 12 yards in front of our D-back. Flip the page, right?”

Talk to players, managers, coaches and baseball executives, and they’ll reflexively tell you that 29 MLB clubs are destined to finish their seasons on a down note because for 29 teams, the season is guaranteed to finish with either a loss or a failure to make the playoffs. The Houston Astros were the lone exception last year, on their way to a cigar-chomping, champagne-spraying celebration and a season-ending parade.

Still, some teams have more reason than others to lament unhappy endings. At the Indians and Dodgers spring camps, the offseason routine made for an emotional tug of war.

“The first week or two are the hardest because you’re just second-guessing everything,” Cleveland infielder Jason Kipnis said. “Anything can happen in a playoff series. You come up short, and you’re like, ‘What changed? Everything worked before. Why did we stop doing this?’ All these questions start coming, but the answer is that no one changed anything. It’s just the game of baseball. It’s a tough-ass game, and it’s hard.

“As players, we’re conditioned to have a short memory and turn the page faster than most people because we usually have a game the next day. Suddenly, there’s no more season to play, and you’re like, ‘What do I do?’ You’re just stuck with memory of the last game or the last series. Once you start to turn the page on that, you finally start getting more excited for the redemption of next season. You learn from your mistakes, absorb it, and you move on.”

The Dodgers, Indians and Astros all won 100 games in 2017. What does history say awaits them in 2018? Of the 23 teams to win 100 games prior to 2017 in the wild card era:

• Five missed the postseason the following season • Seven won 100 games the following season • 19 won 90 games the following season • The 2012 Phillies were the only team to finish .500 or worse (81-81) • The teams had an average win percentage of .589 (a 95-win season) • Two won the World Series and two lost the World Series

Source: ESPN Stats & Information

Flash back to early October, and the outlook was promising for both clubs. The Indians were barely two weeks removed from a 22-game win streak, and they seemed to have all the pieces in place to go the distance and erase the pain of a Game 7 loss to the Cubs in the 2016 World Series.

The Dodgers, who peaked at 91-36 in late August, righted themselves after a late-season wobble and entered the playoffs feeling confident, with a healthy Clayton Kershaw leading the staff and home-field advantage throughout the postseason.

The oddsmakers were on board. At the end of the regular season, the Westgate Las Vegas Super Book gave the Indians 30.8 percent odds to win the World Series, with the Dodgers close behind at 28.6. The Astros, who joined Cleveland and Los Angeles as one of three 100-win teams, were third at 14.3 percent.

But the Astros’ balanced roster and #HoustonStrong karma ultimately prevailed. The Indians took a 2-0 lead in the ALDS, then hit a wall. They batted .171 (28-for-164) against the Yankees and scored five runs in their final three games. Designated hitter Edwin Encarnacion and outfielder Michael Brantley were limited by injuries, and staff ace Corey Kluber absorbed two straight poundings amid whispers of lingering back problems. Four months later, the perpetually stoic Kluber isn’t dropping any hints about his postseason physical limitations.

“I was good enough to pitch,” Kluber said. “I just didn’t get the job done.”

The Dodgers eliminated the Diamondbacks and Cubs in the NL playoffs before losing to Houston in a classic, seven-game World Series. They’re now 30 years removed from Kirk Gibson’s circling the bases in celebration of that momentous World Series homer off Dennis Eckersley.

Players from both teams went back to their everyday lives in the offseason. Kipnis traveled to Maui and Puerta Vallarta for a couple of friends’ weddings. Dodgers third baseman Justin Turner got married and spent his honeymoon with his bride in Dubai. Francisco Lindor, Cleveland’s resident energizer and All-Star shortstop, took part in his traditional offseason workout in Orlando, Florida, with Barry Larkin, Dee Gordon and friends. Lindor arrived in Goodyear with a new look, a searing analysis of his 2017 shortcomings and a strong desire to bring a title to Cleveland.

Edwin Encarnacion and the Indians couldn’t believe their season was over after the 2017 ALDS. Ken Blaze/USA Today Sports

Other players sequestered themselves in their man caves until the fog lifted, mindlessly occupied themselves with household chores or kept tabs on the lack of news among friends on the free-agent market before drifting back into their routines.

“I started back up in the weight room, but mentally, I wasn’t quite there yet,” Dodgers infielder Logan Forsythe said. “That Game 7 loss stuck with me a little bit, but after a while, I just kind of got over it and prepared for next year. Physically, I felt about the same. Mentally, it took a little bit longer.”

Both teams went relatively light on offseason activity. The Indians lost first baseman Carlos Santana, workhorse reliever Bryan Shaw and outfielder Jay Bruce to free agency while adding first baseman Yonder Alonso on a two-year, $16 million deal and signing outfielders Melvin Upton Jr. and Rajai Davis to minor league contracts.

The Dodgers won major creativity points when they shed the salaries of Adrian Gonzalez, Brandon McCarthy and Scott Kazmir and brought back Matt Kemp in a December trade with Atlanta. They spent $2 million on former Marlins starter Tom Koehler, who’ll get a crack at the bullpen role that Brandon Morrow so adeptly filled last season, acquired lefty Scott Alexander from Kansas City and re-signed Chase Utley to a two-year deal.

Players and teams get in gear for Opening Day in Florida and Arizona. • Complete spring training coverage »

Prognosticators are sanguine about the prospects for both teams. Baseball Prospectus’ PECOTA system projects the Dodgers and Astros to win 99 games each, the Indians to come in at 97 wins and the Yankees to win 96 in 2018. No other MLB club is projected to win 90 games.

“When you look at the core, there are guys here who are still on the come and trending in the right direction,” Dodgers manager Dave Roberts said. “The veteran players here are very productive. To force an acquisition or an overhaul doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. I give our front office a lot of credit for standing pat. Not to say we weren’t in on deals, but you have to understand what really makes sense for our organization. We’re very sensitive to that.”

In Cleveland, they’ve experienced enough heartache to distinguish between types of hangovers. In 2016, the Indians played 15 postseason games and knew that everything would end, win or lose, with a Game 7 matchup against the Cubs. Last year, the Indians were pushing and preparing for an ALCS matchup and a possible World Series return when the Yankees crashed the party. Cleveland’s advance scouts suddenly changed their travel plans and came home, and the general manager woke up after Game 5 of the ALDS and attended his son’s school concert.

“You’re going 100 miles an hour because you always think you’re gonna play the next day,” Chernoff said. “Then suddenly you just slam on the brakes and stop.”

Chernoff looks around Cleveland’s camp this spring and sees some players who have yet to fully flush the pain from their systems. But the Indians’ core group has been together a while, and manager Terry Francona will never allow his players to dwell on the negative for very long.

“You don’t see bitterness here,” Chernoff said. “You see motivation and drive.”

The same mindset applies in Los Angeles, where the Dodgers regard 2017 as a springboard as much as they see it as a missed opportunity. Cody Bellinger joined Corey Seager as a budding young star, and Turner, Chris Taylor and Joc Pederson were among the players who performed valiantly in October.

“We left every single ounce of energy and focus we had out there, from the front office down to the coaching staff and players,” Wood said. “There weren’t a lot of regrets in terms of things we could have done differently. The only focus now is looking forward and figuring out how we can finish the drill, so to speak. Losing the World Series is something you won’t forget until you right the ship and finish it out.”

Cactus League games will begin in a few days, and Opening Day is less than six weeks away. For the Indians and Dodgers, looking back in regret is no longer an option.