#i saw this picture of a model using an extra big hat and I imagined the twins trying to wear it
whumptober day 4: shock
F1 rpf | max/daniel | Baroque painters AU | 3.5k
From an AU that is the co-creation of @/garage-gremlin
One February in a year that was something like, but perhaps not exactly, 1632, the canals froze in Amsterdam and for the first time the painter Daniele da Ficarra saw a man fall through ice.
It was the winter of what Daniel did not yet know for sure and Max did not know at all would be Daniel’s last year under Horner’s patronage in Amsterdam. In the big cold workrooms which Max and Daniel shared with a small army of assistants and apprentices, Daniel had already laid down on canvas a blank reddish underpainting with his little guiding pinpricks. On that canvas were the bones of a picture that Daniel would complete in the bloom of the coming summer, and then spend years trying to forget.
It was not even that the painting would have Max’s face in it, because Daniel was in fact a professional and had only joked about that. The actual model would be Giuseppe, sent to Daniel from family to keep him out of trouble, which wasn’t working anyway. Max didn’t know Giuseppe, and as of February they had not been introduced. To Max, who only cared to notice studio people and maybe the occasional higher patron if Horner asked very pointedly, Daniel imagined Giuseppe was no one, just a boy Max had seen walking out of their studio rooms once, listening to Daniel and Christian speak with the blank face of a fifteen-year-old who didn’t know or care to learn Dutch or French or English. Daniel had wanted to shake him; with envy or with anxiety or something else.
Max and Daniel had not even been in the studio today; first had come a long meal hosted by one of Horner’s own patrons, to which Horner always required that they come along to look young and surly and promising — Max — or at least pleasant and very famous. After, they’d escaped to one of the loud waterfront pubs Max loved, which had been Daniel’s haunt first but after two and a half years in the city was now solidly shared by Max.
It was very late, certainly late enough that they were lucky that Amsterdam was not a curfew city. Max was talking about something, maybe about the other pub where all the prostitutes had pet spider monkeys brought back by local sailors, maybe about the price of lead white now that the English looked like they were at war again.
“I have to order so much of it, Daniel, to finish this.” He had been given a horde of apprentices and a large canvas and was very nearly done with one of the popular marine cornucopias, where a market table by the seaside would be painted overflowing with larger than life fish, lobsters, sharks and rays. “I hate it. Every day, I paint stinky dead fish.”
“What about the seal?” Daniel prompted, because Max had been enjoying this complaint for months. It was now a comforting bit of familiarity. Daniel wrapped his short cloak around his shoulders, fixed his hat, and sighed at a beer stain on one leg of his loose trousers, right above where they tucked into the boots. “You said she was alive, doing okay.”
“He is a boy seal,” Max corrected. “Yes he is alive, in the painting. The seal I think escapes and goes home.”
“There ya go,” Daniel said, patting his pockets. “Hey, did I have the snuff box?”
“I think it’s in the studio.”
“Huh,” Daniel said. “Well, that’s expensive if not.”
“We can go check,” Max said. “We are of course walking right past.”
They could walk right past the studio when normally they had to go down a ways to the bridge because of the frozen canals, which the city had gone a little mad for. Everyone used the frozen canals as extra market space and extra streets. Even Max loved it, and he had not grown up in Amsterdam; had in fact grown up somewhere else that wasn’t talked about much, because like Daniel’s roots, the Catholicism inherent in Max’s Dutch dialect was a delicate topic. But Max went ice skating with his friends and told Daniel all about it in the studio the next day, his hands sketching the shape of the blades which were strapped over the boot.
Daniel, personally, Sicilian boy that he was, could not stop thinking about how easily the ice became normal. How instead of jogging down to the canal bank and looking around for a passing boat to hail he could just wander along on his own power, the water beneath him a strange new dimension. It made him feel a little like a god in this city that did, sometimes, love him more than anyone else.
“Daniel,” Max nagged. They were spilling out of De Karpershoek into the murky winter night. Snow spat from somewhere, or maybe just blew off the eaves of the houses around them. Towards the harbor, the sea and the sky were one dark space, a wall, an endless corridor to the world that spread out from the Dutch Republic on nervous green water. “Do you want to check for the snuff box?”
“Oh, nah,” Daniel said. His pattens slipped a little on the cobbles. What a fucking place. “I’ll look tomorrow. I think it’s there.”
Daniel followed Max’s determined, slightly drunken progress down the street and squinted into the wind, trying to picture the workroom as he had left it. The snuff box was ivory and nicely carved; the mermaids had made Max laugh. But when he pictured the studio he got caught thinking about the new painting instead. On the canvas of red ochre underpainting and the little pinpricks that meant nothing to anyone but Daniel, Daniel could for a moment picture it all: Giuseppe in the borrowed pair of theater prop eagle wings, the artfully jumbled pile of borrowed and rented things, and the corner of a bed.
He could use, he thought, the bed owned by the divorced woman who Horner and his wife Geraldine had quietly settled in a snug house next to the studio. She would not mind too much; she knew what painters were like.
It would be wild, someday, to look back on how casually he had once thought of this painting, of that bed.
In the studio, Max was already looking for long minutes at the preparatory cartoons Daniel sketched in charcoal on paper. They were beginning to come together with Giuseppe’s face, Giueseppe’s long boyish body which was not Max’s body, but maybe could have been. Daniel wasn’t thinking about it. He knew no one was going to keep Max quietly painting fish forever. He needed to do this now, however was the best, whatever burned the brightest. If that meant— well. Fine. Fine, he had done worse for less, hadn’t he?
The black wind whipped down the street. His mouth stung with ice; it was probably getting in his short beard. “Hurry up,” Max said, switching to Dutch to swear, “It’s fucking cold, shit.”
So they walked home from De Karpershoek, lingering sawdust and chewing tobacco on their boots, and so thoughtlessly crossed the canal ice. And why worry? Winter had been long and hard and made Daniel so homesick he couldn’t even talk about anywhere else in the world, and the ice market stalls were still set up and quiet along the banks.
The sky was thick and so low that the clouds showed the faintest glow from the docksides, where torches burned all night long. Away from the docks it was only gray and gloomy. Max was holding their lantern, and it swung wildly from his hand as they skidded a little drunkenly down the steps to the frozen canal. They stepped onto the ice and the layer of snow atop it crinkled and crunched under their boots. They were speaking about— something, again. Work, probably. Daniel was tired and honestly just wanted the silence of his own rooms, but did not want to leave Max to get it. He hated himself a little for that.
They were nearly to the far bank when Daniel thought that Max had drunkenly rolled an ankle.
It was like this: when Daniel was little he had wanted to follow his sister everywhere. One morning around the feast day of St Thomas she was down at a pond in the heat of summer, catching the small Sicilian wall lizards on the rocks in her cupped hands. Daniel had felt left out. He watched her wade through the shallows to get to the best sunning rocks, ten and tall with her skirt and petticoats and her apron tied up around her hips. Finally he had bitten his lip and stood on a rock and jumped into the pond where it was deep. Michelle told the story the same way every time: she barely remembered it, except that she was not even scared, just furious that Daniel might die. So she reached in and grabbed him by his hair, which was not even very long for a child’s back then, because he had recently been very ill and the doctor had cut it all off to keep it out of the way. And somehow she had hauled him by the hair out of that hot pond, and the same sad death as so many small brothers had suffered, before and since.
Max going down in the water is not as sudden as Daniel would have expected, not like his own little body hitting water and sinking like a small smooth stone. It was like hiking through an unknown marsh, when suddenly what seemed to be soil gave way beneath the toe of a boot and one plunged a leg disconcertingly deep into the water below floating grass. For one moment, almost, Max had simply tripped, one leg through the ice and the other knee slamming down in a way that must have hurt. Max said, “Fuck!” loud and crisp and drunk, as petulantly angry as Michelle had been when Daniel sunk down in the green water. But no one’s sister was here to help, no one’s sister at all, only Daniel— and then Max was there one second, gone the next.
And Daniel was on his knees, hand plunged into the water up to his armpit, his fist empty except for a handful of Max’s hair— as if Michelle had taught him. He hauled up and sideways in one numb motion, like a dream where the night is blurred and brown and the lamp has extinguished itself on its side on the ice and a man can do impossible things like lift a weight as easily as a body falls. Yes: it was as quick and easy as falling, pulling Max out of the ice.
With Max on the surface the night was still gray-brown, the dark lantern was rolling away. Daniel looked down at Max, who flailed against Daniel’s hold, one foot still dipped in the dark water. On hands and knees in some animal instinct Daniel pulled him away by the ruff of his soaked doublet, his hands slipping. Max choked; he had somehow breathed water, Daniel realized. He was not flailing but trying to breathe.
For a minute Daniel hated the cold, hated this place, hated the loud bright pub that he had first shown Max two years ago, with all the fury of real terror.
Max convulsed with something that involved lungs but was not a breath, wet and awful. Daniel was not even breathing fast until he was, suddenly, the moment over and his heart slamming against his gullet, under his tongue, belated and unhelpful reinforcing troops arriving too late for what his hands had just done, somehow, and powerless against Max writhing on the ice now. Max convulsed and curled on his side, and spat up water. He coughed, choked, then breathed too fast, too fast, until Daniel realized Max had started trying to laugh.
“Shh,” Daniel said, “shh.” He made his fish unclench from Max’s doublet, the same fist that had closed hard around what had felt like nothing at all in the numb cold water. Like empty air, but had been Max’s fine hair.
Max grinned or grimaced — impossible to see — and in the gloom his eye teeth and his dog teeth gleamed, and so did his pale face, his water-slick gray doublet, his shirt spilling out from the front of the doublet like guts.
“Oh, that— is— very funny,” he rasped, and then curled on his side like he’d been flung there. He started to shake violently and this time it was not laughter but a shiver, Max’s mouth maybe open against the ice in the gloom. He kept coughing and trying to breathe at the same time.
Daniel’s knees and his right palm were bruised, he thought, maybe bleeding. He couldn’t see in the dark to tell. His skin under his clothes felt like it must look like a ripe purple plum, torn open.
“Come on,” Daniel said sharply. His voice was something alien: a man’s voice, harsh with fear. He tried to soften it, even though he wasn’t sure he should. “Max. Maxje.” Max had gone quiet, just horrible quick shallow breaths as wet as consumption. Daniel swallowed and tried to remember that the worst had been over before his mind was even present. “C’mon, Max,” he pleaded. Tried to laugh like Max; it sounded like shit. “At least two Hapsburgs will murder me if you go swimming right now.”
“And Mama,” Max slurred on only a sip of a breath. He was still speaking their one shared dialect of northern Italian. Daniel could barely manage that some days, his mind always trying to sink back into the comfort of Sicilian. But of course Max always spoke as he meant to.
“Oh, your mother would, uh, murder me too?” Daniel asked, patting him over like a child, looking for where it hurt. Max’s hat was lost, to the water or simply an arm’s length away in the darkness Daniel did not know. “That’s harsh, Maxje.” His hands were cupping Max’s freezing face. Daniel’s left hand ached like he had tried to pull it apart at the joints; his entire left arm ached. For nearly thirty years he had forced himself quite easily to be right-handed, but Max’s hair had been wrapped in his left fist.
“Jesus, you nearly died,” Daniel said.
“Why are you speaking Sicilian,” Max slurred through his clenched jaw, his too-fast breathing. “I did not nearly die.” Daniel’s throat felt hot.
Daniel was on his hands and knees, Max wet and curled on his side like a newborn thing that must be watched to survive the night. That same instinct in Daniel had him crawl off the ice, dragging Max by the ruff of his collar again while Max wheezed and shook and occasionally laughed and slurred, “This is so funny Daniel. Who falls through ice?”
Not you, Daniel thought.
The nearest warm house was one Daniel did not think about much. He concentrated on getting both of them up the steps, when Max seemed to be having some trouble controlling his arms, his legs.
No one answered when Daniel pounded on the door. “I have— of course— a key,” Max wheezed against Daniel’s shoulder.
Daniel had to use the key ring while Max directed, because Max’s hands were too stiff from the cold.
“Shit, no one is— here,” Max muttered when they got in. Beyond the hallway, coals were banked in a grate, but they were so cool that it was only the dark of the house that made their glow visible. “They are I think at the opera. And Greta has tonight off.”
“Fuck,” Daniel said, arms aching. The hallway was tiled in marble. One of Max’s paintings was on the wall, a still life done very cleverly as a nocturnal scene. “Shit, what do you— I’m not from here, Max, what do you even—”
“Too funny. I am going to lay down,” Max said distinctly.
“No, no, nope, you’re getting, uh,” Daniel slung one of Max’s arms over his shoulder and towed him into the foyer of the house. “A hot bath, or something. Really hot. I’ll build up the fire and like— bang on the neighbor’s door. Is the well down the street? What the fuck is with this city.”
Max was shaking his head. “No,” he said. “Daniel, Daniel, it is of course like horses I think. You must warm me up slowly. Slowly.”
Max liked horses. Max, oddly, often knew what to do with small animals when he came across them. So Daniel thought of his own father, after a foaling if the weather was cool and the foal wasn’t doing well, wrapping it against himself inside his shirt and jacket.
Max said, “Go in there,” so Daniel opened a door to a bedroom lined with tapestries to keep in the warmth, a big bed with hangings for the same. Another tidy set of coals glowed in the grate — “Greta leaves the kindling behind there. No, there.” — which Daniel fumbled through building up into a big fire. Max sat down on the floor in his wet things while Daniel did this and Daniel had to get him up and think of nothing, think of pinpricks on fresh red ochre, the base of a painting that was nothing yet. He stripped down to his linens and stripped Max down all the way, leaving Max’s sodden clothes in a pile by the fire like a soaked cat that had crept in to find the warmth.
And there in the bed that was not his, which he also did not think about, he pulled Max to him even though he did not do that, because Max was muttering and blue-lipped and shaking. Max’s hair was still wet, his legs were still wet, and he could not seem to stop shaking where he was lying face-down on top of Daniel, his teeth chattering disconcertingly right next to Daniel’s ear.
“You’re gonna bite my ear off,” Daniel said. Max laughed, for real this time, then coughed a lot.
“Shh,” Daniel said again, mistakenly, because no one was crying.
After another minute, Max slurred, “Do you want— to fuck?”
Daniel felt sick. “Not right now, I don’t think.” Max laughed again like Daniel was making a joke. Max, he thought, had not been making a joke. Daniel ran his hands up and down Max’s back until it felt like he would rub his bitten-down nails raw and bloody again.
*
Daniel woke blearily to a sound in the hall. Every muscle went rigid. There was of course a reason Max had a key to this house; there was a reason the coals had been left warm in the grates. He felt splayed open, caught, and felt himself start to think, start to panic.
“Mama, in here,” Max croaked from his thin ruined throat before Daniel could do anything but lay there under him. God, under him, holding him. Max’s hair was still plastered wet against his forehead. His body still felt cool. But his wheezing breaths were easier now, Daniel thought, through his own pounding heartbeat, the rising buzz of panic.
Daniel watched like a sinner as the door crept open, the tapestry over it pulling easily to one side. A dark head peered in. She was wearing an evening gown — a black robe, bodice, and petticoat, and a black open-necked chemise with a sweeping soft lace collar spraying gently from her neck in the Flemish style, not the Dutch. Her gray satin sleeves were tied with rose-coloured ribbons. Over this finery, however, she wore a brocade jacket that Max must have given her.
“I have explained to Mama,” Max slurred. He was still speaking in Romagnol Italian, for Daniel. “She is just checking in again, since she thinks I got a chill.” Max coughed, and added like an afterthought, “He’s not here. He has gone to Haarlem tonight, don’t worry.” He did not bother to specify who he meant.
Daniel and Max’s mother’s gazes met, unavoidably. Someone had built up the fire in the grate; someone had laid down three more wool blankets on top of them. Daniel couldn’t look away from her, and she did not seem inclined to look away from him. Her eyes were very steady, and very brown.
Just as silently as she had come, she pursed her lips and closed the door.
*
Daniel left Max in that house for the morning, but it was nearly pointless: he was back in the studio by the afternoon, looking wan and still cold, somehow.
“It would have been very bad for my career,” Max croaked as they waited for the apprentices to finish grinding pigment, and laughed a bark of a laugh, unconcerned and too loud in the marble walls of the studio.
Daniel hunched his shoulders and packed another coal in the little portable heater on the floor, then another, then another, until its burning belly seemed ready to burst, and Max came up to his shoulder and said, softly, “Stop that, Daniel, I will be cold anyway,” and shivered like he was demonstrating, or laughing again.
—
Sorry if I forgot when the English Civil War was, I was busy googling the cold shock response. Max was like “i am a delicate horse pls do not give me a vascular catastrophe by dunking me (vasoconstricted and experiencing warring cardio impulses) in hot water.” and he was right. Anyway, Daniel/Daniele? short answer yes he is Daniele but he's surrounded by ppl who call him Daniel.
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I have no idea why I drew lil Luke in a extremely big hat but like 🥺
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I loved the L/model ask!! I love the fact that L is a celebrity in his own right, though no one ever knows it lol. He probably knows how to avoid crowds, but how do you think he would try to be discreet when out with his well-known partner? Like, when crowds form and everybody wants his partner’s attention?
Hello Dear Anon! Aww, I’m so glad you enjoyed that! You’re certainly right about L being a celebrity in his own right, but no one knows it!
When he’s alone, he doesn’t need to avoid a crowd because no one knows who he is! Lol
Sadly, I don’t think he and his SO would go out in public together very often. It would just have to be something they’re both ok with since L’s anonymity is so vital to his safety.
When he’s out with his well-known SO though, he’s going to have to be extra careful, because it only takes one slip up for people to start wondering who the mysterious stranger is that’s with them.
If they’re together when his partner is spotted, he dips into the crowd. He knows he’s close enough to be there if they need him, but isn’t so close his face is going to be associated with them.
He would always wear something to “obstruct” his features, like sunglasses and a hat. If someone manages to take a picture of them together, he needs to at least attempt to not be recognizable.
Kudos to his SO if they wear a disguise too because he’s more important to them than being recognized/aknowledged by their fans…
Story time... 😊
“Are they following us?” she asked, but she didn’t need him to reply. She already knew the answer.
L tightened his hand around hers and whispered “I’m afraid so.”
“Is that?” a passerby asked, pointing a long red fingernail in their direction.
“It totally is!” Chirped her companion. “Let’s see if she’ll take a picture with us.”
The strangers headed towards the not so disguised couple, phones at the ready to take their sought after photo. Their behavior was drawing unwanted attention and more and more people began noticing her presence.
“I thought the hat and glasses along with yoga pants and sneakers would be enough to throw them off,” Her words relaying genuine unhappiness.
How many times had she worried that being seen with her would somehow lead to his death?
With one more squeeze of her hand, L had vanished from her side, now safely obscured into the crowd that was forming around her. It was crucial he not be caught on camera. Even if no one knew who he was, If no one ever tried to find out his identity, he couldn’t risk it.
“Hey!” the two strangers from before hollered as they crossed the street, walking up to her like they knew her. “We’re big fans. Can we get a picture?”
She smiled, wide and bright, and laughed an “of course” to them, but it didn’t change that it was all a show, and act she was taught to perform for her adoring public.
With phone in hand, one of them stretched their arm far above the three of them to get the most flattering angle, and snapped the picture, peace signs and winks giving the photo manufactured charm.
“Hey, didn’t we see you with someone earlier?” one of them asked, nosily.
“Haha, no. You must have been mistaken.”
She was used to intrusions. Fans felt like they knew her, like she was their friend because she played their favorite in that summer Rom-com or sang that song they were bumping on their stereos.
But they didn’t know her. In fact, very few people knew her at all and she missed the one that knew her best of all. She glanced through the crowd, looking for wild black hair sticking out from a baseball cap and sunglasses hiding dark-ringed eyes, but she saw nothing. It didn’t change that she knew he was near and she was still in his sights.
“It was nice meeting you,” She waved, fake smile still plastered to her lips as the two fans left and more swarmed her. “Ok, who’s next?”
“She stunning. Can you imagine having just one minute alone with her?” Someone asked the man standing hunched next to them in the crowd.
Turning to face the person speaking to him, he lowered his thumb from the hint of a smile playing at his bottom lip and and flatly replied “Yes, I can.”
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IDK if you care but..
So the new Taylor Swift documentary is out on Netflix. I just watched it and I have some very personal thoughts on some subjects. Okay, one in particular. If you’d care to read on just know this is not a subjective review or anything, it’s just some thoughts I’ve not yet finished processing on a subject that hits too close to home.
I’ve always been skinny. Very.
The kids in my class would call me anorexic and malnourished. I was the sick looking kid with an apparent eating disorder all through middle school. Why did middle school kids think that was funny? I don’t know man, 10 year-olds are stupid as fuck. But it’d get to me. I would lose sleep over how apart my knees were from each other, over how no hat would ever really fit me and how my thigh could fit in between my tiny hands, how much my ribcage was showing.
But it wasn’t only kids. My mom would teach in high schools and sometimes when I was not feeling good enough to go to class she would have to take me with her. And I would wear baggy pants cause I thought they would hide my chopstick legs more than regular pants, right? Wrong. The teachers would look at my mom like she was some kind of monster that wasn’t feeding us right, asking if I was awfully sick of if I had some sort of condition.
This problem came along when we moved to a different province and I started high school. But it was mostly in my head, like some kids would comment on it, not in a bitchy kind of way, but I was always extremely self-conscious about my arms and legs. I would wear sweaters even during summer which would earn me some spiteful words from my classmates when the teacher would refuse to turn the ceiling fans on unless we were all in our uniform shirts. I would get suspended for wearing the gym class pants literally every other day instead of the regular uniform skirt. I remember I didn’t want to go to prom cause I’d have to wear a dress.
In fact, I think growing up everyone thought I was a bit of a punk tomboy or whatever because I’d wear black longleaves and long baggy jeans even during summer break, and maybe I was a bit of a tomboy at SOME point but, deep down I would always want to wear dresses and skirts and pink tank tops, and get my hair pretty and maybe wear some makeup.., it’s just that I knew it’d all look really bad on a stick figure-like-body such as mine, and that wasn’t something I was particularly interested in.. also I thought looking interested in “girly” things would cost me some imaginary “cred” so, yeah, that’s on me.
One day I was at a friend's house (my soon-to-be certified psychologist friend, remember her?) and she starts playing Blank Space for the third time in a row, watching pictures of Taylor Swift instead of working on our ethics paper due the next day, and she goes “She’s so pretty... and tiny.” And while I was thinking of maybe making some stupid remark like “she’s super tall actually” she goes “like you! See? She’s skinny like you and wears the hell out of those dresses”. I wore the uniform’s skirt to class the next day.
But I remember this other time when I was coming back from physical therapy, where they’d have me work out like a mad person, walking home through the longest imaginable road, full of energy and endorphins flowing n shit, feeling the healthiest I’ve ever been and thinking to myself:
You know, it’s kinda true. Taylor Swift is super thin as well. She’s like me. And she’s confident and strong and girly and pretty. I can be strong and pretty too.
and then a guy stopped me, asked me if I could share some of my water, and then asked me out I KID YOU NOT, this random dude just shows up out of nowhere when I’m feeling great comparing myself to none other than Taylor Swift, stumbling over his own words trying to flirt with me. Man, I was ecstatic! I’ve never seen that guy before, and never saw him again after that. Now I can see how it was actually creepy as hell because on top of it all he was older and I was 17 at most, and he, like literally came out of a bush and chased me for half a block to talk to a skinny little girl in her high school gym class uniform.
This comparison changed my mindset completely. I even went to prom in a red dress like the one Taylor wears on the cover of her Speak Now deluxe version album. I mean, I still wear pants all through summer but it’s mostly because a) my legs are 8 times whiter than the rest of my body and in desperate need of some tanning and b) I.HATE.SHAVING.
I thought she was genetically prone to being underweight just like me. “That’s why she owns it, it’s so normal for her she never mentions it. No one calls her anorexic or malnourished. She was able to naturalize it and look great doing it! She looks so pretty in shorts!”
See, it truly is 100% a genetic thing. My grandad was scary thin, then all of his children were super thin, my uncle would wear shirts to the pool because he was so self-conscious about it, my mom got married weighing 41 KG (that’s like, what, 90ish pounds?), one of my sisters and I are terribly skinny too.
And then I saw she'd gained some weight. She was looking curvier and had bigger boobs and a bigger ass and damn those legs. She'd grown out of it. She did it. And I started to think back and man! My older cousins were walking sticks growing up and today are these big buffed bros, and my other cousin has a curvy model body, my other sister grew out of it too. I'd grow out of it eventually!
It never occurred to me that she might actually have an eating disorder.
It's come full circle I think. I don't know, I guess I'm just bummed out that the only person that I could look up to and would make me feel normal and healthy and even pretty, was, in fact, going through the opposite type of insecurity and had become what these mean 10 year-olds would call me. She was sick after all.
And I know I have no right to feel scammed. I shouldn't feel this way. But while I was looking up to her for hope and feeling like I could relate, she was starving herself. She was being self-conscious about that extra fat that I yearned for.
I’m glad to know she’s now healthy and happy and can last a whole concert without feeling like throwing up, and that she probably gets her period more regularly now. And I’m sorry she felt like she had to compromise her own health because of some bullshit beauty standards and camera angles, and I know A LOT of people go through the same thing and man it just sucks.
But I thought she was like me.
But you know what, that made up notion got me through high school and I’m happy I had her to relate to then, even if it was just... some misguided assumption I came up with to make myself feel better. I’m still a bit insecure about how skinny I am and even though I work out and eat way too much and yet I have a really fast metabolism and the fat goes to all the wrong places and whatever, I’ll grow out of it someday. It’s okay. I guess it all just put things into perspective but I don't know what that means going forward because it doesn’t alter the facts that I already know to be true. It doesn’t cancel out her talent nor my love and appreciation for her, for what she was to me then and what she means to me now. It’s just an added layer of strength in her favor.
I’m glad Taylor was able to manage her eating disorder and got healthy and is now happy. And she’ll always be my high school companion and her music will always be great. Nothing’s really changed. I simply know something now (know something now) I didn’t before.
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Lukanetteweek day 2: family +day 3: confession
Day 1
Luka strung his guitar as he observed Marinette taking the measurements of Kitty Section’s band members. Rose and the others had approved of Mari’s designs. So now all that was left to do was making those designs a reality. She’d come to the garage where they’d been practicing their new song, without the speakers as not to disturb the neighbors too much.
She’d come in right after they’d started and had cheered them on the whole time. She waited patiently until they were done before waving a notebook and measuring tape, indicating the reason for her presence. Adrien had apologized and left with the promise to send her his measurements. He had a shoot.
She went on to measure Rose, Juleka and finally Ivan. The girls were easy enough for her. She went to work with confident practiced moves and a steady rhythm. Measure, write, measure, write. Measure, complement, write.
When it came to Ivan she needed some help from Juleka. When she saw the slight flash of insecurity on his face she comforted him by saying that Mylene must feel so safe having someone so big and strong to look after her.
After she got all of his measurements down they all left. The girls had a double date with Ivan and Mylene.
“Gues it’s my turn huh?” he concluded as he put his guitar away before getting up to walk towards her, hands casually shoved in his pockets.
Marinette nodded without looking, turning over a page in her notebook and presumably writing down his name on top of her prepared sheet.
He could see a slight blush forming on her cheeks. Was she nervous about touching him? That was kind of cute.
“So what first?” he asked patiently. He had no where to be which was why he’d waited until everyone with plans had their turn.
“Uhm,” she hesitated, playing with the pen in her hand.”You probably should take your hoodie off... for accurate measurements.”
He nodded in understanding and took of the extra layer. It was kind of chilly in the garage, but it couldn’t be helped. Unless he wanted his shirt to be two sizes too big.
Marinette closed her eyes, took a deep breath and when she opened them she had a determined look in her eyes. Her posture straightened and she walked towards him with a confidence one wouldn’t have expected of her judging by how she acted only seconds before. Except Luka had already seen her passionate, determined and confident under pressure.
That she felt the need to give herself a peptalk for him was kind of flattering. Still he hoped she’d soon be comfortable enough around him to just be herself without second guessing her actions.
“I’ll start with your back and shoulders,” she informed him as she walked around.
“Whatever you say Miss Dupain-Cheng,” he smirked.
He felt her delicate hands follow the line of his shoulders as she aligned the measuring tape. He heard a short hum before her hands disappeared ass she moved to write her findings down.
Then her hands moved along his spine and he resisted the urge to move.
No need for her to find out he was ticklish right now.
“Can you put up your arms?” He did as he was told. She measured the circumference of his upper arm, his lower arm and his wrist. Then she measured the length of his upper and lower arm before she walked back around to stand in front of him. The blush had reappeared on her cheeks.
“Now comes the awkward stuff huh?” he smirked, which lead to her blushing more intensely. She looked up apologetically and nodded.
“I’m not very used to doing this... I mean I’ve taken measurements before, but usually from people I’ve know all my live... It’s different.” She fumbled with the tape, looking everywhere except at him.
“Well I’m glad you get to practice overcoming this with me. You want to be a professional designer someday right? You’ll probably have to take a lot of measurements of models before you get to the point where you can pay someone to do that for you,” he mused. Marinette nodded.
“Yeah. First I’ll have to built a portfolio and then I need to apply at IFA, take the exam, then when I get in I need to tale on internships. I’ll apply for one at Gabriel and work my way up trough the ranks and by the time I graduate I’ll be offered a job as a designer.” Luka smiled at the excitement in her eyes.
“Well you’ve planned out your entire career it seems.” She blushed at his remark.
“But I wonder what a bout your family life? Have you figured that out yet?” She seemed like the kind of girl that had her wedding half-planed and her house picked out before she graduated college.
“well...” Yep, she was definitely that kind of girl.
“I may have a few ideas for my wedding dress drawn out,” she admitted.
“I dream of a beautiful house near the Seine. And we’d have three kids. Emma, Louis and Hugo. And a pet hamster.” Luka chuckled.
“A hamster?” he queried.
“I love hamsters,” she insisted. He held his hands up in surrender.
“I can almost imagine it myself actually. You making coffee, a pencil in your hair and a notebook in your pocket in case of emergency’s. Emma drawing pretty dresses at the kitchen table while the boys are climbing the tree in the garden.” She nodded at the picture he painted. She gestured for him to spread his arms again. It seemed that engaging her mind with this fantasy helped her to keep her mind of of worrying about things getting awkward.
“I don’t expect any of my kids to pursue fashion actually. If they want to that’s fine. But especially since I’ve seen how being pushed into his father’s business is weighing down on Adrien, I wouldn’t want to do that to my little angels,” she explained as she measured his chest, not even blinking while she reached around him, coming almost chest to chest.
“I just want them to be kind, considerate and happy,” she smiled as she wrote down his size.
“If they take after their mother you won’t have to worry about those first two. And the latter can’t possibly be a problem. Between you and your parents, plus an honorary aunt like Alya...” he wanted to say more, but an accidental graze from her thumb against his stomach caused to cut himself off with a sharp intake of breath. Dang... That was his weak spot.
“Luka?” Marinette looked up at him confused, but then realization dawned on him. Mischievous Marinette was both very cute and a terrifying sight.
“Are you ticklish?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. One hand lifted as though she wanted to let him know that she would put him to the test if he denied it.
“... Yes,” he admitted and he was rewarded with a giggle.
“That’s adorable,” she managed between fits of laughter.
“Yeah... Little hint, don’t embarrass your professional models like that. Their ego’s are most likely a whole lot more fragile than mine,” he muttered in mock annoyance. Mari nodded and went back to work. Apearantly learning that he was ticklish was the icebreaker needed to make her at ease, since she took the rest of his measurements in comfortable silence. When she was done she got up and checked her notebook one last time. Luka was ready to grab his guitar and leave, but then she grabbed him by the arm and spun him around.
“I forgot about your hat!” she exclaimed. He looked at her confused.
“I have cold weather accessories planned for everyone,” she explained while she reached on her tiptoes to measure the circumference of his head. He should’ve sat down for this. He should’ve stopped her when he noticed she was too hurried to think straight. But she’d wanted to get this last one done quickly, he had been taken by surprise. And now they were both falling to the ground. On instinct Luka wrapped his body around hers to make sure he’d break her fall. When they hit the ground he broke the force of the fall by rolling them both over a few times. This resulted in him crouching down above a dazed and blushing Marinette. For one breathless moment his attention was captivated by her lips, but then that moment passed and he, once again, got a clear sight of his priorities. “Are you alright?” he breathed.
Mari nodded and with a sigh of relief he helped her up
“I’ll take a seat this time,” he smirked, earning an apologetic smile.
“That’s probably for the best,” she agreed.
After she’d taken this one last measurement she packed her things.while he contemplated that split second where he’d wanted to act without thinking the consequences trough. He was always a ‘go with the flow’ kind of guy. But he knew that with matters of the heart he needed to be careful.
“See you Luka!” Mari called behind him. He acted on instinct.
“Wait!” he exclaimed as he grabbed her wrist. Urgently but not too hard.
Marinette looked up at him in surprise.
“I feel like I need to tell you this... To make sure that there’s no misunderstanding I need you to know that I don’t expect anything from you. But I want you to know how I feel regardless. I like you Marinette. Enough that I want to find out if I might be the lucky man who one day gets to see you in that dress you sketched, to carry you trough the doorway of the little house by the seine. I want to find out if I might be so lucky as to find myself the father of those three children. And maybe I’m not. But I feel like if I don’t let you know this now then I’ll spend the rest of my life regretting it. You are the song I want to sing Marinette. But I’d understand if you don’t feel that way. I’ve seen you look at Adrien... But still, sometimes I think I catch you looking at me that way.”
Marinette was silent for a minute.
“You really mean that? You like me as more than a friend?” she asked breathlessly. Luka nodded, his face serious.
“The truth is Luka, I don’t know how I feel right now... Would you give me time? To sort out my heart? I’d understand if you don’t want to wait for that. I feel selfish for even asking...”
“Not at all!” he insisted.
“I told you i didn’t expect you to do anything with this. And you should never feel pressured to feel anything for anyone.Thank you for listening to what i had to say.” Marinette smiled and gave him a playful shove.
“How come you’re so mature?” she wondered. Luka shrugged.
“I spent a lot of time listening,” was all he had to say.
She accepted this as an explanation and after a short moment of hesitation she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving.
Luka sighed. His heart felt lighter, now that he’d confessed. And while some would consider a ‘maybe’ as worse than a straight out ‘no’, he knew that this was the most that Marinette was able to offer at this point. When she spoke he could hear the conflict inside her. If he’d have to put it into notes it would be a confusing piece, fluctuating in tempo, volume and tone.
She needed time. And he was happy to give her that gift. Regardless of the result.
Day 4 part 1
Part 2
Day 5&6
Day 7
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Too Sweet
Jack had worried that Crutchie would be taken for a sap by a girl someday, but the reader puts that fear to rest.
Crutchie was too nice for his own good.
Jack had always worried about it a bit; what if the poor sap gave more than he could afford because of a pair of sad eyes and a convincing story? It’s why Jack let Crutchie sleep in the penthouse, why the boys sometimes snuck extra pennies into his pockets if his cheeks looked hollow.
The greatest worry, one that practically gave Jack a heart attack, had to do with Crutchie meeting a girl. Maybe the kid would pick a real winner, but Newsies usually ended up with girls not much better off than themselves. With Crutchie’s admittedly low luck, he would probably try to woo a girl who would accept his money and time without intending to return any of it. She would drain him, leaving nothing but a tragic husk of a boy who had foolishly expected the best from everybody else.
That was one reason it caused quite the stir when Crutchie came home one evening with flushed cheeks and new buttons on his shirt.
Elmer had been the first to notice. “Whoa, Crutch, I didn’t know you were such a big spender.”
“Huh?” He looked down and grinned. “Nah, I didn’t buy ‘em.”
“Did you find them?” That was doubtful, since the buttons were shiny and red and smooth, but the only other possibility-
Crutchie grinned, slightly baffled and very pleased. “They was a gift.”
Race’s eyebrows were buried in his hairline. “From who? Jack? His favoritism is so obvious I could choke on it, I swear-”
It shouldn’t have been possible for his smile to grow, but it did. “From a girl.”
Race leaned in, a smirk growing. “Our Crutchie, the ladies man. A pretty girl? Where do I get one?”
“She’s one of a kind,” he said. His fingers brushed over the buttons with delight, but a new factor occured to Albert.
“Wait, how’d they get on the shirt? I didn’t know you could sew.”
Crutchie blushed now, clearly embarrassed as he said, “I can’t. She sewed ‘em on.”
The room erupted. Jokes about seeing girls was always fair game, but this girl was something else. Maybe Jack had worried about Crutchie giving too much to a girl, but they had never imagined a girl wooing him so hard he turned to a puddle of goo.
The teasing intensified as the days passed, but none of them could tell what girl was the suitor.
“She’s gotta be somebody buying a paper, right? We knows everybody else Crutchie knows,” Specs mused. The group of the boys huddled in a circle, quickly eating mildly squashed sandwiches before hitting the streets again.
“Maybe, but the boy’s right about one thing,” Race admitted with a smirk. “He’s got a smile that kills the girls. Even without the limp, he could sell papes without a problem. Could be any girl getting blinded.”
“You’s right about that,” Jack said. He had stayed out of the theorizing, claiming that Crutchie could handle himself, but now he came and squeezed Race’s arm in greeting. He threw an arm around Specs’ shoulder and gave a soft punch to Mush. “Could be any girl. Don’t wreck it for him by scaring her off. If any of you’s scare her off, you’ll be answering to me.”
“Come on, Jack, have a little faith. We won’t scare her off,” Finch said, mock aghast.
Mush laughed. “If a girl is gonna be good enough for our Crutchie, she had better not be scared by us.”
Jack had meant it when he said that he wouldn’t interfere. He knew that Crutchie needed to do this by himself. Still, he had decided to interfere just this once. While he was telling the others to back off, he kept one eye over his shoulder to see how long he would need to distract the guys before the girl left.
You didn’t usually read the newspaper, or at least you hadn’t, but the sweet boy had started a new phase in your life. It had all started with a chance encounter.
You were a seamstress in the downtown. It was a great opportunity for you, really, and you knew that your family was thrilled. An apprenticeship with a tailor was a guaranteed career, but you had been terribly overwhelmed. After finishing a repair late, your boss had made you deliver the package yourself. You had been riding your bike frantically in the middle of rush hour. Biking had never been your strong suit, so it was no surprise that you wiped out.
Your tights had torn. That was the first thing you noticed. They were your only pair, so you stared at the ripped and slightly bloody holes at your knees for several seconds before realizing that you were still in the middle of the rush.
A hand tugged insistently at your elbow, dragging you to the sidewalk.
“Miss, what are you doing? You’s gotta get out of the road,” the boy said urgently. You looked at him with surprise, but didn’t take any of his appearance in as more of your stupidity sank in.
“The clothes!” They had flown everywhere when the paper holding them together tore. You staggered to your feet to grab what you could, but you knew that you couldn’t get it all on your own.
After several moments of searching, you held a pile of dusty, but thankfully undamaged, clothes. You were a mess, your knees screamed, and your parents would kill you when they saw that you had wrecked some of your clothes that you couldn’t repair yourself, but you might not have the cost of the clothes taken out of your paycheck. It would take months pay it off.
“Miss?”
You turned to see the boy holding a jacket out to you. You had missed it in the mad rush, but he had grabbed it for you. You grinned at him, and when he smiled back, you stopped breathing. He was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. Messy hair, dirt smudged across his chin, and a smile that turned your legs to jelly.
“Thank you so much,” you croaked.
“Don’t mention it,” he said. He half shrugged one shoulder, drawing your attention to the crutch and the oddly angled leg. When your gaze travelled up to his face, he was looking away.
“Are you selling papers?” The question came out of nowhere, maybe just a desperation to look in his eyes again, but it worked.
“Yeah?” It was more of a question than an answer.
You pulled a penny from the pocket of your skirt. It would be coming out of your lunch, but you wouldn’t have enough time to eat anyway. “Can I have one?” You took the jacket and the paper, smiling at him again. “What’s your name?”
“Crutchie,” he said as he waved his crutch a little.
“Crutchie,” you echoed. “Is this your spot?”
“The whole city is my spot,” he replied. After a pause, he admitted, “I usually sell here, yeah. Why?”
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” you said. “And don’t call me miss. It’s Y/N, and you have saved my hide today. I owe you one.” The last part was called over your shoulder as you jogged back to your bike. You didn’t miss the surprised smile that graced his face.
You had owed him one, sure, but you have more than filled that quota. You had repaired a tear in his hat, sewed new buttons into his shirt, and split an ice cream cone with him, but you kept going back. You paid extra for newspapers when you could, saying that you were tipping him for one reason or another. Your parents were baffled by the sudden drop in money coming home, but you told them that business had been a little slow lately. They didn’t need to know about the boy you had met.
“Hey, Crutchie,” you beamed. “What’s the headline?”
“Pretty girl sweeps all of Manhattan off its feet,” he said in an official voice.
You briefly glanced at the headline, warmth flooding your cheeks. The front page screamed about a plague in California, but the dreadful news didn’t weather away the delight pooling in your belly. You slid three pennies into his hand.
“What’s this for?” he asked, surprised.
“I heard that models make good money these days,” you replied with a smile.
“Geez, picture me, a model,” he laughed. You loved the sound, even if it was a little self depreciating.
“Believe me, Crutchie, you are the handsomest boy on this side of the Atlantic. If I had more to tip you, I would.” You winked at him, enjoying the way his smile went a little goofy, and turned to go. You would have to dash if you were going to have time for lunch before your break ended.
He grabbed your hand, staggering a little to keep his balance against the crutch. “Wait! Y/N, hang on.” You turned back, squeezing his hand a little. “Could I walk you home from work tonight?”
You froze. You had thought maybe he was sweet on you, but you had never imagined that he could like you well enough to walk you home. He would probably meet your parents if you did that. What would they think?
A sheepish smile bloomed on his cheeks, but his eyes dulled a little. “It was just a thought, you don’t have to-”
You lunged forward to press your lips against the corner of his mouth. “I get off at seven. See you then?”
You were backing away when the wolf whistling started across the street. The two of you looked over to see a small crowd of boys beamed. There was a flurry of fists pumping, delighted hopping from one foot to the next, and ecstatic waves. One boy, standing at the front of the group, rolled his eyes and gave Crutchie an apologetic smile. He shrugged as though to ask what can you do?
Crutchie gave a huff of irritation, but you could feel the fondness thrumming through it. “I’ll see you at seven.”
The both of you were as red as the buttons on his shirt, but you felt as light as air as you went back to work.
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Show Me (Part Three)
This is looks like a long update, but it's less than 3000 words, but with them “texting” it takes up a lot of room lol. Mind the cut!
If you missed Part One and Two, catch up on the MASTERLIST
Bucky is the cutest flirting, and Steve is already in love with him! Tiny bit NSFW at the end!
Enjoy this update!
*********************
~~Monday~~~
<From:Steve>
-- back to school man
<To: Steve>
-- how many weeks left?
<From: Steve>
-- about six till Christmas break, but I'm not taking the whole month off. Really hitting it hard so I can finish up before the holidays.
<To:Steve>
--what classes?
<From: Steve>
-- stupid ones I missed while playing ball. Political science. An extra math class. Accounting. And like a beginner business course that fell through the cracks somehow. Math is fine but political science is just stupid. Why do I need to know this? I barely passed high school civics
<To: Steve>
-- barely passed? I got your all American ass a solid b
<From: Steve>
--my bad.
~~Tuesday~~
<From:Steve>
-- girl in my class just asked if women could be successful politicians or if that is a glass ceiling that has yet to be broken
<To: Steve>
-- Condoleeza Rice? Senator Clinton? Barbara Mikulski? And if we are reaching… that girl from Alaska. Palin. She really asked that?
<From: Steve>
-- the teacher didn't even have an answer. Just kind of looked at her and kept right on lecturing.
-- I forgot how smart you are. Why did you go after art again?
<To: Steve>
-- because I'm a free spirit, didn't want the man to keep me down
--that wasn't a gay joke. I'm a total bottom. Definitely want the man to keep me down.
<From: Steve>
--I'm dying man, don't send me that when I'm in class!
<From: Steve>
--bottom huh?
~~Thursday~~~
<From:Steve>
-- sorry about that man. Yesterday was killer. So busy. I hate these classes. I'm so close to being done but it still seems like far away
<To: Steve>
-- why are you sorry? It's not like we have to talk every day.
Bucky hit send and chewed his thumbnail nervously. Less than a week of Steve texting him and he was already all butterflies and nervous every time his phone rang. He hadn't heard from the blonde all day yesterday and had been too stubborn to text him first.
And had hated every second of it.
<From: Steve>
--.... does it bug you? We used to text all the time I guess old habits die hard. It's nice to talk again right?
<To: Steve>
--literally couldn't bug me less. Text all you want
Steve grinned when he read the message, and refused to think too hard about why it made him so happy.
*******************
*******************
“James, darling.” Natasha called from the front of the shop, and Bucky stood quickly, wiping his hands on his pants and tucking his phone into his back pocket.
He had been texting Steve all day in between clients, trying to help him with a paper that was due that weekend.
“What's up?” Bucky stepped next to Natasha at the counter, resting a hand easily on her lower back. She moved closer to him, curvy hips resting against his, and he sent the man in front of him a glare, until the guy backed away a few steps.
“No harm.” The guy said, putting his hands up and Bucky snorted.
Most of their customers knew Natasha was a badass who didn't take crap from anyone. A select few however, mostly first time customers, just saw a pretty redhead showing too much skin and assumed the girl could be intimidated.
That was never the case, but Natasha made a point of calling Bucky, who sat at six foot, or Clint, who looked like he was fresh out of prison, anytime she was uncomfortable.
“Thank you.” Natasha turned and rubbed his chest gently once the man had left. “He was an asshole.”
“S’no problem.” Bucky smiled down at her.
“So tell me about your golden boy.” She bent back over the counter, trying to make a list for their next shipment of gear and ink.
“Not much to tell.” Bucky settled his lean frame on the counter next to her, propping his back against the wall.
“Well…” the redhead drew the word out, the cap of her pen tracing her lips suggestively. “You've been texting him non stop for almost two weeks now. Has it progressed past political science questions and the occasional joke?”
“Not really. But what else would we talk about? And stop that, that's distracting.” Bucky knocked the cap out of her fingers and she gave him a wicked smile.
“Oh I feel like there's so much you and the Captain could talk about.”
“It weirds me out when you call him that.” But Bucky smiled. “He's pretty straight, Natasha. Trying to hit on him would make things weird. I mean we've joked and maybe flirted a little I guess, but really it's just nice to be talking again. He was a pretty big part of my life for a while.”
“Right. Until the infamous blowjob.” Natasha over enunciated the word, her pouty lips catching on the ‘b’s.
“Thanks for the reminder.” Bucky rolled his eyes, and then nearly jumped out of his skin when Natasha put her hand very high on his thigh. “Easy Tasha. I know we are touchy feely but come on.”
“James, darling.” She nearly purred, moving in close. “Just because he claims he is straight doesn't mean he doesn't want you. You're gorgeous. Long black hair,” she brushed it off his shoulders with one hand, squeezing his thigh with the other. “Pale blue eyes. The way your accent comes through whenever you're anything but perfectly calm.”
“Hey.” He interjected, then blushed, since he had just proved her point.
“See?” She actually giggled, and Bucky blushed harder. “Even the way you blush. So delicious. I am perfectly wonderfully happy with Clint. And I know you are perfectly wonderfully attracted to only boys, but darling even I want to take you for a drive. I can't imagine your Captain America feels any differently, whether he thinks he's straight or not. Those kind of labels don't really apply when it comes to being attracted to someone like you.”
She tapped her nails, which were damn near on his crotch, lightly on his thigh and turned and walked away.
Bucky slumped against the wall in relief, raking his hand through his hair. He might not be into women but dammit she wound him up.
“Hey man.” Clint’s voice made him jump and he shook his head quickly, started to panic. “Nope. Don't do that.” Clint shook his head. “She's just like that. Fucking man-eater. Doesn't matter if you're into the d or not. You've lived with us long enough to know how she is.”
Bucky choked out a laugh and Clint smirked at him.
“Come on. Let's go get some pizza.” He let his hand rest on Bucky's waist as they walked out, and Bucky just smiled.
***************
~~Thursday~~~
<From: Bucky>
-- ugh man nearly tore my arm out of it's socket trying to lift a box. Some days it's like I will never get my whole strength back
<To: Bucky>
-- lift with your knees, not your back. Or jacked up shoulder in your case.
<From: Bucky>
-- thanks for that. My god you're helpful.
Steve laughed out loud reading the texts. The girl next to him in class sent him a dark look and he shrugged in apology.
<To: Bucky>
-- show me
<From: Bucky>
-- show you what? My fucked up shoulder?
<To: Bucky>
-- yeah. I'm sitting in math class, so humor me. And watch your language
Steve waited a few minutes.
<To: Bucky>
-- or not. Just do something to entertain me man I'm dying here.
His phone buzzed before he even finished sending the second text and he flipped over the message quickly.
It was a picture message, a side shot of Bucky’s arm and shoulder.
Completely covered by a sweater.
Steve hid a grin behind his hand when the next text came through.
<From: Bucky>
-- nice boys don't send skin pics Steve. What are you trying to pull here? Asking me to show you like you think this is a peep show.
<To: Bucky>
-- sorry. Polite boys like me don't actually know how to ask nicely for skin pics or whatever you degenerates call them
<From: Bucky>
-- say please you all American twat, and maybe I'll send you something good.
< To: Bucky>
-- twat? Seriously?
--please. Show me
Almost instantly a second picture message appeared, one of Bucky shirtless, still twisted to the side to show his bruised and swollen shoulder, but not far enough that it hid his muscled torso.
Steve’s mouth went dry, and before he even realized what he was going, he was tapping his phone screen, zooming in.
<From: Bucky>
-- I got the tattoos to cover the puncture wounds and scars. Natasha did most of them for me
Steve zoomed out, to look again at Bucky's shoulder instead of trying to drool over all that skin.
Bucky had a red star on his left shoulder, that was several inches across, and then several smaller, darker red and black stars made to look like they were falling from the big one.
It was interesting work, and covered most of the messed up skin but Steve could still see a few scars branching out, looking red and angry from the strain of whatever he had been lifting.
<To: Bucky>
-- I like them. The tattoos. The muscles. Whatever. It all looks good.
<From: Bucky>
-- yeah they hide the ugly at least.
--Hows class?
--Are you hitting on me?
<To: Bucky>
-- does it count on “hitting on you” if it's over text?
--class is the worst.
<From: Bucky>
-- show me
Steve raised an eyebrow, then angled his phone and took a selfie with finger guns raised to his temple and eyes rolled wide.
<From: Bucky>
-- don't get brains on that shirt I like it
<To:Bucky>
--k I'll take it off first
****************
****************
~~ Sunday~~
<From: Steve>
--college was a terrible idea. The idea of a weekend is a totally foreign concept these days. Can't tell you the last time I just chilled out on a Saturday
<To: Steve>
-- yeah should have stuck with the modeling. Pays better. More days off
<From: Steve>
-- I never modeled Bucky
<To: Steve>
-- maybe you should have. You would have made a killing
<From: Steve>
-- modeling huh what like GQ?
<To: Steve>
-- nah. Cowboy Quarterly maybe. You're big and brawny. Slap a cowboy hat on and no one would know you're terrified of horses
<From: Steve>
-- they are giant, Bucky. And I can't believe you remember that, it was like one time I screamed. Horses are giants, you would have been scared on top of it too.
<To: Steve>
-- big ol corn fed mother fucker like you scared of riding a pony? Come on steve.
<From: Steve>
-- language man
<To: Steve>
-- tell you what. You go wrangle yourself a mustang and I'll stop swearing for a month. Go on. Hop on something and ride it big boy.
<From: Steve>
--i feel like that was sexual
<To: Steve>
--it was absolutely sexual. Look at you, getting my gay jokes. You’re coming along nicely captain.
--what are you doing today? I'm working on a new back piece for Natasha
<From: Steve>
-- show me
Bucky took a shot of Natasha, who was laid out topless on his table, face down because Bucky had been working on just the outline of a Gothic Cross on her ribs.
He angled the camera to show off her red hair, the dips and curves of her back, and just barely the rise of her ass.
Steve would appreciate that.
He sent it, and sat back down to finish her outline.
“Did you just snap a picture of my ass and send it to your lover?” Natasha asked, sighing when Bucky rubbed her lower back comfortingly.
“No. He wanted to see your tattoo.”
“I bet he'd rather see yours.” Clint commented from where he was eating a sandwich near be door.
“Mmm that's a good idea.” Natasha agreed and Bucky rolled his eyes. ”Send him a picture, James, I bet he would love it.”
<From: Steve>
-- looks good man. They both must trust you to do all their work.
<To:Steve>
-- yeah we all work on each other. Natasha did mine, i'm working on hers and Clint’s, and Clint is doing one of hers on her front.
<From: Steve>
--show me?
<To: Steve>
-- I feel like as open minded as Natasha is she would frown on me taking pics of her chest and sending it to a high school friend.
<From: Steve>
-- no. Yours.
-- not interested in seeing hers.
--show me yours.
Bucky raised an eyebrow. That was definitely new. Steve not interested in a woman.
Steve thought for a minute after sending the text.
It was true.
He didn't really have any interest in seeing Natasha's chest tattoo, even if the shape he had seen in the first pic would have made him drool six months ago.
No, he would much rather see Bucky’s tattoo.
And he was starting not to care that he preferred it like that.
It took a few hours to hear from Bucky again, but it was worth it.
An unknown number sent most of a body shot of Bucky first, and Steve raised his eyes.
He was up against a wall, shirtless, arms braced above his head, and every lean muscle in his back and shoulders was in display. Even from that position he knew without a doubt it was Bucky. All long limbs and dark hair and perfect shape. Steve couldn't tear his eyes away, staring at the small screen.
This was…good. Too good. So good.
A second picture showed up, this one actually from Bucky, a close up of the tattoo on his lower back.
In script that looked like it had been done in a thin paintbrush was a string of Russian letters and Steve tipped his head in thought. He had forgotten Bucky spoke Russian.
<From: Unknown>
-- hey man this is Clint. I work with Bucky. You're welcome for the first picture. He doesn't know I took it! He was like, take a picture of my tattoo and i was like, stick your ass out a little more it looks better that way.
--he’s pretty, but gullible so he believed me.
-- enjoy the hell out of that pic
--you’re welcome
Steve laughed out loud. Bucky had talked a lot about his roommates, and this seemed right in line with what he'd heard about Clint.
<To: Bucky>
-- I forgot you spoke Russian. What does it mean?
<From: Bucky>
-- loosely translated it means ‘hindsight is 20/20.’
Steve went back to the picture, admiring the unique strokes, and trying not to feel guilty for admiring the strong lines of Bucky's lower back, the dimples visible just above his pant line.
<To: Bucky>
-- hindsight? is that another one of your gay jokes? Haha
<From: Bucky>
-- what just because it's right over my ass it can't be some deep thought provoking phrase?
<To: Bucky>
--is it?
<From: Bucky>
--I guess you’ll have to wait and see, huh?
-- especially since to even see the tat my shirts gotta be off and you've gotta be pretty up close and personal in my space.
Steve knew that Bucky was joking.
He knew he was.
But that didn't stop a soft groan, as he pictured it.
Up close and personal with Bucky.
***********
Steve woke up at nine pm when his neighbor's shitty car started up with a rumble and bang, as he headed off to his night shift.
He groaned and hauled himself off the sofe. Class came way too early to be sleeping on such an uncomfortable couch.
Of course he couldn't sleep right away, because that's just how life was, so he tossed and turned for almost half an hour before giving up and reaching for his phone.
Scrolling through his messages, he started typing a text to Bucky. He'd always been a night owl in high school, maybe the habit had carried over.
Before he hit send though, Steve hesitated, then swiped to the picture of Bucky from earlier, from his roommate.
He tapped the picture, pulling it to full screen, and let himself stare.
“You're so beautiful.”
A memory flashed through his head and he groaned a little, hips moving restlessly on the bed.
“I want you. Let me make you feel good.”
“Bucky.” Steve slid a hand slowly into his jeans, pushing them farther down his thighs, ghosting over his hardening erection.
“You taste so good.” Blue eyes. Red lips. Dark hair. “Steve you taste so good.”
“Shit.” Steve squeezed the base of his cock, stroking up and over the tip, hissing at the pressure and he kicked his jeans off all the way, spreading his legs.
“Come on, baby, you're going to make me feel like I'm not doing a good job.”
He could almost hear Bucky's soft voice, hear that adorable accent that had been so strong that night.
Holding himself firmly, Steve reached down with his other hand to cradle his balls, just the right amount of pressure to make his eyes roll back.
Quickly stroking now, from base to tip, dragging his calloused thumb over his slit, and tugging gently on his sac, Steve pictured Bucky up against the wall. Arms raised above his head, hips cocked out.
Steve could feel it.
Those wiry muscles twisting against him, how Bucky's hair would feel slipping through his fingers.
“God.” Heat built at the base of his spine, and Steve took a deep breath.
Scrambling for the bottle of lotion on his nightstand, he poured it over his hand and cock, and leaned further back, sighing in relief at the slickness.
Warm. Wet. Bucky.
Steven jerked his cock frantically, his orgasm approaching too quickly, but he was too worked up to slow down.
How would Bucky feel under him. Around him. Crying out for him.
Hearing his name roll off Bucky's tongue, pushing that soft voice to screaming.
“Bucky!” Steve came with a howl, his cock spurting white and hot across his fist and stomach. “God. Goddamnit.”
He came down from it slowly, panting, wanting to curse, wanting to scream.
Fuck.
Bucky I want you.
*******************
@catpuppy1 @sharkcougarhawksnakescorpion @dare-me-to-give-up @sepiawren @hausoffro @my-gift-isyou @chrys-1029 @junostarkromanoff @saint-vincent-victory @kaitlynnjbell @kalexalove @mikaklik @cookiesandpinot @lunasage96 @romanianmalfoy @foreverforgotten101 @buckys-soldier @ilovethings-somuch @whathappensat3amstaysat3am @hellowhatthehellisgoingonhere @that-random-psycho @no1subject @cristaliscris
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Consumer Debt Roulette: Debt Is Up $605 Billion BEFORE $682 Billion Is Spent on Christmas — InvestmentWatch
From Daisy Luther, The Organic Prepper
The last time consumer debt has been this large was. . Well…NEVER. But now, it seems we are engaged in a high stakes game of consumer debt roulette. And the House is the only one who’ll win this game.
Last summer, it was reported that people made more on loans, charge cards, credit cards, and payment strategies than ever before. The nation surpassed the spike that resulted in the crash of 2008 back in March when debt attained a mind-boggling $12.73 trillion from the first quarter of this year.
Here is the breakdown, through ZeroHedge:
Total household indebtedness stood at $12.73 trillion at March 31, 2017. This increase set overall family debt 50 billion over its previous peak set from the third quarter of 2008 and 14.1 % over the trough set in the next quarter of 2013.
Mortgage accounts, the biggest part of household debt, reached $8.63 trillion at March 31, a 147 billion uptick from the fourth quarter of 2016.
Balances in home equity lines of credit fell marginally in the first quarter, down $17 billion to $456 billion.
Non-housing debt saw combined changes–a rise of $10 billion in auto loans and $34 billion in student loan accounts, along with a $15 billion drop in credit card accounts.
And we have exceeded the dreadful record more. This year, the debt because of American households has grown by 605 billion dollars. THIS YEAR. That’s on top of the insane numbers mentioned before.
And it’s causing serious problems.
From prolonged traces of cash-strapped consumers at New York food pantries into a growth in mental health problems, the hottest New York quarterly Fed data paints a dire film: US household debt has grown by $605 billion within the previous 12 months, together with $116 billion, or nearly 1%, hitting in the latest quarter. Funding is mushrooming everywhere — on mortgages, student loans, and auto loans. Credit card debt, meanwhile, has jumped by 3.1 % in the latest quarter. (origin)
You’d think that people would suddenly start to be worried that their debts have been outstripping their earnings, but you’d be wrong.
It hasn’t slowed down to Christmas shoppers just one bit.
Let us delve into some crazy data concerning the money spent last weekend. Don’t let the term “data” make your eyes glaze over — you are going to want to examine this.
Picture everyone sitting after turkey dinner in the front of the game ignoring each other and shopping in their phones. That is a fairly accurate image when you understand that online revenue on Thanksgiving day struck $2.9 billion.
Mobile accounted for 61% of all website visitors on Thanksgiving Day, Adobe reported. Shoppers placed 51% more orders tablets than a year ago, according to a Salesforce report emailed to Retail Dive (origin)
Isn’t family togetherness wonderful?
Needless to say, this was just the beginning. In the peak of Black Friday chaos, it wasn’t only the brawls over bath towels and toy automobiles which has been jaw-dropping. People spent ONE MILLION DOLLARS A MINUTE shopping in retail outlets and online.
To sum this up, beginning on Thanksgiving Day and continuing through Dark Friday all how to Cyber Monday, shoppers shopped. Plus then they shopped BIG. 70 percent of Americans shopped over the holiday weekend, spending an average of $335 per individual. Let’s break that down a bit.
The 174 million Americans who flew between Thanksgiving Day and Cyber Monday spent an average of $335 per individual during this five-day interval, the trade group said. The largest spenders, millennials aged 24 to 35, paid out an average of $419.52 each individual. (origin)
However, it will not stop there. The accurate National Retail Federation predicts that, even though our record high consumer debt, we will still see up to 4% greater spending this year over the past year’s insanely substantial numbers.
The National Retail Federation announced today it expects holiday retail sales in November and December — leading cars, gas and restaurants — to rise between 3.6 and 4 percent for a total of $678.75 billion to $682 billion, up from $655.8 billion last year. (origin)
People are planning to spend an average of nearly a million dollars PER ADULT — maybe not home. The precise number that one poll reveals is 983, which is up dramatically from a realistic $417 back in 2000.
(I have to be stuck in the calendar year 2000 because I can not fathom spending considerably more than that. In that case. Here is some info on how WE do budgets)
And imagine how they plan to cover it all.
You guessed it. With more consumer debt.
Article Continues Below
Credit cards are the most popular form of payment this year, utilized by 40% of shoppers, up from 39 percent this past year. That is tied to debit cards, which will also be employed by 40%, exactly the same as a year ago; 18 percent intend to pay with money and 2 percent will utilize checks. Of emerging payment methods, PayPal will be employed by 36 per cent, Apple Pay by 7 percent, Samsung Pay and Google Wallet by 4 percent every year and Venmo by 3%. (origin)
So debt I mentioned previously? The 605 billion dollars extra in American consumer debt this season? This was just year-to-date. We are adding roughly a second 271.5 billion dollars to debt.
$271,500,000,000.
When we already owe $605,000,000,000.
Everyone likes to blame the bankers for the crash in 2008 that sent us spiraling to a downturn but in fact, it had been brought on by consumer debt. No one is forcing us to max out our credit cards or purchase houses we can barely afford. However, in 2008, banks pushed up the cost of homes and loaned out tons of money to people who really didn’t qualify.
Afterward, unsurprisingly, they could not make their mortgage payments.
Lending huge amounts of money to the property market pushes up the price of houses together with the level of personal debt. Interest has to be paid for each of the loans that banks create, and with the debt increasing faster than incomes, finally some folks become unable to keep up with payments. Now, they quit repaying their loans , and banks find themselves at risk of going bankrupt. (origin)
Here is another explanation of this situation from 2008.
For almost a decade now, because 2007, we have been living a lie. And that lie is now preparing to wreak havoc on the economy….
The lie I am talking about is the idea that the fiscal disaster of 2008, along with subsequent “Great Recession,” were due to profligate government spending and subsequent public debt. The precise opposite is in fact the case. The crash happened because of dangerously substantial levels of private debt (a mortgage crisis especially). And this is the part we aren’t supposed to speak about–there’s an inverse connection between private and public debt levels.
In the event the public sector reduces the debt, then overall private sector debt goes up. That is what happened in the decades leading up to 2008. Now austerity is making it happening again. And when we don’t do something about it, the results will, necessarily, be a different disaster. (origin)
Certainly, this is unsustainable however people are blithely ignoring it.
Americans are in trouble.
Currently, the issue that could be the mind domino that begins the chain reaction of all the others falling is the sub-prime auto loan industry. We might see exactly the same situation we saw in 2008 when people start defaulting on automobile loans that they should not have gotten.
Participants have been warning for decades that subprime auto loans pose a threat to creditors since delinquency rates have improved higher considering reaching a post-recession reduced in 2012. But it wasn’t until last quarter which minimum creditworthy borrowers began to show the sorts of overdue payment profiles which followed the beginning of the monetary crisis.
“We’re seeing an increase in delinquencies together with all credit scores, however in the maximum credit quality, it’s only a basis point or two,” Chief Economist Amy Crews Cutts stated in an email Tuesday. “In deep subprime, the rise is more considerable. What stood out to me was that the issuers. Those which have been doing so for ten years or even more were showing the ‘greater’ operation, while those who were comparative newcomers were in the ‘worse’ category.”
…”As soon as creditors (and the investors behind them) get overconfident they have greater models and can make surplus profits by disrespecting credit risk, they always receive their hats handed to them earlier or later,” Cutts said. “The mortgage marketplace learned this lesson at the cost of the whole global monetary system, and it’s playing out now in a micro-level, in the ABS market for subprime auto loans” (origin)
However, we’ve got the student loan crisis, the mind-blowing quantities of credit card debt (over a trillion dollars), the ever-growing expense of living and stagnant wages. Add climbing healthcare policy costs that can cost more than most of your additional living expenses put together (plus a pending 37% boost in 2018) and at some point not too much off, a collision is inevitable.
There’s only 1 method to survive the consumer debt crisis.
You only have to refuse to take part. The solution has to be undertaken personally. You can not expect the authorities or even the bankers to do what is right — that is who got us into this mess in the first place.
Resolve now to lower your monthly expenditures, eliminate your debt as fast as you can, and learn to stay within (or even better yet, beneath) your own means. There are various factors out of your control, for example healthcare costs, inflation, and the job market, but you can control your spending and your debt level. I’ve done this myself and I can help you to do exactly the same. (Go here for more info)
It is possible to continue to keep your vacation spending back in the year 2000 and you’re able to resolve not to play consumer debt matches. You can not do anything about the rest of the nation’s bad spending habits, but you can create yourself more recession-proof.
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http://investmentwatchblog.com/consumer-debt-roulette-debt-is-up-605-billion-before-682-billion-is-spent-on-christmas/
from nwsuburban-bankruptcy – Credit Repair & Debt Experts http://www.nwsuburban-bankruptcy.com/consumer-debt-roulette-debt-is-up-605-billion-before-682-billion-is-spent-on-christmas-investmentwatch/
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Wild Rex Evaluation
After a month and a half of solid work, Wild Rex is complete, the scourge of the west is born. it’s been quite a journey, some elements worked, some didn’t and over the course of the next few paragraphs I’m going to be talk my choices
It’s quite hard to believe that only a month and a half ago, Wild Rex started out as a skeleton.
(Picture above was taken 13/03/17)
Originally Barry said it would have been fine to now include the milliput on the biceps and the forearm, and whilst Barry said it wouldn’t be necessary however upon reflection I think I might have needed this. To try and bend it where the elbow was tricky and if not done right would look bendy and just unnaturally curved. The legs having no milliput on turned out fine as it turns out for the bend to reach the box would have been more difficult to do it with the milliput in place. The shoulders where placed perfectly and resembles where the shoulders might be.
(Picture above was taken 17/03/17)
This picture was 4 days later from the skeleton when the foam started to go on. I’m happy with this step. I put quite a lot of detail into the body, the detail that sadly didn’t carry over when putting the clothes on the model, the details include crafting out the back curvature and the bum shape. I did shape this character to have a little bit of a belly on him which did carry over. I’m happy with the crafting I did on the legs, they are just the right level of thin enough. The hands themselves are a mixed bag. Wild Rex’s right arm, the arm that would hold the gun had a flat palm, which would make sense, however his other arm has a curved palm which strangely at the time I didn’t spot but it didn’t matter as that hand wouldn’t be used to hold the gun either.
Gun Construction 22/03/17
This is when I started construction on the gun, I’m pleased with how this went. I somewhat sculpted this around Wild Rex’s finger. The base was originally constructed out of wooden lolly pop sticks trimmed up, this gave me the base to build on and it did help. I did make a trigger for this but it fell off just by testing it. I eventually made a new trigger. I got this in the right scale which is great news. This wouldn’t be the last time I touch the gun.
(Picture above was taken 23/03/17)
This update saw the entire body covered in foam, including both hands and feet. At the time I thought this was fine, upon reflection I may have needed to put more foam on the feet as when I put the pins in the feet so the character can walk, there didn’t seem to be enough foam, therefor meaning the character would fall to one side. One achievement I am proud of is I shaped the legs to resemble calves muscles which yet again sadly don’t show when the clothes are laid over them.
(Picture above was taken 27/03/17)
This was the day the box began construction. It was a pain to get right but I’m glad I did, I think if Thornes didn’t do small hinges then it wouldn’t have been made, or it would have had a fixed open chest. The only thing I could say is I wish I made it a bit higher. It was a really stretch (literally) to make the character bend down as far as he needed to. Apart from that at this stage, no issues with the design or concept. I think it was quite brave to do this style of box where as others did just plain boxes.
(Picture above taken 30/03/17)
This was a day where I stayed in uni for about 8 hours and I got a lot of work done. First off I need to say that I am extremely chuffed with me nailing down a lot of his clothes in one day, but with that pride also comes frustration, I somehow managed to get glue on his legs when trying to get them attached. I would later fix this but at the time it was quite frustrating, I made sure to be extra careful when handling the jacket, as it could be excuseable on the trousers as he is from the West where dirt and sand if rife. However I feel it isn’t on the jacket. i was extremely lucky with the type of material I found and was able to use, The gaiters came out better then I had hoped, although maybe making them in black wasn’t the greatest idea as if I was to put some detail on the shoes, they would be lost although realistically I don’t think I could have used another brown as it wouldn’t look right. But my problem was I needed something to break up that black shoe and gaiter combo which is why later you will see I made the spur strap to be brown. I somewhat wished I had time to maybe sew on some pockets or perhaps stick on some buttons but saying that it doesn’t ruin the design.
(Pictures above taken 20/03/17)
The same day as my puppet, that day saw the construction of the both the head and the hat. Let’s start with the head, I think the head is well done, I don’t have much to comment here as of yet as there’s no detail but I’m pleased with the body shape where as on my previous super-sculpy test, there seemed to be no detail on the face, I made sure to include check bones, sucken in eye sockets as well as a chin, the original details that was lacking on my super sculpy design. If anything I could say is that I don’t like how I did the ears, they look the same of that of a monkey, it’s to round. However it doesn’t take away any of the design
The hat also came out very well, this is where Barry helped in the design but let me did the designing. I am very pleased to see how this turned out. I was sceptical as to how it would turn out with the curved sides but it turned out really well, my only gripe and it’s mainly nitpicking is that I think the main bulk of the hat, ie the blue foam may be just an inch to big, however I say that but from other views it looks perfectly fine.
(Picture above taken 07/04/17)
This is when the chest went into it’s final stage of development. I previously had a design I wanted to follow which is the design of the chest I have in home. I soon realised it wasn’t feasible and to be honest I wasn’t sure it would look good in a small scale in a western setting seeing as the descriptions on it seem Japanese. So I just mocked up a design of lines which is what you see and the version I stuck with. I would like to note that whilst the lock is stuck on here, that did not make it through the final version. I either made the lock either to big or to small and when it was fully finished I thought it looked good without it. Obviously ignoring the white primer paint, I quite like the style of the box, it’s simple but effective. It’s a simple design that puts it apart from other boxes in this mystery box assessment and I couldn’t be more prouder of it. to critique the design, I would say maybe it could have been nice to take chips out of the lollypop sticks stuck on the side to give the feel that it’s old and battered but that doesn’t phase me or the design.
(Picture above taken 11/04/17)
This saw the completion of the gun i had made for Wild Rex and I have a couple of comments to make around the paint job. First thing to point out is that is has a place where the trigger would sit but it was incredibly hard to get anything to stick underneath there and fit Wild Rex’s finger in, so I had to loose the trigger, whilst not a big loss as it was virtually unnoticeable I thought it was worth pointing out. I think the silver could of perhaps been more shiney, as it stands its just a dull silver. I guess I was worried that it might dry out and become a problem when filming with the lights above it but I have seen other people with shiney puppets so that was an error on my part. Another error was that wooden detailing. When researching I knew some revolvers had wooden detailing and this is what I tried replicating. However it appears the detailing isn’t all round the revolver, so that was just an error that I realised after the date. However what is the biggest problem is also the greatest strength, I like how I did the wooden detailing which was a combination of multiple brown felt tips I had lying round in my house, it is very effective. if I was to re-colour this revolver it would be shiny silver and a brown panel where the handle is and not all over.
(Picture above taken 13/04/17)
Whilst a small update, an update non the less. This was the day the dagger was built, officially made from an old toy that had a dagger, I decided to re-purpose the handle and add my own blade, making sure both sides end in an edge. Not a lot to say on this particular update apart from the design works well and the handle fits right in.
(Picture taken above on 14/03/17)
The next update comes from a finished box. I made it look weathered and old on perpouse to give it a rough ascetic. Both light brown with a hint of green and black and on the strips it was dark brown. I think this works very well. It’s the ascetic I was going for and it works very nicely. I even used some of the brown felt tips to given a wooden texture. The only thing I could say about the paint is that it seems to bit a bit more green then I had expected. I think if I were to have mixed more black, or even just used the black to bring out the grooves in the wood could have been a better use.
Picture above taken on 18/04/17
This update was quite a landmark, the sleeves went on. The finishing line was in sight, and I even painted the dagger. This was the stage where I knew it was possible to finish this. At this stage the only thing I really needed to do was to paint the hat, do the expressions for the face and make the spurs. As far as the sleeves go they where quite a tight fit, it’s only now I look at the model and see the wear and tear this puppet has had from posing the arms differently each time, I suppose if I was to change this again i would give more room for the sleeves to fit in and to be sewed on by the jacket. As you can imagine it was quite fiddly and as a result I might have missed a few areas. If I was to do this again I would have sewed the sleeves on the same time I did the jacket which could have saved time and effort.
(Pictures above taken on 20/04/17)
This update, while minor needs to be talked about as whilst its a small element there are a few things I need to discuss. Obviously the holster is finished, I did this by looping a black belt made of card around one of the belt holes, Whilst it seemed like a good idea at the time, its only upon reflection that I look at the black gun holster belt and the cardboard has almost been ripped where It’s been bent from under the jacket and from me and other people handling him. I think if I was to do this again then I would not only put it through the loop of the belt but also glue it down, I feared if I glues it then it wouldn’t have much mover-ability but I would rather this option then for the holster to just collapse. Luckily the holster fits the gun which is a plus, I made it easier for Wild Rex to grab.
(Pictures above taken on 24/04/17)
This was one of the last jigsaw pieces that needed to be solved, The spurs. I had no idea of how to do them until I eventually got some golden sheet of paper, wrapped it into a pancake shape, cut straws and placed them at each angle, glued it all together, painted it gold then attached the spur strap around the boot. A bit of a long and complicated way and there might have been an easier way around this issue but none that was jumping out at me. If there’s one thing I’m disappointed in is that there’s not as many spikes on the spur as I had hoped. Although it soon became a realisation that wasn’t going to be done in the timescale I had and in the scale I had. I’m happy with it however, it gives the illusion of a spur and it’s something someone can look at and no what it is so it’s not a great loss.
(Picture above taken on 24/04/17)
This is the second to last update, The main things we need to cover, the hat, the head with hair and the hands. The hat for starters looks better then I had hoped for, When I said that I think the main bulk of the hat might have been a bit to tall, in some cases I can see it, in others I can’t. I think it’s the really close up shots that make it look to big however the stuff far away look fine. My only gripe is that in my original design I had a red band going round his hat, the only reason I didn’t do this is it detracted from both the hat and the head. It seemed like there was to much going on which is why I didn’t include it. However I am very happy it fits him well. If I where to make the hat again i would design a type of plug at the bottom of the hat which is what I intended to do in the first place. but due to it being hollow I thought the head might be able to hold the hat in place, I was partially right. I think the two pronged plug would have been more secure (Which is why Wild Rex’s head had to lines on his forehead)
As for the head itself, I’m glad it fits and provides enough wait for Wild Rex to stand freely. We still have the eyes and the mouths to cover although the hair is the main addition, it was made from a cut up flannel which was just painted. I saw a lot of people use different materials like cotton wool or just sculpting the hair on, I wanted something that looked like short hair which is why I choose the flannel, apart from being incredibility difficult to paint, and the paint flaking away when cutting the material to reveal whit patches, I’m pleased this worked. I do eventually go over and paint the hair, I’m happy with how I cut it and the hairstyle I gave him which is a short hairstyle I imagine a cowboy might have. One problem is however I was curious to paint brown hair seeing as the colour brown has been used a lot in this characters clothing so I oppted for a mix of grey and brown which gives of this weird colour. I think it could have been better if I just went for black, however the hair isn’t a take away from the puppet. We can still see his hairstyle and his sideburns which is what I wanted.
And finally we have the painted hands, the hands that where foam covered up. When painting this I mixed this perfectly with the head however when applying it to the foam hands it changed into a darker skin colour then I previously hoped. I think this is a result of just the texture of his hand, and infact if I was to do this differently I would have found a way to get a different texture on his hands as he looks like he is covered in spots and bumps.
Pictures above taken on 26/05/17
This is it, Wild Rex is finished, the final details being his eyes, eyebrows and mouth. as well as touching up painting his hair. I’m quite happy with the eys, they are the design I had for them originally but I didn’t know how they would play out in the model but they actually work. The eyes, eyebrows and mouths are fully movable, held together by blue tack underneath it. I knew I wanted the eyes black as a sort of cartooned look where everything else is somewhat realistic. I’m quite happy with the eyes, if anything the eyebrows are a tad bit basic, and maybe his eyes could have used colour but everything else is fine.
And that’s it, Wild Rex evaluated. It was a journey creating him, I learnt some things along the way and generally made something I can be pleased off. I think down to his design tells you the story better then I could ever do, I’m happy with the colours, I’m happy with the design choices. Are there times where I wish I picked a different character? Yeah. I look around the class room and I see child friendly puppets or puppets that could work on channels such as Adult Swim, I will have to be honest, I’m not sure where I could see my character if he had a TV show or movie. It would have to be aimed for Teenagers and up due to the dark story but equally he is a cool cowboy who wanted peace and trys to be good but does it in the wrong way much like most anti heroes. Anti Heroes are on the rise currently in mainstream media. Character like Rick from Rick and Morty, or to look at other example outside of animation, Deadpool from the Marvel universe or Walter White from Breaking Bad, these character make interesting viewing as ultimately they are good but achieve it in a different way as opposed to you or I, Their moral compass is broken and it’s somewhat of a reflection that this is who we could become so as to remind that we shouldn’t take the stuff for granted. This is Wild Rex’s story, someone who had a Wife and kids before taken away and due to the grief he jsut snapped, he is a realisation that he could be us any day from now and that’s why I like this character more then any other I have created.
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