#Madonna Mania
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The Virgin Tour 1985
#Madonna#1985#Virgin Tour#Madonna Mania#Marlene Stewart#Dress You Up#Over and Over#Into The groove#Holiday#Madonna 1985#The Virgin Tour#Queen Of Pop
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Sonic: You're too slow!
@zay-does-things
Funny lil story: I was playing Sonic Mania with my younger sibling, and they were surprised by the whole "animals being used to power the Badniks" thing, since they only ever watched the Sonic Boom cartoon, where they were just robots.
#sth#sonic the hedgehog#sonic#sonic boom#sonic mania#dr. robotnik#dr. eggman#dr ivo robotnik#sonic eggman#madonna sth#sth madonna#mario#smb#super mario brothers#super mario bros#mario bros#mario brothers#mario and luigi
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Coming soon...
Hi everyone! This winter break I'm hoping to get a lot of writing done and wrap up some series!
Special thanks to @hon3yboy or helping me sooooo much with this series!!!!
That being said, once I feel more caught up, do I have a series for you...
Untitled Triple Frontier cult fic
Dark below the cut
Years after the world fell apart, various communities have established themselves, one of which is ran by four men who claim to be divine.
When they decide it's time to and heir to be born, they chose a virgin from their cult and make her their wife. Reader is offered a choice, of course. She doesn't have to marry them. But if she doesn't, the savior won't be born. She choses to become the Madonna. She is wed to all four of them, and moved into their home where her body is open to use whenever her husbands desire (free use au), in the hopes of getting her pregnant. It doesn't matter whose baby it ends up being, because they are all part God, so it doesn't matter... right?
M/M dynamics
Santiago Garcia: The leader, their Pope, son of the founder, mommy issues (duh), obsessive with his men and with his wife, reader. Pope is particularly obsessed with his right hand man, Frankie. Was told his whole life he was a god-like figure, and acts like it. Dangerous.
Francisco Morales: Right hand man. Quiet, not particularly thrilled with the plan but can't speak out. Only participates in group sex or when Santiago involves him. Is in love with Benny, but can't say as much because of how volatile and possessive Pope is.
Benjamin Miller: Charming, charismatic, slut. Benny is part of the reason they have a lack of virgins to choose from, he's fucked most of them. Insatiable in bed, fucking like a dog in heat. Outside of bed, however, he's fun, nice. Except when he's drunk or high. Loves Frankie.
William Miller: Soft. Gentle. Will treats her like a queen, like their Madonna. He loves her. He says so, after all. Will helps keep her safe, help's her navigate Santi's mania and Ben's addiction and Frankie's coldness. He's just there to take care of her. He promises.
Meet the OC's
Reyansh
Rey is one of the home's security, living in the servants quarters. Reyansh works a lot in the stables and the landscaping, a gentle soul the horses love. Rey befriends our Madonna and although she is initially suspicious of him, she learn that he is trustworthy. Reyansh is in love with the housekeeper, Iris, and they hope to have a family together one day. Faceclaim is Dev Patel
Jonah
Jonah is the head of the guard. He still answers to Will for military decisions, but for the most part he leads the men. Jonah is in charge of keeping the house and the Madonna safe, so he assigns Reyansh to look after her, knowing he's harmless, but capable. Jonah is the father of Iris, but their relationship is strained. Jonah becomes a father figure to Madonna, helping her navigate the world she's found herself in. Faceclaim is Timothy Olyphant
Iris
Iris is the housekeeper and cook for the house. Being stuck as a servant and working long hours in a dangerous household where one wrong move can mean your death, Iris has learned to keep her head down in the hopes that if her and Reyansh behave, they may be allowed to have a life together. She is not fond of reader. She does not think she is the Madonna and thinks she's stupid for getting caught up in the men's lies. She worried that her friendship with Rey will cause problems for them, not because she doesn't trust him, but she knows how possessive and controlling all the men are.
Hoping to debut in January, when after I at least wrap up BBTF and at least 1 or 2 stories on my main.
Comment if you are intested!
Warnings not a ful list, but here are themes and content you should be aware of before start
DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT
DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap.
A lot of themes and dynamics accidently ended up as kinda a fanfic of Charnellhouse's Watch Your Step, which is now taken off tumblr and AO3 but she's publishing it as a book now so I'll be promoting that book too.
Comment if you are intested and I'll tag you when the first chapter comes out!
Name still TBA ;-;
#Triple frontier#dark triple frontier#benjamin miller#dark benjamin miller#william miller#dark william miller#santiago garcia#dark santiago garcia#Francisco morales#dark francisco morales#frankie morales#dark frankie morales#non con#dub con#yandere#yander triple frontier#santiago garcia x reader#benjamin miller x reader#frankie morales x reader#william miller x reader#bisexual santiago garcia#bisexual francisco morales#bisexual benjamin miller#bisexual william miller#FishBen
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On Noah haters
This anti-Noah mania is driving me crazy. The small yet insufferably vocal minority of unhinged people on this tag who can’t shut up about why they support racist, misogynist, homophobic, neo-nazi terrorists need to gtfo and go start their own tag.
It’s no coincidence that the nicest, coolest, most tolerant people involved in Stranger Things are the most unashamedly pro-Israel. And why is that? Because Israel’s the most modern, progressive, tolerant country in the Middle East. And that’s why it deserves to win.
The good news is the vast majority of people in the West stand with Israel, and so do all the mainstream parties and politicians. You antisemitic losers are a small, irrelevant fringe. That’s why you spend your time spewing hate on #byler of all places – the rest of us don’t need to shout about why we support Israel because we know we’d be preaching to the converted.
I literally made a Twitter account just so I could start following Noah & liking his posts because of all this.
FYI I'm not even Jewish. As far as I know I don’t have a single Jewish relative. I just happen to have this thing called empathy.
Wrote this while listening to Madonna and Lana del Rey, btw :)
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another rush en screen, followed by flame to parchment—black madonna, behold every trifling tribute, counter caps locked custodial wars for lost kids we were,
my blonde accents dark roots [uproar my angel], ellipse spikes to [torment—rival, parade my pinnacle of truth—
numb], accept/undo iliad of vasileio, hugging greek like[ness], tell me how your wife is
and if i’d ever get dressed up for—you beam red in the cheeks when i’m minus/plus one, entitled girlfriend
lying desireless as rushed around, laughing at zero fudgesicles sweating s[w]ang decibel yet to delightfully compel, feel purple mittens warm up each finger at the salon to reminisce
on inapplicable mania, heathcliff manor, drought senseless to make it flip a balanced fiona,
cognizant hazel wavefoamed to pause, party influx jade’s simplicity robust—impeccably self conscious—wide eyed, lip pursed
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SONG SONG SONG SONG
tell me what you mean by angela is jane ives pleaseee
EHEHHEHEHEHE MY BAYBEE ANGELA IVES
BASICALLY this revolves around
When El was trying to become Jane, she used Angela as her inspiration.
The real Jane Ives (or at least the girl Terry thought was hers who she flashed back to- I believe that this IS Jane bc how else did Terry find her and because El's birth memory does not match Terry's) is blonde and wore normie clothes. While it is possible she was moved to the Gown Facility, likely, in fact, based on a convo in NINA, her hair color would not change all the way to dark brown in the consecutive four years necessary to become Killer Ellie, aka the El we see at the very END of NINA who was the HNL Murderer. Since Jane is not Killer Ellie, she can't be El since El's initial flashback is of Killer Ellie pre-NINA
As a blonde (via flashback), Jane Ives is likely El's "opposite" like when Will's eyes changed to symbolize his new personality, or the Blonde Mother pattern, and any number of inter-timeline hair/eyes clues of that nature. Angela fits the bill as an opposite since she is popular and a bully.
Angela likely developed her bullying patterns because of trauma, and I realized that it lines up with the lab, ie: wanting to be the teacher's favorite, so much so that she is paralleled to 002
As @/henrysglock so kindly pointed out to me, Angela's outfit is the inverse of El's. She wears a ring on the opposite finger, a watch not a hairband, same hairstyle as El but with a high pony, etc.
Angela is weirdly obsessed with Hopper. The writers chose for El's school project to be about Hopper, and for Angela to pick on her for this project not once but twice, AND for Angela to bring up Hopper again at the Rink-O-Mania. She then targets El's lack of this supportive father- and I believe this is because whoever adopted Angela isn't like him, or because they are and she feels insecure in maintaining her situation thereof. Either way, growing up with a Brenner and losing Kali make her fixate on someone like Hopper, who El specifically says protected her, a fact Angela points out at the rink.
Angela and Troy, are like, the only bullies who don't get backstory. HOWEVER, Troy got a scene with his mother in ST1, which is already more exposition than Angela, plus if he's actually on the basketball team, then he might get screentime next szn. If Angela is accrual the outlier here, what was the reason? /rhetorical
The fuckin angst potential. I'm biased as fuck and I admit it. Not only that but the narrative potential. The whole point of timeline theory within a show who's meta is about the cycle of abuse and bigotry? The whole Multi Henry thing is meant to show how variables can affect outcome- ie: some Henrys become Vecna. SOME older brothers become like their fathers and others don't. This carries over to SOME Ellies kill more than others (including our lovely leading lady, whose arc about accepting her supposed monstrosity as a part of a whole is looking suspiciously complete) and SOME Ellies become Angelas.
ANGEL. HER NAME HAS FUCKIN ANGEL IN IT. As we know, as "Angel" is the person whom the memory of brings a Curse victim back to reality via the victim's will to live. Victor's Angels are his family members, and Max's are- get this, Lucas and El and her wider friend group. Not only this, but Max sang Madonna's "Angel" in El's bedroom in ST3. I'm not sure what the implication quite is here, if it's more than "She's an alternate timeline version of a girl who is somebody's angel", but I think it had to mean SOMETHING.
I THINK that's all for right now. I'm still kinda obsessed though
ALSO WELCOME BACCK
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☿ KONTAKT 09.15.23 PLAYLIST
☿ thank you so much for your support — we hope you find some new music you love.
☿ please support artists on bandcamp. never have they had to work as hard as they do in current conditions.
☿ substitutions may be made for unavailable tracks/versions in the streaming playlist.
☿ next KONTAKT on 10/20/23 — we hope to see you there.
---
☿ 10:00PM (NON SERVIAM)
Marie Davidson ft. L'Oeil Nu - Renegade Breakdown
Marie Davidson ft. L'Oeil Nu - Renegade Breakdown (Jessy Lanza Remix) (mixed)
Love and Rockets - So Alive
Dildox - If I Die (Nonfiction Remix)
Micro Chip League (MCL) - New York (Razormaid Mix)
Angela - Painted Love
Multiple Man - Power Fantasy
Black Devil Disco Club - «H» Friend
Identified Patient ft. Sophie du Palais - The Drip
Riki - Come Inside
A Strange Wedding - Gimme Da Space Vox (mixed)
Siouxsie and the Banshees - Peek‐a‐Boo
Saâda Bonaire - You Could Be More As You Are
Pet Shop Boys - Love Comes Quickly (Shep Pettibone Mix)
Equinoxious - Axis
Portion Control - Amnesia
Spike Hellis - Teardrops (Moon 17 Remix)
My Life With the Thrill Kill Kult - The Devil Does Drugs
Patriarchy - The Man For You (Houses of Heaven Remix)
Curses - Puttanesca (Original Mix)
Madonna - Into The Groove (Shep Pettibone 7" Edit) (mixed)
Nuxx Vomica - Easy Go (Semantix Remix)
Nuxx Vomica - Easy Go
Amiture - Slide In (Model/Actriz Mix)
Venice Arms - Dancing Is a Stranger (Original Mix)
Sweet Love Under Tyranny ft. Sugar Rody - Route 87
Grace Jones - Love Is The Drug (Single Remix) (Roxy Music Cover)
Debby Friday - Hot Love (Boy Harsher Remix)
L.O.T.I.O.N. Multinational Corporation ft. Lulu - Cybernetic Super Lover
Kumo 99 - Tiny Twist
Missing Persons - Walking In LA (KMFDM Remix)
Sacred Skin - Circles
---
☿ 11:40PM (NECRO.MANTIS)
I Speak Machine - Bloodletting / The Vampire Song (Concrete Blonde Cover)
The KVB - Kiss Them For Me (Siouxsie Cover)
Pixel Grip - Club Mania
Audiobooks - The Doll
Madeline Goldstein - Death's Door
Visage - Fade To Grey (Lecomte de Brégeot / Violet Chachki Remix)
Foie Gras - Psychic Sobriety
---
☿ 12:00AM (NON SERVIAM)
Pet Shop Boys - A Man Could Get Arrested (7" Version)
Front 242 - Headhunter V 3.0
Technotronic - Pump Up The Jam (mixed)
Black Light Odyssey - Deiche
Digital Orgasm - Moog Eruption
Vodoo Rage - Fun Again
Sally Dige - Doppelgänger
Chernoburkv - Близнецы
---
☿ 12:30AM (INTERMISSION / PERFORMANCE)
Intermission: Leonard Cohen - You Want it Darker (Solomun Remix)
Performance: Crying Contest - You Want it Darker (Leonard Cohen Cover)
---
☿ 12:40AM (NON SERVIAM)
Ortrotasce - Mock Stranger
Silicodisco - No Body (Freudenthal Remix)
Kloq - You Never Know
Earth To Mickey - Brace & Bit
Yello - Vicious Games (12” Mix)
Cerrone - Supernature (Instrumental Climax Edit)
DAF - Der Mussolini (Giorgio Moroder & Denis Naidanow Remix) (antifash)
Locked Club - Edu V Egipet (mixed)
Boy Harsher - Tears
Boy Harsher - Tears (Minimal Violence Remix) (mixed)
Nuxx Vomica - Do It Twice
Xibling - Bulletproof
Marc Almond - Tears Run Rings (The La Magia Dance Mix)
TINI ft. Amiture - What If, Then What?
Talk Talk - Talk Talk (Extended Mix)
SDH (Semiotics Department of Heteronyms) - Talk In Dreams
Special Interest - Street Pulse Beat (Boy Harsher Remix)
Debby Friday - I GOT IT
¿LA PREGUNTA? - Trains
Kumo 99 - Gomi
More Ephemerol - Secrecy
Patriarchy - No Touch Torture (Spike Hellis ‘Fear’ Remix)
Leæther Strip - No Place Like Home
PVA - Sleek Form
Xibling - Warm Leatherette (The Normal Cover)
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☿ 1:45AM (NECRO.MANTIS)
Pixel Grip - ALPHAPUSSY
Sex Kino - Scream In The City
ULTRA SUNN - Broken Monsters
Sydney Valette - Station Stop
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(WRAP-UP)
Local Suicide ft. Curses - Whispering
The Nasty Boys - I Was Made For Lovin' You (Extended Version) (KISS Cover)
Peter Richard - Walking in the Neon (Club Mix)
---
☿ artgoth ☿
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here are my delights from today
-sitting next to ella reading fanfiction while she finishes her serious academic work and then going grocery shopping together in two wonderful variations of "my favorite way to spend time with the people i love" aka doing different things in the same room and running errands
-she bought me good ice cream to say thank you for grocerying and i brought it back to maggie, certified ice cream fiend, and we clicked spoons and cackled probably with an edge of mania considering Yesterday and ate perfectly temperate slightly soupy cookies and cream
-send client estimate late bc of Yesterday but client agreed to the higher price option immediately phew
-plumber came and fixed heat just in time for cold snap tomorrow
-erika fixed my thumb after i ripped half the nail off and footy the cat is doing better and no longer has kitty pneumonia
-got dinner with ben and jessa and catherine before [small town version of The Moth] which was an incredible cross section of small town locals and a beautiful series of stories
-PETTY GROUP CHAT VINDICATION I FEEL GOD IN THIS CHILIS TONIGHT
-buona festa della candelora! blessed be the madonna montevergine, mamma schivona, guide and guardian of the femminelli, of all freaks and queers and trans lovers and magic makers and sapphics; happy imbolc, blessed be brigid in every guise, welcome quickening green, new milk, lengthening light
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Little Women, Louisa May Alcott
Chapter 26-27
XXVI.
ARTISTIC ATTEMPTS.
It takes people a long time to learn the difference between talent and genius, especially ambitious young men and women. Amy was learning this distinction through much tribulation; for, mistaking enthusiasm for inspiration, she attempted every branch of art with youthful audacity. For a long time there was a lull in the "mud-pie" business, and she devoted herself to the finest pen-and-ink drawing, in which she showed such taste and skill that her graceful handiwork proved both pleasant and profitable. But overstrained eyes soon caused pen and ink to be laid aside for a bold attempt at poker-sketching. While this attack lasted, the family lived in constant fear of a conflagration; for the odor of burning wood pervaded the house at 314 all hours; smoke issued from attic and shed with alarming frequency, red-hot pokers lay about promiscuously, and Hannah never went to bed without a pail of water and the dinner-bell at her door, in case of fire. Raphael's face was found boldly executed on the under side of the moulding-board, and Bacchus on the head of a beer-barrel; a chanting cherub adorned the cover of the sugar-bucket, and attempts to portray Romeo and Juliet supplied kindlings for some time.
From fire to oil was a natural transition for burnt fingers, and Amy fell to painting with undiminished ardor. An artist friend fitted her out with his cast-off palettes, brushes, and colors; and she daubed away, producing pastoral and marine views such as were never seen on land or sea. Her monstrosities in the way of cattle would have taken prizes at an agricultural fair; and the perilous pitching of her vessels would have produced sea-sickness in the most nautical observer, if the utter disregard to all known rules of shipbuilding and rigging had not convulsed him with laughter at the first glance. Swarthy boys and dark-eyed Madonnas, staring at you from one corner of the studio, suggested Murillo; oily-brown shadows of faces, with a lurid streak in the wrong place, meant Rembrandt; buxom ladies and dropsical infants, Rubens; and Turner appeared in tempests of blue thunder, orange lightning, brown rain, and purple clouds, with a tomato-colored splash in the middle, which might be the sun or a buoy, a sailor's shirt or a king's robe, as the spectator pleased.
Charcoal portraits came next; and the entire family hung in a row, looking as wild and crocky as if just evoked from a coal-bin. Softened into crayon sketches, they did better; for the likenesses were good, and Amy's hair, Jo's nose, Meg's mouth, and Laurie's eyes were pronounced "wonderfully fine." A return to clay and plaster followed, and ghostly casts of her acquaintances haunted corners of the house, or tumbled off closet-shelves on to people's heads. Children were enticed in as models, till their incoherent accounts of her mysterious doings caused Miss Amy to be regarded in the light of a young ogress. Her efforts in this line, however, were brought to an abrupt close by an untoward accident, which quenched her ardor. Other models failing her for a time, she undertook to cast her own 315 pretty foot, and the family were one day alarmed by an unearthly bumping and screaming, and running to the rescue, found the young enthusiast hopping wildly about the shed, with her foot held fast in a pan-full of plaster, which had hardened with unexpected rapidity. With much difficulty and some danger she was dug out; for Jo was so overcome with laughter while she excavated, that her knife went too far, cut the poor foot, and left a lasting memorial of one artistic attempt, at least.
After this Amy subsided, till a mania for sketching from nature set her to haunting river, field, and wood, for picturesque studies, and sighing for ruins to copy. She caught endless colds sitting on damp grass to book "a delicious bit," composed of a stone, a stump, one mushroom, and a broken mullein-stalk, or "a heavenly mass of clouds," that looked like a choice display of feather-beds when done. She sacrificed her complexion floating on the river in the midsummer sun, to study light and shade, and got a wrinkle over her nose, trying after "points of sight," or whatever the squint-and-string performance is called.
If "genius is eternal patience," as Michael Angelo affirms, Amy certainly had some claim to the divine attribute, for she persevered in spite of all obstacles, failures, and discouragements, firmly believing that in time she should do something worthy to be called "high art."
316 She was learning, doing, and enjoying other things, meanwhile, for she had resolved to be an attractive and accomplished woman, even if she never became a great artist. Here she succeeded better; for she was one of those happily created beings who please without effort, make friends everywhere, and take life so gracefully and easily that less fortunate souls are tempted to believe that such are born under a lucky star. Everybody liked her, for among her good gifts was tact. She had an instinctive sense of what was pleasing and proper, always said the right thing to the right person, did just what suited the time and place, and was so self-possessed that her sisters used to say, "If Amy went to court without any rehearsal beforehand, she'd know exactly what to do."
One of her weaknesses was a desire to move in "our best society," without being quite sure what the best really was. Money, position, fashionable accomplishments, and elegant manners were most desirable things in her eyes, and she liked to associate with those who possessed them, often mistaking the false for the true, and admiring what was not admirable. Never forgetting that by birth she was a gentlewoman, she cultivated her aristocratic tastes and feelings, so that when the opportunity came she might be ready to take the place from which poverty now excluded her.
"My lady," as her friends called her, sincerely desired to be a genuine lady, and was so at heart, but had yet to learn that money cannot buy refinement of nature, that rank does not always confer nobility, and that true breeding makes itself felt in spite of external drawbacks.
"I want to ask a favor of you, mamma," Amy said, coming in, with an important air, one day.
"Well, little girl, what is it?" replied her mother, in whose eyes the stately young lady still remained "the baby."
"Our drawing class breaks up next week, and before the girls separate for the summer, I want to ask them out here for a day. They are wild to see the river, sketch the broken bridge, and copy some of the things they admire in my book. They have been very kind to me in many ways, and I am grateful, for they are all rich, and know I am poor, yet they never made any difference."
"Why should they?" and Mrs. March put the question with what the girls called her "Maria Theresa air."
317 "You know as well as I that it does make a difference with nearly every one, so don't ruffle up, like a dear, motherly hen, when your chickens get pecked by smarter birds; the ugly duckling turned out a swan, you know;" and Amy smiled without bitterness, for she possessed a happy temper and hopeful spirit.
Mrs. March laughed, and smoothed down her maternal pride as she asked,—
"Well, my swan, what is your plan?"
"I should like to ask the girls out to lunch next week, to take them a drive to the places they want to see, a row on the river, perhaps, and make a little artistic fête for them."
"That looks feasible. What do you want for lunch? Cake, sandwiches, fruit, and coffee will be all that is necessary, I suppose?"
"Oh dear, no! we must have cold tongue and chicken, French chocolate and ice-cream, besides. The girls are used to such things, and I want my lunch to be proper and elegant, though I do work for my living."
"How many young ladies are there?" asked her mother, beginning to look sober.
"Twelve or fourteen in the class, but I dare say they won't all come."
"Bless me, child, you will have to charter an omnibus to carry them about."
"Why, mother, how can you think of such a thing? Not more than six or eight will probably come, so I shall hire a beach-wagon, and borrow Mr. Laurence's cherry-bounce." (Hannah's pronunciation of char-à-banc.)
"All this will be expensive, Amy."
"Not very; I've calculated the cost, and I'll pay for it myself."
"Don't you think, dear, that as these girls are used to such things, and the best we can do will be nothing new, that some simpler plan would be pleasanter to them, as a change, if nothing more, and much better for us than buying or borrowing what we don't need, and attempting a style not in keeping with our circumstances?"
"If I can't have it as I like, I don't care to have it at all. I know that I can carry it out perfectly well, if you and the girls will help a 318 little; and I don't see why I can't if I'm willing to pay for it," said Amy, with the decision which opposition was apt to change into obstinacy.
Mrs. March knew that experience was an excellent teacher, and when it was possible she left her children to learn alone the lessons which she would gladly have made easier, if they had not objected to taking advice as much as they did salts and senna.
"Very well, Amy; if your heart is set upon it, and you see your way through without too great an outlay of money, time, and temper, I'll say no more. Talk it over with the girls, and whichever way you decide, I'll do my best to help you."
"Thanks, mother; you are always so kind;" and away went Amy to lay her plan before her sisters.
Meg agreed at once, and promised her aid, gladly offering anything she possessed, from her little house itself to her very best salt-spoons. But Jo frowned upon the whole project, and would have nothing to do with it at first.
"Why in the world should you spend your money, worry your family, and turn the house upside down for a parcel of girls who don't care a sixpence for you? I thought you had too much pride and sense to truckle to any mortal woman just because she wears French boots and rides in a coupé," said Jo, who, being called from the tragical climax of her novel, was not in the best mood for social enterprises.
"I don't truckle, and I hate being patronized as much as you do!" returned Amy indignantly, for the two still jangled when such questions arose. "The girls do care for me, and I for them, and there's a great deal of kindness and sense and talent among them, in spite of what you call fashionable nonsense. You don't care to make people like you, to go into good society, and cultivate your manners and tastes. I do, and I mean to make the most of every chance that comes. You can go through the world with your elbows out and your nose in the air, and call it independence, if you like. That's not my way."
When Amy whetted her tongue and freed her mind she usually got the best of it, for she seldom failed to have common sense on her 319 side, while Jo carried her love of liberty and hate of conventionalities to such an unlimited extent that she naturally found herself worsted in an argument. Amy's definition of Jo's idea of independence was such a good hit that both burst out laughing, and the discussion took a more amiable turn. Much against her will, Jo at length consented to sacrifice a day to Mrs. Grundy, and help her sister through what she regarded as "a nonsensical business."
The invitations were sent, nearly all accepted, and the following Monday was set apart for the grand event. Hannah was out of humor because her week's work was deranged, and prophesied that "ef the washin' and ironin' warn't done reg'lar nothin' would go well anywheres." This hitch in the mainspring of the domestic machinery had a bad effect upon the whole concern; but Amy's motto was "Nil desperandum," and having made up her mind what to do, she proceeded to do it in spite of all obstacles. To begin with, Hannah's cooking didn't turn out well: the chicken was tough, the tongue too salt, and the chocolate wouldn't froth properly. Then the cake and ice cost more than Amy expected, so did the wagon; and various other expenses, which seemed trifling at the outset, counted up rather alarmingly afterward. Beth got cold and took to her bed, Meg had an unusual number of callers to keep her at home, and Jo was in such a divided state of mind that her breakages, accidents, and mistakes were uncommonly numerous, serious, and trying.
"If it hadn't been for mother I never should have got through," as Amy declared afterward, and gratefully remembered when "the best joke of the season" was entirely forgotten by everybody else.
If it was not fair on Monday, the young ladies were to come on Tuesday,—an arrangement which aggravated Jo and Hannah to the last degree. On Monday morning the weather was in that undecided state which is more exasperating than a steady pour. It drizzled a little, shone a little, blew a little, and didn't make up its mind till it was too late for any one else to make up theirs. Amy was up at dawn, hustling people out of their beds and through their breakfasts, that the house might be got in order. The parlor struck her as looking uncommonly shabby; but without stopping to sigh for what she had not, she skilfully made the best of what she had, arranging chairs over the 320 worn places in the carpet, covering stains on the walls with pictures framed in ivy, and filling up empty corners with home-made statuary, which gave an artistic air to the room, as did the lovely vases of flowers Jo scattered about.
The lunch looked charmingly; and as she surveyed it, she sincerely hoped it would taste well, and that the borrowed glass, china, and silver would get safely home again. The carriages were promised, Meg and mother were all ready to do the honors, Beth was able to help Hannah behind the scenes, Jo had engaged to be as lively and amiable as an absent mind, an aching head, and a very decided disapproval of everybody and everything would allow, and, as she wearily dressed, Amy cheered herself with anticipations of the happy moment, when, lunch safely over, she should drive away with her friends for an afternoon of artistic delights; for the "cherry-bounce" and the broken bridge were her strong points.
Then came two hours of suspense, during which she vibrated from parlor to porch, while public opinion varied like the weathercock. A smart shower at eleven had evidently quenched the enthusiasm of the young ladies who were to arrive at twelve, for nobody came; and at two the exhausted family sat down in a blaze of sunshine to consume the perishable portions of the feast, that nothing might be lost.
"No doubt about the weather to-day; they will certainly come, so we must fly round and be ready for them," said Amy, as the sun woke her next morning. She spoke briskly, but in her secret soul she wished she had said nothing about Tuesday, for her interest, like her cake, was getting a little stale.
"I can't get any lobsters, so you will have to do without salad to-day," said Mr. March, coming in half an hour later, with an expression of placid despair.
"Use the chicken, then; the toughness won't matter in a salad," advised his wife.
"Hannah left it on the kitchen-table a minute, and the kittens got at it. I'm very sorry, Amy," added Beth, who was still a patroness of cats.
"Then I must have a lobster, for tongue alone won't do," said Amy decidedly.
321 "Shall I rush into town and demand one?" asked Jo, with the magnanimity of a martyr.
"You'd come bringing it home under your arm, without any paper, just to try me. I'll go myself," answered Amy, whose temper was beginning to fail.
Shrouded in a thick veil and armed with a genteel travelling-basket, she departed, feeling that a cool drive would soothe her ruffled spirit, and fit her for the labors of the day. After some delay, the object of her desire was procured, likewise a bottle of dressing, to prevent further loss of time at home, and off she drove again, well pleased with her own forethought.
As the omnibus contained only one other passenger, a sleepy old lady, Amy pocketed her veil, and beguiled the tedium of the way by trying to find out where all her money had gone to. So busy was she with her card full of refractory figures that she did not observe a new-comer, who entered without stopping the vehicle, till a masculine voice said, "Good-morning, Miss March," and, looking up, she beheld one of Laurie's most elegant college friends. Fervently hoping that he would get out before she did, Amy utterly ignored the basket at her feet, and, congratulating herself that she had on her new travelling dress, returned the young man's greeting with her usual suavity and spirit.
They got on excellently; for Amy's chief care was soon set at rest by learning that the gentleman would leave first, and she was chatting away in a peculiarly lofty strain, when the old lady got out. In stumbling to the door, she upset the basket, and—oh, horror!—the lobster, in all its vulgar size and brilliancy, was revealed to the highborn eyes of a Tudor.
"By Jove, she's forgotten her dinner!" cried the unconscious youth, poking the scarlet monster into its place with his cane, and preparing to hand out the basket after the old lady.
"Please don't—it's—it's mine," murmured Amy, with a face nearly as red as her fish.
"Oh, really, I beg pardon; it's an uncommonly fine one, isn't it?" said Tudor, with great presence of mind, and an air of sober interest that did credit to his breeding.
322 Amy recovered herself in a breath, set her basket boldly on the seat, and said, laughing,—
"Don't you wish you were to have some of the salad he's to make, and to see the charming young ladies who are to eat it?"
Now that was tact, for two of the ruling foibles of the masculine mind were touched: the lobster was instantly surrounded by a halo of pleasing reminiscences, and curiosity about "the charming young ladies" diverted his mind from the comical mishap.
"I suppose he'll laugh and joke over it with Laurie, but I sha'n't see them; that's a comfort," thought Amy, as Tudor bowed and departed.
She did not mention this meeting at home (though she discovered that, thanks to the upset, her new dress was much damaged by the rivulets of dressing that meandered down the skirt), but went through with the preparations which now seemed more irksome than before; and at twelve o'clock all was ready again. Feeling that the neighbors were interested in her movements, she wished to efface the memory 323 of yesterday's failure by a grand success to-day; so she ordered the "cherry-bounce," and drove away in state to meet and escort her guests to the banquet.
"There's the rumble, they're coming! I'll go into the porch to meet them; it looks hospitable, and I want the poor child to have a good time after all her trouble," said Mrs. March, suiting the action to the word. But after one glance, she retired, with an indescribable expression, for, looking quite lost in the big carriage, sat Amy and one young lady.
"Run, Beth, and help Hannah clear half the things off the table; it will be too absurd to put a luncheon for twelve before a single girl," cried Jo, hurrying away to the lower regions, too excited to stop even for a laugh.
In came Amy, quite calm, and delightfully cordial to the one guest who had kept her promise; the rest of the family, being of a dramatic turn, played their parts equally well, and Miss Eliott found them a most hilarious set; for it was impossible to entirely control the merriment which possessed them. The remodelled lunch being gayly partaken of, the studio and garden visited, and art discussed with enthusiasm, Amy ordered a buggy (alas for the elegant cherry-bounce!) and drove her friend quietly about the neighborhood till sunset, when "the party went out."
As she came walking in, looking very tired, but as composed as ever, she observed that every vestige of the unfortunate fête had disappeared, except a suspicious pucker about the corners of Jo's mouth.
"You've had a lovely afternoon for your drive, dear," said her mother, as respectfully as if the whole twelve had come.
"Miss Eliott is a very sweet girl, and seemed to enjoy herself, I thought," observed Beth, with unusual warmth.
"Could you spare me some of your cake? I really need some, I have so much company, and I can't make such delicious stuff as yours," asked Meg soberly.
"Take it all; I'm the only one here who likes sweet things, and it will mould before I can dispose of it," answered Amy, thinking with a sigh of the generous store she had laid in for such an end as this.
324 "It's a pity Laurie isn't here to help us," began Jo, as they sat down to ice-cream and salad for the second time in two days.
A warning look from her mother checked any further remarks, and the whole family ate in heroic silence, till Mr. March mildly observed, "Salad was one of the favorite dishes of the ancients, and Evelyn"—here a general explosion of laughter cut short the "history of sallets," to the great surprise of the learned gentleman.
"Bundle everything into a basket and send it to the Hummels: Germans like messes. I'm sick of the sight of this; and there's no reason you should all die of a surfeit because I've been a fool," cried Amy, wiping her eyes.
"I thought I should have died when I saw you two girls rattling about in the what-you-call-it, like two little kernels in a very big nutshell, and mother waiting in state to receive the throng," sighed Jo, quite spent with laughter.
"I'm very sorry you were disappointed, dear, but we all did our best to satisfy you," said Mrs. March, in a tone full of motherly regret.
"I am satisfied; I've done what I undertook, and it's not my fault that it failed; I comfort myself with that," said Amy, with a little quiver in her voice. "I thank you all very much for helping me, and I'll thank you still more if you won't allude to it for a month, at least."
No one did for several months; but the word "fête" always produced a general smile, and Laurie's birthday gift to Amy was a tiny coral lobster in the shape of a charm for her watch-guard.
XXVII. Literary Lessons.
325
XXVII.
LITERARY LESSONS.
Fortune suddenly smiled upon Jo, and dropped a good-luck penny in her path. Not a golden penny, exactly, but I doubt if half a million would have given more real happiness than did the little sum that came to her in this wise.
Every few weeks she would shut herself up in her room, put on her scribbling suit, and "fall into a vortex," as she expressed it, writing away at her novel with all her heart and soul, for till that was finished she could find no peace. Her "scribbling suit" consisted of a black woollen pinafore on which she could wipe her pen at will, and a cap 326 of the same material, adorned with a cheerful red bow, into which she bundled her hair when the decks were cleared for action. This cap was a beacon to the inquiring eyes of her family, who during these periods kept their distance, merely popping in their heads semi-occasionally, to ask, with interest, "Does genius burn, Jo?" They did not always venture even to ask this question, but took an observation of the cap, and judged accordingly. If this expressive article of dress was drawn low upon the forehead, it was a sign that hard work was going on; in exciting moments it was pushed rakishly askew; and when despair seized the author it was plucked wholly off, and cast upon the floor. At such times the intruder silently withdrew; and not until the red bow was seen gayly erect upon the gifted brow, did any one dare address Jo.
She did not think herself a genius by any means; but when the writing fit came on, she gave herself up to it with entire abandon, and led a blissful life, unconscious of want, care, or bad weather, while she sat safe and happy in an imaginary world, full of friends almost as real and dear to her as any in the flesh. Sleep forsook her eyes, meals stood untasted, day and night were all too short to enjoy the happiness which blessed her only at such times, and made these hours worth living, even if they bore no other fruit. The divine afflatus usually lasted a week or two, and then she emerged from her "vortex," hungry, sleepy, cross, or despondent.
She was just recovering from one of these attacks when she was prevailed upon to escort Miss Crocker to a lecture, and in return for her virtue was rewarded with a new idea. It was a People's Course, the lecture on the Pyramids, and Jo rather wondered at the choice of such a subject for such an audience, but took it for granted that some great social evil would be remedied or some great want supplied by unfolding the glories of the Pharaohs to an audience whose thoughts were busy with the price of coal and flour, and whose lives were spent in trying to solve harder riddles than that of the Sphinx.
They were early; and while Miss Crocker set the heel of her stocking, Jo amused herself by examining the faces of the people who occupied the seat with them. On her left were two matrons, with massive foreheads, and bonnets to match, discussing Woman's Rights 327 and making tatting. Beyond sat a pair of humble lovers, artlessly holding each other by the hand, a sombre spinster eating peppermints out of a paper bag, and an old gentleman taking his preparatory nap behind a yellow bandanna. On her right, her only neighbor was a studious-looking lad absorbed in a newspaper.
It was a pictorial sheet, and Jo examined the work of art nearest her, idly wondering what unfortuitous concatenation of circumstances needed the melodramatic illustration of an Indian in full war costume, tumbling over a precipice with a wolf at his throat, while two infuriated young gentlemen, with unnaturally small feet and big eyes, were stabbing each other close by, and a dishevelled female was flying away in the background with her mouth wide open. Pausing to turn a page, the lad saw her looking, and, with boyish good-nature, offered half his paper, saying bluntly, "Want to read it? That's a first-rate story."
Jo accepted it with a smile, for she had never outgrown her liking for lads, and soon found herself involved in the usual labyrinth of love, mystery, and murder, for the story belonged to that class of light literature in which the passions have a holiday, and when the author's invention fails, a grand catastrophe clears the stage of one half the dramatis personæ, leaving the other half to exult over their downfall.
"Prime, isn't it?" asked the boy, as her eye went down the last paragraph of her portion.
"I think you and I could do as well as that if we tried," returned Jo, amused at his admiration of the trash.
"I should think I was a pretty lucky chap if I could. She makes a good living out of such stories, they say;" and he pointed to the name of Mrs. S. L. A. N. G. Northbury, under the title of the tale.
"Do you know her?" asked Jo, with sudden interest.
"No; but I read all her pieces, and I know a fellow who works in the office where this paper is printed."
"Do you say she makes a good living out of stories like this?" and Jo looked more respectfully at the agitated group and thickly-sprinkled exclamation-points that adorned the page.
"Guess she does! She knows just what folks like, and gets paid well for writing it."
328 Here the lecture began, but Jo heard very little of it, for while Prof. Sands was prosing away about Belzoni, Cheops, scarabei, and hieroglyphics, she was covertly taking down the address of the paper, and boldly resolving to try for the hundred-dollar prize offered in its columns for a sensational story. By the time the lecture ended and the audience awoke, she had built up a splendid fortune for herself (not the first founded upon paper), and was already deep in the concoction of her story, being unable to decide whether the duel should come before the elopement or after the murder.
She said nothing of her plan at home, but fell to work next day, much to the disquiet of her mother, who always looked a little anxious when "genius took to burning." Jo had never tried this style before, contenting herself with very mild romances for the "Spread Eagle." Her theatrical experience and miscellaneous reading were of service now, for they gave her some idea of dramatic effect, and supplied plot, language, and costumes. Her story was as full of desperation and despair as her limited acquaintance with those uncomfortable emotions enabled her to make it, and, having located it in Lisbon, she wound up with an earthquake, as a striking and appropriate dénouement. The manuscript was privately despatched, accompanied by a note, modestly saying that if the tale didn't get the prize, which the writer hardly dared expect, she would be very glad to receive any sum it might be considered worth.
Six weeks is a long time to wait, and a still longer time for a girl to keep a secret; but Jo did both, and was just beginning to give up all hope of ever seeing her manuscript again, when a letter arrived which almost took her breath away; for on opening it, a check for a hundred dollars fell into her lap. For a minute she stared at it as if it had been a snake, then she read her letter and began to cry. If the amiable gentleman who wrote that kindly note could have known what intense happiness he was giving a fellow-creature, I think he would devote his leisure hours, if he has any, to that amusement; for Jo valued the letter more than the money, because it was encouraging; and after years of effort it was so pleasant to find that she had learned to do something, though it was only to write a sensation story.
A prouder young woman was seldom seen than she, when, having 329 composed herself, she electrified the family by appearing before them with the letter in one hand, the check in the other, announcing that she had won the prize. Of course there was a great jubilee, and when the story came every one read and praised it; though after her father had told her that the language was good, the romance fresh and hearty, and the tragedy quite thrilling, he shook his head, and said in his unworldly way,—
"You can do better than this, Jo. Aim at the highest, and never mind the money."
"I think the money is the best part of it. What will you do with such a fortune?" asked Amy, regarding the magic slip of paper with a reverential eye.
"Send Beth and mother to the seaside for a month or two," answered Jo promptly.
"Oh, how splendid! No, I can't do it, dear, it would be so selfish," cried Beth, who had clapped her thin hands, and taken a long breath, as if pining for fresh ocean-breezes; then stopped herself, and motioned away the check which her sister waved before her.
"Ah, but you shall go, I've set my heart on it; that's what I tried for, and that's why I succeeded. I never get on when I think of myself alone, so it will help me to work for you, don't you see? Besides, Marmee needs the change, and she won't leave you, so you must go. Won't it be fun to see you come home plump and rosy again? Hurrah for Dr. Jo, who always cures her patients!"
To the sea side they went, after much discussion; and though Beth didn't come home as plump and rosy as could be desired, she was 330 much better, while Mrs. March declared she felt ten years younger; so Jo was satisfied with the investment of her prize money, and fell to work with a cheery spirit, bent on earning more of those delightful checks. She did earn several that year, and began to feel herself a power in the house; for by the magic of a pen, her "rubbish" turned into comforts for them all. "The Duke's Daughter" paid the butcher's bill, "A Phantom Hand" put down a new carpet, and the "Curse of the Coventrys" proved the blessing of the Marches in the way of groceries and gowns.
Wealth is certainly a most desirable thing, but poverty has its sunny side, and one of the sweet uses of adversity is the genuine satisfaction which comes from hearty work of head or hand; and to the inspiration of necessity, we owe half the wise, beautiful, and useful blessings of the world. Jo enjoyed a taste of this satisfaction, and ceased to envy richer girls, taking great comfort in the knowledge that she could supply her own wants, and need ask no one for a penny.
Little notice was taken of her stories, but they found a market; and, encouraged by this fact, she resolved to make a bold stroke for fame and fortune. Having copied her novel for the fourth time, read it to all her confidential friends, and submitted it with fear and trembling to three publishers, she at last disposed of it, on condition that she would cut it down one third, and omit all the parts which she particularly admired.
"Now I must either bundle it back into my tin-kitchen to mould, pay for printing it myself, or chop it up to suit purchasers, and get what I can for it. Fame is a very good thing to have in the house, but cash is more convenient; so I wish to take the sense of the meeting on this important subject," said Jo, calling a family council.
"Don't spoil your book, my girl, for there is more in it than you know, and the idea is well worked out. Let it wait and ripen," was her father's advice; and he practised as he preached, having waited patiently thirty years for fruit of his own to ripen, and being in no haste to gather it, even now, when it was sweet and mellow.
"It seems to me that Jo will profit more by making the trial than by waiting," said Mrs. March. "Criticism is the best test of such work, for it will show her both unsuspected merits and faults, and help her to do better next time. We are too partial; but the praise and 331 blame of outsiders will prove useful, even if she gets but little money."
"Yes," said Jo, knitting her brows, "that's just it; I've been fussing over the thing so long, I really don't know whether it's good, bad, or indifferent. It will be a great help to have cool, impartial persons take a look at it, and tell me what they think of it."
"I wouldn't leave out a word of it; you'll spoil it if you do, for the interest of the story is more in the minds than in the actions of the people, and it will be all a muddle if you don't explain as you go on," said Meg, who firmly believed that this book was the most remarkable novel ever written.
"But Mr. Allen says, 'Leave out the explanations, make it brief and dramatic, and let the characters tell the story,'" interrupted Jo, turning to the publisher's note.
"Do as he tells you; he knows what will sell, and we don't. Make a good, popular book, and get as much money as you can. By and by, when, you've got a name, you can afford to digress, and have philosophical and metaphysical people in your novels," said Amy, who took a strictly practical view of the subject.
"Well," said Jo, laughing, "if my people are 'philosophical and metaphysical,' it isn't my fault, for I know nothing about such things, except what I hear father say, sometimes. If I've got some of his wise ideas jumbled up with my romance, so much the better for me. Now, Beth, what do you say?"
"I should so like to see it printed soon," was all Beth said, and smiled in saying it; but there was an unconscious emphasis on the last word, and a wistful look in the eyes that never lost their childlike candor, which chilled Jo's heart, for a minute, with a foreboding fear, and decided her to make her little venture "soon."
So, with Spartan firmness, the young authoress laid her first-born on her table, and chopped it up as ruthlessly as any ogre. In the hope of pleasing every one, she took every one's advice; and, like the old man and his donkey in the fable, suited nobody.
Her father liked the metaphysical streak which had unconsciously got into it; so that was allowed to remain, though she had her doubts about it. Her mother thought that there was a trifle too much 332 description; out, therefore, it nearly all came, and with it many necessary links in the story. Meg admired the tragedy; so Jo piled up the agony to suit her, while Amy objected to the fun, and, with the best intentions in life, Jo quenched the sprightly scenes which relieved the sombre character of the story. Then, to complete the ruin, she cut it down one third, and confidingly sent the poor little romance, like a picked robin, out into the big, busy world, to try its fate.
Well, it was printed, and she got three hundred dollars for it; likewise plenty of praise and blame, both so much greater than she expected that she was thrown into a state of bewilderment, from which it took her some time to recover.
"You said, mother, that criticism would help me; but how can it, when it's so contradictory that I don't know whether I've written a promising book or broken all the ten commandments?" cried poor Jo, turning over a heap of notices, the perusal of which filled her with pride and joy one minute, wrath and dire dismay the next. "This man says 'An exquisite book, full of truth, beauty, and earnestness; all is sweet, pure, and healthy,'" continued the perplexed authoress. "The next, 'The theory of the book is bad, full of morbid fancies, spiritualistic ideas, and unnatural characters.' Now, as I had no theory of any kind, don't believe in Spiritualism, and copied my characters from life, I don't see how this critic can be right. Another says, 'It's one of the best American novels which has appeared for years' (I know better than that); and the next asserts that 'though it is original, and written with great force and feeling, it is a dangerous book.' 'Tisn't! Some make fun of it, some over-praise, and nearly all insist that I had a deep theory to expound, when I only wrote it for the pleasure and the money. I wish I'd printed it whole or not at all, for I do hate to be so misjudged."
Her family and friends administered comfort and commendation liberally; yet it was a hard time for sensitive, high-spirited Jo, who meant so well, and had apparently done so ill. But it did her good, for those whose opinion had real value gave her the criticism which is an author's best education; and when the first soreness was over, she could laugh at her poor little book, yet believe in it still, and feel herself the wiser and stronger for the buffeting she had received.
333 "Not being a genius, like Keats, it won't kill me," she said stoutly; "and I've got the joke on my side, after all; for the parts that were taken straight out of real life are denounced as impossible and absurd, and the scenes that I made up out of my own silly head are pronounced 'charmingly natural, tender, and true.' So I'll comfort myself with that; and when I'm ready, I'll up again and take another."
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Japan 1985
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Ma Bebe - Stefania, Faydee
MANIA (Where Them Girls At) - Emily Mei
Me And My Guitar - Jax Jones, Fireboy DML
Melody - Sigala
Memories - Dean Lewis
Midnight Sky - Miley Cyrus
Miracle - QRRA
MONTERO (Call Me By Your Name) - Lil Nas X
Mood - 24kGoldn
Moth To A Flame - Swedish House Mafia, The Weeknd
Mother - Meghan Trainor
Mr Haze - Texas
Mwaki - Zerb feat. Sofiya Nzau
My Head & My Heart - Ava Max
My Heart Goes (La Di Da) - Becky Hill, Topic
My Love Mine All Mine - Mitski
My Oh My - Kylie Minogue, Bebe Rexha, Tove Lo
My Universe - Coldplay, BTS
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Natalie Don't - RAYE
Need To Know - Alle Farben, Flynn
Never Ending Song - Conan Grey
Never Going Home - Kungs
New Woman - LISA feat. ROSALÍA
Night Heights - Jain
Nirvana - Phil The Beat
No Angles - Justin Timberlake
No One Dies From Love - Tove Lo
No Shade At Pitti - The Chainsmokers
No Shame - 5 Seconds Of Summer
Nonsense - Sabrina Carpenter
Nothing Is Perfect - Metric
Nothing Matters - The Last Dinner Party
Now And Then - The Beatles
Numb - Marshmello, Khalid
Nxde - (G)I-DLE
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Obsessed With Your Ex - Eyelar
Ok - Jeremy Zucker
On My Love - Zara Larsson, David Guetta
One In A Million - Bebe Rexha, David Guetta
One Of Them Girls - Lee Brice
One Magarita - Luke Bryan
One More Time - blink-182
One Of Your Girls - Troye Sivan
One On One - The Knocks & SOFI TUKKER
One Too Many - Keith Urban, P!nk
Our Song - Anne-Marie, Niall Horan
OUT OUT - Joel Corry, Jax Jones feat. Charli XCX & Saweetie
Overdrive - Ofenbach feat. Norma Jean Martine
Oxygen - Winona Oak, Robin Schulz
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Padam Padam - Kylie Minogue
Paladin Strait - Twenty One Pilots
Paradise - MEDUZA feat. Dermot Kennedy
Payback - Aaron Frazer
Perfume - Moon
Perfume - Pale Waves
Physical - Dua Lipa
Picture - HYO
Pink Venom - BLACKPINK
Pointless - Lewis Capaldi
Popular - The Weeknd, Madonna, Playboi Carti
Post Humorous - Gus Dapperton
Pour Me A Drink - Post Malone feat. Blake Shelton
Pretty Girls - Reneé Rapp
Purple Sun - Cannons
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Rasputin - Majestic, Boney M.
RAW - Victoria Justice
REACT - Switch Disco feat. Ella Henderson, Robert Miles
Reckless - Madison Beer
Remember - Becky Hill, David Guetta
Risk - Gracie Abrams
River - Tom Gregory
Rockstar - LISA
Rumba (Puro Oro Anthem) - Maluma feat. The Sun
Run Your Mouth - The Marías
Runaway - OneRepublic
Rush - Ayra Starr
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Some NFTs sold for millions — What are they worth today?
Non-fungible tokens (NFTs) aren’t what they used to be. At the peak of the NFT hype cycle, it appeared the whole world might be captured by digital artwork mania. NFT collections such as CryptoPunks and Bored Apes captured the cultural zeitgeist, gaining traction through 2021 into 2022. Celebrities including Justin Bieber, LeBron James, Tony Hawk and Madonna acquired artworks, generating a…
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It was not
It was actually really popularized outside of New York by Lady Gaga
In the latest wave of musician mania
A native New Yorker
Absolutely came for Madonna’s head knew exactly what she was doing
Has never abandon the gays
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Madonna ha sbagliato a mettersi con la cabala. Adesso è piena di botulino persino nelle orecchie nella speranza di ringiovanimento. Chi entra li si prende la mania
#literature#love#art#spiritual development#nature#books & libraries#light academia#feelings#yoga#reading
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Imagina não ter nascido no início dos anos 2000, a gente foi a ponte entre a era pré e pós internet, pegamos um dos auges da Xuxa, a estética Y2K, Orkut, viral de single ladies, a época com os hits mais chicletes e gostosos, pegamos auge da Madonna, nascimento da Gaga, novelas...Sério, a gente teve uma infância com pouca tecnologia, mas depois no fim da infância a tecnologia já chegou e a gente acompanhou toda a evolução de TUDO, tivemos tudo no tempo certo.Eu fui criança nessa época e pensando bem acho até melhor, mas ser adolescente devia ser outro nível né naquela época parecia tudo tão mais legal imagina fazer um fotolog, ser emo e usar Orkut de verdade (eu só usava pra jogar colheita feliz e café mania kkkkk, corrente ou namoradinhos virtuais)
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the current soundtrack to my upcoming spring mania breakdown is get into the groove by madonna. plays in my brain like elevator music
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