#blue stage curtains for sale

[munson-blurbs]

@corrodedcoffinfest Day 15: Let's Talk About That

Word Count: 877/Rating: T/Pairing: None/CW: mention of vomiting and getting sick (not described), stage fright, takes place in 2024, older Corroded Coffin, loosely based on Joseph Quinn's Tonight Show experience/Tags: Eddie Munson, Jeff, Grant, Gareth, talk show, flashbacks

Divider credit to @silkholland

“Our next guests need no introduction,” Jimmy Fallon says from where he sits at his desk. “They’ve been rocking the heavy metal scene since the ‘80s, and their newest album comes out this Friday. Please welcome—Corroded Coffin!”

Eddie, Grant, Jeff, and Gareth make their way from behind the blue curtain, giving the cheering audience a polite wave. Nerves flutter in Eddie’s stomach as he takes a seat on the spot closest to the host. Talk shows have never been his strong suit; he’s not exactly known for his smooth lines. He much prefers songwriting, where he can edit and erase until each lyric is perfected. 

“Great to see you guys,” Jimmy says. “This is a busy time for you, isn’t it?”

Eddie nods, scratching at the gray stubble on his jaw. “Yeah, so, our tenth album drops on Friday, and tickets for our tour go on sale next week.”

The crowd cheers again, only quieting down as Jimmy asks the guys more questions about their upcoming shows and the creative process behind this album. 

“We’re a lot older than we were when we started out,” Grant jokes, “so there’s more stretching involved.”

“Yeah, now we warm up our vocal cords and our quads,” Jeff chimes in. 

Their banter earns a laugh from the audience, as well as one of Jimmy’s signature over-the-top cackles. 

Okay, Eddie thinks. This is good. This is fine. We’re getting through this. 

“Speaking of your younger years,” Jimmy says, “my producers found a clip from your first-ever Tonight Show appearance, way back in 1989.”

Oh, no. No. 

The host looks directly at Eddie as he grins and says, “let’s have a look.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and hopes it’s all a bad dream. To his dismay, the clip is rolling when he dares to open his eyes again. 

A screen displays the guys sitting there, 35 years younger than they are now, and listening intently as Johnny Carson asks them questions. Well, three of them were listening—Eddie was as white as a sheet, sweating bullets and trying not to hurl. 

“Now, Eddie, I understand that you wrote most of the songs on this record.” Johnny leans in, forearm on his desk. “Was there something—or someone—who inspired you?”

“Well, um, th-there’s my uncle. He’s, y’know, always s-supported me.” Eddie plays with the frayed tear in his jeans. Sweat drips down his temples and pools at his collarbones. “And then some of the, um, angrier stuff is about, um, m-my dad, and, like, assholes at school—shit, can I say ‘assholes’? Oh, fuck; I probably can’t say ‘shit,’ either.”

Jimmy cuts the clip and turns back to where Jeff, Gareth, and Grant are poorly stifling their laughter. Meanwhile, Eddie is hoping the ground will open up and swallow him whole. 

“Let’s talk about that.” Jimmy grins. “You seemed a little nervous there.”

Eddie nods, willing the redness away from his cheeks. “Yeah, it was our first talk show, so…”

Gareth shakes his head. “Nah, that’s not what happened.” Ignoring Eddie’s scowl, he plunges ahead. “This idiot was complaining about a stomach ache all day and didn’t eat. We go out to dinner before the show and we finally convince him to eat something. Tell them what you chose, Ed.”

“I, um, decided to eat oysters,” Eddie mumbles, silently vowing to kill his drummer. 

Jimmy raises his eyebrows. “Why oysters?”

“That’s what we said!” Jeff speaks up. “He’d never had them before, and he chose that moment to down, like, a pound of them.”

“He can’t even look at an oyster now without getting nauseous,” Grant adds. 

Jimmy brings the focus back to a now-humiliated Eddie. “So what happened after the show?”

“Nothing.” Eddie shrugs. “Went back to the hotel room and relaxed.”

“Oh, nuh-uh.” Gareth cuts in, wearing a shit-eating grin. “Tell him what happened before that.”

Eddie has to stop himself from lunging across the couch and strangling Gareth right there. He wants to play it off as nothing, but the audience is already too invested. 

Better to hear it from me, he thinks. 

“Well, on the way back to the hotel, I bumped into a fan. Gorgeous young woman with a huge…heart.” He clears his throat. “Anyway, she asks for an autograph and invites me out for a drink. And I’m not gonna say no to that.”

Eddie rakes his fingers through his hair and continues. “So we go to this fancy bar, we’re sipping our drinks, and I’m about to close this deal. And then—”

“And then a waiter walks by with a tray of oysters, and Eddie just books it outta there!” Gareth nearly falls out of his seat trying to finish the story. “Like, Olympic sprinting.”

“I didn’t know he could run that fast,” Jeff muses. 

Jimmy shakes his head. “You guys better hope that he doesn’t tell any of your embarrassing moments.”

Eddie perks up at this. “Actually, Jimmy, that’s not a bad idea.” He glances over at Gareth, the one who started this crusade to embarrass Eddie on national television. “Have you heard about Gareth’s Explosive Diarrhea Fiasco of 1996?”

“Eddie, you wouldn’t dare—”

“It all started when someone thought it was a good idea to participate in a chili-eating contest before we played the Indiana State Fair…”

--

[queenoftheworldisdead]

Legitimate

Chapter 3

A/N: Reader is female. No physical descriptors used. Let me know if i fucked up and not do that. Chat me up i don't bite! Thank you

Summary: Tommy’s thirst for power leads him overseas to the States, where he's after more than just business. What starts as a strategic move soon becomes something far more complex.

Warning: Adult content only! 18+ only please. Dark! There is potentially triggering stories ahead. Dark Slow Burn

Dark Tommy Shelby x Reader

🚬

You straighten your portfolio folders for the tenth time, aligning them beside the charcuterie board—a meticulous arrangement of fine cheeses, smoked meats, and glistening slices of ripe fruit, each piece placed with almost obsessive care. The faint aroma of freshly baked cookies drifts from the kitchen, weaving through the clean, crisp scent of furniture polish. Golden light filters through sheer curtains, softening the sharp edges of the room and glinting off the polished glass coffee table.

You pause for a moment, glancing over the living area and wonder if anyone ever truly notices these small touches—the invisible effort that turns a house into a dream.

A faint knock pulls your attention to the entryway, the sound reverberating through the stillness. You glance at your watch—it’s early for the showing, but perhaps that’s a good sign. Eagerness often signals serious intent to buy, or so you hope.

You had tried to dissuade the sellers from an open house. In your experience, they rarely resulted in a sale—but they insisted, and you complied.

Crossing the room, you weave through the staged perfection, smoothing your expression into a practiced smile. As you reach the door and pull it open a faint familiar scent of cigarettes drifts toward you, catching your nose just before the figure steps into view.

“Good afternoon,” Tommy begins smoothly, his accent peeking out just slightly. You feel your smile waver, but you hold it steady, refusing to let it falter.

Since the unexpected gift appeared at your door, you hadn’t stopped working with him. He never mentioned it, and you made sure not to either. No thanks, no questions about how he found your address or why he sent it. You simply pretended it never happened, reminding yourself this was strictly business—nothing more.

“Hello, Tommy,” you greet him, your voice a touch stiffer than intended. The question nags at the edge of your thoughts—how did he know about the open house? But, like the wine and flowers, you push it aside. Better to let it go. “I didn’t expect to see you today. I thought you passed on this listing when I showed it to you a few days ago.”

His gaze shifts past you, sharp and detached, the faint tang of cigarettes trailing him like a signature. It clings to the air, a phantom of habits you’d come to associate with him. He always had one—always—perched between his fingers or tucked at the corner of his mouth. You’d lost count of how many times you’d told him to put it out, your voice firm, surprisingly he always complied. But now, with his hands empty and his mouth free, he looked odd.

"I think I might have spoken in haste," he says casually, brushing past you with a renewed focus on the staircase. "I wasn’t sold on it before, but I’ve had a few days to sleep on it."

He pauses, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Besides, I can’t afford to waste time. I need to lock something down—sooner rather than later.”

You nod silently, hesitating for a moment, debating whether to follow him. But you stay put, watching as he ascends the stairs with an unhurried pace. At the top, he stops and glances back, those icy blue eyes sweeping over you and the room below, like a king surveying his kingdom.

🚬

The large home is a buzzes of life as more prospective buyers arrive. Smiling, you greet each one with polished charm, answering the same questions over and over with practiced enthusiasm.

They’re all the same—polite, curious, but ultimately deterred by the one thing you can’t control, the price. The house is beautiful, the location ideal, yet the price remains the death knell, reverberating through every conversation.

“Um, are the previous owners smokers?” a blonde woman asks, cutting through your rehearsed routine. Her question catches you off guard, and you blink.

“Oh, no,” you reply, a nervous chuckle slipping out as you steady your smile. “Why do you ask?”

“I smelled smoke when I went to check out the upstairs,” she whispers, leaning in far too close. Her hairspray mingles with scent of her perfume.

Your eyes instinctively scan the crowd, searching for Tommy. Of course, it had to be him.

“That’s odd,” you say, keeping your tone light. “Maybe someone stepped outside for a cigarette earlier, and the scent drifted back in.”

“I don’t think so. It was so strong I had to get away from it. I can’t even smell it down here,” she insists.

“Well, that’s not good,” you concede with a polite smile. “I’ll go check it out.”

You don’t wait for her response. Weaving through the crowd in the hallway, you ascend the stairs with measured steps. Your grip tightens on the railing as you inhale deeply, searching for the faint trace of smoke still lingering in the air.

At the landing, you pause, sniffing the air like a bloodhound. You’re sure you look ridiculous, but you keep your movements subtle, flashing a tight smile when nearby buyers glance your way.

The scent pulls you toward the far end of the hallway. Every door stands wide open as you pass, people milling about inside or out, but the study remains closed. You pause outside it, the smell unmistakably stronger here. You already know what you’ll find inside, yet the dread of confrontation roots you in place.

🚬

The door creaks with your intrusion, its hinges groaning softly in protest. You snap it shut behind you, the soft click blending into the muted buzz of activity filtering up from below.

Tommy stands across from you, leaning against the desk, his face partially obscured by the curling tendrils of smoke rising from his cigarette as he speaks softly into his phone. His eyes flick to yours as you hesitate, unsure of what to do. Your gaze drifts to the cigarette between his fingers, irritation rising slowly, curling upward like the smoke, but you swallow it.

You’ve asked him countless times not to smoke in the house—he knows better. You’re sure of it.

You turn away, your eyes fixating on the window as you storm toward it, the sharp click of your heels echoing against the hardwood floor. Your hands move swiftly, flicking the locks open before gripping the heavy frame, straining as you push it. The window resists, the frame creaking under pressure, and you push harder, determined, the sound of your struggle almost drowning out his conversation.

It finally gives with a frustrating groan, and a cool breeze rushes in, cutting through the smoke with a welcome sharpness. Outside, children laugh and shout as they play in the yard next door, their mother watching from the porch. The scene stirs something faint and unwelcome—a memory of what you once thought you wanted but could never quite hold on to.

As you stare out the window, his reflection catches your eye, making you gasp. At some point, his phone disappeared, the call ended. You hadn’t noticed him approach, sly and silent as a fox stalking unseen.

“Um, I don’t think the sellers would appreciate that,” you say, nodding toward the cigarette in his hand.

He exhales slowly, the smoke curling upward in lazy spirals. You wave the air in front of your face, trying to push it away.

“You didn’t tell me not to,” he replies coolly, his gaze steady and unreadable.

“Well,” you say, your voice quieter, “it wouldn’t matter to me if you smoke here—if you were buying it.”

He takes another slow drag, his silence stretching just long enough to make you uncomfortable. “I’m still thinking.”

You suppress a sigh. He’s been like this since the beginning, indecisive and inscrutable.

“You’re always thinking,” you say, a smart edge to your voice.

For a fraction of a second, his eyes flicker toward you, a slight tightening of his jaw that you almost miss, before he looks away, lost in the haze of smoke. “Some decisions need a little more clarity,” he says, his tone calm, almost dismissive.

Your lips press into a thin line. Your chest tightens with frustration, but you force yourself to nod. “I see… Well if that’s the case then I think we should end our business here.”

“You promised to find me a house.” He retorts.

“And as I’ve told you before Mr. Shelby-”

“Tommy,” he corrects a bit firmly.

“Mr. Shelby,” you reaffirm. “I can’t help you. I’ve tried. I’ve showed you house after house, but none have suited your taste.”

“So you’re just a quitter then?” Tommy asks, his brow cocked at you quizzically.

"I’m not a quitter," you reply with a sigh, your frustration seeping into your words. "I’ve done everything I can—rearranged my schedule, prioritized you over others, even passed on buyers who were likely more serious—all because you said you needed to buy a house immediately. But now… it’s starting to feel like you’re playing games with me, and I just don’t understand why."

"Still sounds like quitting," he challenges, his voice maddeningly calm.

You bite back the sharp response that rises to your lips, exhaling slowly. “If I knew what you wanted, maybe I could help you more. But as it is… I think it’s best you find another agent.”

He doesn’t react immediately, his gaze drifting to the cigarette in his hand. "Did you drink it yet?" he asks, his tone so casual it throws you off balance.

You hesitate, caught off guard by the sudden question. Why is he bringing this up now?

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He taps out his cigarette, a defiant grin playing at the corners of his lips. Your frown deepens as he taps the cigarette against the hardwood desk. The spot where it lands seems destined to leave a mark. "Though I thought we agreed to share a glass once we finally closed on a house. Guess I’ll have to send another bottle when you finally close the deal for me."

“What?” You blink, hesitating, your brow furrowing. “Are you saying you want to buy this house?”

“I wanted to confirm a few things first. But now? I’m confident in my decision.”

"This is great!" you exclaim, pulling out your phone to quickly text the seller. There’s something odd in his tone, but you push it aside, focusing on what matters: he seems serious about the house, which means commission and an end to these awkward interactions.

“I’ll let the sellers know and get the contract to you ASAP. I’ll send you an email, and once you e-sign, we can start the process. I’ll make sure you get the keys by the end of the day.”

“Slow your horses,” he says, his voice steady, almost amused. “I’m a bit old-fashioned. I want something physical, something I can hold and touch with my hands.”

His gaze lingers, dragging over you like a weight. There was something in his eyes—hunger, maybe. Lust.

“I-I can do that,” you manage, the awkward stammer betraying a calm you don’t feel. You shifted, dismissing the thought. You’d been wrong before, mortifyingly so. It was just him, you told yourself. Just his presence, how he was. “Where… do you want me to take it?”

He doesn’t answer right away, as though savoring your words. When he finally speaks, his tone feels deeper, and his eyes dim with an unfamiliar darkness you can’t place. “My office. I’ll text you the address.”

You stay back as he moves to leave, pausing only to pull a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it coolly, with his back turned to you. You don’t stop him—it’s his house now. When the door swings shut behind him, the air feels lighter, clearer. Yet the unease he leaves behind clings to you.

[labselkie]

first skyliv post after a while,, still in a purple mood but these two r so so sweet and strange and they always have my heart

btw once they got back to liv’s room they kissed YURI BLAST💥

Top floor of Fisk Tower, September 15th, 2018.

The late evening sky’s deep indigo was sharply contrasted by the floor’s golden lights. It was all for Alchemax’s annual fundraising gala, one Fisk insisted on holding for him to embezzle as much extra money as possible. So, just as usual, the head scientist was dragged along. Thank goodness she could bring a plus one.

Lucielle watched herself in the silvery doors of the elevator, her back against the wall as she gently fidgeted with a row of lace on her long dress. The few rows ruffled around her waist, just under a thick ribbon bow, a detailed addition to her flowing powder blue gown. Olivia stood right in the middle, fingers tapping rhythmically on the opposite forearm. Her own dress was striking, deep pine green silk that draped over her frame like curtains, but hugged just perfectly around her hips and back. A few pieces of silver jewelry accented both their outfits: Lucielle with her favorite octopus ring and some pearls, and Olivia with a simple bracelet and familiar locket.

“And you’re sure you’re alright with me hanging around you?” The selkie asked, yearning for reassurance. Her right hand rose to her shoulder, gentle fingers brushing through the short fur there.

Olivia turned her head slightly, a faint smile visible as small curl fell out of her tighter updo. She had on smallest bit of makeup that Lucy had insisted on helping with, even if the glint of her glasses from that angle hid it.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

The elevator slowed, and the chatter of people outside became more apparent.

“I’m not sure,” Lucy shrugged, stepping forward to the doctor’s side. “You’ve been to a dozen of these, haven’t you?”

When the doors slide open, Olivia gently takes Lucy’s left arm in her hand, looking out to the crowded ballroom before letting a

smile slip into her face. “Only half of a dozen,” She whispers, “Just enough to know when to come fashionably late.”

A deep voice booms from the furthest wall where a short stage and podium are sat. It was Fisk himself, a hulking man that Lucielle wanted nothing more than to ignore. He was announcing their arrival, the crowd turning in tandem before slowly clapping, somehow in the most stuck-up and rich way possible. Lucielle’s arm, hooked around Olivia’s elbow, pulls hers a little closer. She’s been to fancy gatherings before, attended parties and balls, but this felt like a lot. She figured out why Olivia liked to hold her hand or arm so often, it was grounding, it was nice being able to hold on.

Olivia steps in, wearing that stupid smug smile better than her own fancy dress. She gives a few waves with her free hand and gently tugged Lucy along like a dog on a leash.

This was going to be a long night.

•

Most of that night consisted of science talk. Lucielle scurried off for a good bit to eat and explore, but she came right back to chime into Olivia’s conversation, a conversation she had no clue was with an investor. She should’ve figured that out easily, but she just got excited.

“Your Mutant detector… Is that little thing still for sale?” A strange man asked as he adjusted his grip on a glass of wine. He wore a green pinstripe suit, and his hair was slightly ruffled, more outwardly villainous than even the Kingpin.

“It is, actually,” Olivia answered with a smile, “I’d be thrilled to work with you regarding its progress.”

That’s when Lucy poked in, her nose twitching as she approached Olivia’s side from the crowd. “The detector..?” She chimes in, peeking around Liv’s shoulder. The doctor perks up, quickly turning her head with her brows furrowed as she tries to hold back a small laugh. Osborn looked more disgusted than anything, just confused at Lucy’s presence.

“Mr. Osborn,” Olivia looked back, bringing her hand to Lucy’s shoulder. “This is my assistant, Lucielle, she helped very closely with the device.”

His eyes narrowed, like a contest’s judge scrutinizing an entry. Lucy gives a small smile and wave, the motion causing Olivia’s composure to slip as she snickers.

“I’m… Glad you could find some help,” Norman adds, looking back to the doctor. It just seemed like he was frustrated with Lucielle’s behavior. Thankfully, he gives a courteous smile before continuing, “The young lady aside, Oscorp has an upcoming meeting for our technology department, we’d be very grateful if you could attend.”

Lucielle could pinpoint the moment Olivia lit up. It wasn’t just the money she looked forward to, if that were the case she’d just be focused on Fisk. Rather, she yearned for the development of her work, to build off of a bit of advice and compile all the knowledge she could. The doctor grinned, who knew if she planned to claim the upgrades from Oscorp as her own, too.

“That’d be wonderful!” She adds, her hand on Lucy’s shoulder tightening. “Mr. Osborn your input would be invaluable.”

“Perfect,” He replied, before turning to the elevator that just reopened. Someone he was waiting for must’ve arrived, as he steps to the side. “I look forward to working with you.”

Just like that, the man disappeared into the crowd, leaving Olivia and her little lady standing at an empty tall table. The doctor’s gaze flits around a bit, a common motion that comes with her excitement, as if she wants to take everything in at once.

“Yes!” She exclaims under her breath, her stance loosening when Lucy turns to nab two glasses of champagne from a passing waitress. Her forearms fall to the white tablecloth and she leans her head forward, still chuckling. She only looks back up when Lucy hands over a glass. “That- That was the one thing I hoped for tonight.”

Lucielle smiles back when Olivia takes a sip, holding her own glass in both hands to keep them occupied. They mirror each other’s movements; first Lucy puts her arms on the table as well, then she leans a bit closer, and Olivia follows.

The doctor takes another drink as her friend continues, “I used to think you hated Oscorp.”

“Hate them? Maybe if they were competent competitors I would,” She chuckled, putting her now empty glass down. “But they’ve got something helpful: money, sweetie.”

Lucielle straightens and holds her hand over her mouth as she laughs.

•

“Thank goodness we live here, huh?” Olivia kept her voice down as she gently took Lucy’s arm back in her own. They stayed late, far later than either expected. Many of the guests were still there, but everything had wound down. Other than Olivia’s few collaborators and colleagues and Lucielle’s short chat with a friend and Dr. Ohnn, they did everything they needed. So, they did the only thing they knew to: slip out unnoticed.

“Mhm,” Lucy nods, sticking close to the doctor. She was quiet for a majority of the gala, but she was more than happy just sticking around Olivia like arm candy. She takes a quick step ahead, weaving through people and trying to help Olivia slip through as well.

“Hey, I’ve got some wine at my place,” Olivia adds suddenly, “You didn’t look like you cared for the champagne here.”

Lucielle snickers when they reach the hall to the elevators, and she looks back. “Mmh, no I’m alright.” She shrugs and clicks the button to go down. “Save that for a bigger occasion!”

Olivia took a moment to adjust the collar of her dress, but she didn’t seem disengaged for even a moment. “This is a big occasion,” The elevator door slides open in the middle of the sentence, and she ushers Lucy in as she finishes. She lets the elevator begin its descent before continuing, surprising Lucielle in the process, “I don’t usually get to share my successes.. If the deal goes through, I’d want to celebrate that with you.”

[sangre]

OCS + Associations

tagged by my beloved @raphaelsboudoir thank you!

tagging: @the-lovely-lady-luck @reides @fluffy-snow-fox @interstices @kirkewrites @gerrykecy @killdragons @critrolesketch @cass1x1 @paleolithik @devilatelier @shapeknight @jabbakiller

going to complete this for my 3 active dnd characters, serisínthe, miré, and varin. to iron things out/illustrate their differences in my head in a fun way. these looked fun so please enjoy & i look forward to seeing any you guys do! :flushed:

Animal

Serisínthe: white tailed deer. antlers and eyes caught in headlights. frail/delicate/in death, a dressed up carcass Miré: portland sheep. huge curling horns, fluffy in every sense. social, curious, exploratory Varin: cottonmouth river snake! uhh you know serpents. coiled up and all. odd eyes. not typically aggressive unless provoked

Colors

Serisínthe: valentine's day palette... off-white, deep red pink Miré: foresty pale green, soft brown and lavender Varin: light charcoal, luminous blues and indigo purples

Month

Serisínthe: february! the shortest and least predictable month. it's got holiday chocolates in there. everything ends too soon but it's so cherished you know Miré: may! just after the showers of april, the grounds and grasses are wet against your boots and you're just kind of looking forward with the brisk air Varin: november. something weird and dreamlike about the crest before the end of the year, it's cold and kind of scary because something's almost over, but it's starting again.

Songs

Serisínthe: dying star – ashnikko, ethel cain I need somethin' soft, down feathers over rocks Miré: renee – sales All day long we looked to fall, looking into the sun and found a way to get along Varin: destroyer – ruby haunt Sweetheart, come undone, I'm handing you the dagger

Number

Serisínthe: 3 i think. Miré: 12 <- months in a year/cylical Varin: 8 <- haha ouroboros shape. 7 8 9 joke

Plants

Serisínthe: to say something other than a rose, pinkish red snapdragons. Miré: false deathcap mushroom! Varin: candle larkspur / guardian blue delphinium :)

Smells

Serisínthe: rosewater, white peach, coffee Miré: nutmeg, PETRICHOR, eucalyptus Varin: lychee, being near fresh rushing water, sandalwood

Gemstones

Serisínthe: moonstone... rose quartz, bixbite Miré: moss agate, rainbow fluorite Varin: chrysocolla!!! boulder opal

Time of Day

Serisínthe: the night sky, illuminated perfectly by stars. maybe like midnight Miré: early morning, like 7am, when you can't really see the sun but the sky is like white-blue, you can still smell the dew on the earth. Varin: like the very end of sunset, at like 6pm? right when the sky is like HEAVILY gradient with different colors dipping into each other.

Season

Serisínthe: autumn :3 the leaves are changing baby Miré: SPRINGGGGGGGGGG ITS SPRINGGGGG Varin: i feel like fall is a different answer than autumn so take that as you will.

Places

Serisínthe: behind the red curtains of a stage, in a dressing room doing his hair and putting paint on his lips, somewhere in a pile of his dearest friends, embraced. Miré: the floor of the detyrwood, in its deepest corners of lush green and whispering wingbeats. in the canopy of the trees or under the open sky, camping in an open field of wildflowers. Varin: in an abandoned apartment behind dilapidated wooden planks covered in ash, by the river's edge, hands washing off in the water. with his back to a wall covered and i do mean COVERED in bones, by stone pillars, eerie sterility and marble.

Foods

Serisínthe: i can't tell if this is asking what she would eat or what i associate her with. i think both? i'll try both. SO, STRONG flavors! like very spicy meats or coffee flavored deserts. seri can't taste very well so it's got to be intense. Miré: anything and everything but a forager at heart. nuts, berries, mushies, herbs, the best broth you've ever had in your life. like short ribs or something Varin: odds and ends, sort of scavenging. tough foods, dry things, cured meats. plain pastas, probably a huge noodle guy. might actually be obsessed with different shapes of noodles

Drinks

Serisínthe: peach daiquiri or a dessert wine with like notes of peach or berry Miré: ginger beer and lime, woodsy beers like a light/dry malt OR a sweet mead Varin: this weird cocktail called aviation, with gin, maraschino liqueur, creme de violette and lemon juice

Element

Serisínthe: air Miré: earth Varin: water

Seasoning

Serisínthe: garlic powder… cinnamon! CAYENNE Miré: basil. bay leaves.. cumin! Varin: ground ginger… nutmeg? smoked paprika?

Sky

Serisínthe: moonlit Miré: dawn Varin: sunset

Weather

Serisínthe: clear :3 maybe snowy Miré: rainnyyy!!! rainy rainy Varin: FOGGY!!!! SILENT HILL FOG

Magical Powers

Serisínthe: yeah she got those (cleric of song) Miré: it's a yes from he (spores druid, can reanimate) Varin: you bet at least 1 (don't look at me but he's out there)

Weapons

Serisínthe: a rose crystal casting focus scythe Miré: her big vine-covered staff Varin: a fucked up willowy axe like this where the hilt already lends itself to swinging with its curve

Candy

Serisínthe: rich dark chocolates, caramels, cherry chocolates, java sweets Miré: anything gummy. Gummies. The gummyies. sweet gummy bear Varin: peanut brittles, toffees, crunchy sweets or sours

Methods of Long-Distance Travel

Serisínthe: i just feel like if flight were feasible... an airship would be so cool for him Miré: HOOF IT!!!!! that said they're also capable of moving through trees within a certain distance of each other. Varin: (charon voice) get in the gondola. UM but yeah i don't know. train rides where you don't know where you're headed? (inception voice) how can it not matter where the train will take you!?!??!

Fear

Serisínthe: to be unable to help abate the suffering of his loved ones. Miré: to lose her home or endanger it inadvertently somehow. Varin: to die a tool and nothing more.

Mythological Creature

Serisínthe: maybe a fawn? a satyr? lol Miré: the golden fleece!!!! some kind of marsh forest fey sprite Varin: a sea serpent like you know just don't mind me and my yugioh card that i just dropped here okay

Piece of Stationary

Serisínthe: VERY thin delicate paper. sheet music paper with writing in the margins Miré: cute post it notes for reminders ;v; with little flower and mushroom decorations Varin: something that looks like watercolors were spilled on it. maybe a clean plain envelope with a wax seal

Three Emojis

Serisínthe: 🥀🌙🎭 Miré: 🍄🐏☘️ Varin: 🐍🧪🪓 i would use the pawn emoji but it doesn't show up right so axe i suppose

Celestial Body

Serisínthe: la luna. she did marry a bloodmoon once Miré: a constellation or a comet? something telling a story Varin: neptune! or maybe a black hole LMFAO

[pudgy-planets]

“Okay, people! Set up the stage lights in the proper orientation, we need to find a new curtain, this one is covered in scrapes and holes are beginning to form from that infestation of clothes moths that were recently exterminated weakening the fabric! Blue this time! Red is too traditional and tacky!”

“Himi-chan! What should we do with the nutcracker statues?”

“They’ll be in the third act of the play, set them off to the side and we’ll set them up in between transitions.”

“Should we use glitter and sparkles on the pamphlets?”

“Duh! How else are we going to leave a mark? If people get irritated by the glitter, they’ll remember the show. That’ll boost ticket sales!”

“What about the concessions?”

“Popcorn, roasted caramel clusters, bottles of water, and hot chocolate! Infuse them with so much holiday they’ll wanna dance ON the stage with us!”

[nawtponchoesquire]

Oh god, this manga is about me: Dead Dead Demon's Dedede Destruction

On December 2nd, 2022, a YouTube livestream broadcasted the rollout of Northrop Grumman’s latest technological marvel to thousands of people. Countless hours of R&D, cutting edge engineering, and assembly all lead to this moment. Northrop Grumman CEO Kathy Warden spoke from a podium about “the next generation of capability” and “defining what this nation is capable of when we work together” while the livestream chat gawked and called her Mommy.

After Warden’s speech, the hangar door behind her slowly opened. Blue stage lights cast a powerful aura over a hulking monolith draped in a white cloth. Cinematic orchestra music blared and the lights pulsed with the music. The chat screamed “TRUMP 2024”, “METAL GEAR”, and “MOMMY” still, if you can believe it. The music reached its explosive crescendo, and the curtains dropped: the B21 stealth bomber was introduced to the world in all its glory.

Admiral Christopher W. Grady called it an “Airborne Extended Deterrent”. In his speech after the reveal, Grady waffled a bit about national security, and about how this plane REALLY matters and was, like, TOTALLY worth the tax dollars, guys. “This isn’t just another airplane. It’s not just another acquisition. It’s a symbol and a source of the fighting spirit that President Reagan spoke of” he said.

Livestreams and marketing of this nature aren’t uncommon in today’s late capitalist dystopia. Gun manufacturer Heckler and Koch shows off flashy trailers of their submachine guns, edited with a slow-mo Booj and the musical timing of a Battlefield trailer. At the time of writing, there’s even an extremely late sale on their website for “MARCH MAG-NESS”, with a toggle at the top for civilian and law enforcement of course.

When looking at these pieces as part of my research for this post, I’m left with a sinking feeling that’s hard to describe. I feel swallowed by a culture and a system so determined to casualize warfare, to justify violence against a perceived, sometimes invisible threat. As the planet warms, the rich elude responsibility, and I whittle away my days at an office job, precisely one thought bounces around in my brain: “I can't wait to go home and play videogames”.

This exact feeling is captured in amber by Inio Asano’s latest finished work, Dead Dead Demon’s Dededede Destruction! (henceforth referred to as Dead Dead Demon’s). Set 3 years after a UFO appeared above Tokyo, Dead Dead Demon’s follows two high school grads just living their life while the literal and figurative “end of the world” looms overhead. What starts off as an unassuming pre-apocalyptic slice-of-life unravels into a deeply fascinating vivisection of our current geopolitical climate and how its effects trickle down to the youngest generations like countless streams of Ronald Reagan’s piss.

It’s impossible not to see the political implications of Dead Dead Demon’s. After the giant UFO suddenly appeared above Tokyo, The Japanese military panicked. They shot down the countless smaller UFO’s that poured out of the main craft, raining debris down on Tokyo’s denizens. Thousands were killed, including Kadode Koyama’s father. Kadode’s mother, left traumatized and paranoid after this tragedy, becomes the manga’s version of a conspiracy truther. 3 years after 8/31, Kadode’s mother leaves Tokyo and her daughter behind to live in a commune with her new boyfriend.

In the midst of her high school graduation and early college career, Kadode is left alone. Or, she would be, if not for Ouran Nakagawa, her childhood best friend. Ouran is Kadode’s rock-solid foundation. As the manga comes back to time and time again, they are absolute; an unwavering, unconditional love connects the two in a way that’s rarely portrayed in manga. A running theme throughout the manga is that the people you love can pull you through anything, not through fixing your problems, but simply by being by your side. Or at least, it would be. More on that later.

The duality of Kadode and Ouran is explored throughout the manga in such a way that it builds the two protagonists to be distinct but codependent. Kadode, a victim of bullying in elementary school, developed a discomfort with how easily society labels its ingroups and outgroups. Her only respite from relentless bullying was Isobeyan, an ongoing gag manga that her father worked on.

The titular Isobeyan and his incredible technological gadgets allow a neurotic teenage girl named Debeko to find wacky solutions to her problems. Debeko, unable to escape her own cycles of narcissism and self-loathing, constantly relies on Isobeyan’s gadgets to get her way. Kadode sees her own destructive tendencies in Debeko, and fantasizes about using Isobeyan’s gadgets to fix her own life; it’s a potent fantasy to give someone who is marginalized. Full-color snippets of the fictional manga bookend each volume of Dead Dead Demon’s, serving as a clear visual and structural metaphor for the invaders and how their advanced technology would seem to be able to fix anything.

While Kadode Koyama is cynical but reserved, Ouran Nakagawa is a firehose of sparkly anticapitalist rage. She’s brash and completely unfiltered, swinging from scathing cynicism about the future of Japan to raucous joy about the latest patch for her favorite FPS within literal seconds. Ouran is the candle that burns twice as bright and twice as long, loudly proclaiming herself to exist in equal parts joyous laugh and viscous battle cry.

However, that’s not the whole story. Beneath the mask is a deeply empathetic high school girl who really just loves the people she surrounds herself with. She may tease her friends after a bad date, but she’s there to hug them while they cry. Although she talks a lot of shit, she clings to her friends like they are the most important people in the universe to her. Ouran embodies both the hopeless circle-jerk of being at the bottom rung of late-stage capitalism and the boundless love that powers us through the worst of times within that system. And yet, further beneath that, something stirs within her. More on that later.

The alien invasion is a clear allegory for (INSERT HOT-BUTTON GEOPOLITICAL TOPIC HERE). It’s equal parts climate change, refugee crisis, and 9/11. The so-called invaders don’t exactly live up to their name, being about the height of a grade-schooler and waddling around with cute old-fashioned submarine helmets on. They are about as unassuming as an extraterrestrial threat could possibly be, and we even get some chapters with the invaders from their perspective as they try to survive in Tokyo’s quarantine zones. To them, Earth is a hellscape they did not intend to die on. And oh my god, do they die.

This is the part of Dead Dead Demon’s that pulls on some horrible discomfort deep within me. The genocide of the invaders is sponsored by tech industry giants like Samsung and Google, literally mowing down crowds of child-sized invaders with machine guns, while Kadode and Koyama go about their daily lives just a few blocks away. The dissonance between high school antics and the screams of what look like dying children hits close to home. It’s impossible not to see the parallels between how we, as consumers in a post-industrial society, often live willfully ignorant to the cruelties our lifestyles enable.

I’ve grappled with the question, “what is Dead Dead Demon’s Dededede Destruction about?” ever since I first sat down and read it. After a third re-read, I’m not sure that I could boil it down to one specific, sexy thematic clause, and that seems intentional. Inio Asano, the manga’s author, is notorious for creating stories that revel in complexity. Dead Dead Demon’s welcomes, interrogates, and explores a whole host of questions about life in the modern era. And then… the big reveal happens at the midway point; the truth of what this story was really, always about.

Spoilers from here on out, folks. The manga takes a pretty significant turn, one that I actually really like, but it will give you whiplash if you aren’t ready for it.

Okay. So. Time Travel.

The Ouran we’ve seen throughout the first half of the story is without a doubt eccentric. The glimpses of her that we see in flashbacks, however, look like a totally different person. As a child, Ouran is shy and quiet and rolls with the punches. She even stands idly by as Kadode is bullied by her awful classmates. For lack of a better term, she’s perfectly normal. Somewhere along the way, something seriously changed for her.

When Ouran and Kadode were young, they barely spoke. The story goes that they grew close over a summer cram school stuck together, but the secret that brought them together builds out the world and history of Dead Dead Demon’s in a pretty surprising way: Kadode and Ouran found an invader 8 years before the invasion of Tokyo.

Kadode and Ouran go full ET mode and keep the invader disguised in Ouran’s bedroom. After some debate on what to do, the invader finally speaks up for themselves using a small alien device as a translation tool. The invader’s purpose for coming to earth is clear; they are a scout sent by “the home country” to see if Earth is a good place to finally come and colonize.

The interaction here between the scout and these two schoolchildren is fascinating. The scout speaks in vague terms, but they make it clear that humanity exists on earth to create a breathable atmosphere for the invaders, much like how trees create a breathable atmosphere for us. Invaders are beings that aren’t so strongly tethered to a body or physical form; compared to humans, the invaders are actually much more spiritual and transitory. Their child-like bodies only exist as a vessel through which they interact with the world around them.

Kadode and Ouran are bestowed with an impossible burden. They believe that they must prove themselves, and by extension humanity, as welcoming and friendly to this alien civilization. The scout is content to watch this with scientific, unobtrusive collectedness. If they can get a clear read on humanity and its potential threat to the home country anyways, the scout might as well entertain these two girls’ efforts.

Through actively volunteering to do good, the girls feel like they are painting a good picture of humanity for the invader to see. However, it soon becomes clear that the system they are a part of is too big for two small girls to change. Kadode and Ouran can’t do anything about the scandalized politicians, con artists, and criminals. Kadode, fully grasping the situation and its implications, decides that she can do more. No, she needs to do more.

Kadode manages to steal a few powerful tools from the Invader. A small device that sends a devastating force out from its tip, enough to send a car tumbling sideways. An invisible cloak that perfectly obscures its wearer. A device worn on the head that allows one to fly. When these technological marvels are put together, Kadode goes from being an unassuming grade schooler to something else entirely: a vigilante dead-set on purging the horrible people from this world.

Before long, news started to break of a train wreck, and of a politician turning up dead after a hospital stay for a minor medical issue ended with a bullet-shaped wound. Ouran’s favorite pop band member quit, and suddenly the concert was canceled thanks to a technical accident. Over the course of a few days, Kadode has been tracking down horrible people, nearly killing them, and asking them one simple question, “Tell me the worst person you know.”

Ouran finds out that Kadode has been doing this vigilante work, and for the first and only time in the manga, they fight. Kadode, grappling with the sheer weight of trying to fix our world, is left cold, distant, and apathetic. Ouran finds this new side of Kadode to be frightening and alien, like she doesn’t even know who she is talking to. After an argument and a brief physical confrontation, Ouran is left alone for the first time. She is devastated.

Kadode doesn’t show up to class for a few weeks. Then she moves away. In one last ditch effort, Ouran goes to Kadode’s new home and asks to speak with her. Kadode is disheveled, but seems somewhat happy to see Ouran. Therapy has convinced her that Kadode hallucinated or dreamed up her vigilante spree, but talking to Ouran reminds her all too well that what she did was real. The people she killed, the burden of proving humanity to be good, and the destruction of her relationship with her best friend, all push her beyond her limits. She can’t do this anymore.

In the middle of their brief conversation, Kadode jumps from the fourth story of her apartment building.

This series of events, observed by the invader, force them to come to one conclusion: Earth cannot be trusted and should not be visited by the Home Country. Hopeless and devastated, Ouran asks the invader if there’s anything they can do to bring Kadode back. While the invader can’t bring back Kadode, he can do something else: transplant Ouran’s consciousness to a different timeline. This would come with all sorts of risks, such as mental deterioration, but it would allow Ouran to relive her summer school cram days to do things right. Ouran could direct the timeline so that the two never encounter the invader all those years ago. Ouran ultimately accepts the invader’s offer.

I’m kind of obsessed with this decision because it underscores the tragedy and beauty of Ouran as a character. The crazy, chaotic Ouran we’ve been with for the entire story is actually a time traveler from another timeline. Since she never met with the invader, the Home Country was not notified that Earth was dangerous, and thus they appeared above Tokyo, killing Kadode’s father among thousands of other people as collateral damage. When given the choice between inadvertently destroying humanity and losing the one person that gives her life meaning, Ouran chose for herself. I really can’t blame her for that. What good is humanity anyway?

There’s more to this story, entire twists and plotlines I’ve glossed over and cut out of this post, but this moment speaks to the core of what this manga is about. Dead Dead Demon’s is about aliens, time travel, and corporate espionage, but it’s also about the people that need to live beneath those exact colossal forces battling overhead. When the system is this fundamentally broken, filled with flashy ads for the newest line of submachine guns, giant alien-destroying mechs sponsored by pop stars, and live streams where the CEO of a death machine company is called Mommy, it’s impossible not to feel weighed down by it all. The sheer scope of capitalism has never been more visible and more damaging to its denizens.

I often feel like my life is a rollercoaster. Right now, I feel like I’m at the part of the rollercoaster after the big buildup, where an amazing view beckons to me. I’m at the top, but I can feel gravity subtly pulling me down. In our current moment, the system is buckling under the weight of problems created generations prior. The rich are getting richer, the poor are getting poorer, and basic hopes like owning a house or even a new car are well out of reach for many, many people. Without sweeping change, we’re fucked.

I can’t wait to go home and play videogames.

[doctorstrangereview]

0090: Marvel Premiere #4

Cover Date: September 1972 On-Sale Date: June 27, 1972

Doc continues to explore the mysteries brought to his attention last issue. It wasn't exactly anything voluntary as the impetus to do so is standing right in his living room. Barry (Windsor-) Smith continues art chores for one more issue. Archie Goodwin fills in as writer for this issue. Doc will get a semi-steady writer for the next few issues. The splash page credits include "Featuring concepts created by: Robert E. Howard." The central story is adapted (stolen) from The Shadow of Innsmouth and H. P. Lovecraft gets no credit or acknowledgement. The "protagonist" Ethan Stoddard is an obvious pastiche of the unnamed narrator. Even the blurb next to the title from the fictional Thanatosian Tomes sounds suspiciously like "In his house at R'lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming" from The Call of Cthulhu. There are more similarities along the way. Let's see what Archie and Barry have in store for us.

Doc has just entered this Sanctum Sanctorum fresh from his fight with Nightmare in the dream dimension and getting slammed by an 18-wheeler in this dimension. He's about to find out who cast the ominous shadow in the window from the final panel of last issue. He knows it's not Wong, because he passed Wong's room and evidently Wong snores.

Doc, being the polite host when he's not gruff and rude, refers to it as "the sounds of his slumber." Doc pulls back the curtain ready to cast a violent spell but only sees mild mannered Ethan Stoddard. Doc still hasn't cast any meaningful protection spells around his H.Q or even remembered to lock the door. Security, Doc! Security!

Ethan introduces himself and apologies for barging in and taking the liberty of building a fire. Never was someone so polite in their imposing themselves on someone else! Ethan tells Doc that he desperately needs his help. "Hang on minute, Ethan. I gotta take care of something else first." Doc rings a gong to (wake up and) summon Wong.

Wong enters stage left and apologizes for falling asleep before Doc got back. As he puts it: "I did not intend to retire before your return, but such exhaustion overtook me--" Doc slips back into his old ways and gets all cranky with Wong. "Get me balms and bandages! Now!" says Doc. Wong scutters off and Doc realizes that he probably shouldn't have said that in that way. He goes after Wong and for the first time Doc apologizes for being a jerk! Wong, being the self sacrificing dude he is, tells Doc it's not necessary.

Fortunately Wong won't be this big a pushover forever, but it'll take quite a while before we get there. Doc returns to the study and tells Ethan that along with things to plug up his wounds, Wong is gonna serve tea. Perhaps if Doc hadn't flown out of the E/R so fast his wounds would be in better shape and Wong wouldn't need to play nursemaid in addition to his other duties.

Ethan begins his story and Doc is all shell-like ears. Ethan and his fiancée, Beth (we meet her later,) are from a little town called Starkesboro (Innsmouth) and they both went to college together and came to the big city for graduate work. Beth was working on a thesis about the occult which is how they both found out about Doc. Beth returned to Starkesboro and started researching something called The Thanatosian Tomes. Beth put some of the crazy stuff she was researching in letters to Ethan and then stopped writing back completely and returning Ethan's missives unopened.

While Ethan tells his tale, Doc frets about the things happening. Him being really, really grumpy. Wong suddenly falling asleep. Ethan turning up out of the blue. Are these all a series of coincidences or is something going on.

Doc's like "that sounds interesting, but I gotta make sure you're not BSing me. I'm gonna probe you with my All-Purpose Amulet and then non-consensually remove your memory that I did it." Ethan appears to be telling the truth as we only see Ethan saying farewell to Beth as she departs on a bus. Then he wakes up to Wong getting Doc ready for a trip.

"You seemed tired after I did all that probing of your... mind, yeah, that's it, mind. So we let you doze off. Now lets head to that hometown that you really don't like." As they leave, Wong frets in a similar way that Doc did as Ethan narrated his tale. Doc and Ethan hop on a bus. How mundane an activity for the arguably second most powerful magic user on the planet. Ethan is amazed that Doc is doing all this for a stranger, including, presumably paying for the bus tickets. Doc replies with the platitudes that no one in danger is a stranger. Also, this may be bigger than the two of you, so there's that.

The bus stops for lunch and Doc marvels at the pleasures of consuming phallic shaped food.

Doc and Ethan arrive at Starkesboro amid appropriately freak weather. At the same time, Wong summons The Ancient One and asks him to go on a midnight rendezvous with Doc as he rudely refused to answer the phone earlier. (This happened off camera.) "Sure thing," replies The Ancient One and hangs up.

Back in Starkesboro, Doc comments how strange it is for church bells to be ringing at 11:00 PM. "Yeah, things are really effed up here, Doc," replies Ethan as they check into the crumbling old town's crappy only hotel. I'm guessing Doc is paying for this as well. Doc rings room service for tea and the man who checked them in brings it. "Is the rest of your staff attending the weird church service?" Doc asks. "This ain't no city hotel. I am the staff, you pretentious bozo!" the dude replies.

With that over and done with, Doc prepares for is assignation with his old buddy, The Ancient One. Trouble is, something's up and he has problems going ghost. With no mystic Viagra handy, he just has to struggle through and is finally able to rise to the occasion.

Doc and The Ancient One banter back and forth about books, cults and sleeping obscenities. The Ancient One departs saying he heads to his own battle as Doc faces whatever it is that's going on below in the town. What is Yao up to?

The next morning, Doc and Ethan are out and about in Starkesboro. Ethan is heading to the library when he asks a passerby if it's located where it used to be located. It turns out the passerby is an old buddy of Ethan's. But Lemuel looks a bit odd.

Lemuel looks like he's going through the same metamorphosis that the people of Innsmouth endured as they turned into deep ones. He's not at the point where he needs to breathe through gills yet so he can still service the plot. Ethan heads to library while Doc gives Ethan a knowing wink. "You and your lady friend should have some time to yourselves in the quiet back corner of the stacks. I'll check out the church for a few minutes."

Ethan has a run-in with the small town librarian who gives the typical "you don't belong here" speech. Ethan goes on in search of Beth while Doc enters the church. There's something up there because it's messing up Doc's disguise spell somethin' fierce!

That upside down cross makes the church a bit suspect. The altar with chains doesn't help any. Doc finds dried blood on the altar and realizes the lizard behind the cross means that the people here worship something called Sligguth. (I would say Dagon, but the next three issues have like three Dagons!) Behind the altar Doc finds a labyrinth of tunnels. Yeah, this church gets better by the second!

Camera two brings us back to Ethan and Beth. Beth gives the "go away outsider" comment. Ethan turns her around and: Oh, No! Beth has got that Starkesboro look!

Ethan runs out of the library and into the church to cry to Doc. He notices the upside down cross and lizard. Doc explains what it means.

Doc and Ethan are trapped in the church as the increasingly mutating townspeople gather outside. They are calling "Come out, Ethan!" This is not just a call for Ethan to leave the church or admit that secretly he likes Lemuel more than Beth. They are calling forth Ethan's Starkesboro look. They are successful and Ethan attacks Doc. The ungrateful sod!. Ethan explains that Doc's powers are being drained. Ethan and the townsfolk continue to put pressure on Doc to exhaust his power.

Doc flies around the church using his cloak but eventually he's too weak to even control that. The townsfolk break into the church. Ethan and Beth are all lovey-dovey again in their reptilian splendor. Acting in concert the townsfolk knock Doc unconscious we leave with him chained to the altar awaiting the arrival of Sligguth.

This was a lot of fun to read. Archie did well with his Innsmouth rip-off. In Innsmouth, the narrator gets stuck in the town "accidently" while here Ethan is forced to go back. The narrator doesn't have a sorcerer buddy or a fiancée to knock scaly boots with so Ethan seems to have things a bit better. Archie incorporated a nice bit of plot planning to draw Doc into this. It feels separate from the previous story, but we'll eventually see that the previous issue was a prelude to future events. It's well paced and we can probably blame Doc getting railed by a semi and then having to fight his favorite dream demon nearly to death for some dumb decisions on Doc's part. Barry continues to depict The Ancient One with a distinct lack of most clothing. Is he slowly attempting a naturist way of life or is it summer in Tibet with broken air conditioning? Part of me is sorry that this was Archie's only Doc story. The arc might have been more cohesive if he wrote a few more installments.

[whileiamdying]

Mae West, the Queen of New York

If you’ve seen Mae West on the stage in “Diamond Lil,” running eight months now, and tickets on sale for New Year’s Eve, or in “Sex,” which ran eleven months last year, you’ve probably pictured her as a large woman—a bit gross-looking. She’s neither large nor heavy, almost slight, except in personality. At that, she is probably the only woman in America who doesn’t want to look thin. She feels that curves are far more appealing than angles, and won’t accept photographs that do not show her a bit more voluptuous and rounded than the slim silhouette the modern woman has succeeded in making popular.

Mae West, who writes her own plays and then stars in them, is one hundred per cent good showman. Her showmanship is apparent always, natural, inborn. She may have added to it, learned a trick here and there, but her ability to put herself over and her delight in doing it is a trait that could not have been acquired.

Mae knows that a star still in the make-up of the play is far more interesting, even to those who know the theatre, than an overdressed little woman in street clothes. Her admirers come back to see her after the show, and for two hours after the final curtain Mae is in the costume of the bad lady of the nineties, wig and corset and tight-fitting gown. The gown is immensely becoming in spite of its grotesqueries. If the evening is warm she’ll take off a couple of outer garments as she laughs over the foibles of the day, adding comments in her husky, Brooklynese drawl, always the Little Queen.

“People want dirt in plays, so I give ‘em dirt. See? They can be dull at home, but in the theatre they want excitement. They want to feel, not think. Know what I mean?” . . . “Love, say, what I could tell you about that! But I would have to take a couple of days off to do the subject justice. Know what I mean?”

Critics, and writers on the lesser Broadway publications, old actors, and the rather smart crowd that likes to know the newest professional success, drop in for a glass of near-beer from the bar in the old-fashioned saloon right on the stage. They tell her how good she is and Mae is courteous, amused, always optimistic, glad to see everyone, dropping fairly good, though somewhat trite, epigrams, peppered with bad grammar and made important because of her drawl and her insinuations. She ends her sentences with “Know what I mean?” or “See?”—sometimes combining the two.

Mae West has little interest in anything outside the theatre. Her reading is confined usually to Variety or any occasional newspaper. She does not even know the names of important theatrical figures unless she has come into direct contact with them. The other night Ina Claire came to see “Diamond Lil.” When Mae West was told she was out front she said, “All right, bring her in. But who is she?”

Clubs and cards and outdoor activities do not amuse her. The things that interest most people are of the utmost indifference to her. She is a bit interested in the occult and in spiritualism, has attended a séance or two, and is “considering” attending others. Even on days when there are no matinées she goes to her dressing-room around two or three to plan her next play or think about some of the intricacies that are beginning to engulf her, that make life so much less simple than when she did a “strong act” or was a blues singer in vaudeville. She is most professional around the theatre, is very particular about lighting effects and about noises in front that might affect a big scene.

A handsome, middle-aged admirer or two can usually be seen around the theatre, keeping away unwelcome interviewers and making themselves generally useful. Sometimes there are other younger men in attendance. Mae says she’s not in love, and hopes she won’t fall in love for a while—until she has more time for it. Of course she’s always been interested in men, she’ll tell you. “Just infatuations, though. Know what I mean?”

Mae is secretive, almost to the point of mystery, about her family, her past—a curious secretiveness. Her success has made her a little afraid. Old acquaintances wouldn’t look her up if they didn’t want something—if she were a failure, now, would they?

Excepting the dates, however, the main events of Mae’s life are not entirely shrouded in mystery, but since her prosperity she is building up a very pleasant past, much as we all build up pasts when success overtakes us, smoothing out events here and there, adding glamour to those that were not glamorous, deleting where deletion seems necessary. She admits having a father, a mother, a brother, a sister. She is a bit vague about them. Her sister is Beverly Osborne, the girl in “Diamond Lil” who plays the young innocent who gets sent to South America. Beverly is married to a Russian, Count Treshatny. She was in vaudeville in songs and sketches until Mae’s success provided her with an opportunity on the legitimate stage. Mae’s brother has an automobile exchange. Of her father Mae says, “His name is Jack West—J. E. See? He used to be a prizefighter. He’s a doctor now, practicing medicine in Richmond Hill.” The Jewish publications claim Miss West as a member of their faith, but she says that her grandmother was a Copley and claims Harry Thaw as her relative. Her mother is a plain, comfortable, kindly woman. Mae’s age is one of her mysteries. The record at Blackwell’s Island shows that she was born in 1900, but there might be a mistake in the entry, of course.

Mae’s early days, she said, were spent in her rich grandmother’s home in Greenpoint. “In Greenpurnt. See?” Then the family moved to Bushwick Avenue near Linden Street.

Mae had very little formal education. She went to a Brooklyn public school until she was eight or ten. Then, with long blonde curls, she appeared at amateur nights. A darling, I’m sure, with some of the same personality and energy she has today. She did imitations of Eva Tanguay, George Cohan, Eddie Foy, and the others of the period who served best for mimicries.

So good was her act—or so attractive and forceful her personality—that she got all the prizes. This led to an engagement with Hal Clarendon’s Stock Company at the Gotham Theatre in East New York. Here she became a child actress, playing in “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” as Little Eva, in “Little Lord Fauntleroy,” “For Their Children’s Sake,” “The Three Courtiers,” “The Moonshiner’s Daughter,” and “East Lynne.” And when the bill didn’t call for a child actress she sang songs between the acts, in the olios. She sang “That ’Cello Melody,” “The Robert E. Lee,” “Barber Shop Chord,” “The Piano Man,” and “Oceana Roll.”

From the Clarendon Stock she went into vaudeville, the usual next step. She included weight-lifting in her act and she says she can still carry four men on her shoulders. Even then she was self-centred, a bit greedy for the spotlight, optimistic, eager for success, frank, amusing, calm, cold and warmhearted in turn.

Broadway became Mae-West-conscious when she was a vaudeville headliner. She was on the Keith circuit and played the Colonial, where she was the first to put on the shimmy. She achieved the Palace, too, and always had a good act. She always had her own accompanist—“So-and-So at the Piano.” She picked these accompanists because of their personality—and discovered half a dozen celebrities. Harry Richman, one of her discoveries, was sent to her among twenty pianists, and she picked him out “because of his personality.” His name was Reichman then. She couldn’t pronounce it.

“Do you mind changing your name?” she asked. “You’re not so prominent. Change it to Richman. It will be easier for me—and a better name for you, too.” Vincent Lopez was another whose talents she recognized at a tryout at Charles K. Harris’ office.

Jack Smith, at one time her pianist, was sure he couldn’t sing when she asked him to.

“Just whisper it,” said Mae. “It’ll get over all right.” He did whisper it, and became well known as Whispering Jack Smith. Another of Mae’s discoveries, Barry O’Neal, had had a small part in “The Dark Angel” until Mae made him her leading man.

When the shimmy went out Mae went on to Higher Things. In a Shubert revue, in a number called “Shakespeare’s Garden of Love,” she was elegant as Cleopatra. Earl Carroll wanted to star her.

She read plays, looking for a part she liked. Since she could find no suitable star parts for herself, Mae wrote “Sex.” People thought it vulgar, ridiculous, or funny, or a perfectly terrible play, laughed—and sent their friends to see the show.

When “Sex” had been running eleven months New York became strait-laced over night, and “The Captive,” “The Virgin Man,” and “Sex” were brought to task. The first two plays closed before the trial. Mae, however, stood trial, was sent to Welfare Island for twelve days, got a few hundred thousand dollars’ worth of free publicity, made friends with everyone on the place—and a few months later returned as a guest of honor, with a dozen clubwomen, who were putting on a publicity stunt for the Woman’s National Democratic Club and the Penology and Delinquency Division of the New York Federation of Women’s Clubs.

Then she wrote “Diamond Lil,” which became a hit instantly, one of the smart things to see.

Without Mae West, the play would be a faintly amusing caricature of a rough and interesting phase of American life, Chatham Square of thirty years ago—a rather tawdry melodrama. With Mae West it becomes important, amusing—curiously enough, almost a bit precious. She is slow, rhythmic, insinuating. She moves with almost feline intensity, a curious sort of wiggle, inside her corsets of the nineties. Her voice is low, husky, magnetic, and when she sings “Frankie and Johnnie,” carefully expurgated, it’s a big moment in the theatre.

There has been much pow-wow as to who actually wrote “Diamond Lil.” The program says “By Mae West, suggested by Mark Linder.” The real facts seem to be that Mr. Linder wrote a play concerning Chatham Square. Mae read it, found it had a masculine star rôle, and rewrote the play, using neither the situations nor the lines that Mr. Linder had used. She did use the setting and some of the plot.

When “Diamond Lil” closes, Mae will star in another of her plays, “Men,” which Carl Reed, who sponsored “Pleasure Man,” will produce.

Miss West writes her plays on bits of paper, sometimes between the acts of another play. Now she has taken to using a dictaphone.

“When all my notes are put together and typed I have a play. See? I put in the real stuff at rehearsal. Know what I mean? I let the actors write a lot of their own lines. I pick them out for types, and then let ’em talk. You can’t tell how lines will go over until you try them out on the stage. You have got to hit an audience hard, keep ’em interested every minute. If the action starts to get dull I lift a scene from another act and put it in. See? I sold my new play from the outline. I said, ‘You’ll have to judge this by my other plays. I can’t write the words until the rehearsals start in.’ ”

Mae’s eyes are large and as true a violet color as I’ve ever seen. Her skin is soft and fair. Her nostrils are wide, eager, trusting, her nose small, with a pert turn-up. Her mouth is a bit voluptuous, firm at the corners. She is seemingly frank, with a frankness that tells nothing. She is interested only in things that concern her, sieved through her own personality.

I have no idea how far Mae West will go, whether she will fade out to “that little place on Long Island” all good vaudeville people long for, or will write, year after year, hokum, melodramas, and sex thrillers to shock the worthies of the town, but I don’t think “Diamond Lil” is her last success. She is real, understandable, an interesting and amusing product of this generation—hard, clear-headed, a bit cynical, vulgar where her rôles call for vulgarity. I like her. She is afraid of a thousand little things, of people getting a hold on her, of grafts, of attacks because she has succeeded, and she has real courage.

“After ‘Sex,’ they wanted me to play a nun,” she said. “ ‘Show ’em you can be a good woman!’ they said. I did ‘Diamond Lil,’ just the opposite—gave people what they wanted. Once show people you’re afraid and you’re through. See?”

For a long time, then, Mae West won’t be through. Know what I mean? ♦

Published in the print edition of the November 10, 1928, issue, with the headline “Diamond Mae.”

[brn1029]

On this date in music history…

July 19th

2022 - Queen

Queen made UK chart history when they become the first act ever to reach 7 million UK chart sales of an album with their 1981 Greatest Hits album. The Official best-selling album of all time in the UK, the record includes such classic tracks as 'We Will Rock You', 'Don’t Stop Me Now' and 'Bohemian Rhapsody.' The record also recently celebrated its 1000th week on the Official Albums Chart, with Queen becoming the first British act ever to achieve this landmark milestone.

1993 - Rage Against The Machine

Rage Against The Machine walked out on stage naked at their Lollapalooza set in Philadelphia in a protest against censorship by appearing completely nude except for black electrical tape over their mouths. They stood in protest for their full 15 allocated minutes of stage time with the letters PMRC written on their chests, a reference to the Parents Music Resource Center.

1991 - Steven Adler

Steven Adler ex drummer with Guns N' Roses filed a suit in Los Angeles county court alleging that he was fraudulently removed from the group and that the band introduced him to hard drugs.

1987 - Bruce Springsteen

Bruce Springsteen played his first ever show behind the Iron Curtain when he appeared in East Berlin in front of 180,000 people. The show was broadcast on East German TV.

1986 - Peter Gabriel

Genesis went to No.1 on the US singles chart with 'Invisible Touch'. The bands former lead singer Peter Gabriel was at No.2 with 'Sledgehammer'.

1976 - David Coverdale

Deep Purple split up at the end of an UK tour. David Coverdale went on to form Whitesnake, Jon Lord and Ian Paice formed a band with Tony Ashton. The classic line up of Blackmore, Gillan, Glover, Lord & Paice reformed in 1984. Glenn Hughes returned to Trapeze and Tommy Bolin put together his own band, (but would die before the end of the year).

1974 - Ozark Music Festival

The Ozark Music Festival was held over three days on the Missouri State Fairgrounds in Sedalia, Missouri. One of the largest music festivals ever held, some estimates have put the crowd count at 350,000 people. Acts who appeared included, Bachman–Turner Overdrive, Blue Öyster Cult, the Eagles, America, Marshall Tucker Band, The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, Boz Scaggs, Ted Nugent, Lynyrd Skynyrd,Electric Flag, Joe Walsh, Aerosmith and Spirit.

1954 - Elvis Presley

Sun Records released the first Elvis Presley single, 'That's All Right', a cover of Arthur Crudup's 1946 tune 'That's All Right, Mama'. Only about 7,000 original copies were pressed, but the disc became a local hit in Memphis.

[sgpnow-us]

Embrace the Renewal of Spring with a Fresh Clean-Up

As the days grow longer and the weather begins to warm, it's the perfect time to shake off the winter blues and embrace the rejuvenating spirit of spring. A spring clean-up is the ideal way to kickstart the season, refreshing your home and surroundings to create a clean and revitalized space. From decluttering and organizing to deep cleaning and outdoor sprucing, here's how to tackle your spring clean-up with ease:

Declutter and Purge: Start your spring clean-up by decluttering and purging unnecessary items from your home. Go through closets, cabinets, and storage spaces to identify items you no longer need or use. Donate gently used clothing, household goods, and electronics to charity, sell items online or at a garage sale, and toss out broken or expired items. Clearing out clutter creates space and promotes a sense of openness and renewal in your home.

Organize and Streamline: Once you've decluttered, take the time to organize and streamline your belongings for maximum efficiency and convenience. Invest in storage solutions such as bins, baskets, and shelving to keep items neat and accessible. Label containers and designate specific areas for different categories of items to maintain order and reduce clutter going forward.

Deep Clean: Give your home a thorough deep clean to remove dust, dirt, and grime that have accumulated over the winter months. Clean windows, walls, and baseboards, vacuum carpets and upholstery, mop floors, and wipe down countertops and surfaces. Don't forget to clean overlooked areas such as ceiling fans, light fixtures, and air vents for a fresh and healthy living environment.

Refresh Fabrics and Bedding: Wash or dry clean curtains, drapes, and bedding to remove dust and allergens and give them a fresh scent. Vacuum upholstered furniture and spot clean any stains or spills. Consider rotating mattresses and flipping cushions to prolong their lifespan and maintain comfort and support.

Tackle Outdoor Spaces: Extend your spring clean-up to outdoor areas such as patios, decks, and gardens. Sweep away debris, power wash surfaces, and clean outdoor furniture and accessories. Prune bushes and trees, weed flower beds, and mulch garden beds to prepare for spring planting. Clean gutters and downspouts to prevent water damage and ensure proper drainage.

Inspect and Maintain: Use your spring clean-up as an opportunity to inspect your home for any maintenance issues that need attention. Check for leaks, cracks, or damage in plumbing, roofing, and siding. Test smoke detectors, carbon monoxide detectors, and fire extinguishers, and replace batteries as needed. Schedule routine maintenance for HVAC systems, appliances, and other home systems to keep them running smoothly.

Embrace Green Cleaning: Consider using eco-friendly cleaning products and methods to minimize your environmental impact and promote a healthy living environment. Opt for natural cleaning solutions such as vinegar, baking soda, and lemon juice, and use reusable cleaning cloths and microfiber mops to reduce waste.

By following these tips for a spring clean-up, you can refresh and revitalize your home for the season ahead, creating a clean, organized, and inviting living space that brings joy and renewal to your life. From decluttering and deep cleaning to outdoor sprucing and green cleaning, embracing the spirit of spring clean-up sets the stage for a fresh start and renewed energy in your home.

[kmp78]

Is anyone going to the concert in Amsterdam? Have the seating tickets in the Ziggo Dome been canceled? Last week there were still a lot of seating tickets available on Ticketmaster, it was more blue than gray, and now there are only a few resale tickets and the standing tickets left. That's pretty odd 🤔. I wonder if they'll cancel or downgrade Stockholm too. Sales aren't looking so good either.

https://www.axs.com/se/events/512186/thirty-seconds-to-mars-tickets?skin=hovet

***

Maybe they're "refiguring" the arena/stage, and blocking off certain sections. 🤷🏼‍♀️

Sometimes when an act books a big arena but it isn't sold out, they put the stage in the middle of the pit and shield unsold sections with black curtains. 🤷🏼‍♀️

[equipesollazzo]

HOME DECORATING TIPS FOR SELLERS

When it comes to selling your home, creating a visually appealing and inviting space is crucial to attracting potential buyers. The way you decorate and present your home can significantly impact its perceived value and the speed at which it sells. The team at Sollazzo will guide you through effective home decorating tips that can help you create an attractive and memorable impression on potential buyers, ultimately increasing your chances of a successful sale.

DECLUTTER AND DEPERSONALIZE:

Before decorating, decluttering is essential. Remove any unnecessary items, personal photographs, and excessive furniture to create a clean and spacious atmosphere. Depersonalize the space by neutralizing bold color schemes or unique decor choices, allowing buyers to envision themselves living in the home.

START WITH A NEUTRAL PALETTE:

Neutral colors create a versatile canvas that appeals to a wider range of buyers. Repaint walls in shades like soft grays, warm beiges, or light blues. Neutral colors create a fresh and calming ambiance, making it easier for potential buyers to visualize their own furniture and personal style within the space.

MAXIMIZE NATURAL LIGHT:

Lighting plays a crucial role in how buyers perceive your home. Open curtains, blinds, and shades to allow natural light to flood in, creating an inviting and cheerful atmosphere. Consider replacing heavy drapes with sheer curtains or blinds to maximize the amount of sunlight entering each room.

HIGHLIGHT KEY FEATURES:

Accentuate the unique and desirable features of your home. Whether it’s a beautiful fireplace, architectural details, or a stunning view, draw attention to these elements through strategic furniture placement or creative lighting. Make sure potential buyers notice these highlights as soon as they enter the room.

CREATE A SENSE OF SPACE:

Arrange furniture in a way that maximizes the flow and space of each room. Remove any oversized or unnecessary pieces that may make the area feel cramped. Use mirrors strategically to reflect light and create the illusion of a larger space. Rearranging furniture can drastically transform the feel and functionality of a room.

ADD STYLISH BUT SIMPLE DECOR:

Consider adding tasteful and contemporary decor to enhance the overall aesthetic of your home. Invest in a few key pieces, such as new throw pillows, artwork, or area rugs, to add pops of color and style. However, remember to keep it simple and avoid overwhelming the space with too many accessories.

CREATE INVITING OUTDOOR SPACES:

Be sure to not neglect the outdoor areas when decorating. Enhance curb appeal by maintaining a well-manicured lawn, adding potted plants, and refreshing the front entrance. Stage outdoor spaces, such as patios or decks, with cozy furniture and vibrant cushions to create an inviting setting for potential buyers.

MAINTAIN A CLEAN AND FRESH ENVIRONMENT:

Regularly clean your home to keep it in pristine condition for showings. Pay attention to details like sparkling windows, polished surfaces, and fresh scents. Remove any pet-related odors or lingering smells to ensure a pleasant experience for potential buyers.

KEEP IT TASTEFULLY STAGED:

When staging your home, strike a balance between a lived-in look and a showcase-ready space. Arrange furniture in a way that highlights functionality and purpose. Stage each room to showcase its intended use, such as setting up a home office or a cozy reading nook.

SEEK PROFESSIONAL HELP:

Consider hiring a professional home stager or interior designer to provide expert advice and assistance. They can help you optimize your home’s appeal and create a cohesive and marketable look that appeals to a wide range of potential buyers.

CONCLUSION:

By implementing these home decorating tips, you can transform your property into an irresistible haven for potential buyers. Remember, creating a visually appealing and welcoming space increases your chances of a successful sale. Pay attention to decluttering, neutralizing colors, maximizing natural light, highlighting key features, and maintaining a clean and fresh environment. With careful attention to detail and a tastefully staged home, you’ll be well on your way to attracting eager buyers and achieving a successful sale. Get in touch with our team if you have any questions.

You may also view our team of specialists. The team at Sollazzo is eager to help you with all of your real estate needs.

[baratrongirl]

This Apollo is from the merchandise for the 2019 Gyakuten Saiban Orchestra Concert (逆転裁判 オーケストラコンサート2019). There are in fact 4 pieces of merchandise available plus the CD itself.

Acrylic stands. Here's a picture from Kazuya Nuri's official Twitter account showing all 8 of the characters. He writes that "You can also enjoy the size difference between the characters when you line them up!"

Image ID: Eight acrylic stands of Ace Attorney/Dai Gyakuten Saiban characters playing musical instruments. The DGS characters are on the left, all dressed in black, and consist of Herlock Sholmes - violin, Ryuunosuke Naruhodou - tambourine, Kazuma Asougi - drum, Barok van Zieks - double bass.

The AA characters are on the right, all dressed in white with a flash of their signature colour. Apollo Justice - cymbals, Phoenix Wright - conductor's baton, Miles Edgeworth - violin, Godot - saxophone. Apollo, Phoenix, and Edgeworth have red, blue, and maroon waistcoats respectively, while Godot is wearing a green shirt.

2) Badges. A 5.5 cm can badge (US = button) was made of each of the eight characters above. Here's Apollo:

3) Photograph frames. My Japanese is non-existent and I make do with Google Translate and the help of my friend @hikari-kaitou (who is fluent, and is doing translation commissions NOW), but I'm under the impression that people who attended the concert received a photo frame as a gift. There are two designs, AA and DGS, and I believe there may have been two sizes as well? Here's the AA photo frame:

Image ID: Photograph frame of Ace Attorney characters dressed in white suits with a flash of their signature colour. The defence attorneys are on the left and the prosecutors on the right. They are displayed over a stage design with heavy red curtains. Apollo is in the top left jumping in the air with his cymbals. Phoenix is standing on the bottom left, Edgeworth bottom right, and Godot top right. The characters are sticking out of the rigid frame making it an interesting shape. The frame is displayed on top of the presentation box it came in.

4) Clearfiles. Japan loves clearfiles (plastic files for putting up to about 10 sheets of paper in, usually A4-sized but sometimes A5) and these can be found occasionally. There was one clearfile for the Ace Attorney characters and a second one for the DGS characters. I haven't been able to find a good photograph of the actual items, so here's the "Sample" version from a press site.

5) The actual CD. Disc one is AA music and disc two is DGS music.

If you're interested in buying any of these items, the acrylic stands, badges, photo frames, and CDs are very easily obtained by using a proxy site such as Buyee to buy from Japanese Mercari or Yahoo! Auctions. Enter "逆転裁判 オーケストラコンサート2019" in the search box. Suruga-Ya also have some of these items for sale, though they don't ship to all countries. Do be aware that buying anything from a proxy site essentially triples the price you will pay for it, due to the fees and the extremely high cost of postage from Japan at the moment.

So, I hear you say, this is all wonderful, but haven't they missed the most famous Ace Attorney musician of all? Well, no. Our favourite rockstar prosecutor, Klavier Gavin, didn't go to the orchestra concert. He was playing at the 逆転裁判LIVE～OBJECTION!！2019～ rock concert instead.

This time, Apollo was on drums.

hey did you know that um

(ID: a cropped image of official ace attorney art, stretched to fill the post width, showing chibi apollo justice in a white suit, holding two cymbals in the air with his mouth wide open. end ID)

[maurviicurtains]

Blue velvet stage curtains | Maurvii

[reinvent-and-believe]

48 from dialogue prompts + 50 from wordless i-love-yous for geraskier?

Dialogue Prompt 48: “You make me want things I can’t have.” Wordless I-love-you 50: buying them a special treat when you go out shopping

--

It catches Geralt’s eye while he haggles over an outrageously priced jar of alchemy paste with a none-too-impressed herbalist on the outskirts of Novigrad, a buxom widow with thick-braided auburn hair by the name of Irmina.

“This for sale too?” He picks up the brooch from the countertop where it rests in a beam of golden light streaming through a dingy window. He examines it. It’s simple enough metalwork, a brass oval with a scalloped edge, but inlaid in its face is a single pressed yellow flower framed by tiny white blooms encased in resin.

The herbalist’s dour demeanour brightens immediately. “It is indeed!” she answers, her brown eyes shining in a plump, suddenly pleasant face. “Made it myself just last week. It’s something of a hobby of mine, making pretty knick-knacks from the flowers we can’t sell. Got plenty more like this if you’d like to peruse ‘em, master witcher! Forget-me-nots and arenaria, hellebore, violets, any flower you might like.”

A buttercup, he realizes belatedly. That’s the yellow flower in the center.

“No.” He sees Irmina’s brow furrow in offense, so he hastens to appease her. “No need, I’ll take this one. I...I’m partial to buttercups.”

Her freckled face breaks into a sly, knowing smile. “Oh, aye, I’m sure someone is partial to buttercups.” She winks, waving away his stammered attempts at an answer. “Never you mind, I know a man besotted when I see one, and it seems a witcher’s not so different. Tell you what. Fifty crowns for the paste and I’ll throw the brooch in for only ten.”

-

Leaving the herbalist’s shop with an overpriced paste, a lighter purse, and a useless trinket, Geralt curses himself for a fool.

He’s not sure why he bought it.

He knows buttercups are Jaskier’s favorite, of course. “None but the noblest of flowers for my sobriquet!” Jaskier had squawked indignantly when Geralt once made the grave mistake of referring to the pesky things as weeds after he’d stopped Roach from chomping on a patch of the bright, poisonous blooms.

They are weeds, buttercups. They serve no function. They can’t be used in any of the potions, decoctions, or oils Geralt brews, nor do they have any particularly helpful curative properties for humans.

“As ever, my dear witcher, you have no sense of poetry,” Jaskier had sighed in a most put-upon voice when told as much. “Their function is they’re pretty. Their function is to enrich our lives through the beauty of the natural world.” He’d looked to the sky, tip of his tongue between his teeth showing through his frown as was his custom when puzzling through the right way to turn a phrase. “From a strictly utilitarian perspective, perhaps the buttercup has less value than, say, moleyarrow, or verbena, or chamomile, even. Some plants provide nutritional or medicinal or alchemical qualities of various sorts. But some exist to make life worth living! To transform the banal into the sublime.” He’d plucked a buttercup from the roadside, twirling it between his long fingers. “It’s graceful and balanced, effortlessly beautiful. It’s vibrant, bright like...like sunlight, on a summer afternoon! And when you see it growing alongside the various and sundry flora, it fills you with the loveliest burst of warmth, like a lover’s smile.”

“So...it’s a pretty weed.”

“You’re incorrigible, witcher, that’s what you are.” Jaskier had huffed dramatically before tucking the buttercup behind Geralt’s ear, his face alight with a delighted grin.

Like sunlight on a summer afternoon.

-

The Kingfisher Inn is crowded when Geralt arrives. He goes to the bar, orders an ale from Olivier, and leans against the counter to take a look at the stage.

Jaskier loves playing the Kingfisher. In many of the inns he plays across the Continent, he’s relegated to a corner to try to sing over the clang of dinner, his only option to win the common folk over a raucous drinking song or a filthy ditty. And while the bard doesn’t shy away from such vulgarities, the patrons of the Kingfisher tend to be of a more artistically inclined ilk, responding with appropriate gusto to the virtuosic art songs that he rarely performs outside of competitions or Oxenfurt.

Or so he’d explained to Geralt when he’d suggested they meet up at the inn.

Jaskier sits atop a tall stool on a rather large stage framed by crimson curtains, his sky-blue doublet a vivid contrast. The audience, enraptured, listens to his ballad, a melancholy tale of a fair maiden who’s violently killed before she can profess her love to a farmhand in her village, a beautiful, strong, kind man whose hair shines like a blaze of pale fire in the sunlight. Her love for him tethers her to this world, and her spirit—bitter, weary, and endlessly yearning—calls the men working in the fields to join her dance at midday, when the sun is in its zenith, hoping against hope for the chance to finally confess to her beloved.

In the end, the brave, noble farmhand sacrifices himself, hoping to stop the spirit’s killings by listening to her song and joining her as she beckons. And as they are reunited, as she finally kisses the lips she’s longed for in a blinding blaze of sunlight, they pass on together, their spirits becoming one.

It’s a contract Geralt worked a few years ago, a noonwraith outside Oreton—or at least something close. As ever, Jaskier has taken artistic liberties, romanticized the actual events (“Sometimes, in our pursuit of Truth, we must sacrifice the facts,” Jaskier loftily explained on more than one occasion. He seemed quite taken with the profundity he seemed to find in the statement. Geralt called it pretentious once and Jaskier hurled a chunk of bread at his head). Once it might have bothered Geralt, but he’s grown accustomed to Jaskier’s rather malleable relationship with veracity in his ballads. There’s no denying the impact of his storytelling: when Geralt glances around the inn, he sees several patrons discreetly dabbing at their eyes.

It’d been an ugly case, leaving him feeling empty, drained. Noonwraiths haunt his thoughts far longer than most the monsters he dispatches. They’re victims of circumstance more than anything, young women who’ve been transformed into bloodthirsty, violent spirits through no fault of their own, through the violence inflicted upon them. Nearly forty men had fallen prey to her before the farmhand distracted her with his kiss—though Geralt would hesitate to classify his grotesque, gruesome sacrifice as such—so the witcher had a chance to strike her down with silver. Jaskier has spun the miserable tale into something beautiful, moving, something that clearly resonates with his captivated audience, that speaks to a greater force at work than the chaotic, banal evils the witcher sees every day, and Geralt thinks he understands, for a moment, what the bard had told him of Truth and facts.

(Geralt doesn’t know what greater Truth is served by changing the beloved farmhand’s hair from the dull brown it really was to “a blaze of pale fire,” but then, Geralt’s not a poet.)

The final notes hang in the air, all eyes fixed on Jaskier for a rapt, breathless moment before the room bursts into wild applause. Jaskier stands and bows deeply, once, twice, a third time, surveying the room as he offers his thanks. When his gaze catches Geralt at the bar, his expression of showman’s grace vanishes, a flash of something that looks almost alarmed for a split second before it’s replaced by a small, gentle smile.

Geralt nods and raises his mug toward the stage in cheers, draining the remainder. Jaskier is quickly swept into the swarm of captivated fans, accepting their praises with a gracious, if distracted, smile.

The witcher turns back to the barkeep to order himself another ale along with a glass of wine.

“Geralt!” Jaskier swerves to avoid a near-collision with a frenzied barmaid on his way to join his companion at the bar. He grabs the wine glass with a groan of appreciation, taking a swig before asking, “Is this for me? Gods, but you’re a marvel, darling, I thank you.” He takes another sip and sends a disarming, roguish wink to a pair of girls staring at him and giggling to each other. “I wasn’t sure when you’d arrive, but it wouldn’t have mattered, I suppose, they only had one room to let when I checked in and it hasn’t cleared out since. You’ll share mine, of course, but I’ve been here a week so, you know, best brace yourself, I’ve quite made the place my own.”

Geralt snorts. He’s stayed in enough rooms that Jaskier has made his own over the past decade to predict with some certainty what mess he’ll soon venture into.

(Doublets draped over furniture after they’ve been discarded; crumpled sheets of paper tossed near, never in the fireplace; a few near-empty bottles of wine; a shirt hung to dry over the modesty screen between the sleeping and bathing areas; bottles of a dozen oils and perfumes and soaps scattered haphazard near the tub; an unmade bed that may well contain an abandoned undergarment or forgotten stocking left by some well-satisfied guest.)

“Have you eaten? Shall we? I’m starved, felt jittery all afternoon and didn’t eat a damned thing which was all well and good until I got onstage and suddenly wished for a fainting couch. Or we could take your things up to the room first, of course. Oh! We could have them bring our dinner up to us, it’s awfully crowded down here tonight and I’m not sure I’m up to socializing all evening, to be honest, I’ve been dreadfully out of sorts, did you notice, Geralt, that I’ve…”

Jaskier continues his ramblings, and the witcher can’t help a twinge of worry for his friend. It’s not unheard of for Jaskier to be in a heightened state over a particularly important performance, but usually afterwards the nerves dissipate and he seems more himself. Not to mention, why would playing in an inn prompt such anxieties? Even if the Kingfisher clientele trends toward the more refined than the country folk he often plays for, it’s still rather a low-stakes environment to trigger such stress.

“New song?” he asks casually. Jaskier always beams when he notices such things, when he makes an effort to ask about his music.

Instead, Jaskier blushes, looking away with an expression that almost seems guilty. “Ah, yes, well, I wasn’t certain when you’d be arriving, of course, I thought I might try out something different, a sort of test audience, as it were, to feel out the piece before I use it for anything important.” The look he’s fixed on Geralt seems almost wary. “Did you...like the song?”

Geralt shrugs. “Not quite how it happened,” he grumbles, out of habit more than anything.

A smile, genuine and rueful, breaks out on Jaskier’s face. “Gods, I’ve missed you, my friend,” he says, shaking his head and looking away quickly.

“Hmm.” He reaches quickly into the coin pouch at his side, thrusting the trinket from the herbalist into Jaskier’s hand with a brusque, “Here.”

“Whatever have we got…” He cuts off as opens his palm. “Oh.”

There have been so few times over the years that Geralt has seen Jaskier speechless that he begins to worry he’s offended him. He turns the brooch over in his hands, once, twice, his thumb swiping gently over its smooth enamel face. He doesn’t look up.

Even in the crowded room, Geralt can smell the shift in his demeanor, the muted sickly-sweet anxious smell becoming something sharp, metallic, pained, like he’s been stabbed. “You’re upset.”

“I...no.” Jaskier shoves the brooch into his trouser pocket, a tense smile on his face, not at all reaching his eyes. “Thank you, Geralt, it’s lovely. Shall we take your bags to the room now?”

“I didn’t...I didn’t get it to upset you.”

Jaskier laughs, a broken thing, and Geralt grows even more alarmed. “You didn’t, it isn’t that, sometimes I want things I can’t have is all.” He grabs the saddlebag sitting at Geralt’s feet, not meeting his eyes as he rushes past him up the stairs to the last bedroom in the hall.

Geralt follows after a moment, giving his companion a respectful distance. There’s a tightness in his shoulders, a knot in his gut that only grows as he watches Jaskier’s hand tremble on the key as he unlocks the door.

It was a stupid idea. He knew it was stupid when he bought it, yet he bought it anyway, somehow ruined everything anyway.

“Here we are.” Jaskier’s voice is filled with a forced cheer as he sets the bag down, hand never leaving the doorknob. “I’ll go fetch us some supper. Or, actually, you know, now that I think of it, I’ve a few errands to run before it gets too late, meant to do it earlier but you know how it goes, lost track of time…”

“Jaskier.” Geralt moves toward him but stops himself, helpless. “Please. I’m sorry I upset you.”

Jaskier stands in the doorway for another moment. He takes a deep breath, closes the door, and walks slowly to the writing desk in the corner. He pulls the chair out, moving the doublet strewn across it before sitting. He doesn’t look at Geralt.

“You didn’t.” Every word is calculated, deliberate. “What kind of ungrateful wretch gets upset over...over an exceptionally thoughtful gift from a friend after a time apart?”

Geralt sits on the edge of the bed. His elbows rest on his knees, fingers locking together as he stares at the floor. “You’re not a wretch. The fault is mine.”

“Dammit, Geralt, there isn’t fault, I only—why did you bring me a gift?”

Geralt frowns. “I’ve bought you things before,” he says slowly.

“Things, yes!” Jaskier vaults from the chair, pacing listlessly about the room, no longer trying to mask his inexplicable distress. “Lute strings when I broke a string and I was low on coin. The lute is my livelihood, it made financial sense for you to replace the string so I could pull my own weight, help you when we pass through several towns in a row with no contracts. Boots when you noticed the hole in the heel of my old pair, because I slow you down limping about in footwear that’s falling apart. Room and board, sometimes, because you know I’m good for it, I’ll cover you the next time.” He’s stopped pacing, stares silent into the fireplace.

“Wasn’t keeping a tab.” Geralt’s voice is quiet. “You needed strings and boots and food and a room.”

Jaskier doesn’t turn to face him, but Geralt sees his hand slip into his pocket, pull out the brooch. His head bends, studying it.

He’s not offended or annoyed or angered by the gift. He’s hurt. But why?

Except...

Jaskier looked guilty when Geralt brought up the song. Like he’d been caught red-handed. Did you like it? he’d asked. Incredulous.

The noonwraith singing her song in hopes that her beloved hears her confession. That he’ll hear her song of longing and come to her.

Hair like a blaze of pale fire, not dull brown.

Sometimes I want things I can’t have.

“Geralt?”

The witcher snaps back to attention, eyes fixed on Jaskier, finally facing him.

“Why did you get it for me, Geralt?”

Geralt frowns. “It’s...pretty,” he starts lamely. “I thought you might wear it when you play. You wear gaudy things.”

Jaskier snorts, a small, crooked grin on his lips.

“It made me think of you,” he confesses quietly, his eyes tracing the wood grain of the floor. “Sometimes...things don’t have to have a function. It was a buttercup and it was pretty and it…made me think of you.”

When Geralt dares to raise his eyes, Jaskier’s staring at him, brows drawn together and mouth slightly agape. After a moment, he walks toward the witcher, sitting carefully beside him on the bed. He reaches his hand towards Geralt’s and presses the little brooch into his palm.

“Will you pin it on me?” he asks softly.

Geralt nods.

His fingers feel thick and clumsy as he fumbles with the delicate clasp. The top few buttons of Jaskier’s doublet, as ever, are undone, but it closes neatly just beneath his exposed neck. Geralt slips a finger beneath the satin fabric to pull it away from his throat, cautiously piercing the fabric with the thin pin and sliding it into its slot, locking the clasp with shaking hands.

His hand doesn’t move from Jaskier’s chest. A sword-calloused thumb, seemingly of its own volition, grazes lightly over the bobbing Adam’s apple.

“Geralt.”

He looks up, almost pulls away but for the flushed cheeks, the tongue that darts out to wet pink lips, the hooded eyes beneath dark lashes fixed on Geralt’s mouth. Jaskier’s breath is warm against his face. When did they draw so close?

“Are you going to kiss me, Geralt?” The breathy whisper is laced with wonder.

And he didn’t...didn’t buy the brooch to entice Jaskier into anything, didn’t mean to solicit any sort of reward, and he opens his mouth to tell him so, yet as his rough hand moves to gently cup the back of Jaskier’s neck the words that tumble out instead are, “I’d like to.”

And Jaskier throws back his head and laughs, a euphoric, intoxicated sound, as his lovely hands cradle Geralt’s face. He brings his forehead to rest against Geralt’s as they still, breathing each other for a moment before Jaskier surges forward to capture his lips.

His kiss tastes like sunlight.

[storeboughtbrand]

So I was rewatching pitch perfect and a dumb head-canon came to mind. Do you think the Wayne kids ever perform a song and dance at the Wayne Gala ever year. Like can you imagine them doing the Barden Bellas’ final performance. Like them doing the line thing as Beca does her solo. Cause I can imagine the girl doing the splits as Dick. And not just the Wayne kids but also Barbara and Stephanie. Idk if Damien would join in, maybe when he’s older. Some years, the kids even convince Bruce to join in and this year the entire justice league, young justice, and Titans are there. Like this was the year Bruce finally allowed the other heroes to come to the Wayne Gala and they see this shit show.

Like Imagine:

Hal: Hey, where the hell is Spooky?? I thought we finally got him to agree to hang out with us out of costume.

Oliver: Idk, he said that his kids needed him and took off running.

Barry: You don’t think he’s trying to avoid us right???

Clark: No, I’m sure whatever it was it was extremely important. Maybe it’s *looks around to see if anyone is listening and leans in closer* batman related.

Diana, Dinah, and Shayera: *looks at him with exasperation*

Dinah: Maybe the kids know what they’re doing *looks at the titans and young justice at their own tables*

Suddenly the lights dim down and a spotlight shines on the stage at the front of the room. Stephanie stands underneath it with the biggest shit-eating grin on her face.



Stephanie: Ladies, Gents, and Non-binary buddies. Thank you all for coming to this year’s annual Wayne Gala. This evening you are in for a treat! For tonight, we have some prime-time entertainment to go with your dinner provided by the Wayne Family. So relax, pull up a chair as the dining room proudly presents......Your dinner.

Then she slips through the curtains behind her and disappears into the darkness with a creepy giggle.

Arthur: What the hell was that all about???

J’onn: I believe Bruce has decided to include entertainment for us to enjoy with our meals. I, for one, am looking forward to what’s to come.

Hal: Are you sure you should? I mean, this is Spooky we’re talking about. You know, Tall, Dark, and Eternally Brooding. Entertainment to him is probably listening to the screams of gotham’s criminals on repeat while brooding next to a gargoyle.

Clark: C’mon now Hal, let’s give Bruce the benefit of the doubt. I’m sure Bruce has.....

Suddenly, the curtain opens up and the entire batfamily is standing there dressed to the nines in expensive suits and dress(Dick rocking dark blue high heels). Each of them have their own microphone. Dick pulls out a harmonica and blows a tuning note.

Tim: Seems like everybody’s got a price, I wonder how they sleep at night when the sale comes first and the truth comes second just stop for a minute and smile.....

Meanwhile the Justice League, Titans, and Young Justice are just watching slack-jawed with the most confused looks on their faces. Most of the Gothamites present, however, have a knowing look on their faces and just continue to eat their dinner while watching the batfamily. Some of the old Gothamites have a annoyed look on their faces and just roll their eyes(thats cause they old fashioned).

Stephanie: Everybody look to the left, everybody look to the right. Can you feel that, yeah, paying with love tonight.....

*pause*

Hal: WHAT THE FUC......

Harper: It ain’t all about the money...

Batfamily proceeds to do the entire routine.

https://youtu.be/mAVPYq8fc3k

———————————————————————-

Extras:

Barry: This can’t be real right?! Guys we’re all on a mission and trapped in a hallucination right?! Right?!?!??

All of them proceed to watch as Bruce does the hip roll thing while winking at them with a smirk.

Justice League: *confused, scared, and slightly aroused*

Bruce internally: Fuck Fuck Fuck why did I do that?!?!!

———————————————————————-

Dick singing Beca’s solo while staring at his team with a smirk on his face and hooded eyes.

Dick: As you walk on by.. Will you call my name? As you walk on by..... (doing the line thing with the legs)

Kaldur, Artemis, Wally, M’gann, Connor, Zatanna, and Raquel: Hello Officer yes I’m being attacked SEND BACKUP!!!

Alternative:

Kaldur, Artemis, Wally, M’gann, Connor, Zatanna, and Raquel: This is a COVERT mission, This is a COVERT mission, This is a COVERT mission, ........