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barricadescon · 2 months

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Schedule for Barricades 2024, Saturday, July 13th

Good morning! It's time for the second day of Barricades 2024!

Saturday, June 13th

All times are in UTC, and can be converted to your local time zone at this link.

Key to types of Panels:

Convention Administration panels: Panels run by the Con Committee, to open and end the convention.

Guest of Honor: Special panels from our guests of honor. This year, our guests of honor are Jean Baptiste Hugo, a descendant of Victor Hugo who will discuss his project photograph his ancestor’s house; Christina Soontornvat, the author of the award-winning Les Mis retelling “A Wish in the Dark;” and Luciano Muriel, playwright of the 2018 musical play “Grantaire.”

Fan/Academic Panel Presentations: Panels on history, fandom, or analysis of Les Mis. Scholars will share historical research, fans will share hobby projects, and the audience may get an opportunity to ask questions.

Social Meetups: Casual unstructured time to meet up over video call and chat!

Social Games: Games and activities.

Guest of Honor: The Photography of Jean Baptiste Hugo

Saturday, 15:00-16:00 UTC

Session Type: Guest of Honor

Presented by: Jean Baptiste Hugo

Recorded: yes

Jean Baptiste Hugo is the great-great-grandson of Victor Hugo. He has extensively photographed Hugo’s home in exile on Guernsey, which Victor Hugo decorated following his own aesthetic philosophies–in particular, the journey from darkness into light, which we see reflected throughout Hugo’s literary career. M. Hugo will share his photographs and discuss Hauteville House as a physical realization of his ancestor’s ideas.

Reflecting on Directing Les Mis

Saturday, 16:00-17:00 UTC

Session Type: Fan/Academic Panel Presentation

Presented by: Cait

Recorded: yes

In Cait’s words: “I directed an amateur production of Les Mis at the end of last year, and would love to talk about how that went and share snippets from the show and behind the scenes. This will include talking about adapting Les Mis for the space and budget, approaches to certain scenes, dual casting lead roles, and probably raving about my lovely cast.”

The Fallibility of History in Les Misérables

Saturday, 16:00-17:00 UTC

Session Type: Fan/Academic Panel Presentation

Presented by: Syrup

Recorded: yes

Throughout Les Misérables, Hugo often reminds readers that what they are reading is derived from some form of documentation or hearsay. While this serves to provide credibility to the tales he is sharing, there are certain moments where Hugo opts out of describing exact details, despite his efforts at a historically-accurate record. In this panel, I will take a look at these instances where Hugo either addresses or obfuscates these events, and how by doing so, he reveals the fallibility of history, and highlights how history documentations are not always as reliable as they seem. Thesis: By crafting Les Misérables as a form of historical documentation, Hugo reveals the fallibility of history, and readers are able to understand how history and history documentation are not always as reliable as they seem.

Break

Saturday, 17:00-18:00 UTC

What Horizon: Tragedies, Time Loops, and the Hopefulness of Les Amis

Saturday, 18:00-18:30 UTC

Session Type: Fan/Academic Panel Presentation

Presented by: Percy

Recorded: yes

In Percy’s words: “I have directed a staged reading of the play and will have video clips to show! My play is focused on the rebellion and Les Amis; it aims to give the barricades the attention they often lack in adaptation and develop the individual characters of the insurgents. I’m working to make this episode of the Hugo novel and its historical context accessible to audience members who may not be familiar with the source material, while hopefully also bringing something new to the story for longtime fans.

One aspect of the story I’m particularly interested in examining is the persistent sense of hope associated with the barricades, despite the insurgents’ eventual defeat and the previous failure of the July Revolution. Linking the seemingly cyclical process of revolution and restoration, the metatheatrical tradition of tragedies aware of their own repetition in performance before the audience, and the nature of Les Misérables itself as a story that has been told and retold countless times, I hope to show the audience the worth of the insurgents’ struggle and the importance of their continued efforts. Many adaptations construe the rebellion as futile or as solely a tragic story, so I would like my adaptation to counter that idea, as Les Amis grapple with the meaning of their sacrifice and the impacts of their actions.

In a presentation, I would discuss these ideas with reference to Hugo’s original text and the ways in which the rebellion has been changed in adaptation, as well as other works that inspired me (namely Hadestown and Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead). I’d discuss the choices I made in my adaptation process and show clips from the staged reading, touching on the different characters and the historical setting as well as the overarching themes with which I engaged.”

Cosette: A Novel, The (Fanmade) Sequel to Les Misérables

Saturday, 18:30-19:00 UTC

Session Type: Fan/Academic Panel Presentation

Presented by: IMiserabili

Recorded: yes

This presentation is a deep-dive into the 1995 fanfiction “Cosette” by Laura Kalpakian. It will include a short background on the author and the publication, a summary of the plot, an analysis of represented historical events in the work, character analyses and comparisons to the source material and other Les Mis adaptations, and memorable quotes.

Musical Eponine and Grantaire in song and lyric edits: Personal research on their development

Saturday, 18:00-19:00 UTC

Session Type: Panel Presentation

Presented by: Ruth Kenyon

Recorded: yes

In Ruth’s words: “I’m an older musical Les Misérables fan who has watched the show develop from its beginnings at the Palace Theatre. I have a special interest in how the lyrics and the characters have changed over time. As plenty of people know now, I am also writing a book on the musical using these experiences. I’m working on Eponine’s chapter at the moment, and while I know fans have a lot of love for as she is now, I feel quite upset to see what happened to her as she was developed from the original French version of the musical. She seems to have lost quite a lot of emotional agency along the way. Grantaire has also changed over time; he was cut before the previews and there was a big re-write of his character when the show went to Broadway, but I really like what they have done with his character. I’ll provide examples of all this detail with material from my book and (trying) to sing bits of lyrics to explain what has happened to the characters.”

Barricades as a Tactic: How Do They Work?

Saturday, 19:00-20:00 UTC

Session Type: Fan/Academic Panel Presentation

Presented by: Lem

Recorded: No

This session will explore the tactical and strategic uses of barricades, with an eye towards what to consider when writing both canon-era fanfiction and modern AUs. After all, the strategic goals towards which the barricades were used in canon-era urban warfare were often quite different from the strategic goals of similar-looking tactics in contemporary protest movements. Core components of the session will be a map-based analysis of July 1830, a comparison with June 1832 highlighting strategic goals and considerations canon-era characters would have, and an exploration of various parallels among contemporary protest tactics (which may or may not *look* like barricades).

Meetup: Musical Fans

Saturday, 19:00-20:00 UTC

Session Type: Social Meetup

Presented by: Erin

Recorded: No

A casual place to meet up with other fans and discuss the musical!

Break

Saturday, 20:00-21:00 UTC

Why is There a Roller Coaster in Les Mis? The Strange History of the Russian Mountains

Saturday, 21:00-22:00 UTC

Session Type: Fan/Academic Panel Presentation

Presented by: Peyton Parker/Mellow

Recorded: Yes

In Les Miserables there is an actual canon scene where Fantine rides a roller coaster. How did a roller coaster end up in Paris in 1817? And why did this ride, one of the world's first wheeled Roller Coasters, make a cameo in Victor Hugo’s novel?

It’s “Les Mis Meets Defunctland.”

We’re going talk about the earliest origins of the Russian Mountains, the fascinating history behind how they came to France, their many connections to the political turmoil of the time period, what they felt like to ride, why they were shut down, how they fell into obscurity, and why Victor Hugo included them in Les Miserables. It’s time for a roller coaster digression.

Fanfic Round Robin

Saturday, 22:00-23:00 UTC

Session Type: Social Game

Presented by: Featheraly

Recorded: No

Participate in a round robin to help write a fic together!

Obscure(-ish) Les Mis Adaptations To Watch

Saturday, 23:00-23:30 UTC

Session Type: Fan/Academic Panel Presentation

Presented by: Pureanon

Recorded: Yes

Les Mis has been adapted many times over the years, and this means there’s a lot of adaptations to enjoy. Because of this, a lot of adaptations are underviewed or underappreciated. I’d like to use this panel to discuss some of my favorites/the most unique — 1925, 1948, 1967, and 1995. These are all very different, and aside from all being ones I enjoy, they’re fascinating looks at how different countries and different time periods adapt this story.

The adaptations I’ve chosen are both some of the best and some of the worst out there, but they’re all unique. 1925 is one of the most faithful adaptations out there, and it uses the medium of silent film to full effect. 1948 has Valean get shot at multiple times in the opening minutes, and the revolutionaries fight with BARRELS in the barricade. 1967 is half one of the best Anglophone Les Mis adaptations ever, and half the drunkest. 1995 is more of an adaptation of how people react to Les Mis as a story than a straightforward adaptation, and it’s one of the most beautiful and unique versions out there. I intend to show a clip from each adaptation, so people can get a little taste of what each adaptation is like.

Recovery: a Fanfic Live Read

Saturday, 22:30-23:00

Session Type: Fan/Academic Panel Presentation

Presented by: Eli, Barri

Recorded: Yes

A full cast will live read a Les Mis fanfic written specifically for the con.

Compared to Some People Grantaire is Doing Just Fine (No, Really)

Saturday: 22:00-23:00

Session Type: Fan/Academic Panel Presentation

Presented by: Ellen Fremedon, Pilferingapples

Recorded: Yes

Grantaire and Marius are the two characters on the fringes of the Friends of the ABC, connected to the group by social ties rather than sincere political belief. In this panel, Pilf and Ellen will discuss the two characters as narrative foils, touching along the way on the problem with Great Men, bourgeois inaction, what it means to have the republic as a mother, and dying for love–plus those two pistols in Marius’s pocket.

Preliminary Gaities

23:00-24:00 UTC

Session Type: Social Game

Presented by: Rare, Percy, and ShitpostingFromTheBarricade

Recorded: No

Preliminary Gayeties is the chapter where Grantaire gets drunk with Joly and Bossuet before the barricades.�� It is perfect for a drinking game.

In keeping with personal tradition, Rare, Percy, and ShitpostingFromTheBarricade will bring you a second year of our dramatic reading of the “Preliminary Gayeties” chapter of the brick. all while following specified drinking game rules (including classics such as “drink for brick quotes that appear commonly in fanfiction,” “pretentious classical references,” and “drink/eat when characters drink/eat”), and enjoying snacks mentioned in the chapter as they are mentioned. Everyone is invited to participate by reading, eating, and drinking along with this activity!

#mine #Barricades 2024 #Les MIs #Les MIserables #Barricades con #Barricades Schedule

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hyperfixated-on-cod · 11 months

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Happy Halloween! Here’s how 141 + Los Vaqueros celebrate the spookiest day of the year 🎃 (Partially 18+ NSFW)

(DISCLAIMER: my headcanons are my own; I’m an American so some of them might be Americanized. I don’t fully know many details regarding Día de Los Muertos, so I will not in good faith speak much about it in this post)

Captain Price

He’s not dressing up BUT he does go all out decorating for it. His permanent residence, his office, and if he’s on deployment he does what he can.

Really enjoys handing out candy. He loves seeing what costumes the kids/teens come up with every year.

He’s the dad that gets angry when kids TP his house.

MIGHT let you take him to a Halloween party, and if you do get him to dress up it will be something super simple like draping a white sheet over his head and cutting out eye holes😂

If you don’t go to a party, he’ll hang with you at home and watch scary movies with you

(Personally I don’t like horror bc I get nightmares easily so I’d like to think he’s very protective and cute about it🥹)

Will absolutely rail you in your costume when the night is over. Bonus points if you dressed in something intentionally sexy.

Soap

If anything, he’s the one dragging you to a Halloween party.

He’s dressing up as Ghost. Plans WEEKS ahead of time so he can steal one of his masks, rather than making his own since he knows Ghost’s are good quality.

Wherever he ends up this night, he’s getting FUCKED up if he has nothing going on the next day.

He’s helping the kids TP Price’s house🤪

Personally, the relationship dynamic I’d have with Soap is that Halloween is one day of the year (out of a few) where he can properly slut himself out; he deserves it. Like yes bestie put on your sexy devil costume and have fun💜

At the end of the night tho, he’s in your bed doing… ungodly things to and with you 😈

Ghost

He’ll maybe let you drag him to a costume party but complains the ENTIRE time.

Under no circumstances will he dress up. “I already wear a mask everyday, so there’s no point in wearing a different one tonight.”

Would much rather stay home watching horror movies. Lights off so he’s just… sitting there… in a dark ass room… watching something unreasonably scary, like Hereditary (2018) or a classic like The Exorcist (1973).

Gaz

He’s hosting the costume party. Even if the team is deployed, he’s gonna do what he can to make the best of it.

There WILL be a costume contest and Price never wins😃 Price kind of complains a bit about it like “Ugh another year without a win😒” but never actually does anything to help himself lol

He and Soap argued over who would dress up as Ghost. Obviously Soap won eventually so Gaz is stuck tryna figure something else out.

This year, he’s dressing up as Ken, but not like in the Insufferable Straight Man Trying To Win Feminism Points kind of way.

Alejandro

Absolutely fucking KILLS IT at Gaz’s Halloween party every year and has a winning streak in the costume contest.

Always hella creative with his costumes and gets super into it. He probably makes it himself and he goes, like, full cosplay about it.

This year he’s giving… Beetlejuice vibes, don’t ask me why. Broadway!Beetlejuice, specifically. Even makes his own snake like they have on stage, but smaller so he can have it chillin on his shoulder or something.

Rudy

This year he’s dressing up as Lydia so he can match with Alejandro. Even if we’re talking RudyxReader and AlejandroxReader, he’s still gonna go matching with his bestie.

Since he and Alejandro are both Mexican, they’re observing Día de Los Muertos together and with their families.

Between the two of them, Rudy is the one decorating for Halloween because Alejandro spends so damn much time working on his costume.

Spends so much time decorating for Halloween and preparing for Day of the Dead that he nearly forgets to get a costume but it’s fine this year because Lydia from Beetlejuice is quite a simple idea and Alejandro can hem a cheap dress in an instant🥰

#cod headcanons #halloween #captain john price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #alejandro vargas #rudolfo parra #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare #cod modern warfare #captain price #ghost cod #los vaqueros #rudy parra #rudy cod #spooky #spooktober

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baylz · 3 months

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PAGE ONE : choyo's

steeeam by shelly

07/20/2018

“It’s so hot today!” Nobara slumped against her desk, a small fan in her hand keeping her cool from the blazing heat.

The summer temperature was seeping into the classroom as students talked about their summer plans, eyes occasionally peering toward the ticking clock above the teacher’s desk.

I abandoned my usual blue jacket and hung it on my chair, leaving only the white button-up with the sleeves rolled up exposing the pale skin that hides beneath. My eyes were laser-focused on the time as I counted the minutes left before we could leave.

tick! tock! tick! tock!

My eyes narrowed at the taunting sounds, unaware that Nobara had been talking to me for a minute now.

“Yo.” A winced left me as a smack landed at the back of my head. A glare was now directed to the brunette next to me. Though, it wasn’t sending the message I wanted it to because she just blankly stared at me. “Pay attention.” Her polished fingers snapped in my face.

“Guys!” Yuji burst into the classroom with high energy and a bright smile, tumbling into the seat next to me. “I have an idea. Since we’re third years next year, I thought we could do a summer bucket list!”

“…”

"Oh, come on, guys, this is our last summer as high schoolers. We should make the most of it." Nobara was the first to decline, “Sorry, but I can’t. I’m spending the summer in Tohoku.” Her fan slowed to a stop, and Nobara shrieked, slapping the device against her palm.

Yuji turned to me for an answer. Don’t get me wrong, it sounded like an interesting plan for the summer, but I already had plans to do what I do every year: stay home and do nothing. It’s not that I didn’t want to spend time with Yuji; it was the fact that he was unpredictable, and being friends with him for as long as I had, I knew it was something chaotic. He dug into his pocket, pulled out a crumbled napkin littered with ketchup stains and scribbles, and presented it to us.

YUJI’S GUIDE TO AN AWESOME SUMMER (｡+･`ω･´)*!

1. Summer festival

2. Aquarium

3. Camping

4. Go Fishing

5. Catching fireflies in a jar (and releasing them…)

6. Hiking

7. Stargazing

8. Road trip!!

9. Laser tag

10. Go to the beach

Nobara ditched the broken device and signaled toward the list. “What’s with the stains?”

“I was eating a burger when I got the idea.” The grease splotches were evidence enough of this. Yuji fully turned his body towards me, expectant and patient. Now, I’m not mean per popular belief; I just treasure the solitude that I have become used to before meeting the two loudmouths on either side of me. Analyzing the dirty linen placed in front of me, it looked harmless. I expected some reckless activity like breaking into someone’s pool or egging the elder's home.

Still, I didn’t answer immediately, and the silence was confirmation enough to Yuji because he didn’t press about it anymore. The scrutinizing tick of the clock had stopped at that moment, and the bell rang soon after. Students scrambled to collect their belongings and bolted out the door, and summer began.

After School - Choyo's

Yuji told me Choso had bought the ramen place below them after the owner retired. They were quite close to the old man because he knew their grandfather. I had seen him the couple times that I went over and Yuji suggested to eat there. “It’s cheap, delicious, and super close dude”, he said.

Choso spent weeks learning and perfecting the recipes. They had even asked the three of us to be their taste testers to see if there was anything missing. I couldn’t eat ramen for a while after that…

To present time, Choso didn’t change a thing about the place. Everything to the decor and furniture was the same except the name is different and the toilet is fixed. So, it doesn’t make that weird noise it makes whenever you flush.

We sat our usual in seat, which was a booth in the right corner near the big windows. Yuji took his place next to me while Nobara was across from us and inspected the menu. Yuji and I did the same as if we haven’t been there millions of times.

A glimpse of blonde hair entered my peripherals, and I immedately knew who it was before she even spoke. “Hey guys! What can I get ya?”

Yuki came in one a busy night after quitting her job on a whim and got drunk, cheeks flushed and eyes half-lidded. She stayed for a couple hours gulping down drink after drink and stuffing her face before eventually passing out, face smushed against the wooden table and sunny locks covering her line of vision.

“Um, miss?” Choso cautiously poked her like some roadkill on the side of the street. She stirred and he jumped from the sudden movement. “Miss, wake up.” He politely shook her and Yuki slowly lifted her head up to look at him.

“Miss?”

“Hire me.” She slurred and stood on wobbly feet and Choso stresfully kept his arms out to catch her, if anything. “Miss you should—”

“I see you busting your ass, and I need a job. I’ll take whatever pay you have I’ve already saved enough from my recent job.” Choso pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed at her tenaciousness, the muscles in his arm flexing. “Fine, you can come in tomorrow for an interview when you’re feeling—” Yuki cut him off again, but this time by puking on his shoes.

In the end, Yuki stayed in the guest room and secured the job the next day.

“I’m struggling.” Yuji fiddled with the menu and scooted closer to me, our shoulders brushing. “Megumi, should I get this?” His finger pointed at the pork cutlet bowl, before it moved to the somen. “Or that?”

I copied his movements and placed my index finger next to his. Yuji’s entire right side was warm. I couldn’t tell whether it was from the sun that was radiating heat from the window to where he sat or if it was generally him. Either way, I felt myself sweating.

“That.” Our fingers lingered longer than what was necessary. I was the first to retract.

“Megs.” Nobara called and I acknowledged her with a hum, and she causually slid her ice water towards me. I cage the condensed glass into my weirdly sweaty palms before mouthing a thank you, and took a sip before sliding it back to her.

We stayed there for a couple hours until it was closing time. We stepped out into the summer breeze of the night, the crickets singing a chorus while the moon loomed over us with its purloined light.

The three of us hesitated to move. Nobara more hesitant as she shifted on her feet and flickered her gaze between me and Yuji. Her usual poker face turned into a puzzled look and I knew what she was thinking.

"So" she started, "Not to be sappy or whatever but I really am gonna miss you guys. I'll see you when I get back." Nobara looped her arms around both of us and suddenly we were all in a group hug.

Realistically, I wouldn't have stayed for as long as I did. Gojo would attempt to comfort me with a hug, but I would shrink away from the contact because it felt embaressing and being vulnerable is a foreign thing for me. But with Nobara practically crying into my shoulder I couldn't find it within myself to pull away from her.

"You crying?" Yuji teased after a moment of silence. Despite her state, she still managed to land a smack at his head and mutter a "No, shut up."

After a few more minutes, we unlinked and went our seperate ways.

Toeing off my shoes at the doorway, I make my way down the long hallway before making a B line for the living room.

Gojo was lounging around in a loose tank and shorts, sitting comfortably on the couch with his legs crossed and arm hanging off the back. He peeled his eyes away from the television when I entered.

“Oh gumi, you’re back! Out with a girl?” His bangs were clipped back, with a few white strands falling forward. I ignored him and sat on the floor before the coffee table. “What are you watching?”

“Slotherhouse.”

“That stupid movie about the killer sloth?”

“Yup! It's been taken in by a sorority for popularity points.” He explained. I don’t understand how someone could even direct such an atrocity, and who would even be stupid enough to watch it?

Apparently, we were. “I thought the girl only adopted it because she was running for president and thought she could win.”

Gojo made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Same thing.”

The sound of the television filled the silence that followed after that. The house smelled of the dinner Gojo had prepared before I arrived home, and I knew it was some delicious soup. It was warm but cool simultaneously, as one of the sliding doors was opened with just a crack.

There was a familiar buzzing in my bones as it almost lulled me to sleep.

Key word: almost.

ping!

“Summer festival?” Gojo suddenly was peeking over my shoulder and I jolted from my spot, hand clutching my chest from the surprise.

“What the hell? Why are you looking at my messages?”

The prier completely disregarded my question and further pressed me about it. “Why aren’t you going?”

“Don’t want to.” I muttered, my attention returning back to the movie.

“Megumi.” He warned.

“No.”

“It’s the summer before you turn 18. You really wanna waste your last summer as a kid?” His eyes averted from the television to me. I didn’t have to look to know that he was practically shooting daggers at my head.

It’s moments like these where I was slightly scared of him.

Just slightly, though.

I sighed, completely ignored his nagging. “Yuji is more outgoing than I am. I’m sure he can find someone else to spend his time with.”

Gojo huffed and abruptly switched off the movie, fully positioning his body to face me, and I did the same.

“Listen, you do nothing every summer. I even remember when you were little I would try to get you to play with the neighborhood kids and you never would.” His eyes held an inmidating intensity that I had never seen before. He was sincere and I knew better than to dismiss him when he got like this.

I considered him for a moment, exhaling and pondering my next move. He continued, his voice low and considerate. “Plus, Yuji is your friend and he seems really excited about this.”

A huff and then, “Fine.”

He smugly smiled and leaned back in his original position, arm resting behind his head and feet propped on the table. “Ah! Take my camera when you go, I need pictures for my megumi scrapbook!” He yelled across the room.

“I told you to burn that!” I yelled back, leaving him by himself.

next chapter

masterlist

TAGLIST (OPEN) 2/50 : @nicememerino @rrinkyoo

@baylz please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my works onto other platforms!!

#jjk x reader #yuji itadori #jjk yuji #jjk itadori #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento #itafushi #jjk #jjk megumi #jjk choso #jjk toji #jjk manga #jjk gojo #jjk fanfic

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moonshinemusings · 2 years

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Random TF 141 + friends headcanons (Pt.4)

Warnings: mentions of drinking

• Rodolfo was that one kid who thought chocolate milk came from brown cows. Alejandro constantly teased him about it for years

• You know those protein bars you can buy at like every corner store? Yeah, Gaz hates them with passion and would rather starve than eat one

• As a kid, König only ate apples if they were cut into slices

• Soap particularly loved painting when he was a kid, the passion for arts has always been present in his life

• If Farah didn't do what she does as a living, she'd love to have her nails done professionally. She's always loved the idea of low-key but well-made and beautiful pieces, but never had the chance to wear them

• Valeria only uses one specific brand of nail polish. That's the only one she trusts and knows won't get ruined, even when doing stuff she usually does (running errands etc)

• The iPhone morning alarm sound gives Gaz heart attacks no matter how many times he hears it. It's literally the flashback meme for him

• Laswell doesn't like driving. She does travel by car to work and usually she's the one behind the wheel when going somewhere with her wife (she's an acts of service type of person), but she doesn't particularly enjoy it

• Rodolfo hates strong smells like gasoline or bleach. Naturally he got used to them fast, but that doesn't mean they don't bother his nose

• König has the full collection of those colorful McDonald's glasses (the Fifa World Cup 2018 ones)

• Ghost rarely drinks to begin with, but he has a specific dislike for beer. Don't know where it came from, he just doesn't like the taste

• Nikolai has such a high alcohol tolerance there isn't anyone who comes near his level on the team. The closest anyone has ever been to beating him was when Price and Laswell managed to keep up with him for a while, but then both of them ended up knocked out on the counter. Nik had to take them home and the next day he didn't stop teasing them about it

• Back to my Hay Day dumbassery for a second - somehow Valeria's level passed everyone in a couple of weeks and you better believe Alejandro was super jealous. Unsurprisingly, Soap and Gaz also argued about it

• Horangi didn't even know the game until he saw König play one day. The latter finds it quite relaxing, especially because of the animals and chance to decorate. He's that one player who has a bunch of decorations all over his farm, somehow looking horribly out of place yet put together at the same time. He's also the friend who helps with requests and does the best he can at Valley season. He feels bad every time he can't feed his animals, so he always makes sure he has every crop and component needed for stuff he has to make. Sometimes the game stresses him out like that, but it's mostly to help his mind relax

• Horangi forgets to play a lot to be honest. He only started because König begged him until he gave in, but he can't be bothered enough to play all the time when off duty. Even then, his farm is simple but effective: buys only the stuff he needs and doesn't really care about additional details (yes, König takes offense to how plain his game looks)

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ginevrapearl · 3 months

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Me and my best friend visited Jefferson, TX at Christmas time in 2018. We were walking around the park area that was decorated with little trees with lights. The white home in the video is historical and I believe they hold tours there. I decided to zoom in on the house. I took the initial video. Then I wanted to get one more. that's when i saw something that wasn't in the first video. It is kind of hard to miss but just pay attention to the front door. At first i assumed it was a shadow of one the little trees but these videos were taken a couple seconds apart and i hadn't moved, they are both shot the same angle and everything. It was late at night and no one else was around and there were no cars. Me and my friend left right away. I'm completely open to the idea that it could be a million things before a ghost/ demon but I just wanted to share because it gives me the creeps.

#paranormal #creepy #haunting #demonic entity #caught on camera #real ghost stories #ghost stories #personal experiences #haunted #ghost videos #my video #ghost?#demon?

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saintmeghanmarkle · 2 months

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Not an original idea in her head. by u/IconicAnimatronic

Not an original idea in her head. Food, wine, linens and home decor, yoga, dog biscuits, skin care, jewellery... where have we heard it all before?We all know ARO, (or Another Royal Opportunity as I like to call it), has been reported as a GOOP knockoff. But there are some other surprising celebrity brands out there, already doing the same as most of its offerings. Please add to the list with the multitude of things I'll miss. Links unarchived since they don't drive traffic to MM.Apart from her wellness and fitness brand COSMOSS, which sells skincare and yoga goods, Kate Moss also sold jam! In fact much of COSMOSS seems similar to the ARO goal (they met at the 2018 Fashion Awards). https://ift.tt/YkxmHcX Middleton and his brand of dog biscuits. Why not copy your Sister-in-Law's family? They're successful after all! https://ella.co/The Shand-Kydd family have a wallpaper company. Diana's mother was a Shand-Kydd. If it's good enough for your Mother-in-Law... https://ift.tt/0Dvt749 & Alcohol. There are plenty of celebrities (over 100 - enough to have a standalone Wiki page) producing their own tipple. From George Clooney, to Cameron Diaz. A-List celebrities. Brad Pitt even has a very successful rosé. https://ift.tt/IctiqXy course GOOP has its own G Label jewellery line but celebs like Rihanna, Kim Kardashian and Jessica Simpson have also launched their very own bling ranges. On top of that BFF Serena Williams Jewelry was launched in 2019. The jewellery pieces use ethically sourced and conflict-free diamonds. You know. The acceptable type of diamond to wear. https://ift.tt/e8oy71I of Serena, she also offers a bodycare range. https://ift.tt/TCyg3Hd and aprons? Just check out Draper James by Reese Witherspoon. Chirpy statements on tumblers such as "Cheers Y'all", and "What Would Dolly Do?" could be replaced by "Riiiiiiight", or "Authentic-Self". https://ift.tt/rdIVuGx course, all these things can be promoted by a cooking and lifestyle show. Plenty of other A-Z Listers have jumped on that food truck bandwagon. Even Jussie Smollett. https://ift.tt/OFir5K9 word of warning though. Celebrity brands selling "overpriced artisanal products" dont always work out. Just ask Blake Lively!https://ift.tt/qnuDxpy post link: https://ift.tt/DIwYjEd author: IconicAnimatronic submitted: July 31, 2024 at 06:03AM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit disclaimer: all views + opinions expressed by the author of this post, as well as any comments and reblogs, are solely the author's own; they do not necessarily reflect the views of the administrator of this Tumblr blog. For entertainment only.

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stalwart-spirit · 6 months

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List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who reblogged something from you! get to know your mutuals and followers (ू•‧̫•ू⑅)♡

I got two of these sent to me, but only doing one batch cause I am boring (and literally just got home from work ahaha)

Loved Ones: As typical of an answer this is, it's definately true. Family and friends included, they always find a way to make me happy. Be it sending silly messages or memes, finding a way to perk me up when I'm feeling down, to just... Generally being great people. Don't know what I'd do without them, and I love everyone dearly.

Artistic Endevours: I'm an artist, taking commissions as well as specialising in illustration and character designs! I love being able to sit down and brainstorm ideas, plan something out and work my arse off in making it, or being given a commission with such a fun design brief to work on. This also includes writing! Favourite thing to do is sit and come up with stories and characters, giving them visual designs and then writing proses for them.

My Cats: Oh my God do I love them. Mia and Tizzy, my two beloved tuxedo'd idiots. Outside of doing stuff that makes me laugh, they literally are so perceptive to moods. If I'm sad or feeling ill, they literally will stay by my side, sleep with me, hang around me. Always love to cuddle up and be around me and my family. My heart honestly melts at how Mia always begins purring upon SEEING me, or how Tizzy is so talkative when getting attention of any sort.

Dungeons & Dragons: MEDIA SPOTTED. Nah for real though, it's not just the game itself that I love (I actually have dyscalculia so the maths part of it I hate, thank God I play online), but a lot of the creativity surrounding it. I love the roleplay, being a part of a story with a group of others who also love worldbuilding, having your own character plot and goals to follow, the writing, the art you can make. It's like being in your own TV show, where everyone participating is the main character. Aformentioned close friends are all who I play with! Been playing D&D since 2018, but been in my forever group for about 6 years now, one campaign done and still at the start of a new one! Also despite purely playing online, I'm a horrific dice collector.......

Being A Homebody: Sure, I love going out and being with friends and travelling, but there's something about either coming home from a day out or getting up and knowing that you are free to not go anywhere... Having everything you need in one place, staying comfortable, warm, secure. No commitments, no worries, only relaxation! It's been nice lately to be able to clean and decorate my own room and make it my own space, getting to relax and play games on my monster of a PC to my hearts content but still being connected to other people when the social need arises.

Also going to try and pass this message on, but I know that some of ya already have it already and answered it multiple times, so I don't wanna overwhelm!!

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theunsweetenedtruth · 6 months

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On Your Mind (5)

Summary: The aftermath to the end of Nereyda and T'Challa.

Previous Part

Pairing: T'Challa x Nereyda (OC) Word Count: 2,897 Warnings: None A/N: Originally written in 2018

T'Challa sat in the council meeting, not hearing what was going on around him. His mind was on Nereyda; he couldn't understand where things went wrong. Ok. That wasn't true. He knew where things went wrong. But the fact that she wasn't in the palace, home with him, made him feel off. It was like missing a limb. Or his heart.

He perked up when Erik slipped in the double doors and hastened to end the meeting. "I will think about what you have presented here and will give my decision next meeting." The Elders saluted him and began to exit. Ramonda gave him a perplexed look as she left. He ignored her. She played a large role in Nereyda's departure. He wasn't sure what Ramonda had said to her but it didn't matter; Ramonda knew how he felt but it was clear to T'Challa that she was more concerned with what she thought the country should be under T'Challa's ruling, rather than the vision he had for his own rule.

When the doors shut behind the last of the council members and only Erik and him were left, T'Challa spoke. "What's the update?"

Erik took the seat next to him. "She looks okay, decorated the place, got plants and shit." T'Challa's face fell. She was moving on without him, of course she would. Soon, a brave soul would get over the aversion to her former status and she might love again. He wanted that for her but he couldn't imagine not being that person for her. His fists clenched at the thought of another man knowing Nereyda the way he did. Of another man holding her, making love to her, drawing out sighs and moans the way only T'Challa deserved to hear...

"I can tell she's miserable though." Erik's distracted voice broke through his anger.

"What? How?"

Erik held up a finger, typing on his phone. T'Challa grew impatient quickly—surely the reason why Erik was taking his sweet time was to get on his nerves. Finally he looked up from what must have been an intriguing message. "She has bags under her eyes, which means she hasn't been sleeping, her hair's looks like shit," Erik counted on his fingers. "Plus her fine ass friend been telling me what's going on with her. Says she hadn't left the house since you went there that one night."

T'Challa wasn't happy to hear Nereyda wasn't taking care of herself but he was pleased that she hadn't dropped and forgotten him like he'd feared. He frowned.

"I don't want you getting updates from Nina." He was pissed at her; if she would've minded her business, he could've explained what was happening to Nereyda first.

"Chill, T. She felt really bad after I told her what was really happening." Erik wore a Cheshire grin. "Had to do a little comforting if you know what I mean." T'Challa rolled his eyes. He was done with Erik. He rose from the throne and made his way to the door. "Aye. How long am I gonna have to keep doing this?"

T'Challa turning to his cousin slowly. "This is partly your fault N'Jadaka. If it was for yours and Nakia's scheming, I wouldn't be in this mess with Nereyda."

Erik jumped to his feet. "Nah cuz, don't put that shit on me and Nakia. If you would've been honest with your girl from jump, you wouldn't be in this mess."

T'Challa felt the truth of his words. "You're right. It's my own fault I lost the love of my life." He exited the throne room.

"So the plans for the outreach center are a go." Nakia and T'Challa were seated in his office going over the final plans for the outreach center. The first one would open in Oakland, California, an homage to T'Challa's uncle N'Jobu. This was the reason for his sacrifice.

Between him and Erik—and Nakia in her father's ear—T'Challa has been working hard over the years to bring the idea to the council. They had been thwarted at every turn, sometimes by the elders, other times by his own father. The consensus was that there was a possibility T'Challa wouldn't be fit to rule, citing both the presence of his dora in the palace, and his ideas to use Wakandan resources to help blacks all over the world. The council knew they couldn't control Erik; he was not a viable candidate for king and would make a bigger mess than T'Challa ever could. T'Challa received word that an elder's second in command had approached M'Baku about challenging T'Challa for the throne. Luckily, T'Challa and M'Baku has their own arrangement; M'Baku had no interest in being king but rather desired a voice for his people in Wakandan affairs. The council was looking for someone to challenge T'Challa though; he had to move smarter.

Bringing back Nakia to aid in the plan has quieted some of the discord enough that no one challenged him on challenge day, but T'Challa knew the council could make his life difficult if he didn't stay ahead of their schemes. The public proposal sealed the deal and Nereyda moving out—while not a part of his plan at all—helped to convince the council that he was taking his role as king seriously. When it came time to propose the outreach center, T'Challa had Erik, Shuri, Nakia, and Nakia's father at his back. He had secured M'Baku's vote with a seat on the council, another project he'd had to butter the elders up for.

After the presentation of plans for the outreach center, the history of the treatment of black worldwide and the need of the outreach center in Oakland, the council sat quietly. T'Challa could feel Erik shuffling in frustration. Nakia, to his right was unusually still. Shuri looked bored, ready to get back to her lab and begin planning her classes for the center.

"My king, I'm not so sure this is a good idea or the right time. Your father—"

"My father is no longer here. I am the king now." He glared down the room. "Elders, this is a formality. I have the majority votes already secured and I will be moving forward with the outreach center." T'Challa was upset. These people tried to control his life, expecting him to be a puppet to their machinations. "You have sat here in Wakanda, in your homes benefitting off of what it means to live in a truly free nation. America is not the land of the free for anyone who isn't rich, male, and white. We have the resources to change that, provide aid to the descendants of those we watched be stolen from their homes if you cannot see the need for this outreach center and others to come, I will gladly take your resignation as council member and begin looking for your replacements." He looked each council member in the eye, including Ramonda. He would not back down this time.

"Let's take a vote," M'Baku said cheerfully. And that was the end of that.

"T'Challa?" Nakia's voice broke through his thoughts.

"I'm sorry you asked something?" He tried to stay in the moment. It wouldn't do for him to get distracted when everything he's been working towards was within his grasp.

"I asked if it was alright for us to move forward with plans for the ball next week."

T'Challa modded. "Yes that will be fine. I assume you'll be bringing your young man." He tried to sound formal but amusement coated each word and he struggled to hold back a smile.

"My 'young man'? Who are you, my father?" Nakia joked. "Or my supposed betrothed?"

T'Challa waved her off. "I'm sure you'll be happy to be rid of all the duties being queen comes with." Ramonda, in her excitement over the proposal, had handed queen duties to a reluctant Nakia. She would be resuming them with the end of the "engagement".

Nakia shrugged. "It's not that bad but I'll be happy to have my freedom back. And Ife will be happy to have me to herself again."

T'Challa understood. To be a king or queen was to belong to the people, not always to yourself. While Nakia would've made a great queen, she would not have been happy or able to be her true self. He was glad she was able to escape, and as much as he loved her, was glad Nereyda had escaped that same pressure.

As if reading his mind, Nakia asked, "And your dora? How will she take to the queen duties?" Not for the first time, he thought of Nereyda as queen.

She would be...glorious. Giving, understanding, she would probably take up a platform, like other queens, but something with more substance, a problem that most well off Wakandans didn't think about. The people would love her because she would care for them and put their interests first. He was sure of it. But it wasn't a possibility.

"I don't think that will happen at this point. She's moving on with her life and I don't want to be selfish with her anymore." Nakia looked confused. "When I went by her place after the mission, she told me she just wanted to be mine." T'Challa sighed. "I don't want to put her in a place again where she can't be, where she has to be a secret again."

Nakia was thoughtful for a moment. "But who says you have to?" Her face was animated in that way it would be when she was ready for a lecture. "The way you commanded the council about the outreach center, you can do the same with your dora..."

"Nereyda"

"Yes. Nereyda."

T'Challa thought about it. Yes, he could. He realized there was a different weight to being King than being prince. Advocating for the outreach center was his first experience fight the council and he was sure it wouldn't be the last. But would Nereyda even want him after all this time?

"I'm not sure if she still wants to be with me in that way."

"You're the king, the Black Panther. You'll just have to convince her." Nakia's smile was wicked and T'Challa answered with one of his own. He knew exactly what he needed to do.

Nereyda returned to her apartment and huffed out a breath, leaning against the back of the door. After spending over two months in her apartment mourning the loss of her relationship, she decided to get on with her life. She's spent the last week looking into a home to purchase. While she was comfortable in her apartment, it wouldn't do for her goals.

She decided to move forward with her orphanage for young girls. It was something she found passion in, whenever she thought about how different her life could've been had she been given opportunities and education beyond what was offered at the dora House. Being with...him had given her experiences she never thought she'd get. She wanted to teach younger girls to do for themselves. It was okay to want to be taken care of but Nereyda was relishing in an independence shed never experienced. The young girls in her care would know that feeling, and then make their own decisions about men. Or women.

Finding a home to serve her needs was proving to be difficult though. Despite her initial thoughts, real estate agents in the city weren't adverse to working with her. She assumed it was out of pity for her, the ex-lover of the engaged king, but she didn't mind. The agents took a look at the emblem of Bast she was still wearing around her neck and fell over themselves to assist her. Nereyda held back laughter every time; people wouldn't speak to her as the king's dora, but as herself she was equal to them. If her current status worked in her favor, then it wouldn't be the last time she'd throw it in their faces.

She'd spent the day with her chosen agent, a young woman with a kind smile and tight violet curls. They looked at several buildings in her budget, mostly older homes on the edge of the city. They were livable but would need upgrades that Nereyda could take her time doing. She'd gotten into contact with the agency who dealt with newly orphaned children and told them of her plans. They were skeptical but told her she would be allowed to take in a few girls, provided the home she bought was up to standard. Nereyda was determined for this to work.

She still thought about T'Challa, everyday thought about her love for him and how much he had to have loved her. She knew he did love her; there was no way he could have faked that kind of love her showed her. The long nights spent talking, the love making, she put her all into it and he reciprocated with a passion she knew she never wanted to experience with anyone else. She missed him fiercely, felt a constant ache in her chest she tried to work through from being away from him. She wouldn't go back and live life as his mistress though. He would marry Nakia, have children with her. Nereyda didn't want to watch him experience things with Nakia while still calling Nereyda his and her never have those experiences with him. Erik visiting her all those weeks ago made her reevaluate. She wasn't angry at T'Challa, just sad he didn't believe in their love enough to try.

But she was determined to not play second fiddle in his life. Nereyda pushed off the door and went to her bedroom, stripping to her underwear as she went.

"AHHHH!" she screamed out at the appearance of a figure leaning against the headboard on her bed.

"Bitch what's the screaming for?" Nina sat nonchalantly filing her nails as if she hadn't nearly given Nereyda a heart attack.

"What the hell are you doing in my apartment? How did you get in here?"

Nina gave her a look. "Now don't ask silly questions." She gestured to a huge box Nereyda hadn't noticed at the end of bed. "I come bearing gifts."

Curiously, she made her way to the bed and the pretty matte black box with a silver satin bow on top. Lifting the lid, she saw the most gorgeous gold dress. Nereyda's heart beat faster. She knew only one person who would get her something like this and it wasn't Nina. She fingered the see through material reverently before pulling it from the box and holding it against her body.

Nina let out a low whistle. "Damn. I didn't know what was in it or else I would've kept the shit," she joked. Nereyda ignored her and looked in the box. There were gold strappy heels and a card. She laid the dress to the side, reaching for the note. Her hands trembled and she felt weak. She just acknowledged that she loved the man still and now Bast sent her this. The message on the heavy card stock was short:

Tonight, 8pm. Please.

There was no signature but Nereyda's suspicions were confirmed; it was T'Challa's handwriting. Tonight..."Isn't tonight the engagement ball?"

Nina looked up from her phone. "Engagement ball? Girl no. T'Challa and Nakia aren't engaged anymore. You must be living under a rock. It's all anyone can talk about."

Nereyda felt hope swell in her chest, and her body get hot. "Nina, please don't play games."

"I swear. It's not an engagement ball. It's a coronation ball. T'Challa never had one." Nereyda had avoided all news about the ball, expecting it to be a celebration for the happy couple. Things were beginning to make sense. How long had T'Challa and Nakia been broken up? Was that the reason why everyone was being so nice to her? She remembered a vague comment from her landlord about needing a thirty day notice before breaking her lease. Did everyone think T'Challa ended things because of her? Did he end things because of her? Looking at the note still in her grasp and the dress on her bed, Nereyda thought it was a possibility.

But she still had questions. "Where did you get this? When did you see T'Challa?" Nina looked guilty.

"I've been talking to Erik. He's the one who asked me to bring it. I honestly didn't know what was in it."

Nereyda believed her but she wasn't sure about meeting T'Challa at the ball. "I don't know Nina. I don't think I can go. I am just getting back to myself."

Nina rose from the bed and pulled Nereyda into a hug. Nereyda sunk into the larger woman's embrace, tears prickling her eyes. Nina pulled away after a few moments and grabbed her by the shoulders. "Bitch you're going to the ball." She rose a hand at the beginnings of Nereyda's protests. "Even if it's just to hear what he has to say. He owes you an explanation. You should show him what he's been missing while you get it."

Nereyda looked at her suspiciously. "What do you know?" She asked the other dora.

Nina presses her lips together. "I know that if you don't start getting dressed I'm gonna do it for you." She flipped back on the bed, conversation over.

Next Part

#unsweetimagine #t'challa x black!oc #t'challa fanfiction #t'challa x poc #t'challa imagine #t’challa x black!reader #t’challa x black reader

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neverendingrelease · 7 months

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Releasing Today, Feb 20, 2024!

Got a couple games for today:

Nightingale is a PvE Survival Crafting FPS with a Victorian steampunk theme. It's definitely a fantasy vibe over the Bioshock Infinite vibe people think of in steampunk now. Looks promising - I like that it has bosses and characters from stories like Around the World in 80 Days and Frankenstein.

So there's also a Redwall game coming out. Well, it already came out in like 2018, but wikipedia has no idea what really happened with the last 4 episodes but they're supposed to be in here? The page only has 3 acts so I have no idea what happened to the original roadmap. It's a 3D platformer.

Idle fields is a cute clicker game where you hire workers to farm and fish.

Contrasting to the last game, Lazaret is a FPS horror game taking place in a ship where you have to run/hide from a scary Big Daddy-esque diver.

Qomp 2 is a sequel to Qomp, an Atari-funded indie twist on Pong but the ball wants to go do something else. The original game controlled with one button, but this one... controls with two. Um... It at least looks fun. (I know it's funded by Atari but how many times has Atari gone bankrupt I swear)

#game release #indie games #spotlight #steam #nightingale #redwall #idle fields #lazaret #qomp

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xtruss · 11 months

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Mapping Gilded Age New York

The Gilded Age was a study in contrasts. Immigrants arrived in New York City with little to nothing in their pockets, while just uptown some of the richest men and women in America built mansions that resembled European palaces. As more and more people carved out their homes on the island at the end of the 19th century, different ideas about what New York was and who belonged there emerged. American Experience spoke to Jack Tchen, Associate Professor at NYU’s Gallatin School of Individualized Study, about the way race and class tensions played out against the vibrant, dynamic landscape of New York City in the Gilded Age

— By Jack Tchen | American Experience | Published: February 2018 | November 04, 2023

J. W. Williams, Root & Tinker/Library of Congress

1. The Spine

Leading up to and during the Gilded Age, New York City begins to define itself along its spine, the middle of the city, rather than by its shoreline. The wealthy are gravitating away from the shoreline, which is seen as rougher and more dangerous. If you have money, you’re afraid that the workers in your counting house or your factory are going be jealous. You want to find other people who have money. And Fifth Avenue becomes the place where you find them. From Bowling Green to Washington Square Park, from Washington Square Park to Madison Park, and from Madison Park up to Central Park and 57th Street — this becomes what wealthy white Anglo-American Protestants feel is their New York. They feel that the greatest wealth of the city and of the nation is being generated and being expressed along this spine. The global branding of Fifth Avenue really emerges at a moment in which the Fifth Avenue merchants come together and say, “We have to protect Fifth Avenue. Fifth Avenue is ours and to maintain our identity, we have to keep out all the new immigrants who are trying to make money, who are setting up garment factories.” They begin to re-territorialize what had been a neighborhood of small producers, and to claim a kind of ascendancy and superiority.

Charles Pollock/Library of Congress

2. Metropolitan Opera House - Broadway and 39th Street

The building of the Metropolitan Opera House in 1883 is a great example of how cultural capital actually works. Did the people who went to the Met love opera? Probably not. In some ways, this was an emulation of European culture, especially Italian culture — but in Italy, opera was actually a mass activity that people from all stations of life loved. In the new world, it was transformed into this rarified art that supposedly only elites could understand. It was stilted in terms of performance, especially in comparison to the more popular forms of theater. And it was in a foreign language.

But the building was important. The box seats were important. Who was sponsoring the performances was important. So in a sense, supporting the opera became the perfect vehicle for elites to outdo each other.

Ernest Marx/Library of Congress

3. Vanderbilt House — 1 West 57th Street in New York City

Alva Vanderbilt was the driving force behind the “Petite Chateau” Vanderbilt mansion, which was completed in 1883. It was built of limestone, in contrast to neighboring brownstones, in the style of a French Renaissance palace. Her housewarming party was one for the ages. Twelve-hundred guests attended. Their costumes were sheer excess and outré; one woman, Miss Kate Strong (nicknamed “Puss”), wore a taxidermied cat head and seven cat’s tails decorating her skirt. By today’s dollars, the party was said to cost $6 million—one quarter of which went to the finest champagne.

What’s really important here is to acknowledge the role of women in the wealth-building process itself. Because it’s not just wealth building in terms of actual dollars — it’s also wealth building in terms of status. And women are the ones who know how to build that kind of social and cultural capital that gives their families the standing and prestige that other families of wealth will begin to recognize and accept.

In some ways, the women who are leading these families and creating these parties are like the ad men on Madison Avenue. They’re branding the family. They’re making the public — other elites especially — appreciative of why they belong and why they should be recognized widely. So when Alva Vanderbilt builds her mansion, she’s being very creative, very thoughtful, and very tenacious in trying to establish that profile of the Vanderbilt family.

Petite Chateau, Library of Congress

4. Seventh Regiment Armory - 640 Park Ave., Bet. East 66th & East 67th

The street grid of New York City means that people of great wealth are cheek-to-jowl next to people living in extreme poverty. That sense of injustice and the divide between the wealthy and the poor is palpable.

The Gilded Age was a fractious time, and amidst growing wealth and opulence, a sense of desperation and resentment emerged. I think the wealthy felt some anxiety at the thought that at some point that tension would erupt.

So they built armories to defend against riots and protests. The armories housed volunteer regiments — the precursor of the National Guard. The Seventh Regiment, also known as the “Silk Stocking” or “Blue-Bloods” regiment, was a who’s who of the Gilded Age elite. It was first headquartered on the Lower East Side — but it moved uptown as the wealth of the city did. The armory now on Park Avenue opened its doors in 1880.

The New York Public Library

5. Harbor

New York Harbor was deep enough that it didn’t freeze over, so it could actually operate year-round. Lots of raw products — grains, sugars from the Caribbean — can all be exchanged in this deep-water port and then processed and sent by way of the Erie Canal into the heartland, and also traded across the Atlantic. So New York becomes kind of a central economic exchange hub, feeding and processing so much of what is being consumed by the growing middle classes of North America, and Europe.

Currier & Ives/Library of Congress

6. Orchard Street

As the wealthy Protestant elite move uptown, away from the waterfront, the lower east side becomes a neighborhood of immigrants. Jewish and Italian immigration really starts in great numbers in the latter part of the 19th century. Millions of people are coming to New York. They’re dazzled by visions of streets of gold.

The older tenements on the lower east side become jam-packed. The whole notion of a middle class apartment with one person in a room — that didn’t exist. A single apartment could house multiple extended family members; a family might even rent out a room to make ends meet. The idea of how you used space was different. The streets were really an extension of where you lived.

Take the market on Orchard Street. It was really an American reproduction of the small market towns that many Jews had left in eastern Europe. If you look at old photos, you can just imagine the sounds and smells. Jews, Italians, and Chinese are living side by side. And out of that, a port culture begins to emerge. People are bringing the cultures that they left. Lots of languages are being spoken, and lots of new dishes and new fashions are being created. It’s all part of this new, intermingled culture. And that intermingling, I think, is what’s distinctive to New York City — as opposed to the culture of the uptown elites, who are really emulating their fantasy of the european aristocracy.

The uptown elites, by the way, are really scared of this new, intermingled port culture. They have a certain notion of Protestant destiny in terms of who this country properly belongs to. They’re concerned with who’s creating value — monetary, but also the cultural value of the nation. Meanwhile, these non-Protestants of suspect racial origin keep coming into the city. So there’s a growing guardedness of who should count, who belongs there.

Bain News Service/Library of Congress

7. Bowery

While the elites are walking up and down Broadway, checking each other out in a way that prefigures the shopping mall or the arcade, immigrants and members of the white working class hang out on the Bowery. It’s where people go for dime museums, tattoo parlors, bars; all that kind of popular culture that we tend to think of now as connected to Coney Island originates on the Bowery.

These new immigrant and working class audiences are constantly looking for new and exciting forms of expression. They’re willing to pay maybe five cents to see what’s happening on the stage, what’s happening in music, and in bars. Essentially, what happens is street culture gets brought into the commercial culture, the indoor culture in which people are willing to pay for entertainment.

Library of Congress

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sylphidine · 1 year

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[Fic] Call Signs, Chapter 30

Fandom: Deltarune

‘Verse: Human AU

Pairing: Swatch/Spamton [Swatchton]

Characters: Spamton Addison [flashback], Mike Cowley [flashback], the "Serif brothers", as in those two skeletons from UNDERTALE [flashback]

Rating: Mature

Chapter title: Trash Landing, Part One

Chapter summary: Heights and lows.

Author notes:

So much gaslighting that Mike dishes out.

So much whump that Spamton goes through.

[So much Deltarune canon lore and meta references, mixed with my own AU trappings. PLEASE, dear readers, tell me you see some of the Easter eggs I've tossed in here.]

Spamton's first person past tense POV continues straight from the end of the previous chapter as he's trying to explain the last few years to Swatch. Take it as read that Spamton is stuttering away like mad, but he's getting his points across to Swatch while reliving these horrible memories. [Yes, the author's cheating a bit and using a weird narrative device.]

____________________

Mike does his best to cheer me up over the week between Christmas and New Year's.

We'd already discussed neither of us doing a lick of work while I was scheduled to be with my family. Mike had said, while I was packing, that he'd be catching up on some of his hobbies during the downtime, like practicing card tricks and other kinds of sleight of hand.

I had thought he was joking at the time, like a sad clown, but it turns out he's really good at stage magic. We end up at Tannen's Magic Shop after one of our dates.

We go out every afternoon that week, even though it’s cold and windy. No bars. No networking. Just real, honest-to-goodness, down-to-earth dates.

A hole-in-the-wall all-you-can-eat buffet.

Window shopping on Canal Street.

Tea and scones at The Potbelly Stove.

Dance Dance Revolution at an underground arcade.

Jazz at The Blue Note.

On New Year's Eve the wind is much too strong and I’m tired of getting bundled up to fight the bitterly freezing weather, so we stay in to watch the ball drop on television rather than braving the crowds in Times Square and getting frostbite.

I admire our afternoon’s decorating handiwork. Somehow Mike has acquired six or seven canisters of Silly String, and now the living room is festooned with multicolored silicon tangles.

To me… It looks…. Well, silly. Not something two full-grown men would admit to enjoying, but definitely a unique stay-at-home date to wrap up our vacation week.

The tendrils sway in the air coming from our heating vents like wacky wires, or vines. They remind me of the strings on the marionettes we saw yesterday at FAO Schwartz.

Mike comments on my unconscious frown. I mention the accusation about puppets I'd yelled at Ballew; he “hmmms” thoughtfully in response and then changes the subject.

The champagne gets poured at midnight and for the first time in a long time I drink too much. I wake up with a headache to end all headaches, half-dressed in my office, with my arms wrapped around the black rotary phone.

I can see my reflection in its waxy surface.

I can feel fingertip-shaped bruises on my hips.

There are long, long strands of bright green Silly String trailing off both my wrists.

There’s also a note on my desk from Mike that says he tried to talk me out of brainstorming my great new idea for a new advertising campaign until we both went back to work on the 2nd, but that I was very insistent. He ends the message by asking if I want to go out to the neighborhood hangover brunch.

To my sodden brain, that sounds like the best plan ever.

My great new idea, as it turns out, is a slogan I’d written on a cocktail napkin while we were both lifting a toast to a successful 2018 and beyond. In sloppy, blocky, straggling capital letters, it spells out “HAVE YOUR HOME RUN LIKE CLOCKWORK”, accompanied by a stick figure drawing that could either be a robot or a scarecrow.

I’ve never made any claims to be an artist, but even I have to laugh at how crappy it looks.

Mike says that the idea has good bones and we can rough it out over the next few months. He teasingly tells me I was raving for hours about a book I’d read as a kid about a clockwork man.

I vaguely remember the title after a few minutes, including the movie that was made from the book, and I blame the rest of my amnesia from last night on too much bubbly.

We each polish off a huge plateful of greasy scrambled eggs and clink our coffee cups together.

It feels like a great start to a better year, and like I can stop looking in the rear view mirror.

---------------

We hit the ground running in January.

Mike is either constantly in my office when he’s home, or on the phone with me when he has to work long hours with the science team, whom I’ve never met.

The receiver of the black rotary phone never cools from the heat of my hand, and I feel like I’m never alone.

I desperately, desperately need to NOT BE ALONE.

If I’m not alone, there’s no room in my mind to think about what or who I've left behind.

My New Year’s Eve brilliance inspires Mike to show me a whole series of articles on “mechanical men” built between the 1700s and the 1800s. We pore over them together on my laptop, sitting practically in each other’s laps, his hand always on my shoulder or my thigh.

The automaton that strikes both of us as the most incredible is the Draughtsman-Writer. Mike points out that it even looks like me, if my cheeks were a little rosier. Dark hair, a pointed chin, and a dreamy gaze in its eyes.

It’s a short leap to the next idea. I practice with makeup and a selfie stick before Mike and I storyboard the next GASTER commercial together. His hands guide mine and make me feel like a priceless musical instrument.

And thus “Spamton G. Spamton”, the mechanical salesman, is born.

I’m a bit uncomfortable at first with the look of the hinged jawlines, but I get used to it. I start practicing a new kind of vocal patter that has barely perceptible stops and starts.

In the meantime, I still have sales outreach work to do. I’m back to nineteen-hour workdays, much of which is spent immersed in nightlife, but I’m so energized that I don’t care.

Over the next few months, we shoot four more GASTER commercials that are in constant rotation on the airwaves. I voice the opinion to Mike that maybe the red suit is getting stale after more than a year, and that it might be time to change up my image again. He agrees, but he wants to keep the “mechanical man” look. So I compromise; the makeup can stay, but I want something that’s sharp and memorable.

Tallulah has closed up her Chelsea apartment for the summer and gone to France, so she’s not around to consult with. Not in person, at least. But I start looking at some of her past fashion collections in a retrospective issue of a magazine, and there’s one season’s looks that really grab me, even though I don’t really know why. All the pieces seem to be some variation on tuxedos, but they’re each paired with what I guess Tallulah would call “accessories”, in hot pink and yellow-green.

I lay my hands on some good old-fashioned tracing paper and some colored pencils, and I start sketching. I’ve never done something like this before. It’s like something or someone else is guiding my hand. But when it’s done, I’ve got the look I want. A black single-breasted swallowtail coat with lapels in hot pink and neon yellow, and a pink-and-yellow satin lining. Tailored white suit pants. Crisp white high-collared shirt like the old Leyendecker ads.

Mike… doesn’t hate the new suit, but doesn’t love it, either. It does gradually grow on him, especially when I add a Cungadero-red bowtie, the same shade as his favorite of the red suits, and a pair of sunglasses that are sort of like his eyeglasses… round instead of diamond-shaped, pink and yellow instead of orange and gold. An unspoken compliment and an apology all in one.

It hangs on the closet door in my bedroom and remains undisturbed by probing hands.

________________

The SUIT (I've come to think of it in Capital Letters) gets its debut at my 21st birthday party on the third of May, in The Bellecour Room at Restaurant Daniel.

Twenty of GASTER's biggest corporate sponsors send representatives; the rest of the group of fifty are assorted hangers-on that I've met here and there over time.

I sip on my Merlot; the bitter wine fits my mood tonight.

In my mind's eye the glitterati at the tables around me fade out, and in their places are my old friends.

Gazlay showing off her gorgeous gams in a high kick worthy of a Rockette.

Vazzana tittering behind his ostrich-plumed fan that someday he'll be Queen.

Pitch and Coz engaging good-tempered barbs with one another.

Winkelsas playing one of his toddler sister's compositions on kazoo and passing along the message that she wants me to be in her band.

Jack Sickle reciting Poe's " The Raven '' without a single stammered word when he doesn't know any of us are watching.

And of course I mentally summon the images of my brothers and my sister… and yes, even Saffron.

The images of the past dissolve like burning film, and the sight of the room full of happy strangers returns me to the present.

I’m a stranger here myself, as the saying goes. Might as well put on the mask of a happy one.

The party finally breaks up somewhere around 2am, and Mike doesn't protest when I ask if we can just head straight home.

During the limo ride back to the Pandora Palace, I make the comment that this shindig will be hard to top, but he's got four more years to plan for the next big milestone.

He asks me in seemingly idle curiosity what's more special about being 25 versus being 21.

When I bring up how I'll finally be financially independent by then because of my trust fund, he gets very quiet.

The multicolored glow of street lamps and neon signs shines through the limo windows. The garish light plays over Mike's angular face and casts pockets of shadow. Offset by his black blazer and white turtleneck, his head almost looks like a floating skull.

Then he smiles. It's a soft, fond look.

I'm almost expecting him to propose marriage, with how thick the tension in the air gets, but the moment passes.

-----------------------

Spring turns into summer. Summer turns into autumn.

For months we’ve been discussing registering to exhibit GASTER at some of the technological trade shows around the country, and I start looking into travel arrangements for two.

Until Mike yanks me up short by casually mentioning that he’ll be staying behind to run things while I’m on the road.

And he already has an itinerary mapped out for me.

And it’s going to keep me on the road for weeks at a time, over the course of the next year.

My first reaction is that he’s putting me on. My second reaction is panic.

Chicago. Denver. Los Angeles. San Francisco. Seattle. Minneapolis. San Antonio. New Orleans. Nashville. Atlanta. Washington DC. Philadelphia. Finally back in New York in late September of next year.

It doesn't matter what I say, how many logical arguments I try to make. For the first time since I've known him, Mike actually gets visibly angry.

No, it's the second time. The first time was when he chased off Werewolf Guy, way back when.

But it's the first time he's been angry with ME.

It's a cold rage, delivered with the same dry voice he used to use in the classroom. He counters my reasoned protests with logic of his own that I can't fight.

How many people under the age of thirty, he tells me, can say that they've achieved the success I have? It takes work to KEEP the success happening, and if I don't want to do the work, he won't know what to think, other than to be gravely disappointed.

Those are the magic words. With everything Mike has done for me… a home, luxuries, connections… I can't disappoint him. I just can't. I'll be nothing but a sponge, or the lowest kind of worm, if I don't go along with this plan.

So I give in, and tell him I'll do the trade show tour.

Mike practically purrs and lets me know how pleased he is, as he backs me up against my office desk.

------------------------

The itinerary has me traveling the entire country by train. A few weeks in each city, booked into different extended stay suites in the Mansion Hotels chain. The trade shows are each a week long, and the rest of the time, when I'm not on a train, I'm supposed to be schmoozing and glad-handing with the locals.

And I’m traveling with a pair of boneheads.

I should probably be kinder in my thoughts about them; at heart, both the Serif brothers seem to be decent guys. They're along to do the booth set-ups and breakdowns, as well as to make sure I get where I'm supposed to go. They've done this tour before, they both say, with other "heroes", and they know all the weird routes.

But I get very tired, very quickly, of one brother's non-stop puns and the other brother's exaggerated sense of his own importance. Wherever Mike dug these two up, it seems a long way from my old hometown.

Any excitement I might have had about visiting new places gets ground into nothingness pretty quickly. One city feels the same as any other.

The exhibit halls could be interchangeable backlots on a soundstage, for all the individuality they have, which is none. Concrete floors covered in paper-thin carpeting that does nothing to muffle the sound of foot traffic or the voices of the other vendors and attendees. I come back to my hotel room every day with a headache from the stagnant air and the endless noise.

The views from the hotel windows all look the same. And the hotel rooms themselves are so uniform, as befits a national chain, that it really feels like Time is standing still. The windows are always sealed. No sound rises from the streets, unlike the cacophony of the trade show venues.

But even when I’m back in my “home on the road” accommodations after leaving the exhibit halls behind for the day, the constant sound of a phone ringing shatters any peace and quiet I might hope for.

You see, there's one thing that's particularly disturbing about the sameness of each successive Mansion Hotels room I stay in.

They each have the exact same waxy-finish black rotary phone on the room's desk as the one that Mike set up on MY desk in my office, back at the Pandora Palace.

The ringtone is exactly the same, too.

When I unlock the door of my hotel room, the phone always sits in a pool of light from an overhead lamp, just like mine does back in New York.

It doesn’t matter if I’ve turned off the room lights before I head out for the day. The phone has its own spotlight, like Yorick’s skull in a production of HAMLET.

It feels like it never stops ringing.

I almost want to ask the front desk at each hotel whether I can swap out the phone for a more modern model, but I can't think of any way to do so without sounding like a lunatic.

Mike calls frequently, never at consistent times. His calls keep me off-kilter, to the point where I think I'm hearing the phone ring when I'm nowhere near the hotel room. It gets so bad that I have a doctor check me out for tinnitus.

It gives me bad dreams at night.

One of the recurring nightmares has a monstrous version of Proto, telling me to "beware the man who speaks in hands", while pointing to the phone which has no cord and isn't plugged in and shouldn't be able to ring.

It's an unreal life.

Every time I put my makeup on, I feel more and more like a puppet. I am afraid to look too long in any mirror in case I find that I've actually become one.

------------------------

The frequency of the phone calls from Mike slows down noticeably between the San Antonio and Nashville legs of the trade show tour.

The incoming calls stop completely while I'm in DC.

My frantic outgoing calls are not answered.

My sales, which had been stable if not as stellar as when I first started with GASTER, take a sudden nosedive.

I stumble through the DC and Philadelphia trade shows feeling like a corpse. I don't go out painting the town red every night, the way I used to. I get room service when my body reminds me that I need fuel, and I spend the rest of my time just staring at the ubiquitous black rotary phone.

Willing it to ring.

Dialing and hoping to get an answer.

Nothing.

I'm alone.

In my solitude and the fear that solitude inspires, I do some hard thinking.

I'm twenty-two years old, going on twenty-three, yet I have the responsibilities of a middle-aged person, for a company that should have taken fifteen years to get where it is with its market share.

nstead, it's only taken three.

The math doesn't add up.

Could Eos have been right, that GASTER is too good to be true?

I may loathe the name of Addison, but I've picked up enough from the family business that I start having some nasty suspicions.

If those suspicions are true, then my current career track isn't on the up-and-up.

A huge wave of homesickness hits me. I want to see my siblings.

All of them.

Any of them.

And I almost get my wish.

As the saying goes… Be careful what you wish for.

----------------------

At the end of the four weeks in Philadelphia, the Serif brothers give me an unpleasant surprise; they tell me they're not joining me in New York. They've heard from "our boss" that they're supposed to work some other job, and they're taking all the demo devices with them.

When I ask, rather snappishly, what I'm supposed to show off at the Javits Center without the gizmos and gadgets to wow the crowd, the shorter, stockier brother just smiles and hands me the rolled-up booth banner, as though he's passing along a torch to me. Then he walks off whistling.

The taller, lankier brother claps my shoulder, tells me it's a puzzle all right and he wishes he could be the one to solve it, and ambles off to catch up with his kin.

Leaving me to retrieve my own luggage and find my own way from Philly to Penn Station.

I'll be damned if I spend another night in another hotel. I want to go to the Pandora Palace and have it out with Mike and DEMAND to know why he's abandoned me.

And to demand to know what's really up with GASTER.

Of course, when I drag my bags up to the apartment, Mike's not there.

But at least my keys still work. I was afraid for more than a few seconds that they wouldn't.

The apartment seems antiseptic, impersonal, dingy. Mike has probably had a cleaning service in while he's been away, but I'm struck yet again by the perception that this is a workspace, not a home.

I look aimlessly into all the rooms on the lower floor. Mike's office is locked; his bedroom is not, but it's tidy and doesn't look like it's much used.

There's a pile of newspapers stacked on the kitchen floor. The top one has a folded-back page showing photos of my sister's wedding in the society column.

My sister's wedding.

In June.

When I would have been in Atlanta.

Near enough to have flown to New York and back again in a 36-hour turnaround time, and not missed much of anything business-wise.

I wander out of the kitchen in more of a daze than I walked into it.

Mike has left me a long, long, handwritten letter on the coffee table in the living room, which feels as big as a stadium or a skating rink after so many dinky little hotel rooms.

The letter is a strange mix of praise and recriminations. It goes on for five double-sided pages, and leaves me no clearer in my mind at the end than it does at the beginning.

Does he care about me? Does he hate me? Are we partners, or enemies, or just two tired old horses stuck in harness together?

I haven't a clue.

I also haven't got the energy to climb the spiral stairs to my bedroom on the second floor. And I'm too conflicted to just use Mike's bed when he's not here.

So I crash on the couch in the cavernous living room, and curl up into the tiniest ball I can manage.

----------------------------

I head to the Electronics Expo at the Javits Center via taxi the next day.

It’s an unmitigated disaster.

All I have to adorn my booth is the now-tired-looking banner with Penniman's clockwork boy as a logo, with the now-faded caption "Have Your Home Run Like Clockwork!".

All I have to display are some ratty business cards and some dog-eared brochures.

Some Big Shot I am.

Billy Joel's lyrics taunt me as an earworm I can't escape.

I don't have to exaggerate my "mechanical man" movements; my limbs feel like lead. And the stilted speech I've been cultivating through this whole tour has taken on a life of its own; I now have a genuine stutter that I can't shake.

People walk past my booth to get to other booths with more enticing setups.

Like I’m invisible.

So it doesn't surprise me that, when I'm feeling at my lowest and least confident, my brother Ballew shows up.

His hair is freshly cut. When he stops in front of my booth, I get a fleeting whiff of his cologne. I don't recognize the scent; it's not the British Sterling that I give him every Christmas.

Used to give him, that is.

He looks so tailored.

So polished.

So disapproving.

The suit that I was so proud of designing all on my own, once upon a time, feels like a cheap Halloween costume now.

He reluctantly takes the business card I reluctantly and silently hand to him.

His bitter comment about my enjoying being a puppet is excruciating and painful. I can't blame him, and I can't dismiss the truth of his words.

I've been Mike's puppet.

I *am* Mike's puppet.

I don't know how to stop being Mike's puppet.

-------------------------

The rest of the week at the trade show passes in a blur. I don’t even care about the sales I'm not making. Take a taxi to the Javits Center every morning, take a taxi back to Chelsea every evening. Each day I go through the motions and plaster on the dummy’s grin. Each night I pray for an end to it all.

I feel like I’m coming down with some kind of flu bug. Maybe a delayed reaction to everything. My heart is constantly pounding. I can actually feel my pulse in my ears. My brain is full of cobwebs.

Finally the time comes when I can pack up and go…

Home?

Mike’s apartment isn’t home.

But it’s the only place I’ve got left to go.

So I head there in yet another cab, and have a nasty shock.

My credit card gets declined by the cab driver’s swipe machine. I apologetically give him what cash I have, which pays for the ride but precious little for a tip. The driver yells at me like I'm some annoying dog and zooms off before I realize I’ve left my laptop bag and the trade show banner in the back seat.

Fortunately I still have my wallet and keys, and I’m wearing The SUIT. But everything else I’ve been carting around to do work for Mike for the last year is gone.

I'm feeling hollow as I nod to the doorman, who tilts his head in a birdlike fashion and asks if I'm alright.

The elevator operator gives me a quick look of pity as she takes me up to the fourth floor.

Wait a minute.

Doorman? Elevator operator?

Why don't I remember them? They have to have always been here, right? This is the Pandora Palace, with amenities fit for royalty.

My memory from a week ago, of having to carry my own bags up the stairs of a rodent-infested four-story walk-up, gets overlaid by this current reality.

I must be running a fever. It’s hot behind my eyes. I shakily let myself into the apartment and barely make it to the little bathroom off the foyer before I collapse onto the cold tile floor.

The sound of footsteps approaching registers in my mind, but I keep my eyes tightly shut. Then I feel bony fingers threading themselves through my hair before I’m yanked up into a sitting position.

I have to look at him now.

Mike bends over me, impossibly tall, and says in a hissing whisper that I would be nothing without him, that I owe him everything, and he’s going to get his money’s worth.

And then he picks me up off the floor and cradles me to his chest. As though I were his most cherished possession.

I don’t know how to cope with any of this anymore.

My body does me a kindness and shuts down into unconsciousness.

#deltarune chapter 2 #deltarune fanfiction #spamton g spamton #swatchton #swatchton au #fic: call signs #sylph writes

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