#luster magazine

[rosesaints]

WHEN WAS THE LAST TRULY FUCKING NASTY, NASTY BAD POP GIRL?

you're the newest breakout pop star on the block with a humble and sweet reputation from your time as the former face of disney channel. desperate to break out of your goody-two-shoes image, you embark on a series of very public, very messy dates with some of the most dangerous and well-known jjk men. track titles inspired by britney spears. new series!

NSFW content: popstar!reader, modern!au, fem!reader, loosely inspired by the idol, disney channel popstar trajectories, and 2000s, dark themes, fake dating, toxicity, oral sex, degradation, public sex, threesomes, inexperienced reader, corruption, more to be added.

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ. PRE-SAVE THE HIT NEW ALBUM NOW!

TRACK ONE (3:19) — WOMANIZER ft. gojo satoru ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ.

gojo satoru originates from the same vein as you, an illustrious nepo baby and actor who grew up on the same disney channel studio but hit his peak earlier than you after a string of blockbuster movies. you had a brief, wholesome stint with him when you were much younger, sometimes even regarding him as your first love, but now, you can't stand to look at him without fuming. known as hollywood's most eligible bachelor with a list of exes that run a mile long, his management strikes up a symbiotic partnership with yours to rebrand both of your images, but who says you can't have some fun with your little arrangement?

TRACK TWO (2:47) — GIMME MORE ft. sukuna ryomen ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ.

sukuna ryomen's life revolves around fast cars, shady money, and hangs around some dangerous people in the industry as the head of the KING OF CURSES record label, known for producing raw talent and the pop-punk stars of this generation. he's not someone your management ever would've approved of, but when you're spotted by the papparazzi doing the walk of shame out of his twenty-something million dollar mission, you're swept up into his impossible world and learn a thing or two about the industry in the process.

TRACK THREE (3:08) — CRIMINAL ft. toji fushiguro ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ.

as a boxer who beats up celebrities and influencers up on live television and streaming services for a living, toji fushiguro's no stranger to hollywood's fake luster and shine. the job is tough and gritty, but he sees you at the front row of one of his matches and something inside him comes aflame. the guy afterwards is unrecognizable and his knuckles are raw, but it's worth it when you let him fuck you good in the locker rooms before his press interview. too bad a scandal erupts when the papparazzi catches america's sweetheart limping out to your car from his room!

TRACK FOUR (4:12) — TOXIC ft. geto suguru ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ.

after recording a duet with fellow up and coming tortured singer and songwriter, geto suguru, the chemistry is undeniable. he releases a string of new songs that describe you in vivid and gorgeous detail, maybe in some risque situations, songs that you probably shouldn't play around your parents... he's sharp and cunning in ways that the media doesn't expect and keeps you on your toes, and you quickly become hollywood's next it couple, causing mayhem and havoc during your world tour.

TRACK FIVE (2:59) — CIRCUS ft. nanami kento ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ.

frequently gracing the cover of forbes, time, and so many more magazines than you can count, nanami kento is undoubtedly the man of the century. known as one of the richest men to walk the planet, he's serious, he's composed, and lives a private and rarely-documented life. however, some of your fans are quick to notice that some of your latest instagram stories have gotten more and more luxurious, trips to italy, france, and spain becoming a regular occurence, and gasp! what's that? nanami kento spotted fucking you against the window in one of his parisian apartments?

TRACK SIX BONUS (6:01) — ...OOPS! I DID IT AGAIN ft. gojo satoru and geto suguru ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ.

© ROSESAINTS ! — do not repost, translate, plagiarise or claim any of my works as your own.

[nodeadfandoms]

Binding of The Sun Kissed Your Skin, But Not as Much as Me by the essential @anarchycox!

A binding for an espionage meet-cute story. Tropical hardware cover art and body heat reactive electrical connections endpaper art from an 80's Italian electronics magazine to fit motifs found in the work. Blue metallic titles on gold luster and grey duotone cloth.

I’m really enjoying binding as a method of celebrating and validating transformative works as well as a pro-community gesture. In keeping with that idea, I’m happy to make the author a copy at no cost for themselves if they’d like one. Thanks!

[dreaming-of-mossballs]

A Care Package for a Bashful Captain - (Gepard x florist!reader)

Summary: It’s been a month and a half since Gepard left for his mission to retake part of the city. You decide to send him a gift to warm his heart!

▸ Genre(s): Fluff

▸ Word Count: 4.5k

▸ Tags: Gepard x reader

▸ Warnings: Reader is short, food mention, established (platonic) relationship,

A/N: GAH IM SORRY IT’S LATE. Will reader ever sort out their feelings for Gepard? Who knows? Also reblogs are greatly appreciated. Don’t want people following the series to miss out!

MASTERLIST (MORE GEPARD HERE)

Your marker was beginning to run out of ink.

Specifically the one you had been using to cross off days on your calendar. It had been half a month since Gepard had left for his mission on the front lines— and although you weren’t exactly sobbing into your pillow every night, you did miss him.

A lot.

Probably more than the acceptable level.

Those red lines stared at you every day mockingly, reminding you that your friend was fighting tooth and nail for the safety of the city. Thinking about his job as a soldier made your stomach churn.

Was he sleeping enough? Eating enough? What would he do if he got injured?

What if he didn’t come back one day?

His track record of victories should’ve discouraged you from worrying about him, but in fact, it did the exact opposite. You feared he might be crushed by the weight of the expectations placed on him and end up disregarding his own safety for the sake of others.

Although Serval didn’t seem half as worried as you were. In fact, she seemed as cheery as ever when you met her and Molly for lunch on the weekend. She did have experience in running military campaigns, and she was Gepard’s own sister for Qlipoth’s sake! She’d dealt with his absences probably more times than she could count.

And so you came to the conclusion that this level of anxiety about Gepard must be irrational. But attempting to steel yourself and block out thoughts of him didn’t stop your hands from shaking when you handed people their change across the counter of the flower shop.

This kind of feeling was different than the ones you had experienced in the Underworld. Yes, you experienced danger often in the mines, but at least it was just you that was in danger. Not a loved one. This time you were forced to watch someone else fighting tooth and nail.

It felt so viscerally uncomfortable.

With all these thoughts constantly running through your head, it was time you found something to do instead of ruminating over his absence—

—before your head exploded, that is.

While checking out the latest gardening magazines at the library, you spotted a sleeve of periodicals you weren’t familiar with, titled Crocheter’s Weekly.

Huh. This looks fun, you thought, reaching your hand out to grab it. It had last month’s date on it, but it’s not like it mattered.

Anyone can do it! The subtitle exclaimed in garish red font. Fun for both friends and family!

You flipped open the issue curiously. The first few pages were filled with a few photographs of blankets, and a full-page advertisement for a phonograph. On the subsequent ones, you were happily surprised by the variety of works showcased by the magazine. They looked relatively simple, such as a plushie of a cat, a handbag, and a cup holder. Turning the page, you inhaled sharply when your eyes landed on a picture of a woman, who had an intricately patterned blanked sitting draped across her lap. She looked like the founding father of arts and crafts.

She sat upon on a rocking chair with her hands folded wisely, and had narrow eyes with droopy lids. What seemed to be an entire quiver of crochet needles rested at her side.

Large print at the top of the page read “Ask Bertha”. Your eyes scanned the questions asked by, presumably, the readers.

—“Dear Bertha, what is your favorite yarn to use?”

Dear reader,

My favorite yarn is mohair, size three, of course. It’s rather expensive, but has high luster and sheen. It’s quite warm too! I first came across it when my husband visited the market during one particularly cold winter. I crocheted him a pair of mittens which he wore for years! You’ll be sure to earn compliments on your pieces wherever you go!

—“Dear Bertha, will you be at the ‘Knitter’s Convention’ this year?”

Dear reader,

I wouldn’t miss it even if Belobog froze over! I look forward to seeing the creations this year. The theme is “sky”, so make sure to snap up as much blue yarn as you can!

P.S, Margaret from the Fourth District doesn’t stand a chance for first prize, although I’m sure everyone already knew that.

—“Dear Bertha, what brand of Geomarrow heater do you use?”

Huh. That didn’t seem to be a question about crocheting. Next question.

—“Dear Bertha, what should I do if I suspect my husband is cheating on me with an Underworld woman?”

Your eyebrows shot through the roof.

Dear reader,

You have my deepest condolences. The very idea is preposterous. Underworlders are the most brash and uncouth people I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. I met one the other day and he told me straight to my face that he didn’t enjoy tea! Could you believe he said that even after I asked so kindly? Something about how “it’s just leaf water”. That doctor is strange too, the one they call Natasha. I heard she used to live on the surface but chose the dirt and grime of the Underworld over the Administrative District!

Anyways, about your husband. Get him to sign a prenup and gut him for all he’s worth. Sending my thoughts your way!

Your eyes sprung open as you registered the sewage this woman was spewing.

Oh that’s fucking IT, Bertha. I’ll show you. I thought you were wise but you betrayed my trust!

You tossed the magazine aside with a snort. Yes, cheating was most definitely bad, but being from the Underworld had nothing to do with it. You decided to find a guide on crocheting that was less of a waste of ink.

You soon found a hardcover book labeled “Crocheting 101 for Beginners”.

Much better, you thought to yourself.

You shuffled to the library counter with your chosen material and left in a huff. As you were exiting the library, a thought popped into your brain.

Gepard likes growing flowers, right? Maybe he’d like crocheting too,

You felt a pang of disappointment in your chest as you remembered you couldn’t call him to ask. He was unreachable, out there in that snowy hellscape.

Your days were a little bit emptier when one of your friends was gone, but you knew that to the Silvermane Captain, work came first and foremost. You could deal with him being gone in the meantime.

When you stepped through the door of the Florists, a harsh wind snuck past you and blew some petals off the flowers. You wilted a little.

Even with the Geomarrow heaters keeping the city warm, the wind still managed to make you shiver.

You froze as if struck by lightning.

That was it! You could make Gepard something to keep him warm while he was working. It was probably a hundred times as windy in the Outlying Snow Plains where he fought, right? Plus, it would be nice to show him your appreciation for the work he did.

Your brain was positively overflowing with ideas, and you scribbled them down on a spare order form you found in the filing cabinet.

Hmm, You tapped your chin with your pen. Earmuffs might get in the way of his hearing, so I think a scarf would do, You pumped your fists to yourself in self-satisfaction. It was decided! You would stop by the knitting store first thing tomorrow morning!

❆—❆—❆

Huh. That’s strange,

You slung your shopping bag over your shoulder and tilted your head, peering at the racks of yarn in the aisle. They were sorted by colors in the order of the rainbow— and the entire section containing anything remotely close to blue was missing.

That WITCH. She definitely planned this somehow!

You reflected on the sentence you had read about the crocheting competition with a grumpy expression.

You now had a personal vendetta against her for enacting a monopoly on blue yarn. This woman had the entirety of Jarilo-VI in the palm of her hand.

It wasn’t a good idea to turn the store upside down, or else you’d be proving Bertha right about Underworlders being “uncouth”, so you acquiesced and decided to search for another color.

It was a shame though— blue really would’ve suited him. It would have especially brought out his eyes, which were the color of deep sapphire pools, more clear and resolute than anything you’d ever seen.

You had told him they were pretty a few weeks ago, you recalled, but his face went pink and he changed the subject to his work at the museum.

Half-rolling your eyes in defeat, you froze when you spotted a pile of discounted yellow yarn in the corner.

Yellow… Yellow! That’ll do! You gasped. The medals on his uniform were decently close to yellow. (Although bright purple would have been cute.)

You scooped a bunch of it into your arms, along with a single bundle of white, and sprinted to the front of the store. A shopkeeper with chestnut hair and a brown apron stood organizing a few racks of fabric.

“I’ll take these, please!” You declared triumphantly, dumping your yarn across the counter. You fished your hands into your pockets for the money.

“Oh? How unusual! We haven’t sold anything but blue yarn for the past week,” the worker at the front counter commented. “What are you making?”

Placing the coins on the counter, you replied casually, “Just a scarf for a friend. He’s been on my mind lately,”

You picked up a pair of needles with the size recommended for your yarn and slid them across the counter. “Ah, and these too, please,”

“It’s a nice color. It’ll look good on them,” they smiled at you warmly, wrinkles forming at the corners of their green eyes. Your brain flitted from image to image of Gepard wrapped up to the nose in a yellow scarf, which almost caused you to giggle out loud.

The employee bagged up your items and bade you farewell. The ring of the shopkeeper’s bell announced your departure.

While you were exiting the store, to your surprise, you spotted two very familiar faces.

“Serval! Pela! What are you guys doing down here? Isn’t it a weekday?”

“Right on the money, (Y/N)! We were actually picking up reports from the civil service department,” Serval exclaimed. “The weather’s been awfully cold, hasn’t it?”

You hummed, traipsing over to them with your bag of yarn. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about crocheting a scarf to mail to Gepard. He could use something warm while he’s fighting on the front lines, right?”

Pela paused for a moment thoughtfully before speaking. “That’s a nice gesture. I wasn’t aware you knew how to crochet,”

You smiled sheepishly. “Actually, I’ve never tried. I checked out a book on it recently and decided I should use it for something useful,”

Serval chuckled affectionately. “He’d be so happy if he knew you had him on your mind, right Pela?”

The navy-haired girl narrowed her eyes at her. She sighed.

“I’ve actually been meaning to send a letter to the Captain myself. How about we send him a care package?” Pela suggested.

The Rockstar of Belobog gasped. “That’s a great idea! I’m sure he would love to get a package from you— ahem… us!”

“We can all write letters, and I’ll send him a few more pairs of socks,” Serval twirled a pair of keys on her finger. “They go through them like crazy out there,”

Pela nodded. “Would you allow us to drop them off at your place later?”

“Without a doubt!” You rested your hand on your hip. “Whatever works best for you guys. I know work has been tough recently,”

“It’s hard, but we’ll continue doing our best!” Pela said decisively. Serval nudged her teasingly.

“Want to come with us for lunch?” Serval inquired.

You shook your head sadly. “I appreciate the offer, but I can’t— I’ve got to get started on his scarf,”

“Ah, that’s alright,” Serval nodded with a lopsided grin. “We’ll see you later!”

❆—❆—❆

When you got home, you immediately opened up your book and got to work on the floor of your bedroom.

You first practiced a few stitches with the bundle of white yarn, which turned out to be way easier than you expected. The string formed an orderly pattern which was pleasing to the eye. It was easy to get a grasp on how methodical crocheting was.

When you were about halfway through the scarf with yarn was scattered everywhere, you heard someone rapping softly at your door.

“Come in!” You raised your voice slightly.

Vaska’s familiar brown hair peeped through the crack in the doorframe.

“(Y/N), Eleanor made vegetable soup if you’re hungry,” she chirped. “It has some interesting looking radish in it this time— ooh! What’s that?”

“A scarf,” you responded neatly, turning back to your project. “Want to try? It’s a good way to unwind,”

“Sure. Sounds fun!”

Your co-worker opened the creaky door up the rest of the way and stepped into the room. She sat down next to you with her legs skewed to the side, and you handed her a needle and began enthusiastically instructing her how to get started.

“Here. Let me show you how to do a beginner’s stitch. For the most part, crocheting is pretty repetitive and easy to pin down,” you grinned at her.

You gave her half of the yarn you had bought (you had bought way too much since it was on sale), and let her make whatever her heart desired. It was like when you had started working at the flower shop, just with the roles reversed this time.

The two of you sat in silence until it started to get late, and then you got up to close the blinds. When you got back, Vaska pointed excitedly at the fabric you had started, specifically the ends of your scarf where the yellow yarn had been interwoven with white triangles to form a geometric pattern.

“Your scarf is looking great so far. I like the colors you chose,” Vaska exclaimed.

You shot her a bright smile as you sat down. “Thanks! It’s a gift for someone,”

“Oh? That’s sweet of you. And who’s this ‘someone’ you’re making it for?”

“It’s for Gepard,” you said offhandedly, hoping she didn’t notice you almost dropped your needle. “I figured he could use something to keep him warm while he’s serving,”

“Cool,” she puckered her lips distractedly and raised a blob with numerous appendages. “Check out what I made!”

You stared at it for a few seconds before you chuckled.

“That’s a wonderful olm, Vaska,” you said, amused. It looked exactly like one.

“I think I’ll put it downstairs. I’ll him Daisy,”

“Okay, just make sure to let Meg know what it is so she doesn’t throw it out by accident,”

She gave you an exaggerated gasp. “Why on Jarilo-VI would she do that?? He’ll boost morale. I’m sure of it,”

“Our boss has never exactly been one for liking creatures…” You stopped. “Oh! Would you mind if I borrowed your wax seal set?”

“Go ahead. Just don’t eat them,” she snorted. You shot her a pouty expression.

❆—❆—❆

A few hours later, you had tucked the scarf securely into a cardboard box and placed a layer of packing paper over it. Long after you were sure most of your roommates had gone to sleep, a knocking could be heard at the front door.

You gave a quick call in response before taking a batch of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven.

You rushed over to the door and opened it, with oven mitts still on your hands.

“Hey you guys! Welcome!”

“Something smells good in here,” Serval remarked loudly. Pela shushed her with a worried look on her face.

“Ah, yep. That’s the cookies,” you explained.

Pela abandoned all subtlety and bounded over to the cooling rack. Her eyes seemed to sparkle as she looked at you wordlessly.

“I highly doubt I’ll be able to eat all of those myself,” you quipped good-naturedly. She snapped one up immediately, letting out a noise of satisfaction as she bit into the crunchy edge of the cookie and the perfectly goey inside. “Just don’t get chocolate on your letter,”

“So, this is what you’ve rounded up, huh?” Serval peered into the box on the table. “Here. I’ve got a letter from me, and one from Lynx. She set off for a research trip earlier today,”

“Sounds exciting. I hope it goes without a hitch!” You chimed in.

“I’m sure it will— ah, thanks Pela,” she turned as the smaller female tapped her on the forearm and handed her a cookie. Serval showed you the things she had brought, which were the letters, socks, and a few photographs from Lynx.

There was one of Serval, Gepard, and Lynx together, one of their entire family, one with you and Pela giggling at a cafe where you had whipped cream from a shortcake smeared across your lip.

“Wait, we aren’t seriously planning on sending this one, right??” You looked at Serval, horrified.

“We are indeed!” She took a bite of a cookie. “Mmmmm, (Y/N) these are so good! Are you planning on sending some to Gepard?”

You hesitated briefly. “Uh… no. I didn’t think that was allowed. Plus, the other soldiers might start begging him to have some or something,”

“He’s the Captain. Do you think he’d let people walk all over him?” She retorted, exasperated.

“I doubt he would want to put that much effort into protecting a container of cookies,” you said skeptically.

“YOUR cookies, maybe,” she snorted off to the side.

“What was that?” You challenged.

“Nothing. I was just mentioning he has a bit of a sweet tooth. Thinking out loud,” she closed her eyes smugly.

Pela raised her eyebrows at her friend. “Sending food via mail isn’t allowed. It’s to prevent things from spoiling,”

“Oh— fine,” Serval sighed. “Anyways, mind if I borrow a pen? I need to add something to my letter,”

You gestured to the cabinet that held the writing materials.

“…so, what’s that yellow blob on the windowsill?”Serval motioned a gloved hand over towards the olm Vaska had made.

“Oh, that? That’s Daisy,”

“Uh. Good to know,”

Pela trotted over to where the knitted creature was and picked it up by the scruff cautiously. The crocheted limbs hung limply at its sides.

“Kinda cute, right? I thought it was a bit weird at first, but it’s kind of growing on me,” you interjected.

“Urk! Y-yeah, you could say that,” The intelligence officer pressed a finger to the bridge of her glasses. “Serval and I should probably get going. We have a lot of analysis to get to tomorrow,”

“Whaaat?” Serval complained, a brand new cookie in her hand.“Come on, just a few more minutes. Say… would you happen to have any milk?”

Pela sighed.

“Ugh. Fine…. Just a few more,”

❆—❆—❆

The next day after work, you went to Manya, an administrative official, to ask when their next shipment of mail to the Outlying Snow Plains was. She was uptight as usual.

“The next mail delivery is set for today,” The mint-haired lady said stiffly. “Who do you want to address this to?”

You blinked in surprise. “Ah, I’m sorry, I’d like to address it to uhh.. Gepard Landau please?”

“The Silvermane Captain? I see. We’ll try to get this to him as soon as possible, capiche?”

Manya took the package from you and you bowed to her graciously.

I really hope he likes it…

❆—❆—❆

Meanwhile, in the freezing wastes of the Snow Plains, the young captain was working hard. He was standing in a makeshift meeting tent, pondering over a map placed over a few stray barrels.

It wasn’t often they had the luxury of furniture other than weapon racks and barbed fences, in fact, just last week Franz had gotten caught in one, and it had taken the work of three guards to get him untangled.

With a sigh, Gepard traced his armored hand over a section on the top of the map, running through plans in his mind all the while. His gaze was laser-focused on the weathered paper, anyone passing by might suspect he was trying to burn a hole in it.

“Tory, do you have a moment?” He turned his head towards an officer cleaning off their musket. They lowered it and marched toward him.

“How is progress going on the northern rampart?”

“As predicted, sir,” they answered.

“Hm. Good. We’re setting out as planned tomorrow morning if you could let everyone know it’s been finalized,”

A different Silvermane gunner turned a corner into the meeting tent and waved to get Gepard’s attention. “Cap’n! We’ve got a package for you!”

A package? What on earth is Serval sending me this time? Gepard let out a short sigh. Last time it was a glitter bomb that hit Pela by accident.

She’d spent the better part of a month shaking out the glitter from her uniform.

The Captain took the package from the officer, which wasn’t very heavy, so that was a relief. He checked it from corner to corner to make sure it hadn’t been sent to the wrong person. Yep, sure enough, it was his.

“Sir, I’ll take the night watch for tonight. Why don’t you attend to your mail?” Offered the one who had made the delivery, gesturing with her hands.

“You have my thanks, Dasha,”

The soldier gave a quick salute and picked up a rifle to take with them to the watchtower.

Gepard laid the cardboard container (which was dented on one corner) onto the slipshod table. He used his fingers to carefully pry open the flaps of the box— ready at a moments notice to cover his face in case his sister had found a new way to make lightweight bombs.

Much to his surprise, it wasn’t an explosive.

Inside the parasol was four letters, a few pairs of socks, and some photographs resting on a layer of packing paper. Normally his family waited more than half a month before mailing him something because they all had their own matters to attend to.

He raised a curious eyebrow, wondering if you had something to do with this. His suspicion was confirmed when he went through the letters and spotted your handwriting on one of them.

One from (Y/N)… One from Serval… Lynx… Pela,

Gepard pulled each of the letters out one by one, holding them up to the light he got from the dying lanterns, and set them on the supply crate table in a neat pile like the meticulous soldier he was. He rummaged around in his pockets for the Landau family letter opener he kept on him and used it to slice your envelope open first. It was held shut by a red wax seal with a gilded emblem pressed into it.

Dear Gepard,

Hope this letter finds you well. We miss you a lot! Business has been better than ever at the florists, in fact, Meg is considering me for a promotion!

I made something for you to help keep you warm while you’re on duty. They were out of blue yarn, but I hope you like it!

We’re thinking of you every day you’re gone. Stay safe and warm out there.

Sincerely, (Y/N)

He smiled gently. So it was you who had made the socks. That was very considerate of you.

Next, Gepard read through the letters the others had sent. Lynx’s was silly and made his heart feel much lighter. She was the one who had sent the photographs consisting of the Landau family, her. Pela, and you, laughing with a smudge of cream on your face. He made sure to tuck the pictures in his pocket.

Pela’s letter was professional but loaded with thinly veiled worry. Reaching for Serval’s letter next, he did his best to quell his suspicions about it, and tried to be grateful she even decided to send him something.

Hiya Geppie! It read in bold purple ink.

Is everything all right out there? I know it gets cold as all hell, so I bought a few extra pairs of socks for you. Lynx has been missing you a lot, but don’t tell her I told you that. Hope to see you again soon. Lots of love!

P.S, (Y/N) made us some awesome chocolate chip cookies. Sucks you weren’t there to try them.

Signed, Your oh so doting and loving Big Sis

Gepard snorted, followed by a smile, and tucked the letter back into the envelope. That was followed by a second of hesitation.

It wasn’t quite clicking in his brain. If Serval had sent the socks, what had you sent?

He picked up a pair of the socks just to check. Surely enough, they had the logo of a familiar Belobog department store on them, which checked out with what Serval had said. He pushed aside the layer of packing paper, and his breath died in his throat before it could become a cloud in the freezing night air.

Staring him in the face was a handmade scarf. Bright yellow, like pieces of the sun had been woven into it. White triangles accentuated the ends, and was ridiculously long, long enough to reach his knees. There was pocket on both ends of the scarf for his hands or any tchotchkes he might have.

Gepard held the scarf up to the light of the lantern. The stitchwork looked complicated and VERY time consuming. He could tell a lot of love had been poured into this gift. His face felt aglow with happiness as he imagined you all cheerfully getting together to make this for him.

He was glad everyone seemed safe and happy back at home. It made his work just a little more bearable.

Placing the box in the mail corner for safekeeping, he fastened the scarf around his neck. It was long enough to wrap around his head three times, it was warm and smelled of flowers. Truth be told, it smelled like home.

The Captain propped himself up against one of the walls, along with his guitar case, and drifted off to sleep.

❆—❆—❆

Wait… did the captain always have that yellow scarf??

Dasha snuck another glance at the sleeping Silvermane Guard Captain from her spot on the watchtower.

Gepard opted to sleep in the same spot as all the other soldiers instead of vying for his own tent— that was one of the reasons his underclassman respected him so much. He was constantly reliable, selfless, and strong. A shining beacon of hope always looking out for others.

But tonight, Dasha got to see a different side of a him.

Gepard’s nose was buried in the yellow garment as he slumbered, his chest rising and falling steadily with every breath. His brow was without a furrow, and his face was relaxed, which was definitely a sight to see.

He looked… cozy.

Dasha smiled to herself.

Well, I guess even the Captain has someone looking out for him.

2023 - Dreaming-of-Mossballs - Do not repost/translate without my permission - NO AI

Reblogs greatly appreciated! I love seeing your comments!

[1800titz]

RAAAHHHH PARAGON

The first one incites the rest — it’s a domino sort of effect, a chant spurred by one eager bystander, and the rest enmesh into a restless, keen band-wagon.

“Take the mask off!” someone shouts from the throng.

It’s dazzling lights, it’s warm luster, and it’s verbal riches, and praise, and she knows the hero’s ego swells and surges as he cocks his chin over his shoulder.

Just walk, Arctick wants to tell him. Walk. Get inside.

“Take it off!” someone else chimes, before a note of agreement is siphoned from the crowd.  

Paragon doesn’t keep walking. He turns, the left corner of his mouth curling crookedly, and he wordlessly shells his ear with a gloved palm, goading the onlookers. He’s a savior — their savior, the savior to all of New Prebridge. A star. Arctick nearly bumps into his arm in the process. They cheer as if he’s a luminary on a stage — and he is, in a way. New Prebridge is his stage, all of it, from tufts of grass, to sidewalks, to bustling diners, to any and all outings. Paragon is recognized because he chooses to be. Because he wants to be, because he abandons the mask to bask in the attention — in the esteem. 

Arctick doesn’t know that. She ducks her chin, and warns, “Keep walking.” 

“Take it off!” and then a different voice, “Take it off!” 

The palm that’d cradled behind his ear slips forward to his temple, and the pads of his digits wriggle beneath his eye-shroud, his smirk absolutely pompous. The crowd shrieks and cheers. The young woman balks. He holds the mask in one hand, and with the opposite blows kisses and sends them as if they’re riches to be dispersed. 

“What the fuck was that?” Arctick asks him as the automatic doors slide behind them and the audible ovations dim and muzzle. 

Harry spares her a glance, over his shoulder, entirely nonchalant, as if he hadn’t just casually destroyed the sanctity of his anonymity in career-path. The corners of his cushiony lips buckle. 

“What was what, darling?” 

“The — what do you mean? You’re not supposed to take off your mask.” 

Harry stalls and his sure pace of gait stutters to a stop. He turns then, a bemused crease between his brows, and his head cocks. Slowly, a slow sort of smile works over the muted berry of his lips. Through narrowed lashes, he ogles, for a moment, and then he makes a beeline towards a little lounge of armchairs beside the reception desk. 

“What are you—“

Arctick trails behind him. The man leans over the table, muscles rippling beneath his skin-tight suit as he fishes through and culls something. A magazine. Paragon it states, in hues of pale yellow and shadows of blue. An issue of New Prebridge — Voted Sexiest of the Year, apparently, the subtitle blares. Though, the apparently is unmentioned. And there he is, posed upon the cover with no mask, jade glinting and dimples on display. It's a candid sort of photo (with no candor). He's mid laugh, like the shot was taken when he'd least expected. The top half of his supersuit is discarded, slung over his hips, and his bare arms are crossed over his bare chest, flexed with muscle. His inky skin glows peachy against the white backdrop and bold captions.

Her pupils wend and peruse. 

“Then why the mask?” she asks, eventually, the frantic note in her cadence dulled even past exasperation. 

The hero glances from the magazine to her, then, his gaze undecipherable, but glowing with a grating sort of self-satisfaction. His tongue peeks out to swipe across pillowy pink. 

“Wouldn’t wanna scratch up my pretty face.” 

[phonkscribes]

wesker complains about how's he protagonist shouldn't have won because readers way more powerful

I do this with wesker in re5 lol

Realistically speaking ( 🤓 ) there is no way that any Resident Evil protagonist should be getting out of their games alive, but people tend to underestimate one's determination to get out of shit situations alive.

Wesker would definitely be disappointed that the reader gets taken down by a couple of magazines and a rocket when they've been shown to have abilities and feats that could easily rip the protagonist to bits and pieces. It's to the point when the protagonist does something crazy that has him pause the game to take a moment to process and register just what it was that he saw with his own two eyes. Unbelievable... did he really just take down the ever powerful reader? With nothing more but guns and explosions? The final battle was satisfactory, don't get him wrong, but the end of the end was just... it didn't do you justice!

You're far too incredible to have such a lack luster end that it has him salty for weeks, if not months after his first initial playthrough of Evil Resident. Chris is getting annoyed, William is getting annoyed, Oswell especially cannot tolerate his constant rambling about how you should've prevailed. Of course, he finds his comfort in the secondary mode of the game where he can play as you fighting people online who chose to play as the protagonist. Because if the game does not want you to succeed, he shall fight for you, as you, as it should have been. It feels nice, you suppose, to have someone support you so openly and with such passion. It's alarming, considering the things he's seen you do and without a care for the world.

[discluded]

It's sweet that both Mile and Apo have described their current life as a dream and when asked about a time in the future when they might not work closely together on Woody FM, Apo referred to that time as going back to reality. The fact that they seem to realize they live in a fairytale bubble right now not just cause of their massive rise to fame but also because they get to work closely together everyday. No matter how successful they both are in the future THIS is the dream and everything else is just reality.

You know, I agree but I think this is still a somewhat naive view. As much as many statisticians and psychologists disdain Malcolm Gladwell, I agree with his thesis that you can't predict outliers. That's why they're outliers. And KinnPorsche was an outlier. You can make the best art that you can, but there are so many things that had to go wrong and go right for KinnPorsche to have happened.

No matter how successful someone is, there's going to be an inflection point where they feel suddenly they no longer have that luster anymore.

I don't listen to many podcasts, but I listen to NPR and while driving, they profiled a comedian who created a podcast called Dead Eyes, inspired by an interaction he had with Tom Hanks many years ago in which Hanks made a comment about his, uh, dead eyes during an audition. After about 5 seasons he got Hanks on, and they had an honest discussion including about how Tom Hanks at certain point in his career felt like he was no longer getting the oscar nod every year and was suddenly past his acting prime. Tom Hanks. Who is still a big star and draw today even feels that.

The thing is, no one knows what and when that inflection point is, and even when you pass it, the world you live in after is not going be the world you lived in before. Just like we will never have pre-COVID times, or pre-iPhone times, or pre-personal computer times, or pre-television times. Things will keep changing, for the better or for the worse, but it won't be the same as before. For either of them, the version of no longer being in the dream might still be the dream for most people. Maybe they won't be cover models of a dozen of magazines a year and jetsetting to Mumbai and Seoul and Paris, but they'll still have their connections and pick of projects. For Mile, "reality" is being the CEO of a multi-billion dollar conglomerate -- for most of the people in the world, that almost pre-destined reality for him is "making it".

It shows their values are people that they're both going through this with both feet on the ground. It'll soften the landing, and it makes them appreciate the experience that much more, allows them make the most of the connections they're getting access to now. As fans, the most we can hope for is that they'll get to maintain this rare bond they found in each other.

But don't count them out yet. I don't think they're flying too close to the sun. They have a ways upward to rise still. Enjoy the ride as much as you can, like they are. A story may have a defined ending, but the fun part is how you get there.

[harmonaesthetic]

Violet’s makeup

This post is going to be in-depth, so bare with me for its length. 

Looking through set photos and within the show, Violet seems to wear a few cosmetic products. 

Below is a closeup of Violet in Rubber Man for easier reference I’ve made.  

The makeup artist for season 1 was Eryn Krueger Mekash. I did some digging and it turns out she has spoken about her techniques/products!

In an interview with The Hollywood Reporter from February 10, 2011 in relation to lips:

“Lip stains are long-lasting and not drying or sticky — we can’t have hair sticking to lips during the dance numbers,” says Eryn Krueger Mekash, head of makeup on Glee, who uses Tarte Lip Stain in Envy on Dianna Agron and Lea Michele. 

With Makeup411 (a now defunct makeup magazine site), Eryn Krueger Mekash did a Beauty Breakdown on season 1 of Glee, here are the snippets worth noting:

[Lea Michele as Rachel Berry] Blush Stila Convertible Color in Petunia on apples of cheeks […] Mascara CoverGirl LashBlast Volume Blasting Mascara in black on top lashes only […] Lips Korres Lip Butter in Pomegranate or Smith’s Rosebud Salve

In another interview she brought up the foundation she used on Hollywood for the men to retain the “no makeup, it’s natural” look: 

I love using Tarte BB Treatment cream on men. It gives a touch of color and has a mattifying agent and SPF. […] Polished looks start with foundation that is buffed in and minimal powder. Those cameras can still see every brush stroke so that is still a big priority.

With Allure magazine, she said her personal all-time favorite products were:

"I have always loved Yves Saint Laurent Touche Éclat for lots of highlighting—undereyes, nasal labial folds. Also a great moisturizer and all around cure-all is Egyptian Magic. It's great for chapped lips, dry skin, rashes. I am ridiculous about my own makeup. I slap it on and blend it later—I have no time to do proper makeup on myself. My staples are Colorscience Sunforgettable Mineral Powder in Perfectly Clear, Benefit's Bad Gal Lash mascara, Senna Totally Transforming Concealer, Make Up For Ever HD Invisible Cover Foundation for special occasions, Laura Mercier Eyebrow Pencil in Blonde, and Make Up For Ever Aqua Eyes in Purple (6L), Taupe (24L), and Black. I don't like touching myself up and I want everything to last a really long time."

However in this interview with Style Caster:

EKM: We use Koh Gen Do Cleansing Spa Water Cloths, Moisture Foundation and Oriental Plants Skin Lotion Spray quite a bit. We also love Makeup Forever HDfoundation Matte Velvet Foundation and Acqua Cremes for staying power.

We use Colorscience Sunforgettable Powders which are waterproof […] 

Makeup Forever Mist and Fix, Stila Convertible colors (the cream blushes stay better), primers help to keep everything in place […]

Healthy looking skin is an important part of the youthful look – and not too much powder, not heavy foundation.

Now back to Violet’s makeup and what I believe she used and did.

I do not believe Eryn Krueger Mekash used much mascara on Taissa. If she did, it looks to be more on the top lashes (just like Michele’s on Glee). What’s visible to me though is the very subtle eyeliner around her eyes. There is no wing apparent. 

Violet’s lips do have a luster as you can see in the image above, but in the below image it’s more matte. I am torn between Tarte LipSurgence Natural Lip Tint and Stila Convertible Colors.

All-in-all Violet’s makeup is not heavy or flashy; it gives a natural, youthful impression. Clearly the makeup does vary with each episode but not a lot. Considering she is 15-years-old and juggling so much chaos, it makes sense for her character.

Below is another up close image, from Piggy Piggy before Violet takes the pills. 

[world-cinema-research]

Fat Albert (2004) short essay

Fat Albert is a live action film based on the animated TV series Fat Albert that was created by Bill Cosby. Bill Cosby was also the one to write the screenplay for the film. The film also includes some notable actors including Kenan Thomson from Saturday Night Live as Fat Albert. The film covers the story of the characters from the TV show Fat Albert coming to life and helping a teenage girl named Doris with some personal issues. As well as being a lighthearted comedy, the film also covers some serious topics such as self-esteem and the feeling of belonging.

The critical reception of the film was mixed. There were many reviewers that praised the film for its charm and positive message, there were also many reviewers that criticized the film due to its reliance on cliches and lack of originality. There was also some criticism of the film due to the heavy hitting similar titles that were coming out at the time. In Roger Ebert's review he states, "It's ingenious in the way it shows the cartoon characters amazed by the real world (hey-hey-hey, they learn from a poster in a video store that they're on a "de-ved," or however you say "DVD"). But in a season where the standards have been set for animated entertainment by "The Polar Express" and "The Incredibles," I don't think "Fat Albert" is up to speed" This quotation shows that some critics had mixed feelings about the film as well. In another extremely critical review by Ed Gonzolez of Slant Magazine he states "Fat Albert begins promisingly, but looks can be deceiving: It only gives the illusion that it is grappling with black identity in America. As soon as Fat Albert and the Kids enter the film’s live-action Philly (the film was shot entirely in California), they begin to lose their luster. Meanwhile, Doris (Kyla Pratt) seems to be suffering from a similar identity crisis: The girl is really sad, ostensibly because her foster sister Lauri (Dania Rodriquez) is some kind of Anglo aspirant, but while the friendly Lauri’s conventional good looks seemingly allow her to mix well with the pretty white girls at her school, Doris’s problems (she doesn’t have any friends) don’t exactly have anything to do with her physical appearance." This review is particularly critical of the fact that race does not play a big role in the film even though it seemed as though it would.

One relevant historical event that was ongoing at the time of the film was the rapid advancement of technology at the time. One of the main technologies that greatly affected this, as well as every other film that was made around this time was the introduction of DVD players. This particular advancement is actually mentioned near the beginning of the film. In the film they learn from a poster in a video store that they're on a "de-ved," or however you say "DVD"

Another important historical event that was happening at the time of the film was the ongoing HIV/AIDS epidemic. This ongoing crisis could have led to this film's themes of community support and solidarity in overcoming adversity being relevant to many who were suffering through this epidemic.

The feel of this film is certainly one of lightheartedness and nostalgia. The film has a nostalgic feel to it due to the setting of the 1970s and the inclusion of 70s music, clothing, and culture. The films lighthearted feel is due to a couple decisions in the creation of the film. One thing that helps to give this film a lighthearted feel is the feelgood soundtrack that is present throughout the film. Another way that they accomplish this feel from the film is through the comedy and overall positive message that is conveyed.

The final topic that I will be covering in this essay is whether the film is a conventional or an unconventional film. I believe that this film falls comfortably into the conventional category of films. This is for numerous reasons. The first reason why I believe that this is the case is because of the cast and producers of the film being extremely popular. The film is also based on an already well-established television show. Another reason why this is a conventional film is because of the actual content of the film. The film is family friendly, thus appealing to the greatest possible audience, and does not cover any topics that might alienate anyone from watching the film. Overall, this film was created to appeal to the widest possible audience and be a box office success.

In conclusion, the film Fat Albert was a lighthearted family friendly film that appealed to all audiences. Although the film did receive some mixed reviews, with criticism of its lack of exploration of racial topics and its lack of originality. The film came out it a tough time and provided a sort of escapism and nostalgia to many who were suffering at the time. Overall, this film was created to be a box office success and be enjoyable to viewers of all ages.

[vintagevamp876]

Luster Creme "Pink Is For Girls" makeup ad from Teen magazine March 1968

[augment-techs]

All of your flaws and all of my flaws - Flaws, Bastille + BillySkull (once and always)

Title: just a matter of dropping the act Rating: Unrated Warning: implied health crises; implied drug treatment; implied assault; implied eating disorder. Relationships: Billy Cranston/Eugene Skullovitch; Zack Taylor & Billy Cranston; heavily implied Jason Lee Scott/Farkas Bulkmeier; Spike Skullovitch & Eugene Skullovitch. Characters: Billy Cranston; Eugene Skullovitch; Spike Skullovitch; Minh Kwan; Ensemble. Additional Tags: Guilt; Mending Fences; Tattoos; Not sure if this counts as a Bakery AU; Hurt/comfort; Poor Life Choices; Friends to Strangers to Friends to Lovers. Summary/Synopsis: A fan fact about being out of town, so to speak, for what often felt like whole swaths of decades, was that a little part of Billy liked to think that while the little things changed, the important stuff would stay the same. Trini's death and Robo-Rita really showed him not to take things for granted. So when things settled down after "calling the band back together" and Minh calmed down after fighting the good fight, Billy took stock of things he'd missed without noticing. He checked in with Tommy and Kat and had a proper update about J.J. and Tommy's former students with the Dino Powers that hadn't faded away. He'd checked in on Rocky and Aisha and Adam about their life outside of the inter-planetary defense stuff; how Rocky managed after high school and if his back was really doing well, Aisha's efforts to secure environmental protections in third-world countries, and Adam's quiet side hustle of submitting poetry into magazines that would have him. He went to see Justin living his life with his husband and found out that he'd run aground of some unfortunate drug addictions after the Power had been stripped from him, but was promised that he was almost ten years sober, carried around his chip like the original Rangers did their power coins, and, "Anyway, I have too much going for me to screw it up now." When Billy went to see Jason at the address he'd looked up, he'd blinked after going still as a deer on the highway at the familiar face that answered the door above the bakery that he thought in hindsight should have been a waving red flag with all the billboards he'd spotted around town. "Jason and Bulk went out for their anniversary, but I can't have you running off without a little food; you're still way too skinny, Billy." Billy had to bite the inside of his cheek so as not to blurt out something so as insensitive as Skull being one to talk. Same age as Billy, half a foot taller, but looking like he barely weighed half of what the scientist did; black hair without gel or its previous luster, skin far too pale in the middle of summer, and walking with a cane and an obvious limp. The Blue Ranger was certainly going to stick around to see how this was something that changed so drastically and he'd heard absolutely nothing about it. (Which was his own damn fault, really.)

[cosmicmote]

Light Pours

again, again here

there, there everywhere and now

seasons lose luster

in the motorcade

outside

the stereo keeps me company

magazine

the time flies and crawls

the light pours out of me

graphic and words ©spacetree 2023

[uniasus]

I know it might seem like I've abandoned Grocery List Goals to work on other stories, but I have been writing it! Hoping to get a chapter up tonight.

-----

"Are you okay?" Five blurts out and Vanya gives him a confused look.

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Missing memories is a big deal."

She dips her hands in her pocket. Finds the stress ball. Holds it gently.

"Maybe," Vanya admits. "But I don't know what I'm missing. I mean, some of our time as kids, but I don't…" she trails off.

The memories someone has brought up that Vanya can't recall are evening hang outs, or after events she'd probably found stressful at the time. They're moment with her siblings that have slipped through her fingers, and she doesn't know how many of them there are. If she had remembered them, would she had felt closer to them? Less alone? Less likely to blow up the moon?

She thinks of Allison, and then Diego leaving shortly after they turned eighteen. Of learning about Allison's wedding through celebrity magazines, of Luther turning down her invitations to dinner the first year she was back in the city after school.

She thinks of Leonard being her first boyfriend, but not her first date. How she'd always been nervous and took her anxiety medication before meeting them, and how not remembering much of the dates the next day, to her, was an indication she hadn't enjoyed herself. Could she have found someone to fill her life? A partner, or even a friend, whose first impression she deemed lack luster when really it was just brain fog?

"Vanya?"

She tilts sideways, letting her head fall onto Five's shoulder and he goes stiff and still. She's done this often enough at home she knows it's not because he doesn't like it, but because he's worried of dislodging her head.

"Okay, maybe a big deal," she admits.

[lboogie1906]

Zoë Dusanne was born Zola Graves (March 24, 1884 - March 6, 1972) in Kansas to Letitia Denny and John Henry Graves, a stonemason. She was an art dealer and collector who opened Seattle’s first professional modern-art gallery, the Zoë Dusanne Gallery in 1950 She was self-taught concerning modern art, and her interest was nourished early in life by her parents. In 1903 she spent one year at Oberlin College followed by a semester at the University of Illinois, Urbana. She married George Young (1904-1912). The union produced a daughter. She married Dr. Frederick Boston (1919-?). In 1928 she left Seattle for New York. Her passion for collecting modern art began. At the height of the Great Depression, she found that artists were the first to feel the impact of hard times, and often sold their works at a fraction of their value. She amassed a collection of modern art which she brought back to Seattle in 1942. In 1947, she built a home overlooking Lake Union that was designed to double as an art gallery, she opened her collection to the public. She sold and donated her works to the Seattle Art Museum and facilitated the donation of many others. She lent works to the Henry Art Gallery and SAM for exhibition. At her urging, Life magazine featured the four artists who would become known as the “mystical” painters of the “Northwest School”—Mark Tobey, Kenneth Callahan, Guy Anderson, and Morris Graves—in its September 28, 1953 issue. She traveled to Europe, persuading Peggy Guggenheim to donate a Jackson Pollock to SAM. She could not stop the 1958 demolition of her home and gallery necessitated by the building of the Seattle Freeway. In 1959 she reopened in a new location but was unable to recapture the luster and glory of her original gallery. In 1977, SAM honored her with an exhibition of contemporary art that included works by many of the artists whom she had promoted. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence #womenhistorymonth https://www.instagram.com/p/CqKqLJCO1M1/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[candidapple]

OKAY BUT now that we know Jade is a FASHION DISASTER when left on his own, I’m eager to look behind the curtain — Floyd HAS to be the one responsible for picking out the prefect’s gifted outfits in Got to Pay the Toll….right?! 👀

slkjdfj you guys really won't let him live!! (it's fine, he deserves it.) i'll admit i didn't really think about the details when i wrote it, beyond some foreshadowing in chapter 4 with the whole "I do enjoy the thought of dressing you" thing. but now that i am thinking about it --

dressing the reader up for dinner was jade's idea; he hadn't considered it previously but he had a divine (infernal) bolt of inspiration after speaking the above line. floyd, i think, was the one to actually pick out the dress from one of the fashion magazines scattered around his side of the room, though jade chose the pearls (probably from the leech family's own vault, shhh) as a nice touch. he likes the luster and how they look almost wet even on dry land.

floyd... chose the shoes, as i'm sure you've already guessed. he didn't expect you to paint your nails, though; that was a pleasant surprise! it's almost like you want to look pretty for them or something 💙💙

thanks for sending this in, btw! it made me think, and i always love talking about my fic lmao 💙

[ebookporn]

A Gilded Age

The decline and fall of the glossy.

By Dana Brown

The labor of magazine-making has never been less glamorous, less stable, or less profitable. Prestige, as the union organizers at Condé Nast have said, doesn’t pay the bills. With the churn of digital publishing pushing magazines into the financial and cultural doldrums, the luster of the legacy media job has only gotten duller. Yet there is still a magic in print magazines that does not seem to exist in newspapers or book publishing. Be it a weekly, a biweekly, or a monthly, a magazine can give us a snapshot of cultural mores, a printed record of the present, and a forecast of the future. “The more fragmented we become as a culture,” Tina Brown once observed, “the more the media holds us together.”

There are, of course, many different kinds of magazines that help hold us together: Little magazines like n+1 and trade magazines like Variety, smutty magazines like Penthouse and general-interest magazines like The New Yorker, left-wing magazines like Dissent and right-wing magazines like National Review. Each obviously serves a different master and aspires to win over a different audience, but as revenue declines and subscription numbers shrink, each shares a common fate—and the glossy magazines, which once ruled the newsstand, most tellingly of all.

While Vanity Fair, Vogue, Elle, and the like still carry some cachet, they are no longer ubiquitous. Instead, they are relics of a vanished era of prosperity when their pages were bloated with ads and their editors in chief served as the feudal lords of competing fiefs. Today, when someone narrates the story of this heyday, it is hard not to feel like you’re reading an obituary. Legends of elephantine expense accounts, personal drivers, boozy lunches, palace intrigue, and incessant starfucking: These are supposedly what made the gilded age of celebrity editors and their glossies great.

READ MORE

[wyrmfedgrave]

Pics:

1. Lovecraft wrote many articles & essays for the United Amateur Press Association.

Most on his preferred use of older English, which he tried to get other members to follow.

2 & 3. The professional magazine on the early 'science' used by Howard in his stories.

4 thru 8. Various of HPL'S creatures...

Addendum: Short Takes.

1. April 6, 1914 - Lovecraft joined the UAPA & found himself surrounded by amateur writers.

In other words, folk like himself.

Howard was introduced, via mail, to M.W. Moe (a high school English teacher from Wisconsin), I. Cole (the cowboy poet from Kansas) & A. Galpin (a young intellectual).

Along with E. Daas (editor of the United Amateur magazine), these 4 men cultivated a close friendship for most of HPL'S life.

2. Now that he was an UAPA member, Lovecraft was allowed to criticize the works of E.H. Cole, an amateur writer & publisher.

Howard revelled at the chance to play "Professor" to amateur 'students.'

Best of all, for HPL, there was a local Providence Amateur Press Club near- by.

Lovecraft, "The members are recruit- ed from the high school & are scarcely representative of the intellectual life of Providence."

"Their environment (is) distinctly plebian (so,) their literary standards should not... be criticized too harshly."

3. As he grew more involved in the UAPA, Howard noticed the work of one S. Loveman, a Jewish bookseller from Cleveland.

HPL felt that Loveman had great poetic potential.

When he found out that Loveman's membership had lapsed, Lovecraft made it his business to reinstate Loveman back into the UAPA - for the sake of the poetic world.

Howard, "Jew or not, I am... proud to be his sponsor... His poetical gifts are of the highest order."

"His variety of ideas, faculty of expression & background of classical & antiquarian knowledge, place him in the front rank."

4. Sadly, this did not reverse HPL'S antisemitism.

Lovecraft would later describe Loveman as, "a glorious pagan & a Jew by race."

For an antisemite, Howard's affection for Loveman, as a writer & person, only grew with time.

HPL made an exception of Loveman's heritage.

As Lovecraft would later do for his future Jewish wife, Sonia Greene...

5. In November of 1914, Howard's poetry ("To General Villa" & "To Members of the Pin-Feathers") began to the in amateur press.

HPL also wrote the "Department of Public Criticism" column (for the United Amateur) - til May, 1919.

Lovecraft was still writing his astronomical articles & 6 satirical "Bickerstaffe" pieces, both for the Providence Evening News.

Quotes:

1. "The cat is (such) a... perfect symbol of beauty... that it seems (hardly) possible... to do (anything else, other) than to worship it!"

2. "My respect always goes out to the cool, sure... feline who minds his business & never slobbers."

3. "Nothing matters but, it's... more (convenient) to keep calm & not inter- fere with others."

4. "The world abounds with simple delusions... called happiness - if we but... entertain them."

5. "I never ask a man what his business is, for it never interests me. What I ask him about are his thoughts & dreams."

6. "I am disillusioned enough to know (that) no (one's) opinion... is worth a damn, unless (it is) backed up with enough information (that show one) really knows what he's talking about."

7. "Every(one) who seeks to (teach) knowledge must (fight) against ignorance (&) false instruction as well."

"No sooner do we (see) ourselves free from... superstition, than we are (challenged) by (another) enemy to learning."

"(An enemy) who would set aside all... intellectual progress... & plunge us (all) back into the darkness of (prehistory)."

8. "To scientists, there is joy in pursuing truth. (Something) which nearly counteracts the depressing... truths of life."

9. "I have seen the... universe yawning where... (dark) planets (orbit) without aim. Where they roll in... horror unheeded, without knowledge, luster or name."

10. "Life is not the unique property of Earth. Nor, is (all) life in... human (shape). Life takes many forms on other planets & far stars. Forms that would seem bizarre to humans, as human life is bizarre to other (beings)."

End.