#west coat jazz

[talestoenlighten]

Chet Baker fighting demons with the smooth sounds of West Coast Jazz in our original volume of TALES TO ENLIGHTEN! (art by @james_edward_clark ) check out our Etsy store… volumes 1 and 2, various zines and other merch!

TALES TO ENLIGHTEN, vol.1 and vol.2 -- available now! https://kingmegatrip.etsy.com "Deep philosophical concepts reduced to idiocy"

[fard-rock-blog]

The Last Coat Of Pink | Water's Break

Etichetta: Caligola MusicTracce: 10 – Durata: 47:35Genere: Tribute, Nu-JazzSito: caligola.itVoto: 7/10 A tre anni dal primo capitolo dedicato alla musica dei Pink Floyd, Danilo Gallo (contrabbasso + varie), Kathya West (voce) e Alberto Dipace (pianoforte) riprendono in mano il progetto The Last Coat of Pink per affrontare questa volta il repertorio di Björk attraverso dieci titoli dal celebrato…

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Hit ‘Em Up! (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Cowboy!Gojo Satoru x Cowboy!Geto Suguru x Black!Cowgirl!Reader (Slow Burn/Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: You get to meet Geto & Gojo the Gunslingers, the notorious outlaws that have every town and law enforcement in a twist, when your bum-ass BF offers you as payment to avoid going to prison. Little do they know that this is only a part of your plan to get what you desire. But when you realize that the infamous gun-slinging, smooth-talking cowboys could be everything you want and more when they offer you a deal to team up with them, will you successfully be able to go through with it? 

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINOS GTFO); poly!SatouSugu; Reader is Black & Fem; Mention of other JJK characters; Porn with Plot; Tragic Backstories; T/W for Childhood Trauma, Parental Death, Violence, Panic Attacks & Torture; Angst/Hurt/Comfort; Hand Kink; Masturbation; Voyeurism; Gay Sex; Polyamorous; Double Deepthroat; Mutual Oral; Fingering; CMNF; Spitroast; Riding; Unprotected PiV Sex; Creampies; Outside/Public Sex; Shotgunning; Multiple Positions; Spit Kink; Facials; MDom/fsub Undertones; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: This chapter contains pussy drunk!Geto & Gojo and glove kink. Have fun, y'all! Love yooou! -Jazz

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen PT I & II. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Epilogue. Soundtrack.

********

THIRTEEN: EASING THE PAIN.

The first time you wake up, you find yourself lying under a canopy of trees in a sleeping bag. 

“Hey, you’re awake,” a soft, deep, familiar voice says. “We were sure you were gone for.”

You gently lift your head, feeling stiff and physically drained. A roaring campfire and a handsome, topless man sitting on a log sit in front of you, the flames dancing in his brown eyes. 

Your eyes can’t help but roam over his big, toned body. Geto is a big man––much bigger than Gojo in terms of muscle mass––making him look like a giant despite his sitting. His big arms, one of them adorned in a sleeve tattoo, chiseled abs, pierced nipples, and appetizing pectorals coated in fine, black chest hair are all fit for a modeling career instead of being a gunslinger, you think to yourself.

“Suguru,” you croak. “Where am I?” 

You hear crickets and a lone owl hooting somewhere. The trees above you whistle and sway in the breeze. “Some forest off the coast of West side,” he explains. “We turned around to go back and came here to look for shelter. It would’ve been unwise to take you back to Sage County if Benji and his men are still there.” 

You wiggle your fingers and toes in your sleeping bag, flinching slightly at the slight burn in your ankle. However, it isn’t as bad as it was before. “I’m not dead?” you ask. Geto smiles at you. “No, darlin’. We managed to treat your ankle so the venom don’t spread and cleaned up the blood. You’ll feel a bit out of it though.” 

You want to ask more questions, but your tongue suddenly feels too thick and fatigue washes over you. Geto appears beside you and presses a hand to your forehead. “Go back to bed, little miss,” he whispers. “We’ll be here when you wake up.” His smile and his eyes are warmer than any fire. So you listen and let the fatigue take over, knocking you out again. 

The second time you wake up, Gojo is sitting in front of you with some food. He is wearing a black V-neck and jeans with his boots, smelling of pinewood. “Good mornin’,” he chuckles even though it’s still nighttime (what time is it, anyway?). “Welcome to the land of the livin’, dollface.” 

You slowly turn your head from side to ide, groggy and stiff. Your injured ankle is propped up on a log, still slightly numb. “Where’s Suguru?” you ask, looking around the clearing. Gojo places the tray down between you. “Tendin’ to the horses. I fixed ya somethin’ and I promise it ain’t poison.” 

He smirks at you as he begins to stir the bowl of stew sitting in front of you. It smells spicy yet hearty and loaded with herbs. “Rabbit’s stew,” he explains. “Geto and I went huntin’.” He continues to stir the stew with a wooden spoon before taking a bit of it and holding it in the spoon.

“I-I don’t think I can sit up,” you stammer. Your body still feels stiff and heavy like you’re made of rock. But Gojo is insistent and patient. “Just lift ya head so I can feed ya. We elevated your leg, so you’ll be more comfortable.” He gives you a white-toothed smile that makes you feel like everything will be okay. 

So you raise your head and pucker your lips, allowing the outlaw to bring the spoon to your mouth and feed it to you. Your tastebuds explode with the taste of rosemary carrots, onions, and the hearty rabbit that you silently thank for giving its life and you hope is hopping around in another great forest in the afterlife. 

Gojo pulls a cocky smirk, leaning in towards your ear, much to your confusion. “Now you can see I’m better at cookin’ than Geto is,” he whispers before feeding you again. You both fall silent, no words needed, but when your eyes meet his, he winks at you. It somehow makes you feel more comfortable. After you finish, you fall back to sleep. 

The third time you wake up, it’s from the immense pain you feel in your foot. Your ankle is throbbing and stinging intensely, the pain crawling through the veins in your foot and up your leg. It’s a terrible, terrible sensation that has your eyes stinging with tears and you gripping the blanket on top of you. “Satoru,” you gasp. “Suguru, help!” 

The two of them come running to you, worry written all over their faces. Geto kneels before you, his brows drawn together in concern. “What’s goin’ on?” he asks. “Is it your foot?”

You nod, biting your lip due to the pain. You’ve never felt anything like this before. “On a scale of 1 to 10, how bad it is?” He asks. 

“Like a six,” you moan. “It’s just throbbin’ and stingin’ and God! It feels like my foot is on fire!” You hiss as the burn travels up your leg like its own snake, biting and lashing its tongue.

Geto slowly lowers your foot down from the log, careful and slow. He gives Gojo a serious look as he examines the binds. “We can’t elevate it any higher,” he sighs. “And if we make the binds any tighter, it’ll cut off the blood flow.” 

Gojo stares at you, worry and agony in his blue eyes at the way you writhe, your body tense with pain. Tears begin to drip from your eyes, the burning increasing. “Please do somethin’!” you sob. “Anythin’, please! It hurts so, so bad!” 

You look up at them, praying that they will hear you and understand. You see a helplessness in their eyes, not an ounce of pity for you. “You want us to help you, Y/N?” Gojo asks.

“Please!” you beg. “Please do somethin’!” You begin to cry, the pain absolutely excruciating. Geto wordlessly concerts with Gojo, frowning. “‘Tarou,” he murmurs. Gojo looks from him to you and takes your hand into his gloved ones. 

“Okay, okay, honey,” he coos. “We’ll help you. We’re gonna take your mind off of it, okay? Just relax, alright?” He presses a kiss to your knuckles, his bit of stubble rough against your fingers. 

Geto gently props your ankle back up on the log before he takes your other hand, clutching it. He presses it to his soft cheek, his mahogany eyes filled with a softness that almost eases the burning. “Do we have your permission to touch you, Y/N?” he questions. “We won’t do this if you don’t say yes.” 

They don’t need to elaborate on what they mean. You can see it in their eyes in the flickering light of the campfire; feel it in the way they hold your hands. You would take anything besides what you’re feeling right now. “Yes,” you sob, delirious from the pain. “Yes, I don’t care! Just touch me! Take this pain away!” 

You don’t have to tell them twice. Geto moves behind you and gently sits you up while Gojo sits in front of you. You feel their gloves hands move the blanket off of you, revealing you in your undershirt and trousers. The leather of their riding clothes feel like silk across your skin as they touch you. 

Geto rubs your shoulders, trying to work out the kinks and tension in them. “Tell us how you like to be touched, little miss,” he murmurs against your ear. “How you like to be kissed.” 

His deep, velvety voice sends delicious shivers down your spine. Gojo’s hands play with your thighs, his fingers trailing up, up, up to settle on your waist. “Don’t be shy now,” he chuckles. “I think we’ve passed the point of that shy shit, don’tcha think?” 

Even so, you keep your mouth shut. Something is holding you back from this. You’ve never told any man how to please you sexually. You can barely remember what you like after running for so long, yet to be pleased or to be loved. You thought that overtime, sex was something you had no interest in anymore. 

But the tenderness in the outlaws’ gazes makes you think differently and you want to stop running….for tonight, at least. “Don’t be scared, lovely,” Gojo coos, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “We won’t judge. We just wanna make you feel good.” Geto hums in agreement, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. 

Suddenly, without any uncertainty or doubt, you know that this is all they want: to make you feel good. This isn’t a booty call or a fling. They just want to help you.

So you tell them. You tell them how you enjoy being kissed and touched. You tell them you just love it when a man brushes your hair behind your ear and kisses down your neck and shoulders. You tell them you love your partner being just as naked as you, even if you don’t touch them. You don’t like a lot of clothes. 

You also tell them you don’t mind the gloves staying on. 

You tell them everything you enjoy, earning looks of surprise and hidden must in their gazes. By the time you finish, you feel hot with anticipation and embarrassment. “Just no kissin’ on the lips,” you order. “That’s my boundary.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” they say in unison and quickly as if they can’t get the words out fast enough. It almost makes you want to laugh at their eagerness. They stay at their posts—Gojo in front of you, Geto behind you—and begin to kiss and touch your body. Their lips are soft and the leather of their gloves feel like the richest velvet on your skin as they stroke your sides and hips, feeling you up. 

A moan wants to escape from you, but you don’t let it. Instead, you are silent, your mouth forming a quiet O as Gojo’s pillowy-soft lips caress your throat. Geto’s move up your neck to your ear, your hair brushed out of the way to allow him access. Gently, he begins to nibble at the skin there and you tense, a stubborn whimper leaving your lips. “Let yourself go,” he murmurs against your earlobe. “We won’t hurt you, Y/N.” 

Gojo pulls away to look up at you from the hills of your chest, his blue eyes flickering with firelight and mischief. “Or are you just too impatient?” he smirkingly asks. You don’t know why but that makes you push him away. At first, he seems hurt and confused, but then his eyes widen when you begin to slowly strip off your undershirt to reveal your bra. 

Geto quickly unhooks it from the back, letting the piece of clothing fall, forgotten. All that matters now are your breasts that hang glowing in the firelight, your nipples two brown, hardened peaks. Both men stare at them like they’re the most magnificent things they’ve ever seen in their entire lives.

“Goddamn!” Gojo swears. He covers his mouth, astounded. It makes you flush, your stomach flip-flopping. 

“Fuck, darlin’,” Geto murmurs. “Look at these. You’ve been hidin’ these the entire time?”

He has shifted his position closer to you and your chest, moving from behind you to get a better look at your titties. He can’t get close enough. He begins to touch them, gently running his gloved hands down the sides of your breasts. 

You softly moan at his touch, wondering what it would be like to feel his naked fingertips brushing against your skin. But you don’t suggest it. It’s bad enough you’re letting them touch you in such a way. Gojo joins his partner and latches his lips onto your left nipple. Another moan, this one louder and more desperate, escapes you as he begins to gently suck and lap at your nipple with his pink tongue. 

Geto does the same to your right nipple, the contrast being the warmth of his tongue and the cold metal of his tongue piercing nearly sending you into a frenzy. Your head falls back, staring up at the night sky, as the outlaws gently assault your titties, squeezing, sucking, and playing with them. At this point, you’re burning up and it isn’t from the fire or the bite. It’s all from them. 

You can feel your body begin to relax into their mouths and their hands, your self-control finally dissipating to allow you to fully give yourselves to them. Probably sensing this change, Gojo looks up at you and smirks. “Two heads for two of these precious things,” he chuckles, jiggling one of your titties. “How lucky are you?” 

Very. You know you are. Your hands find their scalps, your fingers running through their hair as they slurp and lap at your nipples, coating them them in their spit. 

“Boys,” you whimper. “Please more.” Your body is tingling with need, your pussy quivering and throbbing in your trousers. 

The outlaws laugh, taken by your adorable mess. “Such a needy thing,” Gojo chortles. “Who would’ve thought such a tough woman could be such a desperate, sweet little girl under all them scars?”

If he means physical or emotional scars, he doesn’t say, but it doesn’t matter. Even now, you don’t feel like cringing or shying away because of these “scars”. You feel free. 

Geto lightly laughs, taking his hair out of his ponytail. His long, black longs cascade down his back and shoulders, reminding you of a river. “Guess it takes the right one to make it happen…or in this case, the right two.” 

The two men begin to strip, much to your enjoyment. You watch them with greedy eyes as they take off their shirts but leave on their gloves, boots, and pants, only undoing their flies. You asked them to do so beforehand while telling them what you like. You don’t want to them to be completely naked, mostly because you don’t trust yourself to not ask for more. 

And Lord knows you’d regret taking tonight any further the next morning. But you still enjoy staring at their toned bodies, big arms, and happy trails that lead down their toned stomachs to their V-lines. The men look pleased with your adoring, lustful gaze, light chuckles leaving their lips. 

Gojo crawls over to you and situates himself between your legs. “Let’s get these legs open,” he hums. Gently, he takes hold of the leg with the uninjured ankle and moves it apart, bending it so your knee is propped up. You unbuckle the belt to your trousers and lift your hips so the outlaws can pull them down your legs. They carefully pull them off your ankles, mining your injury, until you’re just in your undies. 

Geto locks eyes with you, never moving his hands once towards your panties. ‘Okay?’ They ask you. You wordlessly nod and bite your lip as he slowly pulls your panties down to expose your glistening, wet, puffy pussy in the firelight. “God,” Geto moans, salivating at the sight. 

Gojo is just as astounded, shamelessly staring at the gorgeous rosebud between your thighs. “Fuck, babydoll,” he groans. “You have the prettiest pussy.” You flush at their reactions and Gojo’s dirty yet sweet words, not having ever been complimented in such a way. “Thank you,” you find yourself whispering. The two share a smirk, concerting with their eyes. 

“So polite,” the white-haired outlaw praises. “You deserve a reward for that.” He is the one who gives you your “reward” first, peppering your pussy in kisses while he massages your inner thighs with his magical, long fingers. While he does this, Geto plays with your tits, tweaking and lapping at your nipples. You breathe in the sweet scent of his hair every time he leans down to suck on your breasts, making you wetter for some reason. 

But once Gojo puts his mouth on your pussy, finally, you just about leave your body. All that constant talking for Gojo must’ve been practice because he’s an eater. He laps at your pussy, sucks on your clit, and just about drowns in your cunt. He eats it like an eager man desperate for water, slurping you down like he’s trying hard to get your honey pouring out. 

Your eyes widen and moans escape you as he works his mouth onto you. “O-Oh, my God!” you gasp, eyes widening at the sky. Geto watches you, entranced by the way you move and sound. “Mmm-hmm,” Gojo hums into your pussy, encouraging you to keep making those sweet noises for him. 

Geto begins to grow impatient and nearly knocks Gojo out of the way. “C’mon, Satoru, scoot over,” he huffs. “We have to share.” The white-haired man pulls himself away from your pussy, his lips and chin coated in your juices. “Who says?” he scoffs. “Did she say she wanted two tongues at once?” 

Your eyes widen at the idea. You’ve never heard of such a thing: two men sharing the same pussy…but it excites you. It turns you on. Geto seems just as stunned by the suggestion. “Well…that’s not what I meant, but–” 

“Go ahead,” you cut in, earning their surprised gazes. You sit up as much as you can and lock eyes with both of them, forcing yourself to be open and firm. “I-I want both of you,” you stammer. You don’t care if it makes you slutty or desperate. You need this. You need to feel something other than pain. 

But because of your pride, you can’t let them know all of that. So you sit back and give them a glare. “Just go ahead instead of arguin’ and makin’ me wait.” The two break out into smiles, loving your bite. “Impatient,” Gojo tuts, stroking your outer thigh. “But we can’t deny you. So we’ll share.” 

He begins to dive in again, but Geto stops him with a hand blocking his face. “Yes, share,” he agrees. “After I get my own taste. Now move. The fuck. Over.”

Despite Gojo’s reluctance, he moves anyway and lets his partner have a taste. You watch as Geto pulls his hair over one shoulder before he dives down between your thighs. 

While Gojo has a very eager and teasing way of eating pussy, Geto takes his sweet time with you. He gets to know the ins and the outs of you by swishing his tongue this way and that while he laps at your cunt. He pays close attention to your sounds and body language, switching things up to test the waters. But everything he does feels good to you. 

You are a moaning, writhing, whimpering mess on the forest floor, eyes fluttering open and closed onto the night sky. Geto is loving every minute of this, his hands cupping your asscheeks and bringing you closer to him.

“How’s that feel, babydoll?” he asks from between your legs. “Am I pleasin’ you okay?” You just about shout to the stars above, overcome with pleasure. “Yes!” you whine. “Yes, Sugu, fuck, that feels so good!” 

Gojo watches from beside his partner, hard as a rock but totally jealous. “No fair,” he whines. “She didn’t get that loud with me!” Geto gives him the finger, not even coming up to look at him. “C’mon, Sugu, lemme taste her too!” The long-haired outlaw rolls his eyes but moves over anyway to share you. “Somebody’s pussy whipped.” As if he isn’t. 

And then you have two sets of sinful, magical tongues on your pussy. You just about see God the instant you feel their soft lips and tongues on you, their moans and pants causing you pussy to throb, gush, and jump even more. “Ohhh, sh-shit!” you stammer loudly, you hands gripping their hair. “Yes, right there! Do it right there!” 

Gojo’s sapphire eyes tick up to look at you and he pulls his mouth away from your clit to give Geto a chance to suck on it. “Oooh, she is a loud one,” he laughs. “I love my women vocal and bratty.”

He leans up to press a kiss to your stomach, making your body twitch. “How do two tongues feel on that pussy, darlin’?” he purrs. “Is my tongue better than Sugu’s?” 

You couldn’t answer even if you had an answer. Geto suddenly grabs the back of Gojo’s neck, glaring up at him. “Just shut up and keep lickin’ before I take her all to myself,” he growls.

The blue-eyed outlaw gives him a mischievous look. “Oh?” he chortles. “You think you got it like that? She ain’t even seen how I use my fingers yet.” 

He goes back to kissing along your stomach while he uses one of his gloved fingers to rub your clit while Geto’s tongue lightly delves inside of you. Your mouth opens, a broken moan leaving your lips as your eyes roll back into your head. Gojo’s fingers glide along your sides and thighs, making you even more aware of that ache deep in your core.

“‘Tarou,” you whimper. “Please…I need more.”

Both outlaws look up at you, neither one pausing what they're doing. “Does our good little cowgirl want a finger?” Gojo murmurs against your stomach. “We can even switch, though I’ll admit, sugar: you’ve got a man sprung off you.” He smirks down at you before glancing back at Geto. 

“Same here,” the long-haired outlaw growls, desire evident in his voice. “But I don’t mind sharin’ with you, Satoru. Only you.” The fact that both of them desire you enough to want you all to themselves but still decide to share somehow makes you even hotter. 

While Geto continues to go down South on you, Gojo retracts his lips from you and stands up on his knees. He keeps his eyes locked with yours as he begins to slowly, seductively, take off his leather riding glove. He does it bit by bit, inch by inch, sliding the glove off his fingertips. You watch, shivering with anticipation and need. How does he make even taking off a glove so sexy? 

 Once he strips his glove off, he sucks on his bare index finger, coating it in spit. And then his finger is sliding inside of you. You gasp as he slowly slides in, gently pushing back and forth, stroking your insides to let you get used to his digit. Both outlaws watch your body respond to the new sensations you’re feeling, still moving slow. But you don’t need slow. 

So you look into their eyes, your face flushed and chest rapidly rising and falling, your nipples hard and pussy dripping. “Fuck me,” you whine. “Please.” And so they do. Gojo crooks his finger up to curl against that spot while Geto greedily sucks on your clit, coating the needy bud in his saliva. 

You moan, whimper, and whine, gripping the blanket underneath you for dear life. “Mmm, yes, fuck!” you sob. “Yes, yes, don’t stop! Please don’t stop!” 

“That’s what I love to hear,” Gojo moans, smiling up at you. “Such a naughty girl givin’ up your pussy like this to us outlaws.”

Geto takes his mouth away from your clit, allowing Gojo time to replace him. “You’ve always wanted this, haven’t you?” he asks. “Be honest, girl.” He reaches up to tweak one of your nipples, pinching it. 

Sparks of pleasure surge through you and explode in your head, sending you on a rocket trip. “Y-Yes!” you moan. “Yes, I’ve always wanted this! Always needed this!” It’s embarrassing. It’s humiliating. Because it’s true. 

Gojo releases your clit, leading Geto to swoop in and replace him once more. “Knew it,” he cackles. “All those times you argued us down into the ground just for us to play with this pretty cunt. All ya had to do was ask, sugar.” He begins to finger-fuck you faster, purposely angling up to glide against your G-spot again and again. 

You’re so pent up that you begin to play with your other tit while Geto keeps his hand on one, both of you working together to tweak your nipples. It doesn’t take long for that feeling of a rising orgasm to surface and judging by how tight that in your core is getting, it’s an intense one.

“Fuck, I’m close, boys,” you pant. “I-I’m gonna cum! You’re gonna m-make me…” 

Your voice dies, replaced with a weak moan. Geto nods encouragingly, still working your pussy with his tongue. “It’s okay, little lady,” he murmurs. “You can cum all ya want. Just let go. We’ve got you.” 

Meanwhile, Gojo is less encouraging with his words but does so with his actions, moving his finger up against the underside of your clit from the inside. “Do it,” he demands. “Fuckin’ cum for us, you little slut. Do it now!” Their ministrations become faster, more urgent, encouraging you to fall off that cliff… 

And, finally, you do. Your pain is replaced with immense pleasure, making you shiver and shake as you cum all over Gojo’s finger and Geto’s mouth. Your moans and whines fill the Western night as you gush for the men settled between your thighs, your mouth open wide and eyes closed where colors flash behind your eyes. Your orgasm ripples through you like a tidal wave, making your back arch and your toes curl. 

Suddenly, you don’t feel the pain anymore. You just feel immense bliss zipping through you. Even as the high your orgasm brings fades, you still feel it. A delirious, blissful smile grows on your face as you run your fingers through the outlaws’ soft hair. “Thank you,” you sigh. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” 

You repeat these words like a mantra as the two clean you up, keeping their licks light and gentle to not overstimulate you. Once they finish, Gojo looks down at you and sucks your cum off of his finger that was once inside of you.

Geto stands up on his knees, looking down at you. That must’ve tuckered her out, poor baby,” he chuckles. 

Gojo agrees with a hum while you moan in protest about not being tired, but your sudden exhaustion doesn’t allow you. Suddenly, you feel Gojo lying next to you, one elbow propped up to hold his head up.

He keeps his eyes on you, not touching you at all, but the way he looks at you feels as if he is. “Shh,” he hushes you. “Just sleep. We’ll be here when you wake.” 

You feel Geto lie behind you, a warm presence that makes you feel safe just as Gojo does.

They keep their promise and stay with you through the night even as you drift off to sleep, that blissful smile still on your face. 

[qsycomplainsalot]

Re: Pervertin or how German Supersoldiers High on Crack travelled through Space and Time Buy my Book

I came across a post on the bird site yesterday calling into attention the use of pervitin, more or less adderall, among German troops during WW2. For context pervitin tablets were indeed issued to a lot of military personnel back in those days, specifically to aircraft pilot and sometimes tank crews on long missions. The drug as some of you may have heard keeps you awake and alert, along with a slew of side effects and a non negligible chance of addiction. In a discussion that brought to view just how willing people are to buy into Nazi propaganda in the year of our f*cking lord 2023, I pointed out a few things, uphill and having to indulge a lot of sidetracking. The use of pervitin has always been a little overstated ever since it came to the internet's attention, and I certainly would never call it a key component of the Blitzkrieg when, in the theaters of war where actual Blitzkrieg was employed, its success was more due to a combination of innovative doctrines, intact fuel supplies and a big fat helping of dumb luck. It was a bold move highly relying on capturing enemy fuel depots with fast, surprise deep strikes supported by a lot of armored and air forces, and it was only sustainable in neighboring, industrialized countries. One can argue if the USSR was industrialized at the time, but it stopped mattering when the Russians removed their entire industry from the West to beyond the Ural mountains. The Blitz stalled there.

"But if it didn't work, then why did the Nazis do it so often ?" Well the answer to that is twofold. The first, longer answer is that Nazis were a bunch of f*cking morons. Maybe not one by one, but as a government in charge of military procurement, they were one bunch of goofy motherf*ckers. Gaggle of functional shit-for-brains really. The Nazis gave every one of their tanks in the middle of the war two coats of anti-magnetic paint, which took almost a full day to cure, despite being the only major nation to use magnetic antitank mines. The Nazis kept using slave labor drawn from their prisoners of war, including in the manufacturing of their overengineered armored vehicles, resulting in poor quality products or, you know, a few rivets in your magnificent Tiger tank being replaced by a cigarette butt. The Nazis spent more than half the cost of a strategic bomber on every V2 rocket, not including design costs, for less than half the payload. It ended up killing more Germans and slave workers than British people in London, for literally no strategic or tactical result with 0.4 person killed per every rocket. The second, shorter answer is that pervitin was not used that much. A lot of the arguments trying to boost its importance come from a single book, "Blitzed" by Norman Ohler, now available in twenty languages apparently, where grand claims are made by a historian who was probably more than a little tired of seeing Buzzfeed rack in the big bucks instead of him.

End note; I was called out by a bird siter after the conversation that inspired this post for even beginning to fact-check this, which they considered, and I quote, "fangirling over nazi stats". I cannot stress this enough, learning the 'bad' parts of history does not make you bad person, it is how you interact with the resulting knowledge. Unlike what they implied, I had to look for those supporting evidence. I had a hunch that such a grabbing headline about super-drugs would be fake, I knew offhand that V2 rockets killed more blues than reds, but when I had to research all that jazz about Nazis and their superweapons it was to dunk on them, not make another History Channel documentary about a time-travelling bell. Stay critical, fascists can eat shit.

[theresawritesstuff]

Prompt: The one and only time their kids do stand up is for Lenny and Midges 20th wedding anniversary in 1982.

So...this clocked in at around 5k words. I had fun 😅 Written as something that could be compliant with Guess Who's Coming to Yom Kippur but not necessary to have read the fic.

Enjoy! (It's long. Seriously. You've been warned)

"You both comfy? Having a good time?" Susie tutted uncharacteristicly.

"We're great, Susie," Lenny assured her, his arm draped contentedly across the back of Midge's chair.

"Everything is perfect," Midge agreed.

Susie nodded. "Okay good. Now do me a favor and sit tight. You aren't going to want to miss this."

"Miss what?"

Midge looked up curiously as the jazzy baseline of a familiar song began to play, announcing her youngest daughter's ascent to the stage she'd been told just happened to come with the venue. 

A hush fell over the room as the teenager cleared her throat, taking her place at the microphone. 

"You might be wondering…" she drawled with a mischievous smirk. "Who throws their parents an anniversary party then gets up on stage to make fun of them? I mean, who does that?

"Who stands in the middle of a ballroom in front of friends, family, colleagues, caterers, social acquaintances we've never heard of but Mama insisted should be invited–You know who you are–and decides to do a mediocre version of what they're known best for world wide? Who does that?"

She shrugged playfully to the crowd of guests.

"Apparently we do."

She smiled as a ripple of chuckles made its way through the room.

"Did you know about this?" Midge whispered to Lenny.

Her husband shook his head, watching their daughter work the room.

"Good evening everyone. I'm Lilah Weissman-Bruce and my siblings and I, with some assistance from Susie Meyerson and Associates, are your hosts and entertainment for the evening.

"Tonight, as you know, we are gathered to celebrate the twentieth wedding anniversary of Miriam Weissman-Bruce, AKA Mrs. Maisel to the comedy world, and her forever lover Lenny. Her words, not mine. Blechhh!"

Lilah mimed gagging over the phrase briefly before winking at her parents, subtly gauging their reactions.

"But seriously folks. My parents are so in love with each other even after all these years. And I can tell you first hand…It's as adorable as it is nauseating."

Susie barked a laugh in agreement while Midge shook her head, smiling proudly.

"I'm not saying they can't keep their hands to themselves but fair warning Mama is three–three?" She looked to her mother for confirmation on the number, then kept going, "Three glasses of champagne into the evening and just got back from a week of shows on the west coast so, you know, make sure to knock before you get your coat from coat check. Or use the bathroom. Or refresh some of the hors d'oeuvres in the walk-in fridge and I'm giving them ideas…"

The laughs grew at her daughter's deadpanned horrified realization. "Great…"

Lenny smirked, pressing a kiss to his wife's cheek.

"Please don't get randy in the walk-in. Please," Lilah begged, earning another laugh.

She took the mic from the stand so that she could move about the performance space a bit more, grinning to the crowd.

"Like I said, for those who don't know me, I'm Lilah Weissman-Bruce. Those of you that do know me probably know me as Birdie or better yet, the answer to the question 'what would happen if we left Lenny and Midge alone together for a weekend?'"

She held up an arm, waving in a jazz hand fashion.

"Ta-da! Mystery solved!"

She smiled to herself, taking in the laughs.

"Yes, I am the youngest of the Maisel-Weissman-Bruce horde. The progeny of not just one but two stand up comedians. Please take a moment to marvel at how mentally stable I am."

She held for applause, waving it off in mock modesty after a moment of reveling. "Thank you! I'm stunned too."

She shook her head, slowly pacing the stage. "In all fairness, Mama and Dad have always been very conscious about how their careers impact our family and made sure we knew growing up that we could choose whatever career paths we wanted. Just as long as it wasn't comedy."

The friends they'd made in show business over the years laughed especially hard at that punchline.

Lilah waved a playful finger. "That didn't stop other people from suggesting it though! I think I was about two or three years old the first time I remember visiting Mama on set and having a sound tech hand me a microphone out of the morbid curiosity to see what I would say.

"It was one of those big ones with the foam cover on top like the most perfect scoop of ice cream. You know the ones…"

She turned thoughtfully to the microphone currently in her grasp.

"I remember looking at it. Holding it in my hands. Feeling the weight of it. Contemplating the gift I'd been given…

"And then I put it right in my mouth."

She mimicked taking a big bite of the microphone in her hand, earning a guffaw from Ethan near the dj station.

"It did not taste like ice cream!" she informed them. "Anytime anyone came within ten feet of me with a microphone after that I just screamed NO THANK YOU and ran."

She shot out her arm to illustrate the memory, grinning at her own joke.

She let out a sigh, shrugging. "So the fact that I'm holding this now should tell you what a rare treat this is. We've managed to avoid doing any sort of stand up over the years, my siblings and I. No school talent shows, no anonymous open mic nights, no multi generational acts for fundraisers. Nothing! 

"But then this party started to come together and we started talking about ways we could make it extra special and we realized…these two are really hard to shop for. Like really hard to shop for.

"So then we decided, what the hell, just this once. For Mama and Dad. And all the people that have pestered us to do this since we were kinder…And only because Billy Joel was on tour when we called to try to book him for tonight. Man that would have been something, wouldn't it?"

She considered the microphone in her hands again.

"Although now that I've gotten over this not being ice cream, this isn't so bad…"

She smirked teasingly at her parents, breaking a little.

"No, no, I'm kidding. Promise! None of us kids are quitting our day jobs," she assured them. 

For the rest of those gathered, she added,"Granted, I just wrapped up my senior year of high school, so I'd need to get a day job first, but if I had one I would not quit it to be a stand up comedian."

Lilah leaned an arm on the mic stand to confide in her captive audience for her next bit, waiting out the laugh.

"You know, people always have asked me 'So what do you want to be when you grow up?' Weird question, honestly. What do you want to be?

"When I was really little I told everyone I wanted to be a unicorn. 

"Then as I got a little older, a little wiser, a little more understanding of how the world works I realized what a great opportunity I had…" she grinned wickedly to the crowd, "to utterly mess with people. So I started telling folks that I wanted to be a proctologist."

Lenny let out a sharp laugh, having forgotten that particular antic of years gone by until that moment. It was one she'd mainly saved for Midge's colleagues over his own.

"No one expected that from the cute little seven year old hanging out in mommy's make up chair! I always loved when I could get an old guy to ask me too. I'd be laughing for days from the looks on their faces. Weeks if they asked me when Susie was in the room!"

"You and me both, kid," Susie muttered proudly into her drink.

Lilah let out a contented sigh, growing more serious.

"I'm starting college soon though so I've had to give my career options some real serious consideration…And you know? I think I've finally decided."

She paused, drawing up the suspense.

"I think I'm gonna go with being a unicorn."

She grinned to herself, giving a little bow as the laughter erupted around her.

"Thank you so much. Now give it up for the real future Doctor Weissman-Bruce. My sister Esther!"

The applause swelled as the sisters exchanged a hug and passed off the microphone for the next set.

Esther looked around the room, exhaling her nerves. "Hi," she chuckled, shaking her head at her little sister. "Hi, I'm Esther."

Her siblings let out a loud whoop from the side of the room along with the applause of their guests.

"Thanks," she smiled, checking the note card in her hand.

"Um… You know…It's a funny thing growing up having everyone think your parents are super cool. Because they're really not.

"I mean, okay, they are," she conceded, "but also they're not.

"To everyone else out there, they're the Marvelous Mrs Maisel and the Legendary Lenny Bruce. To me, they're just my dorky parents."

She fought back a smirk at the rumble of laughter, starting to get more comfortable on stage.

"I remember when I was really little, before these two even got married, I was out somewhere with Mama, probably shopping, and this woman, this fan, came up to us for an autograph.

'Mrs Maisel! Mrs Maisel!'

"And I remember I just looked up at her like she was crazy and said 'She's Miriam Weissman now' and kept walking."

Her smile grew as she picked her mother's laugh out of the crowd.

"I didn't know what a stage name was. But I sure as hell knew Mama had changed her name back after the divorce and no one was going to undermine that on my watch."

She waved a dismissive hand at the laughs, segueing.

"But no, weird fan encounters aside, I think these two love birds did a good job raising us, giving us a semi-normal childhood. Or at least as close to normal as this family can really get.

"It was more perplexing than anything else really. The fan stuff.

"Friends would always be so starstruck by people that I knew as my parents lame work friends. Sorry to those of you that applies to. I'm sure you were very hip," she apologized, getting another laugh.

"But seriously! Think about when you were a kid and your parents got together with their friends and every adult would just awkwardly start their conversation with you with 'Wow you've gotten taller since I last saw you. How old are you now?' while trying to mask their horror as they come face to face with the passage of time and the fact that they too are growing older…"

She paused, letting the melodramatics sit for a moment.

"Now add in more gin and talks about contract negotiations and you've got every barbecue that Mike Carr has ever hosted."

Mike slapped the table, shaking his head fondly at the call out while those that knew him laughed along.

"See? Now we're on the same page," Esther beamed. "And don't get me wrong, these two are very funny individuals. I get that. But they're still my parents. Do you laugh at everything your parents say? No! Because we're not supposed to! The parent child dichotomy negates so much of what other people find hilarious.

She flipped the card in her hand, continuing.

"Everyone always assumes that every family dinner is this big laugh fest.

"And yeah sure, we joke around when we're together but it wasn't like there was a tight ten happening every night over the brisket. We still had a 'no dick jokes at the table' rule growing up. Although I guess that rule isn't usually for the parents but other than that they're surprisingly normal, I swear!"

She smiled at the uproar of laughter, deciding to pocket the cards.

"Yes, they are famously filthy comics, professionally. But our home life was it's own weird brand of wholesome. Dad still tried to help us with our homework and took us out for ice cream when we had a bad day. Mama still threw us birthday parties and did the mandatory PTA carnivals and took us shopping for school clothes.

"Speaking of which, can I have a brief moment of sympathy for my teenage self for having to go up against Mrs Maisel in arguments about what was cool in the world of fashion? I mean come on!!! The woman is so well known for her sense of style that before any of us borrow something from her closet we need to check to make sure the Smithsonian hasn't already called dibs on it."

Lenny gave Midge's shoulder an affectionate squeeze, chuckling softly.

"We've come to understand one another a little better on that front now that I'm an adult but as a kid it was like oil and water. She would always try to find us these ritzy designer clothes and I just wanted the bargain bin tie dye and the cheap earrings from the school craft show!"

Esther looked over to see her mother wincing at the memory as she laughed along with everyone.

"I know! It's amazing we both survived," she smirked. "Poor Dad had to referee so many arguments he had no strong opinions on either side of at all. And that's an achievement in and of itself really. Finding something Lenny Bruce is the neutral party on.

"Politics? Nope. Literature? No chance. Should people be allowed to put ketchup on a hotdog? You'll be hearing about it for at least half an hour! But put him in the war zone of a Weissman fashion smackdown? He's suddenly the calmest, quietest mediator there is. If wars were fought over the pros and cons of pattern mixing, we could send that man in and have world peace within the week! He certainly saved our household from going ballistic multiple times between 1970 and 1975.

"Forget all his humanitarian work, that alone should win him the Nobel Peace Prize!"

Midge reached over to pat his knee and whisper a silent Thank you, resting her head against his shoulder.

Esther continued, once the laughs and applause died down. "Tensions over my teenage fashion foibles aside, it actually has been really incredible being able to call these two my parents. They helped me believe I could achieve anything I set my mind to, with enough persistence of character. They showed me what it means to stand up for what's right, even when everyone else is sitting down. They taught me how to laugh when things don't go to plan.

"And most importantly, they taught me that love, that family will see you through any season of hardship or heartbreak... Even if you still insist on wearing the craft show earrings."

Midge shook her head, meeting her daughter's eyes across the room with love.

Esther returned the gaze in kind, placing a hand gratefully over her heart.

"Alright, Ethan, it's your turn. Get on up here and get it over with. You can finish your cake later! There's like five of them."

She smirked to herself as her brother meandered up from the dj station, swiping the plate of cake from his hand.

Ethan sighed dramatically as he took the stage, adjusting the mic stand height to his level.

"Hi. I'm Ethan. Most of you probably knew that," he began, getting his bearings. "Being the oldest, I actually remember a little bit of what it was like back when these two were first dating. Back when we still lived with my grandparents.

"I remember the day I met Lenny. It was notable even back then because Mama never brought any of her prior romantic prospects into our lives. Never invited any dates for a family dinner. Wouldn't even talk about them in front of us really. But Lenny was different.

"I remember I was nose deep in an issue of Detective Comics and Grandma Rose came over and said 'Ethan, say hello to your mother's friend Mr. Bruce'..."

Lenny covered a smirk, knowing full well where his son was going with this.

"I looked up. Saw this tall, strong jawed, dark haired fellow in a dark suit. 

"I looked back at my comic book. Back up at Mr. Bruce…

"And thought 'Holy shit! My mom is dating Batman!'"

Ethan smiled to himself, listening to the distinct laughs of those who knew the story and those who did not.

"They tried to deny it, but the more I learned about the guy, the more I was convinced this man was the caped crusader.

"No, seriously! Stay with me on this. He only worked at night," Ethan said, counting the list of evidence on his fingers. "He always wore black suits. Sometimes he had those dark circles like he'd been up all night, fighting for truth and justice.

"I actually caught him on our fire escape one morning changing his clothes. Clearly solid proof–I could only assume he'd already stashed his costume. Heroes do that sort of thing, you know. Totally plausible. No other reason he would have been out there, just outside Mama's room at seven AM. Clearly this was the crime fighter I'd been reading about."

He let out a sigh, shaking his head. "Oh to be five again…

Lenny covered his face with his hand, fighting back a laugh, shrugging sheepishly.

"Then there was the whole name thing! Mr. Bruce. Master Bruce. Grandpa Abe had told me about how sometimes they change people's names in the media to protect someone's identity. Their secret identity. I had a solid case!

"Mom's new boyfriend is Batman. Sweet. Can't wait to tell my friends.

"But then I started wondering… Is my mother a former supervillain? 

"I mean, Batman is always going up against folks like the Joker, the Riddler… Mama goes out late all the time, doesn't talk about what she's doing and people keep calling her the Comedienne. 

"Plus! I overheard my grandparents saying Mama got arrested again.

"My mother. Arrested. For crime!

"It was a distressing revelation. But then I remembered…Batman doesn't hang out with Bad Guys. Clearly the power of love had brought my mother back to the light. She couldn't be a villain. Not anymore at least. And that was good enough for me. If she hit up a bank or two and got away with it, yeah, okay, I can get over that. More toys for us and maybe she might stop yelling at the milkman.

"And if she wasn't a supervillain…that meant she must be Robin!

"I still don't know where they hid the batmobile but I'm gonna find it one of these days. There's only so many places you can park a car in Manhattan."

He cleared his throat, looking at his feet as he gathered his thoughts.

"I know now that back then a lot of people didn't see Lenny quite so heroically. But I always have. In more than just the way that most kids see their dads as heroes. Because he really was out there standing up for truth. For justice. Not in the nice, tidy, easily palatable way everyone liked to read about in the newsprints, but out of a genuine, heroic belief that we could do better as a nation. As individuals.

"And even more importantly to me, he made Mom smile again. Really smile after God knows how long. Nothing could be more heroic than that."

Midge reached over, taking Lenny's hand.

"I think these two have saved each other quite a bit over the years they've been together. They're the real dynamic duo, if you ask me. And I couldn't be prouder to call them my parents.

"Happy Anniversary you two."

He took a deep breath as applause filled the room, working through the swell of emotions in his chest.

"Okay! I'm gonna go circle the block one more time just to make sure today wasn't the day they brought the batmobile out of storage. In the meantime, give it up for my sister Kitty!

Kitty took the stage, patting Ethan on the shoulder as she passed him on the steps.

"Fuck, Ethan, you weren't supposed to make us cry. Jesus…" she admonished, wiping at her eyes. "That was my plan!"

She grinned at the chuckle from the equally emotional crowd.

"Hi, I'm Kitty. I'm the closer for the evening. Hey let's give these two another hand, am I right? Twenty years!"

She shook her head, exhaling as she collected herself, moving the mic stand back down.

"I remember when Dad first told my grandma that he was moving back to New York with me, she thought he was nuts. 

"He hadn't really done the whole single dad thing on his own before. The obscenity laws were still their own levels of obscene. The lawyers didn't come cheap. He was still in his first year of getting clean. It meant moving me across the country, building a whole new life.

"It was a lot.

"But I was all in on the idea. I couldn't wait. I was so ready to be a Weissman! 

"He hadn't even proposed yet but I knew he was going to. I just knew it. And not just because I really, really, really wanted him to so I could play dress up in Mom's closet anytime I wanted. Back before we had to fight the Smithsonian for some of the good stuff."

She winked at her parents, fiddling with the mic chord.

"No…You could tell just looking at the two of them that they were meant to be together. Or at least I could.

"I remember it was like this light had turned on inside them anytime they got together. They just radiated this…magic. They still do. I hope that makes sense. I've never been fully able to put it into words…Which is why I brought slides!"

Those that knew her as the family shutterbug murmured a mix of chuckles and good natured groans.

"Oh come on now! You're gonna love this," Kitty teased.

She pulled up the first slide, a snapshot of a much younger version of her parents in a midtown club, chatting over drinks, the energy between them clearly flirtatious.

"I did a little digging for this set," she admitted. "Being that this is an anniversary party, it felt appropriate to build a sort of visual history of their love story. So let's start here. In 1959. 

"I found this in a collection by an old club photographer who worked at one of the spots Dad had played around that time. Now I think we can all agree these two look pretty smitten."

She held up a finger, grinning in amusement. "One small hiccup though…"

Midge ducked her head while Lenny smirked impishly, recognizing the night it was from.

"Dad was not Mom's date that particular evening in 1959. He was the entertainment."

She clicked to the next slide, revealing a shot of her father performing on stage with Midge visible in the audience, watching enraptured.

"This handsome stretch next to her, however, was her date. Poor guy…I grilled Susie for the details because I was desperately curious. She said this guy was a doctor! Like top of his field, owns a brownstone and a Picasso kind of doctor. Not bad, Mom.

"Didn't stand a chance though, did he? Not with Lenny 'steal your girl' Bruce smoldering at her from behind the microphone."

She clicked back to the previous slide. "I mean look at this! You knew she was on a date, mister! Shameless."

She tutted in faux exasperation, rolling her eyes. 

"Like I said. Meant to be together. It's pretty obvious looking back, isn't it?

"And it wasn't just Mom looking for a better date."

She clicked a few slides forward, revealing another club shot, this time of Midge and Susie looking positively miserable.

"I'm pretty sure this was New Year's, 1961. Rough night, from the looks of it."

She clicked to the next slide, a snapshot from the same night, possibly taken only minutes after, with Midge smiling brightly in Lenny's embrace.

"That is until Dad pulled a sneak attack and surprised her by flying back early. See what I mean? Magic! Look at those faces!"

"We were pretty cute," Lenny murmured.

"Were?" his wife teased, earning a smirk.

Kitty leaned on the mic stand, addressing the room.

"I gotta tell you, I owe some of you here the nicest gift baskets for capturing these next moments way back when and for sharing these with me over the last few months on the sly. But until I get around to it…"

She clicked to the next slide, revealing a shot of the pair lounging, mid conversation on the stage of an empty Carnegie Hall.

"After Dad's famous midnight show at Carnegie, graciously provided by Alan! Not much of a runner but he was quick with a shutter. I'd say the bail money was worth it."

Lenny barked a laugh at one of his oldest friend's expense.

Kitty grinned cheekily at her adoptive uncle in the crowd, moving on.

"Skating outside 30 Rock. Ethan, Esther, and I were there too. Also my first memory of snow! Thank you, Mike, for pulling this gem from the archives. 

"A quick aside, I believe that's Gordon drunk off his ass on the ice in the background there. Who let you out there without skates, man?"

She clicked to the next, an image of Midge and Lenny standing cozily together, hand in hand outside a familiar Chinese restaurant.

"We could never figure out why exactly they liked this place so much, but thank you Imogene for capturing their go to anniversary spot. Even when they definitely could afford somewhere more upscale."

She clicked over to a shot of Midge and Lenny laughing on the front steps of the Weissman family bungalow, eating ice cream straight out of a multi-gallon tub from the Steiner soda shoppe.

"Oh I love this one! Here's Mom and Dad on our first trip to the Catskills just before they got engaged. And right after they got temporarily banned from the soda shoppe."

"I thought we paid for that," Lenny wondered to Midge.

"We did eventually."

Kitty clicked to the next slide.

"Their first dance at their wedding. I don't have a joke for that one, I just like it."

The next image to come up behind her was one of a hospital room, her parents both asleep, Midge half upright with a newborn in her arms.

"Oh here's when Birdie was born! So in love," Kitty cooed. "And so so so tired."

She laughed to herself, glancing up at the picture before turning back to the crowd.

"For those of you who are curious, no Dad was not the one responsible for the nickname. That one we can blame on our brother. When Grandma brought us to visit Ethan heard her cry for the first time and thought there was a wild bird stuck in the hospital. So not Dad's fault.

"Although he picked it up and ran with it pretty quickly, come to think of it. Dad I gotta ask... Kitty, Birdie…Did you really just want a pet? Is that what it was?"

Lenny let out a laugh, shaking his head at the call out.

"No, we know you love us, we've established this," Kitty assured him quickly, "but come on man! If we'd had a little brother what would you have called him? Fish?"

Kitty smiled at her parents, enjoying herself as she clicked to the next image.

"Moving on to 1964 with possibly the most colorful ensemble Dad has ever worn in his life…" She revealed a shot of both parents in near screen ready duplicates of the Jolly Holiday ensembles from Mary Poppins, all four kids completing the look with matching penguin costumes.

"Our first group Halloween costumes as a family! He looks good right? The blue bowtie is my favorite, honestly. Dick what do you think? I think he looks great."

Kitty grinned at the memory.

"We got so much candy that year. Grandma Shirley made those penguin costumes for us and put pockets all along theinside so we could use those when our bags got too full. Genius really. Until they got too heavy and then we really did have to waddle home."

She let out a sigh, segueing.

"In addition to actively creating some of the more notable moments of our pop culture, these two have also been caught canoodling during some of the more significant moments in our nation's history over the past two decades."

She brought up an image of the pair in a lip lock backstage.

"Here they are making out backstage at Ed Sullivan while the Beatles made their US debut."

"They were playing our song." Midge shrugged unapologetically.

Kitty pulled up an image of another kiss, this one of her parents hanging out of the window of the Steiner bungalow, holding a pair of makeshift rabbit ears under a full moon.

"And during the Moon landing."

The next image contained a celebratory kiss over a newspaper headline.

"And when Nixon resigned," Kitty smirked.

She pulled up another slide, this one of the pair outside 30 Rock in the mid-seventies.

"Here they are outside after one of the first episodes at SNL. The night we met Gilda!"

She beamed, hand over her heart as she looked out at their friend in the crowd.

She pulled up the final slide, her father kissing Midge's hair as they watched proudly from the bleachers.

"And at Birdie's graduation just last month."

She grinned over at her little sister with a shrug. "That last one might not seem significant to the rest of America but to us, to Mom and Dad, it was a big moment. Their youngest child graduating. And soon… they will be empty nesters…How will they pass the time?"

She took a bow as their guests applauded, blowing a kiss to her parents.

"Thank you so much. Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad. I hope you thoroughly enjoyed our act because we're never doing it again. Now let's eat the rest of that cake!"

[letsdeconstructtogether]

Island in the Sun (Full movie linked! First minute has no audio) explores a concept that many are not aware of to begin with, that many are not comfortable to even touch, and that many are not willing to explore.

It exposes the true thoughts of the aristocracy of the Western Hemisphere (those who made wealth through the enslavement of Africans and Indigenous Folks), and asks essentially... Can we move toward a place of forgiveness?

Can the two worlds once separated through classism, subjugation, violence, and hatred come together? Can they hug it out and finally put it all behind them, so they can be one people?

To be honest, this concept rocked my core.

For a large part of my life, I have heard of the atrocities my ancestors have gone through. I have also been subjected to a continuing cultural message in which the classifications of White and Black are suggested as not only real concepts, but also concepts that are separate and incapable of mixing.

That messaging, I've coming to realize, reduces the true complexity of the situation. White people are not a monolith, they're Europeans from distinct nations with distinct cultures. Black people are also not a monolith, they're Africans that originate from the distinct nations of West Africa, that also have distinct cultures. The cultures of 'White' and 'Black' people are not separate either. They mix together naturally. I have heard a British man sample Jamaican music in his DJ sets. I know Jamaicans that enjoy Johnny Cash. White people bopped to jazz, a music genre birthed in Black Harlem. Black people eat spaghetti and meatballs, something obviously Italian.

So, is it true that these groups are exclusive? Or is it more, in the Western Hemisphere, we are a part of an interesting experiment. So many people, from so many nations, disseminate who they are into one spicy soup.

"Out of Many, One People", a saying written on Jamaica's coat of arms. A saying emblematic of the truth that has been staring us down for generations, a saying Bob Marley tried to drill through our thick skulls. We are, in fact, one people. We always have been. We always will be.

So let's hug it out man. Let's cry the pain out. Let's strive for a better, sweeter tomorrow. Let's heal from the painful past, so we can walk hand in hand.

[7grandmel]

Todays rip: 22/07/2023

Margaret Faces Herself

Season 6 No Album Release (Read More) Blue Lady - Last Window: The Secret of Cape West

Ripped by adumb

In running this blog, I try to keep a pretty even balance between a lot of things. Popular, unpopular, genuinely excellent music, hysterical punchline, and so forth. Part of that balance, too, is in highlighting rips that mean a lot to me, versus their impact on the channel as a whole. But today, I really want to be self indulgent.

I think one of the absolute coolest things about SiIva being this amalgamation of different creators' visions is that everyone's love gets to shine through in different ways. It reminds me a lot of something like the r/place canvas - this vast field of everyone's passions spread about everywhere, some loudly, and some more subtly. I've already described how much music I've only found out about through being used on the channel, and that sentiment also extends to games. But to me, it swings the other way too: It warms my heart beyond belief to see niche games that I love get attention by the SiIva team.

A rip like todays is still sitting at just barely over 5K views with no album release, in large part due to being a rip of a very obscure Nintendo DS adventure game. Last Window has comfortably been sitting in my personal list of favorite games for a very long time, and it makes all fan content you find that much sweeter when you know just how uncommon it truly is. Because of that, and due to the general excellence of the rip itself, this track has been sitting in my YouTube playlists since it first released.

The two Kyle Hyde games just have this type of sound that's so unique to them, a kind of lounge-y jazz that's coated in DS-flavored marinade, that makes any song rendered in their style just pop. Though I lack the emotional attachment to the Persona 4 song used in this mashup, it fits the Last Window instrumentation like an absolute glove and highlights the emotion of both tracks simultaneously.

My perception of adumb's rips is very much like what this rip in particular means to me - his track record gives off the feeling that he's doing this as a fun way to show as much love as possible to the media he loves. I can talk all day about the quality and excellence of rips with 50 different jokes and visual elements, but...showing that love is so important, no matter how its done, or how many people you target it toward.

[onekisstotakewithme]

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

Tagged by @thebreakfastgenie (you should check out her work, it's amazing), so thank you Sarah 💜

(This isn't the exact last ten fics I've published, but close enough for jazz, yeah?)

None of Us are More Than Caretakers

The beeping of CJ’s pager jolts her from a light doze, and it takes her a minute to orient herself as to where she is.

(The West Wing, ongoing WIP; set between "The Last Hurrah and Institutional Memory", essentially a 'passing the torch' story)

2. Aurora

There’s a certain kind of serenity that comes in the hour before the sun rises.

(The day BJ comes home, from Peg's POV)

3. You're Gonna Die Bloody (and All You Can Do is Choose Where)

It’s a warm, sultry summer night, but as CJ steps into her apartment, her phone vibrating insistently against her leg, the chill of the air conditioning makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

(CJ tries to protect Danny during the investigation into the shuttle leak; part 3 of "Butch & Sundance", but can be read as a standalone).

4. A Night to Watch

CJ should be working her way through a stack of briefing memos on the situation in Kazakhstan, but every time she flips open a new folder, her mind starts to wander.

(Election Night, 2006)

5. Fallout

CJ’s outer office is still filled with military men, and she barely has time to set her coat down before jumping into the fray.

(CJ and Danny play phone tag as they deal with the fallout from their dinner and the San Andreo incident; Tag to Internal Displacement/Duck & Cover)

6. Welcome to Korea... Again

Hawkeye never expected to step foot in Korea again.

(Korea, 1972)

7. As Years Unfurl

Grand Central is bustling as always, BJ craning his neck to see over the crowds.

(Ten years after the war ends, under the clock in Grand Central Station, BJ and Peg wait for Hawkeye)

8. The Fall

It’s well after midnight by the time CJ gets home from work, her apartment quiet and dark, save for the sound of the ticking clock over the sink and the moonlight leaving stripes on the floor.

(Danny calls CJ after her first day as Chief of Staff; Part 2 of "Butch & Sundance" but can be read as a standalone)

9. etymology

As BJ continues putting up the decorations for the party, everything bright red and cheerful-looking – exactly to Hawkeye’s specifications – there’s a feeling in his chest that he doesn’t have a name for.

(the evolution of the triad, the evolution of language to describe them)

10. The Fall's Gonna Kill Ya

The moon is rising over Washington when CJ gets back to her apartment, a spring breeze rustling her skirt as she walks up the front steps.

(When CJ is offered Leo's job, there's only one person she wants to call with the news; Part 1 of "Butch & Sundance", can be read as standalone)

Anyone who wants to do this is welcome, but I'll tag @just-fandomthings @neekerbreeker @claudiajcregg and @fieryphrazes

NO pressure, just love sharing words 🥰

[littlelodell]

Tag Game!!

ˏˋ°*♡➷ get to know me ༊*·˚

Thank you @happy-mokka for the tag!!

rule: name your favorite movie, character, animal, drink, song, season, book, color and hobby

This is going to be tough because I am highly suggestible & I will bury my favorites for years and then suddenly remember them.

MOVIE(S) It's a tie, and an impossible task because I can name about fifty films whose images float around in my imagination. I grew watching a lot, A LOT, of Westerns, British WWII films and movie musicals, and classic films of the 1940's...but here are two later era movies that I come back to, and influence me as a creative person. Honorable mention to Hayao Miyazaki's entire oeuvre.

The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover, 1989

dir. Peter Greenaway. Michael Nyman score.

with Helen Mirren, Michael Gambon (RIP), Richard Bohringer & Alan Howard. (and Tim Roth and Alex Kingston!)

Terrifying, horrifying, darkly funny and stunningly gorgeous. It's extremely violent in a very specific way to Greenaway, which I have a harder time with now, but it's still worth watching, if only for the scenes between Mirren and Howard, which are virtually silent. Breathtaking.

Der Himmel über Berlin (Wings of Desire) 1987 dir. Wim Wenders

This movie has EVERYTHING. Angels in dark coats, a library, Nick Cave, poetry, pre-fall of The Wall Berlin, trapeze artistry, moody smoking, Peter Falk as himself, did I mention angels? The final line gets me every time; "Ich weiss jetzt was kein Engel weiss." (excuse my German spelling.) "I know what no angel knows." In other words, love.

Character. In my current obsession? Our dear demon, Crowley. He chooses himself, but is honest enough to know he loves someone else. Silly, moody, been to actual hell and back. What's not to love? Plus us redheads have to stick together.

And of course, Kate ~ Taming of the Shrew. The OG bitch you hate to love. Runner up, Ariel from The Tempest. Gotta love a spirit that manages to be both mischievous and compassionate.

ANIMAL: Grey wolf. Canis Lupus. Their reintroduction to the wild is a very, very small pinpoint of hope for our ailing world.

Drink: Coffee. No contest. Black. Unlike Daffy here, I prefer mine iced.

Song: Currently listening to Yebba's "October Sky" on heavy rotation. She's truly gifted.

But, how could I choose just one song? I listen to jazz, 90's RandB, country, West Coast rap, deep 80's cuts, current pop, always Bowie, Prince, Kate Bush, and classical vocal rep.

"Will There Really Be a Morning?" Ricky Ian Gordon comp., set to The Belle of Amherst's poetry - a perfect song.

Season: Winter. But that's because I have to travel to get to a real winter. I love to (visit) the snow. I know, I romanticize it. I grew up in a place with brutal winters but all I remember is the Nordic skiing and playing hockey in figure skates and hot cocoa. Let me have my idyll.

Books, three, in no order, all non-fiction, or I will get too far down a rabbit-hole:

The Hakawati by Rabih Alemeddine

Sexing the Cherry by Jeanette Winterson

My Antonia by Willa Cather (my actual favorite)

Each of these authors have other, equally compelling titles, and you should read them.

Color: Shades of Blue.

Hobby: Reading, traveling, taking pictures, starting yet another language to study.

Possibly cooking, but I used to do it for a living, so it always feels like a dance with an old friend, not a hobby.

I'll tag @reloha and @risingphoenix761 but don't feel obligated at all. If I did this again tomorrow, I would have completely different answers.

[alex-lea-holder]

Disorder Magazine || October, 2007

Porn. A junkie fox. Gary Numan. Brain cells. The Horrors. What do all these things have in common? Absolutely F*ck all, except that they are all ingredients of the return of the Mighty Boosh. So come with us on a journey through clown psychology and French MTV presenters as we talk to Howard T.J. Moon (Jazz Maverick) and Vince Noir (Goth Fairy), otherwise known as Julian Barratt and Noel Fielding. Since the second series aired in the summer of 2005, The Mighty Boosh has returned to the live arena (It began life at the Edinburgh Festival in 1998) and picked up more critical acclaim than Arctic Monkeys worshipping off The Arcade Fire. The shows acid-frazzled mix of the surreal and the mundane has seen Barratt and Fielding achieve the kind of celebrated counter-culture status that most bands would drown their drummer for and that has broadsheet papers awkwardly bandying about words like 'hip'. Quintessentially, they have become Rock 'n' Roll stars without actually being Rock 'n' Roll stars. How do you feel about that tag? Julian: "It's alright, thank you." Noel isn't feeling the need to be quite so modest about it: "We're more rock 'n' roll than most bands. A lot of bands are boring. I've been out with lots of bands, and its the same old thing. We like running around and having a bit of mischief." Julian doesn't agree: "You guys do, I go to the library." Noel concurs: "Julian goes to the British library and looks at the fossils." Julian: "When I go out I go OUT. When I go out I go large. I don't go out much, but when I do I have fights... water fights." In case it wasn't already more obvious than a Kanye West sample, it can be difficult to determine where Moon and Noir end and Barratt and Fielding begin. So what can we expect of the third outing from Dalston's most demented (rumoured to be called series four so that future generations will wonder what happened to the third series)? "A lot of porn," says Noel, "And Julian's going to put his face in a coat hanger." It is probably helpful to note at this juncture that this is possibly a misleading statement as Julian is in fact putting his face in a coat hanger as Noel is speaking. He is not doing anything pornographic however. The third series of the Mighty Boosh sees Howard and Vince working in Naboo's second hand shop situated below their flat from the last series. Julian says that the change of setting came about because: "We wanted the magic to come to us rather than going off across the universe to find it, so we thought we'd put the weirdness into the shop. We go to different places but they are always inside someone's hat or inside someone's body so we're going into weird... inner spaces." Noel begins laughing at Julian: "Inner spaces?"

Julian claims it was a challenge for them to think of ways for Howard and Vince to go on their epic adventures within the confines of the shop. "We wanted to have something a bit normal before we went weird. When you do dialogue inside an elephants trunk or something you (the audience) are thinking more about the fact that you're inside an elephants trunk rather than about what we're saying. Some stuff works better in a more mundane environment." Noel: "Elephants trunk?" He turns to Disorder, "You know what he's saying? You getting this?" Noel gives an example of how Howard and Vince will meet the successors to Old Gregg and the Bongo Brothers through the shop. One episode sees Howard go inside Vince's body. All the characters he encounters within are parts of Vince's body, such as brain cells, played by Noel. Noel confesses he'd spent so much time concentrating on other parts of the show that he was forced to come up with these characters just before the scenes were filmed: "I had about five minutes to do a French MTV presenter and a fashion character and I just had no idea, I've never done a French accent in my life!" Another episode sees Julian, who wanted to play more villains in this series, appear as a 'sort of junkie fox who lives in the rubbish'. The appearance of Razorlight and Roger Daltrey in the last series are reprised in the new one by funeral parlour pinks The Horrors and electropop pioneer Gary Numan. Noel and Julian met the Horrors at the NME awards and cast them as 'a band with really thin legs'. Or themselves essentially. "We needed a band with thin legs," says Noel, "We thought we've got to get them because their legs are so thin - they're like arms or spiders legs aren't they?" Noel originally wanted the part to go to Brighton psychobillies The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster, who he describes as 'my favourite band ever', but decided their legs just weren't thin enough. Hype-mongers Towers of London also appear in the new series as a punk band, a status some may say they have yet to achieve in real life. It's easy to see how an appearance in The Mighty Boosh might appeal to a band. Like smoking Jimi Hendrix's bones, pretending to be into Sun Ra or having your photo taken with Beth Ditto, it instantly provides an impression of innovation, style and wit that many of today's middling beat combo's so obviously lack. Julian doesn't agree that there are those who would use them as bolt-on credibility. "There's a lot of bands out there who don't need our credibility. The Arcade Fire approached us, and The Shins, they don't need us." Noel says he's 'blown away' that the likes of Noel Gallagher, Paul Weller, Kasabian and Jack White are fans of the show. He excitedly recounts tales of hanging out with the Twang and Kings of Leon at the NME awards, reinforcing the Boosh's rock credentials. "We were really pleased to have won something so we were really pissed. Naboo... Naboo will take you down. The Boosh are all quite good partyers actually. Naboo, Bob Fossil... we haven't got anyone who lets the side down. It's like four Keith Moons." A decade of writing together hasn't seen a Lennon and McCartney-like competitiveness spring up between them. "It's pretty obvious whose joke is for whose character," says Julian, "His (Noel's) character is more funny in terms of being more verbally immediate. Howard is very rarely witty; he's a bit of an idiot. It's like clown psychology. Who is your clown? Does your clown fall over? Or does he get hit in the face?" The man's given this a lot of thought. Noel is obviously very protective of the Mighty Boosh. When asked if anyone else has an input into the shows content, even only in the capacity of quality controller, Noel says that it is all down to him and Julian. "Everyone's got an opinion on comedy and on humour because everyone thinks they're funny but not many people spend ten years in a room writing together. We've got strong opinions on whats we write and we know what is funny."

Is he concerned that given it's garish costumers and sets, nonsensical storylines and absurdist humour it can be easily assumed that The Mighty Boosh is wacky in the way that those dickheads who wear jesters hats at festivals are wacky? "We've worked hard on story lines and most of that stuff (the surreal stuff) comes out for a reason. So it's not that wacky, even the stuff that's more free-form. It's really difficult to make it look effortless," says Noel, "If you just sat in a room and went 'Woh! Apple cores made of jealousy!' it wouldn't be funny. People would go 'this is shit'." Julian: "That is quite funny." This is surely the crux of The Mighty Boosh's success, that it manages to strike the delicate balance of managing to portray a world that resembles a bad acid trip through a sexually deviant Disneyland without ever stumbling into the kind of forced zaniness associated with braying undergraduates and Chris Evans that has all right thinking people wanting to shoot the latter in both eyes with a nail gun. As Noel says: "It took us 10 years to get to this spot so we're not going to suddenly start listening to people who didn't get it in the first place. A lot of people need to be told what's good and what's bad anyway." But do they fear mainstream success? That the Boosh will become so popular that it will have its soul sucked out by hordes of slack-jawed rubes desperate to bawl catchphrases for eternity, baying for Milky Joe cookie jars and Kodiak Jack back scratchers for Christmas? It is something that has clearly crossed their minds.

Noel: "A lot of my favourite bands aren't massive, massive bands and I like that because then you get 10 years of them rather than two years. At the moment everyones like 'Whats next? Whats new? Whats next?' So everything becomes really disposable. It was literally a year with Little Britain from everyone saying 'they're amazing' to 'I hate them'." The Boosh's main players both claim that they never set out to make a show that was hugely popular. They say that The Boosh is a cult show not because not too many people have caught onto it, but in its essence. It's references, such as Rick James and Frank Zappa, are not universal but inspirational to them.

"Monty Python did it," concludes Noel. "Even once they went mainstream they managed to retain their edge and that's the trick isn't it? In the end we just try and please ourselves which hopefully will be the thing that saves us."

[nuagederose]

As the Seasons Grey | Chapter Twelve: 7 O’Clock

ao3 link

She simply could not stop thinking about it all day, especially when Alex kept on looking over at her during that entire class period. Every single time, he would part his lips ever so slightly, a ripe little cherry sprouted forth from the blossom under the light spring rains that beckoned for a gentle kiss from her. The cherry on top of the sundae, all for her. A soft blush spread over his face like the warm fuzz upon the face of a plump ripe peach at one point, and Christine resisted the urge to say something to either him or Colette right behind her.

He ran his fingers through his dark hair and then gave his head a little shake: a few tendrils of hair sprawled over his face as if to blanket him from their eyes watching him.

She lowered her gaze to her binder down before her, and she lifted her pencil for a small doodle in the corner of the paper there.

Christine wanted it with him, the feeling of his nude body against her own. She wasn’t much of an illustrator but she wanted to at the very least visualize it and bring it to life by the swipe of her own pencil strokes.

Eric coughed, but she swore that she heard a little something in there as well, as if he was cracking something under his breath to either her or Alex, but she never moved her pencil away from the paper’s surface.

“I should probably tell you guys,” Alex started with a break in his voice, and he cleared his throat. “I have my own jazz trio, and we’re playing a show up in the West Village on Friday night, seven o’clock. We’re going to be playing in a bar, so if any of you are under twenty-one, I’m sorry to say that you’ll have to overhear everything from outside the venue.” Everyone in the room chuckled at that. “Otherwise, you’re all invited if you’d like to see some live music going into the weekend and into Veteran’s Day, no less.”

Eric shot up his hand.

“Yes?” Alex acknowledged him.

“Is it B.Y.O.B.?” he asked with a straight face, and Alex let out a big loud belly laugh, complete with a single clap of his hands.

“Is it B.Y.O.B.? I don’t think it is.” He chuckled again. “You thinking of drinking under the table?”

Eric shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe my buddies might, I dunno.”

Colette and Sabrina giggled at that; meanwhile, Christine closed her binder and put it back into her book bag. Since she wore a little low cut white long-sleeved shirt, she made sure that her coat hung open enough as she bent down for it. She knew that Eric and Alex both would be looking at her.

When she sat upright, Alex turned away a bit and towards the desk with a pink tinge to his face. Eric returned to her and snorted as if she had cracked a joke to him.

“What?” she innocently asked him, and he shook his head.

“I’ll tell you later,” he promised to her.

“Does this have to do with my top being low cut?” she asked him, and she couldn’t resist the smirk on her face.

“Maybe,” he quipped, still with a straight face. “Could also be something else.”

Christine nodded towards Alex, who had turned around all the way once again and looked on at the two of them, perplexed.

“What the hell is going on here?” he demanded.

“Hot stuff,” Christine replied without a second thought.

“Boobs and booze,” Marlene chimed in.

“Boobs, booze, and—boys,” Eric sputtered out, and a few people in the room laughed at that.

“And boys!” Alex proclaimed. “We going into a bad girl’s world, eh, Sluggo?”

“Not if the bad girls can help it,” Christine interjected before anyone else could, and Sabrina and Marlene both clapped their hands.

“Christine—Christine—” She turned around to find Colette and Valentina with their hands extended to her for a high five. She obliged, and Alex chuckled some more.

“Boys want a peep show,” Eric joked.

“People in hell want ice water,” Christine retorted, and several people behind her jeered at that. She turned around again for another round of high fives from Colette and Valentina, and also Sabrina.

“Okay, uh… switching gears now,” Alex stammered, albeit with a clearing of his throat and another rouse of chuckling, “seeing as we’re out of time right now… yeah.” A few people, including the four girls behind Christine and Eric, all let out low groans of disappointment. “Out of time, so no further discussion on boobs, booze, boys, and bad girls flashing their boobs in here.”

“Could we have homework on it?” Valentina asked him.

“Yes!” Alex replied without hesitation. “Yes, you may. Make love to your instruments, ladies and gentlemen.”

Christine chuckled at that as she stood up, and slung her book bag over her shoulder, and closed her green coat.

“That was awesome,” Eric remarked to her as they walked out of the classroom together. “Where did that come from?”

“I’m not too sure, to be honest,” she confessed with a slight smile. “It just sort of—happened.”

When they were out in the hallway together, she felt a tap on the shoulder, and she turned to find Colette right there behind her.

“So,” she began with a smirk on her face.

“So?”

“So what,” Eric followed up, and the two of them laughed at that as he walked ahead of them to his next period. Christine then returned to Colette and the twinkle in her eye.

“You promised you’d tell me later,” she recalled in a singsong voice.

Christine thought about Nelly and her suspicions about those four girls behind her, and she kept it shelved in the back of her mind. She sighed through her nose as she knew that she was about to betray Nelly’s trust, especially when she knew that she had stretched the truth about Alex to her mother.

“Okay,” she began. “But you better promise me not to tell anyone because there’s a really stupid rumor going around about me and him that’s totally bogus.”

“Tell no one, not even Marlene, Val, or Sabrina?” Colette raised her eyebrows at her.

“Nope. Well, I mean, it’s just you and me here—we may as well keep it between us.”

She pinched her fingers together at the corner of her mouth and made a little twisting motion as if to seal her lips closed.

“Go ahead,” she coaxed her.

Christine paused for a second.

“I kind of…” She stopped in her tracks.

“Yes?”

“…slept with him.”

Colette then stopped in her tracks.

“Slept with whom? With—Alex?”

Christine nibbled on her bottom lip, to which Colette gasped, and she reached over for a playful slap of her shoulder.

“Christine! You red hot mama! You little vixen!”

“Shhh!” Christine waved at her to stop, but Colette kept her tongue out like a dirty dog. Christine huddled in closer to her to the point she could smell her perfume on her neck. “I gave him a handjob and he kissed my nipples.”

“Holy shit,” Colette gasped again, and she brought a hand up to her mouth. “What was it like?”

“Amazing,” Christine said. “Though I feel like he and I could go a little further than that, though.”

“I can tell you this right now that you could go further than that,” Colette told her with a slight snicker, and then she stopped. “Oh, man, you should totally go to his jazz show on Friday.”

“I plan to,” Christine assured her with her hands on her hips. 

“Do you have anything sexy to wear for that night?” Colette asked her.

“Anything sexy? Aside from my camisoles, not really.”

“You should at least doll up nice for that old boy, Chris. You could meet up with the four of us at some point over the week and we’ll help you.”

“You girls ought to go by your nicknames because I worry about confusing you with Valentina and Sabrina,” Christine suggested.

“Val’s Bloody Mary and Sabrina’s Lady Bird,” Colette told her. “I shit you the fuck not, Alex referred to me as ‘Call Girl’ the other day.”

Christine gaped at her and felt her face grow warm.

“‘Call Girl’?”

“Yeah. According to him, it just slipped out. Were you there that day?”

“I think I was hitching a ride with Eric that day,” Christine recalled. “We got stuck in traffic.”

“Oh, man. But yeah, he called me that and I literally cannot stop thinking about him now. And now I’m learning the quiet girl actually got all tongues and tails with him.”

“You bet your ass we got tongues and tails,” Christine giggled. “And I could talk more but I have to go to ceramics.”

“I have to go to my German literature class,” Colette told her with a glimpse at her wristwatch, and it was right then Christine remembered Alex telling her about his experience in Irish literature, and she was eager to see him again for lunch that afternoon.

Nelly was busy behind the counter, but Christine wanted her full attention on Alex there next to her there at the bar on the far side of the room. He once again had his phone out before him so as to not be distracted by a mysterious woman on the little screen.

“Been meaning to tell you this,” Christine started as she leaned in closer to him.

“What’s that?”

“You look so cute with those glasses,” she remarked. “Like really cute. It’s almost as if your face makes sense with them, if that makes any sense.”

“My face makes sense,” he reiterated, and they both laughed at that. He then took off his glasses with one hand and gave his hair a ruffling with a shake of his head.

“Want to try them on, see how you look?” He handed her his glasses. Christine ran her tongue along her bottom lip and, gingerly, she took the glasses for herself. She slipped them on over her nose and left a little bit of space between them and her eyes, and she moved her head back a bit as if she had seen something shocking. The lenses were rather blurry, but not so blurry that she figured it came from her eyes alone.

“I don’t know how you can see through these,” she remarked as she adjusted them on her nose. “They’re utterly filthy.” She blinked several times and moved them again on her nose. The lenses strained her eyes a great deal, and she finally stripped them off her nose.

“You looked good with them, though,” he insisted. “The frames are a little bit big for your face but you looked as though you could rock a pair of glasses some day.”

“I did wear glasses when I was like ten,” Christine recalled. “My eyes got better, but not that much better. I kind of miss those damned things—they were rectangular and purple and had little pink flowers on the arms.”

“So girlish!” he chuckled as he wiped down the lenses with the hem of his shirt before he put them back on. “Sometimes I think of wearing something really bright and colorful like that just to shock people.”

“You should,” Christine suggested. “You and your trio should dress in drag for this Friday night.”

He laughed a hearty laugh at that, and he gave his hair another toss back with the flick of his head.

“I should probably tell you that I’m nearsighted,” Alex told her with a nudge of his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“So if you don’t see Nelly bringing the food up to us, I have to remind you of it?” she teased him.

“Nah, it ain’t that bad,” he assured her with another hearty chuckle.

“So if there’s a wet T-shirt contest going on that evening, you won’t see it?” she teased him a second time, and he laughed out loud again.

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” he retorted back to her. Nelly then emerged at the counter with their slices of pie and two cups of coffee, to which Christine nodded at her. Alex turned his head, and then he skirted off the chair and padded over to her. Christine kicked back in the chair with her hands folded over her lap, and she flashed a big wink over at Nelly. When Alex thanked her and balanced the pieces of pie in one hand and the two cups of coffee in the other, Nelly flashed Christine a thumbs up paired with a little smirk plastered across her face.

Christine took a brief glimpse down to her chest, to the low-cut white top under her green jacket, and she wondered if she could make that top wet as she attended that show on Friday night. She then raised her head in time to catch her piece of pie and her coffee before he could stumble forth on his shoelaces.

Alex took his spot once again next to her and let out a low whistle, and he set his plate and his cup of coffee down before him. He was slightly out of breath, but Christine knew it came from walking at a brisk pace over towards the counter’s edge.

“I’m so out of shape,” he bemoaned as he ran his fingers through his hair and glanced down at his belly, which spilled a bit over his belt into his lap.

“No, you’re just a little bit chubby is all,” Christine assured him. “You look healthy. Really, you actually look healthy, Alex. If you were that out of shape, you wouldn’t have moved that quickly.”

“Out of shape and eating pie,” he repeated, that time with a shake of his head and another chuckle. He leaned forward and closed his eyes as he took a whiff of the warm golden lattice crust on top of the warm fruity filling: he had gotten straight up apple where she helped herself to decadent blackberry pie.

“You ever have buttermilk pie?” he asked her.

“Like chess pie?”

“Sort of. It’s made with buttermilk rather than cornmeal. I actually prefer it over chess pie, to be honest. I’m just thinking about all kinds of pies and stuff… looking down at my fat gut and whatnot…” His voice trailed off as he sloughed off a bite from the point of the slice, complete with apple slices, nutmeg, and cinnamon.

“Have you guys ever performed in a bakery before?” she asked him.

“In a bakery? Uh… no, I don’t think we have. We’ve played in a deli before.”

“In a deli? D’you guys have sandwiches for your bellies afterwards?”

He chuckled at that. “Oh, we sure did.” He took a bite and closed his eyes all the while as he nourished the flavors. “Oh, god, that’s delicious.”

“Let me try—” Christine took a bite of pie as well: the blackberries were ripe and juicy, and as warm as Alex’s body. “Oh, yeah. These both could use a scoop of ice cream on top.”

“Ooh, yeah, especially yours…” Alex took another bite and kept the tines of the fork in between his cherry lips. Christine imagined him eating a big ripe apple instead of the pie, but he bowed his head to the side at one point as if he had just eaten a piece of pie from her instead.

“Shall we have wine for that evening?” he offered her.

“Wine? What kind of wine?” And she realized that she knew very little about wines.

“Whatever kinda wine you feel like,” he said. “I’ll show you some things come Friday night.”

“Please do, and seven o’clock?” she asked him with a raise of her cup of coffee to him

“Seven o’clock.” He brought his coffee to her own for the toast between them. As she sipped on the warm, rich espresso, she thought about what had happened back in the classroom but she knew that that would have to wait for that evening once they got alone with each other, should they have gotten alone with one another.

After the lunch break, Christine headed on over across the darkened, damp pavement, and she spotted Eric walking under the trees once again, and that time with those two boys Greg and Louie on either side of him.

“Christine Sixteen!” Greg called out to her once she came within earshot.

“The three amigos!” she retorted back, and the three of them laughed. She nodded to Eric. “Are you coming to Alex’s show on Friday?”

“I was just going to ask you if you’d like the three of us to come along with you,” he suggested.

“Do what now?” Greg quipped.

“Do the thing with the thing with her,” Eric stated with a straight face.

“The thing?”

“Go to a show with her on Friday night,” Eric said. “Live music and we can all hang out together.”

“I’ll come along,” Louie offered.

“Yeah, I think I’ll come along, too,” Greg said with a nudge of a lock of hair behind his ear. “What time?”

“Seven o’clock up in the West Village,” she stated.

“We’ll come and pick you up,” Louie vowed to her. “We’ll leave early so we get the good parking space.”

“Come and pick her up and par-tay!” Eric raised his hands up over his head and the four of them ran to the front of the building like a bunch of schoolchildren.

* * * * * * * *

Christine was eager to see Alex that night, and moreover, what his trio was like. She knew that they had to have at least some sort of material for her and those three guys to listen to as they piled into Eric’s car right before sunset and drove across to the Lower East Side, as if they headed for school. It was a cool, cloudy evening, one that beckoned rain, and the sky had already painted itself a dark royal blue to go with the lushness of the West Village. Through the darkening sky, she spotted the lights of the Flatiron Building followed by the Empire State Building behind that.

They passed the Museum of Ice Cream when Christine remembered that Nelly’s neighborhood was a straight shot from there all the way up the spine of Manhattan. It was worth more of a bus ride or the subway, but she knew that she could find her way up towards that part of the West Side.

“Now, let’s start thinking about parking spaces,” Eric decreed after they had made four green lights in a row.

“They’re like currency over here,” she heard Louie say.

“Greg’s studying over here all the way from big bright and sunny California,” Eric explained to her.

“Wow! Just like Alex,” she remarked.

“Just like him, really?” Eric cracked her a smile.

“Just like him, yeah,” she answered. “He’s from the Bay Area.”

“I’m from Pleasanton,” Greg told her. “Right outside of there.”

“Wow, what are the odds,” Eric said as he pulled up to the first stoplight. Two corners up the warmly lit street, Christine recognized Alex’s car parked out the front of the club on the corner. Indeed, she spotted a space perpendicular to there.

The light turned green and Eric dodged ahead. Christine then pointed it out.

“Good eyes, good eyes,” he told her, and they hung a quick left for that spot there before anyone else on the street could even think of doing that as well. He switched off the car and ran his fingers through his smooth inky black hair.

Christine peered out the windshield to find Alex there in the backstage side doorway before her, glasses tucked down into the collar of his green slightly snug shirt and faded denim jeans slung down low a bit. She climbed out of the car and gave her hair a shake, and he nodded and showed a smile at her.

“Strawberry Girl made it early,” he remarked, and Louie climbed out from behind her, followed by Greg and then Eric. “And she’s brought a whole gang with her, too! Come on in, guys.”

“We don’t have to pay for cover charges, do we?” Eric asked him.

“Just for your drinks and if you want something to eat, but that’s pretty much it,” Alex assured him, and the four of them filed in there with him. It was a cozy, warmly lit little jazz club with heavy dark wooden walls and a low ceiling with dark blue lights that made Christine think of a dance floor. Narrow dark tables with tall spindly chairs scattered across the main floor before the stage: on the far side of the room stood the bar, to which the three guys behind her ducked on over to, which in turn left her alone with Alex.

She followed him into the small corridor behind the drum kit, and he led her into his small brightly lit dressing room, filled with nothing more than a comfy blue couch, a small black table, a wrought iron floor lamp, a record player tucked in the corner, and a coat rack off to her right.

He coaxed her over to the couch, and she spotted the bottle of Merlot wine with a pair of wine glasses on the table. She shut door and hung her green coat up on the rack next to the couch.

“Let the boys have their boyish drinks,” he told her as he picked up the corkscrew next to the bottle. “This is where the real fun lies.” He stuck in the screw and turned, and then pulled. Almost immediately, the smell of fresh wind swept over them. “I’m glad you got here early, too. Nate and Matt aren’t going to be here for at least another forty or so minutes: they’re all the way uptown.”

“Lou wanted a good parking space,” she explained with a shrug. He chuckled at that, and he poured her a big glass of wine first, and then he followed with himself.

“Always a good reason to come early,” he assured her. “Anyway, this is Merlot. A French wine, it’s what’s known as ‘dry’ meaning it’s a little more bitter, but it’s kind of fruity and kind of earthy, though.”

“A nice little balance,” she remarked, and she sniffed the glass first before she took a sip. Indeed, the cool wine hit her tongue and she could feel the music in her.

“Ooh, that’s good,” she stated.

“See? I love Merlot. And—” He raised his glass to her, and she followed suit.

“To life, to words, to ceramics and a guitar pick,” she stated.

“And those who hate can kindly suck my dick,” he followed along, and they both burst out laughing before they clinked their glasses together. She took another sip and a chill ran up her spine.

“Something I’ve wanted to do with you all week long, Christine,” he told her once he took an even bigger sip than she did.

“What’s that?”

She turned her attention toward him and the hooded look to his deep eyes. She raised her eyebrows.

“Oh, no,” she muttered. “You aren’t suggesting—”

“Yes, I am.” He sipped some more wine before he set it down in the table before him. Christine watched him duck on over to the record player when he saw there were no vinyl records there in the cabinet below the actual phonograph.

“What’s a record player that doesn’t have any records on hand?” he scoffed, and he threw his hands up. “Oy…”

She giggled at him, and then she took another sip. Alex then put his glasses on and shook his head about to ruffle his hair.

“We could still have some fun,” she assured him, and she stood to her feet and faced him. It was right then the effects of the wind swept over her. Christine had only had half a glass and yet, she was already slightly feeling the effects. He chuckled at her.

“You’re more of a lightweight than I am,” he told her as she sauntered closer to him.

“I keep picturing you naked,” she confessed to him.

“Me?” he asked her with a point of a finger towards himself.

“Yes, you,” she said, and she put her arms around his neck and stood up on her tiptoes for a little kiss on the side of his neck. Though he only had one glass, she could smell the wine on his breath.

“I pray that you don’t drink so much,” she confessed.

“I was never that much of a drinker,” he assured her with a shrug of his shoulders, “mainly because it quite literally doesn’t take much to give me a buzz. We’re talking a couple of glasses of wine or a couple of beers—that’s honest to god how much it takes for me to get even just a little bit tipsy. It’s hard on my stomach, too.”

She rested a hand on his belly, nicely round and soft under the soft cotton of his shirt.

“Hard on your little tum?” she asked him in a low voice.

“You sure aren’t, though,” he assured her once again, and that time he lowered his voice to a near whisper. Christine pressed her body against his own. It didn’t take long for her to feel tipsy, and it definitely didn’t take long for her to be in the mood with him. Alex shuffled back towards the wall next to the record player: she could once again see it in his eyes that he wanted it with her, and to get away from Captain Howdy and never look back for even one second. She could feel his desire even without even thinking twice. Christine fanned out her fingers and ran them down his chest onto his belly, and down to his belt.

“Oh deary me,” he remarked.

“That’s right,” Christine whispered into his lips.

“You’re trying to seduce me, aren’t you?”

“What else would I be doing?” she giggled into his lips as she moved in for another soft kiss, a sweet little peck right on those soft cherry lips. She moved her fingers onto his belt to find the end. She found it and nudged it towards the buckle.

She undid his belt for him with one hand. Alex then rested his hands on her shoulder blades, and he gently turned her towards the wall so he could have some control and she could command from the bricks behind her. He unzipped his pants and let them fall down around his legs: Christine peeled off her low cut white top and showed him her bra which buttoned at the front. He unbuttoned them for her and her breasts hung out for him.

“What are you?” he sputtered. “What are you, Christine Sixteen?”

“I’m your student, Professor Skolnick,” she growled, and she reached down to feel him.

“I don’t know if we can do this here, though,” he confessed to her in a breathy, husky voice.

“Sure, we can—”

“I don’t have protection,” he confessed once again as she stroked him with her thumb and her index finger.

“Are you healthy, though?” she asked him.

“Healthy enough.”

“Then there’s nothing we can’t do, baby,” she assured him as she leaned her back against the wall and put her hands behind her head. “Come on. Do your worst.”

“But what if we get caught?”

“Let ‘em look,” she told him, to which he gaped at her. “I want them to look. And I want her to look at us while we’re having some fun, baby boy.”

Alex bowed his head, and he planted some soft kisses on her breasts until the nipples were nice and tight.

“Down low, baby boy,” she coaxed him as the wine and the feeling of his body overtook her. Those long guitar player fingers fondled her under her hood, which sent shivers up her spine, much like that first night with him. But the wine had set him free.

The wine had woken him up to what he really wanted, and she wanted it so badly from him. 

Alex then came face to face with her.

Christine let out a gentle moan from the feeling of his shaft up against the outside of her lips. He locked eyes with her as he slipped the very tip in, and she treated him to a low, broken whimper. Her hands wandered up the curvature of his spine to the base of his neck. He slipped it in again to where she gasped and let out a low moan once again.

A third time and she gritted her teeth from the feeling.

A fourth time. The musky scent on the side of his neck was intoxicating for her, far more than Eric, Greg, and Louie’s combined colognes back on the main floor.

A fifth time. The fifth time was the charm. She opened her mouth all the way and a soft cry emerged. Alex leaned in and kissed the side of her neck.

“So good—so good—” she breathed out and she could feel that he had pulled out before he made a mess with her.

“Good for the soul?” he whispered into her ear.

“Like the feel of the music within me…” She opened her eyes and gazed into those baby blues, as soft and soulful as ever from behind those squared lenses.

“Christine… the Strawberry Girl,” he sang to her in a soft whisper. “Christine. The only one that I want—even if I wind up in a body bag—disintegrate me—” He licked his lips and moved back away from her to clean up and let her button up. A warm blush crossed his face, especially once he put his pants back on and fixed his shirt.

“If anyone asks, we were tipsy,” he told her, still in that husky voice.

“Of course,” she vowed to him, and she put her arms around his full waist and lay her head against his chest. Her breasts rubbed up against him, a good feeling to take with him even once Nathan and Matt showed up to the venue.

[seeasunset]

what items can be found in your muse’s pockets?, habits and mannerisms, something your muse could never forgive.

HCs!

❖

What items can be found in your muse’s pockets?

➤ There is actually quite a few things found in his pockets.

A compass. He always carries a compass around on him wherever he goes. Although he could tell which way is north, east, west, and south, he still keeps it on him in case.

Small snacks. He is used to bringing in his own food to snack on if and when he grows far too busy to eat. This stems from not eating three meals a day. As someone who constantly moving in some way, he needs to keep himself filled. Not only with energy, but with the food. The snacks are mostly nutrient bars or made-shifted ones back in the days, dried fruits, or something healthy.

Poisons and antidotes. As someone who has a large range of knowledge on this subject, he tends to carry poisons on him to coat his weapons with. This includes any antidotes that can cure these poisons. Although he usually carries one or two of the same poisons constantly - and it's found all over his body too, given he might have to reach for some if he is found in a sticky situation - he is still found with some.

A map / phone. He always tries to carry a map with him. Not only to help out with mapping out where he is going, but in case he gets lost. Of course, in his modern day verse, he has his phone for that.

A journal. As someone who is a captain for the Nauts, he has to record stuff in said journal. So, he has to write down every single detail from morning before going to sleep. Hence why you may see him scribbling in his journal whenever he has the chance to do so.

Habits and mannerisms.

➤ It falls down to what's going on at the moment.

In general, Vasco is observant and he is always on alert. The moment something is happening, he is capable of launching himself into action. It doesn't matter if it's to draw his weapons for battle, bolting if needed to run, anything at all. That and he is used to scouting ahead. So, he may see a small detail others may miss or seeing something ahead that others may not see right off the bat.

Plus, he is used to observing people too, ready to study their behavior and body language. Unlike De Sardet, who may play diplomat, he is far from playing said things. Although Vasco is great with keeping up conversation and all that fun jazz, he doesn't have the same skills as someone like De Sardet or Petrus when it comes to politics stuff, though he tries his hardest to navigate his way through. He is not hopeless in those kind of situations.

If he is found in an embarrassing situation or he is being flustered or soft, you can see a different side of him. The way he'll fold his hands together in front of him, eyes darting away, rosey cheeks, those kind of stuff. He shows a much softer side than him. Apologies being thrown about when it comes to embarrassing stuff. When he wants to hang out with someone or something of the sort, he will be repeating himself. Such as "are you willing to still spend time with me?" or "do you have time to do this?" He doesn't want to take too much time out of someone's schedule, especially if he is aware how busy they are.

Something your muse could never forgive.

➤ Betraying his trust and love in someone.

Vasco doesn't play around when it comes to having his trust and love be misplaced and betrayed. If your muse and him built up a bond where y'all can trust each other completely, he puts a lot of faith in them. If they end up turning around and doing such betrayal, expect him to not come back running. Crossing paths may result in having him treat your muse with a cold shoulder.

This can be seen in the bad ending for Greedfall. His trust being broken and him swearing not to sail again because of that. I would go into details for that, but, there is some spoilers involved.

[alexin-wonderlust]

Day 8 - Japan Blog - 14 February 2024 Yoyogi Park and Shinkansen to Nagoya (Valentines Day!)

Leaving Tokyo today and heading West to Kyoto but stopping in at Nagoya first (just for something a bit different!!).

We have a bit of time this morning to do some last minute advenure in Tokyo before we leave (and IM NEVER DONE WITH THIS CITY, there are so many things I didnt do!!) *tears!*

I wanted to take Ben to Yoyogi Park near Harajuku. But first, lets store the luggage at the station. Which was a pain, because most large sized lockers were already taken!! After managing to find somewhere to stash our suitcases, we headed to Beck for a coffee... (because I want to find my favourite coffee shop!!) and I didn’t rate it. The BLT was pretty good though! Coffee was sub-par. Ah well.

We were on a train that was actually themed with Pokemon and it was really cute!! We walked from Harajuku Station to the Meiji Shrine and back again. Lots of cute doggies, the weather was lovely and it's always nice to walk through a massive garden in the middle of a bustling city.

Then we made our way to the Shinkansen to travel to Nagoya. We didn’t have time to find EkiBen (train lunch boxes) even though it was on my bucket list — but we had some snacks and even found a Baskin Robbins vending machine which was really yum and not sweet, but tasted more like yoghurt.

I even got to see Mt Fuji on the train as we sped past. So majestic! When we got to Nagoya, we found our accommodation and it was a bit basic -- small, but thats expected. There was a craft beer pop up of one of my favourite animes; Evangelion. So I had to get them!! I wanted to go to the Pokemon Centre in Nagoya (just so I can tick another Pokemon centre off my list hehe) and we found ourself in another "underground food market" things.

I let Ben choose dinner and while we had a niku bbq place in mind… this Tonkatsu restaurant won the choice and I had a “setto” which came with the pork, a prawn and some pork coated asparagus.

After dinner it was cocktail time and then home to enjoy the fancy Valentine’s Day cakes we bought at the station. 🙃😍🍰

It’s Valentines Day so we went to three different bars (one was TGI Fridays so it doesn’t count but I wanted a cheap drink haha!); one called Scum, which was a metal bar and the other, I’m not sure of the name but it was the complete opposite (in the same building!!). Super fancy, and quiet with like, Jazz? I dunno. Ben was in some kind of mood -- I was not. LOL! The toilets were extravagant and had every type of convienence needed. Toothpicks, floss, ear picks, breath mints, tampons, you name it -- it was there. I had a Nikka Malt highball to finish the night off and thebartender gave us a jar of the olives he had for the martinis! So random!!

[writemarcus]

Artistic ways to mark Black History Month in Central Florida

By MATTHEW J. PALM | mpalm@orlandosentinel.com | Orlando Sentinel

PUBLISHED: February 8, 2024 at 5:00 a.m. | UPDATED: February 9, 2024 at 3:22 p.m.

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As the nation observes Black History Month, there are plenty of ways in Central Florida to mark the occasion artistically. The following plays, concerts and art exhibitions below shine a light on Black history, celebrate Black heritage or give voice to contemporary Black artists in writing, painting and musical composition.

The arts always provide food for thought; these offerings allow for reflection and celebration along with entertainment.

Theater

Playwrights’ Round Table, for the third year, presents its Black History Month Showcase. Six short plays by Black writers are included in the production, which runs Feb. 9-18 at Imagine Performing Arts Center in Oviedo Mall (tickets are $12-$20 at ImaginePerformingArtsCenter.org).

In Marcus Scott’s “Call and Response,” a young man is confronted after falsely sending emergency responders to someone as a joke, a practice called “swatting.” Michael Hagins contributed two works: the dark comedy “Man Bites Dog” and “First Date,” which is humorously described as “Making a connection can be hard, especially if your kids are assaulting Chuck E. Cheese.”Thao Tran and Chuck Roberson perform a scene from “Technical Support” by Amaris Gagnon, part of Playwrights’ Round Table’s Black History Month Showcase. (Courtesy Daniel Cooksley via Playwrights’ Round Table)

Amaris Gagnon also wrote two of the plays. “Mother of the Apocalypse” looks at a nurse at a fake abortion clinic, and “Technical Support” asks where lonely people come from.

Finally, in Krystle Dellihue’s “White Coat,” a young man on the cusp of achieving his dreams suddenly has to make a very difficult decision with his girlfriend. The cast of “A Raisin in the Sun” at Rollins College prepares for the production with a West African movement and traditions workshop from Julie Coleman.

(Courtesy Rollins College) Rollins College in Winter Park presents a classic title with “A Raisin in the Sun” taking the stage at the Annie Russell Theatre Feb. 16-24 ($20, rollins.edu/annie). Lorraine Hansberry’s 1959 masterpiece follows a multigenerational Black family as it navigates prejudice. Felichia Chivaughn directs.

Turning to African heritage, the MAC Boys tackle “Ruined,” Lynn Nottage’s Pulitzer Prize-winning play set during civil war in the Democratic Republic of Congo, where strong Mama Nadi owns a bar that draws characters from different sides of the conflict. The play will be performed at Orlando Family Stage, where the MAC Boys spotlight stories and works of and by people of color. It runs Feb. 22-25 with tickets ($20) at OrlandoFamilyStage.com.Julian Brown plays the djembe, an African drum, in Orlando Family Stage’s “Giraffes Can’t Dance.” (Courtesy Michael Cairns via Orlando Family Stage)

Also at Orlando Family Stage is the theater’s own production of “Giraffes Can’t Dance” for youngsters and their families. Based on the children’s book by Giles Andreae, the show is set on the African savannah and features a look at African musical heritage. Julian Brown plays the show’s djembe drummer; the djembe is a goblet-style drum originally from West Africa.

The show itself, adapted by Black playwright Gloria Bond Cunie, is a sweet look at feeling different and friendship as African animals prepare for a big dance. Director Ke’Lee Pernell leads the creative team for “Giraffes Can’t Dance,” which runs through Feb. 25. Get tickets ($15 and up) at OrlandoFamilyStage.com — and check out the theater’s ongoing salute to Black playwrights at Facebook.com/OrlandoFamilyStage.

Joy Allen, from left, Adourin Jamelle Owens, Jordan Sophia, Dayla Carroll and Julian Brown star in “Giraffes Can’t Dance” at Orlando Family Stage. (Courtesy Michael Cairns via Orlando Family Stage)

Music

The Sanford Jazz Ensemble salutes Black musicians in its Black History Month Concert at 3 p.m. Feb. 11 at the Ritz Theater in Sanford. Featured singer Ron Stark will perform Motown songs by Marvin Gaye, Smokey Robinson, The Four Tops and The Temptations, while the band will play songs by Michael Jackson, Grover Washington, Earth Wind & Fire and Tower of Power. Tickets ($27.50) are available at ritztheatersanford.com.

The 89th Bach Festival will acknowledge a significant moment in Black artistic history when its orchestra performs Florence Price’s Symphony No. 1 in E minor as part of its “Sanctuary Road” program Feb. 17-18 (tickets $15 and up; bachfestivalflorida.org). When the Chicago Symphony Orchestra played the work in 1933, it was the first time a symphony composed by an African American woman was performed by a major American orchestra.Composer and musician Florence Price, photographed by G. Nelidoff in Chicago, Illinois. (Courtesy University of Arkansas Libraries)

As for “Sanctuary Road,” it highlights a grimmer era of Black history. That work by composer Paul Moravec and librettist Mark Campbell sets the stories of enslaved Americans to music. It’s based on William Still’s 1872 book of slave narratives, “The Underground Railroad.”

Composer James Lee III was inspired by a more modern moment in Black history, the Rev. Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream Speech.” His “Shades of Unbroken Dreams,” written 60 years after King’s famed 1963 speech, is part of the Orlando Philharmonic Orchestra’s “Brahms Third Symphony” program Feb. 24-25.Composer James Lee III was inspired by Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream Speech.” (Orlando Sentinel file photo)

“Shades of Unbroken Dreams,” co-commissioned by the Philharmonic, is making its Florida premiere in the Steinmetz Hall performance (tickets: $20 and up at drphillipscenter.org). Composer Lee even matched the cadence of King’s speech in parts of the music.

“For me, this ‘I Have a Dream’ speech and this concerto is really a vehicle through the arts that can really stimulate one to think about what is their role?” Lee told the BBC about the work. “How can they participate in helping to achieve this dream 60 years later?”

Timucua Arts Foundation will present “Timucua Amplifies Black Voices,” a weekend of music and spoken word, Feb. 16-18 at its venue, 2000 S. Summerlin Ave. in Orlando. Performers include Solomon Jaye, Britton Rene Collins, Brandon Martin, the Jarred Armstrong Trio and the DeAndre Lettsome Quartet.

Jaye is a vocalist and high-energy tap dancer, while Collins combines pantomime, poetry, gesture and improvisation in theatrical percussion performance. Martin will present a vocal recital, “Voices of Justice.”

Get more information on the individual performances and tickets at timucua.com/events/tag/black-history-month.

Art

Orlando City Hall’s Terrace Gallery will host a Black History Month art exhibition through March 31, featuring works by African Americans. From 10-11:30 a.m. Feb. 12 the public is invited to meet some of the artists. Regular gallery hours are 8 a.m.-9 p.m. weekdays, noon-5 p.m. Saturdays and Sundays. The gallery is on the first floor of city hall, 400 S. Orange Ave. and admission is free, 12-5 p.m. Saturday and Sunday.Purvis Young is among the artists on view at the Mennello Museum of American Art in Orlando. (Orlando Sentinel file photo courtesy of Skot Foreman)

And finally, the city’s Mennello Museum of American Art is currently exhibiting “Self-Taught Black Artists in the American South.” Thirteen artists are featured in the exhibition, which highlights examples from the Mennello’s permanent collection alongside works from a 2023 acquisition from the Polk Museum of Art. Artists represented in paintings and sculpture include Mary Proctor, Alyne Harris, Purvis Young, Jesse Aaron and Mose Toliver.

The Mennello Museum, at 900 E. Princeton St. in Orlando, is open 10:30 a.m.-4:30 p.m. Tuesdays-Saturdays, noon-4:30 p.m. Sundays. Admission is $5 or less. Get more information at mennellomuseum.org.

Follow me at facebook.com/matthew.j.palm or email me at mpalm@orlandosentinel.com. Find more entertainment news at OrlandoSentinel.com/entertainment

[haberdahhome]

Need a Mural Installer in West Seattle? We Got You Covered

So you're looking for a mural installer in West Seattle to bring some color and visual interest to your space, huh? Well, you've come to the right place. As a West Seattle local, I know how much neighborhood pride means to people around here. And what better way to show that pride than by commissioning a custom mural? Whether you're a homeowner wanting to jazz up your living room, a business owner aiming to attract more customers, or a community organization seeking to brighten up public spaces, a mural is a great way to make a statement. My name's [your name] and I've been painting murals in West Seattle for over 10 years. I'd love to meet with you, hear your vision, and get to work designing and installing a mural that will have people talking and turning heads for years to come.

Why Hire a Professional Mural Installer in West Seattle?

Painting a mural is no small task. Unless you're an experienced artist, it's best to hire a pro to ensure it's done right. Here are a few reasons why:

• Expertise

 Professional mural installers have the skills and knowledge to handle the entire process from concept to completion. They can help with the design, choose durable and long-lasting materials, properly prepare the wall surface, and execute the mural efficiently.

Quality results

A skilled muralist will pay close attention to details and use techniques to create depth, shadows, and visual interest. The end result will be a high-quality, custom work of art.

• Save time

Coming up with the concept, buying supplies, preparing the space, and painting the mural yourself can be extremely time-consuming. Hiring an expert mural installer in West Seattle will save you valuable time so you can focus on other priorities.

• Access to resources

 Established mural companies have invested in top-quality, commercial-grade tools, equipment, and materials. They also have a network of other experienced artists and installers they can tap if needed for larger, more complex projects.

• Permits and regulations

There are rules around murals in many cities and homeowners associations. A professional mural installer will ensure your mural meets regulations and help you obtain any necessary permits.

What to Look for in a Mural Installation Company

Finding a reputable mural installation company in West Seattle is key to getting a quality job done. Here are some things to consider:

Look for experience

An established company that has been in business for several years and has a portfolio of murals they've done in the area is ideal. They'll know how to properly prepare and seal the wall to ensure your mural lasts.

Check credentials and licensing.

 The company should be properly licensed, insured, and have all necessary permits to do the work. Their staff should also be trained and certified in areas like lead paint removal if working on older buildings.

Discuss options for your mural.

 A good installer will work with you on design, size, colors, and placement to create a custom piece that fits your vision. They can suggest ways to incorporate personal touches or match your building's architecture.

Ask about the process. 

Professional muralists should thoroughly clean and prime the wall, then apply 2-3 coats of quality exterior paint, waiting for each coat to dry completely. A clear topcoat sealant protects the finished mural for many years.

With some research, you can find a reputable West Seattle company to turn your blank wall into a beautiful work of art. A custom mural can increase curb appeal, raise property value, and become a point of pride in the community. Best of all, you'll get to enjoy it for decades to come!

Conclusion

So there you have it, the inside scoop on finding a great mural installer in West Seattle. With so much talent right in your own backyard, you'll be enjoying a custom mural in no time. Supporting local artists is rewarding for everyone involved. You get an original work of art, they get to pursue their passion, and your city gets a little more culture and color. It's a win all around. What are you waiting for? Reach out to one of these talented muralists today. Your bare wall will thank you, and you'll have an instant conversation piece that makes your place uniquely you. Go ahead, unleash your inner patron of the arts. The streets of West Seattle will be better for it.

[staticdive]

Raymond Coats - Lay It To Your Heart

Raymond Coats is back with an inspirational new single. Readers of The Static Dive know the Northern California soul man well. We have followed his story since the release of his 2021 single “Tell Me What It Is”. For more than forty years, Raymond Coats has been a staple of West Coast blues, jazz, and R&B. In his tenure, the music industry veteran has worked with legends like Bill Withers and…