#it may have 'theater' in it but it's not a strings cover
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Time for the forth and FINAL installment to the Aunn mini-takeover! It'ss time for a really good Haunted Cover! This one feels really unique to me. Usually I kinda sub-divide my Haunted Covers into three categories, being "sounds like Tojiko's," "sounds like Komachi's," and "sounds like an in-between the two," but this doesn't fit any of those. This has a completely new feel that I don't think I've made before, but I'm loving it!
#bluey's milestones#bluey's music#bluey's mini-takeovers#bluey's nonsense#bluey's birthday posts#bluey's haunted covers#bluey's hyperfixations#bluey's fun posts!#bluey's songs#bluey's audios#bluey's instrumentals#bluey's touhou resounds#bluey's resounds#touhou#touhou project#touhou hsifs#aunn komano#komano aunn#don't be fooled by the title#it may have 'theater' in it but it's not a strings cover#it's a theater that is haunted#post-komachi era#abluehappyface
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Give me your Blyndeff sister headcanons please.
You got it, Boss!
MOLLY BLYNDEFF:
Starting off, I think shes autistic. Look, i know this is low hanging fruit, but i mean... come on...
I have a list of all the nervous tics she has, which include:
Chewing on her hoodie strings
Clicking a pen, mechanical pencil, figit cube
Cracking her body, mostly her hands, fingers and wrists
Chewing her inner cheek
Biting herself
Shaking anything jingly
Nervous hand flappies
Pacing
I also have a list of stims that i kinda projected:
Hand flaps are a big one
Same with fist shaking
Patting her thighs too
She also makes small popping noises
Ok back to ACTUAL headcannons:
Doesnt do well at amusement parks, but is cool about the scary halloweeny stuff
Quiet kid in school on the days she goes
Vocalizes what she does (aka making sounds as she does stuff) (akaaka her walking and she goes "eh eh eh eh")
I feel like she indulges in horror games, thinks the cutesy stuff is boring
Did not realize she was autistic until Trixie said "Thats neat Molly! By the way, did you ever get diagnosed for autism?" After she went on a whole rant about bear facts.
Speaking of facts, hyperfixation/special interest list:
Bears
Pokémon
Lethal company
Any horror game you give her, really
Horror movies
History (this is me protecting)
Actual Headcannons:
Textures are iffy for her
Shes touch seeking but will freak out if she feels or tastes a weird texture like with fleeces or fabrics
Naven triedd to help her with this, but it didn't work out and she spat out the food while apologizing
Likes Rasin Brain, its the only cereal thats not sweet
Drinks black coffee and tea
I feel like she owns a green Nokia with a bear keychain
Music taste is probably those nice music box covers or really quiet piano with rain ambiance.
LORELAI BLYNDEFF:
Shes autistic too, but not at the same spectrum level as Molly
Abandonment Issues
If shes stressed she'll stim while talking out loud to herself
Had HORRIBLE meltdowns when she was younger, she stopped around the time Molly was born since her parents said she had to set an example
Sweet tooth, favorite flavor is Birthday Cake
I can sense she has a Dnd special intrest, most definetly has played Baldurs Gate 3 at some point
Warrior Cats kid
Bedazzles everything she owns
Horrible cook. Dont let her touch an oven
Her and Molly used to infodump together before they started hating eachother
Def a bedazzled flip phone girlie
Idk why but I feel like shes a Chai drinker, no explination I just feel it.
Also really likes Halloweeny stuff
She struggles more with school work than Molly (Proof, her spelling in PoP) but she doesnt want to ask for help cuz she feels stupid about it so she just does it wrong
Full Hyperfixation/Special Intrest List:
Fantasy
Dungeons and Dragons/TTRPGS
Baldurs Gate 3
Rabbits/Bunnies/Etc
Harry Potter (Fuck JKR)
Warrior Cats
Wings of Fire
Percy Jackson
Actual Headcannons:
I feel like shes an Art Kid
Specializes in Pottery and Doodles
Also has taken up plushie making! Without an Epithet, I may add
She doesnt have an issue with texture most of the time; but if she feels any slime or coldness on her hands she'll flip.
She likes the popular music; but secretly loves fantasy game soundtracks and vocaloid. DWEEB!!!! (Me too i get it Lori)
Storing money to go to a Renaissance Faire
She sometimes uses her dream bubbles for Dnd campaigns with the friends she has! Or she would if she had any
I feel like she sits alone at lunch :(
Loves Boba! Tried getting Molly to taste it but she spat out a Pearl
Theater kid. Gut feeling.
Thats all from me, anon! Enjoy!!
#epithet erased#epithet erased fanart#epithet oc#epithet erased percy#epithet erased mera#epithet erased molly#epithet spoilers#prison of plastic au#prison of plastic spoilers#epithet erased prison of plastic#prison of plastic#epithet erased lorelai#lorelai blyndeff
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11:18 PM EDT May 18, 2024:
Led Zeppelin - "Candy Store Rock"
From the album Presence
(March 31, 1976)
Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm
Much in the same way that the lyrics to The Beatles' "Glass Onion" acknowledged with a nod and a reluctant wink the gnostic cult of Paul-is-Dead, the packaging of Led Zeppelin's Presence acknowledged the I'm sure at-least-somewhat-discomfitting fact that their group had long since become the most humongous rock band in the world.
By the time of The White Album, and by the time of Presence, respectively, things had gotten to the point where expedience was no longer expedient. The Beatles had tried not to feed the conspiracy theorists, and Zeppelin--modest at least in this one regard--had stayed away from licensing lunchboxes and appearances on Don Kirshner's Rock Concert. But at a certain point, things get so big, and so plain, that they become the elephant in the room.
Presence seems to be Zep's acceptance of their own status (beyond even their own control) as Big Dumb Object, an enormous artifact of unfathomable consequence.
That's dumb as in "incapable of speech," not as in "stupid," just so we're straight. But since we're there, let me note that Presence perhaps more than any Zeppelin album save II demonstrates that a certain amount of stoopidity is unavoidable or even desired if you're going to play the cock-rock game.
Plant's lyrics to "Achilles" reference some etching or the other of William Blake's, so my point is not to disparage Zeppelin's obvious operational intelligence. Still, Zeppelin were all about contrast: I dare you to check out the live video from '77, and tell me that Plant's suggestive mannerisms as he sings the band's 11-minute epic aren't a little stoopid . . . .
Ah, but I digress, 'cause the key concept here is not "Dumb" but "Big." Think thunder. Think "Hammer of the Gods," if that helps.
After four albums where at least part of the idea had been to leaven the heaviness with keyboards or acoustic instruments, Presence was a return to the undiluted bombast of the second album. Guitar bass drums voice recorded in a mere 18 days--not necessarily simple, but certainly direct.
The instrumental contrasts that for good or ill had been there on III, IV, Houses of the Holy, and Physical Graffiti were absent on the band's seventh album--and maybe that's why it's long been their least popular. Funny thought, that: maybe Zeppelin were so goddamned popular not because of the parts that rocked, but because of the parts that didn't!
I don't want to go overboard, however. I don't want to make it sound as if Presence were a piece of the nascent pub rock of the time, because the very first track belies that. "Achilles" is the third longest studio track for the band and features perhaps Page's most intricate guitar orchestration, with as many as 12 overdubs. It's routinely described as proggy, or even Yes-like (and if you don't believe that, consider that Dream Theater is one of the many acts who have covered the song). And note that Jonesy is playing an eight-string bass.
Leave it to this band of contrasts to feature a 10-1/2 minute song about a Greek demigod with painstakingly multitracked guitars on their back-to-basics record . . . Presence is perhaps Led Zeppelin's most misunderstood album, but for Page Plant Jones & Bonham, that may have been The Object all along.
File under: The Object Of It All
--
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No Longer
Warning: Spoilers of 109, Odasaku's life and blah blah. gn!reader, i may have mistakes on grammar.
A/N: Just... felt like writing. After a very long time :) BSD can make you write in you shittiest states haha. A gift to my mutual, @ashthemadwriter
Dazai learned from you that humanity is a superior being. Because you were only human. Not an angel, not a demon. He know it sounds ridiculous, but hear him?
Humanity is definitely not making the scars someone's gave as a pit to grow flowers from. That's the work of angels. Yet when he looks into your soul, Dazai sees that it is already covered with many colorful flowers. How strange, that both of you so young. Seriously, sometimes it was impossible not to question. The scratched pitted scars on the inside of the flowers, still fresh and red, and the lushness of the blossom coming out. Maybe you fed it with your blood?
Of course you did, because a wound that is not nourished by blood will wither. Because any wound you don't learn from will never scab over.
Humanity is not about manipulating someone callously and then playing with them. That is the work of demons. Then why did Dazai see you playing with Mori's "little schedule" so much? It's like he's a sohodoll to you, not a mafia leader. The one you've stuck a needle in and pulled out time and time again. But no matter how wrong it is, the things you do that he can't do, as if he were a puppet in a theater, it affects him so much. It's as if Mori's a puppet that you've toyed with all your traumas. Back and forth, back and forth, laughter, and then the silence that follows.
Humanity was perhaps neither good nor evil. Although for you it represents an idealism of "goodness". Humanity, according to Dazai, was the free exercise of the will that could give you. Either you bury the soldier you killed with respect, or you condemn him to the same fate over and over again out of jealousy that you could not be in his place and die with dignity. Because a person longs for what he cannot be. Or should Dazai say a puppet ruled by the devil? As he looked at Fyodor's tied up body with devilish smile on his face, he could see the insidious strings tied over his hands. Why was goodness so important, so superior? Even if it gives you so much fun when you are just the devil's puppet.
That's humanity, Dazai thought. To persecute yourself by not following the evil that your ego, your thoughts and perhaps your heart tell you. To direct your will only towards good. Not forced, like an angel. Or, like a devil, not in pursuit of fun.
Human is good in spite of their suffering. They are compassionate despite the wild things its ego whispers. They are smiling despite the tears its broken heart sheds. They are responding to the logical evil of its brain with the most unlovely goodness. It is a cruelty to yourself. A sweet cruelty. Like killing the killer of orphans you raised after seeing them die, even though you know you will die. Or, of all the last things or wishes you could ask for, to preach kindness to your best friend.
When Dazai saw you cautiously cleaning his bullet wounds again, after the 4th betrayal he committed against you, he discovered a little bit of what humanity is to your will. Perhaps to his heart. He felt the weight of the bullets that entered his body as a result of an unconscious betrayal diminished by your hands. But it hurts. Very much. His wounds hurt not only from the betrayal he had suffered but also from the betrayals he made suffered.
Dazai looked into your eyes as you wiped away a tear he hadn't realized was falling. Although his lips trembled, he placed a kiss on your forehead and buried his head in your shoulder. Silently he listened to the sound of bandages wrapping around him.
He didn't know if life was worth living, but Dazai knew that humanity was the highest emotion one could experience. Even you are no longer a one, human.
By.Aychu
#by.aychu#osamu dazai#dazai osamu#bungou stray dogs#dazai x reader#dazai osamu x reader#bsd x reader#osamu dazai x reader#bsd dazai x reader#dazai fluff#dazai scenario#dazai prompt#dazai#osamu#osamu x reader#bsd comfort#bsd trying lol#bungo stray dogs
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Sleight of Hand
(Maria Hawke/Fenris | 7374 Words | AO3 | No warnings)
Here's the magician AU I have been talking about. I may write more in this AU at some point, but for now this is the whole story. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it c: (and here is what I was listening to as I wrote this)
In the hours before showtime, Hawke sometimes liked to come to the stage and stand just behind the curtains. Nothing else. Just—stand there, eyes closed, and listen.
There was a heartbeat to the old theater. In quiet moments, she could almost feel the pulse of it. There: the echo of past applause, the soft swish swish of years of push brooms across the empty stage, the murmurs of a thousand chorus girls and backup dancers. There—the hush as bows rising over violins, hovering over still strings. And there—spots squeaking as they pivoted to the correct position, just before the light inside was lit. It was like a sharp inhale, like the twitch of a muscle about to contract, like toes pressed to the very edge of a precipice.
Or maybe that was just her own fanciful thinking.
“Hawke,” the dry voice of her stage assistant called from the wings, “It is four thirty.”
One breath: in and out.
It was time.
“Coming,” she called back, stepping away from the dusty velvet. “Say, Fenris, do you ever stand onstage and hear the echoes of performances past?”
A pause.
“No,” he said.
When she turned to look at him, she found him already dressed for the show in the customary snow-white shirt, black vest accented with lines of silvery embroidery, and deep black trousers. From the audience, the watchers would not see the many-times-mended seams, the shabby cuffs, nor most of the pale tattoos covered by each. He’d told her there was no sense in covering them—and he was right, for they showed through his shirtsleeves in the stage lights—but at least covering them gave the impression that they weren’t up for casual discussion.
The illusion provided by both was for the best. Most people learned the hard way that Fenris did not like to talk about the markings, and the shabbiness of his clothes was her fault, for she’d had little spare money to spend on fixing it.
“Really?” Hawke asked, walking toward him. “Not even a peep?”
“No,” he said again, but this time the corner of his mouth twitched.
Ah; he was in a good mood tonight. One could never tell.
“I suspect you invent these things for your own entertainment,” he went on, uncrossing his arms and shifting from one foot to the other. “Or perhaps you simply enjoy asking me nonsensical questions.”
“Oh, it’s both,” she said earnestly, widening her eyes. “You’re ever so attractive when you look at me like I’ve gone mad.”
That garnered a snort, which from him might as well have been uproarious laughter. Fenris fell in step beside her as she passed him, and they began to make their way from the wings to her narrow dressing room.
She’d been desperate when they’d first met, facing down an hour and a half to showtime and an assistant who’d delightedly told Hawke she was running off to Rivain with her beau. Hawke had gone to the portion of Lowtown where folk looked for work, and there she’d found him.
Fenris had been scowling and plainly exhausted, clearly the worst possible choice for the task. Hawke had asked him to come anyway, because there was something about him that she’d seen then and saw now, some intangible quality that made her want to do something for him. If the show went poorly, it was just one show. She’d offered him the job on the spot and—well, three months (or was it four?) later, here they were. He hadn’t given her reason to regret it yet, though he’d be the first to admit that he’d tried.
Hawke didn’t have to think very hard to find the next topic of conversation. Work was always easy to fall back on.
“So,” she said, “about the trick before the cups—”
“Absurd,” he murmured, then gestured gracefully, “but go on.”
“The box is an audience-pleaser and I’ve adjusted the swords better this time. Please reconsider.”
He sighed.
“Fenris,” she said, and the pair of them paused before her dressing room door.
“Hawke.”
Maria grinned at him, delighted as ever by the dryness in his voice, then turned the doorknob and walked inside. The lamps were already lit—his doing, no doubt—and both of them politely pretended that there wasn’t a dent in the couch roughly the size and shape of his body.
“I do not believe that this trick is—is that another bruise?” he asked, darting in front of her. Hawke drew up short and angled her chin upward, neither hiding nor stepping away. His fingertips hovered just above her cheekbone for a moment before he took a step back.
“Yes,” she said brightly, and edged around him to sit at the dressing table. She would still need to change, and Honeybun needed to stretch her legs, and—
“How?” he asked. When she glanced at him in the mirror, his brows had drawn tightly together.
There had been a time not very long ago—perhaps three months now—when he’d scowled at her like that all the time. She hadn’t even noticed when his expression had started to soften.
“Picked a fight, as usual,” she said, lifting the first of many makeup brushes. “But good news: the idiot won’t be stealing from the coffee seller again. Oh, also I got paid.”
She smiled at Fenris in the mirror, but he wasn’t having it. He rolled his eyes and turned away instead, reaching under the rack of costumes to flip the cage door open.
“Come on, then,” he said, irritation underscoring his voice.
A rabbit, carmel-patched and floppy-eared, hopped from her enclosure and wiggled her nose at him. Fenris took a berry from the bowl on the side table and placed it gravely before Honeybun, who set upon it with leporine delight.
Hawke smiled to herself. When he’d first arrived, he’d regarded the rabbit with the narrow-eyed suspicion usually reserved for snakes. She supposed he must see more of Honeybun than she did these days, given that he was quietly occupying this room for most of the hours that Hawke herself was not in it. Even so, there was something sweet about the way he gingerly leaned down and ran a hand over the rabbit’s head.
Maria looked away before Fenris could catch her watching and began to get ready for the act as if she’d never noticed anything at all.
|
Fenris would be the first to acknowledge that it was a ridiculous situation.
Once, he had been a feared living weapon, chained at a magister’s side as a deterrent to the mage’s enemies. Once, he had left a trail of heartless bodies from Tevinter to Seheron. Now, he donned a sparkly vest and stood on stage in front of a crowd, pretending that Hawke’s sleight of hand meant the same thing as magic.
It was not without purpose. He told himself this often, when he lay on the lumpy couch in the dressing room at night, when he worked through fighting forms in the quiet of the morning, when he straightened his vest and readied himself to step onstage yet again four evenings a week and twice on Saturdays.
This was not without purpose—but that did not make it any less ridiculous.
“Alright there, Rog,” Hawke was saying to their audience volunteer for the night. “You see that all the cups have nothing in them, yes? No sticky honey on the inside, no secret bottom?”
The boy, freckled and gap-toothed, nodded and fidgeted with the hem of his shirt.
“They look alright,” he agreed. “Nothing funny inside.”
“Wonderful,” Hawke said, bestowing the full force of her smile on the poor boy, who flushed red enough to mask his many orange freckles. “Now, I am going to put the ball under one of the cups and move them around. Then, you’re going to tell me which cup the ball is under. Alright? If you pick the right one, we have a prize.”
She gestured to Fenris, who sighed and displayed the prize in question: a “wand” of black-painted wood with a white tip. The boy’s eyes widened at the sight of it.
“Alright!” he said, rubbing his hands together.
“Wonderful,” Hawke said, displaying the ball with a flourish before tucking it under the first cup.
This part was always fast by necessity, but Fenris was familiar with it by now. He could see the blur of the ball when she angled the cup just so and it shot into her sleeve. The first few times, though—he might have wondered if it was some sort of magic, though he knew it wasn’t. He could often feel the echo of magic through the tattoos, like the ripples thrown by a rock cast into a still pond. He’d never felt them during her act; whatever she did onstage, it did not involve the Fade at all.
The rest of the scene went precisely as anticipated: the astonished boy picked an empty cup. Hawke revealed that they were all empty, produced the ball from behind the boy’s ear to the audience’s delight, and then sent him off with the little ball even though it was the last of their current stock. Fenris had found this routine absurd at first; he hated to admit to himself now that he thought it was…endearing, perhaps, that she insisted on doing this for the young audience participants even though it inconvenienced her. The boy, stunned, wandered back offstage with many a backward glance at the magician herself.
For her part, Hawke grinned at the audience, bowed with a flourish that scattered light over her red coat, and moved smartly on to the next trick: producing Honeybun from her tophat.
It was as Fenris found his place behind the table that hid the rabbit that he looked up at the audience and saw them.
There: at last, a half dozen fighters dressed in Tevinter garb.
It was almost a relief to see them here, when he’d been expecting them from the first moment he stepped onstage. It wasn’t a trap he’d placed, so to speak, but these performances had been a lure of sorts. And now—now his pursuers would show their hand at last, in the time and place of Fenris’s choosing.
One of the fighters smiled to Fenris and stood, walking toward the rear doors in the audience. The others followed, leaving a large section of the back row empty. Fenris’s blood thrummed in his ears, adrenaline pouring into his system. It was an effort not to call on the markings, but there would be no fight in the moment. They would be waiting outside instead, perhaps with some sort of conveyance to stuff him into. A cage was always easier to begin with; it allowed them to deprive the occupant of food and water, to control their sleep without needing to worry about danger to the slave hunters, and—
The kick to his shin brought him back to himself.
“—must be feeling shy today. Well folks, how about a hand for Her Serene Fluffiness? Maybe we can coax her out from the mysterious beyond.”
The audience cheered accordingly and Fenris realized he’d missed his cue. Of course he had; he’d finally gotten what he wanted, hadn’t he? He could walk off the stage right now and it would not matter one bit.
Only—only Hawke had found him in that alley, hungry and cold, and offered him a job on the spot. He’d never been anything but dry and skeptical during these performances, but she’d never once faulted him for it or suggested he leave. In fact, she seemed to enjoy it—though why continued to elude him. She’d slipped the key to her dressing room into his pocket that first day and she’d never once walked in on him there no matter how wary he’d been in the early days.
Fenris owed her nothing. He performed a job and she paid him for it. But—if this was to be his last evening with her here, he owed it to her to finish this well.
Fenris found the catch under the table without looking and flipped it, opening the trap door to the hidden rabbit cage within.
“And—Abracadabra!” Hawke said, tapping the brim of the top hat with a flourish. When she reached into the hat and scooped Honeybun from the depths, Fenris felt a pang.
It was an absurd trick. It had always been an absurd trick.
But—he would miss the cursed creature.
He’d…miss the way Hawke smiled at the rabbit every time she lifted it from the hat, as if surprised and delighted to find it there.
“Oh, dear,” Hawke said, cuddling Honeybun in her arms. “But you can’t help me do any of my tricks, can you, darling? Perhaps my lovely assistant can keep track of you for the moment. Let’s see—ah! A treat for your troubles, my little friend.”
With a flick of her fingers, she produced a strawberry seemingly from thin air and smiled down at the rabbit. Honeybun took the berry from her hand, nose wiggling furiously, and Hawke held the creature out to Fenris.
Hawke must have seen something in his expression; her eyes searched his face as Fenris took the rabbit from her. He looked right back, taking in the wink of the gold tucked in amongst her curls, the scar that crossed one eyebrow and fell just below her eye, the bruise she’d barely managed to cover with powder, the way her upper lip was just slightly larger than the lower one, and the determined set to her chin.
There was much he would have liked to say to her in that moment. The words crowded in his throat, chokingly thick, but—well. The show must go on, as she often said. Fenris settled Honeybun in his arms instead, noting absently the warm softness of the fur, the soft movements as she went on nibbling her strawberry, and nodded once to Hawke to indicate that all was well enough.
“Alright, folks,” she said, turning and spreading her arms wide. “You’ve seen wonders tonight, haven’t you?”
A cheer from the audience.
“You’ve been delighted and entertained, amazed and awakened to the possibilities of the world—well, now it’s time for the grand finale.”
Fenris stroked his hand once over the rabbit’s back, tension riding the base of his neck.
Yes, it did seem like it was time for a finale.
|
There was something wrong with her assistant.
Maria had noticed it most of the way through the act, but the oddness in his manner hadn’t gone away when they’d returned to the changing room. She set the last of the baubles in her hair aside and turned at last to look at Fenris. He was keyed up in a way he hadn’t been for months, shifting from foot to foot and tensing at every sound from the hall beyond.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, and Fenris flinched. Hawke half-rose at the sight of it, but sat again when he took a step back.
“If something’s happened—” she began, fingers curling around the arm of the chair, but he gestured sharply.
“It is nothing,” he said. “You need to go.”
“I need to go?” she asked, brows rising. “Forgive me, serah, but I was under the impression that this is my dressing room. I have no intention of walking home in this.”
She gestured to her outfit—still the stage costume—and Fenris grimaced.
“Here, then,” he said, taking the stack of her street clothes from the couch arm, “change and go.”
Hawke took them, but she didn’t go.
“Fenris,” she said quietly, “please. Whatever this is—let me help.”
There was sweat along his forehead, and his hair had fallen out of the neat quiff he wore during the act. They weren’t quite friends—he’d made it clear he wasn’t interested in getting attached to this place—but the two of them worked very well together. And…well, she’d never say it to him aloud, but here and onstage with him was the only times she felt she could simply be herself. Not a sister or a daughter, not the glue that held her friend group together, but Maria the Magician and only that.
“No,” he said, just as quietly, but iron-firm.
Right.
Hawke turned away and went into the back section of the room, where the tiny bathroom was located. It was quick, silent work to change out of her costume, to set aside the tuxedo shirt, the red coat, the matching skirt and shiny shoes. It was quick work, but she worried the whole time and her hands were unsteady on the buttons of her trousers when she did them up.
Returning to the room didn’t help. Fenris watched her while she hung up her clothes, and he was waiting with an extended hand when she was finished.
Hawke looked down at his hand, and then at his face. He’d made it abundantly clear that he did not want her to touch him on the first day they’d met. She’d moved to do the simplest of tricks—pull a coin from behind his ear so he could buy himself lunch—but he’d caught her wrist lightning-fast and forbade her to try it again. They passed things back and forth onstage, but that was the closest they’d ever come to touching skin to skin.
Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
She took his hand anyway and sucked in a breath when she felt the hard metal hidden there. Fenris clasped her hand between his, pressing the key to the dressing room into her palm. His hands were callused and warm around the smooth, cool metal he held. There was absolutely no reason to feel the way she did about touching him—they were hands, for the Maker’s sake—but she felt something nonetheless, a bubbling sensation in her chest. It wasn’t helped by the knowledge that he was…he must be…
“Thank you,” he said in that low, serious voice. “For—everything, Hawke.”
She didn’t let go when he did. For a moment, they lingered there, the key pressed between their palms.
What could she say? He’d already refused to explain himself, had already made it clear that he didn’t want her here. What more could she possibly say if he would not allow her to help?
“You need to go,” he said, extricating his hand from her grasp. When he stepped aside, there was a clear path to the door.
Fine.
Fine, she would go—but she’d be damned if she left him to the jaws of whatever fate he’d resigned himself to. Hawke nodded, passing him closely enough that she felt the heat radiating from his body. She paused only once, the door held open in her hand. He was still watching her when she looked back.
“I’ll see you later,” she said, the words not quite a question.
Fenris hesitated. His mouth firmed and he half-nodded, an angled bow of the head that might have been assent or disagreement.
Hawke turned away and shut the door behind her. She strode toward the back door at a clip, taking her staff from the umbrella stand where she’d hidden it. She had people to find and not much time to fetch them here.
She could only hope that whatever Fenris was going to do, he would take his time doing it.
|
Fenris waited onstage, hands loose at his sides, dressed in the clothing he’d worn when he fled Seheron. Unfortunately, it remained the sturdiest he owned; whatever could be said about Danarius, he’d wanted his pet bodyguard to be properly attired.
The theater around him was quiet. He’d waited until the crew were all gone, until the lights were doused, and then he’d crept from a hiding place along the catwalk and propped the back door open with a brick. They would be here soon; he had little doubt of that. At least here Fenris had the advantage of knowing precisely where everything was—especially given that the stage had already been prepared for Hawke’s show tomorrow evening and all of the usual props were positioned precisely where they’d be needed for the performance.
Fenris clenched his fist, eyes closed, listening. Do you ever stand onstage and hear the echoes of performances past? Hawke had asked him just that afternoon.
An absurd question—she seemed to enjoy being absurd—but standing here now, Fenris felt he almost understood what she meant. The past seemed to live in the empty spaces here, in its way.
Two steps to the left—that was where she’d first tapped his wrist with her so-called wand and drawn a full bouquet from his sleeve. There—just to the right, beside the table—that was where he’d first asked her if anyone fell for this farce of an act. She’d laughed in his face, then announced to the crowd that every performer should have a skeptic on hand, lest they become too full of themselves. She’d given him a cut of the excess tips tossed into the hat after the show that night and every night since—had that been the first night or the second?—and told him he had a job as long as he wanted it.
Odd—because he’d only half-believed her at the time—but in his memory she looked uncharacteristically solemn when she’d said it. “Stay as long as you wish, Fenris,” she’d told him, and when he’d put his hand in his pocket later he’d found the heavy brass key inside.
Tonight, the stage curtains had been left open, as was usual after the audience was gone. If he opened his eyes, he would see all the way to the back of the theater where Hawke’s friends sat during weekend performances. They were loud—would always shout when she pulled off a trick, even if they’d seen it a dozen times before—and Fenris had always taken their presence as his cue to disappear swiftly after the show.
He wondered now if it would have been better to allow himself attachment to this place; if he had reached out sooner, would it have been easier to stay? He didn’t know. He was weary of running—and that was precisely what he would be doing when he left this place. Months ago, he’d thought to take a stand here and make an end of it, but—did he really think this would be the end of Danarius’s pursuit?
No. No, he knew better than that. Perhaps it would be worth it to consider staying here after—
A soft squeak: the hinges of the back door, perpetually overused and under-oiled.
Fenris took a deep, slow breath and released it, feeling along the lines of the lyrium markings. He was ready; he hadn’t spent these past months in idleness. He’d spent them eating properly and practicing in the privacy of Hawke’s dressing room. He was not the shell-shocked slave who’d escaped from Seheron, nor was he the desperate creature on the run through the hills and dales of the Free Marches, striking back just enough to survive before running again. Fenris would fight, and fight well—on his own behalf, for once.
It was a simple thing to turn and face backstage, to wait for them to come. It had been the work of months to reach a place where he would want to.
“Well, well, well,” an accented voice drawled from the wings, “would you look at that? The master’s stray dog, fresh from doing its little tricks onstage. How d’you think the magister will take it out of your hide when he finds out how you’ve been spending your time—little wolf?”
Little wolf. The disgust Fenris felt when the words crawled across his skin was so potent it was almost a physical sensation of its own.
“Come on, then,” the voice drawled. “Heel, boy. It doesn’t have to be a fight; you know it’s all over now, don’t you? Why make this hurt more than it has to?”
Fenris still couldn’t see the speaker, but he could see a dark shape on the catwalk above, moving quietly in the shadows. That was not good; he would need to remember to be especially wary of the space above his head.
“No.”
No. How easy it was to speak a denial of his own volition; how good it felt, even after months of running.
No, he would not go back without a fight. No, he was not Danarius’s little wolf anymore.
The speaker stepped from the wings at last, dressed in sturdy clothes—fighting clothes. Others revealed themselves, four on one side, six on the other. If he wasn’t mistaken, the man in robes to the left was a mage. Fenris was grossly outnumbered, even before he counted the ones hiding on the catwalk.
No matter. He would fight and die before he would allow himself to be dragged back to Tevinter. It could be—would be—that simple.
“You should know better,” the speaker said with a grotesque smile. “The magister never lets go of what belongs to him. Why bother running in the first place, slave?”
“Fenris is a free man.”
No.
Hawke’s voice came from behind him, somewhere in the audience. Fenris didn’t turn to look at her—he couldn’t afford to take his eyes off the slave-hunters—but the man he’d been speaking to angled himself slightly to look down at her.
“How lovely,” he said. “And harboring an escaped slave. Stay back and we won’t take you with us when we haul this one off.”
Footsteps behind him; hard-heeled shoes on the stairs up to the stage. Fenris’s hands curled into fists at his sides.
“Hawke…” he said, and felt the stir of air beside him.
“You’re sorely mistaken,” she said in her stage voice, bright and loud, “He’s my stage assistant, not a slave. If you think I’m going to let you—”
“Let us?” the leader barked, laughing. “Let us? You don’t have to let us do anything, Pretty; you can’t stop us.”
Hawke still stood just behind him where Fenris could not quite see her. Fear tangled with the anger in his chest. Had he not told her to go? Had he been anything less than perfectly clear? She—foolish, impulsive—she had put herself in harm’s way for what?
“Hawke,” Fenris said, “I do not want your help. Leave.”
One step. A second, sharp against the black stage floor.
She came to a stop at his side, back straight, chin angled up. When she stood like this, the top of her head was level with his eyes.
“No,” she said pleasantly.
“Suit yourself,” the leader said, drawing a saber from his belt. “You’ll still look pretty enough in chains, girl.”
No.
“How sweet of you to say,” she said. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.”
He’d missed the staff in her hand—how, he didn’t know—but Fenris did not miss the wash of fire that poured from it when she struck it against the stage floor. It consumed the first of the slave-hunters all at once, so quickly that Fenris had not yet processed the fact that Hawke was a mage before everyone else was moving and it was too late to think.
Fenris darted toward the leader first, half because he presented the most immediate obstacle and half because of the threat he’d just made. It was one thing to risk himself and another entirely to risk—
No; not now. He did not have space to think of it now.
The spell caught him when Fenris called on the markings, ready to rip the man’s heart from his chest. A cage of light; he’d seen its like many times before, had been caught between its bars more than once. It crushed the air from his lungs, lifted his bare feet from the ground, and stopped his hand mid-motion. Fenris gritted his teeth against the pressure, bracing against the pain to come.
Instead, the spell ended, dropping him neatly back on his feet.
“No, thank you,” Hawke said cheerfully, “Why don’t you try it yourself and see what you think?”
Fenris felt the ripple of magic in a pulse across the markings, but again he had no space to think of this. The leader still stood nearby, thrusting the saber toward him, and Fenris caught the flat of it on his bracer, redirecting it harmlessly away. The others closed in quickly, and it would mean death or worse to be surrounded. Fenris reached into a man’s chest and crushed his heart in one smooth motion, ducked another blow, and thrust the dead man’s body in the way of another combatant.
He’d planned this; it did not matter that Hawke had arrived to upset all his strategies. Fenris snapped one man’s neck, caught another blade with the now-limp body, and slipped backward again, to the place where Hawke had stored his least favorite of her tricks.
The sword thrust into the box was usually dull for his protection, but he’d replaced it this afternoon. The one he pulled from the wood now was much wider and longer than her usual stage blades, and when he swung it before him it knocked back three of his opponents. Only two stood before him now, but the leader was nowhere to be found. Where—
Hawke cried out behind him and Fenris spun around, his chest tight. The slave-hunters’ leader held her tightly, an arm around her waist. There was a long cut across her cheek, spreading a curtain of blood over the freckled skin. It dripped from her jaw, making a darker patch on the collar of her red coat.
“You see?” the man panted. “Look what you’ve done. Now I won’t get near as much for her; she’s damaged goods.”
Hawke’s lips were pressed so hard together that they’d gone pale and her eyes were fixed on him. Fenris’s hands tightened on the hilt of the sword as he watched the scattered light of his markings dance across her dress. She should never have involved herself; he’d made it perfectly clear that she needed to go. And now—and now—
More of the fighters stepped from the wings in his periphery. Fenris stepped to the side to keep them and the leader in his view, but he was already calculating how he could possibly get her out of this with her neck intact. He was too far to rush the man; too slow to stay his hand. He could reach through her for the slave-hunter’s heart—but this was not something he’d done before without intending for both parties to die. Six more stepped onstage, then eight, then ten.
There was no way out of this. He could feel the certainty of that knowledge, rising with the sense of dread. Fenris would rather be dead than taken, would have gladly fought to that end alone. But she—how could he barter her own lifeblood the same way?
How could he do anything else?
“Drop the sword or I give her a matching set,” the leader said, angling the sword up until it rested across Hawke’s cheek and jaw.
Fenris looked at her again, his knuckles gone white on the hilt, desperate for anything—some sign—of what she’d rather he do.
Hawke looked back, raising her chin very slightly despite the blade resting against her skin, and quirked one eyebrow. That was precisely the way she looked at him when he was about to miss a cue, but what cue could she possibly be reminding him of now?
Her arms were held tight to her sides, too immobile to move much, but as he watched one wrist flexed, flicked, and a small wooden ball flew out of her sleeve, rolling across the floor.
“What—” one of the other fighters said, eyes following it, and an arrow sprouted soundlessly from the man’s neck.
As the arrow hit, the man holding Hawke grunted with pain and let her go. At once, she slammed her head back into his nose and ducked, neatly missing the blade he’d tried to bring back around.
“That’s no way to treat a lady,” a silken said behind the two of them, and the leader made a wet choking sound before collapsing to his knees. A woman in a pale dress stood in his place, spinning a bloody blade in one hand while she smiled down at the body.
“Sorry we’re late, Hawke!” a voice called from the catwalk.
As if the voice had reminded them what was happening, the fighters sprang into action again, rushing either Hawke or Fenris. Only—now they were not fighting alone. Arrows and bolts struck the slave-hunters as they rushed forward, and a fist of stone swept another off his feet and into the table where Honeybun’s cage was kept when she was onstage. Fire sparked out of the corner of his eye—Hawke’s doing—and lightning danced through the knot of people who’d tried to surround Fenris. A dark-haired man who closely resembled Hawke stepped into the breach, nodding once to Fenris before turning away and engaging a fighter with twin daggers clutched in her hands.
They made short work of the rest in the end; there were seven of her friends, as far as he could tell, and when they fought together even the largest of their opponents fell before them. As the final slave hunter slipped from Fenris’s blade, Hawke sighed and braced a hand on her knee, breathing hard.
“That was bracing,” she said between breaths. “Maker, what a mess. I’ll be weeks fixing all of this.”
“You could let the stage crew do their jobs for once,” a dwarf said, sliding down the ladder to the catwalk and swinging a crossbow onto his shoulder. “They do fix things like this, you know.”
“But if I don’t do it myself, how will I know they put things in the right place?” Hawke asked, waving a hand. Fenris was close enough to hear the breath she sucked in between her teeth just before she reached up to clear some of the blood from her face.
“Well, don’t touch it,” another man said, stepping over several fallen bodies to peer at her. “What a bloody mess. Hold still and let me fix that, won’t you?”
Hawke rolled her eyes, but straightened so the taller man could see.
“Mother hen,” she told him, and her eyes angled to Fenris at last.
“Alright?” she asked.
Fenris lowered his sword, searching for the words. He found some at last, though they were not the ones he’d been looking for.
“Why do this,” he said, gesturing to the box with swords in it, “if you can do real magic?”
Her brows raised, but she flinched before they would have reached their usual apex.
“Sorry,” the man leaning over her murmured. A soft light spilled from his hands, closing the edges of the cut across her cheekbone.
“They’re both real magic,” Hawke said after a moment, “The only difference is that one makes people clap and the other gets you tossed in the Gallows. And besides—if a templar ever reported me, what would their fellows think except that they were too foolish to realize a good sleight of hand when they saw it? Hiding in plain sight was the best way to go.”
“I still think it’s a horrible idea,” the healer muttered, still frowning down at her face.
“I think it’s genius,” the woman with the daggers announced, neatly sidling around two collapsed slave-hunters and crouching to check one’s pockets. “Hello—look at this.”
“Is that a golden tooth?” an elven woman asked, wandering over the bodies as if she didn’t notice them, “I don’t think those are supposed to be in one’s pockets, Isabela.”
“Ouch—Flames, Anders, if I’d known it was going to hurt, I’d have done it myself,” Hawke snapped. Fenris turned back to her, ignoring the others for the moment. The healer—Anders, she’d said—let his hands fall away at last and shrugged.
“You’d’ve scarred if you had,” he said. “Done now. You may still want to clean up; you’re a mess.”
Blood still streaked her neck and coat. Hawke grimaced again and tipped her head back.
“Alright up there, Sebastian?”
“Of course,” someone called back. Fenris squinted and spotted a bowman in the catwalk. “Didn’t you say Aveline was coming?”
“No, I said Aveline wasn’t coming. She was on patrol when I sent word—but, as it turns out, that’s probably for the best. Can’t imagine she’d love the amount of dead bodies involved in this one. Ah, well. Maybe Merrill can make them toddle off and lie down somewhere less conspicuous.”
“I can’t actually do that, Hawke,” the elf said, looking mildly distressed, “But I do know a carrying spell—if we stacked them all onto something, perhaps I could make them float or—”
“It was just a joke, dear,” Hawke said, crossing to the woman and resting a hand on her shoulder. “Technically speaking—legally speaking—this was self defense. Wasn’t it?”
As one, they turned to look at Fenris, who’d been standing wordlessly at the edge of the stage. He looked back, taking in the lot of them. What would it be like, he wondered, to have so many people who’d come in an instant when one needed help?
What would it be to answer a call like that? To choose to step forward and fight, even before one knew the circumstances of the battle?
What would it be like to…stay?
“Yes,” he said after a moment.
“You see?” Hawke said. “Now, I’ve promised Carver that drinks are on me—”
“Ah, you remembered after all,” the dark-haired man said, tucking a bloody cloth back into his pocket and sheathing his sword.
“—so why don’t you finish frisking their pockets and pop off to the Hanged Man? I’ll meet you there in a bit. I think we need to sort out a few things here first.”
|
Hawke stood in the bathroom of her dressing room, hands braced on the sink, eyes fixed on the mirror.
Effort and focus had not helped her remove an ounce of the anger from her face.
Really, she was angry often—people didn’t seem to notice if it was covered by a broad enough smile—but it had been a very long time since she’d been this angry.
Breathe, she reminded herself, and closed her eyes to focus on that instead. It was no use. Behind her eyelids, she still saw the bastards on her stage, threatening her friend, demanding he submit to—
“Hawke?” Fenris asked from the other side of the door.
Tears of the Bride, she’d come in here so he wouldn’t have to see this.
“I’ll be just a moment,” she said, and it was an effort to keep her voice even.
Silence. After a moment, she heard the sound of the cage door swinging open again.
Alright. Alright. She could do this.
Maria fumbled the trousers up and over her pantalets, fastened the blouse over her stays, and took another moment to look herself in the eyes and breathe. Fenris had spilled the tale while she’d cleaned up in here, for she’d rightly guessed that he’d be more comfortable explaining if he didn’t have to look at her. Now, she was glad she’d arranged things that way because—well. What good would it do him for her to be mad now? If there was one thing she knew, it was this: people who were hurt, people who’d been tormented and hunted halfway across the continent? Those people were not the ones who needed her to be upset on their behalf.
Not where they had to see it, at least.
Hawke hesitated only a moment longer, hand thrust into her pocket, but then she swung the door open and stepped out. Fenris had chosen to sit on the floor and was regarding Honeybun solemnly as the rabbit investigated the space beneath the dressing table. He rose gracefully when Maria stepped into the room, but didn’t immediately do anything more than that. Hawke paused in the doorway, surveying the scene, and Fenris looked back.
“She doesn’t like to stay in the cage for too long,” he said finally, spreading a hand in the rabbit’s direction, “She seems to prefer the room.”
“I agree,” Hawke said, setting a hand on the back of the nearest chair. “Before you came, I would leave her door open overnight and a sign on the door not to open it without checking first. The amount of times she’s been loose in the theater is…well. Notable.”
They stood for a long moment, looking at each other. Her fingers curled in her pocket. What could she say to him? He hadn’t wanted her help earlier, would have died rather than involve her. Now…Well.
Both of them were far too proud; she knew that for a fact. One of them would have to reach out first.
Maria stepped closer—close enough to touch if she’d intended to—and raised her chin to look him in the eyes.
“Usually,” she said, “the purpose of the stage assistant is to draw attention. The first trick to stage magic, you see, is misdirection. If the audience is looking at the assistant, they miss part of the trick. The assistant is meant to smile and look pretty and charm the ones watching into wanting to believe, just a little, in the idea of magic that cannot hurt or possess or pose a danger to them.”
Fenris regarded her steadily. He really had the most lovely eyes—not that she’d told him as much; she knew better than that. Looking at them made it easier to take another breath, to let some of the anger go.
“You are really, really bad at that. The worst I’ve ever seen, honestly. But—what you are good at is asking exactly the question that they’re thinking instead. Why would you want to pull a posy from your pocket? How would a rabbit even fit inside a hat?”
The smile came easy enough now. She didn’t have to work at it anymore.
“What could possibly be the purpose of levitating two feet in the air and staying there?”
“It is a perfectly reasonable question,” he said, but his brow had unfurrowed slightly.
Stay, she thought at him, smiling, stay with me. Don’t run.
No; too soon for that. There were other things to say first, in any case.
“They like you,” she said instead.
Now came the hard part. She’d practiced this on Merrill for days after she’d first met him just in case. Fenris did not like things in his periphery, and he seemed to dislike being touched on the shoulders or neck in general. So, rather than pulling something from behind his ear, she tapped his chest and produced the thing she’d been clutching in her pocket.
“Stay as long as you wish, Fenris,” she said, holding the brass key to the dressing room between two fingers. “The job is still yours.”
Fenris looked at the key, then at her. His mouth firmed, as if he, too, was holding words in. After a moment, his shoulders relaxed slightly.
“I am done with running,” he said, still not taking the key, “and—I had thought to ask you if you would allow me to remain here. After everything—well. I did not think you would offer. You understand that there could be more of them. This isn’t over.”
Hawke shrugged one shoulder.
“So we’ll fight them again.. You’re not the only one of my friends with a skeleton or two in your closet, Fenris. I could tell you things that would turn your hair—well. Too late for that, I suppose.”
Fenris snorted, but a smile crept up the corner of his mouth.
“In addition to the key, I am inviting you to drinks. The others will hound me for it if I don’t, but I think you might like at least some of them. They’re loud and cantankerous, they cheat at cards and half of them hate each other, but they’re family. If you’re going to stay, that’s something you might like to have.”
Honeybun hopped over her feet, and presumably over Fenris’s, too, for he looked down and away for a long, silent moment.
“Yes,” he said at last, straightening, “I will stay. I…would like to stay.”
“Wonderful,” Hawke said, beaming at him. The key gleamed in the air between them.
Readily, Fenris reached out and took it.
#maria hawke#fenris#fenris dragon age#da2#fenhawke#my writing#da fanfic#this was the hardest to tag on ao3 haha. it isn't any of the usual categories i write and (unsurprisingly) there is no magician au category#also. it didn't fit in this but bethany is alive and in a coma jsyk#hence hawke being broke. all of her spare money goes to pay the healers etc.#shivunin scrivening
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When Teiko Discovers the Werewolves of Millers Hollow part 1
A/N: I got this idea after talking with @reiimii so here you go! I ended up writing such a long one-shot, it has to be split up in two so enjoy the first half!
part 2
The Teiko six, Nijimura and Momoi were seated in the meeting room, for a different reason then usual.
Today they would be playing a French game Akashi played at a fancy party, the only European rich kid present had introduced the kids of the Japanese elite to the Werewolves of Millers Hollow. It had been a fun game, but Akashi rather wanted to play it with his actual friends.
With permission of the 1st string coach, they were allowed a day off of practise to play a game under the condition the coach would be the game master. Akashi thought the man was looking forward the event as much as he did, considering Aomine seemed to be a bit lost in thought lately and could use the bonding experience.
Akashi had bought a cardset of his own, and had translated anything necessary for the game.
"Alright, does everybody understand the rules?" Akashi asked.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Our card decides our roles, only specific roles and the werewolves are allowed to know who is who and during the day we can hold an election for mayor who can cast two votes. We get it Akashi." Aomine's voice rang through the room, and everyone else nodded along.
The coach smiled, having already shuffled the cards. "Alright, let the games begin!"
"Remember, try to keep your reaction to the card as minimal as possible. You do not want to give yourself away." Akashi warned as he was handed his card. Looking at it, he internally smirked.
Everyone tried to be as poker faced as possible, though Kise seemed to pout a little.
"Today seemed perfect, but it looks like dark forces are threatening from the woods. The town's people are scared and the old mayor has fled. Who will be the hero that leads the people?" The coach's voice boomed dramatically, and Kise immediately pointed to Kuroko.
"Kurokochi can be the mayor!"
Momoi nodded in agreement and Aomine shrugged. "Fine with me."
Akashi thought for a while, knowing Murasakibara would chose him easily and he felt prety assured about Midorima and Nijimura's votes, so that would mean a total equal of votes.
So Akashi decided to give this one to Kuroko. "I accept Kuroko being our leader for this instance."
"And so, did the people decide to elect the reliant Kuroko Tetsuya to be their mayor," the coach continued on his story. "He has ordered all the citizens to stay indoors tonight, but as the night falls, it is clear that the evil already spread amongst you. Let the horrors of the night commence!"
The group all covered their eyes with their hands, as the coach's voice rang. "It seems someone amongst you has the prophetic gift. Seer, you may open your eyes!"
Akashi lowered his hands, looking intently at the group. He pointed to Midorima, and the coach walked to his seat to flip his card for Akashi to see the peeking little girl card. He nodded in response, crossing Midorima off of his list.
Then he covered his face once more.
"Now, it is time for the werewolves to wake up! Who will be the first victim to perish?"
Kuroko, Momoi and Nijimura all lowered their hands, first taking in who was part of their pack. Momoi couldn't help but omit a small smile knowing she and Kuroko were on the same team. Nijimura immediately pointed to Akashi, knowing his genius alone would make him a threat and the other two nodded in agreement.
The coach placed a few of everyone's card theaterically down once more, to distract everyone from who was the victim and who were the werewolves before turning Akashi's card around, revealing him to everyone.
Nijimura felt the tiniest ego boost having eliminated one of the most dangerous players in the game.
"The following morning, everyone woke up to see the sight of Akashi's torn up body! The sight and lurking darkness have revealed itself, there are werewolves amongst the village! Now, to purge the evil, Kuroko has decided there is no other way but to burn the culprit alive on a stake! Now, the surviving townsfolk gather, to find the culprit! Who shall be burnt at the stake?"
#knb#kuroko's basketball#akashi#akashi seijuro#momoi satsuki#aomine#aomine daiki#kuroko#kuroko tetsuya#murasakibara#murasakibara atsushi#midorima#midorima shintarou#kise#kise ryouta#nijimura shuuzou#teiko#teiko 1st string coach#team bonding#game time#werewolves of millers hollow
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The Impossible Players Keep It Real with True Tragedy and Comedy
As I sit in a darkened theater, surrounded by other enthused theater-goers, I find it difficult to remind myself that I'm sitting in a quaint little community theater that sits in the small historic district of Pueblo, CO.: the famed "Home of Heroes". For this place is not as it was when last I visited. Brought back by special invitation, I find myself awed by the transformation that this house of art has undergone since my last attendance.
The venue: The Impossible Playhouse.
The Plays: Bad Auditions by Bad Actors - by Ian McWethy, and The Candidate - by Brent Holland. Two one act plays that are brought to life by the self-titled "Next Gen Players", a troupe of talented youths that are brought to the stage by the Impossible Players as up-and-coming talents that may lend their skills to other productions in future. And they deliver!
The Impossible Playhouse, thanks to a group effort, opens the production in the wake of a fine new refurbishment since last I had the opportunity to visit the playhouse. Newly painted floors and walls, covered stained glass windows, a newly capped dome in the theater's main hall, and most impressively, fine red cushioned seats that provide comfort to the theater goers in attendance.
"It's like a whole new theater," tells one of the attendees to me as I survey the locale. "They've been trying to get the theater in shape for quite some time and I think they've done a wonderful job with the place. They've put in so much work here and we always have such a really good time. And the kids are always a riot when we come to these shows. We never miss," said my neighborly attendee.
The productions of the Next Gen Players, the brainchild of Mr. Darin Stuart, a longtime Impossible Players veteran, brings a new contingent of fresh talent to the stage that comprises a long list of theater veterans and a few newcomers. The cast, more than a dozen strong, bring to life the two separate productions.
McWethy's Bad Auditions entails the story of a young casting director and his favorite lackey in an attempt to cast the lead roles for the infamous Romeo & Juliet. Their problems are presented to them in a string of actors who portray all of the usual turnouts for a play that may be more real than one might realize in a theatrical setting: from method actors to actors that portray characters influenced by modern media. The audience laughed aplenty at seeing the characters on stage portray their respective roles to delight of the audience, which left several of them in tears.
Holland's The Candidate, alternatively, left the audience in a state of contemplation that would have made Philip K. Dick (We Can Remember It For You Wholesale) and James Wan (Saw) proud. The story centering on four characters who awaken to find themselves locked in a room with no memories of who they are and why they are there, only to discover that they are at the mercy of an unseen oppressor and forced to torture and berate one another. The objective: to slowly whittle down the group until only one "victim" remains. The conclusion left at least two of the audience with a barely audible, "Oh, sh*t," by the performance's conclusion. A mark of approval if ever there was one for live theater.
Well done to all of the cast!
The Impossible Players, famed as the oldest community theater west of the Mississippi, have utilized these two performances to open their 59th Season and show no signs of slowing down.
The performances of the Next Gen Players will continue August 19th, 20th, 25th, and 26th. Each performance begins at 7:30 PM (House opens at 7 PM) and Sunday matinees at 2 PM. are rated PG (Bad Auditions) and PG-13 (Candidate) respectively. Tickets can be purchased at the door or by calling in advance: (719) 542-6969. I also encourage the curious to visit the Player's website at: https://www.impossibleplayers.com/
#writers supporting actors#live theater#The Impossible Players#Impossible Players#Pueblo#Colorado#Next Gen Players
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Nick Perri & Walt Lafty in concert
I'd never been to this venue before, it's essentially a tiny movie theater! So I only went to this bc Nick filled in for Adam Slack of The Struts back in May and his band also opened for them. Turns out he and Walt were in a band called Silvertide in the very early 2000s, so they kinda reunite every now and then and tour together as two solo acts. They call this the "Going Solo Tour" and this is the second year in a row they did this. Everything about the tour promotion is Star Wars themed.
this is the first show i actually got to at a late time bc the venue is that tiny and this is such an low publicity act (underground if you will lol) that I was not worried at all about "getting there at a decent time"
this means doors were at 7 and i got there at 6:40
this lobby place is h i p. string lights draped from the ceiling, dim lighting, random artwork, vintage couches, splattered floors; the works.
Walt actually came out to use the bathroom before doors and despite never having seen a pic of him before I just knew it was him for some reason
AT FIRST GLANCE I THOUGHT HE LOOKED LIKE THE LEAD SINGER FROM LEVON (WHOM IS H A W T) AND I HAD A HEART ATTACK
I was the only person on the guest list LMAO
I swear I overheard someone say "she's with the band" very quietly and it made me like C: "do I pass that well as someone important"
an older man asked me if I was with the band bc he saw me doing test shots in the lobby and I said "sort of"
Nick poked his head out of the doors at one point and I was like :DD bc i only saw him one time and it made me so happy to see that this year is coming full circle
so this venue,,, half the seats are couches.
I was up front in this entirely cushioned chair and i must say, most comfy i've been at a show fr
i should mention this takes place on the anniversary of my first ever concert uwu
the music they were blasting before the show was F I R E (the who, heart, bowie, etc.)
when the show started they just flooded the tiny stage with smoke and deadass- a dramatic star wars/carol of the bells orchestra remix started playing
walt is fucking hilarious i was DYING he's just so funny he's a dork
him telling us a story before every song he played
him saying nick is a much better guitarist than him bc "you know i only strummy strummy right"
after one story he looked at his setlist and went "ok time for this next song.... if i can remember how to play it" and forgot for like a solid minute and said "adhd brain at its finest"
someone in the crowd said something about a lobster suit and walt was like hOW TF DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT STORY HOLD ON- I AM TELLING THIS-
so the story goes that like c. 2001 Walt went to a yard sale and found a VHS case and on the cover was a photo of Ronald Mcdonald in a "half black half white tuxedo and holding a .45" and he asked the yard sale guy what it was and he said "oh i made that movie it's about fast food companies going to war with each other. I still have the Red Lobster costume I made" and he dug out the costume from his basement and showed him and it was like LEGIT HIGH QUALITY and Walt said "$15 later it was mine" so he went offstage at Silvertide's next show and came back out wearing the lobster suit with the mic gaff taped to one of the claws since there was no hand function in them
apparently Nick didn't even know some of this story until last night
the two of them advertising for the venue's food multiple times simply bc they wanted to gush about how good it is
Nick doing his solo set and Walt standing in the back having a convo with him at times as if there wasn't a crowd between them
I cannot for the life of me remember what Walt said from the back of the room when Nick asked him a question from the stage, but Nick made this face when Walt answered him:
I felt so weird moving around even as little as I did bc THERE WAS NO ROOM IERFNOERWINFROIFNRF i went to the center twice (one for each solo set) FOR A FEW SECONDS EACH and even then I felt like I was in the way so badly LMAOO
when I did that for Walt he made sure to look right at the camera and sarcastically smile the doofus
Nick Perri is so goddamned talented I hate it like hOLY SHIT HE CAN SHRED
the lighting at this place was terrible so all my photos kinda look bad in terms of quality oifnveosrinferf
I lost one of my DL buttons in the chair I was sitting in :( oh well I didn't really care about them anyway
I sat in the lobby again after HOPING to meet them bc again super tiny venue there was maybe like 50 ppl in the crowd at most
this is the first show I did not buy a shirt from bc "we didn't do shirts- everyone does shirts"
at one point I noticed Walt was sitting at a table and then noticed that Nick was BEHIND ME at the merch table and there were these two kids that kept talking to both of them and I didn't want to interrupt bc I don't even listen to these guys I just think they're cool
Walt came up to me and i asked if he has insta and he disappeared for a minute and came back with a business card and we talked about the design for his new album
I mainly came for Nick bc he's the only one I knew of prior to this show and I didn't want to interrupt those two dudes talking to him so I just waited patiently at a table nearby and at one point Nick just beelined to me bc he knew I was waiting and said hi and jfc he's so charming it was HARD not to catch feelings yet another time after a show
i thanked him for getting me into the show and i already had my camera out so I held down the scroll button and all the photos flew by like a fast slide show playing the whole show in reverse and he was like "woahh :o"
did I mention how charming he is like uwuwuwuuwuwu
I told him how i saw him in harrisburg back in May with The Struts and how I was kinda happy Adam wasn't there bc i got to see him instead and he was like 🥺
he said he liked my earrings (big sparkly lightning bolts) and i said I got them at 5below and he was like what's that :o so I told him and i think he realized what I said bc he just kinda smacked his forehead and went "oh- duH"
i asked him for a photo and the second I put my front camera on us we both simultaneously went to fix our hair, to which i said "ugh i hate my bangs" and he said "I think they're cool bangs c:" and I think my heart stopped
the photo of us looks SO GOOD??? literally best pic i've ever gotten with an artist??
that was basically it, I hung around for another minute and then left
bonus:
so i had to park in a parking garage a block away. you get a ticket and have to put it in a machine when you come back. the machine sucks it up and you pay. well turns out it gives it BACK TO YOU AFTER U PAY and that's how you GET OUT OF THERE?? so me being a dumbass took my change and went back to my car and when i was trying to get out the barricade wouldn't lift bc it WANTED ME TO INSERT A CARD??? i was like BUT I PAID???? luckily this maintenance officer guy was there and saw me leave my car and opened up the barricade for me and I was like :#D thanx sorry I've literally never had to pay to be in a parking garage before
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An Untitled, Unfinished Poem (I Suppose)
You are a bath of goodness
You are a towel after rain, a dog with velvet ears needing to be scratched
Early May, or late August bursting with harvest
You are the steam rolling off the pie and the neatly organized satisfaction of saying something right
You, too, are the silliness of Halloween, the ache in that space of time between seeing a lover and the deep need for home
Don’t cover up your eyes when I tell you something wonderful and truthful, which could be
That you are the yearning and the comfort for being held, the prick of eyes being pinched into an unavoided smile
June in all her loveliness
I, however, do not regret to inform you that I am the blades of grass clinging to your wet skin
The first day back from break
Loose change in your pocket, an unexpected bite on the tongue, the color scheme of Easter
Politics
The word left hanging on the tip of the tongue, tax day and the dangerous task of removing a wet swimsuit
I am also the deal you missed, a burnt turkey in the oven and the part of the song that skips
But—returning to you—my dear, you are the mystery of autumn, a clean fleece blanket in a cabin, in a photo “the good side”
The last scrape of cheesecake on the plate after the candles have burned down, speaking of which,
I don’t think you are the cake at a party, but certainly the glow of candles on the faces and the beautiful uneven strings of voices carrying the tune of loveliness to someone born that day
You are the moment of skin touching before and during sex in the milky morning light and you are midnight snacks in the dark
The froth of cream like a cloud, the crackle and fizz of a celebratory drink, heralded as a toast
You are the soft, swadleness of a baby that is not yours, but which you hold just as carefully, if not more so
The sound of rollerblades and laughter
Furthermore, the bubbling feeling before an airplane takes you somewhere special
You are unexpected mist kissing skin on a broiling day and sea glass picked up by gentle sand-speckled hands
You are the comradery shared by the unanimous laughter in a theater, the anticipation of a good story’s resolution
The first real kiss
You are not the tissue administered after crying, but the pleasant exhaustion after something, even unknown, has been resolved
The perfect nap, the weight lifted, butter pressed into homemade bread, the smell of something warm being cooked in the morning
Don’t worry, I can see the look on your face as this list grows longer and longer, I have a few good things about myself too.
I don’t see why I must share them, but your eyes tell me I must
So how about tomorrow?
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music education textbooks
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On a par with programs in art, theater, dance and other areas of study, correspondence courses in music are also available. Music courses by correspondence offer students much flexibility to engage in self directed study. A number of music schools offer complete correspondence courses in sound engineering and music production, with a well-rounded industry curriculum.
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I think most parents and educators view music curriculum as just an "extra," something fun for their students to do to express themselves. While this may be true, the art plays a much more important role in the development of children than previously thought. The humanities go back as far as time has been recorded. Mankind has always expressed his inner thoughts and emotions through music, storytelling and dance. That fact alone, should tell us something about the importance of music in the development of a well-rounded human being.
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Secondary students who participated in band or orchestra reported the lowest lifetime and current use of all substances (alcohol, tobacco, illicit drugs). Texas Commission on Drug and Alcohol Abuse Report
Students who participate in arts learning experiences often improve their achievement in other realms of learning and life. In a well-documented national study using a federal database of over 25,000 middle and high school students, researchers from the University of California at Los Angeles found students with high arts involvement performed better on standardized achievement tests than students with low arts involvement. Moreover, the arts-involved students also watched fewer hours of TV, participated in more community service and reported less boredom in school.
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Rundfunk-Sinfonieorchester Berlin, Vladimir Jurowski, Leonidas Kavakos in ADDA Alicante
There isn't anything standard about execution, nothing unsurprising about experience, except if, obviously, it is depleted of all correspondence by a basic to supply an item. Then, maybe really at that time, injuries of structure dominate and rule. What's more, a show program including Mozart's Wear Giovanni Suggestion, the Brahms Violin Concerto and afterward Schubert's 10th Ensemble may very well sound somewhat OK, exceptionally defenseless to the sort of conveyance that could pander first to crowd assumptions and really at that time to understanding. Assumptions were along these lines not high, however it was charming to be back in Alicante's ADDA theater without assigned empty seats to uphold social separating. Essentially we were a crowd of people once more.
Underlying feelings were that this visiting Symphony, the Rundfunk-Sinfonieorchester Berlin, would be minuscule, since the seats organized on the stage appeared to leave huge spaces. Yet, to some degree in the size of organization, none of these works approaches the self important, in spite of the way that Schubert obviously applied the term to his work's length.
Truth be told, how should any show be viewed as uninteresting when the guide is Vladimir Jurowski and the soloist Leonidas Kavakos?
Furthermore, what might be said about, from first note to endure, the brilliant splendid sound of this ensemble's strings? They have a surface that appears to be sharp, in its assault, not its resonance! There is by all accounts an edge, Timespure for need of a superior word, that shapes the expressions of the music into something substantially more than multiplication, considerably more than perusing off the page.
The splendor of the sound astonishments, delivering even the totally natural into new experience.
As Mozart's suggestion was reasonably emotional, yet in addition new and, surprisingly, amazing. Following a month without instrumental sound, the initial harmonies did something amazing.
Vladimir Jurowski is tall. Leonidas Kavakos is taller. During the long instrumental prologue to the Brahms concerto, he confronted the symphony. This, most likely, was something like a sign of how much this soloist viewed the symphony as his accomplice instead of as his vehicle. Furthermore, the Brahms concerto is an incorporated work, a genuine cooperation among symphony and soloist, never a contest. The nature of shared experience was conveyed impeccably by the entertainers thus, even in this work that the crowd had heard so often previously, they by and large inhaled outside air into the amphitheater. Also, the crowd inhaled uninhibitedly, in spite of the covers. The flawlessness accomplished in front of an audience converted into a forty-minute execution that was gotten by a stuffed crowd in complete quiet, with each note enlisted and each expression comprehended. This was correspondence, not simple fortitude. Leonidas Kavakos offered a reprise of solo JS Bach and, after the Brahms, the misleading statement was practically more extreme than what had gone before it.
In certain hands Schubert's 10th Ensemble, the supposed Extraordinary C Major, can continue a little. This exhibition was publicized as enduring fifty minutes, so obviously not every one of the rehashes were played. They seldom are.
Yet, it should be recorded that under Jurowski's twirly doo, this extensive work seemed to be new, unique and committed. There was not a solitary note in the hour when anybody in the crowd felt that this was standard collection being conveyed with standard understanding. This felt especially unique.
The subsequent development, close by the threesome segment from the scherzo, could be confused with Mahler, very nearly a century ahead of schedule. It merits recollecting, as the program notes brought up, that Schubert never heard the work, that it was not debuted until more than 10 years after its arranger's demise and that, at that point, performers who saw the work considered it is troublesome, unplayable and presumably numerous different things that they dare not say since it didn't adjust with their assumptions. Or on the other hand maybe, given a cutting edge relationship, they considered the work expected as being over their head. This presentation by the Rundfunk-Sinfonieorchester Berlin under Jurowski repeated a feeling of newness and innovation, maybe something like Schubert had imagined, the sound world that beguiled the writer's counterparts. This time the secret was illuminating.
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Red rocks shuttle
#RED ROCKS SHUTTLE FULL#
They also emphasize that they could reduce the capacity at any point if they find it too difficult to manage. They also set up dedicated rules within hot spots such as the restrooms, visitors center, and trading points. They will still enforce all the rules, from social distancing to nose masks. While they keep increasing their capacity, the theater remains clear that they will work in line with the pandemic conditions in the state. Yet again, at the start of June, the Thatcher announced that they are increasing their capacity and accepting well over 10,000 people from the 21st of June. This was primarily because the theater announced an expansion in its controlled capacity for fans. In May, the forecast was to increase by over 3500 people. The rough estimate for the arriving crowd was set at 2500. In April alone, surrounding hotels saw a massive swamp of visitors and fanatics. In May, however, they opened their doors to more people. This meant that several people were not allowed to enter the theater.
#RED ROCKS SHUTTLE FULL#
Red Rocks Amphitheatre at full capacity May/June 2021ĭuring April, to manage the pandemic spread, Red Rocks Amphitheatre opened its doors to a controlled number of visitors. They also incorporated live viewing for those who cannot travel to the venue. Their 738 acres of land set aside for hiking is now more utilized and dedicated not just to show its geological beauty but to accommodate the teeming visitors. For that, the venue located west of Mile High City was set up to ensure social distancing. Although they were determined to resume, the theater is still very much dedicated to fulfilling all the rules of the pandemic prevention system. How this will happen is yet to be announced, but we can look forward to an entertaining year. However, they plan to include that into their already packed schedule for the year. The theater closed around April in 2020, so all shows scheduled were halted. They can also expect to see shows that have been postponed from 2020. One thing is sure the event will encompass a lot of grand live music performances from major stars. The theater has provided live music from the most significant stars like the Beatles and Sting, and much more. For enthusiastic visitors interested in knowing what shows will be held, they can look through the long-standing events hosted by the theater from 2012. From then till the 14th of November, the theater plans to offer non-ending performances. On the 22nd of April 2021, the theater officially resumed after months of closure. Thankfully with a better year ahead, Red rocks are set to offer a schedule-packed event. No shows were held, leading to a break in the string of successful shows. However, due to the pandemic of 2020, a massive stop was made to the theater. For years the theater has run successfully without interruption. The schedule plan is extensive, with shows covering music, drama, comedy, and more. Red Rock 2021 Concert Scheduleįor 2021, a lineup of activities is listed for this city of Denver, Colorado-owned theater. Here is a thorough guide to assist you in finding your way to the theater no matter your departing destination. For tourists and enthusiasts who want to taste this mega stage, nothing an effortless visit is vital. The audience base of this Amphitheatre expands across the globe. In total, the band has performed 15 times on national television including appearances on Ellen, The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon, The Late Show With Stephen Colbert, Austin City Limits with more to come in the coming months.Red Rocks Amphitheatre is a theatrical show and concert host that provides various audiences entertainment in all classical genres yearly. They have appeared in Cameron Crowe’s Roadies, with music featured in countless other commercials, films and TV, among them Corona, Silver Linings Playbook and more. The band’s high energy live show has sold out six previous Red Rocks and established their status as a touring powerhouse, having landed prime time mainstage slots at Coachella, Lollapalooza and Austin City Limits. The track has seen 100 million streams globally with weekly streams over 1 million in the U.S. “Honeybee” became a fan favorite and breakout track from the band’s fourth full-length album, Living Mirage, released on Warner Records / Reprise Records to critical praise in 2019. Their next two albums, 2013’s Let’s Be Still and 2016’s Signs of Light, settled into Billboard’s Top 10 albums chart, with Signs of Light securing the #1 position on Rock Album Charts. Initially self-released in 2011, The Head And The Heart’s self-titled breakout debut produced instant classics including “Rivers and Roads,” “Down In The Valley” and “Lost In My Mind” (#1 at AAA) and is now Certified Gold.
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2:15 AM EDT April 5, 2024:
Led Zeppelin - "Hots On For Nowhere"
From the album Presence
(March 31, 1976)
Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm
Much in the same way that the lyrics to The Beatles' "Glass Onion" acknowledged with a nod and a reluctant wink the gnostic cult of Paul-is-Dead, the packaging of Led Zeppelin's Presence acknowledged the I'm sure at-least-somewhat-discomfitting fact that their group had long since become the most humongous rock band in the world.
By the time of The White Album, and by the time of Presence, respectively, things had gotten to the point where expedience was no longer expedient. The Beatles had tried not to feed the conspiracy theorists, and Zeppelin--modest at least in this one regard--had stayed away from licensing lunchboxes and appearances on Don Kirshner's Rock Concert. But at a certain point, things get so big, and so plain, that they become the elephant in the room.
Presence seems to be Zep's acceptance of their own status (beyond even their own control) as Big Dumb Object, an enormous artifact of unfathomable consequence.
That's dumb as in "incapable of speech," not as in "stupid," just so we're straight. But since we're there, let me note that Presence perhaps more than any Zeppelin album save II demonstrates that a certain amount of stoopidity is unavoidable or even desired if you're going to play the cock-rock game.
Plant's lyrics to "Achilles" reference some etching or the other of William Blake's, so my point is not to disparage Zeppelin's obvious operational intelligence. Still, Zeppelin were all about contrast: I dare you to check out the live video from '77, and tell me that Plant's suggestive mannerisms as he sings the band's 11-minute epic aren't a little stoopid . . . .
Ah, but I digress, 'cause the key concept here is not "Dumb" but "Big." Think thunder. Think "Hammer of the Gods," if that helps.
After four albums where at least part of the idea had been to leaven the heaviness with keyboards or acoustic instruments, Presence was a return to the undiluted bombast of the second album. Guitar bass drums voice recorded in a mere 18 days--not necessarily simple, but certainly direct.
The instrumental contrasts that for good or ill had been there on III, IV, Houses of the Holy, and Physical Graffiti were absent on the band's seventh album--and maybe that's why it's long been their least popular. Funny thought, that: maybe Zeppelin were so goddamned popular not because of the parts that rocked, but because of the parts that didn't!
I don't want to go overboard, however. I don't want to make it sound as if Presence were a piece of the nascent pub rock of the time, because the very first track belies that. "Achilles" is the third longest studio track for the band and features perhaps Page's most intricate guitar orchestration, with as many as 12 overdubs. It's routinely described as proggy, or even Yes-like (and if you don't believe that, consider that Dream Theater is one of the many acts who have covered the song). And note that Jonesy is playing an eight-string bass.
Leave it to this band of contrasts to feature a 10-1/2 minute song about a Greek demigod with painstakingly multitracked guitars on their back-to-basics record . . . Presence is perhaps Led Zeppelin's most misunderstood album, but for Page Plant Jones & Bonham, that may have been The Object all along.
File under: The Object Of It All
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Chloé Replica Tasche Classic Geldbörse Vintage Chloe
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Okay so today I am thinking about how fucking LAVISH the Nate/Sophie* wedding was.
All of the gorgeousness of a "rich people who can throw as much money as they want at something and (at least one of which) appreciates fine things" wedding but with NONE of the stuffiness. Priceless antique decorations?? Sure! Climb all over and play around with them as much as you want!!! Enjoy the space!!! Fuel your creative urge to play!!
And it's not that minimalist bullshit either, like it is EXPERTLY coordinated in all colors AND eras of art qnd decorative styling - almost like how a museum sets up its different areas with different themes.
So Many Good People!! Sophie's theater kids, The Brewpub Staff, a who's who of everybody they've saved and kept in contact with
The FOOD!!! So Eliot, despite some grumbling, was probably not ALLOWED to handle this. Like. "Eliot, we want you AT the wedding, enjoying the day with us! Not spending all your energy having to prepare and serve for it!" BUT he also would NOT have allowed them to have anyone but The Masters of the craft in his stead. Pulled so many strings with so many of his contacts and got a string of A-Listers to head up the cooking staff (although "Alice" still got Peggy's catering company to handle the set up, serving, etc. - similar reasoning on Peggy not being in the kitchen, Parker wanted her to just enjoy the wedding).
Hardison getting some SERIOUS musical talent for the reception lined up - I'm talking live performances from everybody's favorite artists, not to mention the kind of lighting rigs and special effects and OH WOW of COURSE he handled the like, whole A/V sideshow presentation whatever for the reception like, figuring out a cover story close enough to the truth to be Real but also, uh... tweaked just enough not to tip off all the civilians in attendance, let alone the law enforcement. Bonano might be willing to go to bat for them, but he doesn't want to push things too far with McSweetin present.
They don't invite Sterling. This is because they KNOW Sterling will find out show up anyway, and kind of enjoy him showing up all disgruntled and snippy. They probably set like, a little trail of conspicuous behavior for him to follow, and he thinks he's gonna catch them in a con (ESPECIALLY after he arrives at a CRAZY expensive looking function- typical of where they might try and corner a mark) but when it's revealed it's there wedding he's actually kind of offended he wasn't 'invited' and it's sort of adorable. Sophie's like "What do you mean we don't care, Sterling? Of course we do! We know how much you like figuring out our little puzzles, an outright invitation would have been too... too..." "Gauche." "Ooh, YES Nate, exactly, too gauche. We're so glad you made it on time for cake!" Olivia has already been there for like two hours enjoying the party because she was personally invited by Nate and whisked away by The Kids while Sterling was busy following their breadcrumbs.
Just. Everybody DELIGHTING in a fancy party. All the people who don't normally get to go to things like these having a fucking BALL because it's not just gorgeous and expensive with formal aesthetic, its also CASUAL in energy and social mood so like... it's not like anyone's afraid of saying the wrong thing or breaking something, it's just LOVELY and FUN and OBSCENELY LAVISH
The OT3 gets to really enjoy it as well, since for a change they get to attend a Fancy Party without having to WORK it, like this is good, this is a good thing, that they don't have to do anything but relax and enjoy themselves and have a nice romantic night all dressed up at a nice party full of very expensive things that have been very explicitly legally purchased and owned so it's all above board yep this is good one night to celebrate with absolutely nothing... nothing to... steal...
okay yeah they DO all three disappear for like an hour while they dash across the street to like, a museum across from the ballroom or down the road from the garden venue or SOMETHING, just a quickie last-minute no pre-planning (to keep things challenging) heist in their nice formal wear and Nate and Sophie will never even have to know.
(The happy couple does, of course, notice the new tears in previously immaculate clothing and the rumpled hair and sweat and smudged makeup from various vent crawling and security neutralizing and other such strenuous activities, but Sophie just smirks and makes a sly comment about "sneak away for some fun?" and let's them blush and stammer and assume she may have meant something else. After all, she and Nate chose a venue close to that lovely little museum collection for a reason. C'mon. They know their kids.)
All in all it's just a DELIGHTFUL, LAVISH, GORGEOUS celebration, good times are had by all, the various fabrics are exquisite and the food is decadent, a rather Big To-Do that leaves everyone swaying, drained and exhausted in That Good Way come the end of the night, and Nate and Sophie just dance slowly as the last song plays and the adhesive gives out on a few of the streamers and curtains, gossamer whites and silky golds and silvery confetti drifting down around them. Sharing that silent twinkle in their eyes that confirms that this was a very lovely night, and that they will not, in fact, be telling The Kids they actually got married three days ago when the pressure of The Whole Thing just rose too much and the snuck away in the night to elope in a small private ceremony on the boat of an old captain friend because that's all they really needed anyway. Still, a lovely party though. Even more enjoyable with that stress off of it.
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Show Review: Louis Tomlinson fills YouTube Theater with warm energy for sold out final tour stop
Finding solo success after the astronomical rise of One Direction may have seemed daunting from the outside, but Louis Tomlinson weathered obstacles and hardship to make his own mark on music. Finally, he was able to bring his world tour to Los Angeles this week for two sold out shows at the brand new YouTube Theater.
Having honed his skills on some of the largest stages in the world, it’s no surprise that he brings the same presence and confidence to his own show. He took the stage to the deafening shrieks of a packed house, visibly happy to be back in front of fans after postponing this tour several times during the pandemic.
The room was bathed in warm colors that matched the vibe of Tomlinson’s setlist, which kicked off with the empowering “We Made It” and a fan-favorite cover of One Direction’s “Drag Me Down”. Tomlinson tethered himself to his mic stand, but took plenty of opportunities to walk the length of the stage and make every moment special for the fans.
Much of Tomlinson’s debut album consisted of raw, honest ballads and that energy filled the theater on songs like “Too Young” and “Fearless”. The room was prepared, waving all manner of signs and lightsticks in time with his soaring vocals and stellar band- even at one point joined by a full string section for even more dimension.
Tomlinson expressed his incredible joy all night long, calling the tour “fucking incredible” before adding covers by both Catfish and the Bottlemen and Kings of Leon to his already amazing setlist. “Habit” drew some of the loudest screams of the evening while yet another underrated 1D track- “Little Black Dress”- took the adrenaline in the room to the next level.
The main portion of the set concluded with a massive sing-a-long to “Walls” before Tomlinson re-emerged for an encore that included yet another 1D song and ended with rock banger “Kill My Mind”.
Each member of One Direction has found their own sound in their solo careers and Tomlinson’s niche brought the rocker out in everyone on this tour. Seeing his genuine smile and thrill at performing again certainly had diehard fans emotional by the end of the night. As he goes on to the international portion of the tour, fans here in the States are already eagerly awaiting new music and the chance to be together again.
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