#i really do love tacky real estate listings

[eugeniedanglars]

BEYOND obsessed with this house in fort worth, texas i mean

okay pretty normal, let’s look at the interior photos—

WHAT THE FUCK

here we see the first example of a pattern that will recur throughout the house, which is that once your eyes adjust to the bonkers dictator chic marble-and-gilded-everything, you notice some pretty egregiously shoddy workmanship. look at how that baseboard intersects with the outlet. look at how the marble... uh, thing on the wall (i was gonna call it a fireplace but it’s not a fireplace, i have no idea what that is) has gaps and weird angles wherever two pieces meet. it’s like they’re trying to recreate versailles on an ikea budget

i... don’t hate the kitchen. i mean, obviously it’s ugly and #toomuch and there was zero effort made to match the very modern appliances and sink to the cabinets, but still, i’m a sucker for a pass-through and a big sink with a window above it.

this ceiling Fucks but the wrinkly, uneven curtains and terrible caulking around the faux-column in the middle anti-Fuck

why did we suddenly completely switch aesthetics. why is there an old TV set into the wall at floor level. why is there a tiny set of doors next to it. why does the fireplace look like an asset ripped from the original dark souls. i feel a sinister presence sucking at my soul the longer i look at this photo

i feel like whoever designed this monstrosity started with the dining room and then once they’d finished it realized they’d blown half their budget on just this one room. it’s so overdecorated that the gaudiness feels intentional, like it’s a statement rather than a side effect of genuine tastelessness. i can applaud that.

here we have the antithesis of the dining room. i don’t know what this room is supposed to be but i hate it. i’m pretty sure everything in this photo literally came from ikea. there is a lack of commitment here and it is rancid

ladies, gentlemen, distinguished colleagues, we have now hit the cornerstone of any great tacky real estate listing: the heart-shaped bathtub! this one gets bonus points for being next to a gilded mirror and surrounded by bright red damask wallpaper. as a bathtub i’d give it a 1/10 because those angles look incredibly uncomfortable, but as a place to shoot my lover through the heart while wearing a gauzy fur-trimmed bathrobe before fleeing with our ill-gotten fortune i’d give it a solid 11/10

here we are with the lack of commitment again. this literally looks like the kitchen in my college dorm but with a weird fringey lamp and some curtains that are absolutely too long for their windows

again, the mix of styles here is just killing me. half damask wallpaper and carved wall panels, half normal-ass bathroom? really? isn’t there anything truly unhinged left in this house? anything truly opulent, decadent, off the chain, extravagant, gaudy—

THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT BAY BEE!!! THAT’S MORE THE FUCK LIKE IT!!! COMMIT! TO! THE! BIT! GO BIG OR GO HOME! IF YOU’RE GONNA STICK A CEILING DOME IN THE FOYER OF YOUR SUBURBAN TEXAS HOUSE IT HAD BETTER BE TWELVE FEET IN DIAMETER AND PAINTED WITH DOZENS OF FLOWERS OR ELSE WHAT THE FUCK ARE WE EVEN DOING HERE??

and finally, to close out the show, a reminder that this entire acid trip of a real estate listing took place in an ordinary, modern single-story house in texas, one with a backyard and utility boxes on the exterior walls and neighbors who may be blissfully unaware that they live mere feet from a yawning pit of madness.

i love tacky real estate listings.

#real estate #idk how the fuck to tag this i just really need people to experience it with me #long post for ts #house hunting #(except not really because it's not for sale and also who in their right mind would want to live here) #there are more photos at the link fyi!! #i really do love tacky real estate listings #when i was looking at apartments in the winter i found this brand new $13 million mansion that was just. so fucking tacky #not as tacky as this mind you but still pretty tacky #architecture #spaces #also i'm sorry for the lack of image descriptions but 1. i've been up since 5 AM and my brain is shutting down #and 2. i honestly don't know how the fuck to describe what i'm seeing in these photos #eta: yall i literally tried to write image descriptions the day after posting this and got exhausted halfway through #because there's just so much going on and half the time idk what the fuck i'm looking at #i'm still gonna try to do them!! but it's going to be a multi-day process #also for the record i know the bathtub looks like a sink but i'm 90% sure it's a tub #i didn't include them but the listing has other photos of that bathroom that show the actual sink #so unless whoever made this monstrosity decided to put a second larger sink in the floor (which i wouldn't put past them) it's a tub #over 1k #over 10k

[welllpthisishappening]

Step Into the Light

In which Emma ponders the pros and cons of carpeted steps, how ugly that couch is, and how exactly to pay for a house in a town prone to fairy tales with a boyfriend who is still kind of dead, knows far too much about modern bathroom design, and has started wearing a sword with his jeans. That last thing’s making it a little difficult to focus on the rest, honestly. 

Or: Emma and Killian talk about their house while sitting in an Underworld-version of it, and finally acknowledge how ridiculous the Storybrooke real estate market is. But, like, with feelings! 

-----

Word Count: 3.4 and change

AN: In my never-ending quest to make characters actually talk about things, especially in an Underworld setting, here’s a quick story without much plot, some kissing, and some of those previously advertised feelings. Don’t bother telling me that cap is not in their house, I know. As always blame @shireness-says​ for me posting things. She’s very nice and is always, like, yeah, put that on the internet. 

-----

Maybe they should put carpet on these stairs. 

She’s got no idea how to do that. Or who would do it. One of the dwarves, maybe? They’ve got to have handy-man type skills. They built that cottage her mom stayed at in the Enchanted Forest one time. She thinks, at least. Emma’s not sure handy-man is the right word, either. 

And she should probably apologize to the dwarves before requesting anything of them. Like, as a unit or a group, or whatever. For the freezing thing and the tree thing, and she genuinely has no idea if anyone did anything about Dopey, but she also figures after you get one guy out of a tree bound by ancient magic in a totally different realm, getting a dwarf back to his correct biological state is relatively easy. 

So, the dwarves could probably do this. 

Sitting on stairs without carpet isn’t particularly comfortable, after all. Maybe she should just magic carpet onto the stairs herself. Pick out a color, or a pattern and get to it. As it were. 

No, not a pattern. No one wants patterned carpet, that’s tacky and she can’t imagine it’d be very easy to clean carpeted stairs, but that’s also something she could do with magic, if she were at all inclined to think about something as mundane as magic-based cleaning and—

The floorboards creak. 

Emma wonders if they do that at home. In the right version of this house. This one is obviously messing with her mind. Which is how it’s supposed to work, she figures. 

So, points to Hades. 

It’s too big. Too many tiny, subtle differences from the space Emma only passably remembers and kind of explored, and she’s far more acquainted with the basement than any other room. Even the idea of going upstairs freaks her out. 

Open floor plans with more hardwood, and bare walls that are almost desperate to be covered with frames, but part of that desperation might just be Emma, and she’s sure the master bedroom has en suite bathroom. It’s so goddamn fancy, she can’t quite come to terms with it. Or the questions she hasn’t given voice to yet, curiosity that burns at her from the moment she wakes up to the second she manages to close her eyes. 

He’s staring at her. 

Cautious energy that practically radiates off him now, both of them dancing around subjects and possibly each other and at some point Emma is certain she’ll have to make a list to all the people she needs to apologize to. 

“You don’t look very comfortable,” Killian says, thumb hooked through one of his belt loops and that’s almost distracting, but he’s also started wearing a sword belt. Absolutely ridiculous. She hasn’t asked him where he found a sword, either. 

Can’t be his. That’s—

A stair edge is digging into her spine. 

“Is your sword on the Jolly, you think?”

One eyebrow arches perfectly, a return to something that almost feels like normal and can’t be that because Emma hasn’t made her list yet. If she makes the list, she’ll be in control. At least some semblance of. 

It’s at least in the realm of a joke. Lips still twisted, Killian’s eyes almost brighten and that’s probably impossible in a place like this, but Emma’s slightly concerned she’s losing her already tenuous hold on sanity, so she’s willing to allow herself this one thing. 

“Are you under the impression I don’t know where my own sword is?” Shrugging only serves to make it obvious how tight Emma’s muscles are, but Killian’s mouth twists ever so slightly and that’s a hint more normal she’s not sure she deserves. “Where else do you think it would be?”

“That’s why I asked.”

“Ah, so I have to answer the questions and you get to avoid them purposely?”

It’s a joke. 

And yet, for as much as it’s a rather pitiful attempt at humor, the whole thing falls flat. Or down the stairs, as it were. 

It’s entirely possible she’s the one who’s endeared. 

“Tell me why you’re sitting here.”

Emma scrunches her nose. “How much do you think we’d have to pay the dwarves to carpet these stairs for us?”

“Conversion rates are admittedly still a little out of reach for me, but I’d imagine it would take a considerable amount to get them to consider crossing the threshold.”

“Huh.”

“Gepetto might do it, though. Probably owes you, don’t you think? Several times over.”

“How do you figure?”

His eyes are definitely getting brighter. Amused and endeared and several other adjectives that also do not belong in a place that’s basically hell-adjacent. Emma’s beleaguered mind does not care. Emma’s beleaguered mind does metaphorical cartwheels as soon as Killian drops next to her, hitching up the front of his jeans along the way like that’s something the fabric needs. 

At, like, all times. 

By him, and his sword belt. She can’t cope with the sword belt and the overall tightness of his jeans. It’s a whole goddamn look. 

She can’t remember the last time she slept for more than a few hours. 

“Well,” Killian starts, “it’s rather well known that the craftsman snuck his own son into your wardrobe ahead of the Dark Curse.”

“Is it just?”

“Very gossipy town this Storybrooke.”

“Who are you gossiping with?”

“I believe you’ve met the Widow Lucas, aye?” Laughter shouldn’t happen here. Sounds unnatural, even as it tumbles out of Emma, past upturned lips and slightly looser muscles, the second of which is undeniably disgusting. Her fingers curl around Killian’s hook. “Well, over the course of my stay in her lovely and well-informed establishment, I learned a few things. So, that’s Savior point number one.”

Emma’s cheeks ache. Most of her does these days, so she’s not surprised by the additional feeling, although there is something different about this one. More pleasant. Like stretching out after a good night’s sleep. 

It’s ridiculously alive. 

“Anything that happened with the cupboard was a little out of my control,” Emma argues, “being minutes old and all.”

“No, no, I’m counting it.”

“Pirate.”

He smirks. Straight up smirks, directly at her. Until it feels like she’s been struck by lightning and normalcy and three different knuckles on Emma’s right hand crack. When she tightens her fingers. “That’s been well-established, aye. And my sword is still on the Jolly, because I—” There goes the light. Dim eyes meet Emma, clouded with the kind of shame she understands far too well. “Didn’t think I’d need it when I had another blade, but uh—where was I, exactly?”

“Documenting all the reasons Gepetto owes me.”

“Of course, of course, Sticking his son in the cupboard, wardrobe, magical box, whatever, also led to the little bastard—”

“Killian!”

“Was he not? Would you like to come up with another adjective? I’m sure we could agree on something especially creative and rather scathing.”

Rolling her eyes isn’t the perfect response, but there are also several thousand things Emma would like to call August Booth or Pinocchio or whatever he’s going by now, and it’s nice to have someone in her corner. Metaphorical or otherwise. “Anyway,” Killian continues, “the cad did a handful of things that warrant the name, and then for good measure, he went and turned to wood a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, fuck that was really only a few weeks ago, wasn’t it?”

“I believe so.”

“Shit.”

“An appropriate sentiment,” Killian agrees, and Emma’s not sure if he’s moving closer to her or she’s moving closer to him. Specifics are unimportant. Particularly when he appears to be some sort of human heater. 

Which is a very strange sentence, out of context. 

He doesn’t say anything about it. 

“So, you see, Swan, the old man certainly owes you several debts. Or the jackass—”

“—Bastard’s better, honestly.”

Kissing the top of her hair is an impossibility. There hasn’t been much kissing, really. Sitting almost on top of each other, sure. Neither one of them ever seems entirely willing to concede any personal space, as if standing too far apart will only lead to another, more permanent separation and Emma’s often wondered if he’s ever a little grossed out by how sweaty her hand gets. When she continues to hold his. 

She hopes not. 

So, kissing is off the table. 

And yet, Emma’s so sure she feels him move. Certain shifts of his shoulders and a soft exhale that seems to help her heart settle back into a biologically correct rhythm. She’s spending far too much time thinking about science.

“There is, aye. With something Henry claimed was a waterfall shower and a bath with claw feet.”

“Maybe Gepetto would be willing to carpet our stairs, then,” Emma mumbles. “Although it does seem like a lot of work, and then upkeep. There are other things we could—” She doesn’t realize what she’s said at first. Not until Killian noticeably tenses, pulling his head away from her’s, which is another marker in the kissing column she can’t even begin to acknowledge.    

     “Why are you on the stairs, love?”

She sighs. Sags under the sudden pressure in the air and the tears that almost immediately well in her eyes, staring at the awkward angle of her knees. “I wanted to know if there was an en suite bathroom with the master.”

“I have no idea what those words mean.”

Whatever sound she makes isn’t so much a laugh as another huff of wholly emotional air, but Killian’s lips twitch when Emma finally turns her head and that’s got to count for at least several things. “Is there a bathroom connected to the largest room in this exceptionally enormous house?”

“You don’t know?”

“What was that about not answering questions?”

He catches her cheek that time, a quick press of his lips that sends a shiver down her spine and roots her to the spot. As if she were otherwise capable of moving. Her knees are at like, seventy-two degree angles. It’s because her feet aren’t flat on the step. 

The banister could probably hold garland. For Christmas. Emma’s not sure she’s ever actually seen garland in real life. 

“Why would Henry ever know what a waterfall shower is?”

“I haven’t the foggiest, but he was rather impressed by it. Less so by the claw feet.”

“Sounds fancy.”

“It was,” Killian says, voice dropping ever so slightly on the past tense that also manages to twist Emma’s barely-functioning heart. One internal organ shouldn’t go through so much in a single conversation. “Is still, I suppose. In the right place.”

“Which isn’t this.”

“Is that why you didn’t go upstairs?”

Emma shakes her head. “No, no, I didn’t really when I was—well, it was never really my house, was it?”

There it is. Laid out in metaphorical black and white and hanging in the minimal bit of air between them, not the only question, but maybe the biggest question and she doesn’t want to put carpet on these stairs. 

“Can I just ask you something?”

It’s the other eyebrow that lifts this time. “You just did.”

“Bastard.”

“Not technically,” Killian objects, and the emotional whiplash of this is giving Emma legitimate whiplash. She might not let him up. She knows he won’t try to get up. “Several other rather insulting things, but I understand the confusion. What’s your question?”

“Were you going to buy this house?”

“I certainly would have liked to.”

“With dubloons and a questionable exchange rate?”

Killian tilts his head. Several strands of hair fall dangerously close to his eyes and that one arched brow. “We’ve already covered my tendency to err towards piracy, love. Occasionally that lead to—”

“—Booty?”

“A fabrication of your more modern and occasionally crass realm.”

“So you don’t have buried treasure.”

He gapes at her. As if the suggestion is insulting somehow. “Who would bury treasure? Seems like quite a lot of work only to guarantee more later. I have a passable assortment of coin from various realms—”

“—Do you know those conversion rates?”

“Swan.” 

Emma squeezes her hand. Resists the real urge to swing her legs perpendicular over his, if only to help the overall state of her knees. Both of which may very well be frozen like this. “Are there jewels on your ship as well, Captain?”

“A variety, in fact.”

“Where are you hiding those? I was fairly certain we’d seen most of the ship.”

From that questionably large bay window in the sitting room. 

Color dots his cheeks, a victory Emma is going to cling to for at least the next seventy-two hours in this hell hole. Killian kisses the bridge of her nose. “Nothing particularly nefarious, just hidden compartments. Boxes, crates and the like. Good to keep things like that hidden from suspecting royal eyes.”

“Am I the royal in this scenario?”

“Something we’d be all too willing to overlook if you help evade taxes, Your Highness.”

Letting out another laugh that’s far shakier than Emma would like, her head falls to the crook of Killian’s shoulder. He doesn’t smell the same. Not here. No hint of sea salt, or that bit of sunlight that always seemed to cling to the leather of his jacket, but there’s still a hint of warmth and life and it’ll be easy to see the Jolly anchored in the harbor. 

This house has a sitting room. 

Her mother never made her pay rent. 

“Anyhow,” Killian continues, “there was ample choice as to how the house could be bought, and paid for. Nearly in full.”

“Shit, seriously?”

He hums. Like exchanging jewels for a house is simply part of the hum-drum of life, and not a total subversion of adulthood as Emma knew it. In theory, at least. With mortgages and interest rates, but she’s also fairly certain Storybrooke doesn’t have a bank and most of her sheriff duties just afforded her room and board at Granny’s. 

So, really she’s got a stockpile of backlogged favors and work experience and—

“I could probably help, you know.”

“With?”

“The house,” Emma clarifies. “I just—I mean, I know I kind of freaked in Camelot, but then there was the flame and that was good, and a claw foot tub really does sound stupid fancy—”

“Say stupid fancy again, please.”

“You’re not helping.”

“But you’d like to be.”

Seriously, shrugging is so lame. “In theory, I guess. We’ve just...well, you and Henry looking for a house is—”

“—Overstepping.”

“Nah, that’s not it. It’s nice, really. But if we’re going to—” Emma has to swallow. Lick her lips, Pointedly ignore whatever it is her tongue is doing, because it feels suspiciously like her tongue is growing in her mouth, and she can’t rationalize the nerves. Fluttering around the pit of her stomach. “If we’re going to live here, then we should both live here, right?”

Chuckling lightly, Killian brings Emma with him when he leans back against a stair several stairs above them. It’s not particularly comfortable, but it’s not entirely bad either and that’s probably not a metaphor for the moment. “Both of us living here was my end goal, I’ll be honest.”

“Might need you to be more specific, love.”

“Give me some of those insults you came up with for August.”

“Who was selling it? It’s weird that people sell houses, right? I thought Gold owned just about everything in this town.”

“You’re a curse behind, love.”

“Oh, shit that’s right. So—do you think there were more people from the Enchanted Forest who came over with my parent’s version? I mean, there had to be, right? Although Robin and the Merry Men came with Zelena’s garbage. Then there was—”

“My curse?”

She grits her teeth. “I can’t believe Storybrooke is still publishing a newspaper without an editor. I wonder where Sidney went. I bet Regina knows.”

“Perhaps you should conduct a census, Sheriff. As far as Henry and I knew, the house was simply available. It’s possible when your parents enacted their version of the Dark Curse, it provided more housing. Simply tapped into all that goodwill.”

“Dark Curse and goodwill seems like a contradiction.”

“Well-placed intentions, at least.”

“Like my mom saying she could pull mayoral strings to make it all official?” Emma adds, rushing over her own words now. Killian’s smiling. She doesn’t bother looking. “I guess that is nice, but...I don’t know, getting our own house on our own terms seems kind of—”

“Important?”

“Something like that, yeah. Like it’s a...shit, if I use the phrase fresh start out loud will you make fun of me?”

“Only a little.”

He’s absolutely smiling.

“That’s fair,” Emma mutters. “I guess it feels like if it’s ours, then everything else will be. Maybe a new couch though. That one was kind of...stiff.”

“Sounds suspiciously like a euphemism.”

She’s smiling too. And exhausted. And strangely, almost happy somehow. “You would think that.”

“Which also sounds suspiciously like an insult.”

“Nah, but I think I could be more enthusiastic about the tub than the showroom sofa.”

“Opens up a whole slew of bathing opportunities,” she says, tilting her head up to find the smile slowly turning to a smirk and that particular version of the glint in Killian’s eyes makes her pulse sputter. “Just saying.”

She gets it. 

“That was the euphemism.”

Like, gets it. In surround sound and with flashing lights for good measure, and the prospect of more kids isn’t really something that’s ever crossed her mind. And yet this house. With its bare walls and, she’s sure, ridiculous square footage gives her several seconds of much-needed pause, letting thoughts take root and blossom in the center of her chest and all of those thoughts deserve to be said out loud, so naturally Emma mutters: “My parents think we should go back to their loft. For, uh the foreseeable planning future.”

Idiot. 

Before. 

One thing at a time.

She’ll fix that eventually too, she’s sure. 

“I love you,” Emma whispers, not entirely expecting a return sentiment. That makes the words all the better, breathed against her jaw and that spot behind her ear, and she can’t imagine what these stairs are doing to Killian’s spleen. 

He still doesn’t move. 

Joy arrives in the middle of the Underworld on the burst of Emma’s answering laugh, magic fluttering at the back of her brain and buzzing at the tips of her fingers. The same ones somehow still curled around Killian’s hook. 

“Ours, Swan. That’s how it’s supposed to work, right?”

Ours, ours, theirs. 

“Where’d you get the sword?”

“Locksley and I stole them from a crypt we found on the other side of town.”

#cs fic #captain swan #cs ff #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #i think the stairs are carpeted #it looked that way in some of the caps i found #i do not care #nothing has ever frustrated more about this show than the dream catcher sene #or scene as it were #but slightly under that #was emma asking killian to move into a house...he picked out #like c'mon #anyway somehow they're still fun to write about #these idiots

[collective-laugh]

Detective AU - Muriel x MC Chapter 4

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three

Taglist:  @a-zoidberg-aesthetic @lesbiancountess @fartkittyonline @yaysam @y-all-dnt-ve @countgoatman-and-drleechboy @julians-chest-hair @vesuviass @caterpiller-tea @zaemoultrie75901 @saltywerewolfrebel @obsessedwiththearcana @thatsaltyseaman @xburningwitch @i-dont-speak-wolf @missrabbitart @softarcana

This chapter was highly inspired by ‘Private Investigations’ by the Dire Straits. @dr-devorak-will-seeyounow introduced me, and it fit the vibe, and I fell in love! I recommend listening while reading!

Also, please let me know if you would like me to put together some sort of playlist/mood music! I’ve done this before on AO3, and it really seems to help!

Thank you to everyone who has made this series such a success, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I have! Please let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!

Chapter Four: Private Investigations

“You’re looking more miserable than usual, Muriel.” Ludovico leans against the handrail to the back entrance of the Raven, “Which is a feat, considering you always look miserable.”

Muriel lets the cigarette dangle from his lips, still worried about her, hoping that Julian got her back home safely, that he didn’t try anything…

If he found out he so much as laid a hand on her, he’d fucking kill him.

He didn’t really know why he cared so much, and he knew the doctor well enough to know he wouldn’t be stupid enough to try anything...sober.

“‘m tired.” Muriel claims, and though it’s a half truth, he wished he wasn’t so transparent, “Don’t worry about it.”

Ludovico smirks at him, tossing his cigarette butt out in the rain, “Wouldn’t have anything to do with the little broad you walked in with, huh?”

“No.” He answers a little too quickly, a little too sharply.

He raises his eyebrows, unused to Muriel being anything other than quietly benign, and asks, “Who was she anyway?”

Muriel knew it was none of his business, but he didn’t mind Ludovico, and it didn’t hurt to talk to someone, he guessed. That was always Asra’s advice - “feelings” and “talking” and all that bullshit.

“You wanna, ah,” He waggles his eyebrows, “make whoopee with her?”

Never mind.

Muriel rolls his eyes, smashing his cigarette on the hand rail. Trying to talk to people was shit, and definitely something he didn’t want to make a habit.

“She’s a friend.” He claims, which...isn’t a lie. He’s known her for years now, and knows more about her than he probably ought to, considering just how little they talked. Asra liked to talk about her to no end, sparing no detail about just how much he missed her.

He hopes she’s gotten home safely, that she’s managed to fall asleep so she doesn’t muck up her interview with the Countess later.

The Countess...he could hardly believe that the Countess of Vesuvia herself had resorted to a backwater private detective, no offense to her or Asra. She held no real title outside of being insanely rich and being the former wife of the most prominent crime boss in the city.

Lucio sickened Muriel. The thought of him made him sneer again, and the mere idea that someone could pull the right strings and make the right deals with the right people, and all his problems, all the sick shit he did, could just disappear.

“A friend, huh? Well, the last friend I had like that ended up in my bed, compadre.” Ludovico raises his brow, his sleazy intentions obvious, “You could always give her my number if she doesn’t have someone waitin’ for her at home.”

He was about to say she did, that there was Asra or maybe even Julian waiting for her back at the office, that she wasn’t going to be in that dank little hole all on her own.

Maybe it was selfish. It was definitely selfish to want to be the one waiting for her.

He curses himself, wondering when the hell he started considering her as anything more than an acquaintance he kept at arms’ length. He’s itching for another cigarette, especially as he’s facing the stupid grin on Ludovico’s face. Instead of lighting another, he’s looking at the watch on his wrist. It was a quarter past five, which meant he was free to go.

“Maybe.” He says, trying not to sound so cryptic, but, like Asra said, it was a second nature to him.

He debates stopping back by the office. He’d sent Jules home with her around midnight, and he did want to make sure she was alright. But, something she said to him earlier stuck out like a sore thumb, something about how she could walk herself home.

She was still a grown woman, even if she couldn’t really remember who she was, and he wasn’t certain she’d be all too thrilled about his breathing down her neck.

He does light a cigarette, with Ludovico yelling something crude about her after him, and he shuts his eyes for just a moment, trying to steady himself. It had been a long night, and he was so tired, but he needed to check on her, to make sure she got home alright…

The nagging voice in his head telling him to leave her be wins, despite his instincts screaming at him to do otherwise. He walks the opposite direction, straight back home.

His place is small, modest, and...decidedly not comfortable. The landlord insisted on no pets, but as soon as she saw Muriel, she made an exception, considering she claimed, “ruffians’ll go running soon as they see you, boy!” He couldn’t live anywhere without Inanna, he knows, and was thankful to the lady - Nonna Linka, as she insisted on being called - for letting him stay.

She wasn’t up yet, like anyone with sense, so he’s alone on his trek up the single flight of stairs. He isn’t surprised to find his door unlocked, considering the damn thing had been broken for months now, and all but collapses in bed alongside Inanna.

He dreams of her, of happier times, and wishes things were simpler than he made them out to be.

_

She’s scrambling to get dressed.

It’s embarrassing; the first time in months she’s had a case, and actual, honest to God interview with a client, and she’s running around like a headless chicken trying to gather everything she needed. Asra would have been no better, she knew, waiting until the last minute for everything, but she refuses to think of him now, today, at least until she’s gotten this interview over with.

It was a murder case. Not only a murder case, but a case surrounding the Lucio Morgason. It was more than she ever could have asked for, and she was squandering it because she could quite reach the button on her dress.

Once she’s certain she’s gathered everything - and certain that she’s forgotten at least one thing - she’s out the door, only half remembering to lock it and turn the tacky neon signs off. She only barely catches the train to the Heart District, and knows she must look a mess.

A gorgeous socialite looks at her, all legs and brown hair tied up in some elaborate braid, lips painted a red far too improper for the time of day, and arches a perfectly sculpted brow, as if the very sight of her was amusing.

It was enough to send her blood boiling, and remind her exactly what she was here for.

Nadia’s house - estate, mansion, whatever - is only a seven minute walk and a four minute run from the train station, and she makes it with five minutes to spare before she was considered tardy. It takes two minutes to have her looking presentable again, another three to even reach the door and be led inside by a butler - butler! - one to have her coat taken, and another seven before she even sees Nadia.

She’s the picture of perfection, and puts that socialite from the train to shame, effortlessly beautiful with her long, black hair, and long, golden dress. She greets her gracefully, as she does all things, and ensures that they’re alone, beginning the interview in Lucio’s private library, sitting across from one another.

“Can you tell me about the last time you saw your husband?” She asks, subtly looking over to the tape recorder to ensure that it was getting all of this. Her hand stood ready, just in case Nadia said anything important, and she settles into detective mode, trying to calm herself.

“I…” Nadia wrings her hands, eyeing the white gloves she set aside moments before, as if she was debating whether or not she really wanted to hold them. “I don’t remember my husband. The accident…” She shrugs, looking everywhere but at the detective, “I didn’t know where else to turn, detective. The law is thankful he’s dead, and his ‘friends’ are starting to call for my removal.”

“Removal?” She asks, “Removal from what?”

“I’ve been acting as an interim...boss, I suppose.” She finally meets her eyes, “You must understand, detective. This city isn’t kind to us.”

Truer words had never been spoken, but she only purses her lips before asking, “Is there anyone who might have wanted to hurt your husband? Anyone he had any bad blood with?”

“He was not known for his...subtlety.” Nadia hesitates, as if the gravity of the situation was just catching up to her, “Detective, you must know that I’m willing to pay you handsomely for your services. And that the law is not to know of this.” She says it with such vindication, with such authority, that the detective feels like she has to listen.

“Don’t worry about that.” She replies, thankful her voice didn’t betray her nerves, “This conversation will only ever be heard by you, me, and my associate.”

“Asra?” Nadia inquires, like she was quizzing herself to see if she could remember his name.

The detective nods, but moves on, “Did your husband have any enemies?”

Nadia purses her lips, eyes flicking over to the tape recorder before pulling a small notepad from between the chair and its cushion, sliding it across the table toward Nadia, “I, um...I compiled a short list of people it could possibly be, or people who might have wanted him dead.”

The detective flicks through the pages, though the only writing found inside is on the first and second slips of paper. “Consul Valerius…Vulgora...these are his associates, right?”

Nadia opens her mouth to say something, closes it, and shakes her head, “They are...suspicious at the very least.”

The detective purses her lips.

This was going to be a long interview.

#arcana #the arcana #the arcana game #muriel #detective au #detective au muriel #muriel x mc #muriel x female mc #slowburn #unrequited affection #mutual pining #muriel x apprentice #slowburn already on fire guys #swearing #tw swearing #fluff #muriel the arcana #inanna #asra #asra alnazar #nadia #nadia satrinava #lucio #count lucio #julian #ludovico #brudmila #theyre the deer and rabbit guards from the beginning of the game

[rgr-pop]

Regarding the McMansion critique, some of the environmental impacts are very, very valid. But I think we tend to overlook that there are residents living in these structures. We tend to put a lot of stereotypes that we hold about the houses, and about the suburbs themselves, on these residents. The thought is that because they have a big house, the residents are anti-environmental, they don't value community, and they only care about themselves and about their privacy. These houses are assumed to be one, universal; and two, universally bad. 

I spoke to the residents that are actually living in these homes and asked them what these homes meant to them. And in doing so, a lot of the stereotypes fell apart. That’s because a lot of those stereotypes were constructed in a post-war white middle-class framework, and don’t necessarily hold up in the face of new immigrants that are moving to suburbs. [...] The McMansion becomes that symbol of a lot of things that Asian Americans aren’t doing right to assimilate. Even the design critiques of these homes are about how they’re too outlandish. They’re trying to do this faux-Mediterranean look, but they're not even doing it right. It’s too tacky, you know? That, to me, is a broader critique of immigrants never really being American enough. I challenge the notion that Asian Americans should fit into a suburban neighborhood exactly the same way a white middle class family does.

This interview with Willow Lung-Amam is the first thing I recommend reading to start unraveling the mcmansion critique and its racial tones. Her book, Trespassers: Asian Americans and the Battle for Suburbia, about Fremont, CA, is one of many studies on American ethnoburbs, but one of a handful that deals directly with the specter of the mcmansion--Lung-Amam is a professor of architecture.

I feel a few ways about what she’s saying above, that a critique of mcmansions might emerge from a well-meaning assumption of the whiteness of suburbia, (and the contents of that suburban whiteness), an assumption that no longer maps onto how (and where) people are living in America. I basically agree, and I think it’s diplomatic. But her work (and the work of others, which I’ll get to) shows that in many cases, planners, critics and neighbors actually develop this critique of the mcmansion after the act of racialization, and wield that critique politically. In some cases, even, the same problematic houses don’t become a problem until they become inhabited by problem residents. 

But take this a little blurb on Fremont: mcmansions are built in suburbs that look like a different kind of suburb, and that difference is made political through zoning, design review, etc. Those quotes in there are really something. In this case, it would be hard to convincingly argue that neighbors imposed an existing critique of the white mcmansion onto their neighbors. In their case--and this is my first major stake in this argument--the “white suburb” is imagined to be single-story, a modernist suburb. The whiteness of, say, the modernist ranch, is just as fantastical as the whiteness of the mcmansion, but it’s become unfashionable to make such a critique of those postwar suburbs, and I really don’t think it’s because your average Curbed content creator has read Andrew Wiese’s Places of Their Own, Bruce Haynes’s Red Lines, Black Spaces or Becky Nicolaides’ My Blue Heaven, or any of the other new suburban histories that complicate a history of white spaces (and white architecture). In fact, I think a rise in critique of the excessive mcmansion* has bolstered a new and growing mythologizing of modernist architecture, one that is intimately connected to what’s happening to modernist real estate right now. Remember that Curbed is a real estate website.

*to be clear, there have been critiques of the mcmansion since the mcmansion has existed, and these critiques have come from a lot of different perspectives. but it is true that these critiques have been multiplying, as have their platforms.

But I really agree with Lung-Amam’s implication that as architecture critics, we (yes we, I can be whatever I want to be) can’t know anything by looking, certainly not (ffs) by looking at staged real estate listings. Or, let me rephrase: what can we know about a space, just by looking? That’s my second major stake in this game, and it is my biggest fucking stake. Eight years ago Alexandra Lange wrote that Nicolai Ouroussoff's criticism "shrinks the critic’s role to commenting only on the appearance of the architecture. He might have been the perfect critic for the boom years, when looks were the selling point, but this formal, global approach seems incongruous in a downturn,” and, not to lowkey call out someone I look up to in the field, but what do we have now? We have 1000 words on how the style of houses that were made after the fifties is Bad.

Let me take a few steps backward, because what I just said is not actually my stake. It’s not that I’m unconcerned with image in architecture, and it’s absolutely not that I’m concerned only with program and function (god, function) in architecture. It’s also not even that I care that much that architecture critics can’t think themselves out of a paper bag with Style written on it. It’s that I outright reject an architecture criticism that mistakes a taste objection for a political position. It’s hollow and it is, wholesale, in every case, racist. I’ve been listening to a lot of Vincent Scully lectures lately and I find it hard to believe that this great defender of play and eclecticism, a man who told students that Venturi reclaimed wallpaper as a feminist statement and that anti-ornament manifestos of the turn of the century were homophobic, was really paving the way for us to write about how disgusted we are by an Armenian doctor’s Greek fountain, or that Muslim-Americans should plan the spaces of their home more economically if they want into the polity. Ohhkay! I feel I’ve digressed again.

As you know, my main fight is about interiors. And I’ve learned a lot by watching a meme critique of staged interior decoration launch itself to the top of so-called architecture criticism. Just as you can’t look at the elevation of house and learn (as much as people want to believe) about the sociopolitical content of that home, I believe it’s either dangerous or useless to stake social claims based on a photograph of an interior. I mean: looking at interior space, represented, instead of asking (not rhetorically asking), why might the people who live in this space have configured it as such? what is this space used for? where did these items come from?, the mcmansion critique says: this is wrong, it’s repulsive, it’s amoral. And worse: my revulsion is not only a critical position, but an ethical one. Questions become accusations: Why would anyone need an extra set of bedrooms? Why would anyone need an empty room with a stupid persian rug on the floor? Why would people want to have Mediterranean or Chinese things in their home? Why would an Australian have a corrugated metal roof? Moralistic judgments about lifeways based on the scopic only. I use “scopic” here because I think of this action as fundamentally an action upon, and I want to frame dumbass ethocentric judgment (cast as “criticism”) as a mode of cultural domination.

And okay, so many of these judgments are just funny mistakes that we can laugh at (why would someone in the county with the largest amount of house fires caused by lightning strikes have metal rods on their roof?). But my point is that it is a fundamentally ethnocentric (racist, is the word I like to use) (we’re just going to set “disabled people exist” aside entirely for now) project to advance a critique of bad taste (style) from a position of practicality, one centered on what you understand to be the right way to inhabit a space. Really a lot of words for something very simple! Really impossible to convince anyone of this! And, I conclude, the mcmansion critique is not a political critique, and (you’re gonna hate to hear this, tough love) a politics can’t emerge from a taste claim. The mcmansion critique is nothing more than a taste claim, one very hastily staked. 

I actually came here to offer you a short bibliography and nothing else, whoops! I mention Lung-Amam’s work as the one that I’ve found really takes the category of the mcmansion to task, looking at what was just as often called the “monster house” in Fremont. Denise Lawrence-Zuniga, an anthropologist, wrote a book about Southern California historical preservation (Protecting Suburban America) with a chapter on San Gabriel Valley’s Alhambra. That chapter looks at the conflicts between the preservation board, design review board, planning commission etc. and residents, specifically immigrants. She notes how different understandings of governmentality (as in, the need to get certain kinds of permits, etc.), and different ways of living created conflict between local government and immigrants. There are bits about planners’ paranoia about remodels that promote density, like adding too many extra rooms to a historic house, or remodeling interiors in a way that might encourage subletting, that I find pretty disturbing. But the author only mentions the major point: these forms of intensive governmentality in the name of historical preservation were put into place as Alhambra witnessed the transition of nearby suburbs into ethnoburbs. Preservationist policy emerged as a governmental response to a perceived loss of white control. (Much has been said about Arcadia, Chinese investor development, “mansionization.” h/t @prettylittlecrier for this article!) I can’t say that I recommend this book entirely, unless you’re involved in preservation planning.

I’m not sure we can accurately call all of these homes in the SGV “mcmansions,” but people sure love to. In Lawrence-Zuniga’s chapter, Alhambra’s bungalow landscape “needed” to be defended from Arcadia’s mansionization--larger scale teardown and redevelopment, but also from any kinds of additions and modifications to existing bungalows that would alter their scale in relation to the lot and the neighbors, as well as (importantly) their inhabited density. I think it’s worth thinking through the differences between all of these things: subdivided land developed for large houses on small lots, redevelopment for the former, large houses built for large families on small surbuban lots where more “modest” houses might have once stood, or just... big houses on big lots. 

I must have mentioned Becky Nicolaides and James Zarsadiaz’s “Design Assimilation in Suburbia: Asian Americans, Built Landscapes, and Suburban Advantage in Los Angeles’s San Gabriel Valley since 1970,” I was so excited when they published this article. They look at San Marino, and consider what they term “design assimilation” to describe the ways (and reasons) Chinese suburbanites chose to consent to preservationist codes and design review, and why they lived in a community that imposed these kinds of racialized codes:

For some, these suburban landscapes seemed to materialize positive images of America they harbored as children back in Asian home countries. Some openly appreciated the classic European inflected architecture, others the open spaces and aesthetic styles of country living. Asian suburbanites also grasped that support of American landscape aesthetics offered certain social and fiscal benefits. To their neighbors, it conveyed a willingness to assimilate through aesthetic behaviors, which helped maintain community peace and ensure social acceptance. Embracing American design styles also conferred a status distinction that positioned these Asian homeowners above those around them—including those in the ethnoburbs. In design-assimilated suburbs, property values were higher and schools were better, signaling a racialized valuing of space not lost on Asians themselves. Design assimilation, thus, was a facet of the production of affluent suburban space, in which white and ethnic Asian suburbanites played complicit roles.

They don’t pick up the McMansion explicitly, but they are marking its absence in a landscape. This is a really constructive piece, chiefly, here, as a concrete example of the ways that some suburbs were understood to be aesthetically Chinese by the eighties, that the mcmansion criticism can be seen to have been racialized by then. 

I want to close with an excerpt from anthropologist Aihwa Ong’s 1996 article, “Cultural Citizenship as Subject-Making,” which picks up the problem of taste but also the figure of international wealth, and the Chinese developer rather than the middle class Chinese immigrant:

In wealthier San Franciscan neighborhoods, residents pride themselves on their conservation consciousness, and they jealously guard the hybrid European ambiance and character of particular neighborhoods. In their role as custodians of appropriate cultural taste governing buildings, architecture, parks, and other public spaces, civic groups routinely badger City Hall, scrutinize urban zoning laws, and patrol the boundaries between what is aesthetically permissible and what is intolerable in their districts. By linking race with habitus, taste, and cultural capital (Bourdieu 1984), such civic groups set limits to the whitening of Asians, who, metaphorically speaking still give off the whiff of sweat despite arriving with starter symbolic capital.

Public battles over race/taste have revolved around the transformation of middle-class neighborhoods by rich Asian newcomers. At issue are boxy houses with bland facades--”monster houses”--erected by Asian buyers to accommodate extended families in low-density, single-family residential districts known for their Victorian or Mediterranean charm. Protests have often taken on a racialist tone, registering both dismay at the changing cultural landscape and efforts to educate the new arrivals to white upper-class norms appropriate for the city. While the activists focus on the cultural elements--aesthetic norms, democratic process, and civic duty--that underpin the urban imagined community, they encode the strong class resentment against large-scale Asian investment in residential and commercial properties throughout the city. A conflict over one of these monster houses illustrates the ways in which the state is caught between soothing indignant urbanites seeking to impose their notion of cultural citizenship on Asian nouveaux riches while attempting to keep the door open for Pacific Rim capital. 

 In 1989 a Hong Kong multimillionaire, a Mrs. Chan, bought a house in the affluent Marina district. Chan lived in Hong Kong and rented out her Marina property. A few years later, she obtained the approval of the city to add a third story to her house but failed to notify her neighbors. When they learned of her plans, they complained that the third story would block views of the Palace of Fine Arts as well as cut off sunlight in an adjoining garden. The neighbors linked up with a citywide group to pressure City Hall. The mayor stepped in and called for a city zoning study, thus delaying the proposed renovation. At a neighborhood meeting, someone declared, “We don’t want to see a second Chinatown here.” Indeed, there is already a new “Chinatown” outside the old Chinatown, based in the middle-class Richmond district. This charge thus raised the specter of a spreading Chinese urbanscape encroaching on the heterogeneous European flavor of the city. The remark, with its implied racism, compelled the mayor to apologize to Chan, and the planning commission subsequently approved a smaller addition to her house.

However, stung by the racism and the loss on her investment and bewildered that neighbors could infringe upon her property rights, Chan, a transnational developer, used her wealth to mock the city’s self-image as a bastion of liberalism. She pulled out all her investments in the United States and decided to donate her million-dollar house to the homeless. To add insult to injury, she stipulated that her house was not to be used by any homeless of Chinese descent. Her architect, an American Chinese, told the press, “You can hardly find a homeless Chinese anyway,” Secure in her overseas location, Chan fought the Chinese stereotype by stereotyping American homeless as non-Chinese, while challenging her civic-minded neighbors to demonstrate the moral liberalism they professed. Mutual class and racial discrimination thus broke through the surface of what initially appeared to be a negotiation over normative cultural taste in the urban milieu. A representative of the mayor’s office, appropriately contrite, remarked that Chan could still do whatever she wanted with her property; “We just would like for her not to be so angry.” The need to keep overseas investments flowing into the city had to be balanced against neighborhood groups’ demands for cultural standards. The power of the international real estate market, as represented by Mrs. Chan, thus disciplined both City Hall and the Marina neighbors, who may have to rethink local notions of what being enlightened urbanites may entail in the “era of Pacific Rim capital.”

#i think i'm forgetting a sociologist... #architecture #landscapes of production #interiors

[crumblepot-redirect]

For the prompts list - #8 for nygmobblepot, please, if you're so inclined?

oh, man i am so inclined hell yeah(this actually got really long? sorry?)

ask me any of the prompts from this list

8. i know we’re best friends and all, but could you maybe be my date to my cousin’s step-sister’s wedding to prove to my judgmental relatives that i can find love and that i won’t be alone for the rest of my life? + nygmobblepot (and a canon divergence where Oswald’s dad survives for the sake of a storyline, and me not wanting to put poor ed in with his family.)

When Oswald’s father divorced his wife, Oswald considered killing the woman and her two children. He considered roasting his step-siblings, cooking them up on a skewer and serving them to their mother, considered hanging them from the high vaulted ceilings of his father’s estate, considered putting their heads on stakes and leaving them in the front lawn to rot. At this point, they’re related merely by history, neither blood or law; there is nothing, for Oswald, presenting resistance to the death of these three terrible, rude people. 

And yet.

“Family is family,” his father says, and Oswald can’t really argue that, because that same sentiment is what keeps him in the family, as well. He supposes he shouldn’t bite the hand that feeds him, that keeps him connected to the only family he has— he loves his father dearly, and his extended family begrudgingly. Overall, he knows his mother would want him to be involved with them, no matter how tacky and judgmental they can be. 

The questions start as soon as Oswald reinserts himself into his family after finding himself once again. His father comes to his aid, defends him where he can, but only so much can be done. 

Sasha is bringing her fiancé to dinner, Oswald. Who will you be bringing?

Surely you must have someone. 

The clock is ticking, Oswald. You aren’t getting any younger.

No children? Not even a wife? Better hurry up.

He doesn’t know the proper way to express that his lifestyle doesn’t quite make room for children, or relationships, for that matter. Often, he jokes that the only way he’ll come into having a child is if one follows him directly off of the playground, imprinting upon him like a duckling. He doubts that will ever happen. 

When he finds out that Sasha is getting married, tearing open an invitation over breakfast while Ed reads through his mayoral schedule, he practically sinks out of his chair. No part of him wants to attend this event. 

His family will never stop asking him questions. God, even Charles has a fiancé. He’s the last one, and they’re sure to let him know. Surely, by now, they wonder if anyone will have him. Pushing thirty, it’s a terrifying existence to consider; dying alone. He’s braved death alone already, he doesn’t particularly want to do it again. It would be nice to have someone at his side. 

Oswald isn’t sure how he asks Ed. He really isn’t sure, when he tries to recall the conversation his mind blanks out and simply provides him with the moment Ed repeats it all back to him; “You want me to pose as your partner for a wedding, to prove your family wrong. That’s fair, and I’m happy to help. Remember, I don’t eat pork.” 

The entire thing is easier said than done, Oswald realizes. None of it seems to be bothering Ed, of course. He stands at Oswald’s left side, arm wrapped around the small of his back, wearing his business smile and his nicest black suit. In pinstripe, Oswald cuts a particularly regal figure next to him, as is the intention. 

Sitting in a church pew is an experience Oswald hasn’t had in years. Ed expresses, briefly before the ceremony begins, that the synagogue he went to as a child didn’t have pews, just folding chairs that would catch his jacket when he sat down. Oswald can’t help but be amused by the image; Ed, all long legs and arms, having to carefully sit down as not to have his jacket fold up. And yet, despite his apparent inexperience in such a setting, Ed fares better than Oswald does. He follows the cues to stand and sit easily, always offering Oswald a hand for assistance— Oswald has to take it every time. 

As soon as they’re allowed to leave, Oswald hauls himself out and back toward the car. He doesn’t want to be stopped by anyone, doesn’t want to talk to anyone; he wants to get in the car, he wants to have the driver take them to the reception dinner, and he wants to drink. Ed, kindly, tries to oblige. 

It’s never so simple, but they make it away from the church without any incident, except for Oswald repeatedly pretending to be on the phone in order to not have to talk to family members. 

Most everyone at the reception dinner who isn’t the family of the groom is related to Elijah’s ex-wife; few Van Dahls remain, and very few of those that do were invited to this particular event. It doesn’t help Oswald, merely makes him feel out of place at a table full of people who likely heard painfully revealing gossip about him as soon as he came into his father’s life. The bastard son, the false heir, the lesser, the criminal. 

He stands closely to Ed’s side as they greet the newlyweds, has to crane his neck to see the groom’s face. The man may be handsome, but there’s absolutely nothing behind the eyes. “What a catch, sister, dear,” Oswald says, voice dripping with insincerity and venom.

“As is yours,” Sasha offers Ed her hand, tugs him down by it to get a better look at him. “Where’d you find this?” 

“A man must have his secrets,” he puts his hand up across Ed’s chest, moves him two steps back from Sasha, “you understand.” 

The groom and Ed share a hollow glance; two men out of place but kept by conviction. Such is love. 

It feels, at least to Oswald, that everyone around them is watching them. Maybe it’s his nerves, naturally tuned into the proper level of vigilance that is required in Gotham, not so much in a wedding, purposefully held upstate. Or maybe, he’s right. 

He’s right, because Ed is doing so well. Ed is laughing at his snarky comments, corroborating his stories with what feels like a practiced ease, catching him before he can stumble, bringing him drinks and stealing hearts all the way. By all accounts, Ed is perfect. (Then again, Oswald already knew that. But to see him fawned over by such hard to please members of his family? It makes something sick and depraved in his heart twist up, like a dry heave the morning after a binge of vodka and rum. It makes him think of that night on the couch, makes him think of the way Ed’s skin gives off fireplace heat, the way Ed looks at him, over his glasses and full of trust. Oswald hears his mother in his ears; What good is love if it is one-sided? He wishes she were here.)

“You ought to marry him,” a woman says to Oswald, quite possibly someone he’s supposed to be related to, as Ed is distracted by a cousin, aunt, grandmother, someone who works in ballistics in Metropolis, “don’t let him get away. He loves you.” 

And maybe it’s a mockery. Maybe she can see right into his desperate eyes, can see through what he hopes come across as loving gazes, right into his longing, his despair, his lack of understanding as to why this is simultaneously the easiest and most difficult thing he’s ever done. Or, maybe, she sees something he doesn’t. He hopes that’s the case. 

“I intend to,” he assures her, speaking loudly enough that Ed will be able to hear him. “I just know there’s no one I’d rather have at my side than him,” Oswald puts his hand on Ed’s knee, makes a show of tensing his fingers around the soft flesh; mine it says, “he’s absolutely remarkable.” 

Ed melts under the praise, casually drops a kiss to the side of Oswald’s head when he gets up for more drinks. Neither of them try to read too heavily into it. With a driver waiting patiently in the car, there’s no excuse for either of them to endure the event sober, and being able to drink allows Oswald to pretend all of this could be real. Just for a minute. 

It all goes so well until Elijah dances with Sasha, passes her off to her new husband with a reverence that only loving fathers can have for their daughters. Oswald admires that, in Elijah; the ability to look past a grudge and see a person who lacks something he can provide. (Sasha has a father of blood, but he isn’t at her wedding, he doesn’t love or appreciate her quite like Elijah does. Elijah spent so long thinking he had no children of his own, couldn’t help himself from loving a daughter who was beautiful like he dreamed his child with Gertrud could have been. It isn’t the girl’s fault that her mother’s hand brought her up cruel and vicious; sometimes it’s safer for a girl to be cruel in Gotham, than it is for her to feel loved. He can’t hold that against her, all he can hope to do is warm a hole through the ice around her.) Oswald knows, despite his relation, he will never be able to be as forgiving as his father. 

It could be all of the alcohol in his system, but Oswald can’t help but be jealous as he watches Sasha’s husband bring her around the floor, as he comfortably dips her and suddenly everyone else is out on the floor with them. Instead of following them, Oswald tucks his chair up next to Ed’s and rubs at his ankle. He listens as Ed describes the various things he’s learned, some news old but Oswald pretends it isn’t, if nothing else but to let Ed speak uninterrupted. Absently, their hands come together and Ed gestures into Oswald’s, draws tiny diagrams with his fingertip into Oswald’s palm. 

He isn’t choked up, because he shouldn’t be. Because he’s the fucking penguin; he’s killed men, destroyed families, uprooted hundred-year-old precedents— he does not get choked up at mere gestures of domesticity. But he does, because he thinks about waking up next to Ed, he thinks about a stupid piece of metal being a representation of something so much bigger, he imagines hyphens and shared safe houses.

“What exactly is it about Oswald?” Someone asks Ed, after having distracted Ed from his lecture on the gossip in the family tree, “I can’t imagine he was your first suitor, is all.” 

“Oswald is fantastic,” Ed says, haughty, tone like he’s stating one of his various facts, tidbits of knowledge that he understands as inherently true and without question. “He’s the only one— he sees me for who I am. There’s nothing more important than authenticity, now is there?” His fingers circle around Oswald’s wrist, then slide up between his fingers, closing down and holding his hand firmly. Ed pats the top of Oswald’s hand, hums contentedly, “Though, honestly, what isn’t to love?” 

Oswald chokes on his emotionality, but covers it up as a cough. He excuses himself, squeezing Ed’s hand before disengaging in the direction of the open bar. The person talking to Ed tries to say “he’s always doing this,” and it makes Oswald want to wheel around and scream. He wants to grab them by the shoulders and say, “You don’t know me, you’ve never known me. Ed knows me,” but he knows that an outburst like that would put all of Ed’s effort to waste. And he’s obviously tried so hard. 

When he gets to the bar he orders something strong, something with vodka, and he has a few. Not enough, not by far, but when he comes back with white wine for the both of them, he’s significantly less capable of listening in to whatever Ed is saying to other people. 

“Would you like to dance?” Ed asks him, later on in the night, once the music has slowed down and the children have filtered out of the reception hall, leaving only those interested in continuing to drink and socialize. “I’m a very good dancer, you know.” 

“I’m sure you are,” Oswald says, and he means it. Ed is good at everything he sets his mind to. “With this leg, though, I’m afraid I’m not.” 

Ed sits, watches the other couples on the floor, before turning back to Oswald with a smile. “Take your shoes off,” he starts to unlace his own, “you can put your bad foot on top of mine. It’ll alleviate the pressure.” 

“I—”

“It’s tradition to dance at weddings,” he argues, “I’m sure it brings bad luck if someone refuses to dance.”

“What if I want to bring her bad luck?” Oswald is sour, though he does work at untying his own shoes and setting them beside Ed’s. He leans his cane against the table and hopes that nobody is stupid enough to try and steal it.

“Then do it for me,” Ed stands up and offers Oswald his hand, so gentlemanly it hurts, “I haven’t been able to do something like this before.” 

For the first few steps, it feels as though neither of them quite knows what to do; both drunkenly stumbling until they find their bearings within one another. Oswald gets used to the feeling of Ed lifting his foot with his own, learns to follow it with his good leg like he does his cane. Doing things traditionally is a lost cause, Oswald a little too tipsy to remember the proper positioning for his hands, so he just wraps his arms over Ed’s shoulders and settles his face against the junction of his shoulder and neck. Ed has to lean down, just a touch, to properly drape his arms around Oswald’s hips, fitting them against one another perfectly. 

“I’ve been rather selfish,” Oswald admits, after they’ve been dancing for a few minutes, “I must confess.” 

“Oh?” At no point does Ed stop their slow swaying, the gradual spin they’re following. 

“I—” He huffs, doesn’t notice how Ed shivers when the breath goes over his neck, “It wasn’t fair of me, to ask you to do this, considering the circumstances.” 

Ed’s arms tighten minutely around his hips, fingertips twitching, “Circumstances?” 

“This entire night, I—” the emotion returns to Oswald’s voice, and while he knows Ed will never mock him for it, he’s still loathe to let it manifest. “I love you, Ed. I don’t know what I thought— it was just— I apologize.” 

“You’re not teasing me,” Ed’s breath is hot and uneven where it flutters over the shell of Oswald’s ear, shuddering like tears or wet brakes, “are you?” 

“God, Ed, no,” when Oswald pulls back, he takes hold of the sides of Ed’s face, grip loose but still caging. Ed can see his sincerity, just as he’s been able to see his jealousy and discomfort the whole night; he’s simply misread it as something negative toward him. “Why would I tease you about—”

Ed dips him back, carefully rearranging his arms so that he can hold Oswald easily, in case his good leg slips out from beneath him. He steals a kiss when Oswald’s mouth is still parted, aborted words no longer daring to escape. It’s simple, sweet, and so easy to get lost in— Ed has to consistently remind himself not to let go of Oswald, not to slide both hands up into his expertly styled hair. 

“You fogged up my glasses,” Ed laughs, once they’ve righted themselves and have resumed dancing. “I love you. I had just—”

It’s Oswald’s turn to kiss Ed, getting up on the tips of his toes despite the pain it causes him. He surges up into Ed, nearly knocks the both of them over and doesn’t even care enough about it to apologize once he’s broken away for breath, “You understand my family will want you at events, after this.” 

“That’s fine with me,” Ed admits, sheepish as he positions his wide palms over Oswald’s hips rather than wrapping his arms around them, “you’ve convinced them to love me, with all your compliments.” 

“I’m afraid you’re starting to do the same,” Oswald’s fingers drag down, over the lapels of Ed’s suit as he makes himself comfortable against his chest, “you make me sound much better than I am. I appreciate that.” 

“I didn’t say anything untrue, you know.” 

“Nor did I.” 

“We’re going to be one of those terribly affectionate couples,” without realizing it, Ed has started tapping the rhythm of the song into Oswald’s hip, “aren’t we?”

“Oh, I do hope so.” 

#answered #ask games #prompt fills #nygmobblepot #vampirebillionaire #i dont know what happened here but i hope you enjoy it #i feel all sorts of ways #sorry im posting this at six in the am #but i got drunk and rewrote it and got taken with it #im sorry its such a wack ass au but i just had an IMAGE in my head #i hope you enjoy tho! thank u for asking me this one! its SO cute

[captaincolossal]

mabith replied to your post “So my neighbors are moving! And I was a total creeper and went online...”

I love stalking houses on real estate sites. Fingers crossed no yappy dogs...

I do too!

I love it when I find one that has a really unexpected interior.  Like there was a house for sale a couple years ago in the fancy part of town, and it’s a house that I’ve admired as I drive by, because it looks super classy.  Like a little brick castle with a little round turret and a fancy wall with climbing ivy.  Like you could just live your fantasy life in this urban castle, so I went to see the real estate listing.  The interior was SO TACKY.  In every room, everything was either super matchy (like the wallpaper, curtains, and table cloths all match exactly), or everything clashed horribly (like a bathroom where everything is black and white, except any fabric which is hot pink and floral).  And it was just, so weird.

Ooh, and down the street from me there was a house that looked completely ordinary outside, and inside it was just...okay, I found the link to the listing, it’s just so weird.  Here it is.

#mabith #real estate

[acsversace-news]

For months during the filming of American Crime Story, Ricky Martin found himself back in the closet—this time playing Antonio D’Amico, the longtime lover of the late Gianni Versace. In the pilot episode of the FX series, a detective with the Miami Police Department interrogates D’Amico after the designer is murdered. Unsure what D’Amico means when he refers to Versace as his “partner,” he questions the nature of their relationship, invoking the young men D’Amico would procure for him, some of them duly compensated, and asking, “Did he pay you?”

“To love him?” responds D’Amico, still covered in the blood of his boyfriend of 15 years, though he seems more wounded by the detective’s callous assertion—the idea that two men could ever be in a committed relationship is completely foreign to him. Yet the moment illustrates one of the overarching themes of the second installment of American Crime Story, based on Maureen Orth’s 1999 book Vulgar Favors, and adapted by British author Tom Rob Smith. Just as The People v. OJ Simpson before it offered an all-too-timely commentary on racism, The Assassination of Gianni Versace promises to tackle issues like homophobia, gun violence, and the dark allure of fame.

“I believe that the story of injustice this series will bring to the table will spark a lot of conversations about things that we, as the LGBTQ community, were dealing with in the ’90s, and that we’re still dealing with,” says Martin, though he shies away from revealing too many details about The Assassination. “At this point in our lives, there shouldn’t be stigmas over the things that we are going to be talking about.”

The show, another jewel in showrunner and creator Ryan Murphy’s television crown, will examine the lives of two gay men and their radically different paths: Gianni Versace (played by Édgar Ramirez)—the Italian designer who injected the world of fashion with a wild dose of ostentation, sensuality, and celebrity glamour—and Andrew Cunanan (Glee's Darren Criss), the 27-year-old Versace fanboy who left a trail of death and devastation in his quest for fame, ultimately finding it, and landing on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list, by murdering the man he so idolized.

Cunanan was born in National City, Calif., on August 31, 1969, to a mostly absent, class-conscious Filipino-American father and a deeply religious Italian-American mother. He was a brilliant child with a reported IQ of 147. Growing up in a strict Catholic household, he struggled with his sexuality from a young age, so that later in life he was open to some, but closeted to others. He also had a reputation for being a pathological liar. After dropping out of the University of California, San Diego, he tried his hand at hustling, drug dealing, and petty robbery—anything to avoid a traditional nine-to-five. He charmed his way into a meeting with Versace on the evening of October 21, 1990, in San Francisco. Versace had designed the costumes for Richard Strauss’s opera Capriccio and was in town for the premiere. It was a brief encounter—Orth dedicates just three pages to it in Vulgar Favors—but for Cunanan, it was significant. Versace was the only celebrity he claimed to know with whom he had any ties, no matter how tenuous. According to Orth, when the FBI asked Philip Merrill, a friend of Cunanan’s, where the wanted murderer would go and whom he would try to contact, Merrill said: Florida and Versace.

By the time Cunanan gunned down the 50-year-old designer on the steps of his palatial estate, Casa Casuarina at 1116 Ocean Drive in South Beach, Miami, on the morning of July 15, 1997, he had already killed four men, including Jeff Trail, a 28-year-old Navy veteran, and David Madson, a 33-year-old architect, three months earlier in Minneapolis—both men were gay and at least one of them, Madson, was a former lover. But the nation didn’t take any real notice until Cunanan had traversed thousands of miles over several months. By then, Versace was dead.

“The whole city of Miami was in shock and never recovered,” says Martin, who was living in Miami but touring Europe at the time of Versace’s death. “Obviously what was happening in fashion was massive, but there was also what was happening in the film industry, with all these great actors moving to Miami because it was the Riviera of the United States. After Versace’s death, everything stuck because everybody was afraid. It has taken many, many, many years for Miami to return to where it was and maybe it will never be the same.”

On July 7, eight days before Versace’s murder, Cunanan visited the Cash on the Beach pawn shop to sell a gold coin he had stolen from his third victim, Lee Miglin, a 72-year-old married real estate developer he had killed and tortured on May 4 in Chicago, which eventually led to the FBI adding Cunanan to its infamous fugitives list. As required by the pawn shop, the serial killer had signed his name—his real name—and had even given the address where he was staying. Vivian Olivia, the owner of Cash on the Beach, turned over the identifying paperwork to the Miami Police the following day, yet no action was taken. Meanwhile, the red pickup truck of William Reese, the 45-year-old caretaker Cunanan had murdered in Pennsville, N.J., just days after Miglin, sat in a parking garage for weeks. The FBI, insistent that Cunanan’s sexual orientation was irrelevant to their investigation, refused to distribute Most Wanted posters of Cunanan or to work with local gay organizations and publications.

“For a number of reasons, the authorities at the time never considered Cunanan to be a public threat because he was only killing homosexuals,” says Ramirez, the Venezuelan actor whose startling resemblance to the late designer helped secure him the title role in ACS. “The word assassination has a political and a social overtone because Versace was targeted. In a way, this was a tragedy that could have been prevented. Basically, homophobia killed Gianni Versace.”

Giovanni Maria Versace was born in Reggio Calabria, Italy, on December 2, 1946. The region’s Hellenic heritage—it had been part of Magna Graecia (Latin for “Great Greece”), the coastal areas of Southern Italy populated by Greek settlers—had a lasting influence on Versace and his work, most notably in the Medusa head and Greek keys of the label’s logo. His mother ran a dressmaking business, so fashion was a part of young Gianni’s DNA. He briefly went to work for his mother after graduating high school but fled the nest for Milan in 1972, bringing his formidable talents to the Italian ateliers Genny, Complice, and Callaghan. With his older brother Santo and younger sister Donatella, he launched his own company, and in 1978 debuted his first collection.

Throughout the ’80s and ’90s, Versace elevated sexy to an art form. As the adage, at times attributed to Anna Wintour, goes: Armani dressed the wife and Versace dressed the mistress. His looks were brash, bold, and sometimes delightfully tacky, rendered in luminescent metallics, sadomasochistic rubbers, and industrialized plastics that pushed the boundaries of fashion and “good taste.”  More than any other designer, before him or since, Versace permeated then all but defined the zeitgeist: from Elizabeth Hurley’s iconic safety-pin black dress (recently reappropriated by Lady Gaga), to Elizabeth Berkley’s doe-eyed infatuation with “Versayce” in 1995’s Showgirls, to rap group Migos’s 2013 breakthrough hit “Versace.”

Versace’s South Beach mansion was a monument to his grandeur, outfitted in Grecian opulence. Built in 1930 by trust-fund playboy and retired architect Alden Freeman, Casa Casuarina is now a hotel and popular tourist destination. Versace was enamored by the house’s Kneeling Aphrodite statue and bought the property for $2.95 million and the old Art Deco Hotel Revere next door for $3.7 million, which he promptly demolished, angering the Miami Design Preservation League—the neighborhood had been on the National Register of Historic Places since 1979. Versace invested an additional $32 million in renovations to realize his palace, decorating every inch with his exacting eye. In the opening minutes of The Assassination, Ramirez, in a resplendent pink robe, greets his army of servants with a measure of benevolence and unquestioned authority. The effect is that of an emperor surveying his mighty kingdom. From there, the series plays up the Greek-like tragedy of Versace’s life and death.

“His life was fated in a way,” says Ramirez. “There is something very classic about this real-life story that was captured by Tom: the characters, the archetypes, their relationships. You have Gianni as an emperor, and then you have his prince, Antonio, and you have his sister, Donatella, who is the empress-to-be. Sometimes there were scenes that really felt like we were doing theater, like Macbeth or Madea.”

Versace used his majestic property to entertain, and occasionally shelter, his circle of VIPs. In awe of the power of celebrity, he cultivated a loyal, glitzy following that included Princess Diana, Elton John, Madonna, Cher, and the supermodels he regularly employed, and in whose rise he was instrumental: Naomi, Cindy, Linda, Claudia. These famous clients and friends populated his front rows, appeared in his ad campaigns, and frequented his homes around the world. And his ambition wasn’t limited to the runway—Versace expanded his empire, designing costumes for operas, films, ballets, and concert tours.

“We basically live in the world that he created,” Ramirez says. “Before Gianni, glamour and sensuality were on two separate planes. Somehow he glamorized sexuality. He had a rock ’n’ roll approach to couture, and he essentially laid the ground for celebrity culture. From then on, for better and for worse, we’ve had this obsession with it. The sociopath who killed him was seduced by fame and by luxury.”

Versace was also one of the few openly gay celebrities of his day, having been with D’Amico, a former model, since 1982. Though, according to Martin, there was a limit to their openness.

“For many months in this series, I kind of went back into the closet,” the 46-year-old says. “They were not completely out. The fear of being seen holding hands in the streets is not an issue for me anymore, but I relived all of that, and it kinda set me back and gave me a lot of discomfort. But I was playing a part, and I used it. I used that anger and I used that frustration.”

The Assassination of Gianni Versace is the gayest thing FX or Ryan Murphy has ever done. And for anyone who’s seen Popular, or Glee, or the last few seasons of Nip/Tuck, or the musical number in American Horror Story: Asylum, that’s saying a lot. But it’s also a profound statement. Murphy, an openly gay showrunner and one of the most powerful and successful visionaries in Hollywood, has produced a series about an openly gay fashion designer (who was killed by a gay serial killer), featuring an openly gay pop star playing his boyfriend. Martin, who came out publicly in 2010, hadn’t even considered this level of out-and-proudness, but he’s acutely aware of how the show’s themes resonate in today’s terrifying political climate.

Ricky Martin has been in the public eye for the majority of his life—first in the popular boy band Menudo, which he parlayed into a successful music career in Latin America and a featured role on the long-running soap opera General Hospital. But it was a 1999 Grammy performance of “The Cup of Life,” the official song of the previous year’s World Cup, and the subsequent release of his U.S. breakthrough single, “Livin’ La Vida Loca,” that skyrocketed him to superstardom and ushered in the so-called “Latin explosion.”

With increased exposure, however, came increased scrutiny, and for years rumors regarding his sexual orientation persisted. Male pop stars have rarely been allowed to be openly gay, and those that were, like Elton John and George Michael, waited until relatively late in their careers to come out. For Martin, consequently, The Assassination of Gianni Versace offered a unique and personal challenge because, to paraphrase executive producer Brad Simpson, it’s about the politics of being out in the ’90s. Today, Martin is much more comfortable in his own skin. Not only is he in love (he’s been in a relationship with Syrian-Swedish painter Jwan Yosef since 2015), but he’s a father of two—and adamant that his family be an inspiration for other nontraditional families.

“A lot of people tell me, ‘Well, your kids are on the covers of magazines and blah, blah, blah,’ and I'm like, ‘Yes because I want to normalize this,’ ” he says. “I want people to look at me and see a family and say, ‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’ It's part of my mission. It’s part of my kids’ mission as well. My kids ask me about having two daddies and I tell them we are a part of a modern family. This is a beautiful sense of freedom.”

By taking on the role of Antonio D’Amico, the singer-actor had to conjure those years of hiding who he was, but in doing so he knew he was paying tribute to the love that Versace and D’Amico shared. Martin’s first day on set and his very first scene were also his most dramatic. “They didn't even let me warm up—I went straight into the murder,” he says. “I went straight into the moment where I find the body on the steps of the villa outside. It was a really long day. I was locked in this room for many hours just to be there in the moment when I looked out the window and saw Édgar’s feet. I went crazy and said, ‘Let’s shoot now! Please let’s shoot now!’ ”

After seeing production shots of Martin cradling a bloody Ramirez, D’Amico derided the tableau as “ridiculous” and a product of the “director’s poetic license.” In an interview with The Guardian last July, he also contradicted Martin’s assertion that he and Versace ever had to conceal their love. Martin then reached out to the 59-year-old D’Amico, whom he says was “incredibly generous” and “really honest.”

“The first thing I said to him was, ‘Antonio, I just want you to know that we all are working on this story with the utmost respect to what Gianni Versace represents to the world, and then we go to love,” says Martin. “ ‘My role here is for people to understand you, and see what the love you guys had was made of.’ They were together for 15 years. It’s a lifetime. And like Antonio says, there was no end to this love. There is no end to this love.”

“There are two love stories,” Ramirez adds. “One with Antonio, Ricky’s character, and the other with Penélope Cruz’s character, Donatella. Gianni was very devoted to both of them. Ricky and I wanted to be respectful of their relationship and open about how supportive they were of each other. According to everyone I talked to, Gianni was very protective of Antonio, and Antonio was very protective of Gianni.”

There is, however, no love lost between D’Amico and Donatella Versace. The two always had a contentious relationship. In his will, Versace provided D’Amico with a $30,000-a-month lifetime allowance and the right to live in any of the late designer’s homes, but because of a feud with the Versace family, D’Amico received a portion of what he was owed.

Family was of the utmost importance to Gianni Versace, but his own didn’t want to be involved in the show’s production. Ramirez, no stranger to playing biographical characters—he earned an Emmy nomination in 2011 for his portrayal of Venezuelan revolutionary Ilich Ramírez Sánchez in Carlos—approached the series with immense compassion, but out of respect (and for legal reasons) he chose not to approach the designer’s surviving family members.

“Whatever hesitations or reservations they have about the series, I understand,” Ramirez says of the Versace family. “This is a tragedy. It should have never happened. We want to enforce our own empathy. I hope that in the end they will be satisfied.”

What is a historical or cultural moment for the rest of the world is a story of intense personal tragedy for the family and former partner of Gianni Versace, so a production of this scale and caliber—this isn’t, after all, the Gina Gershon Lifetime movie House of Versace—is bound to reopen old wounds and draw renewed scrutiny. And yet: That’s fame. One’s life—and death—are no longer one’s own. But what made The People v. OJ Simpson so successful was how it took a tragedy and articulated its significance to the world we live in: a world with a 24/7 news cycle, a world of continued racial animus, a world of keeping up with the Kardashians.

While LGBTQ people have more rights and freedoms than in any other time in U.S. history, the rapid progress of marginalized communities over the previous years has revealed the cracks in this country—ugly truths barely hidden just below the surface have been exposed. This America abets white supremacists, bolsters an accused pedophile who believes homosexuality should be illegal, and neglects the victims of a mishandled natural disaster because they’re not quite “American” enough.

“We've been taking four airplanes with 150,000 pounds’ worth of basic necessities,” Martin says of the relief effort in Puerto Rico, of which he’s been a part. “It’s been very difficult because four million US citizens are still without power or clean drinking water. My family is there and luckily, I can bring them out to take a break, but there's a very intense passion about where we come from, and they don't want to leave.”

And, of course, it’s impossible to deny that if homophobia killed Gianni Versace, so did a gun. On June 12, 2016, Omar Mateen opened fire at the Pulse nightclub in Orlando, Fl., killing 49 people and wounding 58 others. The overwhelming majority of his victims were queer people of color in what was, until 15 months later, the deadliest mass shooting on American soil. “I want to be very respectful about this because I am not American,” Ramirez begins, cautiously. “But I have a very hard time reconciling how easy it is to gain access to guns here. And I come from one of the most violent countries in the world.”

Though mass shootings remain a uniquely American phenomenon, the conversations around gun control and mental illness have ultimately gone nowhere. For 35 years, the United States has rarely gone a year without a mass shooting. In 1997, the year of Andrew Cunanan’s murderous spree, more than 32,000 people were killed by guns. That number has remained stable, so that on any given day, 93 people are shot to death.

After Versace was killed, speculation ran wild regarding Cunanan’s motive. Some claimed an HIV-positive diagnosis triggered his murderous streak, but an autopsy debunked that theory, itself a form of homophobia. In 1997, homosexuality and AIDS were still inextricably bound so that a gay serial killer was automatically linked to the disease—as if Gregg Araki’s The Living End had come to life. But whereas that 1992 film glamorized its killers, the Andrew Cunanan in The Assassination of Gianni Versace is a pitiable figure—a lost soul grasping at a fantasy embodied by his final and most famous victim. Cunanan, too, was a victim—of homophobia, both internalized and externalized; of his own desires; of his upbringing; of the world in which he lived. Through his detestable actions, he finally got what he wanted: It’s now impossible to discuss the legacy of fashion’s one-time emperor without also remembering the man who cut his life short that July morning.

#acs versace #out #edgar ramirez #ricky martin #article #interview #january 2018

[nightmare-afton-cosplay]

Living Room Design Fails So Bad, They’ll Scare the Living Daylights Out of You

GeorgeBurba/iStock

HGTV and numerous other design outlets have inspired many of us to curate decorated-to-perfection dwellings—particularly in the living room, where we tend to gather with friends and family. But the cold, hard truth is that not everyone has a knack for decorating, and that’s putting it nicely.

Need proof? Check out some of these living room design fails that are so bad, it’s unclear whether you should laugh or cry. On the bright side, there are some lessons to be learned on what not to do when decking out your living room, lest you want to scare away guests.

Carpet with caution

View this post on Instagram

This would be an amazing very fancy cat house if it wasn’t an actual real life house for tacky people.

A post shared by @ pleasehatethesethings on Feb 11, 2019 at 5:49pm PST

As they say, there’s no such thing as too much of a good thing, but carpeting isn’t one of those things. This is too much on too many levels.

“Omg! I thought it WAS a fancy cat house,” wrote commenter reneestengelphotography.

Not everything needs to match—especially in plaid

View this post on Instagram

Showing Feedback: “Wow! Just Wow! Someone really, really, REALLY loves plaid! This home definitely ‘channels the flannel.’ We literally couldn’t see any of the furniture until we accidentally walked into it. That is some serious next level camouflage.” #ShowingFeedback #DesignFails #interiordesign #interiordesignfails #plaid #ChannelTheFlannel

A post shared by David Olson (@davidolsonrealestate) on Jan 11, 2019 at 7:01am PST

So, we think this is a living room, but we can’t be sure, because the plaid is camouflaging everything. This much plaid would drive anyone mad.

Laundry and living rooms aren’t a good match

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Time to watch my soaps!

A post shared by @ pleasehatethesethings on Jan 31, 2019 at 5:38pm PST

We’re all for being practical, but this is practically the most insane place to put a washer and dryer we’ve ever seen. Don’t forget to notice the carpeted platform upon which they’re perched, or the big-screen TV mounted above it.

Commenter margaretvele said, “I guess they don’t want to forget about laundry while watching tv!” So there’s that.

Use color with care

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It’s like all the misfit crayons got together and created a safe house. Neon Carrot, Laser Lemon, Purple Pizzaz….

A post shared by @ pleasehatethesethings on Oct 23, 2018 at 4:56pm PDT

If you’re not one for a monotonous, monochromatic look, color can be a great way to pep things up. Just don’t pep things up so much that people feel like they need Pepto-Bismol upon entering. Of course, there’s also the placement of that sofa so close to the door.

Sugarskitschen quipped, “Even the owners know you shouldn’t enter and are trying to help prevent you.”

Not everyone adores Disney as much as you do

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Omg look at this wonderful living room you can relax and enjoy a nice DISNEY movie (Mickey mouse

) and that Mickey light is amazing #disneylivingroom#disneyworld #disneymickey #disneyphotography #disneyeverything #ilovedisney

A post shared by Disney Touch (@ultimatedisneymaster) on Feb 13, 2019 at 8:07am PST

We get it, you love Disney. Who doesn’t? But this living room is over the top even for Mickey himself.

Have fun, but…

View this post on Instagram

As your Realtor, I promise

to tell you to remove crazy things BEFORE we list your home

for sale. You don't

want to end up like these sellers. . . . . . Source: Terrible Real Estate Photos

A post shared by Michelle Naumovski • Realtor (@agentnaumovski) on Nov 26, 2017 at 3:41pm PST

Hanging out in your living room should be fun, just not this fun perhaps.

There is such a thing as too much taxidermy

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“Think we could ask them to rearrange us so I’m nearer the window?” #realestate #realty #badrealtyphotos #lol #omg #wtf #interiors #interiordesign #estateagents #location #granddesigns #funny #realestatefail #realtyfail #realtorfail

A post shared by Terrible Real Estate Photos (@theterriblerealestatephotos) on Jun 27, 2018 at 2:25am PDT

Hold your horses, um, deer, before you start hanging a whole herd’s worth of animal heads. We’ve said it before, and we’ll say it again: More is not always better.

Watch it with the bright colors

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#terriblerealestateagentphotos

A post shared by mimi Blythe (@crassbaby) on Mar 29, 2018 at 6:04am PDT

Is this a room where clowns convene? If not, we think the red leather (pleather?) furniture and sunshine yellow walls are a bit much.

Doll collections don’t belong here

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You are killing this styling game.

A post shared by @ pleasehatethesethings on Aug 1, 2018 at 5:01pm PDT

A beloved collection can add personality to a room, or turn it into a creepy nightmare.

Adelta_dawn commented: “Movie night! They’re getting ready to watch ‘Annabelle!’”

Go light on dark furnishings

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In 1983 the New York Mafia’s most important soft furnishings held a summit meeting to discuss control of their empire. #realestate #realty #badrealtyphotos #lol #omg #wtf #interiors #interiordesign #estateagents #location #granddesigns #funny #mafia

A post shared by Terrible Real Estate Photos (@theterriblerealestatephotos) on Feb 1, 2018 at 6:05am PST

While there’s room for asymmetrical and symmetrical balance in good design, this room is just off-balance any way you look at it. Well, unless you’re Darth Vader.

The post Living Room Design Fails So Bad, They’ll Scare the Living Daylights Out of You appeared first on Real Estate News & Insights | realtor.com®.

from https://www.realtor.com/news/trends/living-room-design-fails/

[freddanielsenk]

Friday Flash: How could this happen?

Man, it’s really bad.

The logo NAR announced.

How could this happen?

As someone who runs a company that does brand and logo work every day, let me tell you how it may have unfolded:

NAR decides it needs a new logo because this is something they can actually make happen.

NAR feels nervous about this, so hires a fancy London-based agency in order to feel less nervous.

Fancy agency assigns B-team to real estate client.

Agency digs into NAR’s world and quickly realizes they have entered onto a different cosmic plane. They do research and discovery to find their bearings, but remain lost.

Agency presents concepts to a large committee that gives them scattered, subjective and contradictory feedback. This is agency’s fault as much as it is NAR’s fault.

Agency not feeling it.

Agency, fried, comes back with tepid “evolution” approach pitched along with a rip-roaring story about how the cube is “forward looking” just to get the project across the finish line.

We’ve seen this sort of sequence play out many, many times.

It may have gone down differently. But I’m looking for a way to make sense of this.

It’s not always this way. Consider the recent Century 21 rebrand. That was, a.) needed, and b.) very well-executed.

And let me be clear: this isn’t sour grapes. 1000watt isn’t angling for NAR’s business. NAR didn’t – and doesn’t – need a new logo.

I’m bummed more than anything. Bummed that Bob Goldberg and Elizabeth Mendenhall went for the easy play, flubbed it, and in so doing diminished their capacity for executing the things they should have done before they ever touched the damn logo.

Perversely, the agency may have unknowingly designed the perfect visual: an askew and multidimensional symbol of institutional crisis.

…

I’m not a designer, so my perspective on this is strategic, not creative. Here’s what Patrick, our amazing Creative Director, had to say about it:

“Brand evolutions come about due to a variety of circumstances, however one truth that should exist for any of such effort is that the result should signal something exciting and new – a message to the greater world that your organization is always changing, getting better. The work should reflect that energy.

The NAR logo actually aged backwards instead of forwards here. It became even fussier than it was before, which is an odd outcome for such a large effort. If there was a cohesive story that drove this evolution, it is left to the viewer to decide what that was – and ultimately, anything you come up with seems easy, and even generic.”

…

Sometimes things that eventually succeed in real estate are dismissed for years as weird, tacky or gimmicky.

Those that do the dismissing apply their own aesthetic judgements to things made for someone else.

EXP Realty is an example of this. This company was scoffed at for years because it bases its operation within a virtual world. Yes, that’s right – avatars, group chats and such. It looks like a game, but it’s not.

EXP also trades OTC, which, let’s be real, strikes most of us as about as legit as a “massage parlor.”

But – check this out – the company has nearly tripled its agent count in the past 18 months (to 6,500) and has applied to be uplisted to the NASDAQ.

“Weird” sometimes works in real estate. I love that about this business.

…

It’s remarkable how consistently media outlets and blogs outside the industry have covered discount real estate startups over the past 20 years.

This piece, about Reali, a California-based newcomer, could have been written in 2002. Back then, the middleman/travel industry/information-empowered consumer narrative was being applied to YHD and eRealty.

That’s not to say Reali (or REX, Purplebricks, etc.) won’t succeed. They may. But seems to me they’d be better served bucking this tired “discount” story.

…

Two years ago, 1000watt hosted an event called Turn On for our clients and friends.

We’re doing it again this June 19-20 in Portland, OR.

We don’t sell tickets. We do this to build our tribe.

This year’s show will feature a best-selling brand marketer, real estate leaders pushed well beyond their comfort zones, a prolific Hollywood writer and director’s take on creating great stories, a Guiness Book of World Records-listed poker champion’s guidance on working with the cards you’re dealt and much more.

Plus, a memorable party at 1000watt world headquarters.

You can get a sense for what it looks like here.

We make a small number of tickets available to our readers. If you’d like to come, request a ticket here.

Enjoy the weekend.

[Disclosure: Century 21 is a 1000watt client, though we did not do their rebrand]

The post Friday Flash: How could this happen? appeared first on 1000watt.

Friday Flash: How could this happen? syndicated from https://freddanielsenk.wordpress.com/

[blueonerealty]

Friday Flash: How could this happen?

Man, it’s really bad.

The logo NAR announced.

How could this happen?

As someone who runs a company that does brand and logo work every day, let me tell you how it may have unfolded:

NAR decides it needs a new logo because this is something they can actually make happen.

NAR feels nervous about this, so hires a fancy London-based agency in order to feel less nervous.

Fancy agency assigns B-team to real estate client.

Agency digs into NAR’s world and quickly realizes they have entered onto a different cosmic plane. They do research and discovery to find their bearings, but remain lost.

Agency presents concepts to a large committee that gives them scattered, subjective and contradictory feedback. This is agency’s fault as much as it is NAR’s fault.

Agency not feeling it.

Agency, fried, comes back with tepid “evolution” approach pitched along with a rip-roaring story about how the cube is “forward looking” just to get the project across the finish line.

We’ve seen this sort of sequence play out many, many times.

It may have gone down differently. But I’m looking for a way to make sense of this.

It’s not always this way. Consider the recent Century 21 rebrand. That was, a.) needed, and b.) very well-executed.

And let me be clear: this isn’t sour grapes. 1000watt isn’t angling for NAR’s business. NAR didn’t – and doesn’t – need a new logo.

I’m bummed more than anything. Bummed that Bob Goldberg and Elizabeth Mendenhall went for the easy play, flubbed it, and in so doing diminished their capacity for executing the things they should have done before they ever touched the damn logo.

Perversely, the agency may have unknowingly designed the perfect visual: an askew and multidimensional symbol of institutional crisis.

…

I’m not a designer, so my perspective on this is strategic, not creative. Here’s what Patrick, our amazing Creative Director, had to say about it:

“Brand evolutions come about due to a variety of circumstances, however one truth that should exist for any of such effort is that the result should signal something exciting and new – a message to the greater world that your organization is always changing, getting better. The work should reflect that energy.

The NAR logo actually aged backwards instead of forwards here. It became even fussier than it was before, which is an odd outcome for such a large effort. If there was a cohesive story that drove this evolution, it is left to the viewer to decide what that was – and ultimately, anything you come up with seems easy, and even generic.”

…

Sometimes things that eventually succeed in real estate are dismissed for years as weird, tacky or gimmicky.

Those that do the dismissing apply their own aesthetic judgements to things made for someone else.

EXP Realty is an example of this. This company was scoffed at for years because it bases its operation within a virtual world. Yes, that’s right – avatars, group chats and such. It looks like a game, but it’s not.

EXP also trades OTC, which, let’s be real, strikes most of us as about as legit as a “massage parlor.”

But – check this out – the company has nearly tripled its agent count in the past 18 months (to 6,500) and has applied to be uplisted to the NASDAQ.

“Weird” sometimes works in real estate. I love that about this business.

…

It’s remarkable how consistently media outlets and blogs outside the industry have covered discount real estate startups over the past 20 years.

This piece, about Reali, a California-based newcomer, could have been written in 2002. Back then, the middleman/travel industry/information-empowered consumer narrative was being applied to YHD and eRealty.

That’s not to say Reali (or REX, Purplebricks, etc.) won’t succeed. They may. But seems to me they’d be better served bucking this tired “discount” story.

…

Two years ago, 1000watt hosted an event called Turn On for our clients and friends.

We’re doing it again this June 19-20 in Portland, OR.

We don’t sell tickets. We do this to build our tribe.

This year’s show will feature a best-selling brand marketer, real estate leaders pushed well beyond their comfort zones, a prolific Hollywood writer and director’s take on creating great stories, a Guiness Book of World Records-listed poker champion’s guidance on working with the cards you’re dealt and much more.

Plus, a memorable party at 1000watt world headquarters.

You can get a sense for what it looks like here.

We make a small number of tickets available to our readers. If you’d like to come, request a ticket here.

Enjoy the weekend.

[Disclosure: Century 21 is a 1000watt client, though we did not do their rebrand]

The post Friday Flash: How could this happen? appeared first on 1000watt.

Friday Flash: How could this happen? published first on http://blueonerealty.tumblr.com/

[fadingfartconnoisseur]

15 Things To Do in Montego Bay Jamaica

Many people consider Montego Bay THE epicentre for tourism in Jamaica, and with so many things to do in Montego Bay, it’s not hard to see why. The home of the original all-inclusive due to its beautiful sandy beaches and epic turquoise waters, Montego Bay remains the core of the Jamaican traveler’s experience and really is more than just a line in a Beach Boys song.

One of the best things about this small Caribbean island is the diversity in things to do in Jamaica.  Montego Bay acts as a microcosm of these amazing activities. Activities that bring visitors face to face with beautiful scenery, thrilling adventures, intriguing culture, delicious food, and that true Jamaican ethos of ‘irie‘.

Sumfest Reggae Festival (One of THE Coolest Things To Do in Montego Bay!)

Started in 1978, Sumfest is THE Reggae music festival in Jamaica every year. It attracts Reggae artists from all over the world, but is a true showcase of Jamaica’s trademark music genre.

Normally occurring between late July and early August, Sumfest is more than just a music festival. Theme parties and fashion shows pop up all throughout the weekend and a food stall of delicious Jamaican grub is never far away.

Eat Real Jamaican Jerk

Speaking of Jamaican food, a trip to the island is not complete without a tasting of real Jamaican jerk. Jamaicans take their jerk very seriously, and not all jerk is created equal. Roadside stalls are often the best places to sample the national staple, so brush off any fears you may have of street meat. If your jerk chicken doesn’t come wrapped in tin foil, you’re not doing it right.

One of the best places to get jerk in Montego Bay is Scotchies, the prefered eatery for any local Jamaican. Scotchies is a classic jerk stand, with chicken, pork, fish and seafood on the menu, as well as many sides to choose from.

☞ READ MORE: The Ultimate Guide to Travelling in Grenada

All tables are outside under the palm frond thatched eves, and despite the odd location, a trip to Scotchies is always worth it. Try the roasted sweet potato, not only is it locally grown, but cooking time and technique softens those snacks to perfection. Eating real Jamaican jerk is definitely one of the top things to do in Montego Bay – and Jamaica as a whole!

Rose Hall Great House

Just east of Montego Bay, Rose Hall is seeped in both historical fact and ghost story lore. This great house sits on a historical plantation complimented with natural gardens and a beautiful pond. The plantation house has been returned to its glory days and serves as an example of the time.

What draws most Jamaicans’ interest to Rose Hall is the folklore attributed to the property. It is said that the proprietress of the estate, Annie Palmer, still haunts it. Rumoured to have murdered no less than four of her husbands (or slaves she took as lovers, semantics were fluid back in the day), Annie is one of the more fascinating characters in Jamaican history, though the truth of the stories remains debated.

Doctor’s Cave Beach

The most famous of all the Montego Bay beaches, Doctor’s Cave Beach is right in the heart of the Strip, and some may argue it is the true birthplace of Mo Bay tourism. Often busy and perhaps too full of hustlers, Doctor’s Cave Beach is nonetheless one of the more beautiful beaches in Jamaica, if not the Caribbean.

The private bathing club which was founded by the beach’s name sake is still around, and amenities at the club and the nearby Casa Blanca hotel can be rented. However, it’s not for the budget traveller in Jamaica.

Ride Horses on the Beach

Many travellers dream of riding a horse through the waves of the Caribbean Sea. In Montego Bay, that dream can be a reality. Ride through gardens on a retired race horse with Half Moon Equestrian before reaching the soft sands of the beaches.

Swimming along the softly crashing waves atop a well cared for horse is an experience that really can not be matched in many other beach destinations!

Raft the Martha Brae River

The Jamaican version of rafting is not the white water type. In Jamaica, a rafting trip down a river, especially one as scenic as the Martha Brae, is a chilled out, luxurious cruise on a bamboo float. This is for sure one of the more relaxing things to do in Montego Bay.

Steered by a local professional, rafting down the Martha Brae is a must do for any visitor to Jamaica’s North Coast. It’s also a great way to see Jamaica’s jungle and hear the local oral history.

Montego Bay Civic Centre

Despite the promised sunshine, it does rain in Montego Bay every so often. An option for those rainy days is a visit to the Montego Bay Civic Centre where one of the best museums in Jamaica lives.

The small museum is housed in a 2002 Georgian-style building. It stands as the only museum in Western Jamaican that speaks to the history of slavery, the plantation economy and lifestyle, and the resistance of the mid-1800’s.

The National Gallery West is also located on this site. A branch of Kingston’s National Art Gallery, this small one room exhibit of Jamaican art is quickly appreciated.

Where to Stay in Montego Bay

Here is a list of the top 3 rated, affordable properties in Montego Bay. Click on the links and check them out for yourself!

Mobay Kotch – From $45 / Night, Rating 8.8. Click here to see the latest price on Booking.com

Mobay Kotch 1

Mobay Kotch 2

Mobay Kotch 3

Castle Vue B&B – From $70 / Night, Rating 8.3. Click here to see the latest price on Booking.com

Castle Vue B&B 1

Castle Vue B&B 2

Castle Vue B&B 3

Cazwin Villas – From $74 / Night, Rating 8.9. Click here to see the latest price on Booking.com

Cazwin Villas 1

Cazwin Villas 2

Cazwin Villas 3

☞ Click here to see all accommodation options available in Montego Bay

Visit the Glistening Waters

One of the more fascinating things to do in Montego Bay, Jamaica’s Glistening Waters is located about an hour east of Montego Bay in Falmouth. Visiting the Glistening Waters requires a night-time trip to the Luminous Lagoon. This is a natural phenomenon that occurs where the Martha Brae River meets the Caribbean Sea.

The water, due to the mixture of fresh and sea microorganisms, reacts to movement by either boat or humans, and glows a brilliant blue light when disturbed. This phosphorescent activity is one of only 4 places on the planet where such a marvel occurs, and the only one where it can be experienced all year around.

Most hotels in Montego Bay will run evening trips to the Glistening Waters, as it must be experienced after nightfall. Alternatively, taxis can be chartered to take visitors directly there and back again. Try the chocolate cake in the small bar at the boat dock. Trust me!

Indigenous Rastafarian Village

Typically, I am hesitant about cultural tourism. I worry about exploitation and that someone’s culture is being either watered down or ballooned to appeal to an outsider’s taste. The Rastafarian religion is one of the more misunderstood religions in the world, and the Indigenous Rastafarian Village actually does a very good job of explaining the truths and the realities.

Moving beyond the stereotypes, a 2-hour tour of the wooden ‘village’ which includes a drumming circle and a medicinal garden, weaves the visitor through the history, beliefs, and modern-day existence of Rasta. Learning about Rasta, and the intersections of music, nature, love, and lifestyles, deepened my understanding of Jamaica and definitely did away with some of those clichéd stereotypes. When you’re looking for things to do in Montego Bay, put a trip to this Rastafarian Village on your list.

Experience One of Montego Bay’s World Class Golf Courses

As the original tourism haven, Montego Bay was also the first area in Jamaica to start building golf courses (though the oldest golf course in the Western Hemisphere is actually in Mandeville, Jamaica).

There are ample options in the Montego Bay area for hitting the links. Many courses offer world-class fairways, stunning ocean views, and excellent dining for after the game. Jamaica is a year round golf destination, and several resorts in the Montego Bay area offer packages, all-inclusive experiences, and golfing day trips.

In particular, the Rose Hall Great House Golf course offers the best views of the sea from the 16th and 18th tees. And maybe the Witch of Rose Hall will help your long game.

Hit the Waves

Surrounded by turquoise sea and calm currents, Montego Bay is a water lover’s heaven. Scuba diving, snorkelling, jet skiing, deep-sea fishing, and sailing are all options to get off the beach and enjoy the water. Most hotels can set visitors up for day trips, or the tour operators can be approached directly. Hitting the water is one of the best things to do in Montego Bay!

My pick for a beautiful island experience is the sunset cruise on a wooden sail boat with the MoBay Undersea Tour company. There is no better way to enjoy the end of a beach day than with a glass of wine, a sunset backdrop and the quiet wind as your guide.

Other Things to Do in Montego Bay

Montego Bay is the tourist mecca of Jamaica and always has been. A massive variety of accommodation, dining, fun experiences, day adventures, and opportunities to relax are only some of the major draws to the area. Don’t forget to learn a bit about Jamaican life and culture, as the rich history of the island is unique and deep.

Mo Bay is also a great launching point to explore the rest of Western Jamaica. Negril and its beautiful Long Beach is only 90 minutes away, while Cockpit Country, Jamaica’s rugged jungle interior with endless caving and trekking possibilities, is only an hour south of town.

As a word of caution, parts of Montego Bay are definitely overly touristic. The Strip area is saturated with tourist shops, tacky restaurants, and folks looking to take advantage. But don’t let those potentially negative interactions sour the experience.

Many local Jamaicans are glad to have a chat about where you’re from, tell you about life in Jamaica, and generally relax for a while. After all, that is the definition of living the Jamaican irie life, summed up by Mr. Bob Marley when he sang Don’t Worry, Be Happy!

The post 15 Things To Do in Montego Bay Jamaica appeared first on Goats On The Road.

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[freddanielsenk]

Friday Flash: How could this happen?

Man, it’s really bad.

The logo NAR announced.

How could this happen?

As someone who runs a company that does brand and logo work every day, let me tell you how it may have unfolded:

NAR decides it needs a new logo because this is something they can actually make happen.

NAR feels nervous about this, so hires a fancy London-based agency in order to feel less nervous.

Fancy agency assigns B-team to real estate client.

Agency digs into NAR’s world and quickly realizes they have entered onto a different cosmic plane. They do research and discovery to find their bearings, but remain lost.

Agency presents concepts to a large committee that gives them scattered, subjective and contradictory feedback. This is agency’s fault as much as it is NAR’s fault.

Agency not feeling it.

Agency, fried, comes back with tepid “evolution” approach pitched along with a rip-roaring story about how the cube is “forward looking” just to get the project across the finish line.

We’ve seen this sort of sequence play out many, many times.

It may have gone down differently. But I’m looking for a way to make sense of this.

It’s not always this way. Consider the recent Century 21 rebrand. That was, a.) needed, and b.) very well-executed.

And let me be clear: this isn’t sour grapes. 1000watt isn’t angling for NAR’s business. NAR didn’t – and doesn’t – need a new logo.

I’m bummed more than anything. Bummed that Bob Goldberg and Elizabeth Mendenhall went for the easy play, flubbed it, and in so doing diminished their capacity for executing the things they should have done before they ever touched the damn logo.

Perversely, the agency may have unknowingly designed the perfect visual: an askew and multidimensional symbol of institutional crisis.

…

I’m not a designer, so my perspective on this is strategic, not creative. Here’s what Patrick, our amazing Creative Director, had to say about it:

“Brand evolutions come about due to a variety of circumstances, however one truth that should exist for any of such effort is that the result should signal something exciting and new – a message to the greater world that your organization is always changing, getting better. The work should reflect that energy.

The NAR logo actually aged backwards instead of forwards here. It became even fussier than it was before, which is an odd outcome for such a large effort. If there was a cohesive story that drove this evolution, it is left to the viewer to decide what that was – and ultimately, anything you come up with seems easy, and even generic.”

…

Sometimes things that eventually succeed in real estate are dismissed for years as weird, tacky or gimmicky.

Those that do the dismissing apply their own aesthetic judgements to things made for someone else.

EXP Realty is an example of this. This company was scoffed at for years because it bases its operation within a virtual world. Yes, that’s right – avatars, group chats and such. It looks like a game, but it’s not.

EXP also trades OTC, which, let’s be real, strikes most of us as about as legit as a “massage parlor.”

But – check this out – the company has nearly tripled its agent count in the past 18 months (to 6,500) and has applied to be uplisted to the NASDAQ.

“Weird” sometimes works in real estate. I love that about this business.

…

It’s remarkable how consistently media outlets and blogs outside the industry have covered discount real estate startups over the past 20 years.

This piece, about Reali, a California-based newcomer, could have been written in 2002. Back then, the middleman/travel industry/information-empowered consumer narrative was being applied to YHD and eRealty.

That’s not to say Reali (or REX, Purplebricks, etc.) won’t succeed. They may. But seems to me they’d be better served bucking this tired “discount” story.

…

Two years ago, 1000watt hosted an event called Turn On for our clients and friends.

We’re doing it again this June 19-20 in Portland, OR.

We don’t sell tickets. We do this to build our tribe.

This year’s show will feature a best-selling brand marketer, real estate leaders pushed well beyond their comfort zones, a prolific Hollywood writer and director’s take on creating great stories, a Guiness Book of World Records-listed poker champion’s guidance on working with the cards you’re dealt and much more.

Plus, a memorable party at 1000watt world headquarters.

You can get a sense for what it looks like here.

We make a small number of tickets available to our readers. If you’d like to come, request a ticket here.

Enjoy the weekend.

[Disclosure: Century 21 is a 1000watt client, though we did not do their rebrand]

The post Friday Flash: How could this happen? appeared first on 1000watt.

Friday Flash: How could this happen? syndicated from https://freddanielsenk.wordpress.com/

[freddanielsenk]

Friday Flash: How could this happen?

Man, it’s really bad.

The logo NAR announced.

How could this happen?

As someone who runs a company that does brand and logo work every day, let me tell you how it may have unfolded:

NAR decides it needs a new logo because this is something they can actually make happen.

NAR feels nervous about this, so hires a fancy London-based agency in order to feel less nervous.

Fancy agency assigns B-team to real estate client.

Agency digs into NAR’s world and quickly realizes they have entered onto a different cosmic plane. They do research and discovery to find their bearings, but remain lost.

Agency presents concepts to a large committee that gives them scattered, subjective and contradictory feedback. This is agency’s fault as much as it is NAR’s fault.

Agency not feeling it.

Agency, fried, comes back with tepid “evolution” approach pitched along with a rip-roaring story about how the cube is “forward looking” just to get the project across the finish line.

We’ve seen this sort of sequence play out many, many times.

It may have gone down differently. But I’m looking for a way to make sense of this.

It’s not always this way. Consider the recent Century 21 rebrand. That was, a.) needed, and b.) very well-executed.

And let me be clear: this isn’t sour grapes. 1000watt isn’t angling for NAR’s business. NAR didn’t – and doesn’t – need a new logo.

I’m bummed more than anything. Bummed that Bob Goldberg and Elizabeth Mendenhall went for the easy play, flubbed it, and in so doing diminished their capacity for executing the things they should have done before they ever touched the damn logo.

Perversely, the agency may have unknowingly designed the perfect visual: an askew and multidimensional symbol of institutional crisis.

…

I’m not a designer, so my perspective on this is strategic, not creative. Here’s what Patrick, our amazing Creative Director, had to say about it:

“Brand evolutions come about due to a variety of circumstances, however one truth that should exist for any of such effort is that the result should signal something exciting and new – a message to the greater world that your organization is always changing, getting better. The work should reflect that energy.

The NAR logo actually aged backwards instead of forwards here. It became even fussier than it was before, which is an odd outcome for such a large effort. If there was a cohesive story that drove this evolution, it is left to the viewer to decide what that was – and ultimately, anything you come up with seems easy, and even generic.”

…

Sometimes things that eventually succeed in real estate are dismissed for years as weird, tacky or gimmicky.

Those that do the dismissing apply their own aesthetic judgements to things made for someone else.

EXP Realty is an example of this. This company was scoffed at for years because it bases its operation within a virtual world. Yes, that’s right – avatars, group chats and such. It looks like a game, but it’s not.

EXP also trades OTC, which, let’s be real, strikes most of us as about as legit as a “massage parlor.”

But – check this out – the company has nearly tripled its agent count in the past 18 months (to 6,500) and has applied to be uplisted to the NASDAQ.

“Weird” sometimes works in real estate. I love that about this business.

…

It’s remarkable how consistently media outlets and blogs outside the industry have covered discount real estate startups over the past 20 years.

This piece, about Reali, a California-based newcomer, could have been written in 2002. Back then, the middleman/travel industry/information-empowered consumer narrative was being applied to YHD and eRealty.

That’s not to say Reali (or REX, Purplebricks, etc.) won’t succeed. They may. But seems to me they’d be better served bucking this tired “discount” story.

…

Two years ago, 1000watt hosted an event called Turn On for our clients and friends.

We’re doing it again this June 19-20 in Portland, OR.

We don’t sell tickets. We do this to build our tribe.

This year’s show will feature a best-selling brand marketer, real estate leaders pushed well beyond their comfort zones, a prolific Hollywood writer and director’s take on creating great stories, a Guiness Book of World Records-listed poker champion’s guidance on working with the cards you’re dealt and much more.

Plus, a memorable party at 1000watt world headquarters.

You can get a sense for what it looks like here.

We make a small number of tickets available to our readers. If you’d like to come, request a ticket here.

Enjoy the weekend.

[Disclosure: Century 21 is a 1000watt client, though we did not do their rebrand]

The post Friday Flash: How could this happen? appeared first on 1000watt.

Friday Flash: How could this happen? syndicated from https://freddanielsenk.wordpress.com/

[blueonerealty]

Friday Flash: How could this happen?

Man, it’s really bad.

The logo NAR announced.

How could this happen?

As someone who runs a company that does brand and logo work every day, let me tell you how it may have unfolded:

NAR decides it needs a new logo because this is something they can actually make happen.

NAR feels nervous about this, so hires a fancy London-based agency in order to feel less nervous.

Fancy agency assigns B-team to real estate client.

Agency digs into NAR’s world and quickly realizes they have entered onto a different cosmic plane. They do research and discovery to find their bearings, but remain lost.

Agency presents concepts to a large committee that gives them scattered, subjective and contradictory feedback. This is agency’s fault as much as it is NAR’s fault.

Agency not feeling it.

Agency, fried, comes back with tepid “evolution” approach pitched along with a rip-roaring story about how the cube is “forward looking” just to get the project across the finish line.

We’ve seen this sort of sequence play out many, many times.

It may have gone down differently. But I’m looking for a way to make sense of this.

It’s not always this way. Consider the recent Century 21 rebrand. That was, a.) needed, and b.) very well-executed.

And let me be clear: this isn’t sour grapes. 1000watt isn’t angling for NAR’s business. NAR didn’t – and doesn’t – need a new logo.

I’m bummed more than anything. Bummed that Bob Goldberg and Elizabeth Mendenhall went for the easy play, flubbed it, and in so doing diminished their capacity for executing the things they should have done before they ever touched the damn logo.

Perversely, the agency may have unknowingly designed the perfect visual: an askew and multidimensional symbol of institutional crisis.

…

I’m not a designer, so my perspective on this is strategic, not creative. Here’s what Patrick, our amazing Creative Director, had to say about it:

“Brand evolutions come about due to a variety of circumstances, however one truth that should exist for any of such effort is that the result should signal something exciting and new – a message to the greater world that your organization is always changing, getting better. The work should reflect that energy.

The NAR logo actually aged backwards instead of forwards here. It became even fussier than it was before, which is an odd outcome for such a large effort. If there was a cohesive story that drove this evolution, it is left to the viewer to decide what that was – and ultimately, anything you come up with seems easy, and even generic.”

…

Sometimes things that eventually succeed in real estate are dismissed for years as weird, tacky or gimmicky.

Those that do the dismissing apply their own aesthetic judgements to things made for someone else.

EXP Realty is an example of this. This company was scoffed at for years because it bases its operation within a virtual world. Yes, that’s right – avatars, group chats and such. It looks like a game, but it’s not.

EXP also trades OTC, which, let’s be real, strikes most of us as about as legit as a “massage parlor.”

But – check this out – the company has nearly tripled its agent count in the past 18 months (to 6,500) and has applied to be uplisted to the NASDAQ.

“Weird” sometimes works in real estate. I love that about this business.

…

It’s remarkable how consistently media outlets and blogs outside the industry have covered discount real estate startups over the past 20 years.

This piece, about Reali, a California-based newcomer, could have been written in 2002. Back then, the middleman/travel industry/information-empowered consumer narrative was being applied to YHD and eRealty.

That’s not to say Reali (or REX, Purplebricks, etc.) won’t succeed. They may. But seems to me they’d be better served bucking this tired “discount” story.

…

Two years ago, 1000watt hosted an event called Turn On for our clients and friends.

We’re doing it again this June 19-20 in Portland, OR.

We don’t sell tickets. We do this to build our tribe.

This year’s show will feature a best-selling brand marketer, real estate leaders pushed well beyond their comfort zones, a prolific Hollywood writer and director’s take on creating great stories, a Guiness Book of World Records-listed poker champion’s guidance on working with the cards you’re dealt and much more.

Plus, a memorable party at 1000watt world headquarters.

You can get a sense for what it looks like here.

We make a small number of tickets available to our readers. If you’d like to come, request a ticket here.

Enjoy the weekend.

[Disclosure: Century 21 is a 1000watt client, though we did not do their rebrand]

The post Friday Flash: How could this happen? appeared first on 1000watt.

Friday Flash: How could this happen? published first on http://blueonerealty.tumblr.com/

[blueonerealty]

Friday Flash: How could this happen?

Man, it’s really bad.

The logo NAR announced.

How could this happen?

As someone who runs a company that does brand and logo work every day, let me tell you how it may have unfolded:

NAR decides it needs a new logo because this is something they can actually make happen.

NAR feels nervous about this, so hires a fancy London-based agency in order to feel less nervous.

Fancy agency assigns B-team to real estate client.

Agency digs into NAR’s world and quickly realizes they have entered onto a different cosmic plane. They do research and discovery to find their bearings, but remain lost.

Agency presents concepts to a large committee that gives them scattered, subjective and contradictory feedback. This is agency’s fault as much as it is NAR’s fault.

Agency not feeling it.

Agency, fried, comes back with tepid “evolution” approach pitched along with a rip-roaring story about how the cube is “forward looking” just to get the project across the finish line.

We’ve seen this sort of sequence play out many, many times.

It may have gone down differently. But I’m looking for a way to make sense of this.

It’s not always this way. Consider the recent Century 21 rebrand. That was, a.) needed, and b.) very well-executed.

And let me be clear: this isn’t sour grapes. 1000watt isn’t angling for NAR’s business. NAR didn’t – and doesn’t – need a new logo.

I’m bummed more than anything. Bummed that Bob Goldberg and Elizabeth Mendenhall went for the easy play, flubbed it, and in so doing diminished their capacity for executing the things they should have done before they ever touched the damn logo.

Perversely, the agency may have unknowingly designed the perfect visual: an askew and multidimensional symbol of institutional crisis.

…

I’m not a designer, so my perspective on this is strategic, not creative. Here’s what Patrick, our amazing Creative Director, had to say about it:

“Brand evolutions come about due to a variety of circumstances, however one truth that should exist for any of such effort is that the result should signal something exciting and new – a message to the greater world that your organization is always changing, getting better. The work should reflect that energy.

The NAR logo actually aged backwards instead of forwards here. It became even fussier than it was before, which is an odd outcome for such a large effort. If there was a cohesive story that drove this evolution, it is left to the viewer to decide what that was – and ultimately, anything you come up with seems easy, and even generic.”

…

Sometimes things that eventually succeed in real estate are dismissed for years as weird, tacky or gimmicky.

Those that do the dismissing apply their own aesthetic judgements to things made for someone else.

EXP Realty is an example of this. This company was scoffed at for years because it bases its operation within a virtual world. Yes, that’s right – avatars, group chats and such. It looks like a game, but it’s not.

EXP also trades OTC, which, let’s be real, strikes most of us as about as legit as a “massage parlor.”

But – check this out – the company has nearly tripled its agent count in the past 18 months (to 6,500) and has applied to be uplisted to the NASDAQ.

“Weird” sometimes works in real estate. I love that about this business.

…

It’s remarkable how consistently media outlets and blogs outside the industry have covered discount real estate startups over the past 20 years.

This piece, about Reali, a California-based newcomer, could have been written in 2002. Back then, the middleman/travel industry/information-empowered consumer narrative was being applied to YHD and eRealty.

That’s not to say Reali (or REX, Purplebricks, etc.) won’t succeed. They may. But seems to me they’d be better served bucking this tired “discount” story.

…

Two years ago, 1000watt hosted an event called Turn On for our clients and friends.

We’re doing it again this June 19-20 in Portland, OR.

We don’t sell tickets. We do this to build our tribe.

This year’s show will feature a best-selling brand marketer, real estate leaders pushed well beyond their comfort zones, a prolific Hollywood writer and director’s take on creating great stories, a Guiness Book of World Records-listed poker champion’s guidance on working with the cards you’re dealt and much more.

Plus, a memorable party at 1000watt world headquarters.

You can get a sense for what it looks like here.

We make a small number of tickets available to our readers. If you’d like to come, request a ticket here.

Enjoy the weekend.

[Disclosure: Century 21 is a 1000watt client, though we did not do their rebrand]

The post Friday Flash: How could this happen? appeared first on 1000watt.

Friday Flash: How could this happen? published first on http://blueonerealty.tumblr.com/

[freddanielsenk]

Friday Flash: How could this happen?

Man, it’s really bad.

The logo NAR announced.

How could this happen?

As someone who runs a company that does brand and logo work every day, let me tell you how it may have unfolded:

NAR decides it needs a new logo because this is something they can actually make happen.

NAR feels nervous about this, so hires a fancy London-based agency in order to feel less nervous.

Fancy agency assigns B-team to real estate client.

Agency digs into NAR’s world and quickly realizes they have entered onto a different cosmic plane. They do research and discovery to find their bearings, but remain lost.

Agency presents concepts to a large committee that gives them scattered, subjective and contradictory feedback. This is agency’s fault as much as it is NAR’s fault.

Agency not feeling it.

Agency, fried, comes back with tepid “evolution” approach pitched along with a rip-roaring story about how the cube is “forward looking” just to get the project across the finish line.

We’ve seen this sort of sequence play out many, many times.

It may have gone down differently. But I’m looking for a way to make sense of this.

It’s not always this way. Consider the recent Century 21 rebrand. That was, a.) needed, and b.) very well-executed.

And let me be clear: this isn’t sour grapes. 1000watt isn’t angling for NAR’s business. NAR didn’t – and doesn’t – need a new logo.

I’m bummed more than anything. Bummed that Bob Goldberg and Elizabeth Mendenhall went for the easy play, flubbed it, and in so doing diminished their capacity for executing the things they should have done before they ever touched the damn logo.

Perversely, the agency may have unknowingly designed the perfect visual: an askew and multidimensional symbol of institutional crisis.

…

I’m not a designer, so my perspective on this is strategic, not creative. Here’s what Patrick, our amazing Creative Director, had to say about it:

Brand evolutions come about due to a variety of circumstances, however one truth that should exist for any of such effort is that the result should signal something exciting and new – a message to the greater world that your organization is always changing, getting better. The work should reflect that energy.

The NAR logo actually aged backwards instead of forwards here. It became even fussier than it was before, which is an odd outcome for such a large effort. If there was a cohesive story that drove this evolution, it is left to the viewer to decide what that was – and ultimately, anything you come up with seems easy, and even generic.

…

Sometimes things that eventually succeed in real estate are dismissed for years as weird, tacky or gimmicky.

Those that do the dismissing apply their own aesthetic judgements to things made for someone else.

EXP Realty is an example of this. This company was scoffed at for years because it bases its operation within a virtual world. Yes, that’s right – avatars, group chats and such. It looks like a game, but it’s not.

EXP also trades OTC, which, let’s be real, strikes most of us as about as legit as a “massage parlor.”

But – check this out – the company has nearly tripled its agent count in the past 18 months (to 6,500) and has applied to be uplisted to the NASDAQ.

“Weird” sometimes works in real estate. I love that about this business.

…

It’s remarkable how consistently media outlets and blogs outside the industry have covered discount real estate startups over the past 20 years.

This piece, about Reali, a California-based newcomer, could have been written in 2002. Back then, the middleman/travel industry/information-empowered consumer narrative was being applied to YHD and eRealty.

That’s not to say Reali (or REX, Purplebricks, etc.) won’t succeed. They may. But seems to me they’d be better served bucking this tired “discount” story.

…

Two years ago, 1000watt hosted an event called Turn On for our clients and friends.

We’re doing it again this June 19-20 in Portland, OR.

We don’t sell tickets. We do this to build our tribe.

This year’s show will feature a best-selling brand marketer, real estate leaders pushed well beyond their comfort zones, a prolific Hollywood writer and director’s take on creating great stories, a Guiness Book of World Records-listed poker champion’s guidance on working with the cards you’re dealt and much more.

Plus, a memorable party at 1000watt world headquarters.

You can get a sense for what it looks like here.

We make a small number of tickets available to our readers. If you’d like to come, request a ticket here.

Enjoy the weekend.

[Disclosure: Century 21 is a 1000watt client, though we did not do their rebrand]

The post Friday Flash: How could this happen? appeared first on 1000watt.

Friday Flash: How could this happen? syndicated from https://freddanielsenk.wordpress.com/