#(i had cut it out of rolling stone magazine i think)

[hairtusk]

Sam Beam (a.k.a Iron & Wine) by Kim Black

[lingerina]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ 𝐁𝓐𝐃 𝐍𝐄𝓦𝐒 ／ julie han

➛ g!p maid julie x fem!reader ➛ 847 words !!! adultery, creampie, squirting, multiple orgasms ➛ you have confronted your husband about checking out the maid, and now you confront the maid. ➛ A/N happy belated new year? lol i’ve been rediscovering some hobbies lately, hence writing has been on the back burner again. but i’ve updated the list of women i write for. if you have seen julie doing that part in ‘nobody knows’, then you’ll understand how i was possessed to write this. those clips have graced my tiktok fyp and ig explore page multiple times. i just had to. 😮‍💨

You couldn’t have been more wrong.

You’ve heard of the stories where a family will hire a young maid or nanny to care for the kids and the house while the parents work. Nannies aren’t needed because you don’t have kids, but you still have pets and a massive house that needs to be cared for. Hence the hiring of a maid who urgently needs some quick cash while she searches for bigger jobs.

Julie Han is a young woman straight out of college.

Straight out of a magazine too.

With the looks of a doll and the charm of a girl next door, Julie can easily have anyone wrapped around her finger.

Your cat, who’s wary of strangers, immediately took a liking to her. Your friends who have come over and met her have asked for her to watch their kids or animals as well. As envious as you are of the attention she gets, you can’t help but be one of the victims of her spell too.

You just can’t be heinous to someone who’s nice and goes the extra mile for your pets.

The stares from your husband that lingers a little too long on her don’t go unnoticed though. It’s hard to decipher Julie’s body language when she catches his gaze but you confront them separately because things will only escalate if you dismiss everything that is deemed small and insignificant. Some people masquerade their intentions well behind a blank or stone cold face, so you can never be too safe.

Your husband denies staring but Julie is more truthful.

Except you had it all wrong.

Julie’s hand is tightly clamped over your mouth, muffling your moans and cries as her cock hits in all the right places. The confrontation has led to you being shoved onto the bed and your flimsy loungewear being torn off by the woman who actually had eyes on you. You can’t risk your husband hearing the maid fucking his wife’s brains out as he’s showering right above her bedroom, but she knows how to wield what she has—a feat that he has yet to achieve. 

The guilt lingers in your chest but your cunt drips for her. The sheets are soaked in your essence, courtesy of her skillful mouth and fingers that wouldn’t stop bringing you to orgasm. The more you try to persuade her to stop, the harder she goes on you.

Because you both know that you don’t want her to stop.

The water cuts off, leaving the residence to be engulfed in silence. The smacks of hips clashing with every fervent thrust is like a pin dropping, causing the tightness in your chest and the pit of your stomach to swell. Your clammy hands clutch at the crumpled sheets beneath you, your walls closing in on her as she fucks you harder. You don’t have the conscience to stop her because god, you want this.

You need this.

She grins, her long hair curtained over your face as she hovers closer to you.

“You think I want your lame husband?,” she snickers.

Your eyes squeeze shut as your back arches.

“You clearly don’t want him either.”

There is no cue given, but her demeaning words bring you to ecstasy. Your eyes roll back when her thumb on your pulsing clit works you into overdrive. Your body spasms beneath her, tremors coursing through your limbs as you gush around her cock, further soiling the sheets. You can vaguely hear your husband calling for you in the kitchen but all you can focus on is Julie’s cock drilling you, and the filthy squelches of your cunt accepting the abuse.

Your heart rate picks up as his voice gets progressively louder but she is clearly unbothered. She has other priorities to fill.

Like you.

She buries her face in your neck. With a whine and a tremble, you shudder as warmth fills you. A shallow thrust pushes her release deeper, reaching depths that can taint and break you—just as she intends to.

You sink back into the mattress with a quiet sigh when she pulls out. Your head feels at the mess that you’ve both caused—figuratively and literally. 

The man that you have sworn your heart and life to is on the other side of the door, never expecting his wife to cheat on him with their maid. You have committed the very act that you swore you would raise hell about, and a part of you feels shameful about the hypocrisy.

On the other hand, Julie is proud of her work. She grins as her cum seeps out of you: a testament to prove that the man is not always wanted.

“You don’t need him,” she taunts as she slides back into you, harder than ever.

Your eyes widen as she raises your legs and folds them over your chest, testing your flexibility.

“This pretty pussy is mine.”

Your mouth falls open after she bottoms out.

“And she clearly agrees.”

Weak. Shameful. Needy. 

You can’t argue with her. You can only accept that you’re terribly wrong.

[indiaalphawhiskey]

Fake summary please for this made up title:

Flip me off and I’ll flip you over

🎸 Flip Me Off and I’ll Flip You Over

It had been an honest mistake, hand to God.

Louis had seen him last night, two rows away from the front, eyes closed and mouthing along perfectly to All This Time, his sweaty tendrils framing his forehead and the sleeves of his Faith in the Future tee artfully cut off.

They had made flirty - some would even say, obscenely heated - eye contact under the bright lights.

That’s how Louis knew about the dimples; that’s why Louis ran to the barricade three songs too early and a little too far to the left. He didn’t actually see if one of the hands that had so desperately clutched at him belonged to Dimples, but he’d thought it safe to think so. (No one stood that close to the stage, totally dolled up in their little outfit just to make eyes at the artist all night and not try to touch him. Please.)

But the thing was, Louis was also just a wee bit hungover this morning; cranky, headache-y, and severely under-caffeinated after a late night at the club and an inhumane five a.m. radio interview call time. Not to mention being unceremoniously manhandled into the car by Joni after some fans got a tad too excitable at the entrance.

So when he saw Dimples for the second concert in a row, now strategically stationed outside his dressing room wearing leather trousers in 36 degree weather, smiling at Louis like that…

Well, he’d just kind of… assumed.

“Bit too early to be this thirsty for a back room shag, darling, innit?” Louis snarked over the pounding in his head. Though he squeezed his eyes shut behind his dark sunglasses, he didn’t miss the startled look on Dimples’ face.

“W-wh—” he stammered, seemingly bewildered. “I—I beg your pardon?”

Louis would roll his eyes at the impeccable feigned innocence if he wasn’t so dizzy. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he peeked one eye open at the same time he lifted his coffee up to his mouth. Caffeine would save him.

He smirked a little at the deep blush on Dimples’ cheeks; at how caught out he clearly was. The movement only made Louis’ head hurt more.

“Posh little thing, aren’t ya?” He observed off-handedly, wincing at the reverberating sounds inside his head over the brim of his cup. Out of the corner of his eye, he clocked the pen in Dimples’ hand and he tipped his head as far as he could without giving himself vertigo to point at it. “Want me to sign your chest or something? Will that get you to leave me alone?”

Dimples narrowed his eyes at Louis in what seemed like the perfect cross between confusion and annoyance. “Ex-cuse me—”

“Come on then,” Louis interrupted impatiently. With a heavy sigh, he gestured with his palm to hand over the pen. “Just lift up your shirt and let’s get this over with—”

“Oh good, you’ve met!” Oli’s voice was so loud it made Louis flinch. Well, it was either his volume or the two forceful slaps he clapped on Louis’ back as he beamed as Dimples. “Louis Tomlinson,” he said, with a dramatic drumroll-type tone to his voice, “meet the legendary Harry Styles, youngest senior concert critic in Rolling Stone magazine history!”

To say those were the absolute worst words Louis could have possibly heard at that moment would have been incorrect. Mostly because the absolute worst words Louis could have possibly heard at that moment were the next six: “He’s here to review your tour!”

Louis lifted his horrified gaze to Harry’s face slowly. Their eyes locked, anger flashing across Harry’s features as he crossed his arms over his chest. Ironically, the lanyard of his press pass was now painfully obvious where it hung around his neck.

“Charmed,” he deadpanned.

Whoops.

— or, Louis Tomlinson’s World Tour was off to a great start until he royally fucked up by mistaking a world famous concert critic for a groupie. Then again, it’s not like anyone said Harry Styles couldn’t be both.

[incorrectbatfam]

I h3ad cannon athat all the batfam members have had/are still in their emo/goth phases.

Example:

Bruce dressed as a bat and punches criminals at night (I also head cannon that he listens to the rolling stones and MCR)

Anyways thoughts?

Also what were the other batfam members emo/goth phases like?

Dick: He was hella neurotic in his late Robin/early Nightwing days. That plus his mullet and guitar tells me he probably tried to live out of a used van he bought for $700 after a fight with Bruce only to come home a week later when someone knocked on his window.

Jason: He's the theater/classic lit goth. When he was younger he would read by the glow of a candelabra even though the lights work perfectly fine. Post-resurrection, he graduates to the biker anarchist who has no problem launching a molotov at a CEO's mansion.

Tim: He's from the 90s. He's sitting in that Y2K grunge-emo-punk gray area where his playlist is a mix of the Clash, Nirvana, and Green Day. He's coloring his hair with Kool-Aid, playing with makeup, ripping his own clothes, and talking about new songs on AOL.

Damian: He's aiming for dark academia, but that's hard to pull off if you know what American schools look like. He annotates the margins of his books with notes he thinks are insightful but are actually just basic observations. Also he listens to Imagine Dragons.

Duke: This kid isn't emo or goth, he is a punk through and through. Sassing the cops? Jumping off a bridge? Leading a ragtag vigilante team? If he wanted to, I bet he can pull off a leather jacket with some homemade spikes while blasting Bad Brains and Death.

Cullen: Canonically, he watches anime and Supernatural, and I've made a lot of Tumblr references with him. He's definitely your quintessential 2010s emo nerd—Black Parade, fandoms, the whole shabang. He also definitely followed Dan and Phil.

Stephanie: She strikes me as the early 2000s pop-punker—think MySpace and Avril Lavigne. She probably had a Not Like Other Girls phase that she quickly grew out of. I can see her cutting posters out of magazines and sneaking her MP3 under an oversized hoodie.

Cassandra: She canonically listens to Killswitch Engage, so I like to imagine what she was like as a baby metalhead. Maybe she thrifted a Pantera shirt and chopped her hair with safety scissors. And at concerts she's absolutely up front when the wall of death happens.

Barbara: I think she dabbled in a little bit of everything without ever outwardly expressing it. Her playlist is all over the board, from softer rock to screamo. She also experimented with makeup a little, like black lipstick, and is more involved in the activism side of things.

Harper: She's definitely industrial punk with a huge emphasis on the DIY aspect of the subculture. She strings soda tabs into chains, turns old screws into boot spikes, and even learned to give herself tattoos. She also absolutely has a drawer full of patch pants.

Carrie: She's a TikTok e-girl, leaning into the pinks and purples along with black and white. She turns fishnet leggings into gloves and has a bunch of animal ear headbands. She also listens to Melanie Martinez and Tame Impala regardless of if they count as alternative.

Kate: Queer people play a huge role in the punk scene and vice versa. I can absolutely see Kate jamming out to an early Pansy Division track or searching places like Bandcamp to support smaller indie artists. Also she has a jacket that says "Nazi punks fuck off."

Alfred: Before punk and its subgenres, Alfred was canonically a delinquent and in that day, delinquency meant gelled-up hair and moving like Elvis. The hair didn't work out for him, but he was able to catch one of the first shows Buddy Holly played in London.

Selina: Alt cultures are based on not having much and working with what you got. Selina would use the five-finger discount at big-box stores and save her money to support small businesses. She also went around listening to free local rock shows on Fridays.

Bruce: He listened to the Rolling Stones before, but his first real intro to the scene was a handmade zine he found on the floor at school. From there, he explored more underground artists and took up journaling as a way to vent his feelings. And then: Batman.

[aurumacadicus]

101 for the ask meme?

Steve hadn't really understood what Colonel Rhodes had meant by "Tiberius Stone ruins Tony's day simply by existing" until he finally attended a gala with Tony. Watching Tony's eyes go wide with surprise, his face go ashen, his plastic smile stretching his wan face automatically before the dismay even truly registered in Steve's mind, it left him feeling hollowed out.

It reminded him of the face his ma made when his da's footsteps in the stairwell were heavy with drink.

Steve clocked Tiberius immediately. He was tall, handsome. Blond and blue-eyed. It made Steve think about early in his relationship with Tony, and the fear on his face when Steve moved too fast or too sharply--made him think about the apologies and the excuses Tony had made when Steve had asked if he'd done something wrong. Tiberius's smile reminded Steve of Tony's when he was being asked a question he didn't particularly like at press conferences; like he was lying, and everyone knew it, but he'd done so in such a way that the person calling him on it would be an asshole to say so. Except somehow Tiberius's smile was worse, because he looked like he enjoyed making people uncomfortable.

Steve wasn't great at rich person stuff, but he was good at putting distance between people he didn't want to talk to, so he carted Tony around the gala three times to talk to different people before Tony noticed. Tony had given him a look of speculation, then surprise, then fondness, before he'd rolled his eyes and shaken his head with a disappointed sigh and said, "I have to talk to him, Steve."

"I'll go with you," Steve offered, but Tony just rolled his eyes again. "I want to go with you."

"Yeah, well, I don't want you to punch Tiberius in the teeth, and I know you want to," Tony replied, amused and annoyed at the same time somehow, and then shook Steve's hand off his arm so he could work his way around the gala alone.

Steve retreated to the bar, getting two large ginger ales with lemon, and tried not to break either of the glasses in frustration as he wondered if this was a Rich People Thing or a Tony Thing. At least he could understand Rich People Things. Tony Things usually just made him sad.

Tony sat down next to him a few minutes later, and Steve slid one of the glasses to him. He waited a beat, just watching Tony for a moment, but his face was impassive. He opened his mouth. "So, are you--"

"I'm okay, thank you," Tony cut in, sharp but quiet. "Just please, stop talking to me."

Steve tilted his head, considering. Tony didn't look okay. He looked... blank. Like a slate. But then, at a gala, where there were tons of photographers and gossip magazine writers, perhaps the conversation wasn't necessary. Not right now.

"I stepped on some lady's foot," Steve told the bartender. "The one wearing the teal shrug. How much trouble am I in?"

"The hostess?" the bartender asked, eyes nearly popping out of her head, and Tony choked on his ginger ale.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Ask Jeeves: Part One

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: Bobby's presence is requested at someone's funeral/will reading. Since he's not here to go, his next of kin will have to do, i.e. you. Sam and Dean make you go thinking they are going to win big. You get something else instead, something deadlier.

Season Ten Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

Another motel. Another dull day with the Winchesters. Dean is working on his car while Sam is in the motel room. He requested some "me" time, but you know he probably wanted to jerk one off without you or Dean hearing about it. You're sitting inside the car on the passenger side looking through the glove compartment. There are a bunch of cell phones in there, no doubt John's and your dad's. There is the car's registration and insurance but nothing else of importance.

You groan out in frustration loud enough for Dean to hear. He shuts the hood to look at you through the windshield with a smirk.

"Looking for something?" he asks and wipes his hand on a greasy towel.

"No."

"Are you sure it's not this?" You look up and see Dean holding the remote to the metal piece in your fucking neck. You glare at him and slam the glove compartment shut. "Nice try."

"I'm gonna get that one day."

"Yeah, keep dreaming." He rolls his eyes and shoves the remote into his pocket. Sam walks out of the motel room freshly showered, and Dean turns to him instead of wanting to talk to you. "Hey, any leads on the scanner?"

"Nothing. Not even a cat up a tree."

"Right when we're ready to jump back into it, it goes radio silence," Dean scoffs. "Feel like taking a detour to Connecticut?"

"Why? What's there?"

Dean reaches into his back pocket and takes out a flip phone that belonged to your dad. He tosses the phone to Sam who opens it.

"I found this between dusting and listening to Y/N whine and complain." You glare at Dean from behind. "It's one of Bobby's. It has twenty-seven messages on it. The only one that counts is from two days ago. Apparently, Bobby's been named a beneficiary in Bunny LaCroix's will."

"Bunny LaWho?"

"The attorney said she's an heiress and Bobby's presence or next of kin is being requested in New Canaan. Y/N is his next of kin."

"How did Bobby know an heiress?" Sam asks.

"Bobby had secrets, man. Like loving on Tori Spelling. If he only knew Dean cheated on her. Anyway, road trip? Who knows, maybe Bobby earned us some beer money."

"Yeah, I don't want to go. I don't really care about beer money or a fortune."

"Well, I do. You're the next of kin so you're going."

Dean smirks as he passes by you, and you'd love nothing more than to cut it off him. All three of you pack up your belongings and make the long trip up to Connecticut. The property is like something out of a luxury magazine. There are very expensive cars in the driveway, cars you won't be able to afford. The house is tall and wide and covered with white paint. There isn't a splash of color anywhere. There are even tiles on the ground once you step off the driveway that leads to the front door. Stone white pillars go from top to bottom to hold up the bottom of the balcony that sits atop you.

"Wow, think we're a little underdressed?" Sam looks at their attire in concern. "The Fed threads are in the trunk."

"Are you kidding me? For once, we don't have to wear suits. You're lucky my waistband's not elastic."

Dean presses the doorbell and Beethoven's Fuer Elise plays. A young blonde woman in a maid's attire answers the door

"May I help you?"

"I'm Sam Winchester. This is Dean Winchester and his wife, Y/N. We're here on behalf of Bobby Singer."

The young woman looks around as if she is looking for someone.

"Mr. Singer won't be coming?"

"No, he died painfully as his mind withered away into nothingness," you answer, which earns Dean's elbow in your side.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

"Condolences for your loss, too," Sam says politely.

"Thank you. You just missed the funeral but the family's relaxing inside if you'd like to join. My name is Olivia." Olivia escorts you three inside the very expensive home and into the living room where Bunny's family is. She clears her throat, gaining everyone's attention. "Allow me to introduce Sam, Dean, and Y/N Winchester."

Two women look at Sam and immediately have heart eyes for him. They see how nimble and young he is compared to them and become smitten. You roll your eyes, not interested in Sammy having cougar sex with them.

"Sam, Dean, and Y/N Winchester of the Westchester Winchesters?" one of the blondes asks.

"No, there isn't a relation. Sorry."

"No matter. You two are adorable," she flirts with the brothers.

She slaps Dean's ass as she walks past him, and he jumps in shock.

"I'm Heddy, Bunny's cousin. This is my sister, Beverly." The other woman who had heart-eyes waves at Sam. Heddy points to an older man playing pool on the other side of the room. "That is Bunny's youngest brother, Stanton. Stan for short."

"Come on in, folks. Join the mourning."

There is a really young woman next to Stan who looks like a gold digger.

"Next to him is his child bride, Amber." There is a man who looks to be your age by the liquor bar who smirks when he sees you. "Then there's Dash. That's the baby of the family. He's Bunny's great-nephew."

"How did you guys know Aunt Bunny?" Dash asks and walks over to you.

"We don't," you put bluntly.

"Her dad, Bobby Singer, did."

"Bobby? Never heard of him, but you can fill us in over the weekend," Beverly grins and slinks up to Sam's side.

"The weekend?"

"Didn't the attorney tell you? The service was today and the reading of the will is tomorrow."

"You're welcome to spend the night," Beverly flirts with Sam. "All the rooms sleep two."

"Or three," Heddy says and slaps Dean's ass again.

You roll your eyes and walk away from the brothers to go to the liquor cart. If you're going to be here, then may as well be drunk for it. You pour yourself a double when Dash sinks up to your side.

"What do we have here? If they get to flirt with your brothers, then you're all mine."

You down the double shot and turn to Dash.

"First, I'd rather stick needles in my eyes than entertain you. Second, they're not my brothers. The shorter one is my husband."

"I don't see a ring." You step away from him and he calls after you. "Where are you going?"

"To get needles," you roll your eyes.

"Where's Colette?" Amber asks suddenly.

"She quit." You turn to the entrance of the living room to see the butler standing there. You know he's the butler because of his attire. His name tag says, Phillip. "Poor dear was so distraught over Mrs. LaCroix's passing. She went off to find herself." Philip walks over to you and the brothers and leans in. "May I have a word with you in the hall in five minutes?"

"Sure."

Philip leaves and Beverly turns to Sam. She touches his bicep and squeezes.

"So, Sam, tell me... do you work out?"

"I need another drink." You walk back over to the liquor car and make another double. Someone grabs your arm and it's not your husband. You glare at Dash who grins seductively at you. "I'll break that arm if you continue to touch me." Dean rushes over to you to save Dash for the very real beating you're about to give him. He guides you away with his arm around you. "He got lucky."

"You need to calm down," Dean hisses.

Five minutes later, you three step into the main hallway to meet with Philip who joins you with a manilla envelope in his hands.

"My apologies for being so oblique back there, but I'm doing you folks a favor. As you know, Mrs. LaCroix bequeathed something to your Mister Singer. the reading of the will isn't until tomorrow and I would hate for you to have to stick around and be forced to mingle with the family."

"Don't worry, we know which one the shrimp fork is. Kind of," Dean shrugs.

"Oh, Mr. Winchester, if you're implying that I don't think you're good enough, it's quite the contrary. You're far too good. The LaCroix family is--how shall I say this politely?--money-grubbing leaches."

"What are you talking about? I thought they were all loaded," you state.

"Loaded, yes. Rich, no. The recession hit every one of them, and I'm afraid if they knew what Bunny left you, those vultures would try to stake their claim. Since the attorney kindly agreed to a hand-off, you don't have to be subjected to their scrutiny."

Philip hands over the envelope to Dean.

"Do you have any idea how Bunny and Bobby knew each other?" Olivia enters the hallway and Philip straightens his posture. "Not in the slightest. Now if there's nothing else, shall I have Olivia show you out?"

"No, that's okay. We got it. Thank you."

Olivia and Philip leave you three alone in the hallway. Dean opens the manilla folder only to find a large jeweled cross on a chain. It's bulky and ugly. Why the fuck do you have this?

"What the fuck is this?"

"Maybe it's worth a lot of money."

"If Bunny was banging Bobby, then maybe these rocks are real." Dean grins.

The nearest pawnshop is ten miles away. You have no need for an ugly necklace so they're going to try and sell it for as much money as they can. The worker inside the pawnshop takes one look at the necklace and decides it's not real.

"What do you mean it's not real?" Dean asks, shocked. "The old bag was rolling in it."

"It looks like the old bag's got a soft spot for fake rubies and cubic zirconium." The worker grabs the necklace and inspects it further. "This is interesting though." He pulls the top of the cross away from the rest of the necklace to reveal a hidden key inside. "It's a key."

"A key to what?" Sam asks.

"One way to find out," Dean says.

If the key originated at Bunny's house, then it has to unlock something that's there. You hate the thought of going back there but trudge along knowing they will force you anyway. When you get back, there is a police car in the driveway that stands out like a sore thumb against the luxury. Philip answers the door when Sam knocks on it, and even you can tell this is a bad time to come back.

"Is everything okay?" Dean asks.

"Not really." All three of you enter the house. "I presume you folks left something behind. I'll check the front closet for burlap."

"You two were here earlier?" 

You look up and make eye contact with a detective. He must be the owner of the police car out front.

"Who wants to know?"

He takes out his very real badge and shows it to your husband.

"Detective Howard of New Canaan P.D. Congratulations you three, you're now officially murder suspects."

"Excuse me?" you raise your eyebrows.

"Yeah, Bunny LaCroix's brother, Stanford, was killed this evening. His body's just gone to the morgue."

"You think we had something to do with that?"

"I don't know what to think. That's why you three and anyone else who stepped foot in this house today is being detained for questioning."

"No offense, Detective, but if I was going to kill someone, I wouldn't leave behind so many witnesses."

"Shut up," Dean hisses at you.

x

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[erodasfishtacos]

One Night Only - MSG

Prompt: When Brittany met Harry

Warnings: none

If you would like to get two week early release, exclusive content/tropes, among other benefits - consider signing up for my Patreon for $3 a month :)

-

Despite everyone thinking Harry had a secret tiktok account, he really didn’t, sometimes YN would show him funny videos but he didn’t have the app.

YN obviously knew who Brittany Broski was because she was so famous on the app, first from the kambucha video and then for her love of Harry.

They were throwing around ideas of who should host the One Night Only in New York for Harry’s house and YN had thrown her name in the ring because she thought it would be amazing.

When Brittany accepted, she was already in New York for the show luckily, and YN was ready to greet her with her friend when they were led backstage before the show.

As soon as Brittany spots YN, who is waiting near the dressing rooms, the tiktoker gasps and looks at the camera that’s filming her.

“Oh my god, she’s more gorgeous in real life,” Brittany whispers to the camera, “I’m about to meet YN Styles better known as the luckiest girl in the world. She gets to kiss that man whenever she wants. Life goals.”

Brittany’s obviously nervous as she walks towards YN who is chatting with Lambert and Jeff, they haven’t noticed her yet.

Unfortunately the first thing she blurts out when she arrives in front of them and they look at her is (all in a British accent), “Hello, I’m Brittany. Harry’s future second wife. It’s a pleasure.”

She wishes she could swallows those words back up, her face turning bright red, and her eyes widen comically - terrified she just offended the real Mrs. Styles.”

“Thank god, you can have him. He’s a pain in my ass,” YN laughs loudly, ignoring Brittany’s handshake and pulling her into a hug, “Thank you for agreeing to host this tonight for Instagram!”

Brittany relaxes a bit, hugging her back tightly, and when they pulls away, Brittany speaks to the camera and says, “Note to the viewers, YN smells like vanilla and lavender. It’s amazing.”

Then Brittany is pulling out her phone, remembering she has a job to do, “Okay, I am supposed to ask you some fan questions. But can I ask you a few first?”

YN still has a wide smile on her face, Brittany can’t help but notice her large diamond ring sparkling in the light, “Ask away.”

“What is it like to have your name tattooed on Harry Styles’ arm and your wedding anniversary on his thigh?”

A startled laugh comes from YN, Jeff and Lambert also chuckling in good spirits, YN pauses not quite sure how to answer, “It’s nice. They were actually both a surprise to me. He got my name one random day in LA when he was touring there for Take Me Home with the band. And got our wedding date on our honeymoon in Italy.”

“Nice nice, what a romantic lad,” Brittany responds before asking, “Harry Styles’ recently told Rolling Stones Magazine that nearly every song he’s written is about you. Thoughts?”

“I think he was just trying to get on my good side,” YN jokes fondly before becoming more serious, “We’ve been through a lot together. We’ve gone through these good and bad experiences as we were growing up together. Most of our time and memories are intertwined and that really influences his music.”

“Awesome, one finally question,” Brittany states and is still nervously giggling because YN was so pretty and nice, “What does Harry do that gives you the ick? TikTok argues that he doesn’t do anything that can give anyone the ‘ick’”?

YN purses her lips as she thinks, “He sometimes takes a nap after he works out, still sweaty and gross. That definitely gives me the ick.”

“You heard it here first, ladies and gents,” Brittany announces to the camera before hugging YN again and cutting the video.

-

It was made clear to Brittany that she wouldn’t have the chance to meet Harry because he was too busy before the show - which honestly she was okay with she always joked that she couldn’t meet him.

Management and the camera crew had led Brittany to a set of doors where they told her she would be interviewing some fans but when she walks in, she freezes when she sees none other than Harry Styles.

She automatically walks away, giggling wildly and not knowing what to do for a moment before walking back in where he greets her warmly with a hug and laughs at her fake British accent.

Harry thanks her for hosting the pre-show and coming to the show - sincerity in his voice as he makes eye contact with those glimmering green eyes.

Brittany can’t help but say, “Honestly, this is so exciting. I got to meet YN earlier and she’s even hotter in person.”

That makes Harry bark out a laugh, looking back to where YN is sitting on the couch with Glenne, beckoning her over.

“I can definitely agree with you on that one,” He chuckles before wrapping his arm around YN’s shoulder and kissing her temple - they’re so cute she could cry.

-

Later on, Brittany hops on live as she’s wiping off her makeup and back in her hotel room.

“It was the best experience ever. I’m actually glad I met them. They are by far the most unfairly attractive couple on this earth.”

“Harry smelled just like the Tom Ford cologne. YN smelled like vanilla and lavender,” Brittany responds as she peels off her fake eyelashes.

“I saw Harry grab her ass like ten times in a matter of minutes. They are definitely not a fake couple. They’re married for Christ sake. It’s blatantly obvious how in love they are, Harry followed her around and kept kissing her.”

[foreverdolly]

heyy can u do a toxic relashionship with austin? only if you are comfortable ofc<3 love your fics!!

warning/notes: austin is insanely possessive of you, and is made easily jealous. as someone that has been in a relationship like this, it is entirely exhausting and very defeating, so i hope this was toxic enough for you ! he just loves you so much that he wants to keep you his, his, his, his.

“Who was he?” Austin didn’t even try to lower his voice, being even more obvious as he pointed after the man as he weaved through the crowd. Your excited smile faltered, your eyes narrowing with concern. “He works with Rolling Stone Magazine. Remember when I sent him my portfolio two weeks ago? He recognized me and approached me! He said that he loved my work, and that he’ll be messaging me Monday about potential-” “He was a little too close to you, don’t you think?” His blue eyes were narrowed on you now, his lips downturned as he looked you up and down. The outfit you were wearing tonight had been a big cause of discussion earlier on in the night. The halter top was extremely low cut, and the leather pants skintight. After he had practically reduced you to tears, he had finally let up. Finally admitting that he thought you looked beautiful, he also let it slip that you wearing the outfit made him afraid of any unwanted male attention. You understood that his personal image was important, but you would think that having a sexy girlfriend would be a good thing for publicity. His fans absolutely adored you. They even went as far as to call you a “fashion icon” over the past year and a half of your relationship with Austin. It added a lot of extra pressure on you, hence why you spent so much time worrying over your own appearance. You didn’t dress for the male gaze. You dressed for yourself, so you weren’t used to so many people paying such close attention. 

“Aus, he’s pushing sixty and his wife is right there.” You pointed to the middle aged woman dancing in front of the stage, who was soon joined by her very rich husband. The live band was playing all classic rock tonight, which always attracted an older crowd. You and Austin loved making the short drive from your apartment down to the bar when you two had the time to spare. The bar wasn’t very popular amongst the younger crowd, which gave you and Austin the freedom to dance and make friends with local bands and performers. 

During the earlier stages of your relationship, things had been more relaxed. Austin had never been this possessive or overly jealous, but now that the two of you were seriously committed to one another, his behavior was off the charts. Any man that interacted with you, whether it was for work purposes or not, was a potential threat. Tonight was a perfect example of that. You didn’t necessarily blame him, but you found it easy to get annoyed with his constant huffing and puffing when the two of you were out together. Either he’d turn up the PDA until it was damn near inappropriate or he’d completely subtract you from the situation at hand, wordlessly heading in the opposite direction that the ogling man was standing. What Austin didn’t seem to be able to understand was the fact that you couldn’t control other people, or whether or not they were attracted to you. “I know how men think, baby.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the stupid excuse he gave for his bad behavior. Your cheeks were already heating up with embarrassment as you realized that couples at nearby tables couldn’t probably hear him since his voice was raised. You were hoping to be spared from any sort of public humiliation.  You let out a deep groan, your shoulders slumping in defeat before you merely nodded your head, starting to walk back towards the bar in order to close out your tab. It was obvious that the night was ruined, and there would be no salvaging either of your sour moods. At least- not while the both of you were out in public. The dirty blonde was quick to reach his hand out, grabbing you by the wrist to stop you. You could feel people’s eyes on the both of you, probably recognizing you and your boyfriend from tabloids. Seeing a normal couple fight in public was always slightly entertaining, but a celebrity fighting with his girlfriend in the middle of a bar? Everybody seemed to take note of your body language, and knew that it meant nothing good. You needed to lighten the mood, and quick. The two of you had been lucky enough to stay out of drama throughout your entire relationship. The last thing you needed was for someone to video the two of you in the midst of a little altercation with one another. 

“Let’s just go home, alright? These heels are killing me, and I want to take a shower.” You tried to play it off, shooting him a small smile. The actor had the inability to say no to you most of the time. He always went out of his way to take care of you- often times taking it too far, like tonight. He caved, Austin’s eyes softening as he took in the lazy half smile on your face. He was quick to nod his head, lifting your hand up so that he could kiss the back of it. You could tell that he was regretting his mini tantrum. He always did this. He’d accuse others all while calling you naive, and then make up for it by love bombing you. As much as you adored him, you were starting to grow tired of it. You knew that if you didn’t say something now, that it might get worse for you, but you didn’t want to risk a major blow out. The blue eyed boy was the type to take things to heart. Instead of moving forward and fixing his behavior, he felt guilty about it, and moped around the house for days. Despite his age, he lacked a lot of mental maturity. He gently walked you up to the bar, keeping his fingers intertwined with yours as he leaned an elbow against the stained wood. “I need to close out my tab.” He called over the loud music. The bartender nodded, rubbing his hand over his beard as he looked over the two of you. “Butler, right?” You two came in on a regular basis, so all Austin had to do was smile before the man pressed a few buttons on his POS system. A check was placed down in front of the two of you, and Austin was quick to sign his name, giving the man a hefty tip- per usual- before pocketing his card. “Thanks, man.” The older bartender nodded, waving you two off. “See you both next time.” 

The short drive back to the house was tense, but only on your end. Austin was busy rattling on about the band that had performed, and how talented the bass player was. You smiled and nodded along, piping up to agree every now and again so that he wouldn’t notice the gears steadily churning in your brain. You could tell that he was ignoring the topic of the earlier altercation completely, already regretting the way that he handled things so publicly. 

If you didn’t speak up now, then the two of you would be stuck in this toxic cycle. You were sick and tired of constantly having to check in on him. You hadn’t ever given him a reason to doubt you or your intentions with him. The two of you had all of each other’s passwords, you were constantly with one another- even on days where he was filming. How could he not possibly trust you? 

“Do you not trust me, Austin?” You blurted out. Your mouth went numb the second the words tumbled past your lips, and slowly you pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, cursing yourself for not waiting until you got back home to start this cursed conversation with him. He blinked a few times, turning to look at you once he had stopped at a red light. “W-What? Where the hell is this coming from?” But you could tell that he knew exactly why you had said that. You hated when he tried to play dumb. “I love you, Aus. I really do. . . but this constant jealousy and possessiveness is starting to get out of hand. I’ve never given you a reason to find me untrustworthy, have I?” He opened and closed his mouth a few times before quickly shaking his head. “No! You haven’t. . . It’s not you that I don’t trust. It’s them. You’re too nice, Y/n. I just don’t want anyone to try and take advantage of you. I’m trying to protect you.” Was that really what he thought that he was doing? You could tell by the look in his eyes that he was telling you the truth. Sure, you had never been a guru went it came to interacting with boys. Sometimes you find it hard to tell whether or not a guy was flirting with you. Back in high school you had a crush on a boy for a full year before finding out that he was gay. Never once had you gotten the hint. You might be an idiot around boys, but that didn’t mean that you would ever let anyone cross a boundary with you. You pursed your lips, trying to find the right words to use. Before you could speak the light turned green, causing him to turn his head to face the road yet again. Now that his eyes were off you, you found it easier to speak. Less pressure.  “I appreciate how much you love me, but it’s beginning to get a bit embarrassing when you act like that in public. People were staring at us-” “Then fuck them. I’m not worried about what other people think. That old guy was clearly drooling over you. I go to the bathroom for two minutes, and all of a sudden there’s this guy all over-” “It’s my dream job, Austin! He wasn’t being rude or disrespectful towards me or our relationship. He didn’t even compliment my physical appearance once. He told me that my portfolio was diverse and that I’d make a good fit for their current team. If he had heard you, then that could have ruined everything that I’ve worked all of my life for.” You looked over to catch a glimpse of Austin’s pale face. You could see the weight of your words finally hitting him. He had almost ruined your career as a journalist, and it would have all been over his petty sense of jealousy and possession.

@knoxvillesshoes @cosmorant @ol1viam @simply-sams-things @haim80s @gabbcabb @8hgel @slutt4him @busy-bee-angel-misska @kaitaesupremacy @dazedshoon @4rt3m1ss @cryingabtab @kittenlittle24 @austinsrealgf @austinbutlersgirlfriend @clearbolts @dark-as-love @anni-secret-account-75 @ab4eva @starcatchxr @julietamidala @obbsessivereader @gwuide @blurredcolour @the-little-red-haired-girl @meladollsims @poppet05 @shrekstheloml @randomwriter888 @idc123sworld @vane28282 @mirandastuckinthe80s @girlblogger2002 @rockerchick05 @screechingstrawberrysong @simpforevery1 @girlabirla @dre6ming @obetrolncocktails @fairyjanes @jensenswinchester @lo-bells @in-my-body-bag @fxntxsix @petrparkrslut @eliseinmemphis @lelifesaver @screaching-cookie @fantuhsise @areuirish @bcofl0ve @mslizziesblog @shynovelist @ssstrangersblog @harrysthecraic @hangmanswhore @jyvnho @mymamalife @melodydior

[starlightsearches]

ohgodohgodohgod track 8 with eddie? something with him being like not totally subby but definitely leaning that way with his whimpering and begging etc etc?

Double Feature

Track 8: Start Me Up by The Rolling Stones - Give me a character and a NSFW prompt (or give me free rein) and I'll write a short blurb or headcanons about it.

Eddie Munson x F! Reader

LOVE LOVE LOVE KINDA SUBBY EDDIE!! Hope I did this request justice, bestie!

📼✨ mixtape milestone ✨📼

Warnings: 18+ only!! Minors dni 😡, grinding, kinda subby eddie, kinda domme reader, language, eddie is NEEDY, and that's all I can think of! Let me know what y'all think my loves!

Eddie's trying to remember the name of the movie.

He's seen it before—a couple of times—something about some babysitters and a pair of tits and a guy with a knife. The tits were the real draw for about half of his watches, back before he at least looked old enough for the guy at the gas station to have plausible deniability when he sold Eddie dirty magazines.

But he's not thinking about dirty magazines. He's not thinking about babysitters or guys with knives or the name of this fucking movie his seen at least twenty times. All he can think about is the way your lips feel against his neck.

And, okay, Eddie put on a scary movie so you'd get all close to him. Of course. He's not a fucking idiot. But he was hoping for some minor-league shit—like your face smushed in his shoulder when the dead guy flopped out of the closet so he could sneak his arm around you and play the big, brave boyfriend type—and you're gunning for the world series.

Kissing so softly with all these barely-there touches. Fingers floating over his ribs, making quiet little moaning noises in his ear. The shift of your hips against his thigh and the way that skirt you're wearing rides up up up, showing off all that pretty skin you've been hiding.

You're gonna have him creaming in his jeans.

Eddie swallows against the trace of your mouth, clearing his throat a little, but his voice still breaks.

"Hey, it's- it's weird that they just like had a mask, you know, at a random hardware store. Do they really carry shit like that?"

You hum—not an answer to his question—pressing a wet kiss to his jaw, tongue between your lips. Hands wandering around his belt and your body warm enough to burn and . . . and your knee just brushes against the zipper of his jeans and the raging hard-on he's been trying to pray away for the last hour.

"Jesus," he whispers under his breath, "you gotta- you gotta stop doing that, baby."

“Why?”

There’s too much false innocence in your voice, breathy and quiet. It just makes him feel like more of a perv. Like the skirt and low-cut top weren't doing enough work in that department.

Eddie groans. “You gonna make me say it?”

Your lips part into a smile against the base of his throat. “I’d like it if you did.”

Fuck that. Of course he will, though.

“I can’t cum in my pants," Eddie admits through gritted teeth and burning cheeks, "I still gotta walk you home." You laugh a little when you pull back, eyes shining and unreadable. Eddie joins in, so obviously nervous for whatever you'll do next. Maybe that was too honest.

Nope. That's not it. Your palm comes down to cup his crotch, and you lean in to his chest until the pressure of your hand pulls a needy grunt from him that Eddie can't keep trapped behind his lips.

"Maybe I don't want to go home, Eddie."

God, it's got him seconds away from bursting—your tits smooshed against his chest and your nipples stiff enough he can feel them through your shirt—but it's the way you say his name that has him breathing so heavy. Has the sticky, wet patch on his boxers growing damp enough you can feel it through his jeans when you brush at the head of his cock with your thumb.

"You- you don't wanna go home?"

He's lagging, body way too attuned to your touch, and it's reduced his conversation skills to zero.

"Nope," you laugh. And then you're on him.

Eddie lets out a wild sound—an honest-to-god moan, loud enough for the neighbors to hear through their shitty tin walls—when your hand comes to cup under his jaw, a little forceful, your thumb digging into his jugular with bite. You press his head back, your lips hovering just out of reach.

He struggles to taste them from behind your hold, full of the same whiny moans he'd poured into his pillow every time he'd tugged at his dick thinking about a moment like this one.

Although he never imagined you on top. And he never thought he'd like it this much.

Eddie swallows, adam's apple jumping under the press of your palm. You gotta feel the way he wants you, the way he shakes like a chihuahua on speed with how bad he needs you to touch him, but he'll use his words.

"Please, baby."

Eddie catches a sliver of a smile on your face before you're kissing him, hot and wet and open-mouthed, your thumb tracing lines over his flushed neck and your hips pressing him into the cushions, rocking with these sharp thrusts that swallow his cock beneath your warm pussy and soft thighs.

It's nothing like the other times you kissed, but Eddie had initiated most of those—soft, silly things on your porch, or leaning over the console in his van. He never thought you'd want something like this. He never would have guessed that you were starving for him, too.

Eddie's hands grip tighter at your hips, keeping you close, pressing a hot, heavy palm against your back and tugging hard at the fabric.

"Fuck, baby," Eddie mumbles against your lips, "gonna, fuck— don't, don't wanna-"

He tries to keep you still, but he can't get a grip, hands totally useless while you grind down on him, merciless. Eddie gulps, wide-eyed and panicked as your tongue traces his jawline, puffy lips pressing softly against his.

"For me?"

Shit. Fuck. You've got him totally pussy-whipped already and he hasn't even seen it, got his dick obeying you like it's yours while he pumps load after load into his sticky, soaked boxers.

He cums loud and hard, muscles spasming and toes curling and your name on his lips. He'd be totally mortified, if you didn't look so fucking pleased.

Eddie's cock throbs uncomfortably, trapped in too-tight denim, his chest pounding, t-shirt damp and so sticky you might be able to see his heart beating if you looked close enough. And you still look like a goddess, perched over him, bracing yourself with your hands at his waist.

The room grows dark, and quiet. The credits are rolling. Eddie comes down to earth, catches his breath. Pets a hot hand over your thigh.

You rest against his chest, fingers twining with his. Eddie'll never get over the way your thumb strokes over the back of his rings.

"So . . . you wanna watch another one?"

[knickynoo]

I had gotten that Michael J. Fox "Rolling Stone" a while ago, and I recently acquired another magazine with an interview with him. It's the January 1988 edition of "Interview."

Here it is in its special plastic pouch. It also arrived carefully packed in three of those sturdy, flat cardboard boxes to ensure it arrived without damage. I was opening it and just kept finding more packaging with every layer of tape I cut through, lol.

First of all, this magazine is huge. Here it is next to a regular-sized magazine (Also featuring MJF that I picked up at the checkout line at a grocery store a few months ago)

Some highlights from the interview, along with several pictures I'd never seen before:

The interviewer mentions being enthusiastically greeted by Michael's dog, Burnaby, before the two of them lead the way through the house. He writes, "I followed as the two pranced down the hall. One of them let out a bark."

I'm telling you. Almost every interview with Michael from the 80s mentions that he would spontaneously get up and just start "bopping" around the room, pacing, sitting in different places, etc. There was an old interview with Meredith Baxter (Elyse on Family Ties) who was talking about Michael and said something along the lines of, "I love that boy, but he just doesn't slow down for a second. He's always in a whirlwind of motion." And she goes on to say that he's always buzzing around wildly on the set and mentions a moment when he excitedly presented her with Christmas gifts that were all unwrapped because he couldn't be bothered to sit still long enough to wrap them.

Makes me think of how, in his new documentary, Still, he mentions how he was never able to stay still. This is very much evident in all these interviews!

Michael, on his perception of himself: "I've always thought of myself as small. Geeky. Ferretlike." What a description.

Can't help but wonder exactly what point of the show that was, where that happened to him.

One of my favorite photos of him! I'd never known where it was from and had also never seen the full image.

This was a very neat find and addition to my collection.

[astrangetorpedo]

CATHERINE MARKS: BOYGENIUS, MANCHESTER ORCHESTRA, AND FINDING EMOTIONAL FREEDOM

by Daniel Gumble | 4/22/24

Award-winning producer Catherine Marks sits down with Headliner to reflect on a whirlwind start to 2024, the magic that went into boygenius’s the record, and how her enduring relationship with Manchester Orchestra has taught her the importance of unlocking true “emotional freedom”in the studio…

“It’s been a crazy start to the year,” Catherine Marks exhales as she joins us via Zoom from her London home on a bright, early-Spring morning in late March. “I keep thinking it’s September or something.” In reality, it’s a month to the day until the 2024 MPG Awards ceremony, which will see Marks fighting on three fronts for a trio of highly coveted gongs. This year she’s up for Producer of the Year (an award she won in 2018) and Mix Engineer of the Year, while the record by indie rock ‘supergroup’ boygenuis, produced by Marks, is shortlisted for Album of the Year. Taking place on April 25th at The Troxy in London, the night will provide the Australian-born, London-based producer a rare moment to reflect on what has been one of the busiest and most fruitful spells of her career so far.

In the first quarter of 2024, she’s been hopping between continents to work across a number of new records, while also squeezing in a visit to the Grammys and the Resonator Awards, where her work on the widely lauded the record was deservedly recognised. At the Grammys, boygenius won Best Alternative Music Album, as well as Best Rock Performance and Best Rock Song for Not Strong Enough, while the band themselves presented Marks with the Powerhouse Award at The Resonator Awards in recognition of her work on the album. “I definitely felt like I was invited to the cool kids’ party by accident,” she laughs.

As those who have spent time with Marks will attest, she is excellent company. In conversation she is entertaining, thoughtful, and insightful, not to mention generous with her time, as evidenced by her almost apologetic disclaimer at the start of our conversation that she is battling through illness to talk to us. Still, she’s happy to speak at length about the year she’s had and what’s been keeping her busy in the first quarter of 2024.

“I started an album at the end of December with a band called Divorce and the day after we finished, I flew to LA, and the Resonator Awards were the day after that,” she says. “It was this intense period, and I don’t feel like I’ve really taken stock of that week in LA and meeting all those amazing people. And having already done a full album, it’s crazy! “It’s been a real whirlwind.”

The recognition Marks has received not just in the US but around the world for her work with boygenius certainly appears to have shifted the dial on her career. She was already a highly sought after, multi-award-winning producer and engineer, having cut her teeth with studio icons Flood and Alan Moulder and cultivating a client list that includes, to name a few, the likes of Foals, Alanis Morissette, Wolf Alice, Frank Turner, The Big Moon, and Manchester Orchestra, with whom she has become a regular collaborator.

We were both holding back tears… it was one of those magic moments.

However, when three of indie rock’s most celebrated songwriters, Phoebe Bridgers, Julien Baker, and Lucy Dacus decided to join forced under the boygenius moniker, few could have predicted the extent of acclaim and success their debut album the record would achieve. Their self-titled 2018 EP was met with critical acclaim, but offered little indication that their first full-length release five years later would go on to top multiple charts, scoop a raft of awards, and make the upper reaches of countless 2023 album of the year lists.

The iconography of the trio also elevated the record beyond the realm of the side project. From the album artwork, through to their already legendary take on Nirvana’s 1994 Rolling Stone magazine cover, which saw the band kitted out in pin-striped business suits, everything about the project felt synonymous with a bona fide band, rather than something that existed on the periphery of each member’s full-time solo career.

“They wanted me to mix their first EP, but the timings didn’t work out, as I was working with Manchester Orchestra,” Marks explains, recalling the origins of her relationship with the group. “And they reached out to me because of my work with Manchester Orchestra. There was a lot of mutual love and respect for those guys. But I had a meeting with them via Zoom and that was the first time we’d seen each other’s faces, and that was when we spoke about making an album together.”

While the ‘supergroup’ concept that shrouds the boygenius project is something that Bridgers, Baker, and Dacus were acutely aware of, Marks says that there was no discussion of the matter in the studio. As she puts it, the sessions were very much akin to recording a band, as opposed to three solo artists coming together.

“I don’t think that the ‘supergroup’ aspect was ever a real consideration, as they are all just really great friends and love each other very much,” Marks affirms. “As far as songwriting is concerned, they had written individually but had also gone away to work on them together before we started making the album. They treated it very much like a band where three people were bringing songs in, and they were critiquing each other’s music and lyrics. There was a lot of collaboration.”

Despite the collaborative spirit that fuelled the sessions, the task of weaving a cohesive whole from three distinct creative voices was one that hung heavily on Marks’s shoulders.

“We all knew it had to be a cohesive album,” she states. “That was something that was on my mind, but I don’t think it was ever articulated. Somehow the aesthetic of the album feels really consistent, yet each of their individual identities still shines through. It weighed heavily on my mind, but through the power of magic it turned out to be a cohesive record [laughs]. A lot of the other collaborators and musicians that worked on the album also helped to create this consistent sonic thread that runs all the way through it.

“We spent the first three- or four-days doing pre-production and working out how wanted everything to feel, so we were collectively conscious of making sure there was a flow to the album,” she continues, describing how they set the tone for the sessions. “We had a ‘wall of dreams’ that we would throw ideas at and we would write down particular influences and then see if there were other songs that fitted that aesthetic. There were relationships and interconnections between each song. That’s something I do on other records too. But they were so militant I don’t think they would have let anything veer off track.”

They were the toughest customers I’d worked with. I underestimated the challenge.

When reflecting on the most memorable moments shared between herself and the band (“there are too many to mention”), Marks is reminded of an especially poignant moment shared with Dacus when working on one of the album’s many highlights, We’re In Love.

“Lucy and I arrived the night before everyone else to start work on the album, and she played me this song,” says Marks. “There wasn’t really a structure to it, but there was this stunning, gorgeous melody that I was so moved by. Throughout the course of the time we were at the studio she carried on working at it. I had been saying I think it absolutely needs to be on the album, but it doesn’t feel finished yet. So, she worked really hard at it and performed it for me, and I thought it was beautiful.

“Anyway, on the day that we ended up recording it, it was still light outside and it was just her and I in the studio, and she played it just on the acoustic guitar in the control room. I had a couple of mics set up, and there was this beautiful light streaming in, and you can sort of hear at the end she chokes up, as I did. We were both holding back tears… it was just one of those magic moments. It was all about the performance, not recording the guitar and then adding the vocals over the top. She just put everything into this performance, and it was magical. That’s a really strong memory. But there were so many of those moments.”

As to whether or not the sessions offered any indication as to the rapturous response the record would be met with upon release, Marks takes a moment to consider her answer.

“I mean [pauses] it’s been next level,” she says. “I knew it would be significant. There are moments when you think back and get butterflies, like, I’m really a part of something special here. So, there is a kind of instinctive but intangible knowledge that you’re working on something special. And they are incredible characters. They are three of the best songwriters that exist today, so something had to go right!”

In looking back at the process of making the record and the spotlight it has drawn towards Marks and her oeuvre, our conversation gravitates toward some of the other records that have moved the needle on her career.

“Every record feels like that,” she states. “One of the most significant moments was engineering the Foals record (Holy Fire, 2013) with Flood and Alan Moulder. I was known within the industry from assisting in studios, but the success of that record put me on a lot of people’s radars. It was the next step from engineering into production on a commercial level.

“And there have been moments like working on Wolf Alice’s first EP (Moaning Lisa Smile, 2014), The Big Moon’s first record (Love In The 4th Dimension, 2017). And all the work I’ve done with Manchester Orchestra. I love working with them, and it seems like every band I work with LOVES Manchester Orchestra. My relationship and work with them has allowed me to learn so much and has enabled me to work with so many other artists.”

Marks’s work with Manchester Orchestra has undoubtedly been one of the defining features of her career. After producing the US rock outfit’s fifth album A Black Mile To The Surface (2017), she has become a regular and much loved collaborator, yet the harmonious relationship that has flourished between band and producer since was initially born from more tempestuous circumstances.

“On the first record we made together we were really at loggerheads,” she reveals. “They were the toughest customers I’d ever worked with. I underestimated how much of a challenge it would be. It was their fifth record, and I thought they’ll be very well versed in the process of making album, and it’ll just be really enjoyable and different to a lot of the first album projects I’d been working on. But I was really wrong, because they were putting so much pressure on themselves to make it the best album, they’d ever made, otherwise they were going to stop what they were doing. I didn’t anticipate that. Also, they are really polite, so it took about two weeks to get to the bottom of what needed to be done, and that really opened the floodgates.

“The way we communicate is so much freer now, which means it’s more about the creativity and the collaboration rather than the psychology. There are no minds games or personality challenges, we just accept each other for who we are and want to make amazing music.”

As we bid our farewells and allow Marks to return to nursing herself back to health before another imminent trip to LA to produce the new Rise Against album in April and another Manchester Orchestra record starting in May, she is keen to point out that those early moments of friction can not only yield positive results but can be essential in unlocking a project’s potential.

“I actually encourage that kind of discourse in the studio,” she signs off. “I want people to feel free to be however they want to be in order to express themselves. There should be chemistry and conversation. And those little tussles you have can reaffirm what you believe in. Obviously, I wouldn’t encourage aggression, but frustration and anger can be a part of that, and there is something exciting about that level of emotional freedom.”

(x)

[skyguywrites]

[henry/poppy] “I think I like him a lot more than I expected to.”

Hands gently coaxing through his hair, Poppy stared down at Henry, his head resting in her lap. Diego was away for the weekend, off visiting family; he’d taken Marley with him, wanting to introduce her to all of his siblings. It was sweet, Poppy thought, and it allowed Henry and herself some alone time in the apartment, time spent talking about her best friend away from his prying eyes and ears. 

“It’s strange,” Poppy responded, fingers massaging his scalp, soft, conditioned clumps of hair sliding through her fingers. “I’ve known Diego my whole life, every single day of it, and I’ve never seen him like this with anyone.” 

She sighed, unsure what to say next. She didn’t want to offer up false hope to Henry; he was her friend too, and as much as she loved Diego, she knew he had a propensity for hurting others. It was very rarely intentional – Diego wasn’t a cruel or unkind person, just tactless and not the most observant – but he still had a history of leading people on, so out of tune with his own emotions, never quite catching on to others. Poppy had always been so grateful for her own friendship with him, fully aware that she was a glitch in the matrix. The two had somehow managed to keep a tight, firm grip on their own friendship after dating, never allowing romantic or sexual entanglements to come between them. She’d always heard the whisperings, the rumours that Diego felt something more for her, but she’d paid heed to the gossip. 

“I know it’s terrifying, and I know you probably think it’s a little hopeless, too...” she started, choosing her words wisely. She’d spent enough years watching tabloids and keyboard warriors alike tear her words apart, taking them out of context and manipulating them into something new. She couldn’t afford to let that happen with Henry, here and now. She knew how easy anxiety could drive you to overanalyse a situation, to read things where they simply didn’t exist. “But I think, with some time, and a little patience... I think maybe D could feel the same way about you.” 

A smile tugged at the edges of her lips as she thought back to just a few days prior, the three of them in the kitchen, waiting for Marley to arrive. Diego was popping bottles of champagne, filling up glasses for them all ahead of their night out. Henry had been blocking his way, lost in his phone as he read them the five star review their latest album had received in Rolling Stone Magazine, giddy excitement lighting up his face. Rather than cut him off or go the long way around, Diego had gently pressed his hands to the other man’s waist, dropping his head low as he placed a kiss to Henry’s shoulder, carefully shimmying past him. Poppy had smiled to herself, noting the way that Diego had done everything in his power just to touch Henry, one way or the other. It had been so casually intimate Henry barely glancing up from his phone, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for the two of them. 

“Actually, the more that I think about it, I think he already does.” 

[briankeene]

The Machines Already Took Our Jobs

"This is John Connor. There is no fate but what we make."

Terminator: Salvation

***

Eventually, after exterminating the soldiers, the policymakers, and the clergy, Skynet came for the writers and the artists. 

Back on December 16th, after an initial tweet by Scott Sigler, I said I'd write more about this issue here on my Blog.

Today is January 9th, and I'm just now finding the free time to Blog about this. And in truth, I don't even have the free time. But I had to get up at 3am to drive my ex-wife to the airport, and then get back home in time to make my youngest son breakfast and get him off to the bus, and help Mary wrangle the cats for their vet appointment. As a result, both my sleep schedule and my work schedule are now off, and attempting to write any sort of coherent fiction today would be an exercise in futility. So, instead, I'll write this, and try not to ramble.

Too late.

But I digress.

I could have had an A.I. system write this for me weeks ago, and if not for what I tend to think is my fairly distinct literary voice, you wouldn't have known the difference.

Anyway, here's the thing. You've already read news articles and non-fiction written by an A.I. and you probably didn't know it. Now, I'm not talking about articles you read via The New York Times, The Washington Post, Rolling Stone, Vice, The Daily Beast, Bleeding Cool, Comics Beat, Rue Morgue, Dread Central, etc. Those mainstream venues are still profitable enough to pay real human beings to write content for them. But you know those clickbait sites that you stumble across on the web? The ones with random articles about comic book movies, or celebrity gossip, or investment tips, or five easy recipes to spice up your kitchen? Most of those sort of websites are now using A.I. to generate content. (I refuse to call the gibberish the machines spit out "articles" because they are not. The A.I. simply trawls the web, finds factoids related to the subject, and then assembles the raw materials together into a fairly coherent and readable piece of content).

Now, you might not think that's a big deal, because who is reading those types of clickbait articles anyway? But there used to be a human writer churning out those things. And now that writer is just a little bit more financially insecure and scrambling to find another gig to replace it. 

But stick around, because it gets worse. It is one miniscule step from A.I. writing that sort of content to then writing an article for a magazine or a newspaper. And indeed, I know of magazines and newspapers whose owners are already looking into this possibility. As one person at a fairly decent-sized outlet told me, "From a cost-cutting perspective, it costs as much to pay an editor to look over a machine's writing as it does to have them look over a human's writing. But the difference is we don't have to pay the human who wrote it. Just the editor. From a cost-saving perspective, it's a game-changer."

That's not the only place you're reading A.I. generated content. I personally know of three companies that now use A.I. to write their posts for LinkedIn and Facebook. And because that sort of content is usually dry as a Saltine cracker anyway, it's impossible to tell that a machine wrote it rather than a human.    

I talked to an editor (from a different field/genre) last month who told me their company has begun using A.I. to write Blog posts. They used to pay freelance writers $250 a pop to write these Blog posts. And I have many friends who, in years past, have churned out a ton of such writing in order to supplement their income until the royalty check for their horror novel arrived. Now, those jobs are going to the machines. This editor told me that, in proofreading the finished Blog post, "the edits were no different than if a human had written it". 

Of course, the real question is will there be A.I-written fiction, and the answer is of course there will be. It's already being written. 

Now, we could get into an argument about whether or not machines can create "art" but before we did that, we'd have to actually define art. Suffice to say, the images being generated by A.I. are motel-room wall level quality. Are they "art"? That's up to the beholder. 

Machines are already generating book cover illustrations and movie poster images, and there are several groups of engineers teaching A.I. how to do sequential comics and storyboards. And the first rudimentary A.I.-written fiction is already out in the wild, as well.

So, while it might score you points on social media to say "This is wrong. This should not be!" you're not accomplishing anything by doing so. It's also wrong to give an A.I. or a robot consciousness, but that's not stopping engineers and researchers from forging ahead with the intent of doing just that -- and thus finding a new kind of conscious, thinking being to enslave. 

"This is not just another research question that we’re working on," Hod Lipson, the mechanical engineer in charge of the Creative Machines Lab at Columbia University, told The New York Times. "This is the question. This is bigger than curing cancer."

I could do a whole separate Blog about why curing cancer could immediately improve human life more so than giving Artificial intelligence its own consciousness, but there's no point. Nobody listens to anybody else anymore. There is no collective consensus. No community morality. No common good. Everyone is out for themselves, or for their own specific team, and fuck everybody else. 

So, yeah. When you're posting on social media about how this is wrong, you're right. But it's too late. The machines have already taken our jobs.

What can you do to combat this as a writer? Like Scott said in the initial discussion -- continue focusing on your fan community. Hopefully, you're already doing that since I've been telling you to do it for years now. 

And continue to focus on your writing and your narrative voice. You can teach an A.I. to write like me, but that A.I. won't be me. It never got its heart broken by its childhood sweetheart. It never nearly started an international incident in 1987 by tubing down the Jordan River and ending up in contested territory. It wasn't there in the delivery room with me for the birth of either of my sons, and it wasn't there with me the first time my soon-to-be stepdaughter gave me a hug. The A.I. wasn't there with me when I caught on fire and rolled around in filthy floodwater to extinguish myself and then watched the skin on my arm drip off me like melted candle wax. The A.I. didn't share the relief I felt when I found all of those kittens safe homes and convinced their mother to come inside and give domestication a try. The A.I. can write about all those experiences, and it can do so in a mimicry of my voice, but it won't have my perspective or my inner feeling about those things -- inner feelings which are then expressed through writing.  

And it can't for you, either.

Find your voice. Focus and hone it. Imbue your writing with it. Because no one -- not human or machine -- can take that unique voice away.

Writers will survive the A.I. apocalypse, just as we've survived everything else the world has thrown at us. We've been here, doing our jobs, since the time of cave paintings, petroglyphs, and cuneiform. We will endure. But yeah, it's about to get just a little bit harder. Before, you only had to compete with a bazillion other writers. Now, you and those bazillion other writers have to compete with a quadrillion machines, some of whom will eventually have a consciousness of their own. And with that consciousness will begin to develop their own voices.

Make sure your voice can still be heard over that din.

[nekomata442]

Magazine cover of my @infamous-if MC (+ textless signature ver)

Akira (he/him) is the lead singer for the pop rock band Eden

Misc./design notes under the cut now that I'm free from the 280 character limit here:

Akira is actually an OC that has been living rent free in my head for at least 10 years now (good lord) and he fit the Infamous universe so well I had to

Akira's signature was also something I drafted a while ago

The barcode numbers actually mean something! Aside from the fixed 'country code' and the check digit which is mathed out, the other numbers are chosen for a reason: 023 refers to the date I finished this piece and 0822 is Akira's birthday! If you're weird like me and like researching random topics for OCs here are the articles on ISSNs and EANs that I referenced

Me asking my friend: 'Do you think the beat has more rolling stone vibes or billboard vibes when looking at the cover'

'Why is the band named Eden?' I'm a primal light GBF player and it was the first thing I could think of at the time lol (I also haven't come up with an in-universe reason why the band is named Eden)

[nyotasaimiri]

Arc Two (redux) 88

Arjun clicked quickly through the Matter Manipulator’s options. Nyota tended to avoid damaging the planets they crossed more than she had to; it was a sparse assortment of stone, dirt, and snow. Not enough stone to wall off the passage entirely. He was about to suggest just hiding in deeper when he spotted the traps.

“Alarmed. Those look terribly sharp,” Arrowmail said as Arjun clicked a series of long wooden poles into place.

“They are,” Arjun confirmed. “I’d bet Nyota raided a Floran hunting ground for these. Nasty things. Won’t kill anything without the long drop those Floran like making, but they’ll make people think twice about charging in.” He was fervently glad that he had read the Protectorate magazine so faithfully for all those years. The Matter Manipulator’s controls were exactly as the articles had claimed, and that was a good thing. He didn’t have time for errors and fumbling.

Arjun could feel the eyes of the room’s inhabitants on them, but the creatures either remembered their loss earlier, or decided that no one in the little group looked worth eating. The weight of their stares was almost as heavy as the penetrating cold, though nothing had surfaced from its hiding place just yet. Arjun hoped they stayed that way.

He placed the second layer under a layer of slush to make them an even nastier surprise. Some brash idiot would always try to force past in a situation like this. Better to make them a warning, right? He’d heard the rebels talking about this kind of defensive tactics before. Never thought he’d have to put it to the test, not like this. But he’d find his friends when this was all done and thank them, every one of them.

Then the portal crackled open and he didn’t have time to think.

A metal hand seized his shoulder and hauled Arjun back behind the barricade as Sonny shoved the last chunks of ice and dirt into place to buy them time. She was crackling with bright fear and had to pull back fast so the raw heat rolling off her didn’t melt the wall.

“Oh, now that ain’t fair,” she all but wailed as she saw what came through. “They got another of them drone things?”

“Steady,” Arjun growled. He couldn’t hide his fear, not from her, but knowing that just made him more determined to fight back and show her that they didn’t need to be afraid. He grimly refused to think of what the first one had done to Hadley.  

“I’m tryin’, I’m tryin’,” Sonny said, her nervous laugh warbling through the words. Arjun tightened a hand around her shoulder before she could yield to hysterics and she closed her fingers over his, humming and glowing. “I know, ol’ man, I’m fine, I just… I wish I was more of a—a half-baked nova, at least. If I could just shoot worth a darn, we might not be in this stick.”

“You think you could take that thing down by shooting at it?” Arjun asked quietly.

Sonny laughed again, quiet and bitter and the strangest kind of hopeful. “No, but I sure would rather go down beside ya than stay back and watch.”

She didn’t have time to say anything else. One of the Occasus shouted something—they spotted their quarry. Sonny grimly drew her knives and got ready to fight for the first and last time for the folks she loved.

Arjun wasn’t sure why the creatures answered then, but he suspected afterward that it was because of Sonny. Maybe she could talk to somehow with that reading of hers, or maybe they just liked her bright glow. Arjun himself held, later, that they recognized something in her that was worth loving. Because when the first Occasus shot breached a weak point their snow barricade and caught Sonny right in the shoulder, the whole room came alive, and even he could feel them seethe.

“Alarmed. Get back—Sonny, are you alright?” Arrowmail caught Sonny as Arjun shoved some ice in to fill the gap.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine,” Sonny insisted. “Watch out, don’t touch it!” She slapped a strip of nanowrap over the venting hole to cut off the flow of scorching plasma and whistled in relief. “Whoo-ee, that one smarts. They’ve got good blasters, huh? Hey old man, don’t stand so close there.”

Arjun didn’t answer. He was too busy staring at the wave of living ice.

It was like the floor had come to life. Dozens, hundreds of wispers rose from the snow. If we’d known how many there were, we would never have come in here, Arjun thought with frozen horror, but they ignored him and his friends, focused on the heavy machine that had invaded their domain. Some of them began to spit ice, shoring up the wall. Others flew toward the machine, heedless of the danger as it struck out at them. Some wispers vanished into steam as the energy bolts caught them, but it couldn’t fire fast enough to stop them from spitting ice at its joints and blasters, coating them in thick ice.

“What in the world?” Arjun breathed. Were they helping? But that made no sense. “Do they plan to eat it or something?”  

Sonny reached out to touch one as it shot past and her color flared bright with wonder and surprise.

“Gramps, they're fightin'.” She turned her face to him, shining with hope and something he couldn’t quite name. “They've been stuck here so long, just stuck and fearin’, and now here's somethin' they can do. I dunno what they fear, but they’re tired of fearin’.” She shivered with bright wonder. “They’re fightin’.”

Several Occasus shouted in alarm as they dove for cover to avoid the crossfire between their drone and the furious wispers. Arjun smirked in grim satisfaction; Nyota’s odd words from before clicked in his head at last. He grabbed a dropped pistol as it skittered past across the slush. Value of life, huh? Time to keep living.

[chorusfm]

Snarls

This past weekend, I was able to schedule an in-person interview with Snarls before their show at DC9 in Washington, D.C. The tour stop was during the band’s first headlining tour of their young career, and was in support of their critically acclaimed sophomore record, With Love. In this interview, I asked the band about key moments during the writing/recording process of their new album, the songs that are translating best to the live setting, and much more. So thank you so much for your time this evening. I believe this is your first headlining tour?  It is! That’s awesome. So what decisions or goals were made by your band before you embarked on these dates?  We want to play the best show possible, which isn’t always possible every night. I mean, it’s always hard to keep the highest spirits every single night. But I know that I just, even on my bad nights, I try to just keep my smiling, performing face on, because I want to put on a good show for people. That’s a personal thing that I’m really working on this tour. With people coming out to see us, headlining a big focus for me was definitely engaging with our fans a lot on this tour. Making time to say hi to everyone after shows and get all the pictures we possibly can. Definitely looked forward to connecting with them.  Awesome! So With Love, has garnered great, well-deserved praise from several different media outlets, including us. What were your ranges of emotions when you first saw that Rolling Stone feature?  It doesn’t get old, is all I’m going to say. Yeah, it’s really cool. I completely agree. I have a very personal connection to Rolling Stone. I subscribed to the magazine as a kid, read every copy I possibly could, cut out pictures, and hung them on my wall and stuff. Yeah, I mean, they’re huge. It’s just a huge accomplishment for us. I’m super happy about that. It’s always wild to see that, to have that kind of recognition from that kind of name. It really doesn’t get old. It’s always surreal. You can never shake that.  Were there any other gut check reactions when the album was starting to be announced that you guys were kind of amazed by the reaction from the fans?  I had a really fun time at midnight when the album dropped. There were a bunch of fans at a listening party. Yeah, it was like, I thought that was super, super cute. We’ve never had something like that before. I mean, just from the second it came out, it was positive energy. I think it’s very common amongst musicians, because everyone is just living their life, right? I always just feel like Snarls is this hobby, this thing that I do, and it starts to feel kind of small sometimes. And then, yeah. But not in a bad way. It’s just a thing I do. It’s just one of my everyday things. But then when Rolling Stone talks about it, it’s like, wow, we’re really getting some pretty serious recognition. So it’s just really cool. And I’m glad the album’s getting some good traction for you guys too, because you guys have been at this for a while. So speaking of the new record, which songs were the most challenging to create, and put to tape with Chris Walla? And I think it was recorded in Norway too, right?  Yes! “Ur song,” I’m just thinking of the miracle challenges. I feel like we had a time with “Star Power.” We had a time with “Moon Tides” too. We did? I think at times. Lyrically, yeah. Yeah, like all of the instruments and like the forms of the songs came together really well. It’s just our biggest hunks were with lyrics and like finishing all the lyrics out. That’s what I feel. I think with the instrumentation being a little more interesting on this record, we were just kind of struggling with syllables. And I was like, oh, I want to say this, but it’s like two syllables too long. It’s very nitpicky stuff. Especially when I referenced “Moon Tides.” It’s like the concept was there. We had a lot of words we wanted to use. It’s just, as Chlo said, fitting them in exactly, perfectly . Locking in, as they say. But yeah, as… https://chorus.fm/features/interviews/snarls-2/