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damonalbarn · 3 years ago

Note

Hey I was wondering if you knew the article that Justine spoke about suzi in?!

It was in The Guardian in 2000. Here you go:

Sweet revenge

In the mid 90s, Justine Frischmann and Damon Albarn were the First Couple of Britpop. Then he used a Blur album to rake over their break-up, while she languished in obscurity amid rumours of heroin addiction. Now she's back with a new album, and it's her turn to exorcise her demons.

Caroline Sullivan

Friday March 24, 2000

As Alison Moyet once said, it's hard to write a decent song when you're happy. Rock bands thrive on romantic turmoil in their private lives, without which they would be reduced to padding out lyrics with football scores and the weather.

Thus it was for Blur's Damon Albarn in mid-1998 when he sat down to write what would become the 13 album. His eight-year relationship with Justine Frischmann of the chart-topping Elastica, whom he once described as **"the only person who's ever been completely necessary to me" **had just ended, at her instigation. Pained and humiliated, he decided to exact revenge by exposing their most intimate details to public scrutiny.

The outcome? Embarrassment for Frischmann, a number one album for Blur and a bit of a result for Albarn.

Break-up albums are by definition both embittered and yearning - in the case of Marvin Gaye's vindictive Here, My Dear, they're just plain nasty - but 13 got more up-close and personal than could be considered gentlemanly. Albarn portrayed his former partner as neurotic, even slipping apparent drug references into the single Tender: "Tender is the ghost, the ghost I love the most/Hiding from the sun, waiting for the night to come". Frischmann was the ghost, supposedly, who was on the verge of being consumed by what one music paper euphemistically called "the darkness at the heart of Elastica".

Frischmann's response can be found on a song called The Way I Like It, which appears on Elastica's first album in five years, The Menace (out next month): "Well, I'm living all right and I'm doing okay/Had a lover who was made of sand, and the wind blew him away".

This is unlikely to be her last word on the subject. As she ambivalently begins her first round of interviews since 1996, she's finding that everyone has the same three questions. Why did Elastica nearly sabotage a promising career by taking so long to follow up their million-selling debut? Had Frischmann taken leave of her senses when she walked out on Mr Britpop? And what about the drug rumours?

"One journalist said to me, 'Dahling, I heard you were on heroin - Mahvelous!' " she says with some amusement. "Drugs are around, but I'm not that interested and never have been, although there have been elements of party animal in my band. The rumours are a lot to do with rock'n'roll mythology, where people want to believe you're having a more exciting time than you are."

The only drugs on her person today, as she perches on the edge of an armchair in her publicist's north London living room, are Marlboro Lights. Her other indulgences are two cups of herbal tea and a Cadbury's Flake cupcake, which she nibbles with well-bred pleasure. Her dark eyes are clear, and her long, tanned body is a testament to the virtues of a daily swim in a pool near her Notting Hill home. Only Elastica know whether they really succumbed to heroin and hedonism after their self-titled debut made them more famous than they'd ever expected to be, but if they did, Frischmann, 30, seems little the worse for it.

Given the current predominance of damnable boy bands, the Britpop mid-90s are beginning to seem like a halcyon period for English music. It was a time when the underground went overground, and a self-described "little punk band" like Elastica could sell 80,000 albums in a week.

More than a few loser guitar groups saw Britpop as a licence to print money, but Elastica, led with cool elan by the androgynous Frischmann, were one of its gems. The Blur connection was a marketing godsend (Frischmann and Albarn met on the London indie circuit, she as guitarist in an early line-up of Suede and girlfriend of frontman Brett Anderson, he as a cherubic baggy hopeful), yet the spiky-haired Elastica LP embodied that euphoric time like nothing else.

Frischmann, guitarist Donna Matthews, drummer Justin Welch and bassist Annie Holland were unprepared for the album soaring to number one in its first week. When they signed their record deal, Frischmann, whose great-grandfather was a conductor of the Tsar's orchestra at the Summer Palace in Byelorussia, was five years into an architecture degree at London University. A liberal north London Jewish upbringing - her engineer father built the Oxford Street landmark Centrepoint - had instilled expectations of success, but the reality of being photographed in the supermarket and having her rubbish stolen was a shock. Fiercely independent, she also resented her unsought role as half of Britpop's First Couple.

There was more. Two of Frischmann's musical heroes, The Stranglers and Wire, decided that two Elastica songs were suspiciously similar to two of their own tracks, and won royalties. Meanwhile, there were malicious rumours that Albarn had done much of the work on the record. He hadn't, but he did find Justine's success in America, where she was substantially out-selling Blur, hard to endure.

"It was very hard for him to deal with and he's very confrontational," she says, with the flattering openness of someone who prefers interviews to be more like conversations. She admits she often says too much, but in an era of image control and spin, her honesty makes her a one-off. Not that she's likely to land herself in it too badly - she possesses the intellectual ammunition to look after herself, which must have been instrumental in attracting two of rock's more articulate stars, Albarn and Anderson.

She's been accused of being a professional rock girlfriend, though it was probably they who were lucky to get her. She spent the cab ride over reading the Sylvia Plath letters in Monday's Guardian, and muses on the irony of the poet's subjugating herself to Ted Hughes when she was the more gifted. (Her new boyfriend, by the way, is an unknown photographer, "though that'll probably change, because men seem to get famous when I go out with them".)

"I reacted the way a lot of women do, by being passive," she continues. "He put a lot of pressure on me to give up Elastica. He said, 'You don't want to be in a band, you want to settle down and have kids.' " In so many words? "In so many words. He kept putting on pressure till I started to believe him." She adds bemusedly: "I've met his new girlfriend, and one of the first things she said was that he wanted her to give up travelling with her work to stay home with the baby [Missy, born last autumn]. I'm surprised he's got away with being thought of as a nice person for so long."

After 18 months, during which they did seven American and three Japanese tours, Elastica came off the road to record company demands for an immediate second album. Annie Holland's response was to quit the group, while Donna Matthews became renowned for hard partying on the nocturnal west London scene. They lethargically recorded some demos, but their heart wasn't in it. By 1997, when a second album should have been ready to go, Frischmann and Matthews were barely speaking, and there was nothing useable down on tape.

Holland's replacement, Sheila Chipperfield (of the circus Chipperfields), was deemed not good enough and left by mutual consent. By 1998, their continued lack of productivity was being likened to the Stone Roses' lengthy and ultimately self-destructive holiday between their first and second LPs.

"I didn't think Elastica were going to continue at that point, and we did kinda split up," she says, absently stroking her publicist's cat. Frischmann is a cat person; she's owned a tabby called Benjamin since she was 10. "Unconditional love," she coos. The pet's place in her life is so assured that prospective boyfriends are subjected to his feline scrutiny before she'll go out with them.

On top of everything else, in early 1998 her relationship with Albarn was in trouble. Frischmann retains enough of the indie ethic to detest the phenomenon of celebrity couples, and was dismayed when they became one. "I really hated the tabloid interest, and I went out of my way not to be photographed with him. Only about three pictures of us together exist, I think. In many ways, I think the media interest broke us up, because it made me feel the relationship was quite ugly, and I had to get away from it. There were other factors, too, obviously, because we were together for eight years, and I finally felt it was better the devil you didn't know, really."

Albarn's ego seems to have been severely undermined by having a girlfriend who was nearly as successful as he was, and something of a sex symbol to boot. Despite adopting a resolutely boyish T-shirt-and-jeans uniform, she's thoroughly feminine, a mix that got her voted fifth most fanciable woman in a lesbian magazine.

"I'm completely heterosexual, so I didn't know how to take that. It scares the shit out of me, the idea of being with a girl. I'm glad I've narrowed it down to half the people in the world."

She seems to view Albarn with indulgent exasperation these days, simultaneously praising his intelligence ("The Gallaghers just couldn't compete") and ticking off his flaws. "Damon adores being in the press, and sees all press as good press. He orchestrated that rivalry thing with Oasis. He really wanted kids, and I didn't feel our relationship was stable enough. He was a naughty boy, and he wasn't the right person to have kids with. I had this cathartic moment..."

At which point they split up. Albarn wrote 13 and then met Suzi Winstanley, an artist. "She was pregnant within three months," Justine observes wickedly.

Of the acclaimed 13, she's tactful, describing several songs as "really lovely". She studies her cigarette for a while before adding, "but I'm cynical about selling a record on the back of our relationship". But you're doing the same now. "It's true, but at the time I had no right of reply."

Elastica finally pulled themselves together last year, just as the music industry was about to write them off (their American label had already "very kindly let us go", as she puts it). Holland rejoined, Matthews went to Wales to sort out her life and the band banged out an EP and played the Reading Festival. Things came together quickly after that. They spent the last £10,000 of the recording budget on re-recording a dozen tracks, finishing the album, after years of procrastinating, in six weeks. They've called it The Menace "because that's what it was like to make".

It's dark and resolutely uncommercial - all wrong for 2000's pop-oriented climate. It's unlikely to match the success of the first one, which is fine with them. Call it (though Justine doesn't) their White Album. Its 70s punk aesthetic brings to mind angry girls such as the Slits and the Au Pairs, although the defining mood isn't anger so much as catharsis. None of the songs is specifically about Albarn, she claims. "The dark feeling is due to the sense of isolation, tasting success and getting frightened by it. I was questioning whether I wanted to be in a band any more, and there was no one I could ask for advice. Getting success and everything you ever dreamed about is hard to handle, and makes you question everything."

She's better prepared for success, if it comes again, this time. Already the privacy-preserving barriers are in place. The next interview of the day is with Time Out magazine, which wants a list of her favourite restaurants. "I'm not telling them where I eat," she says reflexively. "I'm gonna lie."

#questions #damon albarn #justine frischmann #blur #elastica

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4eternal-life · 3 years ago

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MANIFESTO OF FUTURISM /The Futurist Manifesto

by Filippo Tommaso Marinetti, february 20th, 1909

We want to sing the love of danger, the habit of energy and rashness.

The essential elements of our poetry will be courage, audacity and revolt.

Literature has up to now magnified pensive immobility, ecstasy and slumber. We want to exalt movements of aggression, feverish sleeplessness, the double march, the perilous leap, the slap and the blow with the fist.

We declare that the splendor of the world has been enriched by a new beauty: the beauty of speed. A racing automobile with its bonnet adorned with great tubes like serpents with explosive breath ... a roaring motor car which seems to run on machine-gun fire, is more beautiful than the Victory of Samothrace.

We want to sing the man at the wheel, the ideal axis of which crosses the earth, itself hurled along its orbit.

The poet must spend himself with warmth, glamour and prodigality to increase the enthusiastic fervor of the primordial elements.

Beauty exists only in struggle. There is no masterpiece that has not an aggressive character. Poetry must be a violent assault on the forces of the unknown, to force them to bow before man.

We are on the extreme promontory of the centuries! What is the use of looking behind at the moment when we must open the mysterious shutters of the impossible? Time and Space died yesterday. We are already living in the absolute, since we have already created eternal, omnipresent speed.

We want to glorify war — the only cure for the world — militarism, patriotism, the destructive gesture of the anarchists, the beautiful ideas which kill, and contempt for woman.

We want to demolish museums and libraries, fight morality, feminism and all opportunist and utilitarian cowardice.

We will sing of the great crowds agitated by work, pleasure and revolt; the multi-colored and polyphonic surf of revolutions in modern capitals: the nocturnal vibration of the arsenals and the workshops beneath their violent electric moons: the gluttonous railway stations devouring smoking serpents; factories suspended from the clouds by the thread of their smoke; bridges with the leap of gymnasts flung across the diabolic cutlery of sunny rivers: adventurous steamers sniffing the horizon; great-breasted locomotives, puffing on the rails like enormous steel horses with long tubes for bridle, and the gliding flight of aeroplanes whose propeller sounds like the flapping of a flag and the applause of enthusiastic crowds

We have been up all night, my friends and I, beneath mosque lamps whose brass cupolas are bright as our souls, because like them they were illuminated by the internal glow of electric hearts. And trampling underfoot our native sloth on opulent Persian carpets, we have been discussing right up to the limits of logic and scrawling the paper with demented writing.

Our hearts were filled with an immense pride at feeling ourselves standing quite alone, like lighthouses or like the sentinels in an outpost, facing the army of enemy stars encamped in their celestial bivouacs. Alone with the engineers in the infernal stokeholes of great ships, alone with the black spirits which rage in the belly of rogue locomotives, alone with the drunkards beating their wings against the walls.

Then we were suddenly distracted by the rumbling of huge double decker trams that went leaping by, streaked with light like the villages celebrating their festivals, which the Po in flood suddenly knocks down and uproots, and, in the rapids and eddies of a deluge, drags down to the sea.

Then the silence increased. As we listened to the last faint prayer of the old canal and the crumbling of the bones of the moribund palaces with their green growth of beard, suddenly the hungry automobiles roared beneath our windows.

"Come, my friends!" I said. "Let us go! At last Mythology and the mystic cult of the ideal have been left behind. We are going to be present at the birth of the centaur and we shall soon see the first angels fly! We must break down the gates of life to test the bolts and the padlocks! Let us go! Here is they very first sunrise on earth! Nothing equals the splendor of its red sword which strikes for the first time in our millennial darkness."

We went up to the three snorting machines to caress their breasts. I lay along mine like a corpse on its bier, but I suddenly revived again beneath the steering wheel — a guillotine knife — which threatened my stomach. A great sweep of madness brought us sharply back to ourselves and drove us through the streets, steep and deep, like dried up torrents. Here and there unhappy lamps in the windows taught us to despise our mathematical eyes. "Smell," I exclaimed, "smell is good enough for wild beasts!"

And we hunted, like young lions, death with its black fur dappled with pale crosses, who ran before us in the vast violet sky, palpable and living.

And yet we had no ideal Mistress stretching her form up to the clouds, nor yet a cruel Queen to whom to offer our corpses twisted into the shape of Byzantine rings! No reason to die unless it is the desire to be rid of the too great weight of our courage!

We drove on, crushing beneath our burning wheels, like shirt-collars under the iron, the watch dogs on the steps of the houses.

Death, tamed, went in front of me at each corner offering me his hand nicely, and sometimes lay on the ground with a noise of creaking jaws giving me velvet glances from the bottom of puddles.

"Let us leave good sense behind like a hideous husk and let us hurl ourselves, like fruit spiced with pride, into the immense mouth and breast of the world! Let us feed the unknown, not from despair, but simply to enrich the unfathomable reservoirs of the Absurd!"

As soon as I had said these words, I turned sharply back on my tracks with the mad intoxication of puppies biting their tails, and suddenly there were two cyclists disapproving of me and tottering in front of me like two persuasive but contradictory reasons. Their stupid swaying got in my way. What a bore! Pouah! I stopped short, and in disgust hurled myself — vlan! — head over heels in a ditch.

Oh, maternal ditch, half full of muddy water! A factory gutter! I savored a mouthful of strengthening muck which recalled the black teat of my Sudanese nurse!

As I raised my body, mud-spattered and smelly, I felt the red hot poker of joy deliciously pierce my heart. A crowd of fishermen and gouty naturalists crowded terrified around this marvel. With patient and tentative care they raised high enormous grappling irons to fish up my car, like a vast shark that had run aground. It rose slowly leaving in the ditch, like scales, its heavy coachwork of good sense and its upholstery of comfort.

We thought it was dead, my good shark, but I woke it with a single caress of its powerful back, and it was revived running as fast as it could on its fins.

Then with my face covered in good factory mud, covered with metal scratches, useless sweat and celestial grime, amidst the complaint of staid fishermen and angry naturalists, we dictated our first will and testament to all the living men on earth.

It is in Italy that we are issuing this manifesto of ruinous and incendiary violence, by which we today are founding Futurism, because we want to deliver Italy from its gangrene of professors, archaeologists, tourist guides and antiquaries.

Italy has been too long the great second-hand market. We want to get rid of the innumerable museums which cover it with innumerable cemeteries.

Museums, cemeteries! Truly identical in their sinister juxtaposition of bodies that do not know each other. Public dormitories where you sleep side by side for ever with beings you hate or do not know. Reciprocal ferocity of the painters and sculptors who murder each other in the same museum with blows of line and color. To make a visit once a year, as one goes to see the graves of our dead once a year, that we could allow! We can even imagine placing flowers once a year at the feet of the Gioconda! But to take our sadness, our fragile courage and our anxiety to the museum every day, that we cannot admit! Do you want to poison yourselves? Do you want to rot?

What can you find in an old picture except the painful contortions of the artist trying to break uncrossable barriers which obstruct the full expression of his dream?

To admire an old picture is to pour our sensibility into a funeral urn instead of casting it forward with violent spurts of creation and action. Do you want to waste the best part of your strength in a useless admiration of the past, from which you will emerge exhausted, diminished, trampled on?

Indeed daily visits to museums, libraries and academies (those cemeteries of wasted effort, calvaries of crucified dreams, registers of false starts!) is for artists what prolonged supervision by the parents is for intelligent young men, drunk with their own talent and ambition.

For the dying, for invalids and for prisoners it may be all right. It is, perhaps, some sort of balm for their wounds, the admirable past, at a moment when the future is denied them. But we will have none of it, we, the young, strong and living Futurists!

Let the good incendiaries with charred fingers come! Here they are! Heap up the fire to the shelves of the libraries! Divert the canals to flood the cellars of the museums! Let the glorious canvases swim ashore! Take the picks and hammers! Undermine the foundation of venerable towns!

The oldest among us are not yet thirty years old: we have therefore at least ten years to accomplish our task. When we are forty let younger and stronger men than we throw us in the waste paper basket like useless manuscripts! They will come against us from afar, leaping on the light cadence of their first poems, clutching the air with their predatory fingers and sniffing at the gates of the academies the good scent of our decaying spirits, already promised to the catacombs of the libraries.

But we shall not be there. They will find us at last one winter's night in the depths of the country in a sad hangar echoing with the notes of the monotonous rain, crouched near our trembling aeroplanes, warming our hands at the wretched fire which our books of today will make when they flame gaily beneath the glittering flight of their pictures.

They will crowd around us, panting with anguish and disappointment, and exasperated by our proud indefatigable courage, will hurl themselves forward to kill us, with all the more hatred as their hearts will be drunk with love and admiration for us. And strong healthy Injustice will shine radiantly from their eyes. For art can only be violence, cruelty, injustice.

The oldest among us are not yet thirty, and yet we have already wasted treasures, treasures of strength, love, courage and keen will, hastily, deliriously, without thinking, with all our might, till we are out of breath.

Look at us! We are not out of breath, our hearts are not in the least tired. For they are nourished by fire, hatred and speed! Does this surprise you? it is because you do not even remember being alive! Standing on the world's summit, we launch once more our challenge to the stars!

Your objections? All right! I know them! Of course! We know just what our beautiful false intelligence affirms: "We are only the sum and the prolongation of our ancestors," it says. Perhaps! All right! What does it matter? But we will not listen! Take care not to repeat those infamous words! Instead, lift up your head!

Standing on the world's summit we launch once again our insolent challenge to the stars!

#futurist manifesto #italian art #manifesto #italian futurism #filippo marinetti #art #futurism #filippo tommaso marinetti #mu art #mu

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othernecessarythings · 5 years ago

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i’m sick and bored, let’s go

2020-02-10 (i’m 16)

1: How tall or short do you wish you were?

i’m really content with being 167 cm

2: What’s your dream pet? (Real or not)

a dog, preferably a german shepherd

3: Do you have a favorite clothing style?

um i switch between alternative/emo-ish and hipster ig fashion girl, i like both of them

4: What was your favorite video game growing up?

mario kart at nintendo ds

5: What three things/people do you think of most each day:

my best friend, music (hayley williams) and my sister

6: If you had a warning label, what would yours say?

way too indecisive for their own good or may not be brave enough to voice their own opinion

7: What is your opinion on [insert person/thing here]?

winter, way too overrated it’s unbelievably boring and depressing

8: What is your Greek personality type? [Sanguine, Phlegmatic, Choleric, or Melancholic]

?? idk

9: Are you ticklish?

10: Are you allergic to anything?

oh boy am i allergic,, in short yes i fucking am, to soap and shampoo and perfume and makeup and nickel and grass pollen and dog saliva and laundry detergent and the list just continues

11: What’s your sexuality?

umm idk bi maybe

12: Do you prefer tea, coffee, or cocoa?

neither, i’m not much of a hot drink person, but cocoa

13: Are you a cat or dog person?

DOG (idontreallytrustcats)

14: Would you rather be a vampire, elf, or merperson?

mermaid!! oh to be a free woman with shiny scales

15: Do you have a favorite Youtuber?

exurb1a or apri park, and um guilty pleasure of mine but daniel howell

16: How tall are you?

167 cm, and with some googling, ≈5.5 feet

17: If you had to change your name, what would you change it to?

ah my middle name i think

18: How much do you weigh? [Only ask this if you know the user doesn’t mind!]

i actually don’t know, we don’t own a scale,, but like somewhere between 50-60 kg

19: Do you believe in ghosts/spirits?

umm no

20: Do you like space or the ocean more?

i love love love the ocean!!

21: Are you religious?

yeah i kinda am and all my friends around me are atheists (very few in sweden are devoted religious people) but i am maybe? like i don’t believe in any god, but i believe in the good every religion speaks about, and i appreciate the christian concept of love and acceptance,, idk

22: Pet peeves?

ah many, i never do something about them though, but for example some swedish grammatical errors (de/dem sigh)

23: Would you rather be nocturnal or diurnal [opposite of nocturnal]?

nocturnal

24: Favorite constellation?

cassiopeia

25: Favorite star?

?? i don’t know any stars

26: Do you like ball-jointed dolls?

i don’t like any dolls

27: Any phobias or fears?

not really

28: Do you think global warming is real?

of course?? how could you not?? i mean come on i’m swedish we knew it was real before greta represented our country’s fight against it

29: Do you believe in reincarnation?

um no but i don’t believe that nothing happens after you die either so maybe

30: Favorite movie?

right now little women

31: Do you get scared easily?

yeah i never watch horror movies or stuff like that, but unlike from my friends am i not afraid of walking alone at night or similar things

32: How many pets have you own in your lifetime?

a few fishes and a dog

33: Blog rate? [You’ll rate the blog of the one who’s asking.]

i’ll rate my own blog instead, it’s shitty but it helps me relax and enjoy myself, it’s a safe space for only me

34: What is a color that calms you?

blue

35: Where would you like to travel and/or live?

oh so many places, i’d like to travel to asia and later live in the center of europe maybe

36: Where were you born?

sweden

37: What is your eye color?

dark brown

38: Introvert or extrovert?

definitely introvert

39: Do you believe in horoscopes and zodiacs?

no but i find it quite entertaining to read them and see if any applies to me or my friends

40: Hugs or kisses?

good hugs

41: Who is someone you would like to see/visit right now?

like hayley williams would be great

42: Who is someone you love deeply?

my sister and my best friends

43: Any piercings you want?

more in my ears

44: Do you like tattoos and piercings?

depends, i’ve got a few myself and i love them

45: Do you smoke or have you eiver done so?

yeah i do, both this and that lol

46: Talk about your crush, if you have one!

not really, i’m not the crush type of people,, it’s really hard for me to find someone i like

47: What is a sound you really hate?

i’ve never had a problem with specific sounds, but some feelings like the one when your hands are slightly damp and you lightly rub them against each other?? uhhhrhs i can’t stand it,, wait i know one sound!! i can’t sleep when it’s raining outside! and that’s quite unusual i guess, but it really isn’t calming for me

48: A sound you really love?

laughter from people i love, the waves by the sea, a candle being lit, the sparkle from an open fire

49: Can you do a backflip?

50: Can you do the splits?

51: Favorite actor and/or actress?

i’m not that much of a movie fan, i don’t really know any

52: Favorite movie?

right now little women

53: How are you feeling right now?

sick and tired, but overall pretty happy!! i went to a wonderful concert yesterday and spent a few days in another city with my best friends

54: What color would you like your hair to be right now?

oh so many but right now black and dark red

55: When did you feel happiest?

last year at a tøp concert i think

56: Something that calms you down?

puzzles and music

57: Have any mental disorders? [Only ask this if you know the user doesn’t mind!]

nothing diagnosed and nothing right now, but i’m pretty sure i was depressed and had anxiety for some time ago

58: What does your URL mean?

um i just had to come up with a name quick and this was what i felt at the moment, and i guess it fits me, i am in fact a stupid goddamn fan of many things,, neon places are a combo of tøp related stuff and the song perfect places by lorde, and blasphemypilots is the song blasphemy by just twenty one pilots (see i am a stupid goddamn fan huh sigh)

59: What three words describe you the most?

oh um probably intelligent, indecisive and realistic

60: Do you believe in evolution?

what??? of course i do?? how could u not,, like seriously though i’ve never met any who don’t believe in it? what would u otherwise believe in? gods creation of the world or something? nah, as i said before, no one in sweden are really religious

61: What makes you unfollow a blog?

usually them posting about stuff i’m not in to, but ofcourse if they’re being homophobic/racist/sexist etc

62: What makes you follow a blog?

content i like, majorly just text posts about relatable stuff

63: Favorite kind of person:

intelligent, witty people with wide smiles and lots of adventurous spirit and spontaneous ideas

64: Favorite animal(s):

idk maybe dogs

65: Name three of your favorite blogs.

i really don’t know any specific

66: Favorite emoticon:

:) ;) not that original ik

67: Favorite meme:

hmm idk

68: What is your MBTI personality type?

oh i’ve done it plenty of times and got different results each time, but in the most recent was i infj-t

69: What is your star sign?

pisces

70: Can your dog roll over on command, if you have a dog?

if i had, i’d probably teach them to be able to do it

71: What outfit out of all your clothes do you like to wear the most?

black, wide jeans with a large grey reebok sweatshirt is probably my comfiest, but i’ve got other fits i feel more good looking in like my beige, wide jeans with a white turtleneck, a bright green sweater and jewelry

72: Post a selfie or two?

no thanks

73: Do you have platform shoes?

no, and i don’t think i want either

74: What is one random but interesting fact about yourself?

i can’t for my life imitate other people or dialects or stuff like that

75: Can you do a front flip?

hah no

76: Do you like birds?

yeah sure

77: Do you like to swim?

love it!! swimming in the ocean is wonderful, and in pools are okay i guess

78: Is swimming or ice skating more fun to you?

depends on mood, i like both, it’s kinda dependable on season lol

79: Something you wish didn’t exist:

some music genres lol like swedish rap or trump

80: Some thing you wish did exist:

i’m not that creative but more concerts in my hometown would be lovely, and for stuff that doesn’t exist? maybe hot ice cream or a speaker that played silence so the room got quiet hmm

continuing in the next post

#just for my own sake #julias mind

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elizascharlesdanceblog · 5 years ago

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Charles Dance OBE - Actor

Here are some of Charlies' greatest hits other than that -- this takes 30 minutes, you up for it? No? Okay just a few highlights then -- Golden Child, Alien 3, Last Action Hero, The Imitation Game, White Mischief, Gosford Park, Underworld, Swimming Pool, etc, and on the telly Bleak House, Rebecca and -- I don't know dammit -- you asked. Oh you didn't ... moving right along, Charlie directed and wrote Ladies in Lavender with Dame Maggie and Dame Judy wildly successful. Watch this space. And on stage at the RSC the most leathered and lathered Coriolanus in theatrical history, Three Sisters, Long Day's Journey at the Lyric, Shadowlands in the West End nnngg nnngg nnngg ...

...

Occasionally he plays his ukulele well into the night, but more often than not is in bed by eleven with sadly usually no more than a good book to keep him company.

So, his music…

Top 10 Tunes

Rock Around The Clock - – Bill HaleyDespite being irreligious, my pre-adolescent years saw me as a not un-cute choirboy – blue cassock, white surplice etc, but with the addition of a 'kiss-curl' teased onto the forehead in homage to my first pop-idol Bill Haley, who had taken the UK by storm, distressing parents up and down Little Britain with Rock Around The Clock

Boots of Spanish Leather - – Bob DylanAfter having been thrown out of the church for behaviour unbecoming a choir-boy – actually nothing more serious than smoking behind the vestry, I grew my hair, got my first pair of Levis and heard Bob Dylan.

Honky Tonk Woman - – The Rolling StonesBoots Of Spanish Leather determined me to not only buy and learn to play a guitar, but years later be measured and fitted for a pair of boots from Madrid. The song like the boots is wonderful.

Tristan und Isolde, Prelude - Richard WagnerHaving been hugged by my rock ‘n roll god Keith Richard, after a Stones gig, he and the sentiments of the song are close to my heart.

River Deep Mountain High - Ike and Tina TurnerOne of the sexiest pieces of music ever written is the Overture to Tristan und Isolde. Wagner might not be everyone’s glass of schnapps, but it is best listened to while lying on ones back in a darkened room with or without company.

Chopin D Flat Nocturne - Rosey ChanThis is Tina at her very best -- nuff said.

I Want A Little Sugar In My Bowl - Nina SimoneI could listen to this forever. I love the music and Rosey has stolen my heart!

Graceland - Paul SimonI had the pleasure of seeing Ms Simone on two occasions. The first, she arrived late in a foul mood and left early, the second, she stayed well over the allotted time and seemed to nearly orgasm when she played this song - didn’t we all!

Saving All My Love For You - Tom WaitsI defy anyone to keep still while listening to this. It has a line ‘there’s a girl in New York City, who calls herself a human trampoline…’ I have a feeling I’ve met her!

Pinball Wizard - The WhoAside from his unique voice, he has written some of the most beautifully well-crafted lyrics. Listen to these and wonder!

source: twopaddocks

#CD #charles dance #a remarkable man #interview #top 10 tunes

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riviae · 6 years ago

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you are a superb writer i cried 19181 times while reading your headcanons please do more i BEG

u sent this so long ago anon but looks like i’m in a hc mood so i hope that whatever randomness i end up spouting is to your interests (also omg which hc’s made u cry?? i’m assuming it’s the hansa ones):

geralt:

is it weird to say that one of his guilty pleasures is a warm bath?? it’s not like he gets too many opportunities for such luxuries (i.e., river baths are a lot less... pleasurable. & also dangerous... cause drowners, amongst other things), but he will always indulge in a bath when the opportunity arises.

similarly, he prefers hot weather to cold weather. even w/ all his armor, toussaint has his favorite climate/weather and allows geralt to wear his light armor, which i hc that he prefers to wear the most given what skills/traits the wolf school witchers seem more adept at compared to other schools

boring hc that everyone pretty much has, but yeah, vampire genes were given specifically to geralt during the trial of grasses (bruxa tongue). doesn’t change much for him compared to other witchers except that he’s much more aware of his surroundings and has a somewhat faster healing rate than a regular witcher. his teeth are a bit sharper too, but not to a degree that’s overtly noticeable.

general higher vampire hcs:

almost all lower vampires have to hibernate at some point due to food shortages in the winter (yeah they could go & eat some ppl but it’s not like they don’t feed on the animal population too). higher vampires can choose to hibernate if they so wish (since they can control their metabolisms fairly robustly), which is why you might find a vampire or two sleeping in a coffin for an indefinite amt of time.

if the HV decides not to hibernate for the winter/season, you still see a subtle shift in behavior. mainly, more general bouts of lethargy, increase in hoarding (insofar as what certain vampires enjoy having around i.e., regis might unconsciously purchase more books than usual to add to his library, dettlaff would buy more art supplies, & well... we know what orianna would store more of), a slight decrease in patience, increased agitation w/ strangers (human or vampire) if they wander too close to their home/territory, potentially an increase in bloodlust depending on the specific vampire (but nothing excessive), & more of a reliance on species-specific reflexes (i.e., relying more on using non-human forms/smoke/giant bat when it’s a full moon/etc.). however, on the plus side, they become quite amicable to friends/family/pack with more open displays of contentment and affection often occurring

so in humans, we have the pineal gland, which is a structure in our brain important for regulating our day/night cycle & circadian rhythm. that’s why we’re diurnal, basically (thanks, melatonin). but HVs, being nocturnal, have even smaller pineal glands. tiredness isn’t regulated by melatonin release at night--rather, it’s based on amt of pluripotent stem cells (what i hc they use to regenerate specific body parts/limbs). sleep will come to them when their body needs it to regenerate in full. while outwardly, they may physically look healed, the internal anatomy of HVs is different and as complex as humans. this means that real ‘restorative’ sleep can come at random to HVs, almost akin to narcolepsy since HVs are consciously unaware of when they need to replenish amts of stem cells for healing

birthdays are celebrated by HVs--it’s something that the species took up from humans/elder species. so most HVs do know their exact age. however, birthdays are only celebrated on full moons, so an actual party/banquet/celebration occurs on the full moon closest to a vampire’s birth date.

most HVs can hypnotize others using their voices--but this trait is specifically passed down through the maternal bloodline. i hc that regis & orianna can use their voice to hypnotize others, while dettlaff cannot. i also think it’s silly that cdpr made it so only bruxae do that screeching sound wave attack. nah. all HVs that can utilize their voice as a power can do the screech-y thing, but it is more commonly seen in females than males.

hansa hcs:

one time dandelion tried to teach a lecture-style lesson abt music theory to the hansa....... only geralt & regis actually listened while milva left when she got bored, angouleme followed her, and cahir fell asleep

cahir was actually interested in music/playing an instrument tho so later on, dandelion did teach cahir how to play a few notes on his lute

also dandelion definitely tried to get the hansa to act out parts of a play he was working on (it was a romance of course jaskdfjs). angouleme immediately jumped to play the main character/protagonist while cahir ended up playing the ‘damsel-in-distress/love interest.’ it went about as well as you’d think, with angouleme ignoring the romantic bits and switching the script last minute to /killing/ the love interest ‘by accident.’ cahir’s ‘death scene’ lasts incredibly long (bc he really goes for it) & dandelion actually ends up changing the play to a tragic romance instead

at some point, geralt somehow ends up teaching angouleme how to swim when he finds out she can’t. he’s of course reminded of ciri.... up until angouleme, now adequate enough of a swimmer, pulls a prank by biting geralt’s ankle hard enough to leave a bite mark. it felt like being bitten by a drowner

one of milva’s favorite moments w/ the hansa was their somewhat nightly routine where either regis, dandelion, or angouleme tell stories while everyone sits around the campfire, milva tending to her arrows, geralt and cahir sharpening their blades on a whetstone. it’s just a very peaceful moment for all of them tbh--and really solidifies their group as a family.

#geralt of rivia #higher vampires #the hansa #witcher 3 #witcher 3 wild hunt #witcher headcanons #i'm too lazy to tag characters rt now #but yeah!!! here are some more hcs #lemme know if there's anything specifically related to a character you'd wanna see #Anonymous

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obtusemedia · 5 years ago

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The best songs of the 2010s: #100-76

Happy 2020! Now that the previous decade has finally finished, it’s time to commemorate the 2010s. The decade in which I grew from an awkward teen to an awkward adult. And a decade with a ton of great music. Let’s dive right in: these are my 100 favorite songs of the 2010s.

#100: “Monopoly” by Danny Brown (2011)

Danny Brown is so delightfully grimy. He’s like a cartoon sewer rat come to life, rapping about pills and making hilariously crude jokes. In an anti-drug PSA, he’d be the sketchy weirdo trying to get a kid hooked on bath salts or whatever. And for a quick shot of his non-replicable style, it’s hard to do better than “Monopoly.”

Rapping over a glitchy, menacing beat with his trademark squawk, Brown lands oddball punchline after oddball punchline. In a span of less than 3 minutes, he threatens to defecate on your tape (and he has to clarify that too — “No, literally, shit all on your mixtape”), compares himself to Ferris Bueller sipping wine coolers and then closes his track by describing a woman’s vagina as “smellin’ like cool ranch Doritos.” And that last insult is the perfect distillation of Brown: the Adult Swim of rap. But much smarter than that would imply.

#99: “Shutdown” by Skepta (2015)

At the 2015 BRIT Awards, Kanye West performed “All Day” with a massive crowd of grime artists on stage, all in black, with flamethrowers shooting fire into the sky.

Four days after the performance, Skepta — one of the artists on stage with Kanye — released “Shutdown.” It’s a much more fitting song for the intimidating, energized and proudly British crowd of MCs than a middling Kanye non-album cut.

“Shutdown” is the kind of song a rapper releases when they’re at the peak of their powers. Skepta was absolutely at that point in 2015, and so his finest single sounds like a coronation. His gruff delivery isn’t too loud, but it’s firm and confident. He knew he was the best MC in Britain, and “Shutdown” cemented that status.

#98: “Amor Fati” by Washed Out (2011)

Washed Out was one of the brightest voices in the turn-of-the-decade chillwave movement, and with cuts like “Amor Fati,” it’s not hard to see why.

The big single off his debut, “Amor Fati” gives you a similar sensation as taking a shower: Pure bliss and warmth cascade around you. It’s a bit repetitive, but the song is clearly meant to set a mood more than anything else, so that’s excusable. If you need an entry point into chillwave, you can’t do much better than this.

#97: “Los Ageless” by St. Vincent (2017)

St. Vincent’s trajectory this decade took her from an art-pop weirdo who collaborates with David Byrne to a more mainstream art-pop weirdo who collaborates with Taylor Swift. But in that process, Annie Clark was able to pull her sharpest hooks out and put them in use in deceptively dark songs like “Los Ageless.”

With its sleek new wave production from Jack Antonoff, “Los Ageless” could’ve easily fit on most pop records. But Clark’s atonal, shrill guitar bursts and increasingly disturbing lyrics differentiate it. The song’s themes gradually shift from “lol Los Angeles is fake and plastic” to something more tragic. The desperate (in a good way) chorus says it all: “How could anybody have you and lose you/And not lose their minds too?”

#96: “I Like It” by Enrique Iglesias feat. Pitbull (2010)

I’m aware how ridiculous putting “I Like It” — a disposable, trashy club pop hit most people might not remember — on this list. Admitting I that I love this song probably guarantees that I’ll never get a job at Pitchfork.

But then those fuzzy, cheap synths come crashing in. And Enrique Iglesias sings his sleazy come-ons in an auto-tune slurry. And Pitbull delivers a gloriously ridiculous, very-2010 verse that references both the Tiger Woods cheating scandal AND the Obamas (along with gratuitous Spanish and a Miami shoutout). And then there’s the final touch: a prominent sample of Lionel Richie’s cheeseball classic “All Night Long.” It’s too much to resist.

What can I say? “I Like It” hits all the pleasure centers (including nostalgia, seeing as it came out in the middle of my high school tenure) in my brain. It’s a beautifully stupid, hedonistic highlight of the 2009-12 pop golden age.

#95: “The Wire” by HAIM (2013)

Retro-pop standard bearers HAIM had plenty of great singles this decade. But one of their first, the groovy breakup anthem “The Wire,” is still their best.

Unlike many most breakup anthems, which tend to be wildly emotional, “The Wire” is matter-of-fact. The relationship simply isn’t working, and it’s time to end it. That’s that. You’re going to be okay.

The verging-on-curt lyrics mixed with the Haim sisters’ groovy early ‘80s rhythm makes for a pop jam that’s perfect for any “It’s not you, it’s me” moment in your life.

#94: “Helena Beat” by Foster The People (2011)

I know they represent the mainstream selling-out moment of the magical late-’00s MGMT/Passion Pit/Phoenix moment, but I have a soft spot for Foster The People. Their debut album, Torches, might not have much indie cred, but it’s all-killer-no-filler and stuffed with monster hooks. And despite “Pumped Up Kicks” being the big hit, I’ve always preferred the album’s opening track, “Helena Beat.”

With its shuffling disco beat and Mark Foster’s piercing falsetto, “Helena Beat” is likely about as close as alt-rock ever got to the Bee Gees. The lyrics, which tackle addiction, are much darker than “Staying Alive,” but it’s got a similar sense of propulsion.

And let’s not forget — Foster wrote jingles before starting a band, so he can get melodies stuck in your head. And once you’ve heard “Helena Beat,” good luck getting it unstuck.

#93: “Redbone” by Childish Gambino (2016)

“Redbone” might be the smoothest R&B cut on this list. Which is why the song’s sense of dread and paranoia makes it stand out.

Donald Glover’s scratchy, passionate falsetto isn’t conventionally pretty, but it works well while singing about some unknown boogieman who’s “creeping.” That’s why “Redbone” was a perfect fit for Get Out, because of its lurking dread underneath the comfortable exterior. This is the song that cemented Glover as being a true renaissance man, rather than an actor with a weird musical side project.

(of course, this still isn’t Glover’s greatest musical contribution — that would be the iconic “Troy and Abed in the Morning” jingle. Especially the night variant.)

#92: “Do You” by Spoon (2014)

Spoon has been America’s most consistently great rock band for the past two decade now. Even calling them “consistent” is practically a cliché.

So all you need to know about “Do You” is that it’s another solid Spoon song in a vast catalog of Spoon songs. Lead singer Britt Daniel is still effortlessly cool, the guitar-driven groove is simple and it all goes down easy. By 2014, Spoon had nothing left to prove, except how long they could keep up their streak.

#91: “I’m Not Part of Me” by Cloud Nothings (2014)

Cloud Nothings’ finest moment is four and a half minutes of pure angst and crunchy guitars. Squint hard enough, and “I’m Not Part of Me” is one of the closest approximations to ‘90s alt-rock. And while the Ohio band isn’t necessarily reinventing the wheel here, refining what made past music so great can be just as effective.

#90: “Hello” by Adele (2015)

Despite only releasing two albums this decade, Adele casts a major shadow over the 2010s. Although I find both those records to be a little on the bland side, there’s a reason she was/is a juggernaut. And the example of her prowess is “Hello.”

“Hello” has everything you’d want in an Adele song: It’s about not getting over a breakup, a very relatable topic, and Adele gets to show off her cannon of a voice. But it also has a secret weapon compared to other Adele ballads: ‘80s power-ballad production! The bombastic chorus has more in common with Heart’s “Alone” than any of Adele’s previous hits, and it’s a perfect accompaniment to one of the decade’s most melodramatic singles.

#89: “Slumlord” by Neon Indian (2015)

Despite putting out two essentially perfect albums this decade, Neon Indian’s mastermind, Alan Palomo, doesn’t really have that one mind-melting single. Yes, “Polish Girl” was a decent-sized indie hit, but it’s nowhere near his best.

But “Slumlord” comes damn close to perfection. It’s not quite as heavy on the melted-VCR aesthetic of other songs on Palomo’s best album, Vega INTL. Night School, but it makes up for that with an irrepressible ‘80s techno groove. “Slumlord” is one of those songs that could ride its beat forever — and it kind of does, with the “Slumlord’s Re-lease” coda following it on the album. It’s a nocturnal synthpop jam that even those allergic to keyboards couldn’t resist.

#88: “The Bay” by Metronomy (2011)

While most synth-weilding indie acts were trying to ape MGMT’s high-pitched fever dreams in the early ‘10s, Metronomy decided on a different, sleeker path with their 2011 album The English Riviera. That album’s best single, “The Bay,” is an immaculate blend of silky smooth yacht rock and nervy, tense new wave. Those two opposite styles shouldn’t work together, but Metronomy managed to pull it off regardless, creating the perfect beach anthem for awkward hipster Brits.

#87: “bad guy” by Billie Eilish (2019)

I expect the 17-year-old Eilish will likely be remembered more as an icon of the 2020s than the 2010s, as she has a long and promising career ahead of her. It’s like how Lady Gaga is much more of a figure of this decade, despite her earliest hits arriving in 2009. But “bad guy” — the kind of left-field, innovative pop single that signals a new era — came out in 2019. And it’s too damn weird, catchy and just plain fun to leave off this list.

#86: “Latch” by Disclosure feat. Sam Smith (2012)

It’s a bummer that Sam Smith turned out to be such a bore, because “Latch” — his introduction to the world — is pure electricity.

Smith and fellow Brits Disclosure, who provide the pulsating, sensual production, were a dream team on “Latch.” All Disclosure needed to do was give Smith plenty of room to unleash his golden pipes, complete with a few futuristic touches. Smith delivered on his end, proving his worth as one of the best vocalists for conveying drama on the dancefloor.

#85: “Need You Now” by Cut Copy (2011)

No, it’s not a cover of the Lady Antebellum hit of the same name.

There were plenty of ‘80s-inspired epic synthpop bangers this decade; some groups made their entire careers off of them. But what sets Cut Copy’s “Need You Now” above the rest is its sense of patience. It’s an incredibly slow burner, building the tension with a thumping beat and calm vocals until it all explodes with a dazzling climax nearly 5 minutes in. Af that moment, the Aussies fulfill their promise with a euphoric release of synths and thundering drums.

It’s not a complicated concept for a song, but Cut Copy executed it perfectly.

#84: “The Mother We Share” by CHVRCHES (2013)

Glasgow new wave trio CHVRCHES never really lived up to their promising 2013 debut album, which opened with the anthemic “The Mother We Share.” But man, what a way to start a career.

"The Mother We Share” is all icy synths and furious drum machines, the sounds bouncing off each other like a hall of mirrors. And lead singer Lauren Mayberry’s quiet but confident vocals add the necessary human touch, conveying a tragic feel to the song’s triumphant chorus.

#83: “Night Shift” by Lucy Dacus (2018)

One of the most ferocious, biting breakup songs of the decade, “Night Shift” is a showcase for Lucy Dacus’ vivid storytelling. The Virginia singer-songwriter spends the first half the song setting the scene of a crappy ex trying to halfway make amends, while Dacus’ character holds herself back from lashing out. She saves the visceral emotion for the second half, when the grungy guitars kick in and Dacus lets out a wounded howl, proudly stating that “I’ll never see you again/If I can help it.” “Night Shift” is a tour de force of indie rock songwriting that rewards patience.

#82: “Round and Round” by Ariel Pink (2010)

Much of indie-rock trickster Ariel Pink is a little too jokey and off-putting for my taste. But on his defining single “Round and Round,” he sprinkled in just the right touch of weirdness into a song that otherwise could’ve been a massive easy-listening hit in 1980.

The quirks throughout “Round and Round” — the woozy, off-kilter production, the lyrics that seemingly make no sense, Pink answering his phone in the middle of the song — are enjoyable. But the song’s true strength is in its chorus: a sudden punch of roller-disco AM-lite harmonies that cut through all the song’s oddities. It’s a double-shot of warmth and nostalgic beauty that feels comfortingly familiar, yet still thrilling.

Pink seemed to know the chorus was the key to “Round and Round,” as he makes the listener wait nearly two minutes for it. But its inevitable release is a truly magical moment.

#81: “4th of July, Philadelphia (SANDY)” by Cymbals Eat Guitars (2016)

Heavily referencing an early Bruce Springsteen classic in the title of a song that sounds nothing like Springsteen is quite the flex. But New Jersey indie-rockers Cymbals Eat Guitars pulled it off regardless.

“4th of July” is a clanging, anthemic scuzz-rock track about going through an existential crisis in the middle of Independence Day. While everyone else is making plans for the holiday, lead singer and guitarist Joseph D’Agostino is howling away, “HOW MANY UNIVERSES AM I ALIVE AND DEAD IN?!?” It’s one of the hardest-rocking mental breakdowns put on record this decade.

#80: “I Like It” by Cardi B, Bad Bunny and J Balvin (2018)

Rapping over extremely-obvious samples has been a time-honored tradition in hip-hop, from the Beastie Boys trading verses over The Beatles to Puff Daddy jacking the chorus from one ‘80s hit and the beat from another in the same song.

But Cardi B, and reggaeton superstars Bad Bunny and J Balvin sampling the boogaloo classic “I Like It Like That” was an inspired choice. The trio’s verses are all delicious fun, whether they’re bragging about eating halal in a Lamborghini or referencing a classic Lady Gaga hit.

But that sample, combined with a trap beat and Cardi’s swaggering charisma powering the chorus, is what makes “I Like It” a classic.

#79: “Sign of the Times” by Harry Styles (2017)

Most former boy band members aim for a grown-and-sexy pop anthem once they go solo, whether its Jordan Knight, Justin Timberlake or Zayn Malik. But the standout member of the 2010s’ standout boy band, Harry Styles, chose took a sharp left turn into melodramatic classic rock instead. And it was a brilliant decision.

"Sign of the Times” is about as close to a classic Beatles or Queen power ballad we got this decade, with its clanging Western guitars, lush strings and thundering drum fills. Styles doesn’t have Freddie Mercury’s gravity-defying vocals, but his immense charisma powers the song anyways. It’s not 100% clear what “Sign of the Times” is about, but with its cinematic scope and cryptic lyrics, it’s likely about the apocalypse. And there’s not many superior songs to cry to while the bombs fall.

#78: “Dancing On My Own” by Robyn (2010)

The ultimate crying-on-the-dancefloor anthem, “Dancing On My Own” has already become a standard.

But Swedish alt-pop icon Robyn’s combination of icy synths and heartbroken, jealous lyrics can’t be replicated. Just ask Calum Scott, who slowed down the track into mushy, piano-ballad goop. Yikes.

What makes “Dancing On My Own” brilliant is its resiliency. It’s not a mopey song — Robyn is defiantly still grooving despite her crushed feelings. It’s a siren call for all those who have been hurt and know the only proper way to work out their emotions through cathartic dancing.

#77: “Trap Queen” by Fetty Wap (2015)

“Trap Queen” is an incredibly fun hip-hop banger, but I don’t think I can extoll its virtues quite as well as Fetty Wap’s hype man at the end of the track. So I’ll let him speak:

“YOU HEAR MY BOY SOUNDIN’ LIKE A ZILLION BUCKS ON THE TRACK?! I GOT WHATEVER ON MY BOY!!”

Amen. It’s a real shame Fetty wasn’t able to keep his momentum rolling past a big 2015, but at least we’ll always have the magic dying-walrus energy of “Trap Queen.” HEY WHAT’S UP HELLOOOOO

#75: “R U Mine?” by Arctic Monkeys (2012)

"R U Mine?” offers Arctic Monkeys fans the best of both worlds. On one hand, you have their AM-era slinky swagger. But it also retains the furious rock-n-roll energy of their early days.

Alex Turner sounds like a smooth-talkin’ cowboy here, but the music is anything but smooth. It hits like a semi-truck, with a calvary-charge guitar riff and so many thunderous drum fills you’d think you were listening to the E Street Band.

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alltheselights · 5 years ago

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First Meeting Fics (N-Z)

CLICK HERE TO RETURN TO PART ONE OF THIS REC LIST

Never Be (Explicit / 118k)

Never Shut Us Down (General Audiences / 33k)

Nicotine (Explicit / 32k)

Night Changes (Mature / 30k)

Night Out (Mature / 10k)

Night Song (Mature / 50k)

Nobody Else Has You Down, But Me (ask for a PDF off anon) (Mature / 12k)

Nocturnal Creatures Are Not So Prudent (Mature / 25k)

No Good Unless It's Real (Explicit / 17k)

No Lemon Drops No Bubblegum (Explicit / 15k)

No Matter Where You Are (No Matter How Far) (Explicit / 36k)

No Other Version Of Me I Would Rather Be Tonight (Mature / 32k)

No Place Without You (Explicit / 19k)

Not Afraid Of Living On A Fault Line (Explicit / 55k)

Nothing Else But Us Right Here (Mature / 35k)

Not Quite (Explicit / 34k)

Now That This Old World Is Ending (Explicit / 49k)

Once Like A Spark (Explicit / 7k)

Once Upon A Dream (Explicit / 33k)

One For Luck (Explicit / 97k)

One More For The Stars (Mature / 16k)

One Of The Beautiful People (Explicit / 24k)

One Track Mind (Explicit / 10k)

One Week, Eight Hours (Not Rated / 4k)

Only Reason (Not Rated / 5k)

On The Edge (Explicit / 47k)

Oops, Baby, I Love You (In That Order) (Explicit / 25k)

Oops, I Like You (Explicit / 6k)

Orange Canvas (ask for a PDF off anon) (Explicit / 26k)

Oubaitori (Explicit / 49k)

Our Blood Is Boiling (ask for a PDF off anon) (Explicit / 6k)

Outline Of My Sins (Explicit / 7k)

Overwhelming (Explicit / 13k)

Painted Sinatra Blue (Explicit / 12k)

Paint The Sky With Stars (Mature / 63k)

Pi Time (this fic has been deleted - ask for a pdf!) (Explicit / 17k)

Play Me Like One of Your French Girls (Explicit / 27k)

Play Pretend, Find A Friend? (Explicit / 40k)

Please, Don’t Say You Want Me (Teen & Up / 9k)

Pleasure Over Matter (Explicit / 15k)

Pray For Some Sweet Simplicity (Explicit / 237k)

Pretty and Pink (Explicit / 12k)

Promise You'll Remember That You're Mine (Explicit / 35k)

Put It On Me (Explicit / 15k)

Put You On Repeat, Play You Everywhere I Go (Explicit / 8k)

(Quiet Like A Fight) Fingers Laced Together (Mature / 17k)

Quiet People Have the Loudest Minds (Mature / 38k)

Reach The Heavens Own Blue (Explicit / 21k)

Responsible Forever For What You Have Tamed (Mature / 26k)

Right Side of the Wrong Bed (Explicit / 11k)

Roman Empire (Explicit / 11k)

Roots (Explicit / 43k)

Runaway Land (Mature / 104k)

Run Like the Devil (Explicit / 138k)

Satellite (Explicit/ 78k)

Second Time's the Charm (Explicit / 8k)

Secret’s Safe With Me (Explicit / 59k)

Sedative Duty. (Explicit / 47k)

Should Be, Meant To Be (Explicit / 9k)

Show Me Life Like I've Never Seen (Mature / 43k)

Since I've Found You (Mature / 74k)

Six Weeks (Teen & Up / 20k)

Sleeping On Our Problems (Explicit / 67k)

Slow Dance In The Dark (Explicit / 53k)

Smaller Than Me (Explicit / 23k)

Soaked In The Blood Of Angels (Explicit / 41k)

Soapy Lace, Let Me Embrace (Explicit / 27k)

Soft Hands, Fast Feet, Can't Lose (Explicit / 107k)

Somebody To Love (Explicit / 51k)

Somethin' Bout You (Explicit / 60k)

Something Along The Lines Of ‘An Office Love Story At Christmas’ (Explicit / 43k)

Something As Simple As This (Explicit / 35k)

Something Great (Explicit / 31k)

Somewhere In Between (Explicit / 43k)

Soup Of The Day (Explicit / 20k)

Spark A New Flame (Explicit / 6k)

Speaking of Marvels (Explicit / 101k)

Starry Night Into Holy Days (Explicit / 27k)

Stay On My Arm (You Little Charmer) (Not Rated / 15k)

Stuck On You (Explicit / 34k)

Sugar Cube (Explicit / 5k)

Sunflowers, Sunshine, And You (Explicit / 29k)

Sweet As Honey (Explicit / 22k)

Sweet Creature (Mature / 67k)

Sweeter Still When We’re Alone (Explicit / 20k)

Sweeter Than Wine (Explicit / 15k)

Sweet Revelation, Bitter Wine (Explicit / 21k)

Swept Me Off My Feet (Took My Heart And Took Me Down) (Explicit / 19k)

Swim In The Smoke (Explicit / 102k)

Tainted Saints And Velvet Vices (Mature / 126k)

Take My Breath Away (Mature / 154k)

Take Off Your Running Shoes (Explicit / 55k)

Tangled Up In You (Explicit / 45k)

Tastes Like Summer, Smiles Like May (Explicit / 48k)

Tender Is The Night (Explicit / 41k)

Thawing Permafrost (Explicit / 23k)

The Bachelor (Explicit / 54k)

The Beginning Of Everything (Explicit / 31k)

The Brightest Lights (Mature / 70k)

The Devil’s In The Details (Explicit / 25k)

The Entertainment (Explicit / 95k)

The Fairy Ring (Explicit / 46k)

The Games We Play (Explicit / 23k)

The Haunting of Louis Tomlinson (Teen & Up / 31k)

The King Of Spades (Explicit / 109k)

The Mountain Between Us (Explicit / 52k)

Then We Talk Slow (Explicit / 20k)

The Reason Is You (Mature / 37k)

These Bountiful Silences (Teen & Up / 123k)

These Hands Not Fit For Holding (Explicit / 46k)

These Inconvenient Fireworks (Explicit / 190k)

The Prince Of Light (Explicit / 36k)

These Roads We Stumble Down (Explicit / 18k)

These Still Waters Run Deep (Explicit / 65k)

The Sovereign And The Sorcerer (Explicit / 23k)

The Space Between (Explicit / 40k)

The Sweetest Incantation (Explicit / 41k)

The Things I'd Do To Wake Up Next To You (Mature / 36k)

The Voice Of Range And Ruin (Explicit / 25k)

The Way You Make Me Feel (Explicit / 47k)

Thinking About The T-Shirt You Sleep In (Explicit / 52k)

This Feeling (Explicit / 59k)

This Land Is More Than Dreams (Explicit / 13k)

This Play Between The Sheets (Explicit / 16k)

This Relationship We’re Staging (Mature / 44k)

This Shifting Ground (Mature / 29k)

This Wicked Game (Explicit / 70k)

Through Chaos As It Swirls, It's Us Against The World (Explicit / 32k)

Through Eerie Chaos (Mature / 102k)

Through Struggles, To The Stars (Explicit / 81k)

Through The Wheatfields And The Coastlines (Explicit / 53k)

Tied Down (Explicit / 49k)

Til I Tasted You (Mature / 15k)

To Be A Muse May Be Enough (ask for a PDF off anon) (Explicit / 7k)

To Be Loved By Another (Explicit / 26k)

To Kill The Mess We've Made (Explicit / 43k)

Tonight's Not Over (Come Over And Stay) (Explicit / 17k)

Truebonds (Explicit / 40k)

Turn Any Corner, There’s Something New (Explicit / 13k)

Two Steps Behind (Teen & Up / 39k)

Undertow (Explicit / 16k)

Untamed Hearts Align (Explicit / 56k)

Until (Explicit / 38k)

Until The Blood Runs Cold (Explicit / 14k)

Untitled 69 (Explicit / 8k)

Up To No Good (Explicit / 27k)

Viens Jouer Dehors (Come Out And Play) (Explicit / 3k)

Violent Delights (Not Rated / 76k)

Waiting For The Tides To Meet (Explicit / 60k)

Walk My Days On A Wire (Explicit / 39k)

We Are The Honey And The Bee (Mature / 41k)

Wear It Like A Crown (Explicit / 141k)

We Can Go On Forever (When Everything’s Gone Forever) (Mature / 39k)

We're Okay (Explicit / 154k)

Welcome To The Rivalry (Mature / 20k)

What It Feels Like (Explicit / 34k)

What Our Souls Were Meant To Do (Mature / 34k)

When It's Late At Night (Mature / 26k)

When Our Worlds They Fall Apart (Explicit / 42k)

Where Do We Go Now (Explicit / 11k)

Where They Glow (Explicit / 71k)

Where You Lay (Explicit / 86k)

Whether Clouds or Clear Skies (Explicit / 26k)

Wild Hearts Run Free (Explicit / 43k)

Wind Beneath My Wings (Explicit / 93k)

With A Whimper (Mature / 133k)

With Gilded Wolves On The Wall (Explicit / 13k)

…With Love, (Almost) No Plot (Explicit / 10k)

You Could Have Moonlight in Your Hands (Explicit / 21k)

You Fit In My Poems (Like A Perfect Rhyme) (Explicit / 28k)

You Got Me Shakin' (Mature / 5k)

You Have To Retreat To Advance (Not Rated/ 18k)

You Know It Ain’t Fiction, Just A Natural Fact (Not Rated / 13k)

You Know What They Say (Explicit / 10k)

You’re All I See In My Mind (I Think I See A Lifetime) (Explicit / 16k)

You're Either In Or You're Out (Not Rated / 13k)

You're Never Alone With A Moon This Bright (+ Sequel) (Teen & Up / 8k)

You're The Light (Explicit / 31k)

You're Too Short But The Tattoos Are Real (General / 3k)

Your Eyes Of Blue, Your Kisses Too (Explicit / 22k)

Your Little Flower (Explicit / 18k)

You Slow It Down (ask for a PDF off anon) (Explicit / 156k)

You’ve Got A Higher Power, You’re Once In Any Lifetime (Explicit / 113k)

You Wish I Was Yours and I Hope That You’re Mine (Not Rated / 37k)

3B Neighbour (Explicit / 10k)

Other fic rec requests that have been fulfilled are here.

#fic recs

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akirakurusuimagines · 7 years ago

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Kink: Knifeplay I/II

(I’m re-submitting this once again in case Mod Joker didn’t receive it the first time.

Hah? What’s this? Am I posting once again after sweating bullets over my first five posts? Why yes, yes I am, actually. You may be wondering what started my musing for this particular post. Well, I was scrolling through certain kinks anons asked Mod Joker, and one of the first ones to jump out at me was the knifeplay kink, so… That about sums it up. I ask only for your prayers because, once again, I will require a long soak in holy water and maybe confess my sins (for once.) for this one.

Yes, knifeplay is the main kink mentioned, but I tossed in a few others as well, i.e., sensory deprivation/blindfolded, some brief mentions of orgasm denial, some dirty talk, and some light bondage. That’s it, I think. I might toss in some more as I go along, but those are the ones that first came to mind. This is something to help tide you thirsty Akira/Ren lovers over until I post the fourth part of You Need Proper Punishment. I seem to have hit a bit of a mental snag with it right now, unfortunately. I know how I want it to conclude, but getting to the end is where I’m drawing a blank.

One final note. I may post more drabbles like this, if my creative juices are flowing. I think I’ve rambled on enough for now, so I’ll do my best to quench the thirst of you lovely anons and Mod Joker once more. Again, I thank anyone who reads this in advance. I hope you all enjoy this little writing snippet as well. You thirsty dears got two and a half pages worth of spiciness for this part. I’ll post the second bit as soon as I can, which will be sometime today, hopefully. Love y’all~! <3)

When you brought up the suggestion of Akira tying you up, he laughed at you.

When you suggested he should blindfold you as well, he cocked an eyebrow, an amused smirk curling his lips.

When you said you wanted to be denied the right to orgasm unless he wanted you to, he voiced a breathy chuckle.

When you said you wanted to hear the most sinful filth whispered to you in your ears, flecks of marigold shone in his onyx eyes.

However, when you suggested introducing something new to your nocturnal rounds of rough love-making, the flecks of marigold were replaced with specks of carmine. Akira’s eyes were swallowed up by ruby red, the smirk still curling his lips as he slowly removed his rounded glasses, setting them aside on the nightstand next to your bed.

You were pinned to your bed in record time, your wrists pressed to the comforter, held in a single hand above your head as Akira pressed his lips to yours as his free hand trailed down to your collarbone, unfastening the first two buttons, tugging the collar of your night shirt down a bit to expose a teasing glimpse of skin.

His warm lips trailed open-mouthed kisses up your bare abdomen, pausing every second kiss to allow his lips to linger against your skin before slowly continuing to make his way up. The shirt and sleeping shorts you had been wearing were all but torn off of your skin within the first five minutes of his visit, mere moments after hearing your spicy suggestions. Your bra had been unclasped, soon joining the first two articles of clothing, tossed off to the side as though they were trash, pressing you to the covers of your bed as he claimed your lips in the first of many hot kisses.

You could feel a smirk tugging on the lips of the demon of a man, quite literally so, as he stopped when he reached the swell of your naked breasts. The fingers that gripped a hold of your hips lazily danced across the hem of your lacy, see-through underwear, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. Despite his hands gently gripping your barely clothed hips, despite his fingers dancing across the thin, bow-tied straps that held the flimsy piece of clothing in place, Akira didn’t give away any hints of wanting to remove the lacy underwear. Yet.

Instead, a breathy chuckle whispered over the sweaty skin of the valley between your breasts, leaving a shudder in its wake as a tingling sensation shot up and down your spine. The feeling wasn’t unpleasant; far from it, actually. The difference between Akira’s warm breath and your bare skin created a brief chill that caused a small, sudden gush of moisture to gather in the crotch of your underwear. Your shudder didn’t go unnoticed by the smirking incubus, his red eyes boring into your gaze as he kissed his way up to your lips, planting a slow, sensual kiss to your mouth before leaning away.

“What a naughty girl you are… If only your family and friends knew what you were like in bed in the dead of night, nestled safely in the comfort of your dreams… If they only knew what aroused you, and sharing your desires, your bed with a demon like myself at that… They’d be shocked, wouldn’t they?” Akira hissed just inches from your blushing face, his warm breath brushing across your flushed cheeks.

“What do you think, love? Should I tease you mercilessly in front of everyone you know?” Akira’s lips practically kissed your own as he talked, peppering your rosy cheeks and jawline with kisses.

“Wouldn’t that be exciting? Your family, your friends… Your classmates, teachers, and acquaintances seeing you in this state? Or would you prefer being fucked by me instead, bare as the day you were born?”

Your blush darkened at the lewd suggestions Akira was proposing, if such a thing was possible. The mere thought of your family, friends, teachers, your acquaintances seeing you being screwed by Akira embarrassed you as much as it intrigued you. You felt a tingle of coy arousal as it lit a fire in you. A chill danced up your spine as your blush darkened at the thought; you wouldn’t know whether to feel embarrassed at being screwed senselessly, or to be too consumed by lust to care about the many eyes that would be watching you and Akira.

“…I’m kidding, of course,” Akira spoke after a brief pause, smirking at your blushing bride cheeks, his carmine irises betraying a hint of mischievous teasing as he stared into your shining doe eyes.

“Remember, love, that only I can see you in the state you’re in right now,” the ruby eyed incubus said, still smiling as his fingers resumed their languid dance across your scantily clothed hips.

You drew in a shaky breath as his fingers inched closer, closer, closer to the thin, bow-tied straps that kept your lacy, see-through underwear secured to your hips. You swallowed as Akira’s hand slipped past the thin straps that were on your hips, his fingertips ghosting over your heated skin as his hand slowly descended to the damp crotch of your underwear. A husky chuckle left Akira, a laugh that was as smug as it was pleased, the corner of his lips curling as he caught wind of the hitched breath you took in.

“You’re so wet right now, sweetheart. So warm. So moist,” Akira crooned into your ear, eliciting both a gasp and a shudder from you as he cupped your moist womanhood in the palm of his hand, a finger teasingly prodding your entrance. The incubus’ crimson eyes bore into your shining eyes, the cornea pricking as the first hint of warm moisture gathered.

Akira voiced a few “tsk’s”, watching you squirming in the palm of his hand, quite literally so, enthralled by the erotic show you were putting on for him, and only for him. Slowly, he pushed in his forefinger, the small, very small, part of him that was a sadist enjoying the sight of seeing you blushing, on the verge of tears, unconsciously bucking your scantily clad hips, rocking to the slow, gentle, teasing rhythm of Akira’s finger as he inserted a middle finger.

“Such a lascivious woman… Allowing someone like myself to fuck you with his fingers like this. You like this… No, you love this, don’t you? You love being teased like this, don’t you? What a greedy, insatiable lover I have,” Akira hissed in your face, his warm breath fanning your cerise cheeks.

You didn’t reply. You couldn’t reply. Your mouth was open, but no words left you. You were breathing in and out, shakily, drawing in one shuddering gasp after another as a whimpering moan was pulled from you. The ruby eyed incubus chuckled, his crimson eyes swimming in mirth as a breathy laugh wafted across your flushed cheeks.

“Darling,” Akira spoke calmly, his voice dropping a few octaves as a tantalizing purr clung to the edge of his words as they were uttered, his free hand raising to cup the side of your head. Akira entangled his fingers through your hair, gently tugging your head back.

“When someone asks you a question, what do you say…?”

To coax you into replying, Akira flicked his wrist while shoving his fingers further inside your dripping core, successfully pulling a noise that was between a wanton moan and a surprised squeal from you.

Gasping for breath, a pleasant shudder shook you, ceasing your shameless rutting into Akira’s hand, not having expected it all. Thanks to the smug demon cradling your head in his hand, you couldn’t look away. You could only watch as the noiret’s ruby irises shone for a few moments, but not with malicious intent. You swallowed a gulp; you recognized that look. Behind the demonic eyes that stared back at you, there was a flicker of a surprisingly human emotion: sincerity.

Akira was sincere whenever he said he’d kiss you until your lips were plump and swollen.

Akira was sincere whenever he said he’d worship your body in bed, taking special care to slowly strip your clothing away, admiring every bump, curve, and blemish you possessed, kissing and adding extra touches to whatever it was you deemed ugly about yourself.

Akira was sincere whenever he said he’d fuck you senseless, asking for a second round so long as you agreed to it. You were sure to be sore, tired, and severely lacking in energy the following day on such evenings.

Akira was sincere whenever he felt like teasing you, edging you on the precipice of pleasure, only to deny you the right to orgasm. Whether it was with his fingers, his lips and tongue, or a combination of the three, there was nothing better than listening to your pleas, your whimpers, begging him to please, please let you orgasm.

“You said you wanted to be denied the right to orgasm tonight… Unless I wanted you to, correct?”

“Yes, Akira!” You blushed; you hadn’t meant to raise your voice like that.

Akira blinked, surprised for a few moments, before he laughed.

“…Well, love… I admire your persistence, but… Are you sure? I will be utterly merciless when you voice such shameless desires…”

Swallowing thickly, you nodded your head.

Akira frowned. He didn’t appear to be convinced, picking up on your unvoiced hesitation.

“…I will ask you again. You are sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” you uttered a verbal reply, nodding your head firmly. To prove your point, to prove that you weren’t going to back out now, you raised a hand, running your fingers through the noiret’s hair before bringing him into a kiss.

Akira hummed, seemingly pleased at the action, swiping his tongue across your bottom lip, but prying away just as you opened your mouth to grant his tongue permission to delve past your lips. He smirked at the light glare you shot him, snickering at your scowl.

“Prepare yourself, Treasure. I will be sure to ravage you tonight.”

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crackledanishpuppyman · 7 years ago

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Uppermost Strikes of 7*11

a long barrel of evil gonna shoot its shot

distant past distant location battles amongst luminaries the principal name or theme if you will

quantum affection spake the lion

awareness of self and others

relax little one

it is not at all easy to apologize

find your path

dance the night away

twelve feline moons

search for the woman

imitate my gait

like furry mammals getting it on

a person of interest

how i desire to be at your side

i have sworn off having a whale of a time

my affection matures

best boogie years of your lives

you are incomparable

yet you’ll not catch me shedding tears

get ready for a dude who snaps back

proper love indeed

that’s what the cool kids like

how ‘bout a taste

quick and monstrous

i am convinced of your witchcraft

i want more

put all your cards on the table and let’s mix and mingle and swim in the sun

i’m quite the fan of denim with you in ‘em

walking on air

drunken aliens

your withdrawal leaves me where exactly

coming in loud and clear you stormy godly angelic half-deep character

frozen

from far away i can see how it must all go up in flames

strangely musical

saturday sunday at half one

all the way to the bottom

posturing

jet-setting

having done the deed

you do not own my emotions

look who’s just arrived

as you were going down a bad path lad

got that from the lyrics

you are everything to me

nocturnal motions

out of the grass your sweet juiciness delivered to me nearly two dozen times

fearsome appearance ferocious behavior to be expected of you in these perilous waters

it must not end

how i desire and hope and pray

companionless youth

gently holding and rocking along with the sounds

we us

one more request and i’ll leave

does anything of yours need fixing

little light of mine

consider me entered unto you

it comes from disco from funk from jazz

your personal pleasure

visions not of daily life

thus am i on your wavelength

it would appear we successfully did it

so bright we could no longer see

auspicious hours between dusk and dawn

simple

but not correct

as if never before experienced

unceasing

we are worth fighting for

as a hawk soars through the sky

your lack of fame does not disqualify you from performing for me

get you cleaned up so you can ride in style

you can reach me directly anytime

the time you must be there for me

spoiled brat

down where it’s warmer after dark

about to take off

you must surrender

lodging with a mystical queen from a tale of long ago

lordly leader

are you in the mood

divulge your intent

there are means of communication

and a small place to drink

because of you my whole body is ready to move

you as well, hm

i dance with you like something out of your childhood fears

if you have another may you be ripped asunder

ethereal vision of loveliness incognito in bed

elevated by your affection

how dare you abandon me in such a condition

it is my wont to fantasize

heavenly in your embrace

always young never falling new light just coming into being

nothing better of what my heart has to offer

let me be fully possessed by you

at the end of this day all will be okay

#original poem #stream of consciousness #random

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tastesoftamriel · 7 years ago

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Brynjolf

Morndas, 2nd of Sun’s Dusk, 4E 208. Brynjolf, my Bryn, the love of my life, fellow Nightingale, husband, and partner in crime. Where do I begin? Should I even be writing about the secret life of a criminal overlord? He lies sleeping soundly next to me in our soft wide bed at the Tiber Septim Hotel in the Imperial City, the thick white scars across his shoulders and chest rising and falling as he breathes. He mumbles something in his sleep, and rolls over to face the nightstand. Diary, I think I’m safe to confess the story of the life of this amazing man. I shall start from the beginning.

Brynjolf was born in Ivarstead, to two poor parents who made their living bringing supplies from other parts of Skyrim to the Vilemyr Inn or all the way up the Seven Thousand Steps to High Hrothgar for the Greybeards. As such, Brynjolf was mostly raised by his retired grandmother, and from the time he could walk was always up to mischief in town. One of his earliest memories is of a practical joke, sneaking behind a patrolling guard and undoing his belt so that his greaves dropped to the ground, right in the middle of town. He quickly squirreled his way up a drainpipe and over a roof, and never got caught. Already, sneaking was in his blood.

By the age of six, Brynjolf was helping his father carry food to High Hrothgar, and his mother with the inn supplies. He was known as the master prankster of Ivarstead, and things always seemed to go missing whenever he was around. Still, he helped his parents with their honest hard work, until the day they set off with their horse and carriage and were never seen again. A couple of weeks later, a courier ran panting into town, passing a letter to his grandmother. She sobbed and broke the news to Brynjolf. Bandits had intercepted their carriage loaded with supplies on the way back from Riverwood, and had killed them both before making away with their coin and loot. The Riverwood guard had managed to track the bandits down and kill them, but it was too late. Their bodies were brought back to Ivarstead under a bloodied white sheet soon after the courier’s visit, and they were buried in the local graveyard. Through the entire course of events, Brynjolf never shed a tear, as an overwhelming numbness and anger had taken over him.

Working hard on the menial jobs he could around town to support himself and his impoverished grandmother, he scrubbed floors, cleaned chimneys, and served customers at the inn. At night, he would sneak out of the house to secretly practice fighting with a town guard who had taken pity on him. They practiced archery and swordfighting, as well as a rigorous exercise regime that left Brynjolf sore in the morning. But his anger fueled his concentration, and soon he was a fit and capable fighter at a tender age. Soon he was spending his days risking his life at the nearby caves and ruins, slaying whatever enemies he faced with ease and making his way out with as many coins, jewels, and other treasures he could find within. Of course, he always got a caning when he finally got home, but now there was always a guarantee of three square meals on the table and wood for the fireplace.

At the age of nine, Brynjolf’s grandmother passed away in her sleep. The rest of the town was either too busy or too poor to look after him, or had heard of his increasingly bad reputation as a problem child. He was far too young to live on his own, so a town meeting was called and it was decided that Brynjolf would be sent to Honourhall Orphanage in Riften. He left without protest, and a few days later was dropped at the doorstep of Grelod the Kind. Within a day he discovered that the woman was anything but kind, frequently beating and berating the children. Considered to be one of the older, less adoptable children, Brynjolf knew that he would most likely be stuck there until the age of 16, which he absolutely would not do. One night, he pickpocketed Grelod’s key to the front door, and made his first foray into Riften.

He stole some goods from the market under the cover of darkness and pawned them off the next day in exchange for a tankard and a woolen blanket. With the orphanage being too close to the marketplace and worried about getting caught and brought back, he made himself a corner on the planks along Beggar’s Row and wandered through town trying to find jobs. Of course, nobody wanted a ten year old, and with despair, Brynjolf was left with no choice but to either beg or thieve. He worked at night, picking the pockets of guards and whoever happened to be around, breaking into houses and shops, and keeping whatever he could find just for a hot meal at the end of every day. He grew bolder, and started working during the day when people were at work and too busy to notice the sneaking shadow of a child behind them.

One day, as he was making his way past the Jarl’s Palace, he noticed a Breton man in interesting armour walking around the corner. Brynjolf’s eyes were fixed on the blade he carried at his waist, polished and glinting in the sunlight. He followed him inconspicuously, until the man stopped by the door to the Ratways, opposite from the path where Brynjolf had made his home. As the man was busy trying to find the key to unlock the door, he found his chance and snatched the blade, quickly leaping into the filthy canal and swimming away before the man could do anything. Unfortunately for him, he suddenly felt his entire body freeze and was lifted straight into the air and onto the planks, as the man had cast a spell of some sort on him. Unable to move and fearing he would be killed right then and there, Brynjolf was surprised when the man commented on his audacity and skill, that was good but could use some polishing. He introduced himself as Mercer Frey, and told him to bring back two jewelled flagons within 24 hours. He would be waiting at the other end of the Ratways.

Unsure of what to do but sensing some sort of opportunity with the mysterious Mercer, he decided to take him up on the challenge. Taking advantage of the empty houses while everyone was working for the day, Brynjolf easily found the two jewelled flagons within a matter of hours and made his way towards the Ratways. Unfortunately for him, not being a Riften native, he had no idea what to find in there. Upon sneaking in, he bumped into a trio of bandits, whom he cut down with pleasure (his hatred for bandits since the death of his parents continued to haunt him for the rest of his life). Skirting his way around traps, skeevers, and crumbling walkways, he finally made it to the end of the gauntlet and found Mercer at the end, talking with a girl named Vex, a young man in his 20s named Delvin, and a teenage boy called Molgrom. They all sat down at a dingy table in The Ragged Flagon, talking about the murder of former Guildmaster Gallus Desidenius by the traitor Karliah, and how to restore the Guild to its former glory. Brynjolf was officially the youngest member of the Thieves Guild in the 4th Era, and was invaluable for his ability to crawl into tight spaces and his innocuous, childish appearance.

This was the beginning of the Riften branch of the Thieves Guild as we know it today. In time, Mercer Frey left Brynjolf in charge of recruiting, and they wanted only the best and brightest thieves for the Guild in order to maintain their crumbling dominance across Skyrim. Maven Black-Briar was the Guild’s number one client, and as their loyalest patron, was extended the Guild’s protection, though it meant less and less by the year. Over the next few years, Brynjolf learned the art of stealth, picking locks, honing his fighting skills, and finding sensitive information he could use against the Guild’s marks. Despite constantly being scoffed at by Mercer, rumours that the Guild had made a pact with the Daedric Prince, Nocturnal, swirled through the cisterns, but were brushed off whenever it was mentioned. Delvin was convinced they were somehow cursed because of it. Brynjolf was sent across Skyrim to work on jobs that were doled out, yet somehow, the Guild began to slip further into irrelevance. Its formidable grip across Skyrim began to weaken, and slowly their private alchemist, blacksmith, traders, and even trusted fences and members left.

Mercer claimed he did everything he could to keep the golden age under Gallus together, but the fall to obscurity came hard and abruptly. Brynjolf was intrigued by the story of when the three leaders set out on a secretive heist mission, while the rest of the Guild were instructed to remain where they were for fear of endangerment. Weeks later, Mercer came back, dishevelled. The heist had gone horribly wrong and Karliah had turned her back on the Guild and assassinated Gallus. She disappeared, and was never brought to justice. Mercer was now the sole leader of the Guild, and when Brynjolf turned 22, he was named second in command.

This leads us to the story you know. Two years later, desperately trying to recruit new members in Riften and bring back the Guild’s luck, Brynjolf spotted me in my rags at the Bee and Barb. The rest, as they say, is history.

#fanfic #riften #thieves guild #4th era #brynjolf #skyrim #tes #tes v skyrim #the elder scrolls #fanfiction #thief #geek #nerd #games #gamer #gaming #Chapter 23 #long reads #long post

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m8nhr · 5 years ago

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미래주의 선언(1909)

전체 내용에 다 동의하지는 않지만, 어릴 적 나에게 많은 영감을 주었던 마리네티의 미래주의 선언 ;)

The Futurist Manifesto _ F. T. Marinetti, 1909

And we hunted, like young lions, death with its black fur dappled with pale crosses, who ran before us in the vast violet sky, palpable and living.

We drove on, crushing beneath our burning wheels, like shirt-collars under the iron, the watch dogs on the steps of the houses.

Death, tamed, went in front of me at each corner offering me his hand nicely, and sometimes lay on the ground with a noise of creaking jaws giving me velvet glances from the bottom of puddles.

Oh, maternal ditch, half full of muddy water! A factory gutter! I savored a mouthful of strengthening muck which recalled the black teat of my Sudanese nurse!

We thought it was dead, my good shark, but I woke it with a single caress of its powerful back, and it was revived running as fast as it could on its fins.

MANIFESTO OF FUTURISM

We want to sing the love of danger, the habit of energy and rashness. The essential elements of our poetry will be courage, audacity and revolt.Literature has up to now magnified pensive immobility, ecstasy and slumber. We want to exalt movements of aggression, feverish sleeplessness, the double march, the perilous leap, the slap and the blow with the fist.We declare that the splendor of the world has been enriched by a new beauty: the beauty of speed. A racing automobile with its bonnet adorned with great tubes like serpents with explosive breath ... a roaring motor car which seems to run on machine-gun fire, is more beautiful than the Victory of Samothrace.We want to sing the man at the wheel, the ideal axis of which crosses the earth, itself hurled along its orbit.The poet must spend himself with warmth, glamour and prodigality to increase the enthusiastic fervor of the primordial elements.Beauty exists only in struggle. There is no masterpiece that has not an aggressive character. Poetry must be a violent assault on the forces of the unknown, to force them to bow before man.We are on the extreme promontory of the centuries! What is the use of looking behind at the moment when we must open the mysterious shutters of the impossible? Time and Space died yesterday. We are already living in the absolute, since we have already created eternal, omnipresent speed.We want to glorify war — the only cure for the world — militarism, patriotism, the destructive gesture of the anarchists, the beautiful ideas which kill, and contempt for woman.We want to demolish museums and libraries, fight morality, feminism and all opportunist and utilitarian cowardice.We will sing of the great crowds agitated by work, pleasure and revolt; the multi-colored and polyphonic surf of revolutions in modern capitals: the nocturnal vibration of the arsenals and the workshops beneath their violent electric moons: the gluttonous railway stations devouring smoking serpents; factories suspended from the clouds by the thread of their smoke; bridges with the leap of gymnasts flung across the diabolic cutlery of sunny rivers: adventurous steamers sniffing the horizon; great-breasted locomotives, puffing on the rails like enormous steel horses with long tubes for bridle, and the gliding flight of aeroplanes whose propeller sounds like the flapping of a flag and the applause of enthusiastic crowds.

Italy has been too long the great second-hand market. We want to get rid of the innumerable museums which cover it with innumerable cemeteries.

What can you find in an old picture except the painful contortions of the artist trying to break uncrossable barriers which obstruct the full expression of his dream?

Standing on the world's summit we launch once again our insolent challenge to the stars!

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