#artist iron man records

[ironmanrecords]

Stephen Hodd

Imagine if your dreams had a soundtrack? If you could hear that abstract painting you love play for you? If the sea, the wind, the rain, the thunder, the lightning, the sunset could make music of their own? How would that be? What would they say? It’s really just a Scots/Irish guy with a guitar and a few effects pedals, but Stephen isn’t just a singer/songwriter, though he’s that too. There’s a…

[pearlsinmyhair]

˖⋆˚₊⊹ his muse

hobie brown x fem!reader

this has been in my drafts for. forever. like it was summer when i wrote it on a whim. this initially started as a request for hobie with a reader that came from wealth. the vivienne westwood imagery picked up from there, and i just kinda had fun with it. and now im posting it- huzzah!

warnings: smoking (cigarettes). mentions of drinking. slight nsfw at the very end. meet-cute that leads to smut. hobie being a flirt. fem!reader.

hobie is in the midst of a creative rut that he can’t get out of, no matter how much he tries to. that is, until some inspiration walks through the door.

hobie was in a musical rut.

which never happened to him. never. if he needed a subject for a song, all he had to do was look outside for five minutes or watching the news for even less to have a subject.

that was the wonderful thing about hating the establishment: infinite cruelty, infinite song ideas.

but here he was, staring down at his guitar and picking at strings aimlessly. nothing came to him, no note or melody stuck out to him as song worthy.

he was sitting on the worn couch in his band’s makeshift studio, crosslegged and hunched over his guitar like a madman.

a soft knock came from the doorway, and he looked up to find one of his band mates hitting their knuckles against the doorway.

“you need to get out, man. you’re cooped up.” he said, stepping into the room to stand over hobie like a mother hen. “some fresh air will do you good.”

hobie scoffed, never one to take orders from anyone. but then he exhaled and leaned back, looking up at his friend with an exasperated expression.

“and where exactly do you intend for us to go?” he asked lowly, grumbling.

that’s exactly how he ended up here, in a music club full of bodies he didn’t want to touch and liquor he didn’t want to drink.

it wasn’t a traditional club scene by any means. It was a bit more artistic, leaning away from rave-style places that he’d gone to before. but it still wasn’t his preferred place.

he nursed a shirley temple, which his friend had shoved into his hand unceremoniously before disappearing into the crowd. hobie had decided that he would be the designated driver, and he understood that his band mates were going to take full advantage of that fact.

when they entered the place, his drummer had leaned over.

“maybe you’ll find a muse, hobes. i’m sure there’s plenty of pretty things in this place to give you ideas.” the boy wiggled his brows, and hobie promptly shoved him away with a chuckle.

now, he leaned against a counter and wondered what the hell he was doing. this wasn’t air. this was just distracting noise.

and said noise was becoming a little too much for his senses.

he made eye contact with one of his more sober mates, gesturing that he was going to go somewhere private. he sent a text to their group chat as well saying the same thing.

not a role model

-> heading to the back, text or call if you need me

little drummer boy

-> you’re no fun, man.

not a role model

-> 🖕🏿

he moved down a hallway, the sound of bass and electronic beats fading into a pleasant jazz sound that made its way through the speakers overhead.

the space behind the actual club was a kind of lounge, filled with warm ambiance and vinyl records and leather arm chairs. when his friends brought him here, he always inevitably retreated to this quieter space.

it was ironic really. the punk unable to handle crowds and noise. but this was a much different setting from his own shows, so he cut himself some slack.

he sunk into one of the armchairs in a side room, his head lolling back to look up at the ceiling. his head slightly throbbed, and he began to regret not drinking water.

he reached in his pocket to pull out a cigarette box.

he wasn’t a casual smoker, not by a long shot. it just helped to have something to drag on sometimes, something to burn his throat while he was thinking.

right as he put the cig to his lips, the door banged open and slammed shut once more, the lock sliding home.

his spider-senses told him to prepare, but when he looked up they stopped buzzing.

because a girl leaned against the wall across from him, her chest heaving and her eyes wide.

she looked afraid, scared. the way her fingers trembled alerted him to the sheer amount of adrenaline running through her veins currently.

and she hadn’t even noticed him yet. he took a moment to glance over her.

she wore a pretty little lace dress, black and short, with straps that barely cling to her shoulders. his eyes drifted down her bare legs to the black platform gogo boots on her feet, and he was impressed with the height she was balancing on. he knew from experience that those shits weren’t easy to master.

he had been a model once, and he knew enough to see that the girls clothes were expensive. like, wearing his rent expensive.

she took an anxious step, only to wobble like a baby deer, legs too long to stand properly.

maybe not so stable after all.

when she still didn’t notice him (too busy listening to the door), he opened his mouth to make himself known.

“runnin’ from something, little fawn?”

her eyes snapped to him, and she jumped slightly when she realized that someone else was in the room with her. her wide doe eyes did nothing to help disapprove the nickname. she opened and closed her mouth to speak, struggling to get the words out.

“i’m not running.”

he chuckled.

“no? do ya’ slam and lock doors at clubs often then?”

she scoffed at him, rolling her eyes. she took a step away from the door, though he could tell she was keeping track of any noise.

“i’m just…catching my breath.” she said, pulling at the necklace around her throat.

hobie’s eyes drifted down to it, surprised to find a string of pearls with an all too familiar saturn pendent.

his curiosity got the best of him. “real or fake?”

her eyes darted up to meet his, and she looked away in embarrassment as she said “real.”

he let out an impressed whistle. “that’s why you’re running.” he mumbled as the pieces clicked together.

she gave him an incredulous look, eyebrows furrowing in a way that he found adorable.

“my guess” he said as he stood from the chair, taking a step towards the girl. “is that you definitely aren’t supposed to be here. rich girl, pretty dress, innocent look. this place is practically forbidden for your like.”

her gaze hardened into a glare. “and what exactly is my like, hobie brown?”

he smirked. “you know my name.”

a statement. she deflated slightly.

“i’ve been to your shows.” she said, voice lowering. it was just enough to make him realize how close they were. he registered her body language quickly, noting how she didn’t shy away. so he didn’t either.

“interestin’, doll. does your daddy know?”

“don’t condescend me.”

he took a step back then, raising his hand in an ‘i come in peace’ gesture. “easy there. just askin.”

he went to grab a lighter to light his cigarette, reaching down into his jackets pocket. when he found nothing, he groaned softly.

a click made him look up, only to be met with the girl holding up a lighter of her own. he leaned forward to light his cigarette, and she held his gaze as the sizzling sound breiflu filled their silence.

“as you can see” she said softly. “i am not quite ‘my like’.”

he let out a puff of smoke, making sure to turn his head so that it didn’t flow into her pretty face. she coughed anyway.

he chucked. “what you doin’ with a light if you don’t smoke?”

she flipped the lighter in her hand, and it took a moment to notice that it was one of the silver heart ones that were popular.

“you like vivienne, huh?” he said, looking down at her with half lidded eyes as he took another drag.

“what can i say, i have a thing for punks.” she replied, looking up at him through her lashes.

oh, he was going to eat her.

“s’that so?” he asked, wanting to drag whatever admission she was holding in. he leaned close over her, and she stretched her neck to look right up at him. this close, he could smell whatever shampoo she used.

she was off limits. but he never really abided by rules, did he?

“what’re you runnin’ from, doll?” he asked, tapping his cigarette out as he waited for an answer.

“my father sent a body guard out to find me. i snuck out, and the man’s in the club right now.” she said, watching the way his lips curled around the cigarette.

the air kicked on, and the girl below him shivered. he shrugged off his jacket with a sigh, pulling it around her. she accepted it gratefully, practically nuzzling up against the collar.

fuck, he was a goner.

“better get you out of here, then.” he said, using the edges of his jacket to tug her closer. she smirked, allowing him to pull her against his body. “that would be great.”

he leaned down as he texted the chat, brushing his lips against the top of her ear as he typed.

not a role model

-> hey, i got someone i need to take home. anyone sober?

little drummer boy

-> the fuck are you on about, why would anyone be sober.

fresh meat

-> i am, go enjoy yourself hobes.

thank god for tyler, he thought as he pulled back the collar of his jacket to press his mouth to the girls jaw.

as she snuck him into her room later, the lyrics of a song began to write themselves in his head.

and as he thrust into her, her hands fumbling against her silk sheets and her moans in his ear, he realized that he had found his muse after all.

hobie’s masterlist

[vase-of-lilies]

My World, Your World

❀ Mommies!WandaNat x Little!Shapeshifting!reader (f)

❀ MD/LG dynamics, fluff, shapeshifting reader, pet names (sweetie, little bunny, firecracker), SFW age regression.

❀ Request: Oh crap there are fanfics of us (Natasha and Wanda react to fics about them) Dragon AU (Reader is a little who can shapeshift into a Dragon)fem reader is a little who shifts into a dragon and her mommies find this adorable.

❀A/N: I got this request from someone who found me on AO3! @SashaWalker2, thank you for your request and I hope that I fulfilled it to your liking! I have never done anything with shapeshifting before, so this will be a fun and new adventure for me:D I have been doing research (watching how to train your dragon) so I really hope this turns out! :D

The world you live in is a little… crazy. Earth 0092 is what it is called by the Avengers. The Avengers are from a different type of earth, but they are currently being hunted on that earth, so they came to this one. The one where you call home. They made themselves a part of your world when they arrived through a portal at the top of a skyscraper in the city. At first, it was cool since you had seen something like it before, but once you saw a man made of Iron, a godly looking one with a hammer, and one with a metal arm, you were officially scared. 

Meeting two of them made it better. The two women you met were named Natasha and Wanda. Natasha had short, white-dyed hair, and Wanda had beautiful long natural red hair. They were both equally beautiful and equally different from each other. Both had different attributes, such as Natasha. She had more of a protective personality while Wanda had a motherly instinct as well as a loving personality. 

You had met them while you were working the register at a record store. It was Wanda that you had noticed first. However, it was Natasha that noticed you first. You stood out like a sore thumb in the dark lighting of the store. A pink striped shirt with a blue cardigan over the top, blue jeans with a couple tears in them, along with a pair of messy paint-covered Converse. [Or any type of stick-out-like-a-sore-thumb outfit:)]

Nat smiled at you, and you returned that smile with a question. “How can I help you ladies today?” You ask, and Wanda turns to you once she hears your voice. The two women look at each other and shrug. 

“We wanted to see what music you had here. We are new in town and would love to compare.” Wanda said, smiling at you from the first aisle of records for sale. You hum at the odd statement, the music you have here being the only music in the whole world. There are four artists that make music that you know of, and everywhere else streams the same music. They must be really new if they didn’t know about the four artists…

You nod softly, not sure what they were to expect, but you let them explore your shop without bothering them. You couldn’t help but hear them talk to each other about what they found; “Wait, these are the same people who wrote this. Are there only a few people who made it to this shop?” The white-haired woman asks, confusion lacing her voice.

You connected the dots from the day the portal showed up. 

“You must be a part of the Avengers team that showed up the other day!” You exclaim, walking over to them. They nod in response and watch you as you grab four of your favorite records. “These guys are super cool, they formed about 293 years ago and have been keeping up with the times. They are robots, in case you didn’t know. And this lady, she is super cool. She has written too many songs to count. But she sounds like a siren. Maybe she is one but cut out her powers when she sings. Im not sure. Anyway! I hope you can find what you are looking for.”

Wanda and Natasha watch you with a smile as you explain how the shops and music work in this world. They take the recommendations with open minds and decide that they would come back another time with more questions. And they did come back! They came every day that week to get to know you and the shop. 

It was after the full 7 days of visiting you that they finally decided to ask you out on a date with them. You said yes, and they were slightly surprised when you were so direct with them. On Earth 0092, there was no such thing as homophobia, everyone was equally ok with one another and left people alone. It was definitely a world that Wanda and Nat could get used to as they were ridiculed on the earth they were living on.

The first date you all went on was one of the best experiences! You had never been very active in the dating scene, but you knew once you found the right person (or people) you would know that you were in good hands. As you got to know Wanda and Natasha, you found out things about their earth that you never could have imagined. 

“Man, humans are assholes.” You conclude, hearing the way they explain the fact that politicians are the ones who target them, and are the most evil in their world. It surprises you most to find out that a lot of what is a reality in your world, is complete fiction in their world. One thing in specific: Dragons. 

When they came to Earth 0092, they notices immediately that there were dragons in this world. But they also saw humans, so they suspected that the majority of the population was just ok with having dragons from the mountains wander around. They of course didn’t know that those were actual people that lay underneath the vicious yet gentle dragons they see in the sky above all of the buildings. 

It was a dragon's world, with humans adapting and growing up with them. Some include shapeshifters who care for the pureblood dragons. You yourself were a dragon, but at your age in human years, you are [enter your above 18 age here]. Which means you are only a baby dragon at this point. You have not yet transformed yet, and you don’t know when it's going to happen. Some humans have transformed at the age of 14 or 15, but you were a late “bloomer.” Well, that's what your mother called you. 

You chuckled along with Wanda and Natasha as they expressed their fears of fire-breathing dragons, and dragons that they thought would hurt them. But you were able to soothe them easily, “I promise you, they are harmless unless you provoke them. They used to be our enemies, but someone decided to ride one and tame it. They are almost like puppies in that aspect. They just want to be loved, and cared for.” 

They listened to you, and you were so grateful for that. You really liked the way you felt when they were kind to you, and understanding the reality of your world. They told you stories of their world, where dragons were seen as enemies through movies, and how they were “slain” when a princess needed to be saved. They even told you about an interesting story from a movie called “Shrek” where a donkey and a dragon had children. (?) It confused you a little bit, but you listened with an open mind. 

“So, what do you like to do for fun?” Wanda asked you, and you really had to think about it without exposing yourself. Your… littler self. 

“Well, I really like to color, ADULT coloring books! I like coloring in adult coloring books, with colored pencils and paint and stuff. I also like listening to that robot band I told you about. But other than that, I really like to travel. Just around.” You said, almost exposing a rather embarrassing side of you in your opinion. What you would find out, is that it is perfectly natural and the two women would be supportive of you. 

~~~~~~~~

It had been a few months now since the Avengers had shown up to your world, and the two women you had gone on a few dates with had convinced you to move in with them. They had found a comfy apartment, slightly bigger than your former one, and had helped you adapt to a lifestyle of living with people that love and care for you. 

As Wanda sits on the couch and scrolls through this world's social media, you and Natasha are baking cookies in the kitchen. You two are laughing and taking in each other's company but as you look through the island window to the living room, you see Wanda staring at her phone in shock. You tilt your head and you ask her, “Is everything ok, Wan?” 

To your surprise, she responds with a small chuckle. “People are writing stories about us…” She says, piquing your interest as turns her phone towards you and Natasha. You approach her and you let out a small laugh as you look at the screen flooded with pictures and stories about Wanda and Natasha. You sigh in relief as you don’t see anything about you, but you can’t help but get a little jealous, seeing all of these men and women talking and fantasizing about your girlfriends. 

“Wait, are these fan fictions of us?” Nat asks, genuinely surprised. 

You let out a huff, and sit back against the cushions. You hear a small chuckle and you see Natasha giving you a side eye asking, “Aw, is our little baby jealous?” 

You shake your head defiantly and look at the pictures slide-showing on the large screen TV in front of you. Wanda and Nat give each other a sly look, and Wanda puts her phone down, giving her full attention to you. “Hey, sweetie, look we won’t read that stuff. I would rather spend my time with you and Natty. I wouldn’t want our little one to feel betrayed, right mama?” Wanda looks up at Nat smiling as you begin to fall into the space that they so willingly took in. 

You were certainly surprised at first when they accepted you but were eternally grateful that they loved you the same. Once you told them that you were got little, they understood knowing that it was a thing back on their Earth, but still wanted to explore more with you. 

As you fall deeper into your little space, you lay your head on your Mommy Wandas' chest, sighing and letting out a small whine. “Don wan to see ovver (other) peepo (people) tawking (talking) ’bout yous and mama.” Tears threaten to spill out of your eyes, the quivering of your lip making your mommies coo at you. 

“Oh my sweet little bunny, it's ok, we promise to not read that stuff, ok? We pinky promise!” Nat holds out her pinky in front of you as she kneels down, and you link your pinky through hers. 

“Onwy (only) if yous pwomise (promise).” You reply, sighing, your eyes watching a piece of dust fly towards you. In the same moment of not really thinking, you sniffle and that little fleck of dust lands right inside of your nose. Letting out a whimper, you feel the sudden need to sneeze. 

Sucking in a deep breath, your nose tickles in just the right place and you let out a loud sneeze. In an unexpected instance the room filled with a soft pink puff of smoke. Wanda and Natasha looked at each other, confused beyond their mind. 

“Oh, my god…” Wanda whispers, looking at the little pink dragon curled up and asleep in her lap. 

“Why didn’t she tell us she was a dragon too?” Nat whispers, running her finger softly over the small spikes that line your back. “She’s just a baby one too…” You react to your spikes being touched by squirming a little bit. You let out a sigh and a little puff of smoke comes from your mouth, indicating that you were a fire-breathing dragon. 

Wanda tilts her head at your sleeping form, “She seems harmless, she has to be, right?” She says, praying to her god that she is safe, even in the loving presence of you. Well, dragon-you. 

Your breaths are soft and you look peaceful in your moment of sleep, the two women looking down at you with love, adoration, and care in their eyes. As you squirm a little, Wanda gently picks you up, fitting you perfectly in her cupped hands, up and lays you on the small pillow decorating the couch. “There you go, little one, all comfy and cozy.” Wanda smiles, gently running a finger over your pink, scaly snout. 

With a small ‘boop’ to your nose, your two mommies chuckle at the way your dark magenta nose scrunches in response. Wanda takes note and keeps that maneuver for future use. Wanda and Natasha sit on the couch together, holding each other and keeping an eye on you until you woke up. Just a few minutes later, your little legs stretch in front of you and the cutest yawn ever seen escaped your mouth. 

“Oh my god, that- that was absolutely adorable!” Wanda says quietly, not wanting to frighten you in your sleepy state. She ogled at your pink scales that shimmered in the light from the sun. She wondered ‘Does she play like a dog?’ She thought she could buy you toys and made sure to add a couple to her grocery list the next time she went. 

As you were waking up, you let out a small growl and your eyes flutter open. Once you see where you are and who is around you, you sit up and stretch almost like a dog. Your tail stretches out and wags a little bit as you sit down on the pillow, looking up at Wanda and Natasha with innocent, puppy eyes. 

They are a little cautious at first, knowing that some dragons can be dangerous. “Hi, little one, can you understand me?” Wanda says, leaning on her hands on her knees as she looks you over. A little tilt of your head and a small nod make it known to the two women to that you can understand them. 

You do a little spin, and you hold up your small yet big claws, indicating that you want to hold onto one of their hands. Natasha takes your talon (dragon paw) and smiles as you flex it just like you were holding it as a human. As you take your talon away from her hand you jump off of the couch, letting out a small ‘hmph’ as you lose your balance and topple over on the soft rug below you. With a little shake of your head, you stand up and walk around the legs of Wanda. 

They both chuckle and Wanda picks you up. “I didn’t know our little one was the cutest little dragon ever!” She coos at you and you visibly smile up at her. Your eyes sparkle in the sun and you nuzzle your snout against her chest, your tongue licking small strips on her neck. 

Natasha steps behind her wife, looking down at you with a bright smile, petting your head with a gentle hand. “Our little firecracker.” She says in a small voice.

~~~~~~~

After a few weeks of changing in and out of your dragon form, your two mommies have sometimes come home to a pillow or two torn up and fluff all over the place. Or you passed out on the little dragon bed they bought for you. As you grew, so did the bed, but since you were still just a baby dragon, you did not grow so big. But it was always a joy for your mommies to come home to see you. 

Even on days when you weren’t feeling yourself, they loved you to the fullest in both human and dragon form. They would know exactly how you feel the moment they see you laying down on the couch, where you really aren’t supposed to be when you are a dragon, but they can sense something is wrong. 

They care for you so, so much, and love you even more. Nothing would change that fact. No outburst, tiny fire your breath causes, especially being a dragon. Absolutely nothing. And you love them for that. You constantly thank them and never disappoint them in the slightest. The most you do is set a pillow on fire, but that's an easy fix thanks to Wandas' powers. 

They will never stop loving you, no matter what happens. 

[mister-a-z-fell]

After some questions about my ‘true’ form and whether or not I have a thousand eyes and a veritable farmyard of creatures emerging from my collar, I have decided to show you this record of an encounter between myself and a certain writer at the latter end of the Elizabethan period. I remember the event slightly differently, but I suppose one has to make room for artistic licence.

I’m assured that if you click ‘keep reading’, the full transcript will appear.

To assist you, I’ve added a glossary at the end.

And no, Crowley, this still doesn’t count as having wheels.

“This is an true accounting of mine own eyes, set down by mine hand this tenth night of September, in the yeare of Our Lord sixteen hundred and one. They will say I am gone mad, for such visions belong to those who dwell in Beth’lem Monastery, but I swear on all that is precious to me, this se’nnight past I saw an Angel.

I was but newly set out from the towne, and some light yet remained to guide my path, when I looked to the east and saw of a sudden a second dawn. T’was no earthly fire; Aye, I warrant you, I am not bestraught! My father spoke, in Harry’s day, of the great conflagration of Edinburgh. He told me that Hell had claimed the sky, for all above was a fury dress’d in crimson and wretched with soot. But here was nothing of red.

I have seen it since in dreams and will, I ken enow, see it as I draw my final breath. Hasten the day.

It was akin to a man. I gleaned as much in those moments when I looked upon it, ere it saw me and my wits fled me. But also unlike a man, for where a man has but one pair of hands were there some severall, and where a man has flesh and bone was there flame. Such pale fire have I never seen but I should think it alchymy, and mine eyes were indeed ensorceled, for I saw colours without name, and things too marvellous and awful to relate. I will. I must. This labour’d span is raised to worthy work, knowing the glory that awaits. But oh, I am affraid. I pray my sins have not snatched the cup from my lips.

This fearful apparition stood upon the hill, and the white fire that was its crown was with the thin night clouds commingled. Its face — no. Of that no more, yet. I cannot. All about was compassed in armillary radiances which turned one within another, the forme entire and every hand with pearlie lustre enwheeled.

Below, the flames of Tuscalonian hue that formed a body for the Presence were so and so girded with armour: bright fragments, the whole twixt corslet and grand guard, matched with cushes; all of nacreous stuff and lapis-ensigil’d but for one place high ‘pon the rightmost thighpiece where the intricate device was marred and running gold in place of gore.

What can wound an Angel? I think on this and tremble as the very earth trembled where it stood, ague-shooke by a low’ring thunder.

I have held golden angels in my palm and have seen them in holy glass and in base iron gaulle, with doves’ wings upon their shoulders. Foh, we are God’s own fools. Its wings were the clouds pierced by stormlight, dark upon light upon dark, and where they moved was printed a world beyond my understanding, witnest through a furnace shimmer.

I saw a flock of stars draw close around it, and it seemed to dote upon them and cosset them as a hunter with his favourite hounds, and I would there have fainted all away an if I had not been fixed in terror. For they were not specks and embers laid distant upon the sky, a sailor’s comfort and guide, but each and each an inferno pluck’d from Heaven; baleful sentinels from which no secret could be hidden. Such fell lights would render trivial the earthly fires of Nebuchadnezzar.

Words are meat and drink to me, yet do I tell this so poorly I should be ‘shamed and nevermore lift a goose-pen. Still, ‘tis no matter for who shall read it? When all is said, I’ll put these lines away and think on them no more. In telling will I win myself a little peace.

Wheretofore had I been silent, so now instantly did I weep, and laugh, and cry out for God’s mercy, and it looked upon me. Od's-me, it turned its Phoebean eyes on me and I saw its face. Above the gleaming corselet had that most blessed igenieur placed a maske of fine, unblemish’d parchment, in th’ likeness of a gentle visage, before the sainted flame. Troth, a kindely lanthorne of such boundlesse compassion that I fell upon my knees and made to crawl into the fire, sooner to know its forgiuenesse. Then did it smile, as no painted visor could, and all my knotted thoughts were ravel’d out and I was at once a babe, a foole, unfolded and sanctuarized. Under this soft and clement regard I swounded, onely to wake in my lodgings, ‘tired, but not tyred, my travells lost beyond recover.”

Glossary:

Beth’lem Monastery — Bishopgate hospital that would later become the notorious ‘Bedlam’.

se’nnight — seven nights — a week

warrant — assure/promise

bestraught — mad

Harry — another name for Henry — in this case Henry VIII

ere — until

ensorceled — enchanted

commingled — mixed with

compassed — surrounded by

armillary — resembling concentric rings set at angles

pearlie lustre — a pearl-like glow

enwheeled — encircled (shush, Crowley)

Tuscalonian — pale straw-yellow

girded — armoured

twixt — between

corslet — armour covering the upper body

grand guard — armour protecting the heart and left shoulder

cushes — armour for the thighs

nacreous stuff — resembling mother-of-pearl

lapis-ensigil’d — decorated in blue

intricate device — complicated symbol

ague-shooke — shivering, as with a sickness

low’ring — threatening/ominous

golden angels — gold coins stamped with the likeness of Michael defeating Lucifer

holy glass — church windows

iron gaulle — ink

Foh — an exclamation of disgust

cosset — fuss over

an if — if

goose-pen — a quill

Wheretofore — while until now

instantly — at the same time

Od's-me — an exclamation: ‘God save me’

Phoebean — relating to Phoebus/the sun

blessed igenieur — The creator

visage — face

Troth — an exclamation: ‘indeed’

lanthorne — lantern

painted visor — an immobile mask

ravel’d out — unwound

unfolded — exposed

sanctuarized — protected/sheltered

clement — forgiving

swounded — fainted

‘tired, but not tyred — a pun: ‘tired (attired) meaning dressed, tyred meaning weary

recover — remember

Addendum:

I’ve been asked to provide a translation for the Latin community. My grasp of Elizabethan Spanish would, I fear, let me down, so this is couched in modern terms…

Este es un relato verdadero de lo que vi, escrito por mi mano esta décima noche de septiembre, en el año de Nuestro Señor mil seiscientos uno. Dirán que me he vuelto loco, pues tales visiones pertenecen a los que viven en el Monasterio de Beth'lem, pero juro por todo lo que me es precioso, que la semana pasada vi a un Ángel.

Hacía poco que había salido de la ciudad, y aún quedaba algo de luz para guiar mi camino, cuando miré hacia el este y de repente vi un segundo amanecer. No era fuego terrestre; ¡te juro que no estoy loco! Mi padre hablaba, en tiempos de Harry, del gran incendio de Edimburgo. Me dijo que el infierno había reclamado el cielo, pues todo lo alto era una furia vestida de carmesí y desdichada por el hollín. Pero aquí no había rojo.

Desde entonces lo he visto en sueños y estoy seguro de que lo veré cuando exhale mi último aliento. Ojalá sea pronto.

Era como un hombre. Me di cuenta de ello en el breve momento en que lo miré, hasta que me vio y perdí la razón. Pero también era distinto de un hombre, porque donde un hombre tiene un solo par de manos había varias, y donde un hombre tiene carne y hueso había llamas. Nunca he visto fuego pálido como éste, a menos que fuera hecho por alquimia, y mis ojos estaban realmente encantados, porque vi colores sin nombre, y cosas demasiado maravillosas y horribles para relatarlas. Lo haré. Debo hacerlo. Esta vida dura merece la pena, sabiendo la gloria que aguarda después de la muerte. Pero tengo miedo. Rezo para que mis pecados no me hayan arrebatado la copa de los labios.

Esta temible aparición se alzaba sobre la colina, y el fuego blanco que la coronaba se enredaba con las delgadas nubes nocturnas. Su rostro... no. Aún no puedo hablar de ello. Todo estaba rodeado de ruedas de luz que giraban unas dentro de otras, y toda su forma y cada una de sus manos estaban rodeadas de un resplandor nacarado.

Debajo, las llamas de color amarillo pálido que formaban el cuerpo de la Presencia estaban cubiertas por piezas de armadura: fragmentos brillantes que, todos juntos, formaban una coraza, y una armadura para las piernas; parecían de nácar cubiertas de símbolos azules brillantes, excepto en un lugar en lo alto del muslo derecho, donde los adornos estaban dañados y sangraban oro.

¿Qué puede herir a un ángel? Pienso en esto y tiemblo como tiembla la tierra donde estaba, sacudida por truenos ominosos.

He tenido ángeles de oro (monedas) en la palma de mi mano y los he visto en vidrio sagrado y en tinta simple, con alas de paloma sobre sus hombros. Buaj, somos los propios tontos de Dios. Sus alas eran las nubes atravesadas por la luz de la tormenta, oscuridad sobre luz sobre oscuridad, y donde se movían vi un mundo más allá de mi entendimiento, presenciado a través de un resplandor como de horno.

Vi una bandada de estrellas acercarse a su alrededor, y parecía adorarlas y mimarlas como un cazador a sus sabuesos favoritos, y me habría desmayado si no me hubiera quedado helado de terror. Porque no eran motas y ascuas lejanas en el cielo, consuelo y guía de un marinero, sino cada una un infierno arrancado del Cielo; torvos centinelas a los que no se podía ocultar ningún secreto. Luces tan terribles harían que los fuegos terrenales de Nabucodonosor parecieran triviales.

Las palabras son carne y bebida para mí, pero estoy contando esto tan mal que debería avergonzarme y no volver a levantar una pluma. Aun así, no importa porque ¿quién lo leerá? Cuando termine, guardaré este escrito y no pensaré en él. Contando esto me ganaré un poco de paz.

Había estado en silencio, pero ahora lloré, y reí, y supliqué la misericordia de Dios, y el ángel me miró. mSobre la coraza reluciente El Creador había colocado una máscara de pergamino fino y sin mancha que parecía un rostro amable, frente al fuego sagrado. De hecho, era una linterna bondadosa de una compasión tan ilimitada que caí de rodillas e intenté arrastrarme hasta el fuego, para poder sentir su perdón. Entonces sonrió (como nunca podría hacerlo una máscara), y todos mis confusos pensamientos se desenredaron y me sentí simultáneamente un bebé, un tonto, expuesto y protegido. Bajo esta atención suave e indulgente me desmayé, sólo para despertar en mi alojamiento, vestido, pero no cansado, incapaz de recordar cómo había llegado hasta allí.

[garden-of-thoughts-fruit-of-lips]

"I57" (part one)

My friends and I were coming back from a private party in Chicago. Ludacris crew was there, but we had got invited through a friend named Ryan who's an artist. The party was a promotion party. A celebration for one of their artist. Before we left the party, Ryan came up to me and said, "Drive safe and stay blessed." I didn't think nothing of it at the time, but I'm like,"alrighty."

I was driving, Eric was in the passenger seat, Torris, Bret, and Trell were in the back. Trell was sitting behind the driver seat. I'm on highway, "I 57" going at least 90-95mph, trying to get home in record time. We have been on the road for about 25 minutes. I'm talking through my headphones, updating a friend named Vinnie on the night since he couldn't come with us. Everyone else in the car was joking and all talking about how good the party was. I57 merged itself from a 3 lane highway into a 2 lane highway. Im now driving in the passing lane (left lane). Around this time is when I noticed all the cars in front of me were switching to the right lane. One after another, like a chain reaction. Which struck me as odd. We were all traveling around the same speed. I'm not putting much thought into it by putting it in my short-term memory.

About 30 seconds later, I was driving around a curve, and my thoughts became focused on the cars driving in the opposite lane. Some of the cars' headlights look like they were driving on my side of the road due to the curve. Ironically, there was an actual car driving on the wrong side of the road headed straight towards me! By the time my brain registered what was happening, like a reflex, my hands were already turning the wheel to get in the right lane. We ended up missing the car by half a second. That car had to be going over 100mph because I noticed the car from a distance of 2 football fields and in a blink of an eye that car headlights became so bright it lit up the inside of my car.

Nobody really didn't know what had happened. Besides that they whole body just "jumped" in the middle of their conversations, "What da fuck yo!!" and "Damn!!" they were saying as they reposition themselves in the seat. Only people who grasp what just happened were Trell and Eric. Because of knowing, the screaming began to become level and calm as we were all reasoning on what just happened.

I never stopped driving. Still in shock about what had happened contemplating, "All five of us could have lost our lives in a tenth of a second!" I had got off the phone to be more focused, to get us all home safe. My eyes became focused on all the car headlights. Any light that would shine my eyes would pick it up. Here's the strange thing about this story. As I'm driving about minutes after the scare. There was an all white, bright light, shaped as a small sphere. I first noticed from my left peripheral, "What duh?" I thought. And this light flew from my left side to straight in front of me, than to my right side, and I stared at it the whole time as it flew off out of my sight in the cornfield. Left me with this question in my head, "What was that?"

So I asked the question to everyone in the car who were all still wild up and conversing and reasoning on what had happened. "Man! Bro, did anyone just see that shit?" I asked. Choosing that choice of words purposely. Because I literally thought I was losing it, and I knew if anyone said that they saw the same thing, then I was not tripping. One by one, everyone nodded in agreement when the words were said, "See what? That car that almost hit us?" Except Trell, who were sitting behind the driver seat. He said, "You talking about that white ball of light that flew pass the car into the cornfield?" Even describing in detail by pointing his finger from left waving it to his right in the same movement in which I saw it from. That's when I knew I wasn't tripping. We all agreed that day at that very moment that we were all still alive because of God, and that was an angel of God. In all reality, when I turned the wheel, my brain didn't even pick up on what was fully going on, but I was already turning the wheel before I had processed what happened. That saying comes to mind "Let Jesus take the wheel."

Everything from that night. That was in my short-term memory. Was moved to my long-term memory. But even after witnessing this, I still didn't take take it to heart. That Trell saw the same thing I saw and all five of us having a near death experience. Even though we were saved from a crash. I selfishly unknowingly continued to live my life on a crashing course.

[jaehaeryshater]

my commission from the ASOIAF for Palestine campaign. It’s of Princess Daella daughter of Maekar and Duncan the Tall. The artist working on this is @ainzee_the_real on yet, although the amazing fundraising project was worked on by around 25 artists and thought up by (as far i know) @wodania

Despite the relationship not even being confirmed (seems the likeliest explanation for Brienne being descended from both a Targaryen and Duncan the Tall is that Duncan had a child by either Rhae or Daella, but which of the girls it was has not yet been indicated), Duncan and Daella is my one of my favorite relationships in the ASOIAF universe to think of headcanons/possibilities for. What makes the idea so interesting to me is that as opposed to Cersei or Rhaenyra, as far as we know, Daella (or Rhae, but for here on I’ll say Daella as that’s who I headcanon as being the one he had an affair with) was able to conceal that she had a baby a man that wasn’t her husband. Their paternity was never revealed, and the Tarth line at the time of AGOT is no longer Tarth biologically at all, but nobody knows (yes, I’ve considered they still have Tarth blood from Selwyn or Brienne’s mother). This seems like the exact thing that a fan of fairy tales or romances, such as Sansa, would cling to, but the story is absent. ASOIAF and Fire and Blood have a lack of stereotypical Knight and Lady/Princess romances, and that is almost certainly purposeful. Lucamore Strong was a Kingsguard, forbade to marry, and had three families simultaneously who did not know of each other. Jaime rose to the ranks of the Kingsguard as a teenager and was bedding a highborn lady, a Queen in fact, the entire time, but that Queen happened to be his sister. Loras Tyrell is depicted as a steroypical knight on the surface, one that Sansa is quick to swoon over, but it turns out that he is gay and in love with claimant to the Iron Throne Renly Baratheon. Brienne has not formally been named a knight, but her love for Jaime Lannister and overall arc is reminiscent of the knights in the stories, she is kind and honorable, as well as pure of heart. Even the most mentioned romance between a Knight and Princess/Queen, Aemon Targaryen and Naerys Targaryen, is between a brother and sister, in which Naerys possibly does not even return her brother’s feelings and Aemon fails to ever save her from her abusive marriage, but instead stands by and protects her abuser. The most wholesome stories, Bonifer Hasty and Rhaella as well as Garlan and Leonette are either a love never realized for the former, lost in favor of an abusive marriage, or between a knight in name but a Lord in practice and his wife of a similar standing. Duncan the Tall, as far as we’ve been told, does not have the personality flaws of Lucamore, Jaime, or Aemon, is lowborn unlike everyone else on this list, and his relationship with a Princess actually manifested itself in the Tarth line. Despite it not being known to any of the POV characters in the series, this story is one of the most clean cut and potentially wholesome knight-lady love stories in the series. I absolutely cannot wait to hear it, because it seems like it could be a breath of fresh air in any otherwise dark and heavy series.

Forgive me for the tangent, now I’ll get to the depiction. Daella was born in 199 AC, and Duncan in as early as 191 AC. Maekar became King in 221, making Daella 22. Given GRRM’s track record for marrying highborn ladies, particularly Targaryens, off young, my headcanon is that by the time her father became King, she was already married to Lord Tarth. It is unknown when Duncan became a Kingsguard, but we do know that he was in Tarth at some point, as Brienne has seen his shield in her youth, and therefore i hypothesize that he went to Tarth with Daella as either a personal shield hired by Maekar or as a Kingsguard. My personal headcanon is that Daella and Duncan began their relationship before her marriage and she was married to Lord Tarth to conceal this, but that’s pure conjecture. In this depiction, Daella is still at Summerhall and Duncan still a knight without titles or status. I believe his kind and romantic nature is accurately shown in this art, trying to win the favor of a Princess with a mere rose. They know they can never marry, but the courtship continues all the same. I don’t know, i just think it’s sweet ^_^

Anyway, this has been posted before by the campaign, but I thought I’d add my two cents as the person who requested. This group has done an amazing thing, all in the name of a very important cause. The amount of work they’ve put in with no benefit to them is commendable.

[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias - The Award (Prologue)

Part 1 Part 2

I'm so excited for this journey y'all! Let's goooo! 🥳

Kiera Reed, upcoming superstar, the new it girl, multi Grammy Award winner…or so she wants to be. Realizing that the music industry has little to do with talent and a lot to do with status, Kiera is willing to do it all to give her music the recognition it deserves. Even if that means fake dating the stubborn, inconsiderate and undeniably arrogant football player, Ruben Dias. It is through lies, schemes and hurt that the "couple" comes to know each other. But through passion, love and sacrifice Kiera and Ruben go through lengths to help each other achieve their dreams.

Enjoy!

And the award goes to.....

"Please say Kiera, please say Kiera..."

"Please, please, please, by Sabrina Carpenter!!!"

"Oh, for fuck sakes." 

Kiera should have known not to resort to something as stupid and conspiratorial as crossing her fingers. It had brought her no luck thus far, the EMA's snubbing her of yet another category that she was nominated in. All that was left was the award for the best new artist and that couldn't possibly be Kiera, after she was ironically asked to present the award tonight. Handing it out to herself would simply look stupid.

"Are you ready?" A voice spoke from behind. Odell, Kiera's lover and partner in crime in this blasphemous music industry, had returned backstage to check on her.

"Yeah, I'm alright." She said, a microphone resting in her hands.

"Hey?" The bitterness in her voice had not gone unnoticed. "You'll get them next time." He assured, placing a hand on the hollowed back of Kiera's dress, his fingertips caressing her skin. "With this new record we got coming out next year, you'll be topping every fucking chart in the world. Everyone is gonna want a piece of Kiera Reed."

"You really think so?"

"Trust me baby, I'll make sure of it."

She smiled with the kiss that was pressed to her cheek. Odell then disappeared through the dark curtains, leaving Kiera to do what was asked of her.

The crowd was buzzing out there, tempting her to sneak a peek through the closed blinds. The biggest artists were of course seated up front, some of them having snubbed Kiera of her awards. They probably had no idea who she was, and tonight they would only come to know her as the pretty face that presented the award for Best New Artist. 

She looked around the stage area, where several producers with black headsets were running around like hens on a farm, ensuring that the production of the show was running smoothly. They seemed so agitated, Kiera thought. Not at all helping her calm her own rising nerves. And yes, despite not having to actually perform, Kiera was still nervous about going on stage and having all of those googling eyes staring up at her. Not to mention the bright lights, pointing directly at her face, highlighting every possible flaw in her dark features.

"Hey, I'm Ruben."

She flinched as a tall figure appeared beside her.

"Sorry, did I scare you?" He chuckled. A man, broad in the shoulders yet slim at the waist. He wore a dark suit, complementary to his other dark features, like his eyes and his hair. Kiera didn't see much of it though, his hair, since their height differences had him peering down at her like a parent does a child.

"I see that they've already given you a microphone. They didn't give me one so I assume that means we're sharing?"

"I don't—"

"Ruben?" A woman with a headset appeared, shifting her head between Kiera and the stranger. "Great, you've already gotten to know each other. I suggest that the two of you walk out together. On my que, of course. Ruben, you then prepare the envelope, while....while...."

"Kiera." She frowned.

"Of course." The lady smiled, a visible drop of sweat running down her temple. "Kiera, you make sure that the microphone is in place when you approach the pedestal. Ruben is gonna prepare the envelope containing the best new artist. Got it?" The lady was rapid, taking the man, Ruben's nod, as a notion from them both.

"I—." Kiera tried to speak. To protest, since she was obviously freaking out. However, the stage lady put her hand up, giving Kiera and Ruben the cue to take to the stage. Although her feet hesitated to move as the curtains drew open, the hand putting pressure on Kiera's lower back ensured that she did. Met with courteous applause from the well dressed crowd, she and Ruben took to the stage. 

By the time they reached the presenter's pedestal, the applause had died out, the crowd obscured behind the blinding lights. Kiera was undoubtedly struck by it all, the applause, the lights and the front row of artists whose polite demeanor seemed to be mocking her. She found herself frozen with terror. Unable to move a muscle. While the voice in her head did nothing to console her, another voice, a man's, appeared like a soft breeze behind her ear. "The microphone." He said, without pleading.

"I can't." Kiera's body trembled, shivers sent all over. "I can't do it—."

"Shh. It's okay, I got you."

Her shoulders fell. Not with relief, but with surprise as someone moved to stand behind her. 

Ruben? 

His arm, a well defined bicep, swept around her body, unhanding Kiera the microphone, attaching it to the stand on top of the pedestal. Pressure was then subdued upon her head, something firm, resting on top of it. As if awaking a lucid dream, Kiera took notice of her surroundings. A mumbling crowd, followed by a few flattering wolf howls and snapping applause. Kiera realized that Ruben was resting his chin on top of her head, his front pushing against her trembling back. However, the trembles quickly seized with the heat that was generated between them.

"Ladies and gentleman...." Ruben's rich baritone voice echoed above Kiera's head, his stubbled chin stirring her silk-pressed hair. "The award for Best New Artist goes to..." A golden envelope unfolded before her eyes, Ruben's large hands retrieving the paper within as his arms shielded around her. The crowd once again expressed their excitement for the gesture with snapping applause and taunting shouts. Although Kiera flushed with embarrassment, not to mention concern for how she and Ruben might appear to the crowd and the people watching at home, her previous trembles had gone away, completely vanishing with the bizarre nature of her situation.

"Benson Boone!!!"

Despite not winning Best New Artist, Kiera felt momentarily at ease. Her stumbles and falls in life having no matter. She would always be cooed and protected in the arms of the man whose heart beat gently against her own. The man that whispered endearments against her hair and slid his hands to rest on her hips.

"You did good, Kiera. You did good."

"I did?"

"Very good."

Part 1

Part 2

[siren-serenity]

marked

characters: samuel seo, gn!reader warnings: fluff a/n: - the first time i saw samuel, i fell in love - LIKE SIR?? YOUR CHEST *drools violently* - his titties could practically feed a whole orphanage - feedback is appreciated!

His body is a canvas and he is his own masterful painter. He is his own Michelangelo, carving out the perfect immortal onto his body. Careful to never exercise too much to stretch the thousands of tattoos, careful to never do too little to shrivel up the inkwork, careful to always take care after a session, careful to always adhere to his tattoo artist's advice. Samuel Seo regards his body highly; He never fails to catch the eyes of hundreds in the average city of Seoul. (He’ll never admit it but his ego swells up in pride.)

But tonight feels...different. As his expensive car (bought and given by Eugene, of course) races down the streets, maybe the street lamps having that golden hue of light to it, made him feel slightly romantic. Maybe it was as the abnormal number of couples going on with their normal average life haunting the streets. Maybe it was the way your perfume stuck to the leather seats like glue and wafts in the air, still. The ghost of Jake’s voice (his friend) reminds him of his hypocrisy. Romance? He gave it all up in the foolishness of his youth once upon a time.

To think that he would even reminisce on the aspect of romance, to even be in a romantic relationship, sounds ironic. Yet, as Samuel takes a quick, slightly dangerous U-turn and his other hand lingers on his phone, he feels none of it.

Only love. For you.

———-

His skin feels that familiar burn again. The familiarity of the pain is nothing to Samuel. His body is already a canvas, what’s adding one more brushstroke going to do?

“Samuel?”

Your voice rolls his name around with love and care. As he reaches down to take off his loafers, he spots you dashing in the corner of his eye and straightens up just to get glomped in a hug.

“Miss me?” Samuel murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head and your shampoo scent invades his sense of smell. He greedily takes it in, urging his subconscious to engrave the scent into his memories.

He feels you nod against his chest.

“You were back later than expected…I thought you-“

“Didn’t I say I would never leave?” Samuel suddenly lifts you in a bridal carry; a rare, boyish laugh escapes him as you let out a small shout of surprise. Your arms instinctively wrap loosely around his neck and your elbows thump against his chest, bouncing against his round pectorals. “It’ll take more than a couple of stupid minions to take me down.”

Your head tilts back as you let out a laugh and it rings in Samuel's head, recording it so he can play the wonderous sound over and over again like a broken record.

"Of course," You lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek and lingering there. "That's my man."

Samuel huffs, squeezing you tighter before finally laying you on the couch and kneeling between your legs. He looks up with adoring eyes and you get a good glance at his bandaged chest.

"What happened?!" You quickly unbutton his chest, eyes widened in worry. He only laughs in response, helping you slide off the article of clothing and slightly unwrapping the bandage to reveal the new tattoo.

Y/N L/N x Seo Samuel

He waits for your response with labored breaths. It was a risk to do so, an uncharacteristically impulsive decisive made late in the night. But he loved you.

"...Samuel..." You breathe out in awe. Shaking fingers lightly trace the inked skin and he shivers. Not even seconds later, you crash your lips onto his, fingers grasping onto his hair and pulling him onto you until his knees hit the couch and he is leaning over you.

He lets out a laugh between kisses but complies. His muscular arms hold onto your skin, gripping onto them to leave bruises while you lean in to tilt your head at a better angle.

"I take it that you love it?" Samuel murmurs between kisses. Your hand squeezes his narrow waist as you grin.

"Of course!"

Your hands cradle his face as if he were a precious jewel as you pepper kisses all over his face.

"I love you, Samuel Seo."

"I love you too, Y/N L/N."

[ornii]

Folie à deux

The Madness of Two,

2020, The Grammys.

Your feet pattered the limousine floor as you checked your watch, a slight panic in your face. It was the Grammys this night and with your almost meteoric rise to stardom, this is the first time you’ve felt, Anxious about it. You take a deep breath and relax, slowly letting the world fade around you. It always seems so otherworldly.

It all began with posting a few SoundCloud songs, eventually one blew up and it seems your music name began to make the rounds. Taking that opportunity, you released an album under your name and it spread like Wildfire, big Celebes we’re posting snippets on social media and overnight, you somehow took over the world.

Media deals. Record Labels, Advertisers, all were hounding for you. The next big thing, and it seems it all lead to a climax and here you were. Pulling up to the Grammys, you took a few deep breaths and waited for the door to be opened for you, as your chauffeur did, cameras flashed, cheers and screams were all over the place. You put on a smile and head inside to the main foyer, you were greeted by the obvious managers of said Grammys and was Starstruck by those inside, Multi record winning Artists, people who are considered gods. You were standing with somehow. Your awe was cut off by a voice.

“Mr (L/N)?” They ask, you turn around to a woman with a mic, not a reporter but the woman managing the seating.

“I’m glad you made it safe, if it’s okay with you, you’ll be seated next to Ortega.” She said, you raised an eyebrow slightly.

“Brian Ortega? I didnt know he liked the Grammys.” You say and she chuckles.

“No no, Miss Ortega.” She said; which Just confused you even more, you shrugged.

“Uh, Sure.” You say, you began to mingle, trying to keep up appearances as some of the most influential artists Dawned your presence. Ranging from Movie directors like Spielberg, to Multi Grammy winners like Canadas own, Aubrey Graham, better known as Drake. Ten minutes to countdown you reach your seat and relax. Everyone begins to get ready, and your train of though was on what you would say if you would, could possibly win a Grammy.

“Hey.” A Voice draws your attention and you turn to face it, and your eyes laid upon someone that made the world grind to a halt, all you could see were those beautiful eyes, soft skin and a smile that could make the darkest moments in your life shine like a supernova. and it finally dawned on you, you’re Sitting next to, Jenna Ortega. You remember when Iron Man 3 was released in Theaters, and the Vice Presidents daughter that Tony had to save, that was her! And stuck in the middle! It took moments for you to realize the impact She actually had on you.

“O-oh! Hi!” You day, your voice cracking slightly as you try not to get lost in her eyes. She offers a slight handshake and you take it, not really able to speak.

“Jenna.” She says.

“Y-yeah I’ve seen a lot of your movies I—“ you begin, but stop trying not to sound like a fanboy in front of her. She genuinely smiles at her.

“Thanks. I don’t mean to pry but you are working on more music right? With that much talent you can’t stop right?” She says and you nod.

“Anything for you.” You thought, “Shit that’s creepy why did I say that?! JUST BE COOL.” You think and nod.

“Yeah, didnt think I’d get this far, nice to meet someone my age, makes me less anxious.

“I know, feels kind heavy, doesn’t it?” She says, “All these celebs, kinda feels weird being here.” She says awkwardly. And you build up the courage to utter one sentence.

“It should, you deserve to be here.” You say, it actually catches her off guard and she can only smile and say “Thanks.”, genuinely. You two hush as the ceremony begins. It was fairly uneventful, besides You and Tyler the Creator tweeting memes at each other, before the first set of awards were given, and one of the main four was presented. Best New Artist of the Year, it was heavily contested, Alaina Castillo, Summer Walker, Normani, Giveon. You definitely wanted Giveon, Heartbreak anniversary was your jam. As Keke Palmer took the stage she has the envelope and smiles.

“Good luck.” You hear Jenna say from the side and, that boosts your confidence to levels you couldn’t imagine.

“And the Grammy for Best New Artist goes to… Your Very own! (Y/n) (L/n)!” She says and the crowd explodes, the look of shock was on your face, you rose up being congratulated by many, Jenna claps for you as you approach the stage, still stunned. You take the Grammy with a look of sheer luck and disbelief, you stand there at the Mic and just stand there for a moment.

“Uh- Sorry i had no idea I was gonna be here.” You say and they laugh, you shrug it off.

“Well, I suppose I should say something.. first thing is, well it’s been a crazy year, I went from barley making college payments to buying my parents a new house, cars, anything they could ever want and, it’s all thanks to you all.” Your anxiety was soon filled with sadness and cheers began to bellow.

“You all don’t know how much this means to me, thank you. And, god bless you all.” You raise the Grammy to a rousing applause, you return back to your seat and wipe a few tears. But a tissue was handed to you, but none other than Jenna. You two share a smile and keep the Ceremony going, but I hope you didn’t expect just one.

“Song of The Year! Album of The Year! Record of the Year!” After the third one you hear the song play as you head up with the last one and you take it, and you turn to everyone awkwardly.

“Okay i didnt expect to be up here four times.” You say to more laughter, you try to keep it short and sweet. “Seriously this is becoming a bad trend, I’m just some kid from nowhere, and you all believed in me, and I’m so glad you put your trust in me, in us. My team, my family, my fans, these are all for you.” You hold up the fourth Grammy and as usual it was arousing applause.

Nearing the End of the celebration you walk out of the Grammys with Four, FOUR; in your first appearance there. Two under your arms and to in your hands. You attempt to show them all laughing. But before you can continue you turn around to Jeanna who’s taking pictures of her own and motion her over, to take pictures with you, she rolls her eyes sarcastically as the anxiety and fear washed away to golden confidence. You both pose for the pictures and they flash so desperate for a header and they got one.

“(Y/n) (L/n) and Jenna Ortega? What could this mean for the two blossoming stars?”

[cap-ironman]

2023 Cap-Iron Man Holiday Exchange and Community Gifts Creators Reveals & Masterpost

This year, 39 wonderful works were created for our annual event!

Thank you all very much for participating, whether it was by writing, arting, submitting the prompts for the Community Gifts, cheerleading the creators, beta reading, leaving comments on works or guessing the creators! We hope you had lots of fun.

Here, finally, is the masterlist revealing the creators of each work created for the Cap-IM Holiday Exchange and Community Gifts event! Please remember to mind the tags and warnings for individual works, and leave kudos and comments on those you've enjoyed!

Drumroll please!

★ 10th Time's the Charm by zappedbysnow for Neverever (Avengers-ambiguous fandom, art)

When you've been trying to propose for months and villains keep ruining your moment, you just gotta take the chance at any opportune moment.

★ All We Doby Naivelittleprincess for tinystark616 (MCU, 9556 words)

Tony doesn't mean for anyone to find those recordings. Steve doesn't mean to see them. Between the two of them, there were never the right words spoken, so this just might be a blessing in disguise.

★ annex 11 by soliloquent for Cap Iron Man Community (MCU, 1300 words)

Trapped together during a snowstorm in the middle of a mission, Steve attempts to soothe Tony’s growing anxiety, only to discover that Tony had the solution all along.

★ Arm Candy by KandiSheek for BladeoftheNebula (MCU, 2329 words)

When Tony off-handedly asks Steve to be his arm candy for the night, he's not expecting Steve to actually follow through.

★ Arrangements by Neverever for Cap-IM Community (MCU, 2692 words)

Tony has a no-strings attached, no-personal information, all-sex relationship with Steve. But things can change, can't they?

★ Behind the Mask by gottalovev for starvels (Marvel Noir, 8156 words)

The circumstances on how Tony met Captain Steve Rogers on the eve of Operation Rebirth were strange enough, but the captain's secrets have secrets, and it's driving Tony crazy.

★ Can I stay here forever (I need you in my arms) by Mistymoon27 for Nixie_DeAngel (MCU, 1047 words)

Cuddling together under the stars out in the country, either on vacation or stranded on mission.

★ Christmas Stockings by superdecibels for robertdowneyjjr (MCU, Art)

Steve makes stockings for their little family and Tony falls a little more in love with him for it.

★ Conductivity by felisnocturna for Cap-IM Community (1872/616, 4243 words)

The train taking Tony to California breaks down in the seemingly abandoned ghost town of Timely. Or: After Steve's death on the courthouse steps, Tony is about to witness another tragedy. This time, he sees it coming, but even that might not change anything - not least because he is pretty sure that it's all just a hallucination.

★ Father and Sonby Perlmutt for starksnack (MCU, 5205 words)

Peter should have seen it coming. All hell breaks loose when his secret identity as Spider-Man is revealed. His parents take the news about as well as you'd imagine, and it escalates all too quickly. But his family wouldn't be his family if they didn't work through it. Together.

★ The first time I met you (I already had a drawing of you) Laslus for zappedbysnow (MCU, 2397 words)

Kissing Tony was a bit like sparing, pushing and pulling and stumbling against furniture. He had no idea why a billionaire cared enough to be this strong, and it was hard to keep in mind he had to pull back his own strength. or Tony meets a cute artist in at a Gala event, Steve tries to get over Iron Man, and Bucky just enjoys watching his best friend be a little stupid sometimes.

★ For You, I Willby tinystark616 for Becci_chan (MCU, 2350 words)

It's Steve's first Christmas away from Tony after the events of Civil War, and Steve misses him every single day. Little does he know that Tony misses him too.

★ A ghost for Christmas by gottalovev for Cap-IM Community (MCU, 8125 words)

When she died, Peggy left Steve an old house in Connecticut. When he decides to spend Christmas there, Steve finds out that it's already inhabited... by a very handsome and kind of annoying ghost.

★ Hot Rod Red by FrankTheSnek for Cap-IM Community (MCU, 37,070 words)

Steve has been single since the abrupt end of his engagement 5 years ago (despite the efforts of his friends). When he accidentally stumbles across an attractive cam model online, the idea of having a virtual booty call on hand seems appealing. The only problem, Tony is far more charming than Steve would have imagined and there is more to him than a pretty smile and a nice body. Too bad all their interactions are just part of Tony's job… or are they?

★ I have promises to keep by Missy_dee811 for gottalovev (Ultimates, 2290 words)

After a mission goes south, Steve and Tony trek through the woods to a safe house to which Tony has a personal connection.

★ i’m fine all alone (but it’s nice to be here with you) by soliloquent for Thahire (MCU, 9467 words)

Two months after the Battle of Earth, Tony, grappling with post-retirement uncertainty and an identity crisis, invites Steve on a Christmas trip to Jamaica.

★ in the storm, we stay clear by Thahire for KandiSheek (MCU, 4432 words)

Beside him, Tony’s getting comfortable, too, unknotting his tie with one hand, the other tapping away on his phone. The light from his phone illuminates his profile. Steve forces his gaze way when he realizes he’s been staring at Tony’s mouth for a solid five seconds. It’s going to be a long wait.

★ Let's to Sea by Ginevra_Benci for a_freaking_lenon (MCU, 8177 words)

Samuel Wilson, Lieutenant, Royal Navy, is the newest crewman aboard the Starry Shield. The famed pirate hunting vessel, captained by the famed Captain Rogers and locked these several years in eternal pursuit of the legendary Iron Captain, is... not what Sam expects. The legendary Iron Captain, when Sam finally meets him, is even less so.

★ loaf actually by robertdowneyjjr for Naivelittleprincess (MCU, 2165 words)

After his embarrassing attempt at cooking for their team holiday potluck dinner the year before, Steve is afraid to try again. Luckily, he has Tony to help him out this time around.

★ Lost Causes (or How the Avengers Didn’t Ruin Christmas) by Fluffypanda for littleblackbow (Avengers Assemble, 2875 words)

Sam, Scott, Clint, Natasha, Thor, and Hulk go on a quest to save Steve's Christmas present for Tony (which they totally didn't destroy).

★ Love makes fools of us all by BladeoftheNebula for Ginevra_Benci (MCU, 3,682 words)

“I am doing this to protect you. I rather take the ‘long may he reign’ part pretty seriously, unlike you.” Steve plucked at the material again. “And you could’ve told me your father’s jester was nearly half my height.” The bells jingled when he huffed, making Tony’s smile wider. "Where would be the fun in that, my love?” Tony murmured, grinning as he stepped in the great hall, the room falling silent at his presence. Steve would do anything to protect his King - no matter how humiliating.

★ Magical Moments by Becci_chan for soliloquent (MCU, 5081 words)

It hadn’t been Steve’s best idea when he’d asked Tony to go with him to the Christmas market. Steve had only needed someone to keep him company, because sometimes crowded places still made him nervous. And because he liked Tony. A lot.

★ make this gingerbread house a home by starksnack for Reioka (MCU, 5000 words)

Steve is determined to make this Christmas the best one Tony has ever had. With gingerbread cookies, home alone, and maybe a little mistletoe.

★ may the angels bow down for you by soliloquent for Cap-IM Community (MCU, 2000 words)

He hides. When the Demon gets loud, when He drinks His poison and tries to hurt him with His palm, or His words, or His power—he hides. Burgundy. Oak. Shattered glass.

★ (my heart is burning) holes in the ground by felisnocturna for Cap-IM Community (Noir, 1317 words)

In the end, it's a scent that leads them back home, like Ariadne's thread in a labyrinth of illusions.

★ a relaxing morning in by starvels for Carsonian (616, 2349 words)

Steve and Tony try to have a relaxing morning in. The universe conspires to bring them to Northern Saskatchewan instead.

★ Reverseverance by Veldeia for Cap-IM Community (MCU, 24,041 words)

Steve wakes up to find out that he's gone through something called a severance procedure, which splits a person's consciousness in half. While he's stuck spending all his time in what's essentially a luxurious prison, his other half, the part of his mind that has all their memories, goes to work in the outside world. Steve may not remember a thing about who he is outside, but he knows one thing for sure: he doesn't want to live like this. Not even with Tony, the fellow inmate who's caught his eye. They have to find a way out. Preferably together.

★ Since We've No Place to Go by Carsonian for superdecibels (MCU, 5,904 words)

Friends with benefits Omega!Tony and Alpha!Steve confront their hidden feelings for each other when they get snowed in together.

★ sixth time is the charm by a_freaking_lenon for Laslus (MCU, 1437 words)

Older Peggy keeps trying to set dates for Steve that keep failing until she sets him with her godson Tony.

★ Softer Landing by Naivelittleprincess for Cap-IM Community (MCU, 2410 words)

In which there is a snowstorm, Tony has had a terrible week and Steve might be an idiot.

★ Something On My Mind by Thahire for Cap-IM Community (MCU, 2179 words)

During a team game of Never Have I Ever, Tony finds out that Steve has done—some things with men. Things spiral from there.

★ Soothe My Darker Thoughts With Your Warmth by Nixie_DeAngel for picturecat (Marvel 3490, 1329 words)

Some days Steve's go on a darker path than he'd like. Lucky for him, Natasha is there to remind him that sometimes peoples brains are wrong and dumb and she's always right... (at least always right about how she feels about Steve.)

★ Take My Handby littleblackbow for ishipallthings (Avengers Assemble, Art

Steve is assigned to protect Tony Stark, son of Howard Stark, the famous inventor. Proud to a fault, Tony is reluctant to accept his bodyguard, but somehow, there's this one request he just can't deny.

★ temporary configuration of disrupted stars by picturecat for Perlmutt (MCU, 3043 words)

There's a lot for Steve to learn about the 21st century. And himself.

★ Unexpected Thaw by Neverever for Missy_dee811 (Ultimates, 3808 words)

Steve has a rough ride through the multiverse and ends up questioning his relationship with Tony.

★ Walk the Forbidden Road by Reioka for Fluffypanda (MCU, 13,239 words)

Tony is the last person willing to partner with Steve to hunt vampires. Steve should be grateful. And he might be, if Tony wasn't such an asshole.

★ where you already belong by ishipallthings for Mistymoon27 (MCU, 1380 words)

Tony looks down, and blinks in surprise when he sees Steve Rogers’ ever-blue eyes gazing sleepily back at him, his head resting lightly on Tony’s chest. “Well,” he says finally, wincing a little at the dryness in his throat. “I’m not sure I ever figured you for a cuddler, Cap.”

★ Working Late by tinystark616 for Cap-IM Community (MCU, 1632 words)

Some nights, Tony stays up late, building and rebuilding and upgrading his suits, until Steve walks into the workshop, usually already in his pajamas, and wraps his arms around Tony, kissing him until he forgets what he was doing and then dragging him to bed.

★ You Can Take My Breath Away by FrankTheSnek for Cap-IM Community (MCU, 6587 words)

Tony has been impotent since his abduction in Afghanistan. Years have passed and he's grown to accept it, but things start to change when Steve enters his life. It's more than physical need reawakening, and Tony doesn't know how to handle it. He's forgotten what intimacy feels like, and it's a damn scary thing.

Were your guesses right? Are you surprised at something? You can post your reactions in our Cap-IM Discord server here!

And finally, if you participated in the event, feel free to post your work wherever you want now! We will be reblogging every tumblr post tagged with #capimexchange in one of the first five tags.

Thank you for a great event to start 2024 on!

🖤 Navaan, Neverever and starksnack Your 2023 Holiday Exchange and Community Gifts mods

[quinloki]

hello i'm eating up everythink this kink game is soo 😋😋😋

could you do branding, breeding and collar for Eustass Kid and Killer? (im a sucker for kid pirates what can I say, if you wanna add a third c of your own choice i'm all ears 🤭)

\o/ I'm enjoying doing these - I'm so glad people are enjoying them.

Branding, Breeding and Collaring - make talk about the Possessiveness Trifecta. Sucker for yandere that I am, I am not complaining, but a fair warning to everyone reading, I may go a bit hard on this.

Also - I 100% have some yandere Kid Pirates stuff I want to go balls to the wall toxic on, so I'm going to do these particular head canons from a healthy view point (save all my deep dark shadows for the multi-chapter stuff.)

Hmm.. I'm tempted to add Heat since I did Wire not too long ago, but I'm not feeling it so I'mma step outside the Kid Pirates for my wild card choice and go with hmmm...

(I've done breeding kink for : Mihawk, Sir Crocodile, Rayleigh, Marco, Newgate, Jinbei, Zoro, Luffy, Sanji, Lucci, Law and Kaku.)

Oh I was going to pick Sir Crocodile, because why not, but you know what, let's go with Smoker.

Eustass Kid:

Branding - Oh god you don't even know - Eustass isn't going to suggest this to you, but if you bring it up (tattoos, actual branding, cell popping) he'll be all for it. Safe and painless as possible - well, okay, I mean, sometimes the pain is the point, but my statement still stands. Cell popping is generally not-permanent but most other forms of branding are. Style, design, brand or tattoo, he's going to talk all the details out with you, and how you're going to go about getting it.

Strapped to a custom chair, completely naked, as either he - or someone trusted - does the work (hey if you head canon Kid as a tattoo artist, rock on). He'll tease, please, and praise you the entire time, probably record the entire thing for posterity too especially if it's a tattoo. If you're up for it, he'd be all in for you to have a couple tattoos - at least one everyone can see, and few for his eyes only.

Breeding - FUCK Yes - Man's got a specific piece of furniture for this. It's designed to be adjustable (It goes from 4'00" - 12'00" just because he could), and can be used with or without straps. It's got a few other addons, and it's multiple body type friendly.

Hey, Eustass makes things with his hands - not just metal stuff, the man's leather working and wood working skills are on point and I'm not even speaking in double entendre xD It's designed to keep from having the sub/bottom that gets on it from being too exhausted to be, well, bred. (Designed with their pleasure in mind cause some of these addons vibrate).

Thing of it like a comfy saddle with a sybian built into it (google that at your own risk).

Collaring - Oh god you don't even know - Obviously less permanent than branding, but there's a real "You gotta earn it" process to this for Kid. You don't just go around collaring people - putting someone in irons because they're a legit prisoner (or your role playing that sort of thing) isn't the same as this.

If you're okay with it he'll have a collection for you before long. From almost subtle chokers you can wear every day if you want, to ornate metal ones strictly for playtime, to fur-lined leather ones you could wear publicly if you wanted to. You can be sure all of them were made by Kid, and they're all going to be comfortable. The more comfortable you get wearing them, the more likely Kid is to loop a finger through them and pull you into a rough kiss without much warning.

Killer:

Branding - No - Tattoos are an exception to this, but permanently marking/scarring his partner is a big no for Killer. Careful temporary marking yes, but he's the one with the scars, and he doesn't want to cause you to have any (or any more than you already have). It's not that he needs your skin to be flawless, it's that he doesn't want to be the cause of any of your scars.

Killer's job is protecting - the Captain, you, the crew - and probably in that order if we're being legit. Now tattoo(s), something he designs, something you can each get (that not exact matches, but matches style), he's all for that if you are. He wants his somewhere he can easily see - and maybe even that can be easily seen. >.> He wants yours somewhere that only you and maybe the ship's doctor will ever see.

Breeding - FUCK Yes - I mean, have you see that breeding bench that Kid built?! Of course he enjoys using it, and this is a style of marking/possessiveness he can get behind. (ah, heh accidental pun there. get behind... xD) It's not just filling you up over and over that he enjoys, sometimes letting others fill you up too, but it's having you shudder and cum on his cock over and over too. He's into it just as much for your continued pleasure as his own.

The number of times your body tries to curl on that bench is going to be at least twice as often as Killer satisfies himself.

Collar - Oh god you don't even know - it's blue and white with a double row of spikes on it and somehow it is crazy comfortable to wear.

Well, at least that's the first one he gifts you. Killer won't force you to wear any collars, but he'll talk about them and their importance to him and what they mean, and when he gives you the first one he even reiterates that you don't have to wear it. But if you put it on yourself, or present your neck for him to put it on, it'll certainly have an effect on him.

And if you're willing to own/wear more, he'll be gifting a small variety to you. Though the first time he notices you wearing one outside of playtime, you might find yourself over his shoulder and on your way to the bedroom - or the nearest available secluded spot. He'll cool off a little with time (or learn better restraint), but that first time is going to hit him like a ton of bricks.

Smoker:

Branding - Rather not - Cell popping maybe, but branding or tattoos aren't really Smoker's vibe. You could probably convince him to get matching tattoos for say, like, your tenth wedding anniversary or something, but he'd be a little skittish about the idea before then. He certainly has a possessive streak, but it's more of you knowing that you're his, and not necessarily a need to make sure everyone else knows.

I mean, everyone else will know, but he doesn't need a tattoo or brand to get that point across.

Breeding - FUCK Yes - Pressed against the wall, bent over the couch, screaming muffled pleasure into the comforter on the bed, and trying to stifle your moans as you hold onto the balcony railing while getting railed. Smoker is going to take you rough and without a condom - your body's begging for his to be buried in you, who has time for anything else?

Wrapped in his smoke you'll swear you smell like his cigars no matter how much you wash. It's not unpleasant, but it also feels embarrassingly obvious to know that anyone else who knows what his cigars smell like is gonna know. Not that you're asking him to stop, you agreed to the arrangements after all.

Collar - Starts as a Sure turns into FUCK Yes - You're the one telling him about collars, and some of the meanings behind them in bdsm and all that, and he's not against it. He lets you pick out what you want, and reads up on safety about them, and you two incorporate it into your playtime.

At one point though, you greet him at the door after his shift, either in little more than the collar, or with it being visible along with what you're wearing (sexy surprises galore under the clothes, of course). The whole evening riles him up more than usual, and he becomes a lot more attached to collars. Eventually he even collars you almost ceremoniously during a session, having gotten a custom piece made for the occasion.

Kinky One Piece Head Canons

[ironmanrecords]

Seth Faergolzia of Dufus - Tour Dates 2024

Seth Faergolzia is a musician, singer, composer, puppeteer, and artist known for his unique and eclectic style. He gained recognition as the mastermind behind the critically acclaimed avant-boho outfit Dufus. Iron Man Records released Neuborns and The Last Classed Blast by Dufus. Their landmark 2003 album “1:3:1” was praised by critics and described as a record that could potentially change a…

[junimo-hexed]

What music do each of the Batfamily members listen to?

Bruce: the man almost solely listens to classical or smooth jazz on an old fashioned record. He's very picky about which black metal bands he listens to and will often have to get custom records because of how underground it is.

Dick: he's not picky but he has his favs. Mainly Kesha, ABBA and other dance bops, but he'll listen to anything upbeat. Survivor and Van Halen also hold places in his heart.

Jason: listen he won't admit it, but he adores Gaga and Katy Perry. His general music lends itself to classic rock, grunge, and alt rock though. He and Dick have a very similar list of top artists.

Tim: video game sound tracks and Weezer. I'm sorry he ironically started listening to Weezer only to become trapped.

Damian: he doesn't like music. Kidding, he's still discovering genres and tends to find himself leaning towards doom metal or midwest emo.

Steph: she likes everything. No really she'll listen to anything.

Cass: she likes stuff that she can dance to and feel. Which doesn't actually say anything about the actual dancablity of the song. She likes music without lyrics and desires to feel the song.

Babs: she finds herself listening to 60s music as a whole more often than not. Also a fan of movie soundtracks.

Alfred: he would be lying if he said he wasn't a fan of folk songs. They're a great hum while cleaning the manor. Other than that he's a classical man.

[kirythestitchwitch]

Klaroline WIP Wed - freaky friday time travel fic

my prompt was the future Caroline Mikaelson and Caroline Forbes swap places and I was like, okay, I am going to shoehorn an entire plot in here after prom but before graduation. author is loading canon and firing it into the sun

-------------------------------

The package was sitting innocently enough on the porch swing when Caroline got home from school. After a weird day of fielding concerned questions from her peers about Elena’s whereabouts–Stefan and Damon locking her in the Boarding House all weekend after prom was a last-ditch effort that looked like it wasn’t working–Caroline wasn’t really in the mood for a surprise. 

When a cautious sniff towards the box brought her the acrid smell of oil paint and turpentine, though, she had to bite down on her smile. The smell liked to cling to Klaus after he’d been painting all morning, as she’d discovered two days ago, the morning after prom. She’d been crossing the Square, coming from the Sheriff’s department toward the Mystic Grill to meet Matt for lunch and flashcards, when her name being called pulled her head back to the here and now.

“Caroline!” Klaus’ smile was delighted to see her as he crossed the street to meet her on the grass, dimples brighter on his face than the sunshine, and god wasn’t that cheesy and ironic, just like her agreement to be friends with the nightmare creature that had plagued their lives for months. Even stranger, that she actually wanted to. Okay, maybe he hadn't been plaguing their lives very hard recently. What with the others unleashing Evil Dead and Elena taking home all the queen bitch prizes previously scooped up by Katherine, Klaus had almost seemed like your friendly neighborhood serial killer in comparison. 

She waited until he caught up, swinging a large brown paper bag by string handles. “A word of advice?” she offered. He raised his eyebrows in intrigued curiosity. “Don’t go loudly chatting up the Sheriff's teenage daughter in the middle of town when you look like… that,” She gestured at all of him, including his loose-necked henley and comfortable jeans liberally smeared with paint, “Unless you want to get called a dirty old man behind your back.”

The laugh was practically startled out of him. He looked like an artist grad student at most, the kind that would debauch you on the furniture props, but judging by the slightly judgy looks from a few faces she could see around the square, that was too old for just barely eighteen Caroline. Oh yeah, Liz would be hearing about this before the day was out, and wasn't that just what Caroline needed?

Klaus leaned forward slightly, for all the world looked like he was sharing confidences with her. "Do you find me old, sweetheart?" he asked, dimples on display.

"Ancient, decrepit," she deadpanned.

His voice dropped a little softer, and unconsciously this time she leaned in a little to hear him. “You know our kind don’t measure time in years, sweetheart, it’s more about experiences.”

With a scoff and an eye roll, she leaned back. “Oh my god, you did not just ‘Age is just a number’ me. It’s jail for you, sir.”

“Mmm, they haven’t built a prison that can hold me yet, but if you prefer that sort of role-play, I'm sure I could think of something,” he said cheekily.

“Wow, okay!” She laughed, trying not to think of ‘Klaus’ and ‘role-play’ in the same context, “You are feeling much better than the last time I saw you.”

He seemed to sober, tension pinching his soft mouth. “Silas hasn’t shown himself that I’m aware of. Elijah is refusing to hand over the cure to either Rebekah or myself. Her on the grounds that she failed her trial, and me…” Klaus glanced away.

Caroline tried to dredge up some sympathy, really she did. “Well, we are all very much hoping there will not be an apocalypse hell-on-earth. I never met your parents and I would like to keep that track record going, thanks.” Klaus ducked his head, laugh soft, and Caroline nearly preened. “So, what’s in the bag? Thumb screws? Arsenic? Stolen lollipops?”

“Your imagination is a never-ending delight, love. There’s an art supply shop down the street that orders my paints for me. Which is fortunate, I was getting low on Cadmium Orange.” His fingers fiddled with the bag string.

“That is a very specific color,” she teased gently.

He tilted his head to the side in a self-deprecating sort of way. “Well, I need it for a very specific bit of shading, you see. The fall,” he gestured vaguely with one hand at some unseen painting, “Isn’t quite right. I’ve been working on it all night.”

Wrinkling her nose at him, she adjusted her purse on her shoulder. “Is that why you have that ‘freshly bathed in linseed oil’ smell?” Knowing she was about to set the tongues wagging but unable to resist the look it would put on his face, she reached out and snagged his hand, flipped it over backside up. Bright yellow paint was smeared on his skin. “You missed a spot.” she pointed out helpfully.

He rumbled softly in his throat. “So I did.” When Caroline looked up, his hungry blue eyes were on her, quiet, watchful of what she’d do next.

“So,” she said, drawing out the vowel, “I’m supposed to meet Matt for lunch.”

“The human?” Klaus managed to fit a world of disgruntled judgment into two words.

“Ugh.” Caroline dropped his hand with a bit of force. “Matt is failing some of his classes and needs a study buddy. I happen to be queen of the flashcards, thank you very much. Finals are next week, and I just want…” She paused, emotion clawing up her throat and she swallowed. Blinked. The sun that seemed so bright before–but not warm, never warm, never again–seemed a pale imitation of itself. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Klaus’s hand hovering next to her arm as if wondering if his touch was unwelcome.

This wasn’t helpful, this wasn’t what she needed, in the middle of the day, in the middle of the Square, for god’s sake. Her chin raised, she looked Klaus in the eye. He looked solemnly back. “I just want us to make it through graduation. All of us. So.” She pasted a smile on her face. “I do what I can, which means flashcards.”

Something bitter tilted his mouth. “The talents of a general and they have you tutoring the quarterback.”

Caroline scowled at him. “It’s not a waste of my time to care about my friends. You certainly benefited from that.” With a huff, she turned to go, and he stepped sideways into her path.

“Admitting you care, love?” There was something predatory about the glint in his eyes.

Raising her eyebrows loftily, she pushed past him, trying to ignore the heat from his body that seemed to cling to hers. “In your dreams, Klaus,” she shot over her shoulder as she headed toward the Mystic Grill.

While her vampire hearing might have been bogged down by the noise in the Square, she was annoyingly attuned to Klaus’ presence. His parting words reached her easily: “Someday, you will.”

[aeolianblues]

Jarvis Cocker: At the end of 1996, I had “a nervous breakdown”

Kate Mossman of The New Statesman talks to Jarvis Cocker, September 2021

The singer on nostalgia, hating David Cameron, and how crashing a Michael Jackson performance had “a toxic effect” on him.

Jarvis Cocker leans on a table in the courtyard of the House of St Barnabas, a members’ club and homeless charity, and one of the only bits of London’s Soho that does not bear the marks of the interminable Crossrail project. Cocker says he’s not one for conspiracy theories, “but there’s a lot of dark mutterings about what has happened while everybody’s been locked away. You can see it in Soho, where loads of building work’s gone on. They took an opportunity. Cement’s gone up in price because there’s none left.”

He’s not as tall as he is in your mind’s eye – a solid 6ft 1 – but he cuts a stately figure in green cords and a high-quality lilac shirt. Here, in a moccasin-style shoe, is the foot that was broken, along with his pelvis and ankle, when he fell out of a window in Sheffield pretending to be Spiderman. (He spent months as a young man gigging from a wheelchair.) Here is the rear that was waved at Michael Jackson, in a life-changing moment it still upsets him to talk about. Here are the long legs that bent like those of a freshly born foal on stage, and here are the glasses that were held on his face with an elastic band so he could execute his moves. These long, smooth fingers would frame his face, or flick his “V” signs. As sombre as he is, seating himself on a bench alongside the New Statesman, he is the only pop star that most people under 80, regardless of their artistic ability, could have a crack at drawing.

You feel wary of going straight in on “the Nineties” – it must be such a bore – yet Cocker brings them up right away, talking about a song called “Cocaine Socialism” which he wrote for his band Pulp in 1996, at their commercial and critical height. It was all about New Labour’s courtship of pop stars. The title was ironic he explains, because “cocaine will make you not give a fuck about any other member of the human race”. Cocker shelved the song because he thought it might actually stop the people of Britain voting Labour – a sign, he says, of his overweening ego at the time.

When I was 14, a friend gave me a perfectly executed cartoon of Cocker, drawn on squared paper in a maths lesson and titled “My future husband”. It is often a source of frustration for musicians when their biggest audience proves to be teenage girls, but this is to overlook the power of teenage girls – and teenagers in general – to work up an intensity of feeling that all but creates a career. Cocker should know, because he conceived of his future – conceived of Pulp, “planned my whole life out” – at the age of 14 in an economics lesson, writing it all down in exercise books which he recently unearthed in an attic. 

He had a written manifesto, “very earnest, about how we’re going to get famous, have our own record label and radio station, and help other bands, and break the tyranny of the major labels”. And he’d drawn pictures, too, of an arm, with “major record company” tattooed on it and a meat cleaver saying “Pulp Incorporated”, ready to chop off the hand.

“It was supposed to be some socialist empowerment of the people. It wasn’t just: ‘I’m going to buy a big house in Barbados and have a jet ski’.”

Cocker’s proudest moment in a 30-year career was when Martin Amis agreed with something he’d said, when they appeared together on a TV talkshow approaching the millennium. Jarvis had stated that, in the 20th century, fame had replaced heaven as our ultimate goal, our way of cheating death. His own moment of fame, when it came, was sizeable, but it took him 15 years to get there: Pulp formed in 1981 – they should have been a post-punk band rather than a Britpop one.

In 1996 Melody Maker judged Cocker the fifth most famous man in Britain – after John Major, Frank Bruno, Will Carling and Michael Barrymore. Two years later, the novelist Nick Hornby reflected, “Jarvis Cocker is an acute and amusing chronicler of our life and times… but sometimes… you wish he’d communicate via chat show or letter rather than song.” This he has done, and often. Jarvis has been Jarvis for the last 25 years, in radio, TV, the written word – and perhaps less so in music, in the popular imagination. When you have lingered so long outside fame’s door, fully formed and ready to go, you must be loath to make an exit. Only in the garden of a private members’ club can he go about peacefully; he cycles in London, without a helmet, so you suspect he is recognised often, moving at speed.

Cocker shows me photos of his new bike on an old iPhone – a Moulton small-wheeled cycle, described by Norman Foster as the greatest work of 20th century British design. There are racks back and front, “to put yer bag on”. “I have spent a lot of time on quite random, trivial things,” he tells me. When his beloved 1970 Hillman Imp car finally gave up the ghost, he had it crushed into a cube and gave it away to a fan.

Cocker was in the Paramount Hotel on West 46th Street, New York, in December 1996 when a girl called Imogen called from the New Labour office and asked for his endorsement. 

“I’d been to some event down Whitehall,” he recalls. “A kind of wooing event, and I’d felt really weird about that. It’s hard to imagine now. I was 16-17 when Thatcher got in, and a Labour government seemed like a fantasy. I felt very conflicted, because I really wanted it to happen but something just seemed wrong. Even at that time – a quarter of a century ago – I thought, ‘You should be doing politics, not trying to get some endorsements from some people in bands’. There was a desire for it to happen, and then this disease. It felt like getting chatted up.”

Imogen had tracked Cocker down during what he calls, perhaps surprisingly, a “severely traumatic part of my life”. At the end of 1996 he was having what he refers to today as a nervous breakdown. When the telephone rang in his hotel room, he assumed the suite was bugged. He’d gone to New York around Christmas time and, alone and anxious, found himself unable to face the crowds. But he also struggled to stay indoors, tormented by the aesthetics of his hotel room – “super designed, with a giant picture of a Vermeer painting, a woman pouring some milk out of a blue jug. You walked in to an art installation, and I was in a fragile state of mind.” 

Cocker’s descent – which seems to merge with the ascent of New Labour in a lurid kind of fever dream – began with his trespassing the Brit Awards stage in February 1996 during Michael Jackson’s performance of “Earth Song”. “I don’t really like talking about that particular incident,” he says, looking down at his knees. “People said at the time that it was a publicity stunt but it wasn’t really like that. It had a toxic effect on my life.”

There is a considerable mismatch between the folk memory of the moment, and the memory held by the perpetrator himself. To most, Cocker’s actions look more heroic as the years go by: the last cry of a bloated Eighties megastar defeated by British indie, or something to that effect. Jackson’s pageantry seems worse now than it did at the time: the white messiah robes and outstretched arms; the children lining up to embrace him; the rabbi bowing his head for a kiss. The pipe cleaner figure of Cocker floats on stage looking puzzled, wafts an imaginary fart at the audience (with his bottom clothed) and briefly raises his T-shirt. Hardly something to be arrested for (as he was, before being released without charge) but the 1990s are a draconian place, when you travel back in time.

[see also: Bridget Jones and the Blair years]

Cocker was represented, in his assault charge, by the comedian Bob Mortimer, a former solicitor. David Bowie’s personal film crew were able to provide tapes shot from a certain angle to prove that he had not, in fact, knocked into any children when taking the stage. But there was condemnation from Damon Albarn (“he’s got some very odd ideas about reality”) and Jackson (“sickened, saddened, shocked, upset, cheated and angry”).

The tabloids subjected him to feverish attention. Cocker had always talked about drugs – the liner notes of Pulp’s single “Sorted For E’s & Wizz” showed you how to make a drugs wrap (“Ban This Sick Stunt” said the Daily Mirror). And he’d always talked about sex – he watched a lot of porn in hotel rooms on tour. Now, there were kiss and tells, and an attempt by the Sun to engineer a meeting between Cocker and his estranged father in Australia.

What thoughts were passing through his mind when he stood up and walked towards Jackson’s stage? He won’t say. “One thing I will say is that people are still convinced that I pulled my trousers down and showed my bottom. And it’s really not true. That’s when I realised what a c*** David Cameron was.”

In November 2011, he explains, the Observer put celebrities’ questions to the new prime minister of the coalition. Cocker asked Cameron whether he really understood the phrases “futures” and “derivatives”. Cameron gave a long answer to prove that he did and added: “I was there that night, at the Brit Awards. I saw him led away. I saw his bum.”

Cocker stirs his Americano.

“I just thought, ‘OK, you are a liar. You’ve just shown yourself to be a liar and a complete twat’.”

In the New Statesman that year, Cocker wrote a reflection on hangovers, inspired by the one he had the day after Tony Blair was elected. The hangover lingered, as he criticised New Labour’s treatment of single mothers, students and the disabled. It lasted 13 years, he said. It ended when Cameron got in – not because things were better, but because that’s when he started drinking again.

There is a photograph of Cocker as a long-legged child pictured with his mother, granny, sister and aunties outside their terraced house in Intake, a suburb of Sheffield. With her red pixie haircut and large specs, his mother, an art student, looks just like an indie girl from the 1990s – or a member of Pulp – in a strange cultural collision of the original hippies and the Sixties revival decades later.

Cocker lived on the dole in the Eighties trying to get his band off the ground. During the Britpop era, Labour’s Welfare To Work scheme made such a life much trickier, inspiring a campaign by Oasis’ manager Alan McGee. The dole must have had a huge impact on people’s ability to pursue creative work?

“Probably for six months, and then you get lazy,” Cocker says. “Not wanting to sound like Norman Tebbit, but you do, and that’s what drove me away from Sheffield – people were dropping like flies, having drug overdoses or losing it, and I thought, ‘It’s only a matter of time before I end up there’. So that’s when I started hatching my escape plan.”

His ticket out – a place to study film at Central Saint Martins in London – produced “Common People”, one of the most famous songs of the 20th century. Pulp were more refined, classy, slippery and sardonic than other Britpop bands. The image of working-class life as seen through the eyes of the song’s Greek art student gets to the heart of Cocker’s use of irony: he was interested in perceptions of class difference, perceptions of the north-south divide, as much as the real thing.

Having lived in the south for 35 years, he tells me the BBC’s insistence on using regional accents for announcers is a patronising attempt to keep people in their place. His mother became a Tory parish councillor for the village of Carlton in Lindrick, Nottinghamshire. In 1998 she told the Mirror, in an embarrassing interview, that she admired Thatcher – until the third term, when the prime minister became a megalomaniac. “I raised Jarvis on Tory values that if you’ve worked hard all your life, you want to keep what you’ve earned,” she said. Her son tells me he doesn’t agree with his mother’s support of Brexit – “but you won’t find many people who are going to say that everything’s going to plan. We’re on the downhill, and everybody’s got their own theories of why that is.”

Unlike his mother, Cocker has voted Labour since he was old enough to vote. “I can’t imagine voting for any other party,” he says, but that doesn’t mean he’s excited by the current one. “Corbyn I was excited about. But having spent a lot of time moving between France and here, his inability to come to any position on Brexit finished it for me.” Keir Starmer’s Labour, he says, “feels like the politics of opposition. It’s happening to the left all over the world, isn’t it? People have started wondering what level of dictatorship would be OK.”

A few years ago he visited the Magna Science Adventure Centre in Rotherham which recreates the world of the steel mills. Watching the installation of a “big melt” – when molten steel was poured into giant electric arc furnaces – made him strangely emotional. “It must be some kind of folk memory,” he says. “It was awful work, and loads of people got f***ed by the time they were 40. But there was some result and that’s what people miss – that there isn’t anything to glue people together in that way. Imagine working in a shipyard. After six months, suddenly there’s this big, massive f***-off ship and you’ve been part of that.

“There is a nostalgia, not for vibration white finger or lung disease, but for times when people worked together and there would be a result. I’m not an authority. It’s not for me to tell the Labour Party what to do, but I think – well, I thought I stumbled on something.”

He still praises the Sheffield city council, once nicknamed the “Socialist Republic of South Yorkshire”, which allowed children to travel for 2p on buses. He once said that when things took off for Britpop, he thought he was going to be part of something that changed society, like punk did, but it just turned out to be showbusiness.

Of all the extra-curricular jobs Cocker has done, the one the public took to most, which really seemed to fit him, was his gig as a DJ on BBC Radio 6 Music, running his Sunday Service show. His voice was as much a part of his sex appeal for teenage girls as his looks had been. The show explored a mundane but deeply nostalgic aspect of British culture: that time on a Sunday afternoon when everyone felt flat because it was nearly time for the week to start again, and you hadn’t done your homework. 

He’d resisted radio for a long time because of his father. Mac Cocker walked out in 1970, when Jarvis was seven, leaving Sheffield for Sydney, where he began a 33-year career with the Australian Broadcasting Corporation. His gentle Yorkshire accent was appreciated on the airwaves. He had a show called The Night Train on Saturdays (Jarvis has a Radio 4 show for insomniacs called Wireless Nights); and a show called The Globetrotter on Sunday afternoons, and another called Vinyl Museum. High of forehead with long hair and large National Health-style specs, Mac wore a tank top not unlike those his son wore in Pulp. He sang with a band called Life On Mars.

Traditionally, Cocker doesn’t talk much about his father. As we begin to do so, a very tiny and very hairy caterpillar makes its way along the edge of the table in front of him. It is barely a centimetre long, with legs so fine they move in little ripples of dark and light. Cocker does what all humans do when faced with a caterpillar and tries to persuade it to clamber aboard the nail on his index finger. After two or three refusals, it does so.

Mac Cocker left his son with small bits of information about himself, like a copy of Harold Pinter’s The Birthday Party on the shelf. When Jarvis was 12, he came to visit, bringing records with him.

“That’s when I found out he was a DJ. He’d obviously just gone into some record label and picked up some records and gave me them. I ascribed a real meaning to them, but it was just promos. They were wank. They were just these really shit records! Anyway…”

Cocker wonders if he was propelled into music because of his father, but explains that any biological imperative, if it comes from an absent parent, remains a mysterious thing. “I know it must come from him, because my mother is so tone-deaf. But if you don’t know him, it’s like it’s come from somewhere supernatural.”

His family would say, you’re just like your father – “but usually as a negative thing. It was strange to be brought up with this cloudy non-presence.” Cocker and his father struck up a form of relationship eventually, whenever Pulp toured in Australia.

“You’re telling yourself that you sprang from the loins of this person, but if you don’t know the person, that disconnect is really uncomfortable. What used to drive me mad was having really inconsequential conversations. When you tried and go on to the deeper stuff, it was just words… I could tell he was always very uncomfortable, and I’m not exactly the world’s best person for talking about emotions, so I was always terrified that an awkward silence was going to descend.”

Did they at least share music? What kind was Mac into? “Jazz,” he says, in disbelief. His father left a record behind in the Sheffield house – an EP by the Sixties French singer Gilbert Bécaud. “You know when singles have those big centres? He’d made a centre for it by cutting a bit out of a Player’s cigarette packet. That had always been in the house. I knew it was his, because his name was written on the back of it.”

When Mac was dying, Cocker visited him in Australia and took the Bécaud EP with him.

“I just Blu-Tacked it on his wall. It was the only thing I had of his. I just thought, because he went a bit away with the fairies before he died, I thought, that’s something from his past. I just stuck it on there.”

And left it?

“Yeah.”

In October this year, Cocker will release his own album of French music – songs originally sung by Françoise Hardy, Serge Gainsbourg, Jacques Dutronc – to accompany the forthcoming Wes Anderson film The French Dispatch, which is set in the 1960s. It features a fictional pop star called Tip Top who is modelled partly on Cocker. Anderson directed his intonation, his delivery, in the studio. Cocker’s French, he says, is “something I should be ashamed and embarrassed about”, despite the fact he got to A-level standard, was married for six years to the French stylist Camille Bidault-Waddington, lived in Paris, and has a French son. He regularly travels to France to visit Albert, now 18, and stays in an apartment backing on to the Hotel Amour. Albert looks just like him. During the pandemic he got around the social distancing rules by hugging him through a bed sheet.

In 1998 Cocker told the Sydney Morning Herald “I just want to find a way of being an adult without it being boring.” Does he feel he’s achieved this? “I know I’m still slightly immature,” he says. “I mistrusted adults as a child. But there’s something really grotesque about people who refuse to grow up. When I became a father, people were always saying [he whines] ‘You’re going to change’. But actually it doesn’t change you, it just opens up a new bit of you. It was a real revelation to me, to realise I had that instinct. I found it liberating. As you move through life, these little doors open. The other ones are still open as well.”

He thinks all human beings believe they just missed a golden age. For him it was the Sixties, the decade in which he was born, “when the Beatles were still a group. They came to an end as the Seventies came, and I was six or seven. That’s the same year that me dad left. It felt like, OK, you’ve had your fun.

“When you’re a kid and you’re looking at the adult world,” he ponders, “you’re only looking at what’s current at that time. Like me wanting to be a pop star. By the time it happened, pop stars were on their way out. By the time you’re old enough to be part of it, it’s gone. So in a funny way, kids live in the past.

“I think that’s the fatal flaw in the whole Britpop thing. I don’t like to say that word, because it was an invented label – but that was the fatal flaw, and it takes us back to the fatal flaw of electing a Labour government and believing it would be the same as it used to be. Let’s make the Beatles again… Oasis really tried to do that, but you can’t make a period in history happen again.”

As a songwriter, Cocker telescoped himself into the future with “Disco 2000” and “Help The Aged”. The former felt open-hearted but the latter, intended as a kiss-off to youth-obsessed politics, sounded sour at the time.

“It always used to drive me mad, people going on about, ‘Oh, you’re so ironic’,” he says. “It would be rubbish to devote your life to doing something that was insincere. I guess I’ll often undercut what I’m singing about as I’m doing it – and that’s just because of the way my mind works. As I think one thing, I’ll think the opposite as well. Later in life, you discover that you are allowed to have two thoughts: it’s a natural function of the way your mind works.”

Some would say that, as you progress through life, you get better at trusting your instincts?

“I think if you just follow your instincts your whole life, you’ll be a monster.”

Cocker brightens, perhaps because our interview is ending. When he talks about his hobbies, he gives a big leonine flash, raising his silvery eyebrows above the frames of his glasses.

I phoned him a few weeks later, after the summer, to see what he’d been up to. He was at a secret location in Spain, making a movie he wasn’t allowed to talk about. A pandemic spent going through his loft, and noticing priceless keepsakes among the rubbish, has inspired him to write a book about pop and nostalgia – Good Pop, Bad Pop – to be published next year.

He is dying to be back on stage after two years off it. “I’m touching a wooden table now. We’ve already had to postpone this tour twice.” And he talks about Labour again – he really seems to care! You think back to his manifesto, his teenage sketch of a meat cleaver chopping off a hand. Then you look at a life lived gently, moving between projects, ponderings and “random trivial things” – and you wonder what his revolution would look like.

Jarvis Cocker’s new album “Tip Top: Chansons d’Ennui” is released on 22 October.

[moderator-monnie]

Artwork made by @an-artist-place-for-extra-art

This is a collaborative project between me and rose herself, we both came up with ideas for it and his design, me and a few other friends on discord came up with some basic story and ideas.

His full name is Dirus Harold Hog or rather that became his name, he is a 28 year old human male formally just known as Harold Puffins. Who went to collage studying in Screenwriting and Botany, gaining himself a Masters Degree in Botany and a Bachelors Degree in Screenwriting during his study.

He was one of the writers who helped make the script for the first Sonic The Hedgehog Movie.

Harold was a rather intelligent man who loved what he did and what he could do, however one faithful day while on a trip to Japan he slipped on a banana peel he himself dropped due to his love of the fruit he ate alot of it.

Not knowing that his favorite food would be his own downfall, he found himself ran over by ironically enough a Sonic themed train, this event would change his life forever.

Leading to an Isekai event where he woke up inside the Sonic world, however it erased his name and any memory of his existence from any records from our world.

Once in the Sonic world however, a shift in his personality happened leading to the once normal man becoming something entirely new despite still being quite smart, he started to only use "M" when saying anything that referred to "I" and if he does use the word "I" it's when he's talking about Amy.

And despite being a "Seemingly" normal human man, he dresses in a bizarre manner and death seems to follow him, even if any death that happens around him is not caused by him, this dosen't stop him from becoming friends with Charmy The Bee though after meeting him.

Everyone else though is very weary around him thinking he is some sort of evil entity and yet he remains unaware of this.