#stupendous steve

[mixreality]

"Rumble" theories, headcanons, and musings

My personal opinion on the events in the movie and the events before and after it. Correct me if something is wrong!

Perhaps I've gone too far, but I think - it's closer to the reality of the world we were shown in the movie.

Theory on the disappearance of Rayburn and Jimbo. At the beginning of the movie we are told that they disappeared (died) somewhere at the sea. After we are shown Stoker's new monster - Tentacular, which all his appearance indicates he's marine-type monster. Based on these two facts we conclude that Tentacular is involved in the disappearance of Rayburn and Jimbo. Brilliant deduction, I know.

Headcanons!

Tentacular got a scar on his face from Rayburn's claws when he tried to drown him.

T and Rayburn are about the same age and knew each other long before the events of the movie. Their paths parted after Ray's decision to become a wrestler and the birth of Steve (Rayburn Jr.). Hence, the envy of success and the desire to be better than his former friend.

Back to the theory. Tentacular comes in Stoker sometime after the tragedy, under the guise of "I hear you're looking for a new champion". Since the town had big problems and came in grief after the "disappearance" of their favorites, they gladly accept T, and Siggy becomes his trainer.

Headcanons!

Siggy probably knows that Tentacular is involved in the deaths of Jimbo and Rayburn, but doesn't show it until he's sure it's true. OR he took part in it too.

The loss of his leg is unrelated to the incident in the sea, as in the movie in Vinnie's flashbacks, Sig was already wearing a prosthetic leg.

After the death of his father, Steve may have lived with his mother away from the city for some time. There is no mention of her in the movie, but I assume she just lives somewhere far far away from civilization. The second option - Steve leave town and just wandered around the region/state for a few years until he got into underground monster fights because he needed money to keep living.

Another interesting moment. Siggy tells Winnie to stop the fight, because if Tentacular senses blood, the situation will get out of hand. What did he mean by that? Sharks have a phenomenon called "food fever." It's when there's a lot of blood in a place and the amount of blood makes sharks go crazy and eat everything. T is a shark, and a pretty big one; perhaps his senses are more heightened than normal sharks too. If Steve got a nosebleed during a fight, for example, T would probably go berserk and destroy not only the arena, but also the stadium and even the entire city. Of course, not without casualties, and here the irreversible process of total 4uckup. We wouldn't see it in the movie, so we will stop only at the destruction of the stadium (take into: all the people have time to evacuate).

Other.

Not all monsters in the movie universe are wrestlers. Example: Mac is a monster who works as a commentator (albeit on the subject of wrestling). Monsters, due to their incredible strength, can be useful in professions where that strength is especially valuable. Such as construction and demolition on a large scale, heavy lifting, working at heights/depths, mining, etc. Those who are not satisfied with either of those things go into the creative arts. I'd really like to see a monster DJ!!!

"Tentacular" is a stage name. Personally, I think the name "Nigel" would suit him perfectly. Name meaning: champion, perseverance, independence, zeal; also: cruelty, egoism, envy, hatred. The colors are blue and purple, the element is water. 100% hit. It's compatible with his looks, too.

Steve and his father can tolerate extra high temperatures.

In the second part of the movie (if it ever comes out) Steve will bring his "dancing style" to the end and it will be more like wrestling. However, lazy as he was, he will remain lazy.

There is a very small chance that Rayburn and Jimbo survived, but decided to lay low after the "mysterious disappearance".

Ray and T are about 20-23 years old at the time of their friendship (before the movie), 35-45 years old during the movie. Steve is 3-5 years older than Winnie. I can get very confused about the timing of what's going on in the movie, so consider this as headcanon. I'm having trouble with "time feeling"…

Winnie is a foot-fetishist.

[askingpencilsketch]

Royburn: Hide Away, Hide Away from Me...

Please read the description while you’re looking at this fanart.

I don’t watch the Verbalase 50K Hazbin Hotel animation, but I saw some people doing this meme of Charlie Morningstar from Hazbin Hotel chasing someone on YT since last January and a few fanarts out of this meme on DeviantArt and Tumblr. So I decided to do a trend and joining the bandwagon with my own headcanon ship. Also, this title and fanart is a joke. So please don’t hate me on this. Thank you. 🙏

In this picture, Rayburn Jr. spending 50K wrestling belts from a stadium net or he’ll spend 50K meatballs by someone who’s spending it. Anyways, when he was trying to be a wrestler and earning a belt, there’s a portal next to him and he was entering Monsterdale. Rayburn Jr. was so confused for what he’s been up to this different universe, so he decided to tip toe and saw a yellow monster named Roy who’s standing in the middle of the streets. While he’s tip toeing at him, he was trying to wave at him, greeting at him and touching him nervously. Rayburn Jr. walks back slowly and suddenly, Roy glancing and stared at him while he’s blushing. He’s now frightened for being stalked by him, he decided to runs away from him in the middle of Monsterdale.

I know the meme was already dead, but I just want to have fun for this. By the way, the background was from episode 5 of season one, “Supermarket Match”.

[welrlstudios]

What Suprising Cameos

The Character on the last pic will be informed Soon

[could-they-be-a-pro-wrestler]

How successful would Steve Rayburn Jr. (Steve the Stupendous)…

Would you like to submit a character? Click this link if you do!

[luveline]

Jadeee! I had a thought reading the last zombie au story, with r taking a bath in the cold water and she was super chilly maybe she gets a tad sick (maybe just some sniffles or a stuffy nose) and Robin and Steve kind of go overboard to take care of her? (And cuddles with Robin's new cat!!)

thank you for your request angel, hope this is ok. steve zombie au —steve and robin take look after you when you get sick. fem!reader, 2k

There are better places to feel shitty. You're the kind of sick that could get dangerous —hypothermia, maybe pneumonia, you got too cold after a cold wash in the river outside of camp and didn't warm up the right way— and it would be a thousand times easier in a building with central heating. But at least you're not in a tarp anymore. 

You, Steve and Robin share a real tent. It zippers closed and doesn't have any mesh, so heat brought inside of it doesn't ebb away immediately, like it had in the poorly constructed tarp tent. You pull your second blanket over your body and try to seem casually tired rather than sickbed exhausted as their footsteps return. 

"Hey, killer," Robin says as soon as she sees you, ducking under the tent's opening, a box in her hands. "You're finally awake. Since when do you sleep in?" 

"I'm tired from the girl's trip." 

"That was nearly a week ago," Robin says. 

"And yet you're still reaping the benefits," Steve says to her dryly as he follows her inside of the tent. He gets on his knees and crawls to your side. "Hello," he says, kissing your cheek. "Good morning." 

"Hey." 

He frowns at you. "Why do you sound like that?" 

"What? I just woke up," you say. 

Steve clearly doesn't believe you, and he's right not to. Sick of being a burden on him, you've stopped telling him about your aches and pains, your injuries, your worries. He absolutely hates it but no amount of begging has changed your mind. You're not interested in being his weight to carry. Love, sure, but there's no reason he should be so intrinsically responsible for your wellbeing. Or at least that's how you feel right now.

"Sarah's given Robin a present," he says, his eyes narrowed at you. "Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine. What did you get, Robs?" 

Robin slides the lid off of the box eagerly to show you the contents. "It's a baby grow, only Sarah's cut off the arms and legs and sewed the hems. I'm going to put it on Stinkyboy." 

"I thought his name was Shark?" you ask. 

"Or something as stupendously stupid," Steve mutters. He smells like woodsmoke. "Are you sure you're okay? You don't look okay." He rubs under your eye with his thumb. "You're all puffy." 

"I don't think you can speak to her like that, Steve," Robin says. 

Her deadpan delivery makes you laugh, and it's a perfect segue to new conversation and away from your unokay-ness. "Are you and Sarah, like… you know?" 

Robin looks at you for a second. "Like what?" 

"Romantic?" you whisper. 

"Oh, no. She's my new Steve, I'm replacing him."

"Can't you replace him with me?" you ask. 

Steve puts his hand on your forehead. "You're warm. You're warm, shithead, are you sick?" 

"No?" You frown as his hand moves to the back of your neck. You're not warm there, you're a furnace. 

"You're actually sick?" he asks, frowning down at you. "What, were you just not gonna say anything?" 

"It's not that bad," you mumble. 

Robin and Steve make simultaneous sounds of disbelief. "You really weren't gonna say anything?" Robin asks. 

They talk so quickly. 

"I don't know for sure if I'm sick, and neither do you guys, don't worry so much." You sit up to get away from Steve's overly cautious hands, black spots behind your eyes and a shooting pain at the back of your head. "Ew," you say, bringing your hand to your eyes, "Maybe I'm sick."

Steve puts his arm behind your shoulders. "Dummy," he says, rubbing your arm. 

"What he said." Robin stands up. "I'm gonna go track down some breakfast for little miss secretive. I'll be back. Don't let her die." 

"I'll try not to," Steve says. 

When Robin's gone, Steve gets nicer. Which isn't to say he's mean when she's around, of course he isn't, but he's polite enough to spare her the full reality of his affection for you, and maybe slightly shy about it. He gathers you into his chest and rubs his cheek against your crown. "You're so warm, honey. I'm not fucking around, you have to tell me when you're not okay." 

"You can't do anything about it, Steve, just a flu." 

"Where would you have caught the flu?" 

"I mean, I must've got it from the cold. It's a cold, that's all it is." 

"You sure?" he asks, his hand snaking under your shirt. He takes an unabashed handful of your stomach. "How do you feel?" 

"I'm fine, Steve." 

It isn't without fondness, but it's said to be simple and straight. Steve tends to catastrophize —why wouldn't he? You can't be cut, you have to be bleeding out. You can't trip, you always fall flat on your face. You have the worst luck in the entire world (or, almost, getting bit would plant you firmly in the worst luck category). And Steve's the one who pays for it, every single time. 

So you assure him as best as you can and describe your symptoms honestly. "My head hurts, and I feel like I'm on fire. My hands and my legs are really hot, but I don't feel sick. It's not food poisoning, and it probably isn't, like, influenza."

"I guessed that much." 

"Oh, did you?" you murmur, turning in his arms to hug him back, and better. Steve gives the best hugs for you, but you know everything that he likes down to the placement of your pinky finger. You do your own skin-searching and slide your hands under his shirt, one palm roving over each bump of his spine to the midway point. His skin is smooth as velvet under your touch here, and noticeably colder. "Stevie," you say, still murmuring as you drag your fingertips down to the base of his back, "I love you. Don't worry, okay? I caught a chill from the river." 

"I do worry," he murmurs back, nuzzling your temple with his scratchy cheek. 

"I know, baby." 

"It's hard to be the one in charge when you speak to me like that," he says. 

"Who says you're in charge?" 

You snuggle like fools until Robin insists you eat your breakfast outside in the cold, which you abhor but your feverish skin appreciates. Steve sits on one side of you and Robin on the other. 

You know Robin likes you, but you think she must really love you, she's so worried. She doesn't say it, but she keeps glancing your way with a pinch between her eyebrows, and she asks you twice if your breakfast, a lukewarm soup she procured from the campfire, is hot enough. You lie each time, 'cos cold soup stopped bothering you a long time ago, and she's a sweetheart for caring. 

Steve suggests a group reading, as in, he grabs a book and usually you'd read, but you're sick, and they both tell you it isn't your turn. Steve reads, practised by now, more confident with each page. He even tries to follow the dialogue tags, whispering and sighing when instructed. 

You start to nod off. There are things you should all be doing, but none of you move. You can't report for washing duty, you can barely stand, and Steve refuses to go without you. Robin's supposed to take baby Ada for two hours. When Robin doesn't show up, one of the other members of the camp appears and makes her take her anyway. 

"You should strike," you say, woozy on Steve's arm. Your fever is getting worse. The cold breeze helps some, but eventually Steve's gonna have to dunk you in the river. 

"I should." She hugs the baby on her chest. "I don't even really like babies. Like, I'd die for her, but kids aren't my thing. At least, they weren't." 

"She's quiet," Steve says. 

"Why don't you hold her, Stevie?" you ask. He loves kids. 

"I'm busy with my own baby." 

You can't decide if it's funny or romantic. You fall asleep against his side and wake a few times throughout the evening, your face in his lap, his hand protective in your hair or against your ear. He wakes you at dusk, kissing a stripe down your cheek. 

"Sorry," he says softly by your ear, "but I can't carry you." 

"You would if you loved me," you tease, your eyes sticky and hard-pressed to open. 

Steve helps you stand and takes more of your weight than necessary as you walk back to your tent. Robin's already inside sans baby Ada, and she has a surprise for you. 

"Tada!" she says. "It's a pillow." 

You rub your eyes with your fist. "Aw," you mumble, disoriented, "yis."

Steve laughs like you're the cutest thing on earth, and he helps you sit down. You're horrified that you actually need him to, almost slipping and smashing your head on the packed dirt ground as your leg buckles under your weight. Now that would've made you sick. 

One fool on your left and another on the right, you rest your aching head on Robin's miraculous pillow and breathe a sigh of relief. 

"Where did you get this?" you ask. 

Robin taps the side of her nose. "Not saying." 

You huff at being out of the know but are ultimately too tired to pioneer for your right to know —you nod off a minute later, and vaguely recollect the sound of the tent zipper. 

Much later, you wake to whispers. 

"He has fleas, Robin," Steve says. 

A weight lands on your legs. "He doesn't anymore! And fleas don't live on people." 

"But they bite. And they have diseases! Stinkyboy can't stay in here." 

"Stinkyboy has just as much right to shelter as you do." 

"No, he doesn't. Not if he's going to give bubonic plague to the love of my life." 

You try to wake up properly. All you manage is a weak sound and a leg twitch. There's a sharp and sudden silence, disrupted only by a thwacking of skin on skin. 

"Did you just hit me?" Robin whispers furiously. 

"No! You tried to hit me, I was defending myself!" 

"You're so done. I'm taking Stinkyboy and Y/N in the divorce." 

"Idiot! Shut up, you'll wake her up. She needs to sleep to get better." 

"You're the idiot, idiot. Isn't that right, Stinky? Isn't Uncle Steve just the worst?" 

After a night of tossing and turning, you finally wake at daybreak. You're confused at first when you can't see Steve, until you realise he's pulled your head into his lap again, stroking the skin before your hairline. It tickles. 

"I still feel awful," you say hoarsely. 

"I don't think you'll recover after just one day," Steve whispers back. Robin sleeps beside you, a blanket wrapped bundle of cat at her feet. 

"You let her let the cat in?" you ask.

"We actually argued about it at length." Steve's fingertips draw a heart over your temple. "She swears that flea ointment stuff worked, but I found a flea on my sock. I'm furious." 

"You sound it." 

"Don't worry. She has to de-flea everything, we made a contract." 

"Well," you say. "It's a big tent." 

It most certainly isn't. If Stinkyboy was as rife with fleas as he was when he first came along Steve would've put his foot down and so would’ve you rather than let him stay, but he only has a few stubborn ones hanging around, and Steve feels really sorry for the poor cat. Imagine how lonely he must have been, he'd said, and then coughed, like sympathy was something to be embarrassed of. 

You feel very sorry for the cat, but you absolutely don't want fleas. You ask Steve to help you go down to the river so you can change your clothes and wash the ones you'd been wearing. You're still too sick to do a good job, but Steve sits half behind you and helps your aching arms scrub the fabric against the makeshift washer (corrugated metal from a shed roof).

Being sick isn't so bad when you have that much love at your back, metaphorically and physically. You lean all of your weight on him and sigh. 

"Love you," you say. 

"Love you," he says back. He holds your wet hands in his. "Now let's go and warm you back up, loser. You're just dying to get hypothermia." 

"It's in season." 

"Funny." 

[itsanerdlife]

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Everything Peaches @mo320 @ml7010 @babizza @kmc1989 @joannie95 @coley0823 @rileyloves5 @sexyvixen7 @duckestylez @abschaffer2 @drayshadow @shirukitsune @xoxabs88xox @carostar2020 @rosalynshields @hookslove1592 @royal-sunflower @iwillbeinmynest @bellamy-barnes @geeksareunique @happydeanpotter @fanfic-n-tabulous @steel-blue-eyess @mariekoukie6661 @bless-my-demons @notyourtypicalrose @lets-talk-about-xyz @loving-life-my-way @shinycupcakebaker @also-fangirlinsweden @stupendous-science @daughterofthenight117 @dandelionsmarkthegrave @physically-a-cheesecake @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked

Steve ‘Motha Have Fucking Mercy’ Rogers: @patzammit @nickyl316h @jbbarnesgirl @nekoannie-chan @lets-roggerthat @kaylaphantomhive

Peter ‘Fuck Me I’m Weak’ Parker: @its-crystallll @lets-roggerthat

Clint ‘Destory Me, I’ll Thank You’ Barton: @nickyl316h

Howie 'Damn Boy' Stark: @nickyl316h @its-crystallll @lets-roggerthat

Bucky 'Fuck Me Up' Barnes: @nickyl316h @jbbarnesgirl @lets-roggerthat @this-is-mycrisis @kaylaphantomhive

[anonymityisfunwriter]

The Heir and The Spare - Part 3: "The Heir and The Spare"

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader Summary: Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Heaviest is the head that was always second best.

The Heir and The Spare | Steve Rogers Masterlist

It was at times like these that Steve remembers how new he is to this world, to this society. He was never one for dating back in the 1940's. That was always Bucky's territory. The few dates Steve did have, were usually pity dates arranged by one of the girls vying for a date with Bucky. 

He wasn't really sure what overcame him this afternoon. Being so bold, so brazen. That wasn't him. 

Actually, he knew exactly what overcame him. He liked you. He couldn't remember the last time a stranger had made his heart flutter like that, made him smile like a schoolboy. 

It didn't change that dating was strange for Steve. 

He didn't truly know how to do this. That's more than clear to him as he stands in the lobby of Stark Tower, ready promptly at 8, just like you said. His favorite light blue shirt paired with his brown leather jacket. A bouquet of fresh roses in hand. 

He's blissfully unaware of how strange this night would get for him as an oversized black SUV pulled up to the door at 8:01. 

Steve takes a deep breath, holding it for a moment longer than necessary. Happy rounds the car, standing in front of the passenger door with his arms crossed over his chest and a deep grimace etched on his face. 

"Happy," Steve nods in greeting. 

"Steven."

"Is everything alright?" Steve awkwardly chuckles, he wasn't sure whether he was asking about Happy's clipped tone or the fact that as Happy begrudgingly opens the car door for him, he looks inside to see an empty interior.

"Fantastic. Superb. Stupendous. Couldn't be better," Happy sarcastically replies, slamming the car door behind Steve. 

"I take it you're not pleased with me," Steve remarks from the back seat. 

"Whatever would give you that impression?" Happy snarks. "Is it because, I don't know, you've completely ruined the itinerary that I spent months putting together? Or is it the fact that I told you to stay out of it - that nothing good would come from putting yourself between those two? Or is it because the very first thing you did was put yourself right in the middle of it?"

Steve offers a tight lipped smile. "I guess that doesn't bode well for asking you to tell me the plans for tonight."

"Look who's finally using that head of theirs."

Happy weaves his way through the streets of Manhattan in silence. The radio off. Not a single pleasantry exchanged. Not even a backward glance. For the entirety of the 30 minute car ride, Steve schools his expression desperately trying to keep the deep seated cringe off of his face.

When the car finally comes to a halt, Steve can hardly see out into the night through the harshly tinted windows. He's half sure that Happy's going to dump him in the middle of nowhere. 

The door flings open again. Happy once again stands before Steve with a frown much more intense than his usual grumpiness, and meant specifically for Steve. 

He looks around to the damp, dark alley, a scene straight out of a murder mystery. The only thing that keeps him from being entirely convinced that his murder isn't about to occur is the fact that Steve knows Happy. And even that is a hesitant assurance at this point.

An anxious chuckle leaves Steve's lips as he steps into the alley. Happy grips Steve's shoulder as he steps out onto the asphalt. "Don't hurt her."

It's oddly endearing watching Happy be so protective over you. Steve smiles at him, quirking an eyebrow, "Isn't this Tony's job?"

"Don't hurt her," Happy repeats himself. He tips his head at Steve, "Have a good night, Steven."

"Um... Happy?"

A deep sigh rumbles through Happy, Steve can practically hear the eye roll in his tone. "Right through the door, Steve."

"Great."

The night only got more strange from there. He couldn't pinpoint what it was. That Happy dropped him off at the back exit of a restaurant in the middle of Manhattan. That there seemed to be a total of 3 people working in the whole restaurant. Or that the restaurant was entirely empty except for one table in the very back corner. 

He found you tucked in the furthest corner of the restaurant. At a table garnished with a candle and two glasses of wine. It's the furthest table away from the doors, away from any windows or prying eyes. It's quiet. Private. Intimate. "Hi."

You smile up at him. "You made it."

He shrugs his shoulders, a light, anxious chuckle falling from his lips, "I don't make a habit of asking out beautiful women and then not showing up."

Your grin grows wide. "I meant that your superhero business might've called you away, but that's also good to know."

"Oh." He rubs the back of his neck, his face burning a bright red. He abruptly sticks out the bouquet of flowers that hang at his side. "I, um, I brought these for you."

"That's very sweet of you. Thank you."

He settles into the chair just across from you, placing the cloth napkin on his lap. "Can I ask you a question?"

"I think you just did."

He playfully rolls his eyes, leaning forward, he rests his elbows on the table, "You knew who I was when you saw me, didn't you?"

"Yes," you confess with a chortle. "I recognized you the moment I saw you. My father talked about you quite a lot from what I remember."

Steve smiles fondly at the memory of the man he knew all those years ago. A man very different than the one Tony often described. He could only imagine what you had to say about Howard. "He was a good man."

"He - he was a complicated man," you hedge. "From what I remember, at least."

"I'm sorry."

It's your turn for a question you wondered about since you first met Steve Rogers. "You had no idea who I was, did you?"

"I -" Steve winces.

"It's alright," you assure him. "I'm not offended. Unlike my brother, I live a more... understated lifestyle. I'm not interested in being splashed all over the front page of every tabloid and magazine."

It's only half the truth. The other half was that you quickly realized the only interest people had in you was comparing you to Tony. It was exhausting never quite living up to him, constantly living in his shadow, under the weight of the comparison to Tony and Howard. 

"Hence, the empty restaurant," Steve guesses. 

"Exactly." You look around the restaurant. You liked the quiet. You relished in not worrying if anyone was taking your picture. It was nice getting to know Steve without being under a microscope. "Though I will admit there were special efforts made to keep tonight private because of you."

Steve quirks an eyebrow at you. "Is that so?"

"I can only imagine the headlines if people found out that a Stark was on a date with Steve Rogers."

"Does that happen often?"

"No, I do my best to keep myself out of the spotlight."

An embarrassed flush creeps up Steve's face. "I meant - with - with the dates."

A chuckle bubbles out of your mouth as you sip your wine, "Are you asking me about my dating life, Steve?"

He shrugs, "Maybe I want to know if there's competition I should be worried about."

"I focus on my work."

"Your father once said the exact same thing to me."

Nostalgia washes over you. You didn't often get to talk to people who knew him so personally. Let alone people who knew him before the empire. It also doesn't escape you that you're on a date with a man older than your father. At least, he was physically around your age, you reconcile. "You were his friend."

"I was... Is that weird?"

You shrug it off, "I suppose we'll find out."

"I know Tony has some strong opinions about your father, but that truly wasn't the man I knew."

"He treated Tony and I very differently," you hesitantly broach the topic of your father. "We may have had the same father, but the dad we got couldn't have been more different."

"Can I ask? About you and Tony?"

In that moment, Steve swears he sees your guard fly right back up. Your posture stiffens, jaw tightens like you're poising for an attack. There's a bite in your tone that wasn't there seconds ago. "You won't change my mind."

"Who says I want to?"

His quick response throws you off. Most people didn't care to hear your side of the infamous story. Most people were content with the headlines of your parents' death, with the tale of your anguished brother missing his dear sister while she went to the best boarding school in the world while he dutifully undertook the mantle of Stark Industries.

People didn't question the beloved genius that is, and would always be, your brother. You couldn't think of a single time anyone had asked to hear what you thought.

"You'd be the first."

"I'm just curious, I suppose."

"You know what they say about curiosity, don't you?" Steve chuckles but remains silent, insisting that you actually answer his question. You're not really sure what to say. Let alone how much you should say on a first date. "It's complicated."

"Try me," he challenges. 

"It wasn't easy for either of us - bearing the weight of the Stark name. By the time I was born, Stark Industries was an empire. I was quite literally born and bred to carry on our father's legacy." Steve leans forward, hanging on every word you say. It makes you nervous and endeared all at once. Even with your extensive media training, all those interviews and public speaking forums, you don't really know what to say. As you momentarily gather your thoughts, he patiently waits for you to continue, "Tony and I have always known our place. The roles we were supposed to play."

"And what role is that?"

"The heir and the spare," you bitterly chuckle. Over the years, you stopped counting how many times you'd been called that. The spare. It was a moniker that your father enjoyed quite a bit. "That's what they would call us. My mother hated it. She always said that I was no one's spare."

"Your mother sounds like a smart woman."

It was the one thing you and Tony would always agree on. "She was. She held us together."

"So what changed? Between you and Tony?"

"They died," you bluntly reply. For a moment, there's a distant look in your eye as you recall the events of that fateful day. Tony didn't even tell you what had happened. He left it all to Jarvis. "It all - it happened so fast. The accident. The funeral. All I knew is one day I was at home, and the next day, Tony was gone, Jarvis is telling me that I'm being shipped off to boarding school."

"He shipped you off to boarding school?" Steve repeats in disbelief. 

There's a practiced casual tone in your voice. You've given this excuse to people before, time and time again. For as long as you can remember, there has been a long standing rumor of a Stark sibling feud. One that started when you were 8 years old. One that both you and he took careful consideration to discredit, staged lunches, well timed press photos, calculated leaks from sources close to you.

You've given the same reason to countless people. It's the same reason you give Steve. "What 20 year old wants the responsibility of raising his 8 year old sister?"

"You resent him for that." He calls it out so casually. You can count the number of people you've confided to about this. You stopped simply because people always took his side.

They always made it seem so absurd, that you could resent your brother for sending you away. After all, he went to boarding school too. So what if he didn't bother to wait until you were old enough to understand? So what if he shipped you off and forgot about you?

Your throat tightens. For some reason, you trust Steve Rogers. There's a sense of comfort and warmth that surrounds those ocean blue eyes and boyish grin.

He's the first person that hasn't already taken Tony's side. He's the first person that doesn't jump to defend the heir.

The words spill out of your mouth before you can sanitize the ugly truth. "I didn't just lose my parents that night. I lost him, too."

"So you've never been close?"

"No, it wasn't always like this. I remember it being different, before they died. I remember a time when Tony and I could actually stand to be in a room together for more than five minutes. In spite of all his flaws, Tony was everything a big brother should be. Even 12 years apart, we were inseparable." You lick your lips, exhaling softly, "But then he went off to run Stark Industries, to become the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist that the world knows today. He became the heir."

"From what I've heard, you're incredibly accomplished yourself."

You almost sigh in relief, grateful for the change in subject. You tip your head at him, "You've done your research."

"Is that wrong?" he wonders. 

"Happy tells me you're curious," you offer as your response. 

"Seems like you did your research, too," Steve grins, leaning closer to you over the table. "What else did Happy tell you?"

"You're technologically inept, still adapting to modern day society, a beacon of morality."

"Is that so?"

A coy smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. "I may have added that last one."

"Well, he's right about the first two," Steve concedes. "What else?"

"He told me about your friendship with Tony."

"Tony is - he's a good man," Steve replies. "A little misguided. A lot of ego."

"Does he know you're here tonight?"

"No. Should he?"

"I think you could answer that question better than I could."

It's a painful truth, but you weren't lying when you said that you didn't know Tony and you hadn't known him for well over 20 years. 

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry he did that to you." His words are so sincere. Your guard slips lower than it has in years. For the first time in a long time, someone understands, someone sees you. You almost forgot what that felt like. "It couldn't have been easy for you."

You tip your glass towards him. "Heavy is the head that wears the crown."

He clinks his glass against yours. "Heavy is the head that wears the crown."

Indeed, heavy is the head that wears the crown, but heaviest is the head that was always second best. 

By the end of the night, you've made an uncharacteristically quick judgement on Steve Rogers. You like him. You actually, really like him. You stand in the kitchen's back entrance, chuckling as the date comes to an end. "I know this is a bit unconventional."

Steve dismissively waves his hand. "Please, ending a date in the back entrance of a restaurant is pretty standard for me."

"Thank you for being so understanding. Trust me when I say that it's in both our best interests that this doesn't make the morning papers."

"Oh, I believe you," Steve laughs. "And, if we're being honest, dating is a little unconventional for me."

You quirk an eyebrow up at him. "Really?"

"I wasn't exactly a hot commodity back in the 40's."

"And now?"

He echoes your words from earlier, "I focus on my work."

"I see."

"Will I get to see you again?" he eagerly asks. It only takes a flash of a hesitant expression on your face for him to backtrack, "Was that too forward? That was too forward, wasn't it?"

You quickly shake your head, eyebrows pulled in, "No. No. It's not that. I just - I'm supposed to go back to LA in three days, Steve."

Steve rubs the back of his neck, "In three days? That's... very soon."

"Though I suppose I could be convinced to make a trip or two to New York," you offer. "Unless, you'd like to come to see my side of the country?"

"You'd fly across the country for a second date?"

"Was that you asking for a second date?" you counter.

He definitively nods, "Yes, that was."

"Well, since we're being so honest, I'm actually in the process of planning this massive launch for a Stark foundation, so I'll be visiting New York more often than I'd like to."

Steve playfully clutches his chest. "Hey, don't take it out on my city."

"It's not your last name plastered on that eyesore of a building, it's usually all I see when I'm here, but maybe, you can take me on a tour of the city. Try to win me over."

"I'd really like that." Just as you're about to reach for the door, Steve stops you with a hand on your shoulder, "Well, could we - I mean, what if we snuck in our second date before you left? Or is that too eager of me?"

Your grin only widens. "It is, but I like that."

"Then, it's a date."

"It's a date."

Next Chapter AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Steve Rogers Masterlist

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

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[martianbugsbunny]

Um I would have figuratively died to see this but okay marvel pop off with ur deleting

DELETED SCENE from CAPTAIN AMERICA: CIVIL WAR (2016)

[talesofadragon]

𝐕𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬

Synopsis: The world was not created in colors to be lived seldom in white, black, or even gray. This is what Y/N believed, and she resolutely refuses to be told otherwise. But when a night at the city’s most prestigious nightclub triggers a series of misfortunate events, Y/N’s world of hues is thrown off balance, colliding with a stranger whose eyes may be blue but his world is a handful of shades too dark.  

Pairing: Mob Boss!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Mature scenes. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 3.3K

Chapter 2 - Morally Gray | Varicolored Schemes Masterlist

𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐖𝐀𝐒 god’s hell on earth. 

Back in college, Y/N had to take a mandatory liberal arts elective. And up to this day, she still doesn’t understand why it’s called that when she didn’t elect to take it. Her professor at the time had the stupendous idea to focus on Renaissance drama as if this was the single most enthralling subject for a bunch of twenty-year-olds. 

While her memory retained nothing besides the fact that most of William Shakespeare's characters were speculated to be queer and The Spanish Tragedy seldom had an interesting plotline, she now recalled one particular quote she didn't know she remembered: "Hell's empty and all the devils are here."

Oh, William. Something true did come out of his mouth. 

"You look like someone murdered your cat," Yelena remarked as soon as Y/N stepped into her line of sight. The closer Y/N got to Yelena, the more prominent the scowl on the blonde’s face became.

Y/N glared at her best friend, throwing her bag harshly onto the coffee table, followed by her drenched notebook and coffee tumbler. Yelena's green eyes fixated on the chaotic mess, only momentarily straying when Y/N completed the picture with a heavy thud as she unceremoniously took a seat.

“Coffee,” she managed to let out. Yelena extended one of the cups to her side, but Y/N swatted it away in favor of the taller one. “You take the small one. I’m in urgent need of a pick-me-up.” 

Yelena arched her brow, pointing at the cup inches away from Y/N’s lips. “It’s a Nitro Cold Brew.” 

“Don’t care.” 

“You’ve never ordered it before.”

Y/N shrugged, taking her first sip. “I’m open to trying new things.” 

“Do you know how many shots of espresso are in there?” Yelena’s tone was borderline incredulous. Y/N didn’t care.

“Maybe I need the kick.” 

“It’s espresso, Y/N,” Yelena grumbled. She glanced at the discarded pumpkin-spice latte she had grabbed for her best friend, her nose scrunching in disgust at the thought of having to drink it herself. “It’s not tequila.” 

A loud huff reverberated across the back of the coffee shop they were sitting in. It was ludicrous of Y/N to think that her day would get any better with a cup of coffee when that horrendous drink made her want to empty her stomach. 

Begrudgingly, she slid the drink back to Yelena and snatched her own. “I’ve had a terrible day.” 

“You don’t say.” 

“Scratch that. A terrible week. And a half!” 

“What happened this time?” Yelena carefully asked. 

Inadvertently, Y/N’s brain decided it was more than adequate to remind her about the tragedies of the past week and a half. At first, it started alright. Great even. She didn't drink much when she went to Purgatory, so she woke up the next day without a single tingle in her head. Her day went about alright, and she even told Yelena—albeit briefly, given the hangover her best friend sported—about her interaction with Steve. 

That day was pretty uneventful, and so was the next one. But then, it was as though the floodgates of hell had opened, and Lucifer had prophesied her as the Chosen One, destined to endure the ultimate suffering.

Between a car splashing her with mud and having her get to her meeting looking and smelling like Ron Weasley’s great aunt Tessie, someone leaving a dent on her precious car, and a teenager in a Spider-Man mask trying to rob her only to throw her back her money and take her favorite purse... let’s just say she didn’t want to take a trek down that particular memory lane. 

“An old woman stole my umbrella.” 

And as if her being drenched from head to toe didn’t suffice, Yelena had to spit her espresso-loaded coffee directly on her juniper green shirt. Thank God she wasn’t wearing white this time. 

“I’m sorry, птичка,” Yelena enunciated in between chuckles. “I thought you said an old woman, who is supposed to be much less nimble than yourself, stole your umbrella.” 

“Laugh all you want, Yelena. But that woman was like a fucking torpedo when I told her I could only help her cross the street because the coffee shop was on the opposite side of wherever she had to go!” 

“Savage,” Yelena commented. Suddenly, and in a very uncharacteristic manner, she turned quiet. As Y/N sipped on her coffee, her eyes flicked up to catch her best friend’s pensive expression. She was tapping her fingers against the plastic coffee cup with her gaze idle on the rain. 

“What’s wrong?” 

There was silence at first, followed by a loud exhale. Then, after ten more seconds, Yelena placed her elbows on the table, shifting her body forward. “I have to tell you something.” 

“Oh no!” Y/N vigorously shook her head. “Don’t make my week even worse. Please.” 

Yelena's eyes held a rare empathy, a sight that Y/N seldom witnessed. It was evident that the forthcoming words were about to unveil something dreadful. Y/N just knew it. 

“Baron Zemo, the Sokovian investor I told you about, called me today. He wants to talk about the Red Room.” 

Y/N blinked twice. The despair she felt evaporated, replaced by a much more joyful sensation. "That's amazing!" she exclaimed, fully aware of the immense effort her best friend had put into creating the Red Room—a local dance studio that nurtured young girls' passion for dance.

But Yelena didn't seem too enthusiastic about the prospect. Her mouth twitched, transitioning from a scowl to a thin line. "He wants us to meet in person. The day after tomorrow," she revealed. She grabbed her coffee cup and took a rather long sip of her coffee—as if it served as her liquid courage. "He's in Romania."

“Romania!” Y/N hollered. Screw joy. She was confused as hell. Because while she wasn’t the most prodigious student in the world, nor did she have a modicum of aptitude in Geography, she did know that Romania was thousands of miles away. “Why didn’t you let me know before? And do not even attempt to tell me you didn’t have these plans before, and you just had them now!” 

Yelena winced. “You’re still hung up on that?”

“Yes!”

“I’m sorry, okay. My team has been in contact with him for months, and we’ve heard nothing. He called this morning and said he’d like to discuss the business along with expansion prospects. But he has an opening in three days or in seven months. That guy is an important investor. I couldn’t pass up on this opportunity.” 

Well, when you put it that way, Y/N thought. As much as she wanted to yell and hurl her pumpkin-spice latte at the wall, she couldn’t help but be happy for Yelena. Yes, bad news were pelting her mercilessly, but that wasn’t the case for her best friend. 

“At what time is your flight?” she asked in a steady voice. 

Yelena smiled appreciatively. “Midnight.” 

“I’ll drive you.” She rushed out of her seat, engulfing Yelena in a warm embrace. They held each other for a few seconds, but the touching moment soon melted when Y/N shifted to the right and felt something hit the floor with a thud. “Please tell me it’s not your drink.” 

“It’s not.” Y/N’s shoulders eased. “It’s yours.” 

A bad week and a half, she repeated in her head. 

Luckily, Lucifer had decided to move on to the next unfortunate soul, leaving Y/N with two mundane days. Apart from her supervisor, Maria, grilling her about delivering the latest interior design schemes for the Odinson project, nothing exciting happened.

On the second day, Y/N drove Yelena to the airport and only departed after receiving a promise of a nice gift. She had dropped her off at nine in the evening and made it home around an hour later. 

Having nothing better to do, she changed into her pajamas, made herself some popcorn, and decided to treat herself to an episode or two of FRIENDS. Her enthusiasm was unrelenting as she continued watching episode after episode, surpassing the four-episode mark.

Little did she know that her streak of luck was finite. Just as Yelena texted that the plane was taking off and the clock struck midnight, Y/N's fairy godmother played the cruelest joke on her—the power cut off.

“Oh, come on!” Y/N whined exasperatedly. She kicked her legs against her rug, throwing a tantrum like a child who’s been denied candy. After a steady string of curses, she fished out her phone and turned on her flashlight. 

Since she was living in a house rather than an apartment, she peeked through her window to check if she was the only one facing a power outage. Most of the lights were off in the houses around them—it was midnight, after all. But the street lights were, in fact, on. 

Once outside, she located the panel and opened it. The switches appeared to be in the “on” position, but she noticed that some of the wires looked worse for wear. 

“Seriously, Lucifer. What do you want, you bastard? My soul in exchange for some peace!” Maybe that wasn't the wisest thing to say to the devil. Next thing she knew, the wires inside the electrical panel were cackling, and sparks began to fly. The sudden noise startled her, causing her to jump back in surprise. “That was a joke! Don’t they have those in hell?” 

Capriciously, the energy within the panel flared up. Y/N decided it was best to stop talking. 

Nervously, she started chewing on her nails. It was already midnight, with electricians available at this hour. In a situation like this, she would have called Yelena, but Yelena was already on a lengthy 8-hour flight to Sokovia. Seeking help from neighbors at this late hour wasn't a viable option either. And though she could consider sleeping in her car, the trembling in her fingers and her foggy breath reminded her of the biting cold.

Finding herself at a crossroads, Y/N pondered going inside and waiting for tomorrow to come. In the end, it’s not like her bad luck could possibly get any worse. But the crackling electricity was intensifying her anxiety and making it difficult to make a decision. Until she was suddenly reminded of something. 

Don’t hesitate to give me a call. Even if it’s at four in the morning, the voice inside her head echoed. 

Was it egotistic on her part to call Steve just because she needed help? Yes. Was it completely illogical to expect him to be awake at midnight? Uh-huh. Was she going to do it anyway? Absolutely. In fact, she was on the second ring now. And she just hoped Lucifer didn’t have any more tricks planned.

"Hello?" The first thing she noticed was the skepticism evident in the voice. The second realization was that it belonged to a woman.

Lucifer, Y/N called in her head. You can kill me now.

“Uhm, good evening.” Great. Now that the easy part was out of the way, she was left with one last dilemma. This woman could potentially be Steve's wife, and she's going to confuse Y/N for the mistress. Fun-fucking-tastic. “I’m sorry, but is this Steve Rogers’ number?” 

“Who is asking?” the woman fired back. 

Maybe it was time to end the call. “I’m Y/N. I, uh, kind of need some help.” 

"I'll inform Mr. Rogers that you called," the woman replied. A flicker of hope ignited in Y/N's chest, only to be extinguished as quickly as a discarded cigarette crushed on the pavement when the woman abruptly hung up the phone, leaving her stunned and disheartened.

Y/N clutched her phone tightly against her chest. She stomped her foot on the ground, tears of frustration beginning to well up in her eyes. These two weeks had been horrible, and there wasn’t the slightest sign that it was going to get any better. 

Y/N massaged her eyes with her thumb and index fingers, feeling the strain of the cold and the situation weighing upon her. As she started mentally searching for the correct placement of her flashlights and candles, her phone began to vibrate, her ringtone reverberating through the quiet and empty street.

Biting her cheek, Y/N fished it out. To her delight, it was Steve. She immediately pressed the accept button, anticipating to hear the woman from before. But a different voice greeted her instead. 

“Steve?” 

“Evening, Y/N.” His tone was placid and calm. Good, so Y/N hadn’t disturbed him with her unexpected call. “Everything alright?”

“I am so sorry to call you at this hour,” she hurriedly replied. Y/N barely took a breath before she continued, “I didn’t want to bother you so late, and I didn’t want to ask for a favor either. I know this makes me sound so selfish, but believe me, Steve. I had the most horrendous two weeks of my life, which is why I never texted you—”

“Whoa, whoa. Slow down, Y/N. I didn’t give you my number with any expectation that you might call or text me. It’s okay. And I don't think that you're selfish. You've obviously taken your time before calling me, so what's the issue? You're not in trouble, are you?"

He’s so sweet, Y/N thought. She hadn’t even realized she was smiling at his words until she had to clear her throat. 

“Something’s wrong with the power at my house. My best friend is out of the country and most of my neighbors are sleeping. Normally, I wouldn’t worry about it and wait till tomorrow, but my electrical panel is acting out. So, I don’t know what to do.” 

“You send me your location and wait for me to come,” he replied matter-of-factly with too much confidence and little to no hesitance. 

Y/N’s heart fluttered in her chest. The gentle heat in his words dispelled the coldness that had clung to her, leaving her feeling embraced by warmth.

“I don’t want to bother you.” 

“You’re no bother at all, Y/N. I’ll be waiting for your text.”

As soon as he hung up, Y/N immediately sent him her location. When she made sure he read it, she decided it was best to wait for him inside her house. It wasn’t like he was going to be there in the next twenty seconds. So, she sat by the window, grabbed a flashlight from her cupboard, and turned it on. 

She felt giddy for some reason—excited to see him again. There was a certain kindness to him, she supposed. A comforting aura that told her that when he was there, there was nothing to fear. Maybe it was the fact that he towered over her, and she was sure his whole body would engulf her if she ever found herself in his arms. Or maybe it was his blue eyes that consumed her whole. 

A car's headlights suddenly pierced through the darkness, grabbing Y/N's attention and pulling her out of her reverie. Startled, she glanced down at her phone, disbelief washing over her as she realized she had been lost in her thoughts for what felt like an eternity. To her surprise, only fifteen minutes had actually passed. A wave of relief and gratitude washed over her when the car parked by her house.

Y/N's heart raced with anticipation as she hastily bolted toward the door, unlocking it and eagerly stepping outside. Though her giddiness and excitement turned to confusion when she realized that Steve wasn't the one who emerged from the car.

“Miss Y/N?” a man called out. It was Sam, Steve’s best friend. When Y/N nodded, he continued, “I’m Sam Wilson, and this is Bucky Barnes. Steve sent us.” 

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” She shook their hands. “Thank you so much for coming. I'm sorry to have bothered you this late.” 

“Where’s the electrical panel?” Bucky cut to the chase. Now that he was close, he looked a bit intimidating. He stood at the same height as Steve, though slightly less physically built.

Y/N led him to the panel, taking a step back to allow him to work. He carefully examined it while she fidgeted with her hands, gazing at the car they had arrived in. 

“We were in the area,” Sam’s voice cut through. Y/N’s attention turned to him. She looked like a deer in the headlights. “Steve lives upstate. He figured it was faster to send us.” 

“And I really appreciate it,” Y/N responded. 

After Sam joined Bucky in examining the panel, silence filled the air for a while. The sound of electricity hissing intermittently persisted until both men finally stepped back.

“The bad news is, some of the fuses seem to have melted and need replacement,” Bucky explained. “The good news is, it shouldn’t be too difficult to fix. But, it’ll have to wait until morning.”

Y/N’s shoulders slumped slightly as she absorbed the information. What has she ever done to be rewarded with two terrible weeks?

“Alright. Thanks for the help. I’m sorry to have disturbed you at this hour,” she said, sounding apologetic.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Hold on a minute,” he interjected, a touch of worry in his voice. “You can’t just go back to your house like this.”

Confused, Y/N asked, “Why not?”

“Because it’s freezing outside, and you’re gonna get hypothermia without any heat in your house. Not to mention it’s not safe.”

Y/N chuckled lightly, trying to brush off the concern. “I have quilts, you know,” she reassured him. “And a lock.”

Sam shook his head. He turned to Bucky, who licked his mouth before he spoke. “If you do that, doll. I have a feeling our boss will not be too happy about it,” Bucky admitted. “Let me call him.”

Bucky stepped away from the group, pulling out his phone to make the call. As he conversed with Steve, Y/N caught fragments of their conversation before the phone was handed to her.

“You’re not seriously going to sleep in your house?” Steve’s voice sounded both worried and protective.

Y/N responded with a soft hum, trying to downplay the situation. “I have quilts and a lock.”

“And I have a perfectly fine apartment nearby that I don’t use. It’s not too far from your place.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her eyes focused on the ground. She then looked up, biting her lower lip. “Steve,” she started, her voice wavering slightly.

He interrupted her gently, understanding the weight of the situation. “Look, I know we’ve barely met. But I can’t just let you sleep in your house under such circumstances. Especially after Bucky and Sam couldn’t help much. I don’t use that apartment, and if it makes you feel safer, you can text your friends your Live Location and take your own car there. I just want to help.”

Y/N was taken aback by Steve’s unwavering concern and kindness. She realized that his offer came from a genuine place of wanting to help, even though they were relative strangers. After a moment of contemplation, she nodded appreciatively.

“Alright, Steve. Thank you,” she finally responded, her voice filled with gratitude. “I’ll take you up on your offer.”

“Glad to hear it, Y/N. Could you pass Bucky the phone, please? We’ll make sure you’re safe and warm tonight.”

Y/N handed Bucky the phone. She quickly explained to Sam that she would be retrieving a few belongings from her apartment. On her way inside, Y/N shot Yelena a text, including her live location and a brief explanation. Just in case.

Taking a moment to gather her essentials, including pepper spray for added security, Y/N made sure to remember to take Steve's jacket, the one he’d offered her two weeks ago. With her belongings in hand, she set off on her way. If only she knew what she had gotten herself into. 

Series Taglist: @crazyunsexycool @patzammit @wintasssoldier @themrsrogers

Steve seems like a knight in shining armor. Does he not?

: ̗̀➛ Read Chapter 3 | Star Command Blue

[lil-melody-moon]

Things go yeet, aka Keith Moon throws the entire room out the window

New Zealand offered some respite, partly because both the concert schedule and the atmosphere were less oppressive. On January 30, the occasion of Steve Marriott's twenty-first birthday, the bands took a plane ride from Auckland to Wellington in the morning and, ensconced in their high-rise hotel in the latter city, gathered in Marriott's room for a party. The Small Faces' record company EMI had kindly bought Marriott a portable record player, and singles to go with. With the night off and the booze in, it looked like being a good party. But when one of the records skipped, an excited and inebriated Steve Marriott smashed the player with his fist, unwittingly breaking it in the process. Realising the error, the former Artful Dodger decided to make a proper job of his destruction, and in the madness of the moment, he picked his broken birthday present up and threw it out of the window. Everyone rushed to the balcony and watched the player turning as it fell, the fans who were gathered on the forecourt several floors below parting like the Red Sea before Moses as it landed in their midst. "It looked so good when it went down," recalls John Wolff, "and the smash it made was fantastic, it was music to our ears, that we shouted, 'Leave those bits there!' I rushed downstairs in my dressing gown, gathered it all up and brought it back upstairs so we could throw it out again!" But as Steve Marriott recalled in The Small Faces biography The Young Mods' Forgotten Story, that "was the wrong thing to do in front of Keith Moon, because the next thing that went out was the telly, armchairs, the lot went out of the window, the whole room… It was just mad." Marriott was stunned. Even though he had started it, he didn't realise anyone went in for that kind of behaviour, and he was right; for all that Moon had been building up to something like this, his actions represented a new high - or low - in on-tour vandalism, an over-the-top reaction to Marriott and Wolff's already crazed actions in a moment of collective, chaotic high spirits. As best as conflicting recollections of what happened next can be correlated, with his furniture now on the hotel forecourt Marriott invented a stupendous lie about unknown intruders breaking into his room and destroying it. Apparently (and amazingly), the hotel took him at his words, the room was redecorated, and the next day EMI supplied Marriott with a new, even better record player. The bands played their two shows each at the town hall and came back for an end of tour party, again in Marriott's room. Keith walked in, complimented the hotel on their redecorating job, admired Marriott's new record player - and promptly threw it straight out the window. "Me and Wiggy looked at each other in amazement," recalled Steve Marriott, "and we screamed "No! No! No!' And Keith was going 'Yes! Yes! Yes!', bunging things out and smashing things. The whole room gets duffed up again. Fucking wrecked."

Tony Fletcher: Dear Boy: The Life of Keith Moon, pages 214-215

[astoundingbeyondbelief]

Rayburn Jr. Steve the Stupendous vs. LuchoLuchon

[fastcardotmp3]

there's really no one from the older kids that wouldn't make a stupendous big sibling for El I mean-

Jonathan- already her big brother in canon, can and will lie to law enforcement for her, has proven the ability to have heartfelt conversations with his siblings, unbelievably reliable and loyal

Argyle- on board with any and all of her wants to try things that are new to her even if they're mundane to everyone else, will be just as excited about it as she is even if he's done said thing a thousand times before because he has the ability to see the experience through her eyes

Nancy- "sometimes using violence is the answer, but here's how to win with your words in the event you want to avoid everyone getting all up in arms about it"; helps El understand that she is not worse for her anger, that she's allowed to have unpleasant feelings without it making her unpleasant

Steve- style mentor of all time in that he's like "you know what I would also like to evolve from the style that was expected of me for years because I have to decide if that's what I actually like let's go thrift shopping I am going to buy us so much weird shit"

Robin- just tell me that she and El wouldn't love sharing the new facts they've learned since they last saw each other, Robin loves information so much that no matter what topic El is interested in that week Robin will sit rapt at attention and encourage her forward with relevant questions

Eddie- proof that you can be behind in school/ struggle academically and still be smart; poster boy for radical self acceptance; would literally not even have to try that hard at all to instill a love of Loud Music or an interest in tattoos she gets to choose for herself in her are you kidding

just!! the protectors and mentors she deserves!!

[welrlstudios]

Rayburn -1

[diceriadelluntore]

Storia Di Musica #316 - The Black Crowes, The Southern Harmony And Musical Companion, 1992

La musica rock americana a fine anni ’80 è un calderone emozionante di vibrazioni che ribolle in continuazione. In quegli anni ci sarà una straordinaria concentrazione di visioni musicali, che a seconda della zona dell’immensa nazione prende dal passato per proiettarsi nel futuro. Se per esempio a Seattle la tradizione viene usata per fare a pezzi il vecchio e diventare occasione per buttare fuori tutta l’ansia del periodo, nel profondo Sud è il trampolino di lancio per catapultare nella contemporaneità il rock “classico”. La storia di oggi ci porta in Georgia, ad Atlanta, dove i fratelli Robinson crescono in una famiglia nella quale, nei decenni precedenti, la musica ha regalato qualche soddisfazione: infatti il padre, Dan, arrivò addirittura in classifica con un singolo, Boom-A-Dip-Dip, nel 1959. I fratelli Robinson, Chris alla voce e Rich alla chitarra, prima si avvicinano al punk, ma ben presto trovano molto più stimolante il rock anni ’60, sia quello tipico delle loro parti, il southern rock dal suono caldo e coinvolgente, sia il rock blues anni ’60 portato negli Stati Uniti dai gruppi inglesi. La prima formazione si chiama Mrs. Black Crowe’s Garden, ma nel 1988 cambiano nome in The Black Crowes: diventano localmente richiestissimi nei club di Atlanta e dintorni, dove li nota un emissario della A&M che fa registrare al gruppo dei demo. Non se ne fa nulla, ma una sera a sentirli suonati c’è George Drakoulias, famoso produttore e talent scout, che li segnala alla persona che in quel momento è il produttore più interessante del paese: Rick Rubin. Sebbene non suonino metal, la specialità della Def American di Rubin, i ragazzi suonano meravigliosamente nel loro mix di vecchio e nuovo, un rock solido e arricchito di soul, gospel e passione, e vengono messi sotto contratto. Tutta questa passione si percepisce già dalla copertina del loro primo disco, Shake Your Money Maker (1990): prodotto da George Drakoulias, si rifà nella grafica del titolo e nella foto a quelle mitiche dei gruppi british blues di 30 anni prima, fa pensare ai Faces e ai primi Rolling Stone, e il dubbio scompare sentendo con che voce si presenta Chris Robinson: un mix selvaggio di Rod Steward e di Mick Jagger, il suono potente e solido di brani come She Talks To Angels, Twice As Hard o la superlativa cover di Hard To Handle di Otis Redding. Il successo arriva quasi inaspettato: milioni di copie vendute e una fama crescente, frutto anche delle stupende esibizioni live, pirotecniche e imperdibili, che convincono pure gli spettatori delle band metal della Def American a cui sono chiamati ad aprire i concerti.

Nel 1992, in un paio di settimane, registrano il loro secondo album, chiamati all’arditissimo compito di replicare il successo del primo: ma sin dalle prime note, The Southern Harmony And Musical Companion, che prende il nome dal titolo di un inno di William Walker, un pastore battista dell’800, non delude le aspettative e sarà un disco epocale per bellezza e successo. È sempre la copertina che rivela la nuova strategia della band: i musicisti sono fotografati in bianco e nero facendo intuire che stavolta più che il rock blues inglese è la tradizione del southern rock alla Allman Brothers Band e Lynyrd Skynyrd ad essere di ispirazione. Con l’innesto di Marc Ford alla seconda chitarra (il resto vedeva Johnny Colt al basso, Steve Gorman alla batteria e Eddie Harsch alle tastiere), il suono diventa più pieno e pastoso, l’aggiunta di cori femminile rimanda alla grande tradizione Soul, l’affiatamento generale e le doti da cantante di Chris Robinson, davvero convincente, ne fanno un disco che schizza in vetta alle classifiche, con 4 singoli numero uno nella classifica di Billboard, record rimasto per anni imbattuto. La travolgente Sting Me apre il disco, seguita da Remedy dove si innalza il piano di Eddie Harsch a cadenzarne la ritmica . Thorn In My Pride, un super blues, come No Speak No Slave, ha echi zeppeliani (amore mai nascosto, dopo anni la band registrerà un live nientemeno che con Jimmy Page in persona). Bad Luck Blue Eyes, Goodbye è una ballatona ariosa e stupenda, come Sometimes Salvation, dove Robinson canta alla maniera straziante di Janis Joplin. Hotel Illness è il brano più immediato, come la bellissima My Morning Song. Chiude un omaggio a Bob Marley, Time Will Tell, che sigilla con una struggente natura gospel un disco che si ascolta tutto d’un fiato. Dopo l’ennesimo tour a mille e pieno di soddisfazioni, cambiano produttore e pubblicano nel 1994 Amorica: però più che per le canzoni è ricordato per con la famosa copertina, anche censurata, di un primo piano di un succinto slip a stelle a strisce che appena copre un pube di una donna nera. La band, dopo vari avvicendamenti (il più famoso fu l’allontanamento di Marc Ford come secondo chitarrista, per i gravi problemi di dipendenza da droghe di quest’ultimo) pubblicherà un altro grande disco, By Your Side del 1999, e continuerà una strepitosa carriera live nei più grandi festival e con collaborazioni prestigiose (oltre al già citato Page, anche i mitici Dead) ma i dissidi tra i fratelli, anche economici, porteranno ad una serie di liti e reunion, intramezzati anche da un ottimo disco, Warpaint del 2008, fino allo scioglimento del 2015.

Nel 2019 però l’inattesa svolta: prima l’annuncio di un tour celebrativo di Shake Your Money Maker, poi lo stop per la pandemia Covid-19, ma dal 2022 nuove date e addirittura un nuovo, inatteso disco, che uscirà la settimana prossima, il 15 Marzo 2024, dal titolo che è un programma: Happiness Bastards. Quando uscì, oltre 30 anni fa, Shake Your Money Maker (che è il titolo di un classico blues di Elmore James) la band era considerata la next big thing del rock a stelle e strisce, persino all’esordio musicale band dell’anno 1990 per la rivista Rolling Stone. A distanza di anni si può dire che in parte hanno disatteso quella speranza, ma hanno lasciato degli esempi di musica genuina e viscerale che sembra quasi stridere con tutto quello che in quegli anni diventerà preponderante.

[hxneyfarm]

7 comfort movies (in no particular order)

tagged by the stupendous @spectrum-spectre!

this took me a million years to actually come up with a whole SEVEN MOVIES, because i'm more of a shows guy than a movies guy, but i think this... works. this is fine. i'm sure i'll think of others that would have fit better but for now!! these are great!

anyway! no pressure tags, and if you've already done it please just ignore me xo: @steves-strapcollection, @patchworkgargoyle, @sidekick-hero, @theheadlessphilosopher, @puppy-steve, @vecnuthy, @kkpwnall

[jgroffdaily]

@officialdonnamurphy

Couldn’t let this year end without celebrating this experience. Seeing this extraordinary production of @merrilyonbway on a most special day in my family’s life is one of my favorite memories of 2023. Director @mariafriedman spectacularly solved what seemed for decades to be an unsolvable puzzle. And this BRILLIANT cast, led by the incomparable #JonathanGroff, the truly hilarious & truly heartbreaking @lindsaymendez & the gorgeously revelatory #danielradcliffe were unimaginable perfection. They were joined by exquisite collaborators including beautiful 🌟 @katieroseclarke , dynamic 🌟@krystaljoybrown , & wonderful @jeremykushnier as Joe, & EVERY stupendous cast member. Must also celebrate music director #joelfram & legendary orchestrator #JonathanTunick for bringing us this always amazing score in such radiant form. The scenic & costume design @soutra , @timjcreative ‘s choreography, @amith_lighting_design , @haradasound - all contributing perfectly. Sharing this with my daughter, who had never seen a previous production (I’ve seen at least 5 & auditioned for at least as many :-) , and loved it- and offered insights that only brought even more meaning to the moment. I can only imagine how #StephenSondheim is smiling . And #GeorgeFurth as well. I raise a glass to everyone involved in bringing this production to us. And to everyone who’s been part of this show’s journey since it’s original production. Thank you so much. My heart is full to bursting. 🙏💖🙌👏🌟🥂#MerrilyWeRollAlong #Steve #George #OurTime #CriedMyFaceOff 😉😭