#and of course murdoch’s gorgeous voice

[h-worksrambles]

Another reason Murdoch is one of the best Smoke Room characters. He canonically has the voice of angel…and we get to hear it.

[noregretsjustlovely]

I re-read the fic ‘Dalton’ by CP Coulter every year, usually starting in November-December. I just finished up and I’m dyyinngggg for an update. An update I’ve been wanting for a decade.

I had a literal aneurism when CP Coulter started posting again on Tumblr, promising to update. I hadn’t been on tumblr in yeaarrssssss and I just so happened to check in on her page one day and had a meltdown! It’s been quiet for almost two years now, but I’m still hoping and waiting for her return. <3

So here’s just a small piece that I was dying to write because Reed and Shane are my all time favorite pairing of ALL TIME! So this is another version of Kurt trying to help Reed figure it out.

_____________

The bristles of the paint brush slid across the canvas, lopping at the end, leaving behind a dark, delicate curl of hair. The artist pulled his brush back, scrutinizing his work. His lips pursed and his brows scrunched as he gazed at the piece of artwork, searching for what was missing. To anyone else, this picture would have looked complete, but to Reed Van Kamp, it was not. Because, well…

He could never finish.

He let out a frustrated breath, pushing his supplies away and crossing his arms. “Having a moment?” He could hear the amusement in his roommates voice.

“Please, Kurt, I’m already struggling.” His strawberry curls fell around his porcelain, freckled face as he dropped his head, shaking it slightly. “Why can’t I stop?”

“Stop what?” Kurt asked. “Stop painting him? Or stop failing to paint him?”

“Stop thinking about him.” Reed whispered. Kurt tried to suppress a smile, failing only slightly. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“You’re falling in love, I think.” The countertenor answered from where he was proofreading an essay for the 10th time. Professor Murdoch would never be able to fail this one.

“Kurt, don’t say things like that!” Reed flailed so hard, he almost sent himself off the edge of the stool he sat upon. “I don’t even think I’m…gay. Or at least, I’ve never thought about it!”

Kurt let out a breath through his nose, noting his place in the essay and pushing his chair back from the desk. He strutted over to Reed, grabbing his wrist and yanking him to the artist’s plush white bed. Reed stumbled on the way, falling onto the bed with an “oof.”

“Reed,” Kurt gave him a stern look as he pulled him upright. “Have you ever actually thought about anything? Like being straight, I mean,” the diva clarified. “Have you ever been attracted to a girl?” Reed was silent for several seconds. Kurt waited patiently, knowing the answer.

“Well…not exactly, I guess?” The small artist finally relented. “I’ve grown up watching the most gorgeous women strut down runways and model for magazines, and I’ve always been able to acknowledge that, of course. But, I guess I’ve never thought anything other than that. That they look good in the designer clothes.” He sighed and fell backwards on the bed, his legs hanging over the edge. “It’s just…scary. I’ve never had someone so openly…taken with me?”

Kurt snorted. “‘Taken’ is the understatement of the century. Shane literally worships the ground you walk on. When you’re within a mile of him, his eyes never leave your direction.” He patted Reed on the knee. “I know it’s confusing and stressful for you, Reed, trust me, I do. But no one is expecting or forcing you to make any decisions. Even Shane. He may be hoping and praying and pleading to the heavens, but he would never pressure you into an answer or reciprocation. Time is all yours, my fellow fashionista.” He glanced over at his best friend, who had his face hidden behind the arm draped over his head. “I do think, however, that you should seriously consider trying to figure it out soon, though. I can see how much this is bothering you. We will all love and support whichever decision you make. Do you want me to ask Blaine to have Shane back off?”

A small spasm caused the bed to shake slightly. “I’ll take that as a ‘no?’” Kurt smirked, enjoying the color making its way to Reed’s face. “Okay, let’s get real here. Do you think he’s cute?”

“Kurt-“ Reed groaned, pulling his arm from his face and glaring at the ceiling.

“Answer the question, Reed. Stop being such a drama queen.”

“…” Kurt could hear Reed grumble a quiet response.

“Reed! Sit up and answer me right now, or I’ll take the tweedles’ zombie apocalypse baseball bat to your brand new art supplies!” Reed shot straight up, staring wide eyed at Kurt.

“…you wouldn’t.” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. His roommate just raised a delicate eyebrow at him, poker face strong.

“Would you like to test that theory?” Reed wasn’t sure that he did. He saw Kurt destroy Tabitha without even breaking a sweat. “Now, do you, Reed Van Kamp, think that Shane Anderson is cute?”

Absentmindedly, Reed was tinkering with the ring that hung around his neck as he glanced over to the abandoned painting. His eyes traced over the perfect details of the subject’s face. Every laughter line and every smooth curl of his brunette hair. He lingered on the swirls of green in the eyes that he had memorized and he almost smiled. “He’s beautiful.”

Kurt’s eyebrows shot up. “Like runway model beautiful? Or like you’re falling in love beautiful?” Read glared at him, but he was failing at fighting the grin that began to grace his face. “Noted.” Kurt laughed. “So, what does anything else matter, then? You don’t need to label yourself, Reed. If you’re not completely comfortable with shouting it from the rooftops, then don’t. But if you like him, and he makes you happy when he’s around, then isn’t that enough? It would be enough for him. And you know as well as I do that everyone here would be more than happy for you.”

Reed shook his head with a laugh, eyes misty. “I do know that, of course. I don’t know why I’ve been so worried.” He threw his arms around Kurt, who yelped in surprise, but hugged him back, patting his messy hair. “Thank you, Kurt. You always know what to say.”

Kurt chuckled as Reed pulled away, and he held onto the shorter boy’s shoulder. “I just want you to be happy. I can see that, even though you get jumpy around him, you do enjoy his company. I just hope you can “diva up” soon and claim it.” The ‘Alice’ of Windsor winked at him. The ‘Dormouse’ just pushed him slightly away with an eye roll accompanied by a smile.

“Don’t hold your breath,” Reed sighed, eyes still a little prickled from the conversation. He stood and brushed his hands over his wrinkled clothes. Yanking his sleeves up, he made his way back over to the canvas, only tripping slightly on the way. Planting back down onto the stool, he picked up a clean brush, dipping it into one of the colors on his palette. Kurt considered him for a moment, but decided to just let him be for now to sort through his thoughts. The countertenor walked back over to his desk, starting back where he left off on his paper.

It could not have been more than 20 minutes before Kurt heard the clatter of a brush hitting the ground. He cringed at the image of spilled paint, but the concerned thought left him the moment he saw Reed’s face.

The strawberry blonde boy sat, paint streaked down his clothes from where the brush fell, staring in amazement at his artwork.

His finished artwork.

“I…I did it.” As Shane’s lovestruck expression stared back at him from the canvas, the expression he always wore when looking at Reed, the smile that took over the artist’s face was small and intimate, and a single tear finally escaped his eyes.

[xaz-fr]

A Manor in ATLAS

@deadpool-scar-bro @hikayelastoria @cornsnoot-fr @redlion-fr @mushroomdraggo @murdoch-fr @tales-around-sornieth @frxemriss @rainhearts-hatchery @rexcaliburr-fr @starry-ampelope @plainstriderbard @reanimatedfr @ally-fr @golden-lionsnake @rookfern @khadjin-fr  (let me know if you’d like to be added to the lore pinglist) Dragons are anthro. I really love all the bbys who’ve been born in the Manor, mostly bc they’re all ultra rare eyed babies bc I’m like that lols

Everyone was supposed to come to dinner together. Usually that didn’t happen. Vernay certainly rarely ate with the rest of the Manor. Usually she and he mother stayed in the kitchen and ate there after putting meals out for the rest of the Manor. But tonight she’d been taken by her aunts Sanya and Zurina and dressed up, her hair done prettily and in light make up they said really extenuated her eyes. Of course… it was impossible to not extenuate her eyes. They gave off wisps of Wind. They’d also put her in a pretty dress and several old pieces of jewelry from the Master’s collection she was terrified of losing. When they were

 finished with her she was told to stay in the dining room for dinner. The only others there were the babies who were in high chairs already and Sunshine who was reading a book.

“Do you know what’s going on?” she asked Sunshine. Sunshine was a few years younger than her but a real smarty pants.

“I dunno,” Sunshine said, shrugging and not looking at her. Vernay frowned at her but didn’t get up. You didn't do something when aunty Zurina told you not to do something.

Her legs didn't quite reach the floor as she kicked her legs back and forth, waiting. She didn't have to wait terribly long before some of the adults started trickling in. Zurina was first with her newest baby who had eyes like Vernay and she sat with the other babies to entertain them. Then came Leon and aunty Anael and Laudwine and uncle Seenur and the rest of her aunties and uncles. They weren’t really her aunts and uncles of course. They were just people who lived in the house with them but she called them her aunts and uncles because that was what they were.

Her eyes widened when the Master came in. She hardly ever saw him and she wasn’t allowed to bother him in his office. When she was younger she’d seen him a lot more. She remembered him being so nice to her and doting on her sweetly and reading her books from his collection. He was a kindly older looking skydancer with a well manicured beard and sharp eyes. Uncle Nephilim was hanging off his arm and sat next to him as he stood at the head of the table.

“Everyone,” he called and everyone at the long table quieted down. “I am happy to announce that we are officially moved in!” There was some quiet cheering around the table. “I know this has been a very stressful time for everyone but that time is behind us. This is our new home, a new chapter in our life-” after that Vernay zoned it out as the Master kept talking. Speeches were boring. She knew they were boring because her daddy would give her speeches sometimes when she misbehaved and she never listened. Mostly because she knew her daddy was also stupid. Or that’s what her mommy and uncle Nephilim said and they knew her daddy differently than she did.

While the Master was talking she looked across the table and over aunty Candlestone’s shoulder to the open doorway where several dragons were standing in the hallway. It was two pretty lady dragons and a dragon who looked just a bit older than her. She started to wave when her father sitting next to her noticed and lightly grabbed her hand to put it down. “Pay attention,” he told her in a quiet, stern, voice. She rolled her eyes and looked back at the Master.

“So now it is a great pleasure to fully welcome our two benefactors in this move from our old lives to our new home: Setekh, and Empress,” and he started to clap. The other adults all politely clapped as well and Vernay did too though she wasn’t quite sure why she needed to. Down the table the babies squealed loudly to be shushed gently by aunty Zurina.

Vernay sunk down in her chair a little when an elegant sky dancer with eyes like a lightning storm and an elegant ridgeback walked into the room. They were both beautiful and sort of terrifying? They both just exuded control and grace and she hoped they didn't notice her. They didn’t seem to and walked right up to the Master, grabbed his hand in turn and kissing him on both cheeks as he did to them. Were they allowed to do that?! Her mouth opened a little in shock. She thought Nephilim was the Master’s favorite and only he was allowed to kiss the Master!

She was so distracted and sort of upset someone else was kissing the Master she missed a lot of what Setekh was saying. When she tuned back in she heard, “-It is a great pleasure that your cooperation with the Windsteppe Alliance allows us access to an otherwise unobtainable asset,” and she motioned. The other Skydancer she’d seen out in the hall came out. He was a bit older than her by the looks of it, his plumage dark but around his snout and the end of his hands and the joints of his wings were brilliantly colored like they were full of blue fire.

“Everyone please welcome Pera to our home,” the Master announced.

“Ah, hi,” Pera waved awkwardly at everyone else.

“Oh honey don’t be shy, you’re fucking gorgeous, you’ll fit right in,” someone called from down the table and several others chuckled.

“Pera will be staying with us for the undetermined future as part of the Alliance’s cooperation with ATLAS,” the Master continued. “He is our guest and I expect everyone to be kind and courteous to him until the time that he returns home to the Steppe.” There was some head bobbing of yes and some muttered ‘of couse’s around the long table. “And do your best to keep Pera out of your business. I don’t need him going home traumatized,” he added.

“Yeah, Nephilim,” someone called and everyone laughed.

“Oh, come off it,” Nephilim sighed.

“I believe that is everything to say. Our talented Tanduay has crafted us a delicious dinner tonight, so please, if you three would be seated and we may enjoy,” he beckoned to to the three new dragons. Setekh sat on the Master’s other side followed by the Empress and Pera sat on Nephilim’s other side.

“I hope everyone finds something they like,” her mommy said brightly and with some perfectly coordinated wind magic caused plates from the kitchen to float out and land down the middle of the table, everything still slightly steaming if it was cooked or perfectly cold if not. Vernay looked at her daddy before helping herself.

[rowdy-revenant]

The Beauty of a Beast - part 2

Part 2 - How Does a Moment Last Forever

Characters: Y/N Singer, Benny Lafitte, Gadreel, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, father!Bobby Singer (future pairing of Gabriel x reader)

Words: 1500+

Beta-reader: @hunters-hiraeth

Warnings: OOC Sam and Dean

[Part 1]

[General masterlist]

Chapter summary: You go about your routine day in the village, Dean follows and flirts, Bobby prepares to leave

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The day started off as any other. The village was quiet, with a certain anticipation hanging in the air. Soon people would be walking the streets, doing business and going about their daily tasks.

This time of the day was your favourite. The sky still had touches of dawn’s pink hues. Everything was still. Everything was quiet.

You slipped your shoes on, running through a mental checklist of what you had to do today. The silence because a whisper, a whisper became conversation, conversation soon became the regular chatter of the town. Grabbing a basket, you stepped outside.

The wooden steps creaked slightly as you stepped down them. The morning dew was resting on the grass in your garden. You passed through your garden and stepped onto the busy street.

Mothers chased after their children, those children chased each other, giggling. Sweethearts walked arm in arm, gazing into eachothers eyes. Women collected water from the well or did laundry. Wagons rolled through, carrying goods to be sold in the market.

People were doing business there. Selling, buying, the usual.

That reminded you where you had to be going and snapped you out of your daydream. It seemed like daydreaming was all you did these days. Yes, the town you lived in felt wonderful, but it also felt… familiar. Too familiar. Too regular. Too repetitive. The same thing each day.

“Careful, chief!” Came a laugh.

You narrowly dodged the large figure with calloused and flour-covered hands carrying a tray of baked goods.

“Sorry, Benny.” You apologized. “The usual, please.”

“Right here.” Benny grinned, lowering the tray. “Fresh from the oven for my favourite customer.”

You took a couple loaves of bread and smiled, placing them in your basket before handing over some coins to Benny. “Thanks, bear.”

“No problem at all. Where ya headed?” The baker asked.

“To the library. I have a book to return.” You replied.

“Damn, already?” Benny chuckled. “Gotta be the third time already you’ve read the one you’ve got.”

You shrugged, returning the laugh. You looked at the book. Its cover was a crimson red, with gold lettering spelling out ‘Romeo and Juliet’. “Fourth, actually. I have most of it memorized.”

“Et tu, Brute?”

“That’s Julius Caesar.”

“Eh, it’s still Shakespeare. Close enough, eh?” Benny offered.

You laughed. “Yeah, yeah. Points for trying.”

“Well, I ain’t gonna hold you up. See you ‘round.” Benny smiled, tipping his cap at you.

“See you, bear.” You said.

Benny continued on his way back to the bakery. You continued on yours, right to the small broom closet of a building called the library.

The place was a home away from home. Dark wooden shelves lined the walls, ladders on each end to reach the high ones. It had a certain smell to it. Wood mixed with parchment and candle wax.

The books themselves were very old and worn. Some were missing covered, others had writing so faded you couldn’t tell text from paper.

Gadreel, the librarian, did his best to keep things tidy. He himself was out of place in there. His tall frame barely fit at the small desk in the small room. The books around him were ten times older than he was. Still, reading was a passion the two of you alone shared.

“Y/N. It is very nice to see you again.” Gadreel greeted. He was seated at that little desk, a quill in hand. Most likely cataloging again.

You nodded and set your book down on his desk. “Done.”

“So soon?”

“Yep.”

“I see.” The tone of the librarian’s voice was a little astonished. “I am afraid I have no new books this week. However you are-”

He had barely said these words when you were halfway up a ladder.

“-Welcome to reread another one.” He finished.

You picked up a couple and added them to your basket. “Thanks, Gad!”

“Of course. Enjoy.” Gadreel said with a smile and returned to his work.

You stepped outside, ready to continue with your chores.

“You’re staring, Dean.” Sam said. He lifted his hair up, tying it back into a ponytail. Riding always did a number on his mane.

“I know.” Dean hummed. “Gorgeous, huh?”

“Out of your league.” Sam added, rolling his eyes.

The Winchester brothers watched you stop from shop to shop, buying the things you needed.

Dean Winchester was the eldest. He was a renowned hunter and a ladies man. Every woman in the village wanted to sleep with him, even a few men, but Dean had his sights set on you: the only one who didn't love him.

Sam Winchester was the youngest. He was always close by his brother and always living in his shadow. Their father was hard to impress.

“Doesn’t matter. I like a challenge.” Dean grinned. “Y/N is the one for me.”

“When’s the last time you read a book?” Sam asked his older brother.

Dean shrugged. “Who knows, who cares. Books won’t win them over. My rugged good looks will.”

“What looks?” Sam snorted.

Dean smacked his brother upside the head, a difficult feat as Sam was quite a bit taller than him. “Shut up.”

“Yes, Dean…” Sam mumbled.

“Jealous, Sammy?” Dean asked with a chortle. “It's not my fault you can't score a woman. Well, I'm sure Rowena’s single.” Dean often taunted his brother with that, saying that the only one Sam would end up with was the red haired beggar woman.

Dean strutted over to a flower stand and grabbed a bouquet. “Watch and learn, little brother.”

“Dean you have to-” Sam started before his brother walked off into the crowd and towards you. Sam sighed and took out some coins, handing them to the less than happy florist. “Pay for those…”

“Y/N!”

You groaned. Dean again. All he did was flirt with you and ignore your refusals. “Dean…”

The oh-so-great-hunter jogged up to you, ran his fingers through his hair, and pushed the flowers into your face. “For you. They match your eyes.”

“Uh… actually they don’t.” You replied, gently handing them back to Dean.

“Could I join you for dinner?” Dean asked, his typical grin on his face.

“No, Dean.”

“Tomorrow then.”

“I said no.” You replied, gritting your teeth. “Learn what that means.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, sweetheart.” The hunter purred. “Someone your age really should settle down, find a spouse. You’re in your prime, young, beautiful… just like me.”

You scoffed. “I am nothing like you, Dean.” You replied, slowly backing up the steps leading to your front door.

Dean followed, leaning in closer. “You don’t want to end up alone, like Rowena.” He argued.

“Well A: Rowena is actually a nice person. Maybe actually talk to her for once? And B: I’m not alone. I have my father.” You snapped.

Dean laughed. “You can’t be serious. Your father? He’s a crazy old man.”

That comment made you snap. You grabbed the door handle for support and raised your foot, kicking Dean square in the chest. He fell back, landing on his ass.

“Don’t you dare talk to my father that way.” You spat, slamming the door in his face.

Life with Dean sounded like Hell. You didn’t like him at all. He was old fashioned, rude, and egoistic.

“Everythin’ alright?” A voice asked.

You sighed. “Yes, pa.”

“Don’t you lie to me. I know when you’re lying.” Bobby noted. “What’s bothering you? Who do I have to give a piece of my mind to?”

“Pa? Do you think I’m weird?” You asked.

Bobby took off his glasses, folded them neatly before setting them on the table beside his tools. “Weird? What makes you ask that, sweetheart?”

“People in this town give me weird looks.” You mumbled. “Like I don’t belong.”

“Y/N, you ain’t weird. This is just a small town. People talk about everyone. You’re just…” Your father paused, looking for the right word. “Unique. You stand out, but in a good way. You keep being you, and don’t you regret it.”

You smiled. “Thanks, Pa. How’s the clock?”

“Just about ready for the fair, I’d say.” Bobby replied.

The latest music box Bobby was working on for the little craftsman’s fair a few towns over was, to put it lightly, beautiful. The outside was wooden, little carvings of branches in the corners. When opened, it played a sweet tune that your father used to sing to you when you were a child. A little blue metal bird perched on a little wooden branch, it’s wings and beak slowly opening and closing.

Bobby stood and hugged you. “I’ll miss you.”

“It’s just a couple days…” You chuckled. “But I’ll miss you too.”

“Anything you want while I’m there?” He asked.

You pretended to think it over, knowing what your answer always was. “A rose. Just like last year. Bring me back a rose, Pa.”

Bobby grinned. “Of course. A rose just for you.”

Deep in the woods, hidden away from the world, was another rose. And from this rose, another petal fell.

~ Murdoch’s tag list - want to be added or removed? Send me an ask! ~

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Gabriel: @elven-leaf @hiddles-and-skittles @hp-hogwartsexpress @im-gabriels-bitch @jannalionheart @elenawrit​ @trollhunter94​

The Beauty of a Beast: @a-vast-african-plain​ @red-bandana-girl​ @icharleecongrevemultifandomsblog​

[thesinglesjukebox]

FRANK OCEAN - CHANEL [7.64] An ocean of Chanel would probably be a bit much.

Joshua Copperman: I tried editing "Chanel" upon its initial release, in order to play it on my college radio show. When the edit was done, slurs reversed and faded out, it was essentially a shadow of its true self. I quickly realized I had done a disservice to a song about letting all parts of oneself co-exist. For Ocean, it's his sexuality, his presentation, his blackness all tumbling out of him at once. Despite a minor-key piano loop anchoring the song, it's not as brooding as it could be. Instead, he sounds as unpretentious and chilled as he ever has, especially when he delivers the opening lines, and especially when he follows the "i/ɐ/ɛl" rhyme scheme for twelve lines in the second verse. One difficulty I've sometimes had with the song is the content of that part, particularly "I need that bitch to grind on my belt." Intellectually and conceptually, it makes sense; but emotionally it doesn't register as well as those first lines. Yet this is the song that references Gaspar Noé, Dennis Rodman, and 21 Savage within the first minute - of course not everything would hit. It's not just the contrast of the titular line and "that bitch" that make this song work either; it's the fussy beat and ad-libs backing Ocean's weeded-out delivery that makes "Chanel" as good as it is. No radio edit necessary. [9]

Eleanor Graham: I stuck Frank Ocean's little black square coming out note from the sleeve of Channel Orange on my wall when I was thirteen and it's still there. It's weird and amazing to compare the anguish in that note and "Bad Religion" to the ease with which Frank tosses out "got one straight-acting" in his first single of 2017. It's a sign of the times: these days thirteen-year-olds have Kevin Abstract yelling "I love my mom! I hate my boyfriend!" and tweeting about Ezra Miller. And adults who like to drink wine have "Chanel". As Frank's police encounter becomes a Gaspar Noé-referencing sexual fantasy before unfurling into love song, it becomes clear that the hushed piano is the only thing here that moves at the pace of a normal human brain. Chanel Instagramming "we see on both sides like Frank" comes off suitably coattail-ish. No one plays out duality so coldly and steamily, so unthinkingly with such conceptual rigour. It's his world. [8]

Jibril Yassin: Every single Frank Ocean released this year does a lot in a short period of time. With three minutes, you've got verses crammed with lines -- economical ones that reveal plenty -- that all seem to spill into the other with reckless abandon before quickly moving on. Yet each switch-up feels natural, each new hook lodged in your head like you've heard them for years. It makes for a melancholy yet wholly stated feeling that feels more 'of now' than anything Frank's done at this point.  [9]

Nortey Dowuona: The glittering piano and small waves of bass and brief drips of synths are led on a merry dash by Frank's voice, broken and shattered and rushing back together in a smooth hum, a soft sigh, a panicked shriek, a painful murmur, a sorrowful coo. [10]

Brad Shoup: Frank shuffles vocal takes over sniffling drums. Similarly, he pushes the two themes (his guy and his double-take opulence) into each other. The bridge ("it's really you on my mind") would appear to be the emotional peak, but you should hear the way he sings about his engine. The outro is a pretty funny survey of his jeans, studded with shouts to his baby. His piano veers between Hathaway wistfulness and suspension -- the effect is like a private improvisation (though the writing's too good for that), wherein Ocean's trying to show his partner that he knows how much he's got. [8]

Ryo Miyauchi: The slight grogginess of Frank's sleepy try at rap in "Chanel" only informs what sounds like a diary entry from his transcontinental escapades. And it's a task to pin down exactly where he's at: he mentions Shibuya, though his mind, occupied by hip-hop, remains in America. He hides emotionally, too, burrowing deep in references and name brands. People pick at his play on the double Cs, but his overly proud boast of destroyed VISA, AmEx and Mastercards worry me. You're not running away from something ordinary if you disavow credit and withdraw that much cash. [7]

Alfred Soto: No bitch will kill his vibe, and he insists on a woozy one. Sharp lyrics as usual, on paper more sympathetic than the okay voice singing them. He will never not come off as the most suspicious of cornballs. [5]

Maxwell Cavaseno: A series of fake deep paens from the kind of lad who thinks Rupert Murdoch's role in Vice being regarded as The Real News is nothing important and whom happily collects millions as Apple brings in a new regime of oligarchy over music that if left on its own, will bring us back to a realm where the best art is only beheld by Corporations functioning like Medici-esque oppression. Frank Ocean is an amoral brat who hates his fans and having to work at singing live. "Chanel" is the sound of forty dozen punch ins, badly pitch-tuning his nasal tone (which gets worse with each record) as he whines and blubbers nonsense about Japanese shopping districts and pretty boys via a series of amateurish Migos impressions. For all his so-called brilliance, the kid writes songs the way A$AP Rocky writes raps the way your friends casually spam your tumblr feed: without a second or even a first thought, just reflexive regurgitation. Frank Ocean is a Neoliberal Representationalist Wet-Dream where you pretend he's got so much more going on for him content wise than people who make nasty actual R&B that has the nerve to sound as baseless and amorphous as the preferred non-genre millennial drivel we've been told is the Future of Music. Just as long as you recognize you deserve so much more than to work for better art. [0]

Claire Biddles: Romanticism and bisexuality are so rarely allowed to co-exist in pop culture, perhaps because they're largely not perceived as compatible in real life: we're promiscuous, we're undecided, we're unwilling or unable to commit because of the breadth of our (always hypersexual) desires. I cling to pop culture that allows us to be tender or take pride in our love for our partners: I can't count the times I've watched and rewatched the moment when Norwegian teen show Skam's bi protagonist Even introduces his boyfriend to a stranger with the exclamation, "isn't this man beautiful?!", almost in disbelief, beaming with love. I thought of this brief moment listening to Frank Ocean's "Chanel", with its similarly romantic but also deftly complex opening couplet "My guy pretty like a girl/And he got fight stories to tell" -- so beautiful and tall and gleaming, with an unseen tension between the borrowed brags of another sexuality and the determination of our own, all dressed up in imagery unmistakably ridden of the societal restraints of gender presentation. The song that follows is so rich -- it swirls and caresses its way through a string of hyperactive ideas tempered by gentle heatwave-warmed beats and piano -- but it's the returning tenderness ("It's really you on my mind" punctuating the lyrical flexes) framed by overt queerness that sticks. We all want to see ourselves reflected in pop culture, but it's rare and special to hear it done so effortlessly. [10]

Stephen Eisermann: Frank Ocean's biggest strength has always been his style of singing and what he says in his songs. The beats are always unique and often ethereal, but it's the way that his voice dominates his songs that is most impressive. On ""Chanel,"" Frank let's his bi-flag fly high, but rather than make the statement center on his pride, he lets his experiences speak for themselves. Frank briefly discusses his "guy" and the description is real and affecting; sometimes the most beautiful moments in music are the most honest, and everything about this song feels authentic. [9]

Anthony Easton: The background to this voice, is celestial. The voice itself hints at a falsetto. Mutually, they work towards a gorgeous argument against the failure of material capital, while the desire towards the same is overwhelming. That it just kind of floats, unresolved, plays with pleasure, but seems disembodied, it's a clever but deeply felt ennui.  [9]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]

[freddielocks]

Here's part 2: now we turn our attention to the rarest albums in my collection! The values are higher, of course, but twelve tracks will generally be worth more than two!

An honourable mention goes to the Who, with their album My Generation on Brunswick. Despite this technically being the most expensive on the list at a colossal £600 book and £825 maximum sale value, there is a serious gulf between unplayed pristine copies and copies of any lower calibre - it isn't a true rarity. At any rate my copy has no cover.

10) Kevin Ayers - Joy Of A Toy

Label: Harvest, cat. SHVL 763

Year: 1969, 10 tracks

Highest Discogs sale: £240

Book value: £150

Paid: £40 in Plastic Wax Records

Notes: couple of scratches but overall a nice playing copy. Cover good. 1st pressing with no EMI box on the label.

Kevin Ayers was a charismatic singer with a demure voice, involved in the Canterbury Scene and the genesis of progressive rock, being a founder member of the Soft Machine. Joy Of A Toy, his first solo record, is a wonderfully anachronistic blast of poppy psychedelia, with not many standout songs but designed to be listened to all the way through. Nevertheless, swinging opener 'Song For Insane Times' and the unsettling 'children's' song 'Lady Rachel' are my highlights.

9) John And Yoko - The Wedding Album

Label: Apple, cat. SAPCOR 11

Year: 1969, 2 tracks

Highest Discogs sale: £259

Book price: £600 (bear in mind a complete set has never sold)

Paid: £15, from a 'friend' needing money for a night out!

John Lennon and Yoko Ono's marriage in Gibraltar, for various reasons I can't remember, and their 'Bed Peace' protest were documented in this lavish package. Musically, the album is truly bizarre. The first side is 22 minutes of the pair's heartbeats as they shout each other's names in various ways (yeah) and the flip is a sound collage of a bunch of recordings and interviews made in Amsterdam during Bed Peace. I wanted a copy during my phase of intrigue into the Beatles' experimental solo works, and somehow I got one!

Out of the full package that originally came with the LP, I own the gatefold sleeve that held the record, the large wedding photos, the cartoon poster and the booklet of press clippings. The cardboard in there may be original too, and there's a random photo of John Lennon I was given free at a record fair once. The box is not, it was lovingly replicated from a Reader's Digest box set of show songs. Original boxes had a facsimile wedding certificate glued to the inside. I am sadly missing the 'Bagism' plastic bag, the pop up cutout of the wedding cake and the small strip of passport photos. What a package - it must have cost a lot at the time!

8) Blonde On Blonde - Contrasts

Label: Pye, cat. NSPL.18288

Year: 1969, 12 tracks

Highest Discogs sale: £290

Book price: £175

Paid: £12 in Plastic Wax

Notes: I only have half the cover! Clearly someone wanted to have the pretty girl on their wall... The LP is in playable condition. It took some cleaning though.

This Welsh outfit came at the beginning of progressive rock, and the LP is surprisingly assured and complex straight from the bold opener 'Ride With Captain Max'. Hard rock, baroque stately ballads and in between are all present, with other highlights being the sitar-drenched 'Spinning Wheel' (a cover of Blood Sweat and Tears), the sneeringly humorous 'Conversationally Making The Grade' (I love the line 'America's gonna buy us, turn us into a national park') and the wistful closer 'Jeanette Isabella'.

7) Second Hand - Reality

Label: Polydor, cat. 583 045

Year: 1968, 10 tracks

Highest Discogs sale: £295

Book value: £200

Paid: £50 on eBay

Notes: second press, with labels crediting Second Hand instead of their first name, The Moving Finger (also the name of the band who released the gorgeous 'Pain of My Misfortune' single which I'm still looking for). The cover is deliberately 'worn' as a pun on the band name, and the vinyl is not perfect but really nice.

Again, Second Hand were at the forefront of progressive rock, miles ahead of many more popular acts. Band leader Ken Elliott was a keyboard wizard as well as lead vocalist, and the rest of the band were also brilliant musicians, augmented by the cello and flute of Chris Williams on certain tracks. The album has a loose concept about a clown, Denis James, whose life hits difficulties and culminates in his eventual suicide in the bath. The first side contains many brilliant vignettes, with tough rockers alongside orchestrated psychedelia, culminating in the woozy and fatigued 'The World Will End Yesterday'. However, be ready to turn it over. There are four tracks on the second side, the first being a cheery entree to the Denis James character. What follows is a devastating emotional journey that grabs you by the neck, with heavy murk contrasting the swooning cello arrangements and jazzy flute. This culminates in the Bath Song, and the death of D.J. Brutal, and has to be heard to be experienced. I thought it was even more chilling as I was told Bob Gibbons, the lead guitarist, killed himself nine years later. However that's a stupid myth for hype, unfortunately it was an accidental electrocution.

6) The Graham Bond Organization - Sound Of '65

Label: Columbia, cat. 33SX 1711

Year: 1965 (obviously!), 12 tracks

Highest Discogs sale: £300

Book value: £400

Paid: around £40 in Plastic Wax

Notes: looks much rougher than it plays. First press with '33SX' in the catalogue number.

Graham Bond, a former radiator salesman, was an amazing saxophone player and keyboardist (and decent singer) who cut his teeth alongside the now legendary Don Rendell. Also in the Organization, the band he formed after leaving Rendell's Quintet, was the other great saxophonist Dick Heckstall-Smith, and two future members of supergroup Cream, bassist and singer Jack Bruce and drummer Ginger Baker. The album is classy jazzy R&B, covering many well known standards with a few originals in there. 'Baby Be Good To Me' is my standout pick, a scurrying shuffle with darting saxophone and cool organ fills driving it along.

5) The Wailers - Catch A Fire

Label: Island, cat. ILPS 9241

Year: 1973, 9 tracks

Highest Discogs sale: £350

Book price: £150

Paid: £12 in Plastic Wax

Notes: the upper part of the cover, which swung off as if a 'Zippo' lighter, is missing. The LP is very scratched, but is the original pink rim 1st pressing.

Bob Marley and The Wailers made this iconic album debut in 1973, starting the ball rolling on their incredible popularity. A classic of the new reggae sound straight from the darkly grooving opener 'Concrete Jungle'. Nuff said really! Check it out, you'll enjoy it.

4) The Graham Bond Organization - There's a Bond Between Us

Label: Columbia, cat. 33SX 1750

Year: 1965, 12 tracks

Highest Discogs sale: £395

Book price: £400

Paid: £35 from Plastic Wax

Notes: slightly shabbier than the other GBO LP (they were bought together). Still a solid player.

This second album sees the GBO expand their sound, and is arguably the stronger of the two. Not only does Jack Bruce's suave and strong voice get more of an outing, but the three instrumentals make it impossible to sit down listening to the album! Have a dance to the punchy opener 'Who's Afraid Of Virginia Woolf?' and listen to the Eastern-flavoured Baker-led 'Camels and Elephants'.

3) The Kinks - Arthur or the Decline and Fall of the British Empire

Label: Pye, cat. NPL.18317

Year: 1969, 12 tracks

Highest on Discogs: £421

Book price: £150

Paid: £20 in Plastic Wax

Notes: much rarer mono issue. Comes with original Queen Victoria lyric insert, but cover and record are very battered. 'Victoria' will not play as there is something up with the grooves. Maybe an industrial clean is in order.

This album, the last in the series of roughly conceptual Kinks LPs, is a delightfully quirky musical take on end-of-empire Britain, taking various melodic cues from music of the time and combining them with distinctly British themes and some serious danceability. One could argue that 'Victoria' invented pub rock. 'Brainwashed' is a cool mod dancer and 'Shangrila', the second single from the album, is a complex ode to humble home life and a shrewd observation on class. The hits and commercial success was gone by now, but is now the most acclaimed part of the Kinks' oeuvre.

2) Trees - On The Shore

Label: CBS, cat. S 64168

Year: 1970, 10 tracks

Highest Discogs sale: £483

Book price: £400

Paid: £12 in Plastic Wax

Notes: two large grievous scratches on the A-side - but they barely even sound, it's a great player!

Acid folk was practically invented by Trees, who had already laid down the wonderful Garden of Jane Delawney LP. The characteristic soaring vocals of Celia Humphris delightfully interplayed with fuzzy rock to create a new exciting edge on traditional folk songs and some startling original material. The short opener 'Soldiers Three' signals their intent clearly. Their arrangement of the infamous folk ballad 'Streets of Derry' lends it an excellent charging energy, but arguably the standouts are the ominous and cryptic 'Fool' and the soaring and energetic 'Murdoch', showing staggering songcraft. As if the album didn't have more than enough going for it, 'Geordie' was sampled by Gnarls Barkley on their track 'St. Elsewhere', leading to a renaissance of the band's work. Despite appearing on numerous samplers put out by the record label, Trees never became a commercial success, a fact which boggles the mind.

1) The Jimi Hendrix Experience - Electric Ladyland

Label: Track, cat. 613008/9

Year: 1968, 16 tracks

Highest Discogs sale: £645

Book price: £300

Paid: I will never know!

Notes: second press with white text on the sleeve instead of turquoise. Yes, stupid things like that make a difference. One record contains Sides 1 and 4, the other sides 2 and 3, which isn't standard.

Arguably Hendrix's masterpiece, this album needs little introduction, mixing psychedelia, jazz, R&B and even more into a great cosmic double album. Just listen to '1983 (A Merman I Should Turn To Be') and you'll understand the sheer power and weight of this record. Glorious from start to finish.

Thanks again!

[xaz-fr]

A Manor in ATLAS

@deadpool-scar-bro @hikayelastoria @cornsnoot-fr @redlion-fr @mushroomdraggo @murdoch-fr @tales-around-sornieth @frxemriss @rainhearts-hatchery @rexcaliburr-fr @starry-ampelope @plainstriderbard @reanimatedfr @ally-fr @golden-lionsnake @rookfern @khadjin-fr  (let me know if you’d like to be added to the lore pinglist)

 (let me know if you’d like to be added to the lore pinglist)

Dragons are anthro. This just in everyone: Jericho is SUPER gay and suddenly faced with a bright and shining nearly on fire twink of a boy he’s like ‘... oh no’. Also everyone but Pera belongs to Rook lols

Jericho had about five things to do at any one time. Like today before lunch he needed to make sure Setekh went to see her latest asset acquisition; talk with her lead scientist about the study of said asset; she then had a meeting with one of her department heads around the same time; and she had requested some personal time for herself. Jericho didn't ask what she needed that time for. And that was all just before lunch. Setekh had several more meetings after lunch, including one with some investors and one with her group of attorneys about some take corporate takeover. And that didn't include all the call he took every day from all over ATLAS, both the city and the company.

He was answering the phone from someone wanting to plan a lunch meeting with Setekh when he saw the time. Setekh was in a meeting in her office but they needed to get going to visit the new asset. “Look, Rochhel,  Setekh doesn't have a lunch meeting available for six weeks.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am. If you want I can send you the calendar invite for her next available day. Or ignore it. Now if you’ll excuse me Setekh is calling. Good day,” and he hung up, not waiting for an answer. He opened a messenger app on his computer and messages Setekh in her office reminding her her next appointment was now.

While he waited for her response he was looking at his calendar. When was his next day off? He technically had two every week but it certainly didn't feel like it. When was his next allowed vacation time? That was really when he had a day off. It was eight months away.

Setekh never answered his message, she just walked out of her office in her sharp business suit. Jericho quickly grabbed a folder or two and his tablet and got up from his desk. “As always, a pleasure, Downwind,” she said to the imperial she’d been in the meeting with. They were shaking hands and then he left.

“You have an appointment to see Liv about your new asset, ma'am,” Jericho said to remind her what she was doing.

“Ah, right— you will like this Jericho,” she said.

Jericho’s face didn't change. “I doubt that but I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” he said. Setekh just laughed and started out her office. Jericho followed dutifully behind. “After this meeting with Liv and the asset you have a meeting with Andromeda before I freed up your schedule as requested for personal time.”

“Very good,” Setekh said as they got into Setekh’s personal, private, elevator. “Who is my lunch meeting with?”

Jericho went to her calendar to check as she pushed the correct button to take them down. “Veer Staggerbatte is taking you to lunch at a place in Neon Gala called the Tipped Cup.”

“Is it a nice place?”

“Reviews look decent. Specializes in western Expanse cuisine.”

Setekh scoffed. “So cactus and desert lizards. Wonderful,” she was not amused.

Jericho didn't comment. “Staggerbatte is hoping you'll approve funding for a research expedition he wants to do.”

“Where?”

“No idea,” Jericho admitted as the doors to Tempest Biotechs. The lab was white, sterile looking, and everyone was in white and toxic green.

Liv- Liviander- was the head of the Tempest Biotechs division of ATLAS. Her office was right in the ATLAS building which was more than some divisions of ATLAS could say. They could see Liv standing far down the lab in an empty space. She was wearing a crazy helmet today and her wings and head fins were flexing as she talked to a gangly skydancer who was also standing in the middle of the empty space.

“Liviander,” Setekh said when the two of them came up to the department head.

Liv spun, ‘Set!” she cried in delight. “What a wonderful gift you’ve given me. I haven't seen such an anomaly in years. Years Setekh. Do you know how difficult it is to find something interesting to do around here?”

Setekh chuckled. “I am glad something is finally up to your desires,” she said. “I take it the asset is more than willing to cooperate.”

“Oh yes. Oh yes. He is a dream,” Liv cooed and moved away from them. Jericho looked up, distracted from answering messages. Liv draped an arm across the skydancer in the middle of the room.

Jericho immediately dropped his folders and tablet like an idiot. “Oh shit,” he scrambled to catch the tablet before it dropped and the front shattered. It bounced in his hands a few times before he yanked it to his chest. Setekh looked at him in confusion. “Ah- uh, butterfingers,” he said awkwardly.

“Don’t drop my things, Jericho,” Setekh said sternly.

“Yes. Sorry, ma'am,” and Jericho crouched to grab up his papers, stuffing them back into the folders.

“Here, you missed these, Mr. Jericho,” a voice said from above him as papers were offered to him. Jericho looked up slowly at the skydancer from before. He was possibly the single most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Dark feathers like the sea but around his beak and horns it was like blue fire curled around them. And his wings. It was like they were pure fire, shimmering in perfection of the bright white lights of the lab. He looked like a Fire dragon but when Jericho looked into his eyes he saw only deep green. A Nature dragon? A Nature dragon who looked like they were on fire? What? What?!

“Ah-oh— thank you,” he said awkwardly and took the papers, their fingers briefly touching. His fingers and lower arm also looked like they’d been dipped in liquid blue fire, becoming yellow and purple up to his elbow.

“You’re welcome,” he smiled at Jericho and Jericho was glad he was wearing a turtleneck so you couldn't see the feathers on his neck get all puffed up.

“This is our latest asset,” Setekh said. “His name is Pera.”

“Pera?” Jericho asked, refusing to look at him.

“Yes. He’s on loan from one of our allied clan and is staying with a mutually friendly but independent entity in ATLAS.”

“I — I didn’t realize we had dragon assets in Tempest,” he swallowed awkwardly.

“No no. Not normally,” Liv agreed. “But Pera is a very special boy and I am so excited to figure out all your little secrets,” she said in a mad delight.

Pera laughed awkwardly. “Ah- well… I don't know how much you will figure out. Sometimes the Gods are just like that,” he grinned and it was more of a grimace.

The meeting with Liv went on for a few more minutes. Mostly it was Setekh reminding Liv to be nice to Pera and if she harmed a feather on Pera’s head not only would Setekh he furious but an ancient and powerful Wind clan would be furious. And Setekh didn't plan to save Liv if she earned their ire. Liv assured Setekh she’d be utterly polite and delicate with Pera while he was here.

Jericho only sort of heard any of that. He just couldn't take his eye off Pera. He’d seen a lot of pretty drakes in his time around Setekh. Say nothing to the fact that an odd friend of hers was literally the master of a harem of concubines and he tended to bring some over now and then to entertain Setekh. Needless to say every concubine in his harem was gorgeous. But Pera was different. He wasn’t some sexy drake brought along for entertainment. He was just… a normal drake who just happened to be special. And Tidelord he was special.

Jericho knew under no circumstances should he be left alone with Pera. He wasn't sure his heart could take it. Not to mention he didn't know if he'd be able to stop staring. Between Pera’s unusual looks and the general air of helpfulness he gave off even just standing there, a slight smile on his face, Jericho knew he was just fucked. It was all the more infuriating because he didn't normally get like this. In fact handsome drakes were often the last thing on his mind; despite Setekh sometimes asking if he was eve going to have a boyfriend. He didn't know how the Shade he was supposed to do that when he was at Setekh’s every beck and call.

Then the meeting was over. He missed most of it. “Alright, Jericho, time to go see Andromeda. Let’s go,” Setekh’s voice snapped him to the now.

“Ah- yes, of course, ma'am,” he said and followed after her.

“Bye Ms. Setekh, Mr. Jericho,” Pera called after them. Jericho made the mistake of looking back and saw him cheerfully waving. Jericho looked back around and hunched his shoulders. What a horrible drake.