#if u see the collector one and recognize the colors | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jennay · 9 months

Text

Misunderstood

Request:

I wanna request rory culkin in lords of chaos being in his record shop and seeing a not so normal customer for such a shop, he sees a pretty girl wearing her pretty mini sundress having her cute makeup and hair done, she looks all dolled-up ykyk. she basically goes there to buy something for her brother but she's so not into it, she so shy and "scared" to go there but she eventually does it and like euro kinda finds it adorable even tho everyone there is teasing her (AH IDK IF THAT MAKES SENSE LMAO, I just need fluff and cuteness and yk maybe a little spicy teasing IDK HEHEHE! hope u have a great day!!!)

Master List

An: I Hope this is what you wanted!

Words: 1700

Warnings: None. Maybe shit talking?

Shivers ran down your spine as you walked down the dark, dirty street. Why your brother thought it was a good idea to send you to this part of town was beyond you. You understood his foot was broken and needed someone to run errands for him, but you didn't belong with the people he associated with. You weren't into death metal, didn't wear all black, and you definitely didn't rage against the machine. You were quite the opposite. You enjoyed your colorful wardrobe and bubbly music and were more of a rule follower. You NEVER got in trouble or put yourself in a bad situation.

You had heard rumors about the record store and its owner. Some said he was a cult leader who performed rituals in the basement. Others said he was a serial killer who lured unsuspecting customers into his trap. Others said he was a vampire who fed on the blood of young girls like you. He wasn't twenty-five, but innocent people's blood kept him youthful.

Of course, you didn't believe those stories, but you still felt uneasy as you approached the store. It looked like a rundown shack, with faded posters and graffiti covering the windows. The neon sign flickered and buzzed, spelling out "Rock 'n' Roll Heaven." You wondered if that was meant to be ironic or ominous.

You pushed open the door and stepped inside. The smell of dust and mold hit you like a wave. You saw rows of shelves filled with records, tapes, and magazines. You also saw posters of rock stars and bands, some of who you recognized and others you didn't. The place was dimly lit by a few lamps and a jukebox that played an old song you couldn't name. Where the hell did you step into?

You walked along the aisles, scanning the labels and covers. You could feel a few different sets of eyes on you, and you tried to keep your head down but glanced up a few times with an awkward smile, hoping they didn't come toward you.

One man stood at the counter pretending to read a magazine, but his eyes would flick to you. He'd nudge his buddy and whisper something you couldn't hear, making you anxious.

"Sweetheart. I think you stepped into the wrong place." One of them says, staring at you. "You need to go to the record store on Broadwater. They have all that bubble gum pop shit you're probably looking for." You notice his piercing blue eyes carving into your soul, and you try to look away, but it's a trance. His long black hair hangs in his face, and deep down inside, you want to remark how he should stop wearing women's clothing and grow up, but the rumor of him eating people comes back to your mind, and you keep your mouth shut.

You find the name of the band your brother had mentioned, and there are several different pieces of vinyl, each from a different year. Why didn't he tell you the name?

"Do you not talk?" Another one calls from the counter.

You look up at him again, blushing, "I do. I'm just looking for something, and I'll be out of here." Your eyes return to the records, and you grab the newest one. Your brother was a collector, and it was more than likely he wanted the more recent item.

You hear his footsteps walking around the counter, and just to your luck, the bigger one is coming toward you. The one who looks like he might attack you.

He walks up to you with a smirk on his face, holding a cigarette in his hand. He blows smoke in your direction, making you cough. He looks at the record you're holding and snorts. "You're kidding me. You're buying this crap?" He grabs the record from your hand and examines it. "This is their latest album. It's garbage. They sold out to the mainstream. They lost their edge. They used to be good back in the day." He points to another record on the shelf. "This is their first album. This is where it all started. This is real music." He hands it to you and takes back the one you had chosen. "Trust me, kid. You'll thank me later." He winks at you and returns to the counter, leaving you speechless and confused.

Kid? You weren't a child.

You cautiously walk to the counter, noticing two of the three men sitting in the corner watching some gory horror movie, and you do your best not to make a face at it.

You try to play it cool like you weren't in your favorite red and white sundress that you'd just bought, you weren't wearing the cutest sandals you'd ever seen, or you didn't get dolled up for the day knowing where you were going.

You tried to ignore the stares and whispers of the other customers, who looked at you like you were an alien. But you knew you couldn't fool anyone.

"You're brave walking in here looking like that. You look like you got lost on your way to the Barbie convention." He sounds playful, but you'd be lying if you said it didn't hurt your feelings.

You bite your lip, wishing he would just tell you how much you owe him, but he seems amused with you and taking his time. He grabs the record with a smirk and taps on the cash register.

He looks at you with a mock surprise and says, "That'll be a hundred bucks, please." He chuckles and adds, "Just kidding. It's only twenty. But I'll take a hundred if you want to tip me for my excellent service." He winks at you and holds his hand, waiting for your payment.

Your eyes deaden at his joke; you don't find him amusing. He hands you the record, still smiling as you walk away from him.

"Hey, I'm gonna take a smoke break." He tells the others and follows behind you. Was he following you?

Part of Euronymous felt guilty for the way he was acting. He didn't want to admit it, but that was his best attempt at flirting, and he failed miserably. "Hey, wait up." He says, catching you before you cross the street.

You stop, looking back for a second before you sigh and drop your shoulders, "Why so you can continue to be an asshole to me?"

He runs his fingers through his hair, holding his cigarette to his lips. "I wasn't. I didn't…Look, I think your style's cool. I, uh, I don't know how to talk to pretty girls." He admits.

Your brows scrunch together with confusion; you aren't sure what his game plan is. "I'm not really into Satanists or cult leaders, so you don't have to waste your time apologizing to me or trying to make me feel better about myself. I think you're tacky, just like your store."

He looks hurt by your words, but he doesn't give up. "Well, I'm neither of those things." He pulls his cigarette from his lips, "This is weird and I know this is weird, because I'm weird, but, let me at least walk you to your car. It's getting late and I'd feel like a shithead if something happened to you."

You hesitate, not sure if you should trust him or not. He doesn't look like a bad guy, just a misunderstood one. But you've heard stories about people like him, who pretend to be friendly and turn out to be monsters. You don't want to be another victim. "I'm walking to my brother's house, and I'd prefer you not to know where I stay." You tell him, but part of you wants to take his offer. It's creepy at night, and you have no way to protect yourself if something was to happen.

He remains quiet, watching you rethink what you just told him. Why did you tell him that? He could easily follow you and find out where you live. You curse yourself for being so stupid. "If I let you walk me home, promise not to stalk me?" You ask him, hoping he's not lying.

His laughter rings in your ears, "I won't stalk you. Between my band and owning the shop, I don't have time to stalk anyone plus, if you want to see me, you know where I work." He playfully winks. "Come on, let's go. I promise I'll behave." He smiles at you with a charming grin that makes your heart flutter. You wonder if he's as bad as you thought or just a lonely soul looking for company. You decide to give, hoping you won't regret it later.

You make small talk, asking him about his band. He tells you that his band is called Mayhem and plays black metal, an extreme and controversial music genre.

"I'm glad you came in today. I know it can be a bit over the top, and I'd be lying if I said we weren't being judgemental dicks." He laughs, his eyes dart to you nervously, waiting for your response, but you continue to watch the sidewalk. "I hope part of you doesn't believe I'm what everyone says."

You tilt your head up, looking at him with curiosity. You wonder why your opinion would matter. "I think you're misunderstood but you kind of like it that way."

He shrugs and takes a drag from his cigarette. "I do enjoy being a rebel and an outcast. I like making people uncomfortable it's entertaining to see how fearful people are." He exhales the smoke and looks at you with a smirk. "But maybe I also like surprising people and showing them that I'm not a monster. Maybe I like being normal and human."

"You know, nice doesn't look bad on you. You should try it more often." You're able to genuinely smile at him this time. "Well," You say, stopping in front of the apartment doors. "This is it." You don't know how to end this interaction. It's not like this was a date or a friendship.

He nods, "Alright, I'll see you around?"

You shrug with a playful smile as you open the door, "Maybe."

He throws his hands in the air as he walks away from you, "I'll take it!" He says, his voice full of excitement. He looks back at you and gives you a thumbs-up, making you laugh, and he disappears into the night, leaving you with a story to amuse your brother with and a memory that might make you return to the 'scariest' record store in town.

#rory culkin #euronymous #lords of chaos #euronymous x reader #fluff #euronymous x you

252 notes · View notes

upennmanuscripts · 5 years

Text

The earliest known French bookstamp, and a new addition to the library of a colorful bibliophile: Jacques Thiboust of Bourges

Fifty-two discoveries from the BiblioPhilly project, No. 6/52

Georges Chastellain, c. 1402/1410–1475, L’outré d’amour pour amour morte, Philadelphia, The Rosenbach Museum and Library, MS 443/21, fol. 1r, with miniature showing The author dreaming

While being attentive to the circumstances surrounding the genesis and production of a Medieval or Renaissance manuscript is often our primary concern as scholars, sometimes the subsequent destiny of an item can be equally engaging, if not more so! This is especially the case when the attested later owner(s) of the book are A) relatively close in date to the production of the manuscript and thus valuable as a witness to the early diffusion of a particular text, and B) known to have owned other books and recognized for having had a particular focus to their bibliophilism. Today we will examine a manuscript which, though notable for its textual content and illustrations, is of further interest due to its rich early ownership history, which has never before been remarked upon.

This short, rhymed work in French by the Burgundian chronicler and poet Georges Chastellain (c. 1402/1410–1475) is entitled L’outré d’amour pour amour morte, which can be rendered in English as something resembling “The Lover’s Lament over the Death of his Love” (see here for the digitized version of the modern critical edition).[1] The manuscript is housed at The Rosenbach Library and Museum as MS 443/21. The author, Chastellain, was a prominent figure at the Burgundian court, serving dukes Phillip the Good and Charles the Bold with distinction. L’outré d’amour, written in 214 octosyllabic octets, is an example of a Roman à clef, a narrative describing actual events presented as a fictional account using altered names. This is a later name for the genre, but this type of work was popular in mid-fifteenth-century Franco-Burgundian culture, where a fractious political situation sometimes made the overt enunciation of one’s political views problematic.

The Rosenbach manuscript, which is missing four stanzas between folios 7 and 8, was likely produced in Western France in the 1460s or 1470s, judging by the style of the bâtarde script and the four unframed miniatures (four more spaces for miniatures remain blank); it may well date from Chastellain’s lifetime. Ours is at least the seventh known manuscript copy of the text to be identified, and it can be added to the five exemplars listed in the Archives de littérature du moyen âge (none of which is currently fully digitized), and a copy at the Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal with eleven miniatures that has very recently been digitized. Chastellain’s text became quite popular in the early sixteenth century, as it was included in the earliest printed anthology of Middle French poetic texts, the Jardin de plaisance et fleur de rethoricque, first issued by the Parisian printer Antoine Vérard in 1502 and re-printed no fewer than eight times before 1528.

MS 443/21, fol. 1r and Georges Chastellain, L’Oultré d’amours pour amour morte, Paris, Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, Ms 5118, fol. 1r (253 x 174 mm versus 203 x 143 mm in size)

Given the popularity of this text in Renaissance France, the manuscript in question is especially notable on account of its subsequent presence in an important library some fifty years after its creation, when it was well on its way to becoming a classic. The Rosenbach manuscript was in fact once owned by Jacques Thiboust (1492–1555), a noted humanist book collector in early-sixteenth-century France.[2] Thiboust trained as a jurist and remained deeply devoted to the region around his native Bourges, in the Berry. He served as a notary and secretary to King Francis I and his sister Marguerite de Valois in an illustrious career that brought him into contact with a wide range of poets and chroniclers. He is best known for being at the center of a literary circle of friends in Bourges in the 1520s, 30s, and 40s, which brought together local clerics, merchants, scholars, and physicians, but also such luminaries as statesman Guillaume Bochetel, the archbishop of Bourges Jacques Leroy, the poet and translator of classical texts François Habert, and the eminent poet Clément Marot. Thiboust’s renown was such that already at the age of 24 he was the subject of a portrait, currently untraced, by the leading French court artist of the time, Jean Clouet. A number of personal manuscripts in Thiboust’s own hand survive, recording his land holdings surrounding his manor at Quantilly, near Bourges (Bourges, Archives départementales du Cher, G 61 and E 108; Paris, BnF, MS fr. 32954). A fascinating Friendship Book or Liber amicorum that belonged to Thiboust (Paris, BnF, MS fr. 1667) contains numerous odes and poems to Thiboust’s many friends.

We know the precise details of Thiboust’s acquisition of the Rosenbach manuscript on account of an autograph inscription he wrote on the inside front cover, in a fine bâtarde script. It reads: “C’est au Seigneur de Quantilly M. Jacques Thiboust, notaire et secrétaire du Roy et esleu en Berry. Et le luy a donné sire Jehan Jaupitre son frère. En mars 1535.” (“This belongs to the lord of Quantilly Mr. Jacques Thiboust, notary and secretary to the King, and elected in Berry. And it was given to him by his brother Jean Jaupitre, in March 1535”). Jaupitre appears to have been Thiboust’s wife Jeanne de la Font’s half brother; the manuscript thus exemplifies the type of infra-familial gift of a book that was becoming so popular in Renaissance France. “Des livres de M. Jacques Thiboust” (“From the books of M. Jacques Thiboust”) is additionally written on lower pastedown, and the date of “mars 1535” is repeated on recto of first flyleaf. The title of the work, “Cy commance le livre de l’outré d’amour pour amour morte,” has also been added in upper margin of folio 1r. Like other books that belonged to Thiboust, this manuscript has his name all over it!

MS 443/21, upper pastedown, with inscription by Jacques Thiboust, and lower pastedown, with additional inscription

As if that weren’t definite evidence enough to establish ownership, the manuscript bears Thiboust’s unique, ink-stamped ownership mark on the verso of the front flyleaf and the verso of folio 37.[3] The bookstamp displays Thiboust’s arms. These are, in French heraldic terms: “écartelé au 1 et 4 d’argent à la face de sable, chargé de trois glands d’or accompagné de trois feuilles de chêne de sinople, deux en chef, une en pointe; au 2e d’argent à une anille de moulin de sable [Dumoulin] ; au 3e d’or à deux perroquets adossés de sinople [Rusticat]; et sur le tout d’azur à une étoile-comète d’or [Villemer]. Above and below the square armorial are the mottoes, in Latin and French respectively, “Lex et Regio” and “Qui voit s’esbat,” which can be translated “Law and Region,” or “Law and Land;” and “He who sees frolicks, relaxes, or amuses oneself.”). The latter is in fact an anagram of Thiboust’s first and last names (switching I for J and a V for a U), devised by the noted poet Clément Marot.[4] For good measure, the French motto has been recopied in pen below the stamp on folio 37 verso, and signed, again, by Thiboust himself.

MS 443/21, flyleaf i verso and fol. 37v, showing the armorial bookstamp, motto, and signature of Jacques Thiboust

Thiboust’s serially reproducible woodcut ownership mark is the earliest of its kind to be used in France, and perhaps the earliest (Western) bookstamp impression to survive. It is found in other fifteenth-century manuscripts he owned (for example the anonymous La voie d’enfer et de paradis, Les Enluminures, TM 775; see their excellent description and photos), in contemporary printed books (a copy of Le couronnement du roi François [Paris, 1520] held at Yale University Library), and in significantly older items, including this twelfth-century version of Josephus’s Antiquities, now in the Bibliothèque nationale de France (ms. lat. 15427), which he gifted to his friend Bochetel. The Philadelphia manuscript is a previously unnoticed addition to Thiboust’s library, and further confirms this humanist bibliophile’s interest in the creation of a French literary canon through the collection of manuscript exemplars, even at a time when this text was widely available in print.

La voie d’enfer et de paradis, Bourges, c. 1460. Les Enluminures, TM 775, verso of final flyleaf-fol. 1r, an example of another mid-fifteenth-century French manuscript with Jacques Thiboust’s bookstamp and inscription

[1] For L’outré d’amour, see Lemaire, Jacques, “L’Oultré d’Amour de George Chastelain: un exemple ancien de construction en abyme,” Revue romane 11 (1976): 306-316.

[2] For Jacques Thiboust, see Boyer, Hippolite, Un ménage littéraire en Berry au XVIe siècle, Jacques Thiboust et Jeanne de La Font (Bourges: Impr. et Lithographie de Ve. Jollet-Souchois, 1859; Omont, H., “Un Nouveau Manuscrit de Jacques Thiboust de Bourges,” Revue d’Histoire Littéraire de La France 4, no. 1 (1897): pp. 92–97; and Le Clech-Charton, S., “Jacques Thiboust, notaire et secrétaire du roi et familier de Marguerite de Navarre: amitiés littéraires dans le Berry du ‘Beau seizième siècle’,” Cahiers d ‘Archéologie et d’Histoire du Berry 96 (March 1989), pp. 17-28; other books owned by Thiboust are discussed in Le Clech-Charton 1989.

[3] For Thiboust’s stamped bookplate, perhaps the earliest of its kind to be used in France, see Rau, Arthur, “The Earliest Extant French Armorial Ex-libris,” The Book Collector (Fall 1961), pp. 331-332.

[4] See Boyer, Un ménage littéraire, p. 58.

from WordPress http://bibliophilly.pacscl.org/the-earliest-known-french-bookstamp-in-a-book-owned-by-the-humanist-collector-jacques-thiboust/

#Uncategorized

21 notes · View notes

fabrowrites · 7 years

Text

The Green Ninjas: Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Lukas stares at the clock, drumming his pencil against the desk. The bell rings- he’s out of his seat and the classroom before anyone else even starts packing.

School is the worst. Lukas breaks out of the building, ignoring the whispers that follow him through the halls. Sunlight greets him. He greedily soaks it up. But other students spill out after him, so Lukas quickly steps out of their way.

garmadone: meet u guys at the dojo?

Lukas and his friends used to walk together after school, but the growing number of ninja hunters has made them more cautious. Others might be flattered if they were compared to the Secret Ninjas. But Lukas and his friends are the Secret Ninjas, and one person’s suspicion could lead to their identities getting out.

Something that Lukas himself almost did yesterday.

Zane: That sounds fine to me.

silver is the new gold: see you there lu!

Lukas is, effectively, an orphan. His dad is the one trying to destroy the city- that’s why Lukas trains as a ninja- and his mom abandoned him when he was six. So he lives with Master Wu, his uncle and the leader of the Secret Ninja Force.

Lukas goes in through the back door of the dojo, running up the stairs to change into his training robes. Kai and Nya are already there when he comes back down. They train with staffs, spinning and weaving around each other’s strikes. Cole and Zane enter next, followed closely by Jay.

“Hey, Lukas? Did anyone give you trouble over yesterday?”

Yesterday, Lukas had broken the first rule of being a ninja. He took off his hood and unloaded ten years of anger and bitterness at Garmadon. He doesn’t think anyone recognized his face or voice- scared away by the giant crater they confronted him at- but it was a risky move that he never should have taken.

“Other than how the green ninja’s so hyped to murder my dad? No.”

“Oh. But at least that means that your secret’s still safe, right?”

Jay gives him what’s supposed to be a reassuring grin, but just ends up looking nervous instead. Lukas manages a tired smile anyway.

“Lukas! Think fast!”

A staff comes spinning his way. Lukas snatches it from the air. Nya attacks overhead and jabs at his neck. Lukas blocks the first and knocks the second off-course. They exchange blows, the rhythmic sounds of wood against wood echoing through the arena.

Nya spins her staff, striking hard against Lukas’. She follows up with a quick slash upwards, and his staff is sent flying.

“Nice work, Nya,” Lukas says. Master Wu has put him in charge of their after-school training sessions. And after weeks of hyper-analyzing every word he says, the role of leader and instructor is coming more and more easily to him. “Your defense was a little weak, but I think your attacks make up for it.”

“The best defense is a strong offense,” Nya quotes.

Lukas searches out his other teammates.

“Hey Zane, can you keep working with Kai and Nya on their blocking techniques?”

“Of course, Lukas.”

The white ninja steps into the training grounds, bowing to the siblings before drawing his bow. Zane’s a robot, which means his aim is freakishly accurate. Kai and Nya’s staffs blur as they deflect arrow after arrow.

“Jay, I’m gonna go work on our mechs. Wanna come?”

Jay shrugs apologetically. “Cole’s helping me with my literature report.”

Lukas nods. He couldn’t care less about his grades, but getting good marks is important for the blue ninja. “Okay. Well, keep up the good work, everyone.”

He spends a couple hours tinkering with the green dragon’s repulsors, fine-tuning the controls. When dinner rolls around, he leaves his work reluctantly and goes to prepare food for the team. He stares into the fridge with glazed eyes. The labels swim in and out of his vision. Huh. Maybe he should get some more sleep.

Ha. Like he has time for that.

Lukas almost doesn’t hear the rapping on the door, too busy letting all the cold out of the refrigerator. He straightens up, interest piqued. No one ever visits them, not since the word got out that Lukas lives in the dojo. It’s probably bill collectors. But his curiosity gets the better of him, and he unlocks the door and pulls it open.

Standing on the doorstep is a little blond boy. Lukas notices his glinting metal armor right away- a sheathed sword on his hip, a dark samurai helmet, a set of pauldrons guarding his shoulders- and tenses.

The kid looks up at Lukas, and his pupils are the color of blood.

“Are you Lukas Garmadon?”

Chills go up his spine. Lukas’ mouth is dry. “Who are you?”

The kid draws himself up to his full height. “I’m Lloyd,” he says haughtily. “Lloyd Garmadon. And you are my brother.”

#green ninjas au #l loyd #lloyd #ninjago #tlnm #cinemajago

11 notes · View notes