#If I ever allow myself to express specific inspiration it's just gonna play out like ...

[heartshapedcreaturefromcriptoon]

The deal with my deer tail: Continued from the last tagged post (MENTIONS OF EX’S AND OHS OFF THE PORT BOW).

Like, I’m very painfully aware that this is %200 a trauma/coping thing that I’ve developed for myself now because deer were … My exe’s absolute favorite animal of all time ever and he associated with them deeply in regards to certain aspects of his personality and hobbies and this kinda plays a little bit into why I was attracted to him in the first place because it was such unique interest for someone to have and then ….Of course his favorite film ever was “Bambi” like, to the point of having the plushies and the original ORIGINAL book by Felix Salten along with it’s original sequel book and everything and it’s like …So odd for me because I live right by the woods in the middle of nowhere anyway and not a day goes by without discussion of these creatures in my house or without an offer to go “deer spotting” or “Bambi Spotting”… And I don’t have much room to say “no” because who would say “no” to deer sighting so I typically just go along with as if it doesn’t effect me because I have no choice…..  And anyway outside of my home life I know tumblr typically loves deer and deer aesthetics as well and while I thought I’ve been trying to go out of my way to avoid this particular animal (at least on social media if I’m unable to in my home life) for the longest time because I associate them so deeply with my ex … Because deer were *HIS* thing … I’m slowly coming to terms with this creeping realization that I’ve had that I’ve not only been surrounded by the actual animal since before I met him …. But I’ve also just … Been surrounded by just …. All these deer characters and deer aesthetic since he left me…. And that also hurts me ….Because ….Since he’d been trying to find ways to get back in contact with me for the better part of the decade yearly since then, without ever apologizing, and since 2017 I’ve only had two years without receiving something from him in order to fully process how he’d been in my life for a near full decade like, wether I wanted  him to be or not … That sort of just … devolved into this odd habit of me projecting unto certain characters with these kind of aesthetics and relationship dynamics to help cope because he never gave me anything else and it’s weird because I started to seek out these things and look at them in context to my relationship with this person and I just felt ….. bittersweet but okay because I would think of him and I would think of the way that he used to make me feel and feel and I would feel sad but because of the nature and narrative that I was projecting toward I would also feel comforted in a way and validated and calm? Which is also the way I’d start to feel whenever I’d see an actual deer or mention of deer or even see clips or concept art from “Bambi” or a baby deer …

But ………

So back in 2018, just a couple days after what would have been one of our “anniversaries” had past, and I hadn’t even keeping track of how many at that point but like, basically something happened that triggered me into a remember the time that in 2013 he had found my tumblr and followed me without warning, context or permission, without even speaking to me after finding me the year before this just to let me know how much he couldn’t care less about me, apparently ….. which, sure, Jan.

But … This time he was freaking me out because he was just following me silently on a blank account out of nowhere and I kind of managed to find what could’ve been considered my first ever girlfriend within the six months to a year that he’d been out of my life and it is me and this new girl had only “official” for 3 days after like, 6 months of slow burn flirting with each other and then this other cowardice arsehole who didn’t even have the dignity to speak to me proper was … Someone who had known for me for 3 years and someone whom I had once shared the most intimate parts of myself with.

In short I could already foresee this becoming a pattern after he’d managed to contact me the last time so I ended up breaking down and having a panic attack.

I didn’t know what to do and I felt sick to my stomach and I didn’t want him putting me in a spot, so…  I made a screen cap and a post and kind of explaining who he was and how he hurt me and how I didn’t want him hurting my girlfriend or anyone else so just PLEASE don’t talk to him etc. And then I blocked him and threw up. And would-be-girlfriend blocked me the next day because of this…

A couple weeks later around New Years, I decided to log into the old hotmail account that I had just because I was curious….

The first email that he sent me was to let me know that he was going to follow me on tumblr and he was asking how my Christmas was and inquiring how I was doing, he wanted to know if I was “fine”. His version of pet names all included as if nothing had gone wrong between us ….

The next three emails, sent within minutes of each other, each only sentences long, were all responding to my reaction to his following me on tumblr without a word, without context, and seemingly without context …. These emails all of which I did not end up saving or screen caping because…. I’m pretty much 99% freaking. Percent. SURE! That he stated something passively along the lines of: “ If I REALLY wanted to *BLANK* , I would have done so… >.>” cause I distantly remember his little side eye emoji that he placed after the words “done so”  and like, it’s really easy to kind of place the words “HURT YOU” in the middle of that, because that’s what I was talking about him doing in context, which would lead to at least vaguely remembering this in a full sentence as: “If I REALLY wanted to hurt you, I would have done so … >.>”

So yes, I’m at least 99% sure that he had threatened me, like that …  

And of course I didn’t respond, but I do remember feeling threatened enough that it made my heart race and it made me cry and I needed to ask my mom for champaign to calm and I also remember that the whole reason why I didn’t save those emails was because if I did it would make the threat real and would need to tell my parents and I just didn’t want to think of him that way or what he’d meant by that and because this was already becoming a pattern, I didn’t want to spend another entire year of being paranoid he was planning something …

And he also kept going about what a nice guy he was and told me to have a nice life and told me he was gonna check up on me anymore and said that I treated him like shit …

So I just took a sip of my champaign, told myself I’d see him in a year, and deleted his emails… This was in 2013.

In 2014, I caught him spying on me through the visitors page of an account I’d already gone out of my way to block him on, and I noticed that, even though it been two years, he still had the icon that I had personally picked out for him as his avatar, an odd memory to keep from someone you claim to not care about, constantly ….

In 2015,  he sent me a silent skype request…

In 2016.. He found my tumblr again …Actually saying something where I could access it this time … He sent me like, 7 IM’s and for the most part was back to being nice as pie, back to his version of calling me pet names and everything …  claimed that he just wanted to say Hello …

He said that we could talk someday if I wanted to and that it was up to me … I still didn’t answer, because for one this was past midnight on Friday The 13th and when I saw that I had 7 IM’s and a new follower I just …. I got this sinking gut feeling that I knew that it was him and then I told myself that I was being paranoid again and that he couldn’t possibly because I’d already blocked him and so I opened up the messages just to prove to myself that I was wrong and got met with his username and a single smiley face emoji like:

:)

“:)” Was the first thing I saw when I opened his messages…

And I immediately closed them out again and I closed tumblr out and I just sat there …. for awhile … Because the last thing he did say to me verbally was to threaten me and tell me that I treated him like shit …  And I had no way of knowing what could be behind that smiley face …

But I needed to know … So I opened the messages and read them …

And that’s when he went back to being as nice as his own pie recipe and seemingly pretending like those emails and the spying didn’t happen …

Like, I don’t know if he knew I knew about them, but I have an inkling he must’ve otherwise he wouldn’t have been that cocky … “:)” is not a friendly smiley face, nor will it ever be.

And in the middle before all that he was like: “Let’s hope you don’t bite my head off this time …. xD” referring back to only the 2013 incident when I said something indirectly and that scared away the girl I was about to maybe start something with, again as if that didn’t happen ….

So, I didn’t answer him, because he didn’t earn it.

So like yeah, back in 2018, due to …. certain contexts of certain things which would also lead into me having anticipated myself getting caught up in an over abundance of people’s appreciation for deer, due to something that I not mention, I’d also been triggered/hit with a sharp realization that, October 27th, 2019 would have been the 10 year anniversary of having met that person in the first place, if he hadn’t discarded me after 3 years and then spent like, the better part of the decade trying to get in contact with me, upon the deeper realization that, even as of now, I’ve only really officially had this person out of my life for two years, and on top of that, he’d still find a way of showing up in my life Every. Single. Year. For the past four years. And now I would have to be dealing with an over abundance of deer and ‘Bambi’ references and puns, even more so than I obviously did and still do now, in my home life…

So my reaction was to laugh. REALLY fucking hard. And then I realized that deer might actually just…. LEGIT be my trigger always and then I started crying laughing cause I was just like “OH dear GOD… (and I can’t even like, say that that or type that without it already being a pun without it being a pun …which only makes it FUNNIER …) I might LEGIT have Bambiphobia!”

And then I broke down. Because I didn’t know how to feel about this or how I was gonna deal with it.

I’m still figuring out how I feel about this and how I’m dealing with it ….

My ex  …. Was….He wasn’t a very complex boy but, he had always been more ,… In touch with things like femininity and sensitivity, or at least made a show of it, but I’d like to think he was genuinely like that considering what his interests were and he might’ve been autistic too just, looking back on things in context?

(His absolute FAVORITE music to listen to was also Owl City and he loved Adam Young, and considering Adam Young is self diagnosed and my ex’s special interest in deer, and Bambi and the books and the plushies and the the way he could just …talk and talk to me about anything for hours and hours and hours and we’d never we’d never get tired of each other…. I’ve just been doing all this math in my head I’m not trying to imply anything bad about these things and they all play into factors of why I was originally attracted to him to begin with).

He openly identified as Bisexual before I even knew what that was for myself and still kind of considered myself “Straight but not Narrow TM” or whatever kind of definition I saw on Television.

He wrote poetry as a hobby and of course knew how to play the piano while I did none of those things.

He was 17 when I met him but due to cultural difference of where he lived… he enjoyed wine and opera.

He was extremely well spoken and charming and articulate, and he also loved Mr. Rodger’s and Albert Einstein to the point of just having just … One big black and white poster of Albert in his room and one time, he was going on about his admiration for Rodger’s and so innocently told me how he intended to write and send him fan-letters one day and then reasonably became extremely upset when I informed that Rodger’s passed away, and I felt even more so helpless to comfort him when he asked me if I could tell him a little bit more about Rodger’s life to make him feel better and I knew absolutely nothing about the man aside from vaguely remembering that I used to watch his show when I was small …

So yeah my ex’s personality could essentially be summed up as: “ Eccentric, Silly “Smart” boy”, if I needed to …

He once excused himself when I told him that I needed to eat soon and came back, all decked out in a tuxedo to “have dinner together”, and I was about to eat a taco…

This one time he noticed that I was super uncomfortable and upset because I just watched this disgusting ableist film that had like incest in and shit and I didn’t wanna tell him but he got it out it out of me and HE KNEW WHAT FILM I WAS TALKING ABOUT AND THEN WANT ON BIG RANT AND ESSAY ABOUT HOW VILE IT WAS AND HOW I SHOULD PAY IT NO MIND AND AFTERWARDS HE WAS LIKE: “You know what? We need some music to wash the taste out of our mouths…” and then he just started playing the piano to calm me down further.

And I’m only saying it like this because incase no one has noticed it’s been a little bit more… Confusing? For me to try and throw a man like this into everyone’s typical “FuckBoyTM” box and call that “Healing”.

I wouldn’t even wanna put labels on him …  

I genuinely feel as though I would need to think back to olden times in order to find a way to insult him that would accurately combat and deconstruct the amount of passion we brought out in each other, if it is appropriate to speak of my feelings for him in this context.

His mistreatment of women that he did not like …. Left much to be desired in regards to his attitude. Though his comments were mostly reserved for his half sister, my half sister, and fictional characters and I’m not bringing this up to try and say that this was justified or frame it into a: “Well, he never did that to ME sort of picture …” Though, the odd thing is that, for all the things that my younger self had shared with him, after his abandonment, ever year for four years I’d kept on waiting for the shoe to drop and for him to call me names and slurs and for the verbal abuse to finally commence and he just …

He wouldn’t do any of that. He never did. Not once. Not even during times he would get angry with me when we were together.

So when HE DID, lose his patience with me, he never resorted to name calling, so when he said and did things that hurt me, that he should’ve known better for doing, that meant he was really fucking harsh ….

So harsh, that one night….. It would be the final night I’d ever thought I’d speak to him again. Or at least begin to test him to see if he would come back and apologize and therein lies the the issue: HE ALWAYS came back, HE NEVER apologized.

Perfect. Gentleman. (Of course I’m using sarcasm).

Seriously, you know that new chat post about Male Victorian Novel Protagonist has fucked by his Lady Love and Knows This, BUT is Too Proud to admit this though still pines for her so when he speaks to her now he just: *sweats*…Is your family in good health?

Legit triggers my PTSD cause for the past four years with me it’s been just: Hey mate. Wanted to see how your X-mas was. Is your family okay? Are you fine? I’ve got some time off… Okay fine, I won’t check on you anymore, it’s not like I still love you or anything, baka! >.<  *cue two more  years of silent bating before* Hey kiddo you doing okay? I know it’s late but my days off today and if you wanna talk someday you can I’ll leave you alone now! :)

Like I know I’m paraphrasing but that’s pretty much it (and I know I know I’m sorry for the “baka” joke, but he WAS a huge otaku nerd to a certain extent and all the anime that I would watch before I really started interacting with AMV editing community on YouTube was recommended him so needless to say I do not watch Anime so much anymore but I couldn’t resist making a “baka” joke in my own mind while reading his poorly veiled passive aggression and it’s written down and out of my system how I’m gotten to properly share one of the ways I’ve teased him for this if only in my own mind.

The thing that makes me feel weird/guilty about all this though is despite his behavior suspicious as shenanigans, he’d only ever attempt close contact once per year (as far as I know) and as far as I know aside from that one time I’d caught him spying on an art group from an account I’d already blocked him on which I don’t really know how he found (which okay, still a little shaken up about that one every time I type about it) his way of always popping up in my life somehow never really strayed from his ordinarily open way of trying to do it, and he’d never verbally abuse me or call me names or slurs while this was happening, despite how condescending or ominous he was while trying to get a razzle out of me …

MEANWHILE, because I let him get a razzle out of me, no matter how long ago it was before I found cpunk, I ended up deliberately calling him an extreme ableist slur just to send him away from away from me, over what was nothing more than a silly misunderstanding and classic case of miscommunication because I couldn’t see his first email and didn’t think to check before I went off on him, regardless if the misunderstanding could’ve been prevented if he communicated directly or not.

And I was too caught up in my reaction to him choosing being ominous and condescending when once he finally decided to try to speak to me again after two years of silent lurking after the last time he tried to speak to me he passively threatened me, that I didn’t get to take back the use of my ableist language toward when I had the chance. Which is the only thing that I’d ever apologize for before his, if he ever gave me one, and of course not conditionally for the both of us.  

My ex’s most sensitive spot has always been his mental health and I’ve always known this because I found out once in the early stages of our relationship when we were roleplaying and I went a little too far with my character, so that’s in 2013 when I panicked I decided to say something…like that to upset him in hopes that he would leave me alone but I was really more hurt than I was scared and I would have confronted him directly but again I had a putting it quite bluntly flakey rebound “girlfriend” at the time and I had no idea where she was and I was freaking out and I didn’t want him putting me in a spot and I didn’t know what would happen if he left me alone. And this was at a time when I was taking the “stealth” mode about being disabled. Partially because of him (Gee I WONDER what could’ve happened).

The only person who knew this about me, very intimately (not intimately enough), was him and of course at the time I would NEVER tell my silly abled-bodied brit of a rebound girlfriend.

So, I did what I did and I said what I said.

At the time I only became slightly afraid when I read his reaction in those emails, and then the next year when I caught him spying on already blocked account and the blocking system worked both ways so I had no way of confronting him about it even if I wanted to ether way.

Though, I was admittedly slightly comforted knowing that he never changed the icon I’d picked out for him ….enough to kinda calm me down a bit…… Is that weird of me? It was weird of him.

Now because of this trigger and the context of certain things as to WHY this was such a strong trigger and in context of certain things that we both said… and in regards of the way he handled trying to get back in contact with me for four years and responded to the one reaction he got out of me and proceeded to continue the pattern for 3 years when he couldn’t just used that time to apologize like I’d been waiting for him to do and meanwhile I’m still… confused  and guilty … because the first and final reaction he ever got out of me was …that.

For the past year now…. I haven’t been able to stop myself from crying and I just don’t feel like I can let it be like this anymore because I already felt awful about everything before but relating everything in context of the trigger which is another case where I could actually use it help cope is just making me feel so much worse.

What makes this even worser though is that this particular trigger is not only very popular and very public and with this substantial involvement of deer and deer aesthetics and then certain aesthetics  and even names …. That I feel like only the two of us would get that it’s just ouch… But like, this thing is also interconnected with Owl City, like not officially but in it’s own way? Which is one of the first things that I thought of once I let the trigger settle because one of the FIRST questions that my ex asked me the day that I met him was wether or not I liked Owl City and I had never even heard of them before so I looked them up and my heart melted and I just knew I had to keep this God Damn Fucking Ray Of Sunshine in my miserable life and never let him go….

And I like to think obviously that the tables must have turned a little bit since then which is another part of what makes using my triggers as coping mechanisms if I can, so cathartic and funny to me and why people can pry this method from my hysterical hands …..

But what I’m getting at here making the Owl City mention even though I hadn’t had myself listen to a single Goddamn thing of theirs for 7 years up until this FREAKING. YEAR (because the tears were already flooding, my honey’s, so I figured MIGHT AS WELL! And yes I did end up crying my eyes out like I knew that would happen if I’d ever let myself listen to Adam Young ever again …) is that… This this thing….. That I love….. Is also a thing my ex would love ….And the reason that all my projectional coping mechanisms work so well is because the dynamics that remind me of our relationship tend to work both ways and is probably part of the reason how I was able to keep (at least reasonably) calm through the 4 years he kept tabs on me was because I felt like I had this very specific trope-y outlet to project my feelings onto and I know that he was a nerd so, if he was … paying attention and absorbing the same media I was …(he would’ve already learned how to apologize…)

No, but seriously, the difference is with THIS media though… Is because it has so many ties to so many of his own aesthetics and things he enjoys …..I just know ….. That he was seeing exactly what I was seeing. I was DREADING the concept of knowing that I was going to fall in love with this thing from the very beginning and it got to the point where I’d be reminded of certain elements I’d forgotten or I’d see certain things play-out for the the first time and, my breath would hitch in my chest …. and I feel guilty (You cannot be attracted to this you cannot be attracted to this you cannot be attracted to this. Not THIS time. Not again. Never again.  Stop it …. Stop it…Stop it.  Because ether way this is bad. This is terrible. This is going to be by far the WORST one because you know it involves the actual THING now for both you instead of just elements of the thing why are you subjecting yourself to this?!  You know he’s seeing this right now….If he watched the Owl City thing that we’re not watching, then he’s watching this. And YOU shouldn’t be watching this ether!

And so, I would discipline myself to disassociate: You will NOT project THAT relationship onto these two characters, they haven’t even interacted yet!

And then …. that happened. They interacted. And it obviously felt so much worse then…. I prepared myself two seconds in for how it was gonna play out. But I wasn’t prepared that it would end ….or even be that close to home. And then I reminded myself that he was probably watching the same thing that I was, as I’ve always done because it was fun being reminded I was right, my only solace really because projecting myself through these characters was the closest I’d ever get to an apology, but the time that the first viewing was over, everything just felt so wrong and I just felt so uncomfortable about everything and I started to cry cause I knew my reactions to this dynamic were gonna be the most intense from here on out and ………I was so confused and afraid of my own emotions at that moment… And I was feeling a lot of them.  

What concerned me the most here though,  was being almost certain of the fact that that, if I was watching and it triggered a reaction, HE was most likely watching and it triggered a reaction.... And given the context of the trigger that I’m talking about .... I mean, if it hit close enough to send me into a freaking emotional whiplash and make ME breakdown and make cry and make sick enough to tell my parents and they didn’t even care ... because they said that they already “knew”...(not even discussing the fact that a year later, I would be assaulted by the one man in my family who should have never been the one to guide me through something so awkward but who “helped” me through this emotionally but, again would beat me a year later while my useless mother watched and laughed and would tell me it was it was my fault and I would end briefly removed from my home because of this because he’d left me with bruises and a permeant physical scar    ... over food) 

...then, I can’t help but think of how my ex would ....Ether be absolutely disgusted with himself or... be... very entertained by all of this. Or both. I know I’ve been both.

And oh, remember all that emotional whiplash I just mentioned in the above paragraph? Well it’s only gotten worse as time went on. Right now I’d say it’s at it’s peak.

Funny this thing is ....I’d been trying to fight back against this temptation to reach out to my ex since this whole thing started and like .... Once we were well into 2019 I just .... realized that fighting this wasn’t going to work anymore if certain circumstances were going to be what they were and things ended up cutting so close to what I feared that it almost doesn’t matter anyway and it still hurts me just as much if not now more so, because of other certain happenings that I will not mention.  

And now I can openly admit why the entirety of 2019 has just felt like a ticking time bomb to me. Like of course there are plenty of other factors adding into why .... I’ve been preparing to go through with reaching out to him now but ,like... My paranoia has been like, trying to tell me that this has all just been one big long game or a test and has been making me feel as though he had somehow pre-planned this all and is he currently anticipating me contacting him before 2019 is over.   

And that notion is driving me just as bananas as the idea of actually letting myself go through with contacting him.

So I might as well.

I mean ....

Our relationship was taken extremely seriously by the the both of us for the most part... up until the end.

And we were technically each others first times. 

We weren’t even dating, really... I just refer to him as my “ex” to make things less complicated..... But for those three years.... We were each others partners....In a way. It just makes things easier to say He Vas My Boyfriend.

I’m suggesting it that would make sense if he would want to try getting back in contact with me and check on me but feel shy and not know how to make it better since he’d have to understand how he fucked up that badly. And for a time... he was the only one who kept extending the invitations for contact.

At least this way I can check to see if he’s okay. 

Everything is so fucked up. I know this.

Though Christmas might be the right time to except his last open invitation, all things considered.

I would’ve originally had more time to plan this out had it not been for everything that happened.

My coping mechanisms are as bitter as wormwood and as sharp as a doubled edge sword. 

I’m just a creature. That’s it. I cannot change this.

I might not be online for a while.

Another Friday the 13th.

Well fancy that.

[inkykeiji]

bright light city gonna set my soul on fire

ace anon said: wanna suggest dabi taking you to a poker game as a good luck charm then betting you on a game and losing...or winning and bragging about it by fucking you on the table

genre: smut + implied crooked secret agent/spy AU set in the late 1950s???

notes: AH ace i loved this idea SO MUCH it ended up sparking an entire fic!! heavily inspired by ian fleming’s 1953 novel casino royale + martin campbell’s 2006 film casino royale. it is set in clari’s version of the 1950s and in no way historically accurate!! think of it as an AU of the 1950s, if that makes sense ehehe | title credit: viva las vegas by elvis | songs mentioned in the fic itself: don’t and i beg of you by elvis, rockin’ robin by bobby day

warnings: 18+, period typical use of the word Daddy (not with dabi), inappropriate use of the word Mister, slight degradation, mentioned somnophilia, slight dacryphilia, minimal prep, night terrors, blood, murder, generally toxic codependant relationship, one implied mention of drug use (morphine), mentions of tense family dynamics

words: 8.5k

synopsis:

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

He saw the perfect weapon, a diamond in the rough just waiting—begging—to be cleaned and cut and formed into the most brilliant gem, into the most ideal accomplice for him—because, really, what’s more dangerous than a beautiful woman? Especially when she looks like innocence personified?

Sticky pink candy, translucent and gleaming with saliva, clacks against teeth as you roll the heart-shaped lollipop around in your mouth, twirling the stick between your index finger and your thumb.

Legs kick idly as you lean back on your other hand, seated on the edge of Tomura’s massive, pristine mahogany desk, watching as his personal tailor helps Dabi shrug on a navy tuxedo jacket, stitched and sown perfectly to his measurements.

“I dunno,” he’s saying as he pivots his body a little, making a face at himself in the mirror. “I still think the black looks better,”

Ruby eyes roll up towards the ceiling, a frustrated groan spilling from between Tomura’s lips.

“You always think the black looks better. We’re going with the navy, it brings out your eyes,” he gives the back of Dabi’s head a sharp look before strolling towards you, features softening as he observes—the perfect picture of innocence, legs swinging slowly in cute little motions, strawberry lollipop sucked against the roof of your mouth, sparkling eyes floating from your boyfriend’s broad shoulders to his—your—boss’s face as he advances.

“Gimme some,” he demands, large hands finding your knees and halting your movement, using his hipbones to push them wider, making a space for himself between them and sticking his tongue out. With a giggle, you place the now misshapen candy on his tongue, gasping loudly as he snatches the candy from you, movements too quick for you to catch, and jumps away with the grace of a cat.

“Daddy!”

Tomura snickers around the lollipop in his mouth, sucking it into his cheek as he speaks around it. “Aw, come now, don’t pout,” his bottom lip pushes out to mimic your expression, tilting his head in false sympathy. “I’m sure your Mister will buy you another,”

“He better,” you mumble through your pout, eyebrows knitting together as arms cross tightly over your chest, eyes flitting to Dabi.

“I will, dollface, I will,” he vows distractedly, gaze not straying from his fingers reflected in the mirror as they fiddle with his bowtie.

“Promise, Mister?”

“Promise, baby, promise,”

Dabi’s already been briefed on the specifics of this mission—something to do with playing a poker game with a bunch of other crooked hotshots at the Sahara hotel in Las Vegas, but that’s all you know. That’s all you’re authorized to know.

Despite being Dabi’s accomplice and working for Tomura’s underground organization, you’re rarely allowed to be in Tomura’s office while the briefing happens. It’s sensitive information, dollface, and the less you know the better, and don’t misbehave now, sit pretty and quiet like a good little girl until the big boys are finished, and then Daddy and Mister will give you a pretty reward.

But! you had protested with a bottom lip involuntarily jutted out. But maybe, if I know more, I can be of better help—

But Tomura had shut that idea down before it had even finished leaving your lips.

No. Absolutely not. It’s for your own good—your own safety, you little brat—why can’t you understand that? 

You do understand that, you’ve been told a thousand times—your specialty is distractions, used to keep enemies occupied before Dabi splatters their brains on marble floors, or to pry information out of men weak to the smile of a pretty girl.

And, to be fair, Tomura does reward you pretty generously, with glittering evening gowns and designer pumps and all the handbags a gal could ever want.

You turn back to face him, red lips spread into a cunning, mischievous smile, a smile he knows all too well, a smile Dabi loves—because he taught it to you—and Tomura hates—because it means you’re about to get what you want. “So. How much money are you giving me to play with this time, Daddy?”

Tomura’s face screws up, nose scrunching. “None,” he spits, removing the lollipop from his mouth. Tiny hands grab at the air, reaching for it like a child, Tomura swiping it just out of grasp as he continues his scolding. “Last time, you nearly bought the entire shopping complex,”

“Ah, c’mon, boss,” Dabi says around a cigar, still standing in front of the full-length mirror and smoothing down his clothing. “Give the lil lady a lil somethin’, will ya?”

“Yeah, boss, c’mon,” you plead, mimicking your boyfriend, adorning your face with your signature pout and award-winning puppy-dog eyes.

“Absolutely not.” His voice is stern as he speaks, facial features hard in finality and resolution, but his eyes—irises a crimson so brilliant, so beautiful it’s terrifying, almost looks as if it’s glowing—are beginning to waver.

“You know, if you don’t, then I’m sure I’ll get bored in that big city all by myself while Dabi’s working,” you begin in a singsong voice, eyebrows raising. “And you know what happens when I get bored, Daddy,”

“She gets int’a trouble,” Dabi grumbles, eyes catching yours through the mirror, though there’s a smirk forming around the cigar, held between sharp gleaming ivory teeth.

“S’true,” you nod simply, eyelashes fluttering as you gaze at Tomura. “Please, Daddy? Pretty please? I swear I won’t spend too much this time,”

“Jus’ give ‘er your credit card r’somethin’,” Dabi waves a hand in nonchalance before patting down his pockets. “I’ll keep a’eye on ‘er, promise,”

“Take that damn cigar out of your mouth and speak properly,” Tomura spits, and you and Dabi share another look, another smirk, through the mirror. “Fine, alright? Fine,” nimble fingers pull out a sleek leather wallet, flipping it open and searching through the card slots, grumbling to himself. “Christ, the two of you are insufferable, I swear to God,”

“Thank you, Daddy,” you giggle, soft and gentle and innocent, all of the things you weren’t mere moments ago. Platinum plastic gleams in your fingers as you tilt the card in the light, gaze captivated by the way it sparkles and glitters as you speak again. “Promise I’ll bring you back something neat,”

     ✰          ✰          ✰

It’s been a few years now since the two of you met, since the two of you became partners, and Dabi swears to high heaven and back that he had tried his hardest not to fall in love with you, cross his heart, hope to die.

At least, that’s what he likes to tell himself. In actuality, he fell for you the moment he laid eyes on you—it’s as cliché and cheesy as one of those Jimmy Dean flicks, but goddamn it, it’s true all the same.

Doesn’t help that that’s one of the first things you said to him, though.

You look like Jimmy Dean, Mister, you had giggled dainty behind your hand, batting those long, thick eyelashes as you gazed up at him, gracious and polite and all the things a good little girl like you should be. Is supposed to be.

It made him want to fucking ruin you. It sparked a white-hot fire deep in the pit of his stomach, a blaze that grew, and grew, and grew with each of your cute mannerisms. It procured an inferno full of pure desire, heady and intoxicating, that nearly engulfed him in an instant.

“Oh, yeah?” he had asked with a smirk, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest, tongue running along his front teeth as he steadily held your eyes. “‘N why’s that, little miss?”

Those eyes, the sparkling ones that had been so bold only a moment ago, bashfully flitted down to the teal typewriter sitting in front of you on a large oak desk, fiddling a little with your nails against the worn keys.

Baby pink. Cute.

“Oh I—I—” your gaze flashed up to his for a moment, intense cobalt burning into your very skull, before you averted your stare again. “Well, I-I don’t mean to be rude, Mister, it’s just that—your hair,”

Sapphire eyes flicked up, as if to gaze at his forehead, as if he were able to see his own hair from just that motion, eyebrows raising with the action.

“S’all messy like the way he wears his. You know, when he’s not doing a picture and all that,”

And you noticed your mistake immediately, eyes widening, tongue tripping over your words in your haste to correct yourself, to speak properly, like a lady. “I-It’s all messy, s-sorry, excuse me, it’s all messy like the way he wears his,”

A smirk, slow and dangerous, spread across his face as he observed you, tilting his head a little as his eyes travelled down your neck, to your shoulders and the sweetheart neckline of that pretty, pretty dress, and then back up again, narrowing slightly as they did so. It’s in that moment that Dabi first wondered what you’d sound like underneath him while sharp hipbones bruise his name into the tender flesh of your inner thighs, how you’d slur your words together then.

His voice was a touch huskier when he spoke again. “You like Jimmy, miss?”

“I sure do,” you nodded, painted lips morphing into a little melancholic smile as you looked down at the typewriter again. “It’s a real shame he passed,”

“Sure is,” Dabi mimicked your movement, giving a simple nod in agreement. “But thank you for the compliment, doll, I’ll take it,”

Your head snapped back up. “Oh, c’mon, m’not stupid y’know,” you huffed with a roll of your eyes and a light laugh.

“No?”

The traces of amusement that played in his azure eyes had your own narrowing a little in response, sitting up straighter as you rolled your shoulders back.

“No,” you shook your head. “I know who you are,”

“Yeah? And who’s that?”

“Touya.”

And it’s the way you said his birthname, the way your lips curled into a devious little smile around the word, the way one of your perfectly arched eyebrows raised in question, in challenge, that had confirmed it for him, right then and there, in that stupidly luxurious office.  

“Touya Todoroki.”

He was sure he had to have you. He was positive he had to make you his—forever.

“You’ve been compared to Jimmy since he debuted—”

“And you know this because—”

“—because I read Time and Vogue and all those other stupid magazines, just like all the other women in this country. And I’ve seen you,” you paused to point a manicured nail at him. “On or in every single one,”

Oh, and he was sure you had, sure you knew that he was notorious for stealing several of his father’s girlfriends when he was in his early twenties, infamous for fucking them and then selling the Polaroid’s and information to vying tabloids and the like. He always did like to spice up those stories a little, to fluff them and make them a hint more scandalous, glamorous—those ones always sold for more.

Not that he needed the money.

“It’s rude to point, baby,” he winked before he straightened up, pushed himself off the wall and stalked towards your desk, stopping in front of it as large hands splayed out on the wood, and leaned close to your face.

“And I don’t go by that name anymore, sweetheart,” he had told you, voice smooth as scotch over ice, though something dangerous glinted in his eyes as they carefully searched your face, something omnious etched into the sharp smile on his face

A shiver crawled up your spine, frosty and slow, fingers tiptoeing up each vertebra as you nodded your understanding. “Y-Yes, sir,”

The door to your boss’s office had swung open then, Dabi straightening up and spreading his arms out in a grand sweeping movement.

“David!” he greeted as if the two were old friends, large smile stretched too tight across his face as he walked forward and clapped a large hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. “How are you doing?”

He murdered your boss that day. You didn’t know, of course, didn’t have a goddamn clue until over a month later, Dabi had made sure of that. But by the time you found out, you were already in too deep; too enamoured by him, wholly captivated by him in every sense of the word, too dependant on him, to care at all.

He had made it quick—quiet and painless and looking as if it was an accident, strolling out of the office only a few moments later and asking you out on a date like nothing had happened, words flowing smoothly from his lips in that drawl that is so distinctly him, almost lazy in a way, glittering lidded sapphire scalding your skin with its intensity.

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

He saw the perfect weapon, a diamond in the rough just waiting—begging—to be cleaned and cut and formed into the most brilliant gem, into the most ideal accomplice for him—because, really, what’s more dangerous than a beautiful woman? Especially when she looks like innocence personified?

Nothing, that’s what.

Honestly, he did you a favour—he swears he could see it in your eyes, sparkling as they gazed at him like he sculpted the moon himself, pleading for someone—for him—to come along and take care of you, to put you in your place, to keep you in line, absolutely desperate for someone to mold you, shape you, construct and arrange you into his most perfect creation.

Perfect, perfect, perfect, that’s what you are; so good for him, so obedient and compliant, always hanging on his every word and eagerly awaiting his next command, enthusiastic to submit to him, to please him, to receive the praise you crave so badly.

And Tomura had agreed, too, after only fifteen minutes of meeting you, of observing you, of assessing you, that you’d be a flawless addition to their operation.

So Dabi did what he does best.

He started slow, of course, enchanted you with strings of pearls and gorgeous dresses and expensive dinners, fed you tidbits about his mysterious lifestyle, about his family and his job and his past, just enough to keep you coming back for more, until you were practically begging him to let you in, to permit you to join his vocation, to accompany him on the wild ride that is his life.

And that was the best part of all—you didn’t care, you wanted it just as badly as he did; wanted to help him, to serve him, to be his, without ever requiring the full story. You readily gave everything up for him, accepted his orders, his wants and his needs without as much as a single question, never faltering in your honesty, in your pure devotion to your creator.

It’s love in its truest form, you’re both sure of it—possessed by one another, infatuated with one another, dedicated to one another—both consumed by the most potent drug, this love, a force to be reckoned with, the strongest pull either of you have ever felt before.

And, really, what more could you ask for?

     ✰          ✰          ✰

He took you under his wing, crafted you into a master of manipulation, pairing it perfectly with that innocent kitten demeanour you wear so well, and taught you everything he knew: all of the infiltration techniques and self-defence he had learned before he was ostracized from his father’s company—a privatized intelligence agency that works closely with the federal government—the very organization he’s been working so tirelessly to burn to the ground.

You still don’t exactly know what happened. He doesn’t like to talk about it, about where those scars decorating his body came from, about why he’s thrown away his old identity and constructed a new one, trading ivory hair and a high-fashion wardrobe for inky black and weathered Levi jeans with big black motorcycle boots.

But you do know a little.

He had been the favourite son, the chosen son, the one set to inherit the empire his father had built. That was, until he got himself into an accident—one that he still isn’t ready to disclose the full details of, and you never push. But you know it had involved a twelve year old Touya—always devious, crafty, and ever-so intelligent, even as a child—sneaking along on a mission he absolutely shouldn’t have. The silvery burns that adorn his skin, puckered and soft and shimmering like moonlight when they catch in the sun, scars tinged with the slightest hint of baby pink, are from this incident. Whatever had happened after had scarred his soul forever.

Because you’ve never encountered such intense hatred, burning bright blue flames that rage and roar inside of him, the words that are spit from between clenched teeth when he talks about his father, about his baby brother, positively scalding.

But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that you don’t know the full story, that you aren’t entirely aware of why this vendetta against his family exists. It doesn’t matter that his one goal in life, his only true desire aside from you, is to take down his father. It doesn’t matter that he’s willing to do anything and use everyone to achieve his objective.

Because he is letting you in; slowly, bit by bit and piece by piece, the most fascinating and tragically beautiful jigsaw you’ve ever put together. He may never be ready to tell the full story, and that’s alright with you, because as you’ve reassured him countless times in the dead of night, you’ll always love him anyway—you’ll always be by his side.

That’s when he’s most vulnerable, it seems—in the middle of the night, at two and three and four in the morning, when he wakes trembling and whimpering and soaked with his own sweat.

He never tells you what they’re about, the nightmares. Sometimes, they’re so violent that they wake you first. He doesn’t fuck you immediately on those days, doesn’t say a word as he finds solace in your warm bosom, little fingers pushing back sweaty strands of inky hair from his temples as your other arm wraps around him, holding him close to you as his shaky breathing calms, as his muscles stop quivering. On those nights, he says nothing as he spreads your legs and climbs on top of you, railing you into the mattress like it’s his last day on this earth.

That’s how he likes to be comforted; that’s what calms him down best. It’s standard procedure at this point—not that you mind waking up to his soft sniffles and him shoving himself into your barely prepped cunt, or rousing to feel the tip of his naked cock rubbing against your clit through thin cotton undies as he tells you in that wavering voice to stay sleeping and let your Mister take what he needs. You’re there to serve him—and you do, so perfectly. You just want to help, after all. You’ve always ever just wanted to help. You never know which nights he’ll gift you another little piece of himself, of his soul, for you to try and fit in somewhere in the puzzle that is DABI. You don’t know the triggers—as far as you’re concerned, they don’t seem to exist anywhere outside of the padlocked barricade of his own head, no rhyme or reason to them, more random than anything else. But you’ll readily accept anything and everything he’s willing to give, the very instant he’s willing to give it.

     ✰          ✰          ✰

Sprawled out on the hotel bed with his white t-shirt riding up and exposing your lacy panties, you watch, in an almost trancelike state, as Dabi does his hair in preparation for the game set to begin in an hour or so. He leaves it messy and ungreased when he isn’t working, all tousled and fluffy, a sea of half formed curls that flow into each other, akin to tremulous waves hours before a storm like an inky ocean atop his head. But he cleans up well, when it comes time to get down to business.

“Every little swallow, every chickadee, every little bird in the tall oak tree,”

Standing in front of the mirror clad in a white undershirt and his suit pants, he sings along to Bobby Day’s staticky voice as it flows through the small radio set on the bathroom counter, nimble fingers dipping into a tin of greasy pomade and gathering a generous glob, a responding giggle bubbling up in your chest.

“The wise old owl, the big black crow,” he catches your eye through the mirror, a devilish smile materializing on his face as he continues, lathering his hands together. “Flap-a their wings singin’ ‘go bird go’,”

“Should’a been a singer, I’m telling ya,” you say as you roll onto your stomach, chin resting in your palms and head propped up, eyes glittering. “Could’a rivalled Elvis,”

Huffing out a laugh accompanied by a roll of his eyes, his hands begin to rake through his hair, slathering it with the substance and slicking most of it back from his face, sure to leave a few curls at the start of his hairline untouched. “So sweet you’re gonna rot my teeth, baby,”

“M’serious!” you insist, blinking at him as your eyebrows raise, watching the teeth of the black comb run through the slicked-up strands, his palm following close behind as he smooths it over; crisscross, crisscross, crisscross, fluff, pat, crisscross.

 “Uh-huh, uh-huh,” he shakes his head in disbelief, though there’s the faintest pink tinting his stubbled cheeks. “I think I’m better at this job,”

What? Playing poker with a bunch of criminals and making deals with mafiosos and murdering those who wrong you? you swallow the words, letters stinging and scraping your throat as you force them back down, schooling your face into a neutral expression. “I respectfully disagree,”

“‘Course you do,” he mumbles to himself distractedly, leaning closer to the mirror to complete the look. “Elvis, you say?”

He begins belting out lyrics in an exaggerated deep voice as he adds the finishing touch—your favourite part—slender fingers shining with residual pomade as they twirl and coat the few stray curls left neglected, allowing them to hang artfully in the middle of his forehead. 

“When I feel like this and I want to kiss youuu,” pivoting on his heel, he gazes at you with that shit-eating grin and continues. “Baby, don’t say doooon’t,”

“Oh, God, no, not Don’t!” you groan, flopping onto your back dramatically, face screwed up as if you had just tasted something sour.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he’s chuckling as he advances towards you, a small towel in his hands as he cleans them. “How ‘bout…” trailing off, he hums a little as he thinks.

“Hold my hand and promise,” he begins in a low voice, smooth and sweet like the finest melted chocolate, depositing of the towel and crawling onto the bed.

“That you’ll always love me too,”

Large hands gently pry your legs part, signature crooked smirk spreading across his face when he’s met with zero resistance, rough palms caressing silky skin as they slide up, fingers gripping and grabbing and kneading.

“Make me know you love me,”

The words taper off into a whine, beginning to sound more like begging than singing, as his body settles between your thighs, hipbones digging into the soft flesh while he hovers above you, supporting his weight on his forearms.

“The same way I love you, little girl,”

Lips trail along your jaw, leaving tender kisses in their wake—unhurried, careful, and full of purpose—as he mumbles against your skin.

“You got me at your mercy, now that I'm in love with you,”

Calloused hands begin to ruck up his t-shirt, digits dipping into the lacy waistband of your panties, his voice starting to tremble ever so slightly.

“So please don't take advantage, cause you know my love is true,”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, sapphire eyes gleaming in the golden sunlight and he pauses, blistering gaze searching your face for something, muscles relaxing and head dipping a moment later to finally press his lips against yours, whispering into the kiss. “Darling please, please love me too, I beg of you,”

And despite all the glitz and glamour, all the extravagance and exhilaration, that comes with each mission, this will always be your favourite part—when it’s only you and him, lounging around in some luxurious five star hotel or some dingy roadside motel, exchanging lazy, messy kisses full of stringy shining saliva, goofing around and whispering stupid Elvis lyrics to each other, words that hold more weight than either of you care to admit.

     ✰          ✰          ✰

It was supposed to be a fairly simple operation—minimal violence, Tomura had instructed. No guns or casualties, if it can be avoided, if Dabi can keep his temper in check. It was supposed to be easy, straightforward, safe.

It was supposed to be. But Dabi gets bored easily, likes a little spike of adrenaline with his missions, rolling his broad shoulders and cracking his neck as he joins the rest of the men around the poker table, a sly smirk on his face as they name the bets and the prizes.

“And my little doll,”

It’s hard to resist rolling your eyes as those four words slip from between his lips, slow and smooth in that deep, lazy drawl, trademark smirk painted across his lips as his lidded eyes scan the faces sitting around the table, an eyebrow raised, daring any of them to protest. Several hungry eyes dart towards you for a moment, standing like the reward you are a few feet behind Dabi and leaning on a railing, a shy little smile briefly gracing your lips in greeting, elegant evening gown shimmering under the crystal lights.

This isn’t new—Dabi usually bets you when he plays. Keeps him sharp, he claims. Keeps him on his toes, keeps it fun when there’s something important at stake, something valuable to lose, he says. He plays better that way, he promises.

Except he’s always craved that thrill of danger, has always liked to push further and further simply to see how far he can go before he topples over the edge. It’s a rush, a blast, a high akin to the morphine that so often flows through his veins, and he fucking lives for it.

It’s been over an hour now, since those words were murmured in that velvet voice, floating across the table and cloaking the thoughts of the other men like a lethal haze, most of whom can’t seem to keep their eyes from wandering back to you every so often, leering gazes coating your skin with grime you itch to scrub off.

But that’s the point—or it’s supposed to be, anyway. That’s the whole reason you’re here in the first place. To act as a distraction, Tomura’s words drift through your mind, just whisps of his voice that tickle the walls of your skull.

And what a perfect distraction you are, in a Dior dress that looks like it was made only for you, tapered perfectly to every curve and edge of your body, silk flowing gracefully with every miniscule movement, with every rise and fall of your chest.

But it bores you to tears, this poker game, eyes dry and sticky, sick of staring at the back of your boyfriend’s immaculate, intricate hair as his nimble fingers play with the mountain of chips accumulating in front of him, plastic clacking together as he shuffles through them.

You had begged him to let you go shopping—just for the first half of the game, you swear!—but he refused. I need my good luck charm there with me the entire time, babydoll, he told you, brushing calloused fingers down your cheek then tracing along the line of your jaw, gazing at you with brilliant sapphire that glitters in the late afternoon sun, streaming in through the hotel’s floor-length windows. We can go shopping after the game is finished, he promised.

You regarded him with skepticism.

“And dancing?”

“Of course,” he responded with a playful scoff. “We can dance until our feet are bleeding, pinky promise,”

Keigo comes to join you just before the game passes the two-hour mark, large hands finding purchase on your hips and pulling you back against his chest as his head dips down, soft full lips against your skin.

“Lovely dress you’ve got on,” he murmurs, breath hot against your ear, tickling the shell. “You look stunning—breathtaking—I mean, gosh, look at me, I can barely breathe,” he gasps dramatically, chest heaving against your back as he does so, chuckling when you roll your eyes and giggle at him to shut up, Kei, the vibrations from his laugh a comforting sensation, a familiar sensation, a welcomed sensation, sending warmth spreading through your body. “I’m so happy you’re here,” you whine, leaning further into him and head tilting against his collarbone to gaze up at him. “I’m so bored,”

“Yeah, I bet,” he says, something unusual—unreadable—settling in his topaz eyes as he glances up at the table. “You aren’t used to games lasting this long, are you, baby,”

A little pout settles on your lips and you nod, playing right into his condescending cooing as you snuggle into him, eyes following his stare. Truthfully, you haven’t a clue what’s going on, and, really, you couldn’t care less. You aren’t entirely sure what the significance of this poker game is, or who most of these men are, and you aren’t allowed to. Just sit pretty and perfect like you always do; it’s the thing you do best.

Except tonight—tonight something is different, unsettling, off. It’s no big deal, though, of course—you can almost hear that deep, dark voice drawling the words out in your mind, phantom breath tickling your skin.

Because Dabi’s always been startlingly good at what he does. Because Dabi’s always been able to worm his way out of a difficult situation. Because there’s never really been a reason to worry about it before, anyway. But tonight—well, tonight you’re watching as his Balenciaga clad shoulders are getting tenser, and tenser, as his jaw is clenching tighter, and tighter, as his grip on that singular sparkly chip resting in his palm is becoming stronger, and stronger, thin skin stretching painfully over sharp bony knuckles.

Keigo’s breath is bated, his fingers digging into your hips as he observes the game unfolding in front of the both of you, pulling you closer to him, hushed curses falling from his lips every so often. And Keigo knows what’s happening, of course, but he refuses to tell you, promising you that you wouldn’t understand even if he tried to explain it. Creases form on your forehead as your eyebrows knit, eyes drifting back to the table. Whatever it is, it’s clear that it isn’t good, Keigo’s body tensing against yours as he sucks in a breath and holds it for a moment before blowing it out from his mouth, exasperated.   “Well, I’m positive it’s fine,” you say, trying to wave it off lightly, to whisk away the acrimonious dread that roots deep in the pit of your stomach and begins to spread, thick and dense as it slithers into your surrounding organs, to brush off the impending sense of foreboding that seems to lurk over you, getting heavier and heavier, darker and darker with each second that ticks by—though your voice sounds high to your ears, tinny and false. “Dabi’s never lost a game before, that’s why they send him to these things,” But Keigo doesn’t sound so sure, responding with a nervous breath of a laugh, lithe fingers flexing on your hips, rubbing little lopsided circles into the flesh. “First time for everything, songbird,”

The words send ice piercing through your veins, but you persevere, rolling your shoulders and standing up a little straighter, swallowing past the painful lump that’s lodged itself in your throat. It’s fine. It’s always fine. He’s always found a way to get out of messy, tight situations before. Why should tonight be any different?

It won’t be, it isn’t—you can already see Dabi collapsing on the cream sofa upstairs in your luxurious hotel room, tugging at his bowtie with a sigh as his head falls back, nimble fingers popping the first few buttons on his crisp white dress shirt, and had you scared for a moment there, didn’t I, kitten?

And you’ll playfully slap his shoulder as you crawl into his lap, roll your eyes as you straddle his hips and allow him to tilt the champagne flute to your lips, laugh it off as his hands begin to wander, rucking up your dress and kneading your ass, cock tenting his expensive trousers. Like always. You’re sure of it

It’s just past the three-hour mark when Keigo speaks again, all traces of teasing, of that easygoing lilt that is so distinctly him, gone from his voice. Golden locks stand in all directions, his hair having fallen out of its usual ducktail style, a curtesy of fingers raking through it nervously. His smile is tight as he looks down at you, front teeth nibbling at his cuticles as he speaks, muffled a little by his fingers. “Maybe we should get you out of here, sweetheart—”

“No,” you respond instantly with a firm shake of your head. “I’m not going anywhere,”

“Sunshine, listen—”

“I said, no, Kei,” you pull back a little to look at him, resolution sown into your voice, chest puffing out just a touch. “I won’t leave him,”

Honey eyes hold yours for a moment, and you can almost hear Keigo’s molars as they grind together. He exhales a deep sigh a moment later, shaking his head and tugging his fingers through golden strands again. “Alright, alright,” It finally comes to an end, a few minutes past the four-hour mark. Heavy lids start to lift as commotion begins to stir—soft murmurs among the men and chairs scraping against the floor, plastic chips clacking together and the sharp whisp that travels through the air as cards are shuffled—whining a little as you lean further into Keigo, who is now supporting most of your weight.

“Kei, feet hurt,”

“Shh, I know, songbird,” he hushes you, a large palm stroking your head. “But I need you to wake up, sweetheart,”

Rough, unfamiliar hands are wrapping around your arms only a moment later, yanking you from the warm sanctuary that is Keigo and hauling you against stiff muscle.

“I believe you’re mine now, darling,”

The words are gravelly, uttered in a low voice against the crown of your head. A vicious shiver crawls along your skin, whole body trembling with the force of it, as your lids snap open.

“Wait, what?” frantic eyes search the gaudy room for familiar cobalt, breath beginning to accelerate as you struggle a little in the grasp of a burly man with one eye. His grip tightens in retaliation and a pained yelp hitches in your throat, Dabi’s eye twitching at the sound. “Dabi? D-Dabi!”

Sapphire blazes into your skull, steadily holding your watery gaze as his jaw clenches, swallowing thickly at the sound of your pitiful little whimpers of his name, at the way you squirm and wiggle in your abductor's grasp, desperate to escape, to get back to him.

“H-Hold on, now,” Keigo begins, holding his hands up in surrender, a motion meant to signify peace, to signify that he isn’t a threat—even though you know he’s got the cold metal of his favourite pistol tucked into the waistband of his trousers and pressed against his warm skin. “Let’s talk this through, yeah? Just wait a minute—”

“Nope,” the man cuts Keigo off mid-sentence with a loud, harsh laugh, and you wince at the sound. “No way, a deal’s a deal, friend. I won her fair and square—she’s mine,”

A light chuckle, laced with irritation and dubiety, escapes Keigo’s lips as he shakes his head a little. “Come on, Dabi jokes around like that all the time,” and while his voice seems amicable on the surface, its ridden with cold undertones, phantom threats that are felt, not said. “And this little lady—as pretty as she is—is a person, not a prize. Taking her against her will is, in fact, kidnapping, and I’ll be forced to—”

“Let him go,”

“What?” the word falls from your lips and Keigo’s simultaneously—one incredulous and pitched high with distress, the other breathed out in disbelief, both equally as concerned—gazes snapping to Dabi, who sits quiet and brooding, dim lights casting shadows on the sharp planes of his face.

Azure drifts between your faces, features ridden with terror and alarm—furrowed brows and deep frowns tugging at the corners of lips, one pair of eyes wide with scepticism, the other pair glistening with tears. Dabi’s silent for another moment before he pushes on his knees and stands, squaring his shoulders and clearing his throat, voice ringing out loud and clear, dripping with admonition. “Let him go. He’s right; he won her, fair and square,”

He speaks slowly, annunciating each word with careful precision, sapphire glinting in the dim light has he holds the muscular man’s gaze. It holds something threatening, something menacing, something terrifying deep within the depths of his eyes, and you feel your captor pause for a second, tense, and then shiver.

“Uh, r-right,” he says, voice wavering a little as he nods to himself. “Fair and square,”

Dabi stalks towards you, shiny oxfords echoing against the pristine, freshly waxed marble floor, tutting his tongue and shaking his head, casual and relaxed as ever.

“Don’t struggle, you hear me?” he says, voice softer, gentler, as a calloused thumb swipes across your cheekbone, catching a stray tear. “Be a good girl for him,”

And I’ll see you soon.

The promise doesn’t need to be vocalized—you can see it, shining bright and true in his sapphire eyes, can sense it, in the air surrounding him, can feel it, at the very core of your soul.

A sudden sense of relief floods your body, pathetic little sobs getting caught in your chest as you exhale shakily and deflate in the burly man’s arms, tears finally spilling over your lashline and streaming down your cheeks.

“Okay,” you breathe.

Dabi gives you a simple nod, lips quirking up into a ghost of his signature lopsided smirk. Okay.

And just like that, all of the fear and trepidation and panic vanishes from your body, a serene calm chased by a sense of giddiness replacing it, scorching through your veins.

Because before the door to the man’s hotel room has even swung fully shut, Dabi’s barreling through, crystal handle smashing against the wall and cracking as skilled fingers tangle in short hair, yanking the man’s head back with a sickening crack and dragging the razor-sharp edge of his favourite switchblade across the man’s exposed throat.

He moves like a flash of light, a spark igniting a fire, so fast he’s merely a blur of black and navy and blazing sapphire. Thick crimson begins pouring from the wound immediately, a large splice spanning from one earlobe all the way to the other.

The man hits the shiny hardwood floor with a distinct thump, but you aren’t paying attention to him or the way he’s writhing as he tries to claw at his neck, coughing and gagging as he begins to choke on his own blood.

No, you’re captivated by sapphire, bright and burning as it surges towards you, calloused hands seizing your face roughly as chapped lips find yours, unforgiving and ferocious, bloody knife still in one hand, cool metal pressed against your cheek, smearing streaks of scarlet across your skin as you try to get closer to him, to get more, the stench of copper stinging your nose.

It’s eradicated in an instant though, Dabi’s heady scent—campfire and hickory wood and expensive cologne—filling your lungs, your mind, your entire being as it curls around you in the most intoxicating embrace, familiar and comforting and him, him, him. Stumbling backwards, you just about trip over your own feet as Dabi shoves forward, strong hands wrapped around your biceps keeping you steady. The sharp edge of the small rosewood dining table digs into your lower back, Dabi swallowing your resounding yelp as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth and tugs, large hands finding your waist and squeezing before he hoists you onto its surface, using his hipbones to force your thighs open.

You nearly topple over from the power, from the urgency, hands flying out behind you and grappling against the table’s surface to keep you sitting upright as he heaves and pushes and leans against you, motions knocking sparkling crystal glasses and fine porcelain plates off the top.

The sound of shattering glass and cracking china mingles with the gurgling and garbling of the man who lay a few feet away on the floor, suffocating on his own blood. It creates such a beautiful symphony, intertwined with Dabi’s ragged breaths and your broken moans, with the ruffling of clothing and the screech of the table legs against the gleaming hardwood floor. And it’s desperate, and needy, and messy, teeth clashing and clacking together violently, saliva dripping down chins as tongues rub and glide and lick, hands pawing and gripping and tugging and ripping, the delicate material of your silk Dior dress practically turning to ash as his fingers materialize through it, tearing it to shreds.

“Off, off, off, I need this off,” he’s growling against your lips as his hands work, a low whine getting caught in your throat as you nod frenetically.

Yes, yes, yes, you’re whimpering, your own little fingers helping him destroy the silvery fabric, eager and anxious to rid your body of the bothersome garment.

A guttural groan, deep and dark and inducing a fluttering in your tummy rumbles in his chest as his eyes roam over your body, clad in the daintiest white lace.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, y’know that,” he’s mumbling between sharp bites to the flesh of your neck, fingers snapping the clasp of your bra, breaking it in one simple motion. “A fuckin’ angel, that’s what you are, baby. My very own angel,”

Rough palms slide down your torso, slow and purposeful as they trace, feel, knead the dips and curves, planes and contours of your body, slender fingers pausing to play with the elastic of the garter belt adorning your waist, holding up your lace-trimmed thigh-highs which have begun to tear, then hooking in the waistband of your thong.

His cock grinds against your inner thigh, hot and hard and throbbing as it strains against his trousers, digits toying with the lacy elastic, twirling it between his fingers before he lets it snap back against your skin, the harsh slap! echoing throughout the hotel room. 

“Oh, Mister, I want it,” the plead falls from your lips in a shameless moan, high and whiny as your hips press forward in an attempt to grind against him. Slender fingers untangle themselves from the lacy fabric in an instant, gripping your hips to still them, fingertips digging into your flesh. “I need it,”

“Need what, dollface?” his lips brush against your skin as he speaks, teeth sinking into your collarbone a moment later, hard enough to break the skin, a loud cry getting caught in your chest. He sucks on the wound, hard, tongue laving over it in soothing little circles, slowly dragging over the bite.

And it’s a compulsion, a sickness, a fucking disease surging through your veins, infecting your mind with thoughts of him and only him, entire body buzzing with the desperate, pathetic, urgent need for him, for his cock, for his cum.

“Need you, need you,” you’re whimpering out, squirming and struggling a little in his grasp, a warning hiss spit through his teeth as blunt nails nip your skin. “Please, Dabi, please, lemme have it,”

“Have what, baby?” lips curling up into a coy smirk, he pulls back just enough to look at you, finally pushing his hips into yours, a patronizing laugh spilling from his throat as you instantly grind against his cock, impatient and impetuous. “Use your words, Mister wants to hear you say it,”

Scalding heat seeps into your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly, a broken whine of complaint sounding in the back of your throat as you shake your head. “Y-You know,” you mumble. “You know,”

“Oh, come on, baby,” he tuts with a disappointed shake of his head, voice overflowing with condescension. “You act like such a little slut, but as soon as I want you to say what you apparently need oh-so-badly, you can’t? You get all shy and bashful like you’re innocent, or something?”

An arrogant chuckle bubbles up in his chest, a rough palm colliding with the flesh of your ass a moment later. Scarred lips graze your ear as he leans back in, speaking low and smooth, words leaving his mouth in a huff of warm, sweet breath. “You’re being bad, y’know that?”

The huskiness in his tone sends chills pebbling across your skin, a delicate shiver dancing up your spine.

“Please,” you whisper, bottom lip beginning to tremble. “Please, Mister, please,”

“Tell me,” he rasps, taking the lobe of your ear between his teeth and sucking, bruising his name into the sensitive skin. “I know you can do it, doll. What is it that you want? Tell me,”

And, God, it’s so embarrassing, vision blurring with the sting of tears, entire body beginning to tremble from the combined humiliation and lust surging through your veins, his clothed cock still rutting against your core, poking and prodding and so close, you’re so close, two tiny words, just say them. “Your—Your cock,” you almost yelp, blinking back the tears in your eyes as you try to gaze levelly at him, teeth digging into your bottom lip to quell its pathetic quivering. “W-Want your cock, please, Mister, I-I need it,”

“Yeah?” he breathes while he rests his forehead against yours, butting forward a little as his glazed eyes rapidly search your face, pupils blown to hell and lips bitten red, shining with spit. “Where, huh? Down here?”

A finger tugs the flimsy soaked lace to the side, another dark chuckle slipping from his lips as he drags a knuckle up your dripping slit.

“Here?” it presses into your cute little hole, your hips eagerly bucking forward in response.

“Yes, yes, there, Mister, there, please,” you keen, head nodding in almost frantic movements, skull knocking against his. “Please, n-no fingers, want your cock, need your cock, stretch me out, fill me up, I need it,”

And it’s your senseless babbling that does it, bratty and needy and incessant in high broken whines, that snaps the final thread of patience holding him back, and a growl rips from his chest, so violent it vibrates through your own.

The heavy buckle of his belt clinks as hasty fingers fiddle with it, shoving his trousers down his thighs just enough to free his cock.

You can’t help the mortifying moan that escapes your throat the moment you see it, velvety and pink and oh-so-pretty, flushed tip glistening with precum and two thick veins snaking around the shaft like vines.

“Christ,” he groans as he pushes into your cunt, burying himself inside of you in one swift thrust, your nails biting into the hard muscles of his shoulder through the thin material of his shirt as your hole stretches around him, both of you exhaling simultaneous sighs of relief.

It burns and it stings and God, you need more, eyes rolling back in your skull as the sharp heels of your stilettos dig into his lower back, little fingers tangling in white cotton as you try to pull him closer, closer, closer.

“Greedy little brat,” he snarls out as his hips begin snapping, the movement sudden, unexpected, welcomed, a choked cry of his name catching in your throat.

And it’s brutal and relentless, primal and desperate, lacking most of his usual finesse as he pounds into you, cockhead slamming against your cervix with every harsh thrust of his hips, hard enough to move the entire table itself, legs scraping against the floor a little more with each pump.

Inky curls cling to his forehead and temples, the white cotton of his dress shirt becoming translucent as it sticks to his damp skin, highlighting the hard planes of defined muscle that flex with each ragged inhale.

Surging forward, his tongue runs along the inside of your teeth before it drags against yours, slow and heavy, depositing his taste and staining it with the flavour of him, fiery cinnamon gum and smoky Marlboros. Gorgeous, needy little whines break in his throat in time with each strong piston of his hips, muffled by your mouth, and you greedily swallow whatever he’ll afford you.

It’s total sensory overload—he’s all you can see, all you can hear, all you can taste, touch, breathe, hijacking all of your receptors and overwhelming you with him.

It’s building inside of you, deep in the pit of your stomach, scorching flames that glow as blue as his eyes as they rage, climbing higher and higher, licking at your insides and expanding further and further until they finally engulf you, consume you, with their blaze, and everything shatters, body convulsing almost violently around his cock as you cum with a strained cry of his name.

“Fill me, Mister,” you’re babbling, begging, swearing you’ll die if he doesn’t, the flames will burn you to ash if you don’t get his cum soon, voice absolutely wrecked. “Fill me, fill me,”

And he obeys, filling your cute little cunt to the brim with thick, hot cum as his cock pulses, a cracked whimper of f-fuck, slipping past his lips.

His chest heaves as he collapses against you, the two of you falling back against the table’s surface with a thump, his cock still buried inside of you. A soft whine sounds in the back of your throat as you carefully unlock your legs from around him, wincing a little at the stiffness in your thighs.

I love you.

The three words are murmured into your shoulder, so soft you barely hear them, so quiet you’re sure you’d have imagined them had you not felt his lips move against your flesh, not felt his hot breath on your skin, not felt the gentle vibrations in his chest as he spoke.

“I love you,” you respond, voice tender as tiny fingers comb through his dishevelled hair. “I love you,”

He’s silent for a moment, your combined pants the only sounds ringing out among the hotel room, and then he nods—once at first; just a quick, sharp motion, and then again a moment later, with more vigour, more purpose, more acceptance.

Little hands smooth down the damp cotton hugging his back and your head lolls to the side, cheek pressed against the cool wood of the table. A certain type of giddiness—a type that’s sick, that’s twisted, that’s stuffed full of love—floods your body as your eyes connect with those of a dead man, laying in a pool sticky crimson, and God, yes, you love him, you love him, you love him—more than anyone else ever could, more than you could ever love anything else.  

[graceilia]

[bastillewolf]

Midnight In Sheffield (II)

Pairing: Alex Turner/Reader

Summary: When a soon-to-be-wedded insomniac author heads back home to visit her parents, she comes across the likes of a mysterious musician whilst on her sleepless escapade in the AM.

Notes: I can’t thank you enough for the incredible response I’ve received for the first chapter of this story, as well as The Grand Tranquility Hotel. I’ve been stressing out a bit over an audition for a writer’s school I’m partaking in (I’ve already gotten through the first one, two more auditions to go), so all of you really kept my spirits up when I wasn’t feeling all that confident in my writing.

Also, happy Mother’s Day, mum. I love you. And to all the other mothers out there! You rock.

ANOTHER IMPORTANT NOTE: As I said before, I’m not naming specific era’s or years to describe this fic. Some parts won’t add up to the time you’re thinking of, and you’d be right. But what I say to that is; all will be explained in time.

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

@alexbandguy86​​​ @bettyschwallocksyee​​​ @fookingsummertime​​​ @juicebox-baby​@darksydork7​​ @edgythought​ @toolateformcrtooearlytoleaveemo​

Chapter II - Arabella

“We’re not back where we started off, are we?” Mark asked, his voice laced with such a condescending tone she didn’t believe she’d ever heard either of her parents use.

As well as the fact that he said ‘we’, like it was their problem to be solved. As if he was part of her predicament, and needed to exterminate the issue as swiftly as possible.

She’d gotten to her parents’ house in the very early hours, and had manage to sleep until the late afternoon, where she’d only woken up from the incessant noise her phone had been making. It turned out she had many missed calls from her fiancée, who was pissed off, to say the very least.

“Do you know how worried I was?” He continued, when she failed to answer his previous question. “When your mum said you went out and didn’t come back, I thought you’d been kidnapped or something! I thought, someone must’ve dragged her into an alley!”

He was met with more shameful silence.

“And yet I find you perfectly fine at home, laying in bed until-“ He glanced down at his watch. “3 pm! Are you joking?! Do I have to call someone again? Or is this just some phase you’re going through, because please warn me next time!”

She spitefully gave him a side eye. “You weren’t there to warn. You were out with James.”

His eyebrows shot up. “That’s your excuse? Really?! Because I had one night out to myself you go and mess your schedule up all over again? Out of retaliation?!”

“It’s not that serious, Mark. It was one night-“

“One night makes a whole lot of a difference, you and I both know that,” he shot back, making her flinch.

“I met a few people and we went out. Make a big deal out of it, why don’t you?” She was acting childish, sure, but she was still very pissed with him over bailing out on her parents. This was just one of her ways to express it, and he quickly realized that.

“Sweetheart,” he sighed, sitting down on the bed next to her, and taking her hands in his. “Please don’t do this to yourself again, you’ve come so far.”

She pursed her lips. A small part of her wanted to let go again, just to cause him the trouble. But what kind of fiancée would that make her? Certainly, no better than him. And she’d make her own life miserable again.

It was years back when she’d fallen into a depression. Mark was at the peak of his career, and things should have been going well for them. Yet, after continuous horrid reviews on the last book she’d published – a haphazardly written piece after her last one – she didn’t know what to do with herself anymore. She wasn’t eating, she wasn’t taking care of herself, and most importantly; she wasn’t sleeping.

Mark had to take time off work to care for her, resulting in a missed promotion, and even when all of it seemed to be going okay again, the insomnia remained. She’d gone to countless doctors and therapists, but they usually only gave her countless pills that never worked. Others took the task upon themselves to over-analyse her, until her medical file was filled with mentions of personality disorders to borderline insanity.

Only recently had she been able to get her sleeping schedule back to a decent rate, and she wasn’t even sure how.

It was a gamble each time she went out now, a guess when she would slip back into her old ways of getting no rest and nearly fainting once in a while from sheer exhaustion. She knew that was Mark’s biggest fear right now, while he was at the brink of success.

Yet, it wasn’t a gamble to her anymore, because last night had been one of the most thrilling nights she’d had in years.

 She’d walked into a decently filled pub, careful not to lose Miles in the crowd of brown and black suits of the men who were there. A groovy jazz band was playing on stage, and people were swinging about with a cloud of cigarette smoke hung above them.

“I thought people weren’t allowed to smoke in pubs anymore?” She asked as they finally reached the bar. Miles gave her a strange look, before signing to the bartender for a few pints.

“I don’t know who told you that, love, but they must’ve gone mad.”

She gave him a hesitant half-smile, glancing around the place where it appeared there wasn’t a singular person – apart from her – that wasn’t holding a cigarette. Perhaps it was just good old Sheffield, and she’d been gone for too long to remember it.

“Would you mind waiting right here?” he hesitantly asked her, “I think I spotted one of the blokes through the crowd, I’m just gonna call him over.”

She shook her head, “Trying to get rid of me already? We’ve only just met.”

Miles threw her a cheeky smile in response, as he tried to manoeuvre his figure in between the mass. “Never!”

She huffed, and as he disappeared, her eyes couldn’t help but travel across the many faces in the pub. They were a merry bunch, she had to admit, with ladies clad in shimmery dresses with loads of fringes and beads, and their hair curled into a unique fashion, and men dressed in suits and hats. Though even wearing something dark herself – a skin-tight, yet simple black dress – she felt a bit out of place between the flair and elegance of the people around her.

They suddenly started clapping, as the jazz group marked the end of their song.

“And now, a round of applause for our next talent; The Strokes!”

People whistled and cheered, and the merriment continued as the new band started to jam.

“What’s a pretty lady such as yourself doing all alone?” The voice had come from behind her, and made shivers run down her spine. Not in the pleasant way.

She turned to face the man who was evidently very much leaning closer to her. “Just waiting for my fiancée to get back, I’m afraid,” she lied. Well, not necessarily a lie.

He momentarily glanced down at her left hand, as if to check if her statement was true, but still didn’t waver in his stance. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind me keeping you company for a bit.”

“Even if he didn’t mind, I definitely would,” she retaliated, making his eyebrows shoot up in surprise, before they furrowed again, and she knew then she’d made a dangerous move.

A hand touched her shoulder. Fuck, she should’ve known he wasn’t by himself.

“Love, are you alright? I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Wait, what?

He had his hair styled in a fashion she recognized was heavily inspired by the fifties, and his eyes were as brown as dark chocolate. Yet his features were sharp, and the leather jacket he wore made him look anything but boyish. A cigarette hung from hip lips, which he took a deep drag of as he met her gaze.

She quickly took notice of the message.

“I-I’m fine, thank you,” she replied.

“Yeah mate, I was just keeping her company for a bit,” the other man explained, though his voice held nothing but audaciousness.

Brown eyes narrowed, while he took the smoke from his mouth. “I’m not your mate. Now piss off, or I’m gonna have to make things ugly in front of the lady.”

She was sure the man would’ve raised his fist in response, yet a look from the bartender had him second guess, and he left in a moment’s notice.

“Uh, thank you,” she could only bring about, still ridiculously flabbergasted by the entire situation. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had ever tried to be so dominant towards her, let alone now that she had a ring on her finger.

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied, “Though I should warn you next time not to leave your fiancée’s side. This is a good pub, but I can’t say the same for every single person in here.”

She politely introduced herself, and thanked him once again, which he shrugged off. Though he didn’t give her his name. “Where’s your bloke anyways? Been gone a bit too long, hasn’t he?”

It was then that Miles reappeared, and both men almost automatically raised their brows. One in greeting, and one in utter and befuddled confusion.

“Alex!”

“The fuck?”

“I was looking all over the place for you-“

“When were you gonna tell me you were engaged, mate?”

Now, both pairs of eyes held questions, until Miles took notice of her and quickly realized what was going on, and started laughing, which the man called Alex didn’t find amusing at all, to say the least. “I’m not engaged, you thickhead. I only just met her on the street. She’s not all that familiar around, so I thought I might show her the best pub in town.”

“Not familiar, eh?” he gazed at her questioningly, before his eyes roamed across her figure, taking in everything she was.

“Yeah, thought it best to keep her company before someone else tried to snatch her.”

Though feeling slightly uncomfortable by the piercing orbs taking in every little detail, she was grateful Miles didn’t mention he’d found her crying. She gave him a small smile, to which he winked.

“Hm,” Alex finally said, as if making a conclusion to his deductions, “I knew it couldn’t be true. She’s too much of an Arabella to be seen knocking about with the likes of you.”

“Oi!” Miles squeaked in protest, “Aren’t you supposed to be on stage or summat?”

Alex smirked, and quietly wandered off. She only noticed him again when he was standing on the raised platform with an electric guitar in his hands, and he quickly signed them towards an empty table up front.

“Can I ask you something?” she said as they took their seats and a few men joined the musician on stage.

“Anything.”

“What did he mean by ‘Arabella’?”

Miles snorted, “You should feel honoured, really. I rarely ever hear him call a girl that, and if you weren’t wearing that ring, I’m sure he would’ve made it very clear what he meant by it.”

“Oh,” she simply said, feeling her face flush.

 “Arabella's got some interstellar-gator skin boots

And a Helter Skelter 'round her little finger and I ride it endlessly

She's got a Barbarella silver swimsuit

And when she needs to shelter from reality she takes a dip in my daydreams…”

 “…Are you even listening to me?”

She snapped out of her daze, and met Mark’s eyes again. “I’m sorry, alright? You just have to promise to trust me that it won’t happen again. I know that’s a lot to ask, but I need this right now. Please?”

He sighed deeply, and took a bit to calculate the premise in his mind.

“Alright. I promise. Now can we please go and have brunch? I’m starving.”

Happy 2nd birthday to Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino.

[acoolchickouthere13]

July 10, 2019- Amazon prime day concert

July 23, 2019- shares likes with Joe on Instagram, shoots the lover music video, releases the Archer single in the livestream, and gets VMA nominations, does an interview with CBS Sunday morning

First secret session in London Friday August 2nd, 2019

Karlie Kloss turns 27 August 3, 2019

I still believe this was taken during the Australia winter 2016 trip, when Taylor was “26”

August 4th, 2019

Second secret session in Nashville Sunday August 4th, 2019(Over 100 fans were in attendance, apparently, as the event was said to include guests from a Nashville session AND an alleged Rhode Island session. (There are rumors the original Rhode Island session was canceled because the date got leaked))

August 5th, 2019 Nashville

“When we talked seven years ago, everything was going so well for you, and you were very worried that something would go wrong.

Yeah, I kind of knew it would. I felt like I was walking along the sidewalk, knowing eventually the pavement was going to crumble and I was gonna fall through. You can’t keep winning and have people like it. People love “new” so much — they raise you up the flagpole, and you’re waving at the top of the flagpole for a while. And then they’re like, “Wait, this new flag is what we actually love.” They decide something you’re doing is incorrect, that you’re not standing for what you should stand for. You’re a bad example. Then if you keep making music and you survive, and you keep connecting with people, eventually they raise you a little bit up the flagpole again, and then they take you back down, and back up again. And it happens to women more than it happens to men in music.

But you also had good things happen in your life at the same time — that’s part of Reputation.

The moments of my true story on that album are songs like “Delicate,” “New Year’s Day,” “Call It What You Want,” “Dress.” The one-two punch, bait-and-switch of Reputation is that it was actually a love story. It was a love story in amongst chaos. All the weaponized sort of metallic battle anthems were what was going on outside. That was the battle raging on that I could see from the windows, and then there was what was happening inside my world — my newly quiet, cozy world that was happening on my own terms for the first time. . . . It’s weird, because in some of the worst times of my career, and reputation, dare I say, I had some of the most beautiful times — in my quiet life that I chose to have. And I had some of the most incredible memories with the friends I now knew cared about me, even if everyone hated me. The bad stuff was really significant and damaging. But the good stuff will endure. The good lessons — you realize that you can’t just show your life to people….words are my only way of making sense of the world and expressing myself — and now any words I say or write are being twisted against me. People love a hate frenzy. It’s like piranhas. People had so much fun hating me, and they didn’t really need very many reasons to do it. I felt like the situation was pretty hopeless. I wrote a lot of really aggressively bitter poems constantly. I wrote a lot of think pieces that I knew I’d never publish, about what it’s like to feel like you’re in a shame spiral. And I couldn’t figure out how to learn from it. Because I wasn’t sure exactly what I did that was so wrong. That was really hard for me, because I cannot stand it when people can’t take criticism. So I try to self-examine, and even though that’s really hard and hurts a lot sometimes, I really try to understand where people are coming from when they don’t like me. And I completely get why people wouldn’t like me. Because, you know, I’ve had my insecurities say those things — and things 1,000 times worse….But I can’t really respond to someone saying, “You, as a human being, are fake.” And if they say you’re playing the victim, that completely undermines your ability to ever verbalize how you feel unless it’s positive. So, OK, should I just smile all the time and never say anything hurts me? Because that’s really fake. Or should I be real about how I’m feeling and have valid, legitimate responses to things that happened to me in my life? But wait, would that be playing the victim? ...I needed to grow up in many ways. I needed to make boundaries, to figure out what was mine and what was the public’s. That old version of me that shares unfailingly and unblinkingly with a world that is probably not fit to be shared with? I think that’s gone. But it was definitely just, like, a fun moment in the studio with me and Jack [Antonoff] where I wanted to play on the idea of a phone call — because that’s how all of this started, a stupid phone call I shouldn’t have picked up….I don’t think I’ve ever leaned into the old version of myself more creatively than I have on this album, where it’s very, very autobiographical. But also moments of extreme catchiness and moments of extreme personal confession….

But is the idea that as your own life becomes less dramatic, you’ll need to pull ideas from other places?

I don’t feel like that yet. I think I might feel like that possibly when I have a family. If I have a family. [Pauses] I don’t know why I said that! But that’s what I’ve heard from other artists, that they were very protective of their personal life, so they had to draw inspiration from other things. But again, I don’t know why I said that. Because I don’t know how my life is going to go or what I’m going to do. But right now, I feel like it’s easier for me to write than it ever was.

...I’m not scared anymore to say that other things in my career, like how to market an album, are strictly strategic. And I’m sick of women not being able to say that they have strategic business minds — because male artists are allowed to. And so I’m sick and tired of having to pretend like I don’t mastermind my own business. But, it’s a different part of my brain than I use to write. [THIS IS AFTER SHE SAID DBATC WAS INSPIRED BY “SOMEONE GREAT” ON ELLEN]

You’ve been masterminding your business since you were a teenager.

Yeah, but I’ve also tried very hard — and this is one thing I regret — to convince people that I wasn’t the one holding the puppet strings of my marketing existence, or the fact that I sit in a conference room several times a week and come up with these ideas. I felt for a very long time that people don’t want to think of a woman in music who isn’t just a happy, talented accident. We’re all forced to kind of be like, “Aw, shucks, this happened again! We’re still doing well! Aw, that’s so great.” Alex Morgan celebrating scoring a goal at the World Cup and getting shit for it is a perfect example of why we’re not allowed to flaunt or celebrate, or reveal that, like, “Oh, yeah, it was me. I came up with this stuff.” I think it’s really unfair. People love new female artists so much because they’re able to explain that woman’s success. There’s an easy trajectory. Look at the Game of Thrones finale. I specifically really related to Daenerys’ storyline because for me it portrayed that it is a lot easier for a woman to attain power than to maintain it….for me, the times when I felt like I was going insane was when I was trying to maintain my career in the same way that I ascended. It’s easier to get power than to keep it. It’s easier to get acclaim than to keep it. It’s easier to get attention than to keep it….maybe this is a reflection on how we treat women in power, how we are totally going to conspire against them and tear at them until they feel this — this insane shift, where you wonder, like, “What changed?” And I’ve had that happen, like, 60 times in my career where I’m like, “OK, you liked me last year, what changed? I guess I’ll change so I can keep entertaining you guys….the question posed to me is, if you kept trying to do good things, but everyone saw those things in a cynical way and assumed them to be done with bad motivation and bad intent, would you still do good things, even though nothing that you did was looked at as good? And the answer is, yes. Criticism that’s constructive is helpful to my character growth. Baseless criticism is stuff I’ve got to toss out now….I’ve never been to therapy. I talk to my mom a lot, because my mom is the one who’s seen everything. God, it takes so long to download somebody on the last 29 years of my life, and my mom has seen it all. She knows exactly where I’m coming from. And we talk endlessly. There were times when I used to have really, really, really bad days where we would just be on the phone for hours and hours and hours. I’d write something that I wanted to say, and instead of posting it, I’d just read it to her.

the lyric in “Daylight,” the idea of “so many lines that I’ve crossed unforgiven” — it’s a different kind of confession.

I am really glad you liked that line, because that’s something that does bother me, looking back at life and realizing that no matter what, you screw things up. Sometimes there are people that were in your life and they’re not anymore — and there’s nothing you can do about it. You can’t fix it, you can’t change it. I told the fans last night that sometimes on my bad days, I feel like my life is a pile of crap accumulated of only the bad headlines or the bad things that have happened, or the mistakes I’ve made or clichés or rumors or things that people think about me or have thought for the last 15 years. And that was part of the “Look What You Made Me Do” music video, where I had a pile of literal old selves fighting each other. But, yeah, that line is indicative of my anxiety about how in life you can’t get everything right. A lot of times you make the wrong call, make the wrong decision. Say the wrong thing. Hurt people, even if you didn’t mean to. You don’t really know how to fix all of that. When it’s, like, 29 years’ worth. No one gets through it unscathed. No one gets through in one piece. I think that’s a hard thing for a lot of people to grasp. I know it was hard for me, because I kind of grew up thinking, “If I’m nice, and if I try to do the right thing, you know, maybe I can just, like, ace this whole thing.” And it turns out I can’t.

It’s interesting to look at “I Did Something Bad” in this context.

You pointing that out is really interesting because it’s something I’ve had to reconcile within myself in the last couple of years — that sort of “good” complex. Because from the time I was a kid I’d try to be kind, be a good person. Try really hard. But you get walked all over sometimes. And how do you respond to being walked all over? You can’t just sit there and eat your salad and let it happen. “I Did Something Bad” was about doing something that was so against what I would usually do. ...a couple of years ago I started working on actually just responding to my emotions in a quicker fashion. And it’s really helped with stuff. It’s helped so much because sometimes you get in arguments. But conflict in the moment is so much better than combat after the fact.”(x)

Third secret session in LA Tuesday August 6th, 2019

Also does a livestream announcement

August 10 LA Party with YNTCD and ME! Costars #drunktaylor -purple nails

[theeverlastingshade]

Favorite Albums of 2019

2019 proved to be another harrowing year to be alive, but there was plenty of phenomenal music released throughout the year to help distract from the encroaching apocalypse. While there were unfortunately a few artists like Kanye, Chance, and Xiu Xiu that dropped absolute bricks so unlistenable that you’d be forgiven for questioning your fandom in the first place, we were graced with much better than expected returns from the likes of Fennesz and Vampire Weekend, a culmination of a decade’s worth of increasingly realized releases courtesy of (Sandy) Alex G, Sharon Van Etten, and Weyes Blood, a further sharpening of their respective aesthetics from the likes of Tyler, the Creator, Earl Sweatshirt, Kim Gordon, Solange, and Sun O))), and promising first impressions from artists like 100 Gecs and glass beach. Duster ended their almost two-decade long silence, Empty Country rose from the ashes of Cymbals Eat Guitars, the legendary Jai Paul demos finally received a proper release, and plenty of artists like Big Thief, FKA twigs, and Oso Oso that completely leveled up this year and released the best work of their careers to date. No matter what kind of music you’re into, there was plenty to enjoy throughout this year. Here are my favorite albums of 2019.

10. Anima- Thom Yorke

                 While his work with Radiohead has been consistently great throughout their three plus decades together, Thom Yorke’s solo work has generally left a lot to be desired. That all changed with the release of his third LP, Anima. The record is full of the skittering beats, sinister synths, and general feeling of encroaching dread as the bulk of his work, but the execution has never before landed with such force. Yorke was inspired to tweak his approach to electronic composition after watching some recent Flying Lotus live sets. He began to improvise with loops the way that FlyLo did while performing, and then he sent the files to Radiohead producer Nigel Godrich who parsed the arrangements down to manageable samples for Yorke to work with. The songs on Anima all sound familiar from someone whose been recording electronic music on his own for over a decade, but they’re each far punchier and allow for more space to develop in all their exquisitely rendered texture. Anima is the rare veteran record that leans into the artist’s sweet spot while introducing just enough new wrinkles to an established formula that it allows you to hear them anew.

                 Anima consists of nine songs that are firmly rooted in the sort of moody, minimal electronic music that splits the difference between experimental bass and minimal techno that he’s always trafficked in to some extent. What’s noteworthy here is how crisp and sharp everything sounds. The songs throughout Anima are minimal but memorable, with instantly recognizable melodies that waft unassumingly from a few synths and a sprinkle of percussion. Whether it’s the strutting bassline propelling “I Am a Very Rude Person” or the unsettling synths juxtaposed against the steady hi-hats and repurposed samples of children cheering from “15 Step” on “Twist”, or the blaring sirens and chimes that give a great deal of dimension to “The Axe”, Anima is a gorgeous listen at every turn. Every song here is produced superbly, with great pacing and a generous use of space that allows plenty of breathing room for every arrangement. Nothing sounds rushed or inconsequential, and the record wouldn’t work nearly as effectively if any single song was omitted. It’s the first release that Yorke and Godrich have put together that doesn’t sound like it exists strictly in the shadow of Radiohead or any specific genres/scenes of electronic music.

                 The themes of the songs on Anima are the kind of tormented, dystopic nightmares that Yorke has been writing about throughout the vast majority of his career. Nothing else is as explicit as “The Axe”, in which Yorke chastises some unidentified piece of tech for denying him the experience that he sought “Goddamned machinery/Why don’t you speak to me?/One day I am gonna take an axe to you” and in most of the songs on Anima Yorke conveys images with abstract imagery and minimal phrasing. On opener “Traffic” Yorke grapples with an increasingly online world gripped by groupthink and hivemind “Submit/Submerged/No body/No body/It’s not good/It’s not right/A mirror/A sponge/But you’re free” while on “I Am a Very Rude Person” he finds solace in the creative process “I have to destroy to create/I have to be rude to your face/I’m breaking up your turntables/Now I’m gonna watch your party die”. On the record’s most impressive song and centerpiece, “Dawn Chorus”, Yorke looks back on his life and questions whether he would be capable of not repeating the same mistakes if he had a chance to do it all again “In the middle of the vortex/The wind picked up/Shook up the soot/From the chimney pot/Into spiral patterns/Of you, my love”. It’s one of the most quietly devastating songs that Yorke has ever written, and a testament to his unrelenting, unassuming brilliance.

Essentials: “Dawn Chorus”, “Last I Heard (...He was Circling the Drain)”, “The Axe”

9. Basking in the Glow- Oso Oso

                 Oso Oso became one of the defining contemporary emo bands with their exceptional 2017 sophmore LP, The Yunahon Mixtape, and with their phenomenal third LP, Basking in the Glow, they’ve continued to heighten the very things that landed them rapturous reception with TYM. Frontman Jade Litiri is still penning the most absurdly tuneful melodies I’ve heard on any album that’s come out this year, and his command over songcraft has only gotten tighter in the years since his 2015 debut, Real Stories of True People Who Kind of Looked Like Monsters. BitG is a collection of 11 tracks that blend emo, pop-punk, and straight up indie rock into a concoction of warm guitar pop that’s as immediate as it is accomplished. Nothing on BitG is surprising or unprecedented in any way if you’re familiar with Oso Oso’s prior work, but the band has improved considerably on all fronts, and they’ve never played with such confidence. Few records that I’ve had the pleasure of coming across this year offered such immediate pleasures right out of the gates while letting the intricacies of the music slowly make their way to the surface after repeated listens to the extent that Oso Oso managed with BitG.

                 Oso Oso did little to alter their approach this time around. They’re still playing ridiculously catchy guitar pop that places a premium on melody above all else, but the songs on BitG are sharper, and more fleshed out than the bulk of their past work. The hooks are massive, and don’t sound like afterthoughts in the way that hooks do in so much music today, and are for the most part the main draw here. The compositions are mostly upbeat, and draw from each of the aforementioned genres seamlessly without ever sounding strictly beholden to one dominant scene or sound. Oso Oso are working within fairly limited parameters which makes the immense range on display all the more impressive. There are immediate pop-punk anthems (“The View”), urgent emo slow-burners (“Priority Change”), acoustic lullabies (“One Sick Plan”) and thematically timeless, immensely cathartic sendoffs (“Charlie”). Nothing on BitG sounds forced, or derivative, or anything less than a tasteful display of staggering growth. Frontman Jade Liltri doesn’t have tremendous range as a vocalist, but few vocalists working today are as consistently expressive as he is, and the melodies that he’s imbued these songs with are richer, and more generous than those on any other album that I’ve heard from this year.

                 The songs on BitG are accounts from someone losing themselves in the thrall of newfound love. They’re primarily upbeat guitar pop songs that perfectly capture that dizzying sensation of the honeymoon phase when everything is rendered through a warm, euphoric glow. But even the more straightforward sentiments are peppered with self-deprecating jabs that allow you to glean his songwriting from more than just the obvious angles, such as on “The View” when he delivers a phenomenal hook “My eyes lit up when I saw it/A way of lookin for everything I wanted/My eyes lit up when I saw it/The view from where you sit/And apathy, I was in love with it” and the last line completely alters the depiction that he’s initially setting up. “Wake Up Next to God” tackles the struggle to love yourself (“Maybe I’ll figure out what it means/When I mean more to myself”) while the title track deals with navigating complacency “And these days, it feels like all I know is this phase/I hope I’m basking in the glow/Is there something bigger I don’t know?”. Everything comes to a head on the astonishing closer “Charlie” where Jade comes to terms with a breakup and resolves not to let it break him “I know it has to end/We’ll just play pretend, pretend/Yeah, I think that’s fine/’Cause you and I had a very nice time”. Those lines perfectly encapsulate the ethos of Oso Oso, and cap off one of the decade’s most accomplished emo records.

Essentials: “Charlie”, “The View”, “Basking in the Glow”

8. Titanic Rising- Weyes Blood

                 While every Weyes Blood record preceding Titanic Rising was a perfectly solid release in its own right, few artists managed to improve on all fronts as dramatically as Natalie Mering did this year with Titanic Rising. TR is a lush chamber pop record that finds Mering composing some of the grandest, and most impressive songs of her career to date. With the exception of the instrumental title track and closing track “Nearer to Thee”, the songs on TR are sweeping chamber epics flush with strings, brass, and synths that congeal remarkably well under the weight of her stirring voice. The songs are paced superbly and never verge on overstaying their welcome, but are produced with such rich texture that they allow new details to emerge with each listen. Not unlike acts like The War on Drugs or Amen Dunes, Mering tapes into well-worn forms with immediate comparisons that come to mind right out of the gates, but the music unfolds in a spellbinding haze that renders those points mute. Although her music has never before swelled with such expansive arrangements, she still manages to imbue these compositions with her strongest writing to date. TR sounds like the culmination of a singular voice that she’s been honing throughout the past decade.

                 TR is a gorgeous sounding record, and there’s nothing here that sounds fussy or overworked. The compositions are dense, but the arrangements move with a sense of grace that magnify Mering’s sentiments without drawing anything away from her stunning voice. Songs like “Wild Time” and “Everyday” contain some of the sharpest melodies that I’ve listened to all year, and the way they emerge patiently beneath heaps of tastefully arranged piano, strings, and brass only serves to maximize their impact. Even on songs like “Picture Me Better” that showcase the closest that TR veers towards minimalism, she’s composing with a deft intuition that keeps the arrangements economical without forsaking a sense of wanderlust. “Andromeda” begins with a lumbering bassline and kick drum rhythm while acoustic guitar softly snakes around her slowly blossoming voice. Shortly afterwards a string section slides into the mix and a massive chorus springs forth from beneath the mix. It’s anthemic but rendered in a dreamy hazy, and it already sounds like a classic. “Everyday” and “Something to Believe” are baroque pop at its most immediate, the former deploying a jaunty kick rhythm, lush strings, and sun-kissed harmonies while the latter is a breather that features terrific interlocking harpsichord/electric guitar leads snaking around her soaring vocals. And on “Movies”, her finest song to date, her effect-laden vocals and warbling synths build to a transcendent peak before transitioning into a spell-binding string-led coda. It’s an incredible sounding coda, and not a moment of it feels unearned.

                 Even at the album’s most indulgent, (as on “Movies” which is also unsurprisingly TR at its best) the music still still brilliantly serves the narratives at hand. TR consists of 10 songs that examine the highs and lows of love through a distinctly contemporary lens. “Andromeda” begins with a reluctance to allow love into her life “Stop calling/I think it’s time to let me be/If you think you can save me/I’d dare you to try” before Natalie eventually succumbs to the temptation to not close herself off completely “Love is calling/It’s time to give to you/Something you can hold on to/I dare you to try”. “Everyday” finds Natalie lamenting the state of modern dating “True love is making a comeback/For only half of us, the rest just feel bad/Doomed to wander in the world’s first rodeo” while “Mirror Time” examines a periodic love without boundaries that plays out in short burst from time to time “Got a feeling our romance doesn’t stand a chance/Stand a chance to last/You threw me out of the garden of eden/Lift me up just to let me fall hard/Can’t stand being your second best”. On “Movies” Natalie is offering her ode to the films that she loved growing up that have helped shape the person that she is. She longs for her life to have the same sort of neat dependability as she’s come to expect from movies, lamenting the mundane realities that defines actual human life “Some people feel what some people don’t/Some people watch until they explode/The meaning of life doesn’t seem to shine like the screen”. Like the rest of TR it’s an unabashedly intimate yet grand sounding song that exemplifies the multitudes of Mering’s songwriting, and it’s as human as music gets.

Essentials: “Movies”, “Andromeda”, “Wild Time”

7. Purple Mountains- Purple Mountains

                 After over a decade since the last Silver Jews record, Dave Berman returned to music earlier this year and released a self-titled album under the moniker Purple Mountains. Purple Mountains detailed Berman’s struggles with depression in the years following the dissipation of Silver Jews, and a few weeks after the record came out he took his life. The music on PM is unrelentingly bleak on its own terms, but when viewed through the context of its aftermath it achieves an unbearable melancholy that makes it difficult to revisit. Berman has spent his music career as the mastermind behind Silver Jews penning sharp songs that use humor and wit to navigate the inner turmoil that’s plagued him throughout his whole life. Although PM isn’t a particularly easy record to digest from a thematic standpoint, I can still hear quite a bit of humor and hope embedded within the music that runs counter to the narrative. There isn’t a single Silver Jews record that’s anything less than good, but on PM Berman’s songwriting hit a new peak that showcased his singular voice in a newly refined, mature temperament with all the effortless irreverence that he’s provided in spades throughout all these years held perfectly intact.

                 PM is a jangly indie rock record that sounds like a perfectly natural extension of the music that Berman was making in Silver Jews, but it’s disarming to hear just how straight up tuneful this record is. Immediacy is not the first thing that comes to mind when describing Berman’s work, but the songs on PM are some of the tightest that Berman has ever penned, and many of them contain his finest melodies to date. “All My Happiness Is Gone” is a dead ringer for any kind of conceivable anthem for 2019, and when Berman sings those lines throughout the chorus against a stirring string section, rollicking drums, and a jaunty acoustic guitar lead it sounds far more like a triumphant admission of apathy than the sort of shrugged off platitude the words themselves alone might suggest. The following song “Darkness and Cold” slows down the tempo, but works in tandem with what came right before it as an anthemic melody swells up while he describes the experience of watching his ex-wife begin to go on dates again “Love of my life going out tonight/Without a flicker of regret”. The juxtaposition between the music and lyrics animates the record from start to finish, and helps offset some of the particularly devastating moments.

                 There’s no way around the fact that the record was written in the wake of the dissolution of his marriage. The struggles with depression and substance abuse penned throughout the record are commonplace themes in all of Berman’s work, but the collapse of his marriage happened in the years following the last Silver Jews record, and every song here feels tethered firmly to the end of that relationship. “She’s Making Friends, I’m Turning Stranger” finds Berman coming to terms with his innate introversion “She’s making friends, I’m turning stranger/The people on her end couldn’t make it plainer/Sometimes I wish we’d never came here/Seeing as I’m held in such disdain here” while closer “Maybe I’m the Only One for Me” suggests that Berman is able to find contentment in the admission that perhaps he simply wasn’t meant to be in a lasting relationship “If no one’s fond of fucking me/Then maybe no one’s fucking fond of me/Yea, maybe I’m the only one for me”. At its core, PM details the sort of weary acceptance of life in all of its difficulties that Berman has resigned himself to. There are moments of profound beauty sprinkled throughout his deadpan sentiments that hint at something beyond the veil of frustration and apathy.

                 Although things panned out tragically in the wake of PM, there’s a rush of catharsis that his vulnerability allows for that elevates the sentiments throughout the record to dimensions beyond the sort of gloomy, one-note rock of which it runs parallel to the pantheon of. Berman has always written with an unflinchingly honest gaze at himself and the world around him, and while not necessarily portraying himself in the best light he’s always grounded in his genuine beliefs. Thankfully, he hadn’t lost an ounce of his wit or wisdom in the years following Silver Jews, and his penchant for the absurd is kept well in check throughout PM. This is particularly evident on the album highpoint “Margaritas at the Mall” which finds humor by poking through the holes of the hollow capitalist complex “We’re just drinking margarita’s at the mall/This happy hour’s got us by the balls”. On “Storyline Fever” Berman examines the way we’re swept up by the narratives that we construct to examine life more neatly “You got storyline fever, storyline flu/Apparently impairing your point of view/It’s making horseshit sound true to you” and even on the bleak state-of-affairs- recap opener “That’s Just the Way That I Feel” Berman slips in some amusing imagery in-between his morose depictions of his inner torment “I nearly lost my genitalia/To an anthill in Des Moines/I was so far gone in Fargo/South Dakota got annoyed”. No matter the tone that he struck, Berman was always resolute in his openness, and thankfully his parting gift to us remains steeped in that conviction.

Essentials: “Magiritas at the Mall”, “All My Happiness Is Gone”, “Darkness and Cold”

6. Magdalene- FKA twigs

                 It’s been five years since Tahlia Barnett’s last full-length LP as FKA twigs, and in the time since she’s released the exceptional EP M3ll155X, directed several music videos, and acted in the film Honeyboy as the rest of the musical landscape slowly began to catch up to her warped approach to avant-garde pop. M3LL155X suggested a more maximal, mutated take on club music, and it now seems like a sly feint within the greater scope of her artistry in light of Magdalene. The songs on Magdalene rarely utilize more than strings, keys, drums, bass, and Barnett’s heavenly falsetto, with very little generally happening at any point in time. The vast spaces allow for her highly expressive vocals to emote more heavily than we’ve ever heard from her, the instrumentation is rich and varied despite the tight parameters, and she’s managed to make the most of the eclectic roster of collaborators that worked on the album. The album was inspired by the story of Mary Magdalene from the Old Testament, and in examining how Mary was maligned by her peers Barnett draws a clear through line from the cruelty women suffered as a result of conservative ideology from then up to the present day. The result is a deeply moving record about her experiences within a continuum of marginalization. It feels urgent but far from self-important, and cautiously hopeful without any tangible sense of real optimism. Magdalene has stronger writing, singing, and production more adventurous than the vast majority of records that I’ve listened to this year. It’s the most compelling and expressive release in her short but singular career.

                 Magdalene sounds like a perfectly natural extension of LP1. It’s more minimal, and sways with a more forlorn baroque undercurrent that propels her skittering electronics into warmer abstract shapes. Arca, Oneohtrix Point Never, Nicolas Jaar, Hudson Mohawke, Future, Sounwave, Skrillex, Cashmere Cat, and Kenny Beats are among the people who are featured or produced songs on Magdalene, but despite the myriad of people that contributed it’s still an incredibly cohesive record perfectly suited for Barnett’s voice. “Thousand Eyes” opens the record to a chorus of pitched vocals set against swelling strings pouring down from the heavens. The record gradually grows more pensive and moody as it progresses, allowing the Future collaboration “Holy Terrain” to sound like the most fitting pairing imaginable by the time we reach track four. Their chemistry is undeniable, and it’s a perfect bridge between the corrosive piano ballad “Sad Day” and the sleek synth rhythms of the record’s centerpiece “Mary Magdalene”. Unsurprisingly, the Jaar contributions and the OPN contribution rank as some of standouts here. Daniel Lopatin’s touch is all evident all over “Daybed” as a lone violin plays in the distance while a kick drum and synths collide softly. It’s the ideal ambience over which Barnett’s voice urgently sings of her experiences with depression. And the skittering keys coupled with the drum and bass assault that propels Barnett’s massive hook on “Fallen Alien” make for some of the most powerful and compelling music of her career to date.

                 Magdalene opens with “Thousand Eyes” which is the sound of the wall of voices signaling the disintegration of a relationship, presumably the one between her and ex-fiance Robert Patterson “If I walk out the door, it stars our last goodbye/If you don’t pull me back, it wakes a thousand eyes”. Magdalene primarily delves into the aftermath of her relationship with Patterson, with songs like “Cellophane” and “Sad Day” that touch on not being enough for someone “They’re hating/They’re waiting/And hoping/I’m not enough” and taking the chance on being hurt again “Taste the fruit of me/Make love to all you see” respectively. In addition to the songs that focus on heartbreak Magdalene also touches on the ways that women have been maligned throughout history on the album’s centerpiece “Mary Magdalene”. Here she touches on how women have had their achievements erased from the history books “A woman’s war/Unoccupied history/True nature won’t search to destroy/If it doesn’t make sense” and pays tribute to Mary by acknowledging her as someone who was maligned as a whore due to a misreading, instead of an equal to Jesus. And on “Daybed”, one of Tahliah’s most impressive songs to date, she lays out in stark terms her struggles with depression “Tired of my resistence/Smothered is my distance, yeah/Careful are my footsteps/Possessive is my daybed” over eerie synths and strings courtesy of OPN.

                 Despite the thematic ambition on display throughout all of Magdalene, it never comes across like an oppressive slog. It’s all too common for records with such weighty concerns to collapse under the weight of their subject matter, but Magdalene is never anything less than an immensely engaging record. The production is gorgeous from start to finish, and the restraint that Tahliah opts for allows the impact of her outre leaning sound design to land that much more powerfully. With nine songs across 38 minutes every moment feels like it’s purposefully building towards something transcendent. She continues to fuse r&b, baroque pop, synth-pop, experimental bass, trap, and avant-garde electronica into something only recognizable as hers. The pacing is superb and while the obvious peaks like “Fallen Angel” and “Cellophane” provide a great deal of momentum, the transitional breathers like “Mirrored Heart” are just as exquisitely rendered and deeply felt as anything else she’s ever done. Magdalene sounds at once both very much of this current cultural climate and completely out of step with everything but her own sensibilities. Tahliah has been in a class of her own since LP1 dropped, but Magdalene makes a much stronger case that she’s one of the most compelling musicians of our time.

Essentials: “Fallen Alien”, “Daybed”, “Mary Magdalene”

5. Agora-Fennesz

                 The music that Christian Fennesz conjures as Fennesz has always taken on a larger than life quality far greater than the sum of its parts. Through a combination of heavily processed guitar, manipulated samples, and droning synths Fennesz has managed to carve out a singular lane within ambient music that began in earnest with his 2001 masterwork, Endless Summer, and can still be felt deeply on this year’s Agora. Agora consists of four massive ambient compositions within the span of forty-seven minutes. The music is darker, and flickers with a discernable sense of dread that’s most reminiscent of his stellar 2008 record Black Sea. But tone aside, Agora is a singular record unto itself, and quite possibly the best thing that Fennesz has done since ES. There’s a sweeping sense of scale present in these compositions that’s notably grander than we’re accustomed to hearing from Fennesz. This is still unabashedly ambient music, but there’s a weight to these songs that lends them a more dramatic and unnerving disposition than the genre typically allows for. Plenty of compelling ambient producers have emerged this decade and have helped push the genre forward to thrilling new heights, but with Agora Fennesz proves that he’s still in a class of his own.

                  There are few producers throughout this century, working within the parameters of ambient or otherwise, that have consistently crafted such vibrant soundscapes that flow so effortlessly with texture, space, and undeniable melodic intuition. Despite not a single song clocking in under ten minutes they each justify their length through exceptional pacing, sublime sound design, and a palpable sense of discovery lurking around every corner. Each song on Agora is constantly in a state of building towards or coming down from some massive peak, and there isn’t a moment that doesn’t feel earned or purposeful. Fennesz gives himself just as much time as he needs to really flesh out each of the compositions, and we’re better served for his patience. Each composition consists of droning synths, loops of guitars caked in distortion colliding alongside each other, and the occasional reverb-drenched vocal sample. The tone of these songs are uniform in their remote temperaments, but the dynamics of contrasting textures that animate each are in a constant state of flex and offer plenty to unpack throughout the course of multiple listens. Like most of Fennesz’s work, there’s a warmth to Agora that’s unusual for ambient music, and even at Agora’s darkest it still sounds positively radiant. The sound design and mixing of Agora is the main real draw, and there’s a strong case to be made that it’s the best produced album of 2019.

                  Right from the moment that the droning synths begin to flare up on “In My Room” it becomes clear that this is going to a far more ambitious outing than one could have reasonably expected from Fennesz this far into his career. Much like the two great 2019 Sunn O))) records, Agora exemplifies the greatest qualities of the musician making the record on a grander scale than we’ve ever heard prior. “In My Room” gradually builds up volume and additional texture as it progresses, slowly blossoming into a massive wall of sound that seems to slyly live up the grandiose production of the group whose name likely informed the song’s title. “In My Room” builds steadily throughout the course of its runtime culminating with an enormous eruption that trickles out organically, while the following song “Rainfall” builds to a blistering peak of guitar distortion early on and simmers in a vat of field recordings smeared in reverb, and soft-swelling synth melodies peaking out beneath the rumbling of the samples. His careful restraint is felt throughout all of “Rainfall” as he teases another eruption that never quite arrives. The title track then follows suit, and continues in the vein of slow-burning, doom-laced ambience that sifts through a multitude of texture while it simmers eerily yet gorgeously for several minutes before transitioning into closer, “We Trigger the Sun”.

                As “We Trigger the Sun” slowly drifts towards its majestic conclusion it ends Agora with the slightest hint of uplift, courtesy of calamitous, droning synths that envelop the mix in a bright haze. Agora doesn’t end too differently from where it began, and it’s remarkable to hear how Fennesz managed to wring such potent emotion out of such a narrow set of parameters. No two songs on Agora sound alike, but the pacing of each individual song, and the sequencing of the record on the whole, renders it a spectacularly cohesive listen. For nearly two decades now Fennesz has proven himself to be one of ambient’s greatest contemporary practitioners, and with Agora he’s continued to lean into his intuition for melody, atmosphere, texture, and tone, while trimming down his compositions so that, despite being unabashedly maximal, they still adhere to a purposeful sense of economy. Like most ambient music Agora necessitates your patience, and it doesn’t offer any immediate entry points to give a quick summation of what you’re getting into. But if you allow Agora to let its spectacular sound design wash over you, you’ll find that it's a pleasure to continuously lose yourself in its spellbinding current.

Essentials: “In My Room”, “We Trigger the Sun”

4. Remind Me Tomorrow- Sharon Van Etten

                 Sharon Van Etten has been releasing increasingly well-realized, intimate folk rock records for a full decade now, and with her fifth LP Remind Me Tomorrow she’s released what may very well go down as her magnum opus. Eschewing the narrow sonic parameters of all her prior records, RMT is a pristine, synth-pop record that’s brighter and bolder than anything that she’s released prior. The shift towards synths being the most prominent instrument in these compositions doesn’t fundamentally shift her songwriting the way that those sort of observations tend to posit. There’s still a hushed intimacy at the heart of her compositions, and the arrangements on RMT offer more texture and atmosphere than we’re used to hearing from her guitar-led compositions, but her approach to structure and songwriting remains recognizable to that of everything that she’s done prior. RMT is elevated, simply, by stronger songwriting and a heightened level of experimentation that Sharon has never really indulged in prior. There’s nothing that will rewrite your perception of her artistry, but it’s the most consistent and comprehensive testament to her greatness as musician to date.

                What’s particularly impressive is how cohesive a listen RMT is despite such a heightened range on display throughout the entire record. All of her past LPs are cohesive, but they all work within incredibly narrow parameters. The album was produced by John Congleton, and therefore has an unsurprisingly massive sound that allows torch-bearing epics like “Seventeen” and “Hands” to tremble with an immense fervor that she’s never quite summoned beforehand. On RMT the downtempo, industrial-lite noir ballad “Jupiter 4” emerges right on the heels of the the synth-fuzz swagger of the record’s first single “Comeback Kid”, but nothing about it sounds contrived or forced. It’s easy to get the sense that Congleton may have encouraged her to step further out of her comfort zone than ever before, but regardless of the impetus the sheer audacity behind some of what she attempts here would be impressive even if they didn’t quite land with the impact that they do. The pacing is masterful, with comedown waltzes like “Malibu” and “Memorial” popping up after heavyweights like “Seventeen” and “No One’s Easy to Love” respectively. “You Shadow” and “Hands” emerge towards the end of RMT and each slowly continue to build up one final, cathartic peak before the serene closer, “Stay”. Sharon was well ahead of the pack of introspective singer-songwriters well before RMT dropped, but the vast gulf between her artistry and the bulk of her contemporaries has widened immensely as a result of this record’s eclecticism alone.

                 RMT is her first album in almost five years, and in that time Sharon has acted in the OA and Twin Peaks, she’s obtained a degree in psychology, she’s gotten married, and she’s had her first child. The album on the whole isn’t explicitly about motherhood, and the bulk of the songs actually focus on her relationship with her now husband, but that monumental transition animates every moment of the album with a renewed sense of focus and clarity. There are straightforward love songs like “Malibu” that revel in small details “I walked in the door/The Black Crowes playing as you cleaned the floor/I thought I couldn’t love him anymore” and some that are sonically more abstract like “Jupiter 4” that succinctly hone in on her emotional headspace “I’ve been waiting, waiting, waiting my whole life/For someone like you/It’s true that everyone would like to have met/A love so real” even as the songs threatens to collapse in on itself at any given moment. RMT’s first single “Comeback Kid” was the first indication of her sharp sonic overhaul while also hinting at the emotional stakes she was grappling with in her private life “Don’t let me slip away, I’m not a runaway/It just feels that way”.

                 “Hands” is a slow-burning, sludgy synth-pop song about getting over the small things in relationships that really don’t matter “Put your hands on your love/I’ve got my hands up/Mean no harm to one another” while “No One’s Easy to Love” illuminates Sharon’s reluctance to enter into another relationship with the ghosts of past ones continuing to haunt her “The resistance to feeling something that you put down before/But keep quiet of it as you could not face it anymore”. One of the record’s most powerful sentiments arrives on the last song “Stay”, with Sharon expressing how the love between a parent and child is a bond that will last a lifetime “You won’t let me go astray/You will let me find my way/You, you love me either way/You stay”. Her voice is calm but firm, and confident in the uncertainty about how the relationship between her and her child will progress outside of the love that she’ll always feel. It's one of the most tender and vulnerable moments in a discography with songs brimming with those descriptors, and it ties the rest of RMT together as a snapshot of what her life looked like as she transitioned into motherhood.

                 The highlights on RMT are immense, and every song here is worth talking about, but the song that's impossible to ignore, which happens to be the greatest song that she’s ever written, is “Seventeen”. An epic of grand proportions in the lineage of Springsteen epics of grand proportions, “Seventeen” slowly builds and builds and builds while quaking with a level of urgency I’ve only heard a few other times this decade. “Seventeen” is propelled by a motorik rhythm that underpins a delicate piano melody and a procession of blaring synths while Sharon’s voice increasingly swells with fervor. The song is about Sharon talking to her seventeen-year old self and trying to provide a sense of reassurance that things will turn out alright despite what she’s going through in the moment “I see you so uncomfortably alone/I wish I could show you how much you’ve grown”. As the centerpiece of RMT, it serves to reinforce how far Sharon has progressed as a musician throughout the decade, and RMT on the whole hints at a myriad of other compelling directions that she may take her sound moving forward.

Essentials: “Seventeen”, “Jupiter 4”, “Hands”, “No One’s Easy to Love”

3. Leak 04-13 (Bait Ones)- Jai Paul

                 Before June of this year I thought there was a very strong chance that I would never get to hear Jai Paul’s exceptional debut LP. After it leaked in early April 2013 all traces of it vanished from the face of the internet and Jai went dormant. “BTSTU Demo” and “Jasmine Demo” were the only songs that he actually released from the album, and those two alone suggested that Jai was onto something truly idiosyncratic. They teased a remarkably well-realized fusion of Prince, Neon Indian, and J Dilla with a lighter, more malleable touch. After Bait Ones leaked Jai went reclusive, but as the decade progressed you could hear the influence of those irresistible leaks trickling down into the entire landscape of pop music, particularly when sampled by de-facto gatekeepers like Drake and Beyonce. By early 2019 it should have been evident to anyone that heard those leaks that pop music throughout the second half of the decade had come to resemble a post-JP world despite there being only two songs officially released to his name. On June 1st of this year Jai released the leaks in their demo forms, sequenced the way that the leak was initially. Six years on from that leak, the demos not only validate the hype, but present something of a wunderkind who was years ahead of his time.

                 After an unassuming ten second interlude “Str8 Outta Mumbai” kicks off the record proper, and it becomes immediately clear that Bait Ones is a very different kind of pop album. Constructed from sleigh-bells, lazer synths, a propulsive low-end, samples of Ravi Shankar’s soundtrack to the film Meera, and Jai’s infectious, understated falsetto “Str8 Outta Mumbai” is remarkable for striking a simultaneous balance between sounding like a timeless classic and the future of pop music. Everything is layered superbly, nothing dominates the mix, and it’s difficult to fathom anyone arranging music quite like this save for Jai. “Str8 Outta Mumbai” is the best song that he’s released to date, and is well worth the price of admission alone, but it’s just the beginning. Following right afterwards is “Zion Wolf Theme Unfinished”, and it sustains the momentum of the former while continuing to showcase Jai’s intuitive sense of melody and rhythm and providing some meta-commentary on his elusive nature “Can I make you fall in love with me?”. The percussion is warm and jittery, and there’s the constant thrill of discovery at every moment as some new instrument enters the fold without disrupting the sense of flow. All of the songs on Bait Ones are beats that stretch the confines of pop music through the incorporation of eclectic styles, disparate genres, and the pervasive sensation of of borders eroding between different sounds and cultures. Nevertheless, Bait Ones has the feel of a plunderphonics record, with the sequencing in particular giving the impression that it was constructed from a patchwork of influences he plucked from in accordance to his whims alone.

                 The songs on Bait Ones all split the difference between art pop, synth pop, and r&b to seamless effect. Some songs are built around samples, but for the most part these are compositions that Jai recorded from the ground up himself. Aside from the intro interlude and the “Good Time” interlude, “Str8 Outta Mumbai” is the only song here that isn’t a demo. The official release of Bait Ones is very similar to the version that was leaked, with overall fidelity improvement and the removal of unlicensed samples being the primary differences. Bait Ones is sequenced the same way, but it’s clear that the overall mix on the vast majority of these songs isn’t quite finished yet. Nevertheless, the songs on this album are examples of pop music at its finest. The smooth bass and synth strut coupled with Jai’s sensuous vocal delivery on “Jasmine Demo”, the back and forth harmonies over flickering hi-hats and bright synth lines on “Genevieve Unfinished”, the gorgeous multi-tracked harmonies that close “100,000 Unfinished”, the short-lived, but satisfying clipped harmonies and stomping percussion on the “Baby Beat Unfinished” interlude, and the slow, synth-fuzz creep and overall superb arranging alongside Jai infectious vocal line on the “BTSTU Demo” are just a few of the many exceptional moments on Bait Ones where it sounds clear that Jai is just as intuitive and inventive, if not more so, as most of his peers. Bait Ones is a sharp example of pop at its most omnivorous, inviting, and curious. With just a little bit of tweaking, Bait Ones could have been a serious contender for AOTD.

                 Most of the songs on Bait Ones seem to touch on a missed connection and the struggle to remain present. On “Str8 Outta Mumbai” Jai struggles to strike up a conversation with a love interest “Want to talk to you, but you don’t know what to say/And you don’t know what to do” but makes a resolution that he’s in it for the long haul “Grinding, this ain’t no quick ting/I wanna last/It’s gonna take time”. “Jasmine Demo” and “Genevieve Unfinished” are tender pleas for connection, the former draped in funky basslines and soft synths swells while the latter is up-tempo synth-pop propelled by cow-bells, frantic kick drums, and bright synth arpeggios. On the other end of the spectrum there’s “Crush Unfinished”, which finds Jai taking things as they come and not rushing into anything serious “It’s just a little crush/Not like I faint every time we touch”. The rough vocal mixing actually heightens the sentiments that Jai expresses throughout the course of Bait Ones.  Jai’s first song, “BTSTU Demo”, in a strange feat of prescience features the hook “I’ve been gone a long time/But I’m back and I want what’s mine”, which makes it a perfect fit for the album’s closer. There’s an undercurrent of weariness that runs throughout Bait Ones, a sense of trying to make up for lost time. By the time we reach “BTSTU demo” Jai sounds comparatively renewed, and unwilling to be taken advantage of any longer.

                 Along with the release of Bait Ones Jai released two one off singles titled “Do You Love Her Now” and “He” respectively that were recorded during the same sessions but weren’t leaked. Both “Do You Love Her Now” and “He” are great singles that rank up there with the rest of Bait Ones and confirm Jai as among pop’s true auteurs of the moment. It’s surreal to have the demos still in the same form as when they were leaked, as well as the prospect of new music from Jai supposedly on the horizon. Whether or not he ever decides to follow-up this masterful collection of demos seems uncertain, but it’s nothing short of miraculous that Jai saw fit to revisit the pain of having his work compromised for the sake of sharing it with the world this far after the leak. Few pop albums from this decade seemed to so fuse such disparate genres so seamlessly and inventively with such striking, undeniable melodic intuition. Bait Ones already sounds like a future benchmark of pop craftsmanship, the kind of record that still probably wouldn’t have gained a tremendous amount of traction had it been released through conventional channels, but one whose influence would still continue to ripple for years to come through the underground and mainstream alike regardless.

Essentials: “Str8 Outta Mumbai”, “BTSTU Demo”, “Zion Wolf Theme Unfinished”

2. U.F.O.F.- Big Thief

                 There are few musicians that have developed as remarkably this year as Big Thief. Their first two records, 2016’s Masterpiece and 2017’s Capacity, are both solid records that demonstrate a song command of songcraft and a striking, singular voice in songwriter and vocalist Adrianne Lenker, but with U.F.O.F. and then again later this year with Two Hands, Big Thief have become one of the best bands active period. U.F.O.F., the first of these two phenomenal records, is one of the most beautifully realized folk albums that I’ve had the pleasure of listening to all decade. The music is delicate, but sturdy, intricate and well-constructed but never showy despite the band’s considerable chops. The arrangements are economical and tight, and the band have superb chemistry with one another that allow the album’s naturalistic compositions to feel that much more organic than they would otherwise. Each of these songs unfolds with a natural sense of grace and patience that plays down how intricately they’re each composed. No other album this year achieved such a well-realized aesthetic, and for that alone U.F.O.F. is an impressive record. But the dreamy compositions coupled with Lenker’s wise-beyond-her-years voice touching on loss, nostalgia, growing old, and questioning who she is elevates U.F.O.F. to the state of one of the decade’s understated greats.

                 Big Thief is a four piece that, in addition to Adrianne Lenker, consists of guitarist Buck Meek, bassist Max Oleartchik, and drummer James Krivchenia. Each member of the band contributes equally to these recordings, and it’s unlikely that these songs would work with anyone else filling in for one or more of these roles. With the exception of the solo acoustic guitar and vocal interplay of “Orange” each of these songs is fleshed out considerably by the remaining members of the band, and the tight interplay between the members on U.F.O.F. is more pronounced than on the vast majority of records that I’ve heard this year. In a decade dominated by bedroom auteurs and laptops, the notion of a four-piece band playing dreamy folk songs skews downright subversive. But whereas Capacity found a hungry band that sounded unlike anyone else on the precipice of greatness, U.F.O.F. is the sound of that band mastering their voice and claiming a sound for themselves. Electric and acoustic guitars snake around each other nimbly, the rhythms unfurl patiently, and Lenker’s delivery is soothing and eerie simultaneously. Their music conjures all manner of nature, but through a surreal gaze that could only exist within your subconscious. Both “From” and “Terminal Paradise” originally appeared on Lenker’s solid 2018 debut solo LP Abysskiss, and while they were among the highlights of that record, when fleshed out with the rest of the band and rendered through the same production as the rest of U.F.O.F. their potency spikes dramatically. On U.F.O.F. Big Thief claim this sound for themselves alone.

                 As a lyricist and vocalist, Lenker has continued to develop immensely from record to record. The sentiments on U.F.O.F. are wise, touching, and ultimately profoundly human. She remains an astute observer and masterful impressionist, painting vivid scenes with the barest of words “Vacant angel, crimson light/Darkened eyelash, darkened eye/The white light of the living room/Leaking through the crack in the door/There was never need for more/Things we’re meant to understand/Crawling closer to your hand” as on the first verse of “Open Dessert”. The title track finds Lenker nostalgic for her home state of Minnesota “Going back home to the Great Lakes/Where the cattail sways/With the lonesome loon/Riding that train in late June” while “Contact” finds Lenker confronting her habitual state of feeling numb to everything around her “Wrap me in silk/I want to drink your milk/You hold the key/You know I’m barely, barely”. On “Strange” she’s contemplating the nature of mortality and the beauty that will outlive us “You have wings of gold/You will never grow old/And turquoise lungs/You have never been young” while “Century” seems to find Lenker contemplating power dynamics in a relationship “No resolution, no circling dove/Still caught in the jaw of confusion/Don’t know what I’d do for love/But stay another hour”. And on the stunning closer “Magic Dealer” Lenker looks back on her life so far with a resolution to remain more present moving forward “Starve, magic mirror/I thought the crumbs of your life wouldn’t dry/It hurts to see clearer/Falling like needles, the passage of time”.

                 Nothing on U.F.O.F. underwhelms or sounds out of place, but the best of what’s here makes a strong case that Big Thief have grown into one of the defining bands of their generation. Album opener “Contact” sets the tone with delicate fingerpicked guitar, jangly electric guitar, and a lumbering tom rhythm that lays a nice foundation, but by the time the chorus hits Lenker delivers a goose-bump inducing vocal melody that propels their cozy arrangements into anthemic territory. The singles “U.F.O.F.” and “Cattails” are both delightfully knotty compositions that sustain the wanderlust temperament through faint traces of droning bass, the aforementioned intertwining guitars, and sparse percussion. “Century” provides a nice mid-point breather with a jaunty rhythm and some of Lenker’s sharpest and most restrained melodies, while “Strange” chugs along with a comparatively quick rhythm and steadily builds into, what might have been a piercing guitar solo on Two Hands, but is instead a cathartic wall of Lenker’s multi-tracked voice that soars triumphantly over a rollicking bass solo. And on career highlight “Jenni” Big Thief come the closest that they’ve ever come to straight up shoegaze as the band chug along at a crawl while thoroughly enveloped by distortion. The pacing is immaculate, and when the chorus of “Jenni’s in my room” hits, it lands like one of the most awe-inducing moments that I’ve listened to on a song all year. It’s the sound of Big Thief fearlessly pushing past their acknowledged parameters, and into the unknown.

                 By the time we reach “Magic Dealer”, Big Thief have completely grown into themselves as a band “. They play with a sweeping serenity that feels timeless, but somewhat far removed from the current musical climate. There’s something profoundly human that the four members of Big Thief are able to tap into with their playing that imbues their compositions with a heightened sense of catharsis. Adrianne Lenker is able to articulate what’s ultimately so sacred about human life, her voice aching and tender but with firm conviction. Their intensity and earnestness sound genuine and well-earned, and there’s no pretense of self-righteousness or self-seriousness. Two Hands is a remarkable record in its own right, and cements their position as one of the most compelling bands currently active, but it’s U.F.O.F. that stands as their magnum opus to date. Their progression into the sublime, singular indie folk band that they are today is genuinely inspiring, and their 2019 records provide a compelling example of a band breathing new life into well-worn forms of music. U.F.O.F. and Two Hands provide an engrossing dichotomy of the band’s sound, and regardless of where they decide to take their sound moving forward, it’s clear that right now Big Thief simply cannot miss. Contrary to what one of the decade’s most relentless myths would lead you to believe, bands like Big Thief have helped ensure that guitar music is in a great place at the moment.

Essentials: “Jenni”, “Strange”, “Contact”

1. House of Sugar- (Sandy) Alex G

                  Very few artists have released a body of work this decade that’s as rich and rewarding as that of Alex Giannascoli’s. After having released several great records on bandcamp he signed to Domino starting with his great 2015 grab-bag Beach Music, followed by his terrific, eclectic 2017 record Rocket, and this year he dropped his magnum opus and eighth LP House of Sugar. On HoS Alex marries his strongest proclivities, those being off-kilter, supremely melodic guitar pop songs with warped production and a plethora of pitch-shifted vocals that tastefully imbue his vignettes with direction and distinction. Most of the songs consist of Alex’s vocals, acoustic guitar, drums, piano, and bass, with a variety of synths that provide welcome texture all throughout. He’s also supported by a variety of musicians that he tours with, in addition to the vocals and violin of Molly Germer and vocals of Emily Yacina. The songs are richer, and generally more unpredictable than we’re used to from Alex, but they perfectly exemplify his gift for songcraft through strong melodies, engrossing narratives around gluttony and deceit, and spectacular production. It’s not quite as immediate as 2012’s Trick or 2014’s DSU, and it doesn’t have the kind of range that 2017’s Rocket does, but on the whole HoS is the most well-realized record that Alex has released to date. It caps off a strong decade of experimentation from one of the most exciting voices in music at this moment.

                Like the rest of his records, HoS was written and recorded primarily by Alex, but contains plenty of tasteful contributions from members of his touring band that also helped flesh out Rocket including Samuel Acchione, Colin Acchione, John Heywood, and David Allen Scoli, Molly Germer, and Emily Yacina. The music on HoS still retains the intimate, bedroom pop glow that’s marked all of his records despite the heightened fidelity. HoS is the richest, most beautifully produced record in his catalogue to date. More so than on any of his prior records HoS finds Alex seamlessly weaving analog and electronic instrumentation to infectious effect. Opener “Walk Away” begins with slurred pitched shifted vocals over warm acoustic guitar and within short order a lumbering drum beat, droning violins, and harmonized chants emerge alongside Alex’s low-pitched croon. “Walk Away” could have easily collapsed under the weight of how packed this mix is, but the pacing is sublime, and by the time a lone jangly violin begins to ripple down the mix it sounds like euphoria. The next few songs lean into Alex’s sweet-spot for infectious guitar pop, but by the time we hit career highlight “Gretel” HoS begins to shift back towards more abstract compositions. And a song like “Gretel” is just impossible to simply gloss over. Opening to chip-tune chants, a decayed synth melody, and a boom-bap drum beat “Gretel” erupts into sinister, distortion-laced guitar pop and quickly introduces one of the most anthemic melodies that he’s ever penned. Like Sharon Van Etten’s “Seventeen”, “Gretel” sounds like a victory lap, the culmination of sorts after an incredibly impressive decade as an artist despite in this case being a meditation on greed that twists the story of Hansel and Gretel into one where after leaving Hansel to die, Gretel can only think about returning for more candy “I don’t wanna go back/Nobody’s gonna push me off track/I see what they do/Good people got something to lose”. “Gretel” perfectly balances the dichotomy between sweet and sinister, and contains some of Alex’s best production to date.

                   Although the opening suite of songs on HoS consist of the singles, and therefore by default some of the record’s most buzzed about songs, the abstract, electronic-influenced (particularly what sounds like the influence of Oneohtrix Point Never) middle section of HoS accounts for some of the most compelling production of Alex’s career to date. “Taking” unfolds slowly as the acoustic guitar that opens the song begins to make way for what sounds like warped sitar drones, a barrage of chip-tune vocal melodies, and subdued synths. The repetitious, Panda Bear-esque vocal dirge “Near” provides some of his most thrilling, and unpredictable synth arranging to date while the following song “Project 2” is propelled by an erratic hi-hat/kick rhythm and radiates the new-age sheen of early decade vaporwave. The bad trip nightmare-fueled rush of “Sugar” bleeds otherworldly pitch-shifted vocals, violin arpeggios, and a sinister synth melody while providing a sublime transition between the jaunty, country-influenced swing of “Bad Man” to the acoustic ballad “In My Arms”. By this point Alex has gotten all of the overt electronic experimentation out of his system, and ends HoS with two more gorgeous acoustic ballads, “Cow” and “Crime” respectively, and the surprising, but welcome Springsteen-esque live cut of “Sugarhouse” (which doesn’t yet have a studio recording). HoS is paced superbly, and despite having more range than all of his records that aren’t Rocket, it remains a remarkably cohesive listen through even the most overt sonic shifts. While it’s understandable that many longtime fans of Alex G may have found some of the experiments on Rocket a little too gimmicky, on HoS it’s hard to deny that he completely commits to the warped-americana meets electronic guitar pop aesthetic, rendering the atmosphere rich and engrossing from start to finish.

                   The lyrics on HoS aren’t particularly direct for the most part, which shouldn’t have come as a surprise to any fans of his, but they do a nice job of framing his depraved vignettes which each fixate on characters succumbing to their gluttony. “Taking”, “Hope”, and “SugarHouse Live” hone in on drug dependency, with the narrator of “Taking” succumbing to it “That’s how she found me this morning/Buried my head in her arms/Lifted my spoonful of sugar/Taking”, “Hope” providing a harrowing look at the havoc that opioids have wreaked in Alex’s community from a survivor’s perspective “Yeah, Fetanyl took a few lives from our life/Alright” and “SugarHouse Live” using gambling as a metaphor for drug addiction “You never really met me/I don’t think anyone has/But we could still be players together/Let SugarHouse pick up the tab”. “Near” depicts its narrator in a state of unrelenting lust “I said no/Hold my hair/I’m not there/Black feather/Come big boy/Tear me up/Draw my blood/No fucking” while “Crime” finds its narrator sidestepping his comeuppance for an unidentified misdeed “They killed him for the crime/But I know that they’re mistaken/It was me the whole time”. Throughout HoS Alex does a superb job of blending reality and fiction to deliriously blurry effect, with aspects of both informing one another and making it increasingly difficult to hone in on the distinction.

           HoS doesn’t have too many songs with the kind of immediacy that many of his past LPs have, but the highs on HoS are without question the best songs that he’s ever written. “Hope” opens with unbearable devastation “He was a good friend of mine/He died/Why write about it now?/Gotta honor him somehow” and finds Alex singing about the opioid crises in Philidelphia, “You can write a check in my name/Eddie take the money and run” over some of the sharpest guitar arrangements of his yet. On “Southern Sky” Alex, along with the harmonies of Emily Yacina and Molly Germer, provides one of the most gorgeous vocal melodies of his to date over jangly acoustic guitar, violin, and a lumbering rhythm. The warped collage breakdown “Sugar” is one of the most fascinating songs that he’s recorded to date, and is perpetually on the verge of breaking down as guitar drones, violin arpeggios, and the unsettling, borderline-incomprehensible vocals “You will be a bird/All of my life/Whirl in the air/Speck in the sky” collide violently with one another. The tender deep-cut “Cow” ranks as among Alex’s most beautiful songs, even more so for obfuscating the object of his affection “You big old Cow/You draw me out/Lie on the ground/Kiss on the mouth”. Most of HoS takes multiple listens before the pleasures of each song begin to emerge, but few records I’ve heard this year struck such a fine balance between immediacy and abstraction.

           From Race through HoS it’s hard to deny that Alex G has had a remarkably fruitful decade of releases. With HoS he’s cemented his status as one of the most compelling artists in not just indie rock, but music in general. His surreal storytelling, sharp melodic instincts, and relentless tinkering have propelled his rich catalogue of lo-fi DIY releases onto a level, alongside Car Seat Headrest’s Will Toledo, that’s far beyond the bulk of his peers. HoS, alongside Rocket before it, has further expanded the parameters of Alex’s sound, and teases a multitude of future directions that he could pursue that are far beyond anything that records like Race or Winner could have ever suggested. That sense of unpredictability and adventurous spirit are traits of his music that are just as compelling as the singular voice and immense sense of intimacy that all of his music is imbued with, and with each release from DSU onward those traits of his have been paying some serious dividends. Regardless of what his next record sounds like (I’m really hoping for some freak-folk or straight up ambient) it’s impossible for me to not to just give him the benefit of the doubt at this point. As long as Alex is following the direction of his whims alone, the results will likely remain captivating for many years to come.

Essentials: “Gretel” ft. Molly Germer, “Cow”, “Southern Sky”, “Sugar” ft. Molly Germer, “Hope” ft. Molly Germer & Emily Yacina

[breg21]

Ladynoir Month: Inspiration

Ao3 FFN

@ladynoirjuly2019

Inspiration left and came back to me thankfully for this prompt. Lol

Puns? I don't know. XD

Anyways. I shall see you all tomorrow for the LAST chapter.

I'mma cry.

Inspiration was very much, a double sided blade. It could come in wave after wave of ideas. Then, there were times when the flow was dryer than the Sahara desert.

Of course the latter usually came in a time of need when she required her inspiration hit hard. Because, of course, why wouldn't it? Marinette needed to get this portfolio submitted to Chloe's mother— even though Chloe herself said she could easily get her a spot in her mother's corner in a snap of her fingers, but the young designer refused, saying she wanted to earn this internship— before the school year was up.

She had three weeks left.

Yet, nothing was coming to her. She had all but blocked everyone from entering her room, save for Plagg and Tikki, who were under strict rules by her, to only bring her food and food only. Nothing more, and nothing less.

She had so many papers scattered across her room, mountains of fabrics piled together, and binders holding design after design— several had discarded pieces of her work that she'd never show Aubrey, and another binder specifically conducted to show the work that Marinette deemed passable— within the plastic covers.

In short, her room was a mess.

And in short, she was pretty sure all four other household members were about ready to ram her hatch door in, in order to drag her out and into the broad daylight.

So what if she hadn't seen natural in over twenty four hours?

So what if she was living off of coffee cup after coffee cup?

She was totally fine. Completely good. One hundred percent sane.

Gosh, that fifth double espresso hit the spot.

"Okay, pigtails." She turned to see Plagg floating just mere centimeters from her face; an annoyed look hinting on the edge of the bored expression plastered on his face. "You need to go out. Get some air, whatever you humans do to feel better."

She was about to object when Tikki phases through her hatch door. "Plagg's right." Tikki rolled her eyes as the cat kwami gave her a knowing eyebrow wiggle. "You need your rest, Marinette. Go visit Adrien."

That brought her mind to the complete present. "Adrien? Isn't he downstairs?"

Plagg shook his head. "He was getting itchy with you refusing and not being able to help, no matter how hard he tried, so he decided to go visit the gorilla in his rose garden."

That explained that. Adrien and the Gorilla have grown fairly close— and after Emilie basically signed over the mansion to him, just for a temporary place for him to stay until he figured out what he wanted to do, or where he wanted to go— Adrien often visited his bodyguard and lounge around the mansion, mostly to play on his piano or help the behemoth with the garden.

Marinette couldn't help but admit that she was beyond happy that Adrien didn't let his father overshadow his love for piano for when he played what he wanted. "Okay okay. Maybe I do need a break." She pushed the chair away from the desk and got up to stretch, feeling the cracks and moans her bones made in protest. "I guess I do need a little break."

Plagg's eyebrow rose. "A little? Pigtails, you made my kid angsty. You need a little more than a break."

Her shoulders slumped in knowing defeat. "I know." She looked to Tikki, determination settling over her. "C'mon, let's go."

She tried to ignore Plagg's sly smirk of triumph as she sailed off into the late night.

When she landed on the edge of his window sill, she gave a quick two tap against the glass with a fist, watching as Adrien— who had his back turned on her, hands gliding across the keys of his piano— turned to see her waiting for him to open the window for her.

A bright smile lit his lips and warmed his eyes, chasing any other emotions she caught swimming in his eyes for a split second. And she knew that was because of her somewhat, while he wasn't angry whatsoever with her, Ladybug knew he was missing her like crazy because honestly, she missed him just as much, especially with a mind that wasn't as crowded as it had been for the past days.

He left his seat and the piano, and in three quick strides, crossed the room to open the window, grinning all the way. "Hey, bugaboo. I see you finally broke away from your work?" It was said in a tease, but she could hear the way he missed her under his held up tone.

So, with that in mind, she almost pounced on him, nearly knocking them to his old bedroom floor. She smashed her lips to his, not allowing for any space between them, as she did her best to make up for the past days of kisses that they had missed out on.

When they pulled back, he was flushed, breathless, and panting in short little bursts. "Well, if that's the greeting you're gonna give after locking yourself away for three days straight, please feel free to do so again."

She giggled and nuzzled her nose into the crock of his neck. "I'm sorry about that. I shouldn't have blocked everyone out like that."

His hands started to stroke her hair so tenderly and filled with love that she truly wondered how she could've gone so long without feeling like she was gonna go crazy without his affection. "I understand where you're coming from. This is a big deal for you, you need to get this done and you're on a deadline."

"But not at your guy's expense." She argued. "The least I could've done was interact with you guys while doing my work. Not locked myself away. I just wished I had something going in my mind for this. It feels like I lost all inspiration— I've hit a block."

He chuckled, and pushed himself to his feet, pulling her along with him, and dragged her along to the piano bench, motioning for her to sit beside him. "I know when you're stressed you like it when I play the piano for you. Maybe it can help get your mind flowing again."

Marinette smiled as she dropped her mask and he began to play once more as the sweet melody filled the room and her heartbeat almost seemed to fall into sync with each note that run out as he pressed the keys. She leaned her head against his shoulder as he continued to play and all else fell silent to them, the world didn't exist beyond these walls, and for once, that was okay.

A thought bubbled in her head for a clear moment before she titled her chin slightly up, but keeping her head where it laid. "What inspires you when you're in a rut?"

His fingers pause and his arms drop to his side as he stopped to look at her, causing her to pull back so he could properly do so.

And when her eyes caught sight of his, all she could see was absolute, pure, uncontained love. Love that lit the soul on fire and would consume every inch inside of him nuts and she could tell he didn't mind it. The love in those storeybooks got it all wrong, because love isn't just one thing, it was a labyrinth of so many, that one could never truly be described correctly. It was endless, and boundless, and so clear. Selfless.

And as always, he was looking at her when that look appeared.

"You."

No matter how long they had been together, her breath still hitched when he looked at her like that. When he spoke like that. Because she was his world, and he was hers, and sometimes it was still hard to believe. "How so?"

That special smile that he only reserved for her appeared. "When it's been a rough day, and I just can't seem to smile, I think of yours and my grin is never more real." He pressed a key, one single note. "When I feel like crying, maybe I'm thinking of my father, I remember the laugh in your eyes, and I realize those tears aren't worth it." Another note added to the first, and it blended so smoothly in. "And then, I think of my favorite, absolute favorite thing. When you laugh. When I can't even seem to chuckle, all I have to do is think of your beautiful, amazing laugh, like the one in the rain on the first day we met, and I'm whole again."

He started colliding note after note to make a sweet, heartwarming song that she had never heard before, and it made everything melt inside.

"And that, my lady." He breathed as the last note echoed out. "Is how I get through my blocks. I think of you, everything that makes you who you are— and that is only the start of what I think of when I need something to spark my inspiration— and it all just clicks. You make everything in me just come alive and I can't help how my thoughts flow because of you."

Marinette was in tears, burning hot, blurry tears, and she was completely fine with that. She loved this man more than she could ever say, and she was so thankful for him. She rested her forehead against his, letting the tears fall and just soaked up his presence.

Because even when he couldn't help, when he couldn't do anything to outright fix the situation, he was still there, supporting her, being the solid ground to catch her when her knees felt like they would give out underneath her. He was there. He would always be there. And that was more than enough.

He was her inspiration.

And something just sparked inside of her. Almost like a lightning bolt, and she would've been laughing at the irony, if not for the way she started to bounce in her seat. "I have an idea!"

Before he could even ask, she jumped from her seat, nearly transformed and out the window before she skidded back and pulled him into a long searing kiss that left her wanting more, but knew that would come later. "Meet me on the eiffel tower in an hour. I think I got my inspiration back." And turned to leave, calling over her shoulder, "Love you, hot stuff!"

She knew without a doubt as she swung away, she heard his unmistakable laugh and his own, "I love you too, bugaboo."

An hour later, he was where she promised she would be. Sitting on top of the eiffel tower, with sketch pad in her lap and a pencil twirling in her fingers, eager to show her kitty her completed designed for Chloe's mother.

Ladybug could tell the second Chat landed, that he was excited as she was to see what she had come up with. "So, bugaboo. What'd ya got to show me?"

She passed the book to his, hands just shaking with uncontained joy. This was one of her best pieces yet, and she was honestly proud to show it.

She watched as his eyes bulged from their place in his head and she smiled all the more because of it. Chat tried to clear his throat a few times, but she could see the difficulty in it. "W-what made you think of this? Any.. any particular theme?"

She laughed and leaned in closer to point out a few sketches she had made. "I was thinking of a bad boy meets sweet nerd. Trying to get rid of that cliche that it's only one way or another." She pointed to the leather jacket that wasn't screaming bad boy, but it didn't give the impression of sweet innocent either. "This piece is my favorite, honestly. I could see you wearing it."

She flipped through several more pages, raving about all the creations that just spilled on the page once she had started.

And all the while, Ladybug had missed the sweet, tender look her boyfriend was giving her.

"...and this one-" She finally took notice that Chat was being awfully quiet, and lifted her head from the page, stilling her finger that was directing her sketches on the page, to give him a questioning look. "Everything okay, kitty?"

He blushed at being caught, but his smile grew bigger. "Yeah. I just can't help but wonder who inspired this look?"

She giggle, and leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth. "Isn't it obvious? Chat Noir an Adrien Agreste, of course."

He melted into the hand that now somehow found its way to his face and glided along his cheek and his own tears sprung. "Me?" He whispered, tone full of wonder.

Her heart felt ready to take off. Because he deserved everything and more. He deserved to know he was loved and appreciated for all that he was, and she could see it in his eyes, the joy that it brought him, just seeing all of him scribbled and drawn out on the pages that she had worked hard for.

She vowed silently for the rest of her days, he'd know just how much he was loved, come rain or shine. Because he was more than she could ever ask for.

"Yeah, kitty." She said softly. "You."

Husband's thoughts:

So nobody explicitly says where Chat got the rose the first time he wanted to open up to Ladybug.

Long story short, upon getting the rose for Adrien, the gorilla found he really loved the elegance of the flower and the way it flowed from the stem in such a way he could not describe. It reminded him of a simpler time, back when he was a mere back alley boxer doing all he could to impress his first love. Ever since then he planted a special garden he would use everytime Gabriel was being a prick in an effort to akumatized him. One smell of the sweet flower reminded him of the sweet rush he got from punching people against the hard cobblestones of London.

Also that's my canon of how Adrien had so many flowers to give Marinette.

[simplybakugou]

Can I get a scenario of the reader is a writer and Katsuki finds out and teases her for it, but is secretly deeper in love with her and Kirishima finds out about it and sets them up. Katsuki then finds out all the romance stories and poems were about him?

A/N: I made this as hcs/scenario only cause requests like these are difficult for me to make it sound fluid and flow easily as a scenario if that makes sense, so I hope you don’t mind! Saying that, I poured my heart and soul into this specific request and I really liked how this turned out. This one personally meant a lot to me. Thanks for requesting and hope you enjoy :)

Pairing: bakugou x female!reader

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 1956

✐posted 07.28.2018✐

Every individual person has a passion. Whether it’s drawing, reading, sports, musical endeavors, there’s something unique that everyone pours their whole heart and soul into. For you, it was writing.

And not the modern typing it up in Google Docs/Microsoft Word I just roasted myself lol, you loved the traditional pen and notebook type of writing. 

In the way people had diaries where they stored their thoughts and personal emotions, you had a book where you wrote anything and everything that came to mind. Be it poems or short stories, the minute an idea came to you for writing, you immediately grabbed your book and wrote away to your heart’s content.

Even though your love for your passion was strong, you didn’t dare tell a soul about the notebook’s existence. 

But, every writer must have a muse or a driving force that allows them to have that inspiration to want to write. When you got into middle school, that driving force died down. You’d barely opened your book in years, it collecting dust on your shelf. You were simply unimpressed with what you were seeing on a daily basis.

But everything changed once you got into U.A. High. There in the second row all the way towards the window was your newest muse: Katsuki Bakugou.

He was brash, the most aggressive person you’d ever met. But with every moment you spent with him, you became more and more intrigued. He had small flashes of kindness to him before reverting back to his normal self. It made you want to chisel through his thick, stubborn skull and figure out what was it that drove him to want to be number one.

And through watching Bakugou’s ambition, you became engrossed in your muse. Every word that you etched on your paper correlated to him. You couldn’t come to terms with these feelings, simply classifying them as a spark towards the fire that was your writing.

You could have never known what you were feeling. But it was simple: you were utterly, deeply, and hopelessly in love with that idiotic hothead.

On the other hand, Bakugou, despite his abrasiveness, was not your usual angered sixteen-year-old. He was intelligent, driven, and very observant. The minute you walked into class 1-A, he hadn’t paid any attention to you, classifying you as the rest of the extras in the class.

But he observed how kind you were, how gentle you were with everyone, how your eyes lit up at the mention of the things you loved. He noticed it all.

Similarly to you, Bakugou couldn’t come to terms with these feelings. Every moment that he spent with you, he couldn’t understand why you were always on his mind or why you made his heart speed up in a way that was indescribable. Nevertheless, he hated the way you made him feel. He hated that he couldn’t stand to see you frown, the little wrinkle by your brow that turned or how your lips turned downwards when you were upset. He hated how pissed he got when he saw you talking to another guy from class. He hated how often his mind would drift off during class, staring at you all the while. And he hated how vigorously you scribbled down notes when hearing a useful piece of information.

To Bakugou, your effect on him was so difficult for him to comprehend. But it was simple: he was utterly, deeply, and hopelessly in love with the nerdy girl from class.

The incident occurred on a regular afternoon. You had invited Bakugou, Kirishima, Mina, Sero, and Kaminari to your house for a little hang out session. Bakugou claimed he was forced to come due to Kirishima’s persistence, who in reality knew how hopeless his two friends were, but was honestly intrigued by your every move.

Bakugou had excused himself to go to the bathroom while everyone else played a few PlayStation games. He had intended to go to the bathroom, but he couldn’t help himself from peering into your bedroom that was wide open.

Your room was pretty simple, a bed, a chair, a writing table filled with books. But one book in particular caught his attention. It was a simple leather bound book that was closed shut with a knot of a ribbon. 

Bakugou grabbed the book, undoing the knot and opened it up. He skipped through the first pages as the dates at the top indicated the work to be done years ago. But as the dates became more recent, Bakugou became more interested. 

You had written about a certain airhead who was too stubborn for his own good, too arrogant, and too deplorable for anyone to like. And yet you went on to describe how gentle he could be with a few stubborn actions, how ambitious and driven he was, and how emotional he really was. 

It was evident to anyone else who would have read it: you were writing about him.

The thing is… it was evident to anyone but Bakugou. He couldn’t decipher who you were spouting your love for.

Bakugou tried to ignore the fact that you became even more etched into his brain, but he simply couldn’t. This incident didn’t help his lovesickness. If anything, he fell deeper in love with you.

But even so, he refused to acknowledge the feelings he had developed even more. He refused to believe that a normal girl had fazed his ambitions, had made him think more than just himself, and who could make his heart skip just from her laughter. It was preposterous for him.

Unknown to Bakugou’s knowledge, Kirishima, his beloved friend, had noticed Bakugou snooping through your things when wanting to go to the bathroom as well and wondering why it took Bakugou so long.

His initial intention was to tease Bakugou for being so nosy. But he decided not to go through with it due to the emotion written on Bakugou’s face as he begun to read your writing. There was a gentleness to it and a softness as well. Kirishima couldn’t help but sigh.

The hell am I gonna do with these two…

A few weeks went by since the incident, and Bakugou began to notice you writing down on a separate piece of paper when something sparked your passion. You always wrote notes down on a piece of paper before going home and scribbling away in your beloved notebook.

“The fuck are you writing so much about?” Bakugou asked, knowing full well what you were doing.

You froze, this being the first time someone called you out. You rubbed the nape of your neck nervously. 

“Mr. Aizawa mentioned something important for our next test and I need every bit of information I can get to pass.”

Bakugou wanted to press the matter further, wanting to know who you were writing about, wanting to tell you how he felt. He wanted to know whether the feelings were mutual or not. But he chose not to bother you, never bringing up the incident again.

Kirishima, watching from the sidelines as always, became more and more irritated with the two of you as each week went by. He had thought Bakugou would have came to his senses and confessed, but the stubborn hothead did no such thing. 

Since then, Kirishima took it upon himself to be your matchmaker. He would mention you to Bakugou with every chance he got.

“____ looks nice today, huh, Bakugou?”

Bakugou became disheveled, wondering why his friend would comment such a thing out of the blue. He then assumed Kirishima had feelings for you, making him even more pissed. He scoffed.

“She looks the same every fucking day.”

Kirishima shook his head. His friend was absolutely hopeless.

He then moved on to try and coax you into asking Bakugou out. And well… that didn’t work out either.

“____ what do you think about Bakugou?”

You nearly choked on your breath from Kirishima’s sudden question. You blushed, sweating profusely. 

“Well… he’s an alright guy. I mean, I don’t feel that differently about him than I do with all the other guys in this class. Kirishima, the weather’s real nice today, huh?”

It was evident to Kirishima that neither of you were willing to make the first move. So, instead of beating around the bush, he began to be direct. Very direct.

One day while hanging out with just Bakugou in his house, Kirishima confronted him.

“Bakugou, you like ____, right?”

Bakugou’s red irises nearly popped out of their sockets at the statement. He looked at Kirishima with the most bewildered expressions expecting to see him claim that it was a joke. But Kirishima did no such thing, keeping the intense and stern look on his face.

“Tch, the fuck makes you think I have feelings for that shitty girl?”

Kirishima rolled his eyes at his stubbornness.

“Oh, please. No one else probably sees it, but I see the way you look at her and how pissed you get when other guys talk to her. You’re not like that with any of the other girls from class so it’s obvious that you feel something for her.”

Bakugou desperately wanted to tell him that he was wrong, but he couldn’t. He had grown tired of forcing himself to contradict himself.

“So, maybe I feel something for her. That doesn’t mean shit.”

Kirishima scoffed.

“Bullshit. I’ve seen you even snoop around in her room and read whatever she was writing in that leather book. Something ticked inside you after that.”

Bakugou was slightly embarrassed for getting caught, though he’d never admit it.

“I just read about her writing about some guy who she likes from class. She wrote shitloads of poems and shit about that dick all over her book and it fucking made me pissed.”

“You idiot!”

Bakugou looked at Kirishima with utter offense. Kirishima had grown exasperatedly tired of Bakugou’s sheer stupidity.

“She’s obviously writing about you!”

“What?”

“I’m saying that ____ feels the same way about you that you do for her. So, grow some thick skin and ask her out for god’s sake!”

Bakugou was speechless. He had never anticipated that he was the mystery guy you spewed your love for on those pages. And Kirishima had given him a wake up call.

Kirishima sighed.

“All I’m saying is that it’s exhausting to see you two feel the same way about each other and not do anything about it. You gotta be a man and ask her out, man!”

Any other time, Bakugou would’ve practically murdered Kirishima for assuming he could speak to him in such a way, but Bakugou was at such a loss for words that he couldn’t do anything about it.

Regardless, he knew what he had to do.

The next morning, the lunch bell rang and you had gone to eat with Ochako. 

“Oi, ____.”

You immediately froze, turning your head to look at Bakugou. You didn’t even know that he knew your name.

“Yeah?”

Bakugou looked away, utterly embarrassed to have to confess in such a stupid way.

“You don’t have a boyfriend, right?”

Every hair on your body stood straight at those words. The sheer thought of Katsuki Bakugou even concerning himself with your love life was absurd.

“No, but why–”

“Good.”

Bakugou turned around, walking slow enough for you to hear his next statement. 

“You better be ready at 5 on Saturday. I’m taking you out, you piece of shit.”

You nearly passed out at his words, Ochako having to fan you and give you plenty of water to keep you from fainting.

What came next for the two of you was enough for any romance author to write five volumes worth of romance.

[hydrospanners]

A-Z on the writing meme because I need to know absolutely everything immediately.

WELP okay but just remember you asked for what’s about to happen. meme is here. most of this is under a cut cause i’m longwinded as hell.

A. If you could rec a piece of music to accompany one of your fics, what would you pick? Why?

Um I absolutely was vibing to Lips by The xx when I wrote a wish your heart makes and you should too.

B. Who’s your favorite side-character from something you wrote?

I feel like the answer here is supposed to be Doc because he is not The Main Character in the game but also I have written about him and from his POV so much it feels unfair to call him a side character at this point. So instead I’m going to say this random woman named Cherita who was just trying to make a midnight snack for her pregnant wife from a little eggstra. I thought she had a lot of character for someone I pulled out of my ass for the sake of an outside perspective.

C. Get any good comments on your stuff this year?

I am thirsty for praise and I feel every single comment is a good comment but I think the one that sticks out to me is when I wrote a wish your heart makes someone said something like “if you like doc at all you have to read this” and I don’t remember who it was or where they said it but it really stuck with me!!! If that was you, thank you!!!!

D. Any drawings or pictures that had a big influence on your writing?

No!!! I feel guilty about this answer somehow but it’s true. I think it would be a fun challenge to try to write a piece of fic inspired by someone’s art so I may play with that idea next year (Editor’s Note: it was still 2k18 when I wrote the answer for this one) but for 2k18 the answer is no. :(

E.  Who’s your favorite main character you’ve written?

I feel like this answer is obvious but it’s my girl Rea. I’ve reincarnated her as an Inquisitor and a Pathfinder but the OG Jedi Knight is still my fave.

F. What stories are you planning for the future?

I won’t pretend that a lot of planning goes in to my fic. I normally only write short bits so it kind of goes like this: I have a concept, I write the bit I fixate on, and then it sits in my WIPs for five years until I get motivated during some Fictober or something to finally finish it.

I will say I do have serious designs to finally finish the second chapter of the things you do for love are gonna come back to you one by one as that one is a little more complex than stuff I usually write. I have plans to do some kinda flashback-y thing that finally lays out The Velaran Backstory in clear and obvious terms after years of hints and tidbits I’ve been peppering through my fic. I also have a thing planned and kinda partly written about the first instance of horrific violence in the lives of all the Knight’s companions. Also I have a long series of AU vignettes that glimpses into universes where Rea is a Sith or Kira never made it off Korriban or Rusk remained a pacifist or where Rea never joined the Jedi after losing her family the second time. Stuff like that.

G. Where do you think you grew the most this year?

Structure? I’ve been really working on trusting my reader to bridge some gaps and not letting myself get caught up in details that are important for me to know to write the next part but that don’t necessarily need to be in the story. I think I’ve really tightened up my game where trimming the fat and staying focused are concerned.

H.  How do you write? Paper, pen, computer? Music, no music?

My fic writing process is very different from when I am trying to write original stuff and is even kind of different depending on the mood I’m going for? I always write fic in Google Drive cause I write fic from a lot of different machines and need the easy cloud saving.

My ideal condition for fic writing is listening to instrumental music or ambient sounds playing through headphones either in a coffeehouse or the library or when I am at home completely alone. Angst and smut are best written at night with the lights low and warm. Comedy and fluff are best written in the late afternoon/early evening after one single alcoholic beverage (any more than and one I am drunk and no longer capable of writing).

Realistically though, I usually write in whatever time I have. Mostly at work. My job requires me to sit at a desk and wait for things to happen. Since I start work at 5am, things usually aren’t happening. Even with me going out of my way to create new work for myself and excel at what work I do have, I have a lot of downtime. I spend it writing fic. I get interrupted too much to have the focus I need for original writing, but fic writing is much easier so mostly I write my fic at this bland little desk under the terrible fluorescent lights with lots of noise and interruptions, occasionally playing a thematic playlist very quietly in the background.

I.  What’s your favorite work you did this year? Why?

This is a very tough question. Surprisingly, I published a lot of things that I really liked? ([not pictured: me high fiving me for finally allowing myself to state that I like my own writing]) I think I’ll go with when the wicked play if I have to pick just one. Relative to my other work I think it’s very structurally sound and thematically focused and pretty efficient with its characterization and imagery without ever getting too sparse. Also I’m a slut for examining the commonplace nature of violence and brutality in the Star Wars universe.

J.  What are the best jokes you told this year? Any jokes you thought were funny that people didn’t catch? Vice-versa?

I’m gonna say the pun I used as the title for bars and stripes. Honestly the whole fic is a joke and I like it and I don’t care if anyone catches it or not because I know that I am hilarious and no one will ever convince me otherwise.

K. Who have you killed this year? Why did they have to die?

No one, I think? I don’t think I even mentioned any specific off-screen deaths except for shit from the decades old Tragic Backstories. Not even Valkoriate. I’m not an especially murderful writer, maybe because I haven’t had to deal with a lot of that kind of loss in my own life. Mostly I write about things that are somehow adjacent to my own emotional state/journey. That’s why I fixate a lot on the weight of duty and moral philosophy and the nuances and complications of relationships, of how you can hurt someone and be hurt by them and still love them and how messy yet fulfilling the whole thing is. Thankfully--for me--not a lot of grieving the dead in there yet.

L.  Which character did you most write about this year, and why do you like ‘em?

Pretty sure it’s Rea. Maybe Doc because of the Docember thing I squeezed in at the last second but I’m still pretty sure it’s Rea. Pretty sure it always is.

There’s a particular kind of release I get from writing her because her whole sloppy person is a part of me that doesn’t often see the light of day. I won’t say she’s aspirational because I like who I am and I don’t have any special destiny or Force powers or anything to save me when the consequences of living like she does catch up. But there are pieces of her that I admire, pieces that are still part of me that I have a hard time expressing, and spending time with her gives me a little more strength to unlock those dark musty corners of who I am, I guess? Writing Rea makes me a little more bold, a little less apologetic, a little less prone to overthinking and anxious fretting and a little more prone to doing. She makes me feel strong enough to ask for the things I want and confident enough to feel like I deserve them.

Also she is a damn good time, even when she’s falling apart.

M. Meta! Have any meta about a story you’re dying to throw out there?

Of course I do. I could ramble for hours about the story behind any single one of my stories. Aren’t all of us creative types like that??? Don’t we all love to talk about what we were going for and why we made the choices we did??? What we liked and what we think needs improvement??? Why we wanted to make the thing we made in the first place???

I could ramble about this for hours and honestly the possibilities are overwhelming so I am not going to go into any detail and just say yes. Obviously I am willing to ramble about the story behind every single story I’ve published but there’s 63 of them so if there’s something specific you want to hear about you’ll have to ask about the specific one!!!

N. Anything you were planning to write that never got written?

Nothing will ever be “never got written” until I am dead and unable to write. I am still going back to WIPs from 2014. I am rewriting garbage exercises I wrote in 2013. I like to think everything in my WIP folder will eventually be moved to my Published folder and I am going to keep thinking that until I am physically incapable of writing.

O. Do you believe in outlines? Show us one!

I believe in them very much and yet I do not practice them usually. I rely on them more with my original work which is longer and more involved and doesn’t already have a convenient structure to follow in the form of 300000 hours of video game. Most of my fic is really short, just a single scene or so. I usually start out by writing the moment that inspired me to write the fic and fill in the before and after. I do have an outline for the second half of the things you do for love are gonna come back to you one by one but I don’t really want to share it for something that isn’t written yet!

P. What are your pet peeves in other people’s work?

This question makes me kinda uncomfortable so here we go with some disclaimers: I write the stories that I want to read or that I really need to tell to satisfy something inside of me and I assume other authors do the same. I don’t want to say anything here that might have a chilling effect on someone exploring some idea they really need to explore, even if it’s tired or cliche or offends my own tastes. Writing is very personal and I think everyone should tell the stories they want to, whether anyone else likes them or not.

That being said, I am always desperately wishing for more media about close, intimate friendships and familial bonds. As someone who isn’t interested in sexual or romantic relationships, it makes me weep basically every time I read a story about characters who are friends or family that give that kind of relationship all of the value and weight and nuance that you see romantic relationships getting. It is a very special kind of feeling to see that it is possible for people to value what I have to offer them as much they might value someone who will romance them and sleep with them. It is very validating to see the possibility of emotional intimacy with people outside of romantic/sexual partners.

But I would never want anyone to feel bad about or stop writing their romances and their smut. That stuff speaks to people and that’s what fic is about. Telling the story that speaks to you. I want everyone to write what they want to write and if that leaves gaps, well that’s why I started writing fic in the first place. There was a story I needed to read and no one had written it yet, so I did it myself.

TL;DR Genfic & friendfic & familyfic is the greatest gift anyone could ever give me, but no one should write to satisfy other people. Always write for yourself first and foremost.

Q. Quote three bits of writing you read his year. Can be your writing, or not.

I keep little quotes everywhere--index cards and sticky notes scattered among all my belongings, snippets on my phone, untitled documents on every cloud service there is, random word docs hidden amongst my many hard drives--but the only ones I can find right now are from @meonlyred‘s Dark Horse so please enjoy three bits from that fic that I loved:

They remained sitting on the floor, Rossa leaned against him, eyes staring into the distance. Her silence might as well have been weeping.

I just love how I can feel the vacant, numb quality of her despair in this line. How it feels more poignant for its lack of drama.

“You're an idiot and I hate your hair,” Jonas said over the rim of his glass.

I mean.... Do I need to explain this?

He had never believed in happily ever afters. Not for him, at least. But the cruelest thing about being with Rossa was that he had begun to believe that maybe, just maybe, it was possible.

Closing his eyes, Theron didn’t expect to open them again.

This little snippet still punches me in the gut no matter how many times I read it. It’s so relateable and so Theron and so painful.

R. If you had to rewrite one of your stories from scratch, which one would it be? What would you do to it?

I don’t think I’d rewrite any of them? At least half of my fic has been completely rewritten once or twice before it ever gets published so I mostly have it out of my system before anyone else sees it.

S. What’s the sexiest thing you wrote this year?

a wish your heart makes. It may also be the saddest thing I wrote this year which I consider an achievement. (I was asked for smut but I literally do not know how to write just smut without anything else going on in the story.)

T. Themes, motherfucker, do you have them? What are they?

The importance and nature of family (it is what you make it and not what you were born with! but sometimes you get lucky and get to choose the one you were born with!)! The cost/impact of violence and war! Failure and coming back from failure! The nature of what is right and what is wrong and how much responsibility any one individual bears for the moral direction of their society!!!!

I don’t think I’ve ever written anything that didn’t include at least one of these concepts and most of my stuff deals heavily in at least two of them.

U. Any stories that took a abrupt u-turn from where you thought they were going?

Yep! I was trying to make a stupid joke about a haircut when I started making take back what the kingdom stole but in working my way backward from the joke I ended up with a heartfelt exploration of my character’s past emotional trauma, her character growth, and the nature of friendship and forgiveness.

V. Which story was the most viscerally pleasing to write? Tell us your narrative kinks.

I don’t know that I would necessarily call the sensation pleasing but, once again, the things you do for love are gonna come back to you one by one was probably the story that made me feel the most, that I was the most connected to. It hit on every single one of the themes I find compelling and I really got to play with telling the story in the white spaces, which is something I really love. I’ve been working a lot on trusting my readers and not over-explaining and I think this story really saw the impact of that work, stylistically. It’s peak self-indulgence honestly.

W.  Who are your favorite writers?

Does this mean like authors of original published works or fic writers????? How am I supposed to choose???!!!! Either way my reading habits this year have been abominable. I have really been going through some shit, lifewise, (not bad shit but emotionally consuming and time consuming nonetheless) and I had to let the reading go a little bit.

I have been really into NK Jemisin though. Her stories are complex and challenging and there is so much poetry and power in the straightforward way she tells them. I also was obsessed with the Temeraire series by Naomi Novik. The characters were so textured and real with such clear voices and the relationships and ideas were so complex and compelling, yet the story never got weighed down by the heft of the subjects. She has a very light touch as a storyteller that makes her work so easily digestible without making her tale any less impactful or profound.

As for fic…. I’ve got about forty million fics bookmarked, waiting for me to get around to reading them and I am the worst kind of person because I have not yet read any of them. I’m behind on reading one of my very favorite fics right now. I think I’ve read a total of like ten fics this year and straight up probably only read that many because I was doing a bit of beta’ing.

I’m gonna do better in 2019 and I’ll get back to you on all the good shit I’ve read then.

X.  What’s your least favorite work of this year?

crapshoot. It was a really old concept that probably would have been better as visual art than a fic but my artistic talents were too limited so I wrote it instead. It could probably stand a little more meat and a lot more polish, but I don’t have the time to try and turn every goofy image in my head into a fictional masterpiece.

Y. Why did you write? For fun, for a friend, for acclaim?

For fame and fortune obviously. It’s why most of my fic is about a super popular ship in an enormous fandom.

Or, y’know… not. I write for fun and because I have to. Because there are stories inside of me I want to tell, ideas I feel compelled to explore, things I need to say. It doesn’t matter if anyone else hears them or likes them; I need to get them out of me. Also it’s a really great way to work through my own emotional turmoil at a safe distance, so I can engage with what vexes me without being consumed by it.

Z. If you could choose one work and immediately finish it, what would it be? How would you end it?

the things you do for love are gonna come back to you one by one. It’s the most self-indulgent thing I’ve written probably but it means a lot to me and if I knew how it ended I would have finished it months ago. D:

[jacktherph]

Hi, Jack! We are a new murder mystery roleplay inspired by A Series of Unfortunate Events with new plot twists and characters. We would love some feedback. May we please have an opinion? Please, feel free to take as much time as you need. Thank you so much! We really appreciate it!

hi there @unfortunate-rp​! i’m happy to give you an opinion. since you didn’t specify private, i will post this on my blog. feel free to ask me to take it down if that was a mistake.

NOTE: all opinions expressed here are mine, jack’s, belonging to jack. i make no claims to knowing what is best for every group – i only offer advice based on my experiences, what i’ve seen in the community, and my personal knowledge. no one person knows what is best for you or any group other than yourself; because you were the one who put all of this together in the first place. so take everything i say as a suggestion, and remember that you have accomplished so much!!

and if you have any questions, want feedback on something specific, or want elaborations on anything said in this opinion, don’t hesitate to message me!!

this isn’t just an opinion, it’s a shoutout and a rec!! any fans of the asoue book series &/or recent netflix adaptation will adore this rpg. it perfectly captures everything snicket was about from beginning to end and the skeletons are frankly fucking amazing. what a creative admin team!! 

start: 2.30 | pause: none | end: 2.58TOTAL: HERE 28 minutes to read all pages (please don’t take this as a measure of anything, I simply time myself and am a speed reader)

*spelling error on /uptown: Mureau Cinema -- Christmas

So the first thing I’m going to say before I go into the full details of each page and contents and such is that I have one big recommendation: finding a way to adjust your line height in your code. The common theme I ran into while reading all of your pages is that after a while my eyes would gloss over certain sentences because I thought I was reading each line but they were too bunched together. Because you have such beautiful pages with so much information to give to your members, this is super important. If you’d like me to see if I can find that part of your code for you, feel free to IM me at any time and I’ll be happy to help.

My first impression of everything is a big fat fucking WOW. From the pages to the graphics to even the way you word things I feel like I’ve been transported back to that dreadfully delightful macabre world Snicket created for me as a child. I don’t know if you’ve been given proper praise for that yet but if you haven’t you certainly deserve it. You have a functional and helpful theme that works for what you need from it and your design of everything is both simple and artistic at the same time. When you have a new acceptance posted the dual ember gifs make it feel like there’s a lot going on but it’s not consistent, with too many repeated or flashing gifs, and so there’s not anything you need to do to change that in my opinion. It just tends to happen with graphics that use the same images. Really though, please feel extremely accomplished about the tone and theme you set on your main. I’ve never gotten more of an impression of what an rpg is about by one glance than I do here.

Your Plot is astounding. Disregarding the fact that you wrote it just like Snicket, I think this is one of the most original fandom concepts I’ve seen in some time. This was the perfect story to be able to take away from the canon and still keep it within the realm of possibility. I’m actually really glad you did this so well because this way people can still have all of the fun of the storyline and plots and not have to worry about the possibility of “playing a canon character wrong” or trying to fit it into the canon of the books/show.

I’ll sort of go into all of your lore pages as a whole rather than go through every single page? Because the love and dedication you’ve taken to ensure potential members and your members have everything they need in order to work within the worldbuilding of your group. I can seriously appreciate that as an admin of a group with a ton of lore, myself. That you go into so much detail on the locations pages and everything about VFD, you make it so your main is the one-stop shop for information rather than asking people to go elsewhere like a wikia page and I’m gonna shout my praises to you for that!

So your Guidelines are something I’m a little iffy on -- and I’m gonna say this is honestly the only thing I really find debatable about your rpg. The very nature of the ASOUE series was about children being involved in all of the gruesome stuff that comes with being an adult; so in that I can see why you allow writers of any age. But you also have content warnings such as smut, violence, drugs, and etc. and state that the roleplay itself will have mature themes and contents. So that being said, I have two moral issues: allowing members under 18 and the playing of characters who are minors. Generally I’m against playing characters who are minors of any kind. That results in using FCs who are minors and yes, while they are celebrities, it gives the potential for undue associations with the child star. Have you considered possibly keeping children out of the RPG except for in the case of mentioned NPCs? Regarding the “members under 18” bit, honestly that one isn’t as much of a big deal so long as your members are tagging and using read-mores where and when needed, but i’ll include that it will deter a certain number of people from joining your group. I’m not telling you to change anything -- but these are things I think you should maybe think about and consider adding changes to?

Your Skeletons and Faceclaims are so widely wonderful and diverse. You have such a wide range of trans characters and I always look for that in RPGs. But you’re also extremely body positive and age positive as well. This is what the faceclaim page of every rpg should look like, so applause for you. I only looked at a few of your skeletons to get a feel for them, but from what I did look at each one is unique in their own way and you have done an impressive job weaving them in with not only one another but the story. Each one has an important role to play and none feel like they’re just there for any sort of token points. You must have put a lot of work into this and you admin/s need to recognize that this immense amount of creativity is brilliantly impressive.

Personally, I think all you need to do is link to your skeleton page with the filters, rather than having a whole page with links that bring people to the tags the filters divide by, but that is more of a suggestion and if you find what you have works for you then there’s nothing more to be said. As for the images on the skeleton page: you obviously make them fit better with the psd/texture, which I like, but some of them still stick out in their brightness. Maybe go back and look at them and dim some of them individually or try to get them with a matching color hue to make them seem a little more uniform?? But the distinction between npcs and skeletons with the monochrome is great.

Overall your graphics match very well!! Your character template is perfect for the vibe and the psd you have on your images ensures they all look very uniform and put-together. The sidebar gif on the homepage feels a little left out compared to the rest, though? I don’t know if you have a lot of history working with gif editing but either changing the size, adding the psd, or adding a little SOMETHING to it might make it seem a little less “floating on it’s own in a void” in your sidebar.

Your Applications, both of them, are very well thought out and you definitely ask for everything that I can see being necessary in this group. Some in the community are against fully fleshed out apps like this but those who see your group and see the effort in your applications should feel inspired with everything that they answer!! You even provide links for them in helping find occupations and such, and that’s going above and beyond. My one thing is…. Why are both applications on bright white backgrounds and not set as pages of your main? It’s just confusing to me, nothing big. And the white sort of startles me after looking at your darker-colored pages for such a long time.

My FAVORITE THING about your rpg: the complete-ness of it all. I genuinely cannot think of one thing I would like to see here, information or rpg-wise, that would help me as a potential member understand your rpg better. You obviously put so much work into everything here and I could not be more thrilled. As the story goes on you might add more pages or such but for an rpg that hasn’t opened yet (at the time I’m writing this) there is NOTHING that needs adding, in my opinion.

My LEAST FAVORITE THING about your rpg: I’m… struggling to find something, but I guess if I had to pick it would be the layout of your applications -- how they exist on a white page rather than within a page on your main. It’s just slightly jarring to go from all that darkness to a bright white page. Think about putting them as pages on your theme and honestly you’re good to go??

OVERALL this is probably one of the best examples of a put-together skeleton and bio rpg I’ve ever seen. Like, I don’t even know anything about the series beyond the show and I had to stop myself from joining while writing this opinion. Even if someone knows nothing about the fandom they could be coaxed to join after just taking a few minutes to look at everything you’ve put together and provided for people. You didn’t leave anything I could think of out and included more than I would have thought if I were the one putting this rpg together. The fact that you may have done this solo stuns me even more. This is an rpg everyone should check out because it has everything people are looking for: diversity, depth, a well-formed plot, and the potential to last for some time with the right cast and crew behind it.

Well fucking done.

Sincerely,Jack

[froginthemachine]

I'm going to vent again, feel free to scroll past if this shows up on your dash. I need to scream into the void again.

I think it took me so long to come out to my parents for a lot of reasons, but the main one being that I felt I was never really living up to my parents' expectations.

Like I don't feel like I ever did anything to make them proud. I feel like I was always just moving onto the next step and feeling dread over the thought of not doing it correctly. Things I did or participated in were done because I felt obligated to do so, I felt like I had to do those things to be worthy of their affection. I think this started because when I was young, I was involved in soccer and took piano lessons - and I hated both of those. I was terrible at them but I had to be involved in something. Later in elementary school I started playing flute because I had to play an instrument, and I chose flute because that's what my mom played. I had to practice a lot, and I tried out for the all-county band. I got a 95 on my audition and I was upset, not because I didn't make it but because I felt like not making it was me being a disappointment. I couldn't even correctly use the skills I had developed, I had put so much time into it and my parents had spent so much money on lessons, and I felt guilty that I hated playing flute.

I eventually did start playing guitar because I liked it, and I'm so grateful that my parents signed me up for lessons and I got pretty good at it. But I couldn't just enjoy playing guitar as my hobby, I had to do something with it. I didn't ever audition for anything because I was getting to that age where I was like "I don't care, I'm allowed to enjoy things."

This extended beyond my hobbies. I never knew how to express myself outwardly, so I let my mom pick my clothes out for me, or chose things that other girls were wearing. I found myself unable to deny any longer that I found girls attractive. But I tried to bottle that up, and just use the girls I found pretty as inspiration for how to dress. They were pretty, so if I dressed like that I could live up to my parents' expectations. My dad always called me "the pretty one" (also kind of a dick thing to say with my sisters around?) And I think he was trying to make me confident but it hurt, because I felt like if I didn't dress feminine and keep my hair long, I was disappointing him. And that wasn't me being overly anxious, getting my hair cut to my shoulders was a big deal. I couldn't just ask my mom, I had to sit down with my dad and have a talk about it because I was expected to have long hair.

Around 13 or 14 I was discovering that wishing I was a boy wasn't normal. I had often fantasized about how my life would be different if I were born a boy, and discovering that "transgender" didn't mean "crossdressing men" like I was led to believe, but that people could medically transition to feel comfortable in their own skin - man that was relieving. I stayed up late reading about hormonal transition and the different surgical operations, and fantasized about doing those things.

Maybe it was the rebellious teenager attitude i had at the time, but at 14 I finally came to the decision that I no longer needed to adhere to the specific expectations of femininity brought upon me by my parents.

With the few ambiguous shirts and pants I had, I started subtly trying to appear more androgynous. I had gotten my hair cut to shoulder length recently, and tried to slick back my hair and make it look as masculine as possible. I used all the online binding tips (which didn't work well because God nerfed me with big fat mommy milkers) that I could find.

Pretty quick my mom caught on to the change in style, and she asked me if I liked girls. I tried to lighten the blow by saying I was bisexual, but she saw through that - she told me about her roommate in college who was "bisexual" but only dated women. As difficult as it was, I cane out to her fully and explained that I felt like I was supposed to be born a boy.

This was in the morning before school so she just sent me off and said "we'll talk about it later." That entire day was filled with dread because I knew I would have to talk to my dad about it.

Spoiler alert baby Grayson, over 7 years later, he's still not accepting at all. You are going to try desperately to get him to understand every step of the way and you will get nowhere. He will be so upset at you when you start hormones. When you bring up the idea of top surgery, you three will end up in a therapist's office - not just any therapist, it's a guy your parents know through your Catholic church. He doesn't take insurance. He is going to pay him $200 a session so he can hear what he wants to hear, despite hearing the exact opposite from the many, many other mental health professionals i saw over the years.

He won't understand the anguish you felt when you went to the psych ward at age 17 because you wanted to kill yourself, because every waking moment was like existing in a stranger's body, to the point where you felt disconnected from reality. I never want to feel like that again. I wouldn't wish those feelings on the people I hate most. The worst part of the psych ward stay was talking to these doctors, having them say "it's clear your child's main source of stress is the gender dysphoria, you should go see a specialist in this area and get them some help." Nothing ever came of that, my parents made plenty of excuses or just refused. They promised they would do anything to help me feel better.

It hurts so bad essentially being told "we would do anything to help you feel better... except the one thing that would actually help."

I'm not upset at my mom. I know she just wants to make her husband happy, so she tries to adopt whatever opinions he has to avoid conflict. I know that she is at the point where she doesn't give a shit what I do in terms of transitioning. She not for or against it, she has been much better at acknowledging the most important thing:

I am my own person.

She knows if she calls me her daughter in front of strangers, she's gonna look like an idiot or an asshole. My dad is too stubborn for that. I don't think he will ever call me his son. It's made our relationship so difficult. I want nothing more than the same love he gives to my siblings. He would take my younger brother out to the shooting range, out rock climbing, even just out to home depot so they could build something together. I love that shit and I wanted to be involved, and I made it known to him. But he didn't include me because he doesn't see me as his son. He offers things to my sisters that he doesn't offer me. And it hurts so bad because I know I've disappointed him. I haven't earned his love by being the child he expected me to be.

I don't want to be bitter but I'm not going to visit home during the holidays in 5-10 years with my wife and kids if he's not going to show any respect to me, and call me the wrong name. I really wish I didn't care so much because this is a battle I've already lost. I am appreciative of all he is done for me but I really wish his love didn't feel so conditional. I know he loves me, he continues to help me financially when I need it, but I just wish he didn't feel entitled to that much control over who I am. I know he's a good person but he's so set in his ways.

I just wish I could be my own person without feeling overwhelmed with guilt.

That's all I got, good night.

[morethanjustmediocremusings]

In the Details: A Deeper Look into Euphoria’s Prom Looks

Taylor Abouzeid

California Polytechnic State University San Luis Obispo

Created in a social climate marked with the upheaval of traditional standards and a call to action sung by today’s ready-to-riot young adults, Euphoria came into a world ridden with daunting social issues. Amidst the reigning chaos of the real world, Euphoria followed the debatably hyper-realistic lives of modern high schoolers. This HBO series was highly regarded for its diverse cast and variety of explored topics. Furthermore, throughout the length of the premiere season, Euphoria retained attention from the press with its highly colorful and expressive use of fashion. To fully understand the weight of these garments, one must first look to the concept creation, then to the habitat through which the ideas were fostered, and finally step into the light of the underlying messages behind layers of mesh shirts and mountains of gender ambiguous dressing. Euphoria used visual clothing cues in their final episode “And Salt the Earth Behind you” to shed light on each character’s fully developed significance and purpose within the show given its highly pertinent cultural context.

           Euphoria has come to represent an entire generation. The struggles that the characters face are directly out of pages in our own diaries and journals. Hunter Schafer, who plays Jules in the show, praised the reality of it all saying, “It’s the most current representation of high school” (Nissen, 2019). The current climate of teen life is reflected without the Hollywood glamour that was once acceptable with shows such as 90210 and Gossip Girl. Gone are the days of unrealistic teenage clubbing and drawn-out heartbreak between a jock and a cheerleader. Instead, audiences want to see the poignancy of reality on their screens. In a society that values honesty and vulnerability, Euphoria holds a mirror to our generation’s unique experiences without sugar coating topics of necessary discussion; however, due to the deeply embedded nature of these signals, they could easily be overlooked. By taking a magnifying glass to the distinct looks of the finale, subtle messages can be brought to light and further the identification with its’ viewers. Kenneth Burke believed that rhetoric was aimed at creating identification with an audience rather than aimed at persuading an audience (Kolodziejski, 2019, Pentadic). Furthermore, due to the show’s success, it is easy to assume that many people have come to identify with its messages. It is important to analyze and understand the messages behind these looks because they are representative of an entirety of people, marching to a silent beat of radical self-worth.

Within Euphoria the very real stories of the characters hit home for many viewers. Levinson worked rigorously to diminish any potential glamorization of drug use in the show saying “somewhere around the age of 16, I resigned myself to the idea that drugs could kill me, and there was no reason to fight it,” (Chuba, 2019). He credits this deeply personal connection to the story for the shows unfiltered persona, creating high levels of identification with the viewership. Many viewers have also found his story relatable as one in five teenagers have abused prescription drugs (Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, 2019). According to Burke (1950) identification is defined as a rhetorical process that leads to persuasion. Within the space of the show, it is used to create a sense of common identity between Euphoria’s audience and the accurate portrayal of characters.

The show follows the lives of a group of teenagers navigating the ups and downs of the modern century. To give some background on the show’s main squad, Rue, the main character, is a recovering drug addict, with no intention to stay sober. Jules, a transgender-icon, has just moved from an ambiguous “big city” and is feeling bored with what this small town has to offer her. Kat, a closeted One Direction fangirl-turned sensational fanfiction author, recently had sex for the first time, it was also recorded and leaked to the whole student body. Maddy has been in an on-again off-again relationship with her abusive boyfriend Nate. Cassie is trying to keep her relationship with her college-age boyfriend alive and well. Nate, the typical quarterback character with internalized homophobia stemming from finding out his Dad is gay, is now secretly experimenting with his own sexuality. This wide range of individual character plots allows for a multitude of viewers to find identification within each of their stories.

            It is, of course, important to note that the creation of this show was in some part influenced by HBO’s need to stay relevant in the competitive streaming market; I would also like to believe that despite this need for high demand programming, the actions of young adults everywhere sparked a flame in the creative community that further added to the show’s exigence. The current climate directly created a collective of educated and empowered young adults who are tired of being talked over, being told to sit down, or being shamed because “back in my day…” other people had it worse. Students these days are not participating in the same high school experiences as their parents, so in order to find a place to relate, many have turned to the Internet, and the many streaming platforms within it. The HBO-exclusive show, Euphoria, has held this identification role for many young students who have never before seen their identity correctly represented on such mainstream media as the giant outlet of HBO.

           With the introduction of new streaming services occurring at radical rates, the need for relevancy remains at the top of many media corporation’s to-do lists. HBO is no different. HBO has been both celebrated and condemned for their raw portrayals of characters. Chen (2019) said, “The show is frighteningly hard to watch—it didn't temper my anxiety one bit all season—but its choice to skid easy definitions around difficult topics is what makes it an important cultural engine of our time.” Although ratings wavered in its early years during the mid to late 1970s, they have maintained steady progression for the last twenty years. In 2011 they were named the most successful network, winning nineteen Emmy Awards in one year alone (Aspden, 2011). The creation of Euphoria specifically came from a need of representation, a public desire to see real reflections of life. The hype for weekly premiers was continuous. The cast posted daily updates and many behind-the-scenes videos to keep the audience engaged. This constant contact between creatives and their fans also helped to maintain the very necessary quality of authenticity that surrounded the show. The season finale, otherwise dubbed “the prom episode,” was no different. Prom in its essence is a highly-gendered, often homophobic, and very public display of tradition, but despite this, for many it marks an anticipated rite of passage. In the prom episode of Euphoria, the queer, gender-ambiguous, and non-traditional characters reconcile this tension; prom became their runway. Dressed to the nines in creative, self-expressing garments, Euphoria’s characters hit the dancefloor with confidence. The episode showed how this generational event has become more accepting and fluid now, more than ever.

The choice to focus on the squad’s prom looks in the last episode allows for a greater opportunity to show character development and emphasize the pungently individual messages hidden in the coattails. Rue, the standout tomboy of the cast, has recently come to accept her budding relationship with her female-presenting best friend, Jules. For Rue’s prom look she wore the makings of a suit, slacks and a black coat, a manifestation of her struggle with feminine expression. But underneath the presumptuous outer shell she adorned her staple converse, one of, if not the only stable things in her life, and a maroon form-fitting, lingerie-inspired slip dress from the closet of the magnificent Jules. Jules stood out in the show as possibly the most comfortable with outwardly expressing her feelings, and her iconic prom look was no let down. A lilac and lavender two-piece crop top and wide-leg pants combo made waves in the sea of traditional prom garments. She also wrapped herself in the pièce de résistance of the night: a dark green, mesh, trench, with the symbol for transgender rights stitched onto the back with ornate black beading. Kat’s bondage and almost masochistic look reflected her growth into a strong woman, while Maddy stayed true to her values of loving yourself in a sexy black sheer halter and fitted skirt combo. Unexpectedly, Cassie was understated, but her more feminine look remained through the champagne gown’s flattering neckline. Nate stayed true to his toxic masculinity and rejected any inkling of creativity; he wore a suit.

In the past there has been a severe push back against “progressive” programming, especially those with highly explicit content. But it is also important to note that these subjects are often not foreign to the audiences participating with the artifact. Sam Levinson, the director, when asked if he was nervous about parental backlash regarding the shows content responded with, “… I feel like this is a debate that goes on constantly throughout time, where people go, ‘Parents are gonna be scared,’ and you go ‘Yeah.’ And young people will be like, ‘Yeah, that’s my life.’ I’m sure certain people will be freaked out by it and other people will relate to it” (Stack, 2019). There has been a very real struggle for liberation of the LGBTQIA+ community, to which Euphoria highlighted a homosexual relationship between its two main characters. Toxic masculinity has come to the forefront of scholarly conversation, to which Euphoria highlighted the mental and physical dangers that the suppression of emotion in boys can have on not only themselves but also the world around them. Toxic relationships have become hot topics in wellness ads, to which Euphoria showed just how serious and sometimes hidden, domestic abuse can be. An acceptance of sex workers is growing amongst younger generations, to which Euphoria explored the world of camming and subjects of porn in general. Trans bodies have come into public discourse, especially regarding the legality of their existence, to which Euphoria cast a trans actress as a lead role and used the platform to spread knowledge of the injustices many people face on a daily basis. The long running war on drugs continues, to which Euphoria used the story of a high school drug addict to bring communities together and create a safe space for all identities to be heard.

           I have chosen the visual rhetoric approach to better examine how all elements of the character’s prom looks may have influenced each corresponding character’s final message. Visual rhetoric criticism is aimed at understanding the intersection between rhetoric and visual elements within an artifact (Kolodziejski, 2019, Visual). Albakry & Daimin (2014) state, “analysis of visual rhetoric considers how images work alone and collaborate with other elements to create an argument designed for [a specific] audience” (pp.29).  Furthermore, I will be applying the deductive approach to this criticism, meaning I will be using the existing theories and concepts and applying them to elements of the visual artifact. I partly chose this approach because I stand firmly behind its assumptions: the visual is rhetorical, what is not shown can be just as important as what is shown. Lastly, how something is shown is as important as what is shown (Kolodziejski, 2019, Visual).

           Within visual rhetoric lies the concept of the semiotic triangle, a figure that shows how an artifact’s referent, sign and reference are all related. Within that, there are three types of signs. Iconic signs are representative of what they point viewers to, such as a photo of an otter being an iconic sign for an actual otter. Indexical signs point to what they represent, like smoke indicating a fire. Lastly, symbolic signs reference an arbitrary relationship, such as the branded Swoosh being a symbol for Nike as a brand (Kolodziejski, 2019, Visual). Euphoria’s prom looks are all indexical signs, meaning they point to what they represent, without directly showcasing the underlying meaning. So, the general semiotic triangle for my artifact would have the referent as the actual look itself, the sign as the nod to what it is representing, and the reference would be the meaning behind it all. As the viewers of Euphoria engage with the show, they rely on their own life experiences to decode the symbols on screen. As articulated by Foss in 1994 “The study of visual imagery from a rhetorical perspective may make contributions beyond providing a richer and more comprehensive understanding of rhetorical processes. In some cases, such study may contribute to the formulation or reconciliation of aesthetic notions…” (pp 213). Through their comprehension of these symbols, the show’s underlying messages are able to speak more powerfully and allow for further resonation between the shows viewers and the characters they are able to identify with.  

           I have chosen visual rhetoric because it argues that everything shown and not shown has a significant purpose within the artifact. Due to the microscopic lens I have taken to the outfits chosen for the characters, this is most fitting. I have also chosen this method to better excavate the hidden messages of the main characters. Upon first glance I, like many, missed some major hints to character expression and development in the finale. But with the fine-toothed comb I took to these garments, I left no lapel untouched and no bead under-analyzed.

(Rue’s prom look).

For Rue, the exploration of expressing gender fluidity through her clothing choices was present throughout the entire season, but subtle. There was no direct mention of the matter until the season finale. While selecting a very feminine outfit for Rue to wear to prom, Jules expresses concern for possibly altering Rue’s gender presentation. I believe that by staying in the dress for prom, and not changing into something more fitting of her stylistic history, Rue was trying to validate her trust and relationship with Jules. In this scene, Rue had let Jules pick out her prom look and rather than opting for something similar to her previous fashion choices, Jules put her in a tight and sultry, lingerie-inspired, corseted, maroon dress. The color choice of maroon was not only fitting to the color pallet of the show, but was also distinctly similar to the color of Rue’s father’s sweatshirt, which she wears daily after he passes away. This choice I believe was unintentional from Jules, but subconsciously reminds the audience of Rue’s inability to move past that time in her life. Rue also adorned a traditional men’s suit pants and coat. This is the key part in her maintenance of gender fluidity and ambiguity within the outfit. The color choice was subtle and reflective of how natural this “tomboy” style has come to her self-expression. The choice of Converse was also only visibly present for a few moments on screen, but the shoes came to represent so much within Rue’s life. So much so in fact that the actress who played her character, Zendaya, made an Instagram post paying respect to the life they lived in the show with “I’m gonna have to get some new chucks for my personal life… I guess I’ll just have them on standby for season2. Til then Rue Rue” (Zendaya, 2019). Rue initially allowed Jules to change her gender presentation via the use of a frilly dress, but later came to regret the decision, as the dress became representational of their constricting relationship. This outfit represented the fluidity of expression and the intimacy that can be shared through clothing choice.

(Jules’s prom look).

Rue’s romantic counterpart, Jules, quickly became a stand-out character on the show due to her extravagant, stylistic choices within the first few episodes, and her makeup has inspired countless other artists’ renditions of the now iconic looks. For her prom look she wore a silky lilac crop top and similarly silky lavender high-waisted wide-leg pants. To top off the look she also adorned herself with a beautiful, almost floor-length, sheer mesh, forest green, trench piece. On the back of the sheer coat was a beaded symbol for the transgender community. The entire outfit was quite the statement, but I got the feeling that she was going for that “I’m not trying, but I tried really hard to look like I’m not trying” look. Due to the casual nature of a crop top and pant combo, the pieces seem haphazardly thrown together. However, the perfect complementary colors, and the identical silky fabrics make that lackadaisical approach almost impossible. I think it is also important to mention that the outfit as a whole read a little mermaid-y. To the untrained eye this might have gone completely unnoticed, but to someone with a recent history in Women and Gender studies, namely me, this reference was another direct tie to the trans community. Popularized by the television show Life With Jazz, mermaids have become an almost superhero-like figure for many people within the trans community, and now serve as a symbol of recognition. In an interview the star spoke on their significance, “Mermaids are just the most whimsical, mystical creatures of all time. A lot of transgender individuals are attracted to mermaids and I think it’s because they don’t have any genitals, just a beautiful tail” (Jennings, 2015). Jules continued to wave her pride flag high and exuded confidence. She held the message of being proud of whoever you are.

(Kat’s prom look).

Kat, a plus-size girl surrounded by a sample-size school, went through many changes this season. After her first-time having sex not only gets recorded, but also then is virally leaked throughout campus, Kat decided to reclaim control of her body. Kat had the edgier version of the “Pretty Woman” makeover. With an entire new wardrobe of bondage-inspired pieces, sexy black and red lingerie, latex, leather, and laces, she conquered not only her sexuality but also gained a whole new world of confidence as well. Throughout this journey, she also struggled with the duality of being a grade-A bad ass and still navigating soft and cute teen romance. For her prom look she wore all red, the color most symbolic for both power and romance. With a red leather corset on top and red silk midi skirt on the bottom, she exuded confidence as a woman in control of her own body. The black lace-up detailing that became a motif in many of her previous outfits also made a cameo in the prom episode running through both the top and the skirt. These specific choices show her character’s development of self-confidence. In the beginning, she was self-conscious and afraid of intimacy, but as the season progressed, the audience was able to see her blossoming into a woman in charge. She was able to reclaim her body after the sex-tape scandal and make a name for herself by camming on PornHub, and also by gaining enough appreciation for herself to see her love for Ethan. Kat struggled with coming into herself as a sexual woman and in her final look is able to show that you can be strong and confident and still express emotion and love.

(Maddy’s prom look).

Maddy, Maddy, Maddy. Where do I even start? Without a doubt Maddy was the most confident female character on the show, but when her boyfriend abused her at the annual carnival she began to break down. Although she was aware his actions were brutally wrong, she forgave him, like a story of Stockholm syndrome. Following his release back into school, they reappeared as a couple only to break up again in the following episode. Their relationship was undeniably toxic. At prom Maddy went with her group of girlfriends, surrounding herself with positivity and love. She wore a see-through black, crystal embedded, two-piece halter top and form-fitting skirt. She also wore a veil. Maddy shone bright on the dance floor and conveyed the message that relationships aren’t everything, and in the end all she needed was support from her friends, self-love, and some serious distance from her abusive ex-boyfriend, Nate. Maddy loves herself, but by ignoring her case of domestic violence she lost a part of herself. Luckily, in the finale, Maddy surrounds herself with good friends and shows that self-worth and self-love are important and still sexy.

(Cassie’s prom look).

Cassie’s prom look showed less of a character arc than the others, but her message remained just as pungent. On the day of prom, Cassie had gotten an abortion. The pregnancy was the unintended consequence of her boyfriend McKay. They came to the decision together, but Cassie made sure that the decision was ultimately her own. Needless to say, she was not dressed as her usual provocative self. She wore a soft pink satin gown, the most traditional of all the looks, and barely-there makeup, which according to the makeup artist was a distinctive choice given the earlier abortion. The makeup artist for the shoot took to Instagram to explain her look, “As much as I wanted to give Cassie a glittering euphoric winter formal makeup look, I didn’t feel like it would help tell her story in this moment. I wanted Cassie’s total absence of makeup here to signal to the audience that she’s reached the start of a new phase of her life…”(Davy, 2019). The neckline was still flattering but she remained quiet and pensive for the rest of the evening. In the same girl group as the others, Cassie took that day to surround herself with those who could support her without their knowledge of the previous event. Cassie’s prom look said that it is okay to not always be okay, and that expressing that is perfectly fine. This message can be gathered through her soft color pallet the contrasted the otherwise bright evening, the simplicity of the silhouette, and the unexpected lack of dark eyeshadow, a typical element of Cassie’s normal look.

(Nate’s prom look).

I intentionally saved the worst for last: Nate. Nate’s look was boring, and quite frankly fell flat. It would have made more sense for him not to go at all, or maybe to show up in hand cuffs as he did for Halloween. But whatever, he did go to prom, and he did wear a suit. Given the extravagance of the rest of the characters’ prom looks, there was an unofficial standard for all the characters to express themselves creatively in some way for the event. However, I believe that Nate’s blatant lack of creativity is his statement. For his whole life he has been molded to become a superstar athlete, and at no point was he given the opportunity to outwardly express himself. We can thank both toxic and hegemonic masculinity for this lack of expression, for in their essence both of these ideas encourage the repression of emotion in boys and men. His outfit shows that when not given the opportunity to find oneself beyond the expectations of others, or not being able to to explore one’s own creative capabilities a person could become a drone, in this case one with severe anger issues. The suit further shows his acceptance and assimilation into the norms and expectations for his character. Rather than expressing himself through stylistic choices, like many of the other characters, Nate’s feelings come out in destruction and violence. He serves as a precautionary tale, of what the dangers of toxic and hegemonic masculinity can have on young men: crushing self- hatred. For many, fashion can serve as a critical outlet for self-expression. Especially for Euphoria’s teenage viewership, style can feel like the only controllable element of their life while the lack of adolescent autonomy is at its height.

           As both a thoroughly engaged audience member and fan of Euphoria, there is not much the creators could have changed about the prom looks to further appease me. Throughout the entirety of the season I found that I was able to relate to every individual character within the show, admittedly even Nate. I was able to see my own life tied into bits and pieces of every character’s individual story. Maddy and Rue stuck out as the characters with which I had the most identification with, and although their characters are almost direct opposites in the show, I felt comfort in being able to compare their stories to my own. However, I feel that it is also important to acknowledge the lack of identification some of my peers felt with Euphoria’s main squad. Some have never had experiences with “hard-core” drugs, struggled with gender representation, bee involved with sex tape scandals, or instances of domestic violence, dealt with the after effects of an abortion, or emotional repression. For many of these people who struggled to find identification with the main characters, the supporting roles served as their substitute. With characters as Lexi, McKay, Gia and Fez, many other identities were explored throughout the season, although in lesser detail. I believe that if these supporting characters had also been given equal screen time, an even wider range of audiences would have been able to engage and identify with Euphoria. By digging deeper into their stories, new plot lines could have been uncovered. Many teenagers struggle with eating disorders, which were left out of the show despite alarming statistics claiming that at least 30 million people suffer from eating disorders in the United States (ANAD, 2019). Nicotine has become a significant outbreak in American teenagers with the Center for Disease Control reporting that “5.6 million of today’s Americans younger than 18 will die early from a smoking-related illness” (Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, 2019). And topics of bullying were also left unexplored by the show despite its constant prevalence in teenage society. Studies have even gone to show that “Bullying was a factor in 2/3 of the 37 school shootings reviewed by the US Secret Service” (Stop Bulling Now Foundation, 2019). However, including all of these topics could have been destructive to the season as a whole, and overwhelming to audiences. Given the relevancy of these topics, they are explored elsewhere in outer outlets. Euphoria was a show intended for people who had rarely seen their identities presented on mainstream media of this scale before. So, despite the few missing teenage issues that are more commonly explored today, Euphoria was able to uniquely cover some groundbreaking material for a show of its size.

           Euphoria’s characters all held distinct messages within the show. Through the use of visual clothing cues Euphoria was able to further the identification factor of these stories by visually signaling their significance. Created out of a need for representative media and birthed into a world of social unrest, Euphoria became a breakout show on HBO’s streaming platform and now has the power to unify an entire generation. In “And Salt the Earth Behind You” Rue, Jules, Kat, Maddy, Cassie, and Nate give their final send off to the show by highlighting their completed respective messages between satin finishes and starchy, pressed suits. As a result of the creative expression of the prom outfits in the finale, viewers are left with a lasting impression of self-identification closing off the season.  

References

Albakry, N. S., & Daimin, G. (2014). The visual rhetoric in public awareness print advertising toward Malaysia perceptive sociolculture design. Procedia-Social and Behavioral Sciences, 155, pp. 28-33.

ANAD. (2019). Eating disorder statistics. Retrieved from www.anad.org/education-and-awareness/about-eating-disorders/eating-disorders-statistics/.

Aspden, P. (2011, September 24). How HBO revolutionized television. Retrieved from www.slate.com/human-interest/2011/09/hbo-how-it-revolutionized-television.html

Burke, K. (1950). A rhetoric of motives. Berkley: University of California Press.

Cassie’s prom look [Digital image]. Retrieved from www.usa-grlk5lagedl.stackpathdns.com/production/usa/images/1565025651204007-66121653_654233518429076_5605336542765432610_n.jpg?w=1900&fit=crop&crop=faces&fm=pjpg&auto=compress.

Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. (2010, June 3). CDC survey finds that 1 in 5 U.S. high school students have abused prescription drugs. Retrieved from www.cdc.gov/media/pressrel/2010/r100603.htm.

Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. (2019). Youth and tobacco use. Retrieved from www.cdc.gov/tobacco/data_statistics/fact_sheets/youth_data/tobacco_use/index.htm.

Chen, E. (2019,  June 6). In praise of euphoria, the perfect anti-binge TV show. Retrieved from www.wired.com/story/euphoria-anti-binge/.

Chuba, K. (2019, June 5). 'Euphoria' creator on authentic trans portrayals, mining "deeply personal" history to tackle teen drug abuse. Retrieved October 21, 2019, from www.hollywoodreporter.com/live-feed/euphoria-creator-mining-deeply-personal-history-tackle-teen-drug-abuse-1215844.

Davy, D. [@donni.davy]. (2019, August 17). Cassie’s clean slate, episode 8, euphoria [Instagram photo]. Retrevied from www.instagram.com/p/B1SOb1EJcve/?igshid=ork83uq4xhn.

Foss, S, K. (1994). A rhetorical schema for the evaluation of visual imagery. Communication Studies, 45, pp. 213-224.

Jennings, J. (2015, June 8). Jazz Jennings: the transgender teen and wannabe mermaid the internet needs (M. Ruiz, Interviewer). Cosmopolitan. Retrieved from www.cosmopolitan.com/entertainment/tv/a40068/jazz-jennings-internets-most-fascinating/.

Jules’s prom look [Digital image]. Retrieved from www.usa-grlk5lagedl.stackpathdns.com/production/usa/images/1565024720966459-66659243_159635475163665_1587604092859566839_n.jpg?w=1900&fit=crop&crop=faces&fm=pjpg&auto=compress.

Kat’s prom look [Digital image]. Retrieved from www.usa-grlk5lagedl.stackpathdns.com/production/usa/images/1565025241108497-67911105_2343940372514856_2058399465206680217_n.jpg?w=1900&fit=crop&crop=faces&fm=pjpg&auto=compress.

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Kolodziejski, L. (2019, October 23). Visual rhetoric criticism overview [In-class handout]. Retrieved from handout sheet.

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Nissen, D. (2019, June 6). 'Euphoria' creator sam levinson opens up about drug addiction at premiere. Retrieved October 20, 2019, from www.variety.com/2019/scene/news/euphoria-creator-sam-levinson-opens-up-drug-addiction-1203233881/.

Rue’s prom look [Digital image]. Retrieved from www.i.pinimg.com/originals/01/2f/1d/012f1d3dc6e81ba8e9d1ef7f4970d064.jpg

Stack, T. (2019, June 16). 'Euphoria' creator on why it's okay that some people are 'freaked out' by his controversial new show. Retrieved October 20, 2019, from www.ew.com/tv/2019/06/16/euphoria-creator-sam-levinson/.

Stop Bullying Now Foundation. (2019). School bullying affects us all. Retrieved from www.stopbullyingnowfoundation.org/main/.

Zendaya [@zendaya]. (2019, August 24). Thanks to season 1 [Instagram story post]. Retrieved from www.google.com/amo/s/amp.redit.com/r/euphoria/comments/cuyynl/from_zendayas_ig_story_who_knew_a_pair_of_chucks/.

[seashellkittyatsunset]

NoctLuna Week Day 4-Chocobros Meeting Luna: When I See You Again

           I’ve had this song stuck in my head while thinking of this fic, so that means feels time! I’m not gonna do another song fic like my first day fic, but it is inspired by this song. Also since the Festivals are going on, why not use them for this prompt? Well, the Moogle Chocobo Festival specifically, since I haven’t played the Assassin’s Festival yet. Be warned, this one is a bit of a long one and sorry it’s late. Well, enjoy!

           Noctis let out a slow breath as he opened his eyes to the scene before him. He was back at the Moogle Chocobo Festival again just like his dream oh so long ago. He was even dressed in his old festival outfit with the yellow t-shirt but without the funny hat. But everything was different now then when he had visited last time. He had sacrificed himself to save Eos, had aged ten years trying to gather the power to do so, and had left his friends and brothers behind. He even had a human companion this time as Lunafreya blinked in the sunlight, her lithe hand shielding her sight from the sun. She too had noticed the fanciful decorations around them and turned to her husband with a questioning look.

           “My star, is this Altissia?” Luna frowned as she looked about again and at her new yellow chocobo dress. He could tell that she was surprised by the festivities, the people, and her new outfit. Plus, the live chocobos kwehing by the prize counters weren’t helping matters.

           “Yeah, it’s Altissia. But I’m thinking it’s more of a dream.” Noct sheepishly swept some of his longer black hair out of his face. “I’ve been here before when this festival was going on.”

           “Truly? Then, would you know why we’re here?” Luna still had unabated questions and had fully turned to him now for the answers.

           Noct just chuckled, sending some of his fringe back into his face as he shook his head. “Even when I was here way back when I never really found out ‘why’. I tried asking Carbuncle but he wouldn’t answer me.”

           “Carbuncle, the Messenger? I had never known he was connected to you…” She sighed and placed a hand over her heart in contemplation. “It would seem he was as Pyrna and Umbra were to me as he is to you, Noctis.” Taking a deep breath and releasing it, she glanced over at him with a smile now gracing her lips. “But no matter now. I believe that since we are here, we should enjoy this carnival.” Her smile broadened as she started to walk into the light, warmly taking his hand to usher him along.

           “Sounds like a date.” Noct had a similar grin on his face and even snickered as she stumbled at the thought of his words. They loved each other deeply and had even gotten married here in the afterlife; but they both were still getting used to the idea that they were together finally. Gripping her hand tighter to help her up, he took the lead to show her the wonders that had now decorated the city.

           They ventured to and fro through the streets, taking in as many as the attractions as they could. Luna let out her musical laugh every time Noct got excited about catching a tagged fish only to come up with no tag at all. Noct had an equal opportunity to laugh back at her when she was determined to get the high score with the shooting minigame. They laughed together when trying to catch a runaway chocochick and went sent sprawling into a fountain. It was a time filled with laughter and not a care in the world.

           Chirp chirp!

           Noctis stopped browsing through the prizes at the counter that he was looking to get with his medals when the sound interrupted him. Craning his neck about, he finally spotted the fluffy blue fox creature sitting on the pier. “Niveus!” He immediately approached the fox and crouched down to pet him, which Niveus allowed with gusto. “I was wondering where you were at, buddy.”

           “Niveus? Oh! Is that Carbuncle?” Luna had gracefully squatted next to him and giggled at the sight of an almighty Messenger accepting belly rubs from The King of Light.

           “Y-Yeah, that’s my nickname for him.” Noct continued scratching Carbuncle on his belly as the fox merrily squeaked in happiness. Though all too soon he rolled back to his feet and shook himself off. Indicating to Noctis’s right front pants pocket, he chirped out what sounded like an exclamation.

           “Oh right, you can talk through my phone. Hang on a sec…” Rooting the device out, he surprised to even still have a phone on him. Then again, this place was special and anything could happen. Activating the messenger app, he noticed out the the corner of his eye that Luna was reading over his shoulder as well at what Carbuncle had sent him.

           Sorry I took so long to see you! I had a few friends to bring with me this time!

           “Friends?” Noct looked up and regarded Niveus with a confused look. “You mean me and Luna, right?” He was a bit shocked when the fox shook his head no, and redirected his attention to his phone to read the next text.

           You both will see! They’ll all be arriving at the pier soon, so you might wanna step back!

           “Who…” The king merely gave a shake of his head and stood up, bringing Luna to a standing position with him. “Always with the surprises and unanswered questions, huh old friend?” Carbuncle just chirped happily at him and he gave a small roll of his eyes. “C’mon Luna, let’s do what he says.”

           “Well, all right.” His queen was frowning as they obligingly took a few steps back while watching the pier. “I wonder who Niveus meant…”

           Their questions were soon answered when after blinking a couple of times, a multitude of people instantly appeared on the dock. They all look shocked and completely befuddled as to where they were. Noctis couldn’t believe his eyes and, judging from the loud gasp Luna had let out, she didn’t either.

           It was their friends and family, their loved ones who had passed on and the others who were still yet living: Noct’s friend and Shield Gladiolous was shaking his head in disbelief while a woman frowned in concern at him. His best friend Prompto was glancing around at all the decorations as their mechanic companions Cid and Cindy followed his example. His advisor Ignis was blinking up into the sky with the mercenary Aranea by his side. Luna’s brother Ravus blearily rubbed his eyes and their maid Maria was on the brink of tears to see him again. The reporter Dino stumbled over a plank and the cook Coctura was there to catch him as the Marshal himself, Cor, had an unnerved expression for once with his second in command Monica inspecting the surrounding area. Sania the biologist was gazing in wonder at the city along with the lead Hunter Dave while the journalist Vyv couldn’t stop taking pictures. Iris, Galdio’s little sister and Noct’s friend, wearily took in her surroundings with Talcott, the butler and friend to Iris’s family, right next to her, and three old Kingsglaive soldiers, Nyx, Crowe, and Libertus, rejoicing at the sight of one another. Lastly, Noctis’s father, King Regis, and Lunafreya and Ravus’s mother, Queen Sylva, smiled warmly at their children and the gathering of their companions.

           Noctis was paralyzed in surprise of seeing them all again, even the ones he barely had even known in life. Luna was crying joyfully with her hands over her mouth, and nearly collapsed to her knees had Noct not unfroze himself and kept her standing.

           “C’mon, let’s go see them again…” Taking a deep breath, he guided himself and Luna through the small crowd to the group, Niveus skittering along behind them. Coming to stop just short of the landing, the king put on the biggest smile he could and greeted his friends. “Hey you guys!”

           “NOCT!” Gladio, Ignis, and Prompto all roared in unison as they charged into Noctis, landing in a pile of hugs and tears. Iris, Talcott, Cindy, Cor, Monica, and Regis were joining into the hug pile soon after, as Cid, Dino, Coctura, Sania, Dave, Vyv, Aranea, Gladio’s companion, Nyx, Crowe, and Libertus all happily watched on. Luna was similarly pulled into a tearful hug by her brother, mother, and maid which she returned with aplomb.

           The introductions were soon made once they all had calmed down and the situation was explained to the best of Noct and Luna’s abilities with Niveus chiming in. Once pleasantries and bygones were dealt with, as Ravus was forgiven for his disastrous deeds and apologized profusely, with Aranea giving her side of the story and was vouched for by Ignis of all people, and the three Glaives aired their grievances and soon accepted what had happened, it was decided that all present would make the best of whatever time they had at the Moogle Chocobo Festival. Striking off, most of the group pulled forward with Ignis, Gladio, and Prompto staying close to Noct and Luna.

           “So you’re the great Lady Lunafreya, huh?” Gladio gave an approving smirk to the woman in question, as the other woman holding his hand, who had been introduced as Floriana, giggled.

           Lunafreya gave a bow of her head and smiled back warmly. “Yes, but please, call me Luna.” She swept her gaze among the three men and the women who accompanied them. “It’s an honor to meet my husband’s closest friends and brothers.”

           “The honor is all ours, La-I mean, Luna,” stuttered Ignis with a small blush as Aranea snickered next to him while she held his arm. “You’re as radiant as I remember seeing in the papers.”

           “Man! I can’t believe you two actually got married like you wanted!” Prompto had pouted a bit at the thought of not being with his friend when he got married, but had perked right back up thanks to Cindy’s help as she walked beside him with her hand in his. “Wish I coulda been there with ya, but now’s better than never!”

           “Well said, Prompto,” agreed Luna as they all made their way to catch up with the others. “I could not have said it better myself.”

           “Yeah, it’s great to see you guys again.” Noctis was grinning from ear to ear and was the happiest he had ever been. His brothers were alive and were helping to rebuild the world, just like he had hoped they would. They had even found their perfect matches in Floriana, Aranea, and Cindy, and was sincerely hoping they’d all get married soon like he had with Luna. Sania, Dave, Vyv, Coctura, Dino, Iris, Talcott, Cor, Monica, Cid, and Libertus were also doing their part in the healing process, and Noct’s heart swelled at the thought. Though the remaining people of the group that had come to visit him and Luna were dead like them, Ravus, Regis, Sylva, Maria, Nyx, and Crowe had all promised to not be strangers in the Astral Realm now that they knew Noct and Luna were there with them.

           Hours seemed to fly by in the blink of an eye, and yet Noctis, Lunafreya, and the ones they loved did not mind in the slightest. They all laughed together playing the carnival games and explored the city to their hearts’ content. At night, they found the best seats they could and watched the fireworks explode with color in the darkened sky. Noct had pulled Luna close, his brothers next to him, and silently thanked the Astrals and Carbuncle for giving him this chance to reunite with those he loved dearest. It was all he could have ever asked for.

[saunterfics]

picture this: dadsona jumping in craig's shower after a workout 👀👀👀

(I’m gonna answer the asks I’ve gotten these past two weeks in this post so it’ll be under the read more. I apologize I’m terrible at responding bc I always think I want to respond with more specific things to requests but maybe I shouldn’t keep hoarding asks…)

Craig would be so surprised lbr. But if you’re implying shower sex, then yes. Somehow instead of smexy I can only think of…angst…? Like 1) Craig might actually be annoyed bc he’s always so busy and he has a lot of work and stuff to get to after a shower so like, please, don’t? or 2) he does indulge in you and damn that was HOT but then he realizes he spent too much time there and starts to criticize himself for leaving River alone for too long, etc and blames himself for not being disciplined enough now that he allows himself to relax and actually be with you…? He’s someone who probably thinks too much bc he’s trying to set the bar so high and seriously. He needs to chill. 

Anon said: Will you write more Ddadds fanfics? Maybe something dirty, rough, fast with Robert? Or include some kinks, like chocking (with your hands) or rimming with any other character? 

Yes…maybe? I should? I just got really busy and haven’t been playing the game and then started losing the inspiration? I also usually browse tumblr on my phone, which doesn’t have blacklisting, so I’ve been avoiding it tbh because I am into Craig and also Robert, and tbh I like consuming content about Robert more, but I’d noticed quite the increase of Joseph/Robert stuff in there and I’m really not comfortable with that pairing so I’d rather not chance seeing it. Idk, the extent of my distaste for that kinda hit me all at once so…sigh. It just also feels very fetish-y too so that really nags at me. 

Anyways. Choking? Seriously? Hell yeah. Holy shit. I’m not into rimming myself, and I’m just indifferent to it so I don’t think I have the abilities to make it good. And something rough, fast, and dirty with Robert will most likely be when Dadsona is just “a tad” tipsy and he’s riling Robert on with dirty talk and esp calling him “daddy” and Robert just growls and holds you down but you’re just smirking up at him and continue to tempt him and he just. Can’t fucking handle you Jesus fucking Christ. (I also like someone’s hc I saw a while back about how Robert doesn’t actually enjoy sex all that much seeing as if you ever have sex with him he just chucks you out the window and all) so I like the thought that Robert slowly gets into sex more because he’s into you and it’s fun and Robert likes games and he quite likes the control play that you guys get into. 

Anon said: Concept – Robert getting hella excited to show dadsona his whole knife collection and the story behind each one ,,, what do you think

I think it’s cool…? But I personally would be more like “uh okay” tbh (I’m not a good partner to have let me tell you straight)…I’m not creative so I can’t think of what the cool stories would be behind his knives? Especially if there isn’t much to go off of on why he has them? I also don’t understand the notion of collecting things so…i’m sorry. 

Anon said: SO EXCITED FOR MORE KNIFE DAD, the first time dom robert stuff was super hot and endearing but i am so ready for FEELINGS, i can’t even tell you. (also don’t worry about the roseph requests, your writing should be for you first and foremost ❤︎)

I’M SORRY IF I’VE DISAPPOINTED YOU IN NOT PRODUCING MORE KNIFE DAD IN A WHILE. Anyways, thank you?? First time Dom!Robert will always be super cute in my heart. I had a lot of feels earlier this month but then it kinda got…knocked down several levels because of the Roseph stuff and how uncomfortable it made me? Like, it came as a shock with how much it affected me. I’m still kinda shocked, to be honest. So thank you for understanding that I want to avoid that. 

Anon said: I literally need an crave more Robert with a daddy kink

Lol same. Sorry, but I don’t really have inspiration for it right now? Unless you can give me a more specific scenario?

Brooo, im so glad u made that post abt roseph, some1 had to fckin say it 👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾

;n; It’s good to know that some people feel the same way. I really don’t like abusive relationships especially under the guise of hot hot BDSM (there’s a reason why I specifically say that I do not write hate!sex, which is a distinction from rough or angry sex). It’s also intriguing to me that most of the people I know who identify as male similarly want to indulge in Dadsona/one of the dads instead of pairing the dads together. I mean, I can’t say much because I try not to interact with the Roseph shippers, and I don’t really look into the other dads, but it’s another reason why it feels fetish-y to me bc why is Roseph hot…? I don’t really want the answer to that I’m just rambling bc someone is on my perspective. 

Anon said: i respect and understand your interpretation, but i personally feel like joseph/robert (roseph) are heavily implied to be exes? like, joseph kind of breaks robert’s heart because minor spoilers: there isn’t really a happy ending with joseph’s route - it always ends with him running away and using mary for an excuse. actually, something quite interesting happens if you date robert twice before going on joseph’s third date - a confrontation of sorts.

Thanks…? Sorry if I’m curt in my reply, but are you trying to voice your opinion in this discussion, or is this a justification on why you ship Roseph…? Because I’m taking it the latter way, and my response will be under that impression. The immediate response I had was, “So what?” because I did express that I don’t like certain implications that Robert was still involved with Joseph, etc. in addition to separate issues that I have with the fact that there’s no way Joseph/Robert can be in a healthy relationship whatsoever, unless I make Joseph a more mature man (than he canonically is, given that he leaves Dadsona in the end regardless, in his route). The fact that they’re implied to be exes means nothing other than add to the fact that Robert is emotionally wounded on many levels, and that he has so much to heal from. It only makes me sad, because this man already seems to be the type who is hard to open his heart, so then you’re telling me that he did open his heart to Joseph, only to have it broken terribly with the lame excuse of “I love you, but I don’t have the balls to leave my wife, whom I have a deteriorating romantic relationship with and that we are not attempting to repair” which implies “you’re still only second place to me, at most.” Not to mention the implications of what it would mean if Robert was previously involved with Joseph, and still is best buds with Mary? Was he still best buds with Mary when he cheated with her spouse? So you’re saying that it’s possible that Mary doesn’t know any of this, and Robert is hiding something this big from her? How much of a burden is that on his shoulders? (Although tbh, I’m more inclined to believe that Mary knows all this shit - she’s not a moron, she’s quite the intuitive woman - and she bonded with Robert over the fact that Joseph is a shit and really, I don’t think she and Joseph are in love anymore. They definitely still care, but the “in love” aspect of romance, that’s not there anymore. But the fact that there are also fan content that depicts that Mary knows and just kinda glosses over the issue by not reacting makes me uncomfortable, as well.) So basically, even if Joseph and Robert are exes, that doesn’t change anything imo. It only solidifies my belief that Joseph needs to man the fuck up and deal (and the fact that I think the game writers really failed in, in terms of representing the complexities of a relationship. They seemed to be on the right track, and then it turned to shit with the only excuse I’ve heard being “why would you want to be a homewrecker” and that’s not valid given that they gave Joseph a route). But anyways, about Joseph, that’s what it means to be an adult - relationships are complicated and there’s no black and white. You’ve got to work with that and keep moving. 

[prettybabyhazza]

take me there (g.d.)

~I saw Gray post this on his snapchat (graysondolan) and got inspired to write a cute lil blurb. This is the first thing I’ve written about Grayson, so I’m pretty excited. It’s just off the top of my head. I hope you enjoy!! :)

As always, please forgive any mistakes you might see.

**(No warnings. Just a lil fluff is all. xx)**

”I’m actually gonna kill him,” you mumbled to yourself as you swatted another mosquito invading your personal space. All you wanted was to locate your best friend and get to the bottom of his weird behavior without being attacked by insects every thirty seconds. 

He’d been acting so strange the past couple days and neither you, nor his twin brother could pinpoint exactly why. He seemed too far lodged in his head; alone with his cyclone of thoughts. Grayson was never one to wear his heart on his sleeve per say, but he never did develop the toxic habit of shutting you or Ethan out when he wasn’t feeling one hundred percent himself. You desperately wanted to help your best friend, which is why you immediately jumped in the car to find him when you saw the recent addition to his Snapchat story captioned, “Thinkin spot”. You knew exactly where it was, having been there yourself many times. 

You nearly screamed in relief when you saw the familiar tree that marked where Grayson had shown you to leave the designated hiking path to reach his “thinking spot”. You remembered the first time he showed you the way to his favorite place and your horror when he began to lead you off the path.

“Gray, we’re gonna get lost!” you had whined, not wanting to leave the trail.

“C’mon loser, we won’t get lost. I know exactly where we are. Turn off the Type A part of your brain for two seconds and trust me,” he had teased, glancing back at you with a wink before continuing on the trail, with you close behind.

Almost. There. Not that you hated hiking and being outside, but the suffocating humidity and increased population of irritating mosquitoes was enough to make you want to stay inside for a week. Not long after continuing down the imaginary path he had taken you before, you finally spotted him.

He was sitting with his back against a tree, legs pulled up to his chest and arms resting on his knees. The headband holding back his growing honey brown hair from his face made the current furrow of his brows more prominent. You stayed back as you watched him from afar and admired how deep in thought he clearly was, considering he didn’t notice you coming up the path. His golden brown eyes scanned the valley below, moving up to the skyline as he took in the beauty of a beautiful Los Angeles suburb hidden behind some woods. The emotions on his face were a mystery to you and you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Taking a deep, quiet breath, you carefully made your way to him.

“Gray,” you called softly as you approached, careful not to startle him. 

You didn’t startle him at all. In fact, based on his reaction, you might assume that he was...expecting you? Without looking up, he moved a couple inches to his right making room for you to lean against the same wide trunk he sat in front of. You sat on his left taking the same position he did: legs pulled up, arms across your knees. As your shoulder touched his, you noticed just how warm his skin was. He’d clearly been out here for quite some time.

“You knew I’d come huh?” You asked after a small silence, glancing at his chiseled profile. His eyes were clouded with his thoughts, but still managed to shine so bright in the setting sunlight. He answered you with nothing more than a nod.

“Do you want to be left alone?”

He shook his head.

“Talk to me,” you pleaded gently. “What’s been going on, bub?”

Silence.

“Gray, I did not nearly sprain my ankle and get myself covered in mosquito bites for you to be stubborn and silent. Talk.”

His statue-like stare broke as a breathy chuckle fell from his lips. Knowing him, he was most likely picturing you stumbling and quietly cursing yourself for nearly spraining your ankle while swatting away mosquitoes. A quite accurate depiction, actually.

“Stop picturing it. I hate you.” You lightly pushed his shoulder as you scolded him, to which he responded with another soft laugh. Another silence fell over the two of you, but you decided to let his thoughts marinate in his head, allowing him the time he needed to gather the words he wanted to say, instead of pushing him any farther.

“It gets to be too much sometimes,” he whispered hoarsely, keeping his eyes forward and focused on the view. You waited for him to continue, your eyes forward as well.

“Living here can be overwhelming sometimes. Being away from my family sucks. I feel like I’m missing out on a lot. I don’t know how to explain it.”

You lean your head against his shoulder in support as he fished through his mind for things to say. You hadn’t noticed just how tense his shoulders were until they practically melted from your touch. 

“There isn’t one exact thing that’s upsetting me, you know? I guess it’s just.. Just a bunch of little things built up. I don’t know. I don’t know how to tell you. I feel.. clouded? It sounds dumb now that I say it out loud.”

Patiently you waited for him to add anything else, before speaking.

“It doesn’t. Why don’t you go back home for a little bit?”

“I can’t just leave,” he sighed, playing with his fingers.

“You can. If you’re worried about your channel, just pre-film a couple videos so you’ll have things to upload while you’re gone for however long. You should go. Don’t give yourself a time limit. Go home and take a break and only come back when you’re ready,” you weaved your arm under his, resting your hand on his forearm as he leaned his head on top of yours. “You sound lost, bub. Spend some time with your parents and find yourself again in Jersey. Stop putting so much pressure on yourself. You’re horrible at that.”

He hummed softly in response. Silence once again.

Your eyes fell on the pinks, oranges, and purples filling the sunset. The colors cast the most beautiful golden glow on Grayson’s skin. He was truly the most beautiful person you’ve ever come across, inside and out. His brother was a close second, but you wouldn’t tell either twin that in order to avoid inflating Grayson’s ego and soliciting endless whining from Ethan. You really did love them both with all your heart. They were your best friends and it’s practically been that way since the charmingly annoying brothers moved into the apartment next to yours. 

Needless to say, you began falling for one twin in particular, despite how scared you were to do so. You were sitting with him now. And honestly, you could stay there forever.

“What are you thinking about?” Grayson quietly asked.

His deep voice pulled you out of your thoughts, making you notice your finger tips lightly tracing the skin of his arm; something you must have started while you were deep in thought.

“Nothing important,” you answered. 

“Really? ‘Cause you just sighed pretty deeply.” It was his turn to gently push you. You couldn’t help the flush that made its way to your cheeks as you imagined telling him that it was thoughts of him that made you subconsciously sigh. 

You lifted your head from his shoulder only to feel his eyes on you. Turning your head, you met his intense gaze.

“What?”.

He answered with a small smile and a shake of his head. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

“What did I do?”

“You do a lot for me that I don’t thank you for enough,” he chuckled. “So thank you for every little thing you’ve done. If we’re talking about today, you helped me muddle through the shit in my head. Even shit I haven’t told you. So thanks for that too.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I just care ‘bout you is all,” you shrugged. “A lot more than you know.” You surprised yourself with that last confession. Your heart grew as a bigger smile found its way onto Grayson’s face.

“Right back at you, pretty girl.”

He turned his head back to the view before gently taking hold of the hand that was resting on his arm, intertwining your fingers. He brought your hand to his lips, placing a light kiss to the back of it. Another flush crept to your cheeks as you once again placed your head on his shoulder.

“Come with me.”

“Where?” You questioned, the previous conversation clearly forgotten from your mind.

“Jersey,” Grayson answered simply.

“You want me to go with you? What about Ethan? Or Cam?” You lifted your head only to be met by his profile, his eyes not leaving the sunset sky.

“It’s their home too, dummy,” he teased. “They’ll come with me if they want. But I want you to come, too.” His thumb grazed the back of yours lightly. He turned his head to meet your eyes, studying your expression.

“Won’t I get in the way of your family time?”

“Of course not.” He offered you a small, sincere smile. “You’re kinda already part of the family if you hadn’t noticed. Mom and Dad keep telling us how much they want to meet you.”

“They do?”

“I may have mentioned a few things about you here and there,” he admitted, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. “Or many things. I don’t know I guess I’ve lost count.” 

You giggled at his charm. This boy’s definitely got you hooked, alright.

“Okay, I’ll go with you. But on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Show me everything,” you answered simply. Grayson tilted his head in confusion, silently asking you to be more specific. “I want to see where you grew up. Like the back roads you took, your favorite places, and any other thinking spots you might have there, I’ve got to see those,” you teased him, glancing down at your intertwined hands and smiling. “I want to see what you’ve seen and what shaped you to be the handsome devil you are today.”

The last part solicited your favorite laugh to come from your favorite person. 

“No one’s ever asked to see those things,” he whispered, his eyes also falling to your hands. “No one’s ever wanted to get to know that side of me.”

“I do. Take me there.”

His eyes found yours again. They searched your face as if he couldn’t believe you were real. Before you knew it, he was slowly leaning in, his eyes falling to your lips and yours doing the same. He paused an inch from your lips for a few seconds, allowing the tension to build between you, before he gently pressed his lips to yours. The hand that continued to hold yours gave your hand a light squeeze while he rested his free hand on the side of your face, your lips continuing to move together.

But of course, all too soon, he pulled back slightly to answer your previous request.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, baby.”

xx

[squarecarousel]

Interview with Elmer Ramos

Although every one of us is unique and has a specific visual voice, Elmer’s work is truly unlike anything we’ve seen in Square Carousel previously. His exploration into the middle-ground between representational and nonrepresentational art carries a lot of power, via very strong uses of color and shape. We can’t wait to see how he incorporates this experiment into his visual-problem-solving for Square Carousel. Keep reading for more of Elmer’s thought-provoking answers.

”The Fuck”

Q: I love that your work is often open to interpretation, ambiguous, yet somewhat narrative, Elmer. How did you evolve into this style of art, when those concepts are often conflicting?  A: As an illustrator I love telling stories, the more eccentric they are, the more unpredictable they become. During my transition from working strictly with ink and graphite to color monotypes and collage, my process on developing a narrative became more ambiguous. I discovered that by giving a shape some resemblance to a known-object while still keeping them a mystery, allowed for the viewer to wonder what it is or what the story is about. Think of it as a Rorschach test, testing your personality and emotional connections to what you see or what you think you see.

“An Honest Capture”

Q: Tell us about how your work bridges the gap between representational and nonrepresentational.  A: I am interested in the idea of one thing seeming or becoming another. I like to get my ideas from looking at coffee stains, clouds and abstract paintings. As I mentioned previously, like a Rorschach test. I get to examine my personality and emotional relationship to a particular idea or subject. When creating narrative work, I like to give the viewer a hint of what might be happening by using a representational shape but I also leave parts open for interpretation which are the non-representational parts. I look at Kara Walker's silhouette work often, because she can take a large white wall and create an entirely new story by just using the same silhouettes and shapes. You should definitely look at her work. The idea of working representational and nonrepresentational is just another way for me to be able to walk the line between fine art and illustration. In illustration you want to communicate the visual message immediately and in fine art you want to hold the viewer a bit longer, to have them wander into the painting.

“Collage Narrative Representationals and Nonrepresentational”

Q: Explain your process, from start to finish. Step 1: Color Mixing I start off my pieces by selecting a group of colors that work well together. I often consider the magic 3’s, the dominant colors, subdominant colors and the subordinate, or as others refer to as the shadows, midtones and highlights. I use Johannes Itten’s Contrast of Extension when I am developing the palate. This is also considered when I am creating my compositions in order to maintain a balanced and harmonious composition.

Elmer’s drying monotypes, in progress Step 2: Monotype Printing Once the colors are mixed, I use a large printmaking roller to create the color gradients that are going to be printed on eastern paper. These are the monotypes.  Once I am done printing them they are placed to dry for 2 days. 

Elmer’s rice-pasted monotypes, in progress Step 3: Rice Paste After the oil based ink has dried for about two days they get two coats of rice paste in the back and are laid out flat on a large sheet of plexi and left to dry for an hour. I usually have multiple sheets going at once to make the best of the time creating an inventory of colors.

The shape-cutting stage, in progress

Step 4: Compositions During the composition stage this is when I slow down a bit and start thinking about what I am creating and what is the message I am going for, or who I am creating for. The nice part about creating collaged compositions is that nothing is set-in until I know the compositions are done. I usually work on multiple works at the same time in order to be more efficient with my time. 

Shapes, waiting to be placed

Mounting, in progress

Step 5: Mounting Once the compositions are ready and all the shapes have been carefully cut out, I soak the substrate that the cut-outs are gonna go on, usually western printmaking paper. Paper soaks for no less than 5 minutes the paper is pulled from the soaking tub, blotted, laid on the press, lay-out all of my cut out collage pieces creating my composition, and run it through an etching press. The etching press joins the monotype cut-out with the western sheet. The water from the western paper activated the glue on the eastern paper, making them adhered to one another. They then sit to dry for another day using a stack of davey boards to remove moisture from the soaked paper.

Q: What would be your ideal application of this work, within a career?

A: I believe that the collaged pieces lend themselves pretty nicely to advertising and editorial work and that's where I want to continue heading.

I am a big fan of the New Yorker’s spot illustrations and that's another thing that I would love to do is somehow create just spot illustrations using my collage pieces. But I also have a passion for creating logos and vector work which is funny because vector and collage work, as you know, have sharp edges. I like the clean sharp look, that's the reason why I don't print directly onto the printmaking paper. I like to mount because printing will still give you a fuzzy edge, it's very minimal but I am very uncompromising about what I do and so that's why I think collaging gives me that nice sharp edge that I wouldn't be able to get with anything else. Q: What is your favorite project to have ever completed, and why?

A: I have no idea to be honest… I remember two projects way back before the my transition to collage work. They were both for local businesses. One was for Foxy Loxy Print Gallery and Cafe and the other was for Perc Coffee Roasters in Savannah. I don’t become emotionally attached to my work. It’s a business. My biggest reward is having people react to the work in some way. Sometimes, I see people wearing a shirt I designed downtown and that is when I become emotional. Hahaha.

“Foxy Loxy”

Q: You also have a fantastic sense of color and gradients within your portfolio. Do you derive that palette from any specific inspiration?

A: I do have a good idea of what color schemes work well together, I like to follow Johannes Itten’s color theory on color contrast. After learning about Itten’s theory I discovered that the colors I tend to choose, refer to the Contrast by Extension color palate. In this color palate you are trying to maintain a good balance of colors to achieve harmony. You should check his theories out as well. I also studied much of Hans Hoffman’s color theory on the push and pull using color. I also spend a lot of time mixing colors back when I worked in a commercial printing studio. Clients always want that seafoam green that no one ever makes. It always has to be mixed. Arrrgg.. I am also inspired by color blends that are found in nature such as sunrises, sunsets, and stormy afternoons, or just color blends from a field at a distance, i believe we relate to them easier. Another approach is, what I call, the nursery color scheme. Which pretty much means that, I like to mix colors that you would find in a newborn's nursery. That’s another thing, I love kids and it is amazing how their imagination has no limitations. I usually say a kids imagination has no gravity, anything is possible. If you are ever having a creative block, sit with a 5 year old and come up with a story with them.

“Garibaldi’s Cemetery”

Q: Who are your greatest influences?

A: I would say that my greatest influence comes from Julien Pacaud, a French illustrator who does digital collage work and uses really beautiful gradients in his work. I just can't get enough of his work! He is the artist I have been following for such a long time and still continue to be intrigued by his work. He creates atmospheric perspectives and somehow has a way of playing with scale to the point where it makes sense somehow. I would say this is the direction, I want my work to go. I also look at Kara Walker's work for the erratic narrative pieces arranged in a certain way that provides multiple representations or non- representational narratives. I am a fan of vector art and logo designs, so I look at Aaron Draplin, from Draplin Design Co, when I am doing more design type of work.

Q: If you had to choose between always saying what's on your mind, and never being able to speak again, which would you pick, and why? A: I would say that I would choose to never being able to speak again, because I often think about how I’d much rather spend my time expressing my thoughts through my work instead of talking about it. Sometimes when I try to talk and explain my work to someone, the right words won’t come out, so I end up leaving them with a misconception of what my work is about. I also get in trouble when I open my mouth. hahaha. I am bilingual, my first language is Spanish, and sometimes words are just jumbled up in both languages that I have to find another way to explain what I am trying to say. That’s probably why I am an Illustrator.

Elmer’s workspace  Q: What's your favorite food?

A:  My favorite food is anything I don’t have to cook. I just love to eat. I would say my guilty pleasure is eating out, burgers, asian fusion, and pizza. Luckily I have a partner that is an amazing cook and loves to cook. So I tend to eat pretty healthy most of the time. But every now and then I treat myself. Q: Tell us your biggest quirk, while working.

A: My biggest quirk, is having a clean and big table to work on. If I don't have enough space to lay out my paper to create the compositions, I cannot make work. Sometimes I end up spending more time cleaning than creating. I also prefer working in large spaces, and if I don't have a large table, I just lay out rolls of newsprint on the floor and lay my prints out that way and create my compositions that way. I have this crazy idea in my head that if the space I work in is bigger, bigger ideas will come. 

Elmer, enjoying springtime

Q: Anything else you would like the readers to know? A:  The road to being an artist is never-ending, and when you think you’ve figured everything out, more things pop-up. The fun part of it all is the journey of creating and discovering new things. I always think that I'm going to be set on a specific “style” or medium but I just love everything and I am influenced by everything so much. At any point anything can change and switch, so it's okay to like everything and not try to hold yourself down to just one style although for marketing purposes it's really good to just have one style. Always take advice with a grain of salt because no one knows what is going in inside your head other than you.  Can’t get enough? Check out Elmer’s portfolio website here.