#enough salt to fill a sea over Charlie's death

[doctorprofessorsong]

Continuing with my quest to make the women of Supernatural kiss, have some Charlie/Billie

Charlie's dead, which definitely sucks. Especially because she went out in the dumbest way (seriously, she could fit through that window easy, peasy mac and cheesy). But that isn't even the worst part of her day. It turns out that God is actually a mediocre male writer who killed her early for plot purposes. Fridged in her own life. Her reaper, Billie, delivers the most devastating blow of all. She can't move on to the "other place" until her time comes or she might disrupt the order of the universe. Instead, Charlie is being tucked away in a pocket universe in the veil until the day she would have died in her own timeline. But Charlie's never one to let circumstances get her down. Especially when there are so many pretty reapers she can go down on instead.

[poeticsandaliens]

A Pirate’s Life for Me (Ch. 2)

I would like to make a request that someone who is a good artist please draw this pirate Stella for me because I desperately want an actual visual of pirate Stella. I just wanna see Gillian Anderson as a pirate.

AO3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11405793/chapters/25602801

Scully wound her way through the cracked cobblestone of Los Barriles, her right hand resting firmly on her father’s flintlock pistol. It was an exquisite weapon, hand-crafted in London and carved ornately into its handle handle a ship bested storm-ravaged seas. She would not call herself experience with a pistol, for she’d never had occasion to use one, but its presence at her hip comforted her, and—or so she liked to think—intimidated any would-be assailants.

After all, Los Barriles was not famed for its morals. The inlet town, built around a makeshift port only a few kilometers from Port Washington, attracted washed up sailors and buccaneers seeking to set their feet on dry land without running into the British Navy. Pirates were rumored to make port at Los Barriles on moonless nights, to fill their freshwater barrels in one of the area’s countless springs.

Pirates, Scully mused, were at once her greatest concern and the very reason she came here at this late hour. She’d had no encounters of her own with legendary scourges of the sea; all she knew of pirates came from Mulder’s legends and her father’s death. The Flying Dutchman lurked at the front of her mind, but she dispelled it—myths of the undead had no place in Mulder’s rescue.

Scully wrinkled her nose as she stepped over the threshold of the Blue Baron. The muggy tavern air smelled of salt and rum and decaying fish, clinging to her skin and sticking in her throat as she breathed. Three men stood off with rapiers on the second floor balcony. A rat scurried across the floor, and then a flurry of wings dropped into view and snatched it in glinting talons, carrying it to an empty table. A pale owl perched on a chair and promptly ripped off the rat’s head, its heart-shaped face staring curiously at Scully. Lingering in the doorway, she stared back, mesmerized—it was a fascinating creature, elegant and ruthless.

A sudden gunshot rang out behind her, and she stepped decidedly into the tavern. As she scanned for a safe seat, she brushed a smudge of dirt off her trousers—a practical item of clothing her upright mother had not been too thrilled that she’d purchased. Her mother always meant well, of course, and had been nothing if not the rock of her family, especially since her sister had passed and her brothers gone to sea.

Sitting down at the bar, she wondered if she’d ever see her mother or Bill or Charlie again. If she did find herself a ship and crew to chase down Mulder’s captors, would she live to lay eyes on Port Washington and the white cliffs upon which her home rested?

“Can I get you anything today, Miss?” The scraggly man behind the counter gave her a toothless smile.

“Pint, please,” she said, eyeing the murky, probably illicit bottles of rum and ale shared between the Blue Baron’s patrons.

“Of what?”

“Whatever’s closest.” She would need a little liquid courage to ask one of these sea-weathered men for help.

“Pint of rum, it is.” He slid it over the counter.

Scully took a couple gulps of the foul stuff. “Yo ho and a bottle or rum,” she muttered cynically, if only to disguise her apprehension. Drinking in Los Barriles at this time of night, she felt well on her way to becoming a pirate herself. Once, she’d vowed never to associate with the skull and crossbones—it had become a herald of death in her mind, ever since her father had been slain under its wrath. Desperate times called for desperate measures, of course, but she considered herself an upstanding (if proudly rebellious) woman. Even trifling with the sailors in the Blue Baron she would hold to her morals.

“So,” the raggedy barman leaned over the counter, and she could smell at least three types of whiskey on his lips. “What brings a young lass pretty as you to Los Barriles?”

“Actually,” she said, leaning away from his intruding features, “I’m looking for a pirate.”

He grinned, and his grey eyes swept the bar knowingly. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“My friend—a man by the name of Fox Mulder—was aboard the Macbeth, which left Port Washington a fortnight past. Last I’ve heard, pirates sunk the vessel and took him as their prisoner.” She hardened her jaw and wrinkled her brow, stubborn purpose settling comfortably into her typically soft face. “I aim to bring him back.” She reached into the pocket of her trousers and brought out a handful of doubloons. “Three are for the pint; the other five are for anything you can tell me about who sunk the Macbeth.”

The bartender scratched the stubble on his neck, then scooped the coins off the counter. “I don’t think I could tell you who,” he confessed, “but I’ve heard of a ship.”

“By what name?”

“The Claudius. A man passed through this morning, said the Claudius had destroyed a British vessel and taken its navigator aboard. No negotiations, no parlay. They just took him—doesn’t happen too often.”

That sounded promising. Scully opened her mouth but found herself interrupted before she could respond.

“The Claudius, you said?” A woman’s voice, classy and weathered, piped up from the far corner of the room. There, a blonde woman in a red-feathered hat rested with her boots propped up on a small table. Shaded beneath the brim of her hat, her face was all cheekbones and weathered poise, calculating blue eyes fixed on Scully. Her pint of whiskey trembled as two men began to grapple on the tavern floor.

“And are you familiar with that ship?” Scully asked, ignoring her stutter as she stared down the imposing newcomer to her conversation.

“Aye, I am.”

“Last I heard, it was sailing toward an impossible island, seeking an impossible treasure,” said the bartender. He turned back to Scully. “Maybe that’s why they’ve got your navigator friend on board.”

It made sense—Mulder had brought dozens of maps with him, most of them limited to the confines of reality, but some supposedly leading to mythical treasures and islands of the dead. Mulder had a reputation for knowing (and believing) every sea legend he stumbled upon. Scully always considered it her duty to keep his feet on the ground.

“Do you know what they might be searching for?” Scully asked.

“I know what they seek,” the woman in the corner said gravely. She got to her feet and approached them with a slow swagger to her step—sea legs, possibly, or the confidence of the world-weary. She was dressed in trousers and black embroidered waistcoat belted at the waist with a hip holster. (It seemed Skinner was right.) She sat down beside Scully and leaned close, her aquiline profile made harsher in the pale candlelight. “They sail for the heart of Davy Jones.”

Intimidated as she was, Scully stifled a snort. She’d heard quite enough about Davy Jones and the Flying Dutchman from Commodore Skinner that morning. Were the circumstances not so grave, she might find it funny that Mulder’s favorite sailors’ tale would be the motivation for his capture.

“Davy Jones is only a story told to frighten would-be mutineers.” She chuckled grimly. “‘Take me orders or ye be sent to Davy Jones’s Locker’ and ‘the Flying Dutchman will scavenge your soul from the depths of the sea’ and so on.”  

The barman seemed slightly horrified—or perhaps offended—and the woman rather amused, the corners of her mouth lifted into the slightest smirk.

“Have you ever heard the story of Davy Jones?” the barman asked in a reverent hush.

Scully arched her eyebrows. “Only the part where he cuts his heart out and buries it on some God forsaken island.”

“Oh, there’s more to it than that, Missy.“ He lowered his voice and leaned close to the two women. ” Davy Jones was once a ruthless young pirate by the name of Captain Philip Padgett Jones. He sailed the Flying Dutchman over these very seas with a crew of human devils, and as tribute to his victories, Pagett cut out the hearts of the Lord and Lady of every port he raided and collected them in an iron chest. For his beastly cruelty, he earned himself the nickname Davy Jones—the Devil Jones. But evil as he was, Pagett was also a gifted poet, and for each poem he finished he would wrap it around a human heart and drown it in the sea.

“For ten years, he terrorized these waters. But one night, he found only a woman in Lord’s house, and when he cut out her heart she revealed herself as the goddess Athena. The goddess was furious that Captain Padgett had abused his talents and defiled the poetry she guarded so fiercely.

“Filled with grief and remorse at having angered the goddess he worshipped every time he wrote, Pagett cut his own heart from his body and placed it in the iron chest. But Athena wasn’t finished. She cursed Pagett for his crimes, dooming him to sail the Flying Dutchman with the tortured souls of his victims until the day someone put the same knife through his heart that he used to carve it out. He could only touch land once every ten years, a penance for the ten years he sailed the living ocean. Now, alone but for the dead, Pagett truly became Davy Jones.”

Scully listened, wide-eyed, as the barman finished his story. Even if it was an old wives’ tale, she couldn’t help her curiosity, and this grizzled old man certainly knew how to captivate his audience. “Did anyone pierce Davy Jones’ heart?”

The barman shrugged. “I don’t know who would. According to legend, he who stabs the heart must take its place, sailing the Dutchman for eternity with spirits for company.”

“I don’t know,” the blonde woman mused beside Scully, drumming her fingers on the counter. “It hardly seems like too awful a fate.” Scully gaped at her, but the lines in the woman’s face told of the many hardships which informed her opinion.

The barman shivered. “Terrible, if you ask me. Imagine watching your brothers and sisters, your wife and children, aging and dying without you.”

“If you have none of those, the grief is spared.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Scully interjected decisively. “Everything aside, it’s still just a ghost story.”

“One day,” said the mysterious woman airily, “the truth of these tales might surprise you.”

Scully crossed her arms. “Who are you?” she demanded, tired of the nonchalance with which this woman had inserted herself into Scully’s quest.

The woman cocked her eyebrow. “Captain Stella Gibson,” she said, holding out a hand. “Stella to you.”

Tentatively, Scully shook it. “Dana Scully. Just call me Scully.” It was what Mulder called her, and she’d grown accustomed to it.

“And your friend—Mulder, wasn’t it—is trapped aboard the Claudius.”

Scully dipped her chin in assent. “I believe so.”

“Well, I can tell you with no small amount of certainty that the Claudius’s captain doesn’t give a rat’s ass whether you believe in the Flying Dutchman. He wants the heart of Davy Jones, and he won’t let something like rationality get in his way.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t aim to negotiate with him, then,” Scully said calmly.

“I’m curious what you plan to do, Miss—Scully, was it? I don’t doubt your fortitude, but one person is hardly enough to man a sizable ship, much less send it to battle.” Stella leaned her chin on her hand, elbow digging into the counter. She slapped three coins on the table and slid them to the barman. He left to fetch her another pint.

“What would you suggest doing, then?” Scully challenged. It wasn’t as if she could concoct a detailed strategy from some pub in Los Barriles. If she were being honest, she had a mind to simply sneak on board the Claudius, free Mulder, and sail home, but realistically, she needed a better plan than that.

Stella cocked one eyebrow. “I have a ship.”

“How lovely for you.”

“You could sail with me. I aim to pursue the Claudius myself, and I know exactly where to find it.”

She’d mentioned that something of hers was aboard the hostile ship, and Scully suddenly found herself quite curious as to what that thing was.

“And why should I trust you?” She remembered something Mulder had told her years ago, reading two contradictory accounts of a Greek pirate. Trust no one, Scully, he had said. Everyone had a bias.

“I never told you to trust me,” said Stella flippantly. “I’m simply making you an offer—we leave tonight, find the Claudius; I fetch my lost items, and you fetch your imprisoned man. I could use your help, and you could certainly use mine.”

“Don’t you have a crew?”

She shrugged half-heartedly. “My crew can only do so much.”

“Why me?”

Another half-shrug. “You seem competent. You have your wits about you, and you carry a pistol. Do you know how to use it?”

“Not particularly well,” Scully admitted.

“A sword, then?”

“I can effectively fight with a sword, but I don’t have one.” Her father had taught her swordplay when she was young, in case she ever found herself in trouble. This probably wasn’t the situation he’d had in mind.

“Well that’s easy enough to find.”

The barman returned with her pint of ale. “Here you are, Miss.” He beckoned for Scully to lean closer and pointed to a wiry young man a table away from her. He looked beaten, despite his youthful face; his tri-corner hat had a patch on the brim, and his breeches were torn at the knee as if from a knife.

“See him?” asked the barman. “His name is John Jack.”

“Quite a name,” Scully muttered.

“Says he’s got a ship and a crew ready to leave the dock. All he needs is a direction, and he’ll bring your friend back for you within the month.”

“Well that’s not going to do.” Scully lifted her chin. “I have every intention of being on that ship myself to see things go as planned.”

But the barman only laughed. “You’ve some spirit, Miss, and I can’t fault you that. But it’s bad luck to have a woman aboard, and you’ll find no one here willing to bring that upon themselves.”

“Oh?” Beside Scully, Stella fixed the barman with a cold stare. “I wouldn’t necessarily say no one.”

He looked skeptical. “Captain Stella Gibson,” he tried her name on his tongue once; then his own aged eyes met hers. “How’d such a woman gain command of her own vessel, eh?”

“Gunpowder,” she responded with a quirk of her lips, “like an upstanding pirate.”

Scully swallowed a mouthful of musky air. Perhaps she was in over her head, if her only ally was a proud-grinning pirate. But what had she expected in Los Barriles? Everyone here committed treason for a living. They were all pirates; if nothing else, she’d happened upon a smart one, who dared not underestimate her sex.

“And Captain Gibson,” the barman urged, “are you plagued with rotten luck?”

Stella downed the last of her drink. “That depends on who you ask.”

The tavern door burst open to reveal a burly, red-bearded man with a scimitar, who ducked his head simply to fit in the doorway. The room fell silent as he marched across the floor, creaking its rotten wood with every step. Fist-fighting crewmates froze in their places, following him with their eyes, and men around the tavern had their hands on the hilts of their sabres in case of a scrabble. Even Stella, leaning calmly against the counter, kept her sword firmly in grip.

He stopped in the center of the tavern, swayed for a moment, and Scully noticed the wildness in his eyes. He was likely just drunken and angry. He took a swig from an empty bottle of rum and turned a circle around the room. All eyes were on him.

“It’s here,” he croaked in a voice like splitting rock. “I saw it, I tell ye. I was filling barrels at the spring, and I saw it.”

Stella narrowed her eyes and leaned forward. “Saw what?” she asked slowly.

“The ship of demons.”

Scully rolled her eyes. All this talk of demons and curses and women bearing sour luck; pirates were a superstitious lot, clearly, for she saw no more evidence to support their claims than she had Mulder’s.

But the red-bearded pirate seemed genuinely spooked. Perhaps the sea was playing tricks on him, as it often did on these foggy nights. He had the entire bar on edge, as well.

“What ship?” Stella asked again, more sharply this time.

His lips trembled as he said in a hush, “The Flying Dutchman.”

Immediately, chaos erupted once more in the tavern, but it wasn’t a rowdy, lively chaos as before. This chaos was perilous, as every patron raced for the door. Gunshots echoed in her ears as one man blew a hole in the window and leapt out. Scully leapt behind the counter and crouched beside the barman as a bottle flew over their heads, the back of her red ponytail pressing uncomfortably against the wall.

“What do they think they’re doing?” she hissed. “Risking their lives to escape a mythical ship.”

“S’not a matter of whether the Dutchman is real, Missy,” said the barman. “They’ve heard tales, each more horrible than the last.”

One man leapt the counter and snatched handful of money from the box of nightly earnings. He glanced sidelong at the barman. “Get out of here while you have a chance!” he urged before jumping out the shattered window. The barman didn’t try to stop him, only sighed.

“They’re taking what they can before they go—to their ships or the afterlife, only time will tell.”

“Do you believe the Flying Dutchman is really here?” She couldn’t help asking—Skinner’s words had stuck in her mind. Perhaps the Dutchman, for all the tall tales it spawned, was a living ship commanded by living men. After all, what was the old saying—dead men tell no tales.

“I can’t say,” he confessed, but she could hear the panic in his voice. “But I seen it myself, once, back when I was a seaman. I woke up one morning, and through the dawn mist, I could see a ship with the pirate colors flying high. I readied the cannons, but when it got closer I saw only one man aboard. And the ship, it had crabs on its flanks like it’d touched the ocean floor. I went to the crow’s nest for a better look, but when I opened my spyglass, it just sank. Thought I’d just watched a man drown, but then I looked to the water, and its silver sails passed me, just beneath the waves.”

He shivered. “Don’t y'dare tell me I dreamed it, Missy. The water’s a lot bigger than you think it is; just wait and see. Y’don’t know what’s out there.”

Scully didn’t know what to make of the barman. Compared to the rest of this place, he seemed reasonable. “I suppose I will have—”

A rapier poked through the barman’s chest. A little scream escaped her mouth, and she clapped her hand to her throat. She grabbed his limp shoulders and shook, but he didn’t stir. His dark eyes were already glassed over when she slapped his cheek. Good God, she hadn’t even learned his name.

A pair of rough hands seized her by the collar. She looked up to the bulging eyes of the same young pirate who’d offered her his services earlier—John Jack. “Sorry, pretty lady,” he growled, “but I’ve got to take my plunders and run.” He pulled her toward him, over the dead barman’s legs. Her hands scrabbled at the floor; she reached for her pistol but found the holster empty.

“Looking for this?” The man taunted, waving her pistol in his free hand. When he sneered, his gold earrings flashed. His breath smelled sour, a mixture of whiskey and aged grime. It was the jolt of reality Scully needed. Gritting her teeth, she kicked with all her might at his knees. They buckled, and he released his grip on her shirt-scruff, stumbling backwards into the fray.

Scully crawled away desperately, back over the barman’s corpse, and scrambled to her feet. She elbowed her way through the crowd, searching for an exit. The Blue Baron was an absolute wreck, with men plundering goods left and right, killing each other over gold pieces and running into the streets, presumably to set sail.

“Not so fast.” John Jack grabbed her ankle, tugging her down. He still had her pistol, but by this point she couldn’t care less—her only want was to escape the fray. “Yer coming with me, if I’ve got to drag ye the whole way.” She kicked at his face, but his bony arms held surprising strength.

She lost her balance and tumbled to the floor. As John Jack reached for her calf, a black boot crushed his wrist to the floor.

“I would let go if I were you,” said Stella Gibson, and if she’d been intimidating before, she sounded now like the first claps of thunder before a hurricane. Scully got up while she had the chance and backed away from the pair. No use fighting without a proper weapon.

John Jack didn’t seem to intimidated by Stella, though. He flashed her a charming smile. “Sorry about that,” he breathed, tugging at his smashed fist. Stella cocked her eyebrow like a loaded gun and let him to his feet.

“What are you doing?” Scully whispered through clenched teeth. Stella gave no answer, but she’d drawn her sword. The owl once munching on stray rodents rested peacefully on her shoulder. Its head swiveled around, and its coal black eyes met Scully’s in some strange form of reassurance. So the bird belonged to Stella. It was a strange companion, to be sure.

When John Jack stood, he was a full head taller than Stella. Scully backed away until her legs pressed against a table. Stella did nothing, and John Jack winked cruelly at Scully over her shoulder. He raised the gun, but Stella didn’t budge. Apparently no pirate shied away from a duel, no matter the situation.

He cocked the pistol and pulled the trigger, and the shot seemed to bounce off every wall in the Blue Baron. Those who were still pilfering whatever they could find stopped and looked up. Scully could feel her breathing go ragged, as if the bullet had pierced her own chest. She had no sound left to scream with.

John Jack grinned his wild, death-heralding grin. He made for Scully, but like lightning, Stella had her rapier blocking his path. Her coat fell open, revealing a white bell-sleeved shirt and a hollow bullet-wound that did not bleed.

“Don’t waste precious ammunition,” Stella advised with a twitch of her misaligned lips.

Scully saw his expression shift from satisfaction to confusion to horror. He shot her again. And again. Two more hollow holes, no blood. The tavern looked on in a haunted silence. Scully kept waiting, in agony, for her to die—a part of her desperately hoped that Stella was as ghostly as she appeared, but her mind wanted only for the scene before her to conform to reason. She waited what felt like minutes for Stella to crumble, but she never did.

“You better die fast,” John Jack said, his voice shaking. The pistol fell from his hands. “Or your soul will belong to Davy Jones.”

Stella took a step forward. She pulled down the hem of her dirtied shirt. A pale, distinctive scar sliced brutally across the right side of her chest. “I am Davy Jones.”

Scully choked.

“Now return that pistol to its owner or you’ll be steering the Flying Dutchman tonight. And don’t think we’d sail to Heaven—eternal righteousness is rather dull for women like me.”

He picked up the pistol and handed it to Scully. She holstered it immediately, holding the anxious bile down the back of her throat. Then he fled into the night. Stella turned to Scully.

“I apologize if I’ve frightened you, Scully. You’re still welcome aboard the Dutchman, alive and healthy as you are.” Her eyes had lost their fire; they seemed to hold genuine kindness. They were living again.

“You’re Pagett,” Scully whispered, horrified.

“Absolutely not.” She pursed her lips. “Only Davy Jones. And, of course, Stella Gibson, which it holds that you may call me if you choose to come aboard.”

Scully moved her lips, but no words came out.

“Well,” said Stella, “I must be off, then.” The bird on her shoulder hooted, and the crowd parted before her as she strode out the door, sword still in hand. Her coattails were the last thing to vanish.

Frozen in time, Scully thought of the barman’s stories, of Stella’s—or Davy Jones’s—offer, Stella saving her life despite no obvious motivation to do so, and the advantages of befriending a captain who couldn’t be slain. Wasn’t this what she came for? To find a ship that would take her to Mulder?

Trust no one, Mulder had told her. She was fairly certain he had only meant the living.

She gathered her wits and marched after Stella.

[johnmirabella]

WHAT I’M LISTENING TO

july 2017

BRITISH SEA POWER - let the dancers inherit the party:  this UK band's been making music for a decade and a half; and during most of that time, they seemed like just another innocuously straightforward indie rock band not necessarily worth paying close attention to. for whatever reason, though, i’m really digging ‘let the dancers inherit the party’, their tenth album. 

CHARLY BLISS - guppy:  hook-filled indie rock with a healthy dose of 90s pop. the new york’s band's debut owes a big debt to 90s bands like SIXPENCE NONE THE RICHER and VERUCA SALT and cultural touchstones like the ROMEO + JULIET and 10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU soundtracks.

CITIES OF FOAM - a great day for the race:  an instrumental record from 2005 that i randomly stumbled across a couple months ago. it’s a nice, sunny album similar to TEEN DAZE, TYCHO, etc.

CLARK - death peak:  CLARK’s new album is just as glitchy and distorted as his last few; but this one edges his sound ever so slightly more toward something that sounds like it was made by humans. this one’s pretty much for people who hear ‘glitchy, distorted techno’ and think ‘sounds interesting.’

DEADMAU5 - W/2016ALBUM/:  i somehow missed this when it was released last year. it has it moments, but nothing comes all that close to the heights of ‘pets’ or ‘mercedes’ from his last album. 

ERIC PRYDZ presents PRYDA:  PRYDA is one of ERIC PRYDZ’s alter egos, which he uses to release music that sounds more or less the same as the stuff he releases under his own name. so, yeah, i don’t get it. but whatever, more music from ERIC PRYDZ is never a bad thing.

FIRST HATE - a prayer for the unemployed:  i am pretty much obsessed with this album of dark synth pop (or, rather, with the tracks ‘the one’ and ‘lonely orbit’ specifically).

FUTURE ISLANDS - the far field:  probably the most consistently excellent indie rock / synth pop album to be released this year. it’s pretty great from top to bottom. i listened to nothing but this album for probably a month straight.

HUNTER / GAME - adaptation:  i missed this one last year and am just catching up with it now. the debut album from this italian duo sounds a bit like a marriage of THE FIELD and GUI BORATTO: dense and driving with a side of dark and brooding. 

JAY SOM - everybody works:  multi-instrumentalist melina duterte’s debut is chock full of fun, poppy, fuzzy guitar rock.

LYDIA AINSWORTH - darling of the afterglow:  ainsworth’s debut album (2014’s ‘right from real’) was nicely lush and orchestral but also a little too ethereal for my taste. her follow-up moves in a poppier direction to great effect.

PARAMORE - after laughter:  i’m a latecomer to this band that has apparently been around for 13 years; so i don’t know if this album is representative of their past work. what i do know is that it’s one of the better pop albums of the year. the subject matter is a bit dark and / or depressing, but the melodies are light and fizzy. 

PASSION PIT - tremendous sea of love:  this record was supposedly written and recorded in a week. unfortunately, it sounds like it. nothing here is really essential and doesn’t compare at all well with the band’s previous work. but, this being PASSION PIT, there are a few enjoyable tracks here. just don’t expect another ‘gossamer’. 

PERFUME GENIUS - no shape:  critics are over the moon about this one, but it took me a while to warm up to its charms. it’s pretty spare and disjointed with some off kilter rhythms and song structures but after a few listens it all kinda clicked into place. i guess this is technically r&b, but there’s not many people out there making music quite like mike hadreas. 

THE NEW PORNOGRAPHERS - whiteout conditions:  easily my favorite NEW PORNOGRAPHERS album in years, which is saying something considering how consistently good this band has been for the last decade.

TRACKS: the first new tracks from LCD SOUNDSYSTEM in seven years (and they’re good) as well as CARLY RAE JEPSEN’s terrific ‘cut to the feeling’, which is even more incredible for the fact that it wasn’t deemed good enough for inclusion on either her last album or the b-sides collection accompanying it. i’m also really digging ‘particula’ from MAJOR LAZER’s surprise e.p. that came out last month. 

[nvmlindseyallan]

@edsheeran extraordinarily fulfills prophecy as #divide drops. Read more here. #edsheeran #nvmlindseyallan

January 6 is a very important day for the Commondominion, as we remember the sign of the Wise Men from the East who visited Christ on December 25, 2bc, a year after His birth on Sepetmebr 11, 3bc. Through divine revelation our former overall leaders, the father-and-son tandem of Brothers Felix and Erano Manalo had delved deep into the sign of the Magi: they said the historic visitation is a divine declaration of the necessity of the leaders of your Commondominion, being messengers of God described by the Bible as symbolic stars and angels in the midst of men, in fulfilling the noble task of leading, directing, and pointing people to Jesus Christ, just like the star and the angelic dream leading the Magi all throughout their travel. Today this prophetic election is continually upheld by their seed, Brother Nathaniel Manalo, of whom Felix and Erano themselves bestowed the nickname 'Angel' (Genesis 32:27-30), as our current leader, fulfilling prophecies one after the other before a shocked Empire through his dedicated global band of preachers, public leaders and evangelists. Evidently the Empire is so furious against the bold strides we take with our living God marching on and leading us. So they just last year declared an all-out war against yokebearers (Isaiah 29, Zechariah 14:2-3, Revelation 16:14, 19:11-21 and 20:7-10), the paramount of our service and ministry, using more stiffer attacks against our leaders and more deadly attacks against the people we serve and pray about. And as the Commondominion welcomed its Year of the Administration this past week in thanksgiving to God for His gift of leaders to this Church he owns, the Empire has proven once more that they will do everything to mislead people and take them out of focus on the more important things (Matthew 23:23-24). They used the most popular namesake of our leader's archrival Eduardo Manalo- Edward Christopher Sheeran, to spark a war of signs over the airwaves against the Commondominion, even using verses of the Bible to further drive the point (Matthew 4:5-6). Of course they did it through Sheeran, on January 6. (We had earlier denoted St. Andrew's Cross and Sheeran's name seen on the present podium facade of EVM's central chapel.) To further convince everybody, they did not only used Sheeran, but also has used prophecy to denote his wide global reach of popularity and influence. Past singles too of Sheeran became both prophetic and influential- from #TheATeam (denoting angels) to #ThinkingOutLoud (where he collaborated with the yokebearer couples of Karminyan and Duomo). Last Friday he released #ShapeOfYou and #CastleOnAHill- and the whole Empire was at never-before-seen levels, went out of their faculties heralding the drop of the album named #Divide, to their avail. Oh what a blessed day for Sheeran, indeed, he could have thought he's better off staying with the Empire because nobody could give him this kind of supreme, overempowering treatment than them. In the Philippines 2 of Empire-affiliated radio networks were the first to play each of the two singles. With this Sheeran, through the Empire, reenacted a prophecy again- and they both don't know about it. In Daniel 4 we read about 'a divine (Divide) one and a guardian' (Edward) coming down from heaven to 'divide' a tree that symbolized what the Empire describes as 'a symbol of the highest authority God given to rule over all the earth', that was then held by Nebudchanezzar of Babylon. Later on as initial fulfillment of the vision the king was converted to the Commondominion and recovered his kingdom back. The chapter furthermore stated that the vision was fulfilled exactly a year after it was first pronounced, and it lasted for 7 years. They did it perhaps not only to denote angels being divine guardians (who are also called stars in the Bible) but also as spit to Ka Angel, through using the influence of a known personality who is the namesake of our leader's most fiercest critic, on the very day that marks the election of our Leader Nathaniel as a messenger of God- a symbolic star and an angel. (Notice that January 6 as Magi Day is an idea of the Roman Empire, but the Commondominion by God's grace was able to reveal in time that there's more to the meaning of the Magi than what the Empire already think they know). Also noteworthy is that EVM has a successor son he named Angelo, and he declared this Angelo way back in May 2016 to be a 'indomitable partner' of the German chancellor Angela Merkel in the Empire's backup plan to regain its European teritories both for the Pope and the European Union by August 2017 through the 'war against yokebearers' should #brexit and #trump2017 persist and lead more countries like France to eject out of the European Union and hence destabilize the Empire's globalist agenda through the United Nations. The Empire knows very well that Russia is a keeper of the flame for yokebearers hence the Empire shall also endeavor to trigger physical war with Russia as soon as possible through teasing accusations. Also January 6 is the anniversary of the alliance between EVM and the Neronian quarters of the Empire, signed in Salt Lake City, Utah in 2013. The Neronians worship angels so much, from the '3 blind mice' to Moroni the 'angelic ghost', Russell the 'angelic god', Soriano the 'evening star' and the Heavenly Mother the 'morning star'. (Colossians 2:18-19, Galatians 1:6-9, 2 Corinthians 11:13-15) As for the 2 stations, Daniel 12:5 speaks about 2 angels standing on either side of the river. We believe that our Leader Nathaniel and his brother Marco are the fulfillment of the 2 witnesses in Revelation 11. Of course the Empire won't believe it so they set up for themselves (Romans 10:1-3) the two beasts both from the sea and land as well as the 3 abominable frogs and the trinity of the beast, false prophet and the dragon (Revelation 13:1,11 and 16:13-14). Interestingly enough, the Illuminati Magic Kingdom would re-release #BeautyAndTheBeast, set in France, on March. Our preachers and evangelists has been able to declare that Revelation 12 could be seen fulfilled by September 23, 2017 to denote the 7-year Great Tribulation or the escalated persecution of the Empire against the Commondominion, as the Commondominion evacuates to Petra, Jordan as foreseen. Sheeran has declared by December 2015 that he will take a one-year hiatus and surely, indeed after a year, he was back at the year's turn. Sheeran now turns out to be a saving angel for the Empire now, drawing more popularity for Eduardo Manalo, his namesake. He has a dazzling brilliance or huge influence (Daniel 10:5-10) that 'fills the whole world' (Revelation 18:1, Isaiah 6:3) and this serves the Empire's cause to lure people away from the bigger issues between us and the Empire (Matthew 23:23-24, Revelation 12:9,12 and 13:2-4,7-8,13-17, Luke 12,17:26-33). Concerning Revelation 11, the Empire relates it to the 'events of the French Revolution', that was glorified in a musical by the Theater Workforce of the Empire, which counts as one of its songs a name titled #CastleOnACloud, similar to 'on a hill'. Pertaining 'cloud', Revelation 14:14 also denotes a figure descending from the sky with dazzling illumination like in Daniel 4. Paris is the #CityOfLights, and one of our most recent posts had revealed that as part of the plan to retake Europe for themselves, the Empire would launch a series of attacks over France this year to force them to stay in the European Union. The Empire had another musical propaganda movie #LaLaLand where one of the songs is entitled #CityOfStars. The Bible denotes, as we had earlier mentioned, Messengers as stars or Lights. And as per clouds and stars, on January 6 a shooting incident was staged by the Empire at an airport- gateway to the stars and clouds. The Empire too, on their New Year's Eve remote celebrations in public, had also adopted the theme 'fly in 2017' not only to foretell the shooting incident in the airport, but also to denote angels and what shall they do through Sheeran on the new year's first week. All of these comes exactly a week before the first #fridaythe13th of 2017 and around the anniversary of the Empire-staged false flag attack on a Paris periodical. The periodical is named Charlie and there is also a movie named 'Charlie St. Cloud', again denoting the word 'cloud'. Furthermore one of the most important chapels of the Empire situated in Paris where the Empire established its Jesuit order, is built too over a hill. As for the Empire's ongoing war against the #TrumpPence2017 tandem, the Empire knows very well that the phrase 'city on a hill' (Matthew 5:14) is related to the most recent great Republican president, Ronald Reagan, who also played cards on policies with the Empire. The votes of the Electoral College confirming Trump's election, was counted at Capitol Hill on January 6. Notwithstanding, the Empire that used Reagan, and is now waging war against Trump, is 'sitting on 7 hills' (Revelation 17). Because we had also seen in Daniel 4 that Nebuchadnezzar had converted to the Commondominion before he died, and because the Empire denoted that the tree of Daniel 4 is the said king, then we could say that the Empire is bent not only on forbidding more people in 2017 to join the Commondominion, but also on overthrowing the Commondominion at all costs. Remember our post late last year, where we warned that the Empire is bent on taking over Thailand- the city of angels and the land of the free- upon the death of their king- only because the Empire does not like the military government there? Also Paris last year hosted the #VictoriasSecret Angels fashion show- angels as lights or stars, and that sinister Queen Victoria, Empire stalwart. France means 'free' in German tongue- France and Germany, like the rest of the world, including the British family of nations (Ezekiel 16, Isaiah 19), especially all their yokebearers, in grave danger on what the Empire shall do against them in days forthcoming. It is also noteworthy that #NathanSykes, visible namesake of our Leader in the music industry, had released his new single exactly a week before Sheeran released his. Sykes did it without the fireworks the Empire did with Sheeran's album launch (Matthew 5, Isaiah 42). And the Empire, except for a few claims, had made a small deal out of it while they all the more blasted all they could muster to promote Sheeran for the sake of usurping our Leader in the face of his fiercest critic. Sheeran's album title #divided could also be seen as a mention of #TheGreatDivorce between the Empire and Commondominion. Why furthermore we should be alarmed on these new steps of the Empire against us is because they had in the past even up till now endeavored to relabel the legacy of the Medieval Reformers but as the Commondominion, with thanksgiving to God, marks this forthcoming October 31 the 500th anniversary of its launch of the Medieval Reformation through Martin Luther, the Empire through its waging war of malignant signs against us, has also endeavored, on the light of the war they had just declared against our yokebearers, to wage war as well against the memory of the very Medieval Reformers themselves, inasmuch as the Empire knows so much that we, preachers and evangelists of the Commondominion, has effectually carried out the duties left to us by the Reformers such as Luther, John Calvin, John Knox et al., through exposing the agendas the Empire dispatch against our yokebearers and their loved ones, and the Empire knows well that they could no longer fool people any longer because of our existence, as we do all these things out of love for our fellowmen and in the spirit of the Medieval Reformers. Proof of such is that as the Empire ran the whole day across the seas extolling Sheeran in a silent measure to promote our Leader's archenemy, they also ordered their satellite radio stations to repeatedly play as interludes songs of a namesake of the Medieval Reformers, #CalvinHarris, a man also respected and well-loved by the Commondominion. It could be well remembered that last May 2016, Eduardo Manalo declared that his church would no longer believe Martin Luther to be fulfillment of the prophecy at Revelation 14:8, a belief they copied from the Commondominion, not only due to the rapid rise of the Commondominion but also to give way to his son Angelo, whom he has declared to be the savior of the Empire's quarters at Germany, and is also seen to succeed Eduardo halfway this year as Eduardo is largely believed to stage a false flag to fake his death to give way to a fresher leadership of his church through Angelo to furthermore gather support for their failing machinery. Also we received reports that the Royal Family of Japan has also asked Eduardo that they might sustain Angelo too as their political savior, as an impending abdication of the current, ailing emperor is seen. So we could see that the Empire is not only looking for other places where it could still sway their power as the Commondominion wins back its former abodes to fulfill its mandate of serving yokebearers who are residing in those countries, but is also trying to subjugate the yokebearers who reside in the places that they are trying to conquer publicly, and the Empire is also trying to revive the enthusiasm not only of their other teritorries, but also of its quarters in the countries where the Commondominion, in God's grace, is now nearing victory once more after centuries of being overridden by the Empire in those areas. It could be also said that the Empire is also bent on making people fight against each other (Proverbs 6:16-19). In fact we received an alert from a well-respected German female yokebearer whom we shall not identify for her safety and welfare, saying that the Empire is now poised in gearing up the Canadian government, in time for their sesquicentennial on July 1, to oversee and enforce the Empire's operations, policies and agendas worldwide as the Empire falls terribly in the United States last year before public eye, as the Empire's branch on the United States is now looking to relocate to Canada and New Zealand, where there are also yokebearers whose souls are in danger due to the US Roman Empire's plot to vent their fury onto them. Aside from the Commondominion's poised victory in Germany, the cradle of the Reformation, the Empire would really make sure that it would plague everywhere, they are now setting sights on Central and Eastern Europe to form yet again a treacherous barricade against Russia, and they are beginning it in Hungary later this month through the priests' conference they are slated to hold there. We could tell you that we clear Sheeran of any responsibility over this. We believe that he, like everybody else, is a chess piece played in this war that shapes history. All we ever only ask of him is that he ponder (Psalm 1) on how the Empire has used him, and on whether the Empire can deliver him the salvation he and all his loved ones needs, longs and deserves. The Empire could deliver making him big-time at once, but only we, as per all the efforts the Empire does to take away his knowledge over these very reasons on why they make him sensationalized like this than ever before, can only give him nothing less nor more but what is really necessary which we only have (Matthew 6:31-33, Acts 3:6, Luke 10:41-42): knowledge of the truth that leads to eternal life (1 Timothy 2:3-5, John 17:3-5 and 7:15-18, Proverbs 9:6-12). Our most beloved Sheeran must imitate the prison guard who asked the leaders of the Commondominion on why he needs us for him and all their loved ones to be saved and in turn, joined the Commondominion of Christ, just like Nebuchadnezzar himself (Acts 2:37-38,40 and 16:23-34, Matthew 8:5-13, Acts 10, Luke 12:56-59 and 13:5-9,24-30, Daniel 4:34-37 and 12:13). He must always remember that all the world's fortune and fame is nothing compared to the eternal life brought about by obedience to the words of God (Matthew 16:24-28 and 12:36-37, 2 Thessalonians 1:8-9, 1 Peter 2:7-8, Psalm 107). We would be not telling him all of these if we don't have love, care, compassion and concern for his soul as well as respect for his talent, wit and humble beginnings. Hence, we have nothing but hope that he will try God's guaranteed guardianship to all who would agree to join Him in this Commondominion against the Empire (Luke 12, Isaiah 52:11-12, Psalm 130 and 34, Proverbs 10:22). We most humbly ask Mr. Sheeran to please begin getting in touch with all our preachers and our partners nearest him. He has to get the full story on all sides about everything from our preachers and evangelists themselves. Hopefully he learns to use his vacant time well to get in touch with all of them, one by one. He can see them where they are through our official page robertlawrencefulg.wixsite.com/commondominion and official Youtube youtube.com/channel/UCNgq_i3ZlMTxcczzEYQj6LQ. If he has more questions, our official Facebook facebook.com/nvmlindeyallan is waiting for his query and we would be more than glad to help him, because if we are in the place of the Empire, we will not do all these sensationalism stuff just to lure him away from what really matters. Mr. Sheeran, believe it or not, your Commondominion of Christ around the world, especially our Leader Nathaniel Manalo, loves you and all your loved ones, so much, beyond all we could muster. More than a blessed year ahead (which we see to be so hectic as per Empire's orders), we wish you and all your loved ones God's eternal wisdom and blessings. All we simply ask of you is time and the willingness to listen and be more than what you already think you are beyond all these misleading trance (Revelation 2:11, 1 John 4:1-6 and 2:15-17). We wish you and all your loved ones salvation and life everlasting in heaven, and you are all always in our prayers and thoughts. We shall never stop waging the war for your soul until you believe and be saved. (Isaiah 62, Luke 8:12, Joel 1-3). Ever truly yours to death, Commondominion of Christ #nvmlindseyallan #packyourbags