#i formed my music taste from nostalgia and insecurities

[mini-uzzy]

vent-ish?

[myshuagger]

“how could I forget?”

words: ~1.3k genre: angsty with a happy ending warnings: uh... angst? a/n: me updating less than a month after my last update? witchcraft! anyway, I was feeling a bit nostalgic then i saw this prompt and yeah. also, i tried to write this a bit differently than my usual stuff but idk if it’s noticeable. I hope you like it!

That morning when Mingyu woke up to Soonyoung’s invitation to his housewarming party, he seriously considered to stay home. Now however, as he listens to the soft music seeping through the front door and he looks around the front yard as he waits for the host to open the door Mingyu feels strangely hopeful.

Soonyoung opens the door as Mingyu changes the grip on the decorated wine bottle between his hands. A present, to congratulate his friend for the occasion. Soonyoung takes the wine and welcomes him in. Both of them exchange small talk as they walk towards the living room.

Mingyu greets the people he knows and gives a polite nod to those he doesn’t. After a few minutes, Soonyoung leaves him to tend to other guests not without pushing a drink into Mingyu’s hands and thanking him for coming. So Mingyu walks around, slipping easily into other conversations while he sips his drink.

The faint sound of a laugh that is too familiar reaches him. It makes his insides twist, his palms sweat. He uses all his self control to not run, to not seek for it. The last time he heard that laugh was in the middle of a summer too long ago. A faint breeze sweeping through the half open window and a mess of entangled limbs on the bed. Despite the high temperature Mingyu felt comfortable. Closed eyes and lips against skin, your skin. He remembers mumbling something about forever. The word ‘love’ heavy on his lips. He didn’t say it but thinks you understand anyway. If the way you laughed and hold him closer is any indication of.

It’s not summer anymore. The faint traces of winter fading with each passing day to give way for spring. New beginnings blooming like the flowers at the park he visits way too often. It’s not summer.

He finds you anyway, easy smiles and hair shorter than what he remembered, leaning against the kitchen counter. Mingyu stands in the doorway. He waits until you notice, until you start walking towards him after giving Jeonghan a quick parting hug. You stand in front of him and Mingyu feels like the years haven’t passed at all. He feels just like he did at the beginning of that summer. The butterflies in his stomach. The way you look at him. The pang in his chest telling him this is no coincidence, that him being there is a consequence of all the pulls on the strings fate is so fond of.

Mingyu feels like laughing, crying, and screaming all at once. Part of him wants to hold you, entangle your fingers with his hair and kiss you senseless. Another side of him wants to see you crying, to break you the same way he broke when you left him without a word in the middle of a night too hot for him to notice your body was not there anymore. But Mingyu reminds himself that it’s not summer.

So you two talk. Like two old friends, you and Mingyu catch up on each other’s lives. You tell him about your job, complain about your coworkers and the amount of overtime you always end up having. He tells you about the three months he lived with Minghao and all the times he coerced Mingyu into being a model for his designs. With every change of topic Mingyu finds it harder to keep his feelings at bay. He wants to ask about that night. Ask about the thoughts running through your head before you left. Whether you cried yourself to sleep the following weeks just like he did. Most of all, Mingyu wants to ask if you ever loved him.

However, it’s still too early for heavy topics and unresolved feelings. And so, Mingyu lets you slip between his fingers when you get too carried away in a conversation with Junhui after he comes and shows you a picture of his friend’s new cat.

After a couple of hours mingling around, Mingyu makes his way to the backyard. It’s when he lets out a heavy sigh while looking at the stars that you find him. The distant echoes of music and conversations almost make him miss the way you say his name. He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t tear his gaze away from the cloudless sky.

“The weather is really nice.”

Mingyu lets out a small laugh at your comment. The air around him feels heavy. Questions and promises forming a lump in his throat. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you’re also looking at the sky. Before he has the chance to say anything, you speak again.

“Remember that night at the beginning of summer?”

You don’t need to elaborate for Mingyu to know. Nostalgia hits his heart like an unrelenting wave, memories foaming up inside him. Of course he remembers.

He remembers a party, loud music and sweaty bodies. The bitter taste of alcohol on his tongue and the scent of your hair lingering around him. Mingyu had only known you for a few weeks and yet he was so enamoured with you. He wanted to hold you close, memorize the texture of your body and the sound of your voice. He wished to be the one you longed for when you were apart, to be the one that made you laugh. The night you’re referring to was the night he finally gathered the courage to hold your hand and pull you into a kiss under the moonlight.

A faint breeze caresses his cheeks. The ghost of entangled limbs and lips against skin make Mingyu feel dizzy. His gaze, heavy with traces of the past, drops to the ground. “How could I forget?”

“You asked me out that night and I was so scared,” your voice is something barely above a whisper. It feels like the times when you used to whisper insecurities against Mingyu’s chest. Tone coated with a specific type of uncertainty. Mingyu looks at you, he wants to hug you but he also wants to hear what you have to say. Your hands fidget with the hem of your shirt. “...but I still said yes.”

“That day too,” you stop for a second and take a deep breath. “I was scared, so I left.”

“Scared of what?”

You look at Mingyu and give him a weak smile. “Love.”

And with that Mingyu understands. He understands your thought process, the doubts and fears that might have crossed your mind that day. All the years he spent wondering why and he never considered that possibility. The reason you left without a word was not because you didn’t love him, but because you loved him too much.

He holds your hand carefully, afraid that you would pull away at any moment. You don’t. Instead, you go a step further and entangle your fingers with his. Mingyu is nervous, his heart pounding loudly against his chest. He doesn’t fully know what to make out of the whole situation. He knows, however, that he is willing to try again if you let him.

“What about now?” He takes a step closer. Mingyu observes every detail about you, the arch of your lips, the slight shake of your breath. “Are you still scared?”

You nod and Mingyu feels his insides collapse. His chest feels hollow and he can notice his eyes watering so he closes them. He doesn’t see the way you bite your lip or the resolve in your eyes. He’s about to turn away when you pull him towards you. Your familiar warmth reaches every inch in his body.

“But I still want to try again.”

Mingyu feels like laughing, crying, and screaming all at once. He pulls away from you just enough to look at your face. You’re smiling at him, tears beginning to flow from your eyes. He wipes them away and kisses your forehead before hugging you closer. The scent of your hair lingers around him. Summer is still a few months away but Mingyu is sure you will be by his side until the end.

[ashtray-girl]

I was reading a W.H. Auden poetry collection and among the poems there’s the opening from The Mirror and the Sea (Prospero to Ariel), which is basically Auden’s reinterpretation of Shakespeare’s The Tempest. I found it mesmerizing in general, but this specific part made me think:

Tell then of witty angels who Come only to the beasts, Of Heirs Apparent who prefer Low dives to formal feasts; For shameless Insecurity Prays for a boot to lick, And many a sore bottom finds A sorer one to kick.

Morrissey wrote a song called Heir Apparent which, according to Mozipedia, is about him “returning home to Manchester only to spot an idealistic younger version of himself about to follow his footsteps to London with ‘wide-eyed’ dreams of success. The singer is unnerved by his heir’s seeming naiveté, warning him of the perils of an industry destined to ‘seduce your heart then smack your arse’. Yet beneath his sage cautioning, there’s the implicit jealousy of a corrupted veteran longing to relive his own lost youth, as if irritated by his handsome young successor’s ‘winning smile’.”

While I mostly agree with this interpretation, there are some other parts of this poem that make me think there’s more than meets the eye (especially if we consider that: a) Auden was gay; b) this was around the time of the Joyce trial, when Morrissey was reunited with the rest of The Smiths after a long time).

Specifically:

Inform my hot heart straight away Its treasure loves another, But turn to neutral topics then, Such as the pictures in this room, Religion or the Weather; Pure scholarship in Where and When, How Often and With Whom, Is not for Passion that must play The Jolly Elder Brother.

(according to the book’s footnotes: The Jolly Elder Brother = a platonic love)

and also:

Are you malicious by nature? I don’t know. Perhaps only incapable of doing nothing or of Being by yourself, and, for all your wry faces, May secretly be anxious and miserable without A master to need you for the work you need. Are all your tricks a test? If so, I hope you find, next time, Someone in whom you cannot spot the weakness Through which you will corrupt him with your charm. Mine you did And me you have: thanks to us both, I have broken Both of the promises I made as an apprentice; - To hate nothing and to ask nothing for its love.

Ofc this is nothing but pure speculation, but let’s say Morrissey = Prospero and Johnny = Ariel. This looks to me as if Prospero is worried about Ariel not needing him anymore, but he’s also reproaching him for tricking him with his charm and taking advantage of him.

(And here I can’t help but think of how recurring the word charm was in The Smiths’ work... This Charming Man... That part in Hand In Glove: “For the good life is out there somewhere / So stay on my arm, you little charmer.” That part in I Know It’s Over: “With your triumphs and your charms / While they’re in each other’s arms.” And also in Morrissey’s solo years, in Seasick Yet Still Docked: “Wish I had the charm to attract the one I love / But you see, I’ve got not charm”.)

Bear in mind I haven’t read The Tempest, so I’m only vaguely familiar with the original plot, but this reads to me like blatant homoerotic subtext. It’s like Prospero and Ariel were lovers, but Prospero now regrets their relationship because he feels like Ariel played him and left him with nothing.

Then there’s this part:

I am very glad I shall never Be twenty and have to go through that business again, The hours of fuss and fury, the conceit, the expense.

If we go back to Heir Apparent, that’s basically what the song’s about, even though there’s also an underlying current of nostalgia. (”You think it’s so easy, I tell you - it isn’t.”)

And then... there’s this:

Now our partnership is dissolved, I feel so peculiar: As if I had been on a drunk since I was born And suddenly now, and for the first time, am cold sober, With all my unanswered wishes and unwashed days Stacked up all round my life; as if through the ages I had dreamed About some tremendous journey I was taking, Sketching imaginary landscapes, chasms and cities, Cold walls, hot spaces, wild mouths, defeated backs, Jotting down fictional notes on secrets overheard In theatres and privies, banks and mountain inns.

If you’ve read Morrissey’s Autobiography, you will surely remember how LONG and excruciatingly detailed the part about the Joyce trial is. Like, I’m pretty sure he wrote it that way as a form of therapy for himself. Also, he was very disappointed in Johnny’s behaviour and in what he perceived was a lack of loyalty towards him but I feel like that experience, as bad as it was, must have been freeing as well. Like, imagine: you stand by your best friend no matter what but, when you’re the one struggling, they leave you to fend for yourself in order to save their own skin. As heartbreaking as that is, after a while you may start feeling like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. You don’t need to cover for them anymore, you can go and live your own life without worrying about them, much in the same way they have. To be clear, I don’t think that the trial’s result was as unfair as Morrissey depicted it (that entire situation was a huge mess from start to finish), but it clearly affected him in a deep way, so much so that he moved to the US shortly after the final sentence was announced. (It’s interesting to note that in the poem, Prospero is also about to leave the island he shared with Ariel.)

Then there’s this part, which might be my favourite:

Can I learn to suffer Without saying something ironic or funny on suffering? I never suspected the way of truth Was a way of silence where affectionate chat Is but a robbers’ ambush and even good music In shocking taste; and you, of course, never told me. [...]

I see you starting to fidget. I forgot. To you, that doesn’t matter.

Considering the fact that Morrissey made an entire career out of writing ironic songs about his suffering, I think he would find those first two lines way too relatable. As for the rest, it feels like Prospero learned the hard way that being too frank with your own feelings can cause more trouble than relief and he resents Ariel for not warning him of this beforehand, but at the end that doesn’t matter, because Ariel has his own life to take care of and he will be fine even without Prospero. (Here, I can’t help but think of I Keep Mine Hidden: “Hate, Love and War / Force emotions to the fore / But not for me of course, of course / I keep mine hidden / But it’s so easy for you / Because you let yours flail into public view.”)

The poem ends like this:

Sing, Ariel, sing, Sweetly, dangerously Out of the sour And shiftless water, Lucidly out Of the dozing tree, Entrancing, rebuking, The raging heart With a smoother song Than this rough world, Unfeeling god.

O brilliantly, lightly, Of separation, Of bodies and death, Unanxious one, sing, To man, meaning me, As now, meaning always, In love or out, Whatever that mean, Trembling he takes The silent passage Into discomfort

It’s time for Prospero to leave his island, and for Morrissey to leave his past behind.

[swishandflickwit]

Deckerstar — lost without you 1/1

Summary: In which Father Frank hears of Lucifer's return to Hell, follows in Eve's footsteps by visiting the Devil from time to time, and finally establishes the kind of friendship they had been laying the foundations of before they were both so rudely interrupted by his death.

Alternatively: A Priest Walks Into Hell

(...and, quite possibly, doesn't come back out?)

Ratings: General Audiences

Words: 2.5k+

Warnings: Post-S4. Spoilers ahead. Implied Deckerstar. Canon divergence. Seriously, DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN’T FINISHED SEASON 4.

AN: This started out as a crack if and evolved into... something more emotional than I had originally intended it to be because why not *sighs* lol.

AN: This started out as a crack fic and evolved into... something more emotional than I had originally intended it to be because why not *sighs* lol. I wrote this way before the IG takeover by Tom, Ildy and Joe so the fact that Tom wishes he could see Father Frank again but that he couldn't because he's in Heaven and Lucifer is in Hell was just bloody kismet!!!

Title, and song referenced below, is by Freya Ridings which is SO DECKERSTAR except you change 'I have to see the world' to 'I've got to save the world' and I cRYYYYYYY.

Also, Father Frank went to Heaven! But if Amenadiel's theory of Free Will is to be believed—and it obviously can because how else was Eve able to escape Heaven, come back to life and in her original, youthful body, if it can't be—then anyone is free to leave Heaven or Hell, which is how Frank can visit Lucifer. Trust me, I had a whole backstory, I'm just... not... strong enough to write it out so, uh.

Roll with it...?

SHOUTOUT to Devil'sMiracle17 for beta reading the SHIT out of this and whipping it into shape better than I ever could. This was fine, but you made it BETTER and I'm so grateful to have met you through this experience! You have my heart!

Also on ff.net | AO3

Other writing

“What song is that?”

Lucifer saunters into the designated music chambers of his hellish castle before seating himself onto the bench next to Frank.

“Sounds positively wretched.”

Although, ‘saunter’ might have been too generous a term… slinks would have been the appropriate description—trudge even more so. Unless he holds court with his demons, the Devil doesn’t much care for appearances these days.

At least not when he’s with him.

Dejection has made a home of his friend’s shoulders, so Frank does what he can to, if not extinguish—then alleviate the insidious homesickness that plagues him by providing his more human company.

Little good it does.

Frank sighs. “Something one of the newer, younger residents of the Silver City keeps blasting on repeat through the courtyard speakers. Apparently he’s having a bit of trouble accepting his newfound… state and so the angels have permitted the coping mechanism, however repetitive,” he grumbles. “The other residents have given the kid a wide berth, but I actually like staying in the courtyard and it’s been weeks,” he feels his face pinch in shame, even as he cannot hold back the admission. “Now the song’s always stuck in my head. I can’t catch a break, not even here!”

(And if he, too, benefits just as greatly from their arrangement then no one else need ever be the wiser)

Lucifer snorts. “It’s always nice to be sought, not for the scintillating conversation but, for your ability to provide refuge from angsty teenagers and shrieking, mainstream bops,” he says, drily. “You sure know how to make a Devil feel wanted, Padre.”

Frank chuckles. “Don’t forget the refreshments,” he quips, raising a goblet of demon-brewed ale to his lips and taking a dainty sip because—as he learned the hard way—the beverage was not for the faint of heart, dead or alive.

He rolls his eyes, but there’s the tiniest hint of a curl to the corner of his lips that exposes his amusement, “Oh, of course,” it widens in mischief. “That is, when you’re not puking your guts out after having partaken a little too much of the libations…”

“That was one time!”

“And my hellions are still wiping your vile, regurgitations from the side of my castle, you little weakling!”

The pair of them dissolve into giggles as they recall the events that currently fuel their mirth; Lucifer challenging the priest and he, against his better judgement, indulging him in some petty motivation to prove him wrong. Suffice to say—they both lost that night.

Much, much later, when their nostalgia trails off and their chortles fade, Frank plays the piece in its entirety, complete with its lyrics because he’s heard it so many times it’s that embedded into his mind. Lucifer doesn’t do anything as innocuous as applaud, but Frank can sense his appreciation—recognizes it in the easiness of his breaths and the slackening of his shoulders (however minuscule, tension never truly leaving him, not even in his slumber, in the few times Frank has caught him unaware).

“Sounds like something dear Ella would have listened to.”

It’s mumbled out of the corner of his mouth in evident mockery, a derisive tilt to his articulations. Except it’s lost in the soft lines about his mouth and the brightening of his eyes as he becomes swept in the current of his memories.

So he waits, always waits… happy to let Lucifer dictate the pace of their interactions, the weight of their conversations. He learned early on when they’d reunited that Lucifer suffered through good days and bad days like the best of them, that the good days were often outweighed by the bad, and the one method to temper them that didn’t involve isolating himself on his throne for days at a time, or going on a manic bender, or some crazed combination of both, was when he reminisced of his time on Earth. Or more specifically—

The people that made his time there all the more meaningful.

Though he’d been witness to the Devil’s subtle but present humanity in the all too abrupt time they spent together topside, it is never more apparent than when he speaks of the Earthly family he’d found himself, reluctant maybe but ultimately, belonging to.

Sure, the bulk of his tales involve complaining about the notorious righteousness oozing from Amenadiel’s brawny form (“Never fails to bring up he’s the Favorite Son like, alright! We get it, yeesh!”), and the deviousness with which his newborn nephew commands the adults around him with a mere sniffle… ranting about Maze's betrayal (“Twice, Father. Twice! The audacity of that little demon!”) by teaming up with Cain (“I’m going to need a drink for this, aren’t I?” Lucifer cackles. “Or ten!”), and Linda's maddening advice during his therapy sessions (“She can never just give me the answers, honestly, what else am I paying her for?”), before recounting the whole debacle with Eve—after which he upchucked the contents of his stomach over the side of Lucifer’s balcony.

Yet even amidst the palpable, if thinly veiled, vexation of his intonation, there is that undercurrent of affection that one would have to be blind not to notice... but Frank does, and he is happy. Truly. And everyone he knows, and wouldn’t have known if not for Lucifer’s divulging moods, who is significant to Lucifer has made an appearance in all his, sometimes hurtful but mostly fond, chronicles… save for one.

Arguably, the most important one.

Yes, it doesn’t escape his notice that Lucifer hardly ever speaks of the detective that spearheaded Frank’s investigation when he had been alive. His friend is in the middle of narrating his experience in a nudist sanctuary, when he cuts himself off in that manner that tells him Chloe is a part of the story.

This is what he does, every time, and it happens so often that it becomes impossible to not discern that she—his partner in every sense of the word—is so deeply interwoven within his past, his present. One need only be in their presence for more than a second to confirm, there was no mistaking the connection between them, whether it is platonic or otherwise. And so Frank is of the firm belief that it would take more than a couple of short-lived dalliances with third parties to crack, what more break, their relationship.

So, he prods. Not hard. Not pressing enough to warrant his anger or, worse, aggravate his sadness. But a little hint here, a nudge there. He can see the strain in Lucifer's muscles and the melancholy that darkens his all ready too dark orbs… and he's aching.

He can sense the fight brewing in his soul—to speak of her, to bury her memory deep inside himself, to feel her, to wrap her in his darkness, to bring her to the light, to forget her, to remember her. So Frank tells him as much as he can without actually saying the necessary confabulations that he's here, that it's okay. Lucifer can cast his burdens onto him because this is what friends (for this is what they are and yes, his celestial best friend, for all intents and purposes, is the Devil and strange as it is, he wouldn’t have it any other way) do, they listen and they protect and they share the load of your despair as well as they can ‘til finally.

Finally, it spills out of Lucifer like a break in a dam and he is crashing, crashing and all Frank can do is hold him through the tidal wave so he doesn’t drown.

“She loves me,” Lucifer admits openly, softly, even as rivulets stream silently into the collar of his ever-impeccable suit. “She wanted me to stay, and I could not give her even that. I couldn't give her what she desired.”

“Why?”

“That damned prophecy,” he snarls, and his eyes flash red before altogether receding to their natural umber as he further expands on this foretelling, Frank's grimace deepening as a new, priestly, player is introduced and revealed to have preyed on both Lucifer and Chloe’s insecurities through his dastardly manipulations, which resulted in the deaths of a hefty number of innocents.

“And Hell must always have a ruler—a celestial one at that,” Lucifer concludes in muted, hopeless tones.

“Forget the prophecy!” Frank roars, an unexpected heat that tastes of indignation at the awful circumstances that seem to follow Lucifer no matter how undeserving he is of them, coursing through his veins. “Do you love her?”

And the despondency lifts for even just a fraction, replaced by a familiar exasperation.

“Haven't you been listening? First love equals destruction upon humanity? I don't really know how much clearer than the risk of an apocalyptic threat I can get.”

Frank raises an eyebrow. “I've yet to hear you actually declare your love in relation to her name, Lucifer.”

“Ah,” he breathes, and fiddles with a cufflink, which only gives away his unease. “Funny, that—I've also yet to say them to her. Really say them. I just keep calling her my First Love, which, not a lie! Still,” he shrugs but the nonchalance is misplaced in the tremble of his hands, as he lifts his own goblet to his lips for a particularly long gulp before he, mingled with an uncharacteristic sheepishness, huffily continues, “I do adore you, Frank, but if it’s all the same to you, I would much prefer that the first time I say them, properly, it would be to her, yeah? We both know how awful I am at communication and at this point in the game, I wouldn't want any wires getting crossed and all...”

Frank takes pity on the poor creature and halts his rambling with a steady hand to his shoulder. “So, tell her.”

Lucifer gapes. "Sure, because it's as easy as fluffing my wings out and landing at the foot of her bed. Silly me, why hadn't I thought of this before? Oh, that's right! Something to do with Evil being unleashed upon the whole of humankind? Ring any bells? We were literally just talking about this. Am I doing something wrong? Wait, what am I saying. I'm perfect.” Lucifer shoots him a look so pitying, Frank must restrain himself from cuffing him in the back of his head out of annoyance.

“Heaven really does make the lot of you dull, doesn't it?”

The things he puts up with…

“There's always gonna be something, Lucifer,” he entreats (ignoring his last statement). “In any relationship. Sometimes it's fear of commitment, other times it’s disagreements on expenses or the number of kids you want. In your case, it just so happens to be the possibility of the end of the world.”

“Is that all?” he growls, voice dripping with disdain.

“The point is—would you rather face it alone? Or take the risk together? Come on, Lucifer,” he wants to weep.

Frank doesn’t understand where this vehemence stems from, but it seizes his body with an urgency that feels as natural as his phantom heartbeat. Because he’s caught tendrils of this peculiarity before, but never so glaring as now—this fire in his chest and a carillon in his brain that blares, Lucifer does not belong here. Lucifer ruling Hell reeks of all kinds of wrong. But what he’s coaxing him to do… it feels right. Because Chloe and Lucifer feel right.

They are true.

So he asks him, though he can surmise the answer, “Are you willing to fight for that love?”

And Lucifer doesn't hesitate, not for a second. Not for a heartbeat. He doesn't even take a breath before his assent spills forth from his mouth.

“Yes,” he whispers. Then, firmer—louder, “Yes. I want to fight. For her. For us.”

Because of course he would, the rebel son of God. He would.

“Then what are you standing around here talking to me for? Go!”

“And what of Hell? What's to stop the demons from coming after me again. It would really help against whatever's coming if I wasn’t worrying about a possession epidemic on top of the apocalypse.”

And Frank thinks about those scant seconds before he died. How fleeting but impactful his last words had been. “Maybe he put me in yours,” he had said. “Your Father has a plan.” He thinks about how easily the words had slipped out, almost of their own volition.

He thought dying meant the cold. But—in that transitory precipice of life and death, the sanguine fluid that fueled his essence leaking from his body and staining his cassock, and Lucifer’s hands, red—held in the arms of the Devil, all he felt was warmth… a glowing fireplace after a day in the snow, the fiery embers of a bonfire, the comforting flame of an inimitable presence scoring across his heart, engulfing his soul. It was magnificent.

One might even say divine.

And in that moment, he knew.

“I'll do it,” he says. “I will rule Hell in your stead.”

And he can see Lucifer gunning for a laugh ‘til he notices the steely glint in Frank's eyes, the resolve firming the lines of his figure, making him seem taller. Stately. Royal.

“Have I ever told you,” he starts, a smirk burgeoning on his lips, “that my full name is Frankiel?”

“Spear of God,” Lucifer translates, slowly.

“Your Father has a plan,” he repeats.

Understanding dawns in Lucifer's eyes.

“Doesn't mean it's always a good one,” he ripostes, weakly.

“And yet,” Frank chuckles, surety making him bold, excited even, as he gathers him into his arms. “I’m certain that in this, we can both agree—it is. It works.” He nods onto the taller man’s stiff shoulder. “It has to.”

Because this is what he endured the pain of living for—so that in death, he could give another a chance to be reborn, to return the love which had been so lost to him before. Because God may work in mysterious ways, but He used him as a vessel and revealed the truth of Lucifer to him, so that he could use his final breaths to bestow a glimmer of hope into His son.

He would accept no other explanation apart from this miracle unfolding before him—all the cogs and wheels that made up his life, and afterlife, shifting into perfect gear.

He says as much to Lucifer, and though he shakes his head as if in denial, he gradually returns the embrace. Frank closes his eyes—and knows that same hope that tethered him in those final, critical, beautiful moments of his life, is now a living, breathing entity in Lucifer’s own soul because—when he opens them, the Devil is gone.

There is much to work out—the insurgence of the demons that will surely reignite at Lucifer’s once more, and final, departure, arranging visits with his daughter, how to get up on that damned throne, perhaps begin forging a new one in its stead, figure out whatever his freshly-anointed status truly entails. There will be time for all of that, eons of it, even. But for now…

The priest walks out onto the edge of the balcony that overlooks his newfound domain—Hell is a sprawling, ebony terrain before him.

And this, quite naturally, is how Father Frank ends up ruling it.

AN: Honestly, I wrote this because I just really miss Father Frank. Even after S4 'A Priest Walks into a Bar' is still hands down one of my most favorite episodes in all four seasons.

And, just as Father Frank, I too would sacrifice my spot in Heaven if it meant Deckerstar could be together. LET THEM BE HAPPY!!!

Speaking of, I got some bigger stuff in the works. This came to me at a 4am, sleep-deprived yet frenzy, haze and wouldn't leave me alone till it was written. I know, the lack of Chloe in this is abysmal XD but rest assured, the Deckerstar program should resume soon so, stay tuned!

[amandajeanwrites]

you say you want a revolution...

As I sit, on a dog-fur covered couch, with aching wrists from over-exertion in the form of writing, I feel incredibly proud. I’ve been contemplating how to write this post for weeks now, excited by the idea of starting a new blog that’s all for me and exactly how I want it, but nervous that it won’t be perfect. Of course, I see the irony in it, because the point of this blog is anti-perfection. I wanted to start a revolution, as it were, a renaissance of imperfection in a space that is now so flooded with ideals and standards to be met and maintained. 

Let me take it back for a moment to explain myself. I watched a YouTube video a few weeks ago that really sparked my intrigue. A fashion YouTuber and blogger I’ve followed for years, Lily Melrose, recently posted a video where she “reacted” to her “cringeworthy” old fashion blog posts from when she first started her blog. I’ve always enjoyed her style, and I clicked knowing it would be interesting and perhaps as nostalgic for me as it was for her. Being apart of the millennial generation, I feel like nostalgia is something we really cling to, isn’t it?

Anyway, throughout the video, I was surprised and inspired by Lily’s so-called “cringeworthy” reactions to her outfits. Instead of being shocked and horrified by the pairings she made, she recounted endless great stories that the photos and blog posts brought to mind from her past. She looked amazing then, and now, but it wasn’t so much the fashion that had inspired me, but rather her mentality. She was reminiscing on days before being a “fashion influencer” was even a term in the English language, before photos of outfits could be monetized. She mused on taking and posting the photos for fun, wondering if anyone would be interested in her personal style. She credited her excitement to her quick blow-up within the fashion and blogging community.

That really resonated with me, the idea that way back when, you didn’t have to be perfect to gain traction. Her photos were often shot at awkward angles against her bedroom wall, only showing an outfit from the thighs upward, occasionally cutting off an arm or her forehead. They weren’t all in the same color scheme to make her theme “cohesive”. Her high-light wasn’t “on fleek”. She had bad days that she wrote snippets about. Her life wasn’t perfect, and most importantly, she was doing it for herself, and not the hundreds of thousands of followers she gained from her candidness.

I think today, social media is in a bad place. It’s on track to the right direction. Creators are finally opening up and showing human qualities moreso than they ever did, but the vast majority of things I find on Instagram (specifically, but also on YouTube and within the blogosphere) are highly curated images and videos. Every post has been read and reread and edited a thousand times to seem “clickable”. I’ve noticed myself really shying from the same cookie-cutter content, bored with it and ready to move on to real people providing click-worthy content.

Shane Dawson, another YouTuber I really admire, recently switched from short format videos, taste-testing Wendy’s products and conspiracy videos, to longer format series, really digging deep and delving into the human experience. To see such a change in him has been incredibly inspiring, and his point-of-view is unmatched in his industry. It’s refreshing, and in my mind, highly clickable.

I think I’ve gone on a tangent. What I’ve meant to say about all of this is that I’ve really been struggling with hypocrisy. I’m constantly inspired by creators all over the world who stand out of the box and really push their point-of-view, no matter how outlandish or abrasive it may be at first. I notice creators taking risks and doing what they are passionate about and thriving whilst doing it. Not only do I want to thrive while pursuing my own passions, but I want to inspire others to do the same. That’s always been my goal in life, to inspire and encourage other’s to follow their passions and interests.

On the flip side of that, I’ve noticed myself shying from social media. I’ll get really excited, brushing off the perfection, saying to myself that I should produce the content I enjoy, and do it for myself. I shouldn’t worry about numbers or the color pallet of my feed. Yet, I believe it’s been engrained into me through society and social media and the popularity of it all that I should strive for those numbers, for that perfection. So I hesitate to post, worried that whatever I’m writing or photographing or filming won’t live up to my own standards of what I think society expects from me.

So, this is a long winded way of saying that I want to change that, about myself. I understand I can’t start a revolution. I don’t have that kind of voice, or the personality of a strong leader. I also understand that I can change myself. I can push myself away from insecurities and towards the intended inperfections. I can write whatever I’m feeling, stream of consciousness like I am now. I can take fifteen photos of my dog and upload them to Instagram. I can record a cover of a Harry Styles song and upload it to YouTube. I can do all of these things because the internet is a free space and the perfect outlet for creativity. 

This particular space, Tumblr, I’ve clung to for years now. It started as a little area of the internet for me to post my writing. At first, admittedly, I used it to cyber-stalk a boy I liked. He introduced me to the site, but I feel like it’s grown so much for me since then. Through my dash, I’ve watched social circumstances change. Educational dump posts have come and gone, anti-bullying campaigns, fanfiction. It’s an ever changing exchange of discourse for people without another outlet, and as far as I’m concerned, Tumblr has no limits.

I thought this might be a safe space for me to post whatever inspires me. I had another Tumblr where I posted my daily dribbles for over 500 days in a row. That experience was incredibly freeing and enlightening, and I had no idea what sort of inspirations it would spark. Now, I’d like to use this blog as a place where I can jot down my ideas and inspirations and hopefully inspire people from all walks of life. 

I hope to promote imperfection and candidness. I hope to spark discussions that inspire and enlighten me further. I hope to gain traction and excitement for other projects in my life.

I guess that’s kind of all I have to say for now. I hope it sort of explained what you can expect, hopefully the unexpected. If that’s not defined enough for you, I plan on posting word dumps here. Opinion pieces strung together by a stream of consciousness, similar to this. I will post reviews: literary, film, television, music, live performances, whatever I can get my hands on. I will post mood boards compiled of images from Tumblr or Insta or Pinterest or real life. I’ll post music playlists for how I’m feeling at that time on that day. I’ll post little things that made me chuckle or made me cry throughout my day. I’ll post little snippets from the books I’m writing, little insights to my characters. 

So, stick around. It’s going to be fun, this little revolution of ours.

Thanks, as always, for reading. xo

[funkymbtifiction]

I had read that INFPs are a walking paradox, and just recently i understood what they meant. They want to help others, they want to form deep relationships, but at the same time they resist human contact. They are very curious when it comes to learning about the world, including learning about human nature and different cultures. However, at the same time, they can be shy and hesitant to open themselves up to people who they aren’t familiar with. The INFPs i’ve met in real life can be either the most determined and passionate people i know or the most apathetic and indifferent. Seriously, one day they are the force of nature and the next are in their bedroom listening to music all day.

They can be very easygoing, but other times they can be incredibly stubborn in a level that makes you wonder if you really know this person. They are perfectionists with themselves and their values and their work, but incredibly negligent on practical matters. They are highly individualistic people who break free from the status quo. They choose their own unique pathway rather than doing what society expects of them. At the same time, INFPs can be traditional due to their strong values and sense of nostalgia. INFPs value autonomy and prefer to do things freely without any impediments.

They like to be creative, expressive, and explore new things without being burdened by repetitive tasks and strict orders. However, at the same time, they are drawn to their inferior Extroverted Thinking (Te) function and desire stability and structure in their lives. They are both children and old souls. They can be childlike because they usually tend to be too optimistic (or at least that’s what they show). In spite of their whimsical and free-spirited nature, INFPs are also old souls; they experience emotions intensely, have high levels of empathy, and can see many possibilities in a given situation. They are gifted with incredible depth, insight and wisdom.

I know 3 INFPs in real life (i know i’m lucky, right), i’m an ENFP myself, and i’m very close with one of those INFPs and good friends with the other two. Even though they are different people with different backgrounds, i have noticed these contradictions in themselves. And i also have noticed that even though they have a very polite and quiet presence, at the same time they are very hard to get them to really open up. When i met them, all of them weren’t expressive. Like yeah as i said they were very polite, but at the same time it was like there’s a wall between the others and themselves, which i find ironic because behind this quiet and aloof exterior there’s a very kind and empathetic soul. 

You said you have an INFP friend, right? How was she when you met her and have you noticed the same or more contradictions in her character?

That sounds about right. =)

I’ve noticed a severe tendency (which is also common in myself) of swinging between idealistic hopes for humanity and total pessimism as regards humanity – depending on their recent experiences / reading / what’s going on. This sort of double-mindedness is present with them most of the time; a sense that they do know (in some areas) what they believe and yet cannot understand how other (often less open-minded) people can be ‘so sure of what they believe.’

Now that you mention it, in some ways I know my INFP friend very well – in terms of her interests and tastes – and in some ways not at all, because she is neither forthcoming nor sharing of her deeper thoughts and feelings insomuch that she mostly talks about her current passions and opinions rather than her deeper dreams or beliefs. It was literally YEARS before she opened up to me on a deeper level, and I was quite honored last summer when she gave a full blown rant about something that had clearly been brewing for months and then said, “I’m sorry to dump all of this within your hearing, but I trust you not to judge me for it.” At some point, I had become trustworthy in her eyes.

And that takes awhile with IXFPs. Once they let you in, it’s marvelous, but it does not happen quickly and you have to prove yourself worthy of their trust.

She is all that you described and indeed, a walking paradox much of the time – I think ENFPs can be this way also (it’s the nature of Ne, IMO) but because Te is inferior in the INFP, when they DO assert themselves it’s often with a much stronger sense of individual self / lack of compromise / enough is enough that takes other people off guard, and the judgments are often harsh / decisive (but not always final, I’ve noticed; an INFP might cut someone out of their life for awhile after a serious conflict and then reconsider and become friends with them again a year later – that is the bonus is Ne!).

There is this sense of … distance from the world in INFPs; of being ethereal. I always know when I’m around one because they’re not quite ‘here’ yet utterly present and their way of thinking is incredibly unique from all the other types. I’ve also noticed how sensitive they are to conflict and others’ feelings and how often insecure they are about opening up in their ideas (sometimes, because they know others would shoot them down).

I’ve started e-mailing someone who I suspect is an INFP. She feels vulnerable if she tells me something that is not the ‘usual’ way of thinking (and relieved to find out I feel similar, since she’s afraid her frankness might ‘hurt my feelings’ – it never does) and she does not quite feel like she ‘fits in’ with most people. She always feels like the outsider in a group and often has to ‘keep [my] mouth shut,’ because she can neither agree with the broad generalizations / narrow thinking of others nor would feel okay with the intense, unpleasant conflict that would come with speaking up / contradicting or arguing with other people. She continues to want to believe ‘the best of others’ even when ‘life batters the hell out of my idealism.’

(It is honestly SUCH a relief to e-mail her, because she never loses it over my extremely unorthodox opinions and/or shares many of them, so I never feel like I need to be ‘fake’ or close off huge and important parts of myself like I have to do with a lot of people just to avoid ‘being set straight’!)

INFPs and ENFPs are good for one another, because the INFP can trust ENFPs not to be offended by their opinions or ideas (and not to abuse them, because both types hate a single view on anything and both types generally hate conflict), and it does good for the ENFP to be around the more sensitive INFP and learn how to appeal to them on an emotional level. I enjoy writing my INFP and making her laugh, and she teaches me the value of being gentle. And I enjoy being around my other INFP friend because she inspires me with her terrific creativity and she enjoys me because I’m good at listening / affirming.

- ENFP Mod

[itbeajen]

Mistakes Were Made | Kirishima Eijirou

i. enraptured The first time he noticed you was when you had laughed over the mistake in your order. It was only his first couple of weeks on the job, and it was his first time serving a group of customers instead of a single customer. But he hadn't expected to have completely mistaken your order and give you something entirely different from what you had asked for. He can still recall how he had apologized over and over again of his mistake. The narrowed scalding gaze from their sleepy black haired manager and the heated yet icy cold stare from his senpai in the job made him want to shrink away from the entire world. He just wanted a hole to open up and make him disappear. But before either his senpai or his manager could ease the situation, you solved it yourself with a wave of your hand and a small laugh. "After all, you made it yourself right? I can't let your effort go to waste." And even when he had attempted to at least make it on the house, he could do nothing but lose his breath at the sound of your bright laughter. He never did charge you and your friends for that mistake in your order, but the additional tip you had slipped into his apron pocket before you left had left him completely stunned. Because you had paid for it anyways, and also thanked him for the delicious coffee. ii. regular After your first visit with your friends, you haven't been back since. Kirishima's basically forgotten the incident, but when he hears the door chime ring its familiar melody and your warm hues make eye contact with his, he can't help but let out a beaming smile. "Welcome! You can take any table, and we'll be right with you shortly!" You had nodded, a returning soft smile on your lips as you made your way towards the table you sat at the first time you were here. You had your laptop with you, and it wasn't until you felt a presence approaching you that you looked up and away from your work. "What can I get you today, miss?" Kirishima Eijirou. Your gaze flickered from his face to his name tag, and then it clicked that he was the same waiter from your first visit here. Kirishima's gaze on you was bright, and practically radiating positivity. "I'll get whatever it is you got me last time." His eyes twinkled with confusion before he finally put a face to the girl from his first mistake. A smile spreads over his face, as well as a tinge of pink flush, and he nods, "Sure thing! An ice almond macademia milk latte coming right up!" He still remembers watching anxiously from the cold bar after delivering it to you. But his insecurities are relieved upon seeing the bright and content smile blossom on your face. Perhaps that was the visit that cemented your presence. iii. study The first time he talked to you wasn't actually initiated by him, but rather you. It was one of the rare times he had came in on a day off to study. The small coffee shop was normally quiet and filled with idle chatter only during the busy hours which were around lunch and post dinner. But in between, it was always quiet and filled with the gentle tunes of music playing softly in the background. "You're not working today?" He had never shot his head up that fast any time compared to that day. He was deep into studying, although he didn't really know what he was studying. But he didn't realize he was that oblivious to the world around him that he didn't recognize you hovering over his shoulder. When he made eye contact with your face, you pulled back slightly, a sheepish smile on your face and you laughed, "My apologies, I didn't realize I interrupted you while studying." He stared at you intently, and you just flash him a small polite smile until it dawns on him and he exclaimed, "The tip girl!" "Eh, 'tip girl'?" a teasing smile played at your lips and your hands went from holding your purse's strap to resting on your hips, "The name's [L/N][F/N], can't you at least try to remember that, Kirishima-san?" He's basically a spluttering mess as soon as he hears his names on your lips. The question of how you knew barely leaves his lips and the laughter that escapes you makes him stop his internal flailing. You gently tapped his breast pocket where his name tag was pinned on, and then you shook your head, "Are you that out of it?" He lowers his head momentarily in an attempt to calm himself down, but the embarrassed smile that takes over his features makes you smile at how endearing he was. "It's the studying." It was the only excuse he had, and he didn't expect the conversation to continue. He had expected you to just break away and excuse yourself, but he was stunned once again out of his thoughts by your continual surprise when you offered, "I can help, if you don't mind me doing so." He's never been more grateful for that day in being the start of his friendship with you. iv. pick me up's Studying and just chatting has been a normal routine for you and Kirishima as you continued to visit. But you can't help the twinge of jealousy that slowly takes root in your heart as you noticed the new girl that gradually became his regular as well. It really didn't help when you saw him mess up your order, only for a situation similar to your own replay in front of your eyes as though you were the audience and they were the actors. You don't notice the pout that forms on your lips, but you immediately sighed and shook your head. You had no right to be acting this way. After all, everyone on this side of the cafe was his customer, not just you. But just as soon as your jealousy had sprouted and was almost ready to blossom, you feel your heart pang for the girl when you see the longing and wistfulness in her eyes at Kirishima's senpai. Ah. You idly stirred the spoon in your latte and you mumbled, "I feel you, girl." "Feel what?" You were startled out of your stupor and immediately rested a hand on your heart. A pout forms on your face and you grumbled, "Don't do that Kirishima." "Sorry, sorry," he laughed and then gently set down a plate of dessert before you. He waited for your reaction, and you looked at him with confusion and you asked, "Did I order this?" "No, but it's a pick me up. You were looking kind of down today, so I thought.." his voice trailed off and he holds the now empty tray before him, folded against his torso. He watched you expectantly, and you slowly pushed the spoon onto the dessert, and the chocolate lava that flowed out surprised you. He watched as your eyes lit up with the childish glee as you tasted the sweetness of the dessert and the reason as to why it was there. "Like it?" His voice was slightly nervous, but it was blown away by your immediate reassurance. "Thank you, Kirishima-kun." Your heartfelt gratitude and the soft and gentle way you had met his eyes when you said your thanks made his heart swell. Perhaps this is the first time he could say that he saw you as more than a friend. v. mistake The surprise on your face mirrored his when he placed the wrong order on your table. Your brows furrow and you asked, "You okay there Kirishima-kun?" He just stares blankly at the order, and then looks from your table to a different table where an older looking man was sitting. His head drops in a sigh and he claps his hands together, "Sorry [L/N]! I'll get you your order, just give me-" "It's fine," you laughed it off. And he feels a wave of nostalgia and then joins in on your laughter. He shakes his head fondly, "Just like how we first met, huh?" You nodded, and then gently pushed the cup towards him and nodded at the other table, "Go do your job, Kiri. I'll be here til you get off work, so don't fuss over me too much." "Who says I fuss!" he retorted in play. You rolled your eyes and shooed him off with your hand before resuming to your work. But it was though he was unable to not bother you as he continually came by, dropping off snacks, refilling your drink, or even chatting with you. The cafe was almost about to close, yet you were still here; your work still unfinished, but nearing completion. He refills your cup once more, and as he walks away, you find your gaze lingering on his retreating figure as he leaves. His shoulders are so broad. But the thought was fleeting as you shook your head to dispel the thought away. I need to get back to work. Just as you were about to dive back into working, the scribble at the edge of a napkin caught your eye. "The first time I noticed you was because of your laughter." Your eyes widened and then you quickly grabbed the next closet napkin. "It's filled with happiness and joy, I can't get enough of it." You read the line again, and then looked up at your filled table. The napkins were scattered all across the table, but each one held a sweet descriptive line that described you. You felt the warmth in your heart grow and you couldn't contain the small smile that grew on your lips. You almost didn't even realize Kirishima had arrived again until a plain white napkin is shoved in your face. "It was a mistake that brought us together, but this is no mistake. [L/N][F/N], would you give me the honor of being your boyfriend?" You looked up at him, and he's surprised by the unshed tears that enhanced the beauty of your irises. The hues were filled with appreciation and love, and he doesn't realize that he's holding in his breath until he finds it hard to breathe. He lets it out, and softly he hears 'yes'. His eyes shone brightly, and then he repeated, "Yes?" You almost wanted to laugh, and you responded, "Yes. Make no mistake in my answer, Kirishima-kun." vi. morning Every time he manages to wake up before you, he's reminded of the first time you guys met, and a wide but sleepy smile blossoms on his face as he pulls you closer against him. His arm draped around your waist with you laying slightly atop of him, and you were tucked under his chin. He lets out a content sigh as he rubs mindless circles on your waist and murmured, "How did I get so lucky?" "You made mistakes," you whispered in response. He tenses and you peek up at him, eyes twinkling with mischief, "Right, Eiji?" "I did not!" "Mhm, but if it wasn't for that mistake in your order, I wouldn't have come back," you responded, snuggling against him, "And if I didn't come back, we wouldn't be together." He pouted, but you can't see because your eyes are closed again, and your breathing evening out, again. He sighed in defeat and places a quick kiss on the top of your crown, "You're right." But you're probably the only mistake I'd gladly make again and again.

[buzzfeedreader]

Jonathan Leibson / Getty Images

SZA’s Ctrl is a black girl’s Tumblr come to melodic, vibrant life.

SZA, who is 26 years old and grew up in New Jersey, is speaking in a specific vernacular that will be familiar to black women who spend chunks of their time in certain corners of the internet. It is apparent right from the opening song, "Supermodel," which begins with a recording of the singer’s mother speaking on the grand theme of the record (“That is my greatest fear. That if, if I lost control or did not have control, things would just, you know. I would be be...fatal”). It’s not that the lyrics come in the form of some impenetrable fancy language, necessarily — it is standard (African-)American English, after all — it is the attitude with which she throws out the lyrics that catches the ear, and then makes the words linger on the mind.

When she plaintively sings “Why can’t I stay alone just by myself / wish I was comfortable just with myself” on that opener, for example, you can almost taste the minimalist Tumblr theme; if you close your eyes you can picture an ironic Blingee lighting up on a loop behind your eyelids. Ctrl is covering much of the ground that fills my own dashboard up every single day, the hundreds of posts that essentially boil down to a quest for self-determination — self-determination in a world that seems hell-bent on pushing us into predesignated roles and situations. And that is expressed in pithy but heartfelt text posts about black girl magic in all its forms, mood boards and videos of hair and fashion inspiration, and the men and women we fancy and love, alongside photo sets and GIF sets of nostalgia-nourished TV shows and age-relevant quotes about life and love and self-care. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that SZA was for a good long time an active Tumblr user (I have followed her on there for years). Even now, via her million-follower Instagram, her preferred platform these days, SZA is still doing much of what her Tumblr used to do (minus the direct contact afforded by her Ask box). Last month she posted a screenshot of a Tumblr post about awkward flirting with the caption: “who dragged me like this?”

SZA’s reputation has been building for years via a couple of well-received EPs, See.SZA.Run and S, and her first studio album Z. In 2013, she signed with indie label Top Dawg Entertainment, the home of Kendrick Lamar and the rest of the Black Hippy crew — the first woman to do so. Three years later, she appeared on and co-wrote Rihanna’s opening Anti track, “Consideration.” Collaborating with the likes of Jill Scott and Chance the Rapper, she’s been making atmospheric, lush, and moody R&B that is as much throwback as it is forward-looking, and it is a combination that has made listeners consider her a safe pair of hands (3.9 million monthly listeners on Spotify is no small feat, after all) — the evidence of which lies in her label’s ease with releasing Ctrl in the same week as Katy Perry’s latest.

Music like SZA’s found its first home on Black Girl Tumblr. Or, at the very least, gained loyal followings there. Artists like SZA, H.E.R., Jennah Bell, Jhené Aiko, and so on were the much-cherished discoveries of like-minded girls and young women who were also yearning for their own reflection to come back undistorted. And so perhaps it is inevitable and fitting that listening to SZA’s Ctrl often feels like reading a series of all lowercase, punctuation-free Tumblr text posts. Those posts are often telling a version of the truth, comically bemused but with an arched eyebrow. SZA is earnest, yes, but that doesn’t mean her eyebrow isn’t raised throughout Ctrl.

You can almost hear that eyebrow creak upward on "Garden (Say It Like Dat)” in which she sings engagingly about self-doubt and anxiety: “Lie to me and say / my booty gettin’ bigger even if it ain’t” is a funny, relatable lyric. And even before she expands it into something more plainly stated, it carries undertones of a little sort of sadness. The latter half of this second-verse lyric, for example, is tongue in cheek and on the nose: “I know you'd rather be laid up with a big booty / body hella positive ‘cause she got a big booty” (her ad-lib — an incredulous “wow” — is pitch-perfect). But then the emotion pinballs quickly again with the quiet admission that comes by verse’s end: “You know I'm sensitive ‘bout havin' no booty / havin' no body / only you, buddy / can you / hold me when nobody’s around us?”

In many ways SZA is singing about the things we have come to expect from our indie-slash-folksy white female singer-songwriters, but what Ctrl is delivering comes as experienced and reported through a firmly black girl lens. Like another young musician who has developed an ardent following, British singer-songwriter Nao, SZA makes pop that's sincere — almost painfully so — but she is also playful and smart and funny. Even when she is not in control (of her gravity, of her ex, of the size of her booty), she’s still "finding herself" while remaining refreshingly self-aware — she knows who she is and roughly where she wants to end up. I thought a lot about Nao’s For All We Know while listening to Ctrl and had a clear thought: Where Nao’s constructions sound something akin to black girl church, SZA sounds like the aftermath of a black girl night out (one in which you might have found yourself crying in the club). It perfectly encapsulates that keyed-up post-club, pre-sleep 3 a.m. feeling when feelings are close to the surface.

There is also a firmness in SZA’s persona on this record, best exemplified by her grandmother’s short, spirited interlude at the end “Love Galore”, addressing SZA by her given name, Solána Imani Rowe: “But see, Solána? If you don’t say something, speak up for yourself, they think you stupid. You know what I’m saying?” It’s a nod and a wink to the listener. SZA knows who’s listening, and who that message is for. Another noteworthy and matter-of-fact exemplification comes straight out the gate on “Doves in the Wind”: “Real niggas do not deserve pussy.” Which is self-explanatory.

On “The Weekend,” a soon-to-be sidepiece classic, SZA is funny: “My man is my man is your man / heard it’s her man too,” she coos dismissively before telling her paramour to make sure he’s at her place “by 10:30 / no later than / drop them drawers / give me what I want.” And on “Drew Barrymore” (a geniusly titled song, effortlessly conjuring as it does images of '90s teen rom-coms and coded norms of suburban insecurity and acceptance), she is sharp: “I’m sorry you got karma comin’ to you.” When she sings wistfully about the titular character from 1994 film Forrest Gump (first in cinemas when she was 4), SZA’s being cute but also serious — imagine a world in which pussy was given to only deserving men! “Where's Forrest now when you need him?” she intones almost solemnly on "Doves in the Wind.” “Talk to me.”

The dip into the '90s oeuvre of Robert Zemeckis notwithstanding, Ctrl is very much of the now. Even with its dizzying array of producers, the entire record sounds cohesively and fluently like 2017: Peep the references to Netflix show Narcos (which also got a shoutout on Stormzy’s 2017 LP Gang Signs and Prayer) or the aforementioned “body positive” (a term whose overuse has given it an unearned negative reputation on Tumblr and beyond). On “Normal Girl,” SZA borrows liberally from Drake’s 2016 single “Controlla” (“You like it / when I be / aggressive”). Even the nostalgic TV Ctrl harks back to is curiously very current again: that period in the '90s that young people have rediscovered and which they quote liberally from, thanks to streaming. SZA refers to comedy sketch show MadTV on “Doves in the Wind,” and on “Go Gina” she uses one of Martin Lawrence’s catchphrases from his sitcom Martin.

Ctrl is a mishmash of so many influences, which will continue to reveal themselves as it beds in with listeners. Its pop DNA is evident in its many catchy hooks and choruses (“Prom” sounds like a 2017 update of Gwen Stefani’s “Cool,” for example), and her guest stars — Kendrick Lamar, Travis Scott, James Fauntleroy, Isaiah Rashad — add weight but are never overwhelming. SZA has an ear for what is aurally pleasing and commercial: Upon my third listen to the record, I was struck by how happily pretty much every song would sit on the soundtrack of a teen show (won’t someone invite her to score a black girl coming-of-age movie, please?).

What sells the record best, though, is SZA’s own conviction. Like the black girls who live their multi-adjectived lives on Tumblr, she is the best chronicler of her own life. It’s an expansion of self-identity that stretches beyond Strong Black Woman (which is not entirely discarded as one facet) and travels into the territory we have always known was in us. SZA’s music is vulnerable and sweet, self-questioning and self-affirming, all at the same time, in a way that is performative, yes — but also intimate and tender. It is a snapshot of one 26-year-old’s life right now, much like all those Tumblrs are moments in amber. Ctrl feels “Dear Diary” real, which is to say it is Black Girl Tumblr writ large. Control, in all avenues, is the defining characteristic, and it is powerful. “I belong to nobody / hope it don’t bother you / you can mind your business / I belong to nobody” SZA sings on “Go Gina.”

Listening to Ctrl, you don’t doubt it.

—Bim Adewunmi on SZA’s new album

[scrawnydutchman]

Why Nite Owl is the Best Character in ‘Watchmen’

Many art forms over the years have had difficulty finding the respect they deserve when they first start out. It’s only natural; new ideas tend to get the shaft by older generations afraid of change “corrupting the country” because apparently centuries of social and scientific innovation can be brought crumbling down by some little yellow cartoon kid saying “don’t have a cow, man”. Every form of artistic expression has had to battle censorship, unwarranted criticism and senseless conspiracy in their day, be it music, film, comedy, animation, video games. Even BOOKS were condemned as tools for evil by the earliest philosophers of human history.

“[Writing] will create forgetfulness in the learners’ souls, because they will not use their memories; they will trust to the external written characters and not remember of themselves.” - Socrates

Comic books are no different. Matter of fact, they might just be the most prominent example of this. They’ve been credited time and time again for influencing youth to a life of crime and ignorance, especially in probably the most infamous case of anti-comic book propaganda, Friedric Wertham’s The Seduction of the Innocent, which made such bombastic claims as suggesting Batman and Robin are encouraging the youth to engage in homosexual affairs (different time folks, different time. Fun fact though; that’s why Batgirl was invented, to give Batman a girlfriend for his time to dispute such claims).

*Though to be fair, when you read these hilarious panels out of context you can sort of see some brow-raising implications. This is why context matters.*

But the upside to the battles every medium faces is that eventually along will come a masterpiece that breaks the mold. A revolutionary bit of literary work that changes the way we look at the medium long after it premieres. When it comes to comic books, if you ever find somebody telling you it’s not real art or it’s just kid stuff, you tell them to read motherfucking WATCHMEN. Written by Alan Moore and illustrated by Dave Gibbons, Watchmen is a timelessly cryptic tale of washed up former heroes, godlike beings with humanity slipping away and debates on proper ethics, all under the tension of a cold war stricken America where everyone feels like they can die at any moment. The story has went on to be recognized as one of New York times 100 greatest novels in 2005, joining the ranks of Catcher in the Rye and Clockwork Orange. And it’s praise is rightfully earned. The compelling murder mystery, the growing tension between military forces, the intricate detail of an alternate history Cold War, the play on themes like science, religion, morality and nostalgia, all brought together through beautiful silver age inspired artwork and masterful frame composition that makes the reader feel like their watching a movie.

Of course, being such a classic in the comic book world, it has equally iconic characters, which are all very original (ironic since they’re all basically reskinned Charlton Comics characters invented by Steve Ditko). The most commonly favorited and analyzed among fans being Rorschach, the conspiracy buff ruthless vigilante who is the black-and-white moral compass (though he’s not nearly as black and white as people give him credit for, we’ll get to that in a bit), Dr. Manhattan, the all powerful allegory for both God AND the atom bomb who is ever so slowly losing his grip on his own humanity, and the Comedian, the nihilistic, alcoholic, sex offender soldier who sees life as a monstrous joke and dies not having the last laugh. Those characters are all well and good, but there is one character I’ve grown particularly fond of whom I don’t think gets enough recognition for just how fascinating his dilemma and growth is. That is of course Daniel Dreiberg, the every-man turned superhero Nite Owl.

In order to fully appreciate Nite Owl, we’ll need to recap some context from the story. I’ve already touched upon how one of the major themes of the story is Nostalgia. After all, nearly every character in this story is distraught about the oncoming terror of the Cold War getting hot and they all want to remember a simpler time when it was clear who the bad guy was and what to do about it. Nobody embodies this theme more then Dan Dreiberg. He’s had a passion for crime fighting since he was very young, so much so that he used his fathers inheritance to develop crime fighting gear and tech and took on the mantle of Nite Owl after the original, Hollis Mason, had long since retired. Many of the other characters only became heroes because they were thrown into their situations by one force or another, but Dan had a longing to be a problem solver who wanted to defend the innocent and uphold the law in the most fun and dramatic way possible. When he wore the goggles he felt like there was no problem too large for him to handle. He was hopeful and he was optimistic.

“No matter how black it got, when I looked through these goggles . . . everything was clear as day.” - Ch. 7, pg 9, panel 8-9

Of course, after the Keenes act passed which outlawed vigilante justice, Dan was forced to begrudgingly hang up the cape. His confidence and vigor was seemingly forever trapped down in his basement, collecting dust. He became overweight. He grew timid and insecure. He let Rorschach walk all over him and abuse their friendship when they used to be trusted partners. He lived on in denial of what he truly wanted. He loved Laurie Juspeczyk for years but never confessed it, and even when he had the chance to embrace Laurie in sex he felt impotent and out of place. The dire feeling of living without meaning haunted his every move, and he was tired of being held on into a life of mediocrity.

“It’s this war. The feeling that it’s unavoidable. It makes me feel so powerless. So impotent.” - Ch. 7, pg 19, panel 8-9

It’s only when he puts the mask back on and willingly breaks the law holding him down that he starts to feel happy again. He begins to smile, he feels more positive about what to do about the cold war hanging over his head and Rorschach’s mask killer conspiracy. He’s finally able to satisfy Laurie sexually, and he even starts standing up to Roschach for all the shit he puts him through.

“I feel so confident it’s like I’m on fire. And all the mask killers, all the wars in the world, they’re just cases--problems to solve” - Ch. 7, pg 28, panel 5

“Listen, I've had it! Who the hell do you think you are? You live off people while insulting them, nobody complains because they think you’re a goddamned lunatic . . . you know how hard it is, being your friend?” - Ch. 10, pg 16, panel 5

The reason why I appreciate this so much is because Nite Owl embodies why we love superheroes: because they ARE problem solvers. They DO take on larger then life challenges, and  they always find a way to put evil in it’s place. They enable us to have a more optimistic outlook and they prove that not only is doing the right thing possible, but it can be really fun too! Readers feel more empowered and enthusiastic when reading about the latest adventures of their heroes, because suddenly huge problems aren’t so scary anymore. It’s why comic books were so popular as anti Nazi and Japanese propaganda in WW2 and why superheroes skyrocketed in popularity throughout the decades of the cold war.

Nite Owl loves everything old fashioned. It’s why his childhood hero was the first Nite Owl Hollis Mason and why he spends so much of his time trapped in the past, always talking to Hollis about the old days and constantly visiting his basement to ponder them. He even demonstrates his longing for older times in extremely subtle ways, like his personal taste in music is all classic stuff and he’s out of touch on modern lingo.

“Oh well, mostly I’m into Billie Holiday, Nellie Lutcher, Louis Jordan . . . stuff like that.” - Ch. 7, pg 10, panel 3.

Generally speaking Dan’s dilemma in the story and his evolution as a character is a lot more underplayed and nuance then other character arcs, which I actually really appreciate. The book is fantastic, but I often felt like for other characters they basically just spell out their own character synopsis for the reader and leave little to the imagination. Rorschach and Dr. Manhattan especially had this issue in my opinion. Their character specific chapters didn’t rely very much on context clues or allowing the panels to tell the story (except for in certain instances), instead they basically just monologue to themselves on what they’re all about and why they do what they do. Plus as I stated briefly before I feel like Rorschach is a bit overrated, especially when they describe him as “seeing morality in black and white”. He’s made more then a few compromises and weird judgements in the story. There’s the more understandable example of when he refuses to beat the woman who made false assault allegations on him on tv because her kids were watching, but then there’s also the time where he describes the Comedians rape attempt on the first silk spectre as a “moral lapse”. Since when does the “black and white morality” character believe in moral lapses? Especially ones for topics as touchy as rape? pages later he breaks a guy in a bars set of fingers because the dude said he smelled bad behind his back. So let me get this straight: attempted rape is a moral lapse, but somebody saying you smell bad behind your back is punishable by finger breaking?? Seems to me Rorschach cares more about his reputation in the underworld then actually maintaining black and white morality. He even admits how much his reputation matters to him.

“Can’t. Serious Business. Slur on reputation.” - Ch. 10, pg 6, panel 5

But anyway, I've gone on enough tangents in this post. My point is that this graphic novel is phenomenal and a must-read for fans wanting to get into comic books or even literature in general. I just wanted to talk about an aspect not appreciated often enough, and how excellently it’s portrayed. There’s a reason Nite Owl is my favorite character and my favorite chapter is “A Brother to Dragons”. He articulates the theme of nostalgia perfectly and is a wonderful allegory for the reader and every man just trying to find an outlet for his problems. Plus he brings some much needed positivity and relief into an otherwise mercilessly dark and pessimistic book. It’s a shame Nite Owl all too often gets the shaft, even in his own story arc in the Before Watchmen series (which I have a bit of a distaste for because the artwork is way too layered in thick sketchy linework to be appealing and sometimes Rorschach just straight up hijacks the story). Hopefully this post will bring him some much deserved recognition.

[miranyx]

It’s going to be OK in the end; if it’s not OK, then it’s not the end.

I keep finding myself rewatching Gilmore Girls these days. I used to watch the show as a teen, I re-watched the whole thing a couple of years ago as a 25-year-old, and ever since, it’s one of the shows that keep me company - it often plays in the background when I’m home, while I’m doing something else. I’ve always loved it, sometimes more, sometimes less, and I still do, even though I can now acknowledge problematic aspects of it. But still, I’ve always appreciated how this is a show about life and relationships of all kinds - very realistic about some things and very unrealistic about others, and it’s tought me a lot and made me think about my own life and relationships a lot.

Then the revival happened and I was really excited, and I would text my friends who love it too when the trailer aired, and I teared up at the first “la-laa la-laa”s and when it actually aired, I spent all of that Friday night and the following Saturday crying my eyes out. I did truly enjoyed watching it and crying with it, but I’ve come to the conclusion that, taking away the nostalgia factor and the joy of seeing again characters that I didn’t realize I’d missed, I didn’t like it. 

There are many things about the four new episodes that left me rather disappointed with them, but lately, I’m feeling like it’s mostly down to Lane’s arch. And Rory’s. And Paris’, too.

When I first watched the show as a teen, I didn’t particularly care about Lane. I supposed I could not relate to her and her struggles, and, well, I didn’t know any better, I mostly cared about the cute boys. Only after growing up a little did I realize how important Lane’s character was. Lane was one of the most brilliant, guttsiest, bravest characters. Growing up in an extremely conservative family and with an extremely controlling mother, she managed, at a very young age, to form her own, personal and different view on the world. She managed to live her own ‘separate’, secret life, while staying under her mother’s radar, hiding her entire rock n’ roll world under the floor of the room, devising elaborate schemes in order to play in a band, to go on a date. Lane was just a teenager, but she knew she was meant to do something other than working in Kim’s antiques and singing Christian hymns. She knew she had a thing, and lo and behold, she found her thing, and knew she had to be a drummer, before she knew one musical note, and all the obstacles she had to overcome in order to do that, never curbed her enthusiasm. The whole rock thing was very cool, but the coolest thing about her was that Lane knew, at 16, who she wanted to be. And she didn’t compromise that, even when she was kicked out of her own home and written off by her own mother.

Fast forward to the revival.

Lane is married to Zach and had gotten immediately pregnant at around 20 years old with twins. She looks like she lives a happy family life, still in Stars Hollow. Her band still plays, even though they never really made it, they all have other jobs. And she works at Kim’s antiques. She dresses like her mother, she uses her mother’s “appreciate your business” sendoff to customers.

And it made me so depressed.

We didn’t get enough screentime of Lane to see how she really feels about it, but I got the feeling that this is not what she wanted for herself. There’s nothing wrong with keeping up a family business, or following your parents’ footsteps and I never saw Mrs Kim as evil or unlikeable, but it’s just that this isn’t what Lane wanted. Lane went through hell with her mother, because she didn’t want any of that. And she got it anyway. And it just felt like the show was telling me, that’s life, kid. You’ll compromise. You’ll have to. 

Rory was not one of my favourite characters. I’ve pretty much always found her immature, selfish, ungrateful and inconsiderate, spoiled and entitled and as the seasons went on, increasingly annoying. But one of the best established things in Gilmore Girls from day 1, was that Rory was a smart, competent kid, with great potential. That, combined with the education that was handed to her, her grandparents’ money and connections, all lined up a bright future for Rory.

Fast forward to the revival.

Rory is a mess in many ways, and her professional life is one of the worst aspects of it. She’s written like one good piece and then there’s nothing, she can’t land a job, she blows interviews, she falls asleep while talking to a source, she can’t write a goddamn thing, she takes on the Stars Hollow Gazette and messes it up. And, I get it. She’s lost. They make a point of it so that they can give her the book solution and well, so that modern audiences can relate to her, but still, I hated it. Because Rory had a lot going for her, and she amounted to nothing. Granted, she had a major part of the blame, because she made many wrong choices and lacked motivation and professionalism in many occasions, and that was a lesson, in a way: don’t be a Rory, or you’ll blow it like she did. But it still nagged me how the same message creeped in my head. That’s life, kid. You think you’re ready for it, but you really aren’t.

Paris was sort of an aquired taste, because she could get really, really over the top. She could be mean, and a bully, and lose perspective, but man, I love Paris. She worked so hard. She knew who she was, what she liked, what she wanted and what she didn’t want. She was honest, even brutally so. She was a go-getter and would pulvarize anything standing in her way. And she, the girl who could not believe it when she was asked on a date, was one of the characters with the most stable and healthy relationships.

Fast forward to the revival.

Paris rules the world. She’s an MD, a lawyer, an expert on architecture, runs a top fertility clinic. And she’s as insecure as she was at 16, dumped by Tristan. She’s splitting with Doyle. She feels like her kids like the nanny better, that her home is breaking up, to end up like the broken home she grew up in. She carries an empty briefcase because she feels like, for all she’s accomplished, she’s still not enough. That’s life, kid. You’ll never feel enough.

Why did they had to take our three leading girls, the representatives of the young generation, who’ve grown up working hard and making dreams, and give them these messed up futures? I can understand that one can’t get everything they hope for. But they chose to take their most crucial points away from them. Lane wanted to be her own person and live her rock n’ roll life. Rory wanted to be the greatest journalist in the world, and the thing she was most certain of, was her writing. Paris wanted to be accepted, even when she couldn’t admit it. And these were the things none of them got. That’s life, kid.

Maybe that is life, what do I know, I’m still young and silly.

But I need to hope that I can work for something and get it, at some point. I need to hope that I’ll overcome my insecurities and feel better in my own skin, at some point. I need to hope that not all I do is in vain, since life will get the better of me, anyway.

Maybe that’s too romantic, but if we’re not romantic now, when? Life sure is hard, harder for some, certainly, and things will get ugly at times, but I need to hope that things will eventually get better. That our bright futures and potentials are not a fool’s hope.

I suppose it’s a matter of faith and whether you can find that hope in you. Some days I do, others I don’t. But I like to have the option of finding it.

I like to choose to be optimistic. I choose to be optimistic.

[tweetermixtapeclub]

Greetings! Matt here! After doing some thinking on how to structure my first playlist for the group, I thought it’d be fun to provide a sort of snapshot of my musical tastes. An introduction! Me in song form? Not exactly, but close.

The mix is titled THE MEAN because it shows where I’ve seemed to settle as a music fan - everything that’s been exciting me most in the last few years is reflected here in some way even if not all my favorite songs made the cut. But like I can’t use up all my fav songs in the first go-round, ya know?

Los Campesinos! - “By Your Hand”

I think the world would be better off if every mixtape opened with a Los Campesinos! song (they mean a lot to me, just like that Phonogram comic said). Choosing one for this here mixtape wasn’t super easy, but “By Your Hand” made the cut because it was my semi-reintroduction to the band after they kinda dissolved into the musical ether while I was transitioning from torrenting/purchasing to streaming. I hadn’t checked in on them in a while, and this track - which opens their fourth record - blew me away.

By the way, they just put out their new record and it’s really, really good.

WHY? - “Fatalist Palmistry”

WHY’s lead singer Yoni Wolf, like Gareth Campesinos!, has a way with words that affects me at a core level. The way they frame simple relationship issues as world-imploding, body-disfiguring incidences like cats clawing out eyeballs. This is one of Why’s more straightforward, melodic tunes, but I first gravitated towards them because of how well they mix genres. If you like this one, try some more!

Pompeii - “Numbers”

Next up is a really gorgeous song about eating disorders. This sort of melodic rock music was especially important when I lived at home and attended my religious alma mater, because it was easy to digest by those around me. Limited opposition by parents and less complaints by roommates, that sort of thing. This is from Pompeii’s first album, Assembly, which is one of the more underrated / underexposed records I’ve latched onto. Beautiful compositions, some great string work, strong lyrics.

Dear And The Headlights - “Run In The Front”

Dear And The Headlights’ “Run In The Front” is a fun, explosive shift from Pompeii’s somberness. This is my favorite of their songs, but if you hear this you’ll understand their schtick immediately - shouty vocals over acoustic guitars that explode into VERY GOOD CHORUSES THAT ARE MADE FOR SCREAMING ALONG TO WHILE DRIVING. They only ever put out two records (‘07 & ‘08) which is a damn shame.

Bad Bad Hats - “Psychic Reader”

WHOAH who woulda thought that Bad Bad Hats would be the first band to be featured twice on this blog? This is off of their debut full length (I believe they’re still offering it for free) which was one of my favorite albums of 2015. There’s a simplicity to their song structure that still manages to feel full and propulsive.

Frou Frou - “Must Be Dreaming”

Quick jump back in time here to 2002 when Imogen Heap joined with Guy Sigsworth for the short lived group Frou Frou. GARDEN STATE introduced the world to “Let Go,” but “Must Be Dreaming” was always my favorite track from the record. One of my fondest memories is blasting this album on a particularly rainy day while driving around my home town.

The Blue Nile - “Tinseltown In The Rain”

Despite being the oldest song on this mix, “Tinseltown” is actually the song that’s newest to me. The lead singer of Los Campesinos! put out a playlist the featured this track and it’s been present on nearly every mix I’ve made since. It’s an absolutely gorgeous Bowie-esque soundscape that fits any situation.

Carly Rae Jepsen - “Your Type”

I honestly could have pulled tracks from Carly Rae’s E•MO•TION (and the album’s Side B) out of a hat to see which one to include here, but “Your Type” wins the day...for no other reason than it’s the track I’ve listened to the most this week. I’ve always loved pop music, and Carly is producing the best around right now. Excellent collaborators, the voice of an angel, a fascination with the cycles of Love...can’t get enough.

Destroyer - “Downtown”

I’ll never forget the first time I heard a Destroyer song. The disconnect between what I was hearing and the actual artist name totally blew me away, and I love introducing people to Dan Bejar’s work to see if it shocks them as much. This track is off Destroyer’s excellent album KAPUTT which came out the year I got married and provided the soundtrack to that entire wonderful and stressful time. Sick bass lines, an emphasis on saxophones...it’s absolutely stunning, and that’s not just the nostalgia speaking.

Motion City Soundtrack - “LG FUAD”

I grew up in a religious household and one of my first personal vices was putting in headphones and listening to music that wasn’t shy about using curse words. So naturally this is the Motion City Soundtrack that ends up here. It’s playful, crass, and taps into an emotional insecurity that I find to be pretty universal.

Wild Beasts - “Reach A Bit Further”

Wild Beasts (another of my favorite bands) are consistently putting out strange, esoteric albums. I first encountered them when I was making the shift from more traditional pop-punk to what I guess would be categorized as the indie-rock, Pitchfork-y crowd and they really puzzled me. The awkwardness of their vocals. The emotional honesty. This track prominently features their two vocalists and I find it suuuuuper romantic.

Broken Social Scene - “7/4 Shoreline”

Following up Wild Beasts with another of my all time favorite bands, Broken Social Scene. Here’s a great example of one of their more straightforward, rockin tracks that still highlights their perfect blend of catchy melody and lo-fi, cluttered approach. It’s an awesome wall of sound.

Bloc Party - “This Modern Love”

Is this the best song ever written? I guess I’ll let you be the judge, but it’s definitely up there.

Say Anything - “Alive With The Glory of Love”

I considered Max Bemis my personal Jesus for a not insignificant portion of my life, and I’ve continued to follow him as he maneuvers the Say Anything brand towards stranger and more independent destinations. This song was their breakout single, and it still holds up as a perfect example of Max’s signature vocal delivery and the amazing musicianship that was part of a band at their prime.

As a sidenote, why does Spotify only have the edited version of the album????????

Frightened Rabbit - “My Backwards Walk”

This song ends with the immortal refrain “You’re the shit and I’m knee deep in it” which I once said to an ex girlfriend assuming she’d find it endearing. My love of this sentiment encapsulates my attachment to Frightened Rabbit - even though I’m happily married, I’ve always reveled in their broad, often heartbreaking romantic themes. This song in particular is able to portray emotion in such a specific, truthful way - not wanting to leave a physical space because it means leaving a person.

Clap Your Hands Say Yeah! - “In This Home On Ice”

I first heard Clap Your Hands Say Yeah in a beachy book store while on my first real day trip with a new group of friends. Similar to Wild Beasts there’s an abrasiveness to the vocals that fascinated me and remains a huge part of the appeal. This was always my favorite track off this, their first and most popular album.

Twin Shadow - “Run My Heart”

Every mix needs to end with a piano outro (I guess), and what better way to go out than this strange, fiercely independent track from Twin Shadow. The dude has put out three fantastic records that posture the singer-songwriter as a guy who is both too cool for love and absolutely obsessed with it. I can’t help but think that this particular track summarizes the contradictory, posturing attitude I see in his music - no one who isn’t emotionally vulnerable could craft so many songs about emotional vulnerability. Plus, it features another fantastically explosive chorus.