#that program sounds SO fascinating but dear lord it’s so LONG

[robertdowneyjjr]

Congrats on graduating grad school!

Picture Tony bursting into Steve’s room/place of business to announce his finishing of grad school feeling what you are feeling now. How would they celebrate? Maybe Tony has been waiting to confess his feelings until he was done and has time now and he better use this moments and it’s energy before he wimps out!!!

ahh i’m so sorry it’s taken me a while to respond, but thank you so much!!

now, i’ve given this a lot of thought and i wanted to give it a bit of a canon spin. imagine a post-avengers timeline where everything is domestic and beautiful and we never had to worry about ultron or thanos or magic rocks or any of that. imagine.

——

Steve’s in his studio, putting the finishing touches on a painting he’s been working on for the last two weeks when Tony comes in quietly. He’s holding his hands behind his back, shuffling his feet as if he’s nervous about something. He kind of looks the way he does whenever he’s got something for the team, like surprise gear upgrades or invitations to events. So Steve puts his paintbrush down, wipes off the stray paint from his hands the best he can, and stands up to greet his friend.

“Hey Tony. Whatcha got there?”

Tony smiles and presents Steve with a dark purple envelope. The paper is of good quality, and when he opens it, the contents inside are printed on thick card stock.

It’s an invitation to New York University’s commencement ceremony in May.

“Oh, this is nice! Are you speaking at their graduation this year?” Steve asks.

“Not quite.” Tony chews on his lip a bit before he continues. “I’ll actually be one of the graduates. And I was hoping you’d like to come and watch me cross that stage.”

Oh. Steve had no idea that Tony had been spending his time on another degree. He was busy a lot, true, but he always just assumed that he was working on projects for SI when he wasn’t doing anything Avengers-related. Steve can’t imagine how Tony managed to juggle what basically amounts to two full time jobs and a full time degree. But they don’t call Tony Stark a genius for nothing, and if anyone was going to pull off something like this, it would be Tony.

“Oh wow! Tony, that’s amazing. Congratulations! Of course I’ll be there to cheer you on. We all will.”

“Ah, well, I’d be glad to see the rest of the team there too, obviously.” Tony’s eyes crinkle as he smiles at Steve, and a slight flush crosses his cheeks as he sheepishly rubs at the back of his neck. “But see, the one person I really want to be there is you. Because you’re kinda the one who inspired me to apply for this program.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. I didn’t get another doctorate. I went for a master’s this time. A dual one in art and science, and it’s all because of you,” Tony explains. “You see, when we became friends, like, really became friends, I got to see the side of you beyond the master tactician. Your passion for art is incredible, Steve. Not just the way you talk about it, but the way you always try to refine your craft whenever you have the time.” He gestures around the room. “I mean, look at everything you’ve created in the last few years alone.”

Now it’s Steve’s turn to blush. To this day, he still finds it hard to accept any compliments on his art.

“These are just doodles and experiments, Tony. They’re nothing like the art you see in museums.”

“That’s not true at all, and one day I’ll finally get you to believe me.”

Steve kind of wants to kiss Tony right now, but he brushes the urge away.

“So a dual master’s in art and science?” he asks instead.

“That’s right. It’s the art conservation program at NYU. The perfect blend of art and science. I studied art history and also the science behind the preservation of art. I never thought about how much technical work goes into art conservation and it’s been a blast getting to learn all of this. They let me fast track the program and get my degree within two years instead of four. And I ended up choosing time-based media as my specialty since it involves a lot more technology than more traditional art like paintings and photography, because, well, you know me.”

Before Steve could cut in and ask some more questions, Tony steps forward to take his hand and keeps talking.

“But yeah, that’s what I’ve been doing in my down time for the last couple of years and I’m hoping that one day, if you’d like, we could work together to make sure every single piece of art you create stands the test of time. Because you are so talented, Steve, and your legacy deserves to be more than just Captain America.”

Steve really wants to kiss Tony now.

So he does.

Tony responds immediately, his lips moving in tandem with Steve’s like they’ve been doing this for years instead of seconds. He doesn’t know how long they stand there in each other’s arms, but when they finally pull back for air, the invitation lays on the floor in a crumpled heap, having fallen at some point when Steve let it go in favour of grabbing Tony by his hips.

He picks it back up and smooths it against his chest the best he can, and grins at Tony.

“I’d be honoured to go to your graduation ceremony, sweetheart. I’ll be there cheering louder than anyone else. And afterwards, I’m taking you to dinner to celebrate, then we’re coming home to celebrate some more.”

He leans down to capture Tony’s lips again.

All the while, he thinks about all the paintings he’s done of Tony, hidden away behind other canvases. He wonders what Tony would think when Steve finally shows them to him, if they could match Tony’s grand gesture that was two years in the making. Because Tony may believe that his art is worth conserving, but as far as Steve’s concerned, it’s Tony—his smiles, his genius…his everything—whose beauty should be preserved for the world to see.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, LIA! You’ve been accepted for the role of OLIVIA. Admin Julie: It’s always a delight to see you in our inbox, Lia -- imagine our joy when we saw you’d returned to us in the shape of our favorite sparrow, Omi! It’s been some time since we had her in play, which is a shame, because she’s one of our personal favorites. But you’ve pinned everything about Omi down to a T, from their characteristic skill and allure in trapping others with a few words and sharp gaze, to the way they’re wound around Verona’s fingers and don’t seem to realize... or choose not to. You’ve enthralled us once again, and we cannot wait to have you back on the dashboard and knee-deep in the chaos with Omi in your hands. Please review the CHECKLIST and send your account in within 24 hours. 

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Lia.

Age | 22

Pronouns | She/Her/Hers

Activity Level | I’m about to start my summer program, but since I’m only in class three days during next semester on online, I imagine I’ll have plenty of freetime. But knowing me, I’ll most likely log on every few days to knock out a few replies.

Timezone | EST (PST in two months (~:)

How did you find the rp?  | The tag a few centuries ago.

Current/Past RP Accounts | honestly, all of my best characters were in DV :/ All 17 of them

IN CHARACTER

Character | Olivia AKA Yamamoto Omi

What drew you to this character? |

Omi is a character I’ve eyeballed during my time at DV, but someone I’ve never quite had the nerve to apply for. But it is the qualities that I initially shied away from that have inspired me to apply for them this time around. Even upon searching the origin of Omi’s name, I was fascinated by the worldliness and elusiveness it implied about their character.  I came across two definitions, both of which I believe represented her character accurately:

1. OMI— magnificent; the sound of the universe

She is a walking contradiction— the product of love and violence— never truly lacking in either aspect within her lifetime. Maybe that is why she finally found community and comfort within Verona after venturing all over the world. As much as she might hate to admit, this very love and violence is what she’s comfortable with— it’s how she’s learned to thrive and survive. Though they never truly felt like themselves as they ventured around the world, they kept small pieces of each place they visited, all of which have made them into the Sparrow, the performer, that they are today. This is why I began viewing Omi as the sound of the universe. Vast and immeasurable, and not quite able to pinpoint to a single source. She is representative of an assembly of realities. She is never quite the same with each person she encounters, with them only receiving a snapshot or illustration of who she is, with the people she’s closest to receiving the most authentic parts of herself. To be a Sparrow is to participate— in Omi’s opinion— in one of the most precise crafts— an art form that only a select number can master. It is a performance, one in which they give their entirety to, oftentimes to the point that they sense themself slipping away, forgoing what they thought to be their true self and instead opting for the persona they have created. Somehow, being Omi the Sparrow is a far less difficult reality for her to face. What is expected of her is straightforward, her desires and fulfillment never changing very much. Omi the Sparrow always gets what she wants. Their heart is unbreakable, yet shared with everyone they encounter. The power and agency can be detected in her words, her mannerisms— she is completely sure of herself, and what she represents. But Omi— just plain Omi, questions herself constantly. She desires to be seen more than anything but is hesitant to show herself to another person. The weight of the secrets of others sometimes threatens to topple her over. What would their patrons think of their constant doubt? This was something they would never discover because she values her position more than she doubts herself. She loves luxury and security more than she questions who she is and who she’s become. She thrives in this simplistic power far more than she finds herself succumbing to it. And this leads me to what I love most about Omi. Her position allows her to wield a form of power that isn’t flashy or overt, or as obvious and clear cut as many people within the mob. It is subtle and it is dangerous. It is a power you least expect, which will certainly make her someone to look out for within the Verona. It is a power that she does not quite comprehend the magnitude and weight of as of now, but something I hope to develop over time.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

MONA— Their saving grace. There are seldom things Mona could do that would lessen the admiration that Omi holds for her, as this is the woman who they believed to have saved them, to introduce them to the boundless and limitless potential that they had. She did not introduce anything that was not there but instead nurtured the qualities that Omi already possessed for her to become one of the best, if not the best Sparrow that has glided through the various rooms and crannies of The Dark Lady thus far. Omi looks upon Mona as a big sister and is always aiming to please her, whether she recognizes that she’s actively doing so or not. But she is bound to cross her eventually— whether it is slight or monumental, and I believe Omi temporarily or permanently (dear lord idk if I could handle Mona not loving them pls sotkgoerkgose) falling from their grace would be an interesting concept to explore. So much of her existence is tied to Mona’s, and I think that it would take something like that occurring for her to recognize this. Who exactly would she be without Mona rescuing her? Would she have survived a day in the city without her? Having Omi deal with being without Mona would introduce some harsh truths. Could they truly rely on themself? Though she adamantly expresses her desire not to be possessed, is it that she truly enjoys being subjected to the whims of another person, so as long she is given the autonomy, luxury, and ability to wield some form of power? Would she simply be transferred from the hands of one power player to another, seeking out one of the mobs knowing they were the only other people who could give her what she truly desired?

FRIENDS ON THE OTHER SIDE— In the short time that Omi has spent in Verona, she’s acquired quite a few patrons from various walks of Veronesi royalty, but as much as she’s done her best to keep people at a distance, she’s also made a few friends. Chiko— whose hopes and dreams she’s carried with her since childhood— with them being one of the sole people to know Omi to near entirety. Felipe— the man who made her realize that even ghosts were capable of creating trouble for themselves, who she’d dared to offer real information about herself for whatever reason, finding something odd and compelling about the handsome enigma before her. Calina— their true match of wits, words, and worldliness— the person in which she’s entrusted with not just her fears and shortcomings, but her hopes and dreams, as well as them being that very person to set her heart aflutter. All of these people have something in common. In some shape or form, they are familiar with more than just Omi the Sparrow. I wonder what danger this could pose for her in the future. Would it be the person they are in essence that would land her in trouble? Chiko, the ruthless social climber, Felipe, who they knew trouble was always a short distance behind, and Calina, whose ties with the mob could only naturally come with trouble… couldn’t they? I want Omi to eventually land in some more trouble (maybe this could be something intertwined with my first plot, or potentially something entirely unrelated), and truly test how far she’s willing to go for the friendships she hopes to keep. Maybe it has to do with some information told to her in confidence; information she almost feels obligated to share with Mona. Will she refuse to do so, at the risk of the life and livelihood that she’s created for herself?

LOOSE ENDS— The past will always be the past for Omi— unless that past happened to make an appearance in the city of Verona. This isn’t something they would expect to occur, given that they have two dead parents, no siblings, or any known extended family. Maybe this would come in the form of Chiko— maybe some other unknown source would manage to dig up some sort of information to potentially be used against them. Regardless, I want Omi to be confronted with her past life, and for her to realize that the horror will always be apart of her, no matter how long that she’s attempted to evade it.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes, but I think I would miss her more than any of my other characters ngl :(

IN DEPTH

In-Character Para Sample:

tw: mentions of death and violence

In The Dark Lady, Omi transformed into a blossom tinted mirror in which men and women alike looked upon in order to divest the realities they so desired. This functioned the similarity to a rose-tinted glass, their very persona the result of a thousand borrowed realities. In Omi, they sought the best version of themselves. They had the ability to morph into everything their patrons wanted, yet could not own, making them all the more desirable. There was something especially tantalizing about what appeared to be accessible, but ever so slightly out of a person’s reach. Even if the reality of things were that there was no chance in hell. Even if there had been a burgeoning disgust for each and every one of the wealthy, and corrupt person they encountered. Even if she’d been unable to scour away their caress no matter how many showers she subjected herself to in the early hours of the morning. How effortlessly she’d sold them a dream. How effortlessly they’d become enamored with The Dark Lady’s very own Japanese Cherry Blossom, a hand-picked artifact from Sakura to enjoy in their very own Verona. She bartered away a fantasy, and in exchange they fed her in secrets, each whisper only intensifying her power and allure. No amount of repulsion would change that they were damn good at their job. No amount of repulsion would change that she’d finally found where they’d belong.

They were notorious for their collection of extremely high heels, and rumor had it that not even a misstep had occurred in a single pair of them. Eyes danced over her as she glided into the casino, garnering an especially large crowd probably because of the fresh pixie cut she’d been sporting. Some days, Omi would linger, never quite sure whose attention she’d capture that day, but on other days, her presence had been requested by a specific patron. Today’s patron had been of particular importance. A well known Italian bureaucrat she’d actually managed to find rather endearing at times, despite her suspicion that he’d been spending more time with her than his own family. Nevermind that though. They had a sneaking suspicion that they were only moments away from stumbling upon a goldmine of information. They reckoned that this particular information could potentially make not just Mona, but both mobs particularly happy. Soon as they’d reached the Blackjack table, the patron, Patron E, swept her merrily into his arms, spinning her in place, resulting in her delighted laughter, clutching onto his shoulders to maintain her balance. Once he’d gotten his fill, she carefully placed a single kiss on each of his cheeks, taking in the scent of whiskey on his lips. No wonder he’d been especially playful. The whiskey had only begun their job for them. “Why, if it isn’t the most lovely person in all of Verona,” Patron E stated, grinning ear to ear. “I absolutely adored your old hair, bella, but with this cut, you somehow managed to become even more magnificent."

She smiles coyly, hands traveling down the lengths of his arms until meeting his hands, which he brought promptly to his lips for a kiss. "I was feeling spontaneous, E, but knowing you like it lifted a significant weight off my shoulder. Everyone else’s opinion be damned, but yours has always meant the world to me,” they coo in flawless Italian. “Is there anything else you noticed?"

His eyes drank her in hungrily, almost hungrier than usual, before returning to her eye level. "You’re wearing my good luck charm,” he responded with an almost childlike euphoria. Patron E had been referring to the deep V-Neck Dolce & Gabbana gown that had been purchased for her by another Patron of hers— Q— with the jet black of her hair only accentuating the Black sequins of the gown. She took it upon herself to take his hand and lift it above the both of them, completing a graceful, yet playful twirl to show off every sparkle and curve of the length of her body.

“Is that so?” she mused with her head tilted curiously on an axis. “It’s almost as if I wore especially for you, mio callo. You did tell me tonight was a big night for you, after all.”  His eyes twinkled gratefully as he pulled out a seat for her at the blackjack table, settling into the seat next to him, her body positioned perpendicularly to his, taking absolutely no interest in the game before them. It had been a game she’d witnessed by the side of many men before him and would witness many men after him. Her knees were pressed against his thigh, with the leg closest to the table occasionally finding itself absentmindedly caressing his own. One hand consistently remained attached his shoulder, with their other hand assisting them in the delivery of their sweet nothings, cupping his ear to whisper everything he’d ever wished to discover. Together they laughed, flirted, and whispered— he drank and she carefully sipped, until the game finally came to a close, with him losing per usual. After that, the pair of them moved to a more intimate section of The Dark Lady, the place in which Omi would officially make her move for the information she sought. There he sat on the couch, with her comfortably positioned horizontally in his lap, her slender legs coiled around her legs, with her hand absentmindedly stroking his hair. She’d been telling him some story she’d invented ages ago, half-truths tumbling effortlessly from her lips as she illustrated her last days in Sakura. Once she was done, she began studying his features intently.

“See anything you like?” he asks her quietly, and she cups his chin before deciding he’d been worthy of an answer.

“I see something I like, but something different,” she began with faux perplexion. “Even beneath this red light, I can sense the excitement almost vibrating off of you. “It suits you. I wish you were always this happy when you saw me. Far less tense than usual.”

“Now, Omi, you know I feel most like myself when I’m with you. You always receive the best parts of me,” he says seriously as his hand cups her wrist. “But, to tell you the truth, I’ve come across some very good fortune. A good fortune that I believe will alter the trajectory of my life. I’ve struck a life-changing deal.”

“That’s amazing! I couldn’t be happier for you!” she exclaims softly, before falling into a demure pout. “This… deal won’t take you away from me now, will it?”

He chuckles at her pout as if him parting from her would truly be the most unfortunate occurrence in her 30 years of life. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about a thing, Tesoro. The deal I’ve made has allowed me to acquire a large sum of money. And I have no plans of parting from you anytime soon.”

She smiles gratefully, yet sadly as if she can’t believe it. He looks at her, searching for an answer to her sadness. “What is it, il mio amore? Why do you look so blue?”

At that moment— the slightest pang of sadness sped through her. How effortlessly he had succumbed to her charm, to the point that she’d almost felt bad for the fool. “Well… the way you aren’t giving much information about the deal is only forcing me to draw my own conclusions. Ones in which I can’t help but assume that you’ve been put in a dangerous predicament, which is stopping you from telling because you’re afraid to get me into trouble.” He drew her closely, placing a soft kiss on each of her temples, then her forehead, then her lips.

“I wouldn’t let them harm a hair on your head, Omi. I hope you know that I mean that.” She resisted chuckling. She’d been nearly divinely protected. If anything it was him who wouldn’t be able to harm a hair on her head.

“Is this them you speak of…” she looks around carefully, knowing there was no one near, but doing it as if to accentuate her supposed fear. “The government…?” she offers him, and when he does not react, she places a long, lacquered pinky nail upon her lip. “Don’t tell me you’ve gotten yourself mixed up with one of the mobs, E—”

“Mixed up with the mobs?” he interrupts with a haughty chuckle. “Why, they’ve gotten themselves mixed up with me, dearest Omi. Sooner rather than later, both the Capulets and the Montagues will be feeding out of the palm of my hand.” How drunk had the man had to have been to have confessed such a silly sentiment? Or was it not the liquor at all, and simply Omi bearing witness to the limitless bounds of the male ego? Probably a mixture of both.

She shoves his shoulder gently, feigning shock. “You’ve either done something insanely brilliant or incredibly stupid. But I’ve always known you to be far too clever for the latter.”

With each curious caress, they’d managed to extract more and more information from their subject, his ego centering itself above all else— even his desire to live. He had to have known that, hadn’t he? Or had he simply been too foolish to even consider the danger he’d been putting himself in by leaving every detail of his plan upon Omi’s lips? How foolish he had beenShe shoves his shoulder gently, feigning shock. “You’ve either done something insanely brilliant or incredibly stupid. But I’ve always known you to be far too clever for the latter.”

“Someday…” he slurs, faced resting comfortably on her chest as she stroked the top of his head, his arms wrapped lovingly around her waist. “I’m gonna whisk you away. And just like that, you’ll be mine. Forever and always.”

Omi chuckles at this sentiment— ones she’s heard nearly a dozen times before. She’d had no desire to be one of his pretty things, not by him or any other person in this world for that matter.

“Why, E— I know if that were to occur, you’d be doomed to break my heart.” “Omi, you can’t truly believe that now… can you?” he says tilting his head upwards until their lips are only mere inches apart.

“I’m afraid I do, mi caro. Because the moment in which the magic begins to dwindle from your eyes when you look at me is the moment my heart is sure to break. I know that if we continue our occasional rendezvous that I’ll continue to be the loveliest I could be in your eyes. Oh— and I’m a terribly loud snorer. You wouldn’t sleep a minute in my presence.”

That had been enough to satisfy him, if only for a single moment. The very thought of him truly breaking her heart had been absurd, but the very thought of the blossom mirror cracking, the idea of her carefully constructed persona being exposed for being exactly that, alarmed her. Anything short of near perfection was unacceptable. She owed her to that and Mona. It would be at that moment that Omi would understand that she was no longer as good at her job as she needed to be. Surely that would not leave them desolate, they would still be a top-performing Sparrow after all. But they would no longer be the best, and no man or woman would ever take that away from them. Even if they meant keeping the majority of the world at a safe distance. Not when they’d finally found their people. Not when they’d finally answered their calling. Not when Verona was finally starting to feel like home.

Little did she know that this would be the last time she’d ever see Patron E. Just as she’d suspected, the information had been of immense value. Her reputation as the top Sparrow only increased tenfold, and she remained in Mona’s good graces, never tiring of her constant praise and doting. Word of his death returned to them from another one of their patrons even before it appeared even in the papers. Omi couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness for his widow and children. No woman and family should have their livelihood threatened by the likes of a stupid, stupid, stupid man.

She did not wear Q’s dress after that day. When she asked about it the next time he saw her, she began whispering a delightful tale about how her suitcase had mysteriously wound up missing upon returning from a brief trip to Paris, knowing she’d wind up with a new one before the conversation concluded…

[caffeinatedfantasy]

The Seal: Underestimation

{ Chris: [bio] [Prologue] [Story in Tumblr] [ AO3 Link From Beginning ] { this chapter contains: mild sexual themes, references to violence. } { starring: diavolo}

I really shouldn't have been surprised that my little incident meant that I'd need to talk to Diavolo. It was his kingdom, after all. And especially his exchange program. My presence there, as a supposedly non-magical student, had been a bit of a concern from the beginning. I'd hoped that, because of Lucifer's apology this morning, his [misplaced] guilt over it would keep him from telling Diavolo about it. I could just forget about it and move on. Instead...

"Can we not have a full student council meeting over it?" I asked, my face in my hands as I sat in Lucifer's study. "Or can I just not go to it? Please?"

Part of me hoped my voice didn't sound as pathetic to him as it did to me. Because I felt like I was on the verge of tears at the idea of standing in front of everyone and relaying what had happened. Unless it got me out of it. It wasn't that the event itself was a big deal - I barely remembered the attack itself and I knew if I was a demon it probably wouldn't have even been more than a bruise or something. It was that the whole thing made me feel stupid beyond belief. I was already practically the useless one here and-- He'd started about how he wanted to make sure I felt safe and--

"Look, it's not getting my ass beat that's bugging me. I'm all patched up and prefer to just smile and move on. I mean, fuck, don't even have to pump out bullshit about falling down the stairs or anything!" My laughter was maybe a bit to self-deprecating, and I didn't want to stop and examine the joke I'd made because shit that might not have been the best call, "I'm assuming that Lucifer told you about the whole... Being an empath discovery?"

There was a slight smile that tugged at the corner of his lips that made me wonder what else Lucifer had told him, but it passed quickly enough that I didn't try to figure it out as he nodded.

"Yes! It's very exciting! You truly didn't know you were when you came here?" There was that boyish enthusiasm again. I couldn't help smile back at him when he was like that. Maybe he'd just been excited about that. I shook my head though. I hadn't known. Or even really suspected. "He also told me about your tattoo. Of Solomon's Seal! May I see it?"

I hesitated at the question, unsure of how to react. I'd been doing my best to keep it hidden for so long that now it felt very strange that anyone really knew about it. And knew what it was for. I shouldn't have been surprised that Lucifer had recognized it and told Diavolo, but.. It felt stranger knowing I'd never been shy about it before Devildom. He was still smiling at me expectantly, and I pulled up the front of my shirt to show him the tattoo. His face lit up with fascination and he reached out. Paused. Looked up at me. The question hung in the air and I nodded. I braced myself for seeing his true form, but that wasn't exactly what happened.

Instead, he pressed a finger against one of the bruises, one of the ones that Lucifer had given me. The one he'd somehow managed to get right inside of the Seal without breaking the lines.

And I gasped slightly at the touch. His fingers pressed into the other one, slightly above the pact, and I was biting my lip to keep from whimpering. The fucker was grinning. Grinning. But I could tell from that dark look in his eye he knew what he was doing to me. Knew exactly who had left those marks, too. After I'd just barely told him I wasn't doing anything sexual with any of the demons, too. He was smirking at me a little bit, and I jumped when his fingers brushed across his tattoo to show his true form.

I whimpered.

Honestly, I wasn't sure if it was from the pressure he'd put on the hickey on my stomach or seeing him in his full glory. But dear lord. He was gigantic, his wings along taking up so much of the room, tail trailing behind him. I knew his hands had turned into claws, but it took me a moment and one of them brushing against my skin to realize it. This was torture. That's what this was. He was fucking gorgeous and he probably knew about my kink at this point if Lucifer had told him everything about last night. Because yes I was now also staring at Diavolo's horns and wondering what it would be like to fucking ride his dick while holding onto those and I needed to stop thinking about that right fucking now because he was watching me hungrily and I--

"Fascinating!" His voice was still that effortlessly cheerful boom. The one that had made me wonder before if he was just a himbo.

I swallowed hard as he pulled his hand back and his human form fell seamlessly back into place. I knew he fucking knew what that had done to me. The look on his face was that playful sort of smug look I was way too familiar with. And my face was burning. My whole body was way too fucking warm and I pulled my shirt back down to hide the tattoo.

"You essentially made a pact with Solomon as well, it seems. That's, what? Five demons and a sorcerer now?" I blinked. I wanted to ask, but he kept talking. "Solomon mentioned it to me this morning as well, apparently your powers are still largely locked away. Since you don't want to talk about your attack last night, and that is your right, we could talk about that instead. I'm sure everyone would be happy to help you unlock your magic. They're all very fond of you."

The way he just... Slid from one topic to the next while I was still recovering from the massive fucking turn on of him fucking with my hickies while in his true demon form, then talking about a pact with Solomon to my magic? My head was fucking spinning and I could only nod dumbly.

One thing that was very fucking clear as he took my hand and lead me back out towards the student council room where the brothers and the angels and Solomon waited, was that this gigantic grinning fucking himbo-- Was not stupid in the slightest. Barbatos's sly smile as he joined us on our way down the hallway knew that he knew exactly what that look on my face meant. I'd been underestimating both of these fuckers this whole fucking time.

I managed to get my face in order before we entered the student council room.

I was in for a lot of conversations about my magic and my tattoo and my pacts and I needed to get my head in the game for this.

[thecorteztwins]

Fanfic suggestion: Inhumans let not-so-evil-now Uncle Max babysit Luna, and he ended up to fight against Fabian who tried to kidnap her again

(OOC: Great idea, anon! I hope I did Max’s dialogue here well. I’m tagging @docgold13, @esteicy-blogand @sammysdewysensitiveeyes for Maximus content, hope they enjoy too if they choose to read it!)

The Royal Familywould probably never truly trust Maximus again…but they did, atleast, understand he was loyal to his family. Well, sort of.Basically, no one was allowed to harm them but him. He’d evensacrificed himself for them and their kind before, most recently atthe hands of Vox. He got better, of course. But still, thegesture did not go unrecognized.Thus, in this time ofemergency, during which he could not accompany his fellow Inhumansinto battle because of some complicated reasons, he was entrustedwith watching Luna. Entrusted, of course, with the caveat of apower-inhibiting ankle bracelet. Which was absurd, both because hispowers could not effect Luna in the first place, and because thething would be child’s play to reverse-engineer. But, he decided notto; it would probably behoove him in the future if they went onthinking that THIS was all it took to keep his psychic prowess underliteral lock and key.Luna herself was no trouble. She seemedmildly worried about him, but not to the degree that most childrenwould be of an obviously unstable and proven dangerous man who hadkidnapped her before and tried to kill members of her family. Indeed,she seemed no more upset about it than, oh, say, someone might beabout having to grow up in a soundproof prison or being experimentedon in-utero; sure it sucked sometimes, but in a normal way. Nothingout of the ordinary to object to.Besides, he’d worry abouther intelligence if she WASN’T a wee bit concerned and on thoselittle tippy toes of hers. Of course no one was as smart as he was,but he couldn’t picture anyone related to him being that dumbeither.Well, ok, maybe Gorgon.

Since he was currentlyin a state of grace with his oft-so-suspcious family members, hedecided that he would, for the moment, not disappoint them, andsettled in beside his niece to observe some rather fascinating Earth“cartoons”.At least, he thought it was going to be“cartoons”. That was what she had liked the last time he hadspent any significant time with her. But now she claimed that was“for little kids” and changed the channel to something sheexplained to him as being a “reality show”. It was, in aword, fascinating. The Inhumans had long called him mad, yet he was aparagon of sanity and temperance compared to the wild ilk that rantedand raved upon this program! He did not know what manner of maniacal“reality” that these strange and deranged humans were meant torepresent, but he was HOOKED! And learning so many new words! Like“dtf” and “thot” and “it’s a Jersey thing”!He wasso entranced that he didn’t even notice that Luna actually seemedmuch less interested in this than she had in her cartoon. Indeed, sheactually downright disliked it. But some of the older kids atBraddock Academy had said her favorite shows were for babies, andthis show had been rated “for mature audiences only” in the TVguide…Oh well. Uncle Maximus seemed to like it, and sheconsidered that a good thing. It meant he was kept distracted. Shecould keep an eye on his hands, and on his emotions. Herfamily may have left her with him. But she considered it to be atleast a little the other way around. She was watching him. She wasold enough. She was mature enough. They must think so, right?Shewouldn’t let them down.But she also couldn’t take anotherminute of this show. Luna was not a fan of people shouting and beingangry with each other over stupid misunderstandings. If she wantedthat, she could just look to her own family. Maybe that was why itwas called a “reality” show. “I’m going to make somepopcorn,” she told Uncle Maximus, and got up. He did not respond,nor did his eyes break from the screen as an over-muscled orange manheld back a screeching, half-dressed woman from attacking another.Nor did he at first notice when a screech from the kitchen joinedin.“Luna?” he said, when it cut to commercial at last.“Luna, if you are going to prepare the popped corn, I’d like thekind with the caramel candy coating, sucrose is an essential fuel forthe brain—”And then finally, the screams registered. Ohdear. If the microwave had exploded, primitive beastly human-madething that it was, then surely he, Maximus, master of the machines,genius of all things mechanical, would be blamed! This wasdisastrous! He must swoop to the rescue and prove his worth as thebest of those who sit upon babies!He rushed into the kitchen,skidding comically on the linoleum as he halted before theunexpected—and unwelcome—view of an equally unexpected andunwelcome guest. Fabian Cortez, secondary bane to theAmaquelin-Maximoff union (the primary being Maximus himself, ofcourse, the only one who mattered!) was standing over poor littleLuna, menacing her like the big dunderheaded ginger brute hewas!“Uncle Maximus!” said Luna, “He’s fighting mypower! I don’t know how, but he—”The distraction was allthat Fabian needed to throw off Luna’s abilities entirely; forcinghis way through her control, he clasped a pair of bracers around hertiny wrists. Maximus didn’t need to be a genius, let alone thegreatest mind in all the multiverse like he was, to guess that therewere power-inhibitors, just like his own ankle bracelet.“Ithought you might have developed powers since the last time we met,”said Fabian, “What luck for me—it’s a set that I have muchexperience with. My own sister was a psychic, you see, an empath justlike you. It gave me much practice in resisting such abilities.Maximus can attest, I am not an easy man to manipulatetelepathically; in order to do it himself, he first needed to trickme into boosting his powers. They were not enough on their own.Remember that, Maximus? Not that it would matter now even if you werethe most potent mind on the planet; I cased this situation thoroughlybefore arriving, I know about your little fashion bracelet.”“AndI’m sure it was you who arranged for the rest of the Inhumans to bepreoccupied at the moment,” said Maximus. It was not a question.But Fabian answered it with his smug smile,“Indeed. Youfancy yourself the most clever one around, Maximus; time to show mehow clever you really are,” he drew the struggling Luna to his sidewith one hand, and aimed a very large, very unpleasant-looking gun atMaximus with the other,“…by not getting in my way.Believe me, that would be the smart thing to do.”“Believeyou?” Maximus arched an eyebrow even as he put both his hands up,“Fabian, really now, we both know that’s about the most fatallystupid thing that anyone can do.”“You know what I meant,”Fabian snapped irritably. He wanted to be out of here as fast aspossible. The gun made a very unpleasant sound. Like it might begetting ready to do something even more unpleasant yet.Maximussmiled, “Well, I can tell you’re going to shoot me now. That’sfine. I’ve died before; we both know it doesn’t last. And I can goout delighted knowing all the alarms you’re going to trip. What nastysurprises are in store for you, Lord Cortez! Unfortunately, littleLuna will probably share your fate, given how you’re hauling her withyou like a piece of designer luggage, but personally it’s worth it tome to let you go anyway. No offense, Luna dear, but Ahura was alwaysmy favorite.”“Alarms? Ha!” Fabian scoffed proudly, “Itook them all out on my way in! How else do you think I got herewithout you noticing?”“Oh my, you silly man,” Maximussmirked, “What a fool you are! You are dumb. You are really reallydumb, for real. There aren’t just alarms here to keep you out—thereare alarms to keep ME in. And can you just IMAGINE what they entail?I can. Now, I’m picturing one PARTICULIARLY scrumdiddlyumptiousscenario in my mind that Karnak would have cooked up to stifle mywould-be escape, and how absolutely HILARIOUS it would be happeningto someone lacking Inhuman physiology—like, say, you—so if youplease, shoot me now while this is still my last thought.”Heclosed his eyes, still smiling. And was not surprised at all when,rather than blowing him to bits, he instead felt Fabian’s hand grabaround his wrist.“Nice try, Maximus—but if you want me toshoot you, that tells me that you have something up your sleeve tobackfire on me for exactly that! Maybe you installed some kind offorce shield into your inhibitor? Whatever—you’re my guide now! Youhelp me past these alarms, and in return, you get to live. Thistime.”“Never!” Maximus faked protest, “My loyalty maybe to myself first, Fabian Cortez, but it is still to my familysecond!”“This is loyalty to yourself!” Fabiancountered, “And how loyal have THEY been to you, locking you uponce more?!”“Don’t do it, Uncle Maximus!” sobbed Luna,and then began begging Fabian not to shoot him either. Clever girl,she must have picked up what her wiley old fox of an uncle had inmind and was going along with it. What a splendid little actress!Maximus was proud, she clearly got that from him. “Fine—butsweeten the deal,” he said, “Give me my life AND my freedom. Idon’t want to be here when they get back and find Lunagone.”“Fine,” snorted Fabian, and Maximus didn’t needto be a mind-reader to know full-well that the ginger Judas was justgoing to kill him when he was finished. Or at least, that waswhat he thought.Maximus, of course, had other plans.—“Last one,” said Maximus, cranking the dialthat had been carefully hidden behind the portrait of Agon and Rhyndain the entry hallway. “There. Now, about my reward.”“Indeed,”Fabian cackled, and aimed the gun at Maximus’s face, as expected.Asalso expected, the front door opened at that moment to reveal thefull Inhuman Royal Family and several attendents…all of themlooking very pissed off. Fabian’s jaw dropped, and the gunwas pulled from his hands in an instant by one long lock of Medusa’sendless scarlet hair, while another lock whisked Luna away from hisside and into his mother’s arms. A targeted seismic stomp from Gorgonknocked him off his feet, and a single karate chop from Karnakfinished the job…though sadly not Fabian’s life.Oh well,Maximus reflected, can’t have everything.“Maximus, what’sgoing on?” Crystal asked, stepping forward as Karnak next disabledLuna’s manacles,“We thought YOU had escaped.”“Oh,I know,” Maximus grinned, “See, I knew that you’d doubtlesslyinstalled a bunch of alarms to alert you if I tried to escape…and,more importantly a SECONDARY set of alarms to alert you if I disabledthe first set!”“So you tricked Cortez into making youdisable the first set…thus setting off the second set, ensuring wewould come to the rescue,” Karnak said, putting it together. Lunaconfirmed this, relaying all that she had seen. Oddly, she lookedconfused when Maximus thanked her for her participation in theruse!“So….can I have this off now?” he stuck out hisfoot and pointed to the ankle bracelet. Again, he could disable ithimself…but he wanted to see what they said.

Alas, Black Bolt’sface said it all.Maximus crossed her arms, pouted, and usedhis newfound human lingo,“Thot.”

[aidanchaser]

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets: Everyone Lives AU

Table of Contents beta’d by @ageofzero

Chapter One The Worst Birthday 

It wasn’t exactly the worst birthday ever. Harry was used to birthdays being spent with his parents, and with Sirius, and with Uncle Remus. He was used to his birthdays being quiet affairs, but this year he’d wanted a real birthday party. Not necessarily a big grand event, like for his eleventh birthday. Maybe just Ron and Hermione, or maybe he could invite all the boys in his dormitory too, and then there was his friends on the Quidditch team, and of course Susan and Hannah, and Padma and Lavender. That only brought the guest list up to fifteen. And no one would be required to wear dress robes, so was the party really all that big?

Lily and James promised they would try to work something out, but Lily had not seen her sister in a very long time. It was important they take a trip to visit, at least for a little bit. And didn’t Harry want to meet his cousin?

Harry wasn’t entirely sure why this very important visit was happening now, this summer, but Harry had a habit of listening at the kitchen door — or maybe his parents just had a habit of arguing in the kitchen while Harry was nearby — and he got the impression that something about his first year at school had unnerved his parents.

Last June, at the end of Harry’s term at Hogwarts, Harry had defeated the dark wizard known as Lord Voldemort. It wasn’t the first time Harry had beaten him, but it was the first time Harry had remembered the duel. Though he was only eleven years old — twelve at the end of July — Harry had been protected by love, by the selfless sacrifice of his father’s friend Peter Pettigrew. Even though Harry was fine, and Lily and James had told him over and over how proud they were, Harry knew they worried, because he heard it in their voices when they thought he was out in the yard or up in his room. They were worried about him, and they were worried about Voldemort.

This latest hushed kitchen argument, though, didn’t seem to be about Harry or Voldemort.

“I know this is important to you,” James hissed, “but on his birthday?”

“We can’t go any later or we won’t have time to get his school supplies,” Lily said as she sipped on her tea. “If you’d let me get a phone, we wouldn’t have been this pressed for time. Muggle post is so slow —”

“I told you a phone won’t work in this house. It’s too old. Too much magic.”

“Arthur said he could figure something out.”

“Arthur couldn’t wire a Muggle wireless,” James said exasperatedly. “The last thing I want is him trying to install an electrical current in the house. Maybe if we ask Sirius —”

“No.”

Harry thought the phone argument comical. His parents occasionally went back and forth over which Muggle items they could incorporate into the home. It wasn’t that James was opposed to Muggle technology, but he was very worried about how Muggle technology operated alongside magic. Lily thought he was worried over nothing.

Harry found the argument much less humorous when his parents came to him that night and said, “We’re going to visit your Mum’s sister on your birthday.”

“Where do they live?”

“In Surrey,” Lily answered.

“Isn’t Mum’s family Muggles?”

“Yep,” James said with a smile. “It’ll be an adventure, won’t it?”

It was not any sort of adventure Harry wanted to have. They arrived at the Dursley’s house five minutes after seven on July 31. They were late because Lily had spent an extra five minutes fussing over everyone’s clothing, making sure they could pass for Muggles.

A very tall, thin woman answered the door. She had a face that looked like she’d eaten too many poor-tasting Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans.

“Petunia, it’s so good to see you,” Lily said with a wide smile, and hugged the woman. The woman was surprised by the affection, and awkwardly patted Lily on the back.

“How do you do, Aunt Petunia?” Harry said, exactly as his mother had told him to, and shook Aunt Petunia’s hand.

She smiled warily at him, then turned that wary smile to his father. “James,” she said uncomfortably.

“Petunia,” he said, equally uncomfortable.

Aunt Petunia led them into the living room, where a very large man sat on the couch. The hair over his upper lip was thick, but the hair on top of his head was growing thin. Next to him was a boy, who had to be about Harry’s age, but where Harry had been sprouting upwards — nearly to his mum’s shoulder, now — this boy seemed to have sprouted sideways. He looked like a miniature version of his father, but his face was stuffed with as many ear-wax flavored candies as his mother.

The large man stood when they entered, and Lily shook his hand. Harry reached out his hand and said, “How do you do, Uncle Vernon?” just as his mother had told him to.

Uncle Vernon looked pleased with this introduction, and shook Harry’s hand. It was a very firm handshake. In a way, it reminded Harry of his parents’ friend Hagrid, who was much larger than Uncle Vernon. His hand would have enveloped Uncle Vernon’s like a witch’s hat over a teapot, but Hagrid always had kind, excited eyes. Uncle Vernon’s were nervous and flicked over to James as if James were a Snap Dragon that might spit fire at any moment.

Vernon and James acknowledged each other with brief eye contact, a briefer nod, and quickly sat down. Both seemed too wary to attempt a handshake.

Lily had not given Harry explicit instructions about greeting his cousin, so after his mother had hugged the round young boy and said, “You must be Dudley! You look so much like your mum,” — which Harry thought to be a rather rude lie — Harry went over and said, “Hi, I’m Harry.”

Dudley nodded and said, “Hi. I’m Dudley.”

Aunt Petunia served what looked like leftovers of another night’s pudding, and they all sat down. The Dursleys on one couch, and the Potters on the other. It was a rather awkward silence for a moment before Lily asked how Vernon’s business had been going. “I can’t quite remember the details. You said you work with —?”

“Drills,” Uncle Vernon said. But then he didn’t proceed to discuss his business further. He was still looking at James suspiciously.

“It’s going quite well,” Aunt Petunia filled in. “Just last night he closed a big sale, didn’t you, dear?”

Harry, seated next to his father, noticed James quickly suck in a near-laugh, but he didn’t think anyone else noticed.

“Yes, big sale,” Vernon echoed. “Business closed over a dinner and dessert is the best, I always say.”

“Tell them the joke about the Japanese golfer, Dad,” Dudley said brightly.

“Oh, maybe not —” both Lily and Petunia started.

James, however, looked quite amused. “I didn’t know there were such a thing as Japanese gophers.”

Vernon frowned at him, and Lily leaned over Harry to whisper something in James’s ear.

“Ah,” James said, but his amused smile didn’t waver. He scratched at the back of his ear. “Can’t say I’ve ever played uh, golf, or even been to Japan,” and he laughed.

Petunia laughed graciously, but Vernon did not. This was followed by another uncomfortable silence.

“Dudley,” Petunia said, “Why don’t you and Harry go upstairs and you can show him your toy room.”

Dudley seemed quite excited by this idea and set down his empty plate. Harry had barely touched his dessert, and when Harry set it down, Dudley said, “Are you going to finish that?”

“Er, no.”

Dudley ate it in two bites before bounding up the stairs. Harry followed.

Toys weren’t really a thing Harry had a lot of growing up. It wasn’t for lack of money, just lack of interest. His first present had been a Quidditch broom, and it had been his favorite thing from then on. He’d been given a playset or two, and Sirius had gotten him a toy race car set one Christmas. He’d been entertained for a few hours, but playing with toy race cars wasn’t very interesting when you could go outside and fly on a broom.

So he found Dudley’s room, full of toy sets — some broken, some brand new — and a game systems with a television to be on one hand impressive because he had never seen so many and on the other hand boring because he had very little interest in the toys.

Dudley showed Harry a race car track about three times the size Sirius had gotten him. He was as excited about it as Harry might’ve been about a new broom. And the way he talked about the make of the car sounded like the way Harry talked about new broom designs. Harry listened politely, thinking cars were just the Muggle version of brooms anyway, so surely this toy could be interesting.

“How fast does it go?” Harry asked.

“350 kilometers per hour,” Dudley beamed, and that impressed Harry.

“Well, let’s give it a go, then.”

They sat down with the race cars — Dudley took the one he had just been bragging about, and gave Harry the other one.

Harry realized, once they started the remote controls — which, he had to admit, were a fascinating sort of magic on their own — Dudley meant the life-sized car went 350 kilometers per hour. These toys were slower than a Snitch.

They raced a couple laps. Dudley won every time, and Harry wasn’t sure if his car was actually slower, or if Dudley cheated each time. Harry didn’t particularly care.

“Do you play video games?” Dudley asked after winning a fifth time.

“What’s that?” Harry asked.

Dudley turned on the television set

“Oh, we don’t have a television.”

“You don’t have a television?” Dudley looked appalled. “If you don’t have a television, how do you watch your programs?”

“What?”

But Dudley was spared explaining when a strange creature suddenly appeared in the middle of the room.

[calumniare-blog]

>Repent.

| Eridan Pyrope |

You're quietly watching outside the window, watching all the new colours the sky introduces to you in just a few minutes as the dawn starts. You lean back, taking it all in and trying to relax. Damn it. It's been three days and no sign from any guard suddenly proudly carrying Peixes to your doorstep. No one to turn to, no one who could possibly know where he went. Fucking damn it. Out of nowhere you impulsively knock over documents, little souvenirs from trips you've taken, photos and what the fuck ever. You can't even bring yourself to care for a split of a second.

You turn around just to convince yourself once again that you're alone. No one to impress with your calm and unpredictable exterior, no one to judge you for your mistakes. Just you. You can't even feel lonely with how your anger takes up the entire room, even making you claustrophobic. You need to do something. See someone. Plan something. God, if it weren't for your guards just outside the office you'd be screaming your fucking lungs out, but after all of this your image is still more important. You have to keep it up, you have to stay calm.

You need to run somewhere. Get out of here. Quick.

And just as you walk an inch closer to the door someone knocks. Looks like destiny is one step ahead of you.

| Gamzee Vantas |

When the door slides open Eridan is greeted by two trolls in clean, white button up shirts and well pressed black slacks.

One, a man, gives him a wide toothy grin with just a few holes where teeth used to be, apparently quite freshly removed if the way his teeth were stained a light orange was any sign. One of his eyes were bruised, and the hands with which he held tightly to a leather bound book were cut and bloodied.

The other, a woman, glowers. Not at him, just sort of. In general. Her lips are pressed tightly shut, and her one eye regards him with a hostile indifference. She stands snap straight at attention, her arms folded behind her back.

The man shuts his eyes tightly for a few seconds and breathes in. Then pops them back open and speaks in a wavering, cracking sort of way. "H-Hello sir! Have you heard the good word about our l-lord and-d savior, Gamzee Vantas? He-He's our hero, a hero for the people! An-and he's very disappointed in you."

Somewhere back in the house there's the sound of some glass breaking. Then some more. A lot of glass breaking, just how many windows are there in this place anyway?

The witness at the door seems to hear it too, clearing his throat, talking louder, pushing himself forward into the doorway. "T-Tell me, Mr.Pyrope, wh-when's the last time you repented to our just and furious god?"

| Eridan Pyrope |

Your stance goes from defensive to calm in a few seconds, forcing relaxation on yourself. Or at least looking like it, because seeing two strangers walk into your office without any further notice is already alarming enough. It's apparent you're immediately thinking, calculating and analysing. Not having any idea what's going on is already terrifying enough but the fact this is happening for the second time this week is just setting you off in the worst way possible.

Calm, Eridan. No matter how you react, you can't run from it. And when things click in your head and you finally realise the severity of the situation as you hear the all too familiar name you're positive there's absolutely no possible way to run from it. But the only response that comes from you is your eyes widening for a second just before you desperately try to calm yourself quietly. If you have to go, then so be it. But he will not get the satisfaction of you begging for your dear life.

"I definitely won't be starting today."

| Gamzee Vantas |

The witness looks genuinely hurt for a few seconds, clasping his book to his chest. "O-Oh sir, I'm so sorry to hear that b-but I'm af-afraid..." 

There's a brief pause as footsteps-- many footsteps file into the room behind Eridan. Without even turning around he could probably tell they've got him closed in from the back. There's a long hacking cough before you finally speak up. "I am afraid, Brother Pyrope, you ain't got no fucking say in the matter here today."

You roll your shoulders, joints popping and snapping as you walk up to him and slap one of your heavy hands on his shoulder, the other holding tight to one of your saintly sacred sledges ready to beat the sin out of this manipulative fucking heathen should he take the wrong step crossways and attract your more immediate ire. Now, you didn't hate the poor boy or nothing yet, but you were so sorely disappointed that one of your flock would go so astray. "So. Little fucking birdy done told me a brother was keeping a goldfish pet around here. You got something to say about that, son?"

| Eridan Pyrope |

Yes, he may be a lot fucking taller than you. Yes, he may have two people behind him while you have none. But you've got one last thing left. That one thing is that you've got nothing to lose except your pride. And hell, you're going to hold onto that until your last breath.

You swallow down the sheer fear that overcomes you as soon as you feel your new enemy's hand on you. Really, you almost choke on it, but only almost. Your old smirk comes back onto your face, glossing over any sort of insecurity you might be feeling at the moment. You have nothing to lose. It's over, Eridan. 

 "Gam, not even a hello? For some reason I always believed that we were colleagues - maybe even friends - and yet you never visit. But here you are, in all your glory - and just in time for the sunrise too. Nature always hides its most precious gifts where you'd least expect them. We always just spend our time avoiding the sun, but have you never thought what there could be hiding from us in those hours?" Oh yeah, you're definitely testing your limits now.

| Gamzee Vantas |

"I am sorry, my brother, that I cannot bring my self to... Indulge in this runious finery as your fucking dumb ass seems so eager to do. But a real motherfucker has to be out there. In the dirt. Actually doing real shit." Your grip on his shoulder tightens and you lean down quite a ways to get eye level with him, faces just barely a few inches apart. "Unlike some motherfuckers thinking they can raise princes like a fucking dog."

Straightening up you smile coldly down at him, jabbing his chest with an accusatory finger. "Yeah. I think about what hides in the fucking dark places a lot brother. And I am out here trying to fucking bring that shit to light. In a holy fire. A cleansing light. Make everything new. Better for us. You just want a fucking puppet you got your hand up the ass of playing with some fucking neon while you get all fucking filthy on what pours down from its nasty little mouth."

Your followers step into Eridan's place, shutting the door behind them before turning their attention to the traitor. The brownblood opens up his hollow book, pulling out some zipties and trying to get Eridan secured while your maroon pal pulls the bat out from behind her back and slaps it in her hand to let the teal know she's got it.

"Anyhow, all this motherfucking grandstanding shit aside son, I am accusing your ass of treason of the highest fucking order. Collaborating with the enemy. Going against gods plans for the fucking pinkies. How you pleading?" Your blood is already burning. Parts of you wish this boy would put up some kind of fight.

| Eridan Pyrope |

When fear hits you the most is when you suddenly give a chuckle right into his face. You'd probably say that being this close to a Vantas is one of the scariest things on this planet. And the way you deal with panic is by laughing at it. Just laugh; it makes you seem stronger, calculated and relaxed.

Add a clever insult to it and you're all set. "Oh boy, is that your breath?" For dramatic purposes you wave a hand in front of you, as if to fan the odour away but also to get at least some distance between you two. "Don't you think it ruins the illusion of you being a god or some such when you already fail at simple hygiene?"

You don't fight against being tied up; you don't even move a single inch, no matter how your feet are prickling with the instinct to run or just do something. All you do is take deeper breaths than before to avoid the ragged breathing. Other than that everything stays the same; your proud stance, your smirk, your attitude towards all of this. Pure calmness, fighting against every little instinct in your body.

"Isn't it fascinating how one troll can completely demolish any belief just because he was thirsty for godlike power? Trolls claiming religion for themselves and making something truly disastrous out of it is what made me stop believing long ago."

| Gamzee Vantas |

Your smile falls from your face as you regard the little man with obvious disdain. Like a child. He throws out shit and talks about the machniations he can't understand, hides himself all up behind insults. Makes you sick. Didn't even fucking address the shit you were done talking to him about. You shake your head solmenly, your voice starting to waver into anger. "Alright. Brother. If you are done being all fucking high and mighty like you ain't just another worm squirming in the dirt, trying to convince everyone you're fucking something you ain't, guess we're gonna go ahead and get your punishment all nice and done with."

You nod at the two behind Eridan to follow you, pushing past the crowd of four more you brought who follow suit. As they push Eridan along, you talk. "You know brother, I always thought this place was a little too fucking fancy for no fucking operations that meant nothing. No motherfucker lives like a king if he's really fighting for the motherfucking average type of asshole. Should've known from day one your ass was as fake as it was cold."

The party drags Eridan into this new room behind you. It's big, half of it comprised of some reflective metal blinds programmed to open or shut at the click of a button. It was a nice little observation deck, the sort of shit someone only builds to impress guests with a nice fucking view. During the night, shit was probably beautiful. During the day though. A motherfuckers eyes would fry up in here in an instant. You tug a chair away from one of the tables and motion to it. Your followers begin pushing Eridan over to it, trying to get him steated and prepared up all nice like. Tied down to the seat. Eyes pulled open by tape.

While they get to work you lean on your hammer and smile at him. "My brother, though we are gathered here today to punish thee I will let you know, we forgive ya. Me and you. Motherfucking two sides of the same hateful coin motherfucker. You are just fucking straying from that holy light. But I am gonna fucking set your course all up and straight and good, just like a fucking shepard should. It's gonna be a fucking rough lesson. But if your ass is anything. I bet it's a quick learner."

| Eridan Pyrope |

His dissatisfaction is a little victory that doesn't even last nearly long enough, but is enough to warm you up a little, to help your legs feel a little less shaky. No, you're going to take your pride to your grave, no matter how much he tortures you.

Even though you would've very much liked to skip the torture part.

And as you're being more or less dragged (you're trying not to visibly fight against it, even if your feet start prickling again) time feels slow and every possible imaginable scenario rushes through your head. Every possible torture scene appears in front of your eyes, and yet what your mind pieces together as soon as you get to your observation deck isn't nearly as horrifying as this.

You fucking knew this pompous platform was a stupid idea. Curse you for being such a connoisseur that loves to watch landscapes.

Your expression did indeed turn a bit more serious at the painful realisation and the more it hits you that your fears are being confirmed, the more you finally can't stop yourself from shaking. You're done playing it cool, you're done with trying to control yourself. And it keeps hitting you more. And you're getting awfully quiet all of a sudden as Gamzee and his lackeys melt away and all that is left are your memories. And you slowly say goodbye to them.

And of course you wish you had another time. Another time experiencing lush forests to their fullest, being astounded how nature takes back what was stolen from it. Slow and patient and gentle, but never taking a break. You want another time looking up at the nightsky, waiting for a falling star, only to miss it and having to wait again. Watching it being so small and seemingly unimportant from your perspective, while from a different view it's a huge rock burning up before it could hit your planet. Wondering again how a change of perspective not only makes this falling star look like a catastrophe, but also how it can at the same time make your existence and your ambitions seem so minor. You want just one more time at a pond, at a lake, at a sea, at a body of water; realising how new life is sprouting out of nowhere. Feeling like maybe you can make something beautiful out of nothing, just like nature can. You want to read one more good book while background noises fade into a little melody in the back of your head and the rest is just occupied imagining the happenings, making the book come to life inside your mind. Being able to imagine about anything because you have seen so much in your life. You want to look through all the photos you have taken on your travels again and let them take you back to the past. Like travelling through time, just by yourself and only for yourself to enjoy. You want to write one last poem, having the inspiration and drive to write flow through your body again. Staying up long after sunrise to think of a fitting ending for it. Taking energy from nowhere, just for a little written piece of paper no one is going to see eventually.

But most of all you want to see Nepeta one last time. Burn that soft frown into memory, feeling victorious and proud when you can get just a little reaction out of her. You want one more reminder of her face before you forget what she looked like. Just one more time.

But your time is up. Your wishes come too late.

| Gamzee Vantas |

Part of you can tell that it's dawning on him now, more metaphorically than it will be literally in just a second. Makes you  all warm and fuzzy to see someone have an ephiany like you did. To see the sad truths and brutal honesties what make up their fucked up sense of life and order thanks to this shitty world you all gotta be a part of. Makes you sad. Makes you sick. Makes you god fucking furious. Your men stand around the room and put on heavily tinted goggles, and you do the same, tugging the thick lenses over your eyes and snapping on the band that quickly gets swallowed up in your unmanaged mane of hair.

In silence you move behind him, dropping your hammer and put your hands on his shoulders, bow your head, shut your eyes, grit your teeth. Through them, you speak. "Brothers and sisters, here today we are going to fucking punish a collaborator with the system. And while we impart the righteous fury what this motherfucker deserves, keep in mind that he can't truly help it. Assholes a slave to his fucking whims, ambitions get him going real fucking hard like. Walking through this valley of ash and death, motherfuckers done let his eyes distract him from the suffering around him by the glittering fools gold what supports the ruin. As we send him off into the dark, so that he may never again behold the fucking righteous light with his own eye, let us PRAY for his very fucking soul."

An overwhelming quiet graces everyone. A few seconds more. Just enough for his eyes to get dry, you think. Just enough for him to need to blink. "Lets send this brother off with a good old fashioned hymn, children. No one should face the fucking radiance of gods light without a lil' pomp and circumstance. Especially not this fucker."

They all nod, and as you move towards the switch for the shutters, you all sing in a low, somber tone. This little light of mine. I'm gonna let it shine. This little light of mine. I'm gonna let it shine. Let it shine. Let it shine. Let it- 

 You press the button. Blinding light fills the room.

| Eridan Pyrope |

And you see the astounding landscape right in front of you for the last time. And you say goodbye to it. Really, not being able to blink ends up not being that much of a difficulty as you start tearing up; and they roll down your cheeks, bitter and unforgiving. Everything around you gets sucked up with white blinding light, too much for you to hold still. No, you're screaming even, partly out of pain but partly out of sheer frustration and despair. You know it's too late and yet you scream to make it stop, scream for forgiveness, just anything that would make Gamzee reconsider, even if you know he won't. Gamzee is a man who doesn't look back.

And for a while the light doesn't seem to stop until everything gets swallowed by the darkness. Not black darkness, just nothingness. That's when your voice dies down. No more noises anymore, just wide eyes and heavy breathing as more tears run down your face. Everything is lost.

Looks like you'll have to find a way to laugh this off too.

| Gamzee Vantas |

As the flash subsides again quiet rocks the space.

You press the button and the shutters close. You and your crew remove your goggles. You crouch down to get on eye level with your old friend. Not that it much matters anymore. "I hope you fucking learned a lesson here today. I hope you done seen the error of your ways. Cause it's gonna be the only thing you see again, less you go and buy yourself new fancy eyes like the quitter you is."

You reach up and quickly snap the tape off his eyes. Amble over and collect your hammer. Kick his chair over. "Don't you. Ever. Fuck with me again. We are brothers in arms, we gotta trust each other. And you ain't been honest. God hates liars, son."

You nod towards the exit and your followers, well, follow. "See you around, Pyrope. Try not to fuck up again."

| Eridan Pyrope |

You're quiet for the entire time he speaks to you; suddenly out of witty retorts or even anything to say, really. You're not even moving, grown stiff like a statue while your gaze goes into nothingness. Even when he kicks you over there's barely any reaction other than a small gasp when you hit the ground.

It takes a few minutes after they're gone until you realise what happened. And that's when you break apart. You start weeping and yelling in frustration - shouting and screaming until someone finally finds you and thank god it's your most trusted bodyguard Dahmbe. He's the closest thing to a friend you have; he's even like a brother to you. And thank fucking god it's him who enters the room because you wouldn't ever forgive yourself if anybody else saw you like this.

A small pathetic crying ball.

[fieldsofplay]

Top Albums of 2019

Top Albums of 2019.

25.  William Tyler – Goes West

For those of you reading along, I want to thank you for sticking with this blog for basically an entire decade at this point. Jeez, where does the time* go? To that end, I’m gonna put out a decade list sometime next week, so to keep my sanity somewhat in check, this years tops list is going to be a little more abbreviated than usual. A few less records, a few less words, but still the same self indulgence you’ve come to know and expect.  To that end, William Tyler.  Tied for my favorite cover art with IGOR.  This is beautiful finger-picked cosmic acoustic guitar music with some nice flourishes added by Brad Cook and the usual suspects.  Perfect for fall days.  I accidentally heckled him at a concert about the Andy Griffith show, but I was only trying to say he shouldn’t be ashamed about liking that program.  The shame still haunts me, much like this music. *A fictional social construct

24.  Floating Points – Crush

Now I’m not going to sit here and pretend to know much about electronic music.  I don’t know the deep history, I don’t know the technical lingo, but like pornography, I know it when I hear it.  Much has been made about the impact opening for the XX and being limited to minimal gear while doing so had on Sam Shephard, and I’ll admit the differences from Elaenia is palpable.  Where that album felt minimal, Crush is maximal, bursting with colors and ideas, not unlike the beautiful painting that adorns its cover.  I never quite knew what the phrase Intelligent Dance Music was supposed to mean, but to me, that’s precisely what this is. You could dance to “LesAlpx” if you wanted, or you could just throw it on headphones and drift away to its unceasing pulse. Find you a man who can do both.

23.  Nerija – Blume

Let me be the first to tell you that jazz is back! Centering largely in London, there is thrilling music being made by the likes of Sons of Kemet, The Comet is Coming, and this year, by Nerija. Breathing new life into a long moribund form (at least until Kendrick Lamar started featuring jazz musicians on his albums), Blume literally does just that, unfurling jazz from a long dormancy.  While I’m not normally a fan of the guitar in jazz, here it keeps the whole thing moving forward, as the horns swirl around in a supportive role and the percussion cooks.  “Riverfest” is the best exemplar, as the guitar chimes with joy while the cymbal-crashes enliven the vibe.

22.  Florist – Emily Alone

A tale as old time (song as old as rhyme): member of ambient-electronic band puts out solo acoustic album, about the sadness of moving to LA and finding oneself.  No one is reinventing the wheel here, but I can’t help but feel little touches of Florist’s electronic full-band output in Emily Sprague’s solo record—the way the words repeat, subtly, but building meaning with each little phrasal repetition. Plus, the ocean is a recurring image, and dear lord do I miss the sea. If you want to listen a sad girl sing sad songs accompanied by acoustic guitar, you aren’t going to do better than Emily Alone this year.

21.  Kevin Morby – Oh My God

Possibly the best Kevin Morby record?  No one else would say that, but I will.  If so, why is it so far down the list? Well, when you consistently put out amazing records year-after-year it becomes difficult for any individual album to make an imprint on the “culture.” I think “Seven Devils” is possibly his finest tune.

20.  Sacred Paws – Run Around the Sun

My friend David turned me on to this band right before I was about to embark on a road trip up north in the middle of the summer, and let me tell you, that was the perfect time to first experience Run Around the Sun.  Noodly guitars burst out of every seam on this record, as bubblegum lyrics tie the whole shebang together.  If you ever wondered what the Shangri-las would sound like if Johnny Marr played lead guitar, I give you Sacred Paws.

19.  Jamila Woods – Legacy! Legacy!  

On Legacy! Legacy! Woods takes the R&B of the excellent Heavn and applies a jazzier sheen, to excellent results.  One need look no further than the track titles (“Frida,” “Miles,” “Basquiat,” “Baldwin,” “Sun Ra” etc.) to see that Woods is consciously engaging with the titans of history, and here, while she doesn’t exactly reach the heights of those innovators, she certainly begins to carve out a legacy of her own as one of the best voices in a currently thriving R&B scene.

18.  Mt. Eerie & Julie Doiron – Lost Wisdom, Pt. 2

On Lost Wisdom, Pt. 2 Phil Elverum (of The Microphones) and Julie Doiron (of Eric’s Trip) recapture the magic they bottled on the first Lost Wisdom back in 2008.  It is hard to imagine sparer music than this, but the duo make so much of a pair of voices and few plucked guitar or banjo lines.  As with all of his music of late (for obvious reasons), loss hangs all over Elverum’s output, but here, the loss is more mood and less of a literal presence (with the exception of the blistering “Widows”).  Few songs I can think of capture a single, specifically odd phenomenon quite like “When I Walk Out of the Museum.”

17.  DIIV – Deceiver

As capital-G guitar music recedes further into irrelevance, it’s good to still have a band like DIIV kicking around, who make shoegaze like it’s still 1991.  And it’s a good thing they are still making their beautiful walls of feedback, as heroine has repeatedly knocked this band off the rails of what appeared to be a very promising career.  This is ominous, portentous music, that swirls with white noise and black despair.  Shoegaze is premised on making beauty out of the squall of overdriven electric guitars, and DIIV make beauty of the squall of 21st century opiate addiction.

16.  Earl Sweatshirt – Feet of Clay

Earl continues the excellent experimentation of Some Rap Songs in the (slightly) more structured Feet of Clay.  Whereas Some Rap Songs felt like fragments, the tracks on Feet of Clay (almost) feel like “songs” proper.  Earl continues to quickly sweep the ground out from underneath you, whether it’s in the form of oddly woozy backing tracks that can’t really be called “beats” or the sub 2-minute run times, but he seems to pack slightly more structure into those abbreviated entrants, even if there are a lot less of them than there were on Some Rap Songs.  Right now no one is pushing the boundaries of hip-hop like Earl, and each new release, even if the total run time is under 15 minutes, is a thrilling event.

15.  Better Oblivion Community Center – S/T

Yes, last year I had Boygenius as my number one record, but if I’m being frank, and I am, this is the better collaborative album put out by Phoebe Bridgers.  At first blush a record between the up-and-coming Bridgers and the largely has-been Conor Oberst seems like a desperate grab at continued relevance by the latter, but having seen them live, I must admit the pairing makes perfect sense.  The energy between the two is infectious, and while they share a common fascination with emo, they really draw the best out of each other.  Bridgers plays the Emmylou Harris role from I’m Wide Awake It’s Morning to perfection, and Oberst plays the Kenny Rodgers in “Islands in the Stream.”  For a period I could not turn on Radio K without hearing a song from this album, which is strange because, as a college radio station, every hour is usually completely different.

14.  Chromatics – Closer to Grey

In a certain way, Chromatics are victims of their own tendency towards self-mythologizing.  Their last two official albums were absolutely perfect slices of Italo-Disco, equal parts late night ennui and seething dancefloor longing.  There was way more guitar on those albums than most anyone would appreciate on first glance, and yet Ruth Radelet’s smoky vocals were unquestionably the star.  In the interim Johnny Jewel (the mastermind behind the band and basically everything on Italians Do it Better) famously destroyed all the copies of the long teased Dear Tommy after a near death experience, provided essential music to Twin Peaks: The Return (which included multiple Chromatics performances at the dear Road House), and then suddenly dropped Closer to Grey out of the sky, with neither warning nor fanfare.  This record is everything you would want a Chromatics record to be, but perhaps that is part of the reason it didn’t really make a major impression. It felt a little Chromatics-by-the-numbers, right down to the cover of “The Sound of Silence” to open it up.  I absolutely love this album, and if it weren’t for the incredible quality of albums put out this year, it would certainly be a top-10 or top-5 in any other year (hell, in the terrible-for-music 2018 it would have been number one by a mile).  Perhaps the biggest frustration is just how fucking good “Light as a Feather” is.  It hints at a version of Chromatics influenced by Portishead, and now that’s all I want more of.

13.  Thom Yorke – ANIMA

Doubt it if you will, you sneering youngsters, but Thom Yorke and his more well-known band are currently making some of the best music of their careers.  Just as A Moon Shaped Pool was a much needed return to form after the completely forgettable King of Limbs, with ANIMA Yorke gets back to what made The Eraser so compelling all the way back in 2006.  While a fondness for Aphex Twin is no longer at all exceptional in rock music in 2019, it was in 2006, and with ANIMA, Yorke gets back to the creepy, clicky, paranoid distrust of modern consumer culture that is solidly his wheelhouse.  Bonus points for using Netflix and a pairing with PTA to make America care about a long form music video again in 2019.

12.  Black Marble – Bigger than Life

I would call black Marble my favorite new band of the year, but the thing is, they aren’t new, just new to me.  Bigger than Life is their third record, and first for Sacred Bones (whose distinctive album art is what first caught my eye).  Because their music is comprised solely of arpeggiated synths, melodic bass, and clinking drum machines, overlaid with melancholicly narrow vocals, it is easy to accuse Black Marble of being a little same-y.  However, if you, like me, worship at the temple of New Order, than this is the band for you.  I have lived with their three extant albums the last couple months (the second, It’s Immaterial, being my favorite), and in reality, this is really the only music I want to listen to.

11.  Big Thief – U.F.O.F. / Two Hands

If you’re reading this than you likely already know how much I love Big Thief, and you might be a little surprised that one, if not both, of the records they put out this year is not sitting atop this list based on how much I’ve professed my love for this band over the course of 2019.  So here’s the thing, the highs on both of these albums--“U.F.O.F.” “Not”--are better than anything else anyone has done this year, but to my ear both records suffer from a flew blah-ish passages that prevent either album, on its own, from achieving top status.  However, if you borrow a few tracks here (Cattails, Contact) and a few tracks there (Shoulders, Two Hands) and made one album out of the highlights of both sessions, you would unquestionably have the album of the year.  That Big Thief gave us two records brimming with amazing folk rock ideas is a blessing.

10.  Sharon Van Etten – Remind Me Tomorrow

Hey, do you remember Sharon Van Etten put out an amazing record in 2019? I bet you don’t.  The culture moves so fast these days that albums from January might as well have been released five years ago, and it seems to me like this record slipped off a few peoples’ radars as the year progressed, which is a shame, considering how damn good it is (her best imho).  There are few runs on an album I’ve enjoyed more this year than “Jupiter 4’s” electro-throb into “Seventeen’s” Springsteen chug into “Malibu’s” comedown.  Bonus points for being my dear friend Hadley’s downstairs neighbor for all those years.  Ah Brooklyn, how I miss thee.

9.  Black Midi – Schlagenheim

Yes, that most reliable of music-critic tropes: the hot young band from London.  Black Midi made waves with a legendary youtube video of their live show, and having seen it in person, let me tell you, even that now infamous video doesn’t do them justice.  Much like its gobldy-gook made up title, Schlagenheim is an amalgamation of strands of music that don’t really fit together but somehow they pull off with aplomb.  At times they play with the hardcore fury of Minor Threat, while at others the proggy interconnectivity of Rush at their most arena-rockish, all with a weird dash of David Byrne wiry energy holding it all together.  If they come to your town, go see them, just don’t stand in the front unless you want to be swept into the maelstrom.

8.  Helado Negro – This is How You Smile

Did you love Little Joy (the Strokes sideproject) but wish it was occasionally electronic and periodically in Spanish? If so, I give you Helado Negro. This is the prettiest record of the year; it never goes above a certain emotional register / decibel range, but it inhabits the spectrum in which it lives like a ghost in its occasional electronic flourishes.  This is a record for someone with a long drive with something to think about. “Seen my Aura” is simultaneously funky and restrained, acoustic and electronic, and emblematic of the joys of This is How You Smile.

7.  Sturgill Simpson – Sound & Fury

Each of Sturgill Simpson’s last three records have been fundamentally different from one another, and each has been excellent, which is almost impossible to accomplish.  Metamodern Sounds in Country Music introduced many, like myself, to a new voice in an often overlooked medium, A Sailor’s Guide to Earth dusted off the horns from Elvis’s stax-era and romped around, and now with Sound & Fury Sturgill looks to the outlaw tradition (and ZZ freakin Top) he’s so-often been associated with, but rarely resembled, to crank out an incredible record that is far more “rock” than it is “country.” Throw on a heaping of 80’s-era Springsteen synths and you have the recipe for a record that makes me very, very happy.  The two halves of “Make Art not Friends” have little business coexisting within a single track (the first half sounds like Tangerine Dream, the second half Arcade Fire) and yet it is precisely in this tenuous cohabitation that Sturgill has produced his best record to date.

6.  Vampire Weekend – Father of the Bride

Vampire Weekend started out their career being accused of stealing from Graceland and ended up becoming Paul Simon.  Funny how that works out sometimes.  Modern Vampires of the City has become, next to Sound of Silver, the definitive record about life in New York during my era (2005-2016).  On the follow up, the band, newly shorn of Rostam Batmanglij (whose solo record is also phenomenal, even though he’s maybe one of the worst performers I’ve ever seen), decamped to California, and Father of the Bride revels in both the California sun and a well earned sense of accomplishment.  “Hold You Now” is my favorite song of the year, it is simply stunning.

5.  Bill Callahan – Shepherd in a Sheepskin Vest

There is a bit of theme developing here at the top of the list: established artists putting out arguably their best work deep into storied careers, and no one on this list is deeper into a more storied oeuvre than Bill Callahan.  Between Smog and under his own name, Callahan has been releasing consistently great albums since 1992, and to me, Shepherd in a Sheepskin Vest is his finest work to date.  Having found domestic bliss, so the press materials state, Callahan is content to sit back and let that world-weary baritone spin out all the comforts of a well-worn chair near a fire in a hearth.  This is the type of record that gives you hope that happiness isn’t the exclusive provenance of the young.

4.  Purple Mountains – Purple Mountains

If I were to really sit and write out all of my thoughts about David Berman this blurb would probably be 10 pages long, at least, so rather than spill a bunch of digital ink lamenting the loss of a true inspiration, I’ll just try and stick to the album itself, which is almost impossible now in the wake of his suicide shortly after its release.  Even on first blush this was a difficult hang, clearly the product of someone who lost their wife to a series of poor decisions / mental difficulties, and who hadn’t come to terms with it.  Understandably so.  Berman remains endlessly quotable, right up to the very end, and “we’re just drinking margaritas at the mall” remains emblematic of his ability to compress the tedium of middle american misery into a single haunting, yet, hilarious, image.  While “Nights that Won’t Happen” lives on as his suicide note directly to the fans (“The dead know what they’re doing when they leave this world behind” ; “all the suffering gets done by the ones we leave behind”), and it is hauntingly beautiful, it still makes me cry every time I hear it. As does most of this record. So the song I’ll carry on with me, and can still actually listen to, is “Snow is Falling in Manhattan.” Just a beautiful song from a beautiful man.  

3.  Tyler, the Creator – IGOR

I really don’t have the words (well, clearly I have some) to express just how impressed I am by the arc of Tyler’s career.  The one-time shock-rap flash in the critical pan quickly turned into forgettable homophobe who perfectly fit a description of Eminem’s fan base I once heard: kids who call their mom a bitch to their face.  The first startling change came with Flower Boy, which came right on the heels of his step out of the closet.  Flower Boy is a really great record, but it still largely sounded like Tyler, just a more mature version who stopped saying cringe worthy shit.  IGOR is something entirely different.  I honestly don’t even know what to call it. It’s not a rap record, and there are honestly entire tracks on it where I’m not sure what it is he does on them, but my god, this thing is incredible.  It’s basically a Parliament album for the end of the world, and if the earth is going to burn down around us, we might as well dance our way out, which is precisely the party Tyler has orchestrated here.  I cannot wait to see what he does next.

2.  Angel Olsen – All Mirrors

All Mirrors isn’t just clearly Angel Olsen’s best album by a clear margin, it is the best pop album made by anyone in sometime.  Just like black clothes make anyone a little slimmer, orchestration can make any pop song sound symphonic, but most pop acts don’t have the power of Angel Olson’s voice to match the bombast of the string section and percussion.  It feels like the term Beatlesesque has started to fade from the critical lexicon, but this music is truly akin to the orchestral richness of “I am the Walrus” or “A Day in the Life.”  People celebrate Lana del Ray for her torch songs (and I really liked Norman Fucking Rockwell, even if it didn’t quite make this list in a stacked year) but no one carries a torch like Angel Olsen.  I was initially reticent to catch her live show this tour, it was on a weeknight, it was cold, I had to go downtown, I’d seen her a couple times already, yadda yadda yadda, but I knew deep down I really wanted to see if she could recreate the power of these songs on stage (the inverse of how that equation usually goes).  Reader: she did.

1.  (Sandy) Alex G – House of Sugar

House of Sugar may not be quite as experimental as IGOR, or as pop-perfect as All Mirrors, but it takes those two impulses and melds them together into what is my favorite album of the year, even if strictly speaking it may not be the “best” as measured against the other entrants in this top 3.  “Hope” was actually a “hit” song on the local college radio station, and understandably so; it sounds like Elliott Smith and tells a comprehensible story about a friend who died from an overdose.  But “Hope” is jut one facet of House of Sugar, which is a veritable hall of musical mirrors.  “Walk Away” is hypnotic in its repetitions, “In My Arms” is a legit straightforward acoustic love song, “Sugar” sounds like The Knife (no joke), “Sugarhouse” could have been on The River, and while I already said “Hold You Now” is my favorite song of the year, “Gretel” has something to say about that.  I saw a show right when this album came out, and as the band left the stage for the final time the soundguy cued up “Gretel” not, I’m guessing, because the band requested it, but because it rules and he just wanted to share it with everyone as they receded into night.

[loaddream412]

Music For D Mac

Music For D Machinery

Music For Mac

Musician who fell in love with the art that music offers. For serious business inquiries/booking info, contact Dylan4322@gmail.com FC Gang 3213. Stream Tracks and Playlists from D-Mac on your desktop or mobile device. This guide shows you how to remove DRM from Apple Music on Mac as example, you can download the Windows version and follow the same steps to unlock Apple Music DRM in Windows 10/8/7XP. Launch UkeySoft Apple Music Converter on Mac Launch UkeySoft Apple Music Converter on Mac, and the iTunes will be launched automatically at the same time.

D-Mac’s highly anticipated debut mixtape entitled ” The First Impression ” is set to release 10/10/10. The mixtape features the lead single ” Imma ” produced by platinum producer Bigg D and the follow up ladies record “Cakin Witchu” featuring the R&B superstar Dondria. To keep up with all the latest news and music from D-Mac www. Mac App Store is the simplest way to find and download apps for your Mac. To download apps from the Mac App Store, you need a Mac with OS X 10.6.6 or later. In the Music app on your Mac, click Songs in the sidebar on the left. Do one of the following: Find out where a file is stored: Select the item, then choose Song Info. The path to the file is shown at the bottom of the File pane (next to location).

NASHVILLE, Tenn. (AP) — Country star Mac Davis, who launched his career crafting the Elvis hits “A Little Less Conversation” and “In the Ghetto,” and whose own hits include “Baby Don’t Get Hooked On Me,” has died. He was 78.

Mac veterans have been singing Alfred's praises for years, but some of Apple’s newer users might not have heard about the mighty app launcher. Free to all but the most serious professionals. To use this Mac software all you have to do is download it Add files or folders containing duplicates click the Scan button to begin sorting Remove to clean all the duplicate files at once! Enjoy deduplicate library in three-clicks. Duplicate Files Fixer is a must have mac application to fill your bucket of Best Mac. https://loaddream412.tumblr.com/post/653270612074283008/software-for-mac-must-have.

His longtime manager Jim Morey said in a press release that Davis died in Nashville on Tuesday after heart surgery and was surrounded by family and friends.

Davis had a long and varied career in music for decades as a writer, singer, actor and TV host and was inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame in 2006. He was named 1974’s entertainer of the year by the Academy of Country Music and has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

“Thank you, dear Lord Jesus, for letting us know the man to whom you gave the most incredible talent,” said Reba McEntire in a statement. “He entertained and spread joy to so many people. What a wonderful legacy he left all of us with his music. Mac was one of a kind. I’m so blessed to have been one of his many friends.”

Music For D Machinery

Born in Lubbock, Texas, and raised in Georgia, Davis was inspired by fellow Lubbock native Buddy Holly, but it was Elvis who gave him his first musical big break. Davis worked as a staff songwriter in Los Angeles for Nancy Sinatra’s publishing company when in 1968 Presley cut the funky “A Little Less Conversation,” which Davis had written with Aretha Franklin in mind.

Although it had a little success at the time, the song became a bigger hit after Presley’s death, being covered by more than 30 artists and topping charts everywhere from Canada to Denmark. Davis’ most licensed TV soundtrack song, “A Little Less Conversation” reached No. 1 in the UK in 2002 after it was used in a Nike commercial and was featured in the hit movie “Ocean’s 11.”

Davis also helped craft the sentimental “Memories” that was a cornerstone of Elvis’ celebrated 1968 comeback TV special, and two other songs that were key to Presley’s revival: The somber ballads “In the Ghetto” and “Don’t Cry Daddy,” both top 10 singles which marked rare times Presley covered material with any kind of political or social message.

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“In the Ghetto” was the story of a young Black man raised in poverty who turns to crime and ends up dead, a story Davis would say was based on a childhood friend. “Don’t Cry Daddy,” in which a son consoles his grieving father after the boy’s mother dies, appealed personally to Presley, who lost his beloved mother when he was in his early 20s.

“A small town boy who’d achieved the greatest kinds of fame, he remained a good guy, a family man,” said country star Kenny Chesney. “That was Mac: a giant heart, quick to laugh and a bigger creative spirit. I was blessed to have it shine on me. And Mac, who was joyous, funny and created a family around him, never stopped writing great songs, creating music and inspiring everyone around him.”

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Davis got a recording deal of his own in 1970, recording “Hooked on Music,” “It’s Hard to be Humble,” and “Texas in my Rearview Mirror,” and getting crossover success on pop charts. He had his own TV series, “The Mac Davis Show” on NBC, and also acted in TV and film, including alongside Nick Nolte in the football film “North Dallas Forty.” He even starred on Broadway, in “The Will Rogers Follies” and toured with the musical. The group Gallery had a hit on his song “I Believe in Music.”

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Music For Mac

“He was the songwriter behind some of the most iconic and timeless songs that transcend genres and generations and was named a BMI Icon in 2015,” said BMI President and CEO Mike O’Neil. “Beyond his extraordinary talent, Mac was a dedicated friend and advocate for songwriters everywhere.”

He also wrote songs recorded by Kenny Rogers (“Something’s Burning”), Dolly Parton (“White Limozeen”) and Ray Price (“Lonesomest Lonesome”). He was still writing later in life, getting co-writing credits on songs by Avicii ( “Addicted to You”) and Bruno Mars (“Young Girls.”)

“Today our country community lost an amazing entertainer, songwriter and artist,” said Sarah Trahern, CEO of CMA. “I remember watching Mac’s TV show as a kid as well as his three years co-hosting the CMA Awards with Barbara Mandrell, which proved his command of the TV medium as well as the music.”