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pengychan · 4 years

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[Good Omens] Winging It - Isaiah 40:31

Summary: Shockingly, attempting to destroy an angel without consulting God first comes with consequences. There is more than one way to fall, and a thousand more ways to inconvenience an angel and a demon who just wanted to be left in peace. Characters: Gabriel, Crowley, Aziraphale, Beelzebub, Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon Rating: T

Prologue and all chapters are tagged as ‘winging it’ on my blog.

A/N: well, shit hits the fan and the end is near.

***

As the boy who was most assuredly Not The Antichrist - but who had nonetheless been their charge for about the first eleven years of his life - walked towards the front door of the bookshop in Soho, entirely unaware of being stalked by a man with a pocket knife, Aziraphale stood in the bedroom of a lovely cottage in the South Downs, not far from the Devil’s Dyke.

He knew it was rather rude, being roughly seventy-five miles away from the place where you happen to have an appointment in about five minutes’ time, but surely it was not too much of an issue, given that they would be right back in the bookshop by crossing the threshold of a rather miraculous door they had installed between the two places. And besides, Crowley had really wanted to show him something.

That something being a luxurious, huge and hugely gaudy canopy bed with gold-plated columns and red velvet drapes that wouldn’t have looked too out of place in Versailles, before revolutionaries took most of its contents to an uncertain fate. As a piece of furniture still occasionally turned up in flea markets, Aziraphale wouldn’t put it beyond the realm of possibilities.

Said bed now occupied the greater part of the bedroom that Crowley had insisted they ought to have in the cottage, against Aziraphale’s suggestion to turn it into another room for his books.

“We already have the loft for those, and the bookshop on the other side of the door,” he’d pointed out. “We need a bedroom.”

Aziraphale, who had actually last slept sometime in the nineteenth century and solely out of boredom while watching an especially poor performance of Troilus and Cressida - in itself far from Shakespeare’s best work, and the lead actor’s lisp had done it no favors - had been slightly taken aback. “But, my dear, we don’t need sleep,” he’d said, getting a snort out of Crowley.

“We don’t need to eat either. So what?”

Aziraphale had to concede he had a point, although he didn’t quite see the allure of laying in a semi-comatose state for several hours while hallucinating the same way he saw the allure of a slice of red velvet cake, and agreed that the cottage would indeed have a bedroom. It was only fair considering the space he had for his books, so that was a compromise he did not regret.

Telling Crowley he was welcome to choose whatever bed he liked himself, however, was something Aziraphale did regret. He knew that Crowley’s taste when it came to furniture ranged from dreadfully minimalistic to unbearably garish, but this - the golden columns, the red heavy velvet - was… a little too much.

“Well, what do you think?” Crowley was asking, looking as proud of himself as he had after moving that golden monstrosity he called a throne right next to Aziraphale’s old trusty armchair in the loft, entirely ignoring the way Aziraphale’s right eyebrow had twitched.

This time, it was the left eyebrow to twitch.

“Well, it is-- rather…” Aziraphale raked his brain for a polite way to put it. “Eye-catching.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Crowley grinned, even prouder. Aziraphale suspected his euphemism had been a little too subtle. “I remembered what you said when I came to save your butt in France.”

“... That I wanted crêpes?”

“That you had standards. French royalty standards.”

“Well, it was not quite royalty level, more along the lines of a noble--”

“This beauty comes straight from Versailles.”

Ah, of course. Of course it did.

“Or, well, not so straight. It went around across Europe quite a bit. But here it is, as you see.”

“Yes. I… I do see.” Aziraphale managed a smile. No harm done, he thought - he didn’t have a habit to sleep as Crowley did, so he would hardly ever need to be in that room at all. He would just entirely forget about that bed. Out of sight, out of mind.

“The mattress is new, clearly. You’ll like it. Real plush.”

Aziraphale blinked. “That sounds nice, but I am not in the habit of sleeping.”

“You should try. Nothing better than some time spent in a semi-comatose state while vividly hallucinating.”

A chuckle. “You’re not making it sound very alluring.”

“Ah, I should up my temptation game. I’m out of practice. When was the last time I tempted you into anything?”

“This morning, actually, you--”

The chiming of the grandfather clock downstairs - a very tasteful eighteenth century clock Aziraphale had long debated whether to move in the cottage or keep in the bookshop - cut him off, and reminded him of… well, of the time.

“I believe Warlock should arrive any moment now - we should head back,” he said, and they did. It looked like the boy might get there before Gabriel popped in to return the book, and if that turned out to be the case… well, Aziraphale really hoped he had enough sense to put the book in a bag or something like it. If not, they may need to have a few words.

There were things an eleven-year-old boy really didn’t need to see.

***

“Ugh, c’mon, they knew I was coming…” Warlock Dowling huffed, taking a couple of steps away from the door of the bookshop which had stayed closed, no matter how hard he knocked. He glanced at the sign in the window; it made just as little sense as it did the first time he read it.

I open the shop on most weekdays about 9:30 or perhaps 10am. While occasionally I open the shop as early as 8, I have been known not to open until 1, except on Tuesday. I tend to close about 3:30pm, or earlier if something needs tending to. However, I might occasionally keep the shop open until 8 or 9 at night, you never know when you might need some light reading. On days that I am not in, the shop will remain closed. On weekends, I will open the shop during normal hours unless I am elsewhere. Bank holidays will be treated in the usual fashion, with early closing on Wednesdays, or sometimes Fridays. (For Sundays see Tuesdays). A.Z. Fell, Bookseller

Warlock briefly wondered who A. Z. Fell was, really - the founder? A co-owner? It definitely was not Brother Francis’ name, but he had claimed to be the owner, which was a leap from working as a gardener but not a claim Warlock had any reason to doubt. Brother Francis did not lie, after all. He hated lies and got really cross with him whenever he caught him lying, usually after Nanny-- after Crowley suggested he did.

“Pair of weirdos. Always been,” Warlock muttered, but it wasn’t really a complaint; they were a fun pair of weirdos to grow up around, or else he wouldn’t have tracked them down in London. After checking through the window to see if anyone was in, and seeing, no one, Warlock reached in his pocket for his phone and began looking for Crowley’s number.

Focused as he was on the screen, he failed to notice the man approaching with a hand in his pocket, eyes fixed on him and pupils blown so wide his eyes looked entirely black. On the opposite side of the road Hastur, Duke of Hell, retreated from the mortal’s mind with a smirk and prepared to enjoy the scene with eyes just as black.

***

“... So no, I really doubt the London Dungeon holds prisoners anymore, but it would be an interesting thing to--”

“Silence,” Beelzebub spoke suddenly, stopping abruptly in their tracks and causing Gabriel to almost bump into them and drop the book, something for which Aziraphale would probably be very, very cross with him. He frowned.

“It’s not my fault that they have stopped using the dungeons, if that’s such an issue I suppose we could change plans and--”

“Something’s wrong.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t you sense-- ah. No, you can’t anymore,” Beelzebub muttered, and looked around with a scowl. “A demon is at work. It was my order that no one was to approach the traitors.”

Gabriel blinked. “Maybe it’s Crowley--”

“It’s not,” Beelzebub all but snarled, staring at someone some distance away. Further down the pavement stood a man that looked… wrong, for the lack of a better word; something not human who made a passingly decent job at masquerading as human, but not quite good enough. Gabriel may not be able to sense demonic or angelic presences anymore, but he could see as much.

“Hastur,” Beelzebub scoffed.

Ah, Gabriel was vaguely familiar with the name - Hastur, Duke of Hell. Not someone he’d be pleased to meet anywhere in general, but seeing him there was especially worrying. He recalled Michael mentioning that out of all demons, he held a particular grudge against Crowley. Was that grudge really so great that he would ignore a direct order from Beelzebub to find Crowley in Soho and… and do what, exactly? “What is he doing here?”

“I’m about to find out. Wait here,” Beelzebub muttered, and walked - no, marched - directly towards the demon. “Hastur, Duke of Hell. What in Heaven are you doing here?”

Their voice caused the demon to recoil and turn his attention away from… whatever they had been staring at on the other side of the road. He was already deathly pale, but he seemed to grow just a tad paler as his gaze rested on a decidedly annoyed Prince of Hell planting themselves before him, arms crossed and clearly looking for a very good explanation why he would defy a direct order not to be anywhere near the traitorous demon that holy water could not destroy.

As he stammered some sort of reply, Gabriel let his gaze wander across the street. A man was walking towards the bookshop coming from the opposite direction, and he was… wait. Wait, he looked familiar - Gabriel had seen him before, a few months earlier, near the church where Daniel’s funeral service had just been held. He’d given him his coat because it was raining and talked briefly with him, and he had found it funny because his name was… his name…

“Noah!” Gabriel called out with a smile, walking towards him. “How are you doing? How’s your--”

The next word - dog? - died on his lips when he got to look, to really look, at Noah’s eyes. They looked no more human than those of the Duke of Hell currently getting a tongue-lashing only a few steps away, and they were fixed dead ahead of him as he kept walking, giving no sign of having heard or seen him. Walking towards the bookshop… and towards a boy fumbling with his phone right in front of it, back turned to them all. Something was off. Something was wrong.

A demon is at work, Beelzebub had said. Gabriel opened his mouth to cry out, to demand that Hastur, Duke of Hell, released that mortal from whatever hold he had on him - but before he could force out a single word, Noah’s hand came out of his pocket and something gleamed in the sunlight.

There was no time to cry out. No time for words, no time to think, no time to demand action from anyone other than himself. Gabriel knew there was one thing he ought to do now, one thing only. Ever since finding himself without plan or purpose, choices had not always come easy to him - the terror of choosing wrong often paralyzing him. But this one came with no effort: it was no choice at all. As a dark shadow fell on a boy he didn’t even know, Gabriel dropped the book he had come to return, and ran.

“NOAH! STOP!”

Noah did not turn, but the boy did. He lifted his gaze from his phone to glance over at Gabriel, clearly confused - then his confusion turned into alarm when Gabriel suddenly grabbed his arm and yanked him away.

“Hey! The hell?” the boy yelled, just as the knife descended on the spot he’d been standing only an instant before, narrowly missing the back of his neck. He tried to pull away from Gabriel’s grip, turning to call out for someone to get that madman off him - and froze when he finally saw the man standing behind him, eyes all black and lips pulled back in a snarl, swinging something at him.

Somewhere in his brain, he registered it was a knife. He tried once again to scream - mom, he thought, but if he’d managed to force out his voice he probably would have said something more along the lines of ‘shit’. Gabriel, from his part, didn’t try to speak again; he could tell Noah was beyond hearing him.

So he yanked the boy back once again, and threw himself between him and Noah. The result was, all things considered, extremely predictable.

Four and a half inches of steel buried themselves into Gabriel’s gut with a wet sound that went almost entirely unheard. There was a sense of heat, the pressure of a handle against his flesh and, at first, no pain. Gabriel found himself staring straight into pitch-black eyes for a moment before the pupils shrank to a normal size again, revealing the human eyes, light blue and filled with confusion. Somewhere behind Gabriel, the boy screamed and turned to bang on the door of Aziraphale’s bookshop.

People around them stopped walking to turn, not quite having caught up what was going on but slowly getting there. On the other side of the road, a panicked Duke of Hell disappeared in a cloud of smoke as soon as the Lord of the Flies turned to see what the commotion was about.

Gabriel tried to speak, to call out for Beelzebub - don’t hurt him, he didn’t know what he was doing - but a gurgling sound was all that left him, and something dripped down his chin.

“What…?” Noah muttered, blinking at him, and looked down. “Oh-- oh God, oh Jesus Christ, oh shit-- !” he cried out, voice high and panicked, and staggered back with the knife still in hand, dislodging from Gabriel’s flesh with another wet sound.

Blood came rushing forth, coldness set in, and so did pain. Gabriel’s knees folded, and he hit the ground just as the bloodied knife did. Noah stepped back again, shaking like a newborn calf.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry-- someone call an ambulance, I’m sorry, oh God…!”

Don’t bother calling out for God. They don’t answer. Not for me.

“Gabriel!” Beelzebub’s voice filled his ears, drowning out all the rest. There was a hand on the back of his head, lifting it, and he opened his eyes again to see them looking down at him, wide-eyed and scared in a way he had never seen them.

And Gabriel was scared, too, filled to the brim with the most primal, human terror - the most ancient sort of despair known to man. He suddenly knew why even Yeshua had faltered that night in the Garden of Gethsemane, pleading to escape the fate before him and avoid what he knew was unavoidable.

I don’t want to die.

He tried to speak, choking on his own blood. Somewhere behind him, a heavy door was thrown open and Aziraphale’s voice reached him as though from miles away.

“Warlock! My boy, what is-- oh. Oh dear, what…?”

“What the Heaven is going on?” Crowley’s voice was a couple octaves higher than usual, and suddenly there was silence, time itself stilled; the crowd all around them, Noah, even a bird flying past right above them remained fixed in time like so many statues. The boy was talking frantically to Crowley and Aziraphale, but Gabriel was unable to pay his words any mind. His gaze remained fixed on Beelzebub, and on Beelzebub only.

“Heal me,” he choked out. He felt cold all over, even with the wound itself throbbing in heat and pain the way the wounds on his back had, the day his wings were torn off. “Please.”

“Hastur will pay for this, he-- I-- of course, you idiot, be still--” their hand hovered above the blood-soaked shirt, and suddenly they hesitated. Their gaze found Gabriel’s, and held it. “... Sacrifice,” the Prince of Hell murmured.

“What…?”

“You sacrificed your life for another. That’s it. It’s your ticket back home, Gabriel.”

Home. Back in Heaven, where he belonged. Not quite in his old position - a mortal soul - but still, home. Except that… except that if he returned there as a mere mortal soul...

“No,” Gabriel wheezed. “No. I can’t. I-- would never-- be able to leave it-- again.”

“You never wished to leave it in the first pla--”

“Never see you-- again--” Gabriel coughed, and let out a weak groan at the excruciating pain. He could taste blood in his mouth, feel it down his throat, pooling down on the pavement around him; he felt his strength draining away with it. The back of Beelzebub’s free hand wiped some of it off his chin; the other still cupped the back of his head.

“... You will die either way in the end. You do not wish to reside in Hell and I will not force you.” Their plan of leaving behind Hell for good seemed to be far from their mind now. “This may be--” the Prince of Hell paused, and let out a shaky breath. “This may be your best chance, Gabriel.”

“No. Not now. Not yet,” Gabriel managed a smile. His vision was growing blurry. “I will take… all the time I can get. With you.” However little it may be. Such short life spans, but I will make it worth it. I must. I only get one shot. “So don’t-- let me die-- yet.”

For a moment Beelzebub only stared, their hand hovering above his wound. They swallowed, and opened their mouth to say something - only that someone else spoke first. Aziraphale.

“Oh, oh dear, what a dreadful mess-- Gabriel? It’s all right, hold on, I will heal you--”

“Keep away from him!” Beelzebub buzzed furiously, shooting a glare at Aziraphale, at Crowley, at the boy who was currently glued to Crowley’s side, staring with wide eyes at the scene before him and at the crowd frozen in time. The angel reared back, but did not give up.

“I mean to help him. Heal him.”

“I can heal him myself!” the Prince of Hell snapped, and pressed their hand on the bleeding wound. Pain shot up Gabriel’s body and he ground his teeth, waiting for relief, for healing, for the end of suffering… but none of it came.

Beelzebub pulled away a now bloodied hand, taken aback, struggling to comprehend what they were seeing. “It’s… it isn’t working. It won’t heal.”

Gabriel closed his eyes, despair sinking in his chest.

No. It cannot be. Not now, God, please. Don’t do this to me. Don’t let me die now that I have learned to live. Don’t take them from me again.

“... May I try, Lord Beelzebub?” Aziraphale spoke again, ever respectful, but the hesitation in his voice made it plain that he didn’t think they could succeed where Beelzebub had failed. Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut, and felt something trickling down his temples.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why--

GABRIEL.

That voice, in the back of his mind and yet everywhere. Gabriel hadn’t heard it in such a long, long time, but hadn't forgotten it. His chest shuddered in a gasp, and he tried to speak again, to respond to the call - whether to cry, to beg, to curse he didn’t know. Before he could force out a single sound, another voice rose. Very familiar and decidedly concerned.

“Uuh, angel? Any idea what that is?”

“What-- oh. That might be our cue to move out of the way. Move away-- you too, Warlock, move back, my boy…”

What…?

Gabriel opened his eyes and looked up at the sky. Precisely above him, the blue of it was gone; clouds of blinding white had gathered in a circle, and within that circle was only light. The air around him seemed to crackle, and he knew what that meant. Gabriel tried to speak, to warn Beelzebub, but he could only cough up another mouthful of blood. On his tongue, he could now taste something else.

Ozone.

From a distance, once again came Aziraphale’s voice. “Lord Beelzebub, you ought to let go and--”

“No.” Beelzebub’s grip on Gabriel tightened, vicious and desperate at the same time. The air crackled, the clouds swirled, and Gabriel’s vision began to fade. His hand weakly gripped their jacket, but he was unable to do anything else. Beelzebub’s face was but a blur, but ah, their grip was unyielding. His eyes slipped shut, his head rolled against their chest.

“I refuse to let go. God cannot tell me what to do and neither can you.”

Don’t take them from me again. Please, please, please--

“Brother Francis, what the hell--”

“We’ll explain later, my boy - step back now, cover your eyes - don’t look, Crowley, make sure he doesn’t look--”

The crack of thunder covered his next words, filling the world, drowning out all noise. Gabriel felt the grip around him tightening, heard Beelzebub choke out something that sounded a lot like ‘you idiot’, and he opened his eyes.

And then there was only light.

***

In the instant before lighting struck, three things happened in quick succession.

First, Crowley pulled Warlock’s face to his chest to make sure he wouldn’t be blinded as many mortals had been before Heaven learned to somewhat tone it down; second, Crowley turned his back to the scene to avoid looking himself, and shield the boy while he was at it.

And third, Aziraphale’s wings unfolded to shield them both.

There was no heat, which was rather typical of Heavenly things: light without warmth, utterly unlike the darkness and heat - humid heat rather than raging flames, but all the more uncomfortable - that Aziraphale had experienced in his first, and hopefully only, visit to Hell.

Shielded by Aziraphale’s wings, Crowley kept his eyes tightly shut behind his glasses and Warlock’s face pressed against his shirt for several more moments after the last echo of the deafening thunder faded.

“Is it safe to turn, angel?” he asked, while Warlock kept muttering against his shirt a litany of words that mostly sounded like ‘what’, ‘the’ and ‘fuck’, in the order.

This time Aziraphale didn’t bother to make a mental note of talking with the boy about his language. Aside from being relieved the boy had not been stabbed, turned into salt, incinerated, blinded or deprived of his sanity, Aziraphale suspected they would have different, more pressing matters to discuss very shortly. “I’ll check. Don’t look yet,” he replied, and finally looked back.

The crowd of mortals was still around them, frozen in time, unscathed and unaware. The clouds were gone, quick as they had come - but there was a sphere of light before him, crackling with electricity where Beelzebub and Gabriel had been until moments earlier. In that light, there was… something. At first Aziraphale couldn’t make it out, but as he stepped closer and the light began to dull, he could see something all right.

And that something was a pair of folded wings.

At first, Aziraphale thought he must be looking at the wings of a demon and wondered how Beelzebub could survive the full might of the Lord; then, as the light pulsed and faded little by little, he realized that was not it. The wings were not the pure white of angels, but neither were they midnight black. Deep brown with a golden sheen, mottled with darker brown, black, specks of white. The wings of an eagle.

And they did not belong to Beelzebub.

One last crackle of pure energy, and the pulsing light dissolved. Aziraphale worked his jaw a moment, mouth dry, before he finally called out.

“... Gabriel?”

The wings shifted, and slowly parted. Gabriel was kneeling on the pavement, eyes blinking open as though he struggled to comprehend what was happening. In his arms, held tightly against his chest, was the Prince of Hell; their eyes were screwed shut as though they were waiting to be smited still, but they were in one piece - shielded from the full might of God by the Archangel Gabriel himself, who seemed to be just now beginning to process precisely what had transpired.

“What…?” he muttered, and the sound of his voice caused Beelzebub’s eyes to snap open. They pulled back from his chest, on their knees themselves, and looked up at Gabriel - and at the wings spread behind him. They opened their mouth to say something, closed it, opened it again.

“You have wings again,” they finally said. “But they don’t look like--”

Gabriel didn’t so much turn to look at them. “You are all right,” he muttered, and cupped their cheek with a long breath, smiling widely. “Thank-- whoever there is to thank, you’re--”

Beelzebub’s hand grasped the collar of Gabriel’s shirt before he could say another word, and yanked his head down in a sudden kiss. It was definitely not something Aziraphale had expected to happen and neither had Gabriel, by the looks of it, but he seemed… far from displeased. Actually he leaned into it rather enthusiastically, arms slipping around the Lord of the Flies’ waist.

Aziraphale stepped back, feeling just a touch awkward.

“Angel, is it safe to look or no--” Crowley finally spoke up, and turned without waiting for an answer. A rather unwise move, that. His gaze fell on the scene before him, and he let out a groan. “Uuuugh! No it’s not safe, not it’s not, for Satan’s sake it’s seared in my brain now, why didn’t you warn...”

He turned again and took a few steps away, rubbing his eyes beneath the glasses. Warlock, on the other hand, remained exactly where he was - eyes shifting slowly between Gabriel’s brand new wings and Aziraphale’s own, still in full display.

“... Brother Francis, I don’t mean to be rude or anything,” he finally said. “But what, pray tell, the fuck.”

“Well…” Aziraphale hesitated a moment, knowing he couldn’t count on Crowley stepping in for an explanation for at least another ten minutes, busy as he was trying to jab his eyes out of their sockets. In the end, he said nothing and turned to survey the scene.

Time stood still and so did every single living being in sight, including the man who had wielded the knife, a horrified expression frozen on his face. Gabriel and Beelzebub didn’t seem to plan on letting their mouths part ways anytime soon, still on the very spot where Gabriel had nearly bled out to death minutes earlier. A few steps away, in the middle of the road, was Aziraphale’s antique pornography book.

With a sigh, Aziraphale went to pick it up and tucked it under his arm, making sure to hide the cover from Warlock’s sight.

“I believe,” he finally spoke, “that we all could use a nice cup of tea right about now.”

***

"But those who hope in the Lord shall renew their strength. They shall soar on wings like eagles; they shall run and not grow weary, they shall walk and not be faint." -- Isaiah 40:31

***

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#good omens #ineffable beurocracy #ineffable husbands #archangel gabriel #beelzebub #crowley #aziraphale #warlock dowling #winging it

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faerytale-au · 4 years

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A Darkness Lingers Pt.1

Word Count: 8,805 Fourth Prompt Place: During and After “Promises and Tokens” Rating: M TW: Mentions of Past Abuse Part 1 - Part 2 Cross posted to Ao3 here!

(During Prom&Tok)

“So your brother’s getting hitched, talk about a shocker.” Papyrus casually gave Undyne the side eye as they walked. Why everyone kept repeating that he didn’t fully understand. Sans could be devoted if he wanted to be, after all he had helped raise him since he was young, even back when their father was still around.

“I SUPPOSE TO THE UNOBSERVANT EYE IT WOULD BE QUITE THE SHOCK YES.” Undyne could always tell when Papyrus was being sarcastic.

“Hey, I’m not the only one who thinks that, you have to admit Sans doesn’t really do much unless he absolutely has to. I wouldn’t call this a necessity either.” Papyrus stopped in place to stare at her.

“IS THERE A REASON YOU’RE BRINGING THIS UP RIGHT NOW?” When she’d all but demanded him to walk with her to work with the excuse that they were heading the same direction he’d been expecting some friendly chatter.

Not a cross examination.

Undyne stopped beside him and folded her arms, her expression turning serious as she seemed to contemplate something. “Is the wedding even going to be legal?”

Papyrus was offended. “WHY OF COURSE IT WILL BE! WHY ARE YOU EVEN ASKING THAT?”

“It’s just well...Frisk is a mage.” Undyne stated plainly as she placed both her hands on her hips. Papyrus didn’t see what her point was, and so narrowed his sockets at her suspiciously. He knew she was uneasy with the thought of mages walking around, but last he was aware Undyne liked Frisk.

“THE ROYAL FAMILY AS I RECALL HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH MARRIAGES BETWEEN CLANS. THOSE ARE VERY MUCH STILL PERSONAL MATTERS AND DECISIONS LEFT TO THOSE ENGAGING IN THE BINDING CEREMONY.” Papyrus casually dismissed. But Undyne only seemed more reluctant about dropping the conversation as she frowned.

“That’s another thing, does she know what a binding ceremony even means Paps?” Ah, there was the crux of the matter, he could tell by the way her gaze skirted around him, but he was confused.

“I’D ASSUME SHE DOES, THE HUMANS MIMIC THE WHOLE PROCESS RATHER EFFICIENTLY IN THEIR OWN CEREMONIES.”

What was there to even know he wondered?

A binding ceremony meant exactly what it was called, the two participating became tied to each other usually until one or both parties fell down shortly before dusting. In the meantime their tokens they exchanged, powered through the upholding of their promises, would act like soft mood detectors and tracking beacons. They would be able to tell when one was in danger or had gone somewhere far away from the other.

But then again that was for Seelie.

Papyrus had no clue what rules would apply to his brother and Frisk, he didn’t even know if it would work the same for them.

He did know however so long as she stayed in the realm and remained a mage her lifespan was sure to endure as long as any other Seelie. However Mages and regular humans didn’t go through the falling down process when reaching the end.

For the briefest moment Papyrus felt a flicker of doubt and worry for his sibling.

What would it mean if Frisk was somehow killed or died before him? Most Seelie didn’t survive when their partner passed away, and there had been stories of the effects tokens could have on those that still lived.

He didn’t want to think about the implications a token from a powerful human soul could have.

So he didn’t.

But Undyne did have very good reasons to worry.

“AND IF SHE DOESN’T I’M SURE IT WILL BE EXPLAINED TO HER. ARE THERE ANY OTHER CONCERNS THAT ONLY INCREASE THE JOVIAL MOOD I AM IN?” Undyne didn’t want to voice it seeing how his expression went neutral, his sockets habitually going wide with an empty grin to match, just as Sans’s so often did when he was talking about a subject he was uncomfortable with.

Still it was a legitimate question that needed asking. “Yeah, last one Paps. Who’s going to bind them? Last I checked the job belonged to the clan elder, or to the oldest member and your dad is…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish.

Papyrus’s smile finally dropped completely. “AH, I WAS THINKING ABOUT THAT MYSELF. I AM AWARE I AM TECHNICALLY BY TRADITION TOO YOUNG TO KNOW ABOUT THE CLAN RITES, AND THAT SANS IS THE ELDEST BUT GIVEN THE CIRCUMSTANCES I AM HOPING HER MAJESTY AND GERSON WILL BE KIND ENOUGH TO LET ME LEARN AT LEAST THIS ONE.”

“Is that why you’re heading to the castle with me?”

Papyrus forced his smile back on but it was so easy to tell for the other Seelie how fake it was. “ONE REASON YES.”

Undyne shifted in place awkwardly. She was never good with emotions when it came to someone other than Alphys but she was insightful enough to know when an invisible line had been crossed.

“Look, I’m sorry I brought up Ga--”

“IT’S FINE!” She jolted at how quickly he cut her off and Papyrus was quick to rub the back of his vertebra as he offered an apologetic smile. “IT’S NOT EXACTLY A GOOD THING TO MENTION HIS NAME, YOU KNOW THE POWER BEHIND SUCH THINGS.”

“...You mean the power for him behind such things.” She glowered.

Papyrus didn’t respond, simply stared at her, with all the patience many would have thought him incapable of. It was clear he wasn’t willing to continue the conversation. Her sigh of defeat was enough to make him silently grateful even as it irritated her.

“Sorry for the questioning. C’mon we’re going to be late.”

He smiled and went to follow, only to pause as a thick foreboding chill ran the length of his spine. Papyrus peered over his shoulder as the air around him became saturated with malevolent energy and the taste of sulfur.

If he focused long enough he swore he could see the minimalist movement out of his peripheral, the area usually reserved for wisps or other mischievous Fae that sought to cause havoc.

He was usually never bothered by such things.

But a clan member could always tell when their eldest was nearby, Seelie or Unseelie alike.

“PAPYRUS! ARE YOU COMING!?”

Gaster watched from behind the veil as Papyrus turned back around and sauntered off after Undyne. He could tell his magic was riled but the lanky skeleton kept it cleverly concealed as he chased after the blue fish Seelie.

It was almost impressive how his youngest’s magic control had developed he thought absently.

But then he lingered on what he’d heard.

So his oldest son was getting married? The possibility of such a thing never once crossed his mind, seeing how cold and distant Sans had become in the years following his departure, it was quite the surprise.

Someone made Sans happy, enough to break through his guarded detachment and a human no less. Oh what irony that was.

Gaster’s corrupted soul gave a sickening twist as a foul wave of contempt overcame him.

He supposed he wasn’t due an invite.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t by all rights allowed to meet the bride. He always knew his eldest had a soft spot for the other race that was simply his nature as it was all Seelie’s, but to go so far as to bind them to their family name?

What made this one so special?

Frisk wasn’t experienced when it came to cooking.

In her youth when she had to fend for herself she usually had a kind neighbor to help her, or if she was really lucky the town’s crops would already be just beginning to ripen and she’d pluck one or two fruits for a meal when she was hungry.

None of that required fire or pots.

So why it had been a good idea to Papyrus and her...fiancé...to let her make dinner she had no idea. She was even a bit worried she’d potentially end up burning the house down; how was she supposed to know when the meat was fully cooked, let alone magic meat too.

Her narrowed eyes flickered over to the cookbook Papyrus had set up for her.

It said to simmer the meat until browned...how did one simmer meat?

Magic maybe? Wasn’t that always the answer?

Frisk was so busy worrying and glaring at the food to notice as a thin shadow slipped from the kitchen doorway behind her, it’s shapeless form gliding across the floor to rest just behind her own feet.

It lingered still as could be while Frisk hummed and begun to look over seasonings.

Slowly the shadow darkened and grew upwards like a pillar of smoke, it’s ascent silent as the grave as it twisted and enlonged. It continued to grow until it was just tall enough it threatened to touch the ceiling and all the while Frisk was ignorant to its presence..

The sharp popping of the meat and a loud gasp from her was enough to cover a nauseous sound of rolling curd and dolloping phlegm, the crackle of raw magic, and the food’s smell of char as it burned was enough to mask a scent of coal and wood.

A face, white and round, cracked from the left corner of its mouth with a matching lightning bolt jagged like cut curving up from it’s right eye rolled out from the churning darkness to grin wide and maliciously at the human woman’s back.

So this was her?

Gaster tilted his head as he took in her appearance with an apathetic look. About average height, dressed simply in Seelie garb, but to his keen eye all together plain looking. He couldn’t see anything that would have coaxed his son’s attentions.

Nothing truly remarkable stood out about her that he could see. There were even faint scars dotting her arms if he looked close enough, a feature that normally would’ve been off putting among her kind he was sure, he could even see one or two trying to show from under the collar of her shirt.

Yet.

There had to be something he was missing.

A flare of brilliant magic circled his right socket as a monocle formed and his frown curved up into a smile both fascinated and intrigued. Right in the center of her being he could see a heart floating and radiating the aura of magic around her.

Her soul was the most vivid and bewitching shade of Red he’d ever seen, determination practically poured from her being in rivets. It made his hands spawn and itch. Even enclosed within her body as it was it gave off a sense of bewitching ambition and drive.

Was it truly a wonder his eldest had fallen for her then?

All Gaster could see...was fathomless potential.

Frisk mumbled to herself as she rushed over to the sink, her hands fumbling as she filled a cup and rushed back over before stilling as an icy shiver raced up her spine. She frowned. It felt as if she had eyes on her, someone watching her as she attempted to pour water over the smoking remains of her ruined dinner.

Gaster smirked.

Trying to keep calm she drew a shaky breath and tensed. Swallowing down her nerves she turned and froze, her body preparing for a sudden assault or unexpected visitor.

She blinked at the empty kitchen.

Frisk had been living in the Seelie realm for a while now, unexplained sensations or fluctuations of magic weren’t unusual or uncommon. But this felt off...as if whatever that was she had felt didn’t belong to the rest of reality around her.

Furrowing her brows one of her hands came up slowly to brush the air in front of her as if to feel something she couldn’t see before snapping it away to her chest. She started to breath heavy and glanced down at her palm.

A feeling, something magnetic had rebuffed her.

“Paps? Sans?” She waited, a clamminess overcoming her skin, but no one answered her. Mentally she started to count backwards from ten as she cast a wary glance around her, her eyes lingering in corners and doorways before finally she started to calm down.

Feeling reassured there wasn’t really anyone around she let out a sigh and nearly whimpered as she reluctantly turned back to the stove and saw the meat had turned solid as a brick and black.

She couldn’t even tell it had been meat anymore.

Looked like it was going to be takeout for dinner again, Papyrus wasn’t going to be too thrilled.

“WE’RE BACK!” Frisk flinched, talk about convenient timing.

Frisk smiled in relief as she called back, her eyes locked on the smoldering pan, and shivered as she swore silently to herself that she felt eyes on her again. Her hand clenched the cup she still held nervously as her heart verged on picking back up.

The feeling of familiar and warm arms encircling her waist relaxed her.

“wow, my favorite, charcoal.”

Her cheeks stung and the stiffness in her shoulders changed meaning at Sans’s teasing and the chaste kiss he pressed to her cheek. Her worry was instantly forgotten as she smiled at him in amusement. Her fiance had a habit of liking things just a bit overcooked.

A lot overcooked.

“Well, at least one of us will have a lunch for tomorrow.” She pouted.

Sans merely chuckled and slyly glanced over to the corner of the kitchen at the same moment as his brother walked in. Papyrus’s loud exclamation and Frisk’s apologetic stammering faded to the back of his mind as his eyelight flared.

Gaster and Sans stared at each other.

His hold on Frisk tightened.

“Sans?” He blinked and his father was gone.

Belatedly he took in the way he was standing, like a wall separating where Gaster had been from the rest of the room. His suddenly blurry gaze lingered on the empty corner with a hostile intent roaring through his bones.

When had he let go of Frisk?

...Why was Gaster showing up again?

Feeling unnerved he forced a grin and made sure to carefully control his tone as he turned with a shrug. “sup?”

“You okay?” Frisk drawled slowly, her eyes flickering from where he’d been facing and back to him. If he didn’t know better Sans would swear Frisk knew Gaster had been there too. Coming into her powers he knew she would start to be able to feel distortions just as they could, but he worried; Frisk wasn’t officially tied to the family yet.

Was Gaster so strong now that his human fiance, a simple mage, could sense him?

“fine, just wondering if we have enough ketchup to go with dinner.” Papyrus frowned.

“YOU NEED TO SEE A HEALER FOR THAT ATROCIOUS SENSE OF TASTE.” Sans inwardly sighed as Frisk giggled. He couldn’t help but to be thankful that his brother helped with the subject change. This wasn’t something that needed to be talked about right now, hopefully ever.

He watched as Papyrus stole a spoon and a new mixing bowl. He looked really determined to teach Frisk some skills in the kitchen and Sans wasn’t complaining, he always enjoyed a show.

Even if he was incapable of relaxing now.

(Post Prom&Tok)

Frisk blinked sleepily and let out a yawn, her heavy lids fluttering as she slowly sat up. She frowned as she looked down at herself to see her everyday clothing and cloak adorning her instead of the pajamas she’d worn to bed.

What?

She blinked, and then she was on her feet, Sans standing in front of her with his cloak billowing ominously in the wind whipping around the both of them. His sockets were void of light, and his posture was hunched, almost broken looking.

An echoing and child-like sob had her looking around to see no one in sight.

Was she dreaming?

Frisk didn’t know what to think as a low growl caught her attention. Confused, she looked behind her and froze.

A being of blackest night stood tall and imposing, their face horrifyingly cracked and grin maliciously wide. Eight hands floated around the creature, circling and moving with purpose.

She didn’t know how to explain it, but she could feel them staring at her, and it felt terrifyingly familiar. It didn’t take much for her to realize it was the same feeling she’d felt that one lazy afternoon in the kitchen.

Her blood began to race.

There was no doubt what she was looking at was an Unseelie.

“G U I L T Y.”

A stab of ice and terror raced through her at the word, Sans’s voice echoing around her and plunging her under a shroud of fear.

Guilty?

The next thing she knew it was an out of body experience. Sans and the Unseelie stared each other down and the scene darkened, turned to hues of grays and blues as a chuckle, low and fervent came from her husband.

It sounded nothing like him.

The Unseelie spoke, and his voice grated Frisk’s hearing like nails on a chalkboard.

“SuCh A dIsApPoInTmEnT...TRAITOR!”

She just barely caught the way Sans flinched but there was no missing how the air turned cold, how his smile impossibly grew but at the same time lost all hints of emotion.

It was like Sans became a shell, nothing but an empty vessel.

His voice was unusually quiet and subdued, “traitor...thought you hated jokes old man.”

Her heart skipped painfully in shock.

Old man? Was this...Sans’s father?

Her silent question was answered for her.

“YoU aRe No SoN oF MiNe…” With that something seemed to break, and the atmosphere instantly ran thick and suffocating.

Her husband’s smile dipped but quickly recovered and then--

Frisk watched as Sans charged, a blast of ice coating the ground as he propelled himself forward. His expression was haunting, a grin so wide with sockets to match. Her heart hammered as he brought a hand up, thick white phalanges coated in contrastingly beautiful frost and blue magic.

An animistic roaring filled her ears as she spun to see Sans’s father curling and shooting forward like smoke to meet him, the eight levitating hands bloating to gigantic proportions and surrounding him like a cruel halo.

Sans’s hand jabbed out in silent command and bones, both blue and white, formed to shoot forward; thick tails of ice and snow rending the air in their wake as they rushed passed her suddenly spawned body.

Frisk cried out as one came close to scraping her cheek but dodged out of the way in the nick of time and narrowly avoided being swept away with the attacks by a wide sweep of one colossal hand as it batted them away.

“What’s happening!?” She shouted in fear, her skin breaking into a cold sweat.

Frisk went ignored as the hand that had so easily dismissed her husband’s assault met Sans, his smile lifting in one corner before he vanished and reappeared above it, hand raised and then brought down in a furious snap that spawned two demonic looking heads.

Her eyes widened as their jaws unhinged and two jets of freezing azure light erupted, shooting out with deafening noise like thunder as they connected and shattered the levitating limb in a fashion like glass.

The Unseelie, let out a pain filled shriek.

Sans landed on one of the floating skulls, a light Frisk couldn’t make out from the distance between them flaring briefly in one socket as his cloak and clothing whipped violently around him. “heh, looks like you’re out of practice gaster, but what do i know? i never practice.”

Gaster looked up scornfully, something Frisk hadn’t noticed before around his wide socket blurring and glowing with an ominous aura as he grew in size and hissed nastily through his own demented smile.

“bUt Of CoUrSe, YoUr BrOtHeR wAs AlWaYs ThE PrOmIsInG oNe!”

Another sob, louder than the first drew Frisk’s gaze and it landed on a huddled child; a smaller skeleton bent over and tucked into himself with his hands covering his face. But there could be no mistake, not with the sharply red colored cloak around his shoulders, smaller but still as eye catching and attention seeking as it’s longer counterpart.

It was Papyrus, and Frisk’s heart ached.

Sans’s grin finally dropped.

Gaster whipped up and twirled into the sky like an arching bolt of smoke, his hands moving in front of his face in a circular formation as they begun to spin rapidly. A low whine turning sharp and high pitched snapped Frisk’s attention from where it rested on Papyrus to both of the combating fae.

“Stop it…” She didn’t know why but the words were leaving her mouth without her consent as a burning in her chest grew intense.

“Stop it!” She cried out just as Sans raised a hand and summoned another skull; this one bigger than the others with immense blue power rolling off of it in thick waves, causing thick icicles to form and instantly break into countless shards around it..

Dark and tainted cold light, pitched and subtly hued purple on it’s edges, burst forth from Gaster’s hands just as Sans pointed towards him, the gigantic skull unhinging it’s massive jaw and firing--

“STOP IT!” Frisk shouted till her voice cracked--

The world was engulfed in blinding light.

And then she was falling.

“Seems you did not like that little glimpse into my son’s past.”

She jolted as everything snapped into darkness, leaving her dazed and with a thick feeling of cotton in her mouth. Blinking, the area began to brighten as her eyes adjusted to reveal she was now looking at a stone wall.

From what she could tell she was in a cavern.

Swallowing nervously she took a step forward, yelping as a shape came from seemingly nowhere in front of her and forced her shockingly weakened legs to waver as she hurried to take a step back.

Frisk stared with her hands clutched to her chest, waiting for her heart to stop racing.

Was she still dreaming? It was difficult for her to focus on the thought, the issue slipping just out of reach every time she attempted to answer it. Why was it so hard to concentrate?

“Frightened? Not surprising for a human in the Unseelie realm.” She flinched at how close the voice sounded.

Twisting her head this way and that she couldn’t make out anything other than the abnormally dark spot in front of her. That feeling was back again, and it was just as present and unnerving as the first time she’d ever felt it.

“U-unseelie...realm?” Her voice came out shy and breathy, the air around her feeling chilly and cold. Now she understood what she felt; it was a feeling of being unsafe, so vulnerable. She was hyper aware of just how powerless she instantly was.

The voice, observant but yet somehow soothing in it’s tone spoke up, “Yes, you need not worry however. No one dares to enter my dwelling here.”

Frisk found no comfort in the mystery man’s words, instead she only hunched into herself as she tried to fight off the unending chill and frost threatening her skin. A moment of silence fell between them and it was if the entity knew she didn’t have the strength to respond.

“I forget how fragile your race is, allow me to adjust the space for you.”

There was no warning. The darkness just suddenly brightened and illuminated the space around her almost blindingly like someone had casually thrown a candle in her face, and warmth instantly replaced the abnormal glacial air that had had her teeth nearly rattling.

She didn’t even get the chance to adjust to the sudden flux in her surroundings and assault on her senses before the voice was back. “It’s bothersome how hard it is to read you. Usually I have no trouble in knowing what one needs or feels, but in this case it’s exceedingly difficult. Although I am enjoying it.”

Sucking in air through her nose she rubbed her hands over her eyes and focused on how clear the cavern was now, noticing with a start that the blacker than black spot still stood in front of her, the edges of it curling and coiling like thin tendrils.

Gradually it shifted and Frisk fisted her hands to try and fight off the wave of bizarre wrongness she felt as the top morphed into what she could see as shoulders before a face emerged, transforming into a taller and darkly elegant looking fae. The bizarre placement of a monocle over a wide socket disturbed her in just how menacing it made him look, but not as much as the cracks her eyes traced.

Right away she recognized him. “Are you...Gaster?”

He appeared satisfied as he smiled at her. “An accurate assumption.”

His gaze panned her form for a brief moment before looking back up at her confused expression. His monocle sparked with light ominously. “I would say it’s a pleasure to meet my daughter in law finally, but given the situation that would be a lie.”

A cold sting raced down her spine as he moved closer to her, his form so imposing and tall in comparison to her withdrawn statue it made her mouth go dry. He easily dwarfed her. “I always knew Sans had unusual tastes but a human bride no less. I see he still maintains his passive aggressive attitude.”

Frisk didn’t know how to take that but her heart gradually stopped racing as Gaster shifted a bit further from her, the oppressive feeling he radiated dulling with the small distance. It was enough to allow Frisk to gain her bearings, and one fact came slamming back down.

“You said we’re in the Unseelie realm!?”

The place Sans had vanished to for three years!? What was only three days to him!?

Frisk felt a wave of panic start to sink in.

How long had she been here!? Would anyone look for her? Did Seelie willingly send out search parties for vanishing mages? Did Sans and Papyrus know? What would Pap do--

Oh no.

Sans

What if he thought something had happened to her? Had thought she’d abandoned him?

“I-I need to get home!” Gaster raised a brow.

“Do you believe that a real possibility for you currently?” He sounded amused.

Frisk found sudden strength as she stood tall and faced Gaster down. No one was going to use her to hurt the ones she loved, especially the only one that had ever loved her when she’d needed it most, and Gaster wasn’t going to keep her here if she could help it.

He was surprised as Frisk attempted to look intimidating, her aura of magic spiking around her as small iridescent flames sparked in a bewitching halo to frame her body. Her emotional response wasn’t what he’d been expecting, in fact, he hadn’t even seen it coming.

Gaster was definitely enjoying this.

“What are you planning to do? In a one on one fight your chances of winning are low, I have centuries of experience next to you.” His words seemed to have the impact he desired as he watched her slowly wilt, her flames turning dim as the courage she found turned sour.

But then she perked up again, her flames blooming into raging infernos that wrapped along her arms to ball within her hands. It wasn’t hard for the scientist to imagine the flaring of her soul, to picture it brimming with her determination as she spoke with a tone commanding attention and confidence.

“It doesn’t mean I still shouldn’t try!”

Gaster shot her a disinterested look but all the same willed his hands into existence and watched her eyes go wide as they enlarged large enough that she could have easily fit through a hole in the center of one palm three times over.

Still she didn’t back down.

She was either a brave fool, or a desperate mouse wanting an out.

After a moment of Gaster trying and not so surprisingly failing to calculate the ramifications of the possible fallout if they fought he dismissed his hands with a blink. She looked confused as her flames vanished but he simply spoke as if the standoff hadn’t just happened between them.

“I have no desire to fight a battle I would easily win. Instead, tell me human, do you know what an End of an Era is?” Frisk frowned. She didn’t like how that question sounded, she didn’t like how much hearing ‘End of an Era’ made her skin crawl, and could only shake her head as he pressed the tips of his many fingers on his numerous hands together.

His one good socket narrowed as he spoke.

“Its when the Rulers lose their lives, the end of the current millennia, unlike normal Seelie and their dark counterparts their lifespans are shorter. An unfortunate drawback to being the anchor that holds the Realms very existences in place, to keep magic itself alive and flowing.” She tensed as he moved around her, his embodied darkness bending and flickering like excited vapor as he continued.

“At the Age’s end the realms temporarily vanish, and those fae, mages, all magical beings still alive are suspended in the Either until the previous ruler’s heir or another is selected to become the new anchor. In the meantime the Veil is what keeps your human world safe from the endless flow of magic until the reformation year is up.”

“Reformation year?” Gaster let his hand drop behind his back as he smiled. If he didn’t make her feel so uncomfortable Frisk could have seen the smile almost friendly, like a teacher to a student in a way. Why he was even speaking to her about this she didn’t know, but curiosity had her focusing on his words.

The derisive chuckle he let out quickly banished all temporary illusion of friendliness.

“You have a very interesting soul, Frisk.” Her hand instantly went to cover her chest.

“You have an interesting eye piece.” His sockets widened and she bit her lip. It felt so similar to when she’d first met Sans, she’d responded just as absent and truthfully when he’d commented on her eyes.

Was she...at ease...somehow?

Gaster stared silently at her. “...My monocle interests you…”

She looked hesitantly at him. “Is it how you were able to see me in the Seelie Realm?” He went quiet again and Frisk wondered what he was thinking as an emotion seemed to cross his face so quickly she would’ve thought she imagined it.

“...I see, so you knew I was watching did you?”

“I guessed…” She whispered.

Gaster was impressed.

Her heart began to race as he suddenly glided closer to her, close enough that she could see the tiny iridescent gems of rolling colors embedded in the monocle over his one working eyelight as it pulsed brightly.

“It takes a year of human time for the realms to reform and for the Either’s magical influence to settle in it’s new host, that’s why it’s called a reformation year.” He paused and seemed to contemplate Frisk’s befuddled expression before pulling back and cupping his bony chin.

He hadn’t expected Sans’s wife to be this intelligent. Gaster had been right to assume the amount of potential she had, and the soul she carried...Maybe there was something special about her after all.

“Are you sure you still want to know why I have this? Why I am able to see through the veil?” The way he tapped the eye piece, languid and slow made Frisk’s nerves shoot up. But she had asked, and despite everything she had always been too curious for her own good.

“Yes.”

Gaster’s smirk dropped and his sockets darkened.

“When fae and magical beings alike are suspended in the Either the Veil not only protects you humans but us as well. It puts us to sleep as many call it, though that’s far too simple a term and not as close to what it means, what actually happens to us.” His words faded out, went weak until silence swallowed them as he stared unseeing passed Frisk.

He looked haunted and beguiled.

She didn’t know what to make of that complicated expression but for some reason it hurt her to witness it. Gaster looked as if he’d seen things no other being ever had before. Frisk just didn’t know if that was necessarily a good thing.

He blinked and refocused on her.

“The Veil coats us similar to a shield and blinds us as well. That’s what it’s supposed to do at least. The last occurrence, however, failed to protect me the way it should have.” Gaster watched as Frisk bit her lip and could easily tell how she automatically wanted to comfort him.

But he ignored it as flashbacks threatened to overcome his vision. Memories he didn’t have all but begging to drown him in their morose nonexistence. It always fascinated him how he could talk about them, but never truly live them, only feel their presence and the old ghostly burning of his torment as if he’d experienced it only seconds ago.

He took a carefully hidden breath and looked at her dully.

“I was awake, and the Either burned into my sockets and mind endlessly.”

Frisk felt an icy shiver run up her back as the unfathomable horror of his words struck her speechless.

He...had been tortured for a year…

Something about that statement resonated with her. It wasn’t the same thing that she’d gone through growing up, in fact it was worse but, she knew what it was like to feel hopeless. To feel as if the torment would never end and to sometimes silently beg to give just about anything to be free of it.

When she didn’t react Gaster simply shrugged. “A year of screaming with no one to hear would have broken a person, but I survived.”

That didn’t make what he’d gone through okay.

He didn’t give Frisk the chance to say it out loud though as he turned his back to her, the tenseness in his shoulders going lax as he stood straighter and let out a bored sigh.

“And when we woke up the first thing I did was shortcut to my lab where I took the Either, still filling and pouring from my sockets, and collected it in a flask. Astonishingly once it no longer clung to me but only to the cold and unfeeling glass in my hands it solidified, almost crystallized I would say, instantaneously.”

He turned to face Frisk again and this time there was a light in his sockets, something warm and full of curiosity that it shocked her to see in an Unseelie gaze.

“Of course I went completely blind in one eye and partially in the other. Though I began to notice how different the realm around me was. Where a pond or tree would rest all I’d have to do is blink and it would instead be nothing but cracked and brittle ground with an obsidian lantern in the tree’s stead. It was gradual at first but then became constant.”

He paused to give an annoyed roll of his eyelight. “And each time it would leave me with the worst of migraines! Even worse than my son’s ridiculous puns!”

How frustrated he sounded and the way a floating hand waved dismissively had Frisk struggling to not let out a giggle. Gaster looked so enthused it was hard for her to keep telling herself to be weary of him. His tone had gone fond and so eager with every sentence he spoke.

He suddenly seemed so normal talking about this.

“But then I had an idea, maybe I was glancing through the Veil, each vision was startlingly similar to what the Unseelie realm was described as in the texts, and this ability only manifested after the Either had affected me.” Gaster grinned sharply, his hands wringing together as he looked at Frisk with a sobering conviction that bordered madness.

She sobered.

“If the Either could take away my sight, why couldn’t it help grant me another?” She had a feeling she knew where he was going with this and she felt her stomach drop.

“The gems in your monocle, it’s the solidified Either?” He looked so proud at her answer that it did weird things to her chest. A sense of accomplishment, a feeling of satisfaction. Frisk had only felt that particular way once before, and it had been the only time her father had ever smiled at her.

Gaster...found himself wanting to be honest with her.

“...You’re more intelligent than I’ve given you credit for.” The feeling increased in Frisk’s chest.

“Excellent for a human, my son wasn’t completely clueless choosing a partner after all it seems.” And the feeling quickly changed to a mild offence as she frowned. Apparently Gaster was where Sans and Papyrus both got their mood ruining habits from.

“But yes, it turns out the gems when placed in a particular fashion can infuse objects. This eye piece not only allows me to peer easily through the Veil without repercussions but to choose when it happens. It offers me control.”

Frisk did not like the way his eyelight flared, the sheer malice and mania inside of it. But it didn’t scare her, if anything it made pity form a knot inside of her. She hesitated but found the strength to say what had been on her mind as he’d ranted and raved.

“It must be awful, being here alone?”

Gaster’s face for the briefest moment went lax. His built up excitement and sense of triumph shattered as if Frisk had taken a hammer to it and replaced the feeling with a cold sensation of apathy.

“I...can’t fully imagine what it’s like for you. You seem so…” Her words failed her but still she struggled to get her meaning across as Gaster leveled a detached stare so piercing it felt as if her very soul had been laid out in the open. “...like you’re meant to be around people, to create and discover and then share that with others.”

He slowly looked down at nothing and he didn’t know why he said what he did but found he didn’t regret it. For some reason it was bizarrely easy to confide in this particular human. “...It’s a similar feeling to being in the Either, only there’s no hope of it ending.”

Frisk’s response was instant.

“There’s always hope. Even if it feels impossible.”

Gaster looked sharply up at her.

“Such confidence when the evidence says otherwise. There has never been an Unseelie returning to their previous nature once banished and I stand firm on my belief even now. You humans are nothing but trouble, the very reason our monarchy and the magic in the world goes ignored and depleted.” Frisk flinched but stood resolute before him, squared her shoulders even as she clutched her hand to her chest.

“Beliefs can change…” Her mind flashed back to her parents, doubt and confusion trying to turn her voice hollow, but she pushed the vision down and said “People can change. If they are just willing too.”

Gaster turned to fully face her and his many hands vanished as his grin turned into a firm and curt line. He had never seen such fire in a being before, her determination shone so strongly it nearly emanated from the golden tone of her eyes turning them brighter.

He had never seen golden irises before in his many years of life, how was he just noticing them?

“Where does such hope come from? The conviction in your eyes?”

A smile, warmer than summer and brighter than the darkness he’d long become accustomed to slowly curved her lips as her thoughts instantly went to horrible jokes and a grin so expressive even in its perpetual existence. And her eyes softened as she thought on political rants and the smell of tomato sauce within loving arms.

“Your sons gave me that.”

His face crumbled and Frisk saw the way his already hollowed sockets emptied even further. Watched as his hands flickered in and out of reality as if he couldn’t concentrate enough to decide on summoning them or not.

Gaster looked pained and so remorseful that it felt as if it saturated the air itself.

She...wanted to help him.

“How did you end up here?”

Gaster didn’t speak and the air around them grew heavy and suffocating as his stature steadily grew dauntingly taller. Like a switch had been flipped his whole demeanor changed into hostile and violent, his monocle glaring white as he begun to approach her with corrupted intent.

Caught off guard Frisk took a step back and stumbled, her rear and hands stinging as she fell to the ground and continued to move backwards. Her mind raced to figure out what she’d done to cause Gaster to slowly corner her. Her blood was rushing loudly in her ears like a deafening roar and it took all her will not to cry out, only to continue in her retreat in a bid to keep distance between them.

Her heart was threatening to rupture in her chest.

Gaster’s voice was low but it was loud enough in the stillness engulfing them as he bent over her. “That is a story I don’t feel like telling.” it was laced with utter rancor and spite.

“Why don’t you ask that husband of yours?”

Frisk felt her lungs lock up as her back hit wall and tried to curl in on herself as he so cruelly leaned down and closer to her that the darkness of his form devoured the area and space around her. Like a vortex that consumed everything in it’s path.

Sans? Was it to do with what she’d seen earlier?

Her father in law gave an amused and mordacious leer.

“After all, you’re not even here.”

Her cry was cut short as the world went black and tilted, smoky darkness and the scent of something bitter flooding her senses and suffocating her. She tried to push back, tried to get away but there was no escaping.

It was the closet again--

Mom was home--

Shouting--

“frisk!”

She jolted upright, the piercing sob she let out loud and bloodcurdling right before she felt a pair of bony arms wrap around her.

For only the briefest second she struggled, the thought of Gaster’s enraged sockets and the sound of her mother’s voice sending her into a frenzy to escape, but quickly she relaxed as the smell of ketchup and the clothed ribs she was tucked against registered through the panicked haze.

She...she was in bed?

Blinking she tried to get her breathing under control as Sans rocked her.

“hey, it’s okay. shh was just a nightmare. i gotcha.” His words were so reassuring just as they always were when she had night terrors, but the feeling of asphyxiating darkness still clung to her skin like static.

It wasn’t just a nightmare.

But she couldn’t bring herself to say it, not with how she clung to him and felt the sins and fears of her past rolling down the slope of her sweat soaked back. For now she was selfish, she only wanted Sans’s comfort.

She shut her eyes and tucked further into him as she relished the feeling of his phalanges running through her tangled hair and brushing away tears that had run down her cheeks. She grounded herself with how he began to hum a calming tune as he nuzzled her.

Gaster’s words echoed…ask your husband.

For the life of her she couldn’t figure out what that meant.

What was there she didn’t know about Sans? He never kept secrets...at least she didn’t think he had any to keep, he’d always been so open with her, said what was on his mind.

But then again she hadn’t known about Gaster.

G U I L T Y

She hadn’t known he could sound like that or look so...dangerous.

“Sorry.” Anxiety and curiosity made her hoarse reply come out a near whimper but her loving husband only chuckled lightly.

“nothing to apologize for, wasn’t really out. sleeping desserted me tonight.” Frisk weakly glanced over to his end table and snorted as she saw a half melted sundae sitting abandoned.

“Papyrus is going to get onto you for midnight snacking again.” She commented.

Sans gave a wink. “only if he finds out. going to turn me in?”

Frisk smiled and felt the last of her tension melt away. “Never.”

Tomorrow was another day and she’d ask him then, maybe with sleep she would have a clearer head for the upcoming conversation. There was not an ounce of doubt in her mind that it wasn’t going to be a sensitive subject for him.

And she was too haunted by her own demons tonight to try confronting his.

“Sans--we need to talk.” The words felt rough in her throat but she didn’t waver as Sans pulled up short of the door to turn and face her.

The look he gave her was one of mild confusion, he hadn’t heard her sound so uncertain since she was a child, and he let his hand drop from where it had risen halfway to the handle. He gave her his full attention as he widened his smile at her and forced his concern behind a wall of habitual patience as he responded. “sure, what’s up?”

“...Right now?” Frisk was a little taken aback at how quickly he relented. He was about to head off to work but instead he was delaying to make sure she was okay. Frisk forgot sometimes just how attentive and caring he was, how often he put her first before everything besides Paps.

It almost made her change her mind bringing the topic up in the first place. She really didn’t want to upset him. Not when he looked so ready to placate or fix whatever was bothering her.

He always did so much for her.

Sans was silent as he noticed her shuffle in place, his eyelights taking in how she shyly looked at the floor with hesitancy. Something was definitely wrong, maybe to do with her night terrors from last night?

He tried his best to give a lazy chuckle and added a shrug for good measure. “i have time. undyne isn’t going to say much.”

Frisk swallowed.

“It’s about Gaster.”

That was the last thing Sans expected to hear from her. His eyelights immediately went out and a chill permeated the air as all the light around them seemed to dim and fade out with how his aura flared and spiked.

Frisk tensed, her eyes going wide as she recalled Gaster and his suffocating darkness. Suddenly she was also recalling how Sans had looked in her dream and she wasn’t even thinking as she took several steps back.

Sans was quick to notice the retreat.

She never ran from him, Frisk never looked as if she might be at risk around him.

It hurt, it was a harsh slap from sanity.

Immediately he blinked his eyelights back into existence and the mood shifted, the light turning once more to its previous brightness as a drop of sweat ran the curve of his skull. His mind was racing and he found it hard to concentrate on anything other than his wife and how she cowed.

“i’m sorry frisk i--i didn’t mean to.” She quivered as he reached for her but she didn’t fight him as he embraced her. He swallowed down the magical saliva building in his nonexistent throat. “just...how do you know that name?”

Frisk’s tensed posture loosened at the remorse she heard in his voice, the fear. Sans appeared terrified, but rather from her knowing or from just who exactly Gaster was she couldn’t be sure.

“I met him.” Before she knew it Sans was holding her at arms length with his hands gripping her shoulders, not enough to hurt or bruise but firmly, as if she could slip through his grip and be lost within seconds.

His tone was hushed but stern, hard as iron and cold. “what do you mean you met him?”

She had to remind herself that this was her husband, he’d never hurt her and would be the last person who’d ever wish any ill will on her, that he loved her in order not to shrink under his aggravated gaze.

She’d never seen this side to him before. He was so...uncontrolled. “My nightmare…last night.”

Sans shook and gritted his teeth as he forced his hands under his cloak so that she couldn’t see the way his hands balled into tightly clenched fists. His sockets lidded in thought.

It had been years since Sans had even heard that name last and it angered him how now that he did it was from his own wife of all people. It was bad enough he’d seen him before they’d gotten married. He should’ve known that wouldn’t be the last time he saw him.

What was his old man up to?

“i don’t want you looking into this.” Frisk looked at him.

It sounded like he had just given her an order, not a request or even a soft plea, a command. And it made something harden in her chest, burn in rebellion. Out of the whole time she’d known him Sans had never made demands of her.

“What?” Sans leveled a look so empty and void of all his familiar softness it felt as if a stranger was standing in front of her.

“i’m serious. gaster is dangerous. stay away from him.”

She bit back the initial response that built up on the tip of her tongue. Why she had the sudden urge to fight him so fervently on the subject puzzled her, it was just a feeling; a boiling and simmering feeling of wrongness for her to listen and cut off all contact with the Unseelie.

Something was telling her there was another path she could take, a better one.

It couldn’t be wrong if her very soul cried for her to obey could it?

Unknowingly what she said struck her husband like a blow. “I want to help him.”

Sans...was outraged, frozen in shock.

Frisk didn’t know the implication behind her statement, how insulting it was to his role as Judge. In a way it sounded as if she thought there was a flaw behind what he’d done, as if there was hope for someone he’d deemed beyond any sort of salvation.

She wasn’t aware just how damning it sounded to throw her support behind a being who represented everything wrong and unnatural with the world and how it should be. By saying what she did Frisk might as well have just crushed a flower beneath her heel and called life itself disgusting.

But this was Frisk.

There were times he forgot just how pure she was. How determined and strong the woman he loved could be if she tried hard enough, of course she’d want to help someone if she could, that’s all she’d ever wanted as a child. Why wouldn’t she give that back tenfold as an adult?

He loved her, so much.

It was that fact alone that cooled him and made his voice come out weak instead of bitter. “you can’t.”

If his own dust and blood wasn’t enough what hope did she have? She was only going to end up hurt if she tried and Sans did not want that. He could already see the cogs turning in her head and he hated it.

He couldn’t think of a way to convince her.

Frisk didn’t believe him, she desperately wanted to after all as a fae he knew more about how his world worked, but she just couldn’t. Something in the way his shoulders slumped told her she couldn’t ignore this.

She let out a gasp of shock as he abruptly turned away and opened the door. He was going to leave? Just like that? They hadn’t even finished talking.

What was happening? “Sans--”

“frisk.”

He paused long enough to speak but didn’t even turn to look at her. “i have to go.”

Her heart felt like it broke as the door shut behind him. But she knew the pain was nothing compared to his, he’d sounded as if he’d been about to cry with how his voice had broken, she’d seen the way his shoulders had shook.

Frisk wondered if he even knew he’d reacted that way.

#frans #adult frans #prompt 4

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trans-advice · 5 years

Link

Easy Makeup Tips That Literally Anyone Can Follow

Brit + Co, Contributor

Brit + Co connects you with innovative ideas, apps, and products that add creativity and simplicity to your everyday life.02/08/2016 05:15pm EST | Updated December 7, 2017

This post was published on the now-closed HuffPost Contributor platform. Contributors control their own work and posted freely to our site.

Don't get us wrong: We love a show-stopping makeup look as much as the next girl. But makeup basics are important. They're what help you with your base makeup routine that gets you ready in just five minutes flat every. single. day. and the hacks that can take you from office to date in just a few simple steps. We spend a lot of time breaking beauty down to the essentials, but here, we're going even further into 101 territory: we're talking a what's what of your makeup kit. Whether you've glossed over the nitty gritty of each product or are just learning how to build a routine that fits your personality or schedule, consider this your guide to keeping makeup simple and approachable. This foundation of knowledge can also be your stepping stone into the more advanced, creative ways to use makeup. Here's everything you need to know about makeup basics and how to use them.

Foundation + Concealer

Foundation: Beyond your skincare routine, foundation is what makes your skin appear flawless; it evens out your skin tone and conceals any subtle blemishes or discolorations on your face. The most important aspect of foundation to consider is coverage. Generally speaking, there are two ways to go. If you want lighter coverage then opt for a tinted moisturizer, a slightly colored cream that you can swipe on with your fingers to give your skin a wash of color. This is the lazy girl's M.O. If you're interested in more coverage then liquid foundation -- the classic form of foundation -- is your best bet. This foundation is best applied with either your fingers, a flat synthetic foundation brush or a sponge blender.

Take it to the next level with concealer: When you really want to be sleuthy, add concealer to your routine. It's your go-to for things like covering blemishes and more apparent skin discolorations, and can also be used to brighten and even out your under eye area. Concealer comes in different mediums like creams, sticks and liquids. Similarly to foundation, you'll pick your product based on the level of coverage you need for your skin type.

Bronzer + Highlighter

Bronzer: Imagine bronzer as sunshine in powder form. When you apply foundation to your skin you even out your skin tone, but you're also getting rid of the natural shadows and highlights on your face. Think of the bronzer as your way to use shadow to create depth or to give the illusion of moving a part of your face back. This is the first step to adding warmth and dimension back into your face. The "right" bronzer for your skin tone should look like a naturally tan version of you, not too orange and not too dark.

For extra illumination use highlighter: Highlighter is essentially the opposite of your bronzer. Rather than making a part of your face look smaller, you will use the brightness of a highlighter to bring out areas of your face (When you see images of a gal who has that glowing dewy-looking skin, there is a very good chance that she is wearing highlighter. Secrets revealed!). You can get highlighters that are golden, pearlescent and opalescent. There are also other variations, such as matte highlighter, which gives you the brightness without the shimmer. Finding a highlighter that works well on your skin tone and for your personality is pretty simple.

Blush + Cream Blush

Blush: When you're not wearing any makeup, you'll be able to see a natural flush of color on your cheeks. But again, after applying a little foundation, you're covering that up in attempt to get a more even base to work with. Enter blush, the product that adds life to your features (um yeah, you can wear blush on more parts of your face than just your cheeks). Because blush comes in so many hues, you can take it literally and match your natural flush or use a more playful hue to make your look more vibrant. Typically, beginners will wear powder blush because it's usually easier to apply for a more natural finish.

Pump it up with cream blush: Cream blush is a really fun way to take wearing blush to another level -- it's more pigmented, and therefore a bolder way to wear blush. To take it even further, you can apply a cream blush as your base and set it in place with a powder blush for an even brighter punch of color that will last all day.

Eyeshadow + Smokey Eye

Eyeshadow: When it's used on its own as a single shade, eyeshadow is purely cosmetic. As a minimalist or beginner, you can apply a sweep of a single shadow across your eyelid for a subtle pop of color.

Get your blend on with a smokey eye: For a more advanced gal who wants to take eyeshadow to the next level there's the smokey eye. The concept here is to create dimension using a base shade, highlight shade and contour shade just like you would do on your face, but focusing on your eyelids only. You can use endless color combinations as long as you keep the basic approach the same. To build a dramatic look, use a neutral color on your eyelids, a deeper medium hue in your creases and a brighter shadow on your brow bones and the inside corners of your eyes.

Eyeliner + Brow Pencil

Eyeliner: Eyeliner is all about enhancing the shape and color of your eyes. There are several techniques you can use, but beginners should keep application simple by using a pencil along their lower lash line to create definition and along the upper lash line to make eyelashes look fuller. Simple as that.

For further definition use a brow pencil: The idea of filling in your eyebrows can be a little intimidating for the gal who has never gone there, but once you're ready to accentuate your eyes further, this is the way to go. Eyebrow enhancement can actually change the entire look of your face -- this is why we're considering it a more advanced makeup route. You can try powders, creams and other variations of mediums, but the easiest way to fill in and shape your eyebrows tends to be an eyebrow pencil that you can get in a hue to complement the natural color of your eyebrows.

Mascara + Eyelash Curler

Mascara: This was actually my gateway to makeup; I wore mascara before anything else. Mascara is a great way to give your entire face a little extra pop without having to learn all the other techniques. I recommend that you pick a mascara that's not waterproof to start because it will be much easier to take off later. The formulas are typically designed to enhance length or volume and the biggest actual difference is usually the shape of the brush. Try to find a mascara that has a smaller application brush so you can have more control when putting it on.

Turn up the volume with an eyelash curler: This device looks scary as heck (I always make sure to be gentle with this little contraption), but it's totally clutch when it comes to getting va-va-voom lashes. It's a must for certain looks, but you have to make sure you use it correctly or else you can -- eek! -- break or rip out your eyelashes. Be sure to watch a tutorial that offers tips and tricks as to how to use it properlly before you get on this train!

Lip Color + Lip Liner

Lip Color: We're not just talking color -- the choices are endless -- but we're also talking types of lip color. There's lip balm, gloss, tints, creme sticks and stains. The main difference you should be aware of is that each one carries a different level of pigment, aka the amount of color that will show up on your pout; this can vary from brand to brand. The easiest intro to lip color is to start off with the less pigmented options and work your way up to the bolder hues that take more effort to apply and maintain.

For an even more perfect pucker use lip liner: While lip liner is a next-level product, it's one that I highly recommend using whenever you choose to wear any type of lipstick or darker pigmented lip color. Lip liners essentially create a barrier to keep the lipstick on your lips and prevent the color from bleeding or feathering onto the perimeter of your mouth. In other words, it's the secret to totally kissable lips.

For more beauty + DIY tutorials, check out brit.co!

#makeup tips #beauty #got this off a masterpost #not trans specific #all fashion is unisex

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starkersenses · 5 years

Text

What I Want For Christmas

For @cipherstarker on this year’s @starkersecretsanta

Merry Christmas!!

Summary:

Weathered mob boss Tony Stark does not expect to find his muse through a misdirected text. But he finds the young boy on the other side of the line every bit endearing and pretty.

As he learns that Peter Parker is every bit a young hero in the making, can he keep his secret intact or will he have to risk losing Peter forever?

Read in ao3

Excerpt:

Tony Stark has only two things on his mind that fateful Tuesday night.

One of them is that he’s meeting the Russians tomorrow morning. The other is that it’s been a while since he’s had sex.

Tony Stark, notorious kingpin of New York, known by all those seedy and decrepit, unknown by those who remain in the light, away from the sewers and the bad news, sits patiently awaiting his second in command’s text. He’s in his Stark penthouse, gazing directly through his sunlit windows. The penthouse sits beside direct view of the ocean, on the edge of a cliff. It would be an understatement to call it large--it resides over ten acres of land--and it would be an overstatement to call it cheap in Tony’s terms. He’d handed over the money without a blink of an eye, glass of red wine in hand and a gold calligraphy pen in the other.

He’d signed his name with a flourish and smirked as the previous owner was dragged out, paid close to nothing but a debt of half a million forgiven. It was a done deal, and that was that.

Tony Stark sits on the small table staring out the sunset. The tiled floor is sparkling clean, set in a minimalistic pattern that he’d had a famous designer create all the way from Italy. The pattern provides a stark contrast to the mahogany coffee table, where Tony sits alone, tapping his foot against the floor. His phone sits beside him, beside his porcelain plate.

There’s a sudden vibration, and the phone hits the corner of his plate with a tap.

Tony sets dark eyes on the screen for a mere second. He grabs it, but he turns when he hears Happy enter.

“Sir,” Happy says in greeting. “Good evening.”

Tony sits back on the chair, and he can’t help the snicker that leaves his lips.

He’s been waiting to see Happy close to three hours.

“Any updates?” Tony asks, knowing very well that if there had been something wrong, he very well would have heard about it hours ago.

Happy is standing stiffly by the doorway, awkward in his penguin suit.

“The Roman statue you ordered was shipped less than an hour ago,” Happy tells him, clearing his throat directly afterwards. Tony grabs his bottle of wine, unable to help the smirk on his lips.

“Good,” he says smugly while he starts to pour an inordinate amount of wine right to the brim of his glass. He stops right at the top, where the liquid trembles for a spare second in fear before taking its place.

“Don’t forget to place it right at the entrance,” Tony orders, unable to help himself.

“Of course, sir,” Happy says. “There’s not one person that will be missing sight of it.”

Tony snickers one more time before he brings the wine glass to his lips.

He’d had it stolen from one of his rivals, who’d had stolen it from an art museum in turn. He’d make damn sure that no one that didn’t know about it.

“Is there anything else?”

Happy shakes his head.

“No, sir,” he assures.

“Good,” Tony answers, taking another sip from his glass and eyeing the steak he’d had made just before his trip downstairs. It sat in front of him, waiting.

Tony waves Happy away dismissively, and the man leaves without a word.

Tony remembers the notification he’d received on his phone and turns his phone around to see the message.

“Hey,” the text reads, and Tony scrunches his eyebrows. “It’s Peter.”

He almost chokes on the wine as it seems to go sour in his mouth.

He’s pretty damn sure that he hadn’t given his number to anyone named Peter.

He only had five people--people that he could count on one hand--who he’d willingly given his personal number to. And they were exclusively the only people that he’d resolutely handed his trust to.

This wasn’t it.

“How did you get this number?” Tony types, fingers flying rapidly over the keyboard.

Three typing bubbles popped up in quick succession, barely a second after he’d sent the text.

“Ned gave me this number,” Peter sends.

Tony’s eyebrows furrow even deeper, a crease forming between them. Tony’s thumbs floated over the keys.

Some other bubbles popped up before quickly being replaced by another reply.

Tony’s eyebrows arched in surprise.

“Did you know that a cloud can weigh more than a million pounds?”

Tony stares at the text, not typing one word as he sees more bubbles popping up in quick succession.

By now, he’d figured out what was the issue here. And it wasn’t that somebody had betrayed his trust or hacked his phone.

“About 1.1 million pounds, actually,” Peter sends. “A single cloud.”

Tony lifts his phone, making up his mind. He’s going to type. He’s not sure what at that point, but he isn’t allowed too much time to ponder on a decent response.

“If you calculate the water density and multiply it by its volume that’s what you get,” is the text that is sent by the so-called Peter.

“But it can still float at that weight because the air below it is even heavier,” Peter sends directly afterwards.

“Just in case you were wondering,” is the last thing he sends.

Tony had figured out almost immediately that this was an error, and error is not something that Tony is usually greeted with. Especially recently.

But this was a real nice treat.

“I wasn’t wondering,” Tony finally sends after a long moment of silence. “But thank you for the random, unneeded trivia.”

The person on the other side of the conversation is undeterred.

“On the contrary,” says the ball of spunk, “How can we go along in life not knowing this very important part of life and science?”

Tony stares down at his Stark phone and very much squints at the screen.

“You have the wrong number,” he finally types down after about five minutes of staring.

“This isn’t MJ?” the person asks.

“No,” Stark sends.

He pauses for a moment, unable to help himself. As he usually does.

“Is there really someone that would find any of your trivia vaguely funny or interesting?”

Tony smirks down at the phone when no response comes back for a while.

The cream plate sparkles ivory underneath the golden lights above Tony’s head, and he lifts his knife and fork, placing his phone beside him once again. He only manages to place a miniature cut on his medium rare wagyu beef before he’s interrupted.

“Rude,” Tony’s phone vibrates.

Tony raises a dark, thick brow, large eyes focused on the small screen beside him as it glows valiantly with subsequent texts.

“There’s a McDonalds in every country but Antartica,” he reads.

Then.

“Frostnip is what you call the stage before frostbite.”

And then.

“A duel between three people is a truel.”

Finally.

“You can report spies in South Korea if you call 113.”

Tony puts down his utensils, wiping his hands haphazardly on his napkin before placing it beside his plate.

“This isn’t how flirting works,” he sends.

He keeps his phone in his hands and sees the bubbles pop in and out.

“I’m not flirting,” the new text reads.

“Your desperate attempts to impress say the contrary,” Tony retorts.

“That sounds like the opinion of someone who is either used to fighting or flirting or both at the same time,” the person on the other side of the line comments.

Both of Tony’s eyebrows are raised, his skin stretched enough that he wouldn’t be surprised if they disappeared behind his fringe.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Tony snarks back, and the phone pings with another text, this one from Pepper. Tony dismisses it, waiting for Peter’s reply.

His phone pings again, and he notices Pepper asking him if he’d eaten yet. Tony glances down at his uneaten food.

He pulls down the notification and types out a no.

He quickly moves back to open the text conversation for the unknown number’s response.

“Flirting was the first thing you thought to mention,” Peter says.

“So I’m betting my money on you being the flirt.”

There is a small pause.

“You know,” Tony reads. “That thing with Freud… Projection?”

“I’m not the one trying to flirt by giving useless facts,” Tony sends back quickly.

Tony puts his phone down in an attempt to eat his food again, but his eyes keep flitting back to the phone beside him. Innocuous yet now full of possibilities.

Tony picks it up quickly when it pings, only to see that it’s Pepper.

“No to the food or no to the Russians?” she asks.

Tony opens the message to view the conversation fully.

“No to the food. Yes to the Russians,” he sends after prompt consideration.

After still not seeing a response from Peter, he puts down the phone resolutely. Considering himself the victor, he eats the rest of his meal in peace.

It isn’t until he’s in bed, an hour after his meal and a half hour after getting ready to go to sleep, his phone pings one more time by his drawer.

Tony frowns, scooting over the edge of the bed to snatch his phone and open up the screen.

“Sounds like something an intergluteal cleft would say,” the text reads.

Tony Stark, feared mob boss and even more notorious weapons dealer, stares down at the phone in his hands in intrigue, his mouth agape. His eyebrows now for sure disappearing behind his fringe.

He goes to sleep thinking about the person behind those juvenile message, very resolutely trying not to think about the fact that he’d very bluntly called him a butt crack.

Continue reading in ao3

#starker secret santa 2019 #starkersecretsanta2019 #starkersenses #mystarkersensesaretingling #starker

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djseaward · 6 years

Text

my zero waste progress (& DIY oat milk recipe!)

you'd have to be living under a rock to not have heard the term "zero waste" thrown around. next to "adaptogen", i am predicting it's one of those buzzwords of the last year. and why not? even though it sounds like a phase and trendy, i am whole-heartedly on-board with zero waste becoming a thing that we just all do without thinking! zero waste doesn't have to mean that you absolutely create no waste at all, but an overall catchphrase for people trying to make steps to cut down on waste in order to live as zero waste as they possibly can in that time of their life.

making substitutes and compromises for the good of humanity and the planet. i'm all in for that. it also goes hand in hand with a thifty, frugal and minimalist lifestyle.

so i wanted to share some "zero waste" or more ecological changes i've made over the past year and some goals of mine for next year. maybe it’ll give you some ideas or hopefully inspire you a little to try something out!

i feel proud that 2018 was the year that we've really hunkered down and got more serious about zero waste and the switch to a more ecological, sustainable household.

pre-2018 there have been some really ecological switches we've already made. we started composting within the first two years or so that we moved to budejovice, and lucky for us, our landlords have a compost heap that they kindly let us put our bio into, which in turn fuels our building's garden! pretty neat. since we started doing this, we only have to take out the (small sized bin) trash about once every three weeks! hooray! that may sound strange, but there’s nothing stinky in there since we have a separate compost container which is emptied once every couple of days (choose something with a lid that closes completely!).

of course we've been recycling (no brainer), always bring shopping bags with us when we go (always on foot) to the supermarket and throw almost no plastic away.

we also had been using old holey socks as a dusting rag and plastic produce bags as "saran wrap". we've never bought saran (plastic, cling) wrap here before.

since the beginning, we've bought compostable dog poo bags for ferdie. (tip: it's better to dispose of these in bio bins vs. trash bins where they'll decompose slower because the trash isn't allowed to aerate like the compost is)

i'm very passionate about purchasing only recycled toilet paper as entire areas are deforested just to make new, fluffy toilet paper. #knowbetterdobetter

we bring our own containers, cups and utensils when we travel or go on day trips. i’ve found that glass jars make excellent “tupperware” containers as well as impromptu wine glasses for a picnic. if i were in the market for a new travel tumbler, i’d definitely spring for a stojo collapsible tumbler! that’s always my problem that i bring my tumbler and then it takes up space for most of the trip, unused.

alex is very adamant about unplugging nearly every appliance when not in use. with how expensive electricity is in europe, it helps a lot not to having a computer sucking it up! it's also much better for your battery appliances to unplug from the wall as soon as they are finished charging, so you're also taking better care of your things.

here are some recent changes we've made just over the past year.

-- eliminating use of aerosols. i personally decided i wouldn't buy any more, but the problem for a long time had been: where the heck can you find non-aerosol shaving cream? i found my answer in d'fluff shaving cream in a tub from LUSH. it smells like their rockstar soap and although it doesn't foam, i'm down with this change!

-- we switched to bamboo toothbrushes, which i had to order by mail because previously, there were no local shops that sold them! i have since found a couple so i think we're good to go now. before, i ordered from the bam and boo, which sent them so quickly even with a special, personalized note in czech which i thought was so sweet as they came from portugal.

-- choosing bar soap vs. liquid soap which has to be sold in packaging.

-- eliminating purchasing anything with palm oil or high fructose corn syrup (or glucose-fructose syrup, as it's known here). for years i believed in the myth that HFCS was banned in europe, but you can still find it in everything!

-- the switch from typical supermarket laundry soap and dishwasher tabs to an eco-label laundry soap (made from soap nuts) which is highly concentrated and therefore more ecological and more earth-friendly dishwasher tabs. both of these switches are more expensive than what we used to buy, so i totally understand going more eco-friendly isn't for everyone and all budgets. however, if you wouldn't notice an extra few dollars here and there, why not make this simple switch? i like the czech brand of laundry soap tierra verde out of brno. (why is everything cool is out of brno these days?)

-- switching from disposable feminine products to a medical-grade silicone menstrual cup has been a complete.game.changer. it's one of those things you kick yourself for not getting much much earlier. did you know a tampon applicator takes 500 years to break down? i went with first greener and am really pleased that i did. as a menstruating human, this seems like one of the single biggest improvements you can make to take steps towards zero waste. cost was an barrier for me with this and not being able to shell out for one for awhile, but the company i purchased from often runs deals for only $10 (that includes international shipping). i’m pleased some companies are making menstrual products more accessible to women of all income levels.

-- right at the end of the year, i finally found reusable produce bags that were a reasonable price. hoorah!

-- we have nearly stopped buying paper towels, using regular old towels or other cloths instead.

-- purchasing our vegetables in the warmer months from a local CSA (community supported agriculture) vegetable box program cuts down both on plastic wrapping, supports local south bohemian farms and is just a fun, healthy way to make sure we eat loads of season veggies. it also challenges me to stop being lazy and cook or make something with them before anything goes bad. (for my local budejovice friends: you can order a vegetable box starting usually around june from u dobraka)

-- alex says he's most proud of our household's switch to alternative milks vs. dairy milk. this helps loads with water consumption, is far more ecological, and much more animal-friendly. (alternative milk recipe at the end of this post - woo!)

changes i would like to make in 2019

-- one of my challenges is zero waste hair products. most drugstore products are aerosol or just the typical tube. i think i will end up purchasing from LUSH's hair line as not only have i already raved about their products but i so appreciate their commitment to reusable packaging, as well as their vocal stance against animal cruelty.

-- do better with food waste. i have already eliminated a lot of issues i’ve had with food waste over the past year and meal planning helps SO MUCH with not only reducing waste, but also saving some crowns. i’ve made some great strides in the past year, i’d like to do even better in 2019 getting my food waste down to 0%. laziness can be a big (bigbig) factor here, and that’s a tough one to overcome! i will also try making or buying less products that i don’t finish.

-- i'd like to remember to start taking what few glass empties i have back to a supermarket to get a refund. this is extremely common practice in germany, but not quite as common here, and we normally just go to the normal glass recycle bin. it would be nice to start getting a few crowns back here and there vs. nothing!

-- i'd love to invest in a set of cloth linen napkins i'm actually proud to use! will look to a thrift shop or bazaar before checking a store.

-- collectively, one of our main focuses as a household is a reduction in goods which use plastic, single-use, throw-away packaging, such as musli, for example. buying musli or any cereal here in the czech republic is such a headache -- it is either expensive or contains palm oil, for the most part. there is one brand i like, but i find i am eating it over and over and get so tired of it. any of you out there DIY your musli or cereal? please share your wisdom!

easy DIY recipe: oat milk

one of my big goals is to DIY even more. i already do quite a fair bit of DIY in terms of household products and foods, sauces that i can't buy in the czech republic, but i'd like to DIY more with products i already buy to avoid excess packaging and saving money. in the first few days of the year, i've already decided i will no longer buy oat milk at the store (40kc or $1.70 per liter) and instead, make it. it is startlingly easy to do, takes only 10 minutes of active time and can be a huge money saver! this recipe also happens to be zero waste as you can use the remnants.

you'll need...

-- a blender -- cheesecloth (or similar) -- large pitcher -- 1 cup of oats (your choice) -- 1 liter (approx. 4 cups) of water -- 1-2 TB honey or maple syrup -- 1 liter glass bottle

1) soak your oats in plenty of water for at least an hour.

2) rinse your oats and plop them in the blender with the 4 cups of water and your optional tablespoon of honey or maple syrup*.

3) blend blend blend!

4) place the cheesecloth securely over the pitcher (a rubber band helps). pour the oat milk mixture from the blender onto the cheesecloth so it strains, with the milk passing into the pitcher. wring out the cheesecloth to make sure you've got all excess liquid.

5) pour the strained oat milk from the pitcher into a 1+ liter glass bottle which will be your "milk bottle" and pop in the fridge.

6) shake vigorously before each use. consume within 2-3 days.

7) scrape off the oat bits from inside the cheesecloth and store in the fridge - you can easily tuck them into your morning oats when you make your next pot of oatmeal or porridge!

use this oat milk anywhere you would typically use milk: in your cereal, coffee, oatmeal (double down!), wherever.

* 1 TB of sweetness is just enough to give it a similar sweetness as dairy milk has, 2 TB if you like it a teensy bit sweeter - even this does not taste “sweet”, so to speak. experiment.

finally, i feel like i need to give a biiiiig shout out to polly - former expat/travel blogger turned absolute zero waste maven at green indy blog and inspires me every day with thought-provoking topics i hadn’t even realized or considered she has loads of information on her blog, instagram and even runs e-courses helping people cut back on waste and save money.

i do want to state here that i am simply learning and am a student at this whole zero waste thing. i’m not an expert by any means and am not perfect. zero waste isn’t zero. this post is simply keeping track of my progress and hopefully a way to hold myself accountable for my goals. although i don’t think we all should be one of those people who can fit their trash in a jar or anything, there is a lot of work we can do. you don’t have to have a lot of money to “join the movement”. it’s not about going out and purchasing fancy bamboo utensils or whatever. it’s just about using what you already have, being creative and resourceful, and when something you have stops working or breaks, upgrade it (funding allowing) to a more ecological version.

how do you feel about the zero waste movement? i'd love if you shared a big win from the past year and maybe also something you want to improve upon as well! here's to a greener new year.

ps, you might like how i travel on a teacher’s budget or thoughts on living without stuff.

#zero waste #lifestyle #recipe #noms #minimalism

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whitelippedviper · 7 years

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Pop Comics #4: Saga #46. Come Mush with Me

This article originally appeared on my patreon, which you can subscribe to for as little as one dollar a month. As a patreon subscriber you get to see these and other articles sometimes weeks before everyone else. Subscribe now.

It’s a new week in me writing about a popular comic from last week. For the purposes of this column I am defining popular as top ten on Comixology’s weekly list. This week I’m tackling one of the most popular books in all of comics, and last week’s most popular comic overall: Saga #46. Saga #46 is written by Brian K. Vaughn with art by Fiona Staples, with lettering/design work by Fonografiks.

The last Saga comic I read was the first issue. I might have made it to the second issue. But I really only remember that I read the first issue. I only mention this because it’s a context that like with a lot of these monthly comics speaks to that I’m really reading a lot of them from a more mechanical place than someone who has really taken the time to become invested in the work and the characters, and I’m admitting that is to my detriment in terms of giving a complete critical sense of the thing.

Saga #46 starts with some guy with a TV head freeing a horned girl that’s tied up with a tentacle from a lynching being executed by two horse people, and this non horse cowboy dude. TV dude frees Horn girl, and she’s like “I didn’t even WANT you to save me” for some reason. And then we cut to a horned dude with his pregnant but unconscious non horned wife and kid. They are in some field outside a house, where this giant multi-titted fox doctor runs a kind of planned parenthood clinic. Horned dude is very pro-life, so he and the fox have a discussion about abortion with no real resolution. The whole thing is kind of setup like the Fox, who calls herself an Endwife, is going to kill the wife. But that doesn't happen in this issue. I don’t know why these people are in this field or how they just happened to come to this particular house at this exact moment--but hey that’s what happens when you jump right in on issue 46 of a comic.

While horned dude is arguing with Fox doctor about abortion, upstairs the kid is singing her imaginary friend into non-existence for some reason. And then meanwhile the TV Dude and the horned girl are getting drunk and arguing about dumb shit, so they of course want to fuck, and the last page of the book is just a page of them “shockingly” kissing. One of the interesting things to me reading this issue of Saga is that Fiona Staples has been drawing this one book for about 5 years. Which I know is a thing that happens a lot in comics, but it’s interesting to see how her art has changed from the first issue aka the last time I saw her art not on a cover.

This is an image from Saga #1:

Here’s one from Saga #46:

It might be hard to tell from my shitty phone pic of the second image, but if you look at the chins in both images you can see it. Her style has cleaned up quite a bit since the first issue. Her lines are a lot smoother now, and there are a lot fewer of them. Which is fine. But one of the issues that is constant in Staples style is she makes these soft kind of smudgy backgrounds that really hamper your ability to like visualize the world Saga takes place in. And it makes sense that she is that kind of artist, because her strengths are in her forms. She’s really good at facial expressions and body language. Her characters are pretty good actors. People like that don’t per se need to be fussing with backgrounds that much because they can evoke so much dramatically with the acting. Like a great example is a lot of Guido Crepax comics. Which have no backgrounds generally, but rather focus on body language and whatever mechanisms are interacting directly with the body. As a reader, with an artist like that, you can totally fill in the backgrounds with your own imagination. The issue here though is this is a sci-fi setting, being done by a writer who doesn’t seem to have a lot of aptitude for building a coherent space narratively, so the weight of the setting is put so much on Staples, and it goes against what she is most effective at as an artist.

And then her ability to make these trashy character designs for Saga into something that at least looks like it belongs on the body it belongs on comes from this same family of artistic predilections. I mean each individual creature in Saga looks like you just put different body parts into a blender and then drew what came out. Even down to the clothes people wear. The fashion is all over the place. Horned girl in this is wearing like this asymmetrical cut dress with boots and leggings, and then the TV guy is wearing a suit with huge tails, and then the family later in the comic just look like standard comic clothes from like the background of a Spider-man comic. And then the like horse people wear western cowboy clothes. And then the fox doctor doesn't wear any clothes?

The effect of all of that is that you don’t really get much of a sense of culture or like “this is what this world is like because people dress that way”--like Star Wars, for example, takes place across so many planets but there are kind of basic style points that the series coheres around and then the differences just delineate that “oh this is a desert planet, this is a forest planet” ect. So without that kind of coherency in the character design you spend a lot of time on a Saga page scrambling for a foothold, and usually you could skate on this kind of fashion if the backgrounds were there to say “oh this is where we are at” but they aren’t. So the flaw of the incoherent designs is only amplified because they are the only defined thing to look at on a page. So the effect is a mushy undefined sci-fi experience that looks as ill defined in issue one as issue 46, and that’s coupled with the scripting conventions which cram in all kinds of anachronistic political concerns from present day earth USA. Like in this one issue we get an abortion debate and an argument about romance novels? And there are cowboys talking with a shitty southern accent? Huh? But I digress. My point about Staples art was that in cleaning up her line and going more minimalist, she’s stripped her work of the element that was propping up everything else. That rawer dirtier line, and those thick scattered ink brush strokes gave her work a POV, a focus. Like I said, her strength is the form(just look at her cover work), so those lines being the only thing with edge on the page gave her figures more force than they have in this later issue. Back with the older more jagged style her backgrounds still faded into nothing mush, but that was fine because you had shit on the bodies that you were focused on. It was interesting to look at those lines and those brush strokes. You didn’t NEED backgrounds. But you can’t not have backgrounds, AND draw your forms in a clean smooth style AND expect to carry a writer who is all over the map(even though obviously no one cares since she and the book win every award they go up for--so why not simply things I guess? You get paid either way--so from a practical drawing 50 issues of a thing point of view I think it makes a lot of sense--but it is quite cynical toward the reader I think).

Which this was my general reason I never got into Saga to begin with: I just couldn’t find the anchor point. As a sci-fi world this is like sub-serenity, which is also something I hated. There’s something cynical to Saga in that it feels like it’s just a cut and paste of things people liked on tumblr five years ago, and it just keeps going refusing to die, at this point I guess carried on by it’s own momentum because I would imagine if you’ve read 45 issues of Saga, you are going to read 145 really easily. But I don’t get why people aren’t asking for more. Like Twin Peaks ended the other day, and I’m pretty sure I follow everyone who was watching the show. Like Lynch made something truly great and amazing. And...nobody watched it or gave a shit. I get that that’s a thing that has always been that way. And will always be that way. But so, comics are this niche nerd thing, which has as its flag standards things like Dune, Star Trek or Star Wars--how is milquetoast space opera skating so easily? I’d have thought that if there was one genre that comics really exercised discernment on it would be space opera sci-fi.

And not only is Saga skating, it’s winning every award it can. To most people in comics, they would say this book is a testament to the possibilities of the medium. And I don’t know if that’s a taste thing in terms of I don’t have the right taste for comics(and I get it on both sides, it's like every year the Eisners and the Ignatz awards have a competition to see who can give more trophies to shit I give less of a fuck about), or if the people saying those things have just never read the things I have and if they had they’d feel differently? I think it’s the former, because I feel like if I made the biggest Saga fan read Queen Emeraldas they’d not understand why I like it.

Am I doing it wrong? I bet the average Saga fan is much happier about life than I am. Like it must be really cool to live in a reality where the things you like are award winning and wildly popular. That must be insanely validating. Which none of this is to say I hate Saga. Or maybe I do. I don’t know. I just feel nothing towards it. And it’s a testament to its success that despite feeling nothing about it, the book is such a force in comics, that I still ended up writing about it.

And I mean, how great would it be to love a book like this and get so much out of it? And I'd have so many people eager to talk about it. I wish I loved it or I wish I hated it. But I don't. Also this is a lame kiss to take up a whole page for:

Like I get that a kiss between someone with a mouth and a screen is difficult, but that is actually something that should be an opportunity to draw something pretty terrific, particularly for the last dramatic page of a book. The scale is also not saying anything. We are caught between love in a giant fantastic world, and great love in a mundane place if that makes sense. If you zoom in more the focus can be more the mechanics of the kiss. If you zoom way out, it’s like this dramatic camera spinning moment on top of a mountain. But at this shot it’s uncommitted I think, and I think with the characters centered in the frame so much as well it’s just not very dramatic for such a moment that is I think supposed to be dramatic. Instead of being the truth of what this moment means for these two characters, I think it lands more like the idea of the idea of a kiss between these two ideas. A cliche. It’s especially disappointing because as you can see going through Staples cover work, and hell most of her interiors, something like this should be a real playing into a real strength. But I think the mushiness of the decision making of scale screws it up. The only way this page hits with you is if you have as a reader really bought into the idea of it happening enough to carry the image in your mind. But that shouldn’t be enough, and I think it’s worth asking for more.

And this is a lame thing to write:

#My Writing #Sarah Horrocks #Saga #pop comics

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prosejudo56-blog · 5 years

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A Passionate Home Cook's Bright Mid-Century Modern Home

Welcome to My Life at Home, where we slow down for just a minute to share a glimpse into the lives of food lovers we'd love to get to know better. Kick off your shoes and get comfy!

When I first met Kevin Masse, I knew immediately he was my type of people. Seatmates at a dinner, we chatted each other's ears off all evening. Our shared love of good home cooking, mid-century modern design, and sweet furry pups had us reach near-BFF status by meal's end. As the head of integrated marketing and brand partnerships for Bake From Scratch magazine, Kevin has an unsurprisingly appetizing Instagram feed, but I quickly discovered this marketer-by-day was chock-full of talents that extend beyond the kitchen.

Turns out this self-professed "serial home cook" is a downright modern-day Renaissance man. Sure, he can whip up beautiful, impressive (but always doable) meals, but he's also a veteran marathon runner (10! PLUS an "ultra marathon"—that's 37.2 miles, people), a classically trained pianist, a yoga teacher-in-training, and a budding philanthropist.

(Catches breath.)

Most importantly, Kevin couldn't be a kinder, more down-to-earth person. Come join me in getting to know this devoted dog dad a little better...

HANA ASBRINK: Hi Kevin, please tell us about yourself.

KEVIN MASSE: I am, first and foremost, a marketer by profession. I spent more than 10 years working in brand strategy in New York City before going into the world of start-ups and working for a growing food media company, where I was in charge of community engagement. This year, however, I decided to leave my job behind and spend time exploring ways to bring purpose into my life. So far, it has been an incredible experience.

I started volunteering with an organization called Healing Meals Community Project, which delivers organic meals to families facing health crises. The meals are cooked by high school students during an after school program, with adult mentors in the kitchen. I have been mentoring these high schoolers for the past few months now, and I can honestly say, nothing has been more nourishing for my soul than being in the kitchen with these kids.

I have also spent much of the time this year in the kitchen, focusing on creating new recipes and learning more about bread baking. The next chapter that I am embarking on is yoga teacher training. This year, my husband and I committed to doing a 40-day yoga challenge through a local studio called The Yoga Shop. I have seen so much of my life transformed that I am now enrolled in a teacher training program that starts this month. What I love is that yoga and food are very intertwined. They both require practice, commitment, and time; and both nourish the soul and make you feel whole.

HA: How long have you lived in your current home? What do you like most about it?

KM: We bought our home almost three years ago. We wanted our dogs to have a backyard and we were ready for more space. We saw the house the day it went on the market and had an offer in just hours after. We love that it's just the right size for us (about 1,800 square feet), which is much bigger than any of our old New York City apartments. It also has an open floor plan, which is something that's harder to come by in older homes.

The entire house (kitchen included) was remodeled before we moved in, which was a huge plus because we loved the finishes they put in: white cabinets, quartz marble counters, marble backsplash. We also loved that the house is on one floor, which means we can look forward to growing older together here.

Kevin's kitchen is part of the home's open floor plan. Photo by Kevin Masse

HA: Tell us more about your cutie pups. How did they come into your lives and how do they make themselves at home?

KM: Our dogs are our children. We got our first dog, Huxley, a Brussels Griffon, when we lived in Manhattan and he quickly stole our hearts. To say that he changed our lives is an understatement. He loved living in the big city and had so many friends at the Washington Square Dog Park. He was (and still is) a social butterfly.

When we moved to Connecticut, we got him a brother—a legitimate brother, actually. Orwell, our second Brussels Griffon, is Huxley's half-brother (they share the same father). They love each other so much. They have run of the entire house when we are home and have beds in pretty much every room. They love being right next to us when we are on the couch, but also just lounging on their own in different parts of the house. When I am working, 9 out of 10 times, they are in the living room or bedroom, either in their beds or hanging out in their crates.

We'll be right here, 'kthanks. Photo by Kevin Masse

HA: Describe your decorating style. What are you influenced by?

KM: We are very mid-century and minimalist in our style. Both my husband and I appreciate the clean lines and proportions of mid-century furniture, and we were fortunate enough to purchase an original dining set from my grandparents' neighbor right before we moved to Connecticut. What I love about the pieces is that they are not only beautiful to look at, but also really ingenious in their design functionality. Our table sits at 48-inches round, but expands to more than 10 feet, which means we can have great dinner parties without having to occupy a gigantic dining room.

I would say our home is influenced heavily by our personal tastes, rather than any one particular designer. I’ve really focused on trying to find pieces for our home that we will have forever, and not just pieces that will get thrown away with the changing tides of decorative taste. I love the history that comes with the furniture and pieces we have started to collect. Each one brings a different story, but collectively, they tell the story of who we are and our home that we are making together.

Bright pops of color in the mid-century modern arm chair cushion pillows. Photo by Kevin Masse

HA: Where do you like to shop for your home?

KM: Here are just a few of my favorites:

Inspirational online sites: I love Horne, which is an online retailer that sells everything from furniture to lighting to kitchenware. It's great for inspiration. I could also spend hours on Etsy looking at different things, and often, can find amazing pieces for a fraction of the cost.

Kitchenware: I truly love going to Food52's Shop as I think they've done a really fantastic job finding products that help real home cooks without relying on the fluff of gimmicky tools. I know that if Food52 sells the product, it has likely been well-used in their test kitchens.

Lighting: Rejuvenation has incredible lighting and I love the mix of styles. They also have great sales so you can usually find what you are looking for at a pretty reasonable price.

Furniture: I love Blu Dot and have a lot of the furniture in my office. The styles are exactly what we love and the quality is really great, which is important to us.

Brick and mortar shops: Mud Australia is one of my favorite stores to visit. I have been collecting pieces over the years and love going into the shops any chance I can get. I love the aesthetic of the stores, and even purchased a Vitsoe Shelving System for my home, based on how much I loved them in the Mud Australia shops.

Vitsoe shelving on display in the office, along with Huxley and Orwell. Photo by Julie Bidwell

HA: Something you hate-to-love or love-to-hate about your home?

KM: Our house has popcorn ceilings and I really wanted to have them all removed before we moved in, but it never happened. I have grown to not notice them, but still really want to have it all removed and redone. It is a VERY expensive project and all of the rooms have them!

HA: Do you have a favorite corner or nook of your home?

KM: The one project we undertook a few months after moving in was the removal of a broom closet at the end of our kitchen. When we moved into the house, it came to my attention that our cabinets were mounted at 16 inches above the counter, rather than the standard 18 inches, which meant many of our countertop appliances, including our coffee maker, did not fit under the cabinets.

That became the impetus to take out the closet and in doing so, it turned out that the closet was exactly the width of a built-in wine refrigerator. We converted the closet to become our bar/coffee station, and it was one of the best things we’ve done. Now we have a place to pour our coffee in the morning and mix our cocktails in the evening, genuinely multipurpose.

We are so here for this clever coffee/bar nook. Photo by Kevin Masse

I also really love our dining room. Of course, there is the furniture, which makes me happy every time I see it, but we recently hung wallpaper from Hygge and West and it has made all the difference in the world. The birds add just the right focal point to the heart of our home.

An accent wall anchors the dining area. Photo by Kevin Masse

HA: If your walls could talk, what would they say?

KM: “Who’s Alexa and why are you always talking to her?”

HA: How often are you cooking? Is your husband Michael a cook?

KM: On most weeknights, you will find me in the kitchen. The kitchen is where I spend most of my time and I could not be happier about it. I do some form of cooking every day of the week; I cook dinner for us about six nights a week. We’ve been trying to limit our dining out in the new year and focus more on being home at night with the dogs. We’ve also been going through a really rigorous yoga program, which has really driven us to focus on being more thoughtful with our food choices. While Michael does not normally cook, he did make a really fantastic quiche back in January.

HA: Are you guys entertaining often?

KM: We entertain at least once a week. My favorite way to entertain is low fuss and low stress. I love inviting friends over last minute when I realize I have enough to feed more than the two of us at home. I like to cook for our guests just as I would for us on a typical weeknight. I think when the food is unfussy and honest, it creates the best experience for those you have over. I think if people want fancy or fussy, they'll just go out to a restaurant. I want people to feel like they are home when they are here.

Hi Kevin, we'll be right right over.

HA: Do you have a signature drink or dinner party fare?

KM: I love roasting chickens for dinner parties, especially during the cold winter months. People are often intimidated by roasting whole chickens, but with just a little pre-planning and a good dry brine, you can create an incredible and easy dinner party that guests just go crazy for. I love spatchcocking the birds and two chickens will usually feed six people. Roast some vegetables to go with it and you’ll have a really happy crowd.

HA: What is your ultimate comfort food?

KM: Pizza is my ultimate comfort food and I love making it at home. I have really gotten into sourdough and have been making pizza with a sourdough crust. I bake it at 550°F on my baking steel and get restaurant-quality results with minimal effort. I also love that pizza is easy enough to make on a weeknight, and if I don’t have time to make the dough, I go with store-bought and let it rest before working with it; it works like a charm every time.

Pizza and roast chicken (spatchcocked or whole) make the world a better place. Photo by Kevin Masse

HA: What do you always keep in your fridge?

KM: Each week, I take out a few jars of homemade stock that I keep in the fridge. I use these during the week to add depth to recipes without having to take all day to cook something. Stock is so much easier than what most people think. I freeze all the ends of my vegetables when I am prepping (onions, carrots, celery, herbs) and also freeze chicken carcasses.

I also amp up my cooking with good condiments like harissa, tomato paste, and crushed Calabrian chili peppers. I also lean heavily on things like Greek yogurt, buttermilk, parsley, and cilantro. (Tip: I keep my cilantro and parsley, washed, in Ball jars in the fridge and they can keep for anywhere up to two weeks!) These key ingredients function as the backbone of my cooking.

Open sesame! Photo by Kevin Masse

HA: What are your top three kitchen tools?

KM: The ones I turn to again and again:

Huge cutting board: I cannot stress enough how important it is to have a big, heavy, top-quality cutting board. It allows you to prep a lot of things at once and not have to work on a teeny tiny space. My cutting board weighs approximately 15 pounds and sits on my counter all the time.

Chef's knife: My Miyabi chef's knife is a powerful and beautiful piece of equipment to work with and makes prep a breeze. I sharpen it myself with a wet stone and can work with it for hours without feeling fatigued.

Enameled cast-iron Dutch oven: I have a small collection of Dutch ovens in various sizes and these get used almost daily in my kitchen. I cook on induction, which has been a game changer for me and I love that cast iron works on such a modern technology. The Dutch ovens are incredible because they heat really evenly, retain the heat very well, and can go from stovetop to oven to table all in one shot.

HA: What is your favorite way to unwind after a long week?

KM: Baking bread is my favorite way to relax after a long week. I love the methodical, slow nature of the process and knowing that with only a few ingredients, you can get something so incredible and rewarding. Not to mention, it makes the house smell really incredible while they're in the oven.

Look at those ears. Photo by Kevin Masse

HA: What's on your playlist right now?

KM: “Hey Alexa, play Brahms on Spotify.” I love all different kinds of music, but 90 percent of the time I am listening to classical. I love the Romantic composers: Brahms, Chopin, Schumann, Liszt, etc. I love that each time I hear a classical piece, no matter how many times I've heard it before, I can pick out something new, like a new line or note that I did not notice before.

I was classically trained on the piano for nearly 20 years and I think this has had a big influence on my musical tastes. However, I do love all types of music and have a real soft spot for Neko Case, Lana Del Rey, Florence and the Machine, and Mumford & Sons—music that feels like music, if that makes sense.

HA: Do you have a favorite Food52 recipe?

KM: The Genius Nekisia Davis Olive Oil and Maple Granola Granola, hands down. I have made this recipe with some variations for years now and each and every time I make it, it comes out incredible. It hits on all the right notes for me: sweet (but not overly so), crunchy, and salty. I have to be careful not to eat too much of it!

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

Another Genius Granola Recipe

What do you love most about Kevin's home? Let us know below!

Source: https://food52.com/blog/23889-my-life-at-home-kevin-masse

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theseventhhex · 5 years

Text

Lust for Youth Interview

Hannes Norrvide & Malthe Fischer

Pirouetting on decadence, meeting eyes with a dizzy sensation, falling and flying at the same time - Lust for Youth have continually held poise through the most vitalising of times. Their new album, a self-titled collection of eight songs, is surefooted where they had earlier feared to tread, and light-headed for a new set of reasons. The album is driven by a dance-pop agenda, hustling its way through upbeat peaks that level out into reflective ballads. While still taking clear cues from a crop of austere synth-pop, Lust for Youth sound brighter than they ever have before, taking tips from some of the flirtiest Eurobeat to aid their new direction. No longer galvanising us with hooks, but with a songcraft unhindered by anxiety, the album presents a cohesion not seen in the project until now… We talk to the gifted duo about returning with new energy, Ayrton Senna and the Champions League…

TSH: For your excellent latest self-titled album, what sort of changes and shift in instrumentation do you feel has come into play?

Hannes: I think we learned how to get more to the point, without too much sound effects around it. It's more stripped down now to what's essential. Most of the songs are built up around the guitar now, before guitar was usually one of the last ingredients.

Malthe: Songs like ‘Insignificant’ and ‘New Balance Point’ were even written on guitar before we started arranging them, which is a new way of working for us.

TSH: Would you say that with your songwriting the process can be very instinctual and things just kind of manifest themselves?

Hannes: Yes, most time it starts with a loop and slowly it will evolve into song. Like ‘Venus De Milo’. It was just this very weird gritty loop that we didn't know what to do with it for almost a year. It wasn't until around New Year’s Eve that we finally figured it out.

Malthe: It can definitely be both. Like the last part of ‘New Balance Point’, I just woke up one morning with the lyrics and the melody in my head. Then all I needed to figure out was the chords. However, other times it’s a more of a struggle with lyrics, we might already have decided on the phrasing of a melody, maybe even down to syllables or which vowels we want, before having any actual words.

TSH: What are some of your must-have instruments or software when recording?

Hannes: Patience and a 909.

Malthe: We have been using Ableton Live quite a lot during this recording and later we did the mixing in ProTools. If you are new to music production and can only afford one instrument I would go for Ableton. If you are into production you probably already know FabFilter and the other great mainstream developers. Of the lesser known ones the German company DDMF is brilliant and I love the plugin Trackspacer. We use very little hardware in mixing now because the software is amazing and it lets you work anywhere. One old machine we have used on all the last three records is the Lexicon Model200 reverb, especially for vocals. It still hasn't been properly emulated.

TSH: Also, knowing inspiration always comes and goes, how do you guys keep the momentum and levels up when you're in the studio?

Hannes: Put your work aside and go for a walk to reboot.

Malthe: After our previous album we didn’t really record anything for a year. We were focusing on our other projects. I suppose we needed to look elsewhere in order to return with new energy.

TSH: What were your immediate surroundings like during the making of this record, and how did this affect your mood for the album?

Malthe: We started recording during the World Cup and had a couple of weeks in my family’s summer house. It’s located just 100 meters from the sea (Kattegat), with a forest in the backyard. It was the first time we went out of the city to record. The previous album ‘Compassion’ was recorded at home while Hannes and I still shared a flat.

TSH: What led you to kicking off the record with ‘New Balance Point’?

Malthe: We always felt very confident about that song. It wasn’t always supposed to open the record but whilst playing tracks for friends it always seemed to be the first one we’d play to them… so I guess that’s why.

Hannes: It is the track that best captures how LFY has changed since the last album. We felt it was important to start out with a strong track that hopefully would catch people by surprise.

TSH: ‘By No Means’ is a fantastic track. Tell us more about how the infectious guitar line that runs throughout came to be...

Malthe: Thank you, that’s one of the parts we did in the summer house one morning over breakfast. For me, Johnny Marr is a big influence and it might show here, as well as in older songs like ‘New Boys’ or ‘Better Looking Brother’.

TSH: What are the ideas behind the heavy worded album cover?

Malthe: Basically it’s the lyrics in chronological order. We like minimalistic album covers like Kraftwerk or the works of Peter Saville. This is the third LFY album I have been involved in and I like the fact that those three records all have similar aesthetics. Like a trilogy. The last line “A compliment from you would insult me” just happened to be stretched out like that at the bottom and we were like ‘that’s it!’

Hannes: I don’t like having lyrics sheets inside a record and if you listen to it digitally you won’t see it anyway. So why not put them on the front?

TSH: You've previously opted to always go with the first take, but now you take more time. What are the benefits of this approach?

Hannes: It sounds way better now. Before I didn't have the patience, but after meeting Malthe I learned that things usually turn out way better if you don’t stress them.

Malthe: I always loved the sound of the records that Hannes did by himself, but when I joined LFY it was clear that he wanted it all to take a new direction, and I helped out with that. I wouldn't say one is better than the other; it’s just two very different approaches.

TSH: When you find yourself in travel situations whilst touring, which places would you say bring you most peace and clarity?

Hannes: Sitting in a cafe with a drink and not having to stress about soundcheck and having time to go back to the hotel room and lying down for 20 minutes.

Malthe: Peace and clarity is not usually associated with touring, but once in a while we have the time to actually visit a city for more than just one day. Like the week we had in Mexico City earlier this year. Times like these make for a deeper impression.

TSH: Also, what led to you once stating that the MDMA in Italy tastes like basil?

Hannes: Intoxication.

TSH: Where did the idea for the Ayrton Senna Lust for Youth t-shirts come from?

Hannes: I had recently watched the Senna documentary and when talking to Malthe after it turned out he was a huge fan of him as a kid.

Malthe: Yes, Ayrton Senna was a childhood hero of mine and his death is one of those moments where I clearly remember where I was when hearing it on the radio.

Hannes: We decided to pay homage to him with this shirt, and also the song ‘Imola’.

TSH: What topics and hobbies do you both bond and laugh over most?

Hannes: I would say anything, Malthe and I know each other so well. He’s like my brother…

Malthe: Comedy too. We both love Seinfeld, Larry David, The Ricky Gervais Show and Karl Pilkington.

TSH: Any recent sporting highlights that you’re impressed with?

Hannes: The most important one is of course Jakob Fuglsangs’ victory in Liege-Bastogne-Liege earlier this spring. There was also the pleasure of witnessing the new young talent Mathieu Van Der Pool in Ronde Van Vlaanderen and then seeing him win the Amstel Gold Race a week later. And of course Liverpool winning the Champions League.

Malthe: I mainly watch Champions League football and support the Danish team AaB of which my brother-in-law is the manager.

TSH: Finally, what's the band ethos as you look ahead?

Hannes: We're very much looking forward to going back on tour again, and to start working on new material.

Lust for Youth - “By No Means”

Lust for Youth

#Interview #Lust for Youth #LFY

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wereikonics · 5 years

Text

Love Scenario - iKON analysis

@/bianxstan on Twitter - 7:51 PM - 29 Jan 2019

PS: Comment, RT or even re-post but I would appreciate it if you guys credit where credit is due. Thank you!

PSS: I don't claim to be an expert. I just share what I know and my interpretation of things.

Please find @/bianxstan on Twitter. This Tumblr is an archive and @/bianxstan is only reachable via Twitter.

Before you go on, I want you to focus on these lyrics as you read through: "...a pretty decent ending. That's enough for me."

When composers, imho, create music as simple as this one, the intention becomes clearer: the composer intended it to be SIMPLE. It is either because the musician wants to bring light into the lyrics or the musician wants the instrumentals to be focused on.

In Love Scenario, #Hanbin did both. And so, you have to find the beauty in that simplicity because the intention of the composer lies in it.

Take note that not all simple things are created with beauty in mind. Like the idea of minimalism, the purpose of it is to maintain a lifestyle centered on necessity with minimal regard for aesthetics. However, not all minimalist approaches are created without complexity.

#Hanbin created a complex minimalist approach to this song without compromising the beauty of it. I knew the song will be a sleeper hit. Why? Because the first thought that will come to mind is that it is SIMPLE.

However, it sounds weird from a musically inclined person's perspective. I won't get into the whys but to me that weirdness became the charm of the song. It was a hit because we didn't realize that a simple song like this can leave us feeling relieved until we hear it.

#Hanbin's usage of staccato (when notes are played as if each note is detached to one another i.e. Metronome and piano melody) and sustain (when notes are prolonged i.e. bass and synths) were executed with such sophistication. It NEVER got too much, just ENOUGH.

Staccatos tend to make compositions bare and empty. It usually creates discord between notes. But as I've said before, #Hanbin have always had his own way of creating fluidity in music so effortlessly like it's child's play.

#Hanbin compensated that feeling of emptiness with three main different things: another staccato melody from the piano, a syncopated but sustained bass, and the usage of vocal harmony to fill the void.

Sidenote 1.0: When I say staccato melody from the piano, the keys played from the left hand are not played in sync with the R. hand. So the piano melody is played like this: RLRL for the most part. Although notes are not sustained, no sec/beat was left empty in the piano melody.

Sidenote 2.0: I'm not sure if I'm using the right technical term here but from what I remember, syncopation is when the drop of the beat falls awkwardly than expected. It's like a delay of drop. It makes melodies really groovy. This is why the bass of this song is GOLD.

Sidenote 3.0: That metronome has a weird beat structure. It's as if it's confused b/w two different time signatures. This is why it's so hard to copy its beat. Even to this day, I can't figure it out. However, I love it because it actually makes the song into something else. LOL

Now, notice how even if the only predominant sound is the metronome (the tapping sound), you don't feel as if the bg is empty. For example (timestamp on vid), there's only 3 main things at play here: DK's vocal, vocal harmony at the bg, & the metronome.

But as you listen to it, you'll never think that the production is lacking. This is because the vocal harmony in the background grabs your attention away from the singularity of the instrumentation. The vocal harmony was used as the main instrumentation instead.

When #June's part enters, a whole different vibe is executed by the mere addition of claps, bass and the piano melody. The re-introduction of the metronome at the latter part of June's part was a perfect transition to #Jinhwan's part. It made the two sections cohesive.

But as you listen to Jinhwan's part, the vibe changes. Which may be surprising since it has the same accompaniments w/ June's part. However, listen to the electric piano (synth) that seems to sing along. That ALONE changes the ENTIRE feel of the section.

This is why I've always said that #Hanbin knows when to give & when to take. He knows the balance of things being too much and too less. Even their transitions per music section is done so effortlessly without breaking flow. The entire song just screams, "ENOUGH is ENOUGH."

#Hanbin created simple lines of bass, piano, & metronome. The musical composition was simple & 1+1=2. You would think that simple+simple=simple. But Hanbin managed to create a musical bg that is so charming that it rings in your ears once you hear it and that is no simple feat.

I don't know if you guys have noticed this but there are a lot of KPOP music out there that seems to be three different songs stitched together with a similarly over-layered MV. Imho, this is done to overstimulate the listener to keep them listening and watching.

However, what #iKON did with this song was that they took influences from different genres, crushed it, and blended it all together with such class and sophistication. This is why although the song have different musical influences, it still sounds cohesive and STIMULATING.

This is why the song sounds so familiar yet some can't exactly determine why it is so. In a saturated industry dominated by fast-paced & over-produced songs, Love Scenario came at the right time to give the industry a much needed breather. Love Scenario is refreshing.

#Hanbin's insistence to make the vocals the driving force of this song was ingenious. This is bec Hanbin didn't do it to show off their vocal capabilities. He made the vocals at the forefront to 1) bring focus to the lyrics and 2) to balance out the simple background.

Since the bg is simple, he tried to compensate it as well through vocal tones and the style of singing. Remember when #Hanbin said that he wants the members to sing as if they were just throwing words? That's one of the reasons why this song became a hit.

Singing is different from talking because you sustain notes & pitches. Sometimes, that idea becomes intimidating to those who don't know how to sing. Hanbin's persistent urge to the members to sing in a way of emulating the idea of speaking made song even more approachable.

The vocals are the main attraction but they’re not executed to show-off vocal prowess. It’s made to complete the simple background and express lyrics of contentment. The song was never sang in a way that it wasn't meant to be. There were no belting. There were no runs.

It was just sang as simple as all the other components in the song. However, the execution really is impressive. The song never tried to be anything it's not. It didn't try to be overly hip hop, ballad, or pop. It's just LOVE SCENARIO. That simplicity became it's identity.

"...a pretty decent ending. That's enough for me."

*Please manually search for Love Scenario on YT to help with streaming views.

Simplicity in music compositions can be the fruit of the most complex process of creation. In order to create a simple sound that works, you almost have to try to break the limit of the process of elimination. Or just be a musical genius like Hanbin. You guys decide.

That's it guys! Sorry it took so long. I know it's quite long but I felt like if I didn't include everything I wanted to say, I would've given it injustice. Thank you for reading!

Also, I would love it if you guys provide me some feedback. What do you want me to do better? Should I add anything? I would really appreciate it. Thank you again!

*Please reach Paula on Twitter to provide feedback.

#bianxstan twitter #bianxstan:iKON Song Analysis #Love Scenario #iKON

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dustedmagazine · 6 years

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John Adams — Dr. Atomic (Nonesuch)

youtube

Dr. Atomic is the third in a series of operas that the post-minimalist composer John Adams has made with wunderkind director Peter Sellars. The first two — Nixon in China and The Death of Klinghoffer — are about Nixon’s visit to China and the Palestinian hijacking of an ocean liner and murder of a Jewish passenger. Dr. Atomic centers around Oppenheimer and the final days leading up to the first test of the atomic bomb at Los Alamos.

If the operas are important only because they are all serious, all politically minded, and with an ethics of witness at their center — how do we, in the opera house, view violent acts of history — it is Sellars who deserves the brunt of public admiration and defamation (Klinghoffer, because of its even handed treatment of the Palestinian hijackers, is usually met with protests when it’s performed). Sellars essentially pitched the topics of each opera to Adams, directed the premiers of all three, and now has supplied the libretto for the third. Adams is lucky. Sellars’ intuition for what makes interesting dramatic material elevates Adams’ compositional sense.

Why? Unlike pure minimalists — Riley, Reich or Glass, say — who stick to the drama of accumulation within the programmatic gesture, Adams composes with a freer hand that rejects systems while still referring to the programmatic gesture. Instead of layering loops until each layer finishes, Adams picks and chooses layers in sets that start and stop by intuition. And Adams doesn’t only refer to the program of minimalism. Any material in composition can become a layer: musique concrete, the tone-rows of serial music, elaborate leitmotifs, the rhythms and inflections of jazz and pop, and on and on.

Adams’ use of these different techniques is rarely ironic. His work also never sounds like a collage. Instead, listening to Adams is like a more composed version of Cage’s Musicircus: “For any number of performers willing to perform in the same place at the same time.” In Dr. Atomic, when Oppenheimer complains about faulty detonators, the strings choogle and pluck a low repeating line while flutes drift like Debussy. Another physicist, Edward Teller, responds, complaining of a misfire over what might be clarinets shredding out practice lines for a free jazz concert. Like Cage, noise isn’t meant to be the end. Instead, the possibility of any sound entering the sonic space asks us to make ethical choices. If all sounds are possible, how to choose which sounds are allowed at which moment?

Because of this problem, the music rarely, if ever, settles. Under Adams, the orchestra is in a constant state of flux, similar to the way algorithms extend the possibilities of synthesized music (indeed, Adams’ early breakthrough came from thinking through synthesis). Sellars’ gift to Adams is that he attaches unresolved Adams’ music to the unattainable answers of geo-political questions. How do East and West meet? How do Jews and Palestinians share space? What was, what is the atomic bomb?

The bomb, floating from invisible wires and 20 feet or so in diameter, has been the central focus of Dr. Atomic’s set design both times I’ve seen the opera, but its appearance changed. In Chicago in 2007, the bomb was a mechanized beast with wires and cables popping out. Last summer in Santa Fe’s outdoor amphitheater it was instead a large, smooth mirror. Tommy’s pinball reimagined as an agent of death. The BBC recording, reviewed here, was only a concert, but the music and libretto can’t help but gesture towards the bomb, invisible and waiting behind every action of the work.

Sellars and Adams posit two possibilities for understanding the bomb, one for each act. The first act ends with the only aria of the opera, Batter my Heart, which Oppenheimer sings. The entire libretto is from found sources, usually centered around government documents, but here, at the culmination of the first hour or so of music, Sellars voices Oppenheimer through the metaphysical poetry of John Donne:

Batter my heart, three-person’d God;

For, you

As yet but knock, breathe, Shine, and seek to mend; Batter my heart, three-person’d God;

That I may rise, and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend

Your force, to break, blow, burn and make me new.

In this description of transcendence and bodily change, the music finally focuses as a soft drone while Oppenheimer sings, as if only through the voicing of destruction does the constant mutability of the music stand in awe of something else. This is the most operatic moment of the opera. It’s what everyone waits for, what you talk about with your seatmate, what you most want to listen to when you’re skipping tracks on the train. But the enjoyment of an aria about transcendental violence is made sinister by the bomb’s presence. Real violence is different from that of the imagination.

The second act focuses more on imagination. Its center piece overlays Kitty, Oppenheimer’s wife, singing about her dreams, the Oppenheimer’s Native American nanny singing mythic dream songs to put their baby to sleep and the scientists discussing the weather and counting down. Sellars’ libretto here matches Adams’ composition, each point of view unfolds, says its peace, and then dissipates. It’s overwhelming, exhausting and absolutely beautiful, but it’s ended, finally, by the offstage violence of orchestrated explosion. Conceptually, the piece works — it’s disquieting how the bomb finishes each character’s searching lyrics — but Adams doesn’t quite have a delicate enough toolbox to present the possibility of discursive transcendence through many characters. It’s an odd position to be in. By the end, you’re just waiting for the bomb.

Devin King

#john adams #doctor atomic #nonesuch #devin king #albumreview #dusted magazine #opera #peter sellars #minimalist

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fashiontrendin-blog · 6 years

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Ranking The Kits From The World Cup From Best To Worst

http://fashion-trendin.com/ranking-the-kits-from-the-world-cup-from-best-to-worst/

Ranking The Kits From The World Cup From Best To Worst

Get set to crack out the gaudy memorabilia and dust down your ear piercing vuvuzela, it’s football World Cup time and boy are we excited for the Sunday afternoons roasting like a suckling pig in the pub garden sun as a dimly lit projector beams Japan versus Senegal onto a garden shed.

This coming World Cup has coincided with a rising interest in football kits, and more specifically classic football shirts from the 1980s and 1990s with retro geometric designs becoming as prevalent to the streetwear crowd as the various teams playing in Russia this summer.

“Classic shirts are great for business-as-usual league games, but this historic sporting event calls for a major dollop of flamboyance,” says Simon Doonan, creative ambassador-at-large of New York City-based clothing store Barneys and author of Saturday Night Fever Pitch: The Magic and Madness of Football Style. “Throwing a player into a tasteful solid shirt in a spiffy color is simply not enough.”

According to Doonan Argentina’s winning vertical blue and white stripes shirt from 1978 is a prime example of a World Cup shirt done right. “Vertical stripes – especially like the historic black and white classic shirts of Newcastle and Juventus – never fail to make players appear invincible, and most important, slender.”

To mark the occasion of this coming World Cup we have decided to rank the kits from the World Cup from best to worst, with Doonan by our side as our resident football shirt pundit.

Belgium

The country that gave us French fries (confusingly) and waffles, much to the chagrin of our waistlines, has now given us quite possibly the most beautiful football shirt in the history of the game. From the elegant royal crest placed bang in the middle to the understated 1980s-influenced geometric pattern and the bold rouge, this is simply majestic. Doonan points out that the emblazoned pattern is very similar to the Scottish argyle diamond, mentioning its place in footballing history: “The Argyle recalls the era – back in the last century – when footballing casuals adopted the argyle pattern as an FU to the golfing upper-classes. It’s fabulous.”

Germany

A clear nod to the kit worn by West Germany on the way to winning their third World Cup in 1990, the legendary backstory (cue epic violin solo) only serves to amplify the greatness of this Adidas design. It doesn’t play too heavily on the 1990s maximalism fortunately with the busy pattern across the chest contrasting superbly with the minimalism down below.

Argentina

Rounding out the top three is another effort by Adidas, which really is the king of the football kit making game. The bold sky blue and white stripes has always been a sweeping fashion statement, and here it’s completed with the Adidas three stripes across the shoulder. Like Belgium, it helps that Argentina have a regal emblem but the classy design is still the real winner here.

France

Nike has chosen to base all its 2018 World Cup kits on their Aeroswift template, but the French shirt stands out from the others because of the inclusion of the single button just underneath the collar which makes it look like a Henley shirt, and not a tube of sausage casing you’re required to squeeze your sweaty body out of after matches.

Russia

Similar to the classic Manchester United kits of the 1980s, this shirt is a testament to Russian modesty but all the better for the white lines bolting across the sleeves like Putin riding bareback through Siberian hinterland. The red also has a juicy vibrancy about it – a worthy kit to play in for the hosts of the tournament.

Mexico

Like the 8-bit version of that vase/two people kissing conundrum, the side panels on Mexico’s strip add to the retro look rather than distract. The deep green reminds us of Christmas (or maybe the Mexican flag – funny that) while the white accents, especially the thin trim around the collar, serve to clean up what is a very tidy kit.

Colombia

Adidas – you’re killing us at the moment. There’s something quite David Bowie in the dynamic blue and red zig-zags down the side, while the wrap over collar is a nice little retro touch that doesn’t overshadow the discombobulating shade of yellow. “The Aladdin Sane glam-rock lightening bolts appear to be erupting from the players armpits,” says Doonan. “What better way to intimidate your opponent than by suggesting that your lymph nodes have special powers?”

Croatia

The Croatian football strip has always caused consternation – whether it’s a checkmate all depends on your love of picnic blankets. Regardless, Doonan is a fan: “The checkered pattern is bold and memorable while the away colour combo – grey and black – recalls the Louis Vuitton ‘Daumier’ pattern.”

Portugal

A fairly simple design, the jagged icicles on the French shirt are copied here but you’d need a magnifying glass to spot them. So while the main attraction of this Nike template is hiding in plain sight, all we have to admire are the colours. Good thing they’re pretty ones, with a brusque red as rich as port and the surprising pulling off of red and green which we only thought carol singers could rock.

Brazil

Yes, it’s another lazy kit design from Nike who seem to be focusing on the performance qualities of their football shirts as opposed to how they look, but the Brazil colours really don’t need much interference. Utilising the colours of the scorching sand and the tropical palm trees – nothing symbolises the samba boys better.

Japan

The more we squint at this shirt the more it starts to resemble a birds eye view of the M25, but it’s still a stylish design that we could imagine working with a bit of athleisure. (Apparently it’s meant to resemble an ancient Japanese stitching technique called Sashiko.) Whatever it is, it contrasts well with the plain blue sleeves and the little red accents around the collar.

Australia

Australia is a wild country filled with humongous creepy crawlies and cans of lukewarm Fosters, and yet now the most wild thing in the whole nation are those green veins popping out of this shirt’s sleeves. Shockingly it works, mainly because the green is a deep, luxurious hue and gold is such a winning colour.

Egypt

A little simple, granted, but red and black is a killer pairing in all walks of fashion. The trim also extends beyond the collar and onto the hem of the sleeves which is a step further than some other snore-fest showings at the tournament.

Denmark

X marks the sport for the Danish in this World Cup. Despite resembling a team shirt for Wolverine and co. there’s enough to love in this shirt from the contrasting raglan sleeves, to the arrows sloping down the shoulder which makes a change from the Adidas three stripes smothered across most of the other shirts in the competition.

England

As a nation England has become used to underwhelming performances at international football tournaments, so it is only fitting that our disappointing form is echoed in the football kit. It’s not bad, just unnervingly safe. The only embellishment is a thin red line around the collar, which some might call minimalist, but is so boringly fine it should come with its own PG rating.

Senegal

It’s a bold move to just slam a massive lion right in the middle of your kit, and the Senegalese kit has a Versace feel in all those intricate spirals and squiggles. Also, green and white are a beautiful pairing, but maybe the green could have been a little darker? Just a suggestion for next time, Puma.

Poland

Look we like grey when its bold and knows what it wants to be. But all this faded grey on white shirts just makes it look like it needs another run in the washing machine. Having said that, the red trim on the collar is dynamic and punchy, and Poland has a powerful emblem that helps the shirt stand out.

Switzerland

Switzerland – makers of great watches; football kits, not so much. “Loving the wood-grainy squiggles,” says Doonan. “But what is with the strange faded band across the upper chest. This odd design decision makes it look like every player is wearing a darker red bustier top.” A great look for in the bedroom; on the football pitch, not so much.

Iceland

Why has Iceland skinned a snake and wrapped it around what is meant to be a football shirt sleeve. They’ve not even cleaned it, preferring to leave the blood splatters dribbling down onto the grassy field, like a threatening viking warrior bellowing “remember the Euros” at Harry Kane dressed as St George. The rest of the kit is a nice shade of icy blue though.

Peru

“I love Peru, the country,” admits Doonan. “My husband, the designer Jonathan Adler, gets lots of his pots and pillows fabricated there. So it pains me greatly to throw shade at the Peruvian shirt. The problem is that diagonal stripe is very treacherous. You think it’s going to add the gravitas of an ambassadorial sash, but all its does is exaggerate the area below the stripe and – horror of horrors – create the illusion of a beer belly.”

Panama

This will be the first World Cup for Panama, but unfortunately they’ll be entering the tournament in a kit that looks like it is covered in Lego bricks. It doesn’t even cover the whole shirt, with a bare patched V-shape circumventing the midriff. The neck saves the day somewhat with a shape similar to a Grandad collar.

Sweden

Sweden has foolishly left its football shirt on the Ikea griddle for too long and the grooves have left unsightly diagonal marks up and down their kit. If you’re going to do stripes just do them, none of this messing around with borderline translucent lines. The colour is also treading a fine day-glo line and making us feel a little queasy for it.

Spain

Oh dear, arguably one of the best teams in the tournament goes in to the World Cup in one of the worst kits. “Call me obsessive compulsive, but I will never be able to come to terms with the fact that the ziggy zaggy folkloric design motif only adorns one side of the body,” says Doonan. “Remember – symmetry, symmetry, symmetry.”

Costa Rica

This kit looks like a child has gone to town with a protractor and compass on your nice new rug. To make matters worse there seems to be faint vertical stripes running up the shirt like an enraged maths teacher reversing over road kill. It’s a nice rounded collar though.

Tunisia

Very similar to the Eygpt kit in the contrasting trim on the sleeves and collar, but white is too plain a colour for you to play it safe and classic. There’s also a strange dotty zig zag down the side panels, which has absolutely no idea what it’s doing or what it wants to be – kind of like us before our Monday morning coffee.

Uruguay

We understand that maximalism is coming back into sport kit design (and back out the other side if you look at the England strip) but the supposed sun on this kit doesn’t even look like the one on the Uruguayan flag, or the one in the sky for that matter. In fashion terms, the V-neck is also out after a brief return last year so we can’t even applaud that. A poor showing from the South Americans.

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nofomoartworld · 7 years

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Art F City: We Went to Frieze, Part One: Seagull Poop, People Poop, and Demon Poop

The Frieze entrance. Photo: Paddy Johnson

Every year Frieze installs a massive tent on Randall’s Island and lures jetsetters from across the globe to its contemporary art fair. This year, the fair expanded its usual roster of contemporary art galleries to include a few secondary market stalwarts as well. Newcomers to the fair included Bernard Jacobson Gallery, Castelli Gallery, and Axel Vervoordt and Eykyn Maclean.

That’s not a huge change in the landscape of the fair, but notably the fair’s director, Victoria Siddall, told the Art Newspaper recently that there was a significant uptick in applications from galleries in this market. Is Frieze grooming the New York market for an edition of their London-based Frieze Masters (a fair focused on secondary market art works)? Only time will tell.

Meanwhile, Frieze New York is much better than usual. Art fair standards that drag these events down—geometric abstraction, process based abstraction, and assembly line art works by A-list artists—were few and far between. Overall, the work on view seemed unusually fresh and thoughtful. Neither are words we normally use to describe art fair art, let alone that at Frieze.

Jon Rafman, Dream Journal, 2017, single-channel video

Michael: The first artwork we saw entering Frieze this year was a painting by Tala Madani of a man crawling away from the viewer, scrotum in tow. The last piece we saw was a Jon Rafman animation that involved voluptuous young women wearing a xanax cap, popping demons’ pimples, navigating holes in space time, and pooping balls of demon blood.

Paddy: Well, technically speaking the first work we saw was an Elmgreen & Dragset piece at Massimo De Carlo that placed a plaster vulture on top of a wire fence and gate with a sign that read “Miracle”. It seemed like an appropriate way to start the fair. I interpreted this message to mean that as fair visitors, we’re all scavengers seeking the false hope that art provides.

Michael: Ha! I literally had to convince myself it wasn’t a reference to the gated-off holy town (with meta-promotion) in HBO’s The Leftovers. But I’m pleasantly surprised by how much we enjoyed Frieze this year. In a strange way, some of the booths reminded me of NADA a few years ago, back when we actually liked NADA. By that I mean the boring, fussy, predictable stuff we expect from “mature” fairs seems to have retreated significantly at Frieze. So many booths this year felt fun, for lack of a better word.

A few quickly-identifiable trends:

Political work that didn’t take itself too seriously (and some that did).

Less video and installation.

Artists referencing classical architecture in new ways (works that wouldn’t look out of place in an old townhouse with a very modern renovation, perhaps?)

Afro-centric photography

Playful paintings (Plenty of figuration including strange nudes or more-fun-looking abstraction).

More people wearing Comme des Garçons than I had ever seen in one room in real life. (Thanks Met Gala).

Text based neon

Mirrors on furniture

Seagull paintings with poop

Here are some of the highlights (and a few lowlights) from Frieze, with more to come tomorrow:

Elmgreen & Dragset at Massimo De Carlo

Tala Madani at David Kordansky Gallery

R.H. Quaytman, “D. Kasper”, 2017, Silkscreen ink, diamond dust, gesso on two wood panels with self. Miguel Abreu Gallery.

Paddy: Miguel Abreu Gallery’s stock and trade might best be described as careful formalism paired with academic intelligence, and the booth showcased some of the best versions of this ranging from a Liz Deschenes striped chromogenic print to a Hans Bellmer photograph of a doll dismembered and bound. None of these works photograph well, including the R.H. Quaytman above made with diamond dust. I’m assuming the work above refers to artist Dawn Kasper, who perhaps most famously transplanted her studio to the Whitney Biennial in 2015. Normally, Quaytman has a tome of background that goes into her paintings. None of that is visible here, though. It’s just a foot ornamented with lines diamond dust—a rather pristine representation of a performance artist whose studio looks like a hoarders depot.

Michael: That’s funny: this is the kind of work I was excited to see less of this year. I was bored almost immediately upon walking into the booth.

Paddy: Why?

Michael: I suppose it all felt familiar? I think I was in a headspace of wanting to be surprised all day and this just looked like such an art fair booth. Even when I found kinda average works from artists I really love (Marilyn Minter at Salon 94, for example) I just wanted to move on to something new.

Paddy: I’d agree that the Bellmer’s were lesser works from his overall oeuvre, but the quality of the Liz Deschenes wowed and surprised me. (It is made up of white glossy stripes and impossible to photograph, so sorry—no reproduction here.) It’s exactly the kind of work I’d dismiss as easy minimalist abstraction, except that in the same way that a Daniel Buren stripe painting can kind of vibrate from the wall, so too did the subtle undulations of the fading black and white stripes in her print. If there was any way to photograph it I would have made it a highlight.

Adriano Costa at Mendes Wood DM

Michael: I can’t tell if Adriano Costa’s work is terrible or brilliant… and for that I have a total art crush. We first spotted a painting comprising spray paint on ugly HGTV-makeover-show-looking tiling, which read “My Boyfriend is Vegan”. I literally LOLed. Another piece features real tools sewn to the canvas and another is covered in knee-length socks the artist has ironed-on phrases to. The majority of these socks just ask “FANCY A FUCK?”

Paddy: I suppose if you’re going to put text on socks affixed to a painting that’s a reasonable message?

John Currin at Gagosian, Installation view

I’m not sure I can forgive John Currin for being a Republican, but I have to acknowledge the skill of these drawings. The left half of the booth is weaker than the right, which tends to have a few more fully rendered images that have been more thought out. As per usual with Currin, the weirder, the better.

John Currin at Gagosian

Andres Serrano, “America” at Galerie Nathalie Obadia

Michael: Boy, French/Belgian Galerie Nathalie Obadia probably thought they had hit the mother-of-all-timely/conceptual-bombs when someone remembered “Oh yeah, didn’t Andres Serrano do a photo series after 9/11 where he took pictures of Muslim girls and Mexican workers and Donald Trump for some reason and American flags with blood on them and called it ‘America’? Like back when Donald Trump was just a weird C-List celebrity? So deep and prescient!”

The problem with this improbably hot-button-relevant series from over a dozen years ago is that the work is just terrible. The fact that Serrano’s response to 9/11 was to photograph “BLACK PEOPLE! WHITE PEOPLE! INDIAN PEOPLE! FAMOUS PEOPLE!” like a buy-the-world-a-coke commercial (that’s selling me what, exactly?) is so cheesy. That this series now looks important because it features Donald Trump as a sitter and he’s an asshole to the demographics of the other sitters just makes this more cringe-worthy.

Paddy: These aren’t even good commercial portraits. The backgrounds looks like they’re made from cheap colored gels and the only visual trick to the work is that he’s managed to infuse the skin tones with some of the same lighting tones. Someone needs to show his bunny rabbit series. There’s no intellectual heft to them either, but there, the cheeseball backgrounds seem funny—like intentional faux-preciousness for an already ridiculous concept—rabbit portraits.

Roman Ondak, “Swap”, 2011, Performance, edition 3 of 5 at Esther Schipper.

Paddy: Okay, I know this looks like a terrible photo of this poor lad, but it’s actually incredibly illustrative of the annoying qualities in this performance, which is why we’re using it. (Also, it’s the only photo we have.) The performance title, “Swap”, tells a viewer everything they need to know—the guy pictured above sits at a table for four days, swapping one item for another, in the hopes of swapping upwards. It’s an art fair, though, so when we saw him all he’d been able to do was swap business cards.

Michael, you refused his business card swap offer when you were approached, explaining that that’s the last thing you want more of at a fair. When he tried to tell you this card would be art, I lost my manners. “OoooOOOOooooh, Art!” I told him, laughing hysterically. After that he refused to talk to me.

Anyway, apologies to the man in the chair, but this Roman Ondak performance deserves a special place in hell. What in God’s name is the purpose of this piece? To unpack and aggrandize the concept of swapping? Sell someone else.

Michael: I kept thinking this performance was never meant for an art fair. At a gallery in a warehouse district in Berlin (the gallery’s hometown) I am sure the exchanges would be much more interesting. Here, of course the only thing people would have with them are business cards or maybe an overpriced bottle of juice. Don’t they make you check all your personal effects at the door of the tent?

Paddy: I still think he should have took the elastic a nearby photographer offered him. He could have done better with that.

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geneticandunattainable · 8 years

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Here we are - the top ten songs of 2016 Again, women continue to dominate this year’s list, with half of the top ten songs performed by female artists. These are the songs that have dominated my ears for the entire year and I contend that they are all intricately crafted slices of musical genius. Even if you don’t love every single track, I hope you can find some joy in this list.

10. Maggie Rogers – “Alaska”

The launch of this song’s popularity is likely unprecedented even in today’s sonic landscape, obsessed as it is with viral hits and internet culture. She was lucky enough to have a Masterclass with Pharrell Williams while she was at NYU, and played the unfinished version of this song…to his immediate and obvious delight. He called her sound “singular” and had no criticism for her whatsoever; the most impressive part was that she wrote it in 15 minutes and recorded it the same day with her co-producer Doug Schadt, also an alum of the Clive Davis Institute. There’s a real coming-of-age tone to the song, discussing a break up and life transitions in a way that comes across more as hopeful than melancholy. The production is clearly electronic, but grounded, as she utilizes natural sounds to construct the instrumentation. There is simply so much to enjoy in this track, from the harmonies to the lyrics to the, yes, singular arrangement. Here’s hoping she continues to surprise us with her EP, due this spring.

9. Foxes – “Scar”

Louisa Rose Allen – better known by her stage name Foxes – isn’t particularly well known in the States. That didn’t stop her from releasing one of the most underrated pop albums of 2016 with All I Need. Her vocals are simultaneously raspy and soaring, with the driving beat in the production instantly catchy, but the lyrics are what truly stand out. I briefly dated someone back in June of 2015, and it ended abruptly when he got upset one night and threw me against a wall in his house. Besides the trauma of the incident itself, it brought up a lot of painful memories from my childhood, and it was difficult for me to move past the incident. I don’t think I realized how much I needed an outlet for that anxiety until I heard this song. Allen uses the scar as a metaphor, of course, but it resonates for so many people who have some relationships they may regret in their past. With a chorus of “Now you're just a scar, a story I tell/Such an ugly mark, but I wear it so well…Now you're just a scar/A time that I fell for someone who didn't love me well,” she turns an experience that can be upsetting and shameful into a source of strength. She seems to be telling the listener, “You got through this, and it made you better.” I know I, for one, needed that.

8. Bob Moses – “Tearing Me Up (RAC Mix)”

If you’re ever looking for a solid Canadian electronic duo, then these guys should be on your list. Tom Howie and Jimmy Vallance attended middle and high school together in Vancouver, but were merely acquaintances until they both got into the New York music scene and ran into each other at a hardware store. They combined their two musical scenes – rock and trance – to work on their own alternative electronic sound together. The original form of this song, released on 2015, was nominated for a Grammy in the dance genre. Released in February of last year, the RAC remix of the track scored an eventual Grammy win at the 2017 ceremony; once you listen to it, it becomes quite obvious why the remix was necessary for the win. The remix cuts over two and a half minutes from the running time, streamlining the arrangement and focusing more on the vocals. Percussion and guitar hit you from the first note, and you get to the lyrics within the first 20 seconds. Portland resident André Allen Anjos – also known as RAC – adds radiant synths and some gorgeous finger basses, creating a lush atmosphere for the arrangement, and expanding upon the initially minimal track. The end result is nothing but exquisitely crafted music. You’ll forget what the world was like before you heard it, because this is one that stays with you forever.

7. Hamilton Leithauser + Rostam – “In a Black Out”

Rostam Batmanglij is an alumnus of Vampire Weekend who has been making a name for himself as a producer (you may have heard some of his work on Carly Rae Jepsen’s last album). Last year he teamed up with Hamilton Leithauser, the frontman for the Walkmen, and the result was lightning in a bottle. The two men worked together to fashion this slice of brilliance, which opens with an undulating Spanish guitar and even utilizes a small church choir to add a haunting backing vocal about ninety seconds from the start. The last minute of the song is nothing but pure joy, as Leithauser shows off his true range, crooning over an outstanding drum loop and that same guitar that seems so vintage and so perfect at the same time...at no point do they slip into pastiche of any kind. Both men are paying homage to decades of musical history while still creating a sound that is entirely their own. There’s a timely narrative to the song, telling the story of returning to an old town and the old lover that may accompany it. Some of the lyrics touch on the nostalgia of both experiences, with lines like “Midnight where we used to dance/Underneath the ugly halogen lamps/Oh, it all went away so fast/In a black out.” Few people of my age can listen to this and not feel a thing.

6. Caitlyn Smith – “This Town is Killing Me”

I connect with Caitlyn Smith on so many levels, what with her home state of Minnesota and her obsession with Patty Griffin leading her to Nashville by the age of 18. She performed at a few gigs in Music City but set her dreams aside for a bit when she signed a contact to write songs for other artists. There’s a versatility to her voice that makes her sound like no one else on the radio – country or otherwise. There are flashes of Allison Krauss on this vocal, but so many other artists, too. The vocal track is clearly meant to sound raw, emotional – genuine, in other words. Smith writes for herself in a way that I haven’t heard from other artists in Nashville or anywhere else, for that matter. She focuses on the soul-crushing side of the industry that is all too often pushing dreams of whiskey and honky tonks down our throats. Smith pens a poignantly devastating letter to Nashville, admitting defeat at the feet of a city and an industry that moves on without you. She sings of missing her grandfather’s funeral, of losing the only man she ever loved to her career, of pouring her heart out over the mic only to have the audience ignore her. As she notes in the lyrics, “no one's listening, they're too busy drinking on the company tab.” “This Town is Killing Me” is produced perfectly in a minimalist way, building ever so slightly with a slide guitar, a small strings section, and a piano to accompany her acoustic guitar; it’s clear, though, that her voice is the focal point. Perhaps the toughest part of the song is when she comes clean to how much pain the town and the job have caused her, but admits she’ll get up tomorrow and do it all over again. Several other artists may have won the attention last year, but Smith wrote the best song in country music. End of story.

5. weslee – “Gassed”

If you aren’t watching You’re the Worst, you’re not only missing out on some of the best television available anywhere in the world, you’re now missing out on some of the best music, too. There is so little known about this duo that the mystery and anonymity that surrounds them only adds to the allure. Josh and Emma (the former American, the latter English) named their duo after her pet turtle, and their first real splash was the track “Gassed,” which was looked up on Shazam over 5,000 times the night it debuted during the end titles of an episode of You’re the Worst. According to an interview on BBC a week ago, Josh claims an EP is in the works, but most of us are content to simply play this on repeat. The track is incredibly atmospheric, utilizing a hypnotic production that slowly builds anticipation through rolling crescendos that peak at each chorus. This is a song that comes across as deceptively simply, luring you in with its seductive beat, captivating vocals, and sultry synth loops. The song’s protagonist is clearly overwhelmed with her current situation, singing about changing the flow so she has the space to grow, about finding her way back home. There’s a stasis on display here, as she so clearly wants to get back home, but questions whether that’s the right choice. The entire song is electronic, but with such a grounded and quiet style, you could play it at the local nursing home and find some new fans. I sincerely hope Josh and Emma, regardless of their identities, bless us with some more brilliant music soon.

4. Ramin Djawadi– “Light of the Seven”

Of all the shows to discover mind-blowing music, I never usually think of Game of Thrones as a likely source. “Light of the Seven,” from the show’s resident composer Ramin Djawadi, is the first track in its six-year history to ever feature the piano. Along with an organ, a small string section, and two boys’ vocals, Djawadi arranges the piano and the notes to slowly build the anticipation in what can only be considered one of the best sequences in the history of the program. Djawadi explicitly wanted to tease out the tension and the mystery of the finale’s sequence, and utilized only two voices to make the environment of the song seem smaller and more intimate as the characters explore the catacombs of King’s Landing. Over the course of almost ten minutes, the song helps guide the audience through several scenes mostly absent of dialogue, accentuating specific moments with perfectly timed notes, and intensifying the strings to serves as almost a countdown to a massive climax at the end. Listeners who are paying attention will notice the recurring motifs from the theme of the show itself throughout the arrangement. With so much happening onscreen, the composition expertly weaves you in and out of multiple storylines that ultimately tie together through one character’s machinations and the brilliant work of Djawadi himself. One thing I’d like to note: “Light of the Seven” tracks in at nine minutes and forty-nine seconds, and I have listened to it over 350 times since last summer. That sums up the virtuosity of this song.

3. Kanye West – “Famous”

2016 was, for the most part, a complete and utter shitshow. That said, one of the few bright spots for me among the carnage was the one-two punch of this song and the blow Kim Kardashian delivered to Taylor Swift in front of the entire country. As Janene Garafolo would say, “The word ‘vivisection?’ A staggering understatement.” The ensuing controversy of Taylor’s mock outrage, unfortunately, nearly overshadowed the skill that ‘Ye showed off with this track. He’s showcasing Nina Simone (with Rihanna’s vocals and the original singer herself), as well as Jamaican legend Sister Nancy, Italian band Il Rovescio Della Medaglia, and hip hop artist Swizz Beatz. It is clear to anyone that he’s a genius provocateur, but also knows how to put a song together, and, along with other album highlights like “Ultralight Beam,” came back in 2016 with both arms swinging. As Pitchfork noted when it comes to his work with Sister Nancy’s “Bam Bam,” the clip “sounds like a dancehall remix of Pachelbel's Canon, and it's the most joyful two minutes of music on the album.” Kanye is upending expectations, undercutting the concept of celebrity, and giving you a banger all at the same time. Regardless of the controversies that constantly swirl around him – many of his own making – it remains clear that Kanye is one of the best artists out there, and this track more than proves it.

2. Frank Ocean – “Self Control”

I consider these top three songs to be a trifecta, a package deal that all build on each other, though only one can reign as the best of the year. Frank just missed out on the top spot this year (which he held in 2012 with “Thinkin’ Bout You,” by the way), but the perfection that was his latest album fought until the very end. Ocean along with Jon Brion and James Ryan Ho – better known by his stage name Malay – collaborated to produce this track and the despondency on display may as well be in 3D. There is a longing present in the song that wasn’t captured as well by any other artist in 2016. He starts with the braggadocious “I’ll be the boyfriend in your wet dreams tonight” but eventually collapses in on himself, hoping to be involved even if it means literally inserting himself into a new relationship, singing “Keep a place for me, for me/I'll sleep between y'all, it's nothing.” He begs to be reintroduced to his ex’s life, even devolving into looped vocals for the end of the song, pleading to have just one more night with this mystery man. There is a tragedy contained within the lyrics “Know you got someone comin'/You're spitting game, oh you got it” that I literally cannot articulate in words. There is a sense that he has been tossed aside, that he no longer matters, and Ocean capitalizes on what amounts to so many people’s biggest fear – that we will leave this life without making an impact. The desperation here is universal, and not limited to solely one relationship. It’s meant to encompass the meaning of our entire life.

1. Beyoncé – “Formation”

I have to be perfectly honest here – was there ever any fucking doubt? When you’re Beyoncé, you can drop a song on Saturday, perform it at the Super Bowl on Sunday, and the entire country already knows every single world. As Ashley Weatherford noted after its release last February, “Formation” is the blueprint to being “unapologetically black.” In a country that is, arguably, irreparably divided, Beyoncé planted her flag on the hill of her identity as an African-American woman, and could not care less if it leads to a backlash. She has faced criticism for years for being a bad feminist or not caring enough about Black Lives Matter, and this song is, in essence, presenting two middle fingers to the world as her response. When you’re the biggest star in the world, you don’t have to apologize anymore. Every single line of this track is crafted to highlight, as Dee Lovett put it, Black Girl Magic. This song is meant to embrace and to celebrate a group, a culture, a gender – an identity – that has been ignored for so long. The beat is inspired, utilizing an unnerving trap production that builds to a marching band in every chorus while also nodding to the Southern Gothic feel of the entire track. As Rembert Browne noted, this song is a reminder of Beyoncé’s core identity; “I’m a woman and I’m black, but also I’m a black woman — please don’t ever forget that, and no, you can’t touch my hair, not never.” It left an indelible mark on the entire year, and by my account, was easily 2016’s best song.

#Music #Best Songs of 2016 #Best of 2016 #Maggie Rogers #Foxes #Bob Moses #Hamilton Leithauser + Rostam #Caitlyn Smith #weslee #Ramin Djawadi #Kanye #Yesus #Kanye West #Frank Ocean #Beyoncé #Beyonce

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