#I timed my break at work so I could experience 45 minutes of bliss and heartbreak

[when-emma-falls-apart]

FIRST MINUTE GIVING ME CHILLS THE VIBES IN FORTNIGHT ARE IMMACULATE

#I timed my break at work so I could experience 45 minutes of bliss and heartbreak #Taylor swift #the tortured poets department #ttpd #fortnight feat. post malone #first listen

[aphrodites-law]

A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (6/?) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction. (ao3)

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5]

Pretending things hadn't changed might've been the dumbest thing Clarke had ever agreed to do. When Lexa dropped in the following days, sometimes in the morning and other times in the afternoon, Clarke knew there was no going back to whatever their normal had been.

This was the woman she'd shared a vision with - that didn't go away after one rushed conversation. But Lexa seemed to choose the busiest moments and Clarke couldn't exactly leave Gaia and Harper to manage the orders so she could pick Lexa Woods' brain.

It was the doodles she thought about the most. Lexa had mentioned seeing some framed, but Clarke didn't have anything like that at her place. She had sketches and portraits from college lying around in closets and pressed between the pages of the books on her coffee table, but that was it. The only piece she'd framed had been a charcoal landscape her dad had liked and specifically requested for his birthday. Clarke didn't frame any of her art, let alone doodles. Those were for her own piece of mind; a way to entertain herself when all the coffee machines were cleaned, all their customers were happy, and the phone was quiet.

So what could she have possibly scribbled that would be worth framing? And how far in the future could it be?

Clarke was pondering the very question while she went through stock in the back of the café. It was a small, cramped room with her desk in a corner, but it was tidy and, most importantly, it was quiet. Until people bust in announced, that was.

"Hey!"

Clarke clutched her heart. "Raven, oh my God! Why do you hate knocking so much?"

Raven laughed. "Because then I miss that look on your face."

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"It's 6:30pm and you didn't answer my text about the party."

"It is?" Clarke glanced at her watch. "Fuck." She focused back on Raven and vaguely remembered the email she'd gotten earlier this week. Octavia and Lincoln were having a housewarming party tonight and had invited her. Clarke knew she'd clicked on it but the café had gotten a call at the same time and she'd forgotten about it after. She didn't know Octavia or Lincoln beyond meeting them once, so she was fairly certain they'd invited her on Raven's request.

"I forgot. I'm not going," she decided.

"It was rhetorical, grandma!" Raven exclaimed. "Wells and I are stopping by his parents for a bite and then we're picking you up. It starts at nine."

Clarke shook her head. "I barely know these people."

Raven paused. "You know what? I'm not doing this again. You don't want to go, that's fine."

"Raven."

"No, I'm serious. I'm not responsible for your social life anymore. I quit."

Clarke crossed her arms. "For someone who works in a theater you're a really shitty actress."

Raven narrowed her eyes at her. Clarke held her gaze before huffing and throwing her hands up. "Fine. I'll go."

Raven smirked. "Pick you up at 8:45. Oh and I'm pretty sure Lexa will be there. Bye!"

"What? Raven!"

Clarke was in a grumpy mood that entire evening, pulling clothes out of her closet and putting them back in for a good thirty minutes before she settled on what to wear. She didn't get like this. She knew what worked on her body and what made her look like a potato sack barely stitched together. This wasn't a date or even an intimate get-together. It was going to be an apartment packed with new faces and most likely very little room to walk around, let alone take in what people were wearing beyond blotches of fabric and color. With that in mind, she stuck to a navy blue dress and a sweater, having spotted some angry clouds on her way home. She grabbed her coat when Raven called to tell her they were waiting in their car, and was out the door after taking a deep breath.

There was absolutely no reason to be nervous.

* * *

Octavia and Lincoln's apartment in the Green Strip was on the highest floor of their building, a spacious three bedroom with earthy tones and wooden furniture. There was something immediately welcoming about it when Clarke stepped inside behind Wells and Raven, smiling at Octavia when they were all greeted with a hug.

"You made it," Octavia beamed, soon ushering them into another room where they could put their coats.  

They were directed to the living room, a wide open floor plan with the kitchen on one side. Tall windows opened to a balcony, still empty from what Clarke could see. The room was already buzzing with at least twenty people, some that Clarke recognized from the night at Barton, others not at all. She could see why Octavia and Lincoln would want to show off the place - it was perfect for entertaining.

"See Wells, this is a couple's place, not your den beneath the ground," Raven elbowed him playfully.

"You like my den. You moved into my den," Wells reminded her.

"Only because you're freakishly clean and it always smells like apple pie."

Octavia laughed. "Trust me, you have it good. It took Linc' and I forever to settle on a place together."

"Is it pure coincidence you're this far from the Polis Hotel?" Raven asked jokingly.

Lincoln rubbed the back of his head with a smile. "I appreciate my heritage, but some distance from it never hurts. Besides, this is close to Octavia's work and I can write anywhere."

Octavia gave his arm a gentle squeeze, their eyes locking while Raven fussed with the collar of Wells' shirt. Clarke was used to it by now - feeling like the third or fifth wheel, that was - but it didn't prevent her heart from sinking a little bit. The front door buzzer seemed like her saving grace from the display of domestic bliss. 

"Please, feel free to grab a beer, wine, chips - we've got it all!" Octavia told them before darting away.

Raven grabbed Clarke's arm. "Let's leave the men to find common ground," she said, giving Wells a subtle wink before ushering Clarke toward the drinks set up in the kitchen.

"What was that about?" Clarke asked.

"Wells thinks Lincoln is going to be the next playwright superstar. He's crushing hard."

"He hasn't even seen his play yet."

Raven poured herself a glass of red. "Octavia sent us a copy of the script after I told her about his birthday gift. Wells practically peed himself when he opened the email."

"Cute."

"You know him, he only read the first ten pages to preserve the theatergoing experience."

They shared a knowing look and laughed. "Nerd," they both said affectionately.

Raven glanced over Clarke’s shoulder and then smiled widely. "Speaking of nerds, yours seems to be having a ball."

Clarke turned around in confusion. When two people moved, she caught a glimpse of Lexa in a plaid shirt sitting on a couch alone, head down while she typed something on her phone.

"Definitely not mine," Clarke muttered while grabbing a beer on the table.

"What do you think is her deal?" Raven asked. 

"I don't know. It's none of my business."

Lexa had shown at the Polis Hotel she could be the center of attention if she wanted, so Clarke had given up on guessing. 

Raven arched a brow. "You want it to be, don't you?"

"I'm not going to pine over someone who isn't sure if they want me or not."

Raven took her shoulders and turned her around to face the room. "Good thing there's other eligible people here. And we're talking crew; that's carpenters and painters and electricians - plenty of talented, rough hands to make your dreams come true."

Clarke rolled her eyes. "I should've never told you."

"You started a business from the ground up. I know you have it in you to charm the pants and skirts off of everyone here."

"Raven. I don't want..."

"What? What do you want, Clarke?"

Unsure how to even start answering, Clarke took a sip of her beer and shook her head. "Forget it. Let's just have a good time."

Raven squeezed her shoulder. "Let me make sure my boyfriend hasn't started sweating his ass off."

"You really make him sound so lovely."

Raven laughed. "Yep, and he's all mine!"

* * *

No one started a business without some talent in schmoozing. Raven was right about that. But it was one thing to be driven by passion and another to be driven by... well, Clarke wasn't entirely sure. She knew her dry spell wasn't sustainable, as evidenced by how tense she felt most of the time, but the end of her casual relationship with Niylah hadn't been for no reason either. Casual wasn't what she wanted anymore.

So tonight she'd learned some names and talked about her café, laughed at jokes and listened to stories, a lot of them about the visions, still the go-to topic that could last for hours. But inevitably Clarke knew she'd be asked about hers, which was why she discreetly excused herself from a group before it could come to that.

She was sipping on her second beer when the person whose gaze she'd carefully avoided all night approached her.  

"Hello."

Clarke turned from her spot by the wall, her grip on her beer tightening. "This is a surprise. I thought you were hiding in some other room."

Lexa shrugged. "Stay too long in one spot and someone is bound to notice you. Theater people can be… enthusiastic after one too many drinks."

"Something tells me it's not just theater people you keep at arm's length."

Clarke saw something flash on Lexa's face, almost like hurt. It was true though - Clarke had never seen Lexa with a friend. She'd always come to the shop alone; sat alone; worked alone. She'd never been around with a colleague either on her lunch breaks, which told Clarke she possibly kept her life carefully split. Clearly she hung out with her cousin and his entourage, but didn't she have a Wells or Raven in her own life? 

"Well, I'm here now. I was hoping we could get to know each other," Lexa said.

Clarke looked away with a curt laugh. "You don't have to do that."

"Do what?"

"Feel obliged to talk to me because you go to my coffee shop. We don't need to make weird small talk because we're at the same party."

"That's a bit harsh."

Clarke's head snapped toward her. "Harsh?"

"'Weird small-talk' - is that what we do?" Lexa asked.

"I think you made it pretty clear there is no we."

"Lex!" Octavia called out, prompting her to turn around.

Octavia walked toward her with one of the houseguests, an older man with salt and pepper hair.

"This is Semet. We were just talking about his vision- I think you want to hear him out."

He smiled at her. "Octavia told me you were compiling stories?"

Clarke felt she was the odd one out and slipped away.

"Oh uh, yes, I am," Lexa told him, briefly looking over her shoulder before she extended her hand. "I'm Lexa."

Clarke didn't hear the rest, but as she saw the various groups of people talking, she felt out of place. Even Wells and Raven were deep in conversation with another couple, his hand casually resting on her waist.  

The party was nice, and Lincoln and Octavia couldn't have been more welcoming. They clearly kept good company and, in any other situation, Clarke might've been more comfortable easing her way into another conversation. As it was, she realized just how unsociable she'd been in the past year and habits died hard.

Feeling unsettled, she sneaked out the open front door for a breather. Raven's words after Barton came back to her - the deliberate choices she'd made to stay home instead of going out. She'd kept her distances and now it was no surprise she felt so rusty. Nothing had really changed aside from the café's opening. The change in lifestyle had been a shock, but Wells had worked just as hard as her - if not more, especially on their bakes - and had still managed to find a balance in his life. She'd never really asked him about it, assuming it was simply in his DNA to be absolutely brilliant at everything.

But Clarke wasn't horrible at managing her time either. It wouldn't be that difficult to have a life outside of her business, she could admit that much. She just hadn't put in the work and now it showed. 

Dipping her toe back in the dating pool felt daunting. She'd never tried dating apps and couldn't imagine putting her energy into that. Harper was on three different ones and from the chats she'd overheard with Gaia, it always seemed like an endless struggle of deciding what was appropriate and what wasn't. 

Clutching her beer close, Clarke spotted a stairwell at her right and decided to try her luck. She made her way up and stepped out to the rooftop. There was an area with planter boxes and some chairs, which Clarke figured had to be communal. It was a pretty relaxing setup and she was sure summer saw a lot of tenants up here, but the promise of rain and the chilly wind tonight left it empty.

Unperturbed, Clarke walked to the area and stood by the tall parapet, resting her forearms on it. She took deep, calming breaths as she looked over the residential streets of Costial, the city she'd called home for ten years now. She could barely make out the mountain chain in the distance, but she knew it was there, majestic as ever surrounded by the sprawling forest. She briefly thought about the Mountain Men and how they'd survived for a century beneath the ground. What it must've felt like to see the same people every day, to never meet a stranger, or to never feel the sun on their faces.

"So maybe you don't like small-talk with anyone."

Clarke didn't need to turn around to know that voice by now. "I just needed some air for a few minutes."

Lexa leaned against the parapet next to her, though with a good three feet between them.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I was thinking about the Mountain Men actually. How abandoned they must've felt."

Lexa looked toward the horizon, where the mountains hid in the night. "They were forgotten, but I don't think they dwelled on it. You'd be surprised how many good stories I had to leave out to fit my report. Memories about times where their parents and their grandparents laughed, kissed each other, and danced together. People are resilient no matter the cards they're dealt. They made lives for themselves - different from ours, but who's to say they were any less fulfilling?"

Clarke turned to her, not knowing what to say for a moment. It didn’t escape her that Lexa seemed to genuinely want to engage with her. 

"It must've been fascinating to listen to them."

"It was. Opening the channels of communication took time, but I went into journalism for these stories."

"Have they had visions?" Clarke asked, curious.

Lexa shook her head before taking a sip of her own beer. "I didn't ask. It wasn't appropriate at the time and looking back I know it would've made them uncomfortable. They're very… spiritual. Connected to the world in a way we could never be. I'm sure their insight would be fascinating, but some lines shouldn't be crossed."

Clarke lifted her bottle. "I'll drink to that."

Lexa smiled back, drinking another sip of her own.

"So did Semet say anything that throws a wrench in your theories?" Clarke wondered.

Lexa chuckled and looked over at the city again. "He gave me his number to talk further, but he did mention he wasn't in it. Only saw his brother."

Clarke's eyebrows rose. "His brother?"

"Hm-mm. That got my attention too. I don't think I've ever heard about someone not being in their own vision."

"Seems like we still have new things to learn."

Lexa considered her next words carefully. "Writing about people's visions has been… the most gratifying experience of my career. It's pushed me to think differently and it's changed the way I work."

Clarke could tell it wasn't easy for Lexa to talk about it. Not her work, but the way it made her feel. Maybe it was just a morsel, but she was opening up and it was more than Clarke had ever heard from her.

"I haven’t drawn any conclusions and I probably don't know any more than a blogger or someone's Twitter thread," Lexa continued with a small shrug. "But there's still a part of me that questions the degree of influence. I've heard too many stories about people being changed to their core to not be slightly wary."

Clarke frowned: "You don't think they're a positive thing?"

"I told you about the woman who left her husband because of a vision. Do you think he'd see her vision as a positive? I wouldn't say they're either/or, but the repercussions aren't negligible."

"Leaving him was her interpretation of it, though. We can't know for sure that's what the vision meant."

Lexa nodded. "You're right. It'll always be up to the person who has it."

Clarke cleared her throat. "You and I - we had the same one. I had the during, you had the after. Has that ever happened?"

Lexa tilted her head to the side. "Not that I've heard of, but it might not have been…" she trailed off, tongue-tied.

"What? The same time?"

"Hm."

Clarke laughed before taking another sip of her beer. "Alright then."

Lexa looked away with a growing smile. "You're the one who brought up interpretation."

"Uh-huh. If that's what you want to tell yourself."

It was flirting plain and simple and Clarke was very aware they both knew it. She'd missed it - that flutter in the pit of her stomach when flirting with someone. The first steps around each other; testing the waters; knowing the attraction had to be mutual by now. This was a game she could play. 

"Twice," Clarke hummed. "That's very presumptuous of you."

"I'm just taking the facts at face value. There's no clear indication of a timeline and-"

"Do you know I'm not even sure it was you?" Clarke interrupted.

Lexa narrowed her eyes. "You said it was."

"I guessed. Messy brown hair, slim but fit - could be anyone."

Lexa pushed off from the parapet, stepping closer. "I don't believe you."

Clarke stood her ground, feeling a throb of desire. When Lexa was intense like this, she had no doubts it'd been her. But then there was that other side of her - distant, impenetrable - and the clear image in her mind shifted into a blur again.

"Why not? Does it upset you that it might be someone else?" Clarke asked, challenging.

"You wouldn't have told me if you weren’t certain."

"Maybe I wanted to get you off my back."

Lexa smiled slowly. "I think that's exactly where you want me."

Clarke's mouth dropped open. "Are you drunk?"

"Barely tipsy."

"Lexa. What are you doing?"

Lexa stopped short. "I'm sorry, I thought-"

Clarke was the one stepping closer this time. "No, I don't want an apology, I want an explanation. Clearly, you want… something from this. You talk to me; you flirt; you asked me out."

"I had a spa-"

"Come on. You don't even believe that."

Lexa swallowed. "Maybe I was wrong too. Maybe it wasn't you."

"It's one step forward, two steps back with you. I don't get it." Clarke set her bottle down. "Fine then, there is one way for me to be sure. We can settle this right here, right now."

Lexa's eyes flickered down to her lips before she caught herself. "There is?" She asked barely audibly.

"If you'll let me…"

Slowly, Clarke reached for her wrist. She felt Lexa tense and then relax, holding her eyes while Clarke undid the buttons of her sleeve. When they were loose, she pushed the sleeve up her arm. Clarke felt her heart beat faster the more skin she uncovered, gently pushing the fabric past Lexa's elbow. She tried not to think how soft and warm she felt beneath her fingertips, or if she was imagining the way Lexa's breathing stuttered a bit.

Lexa must've known what Clarke was trying to find out. Her eyes darkened when Clarke finally glanced at her arm. The bottom of a tattoo peeked out from beneath the bunched up sleeve, thick lines wrapping all around her bicep. Clarke's hand fell like she was burned, but a quick Lexa reached out to take it in hers.

"Lexa," Clarke gasped.

"Is that all you need to be sure?" Lexa asked quietly, face drawing closer.

Clarke found it hard to even think. "I-I could always find another way."

"Oh?"

Clarke's eyes closed when she felt Lexa's nose brush against hers, but the anticipation of a kiss remained just that. 

"Then make sure of it," Lexa ordered tenderly in her ear as their fingers laced together. "Close your eyes tonight and make sure it was me."

Clarke felt her skin become heated, the pulsing between her legs desperate for attention. "What if it is? What if it's not?"

Lexa stepped back, her eyes hooded like she was drunk. "I guess we can put my theory to the test."

"Your theory?"

"Whether we're inevitable or not."

"Lexa-"

Lexa let go of her hand and walked toward the exit. "Have a good night, Clarke."

* * *

When Clarke got home after Wells and Raven dropped her off, the stillness of everything was in stark contrast to the apartment full of life and laughter she had been in for hours. She didn't mind the quiet though - loved it, even, especially after long days at the café. But maybe there could be... a little more life to the place. 

By the time she got to bed, her body was buzzing. Clarke turned on her back and took a deep, steadying breath. She couldn't stop thinking about the way Lexa had touched her. What she had husked in her ear. 

She hadn't… dared. Not even once. Getting herself off to the thought of Lexa had felt all sorts of wrong, especially knowing she'd have to face her at the café on a regular basis. But it was unbearable now. Clarke slid a hand beneath the hem of her sleep shorts and between her legs, moaning when she found herself wanting. It was no surprise - not after the rooftop. She closed her eyes and tried to focus, remembering her vision in fragments at first.

But her vision wasn't what she wanted. Her vision was just that - a fantasy. She wanted the reality of Lexa; the Lexa she'd felt against her tonight; the Lexa who'd made her dizzy with mere words.

So she imagined the rooftop instead: her, pressed against the parapet, and Lexa pressed against her. She imagined Lexa's hand going up her thigh, slowly pushing up the fabric of her dress. She could still smell her, could still feel her mouth by her neck. Lexa hooked her fingers in her underwear and slid it down, encouraged when she felt how wet Clarke was. Clarke had to imagine how Lexa would moan; if she would be vocal or not; how deep her fingers might reach. She touched herself slowly at first, head thrown back and mouth agape.

She didn't know if Lexa was a talker in bed, but it was easy to recall the shiver down her spine when she'd told her to think of her. This time her words were dirtier, spurring her on. Clarke's thighs widened as the ache inside her swelled and she added a second finger. 

"Lexa," she gasped, bringing her other hand to her breast to squeeze it roughly.

Her thoughts scattered all over: Lexa gripping her hips to turn her around, leaning down so that Clarke felt her weight on her back. Lexa taking her from behind, filling her with two and then three fingers. Overwhelmed, Clarke turned on her stomach and groaned in desperation, knees pressing into her mattress while she brought herself over the brink. She moaned loudly into her pillow, her orgasm blindsiding her. 

Clutching her sheets with one hand, Clarke's grip loosened slowly. She let out a small moan and felt her muscles loosen as her knees finally caved and she flopped onto her mattress. It had been far too long.

Turning on her back, Clarke kept her eyes closed as her breathing returned to normal. She wasn't too eager to open them to a lonely room, at least not for now. She moved her body to drag the sheets atop her and slipped her hands beneath her pillow, her stomach already in knots at the prospect of seeing Lexa tomorrow. 

But there was no going back now. Clarke was sure Lexa knew it too. No matter what this was between them, if two nights were all they'd need to work out the tension between them, denying it was not in the cards. At least not the ones Clarke held.

-

[part seven]

#f: a bit of clarity #clarke x lexa #clexa #clexa fic #w

[vostara]

hold me while you wait

pairing: ares x original female character (beatrix)

blurb: “Just an annoying needle, pricking the back of her throat.”

word count: 3.1k+

title inspiration: hold me while you wait - lewis capaldi

[Hanahaki Disease AU] with a small, but significant twist. You might want to grab some tissues because this is, absolutely, the most upsetting thing I’ve written so far. This is not canon to hypnophobia, just involves the same couple!

warning: untethered angst, mentioned sexual content, and implied character death

*This work is cross-posted on AO3.

series masterlist

It starts with a touch, with Beatrix gently wrapping her fingers around Ares’ injured arm.  “Let me help you,” she says.

At first, Ares hesitates, unsure of the woman’s intentions.

For Beatrix is still a new addition to her routine, a new member that has much to prove. She may have already pledged her loyalty to Santino, but once she pledged loyalty to Lilith. Beatrix has broken her vows before, and there is no evidence affirming that she won’t do it again if she finds a better deal.

But the woman fights against her resistance, pulling the arm towards her. She sprays disinfectant on the long slice engraved into the skin of Ares’ forearm, before beginning to bandage the wound with a roll of gauze.

“Thanks for the help,” Beatrix says. “That guy really got the jump on me.” With the gauze secured in place, she pulls her hands away from the injured skin.

Her eyes lift to meet Ares and a moment of silence passes between them.

No problem, Ares signs.

~ ~ ~

Beatrix knows that she is being foolish, that her evolving emotional involvement with Ares will never lead to a happy ending. But against her better judgement, she allows herself to be a fool.

Ares is a distraction, one that she’s grown quite fond of. Nights of bruising kisses, breathless pants, and hushed moans are an irresponsibility that grants her a passage to escape the world she’s trapped in. With Ares, she escapes from the lingering suffocation of being under Eli’s control. She suspends her subconscious fear of failure, of the punishment Lilith would distribute whenever she had displeased her. Her thoughts replaced with a flood of colorful butterflies, fluttering in the depths of her mind. It’s dizzying and entrancing, but Beatrix becomes addicted to this feeling. When Ares coaxes her to let go, submit to break the coils building inside of her, she obeys without hesitation. And she’s overcome by the sensation of the exploding stars that consume her.

The beginning of the end is set into motion when Ares undoes the silk fabric restraining Beatrix’s wrists against the metal poles of the headboard. Beatrix looks up at the woman hovering above her, longing to leave more bruises against her swollen lips.

So she reaches towards Ares, pulling her as close as she can to her body. And she meets her lips with a kiss that’s too gentle, too passionate. It’s too revealing, but Beatrix allows her emotions to slip through the cracks, just this once. And she knows that this could be her downfall, that everything she has worked for could unravel. That growing fond of the someone could lead to her failure, her demise, her heartache and betrayal.

But she ignores that; she chooses to live within this moment. To allow herself a rare chance to experience how it feels to be with someone that she yearns for, even through the disguise of lust.

For life isn’t guaranteed beyond this night; for Ares’ lust could fade, leaving her empty and abandoned. Is it not better to grant herself one single indulgence? To quench her desire, her curiosity, before it can bloom.

~ ~ ~

Beatrix develops a cough.

It’s a tiny discomfort, really.

Just an annoying needle, pricking the back of her throat.

She tries to clear it. She gurgles warm salt water. She drinks green tea with honey. But nothing works, and as the weeks progress the cough gets worse.

Do you need a doctor? Ares asks.

Beatrix declines, claiming that it is nothing more than a simple cold. “Santino is stretching me thin,” she says. “I just need a chance to catch up on my sleep.”

It’s a lie.

She can sense that something is wrong, that something is trapped and growing inside of her. It’s something that she can’t dislodge, something she won’t be able to force out of her system.

Ares raises an eyebrow. No more nights together, then?

Beatrix laughs. She glances at their surroundings, making sure that no one is watching them. And with the confirmation that they are alone, she leans towards Ares. “We can still have our fun,” she whispers the words.

Their lips brush against each other.

And Ares smirks in response, before giving the woman a playful bite on her bottom lip.

~ ~ ~

Beatrix lurches forward into an upright position, retching and gasping for air.

The noise startles Ares, whom was sleeping beside her. She reaches a hand towards Beatrix, rubbing it against the curve of her spine.

Between coughs, the woman sputters out the words, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Ares frowns, but continues her soothing motions.

“I’m gonna grab some water,” Beatrix says. She pushes the covers away from her body and climbs out of the bed. The woman can sense Ares’ gaze latched onto her back and she turns to look at her.

You sure you okay? Ares asks.

“Yeah,” Beatrix nods. “I’m fine.”

As she enters the hotel bathroom, she closes the door behind her. Beatrix reaches for a glass cup placed beside the sink and twists the knob for cold water on the faucet. After filling her glass with the cool liquid, she takes a long sip, hoping to settle the aching pain engulfing her throat. Instead, she chokes and falls into another fit of coughing.

The glass slips between her fingers and cracks when it crashes against the marble floor.

But Beatrix doesn’t notice the broken glass, nor does she notice the sound of footsteps approaching the door. Her mind is focused solely on the excruciating pain, on her body’s desperate attempt to rid itself of whatever is lodged deep inside of her throat.

A splotch of crimson distorts the simplicity of the porcelain bowl of the sink.

And Beatrix breathes a sigh of relief and closes her eyes. The discomfort that had been etched into her throat has finally alleviated, giving her a sliver of momentary bliss. She gives herself a few moments to enjoy the sensation of breathing normally, before glancing down at the dark color tainting the simplicity of the pearl colored bathroom.

She expects to see blood.

But she sees a single rose petal.

It can’t be real; it’s impossible. There’s no way she could be so careless, so stupid. She’s just exhausted, overwhelmed by this persistent cough, by her weakened immune system. She must still be asleep, trapped in a nightmare, and she will wake up any moment, any minute now.

With a trembling hand, Beatrix reaches towards the object. And when she touches it, when her fingers brush against the soft material, she knows that she isn’t dreaming. She knows that her recklessness, her impulsive decision pursue desire has marked her. That her exit won’t be sudden, won’t be due to an unforeseen bullet to the back of the head. That, should she live long enough, her demise will be slow, painful. Utterly miserable.

There is a firm knock against the wooden door and Beatrix is quick to hide the petal inside of her fist. The door swings open, revealing Ares, concern etched into her features.

“Everything is fine,” Beatrix says, before the woman can question her. The answer is too quick, too panicked. And she knows that Ares can see right through her, but she does her best to keep herself composed.

~ ~ ~

One petal turns into two.

Three.

Four.

And soon, one petal coughed up at a time, doubles, multiplies.

Beatrix can barely breathe, can barely stand. She can’t focus on her meetings with Santino; she spends her time rushing to the bathroom to hurl petals into ceramic sinks. To flush the evidence down the porcelain bowls of toilets.

You are not getting better. Ares tells her.

But the woman brushes off the concern, insists that she’s fine.

Go to the doctor.

Beatrix sighs.

Please.

“Okay,” she says.

~ ~ ~

Beatrix already knows the diagnosis; she knows long before the words exit the doctor’s lips.

Hanahaki Diease.

Her love is unrequited.

And the petals growing inside of her lungs will eventually kill her, suffocate her.

“It’s progressing quickly,” the doctor says. “The disease has already consumed more than 50% of your lung capacity. I’m afraid that, even if you recover, there will be lingering damage.”

Beatrix stares at them, unable to muster the words that she needs to speak.

“Unfortunately,” they continue, “it’s too late for you to fall out of love with this person. Your first method of treatment is, of course, the natural route. However, you are running out of time, so you will need to act quickly. I suggest that you tell this person how you feel. Be direct, straight-forward about your feelings.

“If all goes well, and the feelings are mutual, you will be able to reverse the progression. It is important that you have this conversation face-to-face. This cure will only work if their requited feelings for you are stated out loud.”

A crack forms, breaking the composure that Beatrix had worked so hard to maintain. She laughs. It’s a desperate, defeated noise. One that does little to disguise the realization of her doom.

“I understand if you need time to process what I’m telling you,” the doctor says. “But we are working against the clock, your condition is accelerating faster than the typical—”

“She’s mute,” Beatrix interrupts.

“I see,” they say. The doctor pauses, taking a moment to type notes into Beatrix’s patient file. “Then your only alternative is surgery. It is an invasive, aggressive method. And in your current condition, it is quite dangerous. I would go in and cut away the infected ares, including the root of the disease. Right now, your chances of surviving the procedure is about 45%. The longer we wait, the higher your risk of death.”

The doctor stops speaking when Beatrix begins to cough.

When the woman pulls her face away from the palms of her hands, five rose petals are nestled against her skin.

“Hanahaki Disease isn’t contagious, but there is no sure way of knowing who is at risk of developing it,” the doctor continues. “On top of the risk for your life, there will be risk for the life of the person you love. Once I remove the root, your feelings for them will disappear. You will never be able to fall back in love with them. If this person happens to return your feelings, there is a possibility that they will also suffer from the disease.”

Beatrix frowns. “It would be impossible for me to save her?”

“This procedure is your only shot at survival, Miss Amsler. As your doctor, I advise you to act quickly,” they sigh. “But I cannot, in good conscience, recommend you do this without first having a discussion with this person. If they are in love with you, they may also need surgery in the future. It is best that you give them a proper warning, so they can be prepared if the worst case scenario does occur.”

“Thank you,” Beatrix says, “for the advice.”

When Ares inquires about the woman’s diagnosis, Beatrix tells her the truth. That an infection has manifested inside of her lungs. That the treatment is easy, simple. But she omits the fact that the easy cure for her illness is outside of her grasp. And the alternative is a path that she will not pursue.

~ ~ ~

It isn’t long before the severity of her condition becomes impossible to hide. Her health deteriorates at a rapid pace, and soon Beatrix is unable to stand for long periods of time. She frequently collapses, consumed by long fits of painful coughing. The woman is almost breathless, barely able to fill her lungs with the bare minimum of oxygen required to keep her going.

You need to go back to the doctor.

“No,” Beatrix says. “I already got my diagnosis.”

They were wrong. Ares says. You need new treatment.

The woman coughs and it’s exhausting. “Nothing will help,” she whispers.

Bullshit. Ares frowns. You are just stubborn.

When Beatrix attempts to respond, she unleashes a new onslaught of coughing. The pain is overwhelming and liquid pools in the corner of her eyes. She feels the petals sliding through her throat. They exit her body and land on the cold stone of the floor beneath her.

“It’s Hanahaki Disease,” Beatrix says.

Ares lowers herself to the ground, sitting in the empty space next to Beatrix. She places a hand beneath the woman’s chin, turning her head to look at her.

Who is the cause?

The truth almost slips out, but Beatrix quenches that instinct. Would it not be more kind, to hide the truth? To spare Ares; to save her from experiencing the guilt, the knowledge, of being the cause for her demise? And what if her affections are returned?

It would be selfish to tell Ares. Selfish to expose her heart, to force Ares to cope with the knowledge that their relationship was cursed from the very beginning. That there exists no solution in which they are both able to live and be together. Because even with the surgery, it would be pure torture for Beatrix to share her feelings, just to have them sliced away, ripped from the confines of her body. And the risk of condemning Ares to share the same fate was nothing more than cruelty.

It would not be fair.

No, it would not be kind.

Ares had not forced Beatrix into falling in love her. Beatrix had done so willingly, had been the pursuer, not the pursued.

Beatrix pulls her gaze away from Ares, focusing her sights on the stone. “Santino,” she says.

But had she not looked away, she would have seen it.

It was there, for just a split-second, painted and unconcealed in Ares’ features.

Heartbreak.

~ ~ ~

With Santino’s permission, Ares takes Beatrix away from their Camorra duties. The pair travel to Germany, locking themselves away inside of a cottage; one that is hidden within the woods of a rural town. It’s a location that Beatrix has escaped to before, a shelter she latched onto when she had first attempted to slip away from Lilith’s grasp.

Though Beatrix is embarrassed by her dependence on the woman, she is thankful that Ares was more than willing to help her. The lack of sufficient oxygen being supplied to her body leaves her weak, unable to do tasks that were once easy, thoughtless.

Just a few months ago, showering with Ares was energetic, fueled by intoxicating kisses and touches that ignited quickening heartbeats. Masked by the noise of running water, Beatrix had allowed herself to be more vocal with her sounds, had allowed Ares to fully experience each response she was coaxing from the woman. But now, bathing has simplified to the two woman laying together inside of the small bathtub.

Their routine is simple.

Ares starts the bath, ensuring that the water’s temperature is warm enough to soothe the aches permanently settled inside of Beatrix’s chest. When the water has filled the tub halfway, Ares carries Beatrix into the bathroom. She helps her undress, before undressing herself. The pair settle themselves into the water, and then Ares washes her hair, her body. She rubs her hands across the woman’s chest, hoping to alleviate some of the pain.

And in those moments, Ares wishes that she could switch places with Beatrix, that she could save her. That she could go back in time and convince Santino to ignore the woman, to refuse her offer to kill Angelo. A life where she hasn’t loved Beatrix, hasn’t known Beatrix, is a sacrifice she could make. A sacrifice she would willing make, if it meant there was a chance of Beatrix never developing this disease. Because she knows that she will never care for someone again, not in the way she’s cared for this woman. And to live the rest of her life without her embrace would be worse than torture from the cruelest of tormentors.

Beatrix leans back, pressing her skin against the woman’s chest.

Ares responds by wrapping her arms around her, embracing Beatrix in a hug that’s too intimate, too revealing of her buried emotions.

Everything is just too overwhelming. Beatrix knows that it’s no longer a matter of months or weeks, that her time left before the disease fully consumes her has been reduced to a number of days. But it’s painful to cry, an exhausting action. It eats away the little amount of air that she can hold in her crowded lungs.

“I lied,” Beatrix whispers.

Ares tightens her grip on the woman’s waist, urging her to continue.

“It was never Santino,” she admits. “It was you. I love you.”

Ares removes her hands from the woman, lifting them out of the water. I love you, she says. And then she pulls Beatrix back into her arms and nudges her nose against the skin of her delicate neck.

Beatrix is never able to speak again.

~ ~ ~

In her last moments, Ares is with her. An oxygen mask is secured in place, but it only delays the inevitable. Still, Beatrix cherishes these few extra moments, this tiny extension of time that she can spend with her lover. They lay together in the bed, covered by a mountain of emerald green blankets.

Even knowing her fate, there is nothing she would have changed. And given the chance, she would do it all over again. Because love was never something she thought she could experience; the concept of love has always felt like a gift that would never be granted. She has done terrible things to those who did not deserve it, has sealed the tragic fate of innocent people. And if this is her punishment, her only chance to repent, she accepts it.

And the truth is that she has been lucky, to survive the consequences of betraying Eli, to survive the wrath of Lilith. She has been lucky to live long, long beyond the day when Angelo had planted a bullet inside of her. Throughout her career, her life, she has come so close to embracing the hand of Death himself. Yet, she has always refused him, choosing to push him away and cling onto the robes of the Angel of Life. But the Angel is tired, tired of her relentless begging, her pleading for another day—just one more.

Beatrix accepts her fate, accepts the pain. And she does so, knowing that unlike her victims, she can spend her last moments within the embrace of someone who loves her, is devoted to her. That this is a luxury she doesn’t deserve, but has been gifted, regardless.

She wraps her fingers around the woman’s hand, pulling it close to her chest.

And she smiles, knowing that their love is requited and Ares will be safe.

a/n: hello! thank you for reading my work. if you like my content, please consider reblogging this piece. it is a simple action that truly helps a small author like me be seen by others. i do also appreciate any likes/comments you are willing to leave.

sorry for being a sad clown and writing this, but i had an idea and i was itching to write it. normal updates for hypnophobia will resume after i’ve settled into my new apartment! so you can expect that in the next 2-3 weeks, depending on when i’m able to set up wifi.

twitter: VostaraFics

#ares x reader #ares fic #ares x original character #ares x original female character #ares x beatrix #ares john wick #john wick #ruby rose #ruby rose fic #ruby rose x reader #ruby rose x original character #ruby rose x original female character #v.writings #vostara #fic: hold me while you wait #fic: hypnophobia #series: she drowns in liquid gold #emersonsfam

[soncfseed]

REPOSTED FROM MY OLD BLOG: Probably my most important headcanon, so please take the time to read this!!

spoilers ahead, but im gonna look at ethans cutscenes and talk about how his bpd (borderline personality disorder) affects his actions and his perceptions throughout the story of new dawn. this is all just headcanon and my interpretation of ethan and how bpd would affect him. none of this is meant to excuse his more nefarious actions, but explain why my interpretation of ethan doesnt pin him as a selfish, horrible, awful monster, but rather a young man with a lot of unresolved trauma and a serious mental health condition who ended up making some terrible choices that resulted in a lot of pain for a lot of people.

0:05 - ethan’s introduction

in this scene ethan experiences some pretty quick and dramatic mood shifts, and has a pretty significant emotional outburst. these are characteristic of the mood swings and emotional dis-regulation experienced by many people with bpd. he starts off catching the captain off guard, sneaking up behind them. ethan has been taught to distrust outsiders, and a symptom of bpd he experiences is suspicion of others and sometimes brief bouts of paranoia. this kind of behaviour makes sense when this is taken into context.

he says that he might not be what the captain expects. this is part of his low self esteem and struggles with his self image and how others perceive him. he constantly feels as though he can never truly be his own person, outside of joseph seed, and that his existence is a disappointment to those who know him.

once he sees the book, he is triggered into a bit of an emotional rollercoaster. acknowledging that the deputy is the one who found the book, and according to joseph’s prophecy will be the true ruler of new eden, is what sets him off. once ethan goes into his rant about it should’ve been him, he’s experiencing a mood swing and sudden spike in his anger and irritability. due to his issues w emotional regulation and control over his expressions of emotion, ethan lashes out by screaming and knocking over the podium in the church. mood swings for bpd sufferers can be only minutes long. what pulls ethan back down to earth a bit is a sudden rush when he realizes he can work with the captain to enlighten new eden to the truth: that joseph is a man, not a messiah, and kind of a shitty one at that who abandoned them all.

3:50 - ethan’s first speech in new eden

ethan’s posturing here is just that; posturing. he’s putting on a bit of a show with the “non believer” bit. he does, however, not entirely trust outsiders nor would he trust that the people of new eden wouldn’t turn on him if he suggested that the captain go north. no, instead he plays off of what he expects the people will do to avoid potential rejection or rebellion. this plays off of his mistrust and suspicion of others, as well as serves to protect his secret interests (getting proof that joseph is dead to get new eden to move on from him) and his ego (tied to the bpd symptom of self image issues and unstable self realization).

ethan can’t help but be a bit sarcastic with “we are all his children”. sarcasm and unwarranted aloofness can tie into bpd, and here it definitely does due to his poor relationship with his father, and with the rumours surrounding his paternity in new eden.

while bpd does not inherently make people manipulative, manipulation of others is often something those with bpd adopt as a coping mechanism to manage their unstable relationships or unstable self image. ethan has adopted this trait in some ways and this is definitely one of them. he does not trust the people of new eden, and knows they wont listen to him fully. this is his main motivator for keeping his plan secret.

the fact that ethan feels he has to act a certain way when he’s the leader of new eden further contributes to his unstable self realization. he puts on different fronts to different people to try and both please them and protect himself.

when he says “they will at last understand that i am their prophet…”, this is in part because he feels he’s worked hard to be the inheritor of new eden. he’s not only joseph’s son (and even if he doesn’t like joseph he wants to be recognized as his biological son, making the rumours about his paternity even more hurtful) but he’s been a successful leader as far as we can tell. to think he will lose it all over a book is damn near panic inducing for ethan. well this is in part a kind of arrogance, it’s fueled by his extreme emotions/mood swings as well as how closely he ties his identity to his position within his community. because his self image is so unstable, threats to that cause him to act in ways that may seem irrational or extreme in order to try and protect his self image. also, ethan will only help the captain in exchange for something in part bc of his suspicion of others. he doesn’t want to offer new eden’s archers and resources without knowing that he will benefit in return. after all, if something goes wrong in new eden bc of this outsider and he allowed it, it’s his responsibility to take the blame and fix it.

5:20 - into the bliss

theres not much in this scene to tie to his bpd. one line i think is important though: “bring me proof of my fathers death and i will make sure you are remembered as a friend of the prophet”. well this can be interpreted as ethan saying to kill joseph, i dont think he is. ethan believes joseph is long gone, that he could never survive all alone for this long. ethan isn’t evil, he’s not asking someone to commit murder, he’s asking them to confirm that someone is already dead. sure, he’s self serving and he wants something in return for his allyship, but to him this is how he can ensure a fair trade, and that an outsider won’t take advantage of him or new eden as easily.

14:18 - ethan, interrupted

ethan’s big speech where joseph fuckin crashes it. at first, he literally does not even see joseph in the crowd. he truly believes he’s dead and that the captain will bring back proof of this. to him, adherence to his rule makes sense; he’s the leader, and things need to change. it is arrogant, because ethan has partially internalized a sense of superiority and entitlement because of his position as joseph’s son, and now heir to the rulership of new eden (he thinks). this combined with an unstable self esteem and self image makes him want total compliance to his rule. criticism, disobedience, they threaten his self worth and that can send him into an emotional spiral or severe mood swing. so, to try and avoid the negative consequences he experiences from perceived slights and rejections, he wants a clean slate and total adherence to his new rules.

when he actually sees joseph, he stops, stammers, and says “father?”. not the father. just father. in this moment, his father who abandoned him (who went out for smokes and never came back) has suddenly shown up in the middle of his speech about him being dead. his arm drops and he stands there, stunned and speechless. his first question is “where have you been?”. he wants to know why and he asks why. why did his father abandon them? abandon him? the answer is completely meaningless to him. it’s basic, it has no detail, and isn’t sufficient. he’s speechless again for a bit, breathing heavier and hyperventilating. he steps away from joseph. when joseph calls the captain god’s sword, ethan damn near does a double take. he’s literally standing in his father’s shadow while he exalts an outsider in front of his own son, after interrupting his speech and embarrassing him in front of everyone.

one of ethan’s symptoms is his overvaluing and undervaluing people in his life. this is when he switches from overvaluing the captain, putting too much faith and hope into them, to undervaluing and practically hating them. his relationship with his father is tenuous, and rocky. it is characterized by ethan’s intense desire to be josephs successor and publicly recognized as his son. ethan even calls out to joseph, upset about the fact that hes now suddenly and publicly being dethroned; joseph doesnt even look back at him. ethan rejects josephs words in anger. he has a sudden outburst in front of the crowd; yet another sudden spike in his emotions from a stressful situation causes him to say what he’s really thinking. “you abandoned me. you abandoned us.” ethan says joseph didn’t leave instructions or a message, just left ethan to lead with no idea how. he does the best job he can under these extreme circumstances, and now all of his hard work is for nothing. that would make even the most level headed neurotypical person upset. whenn ethan starts to lose the support of new eden, he breaks down a bit. the anchor of his self image has been completely ripped away from him in a moment. he storms off partially and his body language is pretty dire; head down, shoulders moving sharply like he’s breathing harshly, and then he turns to watch the crowd walk away from him. imo, part of why ethan doesn’t completely lose it in this scene is that he might be partially dissociating or beginning to dissociate or experience some de-realization from the sudden, acute emotional distress this moment causes for him.

17:45 - ethan’s response

this is when ethan says that the captain betrayed him. they had a deal. he completely put his trust into the captain, idealizing them as the person who could solve his problems, only for them to bring joseph back and make everything in ethans life worse. now, the pendulum swings to the other side where ethan begins to loathe the captain. saying that the captain should have killed joseph themselves is an expression of 1) the intense reactions people with bpd can have to certain situations and 2) his skewed logic because of it. what seems totally irrational to someone else might seem like the only logical solution to a problem for someone with bpd. the stress of such a painful, emotionally charged situation like this one. he never wants to see the captain again; on a dime he flips, from putting all of his trust and hope into one person to saying he never wants to see them again and that they betrayed him. this quick switch of very intense perceptions of others is a cycle of idealization and undervaluing that people with bpd may experience.

18:07 - ethan’s prayer letter

in this letter, ethan discusses how he feels he hates his father for the abandonment; how joseph “expected everything and gave nothing”, how ethan never got to really have joseph as a father for himself because he was too busy being THE father. he says wrath and envy grip him tight to the point he feels he can’t breathe. this is definitely indicative of ethans mood swings and intense emotions, especially the irrational anger and aggression many people with bpd can have. then, he says nobody but himself, his mother, and god can know about how he feels, and that he must put on a front for new eden and be a leader to them “no matter what”. this is absolutely something i can see being tied to his bpd. he is aware that expressing his thoughts, feelings, and reactions to others would probably get a negative reaction. he seeks to avoid that, as well as to avoid the judgment from others he thinks he would get. his unstable self image is complicated by the fact that he feels obligated to hide the symptoms of his illness, and pretend to be someone he isn’t. this only makes it worse, as he ties his social and therefore individual identity to “ruler of new eden”. he relies very much on the responses and reactions of others to gauge whether or not he seems “normal” or capable of doing his job.

18:27 - npc dialogue

ethan says that josephs followers see the prophecy coming to light, but ethan sees it as a chance for new eden to make its own path. this is also when ethan says that he is josephs biological son, and that his mother raised him outside of hope county and brought him there when he was young to be raised by joseph. she died from an illness on their journey. this is some pretty significant baggage for ethan. he wants new eden, and himself, to become independent. the only reason he stays in new eden is because of his mother. he loves her, and idealizes her in a way that never flips to undervaluing because the relationship is one sided since her passing.

19:23 - megan’s letter to joseph

this is important just bc it states megan raised ethan as a non believer but after the collapse taught him about joseph’s word. this is important for ethan because it means he had to relearn some pretty significant things after the apocalypse, including a whole new religion and worldview. this can be very confusing for a child, and in part explains why ethan isn’t totally on board with josephs word, or the all of new eden’s beliefs surrounding him; his earliest formative years had nothing to do with joseph seed or prophets or collapses. he had to convert, and did so as a child who couldn’t really understand or make that choice for himself. he is tied to new eden solely because of megan, and without her wish to have him be josephs heir, he would’ve left long ago.

20:08 - intermission/flashback

this is when we see a young babby ethan get nasty with joseph. this is an early sign of his bpd developing. he has an intense reaction and says something very hurtful to his father over not getting what he wants, which isn’t just the apple but his father’s approval. to him, this is another rejection by joseph, or it is perceived that way by a young ethan. constantly being told something wasn’t gods plan, or it isn’t part of a prophecy without further explanation was confusing and frustrating for ethan growing up. he wanted the apple to be like his father; he wanted the apple to feel integrated into his community like the others who were given the gift. this denial, one that is permanent and leaves no room for ethan to change or grow and become capable of handling its strength leaves him feeling defeated and angry. his reaction of “you are an old man, and when you die i will take one” shows a very quick emotional shift and a shift from idolizing his father and wanting to be like him to practically hating him, becoming cold and distant in mere moments.

21:16 - joseph’s worry

“ethan’s sin is pride. there is something deep inside him that no word of mine can touch. i worry that now as an outsider appears to take his place that beast will feed on resentment and grow stronger. ” YEAH ITS BPD YA DINGUS fdpgpfd but more seriously, ethans pride is a coping mechanism to deal with his ever changing self image and self worth. its a rigid barrier to keep others from knowing how weak he really feels, and how uncertain he is of himself.

23:25 - ethan’s betrayal

this is where ethan betrays new eden and sets them up so the highwaymen can destroy the settlement. he tolerates the highwaymen laughing at him only so he can get what he wants: revenge. this extreme response is from his bpd. his impulsive anger, and the extremes his mind goes to won out and he acted on his violent thoughts.

26:26 - ethan and the fruit

when joseph asks ethan what hes done (referring to betraying new eden), ethan says: “i did what i had to do. i freed myself, i freed us all from you, from your rules.”. to ethan this was logical. this was something he had to do. he didn’t take pleasure in it, he didn’t go into new eden and kill everyone himself. no, he handed them over to the highwaymen in a desperate, out of touch moment. the spark was there and his disorder was gasoline that helped the flames to spread. he reacted intensely, out of irrationally extreme anger, towards an entire group of people he had shifted to undervaluing. he felt betrayed so he returned in kind, but no matter how wrong that was ethan couldnt see it.

“i will have what you denied me. you gave it to an outsider but you wouldn’t give it to me. i am your flesh and blood” and explosively tells joseph he doesnt know gods will. he lashes out against his father, arguing with him and rebelling directly by taking the one thing joseph kept him from that he truly wanted. to ethan, in my hc, the apple is more than just power and more than just something he covets. its a symbol of joseph’s fatherhood, of his love; he gave it to everyone but ethan, his own son, and now he would take what he wanted from life with or without josephs input.

31:08 - the death of ethan seed

the first thing ethan says after he sees joseph is “father… i’m sorry”. he’s scared. he knows he’s going to die. he asks if joseph can forgive him. he knows he’s fucked up, obviously, not just by eating the apple but by betraying new eden. his last word is “father”. no matter how torn his relationship was with joseph, he wanted his father’s love. he wanted connection with his father. he wanted to feel validated, have his identity confirmed, even in his last moments.

#hc #repost from old blog

[scentual-bliss-emporium-blog]

The Story Behind the Store

Hello, my name is Kaylynn, I’m a woman who suffers from many different skin and hair issues. I’m prone to break outs and eczema, my hair bounces from extremely dry to oily. I’ve tried nearly every product on the market to help with my issues and they either worked for a little while, made the problem worse, or cost way to much for a monthly investment.

About four years ago I noticed that the more natural the product the more it seemed to work for me. I wasn’t lathering myself in chemicals and lab made additives that drowned my pores and just added a film over the problem. I experimented with various trends and had many different results, Shampoos labeled sulfate free caused my hair to dry up and fall out with a simple washing. It took six months of weekly treatments with pure coconut oil to fix that problem.

Certain over the counter hair and skin products over moisturized my hair and skin causing horrible break outs and hair so oily you could cook a full coarse meal with it. Other products cause me to become too dry and my skin would flake and peel like I had a bad sunburn, it was horrible. I hated my skin and hair. Then I started developing rashes from products with too much dye, fragrance or the wrong chemicals. It was especially horrible around my armpits and thighs where I sweat a lot and just irritated the rash more.

I had horrible eczema on my fingers and hands, and nothing worked. I was given a prescription for powerful steroids that did nothing but make me feel like I’d done unmentionable things with an elephant. I struggled with my self-image for years due to all these issues.

I also work as a welder, and I sweat, get grimy and usually come home looking and feeling like I was hanging out in the ditches of Houston spelunking through the culverts. I never truly felt clean after a good 45 mins in the shower scrubbing every inch of myself. My hair would also dry out something fierce while in the welding shop. (A typical weld arc is 25,000 C, the sun is 6,000 C not counting the inner core. you do the math) It was horrible to deal with.

Once again, I started experimenting. This time with natural ingredients such as unrefined coconut oil, shea butter and cocoa butter. Within weeks of making my own products without all the lab made chemicals I started noticing a difference. My skin got a lot better and my hair finally balanced out.

So, the next step was finding products at the store that were as natural as can be. I went to the giant organic store everyone loves and loves to hate. $15 dollars for a bottle of shampoo that would last me maybe 2 weeks!! It came in a tiny bottle and I knew it wouldn’t ever be enough. Sigh. Next stop the beauty shop, I’ll never forget the first time I walked into a POC owned beauty shop. They looked at me like I was lost, and I can’t blame them, white girl in a beauty shop. I meekly described to them my issues with my hair and they took pity on me and helped me find what products would probably work. Through those wonderful ladies I was introduced to Miss Jessie’s and the Shea products. I found out about castor oil and Jojoba oil. I was taught that aloe vera is more than just a burn relief and was so happy. The product worked... Until they closed, I was so sad to see them go and so mad that Big Box always wins.

Now I know what you’re thinking. Girl you live in Houston there are hundreds of beauty shops. Two problems with that. 1. I live on the outskirts of Houston in an area that’s as far away from everything as possible. It’s mostly industrial. If I go towards civilization it’s either Kingwood and Humble which are a little out of my price range or I go towards Houston and get distracted by Taco Trucks, that’s just in the 25-minute car ride from my house. Which brings us to problem 2. I LIVE IN HOUSTON!! It’s huge. traffic is horrible and you basically must plan your full day around going anywhere that’s not down the street due to Taco Trucks. ( I love Tacos!!)

I ended up going to the big Ol’ Wally World that was close-ish to my house and found the products there. Guess what!! Even more expensive than what I found at the Organic Store. Sweet cookie! It was going to cost me a fortune to have decent looking hair and skin...unless I make my own.

So, four years later here I am. After many experiments, trial and errors. Finding a shop, I loved and losing it, I decided to open my own, I know I’m not alone in the struggle for good looking skin and hair, I know many others have felt how I felt about prices, chemicals and all the other not so good goodies that come with shopping. So, I’m offering them a solution with my store Scentual Bliss Emporium. As natural as can be, inexpensive homemade beauty products that I hope brings too many others as they do me. My friends and family have already tried many products and keep bugging me for more. Lol. So please let me help ease the burden of unruly hair, breakouts and trying to find products that work.

[prime-one-blog]

12 Takeaways From Michael Jackson’s Thriller

(DISCLAIMER:This is a bit of a read.If you enjoy reading and music,I think you’ll like this.)

1982 was a year in music where a telephone number could function as a catchy rock song chorus (Tommy Tutone's "867-5309/Jenny"),where continents could get mad love or representation via Billboard-worthy singles (Toto's "Africa" and Men At Work's "Down Under"),and where "the number of the beast" was less a harbinger of earth's impending apocalypse and more a heavy metal masterwork (Iron Maiden's album and song of the same name.) It was a year that announced the arrival and breaking through of two artists that,together with Michael Jackson,would form the trinity of Eighties musical titans (Madonna and Prince,respectively.) As a rapper,it would be shameful if I didn't mention that 1982 was also a year where hip-hop was given a good,hard,from-behind shove into the mainstream courtesy of Grandmaster Flash And The Furious Five's seven-minute long rap treatise of ghetto life that was "The Message" and Afrika Bambaataa And The Soul Sonic Force's Kraftwerk-inspired piece of rap/electro bliss that was "Planet Rock." (The latter song also spawned the freestyle subgenre of electronic music due to its Roland TR-808 generated drum track that became freestyle's default rhythm setting.)

With 1982 having already served up more than a generous helping of killer tunes (enough to make for an extensive and excellent playlist in today's terms),a nice portion of tasty albums (Roxy Music's Avalon,Duran Duran's Rio,and the aforementioned Iron Maiden offering of Number Of The Beast,to name a few),and a few watershed moments for burgeoning styles of music,it was only appropriate that the King Of Pop enter into the arena and throw his hat in the ring.On November 30th of that year,Thriller was released and the album would go on to not only be a monster smash but a game-changer in the music industry.

As a kindergarten-age pup at the time of Thriller's release,I had no awareness or understanding of the significance of that moment in recorded music history.My concerns were not of the transpirations within pop music as they were with having fun with die-cast dinky cars.Fortunately,given that Thriller was a mammoth pop record and there was some adroit promotion of it,it was still scorching hot product nearly two years after its coming-out and,as such,ties into a few of my childhood memories that were made when the buzz about Thriller was at its loudest.After undergoing the lengthy transition from being a young boy who enjoyed looking through his father's collection of 45-rpm vinyl records and playing around with a Casio keyboard to a grown adult that had a fiery passion for music and who immersed himself in the making of it,Thriller became more than just something I listened to for pleasure and entertainment.Having become cognizant of how big Thriller was in terms of sales,production,impact on popular culture,and influence on future music acts,the album was an object of thorough and serious study as it provided me with valuable education on how to make great music.

All that aside,it's mind blowing that three-and-a-half decades have elapsed since Michael Jackson dropped the highest selling album of all-time on the world like a large nuclear warhead.On the anniversary of its release,I offer my twelve takeaways from what I deem to be the GOAT of all albums.

12."BRUUUUUCE!"  

Rarely,if ever,does a major-label recording artist or band make an album completely on their own.Looking at the personnel listing of Thriller,Michael Jackson had a small army of talented musicians to help him make the record.Among all of the names were three men whom-along with Jackson-formed an indomitable foursome.There was super-producer Quincy Jones (whom I'll get to later on),British songwriter extraordinaire Rod Temperton,and Bruce Swedien.

The mention of "Bruce Swedien" to your average Joe (or JoAnne) would probably get a "who's that?" in reply.If they ever saw him,they might think Swedien played in the movie Cocoon and did commercials for Quaker Oats and Liberty Medical (diabeetis!) In the music producer community,however,Swedien is something of an engineering O.G.that has probably forgotten more about recording and mixing than most people would ever come to know.When the man speaks,you listen because you might damn well end up learning something that will make you a better producer.But I digress.

Thriller was an ambitious project.Included within its lofty goals was-in Quincy Jones' words-to "save the music industry" and for the album to represent the gold standard of sound and production.With production credentials dating all the way back to Count Freakin' Basie,Swedien's experience and expertise made him the right man for a big job.And,boy,did Swedien ever deliver as the production value on Thriller is quite high.The uptempo tracks on the album have a Sugar Ray Leonard-type punch to them and it's that punch which makes them exciting and exuberant pieces of pop music.There's a clarity of elements in every cut off Thriller and good use of the stereo panorama where Michael Jackson's vocals are almost hugged by the backing instrumentation in a way that isn't suffocating.And something should be said about the convergence of Hollywood and pop music via the creepy and cinematic sound effects on Thriller's titular track.In short,Thriller is a fine example of what a pop record should sound like but rarely,if ever,does nowadays with loudness being prioritized over the preservation of dynamic range or the maintenance of good mixing work. Though the time that Thriller was made and vinyl records still being an absolutely necessary medium of music distribution played a large role in the album's production quality,Swedien's work enabled the record to hold up nicely against those of the future that would be combatants in "the loudness wars." It's pretty safe to say that Thriller might very well not be the album it is or possess the sound that it does without Bruce Swedien's miking and mixing prowess.That said,we should all give him the props that he deserves.

11.Getting sued sucks.But sometimes it isn't always so bad.

I know,it's easy to say when you've never been litigated against.I'm sure that no one in human history that has been made a defendant in a legal matter was overjoyed by the possibility of having to fork over some coin due to some allegation of negligence or infringement.That includes Michael Jackson,who was made subject to a lawsuit by Cameroonian artist Manu Dibango for the use of  "mama say,mama sa,ma ma coosa" in "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'."

One can't fault Dibango for filing suit against Jackson.After all,recording artists tend to get anal if one of their contemporaries pilfer or appropriate material that was borne from their creativity without so much as a request for permission of use and pursue legal action in response.Though Jackson had to compensate Dibango with more than just a few Cameroonian francs in an out-of-court settlement,it was more of a gain than a loss.For starters,the moolah that Jackson gave Dibango was a drop in the bucket to the haul that Jackson would eventually receive from sales of Thriller.It was not a bank-breaker for Jackson by any means.If anything,it was an investment into what has to be the best part of "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'." Though there may not be a direct connection between the song's subject matter and the "mama say,mama sa,ma ma coosa" which is repeated several times near the song's ending,it's easy to overlook.This is mainly due to the fact that it's so damn catchy.If the chorus hook with its "yeah,yeah" doesn't embed the song in your grey matter for some time after hearing it,the inclusion of the "Soul Makossa" chant is insurance that it will.It's triumphant,joyous,and it's a stroke of genius that isn't restricted to achieving maximum catchiness to the song.In the something-for-everybody approach that Thriller seemed to take premeditatively,the borrowing of "Soul Makossa" for its opening jam infused a world music flavor-specifically of the West African variety-into a Western pop song and it may also be a young black artist's musical acknowledgement of his mother continent.That said,it was worth every franc that Jackson doled out.

10.Eddie Van Halen was a bowse.

Before 1978,there was no shortage of guitarists that axe enthusiasts could revere or be influenced by.Page,Clapton,Blackmore,Iommi,Hendrix,Richards,Gilmour,and Beck were just a few names within the pantheon of string-plucking deities.Then along came a Dutch guy with a bad ass last name whose incendiary and almost futuristic guitar playing put him atop Olympus.Edward Van Halen was on a whole 'nother level and no one,save for the equally gifted Randy Rhoads (Ozzy Osborne's guitarist),was in the same tier.Sadly,Rhoads' young life was cut short in a March 1982 plane crash and his death left Van Halen alone at the top.Michael Jackson and Quincy Jones needed a guitar solo for the pop-rock combo of "Beat It" and "VH" was the most logical guy to go to first.

Right from the get-go,Van Halen was in bowse mode.He hung up the phone on Quincy Jones assuming that it was a prank call.Then he defied the "no doing anything outside of the band" rule that he and his Van Halen bandmates had by going down to Westlake Studios in L.A. and contributing to "Beat It." Then he set one of the monitor speakers in the studio's control room on fire in the process of laying down a seventeen-bar guitar solo for the ages that he didn't even ask a dime for! However,the bowse didn't stop there.When his Van Halen mates found out about their guitarist's breaking of band rules and told him that he was foolish for doing pro bono work on someone else's project,Eddie fluffed it off and stated that he knew what he was doing and he wouldn't have done it if he didn't want to.

Behind the dazzling and superhuman guitar shredding is a real dude that does whatever the hell he wants and doesn't care.Bowse.

9."The Girl Is Mine" was a significant moment in music history.

Perhaps rightfully so to an extent,"The Girl Is Mine" deserved the flak that it got from music critics.Though not a terrible piece of music,it likely was a wasting of potential that a Paul McCartney-Michael Jackson duet could have otherwise yielded and it does require a suspension of disbelief to listen to (although that potential ended up being better met the following year on McCartney's "Say Say Say.") Two guys fighting over a girl often get violent with each other and don't use words like "doggone" in their exchange (maybe "goddamn" but not "doggone.") Furthermore,if you're going to make a song based upon that concept,it's better to give it the  crunchy,heavy,aggressive,and hard-edged sound of "Beat It" than it is to make it an ultra-sugary soft rock number.Nonetheless,it was a hit and probably so because it was aimed squarely at the older crowd,many whom indubitably met ex-Beatle McCartney and his fellow invaders from the British Isles with anything but resistance and rancor. 

When you look beyond the saccharine character of "The Girl Is Mine" and examine the whole of the song,the significance of it becomes more visible.Macca and MJ teaming up to do a song was not only significant in that it was a pairing of legends on the same track but that it was a symbolic "coming together" (Beatle pun intended) of two major pieces of twentieth century music history:The British Invasion and Motown.

8.If it wasn't for Peggy Lipton...

Let's first establish who Peggy Lipton is before I proceed.Lipton is an actress who's perhaps best known for serving up coffee and cherry pie as Norma Jennings on the iconic television series Twin Peaks.At the time of Thriller,Lipton was Quincy Jones' wifey-poo and,as such,her lingerie and Hollywood connections would result in her making a contribution to parts of the album.

Yes,Peggy Lipton's intimate wear did indeed contribute to Thriller.Jones noticed that the lingerie said "pretty young things" on them which,in turn,caused a light bulb to appear over his head.His spouse inadvertently gave him at the very least a title to a song that could go on a Michael Jackson album and eventually did with the James Ingram-penned "P.Y.T. (Pretty Young Thing)." Aside from being a bouncy,relatively funky tune that perhaps gave a passing nod to the electro genre that was gaining steam at the time (with its vocoder elements),"P.Y.T." exists as a musical testament to artistic inspiration sometimes coming from the most unlikely or unexpected things.

Probably of more importance than her lingerie being the origin of "P.Y.T." was Lipton's role in having a big-named movie star do a feature on "Thriller." The song was already a danceable number that,at its surface,seemed like a celebration of the scary and horrific but there was something missing:A chilling spoken-word rap that gradually brought the song to its conclusion.Quincy Jones could envision horror-flick legend Vincent Price reciting this rap and Lipton did her part in making that a reality.Nowhere does Lipton's name show up on the Thriller personnel listing or in the songwriting credits but she helped in more than a small capacity,whether she intended to or not.

Speaking of Price...

7.Vincent Price sorta got shafted.

One would think that Price's evil,reverb-drenched laughter at the end of "Thriller" alone would have had the ducats coming into his estate even now never mind the rest of his masterful recitation of Rod Temperton's Edgar Allan Poe-like spoken-word rap.Nope.Michael Jackson and Quincy Jones paid a rather low "price" for Vincent's feature on "Thriller." $1,000 was what it cost to get the horror film star to be at his most creepy over top haunting and ominous pipe organ chords that have "Baroque period" written all over them.Obviously,the one-off deal was great for Jackson because he got a Hollywood icon on his record for cheap.The deal worked the other way around for Price whom,after seeing "Thriller" blow up the way it did,got salty about getting a measly grand for his feature.He attempted to reach out to Jackson with the intentions of appealing for a more generous compensation and was ignored.

On one hand,Price had no right to seek out more money for his cameo on "Thriller." After all,if he wanted a handsome sum of dolla,dolla bills,he could have used his celebrity and legacy to negotiate something with Jackson and Jones that was fair for all parties instead of agreeing to a one-off that would put only ten "benjamins" in his pocket.Price made the regrettable mistake of undervaluing his own talent and,rather than let it be a live-and-learn experience,he wanted to renegotiate a done deal.

However,it's hard to be devoid of sympathy for Price.He put down perhaps the most epic poetry reading ever through his magnificent voice-acting and gave "Thriller" the piece it needed to complete its spooky picture.The fact that neither Jackson or Jones revisited their deal with Price when the song had proven to be a hit and offered him more on the basis of it being the morally right thing to do was something of a douchebag move.It certainly wasn't one of Jackson's or Jones' shining moments,to say the least. 

6.It's a good thing that Quincy Jones let one particular demo casette play.

Toto guitarist Steve Lukather,drummer Jeff Porcaro,and keyboardists David Paich and Steve Porcaro were making contributions to Thriller while concurrently working on their own band's 1982 project Toto IV.En route to the recording studio,Steve Porcaro had gone to visit his young daughter that had been living with his "baby mama." After arriving,he'd been informed about his little girl's terrible day at school,one that saw her being pushed off a slide by a boy.When asked by his daughter "why" this boy would do that to her,Porcaro told her that the boy probably liked her and that it was "human nature." In trying to explain to the best of his ability to his emotional young child why a boy could be so mean to her,it inspired Porcaro to later come up with a song called "Human Nature." He recorded a demo of the song on a casette tape.

David Paich was working on some keyboard grooves for Quincy Jones in this time frame.Knowing that Jones' assistant was going to stop by,Paich asked Porcaro-whom was staying at Paich's house-if he could make a casette with what Paich had been working on for Jones.Realizing that they had run out of tapes,Porcaro recorded Paich's material on the A-side of the casette that he had put the "Human Nature" demo on and eventually gave it to Jones' assistant.Jones was listening to Paich's grooves and ended up becoming preoccupied with something in his office,which allowed the A-side to play all the way through and for the auto-reverse feature on Jones' casette player to run the B-side of the tape.Porcaro's demo caught Jones' attention and he asked Porcaro if "Human Nature" could be used on Thriller.After being given the green light from Porcaro,Jones enlisted songwriter John Bettis to replace Porcaro's original lyrics as Jones wasn't too keen on them (save for the "why,why" and "tell them that it's human nature" stuff.) The inclusion of "Human Nature" to Thriller gave a song called "Carousel" the swift boot off the album.Though "Carousel" (later released as a bonus track on a re-issue of Thriller) was a fairly decent track that was so wonderfully early-Eighties in its sound,"Human Nature" was leagues above it.Being my favorite cut off Thriller,there's so much right about "Human Nature." Jackson's vocal delivery is breathy and from a place deep in his soul.The song's lyrics,with its clever metaphors and its underlying meaning,are well-written.The synth melodies are aural candy and sound like they were composed in heaven.All in all,the song is a smooth R&B track that is perfect for something like a night drive in the city.

Quincy Jones was of the belief that a higher power had a hand in making Thriller the successful pop masterpiece that it is."Human Nature" making it on to the album could very well be an attestation that divine forces were at play.Had Jones not been involved in something,he may have stopped the tape after hearing Paich's music and "Human Nature" wouldn't have seen the light of day.Fortunately,things happened the way they did and a little girl's lousy day at school was turned into something great.

5."Billie Jean" was all types of crazy

According to Jackson,Billie Jean was purely a fictitious female that was MJ's composite of all the groupies that he and his Jackson 5 brothers had to deal with.However,according to Jackson's biographer J. Randy Taraborrelli,the song may have been inspired by an obsessed female fan that had taken her obsession with Jackson to great lengths.In 1981 (the year before Thriller),Jackson had been in receipt of a few letters from a chick claiming that he had been a father to one of her twins.In response to her paternity claims and her expressions of love for Jackson and her desire to have a family with him being ignored,she got angry and sent Jackson a parcel containing her photo,another letter,and a gun.In the letter,she instructed Jackson to commit suicide on a certain date and that she would do the same after murdering the baby that Jackson had supposedly impregnated her with.If Taraborrelli's theory was correct that "Billie Jean" derived from something so chilling as to induce goosebumps and cause the tiny hairs on the back of the neck to rise,the song was already crazy in the literal sense by who and what inspired it.

In the process of writing "Billie Jean," Jackson's life could have ended more prematurely than it did with his June 25,2009 death at the age of fifty.Being so absorbed in this song that he was working on,he was completely oblivious that the vehicle he was driving in had a fire going in it and he had to be made aware of the situation by an alert and concerned motorcyclist.Add another layer of crazy to the mix.

Then there was the song itself,which was a smash hit that went deep in the upper deck.Though "Human Nature" is my favorite MJ tune and personal bias could compel me to say that it's the finest work in Jackson's catalog,"Billie Jean" was perhaps Jackson's magnum opus.From a musical standpoint,it had all the necessary ingredients for it to be a high-charting pop joint.The rhythm could implore one to get on the dance floor the very instant that the solo drum break starting "Billie Jean" off sounds.The bassline-a rather simple repetitive eight note sequence-grooves and can lodge itself in the listener's head.The pre-chorus alone is hook-ish never mind the chorus itself,which is hook perfection.There's the gradual introduction of funky synth,punctuated guitar,and dramatic string elements that keep the song interesting.And,yet,for all of the sheer pop goodness that "Billie Jean" offers,it just might be more frightening than "Thriller" because the subject fare of the song is far more real than zombies could ever be."Billie Jean" may well be as much a song about paranoia as it is about what could result from being famous and messing with a girl that has "schemes and plans" behind her feminine wiles.Adding to the stark nature of the song is the conflict that Jackson seems to have within himself.On one hand,he declares with conviction that "Billie Jean is not my lover" and that her "kid is not my son." On the other hand,his vocal delivery when he speaks of looking at a photo of the little boy and realizing "his eyes look like mine" is one of shock,fear,and resignation.It arouses wonderment whether Jackson's repeating of "Billie Jean is not my lover" a number of times late in the song is an emphatic proclamation of his innocence or a convincing of everyone including himself that the truth is really a lie.It all makes "Billie Jean" a crazy good song.

If things weren't crazy enough,the video for "Billie Jean"-deserving of its own exegesis-helped the fledgling MTV to soar into the mainstream.Furthermore,it was also the song to which Jackson-at the Motown 25 television special watched by an estimated 50-million people-created a craze by performing his famed "moonwalk" dance move for the first time."Billie Jean" had every crazy base covered.

4.Thriller was almost as much Quincy Jones' project as it was Michael Jackson's

Michael Jackson is the only name that shows up on the cover of Thriller.And rightfully so,as he is the performer that's front and center on the album.When all the other musicians and producers were finished with their work on the album,it was Jackson that took the songs from out of the studio and brought them to concert venues around the world.However,Thriller could have easily borne both Jackson and Jones' names and it would have been fair.

Jones was in possession of some incredibly keen ears.One could have dropped a nickel on the ground from half a block away and Q would've likely heard it.Jones had an amazing acuity for sound that went to its deepest level.Maybe of greater importance was Jones' encyclopedic knowledge of music.From that,Q's instincts were more often than not trustworthy when it came to chasing down a hit song.He could discern what would make a musical work fly and what could cause it to flop.Michael Jackson wanted to make a killer album and he knew that Q would make the odds of him doing so quite favorable.It likely took no arm-twisting for Jones to get on board with Jackson's vision and become as invested in it as Jackson was.Part of Jones' investment may have been spurred by what he would stand to gain if this album had succeeded in meeting all of its goals:A boatload of money and a larger-than-life addition to his CV.But it's hard not to get the sense that Thriller was a labor of love for Q,one that not only involved a love for good music and the making of such but a love that he felt for the artist with whom he was working.The relationship between Jackson and Jones wasn't solely a professional one,which meant that Jones had a more deeply personal interest in making Thriller a big-time record and giving the young pop singer he had been mentor to with the needed fuel to be a superstar.In so doing,Jones-along with Jackson-had went through approximately 700 demo recordings and only committed what was felt to be the creme de la creme to the album.

It was Jones who,inspired by The Knack's "My Sharona," came up with the idea of having Jackson foray into rock territory and who could visualize Eddie Van Halen performing a guitar solo in the instrumental midbreak of what became "Beat It." It was Jones who felt that a recitation of a spoken-word rap in the outro of "Thriller" was needed and he could hear Vincent Price doing it.And,when the initial finished product of Thriller revealed a falling short of the desired goal for its sound upon play through,it was Jones who rallied the dejected troops to do what needed to be done to correct things with the deadline fast approaching.It was Jones who willingly took on the rigor and exhaustion that came with the production of a highly aspiring album.It's beyond difficult to fathom Thriller being as magical or scintillating without "Q" as its executive producer.

3.Even the non-singles on Thriller were great tunes.

Though it's a given that Thriller is a hit-laden,solid from first-to-last track album,saying that 77.8 percent of its songs were singles really illustrates how insanely good it is.(It bears a resemblance to a greatest hits compilation.) However,the other two cuts-or 22.2 percent-that weren't singles are by no means filler material."Baby Be Mine" is a danceable love tune that seemed to be a continuation of the Off The Wall sound,albeit in a punchy post-disco vein where synthesizers replaced the orchestral element (usually string sections) that was present in scads of disco tunes like Jackson's own "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough." With "Baby Be Mine," Jackson's pre-Thriller fan base were able to enjoy some degree of consistency in Jackson's sound while tweaks were made to it to veer away from disco and warmly embrace the Eighties.Then there's "The Lady Of My Life," a gorgeous love ballad that closes out Thriller.With Jackson's soulful vocals,its heartfelt lyrics,and its warm R&B-meets-smooth jazz character,it might just be the perfect song for a newlywed man to put on and do his bride to.

"Baby Be Mine" and "The Lady Of My Life" could have probably been hits in themselves had they been on someone else's album or not pitted against stiff competition on its own.However,despite being overshadowed by the more behemoth songs on Thriller,these two cuts were sparkling necessities for the whole of the record.

2.There is an irony in Thriller. 

If it's not an irony,maybe it's a paradox.If it's neither,I don't know what you would call it.

Prior to Thriller,Michael Jackson-inspired by Tchaikovsky's "Nutcracker" suite-wanted to make a colossal album that was the highest selling of all time and would launch him into the stratosphere of superstardom.And yet,something of a leitmotif is established on Thriller in the subject matter of 3 of the album's nine tracks:Jackson's dealings with the negative aspects of being a pop music luminary.Wasting no time,"Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'"-the lead off track on Thriller-is Jackson's ebullient counterstrike on media and their propensity for sensationalism and gossip.Long before Jackson had faced scrutiny for the lightening of his skin color and the surgical alterations to his face as well as allegations of sexual misconduct toward children,he had an issue with bad press and the spreading of rumors.He likens being a celebrity to being a vegetable that "they"-most likely the media but not limited to-will feed off for their own survival or gain.Then there was "Billie Jean," which I have already addressed in my fifth takeaway from Thriller. "Billie Jean" calls to mind Jackson's earlier celebrity/vegetable analogy from "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'" (Jackson does mention the name "Billie Jean" on that song) but,on this occasion,the one trying to do the feeding is a girl claiming Jackson's paternity to her young child.Finally,on "Human Nature," Jackson touches on his longing to step out into the city night and walk around like an average person instead of being cooped up in his room and insulated from the world which he was known all over.Part of Thriller in essence was Jackson expressing the discontentment he had with life in the spotlight and letting his listeners know that fame and fortune wasn't all glitz and glamour.However,having been thrust into the spotlight as a young boy and being someone with an artistic soul,the possibility of giving up the life he'd known since his formative years and denying himself further opportunity to be creative wasn't realistic.Perhaps resigning himself to the notion that fame was inescapable,Jackson decided to embrace it to the best of his ability and make himself as huge a star as a human could be.

1.Thriller established why Michael Jackson was (and still is) the King Of Pop

If Jackson's fabulous 1979 effort Off The Wall wasn't his coronation as pop music royalty,Thriller saw the diadem placed atop his jheri curls.Jackson raised the bar so high with Thriller that he made it near impossible for anyone,including himself,to elevate.Though his death forced him to abdicate his throne,he was buried with his crown.

One only needs to reference Thriller to understand why Jackson is pop music's kingly figure.He was his harshest critic and a staunch perfectionist who never rested on his laurels.Though Off The Wall was a critically acclaimed album,he wasn't entirely happy with it.It was like he was constantly nagged by the thought do more,do better.He set huge goals and then pushed himself hard to accomplish them.He had the right people working with him to make his vision a reality.Jackson embodied indefatigable work and relentless drive.

Whereas we might refer to all pop music stars as being "artists," such a description of Jackson wasn't given to be polite but rather because it was befitting.He had such an appreciation for art.As previously mentioned,Jackson's inspiration for Thriller was Tchaikovsky,who had written suites like "The Nutcracker" filled with great music.He had instructed the musicians who had worked with him on Thriller to "think of Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel" and to do what they felt was necessary to provide the right "colors" for his songs.Jackson's art was transcendent of the audio medium.The videos for songs from Thriller were iconic as the songs were themselves.

Michael Jackson made pop music that was palatable.Jackson's brand of pop was so much different.It was pop that sounded like pop but yet didn't.Though,like all popular music,Jackson's material had the largest possible listening audience in its crosshairs,it frequently didn't come off as being kitschy and that was especially the case with the cuts off Thriller.Jackson's music reached into the handy-dandy grab bag of tried-and-true musical devices without conveying the impression that it was trying too hard to be a hit pop song.It didn't need to encourage people through chorus hooks to get on the dance floor or shake what their mothers bestowed upon them.People just got on the dance floor.Most importantly,Jackson's pop was staunchly avoidant of placing a best-before date on itself.Though Thriller may be very Eighties in its sound and its premeditation to be humungous (because everything had to be big in the "decade of decadence"),it contained the necessary preservatives to keep itself fresh over a lengthy span of time and there's an awfully high probability that it will never grow stale or become a relic of the period in which it came out.A sizeable quantity of pop music simply isn't in Jackson's league.As such,it doesn't stand out from its ilk but rather sounds like simulacra of it.It tends to be corny and irritating instead of stylish and agreeable.It makes itself easily replaceable by future music that will inevitably use the same recipe from the musical cookbook to whip up something for the Hot 100.

Perhaps the only way that someone can take the King Of Pop distinction away from Michael Jackson is if Jackson's soul is reincarnated in someone else's body.Otherwise,Jackson continues to reign and it's due in large part to Thriller.Happy 35th!

#thriller #michael jackson #1982 #quincy jones #bruce swedien #rod temperton #album #paul mccartney #peggy lipton #vincent price #toto #steve porcaro #david paich #jeff porcaro #steve lukather #eddie van halen #pop #music

[biofunmy]

In a Year of Perpetual Motion, Moments That Stopped Time

The 52 Places Traveler

Looking back on a whirlwind journey around the world, the 52 Places Traveler revisits the experiences that offered lessons for travel — and life.

Jan. 6, 2020

On my second day back in New York I walked into my neighborhood bodega and the Yemeni man behind the counter did a double take.

“Damn, bro, what happened? I thought you were dead!” he said.

The following night, I went to pick up an order at the Indian restaurant two blocks from my apartment.

“Long time, no see,” said the Bangladeshi manager who, since I’ve been gone, has grown a bushy beard. “Where have you been?”

What happened? Where have I been? After nearly a year in perpetual transit, hopping between the far-flung spots on 2019’s 52 Places to Go list, these are not easy questions to answer. Maybe a more cohesive picture of a once-in-a-lifetime year will crystallize with time. For now, the best I can do is draw out the moments that float on the surface of my memory, the ones I’m most grateful for, as they taught me invaluable lessons not only about the world, but also about myself. And isn’t that why we travel?

1. When I said yes to goat-carcass games and urban lions

By the third hour in a field on the outskirts of Samarkand, Uzbekistan, my hair had taken on the hue of the dust that filled the air in roaming clouds. Every time I smiled, which was often, more dust poured into my mouth. Two hundred men on horseback galloped back and forth across the dry grass, in pursuit of their target: a goat carcass stuffed full of sand. Shouts from the riders, the whinnying of horses and the cheers of thousands of spectators filled the air. At one point, being the only foreigner — and so a guest of honor — I was invited to ride on the truck that drove onto the field to drop the goat and start each round of kopkari, a sport that originated with the nomadic herders who inhabited these steppes 1,000 years ago.

Six months later and 5,000 miles away, in a small suburb of Dakar, Senegal, “false lions” — men channeling the spirit of the animal — growled, leapt and twirled in elaborate costumes. Drums thundered at earsplitting volumes and children shrieked in delight as the lions chased them through the fluorescently lit streets.

There’s a natural tendency to plan our travels down to the minute: We want to make sure we’re getting the most out of a trip that uses up our valuable money and vacation time. Toward the beginning of the year, I spent hours planning each stop — going over notes on the plane ride and sketching out what each day might look like. By my final stop, I barely knew where I was going to stay until the day before I arrived. The sweet spot is probably somewhere in between, with enough planning to know where you’re going but enough flexibility to say yes to the unexpected. New friends and the currents of serendipity brought me to the horses and the lions — and gave me two experiences I’ll never forget.

2. When I became a member of the guild

Hanging from the zipper of my camera bag is a small, bronze key. It grants me access to the backdoor of the Christian IV’s Guild clubhouse in the Danish city of Aalborg. Over the past year, I’ve accumulated soccer jerseys, paintings and a handwritten poem about an Italian horse, but this key, a symbol of my membership in a Danish society with roots in World War II, has to be the oddest gift. How I got it is just one of many examples of how dropping your guard and letting strangers into your life can lead to experiences far outside the realm of conventional tourism.

It started with Kit Sorensen, a friend twice-removed, who I met on my first afternoon in Aalborg. By the evening, she had taken off work for the remainder of the week to show me around. She took me out for pickled fish and aquavit, the straight-to-your-head spirit that Danes insist on drinking with lunch. Together, we explored World War II bunkers and the city-within-a-city of Fjordbyen. Sensing that I craved a home-cooked meal, she invited me to her family’s house, where I made even more friends — and got invited by a stranger to join the Christian IV’s Guild because he felt that “I had what it takes.”

When traveling alone, it’s up to you how alone you really are. Sit at a bar and take a break from your phone and in minutes you’ll be getting a laundry list of things to do from a local — as I did in Munich, in Danang, in Tunis. You might be invited to their homes — as I was in Georgia, Puerto Rico, Bulgaria. In a quiet bar in the small Japanese city of Takamatsu you might find yourself the only customer, going on a deep dive into salsa and New Orleans jazz with a cat-loving bartender who you would have never known if you hadn’t smiled and said “hello.”

There are walls that as a man traveling alone I didn’t have to put up. Being ethnically ambiguous was also, it turns out, my superpower, blending into the streets of so many places around the world, walking home at night and not even getting a second glance from locals. One’s experience of the world so often depends on one’s identity, and I can only speak to mine. At the same time, I believe that, in general, travelers will encounter kindness far more often than hostility. An open mind, a willingness to learn and an acknowledgment of our own ignorance about a new place or culture flings the doors that separate us wide open. Just ask all my new pen pals.

3. When I became my own best friend on a Norwegian fjord

Before a six-hour solo hike in the fjords surrounding Bergen, Norway, I intentionally left my headphones at home. It was sunny — a rarity for one of Europe’s rainiest cities — and I wanted to be present. It worked. I felt the light, cold breeze; I could smell the dewy grass and feel the foamlike tundra giving way under my boots. Six hours is a lot of time to be walking with nothing but your thoughts, but not once did I feel bored.

When I started this trip, the thought of spending so much time alone was one of my biggest worries. I’m an extrovert by nature. By my third month on the move, I was getting used to it. By my ninth, I was having full-on conversations with myself — out loud.

There’s something beautiful about learning to be comfortable with yourself — especially on the road. I could zero in on moments more completely without worrying whether a companion was having a good time. I could create memories that would be mine and mine alone — building blocks for my development as a person.

I was lonely, too, of course. I cried on the side of a Wyoming highway because John Prine’s “Summer’s End” came on the radio (“Come on home, you don’t have to be alone”); during a nearly four-hour meal at a Michelin-starred restaurant on the Dutch island of Texel, I fell into the abyss of staring at my phone; more than once I dreamed about being on my couch at home, with my partner and cat. But over time, I learned to see those moments coming and lean into them. That threw the distinction between heart-wrenching loneliness and blissful solitude into relief; it made the moments of connection with strangers that much more magical. Solo travel is so many things, psychological roller coaster included.

4. When I crossed the risk line on a dark Chilean highway

It was stupid, plain and simple. After getting off a series of canceled, rerouted and delayed flights that took me from Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, to Santiago, Chile, over the course of about 40 hours, I stumbled into a rental car just after sunset and hit the road for the town of La Serena. I was heading 300 miles north to get closer to where I’d be viewing the solar eclipse in a few days. It was about 40 degrees Fahrenheit, but I drove with the windows down and wore a T-shirt, hoping the cold would keep me awake. I blared death metal as loud as the car speakers could handle. I drank coffee like water. One tollbooth worker, seeing my disheveled and wired state, asked me if I was okay. I pulled into La Serena well after midnight.

This year was full of risks; they come with the job when traveling at the pace I was, alone and looking for stories to tell. Within just a few days of traveling this year, it was clear that some risks are worth taking. Getting into a car with that nice stranger promising a plate of life-changing pork in Puerto Rico’s interior? I can handle that. Solo hiking through the snowy Tatra Mountains of Slovakia? Armed with a trail map, I’m good. Driving for five and a half hours in an unfamiliar country, at night, after a hellish flight and no sleep? Nope: That was stupid.

In talking to friends, it quickly became clear that my threshold for risk is different from others’ (“Are you nuts?” my partner asked, after I told her about my night in the woods outside Batumi, Georgia, drinking myself blind with a bunch of strangers). But travel is ultimately a game of choose-your-own-adventure and part of that choice is figuring out the risks you’re comfortable taking. It’s a learning process and there will be mistakes — there sure were for me this year.

By Land and Sea

48 boat rides, 45 train trips

5. When my plans went to hell and I survived

There was the late night in a hotel in Salvador, Brazil, booking a trip to Mexico that would start the following morning, after my plans to get to the Falkland Islands, also known as the Islas Malvinas, had imploded. A total meltdown at the airport had led to check-in lines that extended past the terminal’s entrance. Despite arriving four hours before my flight and checking in online, I missed my flight — and as a result the once-weekly flight to the Falklands.

There was that scorching hot morning at the port in Banjul, Gambia, where my brother and I had no choice but to wait the four hours until a ferry finally arrived. I sweated out every drop of moisture in my body; I downed two liters of water and sweated that out, too, until the also-shadeless ferry arrived.

There was the carefully arranged Airbnb in La Serena that my host canceled with no explanation, just days before my arrival to watch the solar eclipse. I spent most of a night in Mexico, on spotty Wi-Fi looking for alternatives in a city that would be tripling in population for the eclipse.

There was the moment, three months in, when we had to make the call to cut Iran from my travel plans. The geopolitical situation had grown tense and even if I were given a journalist visa (unlikely), we had security concerns. It made the regular messages I received from Iranians on Instagram welcoming me to their country and offering to be my hosts all the more heartbreaking.

Things go wrong when traveling. And there’s something about the places of travel — airports, ferry terminals, train stations, hotels — that magnify feelings of panic and sadness. It’s a powerlessness we’re not used to when we think we have every detail of a trip planned out.

I learned that there’s very little you can do when your plans fall apart. I learned to pinpoint the small actions I could take and leave everything else to play out without me. I started on a long, circuitous route to Mexico the next day and pushed my Falklands trip to later in the month. The ferry did arrive — and 24 hours later, my brother and I were on a boat floating feet away from wild chimpanzees. I found another Airbnb at the last minute, and so what if it was a little farther out of the city? I kept in touch with my new online Iranian friends, promising that one day I would make it there — and I will.

Traveling is an incredible privilege and it’s mind-boggling how easy it is these days to cross the planet. Reminding myself of that got me through many a moment this year that previously would have left me a weepy mess on an airport floor.

under the sea

11 total hours underwater

6. When “no one goes there now” became my time to go

Travel itself, regardless of destination, is taking its toll on the environment: The most frequent, and valid, criticism I’ve received this year is for my Sasquatch-size carbon footprint. While no one at the Times is encouraging everyone to go to 52 places in a year — I’d think again if you are planning on trying this yourself — I also don’t believe the answer is not to travel. To see the natural wonder that still abounds; to encounter the places that are on the verge of catastrophic change because of a warming planet; to meet the people who deal with its effects every day and forge real, profound, cross-cultural connections makes for a more informed, empathetic world. That doesn’t mean there aren’t steps we can take to be more responsible travelers. And part of that is realizing that sustainability goes beyond carbon emissions.

The Falklands in the dead of winter, when I had a colony of King penguins to myself; Mexico in the crushing heat of summer, when the beaches were empty; Senegal and Gambia during the most humid month of the year, when locals were actually excited to see visitors who had braved it; Siberia’s Lake Baikal, in neither the glorious summer nor the spectacularly frozen winter, but instead in autumn, when the trees burn bright yellow.

In planning my trip and limiting cross-continental treks as much as possible, it proved difficult to be everywhere at the “right” time to visit. But again and again, I found myself falling for low season, when it was far easier to blend into the fabric of daily life because I wasn’t just part of a horde of tourists changing the face of entire cities for months at a time.

Cities like Venice — or even Zadar, in Croatia, as I saw when I arrived in the summer — are buckling under the weight of overtourism. As travelers, we could make a difference by spreading the wealth, so to speak. That means, for the most adventurous, going to places that are still hard to get to; it took me two tries to get to the Falklands and three to get out, but that made it special. But it also means thinking outside the “Europe in summer” paradigm.

taking to the skies

40 airlines, 88 flights (only 1 missed flight)

7. When I really learned what a “place to go” is

There’s beauty, surprise and genuine wonder to be found everywhere — and I mean everywhere. A Vegas naysayer can have his mind changed through a chance encounter with a crew of rockabilly musicians. A half-Indian student of history can learn about a mighty Indian empire, of which he knew nothing, by coming face-to-face with its ruins. A traveler can come home after 11 grueling months of continuous travel and start dreaming of where he’s going next.

But first, some sleep.

Sahred From Source link Travel

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#IFTTT #WordPress

[amysubmits]

What's one really cute aftercare story you have?

Getting a request for a story feels like such a compliment to me. Thank you! Sorry that it turned into a small book. I don’t do short very well. 😊

Our aftercare is usually just a bit of cuddling. It’s quite rare for something to get more emotional for me where I need more aftercare. With it being rather emotional I’m not sure if it really counts as ‘super sweet’, but i’ll share our most recent experience where I needed more aftercare than usual.

We were 45+ minutes in to playing and and switched forms of play many times already. CD was spanking me and I had already orgasmed. I was physically a little overly sensitive after that much play, so I knew another orgasm would be hard but I tried. A couple times I was close but moved (due to the spanking) so I basically edged myself by accident, making me more sensitive and making the orgasm harder to achieve. Yet suddenly I feel the sensation rising in me and I have this blissful, exhausting orgasm. I was limp over his legs and I began to thank him for the orgasm (protocol for us) when it hit me that I never asked permission for it. I literally gasped. I got so caught up in focusing on getting my body to let it happen that it never even crossed my mind to ask if he would let it happen.

“Oh no. I am sorry, Sir.”

He didn’t say anything. He just helped me stand up off his lap and works around to the other side of the bed. I knew what he was doing. Digging for the punishment paddle in the closet.

“It didn’t even cross my mind…I was just hard so I was focusing, I just completely forgot.” I explain.

He nodded. I could tell that he already knew it wasn’t on purpose. He guided me back over his lap.

The first crack of the paddle felt like permission to let my emotions pour out. So they do. Sobbing, ugly tears.

I felt absolutely awful. I never thought I would break that rule, ever. I felt like I had let us both down. In a year and a half of orgasm control I had never broken that rule. From day 1, I never forgot to ask. I thought breaking it would require willful disobedience and that I would never do that. Yet here I was, guilty of breaking that rule. The paddling was very short and not as hard as others I’ve received. More like a warning or correction spanking than a punishment spanking. I thought I deserved more.

I was over his lap for a long time after the paddling stopped. I kept crying heavily. He was rubbing my butt, playing with my hair and touching my back. He’s so soft, loving and warm. I was almost hard to accept his kindness with how angry I was at myself. Eventually he moved us up onto the bed to cuddle.

I start crying again as he pets my hair. “Do you know why you are so upset?” he asks me. I nod. “Why?” he asked.

I realize he’s a little surprised at how intensely i’m reacting which surprises me. Doesn’t he think I should feel this way? I certainly think I should feel this way.

“I just feel really guilty. I can’t believe I didn’t even think about asking.” I explain.

“Oh, Toot Toots. You shouldn’t feel that bad. You just forgot.”

He strokes my hair and brushes his fingers over my cheeks. It’s clear to me that he thinks I’m being too harsh on myself. It doesn’t seem that way to me though. We lay cuddling and talking about random things, him petting me for probably close to an hour. He makes me laugh a couple times but my heart is still heavy. It’s now past the time when I should be in bed but I’m too wound up to sleep yet. And he woke up before me, so he has to be exhausted. He decides we should try to wind down. He tells me to go get my laptop, and to come back to bed with it. He tells me I can stay up for a while longer.

It’s a very unusual instruction. He’s never very lenient about letting me stay up. When he goes to bed before me, I stay in the living room. I know he just wants me near him because I’m emotional.

He puts on a podcast and I browse Facebook and Tumblr showing him cute or interesting things for another 45 minutes or so. Finally I feel myself coming out of the emotional fog. I kiss him and crawl under the covers. He stays up watching a video until after I have fallen to sleep.

The next morning my perspective was completely different. It was clear to me that he was right, that it was just an oversight, not a terrible misdeed.

For some reason I just had this black and white scenario in my mind. I had thought before “I’ll never break that rule because I’ll never intentionally steal and orgasm.” so when I did break that rule it was like I was taking on the guilt for that scenario where I did so on purpose. But I hadn’t done so on purpose which is a much different situation. I didn’t intentionally disrespect CD or the dynamic. I just wasn’t thinking. I’m human, and he remembers that sometimes even when I don’t. 

#asks #amysubmits #struggles #aftercare #punishment #domestic discipline #d/s

[wayward-marvel-sommer1196]

Mentally Unstable

Pairing: Jensen x reader (platonic till the end), Jared x reader (platonic)

Trigger warnings: mental illness, slight depression, anger outburst, language, very little spn canon violence, self loathing (I guess. Basically the reader doesn’t like herself), bad traffic (yes that’s a warning), reader being bitchy

Word Count: 3131

Summary: You wake instantly knowing you are going to have one of your “bad” days meaning your emotions are going to be a mess. Sure enough angry outburst start your day when you nearly kick the crap out of a guy in traffic and nearly bit off Jared and Jensen’s heads. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like this will be going away any time soon. How are you supposed to keep it hidden from people who are practically your family and how will this affect the major scenes you must shoot? That’s right you are an actress on Supernatural, but can you keep your emotion in check long enough to get through the day?

A/N: Hey y’all first I want to say I have no fucking Idea where this came from. It wasn’t planned at all. It’s basically word vomit on a page because I had a really crappy day in which some of the things in the story actually happened to me. So, I guess writing some fluffy J2 helped me get over my shitty day. I also wrote the reader based off myself in a way because these emotional issues are ones I face and today was one of the “bad” days for me. Literally wrote this between the times of 8pm and 4am so there’s barely any editing done and I apologize for any mistakes. Its currently 4:30 and I have no ambition to check. Any who, I know I had more to say but I forget, oh well enjoy. P.S. This is my first RPF so be easy on me please. As always feedback is appreciated and wanted and hate will not be tolerated.

***Italics are scenes being shot for the show***

“Damn it!!!!” You screamed as you burnt your hand on your hair straightener for the third time this morning. It was now 8 am and you had to be on set in an hour. You were barely half ready and it took you 45 minutes to get to set.

The whole morning just wasn’t going your way. From the moment you woke up you knew, just by the mood you were in, that it wasn’t going to be a particularly good day. You really didn’t need a cycle of bad days right now, but it looked like your head had other plans.

It started with your damn neighbors at 1 o’clock this morning banging on the walls and their furniture skidding across the floors. You could only assume they were fucking their brains out. However, their two hours of bliss really cut into your sleep time. If that wasn’t bad enough your alarm decided to not go off this morning. Which made you an hour late getting ready.

Now here you were hair half done, make up barely applied still in your PJ’s and having to leave in like 10 minutes.

“Fuck it!” you said as you threw the straightener down on the counter and through your hair in a messy bun. The little make up you had on, you wiped off and headed to your closet. Noticing all your jeans were dirty, you huffed and grabbed a pair of sweats, an oversized t-shirt, put your converse sneakers on, and grabbed your sunglasses to head out the door.

While driving to set, of course you’d have the good fortune to run into traffic. These idiots simply didn’t know how to drive. It was really starting to piss you off. Cars were weaving in and out of lanes, stopping abruptly, and paying no mind to anyone else around them.

“Are you fucking kidding. Thanks for cutting me off you idiot,” you shouted to the black Prius that decided it was ok for them to cut in front of you. This prompted them to flick you off after which you had to take a dozen deep breaths to stop yourself from getting out of your car and beating the shit out of them.

After the horrendous traffic, you finally made it to set at 9:05. Five minute late. You went to run to your trailer when you ran into a huge solid figure and fell on your ass muttering “Shit” to yourself.

“Hey there speed racer. Why the rush? Jensen said as he gave you a hand to help you up.

“Oh, you know running late,” you responded with a bit of anger in your tone.

“Damn (Y/N), you look like crap.”

“Why, thank you Jensen. That’s what every girl wants to here in the morning,” you said with a scowl on your face and a viciousness in your voice.

“That’s not what I meant. I mean- “

“Let me stop you there. I don’t have time for this right now. I have to drop my stuff off in my trailer and go to straight to hair and make up to get this mess figured out.”

“(Y/N), what’s up with you this morning. I’ve never seen you act this way before?”

“Having a bad morning,” and with that you turned away and went to your trailer.

That wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. You tended to go through periods of good days and periods of bad days. Your mental health was a bit unstable to say in the least. It’s been like this since you were in high school and you have just kind of dealt with it since then. Although, it’s been getting harder to hide. Usually your bad days started around hiatus or right before a long break, but now it’s happening more often during filming.

You had been working on Supernatural for two years now. You loved it. Your character’s name was Natasha and when she first met the boys it was right after the events of season 8, so the beginning of season 9. She was badass and could fight better than the boys most the time. However, she was a demon, which proved to be troublesome with Sam getting possessed by Gadreel and all. Her issue was she wanted the boys to cure her from being a demon. So, it led to an interesting story line.

Working with Jared, Jensen, Misha, and even Mark was the highlight of your life. You loved them like your family, hell they were your family. You didn’t have anyone else. Your parents died when you were young and you had no siblings so you were pretty much on your own. Until now. That’s what made keeping this secret so hard. The only person that knew was Jared and that was only because he caught you in the middle of a breakdown on one of your particularly bad days. He sat and talked with you telling you his experience with mental illness. You begged him not to tell a soul, and even though he disagreed with your choice he promised to keep your secret.

That brings us back to the present. You were in the hair and make up trailer, with Janine the stylist, with your hair just about done, when Jared walked in with a concerned look on his face.

“Hey (Y/N). How are you feeling this morning?” Jared asked.

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” you replied with anger filling your voice.

“Easy there. Don’t bite my head off. Jensen came to me and said you acting a bit off and basically chewed him out. So, I thought I’d come check on you.”

“Sorry Jar, it’s just been a hell of a morning and I didn’t get much sleep.”

“And it’s one of your “bad” days.”

“Yeah that too. I’ll apologize to Jay later it’s just today I’m more off than usual. Like I’m tired, depressed, pissed, and annoyed all at once and it’s making my head spin.”

“I get it. You know I do. That’s I think you should tell the others, especially Jensen.”

“I can’t Jar.”

“Yes, you can. I did and actually helped a lot and still does.”

“I want to tell him and the others. I really do. I just…. I just don’t know.”

“Look, I think you should, but I’m not going to pressure you. It’s your choice. Do what’s best for you and that pretty little noggin of yours. Just know, I’m always here if you need to talk, no matter what.”

“Thanks Jar. Really, it means a lot.”

“Look, I heave to head back to set to finish a scene with Jensen, but at least think about it. Love ya. See you soon,” he said as he kissed the crown of your head, earning him a scowl from your hair artist, and out the door he went.

Janine finished your hair quite flawlessly considering what she had to work with and quickly applied your make up, Natasha didn’t wear much so it was always quick, and you headed to wardrobe.

For this episode, they had you back in your all black demon style. For a bit, there you were in relaxed jeans and a flannel like the guys, but this episode had you facing off with some old demon buddies. So, you had to look the part with the skinny leather biker pants, leather biker jacket, lace up combat boots, and even a bullet belt as if you couldn’t look any more badass. Despite the result of the outfit, which was always hot as hell, it was a major pain in the ass to put on. Leather tends not to cooperate or breathe, if you know what I mean. But, none the less it was now on and you headed to Stage 3 to do your scene with the boys.

“Hey (Y/N), about earlier, I’m sorry if I stepped on your toes. I didn’t mean t- “Jensen started to say but you cut him off.

“Don’t worry about it Jay. It’s good. Like I said it’s just been a really rough morning and you just caught me in a bad time that’s all,” you replied with a slight smile on your face.

“You feelin’ better now, (Y/N)?” Jared asked as he came running over.

“Yeah, a little. You, on the other hand, better be careful and not mess up that hair or you won’t be once Janine’s done with you.” Jared laughed shaking his head knowing you weren’t kidding. Janine would get so frustrated with him because he could never sit still for her to finish his hair and then 10 minutes later it was all messed up.

“Alright places people. We need to start the next scene. We’re wasting precious minutes here,” Bob singer shouted and you all ran to your marks. “And ACTION!”

“Look Dean, I know these guys. You could say we were chummy back in the day. I know how they operate,” Natasha said.

“Yeah, well, you were “chummy” back when you were still a demon, but now you’re not.”

“They don’t know that.”

“What do they think you’ve been up to?”

“Treason to the king maybe, but they’d never expect this. So, I just play the part. Act like I used to.”

“What happens when they throw their demon powers at you and realize you can’t throw back?”

“Then I fight. I haven’t lost my skills. And let’s not forget who kick both yours and Sammy’s ass just three days ago.”

“CUT!” Singer screamed. “(Y/N), sweetie, I need more emotion from you. Need more snark and that last line I need that famous snarky grin that you do so well.”

“Got it boss,” you quickly replied.

“Alright let’s pick up at ‘Then I fight…’ and ACTION!”

“Then I fight. I haven’t lost my skills. And let’s not forget who kick both yours and Sammy’s ass just three days ago.” You said nailing your grin.

“Yeah, well I still don’t like this plan. Too many unknowns. It’s dangerous.”

“DUHH!! It’s dangerous. Everything we do is dangerous. It’s the job. And since when do you care about unknowns? That’s like your calling card ignoring all the unknowns and kick down doors.”

“It’s not gonna be easy Tasha.”

“Never said it would be Dean-o.”

“You sure about this?”

“Yeah totally. Like 90% sure. OK like 85%. Maybe 70%. Stop me now it’s not getting any better.”

Just then Sam walked through the motel door and said, “There here.”

“CUT! Awesome job guys. Take five while we set up for the next scene,” Singer said.

“That was great (Y/N)!” Jensen said.

“Yeah you did good,” Jared agreed.

“Plus you look totally hot in all that leather so that helped,” Jensen said with a smirk on his face.

“Dude, really?” Jared said.

“For real Jay, I think your Dean is showing,” you said making both men laugh.

“You may be right, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true,” Jensen said.

“Well, Dean is a notorious liar, so is it?” you couldn’t help but smile at yourself for that one. Jared even gave you a half hug for that.

“I can’t win, can I?” Jensen sarcastically asked.

“Nope. It’s best you learn that know, Ackles. The woman always wins,” you responded. At that time, you were all being called back to set for the big demon fight scene. You weren’t going to lie, you were nervous. This scene had you doing a lot more stunts then you’ve done in the past. Also, you’ve never been on one of your “bad” days for a big fight scene so that just added to the problem.

You finished the fight scene, which took two hours longer to shoot than it should have. You kept messing up and making dumbass rookie mistakes. Every time you messed up you’d have to start over. With every screw up, it made you angrier and angrier at the same time depressing you. After a while Jared and Jensen started to goof off to try and make you feel better and while you appreciated the effort that only put you further behind and made you more upset. But, finally after 5 painstaking hours, yes 5, you finished and you were all fake bloody.

Next up was your emotional scene with the boys but more focused on Dean than Sam. You weren’t sure you were going to be able to get through it but you had no choice.

Natasha laid in the corner of the room, beaten, bloodied, unable to move. Dean went running towards her and laid her in his lap.

“Tasha, hey, come on, open your eyes,” Dean said.

“D-Dean,” Natasha sputtered. “Sometimes I wish I was still a demon. This would hurt a lot less,” Natasha said with a smile forming on her face.

“Really?? A joke? Right now? I don’t think this is a time for jokes Tasha.”

“Hey, lighten up will ya? It’s not like I haven’t died before. I mean technically I’m 540 years old. So- “Natasha started coughing up blood.

“That’s not funny. You’re human now. I knew this show down was a stupid idea. Look at you. I don’t even know where to press down because your bleeding from everywhere,” tears started to roll down Deans face. “What are we going to do without you? What am I going to do without you? I need you here.”

With those words coming out of Jensen’s mouth and the fake “real” tears pouring out of both of your eyes, you lost it. You don’t know what happened but your fake tears became real signaling the “bad” day intervening again. You couldn’t stop it so you got off Jensen and apologized to the rest of the cast and crew and ran to your trailer with the tears still flowing.

You were sat in the corner between the couch and TV with your legs folded to your chest, when you heard a knock on your door. “Not now Jay,” you said.

“It’s not Jensen, it’s me and I’m coming in,” Jared said as he entered your trailer and sat next to you. “What’s going on in that confusing head of yours?” he asked.

“That’s just it Jar, I have no fucking clue. And the fact that I have no clue makes it even worse.”

“I know but think something had to have set you off.”

“All I know is that I was looking into Jensen’s eyes as he was saying Dean’s words to Natasha and suddenly the fake tears weren’t so fake anymore.”

“That’s what I thought. I’m sure you’ve noticed, because I have, that these “bad” days, as you call them, are happening more frequently.” You just nodded your head. “Well, I’m thinking that the stress of keeping this a secret is what’s provoking it to happen more.”

“I guess that makes sense. But I just don’t understand how I go from majorly pissed of one moment to crying my eyes out the next.”

“That’s the human brain for ya sweetie. No one can really explain why it does what it does.”

“Your right. It’s just this fuck up of a day has had me reeling on edge and got in my head.”

“Happens to the best of us. So, you gonna tell him?” You nodded yes. “Good because he’s waiting outside. Jensen come in!”

You mouthed a thank you to Jared as he walked out the door and he gave you that ‘don’t mention it’ face he always does.

Jensen came and sat next to you. “What’s going on?” he kindly asked.

“Look Jay, there’s something you don’t know about me. Well more like a few somethings that have a lot to do with what going on with me.”

“I’m listening.”

“Well, when I was a kid my parents died so my grandparents took care of me and after a few months they started to notice a change in me. I guess losing my parents messed with my head so much that it kind of left me mentally unstable.”

“OK, what exactly does that mean?”

“It means that I have these periods of bad days and periods of good days. I’m usually able to keep them hidden from most, but lately it’s been happening more and I guess it got to be too much. Thus, the angry outbursts and out of nowhere crying.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Because I’m embarrassed by it and honestly its usually something that sends a person running for the hills. Anytime someone says ‘mental illness’ or ‘mentally unstable’ people assume the worst and actually make them worse. So, it’s always been in my best interest to keep it hidden.”

“I get it. But you do realize you are in the one place where no one would care? We would all support you. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I just am ashamed I guess, but I can’t hold it back anymore because that’s making it worse.”

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of. We all support you. I support you. It’s gonna take a lot more than a mental illness to send me running for the hills.”

“I really appreciate that Jay. You have no idea how much that means to me.”

“No problem. And look you can come and talk to me anytime you need. Any hour of any day. Call if you must. I’ll pick up. Your health is more important.”

“Thank you.”

“Your welcome. But I have a question. How come Jared knew?”

“Because he found me in the middle of one of my break downs about 6 months back and I swore him to secrecy.”

“That sounds like you,” Jensen said with a smile on his face. “Now why don’t we go and finish this scene and kick it in the ass and then grab a couple beers to top the night off?”

“Sounds good to me.”

Jensen helped you off the ground ad you both returned to Stage 3 and knocked that scene out of the park. You both portrayed that raw emotion with such intensity it was hard to believe it wasn’t real. Those were Bob Singers words not yours. Turns out Natasha didn’t die, right before she drew her final breath Cas swooped in and healed her mostly because he still had a little wear and tear. But she lived and spoiler alert her and Dean ended up together. Many times that night, in fact, much to Sam’s annoyance. So, a good episode.

After that you did go out and get those beers with the guys and had a wonderful rest of the night. Cracking jokes telling stories, it was a hell of a time. Maybe a little too wonderful considering you woke up in Jensen’s bed with his t-shirt on and him wearing nothing but boxers. 

@jensen-jarpad 

#Supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fic #Supernatural actors #RPF #Jensen Ackles #jensen x reader #jensen ackels x reader #jensen fic #jensen one shot #jensen imagine #jared padalecki #jared padalecki x reader #jared x reader #jared fic #jared oneshot #jared imagine #tw mental illness #tw mental health #Mentally Unstable

[theuniverseofgail-blog]

Okeechobee

This entry will not do my experience at Okeechobee justice. Not only because I am waiting over 4 months to finally try and recount my time there, but because words are at a disadvantage when it comes to taking raw feelings and identifying them. Here is my attempt: 

My invite was as last-minute as it gets. This festival had been planned since Christmas for my boyfriend, Sam, and his brother, Jacob. Maddie, Jacob’s (now ex) girlfriend would accompany the two and arrange for everyone to link up with this group of mutually acquainted festival-goers. Unfortunately for Jacob, his asshole professor refused to work with him and his chemistry test on the intended day of departure, leaving his ticket up for grabs. For some bizarre reason I was on the fence about taking his spot. Whether it was out of guilt or fear, who knows. I am just relieved I grew a pair and looked past my irrational skepticism. 

The drive was 11 hours and actually passed fairly quickly. Dab breaks definitely played a factor there. When we finally got there, there was no time to feel out the place, we immediately unpacked what would become our little home for the following days. Tent and all, we set up and decorated a personal campground for our hippie gang. I loved living that way. There is something so satisfying about simplfying living conditions down to the bare necessity. Cutting out the luxuries we use and overlook on a daily basis -television, air conditioning, refrigerators, microwaves, bathrooms, chargers- and instead relying solely on nature. Setting up our campground in a way set up the experience. We mingled and made friends easily, that component is key. I grew ridiculously close to the people inhabiting our grounds in a ridiculously short period of time. But that's just the (amazing) thing, it’s impossible to walk out of a festival without friends. It feels like everyone there is on the same peace and love-endorsing wavelength. It is something else. You don’t know anyone’s story, but you know that everyone there sacrificed the time and money for the sake of music. You’re all there for the experience and for improving it, which creates immediate fellowship. There’s an unspoken understanding that the only thing appropriate for radiation is positivity. It’s almost like the festival rewired the brain chemistry of the occupants strictly to favorable thought patterns, like even our vocabularies underwent an unusual excess of encouraging words. It quickly became evident, that regardless of where you were, if you ran into people, they were undoubtedly enjoying themselves. 

Once we were all moved in, Sam and I channelled our excitement into pregaming. We didn’t waste any time getting beer drunk for the upcoming performers. That night turned into a necessary wakeup call in regard to my bodily limits. It turns out, I can’t stomach like 10 beers in like 2 hours. The fun ended in a puddle of my piss. I decided to lay down in the tent before recuperating... that escalated. I sincerely thought I was on the brink of death that night/morning. I peed my pants, the sleeping bag, the blankets, hell the whole tent, in addition to throwing up pretty much any vital body part in my stomach. I was mortified with myself and feared judgement from my renowned and respected hippy gang. Of course hardly anyone noticed, nor mentioned it. At this point, I acknowledged my size and decided to let it dictate my choices in regard to all of the illegal unmentionables, aka drugs and alcohol. 

This first night nightmare actually shaped me up nicely. I managed my Molly and acid intake responsibly, which is where it counts. It was my first time taking Molly and looking back I really wouldn't have done it differently. I knew it had kicked in when my body was possessed by this unshakable urge to move. Which is exactly what I did. Sam and I literally danced our asses off for who knows how long. It was amazing though. Every nerve in my body wanted to express how good the music made it feel, so it did just that. It’s like your body enters “Molly mode,” complete with an endless tank of dance moves, energy, and happiness. Heat and exhaustion will, however, challenge the “endless” aspect of this tank, let me warn you. The acid, on the other hand, rocked my world, in the best way ever possible. 

I’ve messed around with psychedelics a good bit so I knew what I was getting into. Sam, however, was an acid virgin. It was the last day and acid was brought up and some things lead to another and we decided to trip together. I was reluctant because, well acid is acid, and you can’t predict how your mind responds to psychedelics. A festival is a prime acid environment if you are familiar with tripping, but to a newbie it could be way too overwhelming. Sam handled everything perfectly though, to my pleasant surprise. Which is the only contender when it comes to choosing words to adequately describe that experience... perfect. Despite belonging to a bigger group, Sam and I generally ventured off on our own. It was nothing against our company, but really just a way to ensure we could see my favorite artists -his too, I just had three times as many. This isolation bonded us on its own -the simple concept of two people, in a crowd of thousands, desiring nothing but one another’s company. As long as he was with me, I felt comfortable and safe, oh and then there was the uncontrollable happiness. Hand in hand, it felt like it was us against the world, in a world that wasn't even out for us, more like a world that worshipped us. Not that the world worshipped us, as in a materialistic manner, but that it worshiped us together, the unification of us. Everything, every little thing, felt so insanely right. There was this palm tree forest of hammocks tucked behind the walkway, and we laid there for forever. I was just so intently content. Our playlist was whatever the next unthinkably talented band or artist wanted to perform for us. All of it, regardless of the genre, was extraordinary. (Excluding like this 45 second clip of a trumpet in dire need of tuning. It resembled the noise a cat makes when you strangle it following a vocal-cord removal procedure.) But as I was suspended in that Eno with Sam, I had this recognition, a magical one. This feeling, a feeling that nothing in the world could pollute, no outside force could alter, was love! I was in love with this boy. I thought that perhaps the acid was making the sun’s warmth feel affectionate, and turning the air sweet, and giving the palm leaves personality, and revealing to me all of these unidentified colors... but I was wrong. It was love! Processing that discovery was glorious. I looked at Sam and was completely overcome by affection for him. Acknowledging my love for him either instilled or made light of a new, unwavering faith in us. Accepting my love for him was like taking a blurry pic of all of the wonders of the world and watching it focus into a clear, sharp, edge-cutting masterpiece. It was the epitome of bliss. I’ll carry a photographic print of the ways his eyes looked around at the world and perceived it through his own personalized lenses forever. They would water because he would forget to blink because he saw earth for the astonishing exhibit it is. He is so incredible in the most subtle ways. Throughout the entirety of the trip, I became more and more drawn to him. I was so oblivious to the effects he had on me until I was forced to face them, all of them. As it got darker, I found my body longing for his. I lusted him unlike any time before and couldn't quiet the thoughts and desires without him physically putting them to peace. And as you can guess, that’s how the perfect night following the perfect day following the perfect trip ended. Some good, old-fashioned tent sex. But really, that was my favorite sex, to this day. Every sensation was heightened, it felt euphoric. 

And that’s how it went. That’s why it was so good. Two kids, completely and irrevocably in love, at a music festival. But don't get me wrong, it wasn’t the experiences themselves -not even the private concerts from bucket-list musicians- but the ability to share those experiences with the love of my life. He wasn't just there for some of the best memories of my life, he helped create them. 

So that’s a recap!

There are my favorite days of my life succumbed into some paragraphs. 

[zealoptics]

Journey South: A Loco Chile Adventure

Words by Summer Fenton

Images by Summer Fenton and @vivachile

“Traveling isn't always as easy or glamorous as it sounds or looks. Sometimes it’s challenging, and you're put in situations that break your cool. But it’s all good because that’s part of the thrilling adventure, unforgettable memories and experience of the journey.” 

As I took my last steps on American soil to board my flight to the southern hemisphere, I couldn't help but feel the traveling jitters as I embarked my first journey to Chile. I finally got the opportunity to check it off my bucket list of places to snowboard. The terrain looked like a snowboarder’s dream- so many endless opportunities. Without the World Cup event happening in New Zealand this year, I realized this was the perfect moment to ride and explore a different country. But don’t worry New Zealand; I will be back in a heartbeat. A lot of people asked me “where are you snowboarding in Chile? or “what are your plans down there?” And honestly, I had NO idea. I knew two things: I’d be filming with Powanoia members Fancy and Christine for the last bit of our movie project (coming this October) and that we would be cat boarding at Ski Arpa with Steep-N-Deep Tours  the day after I arrived. We were on a mission to chase the snow and let it flow; little did we know that we were about to hop on a crazy ride with lots of bumps along the way.

It all started to feel surreal as I packed my backpack for the upcoming day with avalanche gear and snowboarding essentials. I felt so lucky to be cat boarding at Ski Arpa, a private mountain in the shadows of Aconcagua Mountain (highest mountain in the Americas) on my first day back on the board. Our friend, Ian, told us that our fifteen-passenger van would be the biggest vehicle to ever drive up the Ski Arpa road. I didn't realize how serious he was until I saw the extremely narrow dirt road leading up to the mountain. There were no guard rails and barely enough room to make the switchback turns with this massive van. With each turn it was a huge drop off. Our van struggled to make it up this road and at some points we didn't have enough momentum to go up anymore, so we would have to roll back down the road in hopes of getting enough momentum to make the turn. The smell of the clutch burned my nose, and I squeezed my crystals for protection. Every time we rolled back it felt like we wouldn't brake in time and just slide off the road and tumble down.I kept my eyes closed for the majority of the ride until someone said, “we made it!” I was so relieved that I didn't die on my second day in Chile.  Instead, I got to ride a private mountain with open, long runs with five of my friends and the luxury of getting cat rides up to the top. The bumpy, nerve-wrecking drive was SO worth it!

Photo: @vivachile || From left to right, Monica, Christine, Fancy & Summer (Me) 

A snowstorm closed down the roads to Portillo (mountain resort) so we decided that our next best move was to get that fresh powder. From opening to closing, it was a blue bird, powder day where we found fun wind lips and scored a lake run just as the ropes dropped. As I was on the narrow traverse next to the lake, I couldn't help but feel so grateful for this moment and this view.  

Photo: @vivachile || Rider: Summer (Me) enjoying Portillo

But it was time get moving to pick up our filmer Keith who had just flown in and picked up the rental car for us. It would finally be time to start filming for Powanoia! Within ten minutes of meeting up with Keith, putting our bags in the car, getting stoked to film for the movie and going inside the gas station to use the free Wi-Fi to book an Airbnb for the night, the security guard at the gas station tapped on our shoulders. We had no idea what he was saying because none of us spoke Spanish. After some hand motions and following him out the door, we saw the tragedy. Our rental car windows were smashed in and Keith and Fancy got $10,000 worth of belongings stolen. Frickity frick!! This is not how I pictured the trip going.

After a couple days of helping our friends with police reports, translation issues, insurance calls, and embassy runs, I was itching to ride. It was hard explaining such a devastating situation to my family back home when I really wanted to tell them about our rides & adventures. My expectations for the trip were to ride & film but we were running back & forth between the airport terminal, hotel, and embassy. In hindsight, I realize that it was most important to put my expectations aside temporarily to be there for Fancy & Keith even though there wasn't much Christine and I could do to help Fancy and Keith with their stolen goods.

We were handed a pretty challenging situation, and I knew the only way to make this situation better was to get back on my board and ride it out. Christine and I headed to La Parva, about 45 minutes outside of Santiago with our amigo Pedro, while Fancy and Keith went to the black market in search of their stolen belongings (they were able to recover half of what they’d gotten stolen!). When we got to La Parva there was still snow left over from the last storm. We decided that we should hike up and ride a steep chute called La Chiminea. I’ve never ridden a chute before, so I was up for the challenge. As the adrenaline pumped through my veins, I felt readier than ever to drop. The entry to the chute was a sketchy drop off where you had to hold onto a ski pole to get down to the starting platform. Once you got on the platform, there is no turning back – only moving forward. It was a steep, icy ride, but I was all smiles at the end of the chute. It was so rewarding after being cooped up inside the previous couple of days. La Parva gave me hope and reminded me to live in the moment. I accepted the situation I was in and what I couldn't control. Nothing was going to ruin the trip.

Photos: @vivachile ||Top: Summer (me) slashing the wave. Bottom: La Chiminea  

When we got back from La Parva, Fancy and Keith said that they would be heading out on the next flight to the U.S.. I was bummed to hear my friends were leaving, but I understood that they wanted to get home. Christine and I thought hard about if we should stay or go since we weren't going to film like we had hoped.

After weighing our options, we figured we were already there, so we shouldn’t give up on beautiful Chile and just make the best of our remaining days. We came to Chile for one reason and that was to snowboard so the Chilean adventure must go on! We spontaneously took a 10hr overnight bus south to the lovely town of Pucon, and there just so happened to be a storm hitting Villarrica (active volcano). When we got off the bus at 7am, we dragged our board bags down the road to the cutest hostel called Chili Kiwi. The smell of the overnight bus on our clothes, our sweat covered bodies and sore hands from carrying our heavy board bags probably gave the impression we were transients, but we didn’t care – we just wanted to explore and ride Villarrica. 

We quickly threw our belongings into our hobbit hole room and walked 10 minutes up the road to start hitch hiking up to the volcano which was pretty exciting because Christine and I had never hitched hiked before. We stuck out our thumbs and waited but no one was picking us up. Finally, this lady in a tiny car stopped for us. She didn't speak English, and we didn't speak Spanish but we tried our best to communicate with her. We assumed she was going to take us up to Villarrica because we had our boards but instead she dropped us off on the side of the dirt road very far from the mountain resort. We looked around and everything around us was closed and there was no one to be seen. We saw a sign that told us it would take us about an hour to walk through the lava fields and dirt road. We were about to start walking down the hill when these three old men gave us the peace sign, picked us up and brought us to the mountain. They didn't speak English either, but we were somehow all still laughing and smiling the whole drive up. It might have been because Christine and I had the biggest old dude, with his massive fur coat, sit in between us. 

Summer (Me) trying out this hitch-hiking thing

When we got to the resort, it was extremely flat light, snowy and we couldn't see the top of the volcano. We were one of the five cars in the parking lot, but we just laughed it off. At least now we know how to get to the mountain. We decided to get a ride back down with our three new amigos, since we weren't sure who else would be able to bring us down. We realized that hitch hiking is great but maybe not the most convenient for us, especially when there’s a language barrier. 

After our long travel day, I was able to get in contact with Pucon locals, Tomas and Pato, over social media so that Christine and I would have a better plan for the next day. In the morning, Tomas picked us up from our hostel to bring us to the volcano, so we could ride the powder we weren't able to see the day before. Pato hooked us up with lift tickets for our time in Pucon – Thank you Pato for your generosity! When we got to the bottom of the volcano to pick up our lift tickets, we realized we only got one. Our friend Tomas said, “two for one.” We were a little skeptical but went along with it. Every time we would have to show our lift ticket to the lift operator, we would shrug and say “dos por uno.” The lift operators were confused just like we were, but it worked! We linked up with Pato later on in the day, and he showed us all the fun, natural terrain Pucon had to offer, like gullies and wind lips. With it just being Christine and I, the natural terrain made it easier for us to build a quick feature.Our time in Pucon was pure bliss; starting from the kind people to the great snowboarding terrain. I wish I had more time to stay in this small lake town overlooking the snowcapped Villarrica volcano, but it was time to head home and get back to work.

Chile was quite the adventure from almost missing every overnight bus (there are too many terminals), lugging board bags on the overcrowded subway, getting electrocuted by my adapter twice (taking the power out of half of the hostel), to Christine breaking seven, full wine bottles and getting our car broken into. Speaking Spanish would have been helpful, but hey, at least I got to ride, get creative with the natural terrain that the volcanoes and mountains had to offer, and I could order empanadas and menu del dias. It might have not been the trip I initially had in mind but shit happens and plans change. You have to make the best of the situations that you can’t control and give the universe permission to fill the empty space with magical opportunities and experiences. There were a lot of lessons learned along the way, and I felt that I really grew as a traveler from this trip. Till next time Chile! Chao!

Click to check out the recap video!

#WeAreAllZeal #Snowboarding #Travel #ExploreMore #ZealOpticsFeatured #Adventure #Snow #athletes

[massageloverstuff]

I Got A (Naughty) Airport Hotel Massage.. And I Liked It

We recently branched out to some of our clients to get some feedback on their hotel airport massage experience, and we received an amazing response from a blogger from across the pond. Here’s his experience

Most people I know have never even heard of an erotic massage before, never mind actually experienced one.  Me on the other hand, I have had several. My name is ‘Tyler’, and I am an American sex blogger in New York City. Alongside my day job, I get paid to explore the weird and wonderful world of sex, and then write about it for my rather modest but very curious readership. Last month I was visiting London as part of a 3 week European trip and ended up having a very unexpected, yet unbelievable experience. Despite being pretty, ‘experienced’ should we say, this was pretty up there in terms of pleasure, so it would be wrong for me NOT to share it with you all.

After doing plenty of research, I decided to stay in the Sofitel Hotel at Gatwick Airport, mainly for convenience. The hotel was impressive, the staff were extremely friendly and it was located right next to various forms of transport- ideal. My friend and I were on a non-work related trip around Europe, and London happened to be our first port of call. Like most Americans, I had been conditioned to believe that everyone In England was related to the Queen, and spent their weekend’s playing Polo and drinking tea in the countryside. Within five minutes of touching down on British soil, I realised this was not the case- at all! London was hectic, challenging, fascinating and diverse and had a sense adventure in the air, similar to that of NYC. Londoners were not sickeningly pleasant and charming as the movies had made me believe, they were obnoxious, rude and insufferable; I felt completely at home.

Like most New Yorkers my age, veering away from clichés was the new fashion, so my friend and I had agreed to explore Europe as creatively as possible. For London, we had high hopes and half expected to be invited to an illegal warehouse rave somewhere in Camden. Of course, that wasn’t the case at all, but what we did find certainly took us by surprise. On our second day, we ended up visiting Notting hill where we stopped for lunch and a well-deserved beer-break in a quirky bar. Despite being only 4 in the afternoon, it was rammed, and the atmosphere was totally electric. Amongst the array of unusual accents floating around the room, the suited and booted American stood next to us obviously caught our attention.

We introduced ourselves, began chatting and invited him and his middle-eastern friend (also dressed in a suit worth more than my yearly salary) to join us for a couple of drinks. Despite both being incredibly down to earth (and slightly drunk), I felt like I was sat with two mannequins from the Calvin Klein store. They were totally immaculate, uncomfortably perfect, and were throwing around cash as it was toilet paper. The American guy was also from NYC, but was a high-flying, Bateman-esque stock broker. His friend, also in the same line of work, had moved over from Saudi Arabia decades before to bleed New York dry of cash. They were, by far, the most luxurious, lavish men I had ever met, and only the best of the best would do; which is the next conversation took me by surprise.

“So, you’re staying near Gatwick are you? I stayed in the same hotel as you guys on my first business trip here in the UK. Had a pretty memorable time in that hotel!”, explained the American. He looked to his friend who was grinning like a Cheshire cat and they proceeded to bury their smiles into their tumblers of whiskey.

“ Let’s just say boys, if you’ve ever wondered what it would be like to get a naughty massage, now’s the time to do it”, he followed.

I was curious. I wanted to know more; so I gestured for him to go on. Although I had experienced erotic massages in the past, I could tell his particular session was pretty damn special judging by the glint in his eye. “It was late one evening and I was sat at the hotel bar having a drink. I got talking to a guy who went on to explain that he was a Londoner, but often came to this hotel every couple of months for a night or two- probably to get away from his wife. I asked him if he knew of any massage parlours nearby, as id got a kink in my neck from the flight, but he introduced me to something way better.”

The guy at the bar had given him the number of a salon, but unsurprisingly, it advertised naughty, outcall massage services. His new ‘friend’ recommended  he get a ‘4 Hands Massage’, something even I had never heard of until then.  It was 3am, but within 45 minutes of calling, he opened his hotel room door to not one, but two stunning Asian masseuses.

I had been searching for something risqué, and I had found it; I had found my creative London experience. After an hour or so, the drinks had run out and me and my friend decided to move on.  We bid our new friends farewell, but not before writing down the number for the salon. Around 11pm that night, I decided to take the plunge, despite being surprisingly nervous and apprehensive. My friend agreed to go to a bar for a couple of hours, so I contacted the salon, explained where I was staying and asked for their famous 4 Hands service. Within 55 minutes, I was opening my hotel door to two incredibly pretty Asian masseuses. Scarlett was Korean and Faith was Japanese, but they were both mind-blowingly attractive and made me feel right at ease.

I was asked to take a shower whilst the girls set up their equipment, so I did so as they requested. Stepping out of the bathroom, I was hit by a wave of tranquillity. The lighting was warm, candles were scattered and cushions had been arranged on the bed. I lay on my front, as instructed, and fell into bliss as they performed a traditional, full body massage to relax me. After several minutes, I turned onto my back where my masseuses proceeded to remove their bikinis and the towel covering my crotch. It was spine-tinglingly erotic, sensual and almost spiritual, unlike other kinky massages I had experienced.

With the 4 Hands service, I was also asked to choose a style of massage I wished for my luscious ladies to perform on me. I opted for a ‘Happy Ending’ massage because I’d never had one before, and it seemed like an appropriate choice for my last night in London. All I’m going to say is, it certainly was a Happy Ending for me. Whilst Faith massaged my shoulders from behind and rested her breasts on my face, Scarlett gave me the hand-job of dreams. I have watched women wrestle in jello, I have been to swingers parties and I have even delved into bondage, but I had never had such an aggressive erection as I did during that massage. My arousal levels were so high; it was pulsing through my body like shocks of electricity.  Unlike other massages Id had in the past, every touch, every stroke, ever motion was smooth, sleek and mischievous. As they mutually caressed and teased my body, pleasure surged through me from the tips of my toes right through to the ends of my fingers, and I was totally paralysed with pleasure. I wasn’t normally vocal during sexual interactions, but on this occasion, I was. I wriggled, moaned and trembled as the girls continued to torment and tease me with their bodies, breasts and expert touch.

Reaching my breaking point, the pressure mounting in my body became too much and I had my release. It was the best, most intense, most mind-blowing orgasm of my entire life. It travelled through my body with such force, I had to arch my back and grip the bed. If I could roll three standard orgasms into one, it still wouldn’t come close. My entire body felt numb, but the sensation seemed to ease off slowly over the period of several minutes. I lay there totally exhausted and satisfied. Scarlett and Faith did not get up and leave right away; they lay with me stroked my body while my heartbeat lowered. It was strangely romantic and I felt incredibly content- a new feeling for me. I eventually came back around and thanked the girls for their time. They professional yet sweet, and proceeded to tenderly kiss me goodbye. Contrary to common misconceptions, my London experience was far from sleazy.  It was a professional, passionate and first-class service, better than any Id had in the past. It was by far the most luxurious massage I had ever experienced and was worth every single penny.

As a sex blogger, it is my job to honestly write about my sexual encounters and put forward recommendations for my readers. So here is the verdict on my Gatwick Airport Outcall Massage Service: It was a one of a kind, once in a lifetime experience, and it made my trip complete.

.

I Got A (Naughty) Airport Hotel Massage.. And I Liked It was originally seen on: Asia Massage Ltd

#asiangirls #sexy #massage #london

[coinsandmaps-blog]

Thoughts are things – this could be the apt phrase to describe the manifestation of Saffron Stays. Fond of traveling themselves, it was on one such holiday with family that the Parulekars realized that there is a vacuum in the Indian travel scenario and a potential to be tapped in the Family Travel sector.

  Deven and Tejas Parulekar, soul mates and teammates, Saffron Stays

Coins and Maps in a chat with soul mates turned teammates Tejas Parulekar, Co-Founder, and Devendra Parulekar, Co-Founder – Growth and Technology, Saffron Stays finds that India still loves to travel with family and friends.

  L’attitude, a stunning lakefront cottage in Kamshet

The core idea behind Saffron Stays Leisure Home Network is – Where Families Bond. Just the tagline gives you an idea of what a happy, cheerful and vibrant home-away-from-home these abodes would be – ranging from heritage bungalows to luxury villas to quaint country homes and large estates, Saffron Stays is more than just an aggregator, I would say it is a curator.

              1. How did you conceive the idea of SaffronStays?

On a holiday in Europe, my husband Deven, and I realized that our kids had enjoyed their stay at a farmhouse in Spain and a château in France more than any hotel they had ever stayed in. It gave us privacy, space and most importantly, freedom to our kids to run around freely without disturbing others. An idea was thus conceived to create a discovery platform for homestays, private villas, and heritage bungalows.

While India had many beautiful homestays to offer, there was no unified platform to research, find, and book these. We wanted to provide that platform.

  Nash and Naro, lakefront luxury cottage in Pawna

        2. When and how did you begin?

  Saffron Stays was originally built to disrupt the market of renters and hotels by offering travelers a different staying experience. It was to help discover and book homestays.  We began as an aggregator in 2013 but soon realized there was an element missing.

We were approached by many homeowners who wanted us to not only operate their homes but to also market them. We realized this is a real need and a problem waiting to be solved. So we evolved to tap into a unique market – offering families luxury, heritage, and culturally rich homes.

We began with our flagship property, The Parsi Manor at Matheran which eventually led to the creation of the Saffron Stays Leisure Home Network.

  The Parsi Manor, a 120-year-old bungalow in Matheran

       3. How did you both decide to quit your well-paying jobs? What were the hardships you had to face?

  The challenge – where do we begin? Our first stumbling block was tech itself. The agency working on our website walked off the project just 2 days before our pre-launch date. We did not even have a landing page! In hindsight, it was a good thing because we managed to do it ourselves.

Not wanting to see our dreams crash, Deven – my husband, investor, and mentor in Saffron Stays – took up the challenge. Over a lot of long nights, he re-learnt coding from scratch and created the entire user-friendly website you see today.  This was during his highly demanding role as a Practice Leader for Cyber Security at Ernst & Young LLP.

  Verandah by the Valley, beautiful bungalow overlooking a Panchgani valley

The next challenge which moved us to our current pivot was the quality of the homestays itself. We realized there is no standard quality and hence travelers are often weary of booking. They feel ‘safe’ in hotels, assured of ‘quality’. However, the fact is below a 5-star hotel, the quality just plummets.

  We noticed that luxury homes/ villas are the preferred choice when families travel together. In India, we always travel in groups, cousins, office friends, school friends, parents of kid’s friends. We have numerous social circles. And we like to take short quick breaks with them. At such times, a whole bungalow or villa to your own group is a perfect idea. These insights and roadblocks helped us create the Saffron Stays Leisure Home Network you find today.

In fact, not only holidays and short breaks with families but one can also look at family get-togethers or private functions at these beautiful properties.

             4. Why and how did you decide on the name ‘Saffron Stays’?

As a spice, Saffron appeals to three out of your five senses – your sense of smell, sight, and taste. It’s something that’s familiar, something that’s intrinsically Indian and something you associate with warmth and class. It’s both comforting and classy. These are all factors that we wanted our brand to denote.

  Cliff Haven, stunning duplex apartment overlooking the Arabian Sea at Dona Paula, Goa

           5. How old is Saffron Stays and how far has been the journey so far?

  The journey has been like trying on different pairs of shoes. Some things have worked out and many things have not. As an entrepreneur, the first thing you need to tell yourself is you don’t know anything. Learn, absorb like a sponge, adapt. We have been lucky to have been mentored by the best in the industry. Our mentors have kept us grounded, and true to our cause. It’s been one thrilling 4-year journey and we know we are just at the start of it.

  Bliss, stunning pool villa in Mulshi

        6. How do you differentiate yourself from other players in the segment like Stayzilla and Oyo Rooms?

  We focus exclusively on creating The Leisure Home Network – a carefully curated collection of ancestral homes, villas, and luxury vacation homes. Often these are ancestral homes that still echo with the sound of childhood summers spent with family. Or second-homes those were built with great love and care but are now seldom used. By operating these beloved homes as vacation rentals, we prevent them from falling into disrepair and convert them into one-of-a-kind holidays.

For the traveler’s, we give families the opportunity to make fantastic memories without having to invest in a vacation home. For those who are bored of sterile hotel holidays, these luxury homes offer families the vacation they want, away from the traditional setting of a hotel or resort.

As a result, we are not only able to facilitate homeowners but also provide luxury, curated holidays for the discerning traveler.

  Kurinji Estate, cahrming heriatge villa in Kodaikanal

          7. How do you select a property to be a partner/affiliated with Saffron Stays?

  We get a lot of leads largely through word of mouth or referrals from existing homeowners or satisfied guests who’ve stayed at one of our properties.

Once we have identified a property, there is a detailed audit that we go through to assess the property. From its location to the story behind it to the upgrades required onsite, we conduct a complete analysis of the property to ensure that it meets the needs of our travelers. Once the audit is complete, we agree upon a phase-wise implementation of the upgrades (if needed) before we partner with the homeowner.

             8. How does a property gain once it is affiliated with Saffron Stays?

Most of these properties, while being built with a lot of aspiration, passion, and love, end up being a financial and emotional drain on the homeowners. This is where we as a brand come in. We help these owners monetize their properties in a sustainable way while staying true to their vision.

From handcrafted hospitality to efficient service, we ensure that we constantly cater to the discerning traveler while retaining the property’s unique character and charm. It’s a win-win for all.

Salt Rim, gorgeous beachfront villa at Alibaug

Masters Paeridaeza, a charming hometsay 45 minutes ahead of Dahanu

             9. Where do you see yourself 5 years from now?

Over the next 5 years, we really want to take the successful story we’ve built and create a national footprint for Saffron Stays. I believe that we can build an exclusive Saffron Stays Leisure Home Network where travelers have the opportunity to stay in a luxury home-away-from-home, no matter what part of the country they’re in.

        10. How do you think the travel scene is shaping up in India?

Currently, there are an estimated 200,000 ultra-HNI families and ten times as many HNI families in India. This number is expected to double by the year 2020. A large majority of these families own vacation homes and ancestral homes, creating INR 10,000 crore blue ocean opportunity that is expected to double in five-seven years.

This is a huge market waiting to be tapped. More and more families are looking to escape boring, sterile hotel holidays by choosing curated vacations and we anticipate more players entering the vacation rentals and custom holiday’s scene.

    Inner Temple, a luxury wellness villa in Moira, Goa

      11. Where do you get most of your clients from?

  Most of the guests come to us through word of mouth or referrals. We’ve found that once a guest visits one of our properties, they keep coming back.

Mango Huts, a charming, rustic farmstay in Pali

Little Paradise, gorgeous pair of wooden beachfront cottages at Murud

       12. Which was the first property to be affiliated and how challenging/easy was it to convince the owners to be a part of Saffron Stays?

  The Parsi Manor

  When we shifted from an aggregator model to our current model in November 2015, we started with our flagship property – The Parsi Manor at Matheran – a 120-year-old British colonial-era, Parsi-owned bungalow, steeped in history. The homeowners were quite excited about the prospect of highlighting the regal heritage of the Manor and were willing to experiment. Within five months of the launch, we began managing 11 luxury homes, including two heritage homes.

To know more click here: Saffron Stays

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Proud to be a bootstrapped and a profitable company, Saffron Stays is growing organically and is building a ‘Make in India’ brand.

    India has always loved family travel,Saffron Stays helps you curate your luxury family holiday Thoughts are things – this could be the apt phrase to describe the manifestation of Saffron Stays.

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