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lemons-made-here · 4 years

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‘Til Alpha Comes Home

Prologue

(A/N) Alpha!Shoto x Omega!Reader, establishes Alpha!Momo x Omega!Ochaco, eventual smut and MomoxOchacoxReader but no adultery. This is the fluffiest thing I’ve written by far.

Summary :Todoroki is out of Japan for important business meeting, leaving you with another trusted alpha and her omega to take care of you while he’s gone.

Word Count: 1.8k

As always taglists are open and feedback is greatly appreciated, enjoy!

“But Alphaa” You whine, although Shoto got you up before dawn to drive you to your home for the next two weeks, you’re just awake enough to protest.

“Omega, we’ve talked about this” Shoto says sternly, the alpha tone makes your inner omega submit, but in the back of your mind, this still isn’t fair. “I can’t miss this press tour and these meetings, I’ve tried to go through every other possible angle, this is the best route.” You know all of this already, but that doesn’t stop your bottom lip from dropping into a pout.

Shoto turns into the long swirling driveway closed in by a mix of cherry blossoms and weeping willows, with all this foliage, you can’t be sure how long it’ll be until you reach the actual house. You try bargaining one last time.

“Alpha this is my heat you can’t just leave me with some strangers! Why can’t I just tough through this on my own, in the penthouse, with my nest?” Shoto’s glassed over eyes tell you it all before he speaks, he hates leaving you, but this Alpha means you’re in good hands.

Shoto sighs, “They aren’t strangers (Y/N), these are good friends from my UA days, I trust Momo with my life and therefore, you. She’s a good Alpha, she’ll take care of you closest to I would.”

You turn your head to the window to hide your flushing cheeks, even in your cloudy minded heat daze, your heats were memorable to say the least.

“I dropped off scented blankets, pillows and clothes last week, Momo confirmed only the betas in the house have touched them to move them into a scentless room for you to nest. Plus, her omega is a lot like you, I think the two of you will get along just fine.”

As the Bentley pulls in front of the vast mansion, the manicured lawn peppered with pastel forget-me-nots and hyacinths. The Victorian architecture loomed over the two of you as you tailed Shoto, two beta servants grab you things from the back, quickly taking them inside. Shoto stops and turns to you.

“I know this isn’t what you want, I need to know you’re safe and healthy, I can’t leave you all alone to suffer, I- you know how you get during your heats, you can’t eat, drink a thing or sleep without someone there, I don’t need that on my conscience.”

Although you hate to admit it, Shoto is right; before you had an alpha your heats were unbearable, a solid week of throwing up and crying when nothing could satisfy you like a knot. Time after time your parents had sent you to hospitals to recover from the seven day hell.

Nodding, partly in defeat and partly in agreement, Todoroki smiles and leads you into the house. The two hostesses are in the foyer when you enter, the Alpha Shoto called Momo, nods to you and begins to talk with her plans for the week, general guidelines and needs for when you’re in heat.

You can’t helping but scrunch your nose at the smell of the two alphas, its not necessarily bad, but the mixing of your alpha’s scent with someone that isn’t you makes your stomach turn.

The alphas stop for a minute, two looking between you and the other omega. You can only see up to her shins from your view of the floor, but her scent is vastly different from what you expected. Its not overwhelming in the slightest, not a hair over too sweet, the aroma of strawberries and lily of the valley put you at ease, just a little.

“Omega” Shoto warns, “It’s not nice to stare, or avoid people, even if they’re new” You cautiously look up to the other omega, and instantly understand her scent. She’s cute, big auburn eyes and a wide smile look back at you, she isn’t much shorter than you but a rush of intimation still rushes down your spine.

“Um, hi” You hum, nodding your head “I’m (Y/N), omega”

“Ochaco, Omega” She smiles, looking to Momo for an approval, once she does, Ochaco engulfs you in a hug, holding you tight, but not too snug.

“I can smell your nerves (Y/N)” Shes says pulling away, rubbing her palms on your upper arms.

“Momo can too” She smiles with a bit of sympathy in her eye “But don’t worry, we’re only here to help, well you’re here so we can help, but that’s beside that point, these two weeks are all about you, so don’t hesitate so holler if you need a thing.”

You can’t help but bite your lip and nod, eyeing the two alphas that have moved from the foyer to the parlor, decked in elegant gold and reds. The couches look almost antique, but still contains a brilliant coloring, the walls were hidden from wall to ceiling in bookshelves or monitors that are currently blank.

Your gaze shifts between the front door and Ochaco, you’ve never felt so out of place. Yes this is technically no different than your penthouse, or when Shoto has his business partners over for dinner, but something’s still off.

“Ochaco darling!” Momo chimes from the other room, smiling at the two of you “Why don’t you show (Y/N) around hmm? I’m sure this is all a lot for her”

Shoto catches your eyes in the last few words, even so far away, he can see you’re tense. He excuses himself from his seat for a moment, striding to face you.

“Doesn’t that sound nice love? Let Uraraka show you the ropes, maybe go check out your nesting room too, I know this is hard baby, but you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t in good hands” He says, shrugging off his business jacket, freshly scent and draping it around your shoulders. Shoto kisses your forehead and nods toward Ochaco, who’s already making her way up the spiral stairs to what you can assume is her room.

You take Shoto in your embrace, inhaling the rich scent of rain, bonfire and spearmint, your alpha would never lead you wrong.

“I’ll try Shoto, for you”

Ochaco guides you to a majority of the house, winding through hallways and grand meeting rooms alike. Currently sat on the edge of her nest, you run your thumbs along the ears of the peach stuffed dog you’ve been given, scratching behind the ears through the soft faux fur. The sweet omega continues to chirp about her alpha, the property and the plans she has for the two of you to get to know each other. Your mind and eyes drift, the entire room is comforting to any omega, the walls are bare expect for a few painted daisies and glow stars against the orchid branch wallpaper. Fairy lights line the ceiling while a humidifier sits next to a small end table tacked with more blankets and pillows.

The entire nest is about eight feet in diameter, which isn’t too far off from your own, even with all the similarities, like how Ochaco arranges blankets and sweatshirts nearly exactly how you would, you still sit on the far edge of the nest, barely touching the inside. Your mind rocks back and forth whether to scoot back or just ask to leave, but Ochaco interrupts you first.

“I know this is different and weird and probably really scary for you (Y/N),” She starts, resting her hand on yours “And I would be too, so if there’s anything on your mind or rattling around in your head, pretty please get it off your chest okay?” Those brown doe eyes look up at you through your hair, there’s something in them that tempts you to open up.

“Just between us right? Omega to omega?” You question,

“Absolutely,” She answers in a soft tone “I was wondering if the foyer earlier was part of the problem, but trust me when I say both of our alphas are looking out for your best interest.” She assures, pulling you into the nest

“You know, I wouldn’t have brought you in here if I didn’t trust you, its kinda of insulting you haven’t come in yet, is my nest not good enough for you?” She jokes, laying beside you so you’re at an even height propped up against the cushion of a headboard. “You can ask me anything, (Y/N), I’m an open book, both Momo and Shoto get that this isn’t your norm, and neither of them want you to jump into this scared or uncertain”

You chew on your lip for a minute, thinking. If Shoto trusts these two with his life, why are you still so timid?

“Anything?” You whisper, avoiding Ochaco’s gaze, continuing the play with the ears of the dog

“Anything” She hums, tugging a blanket over your form, wrapping you into her sweet scent. Alike earlier, this mix eases the tension from your shoulders.

“I guess I’m still a little confused” You admit shyly, “You two are here to take care of me? Like babysitting for my heat?”

The other omega lets out a breath through her teeth,

“I wouldn’t put it like that, here, how ‘bout I tell you what I know that way we’ll cover our bases!” She beems, carefully taking your hands into hers, cautious to not step over any boundaries. You nod, and Ochaco pulls you a little closer.

“Well, Shoto’s worried about you being alone, from what I’ve heard he’s bee asking Momo for advice about this for months now, trying to get around every possibly.” You nod again, wiggling yourself so you lay closer to her, head tucked under her chin. It isn’t uncommon for omegas to build relations quicker than alphas, the comfort of another omega rivals the company of a trusted alpha. “So he asked me and Momo ti keep you company during the next two weeks, to make sure you’re comfortable and stay healthy. I’m a lot like you actually, I can’t consume a thing during my heats, most of the time want to curl up and spend time with Momo, so they both thought since our heats are so similar, and that their alpha-ness and habits are so similar, you could call this home for a while. We’re here to take care of you not as babysitters, but more as friends, as people who get what you’re going through.”

A yawn bubbles from your throat, causing Ochaco to releases one too, rubbing smalls in your back while she continues,

“Just know that we want to help, but we’re not going to push you to do something you don’t want to, we’re going to to and warm up to you yes,” another yawn “But you’re gonna get through your heat safe ans sound”

Your eyelids become heavy as the scent of the room fills your nose, it isn’t anything like either of you, but its still familiar. The mix of sweet frosting, fruit tart and summer gardens eventually lull you to sleep against the other omega.

#mha #my hero academia #bnha #shoto todoroki #shoto x reader #fluff #smut #angst #Momo x ochaco #Momo x reader #Ochaco x reader #omega!reader #Alpha!Momo #Alpha!Todoroki #omegaverse

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zankivich · 5 years

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The Arrangement: CEO’s Son/Dom!Shawn x Black Sub Reader Chapter 4

a/n: hi I'm back! Please don’t hate me tbh. The semester is off to a crazy start for me already, I don't think Senior year is gonna go down without a fight. I’m really excited for these babies tbh. Shit’s about to get real so strap yourself in tight!!!!!

WARNINGS: deep throating, oral (female receiving), oral (male receiving), restraints, general Dom-ness?

*y/n’s point of view*

The only good thing about bougie ass dinners with industry people is playing dress up. Nothing else good could come out of a bunch of rich people throwing themselves a dinner to network and do a raffle for charity so that no one notices how pointless the dinner was. New York was notorious for them. More so than even LA maybe. But, however much you hated them wasn’t going to stop you from attending. It was important for the company that you go. You figured a little pampering session was the least that you deserved.

Somewhere along the line you stopped having to visit beauty shops with black plastic bags that contained your hair for the event. At some point a hair stylist started showing up at your apartment. You stopped paying in cash and started having Tiana pay the bill. Things had changed a lot actually. But the quality of your hair? Sis, that was a standard that must be improved upon and maintained.

One cannot imagine the power of a lacefront until it has adorned your head. Think Beyonce on stage with the jet of a thousand fans whooshing through her hair. Only without the networth or discography. Tonight you were going for something a little unorthodox, a little outside of your comfort zone. Purple to be exact. But not just any purple. It was this rich, vibrant shade of purple. The roots started out black which made it a little more natural looking and this beautiful wig was sitting at twenty-six inches long meaning you were finna be looking GWOOD. Yes with the ‘w’, too.

“Ooooooo child! Would you look at me?! Where did she come from looking so pretty? Sheesh!” You cackled at the mirror.

Tiana laughed right along with you as your stylist did some finishing touches to make sure your wig was glued for the rest of the night.

“If you’re done loving on yourself we gotta get you into your dress and make up in less than thirty minutes.”

“Oh shit, girl why didn’t you say somethin’?”

Tiana just rolled her eyes. She had said something. At least three times. Woops.

Your dress for the evening was one of those dresses that one didn’t get to eat meals in because any added weight might make the zipper burst. Usually you were a flowly type of gal, a fuck the patriarchy type of gal. But the dress was silk and free so like...just this once.

In the car to the event, you work on emails for your artists, while Tiana works on emails for you. You were probably moving in the direction of needing to hire more bodies, hell you knew your clients were pulling in enough work on their own, but it was hard to give up the duo, the dream team. You craved the intimacy of having your best friend with you always, and you weren’t ready to let anyone else invade that space yet.

“Can we leave this thing early and go get burger king or somethin’?” You whined leaning on her shoulder.

Tiana, never one to be out done, was in her own outfit for the night. It was a sparkly beaded dress with extremely intricate detailing on the bodice. She was thicker than even you were, boobs and ass and thighs galore with a tummy to match that she was just as proud of. All of this exquisite body was draped for the gods that night, the way that she deserved. Her hair remained natural for the night but tied up into these beautiful knots in a row of three on her head. She was beautiful and perfect. You loved her infinitely.

She snorted softly. “We have to stay until at least dessert has been served. But I see no reason not to hit up some food afterwards.”

“How tipsy can I be and still get away with it tonight?”

“Hmm...I think if you do more than four vodka-crans you might start asking people if their families owned slaves.”

You purse your lips in annoyance. “But that’s my favorite question! I never get to have fun. Shit.”

Post the whole hitting number one on Forbes 30 under 30 list, you had to start doing the whole red carpet thing. Cameras weren’t your favorite, and you liked the flash of them even less. However, Black Women didn’t exactly get to the position you were in very often, and so you’d smile and pose a little if it meant some little black girl from queens sitting at home might see it and create the thought in her head that she could get there to. Cause she needed to. There needed to be more. It wasn’t even an option.

It’s on that red carpet that you see him. Why it had never occurred to you that he would be there you weren’t quite sure. But it didn’t. And you were left floundering in the middle of a million cameras as you witnessed your fuck buddy walk out in a deep maroon, red suit like the goddamn devil he was. You bit your lip as he ran his fingers through his hair and slid his hand into the pocket of his perfectly tight pants while he smoldered for the camera. Jesus.

“Bitch you are making dick sucking eyes in the middle of this red carpet! Get. It. Together.” Tianan hissed in your ear.

“I--I am so sorry. I’m together. Together. I promise.” You whispered.

You cleared your face, teeth resetting into your famous smile. Your fingers rested on your thigh and hip for that perfect pose. Maybe you settled your hair a little more over your shoulder. The photographers were impressed, as they should be, and called for a little more action. There’s no way you let your eyes roam over to see if he was staring. There was no need. You could feel the heat in which he stared, nearly felt the zipper on the back of your dress come undone with it. Hmmm. Sounds about right. Men, so obvious.

Eventually you turned to let Tiana lead you to the next section of carpet. Unfortunately there was nowhere else to turn. He was there. Hair perfectly nestled into a curly disarray. You didn’t miss the way he licked his lips as you walked closer. There’s no way the cameras missed it either.

“Y/n!” He called, the cocky asshole. “Let’s get a picture.”

Your eyes widened and you turned to Tiana for assistance, only for her to shrug.

“There’s technically no reason to say no.”

And that is how you found yourself in the middle of a red carpet, his fingers burning against your hip as you both smiled for the cameras.

“We are in public.” You hissed through clenched, but smiling, teeth. “Please act like it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of acting differently.” He grinned, fingers digging a little more firmer against your skin. “But uh, you taking this dress off in my apartment later or is that my job?”

You went to throw your hair over your shoulder again and took the time to subtly and smoothly ram your elbow into his side.

“Ouch. Dammit, y/n.”

You smiled. “I must be moving on. Have a lovely time, sweetheart.”

His eyes travel over your back and down to your ass as you walk away. Again, you don’t need to look to know it. You were a fucking dream.

The inside is just as schmoozy and annoying as ever. There’s some violin, harp type shit. There’s a cocktail hour. Half of the audience looks ready to keel over. And yet here your black ass was having to deal with it all. Rude. But like always you and Tiana made the most of it.

She led you through the throngs of people stopping you when it was necessary to shake hands and kiss cheeks. Tiana understood just as you did, that as annoying as it was, these nights were extremely necessary. The better you fit into the crowd here, the more leverage you had to buck the system in your daily job. And you loved bucking the system.

By the time the cocktail hour had ended you had all but forgotten about Shawn and that godforsaken suit. It isn’t until Tiana and you head for your table for the dinner that you catch sight of a head of hair that didn't look nearly as good as when your fingers were tugging at it. He’s leaning on the chair of some other woman, blonder and thinner and so your opposite that it must give the man whiplash. But that’s fine. It’s not like you’re exclusive, not like you’re dating at all. You don’t care at all.

There’s a glass of champagne in your hand and you keep your body turned entirely the opposite way of his, so as to not intrude on his conversation. Tiana gives you a little helpless smile as if she isn’t sure whether this means anything to your or not. But, it doesn’t.

“I’m fine.” You assure her hand reaching to touch her arm. “Now don’t let me drink more than six of these.”

“Four. We said four sis.” She snorted.

You shrugged your shoulder. “Ti, we gotta let loose every now and again. We deserve it.”

“It’s my job to make sure you don’t regret it in the morning.” She noted.

“Nah, fuck that. You work practically twenty-four, seven for me, Ti. I know we’re best friends but like...take the night off. Drink. Eat. Relax. Find someone to go home with. You deserve it, okay? I’m serious.”

Her playful grin dipped into a genuine smile. You were ride or dies for a reason.

She leaned closer and settled your hair more perfectly along your shoulder as a guise to whisper in your ear.

“It’s okay if it bothers you, ya know? Like you’re entitled to your emotions.” She breathed.

Your eyes widened over her shoulder as the only person in the world with the ability to catch you slipping caught your ass like a fish out of water.

“I--It doesn’t.” You mumbled. “I’m not bothered at all.”

“Okay. That’s okay too. I just want you to know that if there’s anyone in the world you could maybe share that with if you were feeling it, that that would be me okay?”

You smiled softly. “I know. I do. Thank you. I’ll be fine okay? Don’t worry about me.”

“So what...I’m just supposed to go to the bar? Get a drink?” She giggled.

“Yes, bitch. Get several, okay? Put it on my tab. Stop worrying about me. You worry more than my mama does and she worries enough for all of us.”

You pulled her easily into your arms for a hug and a kiss before swatting her on her ass to get her to leave. Behind every successful Black Woman is always another Black Woman itching to see her succeed. Well sometimes success needs to come with some time off. What better night to give her some?

The problem arose that once you sent Tiana off to live her best life, you were still stuck at a table with a whole bunch of people you didn’t know. Except for Shawn. Who you could definitely feel staring at you as you took a sip of champagne. You flicked your hair like an elegant curtain over your shoulder, still facing away from him. Perhaps you had forgotten the kind of guy that he was, that taking no’s or subtleties weren’t exactly in his wheelhouse. It was hot in the bedroom, and annoyingly inconvenient everywhere else.

“So are we just pretending we don’t know each other?” He asked throwing his arm around the back of your chair. “Just wanna know how I’m meant to play it.”

You rolled your eyes in the opposite of his direction.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just sitting here waiting for this unseasoned ass meal to begin.”

He chuckled. “You are about as subtle as a bus to the forehead. You realize that, right?”

Unable to ignore the emotion that fluttered in your stomach, something that was unnamable to you even then, you turned to face him. His chair was directly next to yours, his arm draped casually against the back of your chair with ease. His hair was still just as perfect, if not a little more tugged into submission from the last time you saw him. He was grinning at you and eyeing your lips even now. As if it was a game that you’d lost before you’d even knew you were playing.

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?” You asked.

“I just couldn’t help but notice the glare you sent my way when I was talking to Natasha earlier.”

“Natasha.” You snorted. “Who the hell is Natasha?”

“Funny...She’s just an associate alright? Works for my dad.” He hummed, lips practically at your ear.

You barely sniffed in his direction. “Is that so?”

“It is.”

“Mhm. And why do you feel so inclined to assure me of that huh? Or is that you being subtle?”

He rolled his eyes at you, a playful little smirk upon his lips. You didn’t like him. You didn’t like him one bit. He drove you crazy.

The chatter of the room dimmed slightly as the food finally began to arrive to the tables. Shawn didn’t move his arm from around your chair. In fact as the waiter began to doll out plates to your table, he leaned in even more, let his lips rest against your ear like there was no one in the room but the two of you.

“Doesn’t quite matter who I talk to does it? No one’s my good little girl like you.” He whispered.

Your eyes fluttered over to him before looking aimlessly anywhere else. Your champagne glass. The silverware. The old man across from you who looked like he was wearing a toupee from the 70’s. The party moved seamlessly around the two of you, but you couldn’t help but look for eyes that might be on you. Shawn didn’t seem the least bit interested in doing anything besides driving you mad. He never seemed to be worried about much of anything. You both envied it and were annoyed by it. It didn’t stop your legs from crossing tighter, or your spine from straightening now did it?

“Not tonight.” You sighed. “Not here.”

He released a hum that you’d only ever heard in the bedroom. It was one of disapproval, one of challenge. He hated when he didn’t get his way, and this was you denying him on the thing he wanted most in that very moment. You.

“After. My place isn’t far.”

The waiter finally got to the two of you placing your dishes before you. Something that resembled a dry ass piece of chicken lay stagnant on your plate, with some weird dots of something that looked like baby food. It was enough to get your mind back on track and enough to get you more centered and less dick crazy.

“I--I can’t. Tiana and I are going to Burger King.” You shrugged.

You could see his eyes widen from your periphery giving you the time to ask the waiter for another drink. You might need it.

“Burger King...Well fuck it let’s go to Burger King then.”

It was your turn to look at him, wide eyed and confused.

“I’m sorry? What part of what I just said made you think your pasty ass was invited to my Burger King expedition?”

“I just figured we should take some time to build up our strength for some late night activities is all.”

Genuinely, how did you end up here? Where was the camera? When was the joke going to reveal itself?

“Honestly you must have a script writer or something. There is no way that shit actually comes out of your brain and through your mouth.”

The table around you was having a conversation, but it just didn’t seem to matter. Nothing really cut through when the two of you were together. Whether he was annoying you or turning you on, Shawn seemed to take up all your senses. He did it with ease and with swagger. Sometimes you didn’t even hate him for it. Sometimes you wished you hated him more.

“Have you ever thought about how much easier both of your lives would be if you argued with me less and just let me make you happy more often?” He asked.

You peered at him looking for a sign of him joking, waiting for him to say something smart, something that would make you want to slap him. But he didn’t. He just stared as if he genuinely wanted an answer. And when the time came you were helpless but to give it to him.

“Is that...is that what you’re concerned with? Making me happy?” You asked.

He stared at you for a second, eyes wide and sincere, before his shoulders dropped and he shrugged away whatever moment there might have been.

“‘Course I am darlin’. I’m concerned with keeping us both happy if you know what I mean.”

You rolled your eyes and tried to focus on cutting through the food on your plate. It was barely edible. God you hated these dinners.

“There’s nothing wrong with talking to each other when we’re not naked, yn.” He mumbled between his own bites of dry chicken.

You shrugged your shoulders. “I know that.”

“Yea? So can I come to Burger King then?” He asked.

His jawline points to you and it is as infuriating as it is comforting. You’re not quite sure how he manages that. You just know that you don't quite hate each other. Never have. You actually had periods where you got along quite well. And perhaps that’s what made you the most nervous. This potential for the two of you to get along muddied up the waters slightly. What did that mean if you were two people who fucked and got along? What did it mean if you became friendly, became friends even? You weren’t sure, and it seemed like everything that the two of you might want to avoid. So definitely don’t invite him, right?

“W--Well… Fuck. I guess you can come. But if you at any point start fucking up the atmosphere, I will promptly drop your ass off at the subway.” You warned.

“Fine. It wouldn’t be the weirdest foreplay we’ve gotten up to anyway and you know it.”

“God, kill me now.”

***

When you told Tiana to go live her best life you weren’t quite sure what that meant. But, you knew it had not entailed bringing some random ass man on your friendship Burger King run! Granted he was sexy as hell, but like...not the point. And the fact that you showed up with Shawn tagging along was not to be mentioned, no matter how many eye rolls she sent in your direction. Rude.

“Can we go to your place tonight?” Shawn hummed moving your curtain of hair to tuck gently behind your ear.

You bit your lip, warm and fuzzy from your fifth glass of champagne, and stared at him.

“Mhm. How come though?”

“You sleep better when you’re not in new places. Not that my place is really new anymore, but you still sleep better at home.”

“H--How… How could you possibly know that?”

He shrugged. “You’re not invisible to the world just cause you think you are. I can see you.”

Your heart rate picked up in your chest. You stared at him harder trying to understand how it was possible for this man to do that. He seemed so young, so inexperienced (not in the bedroom of course). You had pegged him as man child, as someone completely out of touch with reality. How dare he see you for more than you had been ready to share. How dare he look deeper.

“I don’t even understand.” You mumbled. “What?”

“At my place you wake up before your alarm. Without fail, every morning. You’re an early bird as it is, but it’s literally like your body enters fight or flight mode or something. We don’t have to talk about it if it’s not what you want. Don’t get mad at me for noticing you though. I think we’re around each other a little bit too much for that now.”

His eyes are warm and gentle and his hand somehow ended up holding your wrist. Even his grasp in gentle. He’s not teasing you, or trying to make a joke. It’s just genuine. Simple. A moment between the two of you that might complicate things if you think hard enough. So, you don’t.

“Fine.” You huffed sliding down in your seat to lean your head on his shoulder. “You don’t like the lights off when you sleep though.”

He peers down at you from above this time, and you get a little stuck on the rosiness of his cheeks.

“Excuse me?” He raised an eyebrow. “We sleep with the lights off every time.”

You shake your head playfully. “At your place you always keep the bathroom light on. At mine? You always change your clothes in my closet and then you leave the light on and the door cracked.”

He goes silent for a while.

You thought maybe you’d touched on a nerve that you weren’t meant to. But, you weren’t sure how to backtrack or talk to him about it. He had touched a nerve for you after all. One that you weren’t quite ready to share. Even with him.

His eyes stayed on his fingers as he played with his rings. You felt calm resting there against his shoulder, watching him. You thought you could fall asleep that way.

“How come you never shut it off?”

You opened your eyes, cheek resting on his shoulder. “Hmm?”

“The light. You never shut it off. You let me keep it on. How come?”

“Cause it seemed like you wanted it, seemed like it made you comfortable. Why wouldn’t I let you do something that makes you happy. It wasn’t affecting me none.”

Another stretch of silence fills the back seat of the car. Tianna and her man giggle to each other. He’s cute. You wonder how long they’ll last. Tianna was the queen of random ass long lasting relationships. She could date someone for two years after meeting them at a bar. She was kind of infectious that way. You thought that maybe keeping her working for you was stopping her from settling down, from moving on to a new phase in her life...She’d never admit it even if you asked.

“It’s just a thing with my mum.”

“What is?” You asked curiously popping back into the conversation.

“When I was a kid, she used to keep the light on at night so that I wouldn’t get scared. And when we moved out to California, away from Canada, our house was too big. My room was super far away from hers and so she would always keep it on so that I could come find her if I needed to. It’s silly but she’s back in Canada now, and when I go home to visit she still leaves it on. Guess I just got used to it.”

You felt warm against his side. Like maybe if he wrapped his arm around you you wouldn’t mind. Like maybe his lips could touch yours and it would be okay. And when he speaks you feel yourself relax and ease completely against his side. It’s not just the vulnerability. Part of it is the sound of his voice, soft and smooth against your ear. And part of it is his nerves, the way he twitches his fingers as if you might judge him. But you won’t. Couldn’t imagine it.

“That’s not silly.” You whispered against his neck. “That’s sweet. That’s what you deserve. We keep the light on, okay?”

He looked at you like he did at the dinner. Eyes soft and gentle and searching. It’s a loaded glance, but this time you don’t look away.

“Okay. thank you. And we can stay at yours whenever you know? I--I don’t mind.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

Burger King is not prepared for the four of you to walk in at eleven o’clock at night, dressed to the tee and looking for food. But the second a chicken sandwich and an onion ring enter your hand nothing else matters. You are zen. You are in pleasure. You are in heaven. You are...horny?

“What in the hell is you lickin’ your lips at?” Tianna snorted as you two sat in a whole ass booth at burger king in five thousand dollar dresses. What a world.

Shawn was ordering you another chicken sandwhich after the first had not satisfied your hunger. But watching him stand at the register with his hands in his pockets, talking to the person ringing up their order was doing something for you that even you couldn’t explain.

“Ti’ I wanna suck his dick.” You admitted softly. “I wanna suck his dick so bad I can’t stand it.”

“Oh sweet jesus.”

You bit your lip as he turned to throw a smirk at you over his shoulder. That was all she wrote.

“I have to fuck him. Like now.” You shrugged. “ I don’t make the rules.”

“Bitch the hold that man’s dick has on you I will never understand. You cannot go fucking that boy in a Burger King bathroom. That is a level of ratchet-edy that I cannot allow as your best friend.”

You turned to your best friend in your time of need. Tianna had been there your whole life. From braces to training bras to stretch marks to breaks ups. She had seen you at your worst and at your best. And most certainly she had seen you at your horniest.

“Ti, here’s the thing. Sometimes I just need someone to rail me.” You offered in your loosened state. “Sometimes? I need to be bent over and taken for everything that I’ve got. Now I’m not picky about who does it as long as they do it well. The problem...and it is a very big problem, sis...is that no one has ever had the audacity to fuck me like that firm, chiseled little beanpole can.”

“Not beanpole, bitch.” She cackled.

You licked your lips in his direction and sighed the sigh of a woman who was in desperate need of dick. What a life.

“I’m serious. I think it’s the greatest, throw my back out and leave me crying , dick I’ve ever had.” You hummed. “I want him.”

“Well let’s get some more food in your drunk ass and then he can throw your back out a little later.”

It would never make sense to Tianna. It wasn’t that you were drunk at all. In fact, with some food in your system you felt pretty fine. It was just that you really liked the way that he made you feel. And he really liked the way that he made you feel. Shawn should’ve been selfish, should’ve been cocky and underwhelming and sucky in bed. But he wasn’t. He was just...good. He was good and whatever it was that the two of you had, you kind of liked it. What was wrong with that?

Tiana got up to go meet her mans, and when Shawn got back to the table, he set your food in front of you politely. Instead of focusing on the sandwich you looked up at him. And he looked back. His fingers gripped the back of your seat and you leaned forward until you were in each other’s space, until your chin butted softly against his stomach.

“What?” He chuckled fingers grazing your jaw.

Too soft. God he was so soft.

“Mmm. Want you to kiss me.”

His eyes widened slightly and his fingers stilled.

“You do? Right now?”

You nodded. “Please?”

He looked into your eyes and his teeth sunk gently into his bottom lip. Your lips parted and you leaned forward, your heart thumping unevenly in your chest. When he kissed you, you weren’t quite sure what to expect. You thought you’d grown used to his kiss, to the feel of his teeth and his tongue. But, nerves nestled deep in your gut as you weren’t sure what kind of kiss he might give you. When his fingers trailed along the back of your neck softly before gripping it tightly. Breath wooshed past your lips as he yanked you forward to kiss you hard, fast, and deep…in a Burger King.

You gasped lifting slightly out of your chair as his tongue snaked in. Your fingers found his hair and squeezed tight, squeezed desperately at everything that he was. Suddenly your whole body was on fire with want, with need. His hands burned at your hips and you fell into him. He knew exactly what the fuck he was doing. What he always did to you. God you hated him.

“Eat your chicken and let’s go.” He huffed barely pulling back to lick his lips.

Your eyes fluttered wantonly up at him. “W--What are we doing?”

“I’m gonna fuck this pretty little mouth of yours. And then I’m gonna eat your pussy until you sob.”

He tapped lightly on your cheek before turning on his heel and heading straight for the door. If there was a chicken sandwich or a meteor, or God herself in that damn restaurant you was not finna notice.

“Bitch where is you going?!” Tiana called after you.

But there was no use. You were practically floating on air after that man like the dirty little whore you were. Thank you.

“Gotta go.” You called over your shoulder not wanting to miss the way his ass looked in those pants.

Outside the cool fall air felt like ice against your heated skin. The city was still alive and bustling, cars weaving in and out of traffic, horns honking, people booking it to their next location. Shawn stood at the edge of the sidewalk near the car that had driven you from the event, but made no move to get into the vehicle. As you stepped closer, your thighs still practically quivering, he turned to you and smiled before licking his lips with dark and clouded eyes. Fuck.

“Why aren’t you getting in the car?” You whined.

He reached for your hand to pull you closer. One second you were standing beside him and the next he had lifted you just slightly off of the ground until the soles of your shoes were nestled on top of his. His hands settled just below the curve of your ass and tugged your thighs so that your bodies were pressed together. It was some Cinderella, prince charming shit that you had never in your natural born life expected. Suddenly you were feeling far more intoxicated than the drinks had ever caused.

“I didn’t wanna leave Tianna stranded, so I called my driver. He never left the banquet; he’ll be here in fifteen.”

You nodded softly fingers resting on his shoulders at he held you against him.

“Should we...like wait inside then?”

He shook his head with a smirk that made your toes clench.

“No. I’d rather tell you all the things I’m gonna do to you the second I get you alone. We don’t need to go inside for that.”

You gulped. Bitch, honest to god gulped. You didn’t know anyone but Shaggy and Scooby was walking around gulping, but alas. What a fucking night.

“What are you gonna do to me?” You whispered.

He sighed softly letting his thumb run over your cheek in soothing motions again. Then he wrapped his arms around your back and held you so close that may have felt like more than what it was had he not began to speak lowly into your ear.

“I’m gonna keep you in your panties all night.” He hummed. “I’m gonna eat you so good you’ll be aching for me to rip them off, but I won’t. I’m gonna lick you through them. I’m gonna make you cum against my face with them on. I’m gonna lick you clean with them on. I’m gonna drive you absolutely fucking wild if I can help it.”

You swore your knees gave out. But it didn’t matter because his fingers were digging deep into your hips to keep you upright. It wasn’t a sexual embrace. It was barely even romantic. This of course only made it hotter that he was talking to you in the manner that he was, that anyone might walk by at any moment and would have no idea the things he was saying it. You got wet just thinking about it.

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” He asked. “Gonna let me make you feel good?”

“Y--Yes. Yes, sir. I promise I’ll be so good for you. Only wanna be good for you.”

“Yea? Gonna let me slip my cock between this pretty lips?”

His thumb tugged at your bottom lip and you moaned embarrassingly loud.

“Shit.”

He leaned forward to kiss your forehead another juxtaposition of emotions and actions that really were sending your body through the ringer. How was he real?

“I’m gonna fuck your throat until you beg me to stop.” He said calmly.

The car pulled up at that exact moment but you were frozen to your spot. Shawn was completely unbothered by the existential crisis that he’d left you in, and simply lifted your feet off of his to open the door. As if it was just a tuesday night or some shit. The audacity.

“Sweetheart let’s not keep Jake waiting, aye? It’s rude.” He murmured in regards to his driver.

Surely there had to be a level where this stopped. Surely, it was all getting to be too much. This man seemed to have you wrapped around his larged, perfectly skilled finger. Yes. Too much. Needs to stop. Like yesterday.

“Okay.” You sighed and shuffled your fine ass into the car.

Welp. Maybe another day.

***

“Are the ropes too tight?” He breathed against your neck, lips trailing delicately over the skin.

You hummed. “No. Feels good.”

“Color?”

“Green.”

“Good girl.”

He steps in front of you, his body long and lithe and taking up all of your senses. His thighs flex with ease and that’s before you even get to the sharp jut of hip that leads to a perfectly pointed V towards his dick. He’s already hard and already ready for you to make him feel good. Because that’s what it’s about. Mutual pleasure. You from giving and him from receiving, and within that giving you everything that you could ever ask for. Your thong is soaked just thinking about it.

“You’re not gonna be able to speak obviously, so I need you to tap me three times really quick if you want me to stop okay?” He asked eyes wide and sincere.

You nodded. “Okay.”

“No I’m serious. If it starts to hurt, I need you to stop me. If it start feels less than good at any point you tell me to back the fuck off. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Shawn, I understand.” You assured him.

He makes you practice it through the ropes around your wrist. Only once you’re comfortable and he’s comfortable does he step closer. Your wig now gone and in its place is your hair pulled tightly into a bun at the back of your head, there’s not much for him to grab onto. That doesn’t seem to bother Shawn in the slightest.. His fingers reach for your cheeks and jaw instead, gentle and playful at first and he tilts your head to the right angle for him. When his cock slips into his hand, and he lets the head rest between your lips, the sound that comes out of him is so tantalizing you nearly cum right there.

“So pretty for me, sweetheart.” He groaned. “Go ahead and get it wet.”

Your tongue laves at the thick fleshiness of his head. He won’t let you move closer to get more, won’t push forward at all yet, so all you can use is your tongue. Surprisingly you love the power that it gives you. The power of being in control of his pleasure from beneath him. It’s an intricate play at the power dynamics that the two of you constantly played with. But, you like it. You like it a lot. You let the tip of your tongue trace lazily at his slit and notice the way his eyes flutter close at the feeling.

“Fuck. Y/n, yes. That’s it.”

He steps a little closer and finally lets his dick slip between your lips. Your tongue continues running beneath the underside, fingers wrapping instinctively around one of his ankles to anchor you more to this moment, this pleasure. The second he gives you the leeway, you wrap your lips tightly around him and suck. You weren’t kidding back at Burger King, you were more than prepared.

“Goddamn, your fucking mouth. You’ll be the death of me you know that?”

You slurped a little nosily at the amount of his length that he had given you, wanting to show your enthusiasm as an answer to his question. He steps a little closer now, and fills you more.

His hands come to rest on your head, one directly on top, and the other at the bottom of your jaw. Your eyes finally lock and his lips fall open in lust as he lets his cock slap against your tongue.

“I’m gonna start to move now. I’m gonna give you more and more until my whole dick is in your mouth. You know our safety signal right?”

You nod eagerly. Desperately. He makes you practice the signal again just in case. Three taps for STOP. Two for slow down a little. One for I’m so happy with this.

The first time he puts his whole dick in your mouth it isn’t even the feel of him that makes your entire body pur. Instead it’s the sound of him whining, His legs tremble and his eyes flutter shut. It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in your life. And you want more of it. Crave it even. So you let him fill you. You let your throat relax and your tongue flatten. You breathe through your nose and you don’t dare move as he slowly begins to move his hips. It has its intended effect on him, but even more than that is the effect it has on you. Your pussy throbs indecently as his balls tap your chin. The rops tighten as you stretch to lean closer, to be closer. His mouth parts and he moans for you. It’s euphoria.

“Jesus. Your mouth feel so damn good.” He grunted.

His thrusts got tighter, more pointed until the sound of your dick between your lips was lewdy and filthy. You welcome the spit that dripped from your mouth, yearned for the way it made him gasp and plead for you. Was he in control? Maybe. But who was really steering the pleasure? You were. And you fucking loved every second of it.

When he pulls from your throat you gasp and cough for breath, but not without seeing the way the tip of his cock was red and angry and leaking. It flapped against your lips and glistened in the light of his bedroom. Even when you were still fighting to breathe, you couldn’t help but want to suck it again.

“I--I’m not gonna fucking last.” He huffed squeezing at the base to stave off his orgasm.

You couldn’t help but pout at the way he got to touch himself while your fingers were tied. Couldn’t stand that your lips weren’t on him anymore.

“Don’t need to. Don’t want you to.” You whined. “Come back to me.”

The look that he gives you is one of heat and lust and something that’s maybe a bit tender. He cups your jaw again and bites his lip like he’s conflicted. About what you haven’t got a clue. Before you can think too much he’s thrusting himself into you again, but this time with more power, more recklessness. It burns slightly at your throat. The sounds get louder, more dirty, and so does the way he cries out for you. It’s desperate and needy and so fucked out and GOD why won’t he touch your pussy yet?!

“‘M gonna cum. Gonna cum down your throat.”

Your fingers gripped desperately at his calf, mouth stretch wide beyond your limits and he gagged you repeatedly with his cock. The fight for air was long and hard, but the way he trembled on his fucking toes for you was everything. It was power and it was beauty and it just made you want to be good for him. You just needed to please him. Simply because you could. Better than anyone fucking else could.

He cums with his fingers wrapped tightly around the back of your skull holding you against his crotch as he emptied himself into your throat. When he pulls out his head taps your lip a final time and each of you groan for different reasons. You for the air that fills your lungs, and him for the orgasm that seems to rock him to his very core.

“Shit. Shit y/n. That was amazing.” He whined.

You smile softly with wet eyes and a wet lips and a bit of a sore throat.

“I know.” You hum.

He rolled his eyes playfully at you and moves to his bedside table for the bottle of water he left for you there. Shawn quickly dropped to his knees along side you and lifted the water bottle to your lips to let the cool water trickle down your throat.

“Are you okay?” He checked. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head. “No. Feel good. A little sore. But good.”

“Yea? Well you were amazing. You’re always amazing.”

It fills you with a lightbeam of happiness that is too much to deal with it. You felt like you were on cloud nine. It was one thing for you to know you were good, and another entirely for him to agree. Another thing entirely for him to praise you so endlessly and feverently. It made you feel so damn good.

He untied your wrists and rubbed his thumbs soothingly into your skin. His lips track down yours and it’s just as good as it was at Burger King, just as hunger filled and desperate.

“‘M gonna get you on the bed okay?” He mumbled against your mouth, still pressing heated kisses to your skin. “Your hands aren’t tied anymore so you can do whatever you want with them while I’m eating you out. You can tug on my hair. You can grab at me in whatever way you need. There’s just one thing you can’t do.”

“What’s that?”

“You can’t push me away. I’m gonna make you cum. You’re gonna want me to stop. But I won’t. And I need you to be good for me. I need you to take it. Okay?”

“O--Okay.” You sighed, thighs squeezing together again. “Okay. I’ll be good.”

He smiled and gripped your chin. “My good girl. Come.”

There is nothing like the feeling of him between your legs. His body is warm and hard and heavy. He roots you to the bed and makes you feel more present than ever. His lips and tongue are hot against your already flushed skin as he kisses and nibbles his way along your thighs and stomach. With your hands now free to roam as they please you can’t seem to get enough of him. The softness of his curls between your fingers. The bulge of muscle at his shoulder blades. The dip in the back of his spine. And the entire time he’s doing just what he promised. His tongue soaked at the fabric of your thong, pushing it against your clit with languid little strokes. If you thought that your underwear being in the way would make it less intense, you couldn't have been more wrong. The fabric was silk and it added another texture against your skin as he sucked and prodded at you. Not even fifteen minutes later and your legs had found their way around his back, toes nudging that divet in the small of it again.

“S--Shawn.” you whined pitifully. “Please. More.”

He peered up from between your thighs with the grin of the devil. His lips were already red and swollen. You simply needed more contact.

“I’ll give you more when I’m ready honey. Be good for me.” He cooed.

He sucks a mark into the jut of your lip and runs his tongue there to soothe the flesh before he dives back in.

It’s absolutely torturous. From the foreplay of his dick down your throat, to the absolute hell of his teeth on your thighs, you were buzzing. The need that seem to build and throb from your core was unlike anything you’d ever felt before. You’d never craved being touched, had never needed it this badly. But, here Shawn was constantly pulling emotions and feelings that no one had ever been capable of getting out of you.

He slurped loudly at your pussy through your thong, constantly flicking the fabric to tap anxiously at your clit. When your orgasm started to build, your fingers fisted into his hair, thighs clenched. You pushed closer to his mouth and cried out widely for him, for his tongue, for anything that meant he might take you over the edge. And over the edge you went.

“Fuck. Ohmygod--fuck yea!”

He let you grind your pussy against his face. Let you ride that high like you rode his mouth. And when the orgasm began to ebb and your clit throbbed again, he leaned onto his elbows and grabbed at your ass to pull you even closer against his face. He wasn’t done. He’d barely even fucking started.

“SHAWN!”

He tugged the thong out of the way and licked you clean, ran his tongue along every crevice and nerve ending. When he traces the very tip of your clit with the tip of his tongue your legs close like venice fly trap around his head. Your fingers thrust into his hair and you let out a moan that you would be embarrassed of in broad daylight. There’s just no way in hell he’s got you cumming again this fast.

He got up onto his knees, fingers digging deep into your thighs and wrestled you down onto his expensive ass bed. By the time he comes up for air, your legs were literally trembling and you heart soared so fast in your ears that it was all you could hear.

“This pussy was fucking made for me.” He grunted licking his lips. “Come here.”

“W--wait, I’m so sensitive.”

He paused, fingers still gripping you just tightly enough.

“Color?”

You bit your lip. “Green.”

“You’re sure?”

You nodded softly and leaned back onto your elbows as he made his way between your thighs once again. He tugged your thigh over his shoulder and settled onto his side to make himself more comfortable. Your eyes met from between your legs as he pressed a kiss to one of your pussy lips.

“You make me wait again and I’ll slap your ass so hard you won’t be able to sit tomorrow okay?” He murmured.

Your fingers reached instinctively for his hair now, tightening into the curls as you threw your head back in pleasure.

“Fuck. Okay. Okay, sir. I’m sorry.”

“Mmmm. Good girl.” He hummed against your core.

He starts to lick and suckle at you again ignoring the ways that your legs shake at this point. His hands are dancing on your thighs and gripping at the flesh so good it makes you squirm all the more. It really does just feel too good to be true. His tongue is like a sinful miracle and you’ve been fooling around long enough for him to know your body inside and out. From the way he bumps your clit with his nose, to the way his tongue traces around the skin in tight little circles. Every part of it feels infinitely special. When his fingers slip inside of you and curve towards the darkest part of your being, your hips start to flail again. He only smiles up at you in satisfaction.

“So sensitive for me. Wanna make you cum again. Can you cum for me sweetheart?”

Your back arched hips pushing closer and closer towards him as he filled you up and rubbed roughly at your gspot.

“Oh. Oh my god. Oh my god, Shawn! Please. Please make me cum.”

He pushed at the thigh that was over your shoulder and spread you further so that his fingers could do their magic. He rubbed deeper and deeper into you, fingers curving so that your body lost all control. This orgasm starts in your belly, warm and firey before it spread through every nerve ending. When you cum it’s like an eruption. Your screams reach new octaves. The squelching sound of Shawn’s plunging fingers meeting the thick, sticky liquid from your heat. It’s all too much. Too too much.

“HOLY FUCK!”

He pulled his fingers from within you and let your body drop back down to the bed spread. Your heart raced in your chest and your legs felt like jello. You could barely breathe and Shawn thought it was the funniest shit in the world. He peered down at you with hungry eyes and the cockiest fucking grin in the world and your pussy had the audacity to twitch again. What a whore.

He climbed onto your body, thighs bracketing either side of your torso. His dick was red and leaking again, your body literally shivering as he thrust lazily against your stomach.

“‘M gonna cum on your tits.” He whimpered fisting himself in his palm again. “Is that okay?”

He pumped at his shaft, curls flopping beautifully along his forehead with every thrust of his hips. Shawn was a dream. A sweaty, trembling dream that made your heart race and your toes curl. In the moment with his thighs tenses on either side of you, and his lips parted and swollen, denial was not an option. You ached for his pleasure, for his reward. You craved it.

“Yes. Yes!”

Your hands grasped at the flesh of your boobs lifting them to be pressed together. Your nipples stood erect and rock hard, and this only seemed to spur him on even more. The best part of Shawn’s position above you was the ability to watch him fall apart. Your dom, for all of his charisma and perfected authority, crumbled when he was near orgasm. It was in those few seconds that you got to see him in his most vulnerable state. Whiny and red faced and just as overwhelmed as you. And god did you love every second of it.

He shoved up on his knees and groaned so low that you felt it in your own chest. The head of his cock barely poked out from his fist as he fell over the finish line, cum spurting out in thick long ropes along your body. He gasped and heaved in elation hunching in on himself too. You reached without thinking to take his cock into your mouth, cleaning the last remnants of his orgasm with your tongue. When you pulled back with a nice plop for added measure, he collapsed beside you on the bed. Both of you were absolutely done for after a total of five orgasms split between the two of you. There was simply nothing else for you to give.

“F--Five minutes.” He gasped from beside you. “Five minutes and I’ll go get the washcloth.”

It seemed like a fair trade off. You couldn’t even feel your pussy to let him clean you up after all. What was another five minutes?

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peepingtoad · 4 years

Text

|| @dokuhebi:-

War was approaching, Konoha’s farms were struggling to keep up with the demands of the citizens, even though the population was declining in size, even though fewer mouths were in need of being fed, and more families were without the right income to cater to those needs of hunger. The assignments being handed out were of more dangerous ranks, the shinobi placed on those assignments suddenly younger and younger in age. But all of that, and so much more, is practically ignored by the child. They have a more pressing affair to deal with. It’s their friends birthday, and they have just heard his mother wouldn’t be making it home in time this year to visit. Had she even managed to send a letter? Or had that gotten swept up in the conflict as well? They can’t be sure. What they are sure about however, is that it is up to them and Tsunade to mitigate this colossal disaster of their teammates empty celebration. Their little apartment, dreary as it usually is, will be the perfect grounds for staging a surprise. With no one there to meddle with the two childrens affairs. Allowing for the young serpent and princess to modify it to the desired effect. Far more vibrant and ghost-free now. A few decorations strung from cupboards and ceilings, window frames and doorways. The small counter space along with the even smaller side table is used for gifts and snacks, an assortment of foods that the two knew Jiraiya liked. Gifts are all wrapped, messily so, but serving the purpose. An orphan such as them hardly had the means for elaborate gift giving. But Jiraiya didn’t have to know that Tsunade had helped chip in for theirs, nor did he, or the Senju for that matter, need to know that the rest of the money for the present was acquired through pawning off items they stole here and there. Deciding it was well within their moral compass to do so, because it was for a good cause, and they had only robbed those who the child decided deserved a good lesson. For telling them off harsher than necessary, for being too obnoxious or loud a neighbour, for looking at them the wrong way because of their status in society. So perhaps his mother wasn’t there for the celebration of the young boy, perhaps he would have no blood family around on the special day. But he would have a different family there, when Orochimaru, thinking themself very clever and subtle, lures him back to their apartment after training, feigning that they didn’t want to walk home alone, only to bring him in to the abode and announce the surprise. Where all three could spend the day, afternoon and night celebrating together. Now at nineteen years old, his mother would miss his birthday again. Only this time, it would be well known she would miss all the rest to follow it. Her passing had struck him violently, unable to ever forget the look on his face when they walked in. When they watched the last piece of his already shaky foundation crumble from beneath his feet. So perhaps that was why it became important to have a redo of the same little party they had done as children. A reminder he still had family, a distraction from an empty home, no matter how rarely she was ever there to begin with. The serpent offers up their apartment again, but not without a healthy dose of rules and warnings. Certainly not without hiding a few items for the sake of that precious research being preserved and out of harms way. After all, the innocent little snack table has been repurposed for some drinks instead. Only one year until the trio is twenty and legally allowed alcohol, for now, Orochimaru does what they do best: ignoring Hiruzen’s laws outright, and doing whatever the hell they wanted anyway. And once more, Orochimaru is the one to lure Jiraiya back to the apartment. This time however, their tact is worth their own praise, as they let the man think the truly are forgetful and negligent of the day. While Tsunade and Dan set up at the serpents abode, Orochimaru keeps the ignorant guest of honor doing trivial tasks. Making him help them in the Hokage’s office, pretending that the right amount of stress and duties had made them forget the celebratory day - and with their hardworking nature, it wasn’t hard to convince anyone of that possibility. There is perhaps, a bit of fun to be had, waiting to exasperate Jiraiya a little that his day off became a handful before telling him they needed help with one last thing. Only for a light smirk to reflect on their lips and give the game up the moment they push open their door and let him enter. A bit of fair warning to expect something. Less juvenile decorations, less sloppy furniture arrangements, the table showcasing various gifts, surrounded by various bottles of sake and whiskey for overindulgence, and a pickled and deep fried based menu of party food. Whenever Jiraiya’s glass empties, Tsunade, Orochimaru or Dan were quick to top it up, an agreement between them that it would take any edge off from the morbid memory of who wasn’t able to attend. The night would continue well in to the morning, until Tsunade and Dan need to get back, or more so, until Dan decides for her sake, Tsunade may need to find herself in her own bed with some welcoming home comforts come her hangover in the morning. Eventually, leaving only Jiraiya and Orochimaru there for the remainder of the night, the buzz of drinking leaving a spell of calm, as the two sit on the small but pleasant balcony. At some point, deciding it might be fun to teach Jiraiya some of their erhu, but being too controlling - even drunk - to properly let him touch and tamper with the delicate item. More of a demonstration, than a lesson then. A moment of playful banter and jabs, until Orochimaru has brought out a small gift from their sleeve, and offered it to him. Deciding to retire for the night, and drunkenly placing a kiss to the top of his head, and a small pat of his shoulder as they move inside and leave him to unwrap the gift by himself on the balcony, “there’s room for two on the bed, don’t let me catch you sleeping on the couch come morning on your own birthday,” they say, or perhaps order, in parting. This time, Orochimaru could afford their own gift for him. Mostly ethically earned. A Kiseru and tobacco pouch, crafted in Kumogakure, the golden metal bind that winds up the long pipe carved in to by the intricate patterns of serpents weaving through lily pads. A note with a short ‘think of me on your journeys’ splashed with ink on a small card. Wrapped far more neatly than from the past. And perhaps the note is as much in support of his wanderings and passions, in support of his mothers legacy, as it is a possessive little trick. That if he found himself smoking at some bathhouse, in the company of some little she-devil that wasn’t them, one glance at the serpents on his kiseru would put the bastards work of flirting him up to waste, as they steal his thoughts from countries away.

It didn’t really bother him when it occurred that Orochimaru and Tsunade had probably forgotten about this day. That wasn’t to say that he’d been so wrapped up in his moping that he was dead set on being indulgently miserable for it—after all, every extra year one survived in this world was a worthy cause for celebration—but there was no denying that he was in a funk. That his shoulders seemed to be just that little bit heavier than before. That behind every buoyant smile, he was deflated inside. So it wasn’t that he didn’t care, but he wasn’t bothered by it either.

It was all just… grey.

Having said all that, what actually was irksome to him was that a day that should have been spent getting hammered in that one seedy bar that was willing to serve them (largely in thanks to Jiraiya’s sheer height and broad build that screamed ‘fully grown man’, enough to give him a pass), was instead being gradually frittered away on annoying little tasks. Orochimaru was dead set on doing everything necessary to keep themself firmly in their sensei’s mind as his natural successor; Jiraiya knew this, and they were exceptionally diligent with it.

So why, then, was he roped into helping them to suck up to the old man instead of falling into blissful drunken stupor? How annoying. And yet he still doesn’t refuse to help.

This ultimately leads to him being rather moody and pouty as they finally finish for the day, an early evening sun warming the dull dirt path to gold as they stroll along, Jiraiya with a sour expression and hands shoved just a little aggressively deep into his pockets. With the sudden mention of a seemingly-just-remembered ‘one last thing’ by the time they reach their apartment door, he’s all but ready to give them the most linguistically colourful of refusals, only for the mischievous little flash over their features to stop him dead in his tracks.

Raised eyebrows and a slightly more curious kind of pout signal his own realisation and intrigue, progressing into a look of heartfelt wonder as the door is opened, and he is very suddenly presented with the more grown up version of a similar trick from… when was it, seven years ago? Eight?

The first time his birthday had ever been so distinctly without her.

He can’t even be agitated that the intimate them-ness of this little home-made party is slightly skewed by the presence of Dan. After all, the guy had clearly gone to a load of effort in helping Tsunade to set it all up, and at least this way there was an extra person to help fill the void left by a distinctly missing one. Good food and drink, too—that which he’d been craving all day and which Orochimaru had cleverly worked up an even greater appetite for—saw in the hours to follow sadness being replaced by merriment, and that grey feeling exchanged for a far more celebratory mood. Celebrating his ascent to the next year of his life, sure, but also that they were all here. That they were all together.

Until Dan has to take Tsunade home, anyway. Not that it even registers to Jiraiya, who at this point is so away with the fairies he could have entertained himself for hours and probably not realised it. Besides, he has Orochimaru, and watching them equally as intoxicated as himself, seeing how they come out of their shell a little more and show off their more frivolous skills, delights him in such a way that he sees practically nothing else. The erhu ‘lesson’ really makes him wish he’d swung by his place for his shamisen, but he settles for makeshift percussion by way of random surfaces and his palms, and even a poor attempt at atmospheric singing at points—a treat for their neighbours, no doubt. Eventually their activities take them to the balcony where they continue chatting, until the mystery gift brings upon them a shroud of silence.

It hadn’t actually occurred to him that there might be any more gifts. The evening, yes, along with the company and the free pass to make a real mess of the place without them biting his head off, were great enough gifts in themselves… but this slender box seems to hold quite a gravity about it, if not by the fact it’s been left until the very last, with only the two of them here, then because of the affection pouring so freely from them as they retire, leaving him with a tender kiss and touch, a mysterious gift to open, and a suggestion… no, an expectation of what should follow.

That confidence of theirs really is something… and ‘misplaced’ is not that something.

Jiraiya opens the gift in bated silence, his expression oddly neutral but wide-eyed as he reveals the elegant kiseru, with its design that feels very much deliberately chosen to contain an element of themself, but of him too. The pouch is also filled with tobacco which he opens and inhales the scent of, a blend that smells so fine that even a relative novice like him can tell it’s the good stuff.

Dammit, you trying to make me into an old man here? ‘Oh, that’s the good stuff!’ So old mannish…

He thinks that, but only with the giddiest of smiles that blooms suddenly, not a hint of disappointment to be seen—not at the gift itself, and certainly not at the validation contained in that one little message that came with it. A message that he knew for a fact he’d admire every brushstroke of whenever he found himself missing them from afar.

Needless to say, he doesn’t quite catch on to any possessive undertones that may lie in wait between the lines like serpents in the grass; so overwhelmed is he by the pure, soft sentiment of it, furthered by his current state no doubt, that thick tears slide down his cheeks without him even realising they were brimming to begin with. Only a few, before he pats them away with his sleeve and returns inside, carefully placing the gift on the bottle-strewn table but not lingering there himself.

Even drunk, he knows there’s no way they’d have fallen asleep already. Hell, they’d said with no measure of subtlety that they wanted him in their bed tonight, so it’s only natural for him to take that as simply as it sounded: as an invitation.

Now, to what capacity they wanted him, he can’t say. But given the physical closeness that came so naturally between the three, ever since they were little (as much as a certain princess would deny it), there would be nothing untoward in sneaking through the door of their bedroom, nor in stalking up their bed on all fours, nor in gathering them immediately into his arms to give them a tight and gratitude-laden embrace that seems to involve every one of his clumsy, drunk limbs.

“Oro…” He sighs, brows twitching a little as he realises what a useless phrase a mere ‘thank you’ really is. Like making him feel like this, so loved and appreciated, during one of the roughest points of his life thus far, can be returned with mere words of thanks. When he withdraws from the embrace, it is only to put the most minimal distance between them, still close enough that his vision swims hazily with alabaster skin that even the night can’t swallow completely, the ever-present glow of yellow irises, the void-like negative space where ebony hair seems to sever throat from shoulders and drip down their chest like rivers of shadow. They’re so beautiful it snatches his breath away, leaving him very much aware of the thundering of his heartbeat.

… This is one of those moments, isn’t it? Those moments of opportunity, where the options were divided between safety and risk, change or stagnation, control or release.

Concepts that are all far too complex in this particular moment, and so Jiraiya does only what he feels in his bones is right given the close entanglement they’ve found themselves in, with limbs curling around each other and fingers ensnared in each other’s hair. He holds their jaw within his heated palm, and gives one quivering caress of their lips with his thumb before replacing that uncertain touch with the far more definitive press of his mouth.

It’s hard to really quantify how long they stay like that, exchanging kiss after kiss between soft sighs and humid pauses for breath and the amazing feel of them—of this—filling his brain with the most blissful static, but there comes a moment where their foreheads are pressed together that he finally remembers his point, and gazes blearily at them with a smile that’s somehow both bashful and truly self-assured at the same time.

“I will.”

#dokuhebi #sorry this one was a little late!#as you can see i had to ramble and so... haha.#very indulgent #{birthdaywishes}#{summons(submissions)}#submission #{long post}#{fragments | dokuhebi | inseparable}#{verse:inseparable | dokuhebi}#{fragments | dokuhebi}#{thread:understanding}

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spacerockwriting · 5 years

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Museum Art

Thanks to @littlerose13writes for Shipmas Prompt Day 5!

✨🎄Shipmas day 5: The Quibbler’s Guide to Avoiding Nargles in Your Mistletoe This Christmas🎄✨

Pairing: Albus Potter x Lorcan Scamander, Albus Potter x Scorpius Malfoy (mentioned) Rating: General Words:3149 Summary: Scorpius was in Switzerland; Albus was at the Scamanders. The Potters get to have a holiday get together at the Scamander's house. Read on A03

“Al, go brush your hair again,” Ginny chastised her middle son. “James, do not under any circumstances bring those with you. We do not need another lecture about how those are made with animals. Lily,” Ginny says, and glances at her youngest. “Put on a jacket. It’s cold this time of year. But yes—“She’s learned over the years to let the small battles win. Some fights are not worth the tears. “You can wear your flower crown.”

“Am I alright?” A teasing voice pops into view. Ginny glances over at her husband. He’s in a normal dark grey jumper with slacks, his wild hair famously remaining untamed.

“Handsome as always,” Ginny replies, going to kiss her husband.

“Ew, gross.” The first voice is from their eldest son. He’s making a gagging motion with his finger to his throat. Hopping off the landing, James leans against the staircase railing. “Dunno why you’re so keen on us looking proper. Auntie Luna rejects those sorts of things.”

“She says free expression is the window to the soul,” Lily says, twirling off the landing and modeling off her flower crown. “Do you like these, Mum, Daddy?” Her eyes shone.

“Pretty as a petal, Flower.” He presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Now where is that brother of yours? Al!” He calls up the stairs.

“I’m coming,” he calls back. He hops down the last step onto the landing. “I’m ready,” he declares, going to tie up his black converse shoes.

“Good, because we’re flooing there. We’re set to arrive in no more than ten minutes.” Harry taps his watch, instructing his children to gather towards the fireplace.

Albus hates flooing. It makes him dizzy and nauseous, and he feels himself getting sick. He steps out the fireplace of the Scamander’s residence and winces. He feels even more nauseous and Ginny immediately goes over to her youngest son.

“Drink this Al,” Ginny instructs her son. She sits him down on a nearby chair and spoons a potion into his mouth. Albus swallows the spoonful and winces at the taste. It’s the most dreadful potion he’s ever tasted and he hates it. Ginny smooths at her son’s hair as he rests, then kisses the top of it. “You’ll be fine in a few minutes. Why don’t you go say hi to everyone?” She suggests, although it’s less of a suggestion and more of a force.

Albus immediately runs into his Aunt Luna, his mother not far behind at all.

“Albus, hi,” she greets him. She’s wearing some sort of odd colourful dress, the skirt swirling about as she walks. “Ginny!” She greets his mother with slightly more enthusiasm. “I invited your brother along too, but he declined. He says not until Lorcan and Lysander learn to behave. Lyssie didn’t mean to bite; he was only checking to test Hugo for mites. Some of them live on skin, you know. I think his shoes are rather too tight, don’t you? He needs to expand his horizons more.”

Albus ducks away as his mother chats with her best friend. He takes a seat on the couch as he eyes the living room. The Scamanders house was the most colourful place Albus has ever visited. All the rooms were painted different colours, and the furniture was arranged to make the place more zen. Albus isn’t very sure what that means, and he always tunes his aunt out when she starts talking about it.

Everything is very minimal, with several books and things littering around the house. The decorations are scarce, but are still visible. There is no holiday tree, but there are stockings on the fireplace and trays of food in the dining area. The house feels open. It is nothing like the strict world of visiting Malfoy Manor with rules and the smell of clean floors.

He didn’t bring anything to do, strictly because he didn’t have time. Normally, he’d bring a book to read, or his sketchbook to draw. But his family was in such a hurry, he didn’t have time to grab anything. Plus, his family were stuck in the ideas of Albus socializing more.

Albus hated social events with his family. While the Scamanders weren’t as horrible as his muggle cousins were, it was still an uncomfortable situation for the antisocial Slytherin. Plus, he always mixed up the twins, despite having a teeny crush on one of them. The twins always seemed to hype up their alike-ness when Albus was around, as if it were some kind of game.

As if on cue, the two twins came down the stairs. Both had their mother’s blond, but their fathers sun kissed skin. Both boys didn’t seem to care too much for shoes, and right now their hair was combed the exact same way and style. The only thing keeping them apart were their clothes. Lysander was in an oversized jumper, while Lorcan was dressed in a ripped t-shirt with a niffler printed on the front. But even different clothing didn’t stop Albus from knowing who was who.

“Hey Albie,” they both greet in unison. Albus nods to both of them. He squints, because he knows he should be able to tell the two apart. But even in their different attires, he can’t. He recalls the last time he could tell them apart, and that was back when Lysander had cut his hair short, and Lorcan hadn’t. But now both boys have their hair the same length again, and currently styled the same way.

“Lorcan, Lysander,” Albus greets the two with a mumble. Pink creeps to his face because he has a teeny crush on Lorcan, and right now both were messing with him. “If the two of you are going to fuck with me, then I’m going to take a nap,” he mumbles, and excuses himself from the boys. Sometimes if he’s lucky, he can convince his mum that he was getting overwhelmed and needed to go lie down. He’s hoping the nausea from the floo would be more convincing this time around. The trick doesn’t always work, and his mum encourages him only use it when necessary. Mostly, he ends up using it during a rather long party at the Burrow. But today just seems to fit one of those needing to escape moods.

He knows his way around the Scamander household, having been visiting it all his life. Going up the stairs, he takes the left to their guest room, crashing onto the bed. There are a variety of books piled on tables and maps everywhere. Rolf was probably working on something like his grandfather, something that would no doubt fill Scorpius with glee.

Scorpius.

Albus’ heart aches for Scorpius. The boy is away on holiday with his father. They left right at break, and wouldn’t be home until the train left. Scorpius had mentioned his father wanting to do a ski holiday in Switzerland, so that’s where they’re spending their holidays.

Scorpius was in Switzerland; Albus was at the Scamanders. Then, not too long into the New Year, Albus and his family would be forced to spend an awkward tea session with his Uncle Dudley. Once a year, the Potters would dress up in their muggle best and go off to play muggle. Harry and Dudley would sit in silence, occasionally making the smallest of talk about the weather or the kid’s school, while the children would be forced to mingle. The only reason for this was Dudley’s wife, encouraging her husband to spend time with his remaining family. She seemed far more interested in the families getting together than both boys did. Surely, she would be appalled at how her husband and his cousin didn’t care for the family gatherings.

Lying on the bed of the Scamander guest room brought out horrid memories of times when Albus was forced to be babysat by his Auntie Luna. She wasn’t into routine, and that lack of routine absolutely devastated the four year old who loved it when people played into things how he wanted them. Luna always did things her own way, and that included babysitting Albus. There wasn’t a telly in the house, and not being able to watch his silly cartoon after naptime used to seem like the end of the world.

She always brings up how he’d cry at bath time, because he hated having his hair washed and brushed, and how he was such a free spirit eater, which was just a polite word for Albus was king at getting food mashed into his fringe. Albus is sure next time he heads downstairs, his Auntie Luna would bring that story up, while Rolf would add on to how him and Albus used to hunt for bugs in the garden together. Then, one of them would show off the cute photograph of a young Albus and younger twins, together in a large mud puddle.

Although, the stories are usually better than the ones his Gran often tells.

Albus lays on the bed and stares at the books piling high around the table. There are maps scattered and tacked to the wall with dots on them. He knows what the dots mean, as it’s something to do with traveling and beasts. He knows that both twins have an interest in following after their father and great-grandfather, and Scorpius too, yearns for those quests.

He grabs at one of the plush animals on the bed and curls up with it. He misses Scorpius, and Scorpius should be here because Scorpius loves the twins and gets along, and they never do that stupid switching thing on Scorpius. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to force himself to sleep. He supposed he’ll just deal with the disappointment talks later.

“I told you that was a dumb idea, Lys,” the boy snips, crashing up the stairs. “Dressing to fuck with Al like that. Scor isn’t here to set it straight, leaving him to just be even more confused. His mum said he’s practically blind without his glasses.”

“It was funny, and you know it was. Al needs to stop closing himself off so much. He’s a nice kid, but Merlin, does he need to stop sometimes. All that introversion can’t be good for him.”

Lorcan huffs. “He’s not doing it on purpose. Aunt Ginny has said he has some disorder or disease or something. You know as well as I that he’s always been like this.”

There are a few things that can trigger Albus awake. One, is thunderstorms, and two, certain words. Albus has trained himself to immediately awake when hearing certain phrases. The words disorder and disease being some of them. Sitting up, his hands fling to his hair and he moves his knees to his chest.

Oh no, oh no, oh no

A panic is sent through Albus as he hears the door knob jingle. The door opens and Albus looks at the blond haired, sun kissed boy. It’s only one of them, as the other seemed to have left. He’s pretty sure it’s the one he has the teeny crush on—Lorcan.

“Hey Al,” he greets, and goes to shut the door. “I figured you’d be up here.”

“Being an antisocial freak and all,” Albus spits back.

“Lysander didn’t mean it like that,” he defends. The clarification is all he needs to know. The boy up here isn’t Lysander, its Lorcan. “But you heard him, didn’t you?”

Albus moves his knees closer to his chest. “If you’re here to try and convince me I’m not some antisocial freak, then you should probably go.”

“You’re not a freak,” Lorcan replies. “I’ve known you longer than Scorpius, and I can confirm that you’re not a freak. Yeah you’ve got your quirks, but Lysander’s being a dumbarse. Part of being open minded is understanding that not everyone has your same views and values.” Lorcan doesn’t go sit on the bed and goes to grab his copy of The Quibbler sitting on the table. “Mum’s still trying to teach him that. Them, sorry,” Lorcan corrects.

“Right,” Albus replies with a brow raised.

“Yeah,” Lorcan continues. “Lys just doesn’t seem to understand just what they say sometimes. You’re not the most closeminded person. Your Uncle Ron is way more close minded than you. And Mum says you’ve been to those brain wash people when you were little. They teach you those things. You’re not a freak.”

“Therapist,” Albus corrects. “It’s not brain washing,” he defends, but only slightly. He thinks maybe Lorcan could be right. He had to be taught a lot of basic skills and mindsets. He had to follow whatever he was being taught. If his therapist was in a certain mindset, there was no doubt that he’d of picked up on said mindset.

“To help your manners. Not saying you didn’t need it,” Lorcan teased. He turns pages in the magazine he’s holding. “Even Mum thought your manners were deplorable, and she’s the least worried about those things. Besides, you’re way more creative than Lys. Your creativity is more like, museum art, whereas Lys’ is street art.”

Albus raises his brow at the compliment. “Museum art?”

“Yeah! The way you draw and paint is good. Mum used to love your finger paints. Your music, too. It’s actual talent. I’ve seen your writing, too. You can’t be a creative person and be closeminded. You also can’t be a close minded person and pierce your lip and eyebrow, and play that music you like. It’s not possible.” Lorcan shifts the magazine upside down, staring intensely at one of the pages. “Next time ignore Lys. They try to be more open than they are.” Lorcan tilts his head to the side. “We should probably get downstairs.”

“Mum’s calling me?” Albus feels a bit better. The one on one talk didn’t seem to hurt him, in fact, it seemed to make him feel a bit more comfortable. Lorcan was better at getting through to him than his twin was. Lysander seemed to not understand anything about introversion. Lorcan, however, seemed to understand Albus’ needs. Not at the same level of Scorpius, but, it was good enough.

“No,” he responds, looking around the room. “I think the nargles might be hiding in the closet.”Albus rolls his eyes in response. The Scamander family always talked about nargles, but no one ever saw them. Nargles were always something to be avoided, yet they were never found. “They’re probably attracted to your energy. And there could be mistletoe downstairs, and nargles love hiding in mistletoe.” Lorcan grabs Albus’ wrist around his hands. The touch is warm, and Albus feels the difference between him and Scorpius.

Scorpius has hands that are long and delicate, where as Lorcan’s are rough. Calluses line the boy’s hand from all the outdoor work he had done with his father and great-grandfather. There are dents from bite marks of various creatures, and dirt lives under the fingernails of the Scamander boy.

Albus tries to push the blush down and nods quietly, following along. He passes the room where Lysander is talking wildly to his younger sister. They seem more engaged with each other. Fitting, considering Lysander is probably the more extroverted of the two.

Lorcan holds onto Albus’ wrist and reaches over the banister, causing a look from his mother. “Lorcan, what’re you doing?” She questions.

“Moving the mistletoe Mum,” he calls back. “Nargles. “ There’s a pause, and Luna nods, as if that were explanation enough. Albus just tags along, his wrist still being gripped by Lorcans. “If you move the infected mistletoe away from the general public, you’re less likely to get infected. Nargles are drawn to large crowds. Makes it easier to nest. They don’t like the cold weather, so mistletoe should be placed in outdoor locations.”

Albus doesn’t disagree, having never seen a nargle. He presses his lips together and looks at the boy. “I don’t have my outdoor gear.”

Lorcan purses his lips, removing his hand from Albus’ wrist. “Here,” he decides, as they pass a coat closet. He plucks off a tweed coat from the hook along with a yellow and black scarf. He grins. “I always thought you’d be a good Hufflepuff. Even as a kid,” he compliments. “You’re much sweeter than you give yourself credit for,” he mumbles, but then realizes what he’s holding. Lorcan shakes his head, bouncy hair flying around his face.

Albus blushes. He knew the hat’s second choice was Hufflepuff. His Gran had desperately been on the team Hufflepuff as well. Albus remembers getting a knitted scarf in the first week from his Gran, the colours yellow and black. The sight of the scarf made his heart ache, and he started crying again over his sorting. He only stopped when eleven year old Scorpius Malfoy taught him a charm to fix it.

“Lets get this outside,” he says, and then wraps his hand around Albus’ wrist once again. He pushes his way through the crowd and out the door. He still has no shoes on, his feet bare on the icy snow. He’s only wearing his niffler shirt and a pair of jeans. “Hold my ankles Albie,” Lorcan instructs, shaking the plant then standing on the railing of the porch to hang it on the lamp.

He jumps down and turns to the brunette boy. “There’s one other thing we have to do,” he tells Albus with a soft look in his eyes. He grabs the boy’s wrists in both his hands. Gazing into the green eyes, Lorcan smiles softly.

Albus has always been different. He’s always been kind, even in the days where he wasn’t so kind. Lorcan could tell that Albus was a good kid, even when he didn’t act like it. All his little quirks and frustrations never irritated him like they did his twin. Lorcan had no problem pausing, or slowing down so Albus could catch up. He never had any problem with Albus’ behavior quirks, and like Scorpius, he too, enjoyed Albus’ little mispronunciations and speech quirks.

“Lolly,” Albus breathes out quietly. His breath hangs in the air.

Lorcan gives off a smile at the nickname. Albus had been calling him that since they were children. Albus had a habit of shortening names, whether they be needed or not. He cups the boy’s cheek and presses his lips to the other.

Albus pulls apart, and Lorcan nods his head. “Right,” he whispers. “We successfully got rid of the nargles. There’s none left.”

Albus’ face is pink from the chill. He rubs his hands up and down his body to give more warmth back. He doesn’t get how Lorcan can be sitting outside in just a t-shirt, not at this temperature. “I-I think there’s one more left,” Albus whispers. He lets the cold hang in the air again, his breath lingering.

Lorcan smirks and kisses Albus again.

#shipmas 2018 #scorbus #lorcan x albus #albus severus potter #lorcan scamander #luna lovegood #lysander scamander #james sirius potter #lily luna potter #ginny weasley #harry potter #Scorpius Malfoy #Museum Art #ccsquad

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180abroad · 5 years

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Day 140 - Isle of Skye (For One)

Today we enjoyed our last Rabbie's tour of the trip--a 12-hour excursion to the Isle of Skye and back. After an early breakfast of coffee and cereal, we headed down to the meeting point in town. Jessica still wasn't feeling well, but she was determined to make it.

Sadly, she didn't make it far.

As we rode along the gently winding freeway along the side of Loch Ness, it soon became clear that things weren’t going to go very well. In addition to its other lovely gifts, Jessica's cold seemed to have lowered her threshold for car sickness to a dangerous level.

After making the bus pull over for fresh air half-way down to Urquhart Castle–then barely making it to the castle from there–we both knew that it was a losing battle. There were still eleven and a half hours to go, and it was only going to get rougher from there on in. So, as much as we hated to do so, we asked our guide Emily to arrange a taxi to take Jessica home. Having been assured by Jessica that she would be fine, I stayed on the bus with the promise to take all the pictures I could.

12 hours and 1,306 pictures later, I think I kept my promise.

While Jessica waited for her very expensive taxi to drive all the way out from Inverness and take her back into town on a Sunday morning, I rode on through an increasingly twisting and ruggedly beautiful stretch of the Highlands. And after an hour or so, we stopped at Eilean Donan Castle.

Sitting at the nexus of three lochs near the western coast of Scotland, Eilean Donan is one of the most stunningly picturesque castles I saw during the entire trip. And the views from the castle were just as amazing as the views of the castle.

As I learned inside the castle, however, the building that stands today is a modern recreation. The original castle was blown up by the British in 1719 during the Jacobite uprisings. 200 years later, a descendant of the Jacobite owners reclaimed the ruins and poured his fortune into rebuilding it as it was.

The results are stunning and well worth a visit. But mostly just for the views.

After spending most of our allotted hour taking pictures outside the castle, I decided I should make the most of my 10-pound ticket and actually go inside. In retrospect, that might have been a mistake. The interior of the castle is a cramped shrine to the owner's family history. There's a display case dedicated to the Bonnie Prince, including a lock of his hair and a letter penned in his hand.

It was so crowded inside that we had to use the stairs in shifts. Once I got upstairs, there was a ten-minute wait before I was allowed to go back down.

As we were leaving, we saw a crazy German camping tour truck in the parking lot.

As we drove onward, Emily dispelled some common myths about Highland culture. The first was the idea of clan tartans. In Edinburgh, we saw shops filled with tartan patterns associated with one clan or another. It's a popular souvenir for Americans with Scottish heritage to come and buy a scarf or cap printed with their supposed family pattern. But this is another artifact of Victorian romanticism.

When Queen Victoria was touring the Highlands, she noticed that when she stayed with a family, their family portraits would all feature similar tartan patterns. Coming from a perspective of English royalty, she assumed that the patterns were the Highland equivalent of family colors or coats of arms. In reality, they were just the patterns and colors that the local seamstresses were familiar with. If anything, tartan patterns were simply indicators of who made the fabric, not of who wore it.

Emily also talked about the Scottish clan system and how American tourists tend to misunderstand the significance of clan names. Clans were political units, not family units, and clan names were not family names. Some clans were named after their chiefs, but many were named for legendary or historical warriors with no actual relation to the clan.

Having the last name MacDonald doesn’t necessarily mean you are descended from the MacDonald clan. It probably just means that you are descended from some guy whose father’s name was Donald. And even if you can trace your genealogy back to the Clan MacDonald, which one? There were tons of rival clans that went by the same name.

Finally, we crossed the bridge onto the Isle of Skye. The bridge is fairly new. Before it opened in 1995, people had to take a ferry from the mainland. According to Emily, the bridge was a controversial project. Being able to drive on and off the island at will was a boon to the economy, and tourism on the island has exploded. But at the same time, Skye has lost some of the mystique and cultural insulation that it had previously enjoyed.

Our first stop was at the Cuillin Mountains, which dominate the southern end of Skye. The range is divided into the Red Cuillins and the Black Cuillins. The Red Cuillins are rounded and grassy–perfect for grazing. The Black Cuillins are steep and craggy–perfect for climbing. Legend says that they were formed when two giants fought for days on end to determine which was stronger.

It looked like the Shire and Mount Doom had been smooshed together into a single frame.

Our next stop was Portree, the largest village on Skye. The name is a corruption of Port Righ, a Gaelic name meaning King's Port. According to legend, it was named after King James V visited the island in 1540. The two main clans of Skye--the MacDonalds and the MacLeods--were in the grip of brutal feud. The savagery got so out of hand that it was becoming a national embarrassment, reinforcing the negative stereotype of the savage Scots throughout Europe.

Determined to reestablish order in the outskirts of his realm, James sailed over Skye to tell the clan leaders in person to knock it off. He chose to land his fleet at a neutral fishing village in the middle of the island, and that village was thereafter known as the King's Port.

Trying to save a bit of time and money, I picked up a sandwich from a nearby Co-Op. I wandered up the hill to find a place to sit with a view, but there was no seating to be found. I eventually turned back and wandered down to the pier, where I finally found a bench perched precariously close to the edge.

After lunch, I headed up another hill to see the so-called Apothecary's Tower. Emily had recommended it to us for having great views and being virtually deserted no matter how many tourist buses were in town.

On my way up, I got sidetracked and ended up following a long trail around the side of the hill. The views were spectacular, though, so I didn’t bother to turn around.

And I did make it to the tower in the end.

Just like Emily said, the place was deserted and offered a great view of the city. It was built in the 1800s and served briefly as a medical dispensary for local sailors, hence the name Apothecary's Tower.

I also spotted a wild raspberry bush.

Back in town, I had just enough time to peek into a few craft shops and pick up a souvenir for Jessica--a tiny handmade glass puffin.

Back in the bus, we continued northward along some amazingly blue water toward the Storr, a jagged hill with spiky stone formations sticking out at otherworldly angles. One spike in particular stands out, on its own about halfway down the slope. It's known as the Old Man of Storr, and from a distance, it looks like the silhouette of a stooped man walking down a gentle slope.

One legend says that long ago, an amorous young couple was wandering the hillsides north of Portree. Among the crags and crannies of the Storr, they stumbled across a gathering of fairies. Fairies do not like being disturbed, and the couple ran away as fast as they could. The woman made it to safety, but the man was caught by fairy magic and turned to stone--cursed to spend the rest of time as a morality tale against sneaking off at night.

Emily praised the remarkably clear day, and as we pressed further north we could see the distant isles of Raasay and Rona and the Scottish mainland beyond.

Our next stop was Kilt Rock, a long coastal cliff made of columnar basalt that resembles the pleats of a kilt. The views are spectacular, and there is ample parking for the hordes of tourists competing to see them.

Our last big stop of the day was a mountainous region of northern Skye called the Quiraing. It goes on for miles, but there's one view in particular that seems purpose-built to make a spectacular photo.

We had about twenty minutes to wander around, and I must admit that this was a stop where I was one of those annoying people who lose track of time and hold everyone up an extra few minutes. I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Skye is one of the most dramatic and beautiful places I saw on our trip, but it felt more like a chain of tourist-filled photo ops than a living place. That's probably an unfair assessment given the whistle-stop format of the tour, and I'm still entirely glad that I went. I'd happily return and spend a week hiking around all these gorgeous places that I was only able to glimpse. But more than anything else, it made me nostalgic for our time on Islay, which I hope is never tied to the mainland by a bridge.

Leaving the Quiraing, we circled around the northern reaches of Skye. The landscape was wide, wild, and full of sheep--some of which made us stop and wait for them to cross the road.

The rest of the trip was a quiet, slightly sleepy ride home, with comfort stops in the northwestern port town of Uig--where you can catch ferries to the remote Outer Hebrides--and the southeastern former ferry town of Kyleakin.

As we approached Inverness, we found the gloomy rain we'd managed to outrun in Skye.

Along the way, Emily told us one last story. It was about how the landscape of the Highlands has changed over the centuries and how Highlanders see their home quite differently than tourists. To us, the Highlands seem romantically desolate–empty windswept hillsides where the forces of nature still hold strong. But that isn't really true.

For one, these areas used to be much more populated. Today, Skye has about ten thousand people on it, but it once had five times that number. And instead of being concentrated in a few towns, those people were spread evenly across the entire island. Four hundred years ago, you’d be hard-pressed to find anywhere in Scotland where there wasn’t a farmhouse or two nearby.

The lands were more-or-less free for the people to use as they needed–as long as they made enough to pay their rents. The clan chiefs would collect rents from anyone who lived on their lands, and they would have unquestioned authority to set rules and settle disputes on their land. In exchange, the common folk could focus all their energy on pulling what little sustenance they could from the unyielding land so that they could survive the next winter. Which was hardly a sure thing.

It was a good system for a harsh landscape where raiding and pillaging were the rule rather than the exception.

But that all changed after the Battle of Culloden. The clan system was abolished, and the Highlands were finally folded into the British legal and political system.

In exchange for their lordly authority, the clan chiefs were converted into landlords. That meant that instead of just overseeing their territories, they actually owned them. Which meant that they could do whatever they wanted with it. And what they wanted to do was make money.

They drove their former clansmen off their lands to make room for more profitable English sheep farmers. Without land to feed themselves from, the peasants had no choice but to move into towns, doing harder work for less pay in the budding industrial factories--which the clan chiefs also owned. Some left to seek their fortune in North America instead, but a law from Parliament banning emigration put a stop to that.

It was only after an economic downturn--when factories shut down and tens of thousands of Highlanders were on the brink of starving to death–that the former chiefs finally relented and allowed their captive laborers to be shipped off to Canada and Australia, where they could start new lives in a new land.

And now the Highlands consist of one small city, a few small towns and villages, and miles upon miles of empty space between them.

The second difference between Scotland today and the Scotland of yore is the forests. Two thousand years ago, virtually all of Scotland was covered in dense forests. Over the centuries, the forests were cut down for lumber and to make room for farms and cattle. By the start of the modern era, the proportion of forested to non-forested land had been reversed.

When the Highlands were cleared and the peasants corralled into towns, the land might have started reverting to its original wooded state--if not for the vast herds of commercial sheep and wild deer that continuously strip the land of any budding foliage.

Actually, there are some forests dotting the Highlands. You can spot them pretty easily. They're always near the highways, stand in suspiciously square patches. They're all tree farms filled with non-native species and destined for chopping.

As beautiful and dramatic as the Highlands of today are, they are also a sad reminder to every true Highlander of just how far and how fundamentally they have been cut off from their traditional ways of life.

Back in rainy Inverness, I picked up a feel-better pizza for Jessica, and we watched another episode or two of Outlander before going to sleep.

Next Post: Resting Up (Markets, Museums, and More Pizza)

Last Post: Inverness and the Highlands

#180abroad #inverness #highlands #skye #isle of skye #travel #history #landscapes #scenery #you can never go home again

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blogs-of-our-lives · 6 years

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Season 53 Episode 95: Lani Has A Secret

I like to describe my relationship with Beth as ‘friends with benefits,’ only instead of sex the benefits are that we get drunk and watch Scooby-doo. Off the top of my head, we’ve watched the entire original series, the majority of What’s New Scooby Doo, Scooby Doo and the Witch’s Ghost, Scooby Doo and the Loch Ness Monster, Scooby Doo and KISS: Rock and Roll Mystery (yes, that KISS), and a pretty big portion of Scooby Doo and the Reluctant Werewolf. That’s a lot of Scooby Doo. So when we hit rock bottom (Reluctant Werewolf), we kind of silently agreed to find a new hobby. I suggested Mothman Prophecies, starring Richard Gere (who should have known better than to be in the movie). For whatever reason, Beth wasn’t interested. Killing time one night, we discovered Days of Our Lives. All the most recent episodes are available on the NBC website, dating back about a month or two, if anyone is interested in watching them. Otherwise it’s on at two in the afternoon most days.

Now, Days has been out since 1965. By the time we landed on the moon, the United States had been enjoying a solid four seasons of Days of Our Lives. Martin Luther King Jr. might have seen a couple of seasons. And I’m willing to bet that someone at Woodstock had enjoyed a few episodes. So naturally I was unwilling and unable to start from the beginning of the series. If I watched an episode a day every day, I wouldn’t be caught up for over 30 years, and that’s not counting the fact that they’re still producing episodes. If I watched Days of Our Lives all day every day, it would take me 418 days to catch up.

I started with Episode 95… of Season 53. Holy shit.

This might help put into context how old this show is. There’s a character in this episode named JJ. It’s hard to guess his age, but I’m going to say that he’s – at the youngest – only in his mid-twenties. He’s the child of Jack and Jennifer, two characters of the show. Jack and Jennifer started dating, got married, had a child, and that child was JJ. He then grew up as the show went on, until he is old enough now to consider marriage. There are characters that are born into the show, and the show begins to follow them after they age to an adult. I’ve never seen anything like it before. It’s like the children are born into a nightmarish hell of being forced to continue where their parents left off. This show has outlived many. People have been born into the shadow of Days of Our Lives and have died under its inky wings of death.

The description of the episode I watched is “Gabi is booked on murder charges; Brady and Eve go on their first real date; Lani makes a confession to Eli; Claire realizes Ciara and Tripp are keeping a secret.”

I admit, the murder charges bit caught my eye. I like a little bit of mystery, especially when I expect the rest of the show is filled with love triangles and comparatively boring day to day minutiae. I was terribly wrong with that assumption, but I’ll get to that later.

Now, Days is pretty self-aware. It knows that nobody cares enough to watch each episode. So the characters use names enough for the casual viewer to catch on quickly. I learned who Gabi, Lani, and JJ were pretty quickly. Ciara, Claire, and Tripp don’t make an appearance until the end, which I didn’t mind, because his name is Tripp. Anybody who names their child Tripp doesn’t deserve to have a child.

Gabi seems to be a person of interest in some kind of investigation. At first, I suspected some kind of white collar crime, but I was wrong. They’re reviewing security footage. A character named Rafe tells Gabi that she may be a suspect.

And all of a sudden we’re with Lani and JJ, who are eating together at some kind of café. Wait, what? Mid conversation, after just a brief lull, the viewer is immediately taken to a different set with different characters and a different plot. There was no segue, nor even a real stopping point. It may have been mid-sentence for all the sense it made. It was about as jarring as if the whole episode was just a long and complex intro to a Scooby Doo movie I was tricked into watching. You quickly get used to the storyline jumping, however.

JJ is without a doubt my favorite character, because in the few episodes I’ve seen of him. He doesn’t really do anything. When he speaks with Lani, she goes on a long rant about how difficult being pregnant is, despite the fact that she’s about two weeks pregnant. Note the word choice I used. She ranted to him. They didn’t have a conversation, because that implies he participated. She spoke at him. There’s only one circumstance that makes it okay for someone to talk to you like that, and usually you call the other person “professor.” But that’s not why I like him. I like him because it happened to him with another character. This poor guy’s luck, that he just happens to run into the two most narcissistic and talkative people alive. The guy probably hasn’t been home in three days, his boss is calling him wondering why he hasn’t shown up for work, his family is texting him worried sick, the police are starting a missing person report because these two people just have to have JJ be the one sitting across the table as they talk pretty much to themselves. Meanwhile, JJ nods.

In a flashback, Lani is speaking to an older woman, possibly her mother. Lani’s character is keeping some kind of secret, though it’s unclear from whom. Her father? JJ? Any of the other male characters? “If you don’t tell him, I will,” her mother ominously warns.

After there’s a pause in the baby conversation, we’re back to Gabi and her investigation. Apparently she’s suspected of murder. “I can’t go back to prison,” she said.

Did you say back? You’ve been to prison before? Honestly it doesn’t even matter at this point. We’ve burned through about half a bottle of Grey Goose between the two of us, and I don’t even care if Gabi goes to prison anyway. I’m all about JJ and Lani, and whatever secret she’s keeping from him right now. Beth, if you’re reading this, martinis are gross, and I wish you liked tequila so I could make a better mixed drink. If anyone has any good vodka drinks, for the love of god let me know.

Throughout all this there’s a date between Brady and Eve in the background. Apparently they used to have a no strings attached type arrangement. Neither are particularly interesting characters and the date is terrible. At some point they turn it into a business meeting and start brainstorming ways for their magazine to reach out to the young white woman demographic. Their waitress (who happens to be Claire) is a young white woman, so they ask her what product would interest her. She answers, “Um… a time machine. Definitely. Yeah my boyfriend and I are in the ultimate long distance relationship.” This is really interesting for several reasons, one of them being that a few episodes later the thumbnail is her, naked in bed with Tripp. I don’t have a good feeling about their relationship.

“Poor girl,” Eve said afterwards. “Probably thinks that she’s the only person in the world right now that’s alone.” I’m noticing that about once an episode there will be a really well written quote. Every so often they’ll strike gold, then go back to their usual writing quality.

The best part of the date is that Eve has a glass of wine in front of her, without any condensation on the glass. Which makes sense, because as time goes on, the condensation will change, and the viewer can tell when different takes are being used in the final cut. For the same reason, movie studios have employees making sure that costumes and props stay consistent from scene to scene (making sure a watch doesn’t switch hands, for example, or that the actors don’t move their silverware). So Eve’s glass of wine is probably just a glass of apple juice at room temperature. Brady, on the other hand, has a mixed drink filled with ice, which he frequently drinks from. In conclusion, I’m pretty sure the actor who plays Brady had actual alcohol in his glass. I can’t say I blame him.

So now we move onto Tripp, Ciara, and Claire. Ciara is Claire’s aunt (they’re the same age, both mid-twenties), and for some reason they both live in an apartment together. That’s fine. Tripp also lives there. Also fine. Claire looks like Elsa Jean. Like, a spitting image. If you don’t recognize the name, don’t bother googling it. She just has light blonde hair and a VERY strong jawline.

Ciara and Claire get an invitation for Rafe’s wedding to… Gabi I think? Ciara invites Tripp to be her plus one. “Too bad Theo isn’t going to be there,” she said, looking Claire dead in the eyes. “You’ll have to sit all on your lonesome.”

Wow. That’s a real bitch move, Ciara. Capital B. Worse, that was a binch move.

Not much interesting happens in the Claire, Ciara, and Tripp storyline. Tripp seems to like Claire. Ciara seems to like Theo. Judging from his body language I get the sense that Tripp is into Ciara as well. There’s nothing else worth noting, which is perfect because the next (and final) 5 minutes are the most exciting.

Lani’s father, Abe, is walking down the street with Lani’s mother. Back in the 1980s, Abe was murdered by a character known as “The Salem Stalker.” I’m not making that up. Abe was killed thirty years ago. He’s alive now. I’ll explain why some other time.

JJ stops him. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a wedding ring. “I’d like to have your blessing to marry Lani.” Dun dun duuuuun.

Gabi is arrested on suspicion of murder. She’s led away by Rafe, while Eli watches from his office. Lani comes in, teary eyed. Every time we’ve seen her character, she looks like she’s on the brink of crying. Her hand on her stomach (which isn’t showing because, as I mentioned before, she’s like two weeks pregnant), she tells Eli it’s his baby. GASP.

He has a terrifying series of emotions over the next couple moments, ranging from excited, guilty, and furious. Eli seems like an okay dude, but he doesn’t seem to be the most emotionally stable. The episode ends before he can say anything.

Just like that, I was hooked. Up until that point, it was just a mediocre show. It was no Scooby Doo, and it was no Mothman Prophecies. But then in those last five minutes, a character gets arrested (again) for murder, Lani reveals she’s pregnant with Eli’s baby, and JJ asks Abe for his blessing. What a way to close out an episode.

Next episode has spies in it. It’s up to you to figure out if I’m joking or not.

#days of our lives #review #pregnancy #drama #soap opera

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saint-soap · 7 years

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G, H, O, S, T

Thewwo ness i love u

G - Which character has the greenest thumb?obligatory joke about athena and jungle literally having green thumbsDr. Glass grows perfect plants!! she has a little greenhouse somewhere on her property and she grows these cute vegetables and nice floral arrangements and long spindly ferns. she could probably give any plant a pretty good shot at growin’ good :VH- Which character trusts their horoscope the most?Oh, that’s Arianna for sure. She doesn’t affiliate herself with any particular religion but she’s a really spiritual person, placing great faith in different methods of divination. She reads horoscopes zealously and is super into tarot and palm reading as well. She sees time as the only dimension she can’t look through

O - Has the most OCs of their own?Given how meta a lot of my stories tend to be this is an incredibly dangerous question. What if I just said something random and scared you all? It’s Carpaltunnel McFingers. He has 296 OCs and they’re all better than mine. That’s canon now fuck u(given that rob is just me but cooler its actually probably him)S - Which character has the strongest spirit?ZED GEDDIT CUZ HES A SPIRIT AND HES BUFF IM FUCKING HYSTERICAL

T - Is the most terrifying?Mother Superior. She goes through childbirth every day of her life thousands of times over through every orifice and fucking enjoys every second of it.

#childbirth tw #flapjack oc talk

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elizabethrobertajones · 7 years

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I just watched 10x04 and since I'm taking a billion years to get into the season 10 rewatch and at this point it is clearly my hiatus project, I'm just making an adjacent post about one thing :P

The last line of the episode after much back and forth about if they should be resting up from hunting, taking a break because they're woefully off their game after ~going dark~ and running rampage for months, etc etc, is Dean saying:

DEAN But I am just trying to do the right thing, man, 'cause I'm so sick and tired of doing the wrong one.

I think with hindsight of not just that season but season 11 and 12 too, the last line of the episode basically shows where Dean is for the rest of the show from this point. With his self-reflection on being a demon underway, and that it gave him clarity (as he said in 10x03) to see a lot of their messed up stuff, and after that he doesn't want to fall pray to the darkness (lower case at that point :P) again.

He decides to try the better way here, but he's just completely messed up by the Mark, which was why he couldn't give Kate a fair chance for most of the episode, always being ready to kill her and not giving her the benefit of the doubt - she walks out the episode alive but only because she escaped them, and she's not a friendly monster they could ever count as an ally without an other episode to repair all this damage Dean did.

I think it's showing he's had the learning experience from being a demon, and he's going to try and put it in action as much as possible, but he still can't actually *do* anything about it until he doesn't have the Mark any more. He's so messed up by it that even when he wants to do the right thing and is tired of getting it wrong, in an episode where he should have been all compassion and understanding if he'd actually learned and was able to put it in action...

Side note - not like in 8x04 where he HAD changed because of Purgatory and Benny, and was the one to suggest they let her go... Looks redundant to do this characterisation but the point THERE was just letting a monster go good/bad? but here it's a lot more about the inner darkness - what she did to her sister, that people died as a result of this direct Dean actions with Gadreel parallel thingy she had going on, etc. It was less that she was a monster because I think they would still have let a truly innocent monster live especially if Dean was allowed to see them as innocent, but he was having trouble processing the nuances of that darkness, and because it was so on the nose to what he did and he was embarassed and self-loathing about his actions, he couldn't see her innocence, or her actions as sympathetic, because doing messed up stuff to save your sibling? The kind of crap that turns bad and causes all the darkness he just dealt with.

And I think it might be worth paralleling to Max, in 12x20, how he stopped him in the moment but afterwards was helpless to stop his free will to go do it anyway once they left him behind, and I guess grimly accepting this is what people do when they have access to a magical way to fix dead and dying family...

Anyway. I really like this line because I think it does set up Dean's arc for the next few seasons. In season 10 he's at a serious disadvantage to do anything about it, but the season is full of Dean's coping mechanisms and at least for the first 3/4 going along with anything he thinks might help, and working hard to dig himself out. At the end when he loses hope, he knows the "wrong thing" is sinking back into being demon!Dean, and so before it can happen, he goes to talk to Death and make arrangements to save himself from going back; this line goes right to the end of the season in that way, and I think from the perspective of Dean's characterisation, season 10 is pretty good at keeping on a track; there's STUFF I'd have liked to be explored and think was maybe dropped or not given the attention it needed but what they actually ended up writing, events aside, specifically about how Dean reacted and changed, is pretty clear and well-written.

In season 11 without the Mark, and even with Amara's external threat, he does start trying to change and do better and he's immediately more balanced without it, and trying to make amends. He starts communicating properly after the midseason, and his determination to do the right thing shows with him prioritising Cas in trouble, and eventually the big stadium event talk with Chuck and Amara, he seeks a way that feels RIGHT: the old way of sacrifice might have FIXED things at least in the urgent world is ending need to do something right now way, but in the moment he took the initiative to keep on trying to talk it out and find a way that FELT right. I don't think Dean would EVER talk his way out of sacrificing himself when he believed it was right to do it; that that wasn't selfish motivation to live, but that it felt WRONG to him to end it this way, and that there was a better way to do this, which he found.

And now in season 12 Dean's in a weird place where he's the one who achieved all that doing things right-ness finally and concluded his own personal arc and gained massive experience points, levelling up all sorts of personality traits in the process. And I kind of think that his season has been about trying to do the right thing, especially about the interpersonal relationships, when it comes to everyone and everything around him. Mittens has been keeping a closer eye on this than me, but Dean carries on being right about his gut feeling about many things and is a sort of beacon of what is right, even more than usual (after all, God appointed him to look after the Earth and said he was the best guy for the job). I'm hoping this bears out through the end of the season but at least his feeling about the BMoL is completely true and now firmly proven to others, though we knew longer than HE even did :P

He's also been communicating well, for example the brilliant conversation at the end of 12x10 where he really lays out the truth to Cas about why he's been angry with him, or, well, many times he reaches out to Cas either about their relationship or other stuff... And with Mary, he tried to be open and honest with her as much as he could to start with, especially that conversation about being a hunter at the end of 12x01 - and even when she bolted before he could get to opening up about the really hard stuff. He needed his illusions shattered, which happened at the end of 12x02, and ideally if she'd stayed, after 12x03 they might have had a better talk once he was less stunned by her presence and treating her like the saint!mary he imagined, but she left. He still in contact with her, being shown to be the one who texted her, and was playing Words With Friends, attempting to keep a line open on their relationship even if it now had to be handled at great length and like it was fragile glass with how much she could deal with from them. He was TRYING to rebuild from the ground up, and by constantly being the one reaching out, he's put in the position of being the one holding his arms open on the relationship, again, the one trying to do the right thing, with all the emotional resources available to him. And I think in general has shown a much greater awareness of how other people are doing.

He also starts his frantic Cas panic at the point in several seasons past he was only in the occasionally praying to him or being grumpy that he hadn't called point, moving that whole panic forward to before he gets any hint that something is *actually* wrong, because stuff like Casifer threw him for such a loop and again, 11x23 in the car he makes a point of telling Cas he's understood he doesn't always put him first and can get too head up his arse about his and Sam's problems, so in this season we see him closely attuned to Cas, noticing he sounds weird on the phone and immediately going into the sort of nervous state he was in in season 11 only AFTER he found out Cas was possessed. In 12x19 in the mixtape scene he's started angry as a knee-jerk response, but he doesn't let Cas leave before he's had an extremely open emotional conversation with him, explaining how he feels, which I still frankly can't believe actually happened. (Sadly also showing the different places they're at, with Cas taking this conversation as a sign he HAS to kill Kelly on Dean's behalf to protect him from doing something awful)

TBH even something like the conversation in 12x15 where he casually talks about Lucifer being locked in the cage in front of Crowley counts for him inadvertantly telling Crowley what the RIGHT thing to do was and putting Crowley in a position to sweat about what Dean would think if he knew... (Which has of course not worked out for Crowley, so he's probably glad Dean never KNEW to give him the speech that would now give Dean a free "told you so" even if of course he knows full well he deserves one and he was RIGHT THERE being inadvertently scolded by Dean without him knowing - see what I mean about him being a beacon? :P)

I think it's still trial and error (he gets over-confident about both the Colt and the security of their home despite some really obvious home invasions, starting with Toni getting into the Bunker and shooting Sam at the beginning of the year) but being the emotional POV of the show more than Sam, whose characteristic of being reserved has really shot him in the foot for representing himself the same way, this is his arc - becoming a reliable line through the season of what is the right thing to do, or at least trying to find better ways to do things.

And he's not successful at changing minds but he also has been using emotional maturity in making middle ground (... eventually, in the cases of arguing with Cas and then Mary, needing to have a moment of realisation when he thought she was going to get killed in 12x14) and especially with Sam in 12x15, not fighting openly when it was something that could have caused a massive brother rift, as we've dealt with in many seasons where they disagree and fight. Dean still voiced his issues with everything and made it clear he was going along with it for Sam's sake but he didn't try to stop or argue Sam out of it, just pointed out everything he didn't like about the situation whenever it came up so that Sam knew where he stood about it.

I've seen a few complaints Dean hasn't had much to do all season - Sam either, tbh but that's a separate issue and I'm still at "just let him go scream in the woods for chrissakes" rather than a clear meta picture :P - and I think at least for Dean his arc has been pretty clearly laid out and in almost every episode he's been dealing with it. For example the most Dean-centric episode, 12x11, dealt with his nature that at the end of the day when you take everything else away, Dean saves the day with an innate knowledge of when to act, and that hunting evil is in his blood, but so is a well of kindness and understanding that is behind his sense of right and wrong. Being down in season 10 and having just watched season 9, I remember how *broken* Dean was very clearly, and how his sense of right and wrong was genuinely damaged because, well, there was darkness in him. His sense of justice was damaged, but season 11 showed him conquering it and finding a better way... I think season 12 is showing this in action, which is possibly why he's had this seat in the middle of everything, watching everyone else's actions and moving through the events as the season really just as its emotional narrator as it falls to pieces around him and even Sam goes and takes strong actions like going with Mary to the BMoL in 12x14 and telling Dean he's working with them in 12x16. Anyway I think this season has done an awful lot to sell the weight of Dean's opinion and to build him up like this, and I think it's a really important and validating character arc for him... Although he was technically free of the Mark since season 11, this IS the first season without some dark pull on him since season 9 and though his goodness was made obvious again very quickly in season 11 because we needed to know we could root for him again, I really think this season is building back up his sense of self, and posing it in opposition to the other characters.

(I feel like when the season's over I might revisit this with a detailed look at him vs ALL the other main characters on this thread but for now have a "this is where I'm at anyway" post)

#season 12 #season 12 speculation #dean analysis

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wand3r3r · 7 years

Text

Pure Comedy - An Essay by Father John Misty (aka Josh Tillman)

“What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done, and there is nothing new under the sun.  

Is there a thing of which it is said, ‘See, this is new?’ It has been already in the ages before us.  

There is no remembrance of former things, nor will there be any remembrance of later things yet to be among those who come after.” - Ecclesiastes  

Pure Comedy is the story of a species born with a half-formed brain. The species’ only hope for survival, ﬁnding itself on a cruel, unpredictable rock surrounded by other species who seem far more adept at this whole thing (and to whom they are delicious), is the reliance on other, slightly older, half-formed brains. This reliance takes on a few different names as their story unfolds, like “love,” “culture,” “family,” etc. Over time, and as their brains prove to be remarkably good at inventing meaning where there is none, the species becomes the purveyor of increasingly bizarre and sophisticated ironies. These ironies are designed to help cope with the species’ loathsome vulnerability and to try and reconcile how disproportionate their imagination is to the monotony of their existence.  

Now all of a sudden they expect light in the dark, warmth in the cold, and to make something out of nothing. Cooperation among the species to achieve these goals eventually yields a worldview wherein some among the species believe that there are individuals for whom this type of work is maybe ill-suited. The contribution of the ill-suited is of a more abstract, inspirational nature. The ill-suited begin to make subtle distinctions among themselves that extend beyond “eaten by a bear/not eaten by a bear”. These distinctions involve do-it-ness, cool-face-and-body-ness, craftiness, etc. – an arrangement emerges where these traits can be traded in for better-than-ness. This better-than-ness really starts to run rampant, and the species begins to wonder if there isn’t a Sky-Man in the sky who is perhaps the source of all better-than-ness. It seems like a pretty good explanation for why the species is so important.  

Sky-Man pretty much runs the show for a really, really long time, and his inner-circle of better-thans gets increasingly smaller and smaller, even though by the end of his reign everyone in the species considers themselves one. Unfortunately there are some better-thans who get together and decide that one way of better-than-ness is better than other betters-thans’ better-than-ness and teach their little half-formed-brain babies as much (most who interpret this distinction as “me’s” vs. “not-me’s”). “Not-me’s” eventually come to encapsulate everyone that is not a single “me” at any given time, and this paves the way for incredibly distasteful behavior until the species arrives at a place of such alienation and fear there is really nothing so horrible that one of them wouldn’t do to the other. To deal with this less than ideal state of affairs, which seems suspiciously incompatible with how progressive and evolved they are by this point, they set about to entertain themselves into an oblivion with politics, sex, ﬁnance, philosophy, and other games of war. This they do until they are so numb, and the idea of any “not-me” so untenable, that they are blissfully incapable of noticing they’re all dead. This happens more or less on an inﬁnite loop until the end of time.  

Something like that.  

Imagine if you will, as the album starts, that you’re way out in space looking at the earth and, though it’s impossible to “fall” through space, you start a free fall anyway in the direction of the bright blue marble. For the next 75 minutes you plummet toward the earth, losing more and more perspective on what an abstract and impermanent place our planet is, how predictably we step on the same rakes, slip on the same banana peels over and over again through the ages, quickly becoming more and more immersed in the very messy business of being a human – the dubious privilege of being here, the elusiveness of meaning, true love and its habitual absence, random euphoria and the inexplicable misery of others, truth and its more alluring counterfeits, the sophistication of answers that don’t make any sense, the barbarism of our appetites, lucky breaks and injustice, faith and ignorance, crippling, mind-numbing boredom, and the terror of it all ending too soon. Before you know it, you’ve delicately crash-landed and ﬁnd yourself lying on your back looking up at the stars. If you’re lucky, with someone you love; even if just for a day, a year, a lifetime. Though just an hour has passed you have no recollection of what the earth looked like from the far-ﬂung reaches of space, nor how simple it all seemed a matter of minutes ago.  

I know everyone doesn’t feel the same about what’s going on right now. What for some is clearly garden-variety violent white nationalism serving as a catch-all for any number of paranoia-induced anti-fantasies foisted upon the poor and uneducated precisely by the ideologues bent on manufacturing voters who can be manipulated into voting against their own interests by making good and sure they remain poor and uneducated before cravenly blaming their problems largely on people bearing distinctions like race, gender, and sexuality so people forget everything that’s good about the American experiment, is to others an opportunity to wrench the country back from the inﬂuence of hypocritical corporate tyrants bent on enslaving our minds with spineless liberal rhetoric in order to justify wiping out the jobs of decent people so they can fulﬁll their fey utopian dream of an impossible global community designed to proﬁt only its architects (probably Banking Consortiums, pedophile rings, and deﬁnitely The Illuminati). 

This album does not espouse either of those views.  

Both of those views take for granted a certain degree of sophistication, or at least a knack for cooperation, that I’m absolutely convinced humans do not possess; not to mention some kind of innate logic to the proceedings here on Earth – which make a much better case for being some kind of demented joke than anything else.  

The terrifying reality concerning the dilemma above is everything is chaos and no one is really in control of anyone or anything.  

But what about the well-documented history of humans making life a living hell for other humans since time began?  

There is no intellectual, political, or spiritual explanation that will ever satisfy anyone for longer than a moment, least of all this, the only explanation with any dignity. The explanation that appeases both our instincts for compassion and liberation. The explanation that we can either accept and move forward together or keep screaming to our respective heavens, “Why, God, why?”  

Things are the way they are because this is how we, the human race, want them.  

This is how we want it.  

Hold the motherfucking phone. Josh Tillman, you have said and done some stupid fucking things since we’ve known you, but this is too much.  

Now the liberals and the conservatives are both outraged because that is a sentiment that is so profoundly insensitive to the ways in which the other side is clearly wrong in objective ways regarding basic decency, but what’s the alternative? We’re either all complicit in this purest comedy, or the people who aren’t to blame are at war with the people who are to blame until everyone is dead. Simple as that.  

Is progress possible? What does it look like? The conversion of everyone to our respective beliefs? Well, we’ve seen how that typically goes. The destruction of everyone who fails to conform? That’s not it. The erection of institutions with the power and infrastructure to enforce a rule of law with the good of as many as possible at heart? Not much evidence for that panning out.  

What I recommend is this: we return to the Vedic cycle and submit ourselves to the likelihood that many of us will end up getting eaten by bears. It’s only natural. What if instead of imbuing our expectations for the quality of our lives to include perpetual happiness, dream fulﬁllment, excessive painlessness, existential certitude, material wealth, and all variety of romantic stimulation, we were just grateful for every day that didn’t involve getting eaten by a bear? What if progress only meant literally progressing from one day to the next without getting violently dismembered by a 9-foot tall, 500-pound grizzly?  

The irony here of course is that many more humans than we’d like to think, most of whom are not reading the interminable liner notes to a folk rock album, do live in daily, perpetual fear of getting killed by a mammal far more terrifying than a bear, and I think you know the one to which I refer. This form of mammal attack is made all the more nightmarish by virtue of the fact that the mammal in question kills purely ideologically. Bears kill because they’re hungry; they’re very reasonable in that way. So maybe we should submit ourselves to their authority. Bears we can trust.  

Bottom line is that as long as we expect to live in such a way – immune to the natural laws of this godless rock that govern everything else here – human existence will continue to be a cruel joke. I fear, however, that it is too late for us to go back into the natural order. We have no desire to return to our primal scene. We like the way things are. We’ve got sandwiches when we’re hungry! Airplanes for when we want to go somewhere! Social media when we want our voices to be heard by all God’s creation! We know that these magical conveniences come at a staggering price, and that excess for the few is based on the scarcity of the many, but that’s why we invented the business of globalization! We’ve already built the wall! It’s a great, great wall that goes up to the heavens and is as transparent as museum glass. It’s a beautiful wall that winds surgically through nations, cities, neighborhoods, and sometimes even homes. It is a globe within a globe, and those who live within its interior are as clueless as to what’s happening on the other side as we are to what’s happening right now on the far side of Mars. 

There’s only one creature that can penetrate that wall, friends, and it is bears. Bears can smash through that glass like a pitcher of sugar water through a brick wall. The equalizing revolution of bear justice is coming too. Sooner than you think. As it gets hotter and hotter, they’re coming. They’re coming into our neighborhoods, they’re coming into our schools, into our churches, into our banks, into our places of business, into our governments, into our beds.  

The joke is that the best we can do is keep on keeping on, which we’ve proven ourselves pathologically adept at. We’re going to save the planet alright, and it will be a glorious sacriﬁce just like the Sky-Man we invented showed us how.  Bears, man.

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noisykate · 7 years

Text

Cordoba and Granada

27 January 2017

They say ‘never start with an apology’, but this week of sightseeing has been so overwhelming to the senses, that any effort to summarise it is doomed to failure. Not helped by finding the camera battery flat on day one, and no charger packed. D’oh. Ellen took loads of pictures, and these will follow, but in the meantime I include some links.

How to start? There is no point just rewriting the guide book, so I will just give a hint at what we got up to, and what it was like.

18 Jan Ellen arrives Alicante.

Drive back to Cartagena through a blizzard. Ellen staying in hotel near the Naval museum. Locals all very excited by worst weather conditions (ie first snow) since 1983.

19 Jan Day set aside for sightseeing around Cartagena. Very, very cold, raining, snow on ground on hills. Marble walkways through town treacherously slippery. Sightseeing largely abandoned. Ellen still staying in hotel near Naval museum.

20 Jan C&E set off for Cordoba. Five hour trip, stunning drive through the Sierra Nevada, snow on verges and covering the hills. Slightly worrying conditions, but it was all fine.

Arrive Cordoba, hotel a 3m walkway away from the famous Mosque/Cathedral, in pedestrianised ‘no cars except authorised’ zone, which we drive through to park under the hotel. Armed police obviously not on traffic duty and not bothered.

Lovely hotel, the ‘Maimonides’.

21 Jan Cordoba Mosque/Cathedral visit. Wow. Search for ‘Cordoba Cathedral images’ for better pictures than mine. (Ahem)

Mosque and cathedral both stunning, architecturally and historically of huge significance within Spain and on the wider political/religious stage. The rhythm of the repeating arch design of the mosque is disrupted by the imposition of the cathedral through the middle of the building, in an act which is generally regarded now as the most astonishing cultural vandalism. Wikipedia says:

The insertion (of the cathedral into the mosque) was constructed by permission of Charles V, king of Castile and Aragon. However, when Charles V visited the completed cathedral he was displeased by the result and famously commented, "they have taken something unique in all the world and destroyed it to build something you can find in any city."

The church is itself is beautiful, introducing a shock of light and vertical space to the intimate gloom of the mosque, and contains amazing architectural detailing, most notably a vast and exquisitely carved choir stall construction.

The transition between Christian and Moorish control, which happened several times over the centuries, is presented within the building as an entirely orderly, peaceful and voluntary transaction. Seems unlikely….

The ‘Spanish Inquisition museum’ nearby boasts ‘six rooms of torture equipment as used by…’. Deeply nasty – the tone of it was horrible; titillating, prurient, pornographic. We skipped it in favour of some of the more uplifting offerings.

22 Jan Cordoba Azahara palace https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Medina_Azahara – ruins of a moorish palace outside Cordoba. Apparently this is one of the most extravagantly constructed and decorated palaces ever, almost entirely looted out over the centuries, leaving only enigmatic ruins. The visitor centre at the bottom of the hill is the only source of any information on the site. The signage and visitor information at the site itself is quite astonishingly poor, the ruins capped and ‘reconstructed’ in places in modern times, leaving the visitor mostly just baffled.

Nearby, there was a small mountainside settlement called ‘Las Ermitas’, a cluster of monastic cells around a beautiful little chapel, exuberantly decorated in the baroque style, in stark contrast to the asceticism of the monks’ cells. The last monks left in the late 50’s. A wonderfully peaceful and holy place. http://www.cordoba24.info/english/html/ermitas.html The tranquil mood was broken slightly by the drive down, which saw Ellen, unused to being a passenger, struggling with the drive down the winding, narrow road. Hilarious.

Over the two-and-a-half days in Cordoba, we also visited:

· Jewish quarter, http://www.andalucia.com/cities/cordoba/juderia.htm including a tiny synagogue. The jews were hounded out of Spain during the Spanish Inquisition, and almost all traces of them removed. This is allegedly one of only three old Synagogues on the Iberian peninsular.

· Roman bridge, http://www.andalucia.com/cities/cordoba/romanbridge.htm awarded a prize by architects following highly controversial reworking in recent years, permanently removing roman paving and parapets to facilitate a new lighting scheme.

· Huge riverbed; mostly now swamp and scrub with some large willow trees, navigable to here from the sea in ancient times. There is a modern pontoon on very long dolphin, so presumably there is some local traffic, and times when the river levels rise substantially.

· Little townhouse; built, decorated and furnished in the Arabic style – fascinating to see how the bare bones of the architecture come alive when dressed for living, with bright tapestries and cushions, cooling plants and small fountains and pools full of cut flowers. http://www.lacasaandalusi.com

The drive to Granada was again lovely, about two hours, mostly through olive and orange groves, the trees making wonderful patterns in the rolling hills.

23 Jan Granada.

We stayed for three nights in the Hotel ‘Washington Irving’, named after the New York writer who stayed hereabouts while visiting the area to write his ‘Tales of the Alhambra’.

The hotel is quite posh, and very newly refurbished, with our guide book (originally published about 10 years ago) referring to the place as ‘derelict’. Unrecognisable as an ‘old’ building, it has been architected into an anonymous modern international hotel, with no trace of the quirky 19th century ambience the guidebook said we might glimpse through the barred broken glass doorway. Our room was lovely, very glamorous and comfortable, the room itself reasonably priced, although their priorities require some tweaks – there was a wonderfully ridiculous ‘pillow menu’, from which you can choose (and I quote) “…to enjoy your dreams in a different way…” reclining on an “Audrey Hepburn” or “James Dean”, or perhaps “for our younger guests” – a “Mickey Mouse” – but nowhere to hang a dressing gown while you shower.

The hotel is currently let down by a comical food offering; Ellen’s main course arrived looking more like a tapas, with two very tiny cutlets of pork perched in the middle of a huge plate decorated with a drizzle of some pretty goo. We waited for the dish of vegetables to arrive, but no, that was it – beautiful and tasty, but hugely overpriced, and just not enough to eat.

On checking out, we intended to let them know what we thought of their food, but they forgot to charge us for parking the car (18Euro per day) so we said nothing and legged it.

24 Jan Alhambra.

To say anything about the Alhambra is to select, leave out, and struggle for descriptive superlatives. There are endless websites.

It is a complex of buildings within a high protective and defensive curtainwall on top of a hill; constructed and reconstructed, destroyed and restored over the centuries of its existence, for a wide range of motives. The brilliantly readable guidebook by Robert Irwin advised that almost everything we think we know about the place is wrong, with the truth of its original design now lost, the function and flow of the rooms further obscured by fantasy/myth/legend and poor historical archaeology, compounded by well-intentioned ‘restoration’ over time, and the need to pass many thousands of tourists through the place as fast as possible.

It is impossible to be ‘objective’ about the place; the scale of it, and its very foreign-ness, demands that we try and make sense of it, and we can only do that within the framework of our own life and experiences. Poverty and excess, power and subjugation, religious conviction and political duplicity – it is all here, confusing and enigmatic.

The Rasmid Palace is utterly beautiful, tiled with complex tessellated patterns and decorative plasterwork, the proportions of the buildings and their adornment all according to Pythagorean mathematical rules including ‘the golden ratio’. Paradoxically, much of the Alhambra has survived because it was made using ‘poor’ materials (wood, plaster, ceramic tiles), with virtually no intrinsic value and hence not worth looting.

The Palace of Carlos V, built in the centre of the complex, probably on the foundations of earlier Moorish buildings, is a striking square building in massive stone, with a circular courtyard, completely out of keeping with the rest of the compound. It now houses a museum, and art galleries.

The Generalife is a separate, much smaller, more domestic-scaled complex slightly further up the hill, with a wonderful garden.

The entire Alhambra complex is irrigated by an sophisticated arrangement of aqueducts and underground pipework, feeding fountains and pools as well as kitchen and ornamental gardens.

Ellen retired for a siesta, while I took in the Generalife, and later the steep footpath down between the Alhambra compound and the Generalife, to the Albaicin.

The setting of the Alhambra is stunning, with views down over the Albaicin area, a maze of tiny lanes around white-painted red-tiled buildings in the Moorish style, mostly built around little courtyards. The lower lanes are chaotic and colourful with market traders selling Moorish lanterns, textiles and leather goods.

In the other direction, the Sierra Nevada towers over the valley, the high snowfields catching the low winter sun.

The only significant irritation was the jostle of (mostly but not exclusively Japanese) tourists with bloody selfie-sticks, their backs to the sublime scenery and architecture, gurning and pouting at their cameras. During the busy season later in the year this must be a real joy. Do they ever actually look at the pictures they take? And when they do, what do they see?

25th Jan We spent the day in recovery, drifting into the town mid-morning, wandering around slightly aimlessly, drifting into a random art exhibition of photographs -of all things- the 9/11 attacks in New York, a very personal event for Ellen, who lost some close friends that day. We sat for an hour watching a sort of slide show of stunning and horrifying pictures, talking about it.

Lunch was a coffee and a shared pizza at a café in a square. A small group of young men at a nearby table were very striking, simply because their faces were so like those we had seen in the 15th century paintings in the Carlos V museum. Their modern clothes seemed like costumes, their ‘real’ clothes somewhere piled just out of sight, perhaps with their pikestaffs and standards leaning against a nearby wall. A very odd experience. Ellen says that this rarely happens in the States, where the many mixed immigrant populations have homogenised over the generations.

The Albaicin deserved another visit, and we spent a couple of hours wandering up and down the little lanes, peering through gateway railings, framing the view of the Alhambra with another alignment of lanes, the Sierra Nevada above.

The Royal Chapel of Isabella and Ferdinand (aka Mr and Mrs Spanish Inquisition) nearby boasts two of the most enormous sideboards I have ever seen, each about 8m long, and the most gaudy and stupendous baroque altarpiece, depicting the martyrdom of several saints in gloriously grotesque and fully detailed technicolour. For me, the very common Spanish-flavoured focus on suffering as a religious journey here ceased to be a meditation on the human condition, and stepped over the bounds of decency to become voyeuristic sadism, perhaps because of the close association of the place with Ferdinand and Isabella. They do not come across as nice people.

26th Jan Drive back to Cartagena, through the wonderful Sierra Nevada.Tapas in our usual bar.

27th Jan Ellen home, driven to the airport for 10am. Collapse in heap, write this, shopping, tv, bed.

Ellen promises to share her wonderful photos when she gets back, so I will post a selection when I get them.

It has been a wonderful few days; the places themselves, and stimulating company, talking a lot about everything.

Even with so many riveting distractions, it was difficult not to keep returning to the Trump question – sorry Ellen, I really don’t hold you personally responsible, but he is just SO bizarre. But also, in the context of so much historical excess and madness, he fits right in.

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themanicgalaxy · 3 years

Text

SPN 5X13 The Song Remains the Same

aw nuts I'm still one behind

ah well I'm severely burned and prom is tomorrow

god I hope Cas is in this one

HEY! CHERRY PIE!

Listen I actually like this song

He's dreaming isn't he

HI ANNA

this is a nice set

Ah right when Cas was Conflicted I see

ok so meeting

I still think Angel Anna popping in to say hi and shit was fun man

thE FUCKING LIGHTS ARE THE ENTRANCE

wait no I see Cas is lamp and where that came from I see it now

they told Cas, Cas didn't let them

'no on escapes' oh?

sAM WINCHESTER HAS TO DIE?

that was a cool scene why don't we have more

just...disembowlement

"another way" here we go

"you've changed" "maybe too late" : (

"come near Sam Winchester and I kill you"

are...are they even friends though?

"who's glenn close" aw

oH THE GREASE POSTER

MA GIC

no give me more Sam and Cas too goDAMIT

yes I know why leave me alone

the Exasperated "I don't understand that reference" and Dean's "my cool guy-ness doesn't work on him" IS SO FUNNY

also cas looks FUCKEd

ohGOD HE LOOKS F U C K ED

ah way back when things weren't horrible and not disillusioned

LITTLE NERDY DUDE WITH WINGS OH MY GOD

the fucking trench coat

did they steal a car off screen lmao?

THOSE MOVIES HAVEN'T EVEN COME OUT YET LMAO

Dean please chill

oh this is gonna be fun

THE LITTLE GLANCE AT MARY NO THAT WAS SO GOOD

"you look familiar" *Dean and Mary exchange a panicked look*

oH MYGOD

Sam is not taking this well

Sam and Dean, Sam and Deanna

Sam is just staring at his mom :(

oh sHIT HE NEVER RLY GOT TO MEET HER

Dean DESPERATELY TRYING TO BACKPEDAL

Dean you little shit

HearT Attack Huh Mary

I LIKE MARY AND DEAN'S LITTLE FACE OFFS THEY'RE FUN

ANNA! SHE CAN DO VOICES?

the little half smile before he says "not exactly"

shit..SHIT HE'S GONE UH OH

she'S SO SHORT COMPARED TO THEM

MR WOODSEN IS FUCKING DEAD THE ANGELS GOT HIM

the like...half power, but half not is COOL

were times tough? was it Anna projecting?

"you too Dean" HER VOICE SHOOK :(

KNIFE FIGHT MARY KNIFE FIGHT M A R Y

tHAY BLOODY SHOT WAS COOL

B L O O D S I G I L

oh good time to explain it to John he's gonna take it well

THE IMPALA

"OR SO HELP ME I WILL TURN THIS CAR AROUND" IT'S THE MOST DAD THING HE'S EVER SAID

AWKWARD FAMILY ROAD TRIP

Dean explaining hunter things to his dad has to be fucking weird

Well...John doesn't seem like an ass, he wants to help

just cuts his hand ok then

"how big"

"you remind me of my dad" HE LOOKS SO FUCKING SAD

he's also so much more subdued

"my dad raised me in it"

John: proceeds to trash talk himself for like...a whole minute

"your father was supposed to protect you" SPOKEN BY THEIR FATHER IS

fuck it I'm tearing up

"I get it" Sam and John are super similar ok I see you

HE COULD HAVE DONE BETTER, HE COULD HAVE BEEN LIKE BOBBY FUCKING CHRIST SAM

no what happened is that John made Mary this martyr that didn't exist, this exalted thing

HE COULD HAVE BEEN MORE PRODUCTIVE

"I understand" SAM I S W E A R TO FUCKING G O D

OH THIS IS YONG URIEL

"I'm still your superior" ooo?

"They will kill you uriel" THAT WAS YOU AND CAS

"you're just gonna have to trust me" D E A N

"i'm your son" oh my god Dean

oh this.scene.

I'm crying again

"I raised my kids to be hunters, I did that to you?" aofs'

yeah I'm like...actively crying fuck me

that date is...burned into his brain isn't it

god Mary's reaction of "no not this, not again" oh my god no no no no I'm crying

This is not hyperbole I was actually sobbing

"leave John" IS YOUR PLAN

Sam...

"you can't have that normal life" oh Sam :(

'your children will be cursed' jesus Christ

oh god she's pregnant that's why she reacted like that

shit both of them

I cannot see ANYTHING

SAM GOT IMPALED?

JOHN IS?///DEAD??

MICHAEL POSSESSED JOHN??

IS ANNA DEAD FOR REAL? WHAT THE FUCk?

bloodline, like novak

CAIN AND FUCKING ABEL

THEY DIDN'T EVEN CAST A B E -

"well get some therapy pal" dean...dean you can't say that it just looks funny if you say that

"I practically raised him" oof

"you're gonna do whatever god says' "yes because I am a good son" OHHHHHHHHHH

Dean: that is a dead end street

holY SHIT GET FUCKED

"I got to believe I choose what I do with my unimportant little life" HOYLS HIT YHES

SMACK HIM WITH THE DESTINY HAMMER

you...planned it..oh my god

free will's an illusion NOT IF CAS HAS ANYTHING TO SAY ABOUT IT

ah he scrubs their minds so she can't remember

ah fuck he's failed this plan twice now it's gotta HURT

the arranging the jacket was so fucking sinister

"you made it" "I did? I'm very surprised"

I love him

TEAM FREE WILL!

"one ex blood junkie, one dropout with 6 bucks to his name and mr. comatose over there"

"i'm not laughing"

you guys fucking suck at making objective decisions

thE FUCKING ANGEL THING

" i can't even put my finger on why I like it" I hate this

"angels are watching over you" I'm going to eat glass I love the glass it's so crunchy

1. hunting. FUCKING- BOTH OF THEIR PARENTS WERE LIKE "HeY whoever got you into hunting probably fucked both of you up" AND THEY'RE LIKE NAH It'S FINE. THIS IS THE SAME ENERGY AS LIKE...several people staging an intervention and you still not getting it. Young!John is great! He's rightfully concerned! Mary is badass! with knife fight

2. free will. The EXPLICIT free will vs destiny thing, the basically dragging free will into existence despite everyone telling you that's not how it goes, the subtle reinforcement with the angels at the beginning, Michael coming into the bloodline, the whole thing with hunting, how they still ended up hunters it's just. Fuck me.

3. Sam's giving up, that's not good. Like you can see it in the "I forgive my dad," you can see it in the "just give up, I don't want to exist anymore" thing. Like...he's tired of fighting, he wants it to stop? I think is what I'm getting.

4. I FUCKING LOVE CASTIEL. He doesn't get the pop cultural references, just kinda does HORRIBLY bad shit that's bad for him, and in the end just kinda is Out of It. I love him. He makes every scene he's in better. Also I'm seeing the more...Sam thing? like I see potential, and they're both the Weird Kids of their crowds?

5. I like the sets. Like the art direction for the sets was nice, and the costuming felt especially on point this episode? Like they changed Anna's look a lil, and I thought it worked really well.

6. ANNA. She seemed so remorseful, and she had this whole thing going on, and she was still their superior and she was great. Also, she's trying to execute free will too! like it's in an entirely different manner than Sam and Dean's but still? This better not be her last appearance.

It FUCKING IS? I HATE THIS WHAT THE HELL

7. For posterity, that scene where they're talking to their mom and Dean just kinda...breaks down instantly and says "you're my mom" and both of them say "leave our dad, no more existence," and the "I'm pregnant" and the "I raised you to be hunters, I did that to you?" and the "no john did." fucking broke me. Like so much pain is happening there and it broke me

#pawswatchesspn #5x13 The Song Remains the Same #that title fucking #I'm tearing up again #god the glass is crunchy tonight

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actutrends · 4 years

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What to get your favorite NBA player for Christmas

NBA players are just like us — hoping and dreaming for the perfect gifts this holiday season. Here’s what your favorites are pining for.

Klay Thompson

A life-size, topiary chess set where each individual piece is also on wheels so that Thompson may shuffle them around on his own, or with a friend.

Nikola Jokić

Permission from the Denver Parks Department arborist department to go and chop a branch off a stately oak tree on Christmas Eve to burn as the badnjak in the Serbian holiday tradition. Why does he need permission if he’s such a bad boy, you’re probably wondering. Because bad boys care about conservation.

Kevin Durant

A night’s stay at the Plaza Hotel’s Eloise Suite.

LeBron James

Seriously? It has to be spelled out for you? He drops hints about it every single week on the exact same day. The trademark license for Taco Tuesday, signed and sealed by the USPTO, preferably on a heavyweight eggshell paper and inscribed in gold, how you get it to him his your prerogative but he would prefer it had delivered by Kia Silverbrook, the greatest inventor of the modern era with 3,847 patents filed and counting.

Giannis Antetokounmpo

Either a little mailer to go out to the wider population of Milwaukee with the phonetic spelling of his last name or for the Bucks organization to fund a series of robocalls out where his last name is repeated slowly, again and again, like a friendly incantation so people learn to say it already. He’s been playing there for over six years now it’s the least they could do.

Joel Embiid

A slide whistle. Don’t you think he seems like the kind of person who’d get right into that? Blocks somebody into oblivion — slide whistle. Dashes the hopes of a team — slide whistle. Watches Ben Simmons clank another jumper — slide whistle.

Kyle Lowry

A back support brace for when he needs to place the entire Raptors roster atop his.

Kawhi Leonard

The same thing he wishes for every year, a reasonable sense of accomplishment.

The Lopez brothers

Though of wildly different tastes, the Lopezes share everything, making them simultaneously easy to knock off your list but challenging to shop for. Brook wants glass blowing lessons, Robin will smash each and every molten creation. Robin wouldn’t mind a trip to Scotland, Brook is deathly afraid of the Loch Ness Monster. What to do, what to do? The answer is, and always will be, matching monster trucks.

Russell Westbrook

It has been a dream of Westbrook’s to walk down the tunnel in a full spacesuit, pantomiming that he’s left earth’s orbit and is free from its diminutive restrictions of gravity. Now being so close to Houston’s Space Centre, it seems this simple holiday wish may finally come true.

Ja Morant

A team of trained and certified firefighters to stand guard under the opposing basket with one of those nets for saving people who have to leap out of tall buildings so that his precious, spring-loaded legs may be spared from harm.

P.J. Tucker

A homemade, pancake of the month calendar.

Jonas Valanciunas

For Domantas Sabonis to realize he’ll never be able to out-tan the self-bronzed god himself and to stop hitting the beds so hard. It’s one thing to pass a deep tan in December in Memphis, entirely another to pretend it’s natural in early winter Indianapolis. Respect yourself.

Kelly Oubre Jr.

An array of masks he can wear to escape the scourge of being too beautiful all the time. He was thinking something silicone and realistic, but in a pinch would settle for Scream and Ronald Reagan.

Serge Ibaka

For once, someone to ask how hungry he is. That or a hat with a brim finally as big as his own ambitions.

Kevin Love

Have you noticed at all that Love seems to have his mind in another place on the court? And I don’t just mean “anywhere but Cleveland”. Truth is, after getting a taste of that life this summer, Love wants to be a cowboy. The wide-open spaces, the little doggies getting along, the mainly bean diet, the hats, the belt buckles, the fringe — Love loved it all. Still, best to ease into a total lifestyle change so for now, a cupboard full of beans will do.

Donovan Mitchell

Considering his public-facing penchant for them, Mitchell is actually terrified of spiders! He would like a day trip to Utah’s Hogle Zoo to visit with the arachnid keeper and get this phobia under control.

Kyrie Irving

While first avoidant of NYC’s iconic bagels due to their spherical, globe-like resemblance, he would now like to try one.

Jimmy Butler

A show where he goes to a new retirement villa in southern Florida every week and whips folks trying to enjoy their golden years in peace into shape. It’s called Going For Golden, Mark Wahlberg is the producer, and Wahlburgers are what’s on the menu, exclusively.

Damian Lillard

A cool motorcycle.

James Harden

He may be sponsored by BODYARMOR but this Christmas, Harden wouldn’t mind a drip of the real stuff. Like chainmail, Roman lorica hamata, or a full set of plate armor, or samurai scale armor, he isn’t picky but it has to be completely historically accurate so best to get a scholar involved and a gift receipt.

Evan Fournier

Where to find a decent bowl of beef bourguignon in central Florida.

Buddy Hield

Just once in his life for someone to be faster than him. Humility is a gift.

Paul George

Audiobooks. He listens to them when he warms up. The longer and more arduous the better. Think, every volume of the encyclopedia or the My Struggle series by Karl Ove Knausgaard, pretty interchangeable.

Steph Curry

A big, novelty-sized card signed by every player in the league thanking him for bringing about an entirely new era of gameplay. The holidays are a time to be gracious, after all.

Anthony Davis

A gorgeous, 7-foot tall vase.

Kent Bazemore

He would like a custom decal for his kitchen window, which looks out on Mount Hood, of a tiny little flag that looks like it was planted atop the mountain’s summit and says “Mount Bazemore”. He climbs it every day in his mind. Also, funny right?

Malcolm Brogdon

A six-point set of buck antlers mounted on a handsome, polished walnut board to hang on his wall.

Alex Caruso

A time machine so he can go back to 1947 and the inaugural season of the Los Angeles Lakers franchise, of which he was a crucial part.

Terry Rozier

A new nickname. “Scary Terry” worked in Boston, where success and fear go hand in hand, but now that he is in Charlotte he wouldn’t mind something a little more relaxed. Extraordinary Terry? Fiduciary Terry? Interdisciplinary Terry? You could maybe hire a poet or a copywriter, you could probably find one employed as the other in this economy.

Kemba Walker

The NBA has been spoofing these a bit already leading up to the holidays, which is where he got the idea, but a Rise of Skywalker poster where the Sky is removed and it’s Walker’s face, but on every character except Chewbacca.

Devin Booker

The only thing a permanently petulant, and permanently 16-year-old boy who has everything would or could want, the skin of the Suns Gorilla as a coat.

Andre Drummond

For Blake Griffin to no longer include him in his workshopping exercises. Drummond doesn’t have the stomach for roasts, comedic or large slabs of meat cooked over many hours. He doesn’t think the human body was meant to digest either.

Andrew Wiggins

An apology from Jimmy Butler. (Sorry Andrew, this is going to have the same result a kid wishing for a dog in a house full of people who are deeply allergic will).

Zion Williamson

In an attempt to keep Williamson’s holiday spirits up, his teammate Derrick Favors made him a little coupon book of “Derrick’s Favors” that Williamson can cash in whenever he likes. Some of Favors’ Favors include: “Smoothie King smoothie in Favor’s Favorite Flavor”, actually, the whole book is just Smoothie King coupons Favors cut out of local flyers. Most of them are expired.

Jayson Tatum

For Bill Simmons to stop sending him edible arrangements. He can’t get through that much cantaloupe in a week, week after week, no one can.

Steven Adams

Ever since Chris Paul gifted his teammates with custom-tailored suits, Adams has been finding the fits of his other clothes — the free ones he’s been given over the years — to be less than flattering. He would love for someone to custom tailor all of it. Custom-tailored t-shirt cannon t-shirts, custom-tailored flip flops, custom-tailored track pants, custom-tailored Rumble the Bison discarded jerseys because they wear the same size.

Seth Curry

World’s best brother award.

Jakob Poeltl

For “someone” (Patty Mills) to dress up like his beloved Krampus and chase him around until he’s screaming like his parents used to do back home in Austria.

Zach LaVine

He wouldn’t mind entering another Dunk Contest. It would be his third and he thinks that has a better ring to it. It’s not like he’s that busy with his day job. He just wants to be asked.

Tobias Harris and Boban Marjanović

Custom friendship necklaces that combine to make a basketball-shaped pendant, one side says, BE FRI And the other says, ST ENDS

Trae Young

Vince Carter keeps looking at him like he wants to transfuse his blood, so maybe a subtle screen of some kind he can put up around himself in the locker room.

Vince Carter

A transfusion of Trae Young’s blood.

Miles Plumlee

New shocks for his unicycle.

The post What to get your favorite NBA player for Christmas appeared first on Actu Trends.

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dustedmagazine · 6 years

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Listed: Matthew Golombisky

Matthew Golombisky grew up in North Carolina, where he picked up the bass to play metal with his buddies and jazz in a couple high school bands. After college he moved around the US, playing upright and electric in countless bands and spending time in the Bay area, upstate New York, and New Orleans. In the Crescent City he bonded with his most enduring musical partner, drummer Quin Kirchner, with whom he has toured extensively as a duo and as the rhythm section for other bands. When Hurricane Katrina laid waste to the town they both eventually moved to Chicago.Both of them played with trombonists Jeff Albert and Jeb Bishop in the Lucky 7s, and Golombisky made strong connections with the city’s jazz scene. In 2007 cofounded Ears And Eyes Records, which has issued albums by notable current and former Chicagoans such as Bill MacKay, George Freeman, Caroline Davis, Chad Taylor, Charles Rumback and Matt Piet. He has toured the US with Zing! And NOMO and stage-managed at Pitchfork, but after traveling around South America he landed in Buenos Aires, Argentina, in 2013. There he plays and teaches music and is raising a family, but he sustains ongoing connections with his mates in North America. Golombisky has recently released two cassettes, Cuentos 1 & 2 and Cuentos 3,named after the Spanish word for short stories. Each volume is devoted to a group of musicians connected with one of Golombisky’s old homes, and the music that he composes for them combines the emotional expressiveness of mid-20thcentury modern jazz with the close engagement of chamber music.

Milli Vanilli, Girl You Know It’s True

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Though as a kid, I grew up listening, per my parents, to a lot of Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Queen, The Who, CCR, Steppenwolf, Jethro Tull, Simon and Garfunkel, and David Bowie, the first cassette I ever bought with my own money was in the late 80s and it was Milli Vanilli’s. I was 9 or 10. How I came across their music I don’t remember, but probably from MTV. I remember on late night drives back home with my father from his auto body shop in his red 1986 V8 5-speed Z28 Camaro (with louvers on the back glass), which I bought from him as my car in 1998, we’d blast that cassette (as well as Herb Alpert and Fine Young Cannibals cassettes, what a mix, no?)! I have no idea how long this lasts, but it couldn’t have been long because when I learned Milli Vanilli was a total front and a lie, I went out into the boonies(woods), where we lived, in the middle of small-town North Carolina, and had a cassette-tape-burning session. I gathered some gasoline and matches and melted that tape to a little pile of plastic. It felt good and well-deserved. When my dad found out, he got incredibly upset (or so I’ve told the story as I remember… maybe one day I’ll confirm with him if it’s true if he’d even admit to being angry about my destroying myMilli Vanilli tape, I’m not sure). I guess the only reason I’d include this in Dusted’s “Listed” feature is that it was a profound experience of “create your own damn music!!”

Miles Davis, Volume 1

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Me getting into jazz: All I knew of jazz for a few years was my playing bass in the high school big band, so mostly reading what Sammy Nestico had written out for me. My first jazz record, Miles Davis’ Volume 1, was a birthday present from a girlfriend, but I didn’t immediately become a jazz enthusiast. I didn’t run out and buy more jazz records (I was still buying Mr. Bungle, Infectious Grooves, Primus, Nirvana, Megadeth, and Faith No More cassettes and CDs). But I did play this Miles CD over and over again! I had played cornet for years prior to this and it simply blew my mind what Miles was accomplishing here; his tone, his lyricism, and also his patience. I did, however, fall in love with what I thought the idea of jazz was; at least one of them: improvisation. In high school, I founded the school jazz combo and this is where I discovered more improvisation; I was always super elated that we could play the same song over and over, and I could manipulate the vibe and mood of the tune in the moment. Improvising! Creating something new(ish) all the time, each time. This idea is what attracted me so much to playing jazz and that idea of creating something from little (or nothing) is how I think I came to be a composer, among other creative outlets I find myself in. With music (which spoke and called to me) and being able to always explore and find new ideas via ‘jazz’ the most viable avenue to do this? Yes!, then let’s study jazz!!!

Opeth, My Arms, Your Hearse

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I feel in love with Opeth on their first release, Orchid (1995). Not only was the music incredibly original and fresh for me, but I was also a fan of the fact that it was metal music, which I had already been listening to and playing, that I could distinguish and hear the bass guitar clearly from Johan De Farfalla. And then Opeth’s Morningrise (1996) was released; even better! And then My Arms, Your Hearse came out, even better! My Arms, Your Hearse is probably my favorite “death metal” album of all time. Lead singer, main guitarist and composer, Mikael’s death and clean vocals are thick, heavy, soaring, beautiful and powerful. I’m a person that doesn’t often hear or pay much attention to lyrics. I can sing along with the melodies always, the notes, but I almost never know the lyrics to most songs I love even. I’m definitely not one to write lyrics either (I wrote a children's musical a few years ago and had to “contract” out for lyrics). Sometimes, I take a closer listen to lyrics when conscious about my lack of musical character and most of the time, it just makes me dislike the song (admit it, a lot of lyrics are crap. Not all, but a lot). But I know the lyrics to My Arms, Your Hearse, start to finish. It’s such a cool mysterious story about a ghost checking in on his friends, family and environment, chock full of lush imagery… in my humble opinion. (As writing this paragraph and re-listening to this record, I had an almost second-by-second opinion of each phrase, harmony, and melody and the wow-ness I thought about including but decided against writing a short novel.)

This Is Spinal Tap (a favorite scene)

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In my second year of college my band at the time, Daylight Dies, rented a house together. We had also been friends for about 6 years by then. I don’t know if it was weekly that we watched Spinal Tap, but it was a lot. Since that time in my life, Spinal Tap has continued to be my all-time favorite movie. I watch it at least a few times a year still and can start the movie dialogue from the start and recite a good 90% of it in its entirety. Then when the DVD came out around 2004, I was blessed with another 45 minutes of unseen footage! I think that one of the best aspects of the movie is that with all this material filmed and executed amazingly, there were only 11 pages of a predetermined script when they started filming. Again, improvisation, I love it! “Lukewarm water”… I might add that Daylight Dies continued on to great success, even touring with some of the bands that were our favorites when we were in high school. I got to revisit the band in a way and recorded a contrabass “choir” on one of their releases and arranged strings/woodwinds, using my Tomorrow Music Orchestra on another release of theirs. It was fun to have my death metal “upbringing” returning to my professional musician/composer life.

Steve Reich, Variations for Winds, Strings, and Keyboards

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I was really lucky to have attended an undergraduate program, majoring and studying jazz, that also required me to take three years of classical music history and theory. Even luckier, the professor who designed the program, Dr. Joye Dorr, was a big fan of 20th Century Classical music and thought it important to expose undergraduates to its wealth, even for the jazz folks. In those years, I was transformed into a musician much different and more of whom I am now. But just before we started in on that 20th Century material, my alarm clock woke me one morning and on the radio was a recording of Steve Reich’s Variations for Winds, Strings, and Keyboardsand I missed my first class, transfixed in bed with this repetitive “trance” music I had never experienced before. I became a devote fan of minimalism (for a while) from there. Honorable mentions in this category would have to be Gavin Bryars’ “Jesus’ Blood Never Failed Me Yet” and “Sinking of the Titanic”.

Charlie Haden, The Montreal Tapes with Don Cherry and Ed Blackwell

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Charlie Haden is my musical hero. I’m not sure I could choose just one recording because I find beauty in everything he’s done. But for the sake of the Listed-vibe, let’s say the first album I experienced, The Montreal Tapes with Don Cherry and Ed Blackwell. I was mesmerized and captivated by his sound, his singing-like soloing/lyricism, his patience, his support in the trio, his tone. The open feel of this record makes for an incredibly clear statement, musically. By the time they recorded this live at the Montreal Jazz festival in 1989, these guys had been exploring jazz (and quite a bit of free jazz) together for some 20 years; and it comes through on this record. And yes from here, I went out and bought every Charlie Haden-related record I could. And when I finally met him for the first time in Montreal in 2002 after a concert, I couldn’t help the flow of tears. I heart Charlie Haden profoundly.

Arvo Pärt, Fratres

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What an incredible composer to get to know if you’re looking to enhance aural beautification to your life. Part’s music is so powerful for me and not because many consider him (including himself) a “religious minimalist composer”; that I could care less about. The motion of the lines and dramatic candor are completely intriguing and alluring to me. This record especially. I love that it’s also a piece that can be played with varying instrumentation and carry a different timbre but still be as powerful. The voices between the instruments, where they are placed in the sonic spectrum, the repetitive melodies, and especially the drone! This music not only takes me to a tranquil place but also invigorates me to be better and try to heal the world the best I can. Part is an inspiration for creating more beauty in the world. One of his most popular pieces is called “Spiegel im Spiegel” and the first thought I had upon listening years back was: kindness. Yeah man, more of this, please.

Henryk Gorecki, Symphony No. 3

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I have a hard time falling asleep; it started when I was about six or seven. Thoughts of the day, as well as newer and older ones, arose continuously (and still do). This piece has psychosomatically calmedso many of those, what would have been, sleepless nights. It has a depth to it where my mind can get out of whatever million thoughts are being processed and then relax me in order to calm the mental activity. The low strings repeating the same melody in a brooding canon, wow, with a mix of minor 9ths, major 7ths, perfect 5ths, major/minor 6ths; a mix of doublings I find chilling in the first couple minutes that set the tone for the rest of the piece.

James Blake, The Colour in Everything

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Bon Iver, 22, A Million

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Honorable mentions on current production ideas and such that I study: all of Bjork, Radiohead, and artists that are involved with visual art in some form. But these two mentioned records are fascinating production (and music) - wise. Woah.

#dusted magazine #listed #matthew golombisky #milli vanilli #miles davis #opeth #this is spinal tap #steve reich #charlie haden #arvo pärt #henryk gorecki #james blake #bon iver

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stanleyaremillard-blog · 7 years

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24 Good Reasons Why You May Need Vitamin Supplements

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Many individuals trust that eating a very much adjusted eating regimen gives every one of the vitamins and minerals vital for good wellbeing. In perfect conditions, this is the situation, however as a general rule there are many reasons why you may require vitamin supplements to adapt to living in the twentieth century condition. Taking vitamins when required is a sheltered strategy for upgrading your dietary wellsprings of supplements, giving you take after the guidelines on item marks. Additional info about baby eczema cream.

1. Poor Digestion

Notwithstanding when your nourishment admission is great, wasteful assimilation can restrict your body's take-up of vitamins. Some regular reasons for wasteful assimilation are not biting all around ok and eating too quick. Both of these outcome in bigger than ordinary nourishment molecule measure, too expansive to permit finish activity of stomach related compounds. Many individuals with dentures can't bite as proficiently as those with a full arrangement of unique teeth.

2. Hot Coffee, Tea and Spices

Ongoing drinking of fluids that are excessively hot, or expending an abundance of aggravations, for example, espresso, tea or pickles and flavors can cause irritation of the stomach related linings, bringing about a drop in discharge of stomach related liquids and poorer extraction of vitamins and minerals from sustenance.

3. Liquor

Drinking excessively liquor is known to harm the liver and pancreas which are crucial to processing and digestion. It can likewise harm the covering of the intestinal tract and unfavorably influence the retention of supplements, prompting sub-clinical ailing health. General overwhelming utilization of liquor builds the body's requirement for the B-gather vitamins, especially thiamine, niacin, pyridoxine, folic corrosive and vitamins B12, An and C and additionally the minerals zinc, magnesium and calcium. Liquor influences accessibility, ingestion and digestion of supplements.

4. Smoking

Smoking excessively tobacco is additionally an aggravation to the stomach related tract and builds the metabolic necessities of Vitamin C, all else being equivalent, by no less than 30mg for every cigarette well beyond the run of the mill prerequisites of a non-smoker. Vitamin C which is ordinarily present in such sustenances as paw paws, oranges and capsicums, oxidizes quickly once these organic products are cut, squeezed, cooked or put away in coordinate daylight or close warmth. Vitamin C is essential to the invulnerable capacity.

5. Intestinal medicines

Abuse of diuretics can bring about poor retention of vitamins and minerals from nourishment, by hurrying the intestinal travel time. Paraffin and other mineral oils increment misfortunes of fat dissolvable vitamins An, E and K. Different diuretics used to overabundance can cause extensive misfortunes of minerals, for example, potassium, sodium and magnesium.

6. Trend Diets

Strange weight control plans that pass up a great opportunity for entire gatherings of sustenances can be truly ailing in vitamins. Indeed, even the prevalent low fat eating regimens, if taken to an outrageous, can be insufficient in vitamins A, D and E. Vegan consumes less calories, which can prohibit meat and other creature sources, must be skillfully intended to evade vitamin B12 insufficiency, which may prompt iron deficiency.

7. Overcooking

Extensive cooking or warming of meat and vegetables can oxidize and annihilate warm helpless vitamins, for example, the B-gathering, C and E. Bubbling vegetables drains the water solvent vitamins B-gathering and C and in addition numerous minerals. Light steaming is ideal. A few vitamins, for example, vitamin B6 can be decimated by light from microwaves.

8. Nourishment Processing

Solidifying nourishment containing vitamin E can altogether lessen its levels once defrosted. Sustenances containing vitamin E presented to warmth and air can turn rotten. Numerous normal wellsprings of vitamin E, for example, bread and oils are these days exceptionally handled, with the goal that the vitamin E content is fundamentally diminished or missing absolutely, which builds stockpiling life however can bring down supplement levels. Vitamin E is a cell reinforcement which protectively represses oxidative harm to all tissues. Other vitamin misfortunes from sustenance handling incorporate vitamin B1 and C.

9. Comfort Foods

An eating regimen excessively subject to exceptionally refined starches, for example, sugar, white flour and white rice, places more prominent request on extra wellsprings of B-aggregate vitamins to process these starches. A lopsided eating regimen adds to such conditions as touchiness, laziness and rest issue.

10. Anti-microbials

A few anti-microbials albeit important in battling contamination, likewise murder off benevolent microscopic organisms in the gut, which would regularly be creating B-amass vitamins to be assimilated through the intestinal dividers. Such inadequacies can bring about an assortment of anxious conditions, in this manner it might be prudent to supplement with B-gather vitamins when on an extensive course of expansive range anti-infection agents.

11. Sustenance Allergies

The oversight of entire nutritional categories from the eating routine, as on account of people oversensitive to gluten or lactose, can mean the loss of huge dietary wellsprings of supplements, for example, thiamine, riboflavin or calcium.

12. Product Nutrient Losses

Some horticultural soils are insufficient in follow components. Many years of concentrated horticulture can exhaust and drain soils, unless all the dirt supplements, including follow components, are consistently supplanted. This implies nourishment products can be exhausted of supplements because of poor soil administration. In one U.S Government overview, levels of basic minerals in crops were found to have declined by up to 68 for each penny over a four year time span in the 1970's.

13. Mishaps and Illness

Consumes prompt lost protein and fundamental follow supplements, for example, vitamins and minerals. Surgery expands the requirement for zinc, vitamin E and different supplements associated with the cell repair component. The repair of broken bones will be hindered by an insufficient supply of calcium and vitamin C and on the other hand improved by a full dietary supply. The test of disease puts appeal on the healthful assets of zinc, magnesium and vitamins B5, B6 and zinc.

14. Stress

Synthetic, physical and enthusiastic anxieties can expand the body's necessities for vitamins B2, B5, B6 and C. Air contamination builds the necessities for vitamin E.

15. P.M.T

Research has shown that up to 60 for each penny of ladies experiencing side effects of premenstrual strain, for example, cerebral pains, touchiness, enlarged ness, bosom delicacy, laziness and sorrow can profit by supplementation with vitamin B6.

16. Adolescents

Quick development spurts, for example, in the young years, especially in young ladies, put levels of popularity on healthful assets to guarantee the quickened physical, biochemical and passionate advancement in this age gathering. Information from the USA Ten State Nutrition Survey (in 1968-70 covering a sum of 24,000 families and 86,000 people) demonstrated that between 30-50 for each penny of young people matured 12-16 had dietary admissions beneath 66% of the suggested every day midpoints for Vitamin A, C, calcium and iron.

17. Pregnant Women

Pregnancy makes higher than normal requests for supplements, to guarantee solid development of the child and agreeable imprisonment for the mother. Supplements which commonly require increment amid pregnancy are the B-gathering, particularly B1, B2, B3, B6, folic corrosive and B12, A, D, E and the minerals calcium, press, magnesium, zinc and phosphorous.

The Ten State Nutrition Survey in the USA in 1968-70 demonstrated that upwards of 80 for each penny of the pregnant ladies overviewed had dietary admissions beneath 66% of prescribed day by day recompenses. Proficient appraisal of supplement prerequisites amid pregnancy ought to be looked for.

18. Oral Contraceptives

Oral Contraceptives can diminish retention of folic corrosive and increment the requirement for vitamin B6, and potentially vitamin C, zinc and riboflavin. Around 22 for every penny of Australian ladies matured 15-44 are accepted to be on "the pill" at any one time.

19. Light Eaters

A few people eat sparingly, even without weight lessening objectives. US dietary overviews have demonstrated that a normal lady keeps up her weight on 7560 kilojoules every day, at which level her eating routine is probably going to be low in thiamine, calcium and iron.

20. The Elderly

The matured have been appeared to have a low admission of vitamins and minerals, especially iron, calcium and zinc. Folic corrosive lack is frequently found, in conjunction with vitamin C insufficiency. Fiber admission is regularly low. Riboflavin (B2) and pyridoxine (B6) lacks have likewise been watched. Conceivable causes incorporate debilitated feeling of taste and smell, lessened discharge of stomach related catalysts, constant illness and, possibly, physical weakness.

21. Absence of Sunlight

Invalids, move laborers and individuals whose introduction to daylight might be insignificant can experience the ill effects of inadequate measures of vitamin D, which is required for calcium digestion, without which rickets and osteoporosis (bone diminishing) has been watched. Bright light is the boost to vitamin D development in skin. It is obstructed by cloud, haze, exhaust cloud, smoke, normal window glass, drapes and dress. The most extreme prescribed every day supplement admission of vitamin D is 400 i.u.

22. Bio-Individuality

Wide variances in singular supplement prerequisites from the authority suggested normal vitamin and mineral admissions are normal, especially for those in high physical request occupations, for example, sports and difficult work, considering body weight and physical sort. Protein consumption impacts the requirement for vitamin B6 and vitamin B1 is connected to kilo joule admission.

23. Low Body Reserves

In spite of the fact that the body can store stores of specific vitamins, for example, An and E, Canadian dissection information has demonstrated that up to 30% of the populace have stores of vitamin A so low as to be judged "in danger". Vitamin An is critical to sound skin and mucous layers (counting the sinus and lungs) and visual perception.

24. Competitors

Competitors devour a lot of nourishment and experience significant anxiety. These elements influence their requirements for B-aggregate vitamins, vitamin C and iron specifically. Tests on Australian Olympic competitors and A-review football players, for instance, have demonstrated wide rangi

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