#imagine some bumpy music in the background or something

[scottthemoody]

CHOOSE YOUR CHARACTER > HERO > PRINCESS [UNLOCKED AFTER BEATING STORY MODE]

[bnhabadass]

Pairing: Kyoka Jirou x reader Song Mentioned: Life on the Road, The Kinks Warnings: N/A Word Count: 2,415 A/N: I am very excited to present this piece with I have written for the BNHArem summer time sfw collaboration! Everyone who participated in this event has worked really hard to get their pieces together so you should definitely check them all out. The link to the master list is here! I want to give a big thank you to @pixxiesdust​ @sadistiks​ and @lady-bakuhoe​ for beta reading this piece very last minute. You three saved my butt!

The heat from the sun was unbearable as it fell directly on you. You and the rest of class 1-A were lying down in the grass outside the dorm building. Summer had just started, you had all finished and passed your finals, and you only had one week to yourselves before summer training began for that year.

The humidity was overbearing. Your backside was a slick puddle against the itchiness of the lawn you were laying on.

“Ice me,” you heard Kaminari say. Looking up, you watched as Shinsou pulled a few ice cubes out from an ice chest and plopped them into Kaminari’s mouth. You let out what appeared to be a mix of a groan and a sigh, wishing you had a relationship like that of your own and wishing the heat would calm down for just a few minutes.

Most of your friends already had plans for the week before training. Midoriya, Todoroki, Uraraka and Iida were all taking a weekend trip to a nearby beach. Kirishima was forcing Bakugou and the rest of their close friends to go on a road trip of their own. You’re pretty sure Yaoyorozu mentioned something of the sort as well. A family vacation to her lake house in another country, perhaps.

What you would kill to go on a road trip, to feel the warm summer air brush against your hair and the tops of your ears through the open window of a car going sixty on an open road. It’s a dream you’ve had for a while. You had even been gifted a van that used to belong to a distant relative. You’d spent the last few months outside of school refurbishing the inside, installing carpet and a counter with drawers and shelving underneath, putting blackout curtains over the windows and decorating the metal wall behind the driver's seat with bumper stickers and magnets.

There was only one thing you were missing. The only thing that kept you from living out your ultimate summer road trip fantasy was a travel companion, someone to mess with the radio while you train your eyes on the scenery ahead of you.

“Hey (Y/n)!”

You were snapped out of your thoughts when you heard the voice of one of your closest friends call out to you.

Mina had been laying on a large spread out picnic blanket along with Hagakure and Jirou. Her wild hair was a bit messy from rolling around but it didn’t seem to bother her much. “What are you doing with your week off?”

What are you doing with your week off? Fantasy aside you had nothing planned other than sitting on your couch playing video games and watching Netflix. “I don’t really have anything planned,” you admitted.

You felt the eyes of your peers begin to look up and lock onto you. Embarrassed, you looked down at your feet and the insects climbing over the straps of your sandals.

“You could come to the beach with us!” Iida offered.

“Oh I’m sure my family wouldn’t mind if you joined us at our lake house!” Momo piped in.

“Nah you should come to the boardwalk with us. I bet I could beat you in skeeball.”

The corners of your mouth pulled upward into a half-hearted smile. Your friends are sweet, but you didn’t want to be invited somewhere out of pity.

“You know,” Mina piped in, “Jirou isn’t doing anything this week either. You two should go on a road trip together!”

Your eyes shifted to the musician. Jirou was lying on the same blanket as Mina. Her cheeks tinted pink as a blush formed across her face.

“Haven’t you been meaning to drive that van out to the countryside?”

You turned back to Mina who looked at you expectantly. “Yeah,” you nodded. “I’m pretty much done converting the inside so there’s a bed and shelving units under the counter.”

“You did that all yourself?” Kirishima had perked up, his bright eyes reflecting the light of the sun. “So manly!”

You smiled at the slew of questions your friends threw at you. Out of the corner of your eye, you couldn’t help but notice Jirou was acting odd. She kept looking away from you and your peers as they asked their questions but something was clearly on her mind.

“Jirou,” you said, causing a sudden hush across your class.

She looked up from her earphone jacks, a light dusting of pink sprinkled across the apples of her cheeks as she clinked the ends of them together.

“Let’s go on a road trip!”

“Really?” she sputtered in disbelief.

“Yeah, on one condition.” The playful grin across your face seemed to go unrecognized by her as she looked worried, almost terrified of what you were about to ask. “Will you bring your guitar?”

Her light pink blush deepened in hue as the rest of your class turned towards her. “Um, yeah,” she mumbled. “I guess I could bring it, if you really want me to.”

--

You set out the next day to prepare for your road trip. You filled the cabinets and shelves of your van to the brim with snacks galore. You had even put an extra stash of s’mores supplies in the glove compartment just in case you were to run out.

Jirou agreed to meet you in your driveway at home. It was breezy out, much cooler than the previous day. As you awaited her arrival, you double and triple checked each drawer as well as your checklist to make sure you hadn’t forgotten anything.

“Um, hey,” her quiet voice croaked from behind you. Turning around to face her, you noticed her purple guitar case was strapped to her back. She clutched a black and purple drawstring bag close to her.

“Are you ready?”

She relaxed slightly at the peppy and cheerful sound of your voice. Part of her wondered how you could be so cheerful and excited about something as small as an overnight road trip, but this had been your dream for so long, how could you not be excited? “Yeah,” she smiled. “Let’s get on the road.”

It was everything you had imagined. With the windows rolled down you could feel the wind brushing against your form. Hands rubbing against the steering wheel cover, you smiled through every twist and turn that the open road had to offer.

It didn’t take long for you and Jirou to become more comfortable with one another. It helped that you had slipped a book of questions onto the dashboard, and as you drove she read from the list. The questions ranged from anything to “What is your favorite ice cream flavor?” to “What is your most embarrassing memory from middle school?”

“Alright alright alright,” Jirou said, still laughing from the answers you gave to the last question. “What is the worst excuse you have ever given for turning in a late assignment?”

You chuckled at the question, remembering the last excuse you had given to one of your teachers. “That’s a good one. I would have to say a couple weeks ago when I forgot to do an assignment for Ectoplasm. I told him I was busy mourning the death of my Uncle’s pet chinchilla.”

The laugh that Jirou gave bounced between the metal walls of the van. It was nice hearing her real laugh, one that you know she’s only comfortable sharing with those close to her.

--

You had been driving for hours. There was a particular campground that you were driving towards. You didn’t realize just how far away it was even though the GPS had told you how long the trek would take.

Jirou had chosen some light hiphop to play as you drove along the open road. The highway was bare aside from a few other cars so there was little noise to disrupt her as she snoozed in the passenger’s seat.

Her purple guitar case clunked around in the back. You were worried that the guitar might break or splinter as the roads got to be especially bumpy but she assured you earlier that it would be safe.

You finally pulled onto the beach. The white sand effortlessly moved under the rough tires of your van. You placed a hand on Jirou’s shoulder and she startled awake.

“Shit was I sleeping?” She looked embarrassed as she wiped away a drop of drool threatening to spill out of the corner of her mouth.

“Yeah but not for very long. We’re here!”

She looked out the window half expecting to see a forest of trees or maybe a waterfall in the background. After all, you told her you’d be camping and nothing much else. Instead she was met with the gentle tide pushing and pulling against the fine grains of sand.

You noticed her facial features soften as she focused on the subtle movements of the tide. It was yet again a smile you were not particularly used to, one you had only seen a few times when you watched her play music. You had a feeling that you would be seeing the different sides of Kyoka Jirou throughout the rest of your trip.

--

You had parked your van next to a firepit in the sand, one that had a short wall of stacked stones surrounding it. You had built a fire and were roasting marshmallows over it.

“Why did you choose this place to camp?” Jirou asked. “Have you been here before?”

Looking out at the waves, you smiled. “Nah. I was just looking at touristy places online and I stumbled across this place. There weren’t many reviews on the website and it didn’t seem like many people know about this place. But there was one review that caught my eye. The person who wrote it said, ‘This is the perfect place to take a break from work. The sand is so fine it feels as if you’re walking on a cloud. The water is the perfect temperature for dipping your toes in and you can find the prettiest shells along the shore. And the way the sunset reflects on the water, it feels as if you’re in a fairytale and your one true love is just around the bend, waiting for you to find them.’”

Jirou watched you, mouth agape as you recapped the beach’s online review. It was as if you had memorized it word for word and as you spoke of living in a fairytale your eyes sparked with wonder.

You turned to look at her, cheeks becoming warm as embarrassment took over. “So, um, yeah. I just found it online.”

Jirou smiled up at you. “It’s lovely.”

--

The sun was setting, and as the online review predicted, the colors blended against the water like a painting in a museum and spread out as the tide pushed and pulled in.

You smiled, hands behind you as you leaned back on the spread out blanket. A cool breeze brushed past you and a slight shiver made its way up and down your core. Smiling down at the sand, you picked up a clump full of the fine grains between your loose fingers and watched as the breeze carried them away.

Turning back toward the disappearing sun, you were taken out of your thoughts when you heard the strum of a single guitar string. Your head snapped in Jirou’s direction. She was looking at the strings in complete and utter concentration. Her hands meticulously fiddled with the tuning pegs. When she strummed it again, she hummed in content at hearing the sound it gave.

Your eyes shifted between her and her half eaten s’more laying on the edge of the firepit. Without opening her eyes, she reached down to grab the s’more and take a bite. When all the strings were finally in tune, she gave the guitar a little strum. That smile you had grown to love during your time together reappeared. The apples of her cheeks rose like an early morning sunrise. The way her hair fell against her cheeks so perfectly almost framed her in a new light.

“Ever since I was a child, I loved to wander wild Through the bright city lights, And find myself a life I could call my own.”

As she sang you felt a subtle buzz begin to form in your chest. Watching her play and truly fit in her happy place was a sight unbeknownst to you.

“It was always my ambition To see Piccadilly, Ramble and roam around Soho And Pimlico and Savile Row, And walk down the Abbey Road.”

A new smile, one filled with confidence and joy, spread across her face.

“So I saved all my money And packed up my clothes, And I said good-bye to my friends And my folks back home. And I left for a life of my own. I left for a life on the road.”

You could almost see her glowing as she played. From the way she sang with a bright smile to her methodically moving her fingers up and down the neck of the guitar, it was as if she was radiating pure happiness. It wasn’t long before you were tapping the beat in tandem on your knee.

Watching her was like magic. As the music enveloped you, you truly felt like you were in a fairytale. It even looked as though the nearby gulls were dancing.

The sun had fully set by the time Jirou had strummed the last few chords. She waited a few seconds before opening her eyes to the dying embers of the fire. She tilted her head up to look at you. When she saw your awestruck expression, she immediately went back to being a blushing mess.

“So yeah,” she said, still refusing to meet your gaze. “You said you wanted me to play.”

Yes you wanted to hear her play, but you didn’t expect it to be anything like that. That was magical. Her smile had brightened the entire beach. She was radiating pure joy. That was incredible, that was spontaneous and bright and harmonious. That was Kyoka Jirou.

“I loved it!” You flashed her a bright smile.

As the moonlight illuminated her form and the soft breeze brushed through her silky short hair, you had realized just how beautiful the girl sitting in front of you was. The tide pushed and pulled you into your fantasy fairytale realm and in that moment you never wanted your vacation to end.

[woodelf68]

The Spirit of the Trees

In which Rumple is some kind of tree spirit. Inspired by this photo taken by the lovely @beastlycheese​.  Rated E,  7320 words. 

It had been a long time since he had been awake, long enough that the people in the nearby village had forgotten why they hung garlands in the branches of the gnarled old oak tree at the seasonal festivals or poured ale on its roots. 

Once upon a time, the people had known that he was more than just a tree. 

But slowly he became aware again, aware of the young woman who came most days, to sit at his base between two of his roots where the ground was smooth and the grass was soft, leaning back against his trunk as she read. She always had a book with her, and sometimes she would talk out loud, commenting on the characters and their actions, and he remembered the sound of language, and felt the urge to come out of his bark, and reply. But he remembered, too, the look of fear on people’s faces, the screams of people running away, and although at times he had reveled in that reaction, he did not want it now. The thought that she might go away and never come back kept him still, immobile, waiting for each next visit, a new hunger growing that was in keeping with the spring, with the quickening life within him. And he always had been a mischief-maker.

He started slowly, the next time she came, pushing one of his roots closer to the surface, in the space between her legs, so slowly that she was not aware of anything, as engrossed in her current book as she was. He could tell the moment that she realised that something bumpy was now pressing into her where it had formerly been smooth.

Belle’s mouth hung slightly open, her eyes avidly sweeping back and forth across the page. She had finally gotten to the good part of her book. Not that the story up till now had been bad, and there had already been that one promising kiss, but the hero’s breeches had finally been opened, and words like ‘hot’ and ‘hard’ and ‘wet’ were coming into full play. She could feel her own wetness as she shifted back and forth unconsciously, and suddenly realised that she was sitting upon something bumpy that was pressing into her in just the right spot. Puzzled, she shifted to the side, sweeping her hand beneath her and expecting to find a rock which she hadn’t noticed when she had sat down, but coming up empty. She did feel something, though, and rolled over onto her knees, off to the side. Brushing aside the grass, she saw what must be a new root pushing out of the ground near the base of the tree. Or not new, she thought, but finally grown large enough for her to notice it. The thought of losing her nice smooth spot between two of the large roots would have bothered her, except...it had felt kind of nice. That pressure, right there at her core. And she hadn’t even felt it until she had started squirming around. It would probably be a long time before it got big enough to force her to seek a new favourite reading place. She settled herself back in place, experimentally. Yes, she could avoid the bump pressing into her depending on how she sat. But she didn’t want to avoid it right now. She opened her book again, and pressed down, feeling the slight nudge of the root, feeling secretly, deliciously naughty, and resumed reading. 

She was unable to slip away for a few days after that by Gaston arriving for another visit, her father pressing her to accept his suit, and it was a relief when he left again, and she was able to escape with another book to the peace and the dappled sunlight beneath the oak. No one ever came here outside of festival days, she had learned, although no one had ever been able to explain to her the source of their vague superstitions regarding the tree. But she had never felt anything but comfortable here, with the company of no-one but the birds and the squirrels who would run chittering through its branches if she was quiet and still long enough. She remembered the first time she had seen the decorated tree, when she’d been old enough to ride that far on her first pony. Her father had scorned the villagers’ celebrations as something beneath him, but her mother had taken her, and they’d been welcomed, a bright sheaf of ribbons pressed into her hand, her mother lifting her high into the air so she could tie them about one of the tree’s branches. That first year was still so clear in her memory, the laughter and smiles and music, everyone going quiet and hushed when the village headman had stood up, holding a carved wooden bowl on high.  He had spoken of why they were there, asking the blessings of the old gods for the land and the people and their animals alike, and had intoned the words of the ritual before pouring a libation upon the roots of the oak. He had then drank himself, and had passed the bowl of ale on to the next person with the words ‘Blessed Be’, and the bowl had gone around the circle of people, each drinking and repeating the Blessing as they passed it on to the next. She remembered her excitement when her mother had handed the bowl to her with a smile, the taste of bitter ale on her tongue, and passing it on to the next villager, the feeling of being linked to them all and some greater something. 

She had only gone back once after her mother had died, that autumn, to the Feast of the Dead, determined to call out her mother’s name and hear her recognised. One by one, all those who had lost a loved one that year had stood up and said their name -- and there had been many that year, lost to the attacks of the ogres -- and then it had been Belle’s turn. 

“My mother, Lady Collette,” she had said, with tears pricking the backs of her eyes and a lump in her throat. 

The headman had looked her in the eye and spoken solemnly, as he had to every other person. “She is welcome to join us here, this night, at our feast.” And another candle had been lit in her name and placed on the long table that would shine bright as the dusk gathered and the night fell.

And that had been the comfort, to think that on that night the veil between the worlds might be thin enough for her mother to see her, to hear her, to know that she was loved and remembered, and honoured. She hadn’t been able to bear going back alone after that, to the festivities that they had shared, but had found a compromise by visiting the oak by herself, feeling a connection to her mother here. 

Settling down in her usual place, she immediately felt the root pressing up beneath her skirts. It felt like it had grown since she had been here last, and after only a few minutes she abandoned her book and slipped her right hand up under her skirts and used her left to loosen her bodice laces enough to pull one breast free of the confining material, enabling her to rub her nipple through her thin linen shift. She leaned back, imagining the tree trunk was someone at her back, that the root was something else entirely, that her hands were theirs...

The being inside the tree watched avidly, his efforts at speeding the growth of the root well rewarded, wanting nothing more than to step out of the tree and reveal himself, but knowing all too well that his appearance would likely send her running in fear. He would wait and emerge after she had left, take himself in hand, spill his seed where she was now gasping her pleasure. 

A storm swept through that night, the rains drenching the earth, and he drank in the energy of the life-giving moisture, used it to push outward, form new growth. The rain tapered off during the day, but it remained damp and overcast, and the being wasn’t surprised when Belle did not come with a book to sit on the rain-soaked earth. It gave him more time. But the sky cleared overnight, and the sun rose in the morning, and the grass dried, and he waited, heart in his mouth, pleased with his work. 

Belle arrived at her favourite reading spot in the mid-afternoon, bearing both a book and a blanket, in case the ground should still be damp beneath the oak’s branches. What she saw when she arrived made her stop in her tracks and stare. That something that large should have appeared in the couple of days since she had last been here was startling enough, but it’s appearance...she might be a maiden still, but she knew what that root looked like, and no matter how she tried to see it from a different angle, it looked, indubitably and unmistakably, like a man’s erect...cock, her mind cheerfully supplied, having overheard enough conversations amongst the female servants  who spoke of such things matter-of-factly, and from the stableboys who sometimes didn’t see her short form behind the high walls of her horse’s stall as she groomed him. 

And not only had she seen illustrations in books, but at the summer market fair a few years ago, there had been that one booth, shamelessly displaying numerous wooden...phalluses, she had decided, polished to a high sheen, some hanging by a loop of cord that had been attached to the base, others including a pair of testicles at the base which provided a flat bottom which allowed them to stand upright when placed on the wooden counter surrounding the booth. The booth had been doing good business, and Belle had lurked in the background, wanting both to see and to not be seen, fascinated by the women -- and men -- who boldly made a purchase and left with their selection, some tucking it discreetly in a basket or bag, others simply looping the cord around their wrist and blatantly carrying it in full view. She’d gone back several times during the course of the fair, but had never worked up enough nerve to approach the booth to more closely inspect the wares, let alone buy one. And she had wanted to buy one, had become consumed with the desire to know what it would feel like to have something like that inside her. If she was going to be married off, she thought she would rather go to her marriage bed not fearing an unknown experience. From what she had heard, how much her first time would hurt would depend on whether the man was willing to go slow and careful, or whether he would plunge in heedlessly, only seeking his own pleasure. She knew what category Gaston would fall into. She had eyed the array of sizes, deciding the ones in the middle would most likely approximate an average male, but thinking one of the slimmer models would be a better place to start. 

After the fair had left and the booths taken down, Belle had cursed herself for not being brave enough to buy a phallus for herself. It wasn’t so much fear of what the seller or other customers might have thought of her that had kept her in the shadows, but fear of word getting back to her father about what his daughter was buying. She would have died of embarrassment if he had confronted her about it. But she resolved to be bolder next time -- except next time never came. That particular booth never materialised at the Winter Fair, nor the Summer one the following year.  She wondered if her father had learned of it and refused to give permission for the craftsman to display his wares -- it did not seem like the type of thing of which he would approve. 

Now Belle stared at the very phallic appendage jutting out of the tree’s base, the delineated head, and felt that the universe must be playing a joke on her. “Trees do not grow cocks overnight,” she accused out loud.

A high-pitched giggle greeted her statement, and before her eyes it was if the tree blurred in front of her, and something detached from its trunk, something with the same rough grey-brown look of bark covering its form but which was, essentially, man-shaped. And naked.

Belle stared, her mouth opened in amazement. 

“it took me more than one night to create that, I’ll have you know. Not easy work. But I’m so glad that you recognise what it’s supposed to be.”

Her gaze strayed down, inexorably, to the place between its -- his -- legs, unable to glance away from the cock which lay soft and unthreatening but still larger than she had expected. 

He chuckled, and reached down to stroke himself. “I can be as hard for you as you like, my lady,”  and Belle saw that part of him stir, lifting away from him as it stiffened. She forced her eyes up, her cheeks flaming with heat.

“What are you?”

“I’m the spirit of the tree, of course. And you were the one who woke me from my long slumber. I would say “don’t be afraid”, but I don’t think you are, are you dearie?” He leered with a knowing smirk. “I think you want to touch me, to pleasure yourself upon my cock.” He took a step towards her, but stopped as soon as she took an automatic step back. 

“Don’t be crude!” she exclaimed, but the truth was that she did want to touch, at least. While she had no desire to wed or bed Gaston or any other man in particular, she had wondered what sex would be like. She had even envied that any young man with enough coin could buy a sexual experience with a prostitute, without needing to be in a relationship first or even having to worry about caring for a babe if one should result despite whatever precautions were taken. That was all on the woman. She had thought that it might be nice to explore a man’s body at her leisure, to get the messy business of losing her virginity over with a stranger whom she need never see again so she would be able to enjoy her wedding night with the benefit of experience and without fearing any pain. And while he wasn’t exactly a man, he seemed close enough in the important bits. 

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Names are given by others. There’s just me.” He giggled. “In the tree.”

Belle frowned. “That sounds lonely. Aren’t there any others like you? Other tree spirits?”

“All trees have spirits, but not all become like me, able to leave their tree. They have to grow old enough, to start with, and then something has to waken them. There used to be more, but humans, they felled the trees. To clear their fields, to use in building. And always they took the biggest, the oldest.” His voice was flat. “Not so many now, and none around here. Not that I know of.”

“I’m sorry.” Belle thought of all the wood they used, all the wood they burned, and blanched to think that some of them might have contained the spirit of a sentient creature within, unable to speak up or leave their tree. “We didn’t know,” she said miserably.

“It’s no matter.”

“It is,” she said hotly, thinking of how lonely he must be. “But there’s nothing I can do about what’s already been done. I could, however, give you a name? If you’d like one? So that I could have something to call you?”

His whole face brightened. Names were powerful; names had magic. Once someone named you, you belonged to them. The idea held a certain appeal. “I would not say no.”

“All right, then, let me think.” She bit her lip as she thought of the latest book she’d read, a tale of three sons who had quested to save a princess. The eldest, spoiled and arrogant and with his pockets lined with money, had failed. The second, sure of his strength and his muscles, had also not made it past a certain point. It had been the third -- a thin, wiry lad barely into manhood who spent his days in hard work around his father’s estate despite the twisted foot that his brothers sneered at him for, who had stopped to offer to share what little food he had with the small boy who had been begging in the road, and had thus gained the aid of the fairy who had disguised herself as such to test the worthiness of the suitors who came thinking to win themselves a princess, and told to him the secret needed to solve the puzzle and free the princess. The princess, who valued a compassionate nature and an intelligent mind more than money or brawn, had been more than pleased with her rescuer and happy to marry him. The youngest son’s name had been Rhum, and Belle had rooted for him throughout the entire book. 

“What about Rhum?” she asked.

“Rum?” he repeated. “Like the drink?” Not the commonest of drinks in these parts, but he had heard of it. 

Belle realised that of course he couldn’t hear the silent “h”, and that it wasn’t really necessary. “Yes, like the drink. And also there was a character called that in a book I read, a good character. I know it’s short, but -- “

“No, no, it’s fine. Short and simple. I like it.” He beamed at her, and she ducked her face down while still looking up through her lashes. 

“Good. I’m glad.” Blushing, Belle curtsied. “Pleased to meet you, Rum. I’m Belle.”

“Belle. Like a bluebell?” he asked, teasing, in reference to her blue riding coat. “Do you smell as sweet, I wonder?” He approached her slowly, noticing the hitch in her breathing as he leaned in close, inhaling the scent of her skin and hair. And she did smell sweet, the fresh appley scent of chamomile. “Mm, you do.” She was holding herself very still, but she wasn’t fleeing, nor protesting, so he lifted a hand and brushed his gnarled fingers over her pulled-back hair. 

Belle raised her hands and placed them on his chest, not to push him away but because she couldn’t help herself. His skin was warm, the muscles firm beneath supple skin that was textured like young tree bark.

She let her hands drift lower, over his belly, his cock rising towards her so very close now. She wanted to touch him. Wanted to know what it would feel like to have it inside her. Her choice, this first time. She licked her lips. 

“if we...if we did something,” she asked carefully, her face flushing hotly.  “Would there be any chance of a child?”

“No. None.”

“How do you know?” she challenged him. “Do you do this often?”

He blinked, his eyes large and round. “Not in a very long time, but once, they would leave a maiden for me, every spring.  No children ever resulted; we are too different a species.”

Belle nodded; it did seem unlikely, but with magic involved, it didn’t hurt to be sure. She reached out, her fingers poised above his chest. “May I -- ?”

“Please.” It had been so long, so long since he had been touched...

Belle flattened her hands against the hard planes of his chest, finding his skin warm beneath her fingertips and the textured surface not nearly as rough as it looked. She could feel his heart, thudding against her palm, in twin counterpoint to her own. Biting her lip, she moved her hands up, along his collarbone, and out to his shoulder, down his arms and back up, hearing the way his breathing was picking up, quick and uneven, even as he stood stock still and silent and allowed her explorations. He didn’t have any nipples, she noted with curiousity, but his musculature bore the same contours as a man’s.

Gaining in confidence, she slid her hands back down to his chest and kept going lower, over the flat belly, his breath hitching in his throat as she neared what she most wanted to touch, to explore. She hesitated, then lifted one hand and let her fingertips brush against his cock, startled when even that light touch made him twitch against her hand. She darted her eyes up to meet his, saw him watching her with a hungry, glazed look, and gathered her courage. 

She curled her fingers around him, their tips just barely meeting, and he moaned and his hips jerked forwards, pushing him through the ring of her fingers. His flesh was hotter, here, the skin smoother, softer, shifting back as he moved to reveal the sculpted head at the top of his shaft, flushed a faint underlying green beneath the brownish-grey. She was entranced by the contrast between the velvety skin and the oaken hardness beneath, and experimented, pulling the loose skin forward again, then pushing it back, thumb skimming over the top of the head, fingers finding the split ridge beneath.  Rum moaned, his hands coming up to clutch at her shoulders. She moved her hand up and down and felt him swell further, thick and pulsing, and a matching desire thrummed deep in her core.

She looked up at him, his eyes wide, pupils blown, as he watched her. “Does it feel good?”

“Yes.”

“What else should I do?”

Rum licked his lips. “Whatever you want.”

And she knew what she wanted, had read it in her books. She dropped to her knees, his cock calling to her, and leaned forward, mouthing at the head of it, breathing in his clean woodsy smell. Rum gave a strangled groan and his hands landed on her shoulders, his sharp nails digging in. She wrapped one hand around the base of his shaft, to steady it, and took a deep breath before parting her lips and taking him fully into her mouth, another breathy sound escaping him. She glanced up through her lashes to see his head thrown back, and a dizzying sense of power overcame her. She sucked briefly on the head of his cock, all that she had been able to get inside her mouth, and then pulled back, determined, relaxing her jaw and slightly shifting her angle, and pushed forward again, managing to take him a little deeper, feeling the weight of him on her tongue. 

Rum moved his hands into Belle’s hair, fingers tightening reflexively, legs braced and muscles taut as he held himself still, fighting the urge to thrust deeper, to beg for harder, faster, more. “That’s it, dearie,” he crooned. “Take me, taste me, suck me down.”

Belle pulled back, sucking hard as she let him slide out of her mouth, fascinated by the sight of him up close. No hair down there, where she had it, the column of his flesh rising smooth and uninterrupted from his body, the oddly-coloured skin doing nothing to mar the beauty she found in the shape of him. She moved her hand up, her saliva slicking the way, up and down and back up, stroking him as she had read in her books, glancing up through her lashes to see his reaction. “Like this?” 

“Yes, yes, exactly like that. Harder, if you like, and faster…aaahhhh.” He groaned as her small fist tightened about him, her thumb pressing into exactly the right spot beneath the head that sent a jolt of pleasure through him and made his balls jump spasmodically in their sac. His thoughts started to scatter beyond the fact that it was good, so good, his breath coming in rough, audible pants. 

Rum seemed to grow impossibly harder as Belle pumped him swiftly, impossibly larger, and she couldn’t help starting to feel slightly -- well, more than slightly -- worried about his size. How could she fit that part of him inside of her? Were human men smaller? Yet he had said he had taken human women before, so presumably it was possible. She paused as she noticed a drop of moisture beading up at the tip of his cock and swept her thumb over it to smear the thin, clear fluid over the crown. “Is this your...seed?” she asked, rubbing over the slit and watching more leak out. 

“It’s...of a sort, yes. Although as I said, no child will ever come from it.”  Rum dragged his scattered thoughts back together, reminded himself this wasn’t just about his own pleasure, and focused on regaining control. “And if you want to use my body for anything else, you should probably go ahead and do that before I spend myself and soften in your hand instead of your cunt.”

Belle flushed at his plain speaking, but yes, she did want, even if she was nervous about the trying. But she leaned forward first, her tongue coming out to taste him. Everything that she had heard and read had warned her of an unpleasant taste, musky and salty, but to her surprise, it was faintly sweet, and she was reminded of the running sap when they tapped the trees for syrup near the end of winter. She sought out more, sucking and tonguing his slit, until Rum tugged at her hair urgently. 

“Enough...Belle.” 

The desperation in his voice was warning enough; Belle relented, licking her lips as she stood up, and after one moment of hesitation, decisively began unfastening her riding skirt until it fell to the ground, pooling around her feet until she stepped out of it.  Technically, she didn’t need to undress at all; all she had to do was lift her skirts and chemise and let him take her, but she wanted to see. Wanted to see his body slide into hers, and she wanted to feel, feel his bare skin against hers, feel his hands on her naked flesh. And just the idea of being naked out here in the woods, completely exposed to the open air was making her wet with excitement.  The rest of her clothes dropped to the ground, one by one. Riding jacket, shirt, chemise, until she stood bare and defiant before Rum. He stared back, eyes wide and...almost reverent, she thought, her initial instinct to cover herself fading. His utter lack of self-consciousness about his naked body made her feel less shy about her own, like they were on equal footing. He was still taller than her, but he did not loom over her as Gaston did, with his overdeveloped muscles and bulk, rather, Rum’s body was lithe and compact and wiry, giving off an air of strength without making her feel afraid or intimidated. 

“How shall we go about this, then?” She knew there were different positions, but was at the point where she was ready for him to take the lead and show her what to do. 

He closed the distance between them, hands running over her body, cupping her breasts, thumbs circling her nipples until she shivered, the wetness between her legs increasing. 

“You could lie back and I could take you,” he said easily, in a sing-song voice. “Or I could lie back and you could take me, straddle my hips and sink down upon my shaft and ride me like a stallion. Or you could get down on your hands and knees, and I could take you from behind, like a beast.”

The last image caught Belle’s imagination more than she thought it should, and she flushed at her reaction to it. But not her first time, not when she wanted to see, to watch. “I want to see your face,” she said, negating that option but hesitating at the other two. The first seemed like less work on her part, and he wouldn’t crush her with his weight as Gaston would…

“If this is your first time, you would have more control on top,” he said, surprising her. “You can take me as deep as you like, as fast or as slow as you like.” He shrugged. “It’s all the same to me.”

Belle bit her lip. “That way, then. So…”

He took her hand, and drew her down with him onto the grass, pulling her into his lap. It trapped his cock between them and a shiver of pleasure went through Belle at the feeling of his cock against her belly, and then another as his finger probed between her legs. 

Rum hummed with satisfaction at the moisture he found there. “That’s good, the wetter the better.” He stroked her slowly, careful of his sharp nail, spreading the slick out, finding the small bump at the top of her cleft.

“There!” Belle shot her hand down to capture his wrist, trapping his hand where she wanted it. “A little to the side -- ” She released his wrist and he kept rubbing her, and it was so much better than touching herself, the feel of his touch different from her own, new and foreign and exciting. Her hips began to shift of their own accord, bringing her breasts into contact with his chest, and a jolt of sensation went through her as his rough-textured skin brushed against her nipples.  She deliberately did it again, rocking against his finger and pressing and rubbing herself up against his chest as she steadied herself with her hands on his shoulders. His finger stilled but remained in place, allowing her to set the rhythm as she chased her own pleasure, but his cock shifted and bobbed against her, hard and stiff, inflaming her senses still further. She looked down at it with wide eyes, thinking of how it would feel inside her, stretching her, filling her up,  and the thought pushed her over the edge and  she came, crying out. 

Rum immediately took himself in hand, gripping the base of his shaft tightly and willing himself away from the edge as he watched Belle come down from her high, the tension ebbing out of her body. “That’s it,” he crooned. “Let yourself relax, both inside and out.” It would have been so easy to keep rutting against her body and find his release, but he lay back, spreading the slick leaking from the head of his cock evenly over the shaft and holding himself steady for Belle. He wished that he’d thought to pare down his nails so he could breach her with a finger first, but it was too late for that now. 

“Mount me at your pleasure, my lady,” he invited. “Up on your knees, and sink down upon me.”

Belle had automatically shifted to straddle his hips, and she took a deep breath, gazing at the erection in front of her. It was flushed a much darker green than it had been before, veins distended along the sides of it, thick and hard and curving slightly, and she wanted it inside her. She didn’t know if she could take him, but she knew she wanted to try, wanted something to fill the aching emptiness inside her. She rose up, positioning him where she knew he needed to go, and tried to lower herself, bracing her hands on his chest. She bit her lip as it stretched and burned, and lifted back up, shifting for a slightly different angle. “What if I’m too small?” she worried, wincing as she tried to press down again and her body refused to yield. 

“You aren’t. Try more of an angle, yes, like that. Shall we do it together, on the count of three?. I’ll push up and you push down.” He splayed his free hand on her thigh, massaging the tense muscles. “Say the word and it’ll be over in a second. Well, the hardest part will be.”

Belle hesitated, using the moment to gather some of her fluids and make sure he was well coated. Do the brave thing, she thought. “All right. Together.” She lifted her chin, bracing herself. “One...two…”

She let out a startled yell as he thrust up and into her, his fingers digging into her skin, and gods, it hurt where she was now stretched wide around him, but deeper inside, it felt good. Her heart pounded in a mix of panic and the giddy realisation that it was done. She held herself very still, afraid to move. 

“You cheated!” she accused breathlessly.

“I was afraid you would tense up on “three”. Are you all right?” By the trees, she was tight. Tight and hot and wet and he knew he couldn’t move until she did. 

“I don’t know.” She cautiously shifted the smallest amount and winced again, but persisted, moving up a little and then back down and each short withdrawal dragged him through her wetness and he began to slide more easily in and out of her body, until she had his flared crown poised at her entrance. That would be the worst bit, she thought, pulling off of him completely, and since she wasn’t yet done with him, she sank back down, laughing aloud in relief as she took him to the hilt and settled her weight upon his body. “I did it.” She grinned. Whatever happened, Gaston would not have this from her. Would not have her first time. Might not even want her anymore if she told him she had lain with another man first. Well, not quite a man, but she could leave that part out. 

“I hope you’re not laughing at me.” Rum raised his eyebrows, both hands on her hips now, steadying her and helping her move. 

“No, I’m laughing because of you. Because you allowed me to make my first time about me, instead of a husband I care nothing for.” She leaned forward, and oh, that was a much better angle…

“You need not wed anyone you do not wish to,” he said, his eyes narrowing, his voice hard as flint. Hard as oak. 

Belle’s face twisted wistfully. “It is not set on, not yet, but Gaston presses Papa continually. The ogres advance on our lands, and Gaston’s offer comes with the promise of men and money to fight them.” She clenched tight around him, as if she could reject that future by holding onto this present, and felt him jerk inside her. 

“Oh, if it’s money you need -- “ Rum lifted one hand into the air and circled it negligently, as if that were the easiest thing in the world to provide. “Do you see that lightning-struck stump over there?” He had to lift his head for a moment, to orient himself, and pointed at the blackened remains of a tree on the far side of the grove.

“Yes.” 

“Men came once, while it was still a strong and healthy tree. Buried treasure there. Coins, wrapped tight in bags to muffle the sound, but one broke open, and I saw them spill out, shining gold in the light of their torches. And there were cups, with gems winking in that same light, and silver candlesticks, and other treasures beside.” His eyes went far away, remembering watching, concealed in magic and shadows. “No one ever came back to reclaim it.”

Belle sat up straight, a hope rising in her breast that she refused to allow yet. “You said you were asleep for a long time, in your tree. Could the treasure not have been found and dug up then?” Surely this was too good to be true...

“If men had started digging in my earth, so close to my tree, I would have felt it and woke. My roots extend far.” He saw Belle’s eyes light with excitement, gazing at the scarred and blackened stump of the old tree, and wrapped his hands about her waist. “Do not even think of getting off of me and looking for the treasure right now,” he warned. “You can return with men, and spades, tomorrow if you wish.” 

“I suppose,” she allowed, but her eyes were still shining as she looked back down at him, and she leaned forward impulsively to kiss him, her lips brushing against his. His eyes widened as she pulled back. 

“Claim it as your dowry, and give yourself to whomever you wish, or none at all,” he said gruffly. And if Gaston still troubles you -- “ Rum grinned, a feral, vicious grin. “ -- Tell him you wish to meet him here, by my tree. In the evening, when the light is fading. And then do not come. I will deal with him, make sure that he has no desire to ever bother you again.” Distracted by the idea of treasure, she had stopped moving, and he could not help rocking up into her. He had been patient, letting her take her time getting used to the feel of him inside her, but his patience was running out. He needed. 

Rum bucked beneath her a second time and Belle gasped. She ground down against him in response, looking down at where they were joined, the thickness of his shaft splitting her open obscenely wide. “And what do you get out of this arrangement?” she asked, already suspecting the answer and more than willing to pay the price.

“Your gratitude, of course. Your continued companionship.” Rum’s expression shifted to a leer. “More...of this, if you wish it.  Second times are said to be much better than first times, and third times even better yet. Speaking of which…” He surged up, and held her close to him as he rolled and put her under him. “I believe it is my turn.”

Belle let out a startled noise as she suddenly felt cool grass prickling against her back and buttocks, the sensation sending shivers through her. Rum had managed to keep them joined, and she automatically raised her knees and braced her feet on the ground as he pushed himself up onto his forearms but let the weight of his hips sink onto her as he thrust forward, seating himself more securely inside her. 

“All right?” he asked roughly, his muscles coiled with tension that ached to be released. He ground his hips against her in a circular motion and her eyes widened further. 

It was better than all right, the feel of his cock different inside her from this angle, the weight of his body upon her heavy enough to be exciting without making her feel trapped. the pressure on her mound transferring straight through to her clit as he moved. She tentatively put her hands on his lower back, then slid them more boldly down to cup his buttocks, the taut, rounded muscles fitting neatly into her palms. “Yes. It’s good,” she assured him, and tried to rock up against him, urging him to move. “Move.”

Rum obliged, watching her face for any signs of discomfort, and slowly increasing his pace when he saw none, his hips rolling against her in an age-old rhythm. 

The force of his thrusts rocked Belle backwards upon the ground, and she experimentally lifted her legs, wrapped them around his waist, the feel of grass and dirt and the little dips and hollows beneath her reminding her that she was outside, that she was being rutted into by a creature of the wild and her fingers dug into Rum’s flesh even as she tightened around that part of him that filled her up. Any lingering soreness where she had been stretched open was, for now, buried beneath the pleasure that was the long slide of his cock within her. She imagined Gaston coming upon her like this and nearly moaned as her inner muscles tightened reflexively again with a throb of pleasure.

Rum whimpered as the shift in angle allowed him to slide deeper within her, and her body clamped down on him, everything hot and tight and slippery and he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, his balls tightening as they drew up against his body. “So good,” he managed, the ability to form coherent speech fast slipping away from him. “Maybe I should claim you as the price for the treasure. Keep you here forever, pull you with me into the tree, pressed close and naked and ready to service me whenever I wish.”

Belle shivered, and strained up against him. She’d never tried to come more than once, her flesh too sensitive to bear direct touching after one orgasm, but for the first time she wondered if it could happen. “Rum…”

“You like that, don’t you?” he asked, huskily. “Like my voice, like me telling what I’d like to do with you.  Shall I tell you how good you feel around me, so wet and warm and tight -- ahhh -- “ His hips stuttered, and he felt the warning tingle of his orgasm approaching. “ -- like you want to keep me deep inside your body, like you were made for me -- “ He cried out as his body spasmed, pleasure shooting up his spine and out along his cock as his balls tightened and wet heat came spurting out of him to fill up her womb. He sagged against her as his muscles went lax, trembling as an aftershock ran through him, his cock jerking within her before it began to soften. He breathed deeply, waiting for his racing heart to calm before he slowly pulled out, noting her wince as the head of his shaft slipped free. He rolled onto his side next to her, feeling sated and content in mind as well as body. Not alone, he thought, and reached out to twist a lock of her hair around his fingers, as if by so doing he could keep her there with him forever.  “Are you well?”

Belle shifted gingerly, considering. She felt a bit tender, and unpleasantly wet and sticky. But she also felt good, in a way that she had never been able to achieve by herself. And most of all she felt free, and hopeful. Free of the pressure to marry a man whom she did not love, and hopeful that a treasure awaited their unearthing, gold and jewels with which to hire and equip men-at-arms to defend their village, to drive the ogres back. And -- she looked at Rum, lying quietly next to her and watching her with his strange, reptilian eyes -- she felt that she had found a comrade, someone whom she might call friend as well as lover. “I am. In need of a bath, but otherwise, I think, very well.” She smiled at him. 

Rum smiled back, relieved, and felt something warm and protective swell in his chest. She had named him, named him and claimed him, and that meant that he was hers, and she was his. His to protect, his to care for. He remembered the ogres, from centuries past, smashing their way through his forest. They were big, and they were strong, but in his tree he was bigger, and stronger. And the people of this place had remembered him, and honoured him, he knew it in his roots. He had only to look up at the dozens of ribbons still adorning his branches for confirmation, some tattered and faded, others still bright and new. And though he had slept, with every offering poured onto his roots, each invocation, he had grown stronger. He could feel that energy coiled inside himself, waiting to be used. It was time to pay back centuries of belief. They had asked for his blessing, and he would give it. Let the ogres come, and they would know, and they would see. 

He was the spirit of the tree.

A/N: The dildo booth is based on this picture: 

[fvlminare]

✗✗✗   you see [ camille rivas ] around lately? yeah i heard that the [ cis female ] is up to no good. [ she / her ] has been here for [ three years ] now but they’re still pretty [ calculating ] which is fine because they’re also [ ardent ] so it balances out. the [ twenty-six ] year old [ dancer at mayhem ] actually looks like a lot like [ sofia carson ], don’t you think? it’s best to watch out, though, because it’s been said that they’re really into [ the rush of cocaine in her veins & a vice grip on her throat ]. 

henlo it me again! i hope u guys aren’t sick of me yet bc here’s my other bb! say hello to my boss-ass bish gal camile! she’s sassy, classy and a lil badassy. she’s a rather feisty, fiery, ball of rage and anger who cba with ur bullshit tbh n she’ll tell u this too if u piss her off enough! she’s lowkey cutthroat and always out for number one, aka: herself. but, i mean, she does have some redeeming qualities and her hair is bomb af so that makes up for it all really, doesn’t it? basically that meme: ‘ she’s beauty, she’s grace, she’ll punch you in the face. ’ anywho, you know the drill, slap a lil luv on this n i’ll come pester u for all the good stuff : - ) 

fundamentals.

CAMILLE ALARA RIVAS     —     twenty-six, dancer at mayhem,   +   an honest-to-god vixen   /   hellcat   /   lil demoness ! 

aesthetics   ➤   dresses of black lace and red velvet, the scent of chanel perfume lingering in the air as she floats past, blood-red fingertips coiled around the pistol grip of a gun, red-bottomed heels clicking against marble floors, rose gold highlighter shimmering along the height of prominent cheekbones, satin dresses draped over a svelte frame that is shrouded in an air of mystery and intrigue, baby pink roses in a vase on the window sill, deft fingers stained with charcoal and oil paint, the melodic chime of piano keys, delicate digits adorned with moonstone gem rings, a coy smile spread across full crimson lips, long raven locks blowing in the cool breeze of a summer’s evening, battered books with dog-eared pages, a sense of freedom and carelessness when dancing for fun, & a sense of allurement and captivation when dancing for work.

nicknames. cam, cami, mil, millie, spawn of satan >:~)

date of birth. april tenth.

gender. cis female.

pronouns. she + her.

birthplace. manhattan, new york.

orientation. pansexual + demiromantic.

education. bachelor of dance degree obtained from nyu tisch school of the arts.

spoken languages. can speak fluent english, spanish, & latin.

negative traits. capricious, ornery, impulsive, guileful, caustic, brusque, obstinate, destructive, deceptive, & promiscuous.

positive traits. ardent, whimsical, intrepid, graceful, poised, elegant, headstrong, observant, independent, & confident.

strengths. optimistic, energetic, creative, practical, spontaneous, rational, knows how to prioritise, great in a crisis, & relaxed.

weaknesses. stubborn, insensitive, private, reserved, easily bored, dislikes commitment, & has a rather risky behaviour.

talents. ballet, knife throwing, hand-to-hand combat, horse riding, figure skating, piano, violin, painting, singing, & dancing.

physiology. hazel eyes. dark brown hair. five feet, four inches tall. of a petite, slender stature with subtle curves and long hair. has a long silvery scar on her back. her skin is clean of any tattoos. has both earlobes pierced. requires glasses but wears contacts most days. is right-handed.

psychology. aries zodiac. fire element. ravenclaw house. istp-a. true neutral. type seven enneagram. choleric temperament. intra-personal intelligence type. addicted to alcohol, tobacco, and cannabis. suffers from addiction and abandonment issues. her vices are lust, greed and wrath. her virtues are ... ( again ) honestly, probably just diligence tbh.

background.

possible triggers   :   child abandonment, abandonment issues, foster homes, alcohol, drugs, violence, gore, blood, murder, & death.

a synopsis.   ok so for this gal, let’s all give a big, warm welcome to sadness ( no, i was in no way at all inspired by salem from sabrina for that line ) bc boy oh boy, her life has been constant grief and pain, tbh. strap in for the bumpy ride, i’ll give u cookies for compensation. OK SO, camille was abandoned as a baby, never did—and still doesn't—know her biological parents and she doesn’t want to either, tbh. she bounced around from foster home to foster home, never sticking in one place for too long. given her turbulent upbringing, she was somewhat of a difficult child. too boisterous, too unruly, too stubborn, too inquisitive. too much of everything but never enough of anything. never enough for anybody to want her. it didn’t take the girl too long to figure out that it was just her alone, against the big bad world. from the age that she was old enough to realise it, camille knew that she had to fend for herself—that she could never truly rely on a single soul but herself. the hollowness inside her chest never quite satiated, leaving her empty and only too well aware of the lack of her real parental figures. as a young adolescent, this started to crawl under her skin and mess with her mind. it rendered her void of affection and unable to form genuine bonds with others—filling her with deep-rooted resentment that festered beneath the surface of the indifferent demeanour she plastered over herself every day. she always felt starved of love: as if some integral part of her heart was missing, leaving a gaping void that nobody could ever fill. anywho, she fell in with the wrong crowd which did little to aid her foster families hostility toward her. truthfully, most of her experiences in various homes were ... not pleasant. she’d encountered abusive ‘parents,’ horrible ‘siblings,’ and even worse schooling days. pressing the self-destruct button is this gal’s speciality thus she found herself gravitating towards her vices: things and people she knew were no good for her. drink, drugs, people, you name it. quickly, she realised that these things were no longer any good at keeping her dark side at bay: she needed something more, something deeper. thus, she began going down the road of petty crimes—stealing cars, smashing windows, theft, setting fires both metaphorically and literally. due to this lifestyle, she wound up entangled with some real shady folk who did … even shadier things. most specifically, she started dating a real jackass who was violent and truthfully, a horrible person, really. stupidly, she decided to run off into the metaphorical sunset with him * insert eye roll emoji here. * so, fast forward a year or so and things took a swift nosedive when her lowlife boyfriend’s hands were round her throat and not in the kinky way. while she’d clawed at him and tried to fight him off, she struggled against his weight and strength until, eventually, she lifted the first makeshift weapon she felt: a rusted pair of scissors. [ TRIGGER FOR VIOLENCE, GORE, BLOOD, MURDER, DEATH ] and, in a blind state of panic, she jammed them right into his jugular vein, his blood squirting out and decorating her face in crimson splatters. he’d stumbled backwards, clutched onto his neck, blood spurting from the webs between his fingers. naturally, camille was shook about this but somehow managed to flee the scene with less guilt rattling her soul than she’d imagined. [ TRIGGER OVER ] in her mind, it was an act of self defence. it wasn’t too long after the incident that she found herself in a rather perilous situation that resulted in her sudden realisation that she needed to get her damn life on track. therefore, she done the responsible adult thing and got herself a decent education. somehow, she managed to get into university where her life started to shape into a positive one—the kind she’d always dreamed of. once she graduated, camille decided that she wanted to see the world. following a couple of years travelling, she wound up in santa ysabel where she quickly fell into the employment of mayhem. admittedly, this was a far cry from the future she’d envisioned when she was just a sweet, innocent lil child. still, all in all, she kind of digs who she is and what she is: after everything she’s been through, she loves herself. it’s been a long and winding road but camille finally believes that she’s settled in her life now. tho she still refuses to let people in, her abandonment issues terrifying her to the degree that she feels that anybody she’d ever let into her life would eventually leave her in the end. * insert sad face emoji here. *

random extras.

her tell? playing with her hair: when she’s lying, nervous, flirting—you name it!

can drink any man under the table. 

she loves art in every form: paintings, sculptures, music, dance, people, etc. she loves the freedom that expressing herself through these mediums gives her.

she’s ... experimental. she’s experimented with just about everything: hairstyles, clothing, drink, drugs, people ...

can be hella calculating and vindictive so do not cross her.

quite power-hungry tbh.

she does have a shot at redemption but she doesn’t want it lmao. she’s already been to hell so why bother trying to right her wrongs?

and boy, are her wrongs a century-long list shkjsh.

high key is not above killing people who don’t do things her way.

doesn’t believe she’s capable of loving anyone.

she’s lowkey a perfectionist to the point of being ruthless, also cutthroat and egotistical.

if ya ain’t of use to her, then what the heck is ur purpose???

she’s v ambitious, v morally ambiguous, v self-serving and v self-involved.

she can be ... aggressive sometimes and most definitely has anger issues.

dry sense of humour one million per cent.

her signature look is her blood-red lips.

extremely skilled with knives and blades. and always carries one on her person at all times.

her most prized possession is her brushed chrome zippo lighter. it has her initials engraved into it and where she got it from, or who is something she’ll never tell.

always says she needs to quit smoking but never does and probably never will either.

did someone say ... resting bitch face???

tho when she smiles it’s like sunshine uwu

high key will sleep with anyone.

first place is the ONLY acceptable place, ok??? 

one of those people who just excels at everything she tries her hand at.

absolutely adores animals. much prefers them to humans.

she’s quite adventurous and loves to feel the adrenaline in her blood.

doesn’t take herself or her life too seriously.

always up for a good time and is usually the life of the party.

outspoken and quick-witted with a sharp tongue.

much too sassy and sarcastic for her own good.

really, she does what she wants to, when she wants to, without seeking the approval of others.

truthfully? she’s a bit of a spitfire if you really irk her. so, watch out.

you can find a pinterest board for her by clicking anywhere here.

[gayenerd]

This is the interview with Adrienne that is teased in that Mankato punk blog I talked about awhile ago.

Green Day frontman's wife remembers Mankato

By Amanda Dyslin

The Free Press

July 01, 2009 04:38 pm

— Adrienne Nesser, living in Mankato in her early 20s, had a long-distance friendship and flirtation with a guy so interested in her, he and his band planned tours around Minnesota just so he could see her.

Green Day wasn’t famous at the time. In Adrienne’s own words, they were just another band she had seen a couple of times in the Cities.

They were both also seeing other people. But there was something pretty powerful that must have connected them over a distance of thousands of miles. There had to be. Otherwise, she never would have agreed to leave her home state of Minnesota to move to California to be with him.

Just weeks later, they were married July 2, 1994, Adrienne was pregnant with the couple’s first of two sons, and Green Day’s album “Dookie” became a household name. All of this seemed to happen over night.

Finding Adrienne and talking to her about all of this was a big part of our Campaign Green Day mission. (See accompanying story for background.) Today, we accomplish that goal as Adrienne talks to us about life in Mankato, including her favorite Pagliai’s pizza toppings, how quickly her life changed when she headed West, and also the big question we’ve been pursuing for weeks: Would Green Day ever come back to Mankato to play a show?

Free Press: Tell me a little bit about your college experience at Minnesota State University. Were you a studier? A partier? On the student senate?

Adrienne Armstrong: I was a transfer student to MSU. I was at the U of M for a few semesters, then Minneapolis Community College. I was dating my then boyfriend who lived in Mankato, so it seemed a good place to go to finish my degree.

I loved school, especially when I was in the more focused classes of my degree. And I was definitely a partier. I found it easy to balance both. I loved the What’s Up, and for the life of me can’t remember the name of the bar across from Pagliai’s that I absolutely loved. (Square Deal?)

I graduated in 1993, but I had turned in a paper after one of my classes ended, and the professor never posted the grade. I had to call the school to argue the fact. They finally sent my degree in 1996.

FP: Why sociology? What interested you about the subject and what career did you have in mind?

AA: I have always loved the dynamics of social groups, clicks and society classes. It’s what triggered my interest in social justice and being an activist. I really didn’t have any career in mind while going through college. Occasionally, I would think of getting a credential to teach, but it was always a fleeting idea.

FP: You seemed to have a ton of jobs while you were here. Your Mankato friends have listed Pier 1 Imports, the Piercing Pagonda, Pagliai’s and The Jungle among them. Am I missing any? Any favorites?

AA: I really only had a few jobs in Mankato. It was hard for me to find a job because I had dreadlocks and dressed kinda funky. So the first place that took a chance on me was The Jungle and the bowling alley. It was a trip. I really liked working there, and the bowlers warmed up to me.

I worked at Pagliai’s all through college, and that was super fun. I worked with lots of my friends and the pizza was awesome. I worked at Pier 1 after I graduated. I was a manager there. I loved that job. I was hired at the very beginning; we put the store together from the ground up. The people I worked with were fun, and I loved running the store. I remember unloading a truck full of merchandise with 70 below windchills. The whole town was shut down. Good times!

FP: Do you have any favorite moments in Mankato? Any night or event or time that really stands out for you when you think about your college years?

AA: My entire experience of living in Mankato was fantastic. I loved living there. It was a small town with such a heart. Camping in our friends T-PEE, the festivals in Sibley Park, tubing in the storm drains, biking, which seemed, at the time, the biggest hill to campus, and the really cool friends/people I hung out with.

FP: I read you met Billie Joe in 1990 at a show in Minneapolis. Had you heard his music before that show? How famous would you say Green Day was at the time?

AA: I met Green Day for the first time at a house party in Dinkytown. A friend of mine invited me to a party on the Fourth of July. So I went with my boyfriend at the time to check out the bands.

I saw a couple songs, then we left to watch fireworks. The next day they played The Varsity. I ended up going to that show, too. My friend, Erica, introduced me to the guys that day. I wouldn’t say they were famous.

I mean, I went to a lot of shows ... saw a lot of bands. They were just another band. This was the first time they played Minnesota.

FP: Was it difficult having a relationship long-distance when Billie Joe was on tour after you’d first met?

AA: Billie Joe and I were friends first. And never tried to be exclusive. I was in a dwindling relationship that was off and on. And I know he dated many other girls. We grew over time. After I graduated from college, I finalized the break-up with my longtime boyfriend and was single for almost a year. During that time, I saw Billie Joe a few times, but it wasn’t until I moved out to California that things solidified pretty quickly.

FP: I couldn’t get anyone to clear this up for me: Was it because of you that Green Day started coming to Mankato and playing shows? Or was Mankato a part of their early touring locations?

AA: Umm ... probably. : )

He booked a mini tour that started in Sioux Falls, S.D., and then came through Mankato, Minneapolis, to Beloit, Wis. So yes, to see me. Very Romantic ... .

FP: Talking to people around here now, it seems like the band was playing shows everywhere here in town: garages, basements and that show on a farm near St. Peter. Was it really like that? Or was it just a few shows that just sort of popped up when they happened to be here?

AA: Green Day always played anywhere, any time. So when they were in town as a band they would play garages, basements, street corners and even that farm on top of spools. Billie Joe came to Mankato a few times on his own for visits as well.

FP: Did you have any idea in the early days of your relationship that Green Day was going to hit the big time?

AA: I really didn’t think of it. I just knew that I loved the band and their music. They were so fun to watch live. ... But it wasn’t in my thoughts at all what their future held. I remember being with a friend in Minneapolis, and we were watching MTV, and their “Basket Case” video came on. It freaked us out. We were like “Oh My God, how crazy!! They are on TV!”

FP: A few people who knew you said your decision to move out West to marry Billie Joe happened quickly. It was like one minute you were here and then you were gone. Was that how you remember it, too? Were you scared?

AA: Billie Joe had asked me to move out to California and give us a try. I was Totally scared. But super excited. It was a new adventure, and I was ready. I had a big garage sale — sold as much as I could, including my favorite blue creepers, packed a mini U-Haul and drove out with my 15-year-old brother and my friend, Holly, who was already making the trip. I figured I’d give it the summer and see what happened.

FP: It seems as if shortly after you were married “Green Day” and “Dookie” became household names. What was that time like for you? Was it strange to suddenly be living the life of a celebrity? Is it still strange?

AA: I was out two weeks and Billie Joe asked me to marry him. It was crazy. But it was a crazy time for us — and I said yes. It was a whirlwind. I was pregnant, and his band was everywhere. It was completely overwhelming. We were just trying to navigate it all — it was a bumpy ride for sure. It took years for us to find our footing. ... But sometimes I think it was all those trials that made us stronger and brought us to where we are today.

FP: What’s your life like now?

AA: It feels pretty normal for me now. I am a mother of two amazing kids. So I am busy with school, sports and all their activities. And Billie Joe’s life keeps us busy. It’s never boring ... that’s for sure.

FP: What are your roles at Atomic Garden and Adeline Records? Does that keep you pretty busy?

AA: My friend and I are partners in Atomic Garden. She’s a very good friend who is amazing and patient. I work as much as I can when I am in town, and we do all the buying together. We have an incredible manager who does most of the day-to-day stuff. She allows us to live our lives and still have such a beautiful store. I don’t do anything with Adeline Records anymore. I worked the label for years when it first started. But I have moved on. : )

FP: Do you still keep in contact with anyone from the Mankato area?

AA: I keep in touch with a few people. But sadly lost touch with a lot of them.

FP: And now for the $65,000 question. What do you think our chances are of getting Green Day to come back to Mankato to play a show some time? Are small markets like ours pretty much out of the question at this point?

AA: I would love to imagine Green Day playing Mankato again. I don’t think it’s out of the question. They still play small clubs and stuff. They are still the same in that way — they will play anywhere. It’s more just the logistics of it all.

FP: How about you? Could we get you to come back some time? How about a big party catered by Pagliai’s?

AA: I would LOVE to get back to Mankato for a visit. So let’s keep in touch and make this happen! It’s been too long since I had a Pagliai’s pizza with onion, green olive and extra sauce. Cheryl Rueda made me the BEST pizzas!!!!!

Copyright � 1999-2008 cnhi, inc.

Photos

Adrienne Armstrong lives in California and co-owns Atomic Garden, an eco-friendly clothing store, with a friend.

[nothingbutfangirlsmut]

My God of Mischief

Loki several chapter fan fiction.

Rated: Mature

Background: After Blake confronts Loki to get some things off her chest the five of them split up to attempt to get off of Sikaar.

(If you read this chapter before 5/11/20 you may want to read it again. I messed up and did two completely different chapters then posted the wrong one. So this is the correct chapter 23.)

Part Twenty-Three

I followed closely to Bruce and Valkyrie. They were chatting in front of me about ships and the so called "devil's anus". Really, who named these things? Valkyrie took a quick turn. Before I even made it around that corner she had three of the Grandmaster's guards knocked out cold on the ground.

Damn, wish I could do that.

"Here, take these" Valkyrie ordered handing a big gun to both Bruce and myself.

I just looked down at it then up to Bruce. He held a blank expressions as he watched Valkyrie remove more items from the guards.

"This way" she took off in the direction we were going before she had made that quick turn earlier.

"Where are we going?" I asked her as I walked quickly.

"Doing a favor for Thor real quick. It'll give us a good distraction." She smiled wickedly.

After a few more minutes she stopped in front of a large metal door. She stepped back and blew a massive hole in it with the gun in her hands.

"Korg?" She shouted.

"That's me" a big rock guy spoke.

"The Lord of Thunder sends his best." She smiled and tossed the gun to him.

She grabbed the gun from Bruce and tossed it to someone. Then did the same with the gun in my hands.

"Let the revolution begin!" I heard Korg shout as we started to walk away.

This time Valkyrie took off running and it took everything in me to keep up with her and Bruce. How is Bruce in this good of shape? I feel like my lungs are about to explode.

"My ship is right over here!" Valkyrie shouted back to us.

"How are we suppose to get to Thor and Loki?" I asked out of breath once we came to a stop.

A second later alarms stared blaring and the Grandmaster's hologram appeared in the sky.

"Sikaar! Take to the sky! Don't let them off this planet!" He shouted.

"Sounds like they are on their way. We need to catch up." She said while climbing on her ship.

I reluctantly climbed aboard. I had a bad feeling about this. It didn't take long for us to figure out where Thor and Loki were. There was a stream of ships following one and firing. Why wasn't he shooting back?

Valkyrie maneuvered herself to get by his side. He noticed us immediately. I quickly noticed the absence of Loki. She nodded to him then moved her ship under his. She grabbed Bruce without warning and tossed him up out of her ship and into Thor's.

"Oh hell no" I said to her when she reached for me.

"You really want to fight me?" She asked with a deadpan look.

"Nope" I said quickly and stood for her to grab hold of me.

I closed my eyes tight. I'm going to vomit. This is awful. I'm going to die.

I felt her hands grab me then I was launched upwards.

Oh shit!

As soon as I popped up into Thor's ship I tried to grab on to something. I was lucky to have a caring brother with fast reflexes. He grabbed my arms and pulled me inside.

"Shoot them you idiot!" I shouted at Thor once I could speak again.

"I can't find the fire button!" He shouted back.

"We're all gonna die." I said more to myself.

Bruce grabbed me and pulled me over to one of the chairs. He strapped me into it like the amazing big brother he is.

"Where's Loki?" I asked Bruce quietly.

He shrugged. He didn't care where Loki was. He never really cared for the guy. I mean I can't really blame him.

"I left him behind after he tried to betray me and turn me into the Grandmaster." Thor spoke nonchalantly.

I didn't reply. That's brother business. That did sound like something he'd do though. I just wish he'd stop only caring about himself and thinking about the other people in his life.

"Banner, take the wheel." Thor said quickly as he got up from the seat.

"I can't drive a space ship!" Bruce shouted.

"Use one of your PhD things." Thor said waving his hand.

"None of them are for flying an alien spaceship!" Bruce shouted in disbelief.

"I have faith in you." Thor smiled before jumping out of the ship.

"Will you find the damn guns?" I asked Bruce.

"Big red button?" He asked glancing back to me.

"Probably" I nodded.

He slammed his hand down on the button. It wasn't a gun. Fireworks started exploding out of the ship while the lights changed inside. music started playing and it immediately made me cringe from awkwardness and disgust.

I jumped slightly once Valkyrie popped inside the ship like a damn goddess. I seriously wish I was that smooth.

"Strap in guys this is gonna get bumpy." She stated sternly as she made her way to the seat next to Bruce.

"What kind of ship doesn't have guns?" Bruce asked her in a worried tone.

"This is a leisure ship for the Grandmaster. You know for orgies and stuff." Valkyrie said nonchalantly.

"Orgies!?" Both Bruce and I shouted towards her.

Thor jumped back inside the ship suddenly. He quickly took Bruce's seat. He came next to me and strapped in.

"Here we go" Thor smiled widely.

We started into the Devil's Anus. The ship immediately started shaking and speeding up. The force grew more and more. It pushed me back in my seat. I couldn't move a muscle. My vision started to blur and spot. Everything grew darker. I remember Bruce trying to grab my hand. Then nothing.

—

—

Tags: @jedionironthrone @fabulously-majestic-alicorn @mehrmonga @rainbow-pandacorn @bauboshell @lovely-geek @girlwith100names @thecrazyoneshavetakenover @tiffanyhpentaholic @shaunamart @takenbymyfandoms @yourmonster-myfriend @sebastiangotmefucked @scarecrowsragdoll @imagine-adict

[stevie-writes-the-pain-away]

Alcoholics Anonymous - Chapter Seven

       "Good morning, princess."

       I smiled at his text, replying back with tired eyes. "Good morning, princey."

       Murdoc had texted just a few minutes after my 6:00am alarm. I was finishing my breakfast when he messaged back and I placed my dishes in the sink. "Plans today?"

       "Working from eight to five at the café, you?"

       "Damn, I'm heading into work as well. Perhaps I could visit during my lunch break?"

       "Haha, I don't see why not."

       I began to wash my dishes, including Cassidy's leftover breakfast as well. I put them away one after the other and carried on my usual morning routine. I had a quick shower and fixed my hair, putting on my uniform before brushing my teeth. I got back to Murdoc's text as I headed out the door. "Then I can't wait." It made my morning.

       Despite working in London, this café didn't get any busy days. Surprisingly, the busiest days we got were on Saturdays and I didn't even work a lot then, so I never really saw how many costumers typically stopped by. There were usually three workers at a time, leaving me plenty of shifts to get in extra hours if I wanted and wasn't too busy with my other jobs. My manager wondered if I could juggle three jobs at a time but she didn't know how desperate I was for both money and distraction. From many, many things.

       I worked as both a cashier and waitress at the café. I even stocked shelves a few times, but there were never many shelves to stock considering how small the place was. It was a simple desk with one register, a display case, and only five tables, not including the front window where we kept the highchairs. That's probably why I loved it so much. I actually got paid well enough to stand and not do much of anything most of the time.

       "Hey, (Y/N)," I heard from behind me. I turned to find my coworker setting a box down and turning into the other room, most likely to get another one.

       "Hey, Lawerence."

       He came back out, stacking boxes of food for me to show off. "How're your other jobs doing?" He was a lanky green-eyed kid with long brown locks and warm, pink skin drowning in countless freckles. He was only twenty and he just started working a few months ago. We talked every now and then but it never went anywhere, I couldn't even call each other friends yet. You could say he was your stereotypical hipster if I'm being honest.

       "They're alright, but you know this shift's my favourite for obvious reasons," I said, struggling to converse.

       He smiled at me, looking out at the empty tables with understanding. "Well, nobody else was able to come in, so would you mind stocking these while I fetch a few more boxes?"

       "No problem," I smiled.

       I had many opportunities to make friends around me, but none who I thought would want to deal with me. We could hang out until they found out about my drinking problem and soon enough, I would be alone again; like everyone I knew before I hit rock bottom. But meeting somebody from the clinic who actually understood the struggle of quitting really lifted a weight from my shoulders. When I went into work I felt like it was another job to try and make friends, but I finally knew I didn't have to do anything apart from the actual job I was being paid to do. I just had to keep at it and be respectful, which made me feel a lot better realizing.

       I spent the next few hours charging and serving customers, putting things away little by little as Lawerence worked in the back. "(Y/N)! Help me lift something!"

       I turned on my heel and walked through the back to give Lawerence a hand when I heard somebody walk through the front door, the same familiar bell notifying our assistance. Lawerence and I hauled the box towards the front and I glanced back, "I'll be right there!"

       As I set our items on the ground, I heard a familiar voice address me. "(Y/N)?" I could hear him smiling. I instantly straightened my back and looked across the other side of the counter.

       "Murdoc!" I exclaimed with surprise. "What are you doing here?"

      "What? Thought I was joking when I said I'd come see ya?"

       All I did was smile and lean on my folded arms. "Would you like to order anything?"

       "Just a large black coffee," he said. I placed the order and handed him his cup.

       "3.50."

       "Aww, you're not gonna give it for free?"

       "Nah, I'd rather keep my job, but maybe some other time," I smiled.

       He chuckled and pulled out change from his pocket, leaving me to count it for him. He left me at my station to get his drink and on his way to his table, he leaned against the counter. "You're free to join me for lunch," he said.

       Looking up at him I sighed. "Not sure if that's very professional," I winced.

       "Who cares about profession," he rolled his eyes. "Nobody's here, anyway."

       I shook my head slowly and gave in, picking a muffin from the glass case beside me and following him to the table at the very back. He pulled out a chair for me and I laughed at his gentlemanly behaviour, sitting down. He took his seat across from me and sipped his coffee. I wondered how one could ever stomach black coffee but figured asking would be pointless. "How did you know where I worked?"

       "Told me the last night," he answered.

       "Right," I corrected myself. The night before was a blast. Murdoc's vision of a hangover cure was multiple glasses of water, juice and caffeine with sunglasses and a movie marathon. I couldn't pay attention to any of the classics that played, they were simply playing in the background as Murdoc and I conversed, telling each other about ourselves. I learned a lot about him; his religion, what interests him, random facts. He told a lot of stories, too, and I didn't remember the last time I had laughed so hard with somebody. Whenever it was my turn to speak, I felt bad. I didn't have anything to say but he still seemed almost hypnotized by anything I said. I didn't understand his patience, but I was grateful. "What've you done today?"

       "Helped a few people think of lyrics and what-not." I watched him shift his cup, focused on the coffee stirring around inside.

       "Is that an everyday thing? Are you a producer?"

       "Oh, no, I'm nobody important," he said. "All I do is organize files, as I said before."

       "Oh, come on, organizing files is just as important as writing the lyrics."

       Murdoc chuckled, taking another sip of his coffee. "I guess it can be," he gave in. "What about you? How long have you worked here?"

       "Not long, actually. I've had quite a few jobs before the ones I have now. I've only worked here for about a year."

       Murdoc nodded and it became quiet between us. "Ever thought of getting out of here?" he asked.

       "A lot . . . a lot, a lot, a lot . . . Never had the money to, though." I didn't consider where the question came from, so out of the blue like that. All I could think of was how strong of an answer I had. Nearly every second - morning, noon, night - I would contemplate the day I'd finally leave London, England and start over somewhere else; somewhere fresh and new and away from all the poor memories I made in that Hell hole. "What about you?"

       "Plenty . . . I've actually been quite a few places," Murdoc answered.

       "Really?" I replied with interest. "Where?"

       "All over Europe, America . . . Even visited Canada and Asia a few times . . . It was a job thing."

       "I never knew you had a travelling job," I said. I began to daydream, wondering what it was like for him to get around so much. It must've been amazing checking out different landscapes and cultures, meeting new people everywhere you went.

       "Yep, I've even spent months overseas . . . far away from here. Though travelling gets a little bothersome nowadays." I snapped out of my daze, confused at how bored he could get hopping from one country to another that much. "I-I mean, I'm grateful, of course, but there's the packing and airports and bumpy roads and difficult weather . . ." he rambled.

       "Damn . . ." I sighed. "I don't think I could ever not be excited to leave and voyage all over the world."

       "Maybe I'll bring you with me eventually and you can see for yourself how stressful touring can be," Murdoc chuckled.

       I laughed back, shaking my head. "I've never been on a plane before . . . and I don't remember the last time I went on a boat," I said, biting my lip with a sudden nervous whole in my stomach.

       "It may seem scary at first, but it's actually pretty fun. It's pretty luxurious," he smirked. "Y'know, people bring you appetizers and beverages, you can listen to music, watch a movie . . . And if you're brave, you can look out the window and look at the breathtaking view," he expressed.

       I smiled at his appreciation of nature, trying to picture all the recollections he was remembering. I couldn't help but feel a strong urge to be apart of his journey. "How long have you been home?"

       Murdoc took a second to think about it, "A few years. Um . . . The band I mainly worked with took a little hiatus so I haven't been working a lot lately. They've gotten around to seeing each other, however, so I'm beginning to help them more and more with songs . . . It'll be a bummer when I leave again, though."

       "What, you're not ready to take a lavish cruise around the world again?"

       Murdoc chuckled to me, "It's not that . . . Touring isn't even all it's cracked up to be." His smirked faded, "I'm just not ready to . . . I don't know . . . Leave what's comfortable, I suppose."

       My smile dropped the slightest, but I still tried to remain bright. "What'll you be missing when you're gone?"

       "As much as I hate to admit it . . . you know me," he added, ". . . but therapy . . . It's more helpful and not as stupid of an idea as I always imagined . . . It's actually pretty eye-opening to listen to others who go through what you go through, y'know?" I nodded, remembering back to last night. Murdoc had expressed a lot about himself, including his self-aware stubbornness, ignorance and tendencies to lack cooperation; and therapy was no exception. "I'd also miss you . . ."

       "M-me?" I questioned with surprise. Murdoc looked up with a rather nervous expression but quickly smirked at my response. "I-I mean . . ."

       He laughed, holding up his mug, "I honestly don't think I've met somebody who understands me more . . . It's nice having friends that listen to you, of course, but bonding with somebody who really gets it hits differently." I sat in near awe, trying to blink the surreal feeling out of my head. "Thanks for that," he concluded. This was very hard for me to process - somebody like Murdoc acting so out of character he felt like a totally new person. "I may be a reserved man, but I know how to show gratitude and thanks," he said, catching onto my bewilderedness. "Though, I barely tell anybody that cheesy bullshit about therapy and friendship, let alone act so soft, so don't think this corny stuff is staying." That would explain a lot, I told myself.

        We were startled by a sudden bell ringing, started both me and Murdoc. Conditioned stimulus rose my head to the door, causing me to shoot up from my spot in alarm. "I-I'm sorry, I've gotta . . ." I said, pointing to my next costumer. Murdoc excused me with a shrug and I quickly made my way over to the cash register, apologizing for my absence and serving the consumer before they left. I looked back at Murdoc who had risen from his seat and made his way over to me.

       "I should probably head out," he said, leaning towards the exit. "I'll see you soon though, I hope," he smiled.

       "Yeah, sure," I smiled back.

       He gave me a small wave and I couldn't help but laugh. "Farewell," he said, leaving through the door.

       I walked home after my shift completely exhausted and a disgusting sweaty mess. I entered my apartment, proceeding to make myself supper in time for Cassidy to be home as well.

       "I saw a recipe for chicken with a red wine sauce," she texted me.

       I gave in, "Sure thing :)." I'd just have chicken without the sauce, it's as simple as that. Although pulling out wine from under the sink was tempting, to say the least, I knew it wasn't worth it. I ignored my shaking bones and swallowed my drool, preparing our dinner.

       Ever since I met Cassidy I always pondered if she knew about my addiction. Even if there was never any closure, there were definitely signs and hints towards my unhealthy relationship with drinking, and I knew she wasn't dumb enough to ignore red flags, right?

       The front door abruptly opened, disturbing my peace as I spun around with panic. "Hey, (N/N)," Cassidy smiled from the entrance.

       I calmed myself down, wondering how deep in thought I was to not hear the door unlock in the first place. "Hey," I responded with a smile.

       I looked back down at the pan in front of me, Cassidy catching a whiff of her meal. Both of our stomachs growled, mine craving more than just the chicken. "Smells good," she complimented. I know, I thought.

       "Well, it's done," I concluded, turning off the stove and grabbing two plates from the cabinets.

       Cassidy walked over and took her portions, leaving me with the rest. As I put my plate together she addressed me, "You're not gonna have any of the sauce?"

       I looked up at her, "Nah . . . Not that hungry."

       "If you say so," Cassidy shrugged. She sat at the dining table, but I felt my heart sink in my chest, as well as lightheadedness from the scent of my demons in the air. I left her alone in the kitchen and quickly escorted myself to my bedroom where I closed the door and rubbed my eyes.

       Rehabilitation was never easy. It looks so effortless when you're standing on the outside, but I didn't know what I was in for when I started taking therapy. If I wanted to, I could've gone into the kitchen then and there and drank until I choked on my vomit before blacking out. It was always easier to give up, but I didn't get as far as I did by falling back into my routine again, did I?

       I distracted myself with dinner and my laundry, cleaning up after myself for the first time in another long week. However, when you're picking up the pieces of your distressing life, it's hard to find a reason not to ignore it and let it destroy you more and more. At that point, I felt like anything and everything I did, no matter where I turned, I would always find a reason to drink rather than find a reason to live anymore. Nothing felt worth staying for that night . . .

       Except for Murdoc.

[little-miss-sunshines-blog1]

An ex-Larrie Testimonial

I am an ex-Larrie.

So there it is. Interestingly, the walls didn’t come crashing down, the earth didn’t stop turning, and the seas didn’t turn to dust. I’m still sitting here, in front of my laptop screen, with no visible change to world around me. Well then.

It has taken over a year for me to fully transition to where I am now and to feel comfortable enough to share some of that journey. So, here goes.

Recently I have been speaking with others in the fandom about why it can be challenging for people to walk away even when they want to, and it has been fascinating. Ultimately, what I’ve found is that many Larries stay because they don’t want to lose their “community” and for those that are particularly heavily immersed in Larriedom, the leap from Larrie to ex-Larrie can be significant. Being a Larrie can impact your day-to-day life in varying ways, and in many cases, you may not even realise how deep it runs until you start the process of moving away from that environment.

There’s little value in going into the what/when/where/why scenarios that influenced my own decision to become an ex-Larrie. There was no epiphany moment and nothing I can point others to that fully explains why. The reality is that it was a series of small things that accumulated over time and being in the right headspace to look at things with a critical eye, being ready to be honest with myself, and a preparedness to admit that I had been wrong.

Perhaps this testimonial will resonate with others who are wavering, perhaps it will provide some level of comfort in knowing that what you’re feeling isn’t unique, and that maybe you’re not alone. If it serves no other purpose than that, then putting it out there will have been worthwhile.

So why does it feel so difficult to leave?

Community: A sense of community is something that most people inherently seek out, whether in real life, or in their online life. At times, being a Larrie can seem comforting and reassuring. It can feel safe and welcoming. Feeling that you are part of something bigger; part of a “team” standing side-by-side and fighting for those that you believe can’t fight for themselves can be a powerful thing. But as you start to question the validity of these beliefs, the reality of what it could mean to leave that world behind can start to settle uncomfortably.

Friends: Being a Larrie enables you to form bonds with other like-minded individuals. These friendships form fast and firm, irrespective of physical location; drawn together online and fighting the good fight in the trenches against the boys’ “teams”, the media at large, and any other person or organisation that is being focused on at that time. But what happens when you’re no longer embroiled in this imagined battle? The basis for these friendships will no longer exist and, with such opposing viewpoints, they may end.

Entertainment: As a Larrie, there is always something with which to occupy your time; whether scrolling through your timeline on various social media platforms, reblogging cute gifs or manips, chatting to your Larrie friends, catching-up on the latest drama or following along as some old conspiracy theory is dredged up and rehashed. There appears to be an almost limitless supply of things to keep you entertained. It’s easy for people to say “well, find another hobby then, study something, read a book etc”, but that kind of paradigm shift takes time and can seem overwhelming.

Online Imprint: Once you make the decision that you want to separate yourself from Larriedom, what then? If you’ve cultivated an online presence predicated on the belief that Larry is real it might be everywhere, in every corner of your online imprint. Unless you’ve been very careful, you may have also shared pieces of who you are in real life, forever linking you to this world. You can lessen the impact but can it truly be eradicated? Screen shots, as they say, are forever.

In Real Life: What happens if you’ve made your Larrie beliefs public to your friends/family/co-workers in real life? It can be a very reasonable concern for some people and you may be worried how you’re going to extract yourself from this without suffering from some level of embarrassment.

What are some of the personal impacts of being a Larrie?

Time: Time and what you do with it is an interesting concept regardless of whether you have too much or not enough. When I turned my back on being a Larrie I was suddenly presented with an abundance of time. It was a genuine shock to discover exactly how much of my precious time I had been devoting to keeping abreast of the minute-by-minute “updates”.

FOMO: There is a disturbing sense of needing to ensure you are constantly wired-in to what is happening in Larriedom. This need can become consuming. It’s unhealthy. It’s distracting. It’s disturbing.

Music: Music has always been a big part of my life. Being part of a fandom for members of a band obviously means that music is a huge part of that experience. But being a Larrie also means that many of those songs have taken on specific meanings. I hope over time this will change and I can once again appreciate these songs for what they are.

Relationships: As a Larrie, you can find yourself closing off a big part of who you are and what you spend your time doing from those around you in real life. After all, who would understand? It can limit your ability to make new connections because you feel the need to hide this part of yourself. Whether through embarrassment (which should in reality be a massive red flag in and of itself), an unwillingness to share your online persona, or the fear of being stigmatized.

Stress: Experiencing an unpleasant physical reaction when you see an alert pop on your phone for someone’s Instagram or Twitter is not healthy. Being afraid to open that notification because you’re worried you’ll see something that doesn’t fit your Larry construct is not normal. Having to steel yourself in preparation, and then force your eyes to open and actually look at your phone screen is concerning.

Goalposts: You set yourself arbitrary deadlines for things to happen. “If “it” hasn’t happened by x date then I’ll leave”, you say. But then it doesn’t happen, so you move the goalposts for some seemingly plausible and justifiable reason. You reset your expectations, but that niggling feeling telling you something is inherently wrong gets louder each time.

Exhaustion: You wait and wait, believing that one day it will all be worth it and Larry will be “free”. They’ll strut the red carpet of some movie premiere or awards show hand-in-hand. They’ll be lauded in publications as the power couple of a generation. They’ll do interviews with Ellen and Oprah and grace the pages of fashion magazines. Except they won’t. Because this isn’t a fantasy. It’s hard to live off tiny pieces of contrived “proof” waiting for something that will never, ever happen.

Disappointment: Being a Larrie can be a constant, soul-crushing disappointment. You latch onto every tenuous link about a t-shirt someone wears or the colors in the background of an Instagram video or the lyrics of a song or a follow on Twitter and, along with your Larrie counterparts, proclaim them to be secret coded messages. You cling to every shred of hope and over-analyze every minuscule detail. But there’s never anything concrete, because of course, there can’t be.

Regret: Moving on means acknowledging you were wrong, that this thing that you’ve ardently supported is a falsehood, a fantasy, and so removed from reality that it can be slightly mortifying to admit. From my perspective, I acknowledge and regret many things from my time as a Larrie and I am sorry that I perpetuated and publicized these untruths.

It’s been nearly 18 months since I started this process, from the very first time doubts started to creep into the back recesses of my mind. My journey has been long and the road has been bumpy at times, but I’m here now as a testament to the success that process can be.

I am happier, I am enjoying my fandom experience far more than I ever did as a Larrie, and my real life has changed for the better. I have made new fandom friendships by seeking out like-minded individuals and whilst that was hard at the beginning, as with most things in life, it just took time, patience, and perseverance.

If you read this and identify with any of what I’ve said, I would encourage you to reflect on whether it may also be time for you to leave Larriedom behind. Reach out to others who have gone through similar journeys or send me a message, I’ll always be happy to talk and provide you with any support I can.

At the end of the day, the more people that make the move in a considered and positive way, the softer the landing will be for those that follow.

Thanks for taking the time to read this and I hope that it can, even in some small way, help others to make the break.

[yuanstuff]

player piano + procedural lofi

I’ve been listening to lofi compilations again for the first time since high school, and it’s been a nice time. The mixing isn’t great here, but I couldn’t really hear what was playing with the audio going into Blackhole so. 

I routed the MIDI from Max to Ableton with some IAC Drivers – making the patches into Max for Live patches (.amxd) works as well, but I had to do it for each instrument individually. I stuck with the IAC Drivers so I could post one big piece of code. One of the annoying things about this is that I have to go through and set the output for each noteout every time I reopen it. I spent most of my time getting the functionality down, so it’s not the most user-friendly patch. It’s mostly just me copy and pasting the first part a few times and making some variations for each one, like having the guitar play at a lower end and the ambient sound play for really long. Since I wanted this to resemble more of a song, I figured out how to implement tempo and have things play on a beat rather than using random or drunk. I also wanted some of the percussion to have some swing so it felt a bit more organic, and I stole some bits from a swing patch I found. I don’t completely understand it, but I got it to work! I put the patch and a json file in my google drive for easier viewing/access.

Some instruments that I think would be cool:

1. Games always have music and sound effects, and there are a number of games that center on music, but in kind of obvious ways. Like in a “push-button-play-note” or “kick-makes-something-happen” kind of way. I’ve playing a Tetris-esque puzzle game called Mixolumia (which is superior to Tetris because it’s much nicer aesthetically and also has a Nonbinary color scheme), which has something that the creator calls a “dynamic music system”. The music in Mixolumia changes as the player progresses through a game, and the game’s sound effects harmonize with the music being played. You “play” notes when you rotate pieces and make matches. It’s basically like there’s a backing track and each time you play, you’re creating a new melody line on top. I think it’s a really interesting way of incorporating music into gameplay and making a game that you “play” like an instrument, although music isn’t the focus of it. However, it’s a much better experience than just having the same background music play every time and also actually more fun than a game that’s focused on just making music. The creator also made a guide on how to make your own music packs for it. It feels like you’re much more connected to the world of the game. I think it would be interesting to see this in a narrative game, where immersion is so sought after. It would obviously have to be integrated differently, but I can imagine maybe the choices you make in the introduction affect what instruments play later on, different layers get added depending on who/what you interact with, parameters change based on your location or what you have in your inventory.

2. Sk8 to create – I started longboarding recently, and while I can’t really do tricks, I’m at the point where it’s a viable form of commute for me. I think different elements of a longboarding trip could be captured to create something instrument-like. Pitch can be altered through shifting your weight around on the board or the orientation of the board itself, velocity can be controlled by...well, velocity, and duration on the bumpiness of the road/how long the wheels are in contact with the ground. I can also see these variables being used to control effect parameters like distortion or glide, altering the timbre of the sound. This would probably be even cooler if the rider were not me and could do tricks!

3. I sleep like a whirlwind, and I always wake up with my blankets and sheets in a bundle nowhere near my body. When I was younger and slept with my parents, I was told I’d end up hitting them in my sleep. This is dumbest idea I have, but I could turn my bed into an instrument that I play in my sleep through all the tossing and turning I do. A grid of different notes could be mapped out on the mattress, velocity would be determined by how hard I hit a portion of the bed, and duration by how long a limb stays in a certain area before I flip over again. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

[theworstjedi]

Slimy Negotiations

Sloo-sector transport bound is boarding at gate Besh-43,  a cool Alderaanian woman announced over the comm system of the Pallista Spaceport.

Friyr’s lips twitched at the mention of “Sloo-sector.” Force knows what that system had done to him. He’d missed the first transport off of Alderaan trawling through the markets for something warm to wear. He’d settled on an Echani desh breastplate. Soft, manicured, and battleready - it wasn’t hard to part with his dwindling credits for it. It was warm even in the open maw of the cold spaceport.

He had planned on staying, but a very raw feeling had erupted inside of his chest. 

Friyr took a deep breath and rubbed at the leather bracers he’d made to support his wrists. He was possessed of a strong feeling of disbelonging, something that he often felt when he had first come to the Jedi. Something that Knight Ward had imposed on him like a wayward child in his inability to understand that blindness was not a baggage. The knight was young. Almost haughty in his assumptions if not his manner. Friyr had experienced this sort of emotional neglect in his earlier tenure with the Disciples, but-- Friyr found it a hard thing to return to. Where it had once been a hazard of slipping around the underbelly of the Empire, the haunting reflection of those who had held his chains in a place he had learned to settle felt like iron in the belly rather than around his wrists.

Friyr was coping, re-reticulating his emotional responses and picking through the weakness as he stood in the long shuffling line of bodies before the ticketing counter. It was shameful really, but Friyr had little time to dwell as he stopped at the counter. He seized the opportunity to vault over his feelings.

Friyr fixed a cheery smile on his face as he emerged from the line of weary Alderaanians. “’M goin’ t’Ambria.”

The woman’s voice had the same quality of feeling he had from eating dehydrated Imperial rations.

“We have a direct transport--”

“D’ya have layovers?”

“Hold.” Friyr tapped his foot and hummed obnoxiously. His blind blue eyes raised to the ceiling.

“We have a layover in Hutta leaving soon.” “Whattabout Carrick?”

“In a few hours.” Friyr was warm but not warm enough. 

“I’ll wait,” he sighed.

 Lack of patience was a lack of credits. He didn’t need to know that Nal Hutta was going to cost more to dock into than Carrick. 

He returned to a bench tucked in front of a Starship Repair store. It was warmer away from the open mouthed entrance. It was still a little warm from whoever had paused there last in his absence.

 His head jerked up at a sharp ping emanating from the droid at his feet.

“Who’s callin’, George?” Friyr asked in a voice was a little too apprehensive, even to his own ears.

The small droid staticed out an answer that made Friyr’s sightless eyes pop round.  “Pudd’im through.”

<<Hello, Friyr right? The Magnanimous Mister Juunaba told me you were expecting a call from me--?>> The garbly blue figure was inquisitive.

Friyr blinked spots out of his eyes. He had shoved a holofrequency chip into Boris Juunaba, owner of the Cartel run Pick ‘n Mix bar that Friyr had started frequenting for pickups as of late. Friyr had put on quite a show swooning into that Hutt’s arms, but he hadn’t expected anything to come of the little play. Now...here he was, cards in hand for so long that he wasn’t sure how to lay them.

“Fer business, not pleasure ‘m afraid.” Though...” Friyr hitched on a crooked smile. “We could make it both.”

___

The connection to Hutta had taken him to Rhu Caenis Spaceport, then finally finally the Hutts’ domain. The language of the announcements through the transport carriers was frilly and unfamiliar. Hard as they began to descend. Sickly yellow light filtered through the windows, and NM chattered quietly in Friyr’s clasped arms.

“I-- I goddit, George. I c’n--” Friyr closed his lips to hold a roll of nausea. “I c’n deal with the Hutt. ‘M pretty coy too when I needa be.” A concerned rumbled from the little self-proclaimed smuggler. 

“Can’t be worse than Sith.” Dewootoowoo.

 Friyr squeezed. “I’ll be careful.”

Reeetwwooooo.

Friyr half shrugged through deep breaths. The transport’s pressure dropped sharply, popping his ears. Friyr stiffened in time for the craft to come to a bumpy but secure landing. 

Yatuka mapke bai pikee, the pilot announced in the same sterile garble. Friyr couldn’t tell if it was a droid or-- well a person.

NM sprung from Friyr’s arms to the floor and scuttled to the aisle. Friyr snatched the harness and stumbled his way into a very cushy body.  

“Adtahia peee uba doth bolla,” its owner remarked roughly.

Before Friyr could stick on his sheepish grin and raise his hands the small droid shrieked, clicking as he claw talked and walked forward. Threat this, blaster that. Friyr allowed himself to be pulled closer tot he persons belly so they were almost nose to nose. The person growled, and Friyr caught a wave of heavy wet breath.

“Geooorgeeee,” he muttered and shifted his hips, so the lightsaber on his belt caught the light. “Stoooop, please.”

The person stiffened.

“Kark Jeedai,” he spat at Friyr who was somewhat wide eyed.

NM tugged Friyr forward with a sharp grumble. 

“Kark Jedi?” Friyr asked as he stumbled into a wave of smog.

<<Kriffing Jedi>> the droid translated in a tinny robotic replication of standard basic.

“Oh,” Friyr said, then pitched his guts. 

____

Customs wasn’t much better, but people gave Friyr and the one other Knight from Alderaan a wide berth. He’d given Friyr a paper bag to retch into and pressed his cape against the padawan’s nose, like a smog filter. Chems were still sharp in his nose and watering eyes long after.

“Make sure you eat and drink something soon,” the smooth gentle voice said. The knight’s hands were firm holds on Friyr’s forearms. Friyr nodded. 

“Why’re you here? You don’t look like you’ve even gone one level down Coruscant before.” The warmth in the knight’s voice translated to his laugh, which flowed easily at Friyr’s expense.

“Hey, hey. You gotta travel t’get galaxy wise don’ya?” “I guess, but you’re a padawan you said? You should be with your master.” “Heh.” Friyr waffled as the throngs passed them by. The filtered air of Nal Kragga’s Spaceport was cleaner. Friyr glanced up towards the mans voice and imagined he was looking into a pair of brown eyes. “Our place it-- needs this. An’ I did ask th’council first. I wouldn’ just run off, ya know?”

The knight sighed. Friyr could hear his head lower. 

“It’s th’only thing ‘m good at,” Friyr said quickly, before the man could get a word in edgewise. “Talkin’ t’people is my...thing since my shoulder got busted. S’always been my thing, but I c’n do this fer my Jedi. If they don’ wan’it then.” Friyr shrugged. “Then I tried, but if no one does it, then...we missed out.”

The knight squeezed Friyr’s leg. “I was a difficult padawan too, so I get it. I’m sure there’s more to you than just talking, but maybe-- you should focus on becoming a Shadow or an Investigator instead of calling shots by yourself. They train people for this, you know.”

Friyr gave him a difficult smile.

”Let’s get you to customs then.” A large hand pulled Friyr forward. “You know what you’re gonna say to your Hutt?” ”No idea! I gotta feel a situation first, then swing it.”

”You’re so not a Guardian type, padawan.” ___

There was a guy fussing about his wallet behind Friyr at customs. The knight was ahead of him finished the process of declaring his lightsaber and rattling through the list of questions spoken in a greasily accented common. Even inside, Friyr could still smell the smog. 

Friyr notated the questions, spun up his answers, and stepped forward after the knight had passed. He stepped forward queasily, accutely aware of the guy still looking for his wallet behind him. Friyr was going to guess that in a place like this, it’d already been palmed by someone looking for a next meal.

“Do you have anything to declare?”

“I--”

“Meryn!” the wallet man behind Friyr called out happily and left the line.

“Do you have anything to declare?” the customs officer asked as Friyr began to fish for his lightsaber and the eerily hissing rod on his back 

“Yah, I--”

“He’s with me,” someone side quietly to the irate officer. Friyr zoned in on the distinct rattle of credits, so everything else fell to the background. He knew the sound of money against skin. 

Friyr’s head tipped up and with urging from his little seeing eye droid, he shuffled out of line with a sheepish smile and a wave. No one said a thing, which told Friyr that this occurred with some commonality and that whoever had just greased palms was someone of rapport. 

NM followed the man around the winding throngs of people, acrid stench of Hutta already sticking to their clothes. Friyr took a moment to cough.

“Thanks, but ‘m guessin’ ya didn’ just help me out ‘cause I got a pretty face,” the disfigured sundamaged Jedi said. He was aware of the cottony press of the Alderaanian fabric around his skin and the way he must’ve stood out in those clean cut clothing.

“Heh-- only in part. I’m Meryn. I work for Boris. We talked.”

Meryn had a much nicer voice when it wasn’t being compressed through a holo frequency, Friyr noted with a nod. “Riiiight, right,” he pretended to recall. “’M boyfriend here then?”

“Waiting to receive you in a local cantina.” There was a smirk to Meryn’s voice. “If you’ll come this way?”

“Yah, shur. Follow Meryn, George?”

___

The cantina was playing something quiet. Something swanky over the speakers. What hit Friyr first was the freshness of the air as though it were being double filtered as it eddied through the cantina. Hutt’s domain. Friyr followed Meryn and NM through a giggling group of patrons, laughing at seemingly anything in cool blissed out voices. The whole place made someone want to drop their shoulders and sway to the music. It was everything Friyr had once dreamed of. He’d come in from some job, glide over polished floors, and have a guy drift onto his hip, push his hair back, press a drink into his hand.

Friyr had never really expected to grow up into a half-Jedi who hated alcohol. Or grow up at all, really. Reaching Hutta was always one of those...pipe dreams. 

“Hellooooooo hello, my esteemed patrons!” a low booming sound resonated through Friyr, turning his knee caps to a weak sort of jelly. There was a slimy sound, as though the Hutt were trying to dance. “To what do I owe this occasion?”

The revelers in Boris’ presence stopped talking over the low playing band and the pitchy whine of the singer. Meryn stepped in front of Friyr.

“His Magnamity, himself, Boris of the Juunaba Kajidic.”

 Friyr didn’t need to be blind to know that everyone’s eyes were on him. A distinct Jedi with a kriffed up face and a golden smile. “I once shook his slimy hand,” one of those gathered muttered. 

“Borisssssss~!” Friyr drawled a little too loudly and spread his arms wide.

“I once shook his slimy hand,” one of those gathered muttered as Friyr stepped forward to wrap himself around Boris’ soft gooey belly. He hummed to the dark staccatos of jizz wailing swirling around them, and let the music play him into a state of loving adoration.

“Friiiyr, Fairest of them All! that is a legitimate title he won at my establishment to brandish as he pleases.”

“Fairest of them all? Debatable,” the same man who’d bragged about touching Boris’ hand said. Friyr could feel his eyes roaming the scars. Friyr unstuck himself with a slow wink in the man’s direction. “I once kissed him~”

“What?”

Friyr giggled girlishly and beamed at his so called Hutt boy toy.

“I-- don’t wanna know what else they do.”

“Hi!” Friyr tuned the bemused patrons to the background and stuck his hands in his pockets.

“I hope you don’t mind that I shared your holofrequency with Meryn,” Boris rumbled. A breeze of Hutt mouth stench washed over Friyr.

“Oh shur. I dun mind. I ~missed~ ya. How you been?”

“Friyr dear, I did too.” A large hand ruffled Friyr’s silky head of hair. “Now, business?”

“Shur, straight to th’point. ‘M lookin’ fer a bit of help.”

“Aaaah, there we go; proceed.”

“Chair, George?” The droid led Friyr to a barstool that was no doubt connected to a counter. Friyr planted a foot on the stool to a protesting warble from NM and scrambled onto the counter with a grunt of exertion, a sharp pain down his left side.

“I’m for hire!” someone yelled in the background. “I’m more than just a hot-shot Corellian swoop racer!”

Friyr grinned off the side at the heckler, his palms supporting him as he leaned back on their heels. “I could use a hot-shot Corellian, shur. But not fer work.” An easy laugh as he rolled his head back to Boris. “This is about food. If it was killin’, I’d saber it m’self.”

“Oh food I am well-vested in,” Boris intoned. “I have connections, supply...” The Hutt moved, and it made another wet sound that Friyr idly tracked with his head. “Technologies?”

Friyr nodded and hummed along to the slow warble of the new song. “’M a Jedi who lives in a refugee town. We get funded t’take in people fleein’ planets with war ‘n all, but the planet we’re on? Ambria? It’s got no natural resources an’ we’re at the end of our rope with th’ R’Pahblic givin’ us stuff. These Jedi. You know how we are; we take in anyone. Big hearts, no stuff t’keep ‘em beatin’. I thought maybe I’d look into private contractin’?”

“A Republic settlement... Ohh dear,” the Hutt fussed. A slow slimy sound of anguish. The Hutt equivalent of running fingers through hair, Friyr supposed. “My Imperial leaning allies would be very upset. Most upset indeed, hmhm.” 

The slimey sounds trailed their way softly to Friyr. His chin tipped. The next rumble of the Hutt’s big voice was low. Intimate. Deep in Friyr’s chest, breath against his face.

“Have you heard of hmm... The Vorulan system?”

Friyr leaned forward and slid his hands down the new pants to rest them on his knees. His washed out blue eyes fed off the way Boris’ voice penetrated him for a lover’s intensity. “Nah, I can’t say I have.”

“Well, it so happens they have a space colony; that space colony was formed after however long in isolation, and they have a little innovation I like to call space farming.” Boris paused then added. “OH and hydroponics. Can’t forget the hydroponics.” He leaned closer to the little Jedi, almost skimming Friyr’s up-turned nose on Boris’ top lip. “Turns out, some oligotrophic organisms are quite sustainable! But then I’m sure you’ve heard of Mynock Coronet City?”

Friyr breathed in the unheady smell of hutt and swallowed a thick resurgence of bile. “Coronet? Corellia?” 

His mind processed at lightyears a minute all of the wordy language and civilizations he knew nothing of. The reins of this situation disappeared over his head as the Hutt plunged him into the realm of unknown. This was big leagues talk, and Friyr didn’t quite have the mouth to back it up, but-- do or die that had never stopped him before. 

“‘M not too edumacated, but hydrophonetics? That have somethin’ t’do with water?” he breathed out.

“Yes, that would be the flavor assortment - point being, you can treat mynock meat with spices to make it palatable. And yes, some cultivated plant varieties need not soil, just water and perhaps a cotton substrate.”

Before Friyr can puzzle this into a cohesive assortment of words in his brain, Boris’ tail wrapped around them, sectioning off human and Hutt from prying eyes. The Hutt leaned still closer, and Friyr obligingly skimmed his nose against the Hutt’s face as he spoke. Friyr held his breath.

“If you can’t use the soil... well... space potato seems to grow plentifully in asteroids and that colony was making exogorths and dianoga that will feed off of whatever refuse substrates you have. Dianogan pie, I’m sure you’ve seen at some lower level diners.”

Friyr stroked the Hutt’s face. If the accent recalled the lower levels of Coruscant, then it did its job. “Iiiii think I see,” Friyr dodged answering; he knew As’traa wouldn’t want him to sell his soul in a lie, but nor could he tell the truth. “Ambria is a wasteland. Worse than Tatooine. We got a lake but no soil.” Boris’ skin was slick and foldy under the forner SIth’s burned fingers. “What kinda supplies do ya need t’grow this?” he whispered.

“Hm, the spacefarming? Well, I’d hope you have an outlying station or craft. Not quite sure how they pick space potato out of asteroids. Hydroponics you’d need water and a suitable container of course. Buuut there are third options.”

Hydroponics stuck to Friyr, and he seized it with both hands before Boris could draw him off on a third venture.

“We got a lake. Would that do okay?” Friyr arched his pointed brows high.

Boris flexed his brows under Friyr’s fingers and leaned still more into the Jedi so Friyr’s legs could straddle around his chest. Friyr did so, obligingly, feeling Boris’ thick slick sides beneath his heels in an altogether surreal experience for the human.

“Oh yes, the lake water would be fine as long as you acquire the plants themselves and somewhere with shade - now consider algae vats. The subterrainian bounty of many a city-world. Why milk a bantha when you can cultivate something resembling milk-proteins and the end result? Little dark interior, a lot of UV light, a lot of the relevant strains, and you can emulate that which you can’t grow.”

Friyr’s mind stopped. That could save lives, to cultivate other crops by synthetic means, but Boris was making slimy sounds of excitement with his oversized tail. A mutual excitement. “Aaaaaaaaaaand I know where you could happen to find a spare one.” Sure that a scalping was on the horizon, Friyr braced dread against the feeling of victory whelling into his chest. Boris’ solution was perhaps worse.

“Could ya give me a sample of th’plants this produces. If I get somethin’ t’take back, I c’n get th’ council t’make a better decision. ‘Cuase ahhhh- s’not me you gotta convince at th’enda the day.”

“Oh yes! And perhaps a sample of that which they use to treat mynock meat to render it suitable for your consumption? It turns spaceflight pest into a resource!” The Hutt clapped his hand in jubilation. “And perhaps some dianoga. I have my fees, but consider it a veritable starting point! I’m also impartial to sewer-fed gorgs. Oho! You can’t taste the difference honestly.”

"Youra lifesaver Boris.” Friyr leaned in and pressed his mouth to the Hutt’s before he started getting too carried away. It was as warm and ... wet as before. Like kissing a syrupy tongue. Friyr licked off the slime. He’d started getting accustomed to it by this point... though it did no wonders for his nausea. “So! About your fees! I don’ think I c’n pay fer this with my body. ‘M guessin.” Friyr picked at a nail, pretending he hadn’t just kissed a Hutt twice.

“Ohooooo!” Boris laughed. Perhaps form the kiss, a potential deal, both? “Hm, fifty credits. I have to think about the shipping costs of course. An entire algae vat, however, hmmm...” Boris’ tail moved thoughtfully over the floor, and Friyr watched stoically. Herein lay the catch.  

“So fifty fer now,” he reaffirmed. “Whattabout the full operation? If we were t’get shipments every other week.”

“Ohh, full operation,” the Hutt tsked. Friyr felt it against his whole body. “Fifty credits is for the sample you understand. If it is to their liking we could be looking at a hundred a week for a more significant supply. You want a miscellaneous assortment?”

“Shurrr. About that vat, then? Ya had somethin’ on yer mind?”

Boris’ voice dropped again. “There are several inside faction elements who would be a little upset if one of their supply units went missing - just the one of course!” Of course, Friyr thought dryly. “But if you can procure it without their notice, I can manage the shipping.”

Oh. This was different. Boris didn’t want to dip his tail in, which meant that if this failed the Jedi would bear the brunt of the blame. Clever clever hutt. Friyr glanced tot he side, as if still checking on their privacy as he thought. “I c’n, but yah’d have t’give me details on it.” He dropped his voice just under the chatter of the bubbly crowd of patrons. “What faction and where?”

Boris pressed into him, thrumming, and Friyr pliantly obliged the hands on his back with a blank face. The rather public display of his sexuality was purely performative in nature and so were Boris’, though he was falling into partnership with the Hutt in a purely different way. And what was sexuality but an exchange of give and take? So too was this intricate ritual. He let Boris place his lips into his ear, legs around the Hutt’s chest and arms around his neck.

“New Providence is very politically, hm, something. Imperial elements, Republic elements, former cannibals, two of the factions despise each other. It makes for interesting meetings.”

Friyr licked his lips again as Boris whispered his “sweet nothings.” “Sounds like, heh, a lotta politics. Who’d be missin’ it then?” Friyr’s played footsie with one of Boris’ fat rolls, dislodging something that the Hutt quickly pushed back in. Friyr held a surprised chuckle. Clever Hutt.

“Weeeell, just the one little one wouldn’t be amiss; That is! If you aren’t caught pilfering it. If you were then... Well, you see why I’m leaving the pilfering to you and yours. If I were caught doing such a thing, Queen Aemelia would be quite upset!” Friyr hummed and lidded his eyes so they were almost closed. “Also I am told the Sewerbeast has a fondness of algae vats. Consumes the contents unrefined, straight from the water, mm.”

“Queenie, huh?” Friyr idly storked the back of Boris’ head. “Queenie someone I should be worried about?”

“Oh well, she is Imperial with a self-proclaimed title. She hasn’t barred Jedi, would make the cross faction populace too uneasy, but... well, you can see why she would be most upset with me, which is why I’ll cover extraction to the hangar bays! Careful though, there’s an old legend that the Sewerbeast will try and drag you into her waters. Oho.”  Friyr rolled his eyes behind the Hutt’s back, but pulled back and held two of Boris’ fat rolls, just under his neck to pull his head close to Friyr’s. The padawan laughed lightly. “You drive a hard bargain Boris. Tell ya what.” Friyr’s blissed out eyes complimented a wide spreading smile on his cut lips. A satisfied expression, but one that drew attention to the scars on his face and darkened Friyr’s easy-going nature. “Give me th’ full schims an’ I’ll think about it. ‘M still trainin’ an’ can get kicked outta m’Order, but I’ll pitch your idea. No prahmises though. But if not, then we’ll find other means, ‘less ya c’n sweeten th’deal. Say if we take th’vat, we keep it. As in property of th’ Jedi Order. Knock some credits off shippin’? A liddle manpower wouldn’ hurt none too.”

“Mapping the Harrower isn’t as indepth as it could be, but yes. Mmm, credits, manpower. Oh Merrrrrrynn!”

Friyr untangled his fingers from the rolls, and the Hutt’s encircling tail disappeared as the man who’d fished Friyr form customs hurried over. Convenient lovers no more, Friyr’s palms were still dirty from the exchange.

“Yes, your Magnamity?” the voice at floor level said, and Friyr looked down form his adopted cantina counter perch.

“How would you feel about a mission procuring some New Providence goods for this nice man?” Friyr wagged his brows in Meryn’s direction as the Hutt spoke. “You know. Lower levels... the waterworks... the vat room... One little vat? The room with the beast sightings...? That room...?”

Friyr hummed idly as Meryn directed a him. “The Sewerbeast?” 

The man, confident before, sounded concerned. Friyr almost felt sorry for him. “Yes, by all accounts it helps as well as it hurts!”

“Don’ worry,” Friyr reassured underneath his lazy grin. “‘m a Jedi.” It wasn’t very reassuring.

“Yes! You’ll have a big strong Jedi to help you!” Boris chimed in.

“More’n one. This’ll need more’n me, an’ less th’ thing is dark sided, it won’ be killed. We’re Jedi; we capture.” Friyr slid down the counter and edged past Boris’ belly to lean against the surface he’d just been sitting on. “‘M more worried ‘bout Aemelia than a--”

“Six foot tall beast with abs, several appendages, eyes like the void.” “Yah.. That. Why’d she be mad about missin’  these vats anyway?”

“She is the Queen of New Providence,” Boris said as Meryn idled across from Friyr. “An Imperial Captain. More or less in charge among the in-charge groups. Also because the vats are something of a New Providence property.”

Their food source. Any pang of sympathy Friyr might’ve felt was drowned by the lack of sorrow he had about stealing form Imperials. Kriff it. Kriff them. Kark the Empire.

Friyr tapped his chin, like he wasn’t feeling a sensation akin to bloody murder inside. “Hmmmmmm, well that’s more tricky. I’ll let ya know what the Council says. Fer now, we got ourselves the start of somethin’. We’ll talk, we’ll talk. Meryn nn~ baby!” He turned his hundred watt smile on the Enforcer watching and eyeing both his employer and the affectionate Jedi. “Mind if I cheat on Boris an’ take ya home with me?”

“Oh, by all means!” Boris obliged with an answering smirk form Meryn that Friyr could hear in his voice when he left with the Hutt’s pet on his waist later on that afternoon. Who was to say Friyr wasn’t living his day dreams to the fullest?

[kevindurkiin]

USC Outdid Themselves Yet Again with Paradiso 2019 [Event Review]

Every single year, myself and a couple friends pack up our things and make the drive down to George, WA for USC Events‘ Paradiso festival. When the festival comes to an end, we pack up once again and head home, talking about our plans for coming back to the Gorge next year.

Looking back on it, why exactly this has become an annual tradition is a bit of a mystery. Is it the breathtaking sight of the Gorge? Or maybe it’s the thrill of breaking free of life’s monotonous cycle to camp in the middle of nowhere? Or perhaps it’s for the pure love of electronic music?

While I’m certain all of these elements play a big part in our willingness to make the trek each year, I think the single most important thing that keeps us coming back is USC’s ability to top themselves over and over again.

When the lineup for Paradiso 2019 was revealed, I knew that this year was going to be particularly special. Of course, any lineup that features Skrillex is going to be a good one, but something about the mixture of trending heavy-hitters (Illenium, San Holo, Kayzo), long-time performers (Kaskade, Infected Mushroom, Benny Benassi) and exciting up-and comers (1788-L, i_o, Tails) had me especially stoked for this year’s festival.

As a massive Monstercat fan, I really couldn’t have asked for a better lineup, either. There were 18 performers in total who have grazed Monstercat at least once, and you can bet that I went to –almost– every one of those sets to show my support by waving my favorite label’s flag. While I was a bit disappointed Monstercat didn’t have their own stage/takeover this year, what we got was the next best thing.

I was aware that USC underwent a pretty massive overhaul during the last year, so I did have some fear that getting into the festival would be a more bumpy ride than usual. However, my fears were eased as USC’s team was able to work quickly to get myself and the other festival-goers through the gates and into our weekend adventure.

As usual, the first thing I took notice of was the refreshing stage designs. While nothing was revamped too drastically, the subtle changes definitely helped. The Wreckage stage was the most noticeably changed, with last year’s “pyramid” theme swapped out for something that looked more like a thrill ride at a water theme park. The Digital Oasis stage shared a lot of similarities with its design from last year, but with the inflatable Buddha from EDC now gazing from the background. The Paradise main stage was giving me some UMF 2014 main stage vibes, featuring LED panels that “crawled” toward the center of the stage to create a more immersive experience for attendees.

Surprisingly, one of the big highlights of the festival for me was the Deadbeats stage takeover on day two. While I’m not the biggest Deadbeats/Zeds Dead fan, the stage curation was on point and the takeover included some of the most fun sets of the entire festival (Rusko, Delta Heavy B2B Dirtyphonics, Gammer, 1788-L). I will have absolutely no problem f USC continues to do label takeovers at future Paradiso festivals.

The only complaint I have about the festival is the hydrate stations, which seem to stay very overcrowded until the sun sets. On the first day, I had to miss a good chunk of KUURO’s set –one that I was really anticipating– because I had to wait 25-30 minutes just to fill up my water bottle to prevent myself from passing out. However, I do partially blame this incident on myself because I wasn’t aware of some closer station options and I didn’t really pack enough water to begin with. On the second day, I was fine. I do think USC should invest in a few more stations next year, though.

All that aside, I do plan on returning to the Gorge for Paradiso next year, and that’s without even knowing how the lineup will turn out. Needless to say, USC Events has earned my trust, and I imagine that they will be able to top themselves yet again in 2020.

This article was first published on Your EDM. Source: USC Outdid Themselves Yet Again with Paradiso 2019 [Event Review]

USC Outdid Themselves Yet Again with Paradiso 2019 [Event Review] published first on https://soundwizreview.tumblr.com/

[bluebuzzmusic]

USC Outdid Themselves Yet Again with Paradiso 2019 [Event Review]

Every single year, myself and a couple friends pack up our things and make the drive down to George, WA for USC Events‘ Paradiso festival. When the festival comes to an end, we pack up once again and head home, talking about our plans for coming back to the Gorge next year.

Looking back on it, why exactly this has become an annual tradition is a bit of a mystery. Is it the breathtaking sight of the Gorge? Or maybe it’s the thrill of breaking free of life’s monotonous cycle to camp in the middle of nowhere? Or perhaps it’s for the pure love of electronic music?

While I’m certain all of these elements play a big part in our willingness to make the trek each year, I think the single most important thing that keeps us coming back is USC’s ability to top themselves over and over again.

When the lineup for Paradiso 2019 was revealed, I knew that this year was going to be particularly special. Of course, any lineup that features Skrillex is going to be a good one, but something about the mixture of trending heavy-hitters (Illenium, San Holo, Kayzo), long-time performers (Kaskade, Infected Mushroom, Benny Benassi) and exciting up-and comers (1788-L, i_o, Tails) had me especially stoked for this year’s festival.

As a massive Monstercat fan, I really couldn’t have asked for a better lineup, either. There were 18 performers in total who have grazed Monstercat at least once, and you can bet that I went to –almost– every one of those sets to show my support by waving my favorite label’s flag. While I was a bit disappointed Monstercat didn’t have their own stage/takeover this year, what we got was the next best thing.

I was aware that USC underwent a pretty massive overhaul during the last year, so I did have some fear that getting into the festival would be a more bumpy ride than usual. However, my fears were eased as USC’s team was able to work quickly to get myself and the other festival-goers through the gates and into our weekend adventure.

As usual, the first thing I took notice of was the refreshing stage designs. While nothing was revamped too drastically, the subtle changes definitely helped. The Wreckage stage was the most noticeably changed, with last year’s “pyramid” theme swapped out for something that looked more like a thrill ride at a water theme park. The Digital Oasis stage shared a lot of similarities with its design from last year, but with the inflatable Buddha from EDC now gazing from the background. The Paradise main stage was giving me some UMF 2014 main stage vibes, featuring LED panels that “crawled” toward the center of the stage to create a more immersive experience for attendees.

Surprisingly, one of the big highlights of the festival for me was the Deadbeats stage takeover on day two. While I’m not the biggest Deadbeats/Zeds Dead fan, the stage curation was on point and the takeover included some of the most fun sets of the entire festival (Rusko, Delta Heavy B2B Dirtyphonics, Gammer, 1788-L). I will have absolutely no problem f USC continues to do label takeovers at future Paradiso festivals.

The only complaint I have about the festival is the hydrate stations, which seem to stay very overcrowded until the sun sets. On the first day, I had to miss a good chunk of KUURO’s set –one that I was really anticipating– because I had to wait 25-30 minutes just to fill up my water bottle to prevent myself from passing out. However, I do partially blame this incident on myself because I wasn’t aware of some closer station options and I didn’t really pack enough water to begin with. On the second day, I was fine. I do think USC should invest in a few more stations next year, though.

All that aside, I do plan on returning to the Gorge for Paradiso next year, and that’s without even knowing how the lineup will turn out. Needless to say, USC Events has earned my trust, and I imagine that they will be able to top themselves yet again in 2020.

This article was first published on Your EDM. Source: USC Outdid Themselves Yet Again with Paradiso 2019 [Event Review]

source https://www.youredm.com/2019/06/27/paradiso-2019-review/

[fitnesshealthyoga-blog]

New Post has been published on https://fitnesshealthyoga.com/yoga-and-religion-a-journey-of-faith-christianity/

Yoga and Religion: A Journey of Faith + Christianity

People often think that yoga and religion are two separate things. And while that may be true for some, yoga and religion are intertwined for others. Here’s one yogi’s story of how her Catholic faith impacted her practice.

I walked into the high-ceilinged, sunny-yellow Philadelphia yoga studio with ebonyashes clouding my skin. The mark, smeared across my forehead earlier that day by an old man’s thumb, was less a cross and more of a faded, L-shaped blotch.

It was 4:30 p.m. on Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, and I noticed that no one else in the class had a similar mark. I hadn’t had ashes on my forehead since I was in Catholic high school more than 10 years ago. When I was young, I learned that we wore ashes as a public admission of guilt—an expression of a deep and incomprehensible sorrow. Back then, I knew I was supposed to spend Lent correcting my faults, purifying my heart, and controlling my desires, the way Jesus had when he was allegedly tempted by Satan as he spent 40 days in the desert.

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I, on the other hand, had carried my lavender yoga mat past a red-and-gold Om symbol painted on a wall next to copper statues of Buddha and Ganesh, inhaled smokey sandalwood incense, laid out my mat, and dropped down into Balasana (Child’s Pose). My knees splayed out wide past my bare feet, my arms stretched forward to the top of the mat, my ash-anointed forehead touched, in humility, rubber over hardwood floor.

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See also Do You Really Know the True Meaning of Yoga? Thoughts from a British Indian Yogi

The sounds of flutes and sitars and Indian devotional music played in the background, and a slender, soft-voiced yoga teacher advised us to clear our minds, focus on being present, and to set an intention for our practice.

Earlier, at church, a kind and graying priest had advised worshipers not to “give something up” for Lent, but to instead be fully present to God—the divine—in ourlives. In the modern, minimalistic church, with its familiar central crucifix and ornate portraits of saints and the Virgin Mary lining the sunlit walls, I had felt as much at home as I did now in the yoga studio. The pews had been packed to capacity for Ash Wednesday, with people crowding in the back vestibule, coats still on, like my family always had when we’d arrived late to Christmas mass.

In the humid, heated yoga room, class was filled to its highest capacity as well—not because of a day-of, religious obligation, but because it was a community yoga class costing only $7, rather than the usual $15. A crowded class (or church, for that matter) never bothered me, really. But today I was dimly aware of the mark on my forehead, my struggles with faith readily visible to all. I rose from Child’s Pose to stand with the other spandex-clad men and women on a sea of neon mats, our legs locked in Vrksasana (Tree Pose) and our hands in Namaskarasana.

Searching through my Catholic faith in my late 20s sometimes feels empty and regressive. There are so many reasons to not believe in it: abusive pedophiliac priests, lack of equal respect for women, blatant disregard for LGBTQ people I hold so dearly. Unsurprisingly, for years since college, I’ve been more comfortable with yoga mats and meditations rather than confession and unrelenting guiltI learned to bear from rigid nuns in brown habits when I was young and still clapped blackboard erasers.

See also Q&A: What’s So Sacred About the Number 108?

Tomaine and her mother praying at the Cathedral Basilica of Saints Peter & Paul.

I remember being a child in a wooden pew wearing flowery dresses on Easter and contemplating, in an abstract and sanitized way, what it would have felt like to have iron nails put through my hands. I pictured the blood running out in neat rivulets, always imagining it as a manageable pain, something confined, before drifting off to other daydreams and bemusements. In my world, my concept of pain was not enough to understand the gory and impossible torture of an actual crucifixion. Everything is neatly packaged when you are 11, delivered in a picture book both palatable and disturbing—a story accepted and then dismissed.

But at 28 years old, I haven’t just been searching for faith, but also for a sense of self I seem to have lost somewhere between growing up and post-college malaise—learning that I wasn’t going to marry that guy or the one after that. I also wasn’t going to have the perfect career and easily sketched life I’d imagined for myself all those years. Somewhere along the line, I realized, with a staggering jolt, that I didn’t have all the answers, nor would I. This realization of how little I knew led me on a bumpy path back to a yoga mat, a church pew, and finally, after years of shying away from the one thing that had always made me, me: writing again.

I started writing in tiny notebooks, in notes on my iPhone, on airplanes, waiting in line outside free concerts. If I’ve learned anything of value so far, it’s that spirituality is intrinsic to the writing process, because creativity itself is justa form of spirituality. What is a writer if not someone, as William Faulkner put it, attempting to understand and convey “the human heart in conflict with itself?” And is spirituality not just trying to understand that same heart? A search for peace and meaning and inner strength? A way to slow down in a world where it is all too easy to speed up until one day you wake up old and wrinkled, and you cry, looking back, thinking, “That was my life.” Fiction, poetry, nonfiction—these are all really just attempts at divinity.

See also 9 Top Yoga Teachers Share How They ‘Talk’ to the Universe

For years, I had stopped writing, practicing yoga regularly, and praying, allowing myself to sink into a daily fray—worrying about the unruly edges of my life, how things were not settling how I wanted them to. I lost my true sense of awe and wonder, of spirituality. I was overwhelmed, instead, by personal tragedies and plans gone awry, at heartache and mistakes that built up into disillusionment and depression. But, I also think, like almost any great religious story—whether it be Jesus wandering off into a desert in Israel or Luke Skywalker flying off on a spiritual quest to Dagobah—there comes a universal knowledge that to find yourself, and your true voice, you must first lose everything and build up from the dirt.

Over time, I shifted direction. I began walking out of my personal desert—a place where I had felt lonely and entitled, angry at my life for not unfolding asI imagined. AndI started being more humble: accepting that even if some people involved in the church were terrible, that didn’t make faith terrible. I started going to yoga, not to improve my form, but to calm my mind.

I began to, slowly, feel happy again. I started laughing more, and talking more, and drinking more red wine. I started meditating. I went to yoga classes regularly again. I started praying again, in odd, awkward moments, as I’d done as a girl. I focused seriously on meditation in a way that felt not at all incongruous with blessing myself with the sign of the cross as I lay in the dark, reading Psalms from my iPhone Bible before bed.

See also 5 Ways to Turn a Mental Breakdown into a Spiritual Breakthrough

“Spirituality, both in yoga classes and in prayer, simply became my non-acceptance of my predicament.” – Gina Tomaine

I prayed when I needed a parking spot. I prayed when there was airplane turbulence. I prayed when I felt anxious about a conversation or a relationship. I prayed thanks when I had a piece of writing published. I prayed thanks when I was laying in Half Pigeon Pose. I prayed for my family.

When I prayed, I said that I wasn’t sure if what I was praying for was the right thing, but if God could just do whatever was right, I would be OK with it. It didn’t even matter if anyone was listening—capital G God or anyone at all—it just mattered that I had finally learned, once and for all, that everything was not up to me.

I started to shake myself out of whatever had been holding me. I did legs up the wall every night. Psalms told me, “You are fearfully and wonderfully made.” I started acting fearfully and wonderfully made.

Spirituality, both in yoga classes and in prayer, simply became my non-acceptance of my predicament. I didn’t consciously decide I wanted to be Christian again, but it was a survivalist instinct. If I wanted to live and not just exist, I hadto let myself believe again. It was as simple, and perhaps as childish, as that. Spirituality became my decision to transcend depression, emotional malaise, and discontent, and instead worship the creative process, the divine in everyday life, and the things I loved about the world. After all, how we are all cosmically connected and divine is real—and I would rather believe it and be called foolish than die faithless, cynical, and smart.

See also 3 Things I Learned After Taking a Break from My Yoga Practice

At the end of yoga class on Ash Wednesday, I sat up straight, cross-legged, breathing heavy with eyes gently shut. My ashes were sweaty on my forehead, my yoga tights sticking to my thighs. I felt emptied and grateful,reminded thatI am dust.

Our teacher offered an option for our final pose: “Rest your hands on your knees facing down if you are searching for answers within yourselves,” she said.

Without a thought, I placed my hands down on my knees.

“Or,” she continued, “rest your hands on your knees facing up if you are searching for answers from the universe.”

I flipped my hands facing up.

“Namaste,” we said, in unison.

The week after that, I read another Bible verse; I wrote another poem, another essay, another short story; I took another yoga class; I rose up into Warrior Pose II before transitioning into a twist, my hands folded softly together in Prayer Pose, my breath moving steadily, my heart open.

About the Author

Gina Tomaine is a Philadelphia-based writer and editor. She is currently Deputy Lifestyle Editor of Philadelphia magazine, and previously served as Associate Deputy Editor of Rodale’s Organic Life. She’s been published in Prevention, Women’s Health, Runner’s World and more. Learn more at ginatomaine.com. 

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“Part Two” by Chase Atlantic (Review)

With fans still recovering from “Part One”, Chase Atlantic fueled their ongoing fire with the release of “Part Two”, the second EP of what I’m assuming to be their take on an electrifying musical saga.

The EP was released on March 31st, 2017, and I was very eager to hear it. Although I myself am a relatively new fan of Chase Atlantic’s music, “Part One” completely blew me out of the water: compared to their older stuff, it was a major step forward in terms of their lyrics, musical production, and style. My only hope for "Part Two” was that it would be similar to its counterpart, if not better.

After finally sitting down and listening to the new EP, I had some mixed feelings about it. Although I was pleased regardless, because I like this band a lot, I’m not quite certain whether this one shook me as hard as “Part One” did.

Let’s break it down song by song, shall we?

Track 1 - Triggered. 

My very first impression of this song was a quick snort through the nose. Not going to lie, the title made me chuckle. I wasn’t sure if the band was genuinely pissed off about something, or they were just making fun of Twitter users’ lingo. Either way, I was interested to see where this opening track would lead to. 

Personally, I’m a sucker for dramatic album introductions. And this song had just the right amount of mystery, lust, and grunge to immediately draw me in. 

The song started out with a relatively chill introduction, but the first 10 seconds definitely built up. It was quiet at first, but as soon as I heard the car revving its engine in the background, I knew I was in for a bumpy ride.

Immediately after the car sounds, I was hit with lead singer Mitchel Cave’s distinctive voice and a brand new beat.

If I was to describe this song in one word, I would use the term badass (or is that two words?). There was something about the heavy bass, deep rhythm, and the slickness in Cave’s voice that immediately painted a dauntless picture in my mind. I imagined myself thrown into the middle of a high-speed police chase after my hot boyfriend and I just robbed a convenience store. He would be driving a black SUV with tinted windows, I would be perched up in the passenger seat, and Triggered would be our get away song.

Although the chorus could’ve been fuller in my opinion, the verses and the bridge of this song were what really brought it to life for me. Lyrics like “driving ‘till we killing love” and the repetitive use of the phrase “won’t slow down” strengthened my inner feelings of love and rebellion as I bopped my head to this song’s steady beat. 

The lyrics and overall theme of the song helped me realize that perhaps the meaning of “triggered” was not a reference to overused internet slang, but maybe it was referring to the shotgun my hot boyfriend was firing as we swerved on the 405, desperately trying to get away from the cops. Once again, the visuals that this song brought to life were killer (haha - see what I did there?).

In conclusion, the more I’ve listened to this song, the more I’ve come to really like it. From the lyrics, to the melodies, and to the delinquent realm it creates, Triggered is definitely my favorite tune on this EP. 

Overall rating: 9.4/10

Track 2 - Cassie.

This song, unfortunately, did not woo me as much as its preceding track. 

First off, what I appreciated about the song was how unique it was. In my opinion, this song was the complete opposite of Triggered, and very different from what I’ve been associating with Chase Atlantic’s more recent music. Coming right out of the sinister world of Triggered, Cassie was like a breath of fresh air and a field of blooming sunflowers right in front of me. 

The general vibe of this song was very easy to pick up on within the first lines of the first verse. The light and airy beat that continued throughout the entire song reminded me of a symphony imitating the gentle ticks of a clocktower. It made my heart, still calming down from Triggered, feel all warm and fuzzy again. 

Another thing I appreciated about this song was how the lyrics and the music contradicted one another. A bubbly melody is a rarity among Chase Atlantic’s newer releases, but somehow they managed to pair the uplifting beat with lyrics about drugged up veins and an impatient girl named Cassie in a way that actually worked quite well.  

However, the unique airiness of this song just didn’t seem to completely win me over, though I did appreciate it. The main reason why this song did not particularly knock my socks off is because throughout the whole first listen, I kept feeling as if something was missing. Especially in the chorus, I felt like there could’ve been something else - a tempo change, another instrumental element, faster lyrics - to make it more exciting. Although the song was cute and a little brighter than the other two tracks, it was kind of forgettable. 

Overall rating: 7.8/10

Track 3 - Why Stop Now.

This track has become known to me as the cool-down song, because I found it to be very chill and relaxed, but nonetheless a very interesting listen.

The introduction features a few intriguing elements that quickly brought me to the edge of my seat: more undistinguishable sound effects (were they popping pills?), the lazy strum of an electric guitar, and Cave’s muffled voice singing a few catchy lines, as if he was teasing me of what’s to come later on in this song. 

The introduction slowly built up, but then quickly flushed me into the first verse. The band was back at it again with the alternative hip-hop beats, this time singing (rapping?) about self-hatred and a desperate search for Mitchel’s cell phone. 

The transition into the chorus was rather quick, but nonetheless it still worked pretty well. By now I was able to conclude that this song would be slower than the other two, but I wasn’t complaining about it. 

The lyrics of this song once again displayed a level of contradiction to the other elements of the tune. Lines like “Life in the fast lane. You live then you die, babe ... so why stop now?” were somewhat depressing lyrics, yes, but the way Cave’s gentle and soothing tone of voice meshed together with them was quite menacing, sending shivers up my spine. If I’m thinking out loud here, he has a very sexy singing voice. Don’t @ me. 

In some ways this song almost felt half-assed, but thats what I kind of like about it. Although it is slower than the other 2 tracks, Why Stop Now has this kind of vibe to it that fuels my inner desires to just “not care”, which I assume is a common mood fellow Chase Atlantic fans feel while listening to their music. And that’s not a bad thing. Being a moody 18-year-old whose just trying to figure her shit out, I need music like this to listen to from time to time. Sometimes we all just need to “not care” and chill TF out.

The reason why I still wasn’t completely blown away by this song either was the same reason as Cassie. I felt like there was something missing from this track as well, though I still can’t put my finger on it. Either way, it’s still a good jam, and I can see this one becoming a lot of fans’ favorite. 

Overall rating: 7/10

Overall, the “Part Two” EP did not meet the high expectations “Part One” set for me, but that is quite all right. Triggered is a major gem of a song and I’m still going to be blasting this EP in my car for the next few weeks. Perhaps there will be a “Part Three” and maybe even a “Part Four” to help us further envision where Chase Atlantic are headed next. These EPs are obviously just a mere taste of what they’ve got in store; I feel a debut album coming soon, and I cannot wait to devour it. 

AN: This is the first music review I’ve literally ever done, so please go easy on me! Hopefully you enjoyed it - I tried to keep it as honest as possible, so I apologize if any of my opinions offend/upset you, but they are just my opinions. If you liked this, let me know! I’d love to do more reviews in the future. 

[dwtspd]

DWTS season 24 Week 4: Most Memorable Year

Interesting opening montage with the chest like a kind of time capsule. Also, a lot of baby photos - either the celebs when they were kids or celebs with their kids.

I felt lik,e because of the nature of tonight the judges were scared to give criticism. More so this season.

Normani and Val - Rumba Normani’s year is when she got into the group Fifth Harmony. They didn’t elaborate much on how the group was formed, maybe to avoid addressing that one member left this year. I thought this dance was not bad. He arms were a bit stiff and could be more fluid esp with the port de bras (idk what they are called in ballroom terms but basically when you draw an arc with your arms in front or over you head). Didn’t see a lot of hip action, but she didn’t do that many moves that called for it. Her feet might have popped off the floor during the spin. Why is the short girl in 5H crying? It wasn’t a sob story MMY performance. Anyway I think she danced to a 5H song but I’m not sure because I don’t listen to their group. 8-7-8-9 T32

Nick and Peta - Rumba of course Nick’s year is the year he “found love” on the Bachelor and of course his dance is a rumba. I figured Shape of You would be used on the season sooner or later but this was such a waste of the song! I always imagine some hot latin number to it. Nick’s walks were decent and I saw him trying to make his hips move. They move better on one side. And to quote Bruno, he “definitely connected” - to his Bachelor fiancee Vanessa. CAI says he will let Nick off for lifting Vanessa at the end because IT’S LOVE or whatever. This had more content than Normani. 8-7-8-7 T30

Nancy and Artem - Foxtrot Wow! This was such a nice dance! It was smooth and fluid and Nancy has such great lines! I also like the simple but picturesque staging - nice touch with the lights shining through the prop tree. I think Nancy will also touch the audience because her story was not just emotional, but also quite unique in terms of Most memorable stories we have had on the show - the struggles of miscarriage. And her lilac dress is so pretty! 8-9-8-8 T33 Really CAI and Julianne? You’re going to give her the same scores as Nick? I think 33 is a fair score for Nancy but it is underscored compared to other contestants.

Mr T and Kym - Waltz Oh my the stage design in amazing! Mr T spoke about fighting cancer and finding his faith. The dance, as it is for older male contestants, is simple. I do notice Mr T seems to be more and more comfortable performing each week. He doesn’t seem to be too in his head as much. The british voice hiccupped haha. 7-7-7-7 T28

Heather and Alan - Cha cha Sorry Glee fans but Heather is all about her kid. Also - whoever she hired to take her wedding photos has some good Lightroom presets. I like the little bit with the house, it was like straight out of a rom com. So acc Julianne Alan choreographed this - good job then Alan! Looks like Maks has been napping with his baby (as he should be). There was quite a lot of cha cha content. Not sure I’m a fan of the pants. This song is overused on DWTS but it is nice to dance to. Btw, thank you to Heather’s husband for making Tom able to say this - “this is the first time in a decade I’ve heard someone mention MySpace.” 8-9-9-9 T35

David and Lindsay - “Viennese Waltz”  I put the style in inverted commas because once again DWTS plonks a quadruple time song for a style that requires triple-time music. I think that kinda accounted for the bumpy comments from the judges. Ugh. That starry background was beautiful though. David’s year is last year when he won the World’s Series with the Chicago Cubs on a great game, right before retirement. I have no idea what Len was saying but David seems happy. Apparently his dance was played live at a delayed Cubs game and Erin is real calm about her worlds colliding. 7-8-8-8 T31 I find the 7 from CAI low. This might not have been David’s best dance but it was still better than Mr T and definitely not lower than Nick!

Rashad and Emma - Contemporary So I was totally expecting to have to write something like “Rashad you are great but that dance was...meh...not entirely your fault though DWTS contemps are always bland.” But wow! That was probably the best contemporary done by a male contestant. And it was also really well choreographed! This dance was about Rashad’s emotional journey in relating to his father. Apart from not pointing his feet (can’t be helped for most contestants), Rashad had such great quality of movement. There was one contraction at the beginning that was just...wow. He connected all his movements. Everyone is clapping and crying. 10-9-10-10 T39 Definitely deserved.

Erika and Gleb - Cha cha I felt like this could have been Erika’s breakout dance but it felt like she was holding back a little. She didn’t feel fully IN the dance. It was still a decent good dance, but Erika is at a disadvantage this week because Madonna song is the only thing going for her - her story about finding her way in the entertainment industry is not as compelling as many other dances this week. 8-7-7-8 T30

Ginger Zee is no longer relevant.

Simone and Sasha - Viennese Waltz Oh hail muscle memory! It’s true though, if you practice a routine enough, muscle memory really helps you get through the motions. That dance was...like a river. it just kept flowing. Simone will also definitely stick in viewer’s minds with her story about growing up and getting adopted. It’s certainly not what people would have expected (ie winning 5 medals at the Olympics) 9-9-9-9 T36

Bonner and Sharna - Foxtrot Yikes I did not need that shot of STAPLES BEING PULLED OUT OF BONNER’S NECK. Also, bullriding is f*cking scary. And all those camera angles of Bonner lying on the ground unmoving??? Gave me chills. Btw, Bonner looks good in the slouch hat than a cowboy hat for a change. I’ve figured out Bonner’s biggest problem - he doesn’t seem entirely enotionally present in his dances. He has his dazed look on his face, like he is just daydreaming up the whole thing. Definitely his best handling of the choreography so far. Also, who played shadow Bonner? And lastly, cowboy hat + suit = a look. 8-8-8-8 T32

Alright. All stories must come to the end. Our couple is jeopardy are Mr T and Kym and Erika and Gleb. I really couldn’t make the call. In the end, Mr T is announced to be leaving us (shame, he would make a great Toy Story soldier). He leaves in high spirits though.

Next week is Disney night! Dances will either be really good or really overscored. Do look out for crazy staging and insane costumes - god knows we need some to compensate for the lack of Krazy Kostume King Mark Ballas.

[cedarrrun]

How one writer combined her yoga practice with her Christian faith to find true spiritual awakening.

People often think that yoga and religion are two separate things. And while that may be true for some, yoga and religion are intertwined for others. Here’s one yogi’s story of how her Catholic faith impacted her practice.

I walked into the high-ceilinged, sunny-yellow Philadelphia yoga studio with ebonyashes clouding my skin. The mark, smeared across my forehead earlier that day by an old man’s thumb, was less a cross and more of a faded, L-shaped blotch.

It was 4:30 p.m. on Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, and I noticed that no one else in the class had a similar mark. I hadn’t had ashes on my forehead since I was in Catholic high school more than 10 years ago. When I was young, I learned that we wore ashes as a public admission of guilt—an expression of a deep and incomprehensible sorrow. Back then, I knew I was supposed to spend Lent correcting my faults, purifying my heart, and controlling my desires, the way Jesus had when he was allegedly tempted by Satan as he spent 40 days in the desert.

I, on the other hand, had carried my lavender yoga mat past a red-and-gold Om symbol painted on a wall next to copper statues of Buddha and Ganesh, inhaled smokey sandalwood incense, laid out my mat, and dropped down into Balasana (Child’s Pose). My knees splayed out wide past my bare feet, my arms stretched forward to the top of the mat, my ash-anointed forehead touched, in humility, rubber over hardwood floor.

See also Do You Really Know the True Meaning of Yoga? Thoughts from a British Indian Yogi

The sounds of flutes and sitars and Indian devotional music played in the background, and a slender, soft-voiced yoga teacher advised us to clear our minds, focus on being present, and to set an intention for our practice.

Earlier, at church, a kind and graying priest had advised worshipers not to “give something up” for Lent, but to instead be fully present to God—the divine—in ourlives. In the modern, minimalistic church, with its familiar central crucifix and ornate portraits of saints and the Virgin Mary lining the sunlit walls, I had felt as much at home as I did now in the yoga studio. The pews had been packed to capacity for Ash Wednesday, with people crowding in the back vestibule, coats still on, like my family always had when we’d arrived late to Christmas mass.

In the humid, heated yoga room, class was filled to its highest capacity as well—not because of a day-of, religious obligation, but because it was a community yoga class costing only $7, rather than the usual $15. A crowded class (or church, for that matter) never bothered me, really. But today I was dimly aware of the mark on my forehead, my struggles with faith readily visible to all. I rose from Child’s Pose to stand with the other spandex-clad men and women on a sea of neon mats, our legs locked in Vrksasana (Tree Pose) and our hands in Namaskarasana.

Searching through my Catholic faith in my late 20s sometimes feels empty and regressive. There are so many reasons to not believe in it: abusive pedophiliac priests, lack of equal respect for women, blatant disregard for LGBTQ people I hold so dearly. Unsurprisingly, for years since college, I’ve been more comfortable with yoga mats and meditations rather than confession and unrelenting guiltI learned to bear from rigid nuns in brown habits when I was young and still clapped blackboard erasers.

See also Q&A: What's So Sacred About the Number 108?

Tomaine and her mother praying at the Cathedral Basilica of Saints Peter & Paul.

I remember being a child in a wooden pew wearing flowery dresses on Easter and contemplating, in an abstract and sanitized way, what it would have felt like to have iron nails put through my hands. I pictured the blood running out in neat rivulets, always imagining it as a manageable pain, something confined, before drifting off to other daydreams and bemusements. In my world, my concept of pain was not enough to understand the gory and impossible torture of an actual crucifixion. Everything is neatly packaged when you are 11, delivered in a picture book both palatable and disturbing—a story accepted and then dismissed.

But at 28 years old, I haven’t just been searching for faith, but also for a sense of self I seem to have lost somewhere between growing up and post-college malaise—learning that I wasn’t going to marry that guy or the one after that. I also wasn’t going to have the perfect career and easily sketched life I’d imagined for myself all those years. Somewhere along the line, I realized, with a staggering jolt, that I didn’t have all the answers, nor would I. This realization of how little I knew led me on a bumpy path back to a yoga mat, a church pew, and finally, after years of shying away from the one thing that had always made me, me: writing again.

I started writing in tiny notebooks, in notes on my iPhone, on airplanes, waiting in line outside free concerts. If I’ve learned anything of value so far, it’s that spirituality is intrinsic to the writing process, because creativity itself is justa form of spirituality. What is a writer if not someone, as William Faulkner put it, attempting to understand and convey “the human heart in conflict with itself?” And is spirituality not just trying to understand that same heart? A search for peace and meaning and inner strength? A way to slow down in a world where it is all too easy to speed up until one day you wake up old and wrinkled, and you cry, looking back, thinking, “That was my life.” Fiction, poetry, nonfiction—these are all really just attempts at divinity.

See also 9 Top Yoga Teachers Share How They 'Talk' to the Universe

For years, I had stopped writing, practicing yoga regularly, and praying, allowing myself to sink into a daily fray—worrying about the unruly edges of my life, how things were not settling how I wanted them to. I lost my true sense of awe and wonder, of spirituality. I was overwhelmed, instead, by personal tragedies and plans gone awry, at heartache and mistakes that built up into disillusionment and depression. But, I also think, like almost any great religious story—whether it be Jesus wandering off into a desert in Israel or Luke Skywalker flying off on a spiritual quest to Dagobah—there comes a universal knowledge that to find yourself, and your true voice, you must first lose everything and build up from the dirt.

Over time, I shifted direction. I began walking out of my personal desert—a place where I had felt lonely and entitled, angry at my life for not unfolding asI imagined. AndI started being more humble: accepting that even if some people involved in the church were terrible, that didn’t make faith terrible. I started going to yoga, not to improve my form, but to calm my mind.

I began to, slowly, feel happy again. I started laughing more, and talking more, and drinking more red wine. I started meditating. I went to yoga classes regularly again. I started praying again, in odd, awkward moments, as I’d done as a girl. I focused seriously on meditation in a way that felt not at all incongruous with blessing myself with the sign of the cross as I lay in the dark, reading Psalms from my iPhone Bible before bed.

See also 5 Ways to Turn a Mental Breakdown into a Spiritual Breakthrough

"Spirituality, both in yoga classes and in prayer, simply became my non-acceptance of my predicament." - Gina Tomaine

I prayed when I needed a parking spot. I prayed when there was airplane turbulence. I prayed when I felt anxious about a conversation or a relationship. I prayed thanks when I had a piece of writing published. I prayed thanks when I was laying in Half Pigeon Pose. I prayed for my family.

When I prayed, I said that I wasn’t sure if what I was praying for was the right thing, but if God could just do whatever was right, I would be OK with it. It didn’t even matter if anyone was listening—capital G God or anyone at all—it just mattered that I had finally learned, once and for all, that everything was not up to me.

I started to shake myself out of whatever had been holding me. I did legs up the wall every night. Psalms told me, “You are fearfully and wonderfully made.” I started acting fearfully and wonderfully made.

Spirituality, both in yoga classes and in prayer, simply became my non-acceptance of my predicament. I didn’t consciously decide I wanted to be Christian again, but it was a survivalist instinct. If I wanted to live and not just exist, I hadto let myself believe again. It was as simple, and perhaps as childish, as that. Spirituality became my decision to transcend depression, emotional malaise, and discontent, and instead worship the creative process, the divine in everyday life, and the things I loved about the world. After all, how we are all cosmically connected and divine is real—and I would rather believe it and be called foolish than die faithless, cynical, and smart.

See also 3 Things I Learned After Taking a Break from My Yoga Practice

At the end of yoga class on Ash Wednesday, I sat up straight, cross-legged, breathing heavy with eyes gently shut. My ashes were sweaty on my forehead, my yoga tights sticking to my thighs. I felt emptied and grateful,reminded thatI am dust.

Our teacher offered an option for our final pose: “Rest your hands on your knees facing down if you are searching for answers within yourselves,” she said.

Without a thought, I placed my hands down on my knees.

“Or,” she continued, “rest your hands on your knees facing up if you are searching for answers from the universe.”

I flipped my hands facing up.

“Namaste,” we said, in unison.

The week after that, I read another Bible verse; I wrote another poem, another essay, another short story; I took another yoga class; I rose up into Warrior Pose II before transitioning into a twist, my hands folded softly together in Prayer Pose, my breath moving steadily, my heart open.

About the Author

Gina Tomaine is a Philadelphia-based writer and editor. She is currently Deputy Lifestyle Editor of Philadelphia magazine, and previously served as Associate Deputy Editor of Rodale’s Organic Life. She’s been published in Prevention, Women’s Health, Runner’s World and more. Learn more at ginatomaine.com.