#the fragrance is never 'nice' even it's always weird and industrial

[letmeliedown]

just spent like 2 hours looking for replacement cat pee pads and the only place that has ones that aren't either very scented or huge or tiny was walmart, my enemy because everything is always covered in their store fragrance (and they no longer have plastic bags so they always give me 50 of the super porous and fragrance-absorbing fabric ones). so i am getting the unscented pads from there, but i'm going to have to immediately rip off the packaging and throw it out before it makes me really sick and hope that it hasn't penetrated into it, i guess. i am so FUCKING tired. who the fuck wants the smell of cat urine mixed with grandma perfume anyway? there's nothing you can do to make cat piss smell good but that's especially not it. it's a pad that pee goes on, it's going to smell bad, that's why you throw it out once it's used

[becca-e-barnes]

The Bad Day at Work

I'd been thinking about The Video earlier and I thought this might make an awfully sexy short part 2. In my head, the two pieces are set a couple of months apart. If you didn't already think I have a God complex, you'll think that by the time you're finished reading this 🙃

Pairing: Pornstar!Dad's Best Friend!Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1.4K

Summary: Bucky has a tough day on set

Warnings: Age gap (Bucky is in his late 40's, reader is in her mid 20's), masturbation, unprotected sex, cream pie, praise kink, mentions of pornography

Minors, do not interact

You were beyond glad that your parents weren't home when the front clicked shut.

You were even more glad to be home alone when you felt a pair of warm lips on your neck, restless hands on your waist and the slight scruff of Bucky's stubble scratching your skin.

"Hello, you." You couldn't help but smile, partly because you didn't expect to see him today but mostly because he was so fucking eager.

You felt him hum his response more than you heard it. His mouth was occupied after all. His fingers flexed and tightened their grip on your waist, pulling you as close as he could manage.

"Good day at work?" You teased, arching your back slightly to press your ass against him. No matter how many he sees in his line of work, Bucky is absolutely an ass man.

"Are you joking?" He groans, sounding frustrated. "I don't think I've ever had a worse day on set."

He's piqued your interest, that's for sure. By all accounts, he's usually very happy with his job but that's to be somewhat expected when you're one of the most popular male pornstars in the industry.

Your phone lies long forgotten on the marble countertop and you do your best to loosen his grip enough to allow you to turn to face him.

"What happened?" You don't even sound incredibly sure of yourself. He might not want to talk about it and if that's the case, you don't want to press him.

"I couldn't finish." His cheeks are burning pink like someone has slapped both of them; frustration and shame blazing under his skin. "I tried everything. Thank God I had a condom on so I could fake it."

Your heart rate speeds up because you don't have a clue how to fix this. How do you make him feel better? What could you say that won't make him feel worse?

It's fine, it happens to everyone! Perhaps not.

I'm so sorry you couldn't finish for some other woman. Nope, not awfully sincere.

Maybe you're just getting to that age? No, definitely not.

"Well, what did you try? You've never had that problem when we're together." Your fingers drift through his dark hair and you can smell the fragrance of his shampoo so strongly, you know he's had a shower before he came over. He always does. It's just nice to be reminded though.

"Everything I usually do. I tried talking dirty, I tried changing positions. Nothing worked for me. She was a lovely woman, don't get me wrong." He's never sounded less sure of himself and it's actually a little heartbreaking. "I think you've broken me."

You can't help but laugh. You've broken him. As if he doesn't consistently leave your legs shaking. As if he didn't introduce you to pleasure that even your favourite vibrators can't compare to.

"It's true! I swear. The only time I even got close was when I closed my eyes and thought of you. But Jesus, that felt so wrong. I couldn't do that." He didn't think he'd admit that to you but in the moment, it was hard to keep it in.

That's a compliment though, right? It's a little weird but he meant well.

You didn't expect any of this when he walked through the door and you feel yourself racing to keep up, trying to find something to say to fill the silence.

"Nothing feels as good as you do." Thankfully he's still functioning, pent up frustration simmering over and his lips make their way back to your neck. "Nothing fucking compares to you." His hands slip under the hem of your thin top and you don't make any attempt to stop them.

Heat blossoms low in your tummy, creeping its way into your chest while the praise keeps coming.

"No one moans as pretty as you do. No one touches me like you do. No one makes me as filthy-minded as you do." He punctuates his sentences with squeezes to your breasts and bites to your skin and the combination is magical.

"Oh yeah? Are you sure? Because I'm going to be really disappointed if you can't cum for me either." You're only teasing him and he knows it but with his injured pride, he's already far too keen to prove himself.

"We both know I don't have that problem with you, honey. Hell, if anything, I struggle to last." He's inflating your ego and you're not sure if he knows it.

You don't really know which of you are more keen as you begin your ascent to your bedroom, trying to shed your clothes on the way. It's a relief to see the smile on his face and for a second, you just have to stop in the hallway to kiss him because he's too damn cute.

Neither of you have it in you to wait. With the state you're in, any more foreplay might just leave you trembling and despite the fact he likes to be courteous, he doesn't have the patience to drag this out either.

You lay on your back on the bed, watching him kiss up the insides of your thighs while stroking his own erection and you struggle to remember a time you felt this overwhelmed with excitement. Eventually, you feel his hot breath on your slick cunt but for once, he doesn't dwell there too long. There's a desperation to the way he's stroking himself now and you entirely understand, despite how mesmerising it is to watch him touch himself.

"Fuck, look at you." He moans, his thumb pressed to the top side of his length while he slides himself against your wet folds. "You're so perfect. All over." He grants himself a couple more indulgent, slow glides over your sex before he cups your face in one hand.

The blunt tip of his dick presses against your entrance, sliding into your body and you resist the urge to close your eyes and enjoy the feeling in favour of keeping your eyes fixed on his, drinking in how his expression reflects the pleasure he feels.

It's not hard to tell that the very first stroke has you both feeling the same. It's more than just feeling full, in a way it's almost closer to feeling complete.

"Sweetheart, you're gonna have to touch yourself." His cheeks are just as flushed as they were when he came in earlier but now he's embarrassed for entirely the opposite reason.

"You've barely started, don't tell me you're going to cum already." You can't help but laugh, taking his advice regardless. Your fingers are well versed in self pleasure, your hand slipping down between your bodies until you're able to rub your own clit in tight circles.

"I can't help it." His voice comes out closer to an elated giggle than you expected. "You've ruined me. Fuck, I'm yours."

The fingers of your free hand curl in the short hair above the back of his neck while he continues to fuck himself stupid into you. He's hardly even thinking now, letting each little confession tumble from his lips before he can even think about them.

"You've broken me. God, you feel so fucking perfect. You own me. Your cunt owns me. Holy shit." He sounds wrecked, clearly already trying to hold off his orgasm while you chase yours and you're beyond thankful it's not too far away. How could it be with confessions like that?

You feel your body fluttering around his cock, euphoria washing over you in waves that you couldn't surface from if you tried. It's an all consuming, frantic kind of pleasure. Each thrust from your partner only drags you in deeper and it's truly heavenly.

"Cum for me, Buck." You don't have to encourage him too many times. He's more than happy to give in, his arms shaking, proudly finishing inside you with a groan so beautiful that it makes you wonder if you could cum again.

He's entirely spent, for now anyway. You hear him chuckle, relief making him giddy because so long as he's still able to cum for you, you haven't completely broken him.

"Well." You smile, kissing his head before getting up to head to the bathroom. "At least I know you didn't fake that."

[bananashemmo]

Divorced For A Reason

Pairing: Y/N/Luke

Rating: PG-All

Request: Yes 

Words: 3.000+

Summary: Being famous and going through a divorce after marrying young isn’t the easy life of Luke. But he’s never afraid to tell at interviews how much he loves you even though you aren’t together anymore. 

“Ten minutes boys.” Ten fingers were lifted in the air from the massive crowd of crew people.

Luke, with his tall hovering height, nodded his head in agreement and looked back at the boys.

“Ten minutes,” Luke repeated, his mouth finding the straw of his Joe & The Juice shake, his long fingers wrapped around the large cup.

He used the other hand to make sure he hadn’t dropped a bit of the liquid on his denim jacket. He knew there would be taken pictures during the interview and it wouldn’t give the best impression if he had strawberry shake all over his clothes.

“You look great pretty boy,” Michael commented, noticing the glares Luke was giving his body, “Don’t you worry about that.”

Luke scolded away from Michael’s tattoed hand when he tried to ruffle through his curls. One of the cons about suddenly having long hair. It was like there was a sign hovering over his head stating “Come and touch, it won’t bother.”.

It did, in fact, get annoying at times but with the boys, he had grown used to it. Imagine how Ashton had been feeling the past few years.

They were walking down the hallway, having just arrived from the makeup. They could see crew lining up at the end of the hallway where there was a large room with floor to ceiling windows. The interview place was placed at one of Sydney’s highest buildings.

“What do you think they’ll talk about today?” Calum asked, still smelling like cigarettes from just having a smoke, “I mean, it’s been a while since we’ve been at an interview. The break has been going on for months. What’s interesting to ask about?”

“I think it’s just an update, you know?” Ashton replied, “Wanting to catch up with us, needing to know what’s going on. Not just for the magazine in general but also for the fans. They’re probably dying to know what we’re up to besides the updates from social media.”

Luke nodded his head in agreement, it was indeed true. They weren’t even close to finishing the new album they had coming up. It was like writing Youngblood. It took time, and time was needed to make perfection.

“I’d bet they’ll ask us about the same tattoos as they usually do.” Michael commented with a smirk and Calum leaned over to grab his hand, “That’s a bet I’d like to be in.”

Luke rolled his head silently and stopped when the others did, not wanting to walk into the room before everything was ready. He was looking at the three with their backs facing the end of the hallway.

“You know maybe I should get a tattoo, just to actually be a part of the conversation.” He knew it sounded weird when it was said out loud.

Michael and Calum couldn’t help but laugh by the sudden words.

“You know man, it’s okay you’re the naked one of us.” Michael smiled with a wink and Calum nodded his head in agreement. Ashton continued to be passive in the conversation.

“What interview are we set up for? I’m referring to the magazine.” Ashton changed the subject.

“I think it’s Vogue, for sure.” Calum laughed and Ashton rolled his eyes.

“The seriousness is as dry as your dick, Cal.” Ashton mumbled but smiled at Luke as he caught up with the insult.

Ashton shook his head in disbelief, his curls bouncing and he took a sip of his own juice. They continued to goof while Luke looked down at his feet.

“You think they’ll ask the usual question?”

Ashton looked at Luke with soft eyes, shaking his head. “I hope not so. I mean, it’s been over a year… It isn’t like it’s a headline anymore.”

Luke nodded his head in agreement but he wasn’t convinced. But he trusted Ashton because that was what kept him going but when Ashton’s face fell, he furrowed his eyebrows.

“What?” Luke asked in confusion, looking between the boys since Calum and Michael weren’t goofing around anymore.

They all looked at the same direction, not really knowing what was the proper thing to say so Luke turned around wanting an explanation to his curiosity.

His eyes widened in surprise and he almost whined out loud when you nearly knocked yourself into him, coming from his behind.

His juice was nearly forced into your chest but you were quick to react. You grabbed onto the juice and the head of it falling off. Just a bit of shake smeared on your fingers and you looked up at him pretty surprised.

You looked at each other as you had been stung. Luke’s mouth closed from being open agape, looking at you with soft eyes and he could feel his cheeks become a dark shade of red.

Your finger came up to remove the liquid, your mouth twisting when you noticed the taste. He was still drinking the same juice from Joe as he did back in the days. The classic Powershake with strawberry and banana.

He sighed carefully when he looked at you. You didn’t need to say anything to understand what was going on in each other’s minds.

Leaning down to embrace you in his arms, he held you tight and leaned his head into your neck. He knew the smell hadn’t changed, it was still a mix of your favourite shampoo and your fragrance.

You looked over his shoulder since he had kneeled down for you, looking at the boys with a small smile.

They didn’t say anything, simply nodding. They understood, they always had and respected your difficulties.

“What are you doing here?” Luke asked when you finally broke free from each other.

He took a look down your body, you were still wearing the same denim jacket he had bought for you a few Christmas years back. Together with your black thighs and your boots, it was like he had never left in the first place.

You gently ran a hand through your hair and looked down at your feet, “I’m supposed to be interviewed right after you.”

Luke’s eyebrows lifted and he could faintly hear Ashton coughing, “What a coincidence.”, from his behind.

“Missed your sarcasm, Ash.” You looked over Luke to smile at Ashton, watching him blush a little bit and he smiled back at you. “Missed your face too, Y/N.”

You looked at Luke who still didn’t seem to put the pieces together.

“I didn’t know anything.” You shrugged your shoulder, being honest.

Luke sighed with a nod, looking down at you for long he didn’t want to remove his gaze. But he had to because he knew the ten minutes were up and they had to sit in the four white chairs within seconds.

You nodded your head understanding they had to leave and Luke turned around with almost a white face.

“You swear you didn’t know anything?” He looked between the boys and they all raised their hands in surrender.

“No clue at all.” Ashton swore under his breath, putting on a smiling face once they arrived in front of the chairs.

It was time for the game face.

“Hello boys, I’ve been looking forward to this. I’m Veronica James.” She introduced after shaking each of their hands, nodding for them to sit down.

“Pleasure to be here,” Ashton commented, already having the microphone in his hand. “I’m sure fans are excited to hear a little bit about us.”

“Oh yes, trust me they have,” She nodded her head in agreement, “They’ve been spamming our Instagram since they heard you were supposed to do an interview with us.”

They nodded their head in agreement in a row.

Luke looked down at his fiddled fingers. He knew it was going to be one of those really boring interviews. Where there was no content to ask about, it was just done for their reputation and to get some money in the business.

He loved those interviews where he could just laugh. It was the ones that were funny, where they could it in between and have intern jokes because the interviewer was actually great at their job.

He wouldn’t say that she was bad. He was just prepared for the basic questions and those were the ones asked.

It was mostly Ashton running the interview which was pretty nice. Luke didn’t like answering if he didn’t feel like it, and happily enough Michael was also on the road, wanting to answer something here and there.

Sometimes he would grab himself from zoning out completely. Looking at some sort of random object in the room and focusing on that.

His thoughts were somewhere else. They were focused on Petunia, what he was going to have for dinner tonight and the most obvious - the meeting with you.

It was the last thing he had expected and predicted. But of course, since you were a musician in the same industry like him, it wasn’t rare that they would take multiple people a day to interview.

He just couldn’t help but feel gutted. He knew the questions would be the same for you, you could basically just sit right next to him and answer the same thing as Ashton.

“How’s it going with you, Luke?”

It was like he faintly heard his name being called because it took him a few seconds before he even registered it was for him.

He looked between the others who had already asked the question. He had heard nothing, he didn’t even know what she was referring to.

He looked down at his fingers again, his mouth open hesitantly trying to come with an answer.

“I uh-,” He looked over at her desperate eyes, “It’s going well.”

He nodded his head in agreement and made a small sound in confirm that what was he wanted to answer. His dimple was showing because he knew it was the worst answer to a question. So pointless and without content.

“Going well?” She repeated his answer, wanting him to continue.

“Yeah, I’ve just bought a new couch. Creme color. Hopefully, I won’t spill food in it.” Luke didn’t know what else to say and he knew it sounded so weird.

This was what it felt like being empty for words.

"Well, that's definitely something the fans will want to know." She shrugged her shoulder, not wanting to sound pissed at him but he could tell that she was.

After being in the industry for so long, they knew how to read the interviewers. Tell when they were starting to get annoyed, when they were actually happy about the content they were giving and how much they aspired for the interview to be great. They weren't great at keeping secrets and were open like books. Ready to be read.

Well, the most common question then," She smiled a bit, wanting to seem sweet, "I know you've probably heard this a couple of times before."

"Shoot." Luke nodded her head, wanting her to continue. He couldn't just roll his eyes in front of her.

"You recently announced your divorcement with Y/N Y/L/N, as far as I've understood."

There it was. Luke could feel that the other boys tensed in the chairs and he wanted to lean back and disappear. It was his most HATED topic.

"Yes, that is indeed correct." Luke folded his hands together, "We've been divorced for over a year, starting out with being separated for three months. Recently just wanted to announce it because... We wanted to be respected for going each our ways."

"And I totally respect that." She looked at him sincerely, not wanting to get on his nerves or make him feel uncomfortable in any sort of way.

"Was it a sad or a happy ending?" She tried to slip the question in without sounding rude.

"It was a mutual decision if that's what your hinting towards. I'd never say a failed marriage is sad or happy." He shook his head in disagreement."

Out of a coincidence he looked towards the entrance for a second. He watched as you suddenly came in and stood with the crew, watching him with a worried but soft expression. You could tell he was feeling uncomfortable.

You could always read him like a book. Knew when something wrong was up because he would continue to lick his lips even though he had already done it five times. It wasn't like the interviewer could catch up with it because she didn't seem as the questions were disturbing.

No one would ever want to talk about their marriage that had suddenly ended.

"That's only amazing that you both wanted to end it on great terms." She said impressed, "So you're still friends today?"

"Of course." Luke was quick to answer without hesitation.

"That's great." She was scrippling it down onto her paper as well, probably wanting to come up with more questions.

"Would you like to share the reason why you broke up?"

By this question, Luke could start to feel his cheeks burn. He settled with just shaking his head, not feeling that he needed to answer that question with words. She continued from his body language and looked over at the crew shortly.

“Would you ever feel regret marrying young? I mean, I think we can agree when society says it takes away freedom.”

“I uh,” Luke couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh innocently. What a question to ask from someone who aspired to be professional.

He looked down at his fingers fiddling with the fabric of his black jeans. His mouth was curving over the microphone with lips parted.

“I think we’d like the next question, please.” Ashton broke into the conversation. He didn’t want to sound rude, but the question was indeed something that made Luke uncomfortable.

“No, I’d actually like to answer that,” Luke said honestly, surprising the others.

At every other moment, he would want them to have his back, tell off the interviewers when a question like this wasn’t okay. Ashton would always have his back, and so would he if Calum needed the help or Michael.

Ashton nodded his head with a small smile playing on his lips. It was a hint of being proud but Luke had to shrug it off with his serious expression.

“Marrying young was never the end of my freedom. It meant that I could travel the world with her by my side. It meant I could enjoy drinking at bars and dancing at clubs, but stumbling home at 2 AM and eating pizza with her in our underwear.”

He licked his lips because of his fast pace, noticing your expression in the background but he wasn’t glancing towards your direction.

“It meant that I got the chance to kiss those soft lips every single morning and before I went to sleep. If you see a young marriage as the end of your freedom, you’re doing it wrong.”

The interviewer looked at Luke with wide eyes. When she had prepared the questions, she didn’t expect the tables to be turned.

“And I know,” Luke wasn’t finished, “The question is easy. The question is the most common and if I had to pay a cent for every time I asked, I could feed entire Australia.”

The interviewer’s mouth twisted, looking between the boys instead by Luke’s sudden defense.

Ashton sat with a satisfied smile on his face. It wasn’t often the boys told an interviewer off but when they did, it felt so good. Calum was having a secret smile on his face, enjoying this.

“Y/N and I divorced for a reason. You assume it’s because of us marrying young.”

Michael cracked a smile by this, his hands rubbing together. He knew how much Luke hated that question because people assumed everything and nothing. It was just never the right answer.

“Let me tell you, Veronica James.” He leaned forward in his seat, “Our divorced marriage is our privacy. So why don’t you just respect that just like I don’t ask you why you just got a child with your third ex.”

Luke sat in silence for a moment, he knew she was too stunned to say a thing.

“It wasn’t because we suddenly stopped liking each other. Do you know just how amazing Y/N is?” His tone had calmed down and he looked over at you with a small smile. “Because I do.”

I’ve been living with her for many years and just because we aren’t together anymore, it doesn’t mean she lets go of that personality I love.” He glanced towards your direction, watching you look at him with soft eyes.

“And before you twist my words into something it’s not. Yes, I do love Y/N and I always will. I didn’t spend many years for her if she wasn’t lovable. I love her as my ex-wife, and I love her as a friend.”

You looked at him with shiny eyes, blinking them to try not to look like you were about to break down.

“She’s amazing, she’s caring and she’s respectful. Not only towards me but what we have had together.”

He looked at you with his lips in a line, taking one large breath and smiled carefully at you.

“Thank you…” You mouthed and leaned your head to the side, clutching your papers closer to your body.

He nodded his head by your words and looked back at the interviewer. She looked pretty confused, to the point where she was lost for words.

“Commercial breaks?” She looked pleading towards the crew behind the camera, “I mean this is only for a magazine… Can we get some water?”

The boys only nodded their heads in agreement and watched the crew put their equipment down, wanting to take a needed break.

Luke stood up from his chair and placed his hands into his pockets, looking over at you again who had gotten blushed cheeks.

You smiled carefully at him and he smiled back. He always had your back and you had his.

You continued to look at each other until your name was yelled, wanting you to meet at the makeup before it was your turn to be interviewed.

You looked back at Luke who gave you a nod confirming, his dimple showing before he headed with the boys towards the small buffet of mini snacks.

Always.

[lostinfic]

1. Indonesia, summer

Summary: She writes for magazines about luxurious resorts in exotic places and five-star hotels in glamorous cities. He’s photographed devastated war zones, refugee camps and child soldiers. For both of them travel is an escape, but he’s had enough of this grim reality, and she’s had enough of this disconnected fantasy. Perhaps together they can find something in between, something real, and stop running from themselves. Each season, a new destination and a chance to grow closer.

Pairing: Alec Hardy x Hannah Baxter Rating: Mature~ish (for now) Word count: 3.9k

A/N: Thank you to @onthedriftinthetardis​ for sharing her insights on being a photographer. Chapters are named after airport codes.

Prologue  |   Ao3    |    Gifset

The large, multi-level pool stops just short of a rocky cliff that dips into the Indian ocean, but the turquoise shade of the chlorinated water creates a nearly seamless continuity. Only the white froth of the waves breaks the illusion. Soak up the sun and let your mind wander beyond the horizon.

Hannah dotted her sentence and flipped back through her notebook. She placed a check mark next to “pool” in her list of resort services and amenities to review.

Soaking up the sun and letting her mind wander wasn’t something she had time to do. This was actually her first time lounging by the pool and even now she couldn’t let herself go, couldn’t just close her eyes and enjoy the warmth on her skin. Her brain noticed every detail and translated them into sentences for her article.

In her job, she often did in one day what others did in three. In the last four days, she had tested the Aquatonic seawater therapeutic pool, four of the five restaurants, the art gallery and shopping arcade, the yoga class, the Canang Ketupat demonstration, the Balinese dancing course, the cycling tour, the sailboat tour and the Segway tour. All the while looking into the eco-tourism aspect of things, she’d noticed the solar panels and the reusable straws in drink, but she wanted to dig deeper. She still had to check on the botanical garden, the activities for kids, the cooking school, the gym, the martini bar, ballrooms and, worse of all, the golf course. Only three days left to do all that.

Perhaps it was time to check out the rooftop bar as well.

A young man worked under the hut-like awning of the bar. He spoke basic English. As he prepared her cocktail, she chatted with him, asking about the band on his t-shirt and his hobbies. But soon, her gaze drifted away from the bartender and the beautiful beach vista, to the island itself, beyond the resort. Too far off for details, it appeared as a chaotic array of colourful houses under palm trees, quivering in the heat like a mirage. The Mahal Kita resort was nothing short of paradise, but her feet itched to explore the rest of the island.

She asked the bartender for recommendations, but he only mentioned activities offered by the resort. When Hannah insisted she wanted to see the town, he laughed, something she’d learned meant “no” here. She questioned him further and found out he wasn’t even from Pulau Kesuma and neither were his nearest coworkers. The employees lived in a dormitory on the premise and left the island on their days off.

As nicely as possible, Hannah insisted to speak to a local person to answer her questions. At last, a maid was waved over. She drew a crude map of the town with indications to the market and a beach. When she expanded her drawing to the west side of the island, the bartender stopped her with such vehemence that both Hannah and the maid started.

“No, no. No west. Dangerous,” he said.

The two Indonesian exchanged a cold glance Hannah couldn’t decipher.

“Okay, then I’ll be careful. Thank you…” She eyed their name tags. “Budi and Alya.” She tipped them both generously.

The hotel’s main entrance opened directly on the jetty where the ferry from Jakarta docked. With water on either side, there was nowhere else to go, so Hannah spent a good twenty minutes looking for another exit leading to the town.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered to herself.

All the service doors required I.D. cards. Finally, she spotted a kitchen helper and asked him for a light for her cigarette, she offered him one in exchange. She’d found it was always a good way to strike up a conversation with a stranger in a foreign country. Or, in this case, to ask for a favour. The kitchen helper opened a service door and they sneaked out of the hotel.

Hannah felt like Alice stepping through the looking glass. Out of the conditioned and, she now realized, perfumed air of the resort, heat and a hundred scents assailed her: dusty earth, petrol from the old motorbikes used by the locals, and the sweet green fragrance of flowers that gave the island its name, Kesuma. A goat bleated. A bike zoomed past her. And wanderlust stirred butterflies in her stomach.

She donned a large, floppy sun hat and set out to explore new grounds.

*

“Let me the hell out of here,” Hardy said to a security guard.

Five minutes and he had already run out of patience with this place. Jet lag stretched like a tight rubber band around his head. He had a meeting in town with Ellie and her partner, but couldn’t figure out how to get out of the hotel.

He’d arrived late last night, and the ferry took him straight to the resort. Aware of the scam, he hated giving the resort his money, but he had to be inside to investigate.

The security guard let him out a service door and vaguely indicated the direction of the market.

Hardy walked fast. His previous trips to other parts of Indonesia and Ellie’s instructions helped him navigate the unknown town.

The messenger bag holding his camera equipment bumped against his hip with every step, a sensation he’d grown accustomed to. Camera in hands, he was on the lookout for signs of the tourism industry already affecting the local population. On a street corner, a young woman, barely able to meet his eyes, lowered her dress and bra strap. Anger boiled in his stomach. He averted his eyes.

Along the way, he snapped pictures, almost aimlessly: crumbling houses, drunk men, working children. None of it exactly what he needed.

He knew he’d found what he he’d been looking for when he saw it: fishing gear propped against a wall. The composition was perfect: the sun shone on the shiny reels and the hooks dug into dry, cracked soil. The contrast between the fairly new equipment and the dust and spider webs covering it told a story of wasted potential. He took many pictures from different angles.

*

Hannah made her way toward the market as best as she could given the lack of street signs. She turned onto an unpaved narrow street. Small wooden houses crouched between tall palm trees and laundry hung to dry above her head. Women squatted in front of small brick fire places, cooking on a grill set directly over the flames. Chicken pecked around them. Bare-feet children, with dry snot under their noses, played with rusty bottle caps.

It reminded her of a trip to Thailand four years ago. She was no less shocked, and yet fascinated, that people still lived like that. But this time, the nearness of a luxurious resort accentuated her discomfort. And Hannah thought she’d rather be in Europe or North America where poverty wasn’t so confronting.

She felt the eyes of every local on her, they weren’t used to tourists yet. She had only seen one other white person, a weird bloke taking multiple pictures of fishing rods. Some children hid behind their mothers, others called her “Bule!” a slang word for white foreigner. But she never felt threatened or shunned, most people she came across smiled at her in the friendliest manner. She returned the greetings but didn’t engage further. There was always that push and pull within her, between keeping her distance from people and yet wanting to know them.

A girl of about nine with fierce dark eyes and braids approached her and touched her arm. Hannah smiled though she was ambivalent. She wasn’t naturally drawn to children but it would make cute pictures and a good story for her blog. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, Hannah resented it.

“Where can I eat?” Hannah asked the child, miming the action.

Instantly, other children came to her, five of them, with dimpled cheeks and second-hand superhero t-shirts. They all giggled. The eldest little girl, the one who had approached her first, whistled loudly and they all followed her. Hannah had no idea where they were taking her.

Shrubs lined the street and a little boy picked a fruit and handed it to her. It was a small, pinkish ball with green hair. She scrunched up her nose at it and waited until the children had eaten theirs to make sure it wasn’t a joke. A boy, no more than seven, took a knife out of his pocket and expertly sliced open the fruit for her. Inside was a milky white ball, similar to lychees. As she tasted the fruit, her brain looked for the right words to describe the refreshing, mild sweetness of it to her readers.

The children gave her more fruits, and she thanked them in Indonesian, “Terima kasih.”

“Rambutan,” he said.

“Rambutan?” she repeated.

He pulled on his black hair, “rambut,” he said. Then on the hair of the fruits, “rambutan.”

She snapped some photos of them and the fruits with her mobile phone. They all pressed around her, wanting to see the result on the screen. The photoshoot lasted longer than she’d intended. An adult passing by yelled something along the line of “stop pestering her”, and the kids scampered away. All of them except the little girl that had first approached her. In fact, she looked unimpressed by the adult. Hannah felt she’d found a kindred spirit in this kid.

They reached a sort of town square, with a mosque and a park where a group of men had gathered. A tin roof held up by hand-carved columns housed the market place. Hannah marveled at… everything. Behind makeshift stalls, men shouted prices for rice noodles and fruits. On the ground, large, shallow baskets displayed grains and legumes. An eyeless pig face, hung like a mask above a meat stand. Underneath, a bored woman wearing a headscarf chased flies away with a palm leaf.

The whole place was alive with chatter but a tension brewed underneath. Something was amiss.

Hannah wanted to go inside the market, but the little girl guided her elsewhere.

On a street corner, many local people queued. Before them, an old woman, at least eighty years old, hunched-back and sun-spotted, served food to them. Old, misshapen pans and plastic buckets surrounded her. Her knobbly hands efficiently wielded a string to slice through a green, cylindrical fruit. She then dropped handfuls of shredded coconut, balls of sesame seeds, and what looked like tiny pancakes onto a folded banana leaf. She covered carelessly the whole thing with a ladleful of brown syrup. It looked nothing like the “authentic and locally-sourced” food served at the hotel. And it was certainly less hygienic. But the scents— and her own sense of adventure— were too enticing to resist. She’ll try anything once.

*

Hardy spotted Ellie across the road, waving at him to come over. Her youngest son was with her.

“Hiya! Sorry for making you walk all the way here, we’re not allowed near the resort anymore.”

She gave him that grin of hers, with her small upper teeth pushing forward.

They’d first worked closely together in Bangladesh, after a sweatshop collapsed and killed over one thousand workers. She was a journalist for BBC World. It was her first time covering such a tragedy. Despite a rocky start, they’d developed something like a friendship, but it was hard to keep in touch when they both worked around the world. Last he’d heard of her, her husband had been arrested for murder

“You look well,” Hardy said.

It was an understatement. Her hair had grown, and her loose white linen shirt accentuated the healthy bronze glow of her skin. She seemed happier than he expected given the circumstances.

Beside Ellie stood a short man with a young, russet face, smooth skin safe for a little patch of hair under his bottom lip. He wore a suit despite the heat. He shook Hardy’s hand with nervous enthusiasm and introduced himself as Kadek Suardika Rahi.

They sat on the terrace of a restaurant. An outsider wouldn’t know this was a place of business: a dozen makeshift stools under an awning made from old vinyl advertising banners. In the heat, a rubber-y scent emanated from it.

Hardy was eager to learn more about the scandalous practices of the Mahal Kita Resort, but cultural norms demanded a beverage and small talk first. He opted for a cold drink made with coconut milk rather than the local variation on Java coffee.

“I met Kadek when I was covering the tsunami,” Ellie explained. “He was a doctor in England, but when he saw what was happening in his country, he decided to come back and help his people.”

“And Ellie helped make sure the natural disaster was not forgotten by the international community.”

They shared a smile and so much seemed to pass between them, reminiscence and adoration. And Hardy was surprised to feel a pinch in his heart, a longing for that kind of intimate language without words.

Hardy cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable. “So you live here now?”

“Not on Pulau Kesuma, no, not all the time. We live in Jakarta. Tom attends an international school there. Kadek’s whole family is here, though.”

She’d quit her job and now taught journalism at the university on top of helping local newspapers and free speech organizations.

“How’s your daughter?” Ellie asked.

“She’ll start uni next fall.”

He skimmed over the strained relationship with Daisy. He’d taken all the blame for the divorce, and rightly so, he had been away too often. His daughter had once accused him of caring more about children in Africa than about her.

A flash of blond hair and pale skin caught his eye. He scoffed at a young woman in too short shorts and a large hat. She didn’t even notice her selfie stick was in the way of a man and his cow. “Parasite,” he muttered. As far as he was concerned, these tourists were as guilty as the corporation who owned the resort. They should educate themselves and stop encouraging unethical tourism.

Kadek related to him what he’d heard from his family and other local residents. While the people were still struggling with the physical and psychological damage of the tsunami, foreign investors took advantage of the chaos to seize the land. Masked men, armed with machine guns, forcefully evicted the families. They built an electric fence around 400 acres of land. The land acquisition extended into adjoining bodies of water thus denying access to fishing grounds.

“It’s not just about the loss of income,” Kadek insisted, “we are a fishing people. This is our traditional way of life. Now we can be charged with illegal trespassing! On our own land!”

“What about the government?” Hardy asked though he had little illusion as to their role in this.

“The Navy helped the foreign investors,” Ellie answered. “At first we thought it was just a small part of the Navy gone rogue for profit. But when we petitioned the authorities for help we were shut down. They’re bloody shareholders.”

“Ellie received threats after she wrote about it in the Jakarta Post,” Kadek added, putting a protective arm around her shoulders.

The blatant abuse of power made Hardy’s skin crawl.

“Do you have any proof of all this?” he asked.

“Only what people told us. The security guards at the resort know us. We can’t go anywhere near. They don’t like us sniffing around. That’s why we need you.”

Hardy, Ellie and Kadek spent the afternoon touring the island. They talked to evicted families and angry fishermen. Hardy documented the destruction, but the resort people were good at covering their tracks, most of it could be chalked up to the tsunami.

One thing that kept coming back was talk of discolored water that poisoned the mangrove, dead fish drifted to the village like bad omens. No one knew where it was coming from, but a portion of the west side was completely off limits, enclosed by an electric fence and guarded by armed men. Hardy couldn’t risk antagonizing them. Not yet, at least.

He ate supper with Kadek’s parents who welcomed him like a member of the family. He admired how Ellie had adapted and built a new life, a new family, for herself.

When the sun started to set, he left the Rahi family with a promise to help. Wherever he went, he met people who had almost nothing yet demonstrated such generosity. It both soothed him and stoked his drive for justice. And so, he headed back to the hotel to investigate under the cover of darkness.

*

Hannah stepped out of the shower and grabbed the complimentary bathrobe. She noticed its softness. One look at the tag informed her it was made of organic bamboo fibers. She made a mental note to mention it in her article along with the nice mango shower gel that now perfumed the steamy bathroom. These were important details. Her readers expected to learn everything about a hotel, including the quality of the clientele which is why there was a German man in her bedroom. Presently, she caught him hastily pulling up his trousers to sneak out. Shame passed quickly over his handsome face.

“Maybe we can get a drink tomorrow night?” he said.

“Yeah, maybe.”

She was relieved he was leaving on his own so she wouldn’t have to get rid of him with increasingly unsubtle hints. It occurred to her after that he might be here with his wife and family.

She closed the door behind him and fell back on the bed. The room had a high, peaked ceiling made of dark wood and the dim light didn’t reach all the way up it. It looked like a void opening above her, growing as the evening turned darker.

Hannah reached for her phone. She sent Ben a text message, but doubted he would answer; he was sulking. She turned to social media. She posted a picture of the food bought in the market asking “what is this?”. She added a line about the cooking class she would take tomorrow and tagged the resort. Notifications popped up, but somehow only added to the oppressing emptiness growing in her chest. She dismissed the feeling as nothing more than her unsatisfactory hook up. The man had a nice body that promised more pleasure than it had delivered, leaving her keyed up.

Her hand ventured between her thighs. There was nothing but the sea outside her open windows, so she discarded the bathrobe, let the warm night air caress her body and set out to finish what that man had started.

“Hmm, much better,” she sighed after.

She cleaned up and wrapped a long sarong under her arms. Time to get back to work.

With her trusty Moleskin notebook in hand, she sat on the doorstep. A couple of rooms to her left, people were laughing and splashing around, but the sound of the surf, just a few meters ahead, interested her more.

Her pen moved fluidly across the paper, and she found herself writing about that little girl and the old woman serving food. She wondered about their paths in life, about one’s past and the other’s future. How different they were from her own life. She knew none of it would make it into her article, Elite Travelers wasn’t interested in that, but she felt compelled to put her complex feelings into words.

A flash of light disturbed her focus, followed by shutter sounds. She jerked up and squinted through the darkness.

In the bushes, a man was taking pictures of her. How long had he been there? Had he seen her masturbate?

“What the fuck are you doing?”

The man ignored her and kept taking pictures.

“Oi! Stop that, you perv!”

“Wha’? Get back in your room, ma’am.”

She hadn’t expected to hear a Scottish accent. He stepped closer, into the pool of light from her room. She recognized him from earlier in the village.

“Are you stalking me?” He looked at her like she was nuts. “Go away or I’ll call security.”

“Just get back inside. I’m a photojournalist.”

“What? For Playboy? Go. Away.”

“I can’t, I need—”

“That’s it, I’m calling security.” She turned to head back inside her room.

“For god’s sake. Wait!” He climbed the steps up to her. “The hotel management can’t know about this… I’m investigating the resort. Look.”

He showed her the pictures he’d taken: foundations and more brick work, the beach and swamps, portraits of local people. None of her. It was a relief (although having a stalker would be kind of flattering).

She took a good look at him: with his canvas shirt, sleeves rolled up, and scruffy cheeks, he looked overworked rather like a relaxed tourist. There was something about his stance, the hands on his hips, the unwavering gaze on her, an air of detached authority that made her trust him.

“Alright.”

“Good. So, you get back in there and let me do my work,” he said.

“Hold on, I’m a journalist too.”

He quirked an eyebrow, skeptically.

“I am. What are you investigating?”

With more probing—and threatening— he revealed, in vague terms, he was interested in the environmental impacts of the resort.

“What about what’s going on the west side of the island?” she asked.

He perked up at this— as much as this man could perk up. “You’ve seen something?”

“Well, I went sailboating— ”

He scoffed.

“What’s wrong with sailboats?”

“Local fishermen were banned from their own ancestral fishing grounds so you could go on a bloody sailboat. That’s what’s wrong with it.”

The accusation stung. Hannah took a step back. “And that’s my fault, is it? You know, sharks almost went extinct here because of the fishermen.”

He didn’t reply, though she had the feeling it wasn’t because she’d won the argument. He obviously knew more than he let on. As annoying as he was, she wanted to know more too.

She invited him in her room, to show him something she’d discovered on her photos. During the sailing excursion, Hannah had spotted what seemed like a lovely secluded beach. However, when she asked about it to the captain, he immediately veered the boat away. That beach was on the west side of the island, the one she’d been warned against this morning.

She handed him her phone, but he frowned at the selfie displayed.

“No, look closer, you muppet, in the background.”

She zoomed in. There was a high fence, partly covered with vegetation, and what looked almost like a bunker.

“Maybe there’s another way in,” the photographer mumbled. “There are rumors about— oh...”

He’d swiped too far and reached a picture of Hannah in a rather revealing bikini. She tittered at his blush. He shoved the phone back in her hands with a scowl. He considered her for a moment. His sharp gaze openly scanned her, and Hannah became very aware that she was wearing only a sarong.

“Alright,” he said, having come to some conclusion. “Could you take me there?”

“Yes,” she replied with more confidence than she felt.

Hannah went to the bathroom to put on a pair of shorts and a white t-shirt. She felt like she’d drank too much coffee. She was excited by the secretive nature of the investigation and the shared complicity with this photographer.

She slipped her phone and keycard in her back pockets, and they headed out through the patio door.

“I’m Hannah Baxter, by the way.”

“Hardy.” They shook hands. “C’mon, Baxter, stop withering.”

#

Chapter 2: Indonesia, summer (cont’d)

A/N: Pulau Kesuma is a fictional place but what happened there after the tsunami is based on real events that took place in Sri Lanka.

[thesiteofstyle]

JOACHIM KOKA

On his extensive hair routine, the importance of cruelty free products, and branding yourself through fashion choices.

“My name is Joachim, AKA Wakie, Wakie Fleeky Flames, Wakie Balboa, @offwhitewakie, Waksquiat etc. pronounced Wah-Key. I’m 24, currently work in Higher Ed and I’m from Hunter, NY. Hunter is a ski mountain in the Catskills where there’s less than 3,000 people and they’re all white, so it always throws people off “because of the way I dress.” Fortunately, I wasn’t too far behind the curve when it came to learning how to dress, thank you internet. Skin care however, different story.

It really wasn’t until after I graduated college and started getting a Birchbox that I learned more about skin care and realized Cetaphil wasn’t cutting it anymore. I’d call my skin care routine trial-and- error. Products typically plateau for me after a while and I have to switch it up, which is difficult because I have combination-oily skin and it’s pretty sensitive. Right now I’m using Lush’s Coalface and Dark Angels for my face to clean, and rosewater/coconut water spray from Alaffia after. I get pretty oily, so sometimes lotion is too much. Face oil has been pretty good to me though. The particular blend I was using was discontinued so I’ve been looking for a new one (PLANT Industries has forsaken me). If you don’t use tea tree oil for spot treatment, I don’t trust you. That stuff is great. I don’t think I’m being dramatic. Body oils work better for me over lotions, too. Right now I’m using Vitamin E Oil from Trader Joe’s but if I feel like I need something with some extra umph I use (organic) coconut oil. The nice thing about the oil is that, because it’s unscented, it helps prevent breakouts, but I recently started applying witch hazel to my back as well to help. I don’t wear cologne often because I feel like there’s just too many fragrances going on with all the different products I’m wearing, but if I do wear cologne I really like Alfred Lane’s solid cologne in Bravado. I think there’s just something particularly suave about it and solid colognes typically last longer. The deodorants I use have a strong smell too. I usually use Everyman Jack’s Cedar scent but Alaffia has some great activated charcoal deodorant that I’m currently using. Both brands are natural and aluminum free, of course. In the shower, if I’m not singing, I like to use Rad soap, which is a locally made soap company. Due to the fact I’m lazy and like to save time, I like to use bar soap with oatmeal/coffee in it so I can exfoliate doing that.

Now here’s where things get interesting: hair routine. Anyone who knows me knows I’m kind of obsessive when it comes to my hair. It’s very much so part of my brand so it’s important I take care of it. I’m Wakie with the good hair. I legitimately had a nightmare I got a bad haircut. It was haunting. I haven’t gotten such a bad haircut since my sophomore year in college and I lived in a hat for a month. I wash and condition every other day. I use Andalou Full volume shampoo and Everyone balance conditioner and I’ve been very happy with the results since I’ve made this my routine. That said, I think I’ve used enough pomades to consider myself an aficionado. A staple for me has been Suavecito. It’s affordable, smells amazing, and gives me the strong and slick hold I need for my hair right now. Real James Bond. For a matte finish though, Blind Barber 90 proof and O’Douds pomade are great. I came a long way from hair dryers and Axe products. My hair thanks me for it, and I thank you for the compliments on it in advance. I’m somebody that is adamant that you support the causes you believe in through what you buy so all of my products are cruelty free. No exceptions. No compromises. Don’t call me stubborn because I already know that.

I’ve always been obsessed with branding myself, even before I had any idea what that was. My sophomore year in high school I wore Famous non-stop (yes, that god awful “F” shirt) and Obey shirts my senior year. I’ve always wanted my clothes to make a statement. I saw this quote on a friend of mine’s Instagram page that said, “fashion is what you buy, style is what you do with it.” It resonated with me because I think style is the most visceral form of expression. I’ve never known exactly how to categorize my style, but my instagram is @theexecution because my personal style is reflective of this. My outfits are usually simple, but well executed. I try not to wear more than 3 colors as a typical rule of thumb. I tell everyone the best piece of style advice I ever heard was have a uniform. It gives you strong branding and a fail safe outfit you’re comfortable and confident in and let’s face it, what looks better than that? I would say mine is a well fitting pair of jeans, black or blue, and a basic colored tee, and shoes. Yes shoes, not sneakers. It’s my fail safe, I would wear it on a date, I would wear it in a box, I would wear it with a fox. A few years ago I started tucking my t-shirt in and it has gotten to the point where I feel weird not tucking in my shirt. It shows off the dad bod and I think it gives an otherwise “basic” outfit a thoughtful touch. Speaking of smart, I can’t imagine an outfit of mine being a complete Wakie outfit without glasses. My favorite pair is the Little Time from EyeBuyDirect. I really like what a good pair of frames do for my face and they allow me to add another subtle detail of coordination or contrast to a minimal outfit...and no they’re not prescription. Someone told me once that I’m appropriating blind culture and I still don’t know how to feel about that. 

I’m particularly in love with patina. When clothes tell a story there’s nothing better. This is probably why I have a soft spot for raw denim and anything that fades. Right now I’m wearing in a black pair from Uniqlo and they’ve been good to me. I had an indigo pair from the Gap but they passed away in a terrible crotch rip accident. I’m about to pick up a Carhartt jacket that I’m going to abuse so it gets some nice fades in it too. One item that stands out in particular is my denim jacket. It’s a Levi’s jacket but the thing that makes it mine with my story are the patches and pins. A few years ago I started getting a patch or pin every time I go somewhere new. The goal is to cover the jacket and hopefully have special memories and stories for each detail. For my footwear, I can’t imagine a world without Clarks and I really wish someone would ask me where I get them. Clarks mi prefer. It started with desert boots, but my favorite pair is easily my Clark’s x Norton boots. They’re black biker boots and they’re indestructible. I call them my American History X shoes. Shout outs to Edward Norton. What a coincidence. My other go to are my double monks. These are so utilitarian and I feel like I could wear them anywhere. Lastly, I have an olive wool coat from Topman and it’s really been integrated into my favorite looks. There’s something about olive green that’s undeniable and I think, as a jacket, it’s great to just wrap every outfit in that mossy color. I don’t think that color will ever go out of style and I’m happy I don’t have that camel color that everyone else has. Yes I went there. Not that I think I’m the only person who wears this color or has a jacket like that but I think of my overall aura, between the smells I’m attracted to and the tones I dress in are very earthy and organic in every sense of the word. I think that’s what makes my looks personal to me. I’m basically Captain Planet. Drink more water and recycle, please.”

Joachim Koka interviewed by The Site of Style

[anneedmonds]

Dr Teal’s Soaking Solution: Will (Probably) Knock You Out

Dr Teal’s bath salts are so good I’ve just ordered some more. Which might sound like a bit of a non-statement (if you like something then why on earth wouldn’t you order more?) but when you have a whole shelfload of things waiting to be tested – bottles of bath oils and tubes of body unguents and great big glass pots of epsom salts – it’s a special kind of product that makes you ignore the queue and part with hard cash.

Not that the Dr Teal’s is expensive, I hasten to add – a large 3lbs bag of Dr Teal’s Soaking Solution has just set me back £7.99 on Amazon*. With free Prime delivery. I’d actually be tempted to set up one of those repeat orders where they send stuff to you every month, but there’s no option for it. Probably a good idea anyway, considering that I never get my repeat orders right in terms of quantity or frequency; I currently have no cat food, no cat litter but 24 kilos of dried dog food and 62,000 packs of pull-up nappy pants.

(For Ted, not me.) (Though with my pelvic floor those days can’t be far away.)

So yeah, Dr Teal’s Pure Epsom Salt Soaking Solution: I can’t imagine anything overtaking it on the bath salts front any time soon. These particular salts have given me the best nights’ sleep I’ve had in years. Uninterrupted, deep, weird-dream sort of sleep that nothing can shake me from. Dr Teal’s, they knock me right out.

Admittedly that’s not ideal when you have a three year old and a two year old, but I only “take the salts” when there’s another responsible adult around. Namely Mr AMR, who actually also “takes the salts” because he inevitably gets into the bath after me, but he is immune to all and any sleep-inducing concoctions, including bath salts, Benilyn Original and the nighttime Night Nurse capsule which is, as we all know, laced with some sort of sleep magic.

So Mr AMR is unaffected by Dr Teal’s Soaking Solution, but let’s ignore him because he’s obviously harder to fell than an Ox; I, on the other hand, am sent into the deepest possible slumber. Someone could dismantle my house around me, brick by brick, move me to a different hamlet/village/town and rebuild the house and I would be none the wiser. You could shrink me down and put me inside a boom box and I probably wouldn’t even murmur. You know those stupid videos where people blow a foghorn down a sleeping person’s ear? Wouldn’t wake me. A huge handful of salts in the bath just before bedtime and I am completely lost to all earthly communications and sensations.

Buy Dr Teal’s Soaking Solution here*

The salts I’ve been trying are the Dr Teal’s Detoxify & Energize with Ginger & Clay. In all honesty, I don’t know how much effect the addition of Ginger & Clay has (perfume is listed higher on the ingredients list than clay is), but I don’t really care; ten minutes basking in Dr Teal’s solution (sounds dodgy) and I’m out for the count.

I’m no stranger to the joy of the Epsom Salt, by the way – it has always had a knockout effect on me – and you can get them relatively cheaply on the internet in huge quantities. At around twenty quid for ten kilos (it comes in huge buckets) the plain, slightly industrial-looking tubs of salts are dozens of times cheaper than anything branded or laced with oils and perfumes and – er – clay.

(You can get 20 kilos of epsom salts for £20 on Amazon* here…)

Dr Teal’s salts aren’t as plain (or as cheap) as those, but I rather like the hint of oil and the bit of fragrance. You could of course use the cheaper, unadulterated salts and then add a few drops of really great quality bath oil (I can highly recommend anything from Aromatherapy Associates, especially the Deep Relax Oil) but most of the time that’s one step too many for me. I can barely remember to take my clothes off before stepping into the water let alone concoct my own bath treatment. (Although that may have to be my next post: a how-to on the most cost-efficient, luxury bath soak.)

The particular fragrance of Dr Teal’s Detoxify & Energise (with Ginger & Clay, don’t forget!) is what I like to describe as “well-groomed man of a certain age”. If you’re a fan of the BBC drama Line Of Duty then you can use Superintendent Ted Hastings as your reference here. I just like the idea that he smells clean, slightly musky, a hint of shaving cream – he’s a man who’s a pro at shaving and still has all of his own teeth. Probably.

So for a knockout sleep, try this: a whole huge mugful of the Dr Teal’s salts into a warm bath (yes, you put loads in, that’s the beauty of them being relatively cheap) and then a nice soak before getting straight into bed. No iPhone, no television, no laptop in between bath and bed – just dry yourself off and then hop directly between the sheets. (Or betwixt sheet and duvet. Does anyone use a flat sheet as well as a fitted anymore? I started off with good intentions, when I first left home, but soon realised that it was one more thing to have to change on laundry day…)

You can find the Dr Teal’s Soaking Solution here* – there’s also a lavender one, which must send people into the sort of deep sleep that to come around from requires a gong and some car jump leads. It has a three month wait on delivery for that, perhaps because the people at the factory and the van drivers are all snoozing…

The post Dr Teal’s Soaking Solution: Will (Probably) Knock You Out appeared first on A Model Recommends.

Dr Teal’s Soaking Solution: Will (Probably) Knock You Out was first posted on May 11, 2019 at 7:30 pm. ©2018 "A Model Recommends". Use of this feed is for personal non-commercial use only. If you are not reading this article in your feed reader, then the site is guilty of copyright infringement. Please contact me at contact@amodelrecommends.com Dr Teal’s Soaking Solution: Will (Probably) Knock You Out published first on https://medium.com/@SkinAlley

[jessicakehoe]

From the FASHION Archives: Lady Gaga Was Always Going to be Famous

Since its launch in 1977, FASHION magazine has been giving Canadian readers in-depth reports on the industry’s most influential figures and expert takes on the worlds of fashion, beauty and style. In this series, we explore the depths of our archive to bring you some of the best fashion features we’ve ever published. This story, originally titled “Gaga” by Elio Iannacci, was initially published in FASHION’s February 2014 issue.

PHOTOGRAPHY BY INEZ AND VINDOOH AND STYLED BY BRANDON MAXWELL, LADY GAGA WEARS A JACKET, PRICE ON REQUEST, BY COME DES GARCONS AND GLASSES, PRICE ON REQUEST, BY EARLY HALLOWEEN. HAIR BY SHAY ASHAUL BY TIM HOWARD. MAKEUP BY YADIM FOR ART PARTNER. MANICURE BY JIN SOON CHOI FOR JED ROOT.

It’s hard to believe that it’s only been five years since Lady Gaga released her first album, The Fame. The sheer number of images, hits and sound bites the 27-year-old has ushered into popular culture is uncanny. The New York native’s wardrobe choices have inspired lookalike fans and popularized collections from such designers as Jean Paul Gaultier and Hussein Chalayan. Her first fragrance, Fame, launched in 2012, sold six million bottles during its first week. University courses have analyzed her socio-political significance. She’s the only chart-topper to have used the word “transgendered” in a Billboard number one hit (2011’s “Born This Way”), and her 40 million-plus Twitter followers and 60 million Facebook fans have witnessed her fight for equal rights for women and the LGBT community. Last year, Time Magazine’s readers named her the second most influential person of the decade (beating out U.S. President Barack Obama). Unlike so many in her line of work, Gaga’s affection for fashion is not a flirtation. Whether donning legendary labels, new technologies or message-based garments, the woman formerly known as Stefani Germanotta is a living, breathing canvas. Which is probably why Donatella Versace chose Gaga as the new face of her label. Before her upcoming world tour, Gaga sat down with features editor Elio Iannacci to talk about her latest obsessions and her current album, Artpop.

You once said you wanted to be regarded as the female Andy Warhol. Do you feel closer to that goal? When I said that, I didn’t have a concept of where my career was headed. When I was writing Artpop, I was really looking at where we are now as a culture. I was in H&M the other day, looking around just to see the effect that Monster culture has had on street fashion. People used to say, ‘Who is this weird girl with her crazy outfits?’

How did the subsequent surge of fame affect you? I never let anyone change who I was. I was always willing to go down with my own artistic ship. I create things that I really care about—I fight for images, for music and for the community of fans. Born This Way was all about equality and being yourself from the inside out, but now there’s a need to celebrate that. Artpop is a celebration.

You have a mandate to make a space where high and low art, fashion and music can live together. To many, this is still seen as a radical act. This is the dilemma. I don’t believe there’s pretension in art. You don’t have to know anything about art to love it. You just have to be next to it and feel it. I want my fans to know that we don’t have to succumb to what people think a pop star should be in order to be successful.

You were accepted into The Juilliard School as a child, but your parents placed you in a private Catholic school. Had you gone through that classical training, would there be a Lady Gaga? Probably. There’s this implication that if I wasn’t so successful I would have to stop. But I never would have stopped. I would be in some bar, being Lady Gaga.

You’ve recently taken workshops with Marina Abramović—the performance artist who has risked her life for her art. How have they changed your perceptions? I thought that after The Fame, The Fame Monster and Born This Way, it had all worn me down. It felt like my mind and every muscle in my body had been taken by the noise and the cameras—but it hadn’t. I went into the woods with Marina [for an artistic workshop] and I realized how strong I really was. [Marina] will balance on a stick between her legs for nine hours and go numb in the name of art. For her, it’s all about creating this experience with the audience where they’re watching her suffer for her work. Once I was out there with the sound of the river and Marina’s calm, sweet voice telling me to close my eyes and find my way home, I knew I could do anything.

Let’s talk about the paintings of you hanging in the Louvre in Paris. You sat with Robert Wilson to recreate some historic works. Which were the most challenging? I have a connection to old souls, so there was sort of a séance element where I asked artists of the past to give me permission to feel their pain. When I was doing [Jacques-Louis David’s] The Death of Marat, I lay in each position for six or seven hours. I also did my own piece, where I hung upside-down for 45 minutes in bondage. It wasn’t meant to be sexual. I believe everyone has the power to be an art hero. You don’t have to wait until you’re dead to be appreciated, [even though] this is the age when they wait until you die to write nice things about you.

At a time when you were criticized for gaining weight, you created the body revolution movement and asked fans of all body types to post photos of themselves on your site. Did seeing their bravery help your self-esteem? My self-esteem was fine. I didn’t have a problem with my weight—the world did. The body revolution was just my way of liberating myself from that criticism. That’s what I wrote ‘Do What U Want’ about. Did it heal me? No. But I was happy to see so many fans stripping naked to show they didn’t care either. I want to remind everyone that the people who win Nobel Peace Prizes and cure diseases are not supermodels. Your legacy does not need to be a perception of beauty that’s not realistic.”

In 2009, you gave a speech at the National Equality March in Washington and called it the most important moment of your career. The rage in that speech was directed at U.S. President Barack Obama. Do you think it had an effect? You don’t know exactly where your activism is going to land. I was just one person speaking out. I grew up with gay friends, and when I started to come out with my music, they were still there, supporting me. How could I sit down every night making money off a ticket that they’re buying for my show, knowing that they don’t have the same rights that I have? I can’t do that.

Donatella Versace once told me you are today’s quintessential role model. You’ve written a song about her on Artpop that hints at how misunderstood she is. Why do you think she’s so misjudged? Nobody really knows anything about her. She is the most kind, loving, sweet woman. The point I am making with a song like ‘Donatella’ is that you love to love her and you love to hate her. It’s this thing we have in common. The truth is, we’re having a blast doing what we are doing, so that’s our silver lining. We don’t mind being these blonde martyred icons as long as we have our champagne and our Marlboro cigarettes whenever we’re together. I went to her house in Milan last year, and I was having a really tough time. I was exhausted on the Born This Way tour and she opened her home to me and had 50,000 white roses in the house. I don’t always have anyone to look up to, but seeing Donatella, where she is and how far she’s come, I get to have a role model.

You’ve managed to give the Fashion Police less power by showing up on the red carpet in meat dresses and giant eggs. Was this a conscious choice? My whole life is a fucking red carpet. The red carpet has become ridiculous. All these women are starving themselves to look amazing because this is their big moment? Why shouldn’t the press adore them every day for being entertainers? I use the red carpet as a stage. I was supposed to do something at the VMAs that they didn’t let me do. I was very upset about it. I wanted to have five or six Gagas walk the carpet in all my looks from all my videos. A lot of exciting things happened at the VMAs, so it was strange that I couldn’t do that.

You’ve written three songs with the word ‘fashion’ in the title. What keeps drawing you to this contradictory, extreme, egotistical and often magical world? It was always the thing that made me feel like I could be anything, no matter what anyone said about me. When I felt small or unimportant, my ability to sew things and invent myself like an art piece meant everything. That’s why I’ve always cared about my costumes and my show. It’s never been marketing… fashion gave me a sense of who I am.

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