#the soundtrack to this was Space Song by Beach House

[witchking-jr]

hey beloved gremlins of the web site.

I’m pondering escape and freedom from the psychological torture of fundamentalism this fine evening, and if you too escaped that maze, tell me about it.

Among people who grew up in fundamentalist religious environments and ended up leaving, you hear a lot, and rightfully so, about the trauma and grief and lost experiences of growing up that way.

I could tell you all those tales, but not now.

What about the feeling of the crack in the rigid little box, the realization the horizon is not a boundary but a portal, the sudden expansion of the self, your past self, that had the courage and boldness to say fuck it and walk out?

I had a few such moments, but the most vivid was a day in October of 2009. I had ridden my old mountain bike to a Campus Outreach event near the U of M campus. Campus Outreach was the college ministry of Bethlehem Baptist Church in Minneapolis, the deeply dysfunctional, patriarchal, and white supremacist church I grew up in.

We played Ultimate Frisbee, a game I hated. As I had for almost my entire time in church culture, I stayed on the sidelines, body buzzing with restless energy, which I now recognize as intuition, telling me to leave, that that place held nothing for me.

I finally, fully, listened. I made some excuse, got on my bike, and rode away. It was raining. And do you know what it fucking felt like?

It felt like that part in Pilgrim’s Progress, when Pilgrim loses his big bag of sins. I felt like I’d lost 70lb of dead weight, physically. I felt the restlessness subside, replaced by euphoria. No one could make me go back, and no one had any real leverage, except fear, and that was feeling like a rotten thread instead of the thick rope it used to be.

I rode back to the West Bank through Dinkytown in a haze of happiness. I was free. I’d freed myself. I hung around church with my family for awhile, out of guilt and habit, but that was the beginning of the end, and the birth of every other beginning: being bisexual, being nonbinary, being non-monogamous, leaving Christianity fully, changing almost every single political view I held, allowing myself to be the artist who had been pounding on the walls since I could hold a crayon. Changing myself and being changed so radically that it still makes my head spin, well over a decade later.

Fundie Christians love the narrative that someone who left Christianity was tempted, corrupted, deceived. In reality I’d realized I could fit thru the bars of the cage, the prison guard was a dead scarecrow husk, and the big scary gate was barred with a toothpick.

And since that day, I can tell you from the deepest part of my soul: every part of my life got better. Every single thing.

So tell me, where were you when you realized you were free?

[hauntedwoman]

u ever watch a show that's so cringe and terrible that u genuinely can't look away ? that's how i feel abt wednesday.

[limini-cricket]

what makes this fragile world go round?

[averseunhinged]

*runs at full speed shrieking through the room and hurls wip at the curse*

If you’d told Klaus a month ago that he’d be spending a Tuesday evening in January winding his Land Rover through one of the poshest areas of the Hollywood Hills, submitting himself to more security checkpoints than Buckingham Palace, shouldering a provisional contract and an NDA so dense and complicated that even Finn, the dullest, most detail-oriented entertainment attorney Klaus had ever known, had been winded by it, and getting an uncomfortably thorough pat down from a woman whose physique put Finn's wife, a former professional wrestler, to shame, he would have called you delusional.

It's a pity he can’t tell Rebekah he’s been conscripted into the Fang Bunny Army. He's lived through five or six rounds of his sister’s membership. Of every album release becoming an event, every award on par with a coronation, every tour a gauntlet of ticket sale shenanigans and elusive meet-and-greet passes, weeks of outfit crises, and transportation horrors. Bekah would shriek herself hoarse when she found out he hadn’t so much as hinted at having been personally summoned by her favorite popstar.

It isn’t only the money that's brought him to this point. For the first time in years, he feels truly intrigued by a potential project. His bread and butter might be plentiful and filling, but his greatest achievement to date is an obnoxiously catchy, instantly recognizable twenty second loop from Kitten Crashers, a cat racing game from 2011, that rarely leaves the trending sounds list on both TikTok and Instagram. It's work, and he's glad to have it, but it isn't high profile by any stretch of the imagination. Not anywhere near the level of Caroline Forbes.

Her teen years spent playing the shrewish, older sister on some Disney Channel nightmare and later a starring turn in Vampires of Venice Beach, an inexplicable mega-hit at the box office, it included an original ballad by Caroline herself on the soundtrack. Critics weren't kind to the song, but it was everywhere you turned for over a year. Their assessment wasn’t entirely incorrect. The melody was banal and the instrumentation derivative, but there was something to the lyrics and more than something to Caroline's voice. The song netted her first Grammy nomination. It was by no means her last.

Which is to say, he's not sure why he's being escorted by security into an old mansion in the Hills. He does just fine these days with scores and commercial background music and thirty second hooks for social media, but he's not famous for it. He'd barely been famous before The Originals had flamed out spectacularly. He and Elijah are far better off without differing opinions on creative direction and an unfortunate predilection for falling for the same woman at the same time. The fallout from the Petrova twins had been explosive and there hadn't been any option but to break up the band at that point. His fifteen minutes certainly aren't anything to recommend him to one of the most successful recording artists of the 21st century.

He's shown into a beautifully restored and tastefully appointed room that is mostly end to end glass, looking out over both an outdoor space and a lot of the city in the valley below, blurring in the golden sodium light of late afternoon. The man who'd taken charge of Klaus at the entrance to the house hasn't bothered introducing himself with the sort of smarmy assuredness Rebekah laps up, always to her detriment, gestures disinterestedly to a bank of comfortable seating where someone has obviously been working all day. There are notebooks, binders, an assortment of pens and highlighters, a MacBook, and two tablets on the coffee table. Two guitars sit in stands: a newer Martin with an intricate floral inlay and a vintage Gretsch he desperately wants to put his hands all over. Propped up in one corner of a sprawling couch is the same brilliant cobalt Jumbo she's famously played since she was eighteen. The woman in question is pacing by the pool, phone in hand, having an animated conversation.

The other man doesn't bother going all the way to the open doors before bellowing, "Wrap it up, gorgeous! Your five o'clock's on time."

Without turning around, the queen of Spotify lifts one hand and presents them with her raised middle finger.

"She'll be with you in a moment," the man says, mild and amused, on his way out of the room. "Don't worry. You're probably already in her good books. Loves punctuality, that one. Bit of a freak that way."

Even though Klaus knows how all of this works, the photoshoots and the costumes, the makeup and wigs, he's still a little surprised by how different she is in person. She looks well enough when she trots inside, but she's still barefoot in leggings and an old, worn soft shirt, advertising the Mystic County Sheriff's Department softball team in faded, cracking letters. Her blonde curls are piled artlessly on top of her head, and there's red irritation around her eyes, nose and mouth from wearing and removing stage makeup every day for months on end.

"Hey, I'm Caroline," she says, as though her name hasn't been synonymous with breathy, acoustic pop for the past decade, and waves a little awkwardly.

"Klaus Mikaelson," he replies automatically, as though she doesn't know who's been delivered to her very nice home with its very expensive view. And then she smiles at him with her own, slightly imperfect teeth, and the only thought he has is oh no. He digs his own grave when he, without any higher cognitive input whatsoever, says, "You must never meet my brother."

[uinen-harth-estraven]

Daydream (Joseph Quinn x Reader)

Title: Daydream

Chapter no./Oneshot: Oneshot

Notes: Sooooo after years I came here again to give you this..It was actually a dream I had last night, and it felt so real that I wanted to write it down as a fanfic.I wish to have the same dream again soon,because apparently I have no life and I need fanfics and dreams to keep me going… Also if you watched 1899,I kinda had a little crush on the depressed captain,just to warn you for what’s this.

Ratings/Warnings: 18+ content,fem!reader,smut-ish,blood kink guys,fluff,angst if you squint but not so much really.NSFW in general.You’ve been warned..!

Songs/Soundtrack: “You and I” and “Only You” by Pavlov’s Dog 

Summary: You always had a place to hide when you’re feeling down and nothing could lift your spirits.One day after a misunderstanding that led to a fight,you ran to that place not knowing that Joseph followed you. 

Word Count: 2.2 k

It was Christmas week,and as usual you and Joseph came to your family home in the countryside.A perfect scenery that combines mountain and sea,in a small town,with mostly older people,a small school,a few vintage family shops,a church and an abandoned movie theater.This old movie theater had become a safe space for you,the owner passed away years ago and he didn’t have a family so it was left to rot.Not on your watch though,a few years after his death,you were just curious to explore the building,with flashlights and a small pocket knife just to be safe,you never know what can happen.That was when you found the owner’s office,there was dust everywhere,the window broken,papers upon papers scattered across the floor,movie films on the shelves,most of them ripped off.It was intriguing to say the least,so you kept going,until one day you managed to clean it up,get a small battery operated CRT tv in there and a couch that turns into a bed from your grandparents.Anytime you feel just a bit melancholic you escape there,as many hours as you need,and no one knows.

This year you decided to invite Joseph’s friends,just to get to know them better and perhaps make a friend yourself,because as of right now you didn’t have many.Your parents had already cleaned and made the basement floor more welcoming and homey,besides your bedrooms,where Joseph sleeps with you, and the basic rooms there’s not so much space.At least the court yard was big enough to contain plants,flowers,a lemon tree and a purple leaf plum tree.In the summer you and your parents will always spend time in the garden,sometimes even sleeping there.Every winter tho’ it’s magical,fresh snow covers the entire town,the plum tree flowering with snowflakes around the purple and red leaves,and the only sounds you can hear is the song of the goldfinches,while the gangs of crows always find a way to wake you up in the mornings.At night if you listen closely and silently, you can hear the owls celebrating their hunt,combined with the faraway bells from the church in town.

When everyone arrived at your home in the evening,you and your mother helped them with their bags,showed them around the house and helped them settle until dinner.While you all were sitting in the living room watching television with your father,who surprisingly liked them from the moment he met them,Joseph suggested a walk at the snowwhite beach.You wanted to help your mother with the dinner,so you stayed behind and told them that you’ll find them there later.After some time that you helped your mother with her famous beef ragu,and cheese ‘n’ garlic bread,she gave you the ‘okay’ to go meet Joseph and the guys.Getting your coat and scarf from the hanger,you jog your way to the beach,and as you arrive and waved at Joseph,getting closer you heard them arguing with your name on their mouths.So here you are now,watching them blaming you that one of their girl friends didn’t come,with Joseph obviously on your side.A few more seconds passed until you had enough and spoke your mind. 

"I don't understand why should I have known that she doesn't like me, when she acted all kind and sweet with me?" 

One of them started to say something but you cut him off. 

"I tried to be as polite as possible because you're Joseph's friends, and he loves you guys a lot.." you try to take calm breaths at this point, seeing red. "..that was the only reason, and I still don't get how the sweetest person I've ever met.. Is-is hanging out with such assholes."

"Darling.." Joseph touched your face with his hands, you didn't realize how close to you he came "it's okay.." 

He was talking, he was talking to you but you couldn't hear him, the sadness overtook you by storm..telling you that it was your fault, they were unhappy and it was your fault, they were fighting and it was your fault, she didn't come and it was your fault..Tears start peaking from your eyes, and your lips trembled. You need to go to your safe space,your nest,and quickly. But not before you say your final words. 

"You know what..?" 

All of their eyes are on you again, waiting. 

"If you were so heartbroken from her absence, and you didn't like me for it..then why are you here..hmm?"

They don't answer..but at least they look a bit ashamed. 

"Why did you accept my invitation, and my parents' hospitality?" 

You waited for any of them to say something, anything.. Joseph was looking even more furious at them. No answer came, as their silence became unbearable and the sea was singing a lonely melody.

You couldn't stop your tears of frustration any longer, but you didn't want any of them to see, so you did what you wanted to do and ran your way to the old movie theater.Passing by your house,your mother was outside cleaning the ice from the stairs,of course she saw you and she probably called your name but all you’ve got in your mind is to get the hell away from there.While you were taking a turn,you didn’t quite look where you were stepping,your feet slipped on a frosty mud and fell down scratching your knees and palms trying to break the fall.That didn’t stop you from getting back up,after some minutes steadying your feet,not knowing that a few meters away someone was following you.

Finally you’re in the old movie theater,your tears almost frozen on your face as you try to wipe them with your coat’s sleeve.Your mind was tired from playing the same scene over and over..his angry look,those beautiful puppy eyes looking like a storm,it felt like it was meant for you..your fault..it was all your fault.You walked up the stairs with your flashlight in hand,slowly,as if someone would come attack you any minute.At last you’re in your safe haven,you open the tv in low volume to have some white noise in the background and make the bed to lie down.Your eyes feel more and more heavy,but it doesn’t feel like a good time to sleep right here,so you just close them for a little bit to calm down.

The sadness started to go away,your breathing slowing down and all of a sudden you weren’t in your bed.The sound of the sea was right beside you as you opened your eyes and looked around.Grey clouds surrounding the sky,mixing with the dark calming sea in the horizon,and feeling the wind through your hair softly whispering.The ship dancing on the waves,accompanied by seagulls and dolphins that lost their way.You played with your hands as you stared at the landscape.

“Did you get lost?”

You gasp as you turn around to see the owner of the voice.Big brown eyes looking back at you.

“I apologize..I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It’s quite alright..” you chuckle.

“What are you doing down here?”

“I was just enjoying the view..you’re the captain?”

“And what if I am?” 

“Well..I could ask you the same question.”

“I’m enjoying the view..” he smirks,using your words back to you.

“I didn’t catch your name,miss..” he steps closer to you,stretching his hand towards you.

“I didn’t give it to you.” you also stepped closer to him,just close enough but not giving your hand yet.

“Of course..” he stares at your eyes for a bit,before continuing “Who are you?Your name?”

“(Y/N)..how about you,captain?”

“Joseph.”

“Pleasure to meet you,captain Joseph.” you finally give him your hand,and he holds it like it’s fragile,close to his lips to kiss it softly.

“The pleasure is all mine,miss (Y/N)..”

Just like that your daydream is interrupted by the silence of the tv and the same voice calling your name.You see Joseph as you open your eyes to your surroundings.He was sitting on your bed softly caressing your calf.

“Is everything okay love..?” his eyes trail around the room for a bit “and how did you do this..?!” 

“With patience and savings..” you whisper back to him,but you couldn’t take out of your mind the picture of him as a ship captain,your pupils getting wider by the minute and your breath heavier..so much for calming down.

“Darling..are you alright?You seem off.” he lies down beside you as he sees your grabby hands.

“Just a fantasy..”

This seemed to intrigue him,and he took hold of your body,turning you in a way so that you lay on top of him.

“What kind of fantasy?” he whispers,his eyes lingering on your lips.You sigh through your nose,bringing your hand to play with his wool sweater your mother made for him.

“Oh..nothing special just..a ship captain..” 

“Hmm? What about him?” he asked, playing with your hair,almost purring.

It was just the two of you,nothing mattered at the moment,just you and him,there were no friends,no worrying parents.Just you and him.

“He had the most beautiful eyes..like a puppy..” you rub your noses together.

“Hmm…” he smiles,biting his lips “what else?”

“Big veiny hands..mm” you groan,squirm and spread your legs so that you can place your thigh on his crotch.Already feeling him getting hard.

“Woah…w-what else,babe..?” his hand stopped playing with your hair,and it holds the back of your neck instead.His breathing is getting heavier.

“I don’t know..you interrupted me..” you chuckle,and start to get off of him.He stops you before you even move,holding your thigh over his growing dick.Pushing your lips together in a soft kiss,his tongue licking at your lower lip and you open your mouth for him to explore.

“Just think..what did you want him to do?” he whispers between kisses.

“To touch me..”

“Where?”

“Eh- mm -everywhere..” you start grinding at him,flexing your thigh.

“Be specific,babygirl..” you whimper at the nickname..grasping at his sweater. “Go on..”

“I uh..I wanted him to lift my dress..” you inhale through your mouth,breathing him in “get my panties to the side-” you moaned as he grabbed both of your thighs,making you sit on top of him,on top of his rock hard cock,his eyes darker than ever.You start dry humping him,as he growls,squeezing your waist. “..and uh-use your-uh..his..his fingers inside me..” 

He snickered at your word slip,but didn’t say anything.He knows that your daydreaming is about him in different time periods,you’ve told him many times.As you go quicker he starts moaning louder,feeling you soaking him through your pants.

“Yeah..keep going,baby.” 

“Then ha- lift me,push me to a wall and spread my legs..Ah!” you felt him piston his hips hard enough up to your aching cunt,that made you cry out his name,your pants and panties forever ruined.Your hands grabbed at his chest,feeling his muscles flex under them.Sweat dripping down both of your faces,red cheeks and half lidded eyes.

“Yeah…come on,keep going,you’re almost there..”

“Spread my legs and..huh..fuck me hard until I fucking bleed..” you feel your composure fading,your orgasm slowly and strongly hitting you like a thunderstorm,as you feel Joseph holding you down on his cock,rubbing you in quick small circles.

“Is he bleeding you,babe,like the whore you are for him? Hmm?”

“Ah- YES!”

“Uh..yes,don’t test him or he’ll punish you,darling..” the way he said ‘darling’ made your eyes roll to the back of your head,groaning at the picture of you on his knees getting spanked raw,his hands red from your bleeding backside.

“Ahh..come on,baby,let go..”

“Joseph I..I w-want..”

Before you even finish your sentence,his hand flys to your throat,squeezing tight.

“Come on,love..” he moans “Come for your captain.”

“AH CA-...HAACAPTAIN-…!” 

With a silent scream,your orgasm finally hit its peak.It got you trembling,and squeezing your thighs around Joseph.His orgasm coming a second later,with his growls echoing in the room,along with your panting and soft whimpers..

It feels like time has stopped,you’re looking at each other with soft smiles,as you drop beside him.His arms instinctively coming around you,to hold you close to him,with a satisfying sigh.You stay like this for a while.Looking at the ceiling,playing with your hands..just existing together.

You would worry about the ‘friends’ situation later,together as always.Your only worry is that you have to find an excuse about your pants,for your parents’ sake.

Hope you liked it!!

[triskhellion]

Irie

Rated: Explicit (4.4k)

Relationship: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale, Original Characters

Tags: POV Stiles, Getting Together, Jamaica, Gratuitous Nyammin' & Jammin', Patois/Patwah, Explicit Sexual Content, Hickeys, Song Lyrics

Summary: The one where Stiles and Derek go on an errand for Deaton and have some time to kill in Jamaica. They thoroughly enjoy themselves eating, swimming, relaxing, and exploring the island…and then each other.

Soundtrack

Super Blue Moon prompts: Joy, Grain, Red Haze & Summer (Mead Moons prompts: Aphrodisiacs, Claiming, Herbs, Hot & Revelry)

TW Anchor Down (Full Moon Round) prompts: Word - Unstoppable, Phrase - “Grab the bull by its horns," Song - "Feel Good Inc.," Trope - Roommates, Picture - Cove @tw-anchor-down

Usually when Stiles got a message from Deaton about some errand or another it ended up with him and Derek searching for an artifact buried in Back of Everywhere, North Dakota during the dead of winter or rifling through a dusty pile of old papers in a dank, foreboding basement in Romania while being stalked by a cāpcāun or something.

But not this time. For once it appeared they were being sent somewhere warm and sunny in service of the supernatural. They were headed to the Caribbean to fetch half a dozen varieties of rare and apparently invaluable live plants for the druid that needed to be transported carefully under specific conditions once the specimens were ready.

What’s more, because they were on their way back from visiting Cora in Ecuador instead of trekking all the way back to Beacon Hills and then turning around to fly south again at most a week later they were just going straight to Jamaica and would have some time to kill. 

Beverly, an Obeahwoman whose network of multidisciplinary magic practitioners they’d gotten to know during their frequent trips to the Bay Area, lit up with excitement during their video call when she heard they’d be going to the country of her birth. She not only had recommendations for them, but tips and resources as well.

“Look, the big all-inclusive hotels and the curated activities are fun, not gonna lie, but there’s a lot more to the island than what you can find in those expensive, insular spaces if you’re interested in a bit of adventure or some actual peace and quiet,” she told them, dark eyes sparkling.

He and Derek had looked at each other and grinned. On one hand, there was something to be said for lounging around and having a parade of colorful cocktails pass by — he was a year past the drinking age of 18, of course he checked — but on the other, an adventure that didn’t involve something trying to kill them for once or some secluded relaxation would be nice. Plus, he was sure there were lots of other places a bit off the beaten path where he could chill on the beach with a beverage.

And so here they were careening on some winding mountain highway in a van driven by a sprightly 30-something guy sporting sponge twists in a fade named Desmond, or Dezzy, who was apparently a cousin of Bev’s.

“More like ‘Dizzy’,” he whispered to Derek when the way too calm driver, who was currently humming along to “Getaway” by Earth, Wind and Fire, overtook a car on a longer stretch and cheerfully honked the horn, swerving back into the left lane before they could be smashed or knocked off the mountain by an oncoming semi truck. The tires hugged the edge of the road around the next curve and they all leaned to the side.

They’d flown into Montego Bay a couple days before, leaving in the wee hours and arriving in the late morning. They shared a room with two beds as usual while on a job at the guest house Bev hooked them up with. It was in Runaway Bay about a 20 minute walk to beach, which they visited as soon as they’d settled in and got their bearings. If Stiles had his way he’d be wearing one of his two pairs of swim trunks the entire trip.

The owner, Tish, sent them off with a tote bag of sandwiches made from slices of a sweet and spiced brown bread and some salty, tangy, cheddar-based cheese that apparently came from a can. There were also a couple bottles each of grapefruit Ting and D&G kola champagne. They took their bounty and beach supplies down to the white sands and ate in the shade of an almond tree, the gentle, bright blue waves beckoning them. 

Derek didn’t need sunscreen like Stiles did, but he said he found the low level burn before his body healed annoying, so they both applied the SPF 50 lotion afterward, helping with each other’s backs when done with rest of themselves. Stiles tried to distract himself from the expanse of skin and muscle underneath his roaming palms, blushing when he found himself absentmindedly tracing the triskelion between the werewolf’s shoulder blades. He then had to fight to keep from making any noises when it was his turn, deft fingers spreading the goopy substance over him. 

As soon as those warm, massaging hands were removed from his hyper aware body — his, uh, starting to react body — Stiles took off running toward the clear water in an attempt to both hide and dampen the state he was in. Derek was soon chasing after him and he felt a thrill of excitement as he crashed through the warm liquid before being tackled. He came up sputtering and shaking his head, retaliating as soon as he wiped his stinging eyes by kicking water at the smug wolf and getting into an all out splash battle until he tired out.

They floated and swam, goofed around trying to knock each other over, and just hung out semi-crouched in the sea for a while before returning to land, spreading out towels to sit or lie on and air dry in the hot sun. Stiles looked over to see Derek resting prone with his head on his forearms, eyes closed and smiling. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the Alpha so at ease and watched him fondly before turning to gaze out at the ships dotting the horizon, fingers trailing through the sand. 

We’ll run away together. We’ll spend some time forever. We’ll never feel bad anymore, flashed through his mind, a relic of summers past.

Heh, if only. Him and Derek? Maybe in another lifetime. Sighing, he pushed the thought away and stretched out on his back, gazing up at the clouds dotting the late afternoon sky.

Stiles was liable to fall asleep right there, but didn’t want to wake up a lobster once the sunscreen stopped being effective, so before he nodded off he poked Derek in the shoulder and suggested either moving back into the shade or heading back to their accommodations. Their hours in the water had worked up an appetite because before the wolf could answer his stomach growled and they both burst out laughing.

Shortly after returning they saw Tish in the side yard picking what looked like bumpy green pinecones from one of the fruit trees. She handed them one to try, a curious fruit with many names. Sweetsop, sugar apple, custard apple, and more. Derek broke it open and the creamy segments of flesh covering black seeds inside were indeed sweet and reminiscent of custard. 

Seeing that they liked it she gave them a couple more and they thanked her, finishing the first one and part of another back in their room.

It was almost dinner time, so they both used the wait to make some phone calls, Stiles to his father and then to Scott in San Diego and Derek to Isaac and Malia to check-in on the pack. If he recalled correctly international calls were around $0.30 cents a minute with his phone plan so he kept each conversation to around 15 minutes knowing he’d probably talk to at least his dad another couple of times. Derek, laconic as usual, had been done with his in a fraction of the time and was reading a novel in Spanish that he picked up in Ecuador by the time he finished.

That evening’s meal was savory brown stew chicken with rice & gungo peas cooked with coconut milk, thyme, and some flavors he enjoyed, but couldn’t quite place. They ended up chatting with Jacob, the cook, when they sat in the courtyard outside the kitchen afterward and he was happy to talk about the food that he and the other staff members prepared. Stiles found that he could mostly understand Patois, or Patwah, at least if he was paying attention and it wasn’t too fast. 

“Dere x-amount ah spice an ‘erb dem, but eff yuh haffi pick tree dat gi yuh dat tayse ah Jamaica? Den mi seh tyme, pimento — wah yuh call allspice — an scotch bonnet peppa a most important. Eff yuh waan mek it four, den skallion fah chuu,” Jacob said, holding up what seemed a cross between a spring and red onion.

That night they turned in early tired out from the long hours of travel and activity and he fell asleep replaying the happiest day he’d had in a long time.

The second morning started with a hearty breakfast of escovitch fish — whole red snapper fried until the skin was crispy and then topped with a vinegary mix of sliced onion, carrot, bell pepper, that ever present fruity and fiery scotch bonnet pepper, and spices — with boiled green banana and circular pieces of a cassava flatbread called bammy. Then it was off to see the sights in Discovery Bay and Ocho Rios. (“Yeah, I’m sending you to some busy tourist destinations tomorrow but they’re popular for a reason,” Bev told them yesterday.)

They explored the Green Grotto Caves first, entertained by the guide explaining its history and about the animals that lived there. The underground lake was really cool and swimming was allowed up above so of course they took a dip in the brilliant aquamarine water. Next came a scenic drive through Fern Gully and then they arrived at Dunn’s River Falls. 

Derek had no problem climbing up the tiers of limestone barefoot, saving Stiles from injury on multiple occasions despite him wearing the silly water shoes. Indignity and near-braining aside, it was fun and the view beautiful. Every so often they would stop to wade or sit in one of the pools, the cold water from the mountains feeling good after the exertion on the sweltering day. After reaching the top and walking down the hill they hung out on the beach where the river emptied into the warm Atlantic. 

We ready for the road!

Now it was their third day on the island and they were on the way to Portland Parish. After a couple hours the van stopped by one of the ubiquitous stands by the road with grills made from halved oil barrels. They climbed out to stretch their legs and he watched as Derek closed his eyes and inhaled the intriguing scents carried by the smoke. 

“Time fi nyam pon jerk, mi yutes,” Dezzy said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. 

He ordered for the three of them and Derek insisted on paying. A platter of jerk chicken and pork and one with long, fried cornmeal dumplings and thick slices of dense bread were soon placed on their table along with 3 chilled green coconuts with straws poking out from the chopped open tops. Each of them were lost in their own little worlds as the combinations of flavors exploding on their tongues, the doubly hot, spiced meats cut with the lightly sweet carbs and washed down with the refreshing coconut water. Dezzy recommended saving the drained fruit for scooping out later.

Then they were back on the road again, the two of them dropped off at another guest house around an hour later, this one right off a beach near Fairy Hill. It belonged to another acquaintance of Bev’s, a friend of a friend or a friend of a cousin or something. Dezzy was staying with relatives nearby and told them to give him a call when they wanted a ride somewhere. They checked in at the reception area and were shown to a cozy, standalone single room dwelling.

Once again they went swimming right away and then ended up joining an impromptu volleyball match and tossing a frisbee around with a group of local and American youths that were staying there with their folks ahead of attending a big family reunion. Afterward they went for a walk to check out the neighborhood, stopping in at an outdoor bar and restaurant called Spinnaz. 

“Siddung likkle bit, nuh,” called a server mixing up a fruit filled concoction while they were standing back reading the menu board. She gestured at a couple empty seats and they sat down at the bar to finish deciding what to try.

Bottles of Red Stripe beer in hand a few minutes later, they leaned back and watched the other patrons socialize and dance, enjoying the light breeze. A fast tempoed number backed by a drum machine and horns came on and got most of the guests on their feet, hips swinging left, right, backward and forward increasingly fast with the lyrics.

Cent, five cent, ten cent, dollar. 

When it came time for the “big money wine” the crowd went wild shaking and gyrating. 

Stiles was itching to move, but he felt too self-conscious/sober to join in, so he just worked his shoulders in his seat, swaying and tapping his fingers on the counter behind him and his feet on the footrest of the high-backed swivel stool. 

Several tracks later a distinctive cackling marked the beginning of “Feel Good, Inc.” as Derek ordered another round of drinks, this time house made ginger beer with glasses of amber Appleton Estate rum on the side. He was nodding along with the beat when a platter of garlic butter shrimp and lobster with more of those fried cornmeal dumplings, festival,  arrived for them to share.

Afterward they ambled around some more, passing by various shops and vendors. Stiles bought a green shirt shirt that said “Who cyaan ‘ear, muss feel” in white letters with a stylized donkey on it and Derek got a gorgeous mahogany leather wallet engraved on the front with an anchor in the center and ferns and hibiscus flowers around the edges. Lastly, on the way back they stopped where a man was selling cut and peeled pieces of sugar cane on the side of the road. 

“Of course you would buy a cup of straight sugar,” Derek teased as they continued on.

“Hey, it’s bi sugar because I’m eating it,” he replied, taking the stick he’d been chewing on out of his mouth. “And anyway, this is unrefined from a plant. Plants are healthy, I don’t make the rules.” 

Derek snorted and shook his head, but grabbed one of the sticks himself. 

Huh, maybe the werewolf wasn’t as immune to the sun as he thought. He looked a little red.

Back in their room he set the rest on the table for later and then flopped onto his bed, turning on the satellite tv and flipping through channels as Derek sat up on his and found where he left off in his book. They went out again in time to watch the sun start its descent over the ocean. 

A couple colorful boots were now pulled up a ways down the beach and they walked over when a person standing next to one of them called out and appeared to wave at them. There were three men who looked to be in their early 40s, two with close-cropped hair — a short, stocky guy named Joseph and a taller, leaner man called Leslie — and another tall guy, slender with fine, tied back shoulder length braids who introduced himself as Malcolm and asked if he and Derek were interested in buying dinner. They were.

The fishermen had an ancient boombox going and Leslie was tending a makeshift grill as Malcolm scaled a variety of freshly caught fish and handed them to Joseph to clean. Closer up Stiles could see the boats were held in the shallows with anchors that were hunks of metal which looked like wheels with extended spokes. He shuddered at the thought of accidentally running into one of those.

In no time at all the prepared fish were on a piece of wire fencing over the small wood fire, a pot of mysterious contents bubbling on top of stones off to one side as well. Leslie explained that this type of grilled fish was called “bun finga” because digging into it shortly after it was done as people were wont to do would indeed burn your fingers and they laughed. 

Unlike most dishes which were generously seasoned this had only the salt of the sea and the smoke and char from the fire along with the oil of the skin itself for flavor, but that alone was enough to make it taste amazing and he experienced the accuracy of the name himself. Stiles soon noticed that the men were eating something else from the pot for their own meal and inquired about it.

“Mannish Waata soup,” replied Leslie.

“Yuh waan try?” asked Joseph with raised eyebrows. A sucking, kissing sound came from the right. 

“Mi tink him cyaan handle,” Malcolm said with a mischievous grin.

Stiles huffed and grinned back, not one to back down from a challenge.  

“Yeah, I’ll try it.”

Joseph filled up a cup and then offered one to Derek as well with plastic spoons.

“How much do we owe you for these?” the curious werewolf asked, sniffing the contents.

“Nuttin,” answered Malcolm. 

“Dis wan pon wi,” added Leslie watching Stiles with anticipatory amusement.

Cautiously, he blew on a spoonful and then tasted it, his eyes widening. He took a few more bites, trying to discern what type of meat was in it. Definitely not fish or chicken or pork, but he didn’t think it was beef either. The flavors were strong and there were some odd chewy bits, but it was pretty good, the spice making him break out in a sweat. There were chunks of various root vegetables, dumplings, and what turned out to be slices of green banana with the skin on as well. 

Near the bottom he bit into a piece of hot pepper and started coughing, flapping a hand uselessly and trying to wash it down with the rest of the warm broth. Joseph handed him a cold bottle of water from a cooler and he all but ripped it open, gulping down over half the contents in seconds.

“Thanks” he croaked as Derek and the fishermen laughed.

He wasn’t the only one feeling the burn though because after finishing his portion the werewolf stripped off his shirt and dashed into the water to cool down. Stiles was content to stay on the beach with another bottle of water, enjoying listening to the men razzing each other as they started gathering up their things and also the music coming from the crackling radio. As Derek stood up and started walking out of the waves a woman’s voice sang “Laaawwwd, ‘av is mercy!” and Stiles had to agree because goddamn. 

Realizing his eyes were lingering on the Alpha’s swoon worthy form he quickly looked away and started getting their leftovers and towels together. They said goodbye to Leslie, Joseph, and Malcolm and walked back toward the guest house looking around at the red haze now making the whole sky seem to glow. Stiles suggested a detour around the property before returning to their little studio to check out some of the other buildings. They passed by a shaded lounge area with hammocks that he made a mental note to revisit another time.

Over a dozen people were in the dining room when they peeked inside, background music flowing from the speakers on stands on either side.

I’m trying to change the rules, you deserve something good in your life. We’ve waited for far too long, so come get your blessing tonight, baby.

They strolled through a tropical garden with a little bridge over a koi pond and then circled back around toward the rooms and apartments. 

Still feeling peckish they set upon their leftovers after a short blast in the microwave and washed it down with glass bottles of pineapple soda from the mini fridge. He watched Derek demolish his portion making little growly noises that managed to be adorable while also seriously turning him on.  

Stiles tried to put the kibosh on that train of thought and turned his attention back to his own food, pulling apart the savory morsels and licking his fingers clean. When he glanced up again Derek was staring at him, his eyes glowing red. Stiles swallowed and the wolf’s gaze dropped to his throat and then up again when he deliberately brought his fingers back to his mouth, maintaining eye contact. The moment stretched and grew taut. 

Feeling brave he tipped his head up and bared his throat in invitation and Derek sprang up from the other bed and stalked over. A hand burrowed into his hair as the werewolf leaned down to claim his mouth, the kiss flavored salty and sweet. It took a long time to get here, but now that the dam had broken the desire thrumming between them felt unstoppable.

When they broke apart, Stiles knew exactly what he wanted and just needed a few moments to work up the courage. It was time to grab the bull by its horns, or rather the wolf by the hips. 

With his fingers gripping the waistbands of Derek’s trunks he looked up for permission. At the sharp nod of his head Stiles tugged them down and was met with the Alpha’s swiftly rising and hardening cock. 

He’d seen Derek naked before, but this was the first time seeing him with an erection and it was both tantalizing and intimidating. A chuckle snapped him out of his mesmerized state and he grasped the thick shaft after spitting in his palm. Stiles kissed the head, licking over the slit, and then drew him into his mouth. He worked his hand at the base while he bobbed and sucked, lips straining around the hard member as Derek caressed his head and alternated between murmured words of filth and praise.

He did his best to swallow when the Alpha came, spurting copious amounts of cum onto his tongue and then pulling out to mark his face and throat as well. It was hotter than it had any right to be, even better than he’d imagined, and he felt proud to have brought the not-so-unattainable-after-all wolf off. Derek grasped Stiles by the chin and swiped his thumb across a messy cheek, sliding the coated digit past friction plumped lips for him to suck. 

“So perfect for me,” he growled. Stiles went to touch himself, but the now sharp-fanged werewolf caught his hand. “Let me.” 

At Derek’s urging, Stiles crawled backwards further up the bed and then turned over onto his stomach, all but vibrating with want. His shorts were pulled off and he felt those strong, warm hands on him again, this time palming his ass and then spreading him open for the Alpha’s viewing pleasure. 

Blushing, he looked over his shoulder to see Derek breathing heavily and staring red eyed like he couldn’t wait to devour him.

“Please…anything,” he whispered. The next thing he knew a tongue was licking over and pressing against his hole and he gripped the comforter below him, crying out . Soon he was rubbing himself on the bed and then pushing back wantonly, eliciting a pleased rumble from the wolf.

Stiles whined when Derek pulled away a minute later, but then he was being flipped onto his back, the complementary bottle of cocoa butter lotion tossed down beside him. Crawling onto the bed and taking hold of his cock, Derek mouthed at the tip before sinking down on him, tonguing the underside of his shaft on the upstroke. In between his own babbling moans Stiles heard a cap being flicked open and then cool, viscous liquid was being squeezed onto his thigh.

Derek ran his hand through the fragrant dollop and then a slippery finger began teasing his entrance. Slowly, it pressed in and starting pumping to target his prostate, joined by a second one once he relaxed at the intrusion. He’d done it himself occasionally, but it was definitely better when it was someone else, holy fuck. The twin pleasures of hand and mouth reduced him to a mewling mess and he orgasmed faster than he would’ve liked gasping Derek’s name. 

The wolf had no complaints though it seemed, cleaning his sensitive cock and then nuzzling into his belly and trailing kisses down his inner thighs. Stiles made grabby hands at him, but Derek evaded them, skipping away with a laugh. He returned a couple minutes later with warm, damp cloths and gently wiped over his face and between his legs before climbing beside him and pulling him close.

Of course Stiles couldn’t stay quiet for long.

“Sooo…that just happened.” 

The expression on Derek’s face said “No shit, Sherlock,” his eyebrows raised and scrunched together. Stiles fidgeted and looked back at him again. 

“And, um, it’s a thing we do now?” he asked hopefully.

“Mmm…yes,” Derek replied, reaching down to pinch his ass with a smirk. He did not squeak, dammit!

“Cool.” Looking away and taking a long, slow breath he attempted to quell his internal flailing. Act normal! “So, just for funsies or—“ 

“No.” 

Stiles found himself being thoroughly kissed and then manhandled until he was facing away from the Alpha, but wrapped firmly in his embrace. He’d been little spoon’d! 

Before he could lodge a formal complaint with Boyfriend Services (omg, were they boyfriends?!) a hand covered his opening mouth. 

“Go to sleep,” Derek ordered. Stiles stubbornly dropped his jaw and caught his pinky finger, sucking it and rubbing back against the other man’s crotch. A low rumbling vibrated against his back and the arms around him tightened. Warm breath tickled his ear lobe before it was nipped. “The sooner we sleep, the sooner I’ll wake up and fuck you,” Derek promised huskily. 

Stiles made a frankly ridiculous high-pitched sound. He would be more embarrassed, but apparently Derek liked his weird noises if the way the werewolf was now doing a convincing lamprey impression on his neck was any sign, so that was okay. He closed his eyes and focused on the thrilling sensation, sighing when Derek released his tender skin. 

Everything was okay. Way better than okay. 

Irie.

[interlockingpatches]

Im gonna ramble in your inbox for a bit lmao, I have a few ideas!

What about music themed?? Like music notes, treble clef, etc (idk a lot about musical notation honestly but ik theres a lot of symbols). My next thought was instruments but usually those are super detailed, like string and brass? A Harp?? The simplest i can think is like, some piano keys would make a cute design, or maybe just the headstock of a guitar! God, brass instruments would be so intense to make, i just looked at a saxaphone and I'm freaking out thinking of the detail and how impressive that would be. Or maybe physical media like a vinyl record or a little cassette tape? A little boombox, record player, or radio?

Going off of that, I think people really like decade themed/nostalgic stuff. I love 70s things personally so i may just be projecting, but i think 80s and 90s vibes are super popular! You could look at toys, technology, icons, and popular colors of an era, things like that and that might be inspiring!

Also thinking about summer themed designs since summer is coming up! Seasonal stuff is so cute and I notice people are always looking for little seasonal projects! Surfboards, beach umbrella, a fruity lil drink, are things that come to mind for me!

The more i write the more ideas i think of but this ask is already huge lmaooo so ill leave with these and hopefully its not overwhelming

First of all I will not be out-rambled in my own house lets gooo

These are all so good and sensible and fun! Thank you so much! I spent a day and a half sketching out just some of them (and going off an a few tangents), and there are a few already that I can't wait to actually pattern up and make <3

Musical instruments and notation are both perfect and super hard for the format. They're so detailed, like you said, and their design is so specific; it's hard to know what can be fudged or elided without getting the whole thing irredeemably wrong. (I've had the same problem with birds and arthropods). Like, how many of the saxophone's fourteen-hundred eldritch appendages *do* I need to show? I could include them all, and the motif would be the size of a bedspread and take a month and a half to crochet, and I perversely want to do that now so thanks also for that.

Even in that keyboard motif (which, you'll have to trust me, is a very good likeness of Casio keyboard whose demo song was the soundtrack to my early childhood) is already over twice width of my largest typical designs, and it would have to be twice as big still for me to space the keys accurately.

Decades are a great organizing conceit! They lend themselves to a kind of idiosyncratic hodgepodge that really appeals to me, and "random collection of old things that you remember" is a trope people don't seem to ever get sick of—and new things are getting old every day. They're also a way to ease into pop culture references, which I haven't really done, and which might offset some of my Debbie-Downer tendencies (when you suggested "70s things" my actual first thought was "what do quaaludes even look like?" My first idea for the 80s was "Margaret Thatcher demolishing a council house," and my thought process for the 90s went "Monica Lewinsky's dress, OJ Simpson's gloves, Tonya Harding's crowbar… NAFTA?" Terrible patches, all. What people want as a little picture of a sofa at a jaunty angle with a caption that says "PIVOT!").

Anyway. I'm especially excited to try the disco ball, the record and the off-brand Tamagotchi (I preferred Gigapets, personally). Those all have double-length diagonals that I've freehanded a few times and know to work at least okay, but which I haven't figured out how to notate. Oh! and I haven't got a beach umbrella that I like just yet, but the hurricane cocktail seems like a good way to kick off a summer collection—as long as I don't follow it up with, like a graph of yearly average temperatures, which is something I would absolutely do.

[rcsplendent]

closed  starter  . . .   wolfram  wagner.  @aresenics !

setting. . .    the  beach.  summer  2024. 

𝐒𝐔𝐍-𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐃  𝐅𝐀𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐂  𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒  𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓  the  space  between  sharp  shoulder  blades  as  he  lies  back  on  the  beach  towel  they'd  sprawled  out  upon  their  arrival,  a  fresh  joint  caught  between  plush  lips  &  two  empty  beer  bottles  nestled  into  the  sand  nearby.  forty-five  minutes  under  the  afternoon  sun  coupled  with  the  bit  of  alcohol  in  his  bloodstream  equals  piebald  skin  rapidly  turning  various  shades  of  pink,  flushed  from  his  forehead  to  the  dappled  span  of  his  chest.  long  fingers  snatch  the  roll  &  his  arm  drops  lazily  to  the  side  as  he  inhales  sharply,  eyes  shut,  breathing  out  a  smooth  cloud  of  smoke  a  few  moments  later.  the  heat  has  him  feeling  spectacularly  sleepy  —  even  more  so  than  usual  —  feels  like  he  could  doze  off  at  any  moment  now,  with  the  peaceful  soundtrack  of  the  ocean  lapping  at  the  shore  some  fifty  feet  away  &  the  most  perfect  breeze  cooling  his  flushed  skin.  this  is  the  real  vacation.  ten  days  on  the  coast  in  wolfie's  parents'  house  sounded  lovely  on  its  own,  but  this  —  this  is  what  he'd  truly  been  looking  forward  to.  the  serenity  of  a  beach  town;  being  far,  far  away  from  the  city  (  that  he'll  start  to  bemoan  about  missing  right  around  the  halfway  point  of  their  vacation  );  the  lack  of  schedule,  cozied  up  in  bed  'til  two  in  the  afternoon  &  staying  up  'til  five  gazing  up  at  the  stars  they  never  get  to  see  back  home;  the  way  the  dogs  seem  to  know,  too,  that  this  is  a  special  occurrence.  speak  of  the  devil  —  sasha's  eyes  blink  open  at  the  incoming  symphony:  panting,  paws  pattering,  collars  jingling  as  the  dogs  bound  towards  him,  returning  from  their  walk  down  the  length  of  the  beach.  sash  lifts  his  head  &  grins,  props  himself  up  on  his  left  elbow,  cooing  to  greet  the  dogs  as  they  shove  their  noses  in  his  face,  kicking  sand  onto  the  blanket.    “  мои  милые.  ”    a  hand  on  each  of  their  fuzzy  heads,  scratching  behind  their  ears  as  they  snuffle  at  him,  pulling  a  boisterous  laugh  from  his  chest  before  they  tumble  off  to  engage  in  yet  another  wrestling  match.  approaching  not  far  behind  them  is  the  north  star  itself  —  or,  at  least,  sasha's  equivalent  of  such  a  thing  —  &  he  beams  at  the  sight  of  the  man,  sitting  up  a  bit  more  &  reaching  an  arm  up  to  lazily  grab  at  wolfie  once  he's  close  enough,  tugging  him  down,  insistent  &  greedy  in  his  affection  as  always.     “  baby,  ”    he  sing-songs,  pressing  his  forehead  to  the  side  of  wolfie's  face,  pressing  in  close  despite  the  way  the  heat  radiating  off  of  the  other  man  is  near-unbearable  with  the  sun  beating  down  on  the  both  of  them.  sasha  doesn't  care.  he'd  boil  alive  if  it  meant  staying  plastered  to  wolfie's  side  for  five  whole  minutes.    “  i  missed  you.  did  they  like  the  water  ?  did  they  swim  ?  ”

[taste-in-music]

My Ongoing Spotify Playlists

Hello everyone. Just realized that the playlist masterlist I had in my pinned post is woefully outdated, so here’s a new one! If you look at my Spotify, all the playlists I continuously update are bracketed in emojis. Here’s a guide to the moods and artists you’ll find on each one. (The starred playlists are the ones I find myself listening to the most.)

the dreaming: brain-melting ambient music with an underlying darkness. includes artists like Beach House, Sega Bodega, and Perfume Genius.

plucky ingenue and her vampire companion: delicate songs for a dark academia paranormal romance. includes artists like Hozier, Weyes Blood, and James Blake. 

luxardo: luxuriously opulent party music tinged with hyperpop and bloghouse influences. includes artists like Uffie, Rina Sawayama, and Kilo Kish.

shadow season: pure sensuality, dark indulgence, and a bit of a god complex. includes artists like FKA Twigs, BANKS, and Lana Del Rey.

watermelon gum: easy breezy indie pop. includes artists like Foster The People, Maggie Rogers, and The 1975. 

tangerine dreams: pure, feel-good summer vibes from an idiosyncratic blend of genres. includes artists like Dominic Fike, Emotional Oranges, and Gorillaz. 

✰ helter swelter: rock so hot you can practically feel the steam rising off the pavement. includes artists like Hippo Campus, Yves Tumor, and Snail Mail. 

spacefolk: the soundtrack to the space western I’ll never write through a blend of rock, folk, and country. includes artists like Sturgill Simpson, Orville Peck, and David Bowie. 

✰ youphoria: dreamy pop that ponders the losses and liminality of adolescence. includes artists like King Princess, Olivia Rodrigo, and Lorde. 

funky town: a blend of city pop, throwback hip-hop, and modern funk that is groovy above all else. includes artists like Thundercat, Tame Impala, and Kero Kero Bonito. 

satin: just chill. includes artists like SZA, Clairo, and Frank Ocean. 

animalism (extended): cathartic indie and rock from (mostly) women that’ll make you want to scream into the night. includes artists like Fiona Apple, Mitski, and Florence + The Machine. 

hype in an alternate dimension: intergalactically energetic songs that’ll hype you up, both bombastic pop and hard-hitting rap. includes artists like Charli XCX, Grimes, and Kendrick Lamar. 

✰ chill in an alternate dimension: same goal as the playlist above with an opposite approach. songs meant for stargazing and getting lost in the cosmos. includes artists like Kanye West, Daft Punk, and Caroline Polachek.

buttercup daydreams: sweet and soft songs that’ll put a smile on your face. includes artists like dodie, Taylor Swift, and Kacey Musgraves. 

leather pumps: getting ready music to make you feel like a bad bitch. includes artists like Doja Cat, Ariana Grande, and Megan Thee Stallion.

alien nation: either music from the 80s or music that sounds like the 80s, whether that be pop, techno, flashdance, or electronic. includes artists like CHVRCHES, The Weeknd, and Depeche Mode. 

bloom: love songs with lush soundscapes. includes artists like Carly Rae Jepsen, Troye Sivan, and Ryn Weaver. 

serenity base hotel and casino: oldies and indie that you’d hear in a jazz lounge on the moon. includes artists like Frank Sinatra, The Beatles, and The National. 

Enjoy!

[leaahhh]

here are some of the songs that soundtracked my summer

maps by the yeah yeah yeahs because i have a secret theory that you must pay attention to the songs that play in the background of a first date because they might be premonitions. it was one of the first that came on the day we met. you were quieter then and everyone knew your name. i overslept far past my welcome that first night and maybe that should have been more telling than the song. maybe i shouldn’t have given myself over so quickly. maybe i should’ve listened to tyler. maybe maybe maybe a lot of things. still, i laughed the whole way home. my kind's your kind, i'll stay the same.

acolyte by slaughter beach, dog because it is one of the only unabashed love songs i can listen to several times in a row without recoiling. it is the best song to wash the dishes to, to walk into the sunset with, to believe in kinder things because of. 

group four by massive attack because the man i was seeing at the time played it once at the bar he worked at. i visited several nights a week, it became part of my routine: something to rush around for, a soft place to land. i was mesmerized from the jump, it was all i could fixate on for its full eight minute runtime — the song and also him, flitting back and forth in the dim red light. (i played it for S a few days later, saying it was the best thing i’d ever heard — he didn’t like it, said it was scary.) i remember going into the bathroom and stabilizing myself in the mirror prematurely thinking that i’d miss coming here when it all ended. each time i was met with eyes a little more vacant. a self-fulfilling prophecy. (i’m at a different bar alone now writing this. your coworker spotted me, came over, and reminded me that you’re working there tonight. i shook my head and he said “oops” three times.)

lost angel nights by james blake and alphabet city by the national because they say the quiet part loud. they made me feel justified in my self-abandonment and my masterful act of pretending to be okay with distance and mistreatment. “away from me is just fine.” “if anybody asks, i’ll say you’re coming back.” “i’ll still be here when you come back from space.” it’s not true. it shouldn’t be. but love is this way sometimes. 

montana by youth lagoon because J brought it up around 3am at a bar in bushwick and before then i hadn’t thought of it in many, many years. she joked that i should play it next to your ear while you were asleep that night because it might rewire your brain. i laughed hard then but later it made me want to cry. a couple months after, her and i sat on a couch backstage with T before he played a sold out show in brooklyn. i told him i think i might’ve met you just so i could meet her. i do believe it. 

this house by japanese breakfast because a friend posted it on her instagram story right after going through a bad breakup and i listened to it eating dinner alone at the neighborhood fast casual korean restaurant staring out the open front door while hot air hit my face and it felt like i was hearing music for the first time. what if one day i don’t know you? what if one day you leave? i could sense it was coming but i came over for a kiss despite it all. i really learned about liquid courage with you and i probably never needed to befriend it so closely. when we were together, my head was always spinning; my nose always stung. 

very overdue goodbye by runo plum because my friends all know i prefer dragged out, tortuous storylines over clean-cut endings and rightfully shake their heads. i’ve never gotten over a thing in my life, i tell david in a frankly unhinged voice message that closes with me laughing pathetically, squeezing in at the end that i hope the baby is healthy. it is the last friday night of summer. he says that 26 is the new 18, that i am the one making bad decisions, *i* am not the bad decision. he tells me to stand up for myself. it takes me several weeks but i listen. you made being alone feel so clean. i see you more as a pile-up of my own grief. 

to me it was by samia because the guitar gives me goosebumps all over. eliza and i have used the format “everything with ____ is totally fine/don’t freak out, it’s gonna be alright” back and forth all month to punctuate every nervous interaction. we ended up being wrong a lot of the time, there was absolutely reason to freak out. samia was right though; maybe i didn’t need tequila for that. someday i think i’ll look back and remember this as a good time. right now it just hurts. 

blue flower by mazzy star because it reminds me of my favorite line in that other song that makes me think about that other guy: i had a fever when i met you; now you make me cool. you were a superstar in your own private movie and i wanted just a minor part. ang is the first person to call it by its name: cruelty. i sweltered and seethed while you slipped away. 

street rat by blondshell because i fell back into my old habits as quickly as i’d tried to kick them as soon as you entered the scene. if a doctor put her hands over my liver she would tell me my resentment’s getting…bigger. i felt a lump, hard and unforgiving, growing there. my back tooth turned brown and started rotting the day you disappeared. Z yelped at me from across the street when he saw me and said i’m withering in front of his eyes. it’s a race to see who dies first and you’ve got five years on me. (as i’m typing this, the bar has begun playing sepsis by blondshell. it feels almost evil. it really should’ve taken a whole lot less to turn me off.) 

split up by boyish because i could have said all of this word-for-word in that text message. i kept it short for both of our dignities. 

aspirin - slight return by tropical fuck storm because christian responded with just the link to that after i ranted for 5 minutes straight about my rapid descent into madness. it was a perfect response. i’m a harrowing rest stop for the men i date. disarming enough to trip them up. not enough to make them stay. 

moon song by phoebe bridgers because after three years of knowing it so well, i heard it entirely differently one night and it nearly rendered me immobile. you asked to walk me home but i had to carry you. you pushed me in and now my feet can’t touch the bottom of you. i would have stuck around, by the way. like a dog with a bird at your door.

[joemuggs]

Winging It

Thirty years ago today, one of the greatest albums of the 90s came out. I wrote about it for MOJO in 2018, including some hilarious words from the sadly missed Andrew Weatherall.

👇🏻

The album that soundtracked the end of the acid house honeymoon – for the select few that loved it – has a suitably decadent beginning.

“I was playing at a club in Rimini as part of some Balearic charabanc,” says DJ / producer Andrew Weatherall, “and at about 6am when it finished the owner opened up the back of the club onto the beach and said we'd be carrying on on his yacht. Not quite a Roman Abramovic superyacht, but sound enough – and off we went. So there I was, spangled and enjoying the view, and a young lady came up and started singing in my ear. 'I'm Dorothy Allison and I've got a band in Glasgow,' she said. Then we landed and stumbled back up the beach, terrifying the tourists.”

Her band was called Dove, a trio of Allison, Jim McKinven (formerly of Altered Images and Berlin Blondes), and Ian Carmichael (producer and occasional keyboardist for Sarah Records janglers The Orchids). They'd only released one song, “Fallen”, on Glasgow's Soma label – but that song's dub space, insinuatingly whispered vocal and harmonica lifted from a Supertramp record had captured the bittersweet mysteries of the morning after the rave better than almost any, and caused quite a stir. Weatherall, meanwhile, was on a high in every sense having – despite next to no studio experience – just marshalled Primal Scream into completing Screamadelica.

The first collaboration to come out of the yacht introduction was reworking “Fallen” for the renamed One Dove. “I was nervous!” says Carmichael. “Andy [Weatherall] came to my studio in Glasgow and I was late meeting him so he was waiting outside when I got there. I thought he'd be really pissed off, but the reviews for Screamadelica had just come out, so he was reading the papers on the doorstep and was obviously delighted.” The remix happened quickly. “It was instinctive and spontaneous,” says Carmichael “The whole time I was watching recording levels on my old Revox 1/4” bouncing into the red, and splicing lots of sections of tape together with shaking hands; it was terrifying for me. I thought the whole thing would be a mess, but when we played it back at the end and heard his version of 'Fallen' it was miraculous.”

This quickly developed into a slick working relationship, releasing on Weatherall and friends' Boys Own Productions. The three would write, send tracks to Weatherall, who brought in associates like Jah Wobble and Primal Scream's Andrew Innes for embellishment. Surprisingly rapidly given the fervid times – “I remember next to nothing of the process, I'm afraid” says Weatherall, “or indeed of those years” – it fell together into an extraordinarily coherent whole. “Every song we came up with went on the album,” says Carmichael, “we were buzzing the whole time as each one came together.” The sound blended the ambient dub of the time with a rich streak of country heartbreak (something they'd nod explicitly to by covering “Jolene” on a b-side), everything covered in sonic velvet to match the purity of Allison's softly breathed mysteries. “There were no histrionics,” says Weatherall; “it was the antidote to the wailing diva thing we'd all embraced in house music.”

It's a gorgeous, lingering dream of an album with a dark heart, and it's a perennial puzzler why it didn't sell like hot disco biscuits; after all, Boys Own now had the backing of major label London. “It's easy to blame the record label,” says Weatherall, “so let's do just that. The album came together nice and quickly – if they'd just have put it out, said 'here's a cool new band' and let them get on with it, one suspects the second album would have been where they got big.” But London kept Morning Dove White in limbo for a year, insisting on more pop mixes of the album's singles by Stephen Hague, and pushing for quick fix success. In fact those single mixes are gorgeous, but, Carmichael says “maybe they put a lot of the hardcore Weatherall fans off.” William Orbit remixed too, sonically prefiguring his work with Madonna and All Saints.

Despite promising performance from the singles, MDW didn't become the hit London wanted, and the stress took its toll. The second album – made without Weatherall – was painful, the band's relationship disintegrated, their “failure to become the new Eurythmics” led to the label shelving the album, and they split in 1996. Allison would go on to make some great solo records, working with everyone from Death In Vegas via Pete Doherty to Scott Walker. McKinven still plays and DJs in Glasgow, and has released with occasional projects including the fantastically moody electro guises Organs Of Love and WomenSaid on the connoiseur's imprint Optimo Music. Carmichael worked with trip-hoppers Lamb for some time, produced for the likes of Bis and The Pastels, and maintains an ongoing relationship with The Orchids – as well as being a director of the School of Sound Recording. MDW, a couple of b-sides and some leaked second album demos on Soundcloud remain the only remaining monument to their time together: just a glimpse of what might have been, and as such perfectly evocative of the “Transient Truth” of the pleasures and regrets of its era.

[carorina]

Like no other, you can't be replaced. (There's nothing like lapis lazuli)

Lazuli by Beach House is not only my favourite song of them, but also reminds me of Larissa Weems every time I hear it now, specially given that Wednesday featured Space Song on its soundtrack.

For me, this should be Larissa’s comeback song.

sources: 1. Dani Edits on Pinterest 2. Beach House @ Primavera Sound, São Paulo (07/11/2022 - photo by me)

[theam-cjsw]

The AM: December 26, 2022

(AM Gold 2022: Part 2 is here)

Saying hello to the day and goodbye to the year on the last Monday morning of 2022, with the first of a two-part look at some favourite songs and albums from the past 12 months. Head to Wander Lines for the full 100-album list, and enjoy these joyful, serene & celebratory sounds.

Listen at CJSW

Stream on Soundcloud

Other links

Hour One:

The Valley Joyful Joyful • Joyful Joyful

Dance of the Trees Morgan Szymanski, Tommy Perman • Music for the Moon and Trees

Joy Clarice Jensen • Esthesis

Gayatri Rachika Nayar • Heaven Come Crashing

No Furniture / Tanagra Time Wharp • Spiro World

(Seventeen Guitars and One Piano) Test Card • Patterns

Stained Glass Sauna Cole Pulice, Lynn Avery • To Live & Die In Space & Time

Radiant Silver Sanctums • Neon Wraith

Hour Two:

Fixed Action Patterns Duncan Marquiss • Wires Turned Sideways In Time

A Confluence Andrew Wasylyk • Hearing the Water before Seeing the Falls

I’m Dancing Shabason & Krgovich • At Scaramouche

The Ecstatic Dance MISZCZYK, featuring Bile Sister • Thyrsis of Etna

Storm Misha Panfilov Sound Combo • The Sea Will Outlive Us All

Only Fan of the Space Program Untrained Animals • Stranded Somewhere on the Planet Fantastic

Angekommen in der letzten Reihe Sankt Otten • Symmetrie und Wahnsinn

Between All Things OHMA • Between All Things

New Kind of Swim Thanya Iyer • Rest

Ideas of Space Tess Roby • Ideas of Space

Hour Three:

Kommune The Hologram People • Village Of The Snake God

Wasteland Interceptors Videodrones • After the Fall

The Failure of Stiff, Tired Friends Yoo Doo Right • A Murmur, Boundless to the East

Mumbly-Peg Pneumatic Tubes • A Letter from TreeTops

Good Views Near North Magic Arm • Dance Mania

Summer Child Ghostkeeper • Multidimensional Culture

Song of the Mournful Millionaire Fiver • Soundtrack to A More Radiant Sphere : The Joe Wallace Mixtape

Sweet Bird Die Welttraumforscher • Liederbuch

Once Twice Melody Beach House • Once Twice Melody

Mind You’re On Carla dal Forno • Come Around

baxter climb tstewart • elysian

[yuukimiyas]

— chloe + kenyū = chloyū

"if i know what love is, it is because of you." - hermann hesse, narcissus and goldmund

— mixtape:

1. the temper trap - sweet disposition 2. jvke - golden hour 3. dev lemons - dizzy vision 4. your movie soundtrack - where is my mind? (piano cover) 5. SALES - pope is a rockstar 6. beach house - space song 7. gracie abrams - feels like 8. taylor swift - cardigan 9. bugg - (do you wanna) go out? 10. christian lee hutson - strawberry lemonade 11. the smiths - there is a light that never goes out 12. frank sinatra - one for my baby (and one for the road)

₊˚.༄ sneak peak: slow dances in the kitchen, home cooked meals, worn classic novels, vinyl softly crackling, frequent bookstore trips, kisses shared in between shelves at libraries, dates at the park, interlocked pinkies in photos, cable knit sweaters, museum dates, coffee in diner mugs, solo karaoke parties in the living room, stargazing, highlighted passages in novels, secrets lost in whispers and giggles, fresh flowers, golden hour, taking the subways and trains, polaroids, vintage levi's, plenty of foreign films, late night talks atop counters . . .

[averseunhinged]

💌 send this to the twelve nicest people you know or who seem to have a good heart and if you get five back you must be pretty awesome. 💌 :)

thanks, gabby! you're lovely! idk if you like rockstar aus, but i received this as a divine transmission in my bed last night.

Her teen years spent playing the shrewish, older sister on some Disney Channel nightmare and later a starring turn in, hand to god, Vampires of Venice Beach, an inexplicable mega-hit at the box office, that included an original ballad by Caroline herself on the soundtrack. Critics weren't particularly kind to it, but it was everywhere you turned for over a year. The critics were both correct and incorrect. The melody was banal and the instrumentation derivative, but there was something to the lyrics and more than something to Caroline's voice. The song netted her first Grammy nomination.

It was by no means her last.

Which is to say, he's not sure why he's being escorted by security into an old mansion in the Hills. He does just fine these days with scores and commercial background music and thirty second hooks for social media, but he's not famous for it. He'd barely been famous before The Originals had flamed out spectacularly. He and Elijah are far better off without differing opinions on creative directions (prog rock, Elijah, honestly?) and an unfortunate predilection for falling for the same woman at the same time. The fallout from the Petrova twins had been explosive and there hadn't been any option but to break up the band at that point. His fifteen minutes certainly aren't anything to recommend him to one of the most successful recording artists of the 21st century.

He's shown into a beautifully restored and tastefully appointed room that is mostly end to end glass, looking out over both an outdoor space and a lot of the city in the valley below, blurring in the golden sodium light of late afternoon. The man who'd taken charge of Klaus at the entrance to the the house hasn't bothered introducing himself with the sort of smarmy assuredness Rebekah laps up, always to her detriment, gestures disinterestedly to a bank of comfortable seating where someone has obviously been working all day. There are notebooks, binders, an assortment of pens and highlighters, a MacBook, and two tablets on the coffee table. Two guitars sit in stands: a newer Martin with an intricate floral inlay and a vintage Gretsch he desperately wants to put his hands all over. Propped up in one corner of a sprawling couch is the same brilliant cobalt Jumbo she's famously played since she was eighteen. The woman in question is pacing by the pool, phone in hand, having an animated conversation.

The other man doesn't bother going all the way to the open sliding door before bellowing, "Wrap it up, gorgeous! Your five o'clock's on time."

Without turning around, the queen of Spotify lifts one hand and flicks two raised fingers at them.

"She'll be with you in a moment," he says on his way out of the room. "Don't worry. You're probably already in her good books. Loves punctuality, that one. Bit of a freak that way."

Even though Klaus knows how all of this works, the photoshoots and the costumes, the makeup and wigs, he's still a little surprised by how different she is in person. She looks well enough when she trots inside, but she's still barefoot in leggings and an old, worn soft shirt, proclaiming King William County Sheriff's Department Softball Team in faded, cracking letters. Her blonde curls are piled artlessly on top of her head and there's red irritation around her eyes, nose and mouth from wearing and removing stage makeup everyday for months on end.

"Hey, I'm Caroline," she says, as though her name hasn't been synonymous with breathy, acoustic pop for the past decade, and waves a little awkwardly.

"Klaus Mikaelson," he replies automatically, as though she doesn't know who's been delivered to her very nice home with its very expensive view. And then she smiles at him and the only thought he has is oh no. He digs his own grave when he, without any higher cognitive input whatsoever, says, "You must never meet my brother."

[dimanique]

"Part of me would like to build a time machine, jump into it, and go back"

Singer, DJ, and composer Moby turned 55 years old

The nickname "Moby'' was given to Richard in honor of "Moby Dick", the novel by Herman Melville, who was his distant relative. As a teenager, the American musician played guitar in anarcho punk bands and studied philosophy at university.

"This train was my lifeline to New York, the most amazing place on the planet. I hated the suburbs. I was poor, strange, and into punk, living in this wealthy, conservative suburb, and this train, without exaggeration, saved my life and made me who I am."

In the late 1980s, Moby moved to New York - one of the centers of the emerging house culture.

"I was born in New York in 1965, on 168th Street in Harlem... All the time I was growing up, I dreamed of returning to New York. And only in the late 80s did I finally return and settle in an apartment on the Lower East Side. The city was full of drug-related gangsters, and people were dying all around. The rent was cheap, nightclubs were everywhere, hip-hop was booming, and house music was just starting to develop. Techno was something entirely new. The rave scene appeared, and young clubbers were still innocent. New York was ugly, dirty, beautiful, degenerating paradise."

Moby became a popular DJ at hip-hop and house parties that were starting up in New York clubs.

"There was a place called 'Mars' where I first got behind the decks. At that time, I didn't know that to get a job as a DJ, you had to already have DJ experience and know enough cool guys who had connections to those who hired DJs. I stood in line and gave my demo tape to the club's HR girl. On one side was a hip-hop mix, on the other was a house mix. She handed the tape to the guy who hired DJs. He called and offered me my first DJ job in New York. This allowed me to move to New York and helped me secure my first record deal."

His debut single "Go," released in 1991 with samples from "Twin Peaks," became an anthem of dance music, and the single "I Feel It / Thousand" entered the Guinness Book of Records as the fastest track in music history - with a bitrate of about 1000 beats per minute. Moby recorded remixes of songs by Michael Jackson, Pet Shop Boys, Brian Eno, Depeche Mode, Erasure, The B-52s, and Orbital. In addition, Moby reworked the theme of Agent 007 for the 1997 Bond film "Tomorrow Never Dies".

The fifth album "Play" (1999) sold more than 12 million copies and became platinum in two dozen countries.

"Perhaps this will sound banal, but working on "Play", I just wanted to record an album that people would like."

Moby always named "Natural Blues" as his favorite track on "Play". It is based on the Negro song "Trouble So Hard", recorded in 1937 by Vera Hall. At first, sales were sluggish. Radio stations refused to play the non-standard performer, and the music press didn't write about him.

"These were very painful and disappointing two years [working on the album]. I was dissatisfied with the songs, their mixing, and production"

Moby played "Play" in the basement of a music store. Danny Boyle used "Porcelain" as the soundtrack for his movie "The Beach". The film was a success at the box office - everyone wanted to see DiCaprio, who appeared on the screen for the first time after "Titanic". "Extreme Ways" plays in the credits of all five spy action movies about Jason Bourne.

"There's something liberating about huge success - you no longer have to try to achieve it. In the eyes of record companies, critics, and other people, anything you do afterwards may seem like a failure, but I never counted on any success."

Moby is known for his inventive videos with unconventional storylines, often with animation.

"I started drawing characters in the mid-1980s, when I was about 18 years old. And every bag of records that passed through my cash register was painted with these cartoonish big-headed characters. It's just a modest caricature of myself as a little space bug."

Moby dubbed the lonely and abandoned main character the "little idiot". A mini-album and the musician's own label were named after him. Richard records all his music in a home studio. "Why does my soul feel so bad," which won many awards, created a stereotype about its author as desperate and misunderstood.

"I'm the only child in the family. I like being alone. I like performing alone and recording music. Tell me, who can stand a person who wakes up at three in the morning and starts writing music? That's why I'm still alone. It saves me from all kinds of drama."

On his latest album "All Visible Objects," Moby returns from ambient music to old club sound. He no longer considers music his main job and spends more time protecting animals. Moby has been a vegan since the 1980s. He has collaborated with the organization PETA ("People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals") and human rights activists from MoveOn.

"Now I am a sober vegetarian, practicing yoga, meditation, tourism, and I enjoy being healthy. But a part of me would like to build a time machine, jump into it, and go back to 1989 in New York, to the dirty and beautiful streets, to that dirty and beautiful paradise."