#Alleviated Records and Music

[entheo-music]

Larry Heard - And So I Dance

[wildflowercryptid]

to the person who took the time to go through defoko's crunchy voice files and make a vcv bank for them : i am getting down on one knee and kissing your hand oh so tenderly.

[iamlisteningto]

Larry Heard's Love's Arrival

[taesanrot]

[heavy] sunghoon x f!reader | 2.1k words exes to lovers, second chance, angst syn. ever since you broke up with your long term boyfriend, park sunghoon, he's been heavy on your mind. foolishly, you try to move on, but seeing him at a party reminds you why you can't let him go. note. i've been wanting to start a series based on songs i've been listening to recently! this is the second and hopefully not last fic in this collection lol. also this was kinda supposed to be a implied college au but im now realizing the setting is kinda vague so imagine it as you like :)

now playing: heavy by the marías

"cause i don't wanna be in love with another, even in another life."

sipping your drink, you wished so dearly to drown out the memories that played in your head like a broken record.

you were fine. everything was fine. you told yourself what you told everyone.

you were done with park sunghoon. it was for the better.

but even the loud drunken screams from your friends and the even louder music at this party couldn't make the words in your head stop playing over and over. you closed your eyes and tilted your face to the ceiling.

...

"let's go our separate ways." your emotionless voice contrasted with your tear streaked cheeks.

"y/n, what? what do you mean?" sunghoon's voice shook with confusion.

"i mean, let's break up."

"break up? baby i'm not breaking up with you over this." he stepped forward to grab your hand but you just crossed them in front of your chest.

"i'm tired of fighting! we're clearly not right for each other." your voice almost broke at the end, making sunghoon want to cry.

"couples fight all the time, you know we've both been really stressed lately, let's talk about this another time. when we're both feeling better." he tried and tried to reason with you, but your mind was set, and both of you knew that.

...

you felt stupid, then and now. it had been one month since you'd last seen your ex boyfriend, and you were a wreck. foolishly, you'd blamed everything going wrong on him, thinking that getting rid of your relationship would alleviate your stress. but sunghoon left a gaping hole in you, and suddenly it was like you were frozen.

the pain was unbearable, bu you were stubborn. you kept your head up, moving through night and day. you were a shell of yourself, but you were still standing.

you began to go out, your friends dragging you out of your apartment in an effort to cheer you up.

you tried and tried to move on. but talking to other guys made you feel sick. they didn't have his fluffy hair, his cute and pointy smile, or his pretty voice.

tonight was the same, you nursed a drink in your arms as you tried to forget everything.

"what are you thinking about, pretty?" you opened your eyes, nearly dropping your drink in shock as you turned towards the voice. you were face to face with a taller boy. he had dark hair and even darker eyes.

"nothing." you weren't going to get into your ex with a random guy at a party.

"i'm jisung, by the way." you smiled slightly as he introduced himself, trying to be polite. he seemed sweet enough, but you wished you were doing anything but talking to a flirty guy right now.

"i'm y/n." you replied, struggling to maintain your sanity and composure with the alcohol flowing in your veins. you kept up conversation for a bit longer, making an excuse that your friend was sick so you could finally make your escape.

finding your best friend, yunah, you tapped her shoulder to get her attention away from the music.

"y/n? what's up?" she grabbed your hand as she spoke, swinging it back and forth drunkenly. you smiled, gesturing to the back door.

"gonna go sit outside, need some air." she nodded and waved as you walked away.

what neither of you saw was sunghoon. he'd arrived not more than 15 minutes ago, with his friends jake and heeseung.

"dude, is that who i think it is?" jake blurted the moment they walked through the door. the 3 boys watched you talk to some taller guy with dark blue hair. sunghoon wished he didn't care, but truthfully he couldn't look away.

you were beautiful, wrapped in a black dress. you always looked angelic to him, always making his stomach burst with butterflies.

looking at you right now, his stomach was burning with a different emotion. he was green with envy watching another guy flirt with you when you should've been with him. the only thing that quelled his dread was the look on your face. he could see from miles away how uncomfortable you were, arms crossed tensely and face painted with a fake smile, one that didn't reach your eyes.

sunghoon wanted to be a respectful ex-boyfriend. he didn't contact you. he gave you your space after your breakup, even though he knew how stupid your fight was. he loved you, enough to respect what you wanted.

but watching you duck away from the blue haired boy and walk out the back door, sunghoon couldn't stop himself. he downed the rest of his drink, wincing at the burning feeling his throat before pushing through the crowd to get to the back door.

the night air soothed the growing dread within you a bit, but you were still left with a nauseating feeling. the same one you always felt when you talked to guys that weren't him.

slumping against the fence, you held your head in your hands, combing your fingers through your hair roughly. dizzily, you crouched on the ground, wishing you could just disappear. or even better, teleport to your bed.

“y/n?” your reaction was delayed as you slowly searched for the source of the voice.

in all his glory, park sunghoon stood before you, looking down at your crouched figure with concern.

“god, sunghoon. what are you doing here?” you groaned, sincerely wishing you were just hallucinating all of this. wishing that the first time you were seeing your ex boyfriend since the breakup wasn’t when you were a drunken mess.

god, today was seriously the worst.

crouching next to you, he reached out a hand to move some of your hair from your face. he leaned in front of you so he could see your face, while you stubbornly trained your eyes at the ground.

you were scared that if you even made eye contact with him for too long, everything would fall apart.

“are you okay? how much did you drink?” he spoke softly, his voice melting in your ears and warming your chest.

you wanted to cry, throat tightening at the feeling of him doting on you. you didn’t say anything, just nodding.

sunghoon could tell you didn’t want to be there just as much as he didn’t. normally, on a night like this, the two of you would be watching a movie together or baking or just laying in his bed and scrolling through one of your phones.

“do you wanna leave?” he asked, hand falling onto your shoulder and rubbing small circles. you nodded again, pushing your hands on the ground to stand up. you didn’t let sunghoon help you as he stood up, stumbling slightly as you stood up fully.

as the two of your walked out the back entrance, you looked at the boy in confusion as he began walking in the same direction as you.

“i’m not leaving you alone out here, let me make sure you get home.” you looked back at the ground, mumbling back a small okay and thank you, trying to ignore the words threatening to spill from your lips.

the walk to your apartment was filled with a thick silence, the only audible noises being the hum of the streetlights. A rough gust of wind caused your skin to fill with goosebumps, the cold breeze hugging your frame.

sunghoon noticed, almost quicker than you did. wordlessly, he dropped his leather jacket over your shoulders. you knew you should protest, but to be truthful, you missed him more now than ever.

when you didn't say anything or move at all, sunghoon stepped in front of you, gently unwrapping your arms and putting them into the sleeves of his jacket for you.

you stared at the cracked sidewalk, heavy tears threatening to fall from your eyes. his jacket was warm, and so big that you were practically swimming in it. his hands were warm too. and so was his voice, as he softly asked you if you were feeling less chilly.

you still refused to utter a word, not out of stubbornness but out of fear that your voice would betray you. after everything you did, after how bad you hurt him, sunghoon was still here, walking you home and taking care of you like he always did. like nothing had changed.

"y/n." sunghoon spoke a little louder, tilting your chin up so you looked him in the eye. "i said are you cold?"

the end of his question died in the back of his throat as your teary eyes came into view. he dropped his hand, eyebrows furrowing with worry.

"hey, hey, what happened?" his voice instantly softened. you couldn't do anything but shake your head, the tears finally trailing down your cheeks. sunghoon's thumb made contact with your cold cheek, wiping away the tears as the fell.

"y/n, please, tell me what's wrong." he almost sounded defeated, voice laced with concern that made you want the earth to swallow you whole. your chest ached.

"i'm sorry, i'm so sorry, hoon." his head tilted in confusion at your apologies. he opened his mouth to respond.

"why are you apologizing?" you sniffled, tears still wetting your pink cheeks.

"im so stupid. i pushed you away because i just hated fighting and i thought that was the only way to make things better. but i can't-" you voice broke slightly and you took a second to breathe in. your eyes were screwed shut, refusing to look at sunghoon.

"i can't see myself with anyone else. i don't want to see myself with anyone else. any guy i talk to i just compare to you and it makes me feel sick. i know i can't but i've been trying so hard to move on because i'm scared that you hate me for hurting you and being so dumb." when you slowly opened your eyes, sunghoon pulled you into his chest.

your cheek was pressed against his white shirt, tears wetting the fabric as he held you tightly. he shoved his face into your hair, breathing in and relishing the feeling of you in his arms again.

"sunghoon?" you asked, voice muffled by his chest.

"i could never hate you." he mumbled into your hair. he pulled away and you saw him smiling, eyes crinkling as he tucked a strand of your hair away and wiped the last of your tears. your nose and cheeks were red both from the cold and from crying; sunghoon thought you looked adorable.

"for the past month haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. about us. how i should’ve fought harder to make you stay.” he laughed dryly as he spoke. “the only reason i even went to that party was because i might get to see you again.”

more than anything, it warmed sunghoon’s heart to see how much you still cared for him. all this time he was scared he was the only one still hung up on your relationship.

“i love you so much, i don’t care if we fight or if we go through a few rough patches. i only want you.” his voice softened slightly and he looked at you like you were the only two people in the world.

“you’re not mad at me?” you mumbled, hand crinkling the fabric of his tshirt as you clutched his side. shaking his head, he grinned.

“why would i be? you came back to me.” you smiled for what felt like the first time that night, hand instinctively covering your face. sunghoon pulled your hand down, wanting to see your shy smile. he loved when you were like this, shy and bashful. it made his heart nearly explode in his chest.

“can i kiss you?” he asked, intertwining your hands. you nodded gently, closing your eyes as sunghoon leant closer to you.

his lips were warm and soft, just like you remembered. your mouths fit together like puzzle pieces, molding to each other perfectly. sunghoon’s arms slipped under his jacket that you were still wearing, hands wrapping around your waist.

you were flush against his chest, feeling his heartbeat against your skin and his teeth sink into your bottom lip. as your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, you swore to yourself that you’d never let park sunghoon go again.

[divinewxrld]

pisces placements x hobbies

pisces sun

pisces moon

pisces rising

pisces stellium

12th house stellium

pisces lilith

You have to have an emotional outlet. No. It doesn’t have to be a career, but you need it to be apart of your routine. here are some things that can turn the stress and mundane into an outlet:

Listen to music

- this is probably one of the easiest ones to do. Music is so accessible. So make a playlist for every mood or just for fun lol. but make sure it’s high frequency and good for your soul. example: i like to listen to my childhood bops to get me to maintain a positive vibe or just positive instrumentals.

Journal

- ive been a consistent journaler for about 5 years. i don’t do it everyday but i mainly journal when im in a negative state. It helps put my mind at ease. It’s also beneficial long term, to see how your mental has progressed!

Scrapbooking

- this may be a little old school, but this is a good way of getting off of your phone and creating sentimental memories. you can also add your own creativity and admire it for years to come!

Poetry

- i look at poetry as the love child between traditional journaling and song writing. poetry is a unique and creative way of expressing your feeling and experiences. so give it a try and challenge your creative word play!

Record yourself sing ( just for you)

- now not everyone is a singer. but pisces placements are know to be very artistic and many can sing so if you do, do it and record yourself. keep the video/audio for yourself. make a playlist of yourself for yourself and keep it for your future self.

Paint

- painting can seem intimidating, but it doesn’t have to be. if u want to, just throw some color on a canvas and you’ll see u don’t have to be a professional to create a masterpiece. (or just watch some bob ross videos!🤷🏽‍♀️)

Draw

- learning to draw is so cool. it can be alittle intimidating like painting but it doesn’t have to be something that’s intricate. start with something simple.

Take pictures

-take pictures of everything. romanticize your life. make it interesting and make it fun. time moves fast, you have to capture it.

Watch comedic tv

- when i’m feeling down, i like to watch light hearted tv. and more than likely i get a laugh or two out of it. laughing is good for the mind, body, and soul. and it’s a natural cure. so watch something funny!

Watch low stim tv shows

-watching low stimulation shows can help alleviate some anxiety and level your mood (especially at night!) my personal favorite is bob’s burgers but there are many other low stim shows.

don’t copy/steal any of my work @divinewxrld ©️2025

[mc-lukanette]

"Clear as a music note, sincere as a melody. You've been the song stuck in my head since the day we first met."

Luka meant every word of it. He hadn't known Marinette for long but he knew people. Whether one called it intuition, a sixth sense, or nothing more than a "feeling," he didn't care. Marinette was a special girl and anyone who didn't know didn't understand her. It was the way she talked, the way she laughed, and even the way she was constantly stumbling over herself because she cared so much about others.

He felt it in her designs and had seen the process himself, how she would sit in the same spot for hours until someone snapped her out of it. He wore his Kitty Section costume proudly because of it and swore that it made him play better, just by having a piece of her with him.

That was all he needed, as far as he was concerned. Whether she loved him or not was irrelevant, and he only confessed at all in the first place because he wanted to alleviate whatever doubts she'd had. He was just happy to know her and to be called her friend.

She looked so beautiful against the colorful stage lights too. Had he not needed to leave, he might've told her so. He only hoped she wouldn't run off to let them take all the credit if there were any interviews afterward. She was just as big a part of the band as he was.

He smiled and released her shoulder, turning around to face the stage where he was set to play with the others. He took one step, two steps—

and then his wrist was snagged, pulling him back. He tried to keep his balance, especially as another hand grabbed at his jacket to bring him downwards. Everything was happening too fast, his vision only able to register the blur that was Marinette's face coming towards him.

Heat flooded his system as her lips came into contact with his skin, just to the side of his mouth. She'd kissed him on the cheek before, but that had come off entirely friendly as opposed to the one she'd given him now.

"Worse" still was that he knew she'd missed her intended target in her rush, which was definitely not his cheek.

It was over too soon, but he registered the voices behind him calling him to the stage as Marinette let him go and pulled away. Despite the bold move, she looked away sheepishly and cleared her throat, her blush obvious even in the lighting.

"U-um... good luck?" she said, giving him a fluttery wave.

His shoes felt like they were filled with very selective lead, keeping him firmly in place unless he was moving towards her specifically. Alas, his bandmates were still calling and not going would've ruined all the effort Marinette had put into getting them to this point.

Thus, he turned - for real this time - and went to set up with the others.

—————

Luka somehow managed to concentrate throughout the entire performance. The nice thing about his Kitty Section mask was that he could look around freely without being noticed, particularly at the siren of a girl standing in the background watching his every move. Her fingers were steepled in front of her mouth, making it hard to gauge her exact expression, but her eyes never left his.

Each note he played felt like a pleasant shock through his body, a positive feedback loop that kept going throughout the whole song. It'd happened before when he was in a good mood, playing his feelings through the strings, but not like this.

Not after being kissed by the one he was in love with, and not on a stage where the energy surrounding him was so high. Whenever he turned to the other bandmates, they were staring at him in bewilderment, but not in any bad way. He wasn't overshadowing them or throwing off the song, he was just more of what was already there, and the stage crew was getting into it.

It was fantastic.

By the time everything was over and the recording was done, there was nothing stopping him anymore. He wordlessly passed his guitar to a confused Rose, then walked off the stage, past the crew, and past a reporter who had snuck in and was asking him questions he didn't bother listening to. He pushed his mask up and took a straight path directly towards Marinette, who was bouncing from the thrill of the moment.

"That was incredible, Luka!" she squealed. "It sounded even better than in the video! People are going to love it, I—"

He grabbed her face and kissed her. It momentarily occurred to him that he could've said something romantic like, "I only played so well because you were there," which was true, but kissing her the way she'd tried to kiss him seemed like a far more appropriate response to what she'd done.

It felt equivalent to getting to play a song she'd written just for him, which was almost a shame. Had he known she could've made noises like she was just by him kissing her, he would've suggested a different type of song for the music video.

There was a shriek in the background that was probably Rose, which he paid no mind to. He broke the kiss, but remained hunched over to Marinette's level, still holding her blushing face and cherishing the warmth against his palms.

"Did you love it?" he asked quietly, stroking her cheeks. "That's all I care about."

Her voice had raised an octave when she replied, "O-of course? I said it was incredible! I love you—it! A lot!"

She managed to fit her hands between his, covering her face with an embarrassed whine. He sighed blissfully, dropping his hands to wrap his arms around her and bury his face into her shoulder.

"I can't believe you tried to kiss me," he began, then added even though he could've left it at that, "right before I had to go on stage."

"Sorry," came the muffled apology behind her hands, though he smirked when he caught the hint of not actually being sorry in her voice. She returned his embrace, squeezing and shaking a little as she whispered, "I should've done it sooner."

When Luka had thought just a few minutes ago that he would've been perfectly happy just getting to know Marinette and be her friend, he meant it, but he wasn't about to complain about being thrice as perfectly happy either.

[luminoustarlight]

Your Eyes Only | Anakin Skywalker

You leave Anakin a special recording on his tablet.

rating: explicit | pairing: tcw!anakin skywalker x afab!reader | wc: 719 warnings: SMUT [masturbation, recording of sexual acts, breeding/pregnancy kink, dirty talk], swearing

this came to me last night after watching the latest ahsoka episode. no spoilers though!

There is a special place in galactic purgatory for one Anakin Skywalker. A secret marriage is one thing but this crosses a whole new threshold.

If it weren’t for the thankful prince who insisted on throwing a banquet for Anakin and Ahsoka after rescuing him, Anakin wouldn’t be in this position. 

He’d be halfway back to Coruscant. 

He wouldn’t be in a private room with his personal tablet in one hand and his stiff cock in the other. Like he said. Galactic purgatory. 

He should’ve known better when you handed him his tablet before he left and emphasized, “for your eyes only.” 

He thought maybe it’d be a few photos of you. Certainly not a video recording of you on your bed with your legs spread and fingers dancing over your clit. 

“Do you have your hand around your cock, Ani? Are you making yourself feel good?” 

“Yes,” he subconsciously replies to you, even though he’s watching a recording. You’re massaging one of your breasts while barely slipping two fingers into your hole. Anakin groans at this, the dark desire in his belly only getting stronger. He swipes his palm over his tip and drags his hand down his length, lubricating himself with his pre-cum. 

“I miss you, Ani,” you insert two fingers into your pussy, moaning and arching your back into your touch. “You’re so much better at this than me.” Your fingers move in and out, in and out. “Your hands are bigger… fingers are longer…y’just fill me up so much better.” 

It drives Anakin insane hearing how wet you are. He hates that he can’t taste you. He hates that he can’t nuzzle his face against you, holding your thighs open with so much force it hurts. His hand pales in comparison to how your cunt feels around him. So snug and warm, he’s convinced it’s the most divine feeling in the galaxy. 

“I know you wish you were in this tight little pussy, fucking me hard… or soft, whichever you’d like… but you’ll be back home soon. Then you can have me as much as you want. Cum in me as many times as you want. Filling me up until it sticks.” 

Your voice is music to Anakin’s ears. It’s astounding how such filthy words can sound like a sweet melody when coming from your lips. Maker, he wishes he was with you. You can’t tease him with the idea of putting a baby in you when he’s on another kriffing planet. He continues to twist and squeeze his hand around his dick to help alleviate the throbbing. The image of your swollen belly is too much for him to bear. His skin is burning— with lust or shame, he doesn’t know. But what he does know is that you’re about to cum. He sees it in the way your breathing changes, when you shut your eyes and purse your lips. And then you say it. 

“Gonna cum, Anakin— oh, fuck! Ani, I’m cumming!” your toes are curling and your body is twitching as you feel an electric current course through you. 

Oh, that sends him over the edge. He bucks his hips up, fucking his hand with fervor until he’s spurting hot white seed on his abdomen. “Shit- fuck—“ Anakin drops the tablet and puts his fist in his mouth to suppress the sound of his orgasm. He hasn’t cum quite so hard from his hand in a long time. 

You’re coming down from your highs together, despite being planets apart. You crawl to the edge of the bed, your face now in clear view on Anakin’s tablet. You always look so beautiful, however, you’re especially stunning after you’ve orgasmed. Must be a result of the chemical reactions that occur during intercourse. 

“I miss you. Come home safely,”  is your last remark before the video ends.

“I miss you too, angel,” Anakin answers. Once he cleans himself up he’ll see if he can send you an encrypted message. That thought, however, vanishes as soon as there is a loud knock on his door. 

“Anakin! Are you almost ready?” It’s Ahsoka. “The banquet starts in 3 minutes!” 

Anakin scrambles off of the bed and hurries to wipe off the cum on his stomach. “Be right there, Snips.”

Yup. He is definitely going to galactic purgatory.

live action clone wars anakin is SENDING ME and the fact that hayden just naturally looks older.... ugh. he's so yummy.

◂ anakin masterlist ▸ main masterlist

[heartofwritiing]

Rest Easy

paring: musicianbur x fem!reader

summary: Wilbur overworks himself which results in him falling asleep in your lap in the studio. based on one of an idea I had from this

authors note: I was feeling a little bummed so I wanted to write something quick and fluffy I hope you guys like it!

warnings: fluff, one swear, unedited, and not proofread, please ignore any mistakes!

The text you got from Wilbur when you were on your way to your apartment was short but sweet.

-Gonna be home later than usual, working on a bug in the studio with a particular song. don't wait up for me if you’re hungry love you <3

It was only around 6:45pm which was a bit late for him work wise. So, since you were close by anyways, and your stomach was growling to eat something, you headed straight for the studio a few blocks away. Making a small stop at the sandwich place on the way he always raved about.

You knew his order by hear so you didn’t bother messaging him, plus you wanted to surprise him.

Arriving at the studio you entered the control room, noticing the red light was on indicating the band was recording. You quietly shut the door behind you, and John-their music producer- swiveled around in his chair to give you a small wave. Everyone else you could see through the glass window in the recording room was chilling with their respective instruments as you guessed, waiting for instructions.

You could hear a backing track of guitars and drums play through the speakers, as the warm baritone voice of your boyfriend mixed in with the instrumentals lulled you into a state of comfort.

"Fuck," he swore through the mic when he messed up a line. It echoed through the speakers reverberating off the walls. He just wanted to get this last bit right and then they would be done. You couldn’t help the giggle you let out at his minor outburst of annoyance. you swore you thought he could hear you through the padded walls because his eye line met yours through the window, a look of surprise crossed his face. Lifting your hand that held the bag of food with a wave, his eyes lit up with alleviation and gratitude, he motioned for you to come in.

You somehow maneuvered your way passed all the wires and various equipment strew all over the studio without tripping. Wilbur Pulls you into and bone crushing hug after a few hours of separation he couldn’t wait to get his arms around you.

“You didn’t have to bring me food,” he says pulling back, giving your cheek a quick peck.

You give him a frowned look. “who said it was food for you, smart guy?” Jokingly of course.

Wilbur just deadpans.

“Come on, you went to my favorite sandwich place,” Wilbur lifted your arm still holding the take away bag to prove a point. He saw the logo of the shop on the front. “walked two blocks just to bring it to where I am.”

Damn, he caught right on to your ruse. You rolled your eyes playfully and threw up your metaphorical flag in defeat.

“okay, fine you caught me, I thought id be nice and bring you something to make sure you don’t starve, especially after such a long day, sue me.” You stepped closer once again to give a kiss to his lips.

Wilbur hummed in appreciation before leaning in.

“and that is why I love you,”

“because I bring you food?”

“precisely my love,”

Joe who was scrolling through instagram on the loveseat against the wall was listening to the whole exchange with a smirk pulling at his lips until he spoke up.

“You two are disgustingly cute,”

You pulled away from Wilburs lips reluctantly and turned your head to the amused Joe, who you didn’t even know was still here.

“we try our best,” you shrug.

You trudge over to where Joe was sitting and plop down beside him while Wilbur gets back to work to finish up this last line. Not knowing he was gonna be here you didn’t think about getting Joe something but he waved you off saying he would get something afterwards.

Watching Wilbur sing into the mic was a whole thing. He seemed so lost in his words when he sang, concentration purely written across his face as his throat muscles bob with each note. You thought he constantly so good but today he just looked so damn good. His hair was fluffed in a particular direction, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose and his eye brows scrunched as he pressed his full lip’s against the pop filter.

You felt so dumb at the jealousy of an inanimate object surging through you as you watched him wet his lips with his tongue and they brushed the mesh.

He must’ve felt eyes staring at the side of his head because, he turns his head in your direction with a smirk and that glint in his eye that makes your body heat. He sends you a wink as he finishes a word, then quickly puts his attention back forward.

Happily, about a few minutes later, Wilbur came to sit next to you, munching away at his sandwich. You both chatted away about your day eventually he had to get back to finish up the recording.

About half an hour later you were both still in the studio. Joe had already left but Wilbur was adamant to get this last track perfect.

"Wil, honey?" you called out, he lifts one headphone and he raises his eyebrows at you.

"I think you should rest, just for tonight, you've done so much and you looked exhausted, and it's getting really late we should head home." concern laced your voice and made him consider stopping for a moment.

You had checked the time once again peering at your phone and saw the time read: 1:33 am. But you knew him too well.

It wasn't fair of him to keep you here all night. You had work in the morning as well. Wilbur felt the guilt gnawing at his chest, the yawn in his voice telling him to rest. rest. rest.

"I'm sorry love, just two more lines and I promise, I'll be done.

He walked over to you and placed a kiss on your forehead quickly before turning back around again.

You always loved Wilbur's determination, but he sometimes could overwork himself to the point of exhaustion. Noticing the growing bags under his eyes and the grogginess increasing in his voice every day, you knew he was over-working himself. Non-stop for the past five days. The new Lovejoy ep was causing him so much stress, he put too much pressure on himself, which worried you immensely. He would go to the studio early in the morning, get home late, fall into bed next to you, get up the next day, and do it all over again. He was tiring himself out more than usual and it wasn't good for him.

You scrolled through your phone absentmindedly in the same spot, fighting off sleep. In your peripheral vision, Wilbur stood in front of you startling your occupied brain. He moved when you noticed him and he laid his head down in your lap, his long legs dangled over the arm of the couch before you could say anything.

Wilbur buried his face in your tummy as his hand snaked around your waist so he could cuddle into you further. It was an odd position he was in, but he seemed cozy.

"you tired?" you tilted your head, running your hands through his messy brown locks. Wilbur hummed at your touch and nodded in response.

"I'm sorry, I should have listened to you," he mumbles into your shirt.

Sometimes you hated his stubbornness, but you loved him so that made up for it.

Not even a minute passed and Wilbur was already softly snoring in your lap like a tired cat. You giggled at your boyfriend and admire his calm features, running the pad of your pinky down the bridge of his adorable nose and watching as he twitched at the contact. A faint smile spread on his lips. He looked too peaceful, so for now, you'd let him sleep. You were happy he was finally getting some well-deserved rest anyways.

"Rest easy, my love."

End

-

taglist: @justanormalfangirlx2 @merakiwi

[aledethanlast]

With the way Aaron moans about it, Andrew thinks that the hardest thing about his brother's life as a doctor is the amount of times he spends convincing patients that no, he's not Andrew, yes he's really the twin brother, listen you can google it later do you want your appendix removed or not.

This is not wholly accurate. For one, last week he had a teenager loudly proclaim him to be an evil clone who wants to harvest his (failing) kidneys for spare parts. So there's highlights.

But the real hardest thing about being a surgeon is, shocker, the surgery. Because surgery is half a dozen people standing around for several hours. And most of the time, they alleviate that with music. But sometimes, usually in the summers when the new residents come in, Aaron gets stuck fielding the dumbest personal questions of all time.

"Is your brother really Andrew Minyard?" No I'm an evil clone weren't you listening to the kid before we put him under?

"What's Andrew like?" He's my brother, make an educated guess.

"In interviews he seems like a really cold guy." Are you hoping for me to peer review all of your opinions or something?

"I heard he beats up his teammates." They probably deserved it.

"Wait does that mean you know Neil Josten?" Unfortunately.

"Did he really kill his mafia parents?" You guys will really believe any dumb shit you see on the internet won't you.

"Is Josten really sleeping with Kevin Day in secret?" Never say those words to me ever again.

"I heard Josten made one of his teammates get a divorce because he didn't like the wife." Oh that was real. He stole their bank records to prove she was stealing from their joint account for her gambling addiction. Don't tell anyone though.

[mo-jo-jo]

To Many Thoughts About This Manga

Hey, it's been way to long since i've done anything remotely productive. I've been pretty busy with life, and recently got Cyberpunk 2077 so have also been busy running around that like an idiot. I actually played Cyberpunk on my sisters PS4 back in 2020, and people aren't kidding when they say how different the game is, it's kinda crazy.

Anyways, all that aside, I posted a poll on the community tab of YouTube like 2 weeks ago with a few different series I wanted to talk about. The winner of the poll was "The Guy She Was Interested In Wasn't a Guy at All" by Sumiko Arai. I was planning on getting this book eventually, but one of my sisters also wanted to check it out so it's a win-win when I can lend someone else a book too. Alright full spoilers ahead and let's get into it.

"The Guy She Was Interested In Wasn't a Guy at All" follows high school students Aya Oosawa and Mitsuki Koga. Aya has a love for western and rock music, and while perusing music at a local record shop she begins crushing on on the boy who works there. The two develop a bond over their love of music. In actuality the male store clerk is her female classmate Mitsuki Koga, who literally sits next to her in class. Mitsuki has a Bruce Wayne - Batman dichotomy going on, sort of hiding as a nobody during school hours and taking on a more confident, cooler persona at the shop.

The first volume in particular feels like a series of vignettes taking place over a vague amount of time, rather than a streamlined story progression. It's kind of like snapshots of the girls lives. I would assume this is because the manga started as a webseries on Sumiko Arai's twitter. It definitely shifts into a more linear story as the manga progresses. The first volume follows the girls as they are introduced to one another and begin to bond over music. Aya is immediately smitten and talks with her friends about the boy she likes in class. Mitsuki overhears this and makes the totally rational decision to hide her identity from Aya. Even going as far as calling her when Aya gives Mitsuki her number.

This dynamic doesn't stem from a malicious intent, but Mitsuki does make a choice not to clear up the confusion, hoping they can bond over music so the aspects of loneliness in both the girls lives can be somewhat alleviated. In Aya's case she has no one to share her passion of music with, feeling isolated in her interests. She is even openly teased by her friends about her choice in music. While Mitsuki is an outcast in a broader sense, avoiding ostracization by purposely secluding herself.

We are also introduced to Mitsuki's uncle Joe, who owns the record store. He is ex-rocker who walked away from the potential spotlight to raise his niece. Joe tries to have a heart to heart with Mitsuki right from the get-go and is shown to be unconditionally supportive of his niece.

The story goes on like this for a while, with Mitsuki walking a thin line between flirting/befriending Aya and trying not to blow her cover. There are quite a few hints that could give her away, and we even see flashes of recognition from Aya where she notices the similarities - even directly mentioning her classmate to the record store guy.

Towards the middle of volume 1 we're introduced to Megumu Narita who easily see's through Mitsuki's disguise as the guy in the record store. Nariita is a preppy, easygoing classmate and is pretty confident in his capabilities to win people over. He starts to hang around the record shop too - interested in learning to mimic Mitsuki's cool demeanor and also just kind of rooting for the two girls relationship. He does a lot to try to push the two of them together, and even forms a friendly rivalry with Aya about who is the bigger fan of Mitsuki's as the story goes on.

Volume 1 picks up speed as the girls and Narita join forces on the executive committee planning the culture festival for their class, and Aya recognizes a playlist she'd made for her record store guy on Mitsuki's phone. Finally able to put all the pieces together Aya has a breakdown thinking that this was a prolonged, purposeful trick. It's doesn't feel like Aya is upset that Mitsuki is a girl, but rather because Mitsuki is a classmate and someone Aya directly got to know on a personal level over the course of the story.

The girls falling out is quiet and really comes down to them simply avoiding each other. Their break up culminates in both almost quitting the committee. With Narita and her uncle Joe's help though, Mitsuki manages to get Aya to attend the festival's closing party where Mitsuki preforms a song to try winning Aya's friendship back.

This gesture is enough to win Aya back. The remainder of the book sees the girls being more open about their friendship at school and Aya makes an effort to blend Mitsuki in with her friend group. This goes about as well as you would expect, with Aya's friends not really getting what's going on with the girls and feeling like Aya is leaving them behind. The main story of the volume concludes with Mitsuki giving Aya's friend Chizuru a ticket for a concert she was going to see with Aya. This is another attempt for Mitsuki to step back, afraid that she is dismantling Aya's relationship with her friends and trying to engage Chizuru with Aya's interests. I don't want to dive to much further into that though, since it is continued in volume 2, and I'm just focusing on volume 1.

Some thoughts on Characters

I think Sumiko Arai makes it pretty clear, at least to me, that the cooler persona is Mitsuki's true self, but she'd rather blend in under the radar than deal with the consequences of standing out. This is a nice contrast against Aya's more open and spirited personality. Aloof and a bit informal, Mitsuki flip flops often from being true to herself and being numb to her own emotions or intentions.

After the main story of volume 1, there is one more section of the book. in flashback, we see that one of Mitsuki's childhood friendships was ruined by her dislike of wearing skits. Her friend was bullied after defending Mitsuki on a day when the other girls of the class had decided to wear skirts, while Mitsuki herself didn't own any. That moment effected Mitsuki, giving context on why she is determined to keep her facade up at school - maintaining a subdued reputation even with the buzz of the mysterious musician who preformed in all black at the closing party.

Aya is shown to be outspoken and friendly, but feels insecure about her interest in western and older rock music. The spectrum they listen to is actually pretty broad in scope, ranging from Nirvana and Beck to more modern rock like Willow. However, none of Aya's friends share her passion in music.

It's also worth mentioning that Aya is a gyaru or a gal. This is a subculture in Japan that is pretty varied and I am not someone who can really delve into it, but they're are some great video essays on the subculture on YouTube. Aya - at least in my opinion - falls into the Kogal, or school girl, subcategory of Gyaru. I'll link to some videos about Gyaru (like this one or this one). I do think it's worth noting Gyaru itself is form of counterculture in Japan and so works well with Aya's love of alternative music and western media.

Joe is a character that we learn a lot more about in volume 2. He has a lot of love for his niece and is determined to help Mitsuki and her friends to the best of his abilities. He is also voiced by Kenjiro Tsuda in the Drama CD which I found so many people mentioning online in regards to this series.

Overall Thoughts on Volume 1

In all honesty, I liked The Guy She Was Interested In Wasn't a Guy at All less than I thought I would, which might be a hot take. I think this is an entirely personal preference though, and can totally see why so many people are interested in it. An anime for the series was announced in February and I might have to check that out whenever it premieres. Overall though, the manga was just ok for me. There were quite a few times the humor didn't really land for me, and I found myself sort of skimming and then needing to go back and reread sections. At no point did I give up reading the book though, and the moments that hit really hit.

The manga is well written and the art is so fun. The heavy use of that like brat summer, nickelodeon green really gives the book a distinct look and sense of energy. I also really enjoyed the emphasis on music. Coming from a western perspective and as a un-musically inclined person I loved looking up some of the music mentioned just to see what exactly the girls were listening to. Like, I don't listen to Willow, but they bring her up enough that I check out the album and it was pretty good. I should mentioned that I read both volume 1 and volume 2 and did enjoy volume 2 more so it could also be the structing of the story, since volume 2 is a bit more linear and doesn't have quite so many ups and down in timing and tone.

Still, at the end of the day the manga was just ok for me, but that's ok. I'm excited to hear what my sister thinks, and would love to see what other people have to say about it. With that in mind, have you read The Guy She Was Interested In Wasn't a Guy at All? What did you think of it? Please let me know.

--

[ Hello - this is basically a script for a youtube video so i haven't recorded yet. I often just type as I would speak, so sorry if it is structured oddly. - Thanks! ]

[fishnoodles]

Seven Year Itch – Fabrizio Moretti of The Strokes on Their Latest Album in Seven Years

Interview by Charlie Weinmann Photos by Jason McDonald

It’s been seven years since The Strokes released their record, Comedown Machine. A lot can change in seven years, and for a band to come together again after so much time to create something new is something to admire. For the band’s drummer, Fabrizio Moretti, re-establishing a vibe with the band mates he grew up with was just what he needed after making music more or less on his own since 2013. Despite the time that had passed, The Strokes were able to craft this new music, with the help of legendary producer Rick Rubin, which rings familiar to their signature sounds, yet sprinkled with new energy and life. The new record, The New Abnormal, seems to be aptly titled for the times, though it was completed before the pandemic gripped the world. I chatted with Moretti on the last day of April about his experience making the record, reconnecting with his band, as well as another project he’s been working on, which he has designed to be inclusive of artists all around the world.

Mirror of an interview on drumheadmag.com, originally posted around May 2020

CW: How’s quarantine been for you? What’s been keeping you busy? FM: Music, and I’ve been learning how to cook, and I’ve been doing some painting on the side. I’ve been reading. It’s been tough, man, I gotta tell you. I’ve been feeling for everybody.

I agree. It’s a fortunate thing to be healthy and to be able to do things, like cook. I’m glad that you’re healthy. Yeah, there’s that underlying sadness, that during this time, somewhere not too far from where you are, somebody is suffering. Many people are suffering. And many people are putting themselves on the line to alleviate that suffering. That’s pretty intense.

Absolutely. Well, I’d like to ask you about the new album. My favorite song so far has been “Eternal Summer.” Me too. Well, maybe it’s my second favorite.

What’s your first? “At The Door.”

What do you like about that track? I think it’s the furthest we’ve traveled from ourselves but still maintaining our DNA.

What was the process of writing and recording the music like for you? How long of a process was it? It was a long process. We started with the demos here in New York, and we sent those demos off to Rick Rubin to see if he would want to work on these songs. We wanted to present him with some material. He said “yes,” and then there was some time in-between that, until we got to his studio. He encouraged us to jam every morning to see what would come of us being together in this place, sequestered in this place called Shangri-La. Most of the songs came from us jamming and building an idea. It was very cool how he knew to reinvigorate the band; he needed us to be a band again, to be all in the same room just jamming, and not worrying so much about ‘writing a song,’ or ‘parts,’ but just feeling each-other’s vibes out.

That’s a cool approach. When did that happen? When were you guys doing the bulk of the writing? It was a while ago. The past is a muddy haze, man, I don’t even know how to bring it together. It was a long time, though. It took us a while to finish.

Did you have anything specific you wanted to accomplish with the drums for the new record? Did you have any ideas of what you wanted to achieve? No, because we were really kind of sailing on this wave of interaction, you know? Like feeding off of one another in the moment. With the band, we have a history of playing each-other’s instruments, and making up parts for one another, but in this case, we really just sat at our posts, and vibed out with one another. I think that having Rick there, as the captain, who we all wanted to respect…not fear, but like, you know the way one fears something grander than them? Like Kierkegaard’s “Fear and Trembling.” We need to pay homage to him and to listen to him. And to trust him. And sure enough, he was a guiding force that made us all congeal.

What can you say about making music in that space, at Shangri-La? It’s a legendary recording studio. Had you ever worked there before? Never. I had never even met Rick, so the initial thing was walking in and feeling nervous about meeting him. You walk in, and it’s all this kind of white-washed house with these long corridors; you’re walking into this altered place. You look around, and you see all these instruments, and you’re told by the people that work there that “you’re able to play around with any instrument you like. Everything is fair play here.” Then you realize you’re holding an acoustic guitar from the ‘30s, and everything is sacred, and there’s a bus out in the back that was Dylan’s touring bus. It’s all just magic. “The Last Waltz” was filmed and recorded there. It was pretty cool.

I’m envisioning you guys “sitting at your posts,” and I assume for you, you mean the drum kit–what would you say is most unique, or most different about your drumming on this new record compared to what you’ve done in the past? Well, I had a very clear view of Rick’s feet from where I sat. He was always there from noon to seven, which is something that I wasn’t expecting; he was very hands-on. And we would jam, and play the tunes, and I would see his feet tapping to the beat. And then, I would try and get more complicated and do more fancy stuff, and I would look at his feet and they would immediately stop. I started to train myself to play beats that would keep his feat tapping; less about playing what’s fancy, and more about keeping his feet tapping. It was really about the groove and less about trying to be a ‘snappy drummer.’

It’s got to be about the song! So, it’s been seven years since the last Strokes record–one’s musical taste, and understanding of music is bound to change in that time…How would you say that your thinking on music has changed since the last Stroked record, and how has that influenced your contributions to the new music? In that time, I was really building music at home, and doing things by myself became easier and easier…you start on this path feeling you can do everything by yourself…everything is accessible, every sound, if you’re willing to pay enough, you can have it. You’re spellbound by that for a while and start writing music, but it’s kind of influenced by that…I felt particularly that I reached a point where I discovered that my solitude wasn’t beneficial anymore, and I missed the influence of my compatriots, my fellow musicians. Not that making music by yourself isn’t fun and rewarding, but there’s certainly an edge that you get to, or at least I did, where you know you can’t go any further by yourself. It was nice to come back after so long to a room…actually, probably if we had kept on going, I would have taken this for granted, but after having stopped for so long, coming back to these people who not only understand me, we understand each other in a subconscious way. We feed off of each other without even knowing how we do it. It’s a very rare and precious thing.

Yes, it is. How old were you guys when you started playing together? The first time I played with Nick, I was thirteen. And then Julian and I started playing together soon thereafter. I think our first show, I was fifteen.

That’s a lifetime of playing music with someone. Very valuable indeed.When I listen to the new record, there are sounds and beats that make me think of ‘80s music. What is your connection with music from that time period? How did that time period influence this record for you? I mean, it’s not like we’re going for that sound, but I think certain times we land there because of the nostalgia for that time. We were all children. I guess we were forming our musical opinion without even knowing it. It’s like it’s a color that we can paint with to evoke a certain nostalgia as a bed for a melody, or for a vibe. In terms of practical thinking, it’s not like I personally seek out inspiration from ‘80s drummers–although Phil Collins is a pretty awesome, all around musician. He’s someone that I aspire to be like: somebody who can write music as well as they can play the drums. And vice versa.

I also wanted to congratulate you on the new Machinegum album, Conduit. I was recently turned on to it, and what you guys did with the art exhibit earlier this year was really cool. What excites you most about that project, and how does the way in which you approach that music, artistically, compare to how you approach your role in The Strokes? You know how I was telling you about how I was making music alone in my kitchen? That was Machinegum. That’s almost a funnel for me to be able to get out my emotions, or to exercise my personality. Because even when I bring a melody to The Strokes, I have such faith in Julian’s lyrics, that I don’t bring lyrics. That’s his job. And it’s actually very fun to bring a melody and see how he responds lyrically to it. But there is that part of me that wants to express stuff lyrically, too, so Machinegum became sort of my exhaust pipe to do that. What really excites me about that in the future, is that maybe I can cultivate it in a way to become independent from me. I’m trying to build, or at least I’m trying to think of a way to build, a stage upon which the musician and the listener can have a reciprocal relationship. I want to make art with people who I don’t know. I want it all to be under Machinegum. That seems like an exciting future. We recently made a video that hasn’t come out yet, which we started before the Corona Virus, and we just asked people to mimic and act out these directions that we gave them, to show this community that pans out across the globe. I feel like now more than ever, we have so much power and technology in the communal mind, and we’re exercising new and bold ways of expressing that because of the confines of this sad, sad time. It’s a very lush moment for ideas. … Hopefully you’re a part of Machinegum, you know?

I think it’s a novel idea, and I support it one-hundred percent. I just have one more question: what’s been inspiring you recently in the art world, whether it’s music or anything else…? Yeah, I mean, it’s almost like what isn’t inspiring these days? But, I recently got to do a collaboration with Sotheby’s, where I curated this process of witnessing these paintings. It was centered around the same principles, the importance of the individual, but also of the individual in a collective, or group. I built this maze, that compromised the view of these paintings, where you could only really see the whole thing if you were standing by yourself, and you got this moment to really witness the painting, and have a quiet moment…to allow yourself a quiet moment with art…that’s been pretty inspiring.

[lazyscience]

DCC Challenge, Day 16

Time To Floor Collapse: 14 days, 3.75 hours (give or take)

Time for the recap episode!

Crawler @quartzandsundry

New Achievement! Beat It Till The Brakes Come Off!

You know that old Earth saying about can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs? Well, you just started a goddamn breakfast bar and it smells DELICIOUS. (well, it smells like burning, but some of us are into that.)

Reward: A Legendary Broken Shit Necessitates Invention box! Inside, 10 Alarm traps and 10 Proximity triggers, and a Legendary enchanted Ring of Protect Your Peace, rendering its wearer undetectable to Ping or Find Crawler while simultaneously alerting them an attempt has been made!

Crawler @kathrynalexao3:

New Achievement! Make Time or Take Time!

Good for you, tanking all that damage! Well, actually, not good for you at all, but that's what health potions are for, right? Except for the ones that don't work on debuffs. Oopsie!

Time for you to kick back - in defense, to relax, up to you, but either way, I trust you to keep shit entertaining!

Reward: A gold Apothecary Sponsor Box! Inside, 36 Healing potions, 12 Cure Poison antidotes, an enchanted Copper Wristband giving immunity to the Queasy, Shit-Faced and Infected conditions (warning, that shit also turns your arm green. it's not a status effect, it's a cheap copper effect), a stuffed quokka heating pad and scented candle of This Does NOT Smell Like Gwyneth Paltrow's Vagina Who Would Want That (actually smells like rosemary, lemon and ginger)

Crawler @king-ofconfusion:

New Achievement! Waiting for the Bell!

Is it paranoia when the world IS out to get you? You're not taking any chance on finding out, and because of that, you keep taking home the gold. And the alchemy supplies! You're not on the top ten - but that's just the way you like it. Who's on first? More like least in sight.

Reward: A silver Takin' Care of Business box! A tome of Nine Lives, halving the damage of the first 9 mob attacks in an encounter, an enchanted Order Pad of +20% XP/GP for any quests recorded in it, and three copies of sheet music of Workin' For the Weekend, casting the Tipsy and Can't Fight The Feeling compulsive dancing buffs!

Crawler @oreniaa:

New Achievement! IT'S ALIIIIIIVE!

Vam...pider? Spider-pire? We'll let the nerds sort that one out, but it sure is a killing machine, and it's all because of you! I gotta ask though....why is it pink? I mean, I don't hate it, there's something so deliciously vibrant, toxic and unnatural about it it could only exist here, an exclusive of Dungeon Crawl: Earth! Check your local retailer of fine tchotchkes, collectibles and clutter! Not liable for any explosive products, looking at you Veriluxx...

Reward: A golden Poisonous Garden Box! Including membership in the Guild of Suffering, an Enchanted Necklace of Poisonous, resulting in the Poisoned debuff to any mob (or anything else, you may want to be careful in the saferoom, heh heh) that bites you, and a Venomous Katar that ALSO inflicts the Poisoned debuff!

Crawler @cairfrey :

New Achievement! Like A Pigeon from Hell!

I do so love an unexpected ambush. It's like rain on your wedd--what am I saying, it's not like that at all. (well, it kind of is, since this isn't ironic, just unexpected. take that, Alanis!) ANYWAY. You know the expression 'nibbled to death by ducks?' Well it was a lot like that, only pigeons. But you made it through, and now you're back on the grind. Good for you, get that coin! You'll get to sleep when you can afford that Ultra-Stabilized Size-Adjustable Race-Adjustable Alleviating Sleep Apparatus or when you're dead!

Reward: A gold Back On The Chain Gang box! Inside, a tome of Flak, a Personal Shield, a REALLY huge bag of stale movie theater popcorn, and Tom Lehrer's complete discography on playable media!

Crawler @deathdovesong:

New Achievement! Clothes Make The Crawler!

So it's no secret here in the dungeon that presentation is EVERYTHING. The right accessories, the right robe or vest or boots or hat, can be the difference between fashionably late, or late on the obituary scroll on the Galactic Emmy Awards.

You have put together some KILLER combinations, and for that, we salute you.

Reward: a gold Vogue box! Includes a tome of Laundry Day, sheet music for Puttin' On The Ritz (inflicts the Hum debuff, causing any stealthed/in cover opponent within hearing range to sing along, breaking their concealment), and three scrolls of Cracker Jack, allowing a personalized accessory to be "cracked" for your use.

Crawler @clearbrightlight:

New Achievement! Light A Flamethrower Rather than Curse the Darkness!

A burning city? (starts humming 'you make me feel like dancing') let me get my fiddle! Some people, when surrounded by what feels like overwhelming force, believe in hope and salvation.

Some people say "bitch, NO ONE puts Baby in the corner!" And well, everyone likes a good epic dance invasion.

Reward: A gold Time of My Life box! Includes a Personal Space upgrade coupon for a personal training room! The lambada, the krav maga, it's all up to you! Also includes an Obsidian Collar of the Scavenger Mother, adding +15 to Dexterity, +10 to Strength!

Crawler @lazyscience:

New Achievement: Walk On!

You made phone calls like a boss, refrained from retail therapy, only said one bitchy thing before logging off Bluesky and started something to watch to keep from pursuing it into a trap.

Reward: Satisfaction. And an orange kitty.

Now get out there, crawlers, and kill, kill, kill!

ATTENTION, all partied crawlers! Don't forget to update me on mobs, quests, or parties (defined at link) so I can award you achievements! Please let me know either in the replies to this post, reblogging with additions, or hit my askbox/DMs!

(please, do this, even with small and silly mobs/quests, it makes giving achievements so much easier!)

[insane-control-room]

Grate

ink demonth - record

Grant notices an odd request on the stack.

He calls Sammy down to discuss it.

Aleph Paradox

Rated: G

Warnings: None

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58397662

Length: 1500

Note: Yiddish translations are in the Ao3 version's notes.

 This had to be a record. 

A record for the most fluctuation of funds in one business in one quarter. Every day, it was up some, then down some, and then up some more, and then down some more. It made his head spin as he tried to keep track of it. 

It felt impossible, lurching and dizzying. There was, also, an unfortunate negative correlation to Grant’s heart rate with the spasming changes in the flow charts - when profits were up, his stress alleviated just a tiny amount, and when they dropped, the worries and anxieties skyrocketed. It was starting to become a problem, really, and he was going to see if he could take off work to see that doctor on the edge of town. Worked on Manhattan Shore, or so he had been told- and the beach break would be a nice day off. Or two. Or a weekend. Shabbos on the beach… even thinking about it made himself calm down a little. 

Still, there was work to be done. That day.

Grant felt an uncomfortable twinge in his chest that he promptly ignored. Striving to refocus on his work, he reached for the small radio on the edge of his desk, flicking it on. The classical channel it tuned to was another miniscule point in favor of reducing his inclining stress levels. 

At some point, however, his radio began to crackle and hiss, and he turned to it with the slightest frown- only for a high pitched whine to emit from the device, crescending into an unbearable shriek, and ceased functioning. Grant stared, blinked twice, and sighed. An unhappy grumble left his pharynx, some discomfort made itself known in the back of his seat. As he shifted, trying to regain some semblance of work wherewithal, his eyes came across a red marked paper on the top of the fund requests. He adjusted his multifocal lenses, furrowing his brow as he raised it to his gaze. 

It was from the music department - for some reason, it was a request for a crank operated panel door. Not that Grant had to question it, he had a veritable bottomless pit of cash with which to supply the madhouse that was the music department. If you could not read the dripping sarcasm that should be applied to that statement, please re-read it with the proper amount of ironic cynicism. Now that is done… back to the story. Grant had paused before putting the paper to the side, and then picked it back up to examine the request. 

Lawrence, S., requesting what was essentially a garage door. He shook his head, and then rolled his way over to the phone hooked up to the side of his doorway. A harried musician had quickly answered his call, probably to dim the wrath of the cantankerous department head. 

“Is Sammy available?” Grant inquired. He got a tentative maybe. “Well, if he is, send him down to my office, no urgency. Zay azoy gut, aun danken. Oh, and tell him to bring with himself a new radio.”

Sooner than Grant expected, the music head knocked on the side of his door. He knew it was him from the distinctive, rhythmic knock. 

“Come in, Sammy,” Grant called to the door. The Levi entered, silently setting a new radio on Grant’s desk and turning it on. Grant murmured his appreciation. “Nu, shalom aleichem. I have a question for you about a funds request.” 

“The door.” Sammy simply stated, knowing instantly what the other man was going to ask him about. Grant nodded in reply. The musician shifted slightly, brow furrowing for a moment. “I need privacy.”

“And you need a big metal door to get it?” Grant asked, incredulous. Sammy hesitated again, and Grant held up his hand. “Now, Samme’le, I understand. It’s hectic in your department, all so…” his gaze drifted to the softly playing radio. “Loud. But I do not understand the need for this ibermosik thing.”

“I was going to put it on the instrument storage room,” Sammy said after a second. “And then write it off as a safety request.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?” Grant questioned, all the more stupefied. “Did you forget to do that step of lying to me?” 

“Well,” Sammy slowly spoke, chewing his words. “I knew you would call my bluff.”

“I’m calling that one, bevadai,” Grant, finding himself even more baffled, told him. Sammy’s thin mouth turned thinner with disgruntlement, the corners becoming drawn, birdlike nose dipping. “But since you told me the truth, I can consider the need a little more. What do you intend to do with this little nore?” 

“My work, in privacy,” Sammy replied firmly. Grant could tell that he was not lying. “Of course, it might be a bit disruptive to the musicians, at least for a moment while I get myself settled, but it is a small price to pay when my actual office is completely exposed with that mi’es window.”

“And why not request a window shade?” Grant prompted further. Sammy did not reply, crossing his arms and glaring at the request form as though it was the cause of his problems. “That way you would get some privacy.”

“Why can’t I get both?” Sammy grumbled in return. “One for a kleyntshiker kheylek of peace, and the other for l’punim?” 

“Sammy, Shmuel,” Grant shook his head. “This is narishevate.”

Sammy’s mouth, which had such melodious arguments and smooth songs slip from it before, fell open, utterly silent. He shook his head, pinched the bridge of his nose, folded his arms, unfolded his arms, and then threw both his hands in the air, looking up at God. 

“Joey and his shtuyot have affected you,” Grant commented, trying not to sound too amused. Sammy, irritated, leaned close. Grant pinched the sleeve of his arm. They both examined the other’s face. “It’s him?”

“Yes! He doesn’t leave me alone!”

Finally, it clicked. 

Grant signed off on both. 

---

Grant stared at the use of funds. And he stared, and stared.

What on Earth had happened there? What did Sammy need all of those audio sensors for, why did he need an actual toilet? In an instrument closet? Grant sighed, rubbing his face. 

Part of him was tempted to bring it up with Sammy. The other part of him wanted to bring it up with Joey - and then there would be the satisfaction of seeing Sammy get chewed out for something he wanted done in secret; away from the boss’ eyes. But a toilet? It was insanity at this point. With a long suffering sigh, he called the music department again, and once more requested Sammy’s presence. 

When the other man showed up at last, Grant made his vexation known by ignoring his request to enter- let him squirm a little. When Sammy hesitated and made a move to slip away, Grant swiveled his chair to face him. Sammy looked choleric, but uneasy. 

“What will Joey say,” Grant began slowly, “When he sees that you made a request for a toilet to be installed in the music department’s storage closet?”

Sammy’s face went blank, sheepish. 

“We had left over funds from what you signed off.”

“Oh? You did?” Grant asked, pretending to be surprised. Sammy did not buy it for a moment, shoulders raising to his jaw for a moment. “And why did you not… return the spare funding, if I may ask?” 

“Well, I thought…” Sammy looked away for a moment, eating his tongue as he scrambled his mind to figure out what to say. Eventually, though, he gave up and spoke plainly. “Jack works in the sewer.”

“Like a madman, nu?” Grant waved a hand for Sammy to hurry up. “What does this one have to do with the other?”

“I didn’t have the water line to the toilet turned on,” Sammy slowly continued. Grant squinted, trying to figure out where the taller man was going with this. “So I wanted an easier way to talk to the word spinner. What better way than the pipes? People say they whisper anyways.”

“This whole place is meshuge,” Grant muttered, rubbing his face. “Alright. Alright. Do whatever you want, but if I see the music profit dropping more than the expected fluctuations, I’ll serve your head to Joey on a record as a plate.”

“Noted,” Sammy dryly replied, but he looked relieved that he was being let off the hook so easily. “Or should I say, recorded?”

He quickly left the office when Grant threw a balled up paper at him, but smiled at the soft laughter he heard following him. 

--

Grant could not tell if he was shocked, angry, or happy. 

The next quarter, the music department not only exceeded expectations, but had made a record profit and had record productivity. Joey was ecstatic when he learned the news, and asked Grant if there was something in particular that made the shift. 

Grant debated answering with: 

“A toilet.” 

[itsthestutterforme]

Hey Rebel 1/2 (Alpha!Ari Levinson x omega!reader)

Summary: Ari tags along on one of your missions, nearly jeopardizing it when he catches a whiff of your intoxicating scent.

Notes: GIF is not mine, this is not a beta’d read, A/B/O dynamics, reader is Afro!Latina and a CIA agent, reader is very bratty in this series

**

“I see the target,” you said through comms. The loud bass from the music reverberated in your ribs as you push passed a few people in the club.

The club was a lot more busy than you anticipated which made your mission quite easy for you.

You preferred to work alone on missions but with this particular target was violent and the two of you had history.

He killed your partner and made you watch. He kept you alive to continue the torment of know that your mistake had your partner killed.

Though he wasn’t just your partner, he was boyfriend at the time. His scent was everywhere in your apartment, and when it slowly started to disintegrate in spaces he would hang out the most, you wanted to tear your heart out.

When his clothes stopped smelling him and started smelling like you, you had nothing left of him but memories.

He wasn’t your mate necessarily, but you he made you feel safer than any of your previous boyfriends had.

His death put you in second gear on your missions. Your accuracy increased by 23% and you spent every waking minute in the gun range or in the gym. You were a forced to be reckoned with and quickly became Ethan’s favorite agent.

And Ethan couldn’t have his favorite girl off on a potential murder mission without backup.

So he sent in a newer agent with a promising record in shooting accuracy for support. And he sent in Ari, his other favorite.

If the target made your cover, he was as good as gone. So you put your pride aside and disguised as an exotic dancer.

It was the best chance to get close to the target without immediately getting made.

You tugged at the bottom strap of your solid gold top to alleviate some pressure on your ribs. You were sure they gave you a size smaller than you told them so your breasts are practically spilling out.

The bottom was a measly and thin, it was very obvious that it was made of leotard fabric and tailored it to be a bikini bottom.

You had absolutely no breathing room in this outfit. Every inch of skin on your body that could be visible is shown.

You’re not necessarily used to your sternum tattoo and your thigh tattoos being visible to the naked eye.

Continuing through the crowd, a man slapped your ass as he walked by making you immediately tense.

You looked over your shoulder at him, watching as he drank your figure in. One disgusting man isn’t going to jeopardize your mission, so you continued moving.

The mixed scents of designations with smoke and sweat made you nose blind to anything else so you didn’t bother sniffing.

You made eye contact with the newer agent when he started speaking on coms.

“I count five guards,” he says, pressing and adjusting his Bluetooth in his ear.

A scowl made its way onto your face when you saw a larger man in an all black suit look in the new agent’s direction.

He flagged down another man and they converse for a few paces, sending occasional glances in his direction.

Shit.

“Do me a favor and stop messing with your comms. You’ve been made. Go to the rendezvous point.” You commanded.

“I wasn’t made.” “Fine then I’ll let Tweetledee and Tweetledum take you into the back alley and beat you to a pulp,” you snap.

His eyes widen when the two large men push their way through the crowd and beelined straight for him.

“On it. Sorry.” He rushes out the back door with them hot on his tail.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you rolled your neck around until it cracked. “Maybe you should go easy on the kid,” Ari points out.

“I’m not going to let anyone jeopardize my mission, Romeo.” “Your mission?” you opened your mouth to respond when a man whistled over at you, motioning you to come over once you made eye contact.

“Care to give me a dance, sweetheart?” The man asks, pulling you into his lap and squeezing your waist eagerly.

“Anything you want,” Ari’s gaze darkened when he saw your hips moving sensually to the soft beat of the music.

You threw your head back, your box braids swaying around until the landed on your chest. The man pulled you even closer, scenting the sensitive skin below your ear.

A omega woman approached Ari with a tray full of drinks.

“May I offer you a drink, sir?” She bends down slightly so he could take a drink from his seated position.

“Thanks honey,” he took out his wallet and gave her a twenty for her consideration. Her hand caressed his palm when she gingerly took the bill from his hand.

She moved her hair to the side, exposing her unmarked gland. “I’m not interested,” he takes a sip of his bourbon once the omega moves away from him.

Ari hasn’t had genuine relationship with an omega that wasn’t sexual. He initially fell for the bullshit theory that philosophers create centuries ago about the match made in Heaven.

An alpha and an omega destined to be together by the Alpha Gods.

He quickly realized when he married Rachel that not every omega can spark that special connection.

Just because omegas weren’t easy to find in common society, doesn’t mean they’re all special. Now he’s found himself caught in a marriage because an omega got pregnant

Neither of them have filed for a divorce yet because of the immense amount of paperwork and money that would go into it.

Ari came to terms with the fact that his child spends more time with the babysitter than with her parents.

With him away on missions and Rachel spending every waking minute with her sugar daddy alpha, the kid doesn’t stand a chance at a normal childhood.

And it’s not like anything is going to change any time soon.

Ari was seated in a loveseat across the room for you. He watches you over the rim of his glass, still dancing on the man’s lap.

He tilts his head as he tried to decipher your thigh tattoos from behind.

“I didn’t realize how tatted you were, Juliet.” You rolled your eyes at Ari’s remark and had glanced over the man’s shoulder at the target.

Rumlow. You thought to yourself. The man he was meeting hasn’t up yet, but you needed to prepare yourself for when he does.

Your strategizing was cut short when the man cradled your neck, smoothing a hand over your gland.

You stopped your movements, narrowing your eyes directly into his. The smile slowly fell from his face and a low growl grumbled in your chest.

His hand slowly dropped from your gland and you snapped at him.

“Shit. I’m sorry,” he holds his hands up and you slid off his lap.

“Pig,” you walked away from him and made your way to the bar. You were going to be giving drinks for the rest of the night. Screw the dances.

“Well that wasn’t very nice,” “Fuck you, Romeo.” He smiles against the glass before downing the rest of the bourbon.

Ari couldn’t help but notice the frequent head turning from groups of men when you walk by. Followed by the sniffs in your general direction.

Ari had to admit, you had an interesting scent. Actually, there is no scent initially and no way of telling what designation you were.

The way you carried yourself, you could easily be mistaken for an alpha. But Ari had a sneaky suspicion that you weren’t an alpha.

You were an omega that took the strongest scent blockers he’s even heard.

He’s smelled your original scent before. It was a faint whiff, but he smelled it and he’s been drunk for it ever since.

He made the connect that you scent spikes through the scent blockers when you’re aggravated about something.

Luckily for him, he had a knack for being aggravating. Truth was, Ethan knew you were capable of doing this mission alone.

It was Ari who insisted on tagging along.

But you will never figure that out. Or maybe you will, you’re quite the sharp tool. “We have a long night ahead of us. So let’s just play nice.” Ari suggests.

“Don’t provoke me and maybe I will,”

You continued serving drinks, getting more and more annoyed with every slap on the ass you received.

Ari kept an eye on the door to any new faces turn up and after a while, you realized how quiet your comms have been.

It’s been dead silent for at least five minutes. And Ari never knew when to shut up so you knew something was wrong.

You looked around for Ari only to find him staring at you confusingly. You needed to talk to him but you couldn’t pull him aside.

Otherwise that would break your cover. Letting out a sigh, you set the tray of drinks down at the bar and made your way over to him.

“Follow my lead,” you said to him, putting your hand on his shoulder and sliding into his lap. He keeps his hands by his side as he looked at you attentively.

You held his gaze for a moment before moving your hips against him and rolling your body. “What happened to comms?”

“No idea,” he slowly slides down the seat, his hands gripping the arm rests for dear life.

“Do you know how long they were out?” “No,” he grunts. “Do you think they’re onto us?” “There’s a chance. Are they looking?”

You glanced over his shoulder and saw Rumlow with a dancer giving him a lap dance. He downs his drink and shakes his glass at the bartender.

You felt Ari’s body tense underneath you and you raised a brow at him.

“If you want this to be believable, I need you to touch me.” “I’m trying to be respectful,”

“Please. Don’t pretend like your eyes haven’t been glued to my ass all night, Romeo.” He licks his lips and rested his hands on your thighs.

The second his hand touched your bare thigh, you inhaled sharply. Heat spread from your thighs up your waist and chest, finally resting on your face.

Your mating gland throbbed painfully and you stopped moving against him. His grip on your thighs tightened when you tried to move off of him.

Ari groans as the same burning heat took over him, his gland pulsing at the same rhythm as yours.

Your heart sank in your chest when you made the realization. Your scent was spreading passed the scent blockers.

Ari’s hands move up your back and held you close, dipping his head to inhale your sweet scent of honeysuckle and warm honey.

You let out a fearful growl when the tip of his nose brushes the base of your throat.

Your heart continued to patter in your chest when you made eye contact with the group of betas looking over at you, sniffing in your general direction.

The anxiety caused your scent to spike and you attempted to leave his lap once again but he held you down.

“Let me go,” “If I let you go now, they will swarm you. Just trust me,” he says the last few words slowly, removing his grip from your back.

He takes a few deep breaths, moving your body with each breath. You looked over at the initial group of betas who crinkled their noses and looked away from you.

His husky scent of pine and sandalwood invaded your nose in strong wafts. He was masking your scent with his, staking an unwanted claim. You had matched your breathing to his, bring you out of your anxiousness.

You hadn’t realized you were digging your nails into his dress shirt. Releasing him from your grip, you slid off his lap.

And when you looked over at the target, he was gone. “Mission’s over,” you hugged your arms to your chest and beelined for the changing room before Ari could reach for you again.

He waited for you outside in the car and you had changed back into your black slacks and white blouse.

You had pulled your box braids into a low bun. Sliding into the passenger seat, you tossed your duffel bag in the bag and sent a text to the new agent letting him know you were on your way.

Ari watched you turn your face to look out the window once you send the text. You were actively avoid any interaction with him.

At least before you entertained him with snarky remarks and insults. This was much worse. He reverses out the back alley and onto the highway.

“So are we going to talk about what happened in there?”

“Nothing happened, Levinson.” “Bullshit. You felt something and it scared you.” “No I wasn’t. I was pissed that I missed another chance to take the some of a bitch down.”

“Yeah, sure.” He says skeptically. “Why do you take such strong scent blockers?”

“Because of what happened in there. I’ve always had an intoxicating scent. And it’s gotten me into a lot of trouble as a teenager so I suppress it.”

“It is very intoxicating,” another silence fell over the two of you and Ari looked at you but your gaze remained outside the window.

“You’re really not going to talk about it?” “No. I already have a lot on my plate with work. I don’t need this right now.”

“Our primal instinct doesn’t care about our human duties,” “You sound just like those ancient men in those history books,” you dismiss.

“Look at me,” “No,” “Look at me, omega.” “You’re not my Alpha. You don’t tell me what to do.”

“I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I just want to talk to you.” “There’s nothing to talk about,” “Yes, there is. Stop dismissing everything, Y/N. This is serious.”

And that was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

You looked away from the window and said, “How serious is this, Ari? Hm? Is it life or death? Or just some stupid reason for Alphas to have complete control of another living being?”

You poked harshly at his arm and he growled at the tone you used and you emitted a growl low enough to make your chest vibrate.

“Y/N,” he warns. “I am not an omega you can just claim, Ari. If you try, I will make sure to make your life a living hell. So just drop it.”

You held his gaze for a few seconds before returning your gaze back out of the window. Ari made the conclusion like this was nothing like how they described it in the history books.

If you truly was his mate, then how the hell was he going to prove that to you? He had better luck finding a needle in a haystack.

**

Ari wasn’t sure what to do about pursuing you. Your inner omega was aggressive and untamed despite your calm human nature. You were strong for an omega and you made it clear that you had to be earned.

He spent weeks bring your flowers, contacting some of your coworkers to learn your favorite foods and wines. You didn’t trust him at all, but you decided to give him somewhat of a chance.

He took you on a date on horseback. Once he found out you grew up in el campo, he immediately researched the nearest horseback riding stable and booked a session.

He wanted to know as much about you as possible. From you of course, but you’ve been keeping him at arm’s length since you met him.

When he tried to lean in to kiss you after the date, you growled at him and retreated back into your house, leaving him completely dumbfounded on your porch.

You kept him on his toes, which encourages the chase. But Ari’s concern is that you never stop running from him.

That he won’t get the chance to catch you and he’ll lose you forever.

The last thing he had to remember between you was an argument. It was the day before he was set to leave for Ethiopia and wanted to see you before he left.

He would have been gone for weeks at a time and there was no telling when he would be back.

You were pissed because he hid the fact the was married from you. He thought you knew from Ethan but you hadn’t.

He replayed your argument almost daily in his head up until the drive back to your place after the assignment; his face would heat up at the mere thought of it.

“When were you going to tell me? Were you even going to tell me?” “Of course, I was- I thought you already knew.”

You scoffed and turned away from him to walk into your kitchen. “If I knew, I wouldn’t have given you the time of day.”

You took a glass from the cabinet and poured a bourbon on the rocks. “You barely give me the time of day now,”

“Any normal person would have gotten the hint by now and move on,” “Then I guess I’m not a normal person,” you down the drink in one shot, making a face when the burn lingers.

“Ari, I really don’t think this is going to work. You’re married. You obviously married her because you had some sort of connection with her. So focus on repairing things with her instead of starting new with me,”

“No. There was never a connection. I did it out of obligation.” “So.. does that make me an obligation then?”

“I want to be with you, Y/N. We share a connection whether you want to or not. So stop being stubborn for once and allow it to happen.” He snaps.

You met his gaze from across the counter and let out a long breath. “I think you should focus on your mission for tomorrow,” you said after a long pause.

He huffs and presses the palms of his hands against the counter. “Okay,” he said softly and left your house.

You waited for the door to close to lean your head against the wall. He wasn’t going to go away. So that means you have to.

Ari was immediately concerned when he was greeted by a for sale sign in your front yard when he pulled into your driveway.

He left the flower he bought you in the passenger seat and ran up the stairs. The front door was locked so he went around back to check if the sliding glass door was open.

He sighed in relief when the door smoothly slid open. Everything was moved out from the house and your scent has faded out, even in your bedroom.

He bowed his head when he realized that you were gone for nearly as long as he was on assignment.

Where the hell did you go?

He pulls out his phone and clicked on an unsaved number. On the third ring, someone answered.

“Well isn’t this a surprise. How’s it going, sunshine?” Lloyd greets. “Lloyd, I need you to do something to me,” “Name it,”

[sororalice]

On The Blessedness Of Suffering

Homily for the New Moon in Aries 4-8-24.

Dearly Beloved,

Happy New Moon in Aries!

On this very special New Moon, occasioned by a solar eclipse and thus reinforcing and complicating the New Moon formula lunar energy with the IAO formula solar energy of the death and rebirth of the Sun, I am moved to talk about a subject which is not popular in most circles for obvious reasons: suffering, and the role of suffering in the spiritual life.

It is part of the fate of people to suffer. No matter how rich and powerful, no matter how poor and humble, we all experience suffering. Sometimes our suffering comes from without, from our bodies and our circumstances. This sort of suffering can often be alleviated…we treat the illness, we mend the injury, we minister to those in need, and so on. Sometimes, however, our suffering comes from within, and this sort of suffering is often much harder to alleviate.

In moments where we suffer, we tend to ask simple questions, the questions of a child: “Can’t this be otherwise? Is this necessary?” But let us assume that we have already answered these questions: no, it cannot be otherwise and yes, this suffering is necessary, by which I mean that it cannot, under any possible circumstances, be avoided.

Are we, as pagans who believe in a naturalized theology, to argue with this suffering? Are we to say through our tears: “How can this happen? Why am I suffering?” Do we, as pagans, demand an account of suffering in the same manner as our siblings among the other religions? I say “yes”. Yes, we need an account of suffering, a justification for suffering, a way to give our suffering meaning.

As theists, many of us believe that the events which occur in the physical world are ordained to some degree by divine providence. We believe that the Divine, in some form or another, manifests the phenomena that we experience through our lives in a way that is intended to guide us and move us forward towards growth, health, and prospering. In short, many of us believe that the Divine is benevolent. “The gods are good”.

Yes, that includes the dark, cthonic deities and spirits that can sometimes be scary and wild. Even the qlipoth serve a divine purpose, and the vast majority of the entities labeled as demons now had divine origins and were simply demonized by those who could not accept that the dark is just as much a part of nature as the light. Your average demon, just as much as your average angel, seeks and serves the good as best they can, and like angels and deities, most demons are “load-bearing”…they do metaphysical work holding reality together. In this sense, even the demons are good. All things are the Divine and all things serve the Divine…including suffering.

How do I know this? I cite three authorities: the lore and teachings that have been handed down for millennia, the accounts of mystics of almost all extant traditions, and the lived results of actually pursuing the spiritual life attested by practitioners throughout the ages.

Our most ancient lore has the deities and spirits teaching us medicine, herbalism, music, mathematics, astrology, astronomy, writing, agriculture, and metallurgy, as well as magick and religion. Every mystery, both light and dark, every part of our world, both sweet and spicy, all are the direct work of the Divine and administered in the Divine’s distributed form as the deities we come to know and with whom we work. Every bit of it (except for the “true demons” which we humans have created, such as “Capitalism”, “Colonialism”, and “Bigotry”) is holy. Sweet fruit for our bellies and mouths, sweet love for our bodies and hearts, and a world full of mysteries for our minds to explore…the lore of all traditions teaches that these are the blessings that the Divine is giving us.

In addition to the evidence of our shared traditions and lore, we have the innumerable mystical experiences recorded by practitioners all over the world and throughout history to attest to the basic goodness of the deities and spirits we have encountered. Again and again, people have experiences where they touch the Divine and the Divine touches them. And in these moments we see and feel the love of the Divine. We experience Their basic goodness as They urge us towards growth, towards goodness, and to the Great Work of unification with the Divine, of blessed theosis. They weep with us, They laugh with us, They cradle us in Their arms for the span of our lives, and finally They take us home at the end of the game so we can prepare for our next trip to the playground.

Finally, we have the attested and consistently reported results of people living the spiritual life: when someone pursues the Great Work (however you may know it), deliberately engages in consistent and sustained relationship with the Divine, and then pursues a life based upon that relationship, the result upon their psyche and life is beneficial and restorative. The Divine urges us on to the “Great Work”, “the Path”, the movement towards growth, development, and ongoing becoming more and more who we are. And as we pursue this Work, as we walk down the Path and grow, develop, and become, we become better people. We become happier, even when suffering. We become more loving, more wise, and more good, even in the very depths of despair.

Now, how does this connect to the problem of suffering? How does the evidence of our lore, our mystical experiences, and the beneficial changes within us as we do the Great Work answer the questions that burn within us as we suffer? To answer that question we have to move out of the very big concepts and entities that we have been talking about and get very small and very personal.

What does it do to us when we suffer? It inspires us to change and grow, to move beyond the suffering and into a new way of being. Sometimes this is true, and we relish in these moments. But often this is an easy way out, an easy excuse, the excuse of the abuser, that our suffering is really for our own good. In addition to this, there are times that, due to the horrors created by humans acting unethically, this process has been hijacked and suffering has been turned into torture. And there are times that it seems that our suffering from illness and age serves no purpose we can see. It is very hard to see how such cases as these can be turned to good, how our suffering can act as a crucible or serve some greater purpose in our spiritual development. I am the first to lament these moments, these places where the system seems to break down.

But there is hope.

In the tale of Pandora, all the evils that plague humanity escaped from the jar which Pandora opened out of curiosity, but one thing remained within: hope. One thing was passed down from her, Pandora, the Receiver and Giver of All Gifts, mother of humanity, and catspaw in Zeus’s revenge on Prometheus for His acts of creation and the theft of fire: hope. This one thing became the common inheritance of every human as they were born into this world where the sufferings, the passions, as the ancients would have called them, have been set free: hope. All the suffering that anyone can ever encounter lives in a constant relationship, a constant dialectic, with one other force, our common birthright as minds and souls and hearts, our common gift from the Divine and the partner of suffering: hope.

And it is hope that lets us change. It’s hope that lets us grow. It’s the dance between suffering and hope that makes the Great Work possible, that lets us blossom into something more than we were before. The existence of time makes change possible, but it is the existence of hope that gives change a direction, that tells it which way to go. Suffering is a doorway to spiritual growth, but hope is what lets us keep walking through that doorway.

So go forward into this New Moon, beloved. Let hope lead you into your new possibilities as the Spring progresses, even as suffering teaches you its lessons. Let these divine twins, Hope and Suffering, teach you Their lessons.

In love,

Soror Alice

Art: John William Waterhouse, “Pandora”, (1896)

[flybcll]

arcade! / dates prompts / accepting!

          a familiar sense of ease finds him;   the well-handled arcade machines chime and blink.   dim lights,   the vibrant glittering of neon brings a sense of nostalgia.   visiting arcades in his free time never seemed   …   possible before. far too busy   ——   far too caught up trying to stay afloat between interviews and practices.   maybe a trip to one would've saved him from burnout or bought him an extra year before the inevitable break.   shaking off those thoughts,   the nagging drum of music blares from the speakers as if filling the place with life.   no other customer in sight   ——   no shocker there.   might've cost him a favor,   but a moment of solitude sounds nice.

          vibrant reds,   electric blues,   and potent greens add to the surreal surroundings.   everything blurs into a college of color   &.   sound against a dark backdrop.   there's no shortage of opportunities.   arcade cabinets housing classics.   claw machines ripe with prizes.   booths with light guns beckoning with the sounds of synthesized gunfire.   without the mixing of voices,   it might've felt a bit lonely.   it's a bit too much like being on another planet,   yet sticking close to genki alleviates such a burden.   instead,   thoughts only reflect on what's next.   what games they'll play   ——   what prizes were ripe for the taking.   everything's at their fingertips.

          "ah,   right—here these're yours."   tokens rattle against each other as he offers her a cup filled with them.   the chime of cheap metal fit right at home with the beeps sounding off around them.   "we end up running out there's plenty more."   considering the circumstances,   the place won't turn a profit,   yet it isn't losing out either much.   everything simply struck from the records as a private party.

          "what're you thinkin' first?   skee-ball?   mix it up on one of the fighters?"   considering each trip here were done alone,   he isn't sure where to even begin.   entertaining someone else   …   it's a bit daunting.   he peers at her;   he studies her features awash with the fluorescent glow,   nearly giving in to distraction.   then   ——   a idea forms.   better late than never,   surely.   with a snap of his fingers,   a grin settles across his lips,   almost too knowing.   "or we can try out luck over there."

          there are maybe   …   twelve of them.   each nestling against the wall,   brightly colored and plastered with stickers.   neither of them are too different from the next.   coin slots,   fuzzy pictures of the prizes within   &.   only assuring a prize exists but not which would drop.   it's twelve gachapon machines ready and waiting.   "emptying those babies out could be fun."   more than once,   her gaze lingered on such things   …   more than once,   he noticed.   "aren't i a considerate guy? better remember that when we get to the rail shooters."

@tewwor