#Broken Tooth (or ‘Triple Tooth’ as I’m calling it for now) would be more dark and have more triangular aesthetics I guess

[snorpdawg]

How would the Isle of Bigsnax play out in the AU? I imagine Snorpy trying to kick flip over a giant Bugsnax.

I originally planned to respond with something more longform and elaborate, but the mental image of Snorpy doing a SICK KICKFLIP over a Cheddorb was too hilarious not to sketch. I strongly encourage you look at the sketch while listening to some punk-ska. Ideally Goldfinger.

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Take Care (Ethan x MC)

Summary: Set sometime between chapter 18, Ethan forces Naomi to take a break.

A/N: Okay the other day when I posted that i was writing tooth rotting fluff, this isn’t what I had in mind. That story will come later this week.

~v~

“How long have you been here?”

The question startles Naomi awake, Ethan’s stern voice cutting through the hazy cloud of sleepiness invading all of her senses.

If she didn’t have his handsome features committed to memory already, she might not have been able to make him out, her vision getting blurrier and blurrier as time ticks on.

“What?”

“How long have you been here?” Ethan asks again. “When was the last time you stepped out of Edenbrook?”

It’s a valid question, one Naomi hasn’t given any thought to. “What day is it?”

“Thursday.”

“I’ve been here since Saturday night,” Naomi confesses. Saying it out loud is slightly sobering. The past few weeks have flown by in a blur so unlike anything she’s ever experienced before. But with the hospital closing down soon, there’s no time to waste these days. The people of Boston will be down a hospital, and they still need help.

Ethan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Christ, Naomi.” Yes the hospital is shutting down, but he’s sure there are countless laws she’s violated in the meantime, as no one is supposed to be at the hospital for triple digit hours at a time.

“What? You’re the one who said we should spend our time helping as many people as we can.”

Leave it to her to throw his words back in his face. She’s gotten increasingly better at it, and he’s not a fan. 

“Okay, but I didn’t say you had to move in to do so. And you’re always saying I don’t have a work-life balance.”

Naomi’s arms extend and she gestures widely to the bench she’s sitting on in front of the cafeteria. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“On the verge of collapsing,” Ethan quips.

“I’m sitting,” Naomi argues. “I’m taking a break.”

“Are you currently with a patient?”

“No.”

“Good.” Ethan extends his hand for Naomi to take. After a beat of hesitation, she accepts. He lifts her out of her seat with a swift tug. “You’re coming home with me.”

“But–”

“It wasn’t a question,” Ethan deadpans. “It was an order.”

Naomi plants her feet on the ground, willing herself to not move. It’s a futile attempt because she’s too exhausted and weak to actually have the amount of strength it’d take to battle Ethan on this, but he respects her stubbornness and doesn’t carry her out. “Ethan, I’ll take a nap in an on-call room for an hour, I don’t need to leave.”

“Rookie, you’re clocking out for the evening,” Ethan says, his tone letting it be known that it isn’t up for debate.

“I’m back to ‘rookie’ now?”

“Yes, because you’re being petulant, and you’re not listening to me.”

“You’re not my direct superior anymore, Mister ‘We-Don’t-Need-a-Diagnostics-Team’.”

“I’m still your attending, you still have to listen to me. And I say you’re done for the day.” Not giving her the chance to respond, Ethan wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her close. She’s dead weight in his arms and he has to all but drag her to the locker room to retrieve her personal belongings.

Urge car ride to his apartment is silent, save for very idle chit chat. Naomi is too tired to speak, and she won’t admit it due to pure pride and stubbornness, but sitting in Ethan passenger seat on the way to his place is the most peace and quiet she’s had in a long time, not to mention the longest she’s sat still in days. Forever the know-it-all, Ethan picks up on her need for silence and solitude, and doesn’t say too much outside of asking her what she wants for dinner. They decide on a pizza, compromising on garlic chicken.

As soon as they step foot into the apartment, Naomi is assaulted by an overzealous golden retriever. He barks excitedly at her, clawing and licking at her scrub pants as a greeting. Jenner has grown used to her presence, the rare occasions she does actually leave Edenbrook are spent here, curled up with the large dog on the days he’s not in Providence with Alan.

“How’s my favorite boy?” Naomi asks, scratching behind Jenner’s ear. Jenner barks in reply, his tongue falling out of his mouth and lolling to the side as she makes himself comfortable under her touch. 

After a few more scritches and whispered affirmations, Naomi forces herself away from the day, though she could easily spend all night with him in the entryway. She kicks off her shoes at the door and drops her purse there as well.

“Do you want to eat first?” Ethan asks.

The pizza did tempt her the entire drive here, but she desperately wants to take a shower. Maybe she’s losing it at this point, but she can still feel Edenbrook on her skin, and smell the sterilizing disinfectant the cleaning crew uses.

“I need a shower,” Naomi replies definitively, though she makes no effort to move. “Besides, scarfing down cold pizza is always a good idea.”

“Alright.”

Ethan takes her hand and leads her through his apartment, making sure she doesn’t bump into anything on their way to his en-suite

He turns on the water for her, the large waterfall shower steaming the glass planes almost instantly.

“Want some company?” Ethan asks.

“That sounds nice.”

Because she’s literally a zombie, Ethan helps Naomi out of her clothing, delicately peeling the baby blue scrubs off of her body and leaving a pile of discarded clothing on the floor. He follows, removing his own clothing with less care than he did hers, before walking them both into the shower.

For a long time neither of them do anything, Naomi too caught up in the heat of the water and Ethan’s amazing water pressure, and Ethan too enthralled in watching her.

Her skill is slightly pale, evidence that she probably hasn’t had proper sleep or food in Lord only knows how long, and he hasn’t seen dark circles under her eyes like this in months, since the night of the...incident as he’s decided to call it. She’s exhausted, it’s clear in the labored breaths that she takes, and Ethan is still sure without a shadow of a doubt that she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

Unable to stop himself, his hand gently cups the back of her neck, tilting her head back so he can kiss her again. It’s soft and unhurried as if they have all the time in the world to do this.

The kiss turns more urgent as some of the fog clears from Naomi’s brain. Standing on the tips of her toes, she wraps her arms around of Ethan’s neck holding him close, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

Ethan is rewarded with a tiny moan from his girlfriend, a moan that he swallows with the kiss before it dissolves into a low grumble in the back of her throat.

“I missed that,” Naomi admits as Ethan breaks the kiss. 

“What? Kissing me?”

She hums in confirmation and leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss onto his chest. “I can’t even remember the last time I kissed you. The only recent memories I have involve me at Edenbrook, diagnosing patients.”

She’s right. Their only focus has been work, work, work, and Ethan can’t remember the last kiss either.

His thoughts are broken up by Naomi, her hands roaming aimlessly along his arms and shoulders. Her exploration goes further south until her nails are raking along his stomach. “When was the last time I touched you?” She asks quietly, her eyes boring into his. “When was the last time I saw you naked?”

A measured exhale escapes Ethan’s nostrils as her hands venture dangerously lower, slightly grazing his pelvis. If neither of them can recall their last kiss, trying to remember the last time they had sex would be a moot point. The nights they leave Edenbrook are spent collapsing in his bed as soon as they can, drifting into unconsciousness almost immediately. “I don’t know.”

“God, have we become old and boring already?”

“We’re just tired and overworked,” Ethan says. “It’ll pass soon.”

The words unspoken hang in the air, just as thick and heavy as the steam surrounding them. Soon they’ll have plenty of time to get back into the normal aspects of their relationship only because they’ll both be unemployed. Edenbrook will be gone before they know it.

Not wanting to dwell on that, Ethan shakes his head as if he will away the cynical thoughts. Instead, he grabs Naomi’s hands, holding them tight to his chest. “We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

“Really? Something begs to differ.” With a raised eyebrow, Naomi looks down curiously at the evidence of Ethan’s arousal, comfortable nestled between the two of them. Before she can reach down and touch him, Ethan shakes his head.

“I have the most beautiful woman, naked and wet in front of me. This was inevitable, but it’ll go away.”

“I can make it go away.”

“Mhmm-hmmm. Turn around, Valentine.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ethan rolls his eyes. How this woman always finds the space and opportunity to flirt with him is a mystery. Lining the walls of his shower are all of Naomi’s bath and shower products. He’s always making fun of her for being a product hoarder, though she insists everything is different—he’s been schooled on the differences between regular, leave-in, and deep conditioner, creams vs gels, body scrubs and shower gels many times and he still doesn’t see a need for it all. 

Grabbing her favorite shampoo, Ethan pours a generous amount into the palm of her hand before gently running it through her strands of hair. He’s seen her wash her hair enough times to know the bare bones of her routine. Very careful of her curls, he makes sure to not roughly drag his fingers through her hair and risk creating a tangled disaster for her to handle later on.

Her head tips back. “Can I pay you to wash my hair from now on? I never want to go back to doing it myself.”

A swell of pride forms in his chest at the compliment. “No payment needed.”

Once he’s finished washing her hair and he’s coated it in conditioner —she insists on leave-in, as she doesn’t have the energy to put my more effort into her hair for the evening—Ethan lathers her in one of her shower gels, whichever one makes her smell like jasmine.

He moves slower as he does this, pressing his thumb into the base of her neck, massaging away some of the stress she’s carrying. His hands dig into her shoulders, between her shoulder blades, and her lower back, loosening the muscles as he goes.

Naomi doesn’t attempt to stop the moans fighting to spill from her mouth, no matter how obscene they sound. The relief that bloods her body is instant, his touch working out knots she wasn’t even aware of.

“You’re a great doctor, you cook, and you're an excellent masseuse?” Naomi sighs in content. “What can’t you do?”

“I told you I make it my mission to be good at everything.”

“I’m going to find your weakness one day, Ramsey.”

She’s his weakness, his Achilles heel, and Ethan can’t believe she doesn’t know it already. There’s no end of the earth he wouldn’t go to for her, no hoop he wouldn’t jump through, his feelings for her his fateful flaw and his greatest strength all in one.

He kisses her again, this time on the side of her neck. His breath fans her, heating the sensitive skin as he leans closer. “Good luck.”

He continues the massage in silence, careful to keep his touch away from places that would no doubt cause this to spiral into shower sex. And as lovely as that sounds, it’s not what Naomi needs, so he’s willing to forego his baser urges. Every once in a while she makes a comment about how amazing his hands are, but for the most part she’s blissfully silent.

He doesn’t stop with the massage until he’s absolutely sure she’s putty in his hands and all of the knots and spots of tension are gone. Even afterwards, they stay in the shower, his arm splayed across her midsection, his chin resting on top of her head.

“I don’t want to move,” Naomi says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m too comfortable right here. Can we just stay?”

Ethan chuckles softly to himself. “We can’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Well, the steam in here might actually suffocate us if we stay in here any longer,” Ethan starts. “And I’m not a fan of wasting water.”

“It’s not a waste if I’m enjoying it.”

“Touché. Not to mention your skin will get very dry, and you’ll be much more comfortable in my bed.”

“Okay, I guess you’ve made some valid points. We can leave now.”

She doesn’t make any effort to move, and Ethan quickly realizes he’s going to have to do all the work to get her out of here. He turns off the shower and opens the door, quickly inhaling. He didn’t realize how much he needed air until he was no longer in that glass box of steam.

He grabs two large bath towels off of the rack and dries them off. Naomi searches his countertop, now covered in her makeup and hair products until she finds a satin scrunchie to tie up her still damp hair.

They both meander back into Ethan’s bedroom, and Naomi searches through one of his spare drawers for something to wear. It’s full of her clothes, and a few items of his that she’s stolen over the past few months; a t-shirt here, a pair of socks there.

Once she’s bundled up in some of the warmest clothes she can find, Ethan ushers her into bed.  “Are you ready for your pizza now?”

A stubborn yawn manages to slip out as she shakes her head. “No. I’ll get some before I head to work in the morning.”

“You’re not going to work tomorrow,” Ethan says.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re taking a much needed break tomorrow,” he continues. “I admire your tenacity, but I’m not going to let you work yourself to the bone and neglect your own needs in your very noble quest to help everyone in Boston. You won’t do Edenbrook any good if you collapse due to exhaustion.”

“But I–”

“I’m not asking you, Naomi, I’m telling you.” Despite his tone, a pleasant shiver runs down the length of her spine. “You’re staying here with me.”

She almost always has the upper hand in their arguments or debates, but Naomi can tell there’s no room for her to argue with him on this one. He won’t let her win.

“Okay,” she concedes. “No work tomorrow.”

Smug that he’s won this round, Ethan triumphantly slides into bed, wrapping an arm around Naomi, keeping her trapped with him. Unlike her, he didn’t put on any clothes, only a pair of boxers, but now Naomi is able to revel in his natural body heat.

He runs a thumb along her cheek, caressing her softly before kissing her forehead. “I am incredibly proud of you.”

“Really?”

“You’re an excellent doctor, and trust me when I say you’ve done more for this community that I’ll ever be able to put into words. And despite the hospital closing soon, I hope you realize the impact you’ve made in your two years here.”

Naomi nods, her throat getting thick with emotion. She’ll never be used to Ethan complimenting her like this. “I wish I could do more.”

“We all do. But at the end of the day, you’re still a human and you can only do so much.” Ethan’s hand moves from her face to her neck, his thumb tracing a pattern along her pulse. “I don’t want you to crash and burn, and best yourself up over something so completely out of your control.”

“Who are you and what have you done to Ethan Ramsey?” Naomi teases. She never thought she’d live to see a day where he’s scolding her for working too much and trying too hard.

“I’ve done a lot of reflecting recently, mostly due to you. If there’s any lesson you’ve taught me, it’s that there’s only so much I’m in control of.”

“Any other lessons or tokens of wisdom I’ve imparted on you.”

“You’ve taught me how to be more patient than I knew was possible,” Ethan replies. Naomi rolls her eyes at the slight teasing. “You’ve taught me how to see the world’s grey area. You taught me the true meaning of trust and forgiveness. You’ve shown me endless compassion and empathy, none that I’ll ever be able to repay in this lifetime or the next. I was your attending, your mentor, but trust me when I say you’ve taught me more than I could ever teach you, about medicine and life in general. So thank you.”

Maybe it’s the pure exhaustion or his really sweet words, but her eyes become wide and glossy with unshed tears. She blinks them away, not wanting to cry.

Instead she leans forward and pulls him into another kiss. She doesn’t know if she can convey the full extent of her love and adoration for him with a simple kiss, but Naomi’s never been the type to not try. When she pulls back, she rests her head against his chest, settling in comfortably.

“Thank you. For the kind words, and for taking care of me tonight. I’ve never had someone be as thoughtful as you.”

“I’ll always take care of you,” Ethan promises. He’ll give her the world if he can. “You just have to stop being so stubborn and let me do it.”

“I’m trying, I’m trying.”

“Now get some sleep,” Ethan commands. “Tomorrow, I’ll actually cook you a real meal. Not any of the garbage they serve at the hospital, and no more takeout, but–”

He stops short when he hears a soft snore fill the room. Looking down he sees that Naomi has managed to doze off in the mere seconds he was talking.

He’s never been so happy to watch someone sleep, as no one deserves it more than she does. He plants one final kiss on the crown of her head. “Goodnight, Naomi.”

~v~

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[kiss-my-freckle]

3x8 Rewatch: The Great Red Dragon

Introduce Francis Dolarhyde. Exercising, then hitting a tattoo parlor. He had his grandmother's dentures replicated for himself, gets a tattoo of The Dragon that covers his entire back. He kneels before a photo he has displayed of William Blake’s The Great Red Dragon. "If I'm ever apprehended, my memory palace will serve as more than a mnemonic system. I will live there." Hannibal wasn't kidding. He's relying on his memory palace with everyone that visits him. Will seems to be the only one he imagines in the Norman Chapel. He listens to a child singing while they cover his arrest and confinement. Jack selling Freddie the story of Hannibal being captured. An excerpt from Chilton's book, Hannibal the Cannibal, something Jack made mention to. He copyrighted the title after he got shot in the face. Purposeful story direction. "There is no name for what this man is. He man not even be a man." Relevant later, when he and Will do The Dragon's profile for Freddie. Chilton basically saying Hannibal is an animal. 

A three year time jump. Wine and truffles. Alana informs Hannibal that's how she found him in Florence. I would consider this gloating. They talk about his insanity allowing him to escape the death penalty, but he only escaped the death penalty because she and Chilton lied about him being insane. They wanted him to feed their professional curiosity. She talks to Hannibal as if he should be thanking her for getting him off death row. He flat-out tells her he's not insane. He's drawing her exactly how she makes me feel in this scene. The almighty queen, sitting on her Verger throne. Hannibal's confinement and her newfound wealth turned her character to shit. "Ugliness is found in the faces of the crowd." One could easily compare Hannibal's confinement to Will's in season two. I laugh when he talks about faking an escape. It's a triple play. Gideon's, Will’s, Hannibal’s. A touch of foreshadowing with Hannibal's promise to kill Alana. I'll gif that later.

Francis is standing before his broken mirror, trying to deepen his voice. He hears The Dragon calling for him. Cut to him naked, covered in blood in the moonlight. Blood and chocolate. Sanguinaccio dolce for Chilton's visit with Hannibal. "But I promised myself I would never use colons in my titles. Colons lose their novelty when overused." I laugh at this line. It makes me think of the hyphen. Especially during his scene with The Dragon. "We all know it, but nobody ever says that G-dash-D won't do a G-dash-D-damned thing to answer anybody's prayers." Hannibal tells him he'll have to write another book. He’s constantly referring to Francis as a shy boy. Like Will's character at the start of the series. Hannibal already knows enough about The Dragon to know about The Dragon. He thinks he doesn't like being called the Tooth Fairy.

Chilton and Alana in what appears to be her office now. "It is our cabal, yours and mine." The two who spoke of Will as a billiard ball, working together to get Hannibal in their hospital. "Ugliness is found in the faces of the crowd." Alana admits that they both lied, then tells Chilton he wrote a book of lies. "Everything he writes is always about a problem he does not have." This is a nice line that ties into the pilot. "You and I are just alike, problem-free." Chilton is just as cocky as Alana. The stag behind his head is fantastic. "Detected a trace of competitive vanity in our man. I would be cautious. The Young Turk may inspire the Old Lithuanian to keep himself interesting." Chilton is the one comparing the two, I'd say he's the one who wants to keep Hannibal interesting. Hannibal doesn't care.

They scene hop between The Dragon and Hannibal. "Soon enough, I fear Jack Crawford will come knocking." He writes a letter to Will, warning him that Jack will be coming to take him for the case. "It's dark on the other side and madness is waiting." But his family is waiting. Hannibal’s letter reveals who he's really in competition with - Jack. He was right about the Tooth Fairy, he doesn't like being called the Tooth Fairy.  

More than halfway through the episode when we actually see Will. Necessary. Setting the stage, to show what he's stepping into before he steps into it. Like I said in my previous rewatch post, Will had plans to disconnect from everything and everyone who would remind him of Hannibal. That includes Jack and Alana. He didn't even know she had a child. More dogs, and I don't see Winston. Jack pulls up. His entire scene with Will shows just how much of an asshole he is. "You don't want to talk inside? Oh, you don't want to let me inside." This ties into his first conversation with Alana. That's why he ends up sitting at their dinner table. "He who sups with the Devil needs a long spoon." Will doesn't want any part in it. "Why should the cold stop what common sense couldn't?" Again, him and Alana are dumb as hell for allowing Will to even take part. Three years won't change anything. As they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder. He tells Jack not to take out family pictures. Jack does it anyway. "Hold that."  

"With a little bit of luck, we might have a little more than three weeks before he does it again." Luck scattered through this half because of the tree markings. Molly and Walter are seen walking in, so he has Jack put the photo back in his pocket. The look on his face is enough. Jack's gonna get Will to take part in this case whether he wants to or not. "Yeah, I'm lucky here. I know that." Another hit on the luck theme. Jack takes advantage of the moment, pulling out the photo for Molly once Will and Walter take the dogs out. The way he puts his arms on the table, about to manipulate the situation to his liking. He's always been about his agenda. "So, whatever he says he wants to do, you'll take him anyway, won't you?" This line ties into episode 1x5. Will never had a choice. When Jack wants him, he takes him. That's why I never understood MIriam referring to him as The Guru. He can't compare to Will because he only cares about catching them, he doesn't care about understanding them. Going against Will's wishes, shows the family photos to Molly. "I promise I'll try to make it as easy on him as I can." He made the same promise to Alana when he said he wouldn't let Will get too close. "I know what I'm asking and I wished to God I didn't have to." He has to because he sucks at profiling.

"If you stay and there's more killing, maybe it would sour this place for you." Jack said the same thing of his classroom in episode 1x5. While Molly is sleeping, he steps out of bed and reaches for Hannibal's letter. Kept it in his drawer, but didn't read it. HIs way of holding onto Hannibal, but not letting his words pull him in. He looks back at Molly to make sure she's still sleeping. I don't think she truly knows just how intimately he and Hannibal know each other. I believe this is the only letter Hannibal wrote to him, so I think Will knew that he wrote about the Tooth Fairy case. Hannibal would've allowed him this distance because the last time they spoke, Will told him he didn't want to think about him anymore. He hasn't been crossing those boundaries Will set out of respect, something Jack doesn’t have. He's crossing them now because he knows how relentless Jack is. 

WIll visits the crime scene for his typical replay. He's been out of it for a while, so when he sees the room, it overwhelms him. His body language is powerful. The end of this replay is a nice foreshadow. The way he stands in front of the strings like his own pair of wings. How they light up as he's reaching out to touch the wife in his replay. The way he says, "This is my design." It all feels different. He’s connecting with The Dragon as it ties into episode 1x4. I love the way he storms up the steps. He’s connecting, but doesn't understand it yet. They print the wife's eye and do a mold of the cheese based on Will's replay. "Jimmy, you're the light of my life." Darkness and light scattered in this storyline. "He polished it after he placed it so he could see his face in there." SIght and sound, like windows to the soul. The Dragon in Francis, The Lion in Will. Capable of righteous violence. His empathy, capable of cruelty. "He may have a history of biting in lesser assaults. May be a fighting pattern as much as sexual behavior." Jack asks Will what he's fighting. Will is already connecting. 

Will tries to call Molly, then lays down in bed. Crime scene photos swirl around him. He connects to the family dog, wants to adopt it. "I have to see Hannibal." He needs Hannibal's help to recover his mindset because he snuffed out that dark part of himself. “You have to cut that part out.” Cutting out Hannibal, Jack and Alana, teaching and his work with the FBI. What happens when he cuts out his heart, fills the empty it leaves with a new family, then goes back to visit his heart and everything that reminds him. Will is cut between. His  transformation starts now. He will shed the rest of his humanity and become the Lion. 

“Hello, Dr. Lecter."

[tomasorban]

ORMUS : Is It The Philosopher's Stone? - with Barry Carter by Celeste Adams

Since ancient Egyptian times, alchemists have worked in secret, searching to produce something called the Philosopher's Stone or the Elixir of Life. Barry Carter and other researchers believe that ORMUS is related to this search. Since 1995, Barry Carter has been conducting experiments with water modified by ORMUS. He has written numerous articles on the subject and leads workshops around the country where he demonstrates three methods of producing ORMUS water. ORMUS comes from the acronym Orbitally Rearranged Monoatomic Elements, or ORMEs.[†] It was discovered in the late 1970s by David Hudson, an Arizona farmer who noticed some very strange materials on his land as he was mining for gold. During the next decade, Hudson spent several million dollars trying to understand how to create this substance and work with it. ORMUS, which is made from water and other substances, has also been called monoatomic gold, white gold, white powder gold, m-state, AuM, microclusters, and manna. Adams: There's a quote by D. H. Lawrence that says, "Water is hydrogen two parts, oxygen one part, and something else, though we don't know what it is." What did Lawrence mean by that? Carter: There are many unusual properties of water that aren't explainable by the known properties of hydrogen and oxygen or by any concept of how a compound of those two elements should behave.

There are perhaps thirty-two anomalous properties of water that are unexpected. We believe that those properties are due to the presence of ORMUS in most water molecules. Generally, it is believed that the water molecule is dodecahedral or icosohedral. In other words, the molecule is the shape of a geodesic dome, and this shape allows for a lot of space inside the molecule. Some of us believe that the ORMUS elements hide out in that inner space, inside the dome. From that space, the ORMUS can change the configuration of the water molecule so that it tightens or expands. This is the way we think that these elements may modify the structure of water. It's very clear that there's something else other than H2O — two parts hydrogen and one part oxygen — in ordinary water. One person that I've worked with said that triple distilled water, weighs eight pounds per gallon, but water that's made by burning hydrogen in oxygen weighs seven pounds per gallon. The difference between seven versus eight pounds per gallon indicates that there's a pound of something else in the water. Adams: What exactly is ORMUS? Carter: We think it's a new form of matter that appears to have properties of Spirit. It seems to be a transition between physical reality and spiritual reality. We believe that it can be used as a communication tool between spirit and matter. It is, literally, precious metal elements in a new form, a new state of matter. In this state they don't assay or analyze as the precious metal elements. They look like a white powder instead of like a metal. They can even show up as an oil. Because these materials look like other things, they have not been recognized by science. We've extracted the ORMUS element from the air, from rocks, and from water, including the water of the body. We believe that, perhaps as part of the water molecule, they are the carrier of the information that restructures water. Any system for structuring water depends on the ORMUS elements. Adams: What elements can be found in ORMUS? Carter: The ORMUS or m-state materials are thought to be the precious metal elements in a different atomic state. Cobalt 27, Nickel 28, Copper 29, Ruthenium 44, Rhodium 45, Palladium 46, Silver 47, Osmium 76, Iridium 77, Platinum 78, Gold 79, and Mercury 80 have been identified in this different state of matter and, with the exception of mercury, are listed in Hudson's patents. Adams: How was ORMUS first discovered? Carter: These elements appear to have been known in ancient times. The ancient Egyptians were clearly working with the ORMUS materials in their alchemical processes, and the ancient alchemists also were working with the ORMUS elements. You hear in alchemy about "oil of gold" — which is something we've made using the various ORMUS processes. David Hudson also spoke of the oil of the elements, or the oil of metals. Some people actually claim that they remember past lives in which they were working with these materials. Hudson discovered ORMUS when he was working with a gold-mining process. He was the first to make it known, but it's ancient knowledge that has been rediscovered. Now we are applying the tools of modern science to this ancient knowledge. The ancient Egyptians talked about the "white powder of gold." They have pictures on their bas reliefs of little cones called "shewbread." They say these little cones are white bread, and they also say they're gold. How could something be white bread and gold at the same time? Well, now we know. We've got the technology to make the white powder of gold and form it into a cone-shaped bread if we want to. Several of the procedures for extracting or making ORMUS have been adapted from ancient alchemical texts. We believe that the Philosopher's Stone and the Biblical manna are both variations on this state of matter. Some recommended alchemical texts related to the Philosopher's Stone are Sacred Science by R.A. Schwaller De Lubicz, Le Mystere des Cathedrales by Fulcanelli, and Occult Chemistry by Leadbeater and Besant. The premier treatise on the subject may be The Secret Book by Artephius. Adams: Why do you think this information has become available now? Carter: I think it's because all of the areas of science are dealing with the question of how Spirit and matter are connected, and ORMUS helps explain this. All the areas of science are bumping up against this question. We see people in physics saying there's a non-physical realm. David Bohm called it the Implicate Order. According to Bohm, the Explicate Order — physical reality as we know it — is a projection or a manifestation of this non-physical template. The ORMUS elements clearly connect the realms of the spiritual and the physical. We like to compare ORMUS to the use of cellphones. It used to be we always had to use hard-wired phones, now we've got cellphones and we can walk around and talk and communicate with anybody else. So imagine that every cell in the body has a cellphone, and that they communicate with one another until the cellphone batteries go dead or the antennae are damaged. In this analogy, we think the ORMUS elements go in and recharge the batteries on the cellphones and rebuild the antennas. Instead of just being able to talk to the cell next door, the cell in your hand now can talk to the cell in your big toe. In other words, all of the cells are instantly and continuously in communication. Physicists and biologists call this phenomenon of instant communication "quantum coherence." Everything is coherent and in total communication, instantaneously, all at once. Each water molecule gets into resonance with every other water molecule in the body. As the water molecules change their shape and structure, the water is patterned, and changes happen in the body. Information is imparted to the cell and to the immune system, as well as to the other systems of the body. These changes allow the body to heal more rapidly because the communication is perfect.

Adams: Do you have evidence to prove that ORMUS has healing capabilities? Carter: We have photos of a woman's tooth. The tooth had been broken in a stair-step manner, and it literally filled in just from drinking ORMUS water. Hundreds of people have reported benefits that include pain reduction, and improvement or recovery from serious diseases like cancer, AIDS, diabetes, and so on. You can find some of these stories on our Subtle Energies website. Several people have noticed that the ingestion of ORMUS seems to stimulate the kundalini energy flow in the body. A couple of people have said that it's like vacuuming the restricted areas of the kundalini, so that it opens the chakras that are tight or closed. Some people who have a tight heart chakra feel as though they're having a heart attack when they drink ORMUS water. The ORMUS is actually opening the heart chakra. A couple of people with heart problems have gone to the doctor and were told that their hearts had become totally healthy. Different ORMUS elements seem to stimulate the different chakras in a beneficial way. We're not really clear about which ones go with which chakra but there's some speculation about that. One of these days we'll get it nailed down, I'm sure. Adams: What kind of benefits have you experienced yourself from ingesting ORMUS? Carter: I don't hurt anymore. In my mid-forties I noticed that I had carpal tunnel in my wrist, my back ached, and I had general joint pain. When I stood up I would ache a bit. I've been taking ORMUS materials for six years and I don't hurt anymore. Now I jump up from my chair — I don't feel like I have to stand up carefully. I'm fifty-three and I feel great. I feel better than I felt when I was seventeen. I've also been taking one of the other ORMUS elements called ORMUS copper, and my beard is clearly getting dark again. So I've had some very great benefits. I feel as though the clock is rolling back for me.

[stindleswords-blog]

Ep 1

“Um, hello.” The mic began ringing through the room as he adjusted it. “My name is—”

“No names!” the host yelled from the bar.

“What?”

“Do you not understand the concept of a blind reading?”

“Oh, I thought it meant you just had do the reading blind! … Cause the lights are so bright. Haha.” No one else laughed. “They’re so bright and in your eyes, you can’t even… you might as well be blind, right? Ha... ha…”

He started wishing he was blind, that way he wouldn’t have had to look down at all the unamused scowls staring up at him. It was his fault really. He should have recognized this stage was a death trap from the moment he entered the building. As sweat began trickling down his skull, his mind began retracing every nervous step he took to get here, and suddenly he began drowning in a flash flood of regret

As soon as he swung that vandalized door open his lungs became poisoned by the pollution of coffee and hookah in the air. The small café/bar hybrid was dimly lit to create an illusion of poetic ambiance, but this was just a mask to the truth. The choice of lighting was actually there to aid in cloaking the piercing judgement of the local consumers. They would sit there, shaded in the dark, drinking their Kombucha’s and taking petite bites out of their gluten free scones, as they shot penetrating stabs of disapproval with their culturally charged laser-beam eyes. Navigating his way to the stage of that café was like walking through a minefield. With every step he could feel his millennial authenticity leaking out of the bullet holes of his soul. Was the catchphrase on his shirt politically correct yet still ironic enough for their taste? Should he have ordered an espresso from the café bar instead of bringing a frap from Starbucks? And there was no way his piercing free face was earning him any street cred. Soon they would discover he was a fraud, and all his deepest fears would come to life.

“Um, I’m going to read for you today, my short story. It’s called The Light Under, uh.” He held his notebook up to his nose and tried squinting hoping his eye lids would block out the bright light beaming down on him. “Under Hilda’s Nose.”

“What?” someone in the audience asked.

“Rose. The Light under Hilda’s Rose!” He looked up, proud of his creative yet classy title and smiled into the abyss of the crowd.

“Are you going to read or what? Ole gap-toothed-ass motha fucka.”

“Oh.” His smile shrunk and he looked down as if he were trying to observe his own mouth. He shut his lips and even considered covering it with his hand while he read, but realized that would only make him look dumber. “Um. She, she was soft like Austin—ah! Soft like autumn. And I was the, the breeze of wient-winter. I spring to meet h—no, crap, I mean. In spring I met-bleh. Shit, lost my place. I’ll just start…”

“Oh my gosh, did he even rehearse before coming?” “What an amateur.”

“Found it!” He shouted after fumbling through the page with his finger. “There. Her rash hid the, uh… her rosh—ross—roseee, hid the-the light of my soiled pants. No. No. I meant, spoiled passion.”

“Ugh, stop trying to be so pretentious.” “Why is he even here?” “Do you even know what real art is?”

“I’m sorry, I can do this. Just give me a second.” He began scrolling through the lines on his notebook in a hurry.

“Boo!” “Go home.” “Boy, that gap spreading wider than Kim Kardashian’s thighs at the BET awards”

“Ok, well that’s just rude,” he spoke back up. Unfortunately, he had lost all control of the crowd.

“Get a real artist up there!” “You suck.” “Ole goofy-ass-looking motha fucka” “I’m vegan!”

“That’s not even relevant ma’am. Can I just finish my—” He looked over to see the manager waving him off the stage. “If you just let me finish, I swear I got it now.”

The manager was all out of patience, he looked over at a burly lumberjack of a man and signaled him over to the stage. The man had a thick dark beard with a luscious man bun to match, he had on a cotton flannel with nothing under it but his curling chest hair, and a pair of DIY Casey Neistat sunglasses. The buffed out trender barreled his way up to the stage.

“Jesus Christ, where did you find 21st century Paul Bunyan?” The bouncer remained unfazed by the joke and continued marching forward. “Www.lumberbros.com? Or do they have a page on twitter? Ok-ok! I’m leaving.”

The crowd snapped their fingers and starting cheering as the boy fled the stage and made his exit from the café. The manager rushed on stage to try to soothe the crowd.

“I think we’re going to cut the blind readings short today and skip right to meditative documentary hour. Tonight we have a student film called Society’s Shackle on the Areola of my Soul. Jeff, you got the projector?” 

-----------------------------------Scene 1 cuts-----------------------------------------------------

                                           Working Title

                                  Ep1: Let’s Just call it the pilot

“No Mom, it just didn’t go well. I wasn’t drunk this time Mom. I’ve never even heard of that drug Mom. Yeah, no, I’m still searching but you know how it is; companies are just really selective these days. Don’t worry I’m still sending out resumes. Ma, I gotta go now. Yeah I’ll keep you updated. Love you. Bye.”

He pulled into the parking spot and took the keys out of the ignition. He laid his head back on the seat and looked up into the reflection of his eyes in the mirror. There wasn’t much inspiration in the image, but inspiration wasn’t exactly something Aaron was glowing with these days. He mustered what motivation he could then grabbed his backpack and exited the car.

Outside, in the parking spot next to his, sat an old Buick blasting aggressively loud rock music. The blue time capsule of a car had rusted door handles and two of the windows were either made out of tape or cardboard, the other two were completely rolled down—or completely missing. The inside of the car was filled with clothes, blankets, trash, and bags of untouched hamburger buns. Nobody appeared to be inside though, but as Aaron began walking by, a naked banshee came shooting up from the backseat like a horrifying popup book.

“Ahhhhyiii!!!” The dreadlocked rock star screamed as he rocked out on his invisible guitar. Aaron almost shit his pants when the bum appeared out of nowhere. But the man paid no attention to Aaron, he was in the middle of an intense jam session and channeling the ghost of mosh-pit’s past. Nothing could break this rockbum out of his intense trance. For Aaron, it was just horrifying to see that much exposed skin making the much motion. The homeless guitarist kept jamming on, screaming and squirming like he was in the middle of an ACDC exorcism. Aaron made sure to triple lock his car as he continued along his way.

The shady nature of the parking lot only continued as he traveled further through it. He passed by two more cars that seemed to be doubling as homes for the residents. In one car, a man laid passed out on the steering wheel with about twelve different brands of empty beer cans on the dash. His tire still had a tire clamp on it that belonged to the city, and his front door had a bike lock on the handle. The other car had an entire bon fire burning inside it with about five other glaring homeless men huddled around it.

“What the hell… does this parking lot double as a trailer park?” he asked himself.

He felt calmer as he reached the safety of his destination. Nothing bad ever happens in the public library right?

“Sir, we’re going to need you to take the other entrance.” Immediately upon pushing through the glass doors, Aaron was met by a stubby police officer blocking the metal detectors that led into the thick of the library.

“What?” Aaron peaked around the officer to notice a section of the library blocked off by rolls of caution tape. Behind the tape were blood stains and broken needles with books and torn up papers scattered everywhere.

“We’re in the middle of an investigation here kid.”

“Jesus, did this happen last night?” he asked.

“No, of course not. This happened a week ago, can’t you smell the feces beginning to ferment?”

“Where is there feces?” Aaron’s curiosity was turning into concern.

“Just take in a whiff,” the officer began scooping the air under his nose with his hands, ��C’mon kid, do it with me.”

“Can’t I just go around the tape, I really don’t want to have to walk to the back.”

“No kid! We can’t have no one messing up the crime scene, alright??”  

“But there’s a homeless guy taking a piss on the copier machine right now?”

The cop turned around and there it was, a hairy man covered in dirty sweaters and blankets whistling to the tune of Rihanna’s Bitch Better Have my Money, as he took a wiz on the copier machine placed in the corner of the crime scene.

“Oh shit,” the cop gasped and ran into the crime scene reaching for his weapon, “Jim! another one came back to life.”

“He wasn’t even breathing a couple of minutes ago!” Jim yelled in response.

“He’s got a weapon!” the chubby officer screamed.

Aaron stood there and watched for a moment. The weapon the officer was referring to was the homeless man’s exposed pecker just flopped out of his open fly. He thought about speaking up, but then the fermenting feces finally hit his nostrils, and was doing so with a flaming rage. So he decided the fresh air of the backway would be healthy for him. A flurry of gunshots and screams sounded off as he returned to the parking lot.

After trekking back through the deadlands of the parking lot, only having been offered drugs twice, he was finally in the library again, crime-scene free--or at least caution tape free. The surrounding settings were still just as grisly as before. All of the books looked like they were donated by pyromaniacs after losing their house to a mysteriously caused wildfire. Aaron took his finger and ran it down the lines of books, watching as ashes and debris scraped off of them. He tried picking up a few, mostly because he just wanted to know what section he was in. In one aisle he saw Fear in Loathing in Las Vegas, by Hunter S. Thompson, pressed against a 19th century edition of the Bible, authored by “Cheesus H. Chrisp.” The Bible was the one book still in decent condition so he decided to pick it up. A bag of weed fell out. When it hit the ground a crusty old hand reached out from under the shelf and pulled the bag of weed back with it. Perhaps exploring the bookshelves wasn’t the best idea.

“Excuse me, could you direct me to a section with open outlets?”

“Sir, you can’t come into the library to charge your phone.” He could have been charging his phone right on her desk, she wouldn’t have known. Her eyes didn’t even consider looking up at him, they remained planted on her cosmopolitan magazine as she took two seconds to scroll through all the pictures before flipping to the next page.

“Oh no, it’s just my laptop needs to be charging while I’m using it so…”

“We have computers in the children’s section.” Without shifting her gaze, she took her index finger and pointed behind him. In the children’s section were two raccoons chewing on stuffed animals and one bug eyed man sitting in the computer section, aggressively playing a game of whacking-the-mole-off in his pants.

“I think that guy’s masturbating?”

“If you have a complaint, put it in the complaint box.”

At first he assumed she was joking, but her unbreakable case of bitch-face told him otherwise. He decided writing a complaint was the right thing to do, thinking he should try to be a part of the solution and be a facilitator of justice, as many Yelp users might also describe themselves. But upon further observation he realized the complaint box didn’t exist anywhere close by, and though he was scared to probe onward, he kept on reaching his foot into the mouth of the dragon.

“Well… where’s the complaint box?”

“It was stolen like a month ago, someone thought it was the tip jar.”

“Right, of course. Well you’ve been a great help thank you.”

“The soup kitchen opens at 9 on Thursday’s sir.” She would remain lost in the wonders of her literature as Aaron walked away.

Somewhere in a flickering corner of the library, Aaron was able to find his beloved open outlet—the sweet nectar of any library setting. But he quickly became disappointed in himself for actually thinking that something would go right in this desolate junk yard posing as a library. The outlet was dangling about six inches out of the wall, wires exposed and ripped, with sparks shooting out every now and then to the cadence of the flickering lights. Sitting on the desk above, or more so laid out on the desk above, was an inebriated man planted face first into a book titled 7 Weeks to Safe Social Drinking (by Donna J. Cornett (and available for 1.99 at Barnes & Noble). Sprawled out along the desk next to him were about 6 half-empty beers pouring out down the edge of the desk and dripping onto the exposed wires of the outlet. An optimists might have looked at this scene and said “Looks, like we’re about 3 beers into a good time.” A pessimists would have said “Grab a fork and let’s play ‘Shank-the-Power-Outlet.” Aaron just wanted to get some work done, and was forced to make the best out of his situation.

It was hard to focus on the work in front of him. Perhaps it was his lack of motivation; or maybe it was the notion that nothing he wrote seemed to be as magnificent as it sounded in his head; it could have been due to his persistent hobby of shredding apart any and all ounces of self-confidence; or it could have just been his laptop repeatedly dying every time the power flickered off. After taking five minutes to get his laptop up and running again he would only be able to get in but just a few words before it died out—and that’s if he really focused. Maybe it was a sign, or a metaphor telling him that no matter how hard he tried, his dreams would always die out in the end. Or maybe he should have just let Geek Squad take his computer for a week to figure out the issue with the charger port.

But in all that dark hopeless struggle to get his life together, something peculiar happened, something that suddenly breathed life into the room.

It was a series of sounds that all came one after the other in a rapid furry. Just three quick claps of air. A drum solo of fumes. An orchestra of asscoustics. A pattering parade of poots. The not so silent, but deadly chemical warfare fired out of a machine gun of a sphincter. And there were no questions about where the rumpus originated from. At the very next table, across from Aaron, sat the only other (conscious) resident in this section of the library. Slowly, Aaron turned his head in disgust, almost in disbelief, at what he had just heard--and was now beginning to smell. When he had finished turning his head his eyes met with the petrified gaze of the assailant. This man appeared as if he knew nothing about the world other than fear, and with the two sets of eyes locked, the mortified gas leaker stoop up--

“And just walked away.”

“You’re joking…”

“I shit you not.”

“What lovely phrasing.”

“He let it out like a bomb and just got up, looked me in my eyes, and walked away. As if we had just made a silent oath to secrecy of the horrific event that had just taken place.”

“But like, why?” She laughed.

“I was too busy cherishing the remaining moments I had left with non-polluted air to get up and ask him.”

“Uhg!” She groaned in sarcasm.

“Sorry, I forgot you’re writing that novella on why people fart in public places.”

“How could you?”

“I’m sorry, I know I failed you.”

A sneaky smile slowly slurred onto their faces and neither of the two could continue their serious fronts. They backed down and returned to their laughter.

“I seriously can’t believe that happened” she added.

“Really? After telling you ALLL of that, the one thing you can’t believe is some dude farting like he had pop rocks stuck up his ass?”

“Well yeah,” she chuckled as she continued reading through her textbook. “I don’t know what you expected, that’s why you don’t go to public libraries in south city.”

“I just wanted somewhere quiet to write.”

“I don’t know why you’re so against this library all of a sudden. It’s like the second nicest library in the whole city. And its homeless person free,” she paused for a moment, “well… except for that Moroccan lady who comes in here with those five kids at midnight. I don’t know what her deal is. And why are the kids always different?”

“I’m just tired of this place. It’s been four months since I graduated, I’m tired of having to look at this school and fight some freshmen for a parking spot, just to come back and find my car window bashed in.”

“Actually the window bashing has died down since you graduated. Hmm, wonder if that’s a coincidence?”

“With the way my life’s going, window bashing would be a step up.”

“Maybe you just need to get out of your own head and stop whining like a little bitch all the time.”

“Maybe the problem is my most supportive friend calls me a whiney bitch all the time.”

“Not all the time, just on Monday’s, and Tuesdays after 1:30, and occasionally Thursday through Sunday… oh. And anytime you start whining like a little bitch.”

“Such a great support system…”

“Well if you don’t like it, why don’t you go make some other friends?”

“I think you’re supposed to make all your friends while you’re in college. I kind of missed that deadline.”

“Well I’m so sorry for your loss, but some of us still have time to try get the best out of our college experience. So I’m going to finish studying somewhere that I can actually focus, that way I can go to that Frat party tonight, ok?”

“Oh, like the Frat with all the guys in it?” She laughed at his response, but it felt more like she was laughing at him.

“You’re cute when you get jealous. But only Sometimes… I’ll talk to you later.” She scooted out of her seat and began to get up but not before Aaron puckered his lips and tried pressing them on her’s. Evie responded with the classic face of disgust fully equipped with a one-way ticket back to the Friend Zone. “Ew! What are you doing?”

“It’s just a kiss? We’ve done more than that?”

“Not in public. Ugh.”

“Sorry I just thought…”

“Come pick me up at like 2am ok? And bring a condom, I forgot to take the pill like all weekend.”

“Ok, yeah, sure.”

“And look,” suddenly her voice evolved into a rare tone of concern, “don’t be so down on yourself. You’re just in one of those identity slumps right now, but that’s all it is: a slump. Ok? You just need a hobby or something to do. You should go check that student bulletin board in the basement.”

“Student bulletin board?”

“Yeah, didn’t you go here for like four years? You should know about the bulletin board.”

“I never went in the basement, there was always too much studying going on to focus.”

“Well it’s just a place for students to place fliers for their clubs and other social events. And I really think you need some socializing.”

“I mean I guess we can talk about me like I’m some rescue dog with a shady past.” She giggled at him again.

“Don’t take things so personally, just go check it out. You never know what opportunity may present itself, right? I’ll text you. Byiiiiii.”

“Byiii” he mocked her squeaky voice. She threw her middle finger in the air as she walked away.

---------------------------------------Scene 2 cuts-------------------------------------------------

His migration down to the basement felt like the walk of shame. With every flight of stairs he descended upon he could hear Evelyn calling him a whining bitch, although there was a chance he was mistaking the voice for that of his 7th grade gym teacher—who also taught arts & crafts to the 1st graders. F***ing Ms. Heinbaugh. His mind continued playing tricks on him and preying on his doubts. He thought that actually going over to the bulletin board would be an admittance of defeat, like he was conceding to the fact that he needed to socialize more. It felt as if she was just going to be waiting there with a big sign that read: WHAT A LOSER. He wouldn’t put it past her.

“Socialize…” his thoughts began groaning, “I don’t need to socialize. Everyone else just needs to stop being so damn annoying. ... Dammit. I do sound like a whiny bitch.”

But at the end of the dimly lit hallway would be no humiliating ‘gotcha’ poster or moment of ridicule. At the very end of the hall, one light shined brighter than all the rest, and right beneath it, hung the infamous bulletin board. He walked up to it for further examination where he was instantly overwhelmed by a burst of colorful papers. It was like a fireworks show made from dead trees.

Each flier pertained to some kind of club that sounded just as colorful as the paper it was on.

GFSTAA: Gender Fluid Sex Toy Advocates of America—important, but not up Aaron’s alley. Vegan Baking Club—Aaron wasn’t aware they allowed torture tactics to be practiced on campus. Sonic the Hedgehog Fanfiction Book Club—not quite Aaron’s taste of literature. How to Draw Sonic the Hedgehog Fanfiction—not quite Aaron’s taste of hentai either.

But, buried beneath all the madness, was one flier barely reaching out beyond the layers of tabloids, like a hand reaching out from its grave. All he could see was the corner of a white paper with the image of a feathered pen on it. He plucked the paper from its flamboyant grave and began reading.

“Calling all creatives! Do you consider yourself a creative person? Do you feel like your vision and voice have more to offer the world? Then why not put your talents to use and come join a small startup digital media company that can help you fulfill your truest potential! We need people at every position, we need fellow filmmakers, editors, actors, crew members, and we’re always on the lookout for brilliant wordsmiths!”

The flier had images of camera lenses, quills, and stars sprinkled all over it. It was like Aaron was staring into the eye of an oracle. He had never considered himself a filmmaker, but he didn’t mind the sound of it. The meet date posted on the flier hadn’t passed yet either, so he still had time to get in on the action. Aaron had heard the call, and he was ready to answer.

“Yes!” he began to himself. “I’m ready to fulfill my truest po—” Someone came marching down the hall and Aaron went dead silent like a possum. The student walked straight up to the bulletin board so he tried playing it cool like he was still analyzing all the fliers. The student pulled out a flier of their own and aggressively stapled it to the board, and then they stomped away in frustration. The flier read:

“PETITION TO END ALL SPIDERMAN REBOOTS!”

Aaron signed his name under the first slot and walked away.

----------------------------------------------FIN--------------------------------------------------------

[musicalinfj]

Get to Know Me (Tag)

Rules: Answer these 92 statements and tag 20 people.

@proxima-centauri-b thank you for the tag!! :)

LAST:

1. Drink: Water 2. Phone call: my mom 3. Text message: sharing 4th of July pictures with a friend  4. Song you listen to: Beethoven triple concerto 5. Time you cried: sometime last week just a little

HAVE YOU:

6. Dated someone twice: No 7. Kissed someone and regretted it: No 8. Been cheated on: No 9. Lost someone special: Yes, my cat passed away a couple months ago, life has been rather empty since 10. Been depressed: Not clinically depressed, but otherwise yes, lots 11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: No, never have had too much alcohol

LIST 3 FAVORITE COLORS:

12-14: Dark blue, delicate pink, sunny yellow

IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU:

15. Made new friends: Not very close ones, but yes

16. Fallen out of love: No

17. Laughed until you cried: Yes, though I can’t specifically remember it 18. Found out someone was talking about you: ugh yes, even if it’s positive I always hate that 20. Found out who your friends are: I suppose 21.  Kissed someone on your Facebook list: No 

GENERAL:

22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: I don’t have Facebook 23. Do you have any pets: I used to have a cat, a horse, and fish, but nothing at the moment 24. Do you want to change your name: No 25. What did you do for your last Birthday: Visited a nice garden and bought some university/spirit clothes for the fall 26. What time do you wake up: It depends?  Lately, in the summer, it’s usually about 8:30 27. What were you doing at midnight last night: Either brushing my teeth or I was already in bed  28. Name something you can’t wait for: Fall/winter Operas!!! 29. When was the last time you saw your mom? Within the last five minutes. 30. What is one thing you wish you could change in your life: I wish all my family were in perfect health (not that we aren’t in fairly good health, but still) 31. What are you listening to right now: The slight, annoying ringing in my ears and my fingers typing 32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: Not that I can specifically remember, but chances are the answer is yes. 33. Something that is getting on your nerves: Migraines 34. Most visited website: Personality Cafe 35. Mole/s: I don’t think so 36. Mark/s: I have a freckle here and there and a flying-bird-shaped birthmark  37. Childhood dream: Concert violinist or actress 38. Hair color: Light brown with blonder streaks/ends.  I’ve been called blonde a few times, so it’s somewhat debatable, I guess 39. Long or short hair: Just about shoulder length (a lob, I think it’s called?) 40. Do you have a crush on someone: Not any real or living person, lol.  No, I don’t really have a crush on anyone! 41. What do you like about yourself: I’m creative and sensitive 42. Piercings: One in each ear lobe, never plan to get more 43. Blood type: No idea 44. Nicknames? None that really have stuck 45. Relationship status: Single

46. Zodiac: Gemini (not that I believe there’s anything in it, though the mini horoscopes in the newspaper are entertaining to read!) 47. Pronouns: She/Her 48. Favorite TV Show: Frasier 50. Right or left hand: Right 51. Surgery: 9 total tooth extractions 52. Hair dyed in different color: Never 53. Sport: Horseback riding for many years, yoga and running a little on my own 55. Vacation: Like the last one I went on?  Or my favorite?  The former would be British Columbia, the latter Northern Italy. 56. Pair of trainers: I have no idea

MORE GENERAL:

57. Eating: I am a vegetarian.  I love chocolate.  Raclette is one of my favorite meals, along with homemade pizzas, risottos, and lots of other things too:)  I like savory more than sweet in general. 58. Drinking: Favorites? Tea, coffee, prosecco, goat’s milk, sherry, hot chocolate, cow’s milk, sheep’s milk, and of course water 59. I’m about to: Turn the computer off, brush my teeth, wash my face, and go to bed. 62. Want: This coming school year (at a new university) to be really enjoyable and successful  63. Get married: I suppose, but it’s not really that important to me.  What is important is finding someone who I have a wonderful relationship with, and that, I believe, has nothing necessarily to do with being married. 64. Career: Studying to be an architect, but I may want to be a writer more so:) 65. Hugs or kisses: Both, I think 66. Lips or eyes: Eyes 67. Shorter or taller: Taller 68. Older or younger: Older 70. Nice arms or nice stomach: Honestly not the first thing I consider at all 71. Sensitive or loud: Sensitive  72. Hook up or relationship: Relationship  73. Troublemaker or hesitant: Troublemaker

HAVE YOU EVER:

74. Kissed a Stranger: No  75. Drank hard liquor: No 76. Lost glasses/contact lenses: No 77. Turned someone down: Indirectly, plenty of times.  (as in not returning feelings of guys who have had crushes on me) 78. Sex on the first date: No 79. Broken someone’s heart: I hope not, but possibly 80. Had your heart broken: Yes, though it wasn’t anyone’s fault, just the long distance between one hopelessly romantic eighth grader and her first big crush 81. Been arrested: Haha no 82. Cried when someone died: Yes 83. Fallen for a friend: Just a tad

DO YOU BELIEVE IN:

84: Yourself: To some degree! 85. Miracles: Generally no, but sometimes things make me wonder, just a little 86. Love at first sight: Maybe 87. Santa Claus: No haha (though I like to think he is the sort of “spirit” of Christmas time, that nice feeling that comes with the holiday:) 88. Kiss on the first date: I haven’t dated, but I don’t really know.

OTHER:

90. Current best friend name: Lana 91. Eye color: Medium/dark brown 92. Favorite movie: So hard to pick!  Some nominations: Casablanca, Pride and Prejudice (the one with Colin Firth, I really dislike the later movie!), and Rebecca

People I’m tagging (don’t feel you have to fill it out, just if you should want:) ~

@yourstrulyclassicdarling @infjway @infjvent @booksforlions @rainy-morning @tentateavely @chaleurette @moody-poet @jasminefairy @andantegrazioso @cenare3v3s @beyondsurrender @beyourownlightsource @infpuff @diosapoderosa @barcarole @arcturusfae @aalam-e-aftaab @isfj-vibes @aylasamazinguniverse

[thegoddessofthestars]

Who Still Shows Up on Their First Day of Work Anymore, Anyway?

(A piece I wrote for the Mall Au)

Rose Williams, (just for those who didn’t already know), the 18 year old Dominican Jamaican who dropped out of college inn her sophomore year; the one with brown and bright, yet dark eyes and the cute tooth gapped smile and the voluptuous dark locks, which were currently falling over her rather clear face; the one who sniggles at horrible jokes, snores lightly, laid out lazily on her twin bed in an equally as small and crowded, yet big and organized room. She still slept in the same pose and had the same breathing pattern that she had unconsciously developed sometime during the 7th grade when Britney Vega made fun of her for ‘sleeping like a Gorrila’ during a sleepover she had earned a pity invite to; quietly and as gracefully as a girl can.

The plain cream walls were adorned with posters of various celebrities and photographs of the young woman all around the room as well, each depicting a time before some type of outrageous and somewhat illegal activity ensued or right after they did. There is one polaroid above her bed, held there by tape, of a time during one of these adventures. She holds the camera, effectively capturing her friends jumping across a threshold of two neighboring buildings, her face from the node up being shown. Her hair was straight then, it was a different time. But not a different Rose. It couldn’t have been any later than 10 am and everything was right in the world. Everything was preserved perfectly in the stillness of–

“Rose!” The door to the mixed race girl slammed opened with enough force to banish Satan himself from the world, or in this case, the angels of rest from Rose’s body, prompting her to push herself up on her palms, turning her head towards her door, hair still eclipsing her face. Her mother, a 40 year robust, but chunky Dominican with shortened straightened burgundy and brown hair who, too, had brown intense eyes and an ugly laugh, stood in the door way, dressed to leave, looking angrier than a rabid chihuahua who just wanted to go outside.

“Why aren’t you up yet? She asks as Rose simply yawns and shamelessly shrugs her shoulders. "Get up and get ready, you’re going to be late! You have a job now, pendejo, you can’t afford to be late.” The woman then promptly exited the room, slamming the door closed as if her presence wasn’t enough to wake the poor girl. She stands a moment later, stretching in such a way that her shoulder, elbows, and spinal column erupted in a series of tiny pops before following the same ritual with her legs. She looks to her dresser, as she did almost everyday she’d wake up in this room before raiding it like a fat kid with a stack of singles in a candy store, pulling a white shirt, monochrome shorts and some socks. She throws them on quickly, happy she decided to shower last night, though she did all around hate the idea of doing so.

She checks her phone to see just how badly she’d done herself. Rose could recall every time in her decade and some change life span that she put an alarm on, including the time from last night when she did. She double and tripled checked that she had done so. What had done her in that morning was not the lack of the alarm but the lack of noise that left her phone. The ringer. The traitorous ringer had not been on. She stares at the top section of her phone at the digitally displayed speaker with a slash through it in anguish as she remembers the point in time when she had tapped the button to turn the ringer on before looking down, about mid way, to the time. In big, bold, mocking letters, the clock read '9:50’. Rose’s brown eyes widened in shock as the synapses in her brain snapped and popped as she remembered the time written in the email; the time she was supposed to report for opening was 9:00. The store was supposed to open at 10:00

“Shit!” She exclaims, now out in the hallway and scrambling to the bathroom in a still quasi-sleeping stupor. “Watch your motherfucking mouth, I’m not gonna keep telling you!” Her mother yells just as Rose slammed the bathroom door closed.The amount of focus Rose possessed just then tripled and then quadropuled as she seemed to gain access to more than 10% of her brain.

Cabinet, open. Toothpaste, grab. Look, cup. Toothbrush, grab. Toothpaste, open. Toothpaste, queeze. Toothbrush, catch. Cold water, on. Brush, teeth.

She looks into the mirror and was met with determined eyes, the same eyes that witnessed a myriad of things she’d never be able to tell.

Toothpaste, spit. Hands, water. Water, mouth. Mouth, swish. Mouth, spit.

She turns to the cabinet above the toilet and advances it, relishing in the taste of blood in her mouth. You could’t tell her she didn’t brush her teeth adequately this morning.Cabinet, open.

Washcloth, grab.

She turns around again and slides back in place behind the sink. There was a steady intensity increasing as she felt her heart beating in time to the war drums in her mind.

Cold water, off. Hot water, on. Wash cloth, wet.

The cloth is on her face, steaming in the mirror as she, again, peers into her own soul, scrubbing a night’s sleep away from her face quickly and quietly. Her brain slows again and she backs away, nodding at herself, grabbing a handful of scrunchies with one hand and balling up the cloth with the other. On her way out of the rocked bathroom, she shoots the rag and makes it into the hamper in the corner, as usual.

She dips back into her room and grabs a brush, her wallet, her phone and her name tag before dipping out at the speed of sound. Her mother, upon seeing her come out of the room, grabs her arm, as though she was six and didn’t know how to walk, and basically drags her out of the apartment. If no one knew the two any better, they’d label it as a kidnapping with the amount of force and speed Rose’s mother brought her out and to the car. The car locks click and both women get in smoothly, pulling of just as smoothly. The radio was on and blasting a smooth 70’s styled song.

Rose smooths her hair out of her face with her hand before bringing the brush to it. She caught some naps here and there but, smoothed things out before smoothly capturing the beastly, but amazing, hair into two twin buns. She relishes how her face looks on that particular day. She looked pretty ador–.

Of course. As if her hair had become birds in a now opened cage, the hairs in the front of her head sprung free and down into her face, taunting her. Rose tries to tuck her hair back but, again and again, and again, the hair just came back out. The darkskinned girl sighs and just rolls with hit. Without even looking to her mother, Rose could already feel her mother staring a hole in her face. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. “What is it, mama?” She asks, as though she didn;t already know the answer. Her mother took this as an invitation and begins to chastise Rose for all of her hair decisions.

When she was 15, well technically 14, Rose had saved up money from whatever she had left over from the day, and ran down to her local barber shop and got a hair cut to a scary length, commonly known among the African American hair community as the big chop. Everybody and their moms, dads, sisters, brothers, and cousins, first and second removed, had asked her why and she simply said because she knew it could be better. She didn’t regret it either. Her hair was badly damaged before and now it was flourishing like a beautiful flower. Her mother hated it because she knew she was taking after her sister, who had done the same and stopped 'killing’ her hair, or that’s how Rose and her sister called it.

Rose’s mother, though she was full Dominican, was more invested in gentrification and the assimilation of the American culture, which dictated, for the most part that straightened hair was in and would always be. And so now, she was going on a rant, as she always did, about how 'unruly’ Rose’s 'mop’ was. The younger woman looked out of her window and remembered why she was up, in the car with her hair hating mother.The mall had always been a safe haven for her. As she looks out at the zooming streets, she’d remembered vividly all of the times she’d been there with her three friends to wait out her mother, who had to work on the other side of town, whenever she’d get in trouble. It was where she’s had her first kiss and dumped that same pair of lips. This was the very same mall where she’d broken down in front of her friends when she received notice that she’d be staying wither mother rather than her father, who now lived in Southern California and the first place she’d gone when she had runaway from home. It was also the same place where she’d first been reprimanded for running away. And now it would her first actual, non-part-time, job.All this is to say, really, that the mall was more of a home than her current and past home were homes. And she loved it more than anything.

[serpent-bearer]

PART I: You and the Rest of the Dunderheads

She did not look back on that year... those two years... with much warmth. 

Fitting, really, as the ominous clouds that gathered continually around the castle appeared to reflect what was happening in her mind, in Aurora’s most inner soul. So much so that she had felt it had shattered her soul a bit, and from that she would never fully recover. 

1997 was the year everything changed, everything became tainted just that little bit more, where everything she had held together so well and so dear had fallen away from her, all the while ironically also being a year of rebirth - quite literally.

The minute Aurora had learned that he had been made the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, was the exact same minute that the clouds had arisen in the sky, she was almost positive of it. 

Why now? She had asked herself when she had received a visit from him late one night in August. They were not living together outside of Hogwarts - it was phenomenally difficult for them to achieve such an act that most long term couples took for granted. Severus had now fully immersed himself in the life of a double agent... triple, quadruple agent... working for both the Order of the Phoenix and Voldemort’s band of followers with such emotional and physical effort that he used to come back to her vomiting and shaking in her arms most days... but an effort that, to the rest of the world, seemed seamlessly effortless. For that was the way he had to make it look, of course. 

But Aurora knew different. For she had seen him for him when no else did. Well... perhaps the old, white batty wizard he was slave to... but the old, white batty wizard was never there to absorb Severus’s broken pieces day to day, hour by hour, the gruelling and yet beautiful kind of every day love that Dumbledore could not experience. 

They become completely and utterly broken together that year. 

“Why now?” she had asked Severus when he had first broken the news that a change in classrooms was in order. 

“Why after all this time, after all your applications, has Dumbledore allowed this now of all years? When you’re surely busy enough with everything else going on!”

And he had not said anything of the truth then - the first bought of deceit and lies he had showered her with. He merely held her tighter to his body as they lay together, covered in the bedsheets in the room of the house which belonged to her eldest brother. He had held her tighter, Aurora had told herself, had to tell herself, because of the guilt that had been coursing through his veins at the time she was sure of it... there had to be some slither of regret there, somewhere, he had loved her once, if only once... she was sure of it... 

“I don’t know,” he answered and lied eventually, and she had felt a breath catch somewhere in the chest on which she was resting her forrest of dreadlocks. She closed her eyes, oblivious to his mind, as five of his long, slender fingers journeyed their way through her hair, setting the neurons up and down her spine alight with icy pleasure. “I suppose with Horace returning, the Headmaster thinks it would be best for him to resume his old position.”

“It’s position that belonged to you!” Aurora said defiantly, fighting some kind of battle she didn’t even know existed. “Slughorn left that job. At least he does have experience as a teacher, unlike the rest of those dolts the old man’s dug up to teach Defence, he’d be a somewhat competent professor for a change!”

“I’ve taught Potions for fourteen years, Borealis. A change in scenery is actually most welcomed -” 

“You don’t think it’s odd that it’s been fourteen years of you trying to - and then he just - he just gives it away -”

“You know very well that Slughorn - ”

“I don’t give a fuck about Slughorn! I didn’t at school and I still don’t now!” she whipped all of her hair away from him and sat bolt upright in the bed, viciously straddling his midsection and holding him there in what felt like a vice-grip between her thighs. She shoved him heavily. “I give a fuck about you, you idiot. Have you not noticed a slightly peculiar pattern amongst all the Defence Against the Dark Arts professors... well, so-called professors...?”

Instead of arguing back, or attempting to wriggle free (why would he, really?), she caught sight of him smiling lightly in the moonlight that had snuck through the cracks between wall and curtain. 

“I don’t know whether to be offended or touched,” Severus whispered softly, one of his hands had attempted to rub the top of her thigh but Aurora had swatted it away immediately. “You’re concerned about me leaving Hogwarts, but I fear you think me to as inept a dunderhead as Lockhart was. No... on second thought I have decided to be offended by that.”

“Shut-up,” Sinistra bit churlishly, turning her back to him like the petulant child she was. She folded her arms over the edges of her knees and glared into the darkness, waiting to see how long it would take him to move. 

To be fair, it was not very long, and feeling the touch of his fingers on her back made Aurora’s muscles soften a little... but his words were, as always, not particularly comforting. Not in the normal, mollycoddling sense anyway. 

“I always feel rather pre-pubescent whenever I visit you at Mithras’s house. As if I should be scaling the outside wall when I leave in order to avoid a lecture from him. It is not a pleasant experience.” 

Aurora scoffed. “Deal with it, Princess. You have Pettigrew to snuggle up to at my previous residence. Feels wonderful to be kicked out of my summer home for the human equivalent of an infected pimple -” 

“You know I had no choice.” 

She hadn’t expected him to take the jibe so seriously, hadn’t expected it so much that the clouds in her mind had darkened and rumbled louder as the realisation of what he meant dawned on the both of them. 

“That’s what I’m afraid of...” Aurora whispered ominously through one stray dreadlock as she looked back at him, his form had taken a clearer, sharper shape as her eyes finally adjusted to the darkness. 

The form leant forward slightly and she allowed herself to be drawn back into the bed as she groaned from the weight of her thoughts. If only she had known back then... if only she had known her thoughts were the mere tip of the iceberg... how he had kept himself together that night, knowing what was about to come, she would never know... 

He must’ve never loved her in the first place. 

But for the meantime, before she had come to realise this, Aurora merely allowed the forceful breath of a sigh to wash itself across his sallow, beautifully sickly skin as she nestled into his neck. She felt an artery underneath her ear pulsing callously. 

“Thank Great Illu I was the most perfect, most talented Occlumency student you ever had, huh? Kept our ‘little thing’ secret from the entire wizarding world for six years, have we not?” she quipped as she twirled the tip of her silver tongue around the piece of his skin where neck met collarbone, she felt a slight sigh emanate from his lips and his chest and the skin began to expand as Severus extended his neck, allowing her further play space. 

“Somewhat necessary when I... want you to be safe... and, ah, well...” Severus attempted to reply with seemingly great difficulty - he seemed to have trouble finding words: a rarity, usually, but not when Professor Sinistra’s (when Her) tongue was involved. “Considering my only... my only other Occlumency student was Potter I assure you it’s no big accomp...”

He gave a very sharp intake of breath through yellowed clenched teeth as the caressing tongue withdrew to welcome a sharp, icy nip from Her own incisors. His entire body tensed, one leg repeatedly rubbed upward and downward upon the mattress as if not knowing what to do with itself as Her incessant, relentless biting continued, deeper and harder until his chest was rising and falling so hurriedly it reminded Aurora of all the times he had arrived, panting, clawing at the door of her Astronomy tower. 

You package yourself in with those buttons so tightly; no-one would ever guess that such purple and black and yellow bruises lurk beneath you... She thought... little did She know that there would be wounds, not so loving wounds, wounds in the very same place She used to devour, wounds he would never be able to cover up with black cloth and buttons... 

The very same blood had just begun to appear in tooth-shaped little beads and dots in various positions upon Severus’s neck. He never attempted to heal them magically - Aurora would never allow such a thing anyway, but he had never wished to, he wore them as badges to honour her work and that pleased Her all the more. 

His pelvis had begun to arch, reach out and try to rub desperately, unconsciously, against Her own as the hissing from the blissful pain continued. Aurora spread Her aching wet thighs over him in his entirety; She did not particularly want to satisfy him so easily but by God She needed to be fucked and fucked so hard She wouldn’t be able to walk properly until the following term. Hiss turned into moan. 

And it was so subtle at first that She had not noticed. Not noticed him suddenly crying out in terrible pain... in unwanted, unwilling pain. Pain that did not belong to Her.

Aurora was suddenly awoken from her pleasurable reverie by the sight of him clawing at his left arm... the Mark which he had always so desperately attempted to hide was as black as it had ever been for two years now. And it was burning again. 

“No... no...” Severus was muttering viciously, not from the pain which he was surely used to by now, but from sheer contempt. He swore savagely under his breath and, as if merely to spite the Dark Lord himself, tore himself around and kissed her just as contemptuously. 

“You-hab-to-leeb-I’ll-be-fine-...” Sinistra mumbled while simultaneously gagged by his unrelenting, greedy mouth. When they finally parted he gave a haughty scoff. 

“I know you will be, you idiot” Severus answered representatively cryptic and disparaging at the same time, as he began struggling hastily with his robes. Aurora watched on from the edge of the bed; her chest ached seeing him like this but she would never let it show, by God she would never let it show. She was the strong one. If she crumbled they both did and they both knew it.

She gave a forced smirk... but she was so good an Occlumens now that she wondered if he was able to realise it was forced. 

“Guess I’ll be entertaining myself all by my lonesome, yet again.”

She lay back and parted her legs slightly, revealing every inch of her gloriously bare dark body twice over. Severus stopped mid-button with a furious groan and shot her the most exasperated glare in the history of the universe. 

“Not helpful. Really not helpful.” 

He finished with his buttons, swung on his cloak and kissed her once more upon her forehead. 

“I’ll be back soon, Borealis. You are forbidden to move on yet.” 

Sinistra smiled painfully. 

“Oh, I’m sure that stupid oaf of a servant of yours has just burned your house down or something. It’ll be fine.”

Her eyes met his and she allowed him in this time. 

It’ll be ok. You will be ok. 

And Severus nodded weakly. 

“Well, with any luck he’d have burned himself along with it,” he retorted as he drew out his wand, preparatory to Apparating away. 

His eyes, empty and black like the most starless night, had not left hers. Sinistra relented and allowed him in just that little bit further. 

I love you, Borealis. 

Yeah, yeah, Gitface. I love you too. 

It was much easier unspoken. 

And after a pause that was just a millisecond too long, he had vanished with a crack. Her composure was now permitted to dissolve. 

If only she had known. That this was nothing, nothing, compared to what would happen in just under a year... that she would be praying to go back to a time where all she had to worry about was the Defence Against the Dark Arts position, or the Mark burning a little more than it did before, or Pettigrew replacing her as roommate at Spinner’s End...

How she would give anything to come back to this point in time...