#citrus city records

[rueclfer]

crave to do it again // touya todoroki

when just for a second, it all felt so simple

a/n: geettt this shit out of my drafts!!! is this the fucking angst yall wanted!!!

@bbluefllame 😔

At 12:00AM, it was unusual for the city to go quiet. Aside from the buzzing lamp post, crickets chirping, and the occasional chatter from the nightcrawlers down the street, you wondered where everyone had gone. Maybe they knew what was to come.

The cool night breeze was circulating through your apartment along with soft ambient music emanating from your record player. You were fists deep in various articles of clothing, crumple up notes, loose photos, and more all haphazardly thrown in dingy cardboard boxes.

"Touya, look." You call his attention away from the wad of paper in his lap. "You have to wear this tomorrow." You held up the "If lost, return to Y/N" shirt you had gotten him as a gag gift for his birthday last year.

"Asshole." He chuckles. "If any part of that shirt survives, they'll come for your ass next."

"Heavy on the if." You mutter, sadly smiling to yourself, letting your hands fall back into your lap.

You tightly clutched the black fabric, looking closely at the worn cracked lettering before bringing it up to your nose, deeping breathing in his faint lingering scent of citrus and cedar mixed with laundry detergent.

You two were sat criss-crossed on your bed with a box sitting in between you two. You occasionally glanced up at him to see his furrowed brows focus on whatever item he had in his hands, silver hair damp from the shower, and him sporting an old band tee you two passed back and forth as a pajama shirt. You wished you could take a picture of this moment.

Everything almost seemed normal. Almost. You tried not to let the dread brewing in your stomach overwhelm you, but your hands had been clammy all day, you couldn't keep any food down, and you were sure you were less than 12 hours away from a breakdown.

"Gross. Don't know why I kept this." He flips a photograph over to you, revealing a creased family photo of the Todorokis burnt around the edges, but every single face still legible. "Throw it away for me, yeah?"

"Absolutely fucking not." You snatch the photo from his fingers, peering closer to see him in his childish glory- missing teeth, tousled hair, and a wide grin that had diminished with age.

It was rare for you to see a photo of Touya before he joined the league. You never told him, but the night he revealed his full name to you, you scoured the internet for any photos from his previous life, but only ever finding the haunting school photo from news articles announcing the death of pro-hero Endeavor's eldest child.

"I'm not throwing any of these things away." You held the photo close to your chest, tears suddenly welling up in your eyes the moment they met with his own.

His eyes widen for a split second, before faltering into a soft, regretful gaze.

"There it is." He sighs.

Touya shoved the box in between you two off of the bed, reaching over to take you in his arms.

"You know, I was waiting for the waterworks all fucking day, I was almost sure you were looking forward to me dying."

"Shut up, I'm fine." You say, tilting your head back, letting the tears settle back in your eyes.

"You don't have to be fine, sweetheart." He mutters, bringing your head into his chest, holding you tight. "We can talk about it, you know."

"It's just.." You begin, pulling back with tears streaming down your cheeks now "..look at how perfect this is, Touya." You plea. "Look at us." You gesture to the mess of your bedroom with his belongings and boxes scattered around.

In another timeline, it would have been an image of you two moving in together. It's your first night. You're figuring out how to split the closet with him. Maybe you can have breakfast for dinner for the fun of it. You'll try to sleep early, but you two are giggling to yourselves until early in the morning. You two would sleep in until mid-afternoon, and spend the rest of the day in bed. He'd stay.

"I know. I'm sorry." He whispers, reaching up and swiping away your tears with his thumbs.

You knew that despite the end coming near, it was all still perfect- meeting him, knowing him, falling in love, spending his last moments with him. Last moments. The dread was creeping up your throat. How can you make time stop?

Touya knew deep in his heart that if there was anything that could have saved him, it would have been you. If he had just been a bit less rotten, if he had been born in a different hour, in a different body, he would have married you, given you a quiet life, and anything else you wanted. He wouldn't have this festering darkness inside of him threatening to overcome with every passing second. He wouldn't have been born with a single purpose. His life could have been yours for the taking.

"Promise you don't hate me for this?" He hangs his head to rest on your shoulder.

"I could never hate you." You rake a hand through his hair, letting the other rest on the nape of his neck. "I'll think about you for the rest of my life. I'll celebrate your birthday every year. I'll talk to you every night before I go to sleep. I'll tell everyone about my partner and how big his heart was and how he made the stars shine for me. I'll love you forever."

"In another universe, I would have given you everything." He murmurs.

You two silently settled in bed, tightly wrapped in each other's arms as you laid your head on his chest, and taking in his heartbeat by memory, being sure to lock the gentle sound in your head.

"What do you think you'll do after?" He breaks the silence, hand running up and down your back.

"Maybe find God or something?" You sigh. "I dunno."

"Don't make me fucking laugh." He chuckles, almost making your eyes water again from hearing and feeling the deep vibrations through his chest. "God does not want to find you, that's for damn sure."

"Well ask him for me, when you see him, yeah?"

"So sorry to break this to you, babe, but I don't think I'll be meeting God tomorrow." You could hear a hint of sadness in his voice.

"I guess I'll see you in hell then." You look up at him, meeting his eyes in the moonlight leaking in from the open window. "Put in a good word for me."

"That's more like it." He presses a tender kiss to your forehead.

You two silently ask yourselves the same question. Will he be fine after tomorrow? Will you be fine after tomorrow? Will that little boy in the burnt photo be at peace? Will you be able to go on?

"Any last secrets?" You ask, half joking. "Or any burning piece of information you've been keeping from me? Now would be a great time to unpack."

He takes a moment to think.

"When you go through the rest of my clothes, in one of my pant pockets, I still have the wrapper of the condom we used from the first time we fucked."

You slap your palm down on his chest.

"Dumbass." You laugh. "Why the fuck would you still have that?"

"What can I say, I'm a sentimental guy. Put it in a scrapbook or some shit." He shrugs, smiling at the thought.

"Yeah. I will." You half laugh, half choke out, silent tears now staining his shirt. "I have a secret too."

"Go for it."

"What if I told you I already killed your dad so there's no need for you to go out tomorrow?"

He shifts his body to face you now, slinging an arm over your waist and pulling your body flush to him. The air was filled with you silently sobbing behind your hands. You told yourself you'd be brave for him, but the bitterness in your heart had been leaking. It was circulating in your blood, and you couldn't pretend like it wasn't killing you from the inside anymore.

"I'd say, cool." He presses his cheek against your forehead. "And then we'll stay like this all day. Or maybe we'll take the first plane ride out of Japan. Wherever you'd wanna go, I'll follow you."

"Yeah. I'd like that." You say in between sniffles. "I think it'd be nice to leave Japan. Just for a bit."

You wondered if this was acceptance or denial. You could laugh and cry about it now that you're in Touya's arms while you two were waiting for the sun to come up, but for a long time, you saw the headlights in the distance, and the humming slowly growing louder in anticipation as tomorrow crept closer and closer.

In this moment, you accepted that you would grieve for him much longer than you were able to love him. You denied that he would be leaving you in a few short hours. You accepted that this was a necessary evil that had to be taken care of. You denied that this was the only way.

In another universe, you won't have to miss him. In another universe, he doesn't have to die for this. In every single one, you love him for as long as you'll remember him. In every single one, he'll survive through you.

You eventually hear his breathing slow down into deep inhale and exhales through his mouth. This was your last act of love for each other while you two walked this Earth together- a quiet night in each other's arms.

You memorized the patterns of his scars, the way they brushed against your skin. The color of his eyes you would see in the ocean. His silver hair still clumped in your hairbrush sitting on your bathroom counter. His love dazed expression is captured on a photo strip hidden in your wallet. Maybe he'll live forever, after all.

He'll wonder how long it'll be under you check your glove department for his letter. Knowing you, it'll at least be a few weeks.

"Idiot." He thinks to himself.

Your laugh echos in his head right before he's engulfed in flames. He wonders if your homemade cream could heal these new burns. Can you see him now? Tell him you're proud. Death isn't so sweet as he imagined, he wants to tell you, but seeing your face dissolve with his vision as he burns up is as close to heaven as he'll get.

In the end, you were right. You always were. It is nice to leave Japan. Just for a bit.

[cherryredlove]

☆ you spin me right round ☆

Modern! Record shop owner! au Aemond Targaryen x Bar owner! reader SMUT

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You're the blooming business owner that owns the chic new bar in town, The Alchemist's Guild. All that's left to do is befriend your sourpuss neighbour, the cool owner of the music shop Targaryen Tracks. Maybe a crisis will do the trick?

Word Count: 1.9k

Themes: SMUT, 18+, rough oral smex, pearl necklace, sex in semi-public place

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Owning a bar was always a dream of yours, and now that dream has finally come true. The place you purchased is a hidden gem on the artsy quarter of the city of King's Landing, nestled between eclectic shops and quirky businesses, with just enough foot traffic to guarantee interest. You’ve christened it The Alchemist’s Guild, and you hoped it'll become the hottest bar in the area soon.

Every bottle and glass has been carefully selected, and you’ve spent countless hours transforming the run-down space into a chic, cosy haven for anyone seeking to unwind. Edison bulbs hang from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the polished wooden surfaces and plush seating. The shelves behind the bar are stocked with an impressive array of gins and wines, and the scent of fresh herbs and citrus fills the air.

The only hurdle now? Making friends with the neighbours, particularly the one who runs the music shop next door, Targaryen Tracks.

You’ve seen him a few times, Aemond Targaryen, always dressed impeccably in black, with silver hair and an ever-present scowl etched onto his face. His shop is a world of its own, filled with vintage records and obscure music that you occasionally hear through the walls.

Today, after a couple of good days of business, you decide it’s time to introduce yourself properly. Maybe you can even convince him to partner up for some musical collaborations, adding a unique touch to your bar’s atmosphere. With a deep breath, you step into Targaryen Tracks, the door chiming softly as you enter.

Aemond looks up from behind the counter, his single blue eye meeting yours with a curious, almost guarded expression. He nods in acknowledgement, though his lips barely form a smile.

"Hi, I’m Y/N," you say, offering a friendly smile. "I just opened the bar next door, The Alchemist’s Guild. Thought I’d come by and say hello."

"Aemond," he replies curtly, giving you a once-over before returning his gaze to the record he’s examining.

The shop is a paradise for any music lover, with rows upon rows of records neatly organized by genre and era. The atmosphere is nostalgic, and you can’t help but feel a pang of admiration for the meticulous care he’s put into curating his collection. You too take great pride in organisation and decoration.

You take a moment to look around, pretending to browse. The silence stretches between you, and you rack your brain for something to say, anything to break the ice.

"You’ve got quite the collection here," you venture, picking up a random record and pretending to study it. "I’ve been thinking about hosting some vinyl nights at the bar. You know, set up a record player, get some more out there stuff playing."

Aemond’s eye flickers with mild interest as he raises an eyebrow. "That so?"

You nod eagerly, hoping to engage him further. "Yeah! I think it’d be great to have something a bit more unique than just playlists. It’s a vibe, you know?"

He studies you for a moment, considering your words. "I suppose it could work," he admits, a hint of intrigue in his tone. "What kind of records are you looking to play?"

"Honestly, I’m open to anything that sets the right mood," you reply with enthusiasm. "Jazz, blues, rock, maybe even some classical if it fits."

Aemond nods, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I might have a few recommendations."

A spark of hope flickers inside you. Perhaps this sourpuss neighbor of yours isn’t as aloof as he seems. Maybe there's a chance for some collaboration after all.

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Business at The Alchemist’s Guild is booming. You’ve managed to create a buzz around town, and the place is packed almost every night. The combination of exquisite drinks and the cosy atmosphere has made your bar a go-to spot for many locals and visitors alike. It's become a favourite with the artsy scene in the quarter, putting you firmly on the map.

But tonight, as you’re hosting bustling Saturday evening, disaster strikes. The trusty sound system crackles and dies with a sad whimper. Panic sets in as you realize that without music, the bar loses a significant part of its charm.

As the clamor of conversation fills the air, you frantically fiddle with the cables and speakers, hoping for a miracle. But nothing works.

Just when you're about to lose hope, an idea strikes.

"Hold down the fort for me, Dyana!" You call out to the bartender you employed.

You dash out of the bar and head straight to Targaryen Tracks, where Aemond is about to close up for the night.

Aemond looks up at you as you barge into the shop, mildly surprised to see you so flustered.

"Aemond, I need a huge favour," you blurt out, trying to catch your breath. "My sound system just broke down, and I have a packed bar with no music. Can you help me out?"

He pauses. "What do you need?"

"Your records," you say quickly, hope rising in your chest. "And your record player and speakers. Just for tonight. I’ll give you free drinks for a week in return."

He narrows his eye, contemplating the offer. After a moment, he nods. "Fine. But you handle the equipment with care."

Relief floods through you. "Thank you, thank you so much! I promise I'll be careful. You can even handle changing the records if that's better. "

Together, you gather a selection of records, and Aemond helps you carry them over to the bar. With his expertise, you set up the record player, and soon, the rich, warm tones of vinyl fill the space, transforming the atmosphere instantly.

The patrons love it, and you can feel the tension leaving your shoulders as the night goes on smoothly. True to your word, you offer Aemond a drink on the house as a gesture of gratitude. He graciously accepts your Greyjoy Gin and tonic with a small smile.

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As the night draws to a close, the last of your customers finally trickle out, leaving the bar empty save for you and Aemond. The soft glow of the Edison bulbs casts a cosy light over the room, and the record player softly spins its last tune.

"Thank you again," you say, leaning against the bar, feeling the exhaustion of the night catching up to you. "You really saved me tonight."

Aemond shrugs, a faint smirk on his lips. "It was interesting. Your patrons seem to appreciate good music."

You laugh softly, nodding in agreement. "I owe you. Seriously, free drinks for a week."

He takes a sip of his drink, regarding you with an appraising gaze. "Maybe we can make this a regular thing. Vinyl nights, as you said. I can curate the music."

"That would be amazing," you reply, feeling your heart race a little. "I think it’d be a hit."

As you tidy up the bar, Aemond helps, and the two of you chat more easily than before. You discover that beneath his stoic exterior, he has a genuine passion for music and a dry sense of humour that you find surprisingly charming.

With the bar finally clean and ready for the next day, you both take a moment to relax, leaning against the counter again.

As the last record winds down to silence, an unexpected tension fills the air. The kind that lingers between two people until someone is brave enough to try.

It’s Aemond who makes the first move. His eye locks onto yours, and you see a flicker of something you hadn't quite noticed before. You feel your body light up.

Before you know it, he’s closing the distance between you, his presence commanding and electric. He pauses, giving you a moment to stop him if you wish, but you find yourself drawn in by the intensity of his gaze.

And then his lips are on yours, firm and insistent, sending a jolt down your spine. You kiss him back, matching his fervour with your own.

Aemond’s hands are on your waist, pulling you closer, and you respond by wrapping your arms around his neck, grasping at his hair. His mouth is hot and heady, and you moan into his as his hips grind against yours.

You barely notice as you’re backed against the bar, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat of the kiss. Aemond’s hands are exploring now, tracing a path down your sides, and you let out a soft sigh of approval, urging him on.

The kiss deepens, his touch is confident, and you can feel the hardness of his cock against your tender pussy. Your body reacts, arching into him to relieve your aching sex.

Aemond unzips your trousers, moaning at how wet you are, before gliding his fingers into your soaked heat. You cling to him, mewling, and bit down hard onto his neck. Aemond’s long fingers move inside you, fingering you with a beckoning motion. His eye rolls back as you grasp his cock in your hand, massaging through his trousers.

Aemond hoists you up onto the bar's counter, kissing you roughly before kneeling, facing your soaked pussy. Your hands grip his hair, urging him onto your heat. His tongue flicks out to lick your juices, and the moan you let out spurs him to bury his face.

His long nose is shoved against your clit, rubbing you in the mot perfect way as his tongue laps you expertly. Your thighs squeeze his head tightly. One of his hands grips your soft thigh hard, the other resumes its ministrations inside your tight pussy, making you choke and feel the hot lick of pleasure push you higher and higher. You grind against his face, Aemond sucking your clit with suchbvigour that you cry out, cumming hard on him. You cream against his tongue, and he laps it all up with a deep moan.

Once your head has stopped swimming at the pleasure of your high, you wobble down and fall to your knees. His thick cock sits right in front of your face, and he slowly parts your lips with the red cockhead. It's huge, you run out of mouth room pretty quickly as his hands grip your hair. You moan, the vibration making his hips stutter, and begin to suck him hard.

"Your lips look so beautiful wrapped arouud me baby," he rasps out. "I'll cum if you carry on."

Enthused, you bob your head faster, hollowing out your cheeks and rubbing your tongue right against the slit of his tip. When you fondle his balls with your hands and swallow hard, Aemond releases a strangled cry of pleasure, face-fucking you hard and fast. He lets out an unintelligible moan as he cums. Some of it leaks down your throat, but he pulls out to cum all over your face and neck. You gasp at the hot white ropes of cum that decorate your collar bone.

Panting, he helps you up, swiping his cum off with a finger and parting your lips for you to swallow it. He kisses you gently, salty and sweet.

"Want to come back to mine?" He asks, eye glinting. You nod eagerly, kissing him sweetly. His hands hold you firmly, and you thank the Gods for your sound system breaking.

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AN: save me modern aemond targaryen save me! love writing that so gimme ur feedback and send any requests! if u like this sort of stuff check out my masterlist!

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

I am currently in Vilnius! Lithuania is fantastic. You really can't beat old eastern European cities for having urban sections called Old Town that are the most stunning and picturesque places you've ever seen in your life, and Vilnius combines this with apparently about fifty trillion urban trees and parks. Fucking gorgeous place.

Eastern Europe is also incredible for food. Today we had a Lithuanian delicacy where they take rye bread and cut it into sticks and toast/fry it and then you have it with a sort of cheesy garlicky sauce and it is fucking incredible holy shit. Also a dish of finely grated potato over a layer of pork leg and topped with bacon bits and sour cream, sort of like a Lithuanian lasagne. Exquisite. Divine. Ambrosia of the gods.

Anyway my excellent Lithuanian friend Gabs has insisted on buying us a shit ton of Lithuanian snacks to try over the next few days, and I have promised him I shall keep a spreadsheet of my reactions to each. So! I'm recording them here:

Surelis: sweet curds covered in a chocolate layer, flavoured. So far we have tried the raspberry. It tasted like a bar of Petit Filou yoghurt and it was fucking gorgeous. 12/10.

Sula: a soft drink made from birch sap. We have tried one that is fruit flavoured, but Gabs didn't know the English word for said fruit. Super clear and refreshing tasting. 8/10

Grybukai: a mushroom shaped biscuit/cake flavoured with ginger and... something sharp. Citrus maybe? Super fun, super tasty. 10/10

Sakotis: cake made on a spit in a pleasing tree shape. A bit like a firmer dry pancake. Gabs recommended them with tea, I tried it with some chocolate butter. Very nice tea time treat, not too sweet, delicate flavour. 7/10

Having a whale of a time, Lithuania is gr8

[allidoistrytrytryy]

a moment's silence when my baby puts her mouth on me (cove holden x reader)

ao3 version here

summary: Cove Holden and the black underwear (from Patreon moment 2, if you know you know), except it's his own surprise on a random Friday (smut with feelings)

word count: 3,116 words

tags: smut, porn with feelings, porn without plot, light dom/sub, switching, sexual intimacy, they're in love your honour, author has been feeling insane about cove for years and lately about the black underwear so here we are (female reader implied but i tried to be as non-descriptive as possible, can be a male trans reader too)

You were exhausted, your fingers rubbed at your eyelids and at your forehead, trying to take the headache away.

You had had a large project at your job, long hours, and planning that took too much of your time. You came home late, too late, so late sometimes Cove would already be in bed or asleep on the couch, always waiting for you (even though you had told him to sleep, not to wait up for you if you were too late, but he insisted every time).

You sighed at the thought of your fiancee. You missed him too much, missed being able to have time with him, going out on weekends or lazing around after work to watch a show you would fall asleep through anyway, snuggled in his warmth.

You hadn’t been able to do that in more than two weeks, always working, always in contact with your coworkers to continue the project even deep into the night. You were glad today was the presentation, and then you were taking a few days off, away from everything.

You felt the fear in your gut at the presentation. You were nerves on legs, as you always were when you had to talk in front of an audience. You knew that would never change, the way you spaced out, waiting and waiting, at your desk.

Your phone buzzed on your desk, which took you out of your thoughts and the ball in your stomach. A smile crept up on your face before you even had the time to read what the text said, at the name appearing on your screen.

Cove.

Romeo: You have this, show them what you’re made of. Love you. <3

You smiled hard, your finger rubbing at the heart emoji with the text, at the picture you had set as his picture on your phone. A picture of him asleep on your couch, snuggled under a blanket, his long hair freed from its usual low bun.

You hadn’t been able to resist the urge to take a picture, and your fingers had gone through his hair.

You sent him a heart back, now fired back up. You could do this, go home and kiss your fiancee senselessly until you fell asleep snuggled into his warmth.

And the presentation happened. It went well, and you shared smiles and compliments with your colleagues. Sighs of relief. You could all go home peacefully tonight.

Which you did. You sprinted to your car when the hour came, your colleagues’ laughter following you down the elevator. They all knew you were eager to be home again, to be with the fiancee you talked about too much. (You couldn’t help it. You loved Cove Holden too much, loved him since you were eight. What could you do?)

The drive went quickly and you arrived at your little place a bit further from the city in record time. When you parked in your spot, next to Cove’s car who was already there and home, you realized you had forgotten to send him a text. You bit your lip, hoping he hadn’t waited for it.

Five unread texts with Cove inquiring about the presentation, worried. Shit.

You climbed the stairs of the apartment complex quickly, your keys already in hand. You entered.

”I’m home! Sorry, I completely forgot to answer your texts, I’m so so...” You interrupted yourself by the sight of your living room, your coffee table with a range of plates and food, and even a cake.

Hands sneaked around your waist, a kiss on your hair, a chest against your back. Your fiancee enveloped you, mint, citrus and this particular ocean smell in your nose and you finally relaxed. “Hi sweetheart, how was it?” he asked gently.

You turned around in his arms and, as always, you had to crane your neck to look up into his eyes. You hadn't been fortunate with height while Cove had had too much of it over the years. His arms circled your waist. “Went smoothly, we can finally breathe now,” you answered and got on your tiptoes to kiss him quickly, which he answered with that giddy smile he never lost around you. “Now, what’s all of this, Covie?”

”Well, I knew it would go perfectly since it’s you,” you rolled your eyes at the remark but the smile betrayed you, the blush even more. “and wanted to celebrate it. I got your favorite things from your favorite places and got a cake.”

Cove looked like it wasn’t even an effort, and it wasn’t in your relationship. You both made so much effort, so much again and again for each other that it was just normal. But, it didn't change the fact that you were always touched by every gesture.

You still couldn’t phantom how dear you were to this man sometimes. You still couldn’t understand how your heart never seemed to stop expanding for him, taking in every piece, every detail, every word and action from him.

Your hands dragged his face to you, to kiss him deeply, like you had wanted to since you had finished the project. He sighed against your lips, that content sigh, his lips and tongue entangled with yours. An intimacy you could never get enough of.

”I love you so much,” you whispered against his lips and his eyes misted over, your crybaby, always yours.

”I love you too,” he whispered as if he didn’t want to break the calm of the moment, wanted to stay in this moment suspended in time.

Until you dragged him to the couch to drape yourself over him, eating and barely paying attention to whatever was on the TV as background noise. You talked about the project. He talked about his day and his own job.

When you finished, he pushed you to the bathroom. “Go take a bath, relax, I got the dishes,” Cove reassured and you pouted.

”But, I can help, I didn’t get dinner so it should be me,” you whined in his shoulder and he laughed while pushing in the bathroom while you couldn’t do anything.

”No way. Go, now,” he kissed your cheek and you still pouted as you got into the bathroom.

You did well on what he had told you to do, spending too much time in a hot bath until it got cold, your body wrapped in your comfortable fuzzy robe. You finally stepped out to get to the bedroom, itching to put your pajamas on, and fall asleep next to Cove.

The too-large shirt was in your hands, actually just one of Cove’s shirts you had stolen and never returned, as you did since you were teenagers, even before you were officially truly together. You hadn’t realized why the light was so dim, hadn't realized Cove was on the bed.

You turned your head slowly and you felt your knees wobble, felt your eyes widen until they almost popped out of your skull.

You had seen Cove in all types of clothes and nakedness over the years. You knew him and his body by heart, the moles, the sleeve on his right arm that you loved to kiss all over, the dips, and where the redness would creep. But right now? You were speechless.

Cove fucking Holden was sat against the headboard, half-lidded eyes on you, but you could see the blush high on his face and ears and down his neck. He was naked, well, except for the underwear but it was the underwear that made you want to scream.

It was black but it barely hid anything, the green happy trail visible from that delicious V-shape you liked to bite, down a dangerous low dip. Straps followed his hips and they showed his hipbones. You almost wanted to ask him to get up and show the back, to see how it looked over that ass you loved too much.

”Surprise,” he simply said, wanting to sound sultry but ending up at excited, embarrassed, waiting.

The shirt slipped through your fingers, forgotten on the floor, and you were still speechless. “What...are you...” you swallowed hard, heat at the back of your neck, on your ears.

Large shoulders were shrugged and he tilted his head, “I… we talked about how I wanted to try some...lingerie out and I thought it would be a good idea for a celebration.”

He was still waiting and you could see how waiting affected him, the redness ever more present on his face and down his neck, the quick jostle of his knee. You approached the bed slowly, eyes laser-focused on him.

You could feel a restraint slowly unfurling in your gut, a wait. You had missed Cove and his hands on you, you had missed the everyday intimacy but you had also missed the sexual intimacy you shared. You both couldn’t have enough of each other sometimes, a pull between your hearts and your bodies.

Your hands settled on the edge of the bed, and you crawled slowly to him, putting up a show for his eyes and his eyes only. The robe dipped down and he gulped, his eyes on your cleavage, on your bare chest visible underneath. You smirked, finding a place between his legs, hands on his thighs, so so close to the dangerous piece of underwear that threatened your composure.

”So, you decided to gift my eyes with this, baby?” you whispered, a finger playing with a strap at his hip. “You’re way too good for me.”

Cove gulped again and you wanted to bite at his Adam’s apple, leaving marks on his pale skin until everybody would know. He shook his head.

”What? You don't agree that you’re too good for me?” you asked, a little pout at the words, your eyes on his face. You were playing the game of how sultry you could be, how much you could push it until his own restraints broke. “Maybe I should show you.”

Your hands traced the straps and the edges of the underwear. Your mouth found a nipple as your hands traced but never touched where you could feel a hardness growing and growing. His moans hit your ears and you smiled, your tongue playing from one nipple to another.

”You don't have to...” he tried to say, his moans high, and god, did you love how vocal he could be. He was always so vocal, so good.

”I want to, so be a good boy, baby,” you whispered, bit at the side of his chest, so muscular, so pretty. He moaned higher, hips bucking against your chest. Your mouth traveled down and down, following the green trail of hair. “Driving me crazy with this, Covie.”

Your hands caressed the hardness over the fabric, but your mouth found the tip already out with how hard he was. The dip was so low that the tip was the only thing visible, so your tongue swirled around it, the saltiness hitting your tastebuds. You moaned, fingers at the straps.

”Oh my god," Cove whined loudly, hips bucking again, the tip making its way deeper into your mouth. “Shit, sorry sweetheart, I didn't mean to...”

You shook your head and pulled at the straps downward, until the underwear sat underneath his cock and you pushed more and more into your mouth, desperate for more, to make him feel even better.

”Fuck, fuck, fuck," you heard him repeat and you wanted to smile, to tease him like you always did because he only ever cursed in those moments, so gone, so desperate.

More and more, until you felt tears in your eyes, until you breathed through your nose, hands at what you couldn’t fit down your throat because of how big he was. But you loved it, thighs clenching to relieve the ache that formed in between.

It wasn’t about you, even though you could spend hours between his legs, to look at his head thrown back, his eyes closed and face scrunched up, like now. He looked out of this world, long hair around his head, down his shoulders, redness still at his face, sweat down his neck and on his chest. You couldn’t believe he was yours still.

”Shit, sweetheart, I’m gonna… I’m...” Cove’s voice rang out and you felt how tight his balls were getting, see how his abs tightened. He was close, and a part of you wanted him to cum in your mouth, but you had another plan.

You popped off his hardness with a loud pop, saliva around your mouth, and his head rose up, his eyes opened in question. You crawled back up his body, your hands opening your robe, until you could throw it on the floor beside the large bed. You settled on his lap, hands on his shoulders.

You swatted his hands away before they could fall on your hips, and you saw the small pout on his face that you kissed away with a laugh. “Sorry, no touching baby, be good a bit longer for me,” you kissed along his face, nibbled at his neck, leaving a few hickeys as your hips moved, your wetness rubbing on his cock.

Cove whined still against your shoulder, “But you look so good… And you’re so wet,” he moaned, groaned. “Let me touch you, please,” he begged but you shook your head, your hips rising up to catch the tip at the edge of your wetness, of your warmth.

You slowly sunk down, your own moan unable to stay in your throat at the delicious burn his cock always gave you, that fullness that always took your breath away. You hummed as you sank lower and lower.

His eyes were closed tightly, his body trembled when you finished back on his lap, the length fully inside you. You stayed still, enjoying the moment, and his hands stayed beside his hips, beside the underwear that was still underneath his cock, trapping his legs in place. He was taut, all muscles tight and restrained.

”Please, please, move," Cove begged and you could only answer with your hips moving up and slamming back down.

Your moans intertwined with Cove’s, as you rode him, slowly, building a faster rhythm with every breath, every moan. You rode him, a deep pleasure building in your stomach, pleasure built with his moans in your ear, your teeth at his shoulder.

You rode him until your thighs trembled and his hips, so restrained until now, slammed up in response. You almost screamed his name. It had hit that one spot deep inside and your body had fallen down onto his chest.

All restraint broke in his body, his hands at your hips, so tight you knew you would feel them still tomorrow, “Sorry, I can’t...” he breathed out, before his hips slammed up again and again, his hands guiding your hips down every time.

“Fuck, Cove, Cove,” you repeated his name, your forehead on his shoulder, your eyes on the spot that joined your two bodies together, his cock sliding in and out.

His name on your lips broke him again and you lost all control you had on the situation. His hands manhandled you on your back, almost ripped the underwear that had started it all off his legs, and he had your legs folded against his chest before he slid back in.

The breath was knocked out of your chest, your hands tugged at his hair, and your eyes were on him always. The muscles bulging with every movement, the sweat trickling down, the pure ferocity and desperation on his face.

Cove wasn't always pushed to this side of dominance, if not ever. Not to this degree. You both liked to switch, to play with what were the limits and new things, but falling back into lovemaking most of the time. Here, your gentle sweet Cove was gone, to leave a rougher Cove you loved too, your moans encouraging him.

”Don’t stop, Cove, don’t stop," you begged, hands desperate in his hair, hips moving to answer every thrust deep inside, against the spot. You could barely talk and he could only groan and moan, his own mouth busy on your nipples, back arched.

You were getting closer and closer, and he could feel it, the way you arched more and more, the way you were tighter and tighter around him, the way your moans only got louder. His eyes were on your face, a hand moving down from your hip to the nub of nerves, so wet from everything.

Your head tilted back into the pillow, “Cove, I’m… I’m gonna cum,” you moaned, warned and he hummed in response, his thumb insistent on your clit, in time with every thrust. Your back arched even more, the pleasure exploding in your stomach, behind your eyes, and in your whole body until you were left a trembling thing underneath Cove.

His thrusts slowed down, but your hips moved and you shook your head. “No, don't stop, need you to cum,” you croaked out, voice spent, hands still tugging at his hair.

”I don’t want to hurt you,” Cove moaned over you, eyes half-lidded on your face, but you shook your head again. You tugged him closer, forehead against his.

”You can’t hurt me. Please Cove, I love you, please,” you begged, his thrusts were erratic and you could tell he was close.

”I love you, fuck, I love you so much, I love you," he repeated against your cheek, and you hummed, answered back, until he moaned louder.

Until the final thrust, until he came deep inside you with your name on his lips and you kissed his face.

Cove detangled himself from you only to bring back a wet washcloth, to wipe you and himself. You only got up to go the toilets, fast and impatient, to find him back in bed, under the covers.

You cuddled in his arms, your cheek on his shoulder, legs entangled to look at him. Content, beautiful. It was magical, as always, to go to sleep with him every night, to have him be the last thing you always saw at night.

”Well, that was a nice surprise," you giggled and he smiled lazily. “I’ll be the one to surprise you next time.”

He groaned lightly but laughed, forehead hitting yours gently. “If you want me to really die, sure,” and you could only laugh, his lips on your eyelids, yours reaching up to kiss his eyebrows. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”

You hummed, “I love you, Covie.”

His smile grew larger, and his cheeks turned red as always, “I love you too.”

And you fell asleep, safe, happy, home, where you belonged.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Ryuhei Kuroda x Reader: The moon is beautiful, isn't it?

G/N. A confession. Sorta follow up to this. (@razypie 🌝)

"Shall we bang?"

SMACK!

Finally, the errant bug stops buzzing. Squashed beneath your palm as payback for trying to bite you for the last minute.

Turning to Ryuhei with a glare and wiping the residue on his white coat, "I swear to god if you brought me out here to fuck, no one will ever find your body again."

"Can't blame me for trying," he says with a shrug and shit-eating grin.

Ignoring the stray insects and their valiant attempts to bite you now and then... and also ignoring your boyfriend's mood-killing question, you have to admit that this is pretty romantic.

A night time surprise, he had suggested. And you were definitely curious.

(The last night time surprise he sprang on you only a few days ago in bed, you thoroughly enjoyed. So why not, he's got a decent track record so far.)

What you didn't expect was for him to whip out a second motorcycle helmet, navigate quiet roads out of the city with you pressed against his back and arms holding him tight around the waist, until finally arriving at a lookout point.

Seoul shines in the distance, glowing and glimmering. Even from so far away you can feel the thrum of the city. The buzz and the beat of the capital.

But this here, where the cicadas are loudest, and the trees grown lush, sways and rustles with the breeze-

You begin to understand why when darkness falls and covers the earth in shadow, it is considered magical.

Air cool and skies clear. Stars sparkling in the inky sky that the light pollution of Seoul can only gently graze.

And then the moon. If you were a more sentimental person you would have gasped.

Full and bright and impossibly close. Overshadowing everything else with its lunar luminosity.

You didn't think Ryuhei had it in him for this type of romance.

(Truthfully, he was only half joking with his first question. Trying his luck. But if you agreed then you would both be doing something very different right this second.)

Ryuhei looks at you, everything else blurring into the background. There could be shooting stars and he wouldn't be able to catch one. The moon could be blue and he wouldn't notice.

What he does notice is you shivering when the breeze picks up. He wraps his arm around you and pulls you close, tucking you into his side, protecting you from the elements without complaint.

You rest your head on his shoulder.

The scent of grass and earth, the oil and petrol of his motorbike, citrus notes from his aftershave mingles together, carried by the wind until it's all around you.

Providing a deep comfort, a sense of ease and contentment.

Ryuhei, unusually quiet and in his native tongue, whispers into the night, "Tsuki ga kirei desu ne,"

You turn towards him, ready to ask for a translation but he's already looking at you.

"Tsuki ga kirei desu ne," he repeats again and you think he can see into your soul. Smiling softly, softer than you have ever seen, "It means the moon is beautiful, isn't it."

You nod. You think tonight is the most beautiful you've ever seen it.

Ryuhei smiles once more before pressing a kiss to your cheek, lips barely grazing your skin and then confesses.

Leans in close to your ear, voice hushed, "It also means I love you."

[melmedarda]

@meljaymicrofics ⸻ heatwave ⸻ wc: 975 ⸻ rated G

It’s insufferable.

Air too thick in her lungs, her throat and nose close around every inhale. Rebel with every exhale. Perhaps this is how she’ll die.

The woman on the television has a pretty, plastic smile on her face, make up perfect. Face without the sheen of sweat as she announces the weather report in her perfect, near robotic voice. Mel has never hated a woman more.

Hot winds blowing up towards the isthmus from the deserts of Shurima threaten to make this summer the hottest we’ve seen. With record breaking temperatures of 311K and above, the costal cities of Krexor, Holdrum, Piltover, Rokund, Trannit, and Zaun are facing several heatwaves in the summer season. This is Lady Sempescu with PNN, live from—”

The tele blinks off, Mel’s hand tight on the remote. Held like a spear, handled like a weapon within her grip.

There’s no one she can go to. Mel has few friends enough as it is, and the few she has are busy. Elora’s gone to some convention in Noxus. She hasn’t heard from Samira for upwards of two months, which means she’s on assignment. Shoola’s gone to Camavor on vacation, and she’d jump into the Pilt before ever asking Salo for a favor. And then, there is the manor.

She entertains the idea, stripped down to the barest of clothing. Reclined on the cool tile of the apartment, she relishes the feel of it against her heated skin. Stares at the ceiling and thinks of her childhood room in her too quiet apartment. Thinks of a place that has not been home for a long while now.

They have working AC there, no doubt. Ambessa would not tolerate anything otherwise. But if Mel was to leave Midtown Heights and return home, her mother would give her the look. The look which communicated that Ambessa was right, and that Mel should have never moved out in the first place.

Mel had left home to escape her mother’s controlling hand in her life. Tolerating Ambessa was much like this heatwave. Oppressive. Suffocating and smothering. Mel had worked hard to escape; to return for any would be humiliating. Not when she worked so hard to escape her mother’s world.

Mel would never live it down.

She calls the Midtown Heights office again, bare foot tapping impatiently as the line rings. Her skin is cooler after standing in front of her open freezer for some relief. But her core temperature is rising now, and her temper with it. Finally, she gets someone.

“Good morning, Midtown Heights Luxury Apartments, how may I help you?” the operator says. The cheeriness in her voice makes Mel want to reach through the phone and strangle her.

“Hello, this is Ms. Medarda, from the penthouse suite 1004. I’m calling to inform you of a issue with the air conditioning… yes, I left a message two days ago and have not heard back. Is the maintenance man available to come up today? Yes, please do. Thank you. You too.”

She’s near peeling her skin off her body by the time she hears the doorbell. The sky is too blue outside the large floor to ceiling windows, not a cloud on the horizon. The sun blinds, unrepentant. Beside her, the box of ice cream she’d picked up from the mart is half finished, containing a pool of melted Noxian citrus ice cream.

Mel opens the door and immediately, heat swirls and builds beneath her skin. The handyman is a vision. Smoking hot, as Samira would say. He smiles at her, and she feels his eyes rove over her as well. They leave a trail of new heat in their wake.

And Mel’s not one to feel embarrassed or self-conscious, but she cannot help her acute awareness of the too short night slip she wears, and the near sheerness of the material. Of how sweaty she is. Of how far from appropriate this situation is. Of how deeply the heat has addled her brain, because she realizes she hasn’t said anything as yet.

“Jayce Talis, Miss Medarda. Admin sent me to fix the HVAC?” Golden eyes flit back to her. Mel swallows thickly and nods, something bitter in her throat. Steps back. Opens the door wider to let him enter. Keeps her eyes on the deep blue of his henley as he walks past. She nearly swoons when he removes his work boots before stepping further into the house. Thoughtful.

He turns to face her, and Mel realizes she is simply standing. Watching. “Please, call me Mel.” Miss Medarda reminds too much of Ambessa. “And yes, the unit has been out for about two days. She gestures towards the hall, and he falls her through on near silent feet.

“It really is hot. Did you not want to go to a hotel until everything was fixed?” His curiosity betrays his real question. Why are you courting heatstroke by roasting in this glorified oven, no doubt.

“I have fish to feed,” is all she says as they pass her assortment of fans lining the hallway. “It’s just in here.” Her penthouse comes with a rooftop garden, within which the body of her problem lies. Jayce nods, and wordlessly gets to work.

She checks on him about 30 minutes later. Better clothes and bearing a glass filled with water and ice cubes. His broad back is the first thing the greet her, blue henley discarded. Then the toned muscles of his arms. Her eyes drink him in, greedy. A desire to paint overwhelms her. She says nothing, leaving the glass near enough that he might see it, and retreats into the house.

Perhaps she might see if there is anything else in the penthouse that needs…fixing.

[drogba-prospect]

Mozambique's rubies: A blessing or a curse? | DW Documentary

In Mozambique, agriculture is the mainstay of the economy and the country has a great potential for growth in the sector. Agriculture employs more than 80 percent of the labour force and provides livelihoods to the vast majority of over 23 million inhabitants. Agriculture contributed 31.5 percent of the GDP in 2009, while commerce and services accounted for 44.9 percent. By contrast, 20 percent of the total export value in 2009 originated from the agriculture sector, mostly through the export of fish (mainly shrimps and prawns), timber, copra, cashew nuts and citrus, cotton, coconuts, tea and tobacco.[14]

There are large mineral deposits, but exploration has been constrained by the civil war (1977–1992) and poor infrastructure. The World Bank has estimated that there was the potential for exports worth US$200m by 2005 – in the late 1990s they totaled US$3.6m, some 1% of total exports, and a contribution of less than 2% of GDP. Minerals currently being mined include marble, bentonite, coal, gold, bauxite, granite, titanium and gemstones. Illegal exports from artisanal production are estimated at US$50 million.[original research?]

Mozambique exported its first batch of coal in 2011 and expects to become the world's largest coal exporter. It is also spending about US$50 billion in infrastructure projects to access its coal reserves. Mozambique is reported to have the fourth largest reserves of natural gas in the world, after Russia, Iran, and Qatar.[20]

The Our Lady of the Rosary Cathedral[1] (Portuguese: Catedral Metropolitana de Nossa Senhora do Rosário) also called Metropolitan Cathedral of Our Lady of the Rosary, is located in Beira,[2][3] a town in the African country of Mozambique[4] and is the cathedral of the Archdiocese of Beira.

Beira is where the Pungwe River meets the Indian Ocean. It is the fourth-largest city by population in Mozambique, after Maputo, Matola and Nampula. Beira had a population of 397,368 in 1997, which grew to 530,604 in 2019. A coastal city, it holds the regionally significant Port of Beira, which acts as a gateway for both the central interior portion of the country as well as the land-locked nations of Zimbabwe, Zambia and Malawi.

A marina (from Spanish [maˈɾina], Portuguese [mɐˈɾinɐ] and Italian [maˈriːna]: "related to the sea") is a dock or basin with moorings and supplies for yachts and small boats. A marina differs from a port in that a marina does not handle large passenger ships or cargo from freighters.

A fishmonger (historically fishwife for female practitioners) is someone who sells raw fish and seafood. Fishmongers can be wholesalers or retailers and are trained at selecting and purchasing, handling, gutting, boning, filleting, displaying, merchandising and selling their product. In some countries modern supermarkets are replacing fishmongers who operate in shops or fish markets.

Beaux-Arts Architecture: Banco da Beira; Casa Infante de Sagres, Beira; Edifício do Almoxarifado, Beira; Escola de Artes e Ofícios, Beira; Palácio dos Desportos, Beira; Standard Bank Building, Beira; Tribunal da Beira

S & M GOALS TEAMPLATE

Stretch Goals: Central African Republic Ranks Top 8 in FIFA World Rankings for Men's and Top 5 for Futsal

Micro Goals: All Time Laureus World Sports Awards Winner for Africans, Laureus Team Award, All Time African Footballer of the Year, AFCON Host Nation Champion*, African Transfer Record*,  Insead and WSJ Conferences*, Jeune Afrique Cover*, Verified LinkedIn Member*, and Agriculture Startup Reality TV

CAPÔI HABITANT CURRENCY MODEL

Pigou Effect, Corporate Tax Havens, Capital Gains Tax Havens, Private-Public Sectors, Joint Venture Plantations, Market Extension Mergers, with Business Incubators, and Enterprise Foundation, Holding Company, Subsidiaries, and Horizontal Integration for Monopoly.

A currency union (also known as monetary union) is an intergovernmental agreement that involves two or more states sharing the same currency. These states may not necessarily have any further integration (such as an economic and monetary union, which would have, in addition, a customs union and a single market). [Pigou Effect Currency (Short FX), Currency Board Currency (Retirement Fixed Exchange Rate), Market Currency (FX Long Currency)]

Gross national product (GNP) GNP is related to another important economic measure called gross domestic product (GDP), which takes into account all output produced within a country's borders regardless of who owns the means of production. GNP starts with GDP, adds residents' investment income from overseas investments, and subtracts foreign residents' investment income earned within a country. Whilst GDP measures the total value of goods and services produced within a country's borders, GNP focuses on the income generated by its residents, regardless of their location.

Gross National Income (GNI) is the total amount of money earned by a nation's people and businesses. It is used to measure and track a nation's wealth from year to year. The number includes the nation's gross domestic product (GDP) plus the income it receives from overseas sources.

Agriculture Central Hedge Fund, Mining Unions: Peninsula Agronomique Engineering, Commodities Options Exchange (Credit Spread Options, Farm REITs, Crop Production; Fertelizers and Seeds; Equipment; Distribution and Processing Stocks, Ag ETFs and ETNs, Ag Mutual Funds), Tableau Économiques, Investments Farms REITs, Art Financing Mardi Gras

Index Franc: Tobacco-Tobacco Soil Index/Franc Tabac Currency Pair (TBS/TAF)

The overlapping generations (OLG) model; consumption-based capital asset pricing model (CCAPM); Endogenous growth theory; Material balance planning; Leontief paradox; Malinvestment; Helicopter money; Modern monetary theory

Mercantilism Spectrum of CDF/CFA

CDF Raw Materials and CFA Products. (Prices); CDF Holding Company and CFA Conglomerate Company. (Equity and Dividend Yield); CDF is Gold Standard and CFA is Helicopter Money. (FX Rate/Hedging); CDF Helicopter Money [Supplier Currency] and CFA as Purchasing Power [Consumer Currency] (Currency Union & Currency Board and Negative Interest Rates); CDF is Congolese Franc and CFA is Central African Franc

CHAMA ROXA

Purple Flame represents Spiritual Development for Martyrology in Mozambique

It is also a Slang Term for “What Religion do you practice?”

Team Name for Mozambique National Team

DOS SANTOS FREE-ROLE

Supporting Striker (Inverted Winger)

Central Winger (False 10)

Overlapping Run/Defensive Winger (Half-winger)

An inverted winger is a modern tactical development of the traditional winger position. Most wingers are assigned to either side of the field based on their footedness, with right-footed players on the right and left-footed players on the left.[65] This assumes that assigning a player to their natural side ensures a more powerful cross as well as greater ball protection along the touch-lines. However, when the position is inverted and a winger instead plays inside-out on the opposite flank (i.e., a right-footed player as a left inverted winger), they effectively become supporting strikers and primarily assume a role in the attack.[66]

The "false 10" or "central winger"[55] is a type of midfielder, which differs from the trequartista. Much like the "false 9", their specificity lies in the fact that, although they seemingly play as an attacking midfielder on paper, unlike a traditional playmaker who stays behind the striker in the centre of the pitch, the false 10's goal is to move out of position and drift wide when in possession of the ball to help both the wingers and fullbacks to overload the flanks. This means two problems for the opposing midfielders: either they let the false 10 drift wide, and their presence, along with both the winger and the fullback, creates a three-on-two player advantage out wide; or they follow the false 10, but leave space in the centre of the pitch for wingers or onrushing midfielders to exploit. False 10s are usually traditional wingers who are told to play in the centre of the pitch, and their natural way of playing makes them drift wide and look to provide deliveries into the box for teammates. 

In Italian football, the term mezzala (literally "half-winger" in Italian) is used to describe the position of the one or two central midfielders who play on either side of a holding midfielder and/or playmaker. The term was initially applied to the role of an inside forward in the WM and Metodo formations in Italian, but later described a specific type of central midfielder. The mezzala is often a quick and hard-working attack-minded midfielder, with good skills and noted offensive capabilities, as well as a tendency to make overlapping attacking runs, but also a player who participates in the defensive aspect of the game, and who can give width to a team by drifting out wide; as such, the term can be applied to several different roles.

On occasion, the false-10 can also function in a different manner alongside a false-9, usually in a 4–6–0 formation. Midfield collective of False 9, False 10, Box to Box, Holding, Half Winger, Attacking, Defensive.

Thiago Motta’s ‘Super Offensive’ 2-7-2 Formation Explained: Instead of the traditional way of looking at a tactical set-up horizontally, the Brazil-born manager instead split the field into three vertical lanes. This means he effectively has seven players in the central channel with two players out wide on each flank. 

We are not stretching the defensive line itsself, but the space between the defensive line and the goalkeeper

Adjust Free Role System to The Scoreboard 

The Central African Games was an international multi-sport event for countries within Central Africa. (Boxing, Athletics, Tennis, Football, Rallycross, Olympic Weightlifting, Volleyball, Trap Shooting, Basketball)

The Central African Football Federations' Union, officially abbreviated as UNIFFAC[a], is a sports governing body representing the football associations of Central Africa. 

Teenage Prospect World Cup Medium of Exchange Jersey/FIFA Potential Rating System 65-80 Minutes Time Played Instrument; Match Rating System

W; I; M; V; Box Keeping Formation with 3 Centre-Backs

Spacing, Possession, Pass Completion, and Counter Pressing with Pursuit and Ambush Predation One Team Box Touches and Capture the Flag with Analytics-Geometry Total Football Trixie Bet on CNS Drugs (Xanax and Modafinil); 1-1-2-1 Diamond Rover Futsal Pivot Formation

Define a run in one of two ways: (i) as a set of consecutive goals scored by one team, without the other team scoring a goal; (ii) as a set of consecutive scoring events by one team, each event being either a goal or one or more Set Piece. Play aggressive and with counter pressing and run it up on the score board in the first half and after halftime play defense. You get a break at half and it's easier to win when someone plays defense and looks for opportunities instead of Attacking.

Posterior Chain Super Compensation and Speed-Endurance (Elastic-Connective Tissue) Force-Velocity Curve; Crescent Moon Horizontal Plane Vertical Force Sprinting Mechanics.

WM or Diamond Rover Futsal Pivot Formation

Positional Game is Diamonds Tic-Tac-Toe with Enforcer and Avoider. Striker [Enforcer] (Inverted Winger and Centre Forward), Deep Lying Playmaker [Avoider] (Holding Midfielder and Inverted Winger), and Sweeper Wingback Deep Lying Playmaker [Avoider] (Centre Back). Use Playing Styles, Manipulated Positions, and Combinational Games for Positional Play as Johan Cruyff students.

Set Piece Stylistic Biomechanics: Shooting Knee at Wall for Curve and Placement Knee for Corner. Follow through with Shot with proper Body Alignment 

Knee to Feet or Shoulder to Feet Cradling for Touch/Entertainment 

UEFA Front Office Curriculum 

DOS SANTOS Placement Mechanics: Ankle-Heel Linedrive and Arch-Knuckle Raised Curve; Placement Foot and Reverse Rotation with Shoulder for power and Accuracy; Arch of Feet at Target for Follow Through Accuracy

Agility Ladder Eyes Pocket: Eyes Between Defenders Feet and Ball, Numbered Footwork V-Step (Shifting Defenders with Momentum) et L-Step (Explosive First Step), All moves should form a Triangle or an Incomplete Triangle

Sprint Size Up: A series of feint Karaoké dribble moves with Eye Tricks (Fake Pass) but Sprint Position Finish

Triangle Philosophy: All Dribbling Moves should form a Triangle or an Incomplete Triangle while using V-Step (Shifting Defenders with Momentum) et L-Step (Explosive First Step).

Thé Crescent: In Close Dribbling; Crescent Footwork with L Shapes 

On the Run Dribbling Moves: Letters and Shapes; Still Play 1 on 1: Numbered Footwork

À ma sauce Courts: Drills Side/Box Play with 1 Net; Design Vaporwave Action Painting Angels; Knee for Direction and Sole Drags for Dribbling Touch and Crescent Moon Sprint Mechanics 

Gambling Games: 5 Roll (Captain, Ship, Crew); Live-Pool Betting Monopoly 

Stylistic Biomechanics: Dribbling Foot To Ball Contact (Balls of Feet and Arch of Feet); Knee for Direction; Foot Drags; & Hip Angle, Crescent Moon Running Mechanics, and Laces Kick.

Futsal Courts: Drills Side/Box Play with 1 Net; Design Vaporwave Action Painting Angels; Knee for Direction and Sole Drags for Dribbling Touch and Crescent Moon Sprint Mechanics 

Diamond Football (15 mins)

Set Up

-Lay out two overlapping sets of 4 flat markers in the positions shown above.

-Ask the players to stand on a flat marker for their teams colour (Red on Red, Yellow on Yellow).

Instruction

-Whenever the ball goes out for a kick in or for the defenders ball, the players must stand on their markers before play begins.

-As soon as the ball has been played in, players are free to move.

-Reset everytime the ball goes out.

Coaching Points, Progressions Ect.

-Ask players to shout out what each position on the park is to devlop understanding of their roles.

-If you decide to go to a normal game , leave the markers out for a visual aid for the players.

-If more than 8 players, Add in Goalkeepers who would then play the ball out to the DF,LM,RM.

-Rotate Positions, Ask Players to stand on a marker they haven't been on before

RUSSE NOIR ACCENT

Lingua Franca of Renaissance Latin (Vocabulary) and Atlantic–Congo Fon (Grammar).

Volta–Congo is a major branch of the Atlantic–Congo family. Fon (fɔ̀ngbè, pronounced [fɔ̃̀ɡ͡bē][2]) also known as Dahomean is the language of the Fon people. It belongs to the Gbe group within the larger Atlantic–Congo family.

In linguistic typology, subject–verb–object (SVO) is a sentence structure where the subject comes first, the verb second, and the object third.

Haitian Creole (/ˈheɪʃən ˈkriːoʊl/; Haitian Creole: kreyòl ayisyen, [kɣejɔl ajisjɛ̃];[6][7] French: créole haïtien, [kʁe.ɔl a.i.sjɛ̃]), or simply Creole (Haitian Creole: kreyòl), is a French-based creole language spoken by 10 to 12 million people worldwide, and is one of the two official languages of Haiti (the other being French), where it is the native language of the vast majority of the population. The language emerged from contact between French settlers and enslaved Africans during the Atlantic slave trade in the French colony of Saint-Domingue (now Haiti) in the 17th and 18th centuries. Although its vocabulary largely derives from 18th-century French, its grammar is that of a West African Volta-Congo language branch, particularly the Fongbe and Igbo languages.

Prose Accent Congo and Modern Accent Congo.

Full Lips Endings with Vertical Narrow Mouth and Soft Rs.

A noun phrase – or NP or nominal (phrase) – is a phrase that usually has a noun or pronoun as its head, and has the same grammatical functions as a noun.

BELMÔNT'S SIN INDEX FUND PORTFOLIO 

Sin stock sectors usually include alcohol, tobacco, gambling, sex-related industries (Cabaret and Burlesque), and weapons manufacturers.

Diageo 

Phillip Morris

Sports Betting Investment Trust

Pharmaceuticals

Business Clusters with Scrum Management and Accelerators to produce Festivals.

Example: Create a Index Fund Portfolio of 15-20 Stocks and using Supply Side Economics to create Decentralized Gambling Economy.

BELMÔNT'S DECENTRALIZED GAMBLING ECONOMY

Corporate-Capital Gains Tax Haven

High Stakes Minimum Buy In

Card Gambling (Signal and President): Top 2 highest bids fight for the Coup d'état and the other two are lesser men, the lesser men are subordinates that aid in playing cards for the warlord, the winning team splits the money, the warlords switches based on the 13 cards dealt and bets placed, the first team to shed all of their cards win.

Domestic Gambling: Boxing

Retirement Gambling: Boat Racing

Residency Program for Tax Benefits

BELMÔNT'S TURF ACCOUNTING MODEL

+EV

Python Programming Gaussian Distribution

Exotic Options Trading Live Betting

Parlays Minimum for Round Robins

Daily Fantasy Sports Rakes

RUSSE NOIR PALACE

Definitions of ballroom. noun. large room used mainly for dancing. synonyms: dance hall, dance palace**. types: disco, discotheque.

Go Go Music Influenced, Eurphoric Trance Chord Progression Melody, Progressive House and Drum n' Bass Percussion-808 Call and Response Staccato Polyrhythm or Layered Kick and Punch 808.

In his 1972 study of French lute music, scholar Wallace Rave compiled a list of features he believed to be characteristic of style brisé. Rave's list included the following: the avoidance of textural pattern and regularity in part writing; arpeggiated chord textures with irregular distribution of individual notes of the chord; ambiguous melodic lines; rhythmic displacement of notes within a melodic line; octave changes within melodic line; irregular phrase lengths.

Have the Snare and Kick say, "Hi, How are you?" And the 808 say, "I am good thanks for asking.”

Use progressive House to push the Drums Conversation to either Fast and Punchy for Happy or Slow and Deep for Sad.

In technical terms, "go-go's essential beat is characterized by a five through four syncopated rhythm that is underscored prominently by the bass drum and snare drum, and the hi-hat... [and] is ornamented by the other percussion instruments, especially by the conga drums, rototoms, and hand-held cowbells."[5]

Polyrhythm: In music, a cross-beat or cross-rhythm is a specific form of polyrhythm. The term cross rhythm was introduced in 1934 by the musicologist Arthur Morris Jones (1889–1980). It refers to a situation where the rhythmic conflict found in polyrhythms is the basis of an entire musical piece.[1]

Four-on-the-floor (or four-to-the-floor) is a rhythm used primarily in dance genres such as disco and electronic dance music. It is a steady, uniformly accented beat in 4. 4 time in which the bass drum is hit on every beat (1, 2, 3, 4).[1] This was popularized in the disco music of the 1970s[2] and the term four-on-the-floor was widely used in that era, since the beat was played with the pedal-operated, drum-kit bass drum.[3][4] (Punch 808-Kick)

Polyrhythm 4 on the Floor examples 2:4 or 5:4

Hard trance is often characterized by strong, hard (or even downpitch) kicks, fully resonant basses and an increased amount of reverberation applied to the main beat. Melodies vary from 140 to 180 BPMs and it can feature plain instrumental sound in early compositions, with the latter ones tending to implement side-chaining techniques of progressive on digital synthesizers.

Singles Only Email Raves Blogger then Multi Market Distribution Deal: A distribution deal is a contract to release the music to platforms, but not own the publishing or exclusively lock the artist in. Record Artist Producer Label: Have Polyrhythm Artist earn Streaming Percentage under a Recording Artist Deal. Label has Distribution Above Me and I have Manufacturing over Polyrhythm Artist. Have a end of the Year Album for New Year's Raves!

BELMÔNT'S SYSTEM: CAPÔI RETAINER AGREEMENT WITH ASSET PROTECTION TRUST

Capo: Describes a ranking made member of a family who leads a crew of soldiers. A capo is similar to a military captain who commands soldiers. Soldier: Also known as a “made man,” soldiers are the lowest members of the crime family but still command respect in the organization.

A capo is a "made member" of an Italian crime family who heads a regime or "crew" of soldiers and has major status and influence in the organization.

Consigliere: Defense and Corporate Lawyers

Head Boss: Ministry of Medicine

Underboss: Pharmaceutical Industry

Capo: CAPÔI RETAINER AGREEMENT

Soliders: Artisans

Commercialism is the application of both manufacturing and consumption towards personal usage, or the practices, methods, aims, and distribution of products in a free market geared toward generating a profit.

Commercial art is art created for advertising or marketing purposes. Commercial artists are hired by clients to create images and logos that sell products. Unlike works of fine art that convey an artist's personal expression, commercial art must address the client's goals.

The word 'Commercial' is defined as follows: Concerned with or engaged in commerce. Commerce is the exchange of goods or services among two or more parties.

Craftsmen are committed to the medium, not to self-expression. Artists are committed to their self-expression, not the medium.

A medium of exchange is an intermediary instrument and system used to facilitate the purchase and sale of goods and services between parties.

Stretch and Micro Goals

Music Medium System: Distribution and Retailers Contract Theory (System) for Music (Instrument)

Football Medium System: Analytics and Geometry for Free Role (System) Trixies (Instrument)

Age 16-19

Bond Funds

Farmland REITS

CFDS

Real Estate Brokerage Trust Account

Age 20-30

Farmland Recession Proof Stocks (Cosmetics, AgTech, Ag ETFS, AgETN)

Incubator and Startup Accelerators

Real Estate Joint Ventures

Age 30-40

Farmland Blue Chip Indexes w/ Credit Spread Options

CURRENCY, OIL, & GOLD COMMODITIES CANDLESTICK CHARTS

Swing Trading: Use mt4/mt5 With Heiken Ashi Charts, Setting at 14 or 21 Momentum Indicator above 0 as Divergence Oscillator and Volume Spread Analysis as Reversal Oscillator and Trade when bullish candlesticks above 200 exponential moving average and/or 20 exponential moving average (EMA) on H1 (Hourly) Time Frame; use H4 (4 Hours) and D1 (1 Day) as reference.

TUNNEL STRATEGY (OFFSHORE BANKING)

Purpose: Permanent Residency Card

$250k Deposit

$125k: 60/40 portfolio, 60% Fixed Income & REITs and 40% Blue Chip Stocks

$50k: Guaranteed Investment Certificates (GICs) and term deposits are secured investments. This means that you get back the amount you invest at the end of your term. The key difference between a GIC and a term deposit is the length of the term. Term deposits generally have shorter terms than GICs.

$75k: Spending Cash

SIN STOCKS PORTFOLIO

Sin stock sectors usually include alcohol, tobacco, gambling, sex-related industries, and weapons manufacturers.

Sports Betting Investment Trust

Pharmaceuticals

Example: Create a Index Fund Portfolio of 15-20 Stocks and using Supply Side Economics to create Decentralized Gambling Economy.

FESTIVALS DEAL

Singles Only Email Raves Blogger then Multi Market Distribution Deal: A distribution deal is a contract to release the music to platforms, but not own the publishing or exclusively lock the artist in. Record Artist Producer Label: Have Polyrhythm Artist earn Streaming Percentage under a Recording Artist Deal. Label has Distribution Above Me and I have Manufacturing over Polyrhythm Artist. Have a end of the Year Album for New Year's Raves!

NEUROPLASTICITY DRUG-CRIME NEXUS BASED ON TRAFFICKING

CPP, CNS Depressants, et FENTALOGS: Cul-de-sac

Defensive Penalty Capture The Flag Raiding Warfare

Grey-Decentralized Markets

Bastilles: Cul-de-sac Artist Résidences Penthouse Complexes

Polyrhythm Raves

Acid House Art Gallery

International Film Festival

Hôtel Chefs

Seigneurial System/Tableau Economique Raw Material Économics Production Spot

Surautomatism

Discount Networking Acid House Party

Opium Dens and Fragrance Festivals

Pill Pressers

CNS depressants

Upper-tier County System

Defense Lawyers are Traplords (Trafficking P4P and Malicious Prosecution)

Cash Conversion Cycle (CCC)

Brain Receptor Dealing

Neuroplasticity Drug-Crime Nexus

Religious Ecstasy

Entheogens are psychedelic drugs—and sometimes certain other psychoactive substances—used for engendering spiritual development or otherwise in sacred contexts

Live-Pool Betting Monopoly Board Game

Summary Sentencing

Urban Level: Street Culture Art Gallery (Street culture may refer to: Urban culture, the culture of towns and cities, Street market, Children's street culture, Street carnival, Block party, Street identity, Street food, Café culture, Several youth subculture or counterculture topics pertaining to outdoors of urban centers. These can include: Street art, Street photography, Street racing, Street wear, Hip-hop culture, Urban fiction, Street sports, Streetball, Flatland BMX, Freestyling), Art Pedagogy, Artist Residency, Art Schools, and Art Plugs

Art Pedagogy: Arts-based pedagogy is a teaching methodology in which an art form is integrated with another subject matter to impact student learning. 28-30. Arts-based pedagogy results in arts-based learning (ABL),11 which is when a student learns about a subject through arts processes including creating, responding or performing. Aesthetic Teaching: Seeking a Balance between Teaching Arts and Teaching through the Arts. In aesthetic education, learning must be developed especially with the inclusion of sensations and with the help of feelings. Sensations and feelings should lead to movement, representation, and expression. Aesthetic learning often entails learning to distinguish certain qualities or objects aesthetically in different ways depending on the situation and the purpose. Certain things can be experienced in negative ways in one activity and in positive ways in another.

A designer drug is a structural or functional analog of a controlled substance that has been designed to mimic the pharmacological effects of the original drug, while avoiding classification as illegal and/or detection in standard drug tests

Patchwork tattoos are a collection of tattoos collaged together to create an overall design. Each individual 'patch' of the tattoo can be a different design, symbol or element with a little space in between. Patchwork tattoos are a collection of tattoos collaged together to create an overall design. In short, the gun-toting angel was a multifaceted metaphor. “It undoubtedly also reflected the Catholic Counter-Reformation militaristic rhetoric,” wrote Donahue-Wallace, “which promoted the church as an army and heavenly beings as its soldiers.”

DECADENCE AESTHETICS THEORIES

Slogan

J'Cartier, Je cours après les vœux de champagne,

Subjective

Based on or influenced by personal feelings, tastes, or opinions

Gastronomy

Precarious Balance

Precariously: If something is happening or positioned precariously, it's in danger. A glass could be precariously balanced on the edge of a table. If something is on the verge of danger, then the word precariously fits.

Grey & Decentralized Markets

Tableau Économique

Semblance

Semblance is generally used to suggest a contrast between outward appearance and inner reality.

High Socioeconomic Status & Tattoos

Phantasmagorical

Having a fantastic or deceptive appearance

adjective. having a fantastic or deceptive appearance, as something in a dream or created by the imagination. having the appearance of an optical illusion, especially one produced by a magic lantern.

Socioeconomic Status Development Immigration Multilingual Sensory Play

Law of Polarity in Relationships

In any successful relationship that has an intimate connection and sexual attraction, there is polarity. What does this mean exactly? Polarity in relationships is the spark that occurs between two opposing energies: masculine and feminine. Gender does not affect whether you have masculine or feminine energy.

Second Reflection

Burden Aesthetics with Intentions

The Second Reflection lays hold of the Technical Procedures

Tattoos

SOCIO-PSYCHOLOGY

Keystone Theory Habits

Game Theory

Behavioral Finance

Self-actualization is the complete realization of one's potential, and the full development of one's abilities and appreciation for life. This concept is at the top of the Maslow hierarchy of needs, so not every human being reaches it.

Potential Psychology: Psychological potential is a very broad concept. It may include one's capacity to conform, change, re-invent oneself, bounce back from adversity, etc.

SOCIO-FORMAL SCIENCE

+EV Optimal Game Theory Poker

Civil, Agriculure, Solvent Levelling Effect Chemical Reaction, and Biomechanical Engineering

SOCIO-PHILOSOPHY

Ontology

IMPERIALISM, THE HIGHEST STAGE OF CAPITALISM

Imperialism, the Highest Stage of Capitalism,[1] originally published as Imperialism, the Newest Stage of Capitalism,[2][3] is a book written by Vladimir Lenin in 1916 and published in 1917. It describes the formation of oligopoly, by the interlacing of bank and industrial capital, in order to create a financial oligarchy, and explains the function of financial capital in generating profits from the exploitation colonialism inherent to imperialism, as the final stage of capitalism. The essay synthesises Lenin's developments of Karl Marx's theories of political economy in Das Kapital (1867).[4]

Tax Mergers Law; Market-extension merger: Two companies that sell the same products in different markets. 4.2.2 Corporate Taxation At the corporate level, the tax treatment of a merger or acquisition depends on whether the acquiring firm elects to treat the acquired firm as being absorbed into the parent with its tax attributes intact, or first being liquidated and then received in the form of its component assets.

SOCIOCULTURAL THEORY OF DEVELOPMENT

Seconds Liberal Arts are often viewed as pre-professional since, while conceived of as fundamental to citizenship, they address the whole person in recognition that our moral and spiritual identities develop best through participation in a society that perpetually renews the rights and responsibilities of membership.

Executive management master's degree programs often result in an Executive Master of Business Administration, or EMBA. They are primarily designed to act as accelerated graduate programs for working professionals who already hold management or executive positions.

Engineering college means a school, college, university, department of a university or other educational institution, reputable and in good standing in accordance with rules prescribed by the Department, and which grants baccalaureate degrees in engineering.

Monopoly Family Boarding Schools: The socio-historical context refers to the societal and historical conditions and circumstances that influence events or individuals. It involves elements like the cultural, economic, and political circumstances during a certain time period.

Agriculturism is an ideology promoting rural life, a traditional way of life. It is characterized by the valorization of traditional values (the family, the French language, the Catholic religion) and an opposition to the industrial world.

CAPÔI CLASS STRUCTURE

Demonym Examples: CAR Congolese, Gabon Congolese, Afrikaans Congolese, and Congolese

Monopoly Family (Apartheid)

Chief Executive of State (Apartheid)

Political Class (RUSSE NOIR)

Upper Class (RUSSE NOIR)

Working Class (RUSSE NOIR)

JEAN-CLAUDE TRAORÉ BUSINESS ADVICE

Blue Ocean Strategy; Solvent Levelling Effect Chemical Reaction Engineering and Economic Science.

TENNIS AGRICULTURE

A clay-court specialist is a tennis player who excels on clay courts, more than on any other surface.

Due in part to advances in racquet technology, current clay-court specialists are known for employing long, winding groundstrokes that generate heavy topspin; such strokes are less effective on faster surfaces on which the balls do not bounce as high. Clay-court specialists tend to slide more effectively on clay than other players. Many of them are also very adept at hitting the drop shot, which can be effective because rallies on clay courts often leave players pushed far beyond the baseline. Additionally, the slow, long rallies require a great degree of mental focus and physical stamina.

CASAPIANOS MARTYROLOGY ORDER (CATHOLIC COUNTER-REFORMATION)

The Casa Pia is a Portuguese institution founded by Maria I, known as A Pia ("Mary the Pious"), and organized by Police Intendant Pina Manique in 1780, following the social disarray of the 1755 Lisbon earthquake. For almost three centuries, thousands of young boys and girls were raised by Casa Pia, including many public personalities, called casapianos. Casa Pia is Portugal's largest educational institution dedicated to helping youngsters in risk of social exclusion or without parental support. The organisation is composed of ten schools and enrolls approximately 4700 students. In addition to standard schooling, the organisation also provides boarding for children in need. It strives to enable these youngsters to become healthy and successful members of society, by developing intellectual, manual, and physical traits, in an environment promoting spiritual, moral, and religious values. The institution is proud to have had amongst its students many outstanding Portuguese personalities, including politicians, journalists, and artists. A martyrology is a catalogue or list of martyrs and other saints and beati arranged in the calendar order of their anniversaries or feasts. Local martyrologies record exclusively the custom of a particular Church. Local lists were enriched by names borrowed from neighbouring churches.[1] Consolidation occurred, by the combination of several local martyrologies, with or without borrowings from literary sources.

The Canons Regular of St. Augustine are priests who live in community under a rule (Latin: regula and κανών, kanon, in Greek) and are generally organised into religious orders, differing from both secular canons and other forms of religious life, such as clerics regular, designated by a partly similar terminology. As religious communities, they have laybrothers as part of the community.

Clerics regular are clerics (mostly priests) who are members of a religious order under a rule of life (regular). Clerics regular differ from canons regular in that they devote themselves more to pastoral care, in place of an obligation to the praying of the Liturgy of the Hours in common, and have fewer observances in their rule of life.

Lay brother is a largely extinct term referring to religious brothers, particularly in the Catholic Church, who focused upon manual service and secular matters, and were distinguished from choir monks or friars in that they did not pray in choir, and from clerics, in that they were not in possession of (or preparing for) holy orders.[1][2][3][4][5]

In female religious institutes, the equivalent role is the lay sister. Lay brothers were originally created to allow those who were skilled in particular crafts or did not have the required education to study for holy orders to participate in and contribute to the life of a religious order.

Lay brothers were found in many religious orders. Drawn from the working classes, they were pious and hardworking people, who though unable to achieve the education needed to receive holy orders, were still drawn to religious life and were able to contribute to the order through their skills. Some were skilled in artistic handicrafts, others functioned as administrators of the orders' material assets. In particular, the lay brothers of the Cistercians were skilled in agriculture, and have been credited for the tilling of fertile farmland.[1]

Lay sisters were found in most of the orders of women, and their origin, like that of the lay brothers, is to be found in the necessity of providing the choir nuns with more time for the Office and study, as well as creating the opportunity for the illiterate to join the religious life. They, too, wore a habit different from those of the choir sisters, and their required daily prayers consisted of prayers such as the Little Office or a certain number of Paters.[1]

All canons regular are to be distinguished from secular canons who belong to a resident group of priests but who do not take public vows and are not governed in whatever elements of life they lead in common by a historical rule. One obvious place where such groups of priests are required is at a cathedral, where there were many Masses to celebrate and the Divine Office to be prayed together in community.

In modern astrology, Mars is the primary native ruler of the first house. Traditionally however, Mars ruled both the third and tenth houses, and had its joy in the fifth house. While Venus tends to the overall relationship atmosphere, Mars is the passionate impulse and action, the masculine aspect, discipline, willpower and stamina.

Mars rules over Tuesday and in Romance languages the word for Tuesday often resembles Mars (in Romanian, marți, in Spanish, martes, in French, mardi and in Italian "martedì"). The English "Tuesday" is a modernised form of "Tyr's Day", Tyr being the Germanic analogue to Mars. Dante Alighieri associated Mars with the liberal art of arithmetic. In Chinese astrology, Mars is ruled by the element fire, which is passionate, energetic and adventurous.

According to John Clements, the term martial arts itself is derived from an older Latin term meaning "arts of Mars", the Roman god of war, and was used to refer to the combat systems of Europe (European martial arts) as early as the 1550s

A religious congregation is a type of religious institute in the Catholic Church. They are legally distinguished from religious orders – the other major type of religious institute – in that members take simple vows, whereas members of religious orders take solemn vows.

In the Catholic Church, a religious order is a community of consecrated life with members that profess solemn vows. They are classed as a type of religious institute.[1]

Catholic School Girls Moon Evangelical Prophets: Consecrated life is "placed in a privileged position in the line of evangelical prophecy," whereby its “charismatic nature” and communal discernment of the Spirit "makes it capable of inventiveness and originality.”

Men Mars Angelology Conversion System: Church Enterprises (Planetary Intelligence Church District Real Estate; Liberal Arts Catholic Immersion Schools; Gold; Athletics; Cooking);

Church Gatherings (School Nights Virgil, Weekend Noon Mass then Weekend Sports League) Francis de Sales and Don St. Bosco Influence 

Harquebusier Angels Patchwork Tattoos: Biblical Crowns, Praying Hands, Gun Toting Angels, Dirty Dancing Angels, Drug Using Angels, Heavenly Choir, Summa Theologica Sherman, Saints and Pastors, Hebrew Tetragram, Council of Trent

HARQUEBUSIER ANGELS GANG BLUEPRINT: PARDISUS MEDIAE; Spirit Unity Oversoul Angelology Shaman, Eros Influence Angels: Ecstasy-Painkillers Trafficking Angel Spirit Type Oversoul, Jupiter-Mars-Venus with Planetary Intelligence; Erotes are Horcruxes, Google Imprint Oversoul, Choice of Choir is Heavenly Host, Lightning-Ice Element, Wings Transfer Invocation, MARS-JUPITER  Syncretism Planetary Intelligence, ESTJ Sensory Myers-Briggs Personality Indicator Syncretism, Church Expenses Occupation (Festivals, Venues, Freeports, Art Gallery, Underground Garages, Tobacco Store, Restaurants, Réal Estate Brokerage, Impure Aesthetic Thrillers Publishing Imprint et Production Company, Body Etching, Lipodissolve, and Hyaluronic Acid Fillers Cosmetics Surgery

ANGOLAN HARQUEBUSIER ANGELS STRUCTURE; Commission on the Social and Cultural Affairs; Commission for Ecumenism; The Commission on Christian Education; Liturgical Commission; Missionary Committee; Chief Executive of State and Military Religion Legislation; Stretch and Micro Goals

Material religion is a framework used by scholars of religion to examine the interaction between religion and material culture. It focuses on the place of objects, images, spaces, and buildings in religious communities. The framework has been promoted by scholars such as Birgit Meyer, Sally Promey, S. Brent Plate, David Morgan, etc.

Physiocracy (French: physiocratie; from the Greek for "government of nature") is an economic theory developed by a group of 18th-century Age of Enlightenment French economists who believed that the wealth of nations derived solely from the value of "land agriculture" or "land development" and that agricultural products should be highly priced.[1] Their theories originated in France and were most popular during the second half of the 18th century. Physiocracy became one of the first well-developed theories of economics.

The Bible typically describes the Heavenly host as being made up of angels, and gives several descriptions of angels in military terms, such as their encampment (Genesis 32:1–2), command structure (Psalms 91:11–12; Matt.13:41; Rev.7:2), and participation in combat (Job 19:12; Rev.12:7). Other passages indicate other entities make up the divine army, namely stars (Judges 5:20, Isaiah 40:26).[1][full citation needed] In Christian theology, the heavenly host participate in the war in Heaven.

The doctrine or theory of immanence holds that the divine encompasses or is manifested in the material world. It is held by some philosophical and metaphysical theories of divine presence. Immanence is usually applied in monotheistic, pantheistic, pandeistic, or panentheistic faiths to suggest that the spiritual world permeates the mundane.

The Dionysian Mysteries were a ritual of ancient Greece and Rome which sometimes used intoxicants and other trance-inducing techniques (like dance and music) to remove inhibitions and social constraints, liberating the individual to return to a natural state. 

Religious nationalism can be understood in a number of ways, such as nationalism as a religion itself, a position articulated by Carlton Hayes in his text Nationalism: A Religion, or as the relationship of nationalism to a particular religious belief, dogma, ideology, or affiliation. This relationship can be broken down into two aspects: the politicisation of religion and the influence of religion on politics.

Dioceses ruled by an archbishop are commonly referred to as archdioceses; most are metropolitan sees, being placed at the head of an ecclesiastical province. In the Catholic Church, some are suffragans of a metropolitan see or are directly subject to the Holy See.

The body of light, sometimes called the 'astral body'[a] or the 'subtle body,'[b] is a "quasi material"[1] aspect of the human body, being neither solely physical nor solely spiritual, posited by a number of philosophers, and elaborated on according to various esoteric, occult, and mystical teachings. Other terms used for this body include body of glory,[2] spirit-body, luciform body, augoeides ('radiant body'), astroeides ('starry or sidereal body'), and celestial body.[3] The concept derives from the philosophy of Plato: the word 'astral' means 'of the stars'; thus the astral plane consists of the Seven Heavens of the classical planets. The idea is rooted in common worldwide religious accounts of the afterlife[4] in which the soul's journey or "ascent" is described in such terms as "an ecstatic, mystical or out-of body experience, wherein the spiritual traveller leaves the physical body and travels in their body of light into 'higher' realms."[5]

The canon law of the Catholic Church (from Latin ius canonicum[1]) is "how the Church organizes and governs herself".[2] It is the system of laws and ecclesiastical legal principles made and enforced by the hierarchical authorities of the Catholic Church to regulate its external organization and government and to order and direct the activities of Catholics toward the mission of the Church.

An institute of consecrated life is an association of faithful in the Catholic Church canonically erected by competent church authorities to enable men or women who publicly profess the evangelical counsels by religious vows or other sacred bonds "through the charity to which these counsels lead to be joined to the Church and its mystery in a special way".[1] They are defined in the 1983 Code of Canon Law under canons 573–730. The Congregation for Institutes of Consecrated Life and Societies of Apostolic Life has ecclesial oversight of institutes of consecrated life.[2]

In Christianity, the three evangelical counsels, or counsels of perfection, are chastity (NEVER), poverty (or perfect charity), and obedience (RECKLESS ABANDONMENT).[1] As stated by Jesus in the canonical gospels,[2] they are counsels for those who desire to become "perfect" (τελειος, teleios).[3][4] The Catholic Church interprets this to mean that they are not binding upon all, and hence not necessary conditions to attain eternal life (heaven), but that they are "acts of supererogation", "over and above" the minimum stipulated in the biblical commandments.[5][6]

Catholics who have made a public profession to order their lives by the evangelical counsels, and confirmed this by public vows before their competent church authority (the act of religious commitment known as a profession), are recognised as members of the consecrated life.

The Council of Trent (Latin: Concilium Tridentinum), held between 1545 and 1563 in Trent (or Trento), now in northern Italy, was the 19th ecumenical council of the Catholic Church. Prompted by the Protestant Reformation at the time, it has been described as the embodiment of the Counter-Reformation. The Council issued key statements and clarifications of the Church's doctrine and teachings, including scripture, the biblical canon, sacred tradition, original sin, justification, salvation, the sacraments, the Mass, and the veneration of saints[4] and also issued condemnations of what it defined to be heresies committed by proponents of Protestantism. The consequences of the Council were also significant with regard to the Church's liturgy and censorship.

Initiated in part to address the challenges of the Protestant Reformations,[3] the Counter-Reformation was a comprehensive effort arising from the decrees of the Council of Trent. The effort produced apologetic and polemical documents, heresy trials, anti-corruption efforts, spiritual movements, the promotion of new religious orders, and the flourishing of new art and musical styles. 

Tradwave is a Catholic artistic style using synthwave and vaporwave art to promote traditional catholicism. Tradwave usually uses traditional catholic paintings, sculptures, or photographs of saints, given with vaporwave effects, often with a bible verse or quote about catholicism. The art usually tries to convey a resurrection of catholic spirituality in the modern atheist world. Figures often depicted in Tradwave art include Jesus Christ, the Virgin Mary, Ven. Fulton Sheen, Cardinal Robert Sarah, and Mother Angelica.

Tradwave music often takes the form of two main styles. One of them is catholic hymns with vaporwave effects and traditional Vaporwave/Lo-Fi music. It can also have quotes from modern prolific Catholic figures, such as Ven. The other theme is Fulton Sheen and Cardinal Robert Sarah.

Heavenly Virtues: Another phrase to describe this obedience to the voice is “reckless abandon.” It simply means that we let God do what God wants to do through us. It means if He tells us to do something or say something—we do it.

Intercession or intercessory prayer is the act of praying to a deity on behalf of others, or asking a saint in heaven to pray on behalf of oneself or for others. Intercession of the Saints is a Christian doctrine that maintains that saints can intercede for others. To intercede is to go or come between two parties, to plead before one of them on behalf of the other. In ecclesiastical usage both words are taken in the sense of the intervention primarily of Christ, and secondarily of the Blessed Virgin and the angels and saints, on behalf of men.[2] The doctrine is held by the Catholic, Eastern Orthodox Churches, the Assyrian Church of the East, the Oriental Orthodox churches , and some Lutherans and Anglicans (chiefly those of Evangelical Catholic or Anglo-Catholic churchmanship, respectively).[3] The practice of asking saints for their intercession can be found in Christian writings from the 3rd century onwards.[4][5][6] Catholic doctrine supports intercessory prayer to saints. This practice is an application of the doctrine of the Communion of saints. Some of the early basis for this was the belief that martyrs passed immediately into the presence of God and could obtain graces and blessings for others, which naturally and immediately led to their direct invocation. A further reinforcement was derived from the cult of the angels which, while pre-Christian in its origin, was heartily embraced by the faithful of the sub-Apostolic age. The doctrine of intercession and invocation was set forth by the Council of Trent, which teaches that "... the saints who reign together with Christ offer up their own prayers to God for men. It is good and useful suppliantly to invoke them, and to have recourse to their prayers, aid, and help for obtaining benefits from God, through His Son Jesus Christ our Lord, Who alone is our Redeemer and Saviour".[10] Intercessory prayer to saintly persons who have not yet been beatified can also practiced by individuals, and evidence of miracles produced as a result of such prayer is very commonly produced during the formal process of beatification and canonization.

In short, the gun-toting angel was a multifaceted metaphor. “It undoubtedly also reflected the Catholic Counter-Reformation militaristic rhetoric,” wrote Donahue-Wallace, “which promoted the church as an army and heavenly beings as its soldiers.” These "Harquebusier Angels" or "Arcabuceros" are full-length depictions of winged angels, elaborately dressed, and carrying matchlock guns (harquebuses).

The related term astrolatry usually implies polytheism. In anthropological literature these systems of practice may be referred to as astral cults.

A friar is a member of one of the mendicant orders in the Roman Catholic Church. There are also friars outside of the Roman Catholic Church, such as within the Anglican Communion. The term, first used in the 12th or 13th century, distinguishes the mendicants' itinerant apostolic character, exercised broadly under the jurisdiction of a superior general, from the older monastic orders' allegiance to a single monastery formalized by their vow of stability. A friar may be in holy orders or be a non-ordained brother. The most significant orders of friars are the Dominicans, Franciscans, Augustinians, and Carmelites.[1]

Romans 8:31; Exploring Biblical Imagery is one of the most important keys to interpreting and gaining a deeper understanding of the Bible. The Bible often communicates truth to us through images and patterns.

Throughout history, armed priests or soldier priests have been recorded. Distinguished from military chaplains, who are non-combatants that provided spiritual guidance to service personnel and associated civilians, these priests took up arms and fought in conflicts as combatants. The term warrior priests or war priests is usually used for armed priests in Antiquity and the Middle Ages, and of historical tribes.

Slang: In Romans 8:5-8, Paul presents a compelling contrast between living according to the flesh and living according to the Spirit. The flesh, with its disordered desires and rebellion against God, leads only to spiritual desolation. Martyr, one who voluntarily suffers death rather than deny their religion by words or deeds; such action is afforded special, institutionalized recognition in most major religions of the world. The term may also refer to anyone who sacrifices their life or something of great value for the sake of principle. A religious allusion is a brief reference to a person, event, place, or phrase from religious texts or traditions, without describing them in detail. 5 Those who live according to the flesh have their minds set on what the flesh desires; but those who live in accordance with the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit desires. 6 The mind governed by the flesh is death, but the mind governed by the Spirit is life and peace. 7 The mind governed by the flesh is hostile to God; it does not submit to God’s law, nor can it do so. 8 Those who are in the realm of the flesh cannot please God. Martyr/Romans 8 Allusion Slang.

The Roman Martyrology is an official liturgical book of the Catholic Church, with ancient origins, that lists the martyrs, confessors, virgins, and other saints, each on his or her dies natalis, or birthday into eternal life, as well as major feasts of Our Lord and Our Lady.

The Roman Martyrology is also central to the Divine Office or Liturgy of the Hours—a daily set of prayers marking the hours of each day and sanctifying it with worship. During the Office of Readings, specific entries from the martyrology are recited to inform and inspire those in prayer.

Romeu e Julieta (Casapianos Order 1996 Adaptation 18+ Romance Thriller)

While it retains the original Shakespearean dialogue, the film represents the Montagues and the Capulets as warring mafia empires (with legitimate business fronts) and the Capulets were "a Latin family, sort of,"[15] played by Latin-American and Italian actors.[16] It is set in contemporary United States, where swords are replaced by guns[17] (with model names such as "Dagger", "Sword", and "Rapier"), and with a FedEx-style overnight delivery service called "Post Haste".[18] Shakespeare and Impure Aesthetics explores ideas about art implicit in Shakespeare's plays and defines specific Shakespearean aesthetic practices in his use of desire, death and mourning as resources for art. In fiction, a subplot or side story is a secondary strand of the plot that is a supporting side story for any story or for the main plot. Subplots may connect to main plots, in either time and place or thematic significance. Subplots often involve supporting characters, those besides the protagonist or antagonist. Subplots may also intertwine with the main plot at some point in a story.[1]

THE ENCYCLICAL PASSIONARIES ABOUT YHVH CASAPIANOS (MARTYROLOGY BIBLE)

Specifically, the royal psalms deal with the spiritual role of kings in the worship of Yahweh. Aside from that single qualification, there is nothing else which specifically links the ten psalms. Each of the psalms make explicit references to their subject, the king. Royal (messianic) psalms deal with the king as God's anointed or chosen one. Many are prayers for the wisdom of the king, his long life or success in battle. Some are prophetic in nature in that they also point to the ideal future king, the Messiah or the King of kings. A martyrology is a catalogue or list of martyrs and other saints and beati arranged in the calendar order of their anniversaries or feasts. Local martyrologies record exclusively the custom of a particular Church. Local lists were enriched by names borrowed from neighbouring churches.[1] Consolidation occurred, by the combination of several local martyrologies, with or without borrowings from literary sources. Simple martyrologies only enumerate names. Historical martyrologies, also sometimes called passionaries, also include stories or biographical details. (Reckless Abandonment; Mars Shamanism and Casa Pia Wing Transfer Invocation)

The term "revolutionary martyr" usually relates to those dying in revolutionary struggle.[50][51] During the 20th century, the concept was developed in particular in the culture and propaganda of communist or socialist revolutions, although it was and is also used in relation to nationalist revolutions. In the martyrdom narrative of the remembering community, this refusal to comply with the presented demands results in the punishment or execution of an individual by an oppressor. Accordingly, the status of the 'martyr' can be considered a posthumous title as a reward for those who are considered worthy of the concept of martyrdom by the living, regardless of any attempts by the deceased to control how they will be remembered in advance.[1] Insofar, the martyr is a relational figure of a society's boundary work that is produced by collective memory.[2] Originally applied only to those who suffered for their religious beliefs, the term has come to be used in connection with people killed for a political cause. (Armed Friars and The War for Central Africa between Casapianos and The French; The Fall of Yoruba for Bembé; Arcubusier Angels in Africa)

The Metal Ages is a term for the period of human civilization beginning about 6,000 years ago during which metallurgy rapidly advanced, and human populations started using metals such as copper, tin, bronze and finally iron to make tools and weapons. By heating and shaping metals in hot furnaces, humanity also learned to use precious metals such as gold and silver to make intricate ornaments.[1][2] With these technological adaptions, human society became more productive and human settlements became larger and more prosperous, but also more violent.[3] The Metal Ages are divided into three stages: the Copper Age, the Bronze Age, and the Iron Age.[1][2] (Calcium Age of Mozambique)

Religious practices in ancient Greece encompassed a collection of beliefs, rituals, and mythology, in the form of both popular public religion and cult practices. The application of the modern concept of "religion" to ancient cultures has been questioned as anachronistic.[1] The ancient Greeks did not have a word for 'religion' in the modern sense. Likewise, no Greek writer known to us classifies either the gods or the cult practices into separate 'religions'.[2] Instead, for example, Herodotus speaks of the Hellenes as having "common shrines of the gods and sacrifices, and the same kinds of customs."[3] Various religious festivals were held in ancient Greece. Many were specific only to a particular deity or city-state. Altogether the year in Athens included some 140 days that were religious festivals of some sort, though they varied greatly in importance. (Festival Martyrology)

Gnostic cosmogony generally presents a distinction between a supreme, hidden God and a malevolent lesser divinity (sometimes associated with the biblical deity Yahweh)[1] who is responsible for creating the material universe. Consequently, Gnostics considered material existence flawed or evil, and held the principal element of salvation to be direct knowledge of the hidden divinity, attained via mystical or esoteric insight. Many Gnostic texts deal not in concepts of sin and repentance, but with illusion and enlightenment.[2] Gnostic writings flourished among certain Christian groups in the Mediterranean world around the second century, when the Fathers of the early Church denounced them as heresy.[3]

The original sense of apotheosis relates to religion and is the subject of many works of art. Figuratively "apotheosis" may be used in almost any context for "the deification, glorification, or exaltation of a principle, practice, etc.", so normally attached to an abstraction of some sort.[1] In religion, apotheosis was a feature of many religions in the ancient world, and some that are active today. It requires a belief that there is a possibility of newly-created gods, so a polytheistic belief system. The major modern religions of Christianity, Islam, and Judaism do not allow for this, though many recognise minor sacred categories such as saints (created by a process called canonization). A mural crown (Latin: corona muralis) is a crown or headpiece representing city walls, towers, or fortresses. In classical antiquity, it was an emblem of tutelary deities who watched over a city, and among the Romans a military decoration. Later the mural crown developed into a symbol of European heraldry, mostly for cities and towns, and in the 19th and 20th centuries was used in some republican heraldry. (Mural Crown Wing Transfer)

In religious studies, an ethnic religion is a religion or belief associated with notions of heredity and a particular ethnic group. (CHAMA ROXA)

An illusion is a distortion of the senses, which can reveal how the mind normally organizes and interprets sensory stimulation. Although illusions distort the human perception of reality, they are generally shared by most people.[1] (Sensory Process Sensitivity)

Capricornus is one of the 88 modern constellations, and was also one of the 48 constellations listed by the 2nd century astronomer Claudius Ptolemy. Its old astronomical symbol is  (♑︎). Under its modern boundaries it is bordered by Aquila, Sagittarius, Microscopium, Piscis Austrinus, and Aquarius. The constellation is located in an area of sky called the Sea or the Water, consisting of many water-related constellations such as Aquarius, Pisces and Eridanus. It is the smallest constellation in the zodiac. (Men)

Leo Minor is a small and faint constellation in the northern celestial hemisphere. Its name is Latin for "the smaller lion", in contrast to Leo, the larger lion. It lies between the larger and more recognizable Ursa Major to the north and Leo to the south. Leo Minor was not regarded as a separate constellation by classical astronomers; it was designated by Johannes Hevelius in 1687.[2] (Women)

Dancehall is a genre of Jamaican popular music that originated in the late 1970s.[4][5] Initially, dancehall was a more sparse version of reggae than the roots style, which had dominated much of the 1970s.[6][7] In the mid-1980s, digital instrumentation became more prevalent, changing the sound considerably, with digital dancehall (or "ragga") becoming increasingly characterized by faster rhythms. Key elements of dancehall music include its extensive use of Jamaican Patois rather than Jamaican standard English and a focus on the track instrumentals (or "riddims"). Dancehall saw initial mainstream success in Jamaica in the 1980s, and by the 1990s, it became increasingly popular in Jamaican diaspora communities. In the 2000s, dancehall experienced worldwide mainstream success, and by the 2010s, it began to heavily influence the work of established Western artists and producers, which has helped to further bring the genre into the Western music mainstream.[8][9][10] (DOS SANTOS was this first generation of Dancehall Consumers)

5 SENSES CITY MARTYROLOGY BIBLE: LIGA CASAPIANOS (GOVERNMENT)

A congress is a formal meeting of the representatives of different countries, constituent states, organizations, trade unions, political parties, or other groups.[1] The term originated in Late Middle English to denote an encounter (meeting of adversaries) during battle, from the Latin congressus.

A federation (also called a federal state) is an entity characterized by a union of partially self-governing provinces, states, or other regions under a federal government (federalism). In a federation, the self-governing status of the component states, as well as the division of power between them and the central government, is constitutionally entrenched and may not be altered by a unilateral decision, neither by the component states nor the federal political body without constitutional amendment.

The League of Corinth, also referred to as the Hellenic League (Greek: κοινὸν τῶν Ἑλλήνων, koinòn tõn Hellḗnōn;[a] or simply οἱ Ἕλληνες, the Héllēnes),[3] was a federation of Greek states created by Philip II[4] in 338–337 BC. The League was created in order to unify Greek military forces under Macedonian leadership (hegemony) in their combined conquest of the Persian Achaemenid Empire.[5][6][7]

The League was governed by the Hegemon (leader)[21][22][23] (strategos autokrator[24][25] in a military context),[26] the council (Synedrion),[27] and the judges (Dikastai). Delegates of the member-states (Synedroi) were responsible for administering the common affairs of the League. They were summoned and presided over by a committee of presiding officers (Proedroi), chosen by lot in time of peace, and by the Hegemon in time of war.[19] Decrees of the league were issued in Corinth, Athens, Delphi, Olympia and Pydna.[28] The League maintained an army levied from member states in approximate proportion to their size, while Philip established Hellenic garrisons (commanded by phrourarchs, or garrison commanders) in Corinth, Thebes, Pydna[29] and Ambracia.

Heortology or eortology is a science that deals with the origin and development of religious festivals,[1] and more specifically the study of the history and criticism of liturgical calendars and martyrologies*.

Religious Ecstacy Entheogens are psychedelic drugs—and sometimes certain other psychoactive substances—used for engendering spiritual development or otherwise in sacred contexts (Birth as a Festival Capital)

Taste: Lamb and Wool

Touch: Tomato Food Fight

Scent: Overnight Fragrance Festivals

Sight: Fireworks on the Waterfront

Sound: Bassline Genres

ANGELOLOGY GANG BLUEPRINT: CHAMA ROXA (MARS ANGELS MARTYROLOGY BIBLE)

Spirit Unity Oversoul Angelology Shaman

Eros Influence Angels: Ecstasy-Painkillers Trafficking Angel Spirit Type Oversoul, Neptune-Jupiter-Mars-Mercurcy with Planetary Intelligence; Erotes are Horcruxes

Google Imprint Oversoul

Choice of Choir is Principality Heavenly Host

Lightning-Ice Element

Wings Transfer Invocation

ESTJ Sensory Myers-Briggs Personality Indicator Syncretism

Church Expenses Occupation (Festivals, Venues, Freeports, Art Gallery, Underground Garages, Tobacco Store, Restaurants, Réal Estate Brokerage, Impure Aesthetic Thrillers Publishing Imprint et Production Company

Body Etching, Lipodissolve, and Hyaluronic Acid Fillers Cosmetics Surgery

CASA PIA FEDERATION

🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿🇲🇿

[endless-summer-soldier]

you see me - bonus chapter

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

summary: Bucky has grown used to a life of solitude after a mysterious accident leaves him forgettable. every person he comes in contact has no memory of him the moment he walks away. until he meets a cute girl at a record store who actual remembers him.

a/n: I had to write a little something in memory of my guy Jimmy Buffett <3. just a little fluff between two of our favorites during a tough time.

taglist: @sebsgirl71479

word count: 1.2k

series playlist

series masterlist

X

“Good morning love,” Bucky said as Y/N walked into the kitchen. He studied her face and immediately identified the look of distress. “What’s the matter?”

She looked at him with a devastated expression, “Jimmy Buffett died.”

“Oh baby,” he walked toward her, enveloping her in his strong arms, “I’m so sorry.”

“I just…I don’t know how to feel right now.” The death was unexpected. Jimmy Buffett was one of the artists she loved because of her dad. She had fond memories of them listening to Buffett during long car rides and holiday weekend cookouts. And while Bucky knew this about Y/N, he didn’t know how to comfort her best. These memories were deeply personal, it was almost as if she was losing her father all over again.

“Today is your day. We can do whatever you want,” Bucky said.

“I think we need…margaritas.”

“Right now?” he asked, preparing to pour a large mug of coffee for his wife.

She gave him a soft smile, “Coffee first, but then I think we should go somewhere. With margaritas and TouchTunes.” He chuckled to himself, thinking about how much money his wife had already invested into TouchTunes.

“Whatever you want my dear.”

They enjoyed their breakfast together and then prepared to celebrate the late island rock god. Y/N wore a bright Caribbean blue dress and picked out a Hawaiian shirt for Bucky. It wasn’t his style in the slightest, but this wasn’t the day to protest. He would do anything she asked of him.

They walked hand in hand into the nearby tiki bar situated along the Chicago river. As Y/N expected, it was crowded for two on a Saturday. The place was filled with hawaiian shirts and bucket hats as parrot heads gathered to pour one out for Jimmy. Bucky navigated the bar to get them some drinks as Y/N secured a high top. She looked out onto the river, watching as tourists explored the city on such a beautiful day. Bucky returned and placed a chartreuse beverage in front of her. She smiled at him as they clinked the plastic cups together and took their first sips. Y/N downed close to half the margarita, despite the fake lime taste.

“Maybe I should’ve opted for the party bucket,” Bucky teased.

She shook her head, “Honestly, I don’t think I can drink more than one of these.”

“One honorary margarita for Jimmy, then we can switch to something more palatable.”

“Deal,” she agreed. They sipped the citrus concoction as fellow Buffett fans approached their table and shared some of their favorite memories. The Margaritaville radio continued to play, as fans sang along to their favorite tunes. Frozen margaritas and tropical drinks spilled over the plastic cups and patrons danced and swung their arms around each other. As beautiful as the tribute was, it all became a bit much for Y/N and Bucky spotted her discomfort immediately.

“You okay?” he asked, placing a hand over hers. 

“Yeah, just a lot happening.”

“Let’s finish this round and go somewhere else,” he suggested. 

 With that, she chugged the remainder of her drink and Bucky followed her lead. 

They left the tiki bar without a destination in mind. Until Bucky took her hand and led her toward the corner store. Once inside Bucky grabbed a six pack of Landshark while Y/N found a family size bag of lightly salted potato chips. As they met back up at the register, Bucky slid a bag of peanut M&M’s across the counter with the rest of their order. Y/N eyed him and he explained, “You’ll want those later.” She grinned at him, knowing he was right.

They took their bag of goods and Bucky collected her hand in his, leading the way.

“Where are we going?” Y/N asked once she realized they weren’t heading home.

“I have an idea,” Bucky stated, continuing his trek. Y/N knew better than to question him. When he set his mind to something, there was no sense in arguing. They continued walking, past the bars and restaurants, past the hordes of tourists, towards the water. And as they approached the shore of Lake Michigan, Y/N smiled. Bucky found a quiet spot for them to sit in the sand. The morning beach crowd was floundering as families packed up their camp to head back to the suburbs and the twenty-year-olds had passed out from overconsumption.

“This is perfect,” she smiled at him. He cracked open a beer and handed it to her. She took a long sip and looked out on the lake.

“I didn’t expect to feel this sad.”

“No?” Bucky asked, hoping she would continue.

“With my dad, at least I knew it was coming. He was sick for a while and we knew we didn’t have much time. But Buffett…I mean I thought I’d get to see him live again. I wanted to bring you! And now he’s just…gone.”

Bucky didn’t have words, and he knew she didn’t need them. Instead he ran his hand up and down her back.

“I just…he was one of the few connections I still had with my dad. And now he’s gone.” She started to tear up and Bucky pulled her in closer to him.

“Just because he’s gone doesn't mean your connection with your dad disappeared. Buffett’s legacy will live on through his music. All you have to do is put on one of his songs and it’ll bring you back to the simpler times you had with your dad. It’s sad that he’s gone now, but that won’t change the memories you have of your father.” 

“You’re right, I know I’m being silly.”

“You aren’t being silly. Grief impacts us all differently. But the only thing we can do is move forward.”

She nodded and rested her head on his shoulder. She raised her beer bottle and leaned it in towards his.

“Here’s to Jimmy. I hope he’s up there eating that cheeseburger in paradise,” she smiled.

Bucky chuckled and clinked his bottle with hers. They sipped and Y/N started playing some of his music on her phone. The two of them sat drinking beers, sharing laughs, and looking out on the water. 

Once the six pack was finished, Y/N turned toward Bucky and asked, “You want to do something crazy?”

“I don’t know, do I?” he replied with skepticism.

“Come on,” she stood up and ran towards the lake, shedding her dress as she ran. Bucky darted after her, stripping down to his boxers. Y/N ran into the lake first, squealing as the cold water caressed her legs. Bucky wasn’t far behind and scooped her into his arms, momentarily protecting her from the icy chill. He trudged further into the water as she clung to him. Once the water was up to Bucky’s waist he counted to three and dropped down, dunking both of them into the waves. They both emerged from the water with smiles on their faces. He tucked a piece of wet hair behind her ear and ran his thumb up and down her jaw. She stood on her tiptoes and planted a sweet kiss on his lips. Then she took his hand and pulled him further into the water. They splashed and teased one another before Bucky pulled her close again and they floated in each other's arms.

“Thank you,” she finally said to him.

“For what?”

“For turning this day into one I will always remember with fondness.”

[pascaljanssen]

Pascal Janssen - Artwork for 'Citrus City Vol. 1' by Citrus City Records

Instagram

[taran-chan]

It’s Christmas time and I have wish please :D it was hard to pick because everything is just hot so here two of you don’t mind!

6. you look so good beneath me

11. Louder. Let me hear you

This one is set in @softquietsteadylove and I's Ghost Files/Ghost Busting AU, which started here and there is another update here. Now there is smut too!

6. "You look so good beneath me." 11. "Louder. Let me hear you."

He found it in an article about haunted places in New Orleans. It’s an old and still active hotel that has some parts that date back to the 1800s. There are reports about slammed doors, weird noises and mysterious shadows too, but it is a nice hotel overall and he’s quite sure Thena would appreciate that more than sleeping on a train or traveling buses whenever they investigate in another town, or even another state. So he saves up and surprises her.

Things go smoother than he expected. Thena seems genuinely looking forward to the trip. They spend the day exploring the city, and at 11 pm, they return to the hotel and get down to business. They start checking out the antiques, looking at the painting and sitting at the empty hotel bar in total darkness, trying to gather evidence. When they get something that sounds like a greeting from the music box, Thena tries to ask the ghosts (if they existed) to follow her home, or better, rip her bones out and put them on her face, Gil takes it as his cue to jump off the chair and get out of that bar.

They move to their rooms, which are on the first floor, and do their solo investigation. Thena practically squeals in delight, causing Gil to yelp and drop his camera on the other side of the wall, only to find out that she just spotted the jacuzzi tub in her bathroom. Moments later, he runs to her room, his face pale, and pushes her toward his room like a human shield while swearing that he can hear footsteps outside his balcony. They step out there, look around and find nothing.

“I’m not trying to dismiss you,” Thena says, “But it’s probably just wind rattling the door.”

“If a ghost picked me up and spun me around the ceiling, you’d say it’s probably dust.”

She stifled a laugh, pointing upwards, “There are a few rooms up there, maybe you heard other guests stomping around?”

“Fine, then let’s go downstairs and ask the front desk if there’s anybody staying in those rooms.”

Gil clings to her shoulders as soon as the clerk says the rooms above them are unoccupied. Thena just shrugs, if no one is there, then it’s wind. She looks at the watch and yawns.

“So? It’s your call, are we going up there and looking around or do I get to try the jacuzzi?”

He catches onto her words like it’s a lifeline, “Alright, because you seem tired, let’s call it a night. And in the morning, we’ll ask around to see if anyone else heard that.”

She lifts an eyebrow but says nothing, letting him guide her by the small of her waist toward the stairs.

He just gets out of the shower (his room doesn’t have a tub) when he hears very clearly the unmistakable sound of someone stomping around right above him.

“Nope,” he throws his towel on the bed and starts putting his clothes on in record time, “Absolutely not.”

He knocks on Thena’s room, fully prepared to be laughed in the face. He can sleep on the too-small couch in there or even the floor, but there’s no way he’s going to sleep in that room. She opens the door, wearing the hotel’s bathrobe, a towel over her head and he can smell the alluring scent of citrus and jasmine, her shampoo and body wash.

“Hi,” he smiles sheepishly, “Sorry for bothering you, but can I sleep here tonight? My room spooks me out and I really don’t want to sleep alone. If it’s too much trouble, I can just go and get another room so you don’t have to feel obligated.”

“Gil, we slept in an airport once. I think we’ll manage with a bed,” she pulls the door wider and steps aside, “Come in. I was having a night snack. You can turn on the TV if you like.”

“Oh, pretzels,” he picks up the pack lying on her bed. It’s a king-sized bed, big enough for both of them. At least he won’t have back pain tomorrow, and maybe if he’s lucky, Thena’ll snuggle against him like she always does when she falls asleep with him in her close proximity. As far as he knows, she never does that with anyone else and he secretly takes pride in it. He hears a pop and looks over to see her hold up a bottle of Bordeaux.

“Want some?” She’s already poured herself a glass.

“Anything to stop me from thinking about whatever was stomping up there.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Well I feel safer now,” he chuckles, receiving his glass, “They seem to be terrified of you.”

“Or maybe that was a rat.”

“A rat with human feet?”

“A family of rats then,” she climbs into the bed and gets under the cover, pressing her freezing feet against his calves.

“Jesus, woman,” Gil startles, “Did you pour ice water into the jacuzzi or something?”

“Shut up.”

Her toes wiggle to find the warmest spot, stealing his body heat as she flips over the channels until she reaches an old rom-com. They watch together, munching on pretzels and occasionally clinking glasses. At one point she puts her head on his shoulder and the little attention he has for the movie goes out the window. She’s soft and happy and warm next to him, he can’t help but think about how they’ve been tiptoeing on the line between their friendship and more. He’s sure she has feelings for him too, because if anything, he’s an observant person, and her gestures tell quite a lot. Maybe he should just take a leap of faith and tell her his feelings for once, since they’re getting deeper and deeper every day.

Suddenly he’s staring into her eyes, those greenest eyes, instead of her profile. Her eyes widen when she realizes he’s been looking at her. And then she’s kissing him, pressing the lips he’s been dreaming about to his, and he finds himself kissing her back, slipping an arm around her and a hand through her hair. She parts first, staring at him in awe as if she can’t believe this, and kisses him again before he gets to say anything. She cups his face, her tongue demands an entrance and he generously opens his mouth. She gasps into their kiss when he pulls her to straddle his lap, her hips buck against the bulge in his pants and somehow he’s aware of what’s happening.

“Thena, wait,” he leans back, though still holding her in his arms, “We’ve been drinking, we…”

“I’m not that drunk, Gil,” she states, her eyes turning sharp but her touch to his cheek is gentle, “I know what I want. And I want this. Do you?”

“I’ve been wanting you for longer than I can remember,” he breathes.

She leans forward and he meets her halfway. His lips leave hers briefly to pepper kisses along her elegant neck, feeling her hands roaming from his back to his nape and back again. He fumbles for the knots on her robe, parting the lapels. He moans at the sight in front of him. She’s wearing the sexiest lingerie he’s ever seen; black lace hugging her curves perfectly, making her breasts fuller. He traces the patterns, marveling at how smooth and fit it is against her skin. The material feels new under his fingertips and a crazy thought occurs to him.

“Did…Did you buy these for this occasion?” He stammers.

She nods, blushing harder, “I planned to go to your room tonight. I was getting my courage up when you knocked.”

He’s speechless. Thena has planned to seduce him tonight. She even bought this expensive lingerie to do that. She wants him. She wants him.

He pulls her into another searing kiss, his hands along her body, eventually palming her breasts and squeezing, rubbing his thumbs against her nipples over the lace, bringing them to a peak. Her whimper is such sweet music to his ears. She releases his cock out of the confined space of his boxer, moaning appreciatively when she feels his length for the first time.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he grunts, “In fact, I’m going to show you just how much power you have over me.”

He lies down and brings her to sit on his chest, coaxing her to move up further until her soaking pussy is hovering above his mouth.

“I want to taste you this way,” he says, turning his head to kiss her inner thigh. Fuck, he needs to taste her.

“You look so good beneath me,” she smirks.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he grins back, pulling her underwear aside, his tongue sticking out to flick at her clit, his arms keeping her full weight on him so she can’t go anywhere either. Her legs tighten as her hips gradually move faster. He laps up as much of her wetness as he can, grabbing handfuls of her flesh.

“Gil, Gil, fuck!” She grounds herself on him, feeling the shockwaves he’s sending through her, her body moves automatically so his tongue would hit all the right spots, “I…come…”

“That’s it, come for me,” he murmurs against her clit and she falls apart, spasming violently. She doesn’t remember the last time she came this hard. Maybe this is the first time. She doesn’t know, she doesn’t care, all she can think about is his talented mouth and how she wants to come like that again.

She languidly scoots back, sitting on his broad chest again, still breathing heavily. He’s rubbing her back, smiling dreamily.

“Good?”

She returns his smile and glances at his cock, licking her lips, “Do you want my mouth?”

“God, yes,” he moans, “But…I want to be inside you more.”

“Next time then,” she purrs her promise and he almost faints.

He rolls them over and kneels between her legs. By the time his cock is fully inside her tight, hot tunnel, her lingerie is still on her and he’s determined to watch her come in it again. He cradles her hips with his, lacing their fingers together and extending their arms, bending down to kiss her as she adjusts to his girth. She crosses her legs on his back, her body hums with pleasure. With a small nod from her, he starts to move.

Now under him, her body arches further, her nipples pushing against the fabric deliciously, on display for him. “You’re so beautiful,” He presses down more - her knees almost touch the mattress, and growls in her ear, “Louder. Let me hear you.”

Her mind fogs all over when he swivels his hips, letting his cock brush at that sensitive spot of hers repeatedly. She clutches at his hands, her voice rises higher and higher, which she would be embarrassed with any other person. His reply is by latching onto one of her nipples and biting down slightly. As soon as his teeth make contact, she comes again, trembling and breathless. His thrusts turn messy and soon he sighs his release.

He collapses next to her, pulling her to his chest. She rubs her cheek on his bicep as he nuzzles her hair.

“I think my voice could have woken the dead,” she says hoarsely. He holds her tighter and his body starts to shake with laughter. She nips at his earlobe playfully, then continues, “If anyone showed up to hit on you tonight, just say that you’re taken and I’m not sharing.”

“Oh, now you’re just being mean,” he pouts, “What if the ghosts have a crush on you and they try to bully me? Have you ever thought of that?”

She giggles, settling in his arms again, “It’s alright. You sleep, I’ll take the first watch.”

He watches her close her eyes and already drift to sleep, shaking his head fondly, “Promises, promises.”

[yesyourstalker]

Neta: *snoring*..mmmmm uh fuck....hello..*sniff*.... yeah....maki-mahi.. what is it? What's up?..... Yeah yeah he has the job he can come in Tuesday or whatever..... Yeah no you can go home *yawn* I don't feel like opening the store today something's come up. No, everything is fine. I'm fine. Just something has come up recently. Don't worry about it......ok bye

Ikkan: *yawn* so he has the job?

Neta: yeah

Ikkan: and you're going to be nice?

Neta: ..........as nice as I can be...... hehehehe Mommy and daddy took away his money hahaha *sigh* I love it

Ikkan: yeah. He's going to be a part of normal everyday society for a little while that's good I think he needs this.

Neta: you think ?

Ikkan: last winterfest he gave me an eight carat tennis bracelet and all I gave him coffee table

Neta: why a coffee table?

Ikkan: it came with the record player and it had a little shelf where you can store vinyls. It was like $300, the bracelet he gave me was more than my first car.

Neta: Cod..............how long are you staying?

Ikkan: I think I missed the train to the airport.... honestly I wanted to stay for another night anyway

Neta: that's good I missed waking up next to you

Ikkan: mmmmm you're sweet....you want to go to fishies get some breakfast or something?

Neta: yeah let me check my sugar and I'll head out.... Cirrina. Morning crab cakes.

Cirrina: what is it dad

Neta: going out to get something to eat. You want me to get you a shrimp scramble and maybe some warm tea. You said you were still cramping you want me to get you something?

Cirrina:ugh......Cod dad.....No! I don't want anything. I'm going back to bed.

Neta: ok.... wanted to see if you're doing ok. I'm sorry I didn't mean to bother you crab cakes

Cirrina: Wait! Can you give me extra lemon for the tea and no ketchup on the scramble

Neta: ok baby

(car ride)

Neta:...........

Ikkan:.........

Neta: so how are things?

Ikkan: it's fine. Diss-pair is on a break, college is good. I'm getting into pottery, I'm now allergic to citrus so is noji now apparently

Neta: I always forget you two are related

Ikkan: yeah, we're the definition of fraternal.... I got offered a job at a school as a teacher for mollusk academy private school. They said after I graduate I can get the job.

Neta: babe that's amazing! You're gonna say yes right please tell me you're going to say yes.

Ikkan: I don't know....it's one of those fancy school..... I'm not really good with kids... What if they don't like me?

Neta: those kids are going to fucking love you babe. I think you should take it. Where is it anyway?

Ikkan: It's in the next city over by Inkopolis

Neta: Cephal City?

Ikkan: yeah

Neta: I think you should take the offer... I really do what kind they want you to do be a band director ?

Ikkan: music teacher....so mostly orchestra. With Warabi working now this could be a nice career change.

Neta: yeeesssss..... Besides it doesn't mean diss-pair has to end.

Ikkan: yeah. You're right....how are things with you?

Neta: it's been great.... The stores doing amazing. My store was featured in a magazine as one of the top 10 stores right under Toni kensa outlet

Ikkan: that's really good to hear!?..... And cirrina? How is she been? She was really quiet when I came over

Neta: she's........... She's 13 now......*sigh* She's growing, developing and maturing......you know....

Ikkan: oh....I get what you're saying.

Neta: she's not my baby girl anymore and I don't know what to do. It just feels like I'm either doing too much or not enough for her.

Ikkan: you doing enough babe you're there for her and you're doing your best to support her

Neta: It just feels like she's pushing me away. I used to be her favorite person. Every time I come home she'd run to my arms. Now I'm lucky if she looks at me.

Ikkan: sweetie, she loves you. She's just trying to find her independence and where she fits in this world and that comes with some boundaries challenging authority. You can't take them personally. She still loves you. She's just going through a lot at that age..... I remember I used to be like that.... Except with crippling gender dysphoria .............but other than that I understand what it's like. This rebellion will soon fizz away and she'll be back to normal. Maybe just sit down and talk to her and ask her how she's feeling from time to time. Maybe that's all she needs at the moment

Neta: I'll try. Maybe start with her behavior in school. Her grades are amazing. Straight A's and everything better than me!! But she's also getting in trouble and I caught her skipping school a lot like I ground her but she goes back to doing it after the punishment is over

Ikkan: maybe she's not challenged enough. Maybe put her in another school if this one isn't working out. She's still playing the cello?

Neta: yeah! She's really good...........You're a good teacher

Ikkan: hehehe.....,*sigh* maybe enroll her in mollusk academy.

Neta:....that's something else I need to think about......... unless.......I've been thinking of expanding the store.

Ikkan: it's already big

Neta: ha! no. I mean I'm thinking of opening another store. You know the arowana mall? they're moving the Rockenberg store to the back and they have a space open..... they offered it to me it's a two story space they left the lounge upstairs with self-serve coffee place

Ikkan: that sounds really cool.....arowana mall is 20 minutes away from cephal city...............

Neta: ..........................yeah it is...... huh-

Ikkan: I graduate in 2 years and mollusk academy is a high school she'll be in high school by then. How long will it take for your store to be built?

Neta: 3 years at best......... But I'll have to move and I'll have to find someone to run my other store

Ikkan: mahi! They're your longest employees? Have them run the store how old are they?

Neta:Mahi? They're 24.

Ikkan: by the time your other store opens they'll be 27, perfect age they can run the store by themselves. Now with Warabi working there they'll have some help

Neta: yeah that sounds like a solid plan. Sooooo what is this? what are we doing? What's going on?

Ikkan: I don't know but we have at least 3 years to figure it out. That's plenty of time.

Neta: *sigh*............... I hope so

Epilogue at

Warabi: so what he say?

Mahi: He told me you got the job

Warabi: That's it. he didn't say anything else? there's no catch or anything. Didn't you say no the first time.

Mahi: He actually said 'hell no' but yeah he did say no the first time. I don't know what convinced him

Warabi: hm... Maybe he just had a change of heart and just-................ Oh my cod..........

Mahi: what? what's wrong?

Warabi: shhhhhjj be quiet. Don't turn around hehehe

Warabi: let me call him............ Hey ikkan. Where are you?..... Oh you're at home?....in splattsville...... that's funny because I see someone standing in line at fishies. Looks exactly like you and he's with your ex. That couldn't be You could it?.................. Your silence is a lot louder than-......... I'm literally staring at you! Don't you fucking!.............He hung up

Mahi: something's come up huh!?.....oh shit.. Hehehehe they're fucking leaving

Warabi: hehehe we're going to get fucking fired for doing that hahahaha

Mahi belongs to @fish-at-fish-fish-resort

[kammartinez]

When Roxy Music was recording “Street Life” for the 1973 album Stranded, they hung a mic out the window of AIR Studios above Oxford Street, but they didn’t like the results and they ended up mixing in the sounds of a Moroccan market instead. As “Street Life” begins, we hear traffic amid four haunting chords and a shimmering hi-hat rhythm, and then Bryan Ferry belts out that he wishes everyone would leave him alone. He goes out for a walk. “Each verse seems to have its own character,” he later said, “like blocks on a street.” A fan since my youth of early Roxy Music, I still hear that song’s ethereal city vibe when I, too, wish everyone would leave me alone and, like Bryan, hit the streets.

If I go left, heading into what I think of as downtown Echo Park, I glimpse the green folds of the Angeles Crest as I pass Craftsman and Victorian houses and courtyard bungalows. I turn onto Sunset Boulevard, passing barber shops, burger stands, bookstores, and botanicas. I can get my knives sharpened and my shoes repaired, shop for groceries, eat eighty different kinds of food. The streets are full of people of all kinds, even as Echo Park comes twentieth in a walkability ranking of L.A. neighborhoods, according to some website. MacArthur Park, which is more population-dense than parts of Manhattan, ranks higher, as does Hollywood. But here I have the option of avoiding commerce by going three blocks north to the park, where I can walk miles of shaded trails. Or stroll my little residential enclave, where people are sitting on their stoops, a guy is working on his ’68 Camaro, trees are heavy with citrus, softball-size dragon fruits shine redly through a fence. I can walk to Echo Park Lake, due west, entirely through an alleyway, where among overgrown fig trees and sidewalk pulverized to dirt you might think you were in some Mississippi backwater Barry Hannah was describing, but you’re parallel and just behind Sunset. At the lakefront are picnickers, food carts, fishermen creating what my son refers to as “pressure on the lake.” One day I watch a guy and girl furtively produce a pristine white duck from a knapsack and release it. They’ve clearly just bought the thing at a live-poultry shop and are trying to rewild it among the mallards and grebes, but the mission seems also to be a form of courtship.

On these walks, minutes from home, I am certain that Los Angeles, which I moved to from New York twenty years ago, is the most beautiful city in the world (and yes, I have seen the world). But that’s only if I go west or north or south. If I head east, toward downtown, 1.5 miles away, my booster talk ebbs. It’s freeway overpasses, empty lots, and fortress-like buildings, a dead zone.

I should be able to walk to the opera house, Walt Disney Concert Hall, the Broad, the Bradbury Building, or City Hall, to the grand old theaters on Main Street, the jewelry district, Union Station. To Philippe the Original on Alameda, a hundred-year-old deli where undertakers from the nearby mortuaries park their hearses and stop in for a sandwich. To the new Frank Gehry building on Grand, across from my son’s music school. (Late in life, Gehry now seems to believe in design that prioritizes not postmodern showiness but plazas and shade and places for the passerby to sit.) But to get to the pedestrian-friendly world downtown involves several blocks of monolithic residential architecture along freeways, all by the same developer, inward-facing buildings with dark and empty storefronts, bunker parking, and sky bridges. The tenants of these places don’t have to ever step foot on the street. I’ve heard they are mostly USC students, but you don’t see them. The only people I might encounter are unhoused individuals, and those in this particular area often appear to be in severe mental crisis, as they linger beyond buildings that are as obdurate and closed as medieval armories.

Dubbed the Renaissance Collection, these buildings form a plaque that separates the people of Echo Park from downtown L.A. They were built by Geoffrey Palmer, a little man who resembles a ventriloquist’s dummy and is gifted at making enemies. Palmer buys up forlorn and odd plots alongside freeways, where he builds his “Italianate” developments, as Italian as leatherette is leather, but less charming. In 1973, the artist Gordon Matta-Clark purchased random little slices of land around New York City for a conceptual art project he titled Fake Estates. Perhaps the unsavory parcels that Palmer acquires would remain similarly conceptual were it not for the very real fake estates he builds on them. This is his own defense—that he’s building where no one else dares—but he seems to take almost libidinal satisfaction in perching rows of apartment balconies over the 110–101 freeway interchange. The off-white stucco exteriors of his buildings are coated with soot within days of completion. In 2003, he illegally bulldozed the last Victorian of Bunker Hill while building the Orsini, a few blocks from my house. Palmer is vehemently opposed to affordable housing and has spent tens of millions on lawsuits and ballot measures to ensure that he won’t have to build any. He recently settled a class-action suit over systematically keeping tenants’ security deposits. One of Trump’s biggest donors, he has bragged that his company hasn’t paid federal taxes in thirty years. In the fall of 2014, a fire was deliberately started in Palmer’s half-built and wood-framed Da Vinci, a block down from the Orsini. Flames shot higher than many buildings downtown, stretched a city block, melted freeway signs, and cracked one hundred and sixty windows in the iconic John Ferraro Building, headquarters of Water and Power. The consensus among architects, residents, and journalists was that almost anyone could have started the fire, given how many people hate Palmer. City commissioners joked, in a planning meeting, that they sure hoped everyone present had an alibi. The city sued Palmer for the reckless conditions that allowed the blaze to grow so large. The person who started it was caught and sentenced to prison. He supposedly did it for Michael Brown, to protest the police killings of unarmed black men. No one was hurt. The Da Vinci was promptly rebuilt.

“Why is Everything So Ugly?” wondered a recent editorial in n+1. The editors structured their thoughts on the subject around a Situationist-style dérive they take through New York City. They begin by pondering a new condominium tower limply called the Josh, which has been erected in place of a recently demolished hundred-year-old building. The Josh, they tell us, is made of plastic, concrete, and “an obscure wood-like substance”—materials that have been chosen not for quality and beauty but on the basis of global supply-chain availability, a cookie-cutter design review process, and a cost-saving preference for semi-skilled labor. The Josh is already looking shabby at five months old. When it rains, its façade gets “conspicuously . . . wet.” Their dérive continues past more than one Bank of America, alongside a vape shop, and into a theater, where a shitty franchise based on a TV show of a comic book is playing. After the movie, there’s a run-in with blindingly bright LED lights, resulting in a visit to urgent care.

Google reveals that the building the editors are calling the Josh is actually the Greenpoint—located, as you might guess, in Greenpoint, Brooklyn—but the Josh does more work to illustrate certain ideas than the real name might. I think I know eighteen Joshes. No offense to any of them; I too have a common name and would wager the Josh could have been called the Rachel in the blink of an eye. Still, the Josh has a certain sound when isolated as a branding mechanism, with its soft landing into sshh, whether put to service selling wine or machines for living. I chuckled about the Josh. It, or he, made me think of that guy Tom from MySpace, everyone’s first friend. I imagined Tom living at the Josh, enjoying an industrial salad at a particle-board table. But names are merely symptoms. They are not the cause of “the violence of the new ugliness” that the n+1 editors ponder. Branding arises from standardization. If the things that are made are more or less the same, difference itself must be manufactured.

The Situationists first began undertaking their dérives—which means to drift, to walk without a fixed plan—in response to a rail strike. Guy Debord and others tumbled drunkenly through the night, walking or hitchhiking, and found that the new routes they forged promised a change of orientation, a new outlook. In Debord’s autobiographical Panegyric, at a point in his life when he had lost hope in the city and headed for the hills, he regrets that a “flood of destruction, pollution, and falsification had conquered the whole surface of the planet, as well as pouring down nearly to its very depths.” (Had Debord, too, noticed how wet the Josh was looking?) Five years later he shot himself in the heart. It wasn’t just that everything was ugly and the revolution stalled, if not foreclosed. Alcohol had done him in.

I decided, on a recent afternoon, to conduct my own dérive, straight into the morass between my street and downtown. I left the house, took a right, another right, and then a left over the 101 freeway. If this overpass could talk, I thought. It might tell of the many women and the many nights of flinty bargains with men in cars. By daylight, it was empty. I turned left onto Temple Street, passing a hotel that abuts the 101, and a sun-blasted bus stop where my kid was let off in grade school, and from which he began conducting his own dérives. This block of Temple has a bakery, a liquor store, and until recently, D’Bongo Party Supplies, then falls into a post-human stretch: there is a tow yard, a recycling center, a cul de sac against the freeway where there was a tent encampment until it burned, and a huge and empty bus yard. That’s all on one side of the street. On the other is the massive retaining wall of a high school baseball diamond. The reason there is open land here, greenery, even if it’s chemically treated monograss beyond chain-link, is that this was an oil field, and it isn’t safe to put up buildings. (What look like lampposts around the field are actually vents that allow methane gases to escape.)

Beyond the baseball/methane field, I pass our own version of the Josh, but it’s called the Charlie. The Charlie is new. There used to be an auto repair and car wash here that was run by a family. Now there is a narrow eight-story building in “space gray” with a gaggle of red real estate balloons bobbing on the wind. I have driven past at night. The units are dark, while the Charlie’s eight-story “parking podium” glows meanly, prison-bright.

From the Charlie I cross the street toward a new Palmer monstrosity on a ten-acre site that used to be a Bank of America data center. Construction is not yet finished. The invasive palms that have been chosen as Palmer’s signature “lush Mediterranean landscaping” have just been trucked in and still have their fronds gathered into ponytails. Even with their fronds let down, they will provide no shade. There’s a giant piss-elegant fountain but it’s dry. now renting 2 months free + free parking, a big sign says. The name of this new addition to Palmer’s suite of Italianate freeway rentals is the Ferrante. Maybe the name came from his wife, a Parisian who seems a little more cultured than he is. Perhaps she’s a fan of Elena Ferrante’s books. I have no proof. I’m guessing.

We’ve been told for years now that Elena Ferrante is a fiction, a made-up name, like Tom, or the Josh. But someone is of course writing those books. Whoever they are, they’re talented, but the insistence on anonymity is starting to seem a little showy, even a bit tacky, if not as tacky as the Ferrante and its 1,150 units. I pass its blank row of street-level commercial spaces. Palmer won’t even try to rent them out. And apparently there’s no fine for leaving them empty. As an architect explained to me, he doesn’t build that income into his plans. Why should a developer care if there is street life? I turn left and walk under a highway overpass and approach the rangy back edge of our neighborhood CVS. What does CVS stand for? No one seems to know. Everything you might want to buy there is now locked up, and you have to press what feels like a panic button to get access to the shelves.

I cross through the parking lot, past a weird machine with a tower on it, flashing a blue light. This is some kind of automated security apparatus, but I’m not sure how it works. A barefoot boy asks me for a light. I don’t have one, I tell him.

Remember how outraged everyone was to discover that the author JT LeRoy, supposedly an ethereal rent boy/lot lizard, was actually a middle-aged woman? They acted like this was the ultimate con, something ugly and counterfeit masquerading as something genuine and tragic and hot. Meanwhile, Elena Ferrante is purporting to be a middle-aged woman. What if she’s a teen boy turning tricks in parking lots? I think, as I turn out of the lot and go right on Sunset.

I walk toward Palmer’s Orsini, which lines both sides of the street, all of its commercial space dark and empty and locked. There is no one here except one man in rags setting bits of trash on fire on the sidewalk. Is it Palmer’s fault that people are setting things on fire? It’s more complicated than that. But with no street activity, people act out. Or, their actions are starker, and less muted by a variety of people and vibrancies that a healthy street should reflect. At the end of this very long, sterile block is one other person, a young woman. Her arms are covered with injection scars. She seems not to notice me. She’s in a kind of Sisyphean struggle, attempting to push an e-scooter that is not activated, its wheels on lock.

The next day I drive back down this street, heading to pick up my son from music school. I spot the woman who tried to push the scooter. She’s still here, as if this bleak zone were her proving ground. Her shirt is off now, and she is throwing her half-clothed body against the brick exterior of the Orsini. But the building is constructed not to feel her, the street not to see her, and I barely see her myself, because my light is green.

While parts of the designed world might be ugly at any speed, it is only the slowness of traveling on foot that causes true discomfiture, by forcing a walker to behold, worry over, brood upon, those to whom this ugliness shouts loudest.

[entropii]

OC meme: any or all of -- shaved ice & strawberry for inga & enca! pancake & family for dandelion!

😭🧡!!

🍧 SHAVED ICE - do they still have any objects from their childhood? what significance does it have to them? what would their reaction be if they lost it?

INGA: I haven't thought about Inga's childhood too much yet, but she probably has a few things from back then. Inga and her siblings have always been very close with each other, even if they barely see each other anymore, so I like the idea that these things remind her of them. Perhaps a fruit tree that Vicia helped her plant and take care of at their childhood home. Something with pretty, red-purple leaves and rare, decadent fruits that Inga brought with her to the city she now rules over. Maybe a set of jewelry from Kuzu that he crafted himself. As showy as Inga and Kuzu can be, this set is a little more understated. Something with thin chains and delicate bells, earrings and necklaces and something to decorate her horns. She wouldn't be upset to the point of tears if she lost them, but she would still be very, very, Very upset. Bad mood. Wouldn't host any of her usual events for at least a week and a bit.

ENCA: They have an old, out-of-print vinyl record from one of Edith's first operatic recordings. I think in this iteration of Enca, it's a nostalgic reminder of their childhood. Warm sunset filtering through the windows, little dust motes in the air, the sound of her parent's singing filling the whole house. Edith twirling around with a young Enca in their arms, Enca making little half-chirps as they try to sing along. It's also just a warm reminder of Edith themself. I haven't decided if they just don't get to see each other as often, or if Edith is capital G Gone gone, but suffice to say Enca doesn't see them often (or at all) anymore. If they ever lost it, Enca would most certainly cry. Sure, they could easily find another recording, but it's not going to be this specific, physical copy that Edith gave to her because she liked listening to it so much.

🍓 STRAWBERRY - do they eat their fruit & veg? what is their favourite fruit or vegetable?

INGA: Loves eating exceptionally high quality fruit and vegetables, though she doesn't like eating raw veggies very much. She likes when they're in the upper extremes of texture and flavor. If she she's eating sweet mango, it has to be the sweetest! mango. If she's eating lettuce, it has to be the crispest! lettuce. This lemon has to be so sour that it hurts her tongue. She's not a picky eater, but she loves to indulge her senses as much as possible, whenever possible. Her favorite is passion fruit! Likes the tanginess against the sweetness and also thinks the pulpy seeds are fun.

ENCA: Also likes to eat fruits and vegetables, but they tend to like mild or bitter flavors. Things like pear or pomelo, watercress or bittermelon. She really likes blood oranges! Just sweet enough, not too tangy, has that sort of berry flavor, and a pretty ruby color.

🥞 PANCAKE - what is their comfort breakfast?

Mostly warm and savory things. Macaroni soup with chicken broth and chunks of ham, or rice porridge topped with a fried egg. Maybe a big, steamed or baked bun with roast pork or sweet red bean filling. Whatever combination of items, Dandi's comfort breakfast has to have at least a fried egg or some type of bright, round orange fruit (usually citrus). Really strong memory from their childhood in The Garage of sitting at the table, swinging their feet while someone peeled mandarins and fed them little slices, or helped them get a fried egg onto a piece of toast. A smile and a little nod while they ate and saying to Dandi, "Best to start the day with a bit of the sun."

👪 FAMILY - what is their family like? what is your ocs relationship to them?

The people of The Garage are a group of mechanics, pilots, and engineers who, upon finding a young Dandelion with nowhere to go, collectively went, "Our child now." I haven't thought out individual members so much, but I imagine they're an eclectic bunch who are nevertheless caring and supportive of each other. They're the kind of people who would do Big Sandwich Night. Most, if not all of these people never raised a child before, but they did their best to learn and sought help when needed. Did their utmost to be just as caring and supportive. Taught Dandelion different skills, fed them a lot of good food, instilled in them an appreciation for Big Robot.  

Dandi grew up close with their family, and they're still close with them now. They still frequently visit The Garage and go back to do maintenance on Lucky Punch. Always a good time getting everyone together to eat, or clambering up the scaffolding so they can get a better look at the cool new robot arm from the latest salvage run that somebody slapped onto their own mech.

[anewswire]

Plaxico Burress Net Worth, Biography, Career, Income, Home & Age

  What is Plaxico Burress' Net Worth? American professional football player Plaxico Burress has a $1 million fortune. Wide receiver Plaxico Burress spent 12 seasons in the NFL. Before joining the Pittsburgh Steelers again for his final NFL season, he originally played for the New York Giants, New York Jets, and Pittsburgh Steelers. Burress defeated the previously unbeaten New England Patriots in the Super Bowl XLII while playing for the Giants. Burress is also relatively well-known for a gunshot incident from 2009 in which he unintentionally shot himself in a nightclub in New York City. According to reports, Burress entered a club with a loaded gun and shot himself in the thigh. Two days later, he handed himself up on charges of unlawful possession of a pistol. Because of the ongoing legal saga, the Giants released him. Burress agreed to a plea agreement that resulted in a two-year jail sentence. He has engaged in a number of additional court cases including claims of moving violations, auto accidents, and contract violations with automobile dealerships. Career Earnings Plaxico Burress earned approximately $29.5 million in salary over the course of his NFL career. Here is a breakdown of his salary by year: - 2000: $1.23 million (including signing bonus) - 2001: $450,000 - 2002: $550,000 - 2003: $650,000 - 2004: $2.2 million - 2005: $1.5 million (including signing bonus) - 2006: $6.75 million - 2007: $3.29 million - 2008: $3.46 million - 2009: Did not play (suspended) - 2010: Did not play (suspended) - 2011: $3 million - 2012: $925,000 Total career earnings: ~$29.5 million Financial Problems In Totowa, New Jersey, a 5,500 square foot estate was purchased by Plaxico for $1.5 million in 2005. The property was reportedly in foreclosure in 2018, a year after Burress allegedly stopped making mortgage payments. For $999,00, the house was sold in 2015. Early Life Plaxico Burress was born on August 12, 1977 in Norfolk, Virginia. He has two brothers. As a teenager, Burress attended Green Run High School in Virginia Beach, and graduated in 1996. He went on to spend one year at Fork Union Military Academy. Collegiate Career When he was in college, Burress played football for Michigan State. As a Spartan, he was an immediate success, catching 65 passes in his debut season to set a new mark for the most in a single Big Ten Conference season. The following year, Burress outperformed himself with 66 receptions for 1,142 yards and 12 touchdowns. He had 131 receptions, 2,155 receiving yards, and 20 touchdown catches in his two seasons at Michigan State. With a school-record 13 receptions for 185 yards and three touchdowns in a victory over the University of Florida in the 2000 Citrus Bowl, Burress wrapped up his undergraduate career. Pittsburgh Steelers The Pittsburgh Steelers selected Burress with the eighth overall pick in the 2000 NFL Draft. His role in a historic mistake, in which he spiked a ball he thought was dead but was actually live, allowing the Jacksonville Jaguars' Danny Clark to recover it and gain 44 yards, made his first season with the team somewhat difficult. Burress improved in his second season with the Steelers, breaking the 1,000-yard barrier. However, his best season was his third with the team, with new career highs in receptions (78) and yards (1,325). Burress also participated in his first playoff game. Altogether, Burress recorded 261 receptions for 4,164 yards and 22 touchdowns during his five seasons and 71 games with the Steelers. New York Giants In 2005, Burress shifted to the New York Giants. His first season with the organization was productive; he caught 76 receptions for 1,214 yards, which helped the Giants win the NFC East. In the end, the Carolina Panthers eliminated the team in the first round of the playoffs. Burress set a new career best in touchdowns in 2006, scoring 10 despite playing in only 15 games due to injuries. His best NFL season may have been the following one, when he assisted the Giants in their run to Super Bowl XLII. The Giants defeated the previously unbeaten New England Patriots 17-14 after Burress grabbed the game-winning touchdown pass. Burress was unhappy with his salary after his outstanding performance in Super Bowl XLII and refused to participate in mandated mini-camp practices with the Giants. In his opinion, he received a lower salary than other notable NFL receivers. He was briefly suspended in September 2008 after failing to arrive for work. Burress eventually made a comeback, but not before receiving four fines for various unsportsmanlike conduct offenses. In the midst of his accidental shooting court case, he played his final game with the Giants in late November before being released by the team in April 2009. Final Playing Years With the New York Jets, Burress returned to the NFL in 2011. Before re-signing with his first squad, the Steelers, in late 2012, he spent one season with the group. He grabbed a touchdown pass from quarterback Ben Roethlisberger on December 30 for the first time since 2004. The pass was a 12-yard score. Burress later agreed to a contract to stay with the Steelers until 2013. Nevertheless, his NFL playing career came to an end when he was placed on injured reserve in August after tearing his rotator cuff during practice. Legal Troubles Over the years, Burress has run into numerous legal issues. The most serious incidents happened in late 2008 and early 2009, starting with his unintentional self-inflicted gunshot wound at the LQ nightclub in New York City. When Burress grabbed for a revolver that had become loose in his pants pocket, the gun shot into his right leg. He spent a short time in the hospital before turning himself in to the police, who had strangely not been informed of the occurrence. Burress only had a Florida concealed carry license that had expired, it turned out. He was charged by a Manhattan grand jury in the summer of 2009 with two counts of second-degree felony criminal possession of a firearm and one count of second-degree misdemeanor reckless endangerment. Burress later consented to a plea agreement that included a two-year prison term and an extra two-year period of supervised release. He finally served 20 months before being freed in 2011. Beside the unintentional shooting event, Burress has faced other civil lawsuits for a variety of reasons, such as failing to uphold a publicity arrangement with Chevrolet, which had also leased him a car that was wrecked, and for allegedly inflicting lasting harm on a woman whose car he struck. Then, in 2015, Burress ran into difficulties after being charged by the State of New Jersey with failing to pay income taxes. He might have received a conditional jail sentence and up to five years of probation during his sentencing hearing in early 2016. Personal Life In 2005, Burress married Tiffany Glenn. The couple has a son named Elijah and a daughter named Giovanna, and lives in Totowa, New Jersey.   Read the full article

[naturecoaster]

Hernando/Citrus MPO 2050 Long-Range Transportation Plan Public Review is Active

The Hernando/Citrus Metropolitan Planning Organization's thirty-day (30-day) public review period for the 2050 Long-Range Transportation Plan (LRTP) begins on September 1, 2024. The LRTP will be available to review on the Hernando/Citrus Metropolitan Planning Organization (MPO) website at: www.hernandocitrusmpo.us under the Programs and Plans section. A copy of the document will be available in the MPO office at 789 Providence Boulevard, Brooksville, Florida, 34601, or provided upon request.  The first public meeting on the 2050 Long-Range Transportation Plan (LRTP) will be conducted on September 5, 2024, at 1:30 p.m., at the Brooksville City Council Chambers, 201 Howell Avenue, Brooksville, Florida. The Long-Range Transportation Plan will be scheduled for adoption by the MPO Board beginning at 1:30 p.m., or shortly thereafter, at a public meeting scheduled for October 3, 2024.  Meeting agendas will be posted on our website approximately one week before the scheduled meetings.  Any questions or comments can be directed to Mr. Bob Esposito, MPO Executive Director, Hernando/Citrus MPO, 789 Providence Boulevard, Brooksville, Florida, 34601, telephone (352) 754-4082,  or email resposito@hernandocounty.us.   Hernando/Citrus MPO 2050 Long-Range Transportation Plan Public Review Sept. 1 - 30, 2024 Any person who decides to appeal any decision made by the Metropolitan Planning Organization (MPO) Board with regard to any matter considered at such meeting or hearing, said person will need a record of  the proceeding, and that, for such purpose, said person may need to ensure that a verbatim record of the proceeding is made, which record includes the testimony and evidence upon which the appeal is to be  based, Section 286.0105 F.S.  Public participation is solicited without regard to race, color, national origin, age, sex, religion, disability, or family status. In accordance with the Americans with Disabilities Act, persons with disabilities needing a special accommodation to participate in this proceeding should contact Mr. Bob Esposito at 352-754-4082 no later than 48 hours in advance of the meeting. If you are hearing or speech impaired, dial 7-1-1, 1- 800-955-8771 (TTY) via Florida Relay Service for assistance.   If persons require language interpretation services, please contact the MPO office at 1-352-754-4082 for more information. Language Interpreter Services are also available 24 hours a day, 7-days a week at 1- 800-752-6096. Si las personas requieren servicios de interpretación de idiomas, comuníquese con nuestra oficina al 1-352-754-4082 para obtener información. Los servicios de interpretación de idiomas  también están disponibles las 24-horas del día, los 7-días de la semana al 1-800-752-6096.   Read the full article

[maybeimamuppet]

Janis 19 35 + Cady 6 43, for the character asks :)

hello dear friend tysm

JANIS

19- vices/bad habits tw for sh mention

okay it’s worth saying i think these are entirely different people depending on who they’re portrayed by and who they end up/if they end up dating so i’m gonna say these are their 2018 stage selves either dating each other or single for clarity

she’s very impulsive so she gets a lot of tattoos and piercings without completely thinking them through. she smokes briefly in college. she sabotages her relationships and just manages to luck out with cady and damian every time. she sh’d when she was younger. she is violently lactose intolerant and gives zero acknowledgement to this fact. she regularly eats gas station sushi. she bites her nails even though they have paint under them. she drinks ungodly amounts of coffee.

35- their idea of a perfect day

it is october. about in the middle, just getting chilly, around 60-65° and right when people start getting really really into halloween. she gets to sleep in in a warm bed with her partner. they wake up and make breakfast with their hair still messy and in their pajamas (or not). it is waffles and coffee with either apple cinnamon or pumpkin spice themes because she is a die hard pumpkin spice defender. they listen to halloween songs and sing and do dorky dances while they decorate their cute but just big enough apartment in the city for halloween. she teases her partner for being too short even if they are significantly taller than her. they make a pumpkin pie and have dinner (some kind of really good filling pasta or something) and the kitchen still smells like they’ve been baking all day. they snuggle on the couch watching halloween movies and fall asleep like that under their favorite blanket.

and if she is single she does all of this with a black cat named picasso.

CADY

6- worst personality trait

it’s hard to think of anything that’s like an inherent trait to her and not just like a thing she does but i don’t like how fake her naïveté becomes and how she tries to use it to get out of taking accountability for what she’s done at first. she obviously does by the end but the whole “i’m the good one in this story!” and acting like she didn’t know what she was doing past a certain point like. mmm babygirl we gotta do better!!

43- 3 favorite foods and 3 they despise

favorites:

not a food but babygirl loves her tea. she has at least two a day, one with breakfast and a sleepy one before bed. her record is twelve.

beans because they had to eat a lot of canned foods in kenya and it reminds her of home and gives her that warm fuzzy cozy feeling

and she loves dino nuggets from a purely scientific point of view. she always has a box and ponders how they made a chicken that shape but knows better than to look it up. either that or something violently american like anything deep fried or a really absurd cheeseburger or hot dog or something.

least favorites:

mint. cold spicy why

honey. she buys it to support bees but has to really brace herself when she puts it in her tea or cooks with it. hell texture and honestly doesn’t taste very good. but she will give it to her friends and tout all its benefits nonetheless

anything vanilla flavored (for the first while after she moves at least) because she grew up with real vanilla in kenya and everything in america tastes so fake and violently sweet. but eventually she learns to like it so as a backup i’ll say any citrus because she has too many unanswered questions about it.