#fellow howlers how do you deal with this

[mithriel-of-mithlond]

How the hell am I supposed to wait for Red God if I start Light bringer now.

[ahankar1610]

Hey, how's everyone doing.

Ah, it is an hectic, so was the past week.

I updated Trojan Princess and now I am updating this. I hope you all will like it. ☺️

FFnet: ⬇️

Ao3: ⬇️

A Tale of Ron and Hermione Chapter-3 (The preparation) The day of the Ball was pretty hectic for her as she had to do multiple works in four hours, two actually she needs other two to get ready. Not that she wants to get dressed that well, like she did for the Yule Ball in their fourth year. Well Viktor Krum was her date for that time and she had to look best for the occasion, after all turning up at the Ball with an international quidditch star was a big deal. Viktor, she sighs at the thought of her ex-boyfriend. Viktor was a gentleman at the Ball, and it was really a surprising, actually shocking thing, for every single person of Hogwarts when the bookworm Granger turned up the date of the Victor Krum. Viktor and her continued their relationship even after the Triwizard Tournament. He used to visit her during the Hogsmead visits and they used to spend the day together. It was really heart breaking for her when he sent her the break up letter, before the starting of her sixth year. Five months later she heard the news of him dating a fellow quidditch player who belongs to Italy. After that their letters became rare and she lost the contact with him. Not that she didn't had boyfriends after him. Cormac McLaggen was the person who had asked her for the Slughorn's Christmas party and then they kissed later at the party and they were in a relationship which lasted for six months. He was a prat many times to be honest and he started getting on her nerves. But she really liked him because he was a solace after her break up with Viktor and she started liking spending time with him. Then, she sighs sadly. He dumped her at his graduation day. She couldn't believe her luck that every bloody time she was the one to get dumped. Though it didn't hurt that much as much as it did before during Viktor's time. Now here she is sitting on the vacant seat, sweaty and tired with a glass of a butterbeer in her hand and watching the Hall they had prepared for the Ball. They did a good work with all of decorations, Headmaster Dumbledore was immensely impressed with the decorations and all. Even Professor McGonagall had remarked and it really made her feel proud of herself and her the members of the Council. She hoped everything goes better this evening. She had asked Ron, he told her it would be okay if she calls him by his first name, that she'll meet him near the courtyard. Her friends didn't give her that much of a hard time as much as she had expected. Lavender and Parvati were surprised but they just shrugged and let it go easily. Dean and Harry understood that she took this step because of the no one left problem. It was Seamus who had given her a hard time for it, with his teasing. She hoped that Seamus would get busy because she can face the teasing but she didn't want Ron to face it, because Seamus can be a bit heartless when he had firewhisky on. She walked towards the Gryffindor tower musing about the upcoming Ball when she heard someone call her. She turned and Ginny Weasley was walking towards her. She had her Quidditch kit on and she had her broom on her shoulder. "Hello Ginny," she greeted with a smile. "Hi," she said with a small smile, "If you're not busy, can I talk to you for a moment?". Hermione was confused as to why in the world would Ginny Weasley want to have a conversation with her. Not that they are not on good terms or something. It's just that they really didn't interacted that much to strike a friendship. Harry and Ginny are friends, she knows as both of their families are close. "Sure," said Hermione. "Well, how's your year as the President going?" Ginny asked and she can sense awkwardness in her tone. "It is well till now, though it's been only a month, I can say that the first month was hectic. Don't know what will the upcoming time will bring." She chuckled. Ginny smiled and sway her hands through her straight red hair. She cleared her throat, "So, I heard you asked my brother to be your date, is it

true?". "Yes," she said a little confused, "Didn't he tell you?" she asked. Ginny rolled her eyes. "My brother won't tell anything if you don't ask him." They both again went into that uncomfortable silence. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?" Ginny asked her with her eyes a little narrowed. "No." Ginny stared at her gloved for a moment as if contemplating her words, "Why did you ask to the Ball?". Hermione frowned, "I really didn't understand what you mean by that Ginny." "You're not planning to…. embarrass him, are you?" Ginny asked seriously. What!?, she's really shocked by the accusation of Ginny, "Why do you think that?" bewildered and astonished by Ginny's accusation. "You and your groupies don't have any pranks planned for him?" Ginny asked looking suspiciously at her and Hermione didn't know from where this all is coming. "Look Ginny," she said firmly looking straight at Ginny, "I needed a date for the Ball and your brother was dateless. So, I asked him for the date, it's all simple. There is no pranks or scheme to embarrass your brother." Ginny stared at her for a minute then breathed a long sigh relaxing her shoulders. "I am sorry, it's just, you know?" Ginny shrugged her shoulders. "I understand," Hermione said, "My friends really had the bad reputation of Hogwarts' best pranksters since your twin brothers graduated." Ginny snorted, "No one matches my prats of brothers," she said with a laugh. Hermione laughed, "That is something I can agree with." "Are you done?" she asked frustratedly. "Be a little patient, will you," Parvati snapped back while applying a little lipstick on her lips and a little makeup on her face. "Why're you so fussy today?" asked Lavender, who is sitting at her bed and enjoying the eclairs Dean had bought them. Hermione was preparing early because as the president she and her date would have to be present at the Ball before anyone else. "Why can't I can go without Parvati trademark makeup?" she huffed while Parvati shot her a look with narrowed eyes, Lavender rolled her eyes. "Because Parvati won't let you go out of this until she is done with you," Lavender said while jumping from her bed, she walked and stand behind Hermione with a teasing smile on her face, "You were not like this before the Yule Ball?". Hermione glanced at her on the mirror. "Yule Ball was different," she said trailing. Lavender suddenly frowned, "And your date was an international quidditch star and this time a simple seventh year student?" Lavender said wearily. "No!" Hermione said quickly, but went quiet as soon as her voice went high realizing that what Lavender said is true. Lavender sighed, "Hermione," she said shaking her head. She bent down and kissed Hermione's top of the head and plop down on the stool placed beside Hermione. The stool was really small as Lavender's head, who is of a medium height, is reaching the hands of the seat. She took Hermione's hand in hers', "Look Hermione. My mum always used to say that people will always try to be good with you if you always try to be nice to them," she said with a smile, "Look at us, we didn't even like each other when we first met and now, we're best friends." Lavender said cheerfully. "So! my dear bookworm," she said clapping her hand on her shoulder. "Though Ron was a troublesome person during our starting year. He is a real nice guy, so be good with him and I am sure he will also try to be a good date." "Since when our deary became so wise, Parvati?" Hermione asked teasingly to Parvati who giggled and then said with mocking emotional expression, "My dear Lav is all grown up now," she said wiping the invisible tears. Lavender huffed and rolled her eyes at them but her lips are twitching on both corners. "It isn't about Ron being my date," Hermione said sighing. "It's about that he must not have any expectations." "Why?" asked Parvati, her brows furrowing. "I don't want another trail of rumours behind me again," she said sighing sadly. Lavender and Parvati flinched when they remind of the fourth year after the Yule Ball. There

are hundreds of rumours regarding Hermione and Krum. It all started because of Rita Skeeter's article in Witch Weekly, and then it was a thunderstorm of howlers and all from Bulgarian crowd and Krum's fans and many of them were unkind. "It's just a date for the Ball Hermione," said Parvati, "Don't worry, I am a respected member of the rumour mill of Hogwarts. Nothing passes me." She said proudly and they all laughed.

[jordm]

Heartland 14x03 - Making Amends

We get to see Lily, with flashbacks of her saying of what a good place she’s in... but we know thats not likely to last so, here we gooo

Ps. I love Megan Follows

So far i’m really loving the introduction with Amy just standing there with Lyndy watching the horses. So simple, yet this is something I can see Amber doing with the Spencer twins at her own farm. It’s like they told Amber to just hang out with Lyndy in between scenes and happened to be there to film it. Love the simplicity of it all, with Spartan and the newly and aptly named Shadow. 

As a total side note, i love Amy’s hair in a braid. It’s such a nice change from her hair being loosely down.

Anyways, Lily is here - or rather, Nana! And Amy does not look impressed. Lily was not there for any of the major events, even the funeral and Amy feels abandoned after Lily and Wade flat out ignored Amy’s attempts to reach out. Frankly, I don’t blame Amy - not attending your only child’s funeral and ignoring your daughter in law when they could have used their support. However I don’t doubt that Lily had a valid reason - perhaps a relapse - that she’s hiding and once Amy calms down she might be amenable to listening. The good news is, Lily wants to talk, and Amy wants to listen... she just needs to get over her anger first.

Jack goes to confront Lily and Lily confesses that she fell off the wagon... and hard when Jack told her about Ty’s death. And that’s understandable - if she can’t even help herself how can she be there for other people? She even ended up in the hospital. She’s sorry, and Amy is sorry but will it be enough? Just when it seems like things are slowly getting better, Lily mis-steps. 

Should she have offered the money? No. 

Should she have listened to Amy and not let Howler race? Also no.

HOWEVER, is she right that Amy should consider seeing professional therapy? Also yes. Sometimes an outside sounding board or someone you can yell at with no stake in it helps or gives perspective.

Despite Lily’s insistence that she did not come just for Amy to work with the new race horse Howler (Amy is not believing her), Amy agrees to work with the horse. Hey, even we even get a Cass mention. We may not see Cass but we hear that she’s busy being a new mom... so that’s uh something. I know Kaitlyn Leeb wasn’t on set at all this season so it’s still nice to know that Heartland is acknowledging her existence. 

After some research, Amy learns that Howler is spooked because he witnessed a fellow race horse crash into the barrier and he’s traumatized to be around any railings. Hey, doesn’t this ring a bell about the current theme of the season? Everyone has traumas, everyone has demons and everyone is still dealing with Ty’s death in their own way. Everyone is coping and dealing with it in a different way as they all had different relationship with Ty.

Chad, a big travel blogger, according to Lou, wants to interview her in part of Lou’s mission to make Hudson the new tourist city - but something tells me that this won’t good as smoothly as she anticipates. She convinces Jen to work the weekend to get the dude ranch in shape and look who else is here... PETER! When Chad also arrives, Lou conveniently gets a last minute meeting and pushes Jen into showing Chad around and Jen isn’t happy. I also don’t blame her - she already had to change her plans twice because of Lou. 

Lou gets her amazing blog post by Chad, but the townspeople (unfairly) criticize her for fulfilling her one election promise - to put Hudson on the map - because of course she wants to increase tourism - her family has business in Hudson and it shows she’s not fully committed to the town. Is the criticism fair? No, not entirely, but at a certain point if you’re in politics you gotta just shut out the noise right? You will never be able to make everyone happy.

Side note: Jen and Peter broke up? GG Jen, it was nice knowing you. I hope the writers don’t put Lou and Peter back together they are so much better as co-parents!

This leads to an argument between Amy and Lou that while Lou the mayor is evident, Lou the sister is not. Amy needs her sister and Lou, while being busy with town with the positive of avoiding facing her feelings about Ty’s death, has just not been around. Lou lost a friend and a brother in law and Lou is dealing with her grief by refusing to think about it - denial. I hope to see more of how Lou deals with her grief.

We saw how Amy tried to talk to Lou while working with Howler, only for Lou to be pulled away, so I see where Amy is coming from. Likely, as Jack says, Amy’s anger is that she feels like other people are avoiding what she feels everyday and she feels it’s unfair and people are making excuses. Fact is though, everyone is grieving the loss of a loved one the only way they know how - and while they may not completely understand how the other is grieving, I do think a little understanding would go a long way (without feeling sorry for the other person).

Meanwhile Parker is running around turning off lights trying to save their eco footprint, to Jack’s annoyance. She suggests the idea of solar panels (my uncle has solar panels and it does save a lot of money!) and while Jack doesn’t love the idea, Lisa is into it. However, eventually Parker coaxes Jack to buy solar panels and i’m beginning to love their relationship! 

By the end of the episode, Jack is fed up with Parker when she gives him the wrong measurements and tells Parker that people on the ranch are dealing with much bigger things that solar panels. Harsh, i mean but... not false. Parker was just there in the wrong place at the wrong time and I don’t think Jack really meant to lash out at Parker that badly. 

It ends with a giant explosion. Is Lily going to be okay? My gut says yes. Imagine if Lily dies and the guilt Amy will have on top of it since she told Lily to go away. That won’t be pretty.

However, I do believe Lily will be okay and the next episode is the explosion where they work together to save the horses, so I am looking forward to seeing how the explosion works to make amends between the family.

I also hope that all the horse cases for the rest of the season don’t have to do with grief and maybe allow Amy to have some fun and learn new skills. I’d hate it every horse had a trauma related to death - I know its supposed to relate back to Ty’s death but we can have an episode where Amy has fun one time right?

[greenmegsnoham]

Silence

by Drarry_Quite_Contrary

General Sirius & Regulus; Regulus/Severus Hurt/Comfort

He had begged, pleaded—it did not matter.

“Slytherin!”

A shiver of dread poured down his spine. As the hat lifted off his head, he watched the bright, cheerful smile disappear in an instant, face ashen. Then he’d turned away. Regulus blinked back tears as he joined his fellow Slytherins, ignoring the cheers, the pats on the back. He watched as another first year took his seat. The seat saved for him. But it would never be his to take.

He stared at the back of his brother’s head, stomach in knots. Any moment now, he’d turn around and smile. Any moment now...

—

He’d said he’d protect him, that he’d never be alone. It had been a lie. One word and Regulus was as good as dead to him. He wanted to die. Anything to end the throbbing ache in his chest. It only seemed to grow—swallowing him whole. A void that could not be filled.

So Regulus did what all the broken ones do—he lashed out. He started fights, snapped at teachers. Even covered in scrapes and bruises, nothing could hurt more than seeing Sirius’ smiles, hear his laughter. It was as if Regulus had never existed.

—

No one dared approach the deranged Regulus Black. Good. He didn’t try to make friends—no one could be trusted. Just another chance to be thrown away like worthless trash. No. Never again. Better to be alone.

Then there was that Snape boy, who he’d never managed to scare off completely. He’d sit with him at mealtimes. To Regulus’ relief, he was a year ahead, so they didn’t have classes together. They never spoke to one another aside from the occasional greeting. It was a comfort really, sharing a space in silence. To be alone—together.

Even when Regulus arrived with bruised cheeks and scraped knuckles, Snape did not say a thing. A few days later, Snape placed a jar of salve on the table, and left without a word.

Regulus had noticed the older boy was nearly always alone. He wondered if he had any friends. What they were like. What he was like. Not like he cared.

Even after all that time, there was only one person he truly cared about. Someone who didn’t care at all.

—

Back home for Christmas break, there was no avoiding him any longer. Two weeks was enough. Regulus would get through to him. He had to. He just had to…

TAP TAP TAP

“Siri?”

Silence.

TAP TAP TAP

“Sirius, I know you’re in there.” Regulus rattled the handle, locked as expected.

“Go away.”

“I won’t.” Regulus slid to the floor, back against the door. “You have to come out eventually. Two weeks without food? The loo. Imagine that hair without a bath,” he chuckled. When was the last time he had laughed?

A few moments passed, and just as Regulus closed his eyes, the door swung open, slamming his head against the floor.

“Bloody hell!” He rubbed the back of his head, vision blurry. Sirius was standing over him, frowning.

“Get up and get out.” Sirius shoved him with his foot, but not as roughly as Regulus anticipated.

He did not move, just stared up at his brother intently. “We need to talk.” Please. He wouldn’t beg. Not yet.

Sirius rolled his eyes, then gestured for Regulus to enter. He clambered to his feet, hissing as his head throbbed, wavering slightly before catching his footing. Regulus stood there awkwardly before moving to sit on Sirius’ bed.

Sirius crossed his arms. “What do you want?”

All the words he’d planned to say, to scream at him, vanished as he looked at his brother.

“I miss you,” he whimpered. Tears poured down his face.

Nearly four months had passed. They’d never been apart that long. Even during his first year at Hogwarts, Sirius wrote him letters. Even the occasional howler, screaming profanities to their mother’s mortification.

Minutes passed before a hand rested on Regulus’ shoulder, the mattress shifting.

“Reg.”

Regulus jumped to his feet, rounding on Sirius.

“So, I’m in Slytherin! Do you think I wanted it?! I begged to be in Gryffindor...with you!” collapsing to the floor, sobbing. “I’m still me, Siri. I’m still...me.”

Sirius knelt before him, grabbing his shoulders. “I’m sorry! I’m an idiot, alright! I just...I was scared.”

Regulus looked up. “Scared? Of what?”

“That you’d end up like...them.” Their parents. The Blacks. An endless line of cruel, elitist Slytherins.

“How could you think that? You know me, Siri. Better than anyone. Sorry to be such a disappointment,” he scoffed.

Sirius pulled him into a bone-crushing hug. “No, Reg, I...I was disappointed in myself. I thought I’d failed you. I couldn’t face it...face you. I’m so sorry.”

Regulus’ tears fell to Sirius’ shoulder, soaking his shirt. “I can’t live like this, Siri. I just can’t.”

“You won’t. I’m so sorry, Reg.”

Regulus leaned back, rubbing his eyes. “Promise?”

Sirius smiled, ruffling his brother’s hair. “New year, fresh start?”

Regulus punched Sirius in the arm, who hissed in pain. “Don’t you ever ignore me again, you bastard!”

Sirius glared at him, then broke into a mischievous smile. “Wanna toss some dungbombs into dad’s study?”

Regulus grinned back. “I’ve got a Fanged Frisbee to stick in mum’s knicker drawer.”

“Where’d you get that?”

“Filch’s office.”

Sirius’ eyes widened in shock, “You didn’t.” He looked at his brother with pride. “You sneaky bastard.”

“Learned from the best, didn’t I?” Regulus stood, beaming. “I’ll be right back.” He turned toward the door, but Sirius caught his arm. Regulus’ brow furrowed in question.

“I missed you too.”

— 

They’d been sent to their rooms without supper, though Kreacher snuck him the leftovers. Kreacher had always had a soft spot for Regulus. But his brother...he would sooner let him starve. Regulus ate half of the steamed salmon, leaving the rest for Sirius.

When their parents had long gone to bed, Regulus crept quietly down the hall. Sirius’ door was unlocked.

“Sirius,” he breathed.

A muffled sound came from within. He entered, closing the door softly behind him. “I have some food. It’s a bit cold, though.”

Sirius rubbed his eyes, adjusting to the darkness. “Oh...thanks, Reg.”

Regulus set the plate in Sirius’ lap before lighting a candle. Sirius took a few bites, but soon began pushing it around.

“I’m really sorry it’s not warm. I wouldn’t have been able—“

“It’s fine, Reg,” he said stiffly.

Regulus’ chest tightened. “Siri, what’s wrong?”

“You and Snivellus have been rather chummy.”

“Who?” He didn’t know anyone by that name. Nor did he have any chums.

“Snape.”

“Oh! Not really, no.” He paused. “Wait. Snivellus?”

Sirius ignored the question. “You’re always with him.”

Regulus let out a laugh before covering his mouth. “Since when?”

“You sit together.”

“Well if you paid any attention you’d know that’s the only time we’re together.”

“I don’t trust him,” he hissed.

“Why?”

“We don’t exactly...get along.”

“So?”

“What if he’s trying to use you...to get back at me?” There was genuine concern in his tone.

“We’ve barely spoken a word to one another. We just sit together. I think he felt sorry for me…” he trailed off. “Maybe I felt sorry for him too.”

“I’d rather you not sit with him anymore.”

“What’s the big deal? It’s not like I can sit with you. He’s not bothering me. It would be more awkward to ask him not to.”

“Then just...promise to be careful. He’s not your friend.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Regulus couldn’t help but feel a tinge of guilt.

—

One the first day back at school, Snape took his normal seat beside Regulus. Sirius’ words still spinning in his head, he was acutely aware of his presence.

He turned toward the boy. “Why do you sit by me?”

Snape looked at him, blinking furiously, tinge of pink in his cheeks. “Wha...what?”

“Why. Do. You. Sit. Here? Is it because you hate my brother? Using me to get to him?” He didn’t think it was true, but he had to know.

Snape’s eyes widened. “What, no! Of course, not...how could you think…”

His tone shifted from startled to firm, “What did he tell you?”

“You don’t like him.”

“No.”

“Why, then?” Regulus kept his face blank, though anxiety rippled under his skin.

Snape turned to his plate. He did respond.

“Pity? You feel sorry for me? I’ll have you know—“

“I like you!” he blurted. Snape immediately moved to stand, but Regulus grabbed his wrist.

“Look at me and say it.”

Snape took a deep breath, turning toward him. “I like you.”

Regulus searched his face. No sign of amusement, only sincerity.

“Okay, then.” Regulus released him, turning back to his plate.

Snape took his seat. After a few silent minutes he whispered, “I missed you.”

All this time, he’d never been alone. Not really. He’d just been too blind to see it.

“Yeah. Me too.”

Maybe being in Slytherin wasn’t so bad after all.

-

View original post on AO3!

More stuff I wrote!

[fanficflaneuse]

One Day - Part 3

A/N: Hello, Magical tumblr friends! I have absolutely no self control. Writing has flown very easily lately and I just want to post as soon as I finish. First, as always, I want to thank you for all of your love and support. This has been awesome so far. Every little heart, reblog and note makes my heart soar. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Second, I really want to apologize in case my writing has too many mistakes. I’m a perfectionist. I usually try very hard to be polished and strive to have a near perfect grammar and spelling, but English is not my first language, so even when I reread my writing time and time again I still find a lot of mistakes. I’m sorry! I’m really trying my best and hopefully it gets better :) 

Third, this post features Fragment 31 by greek poet Sappho, translated by Jim Powell. 

Details: 

Draco x reader (she/her pronouns) Word count: 1465 Summary: One day AU. Post-war. Since The Battle of Hogwarts, Draco and y/n meet one day a year.

Enjoy! 

Masterlist 

3 May, 2000

My dearest (Y/N/N),

I imagine you probably want to burn me at the stake right now. I know I promised to write as often as possible, but the things I’ve experienced in the last few weeks have shaken me to my core. And I can already imagine you saying something along the lines of “there’s always time to scribble a few lines, it’s not that hard, Dray”, but not everyone is a talented writer like you, darling. Be it as it may, in case my words don’t grant me your forgiveness with this letter you’ll find a couple of books I’ve read lately and I’d love to discuss with my favourite bookworm.

I arrived in Prague last week. Oh, (Y/N/N)! What a wondrous place. It’s everything you described and so much more. I spent the first few days sightseeing and walking around. I ventured into the wizarding library you told me about and I could totally understand your excitement. I spent two whole days there and I don’t think I covered more than half of it. It reminded me a bit of Hogwarts and a great deal of you. I miss you terribly, (Y/N), and the only thing I’d change about this trip would be having you with me. We should go on a holiday together, explore a corner of the world we have yet to see. What do you say?

I started venturing into the muggle parts of the city as well. Muggle tourists seem to be three times more of a pain in the arse than wizard tourists are. All in all, I’ve learned a great deal from them as well. I’ve visited cathedrals and museums and I even consulted a muggle about their literature. As much as I hate to admit this, you’re right: there are some awfully great things out there. That Kafka fellow? An absolute genius. The way The Metamorphosis made me feel is nothing short of magical. What a gross book (in the best possible way).

What else can I tell you, love? I definitely needed all of this. I needed to get away from Britain, away from my parents, away from everything I once knew. I needed to get lost in places where my last name meant absolutely nothing. It has helped me put things into perspective and get to know myself. I haven’t found myself just yet. I don’t even know if it’s possible, to truly find oneself. But at least I’m ridden with questions and challenges to my old beliefs. I am not ashamed to tell you I’m terribly afraid of the answers, but I at least I don’t fear finding them anymore. The price of not asking myself all I have to learn is much too high.

I hope this letter finds you well, (Y/N/N). Tell me what’s new with you. Please make my days better with some of your poems and short stories. I miss them as much as I miss you (plus, I want to collect a bunch of your original works to boast when you’re a famous writer).

I send you all of those hugs I cannot give you right now.

Hope to see you soon.

Love,

Your cuddling partner.

D. M.

...

My dearest Dray,

I was thinking about sending you a howler when you owl arrived, lucky bastard. I’d say there are no words to describe how much joy your letter brings me, but I am want to be a writer so this doesn’t apply to me, I guess. I knew a change of scenery would open your mind to different things and I’m genuinely happy for you. I hope all of those questions lead you to live your truth and build a life that truly fulfils you.

Thank you for the books, love. I’m quite impressed by your selection. Muggle books? I never would’ve imagined you, of all people, would send me muggle literature. I’m so proud! And Kafka is wonderful. I only got my hands on some of his short stories. I guess I’ll give that little novel a go now that it has your approval stamp. I’ll read all of these books and send you a very extensive review. I won’t quite forgive you, though, until you drag your arse back here and we can have yet another cuddle session.

I’d love to go on a holiday with you, Dray. What do you propose? I’ve never been to America and I’m really curious of what it has to offer. I’d also love to go someplace sunny, enjoy the nice weather and hopefully get a bit tanned, don’t you think? (Or at least try…You’re so freakishly pale tanning seems like a big stretch).

I’ll tell you some of my news. Last week I started working at the Ministry. I’m part of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement now. It is a lot of work and it includes a great deal of paperwork, but at least I have Hermione, Harry and Ron with me. (They all send you their regards, by the way. Ron says that if you don’t bring gifts with you, you won’t be allowed at the Burrow anymore. Hermione scolded him, but the threat remains). I like helping people. I guess this is just a more official continuation of what we’ve been doing since we’re eleven, don’t you think? I am learning a lot and I am very busy. It makes me happy and excited for what’s to come.

Yesterday we went back to Hogwarts for the second anniversary of the battle. It was all very gloomy. The wounds are still fresh. I got back home and cried my heart out. But I feel it was absolutely necessary for us – all of us – to be there. We need to heal collectively, Dray. I know you say it’s not your place. I know a lot of people won’t be able to look past the mark in your forearm. Many others, though, asked me about you and your wellbeing. I am sure it is going to take a while, but I hope you can go back and face those demons. I wish for you to recover. I cherish the day in which we all do.

You have no idea how much I miss you, Draco Malfoy. Even Harry is jealous. It’s not my fault that our cuddle partnership is absolutely awesome and that he’s a terrible cuddler. I guess you’re my one and only.

I have a bunch of short stories in the works. To be honest I have been a bit lazy lately. I’m so tired once I get home that I don’t really have enough patience to work on my tragic heroines. I’ve been writing a lot of poetry, though. I write verses on napkins and stray pieces of parchment, on the back of the forms I have to fill or at the margins of the books I’m currently reading. I’ll send you a couple of them.

(…) once I look at you for a moment, I can't speak any longer,

but my tongue breaks down, and then all at once a subtle fire races inside my skin, my eyes can't see a thing and a whirring whistle thrums at my hearing,

cold sweat covers me and a trembling takes ahold of me all over: I'm greener than the grass is and appear to myself to be little short of dying.

Hope to see you soon.

Love,

Your cuddling partner.

(Your Initials).

Draco unfolded the letter and read it for the tenth time. He loved how (Y/N) could write the most erudite poems and elaborate stories, yet her letters seemed to have a more conversational tone. It made him feel closer to her. He could imagine her saying every single sentence out loud, complete with guessing where would she breathe, laugh or make dramatic pauses.

In the last two years, Draco and (Y/N) had built a one of a kind friendship. It was foreign territory even to her, who was used to a tight-knit group of friends. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit that his heart almost leaped out of his chest when he read the words “you’re my one and only”. If he had to guess, he’d say she had written that in a more teasing tone. After all, he had started with the pet names.

And yet.

The poem was the icing on the cake. He wanted to think she had written it with him in mind. Reading her writing was like having access to a very reserved piece of her mind he’d never quite grasp. And he wanted as much of it as he could get. Draco folded the letter once again and saved it with the rest. (Y/N) (Y/L/N), his best friend, would be the death of him.

Tags: @fandomscombine @okaydraco @iliketoast23 @naomi02hook

[jaybear1701]

It was supposed to be a simple spell.

At least, that’s what Tally had said. One sprig of mistletoe and an easy-as-pie incantation:

Love is precious Banish your woe Love is found ‘Neath the mistletoe

It had sounded fake, if Raelle was being honest. But she had no reason to doubt her fellow Gryffindor and was willing to take the chance. But, like with many things in Raelle’s Collar’s 16 years on earth, nothing was ever that simple.

Perhaps she had said the words wrong or emphasized the wrong syllables. Or perhaps the intensity of Raelle’s emotions had given her magic a little too much oomph. Or maybe she didn’t use the right mistletoe. “It had to be picked on the night of a waning gibbous moon,” Tally had exclaimed only after everything went to hell. Whatever it was, it backfired. Spectacularly.

Instead of the enchanted mistletoe appearing above the archway leading to the greenhouses—where the object of Raelle’s affections would go every morning to help Professor Sprout with all the magical plants (the mushrooms, especially, were her favorite)--it now appeared above every archway, in random locations and times, catching students and professors and even ghosts unaware. 

What made it even worse: the nefarious mistletoe trapped unexpected couples underneath it until they kissed. (Raelle didn’t think she’d ever be able to purge from memory the sight of Headmistress Alder locking lips with Peeves the poltergeist.) Anyone who dared to defy its mandate were forced to have their deepest crush announced to every corner of the castle by multiple Howlers--which is how everyone now knew that Libba Swythe, a Slytherin, had a thing for a Gryffindor. And not just any Gryffindor. Her sworn nemesis: Abigail Bellweather.

At lunch, the Great Hall was decorated like it always was during the winter holidays. A massive Christmas tree with all the trimmings sparkled at the front of the hall. Giant wreaths adorned the walls, and a flurry of snowflakes floated above their heads. The air smelled of pine and sugar cookies, and Raelle would have enjoyed it if not for the calamity she had brought down on Hogwarts and all its residents.

Sitting at Gryffindor’s table, Abigail’s scowl was dark and furious. She stabbed at her meal with more force than necessary, glaring at Raelle as she vigorously chewed.

“This is all your fault,” Abigail said, very much heated.

“Keep your voice down, will you?” Raelle lowered her head, glancing to the left and right. The last thing she needed was for Professor Quartermaine to find out that she caused everything. “Besides, it was Tally’s spell.”

“Um, excuse you, it was not my spell.” Tally looked offended. “No one forced you to use it, Rae.”

“She’s right,” Abigail grumbled. “And now everything’s the worst.”

“For what it’s worth, I think it’s the best,” Tally sing-songed, high on a dreamy cloud after sharing multiple kisses with Gerit Buttonwood all over the castle. “As do a lot of people. Nothing wrong with a kiss here and there.”

Abigail rolled her eyes. “None of this would have happened if you just told Ramshorn the truth,” she said. “And what's worse is that you haven't even tried to catch her under one of those vile weeds."

"I'm working on it," Raelle said.

"You are the most cowardly Gryffindor in the history of Gryffindors,” Abigail stressed. 

“Look, it’s not that easy, okay?” Raelle stole a glance over at the Ravenclaw table, where Scylla looked as effortlessly gorgeous as ever, head buried in a thick tome, as usual. She was probably crafting all sorts of new spells and potions in that brilliant mind of hers. Uncertainty washed over Raelle. Even if she managed to kiss Scylla under some mistletoe... how would she go about telling one of her best friends that she's in love with her? What if Scylla didn’t feel the same way? Would Raelle ruin their friendship? She couldn’t imagine life without the bright, witty, and rebellious Ravenclaw. 

"It’s not like you’re running to Libba even though she loves you too for some reason," Raelle deflected. 

The blush on Abigail’s face was brighter than the red on her robes. “This isn’t about me.”

Raelle watched as Scylla stood from her table and made her way out of the Great Hall. At the Hufflepuff table, Porter Tippett also stood. He only had eyes for Scylla, as well. Oh hell no. On instinct, Raelle shot to her feet. The last thing she needed was for Porter to try to rekindle anything with Scylla because Raelle’s spell had gone awry.

“Where are you going?” Tally asked, eyebrows raised. 

“I don’t know,” Raelle said. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Abigail shook her head.

Raelle ignored them both to follow Scylla, who had some free time before her next class--not that Raelle had memorized her schedule or anything. Perhaps she was going back to Ravenclaw Tower. She had to find Scylla before Porter did.

Raelle walked quickly down the hallways, shoes clacking against stone. She bounded up the moving staircases, two sometimes three steps at a time, drawing warnings from several of the portraits to be careful. She hoped she was taking the right path to Ravenclaw Tower. No matter how often Scylla told her the way, Raelle found it confusing, as if it was an ever shifting puzzle that only the Ravenclaws could figure out. Thankfully, Porter apparently found it just as mystifying because Raelle lost him somewhere between the third and fourth floors.

Skidding around a corner, Raelle’s heart lodged firmly in her throat when she saw Scylla underneath an archway, alone thankfully, staring up at a bundle of leaves and white berries. Raelle willed herself to be calm and approached slowly, not wanting to startle Scylla.

“Looks like you could use some help,” Raelle called out. Nerves made the tips of her fingers number and she rubbed her hands together.

Scylla’s head snapped toward the sound of her voice, shoulders visibly relaxing when she saw it was Raelle. “Thank the goddess it’s you,” she breathed out.

“I guess you could do worse,” Raelle said as she joined Scylla, pulse ticking ever upward.

“Not by much,” Scylla teased.

“Ouch,” Raelle said. 

Scylla’s gaze returned to the mistletoe. “I can’t believe some idiot botched this spell. I mean, a first-year could do it. Whoever it was probably picked the mistletoe during a waxing gibbous moon.”

“R-right.” Raelle rubbed the back of her neck. “What an idiot.”

Silence stretched between them, awkward and thick. 

“Well, I guess we should get this over with.” Scylla looked at her expectantly, but Raelle found she couldn’t move. She was frozen in place, as if someone had hit her with an Immobulus charm. 

“Are you okay?” Scylla’s brows furrowed. 

“Yeah, I just…” It was hard to speak with the way her mouth suddenly dried out.

“It’s just a kiss.” Scylla moved closer and touched Raelle’s elbow. “No big deal.”

Raelle’s stomach dropped. Because of course . It wasn’t a big deal to Scylla because she didn’t feel the same as Raelle. And in that moment, Raelle knew she had messed up. Royally. Why had she thought some mistletoe would miraculously lead to Scylla returning her unrequited love. She should have never cast that spell.

She was so stupid .

But she had a chance to fix it now. To bury her feelings and give Scylla a quick peck and be done with it. But...

“I can’t,” Raelle whispered, tired of hiding. 

Scylla’s face fell and that made Raelle’s heart crack. “Would kissing me be that terrible?”

“What? No!” Raelle covered her face with her hands. This was a disaster. “That’s not…”

“Rae,” Scylla gently pulled down Raelle’s hands, blue eyes as clear as the shimmering waters of the Great Lake on a cloudless day. “It’s okay. You don’t have to kiss me, if you don’t want to.” 

“That’s the thing.” Raelle’s chest throbbed. “I do want to. More than you know. But not like this.”

“Like what?” Scylla asked, baffled. 

“Like it doesn’t mean anything.” Raelle took a deep breath. It was now or never. She’d prove she wasn’t the most cowardly Gryffindor in the history of Gryffindors. “Because, Scyl, it’d mean everything to me. Because you mean everything .”

Scylla licked her lips. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, I love you. I’m in love with you. Have been for as long as I can remember. But I understand if you don’t feel the same.”

Closing her eyes, Scylla ducked her head down, shoulders beginning to shake. Raelle couldn’t tell if she was laughing or crying.

“Scyl? Say something. Please.”

When Scylla finally looked up, Raelle for sure thought her heart stopped. Tears shone in her eyes, and her mouth curved up in a trembling smile.

“You know what Muggles say about assumptions, right?” Scylla said.

Raelle watched dumbfounded as Scylla stepped away and out past the perimeter of the mistletoe’s reach. Howlers appeared out of thin air, and their screech was deafening. They flapped to all corners of the castle. Even with her hands clapped around her ears, Raelle could hear the message clearly:

Scylla Ramshorn, Seventh Year, Ravenclaw, is in love with Raelle Collar, Sixth Year, Gryffindor.

Scylla Ramshorn, Seventh Year, Ravenclaw, is in love with Raelle Collar, Sixth Year, Gryffindor.

Scylla Ramshorn, Seventh Year, Ravenclaw, is in love with Raelle Collar, Sixth Year, Gryffindor.

The message repeated for what seemed like eternity before it finally ceased, leaving Raelle in stunned silence, facing burning.

Scylla shrugged helplessly.

In less than a fraction of a second, Raelle erased the gap between them and kissed Scylla, cupping her jaw and burying her fingers in soft, auburn hair. Scylla wrapped her arms around Raelle and brought them even closer. Raelle melted into the softness of Scylla’s lips, warmth spreading throughout her entire body as her heart expanded to the point of bursting. 

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Scylla whispered when they broke apart, foreheads resting against each other.

“Why didn’t you?” Raelle countered, smiling so widely her cheeks were beginning to hurt.

“I guess we’re both idiots.”

“Guess so.”

Scylla nuzzled the tip of Raelle’s nose. “Speaking of idiots, I’ll have to thank the one who bungled the mistletoe spell after all.” Her gaze traveled up to the archway. The mistletoe had already disappeared to claim its next victim. 

“Lucky for you, you don’t have to search very far,” Raelle confessed.

Scylla’s eyes widened. “It was you?”

Raelle nodded sheepishly, and Scylla could only laugh, pulling her in for another kiss. 

[nomoregoldfish]

Imagine catching Amado building secret airport in the jungle; Enemies to friends /w benefits (1/2)

Did someone just like all my JMY posts? YOU’RE NOT ALONE IN THIS DEEP SH*T. Hope you enjoy this, too ;)

You're a geologist working on the excavation of Yaxchilán, a remote Mayan site in Chiapas. Your job is to help fellow archaeologists to draw a map of the entire ancient city including ruins as many as possible, which largely remain uncovered and reclaimed by the jungle after being abandoned for centuries.

One day during the exploration along the Usumacinta River, you and your team run into a large construction site that isn't on the map. You suspect it might be illegal deforestation and you're going to report it. But your colleagues warn this kind of hidden site is probably owned by people way above your pay grade.

You find the narrow rectangle-shaped site a bit unusual. It almost looks like clearing a road at the heart of the forest.

You decide to go find out the truth yourself, that's when you meet a long-hair man dressed in black. In the FUCKING RAIN FOREST, humid and above 90 degrees at 10AM. WTF is wrong with this dude wearing the hottest aviation sunglasses you've ever seen?

"How can I help you, Ms... Geologist?" The fucker with a thick northern accent takes a glimpse of your INAH badge, "What brings you here?" You retort with the same question, accusing him of deforestation in the protected area. "There might be some Mayan ruins around? Sorry, I don't see any." The mocking tune of his is so irritating you want to punch him in the face... 

Wait, he takes off the shades. How could that handsome face belong to such a douchebag? Goddamnit. The guy claims the land was legally bought but won't show you any document unless you have a warrant. You don't see he and his men carry any firearms but something in his eyes tells you there's danger. He doesn't need to reflex his muscle to show toughness. 

You swallow any further question and leave. You need to figure out another approach.

You drive back to your camp, making phone calls to whoever might have the insight. Still not a single clue. No one in DF gives a fuck about what's going on in the middle of of vast jungles in Chiapas, the remote state sharing hundreds of miles of border with Guatemala, where cartels have been smuggling in all kinds of profitable produce from human to cocaine. 

You're on your own. You have to find out why someone's claiming a large area of land in your territory which could jeopardize your research. 

Sneaking in alone at night is probably not the best strategy but whatever. Say you're a bit too strong-headed. You manage to get into an office-like room, a blueprint hanging on the whiteboard. Turns out the road you saw earlier is actually a runway, plus a few giant warehouses near the end of the runway for the planes. Someone is building a secret airport.

You're stunned. And next moment, caught by the man himself.

This time he has you at gunpoint, with your hands clenched behind your back, "Nice to meet you again, Ms. Geologist, or should I call you Ms. Trespasser? By the way, I'm Amado, piloto. Any last word?"

His casual smile makes the death threat less intimidating. Maybe you can reason with Amado.

You try not to poke around the natural of his shady business. Just lay out the importance of the protected area for anthropology and archaeology studies, even for biodiversity conservation. Think about the howler monkeys and other indigenous species. Building an airport in the jungle already scare many animals away, let alone the huge air and sonic pollution once it's up and running. And you haven't finished the scan of the whole area. There could be multiple hidden ruins nearby. 

You keep talking and talking, Amado never breaks the eye contact with you. And you stare back, looking into his dark eyes. It's mesmerizing. 

"I love it when you talk about your shit." He moves close to you, closer than necessary that you can feel his body warmth through those dark clothes. Everything is too warm and damp in the tiny temporary room, like your t-shirt soaked with sweat that sticks to your skin and probably shows your tits, and his long neck and a strand of hair on his forehead. He smells exotic, like gunpowder and mahogany tree, both of which you deal with on a daily basis in the jungle.

You're not afraid of Amado as you should've been. Instead, you're fucking turned on. In a split second his forearms touch yours when he unties you, you kind of want it to last longer. That sleeves-rolled-up, three-buttons-open black shirt is not helping at all.

"You haven't asked what I do. Go on, Ms. Geologist, tell me more about what I could possibly do in your precious jungle." He does it on purpose, letting the hot breath brush over your ear. He's now standing behind you, big hands lingering on your waist when he finds out you lean to his touch. 

It's like a slow dance, you move naturally along his body as you mumble the pivotal location the secret airport is built at. Which is the nearest to Guatemala, convenient for water transportation just using the border river, and more importantly holds the closest route from/to Colombia, a perfect mid-stop for business between Colombia and northern Mexico. 

"So you've guessed what I do for living." Amado gives you a smirk. And you joke he's just a piloto. He laughs, a big one, praising you're the smartest woman he's ever met. Then he asks whether you'd continue the fight when you already know it's a done deal and who you're up against.

You look straight into Amado's eyes, telling him that he could've pulled the trigger the moment he caught you, but he didn't.

Your conversation is disrupted by one of his guys passing a call from el patrón patrón. Amado sighs, letting you sneak out.

The bastard fucking calls your camp later that night, claiming he's your boyfriend. You have to avoid all your colleagues to speak to him. 

You're furious and ask how the fuck he gets the number.

"You think drug traffickers are banditote therefore they wouldn't catch the signal from another satellite phone in nearby areas and tap the calls, Ms. Geologist? I was actually flattered when you asked around about me the other day." You can imagine Amado's dangerously charming smile at the other end of the phone.

WTF. You CURSE, a lot. 

"It's very hot when you curse, but even drug trafficker won't waste money on dirty talks over satellite phone. I just want to make sure of your safe return. Good night."

You'd never admit you masturbate to a drug trafficker that night. Not in a million years.

[breanime]

Make It Bright

Requested by @delicatelilyflower:  Hello there! It’s late and I’m feeling really happy and I thought: could you write a fic with any of Ben’s character (including Sirius) because I can’t choose where his gf is having one of her very cheerful moment and he’s just like damn I love her so much because I’m in desperate need of fluff Thank youuu

Thanks for the request, I wrote this with a bit of a headache, but I hope you like it! 

*gif by @b-n-a-o*

Sirius made his way to the library with his hands in his pockets. He had just gotten a letter from his mother—it would have been better suited as a Howler, but she was above that kind of humiliation. She liked her humiliation to sting.

And sting it did.

Sirius had burnt the letter—all five pages of it—in the Common Room fireplace, but watching it burn hadn’t done anything to ease the anger. Remus had sat with him for a while, but Sirius ended up sending him away. It wasn’t that Remus being there wasn’t nice. It was. It was just… Sirius needed to be alone. In all honesty, he wanted to be with you, but he was concerned that he wasn’t good company—and he wasn’t—so he decided to isolate himself until he felt better. Although, he wasn’t sure when that would be. It was like the words in that letter were tattooed in his brain: worthless, an embarrassment, a disgrace. It played through his head over and over again, and the more Sirius thought about it, the more he started to believe it. Maybe he was just Walburga’s bastard son, her one mistake in her pristine life. Maybe he was worthless and useless and everything she said he was. Maybe he deserved her hatred, her venom. It was his inheritance, after all. Plus, Sirius had to admit: the old bird was sharp. His mother was evil and cold and ruthless, but she was intelligent, too. So who was to say she wasn’t right about him? Maybe he was a disgrace and good for nothing. Maybe he deserved to be unhappy—Merlin knows his bloodline alone kept him perpetually miserable. He thought, when he’d first come to Hogwarts, that maybe he would find happiness there. Peter, Remus, and James became his family, loved and appreciated him despite his last name. They were there for him when his own family—when his own brother—shunned him. They made him happy.

And then there was you. Sirius had liked you the first time he saw your smile. He knew you’d be good friends the first time you pulled a prank with him (you jinxed James so every time he said “Lily”, “Evans”, or “Quidditch” he burped rainbow-colored bubbles for a month). It wasn’t too long after that he realized he loved you. Everything about you made him feel…safe and warm. When you smiled, Sirius felt like everything was right in the world. When he held you, when you were enclosed in his arms, lips against his, he felt invincible. He felt like he had a purpose. He felt… the exact opposite of how he felt now.

Right now…he felt like garbage. And even worse: it felt like he deserved to feel like garbage.

And then he heard your laugh. It was unmistakable; it was the sound of joy and hope and love…unfiltered, uncompromising, unconditional love. He stopped in his tracks, his head immediately turning towards the sound. You were at a table with James and Lily, and you were making the parchment float above you while you ‘studied’. James and Lily were laughing, but it was only your laugh Sirius was focused on. You had a smile from ear to ear, and it was like Sirius was watching the sun rise. He stood there and stared at you for what was probably only seconds, but it felt like minutes. His heart stopped when you looked up and noticed him standing there.

“Sirius!” You turned your million-watt smile to him, and Sirius couldn’t help but smile in return. “There you are! Come study with us, love!”

He chuckled as he walked over. “Doesn’t look like you’re doing much studying.”

“I’m the most brilliant wizard at this bloody school,” James boasted, “I don’t need to study!”

“Second most brilliant,” Sirius said back easily.

“Third if we’re factoring in Remus,” you added.

“Fourth if you count Severus,” Lily said.

“We do not,” James scoffed, offended.

James and Lily—Jily, as you called them—dissolved into soft arguing with a strong hint of sexual tension as Sirius just stared down at you. You titled your head as you looked at him; you could always read him like a book. He knew you could see the weight on his shoulders, just like he knew you would take it upon yourself to fix them.

And you did—easily.

You patted the seat next to you, and Sirius immediately felt a wave of warm comfort wash over him at your closeness. You didn’t make it a big deal, you just… You were just being yourself. You sat close enough that your shoulder touched his, and you made sure to smile in his direction as you spoke with him, voice hushed as not to interrupt Jily’s charged ‘discussion’. His face was starting to hurt from smiling so much. Just being around you made him feel light and warm and…

“I love you,” he whispered, leaning in close to you.

Your smile warmed him to the core. “I love you, too,” you whispered back. “Hey,” you dropped your voice lower, properly effecting a conspiratorial whisper, “this is for you.” You knocked your knee against his under the table, and he felt you slip something into his hand. “Don’t read it here.”

“Seriously?” He looked down at the slip of paper in his hands, a smirk on his face. “We’re writing notes now, love?”

“Go,” you gestured towards a bookcase with your head, “Read it now.”

Chuckling, Sirius got up, kissing you on the head before walking over to the bookcase a few feet away. He shook his head, your smile imprinted on his heart. He unfolded the paper, recognizing your familiar handwriting, and even that made him feel better. His heart pounded in his chest as he read it.

Love,

Your mother is a twat. Remus told me what happened, so I took it upon myself to write you a letter that isn’t full of absolute bullshit.

Sirius, I love you. I adore you. You make me feel like the most beautiful, most important person in the world and I don’t know where I would be without you. I know that sometimes you might not feel like it, but you are irreplaceable. You make every day better, and I hope you know that. I’m still in awe that you chose me, decided to be with me, because you could have anyone you wanted. And I hope that I make you even half as happy as you make me. I could on and on about how much I love you (way more than five pages worth), but I think I would rather show you. Are you free tonight?

Sirius grinned. Hell yeah he was free—he lived for the nights when he would sneak into your dorm. The cost for a night spent with you in his arms, with him inside you, kissing you, caressing you was just one a simple wave of his wand charming the area around the bed so he could enjoy every single sound he made you make without threat of interruption. Licking his lips, he read on, the smile stuck on his face.

I’m going to assume that you are, so I’ll see you tonight, handsome. But until then, I need you to take your wand out and say the following words: “I solemnly swear that my mum is a twat”.

He laughed. He took his wand out, held it against the note and said: “I solemnly swear that my mum is a twat.”

His grin widened as he watched different handwriting appear in the note. He would know that writing anywhere: Moony, Wormtail, and Prongs.

Peter’s note appeared first:

Did you know that I wrote about you in my first letter home? I was so excited that Sirius Black talked to me. To be honest, I was quite sure you were pulling a prank on me at first, but… You weren’t. (at least I don’t think you were…or are) But, if I’m being honest, mate, I really look up to you. I mean—imagine being me. I’m not talented like you all, not good looking like you or James or good at talking like Remus, but… You’re friends with me anyway. And you don’t have to be—I mean, you’re Sirius Black, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You’re not even graduated yet and you’re a legend. I guess what I’m trying to say is… your mother is wrong about you. You’re not worthless, Sirius. To be honest…you’re my hero.

Sirius wiped his eyes—not because he was crying or anything, but because his eyes were dry. That was it.

Next was Remus.

I hope you don’t mind that I spoke with the fellas (and your lady) about what happened with your mother. You know I don’t like to be rude to elders but your mum’s a bitch. She called you a disgrace? You? The one who spent months to become an animagus and stuck with the literal disgrace? (By the way, I know you’re making a face right now because I referred to myself as a disgrace, and I know you’re probably thinking ‘how could you think that, Moony?’. That is exactly how I felt sitting with you after you read that letter) I couldn’t ask for a better friend, confidant, brother, and fellow Marauder. You came into Hogwarts as a cocky little fucker with stupid hair, and you’re going to leave it a cocky big fucker with stupid hair and a big heart. You, my friend, are a true Gryffindor, and we are beyond fortunate to have you. I look forward to burning more letters from your mother in the (near) future and causing mischief. Moony out.

Sirius sniffled. What an ass. James’ handwriting appeared below Remus’, and Sirius shook his head as he read the words.

Mate—are you out of your mind? You must be if you’re giving any serious (haha, Sirius is being serious) thought to what your mum said. What did she say? You were a disgrace and an embarrassment? Has she looked into a mirror? That hairstyle (which I still think is just a dead bat wrapped in barbed wire) is a disgrace. But, in all seriousness, Padfoot, you are amazing. Your mum might never see how great you are, but we do. And you know there’s always a room for you at mine—my mum is probably making up a room for you as we speak. Next holiday, you’re coming home with me! And tonight we’re breaking into the kitchens and eating as much chocolate as Moony will let us (which is going to be all of it!)—oh, don’t worry, I know about your “‘plans’” with Y/N tonight, I promise that this won’t interfere with that… you dirty dog (ha! DOG!). But you know, Pads, you’re my very best friend. You make me laugh, you challenge me, you’re like the best part of me—which is saying a lot because there’s are just sooo many great things about me—and I don’t know who I would be without you (or who you would be without me), but I’m glad I know you. I love ya, mate.

Now say “my dad’s no prize either”.

Laughing, Sirius pressed the wand to the paper. “My Dad’s no prize either,” he said. He tucked the paper into his pants and peaked around the corner, where he was greeted by your brilliant smile. He mouthed “I love you”, and you mouthed it back.

“Oi!” James yelled, completely disregarding the rules of the library, “I love you too, you giant git!”

“Not as much as I love you, ya wanker!” Sirius shouted back.

You were all promptly kicked out of the library—but that was ok. As Sirius walked down the hall with his hand in yours, James and Lily at his side, he started to realize just how lucky he was. He might not be close with his family—he might never be close with them again—but that was fine. He had a family here. He looked over at James and saw a brother, and a possible sister-in-law in Lily. As they turned a corner and ran into Remus and Peter, he saw two more brothers—brothers who weren’t bogged down with instilled hate, brothers who saw potential in him, but at the same time accepted him for exactly who he was. And, when Sirius looked down at you and your loving, heart-stopping smile, he saw his future.

And he knew his future would be as bright as your smile, no matter what his mother said.

And he was damn grateful for it.

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I’m a Slut for found families! Hope you guys liked this, and I’m sorry I haven’t been posting much this week. Hopefully I get back on it next week! Thanks for reading!

Taglist: @floralpeaceofmind​ @delicatelilyflower​ @dylanobrusso​ @ladyblablabla​ @banditthewriter​ @something-tofightfor​  @starsfragments​ @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme​ @hisgirlwednesdayaddams​@fictionwillneverdie @maria-beretta​ @sadnessxvodka​ @ymariejp​ @sunnycolors​ @moonlightsay​ @its-all-o-kay @damagelove​ @keyeluh @itsmylife98​ @funerals-with-cake​ @littlemermaidprobz​ @teacuplotus​ @king4thesirens​ @mrsjaxtellerfan​ @thebabblingbook​ @tartelette-aux-fraises​ @madamrogers​  @charlylama​ @iaintnofurry​​ @k-buggz2001​​ @whitewolfslittlesilverfox @drinix​ @elanor-of-imladris​ @blah-blah-fuckit-shit @julliiaaq​ @holamor​ @ymariejp@shadowhunterscloset @songtoyou​ @anabella-baby @sssilverssserpent​ @heyitslexy @luminex3 @sithskywalkers @carlaangel86 @sssilverssserpent @jupiter-blake @binbons-is-theloml @captainblackeyes @importantkidmakerfire @luminex3 

(I couldn’t get it to tag some of you guys, so if you didn’t get tagged and you SHOULD have, please let me know)

[life-in-the-monster-haus]

Monster Haus Reviews: Super Monsters

Since Monster High (and Ever After High) have no animated specials lined up at this current moment. I’m going to start reviewing Monster High adjacent properties. Today I’ll be reviewing Netflix Original Series Super Monsters!

It’s a show about the children of famous monsters in pre-school learning how to control their super natural powers before they get into kindergarten. This show debuted on Netflix October 13th 2017, I’ve watched a few episodes and the show is pretty much Monster High for very little kids, it’s cute, colorful, inspired and has a lot of heart in it! But I wouldn’t exactly call in ground breaking it’s got some cute lessons in it for little kids (such as encouraging manners and tidying up)  The kids start the day as humans and at night they turn into their true monster selves.

The main cast is 6 kids and 2 teachers.

The teachers are Igor (the most good looking version of an Igor I have ever seen) and his Granddaughter Esmie. She is adorable but it’s hard for me to stomach the idea that Igor reproduced to have grandchildren, even this newer handsomer Igor. But she’s super cute! I like the idea of a gothy Pre-school teacher!

I watched the whole first season and part of the show I do not understand is why the kids start the day as humans, Their parents don’t seem to need to hide or transform so why do the kids? I wouldn’t even mention this is it wasn’t such a big part of the show, every episode consists of two 11 minute episodes and each episode has 2 transformation sequences in it. They say “Sun Down! Monster up!” when they turn into monsters and “Sun Up” when they turn back into humans and go home for the day. They don’t specify why they need to hide as humans at all, I wanna say to avoid prejudice from real humans but they don’t state that, that kind of thing happens in this universe so I’m left a little confused. They go out in public on field trips and to pizza parlors run by humans and no one seems to have a problem with them being monsters...so why the transformations?

The kids are sweet no matter what form they take, human or monster they are both painfully precious.

The designs range from super cool! to super samey.

Let’s go over each kids name, design, personality and super powers!

Cleo Graves is the daughter of the Mummy! she’s adorable and all but we’ve seen her hundreds of times in media, her name is Cleo and she’s an Egyptian princess. I feel like every time we see a female character from Egypt her name has to be Cleo or she loses her street cred. There are other female rulers of ancient Egypt that could be explored here. in Monster High we have our own Cleo after Cleopatra and Cleo's sister is named Nefera after Queen Nefertiti. If I was going to name this little mummy I would have went with naming her Hattie, after Hatshepsut. I’m also super over the Egyptian princesses as a personality trait thing, Where are the ancient Egyptian punks!? brats? athletes? nerds? spooky weirdos? class clowns? None of these concepts are new, they’ve been around as long as school has and I wish we’d take advantage of that more often.

Her super power is perhaps the most unique thing about her, they say in the show she controls wind but she’s been shown making clouds that rain and controlling sand so I think her power is more like control over the weather and not just the wind.

*pinches nose bridge* This kids name is Drac Shadows...Drac... Who keeps thinking this is a good name for anyone but Dracula!? There’s tons of old school vampire names out there, Vlad, Ixion, Vincent, Roman, Sterling, Talon etc etc. and they go for Drac, since it’s a kiddie show I would have kept it simple and went with Vlad or Bram. His personality is he’s very self absorbed, He’s a very gifted flyer and has a tendency to show off.  He also tends to jump into situations without fully considering them first. He’s still growing his fangs in (he only has one) and his power is flying...duh. Not a ton to say about him really.

Katya Spelling has one of the more unique names! She’s a witch and her power is magic (duh) but her personality is very shy, cautious and considerate! Her mother has instilled in her that good witches use their magic to help others and she takes that advice to heart. Shes learning how to fly her broom, no one else is allowed to touch her wand and her familiar is a cat that turns into a plush when she’s in her human form. (pic shown further down)

*rubs temples* a Frankenstein named Frankie...ground breaking, I’ve never heard that one before. Frank and Frankie seem to be everyone's go-to when naming these types of monsters and I get why but it’s also so painfully over done, they could have at the very least named him Hank or Francis. I really wish they would have kept his glasses when he transforms or the unibrow when he’s in his human costume. they’re both unique features and it’s a shame that he has to trade one for the other. His power is super strength, He’s very sweet but very clumsy and doesn’t know his own strength yet, I appreciate that he’s kind and not just some big dumb doofus.

Lobo Howler is a werewolf! His power is super speed! I don’t really understand this trend with making werewolves fast, yea they run faster than humans do but it’s not like they're the fastest land animal (that distinction belongs to the cheetah) Wolves aren’t even in the top 25 fastest, so why is it so common to make them fast??? But that’s the only thing about him that’s predictable, he’s an athlete (he wears a varsity jacket) he’s got ants in his pants, he’s hyper active, inquisitive and confident! I have no beef with his name it’s just wolf in Spanish but at least it’s not super common and it makes his ethnicity un-disputably Latino which as I’ve seen many times in cartoons if a character is ambiguously brown people will just say they’re a tanned white person and its important to all little kids to see themselves in media! I don’t really like that his eyes change from brown to green when he’s in his wolf form, Green eyes aren’t even common in wolves (not impossible like blue eyes are, but still very rare) common eye colors in wolves are yellow, amber, orange and brown. so this design choice seems odd.

Zoey Walker is a zombie! and her power is that she can see and walk though walls! Zoey is by far my favorite character in the group! she is so adorable! She’s an artist (she paints) and she’s book smart! (she likes to read) and she’s considerate of others! I LOVE her design so much! she is so colorful! However what I love the most about her design is also what I dislike the most about it - while she’s very cute she looks nothing like a zombie, as soon as I saw her I assumed she was a living rag doll but they call her a zombie in the show??? I don’t understand it but she’s perfect everywhere else so I’m not going to question it. Zoey the Zombie is a great example of how to name a monster with it being close but not too predictable! Also her last name is hilarious if you are a fan of The Walking Dead.

Like Lobo her eyes also change color when she transforms and just...why!?!?! why green!? is green a more dead-friendly color? it’s cute on her, but why!?

They also have a class pet (Glorb the Hampster) and Katya’s familiar (Henri the cat)

In the season finale in they introduce a new character: Spike the Dragon! He’s only in the finale so we don’t know much about him yet other than he’s Chinese (stated that Chinese new year is a big deal in his family)  and his power seems to be to summon clouds and make waves. He’s a little cutie pie! I love his design!... But I really wish they would have went with a different name.

All in all the show is very cute! I highly recommend it if you have little ones around or if you’re just into spooky cartoons! (like me) It’s a Netflix original show and I really hope it gets picked up for a second season!

The animation is really cute if not a bit boring but that’s kinda the standard of 3-D cartoons these days, I’m not sure if being 2-D would help or hinder this show.

I really wish there was an explanation for why they have to change into humans, I just don’t get it. Monsters and humans seem to peacefully coexists in this world. The werewolf kids dad works for the fire department and his fellow fire fighter is a human woman, They took a field trip to a pizza place run by a human man, Their veterinarian is a human woman (she may not be human he name is Dr. Jekyll ) and so far none of them have freaked out in the company of monsters... In fact They went out trick or treating to human houses to show off their powers to “trick” the humans and the humans seem to love them!?!?

This is not the face of someone whose shocked and afraid of being in front of a zombie. In fact they invite the humans to a Halloween party and they all go, no questions asked, no conflict started. I do not get the transformation sequences at all.

But it’s fun to see what the kids would be as humans. My favorite part of any non-human media!

[lsesu]

Other students (in halls) making your life hell? How to deal with your halls howlers

Living in halls can be great. Being housed with hundreds of students of a similar age, in a similar situation (being away from home for the first time) and experiencing similar emotions can be not only exciting, but also a fantastic way to meet new people and to form potentially lifelong friendships. Living amongst peers also aids integration into university life, as well as into the city, and provides plenty of opportunity to socialise and unwind from studying at one of the world’s most academically demanding institutions.

However, like with any other living arrangement, halls of residence aren’t immune from problems. Issues can arise with flatmates and neighbours (as well as with landlords), just as they can if you are renting privately or living with family. And just like with any other living arrangement, there are always options open to you when trying to find a solution.

Falling out with other students is… normal

Falling out with other students is quite easily done. In all likelihood up until now you’ve spent most of your life living with family or guardians, people who you know and whose routines you’ve – for better or worse – become accustomed to. Now you find yourself holed up with a horde of randoms who wake up at obscene hours of the day, stumble in when the cocks crow and who have different standards of discipline and cleanliness to that which you’d expect from those with whom you share a home. Is it any wonder that disputes arise? Of course not, but the good news is that most problems can be resolved. Here are a few tips for how to deal with issues arising with your fellow students.

1.    Speak with the students involved

Most issues are most easily resolved through dialogue, especially before they have a chance to escalate. Is the fact that Jamir leaves his clothes scattered on the floor irking you? Are you finding it impossible to sleep because Claire next door insists upon belting out Cher classics at 2am every night? Speak to them. Chances are they’ve not considered the impact this is having on you, so let them know. It may well be that your 6am yoga chanting is equally driving them up the wall. Resolving these issues sooner rather than later can avoid relationships breaking down entirely, and can engender better trust (and maybe even friendship) between you all.

A peer supporter or a mutual friend might be able to act as a helpful mediator if you’d rather not tackle the issue alone.

2.    Speak to someone in the pastoral support team

With the best will in the world, sometimes it might not be possible to resolve a dispute. After days of sensible debate, perhaps Franz remains of the view that it is entirely reasonable for him to continue practicing his yodelling outside your front door, where the acoustics are so obviously that much sharper than outside his, at 7am on the dot, each and every morning (have some flipping respect, Franz!). In order to break the impasse you may well have to escalate the matter, and the pastoral support team are usually the most appropriate people to approach first. Your best bet is to start with either the warden or one of the subwardens. You can find the details of your pastoral support team and how to contact them here.

In instances where the dispute relates to something more serious, such as bullying or harassment, you may want to start straight at point 2. Bullying and harassment, in all its guises, in all circumstances, is completely unacceptable. If you feel you have been the victim of either, please report it immediately. You can find more information on what to do should you find yourself in such a situation by clicking here.

3.    Try to swap rooms

If you’re not one to put your head above the parapet and would rather just quietly move away from the irritant with whom you share a wall, swapping rooms with someone else might be an option. This might resolve the issue, but it’s important to bear in mind that this might take some time to organise, and there are no guarantees that other problems will not arise elsewhere when you move (there could be a reason why the guy on the 10th floor with an amazing view of the Thames wants to swap with your dingy basement digs), so trying to resolve the issue via steps 1 and 2 is always worth a punt in the first instance. If, after considering all of the above, you’re still insistent on swapping, then read here for more information on the process.

4.    See if you can move out early

This really would be a last step, and might not be easy. Students often don’t realise, but moving into halls ties you into a legally binding contract, out of which you cannot simply exit at will. If you decide that things have become so dire that only by removing yourself entirely from Bankside (just as an example – nothing against Bankside, peeps!) will you once again be able to rest your weary head in peace, you cannot simply pack your bags and expect to not subsequently be harangued for the rent. You will continue to be liable for any expenditure detailed in your contract – and bound by all the terms contained therein – until you have been officially released from its claws.

It is, however, indeed possible to leave, and some students do successfully manage to amicably extricate themselves from their contracts. However, there is a process to follow, and conditions which need to be satisfied. If this is something you’re considering, you can find more information on the process and requirements here, and can get further advice by reading point 5…

5.    Speak to the SU Advice Service

The LSESU Advice Service (that’s us, guys – #ShamelessPlug) provides housing advice (among other things) to all LSE students, including to those living in halls. If your problem reaches the point where you think you might need to move out, or even to submit a complaint, we can advise on the processes, look over forms and potentially even attend meetings with you. So if you’re need in of some guidance, get in touch!

- Blog written by Ricardo Visinho. Ricardo Visinho is the Advice Manager in the LSE Students’ Union and a member of the Advice Team.

The LSESU Advice Team is based on the 3rdfloor of the Saw Swee Hock Building and we provide free, independent and confidential advice to all LSE students on academic and housing matters. We also administer a hardship and childcare fund.

[skiphunt]

The Sun Card - Eclipse + Palenque, Mexico 1991

I just remembered the name of an eccentric, bohemian woman I met in Palenque, Mexico many years ago. Her name was Hilda and she was the person who told me about the mystical place called Huautla de Jimenez in the mountains of Mexico. I referenced this place in another account called “The Reluctant Curandero”. She also went by the name “Coco” when she was with the Mezatecas. 

Hilda ran a little cafe in the jungle. Only vegetarian, bottled soft drinks, and cerveza. The cafe was open-air in the jungle. All the tables and chairs were made of large tree slices, and there were some hammocks around. You really didn’t feel like you were in a cafe at all, but more like you were relaxing in the thick jungle, only with amenities. There was a basic kitchen behind a simple bar, and a small cottage attached. 

Hilda made the most amazing vegetarian dishes. I wasn’t even vegetarian, but I recognized the culinary artistry to make healthy food taste like pretty much anything you wanted it to taste like. Hilda was a wizard with many things, and the culinary arts was definitely one of them. 

I was staying down the road at Maya Belle in a palapa hut and sleeping in a hammock. On a previous trip, Hilda had told me about a near total eclipse that was to occur right there at the Palenque ruins on July 11th, 1991. She said I ought to try and be there for it, and I managed to make it all the way back a week before the eclipse would occur.

The only problem was that I’d been robbed on the bus. Nothing violent, just wasn’t paying attention and left my bag untended while I got off the bus to use the restroom. Or something like that. I didn’t lose everything, but there was only enough money for a bus back to Texas. I’d have to miss the eclipse I’d come so far to witness at one of the most mystical Mayan ruin sites I’d been to at that point in time. 

There was some hidden money in my backpack, and a few travelers checks left. I calculated that if I stayed in the simple open-air palapa for about a dollar a night back then, and took the least expensive buses all the way back up to Texas, I could just barely make it a week if I didn’t eat anything. Once I got back over the border, I could get more money for the last portion of the trek back home to Austin. 

A week without food was going to be a stretch though. I didn’t even have enough extra to get some cheap food items from the local produce market. So close to being able to stick it out, but about $20 short of being able to pull this off. 

I’d already paid for the first night in the palapa and planned on catching the first bus out in the morning. Sadly moped back to Hilda’s cafe to lay in a hammock and enjoy my last evening in the jungle. The stars were incredible and I could hear howler monkeys making this omnipresent, low pitch that sounds like the entire jungle is snoring. The insect buzz comes alive with this almost electronic drone that overtakes the senses. The jungle at night is an extraordinary thing to experience. You sort of just melt into the surreal soundscape, while fireflies, and random eyes glowing in the dark forest underneath a thick blanket of stars. And I was going to have to leave early after only one night.

I dug one of my last cigarettes out and flipped open my Zippo lighter. The flame seemed exaggerated in that perfect darkness. It caught the fancy of Hilda’s partner Mario. He came over to the hammock I was floating in and asked to check out my Zippo lighter. He flipped it open several times, and then made out like he was a Clint Eastwood movie star cowboy flipping open the  lighter off his jeans:

“Que bueno… I like this Zippo. How much does one like this cost in Estados Unidos?”

“Thanks, not sure about the cost… it was a gift. They sell knock off copies that aren’t very expensive, but this is a real one. They’re made a little better and have a nicer feel when you flip them open.”

“Would you sell me this one and you could get another one when you get back to the United States?”

“Hmmm… I kind of need it, and I have to leave tomorrow.”

“You’re not staying for the eclipse?!”

“No, that what I came here for… but I got robbed and don’t have enough money to last the week. I’ve got just enough for the bus home, and the palapa I’m renting, but not enough to eat. So, I have to go home early.”

“What if you trade me this Zippo and you can eat and drink as much as you want here at the cafe for a week? Maybe not too many cervezas, but a couple a day would be okay.”

“Really?!”

“Oh wait, this takes special fuel yes?”

“I’ve got a container of lighter fluid that’s nearly full I could include.”

“But when I finish that one, I won’t be able to find something like that here in Palenque.”

“I’m sure you can, it’s not really that special. Besides, I read that these were actually originally made to burn any kind of fuel for soldiers in the field. I think they’ll burn kerosine or even gasoline… but I’ve never tried and wouldn’t recommend it.”

Mario flipped the Zippo open to light and tried to get fancy with his opening and closing moves. He lit a joint with it, took a huge drag, then passed it to me. As he let out the smoke he said:

“Si, we have a deal compadre. I keep the Zippo, and you can eat and drink for free for a week so you can stay for the eclipse.”

“Yes! Thank you! I’ll bring the fuel back mañana and I think I have some spare flints too.”

“You can have my cheap plastic lighter to use and I’ll include some cigarettes from the bar in the deal too.”

“Gracias!”

There were some other backpackers, a hippy couple from Montana, a girl from Australia, a cigar puffing grad student from Indiana, and I couple of brothers from Austria. We’d all sort of been hanging out for the day since we were all palapa neighbors and kept running into each other at either Hilda’s cafe, previous destinations before Palenque, or around Maya Belle. They were all sitting around Hilda’s cafe having some cervezas when they overheard that I was going to able to stay for the clips. They all raised their beers and cheered at my great fortune as Mario brought me the first free beer of our trade. 

I’m not sure why this little group so quickly formed a bond as if we’d known each other for years. It might’ve had to do with none of us were of the dreadlocked bongo-playing variety of backpackers. None of us spoke Spanish with much fluidity. We all just clicked I guess. 

At night we’d either chill out at Hilda’s cafe, or the cafe at Maya Belle… and then late at night we’d convene at whichever palapa was the most convenient or had a nice fire going. We’d talk about what each of us had experienced that day, and the Anthropologist grad student would fill us in on what was known of the Maya from their ancient book called The Popol Vuh. 

One day I was walking between Hilda’s cafe and Maya Belle, when a taxi from the town of Palenque pulled up next to me. A man wearing a blue turban got out and was clutching a very large book covered in worn leather. It looked very old, but I couldn’t make out the inscription language on the cover. The fellow seemed in a hurry, and maybe a little rude in asking directions. He wanted to know if I’d seen a woman from Nebraska, and if the ruins were nearby. I told him that I’d overheard earlier in the day people talking about this and wondered who she was:

“She’s believed to be the reincarnation of Guadalupe of the Americas. Do you know where she is?”

“No, I think someone said she was going to spend the night at then ruins for some reason… that she had some kind of special permission or something.”

“Yes, she’s going to spend the next couple of nights in the ruin called the observatory.”

“Why is that?… if you don’t mind my asking.”

“Many years ago there was a crystal skull found a this ruin site. It was taken away and many bad things have happened since then. 

“Does that have anything to do with the coming eclipse?”

He got visibly a little agitated at my incessant questions at this point.

“Yes. It has everything to do with the eclipse. She’s preparing for the ceremony and will return the crystal skull from where it was taken.”

“Hmmmm… the reincarnation of Guadalupe is a woman from Nebraska?”

“I have to go… which way to the ruins… I must reach her before nightfall.”

“Just keep going straight, it’s just another couple of kilometers down this road, around some curves at the end.”

The turbaned man jumped back into the taxi without saying anything else to me, and then ordered the taxi driver to proceed toward the ruins.

That night at Hilda’s cafe I asked around and confirmed that there was indeed a woman from Nebraska there, and that she was believed to be the reincarnation of Guadalupe. So odd, I thought. Not that it mattered, but I asked what she looked like. Wondered if she was even hispanic. They said she wasn’t hispanic and looked pretty much like any average middle-age housewife from Nebraska. 

Joined up with the group I’d been hanging out with. They were already seated around one of the rough tree-trunk tables and drinking cervezas. The anthropology dude fancied himself some kind of Indiana Jones character… with a jungle pith helmet, mostly khaki garb, and puffing on a cigar. I’m not sure that he realized that he looked a bit pretentious and well… silly. Yet, I liked out he kind of stood out from everything else in this scene. 

Caught the eye of a woman with dark, olive skin. Her eyes were smoky and a bit sunken into shadow, but sort of attractive… or maybe spellbinding is a better description. She was dressed all in white flowing fabric that you could almost see through like muslin cloth, and her hair was wrapped in the same white cloth in sort of a loose turban fashion.

Noticed she was staring at me and smiling. At first I thought maybe she was just observing our little group… or maybe she was amused with the Indiana Jones dude’s get up, but her eyes were definitely locked with mine. I pointed to myself to confirm. She nodded in affirmation. 

The others didn’t notice and were all half intoxicated and in the middle of a loud conversation. I walked over to the woman’s table and sat down. Asked what she wanted, but she said nothing. Just kept staring at me and smiling… somewhat seductively. I wasn’t sure. She didn’t answer any of my attempts in English or Spanish to make conversation. Staring and smiling. 

I was about to head back to the table when she slid her closed hand across the table toward me. She slowly turned her and over and opened it. In her palm were three small mushrooms. She motioned for me to eat them. 

Although I’m no stranger to the magic of mushrooms, normally I would’ve asked a few questions, got a better feel for the intent of the person giving them to me, and made sure of what I was about to eat was reasonably safe… or, at least not poisonous. This time I didn’t. I just stared back at her, picked up the mushrooms and ate them. The turbaned woman in white nodded affirmatively, then stood up and sort of floated away into the night. At least that’s what it looked like with the flowing muslin like cloth and the way she moved so effortlessly. 

I returned back to the table and tried to catch up on the group’s conversation. 

Didn’t even seem like the group had noticed me gone, or the strange woman in flowing muslin white. The anthropologist was pontificating about something and the Australian girl was making fun of him a bit. We all had some great laughs over more cervezas. 

Maybe less than an hour later, I started feeling a little bit queasy. I’d completely forgotten about the mushrooms the woman in white gave me. I knew what the effect of magic mushrooms should’ve been, but this wasn’t it. Well, it was to some degree. My head spun and I definitely felt drugged, but not in a pleasant way or in a way I’d known before. 

Hadn’t mentioned to the others anything about the woman in white yet and didn’t feel like I could communicate. Thought I was going to pass out or get throw up. Walked out into the night toward the edge of the jungle for some privacy. My head spun even more as I scrambled into he jungle a bit further from the light of the cafe. Went in a further than I really needed to because I didn’t want anyone to hear me vomiting. 

In my rushing scramble, I slipped on a moss covered rock and fell down pretty hard. The fall was broken by my knee making contact with the sharp edge of another rock and cutting pain shot up my leg. My knee felt wet from mud and kind of sticky warm. 

After I’d finished emptying my stomach in the jungle, I managed to stumble my way back toward the light of the cafe on my injured knee. The Australian girl gasped when she caught sight of me:

“Oh man! What happened to you?! My god are you ok?!”

The others came rushing toward me. I did have a good deal of jungle mud all over me, but my knee was split wide open with blood gushing out. Someone handed me a cloth to put over my knee and helped me to a chair. 

Hilda came over and took the cloth off to examine the extent of the damage and clean off some of the mud. 

“What happened?”

“I fell out in the jungle. There was a woman here earlier in white..”

“You didn’t talk to her did you?”

“I wouldn’t saw we talked, but she motioned for me to come to her table.”

“Oh no… you should’ve have gone over.

“I didn’t know. She gave me some mushrooms.”

“And you ate them?”

“I wasn’t thinking…”

“Hold this on your knee, I’ll be back in a moment.

Hilda took a flashlight and went toward the back of the cafe to cut some plants. She came back and started scoring some of the leaves and fronds with a knife in a criss-cross pattern until they oozed. Then, she started applying them to my knee.

“This is a very bad woman. Wicked. If you see her again, you should turn the other way.”

“What did she give me?”

“Quiet sabe… who knows. Poison…”

Hilda wrapped my knee with more strips of palm fronds and tied it very tight. 

“Leave that until tomorrow. You’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure? I mean, looks like it’s pretty deep. Maybe I should go to Palenque in the morning and find a doctor to get some stitches?”

“You don’t need stitches. You’ll be fine. Trust me.”

I wasn’t sure what to do. From my past experience, this definitely looked like a bad enough cut that it could use at least a dozen or so stitches. At the same time, I completely trusted Hilda’s medicine. 

We all walked together back down the road to Maya Belle. The cafe there was already closed so we all piled into nearby hammocks to enjoy the night sky and listen to the jungle sleep.

Early the next morning, the brothers from Austria joined me for some mushroom hunting in the cow pastures. These are psychedelic mushrooms like I’ve mentioned before, only these grow in the cow manure. Same species that grows in the United States, only the effect can be very different. I’m told it’s because the cows there eat much different plants than the cattle in the U.S. 

We left early because if you don’t, the caballeros (Mexican cowboys) will have picked them all to sell to the backpackers. We were out there early enough, stomping through all the mud, picking out stickers, scraped by thorns, sweating from the intense humidity, etc.

After we all had a nice bag full for us and our compadres back at Maya Belle, we headed back toward the main road. Only to be met by caballeros who demanded we hand over our bounty or pay them. Dang! All that work and we had to pay anyway. Next time we’ll just sleep in and wait for the caballeros to bring them to our hammocks instead of dealing with all the mud, manure, thorns and stickers. 

Later that afternoon I wandered back down to Hilda’s place for some food and drink. Hilda greeted me and asked how my knee was doing. I told her it seemed fine and I’d almost completely forgotten about it. The tied frond wrapping was pretty frayed but still holding together. Hilda said I could go ahead and take that off now. 

I pulled out my pocket knife and cut the frond and dressing off. What I saw was absolutely incredible. There wasn’t even a scratch. It was as if the wound hadn’t even happened at all. I looked up at Hilda in amazement. Literally couldn’t believe my eyes and started searching all around my knee for evidence. All perfect, no markings at all. 

“How could that be?”

“Is Maya medicine. She heals if you let her.”

“But, seriously… this was a pretty serious cut last night wasn’t it? Everyone saw. It wasn’t just me!”

“Is Maya.”

Hilda just smiled and returned to cleaning the bar.

“Hilda… I meant to ask you… where are you from exactly?”

“I am from everywhere.”

“I mean, are you from Mexico? Or Europe? Another country in South America? I can’t quite place your features.”

“I am from todo mundo, I’m from the whole world.”

She grinned and then disappeared into the kitchen area.

The next couple of days leading up to the day of the eclipse were mostly hanging in hammocks, reading, hiking in the jungle, and telling each other stories of Mayan lore and myths. 

One evening I joined the anthropologist in Indiana Jones attire, for a hike in the jungle behind Maya Belle. There are several footpaths in the jungle that I’m told lead to some Lacandon indian villages. The Lacandon are considered to be decendants of  the Mayans. Many of the paths eventually take you to the ruin sites. 

I’d told Indiana Jones that I knew of one trail that takes you to a place called “The Queen’s Bath”. No clue why they call it that, but it’s a nice set of waterfalls in the jungle that form a pool beneath you can swim in. Perfect way to cool off under the canopy of the jungle. 

Not far into the jungle, Indiana started hacking away at vines Indiana Jones style with a cheap machete he’d bought in down. The trail was pretty clear so I don’t know why he felt the need to whack away at vines, but he wasn’t wasn’t harming anything. 

Until, one of the whacks disturbed a huge snake the was wrapped up in the thick vines above. Indiana dropped like a rock and turned white as a ghost. The size of the serpent started me a bit too, but there was enough distance that I wasn’t too worried. Indiana started fumbling around in his pockets to retrieve a cigar and a lighter. His hands were shaking uncontrollably, so I took the lighter and held it while he puffed. 

“Gracias”

He puffed away creating a thick mass of smoke that encircled us.

“De nada. You’re welcome. Do cigars relax you in stressful situations?”

“Yeah, a little bit. But that’s not why I’m smoking. The cigar smoke should keep snakes, jaguars, and pretty much any animals away from us.”

“Smoke?”

“Yes, they’re terrified of fire and will keep their distance if they smell smoke.”

I’d never heard that before, but it made sense. Besides, even though I’m not wild about the smell of cigar smoke, whatever Indiana was smoking had a decent aroma. And, it made our hike to the Queen’s bath for a swim, a little more “Indiana Jones” like.

Finally, the morning of the eclipse had come. Every day leading up, there were more and more people arriving. I didn’t know where the others had gone, so I walked down to Hilda’s cafe for a coffee and to relax before going to the ruins for the event. 

Hilda was busy cleaning up around the cafe. I got into one of the hammocks to read for a bit, when Hilda came over and told me that I would be coming back to the cafe to do her a favor. 

“Sure, no problem. But, after I leave here, I’m going to stop back by Maya Bell to grab my bag and head to the ruins for the eclipse. I won’t be coming back this way.”

“Yes, you will.”

“Well, I didn’t really plan on walking all the way back the opposite way. Can’t you just give me the instructions for the favor now before I leave?”

“It’s not time. You will return before the eclipse.”

“Ok, well… alright. I guess I’ll come back.”

Hilda smiled, nodded, then returned to her cleaning.

I didn’t really plan on walking back. It wasn’t all that far, but in the tropical heat it was a bit of a hike. And, I’d have to walk the distance twice since the ruins were the opposite direction away from my palapa at Maya Bell. 

There were a few others hanging out in the cafe by that point. Someone was playing a bongo drum, and another person was banging on one of tables like a drum. It was getting a little hard to concentrate on my reading, so I waved to Hilda and walked back to Maya Belle to chill out in my own hammock.

Fell asleep reading back at Maya Belle. When I woke up I briefly panicked because I thought that after everything, I’d ended up sleeping through the eclipse! Happily, I still had a good hour and a half to go. Tried to tell myself it’d be cutting it too close to try and hike back to Hilda’s before the eclipse, and that she’d understand that I’d fallen asleep. But, I knew that was a lie. I easily had enough time to go back to the cafe to find out what favor she needed me to do, and still make it to the ruins for the eclipse. 

After grabbing my daypack, and some water I headed back to Hilda’s cafe. When I arrived it was completely empty. No one around at all, but I could hear some Indian Hindu music playing over the speakers. Figured someone must be there so I sat down at one of the tables and called Hilda’s name. 

From the garden behind the cafe, Hilda came toward me smiling and dancing seductively to the Hindu music. She had changed clothes and was wearing a flowing saffron-colored sari. Her hair was bound up like a turban in a matching lace scarf that had small amber charms dangling from it around her face. And, she had a small colorful parrot perched on her shoulder.

I watched her move and twirl about. She almost looked as if she was in some sort of a trance, and that trance was starting to feel like it was having an effect on me as well. 

Hilda motioned for me to stand up and follower her as she danced out of the cafe and into the adjoining cottage. I’d never been in the cottage, but was surprised how sparse the decor was. In the main room there was almost nothing but a beautiful white hammock that was hung from one corner of the room all the way to the opposite corner. 

She motioned for me to continue following her into the bedroom. This made me a bit uncomfortable… as I obeyed and followed her into the bedroom. I wasn’t sure what was about to transpire. Hilda motioned for me to sit back on the bed as she continued to dance and twirl. 

While dancing, she scooped up a deck of large tarot cards on a white dresser. Everything in her place was white. She started shuffling the tarot cards as she danced and then suddenly flung them all across the bed. She instructed me to select a card. I told Hilda that I didn’t want her to read my cards… that I knew of someone who was told they would get cancer from a fortune teller. This person did in fact get cancer and I never knew for sure if it was because the fortune teller actually foresaw it, or if it was the suggestion itself. 

Hilda told me not to worry, that she was not going to read my tarot cards. She instructed me to pick one card and look at it, but don’t show it to her. Then, mix the card back into the rest of the cards, and then shuffle the deck a few times. After I shuffled the deck about 3 times, I handed it to Hilda. 

After she also shuffled the deck 3 or 4 more times, she quickly flung the deck back onto the bed and the cards all spread out. Instantly, she reached down and plucked a card from all the cards and turned it around toward me. 

“Is this your card?”

“Yes!”

“This is the seven card… the Sun Card, on the day of the eclipse.”

I examined the card and it had a figure holding up the sun I believe. Hilda took the card from me and rolled it up in a long piece of muslin cloth. She put the wrapped card in a cotton bag, along with some oranges, and some calla lilies. I think there were some other small items she put into the bag as well, and handed it to me.

“Take this to the ruins and give it to the woman from Nebraska who is the reincarnation of Guadalupe of the Americas.”

“But, I don’t know where she is, or even what she looks like.”

“You’ll know who she is and where she is when you get there.”

“Ok. Is that it? I should get going now or I’m going to miss it!”

“Yes, please hurry and don’t forget to give this to her.”

The time was getting a bit short, but I still had enough time. I just couldn’t dawdle much and had to walk quickly. 

The closer I got to the main entrance to the Palenque ruins, the more people there were. It looked as if they’d all arrived today and what a bizarre bunch most of them were! Like some strange multi-cultural, international convention of astro-space aliens from the planet of dreadlocks and tie-dye. So many in fact, that I didn’t think there was any way possible that’d I’d be able to find a person who I didn’t know their name or what they looked like. All I knew was that it was a she and that she was from Nebraska. 

Just after I passed the largest Temple of Inscriptions pyramid on my right with the observation tower complex on my left, I had  sort of a “knowing” or intuition that the woman I was looking for was on the top floor of the stone ruins tower. 

At the entrance of the tower there were two men in suits. I couldn’t make out where they were from, but they they spoke English with a foreign accent. I nodded to them as I passed into the entrance, when they held out their arms to block me.

“Excuse us Sir, but no one is allowed to pass into the tower right now.”

“Why not? I’ve been here a week and have been up there several times. Why can’t I go up today?”

“Very sorry, but you can go anywhere else you like on the grounds, just not up to the top of the tower.”

“Oh, ok. It’s not that I have a burning desire to go up there, but there’s this local cafe owner named Hilda who gave me this bag of stuff and told me to take it to the woman from Nebraska who’s supposed to be the reincarnation of Guadalupe.”

The two men looked at each surprised.

“Ok then. You may enter.”

Whoa, that was weird. How did they know? I didn’t ask anymore questions and started up the narrow stone stairway to the top level of the tower. 

At the top level, the walls are open on all four sides with the roof supported by 4 stone columns. There were 7 people sitting in a circle chanting with a light-haired woman presiding. She looked to be in her early 40’s and looked… well… like she might be from Nebraska. All of their eyes were closed. I didn’t recognize the others except for the man with the turban I’d given directions to a few days prior. The woman from Nebraska opened her eyes, looked at me and smiled as she nodded. It felt a little bit awkward, like I was interrupting something. So, I took the bag Hilda had given me and set it down in front of the woman from Nebraska. She closed her eyes again and joined back in with the chanting. The language they were chanting in wasn’t familiar to me.

For a short while I stood in the corner and watched, then quietly backed out, down the stairway, and continued out to the grounds to wander around the ruins site. It seemed that most of the people at site were of the strange variety I mentioned before. Mostly of the bohemian sort and they were all performing various rituals that involved dancing, singing, chanting, and there was a bit of primal wailing as well. 

I didn’t have any eye protection, so instead of trying to view the eclipse directly I focussed my attention on all of the bizarre spiritual circus taking place all around me. 

At Palenque, the eclipse wasn’t total, but it darkened to about twilight. The entire surrounding jungle erupted into a cacophony of buzzing night sounds with howler monkey drones. Most of the singing, drumming, and wailing raised a couple octaves in pitch as it blended into the jungly symphony. Time felt like it stopped, or at least the perception of time did. 

After what must have only been a few minutes, the light brightened as the sun shone full again. There were gasps and some singing, but the tone was more subdued. The jungle sounds went back to a normal daytime nature, and there was a palpable spirit of peace in the air. 

I wondered around the ruins for awhile, and down the trail toward the Queen’s bath to cool off. Wasn’t quite sure how to feel about what had just transpired, but I knew I wanted to hang onto the feeling as long as possible. 

Some time later, I meandered down the jungle trail and back toward Hilda’s cafe. When I arrived, it appeared empty. I heard some voices behind the cafe. It was the hippy couple from Montana… of our little group. They acted like they were somehow still enchanted. I felt that way too. A lingering feeling. They asked me where I was for the eclipse.

“I went to the ruins. Lots of people there. Very odd for the most part, but cool. You?”

“We had planned to go to the ruins too, but instead we wandered out into a cornfield. Not sure why, but it was also very cool.”

“Cool in the cornfield?”

“Yeah, it was. The corn stalk leaves created little pinholes that were projecting the shapes of hundreds of eclipse shadows on the ground. When the breeze would blow the stalks, they’d all dance about. And, the jungle sounds!”

“I know! Wasn’t that incredible? It was pretty intense being at the edge of the jungle at the ruins with all of the singing and wailing going on.”

“Oh, I bet…”

“Hey, have either of you seen Hilda around?”

“No, why?”

“Before the eclipse I came by to do a favor for her. She was dressed up in a saffron outfit with a parrot on her shoulder. She was dancing and around and summoned me to her bedroom…”

“Was she playing with some tarot cards by chance?”

“Yes!”

“And did you pick the seven card… the Sun card?”

“Yes! How’d you know?!”

“She did that exact same thing to each one of us over the course of the morning. All seven of us! And we all picked that same card. You must’ve been the last one to go.”

“She wrapped it in muslin and put it in a bag with some other items… oranges, calla lilies, and some other charms I think. Ended up taking them to that woman from Nebraska. Know idea how I knew where she’d be.”

“She was at the ruins too?”

“Yeah, doing some ceremony in the observation tower. Mostly chanting. Hey, there were seven in her chanting circle too. Including that dude with the turban I mentioned before.”

“What a wild day. Such a blessing. I think I hear some people in the cafe now.”

We all walked back inside Hilda’s cafe where there were several people gathering. Hilda smiled and was putting out some food and drinks. I saw the woman from Nebraska talking with some others from the circle. Said my goodbyes to the group after we compared stories of the seven card… the Sun Card, on the day of the eclipse. I shook everyone’s hand including the woman from Nebraska, and a kiss for Hilda.

It was difficult to leave just then, still processing the events of the week, and this incredible day… but, I’d made it all the way up to the day of the eclipse with barely a peso to spare. I’d already purchased my bus ticket heading toward Mexico City, and on toward the Texas border. It’s a long trip and I couldn’t drag my feet anymore. I’d already packed my backpack and only needed to catch a collectivo taxi to the bus station in the town of Palenque.

On my way out of Hilda’s cafe, I saw the man with the turban with his giant, ancient holy book opened. He was reading a passage to himself, but in a language I didn’t recognize. Then, he spoke to me in English.

“You are leaving us now?”

“Yes, I’ve got to get back home. I’ve been gone awhile.”

“Buenas Suerte. Good luck on your journey. And thank you so much for all that you’ve done. I am from the Mexican town of San Cristobal de las Casas in the mountains. It’s beautiful there.”

“Yes, I’ve been there before. It is very beautiful. But I was robbed there a couple of years ago.”

“Oh, I’m very sorry to hear that. Please return to our city. I promise the next time you will be welcomed with open arms. Again, I’m very grateful for all you did to help us.”

“You’re certainly welcome, but I don’t really feel like I did much of anything at all. All I did was give you some directions when you arrived, and dropped off a bag with a tarot card, some fruit, flowers, and trinkets during the eclipse. I don’t even know what any of that meant.”

“It’s not important that you understand. Just know that your blessed involvement played an important role in our ceremonies and intentions… especially during the eclipse. Muchas Gracias.”

The bus trip back North was a long, uncomfortable, marathon of a journey. Did the whole 33 hours or so, in 3 hops. Overnight 12 hours to Mexico City, then another 16 hours overnight to the border, and another 5 hours from the border back up to Austin, Texas. Barely even noticed the trip at all. I was still in that state of wonder I think. Replaying the events and what they’d meant. 

Still baffled as to why the woman in white muslin would try to poison a complete stranger. Or, how a few carefully selected jungle plants could heal a long, deep gash in my knee overnight without even evidence of a scratch remaining. Or, what any of that ceremony related to the seven Sun tarot card on the day of the eclipse meant. 

I think what meant the most to me though, out of all the entire trip, was the realization that sometimes… likely most of the time… it has little to do with you. Your purpose isn’t always related or even meaningful to your own personal story, but instead you may be playing a crucial role in a much larger narrative that you may never completely comprehend. 

© 2018 Skip Hunt

~~~

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[fossadeileonixv]

Where I Think Milan v Inter will be won or lost

Look. We all know that football is a team game. At the highest level it is very rare that one player truly wins or loses a game. This edition of the Milan Derby will be no different

KEEPERS

As far as form and talent I’d say they are pretty even. None clearly better than the other.  Both are capable of brilliant saves and both are definitely capable of crapping the bed.I will however give Handanovic a slight edge based on age and experience. He is getting up there in age but I don’t think he’s losing anything yet. Maybe in another year or two. 

SLIGHT ADVANTAGE INTER

DEFENSE

Across the back is a similar story. If you look at just the fullbacks I’d say it’s even. Calabria and Rodriguez are right in the same neighborhood with D’Ambrosio and Asamoah. Any team in Serie A would be more than happy to have either pair other than maybe Juve. 

In the middle of the defense is where I see the difference. Coming into this year you could have had a healthy debate between Romagnoli and Skriniar. They are both strong but young defenders. Skriniar is more thunder and bluster while Romagnoli is a little more grace and elan. Both could use to borrow a little bit from one another to complete their games. They are pretty even but since I’ve seen Romagnoli have 2 massive howlers this year I’ll give the edge to Skriniar. De Vrij and Musacchio. I don’t think De Vrij is any great shakes and Musacchio has stepped and played quite well for Milan. 

If i were to rank the 4 CBs on talent own I would put them in this order:

Skriniar, Romagnoli, Musacchio, De Vrij

But on current form Inter’s duo is better

ADVANTAGE INTER

MIDFIELD

The midfield is where I believe this game will be won and lost folks. I have no doubt in my mind. Inter will roll out a midfield triangle with some combination of Valero, Nainggolan, Vecino or Brozovic. It will be equal parts grit and attack and they will look to surround and pressure Biglia as the Milan regista. They will look to cut off his passing lanes diagonally and force him either sideways or backwards. To be fair, that’s what everyone tries to do. Teams that win that battle wear us down. Teams that don’t suffer.

The difference in the game will be what kind of work Jack and Kessie put in. Kessie I feel is the more known quantity. He will work like a mad man trying to be in 2 places at once as he usually does. He’ll run all day long running interference for Biglia while trying to draw attention from both Suso and Higuain. Good deal. 

The question I have in my mind is which Jack will we get? 

Will we get GOOD JACK who is responsible defensively and carefully selects his runs going forward like he did against Sassuolo and Chievo?

OR

Do we get BAD JACK that runs around like a chicken with his head cut off, abandons Biglia to get picked apart and crowds the space in the 18?

If Biglia is protected and can operate deep like a regista is supposed to them the game will open up for Milan. If Inter can keep him going sideways and backwards that will put pressure on the Milan back 4 and Donnarumma. That would not end well as that means some quality chances for Perisic and Icardi off turnovers deep in our end.

I just don’t know... but i believe/hope Milan’s midfield has the higher ceiling.

SLIGHT ADVANTAGE  MILAN

(Don’t make me look stupid Jack)

FORWARDS

Since Inter will play some variation of a 4231 or 4321 I will include Perisic, Politano and Icardi in this but it’s possible we see Keita Balde and/or Martinez as well. Who knows. If I’m Spalletti I’m considering all my options and might even come into the game prepared to mix things up to keep the pressure on. Hell that’s exactly what I would do. Keep em guessing! Spalletti is still kind of figuring out how all his pieces fit so we should expect the unexpected. Perisic will bomb and cross. Icardi will finish. That much we know. The rest is a mystery. 

Gattuso on the other hand will be ready to go to battle with his trusted attacking trident of Calhanglu/Higuain/Suso. That’s our bread and butter right now and it has been scoring at a pretty regular rate no matter who the opposition has been.The Milan offense is yet to be shut out this year and average just over 2 goals a game in Serie A. The only team averaging more goals than us per game is Juve, a. Suso is the highest rated player in the whole league according to Whoscored. I’m not a huge fan of their ratings, but the masses eat that stuff up!

Heck if you go by those ratings we have 5 players ranked as good or higher than Inter’s top player! Woo hoo! We’re gonna smack that ass!!  Take that you filthy snake charmers!

But this isn’t FIFA and this game will be played in the real world. 

SLIGHT ADVANTAGE MILAN

PREDICTION TIME

Hmmmm..... games after international breaks can be weird.

The first game after the last International break saw Inter inexplicably lose to Parma 1-0 at home. Easily the worst loss of the year for the Sons of Serpentor.

Meanwhile Milan’s post break performance at Cagliari was handicapped by an early howler by Romagnoli and we clawed our way back to a 1-1 draw.

Hmmmmm.... what to do, what to do.....

I really wanna go with a drowsy 1-1 draw

BUT.... these games tend to end with some PIZZAZZ so...

I’m gonna go for a 2-1 win for OUR BELOVED MILAN BABY!!!! Why not, this is a Milan page after all. The guys on the SempreInter podcast all took Inter (minus one smart fellow) so we can vote with our hearts. I see a slow start for each team that ends in a scoreless first half and a second half where the alarm goes off and we see each team come out and play. Skriniar scores on a set piece (Milan sucks at defending those) Jack gets a banger and Suso assists on a Cutrone buzzer beater.

Cheers everyone,

Lisi

[in-which-i-travel]

In which living in a castle is the least magical thing that has happened to me in recent days

It’s easy to understand why Germany has a somewhat more strained history than most of its fellow European countries. It’s also easy to understand why Nuremberg, more than perhaps any city beyond Berlin, has a particularly tenuous relationship with its recent past, especially considering that unlike either Berlin or Munich, it doesn’t have a wealth of other history point to (at least in comparison to other European cities; it still has more than just about anything in Canada). This, along with an allied bombing campaign that left most of the city in rubble, has lead to something of a strange sensation, at least for me. It was rebuilt to ‘look’ historic, without any actual history. Grand archways topped with sculptures lead to starbucks. Old-world facades house modern cell-phone shops. The train-station exits into a Hudson’s Bay-style mega-store. New businesses in old buildings aren’t exactly unique, of course, but the scale and completeness of the overwrite left me somewhat confused. It wasn’t just ‘old buildings evolving into new markets’, it was a modern city skinning an old one and wearing its face like an ill-fitting mask.

 The dissociation didn’t stop at just the day-to-day streets, either. The assembling grounds for the Nazi party, a gigantic coliseum built with the intention of putting the one in Rome to shame but never quite finished due to the war, was half-blocked by a sprawling circus, and I could hear more than one mini-motorcycle revving up and driving by as I walked towards it, looking at the advertisements for fire-spitters and clowns in the same glance as the brutalist monument that towered above me. Getting inside found that it was a normal (albeit extensive and well done) museum tucked inside the guts of what could have been a stand out attraction on its own right, the walls and hallways covered by displays and the building itself hidden from view save for a well-hidden (and distressingly bouncy) walkway that led out into the middle of the coliseum for viewing.

 The castle was likely the most ‘authentic’ of the places I visited, though I struggle to write much about it beyond it simply being a rather nice castle from the time of the Holy Roman Empire. It had a fun experience where you were able to watch a candle go down an impressively long well that they had used for groundwater in times of crisis or increased need, but that I need to bring that up says a lot about how little I can say about the rest. Adjunct to the castle, however, were the old stables and the wing constructed around them, an impressive building in its own right and the main reason I had come to Nuremberg at all (beyond it being a convenient stopping point between Munich and Prague). At some point, it had been converted to a ‘’’’’’’’youth ‘’’’’’’’ hostel (and I cannot possibly use enough quotation marks around youth without overflowing the page), and my desire to stay in a castle overrode my desire to avoid hostels as much as possible. It was frustrating, to say the least. For those of you who have felt my last few posts were entirely too serious, you’re in luck, because this is the point at which this post becomes a comedy of errors.

 The rooms were clean, but that’s about all that I can say about them in a positive sense. For the rest, it was as though they had been designed by a drunken howler monkey. Or someone who was actively trying to create the least-functional multi-person room imaginable. Seeing the results, I’m not entirely sure which is the more likely option. Two power-outlets were shared among four people, one of which being in the dead-centre of narrowest part of the main walkway and in just the right place to ensure that any electronics that deigned to actually *use* it without constant supervision (which would need to be provided by literally standing over it like a mother-hen) would inevitably be crushed underfoot by some drunken or still-sleepy roommate. The other was in the alcove by the window. I still have not been able to figure out why. The lightswitch for the entire room was by the bathroom, the lightswitch for the bathroom was immediately to the right of the main door, the lightswitch for the shower was on the other side of the main door, and this caused just as much confusion as you would imagine, leading to an almost inevitable Germanic curse as frustration set in.

 Then there were the beds. It should be rather hard to fuck up a budget bunk-bed, considering the utter lack of springs, mattresses or complexity, but someone they found a way. The fixed ladders were in just the wrong place for the bottom bed, forcing whoever was sleeping there to crawl around through the restricted space, shaking the top-bunk like a leaf in a hurricane whenever they did so. Top-bunkers, meanwhile, had to deal with the fact that for some godforsaken reason they had been ‘gifted’ with a thick overhang of mortar and plaster which covered a full half of the top of the bed, leading to a half-dozen near concussions as I sat up or tried to reposition in the pitch-black of the room at night before the instinctive head-juke became ingrained in me.

 Last but not least, the roommates. Because these are where things shine. I had three over the course of the two days I was there, each strange enough to earn their own appellation in my head. First is Mr. ‘Youth’ hostel, someone that was easily in his late fifties, if not his sixties. Despite, supposedly, not being allowed to stay if you were over the age of thirty. Not all that bad, besides the fact that he snored like a buzz-saw, but more than strange enough considering that, not only do you have to be below thirty (on paper, at least) but you need a card with the international youth hostelling organization to stay, which requires government photo id to obtain, at least within Canada. How he got in, I may never know. Then there’s the Incredible Naked German.  So named because, despite only returning to my room a handful of times over the course of the two nights I was there, I managed to walk in on him nude at least a half dozen. It was well over 80% of the time I opened the door. And for the life of me, I cannot understand the reason behind any of these instances of nudity. At no point was he wrapped in a towel, or out of the shower. He was never getting changed, as far as I could tell… He was just hanging out. Naked. Waiting for one of his unsuspecting roommates to walk in to satisfy his strange voyeuristic fetish. I have no other explanation for how it was that he seemed to be eternally nude. Finally, there was asshole. I don’t like asshole. He seemed fine, when I met him on the first night. But then he showed that he didn’t quite understand the basic bits of hostelling decency that I inferred just from existing within one. Things like, ‘don’t come back into the room at three AM, turn on all the lights and make a lot of noise getting ready for bed’. And ‘if you do come back into the room at three AM, don’t snap at people for having the audacity to crack open a window at 9:00’.

 I’m gonna be trying to avoid hostels from here on out.

[daemonvols]

Chapter Three

Ghosts and Grave Robbers

 The graveside service lasted the usual hour, but Truman and his siblings lingered for at least another forty minutes, so I guessed that the old girl did not get to rest under the sod until closer to three. I also had to be back in the office by two preparing the final documents, answering the telephone and dealing with vendors or nursing home/hospice administrators who thought they should be entitled to group rates for the indigent dead we buried in our Potter’s Field. I could not get back to wiping down and replacing headstones under after dark. And I would not be in time to stop Old Sharpe.  

Rain hadn’t fallen in fact for a few days, so the grass clippings didn’t stick to most of the flat surfaces. It was the scraps and bits of moss that clung to the ornate designs and inscriptions of the wealthy dead that eat up time and nick my fingers. The middle class’s stones are simpler. Names, birth dates and death dates for the most part. Here and there you get a design or a quote, but nothing excessive. Potter’s Field “residents” get brass plaques flush with the grass with no one to really care about them.

Now nineteenth century folks who had money could and did drive this twenty-first century caretaker crazy with detailed carvings of sheep and angels and weeping women in long gowns full of moss- and mold-growing folds, not to mention the extra words to describe the loving mother, faithful father, beloved child and so forth. I realize it’s all to comfort the surviving family, but, after living all of my thirty years in a cemetery and reading the records and hearing the ghosts’ gossip, I have to wonder how much of those endearments are wishful thinking.

Take Old Man Sharpe, and I wish somebody would.

    The official records of the time list him as Benjamin Antony Sharpe, born 1831 and died 1881. The newspaper obituary described him as a “leading citizen who loved God and served his fellow man.” He left neither widow nor children, except for the town’s orphans housed in Heaven’s Angels Children’s Home and the women of the three Magdalene houses he oversaw with other leading citizens. Benjamin Sharpe was upright man, as the white marble stone stated in Gothic script over his grave in the southwest corner of Section A’s front skirt.

    But there’s more to the man. My grandparents spoke of him as “Der Parekh,” a bad man, but that is all I knew until after they died. I pulled the records from the library’s stacks, made hard copies from their microfiche and, on my own time at home, Googled his name. A notice in the newspaper, dated the day after his death, announced an inquiry into his death, hinting that a man of 50 in “splendid health” might have died under suspicious circumstances. His maids Bridget O’Doole and Mary Kate Bailey were being held for questioning. “Obviously Irish,” the article went on to note. The reporter omitted, or assumed the readers would add with a shudder, the words “and likely Catholic.”

“The good people of Sayresville demand an answer,” the article concluded.

    Thanks to the Freedom of Information Act and a few late hours on the Internet, I found the record of the inquest and the maids’ testimony.

As it turned out, it was a good public relations move to publish the obituary before the inquest. The maids, the cook and Sharpe’s valet told stories of Sharpe’s quick temper and his regular nighttime habit of draining two bottles of brandy, and then walloping the tar out of both maids with a specially knotted belt. According to Bridget, on the night of his death, he’d cornered both girls in their narrow bedroom. He’d bent them over a bed with their shifts raised to their waists and had the belt ready to flay them when he “wheezed a bit like he was took by surprise” and fell down dead.

The valet, a “small Canadian” named Richard according to the inquest records, offered to tell more of Sharpe drinking and then being unable to find the privy. The valet further hinted that the upstanding citizen had more than once peed on stray dogs and late-night walkers.

    The officials cut the inquest short at that point. The determination they made official was death by natural causes.

    But “natural causes” in the corporeal sense does not explain a ghost still wandering the cemetery and harassing other ghosts nearly 130 years after his death. And that is what Old Sharpe does when Varney knocks loose Sharpe’s head stone as the mower did after any funeral. As Varney did the day of Eulalie Plutarch’s funeral.

    I know this because the two ghosts I call my gossips caught me heading out to finish the wipe-downs that night.

    “He’s out again!” yipped the first one, who was Missy Drucker. She had been a housewife who died at the age of 37 in 1951 of a burst appendix. Her family buried her with a headstone complete with Psalm 23 and a rare color photograph of Missy. She’d been a pretty brunette with vacant blue eyes dressed in pastels. Six years ago, the plastic or whatever cover that held the photograph onto the stone fell off, as did her photograph. The required search for family members turned up no Druckers in upstate New York that acknowledge a Missy Drucker, or a Michelle Drucker nee Baker, let alone give permission and funds to replace the photo or the cover. Regs would not allow me to do so, either. It’s a vain hope that someone someday might come to claim that fading picture, but I keep it with my ledger. I like to be prepared.

    “He yelled at me to raise my dress!” the other told me. This was Mischa Bridey, born in 1892 and died in the influenza pandemic of 1919. She must have been a spinster school teacher. It may be that her white shirtwaist cinched too tightly at her waist over a heavy dark skirt that swept along the gravel. Or her blackish hair stayed now for eternity in a tight bun that gave her headache. Or maybe, back in her living days, she really needed to get laid. She never has anything good to say about men and she is, in general, a bespectacled, pinch-faced grump.    Then again, until seven years ago in the spring, someone had come every June to lay six yellow roses on her grave. I found the last bouquet dried out from a rainless July and “borrowed” one of the petals for my ledger. You never know about some people. Or ghosts, for that matter.

    You have more questions: yes, ghosts exist. I see them most nights, occasionally during the day, and have done so since I was a baby. I’ve felt the cold that surrounds the ones whose bodies died by violence and the softer coolness of those who passed more peacefully. Ghosts, spirits, “hain’ts,” etc. - they’ve gone by all sorts of politically correct and incorrect labels, but the CPF has a fair share of the haunters for Onondaga County.

Yes, I talk with them.

    And no, I don’t really know what a ghost is in the physical sense. I also don’t know if ghosts realize they are dead or not. It seems rude to ask. Furthermore, I doubt they’d behave any differently than if they did realize it. I would be willing to bet Old Man Sharpe wouldn’t.

    “I know,” I said to Missy and Mischa. “I’m on it.”

    “Well, hurry up before he gets over the hill!” Missy snapped.

    “Well, I could if two nosy hain’ts would clear the road!” I snapped back.

    These two are the first ghosts I’d met who had an overwhelming desire to always be relevant; it is likely they found themselves behind the times while they lived and spent that life and this afterlife trying to catch up. To do this, this pair had observed and learned reactive “moves” to do in unison. This night they gave me the Cat Move: their opaque and vaguely pink hands raised to ear level, then fingers curl for claws and a nasal “Re-e-e-eowwwww!!” from their ghostly gobs.

    I walked away before they celebrated their unified dissing and high-fived each other right down to their non-corporeal elbows.

    Sharpe’s grave was on the southeast end of Section A. The Board approved more tall poles with more blue-white lights back there rather that install the motion detectors the police recommended to dissuade drug deals and lovers with a fetish for having sex on graves. As security for the living-wise, it was a help. To find a ghost whose color was fading to white and gray, not so much.

By the oak tree, where I’d stood only a few hours ago, floated the white shape of a dead martinet. He had to have been a lump of a man. His spirit wasn’t much taller than my five-foot-four height and he spread out from belly to butt. He had goggling pale eyes and a beak of a nose over flabby lips. His ears under the white fronds of hair reminded me of a harp that sagged at the bottom. He was clothed – they still buried them in something like their best back then – but Sharpe had faded so much, it was hard to detail his garments beyond shirt open at the neck under a waistcoat and over trousers. Tradition held that he be buried barefoot, so I was glad the end of his trousered legs were a blur. No doubt he’d had knobby feet with talon-length toenails. And he had the knotted belt they’d buried with him raised in one lumpy hand over his opaque head. I braced myself for the howl. Sharpe’s voice, whether in death or reminiscent of his living squawk, ranked right up there with fingernails on a chalkboard.  

And Benjamin Sharpe was a howler. “Bridget, you strumpet! I know you broke that china cup! I’ll blister your hindquarters for that! Where are you, girl?”

It is wise to approach ghosts, slowly, particularly agitated ghosts. Hands down at the side, head slightly down but off to one side so there can be modest eye contact. It is a literal pain in the neck after a while.

“Care for the residents,” I muttered. “Mr. Sharpe!” I said somewhat louder. “Mr. Sharpe, it’s Grace. Isaac’s granddaughter.”

Sharpe halted and undulated for a moment. The belt came down to his side. “Grace. Yes. Your grandfather is a good man. He took the stones out of my grave before they lowered me into it. Wanted me to be comfortable, he said. So I could rest.”

“That’s right. You look tired, Mr. Sharpe.”

“I am tired. They all want so much from me! Those brats! Those whores! How much more do I have to give? I’m only one man!”

It is also advisable that, if a ghost on the loose wishes to howl against what he perceives as injustice, he be allowed to do so before you herd him back to his grave. It may take a while, but interrupting can leave you standing there with him until dawn. Ghosts will follow you if you walk away. There’s also no telling if the ghost has not finished his or her diatribe at sunrise, that s/he won’t follow you to continue throughout the day. A ghost’s voice registers over the telephone as either white noise or a television on too loud to a bad soap opera – not something to have going on over your shoulder when you’re trying to sound professional and organized on the phone.

I waited for a gap in his complaint and tried again. “You need to rest. Why don’t you come with me and let’s get you back to your rest.”

“It’s that Bridget!” he snarled. “She broke the cup. I know it! She’ll pay with her hide!”

“So she will, but you rest first. You need your strength to – “ I swallowed my disgust – “do the job properly.”

“She’ll bleed for it!”

“If you rest first, of course she will. Now come on.”

You cannot reach out and offer to touch a ghost, so there was no leading him by the arm. I had tried once as a toddler to take the hand of the ghost of the first body buried at the CPF. All you get is a handful of icy cold and an annoyed ghost.

And there’s no pointing. Ghosts like Sharpe like to point, but to be pointed to or at would only start him off again through the cemetery in twice the rage. I stepped onto the gravel path with a slight bow towards his plot.

As I suspected, Varney had taken the corner too quickly again and knocked the stone to an acute angle off its seat and there was a nice three-inch gap to the right side. I stood a respectful half meter from the gap and offered it to Sharpe with a modest, open-handed gesture. “See? It’s all ready for you,” I said. “You tuck yourself in there and rest. Bridget is not going anywhere.”

Which was true. County records showed she died in 1948. St. Agnes’ Cemetery holds her body. Now, if she has a loose headstone and wanders, too, I’ve not heard of it. And it’s not my problem. Her late addle-pated employer, however, routinely is my problem.

Sharpe floated into a horizontal position on the sod that had been well-packed by living feet for one and a quarter centuries. He seeped back like foul water back into the earth with a mournful “Bridget!”

I straightened the headstone. Then I packed it down with moss and some extra dirt and gravel from the path. If the rains held off, Old Sharpe would stay put for another two weeks.

Back to the questions and possibly the Big Question: why do ghosts, souls, spirits, whatever you want to call them, hang around? There are probably two or three answers for every one person you might ask. The sort of “it’s this way, but maybe that way, too” thinking that leaves the listener more confused and not a little bit frightened.

I have only heard one explanation that makes sense – and, as with anything else, it’s open to debate. My Grandpa Dov said that Midrash assigns five levels to each living soul. Three, starting with the lowest, reptilian senses, are attached to the physical earth. Only two of them are on the spiritual level and yearn to reunite with the Creator. Therefore, the odds that a soul will pass on are sixty-forty against.

People in the past knew this and invented headstones. Headstones are meant to hold the sixty-percenters down until the dead realize that’s as far as they are going to go. Their spirits pass on then, with little or no notice given to the living.

Some souls, however, cannot take the granite or marble slab hint and insist on hanging around. I sometimes think they were the last ones to leave a party while they were living. Either way, the stone keeps them where their families buried them. But, like so many of the best laid plans, things do go awry. The CPF has drainage ditches, soil erosion and jokers like Varney and Trumbull. Ergo, we have ghosts walking the grounds most evenings. And I’m the one to walk them back and tuck them in again.

Old Sharpe was tucked away for this night. I wanted to go to bed and to dive back into my book (I’d fallen asleep just as the clothes were coming off and the strong masculine arms were outstretched), but something felt wrong.

Derek and his band of merry bloodsuckers were long gone to wherever they fed tonight. Missy and Mischa hopefully had returned to their plots or were having hissy fits over the crowding in the Potter’s Field. The CPF was not quiet. It never was at any time, but that night there were newer noises I did not recognize and did not like.

I ran up the hill again and stood beside the oak tree. Two small Coleman lanterns sat beside Eulalie Plutarch’s still open grave. The chairs were gone, the fake grass and brass frame for the hydraulics were gone, but the diggers had not filled in the grave the way regulations said they should have done once all the mourners departed the site. I felt cold and looked around for a wandering Eulalie. But the night wind had picked up, promising either rain or a dust blow from the middle school’s dead grass and playing fields. No ghosts that the living eye could see.

I hopped over graves and between plots to go down the broad backside of the hill, careful to stay out of the pole light’s glare. Here and there I slipped and had to apologize to the occupant of a grave for the intrusion.  Stepping on the residents’ graves and thereby on them is not good public relations.  Even if the grave I apologized to would be empty, it set those still lingering at something like rest.

Varney hadn’t loosened any more headstones that I could see, but some ghosts are only a slight disturbance of the seating away from joining the nightly rounds. Especially for the newly buried. I knew Eulalie Plutarch by sight from the newspaper society pages and her son’s behavior (neither one flattered her). Her ornate pink granite headstone was set, but the grave was still open and I did not want her ghost haranguing me about the “abysmal service” offered here at the CPF.

I stopped in the dark at the edge of Section A before the path that led to B. The Coleman lanterns burned on high, one at one long end of the grave, the second at the other. A head of thick medium brown hair bobbed up and down at the rim of the grave, consistent with someone digging. I heard scraping and the occasional thunk! Of hitting the mahogany, brass-embossed coffin.

“Dammit, Jerry! You told me you left the casket unlocked!” barked a somewhat attractive baritone voice from inside the grave. I moved over to the edge perpendicular to the rest of the Plutarch plots. I stood in the glow of an eighteen inch kerosene lantern and looked down.

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Why your adolescent thinks you’re an idiot

Emma Beddington cherishes the days when her sons watched her as a goddess. But they have entered a new phase of life in which their parents are buffoons

Do you think Im stupid? Sooner or afterwards as a parent, you will hear yourself say this. You cant used to help. The topic merely falls out of your mouth, without being consciously formulated in your brain. Its an impotent rhetorical flourish inherited from your forefathers, a piece of indignant punctuation when your child has just told you, for example, with a straight face, that they dont know where their phone is.

But of course its not rhetorical for your children and their answer is yes, they think you are stupid. Very stupid. You have reached the phase in your parenting life when your status has changed, irrevocably, from hero to tedious buffoon. Congratulations!

It has happened to me twice now. My elder son is 14; two brothers is only 12, but with the habitual precocity of second infants, he has already mastered the art of procuring me entirely idiotic. They are both in the middle of exams. I may be an inadequate human being of underwhelming professional achievements( my sons certainly think so ), but I have never met an exam I couldnt hotshot. I love exams, but my revision skills have been proclaimed redundant: I am too stupid to be trusted. I am banned from any participation in maths or science and my proffered index cards and highlighters are greeted with an enthusiasm normally reserved for my( now long retired) suggestions that we go on nice country strolls together. The elder is dodging my attempts to engage him in stimulating debate on feudalism; the younger has taken to correcting my pronunciation when I try to test him on his Chinese vocabulary, a superior smile playing around the corners of his lips.

Thwarted, I cornered the elder on the stairs this morning to give him some last minute advice. As I started to expound on my carefully sharpened technique for answering questions you havent rewritten for, my son placed his hands on my shoulders and looked at me with a remote, benign, oddly familiar expres. It was, I realised, the expres I adopt when watching videos of bumbling pandas falling out of trees on YouTube. Theyre funny for a few seconds, but basically ridiculous.

Im going now, he said, gently but securely, cutting me off in full flow. Then he patted me on both cheeks. This is my life now. I have become that bumbling panda falling out of a tree, subjected by turns to waves of sarcasm, teensplaining and condescension.

Life used to be so easy. I was an oracle. A goddess, I could conjure wonders. My infants trusted me implicitly. I only had to show them a fuzzy video clip of an owl on a skateboard, cook a lopsided Pikachu cake, or expound, sketchily, on gravity or the Vikings to be lauded a hero. Now they giggle hysterically when I try to lend some rudimentary sex education advice, deal with Scart cables or express an opinion on Syria.

I confess that a certain degree of midlife befuddlement has crept up on me of late, coinciding unhappily with the sharpening of my childrens critical faculties. Do I know what they entail when they say they need to buy more Ram or enable SLI? No. Have I really asked my younger son five times whether he has swimming tomorrow? Perhaps I cant rule it out. Recently they have derived great pleasure from repeatedly proving me a video in which you have to calculate the probability of there being a goat or a auto behind a set of three doors, which leaves me tearful with embarrassment. When their parent and I feed and drink too much, then fall asleep on the sofa in front of Britains Got Talent, waking hours later in dishevelled, drooling bafflement, it only serves to confirm their notion that we are basically Roald Dahls Twits.

As parents of bilingual infants, we are at an additional disadvantage. I sound like a simpleton speaking French, erroneously referring to Mrs Pencil Sharpener, Mr Interview and Mrs Tentacle, whereas both boys like to persuade their parent to say things like Thirsk and wide-mouthed frog, merely to mock his French accent.

Of course, we are far from alone and that is some comfort. All teens guess their parents are stupid. Its an evolutionary imperative: a cruel, but near universal one, motivating them to leave the nest and us to expel them. When my son teensplains the causes of the first world war to me( a modern history alumnu ), I recollect the conservation biologist whose son teensplained the need for renewable energy to her and her( alternative energy consultant) spouse, and another acquaintance who was treated to a lecture on menstruation from her 11 -year-old son. We are all in it together( it being the moronic soup of adulthood ), mystified and incompetent, scarcely able to operate our remote controls without assistance.

Following in the wake of generations of stupid mothers who dont get it, we embattled straws of people have gleaned a few survival strategies from our forebears. First, it is feasible to comforting to think that there may be a degree of karmic comeuppance involved: you did it to your parents and some years hence, your children will suffer in turn.

As a adolescent, I was surely convinced of my vast intellectual superiority over my mothers, Professor Beddington and Professor Baldwin, in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary. My parent has a mathematical model named after him, but I expended six years believing him to be the stupidest individual ever to stroll the face of the earth. So outlandishly stupid did I believe him to be that I walked 10 paces behind him in the street, a penalty now regularly meted out to me by my own progeny. As ye sow, so shall ye reap. I look forward to watching any future grandchildren I may have trail my sons at a surly, disgusted distance.

But what, if anything, can we do about it? There are two schools of thought. The first says dont try too hard. You know how cats are attracted to the people who give them the least attention? Adolescents are basically cats( infants aged four to 10 are labradors, patently, and the under-fours are the product of some unholy union of howler monkey and honey badger ).

Do not, what it is you do, attempt to ingratiate yourself by being cool in any way. We all recollect how awful the teachers who tried to be down with the children were: dont do it. Stories of your partying or your festival-going are revolting: they do not care that you watched Radiohead in 1992 before they were famous or once shared a urinal with Bobby Gillespie. Do not say sick or fleek or similar. Plough your own austere, consistently adult furrow. My stepfather spent much of my and my sisters teenage years reading Turgenev and smoking roll-ups in the back yard: this earned him a sort of gradual, grudging respect from us. If you follow this approach religiously, you may occasionally be rewarded by a languid advance: a head laid down in your shoulder as you watch television or an off-hand request to be shown how to stimulate chocolate chip cookies or solve a quadratic equation. You may not. The key thing is not to care too much one way or the other.

Alternatively, you can prove them right. Ham it up: wear a cagoule in public, say you really love that new tune from Asos then start singing it aloud and ask them if they still like that nice Floella. Be the buffoon they think you are: theres something very restful about being viewed as little more than a ludicrous, cash-dispensing flesh marionette. After all, you cant disappoint a adolescent because they already expect the worst of you.

The thing is, I love teens mine and others. For all the contempt and the ridicule and the galling refusal to listen to my excellent advice, they are wonderful company: funny, intensely alive and explosion with ideas, the most vivid distillation of what it is to be human. I truly feel lucky merely to be around them( except when I want to kill them. Id say its 50:50 right now ).

The more I think about it, the more Im seduced to conclude that perhaps we just need to accept their verdict: we are stupid. Its their world now and we, with our climate change extinctions, homophobia and Brexit flotillas, are merely messing it up for them. My friend Barbara recently asked her teenage daughter if there was anything she could do to stem the flow of adolescent contempt coming her way. Dont be a twat, said her daughter.

Words to live by, fellow idiots.

Read more: www.theguardian.com

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Sky Sports presenter David Tanner slaughtered on social media

Premiership champions Celtic headed to the Highlands today to face Ross County but any person glaringly forgot to inform Sky Sports activities anchorman David Tanner.

As Staggies fanatics settled into their seats in advance of the kick-off for the vital healthy, the blundering presenter had a Dingwall catastrophe whilst he said: “The Caley Thistle fans want the points a great deal greater than Celtic do.”

And immediately took to social media to slaughter the Television host.

Tanner – was caught up in his own social media typhoon in March while he took to Instagram to have a pass at former Rangers boss Mark Warburton, earlier than deleting his comments – fast have become the butt of the jokes on Twitter for his blunder.

Here’s a number of the fine response to Tanner’s Highland howler …

Truths and Facts and History About Whether Sky Culture Is Deteriorating Social Values of Bangladesh

So, I experienced my first identity crisis on a playground. I recollect my classmates developing to me and announcing, “Sameer”, what religion are you? Are you Christian or are you Jewish?” And that I take into account being very burdened with the aid of that query. I might simply move returned from Bangladesh, I was dwelling inside the nation-state – And that I consider questioning, I am no longer Christian due to the fact I do not get Christmas gives, consequently, if I needed to pick out among those two options, I need to be Jewish. So I might appearance up and nation-state geographical region, “John, I’m Jewish.” And that was that, and in fact went on those few months questioning that I was Jewish – thoughts you, I used to be 8 years old. That is till Hanukkah rolled around And that I failed to get any provides on Hanukkah both.

My point is that identity subjects. And no longer only does identity matter

Your identification ought to be the tale of you, and one This is becoming of your highest aspirations. So after I moved to Bangladesh years in the past, I used to be seeking out an identification that would assist me meaningfully specific my connection to this land. So I started to do all of the things that I used to be sincerely interested in: images, tour, writing – And I started to discover a commonplace thread here. I started out to peer this large diversity of this land – but not best that, however within that diversity laid the important thing to know how what made Bengal so a hit as a civilization. here I will discover an identity that I may be proud of,

And it was an identity with a potential. So last 12 months, I made a protracted awaited journey to Tibet. And whilst my Buddhist excursion guide met me at the airport, he turned into so excited to fulfill a Bangladeshi. “Bangladeshi! Bangladeshi!”, he yelled out. And I couldn’t apprehend this, but it turns out that 1,000 years ago the Tibetan king turned into so taken by means of this Bengali monk, that he had a delegation dispatched all the way down to Bengal to invite for him, to come back as much as Tibet and help reinvigorate and revive the exercise of Buddhism there, after years of its decline and suppression. This was an incredible assignment

And this Bengali monk took up this assignment, and he became so transformative and powerful in his undertaking, that Buddhists these days, and Tibetans throughout Tibet regard him as Lisa, the exquisite Lord, 2nd best to the Buddha himself. And anywhere I went in Tibet, each monastery I visited, we see the statue of Lisa, a Bengali man, seated proper subsequent to the Buddha. In truth, if you go to Mongolia, Japan – even Australia and elements of the Buddhist global, you may nevertheless discover facilities, monasteries. And statues devoted to Lisa – such changed into the profound impact. Now, how a lot of you here today have heard of this story? And the way a lot of you here nowadays recognize wherein Alisa was from? He turned into from proper right here, only a few miles outside Dhaka.

By using the way this tale isn’t mine instead one of my friends’.

And if you’re like me and you are wondering, what sort of society gave a start to the sort of guy – Nicely, 1,000 years in the past, Bengal became a global powerhouse. It had an empire that prolonged as a long way west as Afghanistan, it ruled the Indian Ocean trade, and it built monastery college complexes like this at Paharpur. This will have drawn in pupils from all around the vicinity to examine at this prestigious campus. See the then model of Sky Tradition became a lot so regularly occurring in our society even in 1000 A.D.

Jewelry in Professional Sports

Have you ever puzzled what sort of jewelry an athlete is authorized to put on on the sphere? Like is a tumbler participant allowed to wear a men’s wedding ceremony ring on the on the mound? Or is a hockey player allowed to put on a necklace? Here is a brief rundown on what expert athletes are allowed to wear in the 4 foremost sports.

NHL

Due to the fact most of the player’s frame is included on the ice (store the neck and face) through their uniform, skates, socks, gloves and helmet, the NHL does not have any policies relating what form of jewelry may be worn throughout the game. Due to the fact that it’s a high impact sport, players are apt not to put on any type of jewelry or jewelry for the duration of the video games. As for necklaces, so long as they do not appear out of doors of the jersey they’re allowed.

NFL

If there’s one recreation this is hyper important of what a player wears on the sector, it is the NFL (or as a few fans have dubbed it the “No A laugh League”). not most effective are you able to get penalized for excessive birthday party on the sector, but additionally for wearing on- sanctioned socks or shoes. And the rules begin from the time someone hits the field for pre-game exercise all of the way to the time they leave the stadium. policies are even enforced all through publish game interviews! Mockingly, although

The NFL does not have excessive policies on what kind of earrings can be worn on the sector. Due to the fact that hands are commonly used for catching and blockading, jewelry is usually now not worn as they could have an effect on the catching or throwing of a ball. Necklaces and ear jewelry, on the other hand, are worn, as long as they may be within reason. Bracelets, on the other hand, ought to be blanketed in any respect time. Did I point out that officials assessment the complete recreation afterward to make certain (once again) that no person broke uniform regulations throughout the game? Wow.

Brutal Robbery Story – Avoid Getting Slaughtered And Protect Yourself

As soon as I reached my workplace on Monday, I found out that my close colleague Ryan became no more with us. In a home housebreaking strive, robbers had entered his domestic at the preceding night time, robbed them and possibly whilst Ryan resisted or attempted to grapple with the robbers, he changed into shot useless with the aid of them.

The ecosystem turned into very morose within the workplace that day. Wherever I went, people had been speaking about Ryan and the home housebreaking. All of us had fond recollections of the time spent with him as he became a very slight mannered, well mannered and helpful fellow.

In any other ‘tried’ domestic housebreaking just a fortnight or so ago

Burglars had tried to break into the residence of some other colleague of mine inside the night time. As luck would have it, he had were given an essential home security system mounted just a week in the past. The moment the alarm went off, the burglars ran away. They had been attempting to break open a window glass while the alarm warned the house owners.

The very next day, the news had spread inside the office like wildfire. All people changed into quite involved. My colleagues commenced exploring the distinctive types of home alarms to be had and the charges and capabilities thereof. Many of us who did now not have one at domestic were discussing whether or not it might be clever to get one established now.

For one week or so, we were, on and off, speak approximately the diverse domestic safety structures presently available in the marketplace. Lots of us have been thinking about economic models which had access and motion sensors which could alert you in case a person attempted to open a door or window or broke a glass to enter your private home. structures with spherical the clock monitoring, people with d indicators and people that alert the police if a burglar breaks in or tries to break the keypad (to make it inoperative) have been all mentioned. Even Ryan became taking an active element inside the discussions but it now transpires that he did no longer have a home alarm device mounted.

Precisely after three days of Ryan’s loss of life,

We took a collective choice in the office and negotiated with a domestic safety carrier employer to offer more than one fashions of home safety structures inside the houses of all the employees. All and sundry had many options to choose from.

We will at least have a peaceful sleep now, way to the brand new home safety device.