#hotel raphel

[wormstacheangel]

Almost: Ch7

Hello! This is the 2nd to last chapter. So tomorrow you will get the final chapter. So excited for all of you to read this and thank you for all the love I’ve been getting on it!

Summary:  Dean was locked up in a room full of hot-headed Novak siblings while they read Chuck's last testimony out loud. Lucky for Dean, Cas doesn't mind being used as a pillow. Unlucky for Dean, Cas's siblings are assholes.

Read on Tumblr: Ch1 link | Ch2 link | Ch3 link | Ch4 link | Ch5 link | Ch 6 link

Read on AO3 link (maybe leave a nice little comment?)

Word Count: 2893  More Under The Cut

The room was way too stuffy. 

That was the feeling throughout the whole will reading. After the first half-hour, Dean was sure that Chuck just wanted them there to bore themselves to death. Cas was busy listening and even taking notes - that big nerd. Bobby was sitting on his own chair beside their shared couch. He looked like he was paying attention but Dean could already read the glossy far away look in his eyes. The old man was falling asleep with his eyes open again. 

Not a bad idea. Dean tilted his head down to rest on Cas’s shoulder and crossed his arms over his chest as he made himself a little more comfortable. He thought for sure Cas was going to say something about it. About him being an idiot and he should sit straight and listen but nope. Instead, Cas moved his pen to his left hand and reached his right hand to gently pat Dean’s hair. 

The involuntary shiver that ran down his body as he leaned into the soft touch was embarrassing but fuck did he really like this. Cas’s finger softly ran through his hair and scratch at his head. It felt like before. Like they were in a college lecture again and Cas would tell him to go to sleep. That he would take notes because he knew Dean had a long day at work and only had maybe 3 or 4 hours of sleep. 

Then he felt Cas’s head tilt down to rest upon his and for fucks sake if this wasn’t the most relaxed he has felt all week. 

Even in this room filled with boring words being spoken - Chuck never really was a great writer but he sure as hell writes a lot - and a tense Novak family, Dean could feel like he could fall asleep right here. 

“Mr. Winchester?” Dean blinked open his eyes as Cas gently patted his face. 

He sat up straighter as he looked up at the lawyer who was practically glaring at him. To be fair it felt like everyone was. “Um, yeah?”

He heard Raphael groan in annoyance and Dean tried hard not to glare at Cas’s brother. 

“We’re ready to talk about what you are getting from Mr. Chuck Novak. So if you’ll kindly give me your attention.” The lawyer calmly stated, sounded like a creepy old man from a damn Scooby-Doo episode. Actually, he kinda looked like one too. 

“Sure.” Dean nodded once. Feeling Cas squeeze his knee and then everything went to hell.

The words sounded almost far away when the lawyer guy said them and it wasn’t until Bobby was tugging at his arm to stand up that Dean got on his feet. His legs were shaky and he turned to look at his Uncle and Cas who told him to go. 

All he had to do was walk up to the lawyer. To take the pen to accept the gift. Shit. He didn’t even accept those expensive headphones Charlie gave him last Christmas and he was supposed to accept this? 

Fuck. He’s gonna throw up. 

“Dean?” He heard Cas call out to him, the concern was clearly there but Dean didn’t turn to look at him. 

Didn’t really look at anyone really - too busy looking down at the fucking pen he had to pick up. So maybe that’s why he never saw it coming. Saw Mike get up from his chair and land a punch on his jaw. 

Everything after that was kind of a blur. 

It wasn’t until the security came and everyone froze that he saw Cas standing over Dean. Cas’s fist was pulled back, ready to land another punch on Raphael, while his other hand was grabbing his brother up by the collar. Mike and Luci were still arguing with each other in a wrestling match about who was Chuck's actual favorite son - pathetic for these grown men to be fighting about. 

Gabriel was sitting, rolling his eyes about all of this, while Bobby and Anna waited outside the office. Yelling at them to stop before the cops showed up.

“Now,” The lawyers spoke up after they all sat back down. “Will Mr. Winchester please sign the papers so we can continue?”

Cas shoved Raphel back and he fell back on his ass. He then turned around and held his hand out for Dean to take and help him up. 

“Sign them.” Cas' voice was firm as he motioned towards the papers with his chin. Dean was just a little too distracted by his face. It was bloody and his hair was all ruffled. Fuck, bad timing to think Cas looked hot. “Dean.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Dean cleared his throat and quickly took the pen out of the lawyer’s hand to finally sign on the dotted line. The room went quiet again. “There.”

Half of the Novak fortune was now his and thankfully so was Bobby’s Garage. Yeah, he’s gonna throw up. 

The drive to Cas’s hotel was a quiet one. 

Cas was in the passenger seat with his head against the window. His eyes were closed with bloody tissue up his nostrils and an ice pack balancing on his cheek. Dean could see Cas’s foot still taping to the music, he probably didn’t even realize that they were parked outside the building now. 

Dean took the chance to just look at him. Enjoying the view of Cas sitting passenger side. He looked so relaxed considering what they just went through and if it wasn’t for the foot taping Dean would think he has fallen asleep. His suit jacket was draped haphazardly on the back of the bench. Remembering Cas getting in the car with an angry huff, loosening his tie, and undoing the top few buttons of his shirt after he slammed the car door shut. 

The bruised knuckles and blood speckled shirt didn’t stop Cas from doing his old car routine. Getting angry when his mixtape was not found inside the box but let out a little, “Oh.” when he realized it was already in the tape deck. He quickly rewinded the tape before slipping it back in.

“Dean. I need you to turn on the car.” He told him. Voice low and gravely more than usual because of his frustration. 

Dean just did what he was told. Turning on the car and backing out of the parking space as Cas pressed play to let Tangerine fill the car. 

Now Kashmir was playing its final beats and they both knew it was the last song on the tape. Dean drove slow - he even took the long way and tried to hit as many red lights as he could - but it was time for Cas to get out of the car and leave this calm. Leave this safe space. 

“You sure Bobby isn’t mad for leaving him with Gabriel?” Cas didn’t look at him as he asked. His arms just wrapped tighter as he hugged himself. He was stalling and Dean really wished he didn’t have to leave the car at all.

Dean nodded even though Cas wasn’t looking at him. He relaxed against his seat with a heavy sigh and when he nervously licked his lips he could taste the dry blood on them. The split on his bottom lip was apparently much smaller than he imagined but still burned like a motherfucker. 

“He likes Gabriel - surprisingly enough - so I’m sure he’s fine.” Dean reaches over to hover his fingertips over his throbbing cheek and he lets out a small chuckle. “Never imagined this is how today was gonna go.” He throws his head back to rest against the bench seat. “Fuck my face hurts.”

He sees movement out of the corner of his eye and then he feels an ice pack gently being pressed against his lip. Cas scooted closer to him on the bench, tucking his feet under himself so he could kneel beside Dean, and look down at him with such wide sad eyes. It was heartbreaking to see those baby blues look so broken. Almost empty. 

The anger clearly faded and now Cas was left mourning not only his father but a life he just can’t afford anymore. 

Dean covered Cas’s hand with his own and slowly lowered the ice pack just as Cas scrunched his lips together to hold back his cry. 

“Cas,” Dean looked up at him and carefully reached to wipe the stray tear that escaped. “It’s okay.”

Cas nodded as he smiled through the tears he was now freely letting fall now. Landing down on Dean’s own cheeks. “I know.”

“Then why are you crying?” Dean didn’t move from where he was looking up at Cas. Letting his thumb make small circles against Cas’s bruised up cheek. “You know I wouldn’t ever leave you to fend for yourself. You’re too stupid for that.”

Cas laughed, it was mixed in with a sob but his eyes looked brighter. That was good. Dean can’t stand looking at those still icy eyes any longer. He wanted him warm cause that is what Cas is. He’s warmth. 

“Are you mad at me for accepting?” Dean quietly asked as he took the ice pack from Cas and raised it up with his free hand to press against Cas’s eyebrow bone where a ring must have cut him. Dean’s other hand was still carefully tracing his cheek. If he could only have these touches for this short time then he is sure as fuck going to take advantage of them. Of these soft touches. Quiet whispered voices. This closeness. 

Cas has to go back to Mick but right now Cas was his. In this car, Cas was his. 

“Course not, Dean.” Cas closes his eyes with a wince. “I’m glad you accepted. Dad never really liked me so I was surprised I was even mentioned in the testament at all. I am fine with what I got. Then again,” Cas opened his eyes and raised his bad brow only to wince harder. “Fuck, that’s gonna be annoying.”

“Control your damn face.” Dean chuckled as Cas stuck his tongue at him. “Then again?”

“Ah, um, then again I didn’t expect you to get the big price.”

“You sound mad.” Dean looked back at him with a wary look and Cas reassured him with a smile. 

“Confused is more accurate.” Cas took the melting ice pack from Dean and now it was Dean’s turn to get his bruised face iced. “I just wish we had more closure. Like what the hell does it mean that you were the only one doing what you were supposed to be doing?”

“Fuck if I know, man, but...I’m sorry, Cas.”

“Don’t be, dumbass.” Cas chuckled as he carefully dabbed at his lower lip. “I’m happy for you, Dean. Truly. I’m glad that you were there for him when none of us were. Even if he was difficult at times.” Cas sighed and leaned back on his legs. “I’m glad he was just as fond of you as I was. It’s nice to know I had that in common with my Dad.”

Dean made a face. “Dude, hopefully not the same way.”

Cas threw his head back to laugh. It was loud and his eyes crinkled on the side. His dumb nose scrunched up as he leaned forward to grin back at Dean. Eyes so bright and warm that Dean could feel his breath catching in his chest. It was such a beautiful sight that Dean sat up and stretched his neck until their noses were nuzzled together.

Dean could feel Cas’s gasp out in shock, his breathing coming out shaky and heavy against Dean’s lips. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What is he doing? 

“Cas?” Dean watched as Cas slowly closed his eyes. He answered with a soft hum before swallowing hard. 

Dean’s hand reached to cradle the back of Cas’s neck as his heart pounded in his chest. It felt so damn heavy and scary because Cas was so close. He could kiss him right now. Fuck, he can have those damn sweet bruised up lips against his own for another second. He can have him like this one final time. 

Feel the burn of his mouth against his own and let that be enough. Let it be the only thing that had him floating above water or it could finally be the thing that drowns him. Be the thing that finally takes him under and he’ll have no choice but to fight for his life. Fight to finally have Cas. 

“Dean.” Cas’s voice was shaky and desperate. It sounded like an agonizing plea while he felt Cas shuffle closer. Then Dean’s eyes dropped closed as he felt just the slight brush of their lips. 

He felt Cas’s full-body shiver as he sighed and Dean wanted to see more.

A whimper escaped between Dean’s lips as he felt his whole body heat up and he knew - fuck he knows! - how stupid this is. How much this will hurt when he eventually ends up getting fucking pulverized but he can’t think of that right now. He can't think of the damn consequences when Cas is right here. When he is slowly crumbling against his touch. 

Dean tilted his head forward again to brush their lips together to finally-

The loud knocking on the roof of the car made them jump back. Cas quickly crawled back to his side of the bench only to jump back when Mick was at the window. Clearly forcing a smile. 

Clearly, he saw the whole thing.

“Cas.” Dean tried reaching for him but Cas was already opening the car door. 

Mick looked like he was about to scream but his face froze as the anger faded to concern. “Castiel! What - what happened?!”

“Can we talk inside?” Cas closed the car door and Dean flinched in the driver's seat. 

“Sure.” Mick took Cas’s hand and Dean couldn’t see their expressions anymore but he saw Cas stiff shoulders as they walked away from the car. Hand in hand they didn’t look back and Dean was left alone.

Again.

Cas didn’t pick him again. He knew it too and it still fucking hurt like a son of a bitch. 

He hit the steering wheel in frustration a few times, letting out screams before he quickly turned on the car to start to drive. 

He can’t go home. No. Home kind of walked away from him again. But he’ll stay at Bobby’s. 

Just the idea of walking into his cold apartment shatters him. So he’ll go and bother his little brother. He’ll just...he’ll take the long way home. 

-

Dean spent most of the next day bussing himself with work. If he wasn’t under a car then he was in his office - pulling his hair mostly - finishing paperwork that felt never-ending. He ignored his personal phone - putting it on do not disturb with the exception of Sam, Charlie, and Bobby - while he tried to think of anything but Cas. 

He did it for five fucking years so why was it so hard now? Why can’t he just push him back and out of his mind again?

Dean let his head fall and bang against the desk. Maybe it’ll knock some sense back into him. 

“Why is it that you’re always doing that when I walk in?” He heard Sam’s voice and Dean’s response was just to flip him off. He heard Sam laugh and then two chairs scrape against the floor. He looked up to see Charlie was also there.

“What do you two want? I told you I still don’t have the money.” He folded his arms on the desk and let his chin rest on them. “I promise I’ll call you so you can see the number.”

“It’s dinner time, stupid.” Charlie pushed the paper bags on the desk where Sam was cleaning up. Stacking papers on one side and making room so they wouldn’t dirty anything. She smiled down at him, it was sad again. “You didn’t eat breakfast and barely finished your lunch.”

“Not hungry.” He shrugged as if they would buy it.

They shared a look with each other and Dean rolled his eyes. 

“Well, we are. So eat with us.” She said while she opened the paper bags to hand him the food they got him. “We even went across town to get those curly fries you like.”

“Yeah and look!” Sam gives him a black styrofoam take out container. “We got you that berry cobbler you like! With ice cream.”

Dean lifts his head up and accepts the cobbler. “Fine. But it better be warm.”

They were about to start eating when they heard a soft knock at the door. Dean sighed as he called out, “It’s open!”

The door slowly opened and then Cas popped his head in with an awkward smile. Those sad eyes front and center again.

Dean quickly stood up but then he noticed Mick was standing beside him with his arm around Cas’s waist.

“Um, hello everyone.” Cas smiled at them and there was a hard tug on his lips. He swallowed hard as he awkwardly shuffled his feet before stuffing his hands in his pockets. Then his eyes looked up to meet Dean’s. “Dean? Can we talk?”

No. No. It sounds broken. Sounds like he’s about to say...goodbye. 

Tag List p1: Ask to be added or removed! It’s chill. I post way too much lol

@galaxycastiel @superduckbatrebel @slipper007 @ar-bi-trary @winchestcas

@imlivingliferightnow @bi-bi-marie @nguyenxtrang @dancerdovegirl

@chocolatecakecas @trasherasswood @celestialcastiel @castiel-is-a-cat

@readeroftheimmortalbooks @marichankitty @confusedisaster

@castiels-bitch @destiel-bitches @tearsofgrace @wigglebox

[narcissusneverknewme]

The Grand Hotel

Somewhere below the Grand Hotel

There is a tunnel that leads down to hell

That’s Simon’s voice. No one in this place could ever mistake that voice. Not singing, not speaking, not crying. If they heard it for the first time in a hundred years, or a hundred thousand, they would know it. The few short months that had past since it last filled these lifeless halls had certainly not begun to mar the memory of it.

There was a time, when first it became familiar, that the inhabitants of that once-silent building would have done nearly anything to escape his voice.

Now, they drift slowly from dark rooms and deep corners of the Dumort, pulled from the shadows towards its bright, seemingly magnetic sound.

Take the dumbwaiter, the laundry chute

Then sneak through the hall past the boys shining boots

Deep within the hotel, Stan finds himself floating out of his room, into the passageway. Blinking slowly as though still waking up, he sees the others filling the hall. It’s strange, surreal, to see so many people moving in harmony. They all mirror Stan’s gradual, almost involuntary movements and dreamy expression. Slow eyes hover over one another before turning upward, as though they could peer through the ceiling to see the source of the song many floors above.

Turn left at the courtyard, through the old garden

Where all the bellhops smoke with the guards

And then you run to the old lake house

Down to the old lake house

Run to the old lake house where it begins

Simon’s singing. He hasn’t sung in a long time. He hasn’t been home in a long time.

Home. Somehow, this moment is the first time he’s realized that the Dumort is his home. As dark and strange and full of bloody, tear-stained secrets as it is, it’s his home.

He plays his guitar with ease, the rhythm and chords coming to him freely. The words are harder. He hears them again as he sings them, thinks about them like he’d never heard them before.

Under the floorboards there's a deep well

That leads to a spring that sprung up in hell

Hell . The word had entered his mind with new meaning after his death.

When he’d woken, lungs filling with earth and body aching with cold, as he’d clawed his way through six feet of suffocating sod, as the crushing feeling of being buried and unsure of the way upwards had choked him as effectively as the dirt filling his mouth and nose, the word had flickered briefly through his head, then was pushed aside by desperation.

When he’d emerged only for cold and panic to be replaced by hunger, burning hunger, the word was still there, in the back of his mind.

When he’d realized what his afterlife really was, he’d thought it again. He was a monster; not as in a “bad person,” an actual monster. Dangerous, predatory, unable even to live without sucking the vitality out of other human’s veins. He was a devil, and he was trapped with himself for eternity. That, he’d thought, was as literal an interpretation of “hell on Earth” as was possible. He’d thought then that he understood.

Now, as he sang in his favorite nook, tucked away with his guitar on the penultimate floor of the Hotel Dumort, he knew that Hell was not pain. It was not fear, nor thirst, nor demons. He knew now that to be damned was to fall--  to be cast out. It was separation. It was the knowledge that his loss and isolation were his own choice. It was guilt. It was sin. It was his own betrayal of those he’d loved.

That's where old devils danced and kissed

And made their blood pacts in the ancient myths

Simon can picture in perfect detail Raphael’s expression when he’d declared Simon a traitor. He wishes he couldn’t. He wishes the memory of that look wasn’t so much clearer than all his others, like it was branded on his mind. Like it’ll be there when time has erased every other memory.

Maybe one day he won’t remember what Raphael’s laugh sounded like. Or the defiance in his face when Simon had seen the mark the cross around Raphael’s neck burned into his skin. Or that half-repressed smile he’d worn the night Simon made Raphael dance with him. Lily had wolf-whistled from what she clearly judged to be a safe distance, she was lucky Raphael was feeling generous: he’d ignored her, lips turning up just a bit more.

Simon’s clan had been his family, and he’d owed them loyalty. He had not given it. If he still remembered his treachery when every other memory had faded away, he’d deserve it.

And running through forest they screamed in chorus

While piercing fair maidens' chests with their horns

Raphael stands on the rooftop of the Dumort, hands stiffly at his sides. The sun is safely tucked beneath the horizon, but colors linger in the sky, traces of daylight still in the air-- it’s his favorite time; the most human time.

Dusk always evoked a certain longing in Raphael. When he’d first found himself confined to the night with the rest of the dark things, the sunset had been painful. The grief he’d felt at seeing it had been unexpected and overwhelming.

It was fitting in a way, death had become his domain, and the dying sun was the only light permitted in his life. The first time he’d watched it set really knowing that he’d never see it rise again, the pain he’d felt had left him breathless. It was like someone had punched a hole through him, leaving his lungs gasping and his chest empty.

But time dulls everything, even for the undead. It had been years since the gloaming had brought more than a dull twinge to Raphel. Tonight is different.

A single floor separates him and the sound of Simon’s voice. He’s singing, a song that manages to be both playful and melancholy. Raphael can’t help listening, he can’t ignore the soft sound of Simon’s voice anymore than he can ignore the ache in his own chest. As the sun rays recede, the pull Raphael had felt-- the need to be out here, breathing in what light he can-- fades with it. Something else tugs at him, another kind of light calling to him.

And then they lay in the grass 'til the dawn came

Sleeping away 'til the dawn came

Lay in the grass where now stands the Grand Hotel

The vampires are all stirring now, gravitating towards the big spaces where they’ve danced to this voice before.

The maître d' and a fancy chef

Silver's real, the liquor's top shelf

Play some tennis, swim in a pool

Stroll the garden, shady and cool

Simon’s always reminded Lily of living things, growing things. He’s crept into their hearts in such an unexpected way. He’d had them all wrapped up in his clutches before they’d quite known what they were about, like vines twining around a tree.

When he hadn’t chosen them, when he chose the Nephilim, when he chose her , Lily had felt his vinelike fingers, coiled around the clan’s hearts, shredding through them like thread through butter.

She’d been angry, then sad, and then… she’d wilted. Simon had brought humanity and energy back into their lives and then he’d taken it away again. Without it, she couldn’t even stay sad. She’d just grown lethargic, sinking further into apathy than she’d ever done.

Now his music, his emotion, the barely-there sound of one of his legs vibrating with excess energy, fills the hotel again. Lily feels it rousing her. The song is full of thoughts forlorn and wistful. It reminds Lily how much she misses life. It’s nostalgic and challenging and she isn’t sure she likes it.

You won't care that the devils

Won't mind that the devils

Won't know that the devils are near

Simon knows that the sun is setting, that the hotel will be waking up soon, and he’s afraid. He’d done what he could to atone for wronging Raphael, he’d found Camille and endangered himself to capture her. When things went south (as they inevitably did) he’d proved just how remorseful he was; just how loyal to Raphael and the clan; just how dedicated to Raphael’s safety. In return, Raphael had told him he was allowed back in the hotel. That was two weeks ago.

Yesterday, Simon finally got up the courage to return, but he couldn’t imagine just waltzing in the front doors. Bursting in like a student 15 minutes late to class on the first day, all eyes turning to him to sit in judgement. So he’d snuck in before the sun set and the Dumort rose.

He’d sat down to wait for the others to wake, but he’d run out patience, run out of nerve, after only a few moments.

The music had been meant to calm him. He was trying to keep his mind off his impending reunion with his fearless leader and the clan. It isn’t working. At all.

He wants to see him, them. But he’s scared, and so, so sorry.

Somewhere below the grand hotel

There is a tunnel that leads straight to hell

The Dumort used to be a kind of hell for Simon, he thinks idly as his fingers pluck the strings. He thinks it might have been a kind of hell for all of them.

But no one comes up for the souls anymore

They come for some comfort and for the dance floor

And hiding sharp horns under fedoras

Do not disturb signs instead of a chorus

The vampires are standing in the lobby and the stateroom. They’re all listening now, eyeing each other to see who’ll give in first. None of them have ever been able to resist.

Finally, Lily offers Elliott her hand. They dance. Others begin dancing in pairs, or small groups, or even alone. It’s nothing like a vampire party. The lights are low, the music is soft and clear, and when they dance it’s slow.

Elliott’s hand is almost warm where it holds Lily’s. That’s probably impossible. Lily isn’t sure.

As they dance past, Lily notices that sad, ever-silent European couple. They’re holding each other in a way that looks stately and rigid, moving in a traditional, elegant dance. They’re looking into each other’s eyes. In the second that Lily watches them, she can see that they’re communicating. She thinks maybe they’re still in love.

They toss and turn 'til the dawn comes

On soft sheets 'til the dawn comes

No one sleeps at the grand hotel

Simon lets the music soothe his anxiety as much as it can. Tonight, whatever it holds, whatever welcome he receives from his clan, from Raphael, tonight is going to be pivotal.

Room service, mini-bar

Scented soaps, chauffeured cars

The low light of the room takes on an otherworldly glow as the twilight in the window wanes. The bodies continue their unhurried dance.

Stay a day, stay a week

Here's the tunnel, take a peek

Raphael’s feet have been itching to follow the sound. He can see the lights of the Stateroom filtering out onto the abandoned sidewalk below where he stands on the edge of the roof. He can see the shadows of his clan, swaying to the sounds of Simon’s guitar.

There’s a breeze, but he doesn’t feel it. There’s the scent of strangers on the wind and the sound of the city is all around him, but Raphael can’t sense any of it. He feels only that longing for sunlight, tugging him downwards, urging him on. Into the the stairwell, down, down, along the hall… He moves at speeds only a vampire could, but it takes too long . There’s a hole in his chest and a song in the air and he needs to reach it before it’s gone.

Just call up your friends at the front desk

Any hour at the front desk

Simon hears footsteps, but can’t make out who they belong to over the sound of the guitar and his own voice. He’s really got to work on his vampy senses. He should have heard whoever it was wake up, let alone get this close to him.

For a moment he wonders who’s going to round the corner and find him hiding in the alcove.

When it’s Raphael he’s surprised to find himself… unsurprised. And, more remarkably, unafraid.

He looks in Raphael’s face, properly for the first time since that horrible day a few long months ago. The features look exactly as he remembers them in that moment, but the expression is totally different. There’s something startling there, something deep and searching. Something that looks like fear, or possibly hope.

Call up your friends at the Grand Hotel

It’s him. Of course, it’s him, Raphael already knew that. But it’s different to know than to see.

He’s tucked into a weird shape, trying to fit all his limbs plus a guitar into a small alcolve. The leg his instrument isn’t resting on is bouncing wildly, out of time. Whether the motion is powered by nerves or simply pent up energy, Raphael doesn’t know.

Simon looks up, from the guitar as Raphael nears, fingers not pausing, voice not faltering. His eyes meet Raphael’s, and they’re full of the same light they’ve always been. Of course they are. And Simon and Raphael look at one another, both seem to be asking the same question. For a moment, Raphael isn’t sure if they get the same answer.

Suddenly, Simon’s face breaks into a wide smile, and it looks like a sunrise. It feels like a sunrise. Raphael can’t help it: He smiles back.

You'll always have friends at the Grand Hotel

The End.

[suiten7-blog]

Pour la dernière de la saison, H-Burns & The Buns prennent possession de l’Hôtel Raphael Paris le 28 juin... La meilleure façon de dire bonjour à l’été !

[flower-of-the-desert]

I've always feel like Raphel was the one rejecting Simon. I'm not even a fan of Simon. The fact Simon was more closer with a shadohunters and his ability to walk the day could have lead Raphael to be... suspiccious, Jealous of him ? They really dismiss Maia and Raphael in the show for Sizzy. The whole Heidi thing was bs. This is my feeling but Maia will return and be back with Jordan, they'll leave the town and Raphael is gonna to be kill. sizzy + Simon as the head of the vampire clan.

Oh, anon, I so hope you’re wrong about that. That’s like my worst nightmare coming true. But sadly, I can see the writers pulling something like that all too easily. *sigh*

I agree though that Raphael was jealous of Simon’s daywalker abilities. That was pretty clear from his behaviour and later on that jealousy become desperation that drove him to experiment on Heidi in order to find out the secret. It really makes sense since Simon got what every vampire probably dreams off.

I never got the vibe that he was rejecting Simon though. Quite the opposite really. I mean he brought Simon’s body back to Clary, he helped her bring him back, he watched over him to help him adjust. He let him stay at the hotel, gave him his clothes even. Raphael only gave up on trying to help Simon after what he and Isabelle did to Rosa and after Simon made it crystal clear he wanted nothing to do with the vampire clan and Raphael.

[iron-and-ink]

Alec and Downworlders (part two) - The Reactions

Izzy

Alec and Izzy had been sent on a recon mission to find out about a new drug that had been on the market, a few mundanes had overdosed on it and that was a problem

they were at a club called Pandemonium, Izzy tells him it’s funny, Alec doesn’t think it’s very funny, Izzy is dressed in a dark green body forming dress, meant to draw the eye, Alec was in all black shadowhunting gear

they were to find a seelie in the club, apparently he had information on the new drug, Izzy easily slipped into the role of the distraction

“I don’t know big brother, I don’t see the se-”

“parvulus” and even after all these years Alec remembers that voice, Izzy whips around her hand outstretched ready for her whip while Alec turns around more slowly a slow smile curving at his lips, it was Kheelan, his hair was a soft bubblegum pink now and he had what looked like a flower tattoo on his neck, his clothes were a lot different from when Alec had met him

“my my, you have grown up” the seelie smiled at him, Izzy looked between the seelie and her brother

“Kheelan” Alec gave a tilt of his head in acknowledge, the seelie cupped the shadowhunters face and brushed his thumb over the boy's cheekbone

“what brings you here parvulus”

“were investigating the new drug Yeru, know anything about it”

“I do, please, follow me”

“Izzy stay here, keep an eye out”

Isabelle Lightwood stared at her brother as he melted into the crowd after the seelie, after they were out of sight her mouth dropped open into an ‘O’ and she shook her head a few times, so sure what she had just witnessed was a dream or an illusion or something, how did her brother know a seelie, so many things didn’t make sense but five minutes later her brother was back at her side and the seelie trailing after him

“thank you Kheelan, this will help a lot” Alec had a manila folder in his hand, Izzy’s brows twitched

“please do visit more, your presence is always pleasant, parvulus” the seelie smiled at her brother as he melted back into the crowd

“ready Iz?’

“what just happened?”

bonus:

Magnus Bane had heard whispers through many supernatural communities, about a young shadowhunter boy who was so unlike his people, who respected downworlders, who was kind to them, who treated them well, a young shadowhunter boy with inky black hair and hazel eyes, a large rune brandished on his neck

he wondered if he would ever meet the boy, it happened that night that he had seen Kheelan practically run after the two shadowhunters that were in Magnus’ club, Magnus had watched from the balcony, the care the seelie showed toward the boy, how when the boy turned he could see the rune

the shadowhunter boy who was no longer a boy but a man and seemed to still respect downworlders

Jace and Clary

Alec is twenty two the second time he calls Luke

Jace had rushed into the Institute with a red head cradled in his arms, heading straight for the med bay and calling for Alec to follow

Alec stood to the side while he watched his parabatai draw an iratze on the redhead with no runes, Alec scowled as the rune did it’s god and healed her

two hours pass before the redhead wakes up and states that her name is Clary, there's horror in his eyes as he steps out of the wing and pulls his phone out to call Luke

“Alec?”

“Luke, I think Clary is in a bed in the med bay in my Institute” Alec almost choked calling it his Institute, it wasn’t, but it was, there was silence before Luke rushed out that he was on his way

Alec stood by Clary’s bed as Jace explained to her the shadow world and all that it entitled, Alec grimaced she didn’t even know the man who raised her was a werewolf

Luke rushed through the open archway that lead into the med bay, A frazzled Raj trailing after him, Alec waved off Raj

“Luke”

“Clary, god i’m so sorry”

Luke swept her up into a hug, Clary cried on his shoulder and Jace stepped away to give them a moment, he turned to give Alec a look, after a few minutes Clary calmed down enough for Luke to pull away and pull Alec into a hug

“thank you”

Jace gave him a look like he was constipated and Clary’s brows were pinched together

Luke still had the two pictures he had taken of young Alec holding Clary, he showed all three of them, Jace laughed his ass for a straight five minutes

“should I call you big brother”

Alec was now the one who looked constipated   

Simon and Raphael

“Lo juro, si no te callas” (I swear, if you do not shut up)

“Raphael I told you I don’t speak spanish”

“gracias a Dios por eso” (thank god for that)

“I feel like I should be offended and if you didn’t talk so fast I would so be writing down what you’re saying so that I can look it up la-oh hey Alec’s here”

Raphael turned and saw the shadowhunter being lead in by Lily, he had his bow strung over his shoulder, and a frown a constant on his face, Raphael sneered at the shadowhunter

“what are you doing here”

“Clary’s been worried about Simon, told her i’d check up on him will out patrolling”

“she could've texted me”

“she has been”

“oh”

“Idiota” (idiot)

“well you’re fine so i’m gon-”

“Alec?”

Raphael kept his face neutral as he turned to look at the two people who entered the room, every few centuries the two vampires who founded the New York Clan liked to drop by and check in on the clan, Lavi and Delphi were always welcomed faces around the hotel, all the vampires loved them, Raphael and Simon watched as Delphi rushed Alec, all the other vamps in the room tensed, but Delphi wrapped Alec up in a tight hug, even more surprising, the shadowhunter hugged her back

by the time they pulled back, Lavi had made his way over to the two, he clapped a hand on Alecs back and gave a squeeze

“Tu as grand” (you got big)

“Et tu es toujours en vie” (and you’re still alive)

Lavi snorted and cuffed the back of Alecs head with a fond look on his face

“how have you been, you look good”

Alec smiled down at Delphi, he was taller than her now and she seemed much smaller than he remembered her being, him and Lavi were about the same height but he was broader than Lavi

“Lightwood,”

Alec turned a glare on Raphel who was sneering at him, Simon was glancing around the room nervously, the rest of the clan were giving off every mixed signals

“Rapha” Delphi clicked her tongue at him

said vampire let his face drop back into normalcy and tilted his head at the clan founder

“Alec, how do you know the New York Clan founders?”

Max (in this instance max looks more like book!max then show!max)

Max Lightwood is very much like his brother Alec

at the age of eight, he likes to wander and very much like Alec, when he wanders, he gets lost

Max had been so happy to be at the Institute to see his older siblings, the reunion had included many hugs, smiles and laughs

the next day he had been wandering the halls of the Institute and was in front of his mother's office when he had heard her yelling at Alec, Max had cringed at the things he hears his mother yelling, he can hear things clattering around and when he hears something glass shatter he runs

he finds a door and keeps running until his lungs burn and his throat stings

(yes the one Alec used as a wee one)

he finds himself in a shady dark alley and he starts shivering, realizing it’s November and he’s in a t-shirt and jeans, he’s scared and alone and he doesn’t know what to do, he grew up in Idris, this isn’t the home he knows

“parvulus?” Max doesn’t know that voice but he knows they are speaking to him and Max turns around slowly, his arms wrapped around himself for warmth

“no, you’re not him, how could I mistake that” the man shakes his head, Max thinks he might be a seelie but can’t be sure “you do look so much like him though”

“my name is Max Lightwood”

“ahh”

the man takes off his coat and hands it to Max, Max pulls on the large jacket and huddles into it for warmth, he looks up at the man over the rims of his glasses, squinting at him, definitely a seelie

“come, let’s get you back” and Max follows him because Max reminds him of someone and the man didn’t seem the carry and malice towards whomever Max reminded him of

they’re about a block away from the Institute if Max remembers correctly when he sees Alec run around the corner, his eyes catching on Max and all the tension draining from his body, Max rushes his older brother who sweeps him up into a hug, Max clings to him like an octopus

“parvulus, I figured this one was yours”

“Kheelan, thank you so much. this is my youngest brother Max”

“Yes he introduced himself to me, quite the resemblance if i do say”

Max kept his head buried in his brother's neck, parvulus, the seelie had called him that, it clicks then that the seelie had mistaken Max for Alec which meant that Alec had knew the seelie when he was younger, Max pulls away and stares at his brother in curiosity

“thank you again Kheelan, I need to get him back before he freezes”

“good day parvulus”

Max made sure to look up what that word meant when they got back to the Institute

Magnus, Ragnor, Catarina, and Tessa

(this is like a year or so after Magnus and Alec have started dating)

it wasn’t often that the four warlocks got together

maybe once every few centuries

but here they were; Magnus Bane, Ragnor Fell, Catarina Loss, and Tessa Gray. they were gathered in Magnus’ loft because of a string of warlocks deaths across the country, Magnus stood in front of a tale table that had various reports on the many deaths laid out on it, Catarina standing across from him, Ragnor was perched in a chair pulled up to the table and Tessa had just arrived via portal

all four warlocks were deep in discussions when Magnus’s front door banged open and all heads whipped to see who the intruder was, a small gasp escaped Magnus’s mouth when he saw Alec standing, or rather, supporting himself against the door frame, his bow and arrows fell from his shoulder and he swayed forward collapsing onto the ground

Magnus rushed to his shadowhunters side and gentle blue sparks starting spreading over Alec’s body to pinpoint to duress, Catarina joined Magnus while Ragnor and Tessa exchanged looks

Alec had what looked like a tooth or claw lodged in the back of his right shoulder and another on his lower back, a gouge on his left arm and one on his stomach and chest, Magnus could sense the poison coursing through his blood, there was so much

“Magnus…”

“I can't lose him Catarina, not him”

Ragnor helped Magnus move Alec to the couch as Catarina continued working on the shadowhunter, Tessa stood off to the side and watched on, her eyes widening when the caught on the boys blood splattered face, he looked like Will

Magnus hovered by his lover's head, letting Catarina work, she was better with healing magic than he was but when she stopped working,

“Catarina you can’t stop”

“Magnus-”

a portal shimmered into existence at the end of the couch Alec was laid on, a warlock stepped through, their hair was pulled back into a platinum blonde ponytail, tight fitted maroon pants with a golden shirt hanging loosely over them, Magnus squinted at the warlock, something in his mind tickled at the appearance of the warlock, like he recognized them but yet couldn’t place them

“my baby boy what have you gotten yourself into?”

Catarina stepped back as the warlock stepped into where she had been standing and cupped Alec’s neck, white spider web-like lines glowed as they spread across Alec’s body, pooling where his wounds were the worse, sealing small paper like cuts on his cheek and forehead, it took a little longer for the gashes to heal and a cloud of black smoke escaped his parted lips before the warlock released Alec

the shadowhunters eyes flicked open and locked with the warlocks, Alec’s eyes pinches in confusion before they widened comically and he quickly sat up

“take it easy, that was quite a lot of venom I just extracted”

the warlock helped ease Alec into a seated position and placed a hand on his cheek, Alec leaned into the familiar gesture and a small smile crossed his lips

“Alanis”

Ragnor stood quickly from where he was seated, his eyes wide and his mouth a gape

“you're still alive?”

“quite so, I’ve stayed hidden for the past two decades but yes”

Ragnor looked at his three acquaintances and realized they hadn't heard of the famous warlocks name change

“Dalmina”

as if they name itself had caste a spell all the warlocks turned to stare at the warlock who was very well know as one of the first three warlocks ever to exist, the warlock who watched the young shadowhunter with an odd look of caring

“how’d you find me?”

“when we met, i left an imprint of my magic on you” Alanis brushed a finger over where the magic was still imprinted on the shadowhunter “so that if your life was ever in danger I would be able to find you”

Alec looked over at Magnus who was staring at him with wide eyes and his jaw on the floor, Ragnor was squinting at him and Catarina had her hand over her mouth, Tessa was tense her eyes narrowed and lips pressed thin

“did i miss something?” Alec asked looking from the four warlocks to Alanis

“I might not have been very truthful with my age baby boy” “how old are you” “older than time itself” “what’s Dalmina?” “the last name I went by”

“why did you let a six year old choose a new name for you, what if i had said something stupid like Chocolate or worse, what if I had given you a demons name?”

Magnus was pretty sure he was done with the whole thing, Ragnor thinks he needs to reassess the shadowhunter, Catarina thinks it’s cute, Tessa wants to leave  

“Alec, would you mind bringing the rest of us up to date” Magnus pressed a kiss to his beloved temple

“uh I mean, I was six when I found Alanis in the Institute and we talked and Alanis asked me to pick a new name and I did and that was it” Alec scratched the back of his neck, his cheeks staining crimson

“and with that I must depart” standing and waving a portal into existence “be good baby boy” Alanis pressed a kiss to Alecs forehead before disappearing through the portal

Ragnor looked ready to shit himself before saying his goodbyes and leaving through his own portal, Tessa following after him, Catarina thanked Magnus for the hospitality and bid Alec a farewell before using the door

“I feel there's a talk we need to have, perhaps after you are fed and rested”

“sounds good”

Max and Raphael Lightwood-Bane

Max is ten and Raphael is twelve when they learn about how cool their papa is

it was a family reunion their dad and papa had said, so they had to dress nicely, Max had pulled a face but dad had reminded him that even Raph had to put on nice clothes

the four of them had portaled to the Institute where the reunion was being held

after the big war Izzy and Clary had decided that every five years they should all get together, as one big happy family, no one had dared to fight Clary when she had set it stone, the woman had been seven months pregnant

so here there, they had transformed the main room into a party hall, many tables were spaced out and there was food everywhere

their dad had wandered off to greet fellow warlocks while Raphael kept his grip on his papa’s hand, Max balanced on his hip

they had been making their way over to Aunt Izzy and Uncle Jace when two vampires stopped them, since their papa had taken over has head of the Institute the building had become a sanctuary for downworlders who needed it

Raphael peered up at the two and Max turned to greet them, the woman had cooed over how cute the were, they are introduced as Delphi and Lavi, they knew papa when he was really young and had saved his life, Raphael thanks them before pressing closer to his papa, Max liked seeing other downworlders

with promises to see them again the three of them continued to where Uncle Jace and Aunt Izzy where, Uncle Jace was tossing their cousin, Will, up in the air

Once they had reached the other Raphael had finally let go of his papa and moved to his Aunt Izzy’s side, Max still settled on Alec’s hip, Clary cooed over how big they were getting before yelling at Jace that he was tossing Will “TOO HIGH YOU MORON”

Raphael was glancing around the room when he caught sight of a seelie looking at his papa, the seelie excused himself before he made his way over to Alec

“parvulus”

Alec spun around with a wide smile on his face, the seelie ran a finger across Alec’s face and his smile was a little sad, Alec was getting older

“you still call me that, even now?”

Raphael let go of his aunt and made it back to his papa’s side, staring up at the seelie,  

“this is my son Raphael and this is Max”

Raphael could see the seelies’ eyes flicker at the mention of his brothers name, Raph pressed closer to his papa

“always a pleasure, parvulus, but I think your brother is bothering one of mine”

his papa smiled and shook his head with a laugh, dad swooped in then and blew a raspberry on Max’s stomach and lifted Raphael up into his arms, pressing kisses all over his face

“Max I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, this is Catarina”

Raphael watched the woman step up to his brother, she was a warlock, Raphael could tell

“hello Max,” the warlock’s glamor fell and Raphael watched a huge grin split Max’s face, he made grabby hands at the woman who took the young warlock, he tugged at her hair and asked why he didn’t have cool white hair too

Raphael stood by his dad but always kept his papa in his line of vision, He saw another warlock step up to his papa, Raphael couldn't tell the warlocks gender but he heard his papa say the warlocks name was Alanis, Raph watched the warlock sweep their fingers over his papa's face much like the seelie had, the warlock had a small smile for his papa and the two exchanged a few whispers before the warlock was walking away

Raphael wanders away from his dad and papa and finds a seat in the back of the room, he isn’t alone long when Aunt Clary’s dad sits down next to him he doesn’t say anything for a while and Raph is content to just watch the people move about the room

“do you wanna see a picture of your papa when he was young?” Luke’s pride and joy is that he still has those two pictures of Clary and Alec

Raphael nods quickly and looks at the pictures of his papa and Aunt Clary

“you’re Raphael right?”

“I told your papa that I would always be there if he needed me and now I’d like to tell you the same thing, I know you don’t know me very well but I’ve been around for a long time and you’re papa is a great guy”

Luke tells Raphael all about his papa and all the cool things he did and how he fell in love with dad and changed all the rules

Alec and Magnus find Raphael asleep in Luke’s lap at the end of the night, Magnus had a Sleeping blueberry in his arms and Alec takes Raphael thanking Luke for watching him

the four portal home and Magnus tucks Max in while Alec is walking to Raph's room, his baby stirring

“papa you’re awesome” Raph muttered into his neck before falling back asleep, Alec tucks him before joining Magnus in their room, their matching rings glint in the moonlight and Alec thinks about all the people he’s meet over the years and wonders how he got so damn lucky

(part one)

[fotografobcn]

Efti presenta la exposición Soundtrack de Juan Pérez-Fajardo

Rosendo © Juan Pérez-Fajardo

Efti presenta la exposición Soundtrack de Juan Pérez-Fajardo, considerado “el gran fotógrafo del rock and roll en España”, del 26 de octubre al 23 de noviembre. La última portada de Luz Casal, Rosendo, Pablo Alborán, Amaral, Sabina, Camela, El Arrebato o M Clan tienen en común el ojo de la cámara de Juan Pérez Fajardo. Así como la mayoría de las fotos que han pasado por nuestra retina de Loquillo, Bunbury, Coque Malla, Leiva, Malú, Fito y los Fitipaldis, M Clan, Amaral, Dani Martín, Camela, Los Planetas, Tequila, Ariel Rot, Diego el Cigala, Santiago Auserón, Pedro Guerra, Izal, Sex Museum, Quique González, Edurne, La oreja de Van Gogh, Andrés Calamaro, Vicente Amigo, Rebeca Jiménez, L.A, Nacho Vegas, Los Enemigos, Sidecars, Los Zigarros, Bertín Osborne, Raphel, Barón Rojo, Bebe, Iván Ferreiro, Melendi, Mikel Erentxun… la lista sería interminable. Y tampoco los grandes de los escenarios internacionales se han escapado a su objetivo como The Rolling Stones, Patti Smith, AC/DC, Kiss, Neil Young, Iggy Pop, Bryan Ferry, Beck, Blondie, Leonard Cohen, Foo Fighters, The Who, Santana…

Si alguien ha puesto imagen a las últimas décadas de la escena musical en nuestro país ese es Fajardo. Fotógrafo oficial de Gibson en España, National Geographic se enamoró de un paisaje americano de Fajardo dándole premio en 2008, ha logrado el sueño de cualquier fotógrafo musical del mundo que es formar parte de la colección permanente del Hard Rock Hotel de Las Vegas o el de Alburquerque y Madrid. Nominado en los Premios Goya a mejor cortometraje de animación en 2007 con su segundo corto. Fajardo es el fotógrafo oficial de las giras musicales de los grupos más reconocidos del panorama musical nacional como Sabina, M Clan, Pablo Alborán, Siniestro Total, Coque Malla…, ha cubierto grandes conciertos y los festivales de medio mundo para publicaciones como Rolling Stones, Ruta66, Rock de Luxe, Mondo Sonoro, El País, Esquire… es el fotógrafo que está detrás de las fotos promocionales de los músicos anteriormente citados. Editó el libro “Bunbury en crudo y al natural” con el cantante, creo el dvd sobre el viaje/grabación del disco en Nashville de M Clan, pocos pueden decir haber viajado al lado de Sabina a Argentina o con Amaral a Austin o con M Clan a Tennessee… Fajardo y su cámara sí.

Bunbury © Juan Pérez-Fajardo

La mirada de Fajardo es música y “Soundtrack” es la banda sonora de su trayectoria fotográfica. Por la exposición se pasean mirando al espectador un Bunbury pensativo en camerinos antes de subir al escenario, unos Amaral en un bar de carretera americano, Sabina y Pedro Guerra en el salón del primero en una tarde de piano, una Patti Smith en un desnudo primer plano, un Pablo Alborán en El Real o entre bambalinas y montaje de escenario, M Clan paseando por las calles de Nashville y por la playa de Mazarrón, la Luz Casal más bella, Leiva concentrado guitarra en mano, Loquillo fumando tras un ensayo, Kiss mirando sus pinturas de guerra frente el espejo antes de poner en pie a todo un pabellón, Fito perplejo en camerinos, Rosendo con un cigarro tras gafas de sol mirando la vida, un Dani Martín sentado en las butacas del teatro que en unas horas lo aclamaría, un Diego El Cigala en casa sonriendo, Coque Malla guitarra en mano con la playa gallega de sus veranos a la espalda, un Mikel Erentxun dando los últimos toques a la guitarra antes de abrir el telón, La Oreja de Van Gogh volando con sus instrumentos, la Edurne más sugerente… Así hasta completar una exposición de retratos donde los acordes se funden a negro, una exposición donde el sol mayor pasa de ser una nota musical a ser una tonalidad, unos retratos tan personales que cantan por si solos. Son 60 retratos que conforman la banda sonora de la cámara de Juan Pérez Fajardo, el soundtrack de dos décadas dedicadas a la fotografía y a la música con el corazón unido a ellas. Queda plasmado que cuando los focos se encienden ahí está el objetivo de Fajardo, cuando los focos se apagan continúa su mirada y esta expo aglutina todo ello. Son imágenes llenas de confianza por parte de los artistas que se ponen en el ojo de Juan Pérez-Fajardo, en el ojo musical y amigo de otro gran artista.

Imágenes con ‘rock and roll’. Por Fernando Navarro

Decía Keith Richards que para hacer rock and roll simplemente basta con unos tíos tocando las guitarras con cierta habilidad, pasión y desparpajo sin importar los avances tecnológicos. “La tecnología no hace rock and roll”, sentenciaba. Sucede lo mismo con la fotografía, ese otro noble arte que vive en la calle, liberando sensaciones. La fotografía -ahora que parece que todo el mundo es fotógrafo con los móviles de última generación- no necesita de tecnología para ser sugerente, evocadora, impactante, inolvidable. La mirada que hay tras el objetivo es más importante que todo lo demás, como en una banda de rock and roll son más importantes los individuos que la forman y su manera de interpretar el mundo con canciones que todo lo demás. Juan Pérez-Fajardo bien lo sabe. O, al menos, bien lo testifica con sus fabulosas imágenes, llenas de vitalismo y detalle.

Sus fotografías son testimonio de un oficio, pero también de algo más importante: simbolizan a toda una raza en peligro de extinción. Juan Pérez-Fajardo, que ha trabajado para Rolling Stone, Mondo Sonoro, Rock Deluxe, Esquire o el diario El País y ha tenido exposiciones permanentes en galerías de Madrid y el Hard Rock Hotel de Las Vegas, es uno de los pocos fotógrafos musicales que quedan. Todo un superviviente, pero también todo un maestro de la imagen musical.

Como bien demuestran las instantáneas de la exposición que se celebrará del 26 de octubre al 23 de noviembre en EFTI (Centro Internacional de Fotografía y Cine), su mirada es una de las mejores miradas musicales en España. Hay otras, por supuesto, pero casi ninguna con su talento, su pasión y, después de tantos años al pie del foso, su sabiduría. En sus retratos hay rock and roll. Como suena. Hay esa energía tremendamente humana y atractiva, ese karma liberador y contagioso que nos dice algo, que nos invita a cruzar límites, que nos ofrece otro mundo más apetecible y habitable. Y lo hace a través de los protagonistas que retrata, de los mejores músicos conocidos. Todos han confiado en su mirada porque habla su mismo lenguaje de amor a la música, de entusiasmo por su vocación.

Conozco a Juan Pérez-Fajardo desde hace años. Le he visto en muchos conciertos en salas, en muchos festivales, con muchas horas de trabajo a las espaldas, con mucha paciencia y también con muchas ganas de seguir en este oficio. O, mejor dicho, en esta razón de ser que es el fotógrafo musical. Y siempre que le veo con su cámara a punto de disparar, enfocando y buscando el momento perfecto, pienso en otras palabras de Keith Richards rememorando sus inicios. “Si quieres ser guitarrista, empieza por coger una eléctrica. Primero tienes que conocer a esa cabrona. Irte a la cama con ella. Si no hay una chica alrededor, duerme con ella. Tiene la forma perfecta”. Cambia la guitarra eléctrica por una cámara fotográfica. Ahí tienes a Juan Pérez-Fajardo en sus comienzos. Después de una vida con ella, se conoce a esa cabrona mejor que a cualquier novia. Créeme que, en sus fotografías, como en las canciones de los Rolling Stones, esa conexión se nota. Es imborrable. Es un misterio repleto de arte.

Camela © Juan Pérez-Fajardo

Los músicos hablan de Juan Pérez-Fajardo

“Volvería a Nashville con Juan Pérez-Fajardo…captó la Esencia del Delta y la inmortalizó en fotos y un documental hecho desde el corazón de alguien para quien la música es una forma de vida” (Carlos Tarque, cantante de M Clan)

“El Sr. Fajardo sabe recoger lo real que sucede en esos instantes, jamás nos hace sobreactuar, te deja ser, y eso me encanta. Aquella noche con Coque Malla fue mágica y él la retrato tal cual. Gracias compañero.“ (Dani Martín)

“Juan tiene la habilidad de retratar como nadie el rock and roll de este país. Será porque ´le mismo es parte del rock. Ah! Y también tiene la importante facultad de hacerse invisible y no interferir al artista.” (Fito Cabrales)

“Fajardo es capaz de pausar el tiempo. Sus fotos te permiten revivir cada segundo, viajar al pasado cuando te da la gana y envolver cada instante de magia” (Pablo Alborán)

“Juan entra en tu mundo, sin invadir tu espacio, con ojos de serpiente y corazón de rocanrol” (Mikel Erentxun)

“Me sorprendió la versatilidad de Juan cuando le llamé para que me hiciese fotos de estudio. Supongo que todos pensamos en él como un fotógrafo de guerrilla; pensamos que su medio natural es el escenario. Las fotos de estudio que me hizo eran sobrecogedoras, y entonces lo entendí… Juan no es sólo un fotógrafo de escenario, ni siquiera un fotógrafo de rock. Ni siquiera es sólo un fotógrafo… Juan Pérez-Fajardo es un artista” (Coque Malla)

“Juan es un crack que sabe mirar. Es un fotógrafo que puede fotografiar a músicos pero también podría reflejar el alma de cualquier persona. Un amigo con una mirada personal de los paisajes desolados o de la ciudad. Una persona paciente, amante de la música. Gran compañero de viaje. Algo que en gira es esencial.” (Eva y Juan, Amaral)

“Juan Pérez-fajardo ha abierto una brecha en la fotografía musical española, por la que se han colado toneladas de rock and roll. Dispara con precisión para amplificar al artista retratado. Donde pone el ojo, pone la bala. Grande Juan!” (Enrique Bunbury)

“Fajardo es como un Vox AC30. Hace que parezcamos mejores y más molones siempre. Maneja los códigos del rock como nadie. No recuerdo haberlo viso haciéndome esa foto, y eso me gusta.” (Leiva)

“Posar, colocarse enfrente de alguien que plasma hasta los huesos. Nosotros posamos, nos colocamos, y de los huesos ya se encarga él” (Pájaro)

“Trabajar con Juan ha sido fácil, divertido y muy gratificante. El resultado de su reportaje para “Me metí en nuestro corazón”, nuestro último disco, ha dado mucho que hablar…pero lo que Fajardo no sabe es que él sí que se ha metido ya en nuestro corazón” (Camela)

“Cuando Juan se subió al coche rumbo a la sesión de fotos escuchábamos “A todo que sí” por primera vez recién salido del estudio y me invadió la sensación de estar con un tipo mítico, con un colega de Iggy Pop, con alguien que entiende perfectamente lo que nos quema la piel porque a él le quema igual.” (Ovidi Zigarros)

“Le conocí cuando se manejaba en primero de rock. Entonces supo escuchar, entender y aprender de sus mayores. El problema del rock and roll es el postureo. Un artista real es grande cuando resulta natural. Lección aprendida.” (Loquillo)

Loquillo © Juan Pérez-Fajardo

“Es como mirar un secreto que sólo él sabe. Juan ve a las personas tal cual son, detiene un instante que jamás vuelve a repetirse. Como si creara el escenario perfecto en el que se escapara un suspiro del alma.” (Virginia Maestro)

“Agradecemos a Juan el habernos hecho sentir un grupo importante desde la primera vez que nos fotografió. Sabe transmitir con su trabajo y ha sido un placer cruzarnos en el el camino.” (La M.O.D.A)

“Tiene ese don de que en cualquier sitio te hace una foto y captura la eternidad natural. Súper agradecido de que en mi segundo disco pudiera contar con él y sacar esa luminiscencia a través de su objetivo. “ (Isma Romero)

“Cuando se juntan la sensibilidad y el talento, el cóctel es imbatible. No habíamos terminado nuestra primera reunión y ya estábamos brindando y abrazándonos. Juan tiene ese don para agarrarte por dentro y sacar de ti lo que ni tú sabías que tenías.“ (Jorge Marazu)

“Juan hace que te sientas cómodo, que olvides que estás delante de una cámara, saber esperar el momento para sacar lo mejor de ti. Su corazón es puro rock and roll y lo que él mira se convierte en magia.” (Rebeca Jiménez)

“la palabra posar (a veces tan incómoda para los artistas) deja de tener sentido cuando te hace fotos Juan Pérez-Fajardo. Es simplemente darle un abrazo y ser tú. Con resultado profundo y rotundo. Gracias, Juan por todos los momentos y disparos compartidos.” (Rulo)

“Juan no mira, ve a través de las personas, de las canciones y va más lejos. Es un regalo absoluto que su mirada captase quién soy y me lo escupiese a la cara tan bonitamente como en cada foto de Aquí me tienes.” (Neus Ferri)

“¡Juan es un pura sangre del arte! Es un pinche cabrón, no le hacen falta ni poses ni farándula, él sabe sacar lo mejor de cada artista. En mi caso ya tenía la carátula para mi tercer disco, pero va y viene a un concierto y hacemos varias fotos en la calle y sin saberlo me cambió la portada, ¡más rock imposible!”. (Cirilo)

“Juan no es un fotógrafo, Juan es un pistolero con balas de talento y generosidad. Sus disparos certeros dan vida. Vida a secretos de ti mismo que desconocías. Juan es un boomerang. Un cante de ida y vuelta…Juan es rockandroll” (Guillermo Rayo)

“Fotografiar, retratar, es lanzar una mirada, pero no siempre es fácil reflejarla en el trabajo final. En las fotografías que me hizo Juan no me veo sólo a mí, veo también su mirada, tierna pero inquietante a la vez. Para mí eso hace de él un gran fotógrafo.” (Nacho Vegas)

“Gracias por sacarnos tanto de nosotros mismos Juan Pérez-Fajardo. Eres ese otoño y ese suspiro, eres poesía y creatividad. Poeta de cámara al hombro insaciable del buen hacer, ¡eres grande!” (Medina Azahara)

“Nos conocimos en Austin y a partir de allí han sido muchos años juntos de fotos y conciertos. Antes de que te des cuenta ya te ha retratado, contando una historia en el idioma del rock and roll. Tiene rayos x en los ojos.” (Cápsula)

Luz Casal © Juan Pérez-Fajardo

El post Efti presenta la exposición Soundtrack de Juan Pérez-Fajardo fue publicado por primera vez en DNG Photo Magazine.

https://ift.tt/2O3oqG4 via Fotografo Barcelona