#mal sed

[dustedmagazine]

Dust Volume 9, Number 2

Joanna Mattrey

This month’s Dust comes as winter withers, as shirt-sleeves days alternate with last ditch blizzards, as the grey gives way to watery patches of sunlight. We find, as always, a bit of solace in the music that comes our way, this month including improvised jazz from Portugal, side projects from indie mainstays, pristine indie pop and blistering noisy metal. Bill Meyer, Tim Clarke, Ray Garraty, Chris Liberato, Jonathan Shaw, Jim Marks, Ian Mathers, Andrew Forell, Bryon Hayes and Jennifer Kelly contributed.

The Attic — Love Ghosts (No Business)

Love Ghosts by The Attic - Rodrigo Amado / Gonçalo Almeida / Onno Govaert

Portuguese tenor saxophonist Rodrigo Amado is a reliably robust improviser, but a chief pleasure of his work in The Attic is how relaxed he sounds. The trio, which also includes bassist Gonçalo Almeida and drummer Onno Govaert, has the patience to let a performance wander and pause, and the purposefulness to reward your attention by getting you to a destination as appealing as the views you caught along the way. Govaert’s cymbal surges carry Almeida and Amado through some probing exchanges, their lines twisting and curling around each other, but even when they pull the strands taut, there’s room to savor the rich complexity of their tones and they unencumbered logic of their ideas.

Bill Meyer

 David Brewis — The Soft Struggles (Daylight Saving)

The Soft Struggles by David Brewis

David Brewis of Field Music’s prior solo outings have been released under his School of Language moniker. The Soft Struggles is the first album under his own name, the distinction being that this is a much more mellow affair than his usual Prince-indebted funky guitar-pop. The best points of comparison here are probably Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks and Nick Drake’s Bryter Layter, the stately, elegant songs enriched by strings, woodwinds and upright bass. When it works it’s beautiful, such as waltz-time single “Surface Noise,” and “When You First Meet,” which features Eve Cole on vocals. “Start Over,” in contrast, feels self-consciously saccharine and stiffly well mannered. There’s no denying this is an interesting and compelling new direction for Brewis, but one that needs a bit more wearing in before it’s burnished to its best.

Tim Clarke

  Chasmdweller — Blood Vortex (self-released)

Blood Vortex by Chasmdweller

These Canadian gutter freaks play old school death metal and get it right. It’s not too fast but also not slow enough to let the doom to slip in. It’s dirty but not too much. There is also nothing new. The cover art is excellent, but the vocalist lacks English; he makes a single guttural sound throughout the whole CD. Is he even human? It sounds as if he’s an entity from hell. With this type of music that only makes it better.

Ray Garraty 

 CVS — Ad Hoc (Feeding Tube)

AD HOC by CVS

Who can resist a little corporate trolling when your mailing address is in Barcelona and the surnames of your combo’s members are Cunningham, Volt and Serra? With luck, they’ll be able to construct the covers of future releases from defied cease and desist letters. Shenanigans aside, the three musicians make a sound you may want to hear more of. Mark Cunningham (Mars, Blood Quartet) takes his processed trumpet sound into more amorphous territory with assistance from Pablo Volt’s looped trumpet and Andy Serra’s guitars and tenor saxophone. Each of the tape’s six tracks stakes out an eerie vibe, which gets less comfortable as the sounds recede multiply; this is the acid bath you won’t be able to refuse.

Bill Meyer

Dignan Porch — Electric Threads (Repeating Cloud)

Electric Threads by DIGNAN PORCH

On Dignan Porch’s fourth LP, Joe Walsh brings his blurry bedroom psych-pop into sharper focus. Since arriving on the scene in 2010, his mostly home-recorded, mostly solo project has often been accused of having a muddled sound and songs that aren’t distinct enough. The kind of music that “you half remember liking when it was playing in a friend's car,” as one reviewer put it, but which fails to leave a lasting impression. This isn’t an issue on Electric Threads. The album’s ten songs — a mix of chuggers and janglers, squawking motorik fuzzouts and one distinctly Lennon-esque ditty — are easily Walsh’s most immediate to date, sailing on their big hummable melodies and plentiful, vaguely sad hooks. Electric threads, besides being the title of the album, is also a good phrase to describe the lead guitar and organ lines, irresistible whenever they surface. Like on the title track, for instance, where a quivering light beam of a riff, evoking Only Life-era Feelies, periodically rises out of the mix and hovers there for a few moments before deferring to the crunchy rhythm action below. This brings up one small bone to pick: at times it feels like Walsh is holding the reins a little too tightly on his otherwise brilliant guitar work, and not letting it drift to the places it feels like it wants to go to. Because when he does cut his playing a little slack on closer “Ancestral Trail,” the album reaches its most gorgeous high note.

Chris Liberato 

 Isolant — Drain (Sentient Ruin Laboratories)

Drain by ISOLANT

Isolant’s new mini-LP Drain features a hybrid of doom and industrial metal that may have you flashing on Godflesh, c. Streetcleaner — or, depending on your ears and the depth of your catalog, on Justin Broadrick’s earlier, underappreciated band Head of David. That’s a good thing, and so is the fact that Isolant’s founding member Max Furst is a little less isolated, having recruited vocalist Mattia Alagna and noisenik Miguel Souto into the project. The songs on Drain are piercing and crunching mechanisms of misery, and Alagna adds a layer of organic dread with his growls and groans (he sounds almost as bummed out on Drain as he did on Abominion, the most recent LP from Bay Area crusty doomsters Abstracter). There are also some strangely Goth, dark-romantic passages; see the second half of “Death Pulse” and the rumbling, foreboding tonality of “Lamentation.” Isolant is at its best, though, when the band lets Furst’s guitar create its heaviest textures. Opening track “The End Begins Me” is a steamroller, flirting with melody even as an implacable sense of dread squeezes the life out of the song.

Jonathan Shaw

 Isik Kural — Peaches (RVNG Intl.)

peaches by Isik Kural

Last year, Isik Kural, a Turkish sound designer and musician based in Glasgow, released the gauzy, loop-based synth-pop full-length in february. This new ep presents some of the instrumental tracks from in february with the vocals removed (mostly) and found sounds pared back. The resulting lean quarter-hour of music, by chance, provides an antidote to the tragedy currently unfolding in Kural’s homeland. The beauty of that land is well captured by the video for a live version (recorded in a field in northern Turkiye) of the track “lo si aspetta,” in which birdsong and other environmental sounds blend with what seem like the plucks of a stringed instrument over keyboard effects. Fitting together like a suite, the tracks have distinct touches, such as the frog-like glitches in the title track and the Andean string sounds in “montevideo” with a neat slide at the halfway point. Gentle and thoughtful, peaches offers a welcome respite and a fresh perspective on Kural’s work.

Jim Marks  

 Lantana — Elemental (Cipsela)

Elemental by Lantana

Everyone in this Portuguese sextet is female, and if you’re thinking one should refrain from commenting upon their gender homogeneity, think twice; Joëlle Léandre’s liner notes celebrate the fact. Maria Radich’s dynamic vocals may steer the listener’s associations towards symbols and ceremonies, but be sure to listen to the folks stirring the sounds that swirl around her. The electronically enhanced three-strings, one-trumpet line-up unravels the melodic implications of her post-linguistic forays and weaves them into a multihued sonic cloak. Aughts-era freak-folk followers who wonder where cellist Helena Espvall went after Espers disbanded, wonder no more; she’s now well situated in Lisbon’s improvised music scene.

Bill Meyer

Joanna Mattrey & Steven Long — Strider (Dear Life Records)

Strider by Joanna Mattrey & Steven Long

This long-standing duo’s first full recording together began with the idea to make ambient songs, avoiding the longer and less structured approach taken with some ambient music. Mattrey (credited with the Stroh violin and field recordings) and Long (credited with “Organ, Stove, Barometer, Synth, Short-wave Radio”) have succeeded in one sense, with each of these eight pieces sticking to the melodic yet static framework they were aiming for. But if you’re thinking of Eno’s “it must be ignorable as it is interesting” dictum then much of Strider might not count as ambient, because if anything it’s a little too attention grabbing. The horn on the Stroh’s violin gives the string lines here a plangent, piercing (and yeah, faintly old-timey) quality and Mattrey is unafraid to explore its harsher ranges. Whether it’s paired with an icy river breaking up (“Eyes”), echoing synth beeps (“Retro”) or what sounds a bit like an attempt to replicate an ambulance siren (“Host”) the results are an unusually compelling mix of meditative focus and the aural equivalent of a smack upside the head. Ambient, then, specifically for anyone worried the genre is at risk of lapsing into wallpaper pleasantries.

Ian Mathers  

 Mal Sed / Scy1e— Mal Sed / Scy1e (Weird Ear)

Mal Sed / Scy1e by Mal Sed / Scy1e

Settle down and stop worrying about your influences. That’s the message of this project, whose circuitous production process is inseparable from its sounds. Peter Lamons, whose recording handle is Mal Sed, bought some Giuseppe Ielasi from Weird Ear proprietor Raub Roy, and then shared his own sounds inspired by Ielasi’s chopped and glued treatment of grooves. Roy liked what he heard enough to reactivate the label and make a cassette. When the proposed cover art came in, its design instigated him to make some music of his own, and the project became a split release. Mal Sed’s rhythms are a bit more fluid and less crammed-together than Ielasi’s, but his wheels still bump at each corner. Roy, who tags himself Scy1e when he hits record, matches Mal Sed’s peg-legged beats and raises him several barrages of squelchy electronics. Niches have cracks, and there’s no telling how deep they go.

Bill Meyer

 Pacific Walker — Pacific Walker (Bluesanct)

Pacific Walker by Pacific Walker

Pacific Walker is the new project from the respawned creative partnership of Michael James Tapscott and Isaac Edwards, who previously recorded as Odawas. For this venture, they’ve enlisted the services of Raphi Gottesman, who drums in Tapscott’s folk-rock outfit China. This sounds nothing like either of those projects, rooting itself instead in drones, field recordings and guitar arpeggios. The A side of the cassette comprises one long multi-part piece entitled “Mycelium Ab Astris Ad Astra,” a patchwork panoply of throat singing, astral ambient atmosphere and dusky desert melodies. Over on the other side, the trio offer up poignant frescoes of twilit synths, guitars and samples that gallivant through the outer reaches of the human psyche. Odawas aficionados will miss Tapscott’s fluid lyricism and upper register vocal range, as there’s not a word sung here. Fret not, sonic adventurers; Pacific Walker are after those parts of your brain that are amenable to unexplored sonic phenomena. Open your ears and let them inside.

Bryon Hayes

 Ivo Perelman / Matthew Shipp — Fruition (ESP-Disk’)

Fruition by Ivo Perelman/Matthew Shipp

While the title implies some sort of culmination, don’t think for a minute that these guys are done with each other. This is their 18th duo recording, and while a full accounting of their trios and quartets will have to wait for another review, suffice to say that the next one, a CD with North Carolinian drummer Jeff Cosgrove, has already been announced. Tenor saxophonist Ivo Perelman and pianist Matthew Shipp have become each other’s most enduring partners, and their rapport is undeniable. Shipp knows exactly when and where to place a stone in the harmonic foundation that his partner needs to formulate and elaborate upon his imploring melodies, and the quavers in Perelman’s ascending queries accentuate the gothic bleakness of the pianist’s heavy chords and ruminative asides. Do you need this one? That all depends on how unacquainted or acquisitionist you are. If you need them all, well, you already have it, right? If you haven’t heard them at all, and you are open to cosmically inclined improvised music, Fruition is an excellent point of entry.

Bill Meyer

Santa Muerte — Eslabón (Hyperdub)

Eslabón EP by Santa Muerte

As Santa Muerte (Our Lady of Holy Death), Houston-based Mexican producer Panch Briones makes bass heavy club music grounded in the culture and mythology of his homeland. The title of his debut EP for Hyperdub, Eslabón translates as “link” and the four tracks make explicit his cross-cultural influences with a mix of IDM and traditional beats under effervescent synths, snatches of µ-Ziq influenced melody and indigenous spoken word samples. The music skips lightly, radiating concentric circles of euphoria across a surface beneath which you hear the bustling tension of living within two worlds. Briones works plenty into these short pieces and leaves you looking forward to what he might do in a longer format.

Andrew Forell 

 Philip Selway — Strange Dance (Bella Union)

Strange Dance by Philip Selway

Strange Dance is the third solo album by Radiohead drummer Philip Selway. While previous albums Familial and Weatherhouse were pleasant enough, they suffered from feeling a little safe and pedestrian, especially compared to Radiohead’s more adventurous work. On Strange Dance, Selway is branching out, collaborating and taking more risks. At best, on singles “Check for Signs of Life” and “Picking Up Pieces,” Selway explores possibilities with growing confidence. On the latter in particular, intricate rhythmic beds are buffeted by swooping strings and dissonant guitar lines from Portishead’s Adrian Utley. At its weakest, such as “The Other Side,” major-key piano melodies unfold sweetly but predictably. However, the main issue with Strange Dance is Selway’s lyrics, which frequently lapse into platitudes.

Tim Clarke

 Shame — Food for Worms (Dead Oceans)

Food for Thought continues a run of albums on which all the elements seem to be in place but never quite gel. Charismatic front man? Check. Bruising rhythm section? Yes. A couple of exciting guitar slingers? Sure. A zeitgeisty sound? OK. Decent songs? Some. So, what’s the problem? Three albums in and Shame seem unsure who they are. They’ve devolved into The Libertines redux without the cocksure attitude that made them kind of fun for five minutes. There’s plenty of earnest belting but the overall tone of Charlie Steen’s sometimes terrific delivery is irritability, and rest of band hit enough highs to make the missteps more noticeable. “Alibis” for instance, burns with righteous fury but the petulance of “Yankees” and sanctimony of “Adderall” grate. “The Fall of Paul” harnesses the band’s energy and dynamism to great effect but is followed by the meandering “Burning by Design” which sucks the air out of the room before attempting to resuscitate itself at the end. Food for Thought is disappointing, there’s enough here to pique the interest but not to sustain it.

Andrew Forell 

 Sluice — Radial Gate (Ruination)

Radial Gate by Sluice

Justin Morris’ songs as Sluice start spare and pick up weight as finger-picked precision gives way to the rich sustaining drone of string, the howl of untrammeled feedback. This second album from the North Carolina based musician starts in a tremble of immanence as tape hiss shushes and banjo notes tangle in the distance. Bowed notes waft in, glimmering like the bright line in the east when the sun’s just about to rise. This intro piece “Ostern” assembles all the sounds that Morris will incorporate in a humming cloud of sensation. Later, he will separate them out and surround them with space. In “Centurion,” for instance, where his warm spoke-sung delivery sounds a bit like Bill Callahan, as a guitar jangle sidles up into the foreground. Drums clatter in, a violin saws up out of white space, and finally pedal-screeching guitar builds up like a giant wave in previously serene water. It’s indie-folk, sure, but tapped into strong, unruly undercurrents. Or what about the existential inquiry that is “Fourth of” where memories of hot summers past and present cleave together in layers, and swimming hole becomes a metaphor for the connection of all things. (“I am the rock, I am the eddy, I am my roommates in love, I am blackberry jelly, I am the weir, I am the spillway.”) Morris enlists a whole orchestra’s full of capable player to flesh his songs out with mournful arcs of pedal steel, surging tides of stringed instruments and warm communal singing. Hold on for the end with “New Leices” grows from lyric interior musing to bright harmonized concord. Really lovely, this, like acoustic Akron/Family but simpler.

Jennifer Kelly

 Son of Dribble — Son of Drib Against the Wind (Minimum Table Stacks)

Son of Drib Against the Wind by Son of Dribble

New Jersey’s Minimum Table Stacks has a sixth sense about which arcane or overlooked sonic gems deserve the vinyl reissue treatment. Take Son of Drib Against the Wind, for instance. It originally took shape as a limited run cassette, self-released by Columbus, Ohio trio-turned-quartet Son of Dribble in mid-2022. The band’s fuzzy yet morose Velvets-meets-Joy Division garage rock clamor practically screams out for a wider audience and a more robust pressing, so it’s great that the label took the bait. Vocalist Andy Clager, with his handsome blend of Jonathan Richman baritone and Julian Casablancas croon, is the perfect front man. You’re not sure what he’s singing about, but you know it’s poignant. For added effect, the band tips its hat to an eclectic assortment of genres. Doo wop harmonies, proto-punk stomp, and arty synths all make an appearance. It’s as if Son of Dribble are the smarter, edgier, and grumpier cousins to fellow Columbusites Kneeling in Piss. Clager and crew picked the better band name, at least.

Bryon Hayes 

 Spiral Joy Band — In the River (Feeding Tube Records)

In The River by Spiral Joy Band

There are certain varieties of drone music that give credence to the notion that music is always out there somewhere, and humans don’t make it up, they just get to turn the cosmic tap on and off. Patrick Best and Mikel Dimmick are both members of Pelt, so it goes without saying that they are already well practiced at operating the tap. But since Pelt can go for years without a gig, they’ve sometimes run a side hustle in similarly expansive sound named the Spiral Joy Band. The two quarter-hour examples of said endeavor that can be heard on this LP come from a time, about a dozen years ago, when they both lived near Madison, Wisconsin, and had the empathetic assistance of a third string scraper named Troy Schafer. The combination of violin, viola, and harmonium guarantees access to a continuous, pulsing expanse of rich aural texture, which they show no compunction about cashing in. Locked grooves at the end of each side make this the record of choice when you don’t know if you’re going to be awake by the end of the side, but you know how you’re going to want to feel when you wake up.

Bill Meyer 

 Spitting Image — Full Sun (Slovenly)

SPITTING IMAGE "Full Sun" LP by SPITTING IMAGE

“Black Box” careens around the corners on car-crash riffs, drums spiking out of the infinitesimal pause between one hurtling phrase and another. Shouted lyrics slash in and out of the mix. At one point, late in the cut (which is only a minute and a half long so not that late), two people shout the title at each other. It is hard not to picture them, separated by inches, screaming in each other’s faces. This cut, and the harder, faster ones like “Spirit Trouble Flash” have a good bit of Big Black’s punk ferocity, a little of Shellac’s uncompromising angularity, though less complicated, more garage punk than noise art. Spitting Image, out of Reno, Nevada, have been around for a little more than a decade, grinding out an underground, basement show existence with, before this, just a handful of EPs, singles and one cassette release to show for it. This first full-length sounds, to me, a lot like the Xetas, which is to say it bangs pretty hard, until it doesn’t. The last three songs are disconcertingly down-tempo, lyrical and pensive, and I’m not sure that works, but the rest is pretty good.

Jennifer Kelly

 Tanukichan — Gizmo (Company)

GIZMO by Tanukichan

Tanukichan lays translucent, ethereal textures over buzz saw bass and rupturing drums, in an ice cream swirl of indulgence and crunch. “Don’t Give Up” vibrates like a mirage on heat-soaked asphalt, tremulous, idealized and gut-shocked with an underpinning rock and roll roar. Gizmo is the second soft-focus shoegaze pop album from Oakland’s Hannah van Loon, following Sundays in 2018. It takes its name from her pandemic pup, and, like the first, enlists the support of her friend Chaz Bear, better known as Toro & Moi. Some cuts play up the dreamy sweetness of van Loon’s murmuring soprano; others turn up the wrenching abrasion of rock sounds. “Thin Air” pairs van Loon with Enumclaw, another Oakland artist with a wry, slant on indie anthemry. These are lullabies buzzing with enough TNT to blow down buildings. More of this, please.

Jennifer Kelly

 Tithe — Inverse Rapture (Profound Lore)

Inverse Rapture by TITHE

This reviewer is unsure how an “inverse rapture” might work: will the sinners go to heaven? Will the believers be left behind? In either case, count me out — but count me in for more music from Tithe. The grim gang in the Portland-based band generates a convincingly pissed-off hybridization of grind and black/death, and the resulting songs are as unhinged as you might expect. The gloriously filthy guitar tone is best appreciated when Tithe slows to a trot, or a menacing shamble, as they do in passages of seven-minute-long “Killing Tree.” Still, the short songs have the greatest impact; “Demon” and “Pseudologia Fantastica” clock in well under three minutes, which may be the ideal length for this sort of whirling, battering chaos. Yikes. Beyond the religious symbolics of the band’s name and most of the song titles, it’s hard to say what all shouting and howling concern. One imagines it’s the usual stuff: Christianity is oppressively awful; in its name, people do lots of horrible things to one another; thus, evil and violence (symbolic or otherwise) are the only adequate responses. So why not let the Christian Rapture go off as originally planned? The True Believers will exit the earthball, and the rest of us can hang around and do our thing. Which will likely include turning this record up even louder.

Jonathan Shaw

 Ulthar — Anthronomicon (20 Buck Spin)

Anthronomicon by Ulthar

Fewer things seem riper for black/death musical fixation than H. P. Lovecraft’s fiction and cultural profile. His supernatural imaginary is suffused by the Empire of Slime, an accretion of repulsive, tentacular forms, sanity-shredding powers, and by his mandarin, aristocratic aesthetic sensibilities. Bay Area band Ulthar has embraced the fixation across their recorded output, which has now spread — like a cosmic fungus — onto two new paired LPs, Helionomicon and Anthronomicon, for about 70 total minutes of involuted black/death. By any measure, that’s a whole lot of Ulthar. Anthronomicon is the better LP of the pair, full of spurting pseudopodia and corkscrews of sound, and also imbued with an aggro, blackened hostility. “Saccades,” named for a variety of rapid eye movement, is a strong example of the record’s vibe. The nod to REM sleep evokes the surrealism just underneath the band’s noise and bluster. Check out the riff that emerges around the 2:20 mark; it’s brief lived, but it snaps the song into focus, sending it into the headlong tumble that dominates its second half, during which whirling chaos struggles with downhill momentum. It’s an exciting song.

Jonathan Shaw

 Ed Williams — Decomposition Study (Insub)

Decomposition study by ED WILLIAMS

Do you suppose that the old saying that too many cooks spoil the soup was first uttered by a chef who didn’t want to take questions or orders? Composer Ed Williams takes a different approach on Decomposition Study, one that admits multiple inputs from the distant past as well as the moment of performance. He devised a canon in a form favored 600 years ago by composers of madrigals and handed it to two musicians playing upon one arciorgano, a sixteenth century, bellows—operated organ with two keyboards. As they played the piece, four more musicians intervened at will, and Williams mixed the results, which were projected through a cube speaker. Clearly, there’s still some hierarchy shaping the results, but also a degree of democracy rarely heard in classical pieces for organ. While the antique keyboard’s gentle voices bring a whiff of older times, the performance’s exploration of tonal extremes and clashes feels more in tune with the past half century of psychedelic musical pursuits. Sign up for the novelty, stay for the disorientation.

Bill Meyer

[diana-andraste]

Illustrations from Baudelaire's Les Fleurs du mal, Georges Rouault, c. 1937

And yet to wine, to opium even, I prefer the elixir of your lips on which love flaunts itself; and in the wasteland of desire your eyes afford the wells to slake my thirst.

Charles Baudelaire, Sed non Satiata (Unslakeable Lust) trans. Richard Howard

[64hellboy]

Touch Of Evil (1958)

[silver-screen-divas]

Film and TV beauties. JOI LANSING

Joi Lansing was born Joyce Renee Brown on April 6, 1929 in Salt Lake City, Utah.

She was an actress, model and singer.

Lansing's film career began in 1948, and in 1952, she played an uncredited role in MGM's Singin' in the Rain. In 1955, Joi landed a recurring role as Shirley Swanson on the television series The Bob Cummings Show (1955). It was this series that showed everyone that she could actually act well. Because of this series, Joi began to get larger roles in films such as The Brave One (1956), Hot Cars (1956), and So You Think the Grass Is Greener (1956), all in 1956. In the opening sequence of Orson Welles 's Sed de mal (1958), she appeared as Zita.

After appearing in the comedy film Who Was That Lady? (1960), Joi landed the role of Goldie in the television series Klondike (1960). However, most viewers remember her as Lester Flatt's wife in The Beverly Hillbillies (1962), in which she appeared from 1965 to 1968. As Gladys Flatt, her beauty even surpassed Donna Douglas as Elly May Clampett.

Lansing has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame in Los Angeles for his contributions to television.

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

You're waiting for a train...(1)

A Leap of Faith

Robert Fischer x Cobbs Daughter!reader

a/n - this is going to be multiple parts as I thought that would be preferable to a 20k fic. So let me know what you think! Also should I make a taglist for this???? (it's my first time doing a multi-chapter so I don't really know :)

description - y/n, the daughter of the thief Dominic Cobb and the late Mal Cobb, joined her father on the run. Knowing her fathers innocence, she couldn't bear to be without him, so she gave up on her architecture degree and followed him into the world of dreams. They do jobs together and, even though Cobb worries about the amount of danger he's putting her in he'd rather her be with him in the dreams rather than on the outside with his name like a brand. In the latest job they are given, Cobb finds peace and Y/n finds her one true love.

*reader is 20*

warnings - angst, dream infiltrating, incepting an idea into someones mind (which comes with it's own ethical qualms), mentions of death, creepy men.

word count - 1.2k

a/n - watched Oppenheimer so yeah...Cillian Murphy.

Series Master list Master list

If you want to be added to the taglist - here

Some thought I was stupid. Following my father into a life of crime. Every day my life was threatened and every day I felt unsafe in my skin. But I couldn’t let my father go. I knew mom hadn’t been well since they woke from their dream.

Dad had told me they’d been stuck for 50 years and I suddenly realised how muddled my mom had become. So I knew there was no way he’d killed her that night. She’d wanted to wake up and she wanted him to come with her.

So I followed my dad because I’d rather be a criminal than be without him. Some thought my father was stupid for letting me follow. But truth was, he wanted me with him as well. We couldn’t see James and Philippa so we settled for the family we had left. Us two.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

The clock’s hands on my watch reached 30. I hurriedly placed the headphones onto Nash’s head and began the music.

Arthur woke up first as the sedative wore off. He told me that Saito had figured it out and we needed to disappear. I helped him with the others. Seconds later Nash and dad woke up in succession.

“How did you mess up the carpet?”

“I didn’t know he was going to rub his face on it.” I rolled my eyes at his incompetency.

“You always have to expect them to do the unexpected!” I voiced my concerns.

“Oh yeah how about you go down there with us instead of judging from up here!”

“I’ve been in dreams longer than you’ve been alive my friend.” I smirked at him but felt him sidle up to my ear and whisper. “I’d have you on the carpet.” He was roughly shoved back by Arthur. In the years of him working with my dad, Arthur had practically become my protector and he looked out for me at every turn.  He glared at Nash in warning and jerked his head towards where my dad was packing up. Arthur could handle him on his own but he relished in the fear that spread across his eyes.

I helped my dad pack up the case and took the hand he offered me as he led me down the bullet train.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I joined dad in his hotel room with Arthur and we prepared to leave. We only stayed in the same room in very dire circumstances as dad believed I was safer far from him. Or because he felt safer alone.

When I entered, I noticed the spinning top.

Mom.

Dad followed my eyes and then looked down ashamed. I knew what he was doing. He was hanging on the balance of dream and reality, convincing himself that mom was wrong.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

We three came to the rooftop, ready to fly away from this mess. But the closer we got, we noticed Nash slumped, bloody and bruised. Suddenly Saito appeared from the other side.

“He sold you out, in exchange for my sparing of his life.” Of course, it would be him! I tried to appear angry but I felt nothing. Our lives would be over soon.

Saito offered my father a gun but he declined saying that he doesn’t handle things that way. As Nash was dragged out of the helicopter we were invited to take our seats. I followed nervously.

“What will you do with him?”

“Nothing, but I can’t speak for Cobal engineering.” Ice ran down my spine, understanding the fate we narrowly avoided. Dad grasped my shaking hands.

“What do you want from us?”

“Inception. Is it possible?” Dad tensed and tightened his grip on my hands.

“Of course not!” Arthur answered.

“If you can steal an idea from someone’s mind, why can’t you plant one instead.”

“Okay, here’s me planting an idea in your mind. I say, ‘don’t think about elephants’, what do you think about?”

“Elephants.”

“Right but it wasn’t your idea. Because you know I gave it to you.”

I jumped in to assist. “The subjects mind can always trace the genesis of the idea, true inspiration is impossible to fake.”

My dad softly whispered beside me, and I managed to make out his disagreement with mine and Arthur’s points.

“Can you do it?” Saito smirked.

“Are you offering me a choice? Cause I can find my own way to square things with Cobal.”

“Then you have a choice.”

“Then I choose to leave, sir.”

“You want to take that risk? You want her to take that risk?” His piercing eyes lifted to mine and I felt my dad’s palms sweat at the thought of me in danger. He knew Cobal engineering would not even spare his daughter.

We landed outside of a private jet and I jumped out first ready to leave. I was enchanted by the scale of the jet but my happiness was short lived when I remembered who I was and what was going to happen, once again. Arthur and Dad joined my stride but we were halted by Saito’s voice. A final plea.

“How would you like to go home.” No. How dare he taunt us like that. There was nothing I wanted more than to go home with my dad and he chooses to dangle that freedom in front of us like a donkey with a carrot!

“Can’t fix that! No one can!”

“Just like Inception.” I don’t know if it was the sincerity in his voice but I chose to shuck off Arthur’s hand on my arm and walk back towards the helicopter.

“You’re serious. Aren’t you? Well how complex is the idea.”

"y/n what are you doing?"

“Simple enough.”

I scoffed. “No idea is simple enough if you have to plant it in someone’s mind.”

“My main competitor is an old man in poor health. His son will soon inherit his father’s business. I need him to decide to break up his father’s empire.” A business deal. Did I expect anything less. At least we could remove emotions from it. Simple and transactional.

My father joined the discussion. “If I did this-If I even could do this.” He grabbed my hand. “We’d need a guarantee. How do I know you can deliver?”

“You don’t! But I can. So, do you want to take a leap of faith?”

I shivered hearing my mother’s words pour out of this man’s mouth.

“Or become an old man, filled with regret?”

Dad lowered his head into a gentle nod.

“Assemble your team Mr Cobb, and choose your people more wisely.” The helicopter doors closed and up it went. In a daze I followed them onto the jet and sat down, silent.

“Look, I know how much you two want to go home--”

“No. Arthur, you don’t.” The first words I’d said in over an hour. I punctuated them by standing up and locking myself in the bathroom. Dad’s fingers brushed mine as I left in a brazen attempt to stop me.

As I sat there I thought back on my life, specifically the before. Pictures and films of our happy family danced through my head and I cried. I cried for the first time since we’d left that day. Since I’d hugged my baby siblings goodbye and promised them I’d be back soon. I cried thinking there might be a way. This was our chance.

I splashed water on my face and made my way back out with a fresh smile. I rested my arm on my dad’s shoulder.

“we’re doing this.” I announced. “I know, sweetie.”

I relaxed back into my seat, assured in our choice but nervous of the outcome. “So, where to now.”

“Paris. We need another architect.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

taglist: @jonsncws @h-l-vlovesvintage

[luxthestrange]

TWST Incorrect quotes#372 Diapers

In Self-Study time

Leona*Barging in the classroom*HEY LIZARD!

Mal:!?!*Was ...NOT doodling in his notebook Chibi Yuu, Him with an egg*...What?

Leona: When the fuck is the last time you changed our eggs diaper?

Mal:...What-

Leona: OUR egg baby stupid!

Cater:....W-what...what is going on here?*Is looking between the two dorm leaders with a smile*

Lilia: I think they're having a...PFF-a domestic dispute?~I thought I have seen it all~

Leona: SHUT UP*Looks at the two who laugh more at him*

Mal: Alright Kingscholar...I changed it as soon as I got in from class*Exasperated with his shouting*

Leona: OH~ okay so about 3 n a half hours ago~

Mal: Yes, I am studying for a test right now-*Covering with his hand his ...fanart of you and him*

Leona: YOUR SUPPOSED TO CHANGE EVERY TWO TO THREE HOURS YOU FUCKIN IDIOT LIZARD-BUT NOOOOO!YOU ONLY THINK ABOUT YOURSELF*Holding the egg in hand*No it's OKAY, I'll fuckin do it..fucking useless*Leaving the classroom with the egg*

Trey:...Well...that was interesting

Cater*Is holding his stomach to stop from laughing*Y-YEAH!Who thought that between the two of them...LEONA would be the better parent than Malleus-

Mal:...

Leona already printing divorce papers

Leona*Spots you passing by with to print out more...sed ex posters*You don't want that useless lizard to be the father of your baby, Save the migraines and just pick me*walks away with divorce papers*

Yuu:...

Part 5 of:

[caostalgia]

Nada.

Realmente no tengo nada bueno que ofrecerte.

Si se trata de físico; bien podrías confundirme con algún monstruo salido de tu propia imaginación. Tu más pura aversión hacia la criatura extraña que soy.

Cicatrices cuál enredaderas me recorren de pies a cabeza.

Uñas rotas y afiladas, las arañas que anidan en mis pestañas.

La piel tostada cubierta de polvo de hadas, diminutos destellos que anuncian mi presencia en la oscuridad a lo lejos.

Motas de ceniza y el olor a tabaco agrio. Tinta oxidada y el cabello enmarañado.

Si hablamos de personalidad; tu odio cobra sentido en verdad.

Inestabilidad emocional, vacío crónico total.

El miedo que recorre a tu persona a causa de mi estúpida enfermedad, mi falta de claridad para diferenciar lo real de lo irreal.

Voces en tono grave, se pelean entre sí por intentar hacer de mí, lo más vil que pueda existir.

El carácter más irracional y mi impulsivo actuar que rara vez logro controlar.

Pero créeme, me hago más daño a mí misma por no poder hallar una salida a los pesares y mi sed autodestructiva.

No tengo nada bueno que ofrecerte, solo mi melancólica y desestructurada poesía.

Notas acumuladas en el celular, pensamientos sobre todo aquello que en persona, ya no te puedo comunicar.

Versos inequivocos, párrafos muchas veces mal escritos.

Letras sin destinatario porque te niegas a aceptarlo.

Vomito textual, síntoma de la soledad que me dejaste, y ahora no puedo dejar de agonizar.

Sí, solo te puedo dar mi poesía y mi forma de amar más obsesiva.

Mis frágiles y febriles caricias, la tristeza de mis días.

Pero también, aunque fugaces, genuinas sonrisas, mis ganas de ser el último gran amor de tu vida.

Así es, solo puedo ofrecerte mi vida, mi melancólica felicidad y mi agridulce poesía.

Coldissweet

[risingscorchingsuns]

hi guys!!!! MALS update since ive been putting it off since my appointment in mid july lmao. anyway cw for medical mentions and all that stuff!

i saw the specialist!!! a year of waiting, countless phone calls and a lawsuit threat for a guy to spend 15 minutes looking at my CT scan 💀 shoutout to American healthcare

anyway!! as short as the appointment was, it was actually very worth it- the doctor said it was incredibly likely that I had MALS, but a few of my symptoms are less common than others, so he referred me to a few other people. I was sent to have an ultrasound done on the arteries in my abdomen, as well as referred to one of the top vascular specialists in my state. I’m on his wait list, and I’ll see him in September.

The last thing they need to do to absolutely confirm my diagnosis is a nerve block procedure. Basically, they’re going to shut down the nerves that MALS impacts, and if my symptoms go away, then they know exactly what they need to operate on. They’ll do this by injecting me with a heavy mixture of both steroids and sedatives, and the effects will last about a week. The procedure takes about two hours, and they won’t put me under anesthesia but they are gonna give me a sedation IV or something.

So uh. That procedure is this Friday! I am!!! Highkey terrified out of my mind lmfaooo holy shit I am so scared. they’re giving me (guy who can barely get a flu shot without crying and still needs to look away from his t shots) the Two Hours Of Injections Procedure. i am terrified but hopefully it is for the best!!

i will keep you guys updated on the procedure etc!!

[jartita-me-teneis]

ANARQUISMO CRISTIANO El anarquismo cristiano de León Tolstoi es la única alternativa razonable para abordar el evangelio. Tolstoi niega el parto virginal, los milagros, el pecado original, los sacramentos, el infierno y la resurrección como acontecimiento histórico. El escritor ruso apunta que la conversión del emperador Constantino convirtió el cristianismo en una nueva idolatría vinculada al poder político y económico. Desde entonces, las distintas iglesias solo se han preocupado del poder temporal y han explotado las ideas de culpa e indignidad para exigir una obediencia incondicional y atribuir a sus líderes una grotesca infalibilidad. Jesús fue hijo de José y María, acusó al Sanedrín y a Roma de cometer toda clase de abusos e iniquidades, fustigó a los ricos y poderosos, defendió los derechos de los pobres, los parias, las mujeres, los extranjeros y los excluidos, señaló que Dios no era un poder lejano y terrible, sino un padre-madre, y anunció que su Reino se hallaba allí donde había fraternidad, justicia y compasión. Ejecutado por Roma con el apoyo de las autoridades religiosas judías, su resurrección consistió en revelar que la plenitud de la vida solo se alcanza mediante la comunión radical con nuestros semejantes. Cuando prevalezca el amor sobre el odio, “Dios será todo en todos” (1 Cor 15, 28), lo cual significa que la humanidad reunida vencerá definitivamente al mal, simbolizado por el ultraje de la cruz, un castigo reservado a esclavos y rebeldes. La resurrección es el signo de que el verdugo no triunfa sobre la víctima y una invitación permanente a la desobediencia y el inconformismo. No es un hecho histórico, sino un signo utópico. El Reino de Dios está en el corazón del hombre, no en un más allá desligado de la historia, y exige luchar aquí y ahora contra cualquier forma de injusticia. Los cuatro evangelios canónicos fueron el producto de una elaboración colectiva. Fueron escritos, reescritos, modificados y, en no pocos casos, alteraron el mensaje original de Jesús, ese joven rabino de Galilea que probablemente jamás se proclamó el Cristo, sino el portavoz de una Buena Noticia que el poder temporal de su tiempo consideró peligrosa y subversiva. Las iglesias actúan como vulgares partidos políticos y, en la mayoría de las ocasiones, se alinean con las ideas más reaccionarias. Deberíamos olvidarnos de ellas y aprovechar las lecciones esenciales de Jesús: amar al prójimo, desterrar la violencia, cultivar la sobriedad, vivir solidariamente, no escatimar el perdón y ejercer la autocrítica. El evangelio de Mateo enuncia con nitidez la esencia del mensaje cristiano: “tuve hambre y me disteis de comer, tuve sed y me disteis de beber, fui forastero y me hospedasteis, estuve desnudo y me vestisteis, enfermo y me visitasteis, en la cárcel y vinisteis a verme”. No hacen falta templos ni sacerdotes para poner en práctica este mandato.

[oscconfessions]

! can't with the fwnk!ng selfc^st ship my m00ts keep pntting 0n my feed!! y0n c8n't jnst grab meqh0ne4 give a ugly l00k!ng fnrry des!gn and m8ke h!m a cutsie an!mal like and ship !t with an0ther meqh0ne4 wh0ever ch0se t0 p0pnlarize the sh!p c8lled sn8cksh0t n^^ds to lit^r8lly d^l^te a|| 0f their acc0unts bcz that sh!p is so disgusting l!k^ why is that selfc^st sh!p pra!sed s0 mnch?!?@ -🥄🐝 ((!! h0pe this c0mb0 hasn't been nsed yet!!!))

Plaintext:

I can't with the fucking selfcest ship my moots keep putting on my feed! You can't just grab MePhone4 give a ugly looking furry design and make him a cutsie animal like and ship it with another MePhone4 Whoever chose to popularize the ship called Snackshot needs to literally delete all of their accounts because that ship is so disgusting like why is that selfcest ship praised so much?!?? -🥄🐝 (I hope this combo hasn't been used yet!!!)

[46snowfox]

Subaru Sakamaki Chaos Lineage Capítulo 1

[Prólogo Violet]

Lugar: Calabozo

Subaru: ¿Aah? ¿Por qué yo?

Yui: (Uuh, da miedo cuando me mira tan fijamente… ¿Pero por qué él—?)

Yui: Es que sentí que eras alguien amable…

Subaru: ¿Ah? ¿Qué estás malinterpretando? Que fastidio… Además, no pienso vigilarte.

Yui: P-pero me dijeron que debía elegir a uno…

Subaru: Tsk, que molesto.

Subaru: …Solo debo hacerlo, ¿no? Está bien, pero no me causes problemas.

Yui: S-sí. Muchas gracias.

Yui: (Al final aceptó. Es cierto que se ve aterrador, pero me da la sensación de que es alguien gentil.)

Yui: (Aunque no sé por qué pensaré eso…)

*luego*

Yui: Hm… ¿En dónde estoy?

Yui: (Ah… Cierto, estoy en el calabozo de la mansión… Tras eso me quedé dormida.)

Monólogo:

“Tras despertar en la iglesia me trajeron a la mansión Violet.

Me encerraron en el calabozo y me dijeron que eligiera a alguien para vigilarme, por eso escogí a Subaru-san.

A primera vista se ve como alguien aterrador, pero creo que tiene un lado amable.

Fue por eso que le pedí que él fuera mi vigilante, sin embargo—“

Subaru: ¿Qué? ¿Ya despertaste?

Yui: ¡…! Sí, estoy despierta.

Yui: (¿Subaru-san me vigiló mientras dormía? No me di cuenta.)

Yui: (Además, ¿está enojado? Se le ve de mal humor.)

Yui: (Por alguna razón me pareció que era alguien gentil, ¿me habré equivocado…?)

Subaru: ¿Qué sucede? No fastidies. Si quieres preguntar algo, entonces deja de guardar silencio y habla.

Yui: Ah, pues… lo siento.

Yui: (Dijo que hablara si quería… ¿Entonces puedo decírselo?)

Yui: Pues, ¿hasta cuando voy a estar en este calabozo?

Subaru: ¿Y cómo voy a saberlo? Hasta que Carla cambie de opinión.

Yui: (¿Eso significa que no sabe cuando me sacarán de aquí?)

Yui: ¡Disculpa! ¿No puedes sacarme de aquí?

Subaru: ¿Eres tonta? Por supuesto que no.

Subaru: ¿Te crees importante por ser la legendaria Eva necesaria para que uno se convierta en el rey supremo?

Subaru: Me molesta que te creas la gran cosa.

Yui: …

Yui: (Sabía que no me sacaría… Y parece que lo hice enojar aún más.)

Subaru: Tsk, por tu culpa ahora estoy más molesto.

Subaru: Solo quiero encerrarme en mi habitación y ahora tengo que hacer de niñero de una mujer molesta.

Yui: L-lo siento…

Subaru: ¿Ah? ¡No te disculpes, ya es tarde!

Yui: ¡Ah…!

Subaru: También me saca de quicio que te la pases temblando. Tú fuiste quien me eligió.

Subaru: ¡¿Acaso te arrepientes?!

*golpe*

Yui: ¡¿Kyaa?!

Yui: (A-acaba de patear las barras de metal… Me equivoqué al pensar que era alguien amable. ¡Es demasiado violento…!)

Subaru: Maldita sea, el enojo me dio sed…

Subaru: …Oye, acércate.

Yui: ¿Eh…?

Subaru: Deja de perder el tiempo. Acércate a las barras de metal.

Yui: Ah, s-sí…

Yui: (No sé qué hará si lo desobedezco… Solo puedo obedecer.)

Yui: ¿A-así está bien?

Subaru: …Realmente viniste, si que eres una mujer estúpida.

Yui: ¿Eh?

Subaru: Todos en esta mansión son vampiros. Yo incluido.

Yui: S-sí…

Yui: (¿Y qué pasa con eso?)

Subaru: Parece que no lo entiendes… Es por eso que vives siendo maltratada. ¡Como ahora!

Yui: ¡¿Kyaa?!

Yui: ¡P-por favor suéltame! ¡Me duele! ¡¡¿Qué vas a hacer…?!!

Subaru: Te estoy diciendo que no entiendes tu posición actual. Para los vampiros, los humanos son presas.

Subaru: Puede que al escuchar que eras la legendaria Eva esperaras ser tratada como una princesa, sin embargo…

Subaru: Te haré entender que no eres más que una presa.

Yui: ¡N-no!

Subaru: Succionaré desde tu hombro. Si no te quedas quieta te dolerá. Nn… nn…

Yui: …Ah.

Yui: (Está succionando mi sangre… ¡Está clavando sus colmillos en mi hombro…!)

Yui: (¿Esto significa ser una presa? ¿Van a mantenerme encerrada en este calabozo para succionar mi sangre?)

Yui: (No. ¡No quiero eso…!)

Yui: ¡Detente! ¡Por favor suéltame!

Subaru: ¡No te muevas! Te dije que te quedaras quieta.

Subaru: ¿Pero qué es esta sangre…? Es mucho más dulce de lo que esperé.

Subaru: Maldición, planeaba succionar solo para amenazarla, ¡pero no puedo parar…! Nn…

Yui: …Ugh…

Yui: (Estos colmillos… este dolor… Por algún motivo me provocan nostalgia. ¿Yo conozco este dolor…?)

Yui: (¿Por qué? ¿Cómo…?)

Subaru: Nn… Aah, nn…

Yui: ¡Aaah…!

Yui: (El lugar en donde está mordiendo me arde… El calor inunda mi cabeza y me da vueltas—)

Yui: ¿Qué…?

Yui_ (¿Q-qué fue eso…? Ese paisaje… ¿De dónde era?)

Yui: (¡Uuuh…! ¿Qué son estas imágenes…?)

Yui: (Lo conozco… Este lugar me provoca mucha nostalgia…)

Yui: (Uuh… Se siente como si revolvieran mi cerebro…)

Yui: Ah… aah…

Yui: …Yo, yo… yo…

Subaru: Aah… ¿Qué pasa? ¿Sucede algo?

Yui: Ese lugar era…

Yui: Ese lugar era a donde debemos regresar…

Subaru: ¿…Ah?

Yui: ¡Aah…! Aaaaaah.

Yui: (Un montón de paisajes e información… están dando vueltas en mi cabeza…)

Yui: (Es verdad… Yo, mi nombre es—)

Yui: Ugh… Uuh…

Subaru: Oye, ¿qué sucede? ¿Por qué gritas?

Yui: …No, yo no soy la legendaria Eva.

Yui: Soy… Yui…

Subaru: ¿…Ah?

Yui: (Así es… Lo recordé todo.)

Yui: (Empecé a vivir en la mansión Sakamaki, conocí a Subaru-kun— y nos enamoramos.)

Yui: (De hecho, recuerdo que estaba allí antes de despertar en la iglesia. ¿En dónde estoy ahora?)

Yui: (¿Por qué… no podía recordar quién era?)

Yui: (Y no solo yo. Todos están actuando raro.)

Subaru: Tienes una expresión boba… ¿Enloqueciste solo porque succioné un poco de tu sangre?

Yui: No, no enloquecí. Es solo que recordé todo.

Yui: ¿Cómo pude olvidar algo tan importante…?

Yui: ¡Oye, Subaru-kun! ¿Qué está sucediendo? ¡¿En dónde estamos?!

Subaru: ¿Ah?

Yui: ¿Por qué Carla-san y los demás están viviendo en la misma mansión…? ¿Acaso este lugar es propiedad de los Tsukinami?

Subaru: Cierra el pico… ¿Por qué estás diciendo cosas sin sentido?

Yui: ¿Eh…?

Subaru: ¿Olvidaste todo lo que te dijeron ayer? Carla es nuestro hermano mayor, ¿Qué tiene de raro que estemos en la mansión?

Yui: Mentira…

Yui: (¿Carla-san es el hermano mayor de Subaru-kun? Eso es imposible…)

Yui: (Pero es cierto que ayer se presentó como tal. ¿Qué está sucediendo?)

Yui: C-cierto. ¿En dónde está Ayato-kun? ¿Y Kanato-kun…? Recuerdas a tus hermanos, ¿no?

Subaru: ¿Mis hermanos? ¿Esos dos miembros de los Orange?

Subaru: Ja, ¿qué estás diciendo? Ellos son enemigos.

Yui: No puede ser…

Yui: ¿Y-y qué hay de mí? ¡¿Sabes quién soy?!

Subaru: Eres Eva, ¿no? La mujer necesaria para convertirse en rey supremo. No lo he olvidado.

Yui: No, eso no…

Yui: (Somos pareja, Subaru-kun… Subaru-kun Sakamaki.)

Decirle que son pareja♙

Decirle que son conocidos♟

Decirle que son pareja:

Yui: (¿Me recordará si le digo la verdad…?)

Yui: Escucha Subaru-kun. Nosotros somos pareja.

Subaru: ¿…Aah? Desde hace un rato que solo dices locuras, pero esa es la que menos sentido tiene.

Subaru: ¿Acaso dices eso porque quieres salir de aquí y ser libre?

Subaru: No importa qué digas, no te sacaré de la celda.

Subaru: E incluso si sales, solo terminarás siendo usada por el resto.

Subaru: Y en tal caso, es mejor que te quedes aquí.

Decirle que son conocidos:

Yui: (¿Subaru-kun me ve como a una extraña…?)

Yui: (Lo sabía, alteraron sus recuerdos…)

Yui: (No necesita recordar que somos parejas, al menos quiero que me recuerde—)

Yui: Subaru-kun. Ayer no fue la primera vez que nos vimos.

Yui: Nos conocemos… desde hace mucho tiempo.

Subaru: Tsk… ¿Por qué te inventas todo eso?

Subaru: Te conocí ayer. Si no paras te haré sufrir.

Yui: (Como esperaba, no me creyó…)

Subaru: ¿…Tanto deseas escapar de aquí?

Subaru: Incluso si sales el resto te atrapará. Eres realmente tonta.

Fin de las opciones

Yui: (Subaru-kun, no formaría parte de una broma como esta…)

Yui: (Él realmente cree que pertenece a la familia Violet…)

Yui: (¿Acaso sus recuerdos fueron modificados de igual forma que los míos hasta hace solo unos minutos? Tanto los suyos, como los del resto.)

Yui: (¿En qué hemos acabado involucrados…?)

Subaru: ¿…Qué sucede? Estás pálida.

Subaru: Oh, supongo que estás en shock ya que es la primera vez que succionan tu sangre. Culpa a tu falta de sentido del peligro.

Yui: (Te equivocas, no fue la primera vez. Ya has succionado mi sangre en varias ocasiones.)

Yui: (Actualmente no me ves como a tu novia, solo soy tu presa…)

Yui: (Es como cuando nos conocimos… No me gusta.)

Subaru: Oye, no estés a punto de llorar. Si los otros te ven así van a malinterpretar todo. Kou: ¡Yahoo! ¿Se están llevando bien—…? Wow, el ambiente está pesado.

Azusa: Eva… está a punto de llorar. ¿Pasó algo…?

Yui: (Kou-kun, Azusa-kun…)

Kou: ¡Ah! ¡¿Acaso maltrataste a Eva?!

Azusa: Eso no se hace… Subaru. Tienes que tratar a Eva con cuidado…

Subaru: Dejen de hablar. ¡No hice algo tan infantil!

Subaru: ¿Y a qué vinieron ustedes?

Kou: Oh, cierto. Carla-kun los llama. Parece que tiene que decirles algo.

Subaru: ¿Carla?

Azusa: Sí… Por eso vinimos por ustedes…

Yui: ¿Eh…?

Subaru: ¿…También ella?

Yui: (Subaru-kun me mira con desconfianza. Debe de dudar de mí porque me la pasé diciendo cosas raras…)

Subaru: Puedo sacarla, pero no me culpen si escapa.

Subaru: Ya que está dispuesta a mentir con tal de salir.

Yui: (No dije ninguna mentira…)

Azusa: Tranquilo… Nosotros te ayudaremos, vigilémosla para que no escape…

Subaru: La encierran en una celda y luego la sacan, hacen lo que se les antoja.

Kou: Quéjate directamente con Carla. Yo no tengo voto en esto.

Azusa: …Carla es el mayor de los Violet. Por eso debemos obedecerlo…

Yui: (Kou-kun y Azusa.-kun tampoco dudan de su hermandad actual…)

Yui: (Carla-san es un fundador, es imposible que sea hermano de unos vampiros.)

Yui: (¿Cómo pasó todo esto…?)

Subaru: …Rayos, que fastidia. Oye Eva, sal de la celda. No me causes problemas.

Yui: (¿Acaso todos enloquecieron? ¿O la loca soy yo…? ¡No entiendo nada, Subaru-kun!)

[Capítulo 2]

[Masterpost]

[cuberol]

Un brunch de estos de moda

Como todo buen domingo hoy me he propuesto no hacer nada de provecho. No, ni siquiera ponerme a adecentar mi cueva. Sin embargo, en estos días he estado dándole vueltas un poco a como está la cosa.

Y no, no es sólo porque mi iniciativa haya sido, como siempre, un terrible fracaso, que también. Sino por haberle echado un vistazo a esos foros que siguen en pie a día de hoy.

Creo que actualmente la comunidad está aún más dividida que nunca entre los que buscan rolear como hace años y los que simplemente quieren un espacio donde poner un post de vez en cuando.

Ojo, no digo que una forma sea más válida que la otra. Yo ya soy todo un pureta y, evidentemente, tengo mi propia opinión. Vamos, que soy de los que pueden decir un "antes todo esto era campo" sin sentirme mal. Pero sí es cierto que las medias tintas en los foros de rol se han acabado.

Hoy en día o te mojas con un foro a la vieja escuela con un trasfondo y sistema con chicha de verdad o te vas al foro de gráficos espectaculares y temática inexistente. Los foros que se encuentran en un punto intermedio tienen un futuro gris.

Los usuarios dicen por estas redes que prefieren foros pequeños o privados pero viendo el panorama, está claro que la mayoría parece querer autoconvencerse de ello mientras siguen en los típicos foros superpoblados y polémicos. Rolear, lo que yo entiendo por rolear, muy poco, pero cambiar grafiquitos, postear búsquedas que no van a coger para lucir plantilla y decir a los cuatro vientos lo perfecto que son su personaje y su persona en la CB, Discord o en offtopic, sí, de eso sí que hay.

El resto, donde me incluyo, permanecemos en foros pequeños donde entra un nuevo usuario cada año bisiesto y donde se mantiene un ritmo aceptable porque estamos enganchados a todo cuanto ofrece el lugar que nos gusta, ya sea trama, sistema o los personajes. Os sorprendería ver la de foros que cumplen años siendo no más de cuatro usuarios e incluso dos y están disfrutando como marranos roleando cada día.

Pero así es el rol, es un hobby que ha ido evolucionando por un lado y estancándose por el otro. La brecha generacional es cada vez mayor por lo que, en mi opinión, es posible que muchos de los viejos rolers desaparezcan de las redes para centrarse en sus partidas y el resto siga saltando como canguros para alimentarse del hype inicial por cada foro que cambie la skin ese mes.

En resumen: los tiempos han cambiado y ahora mismo no vale con ofrecer un foro básico donde rolear. Así que si estais en esa disyuntiva compañeros, sed sinceros con vosotros mismos y elegid la pastilla roja o la azul. Si sois de mi quinta, entenderéis la referencia.

PD: Mantendré "Los Encuentros Roleros" aunque no haya recibido ni un sólo submit. Yo sigo teniendo fe en que existe gente que se lo curra roleando. Más que nada porque si yo existo... ¿por qué tú no?

[jomiddlemarch]

Alina and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day 

Alina was fairly certain that kindergarten pickup was actually a level of Hell. One of the deeper ones, though she had to admit that waiting for the divorce to be finalized and the week in February that Mal had been away at a conference in Hawaii when Eli got the stomach bug and she’d run out of orange Pedialyte, Clorox, and episodes of Elmo’s World just as she’d succumbed were both worse. She’d gotten a tee-shirt out of the conference and not herpes, so it was slightly ahead, which was the kind of thing she’d say that would make Gen tell her she really had to stay in the here and now and focus on herself and Eli; the fact that focusing in herself to Gen always meant some form of hot/stone/the feminine Divine yoga plus or minus a green smoothie was something Alina figured she just had to suck up as part of the best friend code. Especially if she wanted (needed) Gen to remain on Eli’s emergency contact list and deal with kindergarten pickup if Alina had a deadline or her car decided to call her bluff on her perpetually overdue oil changes.

She’d actually finished the article on affordable housing while sitting at the oil change place, wondering from time to time how oil change places still existed and why they still had a TV mounted on the wall when everyone was on their phone, earbuds in, podcasts and memes washing over them as digital sedatives. When she’d said anything like that at home, Mal would accuse her of being a Luddite, while continuing to shoot some monster on his gaming PC, and she’d launch into an explanation of why the Luddites got a bad rap and remembering it, she once again rejoiced in the finalization of the divorce, despite everything else it had cost her, starting with her rosy ideals about happily-ever-afters. In the timeless, nameless oil change place, happily-ever-after seemed like something that wouldn’t even appear on the TV as an infomercial. On the flip side, she wasn’t worried her car would die in kindergarten pickup.

Instead, she wished for death. Or something that would free her from her misery, besides the over-priced pistachio latte that she promptly spilled as soon as she got out of her car, half of it landing on her already dingy sneakers. She was surrounded by totally put-together, mani-pedi-ed moms in Lululemon or power suits or hand-knit sweaters and $300 jeans, with younger siblings in the latest paisley slings, Labradoodles with monogrammed collars off-leash and milling about, the same women who’d post their freshly washed and fashionably dressed kid holding a “First Day of X Grade” chalked on adorable chalkboard pics on social media. She’d waffled for a good ten minutes over the latte, since it really wasn’t in her budget and almost certainly was contributing to climate change and her chances of developing Type II diabetes, and all for what? Turning her greyish sneakers a bilious shade she associated with Dickensian misers with gout and getting her hands sticky.

“One of those days,” she heard, a man’s voice drifting down from behind her left shoulder. Before Alina could twist around or even cant her neck upward to see who was talking to her, he’d offered her an unopened pack of travel wet-wipes.

“Uh, thanks,” she said, peeling back the sticker closing the wipes and dabbing at her cuff of her cardigan. 

“Sorry about your coffee,” the man said. He’d moved into view, tall and dark-haired with a neatly trimmed beard, a sporty fleece vest layered over what he had to have worn to work, suit pants and a dress shirt still wrinkle-free. “I could easily spare a juice-box—apple-carrot ended up being a bust.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Alina remarked. “Plus, juice isn’t supposed to be good for kids.”

“No?”

Alina shrugged. “I mean, it’s not like you’re giving them absinthe. Or liquid plutonium. But yeah, whole fruit is better. And they can just drink water.”

“You’re the first mom to talk to me at pickup,” he said. “I’m Alex, by the way. Cosima’s dad.”

“Probably because you’re like the only dad to show up,” Alina replied. She didn’t say “and you look like you’re on the cover of Vogue except for the navy fleece” but she thought it. Loudly.

“Their loss. Cosima always has so much to say as soon as she leaves the building, I get a play-by-play,” he said. “I’m out of town enough I don’t like to ask her nanny to get her if I can do it.”

Alina knew she should not say it. It was clear as day, as a bell, as crystal. Hell, she only had to make a leading remark and he’d probably volunteer the info, if his unprompted remarks about being Cosima’s dad and having a nanny were anything to go by. She had, however, been known to make bad decisions. See: Mal, though Eli was the most silvery of silver linings.

“Her mom can’t pick her up?”

Alex, who had every right to freeze up or withdraw or otherwise let her know she had far overstepped in her latte-stained sneakers, shrugged.

“She left me to go find herself. That doesn’t make her terribly available for kindergarten pickup. Or bath-time, beginning ballet, or urgent care visits for ear infections,” he said, not as bitterly as he could have but not as Zen as he’d likely intended. There was a look in his eyes that only another divorced, custodial parent could recognize, a pain made of equal parts anger and humiliation, the need to conceal it from the child who shouldn’t see their other parent as a villain. The fatigue from being the one who was there, who couldn’t think about a weekend away or a night out without worrying about whether there’d be a call from the sitter, a fever, a crying jag over the fear of abandonment and the finite quantity of chicken nuggets allotted to a meal.

“I really thought you were going to end on bake sales,” Alina said. 

“I always get a pass from the class moms on those,” Alex said. “They don’t expect a dad to bake, so if I do, I’m basically a superhero and if I can’t manage to send in homemade banana chocolate chip muffins and send her in with a box of cupcakes from Kaminsky’s, I’m still in their good graces. It’s completely unfair.”

“It is,” Alina said. She couldn’t be that annoyed because he knew it. “I wish I could get away with banana bread muffins. I sent Eli with red velvet cupcakes once and I didn’t use organic red food coloring or organic, locally sourced cream cheese for the frosting and I got the smoky cat-wing stink-eye for the next month. I should have risen above it, but honestly, it sucked.”

Alex laughed. He had a nice laugh, a nice voice, and seemed like a nice man who was a good dad. With her luck, that meant that he was either secretly an immensely powerful, evil mastermind intent on world domination or that she’d never see him again.

“You’re Eli’s mom? Cosima says he’s very smart and good at sharing and he makes the best dinosaur sounds. Somewhere between a growl and a yodel, I gathered after she gave up trying to describe it and demonstrated her impression,” Alex said. “I hope this isn’t too presumptuous, but would you consider a playdate for them? It’s been rough, these past few months, and I’m trying to make sure she still has a normal childhood, whatever that means these days. My mother thinks I spoil her, but she’s very old-fashioned. My mother, not Cosima.”

“My schedule is a little tricky,” Alina said carefully. She would have been more wary if it had been one of the exquisitely put-together mothers asking, more relaxed if one of the nannies had made the proposal. She wasn’t sure what to make of Alex’s offer, except that she’d wanted to say yes right away and that meant she needed to watch herself. The opportunity to even subtly trash-talk her ex was irresistible, however. “Eli’s father is around, but never when I need to organize anything.” 

“We could meet at the park. I can bring enough snacks to last the afternoon, you could come when you’re free,” Alex suggested. He said when and not if, enough hope in his voice and those dark eyes that it sounded like an appeal and not an attempt to control her.

“I wouldn’t want you to go to too much trouble,” she said. She had thought arranging playdates would be easier than actual adult dating, but thus far, she’d been wrong.

“Oh, I won’t. I’ll go to Kaminsky’s and stock up. I’m friends with the owners,” he said. “I should say, I’m friends with Theo and Ivan doesn’t outright loathe me and allows me to eat his pastry. If you are not Theo, that is about as close to friends as you can get with him.”

“Sounds like my friend Gen’s boyfriend David, except substitute updating all my devices so I don’t get hacked or locked out of my bank account for petit fours and apple turnovers,” Alina said.

“That’s what you’d like, apple turnovers?” Alex asked, looking at her with a degree of focus that started out as unnerving and then suddenly felt warmer than appraisal, too thoughtful to be mere flirtation.

“You don’t have to—” Alina began, cut off when the kids were released, much like a swarm of infuriated bees or the Charge of the Light Brigade, Eli running a credible Olympic qualifying sprint with her latte-splattered knees as the finish line, a dark-haired little girl with neatly braided hair arriving slightly more decorously in Alex’s embrace; he’d instantly dropped into an unfairly elegant crouch to receive his daughter, while Alina planted her feet to take on the onslaught of Hurricane Eli. 

“Papa, you have to tell Baba not to eat snails anymore because Ms. Costas got one and it’s got a name and snails are people too,” Cosima announced, small hands planted on her father’s shoulders.

“Its name is Greg,” Eli said, as if the four of them were having a conversation, which Alina now supposed was the actual truth. 

“So, a boy snail,” Alex said.

“No,” Cosima said. “Just Greg.”

“Can we go to the park, Mommy? You said we could. Can we bring meatballs?” Eli asked.

“Not today, buddy,” Alina said, bracing herself for a tantrum or a closing argument worthy of Clarence Darrow or Judge Judy. 

“You said—”

“Your mom said we could have a playdate on Saturday and that is in two days,” Alex interjected. “Cosima and I are going to bring a blanket and some treats. We could include meatballs too.”

“Don’t,” Alina said. Alex’s expression went blank but Cosima and Eli’s both looked mutinous and on the verge of tears. It was amazing Ms. Costas could stand firm regarding quiet time in the face of such unified disapproval. “I just meant, don’t worry about meatballs. Meatballs is Mr. Lanstov’s cat. He’s our neighbor, we help out a little—”

“Yeah, because Mr. Lantsov is a million years old,” Eli said. “He said to call him Niko, but Mommy says that’s not polite because he’s so old.”

“We could bring apple turnovers then,” Alex said. “And maybe some catnip for Meatballs. It would be nice to make everyone happy.”

For @vesperass-anuna and @aloveforjaneausten who were wanting a modern AU for Darklina where our two unhappy characters meet at school picking up their kiddos.

[mnsc-nikyy]

Amnesia.

Esos latentes diluvios me devolvían

a todo aquello fugaz y delicado

del olvido

-todo aquello antónimo de ti -

mientras me encontraba en tu regazo

y me recitabas la historia de tus

omoplatos

Ahí me di cuenta que soñar y encontrarte

era como aquel sonámbulo muriendo por sus sueños.

Esos imperdibles días

- Como los lunes -

eran para mí domingos

porque implicaba volver a repetirte;

como aquella canción que no termina

hasta que arrebatas de mi cuello oxígeno

mientras me besas.

Y ahí temblaron mis huellas.

Esos intensos y fusilantes pronósticos

del calendario tachaban al amor como una

carta sin destinatario.

Nosotras que entre los versos ecuánimes

unificabamos la pusilanimidad fue el detonante

para la falta de extasis y versos simples.

Fue entonces cuando esos deseos

de poesía ralentizada me abrieron los ojos como cuando arrebatas de un niño

la última inocencia para encontrarse con su mal tiempo.

Esos lunares tuyos

me hicieron oler la lluvia

y tuve amnesia crónica

porque recitabas el recuerdo

- Con mi nombre -

Y de un vaivén de lujuriosas danzas

que nos hacía tener sed de anhelo.

Sobre todo cuando estábamos

impregnadas

en el sector de la vulnerabilidad

me hacía encontrar más vida en tus suspiros.

Pero al ubicar el tiempo

en la versatilidad fue entonces cuando me

escribiste tan tuya en un libro sin páginas

O a esa amnesia que me llevó a

no palpar siquiera la verdad de las comillas

mientras sostenía tus bragas.

-Mnsc

[mensajecristiano]

40 PASOS PARA RECUPERAR EL AMOR.

DIA 1: EL AMOR ES PACIENTE

Sean humildes, amables y pacientes, y con amor dense apoyo los unos a los otros. (Efesios 4:2)

El amor da resultado. Es el motivador más poderoso de la vida y tiene una profundidad y un significado tanto mayor de lo que comprende la mayoría de las personas. Siempre hace lo mejor para los demás y puede darnos la capacidad de enfrentar el problema más terrible. Nacemos con una sed de amor que dura toda la vida. Nuestro corazón lo necesita con desesperación, como nuestros pulmones necesitan el oxígeno. El amor cambia nuestra motivación para vivir. Con él, las relaciones cobran significado. Ningún matrimonio puede tener éxito sin amor.

El amor se apoya en dos pilares que lo definen a la perfección. Esos pilares son la paciencia y la bondad. Las otras características del amor son extensiones de estos dos atributos. Y aquí comenzará tu desafío: con la paciencia.

El amor te inspirará a transformarte en una persona paciente. Cuando decides ser paciente, respondes en forma positiva frente a una situación negativa. Eres lento para enojarte. Decides guardar la compostura en lugar de enfadarte con facilidad. En vez de ser impaciente y exigente, el amor te ayuda a calmarte y comenzar a demostrar misericordia a los que te rodean. La paciencia trae una tranquilidad interior durante una tormenta exterior.

A nadie le gusta estar cerca de una persona impaciente. Hace que reacciones exageradamente con enojo, insensatez y de manera lamentable.

El enojo frente a una acción injusta, irónicamente, genera nuevos agravios. El enojo casi nunca mejora las cosas. Es más, en general produce problemas adicionales. Por el contrario, la paciencia para

en seco cualquier controversia. Más que morderte el labio, más que taparte la boca con la mano, la paciencia es un suspiro profundo. Despeja el ambiente. No deja que la insensatez agite amenazante su cola de escorpión. Es la decisión de controlar tus sentimientos en lugar de permitir que estos te controlen, y recurre al tacto en vez de devolver mal por mal.

Si tu cónyuge te ofende, ¿tomas represalias con rapidez o permaneces bajo control? ¿Acaso el enojo es tu estado emocional por defecto cuando te tratan en forma injusta? Si así es, estás esparciendo veneno en lugar de medicina.

En general, el enojo se produce cuando un fuerte deseo de algo se mezcla con la desilusión o el dolor. No obtienes lo que quieres y comienza a subir la temperatura en tu interior. A menudo, es una reacción emocional que surge de nuestro propio egoísmo, de nuestra insensatez o de nuestras malas motivaciones.

En cambio, la paciencia nos hace sabios. No se apresura a sacar conclusiones sino que escucha qué dice la otra persona. La paciencia permanece a la puerta, allí donde el enojo hace todo lo posible por entrar, y espera a tener una visión completa de la situación antes de juzgar. La Biblia dice: “El lento para la ira tiene gran prudencia, pero, el que es irascible ensalza la necedad” (Proverbios 14:29).

Así como la falta de paciencia transformará tu hogar en una zona de combate, la práctica de la paciencia fomentará la paz y la tranquilidad. “El hombre irascible suscita riñas, pero el lento para la ira apacigua contiendas” (Proverbios 15:18). Afirmaciones como estas, del libro de Proverbios en la Biblia, son principios claros que tienen una relevancia eterna. La paciencia es el punto en que el amor se une a la sabiduría. Y todo matrimonio necesita esa combinación para permanecer saludable.

La paciencia te ayuda a darle permiso a tu cónyuge para que sea humano. Comprende que todos fallamos. Cuando se comete un error, decide darle más tiempo del que se merece para corregirlo. Te proporciona capacidad para resistir durante las épocas difíciles en la relación, en lugar de huir ante la presión, ¿Tu cónyuge puede estar seguro de que tiene una esposa o un esposo paciente con el cual tratar? ¿Ella puede saber que si deja las llaves dentro del auto y lo cierra encontrará tu comprensión en lugar de un sermón degradante que la haga sentir como una niña? ¿Él puede saber que alentar durante los últimos segundos de un partido de fútbol no traerá como consecuencia una lista ofensiva y larga de maneras en las que debería pasar el tiempo? Hay pocas personas con las que resulta tan difícil vivir como con alguien impaciente.

¿Cómo sería el tono y el volumen de tu hogar si probaras el siguiente enfoque bíblico? “Mirad que ninguno devuelva a otro mal por mal, sino procurad siempre lo bueno los unos para con los otros, y para con todos” (1 Tesalonicenses 5:15).

A pocos de nosotros nos resulta fácil la paciencia, y a ninguno le surge en forma natural. Sin embargo, las mujeres y los hombres sabios la considerarán el ingrediente esencial para su relación matrimonial. Es un buen punto de partida para comenzar a demostrar el amor verdadero.

Este viaje para atreverse a amar es un proceso, y lo primero que debes decidir poseer es paciencia. Considéralo como un maratón, y no una carrera corta. Sin embargo, es una carrera que vale la pena correr.

El desafío de hoy

La primera parte de este desafío es bastante simple. Aunque el amor se comunica de distintas maneras, nuestras palabras a menudo reflejan la condición de nuestro corazón. Durante el

próximo día, decide demostrar paciencia y no decirle nada negativo a tu cónyuge. Sí surge la tentación, elige no decir nada. Es mejor contenerte que expresar algo que luego lamentarás.

Haz una marca aquí cuando hayas completado el desafío de hoy.

¿En este día sucedió algo que te haya hecho enojar con tu cónyuge?

¿Te viste tentado a tener pensamientos de desaprobación y a expresarlos en palabras?

Que cada uno sea pronto para oír, tardo para hablar, tardo para la ira. (Santiago 1:19)

[love-letters-blog]

Si tú me provocas

yo te respondo..."

"Ya sabes que me encanta que cometas locuras y ponerte como loco."

Te diré que están los semáforos encendidos

reflejan el verde, rojo y amarillo en tus ojos...

no me puedo controlar sabes que cuando empiezo no puedo parar,

te atrapare entre mis piernas y de allí no querrás escapar.

Te lo aseguro caerás en las ganas de la lujuria ,

te hundiras en mi propio deseo mordiéndome hasta el pensamiento...

disfrutando el momento...

Tengo ese aroma insasiable y delicado que sentirás el placer de consumirme lentamente...

el sabor al que te volverás adicto a consumir y querrás f*#llarme duro y salvajemente.

Si, bastante indecente.

pero te encanta que te desafie constantemente...

recorre cada rincón, besa tanto mis labios que no dejen de arder...

hurga a tu antojo y calma tu sed,

que yo disfruto de tenerte succionando y ver como te estas incendiando a la vez.

Te lamere el oído y me perderé con besos hasta llegar cuarta baja tu ombligo, dejándola crecer en mi boca...

Ambos sabemos de lo que hablo, o se los digo?

eso se que te provoca y te pone salvaje cuando mi lengua te roza,

mis salivas se corrompen y ya quiero

que le des a esta minina lo que quiere beberse.

Te lanzaré a la cama y demostraré mis movimientos más exquisitos marcando el ritmo y te dejarás llevar,

gime,

jadea,

escupe,

blasfema...

que jugaremos con todo lo que ves...

mientras tus dedos en mi boca me ponen mal,

no hay nada más sexy y sensual

que disfrutar de nuestra perversidad.

Ya se,

somos dos locos asesinos, fanáticos de lo prohibido...

seres oscuros disfrutando de su excelsa perversión,

pero les aseguro que no hay nada más divino que nuestros cuerpos tatúandose a la perfección.

—-☮️