#i bet taylor will be amazingly wonderful as always

[jumpthensfall]

i was gknna be online tonight to be here while the concert was going on but since i have all of my coursework to do tonight..... i don't think that's gonna happen JAJFNTKFJDJS

[xadoheandterra]

@redvsbluesecretsanta of 2020 for @averagejoey2000

This took longer than I like to have written, but in being perfectly honest writing Grimmons is...not something I’ve had a lot of chance to practice, so it was an exercise in focusing on Red Team. It turned...out interesting. Not really so much as being openly gay/bi. It’s really just a lot of Griff pining with supportive Sarge, but...it IS Grimmons. And uh. It’s more mushy then I usually write. Soft red team and all that. And ah, slice of life is HARD. :/ So slice of canon life? (except not?)

I write angst for a reason. Mushy stuff is...hard. Some angst might’ve crept in, but I tried to keep it light and soft. I hope you enjoy it?

Power and Pine

Griff rolled himself over and stared at the ceiling with a tired sigh. He wondered if Simmons was awake; what time even was it? Half a glance at the alarm clock--and he hated the alarm clock; it went off at ass o'clock in the morning--let him know it was 2am. Griff muffled a groan, well aware that his bunkmate was bound to rip into him if he even so much as woke up the hard-ass. Taylor didn't understand anything except regulations and rules. Hell the fucker made the kiss-ass that was Simmons look like a rebellious teenager! Griff scrubbed his hand over his face and contemplated every utter mistake that had led him to this moment, awake at 2am, in a room with a bunkmate who couldn't care less if Griff lived or died, with Simmons just down the hall but unable to even so much as go and bother the ginger haired young man.

For a moment Griff laid then, thought maybe he could roll over and slip back into slumber and pretend that his bunk was the bunk back at Blood Gulch. For a moment Griff contemplated that chance--and then he quashed it a second later as his eyes slipped closed and he could see the way Sarge sat him down, peppered hair cropped short, face helmet free and pulled down into a grimace. It was the last clear memory of the man that Griff had, set in the mess hall of Blood Gulch, in the aftermath of Agent Texas and Blue Team.

"Son," Sarge said, voice gruff but softer than Griff had heard in recent months. Griff was used to Sarge's more callous nature; the man had gruff, toxic masculinity down to a fucking art form, and while at least eighty-five percent of it was pure bullshit, there'd always been an underlaying slight sadistic glee behind most of the insane stunts Sarge liked to pull. This softer, near kind Sarge had thrown Griff for a loop the first time it happened--after the accident with the puma that had near crushed him--and it no less put Griff off-kilter now. "I want you to listen, and listen well."

"Sir?" Griff had replied, voice pitched slightly with confusion. He was in fatigues instead of armor, safe in Outpost One after the bullshit of the last week. A neutral ceasefire had been called by Church, and agreed to amazingly enough by Sarge, in the aftermath of the dropship and the Freelancer Agents. There would be no shenanigan's or chicanery or anything of the sort in the foreseeable future.

"Command is going to relocate our team," the words were blunt, but they settled into Griff like a lead weight. He knew all about being relocated. First it'd been when the UNSC had deemed him unfit to continue service, and then when his service file had been picked up by Freelancer. He'd been deemed unfit to serve a second time and relegated as worth only a grunt, something to be used as potential canon fodder in training simulations. When he'd been picked for Outpost One on Blood Gulch it seemed like a fucking godsend--until now.

Still, Griff decided to be obviously obtuse because fuck they weren't going to separate them, were they? Despite their ups and many downs, the insane trips and troubles they went through, Sarge had been the best commanding officer Griff had ever had--and a part of that Griff knew came from the fact that the man was a failed out old helljumper. Sarge understood the actual horrors that evolved out of the UNSC as much as Griff did; he knew what being relocated to Freelancer, and then relegated to grunt work, actually meant.

"Are we finally getting an upgrade then?" Griff said, and Sarge gave him this look. The man knew what he was doing, and he wanted none of it. Griff looked away.

"As much as I wish we were getting a damn good retirement package," Sarge said, "that is not the case." His words were blunt, not coated in the typical insanity Griff was used to hearing from the man. "The orders haven't come through yet, but it's looking more like we're going to be split apart."

No, Griff wanted to curse, and he spat something out under his breath, something unfavorable, even as he made his protests clear. Sarge raised a hand.

"I know, son." A pause, then softer, "Dexter." Griff swallowed heavily. "I have a request of you, if you will." For a moment Griff said nothing, and so Sarge barreled on. "I'm going to try and keep you and Simmons together. Lord knows that boy doesn't have a lick of sense if it came and bit him in the ass; he'll need you to keep him out of trouble."

Griff snorted; he'd been doing just that ever since he met the skinny ginger haired menace. Half the shit Griff had gotten up to before coming to Blood Gulch had been trying to keep Simmons' ass out of the line of fire. It was far too pretty to waste the way most troopers in Freelancer went, although Griff could hardly tell Simmons that. He hadn't known the man well enough back then. Now? Well now it was because he knew the guy too well.

"I will, Sarge," Griff said instead. "Do you...have an idea of where they might reassign us to?"

"Not a one," Sarge grumbled. "Now I gotta go and try and talk some sense into that weaselly fuck up at Command. Keep an eye on Simmons while I'm out, y'hear?"

"Aye sir."

Griff muffled a sigh and opened his eyes. Yeah he wasn't getting any more sleep tonight.

"Stocking duty?" Griff drawled as he stepped into the storage room of Rat's Nest, a slight grin curled up under the helmet of his power armor. Visor buried in an open crate to manually count each individual roll of toilet paper, one hand wrapped around the PDA inventory list, Simmons grumbled near unintelligibly. Griff leaned himself against the side of the doorway, hip cocked to the side, as he took in the other. Even with the bulky power armor Simmons' lithe form was a treat to see, especially after a hard day stuck cleaning the mess hall in a base that barely let him feel comfortable.

"Shut up, Griff," Simmons grumbled out, voice tinny behind the helmet.

"You know you can do this in your fatigues, right?" Griff said, and Simmons huffed as he pulled his head out of the box.

"Eighty four," Simmons mumbled absentmindedly and marked something off on the PDA. Then he looked up and Griff could imagine him arching his eyebrow above his remaining organic eye. "I could say the same about you. Why are you in full power armor, Griff? I thought you hated the stuff."

Griff shrugged. He didn't say anything in response; he bet Simmons already knew. It was the same reason Simmons was doing something as simple a inventory management in full power armor, after all. Neither of them felt comfortable in Rats Nest. The the way they had back at Blood Gulch with Sarge at their backs. There they could at least trust that the bullet in the back or the explosion off to the side was not truly malicious in nature. Here all they could do was wait for the other shoe to drop. For a moment neither of them said anything, then Simmons turned his head back toward the box which he tugged closed and slipped back onto the shelf.

"Have you heard from Sarge?" Simmons asked. The bitterness that once coated his voice those first few days at Rats Nest were long gone now; Griff had worked hard to get the ginger to accept that Sarge contacted him and not Simmons because it was easier and not due to any failing on Simmons part. After all Kaikaina was allowed to contact Griff since they were siblings. It was through her that Sarge contacted Griff; Rats Nest at least could care less what Griff's sister had to say aside from laughing about what recent drama she'd written about.

They never noticed that over half of the nonsense Kai sent him was just that, nonsense. Griff doubted his little sister was honestly throwing illegal rave parties and orgies in Blood Gulch, or that she was dragging Sarge into that mess by his own damn pubes, forcing pot brownies onto him to get him to chill. Kai got up to some ridiculous shit, yeah, but she knew how to bullshit even better. Griff had taught her everything he knew, after all, before he'd been drafted by the UNSC.

"Nothing new," Griff said instead. "He's been left to do as he will in Blood Gulch. I think Command finally gave up on relocating him as long as Kai's there after the mess he made of the last dropship."

Griff and Simmons had quietly had a laugh about the dropship that had 'mysteriously' crashed while attempting to transport Sarge to his next assignment. The old fucker had survived thanks to not actually being on the dropship at the time. Kai'd laughed her ass silly in the message, words peppered with loud booming rave music that drove any eavesdroppers away from the video.

"What about Donut?" Simmons asked, even as he pulled out another box.

"Some sort of diplomatic mission, it sounded like?" Griff shrugged. "I don't know how he swung that. UNSC doesn't like to touch us troopers for anything." It wasn't a lie; any trooper in Freelancer was a trooper because they weren't worth the hassle in the regular outfit. They were misfits, drop outs, failures of all kinds. Either they weren't fit for actual live combat, or had some other glaring red flag in their file. In Griff's case he knew it was the raging depression and suicidal tendencies that came from being the sole survivor of his unit.

In Sarge's case it'd been the PTSD of his helljumper days. Too good to really let go, too fucked up to keep on the payroll.

Griff couldn't parse where Donut fell on the spectrum of trooper bullshit. The man was a damn good grenadier; good enough to fuck up a Freelancer Agent. How he hadn't been snapped back up by UNSC before now Griff didn't understand. Maybe it was the fact that Donut was a walking, talking lawsuit waiting to happen. He spat out innuendo like it was going out of style--every other word from that man's mouth as filthy as one could get.

"Huh," Simmons muttered. "I thought he'd be shot by now."

"You know, me too." They lapsed into a period of silence. Griff watched Simmons move; he wondered if he could get the other out of power armor for a little a while. They both needed a damn good few moments of R'n'R between the two of them. A chance to destress from being so on alert here in Rats Nest could only do them both a world of good.

Maybe, also, Griff missed seeing Simmons face. The freckles that coated pale cheeks, or the way the mess of red curls went every which way. Hell even the metal graft that surrounded the artificial eye was a sight Griff hadn't seen in far too long. Some days he could catch a glimpse of Simmons, if he looked in the mirror and stared at the left side of his face--the place where Sarge had grafted pale skin and implanted one lone blue eye to replace the crushed and damaged brown one. Sometimes, alone in the wash room, he'd stare into the mirror with that one eye and imagine it was Simmons who stared back at him, who drank in the scars that melded the skin graft to his face, how it blended into the parts of his skin that were caused by vitiligo that he'd once been embarrassed about.

With a sigh Giff shook his head and straightened from the doorway. He came in for a mop and bucket, not to get distracted by Simmons. The base commander was bound to give him another stern talking to at this rate, for being so slow in such a simple task. He couldn't help it, though. Simmons was the only thing that felt even the slightest bit like home these days.

"Mops and buckets?" Griff said, instead of uttering any of his thoughts.

"Back left corner," Simmons replied, distracted by the task of counting inventory. Griff's comment of thanks went unacknowledged. They both returned to work without anything else said between them.

One moment they were in Rats Nest, uncomfortable and unwelcome. The next life turned into a whirlwind adventure that Griff didn't know how to name, with the crazy insanity that came from Blue Team and the AI that they tried to pass off as a human. The drama was something they could practically drown in, and really Griff could do without all the crotch shots from the other AI that had single handedly put them out on their ass. And of course Blue Team got themselves their own crazy Freelancer in the midst of it all, as if the first one hadn't been bad enough. Some days Griff wanted to bash his head into the wall and never wake up.

"Hey Griff have you seen Lopez around anywhere?" Simmons came up from behind him and it took Griff all of his willpower not to jump. His heart rate skyrocketed either way and he clutched at his chest, bare of the power armor because they were safe here even if here was full of insane would-be retiree's who didn't know the meaning of safety if it bit them in the ass. Yet Griff loved it, somehow, even that mad cow Caboose could be a riot when he really got going.

"Have you been practicing being a ninja?" Griff said as he turned around, and then felt his throat close up from another emotion. Simmons had his hair actually down. It wasn't regulation length anymore; he'd let it grow longer and Griff knew that but he hadn't actually seen Simmons with his hair in anything but tied up and out of the way. Today he apparently chose to let his hair hang loose about his shoulders, held back lightly with a tie that did nothing to stop the racing of Griff's heart.

"Griff?" Simmons asked, and waved a hand across Griff's vision. It snapped Griff back to reality and he wondered how long he stared at Simmons. "You okay?" Simmons looked at him, concerned. His eye was wide and so blue that Griff had to shake himself for a moment to get his heartrate under control and to just breathe.

"Yeah, I'm fine," the words came out more squeaked, but could you blame him? He hadn't seen Simmons this relaxed in what felt like years. Was that a smudge of oil across the man's cheek? Heaven have mercy. "Just...ate something bad, I think."

Simmons frowned and reached a hand up to feel against Griff's forehead, to which Griff fought back the urge to stare.

"Hm, a little warm. You should rest. I'll ask Sarge about soup for tonight," Simmons said.

"I'm fine," Griff grumbled. "I don't need Sarge's damn stew. Really, Simmons." Simmons lips quirked up into a little smirk and Griff had to look away.

"I'll tell him you want seconds, then," Simmons said, like a devil, and turned around and left the room. Griff stared after him, mouth agape for a second. He wasn't ashamed to admit his voice hit a pitch that was embarrassing in retrospect, but really. No one could stomach Sarge's stew, and Simmons knew that. By the time Griff got out into the hall, Simmons was long gone.

Griff was not ashamed to admit he whimpered just the slightest bit. Sarge was going to murder him.

Chaos defined their life for what seemed like years, leading all up to this very moment--this place in time. Griff scrubbed his hand along his face as he stared down at his naked lap, the haze of the past twenty-four hours finally washed away with something like regret and longing that curdled in his gut. He couldn't look at Simmons, because somehow despite the years working together and secretly pining after a face he couldn't name Simmons was still Simmons. He was Richard, or Dick, even though he could've been. Just the same Griff wasn't Dex or Dexter even though Simmons ought to know his name now with how often Kai screamed it at him either in rage or out of sheer whining because Griff refused to pay attention to her.

The only other person who used his name was Sarge, but even then it was for rare occasions when the man grew soft enough to speak it. Typically it was son if he was being affectionate, Griff if he was being authoritative, but oh so rarely was he Dexter. Griff swallowed heavily and forced himself to look over to Simmons, who leaned against overturned boxes and breathed heavily, a still somewhat dazed look across his face like he couldn't believe what just happened. Honestly neither could Griff if he were honest. What kind of hell planet had they landed on to have something like this among the civil war insanity?

"Simmons?" Griff said, and when that didn't garner a response he uttered, "Uh. Hey. Dick?"

Simmons wrinkled his nose a little at the nickname, rolled his eyes, and sat himself up with slow carefulness. He didn't say anything at first, and Griff wondered if he should just offer the out, let the man breathe and not have to worry about his sanity or his sexuality or whatever ran through Simmons mind like a herd of cats. Griff imagined what would happen if he did so--he could see how it would play out. They wouldn't talk about it. It'd become a shameful thing, hidden, secretive--and then Griff would be alone. Like always. Maybe he'd go insane. Maybe he'd jump off that deep pool of his barely clung to sanity and just turn into--into something unnamable as life churned out more crazier and crazier stunts raised to attention by Blue Team and how everyone he cared about was just dragged along for the ride.

"I wonder if Kimball knows how that system functioned," Griff heard Simmons mumble, half to himself, and felt his heart jam up in his throat. "Some sort of pheromone maybe? Like a roofie or--"

Griff choked on his spit, and then said quickly, "Dick!" to which Simmons snapped his head in Griff's direction, face flushed red even as he mumbled analytical scientific nonsense under his breath. The words paused at the name, though, which Griff hoped was a good sign until he realized Simmons had his nose scrunched up.

"Don't call me that," Simmons said shortly.

"Okay Richard--"

Simmons looked away and muttered a short, "Don't--you just--it was just--"

Griff swallowed his fear, reached out, and grabbed Simmons by the hand. "It's not...pheromones. Or whatever." Simmons stilled and Griff found within himself the courage to forage on. "I didn't--it wasn't because of whatever that misty shit was, Richard." Simmons looked at him, stared at him with a stiff spine out of the corner of his eye, cheeks as red as his hair. "You--you get that, right?"

A second, a beat, then softer, "What are you saying?"

Griff clenched his hand around Simmons and said, "I'm saying I like you."

Simmons laughed, a bit tinged hysterical. He uttered a short and sharp, "Of course you like me that's how pheromone--"

"I love you."

Silence. Griff breathed out, slowly, and took the chance to barrel on while Simmons froze and stared at him with a face that said something that Griff didn't want to interpret in case he was wrong. "I've loved you for a while honestly. I just didn't want to screw everything up when we were at Blood Gulch and you'd given me your organs. Or when we were at Rats Nest and uncomfortable with things. Then when we got to Valhalla you seemed to finally relax and I couldn't just--I couldn't break that so--I mean this didn't happen from nowhere I'm not some animal. I love you and--and yeah maybe I would've liked to tell you someway other than--I mean the mist was weird but it didn't--"

Soft, plaintive, Simmons said, "You love me?" like he couldn't believe it. Griff ducked his head. He felt like a fifteen year old school girl even as he nodded, cheeks flushed out of his own embarrassment that he just blurted things out like that. "But--"

"Is that ok?" Griff said, and he was afraid at how vulnerable he sounded.

"I--Sarge--" Simmons spluttered, eyes wide. Griff snorted. He could figure what Simmons meant; the man looked up to Sarge like a father.

"Pretty sure Sarge knows," Griff grumbled. The man did keep telling him to man up, and he wasn't subtle with all of his teen girl magazines that he tossed into Griff's face when they were alone.

"And he hasn't shot you?" Simmons hissed, surprised. Griff jerked back, equally surprised by the terror in Simmons' face. Not for the first time he wondered just where Simmons came from, how he got into the Simulation Troopers, to result in sheer terror over--what? Sexual attraction?

"No?" Griff said, voice cautious. "Why would he?"

Simmons looked around, and then hissed, "Because your gay?" and Griff jerked back.

"Bi, actually," Griff said, words shorter. He wondered if he read Simmons wrong. "And so's Sarge. I mean he's got one helluva crush on Master Chief, and then another on those old vids of some chic called Lady Gaga." Simmons jerked back, surprised. "But then you know that because he doesn't ever really shut up about it. Right?"

Simmons looked caught out, surprised. "He's...not making jokes?" Simmons said, a little more hesitant, a little more like the Simmons Griff knew. "It's not a 'man crush' thing?"

Griff let go of Simmons hand and scrubbed a hand down his face. He said softly, "No, it's not. You--you thought he was joking?"

Silence, and then a moment later Simmons asked, "Uhm. Can you--can you call me Rich?" Griff found himself smiling.

"Sure. And it's Dex," Griff said. "Dexter if your Sarge, or mad at me." He reached out, touched Simmons face, and leaned in to give him a kiss then paused. "This ok?"

Simmons blinked, murmured, "Yeah. It's ok."

They spent a few more hours in the closet together.

Two days post the mess of mist-inducing sex on the planet Chorus Sarge walked up to Simmons and Griff and patted them both on the back. He addressed Griff first with a sharp, "Attaboy. About time," and then turned to Simmons and said. "Let me know if he mistreats you son," and then without a word sauntered off with a pep in his step. Griff blinked after him.

"Damn," Griff mumbled, "Sarge got some." Simmons let out a hysterical half sort of laugh like he couldn't believe what Griff said, but Griff knew Simmons caught it just the same. "Wonder who?"

A few minutes later a cheerfully humming Emily Gray danced her way down the hall, dressed in civvies, and Griff and Simmons exchanged a glance. They promptly decided they did not want to know who. It's not like it mattered anyway.

[madamebaggio]

Notes: Previously...

Hello, everyone!

I did say I was working on my Jonsa, but I hit a snag there, so I tried writing in other places and this is the one that came out first.

I've been out for a while -between writer's block and other things -so not everything went as planned. I had said -on AO3- this chapter would get a bit hotter, but in the end it didn't feel appropriate and it was already getting really long.

But next chapter is the one! We'll have more insight about Willas and Oberyn and Sansa will start to rediscover her sexuality ;)

****

Chapter 3

Sansa ended up in Willas' apartment. Oberyn insisted she just had to go there after dinner to try this Dornish wine.

Willas had just sighed at his friend’s antics, but assured Sansa it’d be lovely to have her over.

It was a bit out of character for her to do something like that; she barely knew Oberyn well enough, and Willas… She’d had few real conversations with him. Normally they made polite small talk at parties. Those few conversations were, however, more than enough to make her heart beat faster every time she saw him.

All the Tyrells were good-looking, but Willas… Maybe he was just the one that really called to her, but Sansa could think of few men more handsome than him. And it wasn’t only his sharp eyes and perfect facial lines; he also dressed so well. His suits were all taylor made and even the canes he used were stylish.

He was intelligent and kind. He wasn’t one for silly smiles or flattery. Marge had always said he was the serious one of the family, downright grumpy. Perhaps he wasn’t as effortlessly charming as Marge and Lora were, but he wasn’t an ogre. Sansa had even seen him smiling once or twice -generally at Marge and Oberyn.

She’d chosen to not make her interest known. She felt like a silly girl around him, and imagined he thought the same. Willas was always polite to her, and that was it.

But it’d been a while -a long while -since any men had treated her the way those two had during dinner. Oberyn flirted like there was no tomorrow and Willas asked her questions and actually listened to her answers. That much attention was intoxicating, and she saw herself following both men back to Willas’ apartment.

The wine was as wonderful as Oberyn had promised. Between the three of them, the bottle was quickly finished and a second one was opened. In the middle of it, Oberyn pulled Sansa up and danced with her in the middle of the room. She’d kicked off her shoes earlier on, and the carpet felt amazing under her bare feet. Willas watched them from the couch, an amused grin on his lips.

She didn’t remember what happened after that.

Therefore, waking up in a strange room was a little bit concerning.

Sansa looked around the room: it was clearly a guest bedroom, since it lacked any personal touch. The walls had delicate wallpaper, and the bedspread was light green. The bed was quite big and Sansa was happy to notice she had obviously slept alone in it.

She was also wearing a pajama set clearly made for a man.

What the hell had happened?

She looked around again and saw her dress from the night before left on the floor by her shoes. She got up from the bed, wincing at the headache she had and opened the door quietly. She heard male voices talking instinctively. She’d slept at Willas’.

Oh Seven. Please, she hoped she hadn’t embarrassed herself too much in front of them. Again.

Sansa went to the bathroom where she found a hairbrush and some leftover beauty products. She cleaned off her old makeup and brushed her hair. As it was now, her hair was an unsaveable mess, so she braided it. There were also brand new toothbrushes on the cabinet under the sink, so she brushed her teeth.

Finally, feeling as ready as she’d ever was going to be for this situation, she left the room. Willas and Oberyn were in the dining room.

“There she is!” Oberyn grinned upon seeing her. “Just in time for breakfast.” He got up and pulled a chair for her.

“Good morning.” Sansa said to both men, a smile on her face.

“Good morning, Lady Sansa.” Oberyn winked at her, then pushed her chair in.

“Good morning.” Willas offered with a smile, but Sansa could see it was a bit forced. Then she noticed the wheelchair. Sansa remembered Margaery saying that Willas only used the chair when the pain on his leg was particularly bad. He did look tired and a bit pale.

Suddenly, she felt like a terrible intruder. “I…”

“I was about to wake you up for breakfast.” Oberyn cut her. “Willas wanted to let you sleep longer, but I strongly believed you wouldn’t want to miss out on my pancakes.”

“Pancakes?” Sansa perked up.

“With a Dornish touch.” He told her as he passed her a plate, then took his place again.

Sansa cleared her throat. “How did I end up sleeping here?”

“You had too much wine and we didn’t want to put you alone in a taxi.” Oberyn told her as Willas remained quiet.

“Oh.” That made sense. “And the pajamas?”

“They’re mine.” Willas spoke up. “You didn’t want to sleep in your dress.”

“And you look quite fetching in them.” Oberyn teased.

Sansa rolled her eyes. “I’ll bet.” Sansa turned to Willas, remembering the manners her mother had always insisted upon. “Thank you for letting me use your guest bedroom.” Then a thought occurred to her. “Where did you sleep?” She asked Oberyn.

“Spooning Willas.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Oberyn.” Willas frowned.

“Fine. He spooned me.” He whispered to Sansa, making her giggle. “The sad truth was that he wouldn’t let me share the bed with you, so I had to share it with him.”

“Was that an option?” She asked amused.

“You offered to share.” Oberyn told her. “You said you wouldn’t mind because I smelled good.”

Sansa’s jaw almost hit the table. She turned so fast to Willas she almost had whiplash. “I did?”

There was a tiny grin on the corner of the eldest Tyrell. “You did.”

“And I might be a decent enough man, I am no saint.” Oberyn carried on. “It’d be way too much temptation. Not that you aren’t, Willas my friend, but I gave up on you years ago.” Oberyn patted Willas’ hand.

Willas rolled his eyes. “Oh, how will I live knowing that?” He asked dryly.

“Well, thank you for protecting my honor. However unnecessary that was.” Sansa told Oberyn.

“That isn’t to say that I wouldn’t bed you given the chance, love, but you were way too drunk yesterday.”

“Is this really necessary?” Willas snapped.

Sansa, however, seemed surprised by the notion. “You would?”

Oberyn frowned at her. “You have to know how attractive you are.”

“Objectively speaking?” She asked.

Oberyn put his fork down. “I know we said we wouldn’t discuss this further, but we need to.” He declared.

“Oberyn.” Willas’ voice was full of warning.

Oberyn ignored him -as usual. “Sansa, darling. We heard your conversation with Margaery. That wasn’t right of us, of course, and we know and understand you’re embarrassed by that. But I can’t let you go on thinking there’s something wrong with you.”

“Ok…” Sansa nodded carefully.

“You’re a beautiful, charming and intelligent young woman. From what I’ve heard, it’s hardly your fault you had bad experiences before. And, at any rate, you can use them as a learning opportunity, not as an excuse to give up.” Oberyn pressed.

“It isn’t an excuse!” Sansa protested.

“You’re scared and that’s fine. You can be scared.” Oberyn continued. “But don’t let these moments rob you from the chance of really connecting to someone.”

Sansa got quiet, staring down at her plate.

“This sounds so self-serving when you just said you wouldn’t mind bedding her, Oberyn.” Willas glared at his friend, clearly unhappy.

Oberyn nodded. “You’re right.” He conceded, then turned to Sansa. “I am sorry, Sansa. I have no right to push you like this.”

“It’s okay.” She said softly. Her eyes met Willas’. “You agree with him, don’t you? You think I’m using those things as an excuse.”

“No.” Willas told her easily. “I think you’re young and you already went through a lot. As much as I’d like to forget what I heard, if only because I know how uncomfortable it makes you, I remember what you said. The men in your life were all rats, and you deserve much better. If you need time, take it. Just don’t give up, okay? One day, you’ll find someone and you’ll be thankful you didn’t give up.”

Although there was a part of her heart that felt warmer because of his words, they mostly broke her down a bit. Willas was amazingly kind… And he did see her as a little girl.

He’d never look at her as a woman.

[chaoskirin]

The Seven Seas--Final Chapter

Fandom: Queen Genre: Sci-fi/Gen Rating: PG Chapter 4 Word Count: 2003 TOTAL WORD COUNT: 8073

A couple notes: I originally outlined this for the inclusion in a zine. When that didn’t happen, I sort of set the project aside for a while... But after The Seven Seas of Rhye came up on my playlist recently, I decided to expand it a bit and write it. My original target for zine printing was 4 pages or 4,000 words, so I’ve expanded it a little. I hope you enjoy the end. Thank you for reading.

---

The magnitude of a concert can be outlined by several things.

First, the talent. In the case of Queen, this was largely a non-issue, as they were four of the most talented people on the planet. To be fair, this was Roger's assessment, and Roger possessed an ego roughly the size of a stack of thirty blue whales. For the purposes of comparing size, it might have been more logical to select something land-based, such as school buses or football fields. However, in dealing with an ego so large, one must delve into the outright ridiculous or downright strange--sometimes both at the same time. Therefore, whales.

Roger's ego was only surpassed by Freddie's, which no scientist has ever been able to measure.

Second, pizazz. No concert performed by Queen could ever be any less than a spectacular free-for-all of pyrotechnics. A smorgasbord of sparkles... Each properly calibrated to draw the most admiration from the crowd. Professionalism demanded a panel of lights so bright and hot that it could melt the cheese right off a hamburger from a whole kilometer away. If the entirety of the fire brigade wasn't on standby, the show just wasn't worth anyone's time. On the other hand, if the venue burned to the ground in the middle of the concert, it made for particularly bad press. It was a very fine line.

(There are other, more mundane things that go into making a concert a huge success, but this is not a bedtime story, and boring the readers to sleep would be far from ideal.)

But most of all, a crowd defined the magnitude of the concert. Without a crowd, nothing else mattered. That was Roger's expert opinion, at any rate. Which meant on the day of Queen's impromptu, unplanned, desperate, world-saving, hail-Mary concert, Roger Taylor delivered.

Though the fallow field stretched for acres in every direction, it was full to capacity, with people pressing in shoulder to shoulder, eliminating any space between them. Queen's stagehands--those they'd been able to rouse from their vacations--struggled to keep the crowd away from the makeshift stage. This task was hampered by a rather massive electronics rig that jutted out into every opportune space... much like an exploding flan.

John and Brian bent over it, whispering to each other as if they were the best of friends. If one could hear their words, though, one would understand that these were not the hushed intonations of friends--barbs abounded; when Brian called John an incompetent buffoon, John retorted by telling Brian in no uncertain terms that he was a technologically inept upside-down tortoise who couldn't wire his way out of a paper bag. When Brian noted that no one would need to wire their way out of a paper bag and that only an uncivilized rutting salmon wouldn't just tear through it to escape, John insinuated something terribly rude about Brian's dear mother.

In other words, they weren't friends at all. They were brothers.  

"Five minutes," Freddie said for the thirteenth time. Delays, as always, remained a trick of the trade. "Is this thing gonna work or not?"

"The aliens are in place?" John asked. One of the lighting scaffolds dimmed, casting the shadows under his eyes into positively evil relief.

"Yes. All of them. Leader, Glasses, Arsehole, and their entire crew." Freddie gestured up onto the far corner of the stage, where they'd built a tiny set of bleachers for the occasion--so tiny that Roger had to squint to see them. The slug-like creatures undulated over them like... Well, like an exploding flan. One must never fail to re-purpose a simile where appropriate, after all. Their shining silver ship lay just behind them, reflecting the light of the setting sun.

John looked at Brian. Brian looked at John. Neither of them trusted each other, and yet they both trusted each other implicitly, with their very lives. They were and would always remain a true paradox in every sense of the word.

"You guys can make out later," Freddie said. "Is the thing ready?"

Brian rolled his eyes. "I can say with absolute certainty... That is, with nearly every resource available to us... Ah, there's a VERY strong likelyhood--and a very TINY possibility that... I guess what I mean is that were I a betting man, which I'm not. Well, I am occasionally, but there's a time and place for it, and it's probably not here. Let me put it this way. I believe, with every fiber of my being--"

As Roger wondered if Brian had an off switch, John interceded: "We're as ready as we'll ever be."

"Good enough," Freddie said.

Brian thanked John for his ability to summarize. John patted Brian on the shoulder. They all climbed onto the rickety stage as the crowd cheered.

The aliens also cheered. Probably. Never easy to tell when you were sitting behind a drum kit several meters away from something approximately the size of guitar pick. Freddie acknowledged the would-be invaders with a nod, put his hand over the mic, and turned to the others.

It was never a good idea when Freddie put his hand over the mic on stage.

"I've changed some of the lyrics, darlings, for this special occasion."

Roger, who would be singing backup, paled enough for Freddie to see, even in the shadows. Freddie smiled and flicked a dismissive hand. "Don't worry, dear. Everything still rhymes."

"But... rehearsals!" Brian argued. "Our chance at--!"

But Freddie had already turned back to the crowd, his microphone live. "We've got something special for you tonight I think you're going to love. A new song!"

He waited, as all great showmen did, for the crowd to both cheer uproariously and fall to silence. As they were taking just a bit too long to get to the silence part, Roger smashed one of his floor toms as close to his own mic as he could get, creating the wiggle of noise juuuuust prior to a sound system emitting feedback. It had the desired effect.

With a devious grin, Freddie sat at the piano and stared daggers at the aliens. In the few seconds between the stage hand whisking away the standing mic and the sound crew activating the mic at the piano, he said, "This is what you wanted. This is what you're gonna get."

Ominous.

Even from the opening piano riff, the crowd was hooked. On their feet. Cheering. And Freddie sang the Seven Seas of Rhye for the first time in public, with some modifications which would never be heard again:

"Fear me, you lords and lady creatures. I descend upon your earth from the skies. I command your very souls, you unbelievers. Leave me what is mine--The Seven Seas of Rhye." Not bad so far, Roger thought as he eyed the special red button just to the side of his bass pedal. Out of all of them, he alone could be trusted with the proper timing, and it had to be perfect. If it wasn't perfect--

Well, it would probably still be okay. But Freddie thrived on perfection, so perfection it was.

The second verse got a little weirder.

"Can you hear me, you slugs and sluggy counsellors? I stand before you naked to the eyes! I will destroy any snail who dares abuse my trust-- You'll leave me what is mine--The Seven Seas of Rhye."

Roger, whose eyesight was very bad to the point where sometimes he couldn't even be sure whether he was staring at his own drums or a series of giant, empty bowls, glanced over at the alien bleachers. He thought--he hoped--they were no longer cheering.

He eyed the red button again. Not yet. First, he had to try to keep up with Freddie's lyric alterations; at the last minute, he decided maybe it would be better to loudly hum into his mic instead, then--either out of charity or mischief--Freddie kept the lyrics exactly the same as he'd written them.

"Sister... I live and lie for you. Mister... Do and I die. You are mine, I possess you. I belong to you forever."

Roger didn't hear the next verse. At all. Brian took over singing along, and Roger played on shoddy muscle memory--After all, he'd only just learned the song, so no one could blame him for missing a strike or two on a cymbal.

If Roger knew anything, though, he knew timing so implicitly, so instinctually... and he knew exactly when...

"I'll come out alive," Freddie sang. His arm blazed with hidden pyrotechnics as he pointed directly to the aliens' home planet of Denmark.

And Roger smashed the button next to his bass pedal.

Freddie sang, "Be gone with you, you small and shady conquerors," and the sky exploded with the most precise of direct hits. As Brian had calculated, Denmark lay at an amazingly fortunate and perfect angle to explode from earth's northern hemisphere. At least, that's what Freddie wanted them to think--for a Queen explosion, this one was rather small, but it had to look real.

Despite their tiny size, Roger could hear the aliens' audible gasp even over his drumming.

Unwilling to break his stride, Freddie continued.

"Give out the good, leave out the bad evil cries. I've challenged the mighty Leader and his arsehole-- And taken what is mine. The Seven Seas of Rhye!"

Although everyone had doubts that the ploy would work given its absolute simplicity, the aliens still piled back into their ship, their slimy backsides squirming over each other like maggots in roadkill. As the ship lifted off to retreat, the stage crew covered their escape with a helpful volley of fireworks that exploded just a bit too close.

Roger turned his eyes to the sky just in time to see the silver saucer streak away into the sunset.

---

"Am I going to wake up at some point?" John queried hours later. Long after the concert ended and the crowds had filed out, Queen still sat on the stage as their crew cleaned up around them. "I feel like that should have been a dream. Was it?"

"I was thinking maybe we were dead," Brian answered, after which the two of them shared a private chuckle.

"No, we're not dreaming and we're not dead," Freddie said. "We've single-handedly saved the planet from annihilation, all thanks to yours truly."

Roger sighed. He knew this whole thing would go right to Freddie's head. Any attempt science made at measuring his ego now would backfire tremendously. People would die if they ever tried to figure out Queen's prodigy of a singer, and they would have been asking for it. No one could pin down Freddie Mercury and hope to survive.

"They'll be back," Brian said, after which John applauded him and handed him a certificate printed on expensive parchment. It was already framed.

Bran scowled. "This says, 'award for the most obvious statement ever,' and it's sealed by the prime minister and the queen."

"I've had that in my suitcase for the past year," John said. "Figured tonight you'd say something stupid enough for me to give it to you."

"But the queen," Brian stammered. John shrugged.

"Be that as it may," Freddie said, "Captain Obvious is correct. They'll be back, but I suppose that's a problem for the future."

Roger very much thought that was the right way to look at things. After all, the future wasn't real. It couldn't hurt them. And with every day that passed, the future technically got farther and farther away. By right of its very existence, the future could never be the present, and Roger preferred to live in reality.

As a dubious corollary, Roger also believed the past didn't exist, insofar as he couldn't get drunk in it. So maybe he wasn't the right person to ask.

"So now what?" Brian asked. "What do we do?"

With a smile and a flourish, Freddie said, "We play, darling. We play."

[inyourwildestdreams-1989]

Hey Hayley! I just wanted to take this opportunity to remind you that no matter how low you feel, no matter what you’re going through, Taylor will always be there for you. It may not feel like it at times but some day YOU WILL GIVE HER THAT HUG. I’m willing to bet that the only reason you haven’t had that chance yet is because the universe is planning something amazingly special for you. It’ll creep up on you when you least expect it and you’ll wonder why you ever doubted it. Xxx

Oh my gosh, wow this was totally unexpected and so so so nice! Thank you so much for saying that and taking the time out of your day to send me this message. The world needs more people like you in it 💓 I’ve been feeling pretty down lately about meeting Taylor because I just don’t think it will ever happen for me but this really made me feel better and gives me hope! Thank you again for your kind words! I hope you get the chance to hug Taylor one day 💜

[whereareroo]

SINGING ALONG

WF THOUGHTS (1/24/21).

Can you sing this song:

"Music makes pictures and often tells stories.

All of it magic and all of it true.

And all of the pictures and all of the stories, all of the magic, the music is you."

It's a John Denver tune, from 1974, called "The Music Is You." That's the whole song. It repeats itself twice.

Denver's point is that, one way or another, we're all connected to music. Denver was 100% correct.

All over the world, people love to sing. It's an amazing phenomenon. We seem to be hardwired to sing. People sing even though they know that their singing is terrible. People sing when they're happy, and they sing when they're sad. Some people sing in the shower, and some people sing in their cars. Lots of people sing in bars, and many people sing everywhere. There are many top television shows that are essentially talent contests between amateur singers. There's no doubt that humans have a special connection with singing.

Im always studying human behavior, and I've always been intrigued by our special relationship with singing. If singing is so important to so many people, why are we so bad at it? I'm not simply talking about our vocal quality. We don't know the words. We don't understand the songs. We sing anyway. It's very unusual behavior.

Part of the problem, I think, is that songs can be difficult to understand. Sometimes, it's not easy to understand the lyrics. Sometimes, it's not easy to understand what the song is about. Amazingly, because we have such an attachment to music, those impediments don't keep us from singing the songs anyway. We generally shy away from things that we don't understand. For some reason--that I don't understand--singing doesn't fit that general rule.

Most of us can probably sing this Elton John classic from 1972:

"And I think it's gonna be a long, long time

Till touchdown brings me 'round again to find

I'm not the man they think I am at home

Oh, no, no, no

I'm a rocket man

Rocket man, [there are 7 more words here].

We all sing that song. Nobody knows the last 7 words in the chorus. Why do we sing the song anyway? Isn't that weird? If you're honest with yourself, you'd admit that you sing lots of songs even though you don't know the words. The urge to sing is so strong that we sing even when we don't know what we're singing. What does that say about us? What does it say about the power of music? Why does music have such a grip on us? By the way, the last 7 words to the Rocket Man chorus are: ". . . burning out his fuse up here alone."

Frequently, we're so happy to sing a song that we don't bother to understand it. We don't care what the song means. We just want to sing it. Let me give a few examples to illustrate this strange aspect of the singing phenomenon:

▪We all sing Springsteen's hit "Born in the USA." Almost everybody thinks they're celebrating America and singing a patriotic American anthem. That's because almost everybody ignores the words. The song is a sad story about a Vietnam veteran who is very disappointed with the treatment he has received even though he was born in the USA. The final verse tells it all:

"Down in the shadow of the penitentiary

Out by the gas fires of the refinery

I'm ten years burning down the road

I've got nowhere to run and nowhere to go."

There's nothing patriotic about the song.

▪How about Billy Joel's song "She's Always A Woman"? I bet you know that one. Most people, because they get caught up in their singing and never focus on the lyrics, think it's a tender love song. There's nothing tender about it. It's about Billy's wife at the time, who was also his business manager. The gist of the song is that she's a bitch but he likes her anyway. Regardless of what you think when you sing it, this tune is nowhere near a classic love song.

▪How many times have you sung the chorus to James Taylor's "Fire and Rain"? Because the music is so upbeat, and because there's a quick reference to "sunny days," most people think it's a happy song. In reality, it's a sad song about the suicide of one of Taylor's friends, Taylor's battle with drug addiction, and Taylor's time in a mental hospital. Taylor doesn't really like the song. Fans love it because they don't understand it. Taylor's feelings about the song reveal the fact that artists frequently get depressed about how fans receive their music. An artist pours out their soul creating a piece of music, and then it becomes a hit despite the fact that very few people get the message. In other words, artists frequently succeed because nobody understands their art. No wonder so many musicians drink, do drugs, and suffer mental breakdowns.

It's very strange that many popular songs are misunderstood. People don't care what the songs are about. They just like to sing the songs. From the standpoint of human behavior, it's very odd.

Sometimes, we're misled by the artist and we make incorrect assumptions about a song. The incorrect assumptions are understandable, but that doesn't change the fact that we make a connection with a piece of music that we don't understand. I'm talking about songs like this:

▪Paul Simon did a pretty famous song called "Mother and Child Reunion." People liked to sing the song. Because of the implication of the title, everybody simply assumed the song was about a mother and child getting back together. The song, inspired by the death of Simon's dog, is actually about loss. It doesn't help that Simon got the deceptive title from a chicken and egg breakfast dish served at a Chinese restaurant in New York City. The dish was called "Mother and Child Reunion. " The "chicken" is the mother, the "egg" is the child, and they're reunited on the plate. Note that both the mother and child are dead. Simon clearly understood that fans would respond to the vibe of the song and ignore the lyrics.

▪People love to sing the famous Beatles song "Let It Be." Paul McCartney wrote these words:

"When I find myself in times of trouble,

Mother Mary comes to me,

Speaking words of wisdom,

Let it be."

All over the world, people have assumed that "Mother Mary" was the Blessed Mother, the mother of Jesus. In truth, McCartney was writing about his own mother, a woman named Mary. Despite their false assumptions, McCartney has said that he's "cool" with the fact that most people think the song is about the Blessed Mother. I'm glad that McCartney isn't bummed out about the fact that most people don't understand his song. At the end of the day, I guess he doesn't care so long as people sing the song.

I'm glad that we have music. I'm glad that we like to sing. Despite my happiness, I remain perplexed about our strange relationship with music and singing. I guess that's just part of the magic. Some things cannot be explained.

[jdrespling]

Headbangers Con Survival Guide

What’s shakin folks? Anthony here again with another killer review coming to you from the FIRST EVER HEADBANGERS CON. Did you say Con? Yes, that is not a misprint. On the evening of November 9th Chris 51 and his crew of metal heads hit the Bossanova Ballroom with one thing on their minds…..METAL. Not only was it successful, but this guy is still feeling the high of being in a room with so many great musicians and people. Never in my existence did I ever think idbe chatting with some of the industry’s leading musicians and some of the greats as well. People like David Ellefson, Dirk Verbeuren from MEGADEATH! Aaron Patrick from All That Remains, Carla & Heidi of the Butcher Babies, Morgan Rose of Sevendust, Corey Glover from Living Color and of course we can not forget our gracious host Chris 51.

 You know though for my first time having the pleasure to doing an event like this it went amazingly well. So as the night started to wind down we got a performance from the one and ONLY STRYPER! Man, these guys can still kick a beat and hold their own. Tonight, will always be one of the greatest nights of my life. One of my favorite moments about tonight. I look over in the corner because I was looking around for shots and photo ops, and I noticed Dirk Verbeuren with his head down and drawing on something, so I wanted to be nosy and walked over and started talking to this lovely young woman named Elizabeth Engel from a non-profit organization called RYFO. They help struggling musicians. She had asked Dirk to draw her a T-Shirt design for her organization and he didn’t even hesitate and did it on the spot. That totally blew me away, here he is supposed to be partaking on the festivities but decides to help this organization out. I got fucking goose bumps. Don’t believe me see the pics. Dirk again you are a hell of a drummer and human being, thank you. But I also believe that tonight I was apart of METAL HISTORY! When im wheeling my old ass in a wheelchair going to the 25th annual Headbangers con and its my 25th then I will reference this article and I will rest my case! so tonight I say good day and ill have more tomorrow

Sometimes you can’t help but be a bit giddy. Start to ask yourself who are you going to meet today? What am I going to do? First I’m going to sit in and hear some stories from Eddie Ojeda of Twisted Sister. Did you know that when Twisted Sister first got signed not only were they signed to a UK label, but people thought they were from Europe? Wow, I had no idea. Also, Eddie has a line of Twisted Hot Sauces, that are amazing, so I bought three. I walked around and went over to the exhibit hall to check out the merch booths.  Then I went back for the Butcher Babies Heidi and Carla. I bet you didn’t know that one of Heidi’s influences is Slipknot well specifically Corey Taylor and her favorite song is the New National Fucking Anthem SURFACING!!! One of my personal favorites as well. Then Carla is a grief counselor and she is a big fan of the immortal PANTERA! As the day wrapped up from elbowing with Rock Gods, Chris 51 had some special entertainment planned. Hyro The Hero and Soil. To be honest I think Portland is still ringing from that show. As you go to a Con or an event that spans over a couple days you can’t help but wonder what you missed or what you lucked out of. Between panels and signing’s, it can be overwhelming. So, I suggest you find a map or the list of events and plan your weekend. Sunday was here and well I didn’t want it to end, its like that favorite moment that you want to live over and over again. Today I was going to sit in on the Burton C Bell panel well because I like Fear Factory. Jose Mangin our host took the stage. I learned a lot about Burton and Fear Factory. Did you know that their name was taken from a Demo tape they got in Europe? One of their first gigs was in a back yard and Dino kept getting shocked because they weren’t grounded properly. Then we sang Happy Birthday to the one and only David Ellefson. As the day closes and the con is packing up you can’t help but feel saddened and a bit down. So, I got to get a book signed by David Ellefson, and I got a post card signed by Derek Riggs the creator of Iron Maiden’s Eddie. Plus, I don’t know if you all know this, but I am a huge star wars nut and bought a really cool book. I wanted to also see what some of these great artists had to say about headbangers con.

Carla Harvey (Butcher Babies)

EE: Just out of curiosity would you do another Headbangers Con

Carla: Oh of course its been a blast it’s very impressive for the first year for the first Head Bangers Con. I think these kind of things should be a staple everywhere around the country don’t you?

EE: I totally agree

EE: Now, would you change anything?

Carla: Would I change anything, I think this is a great example of what a Head Bangers con should be. There’s nothing that I would change, really nothing. There are so many great people here, the fans have all been awesome and the vendors as well. Maybe have them all in one room so we don’t have to walk around as much.

EE: Was it overwhelming to be in the room with so many of the greats like Burton C Bell, David Ellefson?

Carla: WE have been lucky enough to be in the business for over a decade now and a lot of these people we idolized in our youth have become friends over the years, this is more like a family reunion than anything.

EE: Now I have one important question for you sir, would you attend another Head Bangers Con?  (Ron Keel)

RK: I would do it in a heartbeat this has been a fantastic event I’m really glad to be apart of it, and um we have made some new friends seen some old friends and just keep this thing going if Chris Fitty One wants me back for Con number 2 ill be there!

EE: Are you having a good time?

RK: I am absolutely having a blast loving the Rock Star treatment. And a great event for the fans and artists as well!

Nathan Hunt (Shamans Harvest)

EE: how are you doing this morning?

NH: Well I need a lot of coffee especially after last night….

EE: I bet its been a wild weekend.

EE: So the major question is would you do another Head Bangers Con?

NH: Fuck yeah!

EE: Tell me a little bit about your experience this weekend?

NH: Anytime your around like-minded people you know that passion for music it’s always going to be a good weekend.

EE: does it feel like a family reunion?

NH: yes its definitely got that family reunion vibe we all got fucked up Friday, and I chilled yesterday and ordered pizza.

EE: Are you having a good time?

NH: Most definitely I am, learning a lot of shit, with Jose on the stage grinding away.

Davey Grahs (POP EVIL)

EE: The million dollar question is, would you be apart of another Head Bangers Con?

DG: OH Hell yeah, hell yeah this has been great!

EE: What is your thoughts on the concept of having a con for metal heads like us?

DG: I love it I don’t know why we haven’t had anything like this before or sooner

EE: What’s next for Pop Evil

DG: well we have a Canadian tour kicking off next week, then a US run and end it in Europe.

Dirk Verbeuren (MEGADEATH)

EE: Curious, would you be apart of another Head Bangers Con?

DV: absolutely I would this has been a total blast, and ah I think it will only get better since this is the first edition after all.

EE: Where do you think the next location will be?

DV: I am rooting for Los Angeles because it is closer to my house and I like sleeping in my own bed. Lol no I think L.A would be a be a better place because there are a lot of conventions there and its very busy there is a lot of people in the metal scene that would definitely dig things like this so.

Jose Mangin (Sirius Xm Radio)

EE: So Would you be involved with another Head Bangers Con?

JM: Oh My God of course that is a no brainer, I would never miss something that’s as cool as a gathering of us metal fans and  to able to help be a leader for it, a voice for it, it’s an honor to be here. If I saw one dude wearing a metal shirt that’s all I need, but I see a ton of people with big hearts for metal ill never miss this again.

EE: You have done panels for the last two days, right at this moment what is your favorite so far?

JM: I mean dude, Megadeath is one of my all time favorite bands and just always talking to someone of his stature (David Ellefson) it freaks me out because I have been such a long time fan.

EE: Do you still get the giggles when you do interviews?

JM: Always , Always I never take this job, this position this life I have for granted it’s a huge responsibility. But First and foremost I am a FAN.

EE: One last question What would you tell Chris 51 right now?

JM: Dude, I would say thank you for getting all of us head bangers together. Thank you and lets do it again!

Corey Glover (Living Color)

EE: Would you do another Con like this?

CG: Absolutely in a heartbeat I would do it tomorrow, yeah this is fun this is great.

EE: Do you think this is going to open bigger doors and open people’s eyes?

CG: I do I think that as a band, to connect to your audience and the people who appreciate what you do is hard to do at a show, if your really working you only have about a half an hour to meet and greet your fans but its only hi and that’s it. This I get you talk to people all day and that we don’t get to do on a daily basis. Plus the fans can ask specific questions that you don’t get the opportunity to ask at a meet and greet. It like what kind of pick are you using why did you do this instead of that. That is when I feel more connected to my fans.

Burton C Bell (Fear Factory)

EE: Would you do another metal Con and Why

BB: Yes and because its FUCKING FUN AS HELL!

EE: is there anything that really stood out for you this weekend?

BB: Umm just the Family vibe

EE: I have been hearing that a lot from people

BB: and that’s what this is it’s a celebration of the genre intrinsically even if you are a musician or not.

Then I got to see the new Fear Factory album cover…. He hehe…..

This last weekend was not only the time of my life but I have to say very eye-opening. From all the Vendors like The Star Wars Store, Rogue Toys, Period Panties, Terasyne Amps, ROCKSTAR clothing, Morbid Empire, Metal Yoga, Paradise Harley Davidson, Rose City Vapors, and all the tattoo artists. I can’t forget to mention Toxic Zombie, Cryptamnesia, M.I.R.P,  YesterdazeNews Bob Williams Photography you my friend my hats off. You all made me feel very welcome into the fold and I can not wait to shoot side by side and work with you all again. Plus Jose Mangin from Sirius Xm Radio. Brother never lose that passion, I love listening to you on the radio and enjoyed watching you on stage during the panels.

This weekend couldn’t have been possible if it wasn’t for the great works by Chris 51 and Morgan Rose. You two started a domino effect that will hopefully last for generations. You gave the metal fans a place where we can be as one and feel like we are family.

Chris and Morgan, I personally can not thank you enough for showing this world what metal is and is always going to be. I am anxiously waiting for the news of the next one.

So guys that’s all I am going to say, if you missed out on all the wonderful panels, and your favorite artists. I am truly sorry you missed a HEAD BANGING WEEKEND!!

Thanks again for reading and enjoying what I had to say

  Remember Keep it real and keep it METAL!

I’ll catch you on the flipside!

HeadBangers Con Portland 2018 Review Headbangers Con Survival Guide What’s shakin folks? Anthony here again with another killer review coming to you from the FIRST EVER HEADBANGERS CON.