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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 3 years ago

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Good Girl, Bad Boy (Pt.13 of 15)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X Reader

Word count: 1.9 K

Summary: You're the extreme opposite of Billy Hargrove. The good girl, with perfect grades, the child every mother wants to have. And you don't want to have nothing to do with his kind. Ignoring Billy – and his constant, lingering stare – became an habit. But after you're put together for a special school program, you'll have no choice but to get along with him. And soon enough you'll find out that Billy is so much more than just Hawkins' bad boy.

<-Previous part (12)

Next part (14) ->

{Stranger Things Masterlist}

{Dacre Montgomery Masterlist}

Monster

“Billy has improved. A lot.” Seated on Mrs. Martinez's office, you go over why Billy deserves a good recommendation letter. Half the teachers already agreed, much more because of you than because of him, but that's not the point. “He doesn't get a C since he started, he wants to be a Marine Biologist and he gets straight As on Biology and honestly, he's actually helping me on Chemistry.”

“I've been tracking his progress and I've been impressed with your work. Billy Hargrove is by far the best in the program.” She read some files, putting them down before looking up at you. “I also noticed that you two became very close.”

“Mmm, yeah... W-we're dating.” You stutter, clearing your throat. “But it doesn't change the fact that he's doing great. I mean, Billy does want to go to college and–”

“Don't worry about it. A student's love life isn't my business. I just mentioned it because it was impossible not to notice.” She smiles and you blush even more. “Well, I'll be happy to write him a good recommendation letter. But for the principal, it'll be good if you get some of Billy's friends to make some reports. But we can arrange it immediately if you want. The Principal is in a meeting but I can let you know as soon as he's available if you manage to get some people right now.”

You stand up, smiling. “I can. Thank you so much.” Mrs. Martinez got that urgency of the matter, and you're more than eager to keep that up. “I'll gather some people and whenever you're ready I'll be at the parking lot.”

“Sounds good.”

“Alright.” With another ‘thank you’, you rush outside, walking fast to the parking lot. Billy is leaning against his car, and Nancy and the others are near Steve's car, a couple of feet away.

“Princess of Hawkins number two. Are we going or not?” Steve asks, making Billy notice your presence. “I'm dying for some ice cream.”

“Actually, I need a huge favor from the three of you.” Keeping your voice soft, you walk over to Billy, standing next to him. The stick on his mouth gets your attention, and you raise an eyebrow at him. “Is that my lollipop? That I was saving up?”

“...No.” He mutters, with a half-smile as he takes the candy off his mouth. “Maybe. But we can share.” Billy gives you the lollipop and you roll your eyes, biting back a smile before putting it into your mouth. And for some reason, Billy has that stupid smirk on his face

“That's the most disgusting thing I've ever seen,” Steve speaks up, getting your attention.

Looking at him, you shrug your shoulders. “What? I kiss that mouth, you know that, right?”

“And you do a great job doing it,” Billy whispers on your year before taking the candy once again.

“Alright. You, drop it.” With a finger on Billy's face, you take the lollipop from his mouth again. “I have something important to say.” Turning at your friends, you take a deep breath. “Mrs. Martinez agreed on writing a good recommendation letter for Billy. But to convince the Principal to do the same, she needs a couple of students to... Give some reports, you know. As witnesses that my handsome boyfriend is now an amazing student too.”

Steve bursts into laughter, covering his mouth with one hand as you stare at him. Arms crossed, an eyebrow raised. It takes long seconds until he stops. “What?” He stutters. “You can't possibly think I'll...” As he speaks, Steve looks at the others, and not Nancy or Jonathan seems to find it funny. “Oh, c'mon. I agreed on standing Billy, but I never agreed on giving good reports.”

“Steve, this is important.”

“(Y/N), c'mon. Billy isn't–”

“Billy has good grades now and that's what I'm talking about. You don't have to like him.” Walking over Steve, you touch his shoulder. “You don't have to do it if you don't want to, but we're trying to build our future. And if you find it in your heart to do this for me, I'll be very thankful.”

“God, you're so damn good.” Billy mutters, and you roll your eyes.

“Well...” Stepping back, you smile. “I could also kill Steve. Would you help me hide the body, B?”

“Ridiculous,” Steve mumbles, making you giggle. “Fine, (Y/N). Just because somehow you made a good boyfriend out of this scumbag.”

“I'd take that back if I were you,” Billy says, raising his voice a bit.

“Woah, back down.” It's not the first time the two have incidents like this, and you always have to calm them down. “You guys have to–”

“(Y/N).” Mrs. Martinez calls and you look to your left. She walks fast, smiling. “The Principal will see the students now. But you can't be inside the office for that. They'll be interviewed separately.”

“Alright.” Breathing out, you give Steve a look. “Don't say anything driven by your personal–”

“I won't.” Steve rolls his eyes.

Mrs. Martinez guides the three of them inside the school again, and you follow them, holding hands with Billy. “It'll work.” You tell him.

“It will.” He agrees, with the smile that belongs to you alone.

“Billy boy!” Someone yells and you soon recognize Tommy, with an arm around Carol's shoulders. “Forgot to tell you, buddy. Awesome party tonight at my place.” Tommy smiles and nods at you, and Carol does the same. “My parents aren't home so we'll go hard, all night long and I count on you to set the tone as we like it.” As he speaks, he gives you a weird look. “You don't have to come if you don't want, (Y/N). I know you don't really like it.”

“I'm not going without (Y/N), you know that,” Billy says, and Tommy rolls his eyes.

“C'mon, pal. I planned everything. Wild and dirty, as you like it. I'm sure (Y/N) won't mind you going by yourself, right (Y/N)?”

“I won't. He can–”

“Sorry, guys, I gotta go,” Tommy speaks out, cutting you off. “A lot of things to do. See you there. Bye, my friends.” Waving, both he and Carol walk away.

Billy starts walking again, but you hold his hands, forcing him to stop. “B, I want to go.” You tell him, sighing. These parties aren't your thing, even though you've been to some with Billy. Mostly when it's someone's birthday. But other than that, you've been skipping them. He likes them though, and you don't want to be the one to hold him back. “Let's party and do whatever he meant by wild and dirty.”

Billy giggles, pulling you close. “You have no idea what he meant by that, pretty girl. And you don't have to go, it's alright.”

“No, B. I know you have fun on those things and I really...” You don't want to lie, not to him. So you sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Just go, alright? Have fun with your friends and... I just... I don't want to be the one to keep you from doing stuff you like. You know I'm not... I'm not like you in many, many aspects but–”

“(Y/N), listen.” Billy takes both your hands, looking down at you. “I love you.”

“B...”

“Shhh. I love when you call me that but listen.” Cupping your cheeks, he places a quick, soft kiss on your lips. “I love you just like that. Good girl, with perfect grades and so damn polite and friendly that sometimes almost kills me of jealously.” He smiles, kissing your nose. “But I wouldn't change a thing about you. Your... Goodness was exactly what made me fall for you. You're... Everything I'm not. And I'm still perplexed that you love me back.”

You're a blushing mess when he's done speaking, eyes locked on his. “A-are you sure?”

“I am.” He nods, smiling. “Why go to some stupid party when I can stay with you?”

“I'll invite you to dinner then... Let's say... Pizza?”

“Pizza.” He agrees.

“Mr. Hargrove.” The teacher calls, and you both look at her. “The Principal wants to talk to you.”

“Right away.” He says, winking at you.

When Billy enters the Principal office, you wait outside, leaning against the wall. To say you're nervous is an understatement. The Principal's letter is the most important, and you know he needs it very much.

“Sweet (Y/N).” A masculine voice calls, and you immediately look to your left, leaving your bag on the floor. It's Tyler, coming from around the corner. “What are you doing here all alone?”

“What are you doing here? Detention again?” Tyler is the only one of Billy's friends you can't stand. You soon figured out he's more like a parasite, sticking close even though people don't really like him. But still, you try not to treat him like the asshole he is. But it doesn't mean you have to answer his questions.

“No, no.” He smiles, a disgusting smile that sends shivers down your spine. Not the good kind of shivers. “I had to leave something on my locker but now... I'm actually happy I got you alone.” Tyler walks over you, standing a bit too close, making you step back. “Now tell me, (Y/N). What are you doing here? ...All alone?” He leans closer, his mouth close to your ear.

You immediately move away, violently pushing his chest. Tyler always gives you this sensation, as if he's trying to get to you somehow. And you hate it. It makes you feel like you're completely naked under his stare. “What do you think you're doing?” You ask, anger flowing out. “Stay the hell away from me, you jerk.”

Tyler laughs. Out loud, mocking you. You're about to curse again him when it happens.

Tyler moves too fast, an arm encircling your waist. His grip is too strong, and it makes you violently collapse against his chest. “I've trying to get you for far too long, sweetie.” He grunts as you start fighting, pushing him away and still trying to understand what the hell is going on. “If Billy can have you, so can I. Or do you think–” He stops suddenly when you succeed to hit him in the ribs.

“LET GO OF ME!” You manage to push out, as loud as you can, your mind yelling for Billy. But before you can say it, call for him, a hand comes to your mouth, and Tyler's free hand starts wandering through your body.

You feel violated, abused already, but it doesn't matter how hard you try, he's stronger than you.

“Sweet (Y/N), let's...” He starts pulling you, and you do try to resist as much as you can. “...Let's find ourselves some nice supply closet and get more... Comfortable? What do you think, huh? Gonna show you how a man–”

“LET GO OF HER!” The scream, the voice that sounds like thunder, makes your whole body relax at the same time Tyler's grip loosens.

The rest is pure chaos.

Billy grabs Tyler and throws him to the ground. Someone pulls you away from the fight, and you soon recognize Nancy. In her embrace, you hide your face in her hair, and she helps as you fix your clothes.

Your mind is mess, and you can't even process what's happening.

The only thing you know is that you're safe now, away from that monster. And Billy is beating him up into a bloody mess.

@multific @tina1938 @graciehams @moatsnow @all-the-stars-on-your-skin @captain039 @rebelemilu @theodore-likes-frogs @prettyinpunk85 @taisab02 @pascal-rascal424 @aleksanderblack @gruffle1 @boomhauer

#billy hargrove imagine #stranger things imagine #imagine billy hargrove #imagine stranger things #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x y/n #billy stranger things #billy hargrove fanfiction

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charmed-henry · 3 years ago

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The Rise and Fall of the Great Muddy Bum | Self Para

For the June task

TW: Bullying, toxic masculinity, misogyny, questionable parenting, all that typical Order stuff!

When Henry Charming was eight years old, he was bestowed with a new nickname: Muddy Bum.

This is because, at the annual summer picnic, Henry fell on his elbow while trying to save a ball playing football with the other boys, sprained it, made a fuss, and had to sit out the rest of the game. When the time came to go inside for supper, Henry found he had been sitting in a damper portion of the field than he had realized and tracked mud on Aunt Elinor’s nice seats.

"Henry’s got mud on his bum!” crowed one of the other boys.

“Muddy Bum!”

The jeers continued.

Henry “Muddy Bum” Charming sniffled into his cottage pie, and a keen-eared peer might have heard him all-out wailing in the laundry room (sometimes known as the mud room, as it is) as his mother tried to tell him that it would be okay, that this was what cleaning staff was for, that everybody would forget about it by next week.

Everybody did not. At least, not the boys Henry’s age (save for Eric, who was a loyal ally) and Henry found several gifts addressed to “Muddy Bum Charming” during the annual Secret Santa exchange. Henry stormed off in tears once again. He didn’t want to be Muddy Bum. He wanted a cool nickname, like Tiger or Brutus.

It was getting quite embarrassing, Henry’s behavior. He was eight years old. He would be a Squire soon, and here he was, behaving like any other primary schooler. That evening, after the guests had left, Henry sat with his father by the fire as his mother and sisters cleaned up.

“Do you want to try Scotch?” Father offered.

Henry lit up. “Yes!”

"Can I try Scotch?” Augusta asked, perking up, as she looked up from picking up wrapping paper.

“Augusta, go help your mother with the Christmas cookies,” Father said quickly, and Augusta walked away, disappointed.

Henry eagerly accepted the liquor, and then coughed loudly when it burned the back of his throat.

“Doesn’t taste good, does it?” Father prompted.

Henry shook his head, still making a sour face.

Father smiled. “Henry, there are many things in life that don’t taste good. Maybe they even burn a little. But, with time, we come to appreciate those things. It’s what makes us Princes.”

Henry nodded seriously. He had no idea where this was going, but he wanted to show his father that he was ready for an adult conversation.

“So when the other boys tease you...” Henry gulped. Oh no. He had embarrassed the family, hadn’t he?

“Father. I’m sorry, I--”

“No, Henry, don’t apologize. You apologize too much. That’s the first lesson I want you to take away from this,” Father said, pointing at Henry. Henry nodded again, taking mental notes like the dedicated student he was. “When the other boys tease you, I want you to take pride in how good you are at not letting it get to you. You know yourself. And you know that one little mistake you made half a year ago is not worth teasing you about. It’s hardly funny anymore. You’re better than the rest of them, and you ought to start acting like it.”

Henry held his chin a little higher, frowning importantly. Father was right. He was better than this.

“I was once like you, Henry. Soon you will start training, and the other Princes used to tease me, because they thought hunting fae was for sissies. But I stood firm. And one day, you will, too. You will not disappoint me. Do you understand?”

Father smiled kindly, but there was an urgency, an expectation behind it.

Henry would not disappoint him.

“I understand, Father,” Henry said, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Father patted Henry’s shoulder affectionately and stood up. “Now, you ought to get to bed. Santa Claus doesn’t come for little children who stay up past their bedtimes, does he?”

“No, he doesn’t.”

As Father predicted, “Muddy Bum” soon faded. But Henry’s feeling of persecution, that everyone was laughing at him behind his back, did not. And so, one night, when someone makes a snarky comment about Ashleigh on Twitter, Henry is filled with the same righteous indignation he felt sitting by the fire with his father. The comments sting, like Scotch whiskey in the back of his throat, and he sits up a little straighter to type a comment that he is sure, positive, shows that he doesn’t give a damn what anyone thinks of him.

He does. But they don’t need to know that.

Henry is sure his father would be proud.

#this is quick but i thought it would be an interesting thing to explore haha #it's a little lighter #so enjoy :)#and i think it explains a lot of henry's behavior #bdrptask #the rise and fall of the great muddy bum #order things

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mmacabrera · 6 years ago

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Opportunities we had lost || part 2

chapter 2: aim for victory and you may have the chance

summary: She was Goldie O’Gilt, she didn’t wait for opportunities anymore. She made them if it was necessary and she took them without letting go of even one bit. She could have this, if she didn’t have this when she was younger, maybe she could have this now. Goldie O’Gilt took what she wanted, this woman was no exception.

character/ships: duckling fenton. m’ma cabrera/goldie o’gilt.

word count: 4282

n/a: Reincarnation!AU, unresolved sexual/romantic tension, bamf adult ladies, made up backstories, some guns but they’re never used, well umm kinda, injuries, pining, visit my tumblr for my masterpost page of this fic.

Victoria smiled at the sensation of her fingers passing through soft and blonde hair without difficulty, she felt like belonging and calmness in that borrowed room in Dawson. She missed her home in Spain but this was just as good, Goldie’s trust and blind disposition to her made her feel safe and domestic like she was back home again. She was living in that moment with a happiness she didn’t know she could have in a different place, away from her home.

It was surprising how good a simple action like braiding Goldie’s hair made her feel.

“You done there?”

Goldie sounded impatient and gleeful, Victoria only laughed, amused at her urgency and surprised at herself for being so lost in thought. Goldie turned around slightly, enough to watch her with those beautiful emerald eyes, full with curiosity and wonder.

“Sorry, got distracted. Turn around, I’m gonna finish it.”

Goldie turned around instantly, obeying diligently and asking about more of her business lessons. The ones that she actually liked to talk about so much. Victoria indulged her.

She really indulged her in everything she wanted to learn about, if she could teach her, of course. Goldie wanted to learn about everything, not used to a girl that knew about such “masculine” subjects and that was willing to teach others about it. She was always so full of an enviable energy, she kept up with Victoria and even surpassed her at everything she taught her. Fighting, bantering, playing cards, trading, braiding. The only things she didn’t seem to grasp as fast was Spanish and some basic baking skills, but one couldn’t have everything.

The braiding started some weeks ago, Victoria had offered to braid her hair when she arrived at her room one day, fussing and complaining about her parents not wanting to let her take care of more things in the Blackjack now that she was older. It was a simple action with good results that could relax anyone if the braider knew what they were doing, and if Goldie’s delighted face was anything to get by when she finished with her hair, all those months suffering from her own mother painfully pulling her hair were now extremely worth it.

It converted in a way to relax her fast enough, Goldie would just say that she needed a braid and she would understand immediately that she just needed to relax. The resulted braid was just an added benefit now. Goldie would melt into her hands and vent about whatever was eating her alive, in return, Victoria had Goldie, and that was enough for her in that moment of time.

“Ready,” she announced, finishing the braid with her red ribbon. Her hands abandoned the softness of her hair with a last touch. She kept down the disappointing feeling that tried to grow in her heart.

Goldie got up immediately from the bed, walking to the mirror with the same eager expression she always had. She twirled around, admiring herself in the mirror.

It wasn’t an overcomplicated braid but it was beautiful nonetheless. Victoria got up too, walking behind her and grabbing her by her arms, resting her head in her shoulder and connecting with her eyes through the mirror.

“Look at you, so cute,” Goldie said nothing at that, but a precious red appeared on her cheeks. Victoria’s smile grew. “Nice color on those cheeks, combines with the ribbon. Red suits you, I think you should wear it more.”

Goldie snorted, turning around with the red subsided and a sly smile in place. “You only said that because red is your favorite color!”

“Hey! It’s a great color!”

“Well, it’s for you. I like gold a little more.”

Victoria snorted, rolling her eyes. “Of course you do.”

“I do. Also, when are you really going to teach me how to braid? You have been putting it off!”

“Me? It’s you the one that doesn’t want to! You just want me to braid your hair!” Goldie snorted, taking her hand and pushing her to the bed. Victoria grabbed her, pulling Goldie with her into the bed. Goldie fell on top of her, their faces close and their breathing intermingling. Victoria tried to keep her heart in check, tried to keep her attention on the subject and not on Goldie’s beak. “At this rate, I won’t have anything else to teach you anyways.”

Goldie laughed, rolling off of her and looking at the ceiling of her room instead. She messed up the beautiful braid Victoria just made, but her messy hair had a charm to it sprawled on the bed while still trying to be tied up with the ribbon. Victoria basked on the image as much as she could, not knowing how to control the feeling of longing that ate her heart. She wanted to kiss her but she did not.

“I didn’t think you could ever run out of things to teach me. You even know a lot that stuff about the words’ meanings, how was it called?”

Victoria giggled, trying to ignore the feeling eating her heart. “Etymology? I love that.”

“Right that! And law and philosophy and you had visited a lot of places too! You are so lucky…”

Victoria shrugged, the subject about traveling one that she grew to distaste. “I miss home, honestly. I’m glad I’m going back next month.”

Goldie stopped smiling, Victoria cursed herself immediately.

It wasn’t like Victoria felt nothing about it, but it was a fact, either if she wanted to go home or not. It was simply something that it had to happen at some point. She wasn’t from Dawson, her parents were just there for business. She just wasn’t expecting to find…gold.

Goldie hadn’t been on her plans. It hadn’t been on her plans to have someone so important in another place that wasn’t her birthplace, she actively avoided that in the other places they traveled to. But Goldie was different. She missed her even when she was there with her, and now, that they were going to be apart, she didn’t know what would happen to them.

“Golden, hey, don’t be sad. It’s going to be fine. I will write to you and- Goldie?” Goldie avoided her, looking away from her. Victoria sighed, she touched her arm, caressing the white feathers there. Silence filled the room, the happiness they had flying away. Victoria sighed again, and kissed her cheek, expecting with that to gain her attention again. It was soft and way longer than a normal kiss on the cheek would be. She heard Goldie taking a sudden breath, her chest rising. When Victoria stopped, Goldie hadn’t opened her eyes yet. Until she heard a sob, Goldie turning to her with a miserable look. Victoria felt her heart turning into pieces and held her cheeks between her hands, trying to hold their selves up.

“I’m sorry, Golden. It wasn’t my intention. I do miss home, it’s just that-,” Victoria tsked, the words not coming easily to her. “I wish I could stay with you. But I can’t.”

“I understand that! It’s just…” Goldie looked at her like that. Again. Like she had been looking at her for weeks now. Her eyes sending shivers and chills through her body, her gaze flying to her beak every now and then. She knew that look, the desire that poured out of it.

Just do it, she thought, not avoiding her gaze, staring in those greens intently. Goldie seemed to think better of it and just moved her head the other way, her cheeks flaming under her fingers. Victoria sighed internally, feeling both disappointed at herself and like a coward. She could do it but, she felt fear too like Goldie probably did.

“I just don’t understand why in one month, they said three months at least, why only two now?”

Victoria stayed silent for a while, she sighed and ended saying with some restraint, like she wanted to shut up but couldn’t. “An important man of our society asked for my hand in marriage. My parents accepted a meeting and they want me to meet him as soon as possible.”

Goldie opened her eyes, sitting up abruptly and looking at her bewildered. “What?” She sounded offended. No, she actually sounded more scared. “What the actual fuck?”

Victoria smirked, amused at her reaction, not surprised at it but a part of her was pleased with it.

“Goldie, it’s not that weird.”

“I know! But you?”

Victoria snorted. “Yeah, I know, but don’t worry. I’m gonna reject him.”

Goldie blinked. “But your parents-.”

She shook her head with a smile. “They’re gonna be mad I’m letting go of such an amazing “business deal” but they will understand if I say no. They just want me to meet him and maybe convince him in making business with them even if I don’t marry him.”

“Is everything a business to them? Even marriage?”

“In their defense, marriage is a business. In a way. Their marriage is one, for example. That they fell in love in the process was just an added benefit.”

Goldie groaned, falling hard into the bed again with a frustrated noise. “I can’t believe it, and they look so in love…”

Victoria laughed at that, finding the situation quite hilariously in itself. Marrying was at their age something normal and desired. Victoria had not lied, it was a business. It really depended on how much it benefited the families that two persons married. “Are you trying to tell me that no one in this goddammed town had tried to marry you?”

“Of course some had tried, but my parents are so busy with the saloon that they don’t give a fuck and I reject them all since they won’t say a thing about it.”

“Lucky you.”

Goldie rolled her eyes. “I guess. I don’t want to marry.”

Victoria giggled, falling into the bed too and grabbing her hand. “Me neither. Especially not with a man.”

Goldie turned around, a smile appearing on her face and red in her cheeks, some hopeful light in her eyes. She visibly relaxed at the comment, Victoria wanted to say something about it but decided against it, scared of what that could entail in the end. She liked to think of herself as brave, but Goldie’s smile, beautiful appearance, and obvious attraction made sure to remind her that she wasn’t that much. She knew there was a step to be given between them, but she kept leaving it up to Goldie, who she didn’t know if it was really aware of it.

How much of a coward could she be?

“Really? You promise?”

“I promise,” she replied simply, she didn’t know why that seemed so incredibly important for Goldie to promise but she smiled so simple and beautiful with that answer. Victoria wanted to stay with her so much. She tried not to think too much about it. “I don’t want kids at all either. I don’t think I couldn’t handle a little me running around and calling me “mami”, can you even imagine? What a nightmare.”

“Mami, I don’t wanna!”

“I know, pollito. But mami has to open the door and she can’t do that while carrying you, ok? I’m sorry.”

Fenton made a tired noise when she put him on the floor and hugged her leg, sleepily supporting his little body on her and closing his eyes.

Carrying a sleepy Fenton and her bag and trying to open the door of her apartment at the same time may have been harder than she wanted to admit. Especially with an injured shoulder that she was trying not to use too much and at 1 a.m. on a Saturday when everybody else was sleeping, her own body tired and praying for sleep too.

Doña Claudia was an angel for staying up so late waiting for her and taking care of Fenton meanwhile. She really felt bad for worrying her.

She hated her job sometimes. Honestly.

Gloria opened the door with a satisfying click. When she went to carry Fenton again, her hands already in his armpits to lift him up, a weird sound that came from inside her apartment caught her attention. Gloria stopped on her tracks and went completely still, all her alarms on in a second, waiting for the sound to appear again.

Something sounded again.

Anxiety started to swell on her stomach and she looked at the hallway with uneasiness. Her mind started to run 200 km/s, trying to come out with a solution. She could be being paranoid, especially after the events of that day in her job, but she preferred to confirm it.

She cursed, trying not to act too harsh and anxious in front of Fenton. She carried her son’s face between her hands to make him look at her, waking him up more. He looked at her, blinking for the sleepiness and the confusion but seemingly paying attention.

“Hear me up, pollito, ok? This is important.” Fenton stopped blinking, he seemed more alert and nodded at her. “Do you remember what I told you to do in case of an emergency here in the apartment?”

Fenton nodded eagerly. “¡Sip! You told me to run to Abuela Claudia’s apartment as fast as I can, stay with her and to give her the police station’s number or your friend’s number so she could use them if she needed. Oh! And that no matter what, to act brave like Spiderduck because everything was going to be okay in the end.”

Gloria smiled, giggling a little, that little last comment effectively relaxing her a little. “Yes, exactly, honey. Such a good boy.” Fenton smiled full force, proudly. “Now, I have to enter the apartment alone and you will stay here waiting for me, you have to be alert and concentrate, like that superhero you like, ok? If you heard something weird or if I yell “vete”, you do exactly what I told you. Can you do that for me, pollito?”

“Yes, mami!”

Gloria ruffled his hair with a smile, proud of him. “That’s my son. Now stay here.”

She got up, leaving her bag on the ground and walked inside her home as quietly as she could. Her hand rested on the holster, mentally reminding herself that she had an extra gun in her bedroom just in case. Her mind tried to overwhelm her with the memories of the last time she touched a gun, they were too fresh and sending a shiver through her skin. She pressed down the anxiety as good as she could, taking her gun out of its holster, walking slowly to her living room. She breathed deeply when she took the last step she needed to make in order to finally be in the living room.

“So, officer Cabrera, how was your day at work?”

Gloria turned around so fast that she was surprised she didn’t bring her neck.

She stayed firm and straight to the voice, her gun directly ahead of her at pointing at it. But her surprise was replaced by rage in less than a second when blond hair and the upright of a smile she recognized were part of that voice too.

Gloria felt her blood boiling in her veins like a volcano.

Rage, anxiety, and a mix of confusing emotions that she didn’t want to acknowledge yet were the things that made her hold the gun even harder between her sweated hands.

“You shot me!” she spat, outraged and exhausted at this woman, for how unexpected she was and for the unwelcomed feelings she woke up on her. “That’s how my day at work went, you bitch!”

Goldie gasped, her hand on her beak, but a smile break on her just as fast. She got up unpreoccupied from her place in the kitchen’s counter that connected to the living room. Gloria tensed immediately when she walked to her, too on edge to address that Goldie was completely unarmed in front of her.

“Oh, come on, you shot me too, none of us got hurt,” Goldie replied, rolling her eyes, hands at her hips.

“Stop fucking walking!” Gloria finally screamed, her anxiety just wanted her away for a while, she didn’t want her near until she was completely sure she wasn’t a threat. Goldie, surprisingly, did stop, smile still on sight. Her heart stabilized a bit, Gloria looked at her with her brows furrowed, straight in the eye. “And your bullet got my shoulder, Goldie. I can’t use it properly for at least two months.”

Goldie’s smile dies out slowly. Honestly, Gloria didn’t know Goldie that well. Hell, she didn’t know Goldie at all. But she knew the confusion and worry when she saw it.

It hit Gloria like a train. A weird feeling of relieving growing in her heart.

Goldie didn’t know she had hurt her. She probably wasn’t even planning to use the gun she had in her hands. The shot getting her should have been an accident.

Goldie had not wanted to hurt her at all.

Dammit, if she was right, then she didn’t know what feel towards Goldie anymore.

But it was better to work on the belief that she did know, that she aimed at her on purpose, even if it stabbed her on the heart. Goldie was still an unknown territory and her intentions were still mysterious to Gloria. She couldn’t trust her just on the assumption that she looked like it wasn’t like that, just because there was something in the back of her mind that said that she could never do that.

“What are you doing here anyway?”

How the hell did she know where she lived was actually a better one, but Gloria didn’t know if she was prepared for the answer to that particular question.

Goldie glanced at the gun and then at her. Gloria felt ready to fight at any given moment.

Sue her but Gloria was left unconscious by this woman the first time she saw her and shot today and her son was outside, of course she was going to be as careful as she could.

Goldie recomposed herself, unpreoccupied face on again. “Wanted to see you. Why? I can’t? Victoria?”

That same mix of confusing feelings that Gloria didn’t want started to roar inside of her, making her feel apprehensive at the name. That name that had been haunting her for a while.

A name that forced her to make a folder of memories that felt familiar and foreign at the same time.

Would it hurt if she showed it to Goldie? What would it prove? But she needed confirmation, at least of this. It would be good to have it from the duck that started it all. Gloria would just have her partner’s number on dial in case Goldie tried something funny. Fenton would have it too.

No, Fenton would not.

“Are you armed?”

“No,” Goldie replied simply, but after a second she smirked, “want to confirm?”

Gloria rolled her eyes, tried to keep down the blush that tried to grow in her cheeks. Her anxiety finally died out, well, almost. There was still a little pick of it. “Your word is enough for now, thanks.” She kept talking while putting her gun back in the holster. “I need to show you something so I guess it would be good if you stayed.”

“You want me to stay?” She sounded incredulous. Gloria was too if she was honest.

“Just to confirm some suspicious.” Goldie raised a brow, Gloria sighed. “I just have to arrange something with my son. I’m not letting him near you. At all.”

“Right, your son. Right.” Gloria didn’t know if she was hallucinating or did Goldie really jumped at the mention of her son? Goldie turned around, looking suspiciously bored. “I came to see you, I’m not going anywhere without doing what I need to do.”

Gloria looked at her doubtfully but gave up on it. Whatever Goldie was thinking, she may never know. “Give me 15 minutes. Don’t touch anything.”

Goldie snorted and replied sarcastically, “Yes, officer.”

Gloria let her then, ready to pack everything her son would need to stay in another place. She grabbed his toothbrush, his favorite superhero themed pajama, his Superduck’s plushy and a change of clothes. She almost got out of her room, but a fast thought came to her. She took her extra gun too, hiding it in the back of her pants, for good measure. She just hoped that the thing that happened last time just…did not happen. She gave a last glance to the folder she had in her desk, took a deep breath and get out of her room.

She got out of her apartment without giving Goldie a second look. There, in the hallway, was Fenton. He was balancing himself with the extreme of his feet, waiting dutifully for her. Fenton turned around in the moment that she stepped out completely, and ran to her. She crunched down to get to his level, he frowned at the things in her arms.

“Is everything okay, mami?”

“Yeah, pollito. It’s just…” She didn’t know how to explain this to Fenton. “There is a…guest. But the guest is kind of dangerous so you can’t stay here, we are going back to Claudia and you’re gonna stay with her, ok? But it’s not an emergency, so you don’t have to call anyone. Hopefully.” She whispered the last part to herself.

“But mami, are you gonna stay with the dangerous guest?” Fenton looked worried, Gloria sighed.

“Yeah, honey, they need something from me and I need something from them.”

Fenton smiled, excited demeanor coming back. “Oh, like an anti-hero? They’re usually dangerous, but they like to look for information with some officers sometimes. Are they like, like your umm, people with information that aren’t from the police.”

Gloria snorted, confused out of nowhere. “An informant? And what’s an anti-hero anyways?”

She was thankful that the mind of a seven years old could be distracted so easily from the real problem. It gave her some peace of mind that Fenton wasn’t going to be extremely worried about it. She hadn’t expected that she was going to say this someday but thank God for comics and superheroes.

“Yeah, an informant! And don’t worry, mami, I’m going to explain it to you.”

He started to ramble about anti-heroes, mercenaries, and vigilantes. Meanwhile, Gloria took her own bag, put his things in his little backpack, took his hand and prayed that Doña Claudia wasn’t going to be suspicious of this specific thing. Also, she was starting to worry about the things that Fenton read in comics. Maybe she needed to cut down his supply a little.

“Ok, so, but if you had children, what would you name them? You like all these things about names and things, you can’t tell me you never thought about it even if you don’t want them.” Goldie asked, holding one of her etymology books, passing through the pages without really paying too much attention to the content except for some words. After all, the book was in Spanish and she knew too little about it, despite Victoria’s many attempts at trying to teach her.

Victoria snorted, exasperated by Goldie lack of wanting to drop the theme but finding the question funny anyways. “Why do you want to know?”

Goldie shrugged. “Dunno. But you’re not denying you have thought of some, so tell me.”

Victoria looked at her intently, there was something running in her mind. Then she smiled like she had a secret. “I never thought about it, really. But now, maybe if I had one, I would call them Oriana.”

“What if they don’t like it?”

“They can change it if they want, then, but I like that name for a special start.”

“It doesn’t sound too special… What does it mean?”

Victoria snorted, there was something hidden in her smile, something that Goldie couldn’t decipher. “It is, Oro. More than you think. Maybe learn some Spanish already so you can find it in that book.”

“Boo, not fair!”

Victoria just laughed at her.

Gloria sighed at herself, her cheeks were still red from recalling Doña Claudia’s comments about her “visitor”.

Doña Claudia had misinterpreted the situation completely. She was static at the thought of Fenton staying with her if it meant that Gloria was having a “dangerous visitor”. She wasn’t happy at her for dropping Fenton almost immediately after going to pick him up but she was happy that she was…relaxing herself up after the whole shooting situation she dealt with earlier. With someone. She had winked at her and everything, hoping her luck with her “guest” and almost throwing her out the door.

Gloria groaned again at the memory, feeling embarrassment almost killing her.

She picked a look at her living room for good measure before taking the folder out of her room. Yep, Goldie was still there, sprawled on her couch, looking at the ceiling. So, it wasn’t her having anxious delusions.

Gloria walked to her little desk, the folder exactly where she had left it. Goldie hadn’t touched anything like she told her. Surprisingly.

She grimaced at it. She opened the folder just in case, and the contents of the folder were where they should be too. Her gaze flew instantly to a specific photograph, the first one on display. It was the one of a portrait, a beautiful girl staring straight at her, that thing in the back of her mind reacted to it. Gloria closed the folder before she freaked out.

Gloria sighed, refusing to see the pictures until she showed them to Goldie. Only her have the answer she was hoping for. Or so, she wished.

Let me tell you that this got three times longer than I expected! I expected this to have only 4k words and I ended with 10k+ words lmao I wrote, and wrote, and rewrote, and rewrote, and edited and then rewrite again and wrote some more and i felt like it was endless. It got so long that I had to cut part 2 into three and now this fic has five parts instead of three (and honestly, for the looks of it, maybe it ends with more lmao). I wanted to finish this chapter before 2018 finished, but I think is good that I started this year with this fic, let’s hope it means that I’m gonna write a lot about wlw and ducks in 2019. Hope you like it and I will post part 2 of part 2 (lmao) tomorrow!!!! please reblog and comment smthing if you did like it (in the tags or in the notes whatever im not picky lol) HAPPY NEW YEAR 2019!!!

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #cabroldie #m'ma cabrera #goldie o'gilt #toddy writes #toddy was here #reincarnation au

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sassysweetstories · 6 years ago

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Empress Part 8

Summary: You’re apart of the 100. You’re very bad-ass and don’t take shit from no-one. However, the longer you’re on earth, the more complicated things become.

Ship: Bellamy Blake x Fem!Reader, Dimitri!Grounder x Fem!Reader

Warnings: fluff, crying, angst, swearing, minor smut, fighting,mentions of abuse, blood, gore, etc.

Notes: none of these gifs are mine, credit to owners. i realize not all of this is side by side accurate to the show, bare with me. i hope you enjoy!

Tagged: @bailey-hoover @kiralivelove @thalia-prior-of-ravenclaw@anamcg317 @bellasett @queentiffanyyy @archer-whovian-violinist @beingmadinwonderland @princessisabelle19@violence-and-velvet @lachicadelamanzana

First P.O.V

Trevor glances up at me with a haunting smirk. His eyes are so dark, they don’t look like the irises of the boy I’ve grown to know. They don’t look the same, nor are they far from his own. Murphy’s been whispering in his ear. That little snake. “Trevor, hun. You don’t need to do this.” I say in a warm tone. He’s weak around me which unsettles me more. I can control him but I”m not sure about Murphy. The older boy smirks at me before tutting. “Don’t move, (Y/n). our beef isn’t with you. Just sit there and look pretty and we want have a problem.” I sigh at my constant need to disobey. “You know I can’t. Look, Blake’s an ass. No doubt about it. And it kills me to say it but we need him. Murphy, I don’t blame you for how you were treated but the choices you make who you are. They are manacles. Weights for you to bare alone. Don’t let this be one of them.”

I can tell my words have an effect on him that only lasts a moment before he smirks up at me with a sly smile. “You’d be a good diplomat. Almost had me with those pretty eyes-” he says, waving his gun around absentmindedly. It makes my stomach flip with nerves. “You move, princess, and I won’t hesitate.” Trevor’s jaw drops. Threatening me was not apart of their plan. “MURPHY!” Trevor gawks, disgusted by his betrayal. “Go grab the rope and tie her up. Fofill some fantasies while you’re at it.” The young boys cheek turn a heavy pink with embarrassment while Bellamy and I recoil in disgust. I don’t even realize how close Murphy is to me until I feel him wrap his hand around my throat, knocking me down to my knees with a painful blow. “Stop!” Bellamy shouts with a voice of urgency.

I try not to flinch under Murphy's burning grip that only seems to tighten. “Have I hit a nerve, Blake?” Murphy accuses, wild eyes shifting between him and I. Why would I mean anything to him? I can’t help but wonder. Before I can even find the answer, the older boy yanks my head by my hair, jamming the front of the revolver into the side of my throat. “Get on the stool or I blow her brains out.” Though Trevor and Bellamy want to fight back, they are no match for a gun. He digs the head of the weapon further in and I can’t help but choke, an innate reaction. Bellamy grabs the noose before glancing at me with a knowing look. Help is coming. His eyes seem to scream. “So what do plan on doing after I’m dead?” He ties the noose, idling by. He’s stalling. Murphy shrugs, absentmindedly, admiring the sight of Blake about to hang himself.

“Once you’re dead, things will fall into place. Maybe we finally put a leash on your little princess.” I know I should stay quiet but I can’t help myself. “I’m no one’s property bitch.” He chuckles darkly, barely focusing on me and my feeble attempt to hurt his ego. His eyes never seem to leave Bellamy as he finishes tying the noose. “Get on the chair.” Murphy commands eyes wild with vengeance. My gaze never leaves the Blake boy. There’s a shift in him, a change that I can’t name until I look into his brown irises: fear. I know it all too well because that’s how I’ve looked my whole life. It’s strange to see yourself in someone else. He steps up slowly, hands shaking as he does so. And before I even know it Murphy kicks the chair out from under him. Without thinking I yelp in fear, clutching my mouth at the sad sight that laid before me.

I almost forgot the lack of grip around my neck and knock Murphy down to the ground with a loud thud. “Fucking, bitch!” He screams back at me before knocking my knees to floor with his thighs. I’d find the interaction attractive if I actually thought Murphy was appealing but he’s not. He wraps his hands around my throat again, squeezing I flinch and recoil, forgetting all my training. The action reminds me too much of him. When I try to push him off, his grip tightens and my vision blurs. All of a sudden, I grasp and heave, taking in as much air as my body can allow. Through blurry eyes I can see Trevor push Murphy down. He holds him for a minute but he’s not big or strong enough to keep him centered. I try to get up but I’ve yet to even catch my breath before Murphy gets up and pulls the trigger Trevor’s head falls to the ground with an abrupt and haunting thud.

I tear my gaze away from the blood that’s already starting to stain the tiles. Though it’s a horrible thought, I can’t let another face haunt my dreams. Another loud crack of a whip irrupts from above and I can’t help but sigh relief at the sigh of Bellamy, noose free. Octavia holds him close while Jasper aids me up. “Bellamy...” I mutter softly but am soon wrapped in his arms. His embrace is warm and soothing, almost enveloping me in a layer of heat. “I thought I lost you..” Bellamy’s voice rumbles deep within his chest, cracking at the ends. He pulls away far too quickly than I’d like before examining my body. He takes my face in his large calloused hands. They fit nicely, more than I’d like to admit. “Are you hurt?” Where else did he get you-” He traces the outline of where Murphy’s hands were. “That son of a bitch.. When I get my hands on him-” His eyes grow dark with blood lust and I can’t help but catch his palms in my own, pulling him out of his stupor.

“Bellamy.. I’m okay.” His chocolate brown eyes shoot up to meet mine, surprised by something as simple as a name change. “Don’t get use to it, Blake.” I pull his arms away from me and notice Clarke and Finn enter, looking broken, bloody and disheveled. Bellamy is hot on my tail, his gaze never really leaving me for long despite Clarke’s immediate attention. “We need to leave now.” she says, looking worn out and tired, but alert nonetheless. “The grounders are coming.” Bellamy puffs out his chest in detest, reeking of toxic masculinity. “No, we should stay and fight.” I can’t help but scoff. “There’s no way in hell we’d survive. They’e proven to us a thousand times, if not more, how cruel and tactile they can be! They put fucking poison in Murphy to leve the playing field for war. We’ve seen their loyalty, their drive. They will rip us apart. We need to leave the camp now.”

“NO!” Bellamy barks back and I try not to flinch at the sound. “We can’t just run away from everything we’ve worked so hard for! This is our home!! We need to flight for it!!” I can’t help but groan, down right tired and irritable. I grab his shoulders and jerk him into direction off the youngest 100 members. “Will you let them die?! Do you honestly think they can fight?! Bellamy-” The name change and softer tone take him by surprise. “We can’t have a home if there’s nobody to help make one.” I push Clarke and Finn to start packing while I head out for food and scout the perimeter. I don’t let anyone accompany me, can’t have more causalities or blood on my hands no matter how dark that sounds. I trace out a trail leading up norther into the cooler lands that seem to cascade along the forest.

As I draw nearer into what feels like the mountain tops, a loud ruckus irrupts from over the treeline. Resting my stuff against the tree, I crouch low to the ground and cover my face with my cloak. I watch as some of Lincoln's clan fights another. The biggest distinction is that they sport a bright blue bandanna around their right arms, just below their armpits. Dimitri’s clan. Hope and fear play an equally strong roll with my emotions. I hope to see his face once more for what could be my last. But I also fear that it could be him fighting amongst the sea of warriors. All of a sudden, one of the grounders knocks a blue man to the side before more men surround him, foam practically forming at their mouths. His golden blonde hair, now bare for the world too see. Dimitri. My heart drops and I don’t think, just react.

I shoot two arrows into the nearest grounders thighs before jumping up to fight two more, taking them down with ease. When I turn around, Dimitri’s sword is right up to my throat. I rip off the top of my cloak so nobody can see my face, just my irises, the gaze he told me he loves. His muscles shift his eyes flicker. We go back to back, two powerful beings paving a a road to something much much stronger. Dimitri and I move as one, an undeniably perfect flow. We are stronger than any current. I dodge the attacks as best I can, even pushing Dimitri out of the way when a knife scrapes up against my thigh. I hiss in pain but never stop moving. When the rest of the grounders are dead, Dimitri and his sun blue army flock around us, observing me suspiciously. All except for three of them whom I assume are Ruker, Sloane and Dante. The two wave at me while Ruker nods in respect or approval.

Some of them gawk at me altogether. Surprised to see a living sky person. Ruker nods at me again befoore leading the fifteen of them back to their camp. Dimitri hesitates. But once they’re at a save distance, he takes my hands in his, closing the distance. “Thank you for protecting, princessa. As well as my people.” I can’t help but smile. “It was nothing-” I shrug nonchalantly, shifting off my hurt thigh. “I hope to see you again. I’m moving my people away from the clans. So I’m not sure when I’ll see you again.” I admire his features while I can before pulling away. “Goodbye, Dimitri.” he tugs my arm ever so slightly. “Wait-” Before I can distance myself, make the pain hurt less, he tugs down my handkerchief and smashes his lips onto mine. I nearly fall back at the passion he provides.

It takes me a minute to realize where it’s coming from. He’s afraid he won’t see me again. I pull him in close, touch his chest, waist, shoulders, everything I can get my hands on to remember him. I try to feel all of him before it’s too late. When he pulls away, we both catch our breathe’s and I can’t help but shiver under the warm air that seems to fall down my face and shoulders. Our noses graze and I don’t want to let go of such an intimate moment. It might be my last. “I love you.” I mutter against his lips, honestly. I can already see myself dying a thousand different ways and every one of them I regret not telling Dimitri how I really feel towards him. He needs to know just in case. His eyes widen at my confirmation.

But what takes me by surprise is how certain he is. “I love you, too, princessa.” He pulls me in for one more passionate kiss before I pry myself from his warm embrace and return back to my people. It may be the last time I feel his touch. The thought alone makes me shudder with fear. Just as I’m starting to breathe again, death seems to loom over my shoulder. Just as I cross over the last treeline, a large body pushes me up against the tree with a loud thud. “Time to start praying princess because the only person on your side right now is God.” Bellamy glares down at me.

(I hope you guys liked it! PLEASE FUCKING COMMENT!)

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musicmixtapes · 6 years ago

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October 10, 2018 Mix

Welcome to this week's installation of music! I loved finding tracks that blended well in terms of sound and meaning, as well as playing around with the pace of the pieces so not to cause monotony inside the eardrums. Enjoy and any suggestions/opinions, send my way

Spotify Playlist (Listen in order!) 1. Walls by The Lumineers - First off, can I just say how excited I am to see new music from a group who never seems to disappoint both my ears and my heart. While listening for the first time I thought, "Wow what a great song, but this sounds kind of familiar" so when I showed it to my mom she said "Of course it sounds familiar, it's a cover of one of Tom Petty's songs" and then it made my heart that much fuller knowing that. Petty is known to have the American writing way of describing through metaphor exactly how love and relationships feel at a moment suspended in time. Using that craftsmanship and words that cut to the bone, The Lumineers created a cover that is so folky and vulnerable sounding, I am sure that Petty would not be disappointed in it. 2. I've Just Seen A Face by The Beatles - Continuing with classics that we may find hidden in corners of our mind, that pop out into existence from time to time, is this wonderful treasure from the Help! album, a beloved album to me and most of the world, I'm sure. I specifically chose this track because the title definitely created a supernatural element in my mind that translated to the feeling that love often gives, which is that it transcends regular human volition. It causes this reaction that cannot be expressed through regular conversation and absolutely needed to be sung about, which to me, is fantastic. Also, the really fast and frantic pace of the song adds to the urgency of the message of seeing someone in passing and instantly feeling a surge of love and the need to be with them at the moment. Falling in love is sometimes done in a slow motion type fall, but in this instance, it seems more immediate. 3. Moon Barks At The Dog by Saintseneca - The lyrical value that this song has is endless, and quite honestly, I could spend a long time doing an in depth analysis of this piece line by line, but for now I won't. The main thing I wanted to go in depth with a little bit is this image of the moon barking at the dog, which is just such a strange and abstract concept to grasp. Of course, the typical thing that someone would refer to is the dog barking at the moon, which is apparently a reference to the famous statement (I had no idea this existed): "It is common for the dog to bark at the moon, but if the moon barks back, the dog becomes famous." As a person who loves strange expressions, this has quickly become one of my favorites. There is also an entire verse that nods to Bruce Springsteen and his music not being the singer's cup of tea, which I disagree, but appreciate the reference anyway. 4. Los Ageless (cover) by The Wombats - I would say I'm sorry about including another version of the same song within two months, but I am not sorry at all because it is my firm belief that different versions of the same song can change it entirely and bring fresh perspective and possibly a new interpretation of meaning. Originally a St. Vincent song from her amazing album Masseducation, it was a more techno rock sound for sure, but this alternative group brought it down with a more acoustic sound fleshed out through it. I don't think the sound was altered so much that it changed the composition entirely, but the male voice for sure gave it a perspective which I was not expecting. To have a male singer express the notion "How could anybody have you and lose you and not lose their minds too?" makes me feel a glimmer of hope to diminish toxic masculinity. 5. More Than Romantic Love by St. Lenox - I don't know exactly what to classify this as and to be fair, I'm not sure that putting this artist in a box would be serving him justice in any way. I felt that I was having a conversation with a fellow new yorker while really really cool, eclectic music was playing in the background. And I loved it. Just all of the references to living in a place in time where you are losing someone because you cannot accept the fact that they only want a platonic love, not romantic. This goes deeper though, and examines how to deal with someone who is going through personal struggle and how to reach them emotionally while being sensitive to their needs. St. Lenox has such a soulful conversational tone that speaks freely about mental health, breakup and the nervousness of the city, also shout out to Washington Square. He's an artist on the rise for sure. 6. This Is The Day by The The - This is a classic example of a song with an upbeat, generally happy sounding tune that literally step by step tells about the woes that a person with depression has to go through. It actually really reminded me of a Smiths song, where the mood totally does not match the words, and this is a trope I absolutely love to see in older music. The image of eyes being red and burning when seeing daylight is so profound because insomnia is one of the main traits of depression, so this feeling of always feeling tired in the daytime is so relatable to hear about in song, which I never have before. The synthesized sound and the acordion that are strung throughout the song really emphasize the dichotomy of the sound and feeling, which also add the layer of how you look on the outside doesn't always match how you are on the inside. 7. Greyhound by Calpurnia - Have you ever made future plans with someone you are in a relationship with, thinking that basically you'll be with them forever, and then suddenly, the time for that plan comes around, except you're not together anymore? Yeah? Me too, and apparently the writer of this song was in this exact position because that's essentially what it's about to put it in base question format. But what really satisfied me concerning this song was not the super relatable storyline aspect, but the sarcastic way of telling something pretty sad, which seemed like an epic breakup and heart break. The whole "hats of to you, for you to go" is so sassy and like a middle finger in the center of a song about still having feelings for an ex-love, which was so fun to see. I hope the subject of this song listened to this song. 8. 15 Minutes by The Strokes - Whenever asked my top favorite bands, they are always at the top of the list. I don't know exactly what resonates with me, but I have been trying to pin point the moodiness and exacerbated feelings for awhile that me and this band seems to always share. I think it's the way that Casablancas always mutters some really sad yet humorous things while hard core guitar comes in and really great drum beats and a bass line are right in line with it. This song is no exception because it totally defies the meaning of telling someone how you feel and being comfortable with oneself about it; if I may be so bold, I think it generally classifies how one with lots of anxiety would go about telling feelings from a real perspective, rather insecurely and with the approach of joking about emotions in a very honest way. 9. Think I'm Still In Love With You by Joyce Manor - A new album by an awesome punk, angsty, emo rock band, news I will never be upset to hear about. Specifically, this artist has so many different qualities going past the initial relatable angst you feel when listening to the many, many, many songs they have about not being able to get over something or feeling like a burden in someone else's life constantly. This song has a clear shift in feeling though because the uncertainty is definitely present in terms of wanting to still be in love with someone because of a past emotion, but now things seem a bit hazier and they aren't so sure if the feelings are still quite there. This song comes about midway through the album, a really great placement on their part because it signifies perhaps a shift in weather during a one sided relationship and perhaps things will change thereafter. 10. So Tied Up by Cold War Kids and Bishop Briggs - Oftentimes I speculate from an outsider's look at a song, and piece together the meaning in relation to both the music and my own life. In this instance, I didn't really have to do so because the artist actually shared exactly what his intentions were with the meaning behind this song. He said, "With every new relationship, you either talk about previous relationship stuff (warts and all), or you just pretend like they never existed. Both are kinda terrible. When you go the full disclosure route it’s probably sincere, maybe you’re even praised for your vulnerability. However, you know it’s probably gonna be used against you later, in a fight, in the worst way." So that's that, and in terms of the gospel vibes I received from this alt rock song, I am very happy and get really pumped walking down the street to it. 11. Days On A Wire by Case - This instantly gives me the image of watching a movie scene where one person is lovingly thinking about another and kind of like sitting on a train looking out the window and considering their feelings, all wrapped up in desire. So now that I have shared my mental scene, let me explain that the really awesome acoustic with horns sounds that are produced in this piece add to the love song vibes that is perceived while listening. Also, the singer's voice is super dreamy and light, at some points seeming like barely more than a whisper of phrases, adding to the whimsical elements involved in the song. Actually, the horns in this song kind of act as a guitar usually would in terms of a melodic riff that occurs between verses and choruses, and I love this difference of instruments, a unique sound. 12. In The Morning I'll Be Better by Tennis - Taking some else's pain away is the hardest thing to do, especially when it's something not curable by care and devotion on it's own, but that's precisely what the artist is intending to say in this piece, which is tragically beautiful. So originally, I perceived this to be about someone's mental anguish and a relationship of sorts attempting to remedy this suffering by acceptance and love. In fact, this is not what the artist meant, but it's still a cool interpretation if I do say so myself. It was revealed that the writer's friend was deemed terminally ill and this was their way of processing the emotions that go into realizing that someone is most likely not going to get better. It is a love song that goes beyond love, but more about the wanting to take someone's pain and endure it so they don't have to. 13. Clueless by The Marías - Yes, yes, yes. My exact thoughts when seeing that this group came out with new music, when listening to the first few bars of the song, and then again when hearing the song two full times through (once for sound and another for words and meaning). The palpable tension heard in the song is so real for so many people when having an argument and to match the tension is the dialoguing throughout that basically says they can't handle the ups and downs going through the relationship anymore. I read that this was inspired by a spat between the vocalist and her significant other, drummer-producer Josh Conway. This revelation was incredible because imagine being in a band and a relationship with someone and having to create music while a major fight is going on. Me neither. 14. Running by Nicotine's Famous Honey - If I could title this anything other than what it is, I would title it "The Art of Just Barely Getting By In Our Fucked Up World" but that would not be as aesthetic as this aptly titled name. In the past, I have publicly argued against certain styles of music, simply because I knew less about music and didn't listen to enough genres on a regular basis. I am still trying to broaden my horizons, especially in terms of R&B and the Hip Hop genre in general, but this under emphasized artist is such a beautiful example of taking one genre that is criticized for being cliched and overdone and taking it to a whole different level. I love this combination of dream-pop, low-fi indie and hip hop and R&B all in one piece, and if you haven't looked into them, definitely check out some of their other music, it is so enticing. 15. Weird Honey by Elvis Depressedly - I'm taking the meaning of this song entirely from the artist because I think it can be interpreted a hundred different ways, depending on who you are thinking about while listening to it and what kind of mental state you are in too. Also we love to see an iconic guitar riff thrown in sporadically to a pretty sad low fi rock song, so that's a pretty cool spot in hell. The meaning though: "I lied before. It’s just an homage to Jesus and Mary Chain, and has no direct meaning. This is a love song so it could be seen as a pet name, or even a symbol of a love that is strange and new but full of sweetness. I find it incredibly strange that so many people have interpreted this song to be so negative, or even a break up song, when it’s the opposite. It’s a song about new love." There you have it. 16. Wings In All Black by Gregory Alan Isakov - If you are looking for an acoustic folk artist who puts emphasis on literally every single word and note of a song, look no further, he is right here, and also in my soul forever. Hailing from his brand new album, is this gem which sinks your heart to your stomach almost immediately upon listening. I believe this to be about having to rise up out of a really dark time in your life, despite not wanting to, the fact that instead of feeding the beast of loss, you have to grow wings of your own and fight against the demons you are experiencing. The image of having "wings in black" is a nod to the struggle between staying down in a bad place and having to come out of it no matter how impossible it seems at the time. I am now noticing a lot of these songs have to do with dealing with loss and mental health day by day, which is very important. 17. Should I by Arum Rae - I have to give entire props and credits for this song to my wonderful mother, who is always good for sending me songs to listen to on a weekly basis. Particularly, I first heard this song on my ferry ride home to New Jersey for the first time since leaving for college this year, so it has earned a really special place in my heart for the year. The piano is so present in this song, which as I have mentioned in previous posts, you don't get to see a lot in newer slow songs, which have become taken over by guitar a lot of the times. Also, Rae's voice questioning her every move and overthinking all her choices for the future is so heart felt and honest that you can't help but empathize with these feelings. The message of the song is maybe taking things one step at a time is the healthiest thing you can do when things get overwhelming in life. Yes. 18. How by Daughter - Ok, so finding out that most of the songs I have chosen for this week's mix surround the topics of loss and grieving past versions of self has become super illuminating in terms of my own maturation process. Staying topic though, this group always sheds light on the painful emotions rather than the pleasurable ones, which sometimes creates a dreary mood, but I like to view it as not being afraid to voice some negativity in order to clear it out of one's mind, which many people are apprehensive to do. This song describes pain as being in slow motion and I can't explain why that is true, but it is. The lines "hold me back, hold me back" in reference to wanting to go get someone that they have lost is so crucial to the theme of the song which is moving on from something while still having regrets in regards to the situation, feeling cheated or let down by someone. 19. Killer by Phoebe Bridgers - This playlist began with this song all by it's lonesome, but all along I knew that the rest of the pieces would be built around this, so I guess this has to be the reason why all the songs are so deeply related with one another. You may be thinking, wow I can't believe this song is about one's own death, this is really morose and ominous. Yes, I totally agree and think that it's really sad and death related, but knowing that it goes deeper than that is really vital to appreciating it's beauty. This is about a relationship being buried away and while doing so, dredging up all the past memories of loving a person. There is no remedy for knowing that two people are too much for one another, but this soulful lament is definitely a start. Also, Bridgers has noted that this song is in reference to Ryan Adams, famed songwriter who had a short fling with her when she was pretty young. 20. WALLS by Kings Of Leon - I did this on purpose, I made the first and last song both titled "walls" for a particular reason. I think they both serve very different purposes and perspectives to the metaphorical walls that are being broken down and simultaneously built up within a relationship. In the covered song that the Lumineers did, we see a shift to a more positive message of hearts having walls and climbing them is a struggle, but that it is worth it for the love we get to experience on the other side of it. In contrast, this very low tempo song (especially for Kings of Leon) is about kind of the exact opposite. This is about a man's ego being utterly shattered, exemplifying walls being torn down, in order to love a woman who just took his heart with her when she left. I don't think it's all sad though; I think this experience of walls coming down around someone to experience true loss of a person is so important for personal growth and strength. Thanks for listening and reading into things really deeply with me, catch you next week! Love & Listening,

Julia

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easyfoodnetwork · 4 years ago

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Artisanal American Cheese Was Finally on Top of the World, and Then the World Fell Apart

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Talking to Joe Berkowitz, author of “American Cheese,” about the United States’ blossoming artisanal cheese scene, and the challenges it faces amid wildfires and a pandemics it faces amid wildfires and a pandemic

What do you envision when you think of American cheese? Probably not Wisconsin’s squeaky curds or an aged Vermont cheddar. Instead, you most likely see those melty, tangy, flat yellow squares, individually wrapped in plastic and paired with Wonder Bread or a fast-food cheese burger. I happen to love them in a grilled cheese, or stuffed in roti, or slowly melting over dollar ramen. However, the world of American cheese — or rather American-made cheese — is far more complex than than Kraft singles.

In his new book, American Cheese: An Indulgent Odyssey Through the Artisan Cheese World, Joe Berkowitz hopes to expand what we view as American cheese. Inspired by a tasting event at Murray’s Cheese in Manhattan, he dedicated himself to learning everything he could about American cheese production over the course of a year. What he found was a vibrant world of innovative and experimental techniques, unencumbered by the strict rules and traditions of European cheesemaking. And he’s not the only one making this exciting discovery: Last year, Rogue River Blue, made by Rogue Creamery in southern Oregon, became the first ever American-made cheese to win World’s Best Cheese at the World Cheese Awards in Italy.

Sadly, many employees of Rogue Creamery have lost their homes in the wildfires that have consumed much of the West Coast, and the creamery itself had to evacuate some of its cows to keep them safe. Artisan cheesemakers have faced an uphill battle against climate change, as well as outdated federal regulations and now the pandemic. Understanding what these makers are trying to protect is of the utmost urgency.

Berkowitz spoke to Eater about why cheese inspires such glee, and why the American farms, techniques, and producers are worth protecting. Hopefully, the next time you’re crafting a cheese plate, you won’t just look to Europe for the good stuff.

This interview has been lightly edited for brevity and clarity.

Eater: You compare the American cheese scene to American wine in the ’70s, when Americans went to France and won a blind taste test. The whole world of American cheese seems so exciting and dynamic. What is it about cheese that attracts a certain type of fun, weird person?

Joe Berkowitz: I don’t know what it is about cheese that does it, but weird, interesting, dynamic people do tend to be attracted to it. I met people from all kinds of walks of life who walked away from those lives to just be full-time cheese people in one way or another. I met a literary agent who abandoned her whole life and then bought a farm in Vermont. There’s a cultural thing around it, like everyone sort of relates to that 30 Rock thing of “working on my night cheese.” It’s like a less annoying bacon, you know? I guess the reason the whole bacon thing is so annoying is because it was kind of grafted onto masculinity. Whereas cheese is just a genderless, quirky enthusiasm that runs through everybody, it seems, except for people who are lactose intolerant, and I have more thoughts about that, and some people just don’t like cheese and that’s fine. But —

“We were just mass producers of cheese rather than producers of any sort of quality.”

Wait, what are your thoughts on lactose intolerance?

Oh, well, a lot of people who think they’re lactose intolerant just aren’t, or they may have a condition but it doesn’t mean, as a blanket statement, I can’t eat cheese. What it means, for the most part, is you can’t eat fresh dairy products, probably not yogurt, definitely not a young mozzarella cheese. But when cheese ages, it sheds a lot of its lactose, and the harder aged cheeses — Parmesan, aged Gouda, things like that — people who identify as lactose intolerant should be fine eating them. This is all something I learned during the course of the book, when I asked a gastroenterologist whether I would be okay eating the amount of cheese I was going to be eating and we just ended up getting into that topic. Because everyone would make some joke about going to the bathroom when I told them what I was working on.

Your book makes the case for the vibrancy of the American artisanal cheese scene, and you have this bit at the end where you go to Europe and everybody is still a little derisive of American cheese. America has had a dairy industry for a really long time and we have all these really amazing, varied landscapes. Given the fact that we’ve had all these resources, why was cheese production sort of stagnant in America for so long?

“American artisanal cheese is indisputably — I think at least — as vibrant, and multifaceted, and delicious as any other in the world.”

What we mainly did is just make industrial cheese to export. We’ve been making cheese in America for a very long time. There was the creation of Monterey Jack, but then, with invention of the Kraft single, we just started making industrialized cheddar, and we would export it, and that was mainly all that we were known for. We were just mass producers of cheese rather than producers of any sort of quality. Over the decades, [European techniques] started coming to America, and cheesemakers didn’t have the regulations that they have overseas. That was a huge contributor to the vibrancy of the American cheese scene. And the amazing thing is that now American artisanal cheese is indisputably — I think, at least — as vibrant, and multifaceted, and delicious as any other in the world.

Maybe it’s changed a little bit since Rogue River Blue won best cheese in the world at the World Cheese Awards last year. But when I was interviewing people, especially people from overseas, I would ask questions like, “When did you realize that we actually did have cheese in America?” And a lot of people either have just discovered it or hadn’t discovered it. And at first I thought it was a snooty thing, but it’s not: It’s just that our cheese isn’t in shops all around the world. Some places carry it, but for the most part it’s still kind of like a weird secret. But hopefully that won’t be the case for much longer.

HarperCollins

American Cheese

Part of the issue being America’s raw milk regulations. What do you think it’ll take to not just change those regulations, but to get Americans to trust raw milk cheese?

I guess raw milk cheese is a lot like socialism, in that it works perfectly in so many other countries around the world, but for Americans it’s not enough to convince them. There would just need to be enough consensus and enough petitioning the FDA to take a closer look, because the studies under which we initially got these 60-day regulations (because of listeria outbreaks in America) — first of all, those studies were only done against cheddar and there are so many different kinds of cheese. But things are so, so different now, and it’s silly that we adhere to these rules pretty much arbitrarily because that was what was decided at the time.

Rogue River Blue winning the WCS award seemed like a huge deal for American cheese, but then COVID-19 hit. What is the pandemic doing to the American cheese scene?

That’s been really sad to watch, because this time last year everyone was really freaked out about the tariffs resulting from the war between Boeing and Aerobus, and what that would mean for their businesses. It ended up not being so bad. So for that to happen and, several months later, to have this pandemic come along and seriously mess up businesses has just been heartbreaking. A lot of cheesemakers rely on the restaurant business to buy from them directly. And that money’s gone, because nobody’s buying to-go cheese courses from a restaurant.

Cheese shops have also been affected a lot. For me personally, seeing Bedford Cheese Shop close [its Brooklyn location] was really sad. I didn’t know until I went into Bedford Cheese Shop that you could have the monger pick out some cheeses for you based on what you tell them, and they will serve it to you on a plate in a beautiful presentation with a bunch of fixings. And then [cheese producers] Jasper Hill had to sell off a herd of their cows. They’re just buying milk from local producers now, and they’re like the number-one independent cheesemaker in the country. So if they’re having to make sacrifices, then there’s got to be a lot of people who are not as established who are hurting too.

America’s cheesemakers also just got to this point of being recognized. The traditions aren’t as established as they are in Italy or France, where people might rally behind the industry as a whole. It seems like it’s in a very precarious spot.

I know that conditions have been tough for dairy farmers for a long time, and it’s gotten even worse in the last two years. I believe a double-digit percentage of Wisconsin’s dairy farms disappeared in the last year. There’s been billions in government money unilaterally allocated to “farmers,” but the line on that has been that money is kind of a bribe so that American farmers don’t get mad about the tariffs that have been going on. But the smaller farmers don’t necessarily benefit from that money.

In your book you have this whole section dealing with the fact that you’re a vegetarian, and coming to the realization that the dairy industry is so inherently tied to the meat industry, such that you can’t consider yourself free of it. Is there a world in which we could have cheese free from meat?

I really thought about going vegan. It’s something I’m interested in, but I just didn’t want to write a book about how awesome cheese is that ends in me becoming vegan.

Well, it would involve a lot of drastic changes. We would have to prioritize cow welfare in a way that I seriously think we’re incapable of right now. So it doesn’t seem feasible to me at this time. I wish it was. I wish that there was space and the will to take these single-serving-use male cows and keep them alive after they’ve impregnated female cows and served their purpose. But right now, as soon as that happens, they’re off to their next purpose, which is beef supply. And because of how much money that generates, I don’t know how there’s ever going to be no demand for beef.

It’s an unfortunate reality, and I was coming to terms with it when I was visiting these farms. I really thought about going vegan. It’s something I’m interested in, but I just didn’t want to write a book about how awesome cheese is that ends in me becoming vegan. So for that reason alone I never seriously considered it, but I felt pushed in that direction by my conscience while I was researching the book.

I know that there’s a saying that happy cows make the best milk, and from what I’ve seen, it’s actually true that the better you treat cows, the better the milk is. And there have been studies showing that when cows are frightened, and uncomfortable, and feel bad all the time, their cortisol shoots up and the milk tastes more bitter. So not only is it unethical, but it tastes bad. But I sort of assume after my experience writing the book that the better farms, and dairies, and creameries use milk from cows that were treated as best as they could be treated.

I know that there’s a saying that happy cows make the best milk, and from what I’ve seen, it’s actually true.

At this point in your diet, is there still room for Kraft Singles?

It’s weird: With grocery-store singles, I think there’s a hierarchy of mediocrity. The top level that you can get to is “This tastes pretty damned good on a cheeseburger” — or a veggie burger, in my case. I think there’s room for shredded mild to make your mac and cheese a bit more creamy, and there’s awesome artisanal cheeses that I want to buy just so that we can eat those off a plate and feel like we’re having a delicacy.

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/30zWNNP https://ift.tt/2GtmhFB

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This interview has been lightly edited for brevity and clarity.

“We were just mass producers of cheese rather than producers of any sort of quality.”

Wait, what are your thoughts on lactose intolerance?

“American artisanal cheese is indisputably — I think at least — as vibrant, and multifaceted, and delicious as any other in the world.”

HarperCollins

American Cheese

Part of the issue being America’s raw milk regulations. What do you think it’ll take to not just change those regulations, but to get Americans to trust raw milk cheese?

Rogue River Blue winning the WCS award seemed like a huge deal for American cheese, but then COVID-19 hit. What is the pandemic doing to the American cheese scene?

I really thought about going vegan. It’s something I’m interested in, but I just didn’t want to write a book about how awesome cheese is that ends in me becoming vegan.

I know that there’s a saying that happy cows make the best milk, and from what I’ve seen, it’s actually true.

At this point in your diet, is there still room for Kraft Singles?

from Eater - All https://ift.tt/30zWNNP via Blogger https://ift.tt/3d1ekU5

#Blogger #cooking #Eater #food #recipes

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norsesuggestions · 7 years ago

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what is your opinion on gustav iii?

Hmmm well

With the disclaimer that this is just a personal opnion build on growing up in sweden, were we often talk about him, not like historian based opnion (although i a mix i opnions from being a gender studies student and undergrad ethnology student. But I have not read much about gustav iii at uni level is what I am trying to say)

Well I would say this:

First of all he was a tyrannt. He shut down the parliement, and took all the power himself (which was illegal. Like, he really did such a state coup, that would today be called a diktator overtake of the state).

Now the parliement of sweden during the 18th were in many ways corrupt, but it was still allowed a proto-demcracy rule, were elected represantives from the 4 stånden cooperated to rule sweden (nobility, priests, borgious, and peasants were the 4 stånden).

Because the parliement actually DID include peasants in sweden, and peasants of a certain status could vote in their represantives into the parliement, shutting it down is a massive step-back for the political influence majority of swedens population, who were peasants.

Gustav III talked about giving “the people the power” but with doing that, he actually takes away power from the people, from my non-historian understanding.

Anyway! I just can’t agree with shutting down the swedish parliement, which is the very parliement we still have in sweden (even if it ofcourse gone through 200 years of reform by now. The parliement of then was not identical etc etc. But it just… feels wrong haha)

Also! Gustav III had alot of ideas for sweden as a nation. But several of those ideas were totally dumb. Sweden was super much in debt when he ruled. But still he insisted on starting wars forexample.

In particular he started a war with russia that went VERY badly, and he is in the historical narrative of sweden, often blamed for sweden losing finland to russia (which happened after his death,so I am not sure how correct that is as a blame game, but he is often blamed for this in sweden. Although I think his son is the one that actually lost finland to russia. I don’t remember).

He ALSO wanted to be treated more like a living God, like the kings of France. Which we often ridicouly him for, both today in sweden and historically.

(Sweden royalty were you know, treated like very powerful people, not like worshipped. He wanted the court to compete to dress him in the morning etc. The population of sweden just laughed and laughed about this silly ideas. Competing about wiping the bottom of the king? Ridicolous!)

Gustav III also wanted sweden in general to became a great power of europe, which in 18th century europe is just… the worst idea. You know importing colonial methods etc etc (which he was not the first swedish monarch to do, but just think about what importing ideas from the other european nations means in the 18th century actually entails).

He also, as many swedens monarchs have, desperatly tried to create a regional swedish fine culture “market”. Like supporting the arts, and trying to make it possible for sweden to compete in the arts with other countries of the world. Thid helped sweden to be able to build up educations of art and academia, not always under his life time, and not all thanks to him. But it helped with injecting some life into the academia.

On the other hand lots of swedens academia has also been BAD, so thats not all positive *pointed look at the eugenics and race biology of which swedens academia was a breeding ground for, ever sense the 18th century*

But well. Gustav III tried to do something with sweden. Something different than what it was, which most of swedens population considered to be total shite.

He did forexample greatly help end the beastility panic i have spoken so much about. He declared that he refused signing papers for death punishment beastility. And lo, and behold, the problem of executing large parts if the healthy male population because of beastility charges, disappear if you do not execute them!

He also refuse to execute people for homosexuality, which I find a very good thing of him.

Now about gustav iii and homosexuality. Gustav iii is often described as some kind of mindless “sissy” tyrannt, because of homophobia. These describtions often, from what I learned in gender studies, actually steam from homophobic slander campaings against him during his life time, and also quickly after his death.

These views, where homosexuality, and just a general non-conformity to our gender norms, is potrayed as “evil” i am HEAVILY against.

Like make fun for Gustav III for all the awful things, and dumb decisions he did in life (like being a tyrannt, claiming that being a dictator was how to be “enlighted monarch”, starting point less wars in a country already in massive debt because of war etc) but I disapprove of making fun of him for his sexuality and gender expressions.

ALSO

With that being said, I also disapprove of all these cishet swedes who will go “he was not gay, that was just slander. He was totalt straight, soooo straight. And he was totally a paragorn of masculinity. And that was totally how all irl in the 18th century considered him”. Like…. He was gay. Pleaaaase. (And i know the difficulty with calling historical people gay. But ALSO. He was gay). And more important, the urgency among historian indicates a homophobic viewpoint among all the modern historians rushing to do so (and this i learned in some feminist articles somewhere haha).

Same with his gender expression. Its says more about the historian rushing to declare his gender expression the paragorn of 18th century manliness, and their modern anxiety about our gender binary, than it tells anything about how his gender expressions was percieved during his life time (I know I just lighty thouched this topics. There is lots intersting things to say about 18th century masculinity among swedish nobility, but I digress)

Anyway. He was gay. He also disliked his wife personally. And she disliked him. And he appeared to have a legit medical issuie with his penis, that prevented him from ejeculating enough sperm during intercourse with the queen. THAT, the inability to create a heir, is therefore not only a case of him being “too gay” (which is often how the homophobic take on him describe him. Like he brought “the end” of swedish rule over finland, by being too gay to create a proper heir….. yes its sound ridicolous, but this is often how gustav iii have been spoken about).

Tldr. I find him intersting. And enjoy joking about him. Gustav iii as a politican though i HEAVILY disaprove of, and I am glad the parliement killed him and reinstated the rule of the parliement.

I just can’t approve of his political actions, but as a historical phenomena he is intersting

(Also WHEN are we getting a proper show about him, which is not tainted by homophobia? LIKE. So sick about swedish historical docs, were all they talk about is about how he had problems to have sex with his wife, and spend all time speculating of thay is what brought the fall of some kind off imagned great epoch. Or something)

PS. All said here is from memory, i did not look anything up. Feel free to correct me if I got something totally wrong. I am no expert in monarchs of sweden and their history. I read ethnology for two terms, and they are not very interested in the history of 1 particular monarch. Much more entire social classes and stuff. And kinda same with the history focus when we have history at gender studies)

Apperntly i had much more opnions about gustav iii than i thought when I first started to type this answer. Ah well haha.

#norseask #1700s sweden was wild #gustav iii

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royal-writer · 7 years ago

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Essie - questionnaire

Just trying to get to know Essie better, ignore me! Will add more later.

1. Does s/he enjoy puzzles?

Not particularly. Even given nothing to do, Essie would probably prefer much anything else.

2. Does s/he enjoy education?

I don’t even know if she had a real education. I’m sure she learned more on her own means. I think she’s pretty neutral on learning. It helps better you but she doesn’t see it as fun but neither does she see it as terrible.

3. What is his/her sexual orientation?

Pansexual Panromantic.

4. Is s/he right-handed, left-handed, or ambidextrous?

Right-handed but ambidextrous casting spells cuz, well, ya almost gotta be..

5. Is s/he fashionable?

Essie don’t give a fuck. She wears what she likes, or wears what is suitable to the weather, or wears shit just to piss people off. So probably not.

6. What is their favorite food(s)?

Okay, here goes: smoked salmon on a bed of greens, herb roast pheasant, venison steak cooked rare to med-rare with roasted potatoes, garlic clam soup, mushroom and leek stew, berry tarts with mint, stuffed trout, pickled duck eggs, sharp cheeses, sunflower seeds, almonds, honeycakes, and she has a preference for drinking spiced ale, orchid wines, and elven made wines that are sweeter and aromatic. I can also see her having a taste for tea, particularly with honey, and sweet or spiced ciders. Maybe some hard spirits in a group atmosphere.

7. Has s/he ever broken a bone?

Nope, not yet at least.

8. Any interests or hobbies?

She enjoys magic, even using it to make kids happy. She enjoys dancing, secretly. Gambling maybe, uh... going on adventures obviously. Will add more if I think of it; she’s lived a life of survival so she probably doesn’t hide many hobbies.

9. Does s/he consider themself organized?

lmao no and she knows that. Ms. Throw-It-All-In-The-Bag.

10. How does s/he handle feeling nauseous?

No food, only liquids. Try laying down. If it doesn’t stop after a while, try walking around slowly in hopes to agitate self enough to just hurl.

11. What is his/her full name?

Essätha Medüza - the last name is a kick on Medusa from mythology.

12. Introvert or extrovert?

She’s a wanna-be-extro. Doesn’t trust others well, but has a desire to fit in and hang with others. At the moment she’s honestly more intro by nature though.

13. Can s/he cook?

Probably okay. Still prone to burning food from time to time lol whoops. But for the most part it’ll be edible, probably just not super tasty.

14. Did s/he have any friends growing up?

Yes! I plan on doing art for some of ‘em eventually.

15. How does s/he react to storms? Being caught in the storm?

Essie likes a good rainfall. Probably doesn’t mind being caught in them, even ‘bad’ storms, so long as it isn’t snow. Too damn cold.

16. Does s/he collect anything?

Nope. Maybe scars. //bricked// Nah because of her lifestyle, she’s not one to gather trinkets or stuff. Necessities and useful stuff only really.

17. Is s/he religious?

lol nope. Doesn’t care for gods or religion or any of that junk.

18. What inspires him/her?

I don’t know... uh, music for dancing. Sunsets and sunrises. The idea that life can get better. Transformation/growing.

19. Do they have a role model?

Maybe her mom, despite not knowing her. Eventually I’m sure she’ll see some of her fellow team members in this way.

20. What’s their favorite joke?

Probably secretly snake puns. Examples: “let me give you a hiss”, “viper that smirk off your face”, “I’ll snake some puns in there”, etc.

21. How would your character describe his/her friends? Lover? Parents?

dnd group companions to be determined.

Opal: (kind stranger) Orange furry cat woman. Seems to follow her own moral code of good which is pure and generous. Pretty kind.

Kraw: (teacher) Bird man of tans, reds, and dark browns/blacks. Grumpy but has a good heart. May try eating you if you’re an animal or can turn into an animal but otherwise nice. Drinker but a sad drinker when he does.

Solace: (ally/best friend) Outgoing, bubbly, considerate reddish-pink tiefling with obsidian eyes and violet blue-toned hair. She’s a rebel but is caring despite her dicey past. Essie considers her a better person than herself.

Phoenix: (aquitaine) Lady crazypants. Charcoal skin with scar-like markings that glow like lava flow when she’s using her powers. Fiery colored eyes and hair. Very much gives a masculine vibe. Will kill you with no regrets. Something’s wrong with her but she is willing to work with others for her own gain which is relatable.

Bretella: (frienemy) Considered a trustworthy ally. Green skinned redhead with golden eyes. Tends to weary flashy or seductive clothing. Will bail you out of a situation but patronize you later. High self-esteem.

Miz'ri: (enemy) A lost friend. Light grey skin, white hair, pale lilac eyes. Essie wishes that the millions of things that went wrong between them hadn’t. She hopes there’s still godo to be found in Miz’ri. A sad, broken soul.

Hepsiba: (mother) Truly the most beautiful person in existence. Warm, loving, considerate, gentle, sweet, gorgeous. Hepsiba is gone now, but her memory is still a vibrant light of warmth. Essie probably looks to the stars and likes to think her mom is up there, staring down at her. Mom was an auburn-skinned beauty with brown eyes.

Tyfiell: (father) Never met him. Mom spoke well of him, but Essie doesn’t think well of someone who ditched her mom. Said to be a dark-skinned Yuan-Ti Pureblood with dark eyes and a wicked smile. Rogue class.

22. How would s/he describe themself?

LOL nothing good unfortunately... She thinks she’s physically ugly due to how she was treated by others when she was young. She doesn’t find redeemable qualities in herself too much, either. Resident snake lady would probably say “I don’t got time for this” if asked. “I’m a scaly Yuan-Ti woman, hi.”

23. What is his/her birthday? Star sign? Do they fit it?

April 12, which would make their zodiac the Aries. It sounds semi fitting, as they’re labeled as ‘courageous, confident, short-tempered, and impulsive’ but like anything else, there’s some manners that aren’t perfectly fitting (optimistic, aggressive, etc).

24. How good is s/he at mending clothes?

She doesn’t know the Mending ability lol! Kidding aside, I don’t believe it’s her hobby or anything. I mean, if you look at some of her clothes, they’ve got tears and threads pulled free. Probably not.

25. How does s/he react to someone spilling something on them?

Depends on the atmosphere? 90% of the time she’ll realize it’s an accident, jump when it happens, and then request the server or whomever fetch something to help clean up the mess- not impolitely just with some urgency in her tone. She’d probably only have a .1% chance going off an the server because hey, shit happens, but if she’s in a bad mood already she may snap at anyone around she’s unhappy with at the moment.

26. How does s/he react to being approached by law enforcement?

‘Oh shit time to run they’re probably after me’ is her thought processing.

27. Do they paint/draw?

Nah, not really her cup of tea.

28. Does s/he prefer any musical instruments?

Essie can’t play, but she probably enjoys winds and strings for daily life, but the occasionally ‘sick beat’ of a big band of instruments to dance to would be A+.

29. If they had a tumblr, what would their account name be?

venomspikedwine

30. How good are they at keeping an eye on their money? Do they also splurge frequently?

Admittedly, Essatha enjoys hoarding funds. As someone who grew up with little, she’s a bit of a hoarder and is very unlikely to misplace even a copper piece. If she splurges, she’s likely drunk or enjoying a ‘luxury’ she didn’t have much as a child (ex: tarts), or items useful for survival, combat, friends, etc.

31. 3-5 random pieces of trivia about them that doesn’t come up often?

Essie loves music; especially pieces with a soft melody. She grew a garden once. Lastly she has had no real schooling; she’s mostly self-taught or listened in on others or hired other’s to teach her. This might be one of the reasons why she’s a bit of a slow reader.

32. Does s/he prefer dawn or dusk?

She feels more ‘lively’ during dawn but enjoys dusk for the twilight glow, the stars, etc. So both with maybe a slight preference for dusk.

33. Have them describe themself in 3 words!

(no, Essie, you can’t use ‘snake lady’ for 2 words, use adjectives).

confident, misunderstood, bull-headed

34. How would s/he react to someone confessing they have a crush on them?

All the blushing. So much blushing. Open-mouthed like ‘uhh??’ If she doesn’t return the feelings, she’ll probably be really embarrassed. Stuttering as she tries the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’. Unless it’s not someone she’s close with, in which case, she’d use their ‘crush’ to her advantage. If it’s someone she has a crush on as well, she’ll blush and look away. Be shy. You’d probably need to convince her to speak or look at you again cuz she’d be like ‘?! they like me? me???’

35. What is his/her favorite scent?

Desserts, rain, the outdoors (especially earthy scents).

36. If they had a Pokemon team, what PKMN would they have?

With ‘starter’: Serperior, Weavile, Houndoom, Phantump, Dragalge, Togetic.

Without ‘starter’: same team, replace Serperior with Kangaskhan.

37. Can s/he sing? act?

She can’t sing well but that won’t stop her when she has the urge. Obviously she can act, or she wouldn’t play people so well lol.

38. Can s/he swim?

Yep!

39. Does s/he drink? Do drugs? Smoke?

Yes she drinks, no she doesn’t do drugs (unless medicines in the d&d count? I don’t know what sort of drugs they have), no she doesn’t smoke.

40. Are they good with children?

Yeah actually! She wants kids to have a happy youth, unlike what she had, so she’s willing to do things to entertain and help kiddos. If a kid cons her, she’d try to even hunt them down purely to see if there’s any way she could help them.

41. What sort of atmosphere does s/he give off?

Depends. Either antisocial or exceptional flirt depending on what’s going on to the average person.

42. Do they believe in any form of afterlife?

Yeah, she thinks there’s an afterlife. What it entails, she doesn’t dare imagine.

43. What’s the first thing s/he does in the morning after waking?

Roll outta bed/sleeping bag and get dressed, think about getting something to drink asap.

44. Who would be his/her voice actor/ress?

Morrigan from Dragon Age, voiced by Claudia Black. Dragon Age: Inquisition seems the best bet, as Morrigan’s voice seems more controlled and less bubbly than Origins. Perhaps Origins though when she’s interacting with Sul?

45. How would you describe his/her aesthetic?

Clothing wise: revealing/sexy. Personal taste: nature, stars, anything that’s just lulling, tranquil, natural to the world...

46. How would s/he react to supernatural/paranormal phenomenons?

Willing to fight a ghost. Probably be spooked at first, but after the first encounter with these sort of creations, she’d probably be okay. Just that first time... “woah let’s punch this ghost” half damage “holy shit you can punch a ghost? Cool. Also magic time becuz wow that didn’t do shit”.

47. How would s/he confess their love to others?

Judging by conversations with Heather, she’d be hecka frustrated. What are feelings. I don’t know what this is. Why do I care about you so much please explain this to me? And once she figures out that it’s love she’s feeling... that explains the confusion, the butterflies in her stomach, the awkward shyness even she couldn’t explain when she reacted to them being nice but... I must now blush... and hide my face...

48. How do they react to being bored?

Time to unbored herself by doing something. Hunting, pestering others, flirting, gambling, anything but sitting there jiggin her leg if she can help it. Restlessness doesn’t fit her.

49. Have they ever been stung by a bee?

Yush.

50. If they had to pick a Disney Princess/Prince, which do they like? Which do they feel most alike? Which do they aspire to be most like?

Essie would probably really like Tiana for her go-getter attitude. She probably feels most like Rapunzel, locked away from the world and badly treated by her ‘caretaker(s)’ (the city she grew up in) but now she’s free and adventuring and seeking her own trues and fulfilling her curiosities. Who she’d probably most aspire to be I guess would be Moana (not qualified as a Disney princess yet, but admirable all the same. Moana went on an adventure, conquered it, found herself, defeated the big bad, etc) or Merida (they share like-characteristics, and Merida didn’t need a man to complete her, though family/friends it reveals are important).

21 Q’s for d&d Chars and OCS, taken from here

1. What influenced or inspired the creation of this character?

First d&d campaign. Kept getting stuck between a handful of races. Finally got down to 4, then 3, then 2. Had to wait and see if Ammy would approve Yuan-Ti Purebloods. Got approved. Suddenly whAM - inspiration. Didn’t want a flat typical ‘evil’ Yuan-Ti. Her background was helpfully inspired by the one I picked- Urchin. I just continued adding tragedy because I’m an asshole.

2. What is your character’s relationship with their family? Family is a word which here refers to biological relatives, close companions, and/or the individual(s) who raised them.

Essie’s only known family was her mother. She was very close with her, sadly, her mom passed when she was young, probably 3-4ish. She never knew her dad. Her relationship with chosen family is positive. Details on ‘chosen’ family will be thought up further later, as I’m confident she’ll come to consider her traveling companions like family.

3. Who is the closest person to them?

Her mum (deceased), and eventually probably Sul and the group. I feel she’ll particularly enjoy Cackle and Adela but we’ll see~

4. What were the conditions surrounding their formative years?

Harsh livin of survival all her life yo. Fighting for food, stealing to get by, learning how to use and deceive people to get things she needed and then eventually, things she wanted.

5. What creature would they like to have as a pet?

Snakes and doggos.

6. Do they have any bad habits?

Does stealing count? Lmao uh, other than that, maybe gambling a bit..

7. Is there anyone they’d die for? Kill for?

Old friends, later their dnd group obviously.

8. Who was their first love?

I’m gonna be cheesy here and say Sulhadur. Mostly because she never really knew what love was anymore until him. Whoops feels-

9. How would this character react to someone confessing their love for them?

^ See up there, I know I answered a question like this already.

10. How old is this character?

Twenty.

11. Are they normally peaceful or aggressive?

Peaceful probably- just leave her be and let her do what she gonna do.

12. How does this character handle stress?

Probably get frustrated. Pull on hair, get loud, vent and rant.

13. Does your character consider themselves lucky?

Hahahahaah- no.

14. What is their favorite holiday?

I... Honestly don’t know? If we’re going by holidays present now, probably Halloween or smth low-key based around family. As for d&d holidays, of those I found, she’d probably prefer Trolltide (a variation on Halloween), and either Feast of the Moon or Feast of the Ancestors.

15. What is the best gift they could receive?

Mom’s love. //bricked// Mom’s ring??? That seems about all at the moment...

16. If they could instantly kill one person in the world without consequence, who would it be?

Probably everyone in their childhood city whoops- or at least someone there that caused her tremendous pain.

17. If they were in possession of a trio of wishes, what would their three wishes be?

Mom to come back to life (probably rejected), happiness (rejected), money (rejected), new clothes, new items to help with spells, idk something to help the dnd group as a whole then.

18. What is their favorite spell or method of attack?

Unknown at the moment. I’ll probably say her Magic Missiles and Acid Splash.

19. What are their guilty pleasures?

Give her desserts!

20. What is something this character is or could be addicted to?

Happiness? Desserts. Yes happiness and desserts sounds about right.

21. Have you actually played this character yet?

Just started! :D

25 Q’s for your d&d Chars and OCs, taken from here

1. What is this character’s alignment?

Chaotic Neutral

2. What is a notable quote from this character? Alternatively, what is their favorite quote?

No notable quotes yet, just started playing her. Favorite quote would probably be something like ‘only the strong survive’ or ‘a sheep in wolves clothing’.

3. Summarize your character’s backstory with no more than three sentences.

Small innocent snake-child is born to a snake-lady whom has no spouse. She’s raised by her loving mother until she passes away of illness. The remainder of her life has been an uphill battle for survival and equality.

4. Describe your character using a song title.

Snake Charmer. //bricked// oR What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger.

5. Are there any story arcs you would like this character to explore?

ALL

6. What would your character like (or have liked) to do with their life?

They’d like to find happiness. They’d have liked to have a better childhood filled with joy and happiness too, and a healthy mom, and to better herself.

7. Who is your character’s best friend?

Solace technically from her old group. We’ll see what happens in her new group!

8. Who is your character’s worst enemy?

Miz’ri from her old group thus far~

9. Who has, for better or worse, had the most impact on your character’s life?

Thus far, her mother and the people of her childhood city.

10. What is the most badass thing this character has done?

Nothing really yet? Other than survive. Maybe persuaded Lord Hardon- I mean Amon- to chill his nuts.

11. What crime is this character most likely to be convicted of?

Thievery obviously lmao. And being too cute.

12. What meme would you use to describe the character?

Hello Darkness My Old Friend, But That’s None Of My Business, Fuck That Shit I’m Out.

13. Does this character swear frequently?

Probs!

14.What is this character’s relationship with religion or the church?

Fuck that shit I’m out, no thanks!

15. Would this character ever make a deal with a devil or dark spirit?

Under the right circumstances, maybe. But doubtful cuz she ain’t that stupid. Usually. Probably. Unless dire circumstances.

16. Emotion or Logic?

Logic. What are emotion. Plz explain.

17. Soup or Salad?

Soup and stews!

18. What is the character’s favorite Pokémon?

Phantump :’I

19. What Pokémon Go team would they be on?

Team Valor.

20. Is your character currently in love? Is there anyone in love with your character?

No-yes. Eventually.

21. Do you ship your character with any other characters? (This includes characters from other universes and canons)

Sul and her are meant to be okay.....

22. How would this character seduce a lover?

OH GOD well- apparently with flirty, charm, good looks, lots of hip swaying, smooth talking, etc (and her high Persuasion stat) works in her favor. Sul it- it would just come naturally. Essie’s shy with him it’s precious. It’s because she loves him tho.

23. If your character could play any part in a drama, stage production, or musical, what part would they play?

Behind the scenes, probably something like a makeup artist. In a piece, she’d probably be an actress, and a more low-key role because plz don’t spotlight me the arts aren’t my thing...

24. What is your character’s favorite album?

WIP WIP WIP ?? No albums in d&d realm so??? questionable.

25. What does this character mean to you?

I love her she’s my new daughter duh.

#Essie rw

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sinceileftyoublog · 5 years ago

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Eye Flys Interview: Tin Foil Hats For Good

Photo by Megan Elyse Lloyd

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Eye Flys have given us a taste of what they can do. The debut release from a group made up of members of grindcore beasts Full Of Hell, Backslider, and Triac, Context is 6 songs of pummeling, blistering noise rock lasting only 13 minutes. Yet, each song brings something specific to the table both in terms of theme and style. From the socially conscious blasts of energy (“Stems”, “Weaponize”, “Fuckface”) to the nihilistic dirges ( “Dosed”, “Crushing of the Human Spirit”) to the fantastical (“The Triumph of Hagbard Celine”), Eye Flys go in many different directions, all tied together by the lyrical urgency and desperate barking of lead singer and guitarist Jake Smith.

Earlier this week, Smith answered some questions about Context, which is out next Friday via Thrill Jockey. Read below as he talks about the inspiration behind the record, making the record, and generally playing different roles in different bands.

Since I Left You: What, if anything specific, was Eye Flys trying to communicate to the general public with the formation of this group and Context?

Jake Smith: I don’t know that we had anything specific to communicate when we got started, outside of wanting to do something different and explore influences we hadn’t previously been able to in other projects. Context was more or less an attempt to musically break new ground for all of us, and lyrically, there wasn’t too much focus on how it would be received. I wrote the lyrics to these songs, and before this band, I hadn’t been tasked with that since I was a teenager playin’ in punk bands. So I think the last serious lyrics I wrote for a band were about George Bush and Dick Cheney, haha.

SILY: What does Eye Flys allow you to do artistically that you don't necessarily accomplish with Backslider?

JS: It’s so much different in a lot of ways. In Backslider, the guitarist and main songwriter is my close friend Logan [Neubauer] who is a true musical visionary. And though I place an equal amount of importance in both projects, my role in Backslider is very much about realizing the greater vision he has for it while bringing another perspective to his ideas and that works well for us. With Eye Flys, I feel like I'm on a playground, kind of, especially as we get ready to hit the studio at the end of the month to record the follow up to Context. I consider myself a guitarist first, though I've most actively been playing bass the last handful of years in most of my heavy projects. [Patrick Forrest] (our drummer, and formerly of Backslider) and I often bring riff ideas to each other and then jam them out and make big changes or write entire parts on the spot, which is really fun and exhilarating and often leads to a wave of inspiration that we can hammer out and feel good about, sometimes just in an evening. It's cool to be playing a style where you're not just learning a riff and then playing it a million times to get it down because it's difficult to play. Instead, it's like, "Here's this 3 chord riff--let's figure something to go with this other rhythm we dig to follow it up." The difference in process helps makes both bands continually interesting, and nothing blends together. I've had that problem in the past in other projects. Also, there's the lyrical aspect ,as I mentioned earlier. I don't write any lyrics in Backslider, obviously, so this gives me the opportunity to yell about things I care about or think are interesting, which is definitely artistically exciting.

SILY: "Stems" and "Weaponize" call out the egocentric and the bullshit artists--in the second person. Do you find listeners come to your projects with too many pretentious pre-conceived notions?

JS: "Stems" is mostly in response to people being so sure of things that aren't so easily understandable or without thinking critically before settling into a belief. My tendency towards agnosticism causes me to get a little worked up about that sometimes. "Weaponize", though, is certainly a call-out to bullshit artists. Some people really like to cover up their own shortcomings and damaging behavior by slinging shit at others, regardless of how much information they have or where they get it. As someone who has somewhat removed myself from the heavier social aspects of the East Coast punk world, I watch some of this stuff happen over and over again from "afar," and it can be upsetting, and that's basically what I'm addressing in that song. Of course, it also should be said that a lot of people are doing wonderful things to lift each other up and hold each other to better standards in more inclusive ways, and that stuff is super important to the survival of the greater underground music community.

To address the second part of the question, most of the music we all like and are involved in is niche. So people have really strong feeling about what these things should and shouldn't be. I can understand these feelings and share them in ways, but by the nature of this music’s natural exclusivity (through lack of "accessibility" or whatever), you're always going to encounter the pretentious folks who think your shit is "False" because it doesn't fit some definition or their version of it...that stuff is fine though. It doesn't bother me a whole lot these days. I'm kind of looking forward to some shit talk on the forthcoming EF material because we don't fit some sort of expectation or mold, haha.

SILY: The album's most energetic track, "Dosed", is followed by one of the sludgier entries, "Crushing of the Human Spirit". How did you decide upon the album's sequencing?

JS: Ya know, I think about sequencing a lot when putting together a record and also when listening to one...I'd like to think most people do. However, for this, I feel like it was easier than in most situations. I think we basically had 2 different track list ideas that had been put forth by members of the band, talked about it, and quickly agreed on one. We knew which ones were going to open and close the album before we even recorded, and it kind of seemed obvious from there. I suspect it may be a little trickier for the follow-up LP, though.

SILY: What about Illuminatus! made you want to draw inspiration from it for "The Triumph of Hagbard Celine"?

JS: I've always cited it as one of my favorite books, and Robert Anton Wilson will always mean a lot to me. He coined the term "Maybe Logic", and it will always ring true with me and the way I look at the world. The story (and all of his writing) is rich with synchronicity that seems to manifest itself out of the pages and into my life. Linear time isn't something I can subscribe to, and the way his writing fucks around with time jumping is fun for me. I always have a lot of fun with conspiracy theory stuff, and it's nice to have a writer who identifies as an Anarchist (as is one of the main characters, Hagbard Celine) and utilizes those themes in his writing...because boy howdy am I sick of these goddamn conservative pricks taking over all the tin foil hat algorithms and somehow trying to align the shit with white supremacy and incel garbage. I'm certainly not done referencing RAW's work in my lyrics. FNORD!

SILY: Was there a specific event that caused you to write the anti-toxic-masculinity anthem "Fuckface"? Or was it a feeling that had long been brewing that finally boiled over? Where in your daily life do you tend to experience toxic masculinity the most?

JS: You could say that there was an event that caused me to write it, which is not something I feel okay about putting on blast, but we'll say this man is a habitual line stepper. You could also say that it was a brewing feeling that finally boiled over. These stories aren't anything new, and I think it's important for men to be talking about this stuff. The patriarchy is so deeply embedded in our culture; men often feel owed access to women's bodies and attention for simply existing adjacent to them. This attitude and sense of entitlement is passed down over and over again through generations, and I feel like it's our job to keep these conversations moving forward and break the cycle of abuse and marginalization. This will also be a continuing theme in my lyrics, as I can't really narrow down the times and places I tend to experience these things. It's a constant in how most of society seems to carry itself.

Songs like this are good for me as well when it comes to channeling the toxic parts of my own masculinity. I have a big reactionary testosterone-y man within me that wants to go beat people up for this stuff, and it's nice to have an outlet to channel those things through without having to act like a caveman (or get my ass kicked).

SILY: What's the inspiration behind the album title? The album art? The band name?

JS: I wanted to call the album "Context" early on in the process of making it. To me, I felt like it makes sense with some of the the lyrical themes and how they relate to perception, but also with the idea that this group of musicians is putting our efforts into a different musical context than we are used to.

The art was done by this fella Justin Stubbs. [Guitarist] Spencer [Hazard] brought him into the fold, as he's done work for Full of Hell in the past. We gave him some ideas of what we were going for aesthetically, and he really delivered. I think the art resonates with the title and some of the themes quite well. People can be so sure of things that the context of their life becomes a corner that they’re stuck in facing the goddamn wall. It sort of came together by chance, but I think it's relevant, and we're happy about it. And the band name we stole from the Melvins. The first song from their first full length Gluey Porch Treatments is called Eye Flys; we're all obviously big fans.

SILY: How have you adapted these songs to the stage?

JS: We play ‘em loud and mean and noisy!

#eye flys #thrill jockey #spencer hazard #jake smith #patrick forrest #kevin bernsten #interviews

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anna-2807 · 6 years ago

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“Narcissist” is a big buzz word right now not only in the field of psychology, but across our entire culture. When you think of the word, I bet you immediately get a mental image of someone. It might be a politician, or a celebrity, or a professional athlete or coach. I find most of us have a very specific, very narrow, idea of what narcissism is and looks like – almost a caricature of it. Narcissism encompasses much more than just the overt, raging, grandiose, “I’m so wonderful” bully we may first imagine.

Narcissism is on a scale

The trait of narcissism falls across a spectrum. Imagine a scale of 0-10. Right in the middle of the scale, between 4-6, is where you’d find a healthy level of narcissism. Yes, there is a healthy level – someone who is equally aware of self and others.

The two ends of the spectrum are anything but healthy. At one end you have the 0’s and 1’s, those with no traits of narcissism, who have very low self-esteem, and no voice to speak up for themselves. Have you read The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein? The tree is a great example of a 0. To give and give to your own detriment is a toxic, unhealthy way to live. If the tree really loved the boy, he would have given him a few apples and then told him to plant the seeds and grow his own apples. Instead the tree created the perfect climate to breed a narcissist!

On the opposite end of the spectrum, you find the toxic, malignant personalities with oversized egos and a complete disregard for others’ feelings. Many would put a Donald Trump or Steve Jobs on this extreme end of the narcissism scale. And while that may be true, they certainly aren’t the only ones. Chances are each of us loves someone – either a spouse, parent, sibling or child – who falls beyond a healthy level of narcissism and is a “narcissist”. Here’s what to look for:

Characteristics of a Narcissist

Their generosity is conditional. Some say narcissists are selfish or stingy but that’s not always true. They can also be extremely generous with their time and money… when it’s convenient or makes them feel good. There is an underlying “WIIFM” (‘What’s in it for me?’) factor. Without the WIIFM, they have little or no interest. For example, consider the dad who makes a big production of taking his son to a football game, but will turn down the same son 99 out of 100 times when he asks to throw the football in the backyard because he can’t be bothered or isn’t interested.

They have an excessive need of admiration but are slow to hand out compliments. They want to be recognized and stroked whenever they do good but overlook, discount, or criticize the efforts of others – unless by noticing they will receive more admiration.

Their ‘Give vs Get’ is out of balance. They do not mind asking for favors, but they don’t grant them often. Or, if they do it’s done with complaining. I tell clients a narcissist won’t mind asking you for a kidney, but they’ll be put out if you interrupt their tv time to ask them to run to the grocery store.

When they tell stories, they’re always the hero or the victim, never the offender. They were always better than everyone else at X, worked harder than everyone at Y, or were taken advantage of by Z. They had to earn everything they’ve received in life while others had an easier road. Narcissists can be history revisionists. They have very selective memory and may say or do something outrageous and then not remember it or deny it.

They are easily angered and defensive. When you give them feedback, even if you do it well, the narcissist will respond as if attacked. And then they will attack back. As a result, they can end up isolated and their relationships starved for intimacy as loved ones may withdraw and stuff emotions to avoid potential conflict. Many narcissists rage, but not always.

They lack empathy, especially for those they love. You make them look good if you look good. If you are struggling with achievement of any kind, you make them look bad. I see this most often with narcissistic parents. Mothers who don’t like their daughters to leave the house unless they are perfectly dressed. They also don’t like their kids to be overweight or under-function in school. For dads, I see it with sports or other perceived masculine endeavors. A narcissistic parent gets angry or critical (“You are never going to amount to anything if…”) or contemptuous (“That’s exactly what I would expect of you.”) and provides little emotional comfort or support.

They are controlling. Narcissists have very specific ideas about exactly how and why things should be done and are upset when they aren’t. Sometimes it’s about the smallest of things – like how clothes should be folded – but they will feel justified in their opinion and even angry if you don’t comply.

They are often emotionally turbulent. They have big ups and downs. They do not easily self-soothe or regulate and want you to help them, often attacking you to feel better about themselves.

They have a time urgency issue. They do not like to run late, and they can’t stand to be made to wait. They can have an “I’m going to teach them a lesson” attitude. If the narcissist is the one running late, the same rules do not apply.

They can be physically abusive. It’s also important to remember emotional abuse often eventually translates to physical abuse if it goes unchecked.

They play by different rules. It’s okay if they misplace keys or leave their wallet in the car but they will label you as being as irresponsible for the same. They’ll make big decisions like quitting a job or buying a car and announce it after the fact but would be offended if you did the same.

They have false empathy. They can display what looks like empathy for a little while, especially if it makes them look good. But it usually doesn’t last long, especially once it interferes with what they want or need.

They cannot connect emotionally. But they think they do. They are often surprised to learn you are unhappy or feel disconnected from them. To them, connection looks like compliance and agreement.

They will look at this list and not see themselves. Don’t expect your loved one to read this list and feel convicted of their narcissistic ways. A narcissist has a distorted sense of self and will see others on this list, but not themselves.

If you’ve read through this list and recognize many of these traits in your loved one, chances are they are higher on the narcissism scale. While a narcissist can be very attractive and charming, being in relationship with one can bring many challenges. If you are in a relationship with one, you may have lots of questions like “Can a narcissist change?” or “How do I get along with a narcissist?” or “When is it time to leave?”. In the coming weeks I’m going to answer those questions and show you how not only to survive, but to thrive when dealing with a narcissist. If you are currently dealing with this situation in your life and would like customized support, please call us.

#narcissist #Couples Counseling #Marriage Counseling #Online Relationship Counseling #Online Relationship Coaching #Couples Coaching #Marriage Coaching Online #Relationship Intensives #Relationship Counseling for One #Marriage Counseling for One #Couples Counseling for One #3 Day Breaking Free Workshop #Trauma Workshop #Discernment Counseling #Premarital Counseling #The Marriage Place

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jimmys-tangerine · 8 years ago

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IV. Ne pleur pas

22 February 1972, Melbourne, Australia

It didn’t take long for Billy to fall in love with Caroline. Less than twelve hours, in fact. And it didn’t make much effort. When the concert ended, he had seen her slowly drink herself into a strange, sexual obscurity. Maybe it was her laughing—she would shake with her whole body then ebb inward to return to her catlike nature, her eyes turning down and her lips curving cleverly. Maybe it was the way she spoke—with unfounded authority and a foreign lilt. She wasn’t even a coquette or a temptress, she just was an inevitable object of affection.

And Billy wasn’t alone.

Men pulled on her skirt and tried to make her laugh, or tried to make her smile—at least. They wanted to see the crooked overlap of her bottom two teeth and hear the cascading cackle that entered your body via the ear and somehow wound up tickling your toes. And the man and the boy and the journalist within Billy fought when Caroline slipped down onto the couch beside the one man who she might actually love back.

He was the one who tucked the champagne pink flower behind her pointed ear, dragging his fingers through the unruly tufts of orange hair that fell from her braid. And he was also one of the four men in the world Billy would most like to interview.

Jimmy Page wore a pinstripe blazer with patches of beige suede on the lapels. Beneath his coat he wore a light blue button-up tucked into denim bell-bottoms. He was quite the fashionable man, Billy noted alongside the comment in his notebook that read: “Page’s signature beard shaven by early morning of 21 February.”

Caroline was reading a book with her head on Jimmy’s shoulder as John Bonham called her name, asking for a treat. Billy had taken careful observations of her role in the band; she wasn’t entirely a groupie, she seemed more vital to the band’s functions than providing sexual relief. Billy knew there was an ulterior motive to her stay, aside from Jimmy’s quite obvious infatuation with her.

Billy had sworn he would never publicly shed light on the band’s myriad vices and sinful behavior. He only watched from afar as Caroline fashioned a straight line of blow between the breasts of a popular groupie Billy couldn’t remember the name of.

Why is she the one who’s always called over for cocaine? Billy asked himself.

“You’re only here because of her, you know,” a voice announced from behind Billy, ripping him out of his scrutiny. Jimmy Page, dark and brooding as ever, stood just inches from him with a glass of brandy in his pale, ringed hand.

“I know,” Billy assured. He swallowed loudly—sure his eyes were wide like saucers. He had questions to ask—questions upon questions upon questions, but he couldn’t find the words within him to ask. The only thing that could leave his mouth were clipped grunts of simple communication.

“But if you keep watching her so closely, she’ll get rid of you,” Jimmy added as he took a sip from his glass. Billy admired how Jimmy could handle his liquor so proficiently; Billy couldn’t down a sip of that stuff without a wince.

“What do you mean?”

“Ever been to a big museum? Where they house a lot of important art—think the Louvre, or the Tate, or the MET?”

Billy hesitated, messily remembering his tour of the Louvre when he visited France as a boy. “Sure.”

“And when you’re at these places there are necessary sightings. You know, you have to see the Mona Lisa, Venus de Milo, The Oxbow, The Death of Socrates, The Water Lily Pond, Weeping Woman, et cetera… Yeah?”

“Sure.”

“But these big pieces… If you sit there staring like a half-wit and leaning in too close to the big pieces, one of the guards will give you a gentle shove backward or tell you to get a move on?”

“Alright.”

“Well, with her,” Jimmy tilted the rim of his glass toward Caroline as she burrowed her head into a pillow while she laughed at something Bonzo had said. “It’s the same principle. You sit their staring with a slack jaw and moon-eyes, fervently scribbling notes and sketches, silent and uncanny… Someone’s going to tell you to get a move on. It might be me, it might be Mister Peter Grant; it will most likely be her, actually.”

“I—”

“You don’t need to excuse yourself or apologize. I get staring at her—if anyone does, it’s me,” Jimmy followed with a light chuckle. “But I’m just letting you know. If you want to stick around, don’t be so obvious.”

Billy nodded quickly, several tufts of his bangs dancing along with the swift shake.

“And Caroline told me you asked her something,” Jimmy looked downward, summoning a memory. “Ah, that you asked, ‘From where do you believe Led Zeppelin derives their greatest source of inspiration?’”

“I was interested in her answer, as I imagined from a groupie’s point of view it would be—”

“She’s not going to give you the right answer because she’s humble,” Jimmy laughed. He leaned in several inches closer to Billy, though his eyes were locked upon Caroline. “I guess I could give you the answer most would give—the standard. Women, love, sex, homesickness, childhood, death, travel, drugs, power, money… The works. But perhaps seeing it yourself would make more sense…” Jimmy urged. His temple nodded in the direction of Caroline; Billy pulled his eyes from the formidable green glance beneath Jimmy’s unkempt bangs.

Caroline stood on a velvet ottoman, with one leg swinging like a pendulum as she tried to balance herself. She was bent at odd angles, yet it was painfully graceful. She looked like a constellation.

“Jimmy, let’s pick out this evening’s attire!” She exclaimed from across the room, making eye contact with him. Jimmy snipped all ties of conversation from him to the journalist and made way for Caroline with a bright smile on his mouth. Billy understood a bit better.

“Well I’m wearing an ivory dress, Jimmy!”

Jimmy pinched the bridge of his nose as he looked down at Caroline, who sat inside of his opened and emptied suitcase. “And?”

“We need contrast! I insist upon the black shirt.”

“Why do we need contrast?”

“Because we’re going as a pair, are we not? I agreed to attend the press party as your date, now you must follow a few rules.”

Jimmy rolled his eyes and balled up the red shirt he had in his hands. He threw it into the opened closet of his shared hotel room. Caroline gasped and lunged for it, folding it neatly in her lap and scolding him with a glance and a few words: “I like this shirt. Why do you like dressing in wrinkled clothes? Why would you wrinkle this lovely shirt?”

Jimmy rolled his eyes. “I’ll wear the black shirt with the white pants.”

“Which white pants?” She tested him.

“The flared, taffeta pants.”

“Perfect.”

“Now go put on your dress,” Jimmy said as he pulled Caroline out of the suitcase. “And I’ll put on my outfit.”

Jimmy was in the process of unbuttoning his shirt when he heard the sound of a body collapsing on the one of two full-size beds in the room. He turned around to see Caroline tucked into a fetal position on the bed that belonged to him.

“How did you know that one was mine?” Jimmy asked as he shrugged the sleeves of his shirt off of his shoulders and threw the shirt onto the ground.

“I smelled your Pantene shampoo on your pillow,” she said as she tilted her nose into the plushy wall of his pillow. Jimmy’s thin torso was soon covered by the black shirt Caroline had selected for him. Once the buttons of his shirt were done, he reached for the buckle of the belt on his jeans.

“Protect your modesty, Jimmy!” Caroline shouted, covering her eyes with her fingers. Jimmy laughed loudly, throwing his belt to the floor with a silvery clang. He hadn’t thought of Caroline’s reaction to him changing; with all the women that had seen him entirely naked after his success in the music industry, he didn’t really hold any qualms about nudity.

Caroline peaked out of the gaps between her fingers as Jimmy pulled the jeans off of his long legs. She was absolutely awed by the completion of his thinness; his legs were nearly toothpicks. Yet, a masculine definition echoed in every outlined muscle. Caroline could not look away from the awkward and unconventional beauty of Jimmy’s legs.

He presented himself in his new outfit with an auditory fanfare. Caroline pealed away her eyes and immediately clapped her hands, excited by Jimmy’s innately chic appearance. Perhaps it had to do with his narrow form, or with the black-and-white polarity of his raven hair and ivory skin.

As Jimmy picked up his previous outfit from the floor, Caroline caught a glance his chest which was exposed by several undone buttons. There suddenly seemed to be a very murky serenity in the room—quietness, secrecy, and darkness. Caroline stretched her arms upward as she stretched in the bed. The alluring scent of Jimmy—some obscure cologne, fire, and books—was warmer than any blanket. Caroline grew tired.

After glancing at the old pocket-watch on his bedside table, Jimmy looked at Caroline with words of urgency on his tongue. But upon seeing her fluttering eyelids and resting lips, he placed the words elsewhere. And he just stood there, darkly looming like a shadow, memorizing the serenity that laced her every feature.

Had he not been subconsciously leaning and stepping toward the bed, Caroline would not have met his hand when she reached for it. But she did, and caught onto his palm like a baby would. Her hand slowly slipped from his tiredly, but he caught it with a hook of his fingers. He soon formed a tighter grip on her small hand. And perhaps it was the quietness, the secrecy, or the darkness of the room that made her stealthily tug his hand toward her sleeping form; either way, she was not sure.

She turned with the yank and he soon crashed onto the small bed beside her—feet dangling off the end. He had been forcibly wound in a ball during his one night in Melbourne, and he wasn’t looking forward to doing it again tonight. But at that moment he had never been so gracious for a bed so achingly small. For between the close sides of the bed, Jimmy’s arm caged Caroline’s torso, his knees knocked against hers, his chest served as a pillow to her freckled cheek, and her bare toes climbed into the wide ankle opening of his pants.

Jimmy held in a sigh; he was instantly worried a single breath could fracture the delicacy of the situation. He had longed for something as little as an embrace from Caroline for an unimaginable length of time, that which only felt extended by the relationship with women he normally assumed.

Impossibly fragile was the green-eyed glance she gave him, though long-lasting. He would have kissed her if he had not so feared losing the closeness. Kissed her very slowly too—the way teenagers do after their third date. Jimmy was at a loss of all power, all will, all capacity; especially was he so vulnerable when she laid her fingers on his jaw and cheek—her touch as light as the landing of a butterfly. Amusedly her fingers drummed against his cheek lightly—possibly mockingly.

Jimmy had had enough, he thought. Though this defiance was fronted with a cowardly submissiveness; he could not overrule her. So he compromised, and very slowly placed a kiss on her soft hairline. He held his lips against her skin for a while—until she returned his cautious kiss with a peck on the chin then turned away. His skin burned as she turned her back to him to sleep.

Both Jimmy and Caroline were kicked off of the bed. Jimmy, the heavier sleeper, merely groaned when his bottom his the floor. Caroline—on the other hand—instantly lashed out and yelped.

“Dégage!” Caroline shouted from the floor.

“You two are pushing it,” Robert spoke sternly.

“What?” Jimmy asked groggily from the floor.

“You’re lucky it’s me who walked in,” Robert shook his head as he walked toward his wardrobe. He yanked open the doors and confronted a colorful rack of clothing. Caroline absent-mindedly noticed how Robert hung up all of his clothes for the two-day stay in Melbourne, while Jimmy kept it all in his suitcases.

“Il est quelle heure?”

“It’s eight,” Robert responded bluntly. All who traveled with Caroline had picked up a very rudimentary level of French.

“Merde!” Caroline shot up. She had thirty minutes to get showered, dressed, and have her makeup done. Before sprinting out of the room, she grabbed Jimmy’s forearm and shook him awake. “Jimmy, you only have thirty minutes to do your hair!” She exclaimed.

Jimmy instantly stood and ran into the bathroom. Jimmy’s hair was a delicate issue.

As per usual, Caroline’s bedroom was beside that of Jimmy. She shared it with several groupies, and they were all crowded around the horizontal mirror hanging above the sink in the bathroom when Caroline walked in.

“Je dois me doucher,” Caroline hurriedly told Margaux, her one roommate that was also French. Margaux stayed put—hovering over the sink penciling on a fifth coat of emerald eyeliner. “Allez-vous en!” She screamed, pointing toward the door.

The bathroom eventually cleared; the women relocated to either Jimmy and Robert’s room or the skinny mirror between the hotel room’s two windows. As they left, Caroline watched them with a fragmented thought. They all wore gossamer garb and did their make up lavishly; they were covered in jewels given to them by now-distant men. Margaux always wore an amulet around her neck that Jimmy had given her for her sixteenth birthday, it was made of alexandrite—a stone as kaleidoscopic as her eyes. Caroline felt a nudge of jealousy—not toward the necklace, but toward the undeniable glamour of these women. Caroline wished she exuded opulence as those girls did.

Caroline washed her body and hair quickly so she would have several minutes to melt beneath the boiling water that poured out of the shower head. She left herself just a few moments to curl in a ball on the floor of the shower, letting the skin of her fingers and feet wrinkle like a prune.

When Caroline got out of the shower, she wrapped her hair in one of the hotel towels and wrapped her body in the lavender towel she always brought with her. When she stepped out of the bathroom, she shockingly discovered Jimmy sitting at the end of the unmade bed.

“How did you do your hair so quickly?” Caroline asked as she walked across the room. Jimmy watched her closely as she sparkled with every step. She was so there, so easy, so taunting—and yet, she could not be touched.

Jimmy cleared his throat in order to speak. “It was obedient today.”

Caroline chuckled as she slipped on the enormous robe the hotel provided. Once it was securely wrapped around her, the lavender towel beneath it dropped in a pool around her small feet. She walked back toward the bathroom with the robe forming a train behind her. Before opening the door to the bathroom, she stopped and turned to Jimmy.

“Want to blow-dry my hair while I put on my make up?” She asked him with an excited smile. Jimmy’s eyes widened before he enthusiastically nodded, warming at the idea of being able to hold that red silk in his unworthy hands.

Familiar with a blowdryer, Jimmy set up the appliance as she began applying a sheer layer of foundation to her freckled, olive skin. Jimmy carefully removed the towel from her hair and grinned at the wet vermillion mess he had exposed. As he turned on the blowdryer, Caroline handed him her brush.

He worked slowly through her hair, relishing in the soft and flowery scent that flew his way with every blow of hair. Minutely, he urged forward until his toes barely touched her heels. He couldn’t tell whether her discreet and minuscule movements backward—toward him—was just her way of getting a better angle of herself in the mirror or was her consciously trying to get closer to him. Jimmy’s heart buzzed and spun in his ribcage quickly. When his fingers delicately brushed then stayed on Caroline’s neck—just along the gentle climb of her carotid artery, Jimmy swore she leant into his touch.

Jimmy then realized he’d been too focused on his fragile ministrations to look in the mirror at her. His eyes met the glass—a natural pinkish blush bloomed on her cheeks and slightly on her neck; her eyes were closed.

Like studying the results of a tricky science experiment, Jimmy slid his fingers downwards ever so slowly. He watched the small space of chest the robe exposed rise and fall quickly as his fingers moved. It was truly amazing watching her respond to his touch, and it ignited a furious fire in his every organ… Especially one. Never before had his pants grown so quickly and so easily tight.

When Jimmy flipped the switch of the blowdryer off, her eyes opened. And he knew by the look in her wet eyes that he was not alone in this hole-and-corner devotion, this furtive worship, this afire allegiance and heated curiosity. She looked away into the drain of the sink beneath her before Jimmy could further realize she liked looking at and talking to him as much as he did her; but he caught her nonetheless.

While opening his mouth to speak he decided a better use for his lips. His head lowered and met the side of her neck; he breathed her ensnaring scent through his nose and only laid his lips upon her delicate skin. In all the time that Jimmy had known women—the quiet sighs of women, their soft skin, their ripe lips—he had never been so enamored. And the core of his adoration was not lust but something so much stronger; a tug toward salvation. Caroline wasn’t a pair of legs to lay between whenever his frustration built or whenever he was drunk and aroused by nearly everything—she was another half to meet and complete. An unfinished circle. Something to love and fill and hold and trust and speak to and kiss and cry with.

She suddenly began to rile; she lashed quietly with a cry. But Jimmy kept her pinned as his hips met the small of her back. She felt his forearms encircle her waist and his lips ascend to the small, warm space of skin behind her ear. There his lips met her skin with a kiss. The sensation of his breath against the shell of her ear caused a first tear to meet the slope of her cheekbone.

It was wrong. Not only was it forbidden in the context of her job, but seeing her recent decline in health—it was wrong for him. He had to stop, she knew. She had to stop, she knew too. It could not go on. But his embrace was warmer than anyone’s she had ever encountered, and the rigidness pressed against her tailbone made her insides heat like an oven.

Her fragile hands shakily met the tops of his that lay on her abdomen. He instantly parted his fingers and pulled hers into a reversed hand-hold. His mouth hovered over her ear before it dropped onto her cheek, kissing away saline tears.

“Ne pleure pas,” he spoke quietly. His words only engendered a steady flow of tears; his effort set aflame her heart. He spoke French for her; he loved her. She knew he loved her.

Caroline shook—her body racking between a laugh and a sob.

“Ne pleure pas,” he repeated.

“Don’t you dare speak French to me,” she laughed as tears left her eyes. She looked at him and saw him smile endearingly. Most of Jimmy’s smiles were top-layer; he found something humorous or joyful and he smiled for it, but beneath it loomed other emotions. Never was it just a smile. But this was… just a smile.

Turned around partially now, her fingers left his hand and made delicate sashays up his wrist. Her short and bare fingernails dipped slightly beneath the hem of his shirt upon which she had so fervently insisted he wear. And Jimmy—inches above—watched her like he was watching a baby come to understand touch for the first time. He watched her fingers moved slowly through the screen of her long, wet lashes.

Jimmy bundled up Caroline tighter in his arms, and she laid her head against his chest. A tear still rolled down his flushed cheek when she looked up at him. He didn’t think he’d ever seen something so beautiful before in his life.

And neither did she. So she met his kiss when his head quickly lowered and instantly sunk her fingers into his wild hair. With one arm still around her back, Caroline felt Jimmy’s other arm wrap around her lower torso. And it was not slow—it was gripping and warm and wet.

Jimmy tasted like… she didn’t have a word for it. But he would hold her head straight so her mouth fell open and just kiss her repeatedly, endlessly, lovingly. Sometimes they were fast, and he’d breathe a hot breath quickly then tilt his head so he met her from another angle. Sometimes they were slow, and his tongue would meet hers; he’d just dive in so deeply she was sure he’d leave her lips bright and blooming like red carnations in June.

The rest of his body worked against her like a tidal wave meets a spiked rock. He rocked against her without restraint; she loved it. He spread her knees with his so her robe fell open and let some of him in; she loved it. His arms—when available—constantly moved to touch her and move her and hold her against him tightly; she loved it.

“Jimmy!” A feminine and familiar voice erupted from the bedroom. Caroline instantly repelled, rejected, revolted. She used the palm of her hand to wipe a smudged tear from her cheek then slammed her hands onto his chest, pushing him away.

“Imbécile!” She yelped and left the bathroom. She was immediately met with Margaux’s face.

“Pourquoi le garde pour toi? Tu ne dorme encore pas avec lui!” She whispered harshly at Caroline, who ignored her and slipped around her to snatch up her dress and shoes.

“Caroline!” Jimmy shouted after her. By the time he tried to get by Margaux, she was gone.

Taking Caroline as a date seemed no longer possible, especially seeing he couldn’t find her prior to being forced to go to the press party. However when he walked in—disoriented and quiet—he saw her across the floor of dancing people. Her dewy skin glittered and hands fumbled absentmindedly with the straw of some drink; she wore that little ivory dress and he swore to himself the damned nymph would be in for it.

Caroline refused to look up when she heard the crowd of groupies she was squished between wake up at the sight of the inevitable guests—the band. She refused to meet his eye, to say his name, to acknowledge his presence. She had no choice to reject him completely. Her blood drew a watch around her wrist—she had so little time left. She could not hurt him.

Meanwhile Jimmy pulled a roadie to the side—a fellow named Tomas—and ordered him to call the hotel they were staying in and rent out another bedroom. A suite—he preferred. Only the best for her.

“For what purpose, might I ask, Mr. Page?” Tomas asked before leaving to reach a telephone.

Jimmy looked around the room—at the fluttering groupies that seemed to eat Caroline like a hungry mass. “There’s quite a lot of ladies here tonight, and I’d not like to share them with Robert… You know?” Tomas smirked and shook his head in the way men do. He left to ring the hotel.

Caroline was taking the remaining sip of her vodka tonic when she heard: “You’re the loveliest one here.”

She turned her head to see Billy. He smiled boyishly and held a beer in his hand. A smile finally nudged at Caroline’s mouth—a shy one, but a smile nonetheless. “Thank you Billy.”

“How are you?” He asked her. She looked at him with wide eyes.

“Ask a more interesting question,” she said quietly. However small and ashamed she felt, she could never fall to boredom.

“Okay,” he laughed awkwardly. “What are you drinking?”

She smiled, looking into her drink. “Now that it’s all gone—nothing. Could you get me another?” She held her empty glass out for him.

Hesitantly, he took it. “What should I get you?”

She shrugged. “Surprise me.”

Bewildered by her fantastic ambiguity, he trod proudly toward the bar—glad to be getting a drink for such a pretty lady. When the bottom of his glass met the table and he opened his mouth to call for the bartender with a virile tone and agenda, he was stopped.

“Get her a French Blonde,” a wonderfully familiar voice spoke lowly. In spite of how much he wanted to hear this voice normally—he did not want to hear it at this moment.

“Wh—” Billy turned his head to see Jimmy page holding up his hand for the bartender. The bartender was preparing several mixed drinks prior to seeing Jimmy, but he left them all where they were to attend to Jimmy.

“How can I help you, sir?” The man asked; his teeth were white and shining with his gripping smile.

Jimmy looked at Billy, who raised his eyebrows in confused shock. “A French Blonde, please,” Billy hastily answered.

“Anything for you, sir?” The bartender looked to Jimmy again, but Jimmy ignored the man and turned to Billy.

“I need you to ask Caroline something for me,” Jimmy leant in, lowering his forehead so his bangs drew curtains over his eyes.

Billy held up the French Blonde as he made his way back to Caroline. Impressed by his smart taste, she raised her eyebrows approvingly.

“Un choix judicieux,” she said quietly.

Billy cleared his throat, ready to begin asking the questions Jimmy had assigned. “Caroline, I was wondering…”

“Yes?” She looked up from a long sip of her French Blonde.

“Because you told me to ask a more interesting question,” he clarified. “Do you love anyone?”

“Sure, I do.”

“And who is worthy of such affection?”

“My mother, my sisters, my father, and my brother.”

“No one else?”

Caroline squinted her eyes analytically. She briefly glanced upward to see if Jimmy was watching her from some strange angle, but she saw his lovely mane of ebony curls turned against her, where he spoke to several domineering men. “No.”

“What do you think of all the girls hanging around Zeppelin? Do they ever annoy you? Do you like them?”

“I respect other people’s choices because they’re not mine. They can do what they wish with their time and their bodies. I’ll do what I wish.”

“Have you made friends with any of them?”

“I’m not very good at making friends.”

“You’re friends with Jimmy, aren’t you?”

She then downed her drink and headed out to the dance floor. She was drunk enough. Booming from the massive amplifiers was The Rolling Stones’ Who’s Been Sleeping Here? and Caroline was ready to dance—a hobby she typically didn’t partake in, but something told her to tonight. So she danced and danced and danced—wrapping herself in the warm crowd of those wild groupies, and pretending that everything in her life would work itself out.

“She hardly answered any of your questions!” Jimmy exclaimed, running an angry hand through a handful of dark curls.

“Well—you know her! She’s very shifty and… sly!” Billy argued.

“This is true,” Jimmy stopped pacing. “But you failed, regardless.”

“I’m sorry, Mister Page. But…” he looked out into the crowd. She was hard to miss—glittering like the moon in a galaxy of complete darkness. The Beach Boys now played; she moved like the ocean. “Listen, why don’t you go ask her yourself? She’s out there, she’s dancing alone… Go talk to her! If she really needs to talk to you, she will. If she won’t, then it’s not time and, therefore, it’s not even worth sending me out there.”

Jimmy’s brandy was on the counter and he was gone. Billy couldn’t tell whether he regretted his words.

Joni Mitchell played now—Cactus Tree. Caroline wanted to sit on the floor with her knees to her chest so she could cry furtively. She missed warmth. She missed him already. Though she was soon met by a tender embrace. An embrace that could part a crowd—which it did.

Jimmy latched an arm around her slender waist. Her fighting was in vain—not only was he besetting, but as were her feelings. Jimmy laid his chin upon the top of her head; she pressed her cheek against the opened buttons of his black shirt.

She could feel his heartbeat—in spite of the footsteps and the shouts and the music. She could hear it like it was her own heart beating. And she thought—momentarily—about Jimmy. And how good he was to her, and how he had become her best friend, and how she was slowly slipping into him and she didn’t ever want to leave. Caroline turned her head and pressed her lips against the concavity between his collarbones. She kept her mouth there, breathing in the scent of his skin.

“Can you come with me to the hotel?” Jimmy asked once his lips touched her ear through her thick hair. She did not respond. So he continued: “Caroline, please.”

With a fast glance, she looked up at him. Then she looked around them. Most were distracted with their own controversies and wrongdoings to take notice of the forbidden activity going on between Caroline and Jimmy. She nodded against his chest and reached for his hand. Once he developed a steady hold on her, he began to move toward the exit of the press party venue.

Once outside, things were relatively quiet. Or at least comparatively so—in cities usually everything teemed with some dimension of life at all hours. But in Sydney, walking away from the clubhouse as two mere figures walking hand in hand, against one another—they were a part of something much quieter.

“J’ai tombé amoureux de toi,” Jimmy tried.

“Je suis tombée amoureuse de toi,” Caroline corrected and admitted—though not to his knowledge. She took his hand and spun around beneath his arm—until she was standing properly in front of him and walking backwards. “Mais, I like your attempt.”

“Et tu es ma meilleure amie.”

Caroline stopped and smiled. “You’re my best friend too.”

Jimmy smiled a whole smile again—where there was nothing else beneath it.

Hand-in-hand, they kept walking along the sidewalk. Jimmy would try and sneak kisses against her temple and her hairline, and maybe on her neck and lips, but she would inch away and just pull him onward. Eventually they came across a bar, and Jimmy watched as Caroline tilted her head upward; neon lights illuminated every sharp and gentle curve of her face. She dragged him into the bar. Being so late at night, it wasn’t terribly crowded—though there were no seats at the bar. Caroline had other plans, however, and she dragged Jimmy to one of the shadowy booths in the back before anyone could recognize him.

Jimmy first extended his hands across the table, palms open. She grasped them hesitantly, smiling once her skin touched his. She brought his hands to her lips and kissed his knuckles. The hands provided a place where she was not too deep nor too shallow. His knuckles were not his lips, though she wasn’t not kissing him.

“Caroline—”

A waiter came over to the darkened booth with a pad of paper. “What can I get you?”

“Two glasses of your house red,” Caroline ordered for Jimmy.

Not being able to recognize Jimmy Page in the long shadows cast by the booth’s chairs, he scribbled down the order and was off.

“Why’d you order my drink?” Jimmy asked with a smile. He could not stop smiling. Everything she said, everything he said, everything she did, everything he did—all in this moment made him genuinely happy.

“You ordered my drink at the party,” she said with lowered eyes.

“You knew that was me?” Jimmy chuckled.

“Like Billy could order that,” she rolled his eyes. He soon was up as she laughed and Caroline watched him scale the table. He slid in beside her, letting a hand move behind her back and hook her hip. He tugged her toward her and she crashed into him, laughing fervently.

“I’m so in love with you,” he spoke brightly, with a glorious light in his eyes. For that he earned a kiss. He tried to hold it but she slipped away. “And all I want to do is touch you, and talk to you, and kiss you.”

Another kiss. “You know, everyone thinks of you as this… shady enigma. Yet, you couldn’t be less of this—it seems,” she said and he kissed her again. She sighed into it briefly, igniting a quiet fire in his heart and loins.

“Really?”

“You’re just this… romantic cornball.”

“Romantic cornball?” Jimmy laughed loudly. She latched a finger around the ball of his jaw and pulled him in. Her mouth was open this time—warm and welcoming. The quiet sounds she made only worsened Jimmy’s southward condition. Soon he was sure she’d have to say something about the stiffness against her leg as she slowly draped herself across him. He couldn’t even be ashamed at the ease this came to him—everything she did made him hard.

“Yes,” she whispered, pressing her lips against the underside of his jaw.

“How’s that?” He asked but she was on him again—latched on. When one of her hands moved to sit on his knee he knew he was done for. A quick breath left Jimmy’s mouth and he eagerly moved his hips so she felt him. They didn’t even realize the waiter bringing the wine.

“That easy, huh?” She asked, quietly acknowledging his arousal.

“This is what you do to me,” he muttered. She shook her head and laughed. Then she reached for her wine and drank slowly—Jimmy watched like a suitor watches an available princess. “God, I love you.”

“Did you ever finish that book I gave you?” She asked and he took a sip of wine. She watched him drink—watched him like a mistress watches her king.

“The Lady of the Shroud?” He clarified. She nodded.

“I did,” he grinned.

“Well, what did you think?”

#jimmy page #jimmy page fanfiction #jimmy page fanfic #jimmy page fan fic #jimmy page fan fiction #led zeppelin #led zeppelin fanfiction #fanfiction #robert plant #john paul jones #john bonham #classic rock

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adolphuslongestaffe · 7 years ago

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Defiant

Chapter 6: Nonstandard Vernacular

When Jesse arrived in the hotel room, the commander was just entering from the balcony door.

“Jesse,” he said, forgoing a greeting, “did you hear or see anything on your way back here? I mean, did you know you were being followed?”

“Well I supposed I was,” Jesse said. “Weren’t you shadowin’ me?”

“I wasn’t the only one. Someone came over the wall of Shimada castle after you left the gate. Masked, dressed in black or dark blue. I stayed on the rooftops and kept eyes on him. He followed you along the roofs on the opposite side of the street till you were in view of the hotel. He stopped on that building across the square and watched you go inside, then he turned around and took off back toward the castle.”

“Masked like a ninja or somethin’?”

“Yeah,” Reyes said.

Jesse shuddered. “I don’t like the idea of bein’ exposed like that, boss. Gives me the willies thinkin’ someone had a clean shot on me the whole time without me knowin’ it.”

“I wouldn’t have let him take it,” his commander said. “But I don’t think you were in danger. If they wanted you kill you, they wouldn’t let you leave the castle and then do it in the street.”

“I guess they’re curious about me on account of me gettin’ friendly with the master’s kids, then.”

“Most likely. I’ll have to be more cautious when I follow you from now on. I don’t want to risk their spies seeing me by mistake. Did you find out anything interesting from the boys?”

“Nothin’ we didn’t know already. But I’m workin’ on it. I got a feelin’ the older one knows a lot more than the younger one. I’m goin’ back tomorrow at noon. I’m gonna learn to play the koto.”

“They’re giving you music lessons now?” Reyes laughed merrily at the idea. “What did you do to make them like you so much, blow both of them in the hot tub?”

“You know me, boss,” Jesse grinned broadly. “Anything for the mission. But no, I reckon it was the train robber stuff. Genji says I’m like a real life Jesse James.”

“Alright, Mr. James, what’s your instinct about being in the castle? You feel safe there?”

“Safe as I ever feel anywhere. Why?”

“Unfortunately, their spies following you puts a damper on your mobility at the moment. I want to do some recon at Imagawa Castle, but I can’t take you with me and risk them finding out what we’re doing. You think you can handle it solo tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll be ok,” Jesse said. “It’s just a music lesson. I shouldn’t be there for more than a couple hours.”

“What’s the name of the older brother again?” Reyes asked.

“Hanzo,” Jesse said.

“Hanzo. He’s a good looking boy, isn’t he.”

“He is. Just about the most beautiful boy I ever saw.”

“Jesse,” his commander said. “Seriously, watch yourself, ok?”

The boy’s face flushed and he fidgeted uneasily under his commander’s keen eye. “What do you mean, boss?”

“I mean don’t piss off the Shimada clan by fucking the master’s heir. It’d be war.”

“I don’t think there’s much chance of that, boss. He don’t like me very much. I think he agreed to teach me to play out of plain courtesy.”

“Alright, Jesse. Just be careful.”

“Course I will. Say, you hear anything from Commander Morrison?”

“No, but I didn’t expect to. He won’t risk communicating with us unless it’s something big. Now let’s get some sleep. We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.”

Jesse returned to the castle the next day at fifteen minutes before noon. He found the gate guards fully instructed and expecting his arrival. They opened the gate and bowed as he approached, telling him that the young master would see him in the tea house in the garden. He made his way to the indicated structure, where he found the young master serenely waiting with his instrument already set up. Jesse mumbled an apology for being late.

“You are precisely on time, Mr. McCree,” Hanzo said.

“Please, just Jesse.”

“Jesse,” his host said, adding a kind of breathed quality to the vowels that gave the name an unfamiliar ring in its owner’s ears.

“Well, I’ll be,” Jesse said. “You say my own name better’n I do. How do you get it to float around way up in the air like that?”

This appeared to have annoyed his host, and Jesse was instantly uncomfortable, which made him defensive. He shut his mouth tightly and turned away to set his guitar down.

“Jesse,” Hanzo said.

The cowboy turned around to face him and waited.

After a pause, the young man continued, “You must excuse my delays in responding to you. My English is not strong, and your nonstandard vernacular is…difficult for me.”

“My—my nonstandard vernacular,” Jesse repeated.

“Yes. You speak very quickly and you use idioms and turns of phrase with which I am not familiar. I pause because I am attempting to understand. I do not mean to offend you.”

Jesse was stunned. Had that been it? Had he been assuming this man hated him because of a language problem?

“Oh boy, I’m real sorry,” he said. “I get ahead of myself and I forget some folks ain’t accustomed to my way of talkin’. Don’t feel bad, though. Most people from my own country can’t understand me either.”

This statement elicited a smile from the stoic young archer. Jesse thought it was the prettiest smile to ever light up the world, but he knew better than to say so. His host directed him to sit beside him and began to instruct him in the basic theory of the instrument, which was similar enough to the guitar so that Jesse wasn’t entirely lost. Then the young man played some basic scales so Jesse could observe the placement of the hands. He couldn’t help turning his head now and again to look at that lovely face, and his host was not unaware of the fact. He thought he’d been particularly sly about it, but suddenly the young man looked up at him and caught him in the act.

“Jesse,” he said.

“Hm?”

“Are you paying attention?”

“Uh huh,” Jesse said absently. “I’m payin’ attention.”

His host smiled again, a very slight but genuine smile, and returned to the task. Jesse tried a few notes, then Hanzo adjusted his hand position, then they repeated the process. Jesse made his best effort, but he found his hands would cease to function properly when his instructor touched them, and so he couldn’t get more than half a scale out before he lost the plot. But they persevered until Jesse was able to play a full scale on his own. Then they moved on to a basic melody. After the third or fourth attempt, Jesse was able to play the first part. He was exceedingly pleased. The other young man took his hands and adjusted them again. Jesse began to pluck at the strings, but then his heart skipped a beat and he froze in place. The other set of hands had remained resting on his. He cast a sidelong glance at his instructor, to find that he was gazing up at him.

“Jesse,” the young man said. “Would you like to kiss me?”

Jesse blinked at him stupidly, attempting to ascertain whether he’d actually just heard those words, or was losing his grip on his sanity.

“Would I—you…I uh, yeah. I mean, yes. Yes, please,” he managed at last.

The archer lifted his hands and placed them on the sides of the cowboy’s handsome face. He leaned in and cautiously brushed his lips against Jesse’s. Jesse took him by the sleeve and collar and pulled him closer. He pushed the other boy’s lips apart with his own, caressing his tongue and inhaling his intoxicating scent. His head spun. He was dizzy and breathless. He felt the kiss in his entire being. Hanzo drew away, blushing like a rose, and looked at the ground.

“What’s the matter darlin’,” Jesse said softly.

“I—I am not certain I did that correctly,” Hanzo said falteringly. “I apologize for my…lack of experience.”

“Oh, sweetheart, it was perfect,” Jesse said. “The most perfect kiss in the history of time, maybe.”

The archer didn’t look up, but he laid his head on the cowboy’s broad chest and allowed his long, silky hair to be stroked. Jesse wrapped his strong arms securely around the other boy’s body.

Before he could think to stop himself, he asked, “Have you…have you never kissed a boy before?”

“I have never kissed anyone before,” the archer answered quietly.

He raised his eyes to look into Jesse’s. Jesse stared down at his beautiful captive. It was impossible. How was it that no one had ever kissed those perfect lips. This boy couldn’t be real. All at once, the stoic young master was entirely transformed in Jesse’s eyes. Still the same in essence, but as if viewed through an altered lens. Pristine angles where Jesse had seen hard edges before. Refined diffidence where he had seen haughty aloofness. He saw through the mask to the vulnerable, unworldly young man beneath.

“But…did you like it?” Jesse asked.

The black-eyed angel smiled shyly and turned away again.

“Yes. I liked it very much,” he said. “I would like to kiss you again, if that would be acceptable to you.”

Jesse answered by kissing him again, this time with more urgency. The archer gasped and gave a little groan. His body went slack and pliant in Jesse’s arms. Jesse suddenly felt powerful, masculine, almost omnipotent, exhilarated by the keen sweetness of the other young man’s ready submission to his desire. In direct contradiction and at the same time, he knew he had been utterly conquered. Knocked down. Defeated. No quarter given or requested. He would be this boy’s willing slave, a dog at his feet if he wished it, from this moment on. He was in love.

“Acceptable,” Jesse said, laughing blithely. “Darlin’ I don’t want to do anything else but just kiss you forever and ever.”

His darling frowned thoughtfully. “Jesse, that would be very impractical. How would you eat and drink? You would starve to death.”

“Sure I would, but what’s that to me,” the cowboy said fervently, squeezing his quarry tight, as if to prevent his escape. “Let me starve to death, I say. If I die kissing those lips, I’ll die a happy man and that’s that.”

The absurd idea coupled with Jesse’s theatrical delivery elicited an actual laugh from the young master. A low, soft laugh that was music to Jesse’s ears. It was the first time he’d heard it. He laughed as well, from pure delight in the suddenly and drastically altered state of their interaction. The archer allowed his impetuous cowboy to kiss him again, then gently freed himself.

“I must go to my training now,” he said, standing and straightening his loose-fitting tunic. “May I walk you to the gate?”

“Well, sure,” Jesse said cheerfully, but with a hint of disappointment. “I can find it on my own, though, if you need to get goin’.”

Hanzo stood thinking for a moment.

“Jesse,” he said. “You told me that you had never seen a person use a bow. If that is something that interests you, you would be welcome to observe my exercises.”

“That is something that interests me very much,” Jesse said, raising his eyebrows. “You sure you wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all. Do you shoot?”

“Not with a bow. But if I’m lucky, I can hit the broad side of a barn with a revolver.”

“Would you like to practice together, then? I can have ballistic targets prepared.”

“I’d love to,” the cowboy said, “but I don’t have a weapon on me.”

“You may borrow one from the armory. It is no trouble.”

“Armory?”

“Yes.”

Jesse appeared perplexed.

“I am certain you are aware of the nature of my family’s business.”

“I’m not, though. I mean, I heard a rumor about rival clans or something, but I ain’t a hundred percent clear on what that means.”

Hanzo clarified. “We operate a powerful trade syndicate. Within the law, but close to its edges. In our profession, we are often required to defend ourselves from other such syndicates who seek to encroach upon our livelihood, sometimes with violent force. As such, we are trained thoroughly in combat, armed and unarmed, as a matter of course. We also keep a store of weapons at our disposal, should the need arise.”

“That a fact,” Jesse said, pushing his hat back to express his appreciation of the sentiment. “I guess that’s just plain prudent, then.”

“It is. My life and the lives of my family have been threatened many times.”

“You ever scared?”

“Once,” the archer said. “When I was six years old. I was traveling in a car with my father. We were stopped by a roadblock and armed men assaulted the vehicle. My father killed two of the men, and our guards dispensed with the others. It was over very quickly and I was unharmed. But I was afraid, yes. Now, I am not.”

Jesse eyed his friend closely. He certainly didn’t look like the kind of man to get scared. He looked like the kind of man other men feared and were right to do so. There was a detached, calculating quality to him that Jesse hadn’t observed before. This young man was dangerous. A killer, his mind whispered. He pushed the thought away and returned to the immediate subject.

“Well I pity the dumb son of a bitch who comes lookin’ for trouble with you, darlin’,” he said. “I remember that arrow stickin’ out of the target dead-center.”

The archer smiled and bowed, pleased with the good-humored reference to their inauspicious meeting.

“Hey, Hanzo,” Jesse said. “How old are you, anyway?”

“I am eighteen years old,” he replied.

Jesse was dumbstruck again. This formidable man was actually younger than him.

“I’ll be damned,” he said. “I’m older than you, then. Wait, how old is Genji?”

“He is sixteen.”

“Sixteen!” He whistled through his teeth. “See, I woulda swore he was my age and you was five or six years older, on account of you bein’ so serious and cultured and all.”

“I will take that as a compliment,” the young man said, looking up at his friend.

“It’s meant for one, but it’s just true, too. Genji, on the other hand…he had me kinda worried with all the drinkin’ and I won’t rest no easier knowin’ he’s already took on like that at sixteen.”

“It is a matter of deep concern for me, as well. I do not wish to see my brother destroy himself. But he is troubled in his spirit and I do not know the remedy.”

“Why don’t your pa do somethin’ about it?”

“My father does not share my opinion in this matter. He dismisses my concerns as pettiness and tale-bearing. So I watch over my brother and make certain no harm comes to him when he behaves recklessly. It is all I am able to do.”

Jesse wanted to take the other boy in his arms again, but he was certain such an embrace wouldn’t be welcome at that moment.

“You’re a good brother, Hanzo,” he said. “He’s lucky to have you.”

“Thank you, Jesse. I intend to be so.”

They walked together to the aforementioned armory, a mind-boggling arsenal kept in a massive, concrete-walled basement beneath the castle. Hanzo spoke with the guard while Jesse browsed the selection of weapons. He chose a Colt Single-Action Army revolver, which he was delighted to discover on a rack among the other handguns, and the two made their way to the practice range. Ballistics targets had appeared as if by magic, and the stone wall behind them was covered by a large, movable barrier made of tightly-packed hay bales.

“After you,” Hanzo said courteously, motioning toward the wall of targets.

Jesse stood contemplating the scene, hefting and spinning the revolver in his hand to get a feel for its weight and balance.

“Tell you what,” he said. “How’s about you shoot first. Six shots. Then I’ll try to get as close to your arrows as I can.”

The young archer assented to this and nocked an arrow to his bow. Jesse stepped a polite distance behind him and watched as six arrows swiftly struck the center marks of six targets.

“Yeehaw!” he exclaimed. “That’s some fine shooting, there, archer.”

Hans bowed in acknowledgement of the compliment and stepped back to make room for Jesse.

“What do you say my chances are,” Jesse said, smiling mischievously. “Think I can get close?”

His friend eyed him dubiously and laughed at the proposition.

“Alright, then. Let’s see just how rusty I am.”

With a rapid-fire report, so quick it almost sounded like a string of firecrackers, Jesse emptied the six-chamber barrel. Hanzo stood frozen in undisguised awe. In the center marks of six targets lay the splintered fragments of six exploded arrows. Jesse stepped back and playfully nudged his friend.

“Not as rusty as I thought,” he said.

“How…how did you learn to shoot like that?” the archer said at last.

Jesse grinned wickedly and tipped his hat to his friend with the barrel of the revolver. “I told you fellas I was a famous outlaw.”

“I have never seen such a thing. I—” his words were arrested by a kiss on the mouth from the triumphant sharpshooter.

They stepped apart just in time for Genji, who had been disturbed by the thunder of gunfire, to miss the boldly affectionate gesture entirely.

“Jesse,” he called out, delighted to see his friend. “What are you two doing? I heard gunshots.”

“I’m showin’ your brother here how the west was won,” the cowboy replied, spinning revolver around his finger. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“No, no, I was studying for an examination. I did not know you were coming or I would have been out to see you much sooner. When did you arrive?”

“Oh, a couple hours ago. Hanzo has kindly agreed to teach me how to play that weird little floor guitar of his.”

“Koto,” the older brother said.

“Koto,” Jesse repeated, smiling broadly. “I don’t mean to brag or nothin’, but I can make it sound just like a bag of angry cats.”

Genji enjoyed this little joke thoroughly and Hanzo smiled stiffly.

“Perhaps the two of you would like to take some refreshment,” the archer said. “I must continue my exercises.”

“That is my brother’s way of asking us to go away and stop bothering him,” Genji said. “Jesse, have you had lunch?”

“I haven’t, but I can’t keep intruding on you folks’ hospitality at mealtimes. You’ll get to thinkin’ I only come for the food.”

“Nonsense, Mr. McCree,” Hanzo said. “We are more than happy to share our good fortune.”

Genji rolled his eyes and grabbed Jesse’s arm.

“Come on,” he said. “Please let us go before my brother embarrasses me any more.”

As he was being dragged bodily away from the object of his affection by an impatient, green-haired teenager, Jesse turned and looked back wistfully. The archer smiled and dipped his head, communicating everything Jesse wanted to know. Then he went with the younger brother more willingly and in a better humor.

Genji was annoyed by his brother’s comment about their good fortune, taking it as a slight to Jesse’s wayward condition, and said so.

“Well, if he meant any offense, I didn’t take none, so it don’t matter much,” Jesse said. “But I do think he was just tryin’ to be polite. Your brother ain’t half so bad as he comes off. I mean, he did agree to teach me to play that koto for nothin’ but me showin’ him a thing or two on the guitar.”

“That is a strange bargain, cowboy,” Genji said.

“How do you figure?”

“He knows how to play guitar. He plays very well.”

“Peculiar,” Jesse said, scratching his chin. “Well, who knows. Maybe he was just bein’ charitable.”

“That does not sound like Hanzo,” Genji persisted. “What is he up to, I wonder…Aha!”

“Aha?”

“Jesse, my brother is trying to steal you from under my nose!”

“Come again?” the baffled cowboy said. “Steal me? How do you mean? I ain’t a wallet, I’m a person.”

“Simple,” Genji said, putting on the air of a television detective about to reveal how he had uncovered a dastardly plot. “He has no friends of his own, and no one likes him. No one but you, for some reason. So he has decided to make himself agreeable to you and to turn you against me so that he will have you all to himself.”

“I don’t think that’s it, Genj,” Jesse said, laughing outright. “I don’t see why I can’t be friends with both of y’all.”

The boy considered this for a moment.

“I suppose you could,” he said doubtfully. “But I do not know why you would want to. My brother is very boring and he worries about everything. He is like an old hen.”

Jesse’s mind was still aglow with the soft, sweet longing of that kiss in the tea house.

“Maybe,” he said dreamily. “But maybe an old hen is just what fellas like you and me need sometimes.”

“You are very tolerant, Jesse, but you will grow weary of his mothering soon enough,” Genji said decisively.

Jesse doubted he would, but he didn’t say so. He imagined being fussed over and supervised by that stern, beautiful young man. Falling asleep to the strains of his koto and waking up to his kisses. Even being scolded by that perfect creature and made to comb his hair and pick up after himself sounded like his idea of heaven. He changed the subject.

“What kind of examination you studyin’ for?” he asked.

“Differential calculus. It is necessary to complete my secondary education.”

“Secondary education?”

“It is what Americans call high school. I am almost finished.”

“Already? Ain’t you young for that yet?”

“I suppose so. But I would prefer to get it done quickly rather than linger over it. How long did it take you to finish yours?”

“Even faster, bein’ as I never bothered to begin. Ain’t much time for school and things when a body has to work the way I did.”

“You never went to high school?” his friend said in a tone of hushed awe. “How did you learn to read and write?”

“My ma taught me those things before I went to primary school,” Jesse laughed. “I ain’t illiterate, just educated differently. I can’t list the dates of important battles and whatnot, but I can sure as shit tell you how to win one.”

“That seems to be a preferable manner of education,” his friend said. “Eminently more practical.”

“That it is,” Jesse agreed heartily. “Say, Genj, Hanzo was tellin’ me about how your family’s been havin’ some trouble with a rival clan. Y’all ever have any real serious brawls with ‘em, like the Hatfields and McCoys?”

“There have been none since I can remember,” Genji said. “But my father and brother were attacked when I was three or four years old. That was the last serious engagement. It is mostly a proxy conflict now.”

“How so?”

“Their subsidiary organizations making trouble for ours and vice versa. A direct assault on us would be unwise, since it would be costly and attract the attention of the police, most of whom are loyal to us.”

“Y’all got the cops in your pocket?” Jesse said, genuinely impressed.

“Not in our pockets,” Genji laughed. “But many are members of families that are under the protection of our clan. We are loyal to them and they are loyal in return.”

“I bet that works out nice. Ain’t much petty crime in your city, is there?”

“None at all, as far as I know,” Genji said. “It would be foolish to risk the displeasure of the Shimadas by committing a small offense in their home town.”

“It would, indeed,” Jesse said.

The two friends chatted pleasantly about clan warfare and assassinations and sabotage while lunch was served to them in the main hall of the brothers’ shared space. The servants had taken away the dishes and Jesse was tuning his guitar to play something for his friend, when Hanzo entered the room, looking very grave and pale.

“Jesse,” he said, looking back and forth between his brother and the cowboy, “my father, Shimada Sojiro, would like to make your acquaintance. He requests the pleasure of your presence in his drawing room as soon as is convenient for you.”

Genji’s face drained of color as well.

“That means right now, Jesse,” he said in a stifled whisper. “Brother, should I come, too?”

“You are also wanted, yes. All three of us,” Hanzo replied. He looked positively sick.

If Jesse felt any apprehension at the prospect of a face-to-face meeting with the old warlord, he didn’t show it. He stood languidly, stretching his long arms and straightening his shirt, then he tossed his hat onto a table and gave his hair a rake with his fingers.

“That’s mighty hospitable of your pa, wantin’ to meet me,” he said. “We best not keep him waiting.”

#mchanzo #young jesse mccree #young hanzo shimada #young mchanzo #mature

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mounicalucia-blog · 6 years ago

Link

Narcissism is on a scale

Characteristics of a Narcissist

They are often emotionally turbulent. They have big ups and downs. They do not easily self-soothe or regulate and want you to help them, often attacking you to feel better about themselves.

They can be physically abusive. It’s also important to remember emotional abuse often eventually translates to physical abuse if it goes unchecked.

They cannot connect emotionally. But they think they do. They are often surprised to learn you are unhappy or feel disconnected from them. To them, connection looks like compliance and agreement.

Visit - How To Spot a Narcissist - The Marriage Place

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