#call me Spanglish queen | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

brokensoulmates2000 · 2 years

Text

Remember those weird scenes in Adolescence of Utena between Touga and Shiori? Well, they are not as weird as they seem

TW: Mentions of sexual abuse to a minor and homophobia

Alright fellas, it's been some tough weeks for me so I’ve been rewatching the last chapters of RGU as well as the movie cause, what else is better to watch than two women harboring hope in the midst of despair and starting a revolution? Also, they are super gay so sign me up.

There's so much I want to say about Adolescence of Utena because that movie is so unapologetically wild. I love it. Also after several rewatches in the span of six months, I think I know what is going on. The scenes (I hope) I grasped are those between Touga and Shiori.

From my perspective, Adolescence of Utena is about overcoming trauma, psychological patriarchy and imposed heterosexuality. Anthy is the one "running Ohtori". There is a whole conversation to be had on whether or not movie Ohtori is the same as anime Ohtori. Also, we would need another conversation to debate whether or not the rest of the characters except Utena and Anthy are actually themselves or if they are interpretations of their characters made by Utena and Anthy.

At the end, what matters is that Akio is dead and Anthy has killed him. Yet she is still the Rose Bride. Why? Because the effects of trauma and patriarchy are that insiduous. A revolution is not achieved until everyone unlearns everything the old regime taught. And what Akio taught the student council continues to affect them. From Anthy who keeps Ohtori up and running and sees herself as nothing more than an object to Saionji, who is back at clutching to his regressive views of masculinity. Without Akio around and no antagonist, we have to find those two characters who represent what the movie stands against: psychological patriarchy, imposed heterosexuality and trauma. The prince and witch archetypes embody this perfectly. Touga and Shiori too.

The symbols present in their scenes show this intent. First, let's talk about the sheets. Seems something only the movie used but-

The anime used it too.

By the way, the subtitles say: "I don’t have a roommate so I would like you to come back."

This is a good place to mention the castle represents heterosexuality. Akio said this in chapter 38:

Yes, Anthy is running away from heteronormativity at the end of the movie. Could she be more iconic?

Let's go back to the movie. To be more precise, the call between Touga and Akio. Akio starts by saying he doesn't know why his sister kidnapped the Rose Prince. Then he proceeds to reveal something very important: the prince never existed, he was The Lord of The Flies all along and Anthy put a spell on him to make him look as a prince.

The Lord of the Flies is another name for the devil, which is basically another code name for Akio, “the morning star”, Lucifer. In other words Akio always existed and he was never ‘transformed’ into that. I’m not saying Akio never had traits he shared with Utena, but that ugly part of himself, that evil in humanity associated with The Lord of The Flies, was always part of him. However, instead of accepting it and working through it (like Utena does when she accepts she only saved Anthy because of her ego), he preferred to indulge in his worst parts.

If Anthy’s magic was what made him appear as a prince… I’m not sure how that makes me feel. It can lead some people to believe Anthy deceived everyone willingly all along, but there are many factors that could motivate her decision. First, did she notice the world needed a prince and sent her brother knowing the world would never allow her to be a prince? Let’s also consider she is the youngest out of the two so her decision can be a result of needing protection, and "making" her brother become the prince she needed. That is of course, if Akio is not lying.

I only believe half of the things Akio says. He has a tendency to deflect questions, project his guilt onto others, manipulate and lie. In that same vein, Akio says Anthy's powers stopped working, therefore revealing the true nature of the prince. Then he goes on to say they created Ohtori to make Anthy’s magic come back which is not true. Because Anthy's magic is working just fine. And his powers too.

By that point, we should see Akio’s prone to lying to others and himself. That is why I believe he was always one with Dios. Akio, his bad side and Dios, his good side, inhabited his body. However his bad side was revealed to the world and he blames his sister for it even though she was the one who defended him and prevented his premature death at the hands of the mob. The world was disappointed he wasn’t perfect. He blames his sister for the discovery and the world demanding that perfectionism from him in the first place.

In the anime Akio says he wants back the power from his prince days, but he is still as powerful as he was in the past.

He takes Utena’s sword out of her chest.

And he teleports Anthy to the stairs leading to the castle.

There’s obviously some degree of magic he wields. On top of that, when Utena opens the Rose Gate, he orders her not to open it.

My first assumption is that he wanted to be the one to do open the gate, but shouldn’t he have said something like “Utena, you don’t understand how dangerous that is! Let me do it”? Instead his first instinct is to scream her not to open it. Why? Because he doesn’t want the power beyond the gate. In reality, he is scared of it. Deep down he wants the gate to remain close for all eternity because that keeps Ohtori operating. I don’t know if he takes any excuse that blinds him from the bitter truth consciously or not, but he does it: the power of revolution is for him to have his powers back, the power of revolution is for his sister to have her magic back. He created a system in which he never has to grow, a functioning coffin in which he is the master of everything. The only thing in his mind is to keep it running.

Now that is out of the way, let’s move on to another scene.

When Touga starts talking about this trauma, at some point a machine starts pulling the sheets, making them move. This serves as a visual representation of Ohtori, our trauma-fueled machine, waking up from its long sleep. That sex scene between Touga and Shiori is a form of trauma bonding. Trauma intertwining if you will. Touga is engaging in the same pattern of behavior he used to engage in with Akio (having sex with someone he “schemes with”). Still in bed, he shares with Shiori a hurtful truth: his dad sold him to his adoptive father who sexually abused him as a child. In the scene that shows the act, Touga is lying down in a field of lettuces.

Just like Adonis was in his death.

And that represents the death of a side of Touga. A death that hindered his relationship with his sister and caused him to resent her so much. A death that ruined his relationship with his best friend who sensed Touga’s emotional distance and confused it with superiority.

I’m aware some people interpret lettuce fields as male sexual impotence, but that is clearly not the case with Touga. In fact he copes with his sexual trauma with hyper-sexuality, but just like impotence, they are both a malfunction of sexuality.

Moving on, the camera turns towards a lettuce and we view Shiori.

There are sheets coming out of her back which shows how much compulsive heterosexuality and homophobia she has assimilated, and how she views them as the answer that will make her misery disappear. If she clutches to those ideas, she can be “free” like a butterfly. Also, we can interpret that scene as her response to Touga’s trauma. “Yes, my homophobia was right because one man did something terrible to a boy.” You know, classic talking points for homophobes.

This trauma intertwining and Shiori inserting herself in Touga’s flashbacks mark the birth of, you guessed it, more trauma. This is the product that such system as Ohtori creates: misery and emotional guardedness, dissatisfaction and delusion. Things Akio clutches onto and wants everyone to clutch too.

Too bad car sapphics are so hard to beat.

393 notes · View notes

docholligay · 2 years

Text

27. Spain

youtube

Eurovision, or, as I call it: Regrettably, I speak Spanish.

It’s a well-know fact, and you can look this up, I am not just talking out my ass here, that Spain’s final is rigged every year and I have no idea why they don’t dispense with the illusion and simply move to internal selection, and what I think may be the worst of it is I fear the Spanish judges may actively hate their own country and seek to undermine it by sending the most banal things they can constantly find.

This will not do badly! She’s hot, she can absolutely dance her ass off, and if you don’t speak Spanish, this is a fine stupid pop song.

But the song itself oh God, where do I even begin, everyone who chose French instead in our high school track was absolutely correct.

Firstly, the random English is BOGGLING. “Doc,” you may say, “Spanglish is totally a thing” Yeah it is, I had a an ex that for three solid fucking years after we stopped fucking still had me saying ‘parquear” instead of “estacionar” and parquear is so commonly used in Mexico at least that it can be found in dictionaries. But you know what AIN’T SPANGLISH T’ALL??

something like, oh, I dunno, “siempre estoy READY” which is extra insulting because ready doesn’t even rhyme with anything, there’s no in-song reason it needs to be there! Dropping random English into Spanish sentences is not the same thing on a language level as what latin american or united states Spanglish looks like, and before any of you are like “she’s CUBAN” she moved to Spain when she was TWO.

I have to listen to this song and hear something like “todos los daddies” and BE THERE. I have to know what is happening in this song and I cannot willfully UNKNOW Spanish. Why is she breaking hips?? No one knows! Why the fuck is she identifying herself as a Bugatti! I don’t know! It’s coming right after calling herself the queen, the tough girl, so I’m not sure what being a luxury car has to do with any of that. If I was like, “YOu know, I’m the queen, the tough girl, a Lamborghini” would be like, “Oh, you’re an overpriced an intellectually stunted car based more on the idea that people who have money can be made to feel like good drivers with expensive computing?” You see how ridiculous all this is?

But YOU don’t have to think about this, because you can just watch her dance half-naked on stage to a pop backbeat, because YOU were smart and did not pursue mastery of Spanish, only to have Spain beat you with a sack of Valencia oranges every year.

Disclaimer/Method

#Translated from the original European #Eurovision ranking 2022

16 notes · View notes

poetasinpapeles · 2 years

Text

Latinx Identity, Language, and Music

The Latinx identity is very complicated as is with so many overlapping identities so deeply embedded into our culture, from the Indigenous cultural practices that continued their way into Spanish Catholic religion or the ways in which African and Indigenous beats have created countless Spanish genres of music. The expression of such blending is still seen within media and language tools within the United States and how they reach cross-culturally and nationally. Pinto poetics describe the ways in which generational evolution forms of expression about mass incarceration. Maiz narratives dive deeper into the ways in which we navigate not feeling wanted or without belonging. Radio has served as a great driver of this as it is one of the earliest forms of television that can be done in between commutes to work and reach a large spanning audience. Piolin por la Mañana is not only a national hit amongst Latinos within the U.S. but internationally as well, growing up I would hear this show every day on my way to school as my father dropped me off. And while yes a lot of it was funny and scandalous hits it also played the latest Latinx hits but most importantly he created a community amongst Spanish speaking, heavy immigrant communities in the U.S. He informed the masses where health clinics would be, what lawyers are good or are scamming people and many other opportunities. And now with the help of different social media, other creatives are also able to explore the ways in which they are able to explore their hybrid identity. Take for example Snow tha Product, a Mexicana rapper, who first blew up a few years back on Facebook for her single "Waste of Time". Hip-hop has often served as a catalyst for change and Snow the Product demands just that both directly and indirectly, she calls upon the breaking of generational curses, calls out the Obama administration for its record-breaking numbers of deportations, and proudly flaunts her culture as she often raps in both English, Spanish and Spanglish. All while being a queen Latina she truly speaks for a community, she further proves the validity of a hybrid sense of being. Spanglish has often been discredited as a broken language but it proves itself to be a hybrid language that serves the masses and builds bridges instead of barriers. Those who understand Spanglish understand two language contexts and that should be admired and further used not shunned like how we have sadly seen in schools and communities alike.

#snowthaproduct #piolinporlamanana #spanglish #radio #ethnicstudies #etst #latina #latino #latinx #hiphop #rap #language #community

6 notes · View notes

dondiegocortez · 4 years

Photo

ALL ABOARD! The HMS PROMETHEAN welcomes DIEGO CORTEZ to the expedition in their capacity of GUEST. They are 36 & MALE and might be painted as SANTIAGO CABRERA. When you strike up an acquaintance, address them as HE/HIM. Their deeds on land precede their arrival — people say they are ADAPTABLE, RESOURCEFUL, AND CLEVER, but SELFISH, CUNNING, AND AVARICIOUS when the tide turns. Their purpose aboard the Promethean falls in line with A HATCHED PLAN TO PIONEER A SUPREME TRADE ROUTE TO THE FAR EAST AND OUTWIT THE QUEEN AND HER CRONIES.

hello, my sweet loves!!!!! i’m jem (she/her, EST) and i would like to PROFUSELY apologize to all of you in advance for this Cursed man. :/ i can’t wait to ruin literally all of your lives with diego, so please feel free to reach out to me on discord (jem#8171) bc i’m DESPERATE to write with all of you magnificent talents!!!!! i’ll have a wanted connections page up and running by tomorrow, but in the meantime, feel free read up on london’s merchant king!!! you can check out diego’s dossier, take a look at his timeline, or read below for a quick summary of this nightmare of a man!!

chaotic neutral & scorpio...........need i say more??? someone throw him overboard

born in a brothel in buenos aires called la rosa blanca and raised by the courtesans in the aftermath of his mother’s death when he was 9

moved to london when he was 18 in pursuit of wealth and class advancement; he stole, begged, borrowed, and bartered his way up london’s social ladder and did reasonably well for himself

dissatisfied with petty theft and his small fortune, he travelled the globe from 1829-1833 and forged allies in every continent

when he returned to london, he exploited the queen’s unruly taxes and used his allies overseas to smuggle luxury goods (tea, brandy, silk) into england, soon becoming one of the black market’s most renowned merchants, particularly cornering the tobacco market

current proprietor of la rosa negra, a brothel in london that serves as a refuge/shelter for immigrants, criminals, and outcasts and offers employ to those who wish to earn coin (the courtesans at la rosa negra operate in a spy-like fashion, always keeping one ear to the ground; by virtue of their intel, diego knows all of london’s most sinister gossip, and he often weaponizes the secrets he reaps, using them to blackmail london’s nobility for profit)

absolutely would betray ALL of you in the hunger games

bilingual (english and spanish); mostly speaks english, but will curse at you in spanish and seduce you in spanish

stans: immigrants, outcasts, criminals, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, SINNING, theft, london’s underworld, money

will fight (or rob): england’s nobility, any crew member who tries to tell him he can’t smoke his hand-rolled cigarettes on the gun deck, THE PURSER, the queen herself, if he could

frighteningly adaptable and resourceful????? what the fuck??? how are you still alive, sir????? basically a chameleon and can adapt to virtually any environment and wield it to his advantage

has a nameless raven that he tried and failed to train in the way of carrier pigeons, but the bird nonetheless bonded to him and now follows him most everywhere; is often seen flying overhead the promethean or perched on diego’s shoulder

probably spends most of his time on the promethean smoking on the gun deck (Fuck The Crew!!!), seducing passengers (fuck the crew.....am i right??? 😏), pickpocketing the nobles to pass the time, lounging in the cartography room in search of entertainment, or trying to train his raven to steal the purser’s ledger

#1 kink: money

very ostentatious and has a flair for the dramatic that will likely take years off of the captain’s life (rip)

he will do what it takes to survive.mp3

will also do what it takes to protect and expand his fortune, no matter the cost

connoisseur of languages and cultures

kind of a villain, but does have some redeeming qualities: deeply values and reveres all cultures around the globe, incredibly flexible/openminded, drinks respect women juice all day long thanks to his upbringing, often donates a portion of his fortune to the less fortunate

pros of being his friend: riches, excitement, good conversation, even better sex

cons of being his friend: the knife that will end up in your back :/

aesthetic: the drape of black silk, cloaks and daggers, cigarettes beneath the stars, red velvet bedsheets tangled around limbs long after dawn’s break, treasure troves, the caw of a raven, rings on every finger, cauldrons and coins, a knife in your back, roguish grins full of teeth, a boom of laughter that rolls like thunder, black leather gloves, swears cursed in Spanglish, sultry purrs in the dark of the night, love affairs moaned in different languages, the cleverness of the fox, the hunger of the wolf, the survival instinct of the wilderness.

#diego: greed bows to me; it is my servant and my lever #thqintro #sorry to u all for this absolutely Cursed man :/#also????#i can tell u w/ 100% certainty that diego does indeed brandish weapons like that #bdke (big drama king energy)#Very Sexy and Very Dumb of him if u ask me!!!!!

11 notes · View notes

barbiehytes · 4 years

Text

tag game

Tagged by my babies @pink-grapefruit-cafe , @buffywhovianpotterlock 💖

Name: [redacted], OK someeeeee lucky people around here know it, but i hatehatehate my name so I make them SWEAR on their lives to keep it secret

Nickname: B , barbie, barbs, binky, Barbara, i LOVE nicknames, gimme one and I’d love you forever

Zodiac sign: aquarius sun, taurus moon, leo rising, i’m not going to bore you to death about what it all means, don’t worry

Nationality: mexican, with italian-french or something like that ancestry(?) I’ve never done any test about it, but my last name is supeer weird for mexican standards and we traced it back to Italy

Languages spoken: spanish and awful english, how any of you understand me is a wonder to me. My favorite is just a mix of the two that we call spanglish.

What time is it: 03:26 pm pst YES I HAVE THE 12 HR CLOCK what about it

Celebrity crush: ugh so so many. Cate Blanchett. Margot Robbie, i can’t think of any men right now but there should be some

Favorite fictional character(s): Blair Waldorf !!!!!!! she’s my queen. I know there must be more but ugh, why do my one braincell always blanks when doing these things

Favorite musician: Lorde, Lana del Rey(surprising no one), Lady Gaga, and like a lot lot more. but those three jeez, i decided I wanna get a lana and a LG tattoo since I already have one for lorde

Favorite sports team: ahhhh ok, i LOVE sports. My dad has three daughters so he had to share his love for sports with someone and the chosen one was me. My fave team is the Green Bay Packers. I love the NFL and i like most teams (except the patriots they can choke). I like baseball and basketball but I don’t really have a team that I follow. Soccer I don’t love but I’d watch when there’s an important game like world cup.

Favorite season: summer & winter! I can never make up my mind between the two and I won’t apologize for it. Fall is slowly becoming a favorite too.

Favorite flower: sunflowers and chrysanthemums ( i had to ask my flower expert aka sohytes about how those were called) i like peonies too!

Favorite scent: coffee, the smell of rain, cinnamon and sugar. ocean air.

Favorite animal(s): cats and bunnies

Favorite food: I have the sweetest tooth: cookies and cakes and donuts. Actual food I love sushi, and salads. And tacos obviously.

Dream car: I know NOTHING about cars, but like a convertible mustang sounds nice. OHOH wait no, I love jeep wrangler ! (yes i googled that lmao) or like a range rover. I love a tall car.

Dream trip: Europe Trip - all the architecture I could see!!!!!!! Also NY. Oh and the Greek Islands. Santorini

Instruments: not a single one! shame. I’ve always wanted to learn piano.

Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: coffeeeee! but I finally started drinking tea regularly after years of trying and I really like it now. But coffee is life.

Dog or cat person: cats ! but tiny dogs are cute too. but only for like a minute.

Following: ahhhhh I think like something 600? but my dash is a mess I really need to clean it up a bit at some point

Followers: 1010 or something like that. but we all know half of those are porn bots lmao

Other blogs: just my main one that’s been around for like 10 YEARS can you believe, I’ve had it since high school and I don’t post much there but check it out if you like: @barbieggirl

Blog established: 2019

Do you have a tumblr crush: ok I have a friend crush with @artificialortega like, she’s hilarious and has the best meme reactions and I just want to be their friend?

Do you get asks: yes and i love that!! lately not so much anymore? idk if it’s that i haven’t been that active as I used to or we are just in a random place of mind right now, but i love and adore the ones i get asking for fics or to scream things at me 💖

What are you wearing right now: leggins and a tshirt

Drink(s) of choice: water, coffee, wine. I’m not a fan of beer, but I’d drink it if I have to. If it’s a ‘we are getting super drunk night’: tequila.

Number of blankets you sleep with: one!

Average sleeping hours: 6-8, on weekends I can sleep like 9 or 10 and no I’m not proud of that.

Random fact: I know I have a pretty pink barbie blog aesthetic, but that’s sooo far off from real life. I do like pink but i go towards more neutral shades in clothes, makeup and things. My style is not preppy at ALL. I love wearing big oversized things and tshirt dresses and like comfy things? So if you are thinking I’m a real life barbie in a skirt and heels I’m sorry to disappoint y’all. 😂

Tagging: I have no idea who already did this, so whatever want to say I tagged you!!!! 💖💖💖

#tag game #frey and I had a long talk about the term tumblr crushes #and if it is the same as a normal crush #and we think that it's not #and by our own definition we have a TON of tumblr crushes thank you sdfghjk

9 notes · View notes

i-rove-rock-n-roll · 5 years

Text

My Wips (and their progress)

Not in any particular order. This is also not all of them, just the ones I’m working on currently or plan to work on in the near future

Icarus--3rd draft, almost complete, currently standing at 68,490 words!

Icarus survived the fall and a bruised body isn’t going to stop him from getting back to his father. Unfortunately, he is whisked all the way to Libya and into a completely different bout of family drama, involving two brothers and a case of human sacrifice. Meanwhile, Minos, the king Icarus and his father escaped from, is hot on finding Daedalus, who is torn between mourning and denial, refusing to give up searching for his son. The ultimate question is ‘who finds who first?’

links here! (though I’ll probably add more in the future!)

Ariadne-- sequel to Icarus, follows Ariadne as she learns how to fully enjoy life and finds love with a deity named Dionysus. not even close to being done, standing around 8,000 words. Everything you love about Greek theater and drama all rolled into one. Also has a bunch of angry gods in it.

Helen--a retelling of the life of Helen and the Iliad from the point of view of a true daughter of Zeus and queen of Sparta. Helen is really tired of getting kidnapped, people. That’s all I’m gonna say.. A sequel (of sorts) to the previous two. Just started.

Medea--love and heartbreak of Medea, famous for both her use of magic and her relationship with a guy named Jason. And the fact that Theseus is apparently her stepson. And for being ruthless and killing her children (which lots of Greek characters did, I mean, hello Agamemnon, what’s up Tantalus) so her story is gonna have tons of drama.

Set somewhere before and after Icarus and Ariadne, this is the fourth in my mythology series and has literally one line done.

Cain--about 3,000 words

Cain has wandered the earth since his brother’s death. He has lived among the homeless, walked across continents and sailed across seas. He hasn’t had a home for hundreds--thousands-- of years. Then he walks into St. Mary’s church and meets Father Turrell, a sarcastic priest that lives on coffee, chili, and musicals. Father Turrell offers Cain a job, and despite his better judgement, Cain accepts. What follows is mayhem, and Cain’s safe haven, like all his others, is ruined. But now he has Father Turrell stubbornly refusing to let Cain leave without him. So they begin to wander...and trouble follows.

Redemption Day, about 15,000 words

When Gram Niesler returned home from prison, the last thing he expected was to be blamed for was arson. Especially considering the Donaldson’s house burned down before he’d even returned to town. Thankfully things straighten out, but Gram is soon hit with the truth that his cousin Nicki, who he still remembers as having skipped rope and painted his face with glitter, is the one behind the fire. Stranger still is her reasoning. Vengeance for her girlfriend’s death is one thing, but with literal angels and devils whispering in her ear, Gram is both trying to keep Nicki out of trouble, and tasked with helping her create a trial Armageddon.

Reincarnation Series (No real Title yet)-- Follows the reincarnations of various deities in the modern world. Kicking things off are the duo Hunahpu and Xbalanque aka the Mayan Hero Twins!

They always knew their dad was out of the picture, being a famous soccer player, but it’s when the twins go to find him that things get real weird, real fast. Confronted with magician half siblings and a snarky old grandmother, the twins have to wonder when their father will be home to see them. The answer, of course, is that they have to go find him. (That’s basically what I got so far both for a synopsis and a plot)

Wards and Wolfsbane (Tentative Title but idk what else to call it) (K, so this one is also probably going to be a series as well, the first book focused on the relationship between two wolf born siblings who meet a witch. They are all just learning their history, of this wide world full of monsters and magic. Will also have vamps and other assorted magical folk hiding out) Just started the world-building, it’s Urban fantasy.

Witches and Werewolves have been at war for centuries, only made worse by the history of hunters and burnings. Each side has cause, has killers.

Has children.

These children are the ones that wish to change things, to form an alliance. Because they see a danger that their forbears do not.

There is something else behind the curtain. And it’s coming very soon.

Aztlán--my first spanish (well right now it’s spanglish) wip!

This follows a close circle of people during either the Mexican-American War or the Revolutionary war of Mexico (I haven’t decided if I’m doing two separate wips for each yet) It has plots, spies, explosions, grief, mourning, betrayal, funerals, weddings gone wrong, etc. Here’s a sneak peek in español

Down We Fall--about 15-16,000

A story of weddings and political chess that begins with the bride stabbing the groom. The prince and the princess had been promised to each other as children, had grown up together as best friends, had told each other everything.

But saying I love you was out of the question.

In the realm of politics, both their kingdoms are struggling. Between infighting for current ruling authority and anarchy caused by the citizens, the pressure is put on. Something has to give. The prince and princess are not yet king and queen after all. The King is dead so who rules the chessboard?

Please note! If you guys want me to talk more about certain wips or characters or just post snippets of whichever one of your choosing you prefer, please don’t hesitate to ask! And if you feel like chatting about these wips, writing in general, or even just talking about the weather, my messages are always open!

tagging my usual peeps! (add/remove, lemme know!)

@couchwriting@wallpatterns@luckydragonnerd@tokyoghoulua@xanthus-the-headless-stand-user@mkaiww@pheita@ashesconstellation@ashes-of-chironides@splotch-of-spice@the-real-rg@thecadmiuminkwell@ahotpeaceofshit@writingmyselfintoanearlygrave@talesofhemlock@aquaroseas@demonfairyprincess@softdramahoe @lifeofroos@panhasablog @candybunnieholic @superlock-on-pc @alwolfesblog

#my writing #my wips #violetvineyard

15 notes · View notes

el-diario-de-salem · 6 years

Text

85 Questions Tag Game

I was tagged by 👑 @queen-fighter 👑

(sorry for el spanglish)

last

drink: Water

phone call: my brother

text message: a friend

song you listened to: Free - Mother Mother

time you cried: last week 🤦‍♀️ I cried because of stress

ever

dated someone twice: no (?)

kissed someone and regretted it: Yes 🤷‍♀️

been cheated on: Yes :(

lost someone special: Yes

been depressed: Yes.. but I try to be positive

gotten drunk and thrown up: noup

fave colors: Gray, Red, Black, White and el rosa medio naranjoso (?) o sea el salmon?

in the last year have you …

made new friends: YAAS!

failed out of love: jejeje Yes 😅

laughed until you cried: Yes (y luego casi muero por falta de oxigeno.. fue la experiencia mas aterradoramente mas divertida)

found out someone was talking about you: Yes, 🤷‍♀️

met someone who changed you: maybe

found out who your friends are: Yes ❤

kissed someone on your facebook friends list: Nouup

general

how many of your facebook friends do you know irl: almost everyone

do you have any pets: yes

do you want to change your name: I did not like my name, but now it does not bother me

what did you do for your last birthday: Sleep 😅

what time did you wake up today: 7:30 AM

what were you doing at midnight last night: Drawing

what is something you can not wait for: 🤷‍♀️ Dìa de muertos, Hallowen 😂

what are you listening to right now: Gorillaz - On Melancholy Hill (Acoustic)

Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: Not that I remember, probably not

something that gets on your nerves: the serigraphy classes

most visited website: Twitter, tumblr, youtube

hair color: dark brown

long or short hair: medium, I miss my long hair

do you have a crush on someone: Noup

what do you like about yourself: my creativity and my almost infinite patience

want any piercings ?: Nop

blood type: B+

nicknames: Salem, Obsidian, gatito (🤷‍♀️)

relationship status: singlee

Zodiac: Tauruus ♥ ♥

pronouns: She

fave tv shows: Sherlock (BBC) Supernatural.. no veo series desde hace.. mucho

tattoos: above my right ankle I have a little heart. it's a friendship tattoo 🤷‍♀️ there are other morras with the other symbols of poker ♥ ♦ ♣ ♠

right or left handed: Left

ever had surgery: I had surgery for appendicitis.... it's a funny story... I woke up in the middle of the operation

sport: Boxing

vacation: oa place away from the bustle of the city

trainers: No se a que se refiera (?)

more general

eating: cereal

drinking: water or coffee.. or coke

I’m about to watch: Kingsman (maybe)

waiting for: the end(?) I'm not expecting anything 🤷‍♀️

want: I would only like to “be”

get married: nop nop nop

career: Graphic design (a un voy a mitad de carrera)

which is better

hugs or kisses: both 🤔

lips or eyes: eyes

shorter or taller: Shorter 😂❤

older or younger: Regarding what? 🤔

nice arms or stomach: Ah? 🤔

hookup or relationship: both (?) (no se, siento que no estoy entendiendo la pregunta)

troublemaker or hesitant: troublemaker

have you ever

kissed a stranger: noup

drunk hard liquor: yes

lost glasses: nop

turned someone down: yes

sex on first date: nop

broken someone’s heart: yes

had your heart broken: JA! ... yes 😅

been arrested: jaja no

cried when someone died: yes obviously

failed for a friend: yap 😕

do you believe in

yourself: sometimes

miracles: Nop

love at first sight: no

santa claus: ow ♥ but no

kiss on a first date: mhe 🤷‍♀️

angels: maybe

others

best friend’s name: "the whisperers” (nunca le pusieron un nombre a su grupo de amigos? jajaja)

eye color: brown 👀

fave movie: Kill Bill

fave actors: Jason Momoa because esta mas bueno que el pan

Taggeo a: @uncuentofriki @lectoracronica @sabsaberhagen

5 notes · View notes

tannertravelslife · 4 years

Text

Oaxaca, Oaxaca !

Two weeks spent backpacking through Mexico.

I started my trip flying from Los Angeles to Mexico City. When I arrived in Mexico, I stayed overnight in a pod hotel. They’re super convenient and cost effective, but they obviously lack most of the amenities you would find in a regular hotel or hostel. All I needed was a place to sleep that wasn’t an airport bench, and early the next morning I was on my way to Puerto Escondido. The Koffi Boys were already staying at a hostel within walking distance from the airport, called La Escondida. Definitely a step up from the simple design of the pod hotel, costing only 170 pesos (10 USD) for a night’s stay. Like most hostels, the sleeping situation is a bunkhouse-style shared dorm, (we opted for no air conditioning). In the mornings the hostel provides a small breakfast, and guests have access to two kitchens for cooking their own meals. Hostels are great if you’re up for socializing, plus you can experience the cooking and cultures of all those just passing through. Overall the vibe was very relaxed. There are other spaces besides the kitchens to hang around with fellow hostel-stayers, like the terrace and bar area. Venturing out of the hostel, downtown Puerto Escondido is less congested with fancy restaurants and bars, and more home-y in a way that feels “authentic”. La Punta and Zicatela are trendier and popular with transient visitors, and likely for a good reason, but to me they also seemed more commoditized. I generally prefer to travel a bit more immersively, but if a hip atmosphere appeals to you, check it out.

Highlights in Puerto -

Vegetarian eats at Cocofam

This little restaurant is family-run, located right in the backyard. The food was incredible, the drinks were delicious. The menu is limited, but it’s absolutely worth checking out if you have a restricted diet (or even if you don’t)

Jugo across from the hostel

The juice spot nearby was only open until early afternoon each day and was always packed. My buddies and I would grab a drink in the morning (about 32 ounces) before we got on with our day. I recommend the “Surf Juice”.

Playa Coral

This is a “secret” beach, meaning you have to climb under a fence and hike down a trail to access it, or at least that’s how we got there. When you get down to the water, you’ll find it’s a cool and secluded spot without many people, right in front of an abandoned water park. Because it’s a bit isolated, there aren’t any options for food along the beach, so bring a picnic and watch the sunset. Just be out before it gets too dark, as the pathway down is not lit.

Playa Carazillo

If you’re not up for making your way down an unpaved trail to get to a beach, this is a more popular and easily accessible spot. If you’re into surfing, there’s usually some decent ankle busters for beginners (the locals can be a bit territorial with their spots, so don’t expect to catch the best ever waves). Snorkeling near the shore was pretty sweet-- I even saw a few sea turtles. Playa Carazillo has the bluest waters, and is definitely a good place to spend a day. You can even rent a chair with some shade for a few bucks, and grab some grub too.

The Road to San Jose del Pacifico

After 4 days on the beaches of Puerto Escondido, we started heading towards the more mountainous San Jose del Pacifico. The town is about halfway between Puerto and Oaxaca City, tucked away in the Sierra Madre del Sur. It’s often called “magical”, both because of its beauty and because of the wild psychedelic mushrooms that grow there. These ‘shrooms are essentially decriminalized, and are sold basically everywhere, commonly preserved in honey.

In Puerto, we left La Escondida to catch a local bus to Pochutla, about an hour and a half’s ride. The price was ~20 pesos each. ( 1 USD ) A very easy trip. The next leg of the journey was a slightly different story. From Pochutla, we bought tickets for a colectivo bus for about 150 pesos. This vehicle was absolutely nuts. The odometer read 9999999, the dash was lit up like a Christmas tree, and our driver did a quick sign of the cross as we departed. The ride up is a would-be nightmare for anyone who might be even a little hungover; the road twists and turns and winds around the mountains with very little space between the edge of the pavement and the edge of the cliff. Mads and I were practically sitting in the driver’s lap-- we kept joking that I could have grabbed the wheel and steered us off the mountain if I had wanted to. Despite sitting in the front and NOT being hungover, we still experienced a bit of carsickness. All in all, we nearly crashed only a handful of times in this uphill battle, and made it to our destination in a little over 4 stomach-churning hours. No shade directed at the bus driver; this man was truly a hero with nerves of absolute steel, steering us to victory. On arriving in San Jose del Pacifico, we walked about a half mile to our “hostel”, La Cumbre. I put “hostel” in heavy quotes, because for 150 pesos each we were treated to a private room with two queen sized beds and a desk.

We spent two days relaxing in this mountain haven, venturing into town to eat at a local restaurant. Most meals were in the range of 35-60 pesos (about 2-3 USD). Being so high in the mountains, the evenings can get cold, and we each had 2-3 hot chocolates in the evening to keep us warm and wind us down. San Jose del Pacifico is mellow, and the best way to enjoy the town is by wandering through the streets and enjoying the views. You can also opt to trip on shrooms, if that’s your style. Relax and enjoy yourself. Two nights reading on the terrace of La Cumbre sipping chocolate, overlooking the restaurant near the hostel was good. We had some joyful conversations with other travellers around a firepit, which for 50 pesos could be lit and maintained by the restaurant staff. When it was time to move on to Oaxaca City, we bought colectivo tickets through the same company as we did on the way up. We weren’t elbow to elbow with the driver this time, but the 4-hour trip down the mountain was not nearly as harrowing.

Just as a side note, a two hour hike from San Jose is San Mateo, which we heard is an even smaller, hippier town. We attempted to hike there, but got twisted around and ended up turning back. If you end up making it there, let me know how it is. The folks we met from the area told us it’s an off-the-beaten path, off-the-grid, psychedelic experience.

Oaxaca City

We arrived in the afternoon and walked leisurely from the bus stop to Hostal Chocolate. The woman at the front desk told us the only beds available were in the basement, 110 pesos a night. We checked them out, and she was definitely right to give us a heads up. We decided that it wouldn’t be the most questionable thing we’d done in Mexico though, and agreed to stay. After a night, we met up with the rest of our party of 7 and checked into an Airbnb, which we stayed in for 5 days and was much more pleasant. I spent my time in Oaxaca City wandering the market places, beautiful churches, museums , and art spaces that this city has to offer. The grass roots scene for press print style artwork is huge here, and any of the studios will be happy to explain the process to you in spanglish. We took a free 3 hour walking tour and that helped us kind of get a lay of the land, pointing out some local hot spots. I am always a fan of taking the walking tour just to see what you can get out of it, usually some local spots and at the end you feel like you have a grasp on the town.

Things to see -

Ethnobotanical Garden and Santo Domingo Cultural Museum.

These two are located directly next to each other and are some of the most iconic landmarks in the city. It takes about 2 hours to see the museum in its entirety, but don’t rush it. It’s chock full of history, including the discovery of Tomb 7 at Monte Alban. Plan ahead so you can experience the cultural museum before the White Mountain and understand the history of everything you’ll see. The Ethnobotanical Garden is full of native plant life that is endemic to the region, meaning many of the plants are not found anywhere else on Earth. They offer a guided tour for 50 pesos in Spanish, or 100 pesos in English. If you’re looking to take some pics for Instagram, this is a good place.

Monte Alban

A round trip bus trip to the heritage site will cost 80 pesos, and can be purchased on the west side of the Zocalo. Meet the bus driver in the morning and they'll drop you off at 9 AM. Pick-up is at noon, so you have 3 hours to take it all in. The entry fee to the mountain is another 80 pesos, but I almost recommend spending some additional money on a tour guide. There is so much to see, and having someone to guide you through the rich history may have enriched our experience. Even without, it was a humbling and beautiful place, and amazing to see the architecture of the Zapoteca still standing after centuries.

Mercado 20 de Noviembre

It doesn’t actually have to be the 20th of November to visit this market; it’s named for the date of the Mexican Revolution. The market itself is a celebration of Mexican culture and cuisine, a deluge of smells and sights. It’s full of knick-knacks but the focus is really on the sizzling meat all around you. Everything you could ever want to eat all packed into the one market (as long as you like carne asada).

Bolenc

Sourdough bakery and restaurant-y deli-y place with awesome sandwiches and pizza.

Hierba Dulce

Vegetarian and vegan restaurant serving traditional Oaxacan dishes with a twist

Calle Porfirio Diaz

This bustling street is lined with hip restaurants and shops.

Zocalo The city center square, full of shops and restaurants.

La Cosecha

An organic harvest market filled with rich history, fresh juice, and many shops.

Mexico, and more specifically the state of Oaxaca is a rich blast of culture waiting to be taken in. An assortment of indigenous culture paired with an array of bright primary colors everywhere you look make it hard not to have a smile on your face at all times. I reflected on my trip when I returned to my fast paced life in Los Angeles and quickly missed those cobblestone streets, siestas, and easy afternoons spent in Oaxaca. The emphasis on a happy life and much time spent with family and friends is infectiones, and I wish more people prioritized these things back here in the land of the 9-5. I look forward to returning to Oaxaca someday, and exploring the rest of what Mexico has to offer.

Click here to receive a free copy of Oaxaca, Oaxaca ! A 16 page zine filled with 35mm photos from my trip. Just enter your name and address.

#Mexico #Oaxaca #Puerto Escondido #backpacking #solo travel #San Jose Del Pacifico

0 notes

endlesspassport · 7 years

Text

Tiger’s Eye

Cubans cheekily brag that you haven’t properly experienced their country until you’ve completed four tasks: Drank a mojito, smoked a cigar, salsa danced and, lastly, gotten with a local. As a feisty world traveling backpacker open to new experiences, all activities appealed to me, and I knew the opportunities would present themselves during my two weeks on the island.

My first mojito was refreshing; with freshly muddled aromatic mint and a generous overflowing double shot of rum. The cigar I smoked was rolled right before my eyes on a tobacco farm deep in the heart of picturesque Viñales Valley. I took salsa lessons in Havana, and had a blast clumsily executing my moves on dance floors all across the country. 'Getting with a local,' however, turned out far less ideally than the others.

I knew I needed to make my one and only weekend in Havana count. I had looked up gay clubs ahead of time, and Cabaret Las Vegas featured drag shows, a lively crowd and cheap drinks. As a U.S. citizen, when visiting Cuba, your credit and debit cards are useless. You must fully budget ahead of time, bringing all necessary cash to eventually convert into CUC, the Cuban currency. I arrived to the airport with the equivalent of $750 to last 13 days; a budget-friendly amount that also allowed for occasional splurging.

My chosen hostel casa was basic, but of the five places I ended up staying in Cuba, it was the only one with a safe. This worked out well as the skintight red vintage women's slacks I picked for my big night out didn't have pockets big enough to fit my wallet or passport. It took all my gymnastic efforts just to squeeze in my iPhone, hostel keys and 25 CUC (the equivalent of $25). Drinks are cheap in Cuba, so this was likely to get me through the night.

As I approached the long entry line to the gay club looking spiffy, feeling energized and ready to mingle, I struck up a conversation with a darling couple ahead of me. One was a shy Cuban boy with a dazzling smile, along with his equally handsome partner who was visiting from Madrid, Spain. Once inside, we found a table, and continued chatting over our first, second and, eventually, third drinks.

Waiting for the universally late drag queens to take the stage, I stepped away to the upstairs rooftop for a quick cigarette. My resolution to quit smoking six weeks prior had been going splendidly until, a couple nights prior, I drunkenly accepted a pack from a fellow traveler.

In my horrible, broken Spanglish, I asked two locals if I could borrow a lighter. One asserted himself, stepping forward and immediately lighting my cigarette. With long eyelashes I will never forget, Jordan was friendly, funny and, thankfully, had a better grasp on English than I did Spanish. "I like, you bracelet," he attempted, pointing to my wrist. It was tiger's eye; a string of powerful yellow-golden stones meant to protect and guide their wearer. It is said to help make decisions with discernment and understanding, remaining unclouded by your emotions. I had bought it at a night market in Myanmar just two months prior.

As his wingman stepped away, Jordan and I continued our flirty chat. He was without a drink, so I bought a round, keeping in mind my now remaining 12 CUC. Could I balance being gentlemanly yet cheap?

The drag show was mediocre but I could have cared less; Jordan was fun, flirty and sensual. His natural scent intoxicated me deeper than all the night's collective cocktails as we danced and kissed. He was open and playful, which allowed me to let my guard down. This was the Friday night in Havana I had envisioned. How could I be so lucky to nab this hottie? I had just enough cash for one more round, leaving me with 4 CUC for my short cab ride back to my hostel

Jordan and I nursed our beers, less into them and more into each other. He inquired about where I was staying. After I told him I was sleeping in a ten-bed hostel the size of a closet, we refocused on his living space. He said he could host, and I was certainly keen for a sleepover.

It came that time of the night to exit the club. We walked a few blocks to a more taxi friendly area of the city. As we waited to hail one, he ran across the street to buy us each a can of Bucanero, the strong local beer. How sweet! Earlier on, I had treated a couple rounds, and now he was repaying the favor. He opened the beers and held them for a bit, finally handing me mine with a wink as we stepped inside our cab. It was an intimate 15-minute ride to his place. We held hands, intertwining fingers in the backseat, sipping our Bucaneros and drunkenly exchanging newly learned flirtatious passes in each other's language. I paid the cabbie a couple CUC and we walked a few more blocks to his casa.

Finally arriving to his place, he said, "I think we should wait here a bit." No problem, I thought, as we settled into his cozy patio chairs. We watched YouTube videos of salsa performers on his phone for ten minutes.

Black.

In a haze, I am stumbling slow motion through an unknown nondescript living room. There is another male with Jordan.

Black.

I am in the same room. I feel a tug on my left ear as someone has just removed my diamond earring. I am far too sedated to even attempt stopping them.

Black.

Jordan is in possession of my iPhone, repeatedly incorrectly typing in the passcode.

Black.

I cannot tell you where I woke up - inside, outside, in a bed or on a sidewalk; to this day I will never know where they dragged me after they were finished with me. It was very early morning; breezy, bright and beautiful. The birds were chirping, classic cars whizzed by and young families strolled down the concrete sidewalks. The air was crisp.

Dusting myself off, I reached into my left pocket. My final 2 CUC was gone, but my hostel keys were still there. In my right pocket was my iPhone, which now said, "iPhone is disabled - connect to iTunes." I felt my left ear; the diamond earring was gone. Yet the matching one somehow remained. The tiger's eye bracelet that Jordan had complimented had been taken too.

Still heavily drugged, I stumbled over to four locals. In mentioning a couple landmarks, I asked them how to get back to my hostel. They must have sensed something was off, because five minutes later, two police officers pulled up in a squad car. In that moment, I thought it was my magical cab ride home so I hopped right in and slept soundly in the backseat as they drove me to the police station.

I sat in a nondescript waiting room with a dozen deadbeats for two hours. In between bouts of accidentally falling asleep in my hard lime green plastic chair, I pestered the officers, demanding they call me a cab. They politely ignored me, escorted me back to my uncomfortable spot and requested that I wait.

At one point they put me on the phone with an English speaking authority. "What is your name and passport number?" he asked. I told this stranger my credentials, also mentioning the drugging and robbery. The male voice seemed indifferent to these details and hung up.

Finally, around noon, the officers released me. No questioning, no investigation, no reprimand; that was it. I got into a cab, told the driver where my hostel was and, after passing out in the front seat, arrived to my hostel. The worried hostel owner, a young mother of twins, was so relieved to see me. She helped me pay the cabbie, and guided me to the couch where my body forced me to sleep my entire Saturday away - 12 uninterrupted hours.

Around midnight, a fellow hostel mate woke me. "Brian, we found an earring. Do you know whose this is?" She showed me my missing diamond. How was this possible? Confused, I put it back into my ear as she guided me toward my bunk bed, where, again, I passed out an additional eight hours.

I woke up the next day thirsty, hungry and groggy. It was a bright Sunday morning in Havana, Cuba. Time to get out there and do what I had done everyday for 21 months - put on my backpack and go explore.

***

It’s Alcohol 101 – don’t accept open drinks from strangers. Please learn from my naivety. Date rape is an underreported crime that can happen anywhere at anytime. All genders, sexualities, races and ages. Victims are often shamed into silence, but I refuse to subscribe to that.

You likely have as many questions as I do. I still have not fully processed the long-term effects of this event, but in the context of what happened, I am lucky to have my life, limbs and organs. In physically examining myself afterward, there was no bruising, soreness or fluids present, but I did follow up for STI/HIV testing once I arrived back to Chicago. All signs pointed to this being a (largely failed) robbery, and, thankfully, nothing more.

Despite this incident, Cuba remains among the best countries I visited during my 22-month adventure. Full of dazzling beauty, this is a country with so much to offer. During my two weeks, the dozens of other locals I met were kind, curious, fun, generous and passionate.

I choose not to give Jordan the power to shape how I remember and define an entire nation. Hopefully the tiger's eye bracelet he now wears provides him the strength, guidance and positive energy he needs.

2 notes · View notes

stingchronicity · 7 years

Note

do............. all of them

omg emily thank you ily

Purple: 10 facts about my room

1. the walls are a terrible shade of green (not my choice)

2. my favourite poster on my wall is my Brain Salad Surgery poster and sometimes i spend hours just looking at Keith bc he makes me happy

3. i don’t have any shelves so i keep my records lined up on the floor and there are so many of them that they take up approx. 1/3 of my floor

4. i have a glass drafting table that i love, and when i did more graphite drawings i used to have it tilted up all the time, but ever since i started doing more paintings, it’s been set flat (plus there’s a bunch of shit on it)

5. there is a caricature of myself and keith emerson holding hands on my wall (done by a lovely woman i met in the last hospital i stayed in)

6. i also have a lot of my own art on my walls (foxtrot painting, abacab fantasies, steve winwood painting, bloody piano, rush logo, smirky tony banks, red keith, a thing i did for david bowie, a bloody flower, and the valentine i made for keith)

7. i have 4 (used to have 5) calendars on my wall and they’re all out of date

8. i have a copy of queen’s Hot Space vinyl on my wall and also a ceramic mask with balloons on it

9. the records i can see from the spot i’m sitting at right now are Honky by Keith Emerson, the first Asia album, The Kids Are Alright by the Who, and Love Beach by ELP

10. i keep the following things on my bed: first off i have my purple/pink/blue comforter and the matching sheets and pillow cases (2 pillows), and then i have a throw blanket that’s black and white and very soft; a really thin and cool to the touch Mickey Mouse sheet that was my mom’s in the 70s (i like to snuggle it in the summer bc its somehow always cold); greg lake pillow (from my own redbubble); a star shaped rainbow pillow (i call him carl !!) which i got from my sister; a hello kitty bunny (don’t remember the character’s name) plushie with a carrot (i call him keith ♥️️) which is one of the toys i had as a baby; Mr. Bonks the giant panda plushie which was a valentine’s gift; and most importantly !! keith blanket (from the amazing @moogotron) and keith pillow (which i bought myself) !! my most prized possessions !!

Blue: 9 facts about my family

1. we’re chinese/costa rican

2. we usually just speak english but sometimes we speak ~spanglish~

3. i have a love/hate relationship with my sister

4. i’m decently close with my parents although my dad can be an asshole

5. my brother is dead to me bc he gave me PTSD and basically killed my innocence

6. my entire family is fairly ableist except my mom who at least tries to be understanding

7. i have one nephew (age 6) who is my brother’s child, and two nieces (aged almost 2 and the other is 1 month) and they’re my sister’s children

8. i have 2 kitties !! they’re twins from my old cat and their names are Coda and Kenai (from Brother Bear) !! coda is my smol and good prince and he spends every night in my bed (he’s actually asleep next to me rn) and is like,, in love with me (krista calls him a “humany” bc hes like the opposite of a furry). kenai is enormous like a vet once told me he’s the largest cat she’s ever seen and its true he’s very bode and that’s like,, the only way to tell them apart bc they look exactly the same except their weight, and kenai has a kink in the very end of his tail

9. i’m not that close with my family i don’t know what else to say

Green: 8 facts about appearance

1. hmm my hair is really dark brown and it’s feathered

2. i have a singular white hair that i was born with and still have

3. i have long legs but short arms

4. smol and sad (but perky) boobs

5. i do like my cute nose and lips

6. i have a really tiny waist and rather wide hips

7. i’m 5′7″?? idk

8. my back hurts rn

Yellow: 7 facts about my childhood

1. it was terrible

2. i didn’t have a childhood

3. we were extremely poor and everyone ignored me bc they were too busy dealing with my siblings’ legal trouble and such

4. my body was used and nobody cared

5. i was a “gifted” child so nobody read me bedtime stories or helped me or like,, spent time with me after the age of like 4

6. i never really had friends, and nobody my age lived near me so i spent every weekend alone and neither of my siblings seemed to even remember i existed, nor my parents, so

7. my dad yelled at me so much for bothering him or asking him questions or asking to hang out with him that i’m perpetually scared of people yelling and will cry if someone yells at me

Orange: 6 facts about my home town

1. i do not even think i can fit in 6 facts about my hometown

2. its less than 700 people

3. more churches than homes

4. we have a single eatery and basically its a parking lot with a tiny building where you go up to the window and order things like hot dogs (theyre actually p good not gonna lie)

5. ummmmmmmmmmmmm

6. i hate it

Red: 5 facts about my best friend

i don’t want any of my friends to feel left out here so i’ll give u a fact abt my closest pals

1. @moogotron is a slut (jk heres a real fact abt her: she once fell out of a stationary car and now has a scar on her temple)

2. @auroreamethyste has the same special interest as me !!! eeeee !!! (actually when i first thought of a fact for you, my mind went to the nutcracker story but i don’t know if it’s okay to share it XD)

3. @dumbfaceadventureland knows so much about birds???? i am truly amazed and whenever i see birds i think of her

Pink: 4 facts about my parents

1. my dad has seen pink floyd like 3 times

2. my mom once had a fax conversation with jon bon jovi

3. todd rundgren took my dad sledding in the 80s (they lived in the same town, woodstock NY)

4. my dad was in the studio with the band when foghat recorded “slow rider” (to sum it up my dad knows a lot of famous musicians)

White: 3 facts about my personality

1. aaa difficult question hmm well i spend about 3/4s of my day in a childish mood where i kinda feel like i’m 5 years old and i want to cuddle up in cute pyjamas and stuff idk how to describe this it just happens

2. bold and brash (aka belongs in the trash) seriously though i’m not bold or brash at all (but i do belong in the trash)

3. i’m more like a soft mouse who likes to spend a lot of time thinking

Grey: 2 facts about my favorite things

favourite material items?

1. keith pillow !! and keith blanket !! the two most wonderful objects i own they’re so soft and covered with my beautiful keith

2. i carry them around constantly like, literally everywhere i go i take keith pillow with me (easier to carry than keith blanket, though i take him with me sometimes too)

Black: 1 fact about the person I like

1. beautiful blue eyes, soft sandy brown hair, plays a various amount of keyboards, is in emerson lake and palmer

eeee thanks again !

#ask #/long post #emily #dumbfaceadventureland

4 notes · View notes

honeyed-hedonist · 1 year

Text

Miguel O’Hara Headcanons

(from a bitch who hasn’t seen the movie or read a single piece of source material on him)

18+ MINORS DNI

SFW:

Rarely cooks for himself because he’s always on the go, but when he does find the time to whip up a meal, it’s always the best thing you’ve ever tasted.

Dry sense of humor, but will crack a smile (and sometimes even a laugh) despite himself at your puns/jokes/general silliness

Stubborn as all hell. Will fight tooth and nail with you over the dumbest shit just because he’s so obstinate.

Speaking of stubborn, good luck getting this man to admit he was wrong. You could draft a whole essay in MLA format with a PowerPoint presentation on why, in fact, he’s completely wrong and he’ll still look you dead in your eyes and say “That proves nothing. I’m right.” Sir, no you are not, let me count the ways.

Don’t let that deter you though! He apologizes for his stubbornness in other ways—whether it’s a bouquet of your favorite flowers or bringing you coffee in the morning, he’s a man of action, not words.

Stoic and standoffish when you first meet him. It takes him a little while to soften, and there’s a big part of him that wants to cave, to break down those walls and open himself back up, but he fights it every time. Despite that, he craves softness and warmth, so when you come along to give it to him in droves, it’s a losing battle for him to keep you at arm’s length

Once those walls are down it’s like night and day. He’s handsy, can’t keep them to himself. He’s always gotta be touching you in some capacity if only to remind himself that you’re real and he needs to cherish every moment he gets with you because he knows better than most how quickly things can change.

Will always make time for you. Doesn’t matter the time of day or night, doesn’t matter what he’s doing, you call and he’s on his way.

Uses all sorts of pet names on you in English and Spanish. Mi cielo (my heaven/sky), mi alma (my soul), chula (cutie), reinita (little queen), mi amor (my love), babe/baby, angel, sweetheart, sunshine, and bunny to name a few. If it’s sweet and makes you fluster, he’s all for it.

Speaks Spanglish a lot, especially when he’s mad. Will switch between both so fast you can hardly keep up, and he’ll stop mid-rant and give you a sheepish smile, shrugging his shoulders. “My mouth has a mind of its own, bonita. Lo siento.”

Calls you often when the two of you are apart. Can’t end his night without hearing your voice. No matter where he is, you can guarantee your phone will ring right before you fall asleep every single night. He always says he’s just calling you to say goodnight, but then the pair of you end up talking for hours. Not that you mind, the lack of sleep is worth it.

NSFW UNDER THE CUT

Oscillates between a hard and soft dom depending on the day he’s had or the mood he’s in, but regardless of that, he’s always the top.

Eats for his pleasure. When his face is buried between your thighs, it’s not about you, it’s about him and he’ll eat until he’s satisfied, regardless of how desperately you try to shove him off. “Nuh uh, mami, m’not finished yet. Lay back and take it, huh? Be a good girl and let me have my fill. Tastes too damn good.”

Grunts and growls most of the time, but when he’s feeling softer that man 100% whimpers.

A vocal lover—he likes to taunt and tease you, overwhelms you with praise, forces you to answer his questions even in the midst of your fuzzy-headed bliss. “Speak up, princessa. I asked you if you can feel me deep up in that belly. Yeah? There we go. That’s my girl.”

His favorite positions to fuck you in tend to alternate, but he’s a big fan of doggy with his hand around your throat while you’re on your knees with your back to his chest, mainly because it allows him to sink his teeth into your neck and speak absolute filth in your ear. Missionary or a full blown mating press and prone bone are others he enjoys. Also likes to pound into you from below when you ride him—again, this man is all about control so even when you think you have the upper hand, you don’t.

Big on marking you—with his fangs or otherwise. When you ask him to bite you for the first time he goes absolutely feral, fucks you so hard you can’t walk right or sit down for a week, your chest, neck, and back littered with bruises, bite marks, and a prominent puncture wound at the hollow of your throat.

Stamina for days. My guy could spend hours on end fucking you into the mattress and he does every single time. There are no quickies with Miguel—when he makes time for you, he makes time. Will clear out an entire day and dedicate it solely to taking you apart and piecing you back together just so he can do it all over again. “One more round, baby. C’mon, need it. You’re not gonna deprive me, are you? Nah—you know better. Open up for me, chula, just like that.”

Big breeder balls. (Sorry, I don’t make the rules.) My boy will stuff you so fucking full. Practically cums buckets and loves to watch it ooze out of your abused little hole when he’s finished pumping several loads inside you. “Lookit that, huh? Ese pequeño coño está lleno, ¿no?” (That little cunt is stuffed full, isn’t it?)

#miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara smut #spiderverse imagine #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you

64 notes · View notes

glittership · 4 years

Text

Episode #77 — "The Quiet Realm of the Dark Queen" by Jenny Blackford

Direct download here

And here’s the RSS feed: http://glittership.podbean.com/feed/

Episode 77 is part of the Autumn 2018 issue!

Support GlitterShip by picking up your copy here: http://www.glittership.com/buy/

The Quiet Realm of the Dark Queen

by Jenny Blackford

Dumuzi—my beautiful brother Dumuzi, lovelier than the first green shoots of barley rising from the dark mud of an irrigated field—Dumuzi was dead.

Father had not spoken for six days. Not long ago, he’d been a great king in the fullness of his manhood, but now he was hobbling around the halls of the palace like an old grasshopper waiting for death. His hair was gray; his face was grayer still.

Mother was quiet at last. For six full days and nights she’d wailed and screamed on her wide bed of gold, tearing her soft face and her lovely breasts with her nails, pulling great lumps of curled and scented hair from her luxuriant head, berating all the gods for their cruelty to her. The people said that she was no mere mortal beauty but a goddess walking on earth with us, and she did not disagree; but even if this were true, it did not diminish her fury against the other gods.

[Full story & transcript after the cut.]

Hello! Welcome to GlitterShip Episode 77 for the longest March, 31st, 2020. This is your host, Keffy, and I’m super excited to be sharing this story with you. Our story for today is The Quiet Realm of the Dark Queen by Jenny Blackford read by Marcy Rae Henry and Amber Gray.

Before we get into the story, I’ve got a few things to say. First of all, much love to everyone out there in the world as we face this pandemic together. Love to all those who are suffering, whether from the virus itself, from loss of or fear for loved ones, from financial uncertainty, or from the fear of what the next day will bring. As in most times of extreme disaster, we’re seeing both acts of extreme sociopathy and extreme kindness. Please do what you can to stay safe. Once you’ve got your own oxygen mask on, see what you can do for others.

GlitterShip was originally going to run a full-sized Kickstarter in an attempt to increase our rates, but a combination of finances, time, and the magical world of Keffy-is-still-working-on-a-PhD made that deeply unfeasible, which only became moreso when the pandemic started really ramping up in the States.

That said, we are running a much smaller Kickstarter at https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/keffy/glittership-a-queer-sfandf-magazine-going-for-year-4 in order to fund the next year of GlitterShip through the end of 2020. The much smaller amount is designed to get us through the year and pay off some previous incurred debts. That said, there are also a few stretch goals just in case. If we go considerably over our goal, we’ll pay authors more, yay! As of this recording on March 31st, the Kickstarter is about 2/3 of the way funded. The Kickstarter is live until 9pm United States Eastern time on Friday, April 10, 2020. Thank you so much in advance for helping me keep GlitterShip going.

Finally, this episode is from the last issue, but there’s going to be a new issue released extremely soon as we get back on track!

And now, onto “The Quiet Realm of the Dark Queen” by Jenny Blackford, read by Marcy Rae Henry and Amber Gray.

Jenny is an Australian writer and poet. Her poems and stories have appeared in Cosmos, Pulp Literature, Strange Horizons, and more. Pamela Sargent called her subersively feminist novella, The Priestess and the Slave, “elegant”. She won two prizes in the 2016 Sisters in Crime Australia Scarlet Stiletto awards for a murder mystery set in classical Delphi, with water nymphs. You can find her at www.jennyblackford.com.

Marcy Rae Henry is a Latina born and raised in Mexican-America/The Borderlands. Her writing and visual art appears or is forthcoming in FlowerSong Books’ Selena Anthology, Thimble Literary Magazine, New Mexico Review, The Wild Word, Beautiful Losers, The Acentos Review, World Haiku Review, Chicago Literati, The Chaffey Review, Shanghai Literary Review, Damaged Goods Press/TQ Review. Her publication, The CTA Chronicles, received a Chicago Community Arts Assistance Grant and Cumbia Therapy, her collection of Spanglish stories, received an Illinois Arts Council Fellowship. Ms. M.R. Henry is currently seeking publication of two novellas. She is an Associate Professor of Humanities and Fine Arts at Harold Washington College Chicago.

Amber Gray is a theatre artist and lover of stories. She enjoys mimicking and creating character voices, especially in song, for her own amusement and the annoyance of those around her who have to put up with it. Thank you to Marcy for being such a good friend and neighbor, and for inviting her to have such a fun time with this project.

The Quiet Realm of the Dark Queen

by Jenny Blackford

Dumuzi—my beautiful brother Dumuzi, lovelier than the first green shoots of barley rising from the dark mud of an irrigated field—Dumuzi was dead.

“My life is nothing without him,” she’d screamed again and again. “Why did you not take me instead, or my husband, or my worthless, thankless, useless daughter?”

I was the useless daughter, of course. I had failed to save my brother from the demons that hunted him to the Underworld. My mother would never forgive me.

Finally, Mother swallowed enough sweet wine laced with poppy juice and honey from the alabaster cup I held to her lips to bring merciful sleep. Death would perhaps have been more merciful for her.

As I put down the cup and smoothed her hair, my mother woke herself just enough to hiss, “Far better that you had been taken, daughter, than him, Dumuzi, the beloved of my heart. Why did you not give yourself to the demons instead? Why did you let them take him? Why? How could you let them take him? My Dumuzi!”

And, truly, I understood. My brother Dumuzi had been more than beautiful, when he had walked this earth.

My suitors—brought by my father’s wealth and my mother’s beauty—had been enthusiastic enough, over the years, until each in his turn had seen my brother. Only a few men are immune to the charms of a pretty boy, and will always prefer the soft roundnesses of woman to a boy’s firm flats and hollows. Even those men, those devoted lovers of women, wanted my brother more than they wanted me, once they had met him. But all left the palace disconsolate: Dumuzi had eyes for none but peerless Ishtar, daughter of the Moon, queen of heaven and earth, goddess of love.

I had not always been in second place. I was the firstborn child of our parents; when I was a toddler, I was my father’s delight, my mother’s plaything. Father ordered his artisans to make me golden carts with silver wheels, and dolls carved from fragrant cedar with eyes of lapis lazuli and hair of gold. Mother dressed me in tiny versions of court ladies’ dresses in blue and purple, fringed with silver and pearls, tinkling with the myriad silver moon-crescents sewn to them. But in my fourth year, my mother’s belly swelled again.

Even as a newborn babe, Dumuzi shone tender as the spring sun on a field of emmer wheat. I was forgotten. Kings and wise men came from the ends of the earth with gifts of jewels and spices, merely to gaze on my brother’s shining face. The peasants bowed down to him; the slaves openly worshipped him as a god.

But now that Dumuzi was dead, now that the demons had taken him to the Underworld in exchange for his lover, the goddess Ishtar, no man could bear to look upon my face; they turned their heads in angry grief for my brother. Women screamed and wept, tearing at their cheeks and their clothes. If they had dared, they’d have attacked me with their bare hands.

Even the sheep, which Dumuzi had loved above all other beasts, refused to walk to their grassy fields. The noises that they made were so full of grief that they would have brought sorrow to the heart of the most joyful stranger. The sun was hot in the sky, burning the crops, and the fertile irrigated fields were cracked, dry mud. Only the old vizier came to my room and wept with me for my brother’s death. Perhaps the people were right; perhaps it would have been better if I had died, instead of him.

But it was not my fault that Dumuzi was taken from us as ransom for Ishtar. Only the gods knew why the goddess had challenged her sister’s power in the Underworld and been trapped there. I had done my best to protect my brother, as an older sister must, when demons were sent to drag him to the Underworld to take mighty Ishtar’s place.

The demons had threatened me with death when they searched for him; they even tried to bribe me with precious water and with fields of grain. But my brother was my river of precious water; he was my field of grain. I could never have betrayed him. It was not me who gave him up to the demons, but his childhood companion, his dearest male friend, who took the bribe. But no one cared. They loved my brother Dumuzi so much that they loved his friend for his sake; my less lovely face reminded them too much of my beautiful sibling.

After another night of evil dreams, I could not bear it another moment. A little before noon, I went to the Field of the Winged Bulls.

The life-sized sculptures of the human-headed bulls that guarded the entrance to the palace, strong golden wings tucked against their massive basalt flanks, made all who saw them catch their breath in fear and awe. Though the bulls’ magic protected the city, few other than the members of our family had ever seen the models for those sculptures in real life.

The winged bulls and their mates, in the flesh, were more glorious in appearance and in power than words could tell, but they detested the eyes of human strangers. A plump, bejeweled dynasty of blond slaves from the north tended to all their needs: combed their glossy blue-black hides, polished their golden hoofs, fed them the figs and dates, sweet grapes and honey cakes that they craved; but I was the only living human, other than their slaves, whom they permitted to enter their compound.

The human-headed bulls lazed with their herd in the shade under the date palms, in the vast enclosure that they had requested a thousand years ago, when they’d taken up residence in the city. The huge twin males, rulers of the herd, lay perfectly still, not moving a feather or a shining hair, while the three queen females slowly fanned them with their wide golden wings. Six or seven smaller beasts, close to fully grown, lay quietly around them. Even the frisky calves, their wings mere buds on their shoulders, were relatively placid in the heat, scuffling quietly in the grass for fallen dates.

The two great bulls spoke steadily to one another, their deep voices strange and sonorous to human ears. Their faces looked human, but the sounds that they could make in those deep chests were beyond the reach of any man or woman, or ordinary animal, alive. No human had ever learnt more than a few words of their language. They far preferred for us to speak to them in courtly Sumerian or everyday Akkadian, rather than to hear their ancient, sacred speech distorted and defiled by human mouths.

They would not tell us—not even me, their longtime favorite—where they had come from before they took refuge in our palace, except that it was somewhere long ago and very far away. “You wouldn’t understand, child,” they’d said when I’d asked them, when I was young. “It was our destiny. It was in the stars. We are here, now. That’s all you need to know of where we came from.” They’d looked so sad, as they answered me, that I never dared cause them sorrow by asking again.

The deep poetry of the twin bulls’ ancient voices as they conversed in their own language was strangely soothing. I stood leaning against the warm stone wall of the huge enclosure listening, not comprehending anything they said, but slowly growing calmer, until they spoke to me.

“You are unhappy, Geshtinanna,” one of them said. “Is it your brother?”

I nodded.

“Of course,” the other said. “How could things be otherwise, when humans are involved? And the people blame you, though you are surely blameless?”

I nodded again. I did not want to burst into tears in front of the bulls.

The first one said, “Even we were powerless to prevent this fate from falling upon your brother. How could your people believe for a moment that you had the power to challenge the will of the gods?”

I squeezed my eyes tight shut, but fat tears ran down my cheeks nonetheless.

The three dominant females spoke together for some time, after that. I wiped my tears on the hem of my dress and watched their grave conversation. Their voices were like the sound of great bronze bells, sweet but dangerously strong. The males listened, silent like me, as the massive females spoke, each in her turn.

At last, the largest of the females flicked a golden wingtip against my hand, gently as a kiss, and gave me their decision: “You must go to the wise woman, child. Go to Siduri, the woman who brews her beer and keeps her tavern at the end of the earth, by the shores of the Waters of Death. She will advise you what you must do.”

Mother had told me tales of Siduri, of course. Siduri’s tavern, with its peerless beer-vat made from pure gold, stood by the fabled Garden of the Gods, full of vines hung with gems, shrubs with jewels instead of flowers, fat gemstones in the place of fruit. Mother described it endlessly, greedily. Perhaps the people were right; perhaps Mother was a goddess in truth and belonged there in the jeweled garden. Perhaps she would have been happier there. But the place held dangers as well as riches. A single drop from the deep abyss of the Waters of Death could kill in an instant.

“But how do I travel to the ends of the earth, to consult Siduri?” I asked the powerful inhuman creature lying on the grass in front of me. “I am a woman virtually alone, ignored now in my parents’ own palace, though I was born a princess here. Even with the strongest men from my father’s army, I could not hope to travel through the well-armed kingdoms and the trackless wastes between our city and Siduri’s tavern. Even a hero would surely die in the attempt.”

The human-faced female who spoke now for the herd spread out her golden wings in a graceful gesture. “You see my children, and my sisters’ children, all about you. The oldest of them was born some centuries ago, now, and they are almost full-grown, though still young by our standards. We have taught them all we know: astronomy, astrology, cosmogony, theology, geometry, mythology and more.”

I just nodded. What could I say?

She went on, “We will send Kalla with you on your quest, child. She is not much more than three hundred years old, or thereabouts, but she is wise for her age, as you also are.”

One of the young winged cows lifted her head, then and looked at me. Her eyes were the hard, pure blue of the best lapis lazuli, but fierce intelligence shone in them. But did her mouth tremble with suppressed fear? I tried to smile bravely at her. I was a princess. A princess might know fear, but she must never show it.

The older female spoke again. “You and Kalla will do well together, we believe.” She sighed. “We hope so. This quest could be more dangerous than any that we have attempted for many years.”

Fear touched me with its black wing, then, but what could I do? My life in the palace, or anywhere in Father’s kingdom, was insupportable. Each moment pricked me to the heart like a sharp bronze dagger. A quest to the ends of the earth and perhaps beyond with a wise, if young, winged beast could hardly be more painful, or more difficult. It was more than likely, I knew, that I would die; but Dumuzi was already dead. What was my life worth now?

“Thank you,” I said, not knowing what else to say. Father’s elderly vizier had coached me well in diplomatic language since my toddlerhood, training me to be a good queen when the time came, but this was not one of the endless number of situations that he had covered.

“Go now, child,” the old female said, “and prepare yourself. This will be no ordinary journey. Pack a little food and water, yes, but other things too. And return soon. It would be best for you to leave before the sun is low in the sky.”

I made a formal gesture of thanks, as the vizier had taught me, and rushed back to my room. To my relief, I reached the room before I burst into flooding tears.

After I composed myself and packed, I went to say farewell to my family.

In my mother’s room, the chief of her women barred the way to her bed, hissing like a snake in an irrigation ditch.

“Geshtinanna! Who do you think you are,” she said, “coming to torment the Queen? You let Dumuzi die, you slut, you useless bitch. Do you think she ever wants to see your face again? Do you think she will ever again call you daughter, after what you did? Go!”

I went, saddened but dry-eyed.

My father, in his throne room, looked at me, then away. The vizier by his side, his hands shaking, pulled at my father’s elbow. “It is your daughter, my King,” he whispered. “It is Geshtinanna. She comes to speak with you.” But Father’s eyes, and mind, were somewhere else, somewhere not good.

The vizier followed me to the door. “I am sorry,” he said. “Your father the King…he is not himself, these days. He will recover, in time. The doctors say so. We must wait patiently.”

“Yes,” I said, then turned to leave.

He looked stricken. “It was not your fault,” he said, in a rush. “The gods know, it was not your fault. The people are like silly sheep. Even their leaders are like sheep. It was not your fault.”

I gave him the formal embrace of sincere thanks which he had first tried to teach me when I was a clumsy four-year-old princess. We were both in tears when I left the room.

Soon, though, I stood again in the Field of the Winged Bulls, this time with all the pieces of my old life that I intended to take with me when I left the palace. Around my neck I wore a necklace that Mother had given me when she still loved me, flat red-gold links with a cow carved from lapis lazuli hanging down from the central point, and from my earlobes dangled crescent earrings covered in golden granulations, also her gift. On my hands were three rings set with hunks of carnelian, sapphire and emerald, all from my father, each given to mark an auspicious birthday. My right wrist bore a bangle of bright beads from the Indus Valley, a gift from Dumuzi, and my left ankle held an anklet of heavy gold inscribed with the signs of the greatest gods, the symbols of the Sun, the Moon, Venus, Mercury and Mars.

There were gold and less precious objects—brooches and pins and other small gewgaws that I could exchange for what I needed on the journey—in a soft leather sack concealed under my dress, and another one, flashier, with less gold in it, tied to my belt. In a bag strapped over my shoulder I had a water-skin, plus soft cheese and juicy half-dried figs; they would last maybe two days. The journey could take months, or never end; I would get more food and drink when I needed it, or not at all.

Kalla was at one end of the compound, alone. I walked over to her.

“You must settle yourself behind my wings,” she said, flicking her tail nervously. “I will carry you where the elders say you must go.” Her blue eyes glanced at the herd at the other end of the compound, then looked back down into my face.

I was going to ride on her back?

“Oh,” I said, looking at that glossy expanse of hide, higher and wider than my father’s royal throne, almost as wide as my bed.

But what had I imagined? That we would walk together sedately through the palace gates, with the people waving us on our way, and proceed on foot to the ends of the earth?

Kalla’s tail flicked again. I could feel her anxiety overlaid on my own. This would be her first time away from her herd, and it would be no easier for her than for me. But she was too stressed to understand that I—a princess, but all the same a puny human female—could not vault onto her back, higher than the top of my head. What could I say, that would not cause her shame in front of the herd?

What would the vizier do, that consummate old diplomat, in my position? His daily lessons had almost become second nature: I must let Kalla work out the problem for herself. I put up my right arm, tentatively, and touched her high on her ribs, barely brushing the glossy blue-black hairs. Her head turned and her eyes followed my movement and the extension of my arm. She blinked in what must have been a mixture of dismay and amusement.

“I’ll kneel for you,” she said, and settled gracefully onto the grass.

It was my turn for dismay. How could I sit on so wide an expanse of back? Kalla was three or four times the size of the asses and wild donkeys that men rode. The dress I wore was practical and simple, plain linen, well designed for dusty travel, with no golden fringes, no tinkling ornaments. Nonetheless, it was too tight for me to stretch my legs so far.

There was only one real possibility. I bent down to my right ankle and ripped the linen of my dress up to mid-thigh. I could pin it together when I needed to be respectable again. Then I lifted my bared right leg over Kalla’s shining back—when I touched her hide, it was like silk from the fabled Orient, beyond the sunrise—and sat. My legs were wide stretched, and it would be painful in time, but for the first time in my life I was grateful for the tedious stretches and long poses of the lessons that I’d been forced to take, for the sacred dances day and night before the gods in their solemn festivals.

“You will not fall,” Kalla said, but her voice sounded a little nervous to me. “Don’t be afraid of that. The elders have arranged for an attachment spell to keep you safe. If you want, through, you can put your hands under where the wings connect to my shoulders. They tell me that you can hold firmly there without hurting me.”

I felt thick muscle under my hands, sunwarmed and strong as stone. I grasped as tightly as I dared.

Kalla stood up onto all fours so carefully that I scarcely shifted, though I was seated so precariously there on her flat back. She turned then towards the herd, which had carefully been ignoring us. The winged beasts were better diplomats even than Father’s vizier.

Kalla cried out to them in her own language, in her voice like a well-tempered bell. Her wide golden wings had already started beating.

“Farewell,” I called, more softly, and waved. “Thank you.” By the time I’d finished speaking, we were in the air above the palace, then flying south-east along the River.

It was as if my gilded silver bed with its duckdown-stuffed mattress had taken wings and started to fly through the sky. I felt as safe sitting on Kalla’s back as I would have on my own bed, and no more likely to fall off. Kalla’s passage through the air was stately, but, even if she hadn’t told me, it would have been clear that a magical force was operating to keep me safely positioned on her shiny-smooth skin. Luckily so: a tumble would have seen me dead, smashed and drowned in the great river which was our kingdom’s life. Mentally, I thanked whichever of Kalla’s herd it was who’d thought to use the spell.

The river Buranun—our land’s lifeblood—was even lovelier from the air than from the earth. I gazed down on its turns and bends, the reedy marshes full of waterbirds, the farmlands irrigated with its water, and the great stone temples of the gods. Sometimes, when we were high or it was close, I even caught sight of our river’s eastern twin, the Idigna. The vizier had taught me the names of the cities there, and their various strengths and weaknesses, in case Father chose one of their foreign kings as my husband. I’d never thought to see it from the air.

No one down below took the least notice of us. “I’m flying high enough that even the sharpest-sighted won’t be able to see anything distinctly,” Kalla said. “They won’t understand how big I am; they’ll think me an eagle, or something of the sort. And they won’t see you at all, Geshtinanna. You’re much too small, you tiny human. It would take two or three of you to make one of our newborn calves.” She laughed deep in her massive chest; after a moment, I laughed too.

We flew for many days, or perhaps months, stopping in the evening only when Kalla sighted a small town, a few isolated farms, where she could stay concealed in the shelter of trees or rocks while I found a farmer’s wife who would be happy to give me food and fill my water-skin for a small piece of gold, even though I was a woman travelling alone. When it grew dark, I slept curled against Kalla’s warm back, comforted by her firm bulk. Her quiet snores made my sleep sweet.

On the first evening it could have been pure luck that I was met with nothing but kindness by a woman busy in her farmhouse. No threats, no violence, no greed at the sight of my gold. But I had learned too much of human nature, both in theory and in practice, to think it normal or natural, after three nights.

“I don’t know,” Kalla said, when I challenged her about the mystery. “It’s not magic, or if it is I’ve never learnt it. The places I stop in just look right, feel right. They call to me.”

“Snakes and dogs know when an earthquake is coming,” I said. “Birds fly north from our marshes, every year, and back again, and winged butterflies build themselves from creeping caterpillars in their cocoons. The wise men call that unknown knowledge instinct. Perhaps you have an instinct for kindness.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “Kindness is good. It is worth seeking.” She looked thoughtful, after that, until she slept.

The next night, as we lay together in the grass under some fig trees, and I apportioned her the larger share of the dates that I’d received from yet another pleasant woman, I asked the question which had worried me since my childhood, when I used to watch the blond slaves tending to the herd’s needs: “How is it that your people are so large, and yet you eat so little?”

“Hmm,” Kalla said, flicking the tips of her wings in amusement. “No one has dared ask us that before. But the answer is simple: we eat merely for pleasure, not out of physical need. We need no food as you humans do, or your animals. Would you like more of the dates?”

“Thank you, but no,” I said. I was blushing with embarrassment. All my childhood, Kalla’s herd had lazed in the compound at the palace, flicking away flies, munching slowly—but they were not mere cattle. Far from it. I said, “I should have known better. I was taught better. You are not mortal, as we are, but guardian djinn, more akin to the gods than to us.”

“Yes, it’s something like that,” Kalla said, laughing the strange, deep laugh of her kind. “We absorb the energy from the sun, as plants do. But it’s too complicated to explain. Push those delicious-smelling fresh dates closer to my mouth, human, and stop worrying about it.” She grinned, then, and used a golden wingtip to brush my head softly.

I tried to treat Kalla more deferentially after that, more as one ought to treat an immortal guardian and less as a friend, but I kept failing. It was like water in the desert, after all my lonely years, to have someone to talk to.

One evening towards the end, as I dismounted, Kalla told me to get all the food I could carry, when I went to the farmhouse nearby.

“Can you see those mountains in the distance?” she asked. “Those little bumps on the horizon? They’re the Mountains of Mashu, the boundary of your human realm, higher and wider than you can imagine. Some say they’re impassable, that they stretch to the heavens. We will come to them tomorrow. There will be streams of pure water, but no farms—no human beings who eat the food that you do.”

After that, we flew not over fertile river plains or even desert but over the rocks and boulders of the mountainside. In the evenings, Kalla refused any of my stores of fruit and cheese.

“I’m not sure how long this will take, trying to skirt around the side of these mountains,” she said. “You need those good-smelling edible things, and I don’t. No, don’t argue, human. I’m older than you. And much bigger.” Her face was serious; only the twitching of her tail told me that she was teasing.

After nine days of mountain flying—cliffs and ravines, springs and cataracts, stands of tall pines and regal cedars—the stocks in my food-pouch were almost gone. I tried not to worry. I had enough for tonight, just barely.

“Look,” Kalla said, around noon. “The glitter, below us. It is the Garden of the Gods, I’m sure it is.” She sounded relieved. Surely my guide and protector had not doubted that she could find it?

I looked down, and gasped.

I had grown up in a palace, surrounded by the riches of men and gods. I used to eat from silver plates, and drink from a golden cup set with gemstones. Mother glittered like the stars in the night sky when she was hung about with gold and jewels for state occasions, and Father’s green alabaster throne set with carnelian and chrysoprase glinted in torchlight.

But this was a garden as big as our city, or larger, with each shrub, each tree, each lush vine scattered with bright jewels in place of fruit and flowers. It was just as Mother had told me, but larger, brighter, more real—and more divine. This was indeed the Garden of the Gods. How had I dared come here?

My awe and wonder at the jeweled garden only increased as we flew closer and I could see more and more gemstones encrusting the plants. And then I saw the sea. It was like our River in flood, but impossibly wide. It stretched to the far horizon and beyond. And then the truth hit me: the Mountains of Mashu, the Garden of the Gods, the wide blue sea—I was where Kalla’s elders had sent me, the fabled ends of the earth. I must find Siduri and ask her advice.

As it happened, I didn’t need to find Siduri. She came to meet me while I was still scrambling down from Kalla’s back.

“We must talk, girl,” Siduri said to me, then looked at Kalla. “You—guardian being—what is your name?”

My massive mount said, “I am Kalla, Goddess.”

Goddess? Of course, I thought. People called Siduri a wise woman, but how could she live here, brewing ale in a vat given to her by the gods, unless she too was one of them, a goddess in her own right?

Siduri nodded. “Kalla, you may now graze on the fruits of the Garden of the Gods.”

Kalla bowed before Siduri. Her human-seeming face was almost impassive as that of the carved bull statues that guard my father’s palace, but I could see the suppressed joy around those stony blue eyes. Kalla moved sedately towards the glowing jewels, her body a picture of restrained decorum.

“The jewels of the gods are a delicacy for Kalla’s kind,” Siduri told me. “They give them strength and wisdom.”

I just stood there helpless before the goddess, my knees trembling, my mind almost blank. Siduri took me by the hand, led me to a bench in front of her tavern, and gave me a silver cup of ale, also pouring one for herself from a golden jug.

“But now,” she said, “you must drink my ale. I have few mortal visitors, here at the ends of the earth, but my ale is excellent.”

I sipped; it was the best I’d ever tasted, better even than the finest of wines in the palace.

“It is excellent indeed, Goddess,” I said. “Thank you.”

“So tell me, girl,” Siduri said. “Why are you so sad?”

That much was simple. “Demons dragged my brother, beautiful Dumuzi, down to the Underworld.”

“Ah, I heard about that. So you are the sister, valiant Geshtinanna, who tried to protect him.”

Unshed tears made my throat hoarse. “I failed.”

The goddess shook her head. “Whether you had failed or not, your brother would have died soon enough. He could perhaps have had ten more years, twenty, maybe even fifty, but death comes to all mortals. It is best if you accept it. Take joy in everyday pleasures: warm baths, clean clothes, good food and drink, making love with your husband, feeling your child’s hand in your own.”

Wise men and poets had said the same thing since the dawn of time. It didn’t help.

I said, “That is excellent advice, Goddess, I have no doubt. But my city is falling to ruin. My mother has had no rest since her son was taken by the demons, and my father the king will not speak even to his closest advisers. Even the slaves and the sheep lament him. The sun burns the crops, and our fields are cracked, dry mud. To escape the sorrow of my brother’s death, I would need to leave my city and my people, never to see them again, and still I would feel their grief and anger.”

Siduri poured herself another cup of ale. “But, Geshtinanna, to leave her family is the lot of all women, whether peasant, noble or goddess. Every woman of marriageable age must leave her father’s house and her mother’s rooms and live instead in a house of strangers. The more exalted the family, the farther the woman must travel from her home.”

I sipped cool ale from my cup before I replied. “That is all too true, Goddess. Indeed, if any of my suitors had paid my bride-price, he would have taken me far from my parents’ palace. His mother would have become my mother, and his father my father. Perhaps, indeed, I would never have seen my own parents again, nor the place where I was born.” Still, it did not help.

The goddess gestured around her. “So why are you here?”

The words came unbidden to my lips. “I must find Dumuzi.”

I hadn’t known, until that instant, what I was going to say. But it was true: the purpose of my quest was to find my brother—in the Underworld. Everything in my life pushed me towards that destiny.

The goddess sighed. “I was afraid of that. Your mortal race finds it so hard to accept death, though it is your lot.”

Death is not the lot of the immortal gods, I thought. Why must it be our lot? Why must we accept it? But I did not speak.

Siduri drained her cup. I looked down and found that mine, too, was empty. The goddess said, “If that is what you want, you must go to the Dark Queen, Ereshkigal.”

Ereshkigal, the Queen of the Underworld, the Queen of the Dead. Ishtar’s sister.

For a moment, the world went hazy-white around me. If I had not been sitting on the bench, I might have fallen. But I remembered the vizier, and how he had trained me. I took a slow, deep breath, and lifted my head high.

“How do I find Ereshkigal?” I asked.

“Ah, that’s an interesting question,” the goddess said. “For mortals, there are many paths to the quiet realm of the Dark Queen. I could slip a simple poison into your cup, or touch you with a single drop of the Waters of Death out there—” the goddess pointed to the sea, moving blue-green against the shoreline in front of us “—or merely wish you dead.”

Gods! I took another deep breath.

Siduri touched my hand, gently and kindly, and said, “But you are fortunate, Geshtinanna. Kalla will take you to the Underworld.”

My heart shuddered at the thought of exposing Kalla to that danger. “Can I ask that of her?”

“Perhaps you could not,” the goddess replied, “though she is no mortal creature. But I will ask her, and she will not refuse me.”

Soon I sat again on Kalla’s broad back, my heart hammering, my fear-cold hands gripping the muscles below her wings. Siduri’s kiss of farewell burned on my cheek.

This time I took no fruit, no water-skin. There was neither eating nor drinking in the Underworld.

Kalla said, “It would be best if you closed your eyes, Geshtinanna. Your kind is not designed for a journey such as this.”

I squeezed my eyelids shut and felt a sudden sensation of dropping through the void. My bowels were cold. There was darkness and confusion all around me: first whirling heat and pressure on my head and body, then a windy emptiness and a searing cold. I heard cries of terror, whimpers and moans. It could have lasted a moment or a year.

Then all was still and quiet, and I opened my eyes. I was in a great cavern, naked as a newborn baby, and stripped of my seven pieces of jewelry, gifts from my family and reminders of my past. Kalla stood beside me, shining blue-black in the light of the torches on the rough-cut walls.

In front of us stood the Queen of the Dead, Ereshkigal, incomparably lovely in her nakedness. A horned crown sat on her glistening hair. Strong dark wings hung behind her, from shoulders to knees. Her hands were almost like human hands, though her nails were talons, but her feet were the strong claws of a bird of prey. Those terrifying feet gripped the backs of twin lions, and two great owls, each as tall as a ten-year-old child, flanked her. She was as beautiful and as terrible as an army arrayed for battle.

“What do you want, mortal woman?” Ereshkigal asked. Her voice was that of a lion calling in the night, or of a huge owl hunting before moonrise. My breathing quickened at the sound, despite my fear.

I could not lie to her. “I have come to seek Dumuzi,” I said.

The goddess bared her teeth, and the hairs bristled at the nape of my neck. She said, snarling, “Are you sent by my treacherous sister Ishtar? Are you one of her devotees?”

I trembled. “No, Goddess. I have no love for mighty Ishtar. I am Dumuzi’s sister, Geshtinanna. My brother was Ishtar’s husband, then her ransom to leave this place. The demons sent to free your mighty sister snatched my brother Dumuzi and brought him here, to your dark realm, in her stead.”

The goddess settled her glorious wings against her back. “Surely my sister sent you. All men and women who walk on the earth serve the Goddess of Love and Battle.”

I shook my head. “I do not do the will of Ishtar, no matter how great she is, and how much adored. If it were not for Ishtar and her love for my brother, he would still walk on the earth, living and breathing. Why would I do her bidding?”

“Then why are you here?” The goddess glowed with unearthly beauty. Her breasts were like ripe pomegranates, her eyes the color of the night sky. I felt myself falling, helpless, into that deep, starry sky.

I took a breath. “Truly, Goddess, I am here for my own sake, and my mother’s, and my father’s, and my city’s. My parents are mad with grief. Our city falls to ruin. The sun burns the crops, and the fields are dry. Even the slaves and the sheep lament him.”

The goddess Ereshkigal asked, “Do you desire to come here, as his ransom, to take his place? Do you wish to live here in my kingdom?”

I gasped and knew that this was what I had sought without understanding: to live forever in Ereshkigal’s dark realm, in her fearful presence.

I bowed my head, ashamed. “My brother Dumuzi’s beauty made him a god, or equal to one. He was beloved of a goddess. He was enough to ransom Ishtar, great goddess of the earth and sky, from your power. I am a mortal woman. Am I enough to free my brother, and take his place?”

Ereshkigal frowned. On her face, even a frown was glorious. “Perhaps not, my mortal Geshtinanna,” she said. “But I will beseech the gods on high that they might allow the exchange, if that is truly what you wish.”

She gazed into my eyes, into my soul. I fell into her darkness, and stars swirled around me.

“Yes,” I said. “Yes. It is truly what I wish.”

The goddess put out a sharp-taloned hand to my right breast—was she going to kill me now, slash me with those glittering claws? I held my breath, waiting for pain and death.

Instead, Ereshkigal pinched my nipple, tenderly. Fire ran through me, but it was the fire of pleasure, not of pain. Again, I gasped, and blushed.

The goddess smiled in delight. “You tell the truth, mortal. Truly, you do wish to dwell here with me.”

“Yes,” I said. I watched her hands, her eyes. I needed her to touch me again.

“You and I have something in common,” the dark goddess said. “We are both sisters of siblings beloved by all.”

“Yes,” I said. Touch me.

“Beautiful Dumuzi, lovely Ishtar.” She stroked my ear, my throat, with those clawed fingers. I shivered, but I was not cold.

“Yes.” Please, touch me.

The goddess kissed my hair, my cheek, my lips. “To me, you are more beautiful than Dumuzi.”

“To me,” I said, catching my breath, “you are lovelier than Ishtar.”

The gods on high decreed that I, a mortal woman, would not suffice to ransom Dumuzi entirely, but that I could take his place in the Underworld for half of every year; for that time, my brother would walk the earth.

It was enough. Our city rejoiced, the sheep jumped in the fields, the irrigated soil abounded with crops, and Mother and Father were filled to overflowing with happiness. I was pleased for their sake, but I could no longer live there, with them, after all that had happened.

For half of each cycle of the sun, now, I dwell in Ereshkigal’s dark realm, sharing her fierce pleasures. No woman knows greater bliss. But when Dumuzi returns underground and the sun is hot in the sky, I am compelled to return to the world of the living. I travel the earth, then, with Kalla, best of companions. If you look carefully enough at the hawks and eagles that fly high in the sky, one day you might be startled to see her golden wings flashing in the sun. Look for me riding on her back.

END

“The Quiet Realm of the Dark Queen” was originally published in Dreaming of Djinn, edited by Liz Grzyb and is copyright Jenny. Blackford, 2013.

This recording is a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives license which means you can share it with anyone you’d like, but please don’t change or sell it. Our theme is “Aurora Borealis” by Bird Creek, available through the Google Audio Library.

You can support GlitterShip by pledging to our Kickstarter at https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/keffy/glittership-a-queer-sfandf-magazine-going-for-year-4 , checking out our Patreon at patreon.com/keffy, subscribing to our feed, leaving reviews on Apple podcasts or buying your own copy of the Autumn 2018 issue at www.glittership.com/buy.

Thanks for listening, and we’ll be back soon with a whole new issue and a GlitterShip original, “The Ashes of Vivian Firestrike” by Kristen Koopman.

Episode #77 — “The Quiet Realm of the Dark Queen” by Jenny Blackford was originally published on GlitterShip

#GlitterShip #lgbtq fiction #queer fiction #short stories #science fiction and fantasy #podcast

0 notes

livinglifedrinkingwine · 6 years

Text

Sunshine Blogger Award

This is really an honor to be nominated for an award. I want to give a special thanks to Karen Bradshaw at [email protected] who nominated me for this award on 10/17/2018. As well as a second thank you to Marta Azra at http://mischievouswordsbymartaazra.wordpress.com who also nominated me for this award on 11/12/2018. It is really appreciated that others really like my work. I can’t thank all my readers enough. Since most people I've seen get awarded a couple times and that's where it usually ends. I feel like even though it is a second nomination for me. I will still add to my post. By still answering the questions that I was asked the second time as well. Here are the rules❤️: Thank the blogger who nominated you and pop a link back to their blog in your post.Answer the 11 question which they posted for you.Nominate 11 more bloggers who you think deserve the award and create 11 new questions for them to answer.Notify your nominees. Here are the questions I was asked: What is your favorite type of foreign cuisine? I would have to say Chinese. I love to get orange chicken and of course Chinese donuts! To top it all off with white rice makes it more of an excellent dish. What is your earliest childhood memory? Wow! This is a good one. There is so many I’m not sure which would be the earliest. I’ll have to go with when I was really little I remember climbing out of my crib and running down the hallway to see my Uncle who was visiting. I would say I was probably about two or three years old.If you could be any animal, what would you be? Usually I would say a penguin because they are my favorite animals. To be honest, I don’t like the cold so I don’t think a penguin would be a great idea. So I think I would go with a lioness. I would say a lioness because they are queens of the jungle. They obviously are mates with the lions who are the kings of the jungle. Most animals are afraid to be around lionesses because they are the predators of the jungle. Like a lioness I am the provider of the family with strong values. I don’t like to be pushed around. I spent a lot of my life being told what to do and now I know how to get passed that and be more empowering. Plus as an added bonus I think lioness are cute, like cats only bigger.Fantasy dinner guests, you can choose only five, who would they be? There are so many people that I would like to have as dinner guests. Since I can only pick five I will have to go with, first pick would have to be Leonardo DiCaprio. He is literally my all time favorite actor. He is my man crush, to me he is so hot. Second person would be Roman Reigns from WWE (World Wrestling Entertainment) he is also my man crush, he is also really hot. Third person would be Nikki Bella from WWE. She has awesome style and she is one of my favorite women wrestlers. I’m actually gonna be her for Halloween at our annual Halloween party. Fourth person that I would have as my dinner guest would be Anna Kendrick, she is one of my favorite actresses, plus if I have Leo then my boyfriend would be sad that I don’t invite her. She is one of his women crushes. The fifth person that I would have as my dinner guest would be Carrie Underwood she is one of my favorite singers.Which is the most influential book you have ever read? I have to be honest I don’t read much. I have read a few books and I really like suspense and mystery books. I read a lot of those kind like, twilight that was a good series. So was Harry Potter. I guess I would have to go with Amelia Bedelia because even though she is not the brightest bulb in the socket she taught me what not to do. Of course definitely not to take anything literally.What motivates you to keep blogging on? The blogs I write tell people about my memories, what I have gone through, what keeps me going. Seeing my kids think wow this is cool mom you have your stories out there, it’s exciting. Knowing that my kids are excited about what I do and blog about motivates me. To see that my boyfriend is supporting me every step of the way, and I always know that he is the biggest fan I have out there. It truly is an award all in itself. All that motivates me. Yea I have writers block from time to time but I’m sure everyone does. That is what helps motivate me to remember something that I liked about my past that I want to write about.Would you rather be trapped in a confined space completely alone or with lots of other people that you don’t know? Well I have anxiety so for me to have people in a small space with me would really freak me out. So I will go with by myself. Only question is can I have internet, computer, my phone, and obviously food and a bathroom in there with me? That would make it even better.Name a fictional character with whom you identify most. Harley Quinn! She is sassy just like me and we don’t take any ones crap. Plus I talk to myself, well she has voices I just talk out loud my thoughts to myself that is the same difference.What fascinates you the most? I am most fascinated by really the world. I love traveling and doing things I’ve never done before or have ever been to before. It’s amazing what the world has that we probably never seen before.What three traits do you think are most important in a partner/friend/family member? Kindness I don’t like when someone is rude or mean to me. Committed, this goes towards a friend because I have lots of friends but yet I am the only one that commits to calling them trying to hang out. Yet I barley ever get that in return. Last one I would say fun to be around, I like to go out and have fun.If you could have a super power, what would it be? If I had a superpower… well I would like more than one to be quite honest. Since I can pick one I would go with being invisible. I say invisible for a lot of reasons, no one knows your there so you can sneak in different transportation and it will make it so you can travel without anyone noticing you. When I don’t want to be known in a room I can hide myself by going invisible. Now to who I am nominating for this award, who have excellent blogs and that I hope others can get to read their blogs and find them fascinating as well: 1. Family By Choice 2. Thoughts With N 3. Rebel Fish 4. Ellie Bear Escapades 5. Geraldine Talks 4. Travel to Recovery 7. Leah Saffron 8. Living as Allison 9. Bailey Leah 10. Two of a Mind 11. Diary of a Spanglish Girl Here are 11 questions that I have for you:What made you decide that you wanted to startblogging? Who/what is your inspiration? If you could meet anyone in the world who wouldit be? If you could trade places with anyone for a daywho would you be and why? What does blogging mean to you? Any exciting work that you maybe thinking aboutdoing in the future? If you could do one thing to change the worldwhat would you do? Where is your favorite place in the world? If you could bring back any celebrity who wouldyou chose and why? What is your dreams? What is your favorite tv show? Now the second set of questions I was asked by Marta Azra: What kind of music you like? I love all types of music. My all time favorite would be country. I do, however, switch back and forth between country and pop music the most.How do you manage everyday life with blogging? It is hard. I have to set aside time for me to do my blog as well as make time for myself and my family. People think oh well she must really be bored if she can find time to write. What people don't realize is that it is not that I'm bored. Writing to me is a way to express myself and show people who I really am. Most of the time I try to get my blogs done while my youngest naps. That's when it's the best time for me because it's quiet and I can think better. What is the hardest part of being a blogger? The hardest thing about being a blogger is coming up with the material, the thoughts of what to write and getting people to look at what I've written. I can blog all day but without an audience its harder to get my name out there. Also monetizing is hard to do. I can put ads up and posts about a product or a place but getting people to actually click on it and buy from it is hard to do. You can't force people to do it. At the same time that is one of the main ways that bloggers can make money from blogging.Do you have a hobby and if you do what is it? I love to sing. I've been told I have a great voice. I used to sing a lot but then I went through a bad time in my life and stopped. Now that my oldest loves to sing too, I try to sing with her and get back to doing what I love. What is your fav. Book? Man, favorite book, that is tough because I don't really read a whole lot. Probably Harry Potter series and Twilight series. Who is your fav. Blogger? I love a lot of blogs I would have to say Thoughts With N, I feel like her blogs get me. Who is your role model in life? My mom always has been my role model too. She is such a strong woman. Even though her dad died a year ago she has been hanging in there. I call her practically every day. That is something I remember my mom did with her mom. Every day she would call my grandmother. Whether she had a prose needed advice on or just to call her and talk to her. That's is what I do. My mom is not the best at keeping secrets though unless you specify not to say anything. If she is excited she seems to let it slip. But I wouldn't change anything for the world.Do you have any tips for new bloggers and what are they? Even if you feel like you want to give up just try your hardest to keep going. I sometimes feel like no one is going to read my blog but then I get a surprise when I look at my stats. Sometimes I get three views a day sometimes I get 100 but the more you write the more people will keep coming back.Share the best advice you ever got from somebody? Never give up! That is honestly the best advice I think anyone could have ever given.Do you have a book crush? And who is it? I am team Edward all the way. He is so sweet to Bella throughout the whole series.What is your biggest dream? To become a successful blogger. To show the world that I did it even when a lot of my friends and family thought I couldn't. Read the full article

0 notes

fashiontrendin-blog · 6 years

Text

'Orange is The New Black' Star Jackie Cruz’s message to Hollywood: “I hate labels, let me just be!”

http://fashion-trendin.com/orange-is-the-new-black-star-jackie-cruzs-message-to-hollywood-i-hate-labels-let-me-just-be/

'Orange is The New Black' Star Jackie Cruz’s message to Hollywood: “I hate labels, let me just be!”

It’s rare to meet a celebrity like Jackie Cruz, where her sass is only matched by the positive energy that seeps from her every pore. Arriving for our interview sans publicist and real talk a-plenty, the American-Dominican actress is a rare actress in Hollywood’s sea of cardboard cut-out personalities.

We sit down on the eve of Trump’s infamous visit to London and Jackie is cruzing in the no filter zone from the offset, exclaiming, “its only my second time here, but I want to live here. Right now, I hate America – you know how that is going!”

Aside from her game changing role in Netflix’s flagship show, Jackie is on the verge of releasing her Spanglish single, La Hora Loca and couldn’t resist the opportunity the night before to turn a pub trip into a promo tour. As she mischievously confides, “I went to a pub for the first time to get the experience and I 100 percent got the full experience! They didn’t know who I was. I ended up literally getting in a car with a stranger and played them my song. I got a fan!” Making that 1.4 million Instagram followers… and one, then!

As I sit with a full face of make-up from a spoof Flaca-esque beauty tutorial (more of that on Glamour’s Instagram TV) as a gay man who grew up in a village of 150 people with no role model to speak of on television it is incredible to think how Orange is The New Black has redefined representation in television. With fierce flagbearers like, Jackie Cruz leading the way alongside the likes of Laverne Cox a show about displaced characters has given a new generation a new breed of role model.

It’s a role Jackie was literally born to play, “Orange Is The New Black has opened my mind so much – the show has made me an activist – it’s given me a platform for my voice. I could be anywhere, I was even in a tiny town in Spain and a little girl came up to me saying how excited she was to meet me! It’s so cool that people feel that I am their homie!” And what a homie she is, trust me when I say you want to befriend this gal for life.

Here I meet a very rare and talented actress-come-singer who, “never put a timeline on her dream,” and it paid off…

Hollywood is still SO behind with representation…

Orange Is The New Black (OISTNB) is slowly making all my dreams come true. It was a little crack in the door from Hollywood, enough for me to push it open. Now I get to audition for amazing things, not that I am booking all these things as Hollywood is still so behind in terms of representation!

Orange Is the New Black is so popular because it’s the first diverse women focused show…

It really shows all types of women. I have never seen a show with eight different types of Latinas in a global show before. Now I am seeing myself on TV – it literally is me – but it’s the first time I have seen a representation of who I am as a Latin woman. It’s cool to see the kids so excited about the character – you will go into Starbucks and someone will say, ‘I am just like Flaca’ I always want to be approachable. I always want people to know that I was once just like you and your dreams can come true, just like mine. I love Beyoncé, but I feel that she is a bit untouchable – it’s hard to get there but it really isn’t when you put all your focus into what you love to do.”

Netflix has been such a pioneer on diversity not just streaming and binging…

There is more representation for the LGBTQ community thanks to Orange. There are so many new diverse shows, too. There’s One Day at A Time which is about a Cuban family – almost like Full House and we never had that so that is dope. Diversity has been a huge factor in Netflix – we were at the beginning of a new era and it was about time. I want to continue what Orange did for me and open doors for people like me, the under-represented person and write stories for us! We were always there, we just weren’t represented. I am not alone, you are not alone, and I want people to see that!

Our show is starting conversations at the dinner table – we show that you are not alone…

I get letters from young people saying, ‘I watched the show with my Mum. I came out and she understands that I am not alone and why I am like this. She thinks its normal, too. I can be free!’ That is enough for me, for us to show that you are not alone. You get to see the humans in the show whereas before we would just judge them simply because they are in prison. It is a show about prison, but I don’t think about that any more, I think about the stories we are telling.

The Queer Eye 2 trailer is here… yaaaaas Queen!

I hate the labels, let me just be!

Even with us using, Latin X instead of Latino or Latina it feels that labels are so ridiculous. They keep you in a box and I am so tired of being in the damn box. I am tired of being stereotyped. I look different and there is a reason I look different because I come from colonisation and rape. I am from the Dominican Republic. I am mixed with a bunch of things – not that we have ancestory.com! I am not a native, I am African, I am Italian, I am even Irish. I am a freaking cocktail!

Another actress stole my story and it lit a fire in my ass…

I started my own production company called Unspoken Film this month. My goal is star in my short called, The Dying Kind. The story, set in the 1900s, is about how a white male rapes a Native American woman and I am the offspring. The character is not accepted by her ‘own people’ (‘The Natives’) or ‘the whites’ It is a story relevant until this day. To be honest with you, I shared it with another actress – a famous white actress – and she stole my story and created it her own way. I got an audition for it, but she got the money for it. But instead of being angry and fighting it, I let it go. I wanted to create my own story as she changed it into a ‘white story’ because she didn’t have the time to do the right thing. She lit a fire in my ass, and I am not the same person I was five years ago.

I want people to understand that all the sh*t you go through means something – it is your journey…

Now that I f**king realised this I understand why I had my car accident, why that guy stole my money, why she stole my idea. It’s just meant to happen. If I went back to my old twenty-year- old self I would say, ‘stop worrying and stop worrying about your age.’ I used to think, ‘if I haven’t made it by this age, then it’s not going to happen.’ But no – don’t think that way – because that is allowing negativity to enter you. Let the universe do its thing – you don’t know when it is coming but it is coming. There is desire in your heart and soul for a reason and I am telling you it’s exactly what you are meant to be doing. Maybe you want to be the CEO of whatever company and if you have that in your head you will be it. I don’t care if I am 90 years old and winning an Oscar – there is no time line on my dream!

The 47 best TV series and TV boxsets

Be a hustler – don’t ever be trapped by your position…

I love talking about real sh*t. Even with my character. Look, she is ambitious and she finds the light in a dark place regardless. She always tries to make the best happen. She’s an authentic hustler like myself – we don’t try to cheat people, we just try to make something of ourselves, whatever the circumstances. She is in prison right now and if I have learnt anything from Flaca it is: don’t f**king be trapped in the place you are. Don’t let that hold you back from being bigger than that place.

Social media is changing the casting game

Social media has also given un-talented people roles, for instance the conversation is, ‘oh she has 20 million followers let’s give her a job or let’s make her a singer now!’ Hollywood needs to wake up and stop hiring the really famous people with no talent because when people want to watch TV, they want to feel something. I found out why I didn’t feel comfortable in Hollywood was because everyone was fake, and people just kiss your ass or other people’s asses just to be in something. I am not that person.

If I don’t make it for my talent, it’s not for me. I don’t want to use my face, my boobs and my booty to get somewhere…

If I don’t make it for my talent, it’s not for me. I learnt that at a young age because when I had a car accident everything was stripped away from me, all the little beauty I had which was my long hair and my face was gone. My face was crocket, I was cross-eyed, and I thought, ‘wow I am never going to make it in Hollywood.’ I was suicidal but after I met this little girl who was in a wheelchair (who I am still friends with) and she said, ‘you are beautiful,’ I thought, ‘what is wrong with me? Why do I care so much about my face when what is important is inside!’ There are beautiful woman who are so ugly inside – and that is very Hollywood. I have only just started feeling comfortable in my own skin. I tried so hard to be who you wanted me to be and that is why it didn’t work. The moment I started being myself everything fell into place. Confidence is key.

I changed my name, so my father couldn’t be part of my success…

I left music for seven years but it’s ok because I was growing up at the time. Now, I feel like an established human being and have an album I am so proud of, Hija de Chavez. It is a very personal title to me because my real name isn’t Cruz, it is actually Chavez. I met my father at 23 years old and he didn’t believe in what I was doing with my life. He said I wasn’t going to make it. So, I said, ‘I am going to make it and I am not going to use your last name.’ Boom! Now look at me, I signed myself, I get to do this on my own and now people are coming to me. It’s harder because other people have entire machines behind them and I have just me and my producer, Feefa. That would actually be my last piece of advice, stop chasing people! Work with the people who want to work with you and believe in you, whatever you dream of happening will happen!

‘Orange is The New Black’ season 6 is streaming on Netflix from 27th July

Watch Gemma Collins join the Orange Is The New Black cast in this hilarious clip

0 notes