#my poor little american ears subjected to something so english
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The Brilliance of Break On Through
Call of Duty: Black Ops Cold War Mission Break on Through—An Analysis
I have replayed the campaign of COD:BOCW numerous times—too many times truly. Did a whole playthrough where it was Hardened and soon I’m sure I shall do Veteran(something I have never done for any COD game. Not even Hardened.).
All missions have their own unique qualities—parts where the player gets a little rush of adrenaline depending on the kind of mission and how they choose to play it (Nowhere Left to Run just a plain shooting match while Brick in the Wall you can choose to remain stealthy like the good spy you are or go crazy like an eager homicidal maniac).
Even within the safehouse, there are plenty of little details to discover if you take the time to look around and observe everyone. Or, everything. (The radio if turned to a Russian station/correspondence, Adler changes it back immediately before Da Nang mission. Watching Park’s body language, as you talk to Adler and she periodically looks over to you two. Adler suspicious when you go to the Red Room or the locked room with the arcade. The T.V. being turned on in the Red Room)
But the amount of details, details, in the mission Break on Through is outstanding. I have played this mission more than any other due to me wishing to look at all the details. There’s so many, I think I may miss some. And I can’t show them off all to you cause I suck at creating gifs and don’t know how to transfer that from Xbox to my phone.
To lighten it up a bit, I won’t focus on the four different scenarios you go through—at least not each one. That would take too long and I do not have gifs/pics to show it off since Tumblr limits it to ten anyways.
I will, however, try to guide to what parts of the game you all can explore if you choose to do so. As well just how detailed they did this mission.
I am going to start with the different statements Adler says to you throughout all the Scenarios(17, 6, 11, 1). We only go through four in the actual game—but the fact it goes up to 17 or possibly more shows just how far they went in and messed with Bell’s mind.
Now, Adler seems to be a bit bipolar on how he talks to you whether or not you listen to him and all his directions. Either totally blasé and cold to giving you and pumping you up with more MK or meds, or actually a tad concerned and patient as he guides you through.
If You/Bell Stands Still/Does Nothing:
Example 1
“So you did nothing? What were you, in shock?”
He throws the words callously, mocking. As if Bell isn’t confused and lost at what is going on. He even sounds irritated that you might actually be in shock due to these memories that are just fake—not even real. Not like what he has.
Example 2
“What’s wrong with Bell?” -Adler
“I’m not sure. . .” -Park
“I guess we’ll just wait on you to proceed, Bell.”
The contrast is dizzying. He sounds concerned when he asks Park on what could be wrong with you. If he pushed you too far and now you’re just frozen. And, instead of rushing you due to how the fate of half of Europe is at stake, he decides to give you space. Just wait for you and you’ll come out of it soon enough.
He does these sort of reactions numerous times. Jumping from intimidating to the Adler we knew as the player, as Bell—kind and always in your corner that believes in you. He switches tactics based on what he believes will work really—or he just felt really on edge at times and threw the farce that you two were friends out the window.
Other examples include:
Scenario 11–Napalm Strike-in the lab in the room where you were brainwashed
“Christ, what’s happening with them?”-Adler
“A mild seizure. Sims, past me a benzodiazepine.” -Park
Again, concerned. Worried. Almost…at unease?
In the lab—tripped up on drugs. If you run through the tight shrinking hallway back and forth like so(I suck at making gifs, I’m sorry):
“Why is Bell repeating themselves?”
Or
“Bell, stop speaking in circles.”
Now, as others may have suspected, Bell is talking to everyone as they’re stuck in this horrible loop of mental torture. Most likely muttering, hands clenching and arms pulling against the straps of the gurney, moving their head back and forth depending on what they’re seeing. I always saw Bell as muttering quickly in Russian as they go through all of this—their mother tongue where it may comfort them as they’re panicking and speaking to Adler.
It’s just a nice detail showcasing how exactly Adler knows that Bell is on script—Bell saying what they’re seeing and doing and what’s going on. It shows also just how hard they put Bell through the ringer(badum tss. I’ll leave now).
All the details too when the game shows how the drugs they put in Bell affects you. Like so. The hallways appearing long. The lights looking yellow. You feel so fast—look how quick you can run. Run towards the Red Door that Adler so desperately wants and maybe this can stop. Ah, why is it running away from you? What’s going on?
I don’t know about you, but I was so lost and confused at what was going on my first playthrough. For the majority of this mission, the possibility of me being brainwashed didn’t reach the BACK of my mind till probably I actually saw the flashes of scenes about Vietnam and calling Bell a subject. So like right here.
I personally thought that I had a repressed memory or something due to me going through the Vietnam War. That whatever I saw with Perseus, I—or rather Bell—repressed it from our mind due to how violent or horrible what we saw or experienced was. And that Adler suspected and just really wanted to know about it.
I didn’t expect for the man to actually brainwash my character—us—Bell! The game made Adler your mentor, who always defended you from Hudson and believed in your skills very highly. How he and Bell were basically perfect partners when the two of you were together.
It’s amazing—cause I think that’s what the developers were going for. The absolute trust. The loyalty. The denial that ‘maybe Adler is being a little harsh but hey, this is to help Perseus so it’s okay?’ It’s perfect. Because I’m sure that is what Bell actually felt in real time.
Yet, if you go through the total rebellious choice of not listening to Adler, some thing’s make sense. The Rebellious Side shows you way more than if you just listen to Adler like a Dutiful Soldier.
You go through this room if you choose the rebellious route, the T.V.’s automatically turning on the closer you get. Of Vietnam. And now, all those T.V.‘s that turned on by themselves(the Red Room, Lubyanka, Cuba) make sense. You were actually being brainwashed. Poor Bell probably can’t ever have a turned off/broken T.V. again. The trauma.
Said trauma being shown multiple times too. Not just the T.V.‘s. But the absolute terror that Bell felt, before they became Bell, with Adler.
Like do you see this? This terrified me when I saw it at the end of the hallway. I just saw a red shadow in the distance and I legit thought I was about to be chased. Call of Duty became a horror game(I also went through the door to the ground too my first playthrough, so before this I went through zombies and I think my heart was going to jump out my chest) I thought. I didn’t want to get closer. I had to, with each step I see that it’s not a shadow but a body. And than I see the familiar jacket, the sound of whirring in my ears and see it’s Adler’s head being twisted back and forth, side to side, up and down, in a speed that in inhumanely possible.
Makes one wonder if Bell themselves sees Adler as inhumane. Not human. Adler seeming to just be a god in their head. All the Adler shaped rocks/boulders you go through and see. Even one point the V.C. becoming Adler and you killing him over and over and dead bodies of Adler being everywhere.
The man has entered Bell’s head and won’t leave. Just like Adler won’t leave Bell alone.
Heck, there’s one point in my playthroughs of this mission I was by the bridge yet there were parts of the lab by it. I jumped towards it, noticing down below there were different floors of the lab that eventually reach the ground. I jumped to reach the next floor and missed and I died.
And Adler mocked Bell committing suicide.
That was the kicker really that Adler truly is indifferent towards Bell. Like complete disregard. I know it’s fake. We know it’s fake. Adler knows it’s fake—but to Bell, it felt real. That’s the crazy part. All of this—this whole sequence feels real to Bell so each time they die they actually feel it. It’s insane. It’s cruel.
But we all know that Adler isn’t known for his kindness. Still like his character though, he’s layered.
I don’t have the exact quote he said, didn’t wrote it down like the others. I was shook he said it at all.
Moving on to the final details I’m going to talk about.
When you go through the room, I believe this comes out for both rebellious and dutiful, really depends. You see it filled with post it notes, articles, plans, and newspapers. And you see once more just how Bell has been scarred.
I don’t know Russian or German, but I imagine the notes are similar to what the English one’s say. If I’m wrong, please point it out.
There’s also post it notes which I believe is in code as well due to all the numbers—I’m not sure what those could mean since I am no decoding expert.
Poor poor Bell. And with all these pictures and plans—of Adler included—it begs the question that Bell may have been warned about the famous America’s Monster beforehand. Had to have—since Adler is basically Perseus’s adversary due to how stubborn the American man could be. It just adds more to the story, despite Cold War having quite a short campaign, they made it up somewhat with all these details everywhere.
When you finally and actually reach the room.
As you grow closer to the table, to your chair in the conference room while everyone else seems to have their own spots, there’s something I noticed.
There’s glasses. As well as a hat. And it’s Bell’s. Or at least, it used to be. Why else is it on their side of the table? By their chair? I believe it might be reading glasses due to all the decryptions Bell does, whether on paper or through a computer, it’s hard on the eyes. (I’m sure I’m not the only one who noticed this. For look at @second-vtoroy ‘s Bell)
I believe through the brainwashing, Bell might not need glasses anymore. After all, apparently they were a smoker like Adler before too but they took that out of you. What else they changed of Bell? It makes one wonder how far they truly went into molding a person.
Which just adds onto how mind boggling this mission is—this game is. This is my favorite COD game, despite how short it is. The details and choices and interactions with everyone and able to create your own character(albeit it’s very standard and not specific but it’s good enough for me) is AMAZING. I’ve always been a sucker for RPG’s and able to get that even a little in a COD game? Truly wonderful.
I couldn’t touch on everything because it would’ve gotten long, but the fun of the Break on Through mission never gets old. It’s genius multiple ways you can do it. All the details. The feelings you feel as a player as you go through it.
They truly did a unique job with this and I hope they continue with this type of game storytelling. Hopefully longer as well.
Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed this rant basically!
Gifs made by me and used the video down below to help.
https://youtu.be/t6QkmkGGHSQ
youtube
#russell adler#call of duty#cod#black ops cold war#call of duty cold war#cod cold war#cod bell#cod analysis#cod:bocw#call of duty analysis#bell call of duty#Adler and Bell#Cold War
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Learning a Lesson Chapter 1
Young Actor Tom Hiddleston/OFC
Rated E - Eventual Smut, Angst, Complicated Relationship - Teacher/Actor Posing as Student, Feels, Flirting, Fluff
Summary: It's your first day as a teacher and things are going well. That is, until a tall, gorgeous boy with blond curls and dramatic ways saunters into your last class. When he ignores all the swooning girls to flirt outrageously with you, it is secretly thrilling. Even more so is when he tries to steal a kiss after class ends. How long will you be able to keep your defenses up?
Up and Coming actor Tom is under cover in high school for research for a movie, but the pretty drama teacher is making the long assignment so much more enjoyable!
This was inspired by a dream I had. I opted to turn the main character into a young teacher instead of a student, just due to my own neurosis. Will probably be in a bout 4 parts... we shall see...
@arch-venus25, @caffiend-queen @ciaodarknessmyheart @frostbitten-written @just-the-hiddles @kellatron55 @myoxisbroken @nonsensicalobsessions @poetic-fiasco @shiningloki @shae-annelore @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy @hiddlesholic @yespolkadotkitty @vodka-and-some-sass @wolfsmom1 @tom-hlover @toozmanykids
The day had been going surprisingly well, if Emily did say so herself. All of her classes had seemed engaged in the material to some extent, and no one jumped out at her as an obvious juvenile delinquent bent on disrupting things. Of course, it was the first day of the school year and things could change, but with just one class to go she was feeling pretty satisfied with herself.
That was all about to change.
It was her first official day as a teacher. She had student taught, of course, but this was different. These kids were hers to mold and teach. It helped that most of the morning classes had been freshmen and sophomores. She had always looked young for her age, and she had already been asked once for a hall pass that afternoon between classes. It was embarrassing, but hardly unexpected. Soon she hoped that everyone would realize that she was faculty and not, in fact, attending herself.
Her last class was the one she had been both dreading and excited about all day. Senior Elective - Drama. It was her one chance to teach the subject that she loved the most. American and World literature were fine, of course, but she was a theater geek at heart. Teaching students who chose to study some of the most important plays in history, what could be better? She just hoped that they didn't all tower over her and decide that she couldn't possibly be the boss of them at her age.
The first few students to enter gave her hope. Three girls, giggling together in hushed voices, entered the room. She sized them up instantly - smart, a bit nerdy, and certain to turn into stunners in a few years' time. They smiled shyly at her as one, and Emily grinned in return, instructing them to sit anywhere they liked. As the others trickled in, began to breath easy. A few of the honor society kids, a couple who bore the stamp of musical theater unmistakably, and one or two who obviously were there simply because it sounded like an easy A that they could sleep through. Well, they would learn soon enough. Theater was a participatory activity in her mind. Still, the ten girls and three boys seated before her were hardly the type to strike fear into her heart, even if some of them did have several inches on her. She could do this!
The bell was still ringing when the door opened again and a tall, lanky boy backed in, calling jovially to some person still in the hallway. His voice was surprisingly deep, and contained a laughter that sounded infectious. Emily waited impatiently for him to conclude his conversation, foot tapping and lips pursed. When he finally turned around, she felt as though she had been punched in the gut.
He was certainly tall, easily topping 6 feet as he slouched against the door frame, insouciant smile on his face. A halo of wild, noodle like blonde curls framed his face, artlessly falling across his forehead in a manner designed to make one want to reach out and brush them back. His eyes, a stunning blue that ought to be illegal, were framed by obscenely long eyelashes and, if she were not mistaken, a light touch of eyeliner to make them all the worse. Cheekbones sharp enough to cut were hidden beneath just the right amount of residual baby fat to make him appear mischievous rather than outright dangerous, but she was not certain she should trust that assumption. A black t shirt and baggy black pants draped over his long, lean lines, accessorized with black and silver jewelry at his his wrist, waist, and neck, and a silver bar through the top of one ear.
Good lord above, her high school fantasy had just sauntered into the class she was supposed to be teaching! And Emily was not entirely sure that she had surrendered that fantasy as completely as she had hoped! Certainly her confidence, riding high just seconds before, was suddenly plummeting as the young stud slowly surveyed the class, enjoying the obvious attention his late entrance and stunning looks had provoked.
"Take a seat please, you're late," Emily said stridently, hating how forced her voice sounded.
"Apologies, I got turned around. Luckily some girls were nice enough to show me the way."
No doubt, she thought as he loped to the front of the class and sat in the desk immediately in front of her. And god almighty, was that an English accent? From the way most of the girls and two of the three boys in the class were twittering behind him she was certain she had heard correctly. He looked up at her with a cocksure smile on his face and she felt an absurd wave of embarrassment, as though he could read exactly what she had been thinking about him.
"So," he asked, extending his long legs out from under the desk until the toe of one booted foot almost touched hers, "when does the teacher get here?"
"I am the teacher," Emily tried to keep the consternation from her voice as she retreated behind her desk, hoping for some sort of barrier between her and the living temptation seated before her. Blindly she pointed to where "Miss Temple" was written on the chalk board, as though that would prove something.
"Impossible. You're far too young and attractive to be the teacher," he pronounced, openly giving her a once over as the rest of the class snickered.
Emily clenched her hands to keep from tugging down her skirt to make it longer. It hit a respectable length at just above her knee, but the way he looked speculatively at her legs she wished it hit the floor. Still, she was not about to let this smug little (or, well, not so little) popinjay rattle her.
"I am old enough. And you will find that there are no rules about a teacher's appearance," she told him. "But thank you all the same Mr -"
"Martinsson," he told you. "But you can call me Tom. And you are?"
"Very well, Tom," she sighed, ignoring the question. "Now, if I may begin the class?"
He waved his hand in a magnanimous gesture that left her unsure whether to laugh or roll her eyes or smack his smug, pretty face. She settled for turning on her heal and pulling her copy of The Complete Works of Shakespeare out of her tote bag, wishing she couldn't feel his eyes on her backside as she bent over. Pants. She would definitely be wearing pants from now on.
"Shakespeare?" one of the musical theater kids groaned. "I thought this class was going to be fun!"
"Kiss me Kate is Shakespeare," the aptly named Kate, one of the honors girls, shot back, "and so is West Side Story!"
"It's less boring with songs," the boy muttered, making most of the others laugh in agreement.
"Dude, Shakespeare isn't boring!" Emily's heretofore nemesis said, turning to look disgustedly at the poor boy behind him. "Not if you have a thought in your head, at any rate!"
"See," Kate preened, trying to catch Tom's eye as the other boy squirmed.
"It's just stuffy old men shouting made up words at each other," one of the suspected lazy kids argued.
"Not if you do it right!" Tom insisted.
Before Emily could think to move, he unfolded his body from beneath the little wooden desk and dropped to his knees on the floor directly in front of her and began speaking with dramatic flourish.
"Teach not thy lips such scorn, for they were made
For kissing, lady, not for such contempt.
If thy revengeful heart cannot forgive,
Lo, here I lend thee this sharp-pointed sword;
Which if thou please to hide in this true bosom."
As a gasp went through the class, Tom yanked up his shirt to bare a chest more well defined than she would have imagined. Not, of course, that she had any business imagining anything at all. He thrust a pencil into her hand and held it against the naked skin, continuing his soliloquy:
"And let the soul forth that adoreth thee,
I lay it naked to the deadly stroke,
And humbly beg the death upon my knee.
Nay, do not pause; for I did kill King Henry,
But 'twas thy beauty that provoked me.
Nay, now dispatch; 'twas I that stabb'd young Edward,
But 'twas thy heavenly face that set me on.
Take up the sword again, or take up me."
Emily stared, mouth gaping at the young man on his knees before her, pressing her hand to his flesh, and felt a wild urge to pull him up and kiss him senseless. The raw passion that he had infused his words with echoed in the room, impossible to miss. The lines had been rushed, and he stumbled once over the wording, but there was no faulting the fervor with which they were delivered.
After a moment of silent awe, the class erupted in spontaneous applause as he smirked and pulled himself to his feet, bringing Emily's hand to his mouth to kiss it in a ridiculous show of stage chivalry that made the class giggle but sent electricity coursing through her body. She snatched her hand back took a step away from him as he turned to bow to his cheering classmates.
"Was that Romeo?" one of the girls asked fatuously.
"No," he said disdainfully. "Romeo was a twat too stupid to think through a plan or trust his woman. That was Richard the Third."
"And does she take him?" the girl asked giggling.
"Oh, she does alright," he said with a wink. "Then he uses her to secure his kingdom, kills her, and moves on the next princess. But still, you can feel his seduction in the words."
Emily watched the girl struggle to come to terms with that information and felt a pang of sympathy for her. She had the sense that this was a man, a boy she reminded herself, who often had that effect on people.
"That was, er, quite the performance Mr. Martinsson," she attempted to wrench the class back. "And I agree, Shakespeare is far from boring. We will not, however, be reading Richard III right now. I thought we would start with something a bit more light. Much Ado About Nothing. Now, if you would all take out your books, I will assign parts."
"I'm afraid I don't have a book," it was Tom, of course. "We didn't move here in time for me to pick one up from the library."
"Very well, you can use mine," she sighed, glad she knew all the characters from memory.
Tom got up again, Emily wondered if he was capable of sitting still, and walked around her desk. He towered over her as he crossed behind her, and his arm casually and quite inappropriately draped around her shoulders as he passed. She twitched to dislodge him, and he shot her a guilty but hardly repentant grin in response.
"The book, Mr. Martinsson," Emily all but hissed.
"Thanks," he said, hand grazing over hers as he lifted the big tome and walked back to the desk.
"Now," she said, struggling to push down the effect he had had on her when standing so close in her space, "who wants to be Beatrice, the female lead?"
All of the female hands shot up instantly. She could hardly blame them. There was only one choice to read Benedick, and everyone knew it. Briefly she considered casting him as Claudio, or better yet, Dogberry, just to spite them all. For some reason the thought of him flirting in verse with one of these cloying little girls made her irritable. For better or worse though, her love of the play won out over her misplaced jealousy. Tom was Benedick, and Jamie, a quiet, studious girl Emily liked on sight was Beatrice. A ripple of resentment made Jamie shrink back a bit, but Emily still thought she was pleased with being cast. Who wouldn't be?
"Mr. Martinsson," Emily said as the closing bell rang, signaling the end of the class and the day, "please stay behind. I would like a word with you."
Rather than looking at all put out, Tom's face broke into that smug smile she were beginning to realize was a habitual look for him. She waited for the mob of loitering girls to finally take the hint and reluctantly leave before shutting the door behind him and turning to see him perched on the edge of her desk.
"I was hoping you'd keep me," he said confidently. "I thought you might."
"Yes well," Emily found her mouth was dry and suddenly regretted closing the door. It would look foolish to open it again though, so she tried to pull herself together. "I think we need to talk about your behavior."
"My behavior?" he asked, looking amused.
"Yes, it was highly inappropriate for class," she scolded.
"What was? My pointing out that you were attractive?"
"Among other things. Flirting with me, kissing my hand," somehow when she listed his crimes they didn't sound nearly as bad as they had seemed at the time. If any other student had acted in such a way, she realized, she would have laughed it off and set them in their place. It was only because it was him, so attractive and utterly beyond her touch, that it was a problem.
"I apologize if I embarrassed you," he said, which wasn't really the point. "But you must know that you are very attractive. Very desirable. I would have to be blind not to notice it."
"Tom - I just said -"
"That it was inappropriate for class. We're not in class now. And you can't tell me you're not attracted to me as well. I can tell."
"That's not the point. You are a student. A child."
"I'm 18 last week," he corrected, sounding offended. "And you can't be older than 25. That's hardly enough of a difference to matter."
"There are plenty of attractive girls your own age," she said, hating them all.
"Stupid, vapid girls," he muttered.
"I'm your teacher," she said again, wondering who she was trying to convince.
"Then you don't want me to kiss you?" he asked, hopping off the desk and suddenly standing very close and towering over her.
"It's not appropriate," Emily gulped out, repeating herself.
"You didn't answer my question."
"Look, I'm not saying you're not attractive," she licked her lips and struggled to keep her thoughts together as he took another step towards he.
"You think I'm attractive?"
"You know you are, that is not the point."
"And what is the point?"
"The point is, it's wrong!"
"The point is, you want me to kiss you."
"Tom. Mr. Martinsson -"
"Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me, and I'll stop."
His hand had circled around her and was somehow at the back of her neck, forcing her to look up at him. He was enveloping her. His scent, his body heat, his bright, accented eyes, all clouded her mind and made it hard to think. His head was moving towards hers, and she knew it would be a kiss to make her toes curl.
"You're wrong," Emily gasped, closing her eyes and waiting for his lips to meet hers.
"Liar," he whispered, a mere breath away from her lips.
Dropping his hand, Tom stepped away and smiled down at her with something close to scorn in his eyes.
"I expected more from you," he told her. "I hope next time you can be honest with us both."
As she struggled to return her breathing to normal, he turned and walked out of the classroom, leaving Emily reeling.
***
"How'd it go?" his director Jonesy asked him again, making his teeth clench.
"As I said," he repeated. "Just the never ending tedium of high school. God, the U.S. version is even worse than ours was!"
"Beginning to regret asking for this?" Jonesy chuckled.
Tom considered it. He had been excited when he was cast in the new film being directed by an up and coming indie director. He was young, and what few jobs he had been given had been in period pieces of the waistcoat and ascot variety. Playing a troubled teenager in a gritty coming of age story was not something he wanted to let pass him by.
Still, considering that his own education had been at the posh British public school of Eton, proverbial School of Kings, he had been feeling ill prepared for the role. To rectify the problem, he had asked to be placed in an American school for a month. The first day had certainly been an eyeopener, that was certain.
"No," he said. "Regretting the homework though."
"I thought you were supposed to be a troubled kid," Jonesy laughed. "Blow it off!"
He agreed with a laugh, but knew it wasn't quite true. There was one assignment he planned to do to the best of his ability. Shakespeare deserved no less, and neither did she. Miss Temple of the lovely legs and expressive eyes.
He had thought her a student at first, and was disgusted with himself for how attracted he was to her. The pretty skirt was just short enough to show her knee, and the blouse hinted at enticing curves that he couldn't help noticing. When he realized she was in fact the teacher, and a Shakespeare teacher at that, he couldn't resist. He was supposed to be a dramatic kid, very well. He would use it to his advantage. It had almost killed him to flub the line near the end, but he didn't want to show his hand as an actor on the first day and ruin all the work the studio had done to arrange this for him.
He hadn't really expected her to respond to him. When she did, even though she tried to fight it, he could feel the electricity. He had not been so drawn to a woman in ages. Damn the stupid disguise!
He had wanted to kiss her desperately. Added a year to the age he was meant to be playing in an attempt to convince her it was not the worst idea in the world. He knew she had wanted it too. It was only his strict code that had made him pull back at the last minute. She said no, even if they both knew she didn't mean it. Very well, he would just have to try harder next time. It would lend some excitement to what had so far been a less than thrilling assignment. He would learn about American high school life, and she would be his sweet reward. It was only a matter of time.
#Tom Hiddleston#Tom Hiddleston fic#tom hiddleston rpf#Young!Tom Hiddleston#YoungActor!Tom#teacher/student#but not really#he is in disguise for a role#eventual smut#fluff#angst#forbidden relationship#shameless flirting#Tom does not play fair#dream inspired
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A Critical Essay on the Life & Poetry of William Wordsworth
With respect to 'The Prelude' & the 'Lyrical Ballads'
Portrait of the English Romantic poet William Wordsworth by Benjamin Haydon.
"You have given me praise for having reflected faithfully in my poems the feelings of human nature. I would fain hope that I have done so.
But a great poet ought to do more than this; he ought, to a certain degree, to rectify men’s feelings, to give them new compositions of feeling, to render their feelings more sane, pure, and permanent; in short, more consonant to Nature, that is, to eternal Nature, and the great moving spirit of things."
Wordsworth wrote this in a letter, in response, to his friend, John Wilson on the 7th of June 1802, thanking him for his heartiest congratulations on the success of his Lyrical Ballads and in the process reflected on the ideas of his poetical abilities and ambitions. Indeed, Wordsworth was a poet far ahead of his times, creating over the span of eighty years a colossal magnitude of poetic works which have become a part of the very fabric of the English language and literature.
Like many of his contemporaries, Wordsworth was influenced acutely by the historic event of the French Revolution, of which he was not only an observer but an active participant and supporter. But before delving too deep into his works and genius we must understand something about his life and childhood, without which, one cannot think of understanding his poetry let alone Wordsworth himself.
Young Wordsworth in 1798, in Town End, Grasmere.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH was born in the Lake District in April 1770 and died there eighty years later on 23 April 1850. He had three brothers and a sister, Dorothy, to whom throughout his life he was especially close. When she was six and he was nearly eight, their mother died. Dorothy was sent away to be brought up by relatives and a year later William was sent to Hawkshead Grammar School.
Wordsworth was cared for in lodgings and led a life of exceptional freedom, roving over the fells that surrounded the village. The death of his father broke in on this happiness when he was thirteen, but did not halt the education through nature that complemented his Hawkshead studies and became the theme of his poetry.
As an undergraduate at Cambridge, Wordsworth traveled (experiencing the French Revolution at first hand) and wrote poetry. His twenties were spent as a wanderer, in France, Switzerland, Wales, London, the Lakes, Dorset, and Germany. In France, he fathered a child whom he did not meet until she was nine because of the War.
In 1794 he was reunited with Dorothy and met Coleridge, with whom he published Lyrical Ballads in 1798, and to whom he addressed The Prelude, his epic study of human consciousness. In the last days of the century, Wordsworth and Dorothy found a settled home at Dove Cottage, Grasmere. Here Wordsworth wrote much of his best-loved poetry, and Dorothy her famous Journals.
In 1802 Wordsworth married Dorothy’s closest friend, Mary Hutchinson. Gradually he established himself as the great poet of his age, a turning-point coming with the collected edition of 1815. From 1813 Wordsworth and his family lived at Rydal Mount in the neighboring valley to Grasmere. In 1843 he became the poet laureate.
A recent cover page of the 'Lyrical Ballads' by Wordsworth & Coleridge, which heralded the Romantic Age in English Literature.
Now, keeping this dynamic canvas of Wordsworth’s life in consciousness can begin to grasp the magnitude of his poetic genius. To begin with, we can say Wordsworth was a game-changer in the history of English poetry. By publishing, his epoch-making collection of poems, Lyrical Ballads, Wordsworth along with Coleridge heralded the Romantic Age of English poetry. On which Coleridge writes in chapter 14 of his book, Biographia Literaria, about Wordsworth and his romantic ideas thus:
"Mr. Wordsworth, on the other hand, was to propose to himself as his object, to give the charm of novelty to things of every day, and to excite a feeling analogous to the supernatural, by awakening the mind’s attention to the lethargy of custom, and directing it to the loveliness and the wonders of the world before us; an inexhaustible treasure, but for which, in consequence of the film of familiarity and selfish solicitude, we have eyes, yet see not, ears that hear not, and hearts that neither feel nor understand."
-Coleridge on Wordsworth, Biographia Literaria
And so we see that Wordsworth did exhibit all these themes and ideas repeatedly in his entire works. He takes as his subjects the poor, the old, and the outcast, for example in the poems ‘Goody Blake and Harry Gill’, Wordsworth talks about an old woman who has to steal firewood to survive the winter. His poem, ‘Her Eyes Are Wild’, about a vagrant woman suckling her child:
Suck, little babe, oh suck again,
It cools my blood, it cools my brain,
Thy lips I feel them, baby, they
Draw from my heart the pain away.
-from ‘Her Eyes Are Wild’
In ‘The Old Cumberland Beggar’, a beggar sits among ‘wild empty hills’ eating, and his ‘palsied hands’ scatter crumbs while the ‘small mountain birds’ surround him, waiting warily for their ‘destined meal’. In the popular poem, ‘The Idiot Boy’ a poor countrywoman, Betty Foy, is the mother of a disabled son who gets lost and spends a night in the open air. When she finds him he speaks wonderingly of the owls and the moon, without realizing what they are.
This was a major breakthrough in English poetry as Wordsworth brought to the poetic arena, the lives of the common people and this was huge because no one had ever made such people a subject of their poems before. Also new in Lyrical Ballads are poems about children and how adults fail to understand them.
In the poem, ‘Anecdote for Fathers’, a boy resists adult logic, and in ‘We Are Seven’, a small girl, whose brother has died, insists that he still counts as one of the family. Wordsworth’s belief in the superiority of childhood is expressed most challengingly in the ‘Immortality Ode’ written in 1802, where he remembers his early years.
A painting of the French Revolution of 1789, which ousted monarchy from France and had a big impact on Wordsworth and many intellectuals.
Through his selected works, written after the experiences of the French Revolution, one also comes to feel the sympathetic nature of Wordsworth towards the lowly and the poor. Like in The Prelude, he recalls, how a revolutionary friend pointed to an emaciated girl they met on a walk and declared:
'Tis against that
That we are fighting
In the ‘Residence in London’ book of the same poem, he remembers seeing a poor man with a sick child in his arms, and writes:
Bending over it,
As if he were afraid both of the sun,
And of the air which he had come to seek,
Eyed the poor babe with love unutterable
As for expressing the moods and settings of nature, Wordsworth is the unquestioned master, often and aptly called by many to be the poet of nature. One can even argue that no English poet expresses nature in its innate sensual beauty and spiritual entirety as Wordsworth.
What’s more interesting in Wordsworth’s portrayal of nature is that for him Nature is not just Mother Earth that needs to be expressed and captured in words but is much more than that. Like in the poem ‘Lines Written in Early Spring’, included in Lyrical Ballads, Wordsworth expresses the belief that nature is conscious as he writes:
'Tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.’
Or the core Romantic belief that nature is a moral educator is stated with breath-taking simplicity in another Lyrical Ballads poem, ‘The Tables Turned’ where he writes:
One impulse from a vernal wood,
May teach you more of man,
Of moral evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.
In this regard one remembers a famous passage from The Prelude which gives an instance of Wordsworth expressing, nature acting as a moral guardian. The passage is about one summer evening when young Wordsworth takes a boat without its owner’s permission, and as he rows, he expresses:-
A huge peak, black and huge,
As if with voluntary power instinct,
Up reared its head
It seems to stride after him and, trembling, he returns the boat to where he found it. Even when not guilt-ridden, the boy Wordsworth in The Prelude is aware of nature as a living presence:
I heard among the solitary hills
Low breathings coming after me and sounds
Of indistinguishable motion, steps
Almost as silent as the turf they trod.
On Wordsworth’s poetic oeuvre, Walter Pater, a critic of Wordsworth’s time comments in his essay titled- Appreciations (1889) that Wordsworth to be the poet of ‘impassioned contemplation’ and in stressing both words equally, he got the balance exactly right. In his attempts to characterize the nature of the poetic or creative power, Wordsworth laid similar emphasis on impassioned seeing.
Perhaps, one can say, that the best encapsulation of Wordsworth's entire creative output has been written by none other than Wordsworth himself in the poem, ‘Glad sight wherever new with old’, written in 1842 when he was seventy-two. This poem points to almost everything that has been central to his long imaginative engagement with words and things. Wordsworth in it writes:
Glad sight wherever new with old
is joined through some dear home born tie;
The life of all that we behold
Depends upon that mystery.
Vain is the glory of the sky,
the beauty vain of field and grove
Unless, while with admiring eye
We gaze, we also learn to love.
Image Credits:- Pinterest & Google
References & Research:-
The Concise History of English literature by William Henry Hudson
The Routledge history of English literature
The Routledge Anthology of Poets on Poets
A little history of Poetry by John Carey
JASTOR Essays
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1980’s OC
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Veruca Elizabeth Jones
Meaning: Veruca- Vivacious, Elizabeth- My God is an oath, Jones- John’s son
Origin, who named her- The name means wart. Her mother named her this because her mother had just read the book “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” right before she went into labor and loved the name.
Mother’s perspective- “My little Ruca has always been a feisty little thing. She gets it from me.”
𝑵𝑰𝑪𝑲𝑵𝑨𝑴𝑬
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Ruca – Baby
Explain the meaning of each nickname here. - Ruca comes from her mother, it came naturally when she was little because Veruca was intimidating for a little girl. Baby comes from James, he started calling her that early on in their relationship and it stuck.
How often is she called that? - Anytime she visits her Mom she’ll call her Ruca and James has since adopted the nickname for her in addition to calling her Baby.
𝑨𝑮𝑬
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November 24th, 1964 – age 17-23 in 1981-1987
Do they act their age or not? Do they look older or younger than their actual age? - She acts like she’s an 18-year-old most of the time and can often be described as the life of the party until someone gets hurt, then she turns into the mom friend and becomes protective over her friends. ⠀
𝑰𝑫𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑰𝑻𝒀
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Human – Female – Heterosexual - She/Her
Does your character identify as their biological sex? If so/not, then why? What are their preferred pronouns? Regarding their orientation, are they open about it? - She’s confident in her sexuality and gender and has never felt differently about either.
𝑫𝑬𝑴𝑶𝑮𝑹𝑨𝑷𝑯𝑰𝑪𝑺
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𝑁𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑦 – 𝐸𝑡ℎ𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑡𝑦 - 𝐿𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑠
American - Caucasian - English
Where are they from? What is their race? What are the respective ethnicities of their parents? Has it played a significant role in their life How? Are they proud of their origin? Do they practice customs relative to their origin? - She’s from Downey, California. Her parents are also Californian but some of her relatives are from England and various parts of Europe. She always enjoyed the Californian lifestyle and liked listening to music on her record player or sitting on the roof and listening to music as a teen.
How many languages can they speak? Which is their first language? How fluent are they in each language? Do they have a particular accent? - She has a slight Californian accent, but not much of one. She’s fluent in English just like the next person.
𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑻𝑼𝑺
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𝑅𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 – 𝑂𝑐𝑐𝑢𝑝𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 – 𝐹𝑖𝑛. 𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑠
Where do they currently live? How are their living conditions? What do they do for a living? Are they considered lower, middle, or upper class? Are they happy with their social standing? - She lives in an apartment with James for now until they go back on the road again. She’s the lead guitarist for her band “Lust”. She formed the band with her three friends and will often sing backing vocals. She’s made a fair amount of money so far in her career and her association with Metallica has earned her more money as well. She often opens for them with her band. She’s considered Middle Class at the moment.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
𝑩𝑶𝑫𝒀
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Curvy - slim
5’1 ft - 122 lbs
Describe your character's body. Are they tall? Petite? Muscular? Lean? Are they overweight? Underweight? Do they have any scars or other natural markings? - She’s petite and is an average weight for her height. She has some stretch marks around her breasts and hips but those are natural. She has a handful of freckles and moles on her arms and legs, but not many.
𝑺𝑲𝑰𝑵
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Pale - Sensitive
Describe their skin. What type is it? Is it genetic? Do they have any blemishes, scars, marks, freckles, etc? Does it burn or tan easily? Is it soft or rough? Any calluses? - She has sensitive skin that burns easily in the sun. Her skin is smooth but her hands are callused from guitar playing.⠀
𝑯𝑨𝑰𝑹
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Purple - Curly
Is their hair color natural or dyed? How does their hair type impact them? Is it genetic? Why do they have their current hairstyle? - Her hair is naturally curly and brown but she dyed it Purple when she was 16 and never went back. She adopted her mother’s hair type. She keeps it shoulder length because shorter hair suits her face shape. The shorter the hairstyle, the tighter her curls are.⠀
𝑬𝒀𝑬𝑺
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Hazel – Almond
Describe their eye color. Do they prefer colored contacts? If so, what color? What about the shape of their eyes? How does it affect their overall appearance? Are they visually impaired? Do they wear glasses whether for need or aesthetic? - Her eyes are almond-shaped and hazel. They’ve also been described as light brown. She has 20/20 vision so she’s never needed glasses.
𝑻𝑨𝑻𝑻𝑶𝑶𝑺
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Inner left forearm
Describe their tattoos. How or why did they get it? Where is it? What does it look like? What is its significance based on either location or the design itself? - She has a candle on top of a skull on her inner left forearm. The meaning behind it is a reminder of her mortality and how she needs to wake up and smell the roses every now and then.
𝑷𝑰𝑬𝑹𝑪𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺
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Septum
Describe their piercings. How or why did they get them? Where are they? What do they look like? What is the significance of them? - She has her lobes and septum pierced. She liked the look of the septum ring so she got one. It’s normally just a simple silver ring in her septum and she likes wearing long, dangly earrings.
𝑨𝑻𝑻𝑰𝑹𝑬
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𝑆𝑡𝑦𝑙𝑒
Describe their scars. How or why did they get them? Where are they? What do they look like? How old are they? How do they feel about them? - She doesn’t like her stretch marks because she’s had them since she was a teen. They remind her of when she would compare herself to other girls.
⠀ ⠀ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
𝑷𝑯𝒀𝑺𝑰𝑪𝑨𝑳
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𝐴𝑖𝑙𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 – 𝐴𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟𝑔𝑦 – 𝑇𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡
Anxiety - Pollen - Medication
Describe your character's physical health. Is it poor? Fair? Great? Any ailments, disabilities, etc, and their severity. Any allergies? Are their conditions hereditary? Did something develop later in life? What treatment do they receive for these issues if they do receive treatment? - She only has minor allergy problems when it comes to pollen like a lot of other people. She’s had it since she was little. She takes medication for her anxiety.
𝑴𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑨𝑳
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6/10
𝐷𝑖𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑟 – 𝑇𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑡
Describe your character's mental health. Is it poor? Fair? Great? Do they have any disorders that have or haven't been diagnosed? How severe are these disorders? Is it hereditary or not? Do they take anything to help? Therapy or prescription? - She has severe anxiety when it comes to big crowds but being on stage helps her overcome it. She was diagnosed with PTSD when she was 18 because of her father’s negligence and that gave her abandonment issues.
𝑳𝑰𝑭𝑬𝑺𝑻𝒀𝑳𝑬
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𝐷𝑖𝑒𝑡
Describe your character's lifestyle and how it affects their health. What do they eat? What do they not eat? Is it for health purposes? Moral purposes? Do they exercise? How often? What is the focus of their exercises? - She does aerobics when she can and she makes sure to stretch before she goes on stage.
𝑴𝑩𝑻𝑰
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ENFP
Insert a description of your character's MBTI personality type. - “Don’t lose that little spark of madness.” She’s a very idealistic person who is very in tune with her feelings and emotions. She’s great at communicating, curious, energetic, observant. Gets stressed easily, she overthinks things. She’s highly emotional.
𝑨𝑳𝑰𝑮𝑵𝑴𝑬𝑵𝑻
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Lawful Good
Describe your character's moral alignment. - She can oppose evil with the discipline to fight relentlessly. She hates to see the guilty go unpunished. Lawful good combines honor and compassion.
𝒁𝑶𝑫𝑰𝑨𝑪
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Sagittarius
Insert a description of your character's zodiac and how it affects their personality. Take note of negative and positive traits. Or even how your character's personality doesn't align with their zodiac. - Wild, feisty, independent, and exciting. She can be seen as being blunt because she is so in tune with her emotions and doesn’t hesitate to say what she thinks. ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀
𝑯𝑨𝑩𝑰𝑻𝑺
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Whistling – Hair playing
Describe your character's habits. When did they develop? When do these habits usually occur? Is it simply routine or a coping mechanism? - Whistling is a way for her to focus on one thing and drown out the chaos around her when it comes to being too much. She plays with her hair when she’s nervous or flirting.
𝑯𝑶𝑩𝑩𝑰𝑬𝑺
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Art collector – Candlemaking
Describe their hobbies. Are they any good at them? How did they discover them? Have they always enjoyed them? Did they find any talent in them? - She started collecting art when she was in her teens and could afford small pieces that she liked. She’s always been good at candle making. Each member of Metallica has a unique candle to resemble them.
𝑭𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑺
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Abandonment – Failure
Describe both mild and irrational fears here. Mild fears can be something like fear of abandonment or failure. While irrational fears or phobias can be something like claustrophobia or arachnophobia. How did they develop them? How do they affect their life, their behavior, their lifestyle? What happens when they face the subject of their fears? - Because her father left when she was little, the trauma of that has always stuck with her. She felt like she wasn’t good enough and that he left because of her. Her fears of failure also stem from her Dad leaving.
𝑫𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑴𝑺
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To have a family
Describe the goals, desires, and dreams your character has. Is it a career? Something they want out of life? How long have they had them? Do they have any expectations? Any plans to fulfill them? Why do they want to fulfill them? - One of her goals for the future is to have children simply because it always seemed appealing to her.
𝑻𝑨𝑳𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑺
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Guitar playing – Good memory
Describe their talents. Why or how did they become good at them? Was this a natural affinity or a learned skill? Are they passionate about it? Were they forced to learn it or did they naturally happen upon it? - She’s a self-taught guitarist. She had a similar start to James in the sense that she just picked up a friend’s guitar and started playing. She slowly learned how to get better at it over time and by 20 she was practically a master.
Describe your character's abilities. Include mental abilities such as good memory or critical thinking. Include physical abilities such as strength or quick reaction. Why do they have this ability? How proficient are they? Are these natural skills or something they trained to attain - She remembers moments from her childhood and details that other people don’t remember. She can remember the good times and can easily reminisce.
𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑻𝑺
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𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑡ℎ: 4/10
𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒: 8/10
𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑦: 8/10
𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑚𝑎: 5/10
𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒: 8/10
𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑚: 6/10
𝑙𝑢𝑐𝑘: 7/10
𝑴𝑶𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹
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Melissa Jones
Describe your character's mother and their relationship with your character. Is it positive or negative? Do they live together? Are they close or distant? Why? Do they still talk? How often? - Her mother was into all things hippie-like. She always gave back to the earth and was the epitome of a flower child. She was a single mother until her death.⠀
𝑭𝑨𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹
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Robert Jones
Describe your character's father and their relationship with your character. Is it positive or negative? Do they live together? Are they close or distant? Why? Do they still talk often? - Her relationship with her father is nonexistent because once he left he never attempted to reconnect with Ruca.
𝑺𝑰𝑩𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑮
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Moonbeam Jones
Describe your character's sibling(s) and their relationship with your character. Is it positive or negative? Do they live together? Are they close or distant? Why? Do they still talk? How often? - She fought with Moon when they were little but they grew closer together once they got older.
𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑵𝑬𝑹
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James Hetfield
Describe your character's partner and their relationship with your character. Is it positive or negative? How did they meet? How long have they been together? What is their current relationship status? Do they live together? Are they close or distant? Why? Do they still talk? How often? - She met James when Metallica had been going for two years in ‘83. They’ve been inseparable ever since and he was immediately smitten with her when they met. They live together in an apartment in LA but they’re just dating right now.⠀
𝑭𝑹𝑰𝑬𝑵𝑫
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Tiffany Rogers
Describe your character's friends and their relationship with your character. Is it positive or negative? How did they become friends? How long have they been friends? Are they close or distant? Why? Do they still talk? How often? - They’ve been friends since they were little and Tiffany is Lust’s bassist. They’re really close and Ruca can confide in her for almost anything.
𝑪𝑯𝑰𝑳𝑫𝑯𝑶𝑶𝑫
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6-11
Describe your character's childhood. How were they raised? What did they experience as a child? Describe your character's current activity if they're still a child. - She was raised in a free-spirited environment and she was never allowed to dissect animals in middle school. She would draw and sit on the roof as a child.
𝑨𝑫𝑶𝑳𝑬𝑺𝑪𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬
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12-17
Describe your character's adolescence. What did they experience as a teen? Were there any turning points? Did they mature at all in this period? Describe your character's current activity if they're still a teen. - She learned guitar as a teen and began to get into rock and roll. She dyed her hair at 16 and started wearing makeup. This is when she began to rebel.
𝑨𝑫𝑼𝑳𝑻𝑯𝑶𝑶𝑫
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18-25
Describe your character's adulthood. Their transition from a child until adulthood. What experiences did they have as an adult? Describe your character's current activity if they are still an adult. - She formed Lust with her childhood friend Tiffany and never looked back. She met James at a concert and fell head over heels in love with him. Who knows what the world will throw at her now?
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Free Wing: An Illustrated Dragon Western — Chapter 1
Chapter 1 - Decision
Louis had thought he would cry at his father’s funeral.
“Stand up straight.” his mother whispered, jabbing a finger against his lower back, making him jolt upright again, “And take off that hat, the priest is speaking.”
Louis dutifully swept off his top hat, glancing at the sea of sniffling black crepe gathered closely around the entry of his family’s crypt. His father’s coffin rested outside the doorway, waiting to be laid to rest beside other fathers, and father’s fathers, and all kinds of other rich family members Louis had never met.
The fact that Dad was lying there in that wooden box, that he would never again make tired smalltalk about budgets and subsidiaries and holidays that would never come felt like some kind of massive abstract joke.
The priest was saying something about dust, something about heaven, but there was no dust or heaven in this cramped cemetery. Louis chanced a glance up at the grey clouded sky, the London drizzle wetting down his blonde hair and black mourning suit, turning any dust that might have been poetically underfoot back to mud.
“Amen.” said the priest.
“Amen.” said the crowd.
“A-amen.” said Louis, quickly looking back down to earth and putting his top hat back on, sliding the riding strap under his chin.
“What was that?” Mother asked, looking at him sharply.
“Nothing, Mother.” Louis said quietly.
He ducked his head and stepping forward with the seven other pallbearers, some uncles, most colleagues from the bank, and helped heft the coffin up the steps, into the family crypt, and up onto its waiting shelf.
He hesitated as the others filed back out into the rain, leaving him nearly alone for a moment. The coffin wood gleamed as black as the hides of the drakes that had pulled its hearse, and it silently stared back at him from the white marble shelf. The crypt would be sealed again once he left. He might not be able to be this close to his father again until he or mother or Beth died.
But what did you say to someone you hadn’t really spoken to in years? To someone who was heaving a burden of a life onto your shoulders just by dropping dead of tuberculosis?
Maybe if Dad had died ten years earlier Louis would be able to weep, to throw himself on the coffin and cry about the adventures they hadn’t had yet, to mourn the loss of his greatest friend and inspiration and the chance they’d lost to live out their dream together.
But that had been before Father had become bank president, before the life and spark had been sucked out of him, leaving a tired worried shadow behind.
Louis glanced up again, seeing the dusty cobwebbed carvings of ivy and angels and wyverns in the heavy marble ceiling above him instead of the sky, feeling the weight of the earth under his feet holding him down.
It felt like he was the one about to be sealed up in marble.
He swallowed, ducking back out into the open air. He needed air, he needed sky, he needed to get to Arthur and-
“Mr. Ainsley?”
Louis grimaced as someone plucked at his elbow before he could disappear into the dispersing crowd. He turned, forcing a sober smile as he looked down at the small man who had a polite vise grip on his sleeve.
“Mr. Honeycutt,” Louis said, “w-what is it?”
“I’m terribly sorry to bring this up again, and at your poor father’s funeral, may he rest in peace, but my letters don’t seem to have been getting through?” Honeycutt said, balancing that careful expression that only occurs when two people know perfectly well that letters have been getting through, but being ignored, “But with you being instated as president of the bank next week we really must-”
“I, I, I, t-thought that wasn’t f-for another m-month?” Louis said, his mouth getting slow and dry as he tried to twist his sleeve away in the most polite manner possible, his ears getting hot over how much trouble he was having getting words out, “F-f-f-father said I didn’t h-h-”
“Well, that’s what most of my notes have been about, if you had been able to read them.” Honeycutt said, not putting emphasis on certain words, but Louis could tell he wanted to and could guess which ones, “Without a president the bank will be unable to move forward with certain important financial transactions that will need your signature. As your late father’s secretary and your new one I’ve already prepared the next month’s worth of work, picking up projects your father wasn’t able to finish, meetings that need to be had. Life goes on Mr. Ainsley, money never sleeps, and you’re needed to continue on your family’s work.”
NO.
“I’m a-a-afraid that I n-n-n-n-”
Louis clenched his fist in his pocket as he struggled maddeningly to get to the next syllable. He hadn’t been this slow in years, but he hadn’t had to talk to so many people about so many awful subjects in years either.
He could see Honeycutt’s patience visibly wearing thin as he continued to struggle through his sentence, making his stuttering even worse as embarrassment flushed through him.
“I m-m-m-mean-” Louis said, trying to start again.
“What he means is that he’ll be in contact with you soon,” Mother said, sweeping into the conversation and taking Louis’ arm with a sad smile at Mr. Honeycutt, “He’ll be sure to send you a message about meeting tomorrow, will that suffice?”
“Of course madam,” Mr. Honeycutt said, looking relieved as he bowed to them both, “and my deepest condolences about your husband, he was an excellent man and an excellent banker. Here, I’ve prepared a file of some of his most urgent papers for Mr. Ainsley to look over.”
“Thank you.” Mother said, taking the file and handing it to Louis before nodding soberly with a sweet sad smile and pulling Louis away into the crowd.
“Mother, t-that’s not what I w-was going to say.” Louis said quietly, his stutter starting to calm down now that it was just her, “I don’t want to-”
“Louis, your father has just died, how can you disrespect him and our family like this?” Mother said, looking up at him with sharp tired eyes.
“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t-” Louis started, bowing his head.
“If you can’t manage to speak properly then keep quiet until you can.” she said, looking forward.
Louis said nothing, feeling his blush deepen. If he could have flown away at that moment he would have, but Arthur was off waiting back with the carriages and other dragons, leaving him trapped.
“I know your father’s death has been hard for you,” Mother said quietly as they walked, “but it’s been hard for all of us. You’ve always been so responsible, you can’t afford to let all your hard work slip away now, you’re twenty-two for heaven’s sake. First thing tomorrow you’re going to the bank and assume your role as president, is that clear?”
NO.
“Y-. Yes, Mother.” Louis said quietly, managing to get the words out despite the claustrophobic feeling descending on him. It felt like the ground was starting to pull at his feet, as if the earth wanted to root him to the spot and swallow him whole.
“Good.” Mother said, her voice softening a little as she looked at him, “If you need to spend the evening alone I understand, but I want you to be ready to start again first thing tomorrow morning, alright?”
That would mean going back to the house that was still dripping in death. All the clocks stopped, all the picture frames turned over, all the mirrors wrapped in black crepe. Just like Louis himself, covered in black mourning cloth that would be his only wardrobe for a year. At least he was more fortunate than Mother, who would be trapped in black crepe for two years instead of one.
Unable to escape, unable to think of anything else for over a year. And trapped in the bank besides, the exact opposite of the open skies and sweeping plains he’d been dreaming of ever since he was old enough for Father to read him books of the American West. Back when Arthur was only a fledgling, small enough to come inside and curl up on the bed beside them both.
I think Arthur wants to be a cowboy as much as you do Louis, look, he’s reading along too!
Louis could already feel the black cloth seeping into his skin, eating down into him where it could wrap up his heart and mind in tight, stifling cloth.
He couldn’t trust himself to get the words out so he only nodded, letting go of Mother’s arm and striding off on his own.
He nearly bit through his lip in relief when he finally spotted the dragon paddock. Enough wealthy members of the bank at the funeral that there was a small flock of English and Welsh Fieldrunners tethered down, all lazily curled up or stretching on the gravel. Louis easily spotted Arthur’s pearly white head among the soft purples and blues and browns and his pace increased to downright undignified as he sprinted across the wet grass.
Arthur spotted him, getting up and half raising his wings in anticipation as Louis jumped the low paddock fence and hugging his neck, barely able to get his arms around it anymore now that they were both full grown.
“Let’s leave, I can't stand another moment here.” Louis said, pulling himself up onto the damp saddle, a dangerously wobbly feeling rising up his chest as he pulled the saddle straps tight over his legs. He tucked the file Honeycutt had given him into one of the leather saddlebags, strapping it shut, “I need to fly.”
Arthur looked back at him, clearly able to tell something was wrong, but obliged, hopping lithely over the paddock fence to an open patch of soggy grass. He snapped his leathery wings open to full span and slammed them toward the ground as he leapt into the air, launching them up into the sky with another powerful stroke of his wings.
Louis leaned against Arthur’s neck as they climbed up and away from the cemetery, keeping them streamlined as they ascended, circling and hopping into updrafts as the people below them got smaller and smaller.
Louis took a long breath as they leveled out and he sat up, the tightness in his chest finally easing as the silence of the sky wrapped around them. Arthur looked back at him in concern as they started gliding back toward the city.
“I’m fine,” Louis said, wiping his eyes on his black sleeve, and patting Arthur’s shoulder, “I just...I don’t really want to go anywhere right now, I just want to fly if that’s alright.”
Arthur tossed his head in acknowledgement, tipping his wings ever so slightly to glide them down nearer the city, a concerned moaning rumble sounding in his chest.
“I just...I just can’t lock myself up in the bank,” Louis said, gripping the reigns against the saddle bar, “You saw what it did to Dad, it ate him alive, and now everyone wants me to do the same thing over again. I’ve been doing what everyone else wanted since University and I really think I’ll go mad if I have to a moment longer, I really do.”
He felt Arthur start to dive and pulled the reins to the right, ducking low. Arthur felt the tug and pulled his wings in for a moment as Louis leaned into their turn, swooping them down into a brief spin of a free fall that tucked them down around the side of a building before their wings opened again, catching the air current and sending them climbing up and above the rooftops of London again. A nearby flock of wyverns startled up into the air from a rooftop.
Louis smiled as he felt the easy rush of adrenaline and let the reigns go slack again. Some dragons had to be jerked and wrangled an entire flight, but Arthur was different. They’d flown together so much over their lives that the reigns were really just a legal formality at this point. They both knew what they liked, and they both liked to feel the air beneath them, to feel alive.
Or rather, as alive as they could feel without drawing unwanted attention from the bobbies.
Louis caught Arthur glancing over at the Clock Tower, the gigantic spire with Big Ben sitting at its top. The biggest, most tempting, and most thoroughly off limits no-fly zone in all of London.
“Not today, boy.” Louis said sympathetically, glancing over at it too.
Why they would build the perfect roost and then expect no one to land on it was beyond him, but the yellow stripes around the edges at the top were a clear warning to any riders that might think otherwise.
But then what was a city really but a collection of yellow stripes? Don’t land here. Don’t leave here. Don’t do this or that. Fly in a straight line and don’t make a fuss and whatever you do don’t do anything that makes you feel free.
“Let’s go to the docks.” Louis called, looking away.
Arthur swept his wings in acknowledgement, sending them cutting through the air above the noisey cluttered ground traffic below.
It had begun drizzling again as they reached the docks, making everything slick and Louis grateful for the roughened roof tiles on the perch overlooking the warf. Two Irish fieldrunners were tethered on the far side of the perch roof, eyeing them suspiciously, and a sailor sat on the edge between them, making his way through a meat pie.
The docks were a frenzy of activity below, dock workers and sailors rushing to and fro with drakes pulling wagons of cargo to be loaded onto the waiting ships floating in the Thames, ready to sail downriver to the ocean once they were loaded. Across the Thames Louis could see the massive scaffoldings where gigantic milewing dragons roosted between their transoceanic flights.
Louis unstrapped himself from the saddle and carefully slid down to sit on the roof, leaning against Arthur’s warm side as the dragon settled down beside him.
Louis’s father had used to bring him down here when they’d still had time.
That’s how we’ll get to America. We’ll take a boat and be out in the Wild West before you know it.
Why can’t we just fly there? Arthur’s getting super fast!
Well you can’t expect him to fly across a whole ocean can you? And he’ll be too big to ride on a milewing with us soon. Besides, you’ll love the ocean.
Louis realized he was crushing the cuff of his jacket in one hand and stopped, rubbing his eyes against the memories. He glanced over at the sailor across the roof.
“My good man, can you tell me why the docks are so busy today?” he called over.
The sailor wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve with a grin, “Leviathan season, sir!” he called back, “Migration starts any minute now, we’ve been gettin the girls hitched up and loaded all week.”
Louis sat up straight, looking down at the docks again with some of his old excitement coming back despite himself. He’d completely forgotten it was that season already.
Normally sea passage to America took months on a regular ship, putting it in danger of sea dragons and storms, and riding a Milewing across the ocean took a week for those willing to pay a heavy price and travel light.
But hitching a ride with a leviathan, great gentle sea serpents who migrated across the ocean twice a year, that was a trip that only took a blinding speed of three or four days. Harness gentling one was a dangerous and slow undertaking, but a crew that could boast a twice annual leviathan voyage across the Atlantic could command whatever price they liked for wealthy buyers looking to transport time sensitive cargo to the other side of the world.
“Aren’t you attached to one of the ships then?” Louis asked, looking over at the leisurely lunching man.
“Sure am. My girl’s Lil’ Mary, it’s her first season pulling a ship, helped harness her myself last night.” He said proudly, taking a swig from a flask, “but she’s a young’un, won’t set out till nightfall. ‘Sides, me poor bleedin back’s ready to split after loading all that cargo, needed to nip off for a minute.”
The man scratched at his beard, gazing over the bustle of the docks, then glanced over at them again, pausing as he took in Louis’s mourning clothes and Arthur. “You ever been to the continent sir? By the looks of those wings you seem the type that could’afford it, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“N-not yet.” Louis said, rubbing his ear as he looked out West, out past the distant horizon, “We’ve always wanted to though.”
The sailor shoved the last bite of pie into his mouth and wiped his hands on his coat, giving Louis another more appraising look.
“You know sir, Mary’s still got a bit o’ room on board if you’re looking to cross the pond tonight.” The sailor said, a gleam in his eye, “First time voyages are always the hardest to book so we still got a ticket or two left. You can see all the America you want by Tuesday, plus I get a nice bonus if I manage to sell the last tickets, could do us both a lot of good.”
“I...me?” Louis said, nearly falling off the roof at the sudden thought.
“Well sure, I weren’t talking to the Irish racers over there.” The sailor chuckled, “It’ll cost you a pretty penny, but I can promise you a leviathan voyage is something you’ve got to see at least once. And you’ll have to wait another year before the next season.”
Louis didn’t care about the cost, money was the one problem he didn’t have, his ancestors had seen to that. But the thought of boarding that ship...right now, going to America on a whim, escaping west...
Seeing the open country skies, getting some adventure, living the dream he’d always wanted.
The thought made him a little dizzy.
He jumped as Arthur nudged his arm, looking at him curiously, his wings shuffling slightly in excitement.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Louis whispered harshly to the dragon, “We have responsibilities, we can’t just run off into the sunset.”
Responsibilities like writing Honeycutt in the morning. Like going back to a house in mourning. Like locking himself into an office at the bank everyday, of surrounding himself with walls and ceilings, of handling money all day until it sapped his soul.
Of never doing what he really wanted.
Arthur shoved his nose under Louis’s arm, clicking his jaw in an unspoken remark that Louis understood perfectly.
You idiot, this is our chance.
“Who do I talk to about buying passage?” Louis asked the sailor, the words spilling out of him seemingly of their own accord.
“I can take you two right to the Captain,” the sailor said with a grin, “he’ll get you both sorted. We’re sailing out to open water to meet Mary in an hour though so we’ll have to be quick about it. We don’t think Mary’ll leave till after sundown but you can never be quite sure with leviathans, they come and go as they jolly well please.”
This was a terrible idea, certifiably mad, there was no way he could go through with something like this.
“Do we need to purchase provisions beforehand or can we come as we are?” Louis asked, already climbing into the saddle, Arthur was practically trembling in excitement under him.
“Leviathan passengers are all first class tickets, voyage of a lifetime and all that, though I expect you’ll want a change of clothes, what with you being the fancy type and all.” The sailor looked up at Louis, scratching his head, “Say, excuse me if I’m out of place, but could I trouble you for a lift? It’ll get us to the Captain double quick, and I’ve always wanted to try riding an English racer.”
Three days with one set of clothing would have to do, there wasn’t time to buy more and he might get caught if he tried to stop home. Besides, as a cowboy he’d be wearing the same clothes for weeks at a time, he might as well get used to it now.
“Of course, no trouble at all.” Louis said, smiling with growing excitement as he reached down to help the sailor (who smelled very strongly of lemons and cheese) up to sit behind him, “Where are we headed?”
“Warehouse down on the far end of the dock right oveeEEERRWHOAH!”
Louis grinned as Arthur leaped off the roof perch, eagerly slicing through the air toward the warehouse before the sailor had even finished his sentence.
“He’s bloody fast!” The sailor shouted in Louis’ ear with a cackle as the wind whipped past them.
“The fastest in England!” Louis shouted back, “And he’s going to be the fastest in America too!”
He could practically already taste the Wyoming air, the Utah dust, and feel the New Mexico heat on his skin.
It was all too easy to block out everything else as Arthur swept his wings back, landing primly in front of the warehouse. Louis leapt off as the sailor shakily slid off behind him.
“Now where’s this Captain of yours?” Louis said eagerly, “We need to buy two tickets immediately.”
----
Welcome to the first chapter of the Free Wing project!
I’m using this as a chance to sharpen my art skills and push my abilities, so be sure to check the [#free wing] tag on my blog to see what other art and worldbuilding like breed and species profiles that I’ve already made for this story and world.
Asks about the world and other details as always are accepted, I love hearing your thoughts and questions, especially since they have a way of helping the story grow! :)
- Wit
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task 001. dig a little deeper: lady darling edition
BASIC INFORMATION.
What is your character’s full name ? patricia elizabeth darling
How is it pronounced ? puh-trih-shuh uh-liz-uh-bith dar-ling
Is there a meaning behind it ? patricia means “noble” and is the female version of “patrick,” but it was a family name her mother gave her. lady was just something sweet they called her when she was younger and it stuck as a nickname over “pat” “patty” or “trish.”
Does your character have any nicknames ? lady, pidge (from tramp)
When and where were they born ? december 24, 1993 in san francisco, california
What’s their zodiac sign and what traits do they most relate to ? capricorn. lady is very hardworking and responsible, but she’s aware she can be a bit distant at times when it comes to her more intimate relationships. she holds family very close to her--especially the family she’s made in carthay herself. she’s very stubborn, holds her own, and can definitely get a bit hot-headed at times.
What’s their nationality ? american.
What’s their occupation ? jewelry model.
What gender do they identify themselves as ? cisgender female // she/her
PHYSICAL APPEARANCE.
What’s their eye color ? brown
Do they wear glasses or contacts ? reading glasses, but not prescription
Hair color ? caramel brown
Have they ever dyed their hair or wanted to ? she gets highlights pretty often or goes darker, but never strays from brunette.
Height ? 5′6″ // 167.64 cm
Body build ? tall & lean
Do they have any birthmarks ? she has a small birthmark above her left hipbone.
Do they have any piercings or tattoos ? ear piercings // no
If not, do they want to get some ? she’s recently been wanting to get a small tattoo somewhere, but she’s not sure where.
Do they have a healthy life style ? she works out pretty frequently and tries to eat well, but carbs tempt her back every time she goes for a salad.
How easy do they get sick ? she catches colds pretty easily, but doesn’t often get really sick.
Any marks on their body ( injuries, … ) ? no permanent scars or injuries to speak of! she broke her arm once when she was 8 playing with the neighborhood kids, but that’s the only major injury she’s sustained throughout her 25 years.
What’s their personal style/how do they like to dress ? lady likes to dress in a sort of girly business casual style most of the time and will occasionally go for a more “laid back” look if she’s just out and about. she frequents sundresses when the weather is nice and switches her footwear between sandals, heels, or a classic pair of KED sneakers. she tries to dress comfortably but still keep everything chic enough to be photographed in, just in case.
What is their favorite and least favorite feature about themselves ? her favorite feature is her eyes and her least favorite would have to be her shape. she often feels like her body is too straight and narrow and wishes she had a few more curves.
PERSONALITY.
Positive traits ? fun-loving, caring, loyal
Negative traits ? jealous, stubborn, hot-headed
What do they consider to be the best and the worst part of their personality ? lady considers her loyalty to her friends to be her greatest strength and has a hard time choosing between her extremely jealous nature and stubbornness as her worst. she’ll overtly deny her jealousy to people if they ask because she doesn’t want others to notice such a negative trait in her, but she knows it’s a big fault of hers.
Are they more extroverted or introverted ? lady is definitely an ambivert--she’s a bit of both. extroverted with her friends, introverted with strangers. she can’t strike up a conversation with anyone and prefers to keep to herself when out in public, but has no problem approaching a friend in a room full of strangers to talk.
Any talents ? lady is very good at painting, but doesn’t often share that with people.
What are their fears ? lady is terrified of ending up alone or not being enough for the people around her.
Do they have any phobias ? claustrophobia (small spaces)
What is their soft spot ? lady has a huge soft spot for anyone that will bring her dinner and just sit and be with her, anyone who remembers small details she tells them, and puppies.
List 3 pet-peeves they can’t stand ? excuses for bad behavior, bailing on plans last minute, and calling people out via social media.
EDUCATION.
How far did they go in school ? Are they still studying ? lady completed high school and went to study studio art in college, but ended up leaving after 2 years when her modeling career took off.
Do/Did they like school ? she really enjoyed college and would love to go back, or even just take a few classes for fun. high school was a take it or leave it thing for her--she didn’t mind it, but she wouldn’t choose to go back.
What type of student are/were they ? she’s always been a good student. she doesn’t cause trouble, she shows up on time, leaves on time, and turns in her assignments. she maintained a b+ to a average in high school and really threw herself into her college courses. she practically slept at the arts annex during portfolio review.
What is/was their favorite subject ? art was always her favorite subject, but she enjoyed history and english as well.
And their least favorite ? any sort of advanced math--trigonometry, calculus, etc.
What were they/would they have been voted as “most likely to…” in the yearbook ? lady was actually voted most likely to sell a painting by age 25, which was oddly specific to her but she wasn’t particularly close to many people in high school so she figured it was the best they could come up with.
FAMILY.
Who are your character’s parents ? jim and ruth darling.
How would your character describe them ? lady hasn’t seen her parents in a while, as she was sent to live with her aunt sarah when she was 14 years old due to an incident with her younger brother. she loved her parents dearly and would drop anything she was doing to help them, even now. they were incredibly caring and protective of her and her brother, so she doesn’t fault them for doing what was best for him by sending her away.
Do they have any siblings ? one younger brother, 13 years her junior: noah darling.
Are they close with their family ? she used to be, but now rarely hears from them save for a card on her birthday. she would still do anything for them if they needed her.
ROMANCE & SEXUALITY.
What’s their romantic and sexual orientation ? heterosexual
Are they seeing anyone right now ? james sullivan, for publicity sake.
Have they ever been in an relationship ? as long as hers and sulley’s counts, yes! otherwise, she doesn’t know if she’d consider any of her previous relationships as counting.
Have they ever been in love ? yes.
How easy do they fall for someone ? it takes a lot of work to really get lady to fall for someone. though she desperately wants a family of her own after hers imploded due to her carelessness, she’s very guarded because of it as well.
In their view, why didn’t any past relationships work out ? she’s been caught up in someone else.
What do they look for in someone ? she wants someone to put in even half the effort she knows she could give. she wants passion alongside the comfortable moments and the moments of “i can’t believe this part of my life.”
Do they believe in love at first sight ? or fate ? no, not particularly love at first sight...fate, perhaps. though she believes one can control their own fate if they so choose.
What’s their views on romance ? Do they go after it or avoid it ? lady loves the idea of romance, but she’s not sure on the logistics or how to get it. she doesn’t particularly like how her heart and her brain tell her different things.
Did they have their first time already ? How was it in their point of view ? yes and somewhat disappointing--some guy she dated in her first year of college for about 6 months that she grew tired of and broke things off with. she thought she loved him at the time, but realized it was only an infatuation.
What is their view on sex ? it’s fun, but she’s started thinking of it as something more as she’s gotten a little older. she’s not trying to save herself (that’s over & done with) but she does prefer to save sex for people she’s truly connected with and feels a deep love for.
What are their turn ons and turn offs ? turn ons, she prefers someone else taking control, longer hair, and breathy words. turn offs, she’s not a fan of someone grossly inexperienced, with poor hygiene, or a messy room (or wherever the sex is happening, honestly.)
Were they ever cheated on or have they cheated on someone ? to her knowledge, she’s never been cheated on. she may have kissed some other boy in high school while “dating” another boy, but she couldn’t have been more than 15. she’s never cheated in her adult “relationships.”
Do they want to get married in the future ? absolutely.
Have kids ? definitely.
QUIRKS.
Are they right or left handed ? right handed.
What’s a word that’s always on their lips ? serendipity.
Is there a saying they keep on repeating ? don’t judge a book by its cover.
Do they curse ? when she’s particularly angry, yes.
What’s their worst habit ? jealousy.
Do they drink or smoke ? How frequently ? both occasionally, moreso when she’s left alone and doesn’t know how to handle what she’s feeling without being inebriated. that’s very rare, however, and she usually reserves her vices to a glass or two of red wine.
Are they an early bird or a night owl ? early bird.
How tidy is their room ? immaculate. lady loves having a place for all of her things. there’s hardly a shoelace out of place in her room.
How long to they usually take getting ready in the morning ? depends on what her plans are for the day, but her average routine takes about 25-30 minutes. it’ll go a bit longer if she has something planned with james, especially a nighttime outing.
FAVORITES.
What’s their favorite color ? tiffany blue.
Favorite movie ? 10 things i hate about you.
Music Genre ? pop?
Food ? italian.
Book ? currently, meddling kids by edgar cantero
Favorite non-alcoholic drink ? iced dirty chai latte
Ice Cream Flavor ? neopolitan
Indoors or outdoors ? a bit of both.
#carthaytask#íf í ѕmílє wíth mч tєєth вєt чσu вєlíєvє mє || task#this took..........longer than anticipated!!!#i'm sorry the graphic isn't too pretty /:
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Josh O’Connor: Every actor should just turn up on time, be nice and learn the lines
The actor has charmed as Larry in The Durrells and next up he plays Marius in Les Miserables and Prince Charles in The Crown
Unremittingly grim is how I would describe the BBC’s Les Misérables. Andrew Davies’s song-free adaptation of Victor Hugo’s novel is a litany of grinding poverty, injustice, corruption and exploitation occasionally leavened, if that’s the right word, by short bursts of extreme peril. It’s also completely gripping.
This weekend’s episode introduces a new face. Until now Marius Pontmercy has appeared only as an angelic moppet, parroting royalist slogans fed to him by his overbearing grandfather, Monsieur Gillenormand. Now time moves on and we see him as a young law student, played by Josh O’Connor. It’s an episode full of upheaval for young Pontmercy: without giving too much away, there’s a girl, a family bombshell and a political awakening.
When we meet in a central London café, O’Connor, 28, whom viewers might recognise as Larry from ITV’s The Durrells, is considerably jollier than his earnest student. Dressed in jeans and a well-loved chunky sweater, his very dark, very curly hair constantly threatening insubordination, he is excellent company — all smiles and unfailingly polite. As we talk, it’s clear that, although he’s having a delightful time at the moment (the cast and crew on Les Misérables were “lovely”; working on it and The Crown — he will play the young Prince Charles in the third season, of which more later — had him “wide-eyed and pinching yourself”), he’s very serious about work. He has even read Hugo’s novel, which in unabridged English translation tends towards 1,500 pages.
“I know, that’s mad, isn’t it?” he says. “And I’m a terrible reader. I’m very dyslexic and I find it incredibly hard. It was a struggle, but the themes of it — it’s all about redemption essentially. I was obsessed with that idea, which I’ve stolen from my dad, who is an English teacher. He’s always been really interested in forgiveness and redemption and hope, and it’s very present in that book.”
Although the story is set in Paris between 1815 and 1832, O’Connor thinks it retains its relevance. “There were different translations for the title, like ‘The Wretched’, ‘The Wretched Poor’, ‘The Dispossessed’. I think they’re more accurate. It’s all about class, and the forgotten and the sidelined, which is obviously relevant to now. Marius has an important role in that he is like the audience looking in — he exists as part of a higher social class, but he has this social conscience.
“Obviously we’re in different times, but I would say that we’re experiencing politics in the extreme on both sides at the moment. And while we’re not building barricades, we are setting up camp outside parliament, and how that has manifested itself in recent news has been pretty nasty. To me it seems that there are lines to be drawn from that.”
So upright is Pontmercy — even when languishing in a filthy garret — that you might not immediately make the link between the young lawyer and the role that made O’Connor’s name, the taciturn Yorkshire farmer Johnny Saxby in Francis Lee’s extraordinary 2017 film God’s Own Country. The similarities are almost non-existent — apart from anything else, it took O’Connor’s Saxby about half the film before he cracked a smile. O’Connor’s committed performance as the emotionally inarticulate youth being painfully and beautifully taught how to love and be loved by the tenderness of another man was universally praised and earned him a Bafta rising star nomination and a best actor win at the British Independent Film Awards, among other accolades. Not that he had much choice about commitment: Lee made him spend nearly four weeks working full-time on the farm where the film was shot before they started.
“John, the farmer, he’s an incredible man. He hadn’t had a holiday I don’t think for 25 years. We’d get up at 6am and we’d go and feed the sheep, then we’d come back and have these sandwiches [he uses his hands to indicate something about the size of an entire standard loaf] — plain white bread, greasy bacon, ketchup, more bacon, bread. I turned into an animal, but it was the best energy source. His lifestyle is non-stop. Of course he can’t have a holiday. Sheep don’t rest.” The physicality of O’Connor’s performance is one thing that gives it authenticity — all from John, he says.
“He was hunched over. There are practical reasons — the rain in Yorkshire even somehow rains up, so you’ve got your hood up, and the sheep are down here.” It helped his casting that O’Connor has huge hands. “They’re like spades.” You don’t see much of them in Les Mis — apparently his “city hands” had such terrible eczema when he started filming the series he could hardly open them, which he puts down to subjecting them to farm work on God’s Own Country, although he concedes that the diet may also have been a factor.
If you think Pontmercy and Saxby are different, his next TV role, as Prince Charles, is an even bigger leap. He’s filming at the moment and says it’s “probably the most enjoyable job I’ve done”, perhaps because, instead of a freezing Yorkshire hillside, the locations are “every nice stately home in England, seemingly. We’ve been in Grantham, Buckinghamshire — we rock up and are, like, ‘Who lives in this house?’ I feel like I’m on Antiques Roadshow a lot of the time.”
It’s odd, he says, playing someone so present in the public consciousness, but for him, finding that performance “starts with the voice, and then they’ve got teams of researchers and professionals who work on dialect and movement. If you watch footage of the young Charles, there’s this thing — when he turns, he doesn’t turn with his body, he turns with his neck first, in a weird sort of Justin Timberlake-esque dance move. I find it helpful to have an animal to imagine, because it gives a certain pace to someone.”
Er, OK, I wonder, fearing treason, what animal is the Prince of Wales? O’Connor laughs. “I like to think of Charles at the moment as a sort of tortoise, because he puts his neck out. It’s not even that he’s particularly slow, it’s more this idea of inquisitive head first.” This time it wasn’t the hands that helped O’Connor get the role, but the ears — they’re not, in fact, particularly large, but they are sort of swivelled forwards, as if anticipating something of great interest.
O’Connor was more or less ambivalent about the royal family before — although his grandmother takes a keen interest, he says — but since taking over the role he has developed a fascination with and, he admits, an affection for Charles.
“Essentially you have someone whose whole life only comes into focus when his mother dies. That keeps hitting me — he only has meaning when his mum dies. Where does that put a young man? And then you’ve got his relationships — you can’t just get married or be with someone, they have to meet a set of [outside] criteria. That is a lot to get your head around. I’m discovering something every day about him and the world he exists in.” He tells me about a scene he has just done with Derek Jacobi, who plays the Duke of Windsor, formerly Edward VIII. “You’re playing that interaction, and you think, ‘Who does Prince Charles have, at that stage, as a guide?’ ”
Of course, there’s always his mother, played in the new cast by Hollywood’s queen of the moment, Olivia Colman. O’Connor is predictably adoring of the star of The Favourite, which he thinks is “the film of the year”.
“She’s everything that’s said about her. She’s a proper actress and a proper person. Turns up on time, does her job professionally — she’s wicked. It’s great that the world is loving her because we should.”
He is equally gushy about his co-star Emerald Fennell, who will play the young Camilla Shand, later Parker Bowles, and whom he describes as “such a laugh” (series three and four take us up to 1976, so we’ll have to wait a while for the appearance of Lady Diana Spencer — her casting has not been revealed).
He seems to take immense joy in things, which he puts down to “a pretty perfect upbringing” in Cheltenham, Gloucestershire, as the middle son of three to John, an English teacher, and Emily, a midwife, both now retired. “I’ve got two lovely brothers and I’ve got cracking parents.” He recalls a phrase improbably culled from the American TV crime drama Ozark — “I’m rephrasing it, but if I were to have kids, and they’re half as proud of me as I am of my parents, then I’m sorted. They’re decent and kind and considerate, and as I’m getting older I’m learning that those qualities are the most important things.”
Inspired by his parents, last year he came up with a manifesto for his career: “Turn up on time, be nice and learn your lines. If everyone just did that in the acting world, everything would be just great.” His younger brother, Seb, is an ecological economist and is doing a PhD; the eldest, Barney, is an artist.
O’Connor lives in east London with his girlfriend, whom he politely declines to name, but hopes that they’ll be able to live predominantly outside London in future. “Drama schools say you have to be in London because that’s where the work is and that’s where the auditions are, but more and more the auditions seem to be tapes, for film and television, so maybe we’ll all move up to Yorkshire.” I’m sure Yorkshire would be delighted, I say. “Yeah, who are all these people with scarves? They’re all wearing scarves!”
Soon, although the release date is uncertain, we’ll see him in another film, Hope Gap, in which he plays the son to parents divorcing later in life (Annette Bening and Bill Nighy). It’s a “tiny little film” written and directed by William Nicholson, who is better known for such epics as Gladiator, Tom Hooper’s Les Misérables and Elizabeth: The Golden Age. It won’t surprise you to learn that O’Connor is unfailingly enthusiastic about it and his co-stars. There’s another film, with a much bigger cast, coming up, he says, but it hasn’t been announced, so he can’t tell me what it is, except that it isn’t Star Wars. He is, of course, very apologetic.
As I’m leaving, something occurs to me — is it indeed him shoving his arm inside a cow in an early scene in God’s Own Country? “Yeah!” he says, with startling enthusiasm. “And that was actually really nice. As you know, it’s incredibly cold in Yorkshire, and it’s incredibly warm in there. You go in through the bum, because there’s a thin membrane between the bum and the womb, and you’re checking to see where the head is. And it’s really comforting to the cow. It’s just really pleasurable because you know you’re caring for this animal, but also you’re, like, at least this arm is warm.”
I think we could all learn something from Josh O’Connor’s outlook on life.
Les Misérables continues on Sunday at 9pm on BBC One. The third season of The Crown will be on Netflix this year
https://www.thetimes.co.uk/article/josh-oconnor-every-actor-should-just-turn-up-on-time-be-nice-and-learn-the-lines-r8bqkcpcb
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jack does a task! // 001.
— && GENERAL INFORMATION
Full name: jackson grant allen. ( did i name him after my two favorite superheros aka barry allen and steve rogers? maybe. )
Nickname(s) or alias: jack, jay, allen, anything tbh.
Current age: idk about you but he’s feelin’ 22.
Astrological sign: pisces.
Gender: cis male.
Preferred pronouns: he/him/his.
Sexual preference: lowkey closeted bisexual. only his close friends and family know.
Language(s) spoken: english, some german from high school.
— && PHYSICAL APPEARANCE
Height: 6′2.
Weight: 180 lbs.
Shoe size: 11.
Glasses? Contacts?: contacts but he prefers to wear glasses.
Tattoos: a few.
Piercings: his ears from when he was younger.
Birthmarks/scars/distinguishing marks: scar on his cheek.
Dominant hand: right.
If painted, what color are their nails/toenails?: n/a.
Usual style of clothing: pair of jeans, t shirt, and vans. here’s a pinterest board of the style he wears.
Frequently worn jewelry: some rings and a necklace.
Describe their voice, what accent?: he has an american accent. he doesn’t really think he has a midwest accent. his voice isn’t the deepest but it’s a nice tone.
What is their speaking style (fast, monotone, loquacious)? fast, usually. he talks a lot and if you don’t stop him, he’ll go a long time.
Describe their posture: he should probably go to yoga classes because he hunches his back a lot.
— && LEGAL INFORMATION
Any speeding tickets?: no, he’s a good boy.
Have they ever been arrested?: no.
Do they have a criminal record?: no.
Have they committed any violent crimes?: no.
Do they have a passport? If so, where have they been?: he does! he’s only ever really been to los angeles. he’d love to go to new york or london or paris sometime.
— && PERSONALITY
Direct quote from them: “if meghan trainor ever threatens to release new music i have to go into hiding.”
Likes: books, chocolate, cuddling, card games, homemade meals, buzzfeed quizzes, dancing, a nice pair of jeans, a clean shaven face, working with his hands, hats, burritos, laughing, late nights, ice hockey, taking the train, swimming, people watching, bonfires, the great outdoors, true crime novels, “chick” flicks ( he won’t own up to it though ), camping, dogs, cats, animals in general, working out, getting tattooed, the smell of clean laundry, long showers, playing the piano, taking instagram pictures, alternative music, freshly baked bread, apple juice, french fries, snow, star gazing, listening to music on vinyl, stickers, cuddling while listening to the rain, the holiday season, barbecue, netflix binge sessions.
Dislikes: thunderstorms, sleeping alone, driving in big cities, carrots, mosquitoes, bees, boring movies, diet sodas, wasting food, “adulting” ( taxes, seeing lawyers, etc. ), thieves, pineapple on pizza, early mornings, when people take up two parking spots at once, spiders, people who are rude to service staff, political discussions, peanut butter, people who don’t use their turn signals, cold showers, humidity, toxic masculinity, small spaces, feeling defeated, being alone, liars, those aspca commercials, being questioned, loud noises ( mostly from thunder or fireworks ), overpowering fragrances, most fast food restaurants ( minus mcdonalds ofc ), out of tune instruments, his car breaking down, youtube ads, being barefoot, tea, awkward situations, feeling bored, any sense of responsibility.
Insecurities: i don’t know if he has any insecurities but he really doesn’t like his eyes. he hates that no one ever glorifies having brown eyes and sometimes wears contacts to make his eyes blue or green.
Fears/phobias: being in a hospital, elevators, being alone for the rest of his life, death, dying in a natural disaster, injuring his face, losing one of his family members.
Habits: chewing gum when he’s nervous, messing with his hair, rubbing the back of his neck.
Hobbies: gardening, playing the guitar, eating junk food.
Guilty pleasure: rom-coms from the hallmark channel.
Secrets: he doesn’t really have any, really. he’s mostly an open book.
Turn ons/offs:
turn ons: humor, security, understanding, faithfulness, communication skills, charisma, confidence, big smiles, food lover, nice hair, smooth skin, being a little rough, good banter, confidence, being verbal or loud during sex, good with kids, people who can provide him with pizza, being called daddy.
turn offs: bad teeth, body odor, dirty surroundings, the sound of somebody chewing, unnecessary rudeness, judgmental, indecisiveness ( lol hypocrite ), lack of commitment, smoking, pessimism, picky eaters, religious, lack of humor, bossiness, strong perfume, coldness, secrecy, constant negativity, racists, sexists, homophobes – the whole cream of that crop.
Lucky number: number four.
Pet peeves: people who chew with their mouth open, people with poor manners.
Dark version of themselves: he can have a huge temper if something makes him super, super upset. he’s known to have punch a few holes in walls or scream so loud that he loses it.
Light version of themselves: he’s literally a human golden retriever. he just loves people and being with them. he can throw a million dad jokes in a matter of seconds and he enjoys making people happy, no matter what it takes.
How do they react to a proposal of marriage?: i think he’d be very flattered but he’d prefer to be the one to propose.
How do they react to the death of a loved one?: if it was someone who was in his immediate family, i think he’d be devastated. he’d probably eat and drink a lot.
How do they react to something irresistibly cute?: he’d go into one of those smiles where it takes up his entire faces and it’d make his face hurt.
— && FAVORITES
Food: french fries.
Least favorite food: carrots.
Drink: dr. pepper.
Least favorite drink: any kind of tea.
Fast food restaurant: mcdonald’s.
Word: serendipity.
Color: blue.
Candle scent: sparkling cinnamon.
Store: target.
Instrument: guitar.
Occupation: landscaper.
Animal: cats.
Holiday: thanksgiving bc food.
Season: fall.
Artist: ed sheeran.
Band/group: the arctic monkeys.
Song: gravity -- john mayer.
Movie/film: eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, lost in translation.
TV show: supernatural.
Sport: hockey, baseball.
School subject: social studies.
Number: thirteen.
Emoji: 🤠
— && SKILLS
Talents: he can sing superlatively well.
Ability to drive stick? no.
Can they ride a bike?: yes.
Do they play any sports?: he likes to play hockey and soccer.
Anything they’re bad at?: doing laundry, diy projects, and going clothes shopping.
— && FIRSTS
Childhood memory: helping his dad fix something in the family car when he was six would most likely be his first childhood memory.
Crush: his first crush was a girl named janette. the first time he ever met her, she knocked his sandwich off his desk and made him eat it anywaya. ever since that, he was in love with her for basically all of first grade. after that, he just kept getting crushes on girls who treated him like absolute shit. and even now, he still develops feelings for someone really quickly, and it’s a blessing and a curse.
Email address: [email protected]
Job: starbucks.
Kiss: he doesn’t remember it that well, tbh.
Love: britney spears in the baby one more time video.
— && MISCELLANEOUS
Do they have a fake I.D.?: no.
Are they a virgin?: no.
How long would they survive in a zombie apocalypse?: probably a few weeks before accidentally getting killed.
Do they travel?: if he can afford it.
Celebrity crush: gabrielle union.
Place(s) they can always be found: in his apartment, at the park, or at a blackhawks game.
When do they like to wake up?: typically around noon, if he can.
What do they wear to bed?: shorts.
Do they smoke/drink/drugs?: no / yes / no.
Do they snore? yes, although, he’ll claim he doesn’t.
Do they chew their pens/pencils?: no.
Do they believe in the supernatural?: yes, very much so.
Have they ever cheated on anyone?: never.
Have they ever been cheated on?: he hopes not!
Has anyone ever broken their heart?: yes.
Are they squeamish?: around blood, yes.
Are they a lightweight?: no.
Type of kisser: soft and gentle.
Do they want kids?: yes.
Do they want to get married?: yes.
How are they in bed?: he likes to think he’s good but he can’t really tell.
Would they marry for money?: yes, if it’d make him a billionaire.
Opinion on sex: he likes it. a lot.
Favorite position: he sounds so boring but missionary.
What is their dream date?: a walk around the city at night, just getting to know them.
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Feeding Knowledge to a Fever
This was an abandoned WIP of mine. I found it semi started in my files and thought it’d be nice to modify it and finish it. So, here ya go. Simple and pure fluff between my courier six Travis Blackfox and @zoey-and-dakota‘s sole survivor Riley White. This story takes place in the early part of their relationship and will be Travis’ first time experiencing the chill of fall in the Commonwealth. It’s also short compared to what I usually write....it’s five pages. It’s also very safe for work. Thanks for reading and as always reblogs, comments, and questions are always welcomed! Thank you! Under the read more thing due to length.
The sun had just set on Diamond City allowing the chill of autumn to slowly creep in. The scent of burning wood billowing from chimneys filled the air as the residents began to settle down for a long evening. At the dwelling called Home Plate, Riley White and his partner, Travis Blackfox, were prepping for a peaceful night together as well.
Today was game night for the couple and the fun usually lasted until the wee hours of the morning. After that, if they weren’t too tired or drunk off their rockers, they were prone to find something a bit more physical to do before succumbing to sleep. While Travis made his way upstairs to get his deck of Caravan cards, Riley began to brew a fresh pot of coffee to not only warm them, but help give their energy a boost.
“Coffee’s almost done, Travis!” Riley called moments later while he brought out their coffee mugs and the sugar bowl. He waited for Travis’ typical ‘a’yup” response, but got none. “Did you hear me? Coffee’s about ready.”
Still not getting a reply, he set the mugs down on the bar and went to the bottom of the stairs. He looked up towards their loft bedroom, but saw and heard no movement. “You ok?” he inquired.
A soft, pained grunt hit his ears making him arch an eyebrow. Ascending the wooden stairs, Riley took a quick glance around the dimly lit room and spotted his shirtless lover sitting slumped on the bed. “Travis..is something wrong? Are you alright?” he asked with mounting concern as he made his way to Travis’ side.
Travis shrugged and the very act made him groan and lean his elbows heavily on his knees. “Ain’t right...came on all of a sudden. Been feeling shitty, but I’ve been fighting it. Throat hurts...head...feel weak.”
Riley took a seat next to him and gently placed his hand on Travis’ bare shoulder. He gasped in surprise feeling how hot his partner's flesh was. “Shit, babe, you're burning up, “ he said in concern while placing the back of his hand against Travis’ brow. “Possibly got yourself a fever.”
“Thought I was just getting over tired so’s that’s why I ain’t said nothing,” Travis muttered while leaning wearily against Riley. “I'm sorry.”
“Sorry? You've done nothing wrong. Listen, let's get you tucked in. I'll get you some aspirin and bring up our coffee. We'll stay snuggled and warm here the rest of the night. How does that sound? Would you like that?”
Travis slowly nodded and flopped onto his side with a grunt while he squirmed to get under the covers. Riley stood and and helped cover his partner with the quilt. He pulled it up over Travis’ shoulders and tucked it around him comfortably. Inclining his head forward, Riley gently pressed his lips against Travis’ warm brow. “Try and relax. I won't be long.”
Heading downstairs, Riley sought out the small medical bag he kept behind the bar. Digging through it he found the pill bottle and shoved it in his pocket. Getting an idea he grabbed a flask off the counter and filled it with some whiskey. Not only would alcohol help Travis wash the meds down, but it would help relax and further warm him. Taking a quick swig from the flask, Riley stuffed it in his other pocket then went to prepare their coffee.
After sugaring it how Travis liked, Riley added a dollop of cazador honey (brought back from his visit to New Vegas) to help soothe Travis’ throat. Carefully gathering the steaming mugs he next made his way upstairs to his ill partner. “I’m really sorry you aren’t feeling well. I’m sure this northern weather isn’t exactly something you’re used to right yet,” Riley commented as he placed a mug on the little table next to where Travis lay. “Hopefully these aspirins will help. My experience in doctoring isn’t exactly too high up there, but I most certainly won’t cause your demise.”
Travis twitched his moustache and grimaced over Riley’s attempt at a little joke. “That’s mighty kind of you,” he rasped while taking the aspirins and flask from him. Travis popped the pills in his mouth then took a few deep swallows from the flask before he handed it back to Riley.
Taking a mouthful of alcohol himself, Riley went to his side of the bed and set his mug down on the nightstand. “The best thing for you now is to rest and let those meds work on you. Getting something warm inside of you should help even more.”
“Like you?” Travis jested and wished he hadn't as he began coughing.
“Glad to see you haven't lost your sense of humor,” Riley smirked as he stripped down to his boxers. Flipping back the covers he crawled into bed and gathered up his coffee, gently blowing on it before taking a sip. “I think I’m going to catch up with my journal entries. I am a little behind with that. Is there anything else I can do for you before I start, or are you set?” Riley asked while reaching for his book and pencil.
"Well... I'd love hearing a pre-war story...love hearing your voice...relaxes me," Travis said as he gingerly sipped his coffee.
"A story? Travis, you need rest, not listen to my ramblings," Riley replied as he reached over and absently began stroking Travis' hair, letting the black strands sift through his fingers. Travis shifted his position and gazed up at Riley, his blue eyes shining eagerly. Riley sighed and gave a soft chuckle. He could never quite tell Travis no, especially when it came to talking about some pre-war topic. "Fine. What is it you'd like to hear about?"
The ends of Travis' moustache lifted to a weary grin which quickly disappeared as he began to cough. "The old west," he grunted while taking a mouthful of coffee. "Cowboys mostly...I wanna know about all that stuff.”
Riley inwardly groaned. Even though history was right up his alley, cowboys wasn't a topic he was totally savvy with. Hopefully the limited knowledge he did have would be more than enough to satisfy his own cowboy. "Well," he began slowly, not exactly sure how to start this pre-war history lesson. "The word cowboy comes from the Spanish word vaquero as I’m sure you might know. Buckaroo, from what I gather, is English speaking people back in the day not knowing how to say vaquero correctly.”
Taking a sip of his coffee, Riley took a moment to ponder what information he could even tell Travis that would be new. Travis had a decent knowledge of the pre-war west thanks to his vaquero ghoul friend Raul. There was also a small assortment of books dealing with colonizing the west up in the penthouse that he knew Travis read countless times. For that matter, Mister House no doubt had plenty of discussions with the courier about such things.
Furrowing his brow, Riley considered asking if there was a more generalized topic Travis was interested in. The western subject was rather vast and varied and Riley honestly had no clue where to start. Fortunately, Travis unwittingly helped the situation. “How's about the cowboys in movies? Was the west much different in how it's portrayed on holotapes?”
“Movies? Ummm...oh! Hell yes! Western movies hardly came close to accurately depicting the true life of cowboys. In fact movies had it where basically anyone wearing a Stetson was considered a cowboy. White hats were the good guys while black hats were the bad.”
“Reckon I'm a bad cowboy, huh?”
Riley smirked and took a swallow of his coffee before reaching for his flask. “Not even close,” he grinned as he poured the whiskey into his mug. Seeing Travis had his mug held out to him, Riley poured the remainder of the alcohol into it then settled back comfortably against the covers.
“Anyway,” he continued. “Cowboy life was almost always shown as a glamorous one. Huge herds of prime cattle, champion horses, the finest gear. Real cowboys were usually poor men simply trying to make a buck or two. Movie cowboys were also portrayed as dashing, clean cut white men. In reality most cowboys were people of color and that included Native Americans. Speaking of Indians, they weren't even portrayed by Natives in movies or television shows, but rather they were mostly Italians.”
Travis snorted, “That's mighty stupid. Why'd they go and do that for?”
“Mighty stupid as you said, but it's a story for another time.” Riley paused from his banter to finish the last of his drink. Glancing to his left he noticed Travis looking as if he were finally fading from the waking world. As Riley placed his empty mug on the nightstand he asked, “How are you feeling, Travis? Do you still want me to continue?”
Travis nodded while staring at the remainder of his drink. He swirled the contents around before downing it. “S-sure,” he said behind his hand as he tried to stifle a yawn.
Riley smirked and took Travis’ mug before he ended up dropping it. Gathering his ill cowboy in his arms and making him comfortable, Riley continued with his unusual history lesson. “One interesting fact about the life of a cowboy is there were a lot of gays joining the roundups. Back in those days folks had to hide their sexuality. No one cared what people did out on the range as long as the job got done. Many gay men knew it was the one way they could be themselves without being judged.”
Snuggling down against Riley’s chest, a soft sound escaped Travis’ throat making Riley wonder if he had fallen asleep at last. A few moments passed and Riley was about to reach for his journal again when the dozing Travis suddenly started to caress over his arm. “Y’all finished?” he drawled.
“I could be if you’d like me to be,” Riley chimed as he tightened his arms around his lover. Travis shook his head no and voiced his interest in hearing more of what Riley has to offer. “Don’t force yourself to listen to me ramble. You need rest.”
“Ain’t forcing nothing...one more story, then I’ll go to sleep.”
“Very well.” Riley began to sift his fingers through Travis’ hair while trying to think of a random tidbit of information on the Hollywood version of cowboys. “Here’s a little bit of trivia. The reason cowboys used to sing sad, lonely songs was mostly for soothing the skittish cattle they watched over. I’m wanting to bet that style of songs was where country music came from eventually. In Hollywood the singing bled into a lot of the shows and almost every actor was now a country singer or vice-versa. Gene Autry is one such actor. Roy Rogers and Dale Evans were a very popular duo and…”
“They're from that song!” Travis excitedly interrupted.
“What song?”
“Let's ride into the sunset together! Part that goes something like I'll be your Dale. I'll be your Roy. I know you heard it back in Vegas.”
Riley thought about it for a moment and suddenly recalled the sweet little country song. “I seem to remember you most certainly did like it. You blasted it and Big Iron every time they played.”
Travis nodded against him when his entire body suddenly relaxed. The minor burst of energy gone thanks to his pending illness. “Y-yeah...I like that song. Riley...can I...can I be your Dale and you be my Roy?”
Chuckling, Riley rested his chin on Travis’ head. I’d love that, but you do know the Dale they’re referring to was a woman, right?”
“Nuh-uh!”
“Uh-huh! Husband and wife team...very popular and beloved. They had a big ranch named the Double R Bar and were in plenty of films...even had their own television show.”
“Dale’s a dumb name for a girl,” Travis grunted as he began lightly caressing his hand over Riley’s arm.
Riley felt Travis’ touch falter every few seconds showing the cowboy’s fight to stay awake was finally coming to an end. “How about you forget about the name thing. Let’s keep the song as I’ll be your Riley and you’ll be my Travis. Does that sound good? Would you like that better?”
A series of unintelligible sounds came from Travis before he lifted his hand up to wave off the conversation. “S’ok...I’ll be Dale...ain’t...uhhh...ain’t shavin’ and...and ain’t wearin’ no dress, though.”
Riley blinked behind his glasses and couldn’t help but chuckle and shake his head at the odd reply. Apparently Travis was suffering from a mild bout of delirium brought on by either the fever, exhaustion, or the bit of alcohol he consumed with his coffee. Maybe it was a combo of all three. “Fine. No dress. You haven’t the legs for one anyway,” Riley jested while bowing his head down to give Travis a tender kiss on top of his head.
He waited for a response, but got none. It was then he felt the steady breathing and weight on his chest indicating that his partner finally passed out. Smiling to himself and hugging Travis to him, Riley said quietly, “Sleep well and get well fast my little buckaroo.”
Fin~
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Snow graced Paris and its surrounding areas for the past hour, and while there were no signs of Ladybug and Chat Noir, two of their lesser known allies were still patrolling the streets with keen eyes and chilled breath.
Siberia the Husky scanned the west side with no trouble. His mask also provided as alternative to his glasses outside of his costume as Richard Hubie, an American who accidentally became a crime fighter solely because he wanted to visit his beloved girlfriend while she interned in France. It was strange to him that he no longer felt like a tourist since he took this line of work more seriously over the course of two months. To him, this city was starting to become another home.
No trouble here, he thought. The city was scanned as clear of akuma and other wrongdoings. Perhaps it was too cold to create villains for 'dear old Hawkmoth.'
He rendezvoused back to his and his partner's typical starting point, an old flower shop that no one ever seemed to purchase or tear down.
The property looked like it had been a scene for a B-level horror film. The windows were busted from older experiences of vandalism, graffiti fading from years of exposure. The sign's paint had been chipped away, leaving few traces of a lightish pink background and purple text, none of which Siberia could read. The vegetation was long dead, especially now that winter had arrived. Any weeds that had sprouted in the summer and fall withered away.
Siberia sat on the roof, one of the strongest parts of the building, shivering only slightly. His monochrome costume (really, Richard's Kwami, Terra) had a leather jacket to keep him warm in times like these.
"Brrrrrrrrrr." came a quivering voice from behind him.
Siberia turned around. His bright blue eyes focused on the young lady that appeared before him. She held herself tightly, as if to shield herself from the cold. The poor girl was not as lucky to have multiple layers. Her dark blond hair floated with the gentle winds around them, her rabbit "ears" shifting slightly. She strolled towards him with soft steps.
"How was your patrol, Lapin?" the boy asked. In response, she gave a quick thumbs up before holding herself again.
"Good, we don't have to use our powers and freeze outside of costume in five minutes." Not to his surprise, his partner rolled her eyes. "What? It's true." he chuckled.
Lapin shook her head, smiling with some sense of amusement before taking a seat next to him. In the snow, she dragged her dominant finger and wrote in English, "It's nice out, but boy it sucks to be cold."
He laughed. "Yeah! You know, you can borrow my jacket." Immediately Siberia was met with a violent rejection by means of rapid arm movement by his mute companion. "NO, take it! I insist." The offer was only met with Lapin scooting away from him, shaking her head defiantly. "Suit yourself." he mumbled aloud after a short, yet defeated sigh. "Seriously, though. You are a bunny. Why don't you have fur?"
His partner drew in the snow a small, simple caricature of a cat-eared boy the two knew fairly well, and all around him were question marks, signalling the near hypocrisy of his question.
"Touche." He turned his gaze away from Lapin towards the city.
For a moment or two, the heroes were silent, staring out and taking in the scenery. The lights of Paris were lovely as usual, but the drifting snow gave them a peace they didn't often experience in their normal lives. It was as if, for that moment, the whole city was a beacon of grace.
Siberia felt a tug on his jacket. Lapin had scooted back towards him. She wrote once more with a smile on her face, "The snow is pretty." She paused before writing again, "Where I lived, my significant other and I had a date in the snow once." Siberia analyzed everything she was 'saying. "We were surrounded by blankets, but we saw the entire field turn white in under an hour."
He smiled. As Richard, he shared a similar memory with his girlfriend, Amelia. They were at an empty baseball field at their school. It was a late evening, and the the two watched with awe at how quickly the field turned into a winter wonderland. To Richard, moments like those were blessings, as was Amelia herself.
"It sounds like you had fun, Lapin." he chimed. "Do you miss your S.O.?" He received a somber nod, her expression dying into a small frown. "A lot." she wrote back. "Few days I see him, but I am far too busy to do so every day." Her eyes started to water through her mask. Her lip quivered subtly.
As if it was an instinct, the young man wrapped his thick, leather arms around the smaller figure. He knew from experience what she was going through.
"Lapin, I'm sorry. I understand." He then felt the young lady shift and throw her own little arms around his torso, fighting her way into his warmth, into his jacket. She said nothing, but he felt in his partner some joy knowing she wasn't alone. "I miss my girlfriend, so I know where you're coming from. Sometimes, when summer rolls around, I can only call her. She is very busy most days."
Lapin only nodded in return to this statement. More silence followed them, and the snow continued to fall.
Moments passed before Lapin shifted again, pulling herself away from Siberia. He turned to see her face. Her eyes though her purple hued lenses glistened, and she seemed more at ease. She no longer held herself for warmth, either.
"Feeling better?" he asked. He knew this look well. To him, this was the face of authentic relief, contentment. This was a side of Lapin he rarely ever saw. For the first month or so, his mysterious little friend simply showed disdain towards him, signaling she didn't like him very much because of his appearance. He scared her, something he took somewhat personally. As to why, he still didn't know. But to know that every now and again, she is able to give Siberia her trust, made him happy. That hug in the cold, wintry winds was the most contact she had ever given him since the beginning of their partnership.
She nodded quickly before lifting her finger in the air and drawing a wide smile in the air in front of her mouth. He swore up and down she had the exaggerated expressions of a living cartoon character.
"That's good. I want to help you as a friend, and not as just your partner, okay?"
She slumped her shoulders a smidgen. "Okay," she wrote in a fresh layer of snow.
Siberia stood up, his legs aching from staying still so long in the cold. "Ouch. Well, we should head back home. The temperature will drop much faster soon. And you don't want to freeze out here, do you?" That question was met with another violent head shake from the rabbit girl, her eyes wide with realization. She, too, stood up with a similar pain.
"See ya later, then. Catch you on the next mission, Lapin." The husky boy exclaimed before jumping off of the old flower shop into the crisp, dead grass. He turned to his partner, who waved sporadically before she hopped away in the other direction, towards the city.
"Terra, Down, girl." He said calmly, his costume then disappearing. Richard turned to see the floating Husky Kwami floating in front of his face from his dog pin. "Sorry, that was a long time, wasn't it?"
The Kwami immediately shook her head, crying out, "No, not at all! You were super sweet to stay and talk to Lapin. Usually, she tries to run off after any battle just to avoid you!"
Richard shrugged his shoulders. "She spoke first, technically. I'm just being a good partner. She really needed some TLC."
"I'm so proud of the both of you. Your teamwork and cooperation can only improve from here." Terra quipped. "So, not to change the subject, but I'm hungry. Are there any hot dog spots open now?"
"Probably, but we still have some in my fridge. I'm poor as is, so I can't afford anymore for a while. Especially in fancy pants France."
Terra sighed. "You're right. Let's go home. It's warm there, too." She nestled herself inside of Richard's jacket pocket, deep into the warmest part of his chest space, and the young man strolled away from the old property towards a blanketed, snowy Paris.
#miraculous ladybug#tales of ladybug and cat noir#oc#original characters#snow#winter#au#alternate universe#bunny#lapin#husky#siberia
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Nokia Jade Crooks.
01 / BASICS
Full Name: Nokia Jade Crooks
Nickname(s): Nok, Kia, Kiki
Sex/Gender: Female
Birthday: September 27, 1998
Age: 18
Astrological sign: Aquarius
Occupation: Tattoo Artist
Spoken Languages: English
Sexual orientation: Bisexual
Birthplace: Tampa, Florida
Relationship status: In A Relationship
02/ PHYSICAL TRAITS
Race: White American, Black American
Ethnicity: Greek, Irish, African-American
Hair color/style: Black, curly naturally. Straightens it or wears it in curls or weaves.
Eye color: Dark Brown
Accent (if any): Southern Miami Accent, barely there
Height: 5″10
Weight: 150
Tattoos: Sleeve (flowers), wrist and hand (female)
Piercings: Ears, belly button
Unique attributes: High cheekbones, compared to Lauren London a lot
Defining gestures/movements: Pouts a lot
Posture: Regular
03 / PERSONALITY TRAITS
Pet peeves: Fake people, being lied to, being used, people who don’t cover their coughs or sneezes, people who don’t respect others opinions, weak ass niggas, copycats, passive aggressive people, people who can’t own up to anything, scaredy cats, when people tell you to do something as you're doing it, being betrayed
Hobbies/interests: Art, painting, drawing, walking around the mall, exploring places and things, hanging out, eating, watching youtube and going to the movies
Special skills/abilities: Very artistic but doesn’t really show it off, can do a split and back flip
Likes: Making friends, going out, laughing and being silly, cuddling, pumpkin spice lattes, baking desserts or pinning new ones from Pinterest, looking at herself in the mirror, looking at pretty women with nice bodies, going to sex store and buying sex toys to be goofy with and use, pranking, surprising people, reading conspiracy theories online, wikipedia is life, helping poor people
Dislikes: Being told what to do, being judged without being given a chance, sensing someone’s dislike for her or talking about her, people who talk about those less fortunate, being let down, fighting, arguing, not being given a chance, the dark, scary things like ghosts and monsters, scary movies,
Insecurities: Her weight, her shape, her hair, her past drug use and addictions, being easily controlled and persuaded to make others happy
Quirks/eccentricities: Dots her i’s with a heart, draws random doodles on any piece of paper in front of her, strongly dislikes the sound of chewing and hums a quiet song while eating, writes with left hand, but does everything else right-handed, loves to hug or touch on people
Strengths: Creative, love of learning, very wise and loving, really kind and sweet, cares about others, makes a great friend very loyal, forgives easily
Weaknesses: Gets in her feelings easily, very sensitive, gets her feelings hurt easily, easily irritated
Speaking style: Has kind of southern drawl, curses and says nasty things to be silly or funny, can be sometime ghetto in speech
Temperament: Bad temper, irritable, sensitive, emotional
04 / FAMILY & HOME
Family: Her father Gael and her mother Tammy do not get along. They hooked up the summer after senior year of high school when he broke up with his girlfriend and Tammy got pregnant. He went away for college with his girlfriend and eventually married her. He was barely in Nokia’s life and his wife now ex wife, forced him to stay out of Nokia’s life. She grew up with her white side of the family. Being the only dark one, she was picked on and set apart a lot. Her and her mother were kicked out her grandmother’s house and were homeless, lived in a woman’s shelter, then lived in a trailer with her mother’s boyfriend at 12, then they finally got their own 1 bedroom apartment. When she was 15/16 he took her mother to custody after his divorce and won custody over her because he had the money; being a surgeon. She moved to Miami to live with him and to live a better life, taking fun trips and having her own room.
How does (s)he feel about his/her family? She doesn’t like her maternal grandmother. She’s racist against blacks and thinks they’re dirty and did not forget to remind Nokia about herself and her father. She used to tell Tammy she was a slut for sleeping with a black man and having his baby. She called Nokia a porch monkey and little monkey. Called her a nigger whenever she was angry and drunk. Tammy and Nokia are close but they have their drifting moments. Nokia got her drug and alcohol habits from her mother. She used to buy her mother cigarettes and started stealing them to smoke with her friends. She started drinking alcohol because sometimes that was all there was in the house. They got high together a few times but Nokia got clean and her mother still struggles with her own addictions which she tries to hide but Nokia knows the truth. Nokia and Gael are now cooler than when she was younger and first moved in with him. She hated him because her grandmother filled her head with negative thoughts. She used to love when he came to see her or called her as a kid. She got older and realized he put his wife before her and hated him for it and the fact that she had to struggle growing up. They’re now in a better place because Nokia is learning how to forgive people and let things go.
How does his/her family feel about him/her? Her mother depends a lot on her. Since they kind of grew up together, being that she was young herself when she had her; they’re like sisters. Nokia’s father tries to do everything to keep her happy but shows his disappointment when she’s not happy with her. They both love her and she’s the only reason they’d ever come together but she never has asked them to, so they don’t see each other. They haven’t been in the same room in years.
Pets: None.
Where does (s)he live? Her father helped her get a small place but she’s breaking her lease because her boyfriend wants her to move in, so she’s living with him now in a really nice townhouse.
What is it like there? Enough rooms, beautiful from the outside, not much going on. Very calm atmosphere, quiet neighborhood.
Description of his/her home: Modern Townhouse.
Description of his/her bedroom: She sleeps in her boyfriend’s bedroom. Is moving in new furniture and they’re changing the decoration to be more neutral and sexy for the both of them.
05/ THIS OR THAT
Introvert or extrovert? Ambivert
Optimist or pessimist? Realist
Leader or follower? Depends on the situation
Confident or self-conscious? Self-Conscious
Cautious or careless? Careless
Religious or secular? Secular for the most part
Passionate or apathetic? Passionate
Book smarts or street smarts? Street Smarts
Compliments or insults? Compliments
Pajamas or lingerie? Pajamas
06 / FAVORITES
Favorite color: Black, Lavender, Lilac
Favorite clothing style/outfit: Tshirts, shorts, pants, sweatpants, dresses, heels, sneakers, flats. Has a girly but boyish style.
Favorite bands/songs/type of music: Yellowcard, Linkin Park, Paramore, Green Day, No Doubt, Gwen Stefani, Bob Marley, The Wailers, Peter Tosh, Shaggy, Destiny’s Child, Jodeci, TLC, Dru Hill, Xscape, B2K ,The Supremes, The Temptations, The Isley Brothers, Rihanna, Frank Ocean, Michael Jackson, Prince, Erykah Badu, Janelle Monae, Lauryn Hill, Chaka Khan, Ciara, Whitney Houston, Jazmin Sullivan
Favorite movies: Coming to America, Love Jones, Woo, Eve’s Bayou, Set it Off, The Grinch, Home Alone, This Christmas, The Preacher’s Wife, City of God, Cooley High, Juice, Losing Isaiah, Poetic Justice, The Wiz, Love & Basketball, The Last King of Scotland, The Princess and the Frog, Dreamgirls, Coming of age movies, cartoon movies, biopics etc.
Favorite TV shows: Atlanta, Insecure, Chappelle’s show, OITNB, Blackish, Power, The Proud Family, A Different World, The Boondocks, Girlfriends, One on One, In Living Color, Family Matters, Moesha, The Steve Harvey Show, Parkers, Talk shows, Court TV/Judge shows, crime shows, Half & Half, Survivor’s Remorse, Hey Arnold, Criminal Minds, RHOATL, Black Ink Crew, LHH, Fresh Prince
Favorite books: Monster, The Coldest Winter Ever, Kite Runner, Aesop Fables, The Wave, Desert Flower, Of Mice and Men, Number the Stars, Hunger Games, Life of Pi, The Giver, My Sister’s Keeper, The DUFF, The Lightning Thief, The Maze Runner, The Outsiders, Speak, Stargirl, The First Part Last, Tyrell, Good Girlz series, Kimani Tru books, Drama High series, Bluford High series
Favorite foods/drinks: Pasta, pizza with a lot of sauce, anything cheesy, fried chicken, buffalo wings with blue cheese, McDonald’s fries, slushies, homemade lemonade, gummy bears, skittles, zebra cakes, saltine crackers, apple juice, grape juice
Favorite sports/sports teams: None
Favorite actors/actresses: None
Favorite time of day: Night Time
Favorite weather/season: When it’s chilly outside or it rains and thunderstorms, warm breezy days
Favorite animal: None
07 / MISCELLANEOUS
Fears/Superstitions: Other people dogs scare her, scared of the dark, scary movies, ghosts, monsters, scary stories
Political views: None
Religion/philosophy of life: Believes in God but doesn’t go to church, wasn’t brought up in church, only knows basic biblical stories everyone else knows
Allergies: Spiders
Addictions: Used to have a drug and alcohol problem. Heavy drugs like cocaine, LSD, shrooms and weed
Best school subject: She was always good in math, gym class and art
Worst school subject: Hated science
School clubs/sports: None
How does (s)he get money? Tattoo Artist and her father gives her something like an allowance
How is (s)he with technology? Very good with technology and social media
08 / PAST & FUTURE
Fondest memory: Going to the kids choice awards with her dad when she was 12.
Dream vacation: Anywhere with water, beach, sand and beautiful tourists spots
Best thing that has ever happened to this character: Rose Kairi Knight
Worst thing that has ever happened to this character: Being addicted, trying to fit in, her upbringing, doing things for attention, being jumped and bullied, being physically abused, getting hit by a car
What does (s)he want to be when (s)he grows up? She never really had dreams or thought about that
Perfect date: Anywhere as long as the conversation is good and they can both laugh and make memories
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An Alpha Omega: Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Vanessa stepped into Organic Chemistry and immediately beelined for the Omega shaking in the front row. Their heat scent wasn’t too powerful, but it was still strong enough for Vanessa to know it was there. She sat down beside the smaller woman and smiled reassuringly at her as she did her best to block the view of the leering Alphas from the other Omega.
“Hey,” she greeted. “You live on my floor, don’t you?”
“I think so?” the woman swallowed. “You’re roommates with the golden haired boy?”
The woman’s accent was thick, but still easy enough to understand. She liked it and found it amusing that Jack was best known for his hair. She needed to convince him to dye it blue or something, just to fuck with everyone. It would be hilarious; he had the hair for wild colours anyways. It didn’t get better than blond.
“Vanessa McCree,” she said as she offered her hand.
“Mei-ling Zhou,” the woman smiled. “Thank you for breaking their line of sight.”
“Figured you needed a hand,” Vanessa chuckled as they shook hands. “Like a bunch-a vultures this lot is.”
“Are all Americans this aggressive?” Mei asked.
“They ain’t like that in...uh, yer Chinese, eh?” Vanessa cocked an eyebrow.
“Yes,” Mei smiled. “And they are assertive but not...like this.”
“It is overkill,” Vanessa agreed as she leaned back in her chair and lounged. She would have kicked her boots up onto the desk if she had no manners. Alas, she did, so her boots stayed on the ground. “Must be nice to be able to walk around and not get sized up like a rack-a ribs.”
“A what?” Mei blinked.
“Uh, piece of meat,” Vanessa tried instead.
“Oh, yes, it is nice,” Mei smiled. “Sorry, I’m not good with my English phrases yet.”
“Honey, you can get as good as they get with phrases and us Southerners will still leave you wonderin’ what the fuck we’re talkin’ about,” Vanessa laughed. “We got a dialect all our own.”
“I can tell,” Mei giggled. “I apologize if I ask you to repeat something. Your accent is strange to me.”
“No worries,” Vanessa shrugged. “You just worry about takin’ notes. I’ll keep the hounds off ya.”
Mei smiled at her before she set her books out straight on her desk. Vanessa leaned back in her seat and snorted softly. At least Mei’s heat scent wasn’t overpowering. It was noticeable, sure, but it didn’t dig at the brain demanding attention. She wished hers was like that; everyone knew when she was in heat and they always drooled like dogs when she walked into a room. It was annoying and uncomfortable and really, she blamed her father for this.
“Hey,” a girl leaned forward towards Mei. “Name’s….”
“Piss off,” Vanessa growled as she leaned over. “We ain’t here fer you to flirt. We’re here to learn. So sit down and leave my girl alone.”
“Your...you’re mates?” the woman stared at her like she had three heads.
What? Where the hell did she get that idea? Nothing Vanessa had just said would have implied that. She was clearly just friends with Mei. She would have rolled with it no problem, though, if Mei wasn’t staring at her in terror.
“I didn’t say that,” Vanessa rolled her eyes. “We’re friends. You never call yer friends ‘yer boy’ or ‘yer girl’?”
“No; that’s weird,” the woman frowned.
“Different strokes fer different folks; now leave us alone,” Vanessa said as she turned to face the whiteboard as the professor got her slide show set up.
The Alpha sat back down without a word and the professor started gushing about the wonders of organic chemistry. Vanessa settled in her seat, listening to the professor talk and taking quick notes about important dates in the year. If all of her lectures were going to be like this, Vanessa was looking forward to them.
The woman was just full of energy. Her eyes were sparkling and she seemed to be vibrating across the floor. It was adorable and intriguing to watch. She must have had some powerful scent blockers on too because Vanessa couldn’t catch much of anything coming from the woman. It was a nice change to the overpowering stench that filled the room.
“I know that you’ll all do...is there a problem, sir?” the professor suddenly glared up at the stands.
“Sorry,” someone called. “That Omega’s scent is distracting.”
“You can barely smell it, asshole,” Vanessa shouted. “Yer just lookin’ fer an excuse to blame the Omega. As per usual, you fuckin’ slacker.”
“I can leave,” Mei whispered as she started reaching for her stuff.
“No, it’s fine, Mei-ling,” Vanessa soothed as she rested a hand on her shoulder. “You have every right to be here. His problems are his own. Just ignore him.”
“She’s quite right,” the professor snorted as she set her hands on her hips. “Anyone else having a problem with the scent of an Omega going through heat can leave the premises. They aren’t doing anything to disrupt you other than existing and that’s no reason to bar them from learning.” She shrugged a shoulder. “Besides, I’m in rut and you don’t see me slobbering all over the poor dear. Hell, I’ve had the misfortune of accidentally sending my entire third year organic chemistry class into early heats and we still carried on our lecture with only one person accidentally getting a stiffy. So don’t sit there and tell me one little Omega sitting five rows ahead of you is distracting you when I can barely smell anything.”
“You go girl!” Vanessa crowed.
The professor gave a quick bow before straightening up. “So, if we’re done being extra, let’s get into the lesson. The definition of organic chemistry is….”
“Same spot, huh?”
“Yah,” Jack smiled up at the Alpha as they took a seat beside him. “Creature of habit.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” the Alpha smiled at him.
Dear God, he hoped he could get the Alpha to keep smiling. It was the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen in his life. He didn’t want to see anything other than a smile on the man’s face for as long as he lived.
“I’m Jack, by the way,” Jack said. “Jack Morrison. I didn’t get to introduce myself the other day.”
“Gabriel Reyes,” the Alpha smiled and offered his hand.
Now that was a beautiful name made all the better by the beautiful shift into another language. Jack wanted to melt on the spot. Please, keep speaking that beautiful language, good sir.
“Spanish, right?” he asked.
“Sí,” Gabriel chuckled. “Nice ear.”
Jack smiled, fighting back the blush he felt sweeping over his face. Now was not the time to be embarrassed, body! You had to be smooth and suave to appear as more than a belly-exposing Omega! Quick, ask him what he’s taking! That’ll be thought provoking.
“So, you’re taking Agricultural Sciences?” he asked.
“No,” Gabriel tipped his head to the side. “General sciences.”
“Oh, cool,” Jack laughed. “Keeps the employment opportunities open.”
“It does,” Gabriel agreed. “You want to be a farmer or something?”
“Sort of,” Jack shrugged. “I think having a scientific background and understanding what chemicals can harm or benefit crops is incredibly useful in the field.”
“You couldn’t take something at a community college for that?” Gabriel asked.
Jack let out a fake gasp and pressed a hand against his chest. “Rude!”
“You know what I meant,” Gabriel laughed.
Jack grinned and shrugged. “Just making sure,” he laughed. “You enjoy chemistry?”
“I’m terrible at it, actually,” Gabriel admitted. “I can get by but that’s really not a good thing.”
“I can help tutor you,” Jack offered. “Chemistry’s one of my best subjects.”
“That would be fantastic,” Gabriel grinned. “Here, I’ll put your number into my phone for when I’m doing homework and need some help.”
“Sure that’ll,” he started to say before he froze.
Wait a minute. That was way too easy. He narrowed his eyes and Gabriel blinked at him. Was this a plow, good sir? He will not stand for this!
“Are you really bad at chem or you just saying that to get my number?” he growled.
Gabriel blinked before his eyes widened. “Holy shit, that would have been ingenious,” he whispered.
Jack let out a bark of laughter before he scribbled his number down on the corner of his notebook and pushed it towards Gabriel. Gabriel wrote his number underneath, carefully forming each digit so that it was easy to read.
“My fours and nines tend to look alike,” Gabriel admitted as he typed in Jack’s name and number. “There. All stored away for when I’m looking at my notes wondering what the fuck I wrote.”
Jack laughed as he slipped his phone into his backpack and waited for the professor to start talking at the front of the room. He had Gabriel’s number. He had Gabriel’s number sitting in his phone just waiting to be called or texted. He should not have been this excited over something like this.
“So a trans molecule is changing form?”
“No,” Jack said. “The carbon atom we’re using to name the molecule has changed direction.”
“Oh,” Gabriel frowned. He shifted his phone to his other ear and scribbled on his notes. “You know, this would be easier if you were here with me.”
“Yah, ‘cept I’d be dead as soon as I got within a foot of your dorm building,” Jack said.
Gabriel could almost hear the grimace in his voice. Jack wouldn’t be dead, but he might wish he was with the way the other Alphas swarmed. They even did that to the claimed Omegas and they were there visiting their mates and had every right to be there. It was a really big slap to the face for everything he’d been taught.
How could these people stand to be around themselves when they were so fucking disrespectful?
“Well, we could meet up at the library,” Gabriel offered. “Hear the second floor by the far shelves is quiet this time of day.”
“Library?” Jack asked. “Yah, I can meet you there. Just let me tell my roommate what’s up. You know; in case I get jumped.”
“No problem,” Gabriel smiled. “I’ll meet you there.”
They hung up and Gabriel put his book and notes in his backpack. It was only the second week of classes and already he was lost in chemistry. It wasn’t even that complicated, he knew that, but he’d look at what he’d written after class and it was like there was a swarm of question marks bouncing on his head.
Thank Chris he had Jack there to help him. The man had a gift for chemistry. Even when the rest of the class was staring at the teacher like he had three heads, Jack understood it all. It was nice to know that at least someone understood what the fuck was going on.
“Where you off to?” Gregory asked as he tipped a pop can towards his lips.
“Library,” Gabriel replied. “Getting a classmate to help me with something.”
“Ooh, that pretty Omega you have the hots for?” Gregory grinned. “Can I come with?”
“No,” Gabriel glared at him. “Don’t you have your own stuff to study?”
“Come on; I want to meet your future doll,” Gregory laughed.
“No,” Gabriel repeated. “I’m not having you creep him out. You’re way too...forward for someone like him.”
“What, you don’t want me flirting with him for you?” Gregory laughed. “Come on, bro!”
“Go study somewhere else,” Gabriel rolled his eyes before he headed for the stairs.
Like he wanted someone like Gregory around Jack. Gregory would probably scare him off with the way he talked. Or, worse, Jack might try to kill the other Alpha. He did not want to break up a fight between a startled Alpha and a murderous Omega.
He headed across campus towards the library, trying to keep the spring out of his step. He hadn’t had a chance to have time alone with Jack and he was looking forward to this. He’d wanted to ask Jack on a proper date, but he didn’t have the guts to. Something about Jack just screamed ‘I’m way too good for you, but it’s cute that you think you can talk to me’. Not that he was arrogant; he was just that amazing and Gabriel did not know how to handle that.
He was used to Omegas throwing themselves at him, whether playfully or seriously. He secretly loved it; he spent so many years worrying that he wasn’t going to be anywhere near as amazing as his sisters, only to hit high school and be considered the most eligible bachelor on campus. It was a nice feeling to have, knowing that he hit so many ‘potential mate’ checkboxes for so many different Omegas. Jack, however, was different.
He could tell Jack liked him, but he was keeping himself schooled. It wasn’t a state he was used to seeing in Omegas. They were almost always keeping their heads low, smiling nervously even when he made it clear he wasn’t a threat. Not Jack. Jack’s smiles were confident, his head was high, and the nervousness came from the same place that Gabriel’s did. It was a little disorienting, but Gabriel loved it.
He headed up to the second floor of the library and got an empty table far from the other students. Jack showed up a few minutes later, smiling as he sat down. He looked amazing and he smelt even better. Gabriel wanted nothing more than to ruffle Jack’s golden hair until he got the other man to moan happily at the release of endorphins.
“Hey,” he greeted. “So, about those trans molecules.”
Jack smiled as he opened his own notes and started explaining everything to him. Gabriel leaned in close to look at the diagrams and got a full whiff of Jack’s scent. Peppermint and winter-fresh danced across his brain and he lost his train of thought. He wanted to bury his nose in Jack’s neck and scent him, chasing that beautiful smell as far as it could go. He shook his head slowly before he pulled away.
“Problem?” Jack asked.
“I...okay, this is going to sound bad, but can I scent you?” he asked.
Jack’s eyes widened and a wonderful blush spread across his farmboy freckles. He wanted to cover each one in kisses, nuzzling that beautiful pale flesh until Jack begged for mercy. He was adorable and he needed to know that.
“Um, why?” Jack asked.
“Your scent’s making my brain go crazy,” Gabriel chuckled. “It can’t figure out which is your scent and which is your cologne. It’s driving me up a wall.”
Jack shook his head before he narrowed his eyes playfully. At least, Gabriel hoped that was a playful glare. If it wasn’t, he was going to be in for some deep shit.
“Okay,” he said. “On the condition that I can scent you too.”
Gabriel almost tap-danced in delight. Jack wanted to scent him too! That was the best news he’d ever heard!
“Sure thing,” Gabriel smirked.
He leaned in close and buried his nose in the hair just behind Jack’s ear. He inhaled slowly, drawing the sharp scent of peppermint and winter-fresh into his nose. He opened his mouth a little, letting the scent drag over his hard palate. He brushed his nose back from Jack’s ear, letting the golden strands tickle his nose. They were so soft and smelt faintly of clean soap shampoo.
“Mmm,” he purred as he continued breathing. “So the peppermint is you.”
“What else do you smell?” Jack asked as his own nose brushed over Gabriel’s neck, scenting slowly.
“Winter-fresh, bit of soap,” Gabriel murmured. “Touch of strawberry. It’s nice. You?”
“Cinnamon,” Jack murmured. “Bit of ginger, chocolate. Um, a type of Old Spice I’m not familiar with.”
“Swagger Red,” Gabriel chuckled as he slowly pulled away. “It’s my favourite.”
“I like it,” Jack said as he pulled away. “Your brain working again, Gabriel?”
“For now,” Gabriel smirked. “Might need to scent you again.”
“Next one will cost you,” Jack warned. “Now, as I was saying.”
Gabriel did his best to focus on the lesson, but he kept wanting to drag his nose against Jack’s cheek. He smelt so good; how had he not buried his face in that beautiful hair already? He sat beside him in class and he spent the entire time smelling peppermint and winter-fresh; how had he not just thrown all civility to the wind and buried his face in that soft golden hair? He had better control than he thought. His Momma would be so proud.
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Sophia Maricela Masters - daughter of Vlad Masters and Courtney
Age: 13
Height: 5'6"
Gender: Female
Birthdate: Oct. 25th; Scorpio
Sexuality: Pansexual
Species: Human
Ethnicity: Mixed; White Latina
Nationality: American
Alignment: Young Blood Alliance (Bad)
•She too isn't part of the group yet
Powers/Abilities:
•Unnatural Strength: she won't turn into the Hulk but she can throw heavy objects at long distances when angered.
•Genius - Intellect
•Swordsmanship
•Experienced Combatant
•Rich
•Master Strategist
•Master Manipulator
Appearance: Sophia has her father's midnight blue eyes, but they are almond-shaped like her mother's. She has her father's nose but she doesn't have freckles. She basically resembles her mother in whom she has her head shape and brown hair. Except her skin is a shade lighter than her mother and Sophia's hair goes all the way down her back. She always keeps it in a neat high ponytail and allows a few strands of hair to hang in her face. She wears khaki faux suede overall dress, with a white, short -sleeved turtleneck crop top underneath. Then she wears brown-heeled ankle booties for shoes.
Background: When Sophia was born Vlad didn't have such a strong reaction as he did with Olevia at her birth so he decided not to take too much interest in her. Especially when, strangely, Sophia showed no signs of ghost powers he didn't care too much to train her either. Sophia is always kept out of the loop, which angers her to the max. All she's heard from eavesdropping is that her half-sister is going to Townsville for a mission to join some group. Sophia is extremely envious of her sister and doesn't hide it. They barely have a relationship since Olevia is consistently being watched while she's being neglected. Sophia busts her ass to prove that she is better than her sister and deserves most of the attention. She gets the best grades in school, she gladly attends her mother's "mom and daughter dates," and she follows their rigid schedule without complaint. Yet it still never feels like enough since all eyes are on Olevia. She watches and learns some moves from watching Olevia and their father’s training sessions and does her own research in the paranormal ghost world. She has her mother's determination and refuses to feel bad about herself.
When comes across news about the Young Blood Alliance and their fight against the Vanguard League in Townsville, she immediately is captivated by them. She sees this opportunity to join them, as a way to prove to her parents that she's as good as, if not better than, Olevia. When her sister begins her move to Townsville, Sophia immediately beings to set up her own trip to the same city. She has some difficulty of course with her helicopter mom, but she disguises her trip as a study abroad plan at her school. She had (artificial) documents and letters from "teachers" ready to show her mom, knowing she would ask for them. Then she gave (fake) papers from her parents to her school stating she is transferring to a school in Townsville. Next thing Sophia knew she was scot-free and on the train to Townsville.
She now resides in some apartment and is working hard to find a way to communicate with the Young Blood Alliance. She wants to offer them her skills and wealth. She is willing to do anything to prove that she's better than Olevia even if it means bringing others down in the process.
Sophia's Relatives:
Vlad Masters (Father)
Courtney (Mother)
Olevia Masters (Half-Sister)
Personality: If you looked up brat on the Internet, you'll most definitely see Sophia's face on the first page. This little girl can be downright cruel when given the opportunity; she's ruthless. Now is she a badass? Kind of, she's still young and still learning but her downfall is she underestimates many people. She's good at hiding her personal feelings in front of people, but don't tell her a secret cause she'll use it for blackmail. She's one of those fake people who will charm you but then she'll turn on you at the drop of a dime. Kind of like her father. She can argue with someone on a subject for long periods of time, she's no pushover and struggles to compromise. She's smart and practical. Admittedly she has the potential to be a good leader, her mother runs her own law firm after all, but she's bossy and has much to improve on. Out of the few things that her and her sister have in common is that she too is boujee. Sophia has an explosive temper and can lift heavy objects when in fits of rage just like her mother.
Relationships
•Vlad: He mostly neglected his second daughter's. He knows she exist of course but he leaves Courtney to take care of her. Courtney tries to force a good relationship between the two, but it clearly isn't working. Sophia wants nothing more than to truly please her father. Having her father's eyes consistently following her sister no matter what, eats away at Sophia's ego. She wants to prove she's the best and kisses his ass whenever the chance arises. She really admires her father. It's pretty sad but Sophia has yet to realize that it's pointless to try and win her father's favor.
•Courtney: cares for her daughter, she's the first child she ever gave birth too. However, Sophia feels as though Courtney cares more for Olevia then her. This isn't necessarily true, but Courtney does focus more Olevia since it still bugs her that they don't get along. Courtney just wants to complete this idea of this "happy powerful family." But knowing Courtney, she doesn’t really like when people defy her. She cares for both of her daughters and just has a poor way of sharing her affection. Courtney sometimes can see through her daughters' lies, she's not dumb, but they do manage to get away with things. When Courtney does manage to be genuinely affectionate with Sophia, she feels on top of the world.
•Olevia: at this point it's pretty well established that Sophia envies and loathes her sister. She is determined to beat her, embarrass her, and give a full display on how weak she actually is. Sophia was a big jerk to her sister and was one of the people who made fun of her ecto-acne. At the moment, she doesn't know that her sister is thinking about being a true member of the Vanguard League and Olevia doesn’t know that she's in Townsville at the moment.
•Gigi: Sophia follows Gigi's gossip blog and enjoys learning interesting information about people that she could possibly use against them. Although, Sophia isn’t into cheering, she is impressed by Gigi's physical skills. She also finds the gadgets that she uses very interesting and asks her about them often. Even though she can find Gigi overbearing and very nosey, she does enjoy gossiping about people with her at school. She finds it extremely entertaining making fun of people.
Quotes:
(Fighting against some random do-gooder)
Sophia felt a delightful grin stretch across her face as she watched the weakling cradle his broken arm. She got a slight thrill in their suffering and calmly said, "I show the weak no mercy."
~~~
(Speaking with Gigi at school)
Sophia was completely zoned out as Gigi's not stop talking became nothing but static noise. It never fails to surprise her how long and detailed Gigi's nonstop tangents about people could last. But as she was contemplating walking away from this one-sided conversation, something she said had finally caught Sophia's attention.
"Wait--stop, what did you say?"
"Say about what? The guy who's cheating on his girlfriend? The girl on my squad, who's totally bringing our team down? The gross girl in my Alliance--"
"YES! Yes, Alliance! What Alliance are you referring to?" Sophia cut her off before she could continue
Gigi eyed her suspiciously, especially after she so rudely stopped her mid-sentence. "What do you think I'm referring to?"
Sophia glanced around the room, making sure there were no wandering eyes or listening ears on their conversation. She looked back to Gigi and into her eyes, "The Young Blood Alliance. Are you…with them?"
Gigi smirked, "I might be… Why? Are you interested?"
Sophia smirked back, "Very, interested."
Trivia:
•Sophia is Greek for wisdom (which she often lacks) and skill (which she does have).
•Sophia's zodiac describes her well for the traits of a zodiac are strong-willed, passionate, jealous, and secretive.
•She has a penchant for bad boys/girls like her mom. They easily influence her, which always leads to nothing good.
•Sophia also only carries cash on her
•She speaks fluent Spanish and English. Doesn't know a lick of French.
•She lactose-intolerant
•She is part of the Speech and Debate club at school
•She knows how to play the violin
•Sophia's not really interested in pop culture but she does enjoy watching trashy TV shows like Maury, Jerry Springer, etc. She even enjoys reality shows.
Story:
Perfect
“Father, I managed to make the top 10% at school today!”
Sophia stood eagerly next to a seated Vlad in their grand dinning room. Vlad took a sip of his tea and continued to flip through the newspaper.
“That’s wonderful dear…” he said not looking at her.
Sophia fidgeted from side to side, “Thank you! I was also given the position of team leader for our speech and debate club!”
Her father simply flipped to another page
“We’re going to our first competition next week! Is it possible that you could sign these papers so I can—”
“Did you share this with your mother?” he cut her off harshly
Sophia flinched, “No, I—”
“Then maybe you should. I’m quite busy at the moment.”
He still has yet to look at her. Sophia bowed her head, mumbling a quiet ‘yes, father,’ and walked out of the dinning room.
Red-hot embarrassment encased her entire mind; Sophia basically made a fool out of herself in front of her dad. Not once did he look at her, she must have seemed like some annoying little girl when standing next to him.
I bet Olevia never felt this way. I bet father would have looked at her. The thought made her stop in her tracks.
Olevia.
Perfect Olevia.
Anger joined in with Sophia’s whirlwind of emotions and she continued forward, practically stomping now towards her mother’s office.
She stood in front of her mother’s office and knocked three times. She knew her mother was definitely in there during these hours.
“Mother, it’s me. I need to speak with you.”
She heard her mom give permission through the door and Sophia pushed it open and closed it behind her once she entered.
Courtney sat behind her grand oak desk that held a large computer screen, which blocked her face. Courtney looked around it and smiled at her daughter’s presence.
“Hello, my little Sophia! Come sit!” she pointed at the chair in front of her, which Sophia slowly made her way over to.
Once seated she waited for her mother to close any documents that were open on her screen. When she was finished, she got up from her chair and moved to sit on top of the desk completely facing her daughter.
“So, I’m going to assume this is about school. Did the rankings come in today?”
Sophia nodded.
“And?”
“I made top 10%”
“Oh…” Courtney grimaced,
“Not top 5%?”
Sophia shook her head solemnly, her embarrassment increasing even more.
“Well that’s unacceptable. We’ll just have to push your study time, now won’t
we?” Courtney crossed her arms.
“How did speech and debate go?”
“They appointed me team leader.” Courtney’s face shifted into a smile and she clapped her hands,
“Excellent! That’s the kind of information I like to hear!” Sophia felt herself loosen a bit from the praise she was finally able to receive. It’s not much but it makes her feel a bit better. She allowed herself to smile a little,
“Yes, next week is our first competition so I need to get these papers signed.” Her mother nodded eagerly,
“Of course! Oh, I can’t wait to tell Olevia this! She’ll be so happy that you finally became a leader of a club! Did you know she was the leader of two groups in high school?” Sophia’s smiled completely wiped off her face and she said tensely through gritted teeth.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, our lovely Olevia is so perfect!” Courtney exclaimed.
Yeah, perfect Olevia.
Sophia belong to lordgrape
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A BEGGAR’S PALACE - a Free Story
A Free Story from the ebook Sylvie and Bruno, the sequel to Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carrol.
That I had said something, in the act of waking, I felt sure: the hoarse stifled cry was still ringing in my ears, even if the startled look of my fellow-traveler had not been evidence enough: but what could I possibly say by way of apology?
“I hope I didn’t frighten you?” I stammered out at last. “I have no idea what I said. I was dreaming.”
“You said ‘Uggug indeed!’” the young lady replied, with quivering lips that would curve themselves into a smile, in spite of all her efforts to look grave. “At least—you didn’t say it—you shouted it!”
“I’m very sorry,” was all I could say, feeling very penitent and helpless. “She has Sylvie’s eyes!” I thought to myself, half-doubting whether, even now, I were fairly awake. “And that sweet look of innocent wonder is all Sylvie’s, too. But Sylvie hasn’t got that calm resolute mouth—nor that far-away look of dreamy sadness, like one that has had some deep sorrow, very long ago——” And the thick-coming fancies almost prevented my hearing the lady’s next words.
“If you had had a ‘Shilling Dreadful’ in your hand,” she proceeded, “something about Ghosts—or Dynamite—or Midnight Murder—one could understand it: those things aren’t worth the shilling, unless they give one a Nightmare. But really—with only a medical treatise, you know——” and she glanced, with a pretty shrug of contempt, at the book over which I had fallen asleep.
Her friendliness, and utter unreserve, took me aback for a moment; yet there was no touch of forwardness, or boldness, about the child—for child, almost, she seemed to be: I guessed her at scarcely over twenty—all was the innocent frankness of some angelic visitant, new to the ways of earth and the conventionalisms—or, if you will, the barbarisms—of Society. “Even so,” I mused, “will Sylvie look and speak, in another ten years.”
“You don’t care for Ghosts, then,” I ventured to suggest, “unless they are really terrifying?”
“Quite so,” the lady assented. “The regular Railway-Ghosts—I mean the Ghosts of ordinary Railway-literature—are very poor affairs. I feel inclined to say, with Alexander Selkirk, ‘Their tameness is shocking to me’! And they never do any Midnight Murders. They couldn’t ‘welter in gore,’ to save their lives!”
“‘Weltering in gore’ is a very expressive phrase, certainly. Can it be done in any fluid, I wonder?”
“I think not,” the lady readily replied—quite as if she had thought it out, long ago. “It has to be something thick. For instance, you might welter in bread-sauce. That, being white, would be more suitable for a Ghost, supposing it wished to welter!”
“You have a real good terrifying Ghost in that book?” I hinted.
“How could you guess?” she exclaimed with the most engaging frankness, and placed the volume in my hands. I opened it eagerly, with a not unpleasant thrill (like what a good ghost-story gives one) at the ‘uncanny’ coincidence of my having so unexpectedly divined the subject of her studies.
It was a book of Domestic Cookery, open at the article ‘Bread Sauce.’
I returned the book, looking, I suppose, a little blank, as the lady laughed merrily at my discomfiture. “It’s far more exciting than some of the modern ghosts, I assure you! Now there was a Ghost last month—I don’t mean a real Ghost in—in Supernature—but in a Magazine. It was a perfectly flavourless Ghost. It wouldn’t have frightened a mouse! It wasn’t a Ghost that one would even offer a chair to!”
“Three score years and ten, baldness, and spectacles, have their advantages after all!” I said to myself. “Instead of a bashful youth and maiden, gasping out monosyllables at awful intervals, here we have an old man and a child, quite at their ease, talking as if they had known each other for years! Then you think,” I continued aloud, “that we ought sometimes to ask a Ghost to sit down? But have we any authority for it? In Shakespeare, for instance—there are plenty of ghosts there—does Shakespeare ever give the stage-direction ‘hands chair to Ghost’?”
The lady looked puzzled and thoughtful for a moment: then she almost clapped her hands. “Yes, yes, he does!” she cried. “He makes Hamlet say ‘Rest, rest, perturbed Spirit!’”
“And that, I suppose, means an easy-chair?”
“An American rocking-chair, I think——”
“Fayfield Junction, my Lady, change for Elveston!” the guard announced, flinging open the door of the carriage: and we soon found ourselves, with all our portable property around us, on the platform.
The accommodation, provided for passengers waiting at this Junction, was distinctly inadequate—a single wooden bench, apparently intended for three sitters only: and even this was already partially occupied by a very old man, in a smock frock, who sat, with rounded shoulders and drooping head, and with hands clasped on the top of his stick so as to make a sort of pillow for that wrinkled face with its look of patient weariness.
“Come, you be off!” the Station-master roughly accosted the poor old man. “You be off, and make way for your betters! This way, my Lady!” he added in a perfectly different tone. “If your Ladyship will take a seat, the train will be up in a few minutes.” The cringing servility of his manner was due, no doubt, to the address legible on the pile of luggage, which announced their owner to be “Lady Muriel Orme, passenger to Elveston, viâ Fayfield Junction.”
As I watched the old man slowly rise to his feet, and hobble a few paces down the platform, the lines came to my lips:—
“From sackcloth couch the Monk arose,
With toil his stiffen’d limbs he rear’d;
A hundred years had flung their snows
On his thin locks and floating beard.”
But the lady scarcely noticed the little incident. After one glance at the ‘banished man,’ who stood tremulously leaning on his stick, she turned to me. “This is not an American rocking-chair, by any means! Yet may I say,” slightly changing her place, so as to make room for me beside her, “may I say, in Hamlet’s words, ‘Rest, rest——’” she broke off with a silvery laugh.
‘COME, YOU BE OFF!’
“‘—perturbed Spirit!’” I finished the sentence for her. “Yes, that describes a railway-traveler exactly! And here is an instance of it,” I added, as the tiny local train drew up alongside the platform, and the porters bustled about, opening carriage-doors—one of them helping the poor old man to hoist himself into a third-class carriage, while another of them obsequiously conducted the lady and myself into a first-class.
She paused, before following him, to watch the progress of the other passenger. “Poor old man!” she said. “How weak and ill he looks! It was a shame to let him be turned away like that. I’m very sorry——” At this moment it dawned on me that these words were not addressed to me, but that she was unconsciously thinking aloud. I moved away a few steps, and waited to follow her into the carriage, where I resumed the conversation.
“Shakespeare must have traveled by rail, if only in a dream: ‘perturbed Spirit’ is such a happy phrase.”
“‘Perturbed’ referring, no doubt,” she rejoined, “to the sensational booklets peculiar to the Rail. If Steam has done nothing else, it has at least added a whole new Species to English Literature!”
“No doubt of it,” I echoed. “The true origin of all our medical books—and all our cookery-books——”
“No, no!” she broke in merrily. “I didn’t mean our Literature! We are quite abnormal. But the booklets—the little thrilling romances, where the Murder comes at page fifteen, and the Wedding at page forty—surely they are due to Steam?”
“And when we travel by Electricity—if I may venture to develop your theory—we shall have leaflets instead of booklets, and the Murder and the Wedding will come on the same page.”
“A development worthy of Darwin!” the lady exclaimed enthusiastically. “Only you reverse his theory. Instead of developing a mouse into an elephant, you would develop an elephant into a mouse!” But here we plunged into a tunnel, and I leaned back and closed my eyes for a moment, trying to recall a few of the incidents of my recent dream.
“I thought I saw——” I murmured sleepily: and then the phrase insisted on conjugating itself, and ran into “you thought you saw—he thought he saw——” and then it suddenly went off into a song:—
“He thought he saw an Elephant,
That practised on a fife:
He looked again, and found it was
A letter from his wife.
‘At length I realise,’ he said,
‘The bitterness of Life!’”
And what a wild being it was who sang these wild words! A Gardener he seemed to be—yet surely a mad one, by the way he brandished his rake—madder, by the way he broke, ever and anon, into a frantic jig—maddest of all, by the shriek in which he brought out the last words of the stanza!
It was so far a description of himself that he had the feet of an Elephant: but the rest of him was skin and bone: and the wisps of loose straw, that bristled all about him, suggested that he had been originally stuffed with it, and that nearly all the stuffing had come out.
Sylvie and Bruno waited patiently till the end of the first verse. Then Sylvie advanced alone (Bruno having suddenly turned shy) and timidly introduced herself with the words “Please, I’m Sylvie!”
“And who’s that other thing?” said the Gardener.
“What thing?” said Sylvie, looking round. “Oh, that’s Bruno. He’s my brother.”
“Was he your brother yesterday?” the Gardener anxiously enquired.
“Course I were!” cried Bruno, who had gradually crept nearer, and didn’t at all like being talked about without having his share in the conversation.
THE GARDENER
“Ah, well!” the Gardener said with a kind of groan. “Things change so, here. Whenever I look again, it’s sure to be something different! Yet I does my duty! I gets up wriggle-early at five——”
“If I was oo,” said Bruno, “I wouldn’t wriggle so early. It’s as bad as being a worm!” he added, in an undertone to Sylvie.
“But you shouldn’t be lazy in the morning, Bruno,” said Sylvie. “Remember, it’s the early bird that picks up the worm!”
“It may, if it likes!” Bruno said with a slight yawn. “I don’t like eating worms, one bit. I always stop in bed till the early bird has picked them up!”
“I wonder you’ve the face to tell me such fibs!” cried the Gardener.
To which Bruno wisely replied “Oo don’t want a face to tell fibs wiz—only a mouf.”
Sylvie discreetly changed the subject. “And did you plant all these flowers?” she said. “What a lovely garden you’ve made! Do you know, I’d like to live here always!”
“In the winter-nights——” the Gardener was beginning.
“But I’d nearly forgotten what we came about!” Sylvie interrupted. “Would you please let us through into the road? There’s a poor old beggar just gone out—and he’s very hungry—and Bruno wants to give him his cake, you know!”
“It’s as much as my place is worth!” the Gardener muttered, taking a key from his pocket, and beginning to unlock a door in the garden-wall.
“How much are it wurf?” Bruno innocently enquired.
But the Gardener only grinned. “That’s a secret!” he said. “Mind you come back quick!” he called after the children, as they passed out into the road. I had just time to follow them, before he shut the door again.
We hurried down the road, and very soon caught sight of the old Beggar, about a quarter of a mile ahead of us, and the children at once set off running to overtake him. Lightly and swiftly they skimmed over the ground, and I could not in the least understand how it was I kept up with them so easily. But the unsolved problem did not worry me so much as at another time it might have done, there were so many other things to attend to.
The old Beggar must have been very deaf, as he paid no attention whatever to Bruno’s eager shouting, but trudged wearily on, never pausing until the child got in front of him and held up the slice of cake. The poor little fellow was quite out of breath, and could only utter the one word “Cake!”—not with the gloomy decision with which Her Excellency had so lately pronounced it, but with a sweet childish timidity, looking up into the old man’s face with eyes that loved ‘all things both great and small.’
The old man snatched it from him, and devoured it greedily, as some hungry wild beast might have done, but never a word of thanks did he give his little benefactor—only growled “More, more!” and glared at the half-frightened children.
“There is no more!” Sylvie said with tears in her eyes. “I’d eaten mine. It was a shame to let you be turned away like that. I’m very sorry——”
I lost the rest of the sentence, for my mind had recurred, with a great shock of surprise, to Lady Muriel Orme, who had so lately uttered these very words of Sylvie’s—yes, and in Sylvie’s own voice, and with Sylvie’s gentle pleading eyes!
“Follow me!” were the next words I heard, as the old man waved his hand, with a dignified grace that ill suited his ragged dress, over a bush, that stood by the road side, which began instantly to sink into the earth. At another time I might have doubted the evidence of my eyes, or at least have felt some astonishment: but, in this strange scene, my whole being seemed absorbed in strong curiosity as to what would happen next.
When the bush had sunk quite out of our sight, marble steps were seen, leading downwards into darkness. The old man led the way, and we eagerly followed.
The staircase was so dark, at first, that I could only just see the forms of the children, as, hand-in-hand, they groped their way down after their guide: but it got lighter every moment, with a strange silvery brightness, that seemed to exist in the air, as there were no lamps visible; and, when at last we reached a level floor, the room, in which we found ourselves, was almost as light as day.
It was eight-sided, having in each angle a slender pillar, round which silken draperies were twined. The wall between the pillars was entirely covered, to the height of six or seven feet, with creepers, from which hung quantities of ripe fruit and of brilliant flowers, that almost hid the leaves.
In another place, perchance, I might have wondered to see fruit and flowers growing together: here, my chief wonder was that neither fruit nor flowers were such as I had ever seen before. Higher up, each wall contained a circular window of coloured glass; and over all was an arched roof, that seemed to be spangled all over with jewels.
<Image goes here>
A BEGGAR’S PALACE
With hardly less wonder, I turned this way and that, trying to make out how in the world we had come in: for there was no door: and all the walls were thickly covered with the lovely creepers.
“We are safe here, my darlings!” said the old man, laying a hand on Sylvie’s shoulder, and bending down to kiss her. Sylvie drew back hastily, with an offended air: but in another moment, with a glad cry of “Why, it’s Father!”, she had run into his arms.
“Father! Father!” Bruno repeated: and, while the happy children were being hugged and kissed, I could but rub my eyes and say “Where, then, are the rags gone to?”; for the old man was now dressed in royal robes that glittered with jewels and gold embroidery, and wore a circlet of gold around his head.
==================
A Free Story from the ebook Sylvie and Bruno
The sequel to Alice in Wonderland
By Lewis Carrol – with just as much silliness and fantasy as Alice in Wonderland
ISBN: 9788834181546
URL/Download Link: https://bit.ly/2XCSsZo
==================
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#SylvieandBruno#lewis carroll#folklore#fairytales#myths#legends#classicfairytale#childrensstories#childrensbooks#bedtime stories#parents#children#fables#aliceinwonderland#sequel#babies#mothers#fathers#grandparents#bruno#sylvie#ladysylvie#alexander#angelic#beggar#bitterness#bold#bones#carriage#circlet
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2020 c
Heart To Heart
In the gentlest way she was reminded of how life can upset the most careful plans and how our affections and wishes sometimes change. It is difficult for young people to appreciate this. There can be massive personal changes when careers and locations and ambitions are being settled. It needs to be carefully thought over. As if to consolidate these important points it was also mentioned (again in the gentlest way) that the commitment to love doesn’t always survive physical impairment or the loss of features that may have played a big part in that love.
She replied - ‘I would never, never give up someone I loved. It wouldn’t matter what happened to him; I would love him the same as I always did. It wouldn’t change my feelings at all - nothing like that would change my feelings - I would love him just as much - I would love him more!’
Young people eh?
Skill
I like watching snooker, particularly the drama of the opening shots. This comes over on TV, but there is nothing like being in the atmosphere of a sports hall and seeing it live. I particularly like the opening shots when the strict formation of the balls is shattered and multiple patterns of possibilities flash across your eyes. And then you marvel at the mastery of the player’s plan - at his skill and intelligence.
It was similar to when Ian terminated his contract with us. We didn’t understand what was happening. One eye closed to avert distraction, he sent off a perfect screw-ball curling around a delinquent red and knocked a pink on a straight run towards the cushion - where it wobbled deliciously and then plopped into the pocket.
‘Engineering Mechanics’ by Timoshenko and Young - 4th. edition
(Тимошенко Степан Прокопович)
In the 1960s it was unusual for girls to study engineering - but I do remember one! She came into the bookshop quite regularly, lingering in the sections marked - ‘Engineering, Civil and Structural’, ‘Reinforced Concrete Methods’, ‘Materials Management...’ and so on. My colleague Frank, gazing at her in wonderment, would sidle up and ask if she needed help.
If thinking about someone continuously, and being disinterested in nearly everything else - and if the focus of each day is the possibility of seeing that person is an indication of being ‘in love’ - then Frank, poor susceptible Frank, was truly in love.
At the start of the new academic year I would set up tables and load them with titles on the student’s book-list - many published in the International Student Editions of John Wiley and McGraw-Hill. Frank’s dream-girl would leaf through certain ones, sometimes smiling to herself, sometimes frowning. Once she came to the desk and spoke to Frank - I moved away.
After she had left the shop I went across to him.
‘If only you had heard her!’ He said.
‘Heard her - what do you mean?’ I asked.
‘If only you’d heard the way she said “Timoshenko”’.
American Literature
A friend invited me to go along with him to an open lecture at Manchester University. The subject was ‘The Modern American Novel’ - my friend was actually studying fluid mechanics but wanted to ‘broaden his outlook’.
About twenty of us turned up - bunched together on the first three rows of the lecture theatre - mostly students but also a few lost souls needing to pass a few hours somewhere warm. The lecturer gave a long introduction of the area to be covered - lots of names - Hemingway, Faulkner, Steinbeck and so on. And then he asked us to name the writer who had done most to create our understanding of the American psyche and the American way of life.
Working along the line the names were trotted out - mostly what you would expect - but a girl near me said ‘William Burroughs’ and the chap with her called out ‘Jack Kerouac’. I tried to be honest - after all I was only eighteen years old - I didn’t want to sound pretentious and I was prepared to be laughed at.
I called out ‘Grace Metalious’.
This Morning
Dead fox lying at the side of the road. Hit by a vehicle but had somehow made it to the pavement. Hated by everyone - hunted by toffs on horses, shot at by farmers, gassed by the men from the ministry - living a life of hiding by day and searching for food at night.
I once fed a fox all through a winter. Every night I put food in a dish and every night the fox came. One day, in springtime, this same fox came to the garden with her cubs. She let me get near but wouldn’t allow me to touch them. Friends thought I was being fanciful when I said that she had come to show off her family, but I didn’t mind. They sometimes tried to cut through my illusions by asking - ‘Do you know what happens when a fox gets into a hen-house?’ My only reply was that hens should not be crammed into sheds like that - you cannot blame the fox - it’s not likely that he would take a single portion as if in Kentucky Fried Chicken.
Anyway ... it’s all over for this one. Lying on his side, eye open, lips pulled back in a snarl. That snarl says it all - his final comment on the whole rotten lot of us.
K.
She keeps busy - supporting many social issues - animal welfare, children in central Africa. She attends all sorts of committees, and being competent in bygone office skills, takes minutes and types reports. An active church member, skilful and good humoured In ecclesiastical politics; she has served a long line of encumbents and keeps contact with many of them. She achieved newspaper prominence in the 1960s as a champion for coeducation - speaking of the benefits of educating boys and girls together. Perhaps she was remembering her own mixed schooling - the creative aspects of competitiveness - the happy knockabout for those who didn’t have brothers or sisters - the blossoming confidence in dealing with the opposite sex - the buzz and thrill in remembering those wonderful years, all neatly packaged in her memory. But one aspect she keeps to herself - (but who am I to say that?) - is how quiet the school was within minutes of the final bell - the noise of her shoes on the corridor - the sunshine - the smell of polish - the boy waiting for her in the bicycle sheds.
Summer ... 1958
A hot afternoon. Unable to decide whether to stay or go. Russell looking at me - those eyes - as biologically close to Caroline’s as it was possible to be. And she was in the next room practicing at the piano. I could actually hear the thud of her thumbs and imagined her splayed fingers - stabbing through the octaves - wrists arched, skin stretched. And the noise - it couldn’t be called music - the noise made my head spin until I had no thoughts at all - just the start of a strange, painless ache that would never get any worse - and would never go away.
Old Photograph
The photograph is from the winter of 1963. Two young people standing in the snow. That winter was one of the coldest on record; the snow came and the snow stayed. The photo shows the two of them, smiling, holding hands, with snowflakes in their hair and icicles dripping on the railings behind them.
It’s interesting and rather dramatic; the couple are in dark coats - creating a sharp contrast to the absorbing white everywhere else. They have a strong presence - you cannot stop looking at them.
So what happened? The snow eventually stopped. The ice thawed. The two young people no longer held hands and smiled at each other ... everything melted away ... back in 1963.
Then
She had been his girlfriend for a few weeks and the boy decided to introduce her to his parents. They liked her instantly and soon she was frequently calling at the family home. More than that, they got along so well with her that the girl visited when her boyfriend was away - working in other cities and sometimes overseas.
When he was home, he invited his dad to meet up with the two of them in a nearby bar. They spent the evening talking - talking about everything. And then, this became a fairly regular thing; the three of them at a little table, drinking and endlessly talking.
Once, he said to his dad - ‘We’ll see you later as usual’ - and his dad replied - ‘No, you don’t want me around. Let it be the two of you’.
The son replied - ‘Of course we want you to be with us!’
And so the dad did as he was told.
Sorrento ... 2016
Sabrina is our new friend - she is taking a break from singing opera in Naples. She strides along the cafe jetties waving to everyone and everyone waves back - she waves to the men in the boats, flicks off her sandals and spreads her arms to embrace the world - what a magnificent exhibitionist.
Everything with Sabrina is 'Che bello!'
As she jumps into the sea she calls out 'Che bello giorno!'
As she splashes a waiter she laughs and calls out 'Che bello ragazzo!'
And when nothing at all is happening she calls out 'Che bello - Che bello - Che bello!’ so loudly that everyone smiles.
Carly Simon has written a book telling of her friendship with Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis. Carly, as a rock star, a famous person with famous friends, acknowledged that Jackie was ‘on a different level altogether’. However they developed a warm relationship and appear to have been good for each other.
Once Jackie showed her a huge leather-bound book. She had copied the entire Odyssey in Greek - with its English translation on each facing page. ‘There must have been a hundred pages of Jackie’s own ink drawings of Ari as Odysseus, depicting his long siren-filled excursion home’... Carly continues ... ‘I can imagine her doing it when he was away on his tankers and she was on the island of Scorpios, making her drawings’.
I can take this one step further! How amazing that this woman - perhaps the most celebrated of the twentieth century, was working on the most celebrated book of any century - and like the beautiful Penelope in that book, nervous and fearful, enduring endless separation, endless longings.
Something Wrong
I once saw a rabbit hit by a speeding car - it was thrown up in the air; then rolled; then settled at the side of the road. A few seconds later I saw his/her mate - ears raised, looking back, confused, aware something was wrong.
And then the realisation that he could not get up, or move - and their world was broken, as broken as the sharp bones in that scrap of warm fur.
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