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shellbilee · 5 months

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Hey There Darlin' - Chapter 1

A Glen Powell RPF series

Pairing: Glen Powell x OFC (Billie James)

Warnings: fluff, swearing, angst, eventual smut

Words: 5.5K

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---

Billie

“Come on buddy” Billie says as she knocks on the polished wooden door, reaching up to readjust her cream fedora hat, “Ready for your sleepover?”.

She looks down at Nugget, her golden retriever, smiling as he pants happily and looks back up at her with his liquid brown eyes.

Billie looks up as the door opens in front of her, her smile growing when she sees Lachlan grinning back at her.

“Bil!” Lachlan exclaims loudly, arms outstretched in greeting, crouching down and beckoning to Nugget as soon as he sees the floppy retriever sitting beside her.

Billie laughs.

“Hi Lach!” she says, looking up as Frankie and Reggie, Lachlan’s two mini dachshunds come barreling down the hallway to greet Nugget, “Hi babies!” she adds, bending to pick up Reggie and placing a kiss on the excited, squirming puppy’s head.

She puts Reggie back down and smiles as the two sausage dogs excitedly greet Nugget, the three instantly morphing into play mode and running off into the house. Playdates and sleepovers with Frankie and Reggie were a regular occurrence for Nugget, not to mention the neighbourly greeting that the three shared every morning on Billie’s daily morning walk.

A loud whistle snaps Billie’s attention, looking up to see Ryan, Lachlan’s boyfriend, standing in the kitchen doorway looking her up and down.

“Billie you look hot!” he exclaims loudly, regarding her from head to toe, “Seriously, those legs girl!”.

Billie laughs and shakes her head, waving her arm dismissively. “Aw Ryan, you’re such a sweetheart”.

The three dogs come charging back into the hallway, almost knocking Ryan over as they run past him. Billie shakes her head as she watches her panting fur-child, smiling at how it’s taken him all of ten seconds to forget about her. She hears Lachlan close the front door as she follows Ryan into the kitchen, pausing at the over-sized art deco mirror to check her reflection.

She’d styled her long chocolate brown hair in loose curls, loving the way they tumbled down her shoulders and softly framed her face. She wore a pair of white linen tailored shorts that ended high on her thighs, and a square necked coral coloured crop that contrasted against her tanned, sun-kissed skin. On her feet were a pair of wedge heels with nude ties that wrapped around her ankles - her favourite pair of shoes because they were high and she loved the way they made her legs look, but at the same time were comfy enough for her to last the whole day in.

“So I should be home just before lunch time tomorrow, and I’ll pick Nugget up then if that’s okay still?” Billie says as she walks into the kitchen with Lachlan in tow, turning to look at both boys as she perches on the armrest of their black leather sofa, “If you guys need anything though, you have my key”.

“Nugget’s stayed here a thousand times Bil, we’ll be fine” Lachlan retorts, looking over at the three pups who were currently wrestling on the floor of the living room.

Billie chuckles. “I know, I know. You tell me everytime”.

“Now go, get out of here. You paid enough for these tickets, the last thing you need is to get there late” Ryan says, gesturing to the door with his head.

Billie whistles for Nugget and crouches to the ground to say goodbye, the dark golden dog eventually coming over to give her an affectionate face lick. She ruffles his silky ears and drops a kiss on the top of his head, walking into the kitchen and giving Lachlan and Ryan a kiss goodbye before they walk her to the front door.

“Thanks again guys, I love you”.

The boys both grin. “We love you too Bil”.

Billie unlocks her black pick up and makes her way over to it, turning to wave at them behind her.

“Have the best time babe!” Lachlan shouts out, putting his arm around Ryan and leaning into him affectionately.

Billie smiles at them both and offers a final wave, putting her gold aviator sunglasses on and getting into her car. The air is warm already, the day heating up in true LA Summer style, the interior of the car already hot despite it being only 11am. Billie switches on the engine and puts on the air con, reaching up to readjust her hat one last time before pulling out of the driveway and driving off to Bec’s house.

Rebecca was one of Billie’s best and closest friends. They’d met at a pilates class five years ago when Billie had first moved to LA, Bec and her instantly bonding over their love of post-pilates brunches and chilled house music. They’d gotten so close that Bec had asked Billie to be the god-mother of her second child Aubrey when she’d given birth a few years later, Billie basically becoming a piece of furniture in the Danton household since she was there so often.

Billie pulls up to Bec’s house in the hills and steps out of the car, grabbing the bottle of white rum she’d bought yesterday. A warm breeze ruffles her hair as she walks along the giant driveway, the sun heating her skin almost instantly. The door is already unlocked when she gets there, Billie walking straight into the Danton’s enormous sun-filled, hamptons style home.

Almost instantly she’s met with Aubrey’s squeal of excitement, a wide, happy smile on the two year old’s face as she runs down the expansive hallway.

“Hi Aubs!” Billie exclaims, picking up her god-daughter and spinning her around in a bear hug, “I missed you little monkey!”.

Aubrey grins, laughing in that adorable way that only toddlers can, Billie shifting Aubrey to her hip and balancing her bag and the bottle in the other arm. She walks through the expansive house towards the back deck, stopping for a moment when she sees Mason sitting on the living room floor playing playstation.

“Hey bud” Billie says, bending and dropping a loud kiss to his forehead and chuckling when he screws up his face in disgust.

“Eew Aunty Billie!” Mason yells, recoiling and wiping his forehead.

Billie only laughs, pulling a face back at him, smiling when Aubrey giggles and babbles toddler nonsense.

“Hey gorgeous!” Billie exclaims as she steps out onto the back deck overlooking the pool, Bec looking up from where she is currently making mojitos in the outdoor kitchen.

“Bil! You’re here!” she says happily, the thin straps of the aqua blue playsuit she’s wearing making her pilates toned arms look even better.

It always blew Billie’s mind how amazing Bec looked after two children - one of which was only two years old.

Billie whistles, complementing Bec’s outfit as she bends to put Aubrey and the bottle down, Aubrey scampering off towards her mother just as Sloane walks through behind Billie.

“Heya babe, about time you got here”

Sloane was Billie’s other best friend. They’d met at Camp America when Billie had finished university back home and wanted a few months off before starting full time work. They’d bonded instantly at camp being two foreigners - Billie from Australia and Sloane from London, the two becoming inseparable over the Summer. They’d kept in touch over the years, Billie eventually moving to LA to work and Sloane following suit six months later after finishing her paramedicine degree in the UK. Billie had introduced Sloane to Bec when she’d moved, and the three had been close friends ever since.

Like Bec, Sloane also looked incredible - her long ebony hair was loose and straight, hanging like a dark waterfall around her face. She was wearing a mango yellow sun dress that fit her like a glove and contrasted against her porcelain skin, a pair of tan strappy heels on her feet.

Billie and Sloane embrace in a hello before taking a seat on the comfy outdoor lounge, Bec joining a moment later to hand out her mojitos and taking the bottle of rum from Billie. Billie takes a sip and smiles, savouring the fresh taste of rum, lime and mint, relaxing into the lounge and letting out a content sigh. She's been looking forward to today for months.

The girls had bought tickets to see Rufus Du Sol in concert - an Australian music artist famous for deep house music with a chilled vibe. They were one of Billie and Bec’s favourite artists so they'd both jumped at the opportunity to see them live when the event was announced, Sloane just happy to tag along for a girls day out and not really caring who was playing. They'd soon discovered that the event itself was quite exclusive - it was being held at one of LA's premier rooftop venues with only 200 tickets available, tickets that cost more than one of Billie's mortgage repayments. Still they'd decided it was a no brainer, and with five open laptops logging on at the exact time that the ticket sales had opened, they'd managed to score three very expensive tickets.

“What time should we order the uber?” Sloane asks, looking down at her phone having just posted a pouty selfie of her and Billie to instagram.

“It starts at 2 doesn't it?” Bec asks looking down at her diamond encrusted watch, “I checked before, an uber should take about 20 minutes from here. So maybe soon?”.

Billie nods, taking another sip of her drink, just as Ben, Bec’s husband, steps out onto the deck.

“Another round ladies?” he greets with a smile, walking over to give Sloane and Billie a kiss hello before standing behind Bec and giving her shoulders a squeeze.

Billie smiles as Bec looks lovingly up at her husband, watching as he bends to kiss her softly - even after ten years of marriage they still always looked as loved up as ever, permanent adoration etched onto both of their faces whenever they looked at one another.

“Thanks honey” Bec says, Ben winking at her before taking their three glasses and walking over to the outdoor bar to make another round of mojitos.

“Got plans with the kids for the day Ben?” Sloane asks, putting her phone down and looking over at Ben.

“Nah. Maybe a bit of a play in the pool since it's going to be warm” he says as he pops ice blocks into the three glasses, “If I can manage to wrestle Mason from the playstation that is”.

All three girls laugh, Bec lifting her phone to take a group photo as they relax on the lounge together. The air is starting to get hot, the soft breeze turning warm and no longer offering a reprieve from the beating sunshine, Billie taking off her hat to fan herself.

Two more rounds of cocktails later, the girls are appropriately buzzed when Sloane announces that the uber is arriving. Ben scoops up Aubrey as the girls grab their things, each stopping to say goodbye to Ben and the kids as they make their way out of the front door. They pile into the uber, already laughing from their pre-drink mojitos, waving goodbye as the car pulls out of the driveway and drives off towards the city.

---

Glen

Glen Powell leans back on the comfy outdoor lounge, letting out a breath as he savours his tequila and soda. Condensation runs down his hand from his drink, his skin already hot despite sitting in the sun for less than five minutes. He looks around the venue, the white Mediterranean style lounges and umbrellas contrasting perfectly with the cloudless, picture blue sky. What a day it was shaping up to be.

He looks over at his friends - Drew, a long term buddy that he's known from way back when in Austin, and Jay and Greg, two of his co-stars from Top Gun. Miles and his wife Keleigh were also on their way to the gig, arriving soon with a few of their extended friends. Glen smiles to himself, taking in the chilled party atmosphere, nodding his head along to the beat of the deep lounge song that's currently playing in the background. He's been looking forward to today for weeks, keen for an afternoon of sun, friends, drinks and music.

He takes another sip of his drink and looks over at the stage where one of the supporting acts is playing - a DJ whose name he can’t remember, his eyes passing over the random groups of guests and party-goers scattered around the luxurious rooftop venue. A loud laugh catches his ear and he looks over his shoulder towards the sound, noting a group of three girls sitting on a set of lounges a few feet away. He notices one of them, a tall brunette wearing a cream fedora hat, watching her throw her head back as she laughs along with something one of her friends must have said.

“Glen! Hey bud!”

He turns back to his group to see Miles standing in front of him, an instant smile on his face as he stands to embrace his friend. He hasn’t seen Miles since an end of summer party last year, suddenly feeling nostalgic for his absent Top Gun co-stars.

“How are you man?” Miles asks when he pulls away, just as Keleigh, Mile’s wife, steps forward to say hello and kiss Glen’s cheek in greeting.

“Good bud and you? It’s been a while!”.

He’s introduced to a few of their friends - three of Keleigh’s girlfriends and one of their husbands, and soon everyone is perched around the booth and lounges talking, laughing and dancing.

“Drinks guys? What does everyone want?” Glen says as he stands up from his seat, trying his best to remember the numerous orders being shouted before giving up and pulling out his phone to use his notes.

He nods and makes his way towards the bar, typing in Aperol Spritz just as someone steps out in front of him and he’s forced to stop abruptly before he collides with them.

“Oh sorry!” a female voice says, Glen looking up in time to a girl smiling back at him, her hands held up in apology as she balances against the lounge she’d been previously sitting on.

“All good darlin’” Glen says reflexively, returning her smile and gesturing for her to pass in front of him, “After you”.

Her smile grows wider and it takes Glen half a second to realise that it’s the girl he’d looked over at before - the brunette with the fedora hat, and another half second to process that she’s absolutely fucking stunning. He’s momentarily taken aback by her smile - pouty lips stretched wide and showing perfect white teeth, barely hearing her thank you as he watches her pass in front of him and make her way to the bar.

He can’t help but look her over as she walks, his gaze trailing over toned, muscled legs and what can only be a round, curvy ass hidden underneath her white shorts. Long chocolate brown waves cascade down her shoulders beneath her hat, her hair swishing just enough to reveal a large tattoo of what looks to be a collection of patterned flowers in the centre of her upper back. Glen barely registers that he’s been blatantly checking her out until he reaches the queues at the bar, stepping to the line on the left so that they’re standing side by side.

He looks down at his phone again going over his group’s drink orders, movement in his peripheral vision making him look back up to see the girl taking off her hat and fanning herself with it. The air is hot now, the afternoon sun relentless as it beats down, Glen thankful he’d chosen a light linen shirt to wear as he feels the beginnings of sweat form at the back of his neck.

The line moves and Glen steps forward, reaching up to adjust his sunglasses as the girl moves up beside him, still fanning herself with her hat. The strong scent of something sweet and vaguely coconut-y suddenly hits him, Glen glancing down at her and realising it’s her perfume. He watches from the side as she reaches up to put her hat back on, unable to help his smile as he sees her start to sway to the beat of the song that’s currently playing.

The line moves again and suddenly it’s their turn, Glen stepping towards the bar as the bartender calls ‘next’ and glances at the two of them. The girl points to him and he shakes his head no, putting his elbows on the bar and gesturing back to her.

“Ladies first”

She smiles at him again and Glen forgets how to form words for a moment, instead only nodding when she says thank you and listening as she orders three mojitos. He hears an accent that he can’t quite place, too caught up in the sight of her to really think it through, eyes running over her smooth, tanned skin and the tease of just-visible cleavage beneath her square necked crop top.

Three mojitos appear on the bar a moment later, fresh mint leaves tangled with ice in the clear bubbly liquid, Glen watching as the girl groups the cups and picks them up with both hands. She turns to him beside her, smiling back at him from behind her gold aviator sunglasses in a way that makes him forget his own name for a second, ice clinking against the plastic cups.

Glen sucks in a silent breath, feeling his chest expand as he looks at her properly. Jesus.

“Thanks. Again” the girl says, nodding her head as she smiles softly, Glen doing the same and steeling himself so he doesn’t stammer his words.

“You’re welcome darlin’”

Her grin grows wider and soon she’s walking away from the bar, Glen unable to stop himself from checking her out as she walks and thinking for the fifth time in five minutes how fucking gorgeous she is. He notices two guys at the back of the line watching her also, unable to blame them for staring - not when she had an ass and legs that looked like that.

Glen hears the bartender call to him, turning back around and pulling up the list on his phone to order. Minutes later his drinks are ready, picking up the tray laden with plastic cups and doing his best to stop them from spilling as he makes his way back over to his group. Across the way he sees the girl from before now sitting on a lounge and laughing with her two girlfriends, tipping his head when he sees her look over at him. Drink in hand, she offers a small, innocent smile in response, Glen sucking in a heavy breath and wondering if she has any fucking idea of the effect she is having on him. He tears his eyes away and walks back over to his friends, a small part of his brain completely preoccupied with thoughts of the gorgeous girl sitting only a few feet away from him.

---

Billie

“I swear I've seen that guy before” Sloane says, sipping her mojito and bopping away to the beat of the music in her seat, “I can’t work out where though”.

Bec frowns and looks over at the group where the hot guy had gone to, shrugging her shoulders. “Maybe you rescued him once?”

Sloane shakes her head no.

“Either way, he was super cute and Bil you should go talk to him”.

Billie laughs and flicks a stray hair from her face, “I'm here to drink and dance with you two, not find a man”.

Sloane and Bec both scoff.

“Oh Bil shut up, when has that ever stopped you before? Men are like flies to honey around you” Sloane remarks, looking over at Bec for support and raises her hand in thanks when she nods fervently in agreement.

Billie only rolls her eyes and laughs at her two friends, taking another long sip of drink and savouring the cold liquid. She reaches up to readjust her hat, feeling her face become glowy from sweat. Her whole body feels warm, the sun beating down on her skin, the dry breeze only making it hotter on the rooftop area.

The music is starting to pick up, the bass getting heavier in the air, and Billie isn't sure if it's the alcohol, the fact that she's out with friends or just a combination of being out in the sun with her girlfriends at a gig that has her flustered and dancing in her seat. She takes out her phone and snaps a quick selfie with the girls, uploading the picture to instagram just as it’s announced that the main act is about to come on stage. A collective cheer is heard throughout the venue, Billie grinning and taking a long drink before gesturing to her friends towards the dance area.

“Come on ladies, time for a dance!” she announces standing up and teetering on her heels, pulling on Sloane’s arm and dragging her two friends out of their seats.

They make their way to the centre of the rooftop where the stage is positioned, finding a space among the growing crowd of party goers. There’s an eclectic mix of guests around them, everyone seemingly swaying to the beat with a drink or two in hand, the crowd starting to dance and cheer as the opening song is played. Bec lets out a whoop and soon the three girls are laughing and singing in their own little world, Billie swinging her hips and throwing her arms in the air.

The sun is shining down with a vengeance now, the afternoon heat dry and the air almost thick, the growing crowd of people doing nothing to offer any kind of relief from the warmth. If Billie wasn’t several drinks down she’d have been a little more concerned about the possibility of being sun burnt and ensuring she stays hydrated, but her mojito-tinged brain has other ideas. Sloane throws her arms in the air, Bec dropping her head back and singing as loud as she can, Billie grinning at her two friends as she sways and jumps to the heavy, pulsing beat. She can’t remember the last time she’d felt so free and had this much fun, closing her eyes and savouring every moment of the present around her.

Three songs later, Billie announces that it’s time for another round, shouting as much in Bec’s ear over the heavy pulse of the music. Bec tells her that they’ll stay where they are, Billie taking off her hat and fanning her heated face as she makes her way towards the bar. It’s not until she arrives at the small queue that she notices the guy from before ahead of her, unable to help herself from looking him over as she fans herself.

He has medium length sandy brown hair that is pushed back in a messy slick look, a bone coloured linen shirt draped over what is undoubtedly a very muscled set of shoulders. His forearms are thick and muscled, a tan and gold expensive looking watch sitting snugly on his left wrist. She’s standing close enough that she can smell his cologne - something spicy and earthy with a hint of delicious warmth, letting out a breath and reaching up to run her fingers through her long hair.

As if he’s aware that there’s someone behind him, Billie watches as the guy suddenly looks over his shoulder - perhaps over to where his friends are, his gaze instead catching sight of her in a double take. In an instant she’s met with a gorgeous, effortlessly handsome grin that makes her breath catch in her throat, her cheeks instantly heating in a way that she knows has nothing to do with the afternoon heat.

Fuck.

“Another round?” he asks her, a Texan lilt to his voice that makes Billie swoon internally, a toothpick resting between his lips.

“Gotta deal with this heat somehow” Billie replies with a smile, holding up one hand in a shrug and still fanning her hat with the other.

The line moves forward and they both step forward, Billie moving to stand in the empty space beside the handsome stranger. The music is still pumping, the deep bass heavy in the air, Billie teetering on her heels and dancing on the spot. The girl behind the bar calls next and the hot guy gestures to Billie, but she shakes her head no and offers for him to move instead.

“No no, you were definitely here first” Billie counters, watching as he shakes his head defiantly.

“Ladies first remember?”

Billie laughs now, shaking her head as she smiles, knowing that she isn't going to win this battle even if she tries.

Begrudgingly she steps forward and orders, this time asking for four drinks instead of three. A mojito each for her and the girls, and a tequila and soda for her mystery gentleman. She puts her hat back on and rests her elbows on the bartop, feeling his eyes on her beside her as she bounces on the spot to the music.

“So are all boys from Texas this polite, or is it just you?” Billie asks suddenly, turning to look at him over her shoulder and tilting her head.

Now that she’s looking at him front on, she can’t help but check him out behind her sunglasses. Her eyes follow the neckline of his linen shirt - unbuttoned enough to show off the planes of his sun-kissed, muscled chest, but high enough to hide what Billie knows has to be a toned, defined torso. His jawline is strong and chiselled, covered with a short layer of few-day-old, golden brown stubble, a patch of sandy brown chest hair just visible at the base of his neck.

When he chuckles and smiles back at her - the toothpick resting between his perfect white teeth, Billie momentarily loses her train of thought.

“As much as I'd like to defend us all, I have to give my mama credit for that one”

Billie laughs, turning briefly to the bartender when one of her drinks is up, picking up the plastic cup and handing it to the guy.

He looks back at her questioningly, taking the drink from her when she nods, taking the toothpick from his lips and lifting the cup to take a sip. A look of surprise appears on his face as he swallows, his eyebrows raising in a mixture of amusement and confusion. In that moment Billie can't help her confident smile, knowing she's picked the right drink without him even saying anything.

“Tequila and soda? What makes you think this is my drink?”

Billie shrugs nonchalantly, her lips still parted in a smile, looking back at him from behind her sunglasses.

“Well, with a chest like that there’s no way you’re drinking beers” Billie reasons in a flirtatious voice, nodding at his muscled chest and feeling her smile grow when his eyebrows rise again, “Even though you’d probably love to be drinking a beer right now. True?”

He lets out a laugh though doesn’t say anything, regarding her with an impressed smile and tapping his fingers against the plastic cup.

“Besides” she says, turning back to the bar briefly and saying her thanks when the three mojitos are up, “Your Texan accent is hard to miss and tequila is basically the state drink isn’t it?”.

He laughs then, loud and throaty and in an instant Billie decides it’s the best sound she’s heard all day, gathering her three drinks and turning back to face him.

“Thanks for this” he says to her with another grin that threatens to make her knees weak, holding up his cup as if to cheers to her before taking another drink.

Billie flashes her best smile in return, pausing in front of him before she heads back to the girls.

“Might see you later for another round”.

The mystery man grins again - another effortlessly charming, utterly handsome smile that makes her want to melt into a puddle on the floor, tipping his head to her.

“You can count on it”.

She tears herself away before she can internally swoon over him any longer, forcing herself not to look back at him even though she knows he’s definitely watching her. It takes her a second to realise that she’s intentionally swinging her hips in a way that has nothing to do with the music, unconsciously giving the guy her best view from behind as she walks away from him at the bar.

A hot breeze blows by and Billie has to blow a stray hair from her face, pausing at the edge of the scattered lounges at the side of the stage to locate the girls. She sees Bec and Sloane dancing away a little further into the crowd, Sloane’s mango yellow dress like a bright beacon among the sea of moving bodies.

“And what pray tell, are you smiling at?” Bec asks as Billie returns to the group, bopping away to the beat of the song that’s pulsing in the air.

Billie grins sheepishly, handing off the drinks to each of the girls before taking a long, much needed sip herself. To say she felt hot was an understatement, a thin sheen of sweat threatening to form on her forehead beneath the multiple layers of setting powder she’d applied this morning.

“That guy from before, he was with me in the line again” Billie explains after she swallows, crunching down on an ice cube, “He’s really fucking cute”.

“Oh I could not agree more” Sloane remarks, turning to look over at the bar and letting out a low whistling sound.

Billie looks over at her friend and follows her eye line, finding her mystery guy walking back to his group with his drinks in hand, seemingly oblivious to his new private audience. Billie sucks in a breath as she watches him, suddenly desperate for another sip of her drink.

Fuck.

Cute, was not nearly a good enough word to describe him.

Billie takes a long drink and turns back to the stage, throwing her hands into the air and dancing along to the beat. She feels free and happy, without a care in the world, deciding that today was quickly shaping up to be one of the best days she’s had in the longest time. The low, chilled beat of the music feels like it’s echoing across the rooftop, the crowd singing along in unison in the best way that only ever happened at concerts. The afternoon sun is starting to lower now, the sunshine still hot and the air still more than warm, the faintest of breezes only just detectable across the writhing crowd.

A shriek from Sloane suddenly jolts Billie from her daydreaming dance trance, Billie and Bec both turning to face their friend, alarm on both their faces.

“Slo what the fuck?” Billie shouts over the noise, simultaneously frowning and laughing at her friend.

“That’s Miles Teller over there” she explains with wide eyes, gesturing with her head so as not to attract too much attention, Billie and Bec both glancing over in the direction. “Pretty sure that’s his wife too. Katie? Keleigh? Something like that?”.

Billie’s own eyes widen when she realises Sloane is right - it’s him alright, minus the Goose moustache he’d all but made famous again last year. They’d all simultaneously swooned over Miles Teller when the Top Gun movie had come out in cinemas, as did seemingly every other female in the world.

“I mean with how much we paid for these tickets, there was bound to be celebrities here” Billie yells over the music, turning back to face the stage and taking another long sip of her drink.

Billie can’t help but smile. She remembered the way she’d nearly freaked out the first time she’d seen a celebrity not long after moving to LA. She’d been out for brunch after a particularly brutal pilates session, grabbing a bite because she was sure she was going to pass out from lack of energy and not make it back home, when she’d looked up from her omelete and seen Chris Pine getting a coffee only a few feet from her. It had taken everything she had not to make an audible sound of surprise, doing her best not to openly stare at the guy she’d only ever seen on a screen before.

“Wait, Bil!”

Billie turns back around when she feels Sloane’s grip on her arm, her friend suddenly shaking her violently and making even Bec stop dancing.

“That guy? Your hot guy that I said looks so familiar?” she adds, eyes once again wide as she looks at Billie and Bec and back again.

Bec is frowning now, unsure what the hell is going on, looking from Billie and Sloane over to where the guy is standing with his group of friends.

“What are you talking about Sloane?”

Billie shakes her head still confused, Sloane’s entire expression transforming as her lips part in a wide, incredulous smile.

“The reason he looks so familiar, is because he’s the other hot guy from Top Gun. Glen Powell!”.

Next Chapter

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maybankxw · 11 months

Text

ART DECO

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings: mature content ahead! [ drug and alcohol usage!!; mentions of a gun; fighting; unprotected sex; cum play; ] minors dni!!!

summary: they’re just so high they don't even know what they're doing but a little party never killed no one? :)

word count: 2k

a/n: i just feel like rafe is the embodiment of the ‘art deco’ song, enjoy! x

links: masterlist / taglist / ask box

any feedback (comments, reblogs, anon asks) would be appreciated!

I’m the one to tell this story, because I was the only sober enough to remember.

“Fucking hell that was a good one,” Rafe mumbled as he sniffed a line of cocaine, Barry took the second and I was the third to try, it indeed was a good one.

“So is this place all yours now, huh?” Barry leaned against the backrest, flashing his teeth, stretching his arms to the sides.

“Yeah,” Rafe chuckled, fiddling with a glass in his ring coated fingers, “All mine.”

There was a little party at Cameron’s mansion, the sun was just starting to set, people got drunk, danced, chattered. I took a sip of amber liquid, it burned my throat, my eyes raked Rafe’s figure, white shirt with a few buttons undone, tight around his body, revealed his tanned his skin, his strong carved chest and his neck adorned with birthmarks, I wanted to kiss them all. His eyes were bright blue in the sunlight, hair buzzed and a lazy smile stretched on his lips as he babbled about something, occasionally sipping from his glass. I loved watching him.

My tiny white dress rode up, exposing a little too much skin. Thank fuck I couldn’t care less. Rafe and Barry sat right across from me, talking about drugs and money.

“After you,” Rafe nodded his head at the white powder spread on the table, his low voice snatching me out of my fucking daydreams.

“Together,” I dared, smirking, leaning in. We shared the last line, closing our eyes at the ecstatic feeling, sprawling on the sofas.

“Hello, princess,” a guy named Alex plopped next to me. I made a face at the pet name, everyone else ignored him. Alex was known as a womaniser, sleeping around, Prince Charming. He draped his arm around my shoulder, making me tense. Rafe’s eyes shot to the scenery, he watched our every move, his jaws gritted. He had to take a sip of whiskey to swallow his anger and disgust, never looking away from us.

“Let’s get out of here, me, you, my place,” Alex whispered in my ear, nuzzling my temple.

“I’ll get another bottle,” I shoved down the remains of my drink and leapt up to my feet, walking into the house, feeling the burning stare on me as I made my way inside. When I came back, I almost let the bottle fall, hearing a distant chatter, they weren’t yelling nor they were having a calm conversation, because one of Rafe’s hands was behind his lower back. I knew what that meant. He was holding his gun.

“Hey, man, you touch her again, I’ll smash your fucking face, yeah?”

“What did you say?” Alex bit back taking a step closer, there was a drink in his hand.

“You heard me.”

“How about I smash your face? Why are you worried about that whore anyways? She’s not yours and will never be.”

That’s when Rafe lost it, completely lost it. His gun was out. He smashed it against Alex’s temple, pushing it into his stomach afterwards, pure disgust written all over his face, “Call her that again, I won’t hesitate and put a bullet into your gut.”

Barry stood close to them, ready to snatch them apart at any time, apparently that wasn’t it.

“Put the gun down, Rafe,” I rasped, settling the bottle on the table.

Suddenly Alex jerked, splashing whiskey onto Rafe’s body, his shirt, his face, his fist collided with Rafe’s cheek. I ran towards them, stepping in between, “Stop right now!”

Barry pulled Alex back as I was trying to stop Rafe from doing something stupid, but he was glaring at the guy behind me. Maybe we had too much.

“At me, Rafe, look at me,” my fingers touched his forearm, sliding down, grasping the barrel. His eyes snapped to look into mine and he let me have the gun, “He’s not worth it, come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

I tried to pull him with me, but he didn’t budge, “Come with me, Jesus, just come with me.” Now I was getting angry with both of them, silently thanking Barry for helping to handle all of it, “Give it a rest, man,” he patted Alex’s back as me and Rafe made our way inside the house.

I pawed for a washcloth, soaking it up in water. His bathroom looked dark, a mirror hung above the sink, he leaned against the side of it, “Take your shirt off,” I wrung the tiny towel out.

He sighed, hesitating for a brief moment, he wanted to joke about it but didn’t. His shirt went over his head and he into the bin. He carefully watched my movements, the look on his face too soft for what happened minutes ago.

“You don’t have to do this.”

I didn’t respond, pressing the washcloth to his cheek, gently rubbing it against his skin, earning a hiss from his mouth.

“Sorry,” I whispered, sliding the towel lower, to wipe the remains of whiskey off his arms, his chest and his stomach, drawing watery circles. Our eyes locked, my palm was flat against his chest, warm and solid, I could feel his heart beating.

“You think I’m crazy?”

“What does that matter to you what I think?” I folded the towel, keeping on wiping his body clean, “You’re crazy all the time.”

A muscle pulsed in his jaw, his fingers clamped my wrist, tightening around it, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I threw the washcloth into the sink, staring back up at him, “You put your life out on the line.”

He let out a chuckle, coiling a strand of my hair over his finger. Suddenly I felt my breaths speed up, like I wanted to kiss him. He must have felt the same, because his fingertips touched my face and he dove in, placing a hot slow kiss, persistent, like he left me with no choice wether I wanted that kiss or no. I didn’t complain, because his mouth felt so good. He was so close, the scent of his cologne hit my senses, making me feel lightheaded, I clung to his waist as he pushed us back against the wall. Our breaths turned so heavy, we were gasping, together. His fingers fiddled with a bow on the back of my dress as he untied it, searching for the hem of it, pulling the dress up and over my head. Heavy palms landed on my waist pulling me into his body, the cold metal of his rings making me bite my lip. Hard bulge brushed my stomach and involuntarily I let out a shaky breath, causing him to smile.

“It’s fun,” he rasped, dropping down to his haunches and his response made me ponder wether it was a reply to my words or did he mean us sneaking here. His fingers curled under the sides of my panties and he dragged them down slowly, savouring every inch with his gaze, his eyes following the movement of his hands, “I wanna fuck you,” he mumbled, placing a kiss on my abdomen, looking up at me. I was so high, I wanted to let him do whatever he wished. My fingers touched the back of his head, I couldn’t pull his hair because they were too short so I just clung to his neck as he kissed a path down, his eyes never leaving mine.

I was tensed, so ready for his mouth to devour my pussy. That’s not what he did. Abruptly he stood up, taking a step closer, visibly fighting himself for a moment, then his hand slid under my hair, wrapping around my neck and his lips faintly brushed mine. I was holding onto his belt, slowly trying to unbuckle it, my hands shaky, while his proximity drove me fucking insane.

Thick finger brushed my pussy and I gasped, clutching the belt buckle in my hands, my eyes fluttering closed.

“Feeling alright there?” he grinned at the way my body was responding to his, sliding his finger in to the hilt, pulling out and in again, “You want me to keep going?”

“Mhm,” I desperately nodded my head, biting my lip, squeezing his biceps, “Keep— ah, going.”

He sighed, closing his eyes too, his forehead resting against mine as he pressed me into the wall moving his finger in steady pace, the sloppy sound of my wet cunt filling the room.

A groan came out from his mouth as he rubbed his clothed cock against my thigh, clenching his jaw and tightening his other hand on my neck. The guy was whipped, but scared to admit it, even to himself.

“I want you,” I whimpered, finally unzipping his pants and pulling them down along with his tight black boxers. His cock sprung out, deep red, hard, precum oozing from his tip. I gasped, wrapping my fist around him, drawing little circles on the head with my thumb. He groaned louder, pressing his mouth into my shoulder to muffle the sounds he made, dragging his finger down the inside of my thigh, spreading all the wetness he collected. Then he gripped me by my hip, wrapping my leg around his waist, stroking my slit with the tip of his cock, teasing me, going inside just a little and then pulling out, making me whine and scratch the back of his neck, “Rafe, stop with the teasing.”

His lazy smile and drowsy gaze made me shiver, his eyes stopped at my lips and right when he kissed me, he thrusted in making me scream out, swallowing it all, still grinning like an idiot. His thrusts were hard and deep, not too fast, bun not slow either, it felt perfect.

“Come here,” he rasped, squeezing my ass, making me straddle him, my heels digging into the back of his thighs. He kissed my chest, wet tongue teased my nipple as he fucked me good, my eyelids heavy, not enough air in my lungs, because I was gasping, unable to take a deep breath.

“Sweet little pussy, all mine,” his eyes found mine, his arms tightened around my torso as he slammed his hips into me faster. His mouth was all over me, leaving wet kisses, nursing out little bruises on my tits, a few on my neck, the pads of his fingers digging painfully into my skin. All my composure fell the minute we stayed alone and right then I was a moaning mess, completely at his mercy.

My fingers tightened around his chin, steadying him, his eyes burned with lust, pupils dilated, swallowing the blue. I stared at him admiring how handsome he was and this new haircut of his only made him look more hot and dominant. I smashed my lips against his, biting and sucking on his tongue, licking his bottom lip, then dragging it at the end of the kiss as he fucked me and fucked me, the head of his cock bruising my insides. Everything felt so intense because we were high as fuck on coke and sex and each other.

“Rafe—“ I choked out, feeling my stomach burning, my walls clenching around him, “Cum inside me, make me yours.”

Something snapped in him, he turned so eager, going in rougher, even though I thought it was already hard enough, his thumb pressed my clit and I moaned, loud, my head dropped back to rest against the wall as I tried to catch my breath, rippling and creaming around him. Rafe wasn’t too far either, his cock twitched as he tried to bite back his throaty growl, panting into my throat. Warm cum spilled inside me, making us both moan in satisfaction, I trembled in his arms as his cock softened and his grip on me loosened. He put me back down, still caging me, heavy palms caressing the sides of my body. I felt his cum trickling down my thigh so I rubbed them together.

“No,” he protested, collecting all of it and pushing in back inside, causing me to cry out and dig my nails into his shoulders, my pussy still sensitive after his severe thrusts, “Gotta keep you full.” He found my panties and helped me put them back on, “Next time I want you on my bed, spread open on my sheets,” he put the dress on me as well, spinning me around, tying a bow on my back and placing a soft kiss on my shoulder, his whisper low in my ear, “Tonight, you stay here.”

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #outer banks imagine #outer banks smut #outer banks netflix #obx #obx netflix #rafe obx #obx3 #obx smut #obx fic #obx fanfiction #outer banks rafe #rafe outer banks

248 notes · View notes

fivepointpalettes · 1 year

Note

Pallets like this v

With long names and such!

My sincerest apologies for how long it took to compile this list. I tried to pick out the ones which were either significantly longer, or were... particular, one way or another, for lack of a better word. I tried to avoid song lyrics and such, but with some of them I couldn't help myself.

Hope you find these sufficient!

Looking through my older posts, this type of longer caption was a relatively recent development, but I nonetheless tried to pick ones that might work for you! I originally tried to sort them by topic, but there were so many... you can probably guess the point at which I have given up. I’m sorry. There were just so many.

Sorry I didn’t Realize People Like You Have Feelings

She Was A Girl He Was A Traffic Cone

You Must Have Real Self Confidence Mortal To Attempt Flirting With Something All Holy

Just Friends But We Kiss Sometimes

Let Your Tender Hands Rip Me Apart

Let Me Be Your Unreliable Narrator, Baby!

Focus On Me (Ignore The Blood)

I See You Everywhere See You Everywhere See You Everywhere

Prove That You Love Me And Reanimate Me

Stand Still As The Darkness Grows Roots In Your Mind

The Lack Of Self Esteem I’ve Felt Since I Learned How To Read Or Write

Not Great With People But Pretty Good With Milk

Lost In Your Eyes Never To Be Found

I Saw The End Of The World In Your Eyes

I Touch You And My Hands Burn My Hands Burn My Hands Burn (What Have You Done)

What Are You Doing In My House / Now Now I Don’t Usually Make It A Habit To - Stop Yelling - Break Into People’s Homes But As You Can See Sometimes I Do

Well First Of All I Am Positive What You Did Is A Criminal Offense / And Second Of All Why Didn’t You Invite Me

Once Again I Am Forced To Ask What In The World Did You Bring Into Our Home / What Do You Mean What Did I Bring It’s Very Clearly A Radioactive Waste Barrel Don’t Pretend You Don’t Know That

What’s A Little Murder Between Friends

Hey Quick Question Are We Really About To Commit Arson?

Does This Taste Expired To You Too?

It’s Even Smaller On The Inside If You Can Believe That

Only One Thing In This Room Is Edible And Good Luck Figuring Out Which One It Is

Your House Has No Anomalies But I’m Reporting You For Bad Taste In Art

I Think I Know What A Rat Looks Like

How Many Rains Will It Take Before The Ceiling Starts Leaking

I’m Sorry I Chewed Through Your Walls But You Must Understand I’m Calcium Deficient

Please Be Mindful Of The Evil Yoghurt Demon In The Freezer

Who Put Strawberries In The Bathtub

Who Put Strawberries In The Bathtub Again

This Is The Third Time Someone Put Strawberries In The Bathtub Who Keeps Doing This Please Stop

Of All The Things You Could Be Doing Why Are You Romancing Soda Cans

Soda Cans Are Great I Love Accidentally Spilling Liquid On Myself

It’s Not A Good Cake But It’s Not A Bad Cake Either (As Still It Is Cake)

Scallops Reside Where My Brain Should Be

Date A Girl Who’s Secretly A 20 Meter Long Man-Eating Centipede

Being In Love And How It Sucks Sometimes

Wish We Could Go Out For Coffee But You Hate Me And I Hate Coffee

Do You Remember When You Told Me That You Love Me When You Told Me That You Love Me When You Told Me That You

I Loved You I Did So How Did We End Up Like This

This Will Hurt You More Than It’ll Hurt Me - And That’s Okay!

I Need You To Understand That I Really Do Want What’s Best For You - And That Simply Isn’t Me

Father I Do Not Wish To Consume The Cough Syrup

The Doctor Tried To Check My Heartbeat Only To Find Out I Don’t Have One

American Girls Scare Me

I’m Always At Least A Little Bit Scared Hopeless And Frustrated

The Annoying Whisper In The Back Of Your Head

The Shadow Out The Corner Of Your Eye

Can You Help Me Find What’s Wrong With Me

Too Old To Die Young And Too Young To Just Die

Plunge Head-First Into A Worldwide Panic Attack

Unexplainable Excruciating Pain That Started Suddenly And Will Never Go Away

Wasting Your Life Feeling Like An Underperforming Tool In Someone Else’s Hands

An Unhealthy Relationship With One’s Own Identity

Men Like Us Aren’t Supposed To Feel These Things

Men Like Us Die Alone Because We Think We Deserve It

My Body Is A Craft Store

My Lungs Are Full Of Ink

The Tall Faceless Lad Out The Corner Of My Eye Who Watches Me Sleep While Pointing At The Door

Peeling An Apple Just To Eat The Skin

Biting Into A Rubber Ball Like An Apple While Maintaining Full Eye Contact

For Sale A Set Of Gold Teeth Never Used

I’m Just A Normal Functioning Member Of The Human Race And There Is No Way Anyone Can Prove Otherwise

Visual Representation Of The Sound A Rainbow Makes

The Man Whose Hands Are Always Covered In Melted Butter

The Girl In A Blue Dress That Lives In Every Village Ever

The Boy With A Mouthful Of Chalk

I’m A Weirdo Who Likes To Eat Chalk

The Magical Princess’s Strawberry-Scented Battle Axe Of Infinite Bloodshed

Although You Are Yeay Smsll And Your Kind Have Existed In The Universe For Only A Shore Tihe You Are An Inportant Part Of Sohething Yery Large And Very Bcavtiful

A Friend Is Someone Who Belieuse In Gon Euen When Gon'ue Ceased To Belieue In Gonrseif

How To Completely Disapp8ar Be Found And Never

Your Smile Toasty As Yarm As Spiver

My Face When Face When My F When Facle The Fwhen Thface Mey Face Face When My

The Breathing Part Of Who Knew By The Correspondents

Can You Imagine If Los Angeles Was A Real City

Tower Cranes Are My Favourite Animal

When I Was A Small Child I Held An Iguana Once

Ed Sheeran Is My Enemy He Looks Like A Hot Dog

I Hate Citations Why Can’t You Just Trust Me

A Classmate Of Mine Once Borrowed One Of My Pens And Then Decided It Was Such A Good Pen He’s Just Gonna Keep It

Sconce Doesn’t Sound Like A Word To Me But It Is One

Spells Mom With An O To Confuse People Trying To Guess My Nationality

The Parasocial Relationship I Have Formed With The Duolingo Cast

Sorry That Your Rant About How The Game I Like Ruined The Whole Series Forever Didn’t Make Me Like It Any Less

For The Longest Time I Was Convinced That Pocky Was A Wooden Stick Covered In Chocolate And People Were Eating It Purely For The Anime Aesthetic

My Girlfriend Said I Eat Corn Weird Which Now That I Think About It Would Explain Why I’m Consistently Covered In Butter

Wishing To Rant About Fanfiction But Not Wanting To Show How Much Of A Nerd You Secretely Are

The Eye Lips Eye Emoji Face Fills Me With Unbridled Rage

When I Was A Child I Was Afraid Of Eating Mars Bars / Because I Thought They Had Fish Food In Them

The Frankly Terrifying Clip Art I Found When I Googled Champignons

Doctors Say You Need A Consistent Amount Of Sleep To Be Healthy So I Consistently Sleep For 4 Hours A Night

Whether You Qualify As A Beach Or Not Depends On The Amount Of Sand You Have Consumed In A Lifetime

Only The Floor Candy Can Sustain Me

I Am Irrationally Afraid Of Paper And Plastic

Tainted Love But The Clapping Is Replaced With The Law & Order Sound Effect

Softer Cleaner And Fresher Clothes For The Low Cost Of Your Firstborn Child

What Will It Take For You To Give Up Your Humanity And Become One With The Night

The Price Of Wisdom Is Bad Grammar

The Eternal Dance Set To The Sweet Melody Of My Out-Of-Tune Guitar

Been Hiding From Myself Since The Last Time I Died

Don’t Aspire To Be Average You Can Go So Much Lower

My Heart Was Stolen By A Blue-Haired Angel With Piercing Eyes And A Penchant For Singing

Lonely Sewer Cryptid Looking For Love

With All Due Respect Sir This Is A Plum

You Call It Birth I Call It Escapism

Falling In Reverse Just Means Getting Up

The Privilege Of Being Born Somebody Else

The Act Of Balancing A Bottle Of Juice On Your Head

My Favourite Ride In The Theme Park Is A Bench

They Stole My Blood Today

Me And My Lungs Love You

On The Outside I May Look Like A Regular Man But On The Inside I’m A Japanese Spider Crab

My Head Is Full Of Froyo

Seychelles Flag But The Colours Are Out Of Order And Now Also Inverted

Slam-Dunking A Toaster

Chugging A Bottle Of Body Wash

Grandma Stop Touching The Stove \ No Need To Confirm It’s Not On

I Found God Inside An Apple Core

Some Days I’m Afraid I Will Cut My Eyes By The Sight Of Glass Shards

Look At Her Go Biting Everyone Who Comes Near Her Like A Champ

I Apologize If You Found Finding This Place Difficult But You Must Understand I Am Currently Evading Detection And Arrest For Crimes Undisclosed

God’s Gift To Women (Promptly Returned)

Getting Hunted For Sport With Your Good Friend Bates

So Good At Sleeping I Could Do It With My Eyes Closed

Your Teeth (Hand Them Over)

An Overemotional State Projected Upon The Unsuspecting Public

What If You Could Glow In The Dark

You’re As Beautiful As The Light Reflecting Off The Teeth Of The Moon

Why Are You Sleeping In The Algae Pond

Write Your Love In The Blood Coursing Through My Veins

Please Relieve Me Of The Dreams Plaguing My Every Waking Moment

And If You Thought It Was A Threat It Might Have Been

Find Yourself In The Patterns On The Wall

The Horrifying Ordeal Of Having Loud Neighbours

Putting On A Show To Seem Alive / When I Don’t Feel Alive

Time Has Stopped Passing A Long Time Ago

Once Again A Cold Rainy Winter Gives Way To A Cold Rainy Spring

Here’s Cheers To The Man Who Stole My Heart Away

Please Stop Eating Bugs It’s Weird

You Made Me The Villain Of Your Story Darling Now Own Up To It Won’t You

If Someone Tries To Shoot You Simply Tell The Bullet To Leave You Alone

She Drowned Jupiter In Her Martini Glass

The Sort Of Love You Only Feel When Drunk

It’s Past My Bedtime And I’m Thinking Of You

Say The Apples Seem Strange This Year

The Man Who Looked At Me So Sweetly In Soft Flavours Of Deep Beige

Oh Baby Don’t You Know Our Sort Is Locked Out Of Heaven

There’s No ‘You’ In 'My Cup Of Tea'

You Have To Stop Making So Many Enemies

Now We’re Cooking With Lasers

Middle Of The Night Yet You’re Wide Awake Thinking About Waluigi

You Have This Power Inside And It’s Frightening

You And Me And The Aquarium Between Us

I Don’t Know What This Is But It’s Not An Avocado

Wish Me Luck Honey (I Couldn’t Ask For More)

All The Things You Did Before You Did Them

You Ought To Stop Eating Spiders It’s Creeping The Guests Out

It Sure Is Wet In Here I’ll Tell You What

I’ve Been Chugging Poison Waiting For The Day You Inevitably Take Me Up On My Offer And Take A Proper Bite Out Of Me

Keep All Body Parts On The Inside Of The Vehicle At All Times As Failure To Comply May Result In Having Them Unwillingly Removed

Drowning In A Coffee Cup (What An Awful Way To Go)

Do The Trees Bite Where You’re From

My Overconfidence Is Astounding And It’s A Surprise I’ve Never Been Killed

I Understand Where You’re Coming From But Where Did You Get The Gun

Have You Found Yourself Or Your Loved Ones Suffering From A Case Of Empty Eyes

We Wouldn’t Be Here If SOMEONE Didn’t Spill Ketchup On The Sheets

Tastes Like Hot Sugar On A Sharp Knife

As You Can Tell By The Yellow Filter We Just Entered Mexico

You’re Telling Me He Died From The Mould? And What Did The Mould Do, Stab Him?

One Of These Beans Tastes Like Cola And The Other Tastes Like Black Mould

Next Time Maybe Don’t Go Into The Forest At Night Hm Buddy? Just A Thought

Well That Was A Little Unnecessarily Brutal Don’t You Think?

Tender Words And Hellish Screams

Too Cool To Sleep At A Reasonable Hour

For A Place Called Silent Hill It Sure Is Horribly Noisy

Smoke’s Water And We’re Water Therefore We Are Bleach

Your Love Tastes Like A Heart Attack

Pixy Stix and Broken Bones

You Smell Like Nonsense With A Hint Of Melancholy

Crying Because Cats Are Cute And Deserve The World

I’m Sick But The Bags Under My Eyes Are Sicker

I Live In A Room With No Windows

I Haven’t Left The House In Months

Don’t Stand So Close To The TV Lest The Static Claims You

Forever Dizzy In This Lonely World

Day 243 The Wall Effigy Started Talking To Me

I’m Not Happy Unless I’m Miserable

Summer Lasts A Week At Best But My Dedication To Sweater Vests Is Eternal So Look Me In The Eye Little Teacup And Melt If It Bothers You So Much

Chicken Nuggets Heat Up Faster On The Higher Shelf Of The Oven Because Of Their Proximity To God

It’s Summer (Hot Weather Turns My People Violent)

You Can’t Just Ask A Guy Why He’s In Love

Seeing The French Everywhere Might Be A Side Effect Of Something And I Have Yet To Find Out What But It Could Be Asbestos

Remember When We Would Stay Up All Night Reading Fanfic On Our Phones

What Do You Know About Being Divine

Couldn’t Believe When You Said You Were A Deity

When I Was A Child I Thought / That The Word Rainbow Had Eight Letters / And That One Of Them Was D

Who Needs Sleep When I Can Just Drop Dead For A Rest

I Don’t Check My Email In Fear Someone Tried To Contact Me Via Email

I Saw A Bumblebee Today And It Was Huge Really Absolutely Massive

Mid-Performance Chainsaw Solo

I Want To Drown In Your Swimming Pool

Feelings Of An Almost Human Nature

Can’t Let It Slip That There’s More To Me Than Little Old I

Manual Therapy For Anxious Hands

A Sense Of Failure Wasting Away And Never Living Up To Your Full Potential Unable To Get Things Done And Putting Everything Off Because You Are Scared Of Progress

He To Whom The Cake’s Dedicated

You’re Quite Pleasant But The Pleasure Is Mine

What Dropping A Large Bag Of Coal On Your Foot Feels Like

I’m One Of Those Annoying People Who Would Rather Use Fifty Commas Than Shorten The Sentence

Seeing The Future In The Tear Stains On Your Cheeks

Do You Ever Feel Crowded In A Lonely Room

I Want To Eat Eggs Whole Shell And All

Adopt Your Enemies To Establish Dominance

I’ve Existed For Thousands Of Years Before Gaining Sentience

You Are A Dream In A Crowd Of Nightmares

Get Your Shoes Off My Bed You Animal

Do Not Invite Me To Your DnD Party Unless You Are Ready To Accept The Consequences

Too Good For Heaven Too Bad For Hell

I’m Not Above Eating Off The Floor

I Distinctly Remember The Time He Stayed With Us

I Know I May Look Like A Real Person But I Am Actually Not A Real Person At All

When It Comes To Near Death Experiences I’m An Expert

Your Skin Smells Like The Last Days Of Summer

I Never Learned How To Write

God Wouldn’t Have Wanted This / But This Isn’t About God / It’s About Our New Dish Soap / Now Available In Supermarkets Near You

Do You Remember Your First Time Tasting Water

You Know How Sometimes An Unwanted Guest Comes Over And You Do All You Can To Make Them Leave While Remaining Polite

Fizzy Brained Children Are So Troublesome

I Forgot What The Antagonist Of Legend Of Zelda Was Called And For A Good Moment Thought It Was Gandalf

You’re The First Descendant In A Line Of Workaholics Utterly Convinced Your Willingness To Sacrifice Your Own Health Determines Your Worth As A Human Being And Promptly Working Yourself To Death To Provide Unto Others What You Never Had A Chance To Understand You Deserved Yourself

I Am The Mirror In Which You Can See All The Evil In The World

So Far Throughout My Life I Got Mildly Electrocuted On Three Separate Occasions

Asking My DM Friend To Put A Light-Emitting Crab In Our Game

Leaving The Fridge At 3 In The Morning

Pepsi Makes My Teeth Go Numb

Peach Yoghurt Tastes Better With Whipped Cream

Thinking About Him (The Enlightened Prophet)

There’s A Strange Man Hiding In The Fruit Aisle

My Brain Operates On Frequencies You’ve Never Even Heard Of

The Curious Desire For Overwhelmingly Vivid Symmetry

My Computer Chair Broke So Now I’m Stuck Here Leaning To The Right

People Ask Me How I Manage To Think Of You Everyday And To Be Completely Honest I Never Know What To Say Because It Feels So Natural

Pepsi Running Through My Veins

What Flavour Is Your Mind

Sorry My Dad Said I Can’t Join Your Cult Today For I’m Grounded

Squirrels Ate My Will To Live

Being Told I’m Allowed To Make My Final Class Project About Any Topic I Want Awakens A Demon Inside Me That Makes Me Subject My Classmates To Only The Finest Of My Obscure Interests

Standing In Front Of Me She Quickly Undressed Confessing Her Desire To Cause Me Physical Harm And Needless To Say I Was Baffled But Nonetheless Intrigued

You Love Them Now You’ll Hate Them Later

The Only Thing Greater Than My Ego Is My Impostor Syndrome

Don’t Try To Tell Me How I’m Supposed To Breathe

Why Is There Fish Bait In The Fridge Again

You Scream Ancient Curses In Long Dead Languages And Perish Surrounded By Friends

The Subtle Taste Of La Croix And Gentrification

The Cons Of Being My Friend Greatly Outweigh The Pros

You Are Who We Say You Are Because Public Opinion Beats Self Worth Every Time

Angels Lost Their Charm When You Walked In

Some Days I Feel Like A Lobster On A Skateboard

Make Yourself Comfortable We’ll Be Falling For A While

Bleed Your Soul And Blind Your Eyes

You Can Stay At My Place But You’ll Never Find Me There

Had A Dream Today That Hastur Was A Canon Character In Deltarune (I Woke Up With Enough Adrenaline To Bypass Anxiety And Respond To My E-Mails)

Murder And Other Expressions Of Love

You Locked Me In A Cage And Threw Away The Key And When You Found Someone Better I Was Left To Gnaw On The Bars For My Freedom

What Do You MEAN There Was A Fire

Cough Syrup Flavours According To Tumblr User Darkangelofglory

A Little Weirdo Driven By Consumption

Does A Straw Have One Hole Or Two

I Want That Coca Cola Limelight

Clouds Did Not Exist Before 1997

More Dish Soap Than God Intended To Exist

Some Days The World Is Too Bright To Function

Sometimes I Look Up The Last Minutes Of A Movie I’ve Seen Before Because I’m Not Ready For The Emotional Investment Of Going Through The Plot’s Ups And Downs But Crave The Gratification Of A Happy Ending

My Companion Looked In Horror At The Scene Unfolding Before Our Very Eyes Before Finally Saying Out Loud What We’ve All Been Thinking / Did He… Did He Steal Her Teeth?

Give Me Salvation I Swear I Won’t Bite

Your Love Has Brought Me To The Point Of No Returning

I Can’t Get The Bees Out Of My Teeth

Open The Fridge Dear (I Promise I’m Not In It)

Please Don’t Lick The Walls

Two Egg Yolks Six Teaspoons Of Sugar And A Tablespoon Of Cocoa

Go To Sleep In The Morning And Wake Up At Noon Only To Go Back To Sleep Till Evening And Wake Up Full Of Regret And With A Headache

The Infinite Game Or The Inevitable Disappointment Induced By The Terminality Of Things And Its Ability To Ruin One’s Enjoyment Of The Thing In Question

If A Mushroom Can See Itself As A God So Can You

I Sold My Lungs On The Black Market

This Man Shoved His Face In a Tub Of Soap Bubbles - What Happened Next May Surprise You

A Sort Of Soft Paste Which Tastes Like Perfume

I’ve Nothing But Contempt For Fahrenheit

The Little People At The Bottom Of The Ocean

When I Grow Up I Want To Be Fruit Juice

You’re Being Hunted (By Me)

He Kinda Looks Like He’s Sucking On A Brick

Crying Over A Chicken Nugget

Slide-Whistles You To Death

All The Personality Of A Collapsed Lung

The Burning Fragrance Of Cleaning Supplies

The First Time You Scraped Your Knee Falling Off A Bike

Go Ahead And Floor It Luv

A Toast To Our Special Little Brand Of Sin

Dunks You In Tea LOL

Sipping Sunflower Oil From A Wine Glass

Even The Mushrooms Mourn Losing You

You And All Your Money That You’ve Stolen From The Poor

Where Do You Get Off Poisoning My Tea

The Man Of Wine And Cigarette Smoke

#Long Post

120 notes · View notes

zutraeumen · 9 months

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The Final Course

Chef Julian Slowik didn't know what to do with himself.

He didn't know how to feel about his ruined Menu, and about the two guests who made it so.

There was no time to waste on unnecessary thoughts other than salvage what was left and finish it. Although looking at the corpses of his avid followers, he regretted that not all made it to the journey with him. They deserved to feel liberated too.

Alas, death was nothing. He was the Chef, the Man. He worked with death every day. Death was his business. How could he call himself a chef if he didn't experience death? Two cooks tip the barrel on its side. A vicious liquid poured out across the floor.

Resigned to their fate, the diners didn't even bother lifting their feet. By now some even felt as if they deserved it.

Servers have begun draping thick sheets of marshmallow strung together with candy floss over the diners.

The staff continued to hustle, creating elaborate, Jackson Pollock splatters and swirls of melted chocolate and graham crackers crumbled atop the tables.

Slowik stood still as an owl and thought. He looked around his restaurant. The ferocious beauty of his food. The havoc he had caused. The totality of his life. And somehow he knew this wasn't the perfect ending to his menu. He shook his head, dismayed.

It was time for him to be done with it, "So. Before our final course, there is the matter of the bill."

Servers placed checks on the tables, along with little Hawthorn gift bags.

"We're on a no-tip system, so gratuity is included. Please enjoy your gift bags. A few goodies in there -- a booklet of our local suppliers, some house-made granola, one of Doug Verrek's fingers, and a copy of tonight's menu.

Lillian Bloom reached for her wallet until Ted stopped her, "No, this is on the magazine," He noticed that Lillian was almost about to cry, "I know."

"No, it's just - I just realized I'll never get to write about this."

Richard reached for his wallet with his one good hand and gave it to Anne.

"Can you take out my Amex?" He looked at her, "Anne?"

"I don't want an apology, Richard."

The man looked at his wife solemnly, glowing with shame and subsequent regret, "Happy Anniversary."

Each tech bro tossed in a credit card -- they're going Dutch.

The movie star put down his card.

"I am your friend," Felicity reacted with a sniff.

The movie star smiled at his only friend, "Told you you weren't leaving."

"Again, thank you all for dining with us tonight. You represent the ruin of my art, and my life, but now you get to be a part of it. A part of what I hope is my masterpiece."

With Chef's prompting, the guests slowly begin to clap. The movie star couldn't help but give it up sincerely for himself and for a fellow artist. The cooks applauded as well.

"And now, our final dessert course is a playful twist on a comfort food classic..."

"The S'more: the most offensive assault on the human palate ever contrived. Unethically sourced chocolate and gelatinized sugar water imprisoned by industrial-grade graham cracker. It's everything wrong with us and yet we associate it with innocence. Childhood. Mom and Dad.

Chef looked at his mother, who was passed out at her table.

"But what transforms this fucking monstrosity is fire. The purifying flame. It nourishes us, warms us, re-invents us, forges and destroys us. We must embrace the flame."

There were tears gathering in the eyes of our diners. They know what's happening and some even began praying. Slowik grabbed a handful of hot coal straight from the grill, not even registering how it burned his palm, and slowly made his way into the centre of the dining room.

"Please --" Anne begged shakingly.

But was she pleading for him to stop... or to continue?

"We must be cleansed. Made clean. Like martyrs or heretics, we can be subsumed and made anew."

Tears well in Chef Slowik's eyes. He paused, taking a deep breath. He had somehow found... release.

The chef tossed it in the flammable pool. A watery curtain of blue flame billowed across the floor. A warm, metamorphic glow illuminated the faces of our diners. Despite everything that had gone wrong, Chef Slowik was prepared to perish from this world that had grown so inhospitable to him, smiling face in the firelight.

There were screams of torture around him but it was as if the man ascended to Heaven already.

That was until the Devil came knocking on the door.

And dragged him hastily out of the restaurant.

#romance #horror #the menu #julian slowik #chef slowik #julian slowik x ofc #margot mills #john wick #john wick chapter 4 #keanu reeves #john wick 4 #winston scott #eventual happy ending #eventual comfort #eventual romance #eventual relationship #slow burn #enemies to lovers

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linawritesocs · 1 year

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my ocs (+ ships) as palette names!

here it is!! all titles are from this post AND HONESTLY I LOVE THEM SO MUCH SOME OF THEM SOUND LIKE REALLY COOL CHAPTER TITLES

all palettes were assigned based only on the titles and not the colors! though some palettes (the (name)-core ones) do have my ocs' vibes ndjdkddk

avery: wishing to rant about fanfiction but not wanting to show how much of a nerd you secretely are, you can’t just ask a guy why he’s in love, some days i’m afraid i will cut my eyes by the sight of glass shards (yes i picked this one only bc of his surname jdksksdkl IT DOES HAVE HIS VIBES THOUGH)

vance: only the floor candy can sustain me (vancecore), the act of balancing a bottle of juice on your head, some days i feel like a lobster on a skateboard

merrill: next time maybe don’t go into the forest at night hm buddy? just a thought, you are who we say you are because public opinion beats self worth every time, putting on a show to seem alive / when i don’t feel alive (wow these last two are SAD)

allen: focus on me (ignore the blood), do you remember when you told me that you love me when you told me that you love me when you told me that you, murder and other expressions of love

roland: stand still as the darkness grows roots in your mind, i loved you i did so how did we end up like this, men like us die alone because we think we deserve it (;w;)

fake!jay: hey quick question are we really about to commit arson? (literally his dynamic with allen), the doctor tried to check my heartbeat only to find out i don’t have one (a reminder that he's not really human!), the privilege of being born somebody else (THIS ONE. OH GOD THIS ONE)

real!jay: the lack of self esteem i’ve felt since i learned how to read or write (;w; AGAIN), soda cans are great i love accidentally spilling liquid on myself, when i was a small child i held an iguana once

austin: i’m always at least a little bit scared hopeless and frustrated, a classmate of mine once borrowed one of my pens and then decided it was such a good pen he’s just gonna keep it (austincore), crying because cats are cute and deserve the world

minnie: this is the third time someone put strawberries in the bathtub who keeps doing this please stop (minniecore), the horrifying ordeal of having loud neighbours, unexplainable excruciating pain that started suddenly and will never go away

hayden: an unhealthy relationship with one’s own identity (THIS IS LITERALLY HAYDEN), what flavour is your mind (a reference to him trying to understand other people's personalities more so that it's easier for him to manipulate them), the only thing greater than my ego is my impostor syndrome

riley: i’m a weirdo who likes to eat chalk, have you found yourself or your loved ones suffering from a case of empty eyes, an overemotional state projected upon the unsuspecting public (LITERALLY HIS UNIQUE MAGIC)

angel: this will hurt you more than it’ll hurt me - and that’s okay!, the girl in a blue dress that lives in every village ever (angelcore), the magical princess’s strawberry-scented battle axe of infinite bloodshed

bunny: wasting your life feeling like an underperforming tool in someone else’s hands (her relationship with angel..), the eye lips eye emoji face fills me with unbridled rage, what do you MEAN there was a fire

seth: your house has no anomalies but i’m reporting you for bad taste in art (YEAH THIS DOES SOUND LIKE SETH), you love them now you’ll hate them later (sethcore), i haven’t left the house in months (his backstory 😔)

and now, the oc ships!

avery x allen: what are you doing in my house / now now i don’t usually make it a habit to - stop yelling - break into people’s homes but as you can see sometimes i do, once again i am forced to ask what in the world did you bring into our home / what do you mean what did i bring it’s very clearly a radioactive waste barrel don’t pretend you don’t know that, the tall faceless lad out the corner of my eye who watches me sleep while pointing at the door

vance x riley: the man who looked at me so sweetly in soft flavours of deep beige, wish me luck honey (i couldn’t ask for more), just friends but we kiss sometimes

merrill x cater: can you help me find what’s wrong with me, men like us aren’t supposed to feel these things, it’s past my bedtime and i’m thinking of you (i don't talk a lot about this ship but trust me, i love them SO MUCH)

merrill x austin: of all the things you could be doing why are you romancing soda cans, wish we could go out for coffee but you hate me and i hate coffee, sorry that your rant about how the game i like ruined the whole series forever didn’t make me like it any less

allen x nemis: my girlfriend said i eat corn weird which now that i think about it would explain why i’m consistently covered in butter (listen it does sound like them), look at her go biting everyone who comes near her like a champ, here’s cheers to the man who stole my heart away

allen x hayden: let your tender hands rip me apart, what’s a little murder between friends, i’ve been chugging poison waiting for the day you inevitably take me up on my offer and take a proper bite out of me (THIS ONE. POWERFUL)

minnie x sebek: your love has brought me to the point of no returning, don’t try to tell me how i’m supposed to breathe, people ask me how i manage to think of you everyday and to be completely honest i never know what to say because it feels so natural

hayden x elpys: i need you to understand that i really do want what’s best for you - and that simply isn’t me, you are a dream in a crowd of nightmares, you must have real self confidence mortal to attempt flirting with something all holy

seth x riddle: dunks you in tea LOL, get your shoes off my bed you animal (these ones are chaotic and i love it), he to whom the cake’s dedicated

seth x rollo: i touch you and my hands burn my hands burn my hands burn (what have you done) (yeah it was painful to type this one), give me salvation i swear i won’t bite, well first of all i am positive what you did is a criminal offense / and second of all why didn’t you invite me (hiii i love "seth x rollo as a villain couple" so much <3)

#beauty with self grown thorns: avery #a gamer skater boy: vance #idia's e boy servant: merrill #the ultimate simp: allen #the gardening club leader: roland thorn #the literature and animals lover: jay #the lonely mechanic: austin #the mouse girlboss: minnie #the chameleon with a god complex: hayden #allen's kuudere cousin: riley #a strange but loving dorm leader: angel #a stressed vice dorm leader: bunny #the isolated prince: seth #friends' ocs!

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rebeccaana652 · 4 months

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Bid on the Oldest Bowmore Whisky Ever Aged in Oak for Over 52 Years

<h1>Rare 52-Year-Old Whisky to be Auctioned by Sotheby's</h1> <h2>A Special Collaboration Between Bowmore and Aston Martin</h2> <p>Bowmore Distillery and Aston Martin have worked together again to create something truly unique. Bowmore is a famous Scottish whisky company. Aston Martin makes some of the coolest and fastest sports cars in the world. When these two come together, it always results in amazing works of art.</p> <h3>The Oldest Bowmore Whisky Ever</h3> <p>This time they've crafted a very rare whisky. It's Bowmore's oldest ever at 52 years old! The master whisky maker at Bowmore selected some old whiskies that were made in the 1960s. He combined them to make this special liquid. It has been aging and changing flavors in oak barrels all that time.</p> <h3>A Perfect Matching Bottle</h3> <p>Aston Martin designed a very special bottle just for this whisky. The bottle looks like rippled gold similar to tree bark or ocean cliffs. It has a carbon fiber lid too. The bottle was made to match the liquid inside, which likely has a complex taste from all its years aging. Together the bottle and whisky are a true work of art.</p> <h3> Auction for a Good Cause</h3> <p>This one-of-a-kind bottle set will be auctioned by the famous auction house Sotheby's on May 26th in London, England. All the money raised will help support Bowmore's home island of Islay in Scotland. It will help protect their whisky making traditions for many years to come.</p> <h3>Past Successes</h3> <p>Bowmore and Aston Martin collaborations regularly set new records at auction. In 2021 a 51-year-old Bowmore sold for over $500,000! Their bottles are highly collectible. This new creation is sure to excite whisky and car enthusiasts globally. With only 100 bottles made, it will be a once-in-a-lifetime chance to own a piece of whisky and design history.</p> <h3>Tasting the Whisky</h3> <p>The 52-year-old liquid has spent decades in oak barrels, changing and developing rich new flavors. On the nose you'll find fresh dried fruits, orange zest, mint and smoke. Tasting it you're treated to honey-sweet fruit like apples and apricots. With lingering dried fruit and ocean mineral notes on the finish, this whisky has truly become a complex artwork in a glass.</p> <h4>An Event Not to be Missed</h4> <p>If you want a chance to own this spectacular one-of-a-kind whisky and the opportunity to support such important causes, be sure to register to bid with Sotheby's on May 26th. It's sure to be one for the history books!</p>

#distillery

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tairanilma · 4 months

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This interpretation highlights the complex and creative aspects of investing in cognac, highlighting the craftsmanship that goes into each bottle

A new participant has entered the investing scene, providing a distinct fusion of refinement and financial appeal: cognac. Traditionally, the world of stocks and bonds has taken center stage. Originating in France's renowned Cognac area, this amber beverage has evolved beyond a simple mixer to become an artistic creation and a symbol of wealth. As investors in the UK raise their glasses to the art of cognac investing, it is clear that each painstakingly created bottle's artistic and complex qualities are just as appealing as the possibility of financial development.

Crafting an Investment Palette: The Intricacies of Cognac Production

To truly appreciate the art of investing in cognac, one must first understand the intricate process that transforms grapes into a liquid masterpiece. Cognac, a variety of brandy, begins its journey as white wine grapes carefully selected from the fertile vineyards of the Cognac region. The alchemy unfolds in copper pot stills, where the liquid undergoes a meticulous distillation process, extracting flavors and aromas that will mature into a symphony of notes over the years.

The aging process, a crucial chapter in the cognac-making saga, takes place in oak barrels. It is during this period that the spirit breathes, absorbing the essence of the wood and developing the complex layers that distinguish a fine cognac. As the liquid amber nectar ages, it not only gains character but also rarity—a key element in the investment palette.

The Rarity Factor: Investing in Timeless Elegance

In the realm of investments, scarcity often equates to value, and cognac embodies this principle with finesse. Each bottle is a time capsule, encapsulating not only the craftsmanship of its creation but also the passage of time. Investors in the UK are drawn to the rarity factor, recognizing that as the supply of certain vintages dwindles, their market value is poised to soar.

Limited editions and rare releases, akin to exclusive art pieces, command attention in the world of cognac investment. Distilleries, known for their commitment to excellence, release these gems sporadically, creating a sense of anticipation and urgency among investors seeking to add a touch of exclusivity to their portfolios.

Cultural Symphony: Cognac as a Symbol of Sophistication

Beyond the financial considerations, cognac resonates deeply with the cultural sensibilities of the discerning investor. It is not merely a drink; it is a symbol of sophistication, a testament to the refined tastes of those who appreciate the finer things in life. In the UK, where a rich history of appreciating luxury goods exists, cognac finds itself embraced not only as an investment but as an emblem of status and discernment.

Investors become patrons of a cultural symphony, where each bottle represents a note in the grand composition of indulgence and refinement. Cognac, with its heritage and pedigree, becomes a tangible expression of an investor's commitment to the art of living well.

Tasting the Terroir: Investing in Distinctive Flavors and Aromas

Just as an artist selects a specific color palette to evoke emotions, cognac enthusiasts and investors alike are captivated by the diverse flavors and aromas presented by different terroirs. The Cognac region, blessed with a unique combination of soil, climate, and grape varieties, gives birth to a spectrum of taste profiles—from the robust and full-bodied to the delicate and floral.

Investing in cognac becomes a journey of the senses, a quest to identify and acquire bottles that not only appreciate in monetary value but also promise a sensorial adventure. The terroir, like an artist's signature, adds a distinctive touch to each bottle, ensuring that investors partake not just in a financial venture but in a flavorful odyssey.

The Auction House as an Art Gallery: Authenticating and Appreciating

In the art world, galleries and auction houses serve as custodians of creativity, curating collections that transcend time. Similarly, in the realm of cognac investment, auction houses play a pivotal role as the custodians of liquid art. Investors in the UK turn to these reputable establishments not only to authenticate the provenance of their acquisitions but also to appreciate the evolving value of their cognac portfolios.

The gavel falls, and bids rise as collectors vie for the privilege of owning a piece of liquid history. It is within these hallowed halls that the artistic and investment dimensions of cognac converge, creating an environment where rarity, craftsmanship, and market dynamics intertwine to shape the value of each bottle.

Storage: The Gallery of Time

Just as a painting requires a controlled environment to maintain its integrity, so too does cognac demand meticulous storage. Investors understand that the gallery of time must be curated with precision, ensuring that each bottle ages gracefully and retains its distinct characteristics.

Temperature, humidity, and light—all play crucial roles in the preservation of the investment. Savvy investors invest not only in the liquid within the bottle but also in the conditions that surround it. The gallery of time becomes a sanctuary, where the artistry of cognac is safeguarded, ready to be unveiled at its peak.

Diversification: A Palette of Possibilities

Artists seldom limit themselves to a single medium, and cognac investors follow a similar principle—diversification. While some may specialize in a particular distillery or vintage, the astute investor recognizes the value of building a diversified collection.

Diversification mitigates risks and ensures that the palette of possibilities remains broad. As trends shift and preferences evolve, a well-rounded collection allows investors to adapt and cater to the dynamic nature of the market. Each bottle, a stroke on the canvas of diversity, adds depth and resilience to the investment portfolio.

Market Trends: Painting the Future of Cognac Investment in the UK

To truly appreciate the art of investing in cognac in the UK, one must cast an eye towards the future. Market trends, like evolving art movements, offer insights into the direction of the cognac investment landscape.

The ongoing expansion of the luxury goods market, coupled with a growing global demand for premium spirits, positions cognac as not just an investment but a reflection of contemporary tastes. Investors keen on capturing the zeitgeist recognize the potential for both short-term gains and long-term prosperity.

Conclusion: Raising a Glass to Art and Prosperity

In the grand gallery of investments, cognac emerges as a masterpiece—a fusion of art and prosperity. Investors in the UK, drawn to the artistic and intricate nature of this liquid asset, find themselves not only securing financial gains but becoming patrons of a cultural symphony. As each bottle is uncorked, it releases not only the flavors of time and craftsmanship but also the promise of a prosperous investment journey.

So, here's to pouring prosperity, to the art of investing in cognac in the UK—a journey where financial acumen meets the refined palate, and each sip is a toast to a canvas well-painted. As the market evolves and the value of rarity appreciates, investors will continue to find themselves immersed in a world where the liquid gold of cognac becomes not just a symbol of wealth but a testament to the artistry of investing.

#CognacInvesting #LiquidAssets #InvestmentPortfolio #FinancialArtistry #LuxuryInvestments #CulturalSymphony #RareCognac #TerroirTasting

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neflication · 4 months

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From Sunset Skies to Sun-Kissed Grapes: Uncorking the Art of Cognac Investment

The cognac region of France evokes images of rolling vineyards cloaked in golden sunlight, weathered chateaux overlooking emerald hills, and the heady aroma of oak-aged spirits swirling in a crystal snifter. It's a landscape steeped in history, where meticulous tradition meets meticulous craftsmanship to produce a liquid legacy. But beyond the romance and allure, cognac also presents a unique and potentially lucrative opportunity for investors.

Investing in Liquid Gold:

Unlike stocks or bonds, cognac isn't subject to the whims of the daily market. Instead, its value lies in its tangible essence, captured in the sun-drenched grapes, patient aging, and the artistry of the cognac house. Here's why cognac makes a compelling addition to a diversified portfolio:

Tangible Asset: Unlike the ephemeral nature of most investments, cognac is a physical asset, a bottle containing years of meticulously crafted liquid history. Its scarcity and provenance contribute to its inherent value.

Limited Supply: Unlike mass-produced spirits, cognac is subject to strict regulations that limit production, ensuring scarcity and driving up value over time.

Age Premium: Cognac, unlike some spirits, appreciates with age. The longer it rests in oak barrels, the smoother, more complex, and more valuable it becomes.

Hedge Against Inflation: As with other luxury goods, cognac tends to outperform inflation over the long term, making it a valuable hedge against economic fluctuations.

Diversification: Adding cognac to your portfolio diversifies your holdings, potentially decreasing risk and providing exposure to a unique asset class.

Uncorking the Investment Strategies:

Navigating the world of cognac investment requires more than just a discerning palate. Here are some key strategies to consider:

Investing in Vintage Cognacs: Rare vintages, particularly those predating the 1970s, are highly sought-after and experience significant price appreciation over time. However, thorough research and expert guidance are crucial to avoid forgeries and ensure authenticity.

Limited Editions: Cognac houses often release limited editions, collectible bottles adorned with special labels or housed in exquisite decanters. These often appreciate rapidly due to their rarity and exclusivity.

Building a Cellar: Creating a curated collection of different cognacs, ages, and houses allows you to experience the evolution of flavors and potentially benefit from value increases over time. Patience and a long-term perspective are key here.

Investing in Funds: For those seeking a less hands-on approach, specialized cognac investment funds offer diversified portfolios managed by experts. These provide access to rare vintages and limited editions that might be inaccessible to individual investors.

Beyond the Numbers:

While the financial potential of cognac investment is undeniable, the true allure lies in the journey itself. Immersing yourself in the cognac world opens doors to a rich tapestry of history, culture, and artisanal expertise. Visiting the chateaux, witnessing the meticulous harvesting and distillation processes, and engaging with the passionate cognac families themselves is an experience that transcends mere financial reward.

A Toast to the Future:

Cognac investment is not simply about acquiring bottles; it's about appreciating the art, heritage, and dedication that goes into every drop. It's an investment in a timeless tradition, a celebration of excellence, and a toast to the future generations who will savor the liquid legacy handed down through time.

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articlesbynav · 4 months

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Cognac Chronicles: Unveiling the Investment Charms of a Timeless Spirit

The ancient spirit of cognac, which has its roots in the soils of southwest France, has evolved from being just an alcoholic beverage to being a highly attractive business prospect. This amber-hued elixir, which was created through a rigorous distillation process and matured in oak barrels, possesses a distinct combination of exclusivity, craftsmanship, and global appeal in addition to its rich cultural legacy. We examine the market dynamics and historical relevance of cognac, which combine traditional and contemporary economic sensibilities to make it an alluring investment option, in this examination of the Cognac Chronicles.

The Origins: A Journey Through Time

To understand the investment charms of cognac, one must embark on a journey through time, tracing the spirit's origins back to the 16th century. The town of Cognac, nestled in the Charente region, became the epicenter of a burgeoning industry that transformed the humble grape into a sophisticated and sought-after libation. The art of distillation, introduced by Dutch settlers, laid the foundation for what would become one of the world's most revered spirits.

As the centuries unfolded, cognac evolved from a regional delicacy to a symbol of luxury and refinement. The Charente's limestone-rich terroir, coupled with a climate ideal for grape cultivation, bestowed upon the spirit a distinct character that resonates with connoisseurs and collectors alike. The cognac houses, many of which have histories spanning several generations, contributed to the creation of a liquid legacy that transcends time.

Craftsmanship and Limited Production

One of the pivotal factors that elevate cognac into the realm of investment-worthy assets is the meticulous craftsmanship and limited production that define its essence. The production of cognac adheres to stringent regulations, ensuring that only the finest grapes from the designated crus find their way into the alembic stills. The distillation process, an alchemical dance of heat and time, extracts the very soul of the grapes, creating a distillate that is then aged in oak barrels.

The aging process is where cognac acquires its complexity and depth. Each cognac house boasts a repertoire of aging cellars, some dating back centuries, housing casks that nurture the eaux-de-vie into a symphony of flavors. The patience required for this maturation process adds a layer of scarcity to the final product. Unlike wine, which can be continuously produced, the finite nature of aged cognac makes it a rare and coveted commodity.

Cognac Classification and Investment Tiers

To fully appreciate the investment potential of cognac, one must understand its classification system. The Appellation d'Origine Contrôlée (AOC) regulations divide cognac into several categories based on the geographic origin of the grapes and the aging process. The tiers range from VS (Very Special) to XO (Extra Old), with each designation signifying a different minimum age requirement for the eaux-de-vie.

Investors often find themselves drawn to higher-tier cognacs due to their increased age and complexity. XO and beyond, which include designations like Hors d'Âge and Extra, represent the pinnacle of craftsmanship and are often produced in limited quantities. The rarity of these aged spirits positions them as not just exquisite indulgences but also as potential appreciating assets in the world of investments.

Global Allure and Market Dynamics

Beyond the borders of France, cognac has attained a global allure that transcends cultural and geographic boundaries. It has become a status symbol and a mark of sophistication in international markets. The demand for premium cognac has surged in emerging economies, further fueling its reputation as a symbol of luxury and exclusivity.

The Asian market, particularly China, has played a pivotal role in driving the global demand for cognac. The spirit's association with celebration and gift-giving aligns seamlessly with Chinese cultural norms, making it a coveted item during festivals and special occasions. This surge in demand has contributed to the rise in value for rare and vintage cognacs, attracting the attention of investors seeking alternative assets with the potential for significant returns.

Investment Considerations: A Blend of Tradition and Modernity

Investing in cognac requires a delicate balance of understanding tradition and navigating the modern economic landscape. While the spirit's cultural significance and craftsmanship form the backbone of its investment appeal, savvy investors must also consider market trends, brand reputation, and the potential for appreciation.

Brand recognition plays a pivotal role in the investment value of cognac. Established houses with a legacy of producing exceptional spirits often command higher prices in the market. However, the emergence of artisanal and boutique producers adds a dynamic element to the investment landscape, providing opportunities for investors to explore new and innovative expressions.

Auction houses and specialized retailers have become key players in the secondary market for cognac. Rare and limited-edition releases, often accompanied by exquisite packaging and presentation, fetch premium prices at auctions. The growing interest in spirits as alternative investments has led to the establishment of dedicated platforms and indices tracking the performance of rare and collectible cognacs, further legitimizing the spirit's place in investment portfolios.

Risks and Rewards: Navigating the Cognac Investment Landscape

As with any investment, cognac carries its own set of risks and rewards. The limited production and finite nature of aged cognac contribute to its appeal, but they also make it susceptible to fluctuations in supply and demand. Economic downturns, changes in consumer preferences, or unforeseen global events can impact the market for luxury spirits.

The potential rewards, however, are equally compelling. Rare and well-maintained collections of cognac have shown impressive appreciation over the years, outperforming traditional investment assets in some cases. The combination of scarcity, craftsmanship, and global demand positions cognac as a tangible asset that appeals to both seasoned collectors and newcomers to the world of spirits investments.

Conclusion

In the realm of alternative investments, cognac stands as a unique and alluring option, offering a blend of cultural richness, limited production, and global appeal. The journey through the Cognac Chronicles reveals a spirit that has weathered the sands of time, evolving from a regional delicacy to a symbol of luxury and refinement. The meticulous craftsmanship, limited production, and international allure contribute to cognac's investment charms, enticing collectors and investors alike.

Navigating the cognac investment landscape requires an appreciation for tradition coupled with a keen understanding of modern market dynamics. The classification system, global demand, and the role of auction houses all play integral parts in shaping the investment potential of this timeless spirit. While cognac may not be a conventional investment, its ability to offer both sensory pleasure and potential financial gains positions it as a noteworthy addition to diversified portfolios.

As investors continue to seek alternative assets that go beyond traditional stocks and bonds, cognac emerges as a liquid treasure that embodies the convergence of history, craftsmanship, and market dynamics. The Cognac Chronicles, with its chapters written by the hands of generations past, beckon investors to explore the world of spirits with a discerning eye and a thirst for both knowledge and profit

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xtruss · 1 year

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Welcome to a New Era of Petrodollar Power! What are the Hundreds of Billions of Oil Riches Being Spent On?

— Finance & Economics | Sovereign-Stealth Funds | April 9th, 2023

DOHA, QATAR - November 16: Doha Bay with the skyline of the city in the background taken from the Museum of Islamic art ahead of the FIFA World Cup Qatar 2022 at on November 16, 2022 in Doha, Qatar. (Photo by Buda Mendes/Getty Images)

Apack of hungry headhunters has descended on Europe’s financial quarters. Over coffee in the mid-morning lull, they tempt staffers at blue-chip investment funds with tax-free jobs, golden visas and gorgeous vistas at the firms’ clients: sovereign-wealth funds in the Gulf.

A decade in Doha was once a hard sell, but the roles are juicy enough that many would-be recruits volunteer for desert-bound “business trips” to see headquarters. In October recruiters nabbed the second-in-command at Amundi, Europe’s biggest money manager, to deploy artificial intelligence at the Abu Dhabi Investment Authority (adia), which oversees assets worth $1trn. Now they are chasing others to invest in infrastructure for the Qatar Investment Authority (qia) and oversee finance for Saudi Arabia’s Public Investment Fund (pif). Together these two funds manage another $1trn.

War and sanctions have buoyed hydrocarbon prices, meaning fuel exporters are swimming in money. During previous booms they would recycle the proceeds in Western capital markets, snapping up pedestrian, uber-liquid assets via banks based offshore. Underpinning this was an unspoken agreement: America would offer military aid and buy oil from Saudi Arabia and friends, in exchange for which they would plug Uncle Sam’s gaping current-account deficit with petrodollars. The talent-hunting party suggests the deal is crumbling. Uncle Sam, now a major oil exporter, is a less watchful partner. Gulf states, lured by Asia and eager to mend ties with Israel and, lately, Iran, no longer feel compelled to woo the White House. On April 2nd Saudi Arabia and its allies angered America by deepening crude-output cuts to nearly 4m barrels a day, equivalent to 4% of global production, which helped lift prices. They also feel freer to use their mountains of cash however they wish.

We estimate that in 2022-23 the current-account surplus of the Gulf’s petrostates may hit two-thirds of a trillion dollars. Yet outside central banks, which no longer collect much of the bounty, the region’s treasure troves are notoriously opaque. To map where the money is going, The Economist has scrutinised government accounts, global asset markets and the deal rooms of companies tasked with investing the windfall. Our investigation suggests that less of the money is returning to the West. Instead, a growing share is being used to advance political aims at home and gain influence abroad, making global finance a murkier system.

The Gulf is not alone in enjoying a windfall. Last year Norway, which cranked up gas exports to Europe as Russia cut supplies, earned a record $161bn in tax from hydrocarbon sales, a 150% jump from 2021. Even Russia, under sanctions, saw such revenue rise by 19%, to $210bn. But it is the Gulf states, which benefit from low production costs, spare capacity and convenient geography, that are hitting the jackpot. Rystad Energy, a consultancy, reckons they pocketed $600bn in tax from hydrocarbon exports in 2022.

Not all of them are in a position to truly benefit. Governments in Bahrain and Iraq are so bloated that even as higher revenues flow in, they barely break even. Most of the bounty is instead being accrued by the four biggest members of the Gulf Co-operation Council (gcc): Kuwait, Qatar, the uae and Saudi Arabia. Alex Etra of Exante, a data firm, estimates their combined current-account surplus in 2022 was $350bn. Oil prices have fallen since last year, when Brent crude, the global benchmark, averaged $100 a barrel. Yet assuming it stays near $85—a conservative bet—Mr Etra reckons the four giants could still pocket a $300bn surplus in 2023. That makes a cumulative $650bn over the two years.

In the past the majority of this would have gone straight into central banks’ foreign-exchange reserves. Most members of the gcc peg their currencies to the dollar, so they must set aside or invest hard currency during booms. This time, however, central-bank reserves seem to be hardly growing. Interventions on foreign-currency markets have also been rare, confirming that the usual guardians of state riches are not getting the surplus.

So where have the elusive billions gone? Our research finds they have been used in three novel ways by a variety of actors that include national governments, central banks and sovereign-wealth funds. These are to pay back external debt, lend to friends and acquire foreign assets.

Start with debt. Between 2014 and 2016 a petroleum glut fuelled by America’s shale boom caused the oil price to fall from $120 a barrel to $30, the steepest decline in modern history. In 2020, as covid-19 lockdowns depressed demand, prices cratered again, to $18 in April. To withstand the earnings shock, Gulf states liquidated some foreign assets and their central banks sold part of their foreign-currency stash. But this was not enough, so they also borrowed a lot of hard currency on Western capital markets.

Now some petrostates are taking advantage of higher prices to shore up their balance-sheets. Abu Dhabi, the uae’s richest emirate, has repaid $3bn since the end of 2021—about 7% of the total outstanding, according to Alexander Perjessy of Moody’s, a ratings agency. Qatar’s load has shrunk by $4bn, or about 4%. Kuwait’s has halved since 2020. This broad deleveraging is a new phenomenon: gcc countries had little debt in the late 2000s, when the previous oil boom got going.

Gulf states are also lending a hand to friends in need—the second use of the new oil money. In early 2022 the central bank of Egypt, a big food importer squeezed by high grain prices, received $13bn in deposits from Qatar, Saudi Arabia and the uae. In recent years, Saudi Arabia has also allowed Pakistan to defer payment for billions of dollars in oil purchases. This money is more conditional than in the past. Eager to see at least some of its cash return, Saudi Arabia recently demanded Egypt and Pakistan implement economic reforms before giving them more help. Some of the Gulf support also comes in exchange for stakes in state-owned assets these embattled countries are putting up for sale.

So Pumped

The real novelty in this regard is Turkey. When squeezed, Ankara used to turn to the imf, or European banks, for emergency-cash injections. Recently, as surging inflation and earthquakes have pushed the country to the brink, it is Gulf states that have been holding the syringe. The support takes various forms. On March 6th Saudi Arabia said it would deposit $5bn at the country’s central bank. Qatar and the uae have also set up $19bn in currency swaps with the institution, according to an estimate by Brad Setser of the Council on Foreign Relations, a think-tank. All three have pledged to participate in Turkey’s forthcoming auctions of government bonds.

Qatar is a long-standing ally of Turkey. Saudi Arabia and the uae, which until recently had a frosty relationship with the republic, are now competing for influence. All sense an opportunity to gain sway over Recep Tayyip Erdogan, the country’s president, who faces a tough election in May. The Turkish case sets a precedent. As more neighbours face crunches, bilateral credit will become core to gcc statecraft, predicts Douglas Rediker, a former imf official.

Yet for all their geopolitical significance, such loans account for only a fraction of the oil jackpot. That leaves the main escape channel: foreign investments.

In past booms the central banks of the world’s two largest petrostates—Russia and Saudi Arabia—did much of the recycling, meaning that the assets they purchased were labelled as reserves. All these countries wanted was stable yields and few surprises. Most often they parked the cash at Western banks or bought super-safe government bonds—so many that Gulf appetite, along with China’s, is credited for helping to create the loose monetary conditions that fed the 2000s sub-prime bubble. Only Qatar, known then as the “cowboy of the Middle East”, did anything more daring: buying a football club here, a glitzy skyscraper there.

Today the Russian central bank’s reserves are frozen. And since 2015, when Muhammad Bin Salman (mbs) became de facto ruler, the Saudi central bank has received far less money than pif, which mbs chairs. In just a few years pif and its peers across the region have swelled in size. If hydrocarbons stay expensive, and more of the bounty flows to them, they could grow much bigger still. Everything indicates that their way of recycling riches is very different. It is more adventurous and political, and less Western-centric.

Figuring out what Gulf sovereign-wealth funds have been up to is much more difficult than it would be for, say, Norway’s fund. The Gulf institutions do not update their strategy, size and holdings live on their websites, as the one in Oslo does. But there are clues. Data from the Bank for International Settlements, a club of central banks, suggests that, initially, most of the cash was parked in foreign bank accounts. In the Saudi case, such deposits were worth $81bn in the year to September, equivalent to 54% of the current-account surplus over the period, calculates Capital Economics, a consultancy.

Perhaps sovereign-wealth funds have been waiting for interest rates to peak before piling into bonds. More likely they are after less conventional assets, which take time to select. Data from the Treasury International Capital system, which tracks flows into American securities, suggest oil exporters have been buying fewer Treasury bonds than would previously have been expected. But they have been hungrier for stocks—and such numbers understate their appetite, because Gulf sovereign-wealth funds often buy American shares through European asset managers. An executive at one such firm says his Gulf clients have topped up their American-stock accounts copiously in recent months.

Sovereign-wealth funds largely invest in stocks via index funds, which are low cost and offer diversification. But they also like riskier bets. Today “alternative assets”—private equity, property, infrastructure and hedge funds—represent 23-37% of total assets for the three largest funds in the Gulf, according to Global swf, a data firm. These shares have jumped at the same time as war chests have grown.

Although such investments are often done through funds, “direct” investments—private-market deals, or acquisitions of stakes in listed companies—are growing very fast, says Max Castelli of ubs, a bank. pif’s alone reached $18bn in the year to September, against $48bn for more classic “portfolio” investments. Sovereign-wealth funds have also begun to provide debt to finance large takeovers, including by buy-out groups. On April 4th pif disclosed that it had acquired dozens of stakes in private-equity firms themselves.

Sovereign-wealth funds can do all this because they now have the ability to manage investments. “Unless we have something extraordinary, we are forbidden from pitching anything to them,” says a European asset manager. adia has cut its workforce from 1,700 to 1,300 since 2021, but new recruits include a group of maths whizzes co-led by an Ivy League professor. The current hiring offensive suggests funds will grow more independent, retaining investment firms only for specific services and market intelligence.

Since last year sovereign-wealth funds have been dumping European stocks, to the benefit of America. But locals notice a newer eastward tilt. Gulf funds have created specialist teams to survey China, India and South-East Asia. “This is where they’re going to sell more oil, so they want to invest in industries that will use that oil,” says the boss of a large investment-banking franchise. And at a time when others are walking back from China, nervous of rising tensions with America, they are doubling down. “Our Gulf clients see an enormous opportunity to take space away from Western investors,” says the boss of a private-markets giant.

All of which points to an important plank in the sovereign-wealth funds’ new approach: advancing Gulf states’ strategic goals. One such objective has been to project soft power. pif may have lost a big chunk of the $45bn it invested in 2016 in the Vision Fund, a gigantic vehicle for tech investments that has been rocked by bad bets and market shocks. But the mammoth cheque did a great deal to raise Saudi Arabia’s profile among global investors, says one who recently opened an office in Riyadh. Funds are also setting aside capital to shower on neighbours, boosting their regional sway. pif has set up subsidiaries in Bahrain, Egypt, Iraq, Jordan, Oman and Sudan to deploy $24bn in the Arab countries.

A Vision of the Future! This picture taken on October 18, 2022 shows a view of solar panels at the newly-inaugurated al-Kharsaah solar power plant in Qatar. — Gas-rich Qatar inaugurated its first solar plant on October 18, which organisers of the World Cup have said will provide clean energy for its stadiums. The solar farm in al-Kharsaah, west of the capital.

Greater standing opens up fresh opportunities to invest in firms in “strategic” industries, including renewable energy. In October Mubadala, an Emirati sovereign-wealth fund, splashed $2.5bn on a German offshore-wind developer. qia bought 10% of rwe, a German utility, to help it acquire a solar business in America. These investments are often made with a view to reimporting knowledge or capital.

Last year Lucid, an American electric-car maker, some 61% of which is owned by pif, said it would build its first overseas factory in Riyadh. The fund plans to splash $38bn on gaming to try to bring entertainment to Saudi Arabia. Not all such bets turn out well. Saudi National Bank, owned by pif, lost 80% of its investment in Credit Suisse when the firm was acquired by ubs, undermining the Kingdom’s ambition to steer a global banker. Some sovereign-wealth funds are also being leant on to invest at home, so as to help economies cut their reliance on oil. pif is bankrolling futuristic Saudi settlements, including Neom, a new city in the desert, which the Kingdom’s rulers dream will one day be home to a floating industrial complex, global trade hub and luxury holiday resorts.

The best illustration of the sovereign-wealth funds’ evolving strategy is Abu Dhabi. Insiders say that adia, the uae’s oldest and starchiest fund, is getting less of the oil windfall than it used to enjoy. Instead, the lion’s share is going to adq, a four-year-old $157bn fund which snaps up firms in energy, food, transport and pharma—industries the emirate deems core to its security. Other cash is going to Mubadala, which had just $15bn in assets in 2008 but now oversees nearly $300bn. Originally heavy on commodities, its portfolio favours renewables and tech. Two-thirds of its investments are in private markets; a quarter are domestic. “There is no limit to their ambition,” says a dealmaker.

Blended Finance

These shifts are blurring the line between ruling families’ personal wealth and that of the sovereign. The fastest-growing funds tend to be run by royals, or members of their clan. In March Sheikh Tahnoon bin Zayed, the uae’s national-security adviser, was made chairman of adia (he already chairs adq; his brother will soon run Mubadala). More money is going on pet projects, often through special-purpose vehicles. New “family offices”, which manage the private wealth of the mega-minted, have joined the deal-fest. Armed with war chests “in the ten digits”, they routinely buy $500m-1bn stakes in single firms, says a local banker. It is becoming ever harder to see where oil money goes.

All this is bad news for the West. That it gets less of the bounty is the smaller problem. A murkier financial system makes it easier for funds to move around unnoticed. Financial sleuths reckon that a share of Russia’s oil earnings is deposited into banks in the Gulf, where it is mixed with dollars owned by others so as to become untraceable. More geopolitically astute petrostates also create the chance for wavering countries, like Turkey, to get financing outside of Western-led institutions, giving them an extra degree of freedom. Two decades ago, when sovereign-wealth funds became fashionable, many in the West worried they might be used to pursue political agendas. At the time, such fears were overblown. They now seem more reasonable—but few are paying attention. ■

— This article appeared in the Finance & Economics section of the print edition under the headline "A New Era of Petrodollar Power"

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kristensenslaughter67 · 2 years

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Hublot Watches In Milan

Crocco has a history of watchmaking and helped create Breil watches before starting Hublot. Hublot is a popular watchmaking company that features Swiss-quality design and engineering. The company’s founder is an Italian, Carlo Crocco, and the company saw its foundation in 1980. luxury watch brands for men If you’re into watch cases that deviate from the usual round, this one's for you. The Hublot Spirit of Big Bang is different for its barrel-shaped case. It has a clever multi-layer construction that lets Hublot experiment with many combinations of materials, finishes, and color. We are extremely proud to be the No. 1 online marketplace for buyers and sellers of luxury pre-owned watches. Like the allegory of the prodigal son, Carlo was part of the Binda Group dynasty, a Watch and Jewelry maker that was already famous for making Breil Watches. Well, until 1976, when he took the brave step to move to Switzerland and start his own watch company. Hublot is also venturing into uncharted territory with their Magic Gold. Unlike other gold alloys that are made by adding other metals, Magic Gold is a mixture of ceramic and liquid gold. The Hublot store features a new layout concept, with a modern and sophisticated character, dominated by shades of grey and black. A state-of-the-art design that brings to mind the Hublot boutique in New York, created by the famous America architect Peter Marino. We lend against many watch brands including but not limited to Rolex,Patek Philippe,Cartier, Vacheron, Jaeger-LeCoultre, Frank Muller, IWC,Omega,Breitling, Panerai,Audemars Piguet and Hublot. Around 2010, Hublot took the step towards becoming a true watch manufacturer by building their own in-house movements. Hublot boasts in-house metallurgists who seek out to create the innovative materials to be later used on the brand’s watches. Let our in-house experts guide you through your own personalised shopping experience from the comfort of your own home or office. Far from depreciating the product, the rubber strap would rather become an extension of the watch, providing additional space for the design to express itself. The Hublot straps have become a must and once again this is the result of a visionary move by Jean-Claude Biver. As for the dial of the Big Bang watch, it is open-worked and enables a beautiful view on the intricacies of the proprietary Hublot movement, the Swiss Unico movement. The dial is surrounded by a sleek inner bezel flange that bears running hour and minute tracks with five minute incremental Arabic numerals. No. 4 Hublot Big Bang This Hublot watch shines inside a brush finished 45mm, 18k rose gold case with a transparent back and polished edges. The fixed, black ceramic bezel bears a Satin finish and is secured by 6 ‘H’ shaped titanium screws. It touts a transparent dial composed of Sapphire crystal and bears ‘Applique’ style Arabic numerals in a brush finished rose gold tone and the index markers with luminous essence. Hublot classic fusion collection offers different sorts of Hublot wrist band and strap. The design of the watches is inspired by early models of 1980 and it portrays the manufacturer’s fusion concept in a proper way. An example of this is it mixes class leather strap with ceramic or carbon cases. Hublot is known for successfully bringing together the art of fine watchmaking and brilliant innovation. Founded by Italian watchmaker Carlos Crocco, the first Hublot watch was made of gold, a precious metal, with a black rubber strap. The watch was, in fact, shaped like a “hublot” (French for “porthole”). This unique chronograph design revolutionized the world of horology, as Crocco mixed top-tier materials in a way that had not been done before. Once Hublot became noticed among royalty and celebrities, it was just the beginning of the brand’s success. The luxury brand calls its design process “the Art of Fusion,” where manufacturing meets flexibility, and tradition and innovation come together as one.

#seiko astron #seiko astron gps solar #mens luxury watch brands #affordable luxury watch brands #luxury watch brands for men #seiko gps solar #luxury watch brands

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dystopia-fantasy · 3 years

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Always read the job description -Part 1

Max was a fit, well built man. He had been body building since he was 14 and now In his early 40s he has the body of a god, but is slowly getting to the age when he needs to find another way to make money. He knows he can't take part in his competitions anymore, and needs to take it easy. He got great grades in school and college, proving people wrong that you can't be a nerd in a jock body.

Max had some money saved and was able to keep up on bills for a few months but needed a job to keep his large house, in the rich area of the city. He got a call from a business he applied to a couple of days ago, telling him to go in for an interview tomorrow, and if it goes well he will be sent straight on a trip for the company. He gets his new blue suit ready to be worn the next day.

The morning arrives, it's 5am, and Max wakes. He does his normal morning routine, making breakfast, working out, taking a shower, then gets his suit on ready for his early morning interview. Driving to the office building in the middle of New York, it's at least 50 stories high, and is made of mostly glass, and is one of the newest modern builds in the city.

On arrival a large man in his late 60s wearing a suit greets him, "hello sir, you must be max, Sir Mammon is on his way down to collect you, may I say what an amazing suit you have on today".

Max looks the man up and down, seeing the man's huge belly flowing out from under his dress shirt, showing a massive W shape, "thanks mate, you might want a bigger shirt" then points to his belly.

"sorry if I offended you sir, but all clothing has been chosen by Sir Mammon himself" Mammon is the big boss of the business "if you would like to make a complaint I can print you a form".

Max laughs, "No thanks, I'm gonna sit over there, tell Mammon im there".

"will do sir, have a great day" the man says while max walks away paying no more attention to him.

About 15 minutes later a young handsome slender man walks over. "Max is it?" He says behind Max.

"yes.." max says confused.

"I'm Mammon, nice to meet you" he smiles holding his hand out for a shake.

"oh hello Mammon, is wasn't expecting someone so young, no offence of course" max shaking his hand.

Mammon let's out a little laugh, with a little grin "it's ok max, people don't expect someone like me to own such a remarkable company like this one would you like to follow me, we can go up to my office, this is Mark by the way, he's my Butler". Mark is another large man aged around 50, he has a massive belly stuffed into his suit, hes huffing and puffing, like he ran a marithon, "don't mind him, most of my staff are..."

Max cuts him off "fat?"

They both laugh, "you could say that Max" the elevator arrives and they all walk in, "now max, you did read the whole advertisement correct?".

Max didn't, it's was 48 pages long, who would read it all? He just looked at the wage he would get, it started at $100,000 per month. "Yes, I did".

"that's good, most guys are more keen to keep their body's but I guess if your struggling you'll do anything."

Max now confused just nod's and watches though the glass elevator as they fly up to the top floor.

"where here sir" Mark the butler says peacefully in his British accent.

They walk into the room, and Mammon sits at his desk pouring himself a glass of wisky, and Max one too. Max looks around in aww, the room was covered in art work, with the walls painted in golds and whites and had its own bar. "How do you have all this money?" Max asked.

"a mix of many things, this company, and a few investments paid for this whole building, I have many other ways but we're not here for that." Mammon points at the seat," take a seat max" Max sits the chair is made from leather and is very comfy. "So, max, I've gone through your file, I think you're perfect for the job."

"so, does that mean I have the job?" Max replies confused, expecting to be asked a question.

"well yes, if you agree to the terms"

"terms?" Max still confused.

"well yes, you expect to be paid 10times the amount the normal person for this job without any terms or conditions?"

"well I didn't know.." Max gets cut off.

"Max let me simplify them for you. You sacrifice your body to the company, and in trade you get, $100k X the amount you weigh paid into your account per month, So if you weigh 450lbs, you get $450k a month."

"what the fuck? That's sick, I'm not doing that, I'm leaving" and with that Max got up from the chair and stood face to face with Mammon, with the desk all that is separating them. "Your sick, you fa**ot".

With that Mammon's eyes glow a bright red. "I'm a what?" Max got through back against the chair by an invisible force. "Max you could have just left with your freedom, but now look what you've gotten yourself into".

"Let me go, What the fuck?" Max says while traped against that chair, it chreeking with the force of his muscle.

"I'm a fucking demon max, I'm never going to 'let you go'" he took a second break to mock max, "now, what did you say? Fa**ot, was it?".

"fuck, I didn't mean it" the force pins him down harder, trapping his arms against the leather chair arms, and pushing his legs against the underboard. "Please let me go home, I won't do it again."

"shut up max, the process is already starting".

Max looks down to see his body deflating, his pecs turning from mountain peaks to a flat surface, his giant powerful arms turning weak and light. And then looking up he sees a whole new man infront of him.

"Not as big as I thought I would get, but boy I'm big" he took a break to admire his new giant arms and pecs.

"what the?" Max looks in confusion, "how did you do that? Give me them back".

"what are you gonna do max? I'm an infinitely powerful being and you, your an old man, or at least your going to be."

"I'm only 42, what do you mean, going to be?"

"you see I don't have my infinite life span on earth, so to stay alive and in this fit body, I absorb anything a guy has and I want. In your case, these massive muscles, but then I need to absorb their life force as well, in order to make sure I don't age."

"what do you mean life force?"

"well, you have roughly 50 years, worth of life left, I'll drain about 20 years leaving you in your future crippled body at around age 60, force you to work for the company for another 20 years, then when your 80 drain the rest of your life, which after you get fat won't be much, then you got to hell."

"man your sick, let me go, LET ME GO!".

A bright red light shoots from Peters hand enveloping Max's whole body, and he starts to age, his face wrinkling, skin dropping, eye sight worsening, hearing getting muffled, and mind changing a little. "Max, you ok old man?".

"yes sir" max was confused in his mind, why did he say sir?

"max, you ready for your Cruise? You can have tones of food for the next 6 months."

"Yes sir, I'm ready" max lifts his head, opening his eyes to see a new blurry room from his new old eyes.

"you're gonna need these from now on" Peters eyes glow and a new pair of glasses appear on Max's face he can now see clear.

"thank you... Sir", max blinks seeing Peter infront of him, "what have you, done to me".

"Max, I've turned you into the perfect office worker, old, brainiac, who is soon going to get fat and live the rest of his life, in an office chair for me, don't worry for accomodation you live here now, we have apartments on floor 30 to 40, all workers live here, it's policy, we have also sent a team to your house to, well, blow it up, that way nobody is going to be looking for you, becuase we can plant a body"

"give me... My.... Body back, give me... My.. life back."

"Max we both know that will never happen, now enjoy a life of gluttony, and prepare yourself for hell, that's gonna be worse then anything I can do to you." Peter snaped his fingers and a red glow enveloped max.

Recovering from the glow max sees two men infront of him with a trolly of sorts between them. "Is he awake" one says,

"I don't know" said the other.

"im- awake" max said in a much older raspy voice.

"good we can now start the feeding" the man on the left said, his body as muscled as a god, ripped from head to toe, and we can see everything.

Max rubs his eyes under his glasses and opens them again, "Fucking hell, put some clothes on both of you".

Both men where nude, one a ripped god, another muscled up but with a big gut. "Clothes are banned here mate" the beefy man said in a type of Australia accent, "you cant say much fella, look at that tiny pecker".

The men laughed pointing at Max's shriveled up old cock and low hanging balls, "what the fuck"max tries to move his arm to cover him but his arm doesn't move, he looks down to see him stuck in a chair, with a cut out hole under his ass, and straps tying him down, trapping him. "What... Are you gonna do to me?" Max asked sceared.

The men laughed at him again, "no need to act to sceared, we're here to feed you for the next 6 months".

"but... Sir said..." Max get cut off.

"he said you'd be going on a cruise? Fucking hell are you dumb? He's a demon, you shouldn't trust a demon" The muscled guy says.

"bro let's start the feeding we have 50 other guys to see and I wanna watch football Tonight." The beefy guys says, and in unison both their eyes glowed a bright red, showing they where demons too.

The trolly between them had several items on top, one long tube, which floated in the air for a few moments before shoving itself down maxes nostril and deep into his stomach, his head flipped back trying to wriggle it out, but it was stuck. Another item moved into his frame, a IV bag holder, holding a giant barrel type object made of glass, and two large bags floated of the table again and started to drain into the barrel, and the tube connected itself to it, starting a flow of the liquid into maxes stomach.

"done" the beffy guy said. "Now we'll be back tomorrow to refill your barrel, and clean you up if you make a mess, but youll basically be unconscious for the next 6 months, due to the drugs were feeding you."

"so enjoy your sleep mate, you'll litterally wake up a different man." The two men laughed and walked out, max tried fighting the restraints but in his crippled form could do nothing. The door slammed and locked, and the room fell dark, max screamed begging into the darkness to be let free, and to have his life back, which he had only an hour before, but nothing happened, nobody came. He felt the drugs taking effect, but tried to fight back, but it was useless, his body slumped and loosened. His mind fell blank as he drifted of into his 6 month hibernation.

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verai-marcel · 3 years

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Of Dragons and Love (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Arthur didn't want to come to Strawberry, didn't want to help a certain sniveling rat escape his cell. So he decides to explore the town instead and runs into a mysterious woman whom he can't let go.

Author’s Notes: I’m gonna take a moment and lean hard on my heritage to pull some inspiration from an old Cantonese opera. And we're gonna leave Micah in his cell because nuts to that guy. So pretend this takes place in chapter two when Arthur was supposed to go rescue him, but decided to do a side quest instead. This was written for the RDR Mini Bang! @rdrbigbang

Tags: Arthur x F!Reader, spoilers, Chinese mythology-inspired, alternate timeline, mild exophilia, insta-love, magic, smut, HEA

Word Count: 6,378

Accompanying Artwork: @danger-r-98-5 has made some wonderful art for this fic!

AO3 Link is here.

--------------------

Arthur stepped into the small town of Strawberry and immediately wanted to turn around. He could pretend Micah was dead. He could just bide his time and wait for him to hang.

As he rode through the small town, he passed the small jail and kept going to the visitor's center. Seeing the map of the nearby area tacked onto the wall next to the entrance, he hitched his horse and walked over to take a better look.

"Welcome to Strawberry, good sir!"

Arthur flicked a tired glance at the boisterous man before continuing his casual perusal of the map, waiting to see if he would leave. When the man remained beside him, he sighed, exasperated.

"Hullo," he said without looking at the other man.

"Are you here for business or pleasure?"

"Uh, just passin' through." It sure as hell wasn't for pleasure, and his business was his own.

"Ah, I see. Well, please keep us in mind if you ever want to spend a day relaxing in our lovely town. This hotel is the coziest in West Elizabeth," the man boasted, gesturing behind him. "And the scenic Mount Shann and Owanjila Dam aren't too far from here."

"Alright."

"And Big Valley, just past the mountains, is a beautiful place to hunt and camp."

"Uh huh."

When Arthur continued to look at the map without any further inclination towards interacting with him, the man gave up on his sales pitch. "Well, I'll be inside if you have any questions."

"Ayup."

Finally alone, Arthur focused on the path that would take him to Owanjila. He'd been meaning to do a bit of fishing and commune with nature. Seemed like as good a place as any.

Anything to postpone the reason he came here.

***

You weren't sure how you lived so long, not knowing what you were. You had been living with your mother for two decades, not knowing who your father was. Your mother didn't talk about him, and the one time you asked, she had simply said one thing.

"He disappeared."

You didn't know what that meant exactly, and she did not explain.

Until one day, on your twentieth birthday, he appeared. A large, scary looking man came to your door. Your mother paled and tried not to react, but when he held out a necklace and told her how sorry he was for leaving her alone, she broke down and cried.

You found out that when she was young, your mother lived in a small house by a waterfall that fed a large lake. There was a growing town not too far from there, where she worked as a waitress.

One day, on the other side of the lake, a group of Chinese workers made camp as they worked on the railway that was coming through town. They were not welcomed in the town by most people, but your mother took pity on them and sold them food and other groceries, for a delivery fee.

Somehow, your father had caught her eye, and they developed a secret relationship. When her parents discovered the love letter your father had written to your mother, she was kicked out of the house, without anything of hers to take with her. When your mother had gone to the camp to look for your father, it had been abandoned, the workers having left hours earlier to the next site.

Broken hearted, your mother had thrown the necklace he had gifted her into the lake and left town, moving to Strawberry and giving birth to you. You had grown up here, made friends, had a few short dalliances with boys here while you grew up.

Strawberry was a small town, but there was a creek running through it, and when you had free time, which was not often these days, you loved to follow the creek to a waterfall and watch the water. You always felt an affinity with the water, felt like it always pulled at your very soul. You had learned how to swim with ease; your mother had said you were like a fish.

Your father explained why he had left, and why he had finally come back.

"I am a Dragon," he had said. "Great-great grand-nephew of the Dragon King of the North Sea."

He was an immortal creature, drawn to the belief of his people in a foreign land, looking for something to comfort them while they worked in dangerous conditions to make money to send home to their families. He protected them, guided them, and thus, had to follow where they went. When the camp left suddenly, he had no time to say goodbye and was nearly dragged away, the pull of his people’s belief taking him with them.

But now he was free, his people having finished their jobs. They had dispersed, either leaving for China or moving to San Francisco, where other Dragon Gods held domain and took over the belief of his former followers. So he started looking for his long lost love, who still cared for him deep in her heart, and traced the thread of emotion leading back to her.

He promised to take care of you and your mother from now on, and he made good on his promise. For the past five years, he had worked alongside the two of you, making your small farm plot healthy and fertile.

It helped that he could make the sky rain whenever you needed it.

He had also trained you in your small powers. Because you had been untrained for so long, your powers were weak, but over time, and with practice, they grew steadily stronger. You could breathe underwater. You could swim faster than humanly possible. And while you couldn't transform into a dragon, your hair became teal and your skin could shift into a bluish-grey tint. It was a bit unsettling the first time you did it in the mirror.

But your most favorite power of all was the ability to shape nearby water to your will. At first, you could only move a small amount of water in a mug. But over time, you could move water in pitchers, basins, buckets, barrels, and even water troughs for animals.

At this point, if you entered a pond, you could easily create ripples and small waves just by focusing on your energy and sending it outwards from you.

Five years had passed since he had come back, and you had learned so much. Your life was so peaceful now that it came as no surprise when your parents announced that they wanted to move back to their hometown. Of course something had to change; that was the only constant in life, after all.

But you didn’t want to leave. You loved Strawberry. This was your home.

Your father had let out a breath, then smiled, much to your surprise.

“Owanjila does not have a spirit to guard it, since it’s a new body of water. Perhaps… you can become its guardian.”

“But I’m half-human,” you had said.

“So is Owanjila,” he said.

You nodded and smiled. Now you knew why he had been training you so hard all these years.

***

Arthur was pleasantly relaxed for the first time in a long time. He had spent all day fishing and gathering herbs after he set up a small campsite tucked away in the thicker part of the forest. It was quiet on this side of the lake, since all the travelers would go across the dam to take in the scenery. He was glad he picked a spot that was farthest from, for he didn’t have the energy to even say hello.

With a couple of large fish, he made his way back to his campsite, cooked up a fine meal with his freshly picked herbs, and spent some time writing and drawing before looking up at the stars before he fell asleep, the campfire quietly dying as his snores melded with the rest of the night.

***

It had been three months since your parents had left you here. They had sold the small farm and used the money to help you fix up a small abandoned fishing cabin out here on the far side of the lake, where you could hunt and gather on your own, trading furs and fish in town. Ever since you had become the guardian, the fish had spawned much more frequently and grew faster than normal, keeping you well fed. You figured it was a side-effect of the lake having a guardian spirit now.

You looked at your hands; yesterday, you had tripped on a step as you walked back from town, getting some small cuts on the palms of your hands as they had scraped against the gravel. Today, they had healed so quickly that there were no scars; you had never healed so quickly before. You wondered if your powers were growing and had walked into town earlier today to send a letter to your folks, letting them know what had happened.

It was late; the moon was high in the sky, and as bright as the electric lights in St Denis. You were roused from your sleep by the pull of the moon, and knew that it was time.

You took off your clothes and set them on your front porch. Walking to the water’s edge, you slipped into the water without a sound, the liquid embracing you as if you were an old friend.

“Hello, Owanjila,” you whispered as you walked deeper and deeper until you were completely submerged. Then you transformed, your skin turning bluish-grey, your hair shifting to a beautiful teal, and your gills appearing near your collarbone. You kicked your legs and swam gracefully through the water, spinning and twirling as you joyfully moved through the water as easily as you could walk on land.

Once you reached the middle of the lake, you bolted upwards, your legs kicking in unison with such speed and power that you broke the surface easily, your body shooting into the air. You let out a whoop of excitement, for it was only during full moons that you could fly this high out of the water; you had certainly tried other times. For a moment, the starry sky and the bright moon seemed impossibly close, and you held out your hands as if you could gather them all up and hold them tight forever.

Flipping backwards, you extended your hands in front of you and dove back into the water with barely a splash.

***

“Huh, whuzzah,” Arthur muttered as he was jolted awake by the sound of someone yelling. Immediately on alert, Arthur reached for his pistol and carefully made his way out of the tent, looking around. Seeing nothing but trees and rocks after circling his campsite twice, he was about to go back into his tent.

Another yell echoed through the trees. It didn’t sound like anyone in danger, more like… elation?

His curiosity piqued, he quietly made his way towards the lake, following the sounds of the water sloshing around as if someone was swimming. Coming to the shoreline, he saw the full moon, reflected in the water, with ripples circling from the center of the reflection.

Unable to stop himself, Arthur found a nearby rock and climbed it to better see the center of the lake. Squatting down, he peered out at the water.

Something shot out of the water at breakneck speed, surprising him enough that he fell onto his ass.

For a split second, he saw everything clearly.

He saw her nude form, water glistening off her skin, the moon bathing her in a silvery light. He saw the look of ecstasy on her face as she looked up at the moon.

He saw her eyes as they met his.

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat.

Then she was gone, diving back into the water like an arrow, hardly disturbing the surface.

Sitting up, he crawled to the edge of the rock and peered at the spot, waiting for her to return. Part of him wondered if he had imagined it, and part of him hoped she was real. He had felt like he had seen something so evanescently ephemeral that his heart fluttered like a child seeing fireworks. He wanted to experience that sparkling feeling again and again.

When his knees ached and his joints complained, he finally gave up, climbed off the rock, and returned to his tent. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but it didn’t come quickly as his heart continued to race. When he finally managed to nod off, his dreams were filled with a mysterious woman with an expression so filled with euphoria that he could almost taste her joy.

***

You were mortified. A man was camping around your lake and you hadn’t noticed? Granted, you were in town most of the day trying to sell some rabbit pelts, and then you had written your letter at the post office since you had run out of ink and bought some at the general store and didn’t want to walk all the way back to your cabin.

But still, you hadn’t noticed. You supposed it was because he had no ill intent. It wasn’t that you could sense people, that wasn’t how your power worked; it was more you could feel out harmful intentions. People who came and went on the dam were usually harmless tourists and you took no notice of them. But occasionally that greedy mayor would come up here and consider building some cheap cabins out on the lake as tourist traps, and you would cause the lake to be extra choppy that day, splashing water on him if you were nearby. It was usually enough to change his mind.

You stayed at the bottom of the lake, waiting long enough before you slowly swam up again, moving towards the edge of the lake before you poked your head up from the water.

He was gone.

You sighed in relief and swam back to your cabin, looking around once more before getting out and back onto your porch. Grabbing your clothes, you got inside and dried off, thinking of the man’s shocked expression.

But what came to your mind most of all was that in the moonlight, you had managed to make eye contact. In that moment, your heart had pounded like you had seen something beautiful.

Despite your embarrassment at being caught naked and in your half-dragon form, you wanted to see him in the daylight. You wanted to find out who he was, and why your heart had finally moved after all these years.

***

Arthur came out of his tent, bleary eyed as he yawned. He hadn’t gotten a whole lot of sleep, but he was, for better or for worse, used to it. The sound of a crackling of a fire and the sight of a figure sitting with their back turned was also something he was used to.

Until he realized that the fire had gone out last night and he had come to this place alone. Reaching for his pistol, he stopped when he heard her speak.

“I mean you no harm.”

Arthur, suspicious, for people who had said that to him before often would turn around and shoot him, put a hand on his pistol, but left it in its holster. Coming out of his tent and rising to his full height, he walked around to face the woman at his campfire.

When she looked up at him, he felt like he was hit with an arrow.

Those same eyes from last night met his, and he felt like the whole world slowed and became silent. All he saw was her, and he didn’t care about anything else.

***

His eyes were beautiful, like gemstones sparkling in the morning light. His hair was tousled from sleep, but it made you think of him in bed next to you. You swallowed. Why were you thinking of waking up next to him? You barely knew him!

But you couldn’t ignore the heat in your veins as your eyes traveled down his body. His very tall, muscular body. Oh gods, you felt your heartbeat quicken as you suddenly had a mental image of him climbing over you, his naked body above yours, his big hands holding your hips as he thrust—

“Can I help you, miss?” the man finally asked, his voice rough from sleep. His voice was like whiskey, flowing smoothly over your body and making you burn with need. He swallowed, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat. Oh, to lick that sun-kissed skin…

You shook your head, both in answer to him and to clear the lustful images from your head. “I’m alright, I just wanted to share your campfire.”

***

“Oh?” Arthur asked, sitting down beside her to hide his body’s reaction to meeting her eyes. When he had met her gaze, he was hit hard with desire, the sudden image of her beneath him, legs spread, her expression of ecstasy for him and him alone.

For a brief moment, he wanted to take her, to guide her to the ground and thrust wildly inside of her like an animal.

But instead he reeled himself in; he wasn’t that kind of man. He didn’t even know why he had such a visceral reaction to her. All he knew was that she was sitting here with him now, and she was beautiful. When she turned away, he felt like he was suddenly lost, and wished for her to look at him once more with those mysterious eyes. He observed her as she poked the fire with a stick, wondering what she was thinking.

“So, uh, you live around here?” he asked, berating himself immediately for such an awkward question.

“I do, just down the shoreline,” she replied.

“Oh.”

She turned to meet his gaze, and he felt it once more. A pull, stronger than any he had ever known, as if she was hypnotizing him with just one look. Unable to stop himself, he leaned in closer, her lips beckoning him.

“What are you doing?” she asked curiously.

The spell broken, Arthur quickly leaned back and sputtered, “I, uh, I don’t know, to be honest.”

The woman smiled at him, and he felt his entire world light up with fireworks.

“What’s your name?”

“Arthur.”

“Nice to meet you, Arthur.”

She told him her name, and he repeated it just so he could say it out loud. He loved the way her name rolled off his tongue. He had shivered with desire from the way she had said her name.

“So you saw me last night,” she said after a few moments.

He smiled nervously as guilt wracked him. “Uh, yup. I’m sorry, I didn’ mean to peek.”

“It’s alright, I should’ve been more careful,” she said, a wry grin on her face. “Usually no one camps here.”

Silence stretched between them as Arthur wondered what he should say, if anything.

She brought up her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. “And there’s not much to look at anyway,” she said self-deprecatingly.

“You were beautiful,” he blurted out suddenly. He couldn’t believe she’d think that. He wanted to burn the sight of her coming out of the water into his memories so he’d never forget.

She turned her head to look at him, and he felt the pull once more, but it was tinged with melancholy. It made his heart clench. He reached out and put an arm around her, pulling her into his chest, desperate to ease the pain. “Yer beautiful,” he repeated.

***

Surrounded by warmth, you sank into his chest and breathed in his scent. His natural musk, layered with balsam and leather, was soothing to you, made you feel safe and protected. No other man had affected you like this. Was this how your parents had fallen for each other? Was it an instant attraction?

You had been taught to follow your instincts, and something about this man made you want to keep him forever. To hold him tight and never let him go.

So you reached back out to him, wrapping your arms around his broad torso. Looking up at him, meeting his surprised expression, you leaned forward and kissed him. His lips were chapped but pliable as you pushed forward, pressing your body against his.

You were met with a startled grunt. He let you go and backed away, like a shy lady from an all too amorous man.

“Y-you barely know me,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“Sorry,” you said, shrinking back on yourself. Maybe you misread him, maybe he was just saying you were beautiful to make you feel better. Maybe you were just lonely and wanted to connect with him, the first man who had made you feel something in years.

“Look,” he said, leaning forward again, “it’s not that I don’t want to, I just think, well, maybe we git to know each other a bit more first before, uh, well…” He trailed off, gesturing blandly.

You laughed. Of course. He was shy. Standing up, you reached out to him. “Will you stay a while? My cabin is small but it’ll protect you from the elements better than your tent. And it’ll be warmer at night too.”

Arthur stared at your hand for a moment before standing up on his own. “Alright. I’ll pack up first.”

***

Arthur wasn’t sure how he was convinced to stay in a cabin with a woman he hardly knew, but every time he met her eyes, everything else fell away and all he wanted was to be with her.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed, maybe a few days, maybe weeks. But he had never been so content to just fish and hunt and spend time with his sweet lady. He learned about her parents, who had been small-time farmers near Strawberry before they moved to her mother’s hometown, leaving her to live on her own. When he had asked why, she had said it was because she loved it here and didn’t want to leave.

He understood why; after the first few days of just roaming the land, living off its bounty, he was quite content to just stay and forget his troubles. She would go into town and sell his furs and pelts, and when he wasn’t hunting, he would help upgrade her little cabin, fixing up small things here and there to make her more comfortable.

He had insisted on sleeping on his bedroll on the floor beside her bed, at least for now. He felt like he was working up the courage to bed her, even though she clearly had given him an open invitation to her bed.

Every night he thought about it.

And every night, he trudged to his bedroll and slept beside her bed like a faithful pet dog.

***

14 days had passed. The new moon would be out tonight, and you were itching to go for a swim.

But with Arthur here, you hesitated. He had seen you that first night, sure. But he hadn’t seen you clearly. He hadn’t seen your skin and hair color change, your gills at your collarbone, your preternaturally fast swimming.

As you stood at the end of your little fishing dock that was connected to the porch of your cabin, you sighed. Watching the setting sun streak its beautiful orange rays across the water, you internally debated if you should show him so you could freely act as the guardian once more. You had been feeling stifled as of late, only able to use your powers while he was out hunting, and only in secret in case he might come out of the forest at any given time.

“What’s the matter, darlin’?”

You smiled. He had started calling you his darling or his sweetheart after a week of gentle caresses as he walked by, or even a casual kiss on the cheek as you went into town on an errand. No matter how much he said it, you melted every time. It was endearing and charming to you, even though they were simple words. The way he said them, the love and care he put into those pet names, was everything you wanted to hear.

Turning to Arthur, you saw that he was dressed in his usual blue shirt and black ranch pants, looking concerned. Seeing the care he had for your well-being made you come to a decision. He deserved the truth of you.

“I need to show you something.”

***

Arthur swallowed as his sweet lady began to disrobe right there on the dock. He was shocked to a standstill, unable to move as he saw every inch of beautiful skin exposed to his view. His pants grew tight, his throat dry, and his internal instinct to protect surged through him.

“Darlin’, what’re you…”

He couldn’t utter another sound as he watched her usual skin shimmer and then shift to a blue-grey tint. Her hair became teal colored, and slits appeared above her collarbone.

“Gills,” she said as she pointed at them, shrugging shyly. “I’m a dragon spirit. Or half of one.”

Arthur could only nod in both shock and awe. He had suspected she was hiding something, but he would have never guessed it was something like this. He took in her form, human and yet not, familiar and yet bizarre. But still beautiful, wonderful, her.

“Do… do I disgust you?”

“No!” Arthur said, quickly taking two steps to stand in front of her. “Yer still the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”

Seeing her smile shyly and look away, his need to assure her only grew stronger. “That why you could swim so good?” he asked, reaching up to caress her neck, right above her gills.

She nodded again.

“What’d you mean by half?” he asked, curious.

“My father, he was a dragon, the great-great grand nephew of the Dragon King of the North Sea.”

Arthur nodded. “Oh. Okay then.” He didn’t understand what that meant, but it sounded a bit important.

She tittered. “I don’t really know how important that is either,” she said, answering the unspoken question. “But I can swim real fast, breathe underwater, and I can control water a little bit,” she said, her excitement growing with each word. She turned to the water and put out her hand.

Ripples started to appear, and they grew into small waves, rolling across the surface of the lake.

She turned back to him, a happy glow to her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re not disgusted by me.”

“I’d never be,” he replied, pulling her into his arms. His gaze traveled along her face, admiring her hair color, her bluish-grey skin, and the gills at her neck, before looking at her smile, full of self-confidence. She was radiant and it made her all the more alluring.

“You’re beautiful, no matter what.”

***

This time when you kissed Arthur, he kissed you back, unafraid, bold, confident. He quickly took over, his fingers gripping the back of your head as he pulled your body closer to his. You felt the rough fabric of his shirt sliding along your sensitive nipples and moaned softly.

He suddenly wrapped one arm around your waist and one around your ass before picking you up with ease.

“I need you darlin’,” he murmured before turning from the dock and walking determinedly towards your cabin. He maneuvered you inside and shut the door, not wanting any interruptions. Laying you down on the bed, he stepped away to light the lantern before returning to you, taking off his hat and flinging it aside.

You shifted back to your human colors, your gills disappearing.

“Yer magical,” Arthur whispered before resting his forehead against yours and closing his eyes, a wry grin on his face. You kissed him back, smiling in return, acknowledging his silly word choice and accepting his sentiment for what it was: a compliment. He shared your gaze for a few moments before kissing you back as he unbuttoned his shirt, leaving it open while he climbed over you. You could feel his impatience as he pressed his bare chest against yours, his kisses heating up and becoming demanding.

“Arthur,” you breathed as he moved down to kiss your neck, his lips tracing lines where your gills had been.

“Why’d I wait this long,” he muttered, mostly to himself, as he ran his fingers from your hip up your belly. His touch was feather-light, almost ticklish as he skimmed the underside of your breast before tracing circles around your areola.

You writhed, whimpering softly. He looked at you, keeping his gaze locked with yours as he leaned down and took your nipple into his mouth.

"Oh, yes," you moaned as his tongue played with you, distracting you just long enough for his other hand to caress the inside of your thighs. You parted your legs eagerly.

You felt Arthur smile against your skin before he switched to your other breast, giving you the same pleasure as his hand slid between your legs, his fingers exploring your slit.

"This honey fer me, darlin'?" he asked in a low, husky voice.

"All for you," you whispered.

He let out a soft growl of satisfaction before dipping a finger inside of you. Your hips lifted up towards his touch. Moving away from your breast, he kissed his way up your neck, to your cheeks, then to your lips once more. He took his time tasting you, his tongue languidly caressing yours as his fingers delved inside of you, his thumb brushing against your bud, each stroke driving you higher and higher towards your peak that was approaching rapidly.

You moaned his name, muffled as it was by his mouth on yours. He growled in return, pumping his fingers faster, his thumb stroking you with determination.

"Ah, ah, Arthur!" you cried out as you climaxed. As you felt the pleasure zip through your veins, you buzzed with power for a moment before it faded.

You didn't have time to think about it, for Arthur climbed off the bed and took off the rest of his clothes. He was such a big man, with muscles from hard work, scars from a rough life, and a dangerous grace to him. He had power and knew how to use it.

And right now, he wanted to make you release over and over again.

He climbed over you, just like in your fantasies, and spread your legs, wrapping them around his waist. Taking his hard length in his hand, he slid the tip around your entrance, slicking himself up as he watched you tremble beneath him.

"You sure 'bout this, darlin'?" he murmured, a slight tremor in his voice, as if he was holding back. He didn't stop sliding the head of his cock along your slit, up and down in a slow rhythm.

"Yes, yes please Arthur, just take me!" you begged. He was driving you mad with his gentle strokes. You lifted your hips up, causing the tip of him to slip inside.

"So needy, sweet girl," he crooned before he pushed forward, driving himself deeper inside of you.

You writhed and winced as your body stretched around his girth. He was sweating, holding himself steady as he waited for you to regain your breath before inching forward some more. Patiently, Arthur watched your every reaction, taking great care to control his movements until his hips finally came flush with yours.

He murmured your name, his lips brushing against yours before he kissed you. His hands cradled your face as he grinded against you, the heat of his body warming you up like a thick quilt. Deepening the kiss, he angled your head so he could devour you. A low moan escaped him as his hips shifted, building a steady rhythm of short thrusts.

"More, Arthur," you said when he finally let you take a breath.

"I'll give you whatever you need," he replied before lifting himself up, letting the cool air touch your body. He pulled his cock out almost all the way and waited for an eternal moment while he stared into your eyes, the lust blowing out his pupils.

Then he slammed back inside of you.

Your pleasure-filled yell was stopped short by Arthur's swift uptick in pace. He was hammering his cock inside of your tight, wet channel, and he couldn't get enough. Not saying a word, he only moaned and panted as he drove into you relentlessly, taking just a split second to adjust his angle before continuing.

"So good," he moaned before he got up onto his haunches, taking your hips in his big hands, his fingers digging into your flesh as he fucked you like a man possessed. He growled, a feral sound of pleasure, before he reached down and stroked your clit.

"Need… to… see… you… let go…" he panted.

You tightened your legs around his waist, meeting his thrusts with your own enthusiastic motions, reaching for your breasts and playing with your nipples before him.

"Oh darlin', you look so pretty like that," he grit out, his face contorted in an effort to control his desires. He was so close. So very close.

"Give me everything!" you gasped, your body shaking, on the edge of a precipice so high that you almost felt fear.

Feeling your body grip him so tightly, Arthur let out a passionate shout before he spilled inside of you. His eyes were wild as he stared at you, his mouth open as he drew in breath after ragged breath. He moaned as he thrust one last time before crushing his hips to yours, keeping his shaft inside of you for as long as possible.

As he spent himself inside of you, you felt your core suddenly overflow with ecstasy, your body shuddering as you came around his thick cock. At the same time, your power unleashed, making your body glow a bluish hue.

"Darlin'!?" Arthur panicked, sounding winded, his brow creased with worry.

The power that had unlocked within you gave your vision a strange overlay of colors. And within the warm orange glow of Arthur was a black cloud in his chest. You reached out through the haze of your afterglow and pulled at it.

He gasped and coughed.

You pulled again. Now that you had touched it, you knew it was bad. It needed to get out of his system before it did permanent damage.

Arthur grasped his chest. "What…" he trailed off as he coughed a few more times before you managed to heave out the black cloud from his lungs. You quickly quashed it in your hands.

Looking up at him, you put your hands on his cheeks and kissed him, pouring the last of the glowing power inside of him. On some instinctual level, you knew you had healed him of something. Whether it was an old lingering illness or a new one that was just about to form, it was now gone from his system.

When you finally pulled away, Arthur looked bewildered. For a few seconds, or a few minutes, you weren’t sure how slow or fast time was flowing, the two of you could only stare at each other, lost in that foggy place between dreams and reality.

"What'd you pull outta me?" Arthur finally asked, still a little breathless.

"Something bad. An illness, I think,” you replied. You took a deep breath before squeezing his hand. “Whatever it was, it will no longer hurt you."

Arthur smiled and pressed his forehead against yours. "Thank you, sweetheart."

***

Arthur left a day later, telling you that he'd be back once he had taken care of some people.

You didn't see him for a long time.

Four months passed before you saw him again. He looked ragged, skinnier, as if he had been through hell and back. But when he saw you, he rushed over and fell into your arms, holding you tight as if you were the only real thing in his world.

***

He told you everything. He confessed that he had been the one to help that criminal escape and shot up the town. That he had been chased all over three states with his gang. That he had stolen money from several trains. That he had been on a ship that had sunk and was stranded on an island for days before finding a way back.

He told you about John. He told you about how he had helped him escape the Pinkertons, had ran with him all the way down the mountain before telling him where to meet his family. Then Arthur had set off, the long way around through the wilds of Ambarino so he could lose the men who were chasing him, just so he could get safely back to you.

You saw now that his eyes were unclouded, having seen his world for what it was. You saw pain and regret in his eyes, but you also saw understanding and a clarity that was not there before. He appeared to have finally found wisdom at a heavy price.

After he had told you everything, you cooked him a meal of steamed fish and herbs. He ate quietly, as if his confession had stolen all of his words from him.

He finished his meal and sat in silence for a few minutes before looking towards you. "I ain't a good man—"

You shushed him. "You are more good than not, Arthur," you said. "We all make mistakes. You were just trying to do your best. That's all any of us can do."

Reaching for his hand across the table, you grasped it and pulled it to your chest, placing it over your heart. "Will you stay?"

Arthur smiled hesitantly. "You… still want me?"

You stood up and leaned across the table to kiss him. "I'll always want you, Arthur. I love you."

He kissed you back. When he looked at you, his gaze full of gratitude. "I love you too, my sweet darlin'. Thank you fer believin' in me."

--------------------

End Notes: I had to end it on a sappy note, of course. Hope you enjoyed that little romp with some folklore!

#rdrbigbang2021 #arthur x F!reader #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #rdr2 #fanfic #writing #nsft #lemon fanfic

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chiseler · 3 years

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Putzi

In Hitler’s inner circle of thugs, lunatics, imbeciles and perverts, Ernst Franz Sedgwick Hanfstaengl stood out as an oddity among the oddballs. Where they tended to be snarlingly parochial bumpkins, he was a cosmopolitan man – a Harvard man – with an international set of high-placed friends and associates that included not only Adolf Hitler but Franklin Roosevelt. It wasn’t that he didn’t look the part of the Aryan goon. He stood a mountainous six foot four, with broad shoulders, a barrel chest, huge hands, and a boulder of a head with a lantern jaw and lidded eyes designed for the threatening glower. But he was a big man who only wanted to be liked, aggressively ingratiating as a golden retriever. He was universally known by his childhood nickname, Putzi.

Putzi was born into a prosperous and cultured home in Munich in 1887. His German father was well-known dealer in fine art reproductions, with galleries in London and on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan. His mother was an American of fine New England pedigree, with a Civil War general in her family tree. They sent him to Harvard in 1905. In 1911, at 24, he moved to Manhattan to run Galerie Hanfstaengl at the corner of Fifth Avenue and 45th Street. Yet his first love was music. He was an accomplished pianist if a sometimes overenthusiastic one who, it was said, occasionally banged the keys so hard with his sledgehammer hands that he broke strings. Many mornings before opening the gallery he could be found at the Harvard Club around the corner, playing the piano there. That was where he met another grad, state senator Franklin Roosevelt, who breakfasted at the club. Putzi was an assiduous cultivator of the celebrated and influential; he’d later write that “the famous names who visited me” at his gallery “were legion,” including “Pierpont Morgan, Toscanini, Henry Ford, Caruso, [the aviator Alberto] Santos-Dumont, Charlie Chaplin, Paderewski, and a daughter of President Wilson.” He also made friends with the artists and writers in Greenwich Village, including an affair with Djuna Barnes.

The coming of the Great War made life very difficult for him in New York, as it did for many German-Americans. The Justice Department investigated him; his Harvard Club fellows turned cold; the gallery’s windows were smashed more than once; and then, toward the end of the war, the government seized the gallery as “enemy property” and auctioned it off for a pittance.

In 1921 he returned to Munich with his wife and infant son. The following year, a Harvard classmate at the American embassy asked Putzi to go hear a political speech and give his impression. The speaker was Adolf Hitler, and Putzi was definitely impressed. He immediately ingratiated himself with Hitler, becoming his constant companion, his court minstrel and court jester. He saw his role as introducing some culture and refinement to Hitler and his loutish crew. He played Wagner and Liszt to soothe Hitler’s nerves, and tried to get him to grow out his moustache, which Putzi called his “snot-catcher.” He provided Hitler an entrée to upper-crust Germans and their money, and personally footed the bill for expanding the Nazi newspaper Völkischer Beobachter from a thin weekly to a thriving daily.

On November 8, 1923 he was inside Munich’s Bürgerbräu Keller when Hitler launched his failed putsch. Escaping the chaos of the next day, Hitler fled to Putzi’s country home some 40 miles south of the city. The American journalist Dorothy Thompson, who knew Putzi, showed up, pursuing a rumor that Hitler was hiding out there, but the police had gotten there first. “HITLER SEIZED NEAR MUNICH,” the front page of the November 13 New YorkTimes reported. “Found in Home of E. F. Hanfstaengl, Ex-New York Art Dealer.” [November 13, 1923]

Putzi maintained loose ties with the Nazis during their low ebb in the 1920s; then, when Hitler’s fortunes seemed to be reviving in 1931, Putzi re-hitched his wagon, joining the party – a commitment he’d resisted until then – and convincing Hitler to let him be his foreign press spokesman. He certainly had the international press contacts, from Thompson to Quentin Reynolds to William Randolph Hearst, though Thompson would dismiss him as “an immense, high-strung, incoherent clown,” and Reynolds sneered, “You had to know Putzi to really dislike him.”

One evening in 1935 another Harvard man, the New York writer Varian Fry, stepped out of his hotel in Berlin to witness “a band of some 200 Nazis, clad in civilian clothing but many of them wearing Storm Troop boots and trousers,” surge along the fashionable Kurfürstendamm, attacking anyone they thought was Jewish. They yanked people out of cars and cafes to beat and kick them senseless. They smashed the windows of Jewish shops and restaurants, as they sang the “Horst Wessel” song and chanted anti-Semitic slogans. Fry saw one young man “whose eyes became filled with blood so that he could not see where he was running,” and the Jewish proprietor of an ice cream shop badly beaten as his shop was wrecked. Fry returned to his hotel room, telephoned his report to a wire service, and the next day it was in the Times and other newspapers.

The Völkischer Beobachter, unsurprisingly, blamed Jews for inciting what it described as the spontaneous disturbance Fry witnessed, supposedly outraging good Germans by hissing at an anti-Semitic Swedish film in a Kurfürstendamm theater. To Fry, the riot “gave every evidence of careful planning” and was clearly led by storm troopers. The morning after, he went to Goebbels’ Ministry of Propaganda for some answers, and was ushered into Putzi Hanfstaengl’s office. At first Putzi went into boola-boola overdrive, one Harvard man to another, but when Fry resisted, Putzi deflated. Apparently he was finding his job of explaining the Nazis to the world rather daunting and frustrating. He was remarkably, even recklessly candid with Fry. He confessed that it was most likely storm troopers who had hissed at the Swedish film as a pretext for the rioting. More amazing still, he told Fry that two factions in the Nazi Party leadership were arguing over how to deal with Germany’s Jews. The moderates, in which he counted himself, maintained that the answer was to segregate or send them all away, perhaps to Madagascar. The radicals, who he said included Hitler and Goebbels, preferred exterminating them. Fry reported this conversation to the Times as well, seven years before the Nazi hierarchy formally adopted the Final Solution.

Putzi grew increasingly uncomfortable with making excuses for Hitler over the next couple of years. By 1937, Hitler and his inner circle harbored doubts about his loyalty. Fearing that Hitler planned to liquidate him, Putzi fled Germany for England, where he was hoping to be embraced as a political exile. Instead, the British interned him as an enemy national.

In 1942, Roosevelt took pity on him. He arranged with the British to have him transferred from a POW camp in Canada, which was reducing Putzi to a miserable sliver of his jolly old self, to a house outside Washington. There, under house arrest and constant guard, Putzi was kept busy writing voluminous psychological profiles of Hitler and other Nazi leaders for possible use by American intelligence and propaganda services. For a while his guard was his own son, Sergeant Egon Hanfstaengl, who had also fled Germany, come to America, and enlisted in the U.S. Army.

After the war Putzi was allowed to return to Germany, where he submitted to the humiliating process of being “de-Nazified.” He spent the rest of his life trying to convince anyone who’d pay attention that he’d been a “victim of Nazi political persecution,” even asking for cash reparations from the German government. In 1974 he made the news again when he was allowed to return to Harvard for his 65th class reunion. He died the following year.

by John Strausbaugh

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caltropspress · 3 years

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FEEDBACK LOOP #7: Curly Castro’s “Weapon 13X” featuring Breeze Brewin

There was a very old man, an old white man out in the crowd, and he started screaming and crying like a baby and he kept crying and he said, “God damn, God damn, what is this God damn country coming to that the niggers have got guns, the niggers are armed and the police can’t even arrest them!” He kept crying and somebody led him away through the crowd.

—Robert F. Williams, Negroes with Guns (1962)

Gun flash beats the child’s head in, maniac teeth dance in a bloody grin blue lies, badge confessions, yng dude dead just beyond his mama’s arms

—Amiri Baraka, “Stop Killer Cops”

Police said Cleaver and Hutton were holed up at 1218 28th Street with two 9 mm automatic pistols, two AR-15 and one military-type M-14 automatic rifle, and a large supply of ammunition, some armor-piercing.

—Berkeley Barb, Volume 6, Number 15, Issue 139

“Weapon 13X” is a diptych. Two verses; one pivot—or volta, for you bookworms. Curly Castro is first with a séance that summons the mysteries of Clarence 13X and Weapon X. These nullified variables and Roman numerals come together in an elixir mix so potent that it would make Aes Rock choke on the amalgam. Castro opens the fission gate and discharges two-hundred forty thousand mega-therms on the city of brotherly love, the city of bombs from above onto a 6221 Osage Avenue row house. Shameek just got bust in his arm, leg, leg, arm, head. The Black man is God personified, and Logan is regenerative. Adamantium claws. Mathematical jaws. Science dropped and experiments performed. Spark this like metal does when dragged across concrete.

2. “Harriet would grab her balls, / This my gun, and this my rifle.”

Harriet Tubman gets cast by Kubrick for Full Metal Jacket, recites the Rifleman’s Creed, but it was actually a pistol she kept buried within the folds of her calico. She sallied forth seeing visions from the overseer’s heave of a weight—made her skull snap. Don’t sleep. “When the caliber’s inside you,” you can’t necessarily count on “the muzzle smoke revival.”

Quelle Chris provides production, lest we forget his 2019 Guns album with its Dada-bullet, double-barreled barrage album art. The title track armed to the teeth: “Ain’t no cracking that code, / Ain’t no safety on locks, / Might as well get you one, / Procrastinating will get you popped.” The machine gun funk outs finks and COINTELPRO cooperators, conspirators, dispiriters. Here, Castro’s got those same turncoats and sucker MCs in his sights, so to speak.

4. [The oppressor] teaches the Negro that he has no worth-while past, that his race has done nothing significant since the beginning of time, and that there is no evidence that he will ever achieve anything great. (Carter Godwin Woodson, The Mis-Education of the Negro, 1933)

Castro makes a promise, provoked by those who came before him, those who brandished firearms in the faces of their enemies:

We never will disarm: these are the lies that you were sold, When your glory tripped up, you trade your weapons in for gold. With Yakub in the schools, trade your dreams, knowledge folds. Found the tome, Mis-Education Negroes…

Dr. Yakub sloshing liquids in the lab—Bunsen burners explode and the lab leak is viral whiteness. Tricknology replaces Biology. Castro is looking back while moving forward. “Doomed to repeat it”-type forewarnings. He knows the ledge and also wants his people to.

aim get your sights & its sound in abstract or journal movements to a peace settlement

dude shot my man

dead, precious lord blow off theres no willy in th blues theres no you.

—from Tom Weatherly’s Maumau American Cantos (1970)

Castro is a “gunhand, cybernetic with spray cans, / Basquiat, baklava, Mau Mau.” That’s likely an intentional malaprop—surely his militant stance calls for a balaclava. Even still, Castro doesn’t stutter. He will still sh-sh-shift his voice on you—the dynamics of his delivery raise stakes and get guttural, scraping against sewer plates. He’s potent, even if Basquiat’s pistol appears flaccid with its hand-scrawled linework. In another piece, Basquiat starts the decolonization process at the point of a safari helmet. The image detonates.

6. Free country? Man, I should fuck you up for sayin’ that stupid shit alone.

“This film is a call to racial violence!” a film critic shouted at Roger Ebert after a screening of Do the Right Thing. She worried Bed-Stuy would set fire to theaters, but Lee’s 1989 film wasn’t The Rite of Spring in Paris in 1913. An amerikan psychotic turn to theater violence would be postponed until Aurora in 2012, and it would be white violence, which would come as a shock to none who have tracked the trajectory of white violence. Displacement is white violence, too. White violence is a sine qua non for gentrification. And so Castro allies himself with “Buggin’ Out battle brownstone houses, some Bird fans, / While Mookie turns the radio up and launched the trashcan.”

7. “We are the weapons.”

Of late, Castro has consistently been proving you’re out your depth, with verses so allusive they suggest a strong “Erick Sermon and Parrish Smith, nobody blink. / They don’t now who the fuck that is” vibe. So what, though? At this point, Castro’s a vet, an elder. The youngins need to catch up or cash out. Get KRS-One bookish, kiddies, or be left behind. Be the weapon or never prosper. Create your own mythos: “Omega built a mother by the sun and Cyclops sent / a blurred Baraka poem capable to raise the dead. / Yet instead I use the sword...”—with Wu-Tang pronunciation of the w in “sword,” of course. History moves backwards and forwards at the same time. Language is lost and recovered. The poem is “blurred” because it’s been duplicated on a mimeograph—a machine that involves a “drum.” The words are ink-smudged. Baraka’s former partner, Diane di Prima, shouted, “"Power to the people's mimeo machines!” Accuse and attack, Baraka sloganeered. We’re talking about agency—by hand-crank, handgun, or mic check.

Castro creates imagery like Emory Douglas did with paint: painfully bold and saturated with color like blood soaks clothes. Baraka called Douglas’s art a combo of “expressionist agitprop and homeboy familiarity,” which applies to what Castro does on the track. I quote Mao who called literature and art “part of the whole proletarian revolutionary cause,” and Mao quotes Lenin who called lit and art the “cogs and wheels in the whole revolutionary machine.” And Baraka also said Douglas’s work:

functioned as if you were in the middle of a rumble and somebody tossed you a machine pistol. It armed your mind and demeanor. Ruthlessly funny, but at the same time functional as the .45 slugs pouring out of that weapon.

The Panthers were trapped and tear-gassed in a West Oakland basement. Eldridge Cleaver told Bobby to go out naked—unarmed as the day he was born not quite eighteen years earlier—but he emerged from the burning house fully dressed, with dignity, and he was searchlighted and shotshotshotshotshotshotshot dead.

Castro needs Brewin to make the cypher complete—a two-man killarmy using loud words in quiet wars, no silencer.

9. “Before blurting out, try analysis, brother.”

Breeze’s Yo, listen… at the start of his verse is comparable to Sir Thomas Wyatt intoning Whoso list to hunt… to begin his 16th-century sonnet. The amalgam here is less Five Percenter plus clandestine government experimentation and more a deconstruction of the both violent and sexualized language of braggadocio. “Anything you say isn’t played like Miranda Rights,” and so we’re already with our hands behind our backs, silenced by an pig officer’s gag order. The competition doesn’t get played; they play themselves.

Sir Thomas Wyatt sets it off like so:

Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind, But as for me, hélas, I may no more. The vain travail hath wearied me so sore, I am of them that farthest cometh behind. Yet may I by no means my wearied mind Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore Fainting I follow.

Breeze has wanted to stay pleasant to the ears—you know, like Lauryn Hill phone sexing—so this isn’t new territory but rather a well-worn path. Wyatt’s wearied and “so sore” by “the hunt,” the pursuit of his love interest, even though he knows “where is an hind.” Still, “as she fleeth afore / Fainting [he] follows.” He can’t help himself.

Love is lost within violent pursuit. Breeze speaks of a “plan to strike” and “zero in” on a “target,” his quarry. He and Castro are “talking about broads often, no doubt, / We broad and burly as hell, / Brag about the hunt, you was jukin’ a girly gazelle.” Breeze’s assault is dizzying, a salvo from all angles: “Hit ’em with some counter clay rebuttals that’s subtle but still befuddle if dude slow.”

10. “It’s nothin’, I gotcha, and that’s word to Super Lover Cee.”

Super Lover Cee and Casanova Rud’s 1988 single “Girls I Got ’Em Locked” articulates the carceral embrace of “locking” a girl down, which—consequently—requires violence to enforce: “Don’t ever touch a girl owned by me or I’ll ruin ya’, / Slap you with my mic simultaneously as I’m doin’ ya.” The girl is commodified, and Super Lover Cee takes a proprietary attitude toward the relationship. If you overstep, you’ll be ruined, that is, you’ll fall. And while you’re prostrate, you’ll be slapped with the phallic mic simultaneously. Is the Super Lover doin’ her or you, though? What’s truly getting him off? That hypermasculine posturing skews homoerotic. Breeze Brewin laughs at you for subscribing to the nonsense: “Dag, if that was what you believe then your world be a hell.”

11.

Liberal discourse suggests policing your impulses. Put down the gun—don’t touch it. “Touchy subjects,” like racism (apparently), get the “We need to have a conversation” treatment. Look, don’t touch. Don’t touch the exhibit of stolen artifacts—those Benin bronzes in the British Museum. Beneath the topic of orignoo gunn clapping, Curly Castro’s track is about the x’s and o’s of eros as well. Many gestures meant to protect women are merely some other man staking his claim, adorning her with “diamonds in letters plain,” as Wyatt writes of the collar around the deer’s “fair neck.” Wyatt’s sonnet warns against overstepping (or even half-stepping). The collar reads Noli me tangere (touch me not)—she belongs to someone else. It’s a bad touch example. Like his fellow Indelible J-Treds, Breeze Brewin is the living circle-circle-dot-dot: nobody can touch him.

12.

Let’s bring it back to Little Bobby Hutton. When Eldridge Cleaver told him to leave the ambushed basement naked, he was thinking of Bobby’s safety. He thought the extreme measure of appearing on the street without clothes would be enough to convince the pigs he wasn’t armed. Cleaver was naïve to think so. Bobby Hutton was right to emerge clothed. In doing so, he rejected the indignity of the auction block, the lynching, the mutilation and spreading of souvenir flesh. The searchlight made Bobby Hutton the subject of a spectacle, yes, but he refused to consent to the psychosexual desires of white supremacy. He refused the castration ritual. Little Bobby Hutton, in effect, threw down a challenge to the cops: Use your imagination once again. Try to think of a few situations where your own weapon might be used against you…used against you…used against you.

Images:

Emory Douglas, The Black Panther, Vol. IV, No. 78, 1971 (detail) | Weapon X (detail, issue unknown) | Emory Douglas, Rat Subterranean News (1970) | Harriet Tubman with gun sketch | Anti-Mau Mau British propaganda poster | Newspaper headline from Negroes with Guns | Jean-Michel Basquiat, Untitled (date unknown) | Jean-Michel Basquiat, Native Carrying Some Guns, Bibles, and Amorites on Safari (1982) | Screenshot from Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing (1989) | Two images from the Berkeley Barb, Volume 6, Number 15, Issue 139 (1968) | Emory Douglas, The Black Panther (miscellaneous poster) | Medieval depiction of the hunt (unknown) | Image detail from the Berkeley Barb, Volume 6, Number 15, Issue 139 (1968)

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