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THE FULL HISTORY OF THE MICK JAGGER & MARSHA HUNT (A.K.A.”BROWN SUGAR”) RELATIONSHIP! (PART 2)

In Part 1 of the thread, it explained how the Rolling Stones frontman Mick Jagger and singer/actress Marsha Hunt met, the ins-and-outs of their year-long courtship, and how Mick was basically the one who followed her and asked her to have his baby. But their relationship eventually turned sour once Marsha gave birth to his first child, Karis, born in November 1970. In this second part, you’ll understand the fallout between them that lasted well over a decade.

After Marsha’s altercation with Mick (when he claimed he never loved her and threatened to take her nearly two week-old baby away) things started to get put into perspective for her. And though she relished in being a mother to her sweet, yet lively baby, who she mostly spoke to in Black vernacular/AAVE and nicknamed “Pookie”, the new role really whipped her into shape.

Marsha claimed, “I was able then to support myself and my daughter,” but she explained to Mick, who she was still in touch with, “I don’t need your help now, but if I ever do, I expect to be able to come to you.”

Although he made some early efforts at involvement with the baby (who, according to one associate, “looked remarkably like Mick”), he ultimately turned all his attention to his new girlfriend, Bianca Pérez-Mora Macías.

While Marsha was very attentive to her child and thrived off being there for her every need, Mick was gearing up for another tour and was still occasionally seeing other women, including his then personal chef, Janice Kenner, and occasional girlfriend, soul singer and Ikette, Claudia Lennear, while courting his girlfriend, Bianca.

Pretty much all references to Marsha and the baby were quickly airbrushed out of his life. Another one of his ‘hoes,’ Californian model and former flame of Eric Clapton, Catherine James, also claimed: “When I moved into Mick’s house, I knew about Marsha, but his relationship with her was already over. It didn’t seem a big deal to him. He just mentioned that she was a girl he had met who had got pregnant. He said he wasn’t in love with her, but she was very talented.” She also stated, “I felt he was not encumbered by anything, not by Marsha or the baby. He was young, and I didn’t get the impression he was thinking seriously about becoming a father and being part of this child’s life.”

[BELOW: Marsha photographed with her newborn baby, Karis, in 1971.]

Though she couldn’t go on the road yet, Marsha went right back to work after Karis was born. She lived frugally, hoping to get more work in the coming months to ease her escalating money troubles. She quickly realized just how expensive it was to have a newborn, so in order to pay her rent, a nanny, and for diapers and formula, she took the first job that came her way. After a sudden fire and ceiling collapse shut down the run of “Hair”, she took a role in another musical called “Catch My Soul,” a rock version of Othello. Originally singer Marianne Faithfull was to play a character in the show called “Desdemona” which was the same name of the Marc Bolan song Marsha had released in 1969, and ironically, the name of the character Marsha played was “Bianca.”

At this time, Marsha also had to be more cautious with journalists. They always wanted to turn her profiles into a risque discourse on “love without marriage” and brand her baby a “love child”. She refused to mention Mick in her interviews and avoided all questions about her baby's father.

Meanwhile, Mick and the rest of the Stones moved to France in April 1971 because the income tax in England was so high at the time (it was a 93% supertax imposed by the government on the country's top earners). In fact, they all owed about £100,000 each, so to pay it back, they had to leave. Marsha had known since 1969 that they had financial problems and tax exile was planned.

Before Mick left, he asked Marsha to have her nanny bring their baby, whom he hadn't seen since their argument in November 1970. She always made it clear through their mutual contacts that he could see his child whenever he wished or have her visit him with her nanny.

[BELOW: Mick arriving in Paris, France with the Rolling Stones in 1971.]

Bianca became pregnant a little over a month after Karis was born, and Marsha hoped (naively) that his second baby would remind him of his first.

Several weeks after Karis visited him, Mick and Bianca, who was already 4 months pregnant at the time, got married in a shotgun wedding that took place on May 12, 1971 in St. Tropez, France.

The wedding was a complete circus (from beginning to end). None of the Rolling Stones members attended, except for Keith Richards, Mick even invited his ex-girlfriend and the first woman he ever impregnated, soul singer P.P. Arnold (a detail Bianca wasn’t privy to). Right before the wedding, Bianca also discovered that according to French law, she and Mick had to make clear “what property they held in common.” It was only then that she learned how little this was and threatened to call it off, but eventually relented.

The entire event was a skin-crawling spectacle with Mick and Bianca sweating and pushing their way through crowds of pressmen, photographers, people on holiday, and rubberneckers.

Marsha’s nanny was watching the news report of his wedding and started to cry. Marsha thought, “Girl, save those tears for something more important!”...but of course, she kept quiet!

NONE of the Rolling Stones (or their wives/girlfriends), the brand’s close camp, and the many people who worked for Mick actually liked Bianca and often described her as cold, aloof, pompous, and extremely difficult to get along with. No one really knew anything about her: what she did for a living, her actual age, or even why she refused to speak Spanish even though she was Nicaraguan. She also despised the rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle (so, why’d you marry the motherfucker then? 🤔), which put A LOT of people off. She was a bit of a snob and even referred to the guys in the band as “The Nazi Party”!

[BELOW: Mick & Bianca during their bizarre wedding reception in 1971.]

Anyway, back to Marsha! When “Catch My Soul” ended its run, Marsha embarrassingly took a job appearing in a German soft-drink commercial, which she never considered doing a commercial before, but she needed to make extra cash to pay her bills.

Marsha even had to let go of her nanny and her cleaner who came by a few days a week to help her. She lived from day-to-day and tried not to think of the future.

[LEFT: Marsha in the rock musical “Catch My Soul”; RIGHT: Marsha photographed for a Afri-Cola soft drink commercial.]

Months later, Mick out of the blue, invited Marsha and Karis to see him at his new house, which was a huge palatial mansion with many spare rooms in the south of France. But at the very last minute, she was told by his longtime driver, Alan Dunn, that she wouldn't actually be staying at his house, but instead with Stones guitarist Mick Taylor and his fiancé because she wasn’t “allowed” there and because Bianca “didn’t want some woman her husband used to sleep with in her house.” (What a fucking BITCH!!!) A biographer once claimed that Bianca, who was “Catholic,” had always felt disadvantaged by Marsha because she had Mick first and mothered his eldest child, so this was one of many examples of her taking the “upper hand.”

Marsha also discovered firsthand that her friend, Mick Taylor, had fallen into a serious drug addiction after joining the Rolling Stones which she felt guilty about since she was the one who suggested him as the replacement guitarist for the band 2 years earlier.

When Marsha finally arrived at Mick Jagger’s house, she saw him and a very pregnant Bianca who almost looked like she was Black at first glance. The both of them showed her no hospitality and had no manners. In fact they were EXTREMELY rude at the dinner table: cuddling, nuzzling, murmuring, and only talking to each other in French while completely ignoring Marsha and Karis as though they didn’t exist and were there to see someone else. It felt like he was deliberately trying to humiliate her. Now, whether or not he staged the whole charade to spite and embarrass Marsha and show off his new pregnant wife, or to prove to the jealous Bianca that he was indifferent to Marsha, it was nonetheless, a shocking, disgusting, and unnecessary display.

Before Marsha left she begged him to “loan” her £200 to get by, to which he grudgingly wrote out a check. (Like, why does she even have to ask you for these things?! 🤔) He couldn’t even look her in the eye during her entire visit as Marsha claimed, “I guess he couldn’t.”

[BELOW: Mick with Marsha holding 8-month old Karis in her arms during a trip to visit him at his sunwashed villa in France in 1971.]

Later on, Marsha was still having a really hard time getting work, and her expenses were really racking up. She lost a part in a film with Sidney Poitier because she couldn’t afford a baby-sitter and had to bring Karis along to her audition.

She also regularly saw Mick in newspapers living the high life and wondered if he’d lost his integrity or would lose her mind thinking if he had any in the first place. When she was unsure, she’d re-read his old letters and they reassured her that he was capable of humanity and that their friendship wasn't a figment of her imagination.

When baby Karis spent her first birthday on the set of “Dracula AD 1972,” Marsha had the studio chef bake a big pink-and-white cake for her and Mick even had a handsome rocking horse delivered to her.

For a while, she and Mick were still somewhat ‘friends’...but the whole situation was still awkward.

[BELOW: Marsha on the set of “Dracula A.D. 1972” with her good friend, actress Stephanie Beacham & director Alan Gibson celebrating her daughter Karis’ 1st birthday in November 1971.]

Even after the birth of Mick’s second daughter, Jade Sheena Jezebel Jagger, in October 1971 (they named her Jade because Mick claimed “she is very precious”…”and quite, quite perfect!” 🙄), Marsha naively thought it would get some sense knocked into him. He actually once invited her to bring Karis to be photographed with Jade at his other house at Cheyne Walk, but he only seemed to take interest in Jade.

Strangely, Mick doted on Jade as much as he ignored Karis. The fool even bragged, “I’m a terrific dad. Jade is a fantastic kid, a lovely baby, very sweet and good tempered…I’ve always been a good father, and the kid makes it easy to be that way.”

Jade’s nanny at the time, Sally Arnold, even said that Mick enjoyed fatherhood and was eager to take lessons in baby care claiming, “He’d come in and watch me bathing her and changing her nappies (diapers) and he’d ask me to show him how to do it and he'd do it. He was a real hands-on father.”

Bianca on the other hand, was not the maternal type and would act quite awkwardly toward Jade, at times lifting her like a bowling ball and even once dropped her down the stairs. She also often complained of the “tremendous strain” of being a mom: “Nobody knows what a strain it is to keep a house, look after Jade, and be dressed properly all the time.”

According to friends, it seemed Bianca spent less time with Jade than Mick did and often left her with a nanny because she liked to socialize at parties and events, or go to the hottest discotheque in town.

Jade Jagger even once said in an interview many years later that her mother refused to breastfeed her and because of her parents’ high-profile, globe-trotting careers, they both treated her more like a “mascot” that they had to fit into their lifestyles, rather than a daughter.

[BELOW: Mick & Bianca photographed at home holding newborn Jade with their nanny, Sally Arnold, in late 1971.]

In 1972, Marsha eventually put a new band together called 22, but was put on a small retainer with her new label, and as the leader, most of her money went to her band, equipment, management, travel, and hotel accommodations for Karis and a traveling nanny. Going back on the road meant she had to ask Mick to chip in on the £600 needed for a nanny to go on tour with her and the baby. Mick was also getting ready to go on an American tour with the Stones to support their latest album, Exile on Main St., that was expected to gross over $4 million.

[BELOW: Mick Jagger during the Rolling Stones’ 1972 north American tour which grossed over a then-record of $4 million.]

As always, Mick NEVER offered her money, and she only called him as a last resort because the idea of asking him for anything made her sick. It was also very expensive for her to even track him down by phone wherever he was around the world.

Later on, while at a cafe during her tour in Germany with her band, 19-month old Karis accidentally scolded herself with extremely hot tea and had to be rushed to the hospital, but it took her hours to find an emergency doctor who would accept her because she was Black and who spoke English to treat the burns. When Mick finally phoned and asked if he could help, she asked if he could split the hospital bill with her which was £75. He promised to send it but it never arrived. Karis was finally admitted to an army base hospital and had to stay for 10 days, to which Marsha missed a few gigs. This resulted in her having to skip out on paying the bill. She felt absolutely horrible because they had been so nice to her. It seemed ungrateful. Yet, she didn’t hear from Mick again until after his tour ended.

When she finally met up with Mick, she asked why he hadn’t forked up the cash to help their daughter, he “playfully” said that she “probably would have bought shoes with the money.”

BRUUUH...Marsha was like:

This incensed her, because first of all…HOW FUCKING DARE YOU?! Like, you can’t be serious. Second of all, she thought, “When’d you ever know me to be frivolous with money”?

…MARSHA HAD ENOUGH!! 😡😡😡

She was fed up with Mick’s bullshit and trying to chase him down for an occasional handout. So, she FINALLY consulted with her band’s lawyer and asked him how she could go about setting up an emergency fund for her daughter, but he explained that the only legal right the child had to contributions to her welfare was through a paternity suit, since Karis wasn’t conceived through marriage (as English law was very unkind to single mothers).

Marsha explained that Mick acknowledged that he was Karis' father. The issue was parental neglect. Her lawyer reconfirmed that there was no other legal alternative to her predicament but a paternity suit. She wanted to vomit. She asked him to follow the necessary procedure and to go about it in a way that would keep it confidential and out of the newspapers. Marsha also knew that a paternity suit had negative connotations and it didn’t really approach the problem. She just wanted her kid to have what she needed.

To serve a writ did not mean that it had to be filed in court, if Mick was prepared to act reasonably. But to postpone service, meant that they would have to wait for Mick to come to England again. There was no way of knowing when that would be as he was based abroad. After 2 years, she had to stop lying to herself and pretending that he would do the right thing.

Later on, Marsha met Mick on the long steps of the Albert Memorial, near the same spot she told him she was pregnant years earlier. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she believed that in spite of his horrible behavior, somewhere there was still a friend.

They walked arm-in-arm through the park (really to calm him). The issue of the baby and his responsibility to her was serious. She needed things and his pretense that he didn't have to help had to be confronted.

If his jet-set life made the situation seem remote, it was understandable. So, Marsha suggested that he put aside a trust fund for the Karis’ future education and any emergencies. It could be administered by trustees and she could avoid asking him personally for help when it was needed. A £25,000 trust fund seemed adequate and he'd be free of any further financial responsibility.

After their walk, they sat in a nearby pub and Mick said he would put £20,000 in a trust for his daughter. She was relieved that they were able to find a solution without a lawsuit or unnecessary animosity.

As they parted, she assured him that he was more than welcome to see his child whenever he wanted. But by the time their solicitors spoke later that evening, Mick (like the cheap bastard he is) had reduced the trust investment once again to £17,000.

When Karis turned 2 years old, Marsha invited her half-sister Jade, who she thought was precious, to her birthday party. The fact that Mick and Bianca let her come with her nanny suggested that things were alright between them.

During this time, a very simple and straightforward trust agreement was drawn up by her solicitor. But after many months of letters and asking for signatures and funds, it still hadn’t been signed and no money was available. It NEVER happened!

[BELOW: Marsha traveling and at home with her daughter Karis in 1972.]

Marsha could only think Mick and his solicitor wanted the lawsuit, which she finally had to proceed with. On July 16, 1973, the affiliation order was filed. The hearing was set, but when it hit the newspapers it stank. Unlike their secret affair, the case was very public and unpleasant. People were shocked that Mick Jagger had possibly had a child with a Black woman.

Keep in mind, up until that time no one outside of their close circle really knew about Mick and Marsha’s relationship, so the story was reported as though Marsha had suddenly appeared with a 2 year old child out of nowhere to accuse Mick, who was a huge rockstar, of paternity.

Mick was reportedly furious that Marsha went public with the allegations and was quoted saying, “I’m not upset for myself. It’s just that my mother didn’t know, and she gets upset about this sort of publicity. Why did Marsha have to be so bloody silly? It wasn’t as though I was going to leave her and Karis to starve!”

In the whirlwind of publicity that followed, Mick denied paternity and, in an effort to stall legal proceedings, insisted on a blood test—thus implying that Marsha was promiscuous. Marsha, meanwhile, was portrayed as a home-wrecking gold-digger. Mick, stung by what he viewed as Marsha’s “betrayal,” sarcastically suggested that she had gone public merely to hype her own flagging career.

Marsha thought it was interesting that in contrast to “groupies” whose connections to rockstars gave them an elevated status, her relationship with Mick made her a pariah.

Paparazzi and photographers staked out in front of her home, so she had to hide out at a house her band stayed at until the headlines died.

Afterwards, Marsha wanted to be less visible and more incorporated in her band’s image, so she decided to cut off all of her famous hair. British Vogue even wanted her to cover the event. The magazine’s photoshoot also included her daughter Karis, who the public had never seen before.

[LEFT: Marsha with newly cropped hair; RIGHT: Marsha & Karis photographed for Vogue UK; BOTTOM: Marsha promoting her band, 22.]

There was no doubt that the suit affected how people perceived her. And when the media asked Mick to make another statement, he snidely asked if Marsha hadn’t had a new record released. He wanted to imply that that paternity suit was a publicity ploy, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

Mick’s wife Bianca was also asked about the suit and was quoted saying that she “didn’t give a damn.” Marsha of course said NOTHING!

In 1973, Marsha got a job as a host of a new late-night radio talk program for Capital Radio in London where she interviewed some big names; everyone from Barry White, Dionne Warwick, Bill Withers, Sarah Vaughan, and Stevie Wonder (who she chatted with for 3 ½ hours). The show was a success and expanded her public profile, and among the chaos of her personal life, she developed a reputation as a smart woman who conducted compelling interviews with guests.

For Marsha, hosting a radio show was extremely hard work. She had to do extensive research, stay abreast on current issues, learn about projects interviewees were releasing - all with no formal training or experience. She was also running on about 3 hours of sleep everyday, yet still found time to spend with her daughter who liked going to Regents Park in London to feed the geese.

[BELOW: Marsha during her stint as a chat show host for Capital Radio, 1973.]

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Marianne Faithfull was also one of the guests she interviewed during her Sunday-night program, while she was appearing in a play called “The Collector” in the West End. Marsha thought she'd had an interesting career, which at that time encompassed music, theater, and film. And when she went to her theater dressing room, her new boyfriend, Oliver Musker, wanted to go to the cinema while they taped the interview. He didn't have any money, so Marsha lent him some. The interview was successful. Neither of them mentioned Mick before, during, or after their chat, but he did have the audacity to write to Marsha and say that he liked it the interview.

[BELOW: Marsha with her daughter Karis in 1973.]

In addition to her talk show, Marsha also had to DJ a Black music spot on Saturday nights, which included R&B, soul, as well as reggae. One strange interview was with Bob Marley, who wasn’t a household name yet. She couldn’t understand a word he was saying because of his heavy Jamaican accent and he pretty much sexually assaulted her while on the job as he kept feeling on her legs, even when she kindly asked him to stop and he wouldn’t. 🤢 He even left his little green, weed-smelling Rasta cap for her when he departed.

But, during yet another interview with the writer and novelist Gore Vidal, Marsha found out that Bianca, Mick’s wife, was going around talking shit about her to him and other random people. This was after the paternity suit.

[LEFT: Marianne Faithfull with her boyfriend, Oliver Musker; MIDDLE: Reggae singer Bob Marley in London 1973; RIGHT: Writer Gore Vidal in 1973.]

Marsha was still working at Capital when the lawsuit came up for a second time. Mick was not at the 6 November 1973 hearing, when the case drew sensational headlines.

In spite of her work, Marsha lived a very normal life and even the mundanities of it were affected by this kind of press. People all around would be cold toward her and give her nasty looks. Even mothers at Karis’ nursery school who had been friendly before avoided her because Mick was everybody’s hero. I mean, he was the frontman of the Rolling Stones for Christ sake! So in turn, her phone stopped ringing, which didn’t surprise her at all.

Though, by Mick denying paternity, he again insinuated that Marsha was sleeping with other men when Karis was conceived (which of course she wasn’t). Therefore, it was Marsha who stood accused, and Karis was the one being punished, because whatever the father's means, a child born to unmarried parents only had a right to only £5 a week in maintenance from him.

Her solicitor advised her to accept the out-of-court settlement. The best offer that Mick would make was £500 pounds a year (£9 pounds a week) and a £10,000 trust fund that Karis would get after she finished school. BUT…this was offered by Mick and his lawyers ONLY if Marsha agreed to sign an actual fucking affidavit stating that Mick wasn’t the father. (THE AUDACITYYYYY!!!)

Extremely desperate, Marsha caved in to his demands and agreed to sign. And even though court proceedings started in 1972, Marsha didn’t see a damn dime until 1975.

[BELOW: Mick & Marsha in the mid-1970s.]

Instead of feeling angry and becoming hard-shelled, Marsha was completely humiliated. She felt like there was no justice in the world. After Mick’s paternity denial, Marsha didn’t allow any photographs of her daughter to be taken and shunned away from the press completely.

When her contract with Capital came up for renewal, she decided to step out of local radio. She was pretty much a token there during that new era of radio because she was Black and a woman, and she also found she didn’t like delving into people's personal lives and corralling them into self exposure. It felt hypocritical of her.

After that, Marsha’s agent booked her some singing gigs in Portugal and other parts of Europe. Then in 1976, she went back to performing in theater in England.

To make ends meet and to assure that her daughter had everything she needed, Marsha stayed in a tiny rundown unit catered to up-and-coming actors that had no central heating, no phone and was unbearably cold, especially in the winters. She called her daughter Karis every single day and during her time off, she rushed home by train to see her.

In 1977, after cutting a new disco record with a German label, Marsha moved back to Los Angeles to find a distribution deal and swapped her London flat with a journalist who was living in Hollywood at the time (as she saw no end to the problems that had been created in England through the paternity suit). Marsha claimed she went from being “the girl from Hair” to “the girl who sued Mick Jagger”.

It was difficult for her to sustain a recording career due to her lack of desired Black female vocal style. No one really understood her music because like how dare a Black woman get up on a stage and not sound like Aretha Franklin?! She later quit the music business, having promised herself that this would be her last go, stating, “Music was only acceptable as a career if it could provide us with an income.” She redirected her creative energies to acting and writing and tried to find more work, but the market was quite different for her in America as the industry only saw her as one-dimensional (i.e. “Black and female”) - a reason she mostly stuck to theater. It was still the Blaxploitation era in film, and most roles for Black auditioning actresses were far, few, and somewhat degrading. I mean, how many fucking times can you play a stereotypical part like a slave, a hooker, a nurse, or a gun-slinging, jive-talking stone fox before it chips away at your integrity and diminishes your artistry?!

That summer, Marsha was informed by Karis' school teacher that her daughter's test scores were through the roof and that she was far more advanced than other children in her class and age group. So, they suggested that she should be put in a school for the gifted.

Karis needed special attention, which her old school or nannies couldn’t provide, so Marsha had her enrolled at an expensive special school that was 12 miles away from where they stayed (she would often see Tina Turner walking her dogs along the way) so she wouldn’t be deprived.

While in L.A., Marsha also stayed with an old friend, musician John Mayall, who adored her daughter and was kind enough to give her room and board while she readjusted to being back in the U.S.

Around this time, Bianca was known as a socialite, (even though she once told journalist Geraldo Rivera that she was an “actress” - shit, I ain’t never seen her in anything!) and was always seen at the latest movie premiere or nightclubs like Studio 54 in NYC petting doves and shit, and would constantly spend Mick’s money on diamonds, furs, and trips. She never showed concern for her step-daughter Karis and NEVER once asked about her or her welfare.

[LEFT & RIGHT: Bianca with Mick living the high life in the mid-1970s.]

On the other hand, Mick was known to cheat on Bianca who was a stink, stuck up bitch and engaged in many affairs with various women, including famous names like rock & roll groupie Bebe Buell, singer Carly Simon, singer Ava Cherry, supermodel Pat Cleveland, and the daughter of actor/comedian Tommy Chong, Rae Dawn Chong who, unbeknownst to Mick, was actually 15 years old at the time.

Mick was even under the impression that he was the father of Bebe Buell's daughter Liv (born on July 1, 1977). He had the audacity to call her the next day saying, “I’m coming over to see my child.” Within hours, Mick and Rolling Stones guitarist, Ron Wood, literally were one of the first to show up in the maternity ward to visit. (Dude, don’t you already have a real daughter to worry about? 🤔 The NEVRE!!!) Eventually Bebe informed him Liv's father was Aerosmith's Steven Tyler.

[LEFT to RIGHT: Notorious rock & roll “groupie” Bebe Buell, backing singer & girlfriend of David Bowie, Ava Cherry, supermodels Pat Cleveland & Jerry Hall, and actress Rae Dawn Chong.]

Marsha still occasionally kept in touch with Mick through her agent/mutual friend who set up their contact.

After Mick separated from Bianca, he started living with his new girlfriend who he previously had an affair with, Texan model Jerry Hall.

Jerry was actually a very delightful and cheerful woman. Unlike Bianca who was serious most of the time, Jerry was always smiling and was very southern and fun to be around. She was also the one who prompted Mick to spend more time with his daughter, Karis.

That’s why in 1978, even though she was informed by a mutual friend that Mick was still heavily using hard drugs, Marsha still agreed to arrange for them to spend a day together while he was in L.A. At that time, he hadn’t seen his daughter Karis in FIVE YEARS.

[BELOW: Jerry Hall, 7-year old Karis & Mick in Los Angeles, 1978.]

Weirdly enough, in that same year, Mick also wrote the title song for the Rolling Stones album called Some Girls, which many believe alludes to Marsha with the lyrics:

Black girls just wanna get fucked all night I just don't have that much jam

AND…

Some girls so corrupt Some girls give me children I only made love to her once

[BELOW: The Rolling Stones song, “Some Girls” released in 1978.]

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The song’s lyrics were deemed so degrading that many Black radio stations refused to play it, along with any other single from the album, due to its sexist and racist nature. Jesse Jackson, who was running for president at the time, even called for a boycott!

It’s funny, but Marsha always gave Karis a good impression of her father and wanted her to be proud of him even though he disrespected her constantly. When Karis got to the age when she became curious about who her father was (she even once asked if he was dead) Marsha told her the truth. If a Rolling Stones song played on the radio, Marsha would say, “That’s your daddy you know!” Mick had made great contributions to rock ‘n’ roll music and she always explained that his absence had something to do with his feelings for her and not Karis.

After Mick and Marsha got in touch during his visit to L.A., he realized that she was in over her head sending Karis to a school for gifted children, but as always didn’t offer to help.

Financially, Marsha was committed way beyond her means, and after house-sitting for another friend, she had to face her situation. Two promising deals she was looking forward to fell through, and even though the disco record that she cut for the German label was popular on the gay discotheque scene, her earnings didn’t cover enough for her to survive. So, she conceded that she was down to collecting social security.

She found asking for a handout, when all she wanted was a job, was absolutely demoralizing and she felt indignant at what her life had become. She was no longer a singer or an actress, she was Black-female-unemployed, another file number, another statistic.

She filled out endless forms before she came to a snag. She then realized she couldn't get any government assistance or food stamps without supplying the name of her child's father so that someone could contact him about support payments. Now, imagine a West L.A. social security employee trying to get Mick Jagger on the phone. The government had to try with a mother's cooperation to get a father to provide maintenance through a paternity suit if necessary. This wasn't an irrational requirement. But she knew that there was no other way that she could put Mick's name on a social security aid form without fanfare.

This time around, a second case would affect their daughter Karis, who was older and couldn’t be shielded. She wanted her to fully understand what was going on and what might happen, especially at school, if she took Mick to court again. So, she talked it over with her and let Karis decide.

Marsha also had to consider how another lawsuit would affect her family, including her brother who was a respected music journalist at the Los Angeles Times newspaper, and how they might be dragged across the mud along with her (especially since she’s a woman). No matter how much she wanted to avoid another paternity suit, it was her duty as a mother to acquire whatever security she could for her daughter so that if something happened to her, if she dropped dead, Karis would be provided for.

There was no question of her destitution (she was still only receiving £9 pounds a week from Mick), but before the caseworker approved her application, she sent Marsha to the local DA’s office for help in trying to get more child support from Mick. In the preliminary paternity suit hearings that were scheduled, Marsha sought $2,190 per month in child support payments.

Marsha claimed, “It’s not like a normal child with an absent father…Mick’s there every time you turn on the radio or see a magazine cover. If Karis has got to suffer that, I don’t think she should also have to suffer being suddenly poverty-stricken,” She also said. “It’s been difficult to keep her from becoming bitter when he seems to give his energy and money to other women but not to his daughter. We’re talking about a minute amount of money to someone who earns a lot.”

After talking with the welfare worker and the DA, she got legal advice from two lawyers before she approached a third. She went to celebrity lawyer, Marvin Mitchelson, the paladin of paramours, who promptly sued Mick to establish his paternity, to get Karis child support, and to restrain his promoters from paying him his share of gate proceeds from two July shows he had in Anaheim with the Rolling Stones.

The case carried on for months and she was advised to settle out of court once again. She told her lawyer that she couldn’t accept another settlement because Mick’s contributions towards their child’s well-being wasn’t the only issue any longer. She wanted his paternity legally confirmed however long it took. Karis had a right to know that Mick was indeed her father.

I mean, Mick was pasted on people’s walls, sang out from the radio, and peered at her from magazine covers. People would talk about him while Karis sat in the room as if he had nothing to do with her. It was crazy!

When Marsha discovered that her lawyer had also taken on Bianca Jagger’s divorce, she wondered if he planned to drop her case, but he said he was able to represent them both. She felt uncomfortable about it but wasn’t in a position to quibble.

A few times Marsha was asked to sell her story to newspapers and magazines for quite a lot of money, but she wasn’t tempted at all. She just wanted Karis to think well of her father and wanted to feel that the settlement served him as much as it served her. She even wrote to him to let him know that what happened was past and he was still welcome to see Karis. She wanted to put the issue behind her so that she could carry on with her life.

After the case went to the Superior Court judge, the judge was like:

Mick eventually caved in, but not before bitterly attacking Marsha and making crude comments to the press that once again called Marsha’s integrity into question. When asked about her in 1978, he told a reporter for SOUL magazine, “She’s a hustler,” and that she was, “just out for publicity. Every time she comes to a low point and she can’t be bothered to get any work, she drags me around. She never even gives me a call to say ‘Please Mick, I want some money.’ I have no idea if that child is mine or not.”

In another interview, he stated, “She’s an idiot; she won't take any fuckin’ work…She’s a lazy bitch.” And, when asked how many children he had during the interview, Mick shrugged and said, “I don’t know. Not many.”

Marsha didn’t say anything. How could she say anything?! Mick Jagger is RICH, WHITE, and FAMOUS. Who was going to come to her defense?!

[BELOW: Mick & Marsha on the cover of SOUL magazine in October 1978.]

Little did “Mick Cannon” know that after driving their daughter to school every morning, Marsha would scurry off to do various housekeeping jobs to keep financially afloat. Luckily, she had a lot of famous friends and acquaintances in the business and would often clean their homes from top to bottom. Marsha said the work had dignity, and it kept her from borrowing money from other people.

She sort of felt like she was doing him a favor. That while he was behaving badly, she was doing two things for him: taking immaculate care of the daughter that they planned and had TOGETHER and leaving the door open, so that when he was ready to come back, he could.

Marsha also thought he was kind of a fool, and once claimed that “When he gets older, and the fame dies, and he looks around at his life and all he has is his children....he’ll regret this.”

[BELOW: Mick & Marsha in numerous headlines on their second paternity suit published in the press in 1978.]

At the end of January 1979, paternity was cleared with a blood test and maintenance was ordered which was stated, may not be disclosed. It was enough to keep Karis in school at the time.

There was no lump sum and it wasn’t retroactive, as most people imagined. Every cent went to Karis. But Marsha knew that if she didn’t get work soon, she’d be in financial trouble again.

In spite of the lawsuit Marsha was also able to keep Karis’ picture out of the newspaper and protect her right to a normal childhood.

Later that year, Marsha started dating actor Robert De Niro who accosted her at a hotel when she was picking up a friend, and was estranged from his wife. She didn’t know who he was at first, but she remembered his face from a film called the “Godfather II.”

While her friends from Fleetwood Mac went on tour, their producer asked Marsha and Karis to pet sit his baby boa constrictor who she ended up keeping. Around this same time, a British newspaper called the Daily Mail ran a third-page article about Marsha which read as if she had been interviewed. It headlined an accusation about Mick as a quote from her even though she never spoke to them and it was a total fabrication. She went to a solicitor to force a retraction, but it cost a lot of time and money to sue a newspaper for libel. She got absolutely nowhere.

Additionally, in 1979, Bianca Jagger did an interview for The Telegraph saying that “Mick is avoiding taxes in every country in the world and he has 13 lawyers helping him to do it. Why should I be denied my freedom and a decent allowance for the sake of his tax situation? Then I read in the papers that Marsha Hunt had been awarded the same sum from Mick in her paternity suit (that’s a damn LIE) that I, his legal wife 🙄, am given to bring up our daughter and run the house. I felt fed up, furious. It was at that point that Mitchelson called me from Los Angeles and offered to help me. He likes women. He has a sense of justice. He made me see that if Mick wants a fight, I must use the same weapons.”

FYI, Bianca ended up receiving over £1 million in her divorce settlement with Mick, while Marsha got around $6,000 a year.

[BELOW: Bianca Jagger and her mean face on the cover of The Telegraph Sunday Magazine in 1979.]

Marsha hotfooted all around the world, from LA to Australia and back to London and the U.S again, continuing to write songs and gigging with a band she put together called Martha and the Vendettas (which was a play on her favorite group Martha and the Vandellas), even though they made little to no money at all.

Taking care of Karis was her #1 priority, as she was a very bright and congenial child. She had loads of friends, loved playing outside and scraping her knees, ate sloppy Joes, went to summer camp, and lived an extremely normal life growing up for the most part in America. Most people wouldn’t even know that she was the firstborn child of the biggest rockstar in the world.

[BELOW: Some EXTREMELY rare photos of Mick and Marsha’s daughter, Karis, throughout the mid 1970s into the early 1980s.]

In 1982, Marsha started work on a film called, “Britannia Hospital,” which was a British black comedy starring Malcolm McDowell (a.k.a Alex DeLarge from “A Clockwork Orange”). This is when she also met singer Sting, lead singer of the English rock band, The Police, who was working on a film. They became really close friends and she even stayed at his home for a while. Marsha was also the person who arranged backup singers for him when he went on tour with The Police a year later.

“Britannia Hospital” was well received, so much so that it was entered into the 1982 Cannes Film Festival, in which Marsha was invited. It was there she realized that mostly all people wanted to know about her was her relationship with Mick.

She didn’t want to talk about him at all. It felt like she was losing herself and it scared her. After years of working so hard, all the failures and all that happened with Mick, Marsha started to gain a lot of weight and eventually had a mental breakdown and had to seek professional help.

[BELOW: Marsha at the 1982 Cannes Film Festival and being interviewed about Mick.]

Mick had just gotten off the European leg of his “Tattoo You” tour with The Rolling Stones and was kinda beefin’ with the rest of the guys in the band. It would be 7 years until they toured again. So he had “extra” time on his hands at that point.

[BELOW: Mick performing during The Rolling Stones’ “Tattoo You” world tour.]

On Karis’ 12th birthday, Sting threw a little party for her and she got loads of presents from Marsha’s friends from The Police and The Who. And when she got home Mick surprised her with 3 large boxes wrapped in gleaming china-red paper that were waiting for her. It looked like Santa had made a November drop. He also phoned her from NYC to tell her “Happy Birthday” too. Marsha was happy and hoped that Mick would come through whatever had held him back all those years. Her intention was to smile and make him feel welcome.

That was it! No big apology. No “I’m sorry for how I treated you both.” He just eased back into their lives when the apology should’ve been as loud as the motherfucking disrespect!!!! ☕️☕️☕️

[BELOW: Marsha with her good friends, singer Sting of The Police and Roger Daltrey, lead singer of The Who.]

By 1983, Mick and Marsha were on decent terms and he even wanted her to be interviewed for an autobiography he was writing, which she agreed to do, but refused to show letters he had written to her in 1969.

A year after that, he and Jerry Hall were expecting their first child together, daughter Elizabeth Jagger, and that’s when the media finally started to see Mick out with his first child, Karis. Jerry would actually invite her to family events, holidays, and trips instead of treating her like a bald-headed step child. I guess after Mick had completely neglected her for 12 YEARS and having a new child on the way…it just wouldn’t look right!

Mick also made a statutory declaration to the Registrar-General in London, where a new birth certificate was entered which read ‘KARIS HUNT JAGGER’. By then, Mick (though not having custody) bore sole financial responsibility for Karis.

[BELOW: Karis with Mick and his “other” family in the mid-1980s.]

Mick and Marsha ended up enrolling Karis in a private secondary boarding school in the UK, Bedales, which he paid for, so she could be close to her father.

She also grew closer to Jade who was a bit wild and had a problem with authority. Jade was even once thrown out of her school for sneaking off on the middle of the night with a boy.

Karis on the other hand, was the total opposite. She was extremely shy, soft spoken (if she talked at all), and kind of ‘preppy.’ She learned French just like her dad a played two instruments, piano and the harp, which impressed Mick.

[BELOW: Marsha & Mick together with their daughter Karis during her christening at Bedales School in 1984.]

Once in a while, Mick would take Karis and Marsha out. They even once saw Beverly Hills Cop starring Eddie Murphy together. They sat in the front row and Mick had his arm on her thigh the whole time. Afterward, they walked to his car and someone snapped a photo of Mick and Marsha holding hands and she was like “Aw, hell. Here we go!” They later went to the very fancy and expensive Tour d’Argent restaurant for dinner, where people constantly came up to him asking for his autograph, and it was weird because it almost felt like they were…a “family”! But it was also in that moment she realized why she never married him. She couldn’t put up with the fanfare and playing second fiddle to anybody.

Later on, in 1985, an editor at a noted publishing house in England approached Marsha and asked if she would write a book about her life. Her initial response was, “Absolutely NOT!” She also said that, “Enough people had trashed my life in newspapers that I don’t want to participate in writing about my life.” She just thought they wanted to know about Mick Jagger: how hung he was or who she knew that he knew that maybe she could get some dirt on him. So, she said no she wouldn’t do it. But they were really interested in hearing what she had to say and what was individual about her life including the 60s rock scene. So she went away to write the book which was released in 1986.

[BELOW: The cover of Marsha Hunt’s autobiography “Real Life” which was released in 1986.]

Years later, when biographer Phillip Norman released a book about Mick, he said this of his relationship with Marsha Hunt in an interview: He’s a massive contradiction. He [Mick] can behave very well, and he can behave not very well…but that’s the prerogative of rockstars who don’t grow up. You can’t predict them. One minute they seem quite pleasant, the next minute they’re being completely horrible. They feel they have no control of their behavior.

Believe it or not, this is not where the story ends!!!

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crystaldust · 5 months

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Highlights from “The basic goal and ways to attainment”

[session 1 of “Keys to the ultimate freedom” by Lester Levenson]

♡ A continuous state of happiness with no taint whatsoever of sorrow. This is the real natural state, before we encumber it with limitations.

♡ To make myself separate from the All, I must set up a means to accomplish this. The means is my mind that creates my body and the material world. Then I proceed, creating more and more thoughts that create more and more matter until the thoughts and matter have me so bogged down and blinded that I have lost my real identity as the infinite Beingness that I am. ♡ The original thought of “I am separate from the All” necessarily creates a lack. Lack creates desire. Desire therefore cannot undo the lack, as lack is not there in the first place, it is not real but assumed.

♡ The prime, the very first limitation is: “I am an individual separate from the All.” Eliminate that and you eliminate all limitation, all trouble, all sickness, all poverty.

♡ To say this in another way is to say: “God is all! Let go and let God be. It is not I (ego) but the Father (Self) who worketh through me.” We must let go of the ego sense which is the original sense of separation from the All and allow our natural Being just to be and then everything would fall perfectly into line.

♡ This is all very, very simple. If you want complexity you'll never see simplicity.

♡ Once this is accepted as the overall way, however, we do not find it easy of accomplishment. We don't find it easy because of past habits that have been established over thousands and thousands of years. And for some silly reason we subconsciously like these past habits of trouble and so we continue them. We do it in a manner that we refuse to look at. We call it subconscious behavior! And we go on and on and on repeating all this behavior of limitation automatically, calling it subconscious. Now the subconscious mind is only that part of the mind that we refuse to look at!

♡ There is only letting go of concepts to the contrary, that we have troubles, that we have limitations. Anyone who says, “I have trouble,” has it in his mind. That's the only place where it is because you can't see anything anywhere else but in your mind. Whatever you look at, whatever you hear, whatever you sense, is through your mind. That's where everything is.

♡ The method of undoing the limitations is not easy because of habit. We need a very strong desire to begin to let go of these wrong habits from the past. Without that strong desire there is no growth. This desire must be stronger than the desire to possess and control this world.

♡ The world as now seen really is a fiction when you see the Truth. It turns out to be a dream. It is exactly as happens in a night dream. When you awaken from the night dream you say, ‘‘my gosh it was just a dream! It never happened! This dream was all in me!” And exactly in the same manner you awaken from this dream called the waking state. You come to see that it was only a fiction of your imagination, it was only a dream, and then you let go of it.

♡ So all we do is let go of “we are not” and what's left over is the fully realized Being that we are.

♡ Alright if you understand it intellectually and you are not able to use it, it's because you're not looking at yourself honestly, truthfully, with deep desire to see your Self.

♡ Every thought is a thing of limitation. Therefore when we quiet the mind, we still these limiting thoughts and this infinite Being that we are becomes self-obvious to us. The Self is then not occluded by the limiting thoughts! We see It, we recognize that we never were that mind, that body, and from that moment on, the mind and body have no influence upon us.

♡ So the very best method of all methods is to quiet the mind to see the Being that you are. Pose the question: “Who am I?” and if other thoughts come in, ask, “To whom are these thoughts?” The answer is “To me.” “Well, who am I?” and you're back on the track, seeking to see your Self.

♡ The world is only an illusion that we created mentally. It is not external but in reality within us, within our mind. We create our mind, which is nothing but a composite of all our thoughts, conscious and subconscious, and the thoughts create the material world. Every little thing that happens to each and everyone of us is created in our thinking.

♡ Everything that happens to us is created in our thought. First you discover that you created your trouble, then you discover that you can create anything you desire. After you discover that there is nothing that you cannot create, you're still unhappy. The reason is that you have separated yourself from the Infinity. Only by recognizing your Infinity are you perfectly satisfied.

♡ So if there are any problems that remain, they only remain because you are holding onto them in thought. The moment you let go of them, they are gone! If you tell me that isn't so for you, that isn't true. The truth is you're still holding onto them, telling me that it doesn't work. Now trying to get rid of a problem is holding onto it. Anything we try to get rid of we are holding in mind and thereby sustaining that problem. So the only way to correct a problem is to let go of it. See not the problem, see only what you want. If you would only from this moment on see what you want that is all that you would get, i.e., what you want. But you hold in mind the things you do not want. You struggle to eliminate the things you don't want, thereby sustaining them. So it's necessary to let go of the negative and put in the positive if you want a positive, happy life.

♡ This subject cannot be learned intellectually, it cannot be learned through the mind because it's perceived just behind the mind. We can use the mind to gradually undo the limitations enough so that we can get behind the mind by getting it quieter. We have to very concentratedly dwell upon our Self that is just behind the mind. Turn the mind back upon the mind to discover what the mind is, and then go beyond the mind to the Self. So to get this subject, each one must experience it, realize it, make it real by going to the place just behind the mind and perceiving it there.

♡ You will never, never lose your individuality. The word “I” as you use it to mean your individuality will never ever leave you. It expands. What happens as you re-remember what you are is that you'll begin to see that others are you, that you are me, that you are now and always have been gloriously Infinite.

♡ Look at your mind. That in itself is a good practice. It puts you apart from it. You are looking at it. Watch your thoughts. It's a wonderful practice. If you examine thoroughly the mind, you will discover that it isn't, it's an illusion. Let it go it's way, just watch the mind. The ultimate witness is the Self. It's a tremendous thing to watch the mind. Not only does it quiet it, it makes the mind not you. If you trace the source of the mind, you find it is nothingness. This whole world is a dream illusion, which means that it isn't.

#o #highlights #lester levenson #non dualism #nondualism #basics #imp #fave #i really feel like this first session hits everything

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daintybrute · 17 days

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WIP of my SECOND favorite rarepair from Stardew. As an opposites-attract fan, it's no surprise that I sometimes swoon for these two!

Back when I wrote "Slim to None", I had to make a brand new tag for Elliot/Maru on AO3, because they are even rarer than Penny and Seb, and I think for more reasons than the obvious ones.

It's clear they aren't alike. Left brain vs. right brain. Logical vs. Creative Scientific vs. Artistic. Straightforward vs. Poetical. You get the idea.

But the more I think about these two, the more interesting their dynamic becomes.

Because I strongly believe that people like Elliot, who are extremely expressive and artistic, tend to be easily burdened by their own deep feelings - especially when they don't know how to show these feelings to someone they profoundly care about, because they want it to be conveyed perfectly and beautifully.

While people like Maru who are more pragmatic, logical and practical, may not be very receptive of romantic expression initially - especially the elaborate and flowery kind of affection that Elliot would probably try to offer her.

But I imagine what's going through Maru's mind is 'He's just doing it to be nice.' Basically trying not to fall harder for him than she already has, because she's already done the premature damage control in her brain, rejecting herself on behalf of him, so not to get hurt.

Because allowing yourself to fall in love is scary, right? Especially in the case where it turns out the one you feel deeply for, feels nothing for you in return.

So, Maru tried to resign herself, chipping away her own fondness for him (Which only sort of worked when he wasn’t around). Love had zero applicable positive in her life. Her unearthed feelings had the potential to seriously encumber the way she's systematically ordered her life, and that is a serious problem for someone like her.

Plus, Elliot would never go for someone like me, right? She convinces herself, What gorgeous, sophisticated man in their right mind would pick the scrappy girl with machine grease spatters on her face and arms, when he could have anyone he wanted?

Little does she know (because she refuses to believe it herself), the more Elliot spends time with her, the less capable he is of stopping himself from thinking about her. His mind was consumed. Countless hours lying in bed, staring at the ceiling wondering how she was doing. If she had any interest at all in the book he was writing, or if she would find it boring and dull... What it would take to get her to not avert her eyes when she glanced his way.

"I just like her..." He whispered plainly to himself, somewhat humiliated that he couldn't formulate a better way to say it.

Not that he didn't try.

All the articulations he mustered to piece together, it seemed as if all the poetry and literature the world had to offer would fall short, unable to capture the weight that rested squarely on his heart when his mind simply drifted to her – as it so often did now. His words are far too inadequate to covey his insurmountable feelings.

This is displayed in his canon ten heart event. For a man who is usually suave and elloquant with his speech, Elliot fumbles over what he's tries to say; "Um... [Player]... How do I say this?" "N-no! I'm not saying I want to cut all ties with you!" "... Let's see, how do I put this...?"

Never had he been at such a loss for words as he was during Maru's 8 heart event. Standing in front of Maru. Alone with her in her room. Letting her carefully apply burn cream to his hand after her project demonstration didn’t exactly go as planned.

“That kind of ruined the moment, huh?” She sighed with glistening eyes and flush cheeks, clearly very disappointed in herself.

He’d said hardly anything since he’d even arrived. What could he say? He knows nothing of this stuff… Regardless, now was the time. It had to be! Even if he didn’t exactly know how he was going to say it, he couldn’t conceal his appreciation for her any longer.

Instead of gracelessly blurting out his feelings, he chokes his inadequate words down, stepping forward, aching to simply hold Maru in a perfect moment. Longing for her to carry his bursting heart in her palm. To inspect and refurbish his yearning spirit as she would a malfunctioning gadget or broken machine.

"You, uh," Maru tenses, blushing deeply as he does so, taking a small step back, "You don't have to do that." She chuckles awkwardly, knowing he couldn't possibly...

His heart palpitated wildly as he pulled away, unable to keep himself from feeling hurt and embarrassed by her unexpected rejection, "Maru...?"

"I know gadgets aren't really your kind of thing.." Maru's voice trembled as she looked away, "And I do appreciate that you're showing interest in what I do... but you don't have to overdo it. I mean, thank you for humoring me, but, especially after that… You've already done enough...."

All his hope and desire clattered to the ground. Practically drowning in his own confusion and humiliation, a small moment passed as Elliot's mind began to spin with all the details that lead up to this moment. All the looks Elliot caught her sneaking his way, the way she grew bashful when talking to him about herself, how he could have sworn she was about to ask him to dance with her at the flower festival this year, but never did. The way even just now, how blithely she invited him in to her room to show him what she’d been working on.

After all that?

Determined not to let it end here, Elliot gingerly took either side of Maru’s face, prompting her to look deeply and directly into his eyes. A single word fell from his lips...

"No." Elliot hushed, pupils dancing back and forth between hers.

Maru's brow crinkled.

He repeated himself, "No. I have not done enough." With a light shake of his head and a breezy chuckle, "In fact, I've hardly done anything for you at all."

She again averted her eyes, "Elliot, y-"

Cutting her off, Elliot insistently pulled her face back, tilting his head to meet her eyes again, firm and intentional. The words that he had were simple, yet inspired, "No, Maru... Not enough."

Elliot's soft expression and lowered voice was enough to make Maru's eyes mist. He seemed so genuine; she couldn't find any way around the cold hard fact that faced her in this moment. There was no answer key or user's manual for this kind of thing, there were too many variabls in the equations. But right now with her face cradled in his palms, Maru couldn't calculate (or re-calculate) this moment to equal anything less than the total of what it all added up to;

Elliot adored her.

A smile bloomed on Elliot's face, repeating himself yet again, “No… Not enough.” wrapping his arms around her once more, "Not even close."

OR Maybe it's not that deep and I just think they'd be cute together :) Thanks for reading my headcanon ramblings.

Side note: it's supposed to be a heart floating off of Elliot in the doodle of them kissing, but instead it looks like someone threw a pretzel at him and it bounced off his jacket 🥨😂

#stardew valley #stardew valley fanart #stardew valley headcanons #elliot stardew valley #elliot sdv #maru stardew valley #sdv maru #Elliot x Maru

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ndbookstudy · 7 months

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lester levenson, keys to the ultimate freedom, session 1.

part 1

That which everyone of us is looking for in this world is exactly the same thing. Every being, even the animals, are looking for it. And what is it that we are all looking for? Happiness with no sorrow! A continuous state of happiness with no taint whatsoever of sorrow. Now, if this be the Goal, why is it the Goal? The reason why it is the Goal is because unlimited happiness is our very basic nature! This is the real natural state, before we encumber it with limitations.

Now why is it that most of us do not have this continuous happiness with no sorrow? There's only one reason: being this infinite Being with infinite happiness we do a way with this joy, this happiness, by saying, “I am an individual, separate from the All.” To make myself separate from the All, I must set up a means to accomplish this. The means is my mind that creates my body and the material world. Then I proceed, creating more and more thoughts that create more and more matter until the thoughts and matter have me so bogged down and blinded that I have lost my real identity as the infinite Beingness that I am.” The original thought of “I am separate from the All” necessarily creates a lack. Lack creates desire. Desire therefore cannot undo the lack, as lack is not there in the first place, it is not real but assumed. And we go on and on trying to satisfy desire and we never, never succeed. If we could succeed, we would be able to satisfy desire and therefore all desire would disappear! And then we would be desireless!

The only real purpose of being here on this earth is to learn, or to remember, our original natural state of totality, of complete freedom and no limitation. Once we are led to see that this is our natural state, then we proceed to let go of all the limitations. The prime, the very first limitation is: “I am an individual separate from the All.” Eliminate that and you eliminate all limitation, all trouble, all sickness, all poverty.

To say this in another way is to say: “God is all! Let go and let God be. It is not I but the Father who worketh through me.” We must let go of the ego sense which is the original sense of separation from the All and allow our natural Being just to be and then everything would fall perfectly into line.

This is all very, very simple. If you want complexity you'll never see simplicity. Once this is accepted as the overall way, however, we do not find it easy of accomplishment. We don't find it easy because of past habits that have been established over thousands and thousands of years. And for some silly reason we subconsciously like these past habits of trouble and so we continue them. We do it in a manner that we refuse to look at. We call it subconscious behavior! And we go on and on and on repeating all this behavior of limitation automatically, calling it subconscious. Now the subconscious mind is only that part of the mind that we refuse to look at! When our desire is strong enough we will dig up these subconscious habits and begin to let go of them.

There is no growing into the natural Being that we are. That Being is whole and perfect, here and now. There is only letting go of concepts to the contrary, that we have troubles, that we have limitations. Anyone who says, “I have trouble,” has it in his mind. That's the only place where it is because you can't see anything anywhere else but in your mind. Whatever you look at, whatever you hear, whatever you sense, is through your mind. That's where everything is. Change your mind and everything out there changes. Change your thinkingness and you change the world for you. Do this and you have the proof!

So the way, the path, is simple. The method of undoing the limitations is not easy because of habit. We need a very strong desire to begin to let go of these wrong habits from the past. Without that strong desire there is no growth. This desire must be stronger than the desire to possess and control this world. The world as now seen really is a fiction when you see the Truth. It turns out to be a dream. First you'll see it as a dream, then you'll see it as a dream that never was. It is exactly as happens in a night dream. While you're in the night dream you have a body there are other bodies, there's action, interaction, there's good and there's bad. And so long as you remain in that night dream everything there is real to you. When you awaken from the night dream you say, ‘‘my gosh it was just a dream! It never happened! This dream was all in me!” And exactly in the same manner you awaken from this dream called the waking state. You come to see that it was only a fiction of your imagination, it was only a dream, and then you let go of it lock, stock and barrel and what is left over is the infinite you! Then you call yourself fully realized totally free.

We are actually fully realized all the time. We are fully realized Beings saying that we are not. So all we do is let go of “we are not” and what's left over is the fully realized Being that we are. Are there any questions on what I've said so far? No? Then everyone understands this, at least intellectually.

#non dualism #nondualism #lester levenson

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dynamite124 · 11 months

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Hi me again. So like in one of my playthroughs I made it my goal to just make it to where I could carry literally e v e r y t h i n g. So I enchanted all of my armor an ungodly amount, like I'm talking hundreds of carry weight over the actually limit.

Why? Because all that junk you can collect across Skyrim weighs too much but if you sell it all you raise speech and get more gold than it's actually worth. So pots, pans, everything.

Basically- How would Taliban react to a pack rat, hoarder DB who refuses to drop anything.

oh man, I would horde all the books I could until I had the coin to buy a house. I was a stickler for filling the bookshelves with them for the immersion!

Good times.

In terms of how Taliesin would react to a DB hoarder, he wouldn't stop them, but he would get more and more passive-aggressive over time. Eventually he'd wait till they were on the cusp of being over encumbered before slipping a note that says "Told you so".

Taliesin: Oh dear. Can't move any faster than a stubborn sashay? Oh if only there was a way to fix that!

#skyrim taliesin #taliesin

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byakuyasdarling · 8 months

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——— 『 ɪɴꜱᴇᴄᴜʀɪᴛɪᴇꜱ 』 ——— ♡

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎: Freya seems to be distressed over something Byakuya would classify as “initially inexplicable”; this takes place somewhat early in their relationship.

— Just a comfort-fic and generally expanding on character dynamics. Technically hurt to comfort ♡ Wrote this in between bouts of bad mood spikes, so sorry if it isn’t that great.

❝ 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦; 𝘪𝘵 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘯𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬. ❞ — 𝘍𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘏𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘭.

ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈•ﾟ｡ — Short Fic

[Okay to Reblog <3]

Byakuya’s hand slowly inches towards Freya’s. He exhales to calm his nerves, especially regarding to his lack of aptitude towards affection. He takes the dive and swiftly, albeit awkwardly, grasps at her hand before his mind could tell him to refrain. Such clumsy affection from the refined, uptight man did not startle the young girl; she remained too tired and dissociated to have much of a reaction. Byakuya’s fingers edge across her hand before finally settling into the crooks of the interdigits in her hands, interlacing their fingers. He gives her hand a bit of a squeeze, perhaps a little too harshly due to gentleness being uncustomary to the man in his childhood, before accepting the frigid temperature of her hands sinking into his. Byakuya’s voice melted into his warmer tones as he spoke to her.

“Freya…” he speaks her name in a concerned whisper, “Your hands are like ice.”

He reaches for her other hand, taking them both in his own and resting them on her lap.

“That’s normal…” her voice sounds so fragile, “Females tend to have cold extremities, we have less muscle mass.” It was a flat, monotone response that was far more characteristic of Byakuya than her.

“Don’t take me as a fool, that’s not what’s going on here.” She stays silent, so he spoke once more.

“Freya, you’re anxious.”

Silence washes over the room. Byakuya’s cerulean eyes study her: her quivering hands, her blank expression, the slight crinkle of her eyebrow, the way she tried to subtly obscure her thighs with the fabric of her sleeves as her skirt hiked up and didn’t want to alert him of — oh… He takes a deep exhale, letting go of her hands temporarily to pull her skirt back over her knees before interlocking their fingers once more.

“Freya, talk to me.” His tone was stern like a command, but there was a slight hitch in his voice and his breath grew heavier.

“Okay,” she broke her silence, “Okay…” Each one of her breaths seemed encumbered with caution — Byakuya squeezing her hands in response. “B-Byakuya… I-I don’t feel like I’m worthy, or a good person. I just — .”

“Hold it. Who’s giving you these ideas?” he cuts.

“I just kind of… reached that conclusion.” One could notice Byakuya’s eyebrow twitch, but his composure doesn’t snap.

“I refuse to believe that. All internal ideas are a reflection of others’ perceptions. Targeted or not, something has given you these ideas.”

“Byakuya… I don’t want to talk about it.” Her voice shudders.

“Not good enough. Tell me.”

Upsetting her wasn’t Byakuya’s intent, but she shatters under his words. He feels the quiver in her hands and the shake in her breath. He forgot how sensitive she is in moments like these — and internally he is scolding himself for not tempering his tone in such a delicate moment.

“Hey now, don’t be like that,” he murmured, guiding her head into his chest — albeit stiffly. “It’s me, isn’t it…”

“N-no… Byakuya,” she thickly swallowed.

“It is. Indirectly, it’s me. It is the things I say to others… it’s made you feel this way.” his voice was flat, an assured confidence in it — but his touch was soft.

“Don’t blame yourself for my own insecurity and incompetence, Byakuya.”

“You’re not incompetent…” Byakuya looked to Freya, sighing. “You’re capable, you’re intelligent, you’re talented. I don’t expect you to succeed in all facets of life.”

Freya slowly turned her gaze to him, shaking her hands a little to relieve the anxiety in her chest. Byakuya’s breath starts to posses a weight to it as he tries to compose his next words.

“Freya… I— Even I know without you… I just…” he swallows the lump in his throat, “I need you.”

Freya’s heart jolts before calming back down to a slow, heavy beat. She reaches up to him with weak arms, cupping his face gently even through the quivers of her hands. Byakuya doesn’t need her words to affirm anything in this moment, only her and her smile — even if her cheeks were stained with tears.

Byakuya’s tone reduced to a soft whisper, “You’re okay, darling, you’re okay.” She nods in response, making a light, soft noise. He places his hands over her own in an attempt of affection, “I really don’t need you to be anything but yourself. That’s you’re most valuable asset.” Despite the odd phrasing, her breath lightens. She makes a few more tiny noises in a failed attempt at communication in her scattered, yet stabilising state. Byakuya lifts her body into his, encouraging her to curl up to his chest and applying a light, comforting pressure to her body. “There you go…”

Freya’s eyes slowly close as she relaxes into his body. Her fingers delicately traces the shapes of hearts over his chest, to which he quietly chuckles at, then leaning in to give her a kiss to the forehead.

“…Byakuya?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I… need you too.”

‘I know.”

#fictional other #self ship #self shipping #romantic f/o #self insert #selfship #selfshipping #s/I x f/o #andreagami #ship tag: book lovers ♡#best of freya | ♥️

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aspiringwarriorlibrarian · 1 year

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Honestly can't help but note how every aspect of the Ever After seems to represent a different stage or aspect of storytelling:

Little - the start of a new story, no real clear idea yet, but endless potential given time and fleshing out.

Jabberwalker - The end of a story, where there is no continuation, no new stories. Just the absolute end.

Red Prince - A character who is suffering under immense internal conflict, but ends up taking the wrong lessons or can't properly understand the reason behind their character problems, and thus regresses.

Herbalist - a character who knows that he wants to move on, but is too encumbered by his current situation and his own inability to figure out where he wants to go to be able to move on.

Curious Cat - clarity and insight into a story and the character's motivations...and also what happens when a story is left unresolved and unable to be fully answered, but dying to understand what is happening and why.

Paper Pleasers - characters who understand that their role in a story is over and want to move on, but are being stopped by an antagonistic force.

Jaune - a character who refuses to change or address their issues, causing their story to become stagnant and stall in place until another character pushes them to change.

The Tree - reusing and recycling stories and characters to make something fresh and new.

I can't really think of anything for Juniper at the moment.

Juniper is the team pet who holds this entire story together.

#rwby spoilers #rwby theories #rwby analysis

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aita-blorbos · 17 days

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AITA for persisting in an immoral occupation?

Hello. I (100+ M, vampire) have been an assassin and leader of a gang for a few decades now. I try to stick by my own morals, and tend to avoid accepting jobs whose targets are weaker, less influential, or entirely innocent compared to the client. I also refuse to kill children. I use this method as a compromise with myself, so that I can have one good meal every month or two, while minimizing harm as well. Over the years, I have primarily specialized my gang as a hub for illegal potion and medicinal trade, shelter for the impoverished and endangered, and a source of income for the desperate. I am rather infamous as a serial murderer, so very few people actually attempt to join, and even fewer dare to start any trouble. This also makes my gang a hospitable place for those looking to escape domestic abuse, which many of my present followers are.

This is not the immoral occupation which I have mentioned in the title, however. I am ashamed to say that in addition to my upstanding illegal activities, I am also a police officer. Specifically, I investigate homicide cases, including those of my acquaintances, rivals, and even my own.

I will admit that in the past, I have misused police authority to blackmail other criminals into allowing me to feed on them. It was a difficult time for me, and I acknowledge this was wrong. However, I am specifically inquiring about my present wrongdoings, so I would kindly request that you do not factor this particular fact into your primary evaluation.

The reason for my hesitancy to quit my job as a policeman... is primarily the fact that I have been put on my own case. I have a very firm grasp on what is known about me, and I am able to feed misinformation and sway the present work towards catching me very easily. It is also easy to influence the outcome of other cases, which I have done on occasion. Framing people for something to get a "free" arrest is not uncommon, and misusing this power has allowed me to quietly encumber or otherwise get rid of some potential threats to me or my following. Blind eyes are turned, particularly if they have committed other crimes or been arrested before. Overall this double involvement results in a lot of opportunity, particularly for maintaining appearances, keeping my allies out of trouble, and dealing with any threats (I and my gang are not particularly strong or well defended).

That being said, I have been considering quitting. It is taking a toll on me. My coworkers are just horrible, my job requirements lead to a lot of cruelty that i am directly responsible for, and it isn't important to my survival anymore (as mentioned, I originally became a cop so that I could find a way to eat without being caught and arrested; 50 or so years ago it was much less forgiving to be a vampire than it is today, and the only way to legally break the law is to enforce it).

My concern, my hesitation, is that if I retire as a policeman and solely focus on my gang, I and the people I wish to protect will lose a valuable informant and double agent. I am struggling to conceptualize which is more selfish: continuing my work as a cop, and hurting innocents in the process? Or losing an important source of information and security for those I have sworn to protect?

WIBTA if I continue my work as a policeman, siphoning information to protect the people I care for, despite the costs to the innocent?

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality

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northernmariette · 2 years

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Part 6: Typhus and the Russian Campaign

We have arrived at Typhus Terminus. This is my final post about how typhus contributed to the disaster of Napoleon’s Russian campaign.

[...] On 19 October [Napoleon’s] army began the retreat from Moscow.

Fifteen thousand reinforcements had joined the French army during their month’s stay in the city, but nearly ten thousand soldiers succumbed to disease or wounds. The army which left Moscow on 19 October amounted to just over ninety-five thousand dirty, half-starved, unhealthy men. They were encumbered with their sick and wounded, six hundred cannon and insufficient horses to draw them, an immense mass of loot [...].

Skipping ahead, only fifty thousand men made it across the Berezina.

The army now began to degenerate into an undisciplined rabble. On 29 November Napoleon wrote: “Food, food, food - without it there are no horrors that this undisciplined mass will not commit at Vilna. Perhaps the army will not rally before the Niemen. There must be no foreign agents at Vilna, The army is not a good sight today.” Fifteen thousand men died on the road between the Beresina and Vilna. But there was worse to come.

The starving vanguard reached Vilna on 8 December, having marched through thickly falling snow driven by a bitter north-east wind. Only twenty thousand sick and disheartened men comprised the effective force. The rest were stragglers, stumbling along as best they could. starving and frozen, harried by Cossack patrols. Just twenty men remained of Ney’s third corps, who had fought so valiantly in the rearguard. The town of Vilna offered no relief. Already starving, it as crowded with sick, and typhus fever has spread throughout the surrounding countryside. Men suffering from typhus, dysentery and pneumonia lay on rotten straw soaked with their own excrement, without medical attention or means of warmth, so hungry that they gnawed leather and even human flesh. By the end of December over twenty-five thousand sick and frost-bitten men had struggled into the town. Fewer than three thousand of these were alive in June 1813.

[...]

Napoleon left Russia for Paris in early December, leaving Murat in command on the remnants of the Grande Armee.

[Napoleon] could save himself but he could not save his army. Murat, left in command, proved a broken reed. He refused to make a stand at Vilna and on 10 December abandoned the last guns, the remaining baggage and the army’s treasury to the Russians. On 12 December Berthier sent a private report ahead to Napoleon that the army no longer existed, and that even the Imperial Guard, now reduced to five hundred men, had lost all semblance of a military formation. Ney, still stubbornly fighting a rearguard action, crossed the Niemen on 14 December. When the last stragglers had shuffled over to the German bank, there remained fewer than forty thousand of the brilliant Grand Army which Napoleon had reviewed on June 24. It is said that fewer than a thousand of those who returned were ever again fit for duty. So ended Napoleon’s dream fantasy, the conquest of Russia and India. There were, of course, other causes of defeat beside typhus fever. Cold, hunger, the Russians all helped to destroy the army - and so did Napoleon Bonaparte himself.

[...]

On 29 November 1812, during the crossing of the River Beresina, Marshal Ney wrote to his wife: “General Famine and General Winter, rather than the Russian bullets, have conquered the Grand Army.” This is the accepted opinion, but, to tell the whole truth, we must add the names of General Typhus and General Napoleon.

For those who would like to know more about the Russian campaign, I recommend Adam Zamoyski’s book on the topic. While he does not mention typhus very much, he mentions every additional way the soldiers of Napoleon’s army met with their death. The suffering of Napoleon’s men, especially during the retreat, was immense, and all for nothing.

Furthermore, Zamoyski’s book includes an extensive bibliography, over 400 works in six languages (French, English, Russian, Polish, German, and Italian), so there is plenty of material for those who want to read contemporary memoirs or the works of today’s historians.

Disease & History, second edition, by Frederick E. Cartwright and Michael Biddiss, Sutton Publishing, 2000; pp. 97-107

#napoleon #napoleon's army #typhus #russian campaign

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thetwistedcryptid · 2 years

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“I jus' want a humble, murderously simple thang: that folks be glad when I mosey on into tha room.”

School: Night Raven Collage

[Tumbleranch]

[the dorm was founded by the vainglorious, endowed with a notorious reputation of an outlaw of the West and is inspired by the world of Home on the Range]

(Fandorm by @tumbleranch-dorm !)

Full Name: Bowie Eustace

Nicknames: Curly, Eusie, and Cow-boy.

Grade/Class: Year 2 (Sophomore)/Class (No.2-A)

Birthday: June 21st (Gemini)

Age: 18 yrs old

Height: 6'7" without horns, 7'0" with horns

Race: Bull (Wooly Cow) Beastman

Dominant Hand: Left

Homeland: Shaftlands

Club: Light Music Club

Best Subjects: Physical education, Alchemy, and Conjuration

Worst Subject: Flying

Hobbies: Weight lifting, Target practice with the gun mode of his magic pen, baking pastries, and standing out during a sun shower just cuz it's his favorite weather and it feels nice. He likes playing guitar(banjo), playing harmonica, and singing - his voice is alluringly deep and coarse, kinda like Leonas' (he even writes his own tunes! Mostly country songs, of course)

Pet Peeves: People who give up too easily, and people who try and find easy ways out/who cheat the system to avoid working for their goals.

Fears: being forgotten, being rejected, and being weak/useless.

Favorite Food: anything/everything, he's not picky. Though mostly vegetarian dishes - mostly pastries! He has a strong sweet tooth.

Least Favorite Food: nothing meat based (mainly beef…. Makes him go Yikes)

Talent: having an almost photographic memory of different plants and minerals - being able to identify them without appearances, mainly just by the taste or scent. Even ones he's not very familiar with/has only interacted with once/briefly.

Unique Magic: Miners Holdin'

Incantation: "Prospectors (always) collect debts."

[The user can store or take out "items" from a metaphysical space that resides in the user, akin to a video game inventory. In order to put in an item, they must have skin contact with the object and be aware of the item to do so (so they couldn't stop a knife to the back, for example). What constitutes an item is anything non-living and solid (though the user can store liquids and gasses if they're contained in something). Items can be taken out at any time and anywhere on the body, though it's easiest to do so on the user's hands.

When an item is stored, the weight of it will be evenly distributed across the body. All items stored will essentially be frozen in time, so something that's hot when stored will come out with the same heat (which is quite useful for meals). If the user wants, they can (violently) expel items from their body, though it requires concentration. Additionally, if there isn’t enough space between the user and where they want to expel an object, the item will force its way between the user and whatever is blocking its successful experiment.

Similar to some video games, the user has a weight limit. Said limit is between 90 to 100 lbs, with anything in (or over) the range will cause the user to become over encumbered, and thereby slower. If the user stores something greatly above that limit, they’ll be crushed by the force and rendered unable to move. (The force could also injure or kill them, if it’s heavy enough).]

Trivia: He's an honors student, and often tutors the first years in his dorm whenever he's not busy. He's rarely seen with anything other than a bright smile on his face - often hiding his sadness and repressing his anger. Not wanting to bother or burden others with his problems. Wanting to be tough enough to handle his own issues, as well as shoulder others' problems as well whenever he can. Being a very good listener, and always giving others a shoulder to cry on (he gives the best hugs!).

He can stand his own ground and isn't someone you wanna get in a one on one fight with - he refuses to fight an unarmed opponent, so if you have no weapon he won't use his either. He'll just beat you up the old fashioned way - fist to face! Him being one brick wall of muscle also helps him in that regard.. Doesn't usually resort to violence, but will do so if he has too. Usually for self defense (of himself or others).

He doesn't lie as he isn't a fan of it (makes that point well known when asked), and is hard to lie to as he can always tell when someone is. Mostly based on analyzing body language. Though.. if he trusts you enough, he might drop a white lie to protect a secret/promise - he takes secrets/promises veery seriously and would rather drop dead than break someone's (especially a friends') trust. Also; he has a bull's tail, which wags whenever he's annoyed or excited and drops when he's sad. It's a very good indicator of his emotions even when he tries to hide them - such betrayal by his own body..

He calls people, regardless of gender - things like "Sugar" "Sugar Bug" "Booboo" "Bubba" "Toots" "Tootsie" "Sport" "Champ" etc. Though typically he gives each person their own associated nickname from the list above or based on a plant/mineral they remind him off!

He's not very good at cooking.. but not terrible either, when it comes to regular food. He most specializes in candy, pastries, and other such treats.

————————————

Character Summary:

"Bein' brave doesn’ mean ya aren’t scared. Bein' brave means ya are scared, really scared, badly scared, an' ya do tha right thang anyways."

He was born and raised on a large wide open farmstead on the outskirts of a trading village in a more humid part of the Shaftlands - they grew all sorts of things; from wheat, to pumpkins, to carrots, and potatoes. They even raise chickens - specifically for the eggs, though if the hen house is ever overcrowded they'll kill some and sell the meat. His family is quite well known and liked in their community, always pitching in to help others with whatever they need. Never asking for anything in return - though usually gifting homemade treats/meals as thanks when people do as such for them - something instilled in him from a young age.

His family isn't very rich but also not dirt poor. They're bordering between lower class and middle class. But they're happy where they are. He has a somewhat large family - having many siblings (he's somewhere near the middle in terms of age) and cousins. Their community is also tight knit so they all treat each other like extensions of their own family. Every holiday the whole town would gather together with home cooked meals, play music and games, and celebrate together like one one family. It's something he always looks forward to whenever he is to return home during the winter and summer break.

Due to being raised on a farm he is quite stocky in build, and has a lot of strength/stamina. Usually playing the role of doing a lot of the heavy lifting, alongside his father, brothers, and cousins, back home during harvests - which he never minded. When he got accepted into NRC he was very excited, but also kinda scared. He had no idea what awaited him on the Isle of Sages. A new place filled with strangers.. he was happy to meet new people and have new experiences, but leaving behind the familiarity of home made him uneasy. Still, he swallowed that fear, said farewell to his family, and left for the school.

He was excited when he got sorted into Tumbleranch! A lot of the people there had the same lifestyle and mentality he did, so he felt right at home. He is still trying to find his footing, and make a name for himself here. Wanting to be seen as reliable, sturdy, strong, dependable, and someone you want to keep around. Not wanting anyone to hate him, even though he's accepted the fact he can't have everyone like him/be his friend. But that doesn't stop him from trying, at the very least. He really looks up to the dorm leader, and during his first year had often tried to imitate him, to figure out why he was so great and what he did to make things work - and even now he still admires the dorm head, but he tries to show it in his own personal ways nowadays instead of being a copycat lost in a corn maze.

He is known around the school as a very kindred spirit - a very 'big brother' energy type of dude, someone you can easily trust and vibe with. He can be rather protective and defensive over those he befriends (he's an extrovert and it's easy for him to bond/get along with others), kinda like Kalim (someone he easily gets along with, unsurprisingly). People wonder how such a nice person got into NRC, but don't bother him about it.. much. And even when they do, he ignores it.

Whenever he's not doing school work, studying, doing light music club stuff, or working In the mines, he likes to perform at The Rowdy Horde - singing songs and playing musical tunes for his classmates while they unwind and have good refreshments. He does this to try and make others happy, as well as to keep the place as 'alive' feeling as possible. Plus.. he just wants to share his musical interests with anyone who's willing to listen :) he's not a master at it yet.. but he's trying his best, and constantly can be found practicing! It always makes him happy to see people enjoy things that he does/makes. And those smiles are what he strives for whenever he performs or assists someone. He thinks smiles are the best form of payment.

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anotherwatchedninja · 2 years

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@sillyness343

Yandere Louie Story! (Evil Scientist Phase, and a canon story!)

The cat robot known as Ratchet raised the porcelain teacup to his metal sheet of teeth and pantomimed drinking. “This is an empty cup. Because I run on oil, I cannot drink tea.”

Crossing his arms, Louie Cheesenshmirtz turned to his side and gave a slight shrug with his head slightly tilted downwards. “I know what you’re saying, Ratch. But I don’t feel like a phony.” He looked askance at the giant robot before hurrying to face him directly, holding his arms in front of his chest like a velociraptor. “Is that what they think I am?”

The expression of forced happiness remained unchanged on Ratchet’s almost doll-like face, and he watched his saviour through the bottom of his gaze with unblinking eyes. “Good communication is important for every relationship.”

Louie showed his palms to the mechanical humanoid, breaking eye contact and deepening his frown. “I know, I know.” Following an eye roll, his voice dropped to a grumble. “That’s what I keep hearing.” A flicker of concern entered his visage as he scratched the nape of his neck and peeked at a nearby desk, which was encumbered with messy piles of blueprints and crumpled paper. “I’ll … I’ll just write another letter.”

The diagrams and pages drifted to corners of the desk and the floor in a barrage of flutters, surrendering effortlessly to the strength of his arms. A singular piece of blank paper remained, and the scientist took a seat in a revolving chair while opening a drawer to obtain a pencil. About halfway through composing the letter, there came a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” called Ratchet in the best imitation of a stereotypical 1950s housewife that his monotone voice could summon. He opened the door without waiting for an answer, revealing a teenager with silver hair, skin draped over metal, clad in black leather and high heel boots. “Hi, Click!” The robot had begun to offer a handshake when the other robot bumped her fist against one of his oversized fingers.

A nervous chuckle slipped out of Cheesenshmirtz, and he pulled the letter closer to himself while crinkling his eyes. “Clyx! You’re here early. How’s Toxic and Dream?” He quieted during the second half of his greeting as if not wanting it heard.

Clyx stood with one foot atop a brown, cuboid parcel. “Hey, Dad, they’re fine. Someone left a package from the-” he leaned forward to squint at the label “-evil science convention.” Louie leapt from his chair, his footsteps coinciding with the squeaking of wheels and the rattling of joints as the chair pivoted away from the desk. Clyx retracted his foot when he neared, and after a brief look of annoyance that, in his fathers eagerness to reach the parcel, he was oblivious to, Clyx strolled past him into the laboratory.

Louie rammed his body weight into the delivery and crouched to examine it, brushing his fingers across the rough texture of the wrapping paper and twiddling the thread that held it together like a guitar string. Stifled laughter, similar to that of a child opening their presents on Christmas Day before their parents awakened, escaped him as he attempted to lift it. When the parcel refused to budge, he inspected the return address.

The location that met his gaze dumped a load of disappointment so heavy that he fell to the ground with his legs outstretched on either side of the package. His lab coat, which had been draped over it, pooled beneath him and instead covered the underside of his legs. Louie gradually drew them to his stomach, and a moment of glowering at the delivery passed before he yelled over his shoulder, “Ratchet! Leave this in the reception area.”

Upon gripping the edge of the desk, Clyx hoisted himself onto the wooden surface and faced the entrance to watch the giant robot march towards the parcel with strides that shook the closest portion of the room. He lightly kicked his legs but crossed them after spotting the letter sitting on the centre of the desk. The robotic boy cocked his head to read a few lines, soon grabbing it for a more convenient perspective.

“I just want you to know that I care. I wanted to say that before anything else because sometimes I feel like you aren’t aware that I care. I know I can make it difficult to stay, but I don’t mean to do that. It’s just that I forget what I’m trying to say when it comes time to say it. The thoughts get all wishy-washy in my brain, and by the time I figure it out, you’re walking away.”

As the letter went on, it became increasingly repetitive and erred in the territory of incoherence. Much of it consisted of the same sentiments repeated with negligible differences, but apologies for inspiring discomfort were sprinkled between the ubiquitous reminder that he cared and the assertion that he had no other option.

A creak at the door shattered the teenager’s concentration, prompting her to draw the letter towards her chest and look at her father. His footsteps paused for a moment before jumping into a speed-walk. “Clyx, what are you reading?” Fright and a twinge of dread quickened his words and brought the makings of an accusatory edge to his question.

“Is this for Emma again?” The exasperated tone creeping into the tight crease of her lips and the slight furrow of her eyebrows obtained a sound of sorrow from Louie, who proceeded to rub the nape of his neck. (Yeah, Louie took years to ask her out, and they were finally working at the same place.)

“Yes… yes it is!” he assured her in a manner that was almost too enthusiastic for Clyx’s liking. The shadow of happiness spread across his face, but it was soon accompanied by sheepish hesitation like a secret dragged into the limelight. “As you may know, I’ve been getting back out there lately.” Each word struggled to leave his mouth in a conflicting mix of eagerness to share the announcement and reluctance to speak it and risk humiliation. “And, eh, I may have met.. her.”

Clyx slowly lowered the paper back onto the desk, retaining a slight hold on the top right corner. “This is only a rough draft, right?” He tested the notion with a dour curiosity that contradicted the aloof indifference radiating from her lax shoulders and listless frown like a heat lamp as a hint of genuine wariness leaked into his voice.

Cheesenshmirtz (yes he’s Louie) waved his hands at the robot boy in a desperate expression of disregard and looked askance at the ceiling. “Of course! Of course, it is! I’ve been workshopping it for a few days now – eh, trying some different styles. You know, hard-hitting go-getter versus lovey-dovey.” Throughout the scientist’s loquacious display of twirling his wrists as if to snatch the best explanation out of the air, he never met his sons gaze until the final syllable when he offered a placid smile.

“Good, because this isn’t fit for any species’s eyes.” The teenager watched the emotional shift in his father with the poker face of an expert gambler.

He blinked, and his shoulders slumped. Following a weak chuckle, Louie crinkled his eyes and acted as if a weight were pulling him towards the ground. “Oh, Clyx. You can say the cruellest things.” The scientist approached his desk in a series of languid steps, collecting the letter as his son hopped down. Clyx distanced herself from him by walking in the direction of the reception area.

The sound of scribbling caused him to glance at Louie, seeing him in the chair once again with his slouch especially apparent. Clyx plucked his cell phone from his pocket and dialled the friend who acted as a quasi therapist. As the boy turned his back to the scientist, he jumped out of his seat and hugged the letter to his chest while alternating between hopping on his left foot and hopping on his right foot. “Lacie, can I come over? Yeah, my dad’s being weird again.”

* * *

Beaned feet slapping the tile floors, the secret agent marched to a red chair stationed at a curved desk. On the desk were a series of computer screens and vivid buttons that protruded slightly from the metal surface. Kathy climbed onto the chair, which was much larger than She was and caused her to resemble a toddler sitting in an oversized car seat.

The weathered, steely face of Soldier Sanic (yep, a former friend of Louie’s and we’re in the backrooms at similar times) appeared on the central screen. His hat was still white, horns brimmed and headphones shined, and he looked at the kitten as if he were a colonel still giving orders on the battlefield. “Agent K, we’ve intercepted some disturbing messages sent from Dr. Cheesenshmirtz’s lair to a PO Box on the other side of town. While the research is currently ongoing, we believe he may be plotting to collaborate with another villain. Find out what he has planned, and put a stop to it.”

Kathy saluted the Soldier and hopped out of the seat, boarding her small aircraft.

* * *

As soon as her tail smacked onto the floor, the pungent smell of burnt wax and a hint of smoke wafted into her nostrils. A brief tear, like a cracker snapping, marked the descent of a piece of paper from its spot on the wall. It landed on the kitten’s nose, allowing her a view of myriad words.

A minor wrinkle formed in the paper as Kathy grasped a handful of it and pulled it away from her face. The top and bottom leaned forward and obscured slivers of the introduction and conclusion, but the first lines to reach her eyes halted her warrior spirit.

“I’ve left a lot of messages, and you haven’t returned any of them. I would’ve just called again, but I’m starting to wonder if your answering machine may be broken or turned off. Have you been getting spam? I’m sure I could trace it. Anyways, I’ve been thinking about what colour we should paint our walls. An evil black sounds good to me, but what do you think? I don’t want to hog all the decisions. Also, how do you feel about pets?”

Her eyes swerved from one line to the next, growing wider as the pseudo-love letter devolved into a series of run-on sentences that hopped between unrelated topics like a blind rabbit. If the secret agent had found it anywhere but in a closet in a known villain’s lair, he would have mistaken it for an innocent conversation between partners. Before he could observe the full magnitude of the letter, a pair of footsteps sprinted through the doorway.

“Kathy The Kitten!” A lanky shadow fell over Kathy, for Louie Cheesenshmirtz stood in front of him with his hands gripping the sides of the doorframe. The scientist’s gaze darted around the room as if looking for signs that the kitten had tampered with anything. “This is not meant for your eyes! It-” the rows of candid photographs lining the adjacent wall provided a momentary distraction “-It has nothing to do with my evil scheme!”

The secret agent rose to her feet and held the letter at his side while he scanned the room, noticing in his peripheral vision how Louie followed the letter with his eyes. There were many curiosities scattered across the walls, but Kathy found her attention drawn to a crude sketch of what appeared to be a grocery store.

All that existed in the picture was a solitary, diagonal aisle with sparse packets of bread and cereal boxes on the shelves and two stick figures standing at opposite ends of the aisle, both waving at the other. The angle hovered behind the head of the lower stick figure as if it were told from the perspective of a fly sitting on the figure’s shoulder. The rest of the paper, representing what would have been more of the store and its additional patrons, was drenched in the frantic strokes of a black marker.

It compelled the eye to focus on the aisle, highlighting it as the sole source of colour and life among the blackness that swallowed everything else in the world. Underneath the top stick figure was the hastily penned caption, “5:03 PM. They waved at me!” A singular candle had been placed on the table below where the picture was tacked to the wall and lit several hours ago. Roughly half the candle had melted, giving it a slanted and bumpy appearance like an overflowing drink frozen in the action.

After opening his mouth slightly and glancing at the drawing, Louie waved his hand at the platypus as if he were scolding an unruly dog. “Get out of here!” The closet was littered with similar sketches. Some depicted an exchange of greetings at evil science conventions and others the exchange of good-byes, but they all featured the same design: the focus was on a pair of stick figures, while the background was a black void with no additional details or people.

When Kathy marched through the doorway, the scientist reached for the letter. Kathy reacted as soon as he started to move and leapt backwards, extending her arm to hold the paper away from the man. Louie narrowed his eyes, speaking slowly and carefully as if fearing an upset. “Give me the letter.”

A growl, like someone gurgling stones, rattled out from the kitten as the side of her mouth momentarily curled to expose her teeth.

Louie Cheesenshmirtz swung his arms beside his head in an agitated shrug and placed his hands on his hips. “Kathy The Kitten, it’s mine.” The secret agent rolled the letter into a scroll and stuffed it under her hat, causing the scientist to relax his arms and blink in a momentary loss as to how to respond. “Oh. So, that’s how you’re playing?”

He brandished a small weapon and fired a green laser at the kitten, which Kathy dodged with a swift hop. “Have a taste of my no-clip inator, then!” The secret agent clambered onto the table and proceeded to leap around the closet like a jumping spider, her every movement followed by a burst of green light. A drawing was hit, and Louie paused to examine the freshly liquefied sketch with a look of dismay, before it clipped through reality.

‘Note to self: don’t use it on non-biological material.’ Louie thought to himself.

Kathy retreated to the common area and turned to confront the trauma-based axolotl-human hybrid with clenched fists. The man yanked the door shut behind him, chasing the kitten and firing a consecutive string of lasers.

One of the blasts had scorched a portion of the table, overturning the candle and propelling it to smack the wall. Hot wax stained the surface and began dripping towards the floor like a pie thrown in a clown’s face. As the table and candle rattled in a discordant unity, the tip of the small flame caught the edge of the drawing.

The texture of the paper hardened into a drizzle of ash as the fire swept across with minimal difficulty and charred its contents. The destruction was far from satisfied, however, for the fire plunged its scalding tendrils into groups of photographs and letters. Bits of paper drifted around the room with pockets of flames gradually consuming them, amalgamating into a cloud of smoke that peeked through the crevice underneath the door.

When the candle slammed into the ground with a clatter, Louie whirled around. “Why do I smell something burning?” The tainted air billowing from the closet delivered specks of ash and fire to the rest of the laboratory. Panicked shouts erupted as the scientist scrambled to open the door, waving his arm in every direction to dispel the fume.

A gust of smoke enveloped his head and provoked a series of violent coughs that forced his eyes to shut before filling them with water, but the sight that awaited him drew all breath from his lungs. Through his blurred vision, he saw weeks of work engulfed in a blaze that tore them apart like a shredder. Every photograph, sketch and letter had suffered some degree of burning.

The once vibrant colours dwindled into muted shades of brown and black, and the words he had devoted hours to perfecting melted into illegible dots. Cheesenshmirtz scurried to the table and attempted to snatch the drawing of the grocery store, retracting his hand with a yelp when it singed his skin, sending it out of reality. “Kathy The Kitten, help me!”

Kathy halted at an adjacent window on the West side of the building. One of her feet slipped off the frame in preparation for the ensuing flight, but she quickly pulled it back. An orange hang glider had unfurled above her, the coldness of its metallic handlebars contrasting the thin layer of sweat accumulating on her paws.

While the smoke had strained his voice, the frenzied and earnest nature of the scientist’s yell prevented the secret agent from feigning deaf ears and escaping with a clean conscience. A brief rattle of metal joints underscored the howls of the inferno as the hang glider was tossed to the floor. Kathy raced to the doorway with his fists balled and raised, but the ferocity of the inferno, how it lurched and whipped like a bucking bronco, gave him a moment’s hesitation.

Louie had clutched several scraps, all of which crumbled to ash in either his pocket or his hands. The wallpaper, a pink and red heart pattern that would have made a hopeless romantic cry, peeled like a rotten banana and landed in heaps on the ground next to deposits of sizzling wax. The heat rolling out of the room was akin to sticking one’s self in front of an open oven.

A small foot grasped his hand, and Louie looked down to see Kathy guiding him to the door. The kitten dug her heels into the tiles and pulled against the scientist, who stumbled forward in surprise before resisting. “What are you doing?! I can’t leave!” His face had blackened from the soot, and his efforts to step away grew weaker and less effective with each tug.

He made a final attempt at retrieving the grocery store sketch despite having watched it dissolve many moments ago. “Kathy… please, I can’t lose them all.” Louie had lost a lot in life. Kathy knew that. But she wouldn’t let him die. After slumping against the table for support, Louie merely groaned when Kathy hauled him to the common area. The man collapsed, first onto his knees, then his back. He rested a hand on his stomach and expelled multiple coughs, yet only a short minute passed before he sat up as if to trudge inside once again.

Kathy hurried to his side and placed a foot on his arm, shaking his head. The soon-to-be-cats stern visage, her muzzle forming a straight line and her eyes perpetually narrowed like the trooper he was, provided a vivid contrast to the muddled gaze and drooping frown that burdened the scientist. “Did we save one?” The first sign of uncertainty and depression that he had seen from his nemesis all evening flashed across Kathy’s face, but a sudden roar eliminated his chance to question it.

Flames gushed out of the closet as if it were a fizzy soda can, bathing them in a brilliant array of orange and red light. It was like peering into the sky during a sunset, and the heat climbed to every section of the wall on wings of fire. The interior of the closet was no longer visible, all physical evidence of its contents erased. A pungent combination of burnt wax, sweat and ash poisoned the air.

The bright light hurled a spear of discomfort into Kathy’s eyes, and he turned away with an arm covering his face. Cheesenshmirtz, whether too distracted by shock to notice or indifferent to the pain it caused, continued to stare into the heart of the blaze with his mouth agape. The fire reflected in his eyes, ascending higher and stretching farther.

As if mocking his anguish, a patchwork of paper strips wafted from the carnage and slid to a stop at his feet. The semblance of words lingered on the jagged pieces, many of them sporting charred corners and damp ink. Louie observed the remains of the letter for a gruelling moment before his eye began to twitch.

When he lunged forward and planted his hands on either side of the scraps, Kathy dashed closer to the window that sheltered her hang glider. Without fully turning, the scientist called over his shoulder, “Kathy The Kitten, help me put it back together!” The secret agent, who was a few seconds away from diving into the horizon, wavered and peered at the man.

Louie herded every scrap of paper he could find into a pile, cramming the malformed shapes into a fruitless imitation of the original letter. Several of the pieces, rendered frail by the sweltering heat and distorted by parts of them being sent outside of reality, turned to ash when the desperate strength of his pushes crushed them, but this only prompted him to handle the scraps more frantically and inspire the same results quicker. Soot began to creep into his fingernails and infect them with a grimy coating.

The ink was smeared as he pressed his fingers against the bits of paper, swirling and stretching until the text was little more than a series of black streaks and splotches. Despite the flames licking the soles of his feet and biting his hands, the scientist merely held his breath and clenched his teeth. The harder he worked to reform the letter, the more its pieces succumbed to the force and disintegrated.

Soot and ink had ascended nearly the length of his fingers, which imposed additional stains on the remaining paper every time he attempted to thrust two slivers together like puzzle pieces. The final remnant of the letter collapsed into a hill of ash, and Louie cradled it in his palms. Specks of it fell through the crevices between his fingers, while much of it clung to the ink.

Teardrops gathered in his eyes before cascading down his cheeks. A sniffle escaped him, his lips and hands beginning to quiver. The tears never reached the ground, for they evaporated under the potent heat of the inferno consuming the lair.

He spared a glance at his laboratory, only to freeze at the sight of a trail of fire nearing the generator. It glided atop the side of the machine and entered the fuel tank. A whiff of gasoline punctured his nose like the thrash of a whip. Before the gales of orange light could burst out of the machine, Louie mustered a vicious cry that echoed into the skyline. “Curse you.. no.. FUCK YOU, KATHY THE KITTEN!”

Clouds of smoke and debris, mostly grey but underscored with sparks of fire, rained down on either side of Kathy as she sailed away from the office building. She reached inside his hat and retrieved a letter, gaze fixed on the mailing address inscribed on the top right corner. After a few seconds of examination, the secret agent returned the paper to her hat and directed her hang glider to the opposite side of town.

#Yandere #yandere oc #Yandere imagines #original characters #poor Louie #at least he and Emma end up together years later #even if he’s the good guy and she’s evil by then

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