#Che Maker

[westgateoh]

When Thalric turns himself over to the Empire but leaves Che with a little kiss (that she doesn’t pull away from omg) and the thought that her lover, Achaeas, is so lucky to have her I DIED I AM DEAD. I thought this series had already killed me several times but that was it. I love them all. I have never loved a fantasy series as much as I love this one.

[theoasiswinds]

Its so beautiful I could DIE

EHHHH THE MAPMAKER!!! don't guide him! is a trap!!! XDDD

pic for my dear @theoasiswinds

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

Gentle Hands

Back on Kamino after successfully rescuing Echo and retaking Anaxes, you know just how to soothe Wrecker’s lingering back pain.

Pairing: Wrecker x f!reader

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: established relationship, pet names, little bit of angst and comfort, flashback to how Wrecker got his scars, minor mentions of blood, fluff, soft love, light sprinkle of the hots for this giant mans size/strength, slight suggestiveness.

A/N: saw a headcannon that Wrecker doesn’t have a cybernetic eye and is instead partially/fully blind in that eye, and now I can’t get that out of my head.

Translations: ner kar'ta – my heart

“Urgh.” Wrecker’s grunt echoes through the barracks as he flops face-first onto his bunk. You’d just arrived back on Kamino from Anaxes, another successful mission accomplished and a new squad member onboard.

Tech had disappeared off with Echo in search of better armour and weapons for the ARC Trooper. Crosshair had slunk off in the direction of the shooting range – not that he needed the practice - while Hunter had remained on the Marauder, needing the peace of the empty ship to finish his mission reports.

That had left you and Wrecker alone, and your man had wanted nothing more than to nap.

“At least take your armour off first.” You gently nudge Wrecker’s shoulder, earning a grumble of protest. He pushes himself up, big hands prying his armour off his body, depositing it with various clangs beside his bunk. You loved him, but Maker above, he could be messy.

Back on the bed, face pressed into the mattress, Wrecker winced, feeling a tweak in his lower back. “Babe…” He called for you, turning his head to watch you take your armour off, stacking it neatly on the large table in the middle of the room.

His gaze roved across your body, admiring the soft curves of your frame as you turned back to him, hands on your hips and an eyebrow arched. He couldn’t help but feel lucky to have you. You’d started as their civilian handler, feeding them missions and making sure they came back safely – the Kaminoans couldn’t have anything happen to their prized experimental unit, after all – but somewhere along the way, you’d stolen his heart, with your soft smile and easy nature. You laughed at his jokes, stayed up to watch holofilms with him, cooed over Lula the first time you saw her, and were always happy to hand over a detonator or two when he had the urge to blow something up. At times, you tempered the big kid in him, while other times, you let go of the reins and let him run wild.

“Yes, ner kar’ta?” You ask, taking a few steps over to his bunk. For the sake of appearances, you had your own bunk, though it was never used. The rest of the squad knew of your relationship, but it was a well-guarded secret, not wanting to risk the Kaminoans finding out.

As you draw closer, Wrecker drags an arm out from underneath him to gently snag your hand, tugging you in. He’d always been hyper-aware of his size and strength, but he was especially cautious with you. Hurting you was something he never wanted to do, even if it was an accident.

“Think I’ve tweaked my back,” Wrecker admits, offering you a sheepish smile.

You can’t help but smile in return, the corners of your lips curving as your loveable giant gives your hand a soft squeeze. For a moment, you admire him, still in awe that he’s yours. But as usual, a flicker of guilt passes through you as your traitorous eyes slink to the web of scars across half his face, his damaged ear, and the milkiness of his right eye. It was your fault he was partially blind.

You’d only been with the boys a handful of months when you’d missed a tripwire as you’d been pushing forward through a cave, setting off a nearby explosive. You’d been out in the open while the others could duck for cover. Wrecker had decided to protect you, turning you and pressing you to his chest, shielding you from the blast, taking the brunt of it himself. The memory of the dust settling, the blood as you pulled back from his chest and looked up, the panic and fear that had consumed you as you’d taken in the damage he’d sustained right before he passed out... all because you’d forgotten for one moment to look where you were stepping.

He’d been medevaced to a nearby Venator. You’d gone with him, his brothers insisting on it while they finished the mission, knowing it would upset Wrecker if they lost their 100% success rate. Washing his blood off your hands in a small fresher as you waited for news from the medics almost broke you. You’d been so close to handing in your resignation and retreating back to your quiet home planet.

But then he’d woken after surgery, after his brothers had successfully completed the mission and returned, and you’d all been briefed on his condition. His first questions to the medics had been about you – were you safe or hurt? Tears had rolled down your cheeks as the medics had relayed this to you all, Tech subtly pressing a tissue into your hand, and you’d known then in your heart that you could never leave.

“You’re doin’ that thing again,” Wrecker says, having watched a faraway look cross your face. He knew you still struggled with the guilt of his accident. “You’re thinkin’ too much.” He tacks on, gently bringing you down to sit sideways on the edge of his bunk, big arm sliding around your middle. “I don’t blame ya. It was my choice, and I’d do it all again.” He reiterates, pressing a kiss to your body. He said it every time he saw you slipping back into the memory, and he’d keep repeating it until you believed it. 

Pulled back to the present, you offer him a soft smile, one of your hands moving to rub across his broad shoulders. “Sorry, ner kar’ta.” You murmur, focussing instead on the quiet noise of delight falling from his lips as your hands stroke his tense muscles. “Those tri-droids are probably the cause of your back pain.” You comment, watching his eyes flutter shut at your touch, the peacefulness of his expression chasing away the lingering guilt.

“They were stronger than they looked, but I wasn’t gonna let ’em crush the locals.” He comments, feeling himself melt into the mattress the more you rub at his shoulders.

You loved seeing him work, the effortless way he shoved assault tanks around or pried blast doors open, lifting up gunships like they weighed nothing, and how his thick fingers somehow nimbly managed to disarm explosives. “It was hot.” You admit, feeling warmth in your cheeks.

A rumble of laughter leaves him, the deep noise setting off butterflies in your belly, but he winces again as it jostles his back.

“Here.” You shift, gently easing the top of his blacks up. He helps you remove the garment, settling back on the bed as your hands return to his body. Broad shoulders taper down to his narrow waist, scars crisscrossing his warm, tanned skin. Evidence of a lifetime of war.

You get up momentarily, moving silently to your bunk to snag your unscented lotion – constantly aware of Hunter’s senses – and return to Wrecker a moment later. He shifts over, and you sit at his side, squeezing some of the lotion onto your hands. Rubbing them together, you warm them up before you press your hands against his back, dragging them across his body in firm, even strokes.

Wrecker’s moans of appreciation fill the barracks, and you stifle a giggle. Your hands keep working across his body, feeling solid muscles give with every pass, the knots loosening. Pressing your thumbs into his lower back, he grunts, hips rutting against the mattress. “Not until your back is better.” You tease, giving his butt a playful swat.

He grumbles in protest but knows you’re right – he’s too tired for anything anyway. The ache in his back is easing exponentially under your soothing touch, and he smacks his lips together as sleep beckons him, shifting on the mattress into an even comfier position.

The first drag of your nails across his warm skin makes him shiver, the corners of his mouth curving upwards as you start lightly scratching, fingers drawing patterns across the vast expanse of skin. The patterns shift to words, Aurebesh spelling out how much you love him, how handsome he is, how strong he is.

“I love you. You’re so good to me.” He mumbles, feeling the weight of your adoration, his eyes heavy with sleep, his mind struggling to focus on the words you’re scrawling across his body.

A warm smile passes over your lips, and you dip down to kiss his cheek softly. “I love you too.” You whisper back, fingers still moving lightly over his back as you hear his breathing turn deep and heavy, face going slack as he falls asleep.

You scoot to lay beside him, drawing his arm over your body. A nap wouldn’t hurt you, either.

[jeremy466346]

Valgrace short 🙃

Leo Valdez rolls over his body pressed against the warmth of Jason Grace. He opens one eye to the soft glow of dawn peeking through the curtains, a stark contrast to the fiery tattoos that dance across his forearms. The room is still, filled with the comforting scent of engine grease and burnt toast that lingers from Leo's latest invention gone awry. The digital clock on the nightstand flickers the time at him: 6:42 AM. He groans, knowing the day's adventure is about to begin.

Jason, ever the early bird, stirs beside him, his blond hair a mess from a night of tangled sheets. "You awake, Leo?" he mumbles sleepily, his voice a gentle rumble that sends a comforting warmth through Leo's chest.

Leo nods, his eyes still glued to the ceiling. "Yeah," he says, his voice rough from sleep. "Just contemplating the meaning of life, the mysteries of the universe, and whether we have any decent breakfast left."

Jason chuckles and stretches, the movement causing the bedsprings to squeak slightly. He sits up and runs a hand through his hair. "Well, if it's the meaning of life you're after, I can't help much with that. But as for breakfast," he says, leaning over to kiss the tip of Leo's nose, "how does a breakfast burrito sound?"

Leo's stomach rumbles in response. "Like a gift from the gods," he mumbles, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He throws off the covers and swings his legs over the side of the bed. The floorboards are cold under his bare feet, but the warmth of the room and the promise of food quickly dispels the chill.

Together, they make their way to the kitchen, Jason moving with the grace of his divine heritage, while Leo shuffles slightly, his legs still protesting the early hour. The kitchen is a familiar mess of pans, wires, and half-eaten takeout containers, evidence of their late-night tinkering sessions. The smell of burnt metal is faintly present, a reminder of the explosive conclusion to their last project.

Jason opens the fridge and pulls out the ingredients for the burritos with practiced ease. He grabs a couple of tortillas and starts to warm them up in a pan. Meanwhile, Leo rummages through the cabinets for something to drink, his eyes landing on a half-full bottle of orange juice. "You want some?" he asks, holding it up.

"Always," Jason replies, cracking eggs into a bowl and whisking them with a dash of salt and pepper. "And maybe some coffee?"

Leo nods and heads to the coffee maker, the sound of the beans grinding a welcome wake-up call. The aroma fills the kitchen, mingling with the scent of the sizzling tortillas. He pours two cups and brings them to the table, setting one in front of Jason, who is now busy chopping peppers and onions.

"You know, Leo," Jason says, glancing over with a smirk, "I never thought I'd see the day when you'd be the one making breakfast."

Leo rolls his eyes, but the warmth in his cheeks gives him away. "Well, I figured it's only fair," he says, setting the juice on the counter with a clink. "You save the world, I make sure we don't starve."

Jason laughs and tosses a piece of bell pepper in his direction. "You're not so bad at saving it either, you know."

Leo catches the pepper and pops it into his mouth, grinning. "Thanks, but I leave the heavy lifting to you."

While Jason cooks, Leo sits at the kitchen table, scrolling through messages on his tablet, his mind racing with the day's potential problems to solve. The quiet hum of their morning routine is comforting, a stark contrast to the chaos that often awaits them outside the sanctuary of their apartment. The coffee is strong and bitter, but it's exactly what he needs to kickstart his brain into gear.

The eggs and veggies come together in a harmonious sizzle, and soon enough, the burritos are wrapped up and steaming. They sit across from each other, the table a mess of half-read emails and forgotten schematics, sharing bites and sips of their drinks. The burritos are perfect, just the right amount of crunch and cheese to start their day.

[theoasiswinds]

warming up with a fun little character moment..

so lets see my map maker, my buddy's OC Lou, and Ero's belong to my Che~!

[diceriadelluntore]

Storia Di Musica #344 - The Pogues, Poguetry In Motion, 1986

Nel 1976 la rivista Sounds (che era una delle tre meravigliose riviste musicali inglesi, con il Melody Maker e il New Musical Express, e dalle cui ceneri nascerà Kerrang!) onora il cantante della band di oggi con un titolo, Face Of The Year, a quel viso grottesco, sdentato, che nascondeva un genio tanto bizzarro quanto straordinario. Shane MacGowan è un irlandese nato nel Kent, nel 1957, ed è un giovane punk scorbutico e ribelle quando fonda, a 19 anni nel 1976, la sua prima band: i Nipple Erectors, con due suoi amici, Shane Bradley e Adrian Thrills (che guarda caso farà più tardi il giornalista per il NME). Visto il nome (e questa sua verve creativa lo avrà anche per il gruppo che lo farà diventare un personaggio), lo abbreviano in Nips, il trio incide un paio di singolo e un disco, Only At The End Of The Beginning (1980) che non si ricorda nessuno. La band si scioglie, ma lui è deciso a continuare. Abbandona la ferocia del rock punk e si dedica ad una riscoperta del folk, del rockabilly, del country, a cui però non disdegna di arricchire caustici testi. Nel 1983 forma una nuova band, che all'inizio suona in piccoli pub o come buskers band nelle strade principali. Dopo un po' di fiducia, decidono di provarci professionalmente: MacGowan alla voce, Jem Finer al banjo e altri strumenti a corda, Spider Stacey al tin whistle, il flauto irlandese, Andrew Ranken alla batteria e James Fearnley, polistrumentista. Per mantenere quella verve di cui sopra, chiama il gruppo in gaelico irlandese, Pogue Ma Hone, e con questo nome pubblicano un singolo nel 1984, The Dark Streets Of London / The Band Played Waltzing Mathilda, lanciato su scala nazionale. Ma lo scandalo avviene quando si scopre che quel nome vuol dire "Baciami Il Culo", tanto che si vira meno maliziosamente su The Pogues. Si aggiunge la bassista Rocky "Cait" O'Riordan, e con questa formazione pubblicano il primo disco, Red Roses For Me (1984), che è una versione graffiante e velenosa della musica popolare irlandese e scozzese. La critica più ortodossa ne è sconvolta (famoso il commento di un critico "sembrano un branco di ubriachi di un pub irlandese lasciati liberi in studio") ma quel suono grezzo, ma che ha radici antichi, la voce impastata e le immagini sognanti di MacGowan iniziano ad avere successo. Se ne accorge Elvis Costello, che chiamato prima come produttore per un singolo, si accorge che la band da il meglio di sè senza nessuna "sovraproduzione" e si convince a produrre il primo, storico album dei Pogues: il titolo Rum Sodomy & The Lesh (del 1985, frase che è attribuita a Winston Churchill in ricordo della sua esperienza nella Marina) fu scelto da Andrew Ranken "come il riassunto della nostra vita come band". In copertina La Zattera della Medusa di Theodore Géricault, con il fotomontaggio dei volti dei nostri sulla zattera. Il disco è un successo, il gruppo diventa un caso mediatico e la loro fama di personaggi bizzarri ai cui concerti può succedere di tutto inizia a spandersi ovunque. Costello è ancora con loro in Studio per un nuovo disco, e iniziano a scrivere molte cose. In queste sessioni nasce l'Ep di oggi, che doveva essere l'embrione del disco futuro ma successivi disguidi e screzi tra band e produttore lasciarono questi brani (e un altro, in seguito leggendario) pubblicati come EP.

Poguetry In Motion è un Ep di 4 brani, quattro gioielli Pogues che racchiudono la loro anima gioiosa e decadente, tra melanconia e sprazzi di euforia. London Girl è un rockabilly frizzante, ma sono gli altri tre brani davvero notevoli: Body Of An American è diventata famosa ultimamente per la presenza, quasi fissa, nella serie Tv The Wire della canzone durante i funerali dei poliziotti. Tra l'altro è storica una interpretazione di questo brano durante un Saturday Night Live del 1990, giorno di San Patrizio: MacGowan, visibilmente alticcio, con una sigaretta tra le labbra ne canta una versione strascicata e assurda. Planxty Noel Hill è "dedicata" al cantante di folk irlandese Noel Hill, che fu uno dei più critici contro il loro "celtic folk rock", definendolo una sorta di aborto della musica tradizionale. Ma la canzone più famosa, e in seguito loro classico, è Rainy Night In Soho: deliziosa, dolente e ideal-tipo delle loro future ballate dolorose, fu pubblicata in due versioni, una con un intermezzo di oboe e l'altra di tromba, più famosa.

In quelle sessioni con Costello, si registrò anche un altro brano, il più famoso dei Pogues: Fairytale Of New York fu registrata con O'Riodan come seconda voce, ma fu riscritta e re-registrata molte volte fino alla versione definitiva con Kirsty MacColl che appare nel loro disco successivo, If I Should Fall From Grace With God, che li consacra al successo internazionale. Un personaggio e una band che hanno lasciato un piccolo ma profondo segno, come dimostra il collettivo affetto che la morte precoce di MacGowan, nel Novembre del 2023, ha suscitato in tutto il mondo della musica.

[gregor-samsung]

" Chi sono gli uomini, i quali, senza che noi ce ne accorgiamo, ci suggeriscono cosa pensare, ci dicono chi dobbiamo ammirare e chi disprezzare, oppure come dobbiamo considerare la proprietà dei servizi pubblici, le tariffe doganali, il prezzo del caucciù, il piano Dawes* o l’immigrazione? Sono sempre loro che ci consigliano l’arredamento della nostra casa, il menu quotidiano, il modello di camicia più elegante, gli sport da praticare, gli spettacoli da vedere, le iniziative benefiche meritevoli di aiuto, i quadri degni di ammirazione, e perfino i termini gergali da inserire durante una conversazione e le battute di spirito che ci dovrebbero far sbellicare dalle risate. Se volessimo compilare l’elenco degli uomini e delle donne che per la loro posizione sociale devono essere considerati come opinion maker, avremmo una lunga lista di nomi recensiti nel Who’s Who. […] Una simile lista comprenderebbe migliaia di persone. Tuttavia sappiamo che molte di esse sono a loro volta sotto l’influenza di individui, spesso noti solo a una cerchia molto ristretta. "

*Piano Dawes: definito da una commissione di esperti finanzieri appartenenti alle potenze vincitrici della I Guerra mondiale presieduta dall’americano Charles G. Dawes, contribuì molto alla ripresa del marco e degli investimenti Usa in Germania. [NdT]

---------

Edward Louis Bernays, Propaganda. Della manipolazione dell’opinione pubblica in democrazia, traduzione di Augusto Zuliani, Fausto Lupetti Editore, 2008.

[Edizione originale: Propaganda, New York: Horace Liveright publisher, 1928]

[dr-trafalgar-law]

Trafalgar Law X CisFem Reader

7

Law laid on his back, eyes locked on the ceiling, his brain too overworked from the last few days. A sigh pushed passed his parted lips for the millionth time since he'd returned to the apartment. The sun would be up soon and the tv could still be heard in the living room, he assumed you hadn't been to bed either. Sleeplessness would only bring on the possibility of more anxiety attacks. You needed rest and this situation wasn't helping.

It bothered him that he was even thinking about how you were sitting up at night worrying about him coming home while also knowing things would still be tense when he did.

Why did he have to be in this situation?

His tired mind drifted back to the night you spent with him after first witnessing your attack. You were so vulnerable, all of the walls of sass and attitude you'd built to keep him out had temporarily crumbled down.

He'd watched your sleeping face with a sinking sensation in his stomach. This wasn't what he wanted.

How did this sneak up on him?

The sun had finally risen and you decided to move your sleep deprived self into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. You'd spent the entire night awake on the sofa terrified of whatever conversation was going to take place. A chill shot down your spine when you heard his door finally open.

"Coffee?" you weakly offered when Law entered the room with a yawn.

Without a word Law made his way to the coffee maker taking his preferred mug from the hook below the kitchen cabinets. After getting his coffee he dropped down into the seat across from you, his tattooed hand sliding a small piece of paper across the table to you.

It was a very worn wallet sized photograph, just by the looks it had to have been taken when you were a kid. The photo was a young girl with brunette piggy tails, big bright eyes and a grin to match. There was something eerily familiar about her that you couldn't quite place.

Law's piercing gaze swept over you observing every aspect of the photo with a confused pout.

"That's Lami," he murmured, "my younger sister."

Younger sister?!

You had no idea the man you were engaged to had siblings. Something terrible must've happened if he never spoke of her.

Suddenly it felt like you'd swallowed a boulder.

"Despite the laws, my parents loved each other and us very much. We were lucky. Forced families are often resented, that's why I don't agree with it." he'd closed his eyes trying to keep himself together, "When I was ten I was at a sleepover at a friend's house down the street when we woke up to sirens at my house. Apparently an outlet in the kitchen sparked. Lami ... Was the only person who left the house alive." 

Though his eyes remained closed the pain was evident on his face. You couldn't bring yourself to speak, patiently waiting for him to continue.

"She was in intensive care for three days before her little body finally gave up."

Your eyes began to burn. No wonder he was so drained and upset when he came home after that accident. His reluctance to work in pediatrics made more sense. Reliving the pain of losing his sister, his family must've been awful.

"Rosinante was a friend of the family who couldn't have children of his own, so the adoption was quick." his stormy eyes opened slowly falling over you.

He was impressed with himself for making it down that painful path without breaking. You, on the other hand were a crying hiccuping mess. For the first time you really connected and felt Law's emotions, he finally wasn't holding back and even though he didn't cry you could definitely sense his despair and heart break as he spoke.

"Cora-ya - er - Rosinante, is a couples therapist appointed by the WG." Law glanced uncomfortably at his now cold coffee, "Corazon is his nickname, I suppose someone thought it was cheeky. He suggested we have moments of vulnerability to help us understand each other." a slight embarrassed blush painted his cheeks, "This is a safe place to speak about painful things and insecurities."

You tried to catch your breath as you dried your face with a paper towel he'd handed you.

A safe space? You definitely needed that and felt he was being truthful. Law had never lied, he was usually painfully blunt, so you knew he meant what he said.

"Look, I just wanted you to know why... it was so hard the other day." his voice was starting to shake, "I may have overreacted."

"No," you finally rasped, "if anything you under-reacted. I-I was being honest when I said nothing happened that night. Marco wanted to talk. He had hugged me though so I guess that's where the cologne came from. I was scared and I didn't want you to jump to conclusions."

"What about that night in November?" his eyes watched your every movement, "you came home with that same scent."

He could see you choking up.

Instantly his stomach dropped, but his cool façade remained as he brought the coffee mug to his lips attempting to wash away the bitterness on his tongue.

Your face burned while a painful knot formed in your throat.

"I didn't want to tell you in case we were found out." you lowered your gaze to your fidgety hands.

"Bullshit." he muttered drawing your attention back.

"I-if someone finds out, I don't want you going down with me." you strained.

"Your unwillingness to trust me is unnerving, F/N."

"It's not that..." you paused, "ok, maybe at first it was. B-but I didn't know you."

"And you still don't." he murmured, "Tell me what happened."

You held your breath for a few beats and exhaled, "He showed up at the shop after his bachelor outting with the boys...we hadn't seen each other in six months - since the day they were assigned to each other. He - hum - he wanted to properly say goodbye. I should have stopped it."

"But you couldn't." he guessed.

You shook your head, "We cut off all communication after that. Even the next day at the wedding I had Usopp and Vivi deliver the cake and collect the final payment from Ms.Charlotte."

Law hummed taking in your explanation. He wasn't sure why all of this made him so uncomfortable and...angry? Normally this sort of nonsense didn't bother him. Plenty of women had come and gone. It didn't matter. For some reason he was disappointed in you for turning out like everyone else. Perhaps he expected the government to match him with someone who would respect the relationship. It was forced and he didn't want to marry a stranger but at least he was trying.

"So, the other night?" he pressed you to continue.

"Ugh... He wanted to tell me she's pregnant." you sighed again, "I don't know why he called me out in the middle of the night. Maybe he thought it'd be like last time. But... I don't want that."

"What does it matter to you if she's pregnant?" he sounded genuinely interested.

"It's complicated, but I guess they think she's cheating on him and the kid might be proof of that. It's ridiculous and I told them I want nothing to do with it." you explained feeling a bit more comfortable.

"Them?" he rested his chin in his palm as he leaned his elbow against the kitchen table.

"His stupid brothers." you avoided eye contact again, "They're planning something."

"Planning? Why does it have to involve you?"

"They want to catch her or something, and they think if that happens they can petition for Marco and I to be together. But I know it doesn't work that easily and I don't think... I don't think it's something I want anymore."

Law lost his composure for such a brief moment you didn't even notice. That galloping feeling struck his chest again as he carefully gulped down a breath.

"Meaning?"

"I've made it this far trying to get over a relationship that can't be, and even if there is a small chance for this stupid plan to work, chances of it all falling apart are even greater. I can't get my hopes up just to go through it all over again." you ran a shaky hand through your messy hair, "More importantly, you're my partner now. I should be focusing on building a relationship with you."

Law was a bit shocked, he hadn't expected those words to leave your lips. He was suddenly overwhelmed, this feeling was new and he wasn't sure he was ready to accept it.

"I know it might be hard, but I hope you can forgive me."

He stood abruptly, the sound of the chair scraping against the linoleum startled you.

"I," he cleared his throat, "I need a moment."

Before you could react he brushed passed you and slammed his bedroom door.

"Shit." you slouched back.

Had any of this actually helped at all?

[unmeinoakaito]

Tagged by @zibaldone-di-pensieri

Make your own avatar

Questo è il mio.

Sembra che io abbia un piercing alle labbra, ma non è così..

I vostri?

Menziono @quellaragazzasognatrice @sorella-di-icaro @chocolatewhisperslady @greatmoonballoon @pensieri-inlacrime @raggidilunaepolveredistelle @alicesfeelings @ombranelvento @occhiblulabbrarosse @inungiornoqualunque1303 @muarti-95

[bijoumikhawal]

Bite the Hand that Starves You: Chapter Five

Fic as of this chapter contains: discussion of abortion, references to drug use, intersex and trans characters, torture/graphic violence, colonialism and its aftermath, implied sexual violence, disassociation

Kardasi: peikirvi- would translate to something like "concubine", specifically refers to an individual that socially presents as male, and was assigned such at birth, but can carry children (and often could impregnate someone else), who is legally bound to someone. Usually this is done with a pre-existing couple who has fertility issues.

Cheoche and cheyeda: could be translated as something like "patron" and "vassal". "Che" in Kardasi refers to charity, which is viewed as a duty to society rather than a choice made of good will. More specifically, a cheoche is a wealthy family/clan who takes on the affairs of a poorer or weaker one (the cheyeda), legally binding the two together for several generations. This can be typified in three ways: the cheyeda being a family who was once great and has become destitute, the family of a beloved artist, or a family of the "service class". For the latter, having a cheoche often provides a stable income, food, housing, and better schooling and training. Some cheyeda even have inheritance rights from their cheoche. However, while the relationship is glorified as going above and beyond ones duty, it is a system rife with abuse. The Tain and Garak families are bound this way.

Kisam- a matchmaker

kashmim- Cardassian time unit roughly equal to nine years

---

“I’ll be just a moment.” Garak said, sensing someone enter the shop and hearing the small noise maker he’d attached to the door be set off by the sliding motion of the door.

He finished the slight adjustment of the clothing in front of him, and turned around. “What can I-“

The words died In his throat when he saw just who had walked into his shop. Suddenly he was both full of white hot anger, and felt like a young, easily manipulated schoolboy again. “What are you doing here, Lokar.” He leaned into the anger. There was no time to question why he was alive, or how. The fact that his punishment had initially been execution still was within reason, given this… sight.

“Lokar? Oh, Elim, we were much closer than that, weren’t we?” Barkan leered at him, his voice, once simply gruff, now like sandpaper over the ears. A lesser man wouldn’t have noticed the hatred burning under his gaze. He looked around. “Charming little shop. I expected you to be up your elbows in soil or circuitry the next time I saw you.”

Garak moved so that the display table in the middle of the room was solidly between the two of them, and his way into his backroom was clear.

Not for the first time, he wished there was more than one entrance and exit to his shop. It had after all, been purposely designed so any proprietor within could be easily cornered by the Cardassian soldiers sent to fetch him. Almost all the shops had similar design features. He simply was unfortunate enough to be more intimately acquainted with them than the other merchants. The only other that had been there in those days was Quark, and his establishment had the privilege of at least one exit on every level.

“There isn’t much soil here I’m afraid, and I doubt Starfleet would allow a random civilian to get his hands in their circuitry.” He quashed the temptation to ask after Paladine and Kel. Barkan would only lie, and mock him all the while.

Barkan tilted his head. “A shame. You looked so at home when you were tending orchids on Romulus.”

Something about that made Garak snap. “You’re begging for an assassination, coming here.” Garak snarled. “The Bajorans did not forget who started ore processing here.”

Barkan sighed. “Such a shift in conversation, and here I was being civil.” He started to stalk in front of the table, not leaving Garak with a clear shot out the door. “And frankly, I’m surprised you’d say such a thing. After all, there are Bajorans that certainly remember you, yet look at you- sitting so nicely in your shop.”

Oh yes, they remembered him- that first morning, after the withdrawal, they certainly remembered him. In his low moments, he used to wish Odo hadn't interfered.

“You're being horribly cold to me, you know.” Barkan chided him. “A good Cardassian would be hospitable, even to a stranger.”

“I could hardly afford the hospitality you're used to.”

Loudly, someone cleared their throat. Garak saw Odo filling the doorway now, and had rarely felt such relief in his life. “Garak, is there a problem here?” He eyed Barkan suspiciously.

“No, constable.” He said in a tone that doubtlessly would only convince Odo that there was, in fact, a problem. “Lokar here was simply lost. He was looking for Del Floria’s, I believe.”

Barkan clearly recognized Odo, eyes flicking down to his Bajoran uniform with distaste. “It's nice seeing you again, Odo.”

Odo crossed his arms. “Del Floria’s is on the other side of the Promenade.”

Barkan smiled. “Thank you. Always helpful, aren't you?” He began walking out. “I’ll be on the station for the next few days, Elim.” He clapped Odo on the chest. “I have a great deal of catching up to do with Dukat, now that I’m returning to public life.”

Odo rubbed his chest, staring after him.

---

One could say Barkan Lokar possessed certain characteristics. Among them, unfortunately, was persistence. Going about his day, Barkan kept appearing just on the edge of his vision. Often, Odo was there as well.

Garak acted as though he hadn't noticed either of them. Things were stabilizing, now. He was able to (mostly) focus on work again. The outbreak of kunowaat- which he'd noticed, but hadn't been able to concern himself with- had no new patients, according to the station rumor mill. A Ferengi festival was upcoming.

It had been three days since Dr. Ammshah left.

Garak had a special delivery to pick up. He'd placed it before this whole mess, knowing it would take awhile back then. He'd almost forgotten it until today- when he got a message from the vendor saying it'd be dropped in corridor J, not too far from where it connected to the promenade. Little foot traffic to worry about, but still accessible.

Unfortunately, that made it an excellent tome for Barkan to be direct in his efforts once more. The seeming lack of presence as he entered the hall gave no comfort. Garak often regretted teaching Barkan what he'd learned from the regnar.

He could delay- his delivery wasn't out in the open- but it wasn't just that.

He had no desire to wait for Barkan to act.

He sensed the shift as the lights changed- they were kept dim here, due to the lack of traffic. It saved a bit of power. He kept walking.

With more time to plan, he could have put himself at great advantage. But then… he'd have to explain himself, after. And no matter what, that would go very poorly for him.

Barkan formally announced himself with a hand on Garak’s wrist.

Garak turned, twisting his way out of the grab. “Rather forward, aren't you?”

“Did you hit your head, Elim? I'm rather curious about where this amnesia of yours has come from.”

“I had hoped for your death. I think you'll find a better answer in that than playing doctor.” Garak said. And yes, he had. He’d felt foul and yet he knew that best outcome would be this man’s blood on his hands.

“You did a lot more than hope.” Barkan stepped forward. Perhaps he was goading Garak to run further down the corridor, away from the promenade.

“And was about as effective, it seems.” Garak didn't give in, standing firm.

“Oh, I wouldn't say that.” Barkan lunged forward him. Garak ducked, punching him in the ribs. Barkan wheezed out a laugh, catching himself. “I've learned my lesson about underestimating you.”

Garak waited. Watched. It was almost like the pit- his energy crashed against Barkan's, even as he stayed against the wall, catching his breath from the blow. Then- his foot came out, catching Garak’s weaker leg, and sending him back against the opposite wall.

Barkan turned, lunging again. He seemed more intent on grappling Garak than striking him. Garak dodged him again, this time not bothering to try and hit him.

That changed things. Garak had expected a fight- a most likely deadly one, yes, but something he could get it over with. Barkan was a hitter when angry, and not especially good with self control in private. He normally had no plan, simply seeking a way to satisfy his anger. Going with a grapple meant he had one.

He had to get out of here.

Barkan had kept him with his back facing more corridor- to get to the promenade, Garak had to get past him.

They both stayed locked in stance. Seeing what move the other would make- had Barkan figured out Garak had switched expectations?

Garak moved first, aiming to hit Barkan on his left arm and get past him.

The blow landed, but Barkan pivoted, turning and slamming them both against the wall.

Barkan’s hand moved to his chest, as though to press his comms for the Cardassian ship docked, when an alarmed voice called out.

“Garak!” Julian was quickly making his way towards the two of them.

Barkan startled at the interruption, and Garak took the opportunity to send him down to the floor by elbowing him in the face. He moved quickly, grabbing the doctor by the arm and steering the both of them to the more populated parts of the station.

“Garak, what was that about? Do you want me to call security? God, you’re bleeding!”

Garak touched his neck. It seemed at some point, Barkan had managed to scratch the unprotected skin in the center. “Doctor, in the future I would advise against you walking around near derelict parts of the station by yourself.” He stole a glance behind them, turning his torso. No sign of Barkan. Unfortunately, he knew Garak’s favorite trick, so that couldn’t be assured.

“Me?! Garak, I came looking for you. It was halfway through our usual lunch appointment, you hadn’t shown up, you weren’t in your shop, you hadn’t messaged me to say you had to miss it this week-“ Julian took a breath. “And I either found you being attacked, or…”

“The first option, I assure you.” It wasn't really soothing, Garak could tell, but it gave Julian more time to breathe instead of talking.

“My question stands about security, then.”

By now there were at least a dozen other people milling about, and Garak allowed himself to relax into his usual state of awareness. “No, I do not want to report this to security.” Dimly, he realized that Barkan had seen Julian with him. If Dukat hadn’t told him about the incident with Rugal, then surely now he would be on Barkan’s radar. “I might perhaps discuss it with constable Odo, off the record.”

Julian stopped him. “I doubt you’ll go to the infirmary with me to get your neck seen to.”

“You would be correct.”

Julian sighed. “Will you wait outside while I grab some equipment and let me do it in your shop, then?”

Garak considered it. “Yes, doctor.”

---

Sisko was going over his weekly communique from Starfleet went Odo came in early. He set aside the padd. "Constable. I've been eager for our daily meeting."

"Did something happen?" Odo tilted his head slightly.

"Dr. Bashir made a report today regarding something he hoped we'd coordinate on."

"A report about Garak." Odo harrumphed. "Coincidentally, that's why I'm here early today. One of Dukat's guests is someone you need to be aware of."

"Sounds like this is going to be a long talk. Take a seat, Constable."

Occasionally, Odo would remark that neither made any difference to him and remain standing, but not today. "Barkan Lokar was murdered close to three years ago. Today I saw him on the promenade."

Sisko sat up a little straighter at that.

Odo took a breath, considering. More out of imitation, Sisko guessed. "Lokar was the mastermind of the mining operation on Terok Nor, though he left the day to day to Dukat. His presence on the station, for that reason alone, is a security threat."

"And then there's the reason Dr. Bashir made his report." Sisko tapped his fingers on this desk. "He said he suspected they knew each other."

"He suspected correctly. Garak was Lokar’s… the closest translation would be concubine, peikirvi. His wife stayed on Prime, but Garak traveled with Lokar while he was on duty. Back then I only knew of Garak as “Elim”."

Sisko didn't hide the displeasure on his face at hearing the closest translation of the word. "I see."

"Garak was also supposed to have killed him. At the beginning of peace talks with the Federation, when the military was starting the evacuation of all non-essential personnel, Lokar stayed to help Dukat close out the mines. I was ordered by both to keep Garak confined to quarters, ostensibly for his own safety. A week later, he was found trying to steal a runabout by a patrol. The officer who found him tried to return him to his quarters, where they found Lokar's body, strangled." Odo paused. "No close examination of the body was allowed. Garak was incredibly agitated and bore injuries. I suspect he may have been intoxicated as well, but no testing was carried out. Dukat decided no further investigation was needed- to him, it was obvious there was a fight, and Garak had gone too far. Something about how the two had known each other since military school, and that Garak must have let old grievances get to him."

"I presume he was more biased than that." Garak at military school… now there was an odd picture.

Odo hmphed. "Of course. Lokar was his closest friend that wasn't a subordinate. He'd requested that the Central Command allow him to handle things personally. Garak was sentenced to labor under military detention after execution was denied for whatever reason, and Dukat assigned him to work as a tailor. Then he was intentionally left behind during the final evacuation."

Sisko gave in to the urge and grabbed his baseball. "So. I have a dead man walking, who happens to be one of the most hated men on the station, if not all of Bajor, and he has a personal violent history with one of our primary informants on Cardassia, who he's harassed today already."

"Twice."

"Twice." Sisko repeated, rubbing his temple. "First, keep an eye on Garak, but be subtle about it. Second, look into Lokar's whereabouts between now and then. Third, keep an eye on him, and don't be subtle. Increase security around the meeting tomorrow. Try to leave any investigation of the murder aside until Lokar is off the station. The rest, I leave to you."

Odo nodded. "As for my usual report…"

---

They'd tentatively resumed lunch. A day off from their usual schedule, unfortunately. There was a relieving quality to it- just like how the ones between the incident with the implant and this one had been, though stained with tension.

Three days worth of meetings... then Barkan would be off the station. He'd still be Garak’s problem... but at a distance.

Garak put that out of his mind. He had a young man to castigate. "As usual, it seems you don't understand your own literature. It's incredibly obvious that-" Garak stopped.

"Garak? Cat got your tongue?" Julian asked, amused.

Garak didn't bother chastising him for using idioms that gave the universal translator trouble. His attention had been pulled away by his parasite. Not only was Barkan around- he was walking toward them, which was what bothered Garak enough to stop.

Was he really going to do this in public?

The look in Barkan's eyes was cold, the way it was the first night Garak had navigated out of the wilderness successfully. Barkan’s gaze somehow became more cruel upon seeing Julian. “Ah. And here I had hoped you had some sense of properity within you.”

Julian tensed, recognizing the voice. "I didn't know Dukat had adopted the policy of giving his crew shore leave while a meeting is currently in progress."

Ignoring Julian, Barkan continued. “I never released you, Elim.”

“Never released me? I wasn’t aware I was a game bird.” Garak didn't deny the implication- the kind of person Barkan was, he'd take that as proof. The best thing to do was step around it, distance yourself from it.

"Game birds are better behaved."

The rest of the replimat was unsubtly looking over at them. Was that his game? After all, there are Bajorans that certainly remember you, yet look at you- sitting so nicely in your shop.

Many of the Bajorans previously on the station had left after withdrawal. Most of the people who associated Garak and Lokar that Garak still had to interact with weren't Bajoran- Odo, Quark and his staff, and so on.

It wasn't that Garak had never been publicly accosted by another Cardassian before. Most ignored him, but a few lacked the self control. What was making this differ was that anyone listening- even if they didn't quite get the implications, and many Bajorans did- could tell this was personal.

It was hard to predict how this would impact him down the road.

"Game birds don't follow orders, Lokar. They fly out of instinct. Perhaps you can relate." Garak turned away from him. "Speaking of, do mind your manners, doctor."

Dr. Bashir had been staring at Barkan the whole time. His attention snapped to Garak once called upon, eyes shifted, but still visibly thinking about how to get rid of Barkan. It was charming.

"I'm sorry, Garak. At my age I should know how to focus on a conversation, and not ignore someone."

Garak didn't laugh, but he did smile a bit. "Being aware of your flaws is good, but you need to act against them." He chided. "What would you do if you were at a medical conference, and ended up snubbing someone important because there was a fight at the snack bar you couldn't ignore?"

"How crass, Ten Lubak." Barkan said, sounding genuinely disappointed as he stalked away. He'd gotten what he wanted, after all- no need to linger.

---

Pay me a visit. And do not dress ostentatiously. The message read.

Garak frowned at it. When he was younger, he would have wondered if being ordered to return to his childhood home was a test, given that he was not to do so unless under specific circumstances. At this point, he knew the summons themselves were not the test.

He had a green outfit that would work well enough. It was a nice day- he might as well walk.

His mother was the one to greet him. "They're in the study." she told him. No recognition beyond what she'd give a normal guest- this was not a personal visit on Tain’s end, then. And, he already had a guest.

He nodded to her. “Thank you.”

Garak had not often gone upstairs when he lived here, and even less often to the study. He opened the door himself- he was allowed to, after all. Tain had his guests escorted if he felt guarded about such a thing as them opening doors by themselves.

He'd already had on a smile, and kept it firm even upon seeing the other guest.

He had expected Barkan would check if his “Elim Vronok” story was true, but this seemed a little much. At least he knew the role to play now; Elim Vronok, disgraced Bamarren washout who found out he was a bastard, changed his name, and now was a service class gardening drone. That still left the test…

“Barkan Lokar. I didn't expect to see you again so soon after our last meeting.” He gave it a formal distance, with a little warmth. He turned to Tain and bowed forward. “Patron.” Most likely, Lokar was here because Tain was officially the Garak family’s cheoche (this branch, anyway).

“You're being terribly formal, Elim. Sit, we have kanar.” Tain gave off the appearance of being relaxed, his presence withdrawn. And he did indeed, have a bottle of Kanar out and open. The two of then had each already poured a glass.

Garak did as he was told (it was never a request) and sat in the spare chair, pouring himself some kanar. Owing to the status of Elim Vronok compared to the room, he poured just half of the usual amount. “Might I ask what the occasion is?”

“How long has it been since Bamarren, Elim?” Barkan asked, looking into his drink.

“About two kashmim.”

“Two kashmim.” Barkan repeated. “As you know, Palandine and I were already betrothed back then. We formalized our relationship after completion of our studies at Bamarren. Two kashmim… and we only have one child.”

Garak bowed his head. “My condolences.” It was terror, to have just one child- that was only one opportunity for your hopes, ambitions, continuation of your name, and of course, only one opportunity for Cardassia. It would weigh especially heavy on Barkan, the man who taught Garak the real meaning of the word opportunity.

Deaths had decreased from what they'd been just before Garak was born, with hunger and illness rampant before the state made reforms. But both still hounded children in particular. And war…

Barkan sighed. “I love Kel dearly. The responsibility of being the only Lokar of her generation would crush her. Seeing you on Romulus reminded me… that I have options.”

The artifacts Tain kept on the walls suddenly made the room feel smaller.

So. That was what he'd come for. A slight panic must have appeared somewhere in him- his eyes, his posture. Barkan set down the glass, making a beseeching gesture. “I've been perfectly formal in discussing the matter before you arrived.”

Of course he had. He was wearing his newfound refinement like a shawl. Garak hadn't even been worried about Tain hearing of his school boy liaisons until it was alluded to.

Garak smiled as though relieved. “As fits the occasion.”

How did Barkan know? Had it come up while he was checking his Vronok story or had it been known at Bamarren and kept quiet as future leverage?

“Why me?” Garak asked, cloaking the question in a blend of bashfulness and humility. “Surely your family could find you a peikirvi, or a kisam could look further afield.”

Barkan smiled- the same smile he'd used on Garak at Bamarren. “I already know you, Elim. I came to like you and respect you during our time at school. I know you and Palandine won't destroy the household with petty strife. Those are guarantees I cannot get, no matter how clever my family or a kisam is, if I am marrying a stranger.”

“Well argued. Don't you agree, Elim?” Tain looked to him.

Barkan was friends with Skrain Dukat. Son of Procal Dukat, the would be coup leader. That was Tain’s angle here. Keep close to Barkan to keep aware of the Dukats.

How funny. Procal would despise his son's friend if he could see this now. An aristocratic military man raising a service class bastard to the honor of his peikirvi- what a fit he and every other member of the True Way would have.

“Very well argued.” How fortunate for Tain, that Barkan had thought of this himself and come to Tain as Garak’s cheoche. The latter was no matter of fortune, of course. Just good planning. As was this: positioning Garak this way had the potential to be very good planning.

Who was Garak to deny the will of his father, patron, head of the Order?

---

Julian knocked on the door frame to alert Sisko of his presence. "I have forms for you to sign." This was the last thing he needed to do- then he was off to bed.

"Oh, wonderful." Sisko lowered the padd he was looking at. "Inventory reports?"

"Among other things." Julian replied. He handed the data rod over to Sisko. "There's also requisition forms and a post-hoc form for that medical consult I had to call in." Normally, Julian would have done that before whoever he'd called in arrived, but Dr. Ammshah had caught him off guard.

"Did that go well?" Sisko connected the rod and the padd.

"Confidential." Julian said.

Sisko's brows raised as he skimmed the papers. Julian could pinch himself- normally, he would at least say if something went well. His knee jerk response gave the opposite impression, and he couldn't correct it. Sisko could probably guess who the consult concerned, and of course, had just reported to Odo the other day...

"This... is a long set of requisition forms." Sisko said after a moment. "Even for how many people have been ill."

"That's just how this disease is. It doesn't help that it's one of those where people tend to catch something else while already sick." Julian leaned on the back of the chair across from Sisko.

"How have you and the infirmary staff been holding up? Anyone giving you trouble?"

"No, no trouble- it's about as you'd expect." Julian replied. "We aren't being pushed to our limits yet, but we'll all be very glad when this is done with."

Sisko's eyes lingered on him, not bothering with subtlety as he squinted at Julian's face, then his uniform. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure. I'm very careful to make sure I don't give anyone more work than they can handle, and we managed to borrow a few nurses from the nearest outpost planetside." This was true- and key to this, just as much as the extra nurses, which of course no one else knew, was that Julian could do the work of two people in the infirmary. He was careful about it. No one noticed anything obviously unusual. "It's under con-"

A yawn rudely interrupted him. Julian felt his face warm slightly.

Sisko sighed. "Don't be over eager, doctor. It's better to ask for help early on if you need it, and to overestimate."

Julian laughed. "Thank you, sir, but I know my limits, and the limits of my staff."

"Good. Keep them in mind, and don't be shy to ask when you need something." Sisko nodded at him and raised the padd in Julian's direction. "I'll send these off once I'm done."

Julan inclined his head. "Thank you again."

[juniaships]

My Disneysona in her WISH outfits! I love to imagine myself in gorgeous outfits From top to bottom: my "main" dress, my "adventure" outfit, the courtship dress King Magnifico gifts me, and the finale dress after his inevitable defeat. Link below

[youwouldntlietopapa]

and for you to indulge, from the softness prompts:

secondo + "i see you still have my shirt" + "you... sorry, you just got a little something on your face... here, let me get it for you"

This is, seriously, 100% fluff and domestic fluff at that.

Enjoy.

___________________________________________________________

It’s still early when you wander, sleepily, out to the small kitchen Secondo’s quarters are equipped with. He is, of course, already up. It’s not unusual for him to be awake first, but you are just a little sad he didn’t stay in bed for morning cuddles. His days off are so rare and it’s been a long week of waiting for one lazy morning spent curled up with him, waking up slowly, enjoying yourselves for a while before finally getting up.

Secondo is where you suspected he’d be, sitting at the small table near the window, holding up the morning paper while he reads. A plate of maritozzi that must have been brought by a ghoul has appeared on the table since last night. The coffee maker burbles quietly on the counter, slowly filling the pot. The smell drifting around the room is unmistakably Secondo’s strength coffee. And the already empty espresso cup sitting next to him is a clear sign of a headache he’s trying to ignore. Not that he wouldn’t have that one cup and several more on any given day. But on top of the morning coffee? And before the coffee’s even brewed? You know him to well not to see it.

He frowns when he notices you walking toward the cupboards, folding the paper and setting it and his reading glasses aside. “Did I wake you, cara mia? I try to be quiet.”

“No, no.” You say softly, waving away his concern. “I woke up and you weren’t there. The bed was lonely without you.”

He smirks and shakes his head. “I come to bring you coffee in bed. I hope it finishes before you wake. Perdonami, amore.”

The pill bottle rattles as you pull it down, tipping two into your palm. You don’t need to look at him to know the face he’s making at the sound. No matter how many times you say it, he simply cannot bring himself to accept that there’s no shame in accepting help before a small problem turns into a monstrous one. But, you have no intention of letting your day together be ruined by a headache turning into a migraine. The pills and a glass of water you set next to him, straddling his lap and sitting on his knees.

“Vedo che hai ancora la mia camicia.” He cocks a brow and lets his eyes wander over the half buttoned shirt from the night before, still smelling of his cologne and cigar he enjoyed after dinner. Stolen almost the second he had it off when you’d gotten home. While he had gotten preoccupied with choosing a record for the evening.

It hangs off your shoulder leaving your neck exposed, barely covering the rest. Even your most practised innocent face can’t hide how sinful you look. There’s always something about seeing you in his too large clothes, hair still wild and that sleepy smile you get first thing in the morning that he can’t resist.

“I can take it off if you want it back.” The offer comes with a sweet smile and a mischievous look in your eye. One he most certainly catches. You simply kiss the end of his nose and tap the glass beside him. “Take these now, before it gets worse.”

He runs his eyes over you once more, finally huffing and takes the offered pills. “I thought to say you should wear it so you aren’t cold. But now I see this pitiless heart, tormenting me with these pills. Maybe I leave you without it as punishment.”

“Punishment? I’m only trying to help, my love.” You give a very dramatic pout, delicately smoothing the deep line in his forehead that always forms when his head is hurting. “Besides, I could have been nice and warm in bed with you.”

The coffee maker coughs and sputters the last of the cycle, cutting you off with annoyingly good timing. If Secondo is trying to hide his smug smile, it isn’t working. “Troppo impaziente, dolcezza. Sempre troppo impaziente. Two minutes more and I come back to you, to wake you properly.” His hands move to your hips to make his message clear, holding just firmly enough to be felt.

He is annoyingly handsome when he’s a little too proud of himself and you roll your eyes, even as you struggle to contain a smile. “Can you really blame me? It’s hard to be patient when it’s you I’m waiting for.” Shifting your hips closer to his, you adjust his robe and sneak an opportunity to tease the dark hair that covers his chest. Your eyes wander over to the maritozzi and back to him. “Hai ordinato la colazione?”

“See what I do for la mia regina? And still she is impatient with me.” He teases, sighing dramatically.

“For you.” The correction is followed by a kiss. Snatching a maritozzo while he’s distracted. Or, at least, while you think he’s distracted.

“L'ho visto, ladruncolo.” He chuckles, catching your wrist gently and bringing the sweet bun closer to steal a bite.

Secondo is, much to his dismay, only human. And, like all other humans, he is not immune to the near impossibility of eating a maritozzo without making a mess. The bite he takes, careful as he may be, leaves a smudge of sweet cream at the corner of his mouth. Only narrowly missing his moustache. You can’t help a soft laugh. Few things are as rare and beautiful as seeing the man you love relaxed and happy. Even the spectre of a headache seems to have been cleared away.

He smirks, knowing full well that he’s already a mess. But it’s delicious and, with you, he doesn’t need to worry about looking a little foolish. So long as it makes you smile.

There is a very unconvincing look of concern on your face as you motion toward his cheek. "You... sorry, you just got a little something on your face... here, let me get it for you."

Scooping most of the cream up with a finger, you stare back at him, licking it off slowly. Leaning in to kiss the remaining spot clean. Kissing the corner of his lips before claiming his mouth deeply. Secondo’s hands pull you tighter against him, one hand making its way into your hair, gripping firmly. Your own hands dragging soft scratches over his scalp, earning you a deep moan from him that echoes through your core.

Though reluctantly, you break away first, staying close enough that he fills your field of vision. Your nose nudging his softly. Whispering against his lips. “I believe you were going to bring me breakfast in bed.”

“Si.” His voice is as soft as your own.

“It would be a shame to spoil such a sweet gesture, no?” Pressed so tightly against him, you can already feel his eagerness to return to your well earned morning in bed.

“Si.”

“Then I suppose I’d better get back there and practice my patience.”

He groans as you slide back off his lap, frustration and desire colliding. Deepened by the sight of your backside draped with his own shirt. You don’t need to look back, you know that look, and you grin to yourself. A few quick moves and the handful of buttons preserving the absolute miniscule amount of modesty you have left pop free. Leaving Secondo staring, open mouthed, as his shirt slips to the floor and you turn the corner out of the kitchen, back toward the bedroom.

“I take mine with cream and sugar, my love.” You call back over your shoulder. “And don’t forget the maritozzi.”

As you climb back into bed, the sounds of Secondo rushing to get a breakfast tray ready can be heard from the kitchen.

____________________________________________________________

cara mia = my dear

Perdonami = Forgive me

Vedo che hai ancora la mia camicia. = I see you still have my shirt.

Troppo impaziente, dolcezza. Sempre troppo impaziente. = Too impatient, sweetness. Always too impatient.

Hai ordinato la colazione? = Did you order breakfast?

la mia regina = my queen

L'ho visto, ladruncolo. = I saw that, little thief.

[birr-die]

midnight dressups marathon again. made Elyon a little more

cause we all love our little queen of Meridian aint we

sources:

[satureja13]

While Ji Ho and Jeb were cooking and Sai and Jeb took a nap, Vlad found a llama! Maybe he is one of the llama from the farm who escaped from getting slaughtered? Don't fatten him, Vlad! And shoo him away so they don't catch him!

Vlad named him 'Adriano'. After the great italian singer, musician, composer, film maker and actor Adriano Celentano (whom I admire a lot). From his wikipedia entry: 'Celentano has been a vegetarian since 2005 and has defended animal rights.'

'Ma quest'Italia qua se lo vuole sa che ce la farà e il sistema c'è quando pensi a te pensa... anche un po' per me.'

'But this Italy knows that if it wants it will make it And the system exists When you think about yourself, also think... a little bit of me'

Svalutation - Adriano Celentano This song about devaluation is from 1976 and sadly today as relevant as then :,(

(TMI: maybe you spotted Adriano already in the last post ;)

From the Beginning  ~  Underwater Love ~  Latest

[grusik]

Struttura G075 | 2022 "A I R / 3 - Landscape G075". Ecco a voi Il nuovo playground realizzato ad Albinea presso il parco Lavezza. AIR / 3 è il terzo progetto della seria "Aria" e si inserisce nel gruppo dei lavori dedicati al paesaggio astratto come sintesi di studio di forme e colore campionate nel bellissimo parco in provincia di Reggio Emilia. Un bellissimo intervento di arte urbana voluto fortemente da tutta la comunità molto legata al parco e allo sport presente in quell'area. In questi giorni sono partite le super sfide tra gli alberi del parco e nuovi fiammanti colori. Grazie ai protagonisti di questa magnifica impresa, un lavoro corale che premia l'impegno di tutti a partire dal Comune di Albinea, ai volontari, ai ragazzi dell'agenzia 4.4, a tutti i fotografi e video maker, ai miei super assistenti...Grazie a tutti!!! Credits: Title: "A I R / 3 - Struttura G075". Street Artist: Giulio Vesprini Artistic assistant: Giulio Faggiani, Marcello Buganza Technical assistance: Waterprofing Italia Agency, Communication: 4.4 Art e You&Web Agency Matteo Maffucci, Mirko Pagani, Federico Biagioni, Alessandro Fabi. Video e Photo Drone: Davide Bonini, Mattia Lugli Foto W.I.P.: Veronica Mazzoli Many thanks to: City Hall of Albinea Mayor: Nico Giberti Assessor: Daniele Menozzi Culture: Federica Franceschini, Chiara Catellani by GIULIO VESPRINI

[diceriadelluntore]

Storia Di Musica #346 - Ride, Smile, 1990

Il piccolo percorso storico-musicale sugli EP arriva alla conclusione con la storia di oggi, che rappresenta un po' l'ultimo apice della produzione degli extended play. L'ultimo grande movimento del rock ad usarli con frequenza è stato il cosiddetto shoegaze, un movimento del rock alternativo che ebbe un certo successo tra la fine degli anni '80 e l'inizio degli anni '90. Il termine shoegaze fu coniato da alcuni giornalisti del New Musical Express che notarono una peculiare caratteristica nei nuovi gruppi emergenti inglesi: tendevano a suonare dal vivo, soprattutto i chitarristi, tenendo il capo chino, come a "fissare lo sguardo sulle scarpe". In un primo momento, fu preso come simbolo di un certo modo "timido" di presentarsi, alternativo al sempre più crescente bisogno di spettacolarizzazione degli eventi musicali, ma più prosaicamente, la testa abbassata mentre si suonava era per coordinare i movimenti dei piedi sulle pedane degli effetti sonori, che erano una delle caratteristiche musicali del genere. Riverberi, feedback, distorsioni divennero il marchio di fabbrica di una schiera di giovani band, che usavano le parti vocali in modo molto spettacolare, quasi come strumento aggiunto. Apoteosi del genere fu Loveless dei My Bloody Valentine, opera grandiosa e unica del gruppo di Kevin Shields, disco che ne racchiude tutti gli stilemi fondamentali, e tra quasi tutti i gruppi shoegaze c'era una proficua e interessante partecipazione reciproca, tanto che Steve Sutherland del Melody Maker scrisse un reportage sul genere dal titolo The Scene That Celebrates Itself. Tutte la band, e cito Spacemen 3, The Brian Jonestown Massacre, Mercury Rev, Lush, Chapterhouse, Slowdive, produssero ottimi EP, sia come trampolino di lancio per andare oltre i singoli, sia come diffusione di materiale sperimentale in vista degli album veri e propri.

Una band che fece degli Ep una vera e propria caratteristica sono stati i Ride. Nascono ad Oxford, nel 1988, quando i chitarristi Andy Bell e Mark Gardener si trasferiscono a Bradbury per studiare alla Scuola di Design. Assoldano il bassista Laurence Colbert e il batterista Steve Queralt e formano una band a cui danno il nome di Ride, dal piatto ride della batteria. Suonando nella camera da letto di Queralt, registrano un demo tape, nel 1989, che arriva, non si sa come, a Jim Reid, leader dei Jesus And Mary Chain (band seminale e più citata da tutti i gruppi shoegaze). Questi piacevolmente sorpresa chiede al manager Alan McGee, che è anche discografico di una etichetta che di lì a poco diventerà fondamentale, la Creation, di scritturarli. Tra gennaio e settembre del 1990 i Ride pubblicarono tre EP: Ride, che è il primo disco in assoluto della Creation che entra il Classifica in Gran Bretagna (nella Top 75), ha in copertina delle rose rosse, Play, che ha in copertina dei narcisi gialli, e Fall, che invece ha una foto dei pinguini imperatori sotto la neve. I primi due furono uniti in una compilation, che è il disco di oggi, Smile (che ha le ortensie in copertina) che fu distribuito dalla Sire per il mercato americano, e verrà ripubblicato nel 1992 in Gran Bretagna e in Europa, quando i Ride avranno già pubblicato il loro primo album intero.

Smile si apre con uno dei pezzi che diventeranno i più iconici della band: Chelsea Girl è il prototipo dello shoegaze, con il muro sonoro chitarristico che sale di potenza, la ritmica asfissiante, la forza del suono elettrico; Drive Blind, altra canzone che diventerà un must dei loro concerti, è appena più lenta e melodica, e diventa un piccolo inno al disagio di quei tempi (Driving me 'round and leaving me there \Cover my eyes and we'll die driving blind\Cover my trail and we'll leave life behind\Drive blind); Ride Ep finiva con All I Can See, toccante e dal suono "più americano" e Close My Eyes. Play invece si apre con Like A Daydream, altro brano piuttosto noto, che è il tentativo Ride di scrivere una canzone non dico d'amore, ma quanto meno di una cotta adolescenziale, tra le stupende chitarre rampanti, che salgono e si avviluppano in stupendi assoli; Silver è più blues, Furthest Sense, ancora sulla difficoltà della comunicazione tra le generazioni (Who could ever understand?\So don't try to criticize,\You don't know the change that's in my eyes), e si conclude con la spettacolare Perfect Time, dall'intro scoppiettante.

I Ride pubblicheranno il primo disco nel 1990, Nowhere: in copertina una onda del mare senza increspatura, e dentro il meglio dello shoegaze, in un disco che diventerà un successo per il movimento, arrivando al numero 11 in classifica. Pensato come un disco da registrare "live in the studio", registrato di notte, portò ad un crollo mentale il primo produttore, Mark Waterman, tanto che il mixing del lavoro fu fatto dall'astro nascente Alan Moulder. Tra i brani gioiello, Seagulls, Dreams Burn Down e la stupenda Vapour Trail. Tra l'altro pochi mesi dopo, pubblicheranno un altro Ep, Today Forever, nel 1991, con in copertina le fauci di un grande squalo bianco, che anticiperà il secondo lavoro, Going Blank Again, disco del 1992, che li consacrerà al successo (numero 5 in UK, disco d'oro, lo splendido singolo Leave Them Behind).

La band durerà fino al 1995, per dissidi artistici, dovuti al fatto che lo shoegaze fu travolto da altro tipo di musica (il brit pop, il suono notturno del Trip Hop, l'esplosione definitiva della musica dance) ma con sorpresa si riuniranno nel 2014, e pubblicheranno nuovi dischi che un po' prendono da quel momento particolare, riavvolgendo il nastro di una piccola storia musicale fatta di feedback, belle canzoni e tanti Ep significativi.