#chase looks so naked in my style without his hat

[hiding-under-the-willow]

A little go at @andaboop 's draw this in your style :]

[kisskourt]

stem riri williams headcanons

pairing: riri williams x black!reader

contains: fluff, smut (18+)

taglist: @inmyheadimobsessed @shurislover @phantomof-themcu @sapphicvqmpires @sapphicjunglefever @playhousedistee @thtgirlllmona @vixentheplanet @dejaonline @prettymrswright

author’s note: this version of riri lives rent free in my head. s/o to my baby @inmyheadimobsessed for helping me with this. i love you pookie wookie! thanks for reading!

SFW

🔩 the epitome of a girly tomboy. her closet is a mixture of men's and women's clothing. her go to look is a fitted top, baggy pants, and a pair of sneakers. around the house, she likes to wear a sports bra and boxer briefs. for formal events, she opts for a tailored suit and heels.

🔩 cornrows, box braids, knotless braids; she's tried them all. of the styles, straight back cornrows are her favorite. if she's feeling nostalgic, she'll add beads at the end of her braids. regardless of the style, her edges must be done. when she’s in a rush, she’d rather throw a hat on than to be seen without her edges laid.

🔩 without jewelry she feels naked. gold is her preferred metal but she’ll wear silver if it matches her outfit. her chains are a staple with anything she wears.

🔩 obsessed with getting her nails done. there is an agreement between the two of you that you pick the color and she picks the design. however, sometimes she’s adventurous and surprises you with a random color.

🔩 the biggest baby ever. after a long day of classes, she craves you. engulfed in your arms is her safe space. if she could live in your skin, she would.

🔩 before attending MIT, she worked at a car repair shop in high school. her love for cars stems from her relationship with her step-father. as a child, she would help him repair his plymouth barracuda in the garage. getting her hands dirty reminds her of the time she spent with him. in her free time, you often catch her in her garage modifying the plymouth barracuda. she recently installed a set of brake calipers in the color red.

🔩 legos! legos! legos! your girlfriend is a fein for anything lego. legos allow her to keep her hands busy while keeping her mind stimulated.

🔩 gym rat DOWN! she lives in the gym; it’s a safe space for her. for riri, each set, each rep, are not just pursuits of strength, but a ritual of equilibrium. she chases that release of dopamine; it balances her.

🔩 she’s your personal stylist. riri spends hours on pinterest saving fits and curating looks for you. she enjoys seeing you in the clothes she buys you, and she’s even more obsessed with taking your pictures. you have an entire instagram page dedicated to the outfits she’s made for you, and you must tag her so that 1. your followers know that she put the fit together and 2. you’re absolutely 100% taken, so they better not try anything!

NSFW

🔩 horny 25/8. 3 in the morning? horny. 5 in the afternoon? horny. she’s down for whatever, whenever.

🔩 a strap slinger! she loves seeing the way you react every time her strap disappears in you. her favorite position is missionary because it allows her to look into your eyes as she’s drilling you.

with her hand wrapped around your throat, riri smiles. her pace is relentless; a clear indication that she is determined to overstimulate you. your legs are wrapped around her torso, holding on for dear life.

tears began forming in your eyes; the feeling of pain and pleasure mixing.

"give it to me, baby." she hums.

“let go.”

you know what she desires, and you know how much she loves discovering the intricacies of your body.

the grip on your neck tightened as she hit your g-spot. the aroma of sex and musk fill the room as you close your eyes. seconds later, your right nipple is met with a harsh slap, followed by a demanding suckle.

"did i say you could close your eyes?"

🔩 devouring you is her favorite pastime. you're upset? head. stressed out? head. it doesn't matter when or where; she's always ready to drop to her knees for a taste of you.

with a sigh, riri places her keys on the kitchen counter. picking up her phone, she sends you a series of texts:

🔩 undoubtedly a switch. as much as she loves bending you over, she yearns for your dominance. relinquishing control to you is easy for her.

🔩 has a tramp stamp that reads "lucky you" in red ink.

🔩 she loves the feeling of you tugging on her braids as she cleans you up. slurp after slurp, she doesn't dare complain about how tight your grip is. all she cares about is how lovely you taste.

🔩 tying you up so she can see you squirm is one of the ways she punishes you when you've been a brat.

🔩 when she's frustrated with you, she makes you watch as she rubs her clit.

you extend your arms, attempting to touch her. swatting your hand away, she smirks.

"do you deserve to touch me?” you shake your in defiance.

"then stop trying to touch me!"

[smallerinfinities]

mad woman: iii (nessian)

a/n: *taps mic* does this thing still work? OH hey! hello! yes, this fic is properly old now and probably everyone thought I abandoned it but joke is on everyone including myself lmao...turns out I love these two..and after acosf well I would 10/10 die for them. so here we go! a ride to be sure! people do be getting naked!

warnings: 4.8k of smut (like woah). language. guilt. 

Nesta wasn’t exactly sure what she was doing.

It had seemed like a good idea. Everyone in certain social circles knew the truth about Hewn City. Knew the dance club for the front it was for the shadowy bowels beneath. Here, she had thought yesterday morning, here she could be on even ground with him.

Him.

Cassian's hand was still in hers as she led them both down the long hallway toward room 3B. His words before hadn’t completely hidden his reactions to her clothes, her face, her body. She smiled to herself remembering the slight widening of his eyes. He probably thought he hadn’t reacted, but she knew. All men are weak. Just put on a dress and show some thigh and she knew she’d get his attention. Even if it was probably all for show. Cassian was a fine actor.

She thought back to four days ago. Or was it five, she thought. They had started to bleed together after the bender she’d gone on after wishing Cassian death on the phone with Amren.

Feyre was in her apartment for the second time in a week. An unprecedented occurrence. If the judgment in her eyes was any indication, she had come to check on things. Baby sister coming to her rescue. How rich. She stood on the carpet again, with her perfect heeled sandals and her tidy camel trench coat. Thankfully, she’d left the hat at home this time. Her arms were crossed tight against her chest as she surveyed the room.

“I see you’ve already made yourself at home again,” she observed, picking up a half-empty bottle of gin, “I’ll send Alis this afternoon.”

“I don’t want anyone else in my fucking apartment, Feyre,” Nesta cringed at the lingering slur in her voice.

“So you can drown yourself in this shit alone?” She held up an empty bottle of vodka in her other hand. “Nesta, it’s only been a few days since I was here the last time. Can you even stand right now?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Nesta sneered, settling back into the couch cushions. She couldn’t, but Feyre was a bitch for even asking, so she spat back, “At least I cope with my problems legally, High Lady.” In a fantasy world, smoke would have curled from her lips when she exhaled those last words.

Feyre stilled, breathing evenly. Nesta wasn’t sure if she was containing her rage or accepting the shame she had to be feeling.

“I see you gave Amren a call.”

“She didn’t tell you?” Nesta was surprised. Amren had seemed like one of Feyre’s inner circle, no matter how much money the High Lord and Lady may have given her.

“No, I told Amren that what you did with her number was your business,” she wrung her hands. She was….nervous. How odd. Feyre Archeron was a lot of things, but nervous was rarely one of them.

“Well,” Nesta exhaled, the anger fleeting like wind taken out of her sails, “yes, I called. Everything was very cryptic until someone showed up here who was not a therapist and started taking his clothes off. Honestly, what were you thinking, Feyre?!”

“I…” she hesitated, sinking down on the other end of the couch with Nesta, bracing her elbows on her knees, “I don’t know. I was desperate. I just want you to feel something again, Nes.” She hadn’t called her that since they were children. Nesta felt a little pang in her chest. I need another drink. “I know it’s...unconventional, but it really does help. Rhys and I...well, you know there’s a lot of stress involved in our lives.”

“So you fuck it out with strangers that you pay to keep silent??” Nesta asked incredulously.

“When you put it like that it sounds a lot seedier than it actually is, but,” she huffed, swallowing back some kind of emotion, “yes. There’s a lot of….relief, if you just give into it. Amren knows what she’s doing.”

“Are you and Rhys having problems?” It was the only explanation Nesta could understand for this. I mean it was one thing to hire a hooker if you weren’t getting any, but from the forced lunches and “sister dates” that Elain made the three of them go on, Feyre had always seemed to have a very active sex life.

“Oh, God, no,” Feyre visibly relaxed, caught off guard by even the implication. That made Nesta’s stomach relax. She hadn’t even realized she cared. “Rhys and I are fine, stronger even. There is power in giving up power, especially when you grapple with it on a daily basis. But this isn’t about me or Rhys.” Feyre leaned over and reached out to take Nesta’s hands, but stopped when Nesta visibly tensed at the mere idea of contact. “I’m really not lying when I say I think a little relief would help you.”

“Why do you insist I need help?” Nesta ground out through her teeth.

Feyre sighed and stood. There was something settling over her face, deep in her eyes. Sadness. “Suit yourself, sister.” She stood and, to Nesta’s surprise, took a swig from the half-empty gin bottle she’d pushed in Nesta’s face earlier. Her face screwed up in a grimace, “Jesus, how do you drink that shit?”

“I don’t even taste it anymore.” Nesta looked off, toward the window. Toward the empty corner where the wedding dress had hung for months. She’d taken it down that night after he had left.

That bone-deep sadness returned to Feyre’s eyes, “Alis will be here this afternoon.”

She left without another word.

Nesta sighed, catching Cassian’s attention, but she said nothing. She kept a steady flow of booze in her veins after Feyre left for three more days, sometimes just laying in bed for hours while the world spun. She saw Tomas, saw Elain, but most often she saw hazel eyes and bold, dark lines inked across a broad, tanned chest. Those were the torturous hours, when the desire would rise in her, when she would feel something just like Feyre said. Even if it made her soul burn. He was haunting her. He’d left her alone, angry and wet, for what? Because she refused to accept his “help”? Wasn’t this all just fucking anyway? What difference did it make how she responded?

The frustration had overwhelmed her until she finally realized that it didn’t matter how much she drank, he wouldn’t go away. She couldn’t chase him into a whiskey-soaked oblivion like she could the memories of her fiancé and her sister. He was real. He was still breathing. He was making her life a living hell.

He was going to pay for it.

So, she’d called Amren back. Had made him meet her here of all places. Had put on a dress and a pair of heels and more makeup than she’d been planning to wear at her own wedding. A costume. A mask. If he was going to “help” her, at least it wouldn’t seem like her that he was helping. She’d fuck him out of her life on her terms. Just once wouldn’t damn her to hell, right?

Nesta had never been to Hewn City before. Clubbing had never been her style. She was more of a library, bookworm kind of girl. But now that she was here, she kind of liked the secrecy of it all, the discretion everyone had whispered about. It made her feel like a character in one of her books, a different kind of escape than booze offered, with the rouge-tinted lights and shadowy, padded hallways. She could be anyone here. She would be anyone here. Anyone but herself.

“I think this is it,” Cassian’s deep rumble sounded behind her. They stopped in front of a painted black door, the marker flickering “3B” in the light of the candle sconce behind them. Nesta fit the key into the lock and turned it.

The room was cooler than the hall, but she wasn’t sure the temperature was what made her break out in gooseflesh. There was a massive four-poster bed in the center of the room covered in black satin sheets drawn back against a deep crimson comforter. Only a handful of hanging exposed bulbs lit the space, giving the boudoir decoration some industrial finishes. It was like a scene out of some vampire film noir. The light reflecting off heavy restraint cuffs at each corner of the bed only heightened the effect. A dark armoire loomed in the corner. Nesta was sure that if she opened it, she would find any number of instruments with which to tease and taunt Cassian with. This place was a sex dungeon and she had paid to be a mistress tonight.

Cassian’s mistress.

Nesta took a deep breath and settled into this new character, some confident woman who knew exactly what she wanted and knew exactly how to take it from a willing participant. She sauntered over to the foot of the bed and leaned back against it to look at him. He was so quiet tonight, looking around the room like she had, taking it all in.

“Cat got your tongue?” Nesta proded.

“No,” he hesitated, stuffing his hands into his front pockets like an embarrassed school boy rocking forward on his toes. It only lasted for a second before he hid it behind a smirk, “no, just a little….confused?”

“About what?” She crossed her feet at the ankle and let the deep slit on her dress fall open, revealing almost every inch of her long legs. His eyes widened momentarily before he cleared his throat. Was he….nervous?

“Well, uhh,” he was stammering now, the false bravado unable to keep up with the situation unfolding in front of him, “if I’m being honest, I’m not sure what to do.”

“You mean, Cassian, self-proclaimed sex therapist, doesn’t know what to do?” The teasing in her voice blushed his cheeks pink, “well, color me surprised. I thought it would have been clear by now.”

“It’s not that it’s...you’re…” he cocked his head, “different.” His eyes followed every inch of bare skin from her painted toe to the top of the slit an inch below her hip. “Something changed.”

Why does he make this so damn difficult?

“Yes, well,” she replied, biting her bottom lip for effect, “I decided that I want you to help me.” His head straightened.

“Do you?” He crossed his arms over his broad chest, emphasizing the size of his biceps. His nervous energy cooled in seconds, giving way to something else, something that had been simmering beneath the ice.

“I do,” she slipped back a little farther onto her palms, tilting her head back. She was a predator, setting a pretty, needy trap for him. If he got off on a savior complex, she’d play the part until she got what she wanted. “I just want to feel normal again.” She smiled internally as she watched her words wash over him. Watched him take a few deep breaths, watched him move for the first time since they walked in the room.

He kept his body closed, his arms a barrier between the two of them, as he stalked forward. Nesta stopped breathing, feeling his gaze shift from confusion and questions to calculated assessment. He paused in front of her and bent down, his hands sinking into the mattress on either side of her slim waist. The space between them was thinner than the air atop the mountains in Illyria.

“I think…” he looked her in the eye, no blinking, no touching, just a wisp of mint from his mouth, “that’s a load of bullshit.”

A rush of fury, so white hot it blinded her, licked down her arm. She raised her open hand and ripped it through the air.

Only to be caught in an iron grip.

“Ah, ah, dear Nesta,” his lips curled up on one side, “I like a little pain with my pleasure, but not without my consent.”

All she could do was stare him down as she huffed, imagining the breath leaving her nostrils in puffs of hot smoke. A caged dragon in pretty clothes begging to get out. But hell would freeze over before she moved first. She could feel the tension between them, feel the electricity pulsing through him where his fist gripped her wrist. Maybe it was her pheromone-laced delusion but she thought he might want this as much as she did. He wanted her challenge, her adamant wall. He wanted to break her, remake her. Little did he know that you can’t break what’s already broken.

Just a character, just a role to play...

“Oh, come on, Cassian,” she tried to free her hand but he remained hard as stone around her wrist. He hadn’t pinned her legs though. She slid one bare leg up the inside seam of his jeans. The muscles flexed and contracted underneath the well-fit fabric, higher and higher, until she reached the apex. He hissed. A feline smile spread across her face when she felt it, felt him, hard and begging for her. “I think you want this a little more than you’re willing to admit, more than you’re allowed to admit.”

His nostrils flared, barely imperceptible, but even the smallest changes in him drew her notice. Why? It was a question she didn’t want to even ask herself, but it kept coming, night and day. Why did this night feel like the edge of a dangerous cliff? Why did his agreement to come tonight feel like more than just a business arrangement? Why did the tension between them feel like her only anchor to this life? She pressed harder into him, needing to move, to get this over with, to fuck him right out of her head.

“Nesta.” His voice brought her back from those questions that haunted her like the inked lines hidden underneath his t-shirt. So close now, so close to her fingers, her mouth. She looked up at him, aware of her knee still cradled between his legs.

“Cassian.” Her voice practically sang. The song of his own personal siren.  

He was so still. If he hadn’t said her name she wouldn’t have been sure he was even breathing. He placed his hand between his groin and her knee and stepped backward. His pupils were wide, endless pools, black as tar and eating at the hazel surrounding them. He was drunk on the lust, drowning in it just like she was.

“Take off that dress before I rip it off.”

A bone-deep shiver ran from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes at the command, reaching back up to settle between her thighs. She flushed from the heat of his gaze on her skin as she stood, reaching behind her neck to loose the three pearl buttons between her pride and her desire. Fuck it. The dress pooled at her feet.

The corner of her lip tugged upward when she heard his breath catch. She wasn’t wearing anything under the dress. Lingerie had felt like too much and her regular cotton cheekies would have been too conspicuous beneath her close-fitting dress, so nothing had been the only choice. The right choice if Cassian’s jeans had anything to say about it, clearly growing tighter by the second.

Nesta backed herself onto the bed again, digging in with her heels to push herself toward the headboard as gracefully as she could while burning alive. And she was burning under his gaze. Every flick of his dilated pupils, from her bare legs, to her full breasts, to her smooth stomach, to her glistening cunt, she burned. When her head thudded against the carved cherry wood headboard, his eyes finally met hers. A low growl sounded in the back of his throat.

“See something you want, Cassian?” she asked, struggling to keep her tone innocent, indifferent.

“Depends, Nes.” She ignored the heat that pooled at the nickname, especially when he said, “what are you offering?”

She bit her lip at his words. And spread her knees open for him. Now, come and take it.

He went wholly still as pink creeped into his tan cheeks. He was fucking blushing at her cunt on display for him. A filthy thought entered her head and before she could shut it down, she reached between her legs and traced a finger over her slit. The low lights flickered in the reflection off the wetness laced there before her finger disappeared….

Right between Nesta’s wine-colored lips.

His eyes tracked that finger in and out of her mouth as she sucked and swirled her tongue around it, moaning at the taste of her arousal, the eroticism of the gesture. She released her finger with a pop and smiled wickedly at him.

“Want to taste?”

Cassian moved swift as a thunderclap, as if her words were paddles jumpstarting his heart into quick, heavy beats. He pulled off his shirt. Those thick, black lines of ink that haunted her dreams were on full display, curling around his biceps and across his broad shoulders. She wanted to trace them with her tongue, taste the salt on his skin. He didn’t bother with some cliché striptease. His fingers fumbled with his belt, fumbled with the top button and zipper of those tight jeans. He tripped out of them, splaying his hands across the rumpled comforter as he kicked his pants somewhere across the room, losing his shoes and socks at some point between.

She would have smirked at the clumsiness, questioned his self-proclaimed prowess as a sex therapist, if her throat hadn’t gone completely dry at the size of him. Even through his underwear there was no mistaking it—massive, just like every inch of the rest of his body. Of course, he had a cock to match.

He grinned, following her eyes, guessing her train of thought. The bed dipped as he crawled toward her, full prince of cats on display again. A man who knew what people saw when they looked at him and enjoyed that power, that raw sexual energy dripping from his every pore. With that glint in his eye, she was happy to play along—for now.

Every thread in the expensive duvet cover beneath her set a thousand sparks rocketing across her skin. His movements were measured, purposefully kept from touching her skin. He was so close she could feel the warmth radiating off of him with every inch forward, every inch toward where she wanted him. All of him. His fingers, his mouth, his cock. Nesta started to fidget with anticipation, ready for him to spread her open and take, take, take, but she wouldn’t beg. Wouldn’t reach or claw or whimper, no matter how much she wanted to.

Feyre might be paying, but she would own him before the end. Even if she had to sacrifice her soul to do it.

When his mouth finally made contact with her skin, a whisper of a kiss along the inside of her thigh, it was a struggle not to moan. Loud. She was strung tighter than a bowstring and he knew. Her traitor body was going to beg for him with or without words, so she opened her mouth instead.

“Gonna fuck me senseless, Cassian?”

His head jerked up from between her thighs, that feline smile turning her molten. “You know, Nesta. I think I’ll shut you up instead.”

Someone as big as he was shouldn’t have been able to move that fast. Shouldn’t have been able to cover her entire body with his and claim her mouth between one second and the next. His hands curled behind her neck to pull her firmly to him and devoured her. Their tongues clashed, dancing together, as she moaned into his mouth. Whether it was surprise or pleasure or both that pulled it from her, she wasn’t sure. The mint and adrenaline still laced his tongue, this time with a natural smokiness that she hadn’t noticed before. He licked at her, sucked at her lower lip. She nipped at him, teeth as much a weapon as her words, her hands. She dragged her nails down his naked back and drew a hiss from him, maybe some blood too if the tang of iron was any indication.

It only spurred him.

“You know these lips taste better when they’re not liquor-stained,” he panted. He studied her face, she knew it must be flushed from his kiss, and slowly ground his hips into hers, with the same bruising intensity he claimed her mouth, drenching himself in her through the thin fabric of his underwear. Those really need to disappear. Her fingers continued their violent path down his back to the waistband of his boxer briefs, the only barrier left between everything she wanted. Wanted, never needed. They danced around to the front of him and sought purchase.

Another moan, loud and throaty filled the space between them.

My God.

“Off, off, off, off,” she was chanting when he finally released her mouth to move down to her neck, surely to mark her like she’d marked his back. It was going to be tit for tat with him. “OFF,” she clawed at his hips. He raised up and smirked at her.

“You just have to ask, Nes.” His lips curled to the side, “maybe say please.”

She held his gaze. Please. It was a chant in her head but she couldn’t say it. He saw it there, the challenge, the struggle, but this was a battle of wills. And Cassian was a seasoned general.

He ducked his head and nosed at her jaw, along her throat, peppering her skin with close-mouthed kisses. “Just say the word,” he ground into her again, not nearly the friction she wanted. His hands found her peaked breasts and traced her nipples, slow circles at first, then quick pinches accented by his teeth at her throat. There was no pattern, no guessing, no preparation. Every nerve ending was a live wire, screaming for his touch.

Nesta Archeron was going to die here. The flames in her belly were going to consume her and she was going to die at a high-priced sex club. And maybe she should. It might be worth it. Rhysand would never live it down. She wouldn’t sacrifice her pride for an orgasm. But, as his hips did another slow roll against hers and he scraped at her neck with his teeth, her resolve imploded.

“Please,” she croaked. She felt his smile against her skin.

“What was that?”

“Please,” she said a little louder, still barely a whisper.

“That’s awfully quiet, Nesta,” he licked at her collarbone and made her eyes roll back into her head. “Makes me think you don’t really want it.”

“Please,” she repeated, her head thrashing, “please, PLEASE.”

“Okay, okay,” he pushed up to lean back on his heels above her. “No need to shout.” The tease in his voice forced an impatient growl from her. He cocked an eyebrow as he toyed with the elastic waistband on his underwear, slowly pulling it down below the defined V set low on his abdomen, revealing inch after inch of smooth, tanned skin, until finally they were gone and there was nothing left between them but sexual tension and a promise of release.

Her eyes raked down his muscled body, unable to keep her hand from reaching to touch the hard planes of his chest and abdomen, reaching lower. His fingers wrapped around her wrist.

“Uh, uh, princess,” her cheeks flamed as he lifted her hand to his lips and left a tender kiss on her palm, “it’s my turn.”

She blinked and his mouth was on her. His hair, tufted at the back of his head, bobbed between her legs as he lapped up the wetness that had been pooling since they started their games tonight. Since he first leaned against her door frame, if she was being honest with herself. His lips wrapped around her clit and when he moaned around her, she saw stars. Her toes curled. Her fingers buried themselves in his hair. Her knees bent to capture his head forever between her thighs but he caught them before she could crush him with the force of her pleasure.

It might have been hours, days. He held her spread open and licked and suckled and fucked her entrance with his tongue. Careful, slow strokes to stoke the fire ripping through her veins but not enough to send her to her peak. Her thighs began shaking; her fingers knotted into his hair and held his mouth against her. His name was a holy chant in this unholy place.

“Cassian,” she sobbed as a tear rolled down her temple and into her sweat-soaked hair.

He groaned and release ripped through her. Waves of pleasure locked her body in a silent scream, her head tilted back and her mouth wide open. He kept stroking her through it, his tongue undulating against her clit over and over as her body jerked involuntarily once, twice before relaxing completely, melting into a warm, soft puddle of flesh.

There were no words. No thoughts. Nothing inside her head except for the truth of it. No one has ever made her feel like that, forced that kind of pleasure from her. Her harsh breaths were the only sound in the room as Cassian traced patterns on her inner thigh. She blinked furiously, clearing her eyes of any emotions that might betray her. Looking down, she caught his eye and his answering smile made her forget her own name.

He was looking up at her, his cheeks pink from the heat and pressure between her thighs. His hair was a fucked out mess. He looked...content. As if her orgasm was all he wanted, like he could do it again and again and not care if she ever touched his cock even though she’d never wanted anything more in her life.

But...what if he doesn't want that?

She tensed suddenly. He was an escort after all. This wasn’t his choice. What if all of this is just an act? She knew she shouldn’t care. She was a paying customer and shouldn’t care what he wanted. What his desires were. She should just take her pleasure, satiate her own desire, and leave. That had been the plan when she came here. Hell, she had just been acting when this all started.

Until he gave her the best orgasm of her entire fucking life. Until he called her on her bullshit, got naked, and got on his knees for her. Until he made her gasp his name and fucking cry for the privilege.

This was wrong. She shouldn’t—couldn’t—

I don’t deserve this.

Her breath caught in her throat. I need to get out of here.

She sat up so quickly her head spun. Her fingers caught on the restraints attached to the headboard and she recoiled. What am I doing? Why did I think this was a good idea? Cassian jerked up from between her legs at the motion, the perfect window for her to rip her legs from his vicinity and swing them to the floor.

“Nesta, what’s wrong?”

She heard him, confused, still panting, but she couldn’t find the words to answer him. The panic was bitter, the taste in stark relief to Cassian’s tongue. Stop! Where is my fucking dress? Her head swiveled frantically. A slip of navy stuck out from under the armoire in the corner. She lurched forward, grabbing and pulling on the dress that barely covered her ass, left nothing to the imagination. What have I done?

“Nesta, what is happening?” Cassian was louder this time. Loud enough to draw her eyes. He was leaning on one elbow, wide-eyed and still painfully hard. At this angle, she could see the angry red marks across his shoulder, darkening with dried blood in some places. A damning souvenir for what she had done. A claiming.

She couldn’t ignore the voice in her head. A betrayal.

“Was—” he sat up and leaned on his knees, “was it not good?” Some unfamiliar emotion danced across his eyes as he waited. She stared and stared and stared. “Did I—“ he kept hesitating, “did I not make you feel good?”

It was the doubt, thick and traitorous, in his voice that made her silently turn around and walk out the door.

------ *runs away*

tags: @sleeping-and-books @greerlunna @sjmships @cupcakey00 @queenestarcheron @awesomelena555 @mysticalunicole​ @lordof-bloodshed​ @courtofjurdan​

[ryuu-to-sobakasu-hime]

Ryuu to Sobakasu no Hime (Belle) Novel | English Translation | Chapter 3

**This is a machine translation. I put it together by extracting text page-by-page from a .pdf version of the Japanese novel, and running it through Google translate. I have only minorly edited some of the more confusing lines to make it more read-able. It is still a very rough translation, but it’s good enough to understand what’s going on. If there is anyone out there who wants to properly translate the novel, I am more than happy to edit it, if you’ll contact me.**

———————————————

Chapter 3: Memory

"Mother."

"What is it, Suzu?"

When I called, my mother turned around and replied.

Eleven years ago. The house was still new. There was no garage yet, and potted flowers were lined up all over the garden. "Do not cut my hair."

I told her that and ran down the slope in front of my house. Mom walked down the stairs opposite her, resting her hand on her waist and waiting. I ran away in the opposite direction, bouncing, saying that I would never let my hair be cut. But I was taken back without a hitch. She was seated on a bench in the garden and dressed in a haircut cape. “I’m going to make you look cute, Suzu.” After cutting my hair, I don't like the tingling of my hair. She shook her legs and sharpened her lips. But when she held the scissors without hesitation, she cut my hair all at once. "Because you’re going to be an elementary school student," I hope the hair on both sides doesn't stick to my shoulders. The bangs were far above the eyebrows. Even when I went to school, my neck was tingling for a while.

I played a lot with my mother. I took a sumo wrestling on the lawn of the riverbed in the evening. I pushed her by force and my mother rolled on the grass. I won, I laughed happily. Mother also laughed. I asked why? Won’t she cry if she loses? Mom shook her head. “I'm glad that the weak Suzu has become stronger.” Dad was laughing while lying on the grass. My mother often made salted seared meat. She lightly sprinkles salt and roasts the bonito stabbed on a gold skewer from her lenticel over an open flame on the stove. I was staring from the top of the chair. Since the fat drips, the microwave oven will not get dirty if you bake it while sucking it with cooking paper. When it gets burnt, dip it in ice water to cool it, and then drain it. It was a style. So as a kid, I had a hard time holding a thick piece of salted meat with chopsticks, and I had a hard time putting it in my mouth. Mom was waiting for dad's return, holding a mug and watching my struggle.

My dad was a salaryman at that time, and he wore a tie and went out to the city every day. Perhaps because of that, we had some money in our house in the old days. Mother bought a state-of-the-art smartphone at the time. I decided to try out the performance of the on-board camera, and on dad's lap, I pointed my smartphone at my mom. I asked dad to help put mom in the frame and pressed the shutter. She is dressed in white.

The smiling mother, she was beautiful. The photo of her was printed on paper and is still at the house. I was a cheerful child running around, unlike now. I definitely liked playing outside rather than inside the house. If there were trees, I climbed, if there were leaves, I tore them, and if there were insects, I chased them. But it didn't burn in the sun. I must have been such a constitution. Instead, my face is freckled.

I was often injured. My knee was also full of scratches. In the woods, on the riverbed, on the slope in front of my house, I often stumbled and fell. My mother ran up in a hurry and she hugged me tightly, crying in pain. Mysteriously, it hurts somewhere. That's when I was happy. I don't know how many times I fell because I ran around vigorously and wanted mother to hug me. Every time mother rushed in as if it was a big deal for her daughter and worried. Every day was like summer vacation. I clung to mother doing the laundry and cleaning and played. After lunch, she opened the tatami mat, laid a summer futon on the tatami mats, and we took a nap together. The smoke of the mosquito coil was rising slowly. When I woke up, most of the time, I couldn't see my mother sleeping next to me, and she was busy doing housework. In retrospect, she never been told me that she is busy. She was always with me when I asked for it. Since my house was in the mountains, I rarely went out to eat somewhere, and instead my mother cooked any kind of food. One day she saw it in a picture book, and she said she wanted to eat yakitori. She had never eaten it before. My mother made yakitori by sticking chicken on skewers one by one. For the first time in my life, I saw yakitori with the naked eye. I didn't know how to eat it, so I couldn't do well by chewing the meat and removing it from the skewers. Dad and mom were staring at me. Never missing what her daughter experiences for the first time in her life. The place where we, who live in the mountains, go out to play is not an amusement park or a shopping mall, but a campsite further in the mountains from our house.

On a sunny summer day, my mom and I wore a wide-brimmed hat and crossed the subsidence bridge. Dad was carrying a lot of camping equipment. The water crystal pool in the depths of the Yasui Valley was a breathtaking blue color even for us living in the area. The water is so transparent that you can clearly see your shadow on the bottom of the river. I feel a little scared as if I were floating in the air. My mother was an advanced swimmer. She boasted that her mother, who was once a local kid, swam like a kappa every day in the summer. She knew all about the fun of the river. At the same time, she never let her swim in dangerous places on dangerous days. Mom wraps around me, floating. She dived into the water to show her off her skills. Still picked up by her, I became anxious and called out. “Mom, don't go.” But mom, she swam in the blue water, as if she couldn't hear me.

One evening, I was playing with my mother's smartphone and saw a strange app. I put it on. When you launch the app, you'll see white and black horizontal stripes lined up. I pointed to what this was and asked my dad who was next to me. Dad looked it and twisted his neck, calling mother, who was preparing dinner. After dinner, mother's hand fixed the smartphone I was holding vertically. I laid it down and found it to be a piano keyboard. As prompted, I pressed one of the keys. There was a "do" sound. I looked at my mother's face. My mother also saw my face, saying that she had come out. It's mom’s music production app. Only then did I look around my mother's room and notice. Old records, cassette tapes, and CDs are lined up on the shelves to the end. And if you set them on a record player or cassette deck and pass them through an amplifier, music will be played from the left and right speakers. The collection was a brilliant one that accurately captured the main points of the history of classical, jazz and rock. I didn’t know at the time, the value and meaning of such a lineup being packed in a room at the end of the world.

In that room, I pressed the keys of the app one after another and recorded. When played, each sound sounds in the order in which they are arranged. Even if you enter an insane scale, it will play back in a lawful manner. I was so happy that I bounced on my chair. My mother was laughing too. Warm incandescent light was illuminating us. After that, I was crazy about this app. I had my mother lend me a smartphone and I was playing around with it day, night and morning. The operation was intuitive and easy to use. There were words that I couldn’t read because it wasn’t a children's app. And there were many functions I didn't understand. But I was absorbed in that kind of thing. I was completely absorbed in the exciting new experience of writing songs. I composed a number of songs and previewed them in front of my mother. The mother who finished listening gave me advice in short words each time. If you do xxx, it will be better, or the trick is to do xxx. She sometimes took out some of the records in the collection and listened to them for reference. My mother is neither a musician nor a composer.

I think each piece of advice is accurate even if I look back on it now. Over and over again, she listened to my melody, and she said she noticed something, and she sang herself to make sure it was. When I asked, she said it wasn't bad. She said she was smirking at me as she said. I put the sound in a place that I wouldn't normally put it. I'm sure this song was a failure, and all the work I've done so far will be ruined. But as it gradually takes shape, it seems strangely cohesive, she said. I felt as happy as I wanted to. I'm sure it's my parents' favor, but even if my mother added, I was happy. For me, I'm not making it with the intention of letting someone else listen to it. It would have been nice if only my mother could listen to it. My mother sings along with the song I typed in. Take the tempo with her right hand and sing gently. The voice of mother, who was also a member of the chorus made by her friends, echoed and was transparent.

She listened to my weird songs many times. I was happy and sang along with it. Anyway, it’s a song that is as nice as my mother.

I couldn't. Happy memories of me and mother suddenly end here. And that August has come. After this, all I have is a painful, painful memory. The voice of a little girl crying and crying echoed in the riverbank. A girl was left alone on a sandbar. Is she 4 or 5 years old? She looked smaller than I was. It was so sunny just a while ago, but I noticed it wasn't a blue sky, and it was covered with overcast clouds. The beautiful and calm river was cloudy, flooded, driftwood-filled, and surprisingly fast. I can imagine that it is raining heavily upstream. Before this happened, there were people happily making noise on the opposite bank when the flow was still transparent. They are now staring at the girl on this shore. She wore colorful outdoor clothing that made it easy to see that she probably came from the city, not a local. The girls' clothes were also bright colors that I had never seen. Why did people from the city overlook the girls' flashy colored clothes? Why did she forget her existence and she came back to this shore? What to do with friends, their families, and those who enjoyed fishing and canoeing on the riverbanks.

It seemed that she couldn't do anything, and she had no choice but to stand and look like a stick. It's no wonder you're standing. The violent flow of the river separated the girl from the people. Everyone realized that it couldn't be helped. One of the adults was talking to someone on his cell phone. However, everyone can see that where the girl is, is gradually narrowing. Everyone is aware that it is very unlikely that the rescue team will arrive in time. Therefore, I have no choice but to stand up without being able to do anything. Is it just listening to the girl's crying as it is? At that time, someone picked up the red life jacket beside the canoe.

I went forward while staring at the girl. She was a mother. Mommy, and I hurriedly clung to the hem of her mother's clothes. She realized that what her mother was trying to do was too dangerous. She wouldn't have been anxious. She screamed and pulled hard, trying not to let her go. Mom crouched down and squeezed my hand, and she told me something. At that time I can't remember what mother said. Maybe I was screaming and not ready to hear the words. Mom stood up to shake off my chasing and ran, locking the buckle on her life jacket. I fell down on a stone in the riverbank trying to chase her. Still, I got up and shouted at mother's back. Don't go. I think mom didn’t hear my words. While checking the girl's whereabouts, I went around the river, went into the water, and got in the stream to help. It started to rain.

How long has it passed since then? Suddenly the surroundings became noisy. The girl was rescued from the river. Adults are pulling the soaked and tired girl out of the river. I was staring at while getting wet in the rain. People running up. A mixture of joyful voices and crying voices. Are you okay? Open your eyes. I'm glad I was saved ... The girl was wearing the same red life jacket that her mother wore. At that moment, I understood at once what was happening. Mom isn’t here.

"Mother ..... Mother .....!"

I looked left and right, searching for her.

Not anywhere.

"Mother ...!"

In the distance, I heard an ambulance siren. The girl was wrapped in a blanket.

Carried by many adults, she leaves the riverbank. Everyone is crazy about it and realizes that my mom isn't there.

She isn't.

"Mom!" Only I raised my voice and kept calling. Many times. Many times. Many times. I don't remember much after that. When I heard that my mother was found all the way down the river, it seemed like a lie. It wasn't long before I realized that the mug that mother was using was missing. Dad put a picture of mother, which he took someday, in a picture frame and put it in a corner of the kitchen. He had to add flowers every day next to it. Neighbors bothered to talk to me every time I met them on the road, listened to me in a friendly way, and encouraged me with tears. Meanwhile, the Internet was flooded with anonymous posts about the accident.

"It's a suicide act to jump into a river flooded by rain"

"It seems that she was confident in swimming, but it's different from the pool."

《It is irresponsible for my child to help someone else's child and die》

《If there is an accident, playing in the river will be a nuisance and annoying》

《Because helping people is a good person, this is what happens》

The person who wrote it probably didn't know anything about the actual situation, and the day after he wrote it, he probably forgot what he wrote. However, the person who wrote it keeps sticking in my chest forever. Immediately after the accident, an acquaintance told me with resentment that it was terrible when I saw this. In front of these words, I was too young to understand all the meanings. However, as I grew up and became able to understand the meaning of the words accurately, I continued to suffer from the unconscious malice contained in them. Losing mother.

How should I pass on these writings as a bereaved family, even though I still can't accept them, as if the mother who helped me was all bad?

Aside from me, my mother just smiled in the picture frame in the kitchen. From that accident, I think something has changed decisively from what I used to be. One evening, in mother's room, where dust began to build up, I stood on her chair, hoping to return to her happy memories. And I sang the song I sang with mother. But when I started singing, I realized I couldn't sing at all. My voice became stuck in the back of my throat and couldn't get out of my mouth. I was confused. Something in my heart was suppressing me from singing. Why can't I sing? Tears came out.

Hey mom. Why can't I sing?

It was clear that the reason why singing was so fun and necessary was because my mother listened to it.

However, just because you can't sing... You don't have to worry about anything. Even if you can't sing, no one will blame you. Life just goes on. I went to a local junior high school. The jumper skirt uniform was stuffy. Many of the elementary school classmates went to the town as they went on to school, and there were not half of the students remaining in the local area, so even in junior high school, it became a compound class. Therefore, the chorus practice was accompanied by the vice-principal teacher, and it was decided to sing in all grades. There were three people in all grades. Because there were only three people, I quickly realized that I was just lip-synching without singing. I was asked why I didn't sing, but I didn't say anything. I thought they would get angry, but they didn't get angry. It means that only I can visit from the next practice.

I sat alone in a corner of the music class and watched everyone practice. I may have looked like a lethargic girl who was just silent. But inside that, there are things that can't be translated into words.

I think it was swirling. When I left school and returned home, I irresistibly entered mother's room in the twilight. The twilight light was shining through the window. Cardboard boxes containing tableware and seasonal home appliances that are no longer in use are piled up on the table. It was completely turned into a storeroom. It's been many years since then. It has passed. I listened to the large number of records there, one by one from the edge of the shelf. Days, days, days. By listening earnestly, I managed to calm my rough feelings. But one day, there was a moment when I thought I couldn't bear it anymore. Upon returning, I entered my mother's room, sat down in front of the keyboard, quickly opened the report sheet, and began to write fiercely with a pen to spit out the incomprehensible feelings in my chest. I was almost suffocating if I didn't spit it out. I turned over the paper and continued to write forever. -Why did mother leave me in the river? Why did she choose to help the child who she didn't even know her name rather than live with me? Why am I alone? Why, why, why – I added paper, supplemented with post-it notes, and wrote long, long lyrics. The scale that springs up is notated long and long. Those that were neither were spit out as pictures. It was a swirl of many kinds. It was like a whirlpool floating on the surface, like a black hole that swallowed everything, and like a hole in the top of my head. The floor of the room was filled with pieces of paper with a mixture of lyrics, pictures and sheet music. But suddenly..... I returned to myself and stopped writing. Right now, I've noticed the worthlessness, meaninglessness, ugliness, and helplessness of the words, pictures, and scales I wrote.

What are you doing? I broke the paper. Everything I've written so far.

I threw it in the trash can without hesitation. The bundle of paper looked like a vomit that I had just spit out. Then I became a high school student.

I finally found myself worthless. The uniform tie was stuffy. I crossed the subsidence bridge while looking down and went to school. I took an exam and passed the exam at a junior and senior high school in the center of the city, and transferred from high school. There, I met my childhood friend Shinobu-kun again.

"Shizu.."

"Shinobu-kun ..."

Now that I was in high school, Shinobu-kun looked tall and shining, all different. On the other hand, I didn't seem to have grown at all since then, and I was irresistibly embarrassed and couldn't even talk. What have I been doing so far? I started a new life going to the city from the mountains, but I couldn't get into studying. Even though I had a hard time taking the exam, I just looked out the window during class. Knowing that this shouldn't be the case. Club activities didn't go anywhere. There were very few such students. On the way home, you can see the students devoting themselves to club activities. The track and field club is jumping the training hurdle in a line in the courtyard. The volleyball club is running on the ground. A percussionist in the brass band with a metronome in his ear is striking a stick in the hallway. The Naginata club sits upright in the martial arts hall with a good posture, and thank you for your cooperation, saying before the practice. The first-year students of the baseball club, who have not yet been numbered, stand side by side and watch as if they are digging into the practice of their seniors. I didn't belong anywhere, so I left school quickly. It was already winter. There is a river called Kagami River that flows from east to west in the center of the city. Since the flow is often gentle, the TV tower and buildings on the opposite bank are reflected like a mirror. When I returned to the station through the road beside it, the girls of the light music club carrying the "Chahahaha" musical instrument case overtook me with a light step while laughing. A cute cat-shaped stuffed animal attached to the school bag is shaking. Attached to my school bag was a cheesy plastic plate of "Gutto Koremaru". "Gutto Koremaru" is an egg-shaped character who can poke his hand against the wall and endure the pain. I have a crack in my head, probably because I endured it too much. Of course, it's not cute.

In a dark and narrow corridor.

I resisted, "I can't do it! Hey!", But I was pulled into the room, saying "OK." The soundproof door slammed behind me. Shinboku "Ah!" There was a flashy room in a karaoke box, and the pink and purple lights were spinning mysteriously. It smells of incense. Only for girls in the class.

I heard that it was a social gathering, but when I saw the frenzy of the girls standing on the sofa and shaking their heads, I thought that I could not get into this tension very much.

"Peggie Sue is cute"

"This is the one that is popular in" U ", isn't it?" On the monitor screen on the wall, the popular Az of "U", Peggy Sue, was seen singing in a black rubber dress. Purple lipstick that shakes silver hair. An eccentric beauty with red eyes. Peggy Sue? "U"? Az? Is it popular? I don't know anything. It's like an event in a different world from me. Then, Hitomi suddenly offered a microphone, "Yes." Sing, and so on. "Huh?" Puzzled. Neither the coat nor the muffler is taken off. But "yes" the microphone was pointed again. Why for a child like me who is at the end of a class?

"Sing together?"

"Hey, sing."

The shadows of the girls press the microphones. What do you mean?

"Are you not going to sing alone?"

"Isn't it a lie that you can't sing?"

I see, so it’s this situation.

Dozens of microphones are forced against my face one after another. "Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu"

"Sing"

"Hey, sing?"

"Sing"

Those voices sound like a threat.

"You're telling me to sing."

"Sing!"

"Sing!"

Ahh!

Immediately, the microphone popped off and fell to the floor.

The girls dancing on the sofa suddenly saw me. It's calming down as if I was taken aback.

"What happened? Suzu-chan"

The mic and the shadows of the girls disappeared like a phantom.

"No, nothing. I'm sorry. Hey ..."

Without saying anything, I pushed the door of the karaoke box open by force and went out like crawling. Someone might have heard and told everyone that I couldn't sing.

When I got off the bus, powder snow was flying. I almost slipped down the slope from the bus stop. Even in Kochi, it usually snows in the mountains, aside from the city. When I crossed the subsidence bridge, I heard a crackling sound of thin ice. The surface of the concrete bridge is frozen.

Cold. It's not dexterous enough to get used to everyone, and it's not divisible. On the other hand, I’m not strong enough to be alone, not prepared, and have no idea.

I don't do anything selfish. Rumors that you can't sing, that's a lie. I'm just not confident in myself for a while. I want to get along with everyone. Really. I know. Of course I know. So "Ah ... Ah ..."

In the middle of the bridge, I impulsively exhaled my voice.

"Ah ... ah ... ah ah"

As I breathed in, cold air sank into my throat. Still, I sang towards the river. "Ah..”

Did I sing? It didn't match a song. It's just a growl. The bag slipped off my shoulder. Will you forgive me if I sing? Can I get along with everyone if I sing? It doesn't help to sing alone in such a place. It's like a scream of a dead end before being crushed. Still, I sang that song with my mother with a squeezed voice. I was happy back then. It's different now. Powder snow was swirling in the flow of the river. Suddenly, in front of me it became pitch black. Nausea swelled from the back of my stomach, and I held my mouth with both hands.

"Uuuuu!"

I crouched on my knees. However, I couldn't stand the momentum of the backflowing gastric juice. I pushed my body forward and vomited towards the clear stream under the bridge. The vomit that was about to kneel and vomit fell to the surface of the water, creating a number of ripples. I spit out everything in my stomach and fell on the bridge. My hair is messed up and my mouth is smeared with gastric juice and smells. It's already spicy. I want to get rid of everything. Shivering and crying as if groaning. Drops of tears ooze on my cold cheeks and tingle. I wish I were gone.

I could hear the slight sound of powder snow folding and piled up right next to me. A notification came to the smartphone that slipped off my bag. It was a message from Hiro-chan.

<< Look at this, Suzu. It’s so amazing that I’m seriously laughing. >>

There is a link to somewhere.

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

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Dcx2NedPVBEdbfQaU-WC0pJMRmn20ASn7HSC0KY9R7E/edit?usp=sharing ~ Google Doc of the English-translated novel.

ryuutosobakasuhime.wordpress.com ~ English fan-site for Ryuu to Sobakasu no Hime where translations, scans, and other content is posted.

[cheshiresense]

For the headcanon thing if I'm not too late. Headcanons for FemIchigo/Kisuke ship?

Lol you didn’t give me an AU? Guess I could throw them in the canon verse but the events wouldn’t be much dif imo. But let’s see how this goes.

Edit: Welp. This got long.

1. Ichigo keeps her hair long because of her mom. Masaki had long hair, and even if it’s not the exact same colour, Ichigo grows her own hair out in her honour, as a reminder of the one time she failed to protect her precious people and just because she’s never met anyone with hair as pretty as her mom’s.

The first time she gets into a serious fight with Shinigami, that dick Renji uses it against her. He grabs her hair, and taunts her with it, and in the end, she kicks his ass, but then his dick boss shows up and just about kills her. When she wakes up at the Shouten, she’s half-naked, wrapped in bandages, and her hair’s been sliced ragged, left in uneven strands around her shoulders where before it had reached her waist. Urahara is nice enough to cut and style it for her. He tells her he only knows how to cut it one way because a good friend of his used to wear her hair short. It’s cute enough, and at the end of the day, Ichigo would much rather keep her life than her hair, but she also locks herself in the bathroom later that night and has a good cry about it. It’s stupid, it’s just hair, it’ll grow back, but it still feels a little like losing her mother all over again. She gives herself twenty minutes, and then she gets her shit together because she has to go save Rukia, and Urahara promised to make her strong enough so she needs to get some sleep more than anything else right now. When she gets back to her room though, the rest of the Shouten is still silent but there’s a tray of tea by her futon, still hot, and too sweet to have been made by Tessai. Ichigo doesn’t even like tea, but it’s a surprisingly kind, amusingly awkward gesture from a man who knows too much and tells her too little. She drinks it all, making a face at the taste but appreciating the warmth that spreads all the way to her fingertips, and when she lies back down and closes her eyes, sleep comes easier this time.

2. Kisuke’s the one who carries her back to the Shouten after she defeats Aizen and subsequently collapses in the aftermath. He thinks it would’ve been easier if she’d been born a boy. She’s tall for her age and gender, but she feels more fragile like this, her shoulders narrower than her usual larger-than-life personality would suggest, her frame less sturdy. Even her bones feel more delicate. Then again, she’s still only sixteen and she’s already lost half her soul in a war she should never have had to fight in the first place, and a good chunk of that blame can be laid squarely at Kisuke’s feet, so maybe boy or girl, it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway. She’s light enough that Kisuke can carry her without difficulty, but her weight still feels like shackles around his wrists, tied to an anchor at the bottom of the ocean, like the worst of his sins given life, and Kisuke hadn’t ever thought that would be something he’d have trouble bearing until now. But the least he can do is carry her home, so that’s what he does. He takes her back to the Shouten and cleans her up and heals her– it’s a routine he’s uncomfortably familiar with these days. He doesn’t know if she’s ever consciously realized it, but he’s seen her naked enough times to feel like a pervert. He was Onmitsukidou, and he’s seen Yoruichi change in front of him enough times that the female body doesn’t make him blink, but Ichigo’s young - old enough to have developed curves, young enough that his hands shouldn’t be anywhere near her (figuratively or literally) - but there’s nobody else to do it, Yoruichi is always inconveniently away, so Kisuke keeps his eyes and hands well within professional range, runs a bath for her that takes care of most of the dirt and sweat and blood so he only has to make sure she doesn’t drown, and then whisks her off back to bed where he can bandage up what his Kidou can’t heal before settling down to monitor her reiatsu levels.

She remains in a coma for a month. Kisuke is the one who takes care of her, from fresh bedding to sponge baths to IV-fed fluids, even trimming her hair when it starts looking too shaggy (she’s growing it out again, so he doesn’t cut more than what he has to). By the time she opens her eyes, Kisuke’s just relieved she wakes at all, and it doesn’t seem like she’s (physically) much worse for wear so at least his caretaking skills aren’t terrible. All the discomfort in the world can be tolerated if it means Ichigo remains as healthy as she can possibly be.

3. Ichigo doesn’t see or hear from Urahara or any other Shinigami for the next seventeen months, and she tries not to let it get to her. She still sees her human friends at school, even if she’s no longer welcome in a large part of their daily lives, and Shinigami probably don’t think a year and a half is all that long. Besides, at the end of the day, she knew most of her Shinigami acquaintances for a handful of months tops; that’s hardly grounds for eternal friendship. She’s hurt by their absence, but she keeps herself busy with school, with homework, with the part-time job she finds just to fill the hours in-between. She gets good at ignoring the fact that she knows where her friends go after school, knows where her sisters go, and that she can no longer follow them. Urahara doesn’t wear a gigai after all, and it wouldn’t be fair to ask him to. He probably has better things to do too now that the war is over and Ichigo has done her duty.

So it’s been seventeen months of mind-numbing (soul-wrenching) monotony, and then she gains a stalker. She would never have chased that thief down if she had known Ginjou Kuugou was so… greasy. She doesn’t just mean his hair either; everything about him oozes an oily sort of charm that sets off every alarm bell her mom drilled into her head about Stranger Danger, Female Edition, and it becomes clear very quickly that Ginjou is exactly the sort of man who just won’t take no for an answer. He follows her around, flirts like he thinks she finds him attractive, keeps inviting her out for a meal, even tracks her down at work, and Ichigo’s just about had it with him after he “bumps” into her while she’s walking home from doing the grocery-shopping, because she may not be a Shinigami anymore but she sure as hell still knows how to defend herself and kick a creep in the balls when he dares to sling a too-proprietary arm around her waist, as if he has any right.

As it turns out though, she doesn’t have to. Ginjou gets about half a second to touch her, still blathering on about having something interesting to show her if she lets him treat her to some ramen, and then he’s being ripped away from her, abruptly enough to tear a shout from him, and Ichigo spins around just in time to see Urahara twist Ginjou’s arm behind him at a painful-looking angle before slamming him face-first into a nearby wall.

Ichigo doesn’t think she’s ever seen Urahara so… openly violent before. She can’t stop staring for a long moment, because that casual, effortless strength is… not something Ichigo would mind seeing again. If nothing else, it’s clearly effective (and pointedly ignores the voice that says she isn’t staring because it’s effective). The look on his face though is positively serene, if you don’t count the ominous shadow that his hat is somehow casting over his eyes.

“I do believe Kurosaki-san has asked you to stop harassing her,” the shopkeeper says in tones so airily cheerful only an idiot would buy the act. Ginjou doesn’t reply anyway. He can’t. Urahara’s yanked his arm up high enough to let him simultaneously choke the life out of the guy, his hand about as movable as stone as it pins Ginjou’s wrist to the back of his neck and his neck to the brick wall.

“Hey,” Ichigo says, and then stops, because on one hand, this guy probably doesn’t deserve to be straight-up murdered, but also if anyone in Ichigo’s life can kill a human and make the corpse disappear, it would be Urahara.

But Urahara glances at her, then shrugs a little and releases Ginjou, only to knock him over the head with his cane, hard enough to send him crumpling to the ground in an unconscious heap. There’s a moment of silence after that, and then Ichigo remembers to be irritated because she’s no one’s damsel in distress. “I could’ve handled him, you know.”

It comes out sharper than even she intends, but the sight of him reminds her of how long she hasn’t seen him or any of her other Shinigami friends, and it’s hard to remain mature about it when one of them is suddenly right in front of her again. Urahara, because he’s Urahara, just rakes a too-discerning eye over her like he can see right through her annoyance to the root of it. His expression tightens with something Ichigo can’t name, but all he does is incline his head in acknowledgement even as he smiles in a way that makes her want to punch him. “Of course, Kurosaki-san, but what kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t interfere?”

Ichigo gives him the flat unimpressed look that deserves, Urahara’s smile twitches into something more genuinely amused, and for a second, it almost feels as if no time at all has passed since the last time they’d shared an actual conversation. Then Ginjou groans, Ichigo bristles irritably, and Urahara’s smile fades.

“Kurosaki-san,” He calls out before Ichigo can do more than turn away. “There are some things you need to know. But perhaps we can take this off the streets first? Come back to my Shouten; I will explain everything there.”

Ichigo turns back, scowling suspiciously at the blond, then down at greasy stalker. Great. She should’ve known; of course it would be Shinigami business that actually dragged Urahara out of his shop and into his first interaction with Ichigo after seventeen months of radio silence. But… if Urahara is willing to explain just what greasy stalker wanted to drag her into, Ichigo would be an idiot to turn him down.

“Fine,” She grumbles. “I’m using your fridge though. I’ve got ice-cream in here and it’s gonna melt before I get home at this rate.”

Urahara beams at her and hefts greasy stalker over his shoulder before ushering her to the Shouten. True to his word, he tells her about the Fullbringers who’ve invaded Karakura, and he tells her that the Shinigami have been monitoring the situation, and then he tells her he has a way to return her powers and soul-spirits to her. He shows her the sword, engraved with a bunch of intricate symbols she can’t even begin to decipher, and it thrums with so much power even she can feel it. She has a sudden epiphany that it must’ve taken even a genius like Urahara quite a while to make something like this, because she’d asked around, before she’d lost the ability to see Shinigami, and she knows for a fact that fixing her soul should’ve been impossible. The realization that Urahara must’ve been working on this for the past seventeen months goes a long way to soothing any fair or unfair feelings she had towards him, even if she also thinks he could’ve just told her. But she thinks that, and then she thinks that Urahara probably didn’t because he hadn’t wanted to get her hopes up for nothing. It’s stupid, but so is the way he eases the sword through her chest as gently as possible, as if it makes a difference at all when that first jolt of foreign reiatsu to her system still hurts like a bitch. She thinks she can forgive stupidity though if it’s coming from him. Not that she’ll ever tell him that.

In the aftermath, the Fullbringers disappear one by one, and nobody says anything but an increasingly manically cheerful Urahara gets a lot of wary side-eyes from the Shinigami trooping through Karakura over the next couple of weeks. It’s Rukia (Rukia who never so much as passed on a how-are-you, and Ichigo doesn’t blame her, but she’s never going to forget it either) who tells her later about Urahara kneeling in front of all the Gotei’s captains and lieutenants and begging them to help, who bowed his head through the Captain-Commander’s orders to keep the sword back until a powerless Ichigo has drawn out all the Fullbringers, only to immediately disobey as soon as he got the reiatsu he needed from them.

Ichigo asks, of course, just once, why. True to form, Urahara doesn’t give her a straight answer, he shrugs and lies instead, “Well it isn’t as if there’s anything else they can do to little old me in exile, is there?” But for just a moment, he also looks directly at Ichigo, his gaze steady and calm and unyielding, like there was never anything else he could’ve done, like choosing Ichigo over the Gotei was a decision made as easily as he breathed.

Much, much later, looking back, Ichigo thinks maybe that was the moment she first fell just a little bit in love.

4. Somewhere between the Quincy War and Yoruichi and Tessai moving back to Soul Society and the kids deciding they want to experience high school and normal life at the Kurosaki household, Kisuke wakes up one morning to Ichigo cooking breakfast in his kitchen and realizes he’s sharing a house with a twenty-year-old college student whose Gargantas make for the easiest commute to and from school in the history of public transportation. He stands in the doorway for a long minute, just watching her go through the motions that have become routine at the Shouten for… months now. Ever since he survived the war by the skin of his teeth and ended up half-blind because Benihime is only a quick, crude fix when Kisuke doesn’t know the exact makeup of whatever he’s restructuring. He’d had to study that, and then get some hands-on practice, before finally re-restructuring his eyes one more time. Ichigo had been a big help. Kisuke had had difficulties reading, along with dizzy spells and crippling headaches, so even though she didn’t understand everything, she also spent long hours with him, reading out loud and taking down notes for him, cooking for him and keeping his house clean and even manning the shopfront for him when Tessai was busy with the Kidou Corps. And then, once he was better… well, apparently she’d just never moved back out, and Kisuke had liked the company (has always liked her company) that he’d obliviously taken her presence here for granted.

She turns around now, probably sensing him. Her hair’s almost as long as it used to be back when they’d first met, but she’s tied it up into a messy bun. She’s still in pajama pants and one of his shirts because she likes the larger size and she keeps stealing them and Kisuke doesn’t mind, he has more than enough.

Maybe he should’ve minded.

“Hey,” Ichigo greets around a stifled yawn. “Food’s almost done. Could you set the table?”

Kisuke makes an agreeable noise and starts pulling down tableware from the cupboards. The coffee’s also done so he pours a mug, and then prepares the tea with the water that’s just finished boiling. Five minutes later, they’re seated around the table, Ichigo grumbling memorized literature quotes into her coffee because she has finals next week, and Kisuke just… watches her. They’ve thrown the porch doors open because it’s summer and the morning breeze is nice. Ichigo has her back to it, and the sunrise that frames her head like a halo gilds her bright hair gold. When she finally sets her coffee down, she looks up and catches his eye, and even as her eyebrows go up in an unspoken question, the smile that blooms across her face at the same time is as much a reflex as it is genuine, like the mere sight of him is something to be happy about, and Kisuke is helpless to do anything but smile back.

Shit, he thinks, far too late. I’m definitely going to hell.

5. “I’m definitely going to hell,” he moans into the table. Yoruichi, because she is first and foremost a terrible best friend, is too busy laughing at him to console him. At least she came prepared with the sake when he called her in a panic once Ichigo had left for class.

“Took you long enough,” Yoruichi chortles, like this isn’t a Big Problem. “Tessai thought for sure you’d realize she’s practically your wife-” Kisuke winces. “-when she went off to college and still went back to the Shouten every night. But I’ve known you longer so I figured it would take you a while before it clicked.”

“We are roommates,” He hisses vehemently, downing another cup of alcohol before pouring himself some more. “I’ve never- Yoruichi-san, I would never- I wouldn’t-”

“Well that was obvious too,” Yoruichi snorts, but her gold eyes are suddenly a lot less amused a lot more focused, acute and unblinking on his face. “But you know, if she’s old enough to kill for you, then she’s old enough to fuck.”

Kisuke freezes, and then straightens, and he has never looked at Yoruichi the way he does now, but there’s ice in his veins and a knot of flash-fire rage and black-fanged guilt clawing up his gut, and he couldn’t stop the crass words if he wanted to, “She was old enough to kill for me at fifteen; was she old enough to fuck then too?”

Yoruichi doesn’t even flinch, just pins him with a burning look sharp enough to cut. “Well you didn’t wanna fuck her then, did you? But she’s an adult now, and she can make her own choices, and I know you suck at human-ing so I’m gonna go ahead and give you a piece of advice in advance and hopefully save everyone a lot of needless drama - in general, people don’t like it when you make decisions for them because you think you know better. So before you panic even more and start pushing her away ‘for her own good’ but really actually because you freaked out about having feelings, maybe, just maybe, ask her what she wants.” She grins like a tiger that has its prey cornered. “Ichigo’s not stupid. Even I don’t know if she knows about your gigantic crush yet, she’s surprisingly closed off about personal issues, but let me just remind you, Kisuke - she didn’t sit at my bedside, or Shinji’s, or even Rukia’s, after the war, and you know full we were all laid out for days, if not from injuries then exhaustion.” She leans forward and snags the front of his Shihakushou to give him a hard shake. “Are you listening to me, Kisuke? She cares about you, and you care about her, and I have not seen you this happy in a very, very long time.” She glares at him, daring him to argue. “Even if nothing comes from this, even if you just stay friends, don’t you dare fuck this up for yourself. You’ve got a good thing here. She’s good for you, and she makes you happy. And it’s not a crime to be happy, Kisuke.”

She lets him go. Kisuke doesn’t move for a long minute, and this time, Yoruichi waits him out. “…What if I’m not good for her though?”

Yoruichi clicks her tongue and reaches for her own sake again, limbs going feline-languid once more. “That’s for her to decide. She’s got a decent head on her shoulders, Kisuke; if you really were poison for her like you seem to think you are every damn turn of the moon, she would’ve dropped you a long time ago.” She pauses to take a swig, and then she kicks him under the table hard enough to make him yelp. “Now quit being a coward, drink your damn sake, and then go home and be disgustingly domestic with your roommate when she gets back. And if after all this crap you put me through, you still end up hurting her, I’m gonna tell Kuukaku, and she’ll make you wish you were just dead.”

Kisuke thinks about that for a moment, remembers some of the antics Kuukaku used to get up to with Yoruichi, and internally cringes. “Right,” he sighs. Yoruichi rolls her eyes at him, and he sighs again. Well, he supposes he should’ve known better than to get any sympathy from Yoruichi. He also mulls over what she’s said though, and… well. If nothing else, Ichigo’s choices are her own. Kisuke’s manipulated her into a war once already. He can’t - he won’t - do it to her again, for anything.

He downs the last of his alcohol and this time dares to hope.

6. They never actually sit down and lay all their cards on the table and talk about it. It’s not in either of their natures; Ichigo prefers actions, and ninety percent of Kisuke’s words have always been used to deflect and manipulate. But, for Ichigo, the Shouten becomes home. She never moves out (and yes, she knew what she was doing when she packed up most of her belongings and carted them over to the shop), and at first, it was just to help because Kisuke was so badly injured from the war, but the longer she stayed, the harder it was to think about leaving again for good. When Kisuke hadn’t said anything even after he’d fully recovered, she took it as permission to stay, and of course that didn’t do anything to make her like him less. She enjoys his company, likes reading in his labs while he fiddles with his experiments, likes surprising him with new recipes, likes being surprised when he modifies or creates yet another Kidou spell for her monstrous levels of reiatsu so that it won’t blow up when she tries it. She likes that he always tucks her into bed if she falls asleep at her desk studying, and she likes that he trusts her enough to walk around without wearing his hat all the time. She likes that between her strength and adaptability and his creativity and cunning, they’re more or less evenly matched in a spar, and the harder she pushes him, the more thrilled he gets at having to work for his victories. She likes that he comes home one day with something both new and still familiar in his eyes when he looks at her, and a month later, on her birthday, he takes her halfway across the world to a rare book convention with a focus on Shakespeare, and halfway through that, his hand swings out to tangle her fingers with his own.

They never really talk about it, but Ichigo migrates into his bedroom one night and never sleeps in her own room again. They take things slow, honestly more for Kisuke’s benefit than her own, but she doesn’t mind because mostly, she just likes having Kisuke there, with her. He still treats her like glass sometimes, like something priceless he’s afraid to smudge just by touching it. Those days, Ichigo sprawls across him with all her weight and stays there until he wraps himself more firmly around her, usually dozing off while Ichigo works on a draft of her first book.

They don’t talk about it. But they don’t have to, to know what they mean to each other.

[hermankopusortizorsumshite]

Juice

She’s lived in BRooklyn all her life, all twenty-four years.

“So, I’m gonna be a little late this morning, seeing at it’s almost ten AM, and I just woke up.” She laughs dryly, making her way down her front steps as she heads to work. Slipping into her car, in twenty minutes she finally arrives to work, her cellphone buzzes across her desk in the loft.

“Hello?” She answers, flipping a soft, caramel curl from her face.

“Hey, you busy right now?” A soft man’s voice rasps through the phone.

“Uh, not sure what kind of prank this is, but you’re not funny.” She groans, pulling her phone away just to hear a shout from the other end.

“Wait! Wait! It’s JC, from Brooklyn ten—nineteen. I was just wondering what you were doing right now. I need your help hacking into a database. I need a name.”

“Well, I mean, I’m at work right now. What database?” She inquires, her free hand scrubbing up and down her thigh.

“Yours. I just need an address, and he’s ordered from your company before. Charlie Duncan. Ordered parts from you a while back. That’s all I got.”

“Yeah, I got a hit on him, address is a house over from mine actually. What do ya need it for?” She asks, eyes looking over the profile.

“He’s been talkin’ some shit lately.”

“Oh, alright well. Have a good night JC. Later.” She hangs up, finishes her day off and heads home for the night. As she makes it in the door she coos to her cactus at the front door, and then to her small lemon tree. She loved her little plants, they made the city life feel a little less closed in. Once her shoes were kicked off at the door, she took a moment to put her purse down and her phone rings loudly.

“Yeah?” She answers, looking down to her table.

“It’s JC, I was just wondering if maybe you wanted to come to Cali for a week.” He cheers through the phone.

“It’s just, I’m getting patched in and your my best friend, I just, I just want ya to be there, ya know?” His eyes met Clay’s, nervous and begging him to help. The man, Duncan, threatened Juice with her. Said he already had her being watched and trailed. He had cried when he found out, said that his best friend needed protected.

“Juan Carlos, I’m sorry, I can’t just drop everything and run to California.”

“Yes you can, I already talked to Cassidy, she said you needed a vacation anyway! I already bought the tickets and everything is paid for Chiquita, you just gotta enjoy the vacation.” He laughs, calling her his favorite nickname. He didn’t know any Spanish, he was just a kid from Queens, but he once stomped a man’s ass for taking her banana.

“JC, I can’t just—“

“How bout I come and pick you up?” He barks, cutting off her sentence.

“Jees, you really want me there, huh?” Jax stood close enough to hear what was being said and laughed a little.

“Yeah, I just. I just really need you here. This is a really important gig. And I need my really important lady here, ya know?” He tries to smooth talk her, and normally it worked, but she heard how desperate he sounded.

“What’s really going on?” She whispers. Jax’s brow furrows as his eyes meet Juice’s.

“Nothing, doll. I just really miss you. I just really want you. To be here, I really want you to be here.” He stammers, eyes widening.

“I miss you too, JC.” She murmurs, suddenly the hole in her heart was huge. Tears filled her eyes and she grabbed his sweatshirt from the back of the chair and headed to her bedroom.

“Pack your stuff, Chiquita. I’ll be there tomorrow.” He murmurs, his hand gripping his knee. He missed her. He missed her touch, her laugh, her smile. She was so beautiful and smart, he missed her dearly. But now, she’d be here with him. She’d be here with him.

“Jesus, why did I just agree to that?” She murmurs, packing a couple suitcases and a carry on bag.

The next day and a half flew by, without so much as a sideways glance from a hotdog cart guy and she headed into her apartment once more after work, eyes smiling at her little plants by the door. She kicked off her shoes and stepped around her suitcases to the kitchen for a glass of almond milk and a sandwich. A crash in her room makes the glass hit the floor and shatter, milk splattering against her bare legs. She grabs a kitchen knife from the drawer and heads back to her room.

“HEllo?” She calls, hands quaking as she steps another couple feet towards the rustling.

“Hello?” JC calls back.

“JC?” She calls back, brows knit together in concern. Lowering the knife, she toes the door open and swings her top half through the door.

“Hey Chiquita.” He coos, arms out to her like a welcoming hug. The knife clatters to the floor and she pounces on him, a little taken aback by his newest inks. He now had a tribal tat on either side of his head and a Mohawk.

“What are you doing here? I fly out tomorrow.”

“I cancelled it. Me and a couple of buddies came to get you. Ride back to California in style.” He chuckles, leading her out to the front room where her suitcases had disappeared.

“Where’s my Stu—-“

“Hey.” A blond biker meets you as the two of you step outside, his short hair spiked and swept to one side. He gave off some weird hippie/surfer vibes and she giggled a little.

“Hi, who are you?”

“I’m Kozik. Juice said we could put your bags in my tow along. We got ya packed up babe.” He chuckles, watching Juice glow fiery hot with rage. She couldn’t help but giggle. She always had a thing for bad boys, and here they were, calling her babe and swooning her.

“Jesus Christ Kozik, we haven’t even made it out of her fucking yard man, chill out.” Juice groans, leading her towards his Dyna. “Here, I forgot another helmet, through this on.” He assures, helping you mount his bike. His eyes wandered her body, he’d felt the way he was feeling in this moment. He wanted to spin her around right now, plant some sloppy kisses on her and have his way—.

“Wait, wait, I forgot my lemon tree!” She sprinted back inside, filling a waterer for her plant while she’s gone and sticking it in the pot.

“Yo, you have a lemon tree?” Kozik calls from his bike, hat now taming his styled hair, but a little spike poked through the front. He was sexy, she thought as she sauntered a little down her steps. Swinging a leg back over Juice’s bike, she clasps the helmet once more before they take off for California.

A week into her stay, she’d met all the boys, but for some reason, JC was always angry when they came in. Sure, they catcalled here and there, but she found it nice to be thought of as so beautiful. He sure wasn’t giving her the attention she wanted! Kozik and her had drank their weight in liquor and were currently laughing together at the bar, his hand sliding down her hip and grabbing her butt, eliciting a giggle from her.

“You’re so hot,” she groans against his scruffy cheek, her giggles setting fire to Juice’s rage. He stalks up to her, grabs her arm and hauls her away from Kozik, who laughed when he dragged her away.

“You think I don’t see you? The way you fuck Kozik with your eyes? Tell me, am I a joke to you?” He yells, his knee between her thighs pressing her against the wall, face milimeters from hers. “Tell me what you want.” He growls, hands resting on either side of her head.

“You.” She whispers back. “I only want you. I’ve wanted you since the moment you left New York,” she whines, grinding her hips against him.

“Kozik?” He asks, pressing his throbbing piece against her.

“Just-ju-just an act. Only you.” She murmurs, grabbing his face with both her hands yanking them together, his lips pressed to hers. “Want you. All of you.” She whispers against his lips as he drags her to the bed, pulling feverishly at the clothing that separated their burning flesh. Her hands finding the kutte and tossing his clothes aside.

“Tell me, baby. What do you want?” He demands, a husky whisper against her tender neck.

“The kutte, put it on.” She coos, watching the lust dancing in his eyes as he slid the leather vest back on, straddling her.

“If I do this for you, you gotta do something for me.” He teases, his fingertips running along her naked body, leaving chills chasing his touch.

“What’s that?”

“You gotta be mine. I won’t share you. Not with anyone.” He teases her, finger swirling across her nipples.

“Yes baby. You got it. I’m yours. Forever.” She hushes against the soft skin of his chest.

“Forever baby. I love you, Chiquita.”

“I love you too, Juan Carlos.” She moans against him.

[iamvegorott]

Can I request some Trickshot? I feel like we haven't had enough whump where Marvin’s gets hurt or is in danger so I would very much want that lskdlsks Also can I get added to the tag list for Trickshot? (I really adore those two idiots, they're the best!)

Wanna help me and give me some support for more works?|Donate To My PayPal|

Angel With A Shotgun 

“Chase? Chase, I need to get up.” Marvin said to his sleeping…boyfriend? Were they boyfriends? They messed around and kissed and held hands but they never actually said the words. Did they have to? What made it official?

“No.” Chase groaned in protest, hugging Marvin tighter to his chest.

“Chase, I need to run some errands.” Marvin tried to wiggle away.

“Can wait.” Chase nuzzled his face into Marvin’s hair.

“I have appointments.” Marvin rolled himself so he was now sitting on top of Chase, managing to wake Chase up a bit since it’s hard to sleep with a mostly naked man sitting in your lap.

“You sure you can’t stay, just for a bit?” Chase placed a hand on one of Marvin’s plush thighs.

“I won’t be gone long.” Marvin picked the hand up and pressed a kiss to Chase’s knuckles. “Get some more sleep and I’ll be back before you know it.”

“How can I sleep without you?” Chase said with a little smile and Marvin leaned down to press their lips together for a second.

“You’ll figure it out.” He said before getting off of the bed.

Marvin dressed in one of the spare outfits he’s kept in Chase’s room and stepped out. He gave a quick wave to JJ, helped Robbie tie his shoes, told Henrik he was heading out, took a package from Jackie and stopped when he opened the door and was greeted by Anti. Anti was holding his shoes, his hair was a mess and the collar of his shirt was stretched out, showing that the dark marks on his neck went down all the way.

“I thought it was earlier.” Anti cleared his throat.

“I thought you two were fighting?” Marvin asked.

“It’s complicated now.”

“Do the others know?”

“No…”

“Here.” Marvin snapped his fingers and Anti was magically cleaned up. “Put your shoes on, make sure Chase gets to sleep in and I’ll call us even.” Anti just nodded as his form of thanks and slipped past Marvin to get into the house. “What would they do without me?” Marvin chuckled to himself and headed out.

Going to the post office was easy enough, it was more boring than difficult but it was Marvin’s turn and he had to do it today in order for everything to get where it needed to on time. He needed to get Henrik and JJ into emails for most of this stuff. No one sends letters anymore.

Marvin went into a flower shop next, but he wasn’t looking for any roses or daises.

“How may I help you?” The woman behind the desk asked.

“I’m here for some eyes of newt and lizard tails,” Marvin said with a sly smirk and the woman only nodded her head.

“Right this way, sir.” She said and guided Marvin to the back area of the store, stepping through a doorway that could send a shiver down a normal man’s back but Marvin knew that feeling all too well to react. “Mr. Mason will be right with you.” The woman said and walked away before Marvin could thank her, another thing that he was used to, but he still felt the need to.

“I heard that our favorite kitty-cat is here?” A man giggled as he came in from a different room.

“I’ve told you not to call me that,” Marvin stated, his friendly aura dropping.

“I’ve told you I’d stop the day you quit wearing that mask of yours.”  Mr. Mason said, heading over to the desk and gesturing for Marvin to sit in the chair in front of it. Marvin shook his head in refusal.

“I’m just here for my ingredients, I have someone waiting for me,” Marvin said.

“Is it a special someone?” Mr. Mason asked with a hum.

“That doesn’t concern you. What should concern you is getting me my ingredients.”

“Well, there seems to be a problem with that.” Mr. Mason leaned back in his chair.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s about your payment.”

“My payment?” The hair on the back of Marvin’s neck went up, they weren’t alone anymore, he could feel it.

“It’s short.”

“Short? I pay the same amount every time for the same ingredients. I didn’t order anything special.” Marvin took a step back towards the door and felt himself hit something that wasn’t wooden.

“Those ingredients are starting to get a little harder to obtain. The competition is getting stronger while we’re the same. We need an upper hand on them.”

“Fine, take what I have, keep what I’ve ordered.” Marvin took out his wallet and took out what little cash he had, tossing it on the ground. “I’m leaving.” Marvin gritted his teeth when he felt hands grabbing him by the upper arms.

“About that.” Mr. Mason chuckled. “We’re getting an upper hand by having an actual witch in our company, someone who knows how to work what we’re getting. You are no amateur, you’re no hobbyist, you’re the real deal, cat.”

“I’m giving you one warning to let me go,” Marvin said, clenching his hands and lifting his lip into a snarl.

“Don’t make me get a spray bottle.” Mr. Mason laughed.

“I warned you.” Marvin’s eyes went green and soon did his arms. The man that had been holding him shouted out in pain and released him.

“He burned my hands!” The man cried. Marvin ducked away from the second man in the room and held both hands out, blasting the two with a wave of energy. He made it to the door and opened it, running back to the store’s front.

“Stop him!” Mr. Mason called out. Marvin looked over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being followed, not realizing it was a mistake until he felt something hot go through his leg, forcing him to scream and fall over in pain.

“Bad cat.” Marvin heard the desk worker say as he held his bleeding thigh. Marvin could only try to even his breathing, looking up and making eye contact with the barrel end of a shotgun. “Don’t move.” The woman ordered. Marvin shifted his glance up and bared his teeth while he slowly raised to his feet. “I’m warning you!” The woman shouted. “I will shoot again!”

“I dare you.” Marvin spat, eyes going wide in shock when the woman was tackled. “Chase!”

“I got it!” Chase grabbed the shotgun with both hands and yanked it out of the woman’s grasp, using the handle to hit her in the head, knocking her out.

“Chase, get out of here!” Marvin heard that more people were coming and didn’t have time to move before being grabbed once more, this time by both men.

“Let me guess, this is Mr. Special?” Mr. Mason teased.

“Let him go!” Chase demanded, aiming the shotgun at Mr. Mason.

“Do you even know how to use that, kid?” Mr. Mason scoffed, face dropping when Chase pumped the gun and stood his ground, eyes hardening. “Two can play at that game.” Mr. Mason pulled a pistol out from under his jacket and pressed the barrel to Marvin’s temple.

“Chase, run, please. It’ll be okay, I’ll be okay.” Marvin was shaking in pain, the hole in his leg aching as he tried to keep as much weight off of it as he could.

“I’m not leaving you,” Chase said, taking a step forward, Mr. Mason’s gun now moving so it was pointing at him.

“Watch it, kid.” Mr. Mason warned. “We just want the cat.”

“They’ll kill you,” Marvin said.

“I don’t care.” Chase took the sunglasses that were sitting on his hat and put them on. There was a short pause before Chase suddenly aimed up and shot out the light to the shop, sending glass to rain down on them. Chase rushed forward and bashed Mr. Mason’s head in the same way that he had done to the woman. He quickly fired the shotgun and got one of the men the leg and threw the weapon at the other man’s face. Chase slid on his knees, grabbing the pistol with one hand and catching Marvin with his other arm. The other man held his bleeding nose and cried out when his leg was shot. “Karma’s a bitch.”

“Chase?” Marvin kissed Chase on the check. “My hero.” He added with a chuckle.

“I just wanted to surprise you and take you out to lunch.” Chase weakly laughed. “But I think a trip to the hospital is more fitting.”

“Just get me home, I’ll be fine. I just need some sleep.” Marvin grunted in pain when Chase moved him so he was being held bridal style.

“I’m not letting my boyfriend bleed out,” Chase stated.

“Boyfriend?” Marvin couldn’t help the little smile forming on his lips.

“I mean, y-yeah.” Chase’s face flushed a little as sirens started to go off in the distance.

“We should go, there’s some…not so legal stuff happening in the back,” Marvin said.

“There’s some what?” Chase made some sounds of shock before grunting. “Damn it, Marv.” Chase cursed and rushed over to the side door. “You owe me an explanation when you’re better.” He said as he started to run, thankful that the Septiceye House was only a few blocks away.

—————

Tag List: @succos-tacos @readeatfightlove13@burningpeachdelusionofchaos @sketchy-scribs-n-doods@blueyeswhitedragon16@estraevelyn@virge-of-death@superdltpurplerage@i-am-not-anon@pixelenchanter@sirkawaiipotato@little-frying-pan@irish-newzealand-idian-dutch

[earthafromearth]

Fanfic | Cook a Goat Lamb With the Goat's Mother's Milk 1/3

AO3：https://archiveofourown.org/works/23343103/chapters/55920346

yes i translate my own work just because i know there gotta be more people still want to read some fanfic about those two and I want to make friends, okay? basically any feedback is highly welcomed

and of course im not an english native speaker

so... you know... there maybe some serious English mistake and typo

i cant even type Chinese right for god sake.....

Adolescence was as annoying as that board whose makeup was so heavy that seemed to make her impossible to get up from Charlie’s lap.

Meyer was lying motionless on the bed. He took a deep breath. His mother was cooking in the kitchen, the room filled with that rotten smell of stale beans. The sunlight outside the window was dazzling but without any bit of warm. Meyer pressed his arm against his eyes, hard enough to cause his eye sockets hurt, seeing some scattered sparkles in the dark behind his eyelids.

He had dreamed of Sicily. The window leaked, making every pore in his arm shrank tightly and dry, but the sheet was still moist on Meyer's lower abdomen. Meyer's Sicily was a total fake. He had never been exposed to Italian’s hot sun, New York's sun never brought any bit of heat with it, especially in winter. He had never experienced sweat flowed down his spine into the pants, maybe he should go to Cuba later and get some sun. But Charlie was real, Charlie whose hair was wet with sweat and clung to his forehead; Charlie whose whole upper body naked ,vest throwing on his shoulders causally; Charlie whose belly is tight and soft at the same time; Charlie whose pants hanging loosely on his buttocks ; Charlie, who tasted like lucky strikes but more salty … …Charlie could be real, but Charlie who bit Meyer's throat could not be real. A teenage wet dream. Meyer hated adolescence.

"Mey, are you alright? " Meyer heard his mother's voice and sat up quickly. But before he could shake his head, Jake rushed into the room. "Meyer wet his bed!" Shouted that little bustard. His mother blushed faster than Meyer himself. "Charlie want me to see him later." Meyer said, holding the quilt in a pile and putting it in the large basket filled with dirty clothes of the whole family. If mother noticed that he had purposely straightened his arms and put the sheet deliberately in front of his thighs, neither of them say a thing.

Adolescence made the streets of New York even more noisy, and the woman standing at the alley would wink at Meyer as he passed by, as if she could see through Meyer's wet dream at a glance, while Meyer just happened to notice, really accidentally, that the woman's shabby skirt was folded up and smashed into her underwear. The desire was being hit by a truck head-on, and all of a sudden, his pants seemed to be one size smaller, wrapped around his thighs. He lowered his head slightly and looked at himself, taking each step with extreme cautious, heels landed first then the toes, body moving forward with the toes, walking like a normal person, but he knew he had been founded out.

Meyer should have told Benny that he had seen Charlie dined with a woman at that Italian restaurant a week ago. Those two sitting in the corner of the window, and the woman was leaning her legs to Charlie’s under the table, and her toes were touching Charlie's calf bones again and again. He should have told Benny, so that Benny would chase Charlie over and over until Charlie told him all about it, then Meyer would have known who that woman was, "just a broad." Meyer also knew Charlie would say that. But Meyer didn't say a word to Benny. He just stood quietly across the street and a glass window. He stood there and stare quietly for a moment until he caught himself and hurried away, like a normal person.

Maybe the woman dining with Charlie was also a whore who would stand at the alley and show her thighs. Maybe the woman dining with Charlie was a hot mother of someone bets on their dice, or maybe Charlie was like him, just wanting a head from that woman, touching up and down on that smooth thighs. And that woman would cover Charlie's hand with her skirt. He refused to think about what Charlie would look like at that moment, but he knew at heart that Charlie would hold the woman's ass, hugging her and reaching into her underwear. Meyer wasn't just hit by the truck head-on. He was run over by the truck alive, his flesh felling to the ground, unable to save himself and had to wait for death. Desire was becoming more and more violent.

The hat shop Charlie was working for had a "rest" sign on the door, and Meyer stood still in front of it. He dragged his jacket down, picking up the body crushed by the truck with his bare hands, pieced together a decent body again, and pushed in the door.

"In the back!" Meyer heard Charlie's voice coming from the storeroom. As he walked in, he picked up the cigarette and the match Charlie had thrown on the counter. The door to the storage room was half closed, and the dim light leaked out of the crack. Meyer stepped between the light and shadow cast on the floor. He put the lucky strike it in his mouth, but as soon as he struck the match, Charlie pushed the door open and the fire went out.

Meyer glanced at Charlie. Charlie wasn't wearing his blazer, and his trousers' straps were pulling. Although he didn't roll up his sleeves, he unfastened the cuffs, exposing a section of his wrists, and his carpal was just there, easy to reach. Meyer lowered his head, lighting another match, guarding it with his other hand to lit the cigarette. He took a full puff and let the smoke float out of his nose. Even if Charlie knew that Meyer was delaying his time, he just waited quietly. However, even if he didn't say a word, he couldn't be still. He swayed back and forth, raised his chin slightly and looked behind Meyer.

One side of the hat shop was neatly arranged with men's top hats with little difference in style, and the other side was colorful female hats. On the back wall, facing the door, several popular hats were displayed. Charlie took a low-eave newsboy cap and put it on his head, suppressing most of the curly hair that took a lot of work to tame. Meyer blinked; the lining of the hat must have been stained with Charlie's hair gel. This is the patience of the Italians, superficial efforts which would only cause more trouble.

Meyer caught himself again staring at Charlie's face half blocked by his hat. Charlie was older than Meyer, but still had a little baby fat on his face. That somehow made his cheekbones a little more obvious. He looked like a cub, but the reality was that the fangs had already grown. You think he was cute, however, the moment you reached to him, he would twist his head and bite you so hard you would scream until you lost your voice It wasn't until Charlie took Meyer’s arm and pulled him into the room and the smoke ashes fell on Meyer's hand, he suddenly came back to reality. But the smoke had already fallen to the ground. Fuck.

"Something happened to the joint?" His voice was a little husky. He just smoked too hard. That had to be it.

"There gotta have a problem? I can't ..." Charlie pushed Meyer in front of him. "Just want to have a late lunch with you?"

The storage room had been originally well-organized. Rows of hat boxes had been piled up like rows of walls. Between each row there had been a line of empty space just enough for one person to walk through. Now all the boxes were pushed together, tightly close to the wall. Many boxes protruded or inserted obliquely. However, there were several boxes neatly piled in the middle of the vacated field, like a small coffee table, and there were a few kraft paper bags on it. Meyer glanced at Charlie. Charlie was like a kid squatted next to the Christmas tree, couldn’t help but laughing slyly, waiting for others to open their gifts. Meyer took the bags with different trademarks on it, opening them one by one. Cheese buns, bacon, pickles … … he took out the food and put it on the top of the boxes. Out of the corner of Meyer’s eyes, Charlie smiled like a weasel who had caught the mouse. Meyer took a deep breath and folded the paper bag, neatly lowering it along the edge of the boxes.

Meyer could be seen by whoever was dealing with them as a child whose hair hadn’t grown; he could be seen by a neighbor as a rogue kid who doesn't learn well; and he could even be seen as a shop seconder who could be bullied at will, but he was not Charlie’s prey, the mouse in the weasel's mouth He just was not.

He knew that Charlie wouldn't invite others to dinner for no reason, because he was just like Meyer in his bones and heart. So, what was all this about? I asked you to a fine dinner together so later you would go to a cheap hotel with me?

"It's all kosher." Charlie put a hand on Meyer's shoulder and walked to Meyer's side. He grabbed the cheese from the hat box, and weighed the rectangular bars wrapped in foil in his hand. "Good stuff from uptown." Meyer turned to look at Charlie, and Charlie was smiling so wide that his canine teeth appeared. "Where did you get the money to go uptown and buy food like those?" He heard his voice without a trace of undulation, but Charlie still smiled as if he had secretly hidden lump sugar under his tongue. "I'm good at bargaining.” Charlie threw the cheese on the table, as if it was a hammer from the auction house. Once the hammer is downed, the deal is done.

Meyer squeezed his lips tightly, and Charlie's hand on his shoulders kept him warm for most of his body, as if he was basking in the Sicilian sun. He twisted, and fled stiffly from Charlie to the other side of the table. "You and I both know how you are good at bargaining," he said dryly. He tried to pretend that nothing had happened, but Charlie refused to let him go. He walked to Meyer again, grabbing Meyer's shoulders with both hands, looking down at Meyer, putting Meyer under the newsboy hat he was sneaking on his head. Damn Italian. "What's wrong?" Charlie's hands moved to the sides of Meyer's neck, and Meyer had to raise his head. "Tell me what's wrong, little man, it can't be because of that pile of food."

"You can't cook goat lambs with goat's mother's milk." Meyer whispered, slowing down every byte, as if teaching a baby to speak.

"Meyer." Meyer could feel Charlie holding him harder. It was a warning, a question, and it was Charlie's finger that struck Meyer's skin. Charlie leaned on a fruit tree. The air in Sicily was filled with the sweet smell of citrus and lemon after maturity. He grabbed Meyer's arm and arched his back slightly to lick Meyer's neck and shoulder, exactly where Charlie was holding him now. Meyer didn't know if he was really trembling, but he was trying hard to restrain himself and make him look like a decent businessman, not a stinky boy whose nerves were immersed in hormones. He breathed hard and slowly, taking a small step away carefully. This time, Charlie let go. Although New York is not as cold as Grodno, who had been exposed to a Sicilian’s sun would of course be spoiled.

"I saw you dining with a woman in that Italian restaurant of Masseria." Meyer said fiercely of the word Masseria, but Masseria was not the reason for everything, the name was nothing but said along the way. That’s only Meyer's futile struggle. Meyer knew, obviously Charlie knew as well.

Charlie left out a laugh, and Meyer glared at him. "Little man!" Charlie bent down and patted Meyer's face with his arms stretched out. "It's just a broad, what's the big deal?" Charlie's answer was exactly what Meyer had thought, Meyer knew Charlie, with his eyes closed, his would know where Charlie would go next, which is the worst of adolescent fucking agitation.

Charlie's words were more of an insult than a refusal. Meyer wasn't a captured prey. Meyer wasn't a prostitute standing on the street, bored and playing with her fingers, and Meyer wasn't a cheap whore for Charlie to dine at a fake but fancy restaurant. And now they were in the storage room of a hat shop without even a decent table.

Charlie was still waiting for Meyer's response. Meyer had rushed over. He bumped into Charlie with his shoulders. Charlie was slammed backwards and hit the piled hat boxes. The top boxes fell off, as well as the newsboy hat Charlie wore. The newsboy cap fell on the ground and was covered with a layer of gray ashes. Meyer knew that Charlie would be scolded for this, and Charlie couldn't do anything except to admit it. Good.

Charlie stood up against the boxes behind him. His hair was completely messed up, curled up next to the temple. He arched his shoulders, arms behind him. He was calculating whether to attack or retreat, counterattack or let the matter go. Meyer didn't want to let it go, so he pushed Charlie again. Charlie got to firmly grasp Meyer’s arm this time, Meyer raised his knee and kicked it against Charlie's stomach fiercely. his calf was crippled over Charlie's thigh. Charlie snorted painfully, "Fuck." He heard Charlie scold, and was thrown to the ground almost at the same time. Meyer's back was on the concrete floor tears accumulate in the corners of his eyes, and the hat on the ground deformed in his afterglow. He suddenly wanted to laugh. Charlie's knees rested besides Meyer’s thighs; Meyer's wrists were firmly grasped. Charlie pressed him to the ground, the back of Meyer’s knuckles shattered on the cold ground. "What is this all about? Just because I took a girl to dinner? Didn't I have dinner with you all the time? On your Jewish street!"

"I won't step on your fucking crotch with my feet under the table!" Meyer lifted himself up, but Charlie just pushed him back again.

"Aren’t I sure of that? You just gave me a fucking punch! All because I specially grabbed something nice for you!"

"Fuck you, Luciano!"

This time was Charlie who laughed, short like he choked a mouthful of water. He released Meyer's wrist first. Meyer rubbed the back of his swollen hand. After Charlie saw that Meyer didn't plan to give him another punch, he jumped up to the other side of the room. Meyer sat up on the same spot but didn't stand up. He held his knees to his chest and curled up into a small group on the ground like a child. Charlie turned his back to him, muttering something in Italian, patting his pockets for his cigarette. Meyer took out his own and threw it towards Charlie's back. The cigarette case fell at Charlie's feet. Charlie picked it up, popping one in his mouth, and walked back to sit next to Meyer. "It is not that easy." He handed the cigarette to Meyer. Meyer raised his eyes and waited for him to continue, "You're different, do you understand?" Meyer understands, but at the same time he didn’t understand at all.

"Fuck, I even don't have to tip when I go to Massaria’s little restaurant." They took turns and the cigarette was smoked to its butt. Charlie threw it on the ground and pick another one, "Massaria thinks I'm the next golden boy or some shit." Meyer heard a smirk and said, "Yeah, fuck those old farts!" Charlie finished. He lay down on the ground, picked up the dirty newsboy hat, and nudged it into his chest, but he just pressed the dirt deeper into the texture of the hat, "Fuck." He cursed and clasped the hat on Meyer's head, Meyer immediately grabbed it and threw it out.

"Dairy products are not supposed to be eaten with meat in Judaism." Meyer said quietly. Charlie propped himself up with his elbow. "You can't cook goat lamb with the milk of a goat's mother." Meyer repeated his words before, Charlie hummed, "Then eat the pickles, like I give a fuck."

"You do not give a fuck?"

"Look, I'm only getting these foods because you're Jewish, and I don't give an honest shit about whatever nonsense they say in that book of yours. That book is as thick as a brick, you know." Charlie touched Meyer with his shoulder. Meyer used the half-burned cigarette butt to put on a new one. "I don't care about the shit rules that godfathers or bosses have to follow. I know what I can do. That good enough for me," Charlie snatched the cigarette from Meyer. All of a sudden, no one speak. Meyer heard what Charlie said and his brain just refuse to work.

"Are you going to kiss me or not?” That’s all Charlie can wait,” Or, we could eat ……”

"You fucking dago!" Meyer cursed, grabbing Charlie's collar and dragging him to himself. "Hey! Where did that come from? I didn’t even call you a Kike!."

TBC

[ravenqueen89]

Commission fill time

I was commissioned by the wonderful @numphet to write a fic featuring her amazing OC Katla Hawke. I really loved writing Katla, she’s such a complex and nuanced and vivid character, and I loved spending time with her. Thank you so much for the opportunity!

Fandom: Dragon Age II

Title: Keep this feeling safe tonight

Pairing: Katla Hawke/Ser Thrask

Rating: R

Summary: A relationship that occurs in the shadows has its one evening in public aka Katla and Thrask go to Satinalia together.

Notes: Is there rambling? Yes. Is there no dialogue? Also yes. Same old, same old in terms of style. There is also: angst, mentions of body image issues, mentions of using alcohol as a coping mechanism, and a lot of gloomy weather. This is the suit Katla wears, inspired by my lurking in her OC tag. I also randomly used details associated with Saturnalia when describing Satinalia. Title from PJ Harvey’s One Line. 

Also on AO3. 

There is no snow in Kirkwall’s winters,  just a chilled damp and the wind rushing in from the sea, howling with the voices of ghosts through Hightown’s streets and insinuating disease into the chests of Darktown dwellers.

Katla leaves the windows open when the wind comes because the desperation in the sound is as familiar as the taste of wine and of Thrask’s skin. On sleepless nights when she is intimate only with the emptiness inside her she stands on the balcony with the alcohol souring on her tongue and reddening her skin and finds solace in the noise, in the fury of the wind, in the way it sings of loss. It smells of brine and decay and it fits on her, tangling in her hair and clutching at her skin like the lover she won’t admit she misses.

It is after one such night, when she still carries the imprint of her own nails across her palm, that Isabela drags her to a nondescript building, the clouds heavy and dark above them, the humidity making it hard to breathe, making them shiver. The wine still in Katla’s blood isn’t as guilty of making her stumble as the wind, and the streets are almost empty. She knows better than to ask Isabela what this is about and braces herself for yet another hat shop, but inside the building there is an explosion of fabric, and in the midst of all that colour a woman dressed in black, her hair silver and her face lined and drained by life.

Katla stands half-naked in the middle of the room as Isabela chats away about Satinalia fashion trends and how to ignore them, the seamstress holding various materials next to Katla’s skin, measuring with practiced efficiency. There is a mirror in front of her, and Katla stares at herself with little kindness, trying to distract from the reflection by remembering Thrask’s hands on the fullness of her thighs, the mark of his fingerprints along the soft sprawl of her belly. She knows that everything about her is too much, overflowing, but he never seems to mind it in their stolen moments together. He always seems as hungry for her as she is for him, and nothing makes him pause, not her magic, as red as their hair, not her body, not the way she screams at him when her feelings claw their way out of her throat.

Isabela talks and talks without requiring a reply, and Katla finds comfort in the sound without paying attention to the words. The seamstress asks no questions, but notices where Katla’s eyes wander, notices the colours and materials she reaches out to touch, notices which of the displayed outfits she studies.

By the end of the appointment, Isabela drags her out, thirsty for rum and gossip at the Hanged Man, and Katla remains none the wiser regarding her Satinalia outfit.

*

It had started off as a joke influenced by wishful thinking, whispered in the lack of space between them as Thrask kept kissing her like he wanted to remove the wine stain from her lips.

He’d said it first, as the wind slammed the doors and windows of her estate and witnessed the illicit way their bodies came together. The words ‘I would like to take you to Satinalia’ slipped from his lips and reached under her ribs, making hope bloom in her heart. Hope was never something she truly trusted, however, and what she said in return was not ‘yes’, but ‘won’t your dear Order comment on it?’ and she couldn’t stop the rest of the snide words descended from all her fears and anger, his mention of the traditional masks preserving their anonymity only stoking her ire. By the time dawn broke, he was gone and Katla was drinking, and it took days for her to slip a note with her answer to him through Isabela’s mediation. She watched, unseen, as he smiled upon receiving the scribbled word, and her heart beat faster and faster until she had to look away from him, the hope as painful as the futile longing for a normal life - a long life- with him.

*

When Katla goes to collect the suit on the morning that heralds the beginning of the festivities, she doesn’t look into the mirror until she is fully clothed and when she then glances at her reflection she doesn’t see an enemy there.

The suit fits her so well she almost suspects some sort of magic at work, but the scent and trace of lyrium is absent from the seamstress and her shop, so Katla can only stare, stunned, as Isabela wolf whistles, pulling Katla’s hair into a low bun that settles heavily at the nape of her neck.

There is contrast at play between the stark whiteness of the shirt and the darkness of the jacket, balanced by accents of velvet in the same crimson as the waistcoat.

‘I had some lace sent from the Valence cloister lying around,’ the seamstress says, as Katla touches the delicate material woven over the suit, the final touch of a masterpiece.

The half-mask is simple and  the colour of burnished gold, making her eyes glow and matching the earrings that Isabela slips out of her barely-there pocket with a sly grin that makes Katla unwilling to ask questions about the provenance of the jewellery. None of it is what Katla would usually wear while dealing with the complications of her daily life, but she feels invincible in a way she hasn’t felt in years. She feels alive, her flushed cheeks highlighting her freckles. Her reflection smiles at her from the corner of her mouth, and when Isabela twirls her around, Katla laughs.

* Katla had thought it best to meet Thrask at the Lowtown festivities, so Isabela half-drags her through the crowds that are starting to gather and then takes over Varric’s quarters for the afternoon. The three of them drink together, and Isabela braids Katla’s hair with perfumed hands before pinning it in place. The perfume smells like heat and leather, like sweetness and smoke, and Isabela brushes the scent over Katla’s wrist, leaving the trace of it behind her ears, and Katla knows she should feel anxious but she only feels powerful. Varric and Isabela are staring at her like they are entranced, and there’s a giddiness in her that has little to do with the wine.

Before she dons the mask and makes her way down the stairs, she paints lipstick the colour of blood along the lines of her lips, and everyone turns to stare at her as she walks through the bustle, the drunken crowd parting around her.

Thrask is standing right outside the tavern, his posture as impeccable as always, and Katla’s breath stutters not only at the sight of him out of armour, but also because he’s not wearing a mask, because he’s right there, bare-faced and making her heart sing in a way it shouldn’t. He looks so handsome in his dark blue outfit, the scar around his neck mimicking the stars of the night sky, the material so soft looking that her hands ache to tear it. Katla wants to take her time and watch him, but the moment she moves his blue eyes find her straight away, and the way his lips part at the sight of her makes her magic hum inside her, make her blood rush to her head. Thrask reaches for her hand and presses his mouth to her wristbone, leading her into the revelry, and it all feels like she’s dreaming, like the Fade is showing her everything she wishes, as she walks hand in hand with him in the midst of a crowd of witnesses. She is wearing her mask, but the way Thrask holds onto her cannot be confused for anything else. She remains anonymous, but she is clearly not one of his rumoured conquests from the Rose, those rumoured conquests that shield them from the Order. If anyone were to look closely enough at her hair and her eyes, they would know, and Katla feels almost drunk on the feeling, on the defiance that surges within her.

She has wanted to claim him for too long, and for one night, Kirkwall shall watch.

*

The dreariness of Lowtown seems hidden underneath the Satinalia decorations, the usual greyness masked by crimson garlands and wreaths of greenery. The wind is still screeching its way around crowds and corners, tangling itself into Katla’s hair and around where her hand is entwined with Thrask’s. It also helps with chasing the smell from the streets, preserving the dreamlike atmosphere, dangling the lamps and creating a dance of lights.

The stalls are both colourful and plentiful, standard fare for the holiday, but Katla can’t say she’s noticed them much before. She’s kept away from Kirkwall festivities throughout the years, preferring to drink either at a tavern or in private, especially as the loss and the despair grew.

This occasion feels different, as Thrask whispers in her ear, letting his lips linger along the sensitive skin of her neck as he breathes in her perfume. There’s something racing inside her, something she can’t name, won’t name, and it makes her magic glow in her eyes, so she looks down, at her hand in his.

Thrask leads her to several stalls, where they taste hot spiced wine and the lightest of pastries, his fingers lingering on her tongue as he feeds her delicacies, and it would look scandalous, even for Lowtown, if everyone else weren't lost in the same lack of inhibition.

Katla takes advantage of the headiness in the air and kisses Thrask, in front of everyone, the smell of sugar and spice and brine and him around her, his beard soft against her jaw. She leaves the trace of her lipstick on his mouth and neither of them bother to wipe it off as her fingers tangle in the redness of his hair. Katla says nothing, because she knows her voice would shake with the weight of it, with the beauty of it, and she doesn’t want to break the moment with the acknowledgement of its enormity.

It feels like she’s part of the wind, light on her feet, whirling as the crowd parts around her, around them. Food has been like ash on her tongue for months, but tonight she feasts with Thrask on gilded cakes chased off with the decadence of the spiced wine. She kisses caramel off his lips that golden apples leave behind and basks in it, in kissing Thrask of the Templar Order in public, and she a mage and a blood mage at that, no matter how willing.

She laughs and he laughs with her, the lines left by suffering on his face smoothing over at the same time as her heart soars, and when he leads her into a dance she doesn’t even stumble, not once.

They dance until the bells of the Chantry toll over the city, marking midnight. Tradition states that during Kirkwall’s days of Satinalia, masks come off each time the bells strike midnight, but Katla knows better than to dare, so she holds onto Thrask and kisses him, for luck, for hope, for all the things she’s not allowed to want, like those forbidden dreams of futures that cannot happen.

She kisses him to forget the pain, kisses him to remember how it feels to be alive, kisses him to tell him how she feels in a way she’ll never be able to say out loud, and when she stops kissing him, when she presses her forehead to his and looks right into his eyes in that open way she seldom allows herself, he unties the ribbon holding her mask up, ever so slowly, and takes it off. Katla catches her breath before it turns into a gasp, and when he kisses her there is no anonymity left, there’s nothing but a templar and a mage, out in the open, part of the world.

They have so much hunger for each other between the two of them that by the time they stop kissing Katla is almost sure it must be dawn already. When she looks around, no one is watching them, the drunken crowd staggering together and coming apart, the crunch of shattered fragments of golden ornaments underfoot. The wind staggers, and then returns with renewed violence, bringing rain with it, and shouts mingle with laughter and bawdy songs.

Katla can feel the illusion coming to an end so she holds on, her face buried in his shoulder, taking her comfort in the way he holds her back, in the soothing pattern of his breathing, in the way he feels so alive, in the way he makes her want to exist. They stand together for long, languid moments, and it feels right, it feels the way it should, but the growing realisation that she can’t hold on forever makes the familiar bitterness bloom on Katla’s tongue.

When she moves, Thrask follows, but he catches hold of her hand before she gets too far ahead, and it hurts to want it, but she needs him there, needs to pretend just a while longer, so they walk the way back to the Hanged Man together once more, hand in hand, rain catching in Katla’s lashes, her suit most likely ruined in a way that feels fitting, and the wind slipping its chill back into her heart.

Thrask is drawing patterns along her palm with his thumb when they turn the corner right next to the tavern, but then he is gone, so abruptly that it almost jars her into thinking they are being attacked. Katla has to look behind her to see him, quite a few paces to the side and looking not at her but at the group of templars in front of the entrance to the Hanged Man. Just like that, Katla is sober and fully immersed in reality, and thirsty for wine and oblivion, the same way she always is.

With one last look at Thrask, she squares her shoulders and her mask, wrapped around her hand, falls to the ground, left to the mercy of the storm or the gangs, whichever gets there first.

She walks into the tavern alone, her heart screaming with all the fervour of the wind coming in from the sea, but certain, at least, that he will follow according to their usual routine, his lips carrying her mark as the inside of her thighs carry his.

Throughout the city, the wind reigns, and sings, and destroys.

[ladyboltontoyou]

Arthur Morgan x Reader: Farmer’s Daughter. 5

Ask: hello! not sure if you’re planning on writing another part for the farmer’s daughter series buuuuut i was thinking if you’ll be writing it could you please maybe make them sneak out on a horse ride and later they end up skinny dipping in a lake and stuff because after the bath arthur wants to show her how it’s done without all the luxury things she’s used too? what do you think? i absolutely love the series and your writing you’re so good at it! keep doing what you’re doing love you!

Warning: Cursing, sexual themes.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader

A/N: Took me longer than expected to finish this! Sorry on the wait. Hope you like it though!

Arthur was gone when you woke up, which was expected. What wasn’t expected was seeing him so soon after. Usually, he’d visit every couple of days or if luck was on your side every other day. So you were caught off guard when you saw him out in your blueberry garden.

“Oh!” You gasped, dropping your basket full of berries.

“I wasn’t even trying to be quiet.” Arthur laughed as he walked over to you and bent down to pick up the berries.

“It’s not like I didn’t hear you, big feet.” You teased as you picked up your mess. “I just thought it was one of the gardeners, I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

Arthur shrugged. “Well, I’m not needed at work today. Figured I’d spend it with you.”

Your eyes lit up and you lost all interest in the fruit. “Really? That’s wonderful! My folks won’t be home until late so we can do whatever we want!”

Arthur stood up with you and raised an eyebrow. “What’ve you got in mind?”

“Let’s go riding somewhere. I’ve been wanting to ride your horse.” Ever since you saw Arthur ride up your road on his pretty white horse you’d imagined how cool you’d look riding it. Your (h/c) hair and (s/c) skin would be almost too perfectly matched with the stark white of her coat.

“Alright. But we gotta stay off road in case we run into your folks.” He said before calling his horse over.

You knew that probably wouldn’t happen but it was better to be safe than sorry. “Okay.”

When his horse reached you he explained that she was a little skittish but made up for it in speed. “Go slow though, alright? When I say she’s fast I mean it now.” He lifted you up on and you swung your leg across the saddle.

“I like how she’s thin, I don’t feel like my legs are going to split.” You said as Arthur climbed on behind you. “All my father’s horses are usually huge working breeds.”

Arthur liked how much you talked. If it was anyone else he would probably get annoyed real quick, but your voice was so sweet to him he could listen to you talk about nothing for hours. “Yeah?” He responded and reached around you to grab the reins. “I’m guessing you know how to ride.”

“Course I do!” You took the reins from him and gave the horse a gentle tap. She jolted forward and you fell back against Arthur’s chest from the sudden motion. “Wow! You weren’t joking!”

Arthur looked over his shoulder at his hat on the ground and sighed. “You sure you can handle her?”

“As long as you can hold on!” You teased. Before he could respond you tapped the horse again and she bolted towards the back road out of your property. Arthur sure wasn’t lying, that horse could fly. You ended up by the lake faster than you expected.

“This is my favorite horse!” You exclaimed as you slid off the horse with the help of Arthur. Your hair was a fucking mess, your eyes had watered a bit and your face was slightly red from the harsh wind.

When you turned to face Arthur you burst out into laughter. Hir hair was blown back in a way that was hilarious and sexy at the same time. Like sex hair, but worse.

“What?” Arthur looked down at himself to find the source of your amusement. “Do I have something in my teeth?”

“No, I was just thinking of something funny.”

Arthur gave you a look that showed he didn’t buy it. “Well, now that you’ve taken her on a ride, anything else you wanna do?”

You chewed your lip in thought and turned to face the lake. “I don’t know. What do you usually do?”

He chuckled at the question. There was no way he was telling you what he actually did. That would end up chasing you off and he’d never see you again. “I fish, hunt, uh…” He trailed off and tried to make something up. “Sometimes I break wild horses and sell ‘em to the stables in Rhodes.”

“Can we-”

“No, no, we cannot.” He already knew you meant breaking horses.

You sighed and crossed your arms. “Then what are we gonna do?”

“Whatever you want.”

You grinned and put your hands on your hips playfully. “Well, since my parents are gone… they won’t be home to hear us in their bath.”

Suddenly Arthur sucked in a breath as he remembered something. “I’m glad you said that. Last night I was thinking about how you’d never bathed in a lake. And today would be the perfect day to change that.”

Your heart dropped and you looked visibly disappointed. “A lake? Where anyone can see us? And where bugs and germs and other nasty things can-”

Arthur cut you off with a loud and annoyed groan. “Oh, come on fancy pants. Stop worrying so much about things like that. Life’s too short to worry about someone seeing you naked.”

“Oh my god. Okay. Fine.”

Arthur smiled proudly and pulled his horse over. “There’s a place downstream we can go. There’s normally no one there since there’s no fish, not much wildlife either besides birds.”

Good, no fish. You didn’t want to have one brush up against you. “Let’s go then.”

***

“It doesn’t look as gross as I thought it would.” You said while dipping your bare foot into the lake. The water was completely transparent and the rocks on the bottom made it look like the fountain in your backyard.

“See? Not that bad. No fish, no bugs, just water.” Arthur took off his shirt and laid it on a large boulder. “No one in sight either.”

“And if someone rides up?” You watched him take his belt off.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” Before you could suck in a breath to make your displeasure known he laughed. “I’m just kiddin. If someone comes I’ll just throw this on you,” He held up his large button up shirt. “Then get them to leave.”

“And what if they don’t?”

“Do I look like the kind of man someone would argue with?” Arthur asked as he dropped his pants and began unbuttoning his union suit.

“Maybe when you’re naked.”

“I’ve got two shotguns, two rifles, a pistol and a revolver that say otherwise.”

“Why do you have so many guns anyway?” You asked and watched as he stripped completely naked.

“Uh…” He shrugged and started walking in the water. “You know, I hunt a lot.”

You furrowed your brows as he continued walking in until he was waist deep. Hunting with a shotgun seemed inefficient but you didn’t ask any more questions, it seemed he didn’t like answering them.

Once the water was up to his chest he turned around. “You comin’?” He called out and you looked down to your feet.

“Yeah, give me a minute. And turn around!”

Arthur laughed, looking confused as if you had to be joking. “What? Are you serious! Did you forget what we did last night?”

“This is different!”

“How?”

“Just turn around!”

Arthur sighed, rolling his eyes. “Alright, alright.” He turned around and faced the other direction.

You took off your jewelry first, putting them in your socks. After that, you took your sundress off and undergarments. The water was cool, which felt amazing because the sun was on its yearly mission to bake everything under it.

Once you were up to your knees you paused, considering how dirty the water could be. What if it gave you some kind of infection? If you got home quick enough you could clean yourself and get rid of the germs.

You sighed and continued towards Arthur. When the water was over your chest you told him he could turn around.

Arthur turned and smiled widely with a beaming expression. “Look at you! You did it!” He swam over to you and pulled you towards him. “Now, not so bad, ain’t it?”

You rolled your eyes and wrapped your arms around his neck. “I guess so.”

He chuckled and pulled you into his arms bridal style. You left one arm around his neck and let the other dangle in the water. You weren’t going to tell him but the lake felt amazing, the water was so cool and refreshing against your hot skin.

The two of you swam for a while, you had so much fun playing around in the water you didn’t even notice it was getting late. When you saw a lightning bug you pointed it out to him, only to gasp when you realized what time it was.

“You’ve got to take me back, right now. Right now.” You fell off his shoulders into the water and swam like your life depended on it.

“Son of a bitch!” Arthur cursed when he remembered your parents would be home soon.

You both dressed so quickly you almost forgot your jewelry. The ride back was so fast it completely dried your hair and clothes, which was a good thing so if your parents were home and they saw you it would be one less thing you’d have to explain.

“Are they back?” Arthur whispered as the two of you slowly crept up to the back of the house.

You didn’t see their wagon anywhere. “I don’t think so.” You tried to calm your breathing and turned to face him. “Okay, I’m going to go inside. Get the hell out of here, quick. In case they are.”

Arthur nodded and kissed you quickly. “Okay. Sorry for keeping you out so late.”

“It’s fine. You can make it up to me later.” You winked, still panting like you’d just run a mile. Arthur smiled and kissed you again. “Okay, okay!” You laughed and pushed him away. “Go!”

He smiled and chuckled a little before shaking his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Nevermind, just go.”

He finally left and you made your way inside, finding that no one was even home yet.

[afraschatz]

Leverage - The Studio Job

It feels like ages since I’ve done one of these, and I MISS MY SHOW, so I popped in a random DVD and whohoo it is “The Studio Job”. So here is a random amount of things that I love about this episode. I love...

... the sheer swagger of Hasselhoff err Schneider err Kirkwood. Not many people can pull off that leather jacket, dude

... the fact that Eliot is present during the initial client meeting. I’ve been wondering about this actually, I mean obviously it’s clear why Eliot is here because he clearly is the only one with a decent taste in music and whatnot (what violin? Hardison who?). But, like, does Nate have a diary on his desk where he pencils in potential clients and he hasn’t yet figured out that the team reads that thing and just “happens to show up” to meetings they think interesting? Is the entire team actually present for the inital “hello” and then just randomly decides “nah, not today, today’s client is harshing my vibe, I’d rather hang out with my horde”? How do these meetings come about? I NEED TO KNOW THESE THINGS

... hahahaha, that music video is just the BEST THING. I kinda need a video like that with Eliot staring in it.

... Hardison dumping info like a boss. I know it’s common knowledge that Aldis Hodge was (in part) hired because of exactly that skill but seriously, he is SO good at it.

... “I don’t know how to play the fiddle” (Hardison probably does) and Hardison’s and Eliot’s reactions hahaha

... Kirkwood being a creepy douche. “But the computer...” - “Say it again.” Such a dick (and such a great little bit of characterisation)

... we are not talking about Hardison’s HORRIBLE outfit. Okay, maybe we are. We all know that Hardison has the best style of all of them (don’t fight me on this), so clearly the only explanation for this terribly mustard/brown combo is that he went to a thrift store and deliberately bought the most ridiculously 70s retro country shit he could find. Why? Well, to piss of Eliot, of course

... Nate wearing the white hat. Who are you trying to fool, mate? Oh, right. The mark.

... Parker’s dance theft. Hands down my favourite lift. Possibly ever. (Such a nice use of lazy sensual music there as well)

... Hardison’s clever strategy of responding to suspicion and anger by just mirroring that and instantly forming a bond of mutual pissed-off-ness

... Hardison’s condescension in reaction to the DJ’s super bad lie. Because lying is cool. But bad lying? That’s just offensive.

... Hot diggity dagum. Hahahaha, Hardison

... the notion that the entire time during that interlude Kirkwood is chewing Nate’s ear off

... Nate’s stutter - I love that he regularly uses these more obvious go-to-personas / tactics (like that stutter when he wants to come across as slightly gullible and not a threat) that aren’t that refined as those his team would chose. Why? Not because he can’t do any better. Just because he can’t be bothered. Ha, Nate, I love your casual arrogance

... sunglasses in that badly lit a club, Sophie? Really :)?

... Nate’s FACE the moment Kirkwood turns his back. You sexy, devious bastard. I love you.

... Parker and her refusal to buy into metaphors. Her sense of humour is just so - I mean OBVIOUSLY she gets it, like she gets every other metaphorical expression (“I didn’t even get to see the emerald!” anyone?). But yeah, I agree with you, it’s hilarious when the rest tries to be patient / loses their shit

... HELLO FIDDLE!

... that shot with Eliot and the blue and yellow lights

... Eliot being offended all over the place. Parker startled him! Parker was a kid!catburglar? (Dude, this is, what, the third season? How can that surprise you?) Eliot CAN sing!

... that little bit of maybe-stage-fright. And the fact that Parker is up there with him and her overacted astonishment. Which is a. seriously funny, and b. such a neat reaction because of course it pisses Eliot off, and a pissed off Eliot is not a nervous Eliot. I love these weird bits of their friendship

... Hardison following suit. - Darth Vader Eliot and Smurf Eliot. Parker’s genuine laughter. Oh God, could I love the friendship these three have any more? I think not. (And what’s the greatest thing? This isn’t even talked about, this isn’t even supposed to be the POINT of the scene. Other shows create entire episode’s, entire fucking seasons around moments like this one. Leverage? Just casually dishing it out. Because this show is perfection.)

... Hardison first comparing Eliot to Britney Spears, then calling him “baby”

...NATE poking fun at him for it

... Hardison being startled, not because of the “baby” bit obviously, but oops, there he was flirting with his best girl and his best guy and he might’ve forgotten that the coms were live

... HOW OLD ARE YOU, Nate :D

... “This must be the Southern charm I heard so much about”. Sophie, being brilliant with the “fuck you, you sleazebag” without the sleazebag actually noticing. I seriously love her throughout this episode. She has very little to do, but everything she does just reeks of that special brand of low-key arrogant professionalism and pride in her grifter skills. So much love for her.

... Nate’s sexy white hat profile!

... Eliot letting himself be seduced. Not gonna lie, there are plenty of his dates that I like better than the one in this ep, but this still is a great little scene. I really dig Eliot’s way with people (and it’s not just women; it’s people). Because he LISTENS.

... Sophie being a food snob. Again.

... Sophie’s outfit. The hair? The frigging jacket? So rad.

... Sophie’s way with Kirkwood compared to Nate’s earlier. See, this is the expert at playing people, the Shakespeare of grifters

... Eliot’s fucking voice

... Hardison’s little panic attack

... Nate’s FOCUS when he looks at Eliot. That’s not just because the con works. That is his super sharp shark focus of pride (which is totally an expression).

... seriously, Eliot’s voice. I need to dig out my old Kane CDs

... Eliot’s little smile at the end

... reward sex. You earned that, man.

... why do you take out your com? Everyone knows what you’re doing anyway. And now Nate has to beat up goons on his own. Jeez.

... “You two work out together” - hahaha, oh Nate

... “Forever 21, don’t hit me” - another seriously nice bit of interlacing the imminent danger of Nate potentially getting killed with teenage groupies. Not only is that little tidbit funny in its own right, it also tells us, before we even see it, that Nate’s all right. Eliot already knows, obviously, he has the ear bud back in and he is taking his sweet time to give that autograph and whatnot while definitely listening to Nate dealing with that problem. That is my version of how it went down and I’m sticking with it

... “Oh, ELIOT’s the fiddle” hahaha

... Parker’s outfit. Hardison’s COAT (btw, the way Parker and Hardison interact here? This is probably pretty close to how they must seem to the unsuspecting casual observer ALWAYS, just minus the outfit).

... “We was cool, we was vibin’”

... Eliot being chased, and all of this having such a retro Beatles vibe to it

... “Contrary to what you all believe, I do not control everything that happens on the internet”... five seconds later “Boom, fansite nuked”

... “I’m pretty certain a fatwa was issued!” - “You’re so vain, man.” (Because yes, Hardison. Eliot brags by telling people how many governments want him dead. That is absolutely how Eliot rolls.)

... “seriously, for breakfast?!” - I love you, Sophie

... Sophie’s superfast reactions and the joy of getting to slap Nate

... Parker’s traipsing and Hardison’s gangsta walk

... you know what is better than Hardison half naked in a recording studio? Hardison, half naking in a recording studio, yanking Eliot’s chain.

... Parker’s scale of what is weird being VERY different than anyone else’s

... “This is not from an iceberg”

... Hardison moving with Eliot’s music, then interrupting him, THEN cutting off communications :)

... niiice little bit of storytelling-by-superzoom, and Parker solving the case while Hardison and Eliot are just mucking around

... Ribs, Ribs, More Ribs

... “The guy who’s buying our fiddle? He thinks he IS the fiddle.”

... Locked off comedy frame - my favourite ever, actually. SO many great OT3 scenes in this episode

... beating goons up with a mic stand AND drumsticks

... black-hat-Nate (now, doesn’t that look more right?) impersonating Hannibal Smith

... nice shot of the four of them in the hotel

... a conveniently parked random motorbike

... Eliot err Kenneth Crane t-shirts

... Kirkwood lip-syncing

... a groupie flashmob

... Parker on stage. Because this is important. For the con. For Eliot.

... Eliot once again proving that he is a great actor (second best on the team) in that staged conversation with Kirkwood

... a conveniently placed cow-hide

... Eliot and Nate doing the gloat together.

... Nate’s black hat, toothpick combo (he is really loving this week’s outfit theme, isn’t he?)

... Eliot’s little laugh at the proposal of being one half of the next Johnny and June. I love that because it’s both sweet and kinda flattered as well as absolutely-not- are-you-kidding-me- as-that-could-tempt-me-away- from-the-sweet-gig-I-already-got

... that little beat, again with just Nate and Eliot. God, I love their friendship sosososo much. I should write a 5k essay about it. And by essay I mean ode.

... that way that Nate is not looking people in the eye when he wants to give them a bit of privacy. Or when he wants some himself

... “Notes on my performance” - “How were you?” - “No complaints” - And Eliot’s and Sophie’s relationship? SO different. Equally awesome.

... I also what to know what time it is, Eliot.

 Perfect episode. Perfect show.

[purkinje-effect]

Slum Religion and Nuka-Cola

Ours Is the Kingdom, Chapter One. Go to next.

The gatorclaws had vanished. Finding only brahmiluff and gazelles in the wastes North of Nuka World, August lost all urge to hunt once he set foot South of the Northpoint Reservoir. Beguiled, the tall man-shaped creature of the cloth pressed across the barren terrain to the Safari Adventure Zone to the Northwest of the park grounds, where he knew they had nested, and still found none as he neared it. His aquiline nose flared and his pale eyes widened beneath his trim black tricorner hat, and caution informed his body’s every movement, as he stared up at the enormous looming serpentine mass of metal, then stared beyond it up at the hundred-foot treehouse within its high stone walls. Even in the clear day, he could see the lightbulbs decorating it had sprung to life.

It didn’t take risking stepping foot inside it to know that raiders now inhabited the Safari Adventure.

He hugged the wall to follow the cobbled waterway which bifurcated Nuka World. It was fever blossom season, and the dark, wild vines swathed everything it could reach in the replete cherenkov glow of its spherical flowers. Picnic areas, winding lazy streams with a network of small cobbled bridges, debris doomed to a limbo of blowing around here until rainfall and time would macerate it against the fixtures of the space by rainfall and time. Were it not for the circumstances unfurling around him, he preferred a leisurely stroll through the Nuka Island thoroughfare on his way to Market, to soak in a commune with naked Atom, but today it did not serve him to celebrate Her so passively. 

Hidden behind a large dead tree, the creature gawked all around him in every direction with a clear view of the entire park. His head spun with grief. Respectively the rocket on the sign at the Nuka-Galaxy building and the Observation Wheel, he could even at a distance see the tallest attractions in the Galactic Zone and Kiddie Kingdom now in motion for the first time in two centuries. Dread sublimated any enthusiasm remaining for this sabbatical to his holy place, and he licked at the insides of his fangs. If Safari Adventure, the Galactic Zone, and Kiddie Kingdom had become animate again, he could presume so had Dry Rock Gulch to the West and the World of Refreshment to the Northeast. The raiders had spread out from their home base in the Southernmost zone, Nuka-Town USA, and had successfully restored power to the entire park.

Nuka World’s veins flowed readily again with Atom’s pulse. He’d never seen such a place. The closest approximation was Megaton, back in the Capital Wastes, but the lights that the Megaton settlers had harvested to illuminate their fortified settlement had served a patent utility function before the Transfiguration. These lights, they clearly intended only to dazzle and entice. Aircraft lights cautioned their existence to other craft in the sky, while these lights... August certainly took caution. The breath fell from him at the thought what this place must now look like at night.

The amusement park’s parasites only felt that much more an umbrage now that its ley-lines no longer lay dormant. These raiders, who had huddled up practically hotbunked in Nuka-Town USA for the past year without so much as batting an eye once at expansion, had either been too incompetent or too unambitious to even attempt it. But now, the three uncouth, violent factions threatened to choke out the wilderness that had reclaimed these grounds. Either something major had lit the fire of urgency in Colter’s ranks, or a new player had entered the mix.

A troupe of three Pack members came across the Island, and August cut to the opposite side of the tree to wait for them to pass. The garishly bright raiders dyed their hair and painted their bodies, and crafted their armor from the attraction prizes left unearned, a mixture of stuffed animals and Nuka-Cola memorabilia. He did not attack, focused on cultivating a mental sketch of future points of interest and planning out how many return trips he would need to make to assess the severity of the invasion. Having traveled with the primary intent to hunt and return to Retreat, he’d packed far too lightly to stay for any significant duration. It unnerved him not to know whether the restoration of power had tampered with the ecosystems of each zone, but he knew for certain the presence of the raiders could guarantee an impact.

Hallmark to Nuka-Town USA, the Fizztop Grille building, a massive fifteen-story tall building in the shape of a Nuka-Cola bottle, loomed high over the fortifications which surrounded the original zone of the park. He crept inside the North gate and followed the wall to stick to the shadows. With fewer people occupying the space, it felt like everything could breathe again. Various buildings and carts here had also lit up as expected, and strings of lights chased overhead in the walkways leading West, East, and to the South. Even many of the street lights still worked, and the fountain in the trash-filled water fixture at the front of the Fizztop Grille now flowed again. A mixture of the wild Pack and the crisply-tailored Operators milled about in a previously unobserved idle contentment. They even seemed to nearly get along for once. The amusement park food trash scattering the entirety of the park grounds was most concentrated here, owing to the density of the restaurants and food carts, and August grew more mindful of his catskill-clad footwork to avoid the crunch of bicentennial styrofoam.

It crept upon the back of his skull, to notice the total absence of Disciples in the observable population. The bladethirsty clan with a fetish for polished eyeless metal masks had made themselves present in every corner of Nuka-Town USA. Had the Pack and Operators driven out the Disciples altogether, or did they now simply exclusively inhabit the other zones of the park? He recognized the polished, razor-adorned stylings signature of Disciples armor on a handful of raiders of the other two factions, and understood that the factions had not decided to begin sharing their shticks. How, in three months’ time or less, had these raiders had overthrown the Disciples, returned power to all of Nuka World, and occupied all six zones, when they’d done nothing for a year? He couldn’t unpack the mere notion of it, let alone the reason for it.

Of all the things to be familiar to him, near the colonnade that divided the Fizztop grounds from the rest of Nuka-Town USA, he spotted a woman with chin-length pale blonde hair, wearing jeans and a Nuka World T-shirt, and bright red round sunglasses in the shape of a pair of bottlecaps. At first, he thought she might be asking for directions from the Operator which harangued her, but he quickly learned from her frustration that the Operator denied her access outside Nuka-Town USA. She huffed and slouched her shoulders with balled fists and stomped off, biting her bottom lip, and he followed her to where she stood staring with a whine at the corner of a peeling yellow three-story building with an awning bedecked in patriotic bunting. He plucked a cherenkov blue Nuka-Cola Quantum from a nearby vending machine unnoticed, and slipped behind her to dangle it over one of her shoulders in offering, stooping a bit to smile endearingly over the other.

“You’ve no idea how I’ve missed your Mississippi Quantum Pie.”

She jerked and yelped at having been sneaked up on, let alone by someone of as great a stature as him. She sniffed and instinctively clutched at the bomb-shaped soda bottle with one hand while she clutched her chest with the other. He let go and she stared up at him.

“I-- August? Brother August!?” Her shrill, jubilant voice cracked. She bear hugged him around the middle, with her face mashed against his chest, and he petted her head. Muffled in his raiment, she mumbled, “Sorry I didn’t bring any--My god you had a growth spurt.”

“Quite all right. ...Somehow, I knew I’d run into you here eventually.” He gestured off to the colonnade to the South, annoyed by the sound of the Operator using the fiberglass Bottle and Cappy statue in the center of the walkway for target practice. Though, it relieved him that this also meant he had not yet been detected despite standing literally across the street from what had once been the Operators’ base of operations: The Parlor, a high end eatery with a theater. “We should go someplace... quieter, Sierra. Perhaps the parking lot. Or the Market.”

“I will not!” She let go to cross her arms with a defiant pout. “If I’m getting anywhere, I’m getting out to the other zones of the park. I didn’t come all this way to leave empty-handed! How did you get in? ...You could help me sneak out into the park, right?”

“Absolutely not.” His eyes shifted incessantly to every head on Main Street. “The locals dislike me a great deal. It’s for your safety and mine that we relocate. Can we step inside this building, perhaps?”

“If only!”

Sierra looked around, then back to him to nod in agreement. August followed her closely as they walked South to the circular thoroughfare with a round building at its center. Here there existed a larger concentration of individuals in tattered rags and shock collars, and August’s ears rang. He caught the unmistakable Valkyrie-like bladed silhouette of Nisha’s helm out of the corner of his eye, and in a panic he snatched Sierra aside into the shadows and clamped a hand over her mouth. Moments after the observation, his jaw slacked to recognize the helm of the Disciples’ queen worn by anyone but.

Rather than adorned by strapped smooth-hammered curve-hugging armor, this figure wore a green jumpsuit rolled down to the waist with the sleeves tied, wrapped faded green fabric for a shirt, elbow-high black leather work gloves, and thick leather armor that looked in many places to be crafted from tool aprons. He chewed at a lit cigar through the downward-sloping spines which formed a grill over the lower half of his pink-painted face. The raider who’d won Nisha’s helm walked along with his arm across the shoulder of a ghoul wearing a beaten brown tricorner cap and a Nuka-World letter jacket.

“Man, you splattered that super mutant,” the ghoul praised with awed disgust.

“No power armor needed.” The raider reminisced, “I do kinda miss the bumper cars, though. Gotta admit it’s kinda sad just how many rides here are too hard t’repair.”

“Too late for regrets.” The ghoul stopped and draped his arms on the other’s shoulders with a heavy-lidded smolder. “Come on, I know what’ll cheer you up. Let’s celebrate your Gauntlet victory with a trip through the Nuka Galaxy.”

“Every time I beat the shit outta somethin’s not a good excuse for a chem break,” he clamored, getting dragged along by the hand toward the North gate of the zone.

“So Colter IS out of the picture,” August uttered, at a loss. And Nisha, clearly. He let go of Sierra’s mouth, and she nipped at him. “Here, the pavilion outside the Cola Cars should be secluded enough. Come sit with me.”

Once she’d taken a seat at the aluminum patio table, he joined her and tucked his hat in his lap, revealing his pointed ears, dark wild hair pulled into a low ponytail, and wiry, bushy sidewhiskers.

“I knew you’d be tall when you were a kid, but gosh.” Oblivious to most nuances of his features, she shook her head and frowned with a defiant urgency. “How long have you been here? I just arrived, and they won’t let me go anywhere! It’s infuriating, really.”

“I’ve been coming here for years. It’s changed so much in the few months since my last visit. I take it you came here hoping to do more than slake your thirst?”

At the mention of a beverage, Sierra remembered her death grip on the soda and cracked into it with a bottle opener keychain at her waist, pocketing the cap. She downed a good third of it in one gulp, and she grinned with a refreshed sigh.

“Ohh, sweet Quantum, mama’s gone too long without you.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her free hand. “I’m here to add something very special to my museum!”

“You don’t say,” he smiled, warmed as always by her passion. “I guarantee you’ll find far more than you could imagine. For example, I’m sure you know it, but there are park-exclusive flavors that only the machines here can concoct. I’ve been collecting the recipe cards to complete the book for some time, but I’ve only so far put my hands on a few.”

“Oh, I know all about The Official Nuka-World Recipe Book!” She giggled filled with energy, and downed another slug of the glowing blue drink. “Have you TRIED any of them yet! Gosh they must taste out of this world-- But no, August. Funny you should mention recipes. I know I can trust you to keep a secret.” She leaned across the table and glanced furtively over the top of those ridiculous Nuka-Cola sunglasses, lowering her voice. “I’m here for the Nuka-Cola formula.”

“Now that really would be something of a centerpiece to your museum,” he lauded thoughtfully. “But where are you expecting to find it?”

“Believe me, I came here with a plan. I know it sounds a bit like a pirate with a treasure map, but there was a contest, before the war.” She pulled out an ancient piece of colorful paper and carefully unfolded it, and turned it on the tabletop for him to see. On it danced six different Cappy’s, the bottlecap of the cap-and-bottle duo mascots for the park, and each listed cryptic hints as to where to happen upon them. “I’m sure you’ve noticed my amazingly superb Cappy Sunglasses by now. I know you notice everything--but you wouldn’t notice what these babies see unless you wore them! There are Hidden Cappy’s scattered all over Nuka World, and each one has a piece of a secret code. Can’t see them without the decoder glasses! The way the contest went, if someone could find every single one, and decipher the code, they got to meet hh--heh! John-Caleb Bradberton himself!” She got too excited to control her volume and cooled her enthusiasm a bit with the last third of the Quantum.

“Refresh my memory... That’s the man that invented Nuka-Cola?” For as much as he loved to listen to her speak with such mirth about the museum she curated in the Capital Wastes, he needed to do his best to keep her on topic.

“Of course! The one and only! I know what you’re thinking. Bradberton’s long gone, who cares about the contest anymore? Well, I’m betting he’s got the recipe in his office. There’s more to this story, and you just might like this part. I promise it’ll be worth your while. Bradberton didn’t just create soda formulas. He was a genius inventor of all kinds of fantastic things. You just might find something to your liking--provided we can get into his office,” she sang.

“For as much as I know you’ve memorized a map of this place by heart, I don’t like the idea of you wandering around. This place is bounds more dangerous than Evergreen Mills or Paradise Falls. In case you haven’t noticed, their new Overboss was just now casually bragging about having killed a super mutant one-on-one in a cage fight.” He picked up the list of hints as to where to find the ten hidden Cappy images, and tucked it into the pocket at the hip of his left leg of Marine armor. “Let me. It seems I have to scout out the zones regardless, so I might as well help an old friend achieve one of her wildest dreams at the same time.”

She snort-giggled in glee and put the glasses on him, and clapped her hands in delight.

“Dashing! Ohhhh, August, I’m the happiest girl in the Wasteland. I couldn’t have gotten luckier, running into you. It’ll be a snap for you!”

“In exchange for me doing this for you, you have to promise me you won’t leave Nuka-Town. There’s plenty to eat and drink here, and they let paying customers sleep in the Market. I know you didn’t come here for simple memorabilia, but it couldn’t hurt to look around. Maybe even spend some time in the Nuka-Cade, if you’re feeling especially ambitious?”

Sierra sat up straight with her hands folded neatly in her lap, and nodded.

“I’ll stay put. I promise.”

“Thank you.” He smiled and stood, putting his cap back on. “There aren’t any Nuka-Mixer Stations in Nuka-Town, but I’ll see if I can’t bring you back a few Nuka World exclusive flavors. I’m going to come back and check on you so often, all right?”

She squealed, but put her hand over her own mouth this time when he flinched.

“There’s plenty in Nuka-Town to keep me occupied. I’ll let you get back to what you came here for. What did you come for? Couldn’t resist the thirst-quenching power of Nuka-Cola?”

“Thirst has something to do with it, I’ll say that much.” He mussed her hair. “Perhaps it’s serendipity to run into an old friend.”

“I couldn’t agree more!”

He pocketed the sunglasses once he was out of her line of sight, and he sighed with worry as he slipped into the round, boarded up building at the center of the thoroughfare.

Go to Next »»»

[sorasunao]

Garish Room #28 [2017 ver. member A to Z case of Ruki] part 2

- No (work that you would not like to receive by being a member of the Gazette)

Ruki: Unexpectedly, there are so many questions that confuse me (laughs). What could it be? There are too many things and it is difficult for me to choose, but I absolutely can't stand it when I notice something like how they make fun of the band. Though it didn't yet happen that I was invited to such places (laughs). I don't like to go out with someone together, and also I don't go out to places which I don't know well. Or those where I could get attention or something like that ... well, since I'm invited to such places, I appreciate it, of course, but if I decide not to go out, I do it without any hesitation. Still, I don't have such feelings that I don't like the fact that the fans see me. Since if I look at them myself, it wouldn't be cool, right?  But that's strange, when we're on the radio, I feel quite normal. For example, the request to send numerous stories for us was favorably received.

- Obtain (recently acquired thing that increased the intensity of sensations)

Ruki: ...... There is no such. There are also no such things that I want at this moment.

- Picture (photo of the times Dainippon itan geisha)

Ruki: This time on the interview page I chose photos from the times of "Gama", but this hat, there was not even one time that I put it at any performance. Since at that time there were so many cosplayers (which cosplayed it). Probably, it wasn't difficult to make that hat, right? In fact, I was not going to choose a hat of this shape. Although I hoped for a smaller hat, in the end it turned out to be so huge. In addition, when we have finished, its size was about 2 times larger than in this photo. But having remade it a little, somehow we got this size. By the way, Reita, when it comes to choosing past photos, from a long time, he always says "this is 舐 ~ zetsu", doesn't he? (laughs)

- Question (things you are skeptical of)

Ruki: If I have to cite just one example, then I think that probably it will be "why in the films set a certain framework." This is my personal impression, but it seems to me that Japanese films have become not interesting. Realistic scenes of murder do not show at all, right? But, for example, if we talk about Korean films, the image is very realistic there, right? I wonder why there is such a difference. Strictly speaking, I have an indie mentality, so I think something like "I wonder why it happened that this or that has become to sale this way?" I mean, if to remove all useless things, there will be many things which are rather intricate. Now the dramas are also quite uninteresting. What about "Nigehaji"? I watched it, but only one episode (laughs). Then I turned it off immediately. Once it became a hot topic of discussion, I wanted to see superficially what it is like. I thought that it probably should be interesting. So I felt "this is the so-called way of mass media to extol everything" or something like "don’t you think it's pretty suspicious?" Then, this doesn't very apply to "Nigehaji", but is there really no tendency now to create what any fool can understand?  If this continues, then the ability to think will quickly run out, right?

-  Resistance (not subject to discussion part)

Ruki: I have a lot of things that I don't concede to others (laughs). And I do not concede even in one thing. I am completely unyielding, but compared to past times, I think I became more tolerant towards the fans. Earlier, when they told me something, I was, on the contrary, absolutely adamant. It also happened that I was viciously behaving. Now I think that, of course, there is something that I want to do by myself, but it is also our duty to make everything understandable to others, and bring it to them.

- Sexy (a favorite part of the female body and gestures that excite the feelings of men) 

Ruki: Before I used to prefer when they were pretty nude, but now I like it better when not naked (laughs). But nevertheless recently I didn't feel something like "as for me, it's sexy."  Already quite a long time, looking at the actresses or something like that, I felt something like that, and it used to happen that I thought "well, she's not bad."

-  Treasure  (treasures that you really  appreciate)

Ruki: Well, it probably all comes down to the band. When the main feelings become in the style of "to sacrifice everything", I think that's how it is. 

- Under ( kohai, which you accept)

Ruki: Now there isn't particularly anyone about whom I'd think something like "oh, they are cool!".

- Violence (episodes when you were very angry)

Ruki: Was there something ...? I was angry with the manager, who is no longer with us, if I really need to mention something, then let it be. Other members, I wonder what they will say? In my case, it seems like there was no such case when I would be angry until unconscious.

- Warning (what do you pay attention to in your daily life) 

Ruki: I am aware of the fact that whenever possible I have conversations with other personalities. When you do such kind of work, there are also times when you have to communicate very closely, so from a certain time, I tried not to communicate in this style. In any case, first of all I try to understand the feelings of my casual interlocutor. And even if I get angry, I do it exactly because I digest what they've said (laughs). It also happens that I can accept it. Next, what I try to follow is to stop expressing myself in such a way as to attract the anger of others (laughs). Also, every day I try to get up on time. I set the alarm on the phone to ring about 10 times for 1 hour before I need to get up, but I turn off all of them completely.  It was also that after answering "yeah" to the manager, who had already arrived and was waiting for me in front of the house, I immediately fell asleep again (laughs). Earlier, Aoi was also often late, but now me and Uruha are two main culprits.

- X-factor (what would you like to try to do in the future that you never did before)

Ruki: Surprisingly now there is no anything like this, because almost every time I want to do something, it turns out. However, something as I'd like to try a bungee jumping, I definitely haven't such wishes.

-  Yesterday  (what did you do yesterday, from the moment when you woke up before you went to bed)  

Ruki: Yesterday I didn’t wake up in the morning. It happened at night. And then I watched a lot of films at home. There was South Korean film starring Bung-hun Lei, but this movie was boring and so I got angry (laughs). Ah, that question about what made me angry is just about that, isn’t it? In Korean movies I like to find something hard (violent), and I like films with high average score. In my list there are also action movies, in which there is a chase of something unusual, and in which they consider social problems, or films recommended to me by good people. I don't watch something like science fiction and anime. Something like "Avatar" and his glowing eyes, this style is a little off to me (laughs). I watched "Batman", but couldn't "Spiderman". Most of all I like things close to dark themes. In general, I watch a lot of movies, and since the beginning of this year I already watched about 6 films. [* interview was Jan, 06]

-  Zero (what you would like to get rid of)

Ruki: For example, unpleasant incidents, they quite strongly affect me. What I did myself doesn’t hurt me at all, but if someone does something to me, it hurts me a lot (laughs).  Therefore, there are many such things. When I think that I screwed up in the video, it offends me, because I want to do it well. Well, we have to do everything so that this won't happen. And it was that I, altering everything, corrected the video I had already shot in the middle of the night. In this I was pursued by that "part of me that doesn’t concede to anyone".

translated from japanese to russian by shimizu_ran.vk for the_gazette_quotes.vk

translated from russian to english by me

as always thx for reading and sorry for mistakes ^^

[krisrampersad]

Dr Shadow’s Snakes’ Symphony. A Crapeaux Melody of the Great Flood: Where the Ganges Meet the Nile Tribute to Native Swamp Heroism (In Memoriam Dr Winston Bailey, The Mighty Shadow. Oct 4 1941 –Oct 23 2018)

Last night a Shadow on my ceiling creep

There only to disturb my sleep

From thin air

It appear

Just so, just so

Out meh room the warmth did flow!

It mumbling: Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

Shift yuh carcass shift yuh carcass

Drink if yuh drinking, dance if yuh dancing

Let me do my thing, Let me do meh thing

I close meh eye to shut it out

Trying hard not to shout, Get Out

In cape and gown

So unlike a clown

Behind meh closed eye, it hanging, Oh bother!

In big brimming hat like a Midnight Robber!

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

I am not a bad boy, but I cannot help it

I am not a bad boy, but I cannot help it

It quips

Once black, with mud, now filthy brown

Dripping slime from toe to crown

A skeleton with a Stranger staring glance

And in the Obeah Man Same Old Khaki Pants

‘Where you from? The swamp? You goon!’

‘Yeah’ it rejoin, ‘from Caroni lagoon!’

I say,

You looking like a booboo but yet the people love you

Admit it is Obeah, yuh woking Obeah

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

Startled I ask: ‘Marn, you have no decorum?

To come without invite into a woman’s bedroom?

‘Cook curry okroo, Cook curry okrooo!’

It crowing! Why? I don’t know!

‘Ah drinking babash in this fo-rum’

It adds, eyes glazed, false teeth falling out he gum!

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

Cook Curry okroo, Cook curry okroo

And bring me some babash in this fo-rum

It croons

‘Why you quoting me blog

I say to the fog

You have a lot of cheek

’Tis not yuh style this doublespeak

‘Now I too start to feel the feeling

To Make Music, like the Bassman symptoms catching!

Pom pom peedee pom, pom, pom pom peedee pom,

Pom pom peedee pom, pom, pom pom pom, pom pom pom

‘Hold Strain! ‘Tis you I quote hee hee ,’

The Shadow says to me in glee, Demkorissy

‘Now Scratch Meh Back Fuh Me,

Welcome me to yuh literarti!

Ent yuh Blog Demokrissy, singing to UWI all and sundry

Same symphony as the Shadow: ‘What Wrong With Me?’

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

Am I ugly or what? Bad lucky or what?

It asks, rhetorically.

‘So what wrong with you?’ annoyed, I ask.

‘You think is Carnival Dimanche Gras at the Queen’s Park?

When they say rag wave yuh rag,

When they say flag, wave yuh flag

Marn, you have it all wrong --

Wait! What’s dat? Is it ah ‘mergency horn?’

Somebody would horn you, you better believe it

Somebody go horn you, I hope you could take it partner

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

The Shadow steups like me, ‘You looking for horn?

What jammetry woman! You know this place since you born!

They still sleeping sound, and will be till late morn

From ODPM will sound no disaster horn, Get On!’

‘On with yuh story,’ then I say. ‘Why you really here?

Why you leave the lagoon, Janette couldn’t keep you warm dong there?

Out the window, watching the flood, he mutter

‘Flood! And still WASA pipes and Yuh Garden Want Water?

If ah cudda this/ And if yuh shudda, that

You wudda this/And yuh wudda that

No commonsense in this nonsense if yuh ask me,

Doc, we not Stranger gyul, come meet meh family  

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

The garden want water, the garden want water

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

‘Doc the last time we meet, you so nicely me greet

And then offer to help with meh Story of Life to treat

Now instead of biography

You goin have to write meh obituary

‘In time’, I say then, ‘now Judgement Day come

And we have to change the chorus from Pom Pom Peedee Pom’

I ask, ‘What change the chorus, you say?

You prefer if we switch to Dingolay?

‘Dingolay, yea, write how I Make Music sweet

In honeyed tones that bees hum and birds tweet

Tuned to the calls of cicadas cocricos and kiskadees

The breezes, trees, seas, and the crapeaux melodies

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

Music fills the world with happiness

Plenty sweetness and togetherness

Music have no friends or enemies.

Everybody, Could Dingolay

‘So why you come by me for Shadow

Me and you eh no real pardner you know’

He say ‘Doc, I hear you, too, was planning to forget the media

To plant bhajee in Hard Bargain an’ rewrite the encyclopedia

Just like how I was going to leave Calypso

To go and plant peas in Tobago’

’Cause every night I lie down in meh bed

Ah hearing a Bassman in meh head

And Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

I say, ‘Yea boy, too much bobol, I couldn’t make the grade

I put on meh garden boots, bury the doctorate in shade!

Try as I might

It was a great fight

To get the lagoon bush outta meh head

But as you well know promises doh butter bread

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

I’ve got One Life to Live

The most that I can do Is the best that I can do

The rest is up to you I am only passing through

‘I come in peace,’ the Shadow softly whispers

‘On meh way to get me Doctor of Letters

Imagine that! A Doc, me, this Les Coteaux Jumbie

I trusting this message to you, give to UWI dem fuh me.

Doctor K, you have a Doc too, give me some advice

What troubling me? I’ll be more precise!

I wonder what they know ‘bout human rights

A human have a right to live like a human

A wo/man have right to work well

A wo/man have right to be paid well

Remind them what I said, about When I am gorn

In Jump Judges Jump, how my name will live on

All who condemning, I speaking to you,

Keep on condemning till your time come too

Be careful don’t come down to hell

I go rip off your gizzard, put it in a coconut shell

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

Hard head, like yuh have stone in yuh brain

Or a bone in yuh brain, hard head

‘Mr Shadow, you think I doh know you dead!

Doh try Dat, Doh Mess With Meh Head?

Run! ah warning you, Tan Tan

Take yuh own advice, Run!

What use to you now really is this Doctorate?

Since you gone now to a much higher state!’

Sing boy sing, I remind him, them was lyrics too

When you dead the Government will bury you

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

He say, ‘Is dat self I asking mehself, gyul!

In this flood deluge I had plenty time to mull

About Donkey Days, days of the donkey cart and the bull

Now the joy riders with donkey coming to meh funeral

Doc, is this higher purpose that bring me to your gate

Pass bad boy St Peter’s, to give Directions to them clowns of State!’

With so much love and devotion we follow they direction

Go round so, and come round so

And round the bend and near the end

Then Turn Right And Turn Left

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

‘What matters you state?’ I ask Shadow without guile,

And I could swear fuh true, you know, the thing smile

She say you would ask, that old lady, with who a mile I walk,

In flood, through cesspits, sewers, snakes slime, grime, the bilious ole talk

Sings he: ‘Everybody is somebody and nobody is nobody

We all end up same, whether you born in luxury, or poverty

See two fishes fighting for survival

The big one swallow the small

Then up comes a big shark from no where

He make a grab and swallow the pair

Then up comes this fisherman with his hook

He grabs the shark and make a cook

Next he end up in the cemetery

And worms start eating he

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

Curiosity now get the better of me, so I say

‘Shadow boy, so how yuh get outta the swamp dey?’

Gyul, there appear two Kalpoo boys, they pull off they coat,

And tell me to jump quick, on they sanctuary soca boat

That is what keep me afloat.

I don’t want to gloat

I don't want to sink dat soca boat

Just don't want to sink dat soca boat

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

‘Down way?’ I ask, somewhat skeptically.

‘What you see? How you come? By which tributary?

From Kelly, Penal, Grande or Caroni; or down from Diego Valley?

And why you standing there, dripping swamp goo and so muddy!’

Says he, ‘Is a message I have from the great flood and beyond

That I come to give you, so you could pass it on’

Pirates in the Country/Pirates in the City

Pirates in the basement/Pirates on the Pavement

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

The truth is gyul, them things not on my plate

But it must be because ah this new Doctorate

That I am now sent to tell, as you know too well,

So sing Gyul, sing the chorus with me, Poverty is hell!

‘Oh, don’t set up by La Horquetta, by Caroni no partition,’

Suddenly, humble, pleading, says the apparition

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

I come out to play, I come out to play

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

‘What matters of State troubling you so?

Is this about the Sundar Popo-Stalin fiasco?

’Bout admin-police boots and bullets at UWI protest that morn

Or the bandits that take over tong, more killings each dawn

Or the chupidee plans like moving Columbus’ where he lie?

Or is it something about them Petrotrin files?

I told the Doc then, now I telling you Doc, Big Snakes in the country

Man they worst than mappipire

When they making they racket

They does dress up in fine jacket

Some big fat macajuel

Drink out the oil well

I doh know how they find the key

But they empty the treasury

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

Snakes in the Balisier And they biting hard

Snake in the Balisier Destroying Trinidad

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

  Says he: The time come now, watch the naked hills say

Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pay De Devil!

Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pay De Devil!

Whapp Cocoyea Wadapp Cocoyea!

Whapp Cocoyea Wadapp Cocoyea!

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

‘Yuh vex, that though forged from the love of liberty and plenty, plenty

’Bout the Unwanted Chirren they chase out ah here to become refugee?

When they use to hug up tight tight tight

Oh what a nation oh what a sight!

One love, red and ready, falling and rising dying and birthing

Like the Galleon in the Bocas now with the sharks afloating

I would like to see the day when love would come to stay

One Love, One Love

It would be happiness to see, such a unity

One Love, One Love

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

‘Oh boy, Shadow, doh haunt meh nah, let me go back to rest

You know I want no part of that commess

Like you, I planning to leave the fight for fairness and justice

And go back to planting peas in Boug Mulatresse

Leave meh nah to retire quietly, pen meh legacy

Of days of yore and other fantasy.

The Shadow point to the rivers, filled

Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pay De Devil!

Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pay De Devil!

Whapp Cocoyea Wadapp Cocoyea!

Whapp Cocoyea Wadapp Cocoyea!

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

Oh Les Coteau Jumbie Like yuh goin insane

Is the flood water or what? Are you right in yuh brain?

You working Obeah

Disturbing meh nirvana

‘Gyul, I am not a bad boy, but I cannot help it

Money follows money, Tic Tic tic tic tic arithmetic’

Now Mother Nature say is time to Pay the Devil

Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pay De Devil!

Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pay De Devil!

Whapp Cocoyea Wadapp Cocoyea!

Whapp Cocoyea Wadapp Cocoyea!

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

You already sing how they building new flyover, then was Uriah, now by Kay Donna

You sing, they building super highway straight to Maracas, now is to Toco Bay

Boy, I expose plenty corruption, plenty politricks

I talk ahready about the parliament kicks

When they win the election the poor man eh stand a chance

You say it before, same amount ah corruption, is de Same Khaki Pants

The sugar and the oil belts say, tell them,

Now is time to Pay the Devil

Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pay De Devil!

Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pay De Devil!

Whapp Cocoyea Wadapp Cocoyea!

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

Doctor Shadow I say. Doh mess with meh head

Is you tell me promises cyar butter me bread

When I add meh own chorus, is then, just so, the Shadow disappear

And yet I know that he still standing there, near

Hanging in the air

Signaling ‘all clear’

Yuh know he bring he own chorus, this Shadow on the wall.

The Spoiler, returned, with Walcott, Sundar, VS Nightfall and departed souls all!

The Nobel Refrain,

Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pay De Devil!

Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pay De Devil!

Whapp Cocoyea Wadapp Cocoyea!

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

  To my surprise

‘Twas not a disguise

The choir take over

Filling the atmosphere

To listen, I crossed my legs and sat

Under the brimming singing shadowy hat

Brass band strike up from nowhere

Horns, trumpets, rhythm section and grater

Drums and cymbal, shac shac and bells

And the air ring out: ‘Poverty is Hell’

Poverty is hell and the angels are in Paradise

Driving in their limousine where everything is nice and clean

A poor man living in a teeny-weeny hut

The children hungry, nothing in the pot

He gone by the neighbour to beg for some rice

The neighbour under pressure, "Boy, things ent nice."

He gone in the big shot area to beg

A police put a bullet in his teeny-weeny leg

He gone in the courts and he lost the case

The prosecutor say he have a bandit face

Poverty is hell! Poverty is hell!

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

You sing that ah ready, I want to interrupt

But like they couldn’t hear, or they just wouldn’t stop:

Wake up in the morning and the baby cry

The sugar pan empty, the milk bottle dry

The little boy child on the mango tree

The mango green, hurting up his belly

The young girl bawling, she wouldn’t settle

She wipe she bumsie with stinging nettle

Toilet paper they never had

They used to tootoo in the gully by the old backyard

They rub she down and they put she to sleep

The rain come down and the house does leak

Poverty is hell! Poverty is hell!

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

  Why you singing that now, the flood in yuh blood? I ask again,

But they already on to the next refrain:

A poor man always dream a lot of dream

He happy like a puppy when he dream another dream

He dream that he have a new roof on the hut

He dream that he have some good food in the pot

He dream that he have a rich friend name Frank

He dream that he have a lot of cash in the bank

He dream that he pay all his bills for the month

He dream that he have a new car in the front

He dream that he have to go to a fete

He dream that his pocket have a big, fat wallet

He wake up in the night and he rush for his pants

All he found in the pocket was a whole lot of ants

Poverty is hell! Poverty is hell!

I try one more time, ‘like (Sonny) Ladoo, the lagoon invade allyuh brain?

With coral snake, scorpion, caiman, anaconda we try the swamp to drain, in vain,

But the music my protest drown out

And they finish he calypso, almost in a shout!

Ten little children, four dumplings

Mummy got to slice them thin, thin, thin

A piece for a boy and a piece for a girl

A piece for the neighbour daughter Merle

The cat in the corner looking to beg

Little Jack Horner kick him in the leg

Go in the room and look for a rat

The rat in the roof, he know about cat

Now the cat see a chickichong (yeh-yeh!)

He rush for the chickichong

But the poor little chickichong

Flew away like a chickichong

Then cockroach gone in the condensed milk

Mama get vex for she condensed milk

Who leave the condensed milk open?

“Come here you picky head, good for nothing!”

Mama get vex and she blood get hot

She buss some lash in they you-know-what

Poverty is Hell! Poverty is Hell

So much pain in they voice, I sit up with respect

You shudda long time with Doctorate marn, be decked

Now what it is you want me to know?

You have my attention, Mighty Dr Shadow!

You looking like a boo boo and yet everybody love you

Tell me, what it is you want me to do?

  The chorus gone quiet, listening, hexed?

All eager to know, what coming next!

Gyul, I come from the flood lagoon by Kelly

Dripping with filth and muddy

To let you pass on meh story

Of the pain and the glory

Of what I see when I went under the water

Of what wonders in this filth like Columbus, I discover

So what you see? Shadow. What you see, tell we, the Chorus chants

With one voice and as if in a ganja trance!

I see plenty people crying and asking why?

Holding they head, bawling, looking up to the sky

We know God is a Trini

But like God abandon we

And now is ketch tail for we

In this the land of milk and honey.

The horror is there plain for all to see

And more so how much damage division causing all ah we

The chorus nod, we have to agree

‘Is so much Tension in T&T

Tension in we body

Tension in meh belly

They controlling we energy

So Mother Nature take charge and start singing with we

So it is Nature’s Plan, cause we get chupidee

Angry, greedy, too much thievery, no broughtupsy

To ease the Tension. Whapp Cocoyea, flood in Grande

Ease the Tension. Whaddap Cocoyea more flood in Caroni

The bickering didn’t stop so Whapp-Wadapp by UWI, the Croissee, in Diego Valley

  For all them running off with we oil money

For all them plastics and more polluting we country

For killing we wildlife and we forestry

And splitting we up culturally

The criminals, the banditry and the jammetry

Ease the Tension. Whapp Cocoyea, Pay de Devil, One Pong ah flood

Ease the Tension. Whaddap Cocoyea Pay de Devil, 100 million Pong ah flood

Shadow sings: ‘So are we feeling the feelings baby?’

The Chorus join in: Yea we feeling the feelings

Shadow sings: ‘Are we getting the symptoms? ‘

The Chorus join in: ‘Yea, getting the symptoms’

‘Swing the thing, Whap Cocoyea

Swing the thing, Wadapp Cocoyea.

Ease the Tension. Whapp Cocoyea, Pay de Devil, One Pong ah flood

Ease the Tension. Whaddap Cocoyea Pay de Devil, more billions in flood

I face off with Shadow: ‘So Is Mother Nature telling we

To live in peace, love and harmony

That’s what you come back to tell we?

That is what why you disrupt meh sleepy?’

‘Is something else I want to leave with you,’ to appease me, he say,

Of what I see and why; it was in the flood down they.

He wave he finger and I see more shadows coming

Creeping like janjee, mapepire, and coral snakes crawling

I begin to shiver, like Plummer I quiver, What is thees?

Are these the horsemen of the apocalypse?

A swamp full of skeletons, shadows emerging

Like this is it, now, the eruption, the crescendo ending!

All those lofty bards treated with disdain

All who voices been croaking in vain

The dingolay band stretch from From Mayaro through Toco

Across to No Man’s Land through Charlottville and Scarborough in Tobago

Old people, young people, everybody

Since First Trini wo/man, the dearly departed Banwari

Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pay De Devil!

Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pay De Devil!

Whapp Cocoyea Wadapp Cocoyea!

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

Ah see in there some ah meh pardners too

Some who was just collateral damage, Asami, and Irmes, is you?

The Anthony’s: Sabga, ABoudain, with a pot of pelau and the ArchBishop too

The civil rights fighters like Sheila and Dana, who tried to keep alive hope

All the lagahoo spirits turn up

And meh own shadow self, drowned and resurrected from the lagoons of Chup  

Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pay De Devil!

Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pay De Devil!

Whapp Cocoyea Wadapp Cocoyea!

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

Poets, priests and prophets like Meh Colligan Pa, Anson,

Walcott, now a sower in the sky, carrying JurisPrudence, ransomed,

Sir Vidia pelting picong at all the coochoor stored in a Nightwatchman’s backpack  

Meh Colligan Pa, with he market gang, Mother Cornhusk, Papa Nisa a bois he crack.

Skeletons and bones from overgrown tombstones neglected and vandalized

Pat orchestrating the pan, some Caribbean Pirates  toting Columbus’ lies.

Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pay De Devil!

Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pay De Devil!

Whapp Cocoyea Wadapp Cocoyea!

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

Poor Peter, still trying to save he drowning legacy, Banwari,

Murdered like clear Claire,  buried in the cemetery for the dreamy

Though they try to build a broad bridge, it sink

With The Other Magnificent Seven all left on the brink

Tears and more tears for the hate-tees aflowing from pains

The Noble Naparima raped and scarred and drained of the oil in she veins

Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pay De Devil!

Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pay De Devil!

Whapp Cocoyea Wadapp Cocoyea!

Bong ga nak, ahhh  bon ga nak ahhh

Is this whole lagoon tribe take up position with he

In this grand concert, the crapeaux and snakes symphony

Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac Pac

Bong ga nak, bon ga nak ahhh

Take this and tell them, is the message from the swamp

What I see down there with meh costume all damp,

What Mother Nature say, why she send the flood,

Not to damage and destroy all, not to add to the flowing blood

You doing that yuhself, aheady; Is to remind you of what you could be

If you stop being chupidee; To remind you that all ah we, ‘bago too is Trini

Take that message for me to UWI

Shout it out from the Croisee to Caroni

Rio to Mayaro all the way to Toco and into Tobago

Across Grande, San Juan, dong Diego, the Creek and in the Bamboo

This is what Mother Nature send me back to say

Then just so, not shadow, but light fill up the air.

I look at the note

Surprise at what Shadow wrote

’Twas not a song of the Bassman

’Twas another’s anthem.

Of people reaching a hand to help one another

Realising they each other’s keeper

The Shadow gone, is then like Selvon I hear thunder

  As the great big chorus retreat too back up yonder

I watch the note in meh hand from the Shadow

And the grand concert for relief to save Trinbago

In the note the chant Nature choose for all to render

To honour the people, little people, who became great big saviours

Once upon a time there was a magic island

Full of magic people.

Let me tell you a story

'Bout their pain and their glory, oh yeah.

Many rivers flowed to this naked isle

Bringing fear and pain

But also a brand new style.

And of all these rivers that shaped this land

Two mighty ones move like a sculptors hand.

And today those hands, across the land, man, they're still landscaping.

And there's no doubt we go work it out, there is no escaping.

As the river flows there are those who would change its passage.

But every common man got to under-stand up and send a message.

So put up your hand if you understand now.

Come.

See how we moving, watch how we grooving

See how we step in style.

One lovely nation, under a groove

The Ganges come meet the Nile.

Them boys with the hidden agendas, and the mind-benders,

People done take in front.

Various smart men, and politicians can come along if they want.

Cus the people got the power, and the glory.

See how we float in style.

See how we moving, watch how we grooving.

The Ganges has met the Nile

Differences, there will always be.

So let you be you, and I'll be me.

That's the damn ting self that makes it sweet.

Brother bring your drum, leh we start to beat.

Don't mind them politcky politicky politicky politicky politicians.

And with their politricky politricky politricky politricky situations.

We done jamming and we jamming and we jamming and jam cus we know the story.

Let them fight if they want in this land of a different glory. (i might have this line wrong)

So put up your hand if you understand now

Come.

See how we moving, watch how we grooving

See how we step in style.

One lovely nation, under a groove

The Ganges has met the Nile.

Them boys with the hidden agendas, and the mind-benders,

They will always do their do.

Various smart men, and politicians, dem could come along too.

Cus we moving with the power, and the glory.

See how we float in style.

See how we moving, watch how we grooving.

The Ganges has met the Nile

See how we moving, watch how we grooving

See how we float in style.

One lovely nation, under a groove

The Ganges come meet the Nile.

  I look into the water and see the Shadow, at peace at last

‘You understand, now, why I had to by you pass?’

I look at the Shadow, ‘But that is not your calypso!’

Smilingly, he big brim hat bow, ‘yeah, that I know, I know

But ah passing the baton over

To we prophet bard David Rudder

‘From all o’ we creators and back, as you well know,

Nature, rivers, sun, seas, wind, all energies, as one, flow.

In tribute and memorium Winston Bailey, The Mighty Shadow. Oct 4 1941 –Oct 23 2018

With Excerpts from his calypsoes and lyrics of David Rudder’s Ganges and the Nile

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Do we have a sense of direction that will drive ...http://kris-rampersad.blogspot.com/ Demokrissy: Valuing Carnival The Emperor's New Tools#2 Apr 30, 2013 Valuing Carnival The Emperor's New Tools#2....http://kris-rampersad.blogspot.com/ See Also: Demokrissy: Winds of Political Change - Dawn of T&T's Arab Spring Jul 30, 2013 Wherever these breezes have passed, they have left in their wake wide ranging social and political changes: one the one hand toppling long time leaders with rising decibels from previously suppressed peoples demanding a ...http://kris-rampersad.blogspot.com/ Demokrissy: Reform, Conform, Perform or None of the Above cross ... Oct 25, 2013 Some 50 percent did not vote. The local government elections results lends further proof of the discussion began in Clash of Political Cultures: Cultural Diversity and Minority Politics in Trinidad and Tobago in Through The ...http://kris-rampersad.blogspot.com/ Demokrissy: Sounds of a party - a political party Oct 14, 2013 They are announcing some political meeting or the other; and begging for my vote, and meh road still aint fix though I hear all parts getting box drains and thing, so I vex. So peeps, you know I am a sceptic so help me decide. http://kris-rampersad.blogspot.com/ Demokrissy: T&T Constitution the culprit | The Trinidad Guardian Jun 15, 2010 T&T Constitution the culprit | The Trinidad Guardian · T&T Constitution the culprit | The Trinidad Guardian. Posted by Kris Rampersad at 8:20 AM · Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to Facebook ...http://kris-rampersad.blogspot.com/ Related: Demokrissy: To vote, just how we party … Towards culturally ... Apr 30, 2010 'How we vote is not how we party.' At 'all inclusive' fetes and other forums, we nod in inebriated wisdom to calypsonian David Rudder's elucidation of the paradoxical political vs. social realities of Trinidad and Tobago. http://kris-rampersad.blogspot.com/ Demokrissy: DEADLOCK: Sign of things to come Oct 29, 2013 An indication that unless we devise innovative ways to address representation of our diversity, we will find ourselves in various forms of deadlock at the polls that throw us into a spiral of political tug of war albeit with not just ...http://kris-rampersad.blogspot.com/ Demokrissy: The human face of constitutional reform Oct 16, 2013 Sheilah was clearly and sharply articulating the deficiencies in governmesaw her: a tinymite elderly woman, gracefully wrinkled, deeply over with concerns about political and institutional stagnation but brimming over with ... http://kris-rampersad.blogspot.com/ Demokrissy: Trini politics is d best Oct 21, 2013 Ain't Trini politics d BEST! Nobody fighting because they lose. 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Do we have a sense of direction that will drive ...http://kris-rampersad.blogspot.com/ Demokrissy: Valuing Carnival The Emperor's New Tools#2 Apr 30, 2013 Valuing Carnival The Emperor's New Tools#2....http://kris-rampersad.blogspot.com/ See Also: Demokrissy: Winds of Political Change - Dawn of T&T's Arab Spring Jul 30, 2013 Wherever these breezes have passed, they have left in their wake wide ranging social and political changes: one the one hand toppling long time leaders with rising decibels from previously suppressed peoples demanding a ...http://kris-rampersad.blogspot.com/ Demokrissy: Reform, Conform, Perform or None of the Above cross ... Oct 25, 2013 Some 50 percent did not vote. The local government elections results lends further proof of the discussion began in Clash of Political Cultures: Cultural Diversity and Minority Politics in Trinidad and Tobago in Through The ...http://kris-rampersad.blogspot.com/ Demokrissy: Sounds of a party - a political party Oct 14, 2013 They are announcing some political meeting or the other; and begging for my vote, and meh road still aint fix though I hear all parts getting box drains and thing, so I vex. So peeps, you know I am a sceptic so help me decide. http://kris-rampersad.blogspot.com/ Demokrissy: T&T Constitution the culprit | The Trinidad Guardian Jun 15, 2010 T&T Constitution the culprit | The Trinidad Guardian · T&T Constitution the culprit | The Trinidad Guardian. Posted by Kris Rampersad at 8:20 AM · Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to Facebook ...http://kris-rampersad.blogspot.com/ Related: Demokrissy: To vote, just how we party … Towards culturally ... Apr 30, 2010 'How we vote is not how we party.' At 'all inclusive' fetes and other forums, we nod in inebriated wisdom to calypsonian David Rudder's elucidation of the paradoxical political vs. social realities of Trinidad and Tobago. http://kris-rampersad.blogspot.com/ Demokrissy: DEADLOCK: Sign of things to come Oct 29, 2013 An indication that unless we devise innovative ways to address representation of our diversity, we will find ourselves in various forms of deadlock at the polls that throw us into a spiral of political tug of war albeit with not just ...http://kris-rampersad.blogspot.com/ Demokrissy: The human face of constitutional reform Oct 16, 2013 Sheilah was clearly and sharply articulating the deficiencies in governmesaw her: a tinymite elderly woman, gracefully wrinkled, deeply over with concerns about political and institutional stagnation but brimming over with ... http://kris-rampersad.blogspot.com/ Demokrissy: Trini politics is d best Oct 21, 2013 Ain't Trini politics d BEST! Nobody fighting because they lose. 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Do we have a sense of direction that will drive ... http://kris-rampersad.blogspot.com/ Demokrissy: Valuing Carnival The Emperor's New Tools#2 Apr 30, 2013 Valuing Carnival The Emperor's New Tools#2.  http://kris-rampersad.blogspot.com/ Wave a flag for a party rag...Choosing the Emperor's New ... Oct 20, 2013 Choosing the Emperor's New Troops. The dilemma of choice. Voting is supposed to be an ... Old Casked Rum: The Emperor's New Tools#1 - Towards Constitutional Reform in T&T. Posted by Kris Rampersad at 10:36 AM ... http://kris-rampersad.blogspot.com/ Demokrissy: Carnivalising the Constitution People Power ... Feb 26, 2014 This Demokrissy series, The Emperor's New Tools, continues and builds on the analysis of evolution in our governance, begun in the introduction to my book, Through the Political Glass Ceiling (2010): The Clash of Political ... http://kris-rampersad.blogspot.com/ Envisioning outside-the-island-box ... - Demokrissy - Blogger Feb 10, 2014 This Demokrissy series, The Emperor's New Tools, continues and builds on the analysis of evolution in our governance, begun in the introduction to my book, Through the Political Glass Ceiling (2010): The Clash of Political ... http://kris-rampersad.blogspot.com/ Demokrissy: Futuring the Post-2015 UNESCO Agenda Apr 22, 2014 It is placing increasing pressure for erasure of barriers of geography, age, ethnicity, gender, cultures and other sectoral interests, and in utilising the tools placed at our disposal to access our accumulate knowledge and technologies towards eroding these superficial barriers. In this context, we believe that the work of UNESCO remains significant and relevant and that UNESCO is indeed the institution best positioned to consolidate the ..... The Emperor's New Tools ... http://kris-rampersad.blogspot.com/ Demokrissy: Cutting edge journalism Jun 15, 2010 The Emperor's New Tools. Loading... AddThis. Bookmark and Share. Loading... Follow by Email. About Me. My Photo · Kris Rampersad. Media, Cultural and Literary Consultant, Facilitator, Educator and Practitioner. View my ... http://kris-rampersad.blogspot.com/

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