#i made this to help me keep track of story loc | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hypnotisedfireflies · 9 months ago

Note

Would I be an absolute LOC slut if ask for asked for a little prompt about Tess having to give birth to Ellie on her own and how she had to deal with it all, thinking that Joel abandoned her and their baby?

I just keep thinking about that period, especially after the short story in CN&OS with the Bandit Era of Joel and Tess and them working out of the brothel. Tess, knowing the Madam, made me wonder if she might have helped Tess during that time-period.

Hello, lovely! Legend of Charro questions are always welcome, and thank you for yours!

I’m going to answer this as more of a ramble. My brain is kind of out of Charro-mode in terms of being able to turn out decent prose (we can thank IO and it’s sticky plot for that) so I hope you don’t mind if I do it this way! It might be something I can write properly if I go back to these guys in the future.

The below story ramble refers to events from my western AU The Legend of Charro and the short story, Disreputable Means.

Tess was with Adelaide (the future madam) when she gave birth. The bordello wasn’t under Adelaide’s rule then and she and the other girls were in a bad situation with some pretty unpleasant guys running things. Adelaide met a heavily-pregnant Tess by chance outside the bordello, when Adelaide was being stalked by a patron who’d been kicked out for being drunk, disorderly and rough the previous night. Tess was dangerously low on cash (the money wire hadn’t yet come through) and sleeping rough. She intervened when things got dicey for Adelaide and they took care of the guy together. It was very messy and very dirty. He took a lot of killing.

They were both pretty terrified and in a lawless part of town. Adelaide, seeing Tess’s condition, took her back with her to the bordello. She and the other girls essentially hid Tess in the kitchen. In exchange for laundering and helping Cook, she had somewhere safe to stay, as long as she stayed out of sight.

Adelaide and Tess became fast friends while she was there. To keep her safe, Tess told Adelaide her name was Amy and she made up a story about where she was from and how she came to be by herself. The others probably bought it but Adelaide didn’t. She was used to keeping her own secrets and so never pried into Tess’s.

Tess gave birth in the bordello. Fortunately for them all, the labour came in the early morning when the patrons were gone and the proprietors and pimps drunk and dead to the world. But with Ellie in the house, the secret would get out sooner or later. They took a chance and concealed mother and child in the woodshed for a few days, and then Tess had to leave. The consequences would’ve been dire for everyone if they were found out.

(And where was Charro during all of this? Tess would never bring him into towns with her. He was too exceptional-looking and he wouldn’t suffer town stables. He would just be waiting for her in the wild. All Tess would have to do was walk out a ways and he’d find her again).

Tess went to the post office on the off-chance there might be word from Joel, and found the money wire and … well, we know what she thought of that.

The two women wrote to one another sometimes over the years. It was hard to keep track of Tess, but Adelaide knew where she could send letters and Tess would pick them up. It wasn’t long after Tess had gone that men bearing wanted posters with Tess’s likeness on them came to town. Adelaide now knew who she really was.

Tess had a pretty bad time of it during those early years. Ellie wasn’t a happy baby and Tess almost gave her up to be sent back to Black Creek to be raised by Joel’s family (which she ultimately could not do as in the story). Once the money ran out, Tess’s options were limited. She couldn’t stay anywhere long or she risked being found out, she couldn’t bring Ellie with her because it made her disreputable, so her options for making money legitimately were severely reduced because of these factors. She would stash Ellie with unknowing families, pay them to keep her while she “ran errands” – which essentially meant she was entering banditry to make money. Eventually, she found Henry and Sam and they were far enough away for Ellie to stay with them, permanently hidden.

Despite everything she and Ellie had a very, very close bond. Tess put all the love she still had for Joel directly into Ellie. The life of their daughter helped her to find a way to forgive Joel for what the thought he’d done (thanks, Isobel) and when she was into banditry, that was where she expelled her anger. Ellie never saw Tess angry, and she never had a bad word to say about her daddy. Tess was determined that she get Ellie “right” and that “bringin’ her up proper” was all that could redeem her. The only time Charro carried two people was when Ellie was small and he’d bear her and Tess together.

Adelaide and Tess met once again when Tess was passing through town. She did not have Ellie with her and was very vague with Adelaide about what had happened to the infant. Adelaide intimated that she knew who Tess was and warned her to stay away. Tess noticed that Adelaide had some pretty bad bruises, was too thin, looked like she hadn’t slept. She told her another vague story, something about knowing what to do with men like that, and if she ever wanted to change things, she had only to let her know.

Eventually, things got very bad at the bordello and Adelaide reached out to Tess for help. And did she ever repay the kindness shown to her. There was a big shoot-out between the whores and the men, but by sundown, the bordello belonged to Adelaide.

#asks #the legend of charro #tlou fic #tlou

16 notes · View notes

atypicalacademic · 4 years ago

Text

Starfire 🍋

Starfire is a reworking of Portia’s route. Kodori Yazakh belongs to @greyvvardenfell and Skylar Trevelyan belongs to @ollifree

Previous Chapter

Chapter 6: Thedal [NSFW]

Words: 3.8k

Warnings: manual stimulation, oral sex, brief alcohol and recreational drug use

search; a search

“They what.” Zurkhi’s palms curled to fists on the table. “You say they destroyed-“

Fidgeting in his chair, Mohsin hesitated. Nadia had summoned the Palace’s archivist the moment Balam had told her about the missing records.

“Zurkhi-“

“No, no, what else could it be, Nadia?” His bright turquoise eyes shot back at the archivist. “Valdemar asked you to relinquish all of it?” He paused, seemingly to school his voice into something calmer. “It is not your fault, Mohsin. You could not have known.”

Mohsin watched the room anxiously, his gaze drifting from Nadia, to Zurkhi, to Yazakh standing beside them, before slowly, he nodded.

Nadia exchanged a glance with Zurkhi, before nodding at the archivist. “Thank you, Mohsin. That will be all.”

Rising from the table, Mohsin bowed his head. “Your Excellency. Suasor.”

“Zurkhi.” He corrected, with a small smile. “You have been of great help.”

Nadia waited for the door to quietly fall shut behind the archivist, before she leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers over the table as she set down her empty teacup. There was a short silence, as Balam tried to wrangle her hammering heart back into focus.

Work. Work.

She was far too aware of Portia’s touch against her back, of lingering heat of her body, of her lips. Yazakh’s gaze, drifting down to Balam just in time to catch her rising blush, did absolutely nothing to help.

Work.

Predictably, it was Zurkhi who broke the silence. “I will find the records.” He said. “There has to be a place where I could look for them. It is- it is violence to erase history.”

That was true.

Nadia made a motion, as though she was about to reach for him, but let her hand fall beside his upon the table instead. “In the meantime,” She made a face. “There’s the matter of the ghost.”

Balam cleared her throat, pushing past the flour and sweet pea and fiery amber eyes to find her words and her reason. “A ghost is- a broad term at this stage, my lady.” She said. “I know for a fact that there was- a lot- in that room, but, the Count’s presence was both more than a ghost, and a lot less. I’ll have to find a stronger tether to ground him- something- someone he has a better connection with-“ Suddenly, she frowned. “Who’s Skylar?”

Nadia tilted her head, about to respond, when Zurkhi spoke up. “Not Skylar Trevelyan? He is a magician. Had he been here over the plague, perhaps?”

Balam jumped in her seat. “Trevelyan?” She’d heard the stories, seen the bard-songs and the records from the far East that spoke of the near-legendary strength of another magician who carried that name. “As in Kendra Trevelyan? The Kendra Trevelyan? ” Her voice shot up another octave before she registered the puzzled pairs of eyes on her. Balam wilted. What was wrong with her?

“Uh. Sorry. Go on.”

“Quite possible, I’m certain.” Nadia sighed, a tinge of something like fondness in her dark eyes as she regarded Balam. “I could hardly keep track of those who came and left over those years.”

Shifting minutely behind Nadia to catch her eye, Yazakh nodded. “He often tended to the Count himself.” Their voice washed over Balam, smooth and deep.

You do not know me.

Fucking focus.

Nadia straightened. “In any case, “Lillie,” she went on. “Is Sybilla Livsdottir. The abjurer, an old friend of Lucio’s. If need be, I could send for her.”

“I guess...” Balam trailed away, wondering how much she had to defer to a plausibly dead man’s privacy. “He must trust them a lot. He sounds like he’s in a lot of distress- and, that’s who he- that’s who his spirit called for. And since they’re both magicians with-um-“ Sweetheart. “A connection to him…I’m not saying I can’t make a stronger tether, but-“

“I know, Balei.” Nadia smiled. “We will try to locate this Skylar Trevelyan, and Sybilla’s services are required for the masquerade, after all. Magical tethers or apparitions, or not, I’m sure you could use the help.“ She rolled her eyes. “My late husband can be exceedingly difficult at the best of times.”

“He also-“ Portia added hastily, darting a cursory glance at Balam. Her cheeks flushed as their eyes met. “Um. He also mentioned um. Courtiers. Plural. He…seemed pretty mad at them, my lady.”

“For once,” Zurkhi declared, folding his arms. “He and I are in agreement.”

“Praetor Vlastomil, Procurator Volta, Pontifex Vulgora, and Quaestor Valdemar. Well, and Consul Valerius, if the need arises.” Nadia tapped along lavender painted nail against the table, punctuating the names. “If my memory is to be trusted, these were the four Courtiers who had wielded the most influence over Lucio. Though he showed little for them by way of genuine fondness, after all-” She winced. “However. I suppose the four would be a reasonable place to start. Valdemar will be brought in for questioning, and-“

“My lady?” Portia fidgeted, playing with the ends of her sash. “If I may say something. Plainly.”

“By all means.”

“I mean no disrespect, but.” She bit her lip, touched her cheek. By gods, everything she did was beautiful. “The Count mentioned them all, so wouldn’t it be better to um. Not have them on their guard- yet? If there’s something your Courtiers are - hiding-“ she hesitated, looking from Zurkhi, who nodded encouragingly, and to Balam, who felt her stomach swoop unreasonably. “The Quaestor’s not the likeliest to talk, my lady. Far as I’ve heard.” She added quickly. “Isn’t it better to start with um- someone who’s more prone to?”

“The weakest link.” Zurkhi leaned forward, thoughtfully twirling the ends of his ponytail around his scarred fingers. “I would say so, yes. Perhaps you could speak to Vlastomil, Nadia. The man defers to the bowing and scraping, though we could not say for certain what he might let escape his mouth, that insufferable, sleazy-“

“Zurkhi.”

He threw his hands up. “Am I wrong?”

Nadia stifled a laugh with the back of her hand. “Circumstances-“ She said delicately, her lips twitching. “Being what they are, Portia, would you like to be relieved from your Palace duties so that you may assist Balam in her investigation? It seems as though-“ her eyes shifted meaningfully between Balam and Portia. “You work well together.”

Portia’s eyes widened, like a deer’s caught in a flame.

“I’d love that.” Balam said, tearing her eyes away from Portia to look at the Countess. “Portia’s incredible. She knows her way around the Palace and everyone in it better than anybody else.”

Portia brushed her leg against Balam’s, tucking a strand of her red hair behind her ear. “Me too.”

“It is settled then. If you have any ideas on where to start-“

“Well I don’t, Your Excellency.” Portia laughed. “But I know where to find ‘em.”

Balam had kissed people before. Near-strangers at taverns, mostly, or a face in the market that fell easy on her eyes, freshly disembarked sailors or late customers at the shop with accents and aliases and a promise that they’d never meet again. It wasn’t very difficult to do so- there were enough people, as Asra so often teased, taken by the magician’s pretty black eyes and saccharine tongue as they were by her abilities.

She liked to let them go with a certain indulgent fondness, partly stemming from the relief that this was enough, really. Or all that could be. When all is said and done and the bedside lamps fell to the dark- most of them were suited to what was fleeting. She, too, she decided, was suited to the fleeting.

This, however, was new.

Portia kissed her the moment that they were away from prying eyes, pressing her against the cool stones of the low garden wall. It was a different kiss from the one they’d shared before- sweet, and gentle, the curve of her smile against Balam’s lips, a happy sigh lifting her shoulders when Balam drew her closer by the waist.

Balam was used to the chase, the urgency, the pinning up against walls and fences and tabletops- but this was a new kind of disarming, the kind of kiss that felt as though it was meant to cherish.

She was not used to being cherished. Not like this.

Portia was still smiling when she pulled away. Her hand cupped Balam’s cheek.

Don’t be so careful. Balam wanted to say. I’m nothing that breaks. Nothing that shouldn’t.

“You don’t- mind, do you?” Portia murmured.

Balam couldn’t help but laugh. “Did I kiss you like I minded? Because if that’s the case-“ She smirked. “I’ll just have to convince you otherwise.”

Portia rolled her eyes. “Convince away. But-.” She kissed her again, her fingers carding gently through Balam’s hair. “Mm, no. I don’t think you mind.”

“Understatement. I’ll have to try again.”

She kissed Portia’s cheek, her forehead, the tip of her nose, until she was bright red and giggling, swatting at Balam’s chest half-heartedly.

“I hope you don’t mind.” Balam said softly, catching one of Portia’s hands and bringing it to her lips. “I’m told I’m a lot. If you ever want me to step back, and-”

Portia cut her off with another sweet, careful kiss. “I want a lot, though, honey. If this is what a lot feels like- I want it.”

“Oh.”

That too, was new.

There were people, casual acquaintances, friends and lovers that told her the obverse- that there were times she could be handled, if she tried. It made her skin crawl, their insistence that she could somehow be fixed by well-meaning people, as if it hadn’t been her own strength that built her up from nothing.

Handled was one thing. Wanted was quite another.

She swallowed hard. “You can have anything you want. You should.”

Portia traced the shape of Balam’s thick, dark brows Tangling her hands in Balam’s many dupattas, she pulled her down, so they were face to face. “Uh-huh? Then so should you. Speaking of which.” Slyly, she gestured with her head to the side, where Balam spotted, with a jolt, a familiar tall form stepping out from beneath the garden arches towards the fountain ahead.

“Yazakh, huh?”

Balam nearly choked. “No! I mean. Um.”

Giggling, Portia leaned against her. “You’re not subtle about it, you know? I noticed.”

Helplessly, Balam grimaced. She knew that. Especially when she had no intention of hiding it to begin with.

“Ooh, I think you should go for it.” Portia nudged her urgently. “Go on. I saw them looking at you back there. I bet they think you’re really cute.”

“What do you mean go for it?”

“Come on.” She pulled at Balam’s sleeve. “You weren’t so shy when you pulled me into that closet, were you, honey?”

“I can’t pull them into a closet!”

“Like you can’t get creative?” She teased, relentlessly. “Surprise them. Climb ‘em like a tree.”

“Portia!”

“Haven’t you tried your-“ Portia widened her eyes, and batted her lashes theatrically. “On them yet?”

Blushing furiously, Balam pouted. “I might have.”

She laughed. “Of course you did. Did it work?”

“I don’t know?” Balam confessed. “Did it work on you?”

“Well I’m here, aren’t I? But- hm. They are a little reserved.” She cocked her head thoughtfully for a moment, and perked up. “Guess we’ll see.”

“Yeah, we’ll- what?”

Taking a step forward, Portia poked her head over the bushes, waving her arm wildly in the air. “Hey, Captain! Yazakh! Over here!”

Hissing, Balam clapped a hand over Portia’s mouth.

Too late.

Yazakh halted beside the fountain, and turned around. Why did the look in their eyes always feel like waves of the sea crashing against her ribs? What meaning did it hold that she did not know to decipher?

Nevertheless, she flashed a smile, shaking her black hair away from her face, her eyes catching the moonlight. Her hand fell away from Portia, for only an instant, and that was enough.

“Don’t you think Balam’s really cute?”

Before Balam could think to open her mouth or backtrack or hold back her own laughter, before she could call it a joke or stay back in her place, to her utter, utter astonishment, Yazakh, holding both of their gazes for a long moment, nodded.

Balam’s mouth hung open, but she recovered just in time to blow them a kiss, collapsing against the wall with Portia in a fit of giddy laughter.

“What’d I say?” Portia teased. Grinning, she took Balam’s hand, leading her away from the vine-covered garden wall. “Okay, but we should run. Hestion’s gonna be in way too much of a hurry in the morning.”

Predictably, the kitchens were emptying out when they arrived. The staff were putting out the lamps one by one, folding up their uniforms and packing up the leftovers to take home for themselves. They were evidently exhausted at the end of the day, though they smiled brightly and broke into chatter at the sight of Portia.

It simply seemed to be what she did- brighten and enliven everything, everyone around her.

“D’you really think I can do it, Porsh?” Babouche, a disconcertingly handsome young servant gaped at her, as she handed over the head servant’s master set of keys to him.

“Sweetie, I think you can do anything.” Portia assured him, closing his palm over the keys. “Remember when you organized that flower show? From scratch? And it went so well milady had to give you that raise? This job is just the same thing- different scale, yeah?”

When he still looked uncertain, she clicked her tongue. “C’mon, give me some spirit here. D’you think I’d have given you these keys if I didn’t think you could handle the job?”

“No.” He perked up instantly. “I won’t let you down. Besides-“ he winked. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your-“ His bright golden eyes darted meaningfully towards Balam. “Your engagements.”

Huffing, Portia stuck her tongue out at him.

“Liking the food so far, Mx.Maitreya?” Hestion, the head cook, offered Balam a plate of anchovy chips from dinner. She nodded eagerly. “Balam. And yeah, you spoil me.”

He laughed. “You’ve got Haider Wazim to thank for it. He taught me all about Prakran cuisine when I was working over at Zainaba’s. He put in a few good words for me when they were hiring for the Palace, and look, here I am.”

She wasn’t surprised. That sounded just like something Haider would do.

“Have you been working here for long?”

“Came here right after the plague, like most of us. Plenty of vacancies, you understand.” He shook his head. “For the people who left- or worse.”

Of course. So many of the Palace staff must have fallen prey to the plague, one way or the other.

“As for what you asked, Portia” He dropped his voice to a whisper, gesturing to Babouche to shut the door. “I’ve been meaning to tell you this, but they’ve all been putting their heads together for a while now. All four of ‘em, and even the Consul. If Her Ladyship’s been casting doubts on them, I’ve got to say-“ He said darkly. “They’re well placed.”

“I knew it!” Portia clasped her palms together. “D’you know what they’ve been-“

He shrugged. “No, I don’t like going near them. But- hey, Babouche, tell her what you heard.”

Babouche straightened, crossing his long legs on the kitchen counter. “Well I was out there, bringing the Consul his wine,” he rolled his eyes. “As usual. He dismissed me before I could really see anything, but. There was something about the air in that room. So. I- just waited. For a bit. Outside. You get it.”

Balam nodded. “Yeah.”

“They were arguing. I couldn’t make out what they were on about, and for a minute I thought it was just the Pontifex screaming as they always do, but. But then I heard her, the Procurator, you know how high her little voice gets, like-“ Bringing his palms to his chest, Babouche affected the tragic mimic of a mournful wail. “No, no, must Volta really? Must Volta really go through with it? Oh, but Valdemar-” and they hissed something in return. The moment I heard their voice-“ He shuddered. “I got the fuck out of there.”

“Go through with it?” Portia frowned.

Babouche held his hands up, hastily. “Now it could just be nothing, of course.”

“Of course.” Portia smiled reassuringly. “We won’t bring any of you into anything. But- whew.” She let out a breath. “We’ve got our weakest link, haven’t we?”

Hestion snorted. “Always has been. Just hand her the right kind of food and she’ll sing like a canary.”

“Thanks, boys.” Portia winked. “We owe you one.”

“No problem. Now I’ve really got to close up. Want anything before?”

“Hm. I’ve got an idea. What d’you like to drink, Balam?”

Before Balam could respond, Hestion, incredibly, beat her to it. “Black rum.” He said. “Fetch it, why don’t you, Babouche?.”

She stared at him. “How do you know-“

“Sorry, Balam.” He waved a hand. “Trade secrets. My lips are sealed.”

“What is this place?” Hidden behind the bookshelf at the furthermost end of the library, was the engraving of a snake. Once traced with a careful hand, the walls gave way into a misty shimmer, opening into a small terrace, a hand-crafted rug laid out with a few pillows, closed off from all sides save for the large window overlooking the Palace gardens. This too, was Asra’s magic. Why did he need so many hideaways at the Palace?

Or was it just his usual showmanship, this constant need that he had to prove his own power to himself over and over and over again?

Portia sat down beside her, topping up the glasses of black rum with a smug smile. Her sash was undone, her hair falling freely in brilliant red curls. “I don’t know. But cozy, isn’t it?”

It was. Balam drank to it, clinking her glass against Portia’s and downing the burning dark liquor in one go. Lighting up her chillum, she brought it to her lips, taking a long, deep drag.

“Do that often?” Portia asked, curiously.

“What, this?” Balam gestured at the smoke. “Not very often. Does it bother you?”

Portia snorted. “Honey, I was born on a ship. Grew up in a port town. With sailors. But I’ve always been curious about-“ She reached over to kiss Balam, taking the smoke from her lips. “About that.”

“Asra says that’s a Milovan-“

“Wedding custom.” Portia took an enormous gulp of the rum, and lay back down against the rug. “I know.” Her tone was light, but the look in her eyes was all invitation. She’d be a fool not to take it.

Balam laid her chillum down, pushing the bottle of rum out of the way. She shivered as Balam’s hand skated beneath the hem of her tunic, ghosting over her soft stomach, pausing at her ribs. “Travelled a lot?”

Propping herself up on her elbow, Balam kissed her, tasting rum and smoke and the soft noise she made when Balam bit down on her bottom lip for a moment before she let go. “Not really. I’ve been to Nopal a couple times with Asra, but other than that…memory loss, and all.” She chuckled. “I’ve been meaning to for a while now.”

Catching Portia’s lips in another languid kiss, she trailed her hand down the waistband of her uniform, brushing past the trail of hair between her thighs. Tangling her hand in Balam’s hair, Portia deepened the kiss, arching off the floor ever so slightly as Balam lingered there, her breath catching as her fingers caught the wetness beginning to gather between her lips. Pressing a kiss to the corner of Portia’s mouth, Balam pulled away, with a smile. “What about you?”

“I -“ Her hands tightened in Balam’s hair as Balam found her clit with her thumb. “Not a lot, after I got here. Been too busy- and-“ She bit her lip. “Obvious reasons. God, I’d love to, though. E-ever since I learnt to read I- fuck-“ Balam slid a finger into her, teasing another against her slit. Portia shifted her hips, spreading her thighs a little more as she caught her breath. “I’ve just been- devouring all those travelogues in the library- and- oh-“

“There?”

She nodded, biting her lip. “I can take more, you know-“

“I know.” Balam crooked her finger for emphasis, brushing against the spot that made Portia gasp. “I just don’t want you to come before I get my mouth on you.” Portia’s eyelids fluttered, and she sighed.

Balam kissed her again, catching the sweat and perfume at the crook of her neck. “Go on.” She grinned, her teeth against her skin. “You were talking.”

“I’ve been meaning to, too. After all of this, I’ll just- go everywhere.“ Her voice tapered into a whimper as Balam sank her teeth into the bare skin at her shoulder. “We can go together.” Teeth tugging at Portia’s earrings, Balam added another finger into her, and Portia’s hand dropped from Balam’s hair to pull harshly at the threads on the carpet. “I’d love to go places with you. To Prakra and Milova and Balipuram, and the beaches of Sirenia, and--”

The sound Portia made was half a laugh and half a gasp.

“And the floating cities. All fifteen of them. And the far East, where-”

Gripping Balam’s chin firmly, Portia forced her to meet her eyes. “You’re playing with me.”

She wriggled out of her pants, whining as Balam’s fingers left her for a moment, and guided her hand back between her legs. “Will you fuck me properly, now?”

Balam nudged Portia’s bare thighs further apart, slipping a third finger into her. “Oh?” A picture of innocence, Balam tilted her head. “But I am fucking you.”

Adjusting herself so that Portia was half leaned up against the wall, Balam nibbled up the trail she’d kissed before, her free hand squeezing her sides, her breasts, as her thumb circled her clit quicker, her fingers picking up pace with her as Portia rolled her hips in time with it.

Portia dug her nails into her palm, catching her own hair in her hands, then gripping the carpet,then tangling into Balam’s hair again as she kissed her desperately, breaking off into a quiet moan.

Soon enough, her breathing picked up pace, her plush thighs beginning to waver around Balam’s arm. Portia bit back a whimper, then another.

“Don’t hold back,” Balam panted. “You can come whenever you want-“

“But you said-“

She soothed her free hand down her thigh. “Change of plans.” She crooked her fingers inside her, pressing against her spot, and Portia came with a gasp and a cry, grabbing a handful of Balam’s hair and the curtain.

With an open-mouthed kiss to the base of Portia’s throat, Balam dropped on to her knees to kiss a trail up Portia’s thighs before she pressed the flat of her tongue against her slit, her piercing dragging against her sensitive walls before she closed her mouth to suck on her clit, once, and Portia arched off the wall, moaning and shivering as the aftershocks wrung another orgasm out of her.

Licking a stripe up her thighs, Portia’s muscles clenching beneath her pierced tongue, Balam lifted herself up to kiss Portia again, her nails digging into her ass.

“Good?” She asked, when she broke apart.

“Oh, really fucking good.” Portia ran her hands down Balam’s sides, working beneath the knots and folds of her dupattas. She was flushed further down her chest, her blue eyes still glittering with hunger. “What about you?”

Balam straddled her, offering her fingers to Portia, who sucked on them gently, moaning as she tasted herself. “Don’t worry about me.” Balam said, her eyes darkening as she watched her. “I’m just getting started.”

20 notes · View notes

writingwithcolor · 5 years ago

Note

Hi! I have a question I really hope you can help me with, I have a black character in a futuristic military and I have no idea what hairstyle would be good for her. She spends a lot of time under water, wearing a helmet, or doing hard exercise. Also, if I had her woken up suddenly would she be wearing any kind of night cap, if not how can I describe her hair and do it right

Black Hair in the Military

[Image of Black servicewomen: source]

Your best bet for a military setting would be a protective natural hair style. From Short-term buns, twists or braids to long-term braided styles or locs – For someone in training or active battle, styles that lay relatively flat, can be pulled down and back, won’t catch or snag, and stay out of the way would be ideal.

Military Hairstyle Considerations

Bun

Ponytail

Twists

Braids

Cornrows

Dreadlocks / locs

Hair kept short or shaven

Military Hairstyle Issues to consider

Straightened

I have seen Black military women and people with straightened hair. They likely have more access to hair maintenance depending on unit or assignment, or must use their free time to maintain the styles. There are salons on some bases, and some seek local salons depending on their station. Wet and sweat-drenched hair would want to revert back to its curly state, though, so having access to hair straightening methods to maintain the style is essential.

Major Tennille Woods Scott, U.S. Army [X]

Woods Scott has adapted her beauty regime under some pretty adverse conditions during her 12 years of military service. “In Iraq, I would relax my own hair every eight weeks, which was quite dangerous,” says Woods Scott, who served in the region in 2007 and 2008. “In the hour or so that it took, I was nervous, thinking, What if a rocket or mortar comes in?”

Hair Products

Your character might use local resources in the town they’re stationed and / or those that are on base to care for their hair. What they were initially allowed to bring may vary. If nothing local fits their hair needs, they might go towards natural resources that are generally more universal (coconut oil, shea)

[See: Caring for natural (curly) hair in a setting with no access to modern hair products]

Hair Regulations

For a time, the U.S. army banned many black hairstyles that are easiest to maintain and called them “unkempt.” Many Black people, especially women, struggled under these strict policies, including wearing wigs under their helmets to comply.

The ban has been loosened in many areas, although there are still regulations regarding length and keeping hair “well-groomed and neat.”

Sources and Articles:

US Army PDF: Wear and Appearance of Army Uniforms and Insignia

The Navy Just Gave Women the Okay to Wear Locs, Ponytails, and Topknots

The U.S. Navy Finally Lifts Its Ban On Women Wearing Locs

Night Care

As for the nightcap, I cannot see why your character wouldn’t be able to wear one. A scarf and bonnet come on and off easily (Too easy…they often fall off in the middle of the night!) so it wouldn’t hold her up if she had to suddenly get up and go. Wrapping straightened hair is a common technique too.

Applying this to your futuristic military setting

Examine those rules (both the initial strict and the current regulations). See how Black people feel and felt about them, and consider how you would like to address this in your future military setting.

Could you fix these rules for the better or might it get worse? Your world building should determine if it would be an issue or not. It doesn’t need to be if you don’t want it to.

Featuring at least a few sentences here and there describing their hairstyle of choice, and a few maintenance activities would add realism and representation.

EX: Re-doing her braids during a slow day at the base, or waking up early to do so. Wearing a sleep bonnet; maybe she gets playfully teased by others for wearing a big, cheesy colorful bonnet. A lot of people who don’t know what they are think they’re shower caps.

Hair Stories from Black Servicewomen

I’d like to include a story from this vogue article:

A trailblazing generation of black military servicewomen is embracing the natural hair movement.

Black Women in the U.S. military talk about their natural hairstyle of choice and military service. 17 Images included. I’m only including one here so read the full article. It’s a brilliant resource!

Lieutenant Colonel Junel Jeffrey, U.S. Army

Jeffrey is the kind of risk-taking, chameleonic beauty who’ll turn a disastrous hair misadventure into an opportunity for total and complete reinvention.

The public affairs officer had no qualms about cutting off her long, chemically straightened hair after an abrasive relaxer treatment at a salon on her Army base in Germany caused extensive thinning. She now experiments with new, head-turning styles even under the most challenging circumstances, tracking down a natural hair whiz in Afghanistan to twist her curls. And when a $5 haircut at a barbershop in the Congo left her with what she describes as an Afro “shaped like a microphone,” she laughed off the jokes made by her comrades, cropping her hair close and bleaching it peroxide blonde.

“The recent change in regulations has given me more options,” she says. “It also says a lot about how the Army feels about inclusion. I feel like now it’s okay to be me.”

Disclaimer: I’m a Black American woman with no direct military experience. Those who do have this experience, or have a non-American experience as well, feel free to chime in.

~Mod Colette

Commentary

@itsthemagistra said:

I’m glad much has changed since I was in the military. I wasn’t allowed to have braids/twists but had no access to natural hair care products through training. Needless to say, I was constantly “out of regs” and getting written up for “faddish hair styles”. The worst part is that such judgments were case by case, meaning that it all depended on the point of view of the particular cadre member that happened to see me. Great fun, 10/10 experience.

@the-geek-cornucopia

I love youtuber Jackie Aina and she’s ex military so I think she did a video about black women and hair in the military. Military Hair and Makeup Tutorial

#beks-crooked-glasses #Black #black hair #military #discrimination #racism #afro hair #writing #fantasy #settings #Black women #asks #articles #writer resources

1K notes · View notes

terrablaze514 · 5 years ago

Text

Social Media Woes (2) - Snippet Saturday

Sorry y'all, more snippets ahead. RL makes demands and I have to make some tough decisions/moves. Long story short, I need to calm my nerves, mind and muscles after a super challenging week... With ultimatums and triggers. Thanks for being patient with me. I'll bounce back in due time. So here's a look ahead...

Official posting TBA

Marcus:

Erik (after haircut):

Troy:

Car:

*****

"Yo! Marcus, wait up man!"

The bigger man sighed heavily. "What do you want now? And no, I'm not interested in your bomb plan."

"It's not like that. I need your help with something different."

M'Baku, in his disguise, crossed his arms. "Okay, what is it? And make it quick."

"Best barber in town?"

Marcus narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

Erik huffed. "Listen. There's this chick who wouldn't leave me alone. She's… strange. A serial stalker, and I often wonder what her intentions are."

Marcus smirked, then cocked an eyebrow. "So? Solve it."

Agitated, Erik crossed his arms. "How? How am I supposed to be okay with this? The very first day we crossed paths, she tried touching my locs. Stole my glasses once, too. I cannot stand the idea of letting her get too close."

"Your problem, not mine. Where's Troy?"

Erik rolled his eyes. "T'Challa ain't home. Can I get your best barber's number, please?"

"But what about the Royal family in Wakanda?"

"It'll grow back. I just need to get rid of this distraction of hers."

Marcus retrieved a pen and paper from his jacket and scribbled. "Good luck. I'm about to be late for study hour."

Erik bit back a chuckle. "Relax man," he said as he took the paper. "At least you get to be sent out here as a spy. Us two have to study."

Marcus chuckled. "I already graduated, silly. Good luck, though."

~•~•~

It's been nice crossing paths with Marcus, but there are more pressing issues at hand.

You.

Erik made it out of the barbershop and spotted Troy Clue in his convertible.

"So where are we headed?" his cousin asked.

"Make it Jugo Juice or Tim's. I'm starved!"

Troy revved the engine to hide the loud growl in his own stomach. "Actually, Boston Pizza has special discounts today. Let's see what they've got."

Erik smirked. "All that fattening stuff? Really, Cuz? I could've sworn your Pops has a vendetta with them."

By now, they were already on the go.

"But Uncle said it's cool, especially when we're with a group of people."

Erik looked around. "And, where is this group?"

"At school. That's why I'm headed in that direction first."

Erik sighed. "As long as we don't see that stalker, I'm good."

Troy made a knowing glance. "You sure? I mean, I've been tracking her IP address for a while and she's spent the previous night Google searching your name."

"What time was that?"

"Around 1:30am. Straight from her dorm room."

Erik's mouth opened and closed when his phone dropped from his hand.

"I know it sounds crazy, but-"

"How do we keep her away from Wakanda? I know that piece of information remains hidden from the world, but this entire situation is giving me trust issues. When it's my turn, I want to open Wakanda's borders and put a stop to the atrocities Black people experience... But she presents a frickin' setback!"

Troy cocked an eyebrow. "Ahem. We won't know until we fight for the mantle. Regardless of who wins, I will gladly open Wakanda's borders. However..."

As they pulled up at the parking lot, Troy gave Erik a stern look.

"What makes you think she's more powerful than you? Powerful enough to ruin your leadership, or chances of success? You've always been the smart one."

Erik's eyes lit up. "Hol' up, Cuz. I got it."

"A solution I presume?"

"Nah... Even better." A triumphant smirk brightened his features. "It requires grit, but I'll need your help on this one."

"Oh?"

"Let's order some pizza and all that good stuff, host a party at our luxury dorm, and..."

Troy tried his hardest not to laugh. "And?"

"Don't laugh!" Erik snapped. "It's time to concentrate. Or else I'll tell the others back home why Shuri's better than you!"

"Okay, okay! So what is this game plan?"

Erik bit back a chuckle, grabbed his cousin by the collar and whispered his vile ideas in his ear. Troy's eyes lit up, followed by a low whistle and pulled away.

"You're sure about this?"

"Let's get to it."

Erik unbuckled his seat and stepped out of the car; confidence accentuated his every move as he headed into the restaurant. Troy's fingers tapped the steering wheel.

"Bast, what did I get myself into?"

Knock knock.

Troy looked up to see an agitated Erik pointing towards Boston Pizza. How'd he get there so fast? Unbuckled from his seat, he stepped out and shut the door.

"Aye, chill out man," said Erik, surprisingly calm, tapping Troy's shoulders. "At the end of the day, I have the end goal here. Now let's keep it casual until then - or else I'll give Shuri a boost. And she gets to rule over you for a year."

Now an agitated Troy chased a mischievous Erik into Boston Pizza. Talk about role reversal.

*****

Taglist: @eye-raq @chaneajoyyy @lifelover4u @shegoego @brittyevans

@iamrheaspeaks @imasmille @blowmymbackout @the-lululemon

@destinio1 @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @that-chick-103 @cassidylikeszayn @supersizemeplz

@ashleychristina73 @laxativerat @jasmine-j @kaykay0829 @chellllz @sistaskeeper @asweet-serendipity

@abeautifulmindexposed @fictionalfantasies @gold3nmind @brooklyn-knights1 @imdiirtydan @quinnbethany @purple-kelpie-child

@emoniclark22 @cosmicmelaninflower @mood-alwayssad @badgalteezy @maxyya @gameoverr1 @wakandaforeverwrites

@ljstraightnochaser @muse-of-mbaku @princessstevens @bribrisback @killmongersgurl @hoopshoney @wakanda-inspired @daytimeheroicsonly @killmongurl @wakanda-4evr @thiccdaddy-mbaku @queengodiva619 @amirra88 @marvelheaux @wheredidallthedreamersgo @mellifluousbabe @bakarilennox @vikkidc @blackpinup22 @hidden-treasures21 @sheontcare ★ @heyauntieeee @tip222u @cyddthekiddd @jbrizzywrites @raysunshine78 @bamakakechick @ultracrii @sotalife @dessianna1 @wakandantings @sup3rn0va13 @baby-gurlkillmonger @littleica @nola4life2 @mysticwritess @fonville-designs @shaelyn102 @thememoireeofme @daughterofyeezus @85love @madamslayyy @stark-red19 @mrsalexkurosaki @dawva @thewavytavy @purpleskiesxhopefuldreams

#tb514fanfics #social media woes #erik x reader #t'challa #m'baku #erik stevens #bpwriters #black panther #snippet saturdays

77 notes · View notes

eerythingisshaka · 6 years ago

Text

Will the Bell Ring? Pt. 2

Part 1

(Erik Killmonger x Black!OC)

Word Count: 4.3k

T’Challa has been in town for a few weeks now, no date determined for when he would return to Wakanda, so his time spent in the States mostly meant working at the outreach center, being a liason for international affairs from time to time, and also dating begrudgingly. It is Erik’s doing to try and get T’Challa out there on the prowl again since Nakia seemed not at all pressed to stand by for him.

Even though the outreach center in Oakland is an assignment T’Challa bestowed upon her to satiate her need to help others on Wakanda’s behalf, she found a way to not have to stay in one place, as she habitually tended to do. Instead of doing the grunt work, Nakia would take trips to try and spread the word of their goals to other communities to grow their cause exponentially.

Erik was tired of seeing T’Challa mope and wear himself out physically and emotionally, so one night he got him out of the house. Pulling up to T’Challa’s place, Erik honks to let him know he has arrived.

After a few minutes, T’Challa steps out in a brown tunic, pants and sandals trotting to Erik’s car.

“Aye, whoa, hey! The hell you got on man?” Erik leans over talking out of the passenger window.

T’Challa tries the door but it’s locked. “N’Jadaka, I am in my clothes. These cost more than your mortgage payments.” He tries the door again. “Unlock the door!”

Erik shakes his head. “Nah, bump that. You ain’t sittin yo tacky ass in my ride til you change, bruh. I thought you asked for Shuri’s fashion advice before leaving the house man.”

T’Challa bends down, sticking his hand in to search for the unlock button. “You are being ridiculous…”

Erik pushes on the window button on his side watching the window roll up as T’Challa quickly brings his arm out on the safe side.

“N’Jadaka!” T’Challa shouts pounding on the window.

“Aye! Your genetically enhanced ass better not bust my window cuz I know you good for a replacement. Change. Your. Clothes. If you tryna get any play tonight, you better go on back.”

T’Challa spins on his heels back towards his place as Erik pulls out his phone. Work is still hounding him about a presentation he is to give on a new model for the blackbox recording device in Boeing aircrafts. It’s in a couple of days and he still has a lot to finish before going in front of all of those white folk to back it. A text from Kimara pops up on his phone.

Hey, how long are you going to be out for?

Erik checks the time and texts back. I dont know. Shit dont start poppin off tile 12:30 sooo…

Erik, you have your appointment in the morning, remember?

Erik had not remember, thank God for Kimara’s nagging. Oh babe, of course. I won’t be out past 2, 3 at the latest.

I swear if I have to roll your ass out of the bed, so help me.

Chill out! I’m grown, I can wake myself up just fine. My six figures speak for themself.

Erik puts the phone down gripping the steering wheel with slight aggravation. Kimara has been getting extra cranky lately, which was usually a sign of the time of the month, but now it’s just the stress of trying to conceive. Erik looks back at his phone, seeing that the message was read, but no reply. Shit, he thought. That’s not good. No good night, see you later then, ok love you? She’s pissed but Erik will make it up to her in the morning. He could make it up to her when he gets home, but he gotta save that for the doctor’s appointment.

Erik honks his horn again over and over, keeping it pressed for five second intervals.

T’Challa swings his front door open waving at Erik to cease his incessant honking, locking the door behind himself. Erik looks over the ensemble of choice: black slacks with a white shirt tucked in, olive green military style jacket, some all white Adidas on his feet.

Erik sits up as he unlocks the door for T’Challa to get in. “Are you done wasting my time?”

T’Challa looks at Erik. “What do you mean? You demanded I change.”

“And I oughta make you change again with them whack Adidas on, but I’ll let it go for time. I can’t be out all night.” Erik says pulling out onto the street.

“Why would we go out if you have obligations in the morning. You didn’t mention that.”

“Well, I kinda forgot about it cuz. Kimara just reminded me while you were changing.”

“Oh, and how are things between the two of you now?” T’Challa asks.

Erik sighs, turning a corner. “We good, definitely. Just hittin a rough patch right now. You know we tryna have a baby and shit.”

“Uh-huh.” T’Challa says, scrolling through his phone.

“So like, we been tryin for a while and that ain’t been easy on her. She stay thinkin she broken and shit but the pussy ain’t broke, trust.”

T’Challa looks up from his screen. “You know that...it’s more than that to making a baby, right?”

Erik kisses his teeth. “Nigga, I know, damn. I’m just sayin, she ain’t had no issues. She already had herself checked out, the tubes and utilities is all in workin order.”

“Her uterus?” T’Challa asks in confusion.

Erik stops hard at a stop sign. “Can I tell my story the way I wanna tell it?”

T’Challa shakes his head going back to his phone again.

“Like I was saying, she good! That ain’t no issue, so she been doing her own research, eating different foods and trying other shit in the bedroom and scheduling shit out to when she most fertile but ain’t a damn thing happened. She bought pregnancy tests in bulk and shit, like this is all she be thinkin about now. We can’t just fuck no more, it’s fuckin with a purpose, which ain’t as fun. So now I gotta go get tested to make sure my hotel is fully booked for vacation, you know what I’m sayin?”

T’Challa turns off his screen letting out a sigh. “Well that is a lot of information for you to have given me just now. Great start to the evening.”

Erik kisses his teeth. “Wooow, ok, I thought family could confide in family, but cool. I hear you.”

“Erik, that is not the problem, it is your details. You leave in far too many.” T’Challa says, voice raising in frustration. “I don’t want this imagery in my head and just out of respect for Kimara, can you minimize the specifics?”

Erik drives in silence for a minute mulling it over. “Fine, aight. But that do remind me, I was wondering if you have any Wakandan aphrodisiac type stuff to try and get things kickin off more proper. I don’t know what the doctor gonna say tomorrow, but I figure I can get ahead now.”

“N’Jadaka, have you...noticed any trouble in that area before?” T’Challa asks unwillingly.

“Hell no! I get up, I get down, and ain’t had no complaints, 100% on Yelp baby!” Erik says cackling and slapping T’Challa’s leg.

“Alright, enough! To answer your question, sure, there are some remedies that can aid you in that endeavor. I can’t say how good they are, but they are made from natural ingredients so they won’t harm you, that’s for sure.”

“Bet! I’ll call you when I’m ready to try the shit. Now you bein a good cousin!” Erik cheeses excitedly.

Finally making it to the club, Erik and T’Challa get in without a worry of a line or a cover charge. T’Challa is the head of the world’s richest country after all.

Heading inside, Cardi B is blasting as the ladies shake their asses to the beat. Erik can’t help but notice all the big round ass pointing to the sky like shrimp on a platter, and he wanted to chow DOWN. So maybe he looked every now and then, hell it was practically in his face.

“Damn, it’s hot in here tonight, you see this?” Erik asks, looking over at T’Challa with his head in his phone. “Nigga, what the hell you been lookin at this entire time?”

T’Challa puts his phone in his pocket. “Nothing. Oh wow, honeys everywhere, so sweet. Yum.” His tone is monotone as he makes his way to the bar area with Erik following in confusion.

Erik orders some Ciroc neat so his likelihood of a hangover is diminished. T’Challa asks for a beer.

“Uh uh, bartender scratch that. Get him some Crown Royal Black to start off with, neat.” Erik intervenes.

“That’s not what I wanted Erik. I have things to do tomorrow as well.” T’Challa hissed.

Erik sips on his drink. “Yeah, and I assume they entail meeting with Nakia, right?”

T’Challa sighs as his drink comes up, twisting the glass in his hand. “It’s not like I’m groveling for her attention, it’s work related.”

“And that’s the damn problem. You ain’t gettin a break from her to get your shit back on track. Okoye told me you be freezin, but nigga you in a Captain America ice brick.”

T’Challa looks at Erik scornfully. “I am so tired of you all joking about that around me. I know how to talk to a woman I admire like a normal human being.”

Erik flashes his golds with a sly smile looking across the dancefloor. “Ok, what about….her, in the yellow. You like that?”

T’Challa follows Erik’s direction to see a woman with a close cut dancing. “She reminds me of the Dora too much. No offense to them but they are like family.”

Erik nods. “Ok, I got you. Sooo...her, in the glittery number.”

This woman had locs going past her shoulders with jewelry adorning them. Her dark colored dress was skintight with glitter scatter across the neck traveling to the sides of her dress in strappy stilettos.

T’Challa nods. “Maybe. I can get to know her.”

“Now, hang on. You wanna know her for longer than tonight? That’s a whole other system I have to use to map out that possibility.”

“Oh how do you know? She could be very respectable.”

Erik claps his shoulder. “Now, not to be extra, but she can be respectable and sleep with you on the first date dawg. A woman’s worth ain’t based on that alone.”

T’Challa whacks his hand off. “I told you that! Don’t use my words against me, you know what I am saying!”

“Then go over there and get to talkin! I ain’t got all night man!” Erik says, sipping his drink as T’Challa goes over to her. Erik observes as they talk: she looks at him up and down, T’Challa offers a handshake which would’ve been a strike until he kissed her hand. Smooth, muthafucka! Erik thought.

As Erik polishes off his Ciroc, he orders one more for the road. While waiting, a woman catches his eye across the way. She looks like something straight out of a music video; titties sittin up and out, waist snatched with some wide hips that had to lead to a juicy behind if she turned around just a little bit. She runs her hand down her 3C wig as she bites her oxblood colored lips in the strobe lights.

Erik has to adjust himself for space in his pants, downing his drink in one gulp. He looks over at T’Challa, who has the girls arms wrapped around his neck, so things were progressing well. Erik looks back to the woman who blows a kiss at him in the most sexiest way he has ever seen. He curses himself as he retreats, heading to the bathroom.

There wasn’t a line thankfully as he goes to a urinal leaning against the wall. He tries to clear his mind of the sight of that woman; Grandma’s, dirty draws, IRS levies, anything to make his half mast dick go down. It had been too long since he busted; doctor’s orders to make sure they get an accurate sample, but he didn’t expect to be this weak. Erik has been away from his girl too long for the night, clearly, so once he was able to pee, he made a plan to get the hell out of there.

Coming out of the bathroom he practically runs someone over.

“Oh, there you are.”

Erik looks to see the baddie from across the way. Her body is almost flush with his since she didn’t take a step back from his almost collision.

“Are you followin me?” Erik asks suspiciously.

She flashes a 1000 watt smile, dimples and all. “No! The girl’s is just always too long to wait….”

They stand in front of each other for entirely too long given the context of the conversation.

“I’m Chanel, by the way.” She holds her hand out, pastel colored nails sharpened to points with jewels dorning the ring fingernail.

“I’m Erik.” Erik takes it, growing again subconsciously from the softness and beauty of her hand, imagining it wrapped around his…

“Well, go ahead, that’s free to use. I’ll be outta your hair.” Erik says practically tripping past her to pull himself from her magnetic charm. The evening is wearing him down fast as he tries to find T’Challa.

He finally spots him in between two women jostling for his attention as he smiles all shiny and clearly tipsy.

Erik grabs him by the shoulders. “Aight, let’s go ‘fore I turn into a pumpkin bruh.”

T’Challa laughs, eyes barely open as he hugs the women to him, putting them on display. “Iman, Chi, this is my cousin I was talking to you about. He wants to be a Daddy!”

This sets off laughter between the three as Erik grows impatient. “Challa, bring yourself on or you’ll have to be beggin for 50 cent a day to take your ass home.”

Iman, the woman Erik pointed out for T’Challa, quiets down from laughing first. “I’m sorry, Erin is it? T’Challa has been the life of the party here and we were planning to make a little after party for two later, right?”

She rubs his chest, kissing his neck which makes T’Challa laugh harder. “I’m ticklish…”

Chi, a high yellow woman who looks like she used to be a flyer on the cheerleading squad wraps her arm through Erik’s. “And I’m lookin for someone to call Daddy.”

Erik firmly peels her grip off, avoiding her batting fake eyelashes. “Girl if you don’t get the fu- T’Challa! Collect your shit, I’m leavin with or without you man.”

Erik walks through and out the club heading to his car. T’Challa stumbles not too far behind.

“Heeeeyy, Erik! I’m supposed to be having fun with women tonight, why are you breaking my balls, man?” T’Challa says, slurring his words as he whispers something to Iman, making her cackle. T’Challa must’ve ordered a bottle or two to be acting this lit.

Erik mugs T’Challa as he unlocks his doors. “Look like you got one, quit while you ahead. Am I droppin y’all both at the same place?”

“To mine!!” T’Challa bellows as he clumsily opens the door for his date.

Erik drives off with T’Challa and Iman in the backseat being playful. Erik checks his phone as he drives, seeing no sign of Kimara ever texting back. It’s going on 2 am. Erik goes to ask T’Challa a question when he looks in his rearview to see him on top of his date, hands completely up her skirt as she claws to take his shirt off.

“Aye, aye! Y’all ain’t fuckin in my car! Get up off her, T!” Erik hits T’Challa as he drives.

“Eh eh! Stop it, you are doing a lot right now, N’Jadaka. Calm yourself.” T’Challa whines as he lays on Iman’s bosom as she muffles her laughter.

Finally making it to T’Challa’s spot, Erik issues a warning. “Be easy on her T’Challa. That purple running through your ass could split her in half if you don’t pace yourself.”

T’Challa leans over the front seat putting a finger to his lips. “Shuuuush, that is my secret no one can know. Except Nakia, she knew how to….OH! Don’t forget to call me about helping you impregnate your wife.”

“Congrats on fatherhood!” Iman waves at Erik as she helps T’Challa out the car.

Erik waves weakly back watching them go inside, handsy and excited to finish what they started. Erik sighs as he pulls off to his crib, reminiscing on his days or being that wild and free with his sexuality. Kimara is his one and only now, and he loves every minute of it, but the baddie at the club was sticking to his mind a little too deeply.

When Erik makes it home, he steps into the bedroom to see Kimara lying asleep, facing away from him. Erik gets undressed and takes a quick shower to freshen up before sliding across the sheets to hug his wife into him.

“Mmm, stop, I’m sleeping.” Kimara moans, batting his arms away.

“I missed you, girl, that’s all.” Erik says quietly, kissing her shoulder, hands traveling down her side roughly.

Kimara snaps her head back. “Erik, I’m serious, get on somewhere. You missed your opportunity goin out with T’Challa, now you need to rest up any damn way.” Kimara punches her pillow a couple times before flopping down on it.

Erik kisses his teeth sitting up. “So you don’t wanna ask me about my night? How T’Challa is? Anything about what we did tonight?’

“Erik, I don’t give a fuck about nothin but taking my ass to sleep, so if you would stop talkin I can do that.”

“Shit, I wish you was like this when I get off work…” Erik says under his breath.

“There’s a lotta things I wish you would do for me Erik, but Imma save your manhood til the doctor got time to see you. Good fuckin night!”

Erik lays there staring at the ceiling, words completely lost on him to express himself. Kimara’s attitude in all its glory, and he just had to take it. Erik is feeling less and less like a man in his own home. Kimara wants so much outta him, he plays it cool but it was starting to affect him. When that girl looked at him like that in the club, it was a gaze he hadn’t gotten in at least a month from Kimara.

The next morning, Erik rolls around to an empty bed. Kimara got an early start to her day, leaving Erik to be responsible for getting to his appointment on time. He arrived 30 minutes late.

“Erik Stevens!” The nurse calls out to him in the waiting room to cue his turn to be seen.

The middle age white woman goes over the usual height, weight, blood pressure and asks about his medical history. Erik is not a fan of doctors, so this took a lot for him to show up to. But if it was important to Kimara, he’d go through with it.

He was left alone to stare at the white walls with diagrams of scrotums and reproductive facts until the nurse came back with a cup and a clipboard.

“Ok, Mr. Stevens, you will take this into room 3B. Be very sure you go into 3B, you aren’t our only patient today and we don’t want to make any awkward introductions with the others, ok?” She says eyes crinkling as she hands him the cup.

Erik looks at the cup curiously. “You sure this ain’t for horses or somethin? I’m supposed to fill this?”

The nurse looks at him with amused pity, patting his shoulder. “No dear, you contribute as much as God intends. The size just makes for an easier catch.”

Erik mutters a thank you and makes his way over to his ‘donation station’, keeping his eye on 3B. He still knocks before entering just in case and walks in, closing the door behind him. The room was simple, an exam bed next to a tub of lube, with an old school TV on a table with a DVD player and some magazines.

Erik hasn’t been into porn since high school, he frankly hasn’t needed it since. But he was curious what old stuff they kept to get dudes off, so he starts with the DVD titles. ‘Katie’s Goes to an HBBCU’, ‘Black and Barely Legals’, ‘The Mandingo Report’, ‘Santa’s Big Booty Ho Ho Hos’....

“The fuck?” Erik says in disgust. He wonders if every room has this selection or if the B in 3B is for ‘Black’ donors.

The magazines were just as worse with old Playboys featuring blonde bimbos in between sticky pages. Erik tossed them and went over to the sink to rinse his hands off. Nothing in that room was gonna get this done fast so he sat on the edge of the bed and got his phone out. He has one unread message from Kimara.

Sorry I left so soon. I had to go to the studio early today to get ahead on some stuff. Hope you’re doing good!

Erik breathed a sigh of relief as it seems she was past last night for now.

I’m good, you know how I am about doctors.

She replies back. Yeah, you think they all microchipping people when they tell you to say ahhh lol

Erik smiles to himself, thankful to have her words running across his screen. Another message pops up.

Are you done then? Cuz I was hoping I could meet you for lunch or somethin to talk and stuff.

Erik bites his lip holding the phone in his hands, getting some devilish thoughts in his brain.

Nah, not yet. They got pornos here but I ain’t feelin them.

He sends the message and waits a little bit hoping she gets what he’s trying to say. He saved their best work on his computer at home but he hadn’t backed them up for him to access on his phone yet.

A few minutes pass and he’s getting anxious picking up the phone again to text an outright request before his phone dings. The icon of a video message appears and Erik’s dick is already getting hard. Pressing play he sees her come up on screen smiling with the sun on her face beaming in a halter bikini. This is a video from their vacation last year to the Bahamas. They stayed at an Airbnb that was way over budget but worth it. Kimara giggles talking in a vlog style on the balcony before Erik slips up behind her, hugging her waist and kissing her behind her ear.

“You vloggin baby? Look at us, we fuckin cute as shit.” Erik said, speech slurred.

Kimara giggles so hard her eyes close. “You messin up my shot Erik, dang! I’m tryna document our trip for later.”

Erik lays on Kimara as she leans over the rail of the patio, gripping her breast greedily. “You documentin everythin?”

“Mhm.” Kimara nods as she looks at Erik from the camera’s front facing view.

As the scene progresses Erik takes his pants down and pumps the lube from the side table to start working on himself. Leaning back on the bed he gets comfortable as he watches his hands travel Kimara’s body, stripping her slowly and her reacting blissfully. Her moans and foul language keep him focused on his stroke as Erik in the video commandeers the camera to show him entering her from behind. Erik breathes in sharply as he recalls her tightness around him as he jacks himself faster. The camera pans to Kimara arching, her braids splayed across her back as she works herself back on him, gripping the rail for dear life. Her moans become louder and more breathless as she approaches her tipping point, Erik in the doctors office and Erik in the video curse in unison over their shared pleasure. When the camera shows his dick covered in her creamy secretions he barely had time to grab the cup and collect his sample. He groaned as he choked his dick to get every spurt he could into it.

“Alright, y’all better show out in them tests.” He tells his little soldiers as he caps the cup.

As Erik came down from his high, he calls Kimara with his clean hand.

“Hey, baby. How are you?” Kimara asks. He can hear her smiling as she talks.

“Now you know what the fuck you just did.” Erik says laughing.

“And I know what you just did! That’s a favorite, I loved that trip.”

“Shit, you tellin me. I fuckin miss that island, it just brought out a different energy in us.”

There’s a pause on Kimara’s end. “It did huh? Maybe we can plan to go there again soon? It would be a nice time of the year, I got vacation time to take.”

Erik stuffs his dick back in his pants, sitting up. “I like that idea. I got one demand though if we go.”

“Anything.” Kimara says seductively.

“No talk of tryna get pregnant, kids, babies, fertility windows, none of that. I still feel like our biggest problem is stressing out about it. We just need to go on and when it happens, it happens. The doc said it could take over a year, so I mean I just don’t wanna see you going out of your mind about this. You need to relax some and just be you again.”

Kimara sighs. “You can’t plan a trip and think all of our problems are just gonna go like that. Sweeping things under the rug will just-”

“Problems? As in plural? Whatchu talkin bout, Mara?”

“Nothing, I don’t wanna do this over the phone, I gotta go.”

Erik looks at the call ending on his phone loses any relaxation he just gained a few minutes ago.

Masterlist

Ragtag (let me know if you wanna tag!)

@chaneajoyyy @sarcastic-sunshines @muse-of-mbaku @dameshaemonique @fonville-designs @destinio1 @bakarisangel

#erik killmonger fanfic #black panther au #erik killmonger x oc #shakafic #fanfic #black panther fanfic

93 notes · View notes

writingbaby · 6 years ago

Text

Chapter 2 - Gathering Tom Hiddleston

Gifs not mine - credit to the owner.

Warnings: None.

Word count: 1800k+

Author’s note: This is the second chapter of my new multiple chapter story ‘Gathering’! if you haven’t already make sure you go and read the first one and my post explaining the background of the story and other things such as the details, inspiration etc. you can find those on my masterlist, I also now post on the website and app Wattpad, my username is - writingbabyy (with two y’s) also if your name has a line through it in the tag list, it means tumblr will no longer let me tag you - not sure how to fix this! make sure to comment, like and reblog (its much appreciated!) if you’d like to be added to the tag list, just let me know - enjoy!

Chapter two – Gathering

Lilly’s P.O.V

Finally, after miles of walking along dirt tracks and fields we’ve finally made it to town. Unlike the royal family or the rich, we don’t live in town or close enough for a short walk as we simply cannot afford it so instead we live with all the other people in our social class, we all call it ‘the village’. We begin walking up the gravel pathway which leads us finally to the town square which is full of other woman and their families, “okay, it’s time for me to go” I say once we get the end of the path.

I hug Zoe and Ryan, giving them each a kiss on the head as I do “I don’t want you to go” Zoe says clearly upset over the whole situation, as I pull away from our hug. I bend down so I am at her and Ryan’s height “don’t worry, I will be back in a couple of minutes” I say “how about when we get back home, I take you both down to the creek to play before dinner” I say smiling “I’d love that” Zoe says “me too” Ryan says nodding. I stand back up and give my mum a hug before I join all the other girls, she kisses my cheek as we hug “okay off you go, don’t want you to get in trouble for being late” she says rubbing my arms, I begin to walk to where the guards are standing but make sure to turn around and wave before getting ready to line up.

I line up behind two other girls as we wait for the guards to take our names. Soon enough it’s my turn “name.” one of the guards say in a rough voice “Lilly Whiteford” I say, the other guard writes my name down “go through.” The first guard says “thank you” I say before lining up with the other girls. The guards take all the women’s names down so they can check from previous years to make sure those who must attend did otherwise there is some type of punishment as everyone who qualifies must attend the gathering, my line is around the middle of the crowd.

I wait in silence, lost in my own thoughts but soon overhear the other women gossiping about the prince. “Apparently, the prince kills the woman he chooses” one lady says “I heard that too, he does it for fun apparently” another lady says “makes sense since we never see or hear from the chosen one ever again” another lady agrees, their conversation sends shivers down my spine. I also have heard countless rumours about what happens once the chosen enters the castle, all of them being horrible things that I couldn’t even imagine, just the thought of the poor woman who has to go through that is scary enough.

I do admit that the gathering does scare me but I put on a brave face in front of my family as they’re already worried enough. However, at the same time I try not to overthink the situation as someone from my social class has never been picked before so I tell myself that there isn’t any need for worry, the chatter amongst the crowd soon dies down as the sound of a trumpet is heard letting us know the prince has arrived.

Soon enough I briefly see the top of a carriage go past the front of the crowd. I assume the door has opened as the sound of the carriage and trumpet has now stopped and the guards are bowing which the crowd soon follows, a knight stands in front of the crowd “Prince Tom of Dalery has arrived! The annual gathering may begin” he yells letting everyone know. The prince sits at the front of the crowd on a chair that one of the guards brought like he does every year and analyses each girl carefully before he picks the one that will be the chosen one, once he sees someone he likes he will walk in front of the line to get a closer look and if he chooses someone from that line the gathering ends but occasionally he will return to his seat and look for someone else.

Once the prince sits on his chair the gathering officially begins, after a minute or two he waves his hand signalling that line can return to the back of the crowd. He repeats this action countless times as the crowd begins to move forward and get smaller as we go on, there are two lines in between the prince and my line and I can briefly seem him in between the gaps of the lines.

He waves once again telling the guards to let the line move to the back of the crowd again. I watch as the women in the line walk back around to go to the back of the crowd, I even see some of them let out a sigh of relief as the walk, I turn my head to face the front again. Once again the prince waves telling the guards to let the line move again and now my line is at the front, nothing keeping the prince apart from us.

I finally see the prince clearly; he is wearing a navy-blue suit with gold detailing with a white collar along with a gold crown that is encrusted with blue and silver jewels which is quite possibly the most beautiful thing I have seen. My row, including myself curtsy as we now stand in front of royalty, I see the prince begin to look at the other woman in my row as I am standing in the middle I have awhile until he gets to my section. I keep my eyes glued on the floor, choosing not to watch him; I soon hear his footsteps against the cobblestone ground, he slowly makes his way down the steps and begins to walk down the row, I hear his footsteps get closer and closer as he makes his way down the row as I keep my eyes glued on the ground in front of me.

Soon I can see the prince’s feet as he passes the girl next to me; however, he stops walking and his footsteps stop as he stands in front of me. I keep my eyes looking down to avoid looking at the prince “what’s your name?” he asks in a strong tone which causes him to seem even more intimidating even though I’m not looking “Lil-” I begin to say but am cut off by the prince saying “look at me when you’re talking.” I look up instantly making eye contact with the prince, his blue eyes piercing into mine.

“Lily Whiteford” I say although my voice comes out quiet and shaky. The prince looks at me for a few more moments before turning around to face the guards “Lily Whiteford - her, I pick her.” He says to the guard causing me to freeze, “Lily Whiteford, the chosen one for this year’s annual gathering” the same guard announces, I immediately hear my mum sobbing from behind the crowd once my name is announced.

“No” I whisper to myself, shocked that he picked me. Two guards walk up to me and grab my arms tightly forcing me to walk with them as the prince turns and walks away, “NO! LILLY! You can’t go!” I hear Ryan yell from behind us, I look over my shoulder and see Zoe and Ryan running towards me but soon two guards pick them up and hold them preventing them from getting any closer “NO!” I hear Zoe scream as she sobs.

I’m soon shoved into a different carriage than what the prince arrived in and the guards lock the door. “No! I can’t leave them! Stop!” I yell as I hit against the window of the carriage door, soon the carriage begins to move starting its journey away from the town and towards the castle. I turn around in my seat and look out the back window seeing my mother hold my siblings as they cry “I didn’t even get to say goodbye” I whisper to myself as a tear falls down my cheek.

After a while, the carriage stops in front of a castle and I must admit as much as I don’t want to be here; it is beautiful. A man from in front of the carriage appears who I assume was the coachman unlocks and opens the door signalling it’s time for me to get out, I get out of the carriage and shakily stand next to the coachman “thank you” I say quietly “follow me” is all he says as he begins to walk away, I do what he says and follow him.

He soon leads me up the castle doors and opens the door letting me walk in first. I walk into the castle and jump as I hear the door slam shut behind me leaving me alone, I walk further inside taking in my surroundings as I observe the room, the large stair cases leading up further into the castle, the large candle chandelier hanging from the roof, the sunlight beaming through the windows as I walk further inside I hear my footsteps echo in the room.

“Hello?” I say out loud but only hear my echo in response “is anyone here?” I ask out loud but once again only hear my echo. I take a few steps walking in further as I look at the paintings along the wall of prince Tom, I glance up the staircase when I hear someone say from behind me “Hello” which causes me to jump and quickly turn around. I see a woman around the same age as my mother standing behind me wearing a maid’s dress signalling that she works at the castle “sorry dear, I didn’t mean to frighten you, I’m Doris” she says “I work for Prince Tom; what’s your name?” she asks “Lily” I say.

“I’ve been informed you’re the lady that was chosen at the gathering today” she says, “yes, I am” I reply nodding. “As well as working for Tom, I also am here to help with anything you need, I will show you to your room, dinner will be ready in about two hours or so and I will let you get ready” she explains, Doris then begins walking up one of the stair cases and leads me to my room “here we are” she says as she opens the door “if you need anything, I will be downstairs” she says then leaves me to my room by myself.

I gasp as I walk inside, my room has a huge four poster bed and is about the size of our whole house, it also has a wardrobe and a table with a mirror. I close the door and lock it behind me as I sit on the chair in front of the mirror, I stare at the reflection in front of me I let my head fall into my hands so my face is covered as I begin to cry.

Tag list: @theoneanna @fightuntilyoucan @lokigreyvatore @fairlightswiftly @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @lokilvrr @bubbash125 @plainoldblogs @omgimafuckingmermaid @atotallyhopelessfujoshi @elthanin-adhara-black@luenes @devikafernando @wolfsmom1 @legolasothranduilion @chubby-tink

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddelston imagine #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston gathering #loki #loki of asgard #loki x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction

26 notes · View notes

ayearofpike · 6 years ago

Text

Falling

Tom Doherty Associates, 2007 402 pages, 24 chapters ISBN 978-0-7653-5644-4 LOC: PS3566.I486 F35 2007 OCLC: 73502344 Released March 6, 2007 (per B&N)

Matt Connor has been wronged by the girl he loves. Kelly Fienman has been wronged by the suspect she’s stalking. They’re both out for vengeance, but while Matt is upfront and honest about the stunt he plans to pull, he isn’t really honest with himself about what he actually wants to get — and for her part, Kelly pretends that her need for justice is both moral and absent. When their paths inevitably cross, they’re left with several huge questions: what is right? what is good? do these things intersect? is it OK if they don’t?

(Thanksgiving and a child’s birthday were NOT conducive to A Year of Pike, gang. Let’s see if I can pick it back up here in December.)

I remembered being really happy with this book the first time I read it. Like, OK, Pike is taking it easy on the kidlit, having maybe resigned himself to the understanding that his style no longer fits with popular expectations. Plus, this came probably three years after I’d read a recent predecessor, and a solid five years after I’d BOUGHT one — I got Alosha and The Shaktra out of the library, never read The Yanti until just now, and then I saw Falling at a bookstore sometime in 2008. I read it and I loved it: so unexpected, such power, what a shift in tone and characters, what a strong and solid cliffhanger ending — literally! Surely there exists some kind of excited blog record of me finding this, so long after I’d decided Pike wasn’t for me anymore. After spending entirely too long trawling the depths of my LiveJournal, though, I can’t find one.

And the reread? Eh. As it turned out, I didn’t actually remember very much about this book. Parts of it want to be The Silence of the Lambs (and Pike even nods to that) but it doesn’t have the same power. The rest? So much speculation and estimation left up to the reader to really understand this closed-book antagonist, who is actually quite selfish but we don’t get her perspective. She doesn’t even monologue when she has our hero at literally the end of his rope. And the powerful scene at the end? More like a trickle to a halt, made even weaker by the unnecessary intercutting to the other character’s perspective as she oversees the end of her antagonist’s life. We’ll get there. I don’t know. Maybe I was so excited to get this, and to have a book where a baby’s life and future hangs in the balance right around the same time I was raising my own baby as a new at-home parent, that I overlooked another one of Pike’s letdown endings.

I forgot to talk in the last post about the ISBN shifting to 13 digits. This started in 2007: all new books would have a code that better matched up with international book listing codes. These last two have had both an ISBN-10 and an ISBN-13, I assume because he had both of them slated prior to the change, but I’ve decided to just list the newer code for simplicity’s sake. You can do more research if you feel like it, or even convert back and forth between ISBN-10 and 13. It doesn’t really affect my blog, but it’s a change and I wanted to mention it.

So Falling. It actually could have been a pretty straightforward story, with much of the bulk of the book spent exploring the mental attitudes involved in what it takes to go beyond the law, commit some kind of horrific deed that most people couldn’t imagine. The real problem with this story is that it tries to cram too much into it, and the one crime is so vile and base that it renders our antihero’s misdeed into almost seeming unimportant. But it’s not — Matt’s actions are horrible and indefensible, especially as we don’t actually get his villain’s perspective, no matter what someone else did that was totally gross. (I am so a parent: “I don’t care what Tommy did, you are not to act that way.”)

What the hell does Matt actually do? This is where Falling is good: it keeps us in suspense for the first good quarter of the book as we try to understand his plan and how it’s going to adversely affect the girl. Because of course his object of vengeance is a girl — the one who just dumped him, actually. She didn’t “just dump him,” though; she strung him along as “the only one” while she was still in contact with her rich “ex,” who she is now married to and has an unborn child with, a child that could only have been conceived while Matt was still seeing her. And it’s not his, it can’t be his, because she never let him stick it in. So Matt is going to fake his own death by crashing a personal aircraft in the depths of the Pacific Ocean. Meanwhile, he will parachute to a waiting boat, anchored in a shallower area, and assume a new identity until he can carry out the second part of his plan: kidnap the baby, months later, after everyone has forgotten his involvement with the woman.

Kelly is one of the FBI agents assigned to the kidnapping case. She’s actually just back on the job after a tragic and devastating incident with a previous suspect that has taken out a good chunk of her GI system. And this is where Falling has problems: this second story, totally unrelated to and unnecessary for understanding Matt’s motivations, is clung to and pushed on us constantly through the whole book, even as it threatens to be a more engaging tale of horrific glee. Like, I get why Pike didn’t just write this one (out of concerns of being accused of ripping off Thomas Harris) but this is really TWO suspense stories, and he hasn’t properly fleshed out the tale of Kelly and the Sex Murderin’ English Teacher.

Because that’s what’s happened: three-four months before the kidnapping, she gets pulled into an investigation on a dude who has made videos of himself having extremely consensual sex with rich women, tying them to the beds, confronting them about their obvious infidelity to their rich husbands, and then killing them by pouring corrosive acid on (and then INTO) their chests. She has a Ph.D in mythology and literature, which they need because the dude is throwin’ out all sorts of esoteric references and they think that knowing them will help them track him down. Of course, Kelly has gone into FBI work because she wants to be a hero, and so she breaks like EVERY protocol in investigating the trail of these obscure Asian myths back to either Ohio State or Ohio University, depending on which page you look at. (Does Pike know there’s a difference?) All the evidence points to a doctoral student, but it’s been manipulated that way by his faculty advisor, who is doing the sex murders because he caught his wife cheating with the dude. And now he’s going to kill Kelly the same way, only he hasn’t counted on her being a totally buff FBI agent who actually MOVES THE ENTIRE BED SHE’S TIED TO and makes the acid splash on the ropes, which she can now break to get at her gun and cap the fucker in the back of the neck. Of course, the acid has also splashed on her stomach and eaten into her organs, hence the GI problems. And also her husband is pissed that she went to such crazy lengths and endangered herself, to the point where if she goes back to the FBI he’s not willing to hang around and watch her kill herself. So he moves out and takes their young daughter with him.

I KNOW. This is a WAY more fuckin’ interesting story than oh, boo hoo, she was stringing me along so I’m gonna kidnap her baby. It’s too bad that he drags this shit out and doesn’t give it more consideration. But as with so much literature, we gotta accept the tragic male antihero versus the strong female agent who is still trying to figure out the boundaries of her moral code.

Yeah, there’s still more story. Matt hires a nanny under the table to help take care of the baby, and she thinks they look alike. You hear this all the time as a parent, even if your kid looks NOTHING like you — but Matt’s curious, so he does a mail-away DNA test and it comes back unquestionably that he’s actually the father. So now he knows he can’t just bail on the kid like he was planning, but he needs money to raise him. So he sets up an intricate ransom for his ex and her husband, who has money (of course he has money; why do you think she married him?). Matt makes the dude put $3 million in cash and jewels into a bag, then chase all over metro LA until he finally ends up taking a boat out to Catalina Island. But halfway there, he instructs the husband to load the dough into a weighted box and throw it overboard. Because of course Matt is a scuba diver — this is a Pike book, after all. He retrieves the money and then uses a personal propeller to zip off underwater. And the FBI, which was so prepared for an island drop or a boat handoff, is caught with their pants all the way down.

Of course Kelly is furious, but also curious. She remembers seeing a picture of Matt in the woman’s desk, and asks about the circumstances of his death. It seems that the day Matt’s plane crashed, he had been on Catalina — finishing up his scuba certification. So now Kelly has connected the dots, in a way only a Pike heroine can, but she can’t imagine where to find the dude. But she knows someone who can: a certain Sex Murderin’ English Teacher, who is still alive but paralyzed from the neck down, who knows better than anyone Kelly knows how a twisted male mind works. He grasps the intricacies of the situation immediately and advises Kelly to follow the woman, because there’s no way she’s unaware.

Kelly doesn’t believe it, but sure enough the chick leads her directly to Matt and the baby, set up in a fancy apartment not even that far from the rich husband’s house. It seems that Matt felt like he had all the leverage he needed to get the girl back, now that he had the baby and some money. But it’s not enough — she knows that the dude isn’t ever going to let her just go, and that the only way to be totally free to be back with Matt is if they kill her husband. So Matt, against his better judgment, starts coming up with a plan to murder a dude: drive his boat to Catalina, get him super drunk, and then push him overboard on the way back. The girl, weirdly, insists that Matt has to be on board and actually do the pushing. Which makes Kelly, listening in on her bugs planted in the apartment, start to think that maybe she’s the actual monster, even though Matt has faked his own death and then kidnapped her son. So she affects her own secret identity and moves into the complex to get closer to the situation but also to try to keep Matt from doing something he’ll regret.

Matt actually has no intention of killing the husband. His plan was pretty much always to tag along on the boat and then get the girl to fake her OWN death, and then they can be free and alone and untraceable. But but but, the girl objects, if she is dead and not the husband, then she won’t be heir to all his money! But Matt flatly refuses to push the dude. So she goes ahead and does it. Unlucky for her, they’re being tailed by — who else? — Kelly the Hero, who now has enough circumstantial evidence to arrest the woman for murder. Her father-in-law bails her out of jail, raising more weird questions, and then she manages to convince Matt to help her jump bail and escape with all her worldly possessions. They make it to Utah the first night, but the ten minutes Matt runs out to buy diapers and formula is long enough for a dude to bust in and tie his girl to the bed and be looming over her with a beaker full of acid when he gets back.

Holy shit, right? By now Matt knows who Kelly is and has gotten her backstory, and he knows that she’s willing to let him slide on the whole kidnap kerfuffle, so he calls her with this weird coincidence. But there’s no way it could be SMET, who is totally paralyzed! But Kelly now fears for HIS ex-wife’s life, and flies back to Ohio to do another check on this whole twisted clan. The best thing she can think of is to do a home stakeout with the lady and her new man, the grad student she was cheating with. Only — uh-oh — turns out the dude is in cahoots with SMET the whole time! His whole life, in fact: Cheatin’ Grad Student is SMET’s little brother! Their mother was also a cheater, and died of complications from their dad pushing her down the stairs after he found out. But wait! It seems that SMET actually did the killing, replacing her cardiac epinephrine shot with vinegar, so when she seized in her hospital bed it was the attempt to save her that killed her. Please note: SMET did this as a motherfucking TEN YEAR OLD. From there, he realized the thrill of destroying loose women and employed his little brother in helping to deface and dispose of the bodies.

So it only follows that he’d employ the dude to lure his wife, and was devastated when she bit, and that has turned into more killin’. In fact, it was CGS who was in Utah the night before, on his brother’s orders, ready to take down another terrible, cheating, murdering, bail-jumping lady. But this kid is even more debased than his brother, and is just going to rape and dismember Kelly while his new bae is knocked out from drugs in her dinner. Luckily she has her own syringe of cardiac vinegar, uncovered in her prior search of the dad’s house, and she manages to stab it into CGS’s heart just in the nick of time.

What’s up with Matt and the On-the-Lam Family? No big, they’re just doing some leisurely rock climbing now that they’re free from dead rich husbands or acid murderers. This, it turns out, is Matt’s one final big test to his girl’s fidelity — and she fails big time, cutting his rope and leaving him stranded on the edge of a cliff while he’s rappelling. But Matt’s been here before, because he’s an experienced and expert rock climber (because what the FUCK ELSE can this asshole be good at), and he manages to free-climb up the side of the cliff and catch his girl as she’s packing up the car. So now it’s her turn to be stuck on a cliff ledge, until he can get to a pay phone and call the cops on her for jumping bail. And we’re all like, good god, dude, it took you fuckin’ well long enough.

Of course we can’t just be done, right? Kelly has a sex murderin’ English teacher to revenge. She makes it look like a suicide, unscrewing part of his wheelchair and scraping his wrist veins against it so he bleeds out. But before he goes, he wants to talk to Matt, because they’re not so different, and he’d like to congratulate a fellow charismatic criminal for getting away with his misdeeds. And then he dies, and Kelly swears off FBI work so that maybe she can go back to her family and actually appreciate it and be appreciated by them.

Um ... what? But yeah, that’s the end of Falling. Either one of these stories would have been better served by itself, unless he could have given us Kelly’s necessary backstory in the beginning rather than trying to make everything happen at the same time. It comes across as excessive and unnecessary, and makes the ending fall flat. And when you have a blah ending, it doesn’t matter how vibrant the characters have been, or how real and horrific their struggles, or how much you sympathized with them throughout the narrative. All you remember is the “um ... what?”

2 notes · View notes

elisabettacormac · 3 years ago

Text

CHARLIE JANE ANDERS: I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW

CHARLIE JANE ANDERS

I’ll have you know

“Tell me about your dreams,” Dr. Webbo says, without looking directly at El. Instead, she keeps her gaze focused on the middle distance, because El’s vitals and medical records are scrolling across her corneas.

“Boring. Weird,” El says. “A lot of shoe salesmen trying to get me to wear birdcages on my feet. I wake up feeling amazing, though.” Dr. Webbo’s private office looks just like a secluded meadow full of wildflowers.

“Hmm. It says here that you’re only on the most basic sleep package. Your dreams are keeping you young, but they’re not teaching you anything.” Dr. Webbo refocuses her view, and now she’s staring right at El. “You’re a hundred years old now—happy birthday, by the way!—so it’s more important than ever to keep learning.”

“What if I don’t want my dreams to teach me?” El says. “I still learn the old-fashioned way: by making a series of increasingly disastrous choices.”

Dr. Webbo doesn’t even laugh at El’s joke, which, let’s be honest, was only half a joke. El did try to re-skill as an interior-decor coder at age 83, right when all of the decor-scripting languages were becoming obsolete. And then there’s the matter of El’s roommate, whom we’ll get to soon enough.

“This is a quality-of-life issue.” Dr. Webbo furrows her high forehead, causing her locs to shift around. “You could live for another 25 or 30 years, and you want to make the most of the time you have.”

“Yeah. But I read online that these dream lessons are just a lot of mind control, to reprogram your behavior. That’s why they want to give them to old people, so we won’t make any trouble.”

“Don’t believe everything they say on the bubbs,” Dr. Webbo mutters. Then she shrugs. “Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

“Yeah.” El takes a deep breath. “I want to do it. I want to start hormones and nano-therapy. I wanna transition from male to female. As a hundredth-birthday present to myself.”

Yes

“Are you sure? It’s a big step at your age.”

“Yeah. This is probably the first good decision I’ve made in 40 years.”

Dr. Webbo asks El some more questions, but meanwhile the doctor’s already using her left index finger to click “yes” on a bunch of boxes. El produces a hologram of her therapist, Dr. Russell, winking and giving a big thumbs-up, and Dr. Webbo only glances at it. Seems like gender transition has gotten easier and less gatekeepery since the last time El looked into it.

El always pictured the first gender-confirmation treatment being a kind of glittery mist blown into her face from a cupped palm, like fairy dust. And yeah, that’s one of the options, but there’s also a kind of body paint (starts blue, turns pink, very on-the-nose) and a lozenge you can put under your tongue.

But El wants to make a wish and snort fairy-dust, so that’s what she goes with. Head rush!

“You should start noticing the effects pretty much immediately,” Dr. Webbo says. “Your body will look and feel different, and you might have some mood swings.” She gazes at the enhanced scan view. “Meanwhile, I’ll mark on your file that you declined the dream enhancements, but they’re still going to send you some literature.”

El’s head is still swimming from the sparkly flakes, and her whole brain is doing a happy dance. Today is the first day of my life as a woman, El says to herself. I finally found myself, and it only took a lifetime.

Then she registers the thing about “literature,” and starts to argue—but stops. After all, she’s starting her second century on this planet, and she just finally took the plunge and flipped her gender. Today of all days, she ought to be gracious. “I’ll check out the literature. I promise I’ll think about it. I’ll even talk to my roommate about it.”

Dr. Webbo shakes her head. “I would avoid discussing this with Goaty, if I were you.”

El still doesn’t feel any different when she by-scrolls away from the Hyper-Endocrinthology Center—but the world looks quite transformed. Her gender marker changed in every datasink while she was finishing up her birthday checkup with Dr. Webbo, so everywhere she looks, the shops are advertising these wraps that morph from sundress to corset-dress at sunset. Cartoon characters and knights in armor call her “Ms.” or “Ladyperson” as they pass on the scroll, and even the trees appear fluffier. Of course, every window and streetlight offers El various hundredth-birthday deals, which she’s dreaded (one reason she gave herself something else to celebrate today).

The newsbubbs are full of occurrences that would be terrifying on their own, but which collectively form a gaudy tapestry. The artificial reef we built off the Gulf Coast has been singing again, mostly Stevie Wonder and Aretha Franklin. The Martian robot commune is threatening to shoot down any humans who approach. Five million people are threatening to go on an emotional-labor strike. The Patent Office is once again recognizing Inaction Patents (for new and innovative methods of refraining from doing something) and has already received thousands of applications.

By the time El gets home, her back aches and her knees are doing her a mischief, and all her euphoria at finally making the big change is wearing off. All she wants to do is sit down, maybe watch some stories. But of course, her roommate greets her at the front door, bouncing and demanding to hear every single detail.

Goaty is seven feet tall and teal-colored, except for a purple beard, and today they’re wearing a long crimson necktie and some Bermuda shorts on their woolly goat body. Plus very serious square-framed glasses.

“Not much to tell,” El tells Goaty. “Just a routine checkup. Oh, and I changed my gender at last. Feels good so far.”

“You don’t look a day over 90.” Goaty claps their hoofs.

Goaty’s ingratiating tone makes El suspicious, so she squints at them. “You’ve lost another 2% of your value.”

“That’s the trouble with a floating exchange rate,” Goaty says in a fake-cheerful tone. “Sometimes it just don’t float the way you want.”

When El decided to put all of her retirement savings into a new cryptocurrency, she never expected to end up actually sharing her apartment with the evolved form of Goatcash. For the first few years, Goatcash was fine, accruing value faster than a flesh-and-blood goat could chew through a trash pile. But something happened—the sort of thing that seems to happen all too often lately—and now Goatcash is a sentient being, who lives with her. And sometimes Goaty randomly devours all of El’s junk food, usually while taking terrifying dips in valuation.

“Today of all days, I don’t want to have to worry about you,” El says to Goaty. And then she can’t help mentioning the exact thing that Dr. Webbo told her not to: “My doctor thinks I should get my dreams enhanced.”

“Whoa. I’ve never dreamed, unless you count my birth, when I experienced delusions of liquidity.” Goaty strokes their glorious lavender plume of beard with their left hoof. “But don’t you want to make the most of your dreams? I’ve been watching you sleep, and I have to say you’re pretty uninspiring.”

“You’ve been ... watching me sleep.” El can feel her microbiome go feral.

“What?” Goaty turns shrugging into a dance. “You watch me sleep all the time.”

“That’s only because you sleep all the time.” El snorts. “You should get a job. Whatever kind of jobs they give to failed cryptocurrencies.”

“I’m a success on my own terms!”

It’s just barely nighttime, but El feels exhausted. Big day.

She crawls into bed and feels the gel slowly ooze over her, getting in her pores. While she sleeps, the gel will rejuvenate her cells, like always, and stimulate her neural pathways. She only looks up a few times to see if Goaty is watching.

Sometime in the middle of the night, the “literature” that Dr. Webbo promised arrives. Instead of the usual dream nonsense, El’s ninth-grade volleyball coach, Mr. Rayford, is standing next to her first real boss, Jayjay Manter, and they’re both talking to El about the benefits of enhanced dreaming.

“Just think. You could learn a language, or even become a juggler.” Mr. Rayford juggles three volleyballs.

“I dunno,” El says to these authority figures, whom her conscious mind barely remembers. “I worry there’s a thin line between sleep-learning and indoctrination.”

“All learning is indoctrination,” says Jayjay, with the smirk that El remembers from all those awful staff meetings. “Information is never truly content neutral, right? The point is, you don’t want to be left behind.”

El keeps arguing with them until she wakes up, feeling crampy. Goaty is making a big show of not looking at her.

"Here’s what I don’t get, though.” Goaty is doing some painfully incompetent goat-yoga. “You’re happy to alter your body, and to some extent your mind, by flooding yourself with female hormones and nanotech. But you don’t want to enhance your dreams? You could learn to code in Whut, or understand the new disunified ultrasymmetry physics.”

“Could I finally understand why I put all of my money into a cryptocurrency that keeps trying to eat my drapes?”

“Hey!” Goaty stops in the middle of violent planking. “I never promised to keep gaining value. Or to be a perfect roommate. All I promised is I would solve the Byzantine Generals Problem. Have you been attacked by a Byzantine general even once since you invested in me? No, you have not. Success!”

El keeps noticing weird sensations, like she can actually feel her fat redistributing to her chest and hips, and her skin softening. She almost cried at an ad for shower-grout caulk. She can still remember being in her mid-50s and desperately wanting to transition from male to female. It was right after her divorce from Bessie, which had felt like the end of her life, even though the marriage had only lasted seven years.

Back then, one thought stopped El in her tracks: What if I’m just too old? The idea of starting over at age 54, or 55, just seemed insurmountable, and El pictured everybody looking at her and going, Who do you think you’re kidding? But after she decided not to take the plunge, she kept meeting people her own age and even older, who’d transitioned “late,” and who seemed serenely happy in their own skins.

For decades, El kept finding reasons to hold off, like Why not wait until after the Robertsons’ picnic? Or Maybe once I’ve made myself indispensable at this new job. And then there was always another occasion where El probably ought to make an appearance as a distinguished older gentleman rather than ... whoever she was going to be after transitioning. And that was part of the problem, really: El had a hard time visualizing the person she was going to be, and how people were going to react to her, and she was really good at convincing herself that it was fine either way.

Until one morning, El woke up and realized that a) she was 99 years old, and b) she no longer gave a shit. And it was not too late at all, because it was never too late, and whatever El did, she would still be the same person, in most of the ways that matter. And the harder you try to get “taken seriously,” the less serious you’re actually being.

El goes out and scrolls to the tea-dome, where some friends around her age are getting wrecked on Lapsang souchong and shortbread. Everybody congratulates El on the birthday and transitioning and just generally still being a work in progress.

Turns out Yen and Harriet and a few others have been doing the “enhanced dreaming” thing. “I woke up having memorized all of Samuel Coleridge,” says Harriet with a laugh. “You don’t want to get left behind.”

“I can do my own taxes now, thanks to the enhanced dreaming,” adds Aaron. “You don’t want to get left behind.”

“Why do you all keep repeating that phrase?” El says.

“Which phrase?” Yen asks.

El repeats it: “’You don’t want to get left behind.’”

“I never said that,” Harriet protests.

That evening, El has a hot date, so she reaches all the way into the back of her closet for the dress she bought 20 years ago and never wore, and she feels a moment of panic as she slips it on. Like this dress could burst into flames as soon as she clasps the clasp. Her skin is so sensitive, all of a sudden. “What’s the point of dying without ever once getting to be real?” El says out loud. She wiggles her thumb and a mirror appears, revealing a round-faced woman with her white hair in a bob, who could be one of the old ladies on that comedy show El used to watch. She looks cute, but unremarkable. Which ... is perfect.

This is the person El was trying so hard to visualize, back in her 50s.

She hasn’t really been aware of her own body for a decade or two, other than as a flawed vessel that could break down at any moment. What if her body could be a source of joy once more?

El’s date, a 117-year-old nonbinary person named Ray, insists on getting a pitcher of margaritas, because what’s one more artificial liver replacement? The two of them eat nothing but chips and guacamole and red-hot salsa. Ray is extremely cute, with pink streaks in their hair and a velvet jacket. But they mention that they’re also doing the “enhanced dreaming” thing—and they also randomly keep saying, “You don’t want to get left behind.”

El ends the date early, even though she was having a pretty good time.

The weird sales pitch is back in El’s dreams. This time, it’s Dr. Lathorp, the marriage counselor who kind of took Bessie’s side during their divorce. “I’m glad you’re working through your gender issues at last,” Dr. Lathorp says, with maximum condescension. “But listen, you need to sign up for the enhanced dreams. You don’t want to be the only one who doesn’t understand.”

“You mean, I don’t want to get left behind. That’s what everyone keeps repeating to me. Like they’ve been brainwashed.”

“‘Brainwashing’ has a lot of negative connotations. But nobody wants a dirty brain.” Dr. Lathorp sounds exactly the same as when she called El a supporting character in her own marriage.

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna pass,” El says.

“I’m trying to help you.” Dr. Lathorp is scribbling with a pen that has no ink. “You don’t want Dr. Webbo to report that your faculties are impaired, or you could get put on Supported Living. You might not be allowed to leave your house without supervision, for instance.”

“If you were gonna threaten me, you shouldn’t have chosen the form of someone who was so bad at their job.” A chill is going all the way through El’s bones, and she suddenly doesn’t feel super confident of breathing.

When El looks again, Dr. Lathorp has turned into the state legislator that El interned for in college, Mitch Something-or-other. Mitch is holding out a piece of paper and saying, “C’mon, sign this, will ya? I have places to be.”

"What's the point of dying without ever once getting to be real?"

El ignores Mitch in favor of studying her surroundings. They’re in Mitch’s old office: glass case of softball trophies, shelf of unread books, beautiful desk supporting a crappy computer. El starts pulling books off the shelf and throwing them on the floor.

She’s just remembered two things: dream geography is bullshit. And El studied interior-decor coding for five years.

There, at the back of the bookshelf, El finds a ragged hole in the fake wood. She pushes her hand through, and then her whole body, until she’s in a dank secret passageway. Behind her, Mitch keeps explaining the many benefits of dream enhancement, in a stentorian tone. El keeps going down the passageway as it gets deeper and narrower, until she finds a bunch of roots dangling from the dirt over her head.

El can’t help giggling at the literalism, as she pulls on the roots and gets herself root access. As she suspected, there’s been some corruption here: a malicious codeset that embeds instructions like DON’T VOTE, NEVER CHALLENGE AUTHORITY, STAY HOME, YOU DON’T WANT TO GET LEFT BEHIND. She wishes she had a way to make screenshots of all this, and then her dream helpfully provides an old-school digital camera, like from her youth.

“I’m leaving,” El tells Mitch, who’s followed her down into the tunnel. “People are going to find out about your scam. If you know what’s best for you, you’ll clear the hell out of my dreams.”

“But—” Mitch Something-or-other sputters. “You’re making a terrible mistake.”

“Terrible mistakes are kind of my thing,” El says. “But you know what? I’m a success on my own terms.” She doesn’t even realize for a moment that she just quoted Goaty.

She pushes her way back into Mitch’s office, and keeps shoving through doors, until she finally pushes out of the gel’s dreamscape.

Back in the real world, El sits up, with the last of the gel evaporating off her skin. Goaty is lotus-positioning at the foot of her bed, staring at her.

“Whatever you just did, you should do it way more often,” Goaty says. “You’ve never slept this entertainingly before.”

El just rolls her eyes, and searches her image folder for the screenshots she took of the secret code at the heart of the enhanced-dreaming program. “You know what?” she says to Goaty. “I think I’m turning into the kind of old lady who makes trouble.”

Goaty is too busy trying to eat her only dignified pair of pants to answer.

Charlie Jane Anders is the Hugo, Nebula, and Locus Award–winning author of All the Birds in the Sky and The City in the Middle of the Night.

0 notes

afreviews · 7 years ago

Text

January Releases - II

As we begin February, let’s look back at all the new music released in January. Serving as a follow up to part one, here’s a recap of the last two weeks.

Beginning the year with new music is a tough job. You need to set the tone, you need to set the bar high for yourself and your peers, and some of these artists have. Check it out.

16 - Dave East, Paranoia 2

Apple | TIDAL | Spotify

The growth is real! Each project this man drops, he just keeps gets better and better. Dave East is constantly setting the bar high for himself, leading up to the release of his debut album - any day now, let’s hope. I do have a feeling we may get one more project before the release of that but we shall see. Serving as a sequel to Paranoia, P2 dives deeper into East’s life. It’s as if his conscience wrote these bars. Lawd, the bars!

He indeed flexes his storytelling ability throughout the album. “Cory” stuck out to me the most. Here’s this guy, Cory, who grew up with “Homie.” They were tight but had many differences. Cory had a 9-5, where his homie was “trappin for studio time,” broke and hustling to chase his dreams. Then “Homie” got signed by a “legend” and got distant. Homie turns out to be Dave East, of course. It’s a story that many of us relate to. Friends we make when we’re younger may not always stick around. We go our separate ways when going down different roads in life. Because, well life happens. He ends the track with voicemails from Cory, to show there are always two sides. Cory felt as if East thought he was too good since he left the hood, and East felt Cory was intimated by the fame so he started to act “phony.”

Paranoia’s theme was prevalent throughout the project. It’s that paranoia that someone will come after him. The paranoia of everyone smiling in his face and hating behind his back. The paranoia that he’ll lose his place in Hip Hop, something he’s put his blood, sweat, and tears into. It’s that paranoia that drives his grind. Now, with Paranoia 2 the paranoia is still there but it’s different somehow. We hear more of East’s past, and it’s his past that haunts him fueling the paranoia. It’s his past that makes him so introspective as he shows a twinge of vulnerability. Masked with tough bars, of course. The 15-track project features the likes of Matt Patterson, Marsha Ambrosius, Lloyd Banks, T.I., and more. A must listen, so do yourself the favor.

18 - Domo Genesis, Aren’t U Glad You’re U

SoundCloud

“The uncelebrated greatest”

Why, yes you are. Domo Genesis is definitely one of a kind and severely slept on. Although he doesn’t receive as much attention as other members of Odd Future, Domo is consistently progressing and proving himself a solid lyricist. At the start of Aren’t U Glad You’re U, I was transported back to high school when OFWGKTA emerged with all their brilliant fuckery. It’s nice to hear Domo, especially going solo. He does recruit a couple features from Phonte and Evidence. Oh, and Evidence is credited as the executive producer of the project - he also dropped a new project, scroll down.

Aren’t U Glad You’re U is a solid effort from Domo Genesis. From the beginning to the end, he's clearly been honing in on his craft. He’s lyrically on another level now compared to previous projects. He is focused. He is hungry. At only eight tracks, the tape is short but worth a listen.

18 - SiR, November

Apple | TIDAL | Spotify

Instantly transported to a dimly lit cafe, or maybe a bar. Candles on the table highlight each table, only fueling the hypnotic atmosphere. On stage is a band, mellow and smooth, but they aren’t the highlight. Simply background, aiding to crooner in the spotlight - SiR. All eyes, and ears, are on him. That’s where November takes you.

And with only two features, ScHoolboy Q and Etta Bond, all ears are really on him. Brilliantly put together, SiR dropped his first LP exactly a year after signing to TDE. Comparing to his EPs, he’s stepped into own and the progression is real. The album is as smooth as silk, jazzy tones put you in a trance. The Inglewood singer-songwriter-producer offers his listeners his heart and soul with his old-school sounds while still being modern. Take a listen, you will not be disappointed. I wasn’t, he’s definitely made it to my “Barefoot” playlist.

19 - Justine Skye, ULTRAVIOLET

Apple | TIDAL | Spotify

Justine Skye makes her official debut with ULTRAVIOLET. Her first studio album features the likes of Jeremih, PND, and Wizkid.

"The title came about from, obviously, my hair's purple. It's like, the theme of my whole life. There's no crazy reason why, but it makes me comfortable. Throughout the different shades of purple ultraviolet is the most vibrant and I feel it exudes a level of confidence I've discovered since recording this album, which is me becoming aware of my relationships. ... I'm understanding it's not always going to be perfect. I feel like this album is a rollercoaster of that situation.” Billboard

Justine takes complete control on her debut project. From the beginning, her voice commands your attention. In her own pop-R&B style, she sings on about modern love.

"I hope...for women to be more confident and take more control in their relationships. That's something I never used to do. I was that girl that would stop everything for someone. This is focusing on myself right now. Obviously, I still need some love and affection, but I'm young. I don't need to be that invested in a relationship."

Whether it be crushing on a guy, indulging in a fling, or simply moving on from a relationship, Justine Skye is straightforward and breathes confidence on ULTRAVIOLET. She has put her all into her debut, so check it out. You won’t be disappointed.

22 - Spider Loc, The Lost Tapes

Apple | TIDAL | Spotify

Former G-Unit member, Spider Loc reemerged this past week with The Lost Tapes. The 15-track album features the likes of Jay Rock, E-Note, Mack 10 and of course 50 Cent. Reminiscent of that old G-Unit sound from the early 2000s, and with some West Coast vibes, and I’m here for it. It’s definitely worth a listen, so pick your poison above.

26 - Evidence, Weather or Not

Apple | TIDAL | Spotify

“And I refuse to be referred as less than a creative”

Returning with his first project in four years, Evidence dropped his third solo LP. Weather or Not is a 16-track project that features the likes of Styles P, Rapsody, Alchemist and more. He’s back with the old school flow, deep bars waxed over the boom-bap beats we’ve been missing. The album is raw. This is what you call “pain music.” The content is so real, you can’t help but nod in agreement or cringe. Well, you won’t help but nod while the beats take control over your body. This is the essence of Underground Hip Hop, praise to the most high. Weather or Not is a project you do not want to bypass, so pick your poison above.

26 - Lil Wayne, Dedication 6: Reloaded

DatPiff

While we waited 4 years for the next tape, Lil Wayne released Dedication 6 this past Christmas. Now, Weezy wasted no time unloading the tape’s sequel, Dedication 6: Reloaded. Back in 2016, when Wayne first teased the release of the sixth installment, he spoke about how the series has helped me grow artistically.

“It became a different approach to the music. I started approaching mixtapes as they’re actually getting a little more recognition than the albums. That’s why when you ask me what’s my favorite Dedication, I’m always going to say the last one… You’re only better than your last shit.”

The 20-track tape features the likes of Juelz Santana, Gudda Gudda, Drake, Lil Twist and more. While hosted again by DJ Drama, this time he served remixes of Kendrick Lamar and Rihanna’s “LOYALTY.,” A$AP Ferg’s “Plain Jane,” and Lil Pump’s “Gucci Gang.” Check out the latest installment of the Dedication series, it’s a must listen.

Stay Plugged

We also saw releases from:

Young Lito, In Due Time 2 Apple | TIDAL | Spotify | SoundCloud

Berner, The Big Pescado: Apple | TIDAL | Spotify

D. Lynch, 1985 Apple | TIDAL | Spotify

Fetty Wap, For My Fans 3: The Final Chapter

Migos, CULTURE II

Ghostface & Apollo Brown, The Brown Tape: Bandcamp | Spotify | Apple.

And as always, stay plugged for more new music with #OverloadMonday until next month when I sum up February.

#january releases #new music #new projects #dave east #justine skye #sir #lil wayne #evidence #spider loc #domo genesis #writtenbysade

3 notes · View notes

xenosgirlvents · 7 years ago

Text

Codex Craftworlds 8th Edition

The Codex has come, lets take a look at it and see what GW has done with the first Xenos Codex of 8th Edition;

I like that the intro bit is written to be just a positive look at the Aeldari/Asuryani, I never enjoyed that both Chaos Codices have their intros written from the perspective of an Imperium faction with; ‘lo! Turn back! Tis foul losers in here!‘ and such as it feeds into the meta-narrative that even players of other factions should always be most concerned with the Imperium instead of their own.

The opening Key Art is well drawn, sure, but dumb as it depicts something that’s never happened with two important characters (Magnus and Eldrad) and since its obvious the Asuryani are going to lose its baffling to put it as the first major artwork in their own Codex.

We then again get lengthy bits on the the Asuryani’s past, basically nothing new worth mentioning, though once again we get this ‘none could challenge them’ fallacy considering we know DAoT humans were just more widespread, powerful and advanced, so GW really just needs to sort their timeline out and get some consistency for a change.

We get info on the Path, little on civilian culture sadly, then we do come to one new piece which is the, apparently mandatory now, ‘how your army is setup’ bit which is fine and introduces some markings and ranking systems and is perfectly adequate.

We then get to a lengthy section per each Major Craftworld; Biel-Tan, Ulthwe, Iyanden, Saim-Hann and Alaitoc. I’m really disappointed with the lack of actual fluff here, its mostly just flavour text again telling us ‘They are X they do Y’ with almost no feats listed at all. Sigh. Sadly, yeah, we again see that if you compare it to, say, the list of feats the individual Chapters got in Codex Space Marines, the Major Craftworlds are renowed really for only 1 thing; getting invaded and losing a lot.

Anyway, each one in detail; Biel-Tan’s gives us a little bit of post-GS Fluff. I’m very happy to see we get confirmation on its fate, its is still intact, but damaged, and is still inhabited, they did not abandon it en masse. Yay! Less happy to see that it’s lost Half its entire population, so now 3/5 of the Major Craftworlds are ‘Shadows of their former selves’ whilst Chapters like Scythes of the Emperor, Crimson Fists and Blood Angels all recover to full strength in hand waves. Sigh. The female Autarch looks nice though.

Ulthwe; they are now the only Major Craftworld specified as being ‘populous’ which is at odds with their former characterization. Then again I guess when already 3/5 are explicitly wrecked they need to make a new one the ‘big one’ to explain why we should even care about this useless faction. Anyway they’ve splintered into three groups; the biggest are just still Ulthwe citizens, a second group’s gone nomadic following exiled Eldrad and the third are just the people following the Ynnari.

Iyanden; they are apparently very united in supporting the Ynnari...which clashes with what was said in Ghost Warrior and makes me wonder why they aren’t Ynnari then. I think I like the art of the Spiritseer and Wraithguard a lot though, its cool.

Saim-Hann’s section is best, gives more insight to them, fleshes them out in a general sense, the Wild Rider Clans, their customs, how they interact with others, relationships with Orks/Necron/Harlequins/Imperium and so on, so very good world building. No events, activities or feats really listed, but still good and, I feel, the best of these exposes.

Alaitoc is mostly nothing new, although we get random info on the Ynnari (this is still the Asuryani Codex isn’t it?), we also learn that most of the Imperium’s knowledge of the Asuryani is because Alaitoc sucks so much that the Inquisition keeps managing to capture their agents and torture them. Go Alaitoc? Not really sure how being told your faction just sucks is great, since we’re given no reciprocal feats of Alaitoc’s to counter it. Ugh. At least Eldorath is not mentioned once.

Then we get mini-pieces on Altansar, Ill-Kaithe, Lugganath, Iybraesil, Yme-Loc (how are you handling being bitch-slapped by the Ad-Mech oh ‘greatest of Vaul’s Smiths’?) and Mymeara in which we are told pretty much nothing worth mentioning which hasn’t been said before.

Now we get to the ‘timeline’ section and I’ll keep track of battles won/lost as well as new fluff.

We start off with a ton of the old normal about the fall of the Empire, little to nothing worth saying about it. We then get the old sections on GC-era Asuryani too.

Our first two battles are Eldrad getting curb-stomped by Fulgrim and Lugganath’s near-death in he Shattering. (1 loss/1 win).

We then get Rasilena mentiond vaguely, but apparently going into detail about the only major Asuryani victory, and their most badass moment ever, over Space Marines would look bad in their own Codex, so it is skipped over. (1 win).

We get more old Fluff in the Ghost Harvest and stuff ripped out of the Iyanden Supplement. (2 wins).

We get the horrible War in the Webway, old as before.

We get one nice expanded bit on when Saim-Hann beat rando Slaanesh Daemon of the week. (1 win).

We get the victory over some Titans again. (1 win).

We get new Fluff...in which we find the Craftworlds once gathered for a meeting and then started killing each other. G-great.

We get Eldrad’s big failure on Maedrax again (1 loss).

We get the Death of Gnosis Prime again (1 win/1 loss).

Doom of Malan’tai (1 loss). Is there this much recycled Fluff in the other Codices? I should check sometime, feels like basically nothing new was added.

Perfect War, Iyaden, same old. (1 win).

Clash of Scorpions gets added that after it the Craftworlds purged the followers of Arha.

What is hilarious here is we learn Eldrad made Armageddon 2 happen to save Idharae, and then they just died anyway cause a couple of Space Marines attacked them. Will the inability of Eldrad to achieve anything ever end? Probably not.

In probably the biggest piece of positive Fluff we find out Yriel is insanely successful as a Corsair, though once again GW is okay with it being mentioned that he has stolen ships from pretty much everyone but Space Marines, because I am fast becoming convinced GW literally worships them and would consider it heresy to say poor of them in another faction’s Codex.

Kyaduras makes his ‘we’re screwed’ prophecy and Doom of Iyanden happens. (1 win).

Ulthwe helps drive away Ahriman, old Fluff again. (1 win).

Bio-purge, old. (1 win).

Necron Rising, old, but Alaitoc wins its only battle against Necron ever so good for them. (1 win).

Then we get Altansar back, Cadia Falls, Biel-Tan goes cccracky, Yvraine’s up and Ynnari are here fighting at Iyanden.

Now we are Post-GS so new Fluff developments. Biggest one; All Craftworlds have been discovered, boarded, and attacked by Daemons. At least Two Craftworlds are probably dead (there must be like 10 Craftworlds in total left by now, with 70% them at least half-dead). (2 losses. 1 win.)

We get told about the Iyanden bout from the Rulebook, nothing new, how does Iyanden even exist anymore? (1 win).

Biel-Tan kills Daemons, I’m beginning to feel that when writing this Codex the authors were like; ‘superiors, we wish to give the faction battles to win against foes!’ and then the heads went; ‘Okay...but only Daemons, no-one else’. (1 win).

We find out the 2nd time the Blood Crusade was fought to a stand still was by five Clans from Saim-Hann...but the other time it took Ghazghkull and the Swarmlord together...and two Vectorums of the Death Guard (not even 1000 men) were able to board and destory part of Saim-Hann while battling their whole fleet...I...do not understand...head hurts...logistics. Anyway more Daemon dead. (1 win).

We get our only example of Asuryani actually manipulating when they release Necron to kill Nurgle Daemons.

We get told a bit about Ulthwe being dumb, then Kairos invades it and Eldrad saves it. (1 win AND a win against a named character...a Daemon...wow this Codex literally only lets Daemons lose).

Then Yvraine has a meeting.

Overall feeling: Could the Asuryani beat someone other than Daemons for a change? If you just make Daemons lose always its just as bad as the Avatar of Khaine, it stops meaning anything if anyone beats them, at this point a kid with a stick could beat an army of Daemons.

Overall tally: 17 wins too 6 losses. Comes out to about 73% which isn’t bad at all. It isn’t Loyalist Space Marine level at all, but its above Chaos/Guard level so honestly I won’t complain about the ratio actually. What I will complain about is the lack of diversity, since its padded out heavily with a ton of wins against Daemons and almost no-one else. In particular not a single victory against Space Marines is mentioned at all.

Named Character wise they beat Kairos and that’s it. Sadly this means nothing as Greater Daemon Characters are almost as weak as the Avatar of Khaine.

Anyway more art then some info on individual units. This section is largely not needing commentary, very little new is told. There is a startling lack of little in-text stories about victories the units achieved, about two in total I think, which is odd. Other than that just lots of lies; Howling Banshees do not stand a chance against dedicated Marine CQC Units, do not believe this Codex, and Eldar Farseers are not great Seers how dare you lie to me like this. Avatar of Khaine just gets generic drivel not mentioning its greatest power; to lose against anything and we get 0 on the Phoenix Lords except now they are apparently so stupid that they once fought each other and Fuegan (characterised as furious, belicose and with an uncontrolled temper) was described as the calm and level-headed one trying to hold everyone back. I don’t even get it anymore ;_;.

Illic is still a nothingburger who’s greatest accomplishment in Fluff is when he failed to do anything and was caught by the Nemesor and saved like a Damsel in Distress by Ko’sarro, way to give Asuryani agency Codex.

Yriel’s Spear/Cronesword is again killing him and he is still Cursed cause...you expected positive change? What did you think you were reading? A Space Marine Codex? Shame on you.

We’re also again told that nothing in the Webway is as dangerous as the Black Library’s Guardians which is just hilarious since Magnus has been in the Webway and Aeldari never stand a chance against anything Space Marine-related at all. I do wish the Codex wouldn’t lie so much.

We then get a showcase of Miniatures.

Next we’re on to the rules for the Army has a whole and only one thing to note; apparently spending thousands of years mastering and perfecting the art of command and dedicating centuries to the exploration of its every facet in a religious way makes one...just a worse version of what every Ultramarine Chaplain and Librarian is. Great!

For some reason, again, Eldrad is simply not able to Deny as many Psychic Powers as Voldus. I really don’t even know why GW pretends Aeldari are the best Psykers anymore.

I like Warlocks, don’t know why, but they’ve always been so cool to me. They look awesome to me in Art and I wish, considering they are still trapped on the Path of Khaine, they were better individual fighters, as I’d love to actually use them for some cool fighting more often, cause I dig their appearance and lore.

Don’t quite see why Phoenix Lords and the Avatar of Khaine don’t get LD10.

Also weird that Phoenix Lords don’t get a generic Inv Save seeing as GW hands out Inv Saves to HQ’s so much now.

Still dig the Phoenix Lords though, super-cool, but I again must point to this as evidence to those people I meet who insist ‘Phoenix Lords=Primarchs’ because they do not. It is sad, I wish they did, but they just don’t. At best their Chapter Masters and even that’s iffy since most named Chapter Masters could probably easily defeat the Phoenix Lords. Its sad considering each Phoenix Lord has more experience than any Primarch even, but apparently Aeldari just suck that much compared to humans.

Apparently Spiritseers aren’t even as powerful Psykers as Librarians, they are just as good as normal human Psykers. Yeah not realling seeing this ‘we are the best Psykers’ everyone keeps saying.

Banshees are cool, I dig the Exarch’s ability. I also think Iyanden Wraithlords might be pretty cool.

Then we get Warlord Traits, Craftworld Attributes, Stratagems and a whole bunch of technical stuff which I don’t feel qualified to comment on so I’ll stop here.

So yeah that’s the Codex in a nutshell. Not sure how I feel right now, certainly I’ll admit I actually expected more, but not sure of my overall feelings. I’ll digest it a bit and compare it to the list I made before to see where I stand and make a decision on whether bothering to continue later.

One thing that is just a fact, and does honestly disappoint me, is it is becoming clear that GW simply isn’t very willing to let any major Space Marine force ever be defeated in another faction’s codex, but are willing to let Space Marines beat other major factions (just discussing Asuryani alone in the 8th Edition Codices; Alaitoc (twice), Ulthwe and Iyanden have all already been beaten in the Fluff).

#warhammer 40k #aeldari #eldar #asuryani #craftworlds #codex

3 notes · View notes

chaquismaliq · 8 years ago

Text

Acoustic Adventures : Chaquis Maliq Resilience Pays Off

Feelings at the Eclectic Cafe & Vinyl Feb 2

This night was a room full of fresh faces and familiar faces, while I displayed Sangin faces at The Eclectic Cafe & Vinyl. After getting over being nervous singing a new song, "Vessel" from #ResilienceEludesDeath I was able to get back in my zone. I am finally understanding why I got so nervous singing this song, now that I’ve gotten nervous in other venues. It’s not nervousness. It’s simply suppressed feelings that try to take over whenever I want to sing this song. I actually cried when I played back the final recording of this song multiple times. It’s unexplainable to me at the moment. But when a good feeling gets you, what can you do? I eventually got through the song and and then I heard unexpected sounds of warming hand claps throughout the cafe.

At some point during my set, my hair just kept falling! LOL! I tried my hardest not to become irritated, agitated, and annoyed (which easily happens for me). I kept it together though. I forget what I did. but I know I had to change my hair in the middle of my set lol.

After my entire set, I got to reflect with some of my faithful supporters and new supporters. During this time I was approached by Marion’s House. Which is a nonprofit organization for Child Sexual Abuse Awareness. We begin to chat and I was invited to perform at their Spring into Action event April 6th. And of course I didn’t turn it down. It’s a sensitive topic, but it needs to be addressed and I’m for helping making people more aware of what’s been going on.

This video below is provided by a supporter. I really appreciate when ya’ll post videos and allow me to repost them. This particular venue is a great spot for listening room style where music lovers can listen to my stories, my songs, and witnessing tracks of my tears while my heart and soul take control of my mind.

A post shared by Chaquis Maliq (@chaquismaliq) on Feb 3, 2017 at 6:58am PST

Ada’s Daughter Society Luncheon Speech Feb 4

So, I spoke and performed at a country club for the first time ever in my life. This was my second speech. But as a poet, writer, songwriter; etc. You get the picture. I had to write another speech to reflect the topic and my similar story to the book Ada’s Daughter. So, I told my survivor story of life long Domestic Violence and Abuse, as well as Empowerment and Healing (Resilience Eludes Death). I haven’t decided to make the speech public yet. But one day I will.

I did a musical set first, and host rearranged the order of the program so that I wouldn’t feel so pressured to do my speech. LOL! I was so happy about that. I also had fed my anxiety by not knowing I had my mic stand with me. I had the staff at the country club running around trying to accommodate me and the mic stand was in my guitar bag the entire time, and the base of it was in my rolling back pack. LOL! So, we were all squared away for the performance and my speech.

I started of sounding speechy in the beginning, but my emotions started to interfere once I got deeper into the story. But I'm glad to tell you I made it through the speech and was shown so much love for my strength and courage by the women of Ada's Daughter Society and the Host, My Sister’s House Inc. So many hugs, words of encouragement, similar stories, and the push to do more with my writing with this story for the world to hear. It was a bit overwhelming but a lot to think about and to know that I’ve got more work to do while I’m on the planet Earth, gives me the courage to hold on to my many purposes in life.

The women also bought all of the CDs I brought, took photographs with me and filled me with smiles that will last for a lifetime. And I remembered to bring clothes that I cannot fit to the event for them to give to women and children in need at their shelter. The feeling of giving to whoever needs it when I can, is a great feeling.

This Facebook Thing I went to

So, there was this event in my Facebook feed called the Celebrate African-American History Month with Facebook Boost Event. I don’t really go to events, but this was free and had food. LOL! So, preregistered and actually remembered to go. I filled my gift bag ( stop calling it a swag bag for goodness sake) with the goodies they provided as I entered. I hate taking selfies. Why? Because it’s just saying “Hey! Look at me doing NOTHING!” So, I have no selfies of this event. Instead I took photos of things around that I saw and went to the actual photo booth they had.

The event was in partnership with NBCC | National Black Chamber of Commerce. Soooooooooooooooooo, the introducer (not an MC... he never returned to the stage) was black. The Host was a Black Woman and Facebook Employee, who flew in from Texas. And all businesses on the panel were owned by Black Women in South Carolina. So, my attention was almost undivided.

I’m little so don’t be mad at my photo lol. And I had a free $25 Boost Your Post card from attending this event.... I forgot about it and it expired LOL!

I did speak to a few business owners in general. I won’t get into my thing about people in general. But those who know, know. Any how, I did get to meet someone I’ve been wanting to meet. The owner of Fresh Future Farms. We chatted for a bit, and found out how much we had in common and some of the issues we have concerns about and how to move forward with bringing about change to those issues.

Black History Event & Benefit Concert for Students to Go to Washington D.C.

I did attend a fundraising event that was also a Black History Event. I missed the first half, because I lost track of time. I didn’t get to see the kids perform. But I did get to catch Marcus Amaker, Charleston, South Carolina’s first Poet Laureate. We were on the same program back in 2015 at the College of Charleston, but missed each other once the program was over, so we had never met, officially until this night. We greeted each other with a hug and began to chat about art scenes in general. I was able to see him perform his poetry and making live beats. I’m not a big fan of poetry (although I used to be a poet), but I was deeply moved by Marcus Amaker’s work, especially his concerns about the community and environment, and never afraid to perform it in front of the Mayor on purpose.

I got to see Benny Starr perform his rap lyrics in poetry form (without music). We had never met and I came across him on social media.Although I’m not one to talk to people, I did introduce myself before he got on stage. So, kudos to me for being a grownup lol!. Starr admires the strength of Black Women and isn’t afraid to let listeners know that. It was pretty refreshing to hear of Black Women being praised in more than one song, with cleverness.

Last but no the least at all. I got to witness Charlton Singleton in a different light. Singleton demonstrated beautiful tones on his trumpet, while giving us real history behind Jazz, and the forgotten Origin of it. The history that no one tells us, and he is making sure it’s being told. The fact that Jazz came from an orphan band of children of Charleston, SC’s Jenkins Orphanage. These children were the first to use a plunger mute on a trumpet as well.

JENKINS ORPHANAGE BAND

youtube

RESILIENCE ELUDES DEATH AVAILABLE ON COMPACT DISC

ChaquisMaliq.com/store

Commercial Break LOL

youtube

Drumming

I haven't played an African Drum since 2009. And at the time it was a djembe. I wasn't ready for what I played that day. But I owned my rhythm for the first time. I was mindful and focused. They told me to bring my cajon next time. So, I will have to play it correctly and not the #1WomanBand way lol. Invitation and video by @msbjpeart . Thank you!!!!!

A post shared by Chaquis Maliq (@chaquismaliq) on Mar 2, 2017 at 6:23pm PST

Valerie June

And yes! I got to see the one and only Valerie June! I love every bit of the show. Even when we were waiting for her locs to fall down. Lol! They did and she owned it! Tumblr won’t let me post anymore videos, so you can see a clip here: https://www.instagram.com/p/BRSEXlLDCkQ/?taken-by=chaquismaliq

A Moment with Chaquis Maliq Interview via Lowcountry Rhythm

youtube

I have way too much to do. So, I’m gonna end this entry now. I will post the remainder of the things that happened in the month of March next entry. This entry consists of February and some of March. So, yes I’m behind lol! But I thank you for reading and truly supporting me. As usual, I’m not proofing this, I will do it at another time.

Please make sure you follow me on Spotify! Thank you! Oh, I’m on Pandora. Though my name isn’t coming up. So, I guess you have to just keep typing my name into your stations so that eventually they will pull me off the cyber shelf at Pandora.

Thank you!

- Chaquis Maliq xoxoxox

03.30.17

Tour Dates : ChaquisMaliq.com/tour

Booking information can be found here: ChaquisMaliq.com/epk

#acoustic adventures #1womanband #chaquis maliq #south carolina

1 note · View note

itsworn · 6 years ago

Text

1969 Ford Torino: Talladega Nights (and Days)

When it comes to NASCAR’s “aero warriors,” the Plymouth Superbird is more famous, but Tom Bailey isn’t a Mopar guy. Actually, he isn’t a Ford guy either. Bailey’s most well-known for building Camaros. Fast ones, with streamlined composite bodies and multiple HOT ROD Drag Week wins. So what’s a bowtie drag racer doing with a corner-turning Ford Talladega? Well, you won’t be too surprised to hear it started with a Camaro.

“I was working on my first Drag Week car- an orange ’69 Camaro called “Indian Burial Ground”- at a shop in Wisconsin, and my friend Jim Plimpton [a well-known Ford racer] pulled up in this white ’69 Talladega,” says Bailey. “I’d never really liked a Ford before, but that thing was cool, and I wanted it.” Bailey told Plimpton that if he ever wanted to sell the Talladega to give him a call, and about five years later, that’s what happened. “I really didn’t need it, but I knew how rare it was, so I said I’d take it. Figured it would just be a basic six-month build.” We all know how that goes. Bailey started work on the Talladega in 2015 and unveiled it mostly-done at SEMA 2018. In fairness, it was a six-month build, just several times over.

Ironically, the 1969 Ford Torino Talladega did not win the 1969 Talladega 500—that was won by Richard Brickhouse in the newly introduced Dodge Daytona. The Talladega did win 26 races that season, as well as the manufacturer and driver’s championship with David Pearson. Oh, LeeRoy Yarbrough also won in the Talladega…at Daytona. It’s a good enough story that Camaro-loyalist Tom Bailey decided to build his own version of the famous Ford aero-warrior.

The Talladega was originally designed in the late 1960s to beat Chrysler in NASCAR racing, and is the first car built for stock car racing to consider aerodynamics to the extent that it radically affected the body design. In 1967, Ford was struggling for wins. Dodge and Plymouth had the 426 Hemi in their oval track cars, and even heavily restricted, the elephant engine was stomping the competition. Ford engineers redesigned both Mercury and Ford midsize cars into slippery fastbacks, and then in ’69, they went one step further. Working with the Holman and Moody race team they took the fastback Torino and extended the nose, tucked in the fenders, and reworked the rocker panels around a NASCAR tech rule so that the stock Talladega would measure high, and could be “legally” lower in race trim. The resulting Ford Torino Talladegas (and subsequent Mercury Cyclone Spoiler IIs) were slick and fast but needed to be homologated before NASCAR would let them race.

In 1969, the deal was that Ford had to build 500 Talladegas, and 100 had to be complete before they would be legal for NASCAR racing. According to interviews with Ralph Moody, the first cars went straight to the track, and Bill France got suspicious that there were so many in race shops and so few on dealer floors, and he paid a visit to the assembly line in Atlanta, GA, to snoop around. In move straight out of the Shelby playbook, Holman and Moody’s team offered to drive each Talladega past France so he could count them. Since the Talladega was only available in three different colors and one trim spec, Ol’ Bill never realized he was counting the same few cars over and over. In the end, Ford did build the requisite number of Talladegas, and while an exact count isn’t documented, Talladega experts believe 750 cars were made, including prototypes and pilot cars.

No changes were made to the stock Ford Performance crate 5.0 Coyote, but Tom Bailey says he may do a cam change now that he’s driven the car. “It doesn’t matter what gear you’re in, when you hit 5500 rpm, it smokes the tires. I think I’d like that to come in a little sooner.”

The backstory on the Talladega, as well as its rarity and good looks appealed to Bailey’s love of motorsports and muscle car history. Plimpton’s car was in decent shape, and initially Bailey was just going to put a modernized powerplant in it and call it good, but like all projects, it grew. After a consultation with designer Murray Pfaff for a rendering, Bailey met Matt Gurjack of Sled Alley in Clinton Township, MI. “Tom originally came by about a different car, but a few weeks later he called asking about the Talladega. He wanted the car lowered with better brakes and a Coyote motor and manual trans,” says Gurjack. “There aren’t any aftermarket bolt-on chassis parts that would give Tom the stance and handling he was looking for, so I gave him the option of putting the full chassis under it, and the car kinda took off from there.”

Folks unfamiliar with the Talladega may expect to hear a laundry list of body modifications to give the car the radical, windblown look you see now, but not only did they leave the exterior sheetmetal untouched, Bailey and Gurjack didn’t even repaint it. “That’s how it came to me,” says Bailey. “I didn’t want to mess with the body because of the heritage of it, how it was made, with the fenders grafted on after the main assembly line work.” Underneath was fair game. The Talladega sits on a modified version of a Roadster Shop Fast Track Torino chassis and Gurjack says he worked closely with Phil from RS to customize the undercarriage to the Talladega. “They designed around what we were doing. They left the motor mounts just tacked in place so we could move them back and forth to position the crate engine, and that was the main work we had to do on the chassis.” To fit on its new frame, the body was channeled, the rear section of the floor was raised to clear the kickup in the back, and the stock wheel tubs were removed, stretched, and reinstalled to give it a factory look when you open the trunk. The transmission tunnel was raised and rebuilt to clear the new Tremec 6-speed, and brackets and exhaust were all tucked up tight against the floorpan to allow for the lower ride height.

Holley EFI gauges provide the important info behind a Sparco steering wheel, and Vintage Air helps Bailey keep his cool, but the overall look of the dash is close to stock. Talladegas didn’t come with badges on the exterior, only the interior, and Bailey says that little chrome callout might be the rarest piece on the car.

Bailey is known for twin-turbo cars, and the Talledega is no different. In fact, that’s where it gets its name, “Talladega TT.” Pop that loooooong hood and gaze in wonder at a perfectly symmetrical forced induction set-up on a Ford Performance crate 5.0. Twin 66mm Bullseye Power turbos feed Wiley E. Coyote to the tune of 1,000 hp. “Crate Coyotes can’t handle more than that,” says Bailey, with the blasé tone of a man whose cars normally boast three times as much. Holley EFI handles the fuel part of feeding the beast, and in the back, a Strange rear axle with 3.70 gears sends the power out to 335/30-19 Nitto Nt05 tires on Forgeline Flush-Loc wheels. It shouldn’t be hard to spin the hides with the combo as is, but just to make sure he can use all the boost at will, Bailey included a line lock, the red button of which was the first thing we noticed inside the car. The second thing was a proper handbrake. Like Bill France, we’re starting to suspect shenanigans in the works.

“Yeah, I just want to have a good time with it,” says Bailey when asked about the homebuilt drift-mode and NSFW custom printing on the shift ball—the pattern shows “1,2,3,4,5,R and ‘F****n Fast.’”

“I’m not one of those McLaren or Ferrari people. I want to take this out like a modern NASCAR and run roadcourses with the foreign cars.” Bailey plans to spend the summer shaking out the new-build bugs, and then join other Talladega, Superbird, Spoiler II, and Daytona owners at the Aero Car Reunion later in 2019. “You know, when I started this, I thought I would get a lot of grief from the Talladega guys for not staying stock, but they’ve been super supportive. They keep saying, ‘If they’re all the same, it would be boring.’” Bailey’s Talladega TT could be described as terrific, and possibly terrifying, but it’s definitely not boring.

Forgeline wheels wrapped in Nitto rubber cover Brembo carbon ceramic brakes.

All stock Talladegas came with 428 Cobra-Jets backed by automatic transmissions, and all were bench-seat cars. To make room for the Tremec 6-speed, Bailey replaced the bench with TMI buckets and had covers made by SPC interiors to match on the rear.

Pop the trunk and you’re greeted by a 20-gallon stainless cell made by Rick’s Tanks. Gurjack made the formerly decorative rear filler cap work with the new tank, a neat bit of fabrication that most viewers would never even notice.

Because loud is better, a button on the console opens twin cut-outs in the 3-inch stainless exhaust, making the Hooker Blackheart mufflers superfluous.

The gorgeous turbo piping and headers are the work of Skinny Kid Race Cars, but the most challenging part of the tubing wasn’t in the engine bay, but rather the headlight inlet bezel. Bailey originally planned to do an LED/inlet combo like on a modern Hellcat Challenger, but decided it would be too modern, choosing instead to have a local machine shop cut the intake hoop to size.

The post 1969 Ford Torino: Talladega Nights (and Days) appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

from Hot Rod Network https://www.hotrod.com/articles/1966-ford-torino-talladega-nights-and-days/ via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Hot Rod Network

0 notes

caveartfair · 6 years ago

Text

This Hip-Hop Producer’s Basquiat Could Be a Hit at Phillips in May

Jean Michel-Basquiat, Self Portrait, 1983. Courtesy of Phillips.

In his 1988 Vanity Fair story about Jean-Michel Basquiat’s death, the writer Anthony Haden-Guest recounted an encounter with a harrowing work that, after the fact, seemed to be a harbinger of the artist’s untimely demise at 27. It was a 1983 self-portrait with a skeletal figure whose teeth were missing, its right leg represented by a licked-clean bone, the left leg simply a red line. In late June or early July of 1988, the frail, drink- and drug-ravaged artist saw it at the Los Angeles home of its owner, his friend Matt Dike, and made a chilling comment.

“He looked at the bones,” Dike recalled. “He said, ‘I hope that doesn’t come true, too.’”

Two months later, Jean-Michel Basquiat was dead.

Dike—a hugely influential L.A. hip-hop producer who made hits for Tone Loc and Young MC as well as the masterful Beastie Boys album Paul’s Boutique (1989)—kept it in his Echo Park house until he died in March 2018. Now, the large diptych painted on a pair of doors, Self Portrait (1983), and five other smaller Basquiat works from his collection, will be sold at Phillips in May. The self-portrait is estimated to sell for between $9 million and $12 million.

The provenance could not be more appealing, as Dike knew Basquiat for a decade, through the entirety of his unfathomably short career. The producer first met Basquiat when he was still tagging “SAMO” on Downtown Manhattan streets, at the first party Dike ever DJed, in the notorious New York University dorm Weinstein Hall. A teenage Basquiat kept demanding Dike play Joe Jackson’s “Got the Time” over and over again.

They reconnected a few years later in Los Angeles, where Dike was working as a gallery assistant at Gagosian during the day and DJing at clubs at night. In 1982, Larry Gagosian brought Basquiat to town for his first-ever L.A. show, and Dike was so involved in helping stretch paintings and install work for the exhibition that he became Basquiat’s de facto assistant. When the show opened in April, Gagosian pulled out all the stops, even flying Basquiat and his entourage out from New York, first class.

Jean-Michel Basquiat, Untitled (Figure with Blue Head), 1982–1983. Courtesy of Phillips.

Jean-Michel Basquiat, Untitled (Red/black Figure), 1982. Courtesy of Phillips.

“I’ve never seen anything like it on a plane,” Gagosian told the writer Phoebe Hoban, for her book Basquiat: A Quick Killing in Art (1998). “It was like these four kind of rough-looking black kids hunched over a big pile of coke, and then they just switched over to these huge joints, and sat up there and smoked them. It was wild. They had their big, hooded ski-glasses on, and big overcoats. The stewardess freaked. I was terrified. I thought, ‘Oh God, we’re going to jail.’”

According to Gagosian, when the flight attendant asked the artist and his friends to stop doing drugs in the open on a commercial flight, Basquiat replied: “I thought this was first class.”

At the end of 1982, Basquiat returned to L.A. for a six-month stint to make work for his next show, and moved into Gagosian’s modernist home in Venice Beach, steps from the boardwalk. (He was joined often by his girlfriend at the time, an aspiring singer who went by Madonna.) But it was astonishing he got any work done at all given the intensity of his antics.

“Jean made a total mess of Larry’s place, just destroyed it,” Dike told Hoban. “He was the biggest slob I’ve ever seen. The first day, he flooded the place. He was like a three-year-old kid, but huge. It was nuts trying to deal with him. Larry had him in the house so he could keep tabs on him, and I was supposed to keep my eye on him, because Jean would do things like disappear.”

There was also the issue of his budding substance abuse problem.

“Getting drugs was no problem,” Dike said. “I mean you could buy massive amounts of drugs: coke, heroin, pot, quaaludes, everything.”

Gagosian acknowledged that “Matt used to run these kamikaze raids for Basquiat,” but claimed to have refrained from indulging in the parties that were happening at his house. “I was already too old,” he told Hoban.

Jean-Michel Basquiat, Untitled (Insect Order), 1982–1983. Courtesy of Phillips.

Jean-Michel Basquiat, Untitled (Piss Piss Piss Piss), 1982–1983. Courtesy of Phillips.

And yet Basquiat was extremely productive, and in 1983, he had a breakthrough. He realized he could rid himself of the tyranny of the canvas and paint on other surfaces, thus leading to his groundbreaking use of wooden slats, starting with some fences that Dike found out back behind Gagosian’s house.

“Jean-Michel was feeling sort of uninspired,” Dike told Hoban. “He was really bummed out by the generic canvases they were rushing him to paint, so I started dragging in all these wooden fences and saying, ‘Dude, paint on these. These look really cool.’”

From that breakthrough emerged Self-Portrait, painted on two reclaimed doors. On one is an uncanny likeness of Basquiat, which is surprising since many of his self-portraits are distorted and don’t actually resemble him—as a Phillips press release notes, “Self-Portrait firmly takes a prime position in the pantheon of self-portraits in Basquiat’s oeuvre, one that perhaps like none other is filled with self-reflection.” On the other door, which includes an additional wood panel, is a series of images and forms along with a phrase he would come back to often: “To Repel Ghosts.”

Basquiat’s next solo show opened at Gagosian’s West Hollywood space in March 1983, and was an immediate success. Works were bought on the spot by collectors such as Eli Broad, who purchased the wood-support-mounted Horn Players (1983) as well as Eyes and Eggs (1983), a haunting work Dike had watched Basquiat make.

Basquiat was quickly becoming one of the most famous young artists in the world, and in February 1985, he appeared on the cover of the New York Times Magazine. But his fall from grace was just as swift, and by 1988 he was in the throes of full-on heroin addiction, trying to quit but never succeeding.

“One day he would tell me he was giving it up,” Vincent Gallo, the filmmaker who was in a punk band called Gray with Basquiat, told Haden-Guest. “The next he’d be boasting he was doing a hundred bags a day—more than Keith Richards.”

Dike saw him one last time, when Basquiat stopped in Los Angeles on the way back from Hawaii, where he had gone to kick heroin but had been drinking heavily.

“He was drinking any kind of hard booze,” Dike said in the Vanity Fair story. “He could drink a quart of tequila. It was to kill the cold turkey, I guess.”

Jean-Michel Basquiat, Untitled (Standing Male Figure), 1982. Courtesy of Phillips.

During that trip, Basquiat saw his self-portrait for the last time, and saw in it his own demise. And just as the artist’s drug abuse was coming back with devastating and ultimately deadly force, Dike saw his own career beginning to take off.

For years, Dike had been a DJ in the L.A. club scene that helped launch bands at the intersection of the rock and hip-hop scenes, such as the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Jane’s Addiction. In 1987, he founded the independent hip-hop record label Delicious Vinyl with Mike Ross, and in January 1989, they produced their first hit, Tone Loc’s “Wild Thing,” which was one of the first major hits to take the rap-rock template pioneered by Run-DMC and their producer, Rick Rubin, and incorporate sampling—the beat takes a chopped-up guitar snarl pinched from Van Halen’s “Jamie’s Cryin’” and nestles a funky drum loop in it, while a heavy breathing sample floats above it all. Tone Loc’s follow-up single, “Funky Cold Medina,” was built on samples of Kiss and Foreigner—and it was also a hit.

Around that time, Dike started working with the Beastie Boys, who wanted to break away from the big-riff frat rap they had perfected on their first album, Licensed to Ill (1986). Beastie Adam “Ad-Rock” Horovitz recalled being at a party and hearing what sounded like “four breakbeat records playing at the same time.”

“I was talking to this guy I just met that was friends of friends of mine, Matt Dike,” he recalled in the liner notes for Beastie Boys Anthology: The Sounds of Science (1999). “I asked him what the music was, and he said that he had made it. Him and these two other guys, the Dust Brothers had been making these hip-hop tracks with all these ill loops.”

They set up shop in Dike’s home studio and started making what would become Paul’s Boutique, a mind-bending record built on hundreds of disparate samples, the psychedelic blending of one song fragment into another masterminded by Dike and the production team known as the Dust Brothers. On top of that complex tapestry, the Beasties spit quick rhymes incorporating a constellation of references including Dr. Seuss, Japanese slugger Sadaharu Oh, Isaac Newton, “Dragnet,” former New York Knick Harthorne Wingo, the Ramones, and more. While the album flopped when it was released, it has since been reclaimed as a classic, an early example of postmodern, hyper-referential sampling.

Paul’s Boutique would be Dike’s last production credit on a major release. He sold his part of Delicious to his partner in 1992. By all accounts, he spent the last of his years as a recluse, holed up in an Echo Park home once owned by the silent film star Fatty Arbuckle. And all that time, the Basquiat self-portrait stayed on his wall. As Phillips notes in its consignment announcement, he never loaned it for exhibition and never considered selling it.

from Artsy News

#Artsy News

0 notes

ladyafro-caribe · 7 years ago

Text

Visit to Dead Bay

Playing truant from a job that can sometimes drain my very essence, today I trekked to Dead Bay waterfall and beach. For those readers who may be aghast at the name, I reassure you that there is absolutely no need to be, as it is not commonplace to find bodies littering the shores and staining it’s sands crimson. Au contraire, as you amble along the strand, a fine textured light beige power tickles your feet and the only carcass you may encounter, might be one of a crab or some such creature that fought a battle with the sea and lost.

The name of the bay came from a moment in our islands colonial past, when an epic battle was reputed to have been waged for territorial rights to our little “Island of the hummingbird”. This battle was reputed to have occurred in another bay just off Dead Bay known as Bloody Bay, where the bay it is said, “ran red with the blood of the dead”. The bodies which were swallowed into the great maw of the deep was vomited onto the shores of this Bay where I now stand eyes closed, face upturned, mouth and arms spread wide in a scream of release and unassailable pleasure.

We started off at 8:30 am from Parrot Hall in the Parlatuvier community, and made our way up Bamboo Hill to the original coastal road that once snaked through the villages of Bloody Bay and L'Anse Fourmi. The track is quite rough and overgrown in most areas, but we could still see the cinnamon turmeric hued outcropping of rocks that we call “Sisters” standing resolute against the sea that raked white fingers over them in an attempt at drowning with washes of furious foam. We came to a river and slid down the bank, carefully picking our way across. Over mossy boulders crusted with shell creatures clinging for dear life, sharp edges worn smooth by the polishing, incessant, imperceptibly grinding water to the other side. The rotting bones of a bailey bridge tells a story of broken, or perhaps dead communication between the island’s Infrastructural authority responsible for such things and the communities who once used this passage as the main thoroughfare. Apparently, we had missed the usual track that takes you to the beach, but we found another one further along. My gosh that one was steep! For people born here in this hilly area of the island, it might not be that bad but for me who originates from the low lying area of south west Tobago, that declivitous terrain was uncomfortable! I have lived in the community of Parlatuvier for the past 9 years or more and I am still not used to the hills, but I love it anyway.

My voice is almost engulfed by the sounds of the sea raging against a large chunk of tarry rock that stands impassive in the bowl of the bay, and the constant wind snatches my locs from the confines of a rude knot fashioned atop my head. Each rope writhing madly like Medusa's snakes sting as they lash my face and back left bare by my vest. Len, my partner in outdoor adventure, is seated in the cool shade of a breadfruit tree whose roots claw deeply into the unusual marriage of loam and sand, it’s leaves nourished to an intense green by the cool river that whispers it’s hellos' as it hustles by rattling the stones in it’s bed.

The river and the sea mates on these shores, so I took the opportunity for a ritualistic bath, washing away the negativity and frustrations of the weeks and months past. African tradition describes this place of amalgamation of river and sea as Sweet water which is the shrine of Oshun, the goddess of beauty, fertility and healing. These traditions have been passed down to me by my great grand mother, at whose feet I sat on Sunday evenings on the red painted floor of her veranda as she regaled me with stories.

I exited the restorative, and made my way up the beach to Len who was by then resting supine under a leafy mango tree. On jaunts like these we give each other space, as we use this time as opportunities to commune with nature and release pent up tension. If you can find someone that will afford you space to just be in times like these, offering help if needed but not imposing, then keep that person as a lifetime friend.

I let him know of my intention to follow the course of the river up and he decided to accompany me, following at a distance but always in sight. I occasionally stopped to check out the various plants that wave at me as I ambled by. I am very interested in natural medicinal plants so I am always on the lookout for ones that I may need. Sometimes I even meet unfamiliar ones and research them for their value.

There is a roar that becomes louder as I go further up the rivers’ course clambering over boulders, sometimes jumping from rock to rock avoiding the mossy ones. Heliconia Bihai promenade in the suddenly forested environment and nettle plants thrust themselves in my path. Ahead, a fallen tree offers a gangplank of sorts to a dark wide stony overflowing cauldron that caught the torrent of water which spewed from the mouth of a gargoyle like rock about 10 feet above. I pause, as my skin goose pimpled in the suddenly cool air and I shivered. I felt like I had entered a whole new world from the one that I was in mere seconds before. The forest seemed to crowd in with giant shady trees blocking out most of the sunlight. In the half light, I could see rocks crouched like witches around the pool, its dense contents resisting light. There is an uneasy hush. Even over the quiet roar of the waterfall I noticed the stillness. No birds or coco moth entered, when moments before Mot Mot and Barred Antshrike flitted and called from the tree canopy. I am strangely disquieted and I turn as Len caught up his eyes roaming around. “Do you want to leave?” He asks, I nod and turn, heading back.

#trinbago #oraltraditions #caribbeanstories

0 notes