#and I certainly don’t Dunk on bad poetry just to Dunk

[kaftan]

You know when you see a post and you’re like. Well. I do hold this opinion. So I guess in that sense I agree. But everything about how this take is being communicated is so repellent to me that I want to disagree on principle

[nadiineross]

Chloe has always hated rain. It’s not uncommon in her circles, considering the job requirements. Piss poor visibility and slippery handholds don’t, in fact, go hand in hand with treasure hunting.

It also doesn’t help that whichever higher power there is seems to have a sense of humour and a liking for poetry. Pathetic fallacy, it seems, is much more than a literary device when it comes to her.

Age nine, from the kitchen window, she watched her father push their luggage and bags into the back of a dirtied yellow taxi. He did nothing to shield himself from the rain, so when he came in and soaked the carpet through and her mum didn’t scold him for it, she knew instantly something was wrong.

When he whispered to her mum in an undecipherable tone before kissing her once ardently, she didn’t pull a face or make a fuss out of whining “ewww”. Afterwards, he picked her up and placed her onto the island, bending over to tug a pair of polka dotted wellies over her feet.

Her mum grabbed her hand, palms damp from touching her father’s soaked through shirt, and led her to the taxi, huddled under an umbrella that could only keep Chloe and half of her mum dry.

Chloe squinted and waved out the window, kneeling on the backseat, while her dad watched from the porch, slowly dissolving into the downpour.

Later, in Australia, her mum hurried into the house after working two four-hour shifts in a row, dripping water everywhere, and dumped their mail on the coffee table. Chloe usually ignored it, but this time there was a soggy cardboard box on top of all the envelopes. Inside, a dusty statue of Ganesh.

It rained at his funeral, too.

The list goes on: breaking up with someone for the first time, failing one of her biggest heists in the early days, losing Nate the first time, breaking her arm having slipped off a three-meter tall cliff face.

And, of course, India again, with Nadine this time. It turned out okay in the end, sure, but her dignity had taken quite a beating and the times it rained did not help in the slightest.

It’s been almost a year since then and they’ve spent most of it in the dry — first, digging holes in the Sahara desert, then sunny South Africa, and finally California. Needless to say, it’s been great.

Of course, she knows it would’ve had to rain eventually. The water cycle and all that.

Plus, they’re in London, where Chloe’s apartment is. It’s barely a drizzle, started sometime within the five minutes she’s been in the hazy state between dozing and awake. Eyes squinted open, but body too tired to muster the energy to actually get up.

Nadine, on the other hand, is sat up, bare back curving and tensing deliciously as she stretches out with a barely muffled yawn.

She shuffles out of the room a moment later, leaving Chloe to roll onto her back and gather the strength to sit up. Another thing, rain makes all things lethargic and Chloe does not have the patience for it.

She’s wiggling into a pair of shorts and a ratty band shirt from her teens when Nadine returns, a mug of coffee the size of the Earth cupped in her hands.

Her boy shorts are riding low on the smooth V at her hips and her chest is unabashedly naked until she catches sight of a leering Chloe and flushes.

“Where’s my shirt?” she asks in a voice that’s rough with a just-woken-up quality.

“Probably needs a wash. I’ll find one of mine,” Chloe replies, grinning wider. She fishes out an old button up but holds it to her chest. “Are you sure?”

Nadine gives her a wholly unimpressed look.

She shrugs. “Just checking.”

“What did I do to deserve such a considerate partner?” Nadine deadpans, slipping the shirt on over her shoulders.

“Beats me.”

Nadine snorts.

Feeling sluggish, she disappears into the bathroom to dunk her face under the tap and brush her teeth. The sight of Nadine’s toothbrush in the cup by the sink prompts a wide grin across her face. The handle is a sturdy, navy blue plastic, one she had bought specifically to match her red one just to see what Nadine would say.

It’s newly wet, so she knows Nadine’s already been in. Still, she asks, “Did you find your toothbrush?”

Nadine gives her that look again, but her lips twitch upwards into an amused tilt. “That’s cute, Frazer.”

“Ouch. Eat a girl out and she repays you by calling you by your surname.”

“I already returned the favour and, if my memory serves me right, you enjoyed it.”

Chloe hums. “I did.”

Before Nadine can reply, however, a crack of lightning whips across the sky, a low rumble of thunder rolling by only moments later.

To her surprise, Nadine turns and strides across the room. One hand still holding the mug and the other on the sill, she leans closer, almost pressing her face to the window in a childlike wonder.

With the way Nadine’s built, Chloe thinks she’s tensed up at first, nervous. When she approaches, she sees that Nadine looks entirely at peace, not a worry in the world. She takes a sip from her mug and cranes around to watch Chloe close the distance.

Suddenly, Chloe is overcome by the urge to touch Nadine. To just be in contact with her, to make sure she’s real and present and not leaving or breaking.

Nadine turns back to the window, sighing softly through her nose when Chloe’s fingers smooth over the tense lines of her shoulders.

Accommodating as she usually is with matters that are important, she moves her elbows so Chloe can weave her arms around her middle and leans back, into Chloe’s warmth. She lifts her jaw, smiling, when Chloe places a kiss in the crook of her neck.

“I wanted to see the zoo today,” she says after a moment.

Chloe grunts an acknowledgement and looks out the window with great scorn. “This certainly puts a damper on things.”

Nadine turns her head, her chin skidding at the side of Chloe’s head. “Damper. Funny.”

Chloe laughs. The tightness in her chest dissipates when she feels the curve of Nadine’s lips at the crown of her head.

Chloe’s pleased to realize that while Nadine had rolled the sleeves up, she hadn’t bothered actually buttoning the shirt up. Her fingers unlock over Nadine’s stomach and she palms the muscles there.

Chuckling, Nadine places her mug by the window and twists in Chloe’s arms. One side of the shirt is skewed, to the side, and her hair pushes up against the pane. She looks sloppy in a way that one does when they’re alone at home. Chloe calls this spectacular look: mouthwatering and messy.

Nadine slings her arms around Chloe’s neck, pulling her in for a deep kiss.

“Hm, good morning, love,” Chloe mumbles against the slant of Nadine’s mouth.

“Good morning,” she replies with a beam, pulling back to finish off her coffee.

Then, her grin turns devilish and before Chloe can mention it, she grabs the back of her thighs and hikes her up.

Chloe yelps, one hand grabbing tightly at the meat of Nadine’s shoulder to keep steady.

“Give a girl some warning next time,” she huffs, faux grumpy up until the moment Nadine’s hands slip under her shirt. “Handsy in the morning, aren’t you?”

“You like it.”

Nadine does a slow spin when it’s clear Chloe’s stable enough, legs hooked around her waist.

Chloe laughs, pitched high with glee. “You seem to know a lot about what I apparently like, I’m beginning to think you fancy me.”

“Ja, well,” Nadine says before sitting down on the edge of the bed with Chloe straddling her lap. She softens a little. “I know you don’t like the rain, so.”

At that, Chloe stills. She inhales deeply, the smell of her own shampoo in Nadine’s hair warming her a little to this particular conversation.

“Had some bad times in the rain.”

Nadine leans back on one arm as a prop, the other drawing circles on Chloe’s back.

“It’s in the past though.” Chloe smiles and reaches out to push some hair away from Nadine’s face. “You are an amazing woman, you know that?”

“It’s not—” she starts, then stops when Chloe gives a hard roll of her eyes and puts a firm finger to her lips.

“Take the compliment.”

She smiles again, this time for another reason. She very pointedly puts a hand on Nadine’s exposed breast.

“Y’know, we could have good times in the rain.”

Nadine chuckles. “You’d like that.”

“I’ll sum it up for you, china,” Chloe says, dipping down to place a kiss above the brown of her areola. “I like you.”

The rain isn’t so bad after all and if this is some kind of long overdue apology from the universe, well, Chloe accepts it wholeheartedly.

[snowball-with-knives]

Meme Thing

rules: repost, don’t reblog. just pick a muse of yours and fill it out. ANTHY EDIT: Rules are made to be broken you do you! Do this, or don’t. There is only...ZUUL.

Tagged by: @xchampionxthxjust

Tagging: Anybody all up in this dash who wants to.

muse: Anthracite Armeria Cadash

BASICS

▸ is your muse tall/short/average? Short. ▸ are they okay with their height? Fuck yeah. She can stare at butts all day. ▸ what’s their hair like? White as snow; as the fairy tale goes. It’s baby fine, but there’s a lot of it, so it looks thick, but it tends to get real static-y in the winter and fuzzes / curls around ears, brow and neck. The baby hair is also the only hair that gets curly if damp. ▸ do they spend a lot of time on their hair/with their grooming? In the beginning, yes. It took her hours to braid her hair and pin it all in place. Now she’s so used to it she can get it done half hour tops. Washing her hair is a pain tho’, it takes hours to dry, so she just doesn’t bother waiting for it to do so. ▸ does your muse care about their appearance? Yes. Back in the ‘dark days’ on the streets, lice, nits and worse were a problem due to little to no availability / being able to afford soap or bath houses. So dunking her head in a rain barrel or stealing discarded soap to take advantage of a good rain and or dip in someone’s poor fountain/pond was the best she could get. As companion/Inquisitor she washes thoroughly in the morning and bathes every night. During practice days / drill days, two or three times because sweat. And also because: memories.

▸ does your muse care about what others think about them? In an odd way. Anthracite prefers the nobility, the rich and the powerful to view her as a harmless, possibly idiotic country bumpkin with no idea what she is doing. She has learned that a lot of people show their true colors to those they believe are a) simple b) poor c) servant. If someone is close enough to her to be friend, companion, or lover, she wants them to see her for who she really is, see she is trying, and know she isn’t as big of an idiot as her mouth leads others to be.

PREFERENCES

▸ indoors or outdoors? Indoors and outdoors as long as their is shelter. ▸ rain or sunshine? Both ▸ forest or beach? Both. ▸ precious metals or gems? Gold, gold, gold and purple gemstones (Amethyst, Iolite, Tanzanite, Rubellite, Sapphires and Spinels oh my) to compliment and flatter her eyes. If in leathers (and not forced to heave her bosoms at nobility) she wears a lot of gold and violet gem jewelry, because she can now. ▸ flowers or perfumes? Sweets. Antivan coffee. ALL THE COFFEE. BRING COFFE + DID WE JUST BECOME BEST FRIENDS? YUP. ▸ personality or appearance? Personality. ▸ being alone or being in a crowd? Both. She can be alone in either. ▸ order or anarchy? Anarchy is her middle name. Wait. No..that’s ...you know what I mean. ▸ painful truths or white lies? That depends. When she is Inquisitor she understands that some truths are too painful to be uttered, some decisions best done with careful wording. When it comes to herself: painful truths. When she is companion: “Oh my GOD Anthy, TMI! TMI!” ▸ science or magic? Both. ▸ peace or conflict? Peace.

▸ night or day? Night. ▸ dusk or dawn? Dusk. ▸ warmth or cold? Cold. ▸ many acquaintances or a few close friends? She has both. ▸ reading or playing a game? Reading poetry and trashy as fuck romance novels. Don’t tell her I told you this.

QUESTIONNAIRE

▸ what are some of your muse’s bad habits?  Sweet jesus ya’ll’d be here all day. Uhm okay lemme try and keep it short: greedy (with things, with people, with attention, with food, everything), too abrupt, short attention span OR an attention span that’s like a broken boomerang: when thrown, instead of returning in a logical manner it just bounces all over the god damn place. Lecherous on occasion. Horrible pun lover. Temperamental. Mouth like a seventy four year old sailor: fuck is both punctuation, expression, noun, verb and occasional greeting. Night owl, hater of mornings. Coffee junky. Sweet tooth. Eats too much. Duplicitous: one face for the world, one face for secret, one face kept. Covetous: yes, she wants that dress you are wearing, that necklace, your shoes and possibly your mouth. You don’t know. Laughs like a cross between snorting horse and slightly upset donkey. Chews the inside of her cheeks nervously, which makes her look like she’s squishing her face and mouth side to side. Wiggles her nose when plotting. Sticks out her tongue when concentrating hard. JUST TO NAME. A FEW.

▸ has your muse lost anyone close to them? how has it affected them? Her mother. Her street-rats, the kids in the alleyways that no one cares about, some of the old and homeless beggars, friends and others. Anthracite has a list of names and keeps them to remind herself of all that was lost, could be lost, and rides on her shoulders.

▸ what are some fond memories your muse has?

The first time she saw the Inquisitor’s bathing chambers. 

Killing her boss

Running free on the streets of kirkwall as a child, not understanding about being poor or hungry -- the carelessness of childhood.

@kaaras-adaar ‘s admission in a tent in the middle of a snow storm.

The first time she read a book.

The first time she could afford a real meal that wasn’t stolen, handed down, given out, or scrounged from garbage.

▸ is it easy for your muse to kill? Yes. But it is no longer easy to forget. ▸ what’s it like when your muse breaks down? She has been too careful not to break down in front of anyone. She’s probably long over due. When she was younger, it was almost a manic sort of energy. She would try and do everything at once.

▸ is your muse capable of trusting someone with their life? Now? Yes. She has to. As a companion / younger, she could certainly put on a face that made it seem like she could. She still has random issues with it, older. ▸ what’s your muse like when they’re in love? 50% take charge, sweep them off their feet, write them poetry, rose petals, romantic picnic, make tea for them cuddle fest taking care of them, 50% PANIC. STAMMER. What--wait? Blush.  Mix up words: “Your hair like face nice smell good.”