#he can have one(1) fun little power clash before a catch-up drink. as a treat.

[selccuth]

@pirateborn​​​ sent:

“ may i have this dance? ”  [ @ whitebeard :>?  question prompts.

Head craned and perked from its nest along the bars of fingers, enough that it shows a visible interest beyond the usual quirk of the brow. The mirthful sounds making up the atmosphere stop, his crew silent, all half smiling and expectant. There were few that Edward found so pleasantly cheeky; a grating sort of happiness, a sunrise much too bright for the eyes, that was just the way Roger always was. The misnomer of his namesake drove that opinion home, the blinding glittering of gold that, despite being full of monetary and moral riches, finds a way to gingerly tug at the nerves from time to time. No one carried the light that Roger did. At least, never in the exact same way. Those that shared in his grand ideals and riveting adventures adopted but one piece of that wide, unfaltering grin. Even the one his carefree inquiry brings to Edward’s face seems to fall ever just short.

Body creaking, primed or not, Edward’s eyes narrow as his posture straightens in his place. He had been so still there for so long, perhaps complacent, perhaps simply accepting of the difference. Fingers scratch at his chin rough enough that it is audible, smile drifting from its contesting state into neutrality that somehow plays itself innocent in the face of obvious underlying excitement.

❝ Mmm? Are you really asking me to dance a jig? Want to try and drink me under the table again? Or... ❞

The air shutters as the captain rises. What ground bears his weight trembles as boots bear upon them, wind blowing, loose coat like a sail as it catches a gust and then settles. A fist grips the pole of his bisento, spun single handed, the end of its shaft plunged into the earth with enough for that the dry, cracked topsoil beneath collapses under the weight. Still that grin did not match the shining visage of the other, but Edward finds himself cocksure of it in the midst of pleasantries that only rivals bound by their similar ideals could share. ❝ Have you come seeking the usual? ❞

[marshunter06]

Fuck Off, Excuse Me Part 6

A/N: I can’t sleep so I thought I would try to write, dudes my bad for not continuing this sooner… I lack inspo and motivation plus I have no fucking clue where this is going

Anyways, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 are all linked here if anyone has forgotten what the hell is going on in this verse cause I sure as heck don’t remember.

It’s Saturday night and Courtney’s a nervous wreck, for once it’s not over exams. It’s about a boy, her soulmate to be exact, and they’re going on their first date together. She tries to calm herself as Cate helps her get ready for whatever it is Duncan has planned. She’s a bit annoyed that he wouldn’t tell her anything about wherever it is they’re going, the fact that Cate is keeping quiet despite her whining isn’t helping either. She swears everyone is turning against her to take Duncan’s side, where’s their loyalty? She needs to consider finding new people to hang out with, maybe she should take a page out of his book and bond with Phia since her friends are all traitors.

“All done! You look super cute Sissy! Have fun, and stay out as late as you want!”

“There’s no way Mom and Dad would be okay with that.”

“They’re not even home this weekend, who cares. Just enjoy yourself!”

“I’m not making any promises.”

“There’s the doorbell, he’s here! Come on Court!”

Cate eagerly drags her sister down the stairs, opening the door to see a casually dressed Duncan. Good thing she didn’t dress up for their outing either, but that was largely due to Cate’s meddling. He greets her normally asking if she’s ready to go, she simply nods as she follows him outside to his bike. She admits enjoying the ride as she keeps her arms wrapped tightly around his waist. Being around him always brings a warm feeling in her heart, the soulmate effect is too powerful, so much so that she wonders why there are those who do not end up with their destined lovers. Lost in her thoughts, she doesn’t notice they’ve arrived until she sees the huge crowd of people around them.

“Duncan? Are we…”

“Cate said you like music, and my old band happened to be playing here tonight, we’ll have special treatment.”

“Bold of you to assume we have the same music taste.”

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

He takes her hand pulling her inside the venue where they’re ushered into the VIP area much to the dismay of the crowd waiting outside. Their first stop is at the bar with Duncan ordering their drinks. She declines since they’re not of age yet, but he tells her she needs to loosen up. She still refuses to partake in underage drinking, until he calls her a chicken and bets she can’t handle herself. Naturally this prompts her to try and prove him wrong, she downs the beer in one go leaving him stunned.

“So, the Princess has a dark side.”

“My soulmate is a delinquent, I can’t be that innocent.”

“You continue to surprise me, Courtney.”

Her heart pounds hearing her actual name on his lips, his eyes softening as he gives a genuine smile. Maybe she shouldn’t have drank all that alcohol so quickly, she can feel her face heat up. He points it out immediately, telling her how cute he thinks she is, this only makes her blush even more. She turns away in embarrassment, not used to seeing this side of him.

“We’re going to miss the show if we keep standing here… don't you want to see your former band mates?”

“We have plenty of time, they’re always late, but we can go to our section if you want.”

She allows him to pull her away behind the restricted access sign. They’re up on the balcony overlooking the stage as people begin to file in for the concert. She finds that she’s actually excited about attending a live music session again, she hasn’t been since her own band broke up.

“Wait, you were in a band too?”

“Only for a few months, our personalities clashed too much.”

“I mean, with a name like the Type A’s I'm surprised you didn’t kill each other.”

“There were a few close calls… oh hey, I think they’re starting.”

It’s an odd feeling to be at a concert where she doesn’t recognize any of the songs, but she tries to not let it bother her too much. Subconsciously tapping to the beat, she listens to the lyrics and discovers they’re not bad at all. She isn’t a fan of every song, but there are a few that she would probably consider adding to her playlist. She makes a mental note to ask Trent if he’s heard of this band.

“So… what did you think?”

“They’re actually not terrible, dare I say I kinda like them?”

“I knew it! Admit it, Court, we have more in common than you thought.”

“I guess I can tolerate your existence a little more now.”

“I’ll take whatever I can get. You wanna meet the guys?”

“I wouldn’t mind, I’m sure you’re dying to catch up with them.”

She expects to feel out of place amongst his friends, but that wasn’t the case at all. They all immediately accepted her without question, making her feel welcome just as Phia did during their first meeting. She has to hold back her emotions, she’s not used to people being so kind to her without ulterior motives. There’s a reason why she only has two friends beside her sister.

He brings her back before midnight without her having to remind him of her self imposed curfew. He tells her he doesn’t want to push her past her limits, he’s already proud that she let her guard down around him and enjoyed herself. She doesn’t realize the weight on her shoulder she’s been carrying over the past month has been lifted until he points out how relaxed she looks. If he can bring out this side of her from just a handful of meetings, maybe it’s not such a bad idea to fall for him. There has to be a reason fate decided to bring them together right?

“Thanks for tonight, Duncan. I had a lot of fun, it’s been a while.”

“It’s nice to see you smile more, you look prettier when you do. Good night Courtney. I’ll see you Monday at school.”

“Good night Duncan.”

He leans in to hug her, the smell of his scent lingers in the air even after she closes the door. She has a huge smile on her face as she walks up the stairs, careful not to wake Cate up. It isn’t until she’s laying in her bed that she realizes he didn’t try to kiss her, and truth be told, she’s a bit disappointed he didn’t.

[otonymous]

A Bolt From The Blue (MLQC Shaw - NSFW) - Part I: A Matter Of Convenience

Description: An extraordinary man arrives to shake up your ordinary life Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language & mature themes — reader discretion is advised.  Potential trigger warnings: robberies and mentions of firearms, physical violence, mild depictions of bodily injury, blood and masturbation, profanity Word Count: 1650 words (~8 mins of action, drama and the start of a slow burn 🔥)  Author’s Notes: This multi-chapter fic is dedicated to the lovely @op-peccatori​​​, one of the winners of my Follower Milestone Celebration!  Thank you so much, Nana, for requesting a mafia AU story starring everyone’s favourite lavender-haired man 😆 This is actually my first time writing an AU fic, and the experience thus far has been incredibly eye-opening and lots of fun!

For this piece, I wanted to localize the AU to better fit the world of MLQC, so instead of using a traditional mafia setting, the events take place in the milieu of the triads and “black societies” that are more likely to be found in corresponding parts of the world.  For those who are interested, Wikipedia has an incredibly comprehensive article on triads and organized crime.

This piece turned out to be much longer than I anticipated and is still ongoing as of the time of this post!  That being said, I hope you’ll join me on this wild ride 😂 As always, wishing you all a very happy read 😊

Jump to Chapter(s): Two | Three | Four

“Put the money in the bag and no one gets hurt.”

A black duffel bag is thrust onto the counter before you, panels wide open like a gaping maw.  You look up at the man in the bomber jacket and the only things you can process are:

One: his nostrils are flaring.

Two: why bother trying to be nondescript by dressing in all black if you’re going to leave your face uncovered during a robbery?

“I ain’t playin’ around, little girl.  Put the goddamn money in the bag right now or else I’ll shoot—”

WHACK!

The man’s eyes widen in the split second before his face crumples, teeth yellowed and uneven protruding in an ugly grimace.  His hand flies to his head, trying to stem the blood already streaking down his face when he collapses onto the counter, taking out a display of collectible miniature keychains next to the register as he does.  They scatter, some rolling across the floor before being stopped by a pair of purple Chuck Taylors tapping out an impatient rhythm on the linoleum.

You look up from those sneakers in a daze, eyes following the silhouette of a pair of jeans so worn in places you doubted the rips and tears were purely for aesthetic purposes.  And if you’d had to guess, you’d say that purple was your saviour’s favourite colour, given the lavender hair that fell over his eyes the moment he pulled back the hood of his sweatshirt, also in a shade of violet.  His other hand — clad in a fingerless leather glove — gripped the skateboard that had just connected with the head of the would-be robber, still groaning before you.

Pop!

You startle at the sound, heart slowing only when you see the pink bubble deflating between the young man’s lips before the gum is pulled back by the tip of his tongue.  And from where you stood — glued to the spot behind the counter — you swear you can detect the hint of cinnamon.  

He crouches, picking up the gun that had slid out of the thief’s hand when he was unceremoniously hit from behind, and when he chuckles — the sound dangerous and cocksure — it ignites something deep within you.

“Tsk, tsk.  Can’t very well go around robbing people with toys guns, now can you?  Especially not on my turf.  Piece of advice: don’t mess with Boss Li’s territory or else I’ll be doing more than just breaking your head the next time around.  Don’t let me catch you here again.”  

Letting out a pathetic whimper, the robber snatches the empty bag from the counter, running for the doors in such haste he almost trips over his own feet.  The electronic refrains of the door chime still ring in your ears when you realize the man has already made his way to the beverage dispenser, one long finger pressing the Pepsi button before switching to Coke, both drinks mixing in the same paper cup.

Smoothly stepping over the mess on the floor, he places the drink on the counter right next to a smear of blood.  Mind still reeling, your customer service instincts take over.

“H-hello.  Just this?”  

He nods, popping a purple straw through the plastic lid before fixing you with his amber eyes as he pays, a hint of a smirk on his face.  And that is when it hits you that he is actually…actually…

…incredibly gorgeous.

An intense wave of heat washes over your face and you can’t help but look down.  By the time you’ve worked up the courage to lift your head again, he is already at the door, merging with the dark night beyond.  He throws up one hand in goodbye, not even bothering to look back when he says, “Relax.  That guy won’t be bothering you again.”

You hear his skateboard hit the pavement, listen to it rolling away.  Only when the sound completely fades do you remember to breathe.

There was a certain tranquility in working late-night shifts at the 24-hour convenience store — aisles empty save for the occasional customer breaking the monotony: high-strung lovers grabbing last-minute condoms and overworked salarymen buying the beer and discounted meals they subsisted on.

And though your coworkers complained bitterly about the graveyard shift, they were more than happy to pass them on to you, making up every excuse as to why they were unable to show up during those times.  It was unnecessary, really.  You didn’t mind it, even preferred the solitary calm it afforded.

Until now.

Your peace has been shattered, replaced by something that made your hands ball into nervous fists — fingers gripping at the hem of your polyester uniform and wondering for the first time ever whether blue stripes made you look ridiculous.

Because for the first time in a very long while, there was something, someone, to look forward to.

Night after night, it’s the same.  Repeated glances at the clock above the magazine rack, your breath growing shallow to see it approach 1:30.  Heart leaping into your throat to hear the automatic doors slide open followed by the scuff of purple sneakers, tracing a path through the store.

Since the night of that foiled robbery attempt a month ago, he has visited like clockwork and you still haven’t figured out how to remain calm.  So you find contentment from behind the safety of the counter, watching the man with lavender hair — soft, even when lit beneath a harsh fluorescent glare as he stands at the drink dispenser, always filling a cup with Pepsi first, then Coke.

Only ever buying the same thing every time.

This strange ritual lasts all of ten minutes, fifteen at most.  And it takes just as long after he leaves for the hairs of your body to cease standing on end, as if electrified by the intensity of his eyes on yours.  

That gaze of molten gold stays with you even when you return home in the early morning hours, pulling blackout curtains across your window before falling into bed to pretend your hands were his: tracing the outline of your lips, caressing the swell of your breasts, dipping between your legs.

And when your breath falters in a quick succession of shudders, you wonder at your own sanity.  Because in spite of your suspicions about the guy with the purple hair, the warning signs that pointed to his obvious involvement with the triads that extorted money from local businesses as ‘protection fees,’ you still couldn’t help but think about the man who visited you every night without fail.

“You’re hurt—”

“I-I’m fine.  Just…just ring this up, will ya?  I’m…in a rush…”

One arm crossed over his abdomen, he places the cup onto the counter as if it took all the concentration in the world — his efforts squandered anyways when his hand spasms at the last minute to send dark liquid sloshing over the lip.  He hadn’t even bothered to put a lid on.

“…Emergency responders have just arrived on scene and are dealing with scores of injuries.  Eyewitnesses describe what appears to have been a violent clash between rival gangs in a longstanding feud over contested territory.  The police are seeking help from the public in locating several key suspects believed to have fled the scene.  Please do not approach them under any circumstances as they are considered armed and dangerous…”

The news anchor’s face on the wall-mounted television is replaced by another: that of a youthful man with lavender hair and multiple piercings on his ears — challenge exuding from amber eyes.  You scramble for the remote on the shelf behind you, mashing the power button until the screen goes black.  And in the eerie silence that descends upon the store, all you can focus on is the laboured breathing of the man slouched before you.

Skin pale, beads of sweat dot a face drained of colour save for the crimson protrusion above his left eye — soon set to transform, ironically, into his favourite shade of purple.  He tries to suppress a cough but it is too late: you’ve already caught sight of the blood spreading out from beneath the palm pressed to his stomach.

“It’s on me tonight.”

The words leave your lips without second thought as you make for the storefront, flipping the light switch even as you reach to turn the lock on the automatic doors.

“No, don’t…don’t get yourself involved…”

Ignoring his protests, you gingerly place his arm over your shoulder, doing your best to support his weight as you make an awkward attempt to hobble together towards the back of the store.

Suddenly, the darkened interior is lit by flashes of red and blue and you are pulled in the direction of the nearest pillar, a strong arm flexed as it tenses around your waist, holding you to him in an intimate embrace.

He is close…so close that your senses are flooded with him: the heartbeat thunderous in your ear, leather and sweat tickling your nostrils; the scent of blood thick enough you can almost taste it on your tongue.  The hand on your hip — grip firm in a way it almost seemed possessive, and you are ashamed to find that you can become aroused even in a situation like this.

When you finally gather the courage to look up at his face — seeking a sign in the tension dissolving from the firm set of his jaw that the police cruiser had passed — you are shocked to see his pale lips stretched into a smirk instead.

“You know...I’ve been coming here every day…for weeks now…and this is the most you’ve ever said to me.”

He is still smiling when he passes out.

Thanks so much for reading!  Hope you all enjoyed it and please stay tuned for part 2!  Check out more of my work here! 📚

(Updated): Jump to Chapter(s): Two | Three | Four

[eve-is-obsessed]

1x02 I’LL DEAL WITH HIM LATER rewatch

spoilers for all of Killing Eve. my musings on how V and Eve are set up in this episode and how that affects the rest of the show.

I have to start this post with a shout out to the hair/ wardrobe department bc V's jacket and braids in the opening scene are *perfect.*

and in that scene, when the man throws the phone at her and immediately apologizes? peak humor

awkward meeting between Eve and Carolyn characterizes Eve so well!!! She’s so socially inept and uncomfortable and in awe of Carolyn but also cares SO DEEPLY about her passion project. plus it's just very funny

Carolyn telling Eve “You can have two [coworkers].” *Looks around* “I recommend small ones” is SO GOOD. doesn't top the rat drinking soda with both hands, but still.

Sebastian 🥺 he is doing his best and being a model boyfriend and V didn’t deserve him. Also his accent is so cute. But he did steal the perfume from his girlfriend’s purse so maybe he should have thought that one through

V's iconic "I wanted it to match my jacket" response to her black eye. That is all.

Konstantin is literally always in V's apartment. I forgot how much Konstantin/ Villanelle there is in S1. but like. every time V goes home, he's there. If I actually spend time thinking about this, I realize that it's probably to impress upon the viewers that 1) V literally has no one in her life except for him (she kind of killed her boyfriend, so) and 2) that he is In ChargeTM and wants to keep a close eye on V, but that actually V just does whatever the hell she wants. she likes being in control, she likes being a little bit rebellious, but she also cares about Konstantin and about doing her job well.

similar characterization in the psych eval - V wants to be in control of her situation all the time, and the way she does that is by manipulating the people around her and how they perceive her. everything is a performance to V, and it's fun for her. even the touching scene with Konstantin, when she hugs him, it's to get her drawing back. maybe there was real emotion there (I think it's likely there was, because V does seem to genuinely care about Konstantin) but her actions are still to achieve a goal. she only really starts acting erratically when Eve comes into the equation, because she can't entirely control or "use" her feelings towards Eve.

also, while we're talking about the drawing, interesting that she says it's not Anna, it's her mother, but then immediately makes a joke about her mother's hair. as far as I can remember, this is the only time that V mentions her mother, ever, and it's just to deflect attention with humor.

first example of tension in Eve and Niko's relationship, with the suitcase and the "are you leaving me?" joke. Eve doesn't tell Niko where she's going until pressed, and this lack of consideration clearly (and understandably) hurts him. also, the suitcase is stowed away, dusty, etc, showing that it's really never used. when is the last time Eve took a vacation? apparently a long time ago. continues characterizing her life as boring, mundane, even trapped, and shows the MI6 job as an escape from that.

and the second conflict between Eve and Niko sets up another theme in their relationship - arguing about how dangerous the job is. Niko just wants Eve to be safe, but Eve doesn't care about her safety (or arguably anyone else's), she wants to catch Villanelle. She wants her life to be exciting, even (especially?) at the expense of safety. so their core desires clash, and maybe they could have made it work, but Eve, as we see here, isn't really willing to listen to Niko and just brushes him off as often as she can. basically, upon rewatching, I can see this early that they're doomed as a couple. (and I'm salty that their relationship lasted SO FAR into the third season. ew.)

gonna talk about Bill for a sec - in 1x01, his relationship with Eve is clearly boss/ employee, but they have good banter and genuinely like each other. when the situation is flipped in this ep, Bill comes off as a jerk, constantly undermining Eve and trying to invalidate her ideas. in the next ep, this seems completely resolved because the viewer is supposed to like Bill before he dies tragically... ooof. I'll be nice to Bill and assume that his rude behavior in this ep is more a result of him trying to cope with the new power dynamic than misogyny, although it's probably some of both.

end of episode!!! here comes the gay panic because THEY BOTH REALIZE AT THE SAME TIME THAT THEY'VE MET BEFORE. and that incredibly charged first interaction that they've both been thinking about turns out to actually have been REALLY IMPORTANT. and Eve's "I think I've met her" - she's not scared, she's EXCITED. aaaaaa. these bitches gay.

overall, a solid episode. V kills some more people, Eve obsesses some more... classic. 10/10. also, this didn't really fit into my analysis, but Elena is very pretty and I love her.

ok I'm done blabbing for now. 1x03 post coming soon, 1x01 linked here. love you all <3

[shifty-looking-sheep]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Mass Effect Trilogy, Mass Effect - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kaidan Alenko/Female Shepard Characters: Female Shepard, Kaidan Alenko, Garrus Vakarian, Tali'Zorah nar Rayya, Liara T'Soni, Jeff "Joker" Moreau, Urdnot Wrex, Admiral Hackett, Dr Chakwas, Engineer Adams Additional Tags: Post-War, Destroy Ending (Mass Effect), Happy Ending, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Speeches, Embarrassment, friends teasing, Reminiscing, Reminiscing about Normandy SR1, Post-Mass Effect 3, Friends notice everything, Teasing

Summary:

Shepard wasn't scared to commit; it was the actual wedding she was scared of, and now she realised why.

The crew of the SR1 show that they were paying attention more than Shepard and Kaidan had previously thought.

It took a full year for her to give in. Not that she didn’t want to commit; she’d been committed way before she admitted it to herself, and years before she admitted it to him; sometime between her throwing him out of the way of the beacon on Eden Prime, and seeing the blush creep up his neck as she came to speak to him after Noveria. A really long time. It was the actual wedding she was scared of, and now she realised why.

“So, the crew of the SR1 realised Shepard was interested in Lieutenants pretty early on.”

Snorts of laughter wafted over from a table of Normandy crew. Kaidan’s mum giggled from the other end of the top table. But most worrying of all, she could see that Admiral Hackett had raised an eyebrow.

Dr Chakwas continued, apparently unconcerned by the horrified look etched onto Shepard’s face.

“I believe I was there right at the beginning. The ground team had just returned from Eden Prime; the Commander had been injured and was out cold. The then-Lieutenant hadn’t left her side, of course. When she came to, they had a who-can-apologise-the-most competition, until the Commander told the Lieutenant that he had nothing to apologise for, and his face did something like this…”

The doctor waited for everyone’s attention before pulling a ridiculous, eyebrow-raised flirty face. Kaidan groaned and hid his face behind his hand. Shepard couldn’t help but smirk at the memory.

“And then, the next day, the Commander came back to the med bay to ask what I knew about the Lieutenant, in a ridiculous fake-nonchalant tone,” Dr Chakwas affected a Shepard-like low voice while twisting her hair between her fingers. “Um, so, er, what can you tell me about the Lieutenant, you know, professionally, or, you know, whatever.”

Garrus snorted some of his drink out of his nose, while Shepard sunk a little lower in her seat. Kaidan turned an amused eye to her and cocked his head. “Subtle, Jane, “ he breathed, looking slyly satisfied with himself.

“So, I quickly caught her up on what being an L2 was like, and the medical support I needed to offer for his migraines etc. and she pulled a face like she’d just seen a puppy with three legs.” The doctor exaggeratedly exhaled and batted her eyelashes. “And that’s how I was the first one on the SR1 to find out that there was something going on between them.”

Dr Chakwas sat back down at her table as the laughter started dying down. Shepard gave her what she hoped was an angry glare, but the doctor just winked in return.

“Thanks Karin, but I don’t think you can count raised eyebrows as the start of a relationship. I was the one who saw that.”

Adams had just stood up and flashed an uncharacteristically mischievous grin to the waiting crowd. A low groan escaped the bride’s lips. "Shit", she thought, "him as well?"

“Let me tell you a little about the Normandy SR1’s oxygen recycling mechanism-“

James loudly booed and aimed a dinner roll at Adams’ head, which he smartly sidestepped. Instead, it narrowly missed Jack, who shot daggers at James as he sat back in his chair, shaking his head.

“It’s on a closed system, separate to life support and the first three back-up systems. Essentially, it can’t fail, requires no maintenance, and is so far down an engineer’s list of priorities that they didn’t even feel the need to install the panel on the engineering deck. They just shoved it in a corner of the crew deck where it could be safely forgotten about. This corner happened to be outside the CO’s quarters… Which brings me to exhibit A, Major Alenko’s SR1 work logs.”

Shepard heard Kaidan sharply inhale. She turned to take in his sheepish expression as he guiltily rubbed the back of his neck. Adams had pulled up a document on his omnitool and had started to read from it.

“Monday 6th – 1100-1200 hours – maintenance: oxygen recycling. Tuesday 7th – 1400-1600 hours – maintenance: oxygen recycling. Wednesday 8th – 0900-1000 hours and 1700-1830 hours. You guessed it. Thur-“

One of Kaidan’s sisters was leaning forward to try to catch Kaidan’s eye, grinning and shaking her head. The light giggling from the guests was rising in volume.

“Sunday 12th – 0800-1100 hours – suspected power drainage issue in oxygen recycling system. Sunday 12th – 1200-1300 hours – power drainage issue confirmed as false alarm.”

Joker, swinging back on his chair, rolled his eyes. “Wow, this is embarrassing for you, eh Major? Shepard, did you realise you just married your stalker?”

Kaidan pinched the bridge of his nose and clamped his eyes shut in what looked to be a futile attempt to will himself to the other side of the galaxy, rather than the onset of a migraine. Shepard patted his arm in what she hoped was a supportive manner, but couldn’t contain a burst of laughter as Adams continued.

“Wednesday 23rd – 0700 hours… Major, seriously? Did you actually get any work done on this mission?”

Kaidan groaned and attempted to lower himself so far down his chair as to be invisible to the room.

“Oh no you don’t,” admonished Shepard, grabbing an elbow and dragging him back upright. “‘Celebrate our love’ you said. ‘We need everyone there with us’ you insisted. This one’s on you, Mr Weddings-are-fun.”

“It’s not too late to elope,” he whispered back. “You call the skycar and I’ll meet you outside in five after swinging by the gift table.”

“And that’s how I knew about their relationship before anyone else,” concluded Adams, with a half bow.

The majority of the applause came from a table near the back of the room with a bunch of Kaidan’s friends and squadmates from Biotics Division. Gaining some respect back when he returned to work after the honeymoon was looking like it might be tricky.

“Gonna have to disagree with you there Adams,” Wrex said as he stood up, awkwardly adjusting the collar on his actually rather dapper formal attire.

Shepard involuntarily groaned just as the room went quiet, causing eighty pairs of mischievously laughing eyes to sweep right over to her. "Is everyone from the SR1 going to take a turn at this", she thought, angrily, then froze mid-thought. "Oh goddess, they were, weren’t they!"

“I was definitely the first to notice these two were at it. Or at least that they wanted to be at it. It was… uncomfortable,” he rumbled.

“Oi, Commander!” shouted Jack, mouth full of chocolate mousse. “Didn’t know you had it in you! My girl was getting some on the job!”

Shepard turned an unflattering shade of brick red, which clashed nastily with her flaming hair, falling in waves about her face (Tali had insisted that she ‘do her hair’, but Shepard couldn’t wait to throw it into a ponytail later).

“I took to sparring with Kaidan back in those days. Only other Biotic on the ship, pretty worthy partner, for a human. Not much room on the old Normandy though, had Garrus and Ashley down in the shuttle bay with us as an audience, but they were usually busy with their own stuff.”

“Oh no!” breathed Shepard, a shame-filled, indulgent memory floating up to the surface of her mind and burning her cheeks. Kaidan turned and raised an eyebrow.

“…but I noticed that Shepard seemed to be down there weirdly often when the sparring was going on. Taking notes maybe? Spotting, in case the battlemaster squashed a crewmate.” Wrex seemed excited at this thought, and slammed a fist into his palm. Bakara tutted next to him and put a hand on his arm to bring him back to the moment. “Anyway, I realised she wasn’t watching the fighting, hurhurhurr, she was watching the squishy crewmate, hurhurhurr.

“I guessed she was worried about me hurting the pretty Lieutenant , so I spoke to Ashley, and she said ‘Don’t sweat it, Krogan, it’s not you she’s imagining naked’.”

Traynor sprayed half a glass of champagne across the table before she could clasp her hand over her mouth. Everyone was howling at this point, spurred on by Wrex’s deep guffawing. Shepard’s eyes betrayed her and slipped over to look at Hackett. ‘Everyone was howling’ was an exaggeration; the Admiral looked pained. Shit. Shitshitshit…

“So sure, humans, you might have seen some warm-up, but I knew when it got serious enough for Shepard to start ogling.”

Kaidan’s hand darted out and caught Shepard as she made her break for under the table. “Ah ah ah,” he mocked. “If I’m not escaping, you’re not escaping. For better, for worse, dearest wifey.”

Shepard growled and sat back grudgingly. She’d feel better if she was in her armour; in armour she could face anything. This dress was just discomfort on top of discomfort.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Kaidan whispered in her ear. “But no, drugging all of our wedding guests and running off to live on Omega is out of the question. Well, until we hear what’s next…”

"Next?! There couldn’t be more, could there?" Shepard silently pleaded.

“These eyes don’t miss much – I was a vigilante sniper, after all. Clearly, I caught the real start of this first,” purred Garrus, waving his hand in the direction of the newly-weds.

Kaidan and Shepard flicked back to face each other. “OK, you put the drugs in the champagne bottles, I’ll call the shuttle,” said Kaidan out of the corner of his mouth. Hell, she loved this man.

“Snipers lurk on the edges of the battlefield, they see everything, and keep an eye on their squadmates. Which was lucky for Shepard and Kaidan, since they weren’t always focused on the bad guys.”

“WHAT?!” Shepard slammed both palms onto the table, pulling back her shoulders and giving Garrus her best battlefield stare. Sadly, he knew he had the upper hand, and besides, intimidation is much harder when you’re wobbling on your heels after three glasses of champagne and a sneaky ryncol.

“Woah, Shepard, touched a nerve? That’s more than you touched on Daratar where I had to shoot three smugglers who almost got the drop on you while you were ‘entranced’ watching Kaidan warping.”

“That is so untrue!” she complained, a little too high-pitched for her liking. Kaidan grinned and mouthed “really, Jane?” which didn’t escape Garrus’ notice.

“Oh, buckle-up Alenko, I’ve pulled your ass out of the fire more times than Shepard’s. The mines on Nepmos? You had two Rachni soldiers on you while you were busy gawping at Shepard’s melee prowess.”

“Slander!”

Kaidan joined Shepard’s indignant pose behind the top table.

Garrus chuckled almost malevolently. “OK, OK, I didn’t mean to suggest that earth’s best and brightest can’t handle themselves in a fight, simply that without Palaven’s finest around they might be sporting a few more scars in their wedding photos.”

At the phrase ‘Palaven’s finest’, Tali groaned and lifted her head up as if rolling her eyes, a gesture which set Liara off into a fit of uncharacteristically girly giggling.

“Clearest time though, after clearing out some Cerberus mercenaries on a drifting freighter. All focussed during the firefight, sure, but afterwards…”

Shepard cast her mind back… she couldn’t remember what Garrus might have been referring to.

“The perps had hidden gas cannisters around the ship, and the love-birds thought they’d make finding them all into a race. They’re running around giggling like school kids, shouting across the room every time they find one, completely forgetting that I’m there. Then suddenly, I hear this crash, like twisted metal, along with a yelp, and I figure they’ve gotten themselves in trouble, so I walk around a pile of crates in the direction of the sound, and guess what I see…”

Several suggestions were shouted out, but Garrus managed to ignore them, and the subsequent laughter. “They’d both ‘fallen over’,” he continued, using air quotes. “I guess they’d run smack into each other, but they were making no attempt to get up – just staring at each other through their visors, faces bright red, with Alenko’s hands on the Commander’s hips as she’s fallen on top of him. I had to VERY LOUDLY clear my throat to snap them out of it. I’m not sure what they were thinking of doing with all that armour on, but hey, good for them. Anyway, I think that proves that I knew something was going on before any-“

“That’s enough Vakarian,” laughed Tali, as she bumped him out of the way with her hip. “I have clear evidence of something going on in the SR1 days, not just longing looks.

“I was on my pilgrimage. Never been away from the flotilla before, never been around humans, and I really didn’t know anything about human bodies.”

Kaidan mouthed “Bodies?” and developed a worried look while Tali continued.  

“Since I was so nervous, and new to everything, a couple of crew members took me under their wing, mainly Adams, who was so kind to me, talking to me about the ship and the drive core, and Kaidan, who acted a bit like a big brother, coming to check on me and making sure I was doing OK.”

Shepard flashed Kaidan an affectionate smile.

“Well, I thought he was checking on me.”

Shepard’s smile froze.

“Anyway, these ‘check-ins’ seemed to link up to when Shepard was down in the cargo bay talking to the crew in-between missions. When she made it into engineering, Kaidan would go discuss something with the ensign, or Adams, then come back to chat to me about omnitools or laugh at my favourite vids. But he was never that focussed on the conversation if Shepard was leaving.”

“Ohhhhh,” Kaidan made a pained noise and hid his head behind his hands. “No no no no no…”

“So I thought, maybe it was a human custom to watch your superior officer’s hips as they leave a room, and so I asked him.”

Kaidan made a noise like a dying animal, but it was drowned out by the tidal wave of laughter, much of it coming from Vega and Cortez, one of whom shouted “L2, you dork!”

“Well, he turned completely red,” Tali practically shouted, trying to continue the story despite the general furore. “I’d never seen a human do that, but naturally, being Quarian, I thought he must be running a fever, so I backed up quickly (worried I was going to catch something), and said, a little too loudly, ‘Woah, you look hot Lieutenant’, which-“

Tali’s next words were lost in the cry-laughing erupting around the room. Adams was clutching his chest almost as if he was in pain.

“OK, OK, haha, calm down guys. Anyway, I told Kaidan that he looked hot, and Shepard was still in the room, and she whipped around so quick, smirked, looked Kaidan up and down, and left. Ten seconds later, my omnitool pings: ‘Yes, he does, but back off Tali, this one’s mine!’.”

Garrus whistled, and Vega yelled “Caught red-handed Lola!”

“So, I think I win, since I actually have written evidence from the SR1 days. Eat that, Bosh’tets!”

“I have better than that”. Joker, rather than stand up, leaned back in his chair and made an exaggerated gesture of resting his hands behind his head. “I was the one running the betting pool on when they’d get together, and I know exactly when that happened because I’m the one who won.”

Shepard and Kaidan turned to one another and simultaneously repeated “betting pool?”.

“Admiral Hackett, sir, I’m guessing anything said at a wedding stays at a wedding, Vegas-style?”

“You have my word, Mister Moreau,” the Admiral chimed in, in mock-seriousness.

“So, we opened the books a few days before we arrived on Therum. The signs were all there – Lover-boy here making cow eyes at the Commander in the mess; those looooong chats after each mission. Seriously, it felt like the Normandy had turned into the Love Boat.”

“Joker, stop exaggerating.” Liara, stepping up to her maid of honour duties, had an eye on the Admiral and his reactions. Thank the Goddess for Liara, Shepard thought. That’s one wedding tradition she was glad she’d followed (Tali had forced her, refusing to attend if Shepard didn’t name bridesmaids).

“Oh, now T’Soni speaks up,” said Joker. “I’m sure you have something juicy to add to this discussion.”

“A friend doesn’t break a confidence, Joker. What kind of information broker would it make me if I revealed everyone’s secrets?” Liara answered, with a wink to the top table.

Joker waved her answer away and continued. “Anyway, Susi and Johnson both bet on them not getting it on until shore leave, the innocents. I thought Pressly might write me up when he came over and mentioned the pool, I mean, I thought I was toast, but then he just said ‘I’ll put my credits on it being a solar month’. Miles out.”

Kaidan took Shepard’s hand under the table and gently squeezed at the mention of some of their fallen colleagues. It still hurt. It would never not hurt, but it also felt good to hear Joker recount stories about them so animatedly.

“You were in, weren’t you Adams?” Joker hollered over his shoulder.

“Yeah, and you took me for 20 credits!”

“After every mission, crew would rock up to change their bet. Hell, at one point I had 30 credits on them getting it on in the back of the mako on Noveria and blaming it on ‘sharing body heat’, but that 30 credits went to hell. Anyway,” Joker continued. “Eventually, I got the evidence I needed to win my original bet. Cam footage of the mess hall with a clear view of the Commander’s quarters. 1500 hours - Alenko walks in. 2100 hours – Commander walks out, alone, grinning. Fifteen minutes later, out slopes Alenko, looking more than a little dishevelled and extremely pleased with himself.”

Wolf whistles echoed around the room, and someone, presumably Donnelly, shouted “Get in there my son!”

“And all this happened to occur exactly when I’d bet it would: ‘The night before we catch up with Saren’.”

Joker took an awkward bow, since he was still in his seat. “Thank you, thank you, I’m available for Tarot readings, predicting numbers for the Illium lottery, and picking auspicious names for your future children.”

Tali made her eye-rolling head movement again. “Joker, you are so self-satisfied, if you were made of chocolate, you’d eat yourself.”

Shepard hadn’t heard what Tali said though. She was too busy exploring a niggling feeling she had, just out of reach in her memory, connected to Joker.

“So that’s why you interrupted us!” she exploded. Springing out of her chair and throwing the accusation before she’d had time to consider the consequences. Now everyone was looking at her expectantly, and the explanation needed to be good before everyone started imagining that Joker had walked in on her and Kaidan in a compromising position.

“Just after the ship was grounded, I was at the lockers and Kaidan came over, and we nearly kissed, except you jumped on the comm just before we did.”

Several members of the original SR1 crew snapped their heads over to Joker’s direction, and there was an audible intake of breath from O’Reilly.

“That would have meant I won!” He shouted. “You owe me, flyboy!”

“Not a chance,” Joker retorted, though with an undercurrent of panic. “All’s fair in love and gambling.”

“Let’s move on, shall we, ladies and gentlemen.”

Hackett had risen from his seat, brushing his sleeves absentmindedly before settling into parade rest. “I think I may have something of note to add.”

The laughter, shouting, and general hubbub of the party was extinguished in a nanosecond. Joker’s eyes were practically popping out of his head. James let out a low whistle, but was quickly silenced by Cortez jabbing him in the ribs.

Hackett cleared his throat and shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Is he nervous?" thought Shepard. "Oh hell, how bad is this going to be if an admiral of the Alliance navy is nervous to say it?"

“Three days after the battle of the Citadel, I received an interesting message from Major Alenko, which I’m very glad I chose to ignore.”

The colour completely drained from Kaidan’s face.

“I forget the details…” the Admiral trailed off, but with an ever-so-slightly mischievous smile. “Something about falling in love… any fraternization implications being entirely his fault… Commander Shepard being an exemplary officer who had just saved the whole galaxy, and shouldn’t be punished for a minor infraction… being prepared to take any and all consequences... some kind of offer of resignation… Naturally, I decided to deny all knowledge of receiving such a missive.”

Kaidan had turned to Shepard and was giving his extremely-serious-apology face, clearly expecting her rage at the idea that he’d confessed to complicating the chain of command without discussing it with her. However, Shepard’s facial expression wasn’t angry at all. Instead, she looked contrite – she knew what was coming next.

“I’d just decided to delete the message from the Major when, to my absolute shock, a second message comes through.”

Confusion bloomed on Kaidan’s face, until he looked over at Shepard and froze, then it morphed into a Cheshire cat grin as realisation dawned.

“This second message was remarkably similar to the first one, but with a few key differences. There was something about Lieutenant Alenko being the future of the Alliance… amazing example to other Biotics, blah blah blah… all untoward behaviour being entirely the fault of his superior officer… and another offer of resignation…” Hackett concluded, with an amused expression aimed at Shepard. He’d started off seeming nervous to be joining in with the general pile-on, but now he was clearly enjoying himself.

Shepard and Kaidan were still just looking at each other. Kaidan’s grin had softened into a loving smile, mirrored on Shepard’s face as well.

“Funnily enough, I took the view that I should probably ‘forget’ this second message as well… I’d become very forgetful in the face of a possible reaper invasion,” mused the Admiral, looking around at his audience and drinking in the laughter and small ripple of applause. “Anyway, I believe the point I am making is that, while I acknowledge that I can’t compete in your competition to see who noticed the relationship first, I believe you can thank me for not allowing the heroes of the Reaper War to resign four years ago over it.”

That elicited a huge cheer from the room, with a number of people raising their glasses in a toast.

Shepard slowly leaned sideways to rest her head on Kaidan’s shoulder, and as he quickly dipped to kiss the top of her head, she whispered “You idiot.”

“Right back at you,” he whispered back.

[number5theboy]

Wow. Your ask queue has gotten pretty serious today. So I thought about asking you some fun questions as a positive distraction (hopefully). 1) If the UA sibs were throwing a party what would their duties be? 2) 3x5 childhood head canon (since nobody talks abt them) 3) If the UA sibs went to college what majors would they choose?

Dearest Anon, you cannot believe how nice I think this gesture is, I really appreciate and cherish this ask so much, thank you, thank you, thank you.

1) If the UA sibs were throwing a party what would their duties be? 

Allison and Five are in charge of the booze. Both of them know their cocktails and how to mix, and Allison also pulled off enough birthday parties for Claire to know well-tasting, colourful non-alcoholic drinks. They go wild o the decorations, definitely having too much fun with the little paper umbrellas, and Five enjoys playing bartender on the evening (I’m imagining a party in the mansion here) while Allison entertains. Vanya and Luther share the responsibility for both music and food. Luther has absolutely incredible taste in party bangers, but is hopeless with putting together a playlist that doesn’t horribly clash with itself, so he picks songs, Vanya adds some and puts them in the most entertaining order possible. They also put together bite-sized appetizers in the kitchen the entire day leading up to the party, grooving to the playlist made from songs they rejected from the party playlist. Diego helped them out for half the day, but Vanya and Luther have the tendency to make dad jokes, and after a while, Diego couldn’t take it anymore. In the evening, Vanya and Luther put together the sound system, Luther easily carrying the heavy equipment around and Vanya knowing what to do with it. At one point, Luther was carrying a speaker with Vanya perched on top of it, giving commands on where to put what. If you then turn around, you find Team Decorations, Diego, Ben and Klaus. Klaus clearly put his entire heart and soul into the aesthetic of this party, and definitely picked an extravagant and accidentally genius theme, like ‘80s Gothic’. Diego will not admit it, but he did scour the entire house for objects to add to the decoration, and Ben just resigned himself to make sure they had things like cups and plates, but also definitely got a disco ball. So Klaus, Diego and Ben are busy the entire afternoon to put up neon Victorian-style decorations which clash both more and less than expected with the inside of the mansion. Ben uses the tentacles to put garlands up high, just as Klaus manifests ghosts to hoist him up to places where he can’t reach. Diego’s powers help him put up a tower of glasses perfectly. The decoration is wild and fun and everyone’s really happy with it. Ben, Luther and Vanya share the role of photographer for the evening, and they catch a lot of fun family snapshots of the evening. Allison and Five grinning widely behind the bar, little paper umbrellas tucked into their hair. Klaus and Luther on the dancefloor, trying and failing to gracefully remember their Paso Doble lessons from childhood, in the background Five is looking on in horror from behind the bar. Diego and Ben, absolutely mastering the Paso Doble. Vanya, with fluorescent fake cobwebs on her head and Allison in the background, holding up two fingers at the back of Vanya’s head. Luther bear-hugging Diego and Ben. Klaus, his cheeks round with appetizers, making him look like a chipmunk in a very cool skirt. A selfie that Vanya took sitting at the bar, with Five grimacing behind her. Okay I got very much carried away with that idea, I really love it!!

2) 3x5 childhood head canon (since nobody talks abt them) 

Allison and Five, my darlings. I don’t think they were that close growing up, but I think Five must’ve been extremely fascinated by Allison’s powers, as they bent reality. Reginald noticed this interest, and thus used Five the most as a guinea pig to push the limits of Allison’s powers, also because Five had the strongest own will as a kid, always talking back, so cutting him down was in Reginald’s interest. At first, Five was quite intrigued, but Reginald really drove Allison and thus him to the brink, and afterwards, the two of them would sneak up to Allison’s window, just escaping for a bit. They would softly talk about anything but training, sometimes trailing to the future. The last time they did that, before Five got lost in the future, they were thirteen, and they talked about having kids of their own one day. Five, seeing how Reginald treated them, could never imagine having children, but Allison sometimes talked about wanting to have kids one day. It was a conversation replaying in Five’s head when he read Vanya’s book for the first time, and found out that he had a niece he never got to meet, a niece that died along with everyone else, a niece that Allison just have love more than anything in the world. This got sad. Whoops.

3) If the UA sibs went to college what  majors would they choose? 

Oof, that’s always difficult. Luther might do astrophysics, but I can totally see him do botany or English literature as well. Actually, it’d be cute if Ben and him both did English literature, but maybe Luther switched majors at some point, getting Ben to dramatically call him a traitor every time they meet in the university corridors. Diego might do criminology, or social work, but I also see him not go to college at all and rather learn manual work. I have a soft spot for smith Diego, ngl, I think it’d be cool if he could make his own weapons. Also I know he went to police academy in show canon, but just no. Klaus definitely went to college, both for the experience and to test out how much he can push the American education system. He probably did courses like gender studies and might have annoyed Diego in criminology, but totally took some straight white boy classes just to rile people in there up, like economics, business or western philosophy. He genuinely makes friends with at least three frat boys. I know Vanya would go for a violin degree, but after Season 2, I really love the idea of her studying to become a special needs teacher, with a focus on teaching autistic children. Allison definitely did drama, but I love the idea of her also doing media management to get to know the behind the scenes of the entertainment industry, so she can manage herself. And Five honestly could have gone for anything. Clearly, quantum physics is something that fits him well, but I think Five could find interest in almost anything. He could also do languages, in my opinion, or anything with engineering.

[thechosenburrito]

Intro to Love: 1.4-Thanks for Ghosting Me

Word Count: 1,581

Description:

Xochi and Carson are on their way to study when they’re rudely interrupted.

Author’s Note:

Almost done with Chapter 1!  Maybe I’ll be done tonight!

Previous Chapter: 1.3-I Can See Right Through You

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It's hard to sleep when you feel like shit.  That's why I only slept for 30 minutes after my little episode the night before.  The clock read 7 o'clock which came as a shock to me as I usually only see it followed by a "pm".  I stayed in bed for a couple of hours, scrolling through an endless stream of nothing on my phone.

My stomach growled out of nowhere.  I smiled a bit when it wasn't immediately followed by nausea.  I got up and pulled a cold slice of pizza from the fridge.  I was able to finish a small slice and figured I could use this time to take an extra-long shower.

It was nice to shower some of the sadness away.   But, when I got out, my eyes were still puffy and had dark circles under them.  This wasn't unusual for a college student.  However, I generally try to present myself as someone who didn't have a mental breakdown the night before.  I dried my hair in front of the mirror in my room.  Drying my thick dark hair required using my blow-dryer on the maximum setting, which isn't optimal for dorms with paper walls.  My true hair revealed itself.  It was wavy in strange places and I had a sort of cowlick in the front.  I plugged in a flat iron to tame the crazy mess.  

I touched the dark bags under my eyes.  I considered putting concealer over them, then on the red marks on the side of my nose, and maybe followed by the weird freckle on my right cheek.  At that point, I didn't really feel like doing make-up anymore.  I looked closely at my eyebrows.  A bit over-grown, but thick brows were in.  I think? Oh well.  I toweled off and pulled on a tank top and hoodie ( Of course with proper supportive garments underneath).  I pulled on a pair of jeans and slipped on my black canvas sneakers.  The iron was finally hot enough and I got to work on my hair.  I've done this a million times, which made it the perfect time to let all my stupid thoughts out.

What if they made really tiny curling irons for eyelashes?  Actually, I don't want that THAT close to my vulnerable eyeball.

Am I strong enough to stand on the tips of my toes in these shoes?

Of course, I put the iron down and tried it out.

"Ow."

Not yet.  Next time for sure.

Should I become a beanie person?  Are beanies secretly my thing?

I pressed my hair to my head and imagined a beanie there.

Nope.  My head is a weird shape.  Guess I can't go bald either.

I finished up my hair and unplugged the iron.  I still had a couple of hours to kill and an orange soda from the vending machine down the hall was calling my name. I grabbed my room keys and wallet and headed down the hallway.  I passed a few early risers on the way.  Do people actually wake up this early? For fun?  I kept scrolling through my phone to avoid eye contact.  I wasn't really feeling the whole 'interaction' thing.  At some point, I realized I was scrolling and not even looking at anything.  Not my best moment.  A sponsored post caught my eye and made me audibly groan.

God, another ad for a Team StrikeForce! (TM).

"Even Superheroes need clean teeth!  Use StrikeForce SuperClean Toothpaste to fight back against plaque!"

StrikeForce was essentially a government-backed superhero team.  They purposely sought out conventionally attractive people with the most vanilla powers ever to represent the "ideal striker".  And they made sure to throw in some token minorities.  You had a strong girl, a flying man, someone that blasted fire from their hands,  and some other generic power. Speed maybe?  Telekinesis?  I did my best to avoid any media with them in it. They were essentially glorified cops who spouted government-approved messages like "It's cool to protect your chip from harm so keep yourself and others safe!  " and "Remember: Public use of powers is against the law!  Only teams like StrikeForce are allowed so everyone can be safe!". Right after the lightning storm, they actually did some important things like stopping individuals who abused their powers.  But, once people realized they could get away with more crimes by keeping on the down-low,  the StrikeForce lost their bite and became the government puppets on kids' backpacks we all knew and loved.

I sighed a bit.  Being critical was too tiring.  I quickly realized that I was going to crash. I didn't expect my sleep debt to catch up to me so quickly. I started getting everything to make coffee but hesitated at the thought of drinking something caffeinated after last night.  

I'll make a cup of tea first.  That'll cancel out the caffeine.

Yes, that's exactly how biology works.

I put on water to heat up and chugged an iced coffee from the fridge while it brewed.  Chasing ice cold coffee with nearly-boiling tea made my insides feel like an absolute mess of clashing temperatures.  

Phone buzzed.

(C) I forgot there's a staff meeting in the study room today.  Wanna go to the library instead?

I paused a moment before replying.

(X) Yeah that works.  I'm good to leave whenever you are

(C) Cool, I'll be downstairs in 5

(X) ok see you then

I threw all my supplies in my backpack, grabbed my keys, and started making my way to the dorm lobby.

I saw Carson chatting with someone at the front desk and laughing.  I'd seen the guy at the front desk a million times and barely made eye contact, except the time I got locked out of my room and was forced to talk to him.

I slowed down my pace and stared at my phone as if I didn't notice before taking a breath and walking up to him.

I struggled to plaster on a normal-looking smile.

"Hey! Ready to get going?" I asked, too cheerily.

"Yeah, just-"

A phone alert when off on all three of our phones.

"MISSING: 20 YR OLD FEMALE, 150 LBS., 5'6", STRIKER, LAST SEEN IN PURPLE SWEATER ON JUAREZ ST 9 AM. SEE LOCAL MEDIA."

My breath caught in my throat.

"Oh no.." I whispered.

"Wow," said Carson. "Juarez Street isn't even that far from here.  Do you think she was a student?"

I shrugged.  The guy at the desks scoffed.

"How do I turn these off? I hate the sound of those dumb ass alerts going off all the time," he said in a huff.

It was Carson's turn to shrug.  He pulled on this backpack.

"Ok, we should get going.  Let's be careful though.  We don't wanna get snatched up!" he said with a laugh.

I smiled and we headed out the door.  We walked for a bit in awkward silence before Carson casually broke it.

"So why did they have to put that the girl was a Striker? Doesn't exactly help identify her," he asked.

"Probably to make sure no one ever looks for her,"  I sighed.

"Really?" he responded innocently.

"Uh no. Ha, not really. I was just making a joke about how people don't tend to like Strikers," I tried to keep from stumbling over my words. "A lot of the time, when they find..uh...a body... they check to see if they're a Striker to help identify them."

We stopped at an intersection.  I decided to let Carson cross first, thinking they wouldn't try to hit me if they saw him first, even though there was only one car quite a bit away.

"Oh yeah.  That actually makes sense since they have..." he rubbed his shoulder "..those chip things.  Do you think it hurts?"

"I don't..." I heard the sound of a car speeding up.  I turned only to be met with the unmarked marked white van only 10 feet away from us.

I didn't have time to scream.  I lunged at Carson, praying that I'd grab onto him in time.  As soon as I got my hands on him, I did my best to think permeable thoughts.  

I watched the bumper pass right through us.  For a split second, I could see into the interior of the van.  The driver was wearing a bandana over his face and sunglasses, but even with both of those, you could tell he was sure that he turned me to roadkill.  I caught a brief glimpse of the back of the van.  I could make out a dark hunched figure and maybe some rope, but it was all going too fast.

We both hit the ground hard.  I was pretty grateful that I landed on a person and not the asphalt.  I rolled off him and tried to catch the breath that got knocked out of me.   It immediately occurred to me that we were both still in street, and I started helping Carson onto the curb.  His arms had some scrapes on his arms and a couple of holes in his T-Shirt, but otherwise, he didn't look too bad.  We collapsed onto the curb.

"Holy shit.  We got lucky." I managed between breaths.

I turned to him, but his face wore an expression of shock rather than relief.

"No.  That was beyond luck.  We should be dead." he said darkly.

He turned to look at me so quickly, I shot right up.

"How did you do that?"

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Next Chapter: 1.5-The Good, The Bad, and The Unmasked

a/n:

I can’t think of anything clever to put here but you should totally send me asks and stuff

[artificialqueens]

Laws of Motion / Chapter 1 (Trixya) - DenDenMonMon

Summary: “Every object persists in its state of rest or uniform motion in a straight line unless it is compelled to change that state by forces impressed on it.”

A/N: 

Hi. Hello. How are you? Welcome to another crazy idea that came to my mind and have no clue where it’s gonna take us! Wooh! Usually I’m not a big fan of crude smut thrown at you right from the start, yet, here we are haha so, if that’s not your cup of tea, you can just skip that part once you reach it, there’s no other impact on the story other than it happened. Hope you enjoy the ride. Thanks for reading! -Monkey

AO3 Link

Laws of Motion

Chapter 1 - Pink.

The music was loud.

More than hear it, Katya could feel it.

She could feel the waves of sound pulsing all through her body. She could feel her blood running through her veins to the rhythm of the unfamiliar song. Her eyes were closed as her ears filled with the blaring noises of the club, clashing and mixing together. Her arms were up in the air as she allowed her mind to go blank. Her body responded to the movements dictated both by the music and the hands of the stranger holding her hips.

She could feel the man’s fingers digging into her flesh, but she didn’t mind. She could feel his semi-erection against her ass, but she didn’t care. She liked it. She liked the fact that she was utilizing him. Right in that moment, he was nothing but an object to her. He might as well be a wall she was slamming her body against while dancing, he had as much importance. His reaction to the way her body moved was all she was looking for. She liked that power. Taking advantage of that power, of the symbolic grip she had on the guy, she turned around in his arms. Her hips pressed hard against his. She could feel him through her tight skirt. If there hadn’t been clothes between them, they could very easily be fucking already.

She knew that.

He knew that.

His stare told her as much.

That was the only reason why she turned around and walked away. He called after her but she didn’t listen. One of her hands went up in the air, dismissing him completely. He really had nothing else to offer her.

She made her way through the crowd. The dance floor was completely packed and she loved to feel the pressure of hot bodies against her own, even if it was just for a second. The only problem was, it was too hot and she was sweating. She needed a break.

With a little bit of trouble she managed to step away from the moving bodies, and went to find her friends. They were all drinking and dancing in the little private area. That particular booth was permanently reserved for them. That was the type of privilege they got for being regulars at the club. The seats of the small round tables were not always filled, but that night was a special occasion.

“That was quick. Did you fuck him already?” Violet swung her long ponytail from one shoulder to the other. Her dark hair shone with the fluorescent lights blinking behind her.

Katya laughed at her assumptions, her head shaking in disbelief. “You are rotted!” And that was all the attention she dedicated to the matter.

She went around the circle, pretending to give lap dances to those sitting down, and watched them get shit-faced as she sipped from her tall glass of Coke. She felt happy, she felt alive, she felt completed. There were no visible cares in the world. All the people that mattered to her the most were right there, in that stinky booth, having fun and enjoying themselves. If only things could stay like that forever, or at least for a little bit longer, but they couldn’t. Because time waited for no man, nor woman, and life went on, leaving behind whoever wasn’t ready to catch up.

Suddenly, she noticed the bucket in the center getting empty, when it had been filled to the rim with beer bottles not so long ago. Placing her fingers between her lips, she whistled in the direction of the bar.

Her eyes caught a girl sitting alone on one of the stools. Her hair was blonde, flat-ironed, and parted in the middle. It went all the way down to her waist, creating a remarkable contrast against the bright pink dress she was wearing. Her shoulders went up and down at an erratic pace, not really following the beat of the song.

The bartender whistling back took Katya out of her trance. She shook the empty bucket, the remaining ice cubes rattling inside. No other explanation was needed and the bartender sent a waiter her way, to retrieve the bucket to be filled again.

Her eyes were glued to the girl during this entire time. She watched her fingers rapidly tap against her phone, probably sending text messages that she was going to regret in the morning. Her head hung low. She was most likely crying. Her long fingers wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle, and she seemed to down it all in one swing. Katya had to guess it hadn’t been completely full; the girl didn’t look like the type that could drink an entire bottle of beer at once.

A waiter finally approached her, new round of beers in his hand, making her stop her observations. For the time being, she forgot about the girl drinking alone at the bar, and she concentrated her attention on making sure everybody had a drink in their hands.

It wasn’t necessary, but she couldn’t miss the chance. She drank the last bit of her soda and made her way through the crowd again.

“Hey, Bob!” Katya approached the bar, the empty glass high in the air. “Oops, sorry. I touched you.” She apologized when she felt her arm bump against the person on the tall stool. The girl simply looked away, hiding her face behind the curtain of straight hair. “Another one, please and thank you.”

Bob took the glass from her hand and reached for a new can of Coca-Cola. “Coming right up!”

The process was simple, but took the bartender enough to give Katya time to analyze the blonde girl. She still wouldn’t look in Katya’s direction, which gave her the freedom to shamelessly scan her up and down. She was cute. Really cute.

Bob finally gave her the long glass back, filled with ice cubes and bubbling soda.

“You are the best.” She flashed her biggest smile his direction. “Put it on my tab, and, please, give Depressed Malibu Barbie over here a double of whatever she’s drinking,” she said as she turned around to leave.

She heard a loud ‘I’m not…’ coming from the girl but Bob quickly cut her off.

“Just take the drink.”

Without looking at them again, Katya made it back to her friends. She stepped on the cushions of the booth, holding on to someone’s shoulder for balance.

“Hi, yes, hello. May I please have your attention, you dirty whores?”

Everyone around her stopped what they were doing. They turned to look at her with amusement on their faces. Nobody knew what to expect, but were perfectly aware that there was not one time that Katya didn’t make them laugh with her speeches.

“Thank you, thank you. As you know, Miss Ginger Minj over here, AKA female Danny DeVito, AKA Tony Soprano, AKA…” She had to stop mid-sentence, laughing hysterically at her own words as everybody else chuckled slightly. “AKA my best friend and partner, decided to abandon us all and get an early retirement.”

She exaggerated a face of disappointment, only as a cover-up for the real sadness that had invaded her for months. Ginger had recently gotten married, and she was the happiest she had been in her entire life. It didn’t surprise anybody when she let them know she was leaving, wanting to dedicate her entire attention to her husband and the new life they were about to start.

“You will be greatly missed,” Katya continued with put-on solemnity. “Luckily, your BO will linger around the halls forever.” There was one more pause as she recovered from her own joke, before she actually turned serious. “Come on, now, raise your glasses and join me in the celebration of the one and only, the multitalented, the incomparable, the often imitated but never duplicated, Ginger Minj! May her smoker’s breath continue to infest every room she ever walks into, may her big juicy ass only grow bigger and juicier, and may that new husband of hers fuck her so hard every night that she can never walk straight again.”

There was a round of laughter as her friends lifted their drinks to her words.

“To Ginger!” She ended loudly, making the people around her to repeat in unison. The words were followed by the sound of bottles and glasses clinking with each other.

She got down and hugged her friend. The smile was still on her face when she turned around in the direction of the bar again. The mysterious girl was looking at her, or at them, probably their toasting had called her attention. Katya wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she was intrigued by the girl, hiding behind the heavy layers of makeup that made it impossible to even look at her eyes.

Katya would later learn that her name was Trixie, that her heart had just been broken, and that she tasted sweeter than any other girl that had ever ridden her face. For the time being, she was reduced to a sad woman, drinking alone at the bar, wearing a pink dress and too much makeup.

It was very unusual of Trixie to be doing so, she had to admit as much to herself, but the circumstances called for it. The rough and sudden shift in her perfect little life didn’t seem to have any other solution but to drown it in alcohol.

She had been there before. She had been hurt by a man before, but never like this. This time it felt different. She wasn’t even sure why she had such strong feelings about it. Things had been good, but there was no reason for her to be destroyed about the end of her relationship.

Her finger unlocked the phone, even when it didn’t show any new notifications. She went to the messaging app and opened a specific conversation. It could barely be called that, if she was being honest. Nothing but blue bubbles appeared on her screen, filling up the right hand side of the unilateral discussion. The smiley emoji wearing a cowboy hat, followed by pink hearts and sparkles, at the top of the screen, suddenly made her feel sick.

Drunk texting was never a good idea, she knew as much, she was smart enough to know that. The pressure in her chest, the pain in her soul, and the alcohol running through her veins, gave her enough courage to type yet another message.

Thank you for teaching me what true love ISN’T.

She backspaced the entire thing, deleting the message and starting over.

You just made me realize how much I don’t need you.

That was a lie. She did need him. She did miss him. Or at least she missed how it felt to be loved by someone; but that was a feeling that had been gone for some time now. They had lived miles and miles and hours apart, but they had been able to make it work. She would visit him every other weekend, and he would take a trip down to meet her whenever he was available. Through many phone and FaceTime calls is that they had made it possible to stay together even when being apart. Trixie had to wonder if that was the reason why they lasted so long, because they didn’t really see each other. If she had to put together all the days they actually spent together in the course of so many years, they wouldn’t sum up to more than a few months.

With a heavy sigh, she pushed the button to lock her phone again.

No message was sent.

She looked around instead, noticing for the first time how loud the music was. She had been immersed in her own pathetic little world that she had taken no regard on the people partying behind her.

The spinning of the stool was enough to make her dizzy, she decided to sit still, like she had been doing the whole night, and asked for another beer.

The tall man behind the counter, Bob, looked at her with a side grin. “Girl, don’t get me wrong. I’m from New York. I’m all about getting plastered and then riding the train home at the same time that people are going to work.” He laughed at his own words, taking the empty bottle from her hand. “Are you sure about that drink?”

“Oh, my God! I’m so glad you asked!” Trixie’s sarcasm was not missed by the bartender who laughed wholeheartedly. “Yes, I’m sure about that fucking drink.”

The beer was placed in front of her, then a bottle of water landed right next to it. “Meet me halfway?” The guy asked with the same shit-eatting grin.

Trixie rolled her eyes, but took the cap off of the water bottle anyways. “I’d really appreciate it if you stayed away from my business. Thank you.”

He lifted his hands in surrender and moved along to serve other customers. No other words were said. For a moment, Trixie was sad the interaction was over. She had finally been given a distraction from her own destructive thoughts and she had pushed it away. All she could do now was watch the bald man as he laughed and handed out glasses filled with liquor. Trixie wondered if he was giving them a hard time as well, if he was always protective of his customers or if he had felt pity for her. She was drinking alone, and visibly crying, after all.

That had to stop immediately.

She drank the entire water bottle at once, not really realizing how much her body needed it until the first drops touched her tongue, and stood up. With the phone in her hand, she made her way to the bathroom. Walking was a struggle, and her high heels were not helping. Maybe she was, indeed, drunk.

She entered the last stall of the row. Her body felt heavy as she sat on the toilet. Her elbows landed on her knees and she let her head drop to her hands.

As Trixie was receiving the epiphany that she needed while peeing, on the other side of the club Katya felt claustrophobic. There were too many people in the small space with the extremely low roof. The room felt hot and air was not circulating enough. Ironically, she knew that the thing she needed to be able to breathe at peace again was a cigarette.

She stepped outside and the warm breeze hit her face. It was as much as she could ask for a LA night and she took it gladly. Up until that moment she hadn’t realized just how sweaty she was. The belt around her waist was too tight, making it even harder for her to breathe normally. She liked her top, and was grateful for picking something see-through. It allowed air to flow and her tattoos to show, but the feeling of mech against her arms and torso was itchy. She could feel every piece of clothing sticking to her skin. It wasn’t a nice feeling but it was one that she was rather used to.

The calming effects of the nicotine worked wonders right away. She could feel her lungs expanding as they filled with smoke. Her thoughts immediately stopped racing and a sense of utter peace enveloped her whole.

She kicked pebbles with the tip of her shoe. One arm was wrapped around her waist, the other one finding support on it to place the cigarette to her lips. Everything around her was quiet. And she liked it that way. She could see the cars driving on the street, their lights bright enough to reach her all the way at the end of the alley.

Her peaceful moment was disrupted by the back door of the club opening roughly. The girl from the bar walked out, her steps stomping hard against the pavement as she walked with alcohol induced confidence.

“That’s right,” she said to the phone glued to her ear. “I am walking to the dumpster right now. I am taking the key out of my purse,” she narrated her every move. “If you don’t say anything right now I will throw it in there, and you will never see me again.” There was a pause, which clearly didn’t give her the answer that she was looking for. “Fine. It’s done. Bye, see you never,” she assured as the small piece of metal landed on trash bags with a small thud. “I guess you don’t love me after all.”

Forcefully, she pressed the red button to end the phone call. She turned around and spotted Katya for the first time.

“Ex-boyfriend?” Katya asked, respectfully blowing smoke in the opposite direction.

Trixie nodded her head. “Ex-boyfriend’s voicemail, to be exact.”

Katya smiled, throwing the butt of the cigarette on the ground and stepping on it. “You are too hot for him anyways.”

Her eyes grew wide open in surprise. “How do you know that? You don’t know him, or me.”

“But I have eyes, and I can see you are hot, Barbie doll.”

“Trixie, my name is Trixie.”

“Nice to meet you, Trixie. Say, do you feel like dancing the depression away?”

The girl extended her hand and Trixie took it, allowing the total stranger to pull her back inside. She didn’t realize, but Trixie never got the girl’s name. It didn’t seem to matter then, not when their bodies grinded together and the music did all the talking. The name was going to be a big deal in a few hours, though, when Trixie’s orgasm was going to rip her to pieces and she was not going to know which name to scream in delight. Right that instant, however, it was irrelevant.

Trixie allowed Katya to press her body against hers, to let the song that was playing loudly from the speakers to provide the necessary words to fill up the space around them. It felt good. It felt nice to have soft skin brushing against her own. It felt electrifying when nails dug on her flesh. It felt hot when the perfectly round ass rubbed against her crotch.

Hot.

It was hot, both the room and their dance. Katya was a complete mystery and an enigma. She would whisper silly nothings into her ear, making Trixie laugh with joy, and, at the same time, use her body to set Trixie’s on fire. She had never felt like this before, so free, so careless, so turned on. Trixie knew her heart was still torn into a million pieces, but the thin girl exploring her body with her hands, was melting her in such a way that the broken parts seemed to glue themselves back together.

Everything around her was spinning, and Trixie didn’t seem to find another anchor that it wasn’t Katya’s body crashing against her own. She became the gravity center that she needed. And the pull was so strong that Trixie couldn’t help it when she suddenly found herself pressing her lips against the other woman’s. This was something completely new to her, but the feeling was so amazing that she didn’t want to deprive herself from it.

Katya smiled for a moment, moving her lips to Trixie’s ear. “You are drunk, bitch.”

The new position only allowed Trixie to plant a kiss on Katya’s neck, never stopping the swaying of their bodies. “So are you, so what’s the problem?” she said against her skin. She simply couldn’t stop herself. She wanted– she needed more of her. “Wanna get out of here?”

Katya pushed her away, just enough to look her in the eye. “Are you sure? You may regret this in the morning.”

“Are you really that bad in bed?”

Both looked at each other for a moment, before erupting in uncontrollable laughter. Katya was the first one to recover her voice. “I’ll grab my stuff.”

“I’ll get us an Uber.”

The car drive was made in silence. Katya had enough conscience to leave some space between them in the backseat. Trixie had been drinking, a lot. Katya wanted to give her that time to sober up and think if that was really what she wanted. Trixie seemed to be doing just that. Katya observed her from the far end of the seat, kept a close eye in the way she looked out the window, the city lights making the glitters on her face shine bright. It was a beautiful sight of a beautiful girl.

Trixie was completely aware of Katya’s eyes on her. She liked that feeling. Something in the bottom of her stomach had been set on fire, and the heat spread all the way down to her most private area, making her throb with desire she had never felt before. It was new and interesting and she couldn’t wait to explore the feeling some more.

She turned around abruptly, expecting Katya to look away and pretend she wasn’t watching her, but she didn’t.

“Are you one hundred percent sure you wanna do this?”

If there was any trace of doubt in Trixie’s mind, the sincerity in Katya’s eyes made it fly out the window. “Are you kidding me? Yes, of course I am.”

They both held their stares for a moment too long until Trixie extended her hand, taking Katya’s and interwinding their fingers. Still holding hands, they walked inside the apartment building. It wasn’t until they were inside the elevator that Katya even tried to make a move.

Still holding hands, they walked inside the apartment building. It wasn’t until they were inside the elevator that Katya even tried to make a move.

“Come here, Mamma.”

Trixie did as she was told. With a side smile on her face, she moved to stand right in front of Katya, towering her. Each of her hands flanked Katya’s head as she leaned forward, pressing her lips softly against hers. It wasn’t a kiss, not really, it was a tentative move, almost as if they were testing the feeling under these new circumstances. There was no loud music or sweaty people dancing around them. There was nobody but them in that small metallic box, space that kept feeling smaller and smaller the longer they kissed. Because the elevator was not big enough to contain the immense waves of desire that washed over them like tsunami tides.

The door slid open with a ding, revealing their own image reflecting on the mirror across from them. They looked a hot mess. Katya stared at herself, at the mascara creating dark circles under her eyes, where it mixed with the liner that had already ran. Her hair was gone beyond the point of no return.

If she had gotten into this state, just by dancing, she couldn’t imagine how she was going to look like walking out of that apartment, all fucked out by the real size Barbie doll dragging her through the narrow hallway.

They stopped by the door with the letter F on the front. Trixie pulled her closer, her lips once again meeting Katya’s as her hand fished the key in her purse. Doing both things at the same time proved to be too difficult for her, but she didn’t stop either. She allowed her mouth to continue devouring Katya’s as she pushed the key into the knob. Her tongue was running against each of Katya’s teeth when the front door closed with a bang.

“You need to take off your shoes,” Trixie informed her between kisses. She turned around and found stability on the wall in front of her, trying to kick off her high heels.

That was when she felt Katya’s hands on her ass. “I think you need to take off your panties.”

What happened next, Trixie felt in slow motion. Her eyes closed when her dress had been moved up. Katya’s finger hooked on the sides of her underwear and she pulled it down her legs. Trixie’s hands were planted on the wall, holding on for dear life, when she first felt Katya’s tongue against her center. Her legs spread by themselves, giving Katya more access. Her back arched, as she forcefully pushed herself against Katya’s mouth. She pressed her front hard against the wall, just because her upper half needed some attention as well.

Nobody had ever eaten her out like that.

Nobody had made her legs feel like rubber with simple touches like that.

Nobody had brought her so near an orgasm within the first few seconds like that.

She could have been softly moaning, she could have been screaming loudly, she didn’t care. Except that, when a particularly loud moan escaped her lips, suddenly something came to mind.

“Oh, my God. Kim!”

Katya smiled against her thigh, kissing it softly, and speaking against her skin. “Oh, so you wanna role play?”

“No, you stupid.” Trixie stood up straight, reluctantly moving away from her spot, away from Katya’s hot lips. “Kim is my roommate. I don’t know if she’s ho–” She couldn’t even finish her sentence when she fully looked at Katya, kneeled down right next to the front door, mouth and chin wet, both with saliva and what Trixie could only imagine was her own arousal. She bit her lower lip, her want increasing by the second. “You are so hot.”

Katya took Trixie’s extended hand and allowed her to pull her up. Katya let her take the lead as Trixie kissed her roughly one more time, forcing her to walk backwards and guiding her towards the bedroom. Their lips never parted until they reached the last door at the end of the small apartment.

Trixie walked inside and turned on the light on the bedside table. Suddenly they were surrounded by nothing but pink. The shade on the lamp was bright pink, bright enough to almost drown the different shades of the same color around the room. The pillows, the sheets, the comforter, and even the picture frames on the wall, were all pink.

Her observations stopped once Trixie entered her space again. “I want you so bad,” she whispered so low it barely reached Katya’s ear. But she heard it, and she took the invitation happily.

She reached down and took a hold of the hem of Trixie’s dress, pulling it up and above her head. With deft fingers she found the hooks of her bra and Trixie put her arms down so it could slide off of her. There she stood, one of the most amazingly beautiful girls she had ever seen before in all her naked glory. Her breasts were full, and her small waist provided the perfect contrast for her fleshy hips. She pushed Trixie on the bed, making her land softly against the mattress.

Without even thinking about it, she knelt down between her opened legs again. She could tell Trixie was not expecting to have sex that night, which turned Katya on even more. She ran her fingers through the slightly uneven pubic hair until she found her entrance. The first finger entered with ease, making Trixie’s hips buckle up to the touch. Katya moved it around in circles, preparing the girl for the second one, which she took without a problem. When the third finger found its rightful place inside of Trixie, Katya made sure her mouth paid attention to the delicate bundle of nerves as well.

Katya fucked her with her fingers and her mouth for what felt like an eternity. The scream-like moans falling out of Trixie’s lips were enough to make her feel close to the edge herself.

Just when she felt Trixie’s walls clenching around her fingers, everything stopped. Trixie pushed herself up, propping herself on her elbows. “Can I sit on your face?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Katya replied with a smile.

She stood up, removing her belt in the way. Her top found the floor right after, and Trixie helped her unzip her skirt and toss it to the side.

It was now her turn to lay her back on the mattress. Trixie’s thighs flanked her head and she couldn’t wait to have her again. She stretched her neck and gave her a quick lick. Trixie giggled and held onto the headboard, asking her to wait until she was ready. Katya couldn’t. She reached up and caressed Trixie’s breasts as her tongue entered her over and over. The mixture of sensations had Trixie reaching her orgasm almost immediately. Trixie’s legs gave out and she literally sat on Katya’s face, her thighs sending her to a blissful state of suffocation. Even that wasn’t enough to stop Katya, she continued licking her, sending electroshocks through her already sensitive body.

“I want to taste you,” Trixie said after a few seconds, her body was still recovering from the earth-shattering orgasm.

Katya didn’t protest. She saw how the girl started a trail of kisses down her body, dedicating extra time to her breasts. Nobody had to tell her, Katya knew Trixie had never been with another woman before, she could tell by the way she bit on her nipples, the way she unskillfully sucked on them. That was the reason why she paid close attention when Trixie’s face got lost between her legs. She wanted to see her reaction, which was just how she expected.

“You know, you don’t have to do it if you don’t like it,” Katya said with a reassuring smile.

Trixie’s face relaxed from its contorted state. “No, I do want to.”

No other word was spoken. Katya closed her eyes to the feeling of wet tongue and hot lips. Turned out the girl was pretty good at it. Her tongue went up and down and around, in patterns of a few seconds that already had Katya losing her mind. Her hands took a hold of Trixie’s hair, trying to find anything that could ground her to her Earthly surroundings. She truly felt as if she could touch the sky in that mere instant. It only took one hard suck from Trixie on her most sensitive spot to have Katya screaming out her name. Her hands pressing Trixie’s face against her core so she wouldn’t move from her spot.

As soon as she relaxed, Trixie moved up to lie down next to her. She wrapped an arm and a leg around her, and Katya had no energy to move her away.

“Will you stay the night?” Trixie asked, kissing her shoulder. Her eyes already closed from exhaustion.

Katya didn’t reply, because she couldn’t. She couldn’t stay the night. She waited until Trixie fell asleep to extract herself from her embrace. Katya found her clothes scattered around the floor and turned off the small lamp. Walking out of the room, she got dressed by the front entrance. When she put on her shoes, she spotted the pink thong she had rolled down Trixie’s legs and picked it up. She stuffed it in the pocket of her jacket as she exited the apartment, closing the door behind her as quietly as she could.

End notes:

Thank you so much for reading, and giving this crazy story a chance. You seriously have no idea all things I have planned for you. Expect the unexpected. As always, would love to hear what you think.

[get-rammed]

Long Dong Silver

Just gonna slap down some basic info on all my characters. It's gonna get long. Also a few retcons to previous characters. Oof yeah, it got LONG

Dakota-7 - age: 123 - class: Titan - race: Exo - height: 6′5″ - Ghost name: Cassie

Personality: Good fucking dude. He’s an incredibly happy guy. Always nice, never mad. Like seriously, he’s a genuinely good dude. Will give you the clothes off his back, and if he has none to offer, then he’d help you find some. He’s too nice though. Often is taken advantage of. Also super naive about a lot of things. Tries to see the best in even the worst of people. Which usually just ends up with him hurt. Which is why Cassie is a panicky worry wart of a Ghost.

Background: Woke up inside of a tree. Like straight up. A tree grew around his body. Took Cassie a long fucking time to get his ass out. Traveled alone for a long time before Cassie finally was able to convince him to go to the city. He’s not anyone real important. Just a mechanic that occasionally helps out Amanda. Doesn’t know much about his past life, and is told it’s better if he didn’t know. He’s okay with that. Gotta focus on the now.

Fun facts: Vex are the one enemy he CAN’T go near. His tech was built heavily off of the Vex to the point that there’s a small backdoor they can use to override him and basically puppet him around (thankfully there was very few of his model produced for this reason). He has no memory of the incident that barred him from ever going near the Vex, but he’s told he’s better off not knowing.

-He’s a good mechanic. People go to him for uh, not quite legal Sparrow mods to be equipped. Ones Amanda can’t apply as the Vanguard watches her. 

-Learned to speak the enemies language so he can chat with them and trade parts every now and again

-As gentle as this boy is, and as kind as he is, you’d think he’d be a huge sub. WRONG. He’s a hardcore dom. Very demanding and vocal. But always makes sure his partners are having a good time. Sweet boy that loves to cuddle his partners

Alexis-137 - age: will not share - class: Hunter - race: Exo - height: 6′1″ - Ghost name: Ripper

Personality: She’s quiet. Cunning. Always watching and listening. Loyal as hell. Keeps most of her personality to herself. Less people know about her the better. 

Background: A contract killer that got the option for an upgrade she couldn’t refuse. Smart, fast, and no remorse. A brutal killer that survived the Collapse. Still went after her targets, just found a few were now a little harder to kill. Easy enough when she figured out their new floating friends had to go. World may have ended, but she still keeps her word. Ripper came to her and told her what he was and then what she was. She brushed him off at all points. Gonna add a bit for Ripper here as well. He had to swallow that his Guardian was a murder. One that had no issue killing other Guardians. So long they were on her list. She only knows all this now, because she kept a journal. Knows everything about her past life. Refuses to forget every life she’s taken. It’s not fair to them. Even though she’s far nicer now than she was, actually cares for Ripper now an all that, she still kept up her business.

Fun facts: 137 is not the amount of times she’s rebooted. She’d be completely nuts if that was the case. It’s the amount of Guardians she’s silenced.

-She has never once rebooted. Fit perfectly with her new body and anything she saw, she was supposed to see. As hardcore as she is, she’s still far nicer than she was when Ripper first found her.

-Dakota is her actual son.

-A previous set of Vanguards asked Alexis to be their silencer so to speak. Someone spoke out? Shame. The current Vanguard don’t like the idea of her and told her to leave.

-She’s the reason Rook isn’t an active Guardian anymore. She was ambushed and missed her shot at his Ghost, simply wounding her instead of killing her.

-Her and Manthres have had a long history with a lot of clashes. End up getting together because they’re both old and tired.

Rook-14 - age: 289 - class: Titan - race: Exo - Height: 6′6″ - Ghost name: Kari

Personality: Kind older Exo. Tries to be everyones hot dad. Kind of keeps to himself a bit. After his Ghost was attacked he went private, too scared to talk to a lot of people. Became a little paranoid. (He’s a newer character. Still workin’ on em). Dispite his almost kind of harsh intro to most people, he’s still a huge flirt

Background: He used to be a well loved and popular trainer. He just wasn’t quiet on his opinions on the Vanguard in power at the time. Which landed him on the list. He knows someone tried to kill him, he doesn’t know who, but it worked. He survived the incident with just Kari getting hit unfortunately, and had to keep quiet. Opened a bar on the city and now gives advice if you buy a drink. 

Fun facts: Found and trained Alison. Also taught her how to swear

-Sugar daddy material. Like straight up. He fucking loves getting his babies anything they want. Adores seeing them happy

-A giving partner. Honestly just loves to go at it honestly. Nothin’ real special about it. Unless he can convince Riot or someone to join in. Then it’s more fun for him. Double dick a partner ;)

Alison-1 - age: 97 - class: Titan - race: Exo - Height: 7' - Ghost name: Ophelia

Personality: Alison is that big sister that hits you over the head and calls you a moron all the time. To be fair, you were a moron and she was just making sure you knew. It's in a loving kind of way though. Kind to those she trusts, and cautious with those she's unsure of. She can be a wee bit unapologetic and brash. She's a Titan, what do you expect. Alison is hot tempered, a little cold a times, and is far more powerful than most Guardians. With a resting bitch face and a height that towers over most, she's intimidating through and through. A little over confident. An by a little I mean A LOT. She can admit she’s not the brightest though. Much rather fight shit than talk to it. She’s quick witted and street smart though. Scan talk just about anyone out of something if she wants it. A little vain, never catch her armor being the same colour for more than a week.

Background: Alison was found and taught by Rook-14. She didn’t like to listen, and he didn’t have the energy to deal with a cocky new rez. He taught her patience and a good way to shut up the new guys. Shove them into enemy fire and wish them the best of luck. She had the opportunity to learn more about herself in the past and turned it down. With the nightmares she has of her previous life, no thanks. She was a high ranking Guardian that used to just get sent out to take out high priority targets as they knew she would get it done. But found herself being punished for going against what was asked of her. It saved her Fireteam and another one. The Vanguard appreciate what she did, but they still had to punish her. Which landed her in a training position. She found it fun. She likes training new Guardians. Makes sure they know how to hold a gun properly and protect themselves if they’re out of ammo. Guardians trained by her have a better start than most. 

Fun facts: While she doesn’t know why, but she always gets terrified when someone goes down. She knows they’ll get up, but she’s terrified that they might not one time. 

-Often has nightmares of the Vex. Ophelia assumes its part of how she died. Alison avoids Vex if possible. She also avoids sleeping, which she already has a hard time due to being an Exo. Which means she always kind of tired

-Guardians trained by her, appreciate what she’s taught them and often bring her gifts

-Often used as a bodyguard when she’s not assigned to train

-Can and will throw your ass out of harms way if you’re not listening to her. Don’t want to stop fighting that thing that is way stronger than you? TOO BAD. TUCK YOUR ARMS

-Is one of the first working Exo prototypes. As such, she often experiences issues with parts of her just not working right. Sticking or just shutting down. If the Light had been gone for more than five years, good chance Ali would have died. A fatal flaw was found in her model of Exo after her disappearance. Too soft a metal was used internally and eventually the part breaks apart and slowly tears the inside apart. Incredibly painful and slow way to die. She’s good though. So long as the Light doesn’t go out again

-As a lover she can be either sweet or vicious. Depends what's asked of her. She's a giant softie for her partner(s). Lots of gifts and a fuck ton of attention all the time, but especially after she plays rough. She adores making her partner feel amazing

Yana-9 - age: 67 - class: Warlock - race: Exo - height: 6′1″ - Ghost name:  Jenka

Personality: Over confident asshole Warlock. Smarter than you, and she’ll make sure you know it. Can admit though that she can’t fight very well, which is why she always has a bodyguard of some form with her. Flirty as hell

Background: Yana woke and knew nothing of herself, but knew she had to research something, anything. The city provided her the opportunity to study various Golden Age tech and history. They assigned her Riot. They got along well, sometimes a little too well if ya know what I mean hur hur. Then during a regular mission gone wrong, Riot dipped out to guide some Cabal away from Yana. She was knocked unconscious and couldn’t respond to Riot’s calls. She was found and taken away to safety by some passing Guardians. Yana didn’t know what happened to him for the longest time and just assumed he left her for dead. Five years after the incident Mena found Riot and forced him to apologize to Yana. First thing she did was slap him then hug him. Now they’re cool, but aren’t really quite on talk like they used to level

Fun facts: Currently poking around Mars by Ana’s request

-Fast. Like she’s stupid fast for a Warlock. Easily outrun a Hunter or her bodyguard if needed

-Once talked some Hive out of killing her. She was out of ammo and her bodyguard was down for the count. She just started yelling weird facts she knew, and they got so fucking bored they just left her

-Got her name from her Ghost saying “Yeah, nah.”. Her original name has been scratched out

Riot-4 - age: 4378 (he's a long living alien. He's a little older) - class: Titan - race: Rokin - height: 6'7" (30' in his actual form) - Ghost name: Cherry

Personality: before his incident he was over confident and a massive narcissist. Very much all about him. Gave little regard to anyone but Yana, the Guardian he was protecting. After his incident he calmed down a /lot/. He's still over confident, but now it's so he doesn't cry. He's a huge coward. He's now a "I'm depressed, have PTSD, and I want to die every second I'm alive, but at least I'm hot?" kind of person. Relatable. He's a lot sweeter now. A very giving partner. Out for their pleasure over his own. A little on the grosser side, as he constantly flirts and makes dirty jokes toward everyone. He can't turn it off at this point

Background: So like, I introduced an alien species to Destiny, because I can. The Rokin. Giant shapeshifters. He was part of a scouting crew. Come to Earth, see if it's fit to be used as a resource planet and come home. Didn't work out that way. The crew got stranded, with the remaining being Riot and Mena. She died and he got stuck by himself. He survived the collapse and just kind of lived as a drifter. He ran across a smell he knew and damn near screamed. MENAOHTHANKFUCKYOU’REALIVEOHMANIWASSOSCAREDDIDYOUKNOWSOMEWALRUSLORDSREALLYDON’TLIKEOTHERPEOPLESGHOSTS? BECAUSEBOYHOWDYTHEYTRIEDTOKILLCHERRYLIKETWICE. THEY’REKINDAMEAN. ANYCHANCEYOUWANTTOLIKEPROTECTMYASS? THANKYOUDEARMANYLOVES. He was excited when he ran across her as a Guardian to say the least. Zavala assigned him to be a bodyguard for Yana. It went well until they got separated and he assumed she was dead. He's a weenie and blended in with the Cabal instead of facing the Vanguard. For five years he had to act like a Cabal. Which meant killing and torturing Guardians. It fucked him up pretty bad. Mena found him on accident and was quick to drag him back to the city for him to explain what happened. He left out the killing of Guardians part. Only his friends know

Fun facts: Riot is a huge fucking slut. Uses sex as a coping mechanism. Keeps his body and mind busy. He always enjoyed sex, but now just does it to keep busy. Also a pretty kinky bastard. Loves the weird stuff. Kind of a huge sub, but will dom if requested. Would rather do quick and hard without learning names. But doesn’t mind slow and easy with learning about his sexual partner. Shape shifting comes in handy for when he wants to go get a good egg dicking from a Hive Knight. Fun fact. His dick is at default an ovipositor. Rokin come from eggs. He can make it anything his partner wants or needs. Unless he’s bottoming, then dicks don’t matter

-Thick as fuck southern accent. He needed to learn English, and he needed to learn it fast. Family he hid in liked western movies, and had southern accents themselves. So he adopted the accent when speaking English. Other languages he doesn’t have the southern accent, but instead mimics whatever accent he learned the language in

-Was once mated to Mena. They have two kids together, but due to a rather harsh dispute, they lost their kids and their lives. Which is how they ended up on Earth in the first place. They had a lot of time to talk about it and are a little better with one another. To where Mena will allow Riot to join in on outings with her and Dakota. Kota never minds, he likes Riot. Mena would love to have the both of them, but she’s still got some deep seeded rage against Riot that won’t allow him in that way again

-Is terrified of relationships due to a lot of the things that happened to him. He knows he’s got a lot going on mentally and emotionally, an he doesn’t want to dump that on someone else. He’s also still hurt about Mena even though it’s been well over 600 years. Which to be fair isn’t a lot to their species

-Due to the Rokin being a species the Traveler isn’t familiar with, it was unable to take their memories

-Not banned from Crucible. Mostly because Shaxx thinks he’s a giant weenie, which he is, but also because Riot won’t even step foot in a Crucible arena now

-Dis boy can cook. Took up cooking when his anxiety kept him up at night. It’s also how his friends know he had a nightmare, which he gets a lot of. If there’s a sudden large amount of food for them, well, Riot couldn’t sleep. Usually find him passed out in the kitchen somewhere. Mena drags him back to his bed and lays down on top of him. He still likes sleeping by her. Her weight and just having a living body near him, helps him sleep a lot better

-Constantly has nightmares. Can’t sleep for shit most nights. Often slinks into a friends bed to sleep next to them. He’s not weird about it. Just kind of flops down next to them. They all have blankets in their rooms now for him. Unless he goes into Alison’s bed. Then that’s just to get fucked and enjoy her aftercare

-He just really wants someone to hold him and make him feel loved tbh. He’s got a whole lot going on and can’t function right anymore

Mena-4 - age: 3897 - class: Titan - race: Rokin - height: 5' (40' in her actual form) - Ghost name: Fletcher

Personality: She got some pretty heavy retcons from the orignal post I made about her. She’s still a happy nice being. Can actually experience any emotion at any level. She doesn’t show other people much about herself outside of being nice and quiet. Keeps her on peoples good sides. Too many people have tried to cross her and she had to embarrass them in front of everyone. Sassy needy little thing. Not that anything she says you’ll understand, but it’s how she moves that tells you, you’re being taunted. That or Fletcher laughing and translating will let you know. 

Backgroud: She was sent to Earth to blend in with our top scientists to see what was being studied. She performed her task perfectly. Started chatting, well, started interacting with a guard, Dakota. Ohhhhh what a coincidence I know. They get together, and adopt a kid together. Mena goes to work and has to help one of the first gen Exos wake up. Alison. Ali, uh, didn’t wake up happy. Woke up confused and angry. Too bad her claws were designed to tear through metal, because Mena’s skin was soft. I’m saying a freshly woken Exo Alison killed Mena on accident. Lol whoops. Woke up at the bottom of a lake.To say Fletcher was surprised is an understatement. Not often your Guardian turns out to NOT be human, but instead an invading alien. Alexis had helped Fletcher look for her Guardian. She wasn’t surprised about Mena’s form. As in her journal it said her daughter in law was an alien and dumped in this lake. She was just a little surprised she had Mena’s Ghost with her. Alexis filled her in and gave her advice. She took Alexis's advice and dooted around as an Exo. On her way to the city she ran across Riot. Dragged his ass with her. Alexis introduced Mena and Dakota just to see what would happen. Dakota obviously has no memory of Mena, plus last either had seen of the other they were both Human. So Mena is just meeting some random Russian named Dakota who just happened to know the same Alexis she knew. Oh shit wait, you have a picture of your wife? Shit boy that’s me. She kept that part to herself as to not freak Dakota out. It’d be weird to know everything about someone while they know little about you. So she’s letting the relationship rebuild naturally. It’s going well

Fun facts: Mena and Dakota were married before the collapse. Obvs. It was on accident, she never meant to fall for a Human, but he was SO SWEET

-Mena was stuck learning to understand Earth languages as fast as she could so she could understand our maths and sciences, but she didn’t have time to learn how to speak any of it. Leaving her effectively mute on our planet. She’s trying to learn some now. Dakota is attempting to teach her Russian, Alison Spanish, and English from Victoria. It’s not going well. Fletcher translates when Mena speaks in her own language

-The Vanguard know of her and Riot. Know what they are. The Vanguard ask they keep it secret, as the regular people already have enough to worry about. Nothing about Mena and Riot would be a comfort to them

-BANNED FROM CRUCIBLE. She would always make bets she could do matches without dying or taking any damage. Of course when you can make your skin soft and squishy, or hard as hell, it was super easy. Shaxx caught wind and since he know what she is, he had to bring down the ban hammer. Plus she’s fucking wicked with a gun. Got a lot of complaints

-Soft girl. Like so soft. Squish squish. Just likes to get fucked. Don’t matter how. Just give it to her. Usually likes to be the power bottom, but doesn’t mind changing it up For her the more the merrier. Same goes for relationships. Her and Dakota have an open one. Could include a partner or two for sex, or to just join their relationship. They don’t mind either way

Manthres, Slayer Of Light - age: 683 (there’s no real data on Eliksni life spans sooooo) - class: variation of Titan - race: Eliksni - height: 11′ - Ghost name: Veros

Personality: Old and kind of grumpy. She’s been through a lot of shit and literally just wants to die already. Sarcastic. Grandma to literally everyone though. She hated Guardians, Human and otherwise, but ya know. Kind of had to reevaluate after Veros found her. Now she just wants all her children to come back from their missions safe. Absolutely will not take your advice. She knows what she’s doing. She’s old what do you expect

Background: This has a few changes from what I’ve said in the past. She is an Archon Priest for a long dead house found herself at the doorstep to the House of Devils. As their Priest role was filled at the time, she just got a high ranking Captain position instead. She didn’t mind. She didn’t get as much Ether, but still enough to survive in her massive form. Ran with them for years until Siva. Then her and her crew noped the fuck out. Found themselves as outcasts. They were enjoying a successful Ether grab when the Cabal attacked their ship. Everyone was dead outside of a hatchling, Xinos (who, yes I’m aware was originally spelled Zinos. I straight up DO NOT KNOW how I fucked that up. But at this point it’s just going to stay Xinos), and Manthres herself. She laid dying and she was so thankful. Finally her pain would go away. Lol nah dude. Howdy I’m your Ghost, let me just heal ya real quick. Veros convinced her to go the city and meet her new leaders. She begrudgingly agreed. Everyone stepped out of her way when she showed up. Everyone stared. Not every day an Eliksni Guardian shows up. Even less so when one is as big or well known as Manthres is. Needless to say her reception wasn’t a warm one. Even from Zavala who was informed he was her Vanguard as she was a variation of Titan. Everyone is a lot kinder to her now, but that still doesn’t change what she’s done. Which is why she asked to stay dead after she dies. She doesn’t want to forget her life or those she’s killed. That’s not fair to the lost lives

Fun facts: She had to drop the ‘Slayer Of Light’ part of her name for obvious reasons. She earned it in the first place from a dying Guardian that was sent in a Fireteam to kill her. The information on her was blurry. No one knew she was THAT big until she showed up at the Tower. Only one to meet Manthres and survive is Alexis

-She has slaughtered hundreds of Guardians without caring to learn their names. But we do the same to her kind in the thousands. Who between the two of us is really the bigger threat?

-Riot taught her how to bake cookies. They’re not the best but they’re not ass either. She likes to make them for her Fireteams. Likes to give them out after missions for a mission well done

-Has gone on raids. But only to the Leviathan as Calus is kind enough to allow her to watch and still get free shit. Mostly because his tailors need time to measure and make her armor. Gives them something exciting to do. NEW BODY SHAPE OH HELL YEAH. But also because she is a rarity upon his ship

-Not a fan of how people are now pushing her to stay back in the city. She understands they don’t want her to die, but she has to someday. She’d rather die in the field than among the penned cattle

Victoria-1 - age: 3 - class: Hunter - race: Exo - height: 5′5″ - Ghost name: Axel

Personality: She is an incredibly new rez. Still in the “I’m going to do everything because I can’t die.” phase. Little firecracker. Hyper as shit. Likes to stick things in her mouth (thankfully she has Teren now so shE’LL STOP THAT SHIT). Kind of ditzy. She never cared much for learning. Not when she can snoop around to find neat shit and stab people

Background: Woke up on Venus and touched everything. Poor Axel. He wanted a Guardian that explored, and he got one, but he’d have liked getting one that would stop trying to fucking go places she can’t be. The Vanguard gave up on even trying to get her to do the missions they want her to do. She never does them, and when she does she half asses them. They let her do her own thing until she mellows out

Fun facts: Met Teren on the Leviathan. Asked him for a tour and sucked his dick in the Underbelly. They’ve been happily together ever since. She often calls him Sweet T

-Alison trained her. They often talk still. Mostly Victoria just blowing up Alis phone with pictures and texts of what she did for the day. Ali doesn’t mind. She thinks it’s cute

-Can see and react to things really well, but is actually pretty deaf. Neither her nor Axel know why, and looking for the right part to fix her isn’t going well. It’s a small piece that’s super delicate to the point no one bothers to scavenge for them. No one minds speaking up for her. If she can’t quite hear them, she watches lips, if that’s not an option, then Axel just morse codes it at her in flashes. It’s the best she’s got

[shriekbackmusic]

Virtual Sleevenotes, Credits and Lyrics for ‘Barry Andrews: Lost Pop Songs 78-80’

TRACK LIST 1 Rossmore Road 2 Win a Night Out (with a well-known paranoiac) 3 Freak 4 Me and My Mate Can Sing 5 Mousetrap 6 Bring On The Alligators 7 Sargasso Bar 8 Feeding Time 9 Muscle & Movement 10 Opposite Way in the Rush Hour 11 Taking Over ICI 12 Vampyr Skinhead 13 Big Soft Safe Family

MUSICIANS 1-3 clarinet: Frank Abrams, trombone: Ian Bateman, guitar: Rob Hendry, Robert Fripp, Bruce Mcrae, bass: Dave Marx, drums: Richard Wernham, engineer: John Strudwick, backing vocals: Bruce Mcrae, Patti Palladin, Clara Harris, Steve New, Marion Fudger. Recorded at Rockstar Studios, Fitzrovia, Mixed at Regent’s Park Studios, St Johns Wood. 4-7 guitars and bass: Dave Marx, drums: Rob Wilford, engineer: Hugh Padgham, Producer: Martin Rushent. Recorded at Townhouse Studio 2, Goldhawk Road. 8-10 guitar: Jon Ellis, bass: Dave Marx, drums: Richard Wernham, engineer: John Strudwick, recorded at Pathway Studios, Islington 11-13 bass: Marion Fudger, guitar: Rob Hendry, drums: Richard Wernham, engineer: Eric Radcliffe, recorded at Blackwing Studios, Borough.

The songs on this album have been lying about for a looong time, as you see.  The reasons for this are twofold: 1- it’s juvenelia, really - undeveloped, derivative. Trying stuff on for size.  An artist not in complete control of his medium, if you like. So I was not in a hurry to expose it, I guess, for its flaws are obvious. 2 it’s precious, unrepeatable, unvarnished. Truly an account of Process as someone’s aesthetic develops. It’s fascinating to me, of course (‘each man loves the smell of his own farts’) and, I have to assume, as an article of faith, that it may be to others. So, as a one-time-for-all-time thing, I was hesitant to release it. Anyway, here they…are, these songs which are inextricably bound both to a critical time in my life and the interstitial flavour of the historical moment: the end of the 70’s in good old (post-war, now post-60’s) UK. The dingy, dark, money-strapped days of Callaghan and Heath on the cusp of the New (fake) Gold Thatcherite Dawn.

London still grubby, edgy and un-Developed in a lot of places (squats still available - for instance) and Punk, which had roared for a couple of years - having redefined pop culture, via getting Pissed and Destroying - was about to stagger off into the wings, fresh out of ideas.

the Roxy Club, Covent Garden in 77 (it’s a shop selling Speedos now. Out with the Bin Bags in with the New Shiny Pants!)

The Clash and Pistols albums of 77 had permeated, by 79, everywhere they were likely to go (surprisingly far) but their offspring - the ninety-to-the-dozen, political, permanently furious form of *Punk was on the wane. ‘New Wave’ as a catch-all term for anything that was neither hardcore (with a little ‘h’) Punk nor Old School Rock was becoming the mot du jour. Another strange little sub-genre was Power Pop (which my old firm XTC could be described as, although to be fair, we were doing it well before the term was coined). Blondie, The Rich Kids, the Rezillos: all were attempts to make ideologically (yes!) acceptable the idea of melody and upbeat themes in a landscape where (Iove this term) *Ramalamadolequeue was rapidly wearing out its welcome.

(the Rich Kids - ft. Steve New, the baby deer. They’re not signing on are they? They’re Rich.)

Personally, these tunes cover, as historians say, ‘the long 78-80’. Roughly from the end of my time with XTC to the beginning of Restaurant for Dogs which was (sort-of) the R&D for Shriekback, although definitely with its own sovereignty and aesthetic.

Rossmore Road                                                                                               source: 1/4″ tape                                                                                              This came to light in a box of old tapes (Lordy I wish I had more tapes). It’s the first mix John Strudwick and I did for the single but I wasn’t happy and, rather sportingly, Virgin let us remix it. This version, though, not only has the ‘son trouveé - ‘asking for directions’ elements at the beginning and end (hilariously furious posh guy who - you can hear - I have managed to wind up even in the few seconds it takes to ask where Rossmore Road was. How? I really was an annoying, chippy bastard in those days - you can see why I felt paranoid (see below).

I was playing with Robert Fripp’s League of Gentlemen at the time and Robert kindly offered to come down and bestow his guitar benediction upon my humble pop tune (skills which were to be deployed, rather more usefully, on Bowie’s ‘Scary Monsters’ later that year - which Robert had taken a break from rehearsals with us to do (‘I have redefined the parameters of modern guitar playing’, he self-deprecatingly declared, on his return).

We got off to a bad start and never got beyond it: we plugged Fripp in and played the tune - John the engineer had assumed, totally reasonably, that this was a ‘get familiar’ go-through before we started recording.

As producer I should have been clearer - very much so, as it turned out because Fripp threw a total hissy fit when told we hadn’t recorded his 1st take. He gave us a rant about Heroes etc - how all his most genius work had been 1st or second takes. I apologised. He made a somewhat passive/aggressive show of graciousness in spite of this clear affront and the atmosphere was kinda tense after that. Someone else who hated me. Just great.

And anyway, what we would have got (and, on the 2nd take, did get) was - Fripp fans forgive me - 70’s prog-hero solo guitar noodling (very good guitar noodling, but still) - which loftily ignored the song’s structure so entirely that you had to choose between either just showcasing Robert or actually crafting the song. On the remix we ended up using one note (at the top). I honestly couldn’t find anything else that properly fitted. On the present mix, however, if you listen carefully, you can hear Fripp doing his flash, busy thing - it’s mixed as loud as I dared but you can hear it doesn’t really work and, if it hadn’t been him playing it, it wouldn’t have been there.

An inappropriate and inelegant use of resources, as he might have said. Interesting to hear though, perhaps, in a vestigial tail/snake legs sort of a way.

conceptual stuff about RRd. 

ROSSMORE ROAD (NW1) The 159 runs along it Round the corner from Baker Street There's a dolls house shop on the corner Of Lisson Grove and

Rossmore Road Rossmore Road

Turn left at the DHSS in Lisson Grove You find yourself in Rossmore Road And there's a number of public buildings And a safety barrier down the middle of the road

In Rossmore Road In Rossmore Road In Rossmore Road

White and yellow lines and street signs And public phones and traffic cones And belisia beacons on the central reservation All humming now, all humming now, all humming now

To the north The Grand Canal Round the corner Regent's Park Next stop on the tube Marylebone Road And you can see Balcombe Street from Rossmore Road

The 159 runs along it Round the corner from Baker Street There's a dolls house shop on the corner Of Lisson Grove and

Rossmore Road Rossmore Road Rossmore Road Rossmore Road

In Rossmore Road White and yellow lines and street signs North of the river South of the circular Under the road Above the railway

All humming now, all humming now, all humming now All humming now, all humming now, all humming now All humming now, all humming now, all humming now All humming now, all humming now, all humming now All humming now, all humming now, all humming now All humming now...

Win a Night Out (with a well-known paranoiac)                                           sound source: 1/4″ tape

Very pleased with this, I am still. Sui generis as they come. Blur before Blur said somebody. OK I’ll take it. I was (I think) actually thinking about Patti Smith’s Piss Factory - and Land and Wave, those half-poem, half-song tunes of hers. This, though, suffused with the provincial UK, late 70’s consciousness you get when you perhaps smoke too much grim hash and take too much speed. Interesting sexual punishment element to it also. Because it’s two dates: one rustic and one urban, then an extreme post coital reverse followed by a horrific denouement (Nazi Vivisection! The worst kind) which shows that, as they say: ’just cos you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you’.

This is, obviously, autobiographical (apart from the vivisection). This arsy, scruffy little bloke, oppressed by the forces of reaction and class, who seems to attract humiliation and brutality wherever he goes, even though his intentions are just to have fun and get laid.  It’s a little poem about fear and self doubt which, around ’79 there seemed to be lots of. So I made a record. More expensive than a therapist but it has a trombone player..

WIN A NIGHT OUT (WITH A WELL-KNOWN PARANOIAC)

We could rendezvous in a country pub I know in the heart of rural England where the landlord sports moustaches just like Jimmy Edwards and the crisps and pickled onions on the bar are numberless as the stars at night We're just about to order scampi in an Elizabethan basket when two neckless men in blazers and cravats approach our table and say - "sorry - this bar is exclusively for the use of Nobel prize winners, latter day saints, people who have seen God and selected relatives of our dear Queen, and furthermore, you worm, there is mud upon your plimsolls". I reply that I am a member of most elitist cliques you care to name and the blood which courses (at an ever increasing speed as it happens) through my veins belonged once to the Cuban royal family, but, they don't listen and they just pour my drink down the sink and say "this is not what we mean. In this life, one is either U or non-U and if I were you I'd make myself bloody scarce.” I even try to show them my credit cards but unmoved they say "OK sonny, it's time you were taught a lesson and there's only one thing that your sort understand"

Win a night out with a well known paranoiac Win a night out with a famous paranoid Win a night out with a well known paranoiac Win a night out with a famous paranoid

At an Iberian eatery in the west end, we could gaze at each other across saucers of yoghurt and bits of crusty foreign bread - and then - I could order a carraffe of Asti - we could have so much fun. We could discuss things like communism and chart positions with the lack of inhibitions that separate the truly liberated from the herd - but - I should mention that I talk quite loud as a casualty of inexpensive foreign wine and neither am I unaware of the restive noises from the party sitting close by. But as I'm in the middle of my funny story about the Arab and the underwater toilet, I can't stop now 'cause I'm in too deep, as I'm coming to the part where I say (in my best joke telling voice), "so the Arab says to the attendant, right...

‘Of course as we know five thousand pounds of pressure can suck out almost anything,’ and it all goes quiet and a little girl is saying: "Daddy, what a horrible man" and Daddy replies, "don't worry darling 'cause I've just made a phone call to your crypto-fascist Uncle Roger and he'll be here quite soon, and make quite sure he doesn't upset any little girls... little girls any more"

Win a night out with a famous paranoiac Win a night out with a well known paranoid Win a night out with a well known paranoiac Win a night out with a famous paranoid

Lying in your crumpled bed on Sunday morning, you said your Mum and Dad had gone away to a conference in Bath and I believed you like a fool. Now you get up, go to the window and you turn a pot plant round. I study your naked bottom with a twinge of lust but I'm not twigging that something's going down. There is a sound of the heavy boots upon the stairs and the door crashes open and in comes your Dad with some faithful retainers and some ex-Army mates from the Conservative Club. And I figure they must have been waiting all night because your Dad is clutching two reels of infra-red film and he's looking dangerously pale as he shows me the microphone under the bed, and I'm just about getting the message: all is not too groovy

As you stand there in your dressing gown laughing at me, then in comes your Mum in her nylon house coat with her hair hanging loose like a suburban Harpy and she advances towards me with an army surplus bush knife, clearly bent on wreaking havoc down below the navel and she's just about to get stuck in when I wake up... and yeah, it was all a dream

I'm really in a hospital bed. There is a smell of formaldehyde in the air, and a couple of doctors with swastikas on their arm are doing something to the brain of a sheep and in the corner is a huge zinc bath containing some sort of reptile and the nurse is saying "be a brave boy and drink it all up". And I realise I can't feel me legs and the shape in the bed isn't my shape at all and I wanna cry out but I can only bleat

Win a night out with a well known paranoiac Win a night out with a famous paranoid Win a night out with a well known paranoiac Win a night out with a famous paranoid

FREAK source: cassette So Funk was the thing - but let’s take it and fuck it up with our English voices and anti-slick playing. Let’s actually take the funk/fun out of it. Disco hatred was the tip, kinda. I recall saying in an interview that it was like scratching up a big lairy american limousine with the nasty, rusty keys of your squat (there’s also an unreleased Restaurant for Dogs version we recorded for Warners with Nick Launay which takes this approach to its theoretical limit: it’s pretty hard to listen to). We are, in fact, so alienated from the subject matter that I sing ‘just come on down to the fifth floor’ instead of ’54’ - the iconic New York club, me not having heard of it (though - quirky historical note - Shriekback did actually play there in the place’s last week - on the Sacred City tour).

Dave’s ‘confused Dutch person’ on the end is a nice random element. Like he’s wandered in off another session. 

4 Songs from Town & Country EP (Virgin 79) Me and My Mate, Mousetrap, Bring on the Alligators, Sargasso Bar sound source: vinyl Ah T&C - I sort-of despise thee. No-one was taking care of my career development - especially not me - after XTC so I got stuck in a posh recording studio with the Strangler’s producer way before I should have been. This you can hear from the ‘apprentice piece’ nature of this EP.  All influences fully on show and sellotaped together. A ‘band’ which, you can tell, has only so much in common and which was kinda thrown together.  An adolescent ferocity in the delivery not masking very well a slew of insecurities. ‘Calm Down’ I want to tell this snarling young herbert, ‘nobody thinks you’re cool anyway. It’s fine: do an album about a fish, why dontcha?’ As it is, we get a variety pack of New Wave/Post Punk styles and lyrical tropes: Me & My Mate (the Clash obvs: stage democracy, anti-rockist groupy exploitation, DIY fanzine-esque self-expression for the working classes, Patti Smith reference). Mousetrap A classically-trained-but-recently-listened-to-Elvis Costello/Joe Jackson Bitter Relationship song. I like the spoken word bit that deconstructs a Well Made Play in 4 lines though (for those who don’t know, The Mousetrap is the longest running show in the West End - since ‘52!). The ‘Darlings’ repeated hookline was a reference to my lovely Aunty Rene who worked many years in the box office of various West End theatres (the Adelphi and the Prince of Wales I think - and since you ask) and had adopted a fabulously camp way of speaking through long exposure to gay theatrical men. Her poodle Chico was ‘my little Treasure Island’ and everyone else was ‘Darling’.

Aunty Rene (2nd left) with her theatrical crew and actress Anna Neagle at the Coalhole on the Strand 1968)

MOUSETRAP Been playing Shaftesbury Avenue For a thousand years or maybe two - darlings Done plenty bum gigs in my time But everything's alright now

In the mousetrap In the mousetrap

We fall in love most every night We're quite ridiculously tight - darlings And yeah I feel some kind of freak Getting killed six times a week

In the mousetrap In the mousetrap

It's nearly half past three Gotta do a matinee I don't understand this game Why everything's the same

But as the show go on and on And on and on And on and on and on and on and on And on

I know the punters mustn't see How mundane it seems to me - darlings But sometimes I wish I could screw Someone else in Shaftsbury Avenue

In the mousetrap In the mousetrap

Curtain up - exposition Development of character Plot - unravelling slow Sustaining interest, gathering momentum

Till they unmask the killer Then a twist right at the end And it's all over till tomorrow night

In the mousetrap In the mousetrap

Sargasso Bar definitely the best of this bunch. Although the Small Town Observational style is a little irritating  (alright, Bazzer, you’re a Poet of the Everyday and you are so very alienated) it is here for the first time that a certain mock heroic, magical-realist aspect started to appear in my writing.  ‘they raise their glasses in 2/4 time and they study the latecomers as they slither in beneath the door’. XTC did a version of this which failed to get onto GO2.  Not too much different I think but I recall Andy Partridge’s objection to the line: ‘we’re surrounded by the Eels of Death’. He felt it was the sort of hippy, trippy kinda image which XTC Stood Against. I felt it was - well - mock heroic and magical realist. This conversation went nowhere, obviously, but it was instrumental in making my decision to leave the band. These people just didn’t get my shit…

SARGASSO BAR Couple in the corner Now she's crying on his shoulder Well they're a couple of Modern Lovers Sort of Kevin and Isolde She's embarrassed by his footwear He's embarrassed by her hair But he doesn't really care He says it's murder staying emotionally aware He's another Lost Soul But he's only come here to die And get high

In the sargasso bar, the sargasso bar, the sargasso bar In the sargasso bar, the sargasso bar, the sargasso bar

Big John in the wooly Football training in the evening Well he got married married married Now he only thinks of leaving And he's surrounded by the blubber Watch the terylene stretching As he makes a point about his car When you're on miles to the gallon You know where you are And he's here every night, he's such a regular guy He gets high

In the sargasso bar, the sargasso bar, the sargasso bar In the sargasso bar, the sargasso bar, the sargasso bar

We came in from the rain Now we're surrounded by the Eels of Death Everyone nervous and everybody couldn't care less We raise our glasses in 2/4 time We study the latecomers as they slither in beneath the door About this time of the night There's more and more and more and more Well, give them ten minutes then they all go home to die Cos they're so high

In the sargasso bar, the sargasso bar, the sargasso bar

Bring on the Alligators yeah, dunno about this one really. Clearly I’m really working the magic realist tip again but to what end? It’s clearly meant to be funny, what with the Polish ‘1234’ in the middle and the ‘cocktail bar’ quiet section at the end and all but it’s all trying a bit hard for my liking. The awfully Lahndun working class accent I have on all these tunes is also a bit abrasive. My estuarine whine is of course part of me but it is underlining, unecessarily and stridently I feel, the ‘prolier than thou’ ethic which I had bought into wholesale during Punk. Let it go, dude…

2 LOTS OF DEMOS source: cassette Well, now we were getting somewhere.. Listening back now, 40-odd years on it really does seem to me that the year (ish) between the EP and this first set of demos represented a huge leap in my - er - self development. The life in XTC - still living with Ma & Pa or on the road within the Mothership of the band - record company, management, everything being done for you (at the expense, as it turned out, of knowing what was actually going on..hem hem). It’s cosiness and material sufficiency came at a price I could no longer put up with. Time to go, clearly.

I remember leaving the last outpost of that world - the nice flat above the Townhouse, paid for by Virgin while we were recording the EP but now, since recording had just finished, off limits. So…I could go back to Swindon - or step out into the scary metropolis, where all the safety nets have been packed away, and see what can be made to happen. Me and a girlfriend (who had signed up when I was a (sort-of) pop star - she was in for a taste of the real musician’s girlfriend’s lot now alright) went over to my old schoolmate’s flat in the East End (he was at college in London) - it was pouring down of rain as we walked across Tower Bridge. No money for a cab - the XTC wages had long been cut off. 

Youth seeks a Rite of Passage, does it not? This seemed to be mine. I felt noble and scared and reckless and Hungry for Experience. So, these tunes were written after a year of London, of squatting, signing on, meeting loads of new people, getting sick, getting well, hanging round the ink well - no, actually, after a particularly avid speed binge and a dreadful mini-tour with the T&C band I developed serious chickenpox (more virulent in adulthood, it turns out). I was the Elephant Man for a while. The body was having its unignorable say about all this new input.  But the tunes were definitely better. More individual. Not trying so hard and, sometimes, there was a Showing Forth of something really quite juicy and new (and I don’t just mean the pustules, har har).

Feeding Time                                                                                                         I submitted this to Shriekback’s publisher when he asked if we had anything that might do for the Eurovision Contest. He never quite looked at me the same way again, I thought (nil points pour moi).

I had been working at London Zoo (west gate and Reptile House: taking money on the door) that year and eating in various Camden/Kilburn greasy spoons. These two experiences were to produce this little gem. A Meditation on Eating. I think it needed doing. 

Points of interest: Dave Marx’s great bassline which is really the hook and the armature. Jon Ellis’s glistening ‘egg’ chord. The ‘Taking Your Order’ on the fade (Prawn Cocktail! The 70′s are strong in this one...) I had earlier recorded this with some ‘opera’ singers (from the BBC West of England Chorus - including Mrs Evenett (contralto) my old French teacher) singing the ‘Feeding Time’s’ in fine bel canto stylee. Which I may release at some point.

FEEDING TIME Putting things into my body at Feeding Time White wine and little damaged bodies from the bottom of the sea inside me still feel hungry when I reach the end and I won’t  feel good when it’s Feeding Time again. I watch him from the corner at Feeding Time sometimes he is hideous to watch as he shovels his chops inside him and his belly is beginning to distend and I know he’ll feel great when it’s Feeding Time again

but in the meantime Eat - don’t stop Eat - don’t stop Eat - don’t stop

Biting Viscera and gristle at Feeding Time listen to the lobsters whistle crack their legs open suck out what you find inside The spaghetti as it glistens at Feeding Time like spirogyra on your wet lips munching masticated chips in your mouth with lots of wine Eggs! Eggs! Soft and warm romantically slipping down inside and I wish it could always be Feeding Time and I wish it could always be Feeding Time (let’s see what’s on menu.. I’ll get an onion bhaji.. …prawn cocktail …three more pappadums…)

Opposite Way In The Rush Hour You know, it’s a bit cheesy and self serving but I still dig this. Our hero is heading off to some gig (some horrible, low paid, nightclub-type gig - let’s say in Edgbaston. Or Stoke). He’s hitching his way up there to meet the band at the soundcheck and it’s just getting dark. He looks at all the Regular Folk coming home from work: old geezers on pushbikes, factory workers - UK manufacturing has still a few years in it at this point - young girls (that might have been mating/marriage material in his former life) wait at bus stops and the cosy tea (the evening meal not the drink - important class-related point) on the tables, visible through the shortly to be curtained windows and our man gets all Springsteeny-sentimental about his self-ordained High and Lonely Destiny. Noble chords, I think, and very clever drumming by Rich Wernham (he was bloody good, I must say - as Nick Lowe said - ‘you can get away with murder if you’ve got a good drummer’). The absence of traditional last chorus repeats, instead dissolving into a babble of voices was indicative of some creative, envelope-pushing Thort, I would say. The boy’s finding his feet..

OPPOSITE WAY IN THE RUSH HOUR Going the opposite way in the rush hour watching the cars going past in the night. Factory gates let out the day shift - they escape on their bikes. Daughters go home on the bus, see you’re not one of us. The sensation is sweet and it’s sour. Going the opposite way, opposite way, in the rush hour.

Closer to being a part of the big system: so near and far from all that you seek. Closer to where the big heart beats you into submission then rocks you to sleep. Curtains still open The news on the telly they’re making their tea and I want all they’ve got but somehow.. keep on going this way: opposite way in the rush hour.

Street lamps come on now, those front rooms look so warm now. Old men with empty lunch bags pedal homewards and the girls wait at bus stops as the weekend unfolds. Once it would have felt so right heading into the hot sticky heat of the night

…it’s not a question of honour or a question at all Just the way that we choose to live now Going our opposite way… opposite way… opposite way…

Muscle and Movement Painfully sincere (and unintentionally camp) credo from the Squat years. Fucking grim, mate. It was cold, self-flagellating and unecessarily unpleasant. Here is the mantra behind that lifestyle experiment ‘pain is knowledge and knowledge is wealth.’ Jeez, give this guy a cuddle...

MUSCLE & MOVEMENT Fed up of sitting around with my legs crossed Pretending and smiling and saying ‘yeah, cheers then’ avoiding the whites of their eyes. (and another thing) And another thing- don’t try and tell me you’re gonna get something together when everything’s going your way then the limit’s the sky. You can’t always hide on the side watching people who do things bigger than you. You can’t have a permanent stop to the things that displease you or give you unease. ‘Cos all that matters is Muscle and Movement flesh out all your fantasies with Muscle and Movement (ain’t no such thing as security, just Muscle and Movement Muscle and Movement

as you relax at the end of the day there’s another tomorrow staring at you as it stands at the top of the stairs time is a swine it just keeps coming at you battering you to the floor as you try and stand up yelling you’ve had enough save it for somebody free - don’t talk to me I got no symapthy pour out some more of that wine everything’ll be fine just stay drunk all the time but remember that Muscle and Movement is all that makes you what you are Muscle and Movement standing still don’t get you too far it’s Muscle and Movement Muscle and Movement

it’s hard but it’s true that there’s nothing to cling to nothing to belong to and nowhere is more important than where you are now and there is no rest for the wicked, no rest for the wicked or peace for the innocent or the don’t knows (this lines indecipherable) cos there ain’t nobody got the things they need (same) cos the things that you lack are what you never get back cs the only secret weapon is Muscle and Movement

Muscle and Movement nothing happens by itself Muscle and Movement pain is knowledge and knowledge is wealth

Vampyr Skinhead & Taking Over ICI Well, it’s here that I claim total responsibility for the Two-Tone/Ska Revival that was to occur later that year. No, honest - no-one else was doing this stuff at the time (or they were but no-one had heard of them yet). These two tunes were, moreover, direct descendants of my song ‘Super Tuff’ from the XTC album (btw, that title came from the strapline of a Bruce Lee movie ‘Bruce Lee - Super Tough - but also Tender,’ so I was also anticipating Tarantino and all that kitsch martial arts movie stuff from the 90’s - could I be any more prescient?) Actually, exciting self delusion aside, I claim only to have had my finger on an historical pulse which had been throbbing away since the 70’s and which obviously many others had also been party to. As I say somewhere else ‘it’s ok to have a great idea but you have to get off your chuff if you’re going to start a cultural movement’. I wasn’t dedicated enough, clearly, but I was quietly and briefly, a canary in that particular coalmine.

The idea of reggae as this parallel exotic, possibly dangerous sub-track to Pop/Rock had been around for quite a while and kept bubbling up out of the Zeitgeisty swamp to varying amounts of mainstream attention. Bob Marley (pretty much just him) had Broken Through to become the reggae artist that unitiated white people liked and played at parties to show Cool. U Roy, Big Youth, Scratch et al remained the province of hip white people (as we liked to think of ourselves). But, under the audacious banner of ‘Fuck Art, Let’s Dance’ the Ska revival, the Two Tone label, Madness etc were to mine the accelerated beats, fruity grooves and edgy vibes of Jamaica (along the lines of Desmond Dekker and Toots and the Maytals) to international chart success. Of which more in a minute..

Since Punk there had been this strange symbiosis (which is easy to forget, it’s so non-intuitive) of reggae with Punk which had continued, unabated since the days of the Roxy Club.  This, eventually, had permeated the wider scene.  So, when XTC would play, in 78, gigs in Birmingham or Leeds, the disco would always be alternating, say, the Drones, Chelsea or the Pistols with Althia and Donna, Steel Pulse or Culture. It was a tacit admission, I would say, that the Punk formula was a limited one and, while its brutal austerity had been bracing (and a welcome antididote to Old Fart music), people still needed melody and sensuality and Actual Dancing.

But, there had been, in my late schooldays (early to late 70’s) an earlier, more schismatic appearance of Reggae (in its proto form of Ska) which I had observed firsthand in my Comprehensive provincial schooldays with all its codes and brutalities (kinda charming and nostalgic now; fairly scary and intense at the time). There was a  2 tribes battle going on at my school and in the UK generally: the Skinheads and the Greboes/Hairies (vestigial, usually non-ideological Hippies, really, sometimes with a component of Biker). It was a pretty one-sided battle: the Skins were an embodiment of working class, unsmiling rage and violence (’Aggro’ and ‘Bovver’ were their coinages (graffitti in my town read: ‘S.T.A.B (= Swindon Town Aggro Boys) Kick to Kill’). It was a culture of fighting and machismo which picked on pretty much anyone (it became a white racist movement eventually of course: ‘Paki Bashing’ being one defining activity but, as is documented in ‘This Is England’ TV series, the Skins didn’t start out that way: look at all that ska and blubeat. Also, in Swindon in the 70’s there wasn’t much opportunity to get the ol’ racism going - there wasn’t a single black or Asian kid in my year at school; only one or two in the entire school - so the Hairies/Greebs would have to do as a Victim Class, I guess. 

The mostly docile, pacifist, great-coat/tie-die-wearing, patchouli-smelling, Topographic Oceans-carrying quasi-hippy was always good for a bit of a kicking (though I suspect, the lack of physical challenge made them a bit uninspiring - football hooliganism probably gave the Skins more of a work-out).  At any rate, the hirsute, messy look and, (NB!) the usually university-bound, middle class nature of the Hairies was a walking provocation to the neatly groomed, fashion-conscious, mostly working class (went to work instead of Sixth Form: fuck school and Uni, let’s make some short-term money - therefore doomed for life to the factory or site) Skinheads.

This schism was enacted in the music, as it often is: the long-winded, effete,  sexually inert tropes of Prog, the self-indulgent, solo-wanking, adolescent-boy mirror-gazing of hard rock versus the clipped, disciplined, concise sexy beats of Ska and pop reggae (showcased particularly in the ‘Tighten Up’ series of compilations). It really was chalk and cheese.

There was, btw, a whole genre of dirty ska songs, epitomised by Prince Buster’s Big Five single (‘funky spunky man in Big Five, screaming steaming night in Big Five…there will be water all over the bed…water all over her head..’ (!) 

One night after a Manfred Mann’s Earthband show at Swindon College (deep Hairy territory, obviously) when the crowd were reluctant to go home, the promoter stuck a Ska tune on the PA which cleared the room like tear gas. Hard to imagine now. Like I say, Tribal. So, when I started writing songs (Pop Songs! For Bands!) I felt I had struck a fruitful vein in observing the horrified yet strangely fascinated viewpoint of the oppressed Other (Hairy/Greeb/insert Ethnic Group) as he is subdued and brutalised by his natural predator, the Skinhead. 

Form following subject matter, this would, of course, be couched in a mutated form of reggae which, though, as a fledgling Hairy (with already insufficient hair, aIas!) I was forbidden to like - I must say it did exert a fascination. It was so alien. Alien is interesting. Thus, in Vampyr Skinhead we have, again, a randomly predatory hardnut - this time he’s going door to door terrorising people (‘no compunction as he hammers down your door - or elects to clamber in the window - he is swift and he is sure..’). The image really did come to me in a dream: this ferocious little fucker doing his rounds of the estate, like a Clockwork Orange version of the Man from the Pru. Definitely a Viz magazine character there, I reckon... The sound of a Ska beat still had, for me, the menace it did when the Skins at school danced their clipped, butch, slightly-ridiculous-but-I-fucking-dare-you-to-laugh, scary little dance to it.

Non Cultural Studies note: the riff is played on a WASP synth - I guess the 1st affordable synthesiser. Fairly horrible but it had one good sound so hey... No actual keyboard - a flat plate which was murder to play and ‘explains’ the really obvious cock-up on the intro which we didn’t have time to repair. It wasn’t mine btw (the WASP not the cock up).

VAMPYR SKINHEAD Vampyr Skinhead knock at your door Don’t sell brushes or Brittanica no more He no check for pushing leaflets through the door or collecting money for the football he lives outside the law. He’s just out on the street with his boots on his feet and I would give a lot to know what he’s got Vampyr Skinhead.. Vampyr Skinhead Vampyr Skinhead strikes again Vampyr Skinhead feel no pain gonna do it again and again and again

Vampyr Skinhead come down your way and he’s not from anywhere silly in the USA. Not religion that he’s peddling door to door he’s not looking for the meter (he wouldn’t know what it’s for). He’s just out on the street with his boots on his feet and your little sister’s crying but he’s not. Vampyr Skinhead Vampyr Skinhead Vampyr Skinhead

Somebody’s gonna get uptight, gonna get hot and they’re gonna make mincemeat of him someday... Somebody like Peter Cushing gonna wreck the curtains while he’s sleeping then they’ll be nothing left but a pair of Marten’s and a pile of dust…

Vampyr Skinhead come down your street he’s a monster and he’s got sharp litle teeth. No compunction as he hammers down your door Or elects to clamber in the window - he is swift and he is sure. Out and I would give a lot to know what he’s got Vampyr Skinhead…. Vampyr Skinhead…. Vampyr Skinhead……

V.S.’s Nemesis...

Taking Over ICI was an attempt at a pure pop reggae tune - with a socialist/punky spin. Lovely playing by Rob (gtr) and Marion Fudger (ex wife of Dave Fudger, charming chap who used to write for Sounds and now worked for Virgin Publishing - he got me the gig with Iggy Pop). Rich Wernham (also of the Motors). Cracking organ solo dontcha think? I had chops in those days - before Quantise fucked me up.

TAKING OVER ICI Alone I just didn’t dare make my move to trash organised laissez-faire but since you nibbled my ear Cadbury-Schweppes and Lever Brothers quiver in fear. All the multiples are whining. All the big nobs are resigning. Since I found out you loved me, I’m taking over ICI Taking over ICI Alone I couldn’t handle myself let alone the redistribution of wealth. But, since I found out you care, I could trash the System single-handed I swear. Can’t handle all their wheeler-dealing - prefer to hear rich people squealing… Since I found out you loved me, I’m taking over ICI Taking over ICI… Taking over ICI..

Big Soft Safe Family Rather as ‘Paranoiac’ was: a one-off, never to be repeated thing. Deeply and nakedly autobiographical. Musically quite original, I venture. Shmershy chords the like of which I hadn’t used before and a confidently slow groove. Vignettes of my respectable working class, late 60′s, Mike Leigh previous life suffused with the cheap cynicism of a young sprat who didn’t realise how lucky he was. They’re all gone now.. and - spoiler - I actually never had an aunt from Torquay (but she rhymed).

BIG SOFT SAFE FAMILY The relatives are all on their fifth cup of tea. Their rapid eye movements are something to see - all lying to each other and smiling alternately. Your mum and your dad and your aunt from Torquay they are none of the same as they once used to be but they’re all of them, gloriously in the Big Soft Safe Family

We all of us have a particular smell I know their’s and they know mine habitually well. They worry about me and I worry about them I’m surprised you can’t tell. We use the same toilet and eat the same food and we savage each other when we’re not feeling so good but blood is thicker than water and ultimately we’re a Big Soft Safe Family

We’re slowly aquiring the things  that we need they’re very pleased with our progress indeed. They were saying we looked very happy and of course we agreed. Respect due to father and love due to mum and the daughter is lovely and so is the son. Illusions die obstinately in the Big Soft Safe Family

[ringwaldtworldbuilding]

Ringwaldt Deities Part 1

Here is some fun info for some of the deities of Ringwaldt for all of you.

Each of these posts will include 3 Deities most often from the same Pantheon or with overlapping fields.

Ollphéist God of the Beasts : TN : Animal, Feather, Fur, Insect, Nature, Spring; The Hunter of All : Lord of the Beasts : Master of Forms : The Father of Therianthropes

Favored Weapon: Shortspear

Symbol: A Rearing Gryphon on an Emerald Background

Sacred Animal: All Animals

Sacred Colours: Green

Myths of the Deity

-Ollpheist is said to have made the first Lycanthropes when his favored hunting hound was replaced by a faerie playing a trick on him. After the trick was sprung, the enraged deity cursed the faerie to shift between the two forms. Though most natural lycanthropes can control their forms, they have problems not shifting under moonlight, and are often more bestial. The popular story  is that Ollpheist’s curse only comes under the watchful gaze of the guests who witnessed it.

-Ollpheist the great hunter’s prized boar is said to have been slain on a hunt. He took up the boar’s hide, gaining with it the power to assume it’s shape. He may also grant the hide to others, upon whom it confers the same power.

-Ollpheist wishes to hunt Klavapt- to rip, teara, and crush him. It is said that the god of beasts hunted the cannibal god for 40 days and 40 nights across the planes, seeking to claim his flesh- and that at the end of each summer, he hunts him again, chasing off the coming of the Cannibal God.

Rituals, Holidays, and Sacred Days

-Ollpheist has no regular holidays- instead any hunt (or any other way of communing with nature) is considered sacred, and used as part of holy rites. 

-Clerics of Ollpheist make it a priority to hunt their own game if at all possible. Though they will not refuse food taken from livestock, they would much rather slay and prepare the animal themself

-A silver knife is a common secondary weapon to most priests of Ollpheist. It is often stylized as a boars tusk.

-A proper temple to Ollpheist in a city is rare. The temples to this god are usually out in the wilderness. They are built like open pagodas, welcoming the spring and summer.

-Ollpheist says to protect nature, be the guide and shepherd for it and those who seek to use it.

-Plant and grow: use the end of Winter to blossom.

-Ollpheist preaches to test your mate’s mettle. Breed others, or test your mate to see if they will let you slip away to be bred by others.  There are no significant marriage rites among Ollpheist’s faithful.

-Ollpheist clerics are instructed to never drink fermented grains, but fruits, honey and milks that are fermented are permitted

-When confronted and challenged on faith with another, ignore them. You know your path holds the power of the hunt, and the horn sounds for all.

-Ollpheist’s most common sects are those of wildmen, hunters, or rangers, who target those who would cross them or their subscribed territory.  Those who follow this interpretation of the faith often come in conflict with small villages, farmsteads and the like.

- - - - - I need and want to expand on all of the deities - - - - -

Bócapall God of Centaurs & Minotaurs : NE : Animal, Evil, Ferocity, Protection, Solitude, Strength

Adjective;  Lord of Hooves : The Ferocious Protector : The Horned Lord

Home;

Favored Weapon; Greataxe

Symbol; A horses head with long pair of pronged horns

Sacred Animal; Cows and Horses

Sacred Colours; Black and Tawny Brown

Myths of the Deity

-He is said to be the son of Ollpheist and a beautiful mare. Others say he is the get of a union of a bull and mare who were blessed with the power to interbreed by Ollpheist. 

-The twin forms of Bocapall have led many to think they were two minor gods who have become one in time. One such myth holds that Boca and Apall were half brothers, both sons of Ollpheist, who together were strong as a god- so Apall the bull gifted his power to his brother Boca, who took his name before his own as a sign of thanks. 

-Bocapall is the father of the Minotaurs and Centaurs.  Supposedly fathering Centaurs from an affair with a beautiful woman.  Other versions say he blessed a herd of stallions with human midwives.  As the creator of Minotaurs the myths go that he punished a follower with the head of a bull the curse passing to his sons and daughters.  Other versions state he went to save a follower and a celestial bull by fusing the two together into the first of the minotaurs.

-The beastly cloven god seeks to show his strength and power. He has fought in single combat with most other gods of strength for the chance to prove himself in a challenge, and will frequently desire rematches.

Rituals, Holidays, and Sacred Days

-The Horned Lord reminds one to honour and defend himself and those he cherishes above all else. 

-In solitude, one can find the power of personal strength and will. 

-Two priests of the Horned Lord will fight one another when they meet. Their clash of steel will end when one gives up- or more frequently, is unable to continue. 

-Ferocity is the truest strength of the body. Unleash it as a storm of hooves and horns upon your foe.

-Take one wife, and as many courtesans or concubines as you can support with your wealth and power.

-The two biggest sects of the Horned Lord are that of the Bull and the Colt.  Bulls follow the ideal of pure ferocity and rage, discounting the idea of protection as lacking in power.  Colts, meanwhile, believe in an identity of protecting what is theirs at all costs. Their doctrine holds that in solitude, with you and what you want to protect, is the finest way to live.

-Those who follow his path frequently target priests of other gods and their holdings to take for themselves.  Due to this constant violence, Bocepal has little sway in civilized lands. 

-Bocapall has a small offshoot order called the Bronze Mares.  This all female centaur(though it has and does include non-centaur members and more rarely male members) order can be found within the nation of Biekal.  Its members are trained as paladins forsaking evil to act as the lawful guardians of solitude and protection to those who seek it.  Their quarters are built to emphasize the community and allow collective action and personal solitude for meditation.  The Bronze Mares treat Bocapall as Lawful Neutral for patronage.

- - - - - I plan and need to add in an additional Minotaur and Centaur god or add in an aspect for other gods to be fair the general/universal section exists which covers deities worshipped all over and anyone can worship Bocapall he is just directly related to centaurs and minotaurs - - - -

Sionnach, God of Kitsune : CN : Arcane, Captivation, Chaos, Charm, Magic, Whimsy

Adjective; The 100 Tailed Lady : The Mischievous Fox : The Chaotic Magician

Home;

Favored Weapon; Naginata

Symbol; An arcane symbol with 9 thin braid talismans dangling from it, each tipped with a small brush

Sacred Animal; Foxes

Sacred Colours; Amber & Byzantine

Myths of the Deity

-Sionnach tried to prank her brother with a snake- but the viper proved to be venomous, so he was forced to carry her to a mystic who saved her.

-Seeking more fun and fancy the Kitsune collected gems from many places gathering them she used it to captivate mages and craft spells which needed the pretty baubles and in time used this knowledge to have mages teach her more of magic.

-Sionnach gifted her fellow kitsunes knowledge and the tails to learn more of magic and to become versed in it freely giving them illusions and trickery to bring whimsy and study magic freely with a certain charm.

-Sionnach stole into the heart of domain of the Dark Elves and Brynn’s mother entwining her tails she pilfered the goddess’s favored instrument a harp of godly craftsmanship.  Carved of amber with strings of silver gossamer spider webs the fox goddess made it a game to keep the artifact away from the patron of the dark elves.   She took the harp and had it remade into 7 smaller harps and scattered them across the planes.

Rituals, Holidays, and Sacred Days

-Bring joy and captivate the audience with your charm.

-Magic is an art, treat it as such. The arcane can be used to create beauty and captivate those who need it.

-Be charming to all your meet you never know who they might be. 

-Embrace the con and play to the audience, bring joy in all of magics forms

-Chaos keeps boredom away, try something new if you lose Whimsy.

-Clerics and followers often pull pranks and show off to one another at the temples to the goddess holy days there being more of a series of escalating antics with sermon

-Temples to the goddess have Foxweed a bright yellow weed used to make oil.  Foxes like to chew on the weed, and it is popular use for golden makeup.

-The Rite of the Fox is simply to catch a fox. This is easier said than done.

-The Rite of Charming is to go into town and use your words, wiles, and more- but not your magic- to win a night with 3 different individuals in one week.  Sionnach would prefer both genders, but she doesn’t require it so long as the idea is followed.

-The Temples of Sionnach are bright and bombastic, with colorful tapestries, curtains and more hanging along the corridors and chambers. Large estates feature gardens of Foxweed and elaborate murals and mosaics depicting the goddess’s stories.

-Sionnach has a particular sect who interpret her lessons on magic to mean one must wield magic to promote and create whimsy, to captivate and to love- and that magic’s purpose is to never twist or harm, but only to promote expression.

Frankly any critique would be greatly appreciated.

[sorrydearie]

Would u mind doing Lizram for the otp ask? 🙏 6, 12, 14, 15, 17, 18, 28,

Ask me about my otp headcanons?

6 - Who can fall asleep anywhere (and does) and who has to put them to bed?Liz has a different work schedule than Aram, so she is constantly running on adrenaline. He tries to keep up, he really does. But he is used to quiet evenings spent in front of the computer or television, so adjusting to Liz’s energy is... difficult. It oftentimes ends up with him falling asleep in her car while they are on their way to some bar or restaurant or club. Those times, he’d always wake up to her gently shaking his shoulder, a fond spark in her eyes as she ushers him out of the car - only for him to find that they are back at his place. When he starts to protest, telling her that he’ll simply drink some energy drinks to keep up, no worries - Liz just shoves him playfully and tells him that she’d rather have a movie night anyway, if that’s alright with him.

12 - Who still buys juice boxes and fruit snacks to put in their lunch?Aram does! Liz prefers to sleep five minutes longer in the mornings instead of packing some lunch. She usually goes out and grabs something with Ressler (or hopes that Reddington will stop by and drop something off). Still, she thinks that Aram’s enthusiasm for those juice boxes and snacks is adorable (especially how his eyes light up whenever a new line of snacks sporting the face of his favorite comic superheroes is introduced. There’s just no holding him then.)

14 - Who leaves notes in the other’s lunch and who tells them they’re dumb (but secretly has a collection of every note Person A has ever written them)?Aram knows that he’s not a man of grand gestures, he always messes up when he tries to go all out (once, he asked Mr Reddington to get him and Liz a reservation at this expensive high end restaurant. The whole conversation was incredibly akward, but Aram held his ground. In the end, he even got his booked table - but the whole restaurant experience was just awful. People kept assuming that he was merely Liz’s bodyguard because she looked incredible in her dress, whereas Aram’s cheap suit clashed with the whole establishment. Plus, he failed spectacularly when he tried to give the waiter a tip.) But the little things, he excels at. And the little breathless laughs and fond headshakes he receives from Liz from across the office whenever she finds one of his notes - well, that just makes all the effort worth it.

15 - Who unconsciously holds their breath the first time they kiss, and who pulls back and says, “Breathe…”?The first time they kiss, Aram is wholly unprepared for it. It’s just so sudden and out of the blue, not something he had ever dared to even hope for. Because this is Liz, and she is way out of his league, and if anyone from their team stood a chance with her, he’d have thought that it’d be Ressler or even Reddington. And all of these thoughts and doubts and worries are racing through his head even as her lips meet his, and it’s all a bit too much, really. After Liz pulls away, the look of peaceful content on her face is immidietly replaced with worry, and a moment later she gently pushes her hand against his chest, reminding him to just breathe. (Aram’d like to think that he gets better at this over time, but truth be told, the mere thought that Elizabeth Keen would want to be with him of all people still knocks his breath away.)

17 - Who grabs the other’s hand just as they’re getting out of bed and pulls them back under for cuddles?Aram is such a goody two shoes, he never presses snooze and instead gets up on the first ring of his (Captain America) alarm clock, mindful to instantly shush it so as not to disturb Liz (she usually rushes her morning routine so she can stay in bed ten minutes longer). But no matter how careful Aram is not to wake her up, she always catches him slipping out of bed. He thinks she doesn’t mind though, because instead of glaring at him, she merely reaches out and pulls him back in for a quick peck to his cheek or a nuzzle against his neck. It’s the sweetest thing, and it never fails to make him start the day with a besotted grin on his face.

18 - Who gets mad about something unrelated to Person B and punches the wall, and who patches it up and kisses it better?Even though Aram is a part of the inner circle of the Post Office, there are a lot of things he rarely gets wind about. Like the constant drama between Liz and Red, all this will he or won’t he tell her about her past. But ever since he and Liz got together, he’s started to get glimpses of it - tears in her eyes which she didn’t manage to wipe away quick enough before he entered the room, clenched fists when they are at a briefing at the office, or - once or twice, a broken cup or shattered vase. Aram lets her calm down then, just sweeps the shards away so she won’t hurt herself and gives her a moment before awkwardly sitting down next to her and asking her if she’d like to talk about it. She never does, but at least she knows he’ll be there to listen, if she ever needs him. 

28 - Who runs their battery down to 1% and who feels the need to charge theirs at 80%?In Aram’s line of work it is crucial to have a charged battery, so he is very adamant about hoarding he power outlets at his place. Liz doesn’t care, her phone still does the work, no matter if it’s charged at 100% or 1% (Plus, the frustrated look on Aram’s face - as if he’s just short of pulling his hair out - whenever he spies her phone’s battery blinking a dying red death, is just too much fun to behold)