#I wanted to make sure the loss is present and tangible in every inch of this

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 121: Record

"I found some weird box full of muggle stuff," Ron called, carrying said weird box out into the open living room that Hermione and Draco were working in since they had mandatory cleaning on Saturday mornings for everyone who lived in Grimmauld. "I don't even know what these are," he added, holding up flat, black circles with holes in the middle.

"They're records," Hermione replied, glancing up from the cabinet she was working on cleaning out. "They play music," she elaborated.

Ron made a face, "They're probably junk," he replied.

"What are?" Harry asked as he emerged from the creepy closet off of the kitchen, covered in spider webs.

"These records," Ron said, kicking the box with his toe.

"Oh," Harry said, making his way over, "Were they Sirius', do you reckon?"

"It says 'Lily Evans' on the side," Draco pointed out.

"Probably junk either way," Ron said.

Draco Malfoy had spent more than half of his life in love with Harry Potter. He might not have called it love when he was young but the older he got, the more clear it became that he had been a lovesick idiot for most of his life. He'd spent a lifetime memorizing every detail of that face. So he couldn't really be blamed for noticing the split second of hurt that flashed across Harry's face before he nodded, "Yeah. You're probably right. I'll just run them out to the bin."

"Let me," he said before he'd really formed a plan. "I've got all this to take out anyway," he said, gesturing to the box of junk that he'd weeded out this morning. "And we all know that Kreacher has less of a problem with it when I do it."

Harry gave him a little smile that Draco wondered if anyone believed was genuine. "Thanks," he said.

Draco levitated his box and the box of records and headed down toward the kitchen. When he was out of ear shot he murmured, "Kreacher," and the elf appeared.

"Yes, Master Draco?"

"Hi," he said, giving him a little nod, "Could you help me with something?"

"Anything!" he replied, nodding hard enough that his ears flapped.

"Could you hold onto this box for me?" he asked, gesturing to the box with the records.

"Of course," he said, immediately taking the box and disappearing.

Draco nodded in satisfaction and started plotting how he'd learn enough about records that he could help Harry use his mother's.

(Read more below the cut)

Two weeks later, on another Saturday morning cleaning day, he still hadn't made much progress. Luna had actually been the most helpful but he hadn't any idea where to find a record player.

But as luck would have it, one turned up in the library, tucked in a cabinet behind some very dusty potion vials and a rusted old cauldron. "Kreacher," he whispered.

When he appeared he held out the record player and asked him to keep it with the records.

He felt quite pleased with himself now that he'd found the record player; he was certain that he'd be able to play records for Harry in no time.

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

It took a couple more weeks. Figuring out how to get electricity into the house was no easy feat (but it was easier once he found out that someone, Sirius he suspected, had done it before).

When Harry arrived home that evening, Draco dragged him into the living room, "Draco, what is going on?" he asked, laughing at him as he tried to get him to hurry up.

"I have something for you," he said, nudging him into the room and presenting the record player. "Ta da!"

"Err," Harry said, looking more closely at it, "What is it?"

"It's a record player," he said.

Harry's head whipped around so fast that it made Draco feel dizzy, "What?" he whispered.

"I found it," Draco said, "when I was cleaning in the library. And I thought you might," he shrugged and reached for the box of records, holding it out to Harry, "I thought you might want to listen to them."

The other man looked at him then down at the box in his hands, eyes wide as he reached out a trembling hand to brush his fingers over the spot where 'Lily Evans' was inscribed on the cardboard box. "You," he started before breaking off and covering his mouth with his hand. "I don't know what to say," he whispered.

His heart was full to bursting and he was pretty sure he'd never done anything as good as this in his life. "Would you like to listen to one?"

Harry looked up at him and nodded.

Carefully, he took out the record on the top and slipped it out of it's jacket, "Ella Fitzgerald," he said. "I've no idea who that is."

"Me either," Harry replied, coming closer to watch over Draco's shoulder as he set the record on the plate, turned the player on, and set the needle.

Music spilled forth entrancing them both, It's not the pale moon that excites me, that thrills and delights me, oh no, it's just the nearness of you.

"Wow," Harry murmured, watching the record spin. He turned to Draco, "I can't tell you what this means to me," he whispered. "Thank you."

He shrugged but couldn't quite keep the pleased smile from his face. "You're welcome."

Harry looked back at the record player before looking over at Draco again, "Do you want to sit and listen with me?"

He nodded, "I'd like that very much."

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

It became something that the two of them did together fairly regularly after that. Sometimes they'd sit together and read while they listened to records, sometimes they'd talk while they listened, or catch up on work, or just listen together but it quickly became Draco's favorite pastime.

One Friday night while Ron and Hermione were out on a date, Ginny was away for a tournament, and Luna was working late, the two of them put on a record and ate dinner in the living room, continuing to drink wine while they talked and laughed long after their pasta was gone.

As the Bob Marley album, Exodus, came to an end, Draco stood up and made his way over to the box. "Etta James," he read, "At Last." He smiled and showed it to Harry, "look, she drew little hearts next to the song titles."

Harry smiled that melancholy sort of smile that made Draco ache inside. "Let's hear it, then."

Draco put it on for them and plopped back down on the floor in front of the sofa, his side mere inches away from Harry's, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off his body.

"I like this one," Harry sighed thirty seconds in as he leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. "Do you think they used to dance to this one?" he murmured wistfully.

Draco's heart clenched painfully as he was overwhelmed by the sense of loss that Harry must feel constantly. He had to take a slow deep breath before he responded. "Maybe," he whispered back.

The corner of Harry's mouth curled up in a soft smile, "I think they liked to dance," he murmured. "Hagrid gave me a picture of the two of them dancing together when I was at Hogwarts."

"Yeah?" he asked, hoping Harry would say more about that.

Harry nodded, "They looked really happy, you know?" he said. "Like they were the only two people in the world, like they weren't in the middle of a war," he sighed. "I like to imagine both of them dancing with me when I was a baby," he confessed in a whisper, "when I was crying or something. I like to imagine that the love that saved my life was tangible all the time, you know?" he murmured.

"I'm sure it was," Draco said softly.

He leaned over and rested his head on Draco's shoulder and Draco hardly dared to breathe. After a moment Harry said, "Would you dance with me?"

"Yes," he breathed immediately. "Yeah, of course I would."

"Yeah?" Harry asked, sitting up slightly to look at him.

Draco nodded and stood up, reaching for Harry's hand and tugging him up after him. He kept Harry left hand in his right and wrapped his left arm around Harry's shoulder, leaving space for Harry's right arm around his waist.

The other man hummed softly, drawing Draco in a little closer and closing his eyes as they swayed around the room. Draco couldn't stop staring; at the way Harry's eyelashes were long enough that they brushed his glasses, at the tiny nearly invisible freckles that dusted his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, at the barely visible wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, at his lovely full lips, and the way his stubble looked against his skin.

I love you he couldn't help but think, over and over like it was a personal mantra, like it was the only thing that could keep him alive; he ached with it, with the desire to hold him, to kiss him, to tell him what he really thought of him, to build a life with him, to give him everything that he deserved to have.

Harry's eyes blinked open as the song came to an end, his brows furrowing slightly as he brought his hand up to cup Draco's cheek, "Are you alright?" he asked softly, wiping a tear that had slipped out.

"Merlin, sorry," Draco said, taking a step back to wipe his eyes. "Sorry. It's just your life has been so unfair and when I think about you not really knowing your parents and having to live with your shitty relatives, and-" he choked on the tears.

"Hey," Harry murmured, pulling Draco back into his arms and rubbing his back, "Hey, it's alright."

"It's not alright," he managed.

"Well, no," Harry agreed, "I suppose it isn't. But it's all past now," he said. "Now I have my friends and I live with people who love me and whom I love," he carded his fingers through the hair at the base of Draco's neck. "Ron and Hermione, Luna and Ginny," he swallowed, "you."

"I just wish," he started before breaking off because finishing that sentence would be showing far too much of his hand.

Harry drew back slightly to look at him, "What?"

His eyes were so open, so earnest that Draco couldn't help himself. "I wish you'd let me love you the way you deserve to be loved."

The other man blinked, "What do you mean?"

"Promise me that nothing changes if you don't like what I have to say," he said, clenching his fingers in Harry's t-shirt.

"I promise. You're one of my best friends, Draco," he assured.

He took a deep breath, "I'm in love with you," he finally managed. "And I just want to love you, all the time. I want to hold your hand, and dance with you, and make you laugh, and surprise you. I want so many things for you-"

"Me too," Harry interrupted. "I'm in love with you, too, I mean."

"Really?" he whispered, hardly daring to believe it, his eyes welling up with tears again.

"Oh, love," Harry said with a little smile, wiping Draco's eyes with his thumbs, "Yes, really. Come here," he said, pulling him in closer and swaying to the music, letting Draco cling to him as they moved together.

As they continued to dance, Harry started to tell him all of the things that he dreamed about for the future together. Painting a picture of the beautiful life they could have and after a few minutes, Draco joined in, adding bits of his hopes as well.

They stayed up late into the night, talking and dreaming of the life they wanted to give each other. And every time they fought after that, one of them would get out the record player and they'd dance together and remind each other of the lives they wanted to build.

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

Day 120: Tough | Day 122: Moon

#100 drabbles in 100 days #one year of drarry drabbles #drarry #drarry ficlets #drarry drabbles #fluff #pining #like a lot of pining #boys in love #love confessions #acts of love #this one got away from me #but I sort of love it #getting together #friends to lovers

[starshine-selfships]

Local man is desperately in love with his boyfriend but thought too hard and managed to convince himself that he made up the whole romance aspect and his partner doesn't actually feel the same way, so why even continue the act? Also he's wrong and his boyfriend loves him very much and that's all there is to it 😤💕

I am not a writer, I'm an artist, but I felt like giving this a shot. Both of us use he/him and I didn't actually plan anything, so I went back and color coded my own pronouns and dialogue; I do have a version without the colors as a backup however. Tbh I don't really care about the quality since again, I basically never write, and I also wrote this 100% for myself lmao, almost stream of consciousness baybee

That being said, I'm sorry I write like a pretentious victorian poet lsjdkdkx 😣

Soft. Just like everything else about him. Soft hair he yearned to stroke and bury his face in, soft hands shaping the air as he spoke, hands he wanted nothing more than to take into his own, to lift them and press a gentle kiss upon them. He even spoke softly, almost seeming afraid to break the silence, whispering and enunciating words as though speaking a prayer. Hearing his own name spoken in that quiet, intimate tone was enough to make him light headed, immediately overtaken by the delicacy of the interaction. His gaze was the most stunning feature, as it betrayed his past with pinpoint accuracy. The witnessing of humanity's cruelty did nothing to harden his stare; his eyes shone with a purely kind demeanor, merciful and trusting.

And such was the gaze fixed upon him in this moment, and he fought the desperate urge to meet it. He knew he didn't like eye contact and couldn't bear committing such an act of disturbance. He kept his gaze averted, feeling how almost painfully strong his heartbeat had grown, his frail frame beginning to shudder under its force. The incessant pounding had to be audible, and if that alone didn't lie the entirety of his being on the floor in front of him, then the heat steadily spreading across his face surely did. His emotions outpaced him, rushing with such force so that he'd never had a chance to restrain them, instead left fighting a losing war in a desperate attempt to not give himself away.

His gaze flickered nervously back to his beloved. He maintained that gaze long enough to see him smile warmly in response, causing his chest to feel just a bit tighter, his heart to beat only more forcefully. In spite of knowing his error - maintaining that dreaded eye contact - , he couldn't look away; to do so would constitute a betrayal, a moment of recognition followed by willful ignorance. He folded his hands, attempting to return the smile but being far too shaken for it to seem genuine. His darling softly laughed at the awkwardness of the gesture, voice as warm as the morning sun. He could no longer bear the strain of his sight, squeezing his eyes shut and turning away as the laughter rang in his head.

He had to be mistaken. His feelings should not be so insurmountable, something even he couldn't fully grip. He had lost all subtlety, and for what? The slim chance of reciprocation? Did such a chance even exist? He felt as though he'd combust if he remained in that room with him. The initially sweet feelings became sickening as he steeped in them, becoming almost shameful as they continued. He shouldn't need this. He was better than this. Was he though? Why couldn't he stop himself?

Simply stand up and leave? His legs would give out underneath him. Voice his firm objections? His voice would fail him. Physically remove that boy? The very thought of using any force at all placed more weight onto his chest, thinking of the sheer guilt and regret that would come from even accidentally inflicting pain. His attentive nature and eye for detail was his strong suit, but it was also what had gotten him more attached than he'd prefer, faster than he could've ever thought possible.

Beginning with patterns and habits he'd found amusing and leading to finding beauty in his every step. From seeing him avidly read and stargaze, to noticing how the sunlight reflected off his hair, to noticing the colors on barely visible earrings, to seeing his eyes flit back and forth between him and the window. Did he find looking at him to be unpleasant? Was he put off by the antennas? The insect features? The status? The reputation? Did not knowing also keep him awake at night? Did he like music? Did he think brown eyes were pretty? Why was he allowing himself to even consider these questions?

Foreign touch immediately grounded him, his eyes snapping open as he gasped in surprise. How long had he been lost in thought? How had his love gotten so close to him? His hand was on his shoulder. He slid it along his back, unfolding his arm and allowing it to rest on him as well. His touch was delicate, as though afraid of leaving a mark, despite him touching something so much more durable than himself. The affectionate gesture - no. Was it? Or was it merely a means of comforting what could be mistaken for distress? He kept his doubts in mind, not wanting to put an irreparable dent into the connection the two already had. Though, perhaps it would be for the better if he did. Tears welled in his eyes at the very thought of having to walk away, despite knowing it would likely be the best, and perhaps the only, option.

He noticed his love's other, empty hand lifted in front of him, frozen in air, likely pondering his actions as he made them. It was admirable, having such a sense of confidence that he didn't seem to need a plan for his course of action. He merely acted and accepted the outcome regardless, without fear. Yet another curious aspect of this boy that occupied his thoughts. He silently observed, watching him lift his hand out of view, only to grace his fingertips across the side of his face, settling his hand upon his cheek. Surely, surely he could feel how unnaturally warm he'd grown. It was something that had seemed endlessly amusing to his darling, how he was cold blooded and naturally cool to the touch; the heat of the blush had to be tangible. He truly feared how much more strain would be placed on him, the mere shared presence in the room alone enough to almost kill him. The physical contact overwhelmed him so badly he really did feel about to cry.

The gentle contact of his love's hand grew more forceful; still gentle, but with pressure indicative of a voiceless request. He turned his head with the nudge to fully face his beloved, whose face was mere inches from his own. Why was he so intent on such sweet torture? Had he caught on and decided to play before going in for the kill? He committed the sin of eye contact once more. Hazel, he'd been told. That was the color he saw in dreams, of a content present and a blissful future, that color of brilliance. Why wasn't he moving? Why was he allowing this? Why was his darling's hand in motion once more? Keeping his hand on his cheek, he had slid his thumb to the side, lightly gracing his lower lip. An unspoken request. No longer able to bear the weight of his own desire, he conceded to his affections and attempted to assent. He spoke, wide eyed and unblinking, his voice almost pathetically weak, borderline pleading in a strained whisper,

"... please...",

feeling defeated, yet also quite excited. He may have lost the war, but was being offered a consolation prize that would, even though only briefly, take away the painful sting of his own internal, personal loss.

His love inched yet closer and his eyes fluttered shut, as though he couldn't bear looking away for even a moment. He closed his own eyes as well, as if in response, but this time to better perceive instead of closing himself off. He could feel the warmth radiating from the petit boy in front of him, warmer than anything his own body could naturally produce. Basking in sunlight each morning to fully wake; spending the morning next to someone so close to his heart would feel just as holy. Like the delicate sensation of sunlight on the body, he felt the motion of his beloved as his lips graced his own, before he finally settled into the kiss, still subtly caressing his cheek with his hand.

He felt a quick tear streak down his face. Gentle gestures, all of them. When it came to him, they always were. It was as though he was incapable of harm in any capacity; he seemed almost afraid of being unloving or anything less than cheerful. His natural disposition towards brightness was reflected by everyone he interacted with, making others feel welcome and putting them at ease. In that moment, he also felt at ease, in spite of his doubts and insecurity, he felt at ease, melting into the touch of his.. lover? Was it fair to call him that? In the light and warmth of the kissing, it certainly seemed so.

After a period of drawing it out, going back for more and more, he finally broke away, opening his eyes once more to examine him. He opened his own eyes, slowly and with an amount of care, almost as if he were guilty after the act and nervous about what he would see. He looked into the eyes of the boy who stared back at him as though he were the one who'd put the sun in the sky. He softly smiled as he took in the scene, feeling tears begin to pool in his eyes once more. He felt he'd had confirmation that he was being irrational, but needed evidence that was nothing short of absolutely damning before he could fully accept it. He realized he was likely making him uncomfortable by looking him directly in the eyes again, they'd had that conversation before, he knew he shouldn't, it must be so irritating-

"Your eyes are so pretty."

He froze. He froze, finally breaking down and beginning to cry. His partner was well acquainted with his tears, and he knew there wasn't much he could do to stem their flow. Even with that in mind, he still wanted to console and soothe sudden wave of emotion.

"Are you alright? Do you wanna talk about it?"

A sing-song query in a half whisper. He sniffled and looked down at his hands, fidgeting in discomfort. He didn't want to overwhelm or alarm him, so he felt it best to choose his words carefully. But even then, he felt the horrific weight of finality hanging over him.

"Sometimes, I find it hard to believe that you do love me."

Confusion, hurt, and mild surprise. His lover almost seemed to anticipate it, making his heart feel like it was sinking further.

"Elaborate."

He drew a deep breath, sighing in pain and bracing himself for if he began to cry harder. The lump in his throat threatened to choke him. Barely able to speak, he forced broken sentences together, making a pathetic attempt to communicate anything at all before he dissolved into tears.

"Why?"

No response.

"Why me?"

Silence. The weight of every mistake he'd ever made was bearing down on him. Surely it was apparent how disgustingly flawed he was, not suitable-

"Well, this is a new one."

.. What?

"You really think I don't love you?"

He said it almost as though it were a joke.

"We've been together for almost two years now, and that's a choice both of us made. I can't even count how many chances I had to just, get up and walk away."

He cupped his face with both of his hands now; he lifted his own hands and placed them over his. He was crying freely, falling just short of actively sobbing.

"But I never took any of those chances. I want to be with you. You're a very sweet man and. Well it's horrible that you've got the mental conditions you do, but because we have the same kind, you've never missed a beat when it comes to making me feel better. And I wanna be able to do that for you too. You make me so happy and I wanna be able to make you feel the same way."

His head was bowed as he openly wept. He needed damning proof and it was handed to him, wrapped in ribbon and sealed with a kiss. He smiled through his tears out of sheer relief. His joy, his love, lover. The light didn't scorch and burn as he feared, but rather warmed and lifted the fog that had been enveloping him. He lifted his head once more, to look at his sweetheart with a mind unclouded by guilt.

"You don't like eye contact, you kept telling me-"

"I don't mind when you do it."

His eyes widened and his vision was once more blurred with tears. The lack of regret and remorse didn't unclutter his thoughts, and he was left unable to answer. What was there to say? Thank you? I needed to know that, despite already knowing it? My irrationality occasionally makes my life a living hell and I'm grateful for your extended patience? Admittedly, there was one thought that dominated and laid his soul bare on pure impulse-

"I love you."

"I love you too."

His lover slipped his hands out from beneath his own and motioned to encircle him in a hug, a gesture he enthusiastically returned. Resting his head against him, holding him and being held by him, knowing for certain that each step he himself took was perfectly mirrored by the boy in his arms; it was all more than he could ever ask for. He wished he could etch this moment into his memory, to never again doubt his lover or himself so deeply. While he did feel guilty for harboring such needless doubt, his partner would never be upset with him for worrying, and this he felt with certainty. Some of his many chances to leave very well were occasions where he'd been in hysterics over things that later proved to be inconsequential. He'd seen the ugliest and worst of him, yet, at the end of the day, he still chose love. His memories and the words spoken to him were perfectly interlaced, leaving no room for doubt. He was loved, and that's all there was to it.

#self ship #self ship fic #oooOoOOOH there's a tag for that?? and i cant believe im even using it #anyways.. here's me acting out my greatest desire of wanting to kiss this bug man and telling him i love him #hes canonically got bad anxiety and thinks too hard and well. thats what i call relatable content 😞🙌 #he just needs some reassurance and affection; give that a man a hug and a kiss on the cheek fucking STAT #butterfly kisses

[stirlingphoenix]

jason todd/roy harper hahahahahaha

Ah!! Thank you so much Rie! It’s been so long, I’ll try my best for you!

send me ✿ + a ship and i’ll tell you…

who is more excited for halloween?

Roy. I can see Roy really getting into the Halloween spirit and decorating his and Jason’s apartment, trying to set silly traps up where if Jason were to trigger them, some sort of spooky decoration would pop out and scare him. But the thing is, they never work. Jason can see all of these tricks from a mile away, no matter how sly Roy tries to be. Eventually Jason gets annoyed to the point where he sets up a trap up himself, which Roy falls for within the first 10 minutes. To this day Jason has yet to let Roy live it down!

who gives the best gifts?

Jason, and it pisses Roy off too, because Roy spends weeks in advance trying to figure out the perfect gift for Jason, but then Jason has the audacity to come home bearing some sort of trinket, saying, ‘it made me think of you’, in such a simple way that drives Roy insane because why can’t he do that?? Yet Jason is so sincere and earnest when he presents the gift, that the initial anger is soon forgotten it melts Roy’s heart every single time.

who sings along to the radio the loudest?

Roy. I swear, this man is a human jukebox in the way he seems to know every song that comes up on the radio, regardless of the genre or station. He’s totally unashamed in the way he belts out the lyrics, and Jason will never admit it, but he loves Roy’s voice. Even if it’s a song he despises, he adores the way Roy sings along. Roy totally knows how Jason feels though, he’s caught the soft smile that graces Jason’s lips while he’s driving and singing along from the corner of his eye on more than one occasion.

who actually finishes a book they’ve started?

Roy. Once he’s found a sweet action/adventure story that really grabs his attention, he’s hooked, and he’ll see it through to the end! Jason on the other hand, to me, feels like the kind of guy who might try to read something, especially if Roy suggested it to him, but once  the surroundings are right for reading (ie warm, quite, preferably somewhere near Roy), he’ll nod off within the first 10 minutes.

who falls asleep during a movie?

Jason. Again, when the conditions are just right, and this time he is most definitely curled up with Roy, he just feels so safe and warm, he can’t help but doze off, especially if Roy decides to casually run his fingers through Jason’s hair while they’re watching something.

who plans a surprise getaway vacation?

Jason. He’s pretty much like: “Pack your bags, Roy. We’ve got places to be.” and Roy is so low-key that he goes along with it, all the while knowing that Jason has an ulterior motive that he has yet to share with him (read: an international mission). So I guess it’s not so much of a vacation, so much as it’s the job, only this time certain opportunities arise, which Roy is eager to take advantage of. “Oh look how convenient, the beach is just 2 km away. When in Rome, amiright, or amiright, Jaybird?”

who comes home with useless decorative knick knacks for the house every single day?

Neither. I think both Jason and Roy are the type to spend their money on high-tech home security, gadgetry, or anything far more useful. Though, as stated earlier, if anyone brings home a knick-knack on occasion it’s Jason, simply because the trinket made him think of Roy.

who takes more pictures?

Roy. He has to get a quick snapshot of anything he finds aesthetically pleasing, and he’s always trying to get more pictures of Jason. But the thing is, Jason never willingly lets Roy take his picture. Whenever Roy has his phone out and it’s obvious that he’s trying to get a shot, Jason turns away or darts out of the camera’s view, however Roy’s managed to get a few good shots in when he thinks Jason’s not looking. In reality, Jason knows, but in those circumstances he’s too tired to put up a fight, and often when Roy takes the picture Jason’s feeling melancholic, because he hasn’t accepted the fact that someone like Roy exists, who actually wants to be able to see him, even when he’s not physically present, and wants his image imprinted somewhere so it can be remembered forever. For some reason, after every time these ‘secret’ photos are taken, Jason finds himself wrapped in Roy’s warm embrace, with soft kisses pressed against his temple and sweet whispers teling him just how much he means to Roy.

who likes baths? who likes showers?

Both Jason and Roy prefer showers, one because they prefer to be quick and efficient about the entire process, but more notably, because of the hot, steamy shower sex. There’s just something about the sound the water makes when it hits the tile and splashes everywhere that just makes both Jason and Roy go wild. If by chance they find themselves in the shower together, it’s only a matter of seconds before one of them is pinning the other against the wall, smashing their lips together in heated kisses and hands touching every inch of bare skin within reach, quickly giving away to passionate love-making.

who keeps a weekly planner?

Jason, however this something he fills out retroactively, jotting down every decision he’s made, everything he’s done, why he did it, and when he did it, because every once in awhile, he gets into a self-destructive state of mind where he can’t help but question his motives and wonder if his way really is the right way. Filling out this weekly planner with all of his accomplishments was actually Roy’s idea, because while he’s always there to support Jason through all of this, it helps when there’s an entire book full of Jason’s work that Roy can pull out to remind him that what he does really makes a difference in the world.

who actually watches the discovery channel?

Roy, simply because I think he has a greater sense of morbid curiosity.

who brings up having kids first?

Jason.  If these two ever settled down to the point where they could feasibly raise a child together, Jason would eventually ask about it. After what happened with Lian, I’m not sure that he would feel like he was capable of raising a child, even with Jason at his side. This is where Jason would have to step in and rescue Roy from his tortured past, and make him realize that things are different now, he’s a far cry from the man he used to be, and that he’s not alone.

who fixes things around the house when they break?

Jason. I feel like he developed a knack for fixing things during his late childhood/early teen years while living at Wayne Manor, because he never wanted to admit to Bruce or Alfred whenever he missed his target with a dart gun, and ended up sending a priceless antique vase to the floor. It’s a good thing that he kept that talent, because Roy can be a bit of a klutz at times.

who leaves their dirty towels on the floor?

Both, actually. Getting either of these two men to do laundry before one of them takes the last pair of clean underwear is like pulling teeth.

who makes the coffee in the morning?

Jason. Please don’t try to get Roy up before noon, he has a tendency to bite.

who gets jealous over very petty things?

Jason. After years of being compared to Dick, Jason tends to get on edge if Roy even mentions his predecessor or his replacements. While he knows better and trusts Roy with all his heart and soul, a small part of him fears that someday Roy will wise up and realize that he chose the wrong boy wonder to spend the rest of his life with.

who exercises more?

Both Jason and Roy are equal in their exercise routines. Not only do they work together, but they also spot each other while lifting weights and will do cardio workouts together.

who starts listening to christmas music in october?

After Jason gets Roy with the Halloween pranks he’d been trying to pull on Jason since the end of August, Roy usually decides to cut his losses and moves onto Christmas. Mainly because he’s low-key bitter that Jason got him so effortlessly, and he needs some way to annoy Jason. Jokes on Roy though, Jason kind of digs the holiday tunes (especially if Roy’s singing them).

who actually reads the newspaper?

Jason. He has the constant need to know the impact his work has had on society, and he’s kind of old-school in the fact that he’s more comfortable having something tangible in his hands and being able to feel the newsprint under his fingertips, as opposed to reading news articles online.

I probably got a little too carried away with this, but I regret nothing! Thanks again for asking, Rie!!

#nooowestayandgetcaught #jayroy #jason todd #roy harper #jason x roy #dc

[storiesaboutmara-blog]

Wedding Reflections - David Roberts

I always cry at weddings. I think it has to do with the intense beauty and tangible presence of God during the ceremony. Often there is so much joy present, you want to burst.

Ten years ago today (January 19 th ), I married Mara. It was cold, and there was snow on the ground. I awoke at Nate and Sara Hagerty’s house to the smell of an amazing egg casserole. I remember distinctly thinking to myself that I have no idea what I’m getting myself into …

Breaking with tradition, I saw Mara before the wedding at the court house to get our marriage license (this is another story). She wanted to send Mindy, her identical twin, to get the license so she could finish her hair. I declined this suggestion, feeling pretty sure that it was a bad idea to start off our marriage this way. It turns out, the judge let us ring the bell in the old courthouse – the bell that used to tell people the verdict was ready to be read back in the 1800s. Mara was truly beautiful. I was filled with joy and was so determined not to cry that I bit my cheeks the whole time, except when saying my vows.

The biting cheek part threw Mara a bit, as she thought I was mad at her. I was able to say my vows smoothly until I had to repeat: “till death due us part,” at which my voice cracked. Thankfully, those were the last words I had to say; then it was Mara’s turn. Apparently, my emotion sent her into a laughing spell. She had the ability to expel emotion through laughing that was typically expressed through crying. She regained her composure, the pastor repeated the vow for her to say, and then she started laughing again. I’ll never forget that.

Our wedding day, in many ways, was larger than life. The decorations were simply amazing. The hall and courtyard were lit beautifully. The table arrangements were stunning. The wedding cake was an amazing multi-layered carrot cake that a friend made. We even got thrown on chairs for a Jewish chair dance.

Reflecting back to 10 years ago today, I think of our wedding memories fondly, in the midst of the bitter loss. Mara’s name, as you may know, means bitter. In Exodus, Moses threw a log into the bitter waters of Marah to make them sweet. Bitter to sweet.

For me, the paradox of the bitter and the sweet together is captured best in C.S Lewis’ poem, As the Ruin Falls. My heart resonates with every word:

All this is flashy rhetoric about loving you. I never had a selfless thought since I was born.

I am mercenary and self-seeking through and through: I want God, you, all friends, merely to serve my turn. Peace, re-assurance, pleasure, are the goals I seek, I cannot crawl one inch outside my proper skin: I talk of love -- a scholar’s parrot may talk Greek-- But, self-imprisoned, always end where I begin. Only that now you have taught me (but how late) my lack. I see the chasm. And everything you are was making My heart into a bridge by which I might get back From exile, and grow man. And now the bridge is breaking. For this I bless you as the ruin falls. The pains You give me are more precious than all other gains.

Part of the blessing of being Mara’s husband was that I saw how she lived her name every day. She was the sweetest person I’m sure I’ll ever know. And it’s been a discipline for me to take the bitter things,like missing her deeply on our anniversary, and sharing something sweet, like this reflection on the beauty of our wedding.

Mara had a crystal-clear vision for the theme of our wedding: the parable Jesus tells of the ten virgins in Matthew 25. These women were attending a bride and were awaiting the arrival of the bridegroom to light his way with oil lamps as part of the ceremony. As the parable goes, five came prepared with oil (the wise ones), five did not (the foolish ones). While the five left to get oil, the bridegroom came and the five who were ready went with him to the wedding banquet. And the door was shut and the foolish virgins weren’t let in.

The moral of the parable is to be ready, because you do not know the day or the hour that Jesus will return, or that you will go to be with him. To highlight this theme, we gave out oil lamps as party favors at our reception. People would come get the oil lamp, and oil would be poured into the lamp while a prayer was said over them. The night before our wedding, one of our friends, who had agreed to help us hand out the oil lamps and pray for our guests, had his heat go out in the middle of the night. He ran out of oil in his heating tank. He wasn’t ready. He was profoundly impacted by the spiritual implications of this occurring just before our wedding.

While Mara’s death was a surprise to us, she was ready. In fact, she’d been ready our whole lives together. Ten years later, I still cry at weddings. I still laugh and cry at thinking about all fun and joy of our wedding day. But, unlike past anniversaries, the theme of our wedding and knowing that Mara is in heaven with Jesus has me thinking more than ever: am I ready?

[meltingalphabet]

I thought I heard you

“I thought I heard you in here.” My grandpa says to the room. Christmases have been rough since grandmother died.

As a young child, I always looked forward to Christmas at my grandparents’ house. The warm smells that floated in the air: cinnamon, pumpkin, and ginger mixing together into a shapeless cloud around me. Just a hint of mint tinging the air with a crispness that made the warmth all that much more pleasurable. The small home was cozy and comfortable, the polished wood worn with use, brown with age, cracked and creaking from the weight of our lives. My grandpa made sure to always have a fire roaring in the cast iron fireplace, the yellow glow playing across our faces, making the presents gleen under the tree, begging to be opened, the bright green and red metallic wrapping paper pleading to be ripped by our hands. The warmth of the flames ate at my skin, dancing expertly along the line of pleasant heat and burning pain.

My mother and grandmother would cook and bake together. They’d make pies and turkey, cranberry compote and pumpkin cookies, mountains of mashed potatoes sweetened with fresh butter and thick cream, homemade caramel and green beans with shallots, mushroom gravy and sweet potatoes with coconut, coffee crumb cake and mulled wine. The air would alight with the scents of their cooking and my stomach would kick and growl with anticipation. Grandmother would slip me a cookie or a candy cane, the sweet treat accompanied with a small innocent wink. I’d eat it slowly, savoring each small bite as I eyed the rest of the meal that grew, almost organically, on the counter before me, the sights and smells tickling my nostrils. Dinner time would not come soon enough, but until then, it was a sight I hungrily devoured, my eyes full, my tastebuds lacking.

My father would read me stories, epic tales of fantasy worlds where mythical beings lived in the ground and the trees. He’d change his voice with each character and gesticulate wildly with his arms, the line of vision from his eyes to the words on the page teetering with each arching movement, each brave dwarf, each cackling witch, each billowing wizard. He’d create a magical world so believable, so engrossing, that I would become utterly entranced. The smells and sounds of the house heightening my absorption, blending my mind’s eye with what was directly in front of my face, making the fake world as tangible as the real one, the real world as intangible as the one my father was creating with his voice. My grandfather would add his own power to the Christmas cheer by playing songs on the old piano in the living room. The cabin would fill to the brim with both his fast and cheerful melodies as well as the slow and brooding songs that seemed more of a warning than a celebration. The heavy ivory keys creaking as the hammer hit the tightened string, a crystal note rising quickly to the air, only to dissipate instantly above me, showering me with sound.

And every night, as I lay awake in my grandpa’s office, the cushioned cot beneath my small frame, I’d pull my favorite of grandmother’s quilts, the red and white one that smelt of pine and lilacs, up to my chin to protect me from the drafts and groans of the old house. And every night, Nana would come visit me. She’d share secrets with me, stories of Santa and his reindeer, of the elves and their toys, the North Pole and how, even on the chilliest of days, no one there ever gets cold.

“No one shivers at the North Pole.” Her cobwebbed throat would strain with the words. Like opening the cover of an old and forgotten book, the binding cracking, the pages falling with a thud instead of a rustle, her voice would rise with a cloud of dust. “There’s magic in the air,” she’d whisper, “magic that keeps everyone warm, all the time. No one ages. There are no wars, no famines. It’s a magical winter paradise.” She’d lean close to my face, so close that only her bright eyes filled my vision. “And you can be Queen.” She’d wink at me, a slow wink, as if her eyelids were heavy, heavier than they should be.

I’d smile, “I can be Mrs. Claus?”

Nana would nod, a slow and calm nod, as her thin lips turned up into a small, tight smile.

I would fall asleep with images of the North Pole in my mind, the voice of Nana flitting about my subconscious like a lost butterfly.

“I thought I heard you in here.” My grandpa says to the room.

“Who do you think is there, dad?” Mom asks.

Grandpa turns to her, blinking his eyes as if adjusting to a great brightness, confusion etched on his lined face. “I thought… I thought I heard your mother.”

Shushing him like one would a child, my mom escorts him out of the office, one hand firmly, but gently, grasping the side of his upper arm, the other hand on his back, guiding him away from the ghost of his dead wife.

We still visit my grandpa every Christmas. Since grandma died, he’s been really lonely. My mom, dad, and I always make the trek up to his cabin. My parent’s old station wagon slowly dragging us up the mountain, tracing the snowy winding roads. Even with my thick winter coat and the dry heat from the dashboard, the cold crept through the car’s windows and bit into my skin like a snake.

The smells of Christmas are fainter now than they were when I was young, the rooms slightly cooler, the house less comfortable. Sometimes I’ll sit in my grandma’s old rocking chair and a shiver will suddenly break over my body, running from the top of my head through my neck and deep into the bottom of my spine. Whether from cold, loss, fear, or all three, I do not know.

It is now my job to stoke the fires. Grandpa is too old, too lost in the archaic crevices of his mind. He stares out the windows for too long, his eyes no longer seeing, the cold begging him to give in. Mom still cooks and bakes, but each year there is less and less food. Each year our holiday feast morphs more into a simple dinner. Instead of reading to me, dad plays Sudoku on his smartphone, the blue glow illuminating his face, scrunched in calculated concentration.

I like to think back to my younger years often. The warmth of the cabin an enveloping hug, holding me close, protecting me from the outside, from the snow. Nana sitting on the edge of my bed, whispering to me, her voice barely audible, almost too quiet to carry through the air. Each word would rise and fall with the indiscernible movements of the draft in the chilly office. Her voice was light, like a broken feather, fluttering towards me, landing lightly on my skin, tracing my features as it crawled from every direction, sliding slowly into my ears.

Images of a great man, strong and ancient, standing proudly over his workers filled my mind. His long grey beard flowing gracefully down like a waterfall, stopping in a wispy curl against the dirt ground, packed hard from years of toiling, years of heavy boots and sharp bone hooves. His mass filling the room, the space glowing red as his body reflects in the polished stone surrounding him on all sides. Stone flat and tall like walls but bigger, higher, stretching endlessly into the black cloudless sky.

“You can barely breath at the North Pole, for he encompasses all, even the molecules of air your lungs need and the blood in your veins craves.”

“But Nana, won’t I die if I can’t breath?”

Nana’s chuckle was low and each strained sound was cut short, like a cough deep in someone’s throat, muffled and painful as they try hard not to let it escape. “No, child. You won’t die at the North Pole.” She brought her dry, crusty lips closer to my face, “you’ll live forever.” Her breath, a strange mix of peppermint and mud, kissed the tip of my nose delicately, like a ballerina, weighing almost nothing, as close to air as a human could ever be

She told me stories of the different types of elves that live at the North Pole: the ones that carry long leathery whips, stained a deep rust color that flaked, the whip strong while the stains fragile, only permanent through repeated application. The elves that had dark metal spears, the points of which were so small, they dissolved into atoms.

“The tip is so fine, one poke, and you don’t even realize you’ve been pierced.” Her voice, so impossibly rough and strained.

Images danced across my mind. Pictures of elves with cutting, blood-stained knifes, elves with red hot matches. Elves with heavy chains, with chisels meant to flay skin, hooks to pierce and pull at flesh, pliers, boiling water, pins and needles and thread. Elves created to pierce, burn, tear, cut, and break the bodies of the sinners. Sinners no longer in the hands of an angry god, but instead in the claws of a loving demon, so infatuated with every inch of their skin, the softness of their lips, the moistness of their groins, that it wants to lick and suck and eat every sweet morsel. Again and again it will have them. A lover never satisfied, an executioner never done.

Reindeers with teeth that snarl at their prisoners, drool forming and flowing from between each deadly fang, their eyes gleaming a menacing red that matches the blood stains on their coarse and wiry fur. Reindeers that beat the ground with their hooves and kick at the bodies in front of them, that step on heads and hands alike, not stopping when the bodies break or pop beneath their powerful weight.

There is an awkwardness in the air as my grandpa shuffles into his office, and tells the empty, silent air, “I thought I heard you in here.”

My mom and dad ask grandpa if he needs anything, maybe a nice cup of chamomile tea to calm his aging nerves, and mom leads him out of the office, my bedroom for the week, and into the kitchen.

Only I realize that it’s not my grandmother that grandpa hears. It is the dry, dusty voice of Nana. I can see the shadows of her hands underneath the cot, her bright orange eyes reflecting in the twinkling white Christmas lights hanging around the door frame. Her long, crooked fingernail, black with age or earth, possibly both, or probably something beyond either, beckons for me to come, to join her.

Maybe this is the year I do. Maybe it’s finally time for me to follow Nana to the enchanted North Pole. To take my promised place as Queen.

#nosleep shorthorrorstory horror xmas christmasshortstory christmas

[stephaniefchase]

Bajan Newscap 6/16/2017

Good Morning #realdreamchasers. Here is your daily news cap for Friday 16th June 2017. Remember you can read full articles via Barbados Today (BT), or by purchasing a Weekend Nation Newspaper (WN).

BAJANS BETTER OFF THAN BEFORE – Barbadians are better off today than years ago, says Minister of Social Care and Community Development Steven Blackett. The minister gave no tangible evidence to back his claim but said the numbers were higher than those 4 000 people currently registered with the department. “I hear all the talk about children suffering, bellies to them back, but I don’t see that. That is not my experience. I see Barbadians showing thrift and enterprise and doing the wonderful things to help themselves,” he said. “Believe it or not, 4 000 people are on the registry of the Welfare Department. When you consider a population of 270 000-280 000 that is really a drop in the ocean,” he told WEEKEND NATION after the reopening of Lancaster House Wednesday. (WN)

OH NO BLACKETT – Government is being told that it must not use the homeless to score cheap political points. President of the Barbados Vagrants and Homeless Society (BVHS) Kemar Saffrey is expressing outrage that Minister of Social Care Steve Blackett sought to place the genesis of vagrancy on the Opposition Barbados Labour Party (BLP). Blackett said in Parliament on Tuesday that the Democratic Labour Party (DLP) administration had inherited vagrancy from the BLP, prompting Saffrey to issue a stern rebuke. The BVHS founder said when he began working with the homeless in 2007 there were “about 40 persons who we knew were homeless and that would have been under the Barbados Labour Party administration”. However, he said since founding the charitable organization two years later, there had been a rise in homelessness, with “411 homeless persons that have passed through our services between 2012 and 2016 and that is under the current DLP administration”. Therefore, he said, it was not right for the minister to point fingers at the Opposition because the problem has existed under both parties. Saffrey said several factors, including the state of the economy, job loss, lack of family support, as well as drugs and mental health issues play a role in vagrancy, and the society needed to do more to eradicate the problem. BLP candidate for St Michael Central Arthur Holder is also taking Blackett to task over the comment, insisting there was no truth to the allegation. He said the BLP had established the Clyde Gollop Home in Hindsbury Road for vagrants, and acknowledged that the facility had to be expanded under the current administration, arguing this was because there had been a significant increase in the number of vagrants and homeless men here. Holder also pointed to a rise in the number of women and children now seeking shelter, an increase in requests for support from the Salvation Army and a staggering jump in demand for help from the All Souls Church in Bank Hall, which had set up a soup kitchen “which initially catered to 30 persons, but that number has risen to 130 persons per week”. (BT)

SINGLE MOTHERS AT A DISADVANTAGE – A retired National Insurance Scheme (NIS) officer has charged that unemployed single mothers are being disadvantaged by some of the government agency’s regulations, and not receiving benefits he believes they should be entitled to. Stephen Strickland made the allegation late last week as he delivered the Democratic Labour Party’s (DLP) lunchtime lecture at the George Street Auditorium, where he charged that the National Insurance Department was out of touch with the realities of the real world. Strickland made specific reference to regulations governing the payment of maternity benefits, which he argued were skewed heavily towards women who were married or in common law relationships. He noted that under the existing NIS regulations, an unemployed, unwed expectant mother must have been living with the father of the child for at least two years in order to benefit from his contributions. If the father of the child is married to someone else, the woman is also prohibited from claiming for maternity benefits based on his contributions. However, the retired public servant, who has taken to pastoring in his golden years, argued that it should not be within the purview of the contributory scheme to assess the moral circumstances under which women become pregnant. The outspoken former NIS employee also expressed concern that archaic regulations within Barbados’ labour laws threaten the employment of women who have more than three pregnancies. (BT)

PSV OPERATORS WANT $3 BUS FARE – The joint committee representing public service vehicle (PSV) owners and operators has written to Minister of Finance Chris Sinckler demanding an increase in bus fares. In the letter dated June 14, 2017 and subtitled, A Call for an Increase in the Fare Charged to Passengers by the PSV Industry and for Duty Free Concessions on Replacement Vehicles, the owners asked for no less than a 50 per cent rise, increasing the fees passengers pay from $2.00 to $3.00. It is their response to the austere budgetary measures announced by Sinckler last month, which include increases of 24 cents and 25 cents per litre in the excise duty on diesel and gasoline, as well as the introduction of a two per cent tax on foreign exchange transactions and a steep jump in the National Social Responsibility Levy from two per cent to ten per cent. Lee contended that privately run PSVs transport “anywhere between 70 to 75 per cent” of the island’s passengers “so therefore the operators are really carrying the burden for Barbados, and I am hoping that the finance minister would see it that way”. He reiterated that Sinckler did not have to raise bus fares if he could present other creative ways to assist the PSVs. (BT)

SPRING GARDEN FLOODED – Work is on to fix the burst 18-inch main at Spring Garden, St Michael. Yesterday afternoon Barbados Water Authority (BWA) employees were on the scene pumping off water from areas near the roadside. BWA’s rapid response and communications manager Joy-Ann Haigh explained that this accumulation of water resulted from heavy rainfall on Wednesday mixed with water from the burst main. “We were clearing the main because we locked it off last night (Wednesday night) to repair it today (Thursday),” Haigh said. “But to repair a main we must clear it. Hence the reason why we cannot fix mains in pouring rain.” She did not provide a timeline for when the burst main would be fixed. (WN)

NEW SERVICES – By the end the year, credit unions in Barbados could be offering a number of additional services to their customers. Vice-president of the Barbados Cooperative & Credit Union League, Hally Haynes yesterday revealed to the WEEKEND NATION that plans were under way for the introduction of foreign exchange transactions and credit card services to the credit union movement. Haynes, who is also the chairman of the league’s financial services committee, said if everything goes according to plan, those services would be available by December 2017. “What we have been doing in recent times is looking at the question of financial services to members of the credit union sector. We have established a committee, which is primarily geared towards rolling out financial services such as foreign exchange and credit card services to the members of the credit union movement,” he explained. (WN)

SEALY UPBEAT ABOUT TOURISM, MYERS CAUTIOUS – While Minister of Tourism Richard Sealy Wednesday night sounded upbeat about the island’s tourism sector, Chairman of the Barbados Hotel and Tourism Association (BHTA) Rosanne Myers cautioned of uncertainty ahead. The two leaders of Barbados tourism shared their perspectives of the industry at the BHTA’s 65th anniversary celebrations at the Lloyd Erskine Sandiford Centre, during which past and present members were inducted into the newly established Hall of Fame, while contributors from related industries were recognized for their support for tourism. The minister also referenced the latest announcement by the British carrier Virgin Atlantic that it would launch “the world’s first departure beach” on Browne’s Beach next year, where its passengers can relax on the sand, go swimming, “cool off” in an air conditioned lounge and “check in on the beach . . . and get your boarding pass too”. However, Myers warned “the world is a very uncertain place” and that “from one minute to the other you don’t know what is going to happen”. Therefore, she advised the BHTA had to remain focused and “we have to make sure that we are strategic in our thinking, in our planning because we are facing some crises all over the world”. Barbados received over 630,000 long-stay visitors last year, and tourism officials say it is on course to set a new record this year. (BT)

BARBADIANS WARNED TO CHANGE THEIR EATING HABITS – With 60 per cent of the beds in the Queen Elizabeth Hospital (QEH) occupied by persons afflicted with non-communicable diseases (NCDs), retired medical practitioner Dr Maurice Smith is urging Barbadians to change their sedentary lifestyles and to immediately address their bad eating habits. The retired gynecologist made the appeal at the University of West Indies Cave Hill Campus this week during Health Week, which runs June 12-16 under the theme Generating Wealth Through Health. Dr Smith argued that the fight against NCDs in Barbados was an uphill battle, with 25 per cent of the population suffering from hypertension, stroke, heart attack and cancer. He disclosed that two to three strokes occurred here on a daily basis with 14 heart attacks were recorded every week. He therefore urged those in attendance to “let food be your medicine and let your medicine be your food”. (BT)

CRIES HEARD – Seventy-one-year-old Ordene Forde could soon wake up from her perennial nightmare to a home fit for habitation. Following the publication by Barbados TODAY earlier this week of a story about the squalid conditions which the Bibby’s Lane, St Michael pensioner must endure, the National Assistance Board (NAB) is promising Forde an improved standard of living. NAB Chairman Dr David Durant and Acting Welfare Officer Kayrene Healis today visited the elderly woman and discovered that her description of her condition as “a state of horror” was just about right. The NAB today said it would tackle the rodent problem, with Healis promising to ask the Environmental Health Department to provide rat bait and follow up to ensure the conditions improve. Healis also vowed to have a private discussion with Forde to ascertain her economic condition in order to determine the level of assistance the welfare agency would offer, while she advised the septuagenarian to visit the Eunice Gibson Polyclinic to check for leptospirosis. Meantime, Durant said the elderly woman ought to be relocated ahead of any possible hurricane activity. The NAB boss also questioned whether the pensioner had any children and why they had not come to her assistance. However, Forde interrupted to explain that of her four children, one lives in a semi-dilapidated structure next door and is a longtime patient of the Psychiatric Hospital, while the other three also faced socio-economic problems and were barely able to meet their rent payments. (BT)

TENANTS SPLIT LEAVING $25000 BILL – A kind-hearted landlord has been left thousands of dollars in debt after two tenants ran off without paying rent. As a result, Olvin Clarke has been forced to take legal action in an effort to recoup the almost $25 000 owed to him. The 71-year-old retiree, who resides at Lot 1, Constant, St George, has two upstairs two-bedroom apartments attached to his home, which he shares with his teenaged daughter. But both of his former tenants have left within months of each other still owing him a substantial amount of money. (WN)

Watch out for telephone scammer – Police are warning members of the public to be on the lookout for a telephone scammer. Lawmen say they have received several reports of an unidentified individual calling households from an overseas number, area code 803, pretending to be a family member and trying to persuade people to remit funds. “The general public is being advised against sending money or engaging in any financial transaction with callers without first confirming that the caller is indeed a bonafide family member,” police said in a brief statement this evening on the matter. “Members of the public are also being advised that they should alert the police of any suspicious calls or activity,” the statement added. (BT)

STILL NO ANSWERS ON MISSING DAD – More than nine months after Marlon “Brando” Smith was last seen alive, police are being asked to come clean with the details surrounding his escape from their custody. The call has come from Smith’s attorney, Queen’s Counsel Andrew Pilgrim, who is not satisfied that lawmen are paying enough attention to finding the 37-year-old father of four. Back on September 9, 2016, police reported that Smith had escaped from custody, while being questioned in connection with a serious matter. Describing it as the “most unique situation that I have ever dealt with the police and an escapee from their custody”, Pilgrim said information needed to be forthcoming. (WN)

TENSIONS RISING – Pressure is building at Her Majesty’s Prison Dodds with officers said to be close to breaking point. This revelation was made Thursday by attorney-at-law Gregory Nicholls, the legal representative for members of the Barbados Prison Officers Association (BPOA). During a press briefing at the National Union of Public Workers (NUPW) Dalkeith Road headquarters, Nicholls not only accused the prison’s hierarchy, including Ministry of Home Affairs Adriel Brathwaite and Superintendent of Prisons John Nurse, of victimizing his clients, but also warned that protests may be imminent even though prison officers are prohibited by law from taking industrial action. However, when pressed by Barbados TODAY to say if there were plans for a major sickout, Nicholls recanted somewhat saying, “I don’t have any information that a sickout is looming”. (BT)

BAD GRANDPA - Bridgetown Magistrate Douglas Frederick today suggested to a 58-year-old that he had a Jekyll and Hyde persona. This, after he admitted to having illegal drugs in the same house as his grandchildren. The drugs were found when police executed a search warrant at his Dukes Alley, Nelson Street, St Michael home earlier today. Prosecutor Sergeant Martin Rock said when the officers entered the house, Cadogan reached behind the refrigerator and pulled out a plastic bag, which contained 53 wrappings of the vegetable substance, and handed it over to lawmen. A further search was conducted in a rear bedroom occupied by Cadogan, and another quantity of the compressed drug was found. His attorney Mohia Ma’at urged the court today to impose a suspended sentence on his client, whom he said was reaching seniority and had responsibilities although he was retired. That prompted the magistrate to question: “Why keep marijuana with so many children in the house?” The attorney argued that his client would have taken precautions to ensure that the children would not come into contact with the substance, “just in the same way licensed firearm holders do.” “He would welcome the imposition of a fine as opposed to a custodial sentence,” Ma’at also said. “I am warning him that he is running out of paying fines and the next time it may be prison,” the magistrate replied. It was at that time that Cadogan said he only got the drugs from “a man last night”. “Looks like you have a Jekyll and Hyde personality,” the magistrate said as he imposed the suspended sentence for a year. If Cadogan gets himself into trouble during that period, he will spend four months behind bars. “Believe me, I gonna change my life,” he said as he left the dock. (BT)

TWO GIRLS ABSCOND FROM GIS – Police are seeking the public’s assistance in locating two wards of the Government Industrial School (GIS) who absconded while attending the Child Guidance Clinic at the Branford Taitt Polyclinic, Black Rock, St Michael, around noon on Wednesday. They are 16-year-old Trekida Worrell, whose last known address was Greenwich Village, St James, and a 14-year-old minor, whose last known address was Coverly Terrace, Christ Church. Worrell is about 5ft 5 in height, light brown in complexion, with small eyes and protruding bottom lips. At the time of her disappearance, her hair was plaited in a cornrow style, opened at the front. The 14-year-old ward of the state is about five feet in height, petite in size, light brown in complexion, and also has her hair plaited in a cornrow style, opened at the front. Anyone with information on their whereabouts is asked to contact the Black Rock Police Station at telephone [phone], Police Emergency at telephone number ‘211’, the nearest police station or Crime Stoppers at 1-800-TIPS (8477). (BT)

TEEN ON ASSAULT CHARGE – A daily curfew has been imposed on a 16-year-old female who appeared in court yesterday on several assault charges. Brittany Joseph Odle of Block 4D, Farm Road, Deacons Farm, St Michael pleaded guilty before Magistrate Kristie Cuffy-Sargeant to unlawfully assaulting Shekhina Holford on June 1 and again on May 25, occasioning her actual bodily harm. However, she denied that she assaulted Hannah Holford the following day, or that she destroyed a cellular phone belonging to Shekhina Holford without lawful excuse on May 25. Police Prosecutor Sergeant Cameron Gibbons had no objections to bail, but Odle’s freedom came with conditions. Magistrate Cuffy-Sargeant warned her to stay away from the complainants and to be indoors by 6 p.m. every evening. She must not leave her home before 6 a.m. The teenager was granted $5,000 bail, which she secured with one surety. She will return to court on September 27. In a separate case before the District ‘A’ Court magistrate, Theodore Dwayne Cumberbatch denied a criminal damage charge. The Tamarind Road, Black Rock, St Michael resident is accused of damaging a watch and a cellular phone belonging to Ria Charles, without lawful excuse, on June 10. The prosecutor Sergeant Cameron Gibbons said the Crown was not objecting to bail but urged the magistrate to attach conditions. Cumberbatch was released on $8,000 bail, which he secured with one surety. Before he left the court, the magistrate warned him to stay away from Charles. The accused man must also report to the Black Rock Police Station every Wednesday before noon with valid identification. (BT)

DUO ACCUSED OF ASSAULTING WOMAN - Two St Michael residents – a man and a woman – denied an assault charge when they appeared in the District ‘A’ Magistrates’ Court jointly accused of the offence. It is alleged that Sean Andre Antonio Goddard, 27, and Andrea Arlene Best, 50, both of Murray Road, Clevedale, assaulted Shereena Armstrong on June 10, occasioning her actual bodily harm. The two were granted bail in the sum of $5,000 each, which they secured. As part of their bail conditions, they have been warned not to interfere with the complainant. They are scheduled to make their second appearance before Magistrate Kristie Cuffy-Sargeant on September 7. Over in the High Court, Terry Avery Toppin of Chapel Land #1, St Philip denied two wounding charges levelled against him. Appearing before Madam Justice Michelle Weekes in the No. 2 Supreme Court yesterday, he pleaded not guilty to causing serious bodily harm to Dave Harte with intent to cause serious bodily harm or to maim, disfigure or disable him on October 5, 2009. He also denied unlawfully and maliciously wounding the same man on the same date. Following his plea, the matter was adjourned to September 26. Attorney-at-law Angella Mitchell-Gittens is representing the accused man while Crown Counsel Oliver Thomas is the prosecutor. (BT)

PAKISTAN, INDIA FOR ICC FINAL – Rampant India will defend their ICC Champions Trophy title against Pakistan in this Sunday’s final after trouncing Bangladesh by nine wickets in the semi-final, at Edgbaston Thursday. Opener Rohit Sharma (123 not out) led the way, striking his 11th ODI hundred, as India cruised to their victory target with consummate ease in just 40.1 overs after restricting Bangladesh to 264 for 7 despite Tamim Iqbal’s 70. Rohit reached his century with a six off Mustafizur Rahman after putting on 87 for the first wicket with Golden Bat front-runner Shikhar Dhawan (46), the right-hander sealing Bangladesh’s fate in ruthless fashion in an unbroken stand of 178 with captain Virat Kohli (96 not out). Kohli passed 8,000 ODI career runs – the quickest player to do so, in just 175 innings – during his knock. (BT)

SERIES ENDS 1-1 AFTER RAIN RUINS DECIDER - Persistent heavy rain forced the abandonment of the decisive third One-Day International between West Indies and Afghanistan here Wednesday night, leaving the three-match series in a 1-1 stalemate. The adverse weather, which started overnight and continued all day, refused to relent for any significant length of time, leaving the Darren Sammy Cricket Ground under water and play was eventually called off at 7:12 p.m. With the original start time of 2:30 p.m. delayed by 2-1/4 hours, the game was reduced to 43 overs per side when the weather finally eased somewhat late in the evening and officials managed to get the toss spun. Afghanistan called correctly and opted to bat but the revised start time of 4:45 p.m. never came to fruition as the rains returned to ruin any chance of play. (WN)

FOUNDATION & QC BATTLE – Last year’s losing finalists Queen’s College and Christ Church Foundation will now battle for the Barbados Secondary Schools’ Under-13 netball title after commanding victories in yesterday’s semi-finals at the Netball Stadium. QC crushed Coleridge & Parry 19-3 while Foundation were just as mean in beating The Lodge School 13-6 to set up a showdown in next Tuesday’s final. Reana Gilkes netted a perfect 12 goals from 12 attempts while Dominique Blenman’s 3/8 and Liana Leacock’s 4/9 supported admirably. The Husbands, St James girls also dominated in the defensive circle where the imposing Rhashan Hunte and Zakila Coppin limited CP’s shooters with their height and court awareness to just ten shots while snapping up any misses. (WN)

CALLS FOR OVAL STAGE – Kensington oval may be a major player this Crop Over season. And not just at the actual ground either. The new hydraulic stage seems to be getting a lot of interest, as Kensington Oval Management Inc. (KOMI) has been fielding calls from promoters who want to rent the mobile stage for use outside the Oval. An inside source close to the situation disclosed the information just three weeks after KOMI finally acquired the sleek $300 000 piece of equipment. “Apparently KOMI received at least three enquiries to use the stage off the premises and one of them was one of the major promoters who initially called asking about the pricing,” the source said. (WN)

That’s all for today folks. There are 198 days left in the year Shalom! #thechasefiles #dailynewscaps Follow us on Twitter, Facebook & Instagram for your daily news. #bajannewscaps #newscapsbystephaniefchase

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