#( she's got a fair few and a pretty prominent one that extends from under her left breast down to her waist )

[ofgunblades-archived-blog]

@totalxclarity ( continued from here )

Ignis chuckled at Lightning’s comment and then gently stroked her hair. It was the first time he woke up by her side, and he would gladly do this again. When he was alone and didn’t see a thing, he felt uncomfortable because he had no way to understand where he was, excepted his bed. Right now, he felt relaxing, and was once again GRATEFUL to have such an amazing woman in his life.

“It’s unfair. I wish I could see yours.” He teased with a smirk on his lips.

          ❝ Between last night and sleep, I’m sure it’s a mess. ❞ In her periphery, a strand of dusty rose locks stuck out at an odd angle, surely a result of his fingers tangling through her hair while he moved within her the previous evening. Though she still ached, it was dull and pleasant ---- and she was hardly upset about the reminder of their encounter.

          Reaching between them, she hummed lowly as a fingertip traced the outline of his abs ---- those had been a rather lovely surprise. Ignis was slender, bordering on lanky, but Lightning would have never guessed that concealed beneath those button-downs were defined muscles. Given his grace and acrobatics on the battlefield, she should have guessed his body would most closely resemble a gymnast’s. 

          ❝ It’s almost a shame you keep all this covered up, ❞ she teased, fingers splaying out across his stomach.

[bananapie99]

Stained Skin

Steve Rogers x Reader

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It’s been three weeks since Steve and a couple other teammates of his left on their current mission. While you loved your boyfriend’s heroism, it was hard for you to spend that much time away from him. Luckily, you still had your two closest friends, Natasha and Bucky to keep you company until Steve’s arrival home. After the first five days of the mission had come and gone, you began sulking around the compound, barely leaving Steve’s room, which you had just moved into. After two weeks of him being gone, Natasha and Bucky decided they couldn’t watch you in this state anymore and planed a fun night in for the three of you. Being your best friends, they knew exactly what you needed…pizza, gummy bears, and a movie night.

It was 5 o’clock in the evening on Friday when you heard a knock on the door to Steve’s room. You put your book down and stood up, readjusting Steve’s shirt you had been wearing, and walk to the door. Opening it up, you see your two friends, dressed in pajamas, hands full of dinner, snacks and DVDs. You looked at the two of them, slightly confused.

“Did I forget about plans we made…?”

“No silly,” Nat replied. “Bucky and I are tired of seeing you mope around, so we decided a night in is exactly what you need to cheer you up a bit.”

Your heart swelled with love for your two friends, and you stepped out of the way so they could enter. You all made a beeline for the bed, Bucky stopping to put in one of the movies. You all found your spot on the bed and dug into the pizza.

After three movies, you guys decided to call it quits. Your stomachs hurt from all the food and your faces hurt from all the laughing. Bucky and Natasha stood up to leave, but you asked Natasha if she’d stay and sleep with you tonight. She agreed, settling back on the bed. Bucky leaned down and kissed both of you on the cheek, wishing you sweet dreams, before heading back to his own room.

As soon as the door closed behind Bucky, you felt a tear fall down your face. You hoped you had wiped it away before Natasha could notice, but no such luck.

“Babe what’s wrong?” Concern was clear in her voice.

“I just miss him,” you squeak out, voice barely above a whisper. “I know he’s out there being the amazing man he is, working hard to save the world. And don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love him for it…I just…I miss him. I need him to save me too.” Natasha’s face softens, a small smile on her lips.

“I understand, (y/n). Of course you miss him and need him to be with you. I also know he wants nothing more than to come home to you as soon as he can. He hates leaving you. That’s part of the reason he asked you to move in here, this way if he isn’t gone on a mission and you aren’t working, he’ll always have you close by.”

You remember being surprised by Steve’s proposal of you moving in, not only to the Avengers compound, but into his room. With most of his life experience coming from the 1930s and 40s, he’s a pretty traditional man. It’s something you find so endearing about him but makes questions like this one a little more surprising. Of course you had said yes, throwing yourself into his arms as he lifted you off the ground into a tight hug.

Natasha noticed you lost in your thoughts. Snapping you back to reality, she said “I have an idea, I’ll be right back.”

She slipped out of your room, returning a few minutes later. She pulled a small cone out of a bag and you looked at it curiously.

“It’s henna,” she explained. “It stains your skin, just for a couple weeks, and fades off. Want me to give you a tattoo? Something pretty to look at?”

You nodded your head and extended your right arm out towards her on the bed, palm facing up. Natasha got to work on your forearm. While she drew away, the two of you talked about everything. To be fair, the conversation heavily lingered on the topic of Steve. She wanted to know everything about your relationship. It was funny being questioned by her, because as your best friend, you already told her everything. She just wanted to make sure there weren’t any details you might have forgotten to share. Thirty minutes later, she stops drawing and examines her artwork. Satisfied, she smiled and asked you what you thought.

“Oh Nat, it’s beautiful!” Your eyes scanned over the henna on your skin. She drew a beautiful peony design, your favorite flowers. You’d always had a liking for the flowers, but your love for them became stronger when Steve gave you peonies on your first date, unaware they were your favorites.

You hugged Natasha with your other arm, careful to not bump the design. After the henna had started to really dry, she helped you wrap it up do you could sleep without messing anything up.

In the morning, you unwrapped your forearm and peeled off the hardened pieces, revealing the orange-ish brown stain on your skin. Natasha told you for the next couple days it would darken a little more into a deeper brown. You ran your fingers over the stain, a smile on your lips.

Another excruciating week passed by. You were once again laying on Steve’s bed, wearing your favorite shirt of his and reading a book, when the door to the room flies open. Bucky is standing there, smile on his face.

“Get up doll, the jet just landed.”

You wasted no time jumping off the bed and running down the hallway, following Bucky. Even after living there for three weeks the compound was confusing to navigate. A few twists in and you already were unsure of where you were, happy Bucky was your guide. After what felt like ages you finally came to a halt and you saw him. He was turned away from you, hanging up his tactical gear. It’s been three weeks since you’ve seen him, since you’ve heard his voice. You couldn’t wait any longer. You ran towards Steve full speed. He must have heard your footsteps because he turned towards you, grin on his face, arms open wide. You jumped into his arms as they wrapped around your waist, pulling you tight against his chest. You buried your face into his neck, breathing in his scent you had missed so much. Steve felt your body start to shake and grew concerned.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Your heart nearly broke at the tone of his voice.

“N-Nothing Steve…I just…I missed you, and you were gone so long I was starting to worry…”

His grip around your waist tightened in a reassuring way.

“I’m right here now (y/n). I’m okay, everyone is safe,” he cooed in your ear while using one hand to rub small circles on your back.

You pulled back just enough to look at his face. Those beautiful blue eyes melted your heart. Steve took the opportunity to close the distance, kissing you. The kiss was desperate and needy, but filled with more love than any you had shared before. You could have lived in that moment forever.

Bucky didn’t want to interrupt your reunion, but he was anxious to greet his friend as well. He slowly walked over and patted Steve on the shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re home, punk.”

Steve’s smile grew and he awkwardly tried to hug Bucky while still holding onto you.

Finally, Steve set you back down. Ever the gentleman, he tugged his shirt back down on you to make sure you were covered. The gesture was small, but the tenderness of it made you blush. He placed his hands ever so softly on your arms and looked down at you. He had nothing but love in his eyes, but you felt your blush deepen under his intense gaze. As much as you had missed Steve, he missed you just as much and wanted to take in every inch of you. The grip of his left hand tightened, holding on your right elbow. Confused, you look up at his face and see his eyebrows furrowed together. Following his gaze, you see he is staring at the henna on your forearm.

“Steve?”

“What’s this?” His confusion came through in his voice.

“It’s nothing Steve,” you said, letting out a light laugh.

“You got a tattoo while I was gone?”

“Steve, honey, no it’s not a tattoo.” Your voice grew soft and gentle.

As well as Steve was becoming accustomed to the modern world after being back for close to a decade, his core beliefs still stood built in the past. Tattoos were not something women had, let alone displayed so prominently on their arms. His fingers ran feather-light over the stain on your skin. You shivered at the touch.

“It’s henna Steve, it fades off in a couple weeks.”

You hadn’t anticipated the possibility of this bothering Steve. Sometimes it was easy to forget that he wasn’t just a man with traditional values.

His grip on your elbow loosened and his face relaxed.

“It’s beautiful, (y/n),” Steve said barely above a whisper. “Are those peonies?”

You felt your own body relax at his gentle voice. He continued to trace the design.

“I’m glad you like it.” You couldn’t help the smile that took over your face. “Yes, they are. Natasha drew it the other night. I got pretty mopey while you were gone, and she and Bucky made it their jobs to keep my spirits up.”

Steve grinned at Bucky, silently thanking him, before focusing back on you.

“As happy as I am to be back with you sweetheart, I’m exhausted. How about we head back to my room?”

You smiled and silently nodded, entwining your fingers with his, following behind him back through the twists and turns of the compound. After what felt like ages, you were back in front of Steve’s door. He looked back at you smiling, placing a soft kiss on your forehead as he opened the door.

As much as you didn’t want to leave his side, you made a beeline for his bed as he headed for the bathroom. A warm shower would help him wash off the stress of the past three weeks. You not so patiently waited for him, laying down and twiddling your thumbs, imagining him cuddled up against you.  

Suddenly the door to the bathroom opened and Steve emerged in his favorite sweatpants and damp hair. The sight sent butterflies flying in your stomach. Even after three years together he made you feel giddy and shy at times. You loved seeing him like this, when it was just him, just Steve. Obviously you love his heroic side too, but let’s be honest, his heroism wasn’t just Captain America, it was Steve.

Steve’s voice snapped you back to reality. “You’re staring sweetheart.”

You caught the smirk on his lips before dropping your gaze to your hands, a deep blush heating your cheeks.

You felt the mattress dip as Steve laid down, ultimately causing your body to roll towards the dip and tuck you into his side. As soon as your head touched his chest, his arms snaked around your waist and he pulled you onto his chest. You felt your own body relax as his heartbeat became clear through his chest. Laying with your head right over his heart was your favorite way to be, and it usually meant his arms were snugly wrapped around your waist. You never felt safer than in moments like these. The two of you laid there silent for a while, just soaking each other in. He unwrapped one of his hands from your waist, moving to lightly brush his fingers up and down your forearm. It tickled just slightly, and Steve knew how much you loved the feeling. It was his go-to to calm you down. Tonight, his fingers danced over the stained flowers.

You broke the silence first. “Do you really like the flowers?”

“Of course I do (y/n). It really is beautiful. Natasha is quite the artist.”

You started to speak again, wanting to ask a question that’s been nagging you since he first grabbed at your arm, but part of you didn’t want to know. After a moment, you found your courage and blurted it out before you could stop yourself.

“What if it was a tattoo?”

Steve’s hand stopped moving and you felt his body tense slightly. He wasn’t sure how to answer.

“I…uh…I don’t know. I guess I never really thought about you having a tattoo.”

You shifted your body so you could see his face. His eyes looked conflicted and unsure.

“When I was growing up, tattoos had a very different connotation than they do now. Most men didn’t have tattoos, at least not on display. Women really didn’t get tattoos, so I guess it isn’t really something I thought about.”

A new question rose in your mind and a knot grew in your stomach. You started chewing on your lip. Steve noticed and sat up, a look of concern growing on his face. He pulled you into his lap and hugged you to his chest.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” His voice was gentle, comforting.

Taking a deep breath, the words came out barely above a whisper. “Would you have broken up with me if it was?”

“What?” Steve sounded genuinely shocked, and maybe slightly hurt, by your question.

“Would you have?”

“Of course not (y/n)! I would never let something like that end our relationship. I love you so much. Everything about you.” With those words he hugged you tighter. “I was just surprised to see it. It was shocking to think you would get a tattoo without even mentioning it to me, that’s all. You know I don’t want to control you, and I would never try to, but I like to think we talk about everything.” Now it was your turn to hug him. “I do talk to you about everything. I appreciate your input, especially when it comes to big decisions. I would never get a tattoo without even mentioning it to you.”

The room fell silent again for a few minutes, then you spoke up again, feeling more confident about the situation.

“What would you think about me getting this as a real tattoo?” You stared into his eyes, searching for any feeling he might be trying to hide.

Seeing nothing but honesty and love you relaxed as Steve answered.

“I think it would look beautiful.”

A grin spread across both of your faces, and Steve craned his head down to kiss you.

Giving in to the tiredness creeping up on both of you, Steve laid back down, pulling you with him. You were back on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. He had one arm wrapped around your waist, the other hand tracing the flowers once again. That night, you and Steve slept better than you have in a long time.

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REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

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Taglist: @belladonnabarnes

[smallest-turtle]

Piety, Control, Perception for all 4 characters!

Sorry we had some TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES with getting this post out the door.

asks still open for this prompt list

PIETY : How does religion affect your character’s lifestyle? CONTROL : What is your character’s view of fate/destiny? PERCEPTION : Does your character think in the short-term/on impulse, or do they think about the long-term future?

Deidre Hunt

Piety: After becoming Hydaelyn’s chosen weapon Deidre pretty much lost her faith in the 12, and no longer does anything notable regarding the practice. However, due to being from the Twelveswood and being a White Mage, she still has regard for the Elementals. Before she joined the Scions and the reality of the situation set in her Patron was Oschon, the moon she was born under. As she grew up she got more desperate to escape home and travel, with adventuring not really her Ideal but more so the only option she could imagine. When she was 16 her father found the bag she had stashed away, and they had a fight. In the aftermath she tattooed Oschon’s symbol on each of her inner ankles, permanent prayers to broaden her horizons. 

 Control: Deidre believes in fate and destiny as constructs of Hydaelyn; as the Mothercrystal influencing the trajectory of her life and her major landing points. This is especially prominent after they go through Emet’s recreation of the Final Days, and Zenos points out they are going through it together, just as before. (They being him, Deidre, Haurchefant, Caelen, and Ryne.) The fact that the sundered versions of Cassandra and those who supported her in her search for another solution are all together again? Deidre refuses to believe it’s a coincidence.

Perception: Deidre has always had to think in the long term for the sake of others. Planning for the sake of others is how she tends to go. Even when she does make ‘selfish’ decisions, they either go into the long term or she makes sure not to leave things undone; for example planning to go to the conjurers guild before getting into any real adventuring, or waiting until Ultima was destroyed and Thancred had been saved to make her (unsuccessful) break away from the Scions. Even decisions that seem impulsive (remaining a cat in Il Mheg for a bit instead of Immediately seeking help) are actually thought out, though a few aren’t really (Hello DRK class). She thinks for the long term, and she plans for it, especially when the long term is going to go badly. 

Caelen Hunt

Piety: Like his sister he has a regard for the Elementals, but other than some sailor superstitions he’s picked up in Limsa he’s not exactly a faithfully religious person. He’s not one for prayer, but he is still culturally raised in the Eorzean faith. It’s unlikely that they had a church where they grew up, but I HC that there are a lot of folk songs depicting the Twelve and their stories that they were raised with, and that he could still play if asked.

Control: Caelen didn’t put much stock into fate or destiny until Deidre pointed out what I put into her paragraph for this question. He doesn’t really think of anything as what someone is Meant to do, you either do it or you don’t, and that’s that. They’re choices. He ran away to Limsa to become a sailor, but was turned away because he was 12, and joined the rogue’s guild for a time instead. He doesn’t think it’s fate or destiny that he decided to go back to Carvallain when he’d gotten older just because it ended up with him reconnecting with his sister, they could have easily remained oblivious to one another. He could have never been involved in any of her life after he ran away. He likes life better the way it is, but he thinks of things as one decision away from ending up totally different, and that’s not really fate.

Perception: Caelen is generally more impulsive. He is good for short term solutions, which is why he works well with Alphinaud, who thinks like Deidre. His impulsive (less planned out) decisions far outweigh his long term decisions. This is a boy who, due to a nightmare about Deidre being killed by a dragon, snuck into Ishgard to check on her. No thought to where he was going to stay after that, or what he’d do if he got caught. He also decides to part with the Krakens in Hingashi so that he can help the party come to an agreement with the Confederacy, when they need to. How? Well he’ll figure it out when it happens. His ability to long term plan is based specifically around the subject of farming, which helps the Crystarium a fair bit, but that’s kind of where it ends lol.

B’sahla Pahsh

Piety: B’sahla is a Seeker, dedicated to Azeyma. She prays at sunrise and looks to the goddess for guidance on her path, believing that Azeyma nudges her in the directions of people she can help bring justice to. She does not believe she doles out divine justice on behalf of the goddess however, mostly that she is guided to people she is capable of helping. A lot of opening level side quests in Thanalan are good examples of this sort of work.

Control: The idea of fate an destiny makes B’sahla particularly upset due to the circumstances that led to her being an adventurer and thus joining the Scions. The thought that the slow dying out of her tribe from territorial disputes with the U, Amaljan raids, and the plummeting amount of resources in the Sagolii due to Dalamud and the following Calamity, was all fate just to put her in the correct life position to become the Warrior of Light, is just too cruel for her to bear. 

Perception: B’sahla also thinks on the long term, but more emotionally than tactically. The decision that best showcases this is when she discovers her pregnancy after the attack on the waking sands. She keeps it a secret, which is a long term decision rather than a short term one, because with her health history she does not expect to remain so, and she wishes to avoid the extended grief that would come from the Scions also expecting and then loosing with her. When B’valia is not only born but also survives, she quickly plans the long term for that, by naming Haurchefant as B’valia’s Warden and second guardian, were anything to happen to her in battle. 

Philomena de Arboraux

Piety: Another Gridanian White Mage. Though Nophica and Halone are bitter rivals, Philomena and her brother would probably pay tribute to both goddesses, due to their split heritage between their Ishgardian mother and Gridanian father. Being a healer, Philomena would most likely favor Nophica, though as a member of the Warrior of Light’s regular party a prayer to the war goddess wouldn’t hurt. She also has faith in the Mothercrystal’s protection, but does not have a habit of praying to Hydaelyn until the scions start being called to the First.

Control: She doesn’t exactly believe in fate as much as she believes herself to be guided by Hydaelyn, which she does not perceive negatively. Following that guidance was her decision, not Hydaelyn’s. The Goddess may have put it into motion so that the members of the FC came to be in the correct places, or she may have chosen those with the Echo because they were in the correct places. Of course, none of them can be sure. Philomena thinks it best not to dwell on it too much. They’re all choosing to save people anyway, why make a fuss about how you got here?

Perception: Philomena isn’t a huge planner, something I’m realizing is a bit of a funny parallel between her and Caelen because they’re both OCs that I have end up in a relationship with Alphinaud (Different Universes, Philomena is B’sahla’s continuity alone). She tends to see what pieces she has at her disposal, and arrange them all as situations arise, rather than plan for situations ahead of time. Sort of like collecting materials and then making a project, rather than buying materials with a project in mind. 

I’m sorry this took four days to answer, Anon, I hope you see it.

[liskantope]

[Warning: good old gratuitous rant describing really bad SJ/wokeness ahead.]

Over the past 4-5 years or so, I’ve had exactly one person on my Facebook newsfeed who is both a PoC and talks on a personal level about racial issues. Plenty of my white Facebook friends (predominantly from academia) constantly demonstrate wokeness on racial issues there, but this is the one PoC Facebook friend (an African-American, who grew up with white parents and mostly away from African-American culture to the best of my knowledge, isn’t academic, and isn’t liberal or even particularly woke on other issues) who does it.

(Well, for the sake of honesty, that’s not entirely true. For a few of those years I had another PoC friend (not black) who effusively espoused woke views on race, and who disturbed me from a psychological standpoint on an even deeper level than the person I’m focusing this post on. But a while back I had to cut her off completely for entirely personal reasons some of which involved third parties. I’m pretty sure she’s somewhere on Tumblr, considered her a friend once, and don’t care to talk about her here.)

I was Facebook friends with the subject of this post for longer than the 4-5 years I’ve mentioned; we were originally friendly acquaintances (she seemed like a super nice and fairly functional person at the time) and I haven’t seen her since well before the time around 2015 or 2016 (can’t remember exactly when) she very abruptly went down a certain ideological rabbit hole.

Anyway, since she’s really my only PoC Facebook friend talking about these things and writes really well, and I’m at least woke enough to acknowledge that it’s the job of white people like myself to listen to the experiences and points of view of PoC on race, I do try to get what I can out of her posts.

Therefore, it’s unfortunate that she

went from 0 to 100 in the direction of modern wokeness on racial issues so fast that her brains flew out of her head and her hyper-awareness of race-related dangers clearly mixes in a really unhealthy way with her anxiety (clinically diagnosed and very apparent outside of racial issues); for an example see the story I described at the end of this post

considers all of her extreme opinions on race objective knowledge that she (alone of my African-American friends) feels forced to disseminate (or maybe it’s out of her purely generous nature?) and writes about how generously she’s “educating” white people with the most subtle yet exquisite condescension I can possibly imagine or would have the writing skills to convey myself if I wanted to, while complaining how exhausting it all is, eventually reaching a point that she’s charging money for her “emotional labor”* in meeting white friends for coffee to give them her “education” and occasionally advertises this minor side-business in Facebook statuses

seems to analyze every single everyday activity in terms of what race everyone is classed in to an extent that to my thinking would logically lead to complete cultural segregation rather than increased diversity; to take a minor example she wrote a rueful diatribe against a black woman on the bus who didn’t meet her attempt to make eye contact because “we black women are supposed to stick together”

occasionally espouses the (to my ears very-pseudoscientific-sounding, and anti-black racist!) theory that African-Americans’ genes were permanently damaged by slavery however many generations ago and talks about the collective trauma she has directly suffered because of slavery -- when she briefly wrote about it in a status she got comments that thanked her for (exact words) “giving us this education”

frequently shares posts of Ally Henny, a prominent writer who comes out with mini-essays on a daily basis some of which (at least the ones I see shared) sound exactly like conservative everyone’s-an-irredeemable-sinner Catholicism with certain words replaced, as if she’s not even making the slightest effort not to sound that way -- one (from the end of last year that I’m not up for hunting down right now) even described what in essence sounds like a second coming!

is surrounded by (mostly white) worshippers and sycophants who immediately dogpile anyone who posts a disagreeing comment (to be fair, the quality of dissenting comments is not high and often comes from an ignorant or obtuse place, making the discussions on her wall even less beneficial to me) in a vicious, vindictive manner

loves to make posts deriding “mediocre white men” (e.g. paraphrased from memory “Maybe the reason so many white men refuse to acknowledge their privilege is that they just don’t want to acknowledge their own mediocrity”, and just the other day, “To have the boldness of a mediocre yt man. That is my goal in life!”) which promptly get applauded by her big group of snickering (mostly white) sycophants; I don’t even want to try to get into the layers of abusive this tactic is (and again she came across, both in-person and online, as a super sweet person prior to 2015-ish)

(and oh yeah, for some reason my white privilege blinds me from seeing, she can no longer actually spell out the phrase “white person”; following Ally Henny she has to write the modifier as “wight” or “yt” or “wh*te” or use “person of whiteness” [EDIT: just found out this, at least on Henny’s part, apparently has something to do with too much use of the phrase “white people” setting off red flags for Facebook’s “community standards” algorithms])

the other day described a conversation on black friend’s wall (which I can’t see) about a representation issue where a white guy politely disagreed; she proudly reports that she told him that “disagreeing with a black woman is not a Good Look, even if done respectfully” at which point the guy angrily left the conversation; she holds this up as an example of white fragility

and finally, tonight’s post which was the straw that broke the camel’s back for me: she complains that in her “largely unproblematic” cooking group online forum a black woman asked if any other PoC could share a recipe for banana pudding with her and several white people replied, “I’m not a PoC but...” and provided a recipe; she decries this as white people taking space away from PoC... in a NON-RACIALLY-SEGREGATED ONLINE FORUM. FOR COOKING. Because apparently the need to acknowledge race in each and every daily activity extends keeping the taint of whiteness out of BANANA PUDDING RECIPES**, and anyone who fails to respect this by giving her unsolicited white-person recipe suggestions is oppressing her.

Of course, when I say “straw that broke the camel’s back” I don’t mean that it will necessarily cause me to un-follow this person -- no, that would be much too responsible and sensible of me! -- I just mean that it caused me to stay up past my bedtime ranting on Tumblr. (And yes, at this point I probably should un-follow her. And go back to staying away from Facebook altogether.)

I guess if this post actually had a point, it would be that my social media sphere has not exactly served me well in providing PoC voices that I can actually learn from (and yes, I’m aware of the laziness and disingenuousness this comment implies, but I’ll leave it here as a tongue-in-cheek conclusion).

*Her implication that this falls under the umbrella of “emotional labor”, even taken in a broader pop activism social context, is on shaky ground in my opinion.

**This would be significantly different if we were talking about a dish coming from a nonwhite culture, e.g. jambalaya, but as far as I know you can’t get much more culturally white than banana pudding.

[bimineko]

“The Meeting of the Ryuneko”

I have decided to put my hand at writing something. Please tell me what you think of the story! (Below the cut) Word count: 2866 Content Warning: Soft Vo re, Safe Vo re, Light Profanity, Some Degree of Fear (Not too prominent though) 

It was the bleeding of the dawn, as the war-ravaged sky dissipated into a calming hue of the ocean. The mist of the morning vanished as my paw steps onto the blades of grass adjacent to the pavement outside of my door. I never dared venture out on foot into the wilderness unless I absolutely had to. I heard the tales of the creatures that wouldn’t rest until it got what it wanted, and in this case, it was the flesh of the prey caught. The only certification that I had concerning these claims were that of the vivid descriptions that my father would tell us if we ever misbehaved in some manner.

It has been a while since my father has passed away, mainly from a broken heart after losing his third wife; the one that made most of an impact on him. However, it was in his best interests that he would never deceive his family, so I held in my heart, every lesson and story that he has ever told. It was destined that this would be the truth, from now until the end of time. I was confident that my father was the wisest of all the men on this planet, and nothing could ever change that.

Daydreaming and recalling what I was told as a little bunny, I timidly went through the forest between my residence and the grand metropolis that rested on the other side of the dark collection of shrubbery and trees that were at least 30 feet tall. Under normal circumstances, this would not be something that I would be invested in participating in. However, this was not a normal circumstance, as my car had broken down in the middle of my driveway, and my birth mother required assistance from an illness that she had caught from venturing into an unexplored area. Cursing silently, I continued through the undergrowth, twitching in slight annoyance whenever an insect landed on my fur.

Forcing myself forward, I got ready to run if there were any of these mentioned predators waiting in the brush in the forest. If my knowledge was correct, I wouldn’t survive out here if caught. Cautiously, I advanced through the plants and my ears twitched as the bushes surrounding me rustled violently. I pushed myself off my feet and I started to run towards the city. However, just as I saw the light of day through the dense branches of the forest, I felt a jerk of my leg and I advanced towards the floor of the woods, my body throbbing in pain. I cried out as I gradually felt a feeling of legitimate dread coming over me, black patches filling my vision before I lost any recollection of my surroundings. I was pretty sure that this was it for me. Goodbye cruel world. May I see you all on the other side...

 It was the afternoon when an oversized kitty with attributes of a dragon located a brave adventurer shivering on the forest floor, seemingly having lost conscious. The Ryuneko pushed a paw against the rabbit and tilted his head curiously, wondering why he was taking a nap in quite an inappropriate location. Shrugging, the feline-reptile hybrid checked to see if the bunny was still alive, finding that even though his breathing was labored, he still had a chance to survive.

Not wasting any time, the creature picked up the individual by his neck and trotted to his burrow, moving the branches and trees around so it didn’t look like anybody actually took residence within the cave. Even though the cave was damp and a bit claustrophobic, it was home to the Ryuneko. Going into the far reaches of the cave, he approached his bedroom and placed the rabbit on top of his bed, which was comprised of straw bundled up to make a nest. Following he placed a blanket over the fallen rabbit and started to take care of him as if he was his own, wanting him to get better.

 My eyes strained open as I glanced around my surroundings, my back and neck being soar from the previous impact that sent me into a world of darkness. I was able to make out a creature and a few light sources as my consciousness came to me. When I realized that there was a creature over me, I twitched and I backed myself against the straw that surrounded me, looking at the creature with widened eyes.

“Please don’t kill me! I’ve been good, I promise!” I shouted at the creature, determined to keep it away. The creature glanced at me and tilted his head, giving me a gentle lick.

“Kill an adorable creature like yourself? Where did you get that idea? I would never want to hurt you,” the oversized cat with wings explained, putting a wet cloth onto my forehead, ���but it would be best if you got your rest. I don’t want you to work yourself to death over some horrific bed time story that your folks told you when you were a child.”

In protest of the creature’s advice, I pushed myself up and attempted to walk upright, finding myself to be stiff from the top of my head to the pads of my hind paws. Falling immediately back to the straw that served as the Ryuneko’s bed, I let out a shout stemming from a jolt of discomfort and pain.

“You don’t understand,” I complained to the creature, as if I was expecting him to sympathize the problems of the common folk in the populous cities, “I have to get to the city as soon as possible! My mother is sick, and I must help take care of her. It’s important...”

The dragon cat looked at me and tilted his head, thinking about the circumstances that I have given to the creature. He smiles with a hint of compassion and rubs my head with careful precision, not wanting to aggravate my injuries, “Agreed. I will help you get there.”

I leaped up in joy when I heard those words and I gave the creature a hug, which either confused him, or made him annoyed. I was never that great at picking up emotional cues. He clears his throat and looked outside towards the entrance of the cave, “However, it would be dangerous for you to walk alongside with me, as you are currently in a weakened state. And the creatures are also smart enough to nab you off of my back, so this leaves me with one more option that I can think of.”

In contrast to the last words that were uttered, I was not as trusting of the creature. I knew what he was going to ask, but I also gathered that I didn’t really have a choice in the matter. Reflecting on the knowledge that I had about this creature, I knew that if he wanted to cause me harm, he would’ve done it already. Nodding, I look up at the Ryuneko and I smirk, “Alright, you big guy. I’ll do it. If that is the only safe mode of transportation that you can think of, then I will allow myself to be eaten by you.”

The creature’s tail dropped in place and his eyes widened, taken aback by my willingness to go through with the plan, “I-I... Y-You didn’t even trust me a few minutes ago! What caused you to affirm my plan on short notice, especially when I haven’t actually explained it to you yet?”

“Well,” I replied with a smug expression on my face, petting the side of the feline dragon’s head, “Why would you go through all this trouble of saving me just to eat me, when you could’ve done that while I was lying on the ground, knocked unconscious? Y’know, maybe my father was wrong about you.”

“To be fair, it was within his judgment to protect you. It is natural to be scared of the unknown, but if you don’t let it be your only motivation for living, you will be able to navigate through life without any worries. Granted, it’s easier for some than others, but I wish everyone luck on this journey!”

I twitched my nose and I placed my hand on the paw of the moderately sized creature, glancing at him with a glimmer in my eye. “I loved what you said and all, but I would like to hurry to my mother, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh! Of course! I am very sorry!” The Ryuneko exclaimed, lifting me up with his front left paw, being careful to not subconsciously strangle me. Looking into the creature’s majestic eyes, like that of a canvas of warm colors blended together, I detected a hint of determination in achieving something great. Within moments, his eyes interviewed me, asking if I was ready to face the unknown. I nodded, having nothing except my life and my family to lose.

The cat/dragon hybrid extended his maw open, his tongue reaching greedily reaching to my paws. This was an experience that I always dreaded since I was a young rabbit. However, there was something different about this creature in particular. I don’t exactly know what it was, but this creature seemed like he was not in it for the free food, unlike that of a college student. As time went on, my legs slipped onto his tongue, and I cleared my throat impatiently, informing him that he could actually give me a good taste test after we checked on my mother. He apologized once more and he merely shoved me into his mouth, swiftly gulping me down without a second thought. The journey down was actually kind of pleasant, to my surprise, if not a bit too tight and claustrophobic for my liking. However, I feel like this is something that I could indeed get used to if given an endless amount of time and patience. Resting inside of the spacious belly relative to my size, wincing every time the walls of the stomach squeezed against my body. This was still a sensation that I was not completely used to, but so far, there was no attempt at digesting the passenger safely tucked away.

Curiously, I brushed my paw over the sides of the colossal stomach, taking note of all of the scars that were embedded deep into the tissue. These injuries could really only be made from the inside. Once could imagine the interaction the dragon feline had with those that he previously ate. However, it was not a flesh wound, so it could be gathered that these injuries were relics of the past. Shrugging the violent aspect off, I listened only to the sound of the heartbeat, the stomach shifting around me, and felt the swaying of the stomach as the creature rushed frantically to my destination in a timely manner.

Although not first rate transportation, this experience was a whole lot better than the other options within the city. From the abusive language filling the air from the old drunkards living on the streets, to the individuals with no concept of personal space, it was extremely difficult and uncomfortable to get around to one’s destination. However, being stuck inside of the stomach of a Ryuneko was a significantly better experience, for all involved. You have a higher chance at being the only person using this form of transportation, and the vessel got a free snack in exchange. In all reality, it was a win-win situation for the both of us, although I’m not sure how many people would agree with me.

The swaying of the stomach came to a halt momentarily, snapping me out of the trance I was encompassed in. I placed my hand paw against the side of the fleshy container within the dragon cat, the slobber in dripping down my hand. Ignoring this, I sat up straight, as the movement prior to this would’ve made this impossible. 

“Everything alright, big guy?” I asked with a hint of concern, worried that something might be in his way.

“Yep,” the ryuneko answered, addressing my concern, “It’s just that I am not sure where to go next. We have made it to the city though, if you are interested in an update.”

I fidgeted around and I was deep in thought, perking up when a thought entered my mind. “You got a name, big guy? I don’t really want to be calling you ‘big guy’ for the rest of the trip, and further, if we meet again.”

“Nope. I don’t think that I was given a name by my parents or anybody else, for that matter,” the Ryuneko answered after a few moments of silence, “My parents perished when I was a young kitten, and I learned about your behaviors from watching families like yours in the distance. A name is something that I would like, but I don’t know the process behind it.”

We stood in silence for the next few minutes. I was determined to give him a name, but to be honest, I had no idea how to select a name for somebody myself. I scanned the belly to see if there were any defining traits of the dragon cat. Shining a subtle light source onto the walls, I was taken aback. There were so many shines, and they were all as pretty as the night sky in a polluted-free atmosphere. Pushing against the area in which my hand previously occupied, I shook the creature with a burst of excitement.

“Hey, big guy!” I shouted too loud for myself to handle, flinching and placing my free hand over my forehead in agony. Adjusting my volume, I lifted my head back up and smiled warmly, “I think I have a name for you! How does ‘Hoshino’ sound?”

“What does it even mean? I’ll agree that it sounds cool though,” the creature explained, being a skeptic about the name that I proposed for the time being.

“Field of Stars,” I briefly answered, offering a more precise explanation after sensing that he was lost on where I pulled the name from, “your stomach simply reminded me of a starry night. Ever looked up to the sky when the sun was on the other side of the globe, Hoshino? It’s truly something of beauty.”

The dragon cat hybrid didn’t object to his new name, actually taking a liking to it quickly. As a token of his appreciation, his gut pressed against me from all sides and I started to ascend to the sphincter. The way up was much more interesting to me than the way down, as I didn’t expect to get this far in the whole process. As I was pushed through the opening of the stomach, I felt a bit strange as the throat worked in reverse, pulling me up in the opposite direction. After a while, I was back into his mouth and I was spat out, covered in several layers of drool. Shaking myself off, I looked to the dragon cat hybrid and I smirked wildly.

“Enjoy yourself, Hoshino?” I inquired, giving him a pet on the side of his chest.

“Seems like just as much as you did, mister...?” Hoshino seemed a bit conflicted, as he didn’t know what he should call me, other than ‘a snack that he found satisfying.’ I picked up on his cues this time and I elaborated on what my name was, finding it to be underwhelming in comparison to the beast’s name.

“Kyle! Well, actually... My name is Kōto, but I prefer to go by Kyle.”

“Well Mr. Kyle, shall I escort you the rest of the way into the city, so we can visit your mother? I am imagining that she would like to see you in her time of need, and that the city is a dangerous place for an innocent bunny like yourself.”

“Trust Me, Hoshino... I could kick down any sick fuck who would dare put a paw on me.” I started to exclaim, before my enthusiasm went extinct, “But probably not in the state that you found me in. Feel free to accompany me in this task, if you wish.”

“Wow! Do you eat people with that mouth? Never mind that, let’s get going now.” Clearly, the Ryuneko was taken aback by my diction choice, but he still decided to walk alongside me. With this fearsome beast next to me, nobody dared to pick a fight with me only because I was a rabbit. After venturing through the concrete maze that was the city, we finally made it to the hospital, when my sick mother was.

Although I had to try to convince the hospital staff that I was indeed related to my mother, and that I wasn’t being held hostage by the giant creature by my side, we were able to make it to the room where my mother was being observed. Although she looked well, I knew that I had to make sure she was alright. Taking a breath of hesitation, I walked into the room to let her know that I have made it safely, and that I, rather, we, would be there for her.

[scapegrace74-blog]

Seventeen: Mandie (866-TOP-GRLZ)

A/N  You ever make a list?  A way to compile all the missed opportunities, the transgressions, the warning signs telling you that you’re on the wrong path?  Of course you have.  Part 13 in the series.  Part 1 and links to other parts are here. Rated NC-17. 

13.

He’d been visiting his father in Washington in 1969, and the driver took them through a bad part of town.  Even in daylight, the street corners and stoops were populated by women the likes of which he’d never seen before.  Garnished in go-go boots, flimsy lace and kohl, he wondered aloud if they were going to a costume party.

Bill Mulder chuckled.  “Those are whores, son.”

“What’s a whore?”

“A prostitute.  Men pay these women to... please them.”

He’d stared then, wide-eyed, at these women who sold pleasure to the wise and powerful, like his father.  Maybe this was what kept him away from home.  It would certainly explain the frosty unpleasantness of his parents’ marriage.

As though guessing his thoughts, his father clarified, “Not us, son.  The Mulder men don’t debase themselves by paying for sex.”

***

He thought of that long-ago conversation as he sat in the gloaming of his apartment, a telephone number on a worn scrap of paper lying on the coffee table before him.  His professional duty was to uphold the law, and his personal inclination was to protect the vulnerable.   AIDS was rampant in DC’s sex work industry.  And if he wanted to get laid, he could wander into any bar or club of his choosing, and likely find someone willing to go home with him.

So why was he considering calling an escort service?

After Jade’s death and Diana’s departure, he’d sat himself down and performed a thorough self-analysis.  His conclusion: his track record with women sucked.  From the first, he’d stumbled into one relationship after another, pinballing off heartbreak and into empty sexual gratification.  He’d assumed that with time, he’d meet someone who offered some tenuous foothold on middle ground, but that hope withered and died with each passing year.  

His life didn’t invite stability, and he was tired of feeling guilty that he didn’t love the way the greeting card companies said he should.  Love was like a mirror, he’d told Elizabeth once, and every one of his attempts at it had shown him something ugly inside himself that no-one else deserved to see.

But his body still ached to be touched.  Restful sleep had always been elusive, and the mental stimulation of the X-Files often saw him still awake at dawn, researching and piecing together tenuous strings of conjecture, certain that the answer to his sister’s abduction lay hiding in the deep well of arcane mysteries into which he’d inadvertently fallen.  Physical release was one of the few things that calmed his mind and allowed him to slip temporarily into oblivion.

And there was something else.  Something so dark and disgusting that his thoughts sheered away from it every time it crept out from under his strict regulation.  But if was going to court degradation by paying for sex, why not open that portal and find out, once and for all, where the filthy rot inside him resided?  A hooker in Washington DC would be well-used to taking those kind of secrets with her to the grave.

***

He waited on hold, a synthesized version of Must Have Been Love causing him to smile grimly.  A musical prescription for the lovelorn.  Finally a surprisingly matter-of-fact female voice picked up.

“Welcome to Top Girls, Washington DC’s premiere companionship service. My name is Elisa Covington. How may I assist you today?”

His hand shook.  His heart pounded heavy in his throat.  Hang up, Fox.  Some things are better off not known.   Just hang the fuck up.

“Hello?  Is anyone there?”

His fish tank gurgled, the last of Jade’s mollies swimming aimlessly in circles under the false sun of its bulb.  It was Friday evening - another sixty hours before he spoke to anyone not expecting a gratuity.  Fuck it.

“Yes, hello.  Sorry.  I was... I’m calling about a... date.”

***

It was a surprisingly business-like transaction.  He answered a series of questions about his preferences: height, build, hair colour, manner of dress.  Then the service took his credit card information.  Two hundred dollars for an hour, which included the cost of the hotel room and a recent clean blood test.  He’d be charged, whether he showed up and got off or not.  He’d wear a condom, provided by the service.  Saturday evening at seven, at the Marriott just south of Capitol Hill.   Room 1013.

***

He wiped his sweaty palms down the front of his jeans, inhaled deeply through his nose, and knocked.  The door opened into a dimly lit and innocuous hotel room and he stepped inside.

The agency had done better than he’d dare dream: she was about 5′8, slim and athletic with shoulder-length dark brown hair that fell in loose waves.  Instead of the stereotypical spandex and mesh, she was dressed as he was, in jeans and a loose-fitting top.  She extended her hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Fox.  My name is Mandie.  Thanks for being punctual.”  She had a nice voice; melodic, with no hint of a regional accent.  Her hands were clean and unadorned.  A perfect blank canvas on which to paint one’s desires.

“Well, it’s my dime, whether I’m here or not, right?   And please call me Mulder.”

She laughed lightly and sat casually on the dark green loveseat that faced out the window towards the glowing lights of the Capitol building.  He glanced at the bed, then joined her, keeping a prim distance between them.

“I gather this is your first time with my agency.  I like to start with a few questions, if that’s alright.  But first, can I get you something to drink?”

It was his turn to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“I feel like I’m here to buy life insurance, not to...” he tapered off, not wanting to be vulgar.

“Not to fuck me?  Well, in either situation, you’re my customer, and your satisfaction is based on how well I give you what you need.  Which may not be the same thing as what you think you want, by the way.”

“That’s a pretty progressive approach, Mandie, but I see your point.  So, what would you like to know?”  He found himself relaxing a bit, shoulders sinking back into the upholstery.

“Tell me a bit about your previous lovers.  What about your previous sexual experience have you enjoyed, and what hasn’t worked for you?”

“So I’m paying two hundred dollars an hour to talk to you about my past?  Some of the best therapists in town don’t bill that high.”

“I hate to break it to you, Mulder, but no-one hires an escort to fuck her for sixty minutes straight.  Given how tightly you’re wound, I give you ten minutes, tops.  So either we talk beforehand, or we talk afterwards.  But if we talk beforehand, I can try to make them the best ten minutes of your week.  Think of it as fornication with a side of therapy.”

He shook his head, bemused.  “Fair enough.”

He didn’t feel comfortable spilling his guts or naming names, but he closed his eyes, remembering aloud some of his past encounters: the thrill of discovery with Nicole, in another hotel room, a million miles away; the unbridled kinky sex with Ava in a damp English garden; the unexpected discovery that he liked it when Diana took control and made him submit.   

As he spoke, his cock tingled and hardened, pressing against the seam of his jeans.  A warm hand that wasn’t his own covered its prominent ridge, rubbing languidly as moist breath painted his neck.  He opened his eyes to see Mandie’s dilated pupils hovering nearby.

“Enough talking?” he asked hoarsely, as she started to unpop the buttons of his fly.

“Yes, I think I have enough information to work with.  Now stand up.”

He obliged, feeling light-headed as she knelt and slid his pants down to his ankles.  Free of his clothing, he was stepping towards the bed when she halted him with a hand over his hip.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Bed’s over there.”

“You don’t want me to fuck you on that bed.  Beds are for comfort.  For peace and solace and permanence.  You want me to fuck you right here, on this couch.  This might be your first time paying for it, but for you, sex has always been a transaction, and you’ve never felt like you could afford to pay the price.  Put on that condom - I’m about to show you just how good it can be when your debt is cleared.”

And that was how, on an otherwise normal Saturday night in 1992, Fox Mulder spent his first two hundred dollars on therapy, with a side of ejaculation.

***

“You’re distracted tonight,” Mandie observed.  He was leaning against the cheap veneer of another hotel headboard.  His cock extended half-erect from the fly of his underwear and she was absently painting filigree patterns on its loose sheath with her tongue.

“Yeah.  I just flew back from Iowa today, and I guess my mind is still on the case.”

“You seem to travel a lot for work.  It must get lonely, always being the stranger from out of town.”

“I’ve actually got a partner now.  So she and I are lonely strangers together.”

“She, huh?   Have you two ever....?” she looked up at him with a cheeky smile.

He laughed at the thought.  “No.  No way.   That would be disastrous.   Don’t shit where you live, a friend once told me.   And she’s way too...” he stalled, trying to think of the right word to describe what kept Scully on one side of an impenetrable wall, and his fucked up sex life on the other.

“Too ugly?” Mandie guessed, before bending her head to nip and suck on his ball sack through the thin cotton of his briefs.

“No.  Not ugly,” he gasped, rising to fullness under her expert touch.  “Just not for me.   Jesus, Mandie, that feels amazing.  Keep doing that.”

***

“In quarantine?  I’ve heard a lot of excuses for breaking a date in my day, but that’s a first.”  He’d missed their last three appointments, and he was quivering with need, shaking and pulsing with want.

“It’s true.  We were released just yesterday.”  He was already peeling his clothes away like molted skin, breath loud in the close confines of the hotel room.

“Your partner was quarantined too?  Oh, that must have been fun.”

“Mandie, with all due respect, shut up and get naked.  I’m starving for it.”

The beauty of their association was that he didn’t have to think about whether he was offending her or whether she needed something from him that he wasn’t able to provide.   As long as his credit card didn’t decline, he was living up to his end of their bargain.

She eyed his erection, taut against the tender skin of his abdomen.  “Yes, I can see what you mean.  What are you hungry for, Mulder?  Do you want to pretend I’m her?”

“Her?”  For a breathless instant, he thought she meant Samantha.  But he’d never mentioned his sister to Mandie, and he realized in that moment that the wires in his brain were so tangled that even the best therapy wouldn’t make a difference.  He was broken.  Hopelessly and fundamentally broken.

“Your partner.  What’s her name?”

He shook his head, thoroughly confused and softening, despite the proximity of Mandie’s naked body.

“No, I don’t want to pretend I’m fucking my partner.  But there is something you can do for me,” he said, positioning her to bend over and clutch the back of the couch, her dark hair obscuring her face.

“Anything,” she gasped as he slid into the hot crucible of her body, where he put his secrets for safe-keeping.  “You know you can ask me for anything.”

“Call me Fox.”

***

“Yes, hello Mr. Mulder.   This is Elisa Covington.   We haven’t heard from you for some time, and understand that you may be out of the country.  As I’m sure you understand, we cannot guarantee your usual appointment without a certain amount of... regularity to your visits.  We’ll be closing your file.  Rest assured that all your personal and credit information will remain encrypted and secure.  Please do not hesitate to contact us, if we can be of service to you again in the future.  Beep.”

“Mulder, I need your helllllllp.... Beep.”

Go to Seventeen: Kristen. 

[omg-foreverfilledwithweird-posts]

If Looks Could Kill...

Author’s Note: So IDK WHAT TIME PERIOD THAT ADRIAN WAS TURNED but this is kind of an AU in a sense because this girl killed him instead of him dying in the war (as you can read from the last chapter of my lil’ series ;)) Therefore, I decided that he should be turned in around the 1850′s (I’M HONESTLY JUST MAKING THIS UP SO DON’T FACT CHECK ME ON WHEN HE GOT TURNED AND DON’T COME FOR ME PLZ) And this probably isn’t historically accurate, but here goes... I really hope you enjoy :) SORRY IT’S SO SHORT!!! But I will make it up to you with a longer part next update

Summary: Adrian regales the tale of the first women he ever loved and how the met, set back in the 1850′s, a Victorian Era. Here’s the story of love, lust, betrayal, desire, and death, all fueled by one thing. Hunger. There will be a part 2 coming soon... @ashtonmore @ashtonwalker @mymandrake @drakewalkerwhipped @maxiarapamaya @devineinterventions2

Warning: OKAY SO THERE’S HARASSMENT AND SOMEONE BEING RACIST because it’s the 1850′s and people were terrible to so many people back then, this is a way to show Adrian being protective, Sweetness, Fluff of course for the first part of this little story within a story, it’s gonna be one to remember my lovelies ;)

“Watch where ya going, foozler!” a man barked in Adrian’s ear, causing him to fall in the dirt by the main road. 

Adrian wipes dirt off his cheek, gritting his teeth as he gets back up to his feet, brushing it off his grey dress slacks, adjusting his sleek, ebony top hat, bow tie, and beige blazer. He has to look presentable for the people he’s photographing, he’d never hear the end of it otherwise. His boss is a stubborn, set in his ways man with a bit of a temper, but the job is good money for him, putting food in his mouth and a roof over his head.

He gripped his ancient, Kodak camera tightly in his hands, being sure not to drop it as he walked down the bustling roads of 19th century Paris, France, an entirely new city all for him to explore. Being just a young man from New York, he’s traveled out of the country, yes, but not anywhere this extravagant and wondrous. The sun glowed on his tan skin, illuminating the curiosity and excitement in his hazel eyes, getting a few lustful glances from women in Victorian gowns, white, lacy umbrellas propped on their shoulders when they wave a demure, white gloved hand at him.

He dips his hat to them, flashing a big, heart-stopping smile and sending them a small, coy wink, making them giggle and whisper to each other when they continue to walk past him.

Perhaps this city will be more fun that I expected... he thinks fondly to himself with a growing smile.

He stops in front of a seamstress shop, a glass wall revealing a series of intricate and hand-sown gowns, dresses, suits, and rolls of fabric hanging on the back wall. He looks at the address written on the yellowed envelope in his hand, nodding when he sees he’s at the right place. 

Adrian pushes past the doorway, looking around the quaint, lovely shop, spotting an older man with white hair, going in all directions, stroking his beard and pushing up his black spectacles before noticing Adrian’s presence. A large, eccentric grin takes up his entire face, the prominent laugh lines and crows’ feet making an appearance when he walks over, clamping a friendly hand on Adrian’s shoulder.

“Ah, you must be the allusive and talented Mr. Adrian Raines! It is truly a pleasure and an honor to have you in my humble shop,” his grin widens.

Adrian tips his hat, “The pleasure’s all mine, sir, and thank you. I hope I live up to your illusions of me and do you proud, sir.”

“Call me Onry! And they are far from illusions, Mr. Raines. I’ve heard great things about you and your work in the photography field. That is why I insisted you come to Paris! You have quite an eye for these things, my boy,” Onry says, guiding Adrian towards the back room with the subject he will be photographing is staying.

Adrian smiles bashfully, “Thank you, Onry. That’s all very kind of you to say, but-”

His words are lost when he sets eyes on a woman, laughing at something one of her friends said, sitting upon a white painted stool. She wears a beautiful, gold and rose-colored gown with a string of pearls around her neck that contrasts extraordinarily with her golden, brown skin. Adrian is rooted into place, mesmerized by the woman’s beauty, only seconds after laying eyes on her. The flush in her full cheeks, the angle of her jaw, the curl of her raven hair, pinned at the back of her head with a few escaping to frame her face, her warm, cocoa eyes, her soft, pink, impossibly irresistible lips, everything about her made him frozen with admiration for this one women.

The most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

She finally sees his staring and tilts her chin up, scrutinizing him from across the room, “Didn’t your mother teach you that it’s impolite to stare?” she says, her voice smooth and music to his ears, laced with a lilting, French accent.

“Not when the woman I’m looking at is this...” he meets her eyes, flashing the same smile he did to those girls just moments before. “Astoundingly beautiful.”

She appears unfazed, laughing at him, “Your charms won’t work on me, mon cheri, I’ve dealt with my fair share of American boys. You’re just like the rest of them.”

“And what makes you so sure of that?” he asks, humoring her.

Onry clears his throat from beside Adrian, touching his shoulder to bring him back to reality, “Mr. Raines? I am well aware of my dear friend, Luella’s wit and beauty and how enticing she can be to men, but we don’t have much time. I need this picture as soon as possible.”

Adrian answers, eyes still on Luella, “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

Adrian sets up his camera in front of Luella, her friends moving out of the shot as Onry sets everything up for the background, smiling proudly when everything is finished and Adrian is ready to take the photo.

Luella places her hands in her lap, straightening her back in the stool, and tilting up her chin, a small smile gracing her full lips. He’s almost too awestruck from her bewitching beauty. He tucks under the hood and snaps the photo, knowing whatever the outcome, she will look absolutely stunning.

After a few more shots and tucking away his camera, Onry takes one of the photos he shot and sets it into Adrian’s hand. 

“I thought you might enjoy this photograph, Mr. Raines,” he cracks a knowing smile. “Safe travels, my friend, and have a wonderful time in our wonderful city.”

Adrian smiles graciously and tucks the photo into his pants pocket. He walks up to Luella, extending his hand to help her off the stool. She cuts her dark eyes to him before hopping off herself, brushing past him and out the door. He hurries after her, speeding up so he’s by her side, walking with her.

She sighs, “What is it you want, Mr. Raines?”

“Adrian is preferred if we’re going to be friends,” he smiles. “And Luella? Doesn’t it mean warrior?”

“It does,” she looks at him from the corner of her, lips edging into a small smile. “I see you aren’t as dim-witted as I expected you to be.”

“I think the name is pretty fitting.”

She smiles. “Why do you think my father chose it for me?” she asks him before getting shoved into the wall by a burly, large man.

“Hideous slave! Go back to your master where you belong,” he shoves her again, her shoulder painfully hitting the wall. She winces, lunging for the man to fight back, but Adrian puts himself in front of her.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she whispers through gritted teeth, a hand on her hurt shoulder, he scowls at the man and the bruise blossoming on her skin.

“Some warriors need to know when to choose their battles,” he whispers to her. “Let me help you.” 

He turns back to the man with a deep frown, “That is no way to talk to a woman. Or anyone for that matter.”

The behemoth of a man chuckles darkly, “She’s not a person, she’s living dirt! Human scum! Woman belong in the kitchen, cooking and cleaning for their husbands. She belongs in the fields! Now step away from her so I can finish what I started!”

Adrian pushes the man away from her, making him stumble backwards, “You will not lay a hand on her, you cretin. If anyone is living dirt, it’s you, people like you that are intolerant and cruel, putting others down for no reason at all. So run along before you get hurt because none of us want that,” he says, towering over the man, eyes darkening with anger.

“What ya gonna do, boy? Hit me?” the man raises his fists. “I’d like to see you try.”

Adrian swings his fist without hesitation into the man’s jaw, making a loud crack as the man falls limp to the ground, knocked out cold. Adrian turns to Luella, shaking out his fist, the other hand on her arms, comforting her.

“Are you alright, Miss Luella?” he says, looking for the bruise he’d just seen on her shoulder, but not finding it. How peculiar...

“I’m fine,” she gulps audibly, looking up at him through her thick lashes. “Thanks to you. I could have handled it myself, mon cheri. This is what I go through everyday on these streets, it is nothing new.”

He frowns, shaking his head, “You shouldn’t have to.”

“The world isn’t fair, beau,” she smiles sadly. Before he can speak, she rises on the toes to press a soft and quick kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Mr. Raines. Hopefully I can repay you someday for what you did for me.”

“You could go to dinner with me,” he beams, breath catching in his throat even after she pulls away, he rubs the spot where her lips brushed, flushing intensely. She flashes an amused smile, taking his breath away. 

“You’re only in town for a day or two, Mr. Raines. That wouldn’t be very wise for me to get attached.”

“I could stay,” he blurts out without a second though.

“La mignonne...” she says with a soft chuckle, brushing a hand across his cheek affectionately. “You really shouldn’t,” her face dims.

“I would,” he says.

“I’m sure you would,” she smiles, despite her best efforts, unable to resist his charms. “But what would this dinner entail?”

“Just before sunset, tomorrow,” he says, taking her hand and pointing her finger in the direction straight ahead, just where the water lies. A few trees and grass for places to sit and talk together. “A picnic.”

“It does sound lovely,” she smiles wistfully at the thought, before looking him in the eye. “But I cannot go.”

He frowns. “Why not?”

“I have a ball to attend tomorrow, a masquerade soiree for Onry, he’s throwing the celebration at his estate,” she tilts her head when a smile makes a way to Adrian’s lips. She matches his expression, “What is going on through that head of your, mon cheri?”

“I could escort you,” he steps closer to her, chuckling nervously as his nerves begin to take over. “If you’ll have me.”

She considers this for a moment and despite her mission, she smiles kindly at him, knowing the party will be dangerous for someone like him. Taking his hand in hers, she squeezes it for assurance. “I do not think it would be... safe for you to go. It is... not your way of life.”

“Let me go,” he grasps her hand in both of his, bringing it to his lips to kiss her knuckles, making her meet his eyes. “I would die a happy man if I were to have the pleasure of escorting a Queen like yourself.”

She flushes, tucking a curl behind her ear, “Are you sure?”

“More than anything.”

Luella nods, meeting his eyes with a determined smirk that captures Adrian’s heart in an instant, knowing this woman will surely be the death of him. “Very well, meet me here, tomorrow night just before sunset and my coach will take us there.”

He beams, “Thank you, Luella.”

Her heart clenches, hiding it with a lip curling grin, “It’ll be a night to remember, mon coeur.”

She lets go of his hands, sending the American one last smile before turning on her heel and walking down the sidewalk, bustling with life, but all he sees is this one woman. 

He grins as he watches her leave, deep in his heart knowing this is the girl he will spend the rest of his life with.

PART 2 COMING SOON!!!! Tell me if you want more ;)

[tehlaen]

Day 11: The Force

Day 11 of the 30 Day Star Wars OC Challenge from @smuggler-captain that I’m doing with @lessdenied! Previous posts are tagged with #30dayswchallenge.

How did your OC first learn about the Force? How was it introduced to them? Is the Force frightening or familiar? Are they Force-Sensitive? If they are, are they aware of it? What do they think of the Force? Do they believe it guides and influences? Do they think it’s just superstition or a strange religion?

“It sucks. Next question.” [Thanks to @lessdenied who channeled Teh pretty much perfectly!]

The woman didn’t belong in the Undercity, that was for sure. She had the easy, casual vigilance that was an indispensable tool for surviving Nar Shaddaa’s lower levels, but none of the predatory opportunism necessary to thrive there. The diminutive Nautolan, her cyan skin neither scarred nor soiled, took in her surroundings calmly with large, pupil-less black eyes. Her head cocked to one side, as if listening to a sound that Teh’laen couldn’t hear, and she strode off at a serene purposeful pace. A certain part of the teenage Twi’lek’s mind was both awestruck and envious of the woman; the Nautolan carried herself with a serene grace that made it seem as though the world moved around her, rather than she through it.

That voice in her head was shouted down by two louder and less poetics part of her: namely, the part of her that hadn’t eaten in two days and the part of her that knew that if she and Rai’laen couldn’t come up with the rest of the rent by tomorrow, they’d be homeless. When faced with the prospect of living on the streets on the Undercity, pragmatism beat poetry handily, every single time.

Apparently enthralled in her datapad, the young Twi’lek with her head down didn’t see the Nautolan—or so it was meant to look—and slammed bodily into her. The faux-startled Twi’lek flailed her arms to keep her balance, clutching at her mark’s simple, though clearly well-made and -maintained brown robe, before her foot slipped on the uneven duracrete and she went down in a tumble.  Her impact with the street wrenched an explosive “oof!” from her. She rolled onto her side, clutching her ribs and using the motion to cover as she slipped the stolen credstick into her jacket pocket.

“My deepest apologies,” the Nautolan murmured in a watery voice, and bent over to help Teh’laen to her feet. The dazed-looking Twi’lek took the offered arm; the ease with which her target lifted her from the ground turned her feigned surprise to genuine for a moment. Teh briefly felt uneasy—getting this close to a mark this physically powerful was a hell of a gamble, and the young thief preferred to stack the odds. At least she hadn’t felt a blaster when she was picking the other’s pocket; just some weird cylinder hanging from her belt, some kind of bone with some metal bits grafted onto it.

Teh’laen gave the Nautolan a warm and thoroughly embarrassed smile, holding her gaze as she demurred, “No, no, it was completely my fault, I’m so sorry.” Her other hand came up and she clasped the woman’s wrist in both hands apologetically.

She didn’t really hear the woman’s response as she bent to retrieve her datapad, the device neatly concealing the bracelet she’d taken as she made her apology. Teh’laen’s feet moved at the same brisk pace as when she’d collided with her mark; don’t want her to suspect anything. She turned the next corner and, as soon as she was out of sight, broke into a run. She picked a rambling, circuitous route back toward home; the mark had seemed oblivious, but Teh’laen didn’t want to take any chances. 

Once she’d put a safe distance between her and the scene of the crime, she ducked into the mouth of an alley to examine her prize. A glowlamp buzzed and flickered above the rear entrance to some establishment of a dubious nature, and she moved toward it as she pulled the stolen goods from concealment. In the dim light of the glowlamp, she couldn’t be sure, but it didn’t seem like the bracelet was anything special. The chain was simple and roughly worked, clearly the product of a well-meaning novice. The gem dangling from the chain, however… Teh’laen’s knowledge of such things was limited, but it looked like it might be worth a few credits. She slipped it back into her pocket and peered at the credstick—

Teh’laen’s jaw dropped.

Two thousand credits?!

That amount would feed and house her and Rai for nearly a year! Not just those flavorless food-cubes they got from the refugee camps, either—real, actual food!

I can’t wait to show Rai!

She spun and took two loping strides toward the mouth of the alley, heading for home. A familiar silhouette stepped into the tight passage, blocking her escape. How—?! The thief’s feet skidded to a stop, and she glanced back over her shoulder. No exit there, and the door into the building was locked with a keypad she didn’t have time to slice.

Teh’laen turned back and faced off. The Nautolan strode serenely into the alley, and her simple brown robe opened to reveal a gleaming white tunic under it. That weird bone-thing swung from a simple sash tied around her waist.

Amethyst eyes narrowed. “Look, I said I was sorry; it was an accident.”

The Nautolan’s hand came up in a graceful wave. Her voice was soft and firm. “You want to return what you’ve stolen and give up theft.”

Something nudged—hard—at the back of Teh’laen’s mind. Her conscience, she supposed; Mama and Papa always said how wrong it is to take what doesn’t belong to me. They were right. I can’t disappoint them.

She shook herself, forcing down the self-recrimination. Her lips pulled back off her pointed teeth in a humorless grin, and she waved her own hand in a sarcastic mirror of the other woman. “Not nearly as much as I want to eat.”

Nautolans didn’t have pupils or eyelids, so she couldn’t be sure, but Teh’laen suspected the woman’s expression was one of surprise. The robed woman pursed her lips, then favored Teh with a slow smile. “That’s fair. A trade, then; you keep the credits and give me back my bracelet.”

The Twi’lek pickpocket crossed her arms over her chest and studied the other. The Nautolan was strong, sure, but Teh’laen was both quick and nimble.

Seeing her hesitation, Teh’laen’s mark added, “It has… sentimental value for me. It was a gift from someone who has returned to the Force.” At Teh’s blank look, she dryly clarified, “They’re dead.”

Teh’laen nodded and slipped the bracelet from its hidden pocket, the simple chain dangling from her fingers. Cautious steps took her to within arm’s reach, and she offered the bracelet. Every muscle in her body was tense, alert for a lunge or grab, and her other hand tightened around the small vibroblade concealed in her palm.

The other extended her hand slowly, palm up, and Teh carefully set the bracelet in her hand. Slender blue fingers closed over it protectively, and the Nautolan bowed her head. “Thank you,” she said softly and turned to go. “And… May the Force be with you,” she added over her shoulder before striding calmly away. Teh’laen watched her go, slipping the vibroblade back into the sheath tied to her wrist.

“Right. Whatever the hell that means.” 

As a child, Teh’laen grew up hearing stories about the Jedi Knights; the Va’shuvrk clan held the Order in high regard, and several revered ancestors were even Jedi themselves. But the Jedi and their exploits were always presented to young Teh’laen like fairy-tales, and the Force itself never really factored into the stories she was told. As a result, when she got older, the Jedi and their mystical, martial prowess were relegated to the realm of fiction with all of the other childish fantasies.

When the sisters were orphaned, Rai’laen took charge of Teh’laen’s education. Galactic history and current events featured prominently, but the younger Va’shuvrk didn’t have a frame of reference for the Jedi and the role their religion played in shaping the galaxy.

The Force remained an inscrutable mystery to her for many years, and one could argue, still does. As an outsider, Teh’laen sees the Force as both terrifying and infuriating, and the casual use and misuse of it never cease to piss her off. Above all else, Teh’laen values freedom and volition, and the fact that Force-users can bend people to their will without any qualms or moral objections is abhorrent to her. The prospect of someone twisting her thoughts—and then making her think it was her idea—makes her see red. [Ha! “See red!” Get it? ‘Cause she’s a Lethan?]

Its religious aspects aside, the Force is power, and tremendous power is always prone to abuse, whether it’s the ability to manipulate people’s thoughts, a fleet of starships, or economic and political clout. The fact that the Jedi are so blasé about the nearly limitless power they wield makes her angry and suspicious.

Between its potential for abuse and its role in fomenting hundreds of years of galactic suffering because of a religious schism, Teh’laen firmly believes that the Galaxy would be better off without the Force. Dark Side, Light Side… forget the philosophy, at the end of the day, people are just people.

Teh’laen herself is not Force-sensitive. That said, she does have an innate sense for when her thoughts and emotions are being manipulated by Force-users, thanks to both her, ah, particular heritage and a strong sense of self.

[callinthelastresort]

A Strange Band of Mercenaries: Random

Another day, another job. For Random, a red-skinned tiefling in the Clasp, it was all just business as usual in the fine city of Kymal. Assassination, theft, bribery—all the usual shenanigans for an underworld enterprise. He had always hesitated calling the Clasp criminals, as if they had no organization or purpose. Besides, the brand had its perks, such as coaxing soft purrs of interest out of a pretty girl who had never seen it before. Fresh from his last job, he was on his way back to the Wishing Well casino, home sweet home, after, ahem, frittering away his off hours with said pretty girl (though, if he had to guess, he'd say prices went up recently). Upon his return, one of his fellow Clasp members met him at the door.

"Hey," the human—Tierin? Maybe? New kid, hard to remember new kids' names—said. "Arjhan's been looking for you all morning. He's pretty pissed."

"Arjhan is always pissed, kid," Random quipped, lightly as you please.

He still took his sweet time heading back to see the master of Kymal's assassins. He needed time to think, time to get prepped for whatever had Arjhan in such a mood that even the new kids knew about it. The tailless brass dragonborn wasn't exactly the cuddliest sort anyway, but Random has been with this branch of the Clasp long enough to know when Arjhan's mood seemed particularly cross. As he stalked through the hallways to the back rooms of the Wishing Well, his tail, sporting a prominent permanent kink, swished with thought. Maybe what had Arjhan in a tizzy had to do with everything that had happened in Tal'Dorei recently, all dragons and adventurers and all kinds of horrifying shit. (Glad I'm not in the Emon branch, he thought.) Or maybe it was the Myriad making more trouble than they were worth. Random reached up and absentmindedly scratched one of his horns. Whatever it was, it had be bad if the old bastard needed to call in his protégé, but, then again, maybe not bad enough that he didn't come drag him away from his lady friend last night.

Random didn't knock on the door before he let himself in, easing into the office with a light step and a calmly swishing tail. Spireling Arjhan looked up, sapphire eyes boring right into Random, his true opinion of the younger man hidden behind even-keeled annoyance. He sat forward, a dagger in his hand.

"You finally decided to show up, I see," he growled. "At least that."

"Come now, Arjhan, I couldn't just leave the lady unsatisfied."

"This is serious business, kid." Nothing you've said so far convinces me of that. Arjhan continued, "With foreigners moving in and taking away our turf, we've got to be on point. So are you ready for an assignment or what?"

Random leaned in the doorway, a cool smirk on his lips. He drew one of his own daggers from his belt and balanced it on the tip of his finger.

"Aren't I always?"

Arjhan rolled his eyes and stabbed his dagger down into the desk with a loud thunk. The wood splintered a bit, and even at this distance Random could see the dozens of similar pockmarks in the wood from previous stabbings.

"You know what I mean. Cut the shit already. This isn't a cute run-stab-run job."

"Oh, it's an ugly one?"

Despite his sarcasm, Random knew things were bad, especially when Arjhan growled under his breath. "Things" were bad enough to make Arjhan extra... Arjhan-y. He normally didn't demand Random commit to a job without details. And he certainly didn't show such open impatience with Random's bullshitting attitude.

"Refugees and vagrants've been going missing," the dragonborn said. "Some ears we got are sayin' the Myriad—" He spat the word, and a shiver of disgust chased down Random's spine at the mention of those encroachers. "—might be in the slave game here. So this job's for me. Find out where these folks're ending up. Get 'em free, and find me proof of what's going on. If you need to hire muscle, promise a hundred gold apiece to anyone helps you out."

Random's smirk and sarcasm evaporated like morning dew at the mention of slavers. His tail went still, its easy flick gone. Sure, he knew about all the darkness in Kymal's underworld. But slavery—that one cut close. He didn't remember a lot about his childhood—there were a lot of blank spots in his memory that hadn't been filled in—but he remembered chains and screaming, though it always sounded distant in his mind, like the way voices sound when heard from underwater. He straightened his shoulders, though, mustering his easy smirk and a dramatic, sweeping bow.

"It'll get done, Arjhan. You know that."

The dragonborn's face seemed to soften a bit at that, and he sighed, nodding.

"Good. It's what we've come to expect outta you."

It's what you raised me to do.

"You get a hundred-fifty for any intel you turn up, plus findin' the missin' folks," Arjhan continued. "Your best bet for muscle... eh, around town. Refugee camp's a good start for your leads."

He nodded sharply. Meeting adjourned. Random turned to leave, tossing Arjhan a jaunty two-fingered salute as he went. When he closed the door behind him, he sighed deeply and rubbed the back of his neck. It's not just slavers if he expects me to get muscle for a fact-finding errand. Discomfort tingled down his tail. He didn't like the thought that Arjhan knew more than he was letting on. He hoped that wasn't the case.

He stopped off to get the gold to pay his hirelings before leaving the casino for the refugee camp. Might as well start there; he couldn't see the sense in skulking around town for information when there was a whole camp of leads at his disposal. He whistled a tavern tune as he stepped out into daylight.

The tune faded immediately, though, as he emerged from the Wishing Well and spotted a pair of bouncers blocking a hooded figure. Random squinted at the figure. The person was shorter than he was, but the hood was pulled so far forward he couldn't tell race or even sex. Seemed like a pretty shady traveler, so yeah, good on those bouncers, but—Random spotted the traveler's staff. Holy shit. His eyes widened when he realized it was not a walking stick but a solid wood quarterstaff, complete with metal grips. What the hell did some no-account traveler need with that kind of a weapon? He stepped forward, watching closely. The bouncers were still barring the path, but the traveler made no attempt to either push past them or leave. He cleared his throat upon approach, and one of the bouncers turned, giving a start upon seeing the tiefling.

"Oh, ah, 'ey Random. This one's tryin' t'say she's got a job to ask 'bout, but... well..."

"But well what, my good man?" Random asked.

Stepping closer, Random gained a clear line of sight under the traveler's hood. Definitely a she. He stopped mid-stride when he saw her eyes: a distinct ruby red, almost glowing. Oh, damn. As far as he could tell, those sharp yet refined features indicated some kind of elf. She seemed more stoic than stuck-up, though, so she wasn't a usual elf. She was exotic, too, more so than any woman Random had ever seen before. He'd be a fool not to admit he liked exotic ladies, but this one... something feels odd about her. Red eyes, stoic demeanor, shadowy skin—oh, fuck. She was a Drow.

"But, well, she's... a Drow," said the bouncer, confirming Random's guess. The Drow woman remained silent, ruby eyes watching them closely.

Random put on his very best smirk as he lightly stepped closer to the Drow. He knew Drow were ordinarily very unfriendly, and he could safely say he had never seen one this close before. He needed to tread carefully, no matter how lovely and exotic she seemed under that hood.

"A job for what, lady fair?" he asked her.

The Drow woman gave him a long flat look.

“In case it’s not passed your bosses’ notice,” she said coolly, “there are people disappearing from their homes. Some of the more superstitious claim some wicked power has woken under the Ironseat Ridge.”

“Indeed? How intriguing.” Random crossed his arms. His tail flicked slowly, enough to be noticeable. “I am just on my way to investigate these same poor souls.”

What would attract a Drow to the exact same investigation, though? What if she was from the Myriad, only pretending to be helpful? He’d need to keep an eye on this one. Maybe both eyes, as lovely as she was.

“Then your masters have at least some sense of decency,” she said. “Do you plan on going alone?”

Her gaze swept over Random—armor, weapons, and all. He didn’t like the look in her eye. It was an expert’s air—no arrogance, just cool measurement. He didn’t like she sense that he didn’t measure up to whatever her internal standard was.

“...you may want more muscle than just myself.”

Random bristled a little. I’ve handled far worse than a few slavers, thank you kindly. Still, he knew she was right. The situation at hand was bad enough that Arjhan was extra concerned. He didn’t feel entirely comfortable with hiring a Drow, but she was clearly interested in helping, and he almost never turned down gorgeous people.

“I’m in the market for muscle, in point of fact,” he said. “May I tempt you with a hundred gold for your services?”

He withdrew five coins from his moneybag to show off, letting them glint in his red palm. The Drow sighed thinly but nodded despite no sign of being remotely impressed with Random.

“Very well, then,” she said. “How are we going to proceed?”

She turned and shooed off the bouncers, and Random smirked. He knew of Drow only by reputation, but this one intrigued him. She was nothing like Drow were known to be, at least not yet.

“I have it on good authority that we may find an answer or two at the refugee camp,” he said. “Shall we?”

He extended the five gold coins to her as the world’s smallest down payment, earning another flat stare for his trouble. She really had no sense of humor, did she?

“Very well,” said the Drow. “My name is Cami, if you care to know.”

Random swept a dramatic bow for her, grinning.

“And I am Random, both in name and description. It is an infinite pleasure to meet you, Lady Cami. Well, perhaps not infinite. Not yet. But it could be.”

His mischievous grin widened a little, though it evaporated as Cami huffed, pulled back, and delivered a full-powered punch to his jaw. Random went staggering, pain throbbing up through his jaw and into his head. He heard one of the bouncers guffaw briefly as he caught and balanced himself with his tail. Damn. An intense one, her. He was fairly certain he hadn’t deserved that, not even as payment for innuendo.

“My sincerest apologies, my lady,” he grumbled. “I only meant the slightest offense.”

Before she could punch him again, he side-stepped her, a hand still pressed to his jaw as he headed for the refugee camp. She had good spirit, at least. But, damn, she hit too hard.

Kymal faded away as they set off, a little bit of distance between them. The Wishing Well, the Dragon’s Hoard, and the Maiden’s Wish all vanished behind them as the cityscape faded to rough taverns, flophouses, and suude dens. Cami seemed to close the distance between her and Random as the city grew more sketchy, though Random hardly noticed it anymore. After a while, the stench of decay and desperate living just became another part of the blur of city life. Nothing worth blinking at.

What was worth blinking at was a massive ruckus echoing from a nearby tavern. Random couldn’t tell when it had started, but as they walked closer, a large, muscled man came flying through—not out!—the door, landing in the street almost at Random’s feet. From within the tavern came a surprisingly high-pitched roar of anger. Random and Cami both paused, Random with amusement and Cami with concern. She looked at Random and arched a brow.

“Is this normal or is it a special day?” she said, deadpan.

Random looked toward the tavern at the sound of the roar. Scream? Loud… noise?

“If it’s a holiday and no one told me, I demand overtime pay,” he sniffed.

With a flick of his tail, he turned and stepped over the fallen, groaning man and headed for the tavern. He lightly stepped through the human-sized hole in the door, Cami right behind him, and found himself staring down a bar brawl. Everyone not involved was pressed around the perimeter of the main seating area, shaking in their boots. Even the bartender had ducked behind the bar as if not sure whether to break it up or just wait for the worst to pass.

And there, in the middle, were the scoundrels to blame: two big, burly humans towering over a curly-haired gnome whose green eyes burned with rage.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Random hissed under his breath.

The gnome stared up at the humans, pacing a little, clutching a two-handed axe. Her little chest heaved.

“Right!” she bellowed. “Who else wants some?!”

Cami came up beside Random and stared blankly at the tiny, angry woman.

“What the fuck,” she breathed. Random’s eyebrows shot skyward at the sound of her swearing. Never would have pegged her for having the mouth of a sailor!

The humans were clearly already roughed up, presumably from the gnome’s fists. One had a rapidly swelling black eye; the other had cuts on his forehead and jaw. The one with the black eye spit off to the side, and the splotch of saliva was tinged with blood.

“Fine, ye lit’l madwoman, fuck me,” he grumbled. “Just a couple fuckin’ gold coins.”

The angry little gnome brandished her axe at them, tossing curly golden hair from her eyes.

“Aye, but they’re mine!” she hollered. “Fuck off then before I make you eat your teeth!”

Random whistled, low and soft. What a fighting spirit. Ooh, maybe they could actually see her fight rather than just stumbling upon the aftermath. It wouldn’t be that hard to provoke round two between the gnome and the humans. His eyes darted around the room, planning his moves. A few well-played insults… a couple sarcastic quips… then just step out of the way! He nudged Cami’s arms.

“Hey, watch this.”

But as he set off to put his plan into action, Cami grabbed him by the arm, arresting his movement and pulling him back.

“Really, is a fight what we need right now? If you want to ask for her help just say so, for gods’ sake.”

“No,” Random snorted, “I want to see her kick those guys’ asses before I ask for her help.”

“Well, they’re already going, licking their wounds.” Cami jerked her head to the retreating humans as they headed out to collect their friend. The gnome began lowering her axe the farther away the humans got. “I suggest not pissing her off, wouldn’t you agree?”

“You are no fun at all, Lady Cami.” His tail flicked with annoyance, but he saw her point. Wasting his strength on a fight here might do more harm than good. Never mind.

He stepped forward to introduce himself to the angry little gnome as she lowered her axe, but she snapped it back up when Random appeared in her line of sight.

“Oy, fuck off, mate!” she yelled.

Random spread his hands away from his sides—and his daggers.

“Never you fret, angry small person, I am not here for your money.”

He could tell she wouldn’t respond well to charm. Cami hadn’t either. But this gnome was willing to kill a man over a pittance. Why? Granted, he knew he’d do the same if he had very little coin to his name; he wondered if the gnome found herself in the same sort of way. She might respond kindly to the promise of money.

He noticed Cami sliding up behind him, quietly, gently, and she motioned to the nearest chairs. The gnome’s green eyes darted between them, reminding him of a cornered cat with wide pupils and an arching back to make itself look bigger than it was.

“How about we all sit down, have a drink,” Cami said, her voice calm and soft—clearly trying to keep the peace. “The crazy tiefling may have a business opportunity for you. And he’ll buy said drinks.”

Random almost protested but cut himself off. He couldn’t risk the gnome’s wrath by arguing who would buy the round. Her fury was only funny when aimed at burly humans. Random could do without a broken neck, so he nodded agreeably and slid into one of the chairs, leaning against the table. The gnome scowled at the tiefling and Drow before her.

“I don’t know you. Why’d I drink with you?”

“Because,” Random said, almost in a purr, “this venture of mine will make you immeasurably wealthy. A hero of the city, even.”

The gnome tilted her head.

“So, what, are you trying to persuade me?”

“...is it not working?”

The gnome gave him a flat look.

“...no. Look, are you gonna quit wasting my life or not?”

Cami sat down with the grace and ease of a dancer, entirely unflustered in the face of the gnome’s suspicion.

“I realize we’ve caught you at a bad moment,” she soothed, “but hear us out. Agreeing means enough coin to make up for whatever those fools took from you, plus extra, and perhaps a few… favors higher up in society. If not, you get a free drink.”

She shrugged noncommittally. Random watched, flabbergasted, as the gnome pursed her lips, then put down her axe and nodded.

“A’right then,” she said. “Don’t like ale. Tastes like piss and sadness.”

“A lady after my own heart,” Random forced out, covering his shock.

He shot Cami a look of “How the hell did you just do that?” as he got up to go get drinks. He glanced back to see the gnome pulling herself into a chair at the table with only a small degree of difficulty. He didn’t expect the pity that washed over him. It was hard trying to live in a world that wasn’t built for you. He understood that. He understood it every time he walked down the street and a young mother pulled her child closer to herself at the sight of the horned demon-man. He sighed and ordered three strong liquors from the still-shaking bartender, sliding an extra two gold across the bar to help make up for the damage caused by the gnome’s fury. Then again, he thought as the bartender poured the drinks, maybe if he weren’t even four feet tall, he’d be angry all the time, too.

With the drinks balanced carefully, he padded back to the table, finding Cami and the gnome making casual small talk. He still wasn’t entirely sure how Cami had managed to coax the gnome into relaxing, but he offered a smile as he set down the drinks. He saw the gnome’s eyes widen as she looked at the human-sized drink before her, but she took it in both hands and began to sip. Cami took a single sip and set the glass aside with a polite half-smile. Not her thing. I bet she prefers wine. I’ll have to remember.

“Random,” she said, “would you care to present your terms to her? Ideally more eloquently than you did for me. That would be lovely.”

“Ah, yes, quite.” He was only partially mocking her affect at this point.

Still, as politely as he was able, he explained the matter at hand and sharing with the gnome the job Arjhan had given. At the mention of people disappearing, Random noticed a light flash in the gnome’s eyes. His gut twinges to see it. Familiar for her too, huh? He didn’t consider himself particularly insightful about people, except when he had to be, but he could tell there was a lot of pain bundled up in her tiny, curly-headed frame. She didn’t look very old for a gnome, either. Little more than a teenager. He leaned forward a little, curving his hand around his glass and his tail loosely around the chair leg.

“This is something that matters to you, I can tell,” he murmured. “So, join us, and you can make it better for a lot of people.”

The gnome looked down into her drink. Her shoulders rose and fell with a sigh before she nodded.

“...fine, okay. I’ll help. Not for free, though.” She took another drink of her liquor. “...name’s Pipsqueak.”

She grimaced when she said her name, and the name so surprised Random that he had to bite his tongue hard enough to hurt so he wouldn’t burst out in involuntary laughter.

“...nice to meet you,” he said. She’s just got all the shit luck, doesn’t she?

“A… relative pleasure to meet you,” Cami added. She tilted her head to see Pipsqueak’s grimace, though. “Is there something else you would like to be called? If that name isn’t one you like...”

Pipsqueak sat back, as if surprised that someone would give a shit. She shrugged.

“It’s the only one I’ve got, so it’ll do. Besides, he’s Random.” She uttered his name with a teasing lilt.

“Rude,” Random sniffed. Cami chuckled.

“Then you may call me Cami. How about you finish your drink, and we’ll head on for the refugee camps, see what we can find.”

Pipsqueak nodded and, to Random’s surprise, promptly chugged down the rest of her human-sized drink. Random stared as she wiped her lips on her sleeve.

“...right, we’re going?”

“Yes, let’s,” said Cami, rising smoothly, collecting her staff, and heading for the door.

Pipsqueak slid down from her chair, grabbing her axe, and Random quickly knocked back the last of his drink as he got up. This was the weirdest fucking band of mercenaries he’d ever seen.

[rideboldlyride]

Pretty Please...

For those of you worried that I’ve died, or given up writing entirely, First off, I wanna assure you- that is far from the case. In fact, I’ve been busy, keeping myself busy writing some scenes for the future of O-Yoroi, and the next in the Argent Series (which is a prequel/next one in the series combo? It’ll make more sense when I write it). Speaking of, would you like to see a scene from that?

I knew you would. 

This is entitled: Pretty Please...

"So are you in?"

Qrow Branwen raised a brow to the petite young woman beside him. 

"I don't know, Short-Stack... you know how my luck is..."

She shrugged, raising a brow in retort. 

"All depends on your version of bad luck tonight."

The full implications of her words hit him, and the lanky young man stopped in his steps. Continuing without missing a beat, she glanced over her shoulder. 

"It's okay if you don't want to- I've already got Perry and Drake in for the game, and I only need to ask Tai, and I'll have them both in." Winking, she continued. "So if you don't wanna test your luck, we'll be fine without you."

Shrugging, she disappeared around the corner as Qrow fought hard to control his rebelling body as he moved on to his next class.

___

"Alright- house rules:," Tai began, still shuffling the deck. "I know Sum, Perry and Drake know how to play, but Rae, do you know the basics of--"

A knock at the door paused the explanation, and Perry popped up to answer. Behind the door stood the taller Branwen twin. Rolling his eyes, the stocky man moved aside to let him in, calling in to the inhabitants of the room. 

"Ugh... you invited the bird to come?"

Raising a brow to him, Summer replied. 

"Definitely. Partner, remember?" 

Turning, she threw a dazzling smile up at the red eyed young man. He was frustrated to feel his stomach flip. "You made it!" 

"Well," Qrow said, internally begging his body to behave. "After you mentioned it, I was curious as to my luck tonight."

As the door shut, Summer pulled a bottle from under the bed. Gesturing with bottle in hand she directed him to a spot next to her as she poured him a shot. 

"Atlesean whiskey? What's the occasion?" He queried her. 

"It's been years since the four of us played. And we have two newbies with us. Both good reasons to celebrate. Besides," she smirked at him, "always start with the good stuff while you can still taste it."

"Always a good principle to live by."

All six clinked shot glasses, tapped the floor and downed it. A harmony of sighs mixed as it burned their throats. 

"So," Tai began again, "house rules. Everybody familiar with poker, right?"

All nodded. "So- the differences are this: if you didn't fold, and you lose the hand, the winner gets to choose which piece of clothing you lose. At the end of the game, the winner decides what happens to all the lost clothes."

Summer cleared her throat. "And shots every round."

The blond man nodded. "Yeah, that too." 

Taking a look at the twins, he threw a predatory smile their way. 

"You guys do realize that Summer holds the record, right?"

Raven whipped her head towards the young man. "Record? For what?"

"Winning. She's never lost more than her boots and cape."

An innocent smile was flashed towards the twins. Qrow leaned in, his eyes narrowing. 

"That's no fair."

"Hey, now!" She held her hands up in mock surrender. "Your luck goes both ways. Today might be the day..." 

A wink, and the young man felt his head spin. 

Wait. If she normally wins, and she wanted me here... His brain started making the calculations, and a small sly smile pulled at his lips. 

"Fair enough."

With a flourish, Tai flicked the cards through the shuffle. 

"Ladies and gentlemen! The first round of the Team STRQ and half of Team MPLE," he pronounced with great enthusiasm, "STRIP POKER!"

___

"Fold."

"Call."

"Call."

"Fold."

"Call."

"Call."

With both Branwen twins playing it cautiously, Summer was beginning to get frustrated. As per usual, her hands were just right, and Drake and Perry were as easy of reads as they had always been. Tai had been more careful, but still played risky. 

The members of the other team had already cast their shirts and shoes in the center, not leaving much left to work with. Tai had lost his vest. To both members of Team STRQ's frustration, Qrow and Raven had only lost their boots. Summer remained completely clothed. 

Glancing down at her hand, she knew she had let her frustration get the better of her. Distracted, the petite woman had missed an opportunity, and once the chance had passed, still called, rather than folding. All she could hope was that her misstep would still be better than every one else's hands. 

First hand down, and she knew that it wasn't. Once all were down, it was obvious that Tai was the winner with three of a kind and a small run. 

A few more rounds and shots in, Summer had lost her cloak and boots, and Raven and Tai had lost their shirts. 

Forcing her brain to focus through the alcoholic haze, Summer stared hard at her hand. Keeping her face as blank as possible, she was happy to see the makings of a run. At the discard, her next card filled her with confidence. 

"Call."

Qrow eyed the young woman, searching her face for any telltales. It was becoming more difficult, through the fog starting to settle over his mind, to determine. Having lost nothing, he was willing to risk it. 

"Call."

Both men of the opposing team had the liquor's effect hit them the hardest. Both chose to call, despite their obvious level of intoxication. Tai and Raven both folded. 

Laying down the cards, Qrow watched with growing anxiety as Summer's hand was revealed. Sighing, he showed his hand with no flourish. The other two men just started taking off their pants. 

Summer shrugged, and turned to her partner. Her eyes scanned him, the haze discarding some of her caution. Finally meeting his eyes, she smirked. 

"We'll start with the shirt." 

Meeting her smile, he slowly unbuttoned. Her eyes watched each motion with childlike curiosity. Slowly, his chest emerged, laced with scars, many of them old. One prominent fresh and pink scar ran from shoulder to hip. The sight of it brought back the memories of Songji, and sobered her gleeful mind. Quickly, she turned back to the game, compiling the cards again. 

Stopping she took quick stock of the ranking. Perry and Drake, fairly well sloshed, were down to their last article of clothing. They would soon be out of the game. 

Raven and Tai remained mostly clothed, only lacking shirts and boots. However, there current attention spans were becoming limited, as hands began to wander.

All that left was Qrow and Summer, both mostly clothed. This game was nearing its end. A sudden warmth at her shoulder, and the gravelly voice of her partner emerged at her side. 

"You know, Short-Stack, it's a bit unfair that you've got a cloak. Gives you a bit of a handicap."

"Ya know," Perry slurred, "I've neva thaat abut that. Waddya say, Summmur?"

Raising a brow at her partner, she sniffed. Deciding that another shot was in order for a proper response, she poured and downed it. 

"Tell you what," she turned to them, "if I lose either of the next two hands, I'll take off two things."

A smirk etched across the face of the man. Extending a hand with playful formality, the two shook. 

"Deal."

Hands reshuffled and dealt, all six studied their cards. 

"Fold."

"Fold."

"Call."

"Fold."

"Call."

"Call."

Three in and three out, Drake, Raven and Tai, threw their cards away. Slowly the remaking three laid their hands down simultaneously, eyes flicking to their opponent's. 

Once more, Summer had come off victorious. Turning to Perry, she sighed even as the man grinned widely. Her voice was resigned. 

"Yeah, yeah Perry." 

Turning to Raven, her silver eyes rolled. "It's not that impressive."

"Hey!" The stocky man cried out defensively. "It's not about the size..."

Drake, who had mostly passed out, woke up enough to interrupt his friend. 

"That's not what she said."

And promptly passed out again. 

Raven took in an eyeful and turned back to her friend. 

"That's... actually pretty depressing."

The scarlet haired woman nodded resignedly. Her face suddenly perked, and she glanced over at her partner. Blinking a few times, she took in the shirtless masterpiece she saw before her. 

Shaking away the stars from her eyes, she smiled softly. 

"I won't be that mean, yet. Just the jewelry."

Raising a brow at her, he paused for a moment before working off his rings and wristband. His hand strayed nervously to the strand and charm at his neck, but she stopped him. 

"No." She shook her head. "No, you can leave that on. That's..." her mind was at a loss for words, but she could still see he concern in his eyes at the thought of its removal. "... that's important to you."

His brow cleared, and he nodded once.

Turning back to the game, she caught an eyeful of Perry still standing, free to the wind. 

Letting out a sigh of disgust, Summer squinted up at the man. "Sit down, Perry."

"Aw," he started, his drunken stumbles adding to the humor of the situation. "I figured you guys were used to... Stark... situations."

All four stopped their motion and met him with the same withering glare. Hands up in mock surrender, he sunk back into a cross-legged position. 

"I thought it was funny..."

Tai cocked a brow. "At least one of us did."

Raven turned a long suffering look to her boyfriend.  "I wouldn't say much, 'Pun Master'."

Shrugging, he turned back to Summer. "Please deal, and get me out of the mess."

Hands back out, save for Drake, as he laid passed out on the floor, and Perry who was out from attrition. Dealer called last hand, and it was solely Team STRQ playing. 

The silver-eyed woman's hand was good. Really good. Three aces. Unless someone pulled a Royal Flush, she'd get those pants off of the red eyed man now across from her. 

"Call."

"Fold."

"Fold."

"Call."

Staring the other down, they placed their hands down. 

Royal Flush. 

That damn Qrow Branwen. 

He had a Royal Flush. 

Glancing up at him, she watched the slow smile pull across his lips. 

"Leggings."

Record gone, but the look in his eyes made her shiver, and records? Well, they were made to be broken. Tugging at her leggings they slid down her legs and she kicked them to the pile. His eyes were watching her every move, and she felt a warmth spread from her chest.  Finished she raised a brow to him. Sitting back down, she glanced at him, and found his eyes following her lines, before raising a brow to her. 

"What?"

A lopsided smirk pulled at his lips. "I believe there was a deal..."

Warmth started in her cheeks and she tried to dismiss it in her mind as the alcohol, as their eyes met for a moment. Glancing away and clearing her throat, she tried to speak nonchalantly. 

"Well, then, what's next?"

A pause, and he cocked his head to the side. 

"Dress."

Nodding, she stood, even as the lanky man leaned back on to his palms, stretching his torso, keeping his eyes on her movements. Trying her best to keep a neutral face- and failing- she kept her eyes on the two across from her. Fortunately for her, they were both distracted. However, as she attempted to reach for her zipper, the petite woman quickly recognized that the multiple shots of whiskey had not helped her coordination. 

Frustrated, she turned her back towards the cause of her current discomfort- her partner. It was now his turn to become uncomfortable. A hesitant voice called around her after a moment. 

"Um... do you need help?"

Sighing, she nodded. "Yes. Seems when I'm tipsy, unzipping myself is a lot harder than it usually is."

Taking in a deep breath, he stood, a little closer behind her than necessary. His warm breath was on the back of her neck, and she shivered. Qrow reached for the zipper, letting a few fingers drag across her revealed skin of her back as he pulled it down. Far too quickly, the dress fell to a heap on the floor. 

Still for a moment, he took in the sight of her back, mostly smooth, a few small scars peppering, but two fresh new scars laced her back. Ever so lightly, and without his notice, his fingertips brushed the top of her shoulder, and he was gratified to see goose bumps raise after his touch. Her silver eyes glanced over her shoulder to meet his garnet, and in the moment of alcohol and heat, Qrow allowed his self control to break. Hand now around her shoulder he took a half step forward, eyes glowing. Their skin so close, he leaned in--

"Heeeeyyy...." 

Damn Luck. 

Perry pointed a lazy finger towards Summer.

"I can seeee your undieeees...."

Both broke away quickly, and she skewered the drunk man with an angry glare.

 "Shut up, Perry."

Dropping back into her position, she mumbled a 'thank you' before she started gathering the points. Slower, Qrow joined her on the floor, taking care not to accidentally touch her. The quiet voice of anxiety whispered in his brain, recalling the other events in the past where young men had been rejected by her. 

"Tai!" 

Her voice interrupted both his thoughts and an impromptu make out session between the other two, and he shot his head up at her words. "You're better with numbers. Who won?"

A few moments, spent with pen scratching across parchment, and Tai announced his conclusions. Summer had won, as per usual. Drake was still unconscious, in his underwear, and Perry who was still au naturale, was nearing the same condition. 

Quickly scavenging the pile, she flung shirts and jewelry back to her teammates and pulled her own clothing from the batch. With a flick of her hand, the rest of the pile caught in a small whirlwind of petals, out the window and into the courtyard. All four took a quick gaze outside, seeing their compatriot's clothing strewn like streamers from the trees. 

"Unspoken house rule:" Summer explained to the twins, "never pass out during strip poker."

Easily slipping back on their clothing, Raven and Tai slipped out of the room and were gone. It was simple to make the conclusion for Qrow and Summer that their dorm was off limits lest they wanted more emotional scarring. 

___

So, Yeah, this is a scene you will see in the next story. ;) But you’ve got to finish O-Yoroi first! (Which means I’ve got to finish it too...)

[batwynn]

Sibylline Song

[ghostmartyr]

SnK 89 Thoughts

“Someone once asked me if I had learned anything from it all. So let me tell you what I learned. I learned... everyone dies alone.

But if you meant something to someone... if you helped someone... or loved someone... If even a single person remembers you... then maybe you never really die.

And maybe this isn’t the end at all.”

The above is a quote from the fifth and final season of Person of Interest. If you haven’t seen it, don’t worry; I’m about to quote something else that maybe five people will recognize. Also it doesn’t matter much. I just ran into a snag with coming up with how to start this post, so I went with the old-fashioned method of taking someone else’s words.

For the other quote, I have something not nearly as long or haunted.

“I will remember those who have been forgotten.” --The Stormlight Archive

Throughout the series, one of the recurring plot threads that I’ve been perfectly happy to ignore is the one that touches on the subject of memory.

Humanity has no memory of life beyond the walls.

Titan transformations interfere with memory.

Grisha tells Eren to learn to use his powers from the memories of others.

Frieda regularly wipes Historia’s memory.

Eren and Historia both have dreams of incidents that their waking selves can’t remember.

The cavern built by the Founding Titan, combined with the touch of royal blood, allows for the recovery of memories.

To an unknown extent, nomming a Titan can transfer their memories to the power’s recipient.

Memory has had a part to play since the very first volume. Most prominently in its absence. There’s enough amnesia going around in the series to get a soap opera up and running. Haunting every step our heroes take has been the knowledge that someone has the answers to this world, and they’re out of reach.

First, it was the basement. Grisha.

For a little while, Ymir, as one of the few big friendly giants they knew.

Next came the Reisses, with the introduction of the Founding Titan.

Eren slipped into that same arc, holding the Founding Titan but unable to access large swathes of its capabilities because he doesn’t have the blood for it.

As a metaphor, it’s already pretty nifty, but the literal truth of the situation is that the people who can provide the most help are dead, but never truly forgotten. They are remembered.

Grisha remembers his sister. He remembers Eren Kruger. He remembers Dina. He remembers Zeke. He remembers a world the common citizens of Paradis have never known. He does everything he can to pass on that knowledge.

The Reiss family sacrifice one member every thirteen years to keep the Founding Titan’s memories alive within their house. In turn, the Founding Titan remembers its hosts, keeping them alive for whoever comes next.

The Survey Corps doesn’t have magic Titan powers as a tradition, but they follow the same principle, as put forth by Erwin before his dying charge:

“Those brave fallen men and women! Those poor fallen men and women! The only ones who can remember them... are us, the living!! So we will die here... and trust the meaning of our lives to the next generation!

That is the sole way... we can rebel against this cruel world!”

And before any of that, there is Mikasa.

“If I die now... I won’t even be able... to remember you.”

People finding their reason to keep fighting has always drawn fiction’s attention. Angst calls to a lot of writers, as well as readers, and loss is such a universal concept that of course it’s going to be covered in all its gory detail long after everyone is sick of death.

When Mikasa loses Eren in Trost, you can see the light go out. You don’t really believe she’s going to die, since hey, we’re a protagonist down and she just got a flashback, but everything we know about her says that this feels like an insurmountable loss. She has Armin, but in her head, all she knows is that her family’s gone. Again.

It’s a tragic sequence in either medium you go with. I’m partial to the anime, because I love the music cues in that scene.

Then, as the story requires, she finds her way back to her feet.

Everyone remembers the line about the world’s beauty and cruelty, as well they should. It’s a beautiful line, thematically perfect, and come to think of it, Mikasa should probably get a medal for how well she introduces the prominent themes of this work.

When she makes the decision to live, however, it’s rooted in Eren’s memory.

That always felt a little weird to me, so it’s more memorable than it already was. She continues with lines about fighting, and winning (I think I said this last month, but just because Mikasa was only following Eren to the Scouts doesn’t mean she doesn’t belong there as much as any of the other chaotic dreamers), but the sticking point is wanting to remember Eren.

He’s dead.

His memory shouldn’t be.

This is the scene in the anime that forever sold me on the series. Back then, that particular line was more of an odd fascination than anything else, a touch of uneven humanity buried under the other phenomenal moments--Mikasa missing Eren, but loving him too much to let go of everything he is to her.

Just like their first meeting, Eren keeps her alive long enough for her to find herself, and what she’s willing to fight for.

So we have this incredible scene, and volumes and volumes later, it’s only now that I fully appreciate how tightly woven together all of the important moments are.

When you think about it for a fraction of a second, everyone is constantly dying in this series. Often not people we care about, but there’s a lot of death.

With so much of it, it makes sense that the memories of people they hold dear have so much power. They’ve learned to make the most of life, and that includes the pieces that come after death.

That’s the romantic view of it that really has nothing to do with Titan powers.

Now, on the subject of Titan powers, Eren’s managed to fall through one barrier of being an incomplete Founding Titan holder; he can relive the memories of stories he’s already familiar with.

That... is far from where we want the kiddo to be.

Before this extended flashback sequence with Grisha and Kruger, Eren’s memory troubles were primarily devoted to his father murdering an entire family, being eaten, the injection that was the focus of both those things--and a random shot of Frieda brushing her hair.

It’s difficult to tell how much of that flash to Frieda is a narrative cheat. He doesn’t remember it afterward. It does come after Historia recites her sad backstory to the class, but Historia doesn’t remember her sister at the time. Eren could be having headaches and leaving out all sorts of people, but we’re only going to see the relevant ones.

Still, Frieda’s the only one of the bunch that Eren doesn’t have a clear link to, and she shows up during a time where everyone is discussing the significance of the Reiss family.

That would seem to imply that the memories of the world that Eren is carrying around respond to outside stimulus. Which I guess we already knew because of the cavern and the touching, but there, we were given specific, mystical reasons. This seems more down to earth.

Making it less helpful, naturally. It’s not like they can go to Marley and kick off yet another kidnapping arc, only with them as the kidnappers, and hope someone says something that unlocks another chapter of Eren’s memory books.

Which would be why royalty’s back in play in the main plot. One day I might get to that portion of the post.

Getting back to the pages that spawned all of these words no one cares about, to the surprise of me, Kruger’s last words to Grisha are some of the most interesting in the chapter.

Kruger and Grisha have no idea who Mikasa and Armin are. Kruger is unconcerned, having been dealing with magic in his head for quite some time. He assumes that they’re the carry-overs from someone else’s memories.

This is where, if you wanted to, you can make it really convoluted.

Hiiii.

Reincarnation has been a fun theory ‘round these parts for a while, with the taunt of Ymir’s name only inspiring more detailed versions.

We now know that even if Ymir is Ymir’s reincarnation, no one actually believes that to be true--anymore.

Someone was still willing to present her as such, and believed in her enough to feel betrayed when he believed himself to be wrong, so it’s fair to say that some number of Eldians are willing to believe in their god being reincarnated. All things considered, that doesn’t really mean anything, because this manga is willing to let people believe all sorts of things.

But in the same chapter, we have a bitter old guy telling his predecessor that they’re doomed to repeat a horrible history again and again, and thinks of Mikasa and Armin’s existence as a memory, not a premonition.

So like. If you wanted to, a case could be made for and EMA reincarnation trio getting consistently roped into this, sometimes accompanied by Ymir.

A safer bet is probably just that super special awesome Titans have premonitions in addition to remembering everyone who ever was, and assume that those premonitions are things that have already happened, not things that will again.

Honestly, this is something that doesn’t interest me that much. I’m positive that this has something to do with why Eren sees an older Mikasa in his dream as a child, but what it means is still up in the air.

The straightest line through the plot is that Kruger is seeing through Grisha’s eyes before he gives Grisha the serum, seeing what Grisha will say when he passes it on to the next Eren. Supporting that is that this Eren has no clue who Mikasa and Armin are, but Grisha certainly does at a later point.

Future vision is always the simplest answer.

But like I said, if you want to bring the reincarnation madness--you have a very clear invitation.

Anyhow, as uninterested as I am in... large portions of that, the part right before Kruger brings up cycles of suffering is what I like.

“Make a family. You need a full household once you enter the walls. [...] Your wife. Your child. Even someone on the street. It does not matter. Love someone inside the walls. If you can’t, we’re doomed to repeat it all again. The same history. The same mistakes. Again and again.”

At first it sounds like Kruger’s telling Grisha to run off and get hitched and make babies, but the rest of the discussion makes the blood component secondary. It isn’t a matter of making children; it’s a matter of family.

Make a family.

Love them.

That’s the way out.

Grisha finds Carla and has Eren, but he also has Mikasa.

Eren and Mikasa have Armin.

The three of them have the 104th.

The 104th has the Survey Corps.

If you look at what happens to the mainland Eldians at the time of Grisha’s transformation, you can see the difference. Kruger watches dozens of his people die, participating in their deaths and torture for the greater good. Grisha loves his wife, but sees his child as a tool.

Love doesn’t bind these people together. A shared cause, sometimes, but Kruger doesn’t watch Grisha lose everything and hug him, or help him through it. They’re callous and straightforward.

I don’t know if Kruger is being literal or figurative about the cycle their world is stuck in, but the Survey Corps has started a broken kind of family. Somewhere inside all of the hard choices and death, there is love. There is a group of people who will fight for each other.

With the politics involved, I’m sure nothing can be that simple, but their hearts are all in the right place. They aren’t so consumed by their cause that they’ve close themselves off to everyone. A good portion of them still cry over killing traitors.

It seems safe to assume that Grisha has not designed the perfect battle plan, but he loved Eren, and Carla, and Mikasa, and whatever cruelties followed, that love has done them a lot of good.

It could turn out to be more significant than that, or it might not. We shall see.

Though know that if it turns out that the main plot truly is reincarnation madness + time loop that can only be stopped through the Power of Love...

...

I’m... not actually sure I could be upset if that happens. It sounds amazing.

Basic point: A family can be an Eren, Armin, and a Mikasa.

Moving on to something besides the last three pages now, we scurry back to Mikasa and Eren getting special treatment because they make up a fifth of an entire military branch.

There isn’t much to say on that topic; keeping the kids disciplined is good, but everyone involved knew that the punishment wouldn’t convince them out of fighting for Armin, so they might as well move on and do something productive.

Levi and Hange bickering is life, though.

Even if they’re temporarily going with the, “We’ll just let our main weapon be crazy and call it puberty,” line. I don’t think either of them believe it, and everyone’s going to have to sit down and have the memory discussion at some point (wherein Eren will realize that he fails at lying), but for right now, I think Eren’s potential lack of stability is a discussion for a less hectic day.

Drifting back over to horrible things, Mikasa is... doing about as well as one might expect during this phase of the “My family is all going to die again,” arc.

Mikasa’s tell when it comes to family worries is always holding her head in that way. It happens after Carla’s death, and it happens after Reiner and Bertolt successfully steal away Eren.

Armin and Eren are--okay, Eren’s probably right for once about emotions. I don’t think things have fully sunk in for them. Mikasa, though, is living out her worst fear again. Trapped in a cell by herself, she only has herself. She can make do with that, but she never wants to, and she certainly doesn’t want to be forced into it by losing the people she loves.

Whenever Isayama decides to make Mikasa the focal point of an arc (I refuse to believe it won’t happen), things are going to be rough.

Other horrible things include the entire world not being a safe place for Eldians. No one wants people who can turn into giant monsters around unless they can be useful, and even then it’s a stretch.

So we’ve gone from our heroes being locked inside a series of walls, surrounded by monsters, to those monsters turning out to be their own people, to their own people often being monsters, to other people, but still humans, definitely being monsters, and really, it’s a much worse monster problem than anyone had planned for so what do.

Presumably, it’s things like this that led to the First King locking everyone up in the first place.

The nice thing about this flashback sequence is that we have one very simple solution for the Reiss/Fritz situation: The King likely changed his name.

Now, whether that’s actually true or not remains to be seen, but for the time being, everyone’s running with there being one royal blood line, and it not being at all weird that it’s now the Reiss line, not the Fritz. And considering new plot developments, there’s probably not much reason to look accusingly at the situation any longer.

Royalty is royalty by whatever names they dream up for themselves. That’s the story.

I think the most interesting piece of the flashback is that the First King made a vow with the Founding Titan. Somehow, he managed to communicate with his own Titan, and forge a psychic promise that has lasted over a hundred years.

Does that mean that Titans are sentient inside their hosts?

Is that what Armin sees in his dream?

How much can they control the hosts without explicit requests or permission?

I’ve gotta say, even though his Xtreme Pacifism w/ brainwashing is obviously not something a person should be doing, and obviously disagrees with the theme of fighting to win, everything we hear about the First King makes me want another flashback arc.

Not right now. Geez, no.

But one obviously needs to happen.

It was funny enough when he dragged a bunch of his people to an island, locked them inside, told everyone outside they couldn’t have his toys or he’d set his colossal army on them and they’d all die.

Now it has the companion piece of him saying that maybe they all deserve to die if they can’t stop fighting for five seconds.

This person is clearly related to Historia.

From the outside, he’s obviously made some very sketchy, probably not altogether helpful moves, and played with the lives of people in ways he had no right to.

From a character perspective, this is a person who actually had enough conviction to break all tradition, kill anyone who could remember that tradition, set up a contingency plan for which the word “overkill” is perhaps designed, and did it all because he thought that everyone deserved to die if they abused their power--oh, and he also put in a safeguard so that for over a hundred years, all of his successors would find it impossible to color outside his lines.

No other character or group in this manga has been so ruthlessly effective. You can even scrap the ruthless part. This is an individual who used his hammer, made everyone else a nail, and called it a day.

While being scornfully judgmental.

In a peace-out kinda way.

This is where the story gets even more interesting.

The world is going to want our guys dead. They’re too dangerous to keep alive, and having Titans without the Founding one isn’t the prestige boost it once was.

The Founding Titan is the best protection they have against extermination.

Eren makes the leap fandom’s been making for months. The last time he made the power work, it was while he was touching a titan of royal blood (hey look, a reason for Kruger not to give the Attack Titan to Dina!). That might be how to trigger it.

There’s only one person left in that line.

She wouldn’t eat you, Eren.

This is about touch, but the positions are still neatly reversed. Eren’s making the same choice she does--for slightly less selfish reasons. The question is if everyone else can be okay with that, and whether or not Eren will be able to justify putting humanity at risk to keep his friend.

Or maybe he’s wrong about his guess, and he’ll just end up swooping around the woods with Historia on his back. She’s short, she could totally be a Yoda.

Mikasa, Armin, and Hange clearly know something’s up. Really, it’s all about how far they’re willing to push. Can they kill the Queen to save their people? Is it even necessary? Outside of necessity, is is an action they’d be willing to participate in?

We’ll probably find out!

Though Armin’s attention in particular makes me slightly antsy.

“I haven’t lived an especially long life... but there’s one thing I’m sure of. The people capable of changing things... are the ones... who can... throw away everything dear to them. When forced to face down monsters... they can even leave behind their own humanity. Someone who can’t throw anything away... will never be able to change anything.”

Hi, Armin from Chapter 27! Please don’t foreshadow unpleasant things!

Many things in the direction this story takes are unknown. We don’t know for sure what kind of ending we’re getting, or which message will prevail in the end.

Personally, I’m an optimist. Armin talks about throwing things away in the seventh volume. Way too many paragraphs in this post talk about how people have survived by doing the exact opposite.

I want to believe that if it turns into a battle of ideals, being better than the monsters will prevail. Forming families and loving them.

But boy howdy is this an uncomfortable playing ground to feature that in.

And that’s it from me.

Time to wait impatiently for the next month.

.

.

.

.

Oh yeah, Historia read Ymir’s letter.

I suppose I’m supposed to say something about that.

Right.

HOW THE HELL CAN ALL OF THIS FANFIC NONSENSE EXIST IN THE SPACE OF SO FEW PAGES.

Do you have any idea how long it took me to realize that this latest instance of Ymir being an overly dramatic idiot is actually canon? Sure, she jumps off towers into hoards of monsters, and makes up lies in the middle of kidnapping her girlfriend, but I’m choosing to believe that the translation is accurate in representing Ymir’s writing style of horrific floweriness to play off how sincere she’s about to be.

ALSO: “I am about to wow you with a romantic tale.

It starts with me starving to death and ends with me getting stoned.”

THAT IS THEIR RELATIONSHIP. STOP POINTING OUT REASONS WHY REINER DOESN’T HAVE A GIRLFRIEND AND START WONDERING HOW THE HELL YOU HAVE ONE.

I’m mostly sure that this was done the way it was so that Isayama wouldn’t have to deal with too much Ymir speculation in the wake of revealing the ancient Ymir. The fact remains that Ymir plays up her tragic tale of woe as a love letter, and this is like a good third of why Historia has trust issues.

More seriously, this ties in to what the rest of the chapter wasn’t about, but I made it about: Memories.

Ymir believes she’s about to be very dead (we all have future vision now). She can pick what she tells Historia. She chooses her life. She chooses to tell the girl she loves, the girl she finally got to be herself with, all of the pieces that came before them. She tells her what she was. She glosses over all of the whys, and just tells Historia what she experienced.

She tells Historia the full truth about how they’re alike.

She tells her about her suffering.

She’s willing to admit that she finds the world incredible. All of her cynicism about what happened to her and how little it matters melts away, and all that’s left is freedom, and a life that she doesn’t regret.

Except for the part where they aren’t married.

You do not understand how much I enjoy Historia’s reactions to things.

Ymir gives Historia her whole history to remember her with, not just the parts they shared. She calls it a love letter, and brings up marriage so abruptly that no wonder Historia is confused, and while those are true expressions of how she feels, the romantic part of it is that Ymir wants Historia to know her. She wants to apologize, and let Historia know that them being incomplete is her only regret--and she wants Historia to know her before she’s gone. Even after she’s gone.

Historia’s the person she loves, and the person she wants to be with. She can’t be with her, but she can be remembered by her.

Yeah, that’s such romantic way to be SO UNBELIEVABLY UNHELPFUL.

Historia’s reaction is really the only correct one.

“You play it off the moment you feel embarrassed. How am I supposed to understand like this...?”

HOW ARE YOU BOTH SO BAD AT THIS.

Ymir, protip: stop bringing up marriage only when Historia is on the brink of tears.

Historia: SHE LIKES YOU.

I’ll admit to being dedicated to my belief that Historia does not have the first damn clue what Ymir wants from her, and this sequence really only makes that dedication stronger.

Historia probably understands Ymir better than anyone else on the face of the planet, but she doesn’t understand herself, and as a consequence, I don’t think she really gets how she and Ymir work, except that they do.

In the days before Ymir’s departure, Historia is still perfectly willing to believe that Ymir is only hanging about because of her family, but in the days after Ymir’s departure, Historia tells Connie in no uncertain terms that she knows Ymir. In the immediate aftermath of Utgard, she tells Hange that she knows her well.

Historia really does know Ymir--well enough to claim it as Krista, as Kristoria, and Historia.

That’s different from having faith in someone’s affection for you, and that’s where a lot of Historia’s confusion in their relationship comes from. On the one hand, she knows Ymir, and knows that she’s someone Ymir chooses to hang out with.

On the other hand, no one’s ever wanted her.

Ymir makes it more difficult by skating around her feelings so well that even when her glib remarks are serious, it’s hard to take them that way. She places implications of romance on either side of a story that’s clearly hard for her to let out. It can be read as lightening a heavy mood, or just the truth, and Historia is so terribad at trusting in a relationship that it’s like handing her a toddler’s slot toy and telling her the sdklj goes in the sdklj hole.

YOU’RE BOTH SIMPLE IDIOTS. STOP PRETENDING YOU’RE NOT.

I mean, that’s one facet of her response.

The other one connects to something a little further back.

“Ymir saw the real me… the me that chose the Survey Corps. The me that even I didn’t know about. But… after Ymir disappeared, I stopped understanding who I am… and what I want.” --Historia, 54

Ymir is still gone.

Historia has learned to understand pieces of herself, and she can be her own person, but the truth is that she only really feels secure in herself when she has Ymir, and Ymir isn’t here. Ymir might never be here again.

Ymir gives Historia her memories.

She doesn’t tell Historia who she was in them.

Ymir’s the only person who has ever had the ability to remember Historia Reiss correctly, and if she’s gone, and she never explains it, how is Historia supposed to know who that is? How’s she supposed to be the value the person she loves sees in her if she can’t recognize it?

These two have no idea what they’re doing.

They never really have, but they always knew that if they were together, somehow, that worked.

Now they aren’t.

The result is that we have the second time in the series that Historia’s tears actually fall. She tears up plenty, but the tears only make it past her eyes twice.

The first time is when he father hugs her, and tells her she’s wanted.

This is the second time, and it’s both cheeks, not just one.

Neither shot provides a clear view of her eyes.

That, obviously, is reserved for when Ymir and Historia are reunited.

(Let me have my dreams.)

Alright, having long since passed the point at which people will give up and go read something else, I... think that might actually be it.

Let the waiting commence.

[sarah-wants-to-write]

Written in the Stars

Chapter One: All the Stars are Right

           Samarah and Jim meet in the academy.

           If the half-angel girl didn’t know better, she’d almost say that was the start of a joke.

           She’d heard of Jim Kirk, he was known by many of the women at the academy. Tall, handsome, gorgeous eyes, and a penchant for playing the field in terms of romance. To see him in the ‘basics of command’ class was no surprise; everyone knew he was there to eventually become a Captain. What did surprise her, though, was how he was acting. Even without the heightened empathy of her father’s kind, she’d be able to tell something was wrong. He just seemed…sad.

           Making up her mind, Samarah squared her shoulders and marched her tiny frame over to the seat next to him.

           “Anyone sitting here?” she asked, just in case he was expecting someone. The look of surprise on his face softened her smile.

           “No…go ahead,” he replied, sitting up as she took her seat “look, I’ll be blunt here; I might not be the best to sit next to today.”

           “That’s okay,” Samarah declared, shrugging as her smile never left her face “we don’t have to talk or anything. I just saw you looking down in the dumps and thought you shouldn’t be sitting by yourself.”

~

           Down in the dumps? Now that was an old-fashioned phrase. Jim had been having a hard morning dealing with his depression, and trying not to think about the root of it, when he’d come to class. Had his mood really been that easy to see?

           The fact that she’d decided to sit next to him, so he wouldn’t be alone, was a surprise. It was sweet, especially when she insisted they didn’t have to talk.

           “My name’s Jim,” he figured it would be polite to introduce himself, at least “Jim Kirk.”

           “Samarah McCoy,” she replied, smiling as she held her hand out for him to shake “nice to meet you, Jim.”

           “McCoy, huh?” he quirked an eyebrow at that “any relation to a Leonard McCoy?”

           Samarah laughed at that, shaking her head at his confused expression as they shook hands.

           “No, I’m not related to the good doctor,” she replied “sorry, you’re just not the first to ask. I’m on track to join the medical division, so we have a lot of the same classes together. It’s caused our teachers quite a few headaches.”

           Jim couldn’t help smiling and laughing at that, remembering his roommate’s grumbling.

           “Ah, so you’re that Sammy,” he mused, still chuckling “Leonard’s my roommate. He did a fair share of grumbling about you at first, but he’s mostly impressed.”

           “Most men tend to be. Medicine is still a bit of a boy’s club, even psychology.”

           “Is that what you’re studying? If you’re here, then you must be looking to become a ship’s chief counselor.”

           “Give the man a prize,” Samarah gently teased, violet eyes flashing with humor as she watched his bright blue one’s crinkle with laughter “practically the entire academy knows why you’re here.”

           “Yeah, word tends to travel fast when you’re associated with a captain like Pike,” Jim sighed “managed to convince me.”

           “Yeah, when Cap told me he’d convinced another pale blond rebel without a cause to join,” she smirked “I honestly can’t say I expected you.”

           Jim looked up at that, confused, before Samarah gave him a wink, just as class started.

           Had Pike helped her join, too?

           Once class was over, Jim quickly made up his mind that Samarah was someone he definitely wanted to get to know.

           Gathering his things, he quickly followed Samarah outside, looking for the tiny head of silver-blonde hair under the familiar uniform cover.

           “Hey, McCoy!” he called out, grinning when she turned around. He started running towards her, when he heard another voice.

           “You following me or something, Jim?” his one and only roommate, grumpy as always, had been heading in the same direction.

           “Not you, Bones,” Jim teased, smiling sa both men caught up to Samarah “the pretty McCoy.”

           “Yeah?” Samarah quipped, eyes twinkling with mirth “the pretty one? You’re talking to him.”

           At that, Jim couldn’t help laughing. What was it about Samarah? They’d only known each other less than three hours, and he’d already laughed to the point his cheeks were hurting.

           Seeing how cheerful his roommate was, compared to that morning, kept Bones from protesting. He knew Samarah to be cheerful, she had that effect on everyone, so to see it helping his friend eased his mind.

           “You know you can call me Samarah, right?” she asked Jim, eyebrow quirking up as she looked up at him.

           “Yeah, but figured it’d get your attention quicker,” he replied, smile never leaving his face “you guys going to your next class? Mind if I walk with you?”

           She turned to Bones, who gave a shrug as he sighed, before nodding an affirmative to Jim. He happily took his place at her other side as the three of them got underway.

           “So what made you want to join Starfleet?” Jim asked after a moment.

           “Honestly? I have a bit of a wanderer’s soul,” Samarah answered “I want to explore. I also know the effect that being in space for an extended period of time has on people, so I wanted to put my skills to use helping people.”

          “Doesn’t hurt that you were exposed to it from a young age,” Bones added, looking over to Jim “she doesn’t like to flaunt it, but her Uncle Gabriel is a former Chief Tactical Officer. He’s still active duty, and teaches here now.”

           “Tiny guy, golden brown hair, eyes like a hawk?” the blond man asked, eyes widening at Samarah’s confirmation “damn, I have a class with him. He’s gotta be one of the best the fleet ever had!”

           “The confinement of a starship got to him, though, so he came back to earth to teach,” she shrugged “but Leonard’s right; the early exposure kind of sealed the deal for me. That, and what that side of my family gave me in terms of skill.”

           Jim had been just about to ask what she meant when she seemed to spot someone in the distance.

           “Oh, there’s Nyota,” Samarah declared “you guys keep going, I need to ask her something. See you guys in a sec!”

           When she ran off, Jim turned to Bones, keen on answers. The doctor could see it and quirked an eyebrow,

           “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice?” he questioned, smirking a bit at Jim’s confusion “didn’t you see her uniform?”

           Jim turned and looked for Samarah in the crowd. He spotted her, back to him, and saw her uniform wasn’t exactly typical for a female cadet; she was wearing pants instead of a skirt, for starters, and the back of her jacket looked like it had flaps sewn into it, flanking her spine almost as if to let something out from underneath.

           When he turned back to Bones, confusion even more prominent, the other man caved and explained.

           “Accommodations for her kind,” he told Jim “the jacket so her wings can come out easily, and she can’t really fly in a skirt.”

           “She can fly?”

         “Her uncle, dad, everyone on that side of her family can. She’s half-angel, Jim. Dad and all them are from the planet Eden, but her mom’s human.”

           Now that explained everything; how she could tell he was feeling sad, her almost ethereal looks, all of it.

           “That explains it.” Jim muttered.

           “Explains what?” Came Samarah’s sudden question, causing both men to jump and earn a giggle from her.

           “Just told Jim ‘bout your dad’s side of the family.” Bones explained while Jim muttered about her ‘friggin ninja skills’.

           “Well, was bound to happen sooner or later,” she quipped as they made it to the steps of the medical wing “people like me aren’t exactly a dime a dozen in the galaxy, let alone here at the academy.”

           “You guys wanna meet for dinner?” Jim asked, stopping on the bottom step as Samarah and Bones kept going.

           “Sure thing!” she agreed “meet here before heading to the dining hall?”

           “Absolutely,” he nodded, smile growing “see you guys in a few hours!”

           As the two medical cadets made their way into the building, Jim made his own way to his last class of the day, excited for the meal to come.

           Samarah McCoy was an interesting woman, one he could absolutely see himself becoming friends with.

           He couldn’t wait to get started.

[barnestoyournobles]

Just a story

Chapter 1 It was just 400 miles. 704,000 yards. 2,112,000 feet. That was the distance between her house and mine. I don't remember much that summer. All I remember was her. Maybe I do remember a lot but she just stood out like a black dot on a piece of white paper. I remember the day. I didn't expect it to be so life changing. Just a simple innocent ride to the beach. I hopped out of the car and went to my favorite beach spot with my best friend. We laid our stuff down. She put a blanket on the sand and started to read her book. I went to the waters edge and let the cool saltwater wash over my feet. I stood up and breathed in the fresh Gulf air. I surveyed my surroundings. I dove into the water and wet my hair. I came up out of the water and saw her. Just standing there or was it me in her way? I tried to form words but her beautiful hair and deep brown eyes transfixed me and made my mind draw blank over and over. She smiled and I swear her smile was so radiant the sun might as well been dark as night. I finally managed to speak something that sounded like "Excuse me" but I knew it wasn't anywhere near that for she gave a funny look. I moved around her to go into deeper water but couldn't help but turning back to look at her amazing physique. Her long hair that extended past her shoulder blades. Her long legs that formed into her torso. (Which might I say was amazing). As my eyes worked my way up and down I picked out every little amazing detail of her body and boy was there a lot of them. I stared for what seemed like ages just mesmerized until I felt my friend tap my shoulder. She realized I was struck by the fickle thing called love. She told me to go talk to her and I said "no" because it is human nature to not want something you need. My friend rolled her eyes and instead started walking off towards the girls direction. I just stood there dumbfounded and stared like an idiot as they talked. Mainly staring at the girl and not my friend. Although I do credit my friend for not embarrassing me like usual. Never did they look my way or giggle like they were talking about me in a negative way. Eventually my friend walked away and grabbed my phone. I was curious to see what she was doing. I walked back up to shore and then to her to see what she was doing. I saw her putting a number in my phone and she typed "hey" and sent it. She shoved the phone in my chest and looked me in the eyes stating "Don't mess this one up pretty boy." Then walked back to the water. Chapter 2 It was our yearly visit to the Gulf Shore. I couldn't wait till we got back down there. I got my brother to take me down early. I showed up and begged him to stop at the beach before we reached our hotel. He finally bid my request and dropped me off with a towel, phone, and $10 to buy food from the number of restaurants around. I was told to meet him back up at the parking lot no later than 5 o'clock. He had my dads mentality. On time or be left. I promised him over and over that I would be there knowing I probably wouldn't. I quickly unbuckled the car not even stopped yet as I yelled goodbye and that I loved him as I sprinted to the beach with my belongings. I set up a spot just across the way from some cute college guys that were way older than me but hey a 16 year can dream right? I wasted no time losing my baggy shirt and sprinting to the waters edge in my new swim suit I just got. I dove in and swam around loving the feeling of the cool salt water rush over my body. I spent an hour in the water swimming all around making sure there wasn't a place left unexplored in my vicinity. I finally exited the water and laid out in the warm Florida sun drinking my water now only having $8 and change. I saw a couple come up or at least I thought they were. The way she looked at him and he looked at her but I guess that was just a great friend relationship as I would later find out he had a rough break up that left him heartbroken and shattered. I decided to show off as he was super cute and my boyfriend wasn't around. He was miles away back in Georgia. I walked in the water and watched him come to the edge determined to cross paths with him. I took my chance as soon as he went under water. I walked straight into his path and was startled to see him rise right in front of me. Like I said he wasn't bad looking. Six foot. Brown hair and eyes. Great abs and a solid upper body. His jawline prominent but not too prominent. I smiled at him and went to say excuse me but gave him a funny look when he made this squeak that sounded like a cross between "I love you" and a dying cat. I giggled to myself and moved around him feeling his eyes bore into me making sure to move my hips as I walked away. I laid back down on the towel feeling like my work had been done. I showed off and now there wasn't much else I could do except wish I was not in a relationship with my boyfriend. He was the "do first and apologize later"type. I knew I was an idiot for holding onto him. I didn't do it for myself but more for my family since ours were very close. My mother went to high school with his father and they were very close and had a steady relationship and I guess the same was expected of me. I eventually let my thoughts of my boyfriend take me away as I closed my eyes until I heard a voice saying "hi" to me. I opened one eye and saw it was the guys friend. I immediately had interest and popped up. I noticed we were about the same height. 5'6"ish. She had pretty blonde hair and I had a deep brown. Her eyes were green. Mine again were deep brown. She had fair skin color. Tanned from probably long hour in the sun. The only thing giving me my color was my Latina complexion. I said "hi" back and asked what she wanted. She was very blunt with my and I remember her saying "Pretty boy over there wants your number but he's too scared to come and get it. May I have it and a name would be helpful too." I laughed and gave her my number and said my name was ______ _____. She said thank and started to talk to me commenting on my swimsuit and saying she wish she had a body like mine. I was confused because we had similar bodies. Both long legged and nice bodily features to compliment our soft facial features. We eventually stopped talking and she walked off and put her number in her phone first and then his. I watch as he walked up from the water to the spot they had put their stuff. I giggled as he looked at his friend dumbfounded how she had gotten my number. I checked my phone a few minutes later and it had across the screen "Hey" from a new number. Knowing it was his I immediately responded and looking across to see him walking towards me shyly looking like he didn't want to do it. I smiled and say there and invited him to sit. I figured out his name which was ______ _____. I felt his eyes pierce mine as he grew more confident finally cracking a few terrible jokes. To be nice I laughed. A few minutes later I was laughing so hard that air wasn't coming fast enough for me to make a sound. Damn was he funny. We spent an hour together and I was disappointed when I heard his friend call him as it was time for him to go. He got up and I reached for his hand as he turned around feeling my index brush against the back of his hand. I smiled when he turned around and helped me up. I thanked him and he suddenly hugged me. I hugged back knowing I shouldn't and then he asked me to come join him tomorrow at the restaurant I had bought my drink from. I said yes immediately then thought about my boyfriend and having instant regret. However, I didn't want to break his heart. I watched him walk away then cursed myself checking my phone realizing it was 5:32 and that I had four missed calls from my brother. I then turned to _____ and he said he would take me where I needed to go me by even having to explain my situation I gladly thanked him and walked with him over to where his friend was and helped them pack up. She smiled and looked at us and said "You two love birds ready to go?" I heard him laugh and found myself doing it as well and responded "Yes we are where is my carriage fairy god mother?" She said "This way my dear." I smiled and followed the two of them. Holding back a grin every time he looked back at me to make sure I was still there.