#all thanks to a new age white woman from the US west coast

[sylvanas-girlkisser]

Had really nice wavy hair today, after not letting it fully dry before spending all day with it in a bun. Went to google to try and see if there was a way I could deliberately create that effect, was immediately reminded that the beauty industry is full of leeches preying on womens insecurities, and the only solution is to public execute a couple hundred influencers and CEOs

[myemuisemo]

Suddenly, Letters from Watson dumps us in the middle of the Great American Desert (part 1 of "On the Great Alkali Plain," 2/7/24). This is not anywhere I expected to be transported from London, and the contrast makes the Mountain West feel exotic for a minute.

The Great American Desert -- stretching from about Grand Island, Nebraska to the Sierras and pretty much the entire north-south length of the U.S. -- had become a thing of legend since explorers' accounts in the 1820s. When Dad and I drove across it in 2022, we talked about how incredibly daunting it must have been for emigrants seeking their land of milk and honey on the Pacific coast.

The way we went, out I-80, Nebraska shifts from green to gray as it rises toward the Rockies. After a while, the wind picks up as you go uphill into Wyoming. There's a lot of Wyoming, and after Cheyenne and Laramie (both of which would be small towns in most states), it's very, very empty. When we finally started the descent toward Salt Lake City, and the little valleys beside the road turned green with running water, it was truly like entering paradise.

Of course, in 1847, Salt Lake City was just barely being settled, as Brigham Young led his Latter Day Saints west from Council Bluffs, and its location wasn't part of the U.S. yet.

The Mexican-American war had started the prior year, 1846, and was still going. Spring-summer of 1846 saw the Bear Flag Revolt in California, followed by the U.S. just annexing the state. Gold wouldn't be discovered at Sutter's Mill until 1849, so while emigration to California happened -- the Donner Party made their ill-fated trip in 1846-47 -- it wasn't anything like the scope of movement along the Oregon Trail.

As far as I can tell, "Sierra Blanco" is not a real place. There's a Sierra Blanca in New Mexico -- which would fit with all the specific landscape, plus White Sands National Park in New Mexico specifically has alkali flats. Last time I drove through New Mexico on I-40, in late 2018, it was delightfully desolate, so I can buy that in 1847, it seemed completely empty, with even the native peoples avoiding some stretches.

Why anyone would be crossing New Mexico is a mystery, since neither Arizona nor southern California were much settled by Americans. There was some sort of wagon route across New Mexico used by U.S. soldiers during the Mexican-American War, so if I'd expect anyone to be about, it'd be the U.S. Army.

Utah, now, is downright famous for its salt flat, but that's west of the site of Salt Lake City.

Regardless, parties screwing up their trip to the west by taking an imprudent shortcut or mistaking the route was definitely both a thing that happened and, thanks to the Donner Party, a trope. Our haggard and starving traveler sounds about right.

Then he reveals a Plucky Innocent Victorian Child.

That "pretty little girl of about five years of age" is the absolute ideal of Victorian childhood, being perfectly behaved, utterly imperturbable, determined to see the best in all things, sweet, trusting, and looking forward to being reunited with her mother in heaven.

This kind of child is why Louisa May Alcott was seen as innovative for writing Little Woman about girls who worked on their character flaws. (This is also the ideal the March girls were being aimed at. Polly in An Old-Fashioned Girl comes closer, but even Polly would have been upset about being hopelessly lost in the desert with no water.) Contrast this with the street urchins that Holmes employs in his investigation, who are good enough sorts but scrappy, resourceful, and street smart.

Ordinarily, a Victorian child who was utterly sweet and pious would be a cinnamon roll, literally too good, too pure for this world, and thus would die beautifully but tragically before long. Being lost in the desert seems ideal for this, but --

She turns to prayer, and since someone must survive in order for this scene to be relevant,

Yes, darn it, I am on the edge of my seat to know what happens. I'm also grateful that crossing the Great American Desert in 2022 was a quicker process. I've been reading Carey Williams' old-but-interesting California: The Great Exception, which has a lot to say about how 19th century isolation shaped California's economy and power structure, not always for good. But that's neither here nor there -- I don't think we're headed to California.

[mudhornchronicles]

dreamboat | greaser!frankie morales | part two

diner cred to @thatretrobitch​

pairing: francisco “catfish” morales x reader; 1950’s greaser!frankie x reader

warnings: swearing, drinking, smoking, ya know… 1950s stuff + death and war, and being rude af

a/n: part two of dreamboat

masterlist

dreamboat: part one | part two

“If I didn’t know any better, Francisco, I’d say you were teacher in a past life.” You look up at him and smirk. He looks over to you and gives you a crooked smile. He adjusts his jacket and runs his left hand through his hair.

Frankie taught you a lot more history than the teacher. Frankie had a lot more patience and explained each topic that was covered in much better detail and simply enough to understand. Like when Hattie Wyatt Caraway of Arkansas became the first woman elected to the U.S. Senate in 1932 to fill the vacancy caused by the death of her husband. Frankie compared it to the demonstration of the first long distance telephone service between New York and San Francisco in 1913 – surprising but needed.

You didn’t have Frankie for a third period, just first and fourth, but he made sure to meet you out each of your classes and walked you over to your next class. He had conversed with the boys about asking you to Rosie’s Diner on Friday night. Everyone knows when a guy takes a little darlin’ down to Rosie’s, she’s unavailable. Frankie knows you probably don’t know what going to the diner with him means but he assumes if you did, you wouldn’t go. So he decides that the less you knew the better – well at least that’s what Tom decided.

“Ya know, doll. I like the way you say my name, but how ‘bout ya just call me Frankie, huh? I don’t use the entire thing anymore.”

You cock your head to the side and your smiles turns into a slight frown. “Do you not like the way Francisco sounds?”

He tucks his hands into his jean pockets, shrugs, and looks down at his dirty Chuck Taylors. “Thanks, I do like it, but it don’t… it don’t sound cool, you know? I got a reputation to keep up – all the guys do.”

Frankie stopped using the name Francisco at the start of freshman year. Pope stopped using Santiago around the same time. Their teachers would call them Francis and Saint because they found it difficult to pronounce the boys’ names correctly. Frankie was too shy to say anything and Pope was still unsure about his accented English, so when Will laughed and told the teacher, “Ain’t that a bite? You got a degree, but can’t pronounce an ABC name,” the boys knew Will was going to be a great friend. The boys thought that would be the end of it, but then Benny decided to join his brother and say, “How ‘bout, since ya feel so high and mighty, you call ‘em Frankie and Pope? We got Francisco like that city on the west coast, so call ‘em Frankie. Then we got Santiago. You wanna call ‘em Saint, then give ‘em the highest honor.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better,” you stopped walking and placed a hand on his arm. “I like your name. I think it suits you very well.”

He smiles and nods. He doesn’t know if he’s nodding because he’s convincing himself he likes it too or if he’s nodding because he’s glad you like it too. He liked your company because you weren’t too invasive, but he could also tell that you wanted to get to know him. He knew he wasn’t the most open to people, he has his father to thank for that.

As young 19-year-old – about a year older than Frankie – his father was drafted and fought in World War 1 in 1918 as a US Army soldier and was then sent off to France a few weeks in to fight with the AEF, the American Expeditionary Forces. Because of this, Frankie’s father wasn’t the most expressive when in public but was easily the most caring when it came to his family. When Frankie was growing up, his father had spoiled his baby boy and made sure he worked hard as a welder so that Frankie wouldn’t want for anything. Frankie remembers his father coming home from work late at night, oil and bits of metal stuck to him, and always turning his frown into a smile when he laid eyes upon his son.

His father’s closure to the world only grew when he saw his family in danger. Frankie figured that by growing up within a military family, it would lead to him serving in the military as his father did before him. When Frankie was coming to the age of enlistment, he told his family about him wanting to go off to the military, but his father was very much against it. All his father wanted for his son was for Frankie to live his life the way he wanted to, so Frankie didn’t enlist. One day when Frankie was at school, recruiters came to the Morales home and were knocking the door down. Frankie’s father had informed them that his son would not be serving. He was told that because Frankie was able, male, and was soon to be of age, he had to enlist whether he was needed or not. His father complied; except he wrote his own name down instead of his son’s.

His father never regretted going to war. He still had nightmares, which Frankie knew all too well. He had met Frankie’s mother when he came back home in 1921 and after years of trying, he was blessed with a son in 1935. All was good in the world until the year 1950 – Frankie was 15 years old. In August of 1950, a letter came in the post reading the following:

SIR: FRANCISCO MORALES SR.

You are hereby notified that you, on the 21 day of August of 1950, have been legally drafted in the service to the Armed Forces of the United States of America. You are to report to the Armed Forces station below and will be transported to Daejeon, Korea.

Frankie’s father never came back.

His body was never recovered – just his ID tags. Frankie’s mother was told that the last transmission received with the whereabouts of Francisco Morales Sr. were near the Nakdong River in South Korea. Frankie always carried his father’s ID tags around his neck no matter where he went. Those tags always reassured him of himself knowing that he was doing what his father wanted him to do.

Frankie walked you down the steps of school building and stopped at the sidewalk. “Ya know, if ya need a ride, I can take ya home – aint no trouble.”

You smile and shake your head. “I appreciate that. I told my mother I’d take the bus back home.” You knew your mother would have a fit if she saw you get dropped off by a boy, but she may still be at work. You looked back at Frankie and saw that he had a slight frown on his face as he played with a necklace hidden in his white t-shirt. You weren’t sure the reason behind it, but he didn’t want to pry. “Actually, I’ll take a ride.”

His eyes lit up and nodded. “Great but I do gotta warn ya, doll. I gotta take Ironhead and Benny back to their place. Pope usually goes back to mines.” A ride home in a car full of teenage boys – what can go wrong?

The pair of you walk down to the school’s parking lot and there you see students laughing in their cars – 4 to 5 in a car – all while having a smoke and others are drinking from beer cans. You have no doubt that it’s beer cans when one gets tossed towards you with left over beer splattering over your white skirt. Frankie takes notice of the yellow stains and the grimace growing on your face. He looks over at the teenagers in a beat-up Chevy.

“Aye watch where ya tossin’ shit, birdbrain.” The teens look over at Frankie and walk over to him. You place a hand on his arm and look up at him.

“Frankie, c’mon. Let’s just go to your car, huh?” you plead. His arm tightens and as the teens arrive in front of him, Frankie protectively put you behind him and adjusts his jacket – a tick of his you’ve taken note of. The three boys who walked over to Frankie look over at you and smirk.

“Well shit Frankie, pal.” One of them takes a smoke and blows the out towards his side. “You already smashin’ up this little new betty? Don’t you work fast… first Michelle, then Tiffany, now this one?”

Frankie’s jaw tightens and his hold on your arm shifts. “How ‘bout you stuff it, Jack? You know you ain’t even supposed to be here. This ain’t your turf.”

Jack removes his hat, a cowboy hat he’s become fond of, and fixes his hair. He puts it back on and laughs. “You’re right, but I clearly don’t care. Oberyn ain’t out the can ‘till Friday, so I call the shots. My boys wanna be here and screw all these chick-a-dees, then they will. I know you ain’t gon’ do nothin’.”

“He will,” you hear a click and quickly turn your head to see Pope and the boys, Benny holding up a pocketknife. “But he ain’t doin’ it alone either.” The Bandits circle the three men and puff up their chests.

“Alright,” Jack holds his hands up. “We’re gone but trust me when I say that Oberyn ain’t gon’ be too happy to hear this.” With that he snaps his head over to his boys directing them back to their car. They turn to leave and Jack walks away backwards. When he’s satisfied with the distance between himself and The Bandits, he turns on his heel and runs to his car. He jumps in the driver’s seat, gives his girl a smooch, and revs the engine – with that he’s gone.

Pope looks at you and gives your shoulder a quick squeeze. “You good? Hope those bumrats ain’t spook ya too bad.” You shake your head and smile shyly. You look down at your ruined skirt and shrug.

“Just a ruined skirt but that’s okay. I wasn’t fond of it.” Will laughs at your comment fluffs yours skirt from the bottom, earning a nudge from Frankie.

“Let’s get her home, huh? I gotta drop off everyone else,” Frankie says. Tom tells Frankie that he’s got detention and to go on without him. Tom goes back towards the building while everyone piles up in Frankie’s Cherry Red 1945 Mustang GT – his father’s gift to him for his 15th birthday, also his last gift.

Per usual, Benny and Will leans the driver’s seat forwards and get in to sit in the back while Pope goes to sit in his usual spot as shotgun. Frankie tuts at Pope and points to the back. Pope scoffs but shoots Frankie a wink. He gets in and sits in between the brothers, being the smallest of the three, and Frankie runs over to open the door for you to sit up front. He grabs your books and hands them to Pope. As you situate yourself and buckle your seatbelt, Frankie gets in and turns on his baby. He revvs the engine and backs up out the school’s parking garage, but not before revving his engine one more time for the freshmen per Benny’s request.

On the drive to the brother’s house, Benny grabs your notebook and looks through your notes of the day. He looks through the math notes you took during 4th period and immediately closes it. “You sure are smart if you’re taking this angle stuff. I’m guessing it’s college prep?”

You look over your shoulder and nod. “I’m currently taking college preparatory trigonometry. They unfortunately didn’t have any other advanced placement for me here.”

The boys let out a harmony of “ohs” and Will shakes Frankie’s shoulder. “Frankie! She’s smart like you, buddy!”

Pope smirks and joins in on the teasing. “Lo vez, hermano! Being smart doesn’t make you un-cool. Being you does! No te hagas ver como el tonto porque no lo eres.”

You see, brother�� don’t make yourself seem dumb because you aren’t.

You look at Pope and smile. “I agree with you, Santiago. Frankie is very intelligent so he shouldn’tdumb himself down because he thinks that’s what people think of him.” Pope stops and looks at you. “You know some Spanish, angel face?” You eagerly nod. “I’m very familiar with the language. They had us choose electives at my old school. I took Spanish, Italian, and French. I had a lot of a free time.”

Pope looks at you in shock but happily hollers. “Well sugar you sound pretty good speakin’ ‘em”

You couldn��t explain it, but you felt giddy. You felt happy to be around the boys and you knew you wanted to continue to be around them.

With Frankie getting out of the car and moving his seat forward, Will and Benny get dropped off first, but not without teasing him about “asking the chick.” Frankie flips them off and Pope lets out a belly laugh. Frankie apologetically looks at you and mouths sorry. You blush and mouth that’s okay.

Once leaving the brothers, Pope tells Frankie to turn up the radio. Frankie looks at Pope through the rearview mirror and narrows his eyes. “Switch to 12,” Pope says with a wink. Frankie rolls his eyes and turns the knob so the needle hits channel 12. Once Frankie hears the recognizable melody from “Takes Two to Tango” by Pearl Bailey. Frankie goes to switch the channel, but you stop his hand. He glances over to you and he sees you mouthing the words. He looks back at Pope who wiggles his eyebrows and sings out loud and to Frankie’s surprise, you join Pope singing at the top of your lungs. He laughs at your attempts at dancing in your seat and looks back at Pope who was waving his hands in the air.

Frankie thought that you’d be this proper, shy little thing but here you were having singing and laughing with his best friend. You gave him the slightest nudge and smiled in his direction. “C’mon Frankie. Don’t be a sour puss. I know you know this song!” You were right. He did know this song. He and Pope sang it so much because Pope thought he could woo some girl – he didn’t really know what the lyrics meant so you can guess what happened. If you guessed he slept with her… you’d be correct.

You poked Frankie in the ribs light enough to not affect his driving and giggled as he sang out with Pope. You liked seeing this Frankie – not that big tough guy you saw at the parking lot. He seemed like he had a big heart but was scared to show it and you were determined, but you were ripped away from your internal planning when Frankie politely asked for your address.

“It’s a shame you ain’t hangin’ longer sweetheart,” Pope began. “I think you’d like being around us two mucks. You would definitely like Frankie’s mom’s cooking. She makes the best food in town.” You smiled as the two best friends bickered about whose mom had the best food.

“I would have loved to, but I have to be home and do chores before my mother gets home.”

Frankie looks over to you and gives you a reassuring smile. “It’s alright. Maybe next time, cool?” You smile at the invitation and nod. Frankie continues to drive as you and Pope make a conversation about the possibility of you tutoring him in math. With them being high school seniors, they are not failing one class.

You feel on top of the world, laughing and talking with your new friends, until you spot the yellow Pontiac in the driveway and your mother coming out of it. Your face drops and the boys immediately take notice.

“What’s wrong?” Frankie asks. You straighten out your top and ask Pope for your books as you ready yourself to run out of the car. You look at Frankie and offer a weak smile.

“My mother won’t be happy with me is all.” You’d ask Frankie to drop you off a couple of houses before your own, but you know your mother has already seen you. As Frankie pulls up to your house, the boys’ jaws drop. You wouldn’t say your house was big, but to the boys, it was huge. Your two-story home consisted of 3 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms. The exterior of the home was beige with dark brown trimming and the river rock pathway leading up to your home was lined with grass so green you’d think it was plastic.

Your mother, dressed to the nines in a pale pink dress and white belt, looks at the hot rod parked in front of her home and places her hands on her hips as she sees Frankie run out and open your door. Your mother would normally love seeing her daughter be treated by a gentleman, but she isn’t very happy to see that it’s Frankie. She has always dreamed of her daughter being courted by a young man in polished Oxford shoes and ironed pleated pants not a worn out leather jacket and dirty chucks.

You thank Frankie for the ride and look over at your upset mother. The boys say hello to her as she gives them the ungenuine smile of hers you have seen many times. You wave goodbye to both boys and begin to walk up to your mother. You hear whispers behind you and then you hear your mother say, “Is there something else you’d like to say, boy?”

You turn and you see Pope shove Frankie towards you. His face turns red as he sees your mother staring him down and he knows that this may not be the best time to ask you.

“On with it, young man. My daughter and I have work to do.”

Frankie once again runs his hand through his hair and clears his throat. “I- I, uh, I was wonderin’ if ya wanted to hang with us at Rosie’s on Friday. The shakes are pretty good so we could ma-“

“What’s your name, young man?” You look at your mother. You narrow your eyes at her for interrupting Frankie.

“It-It’s Frankie,” he stutters, “my name’s Frankie, ma’am.”

Your mother gives her less than friendly smile again. “Well, Frankie, you’ll understand where I’m coming from when I tell you this – you are not the kind of person I want my daughter befriending. You just don’t quite… how can I put this nicely? You don’t fit a mother’s standards.”

“Mother!”

“Quiet.” she tells you. “You will not be around these boys again, do you understand? Your father works too hard for you to just ruin your life like this. You asked to be taken out of the pristine private school we paid for you to go to and we allowed you to enroll in public school. Why are you bringing home some… some hoodlum! How can you do this to us?”

You wished this had surprised you, but it wasn’t the first time your mother disrespected your choice of friends. You huffed and you felt tears coming to your eyes as you saw Frankie’s defeated look in his eyes and Pope fighting the urge to get out of the car.

You mother calls your name, and you turn to look at her. She walks to you, heels clicking the pavement, and cups your jaw. “You will not associate yourself with these boys, do we understand each other?” You see Frankie nod to you and walk back to his car. You look back at your mother and nod. “Yes, Mother. I understand.” Your mother smiles at you and gives your cheek a pat. “Good girl. Now… get inside and put that skirt in the hamper. Your allowance is going towards a new skirt.”

She leads you into the house and you look back and see Frankie’s car is still there. You stop in your tracks and look at your mother. “Mother, may I please run back and grab a paper I left?”

“Is it school related?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Very well. Go grab it and say goodbye and come back in. We have to get dinner going.” You nod and run back to the car and your mother walks into the house.

Pope rolls down the passenger side window and both boys look at you. You smile at Pope and look at Frankie.

“Does Rosie’s Diner have sundaes?” Pope smirks and turns to Frankie while Frankie nods with a confused face. “Well,” you start, “If Friday’s invitation is still open, pick me up by the green house down the street at 6pm. She’ll be going to my grandmother’s house up north.”

“Sounds like a plan, doll.”

The light breeze surprises you as it picks up the more you walk down the street. You walk past two houses and you see the red backlights of the cherry red mustang you seemed to miss.

Your mother, thankfully, left to your grandmother’s home about two hours ago, much earlier than expected. She called not very long ago to make sure you were home and doing homework. You told her that you were planning to retire early as your homework began to give you a headache. She insisted you eat dinner and sleep as she didn’t want to see eyebags under your eyes when she got back tomorrow. She bid you goodnight and said she’d be home by tomorrow’s lunchtime. Once you hung the phone on the hook, you ran to your room and began to ready yourself for the night.

You grew giddy as 6 o’clock crept closer and closer. You had applied your blush and mascara so carefully you’d have thought you were dusting the finest of china. You did not want to wear too much makeup; you didn’t want to seem as though you were trying too hard. You picked out the pins out of the curls on your head you’d put up right when your mother left and watched as the soft and tight curls fell and framed your face. You grabbed your wide tooth comb and brushed the curls out, parting your side at a side so there was more hair and volume on one side. You sprayed a tight hold hairspray all over so you could make sure your hair stood – Frankie wouldn’t want to see frazzled hair, no man would, you thought.

As you went through your closet, you decided that a dress was the best choice as it was simple enough to either be dressed up or dressed down. You went with a white collared black dress with thin white windowpane patterned lines all over. You wore your black flats and added a black shiny belt running across the waist. You get closer to Frankie’s car and you see him get out of his car – you figured he had seen you coming.

“How ya doin’ there, doll?”

“Hello, Frankie.” You wave and get closer to him. Once you’re in front of him you fix his jacket lapel and look up at him. “Aren’t you sight for sworn eyes.”

His eyes widen then starts laughing loudly and your face goes red. He nearly falls in laughter as his hands catch himself on his knees. “W-What’d ya just say?”

“I said aren’t you a sight for sworn eyes,” you frown. “Is that not appropriate?”

He catches his breath and puts a hand on his belly. He reaches over and tucks your hair behind your ear with the other hand. “The saying is a sight for sore eyes, doll; not sworn eyes.”

You feel as if your face is about to burst as you start laughing at yourself. You just cannot believe you’ve messed up your first attempt at flirting with Frankie. “I was really sure it was sworn.”

He smiles brightly and shakes his head. “Hey… can’t say ya ain’t tried right?” You giggle and nod. He look you up and down and lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Te vez hermosa.” You look beautiful.

Have you ever had that feeling when there’s a puppy trying to get comfortable, but it can’t so it walks over to you and lays with you – falling into a deep and peaceful sleep? You know how it makes your heart feel as if it’s grown twice in size because the puppy chose you and trusted you to protect it while it slept? That’s how you felt when those words came out of Frankie’s mouth.

“Muchas gracias, Francisco.” Thank you very much, Francisco.

He playfully rolls his eyes at you and lets out a laugh. He points to the car and says, “get in the damn car.” He runs over to your door and lets you in, as per usual, and off you two went to Rosie’s Diner.

Frankie leads you into a bright neon-lit diner not very far from your home, about 25 minutes from your place. The diner stands out from the black concrete parking lot and pine trees decorating its background. He opens the light brown doors and places a hand on your lower back as you walk in – not too low or too high.

“Howdy’ho kiddos.” You’re greeted by a woman in her late 40’s or early 50s – the grey hair and sweet smile give it away. “Hey there, Frankie. Bandits meetin’ ya here?”

Frankie smiles at the woman, gives her a hug, and a quick kiss on the cheek; a kiss she smiles at and hums in content. “Hey Ro. Boys are comin’ in a while. You know they ain’t missin’ your special tonight.”

“There’s a special night every night for my favorite bandits, Frankie. Who’s this, huh? You finally bringin’ a girl for me to meet?” Frankie shakes his head from side to side smiling. He turns to you and introduces you to Rosie, the diner’s owner and one of his favorite people. “She’s new in town and I wanted to show her the best diner in the world.”

Rosie slaps Frankie’s arm and laughs. “Stop talkin’ sweet ‘fore your teeth rot, boy. You’re too pretty to be all gums now. I knew my boys were comin; your usual booth’s open, but take the table next to it, yeah. Ya need the extra seat ‘less you sittin’ the girl on ya lap.” Frankie begins to stutter a protest as you stifle a laugh.

“It’s very nice to meet you Miss Rosie. I’m in awe of your diner and excited to try your food.”

“Well it’s very nice to meet the girl who Frankie finally decided to bring to the diner. It’s a very special moment in his life ya know?” You cock your head to the side and take a quick glance at Frankie.

“Why’s that, Miss Rosie?”

As Rosie was about to explain the beginning of courtships of 99% of the teenagers in town, Frankie dragged you away with the dramatic excuse of being so hungry he can eat a horse and how he’ll drop dead if he doesn’t get a shake.

As you make it to the table Rosie had sent you to, you’d think that Frankie would have pulled out your chair, but a couple of some teens you remember seeing at school look in yours and Frankie’s direction whispering among themselves. You took a seat and looked at Frankie to ask if he knew them but as you were about to ask, you saw his face looking back at them with a deep stare. He gave them a single nod towards the door and to your surprise, they ran. Frankie scanned the room and he knew everyone would be taking in the scene. Frankie had never taken a girl out in public – especially not a girl like you. Sure people knew about other girls he’s been with, but everyone knew they weren’t together.

Frankie sat down after everyone in the diner turned their attention back to where it previously was and he passes you a diner menu, but still tense due to the eyes that locked with his back once more.

When the waitress you learned was named Vi and was obsessed with Will, Frankie had ordered a basket of fries for the two to share, a cherry soda for him and a sundae of your pick for you. Vi was also an older woman, best friends with Rosie, and had an innocent crush on Will’s blonde self. Frankie told you about the time Will brought Vi a bouquet of flowers for her birthday and Vi almost attacked the poor kid to the ground with kisses. Vi was sweet and she made you feel very good about yourself as she fixed your collar and fluffed your hair because “her Frankie needs to see what he’s got in front of him.”

You were nearly done with your sundae as you heard the distinctive pitch that is Benny’s voice as he said “What’s cookin’ good lookin’ don’t you look like a dream,” and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. You greet each and every one of the boys as they take their seats around the table – Benny calling dibs on one of the seats next to you. Benny puts his arm around the back rest of your white chair and calls Vi over to place a new order.

As the night continues, you feel free. You feel so relaxed and at ease with the boys around you that you don’t even notice the dirty looks some girls were giving you. Benny puts his head on your shoulder and give his cheek a little pat resulting in Benny playfully trying to bite your hand. Frankie clears his throat and Benny looks over at him and smirks.

“I ain’t trynna steal ya girl, Frankie. If she hangin’ with us, ya gotta get used to us playin ‘round.”

Frankie turns red as Benny calls you “his girl” and rolls his eyes with a chuckle. He looks out the window and immediately tenses. You follow his gaze and see a 1942 black Ford with some boys in it – one of the being that Jack guy from school – revv its engine as it speeds back and forth through the parking lot. He grabs the boys eyes and directs them towards the window and Benny stands up immediately. The boys follow suit and Frankie turns to you.

“Stay here alright, doll? We’ll be back.”

You turn from Frankie to the window and back to Frankie with a worried look painting your face. “What’s going on Frankie?”

“They shouldn’t be here. This ain-“ You both turn at the sound of a crash and see Pope being held against Frankie’s car by a guy in a black tee with its sleeves rolled. Frankie runs out of the diner and you run after him. You know you shouldn’t be getting in between this, but you aren’t going to let anyone hurt your new friends.

Frankie runs up behind this guy, turns him around, and shoves him away from his car and friends. The guy smirks and nods at Frankie. “Did you miss me Frankie?”

“What the hell are you doing here, Oberyn? We already told ya friend there that this ain’t your turf.”

You had to admit, Oberyn had this strut to him that showed his self-confidence and the combination of his flirtatious smile and smoldering eyes only made him more attractive than he already was. Jack came to stand next to him and as he turned to toss some keys over to another friend of his, you caught sight of the word VIPERS with two snakes on the back of his jacket.

“Yeah… he told me ‘bout it. But ya anna know what else Jackie told me? He told me that ya got ya’self a knockout.” Oberyn locks eyes with you and winks. He tries to walk over to you, but Frankie pushes back and away from you.

“Don’t get near her.” Oberyn lets out a sarcastic chuckle and gets in Frankie’s face.

“How ‘bout ya make me, Morales?”

The next thing you knew, you were yelling and crying with Will held you away as you saw Frankie and Oberyn duke it out on the concrete while Benny and Pope tried to pry Oberyn away – Jack and some other guy pushing them away. You caught a glimpse of Frankie’s bruising cheek and Oberyn’s bloody nose. You only noticed the officer’s arrival once Will dragged you back in the diner and making sure Rosie held you back as he ran back to be by Frankie’s side when the local sheriff gets out the car.

dreamboat taglist:

@ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @funerals-with-cake @seasonschange-butpeopledont

[comebeonetwothree]

Blog #8: Country Roads

07/13/2021

Currently driving through roads where pro-life billboards are placed in front of graveyards… we are officially on the road back home.

Traveling fast but seeing the most we have while covering 1,500 miles and two time zones in the last week. 900 miles to go. We jumped from Portland to northern and southern Montana then all the way through to Chicago… our last stop ;(

We met some really nice people out here- the kind of people that want to take time out of their day to interact with you. People actually smile at you and mean it when they say “have a good day.”

There were a lot of experiences this week that were indescribable. All senses were at full throttle from sleeping in the heart of Portland to camping in National Parks.

Being our last stretch of the trip, it has been hard to not feel sad when we are closing such a big chapter of our life. It’s a weird feeling of being sad but also still being so excited for the next stop. I hope the excitement doesn’t end.

Who

Who is ready to rumble…

In Portland we got to meet up with Maya’s cousin, Michael and his daughter Thea. He moved out there 13 years ago and never looked back.

He was telling us he did a similar trip with his college buddies back in the day and fell in love with the city, so moved there shortly after the trip.

Sounds fun, might fuck around and move…

Batman was ready to rumble, and fumble and everything in between. While whitewater rafting in Glacier National Park, we had the pleasure of riding with Batman The Guide. Batman, because you can’t change who you are but if you can always choose Batman.

He had been living in Montana for 17 years after moving from Oregon. He had previously worked in the park as a shuttle bus driver and recently switched over to a whitewater rafting instructor.

He was a funny fucking dude; the whole crew was super hyped but he had a comedic sense that made it an entertaining day.

While on the water, we were joking around and splashing the neighboring rafts, an independent rafter said they will bomb us with beers if we splash them. One of the other people on the boat yelled back, “Are they full beers?” and they responded by launching three full miller lite beers at our raft.

At the end of our tour, Batman gave us the three beers then we dedicated those three beers to him with a funnel.

More Friends!!! Its wild how many people we got to see throughout this trip. Hitting Yellowstone National Park, we met up with Mayas friends from home: Cole, Jamie and Declan.

They were just starting their cross-country trip from Nyack, NY, hitting the Northern route to the southern, vs our trip ending in the North. Funny coincident.

We camped out with them for two nights… it was too beautiful to just stay one night, so we pushed back our trip to badlands and stayed the extra night.

We were all out at this joint called Buffalo Bar, it had a great outdoor area with corn hole, ring toss and puppiesss. There is something so fulfilling in petting random dogs with a beer in your hand.

This one dog I was petting had an exceptional owner who was traveling him across states to bring him home. I spoke with the owner for quite a while, she was so friendly about letting me pet her dog. She really was doing it all, back at home she has three kids and two other dogs.

When people hear about our travels, their reactions usually make us realize how cool it is to have the opportunity to do a trip like this.

Many times they wish they did the same when they were our age, *cough, cough, go travel right now, cough, cough.*

This woman explained how she jumped right into working out of school and has always regretted it. Her children were already teenagers so I told her she should get out there and do it. Traveling her new dog home was a great start to the on-the-go lifestyle, she seemed to be enjoying it.

I later found out she picked up our tables tab… thank you Jennifer, you have a heart of gold and a generous soul. She explained her hopes that her kids will one day get out there and see the world like she always wished, and we were accomplishing. It was a pass it forward request, when I am able to cover the bill of a lovely traveling stranger. I hope I cross paths with this family eventually and pay it forward for her children that may travel.

What

What a reality…

The National Park pass is something you buy and are given access to all the national parks in the US. We got one in the beginning of the trip knowing we would be reaching quite a few parks. Unfortunately, we lost it after just seeing the Grand canyon.

It fell in a black hole… the area where your dashboard and windshield meet. Remember this when you put shit on the dashboard. It can slide right down to its death, the only way to get the shit out is by taking off the windshield.

Those passes are irreplaceable, of course.

In badlands, we posted up around 10 p.m. in our hammocks. It was a new experience for us, we thought hey its our last time camping, lets try it a new way. 

We set our hammocks up underneath this podium and slept there. It was perfect for a quick and easy set up/clean up. There was a solid amount of people around us, so we weren't too worried about getting attacked by coyotes again. 

Where

When driving to Portland we drove through the Redwood National Forest. This made me realize how long this Earth has been around.

Trees take a while to grow, and these trees were as thick as three full grown pine trees and as tall as two stacked on top of each other.

Neck breaking tall.

After crossing through, we hit the upper west coast and traveled on route 101 until we hit Portland. It was filled with jaw dropping views, so much so I woke Mary and Maya up every 5 minutes to show them the views. Most times it was the same view as before, just with a new massive rock to look at.

It was a relatively foggy day, so we couldn’t see certain lookout points, but there was something so majestic about the fog within the forests and hanging on the coast.

There were points where you cross over a bridge and there was nothing around you, just white. It appeared as being stuck in a dream or driving my bitchass to heaven.

Arriving in Portland, we stayed at a place in ChinaTown. It was so cute and located on top of a great deli, Charlie’s Deli.

We checked out a bunch of shops and stores while in Portland. While we were walking around, this coffee shop had the sweetest workers. They enjoyed interacting with their customers and weren’t just looking to take your money.

Portland is filled with mockingly friendly people, they weren’t mocking anyone though, they were just that fucking friendly. They actually want to converse with people... what a concept.

For dinner we went to this food truck pod place, which is about 15 different food trucks serving food, with a communal sitting area to eat the food.

We met up with Maya’s cousin there for a drink and to catch up.

Hitting Glacier National Park, we started our camping excursion. We started off sleeping in our car since we arrived late to our campground after driving 10 hours to get there. It was pretty comfortable and with the knowledge of bear attacks in the area, it was a secure place to sleep.

While in Glacier, we decided to go whitewater rafting, a whole new way of seeing the parks. It was so dope, the rapids were on the weak side since the heat waves.

After rafting, we found a great lake front public access point where we hung our hammocks up and took a nice long nap.

There are lakes EVERYWHERE here in Montana and great fishing! Let’s travel and fish all over Montana, okay? Cool.

We waited until 5 p.m. when the park lets you in without a pass, to do a sunset hike in the park. We took Going-to-the-sun road to the highline hike, where we got to see some wild animals!

In the parking lot we got to see a horned sheep (looks like a ram) and more mountain goats!! We saw three full grown goats and one baby goat.

This horned sheep actually stormed at us and we had to jump into our car. The people that parked in the spot before us left their cheetos on the ground. This guy was hungry as fuck I guess. Relentless to say the least. 

This National Park is my new favorite spot-on Earth. Spread my ashes here. Moseying through the park was a full body experience.

All your senses are involved, the smells of the forest are beyond refreshing. The touch of the crisp air brings goosebumps to your skin, and the taste of wind in your face emphasizes the overload of oxygen in that area.

There are no commercialized areas for hours outside the park. Just a fuck ton of trees.

The sounds of different birds chirping harmonizes in your ears with the wind blowing and the rocks falling below you. Your sight is spiked the highest out of the senses. These views seemed so unreal they appeared fake. When you finally touch the grounds around you, you realize how really unreal this land is.

Heading to Yellowstone the following day brought a similar element of nostalgia. We camped right outside the park, on the state border lines of Wyoming and Idaho.

Our friends we stayed with luckily still had their national park pass, so we all took our car and got into the park early that next morning. We got to see some bison! Fun Fact: Bison and Buffalos are actually the same thing.

There were so many beautiful trees and hot springs throughout the park. So many cool colors to see. We also watched Old Faithful blow her hole!!

Getting to Badlands eventually, we got a campground directly in the park. Since we got there later than five it was free. We posted up our hammocks for our last night camping on the trip ;( when we woke up, the views were so cool.

Badlands is a shit ton of clay forming giant sandcastle hills all over. But there is so much green for a desert it was an interesting combination.

When

When can we shower…

We have completed so much of the drive home its wild. We stayed in an apartment for the first two nights in Portland and then spent the rest of the week camping.

We hit our record of days without a shower… 5 full ass days. I’m so proud of Mary and Maya, they really can’t stand being dirty.

When driving long ass 10 hour plus drives for a week you find yourself enjoying nothingness. Head empty is such a vibe after jamming to music and listening to murder mystery podcasts for hours on end.

Our music ranges widely, depending on crashing periods. Whenever Mary is driving, she is either blasting screamo edm music or 2000s pop music.

Maya plays some bomb bops; I really don’t know any of the songs, but it has opened my mind to all these new artists!!

I personally love the murder mystery podcasts, there were a few times I had to change it though because it got too spooky. In the case of this week, we were driving to camp in Montana and a murder mystery came on about the Montana Child Killer… dope.

Why

I have ruled out ever living in a city. From the driving on busy ass streets to the dirty smells everywhere, I will happily reside somewhere in the country. Where? Still have no idea… Why? Because there are so many pros and cons to all these places we saw.

I guess i'll just have to come back out here!

I’m really thinking somewhere up north on the west coast. The west coast will forever hold my heart, but I really don’t have the money or the ability to live in a city out there. Maybe one day with a bombass money making job.

Coming back to the East has made me realize how much nicer people are out west and how much slower of a pace it is.

How

How are we coming up on our last spot…

We are hitting our last stop… Chicago. Shoutout to my cousin for going to school here and letting us use and abuse his apartment! Hehe just kidding we will take care of it for ya, Owen!

It feels so strange to be this close to New York. Our license plates being from New York is no longer that cool.

I’m going to miss people peeping our plates and asking us about our travels and/or wishing us luck!

Thanks everyone throughout, we are almost accomplished with this chapter!

[jojolu]

Six Months in Boston

Pairing: Chris Evans/OC Erin Rose

Summary: Up and coming YA author Erin Rose, was sent to a small suburb 30 minutes Northwest of Boston to finish the last two books of her series, she is about to get very close to her very handsome new neighbor.

a/n: here goes nothing!

chapter 1: Enjoy Nature

"Oh my God! Just poop already Letty!" You shout at your Chihuahua Dachshund mix breed dog. She finally does and you pick it up and tie the bag.

You are walking on a new path the realtor showed you on a map. Your phone rings and it's your   sister Tilly FaceTime'ing you.

"Hey girl......where the fuck are you? Are you exercising?"

"Ugh gross! Never. Just exploring, Mike the realtor was saying there are 30 beautiful walking paths all around! Enjoy nature....that fucking tool."

"Where exactly are you? In case I need to come and find your body in the woods."

"In a small suburb, its technically the country! I'm thirty minutes northwest of Boston. My editor sent me to Boston. MASSACHUSETTS!! LIKE WHO AUTHORIZED THIS. For a year Till! I'm a hard core West coast kid! Born and raised near the ghetto."

"Pasadena, is nowhere near the ghetto. Its your fault, your way to good of a writer. Your first book shouldn't have been so good. Like bitch, you already have studios fighting for the movie rights."

You wrote, The Wish Masters, your senior year in Grad school on a whim. Your professor wanted you all to write 1 chapter of a book and you wrote 15, when you turned it, she called you into her office the following Monday. 6 years later on your 35th birthday it was released.

It bit of Harry Potter mixed in with Tinkerbell. All the Fairy families are separated by the type of groups and your story starts when the age of fairies start to die off. Deenah and her friends Mave and Trax are off on a journey to fix and restore the age of Fairies. 

"Yeah, yeah. Oh no there a dog loose." You see a brown and white dog with a red collar and leash dragging behind him.

"Let me see!" Tilly says.

You flip the camera and stick your phone in your sportsbra.

 You call him over and read his tag.

"Hey Dodger, gosh are a pretty dog. Letty, this is Dodger, Dodger, this wild animal is Letty girl."

You pick up his leash and continue walking the way Dodger came from.

"You fucking weirdo. That dog looks familiar. What's his name?"

"Familiar? Are you an Instagram dog, D man?" You say leaning closer to Dodger.

"Holy fucking shit! That's Chris Evans dog. I bet my fucking life on it."

"Seriously? Please God, don't let this be his dog. I'm not ready!"

You hear a man's voice calling out Dodger's name.

"Oh no......"

The person you see, isn't Chris Evans but his younger brother, Scott.

"That's Scott his brother!" Tilly says.

"I know.....Shhhh."

"Dodger! Hey man, you scared us." Scott says walking up to you.

"He just walked up to us." You say handing him the leash.

"Thank you! Chris would have KILLED me! I got him." He says as he yells back to the sound of a person walking up behind you.

You look past him and see Chris Evans. 

Your mind goes blank.

"Hi I'm Tilly!" You sister says from your boobs.

"Hi, mystery voice coming from this nice lady's boobs. " Scott says.

"OH my God! It's my sister." You take your phone out of your sportsbra and turn it so he can see her.

She waves like a crazy person.

"Hi, Tilly. I'm Scott."

"Hi! This is my sister Erin Rose."

"I totally forgot to introduce myself."

"She's a writer she wrote The Wish Masters, Jimmy Fallon just had her on last week. She just sent the second and half of the third one to her editor, She there to write two more books, she'll be there a year and she lives at 347 Mills Rd and that's her dog Letty, we found her on a trip to Joshua Tree, four years ago."

"Stop talking or I'm going to hang up and block you." You say to the phone.

"Sorry....."

"Well, this is my brother Chris Evans, he is an actor, you know him from Not Another Teen Movie and Cellular. He's has lived here for about three years and he lives at 345 Mills Rd and that's his dog Dodger, who he got a shelter about three years ago."

You look at Chris who is shaking his head.

You mouth, "I'm so sorry."

He mouth,"No, I'm sorry."

You both smile at each other. You look away to where Dodger and Letty are laying down, Letty is laying on Dodger's legs licking him.

"Well, it looks like you two are neighbors." Scott says to you both.

"Right! That's awesome, she's very single." Tilly says as she hangs up.

"Oooh she's not getting invited to any of the movie premieres. I'm going go home. Come on Letty." You say pulling her leash. 

She doesn't budge.

"To bad you only weigh eleven pounds." You say picking her up.

You turn to your left and then to your right.

Fuck!  

Erin why are you so dumb! 

You have no clue which direction your house is.

"Left." Chris says.

"Thank you." You say turning back left and walking away holding a dog that doesn't want to leave.

"She left her water bottle." Scott says.

"I'll take it to her later." Chris says picking it up.

"She's gorgeous......did you see her ass......damn." Scott says.

Chris just looks at him as he starts to walk away, Dodger turns and tries to follow the direction you left in.

"I did, and that's all I'm going to say."

"You going to save that image for your spank bank?"

"Spank bank? Seriously?"

"Sorry, I watched 10 Things I Hate About You last night. Great film. I know how long it's been, so don't act like you haven't already ready pictured her under you or on her knees."

"For fucks sake, Scott!? I just met her, technically we haven't really even met." Chris says walking away.

Scott laughs as he walks behind Chris.

"Fuck you, Scott! Now that's all I'm thinking about!" He yells as he starts to run.

You make it back in 10 minutes.

You were talking out loud the whole time.

"Really! Is this really fucking happening! Chris fucking Evans! Is this because I read that Chris Evans fanfic? Listen! I'm sorry! Well I'm not really! That's story was cute and he sounds great in bed. Speaking of bed! Am I supposed to act like I didn't see his dick?  What a beautiful penis.....oh my God. We share a driveway....his house is what like sixty fucking feet from my house.......great now all I can think of his is dick! Did I save that on my phone?"

You were walking so fast and distracted you just realized you left your water bottle. You set it down when you picked up Dodger's leash.

"Dammit, I love that water bottle, let's go inside." You say to the dog that is sniffing all around Chris's side of the driveway.

You walk inside and Letty goes and gets in her kennel and gets under her blanket.

You take off your shoes and head to take a shower. Tilly calls right after you walk out of the shower.

"Can I help you?"

"Hi, I just spent the last 20 minutes Google'ing him. He's very much single. He loves to take Dodger out on walks, he's covered in tattoos, he enjoys working with his hands, he loves his family, is an ass man and he has a huge penis."

"I don't care. I'm not going to do anything with information. I'm here for one reason, to write these books. This is not a story someone is writing. I'm not going to fall in love with him, he isn't going to take me on long walks where we can't keep our hands off each other, our dogs aren't going to be best friends and constantly have to see each other, you and Scott aren't going to be best friend and have matching toasts at our beautiful Farmhouse wedding." You suddenly get choked up.

"Ohhhh Erin...I'm sorry. I just got excited." She says suddenly with emotion in her voice.

"Serves you right! Who said those acting classes wouldn't help me write better." 

"You bitch! Just so you know he has a wide tongue, too." She hangs up.

Ugh, you just used the massage setting on your handheld shower head. Living next to him was going to kill you.

You get dressed, in a tank top dress that has a built-in bra and head out your pool. You hear laughing coming from your neighbor's house and fight the urge to look over.

"Erin!" You hear Chris yell.

"Please, have a shirt on...." You say before turning around.

"Hey, Chris."

Fuck him. 

No, seriously.

Fuck this sexy ass bastard.

He of course, is in just black swim trunks walking closer to his the fence. There are all the tattoos Tilly said he had, she didn't mention the chest hair.....you just want you rub your hands all over his body.

This is the closet your houses are to each other.

"Did you get that?" Chris asks looking at you.

"Shit, sorry thinking about my...book." You stumbled out.

"I have your water bottle and I was thinking that I could say thank you for grabbing Dodger, by ordering us some lunch?"

"It was no hassle, he just walked right up to me. Sure, yes that would be great."

"You want to come over now? You can come swim with me....if you want. Can you....." He stops himself.

"Were you about to ask me, a black woman, if I can swim?" You say giving him tons of attitude.

He goes beet red.

"Uh no...I was just...you have your hair straight....so I....."

You start to laugh at him.

"I thought Mackie would have told you what not to ask a black woman, it's a weave, I'm taking out next week and getting braids. Yes, I can swim, I was actually a lifeguard all throughout high-school and college. I'll change and grab Letty."

You see the relief in his face.

Did you just fluster Chris Evans.....

You are thankful for your sister, she made you buy all new swimsuits with your cash advance money. You put on your Victoria's Secret ruffle bottom bikini, you got it in three colors, white, pink and green. 

You put on the white one. Put your black sheer cover up.

You put your hair up in a messy bun and grabbed Letty.

"Listen, woman! You better act right! Do not pee on his floor!" You say to the dog who is very confused why she is getting a lecture. 

You put her down and grab the gift basket you just got from Sam Adam's and the freezer box it came in. He isn't in the back yard any more so you walk to his front door and ring the door bell.

"Brace yourself Erin...." You mumble out.

You can hear Dodger barking and Chris telling him to calm down.

He opens the door and smiles at you.

"Welcome, here let me take that. Come in."

Thankfully he put a shirt on.

You follow him to his kitchen while looking in all of his rooms.

"Our houses are the exact same. Even down to the floors. Literally the exact same. You need to see it."

"I'd like that."

You both pause for a second.

Letty and Dodger playing is what broke the tension.

"Its Letty, right? From The Fast and The Furious." 

"It is. Strangely, not many people get that."

"And Dodger, from Oliver and Company?"

"Yes, exactly. Most people think the baseball team."

"Why you have the Sox over here."

"Exactly. You want to head outside?"

"Lead the way." 

He grabs the gift basket and walks towards his backyard.

"Did you buy this?"

"Nope, I mentioned them in an interview and I got this, just yesterday."

"Not going lie that probably my favorite thing about this whole crazy life."

"Same, dude! I swear, someone asked what pen I used and I said Paper-Mate and I had a special delivery the next day. I'm really looking forward to when these studios choose my book."

"Which studios?" He asks opening your gift basket.

"You're just gonna open MY gift basket?"

"I thought this was for me?" He says laughing.

"Why would I give you MY gift basket? I don't know you like that!" You say laughing too.

"Go ahead you already opened it. Paramount, Warner Brothers, Universal and Disney! I'm really excited about that one. They are thinking of my books as movies will start a new segment of Disney aimed at teenagers!" You practically shout.

"That's amazing and my heart is with Disney."

"Holy shit, I haven't told anyone that and wasn't supposed to........I figure you can keep a secret, Cap."

"You going to make me sign an NDA?" He says waaaaay to flirty. 

He opens one of the beers and takes a long drink.

 He licks his bottom lip.

"I could get one drafted up, if I need to. Can I have I one of MY beers, please?"

"Fine, but I get this hat." He says pulling a blue Sam Adam's hat out.

He hands you a beer and your hands touch. He doesn't let go, he grabs his bottle opener and opens for you.

"Thanks. Stop taking my stuff Christopher!"

"You don't want this hat or.....this beer coozie or.........these beer pretzels." He says taking all the things he mentioned.

"Give me those fucking pretzels."You say reaching for them.

"Come on, you don't want these." He opens the bag and takes a handful.

"Ohh you are not nice." You say standing up you take off your swim cover and walk up to him. Your breast are touching his chest and every time you inhale he looks down at your chest.

"Can I help you?" He says looking down at you.

"Chris, can I please, pretty please have those pretzels, I need something hard..and..salty in my mouth."You say with your hands on his chest.

He hands them to you without another word.

"Thanks, dude." You say grabbing them and sitting back down on his pool chaise.

"That was so mean! I'm still keeping this hat and coozie." He says looking over at you.

"Sure, but I'm keeping the corn hole set."

"You sure? I can take it off your hands."

You hear Letty barking at the backdoor.

Chris goes and let's them both put, they are chasing each other in circles, they finally sit he keeps messing with her and she keeps biting him then running away.

"Looks, like they found their best friend." Chris says.

"Yep. She's such an alpha. I'm surprised she letting him be so aggressive with her."

"Well, he definitely likes the challenge of a strong woman."

"She definitely likes the attention."

"He really likes to give it."

You weren't sure at what point you both stopped talking about the dogs but you needed to get in the pool to cool off.

"So we doing this or nah?"

"Huh?" The confusion on his face was priceless.

"Swimming? Or did you just asked me to get in a bikini for nothing."

He pulls off his shirt, finished his beer and walks to the pool, turns to face you, winks and does a perfect back flip.

"Oh you fancy." You get up and walk up to about 3 feet to his pool turn towards him do a cart wheel, that goes into a round off, which has you end right at the edge of his pool, then you do a backflip into the water.

"I give that a fucking ten." He says swimming up to you.

"Thank you. I'll give yours a 9.5 you lost a half point for trying to flirt with the judge."

"I should be given a whole extra point for that."

You splash him and swim away.

"Oooh now you started it." He dives down and pulls you under the water.

You poke him in the ribs and he let's go.

"Ouch!"

You swim up close to him.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to...."

He pulls you under again.

You pull him down too and start to have a contest to see who can stay under water longer. It's been 30 seconds and he is struggling. He groans and swims up.

He watches you as you flip into a handstand underwater and walk away from him, you come up 20 seconds later.

"Damn...."

"Sorry, lifeguard!"

"I normally have much better breath control." He says swimming closer to you.

"Oh really? You practice that?" You say smirking.

"Haven't needed to, come here." 

You get closer and he reaches right under your eye takes the eyelash that had fallen.

"Make a wish." He says holding it up to your mouth.

You close your eyes and blow.

You open your eyes slowly and he is staring at you.

You throw caution to the wind and put your arms around his neck and he immediately put his arms around your waist and pulls you towards him. He walks to the shallow end of his pool and puts you against the side of it.

"I'm fighting every urge to kiss you." He says.

"Same. You have no idea how much I want to."

"Then why aren't we kissing?" He says nuzzling and nipping your jaw.

"Because we both know it not going to just be kissing."

"Kiss me and find out." He says kissing your cheek and right under your ear.

"Why don't you kiss me?" You say running your nails down his back.

"I am kissing you." He moves down to your neck.

You turn your head so he'll kiss that spot under your jaw. He does and you practically moan out his name.

"Fuck, you sound so good moaning out my name."

"Kiss me." You moan out as he kisses that spot again. 

"Where?" He runs his tongue against that spot and gently bites you.

You finally turn your head and kiss him. He somehow pulled you even closer.

You put your hands in his hair as he slides his tongue inside your mouth. You pull away a bit and just look at him.

"What? We can stop."

"Nothing, I'm just taking you in. You're really good looking. I did not think this was going to happen." You say giggling.

"You're sweet. You're so gorgeous. You didn't? That bikini doesn’t agree." He says putting his hand on your ass.

You just laugh.

"Apparently, the internet is true, 'Chris Evans, an ass man'."

"With an ass like this, most definitely." He says putting his other hand on your ass.

"You are a whole mess. But to answer your question, I had maybe hoped that I could make out with my super hot neighbor, maybe just once."

"I knew it. Well that same internet calls you 'The writer who is taking YA by storm' I also saw your photoshoot in Vanity Fair, that's why I hoped you were going to wear a bikini, but this....."He runs his thumb along the edge of your bikini bottoms. "This is better than I could imagined."

He kisses you again and you wrap your legs around his waist and you can finally feel his amazing dick against your pussy.

"Damn, I can feel how warm your pussy is, I can't wait to taste you." He says in your ear.

"You look like this and can talk dirty."

"That's nothing......."

You bring his mouth back to yours and bite his bottom lip.

He reaches up and unties your bikini top, then kisses his way down to your nipple and slowly sucks it into his mouth, between his hot mouth and the chill of the water your close to an orgasm.

"Oh my goodness. You are the absolute worst."

He moves to your left breast, while his hand slowly making its way to your pussy.

The backdoor opens....

"Chris, I called you like 8 fucking times...............well hello Erin." Scott says.

"Oh my God, Scott!" You yell.

Chris just holds you close to give you some sort of cover.

"I obviously don't have my phone on me."

"I can see your hands are very full." He says looking straight into the water.

Chris tries to re-tie your top.

"Walk her to me." Scott says squatting down.

He ties the your top for you and get off of Chris.

"Well, this is not embarrassing at all!" You say swimming away.

"I'm fine." Scott says taking off his sandals and shirt and getting in the pool.

"That was the beginning and not the ending of that, right?"

"Ask him." You say laughing.

"You good over?" Scott asks him, when you both realize that he hadn't moved.

"Yep." He quickly turn and swims straight for you. 

You scream and try to swim away. 

He grabs you around the waist and puts you over his shoulder, then stand up so your ass is in his face and he turns and bites your left ass cheek. Then takes you back under the water. You bite him on his back and he let's you go.

You swim away and hide behind Scott.

"Nope, don't bring that shit over here." 

"You heard him. Go away Chris."

"Come here, Erin." 

He says as he lunges towards you.

You were quicker and got out of the pool.

He watches you walk away.

"Erin, can I have fries with that shake?" 

"You better behave."

"This is me behaving."

"You want a beer, Scott?" 

"Always." You open it and had it to him.

"Do I get one?" 

"Are you going to behave?"

"Probably, not."

You open his and walk it over to him.

You finally get yours.

"Watch this."

You put your beer bottle on the edge of the pool, stand to the left of it.

You do a cart wheel right over the bottle but stay on your hands and pick it up with your teeth and suck it in a little, then do a front to back slit then push off your hands and gracefully flip into the water. You come up with the beer bottle still in your mouth.

"Holy shit. That's awesome." Scott says.

Chris is just leaning against the side of the pool staring at you.

You swim up to him

"You didn't like it?"  You ask feeling a bit insecure.

He grabs your hand and walks you out of the pool and straight towards his back door.

"We'll be right back. Go ahead order whatever for lunch." He says to Scott as you follow him inside.

[aiyanayanas]

1. What is the color of your hairbrush? This is complicated. I have multiple: black, red, and gray.

2. Name a food you never eat: Watermelon and coconut to name a couple.

3. Are you typically too warm or too cold? I’m usually too cold which means summertime is my favorite season.

4. What were you doing 45 minutes ago? Talking to my best friend and submitting my timesheet for work.

5. What’s your favorite candy bar? I like anything white chocolate but Hersey’s cookies and crème is my go to.

6. Have you ever been to a professional sports game? I was once field side for my city’s minor league soccer team.

7. What is the last thing you said out loud? Gotcha. My best friend was explaining that she’ll be doing homework but needed me on video call.

8. What is your favourite ice cream? Bunny or Moose Tracks

9. What was the last thing you had to drink? Water

10. Do you like your wallet? I need a new one to match my new Harry Potter bag.

11. What is the last thing you ate? Church’s chick and biscuit.

12. Did you buy any new clothes last weekend? Yes, I grabbed three shirts from the Goodwill.

13. What’s the last sporting event you watched? Superbowl LV

14. What is your favorite flavor of popcorn? Buttery Kettle, it’s the best of both worlds.

15. Who is the last person you sent a text message to? My best friend.

16. Ever been camping? Nope.

17. Do you take vitamins? I do not, although I should probably be on an iron pill.

18. Do you regularly attend a place of worship? Not since I left for college. The church I used to attend has services for different age groups and mine would start at 9PM – no thank you!

19. Do you have a tan? As a black woman, I can get darker and I can get sunburnt but no I do not have a tan.

20. Do you prefer Chinese or pizza? Chinese.

21. Do you drink your soda through a straw? Only at restaurants.

22. What color socks do you usually wear? Brightly colored and/or patterned socks

23. Do you ever drive above the speed limit? In my previous car? All the time especially on the highway. In my current vehicle? No more than five over.

24. What terrifies you? Not sure

25. Look to your left, what do you see? A computer monitor.

26. What chore do you hate most? Cleaning the bathtub

27. What do you think of when you hear an Australian accent? I think “Wow!” then immediately wish I could spend more time talking to that person.

28. What’s your favorite soda? Dr. Pepper, I guess.

29. Do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive thru? Go inside.

30. What’s your favorite number? Perhaps 12, as it pertains to my birthday.

31. Who’s the last person you talked to? My best friend

32. Favorite meat? Catfish or salmon

33. Last song you listened to? Black and Gold by Sam Sparro

34. Last book you read? To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before series by Jenny Han

35. Favorite day of the week? Not sure. I used to say Thursday because my favorite TV shows would air.

36. Can you say the alphabet backwards? No

37. How do you like your coffee? I don’t drink coffee.

38. Favorite pair of shoes? Timberland hiker boots

39. Time you normally get up? Naturally, I’m awake between 7:30 to 8:30AM but for work it’s 6:45AM

40. What do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets? Sunrise

41. How many blankets on your bed? One under the comforter and another just because

42. Describe your kitchen plates? Mixed and paper

43. Describe your kitchen at the moment: It’s not clean and that’s that.

44. Do you have a favorite alcoholic drink? I don’t drink.

45. Do you play cards? Not often.

46. What color is your car? Black

47. Can you change a tire? No, need to learn. I can change my windshield wipers and car lightbulbs.

48. Your favorite state or province? West coast states since they are warmer.

49. Favorite job you’ve had? Giving out food samples because I worked with great people and made great friends.

[captainchrisfics]

Out of Fenway Park

About: A SoCal born-and-raised reader relocated to Boston, where the very last thing she expects is to run into Chris Evans at a Red Sox game with beer dripping down her head and his hotdog plastered to her shirt. Literally, running into him, and then somehow still getting a date out of it.

Word Count: 3,365

Requested By: Anon. Thanks so much for sending this in! Absolutely love this story, thanks for giving me the opportunity to write it. Feel free to send in any other reqs!

P.S. I’m sorry but, as deeply as I love Boston, I’m just a New Yorker, posting a fanfic on the internet, asking you to forgive me for my inability to give the Red Sox the dignity of winning- feat. the best gif I could find of him repping the team

The sun was the only reason I agreed to go to this baseball game anyway and even that had failed me. I was looking forward to sitting back with its warmth washing over my skin so I could close my eyes and try to pretend like I was back on a beach in Southern California. Instead, it was borderline freezing rain and all I could think about was the ground being even muddier with the still melting snow and how I couldn’t tell if there really was rumbling thunder or if it was just the shouts of countless Bostonians surrounding me, cheering on the Red Sox. They were up against the Yankees and even I could tell it wasn’t looking good, but that didn’t dampen their home-team spirits.

My coworkers were maybe the worst of the bunch, drunkenly yelling profanities at the players while they sloshed their beers in agreement with one another’s profane criticisms of the pitcher. I was almost regretting giving up SoCal for a job offer I could hardly dream of fresh out of college with the only downside being that it was on the east coast. Anyone could’ve told you I despised the cold, being too far from the ocean, and the Patriots, maybe not in that order. But even more than that I knew I’d hate myself if I passed up this opportunity. So, without giving more thought than I maybe should’ve, I packed everything I could into three suitcases and a carry-on and moved across the country, hopes probably higher than the plane. 

Winter, however, brought me crashing back down to reality. Everything in nature either died or got the right idea to chase the sun south. I was stuck with snowbanks higher than my knees and a proper coat was nowhere in sight. Not that it mattered much anyway, the weather felt like it was freezing my bones to their core no matter what I wore. Initially, I had this glamorous idea of curling up by the window with a blanket on my lap as the fire crackled, holding a book in one hand and a hot chocolate in the other. Hitting the pavement after slipping on ice knocked the ignorantly blissful can-do attitude right out of me the first time. And the second and the third and I lost count after that.

Which is exactly why I agreed to come to this baseball game in the first place. Back home, spring meant warmer days and blooming flowers and short sleeve t-shirts. I thought I’d get to enjoy a little bit of sunlight at the very least, maybe get to finally connect with my coworkers in a meaningful way outside of asking for help to unjam the copy machine. However, the start of the season in this hell hole apparently included a lot more of the lion than the lamb and a rowdy crowd of Red Sox fans who thought it was good enough for shorts anyway and drank like alcoholic fish to top it all off.

A girl I shared the wall of my cubicle with, Alex, wrapped a lazy arm around my shoulders, pulling me too close into her Heineken haze than I was comfortable given the fact that I barely knew her. Plus, being the only sober one was never any fun. I had a feeling they only invited me under the guise of getting to know each other better considering all I’d become familiar with was the smell of their beer burps. After all, being barely of-age and the new kid made me their permanently designated driver, even though we’d taken the T here. 

“Know the difference between a Yankee and uh,” Alex paused to laugh at her own joke and let out a hiccup, “a pothole?” She was hanging onto me for support, speaking close enough to my ear that it could’ve been a secret though she was saying it loud enough for the rest of our group to hear over the boom of other fans. “I’d swerve for the hole!” 

I chuckled a little to be nice, although I didn’t think it was very funny. Our coworkers to Alex’s right, on the other hand, guffawed as if it was the most hilarious thing they’d ever heard. Preferring their reaction and acting almost in slow motion, she raised her cup in cheers of herself and simultaneously turned to the others, sloshing the frothy drink until it rained down on me.

I shot up out of my seat as the cold beer trickled down my back. Everyone paused, eyes glued to me for my reaction as I tried to maintain my temper. I used my hands like windshield wipers, tossing the liquid on my face to the floor with an angry snap of my wrists. Alex started to profess a slurred apology, but I held up my hand for an extra second or two to compose myself. “It’s...” I paused to suck in another deep breath. “It’s okay. Accidents happen. I’m gonna go clean up.” Before she could offer to help, I whipped around and jumped down the stadium’s stairs two at a time.

My cheeks were hot with embarrassment as I scanned the hall, looking for something resembling a bathroom sign frantically. People were probably busy enough with their own agendas, be it getting back to the game or buying a baseball hat, but I still felt every set of eyes boring into me. So I tried to put my head down and run to the closest restroom until I hit a wall instead. 

Literally, it sent me tumbling to the floor until I landed on my ass, melting into a messy puddle of beer mixed with my former self. Contrary to my belief, someone said, “I didn’t see you there.”

My eyes left my hands, where I’d tried to bury my face like an ostrich in the sand, to see a broad man bending down on his knees before me. He had a Red Sox cap pulled low over his face, a thick beard, and a light grey t-shirt with a dark wet patch in the middle of his chest. Must’ve been where we collided. “I’m so sorry,” he continued with the exaggerated o’s and r’s that sound like ah’s, still so wrong to my west coast ears. I spotted an empty disposable food tray in his hand and looked down to see the hotdog it’d previously housed glued to my stomach by its condiments. Exactly what I needed. 

“Are you alright?” He extended a hand to help me up, but I couldn’t move. Instead, I just sat sprawled on my butt at Fenway Park, reeking of somebody else’s alcohol, staring at this beautiful stranger. His concerned look turned a little suspicious the longer I sat there without grabbing his hand, my mouth moving like a fish out of water. All I had to say was yes or I am or something, anything really, but I couldn’t even manage a three-letter sentence.

Instead, I peeled his hotdog off of my shirt and returned it to its little white boat. “Oh, uh, thanks I guess. Or sorry, I mean.” He adjusted his hat and cleared his throat before extending his hand again. “Is there anything I could do to… help?” His eyes scanned me again as if he were sizing me up, making me even more self-aware of the awful state I was in. 

“Bathroom,” I blurted out as my mind caught up, barely able to rip my eyes from his biceps. He stitched his eyebrows together, back to confusion again, though I didn’t give him any time to ask questions before I all but snatched his hand and he hoisted me up. 

“Nice to meet you, Bathroom. I’m Chris,” he said with a smirk, teasingly shaking my hand. “You didn’t hit your head, right?” He tried to subdue a laugh, but the playful look in his deep blue eyes betrayed him as he reached to brush off my shoulder.

“Very funny,” I shot back with an exaggerated roll of my eyes, betting my smile gave me away. “As in Evans, right? You look too much alike for it to be a coincidence.”

He played with the sunglasses tucked into his shirt’s collar, probably wishing he’d kept them on for the sake of a disguise. Chris only shrugged, claiming he would neither confirm nor deny. I didn’t need him to though, I’d been stuck watching Marvel movies with my brothers long enough to recognize those cheekbones anywhere. “I’m more of an Iron Man fan anyway,” I tried to emphasize my nonchalance in the hopes that I wouldn’t scare him off. “What I meant was I need help finding the bathroom.”

“Oh, yeah. Just passed one over there I think…” Chris trailed off as his eyes swept over the stadium, looking with much more of a level-head than I could. He found one almost immediately and laced his fingers between mine so it was more like we were holding hands. In a silly school-girl kind of way it made my cheeks flush, which was awfully embarrassing that, given my condition, holding hands with a cute boy was what had turned me into a tomato. Then he tugged me in the direction he came from and I wasn’t in the position to protest.

There was only so much I could do with thin paper towels, lukewarm water, empty soap dispensers, and a tide stick from a kind woman who took pity on me. Still, I spent a while scrubbing at the mustard and ketchup stains and wringing my stringy hair over the sink. It was long enough that I was more than surprised to see Chris leaning against the wall coolly. One foot was pressed against the wall and his arms were crossed over his chest while he whistled a tune.

“Is that The Little Mermaid?” I asked with a wrinkled nose, sounding more dumbfounded to hear this burly, bearded, lumberjack-looking man all but belting out Under the Sea than I was to see he’d been waiting for me.

Chris only shrugged, a crooked grin softening his features. 

“Is that a problem?” He cocked an eyebrow and flexed his arms as he crossed them as if to challenge me. But there was this twinkle in his eye that betrayed his demeanor so all I did was shake my head. I tucked some hair behind my ear as I glanced back at Chris, who looked far too satisfied with himself as he said, “Good thing since I owe you some ice cream.”

Chris started walking away, taking quick steps so long I had to take two for each of his to keep up. I called his name but he ignored me until I grabbed his hand to get his attention, which it certainly did as he squeaked to a halt. He squeezed mine before letting it go, looking at me curiously. 

I wasn’t quite sure exactly what I was going to say until it was already tumbling out of my mouth. “If anything I owe you a hotdog,” I muttered, avoiding his stare. Not that I was uncomfortable waltzing off with a stranger in the limelight, which I totally was. Not that my coworkers were waiting for me and would never believe I’d been getting ice cream with Chris Evans, which was also true. Not any of the totally valid reasons to feel a little funny about this whole thing. Instead, I insisted on buying a hotdog for a guy I was sure had more cash sitting in his bank account than I’d ever see. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, my lunch had it coming,” Chris insisted with a swipe of his hand, playfully brushing me off. “Your shirt, however, did not deserve that stain.” His pointed finger dropped to the orangey Rorschach test permanently painted just below my chest, getting a laugh from me. 

“Here,” Chris said as he untied the hoodie around his waist. I tried to keep my eyes from wandering to his stomach, where his shirt lifted a little higher than it should’ve been allowed, revealing the curve of his chiseled hips and the beginnings of a fuzzy trail dipping below his belt. “Take this to cover that up.” He handed me his sweater covered in pet hair and I slipped it on immediately, hoping it would hide my wild blush for a few seconds at least until I popped out the other side. It smelled like a dog had been curled up to it coupled with an intoxicating cologne I didn’t recognize and crisp air right before it rained.

I thanked him but Chris shrugged and puffed out his bottom lip before resuming his long strides to the concession stand, tugging me behind like luggage. “Plus, the game is already over. I don’t have to watch my boys actually lose. Maybe if you’d been a Yankees fan, I could’ve excused the whole sweeping you off your feet thing... but come to think of it you aren’t repping the Red Sox either.” He side-eyed me suspiciously without pausing until he nearly hit someone else’s back. 

“That’s an awfully nice way to put sending me tumbling to the concrete,” I scoffed, skidding to a stop at Chris’s side in line. “And sports culture is just misplaced nationalism if you ask me.” I crossed my arms to emphasize my point when I was met with raised eyebrows and a slack jaw. 

“Then what are you doing here exactly?” He asked, keeping one eyebrow perched a little higher than the other. There was something about the way he smiled at me, all genuine and gentle, and this look in his wide eyes. Whatever it was, I felt like I could tell him everything. So I did.

“All I wanted to do was sit in the sun,” I started, completely aware of how much I sounded like a toddler who missed her nap as I launched off into everything as if he’d been the one pulling up to watch my origin story with popcorn in hand. I told him about how much I missed California and how I felt like I hadn’t met anyone here who got me the way my friends did back home. And how much I loved the work I was doing, the way the end of every day left me feeling complete until I left the office, and how I didn’t think I could survive another Nor’easter for it. I spilled my guts along with the can of worms Chris didn’t mean to open as the concession line grew shorter until we were at the front. 

He ordered chocolate and vanilla cones, giving me the choice between the two once they were handed over so I thanked him.  We walked around the stadium for a while, bumping hips on occasion and crunching on our cones while we chatted about anything and everything except what I’d said earlier. That was until Chris suddenly stopped to sit on a bench, grabbing my hand to take me down with him. He cleared his throat before speaking with more of a serious air to him so I knew to brace myself for what was coming. 

“You’re young, yeah?” he asked, shoving his napkins into a nearby bin. I nodded as I sucked what I could out of the bottom of my cone, though I felt like I’d done a lot of growing up lately. “You’ve got a lot of time to figure these things out. Trust me, I know California is nice, but there’s a reason why I keep coming back to Boston.”

I thought about what he’d said for a beat or two, but I’ll be honest, it was difficult sitting next to him. It was awfully cold with the sun tucked far behind the clouds all day so I was grateful that Chris was so warm. Even his hoodie retained his heat, although I still curled up a little deeper into his side than I might’ve if he wasn’t a human radiator. “Mind telling me why?” I asked, popping the last of my ice cream into my mouth.

He shook his head as he said, “Sure, oh man. So many reasons…” I watched as his blue eyes rose as if he could see the sky through the stadium ceiling, the corner of his jaw flexing as it clenched and relaxed as he thought about it. “Other than my family being in Mass, there’s always something to do. We’ve got the best museums and such a rich history, if that’s your sort of thing,” he paused to scratch his beard as he thought a little more. 

His blue eyes nearly popped out of his head as another thing occurred to him. “The culture is something else. There’s something really special about a middle finger being a sign of affection to some poor sap giving tours in colonial clothing and everyone joining in to sing Sweet Caroline on the T on the way home from a game,” Chris continued with animated, sweeping waves of his arms, talking with a kind of passion for a town I couldn’t imagine having in my heart. He shook his head as he added, “And the food is great, too. I mean, where else do they have a whole word for cod that isn’t really cod?”

I laughed from the bottom of my stomach, where I expected a heavy pit of anxiety to be sitting at the beginning of a conversation like this. My homesickness and unhappiness here wasn’t something that I told anyone before out of fear of disappointing someone or being unable to admit my failure out loud. Chris was easy to talk to, more than a stranger usually was. Their judgment never really mattered to me, knowing that I’d probably never see them again. It wasn’t like that with him though, it was easier than that. I felt like he didn’t really judge me at all. He only tried to understand, help, and make me smile while he was at it. And I couldn’t deny a part of my heart that hoped I’d see Chris again. Not only again, but a lot.

“The people aren’t too bad either,” he smiled sheepishly, bumping our shoulders together and looking at me through his dark eyelashes in a way that made me feel like the only person here. As if I was the only one he was talking about. Chris took a deep breath that puffed up his chest, one he didn’t release until after his arm was comfortably slung over my shoulders. “Just give the city a shot, I think it’ll surprise you.”

I wanted to tell him it already had, really he had, but instead, I laughed dryly and said, “Hell, this city makes me feel like I need a shot.” I leaned my head on Chris’s shoulder as it shook with his chuckle, looking up at him to see how he rolled his eyes even though they were scrunched by his smile. 

“Know what?” he said like he was asking himself with a deep, shaky breath. He shot up from the bench as if he’d been shocked. I obviously didn’t know Chris well, but even I could tell he was nervous as he rubbed his palms dry on his jeans. “Let’s go get a drink then, instill a little Boston pride in you. There’s this great pub down a couple blocks with live music and everything. I mean, if you want to…?” He scratched the back of his head with one hand and extended the other to me with his offer. 

When I grabbed it, Chris broke out into a grin that made my stomach feel like I was on a rollercoaster. “I’d love to,” I said with a smile that barely held a flame to his. Neither of us made an effort to let go so Chris tugged me toward Fenway’s exit. As we left, I heard tens of thousands of Red Sox fans sigh like deflated balloons before the screams of just as many obscenities broke out. Probably another point for their opponents, but it certainly didn’t make me feel like I’d hit anything short of a home run.

Tags: @patzammit​ , @thegetawaywriter​ , @coffeebooksandfandom​ , @captainsteveevans​ , @intrepidandabitcrazy​ , @super100012​ , @spilledinkindumpster​

If you’d like to be tagged in my future fics, please reply to this post :)

[hlupdate]

A hand­shake can quell polit­i­cal unrest and sti­fle impend­ing war. It can, with a bit of spit, val­i­date a gentleman’s agree­ment, end a years-long roman­tic rela­tion­ship or send a young heart rac­ing. But it all depends on the two par­ties involved.

Daisy, 21, felt a seis­mic jolt when Har­ry Styles, 25, wear­ing a striped jumper and rings on three of his five fin­gers, clutched her hand two days after this year’s Met Gala in New York, when she served him gela­to at the shop where she worked.

“He decid­ed on a small mint choco­late gela­to and I made his and the one for his friend and I said, ​‘Can I just say I absolute­ly loved your Met Gala look’ and he said ​‘Thank you very much! What’s your name?’ And I said, ​‘Daisy’ AND HE FUCK­ING EXTEND­ED HISHAND AND REACHED TO SHAKE MY HAND AND I ACTU­AL­LY FUCK­INGSHOOK HIS HAND WHAT THE FUCK,” she wrote on Insta­gram after The Shak­en­ing. ​“Like I didn’t even say any­thing to gas him up besides ​‘I loved your met gala look’ and his fine ass went and shook my hand! WHAT A BEAU­TI­FUL FUCK­ING HUMAN BEINGTHAT HE IS GOD BLESS HIM AND I HOPE HW [sic] LIVES FOREVER.”

For Har­ry Styles, a hand­shake can be a roman­tic ges­ture, con­jur­ing a potent rev­er­ence in its recip­i­ent, like the time he met Gucci’s cre­ative direc­tor Alessan­dro Michele. ​“He was as attrac­tive as James Dean and as per­sua­sive as Gre­ta Gar­bo. He was like a Luchi­no Vis­con­ti char­ac­ter, like an Apol­lo: at the same time sexy as a woman, as a kid, as a man,” Michele told me, has­ten­ing to add: ​“Of course, Har­ry is not aware of this.”

No, Styles has no idea the pow­er he wields. In per­son, he’s tow­er­ing, like some­one who is not that much taller but whose rep­u­ta­tion adds four inch­es. Styles has a seda­tive bari­tone, spo­ken in a rum­my north­ern Eng­lish accent, that tum­bles out so slow­ly you for­get the name of your first born, a swag­ger that has been nursed and per­fect­ed in myth­i­cal places with names like Pais­ley Park, or Abbey Road, or Grace­land. Makes com­plete sense that he would be up for the role of Elvis Pres­ley in Baz Luhrmann’s upcom­ing biopic. He was primed, nay, born to shake his hips, all but one but­ton on his shirt cling­ing for dear life around his tor­so. Then the part was award­ed to anoth­er actor, Austin Butler.

“[Elvis] was such an icon for me grow­ing up,” Styles tells me. ​“There was some­thing almost sacred about him, almost like I didn’t want to touch him. Then I end­ed up get­ting into [his life] a bit and I wasn’t dis­ap­point­ed,” he adds of his ini­tial research and prepa­ra­tions to play The King. He seems relaxed about los­ing the part to But­ler. ​“I feel like if I’m not the right per­son for the thing, then it’s best for both of us that I don’t do it, you know?”

Styles released his self-titled debut solo album in May 2017. The boy­band grad was clear­ly unin­ter­est­ed in hol­low­ing out the charts with more for­mu­la­ic meme pop. Instead, to the sur­prise of many, he dug his heels into retro-fetishist West Coast ​’70s rock. Some of the One Direc­tion fan-hordes might have been con­fused, but no mat­ter: Har­ry Styles sold one mil­lion copies.

Despite its com­mer­cial and crit­i­cal suc­cess, he didn’t tour the album right away. He want­ed to act in the Christo­pher Nolan film Dunkirk. To his cred­it, his por­tray­al of a British sol­dier cow­er­ing in a moored boat on the French beach­es as the Nazis advanced wasn’t skew­ered in the press like the movie debuts of, say, Madon­na or Justin Tim­ber­lake. Per­haps he was fol­low­ing advice giv­en by Elton John, who had urged him to diver­si­fy. ​“He was bril­liant in Dunkirk, which took a lot of peo­ple by sur­prise,” John writes in an email. ​“I love how he takes chances and risks.” Act­ing, unlike music, is a release for Styles; it’s the one time he can be not himself.

“Why do I want to act? It’s so dif­fer­ent to music for me,” he says, sud­den­ly ani­mat­ed. ​“They’re almost oppo­site for me. Music, you try and put so much of your­self into it; act­ing, you’re try­ing to total­ly dis­ap­pear in who­ev­er you’re being.”

Fol­low­ing the news that he missed out on Pres­ley, his name was float­ed for the role of Prince Eric in Disney’s live-action remake of The Lit­tle Mer­maid. How­ev­er, fans will have to wait a bit longer to see Styles on the big screen as that idea, too, has sunk. He won’t be The King or the Prince. ​“It was dis­cussed,” he acknow­ledges before swift­ly chang­ing the sub­ject. ​“I want to put music out and focus on that for a while. But every­one involved in it was amaz­ing, so I think it’s going to be great. I’ll enjoy watch­ing it, I’m sure.”

The new album is wrapped and the sin­gle is decid­ed upon. ​“It’s not like his last album,” his friend, rock ​‘n’ roll leg­end Ste­vie Nicks, told me recent­ly over the phone. ​“It’s not like any­thing One Direc­tion ever did. It’s pure Har­ry, as Har­ry would say. He’s made a very dif­fer­ent record and it’s spectacular.”

Beyond that, Styles is keep­ing his cards close to his chest as to his next musi­cal move. How­ev­er, the air is thick with rumours that his main wing­man for HS2 is Kid Har­poon, aka Tom Hull, who co-wrote debut album track Sweet Crea­ture. No less an author­i­ty than Liam Gal­lagher told us that both big band escapees were in the same stu­dio – RAK in north-west Lon­don – at the same time mak­ing their sec­ond solo albums. Styles played him a cou­ple of tracks, ​“and I tell you what, they’re good,” Gal­lagher enthused. ​“A bit like that Bon Iver. Is that his name?”

Har­ry Styles met Nicks at a Fleet­wood Mac con­cert in Los Ange­les in April 2015. Some­thing about him felt authen­tic to the leg­endary front­woman: ground­ed, like she’d known him for­ev­er, blessed with a win­ning moon­shot grin. A month lat­er, they met back­stage at anoth­er Mac gig, this time at the O2 in Lon­don. Styles brought a car­rot cake for Nicks�� birth­day, her name piped in icing on top. By her own admis­sion, Nicks doesn’t even cel­e­brate birth­days, so this was a sur­prise. ​“He was per­son­al­ly respon­si­ble for me actu­al­ly hav­ing to cel­e­brate my birth­day, which was very sweet,” she says.

Styles’ rela­tion­ship with Nicks is hard to define. Induct­ing her into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in New York as a solo artist ear­li­er this year, his speech hymned her as a ​“mag­i­cal gyp­sy god­moth­er who occu­pies the in-between”. She’s called him her ​“lovechild” with Mick Fleet­wood and the ​“son I nev­er had”. Both have moved past the pre­lim­i­nary chat acknowl­edg­ing each other’s unquan­tifi­able tal­ents and smooth­ly accel­er­at­ed towards play­ful cut-and-thrust ban­ter of a witch mom and her naughty child.

They per­form togeth­er – he sings The Chainand Stop Drag­gin’ My Heart Around; she sings the one alleged­ly writ­ten about Tay­lor Swift, Two Ghosts. One of those per­for­mances was at the Guc­ci Cruise after­par­ty in Rome in May, for ​“a lot of mon­ey”, Nicks tells me, in a ​“big kind of cas­tle place”. She has become his de fac­to men­tor – one phone call is all it takes to reach the Queen of Rock’n’Roll for advice on sequenc­ing (“She is real­ly good at track list­ing,” Styles admits) or just to hear each other’s voic­es… because, well, wouldn’t you?

Fol­low­ing anoth­er Fleet­wood Mac con­cert, at London’s Wem­b­ley Sta­di­um, in June, Nicks met Styles for a late (Indi­an) din­ner. He then invit­ed her back to his semi-detached Geor­gian man­sion in north Lon­don for a lis­ten­ing par­ty at mid­night. The album – HS2or what­ev­er it’ll be called – was fin­ished. Nicks, her assis­tant Karen, her make-up artist and her friends Jess and Mary crammed onto Styles’ liv­ing-room couch. They lis­tened to it once through in silence like a ​“bunch of edu­cat­ed monks or some­thing in this dark room”. Then once again, 15 or 16 tracks, this time each of his guests offer­ing live feed­back. It wrapped at 5am, just as the sun was bleed­ing through the curtains.

Even for a pop star of Styles’ stature, press­ing ​“play” on a deeply per­son­al work for your hero to digest, watch­ing her face react in real time to your new music, must be… what?

“It’s a dou­ble-edged thing,” he replies. ​“You’re always ner­vous when you are play­ing peo­ple music for the first time. You’ve heard it so much by this point, you for­get that peo­ple haven’t heard it before. It’s hard to not feel like you’ve done what you’ve set out to do. You are hap­py with some­thing and then some­one who you respect so much and look up to is, like: ​‘I real­ly like this.’ It feels like a large stamp [of approval]. It’s a big step towards feel­ing very com­fort­able with what­ev­er else hap­pens to it.”

Wad­ing through Styles’ back­ground info is exhaust­ing, since he was spanked by fame in the social media era where every god­dam blink of a kohl-rimmed eye has been doc­u­ment­ed from six angles. (And yes, he does some­times wear guyliner.)

Deep breath: born in Red­ditch, Worces­ter­shire, to par­ents Des and Anne, who divorced when he was sev­en. Grew up in Holmes Chapel in Cheshire with his sis­ter Gem­ma, mum and step­dad Robin Twist. Rode hors­es at a near­by sta­ble for free (“I was a bad rid­er, but I was a rid­er”). Stopped rid­ing, ​“got into dif­fer­ent stuff”. Formed a band, White Eski­mo, with school­mates. Aged 16, tried out for the 2010 run of The X Fac­torwith a stir­ring but aver­age ren­di­tion of Ste­vie Wonder’s Isn’t She Love­ly. Cut from the show and put into a boy band with four oth­ers, Louis Tom­lin­son, Liam Payne, Niall Horan and Zayn Malik, and called One Direc­tion. Became inter­na­tion­al­ly famous, toured the globe. Zayn quit to go solo. Toured some more. Dat­ed but maybe didn’t date Car­o­line Flack, Rita Ora and Tay­lor Swift – whom he report­ed­ly dumped in the British Vir­gin Islands. (This rela­tion­ship, if noth­ing else, yield­ed an icon­ic, can­did shot of Swift look­ing deject­ed, being motored back to shore on the back of a boat called the Fly­ing Ray.) One Direc­tion dis­cussed dis­band­ing in 2014, actu­al­ly dis­solved in 2015. They remain friend­ly, and Styles offi­cial­ly went solo in 2016.

It’s been two years since his epony­mous debut and lead sin­gle, Sign of the Times, shocked the world and Elton John with its swag­ger­ing, soft rock sound. ​“It came out of left field and I loved it,” John says.

After 89 are­na-packed shows across five con­ti­nents grossed him, the label, whomev­er, over $61 mil­lion, Styles had all but dis­ap­peared. He has emerged only inter­mit­tent­ly for pub­lic-fac­ing events – a Guc­ci after­par­ty per­for­mance here, a Met Gala co-chair­ing there. He relo­cat­ed from Los Ange­les back to Lon­don, sell­ing his Hol­ly­wood Hills house for $6mil­lion and ship­ping his Jaguar E-type across the Atlantic so he could take joyrides on the M25.

“I’m not over LA,” he insists when I ask about the move. ​“My rela­tion­ship with LAchanged a lot. What I want­ed from LA changed.”

A great escape, he would agree, is some­times nec­es­sary. He was in Tokyo for most of Jan­u­ary, hav­ing near­ly fin­ished his album. ​“I need­ed time to get out of that album frame-of-mind of: ​‘Is it fin­ished? Where am I at? What’s hap­pen­ing?’ I real­ly need­ed that time away from every­one. I was kind of just in Tokyo by myself.” His sab­bat­i­cal most­ly involved read­ing Haru­ki Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chron­i­cle, singing Nir­vana at karaoke, writ­ing alone in his hotel room, lis­ten­ing to music and eaves­drop­ping on strangers in alien con­ver­sa­tion. ​“It was just a pos­i­tive time for my head and I think that impact­ed the album in a big way.”

Dur­ing this break he watched a lot of films, read a lot of books. Some­times he texts these rec­om­men­da­tions to his pal Michele at Guc­ci. He told Michele to watch the Ali Mac­graw film, Love Sto­ry. ​“We text what friends text about. He is the same [as me] in terms of he lives in his own world and he does his own thing. I love dress­ing up and he loves dress­ing up.”

Because he loves dress­ing up, Michele chose Styles to be the face of three Guc­ci Tai­lor­ing cam­paigns and of its new gen­der­less fra­grance, Mémoire d’une Odeur.

“The moment I met him, I imme­di­ate­ly under­stood there was some­thing strong around him,” Michele tells me. ​“I realised he was much more than a young singer. He was a young man, dressed in a thought­ful way, with uncombed hair and a beau­ti­ful voice. I thought he gath­ered with­in him­self the fem­i­nine and the masculine.”

Fash­ion, for Styles, is a play­ground. Some­thing he doesn’t take too seri­ous­ly. A cou­ple of years ago Har­ry Lam­bert, his styl­ist since 2015, acquired for him a pair of pink metal­lic Saint Lau­rent boots that he has nev­er been pho­tographed wear­ing. They are exceed­ing­ly rare – few pairs exist. Styles wears them ​“to get milk”. They are, in his words, ​“super-fun”. He’s not sure, but he has, ball­park, 50 pairs of shoes, as well as full clos­ets in at least three post­codes. He set­tles on an out­fit fair­ly quick­ly, maybe changes his T-shirt once before head­ing out, but most­ly knows what he likes.

What he may not ful­ly com­pre­hend is that sim­ply by being pho­tographed in a gar­ment he can spur the career of a design­er, as he has with Har­ris Reed, Palo­mo Spain, Charles Jef­frey, Alled-Martínez and a new favourite, Bode. Styles wore a SS16 Guc­ci flo­ral suit to the 2015 Amer­i­can Music Awards. When he was asked who made his suit on the red car­pet, Guc­ci began trend­ing world­wide on Twitter.

“It was one of the first times a male wore Alessandro’s run­way designs and, at the time, men were not tak­ing too many red car­pet risks,” says Lam­bert. ​“Who knows if it influ­enced oth­ers, but it was a spe­cial moment. Plus, it was fun see­ing the fans dress up in suits to come see Harry’s shows.”

Yet tra­di­tion­al gen­der codes of dress still have the minds of mid­dle Amer­i­ca in a choke­hold. Men can’t wear women’s clothes, say the online whingers, who have labelled him ​“trag­ic”, ​“a clown” and a Bowie wannabe. Styles doesn’t care. ​“What’s fem­i­nine and what’s mas­cu­line, what men are wear­ing and what women are wear­ing – it’s like there are no lines any more.”

Elton John agrees: ​“It worked for Marc Bolan, Bowie and Mick. Har­ry has the same qualities.”

Then there is the ques­tion of Styles’ sex­u­al­i­ty, some­thing he has admit­ted­ly ​“nev­er real­ly start­ed to label”, which will plague him until he does. Per­haps it’s part of his allure. He’s bran­dished a pride flag that read ​“Make Amer­i­ca Gay Again” on stage, and plant­ed a stake some­where left of cen­tre on sexuality’s rain­bow spectrum.

“In the posi­tion that he’s in, he can’t real­ly say a lot, but he chose a queer girl band to open for him and I think that speaks vol­umes,” Josette Maskin of the queer band MUNA told The Face ear­li­er this year.

“I get a lot of…” Styles trails off, wheels turn­ing on how he can dis­cuss sex­u­al­i­ty with­out real­ly answer­ing. ​“I’m not always super-out­spo­ken. But I think it’s very clear from choic­es that I make that I feel a cer­tain way about lots of things. I don’t know how to describe it. I guess I’m not…” He paus­es again, piv­ots. ​“I want every­one to feel wel­come at shows and online. They want to be loved and equal, you know? I’m nev­er unsup­port­ed, so it feels weird for me to over­think it for some­one else.”

Sex­u­al­i­ty aside, he must acknowl­edge that he has sex appeal. ​“The word ​‘sexy’ sounds so strange com­ing out of my mouth. So I would say that that’s prob­a­bly why I would not con­sid­er myself sexy.”

Har­ry Styles has emerged ful­ly-formed, an anachro­nis­tic rock star, vague in sen­si­bil­i­ty but des­tined to impress with a dis­arm­ing smile and a warm but firm handshake.

I recite to him a quote from Chrissie Hyn­de of The Pre­tenders about her time atop rock’s throne: ​“I nev­er got into this for the mon­ey or because I want­ed to join in the super­star sex around the swim­ming pools. I did it because the offer of a record con­tract came along and it seemed like it might be more fun than being a wait­ress. Now, I’m not so sure.”

Styles – who worked in a bak­ery in a small north­ern town some time before play­ing to 40,000 scream­ing fans in South Amer­i­can are­nas – must have wit­nessed some shit, been invit­ed to a few pool­side sex par­ties, in his time.

“I’ve seen a cou­ple of things,” he nods in agree­ment. ​“But I’m still young. I feel like there’s still stuff to see.”

[stylesnews]

The Face - Volume 4 . Issue 1

A hand­shake can quell polit­i­cal unrest and sti­fle impend­ing war. It can, with a bit of spit, val­i­date a gentleman’s agree­ment, end a years-long roman­tic rela­tion­ship or send a young heart rac­ing. But it all depends on the two par­ties involved.

Daisy, 21, felt a seis­mic jolt when Har­ry Styles, 25, wear­ing a striped jumper and rings on three of his five fin­gers, clutched her hand two days after this year’s Met Gala in New York, when she served him gela­to at the shop where she worked.

“He decid­ed on a small mint choco­late gela­to and I made his and the one for his friend and I said, ​‘Can I just say I absolute­ly loved your Met Gala look’ and he said ​‘Thank you very much! What’s your name?’ And I said, ​‘Daisy’ AND HE FUCK­ING EXTEND­ED HIS HAND AND REACHEDTO SHAKE MY HAND AND I ACTU­AL­LY FUCK­ING SHOOK HIS HAND WHAT THEFUCK,” she wrote on Insta­gram after The Shak­en­ing. ​“Like I didn’t even say any­thing to gas him up besides ​‘I loved your met gala look’ and his fine ass went and shook my hand! WHATA BEAU­TI­FUL FUCK­ING HUMAN BEING THAT HE IS GOD BLESS HIM AND I HOPE HW[sic] LIVES FOREVER.”

For Har­ry Styles, a hand­shake can be a roman­tic ges­ture, con­jur­ing a potent rev­er­ence in its recip­i­ent, like the time he met Gucci’s cre­ative direc­tor Alessan­dro Michele. ​“He was as attrac­tive as James Dean and as per­sua­sive as Gre­ta Gar­bo. He was like a Luchi­no Vis­con­ti char­ac­ter, like an Apol­lo: at the same time sexy as a woman, as a kid, as a man,” Michele told me, has­ten­ing to add: ​“Of course, Har­ry is not aware of this.”

No, Styles has no idea the pow­er he wields. In per­son, he’s tow­er­ing, like some­one who is not that much taller but whose rep­u­ta­tion adds four inch­es. Styles has a seda­tive bari­tone, spo­ken in a rum­my north­ern Eng­lish accent, that tum­bles out so slow­ly you for­get the name of your first born, a swag­ger that has been nursed and per­fect­ed in myth­i­cal places with names like Pais­ley Park, or Abbey Road, or Grace­land. Makes com­plete sense that he would be up for the role of Elvis Pres­ley in Baz Luhrmann’s upcom­ing biopic. He was primed, nay, born to shake his hips, all but one but­ton on his shirt cling­ing for dear life around his tor­so. Then the part was award­ed to anoth­er actor, Austin Butler.

“[Elvis] was such an icon for me grow­ing up,” Styles tells me. ​“There was some­thing almost sacred about him, almost like I didn’t want to touch him. Then I end­ed up get­ting into [his life] a bit and I wasn’t dis­ap­point­ed,” he adds of his ini­tial research and prepa­ra­tions to play The King. He seems relaxed about los­ing the part to But­ler. ​“I feel like if I’m not the right per­son for the thing, then it’s best for both of us that I don’t do it, you know?”

Styles released his self-titled debut solo album in May 2017. The boy­band grad was clear­ly unin­ter­est­ed in hol­low­ing out the charts with more for­mu­la­ic meme pop. Instead, to the sur­prise of many, he dug his heels into retro-fetishist West Coast ​’70s rock. Some of the One Direc­tion fan-hordes might have been con­fused, but no mat­ter: Har­ry Styles sold one mil­lion copies.

Despite its com­mer­cial and crit­i­cal suc­cess, he didn’t tour the album right away. He want­ed to act in the Christo­pher Nolan film Dunkirk. To his cred­it, his por­tray­al of a British sol­dier cow­er­ing in a moored boat on the French beach­es as the Nazis advanced wasn’t skew­ered in the press like the movie debuts of, say, Madon­na or Justin Tim­ber­lake. Per­haps he was fol­low­ing advice giv­en by Elton John, who had urged him to diver­si­fy. ​“He was bril­liant in Dunkirk, which took a lot of peo­ple by sur­prise,” John writes in an email. ​“I love how he takes chances and risks.” Act­ing, unlike music, is a release for Styles; it’s the one time he can be not himself.

“Why do I want to act? It’s so dif­fer­ent to music for me,” he says, sud­den­ly ani­mat­ed. ​“They’re almost oppo­site for me. Music, you try and put so much of your­self into it; act­ing, you’re try­ing to total­ly dis­ap­pear in who­ev­er you’re being.”

Fol­low­ing the news that he missed out on Pres­ley, his name was float­ed for the role of Prince Eric in Disney’s live-action remake of The Lit­tle Mer­maid. How­ev­er, fans will have to wait a bit longer to see Styles on the big screen as that idea, too, has sunk. He won’t be The King or the Prince. ​“It was dis­cussed,” he acknow­ledges before swift­ly chang­ing the sub­ject. ​“I want to put music out and focus on that for a while. But every­one involved in it was amaz­ing, so I think it’s going to be great. I’ll enjoy watch­ing it, I’m sure.”

The new album is wrapped and the sin­gle is decid­ed upon. ​“It’s not like his last album,” his friend, rock ​‘n’ roll leg­end Ste­vie Nicks, told me recent­ly over the phone. ​“It’s not like any­thing One Direc­tion ever did. It’s pure Har­ry, as Har­ry would say. He’s made a very dif­fer­ent record and it’s spectacular.”

Beyond that, Styles is keep­ing his cards close to his chest as to his next musi­cal move. How­ev­er, the air is thick with rumours that his main wing­man for HS2 is Kid Har­poon, aka Tom Hull, who co-wrote debut album track Sweet Crea­ture. No less an author­i­ty than Liam Gal­lagher told us that both big band escapees were in the same stu­dio – RAK in north-west Lon­don – at the same time mak­ing their sec­ond solo albums. Styles played him a cou­ple of tracks, ​“and I tell you what, they’re good,” Gal­lagher enthused. ​“A bit like that Bon Iver. Is that his name?”

Har­ry Styles met Nicks at a Fleet­wood Mac con­cert in Los Ange­les in April 2015. Some­thing about him felt authen­tic to the leg­endary front­woman: ground­ed, like she’d known him for­ev­er, blessed with a win­ning moon­shot grin. A month lat­er, they met back­stage at anoth­er Mac gig, this time at the O2 in Lon­don. Styles brought a car­rot cake for Nicks’ birth­day, her name piped in icing on top. By her own admis­sion, Nicks doesn’t even cel­e­brate birth­days, so this was a sur­prise. ​“He was per­son­al­ly respon­si­ble for me actu­al­ly hav­ing to cel­e­brate my birth­day, which was very sweet,” she says.

Styles’ rela­tion­ship with Nicks is hard to define. Induct­ing her into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in New York as a solo artist ear­li­er this year, his speech hymned her as a ​“mag­i­cal gyp­sy god­moth­er who occu­pies the in-between”. She’s called him her ​“lovechild” with Mick Fleet­wood and the ​“son I nev­er had”. Both have moved past the pre­lim­i­nary chat acknowl­edg­ing each other’s unquan­tifi­able tal­ents and smooth­ly accel­er­at­ed towards play­ful cut-and-thrust ban­ter of a witch mom and her naughty child.

They per­form togeth­er – he sings The Chain and Stop Drag­gin’ My Heart Around; she sings the one alleged­ly writ­ten about Tay­lor Swift, Two Ghosts. One of those per­for­mances was at the Guc­ci Cruise after­par­ty in Rome in May, for ​“a lot of mon­ey”, Nicks tells me, in a ​“big kind of cas­tle place”. She has become his de fac­to men­tor – one phone call is all it takes to reach the Queen of Rock’n’Roll for advice on sequenc­ing (“She is real­ly good at track list­ing,” Styles admits) or just to hear each other’s voic­es… because, well, wouldn’t you?

Fol­low­ing anoth­er Fleet­wood Mac con­cert, at London’s Wem­b­ley Sta­di­um, in June, Nicks met Styles for a late (Indi­an) din­ner. He then invit­ed her back to his semi-detached Geor­gian man­sion in north Lon­don for a lis­ten­ing par­ty at mid­night. The album – HS2or what­ev­er it’ll be called – was fin­ished. Nicks, her assis­tant Karen, her make-up artist and her friends Jess and Mary crammed onto Styles’ liv­ing-room couch. They lis­tened to it once through in silence like a ​“bunch of edu­cat­ed monks or some­thing in this dark room”. Then once again, 15 or 16 tracks, this time each of his guests offer­ing live feed­back. It wrapped at 5am, just as the sun was bleed­ing through the curtains.

Even for a pop star of Styles’ stature, press­ing ​“play” on a deeply per­son­al work for your hero to digest, watch­ing her face react in real time to your new music, must be… what?

“It’s a dou­ble-edged thing,” he replies. ​“You’re always ner­vous when you are play­ing peo­ple music for the first time. You’ve heard it so much by this point, you for­get that peo­ple haven’t heard it before. It’s hard to not feel like you’ve done what you’ve set out to do. You are hap­py with some­thing and then some­one who you respect so much and look up to is, like: ​‘I real­ly like this.’ It feels like a large stamp [of approval]. It’s a big step towards feel­ing very com­fort­able with what­ev­er else hap­pens to it.”

Wad­ing through Styles’ back­ground info is exhaust­ing, since he was spanked by fame in the social media era where every god­dam blink of a kohl-rimmed eye has been doc­u­ment­ed from six angles. (And yes, he does some­times wear guyliner.)

Deep breath: born in Red­ditch, Worces­ter­shire, to par­ents Des and Anne, who divorced when he was sev­en. Grew up in Holmes Chapel in Cheshire with his sis­ter Gem­ma, mum and step­dad Robin Twist. Rode hors­es at a near­by sta­ble for free (“I was a bad rid­er, but I was a rid­er”). Stopped rid­ing, ​“got into dif­fer­ent stuff”. Formed a band, White Eski­mo, with school­mates. Aged 16, tried out for the 2010 run of The X Fac­torwith a stir­ring but aver­age ren­di­tion of Ste­vie Wonder’s Isn’t She Love­ly. Cut from the show and put into a boy band with four oth­ers, Louis Tom­lin­son, Liam Payne, Niall Horan and Zayn Malik, and called One Direc­tion. Became inter­na­tion­al­ly famous, toured the globe. Zayn quit to go solo. Toured some more. Dat­ed but maybe didn’t date Car­o­line Flack, Rita Ora and Tay­lor Swift – whom he report­ed­ly dumped in the British Vir­gin Islands. (This rela­tion­ship, if noth­ing else, yield­ed an icon­ic, can­did shot of Swift look­ing deject­ed, being motored back to shore on the back of a boat called the Fly­ing Ray.) One Direc­tion dis­cussed dis­band­ing in 2014, actu­al­ly dis­solved in 2015. They remain friend­ly, and Styles offi­cial­ly went solo in 2016.

It’s been two years since his epony­mous debut and lead sin­gle, Sign of the Times, shocked the world and Elton John with its swag­ger­ing, soft rock sound. ​“It came out of left field and I loved it,” John says.

After 89 are­na-packed shows across five con­ti­nents grossed him, the label, whomev­er, over $61mil­lion, Styles had all but dis­ap­peared. He has emerged only inter­mit­tent­ly for pub­lic-fac­ing events – a Guc­ci after­par­ty per­for­mance here, a Met Gala co-chair­ing there. He relo­cat­ed from Los Ange­les back to Lon­don, sell­ing his Hol­ly­wood Hills house for $6 mil­lion and ship­ping his Jaguar E-type across the Atlantic so he could take joyrides on the M25.

“I’m not over LA,” he insists when I ask about the move. ​“My rela­tion­ship with LA changed a lot. What I want­ed from LA changed.”

A great escape, he would agree, is some­times nec­es­sary. He was in Tokyo for most of Jan­u­ary, hav­ing near­ly fin­ished his album. ​“I need­ed time to get out of that album frame-of-mind of: ​‘Is it fin­ished? Where am I at? What’s hap­pen­ing?’ I real­ly need­ed that time away from every­one. I was kind of just in Tokyo by myself.” His sab­bat­i­cal most­ly involved read­ing Haru­ki Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chron­i­cle, singing Nir­vana at karaoke, writ­ing alone in his hotel room, lis­ten­ing to music and eaves­drop­ping on strangers in alien con­ver­sa­tion. ​“It was just a pos­i­tive time for my head and I think that impact­ed the album in a big way.”

Dur­ing this break he watched a lot of films, read a lot of books. Some­times he texts these rec­om­men­da­tions to his pal Michele at Guc­ci. He told Michele to watch the Ali Mac­graw film, Love Sto­ry. ​“We text what friends text about. He is the same [as me] in terms of he lives in his own world and he does his own thing. I love dress­ing up and he loves dress­ing up.”

Because he loves dress­ing up, Michele chose Styles to be the face of three Guc­ci Tai­lor­ing cam­paigns and of its new gen­der­less fra­grance, Mémoire d’une Odeur.

“The moment I met him, I imme­di­ate­ly under­stood there was some­thing strong around him,” Michele tells me. ​“I realised he was much more than a young singer. He was a young man, dressed in a thought­ful way, with uncombed hair and a beau­ti­ful voice. I thought he gath­ered with­in him­self the fem­i­nine and the masculine.”

Fash­ion, for Styles, is a play­ground. Some­thing he doesn’t take too seri­ous­ly. A cou­ple of years ago Har­ry Lam­bert, his styl­ist since 2015, acquired for him a pair of pink metal­lic Saint Lau­rent boots that he has nev­er been pho­tographed wear­ing. They are exceed­ing­ly rare – few pairs exist. Styles wears them ​“to get milk”. They are, in his words, ​“super-fun”. He’s not sure, but he has, ball­park, 50 pairs of shoes, as well as full clos­ets in at least three post­codes. He set­tles on an out­fit fair­ly quick­ly, maybe changes his T-shirt once before head­ing out, but most­ly knows what he likes.

What he may not ful­ly com­pre­hend is that sim­ply by being pho­tographed in a gar­ment he can spur the career of a design­er, as he has with Har­ris Reed, Palo­mo Spain, Charles Jef­frey, Alled-Martínez and a new favourite, Bode. Styles wore a SS16 Guc­ci flo­ral suit to the 2015 Amer­i­can Music Awards. When he was asked who made his suit on the red car­pet, Guc­ci began trend­ing world­wide on Twitter.

“It was one of the first times a male wore Alessandro’s run­way designs and, at the time, men were not tak­ing too many red car­pet risks,” says Lam­bert. ​“Who knows if it influ­enced oth­ers, but it was a spe­cial moment. Plus, it was fun see­ing the fans dress up in suits to come see Harry’s shows.”

Yet tra­di­tion­al gen­der codes of dress still have the minds of mid­dle Amer­i­ca in a choke­hold. Men can’t wear women’s clothes, say the online whingers, who have labelled him ​“trag­ic”, ​“a clown” and a Bowie wannabe. Styles doesn’t care. ​“What’s fem­i­nine and what’s mas­cu­line, what men are wear­ing and what women are wear­ing – it’s like there are no lines any more.”

Elton John agrees: ​“It worked for Marc Bolan, Bowie and Mick. Har­ry has the same qualities.”

Then there is the ques­tion of Styles’ sex­u­al­i­ty, some­thing he has admit­ted­ly ​“nev­er real­ly start­ed to label”, which will plague him until he does. Per­haps it’s part of his allure. He’s bran­dished a pride flag that read ​“Make Amer­i­ca Gay Again” on stage, and plant­ed a stake some­where left of cen­tre on sexuality’s rain­bow spectrum.

“In the posi­tion that he’s in, he can’t real­ly say a lot, but he chose a queer girl band to open for him and I think that speaks vol­umes,” Josette Maskin of the queer band MUNA told The Face ear­li­er this year.

“I get a lot of…” Styles trails off, wheels turn­ing on how he can dis­cuss sex­u­al­i­ty with­out real­ly answer­ing. ​“I’m not always super-out­spo­ken. But I think it’s very clear from choic­es that I make that I feel a cer­tain way about lots of things. I don’t know how to describe it. I guess I’m not…” He paus­es again, piv­ots. ​“I want every­one to feel wel­come at shows and online. They want to be loved and equal, you know? I’m nev­er unsup­port­ed, so it feels weird for me to over­think it for some­one else.”

Sex­u­al­i­ty aside, he must acknowl­edge that he has sex appeal. ​“The word ​‘sexy’ sounds so strange com­ing out of my mouth. So I would say that that’s prob­a­bly why I would not con­sid­er myself sexy.”

Har­ry Styles has emerged ful­ly-formed, an anachro­nis­tic rock star, vague in sen­si­bil­i­ty but des­tined to impress with a dis­arm­ing smile and a warm but firm handshake.

I recite to him a quote from Chrissie Hyn­de of The Pre­tenders about her time atop rock’s throne: ​“I nev­er got into this for the mon­ey or because I want­ed to join in the super­star sex around the swim­ming pools. I did it because the offer of a record con­tract came along and it seemed like it might be more fun than being a wait­ress. Now, I’m not so sure.”

Styles – who worked in a bak­ery in a small north­ern town some time before play­ing to 40,000scream­ing fans in South Amer­i­can are­nas – must have wit­nessed some shit, been invit­ed to a few pool­side sex par­ties, in his time.

“I’ve seen a cou­ple of things,” he nods in agree­ment. ​“But I’m still young. I feel like there’s still stuff to see.”

[icosmohunters]

chapter ten : home

chapter ten of cosmo hunters!

word count : 7.5k words

synopsis : there’s no place like home. and after quinn’s injury, hope plans to return to earth for a visit just before easter. allowing the pirate’s to see her the happy aspects of her life, hope also allows them to see the part aspect that makes her . . . uneasy.

there are few sights in the universe that are capable of inciting tears from the eyes of this starstruck bounty hunter. the suffering of others often causes the windows to the soul to leak, a picture of her family, the view of a starlit sky. these things are able to make her tear up.

but nothing can be quite the same as seeing her planet in the distance, approaching it slowly to take in the size of this minute planet holding the smartest beings to ever exist. it was strange to think that people came from here and spread out, scattering their qualities into the galaxy like pollen. or as others might say a plague.

planet earth hadn’t changed. global temperatures had been restored, there were frequent threats of war but the improvement of the space colonization process was what brought a sense of unity between everyone. every nationality had managed to fly out into space, normal human beings of all backgrounds. voyage had accomplished on maintaining a sense of peace in the world.

so, threats of war was no longer a thing. poverty had very much vanished from many countries as machines took over and global wealth skyrocketed, economies booming with the manufacture and it seemed like almost every country in the world was rich. especially now with voyage bringing in new resources from planets far away, energy to sustain human life not only on their home planet but across the solar system.

it was a prosperous time of peace on earth. and it was a good time to fly back.

the nebula had begun to ascend into the earth’s atmosphere, hope slowed her down as to notice the pale blue sky that she soon found herself flying through. puffy, white clouds and a blue sky, oh she felt like she could cry.

“ hope, i’ve sensed a sudden increase in your blood pressure. ”

a.j had spoken and hope laughed, “ it’s the excitement, a.j! i haven’t been home in ages, and there’s nothing like being home. ”

now, instead of pausing at the closest airport, hope had to travel. she had come through the pacific and now she was flying over a dense, but pristine blue sea just below her, she held back a squeal of excitement and proceeded towards what could only be described as the home she regretted leaving.

coming through the west coast of the united states, the nebula flew faster than it’s ever flown before whilst entering an atmosphere. hope saw many ships but the majority were planes which she indicated to as to avoid any accidents. and the nebula flew all the way to the south of the country to where the music was loudest and the colors the brightest.

new orleans, louisiana.

you’d think it would change from how it used to be but it was untouched. the stacked buildings and bars and nightlife were as feverous and as vibrant as always, the fever for music still burning and the people still coming and going with tales of a beautiful city with a charming background in every sense.

the nearest parking space for ships was not too far away from the french quarter, which was where the house that hope had grown up was stationed. the field was wide and many ships had already landed, and thank goodness there was one space available for nebula to lay at rest for at least a couple of days.

as soon as nebula touched down, hope removed her seatbelts and excitedly went down the elevator. to be fair, it was hard going around the ship without having a slight skip in her step, especially with how eager she was.

“ you’re looking excited ”, enzo pointed out when hope entered the lounge. and that’s when the realization settled in. “ h-holy crap, we’re back home. ”

hope was bursting with energy, she inhaled deeply as to keep herself composed. “ we’re in new orleans, my hometown. i know you might not want to leave quinn alone but i have an idea ”, she inquired and then paused. “ i just have to go ahead first. ”

“ new orleans? ”, the captain gasped and threw his arms up high in the air. “ oh, i’m going to love easter for the first time. go on, but hurry up! i wanna go out and explore the city of jazz. ”

hope didn’t need to be told twice. before she could even think about leaving the nebula, however, she got changed into something more . . . homelike. it was odd putting clothes that weren’t going to serve in hunting a criminal down, or clothes that belonged to the company she informally worked for.

it was about time hope threw on some normal clothes, though. so she slipped on a pink shirt beneath some denim dungarees and some converse shoes, deciding to let her hair be. no luggage was required for her to bring back since her room remained untouched when she was gone, and her mother washed her clothes even though she never uses them.

now hope was rushing, out of her room and out of the nebula. touching down on the earthly ground for the first time in nearly a year.

even being able to breathe without a mask or a helmet was a relief. the sun was hot as ever, but she could withstand it. grinning to herself, she moved out of the spaceship parking spaces and after paying her parking fee, despite being a citizen, hope then carried onto the streets she missed to dearly.

even from far away, before stepping out into a clear opening, she could hear the melodious clarinets and the shrieking of trumpets and some flirtatious hums from saxophones and the tip-taps of the hit-hats on a drum set. the smell of gumbos being made and served, the tropical heat and the sight of palm trees, oh it felt wonderful to be home.

her senses were all alive, but her ears were particularly blessed with the music native to this wonderful town, this diverse and creative town. in the years that it has remained alive, it saw many periods of discrimination but it persevered, this town down the south of the u.s survived.

seeing all the people made a difference, though. hope saw the various bars that had remained open, families and friends spilling out into the streets for a quick meal down by the native restaurant to have their taste buds satisfied by african-american delicacies. sighing softly, hope could have stood there for a long time, watching them.

but she carried on moving towards bienvelle street, where she saw a potent creole townhouse painted in turquoise with white details on the balcony bars in front of the long windows. that was her home, the home she grew up in and was never unhappy with.

“ hope! ”, cried an elderly voice not too far ahead of her. it was hortense, her very kind next-door neighbor. she had remained stunning despite the age that was catching up to her, her melanin still rich and her dark eyes as docile as ever. she carried a heavy louisiana accent that always made hope smile when she heard it, and she smelt like cinnamon with a mixture of coconuts, a lovely and nostalgic combination. “ is that you, hun? ”.

the girl grinned from ear to ear and opened her arms wide to greet the woman, cooing softly whilst embracing her smaller body. “ i’m home now! ”, she announced happily and after letting the hug linger, she cupped the woman’s cheeks softly. “ looking stunning, as per usual. ”

“ oh i didn’t think you’d notice ”, the woman laughed, her chortle throaty and welcoming. “ i’ve just been exfoliating. ”

hope rose her eyebrows and couldn’t help but wiggle them, “ trying to impress the man at home, huh? ”. and then laughed at the small smack on the shoulder she received. “ how is he? is he better? still working? ”.

“ still working ”, hortense replied with a nod. “ although, he has been at home very often to spend time with me. i don’t know if i’ll ever get used to it properly. when you get married, you’ll know. ”

hope tilted her head and smiled adoringly at the lady, she has always spoken so well of her marriage of nearly fifty years with her husband. in this modern world, romance wasn’t exactly too popular. people had recognized love as a chemical reaction rather than a spiritual bond, and yet, older generations managed to remain romantic. it was hope’s who was a little cold to the topic.

but she never excused the idea of marriage. her parents married at a very young age and their relationship was intact, perhaps maybe more now than before. it would be nice to find someone but hope didn’t think it would be anytime soon, she was only twenty-two and she hadn’t explored all she wanted to see just yet.

“ i’m sure i will ”, hope said softly before looking back at her house. “ okay, i’m going to pop in very quickly to see the family. i’ll be back soon before tea, i promise! i bought some . . . colleagues over! ”.

hortense gasped, and then smirked with a laugh. “ my girl’s already growing up, since when are you the type to bring colleagues, huh? i mean it, you never bring friends over unless if you want them to impress your parents. there has to be a boy involved. ”

laughing, hope waved to the lady and watched her head back into her home, her door was open and she could hear some classic jazz playing through the sound of what sounded like the woman scolding her husband. chuckling, hope then went into her own house.

you’d think new orleans would be impacted by the technology but people only evolved their way of living if it was necessary. hope’s family had to because her father was a bit of a lunatic when it came to science, but it had remained relatively twenty-first century based, in that they hadn’t changed many things.

unlocking the front door, she heard music from inside almost immediately. it was most likely her mother, who was fond of nearly every genre of music around the world except for country, she couldn’t stand it. today, she had seemed to stick to some art farmer, a beloved trumpeter that even hope held dear to her heart.

the house was separated in two floors; the bottom floor being the garage, the first floor being the kitchen and living room and workspaces, and the top floor being the bedrooms and at the very top, hope’s father set up his astronomy roof, as he liked to call it.

going up the stairs to the first floor, the music grew louder and upon reaching the top, hope spotted some movement from the living room, and then the movement came into view, her darling mother dancing, swaying, whistling and humming. youthful and fun as always, stunning as if age did not impact her beauty at all.

she looked almost identical to her daughter except for the hair which she’d dyed into a reddish-brown of some sort. regardless, it suited her. out of all the people hope knew in the world, her mother was the definition of effervescent.

effervescent and at times aloof. the woman was enjoying her music so much that it took her a hot minute to notice her daughter all the way down the hall. the woman gasped and froze, her hands covering her open mouth and her eyes wide, even from here, hope could see them tear up.

“ hi, mom. ”

“ oh, hope, you’re home ”, she sighed and rushed to give the girl a hug, a tight one that nearly crushed hope and her innocent bones but the girl just grinned and tucked her chin on the woman’s shoulder, letting the hug linger. “ oh, goodness, you should have told me, i would have dressed up better or done something about my hair— ”.

hope laughed and tightened the hug, “ you look stunning, mom. you don’t have to dress up for me, i wanted to surprise you guys. ” the girl lifted her head slightly from her shoulder and smiled at her properly. “ oh, look at you. ”

her mother grinned and kissed her cheek tenderly, then taking a step back and holding her index finger to her lips. “ your brother’s in his room, i think he’ll be happy to see you ”, she informed the girl.

“ where’s dad? ”.

“ went shopping, now go! ”.

hope’s heart stammered in her chest with excitement. her baby brother was someone she was dying to see, perhaps the one she most wanted to see. taking the flight of stairs up to the bedrooms, she stepped onto the birch plank floors and tried not to make her steps echo even though her mother was playing music downstairs.

connor’s room was the door across from hers, so when he was a baby who managed to walk, he would often burst into her room in the morning to wake her up. after that, it was mostly her who woke him up. it was noon, though, so he couldn’t possibly be still in bed.

hearing music from within his own room, hope pressed her hand to the doorknob and turned it slowly, before peeking her head in. the place hadn’t changed a bit, his bedsheets were the same and his action figurines were still stacked up on his shelves, along with scientific books and comics.

her mother was like her in that he loved some scientific stuff. the first time introduced him to doctor who, he binged watched two seasons within the span of a couple of nights during his school holidays. and when he got into marvel, she couldn’t stop him from buying almost anything iron man related. the boy loved iron man.

the kid was sat at his desk, but there was no chair sight. hope frowned slightly but tried to smile all the same. his wheelchair had changed, perhaps they had gotten him a new model that made it faster and easier for a kid his age to move. either way, it saddened her.

not because of the wheelchair, but because he was on a wheelchair.

resting against his doorframe, hope watched her ten-year-old brother for a moment. he hadn’t changed at all, his hair remained dark and his shirts were always colorful, he mostly wore summer-clothes as to avoid getting too hot. he couldn’t really swim anymore, so clothes like these kept him cool.

they seemed to have gotten rid of his glasses, though, and that’s when she recalled the message her father had sent her that connor’s eye surgery had worked out and his vision was perfect.

he hadn’t seemed to have taken notice of her until he turned on his wheelchair with something in hand. a letter, an envelope. her eyes widened for a moment when she realized it was lilac. every time he used a lilac envelope, it was meant to be for her. whatever the message was, it was always meant for her.

connor’s eyes went from his desk and towards his sister who was at the door still, completely frozen still. hope saw his legs, saw that he was no longer paralyzed from the ankles down, but now it seemed to have affected just below his knees. and the tears soon rose to her eyes once again.

“ h-hope . . . ”.

“ h-hi, kid. ”

inhaling through the pain in her chest, she rushed over and picked him up, sweeping him off the wheelchair and holding him like he was still a baby. in her eyes, he hadn’t aged at all. he was ten years old and with an illness that could potentially kill him soon if no one did anything.

she felt those fragile arms around her neck and his tearful face against her neck which muffled the sound of his sobs. the last time she saw her brother crying was roughly five years ago, when he was diagnosed with muscular dystrophy, which affected the course of his life, and it still does.

hope stood there, holding the crying boy in her arms and securing his legs around her waist. he wasn’t heavy at all, she could carry him around like this for hours. and she wanted to. to make up for the lack of presence she showed in his life, a life that was partially miserable. she saw him express his sadness to his mother one night, about being teased school, about being unable to be a normal boy.

sighing softly, she ran a hand through his jet black hair and kissed his cheek softly. “ hey, it’s okay, you don’t have to hide your face from me, kiddo ”, she told him, caressing his cheek gently to get a glance at his gentle features.

when he rose his head, hope smiled tenderly. his full cheeks seemed to have gone, and his eyes seemed sadder, there wasn’t that glitter of innocence in them anymore. his illness completely took that away from him. but she always believed that even when you’re sick, you deserve a normal life. but people around you are always going to make it difficult.

hope’s father became severely depressed after the news, it was only her and her mother who managed to fight through it and try to make connor’s life as normal as possible. he knew of his illness and she wondered what the pain was of having to go through a day knowing that this might kill you one day.

it was why hope had gone to join voyage. the pay was good, and her father also spoke well of it. so perhaps with enough funds, they could afford the surgery. now they didn’t have the funds to either cure the boy’s illness nor give her father an artificial arm.

but she fought through it, she wanted to heal them both.

“ how are you, hm? did you pick up piano like mom said you would? ”, she questioned. the jazz was pleasant, so she pretended to dance with him, only to invoke a little giggle that brought a wave of serotonin to hope’s mind. “ our very own chopin. ”

connor grinned, “ i started two months ago. i like it a lot. dad was going to teach me to play guitar but that was . . . before the accident. ” he appeared saddened for a moment until he pressed his cheek against his sister’s. “ but that’s okay! i prefer piano anyway. ”

“ piano’s classier, you’ll have fun learning it. you better invite me to your school concert, i’ll fight to be there ”, hope said and connor nodded eagerly. smiling softly, she heard the music on the boy’s speaker change. she recognized it to be some rolling stones. she gasped. “ you little sneak, you took the album from my room! ”.

“ i also took some plushies! ”.

“ hm, fair enough. ”

hope sighed softly and put the boy back down onto his wheelchair, making sure he was secured before smiling. “ right, well, uh what happened to the old wheelchair you had? did mom throw it away? ”, she asked.

connor shook his head, “ it’s in the garage, dad fixed it but we like this one. in case it breaks, though, we can always go back to the old one. ” hope nodded slowly and looked off into the distance. “ why? ”.

“ i’m gonna need it. ”

time skip  ﹏

“ oh, you’re back! ”.

indeed she was. she didn’t exactly ask permission from her parents, but she took the old wheelchair her brother used to the ship. there was a small control stick on the left armrest to make it easier for the patient to move. and the reason she’d bought it was because there was someone who needed it. quinn. and she didn’t want the kid tucked inside the ship for the two days they would be there.

she had brought the chair into the ship and had taken it into the bedroom, quinn seemed to have woken up and he looked much better than yesterday. what he needed was not to be tucked inside a bedroom when there was sunlight and food and people outside.

“ w-what’s that for? ”, the boy asked, visibly alarmed when the chair came into view. “ is that for me? ”.

hope managed a meek smile and brought the chair closer to him. “ you’re injured, still. but you can sit up, you can sit and eat and this chair is the best thing you’re going to get if you’re coming outside. it’s warm, and there’s food and music, you’re not staying cooped up here ”, she said and turned to vivienne. “ you can help him get into cooler clothes? ”.

vivienne smiled, “ of course! but uh, may i ask, how did you find it? ”.

hope paused and inhaled deeply. “ it’s my brother’s old chair ”, she said. after making a swift leave from the bedroom, she waited outside patiently for everything to be done and the doors slid open in around six or seven minutes, quinn had handled the controls of the wheelchair quite easily. hope chuckled as he moved himself out into the hall and gave a little spin in the chair. “ how does it feel? ”.

“ better than being in bed ”, he stated and then offered her a hint of a smile, she wondered just what it looked like in its full form. “ thank you for this, i’ll find a way to pay you back somehow. ”

hope shook her head, “ just enjoy yourself whilst you’re here. that’s all i ask from you. ”

it took some time but soon the pirates had gotten themselves dressed into some proper attire. hope had to lend dawn some hair clips from her closet as it would be a nice detail to the summer dress she had picked. not to mention the adorable flats on her feet. if she wore anything cuter, she would reduce her age to at least a teenager’s appearance.

the streets were more likely nearly the afternoon, most neighbors would be up and would bring meals to each other’s homes, having a lovely lunch together. the bars were all open, the children were spilling onto the streets with skipping ropes and footballs. you’d think that children’s upbringing would be different, but parents kept traditions alive so they could be young for a little longer.

“ so, this is where you grew up ”, enzo mumbled to her, he was walking alongside her, taking in the sights as if he was walking through a museum. “ it’s so colorful, and that music’s amazing! i wanna move here when i retire. ”

hope looked about for a little longer. the french quarter was a lovely place to live, and the food was better here than anywhere else in town. “ yeah, it’s a wonderful place. the best place for bringing up artistic people. my brother’s taste in music is already superior since he grew up here as opposed to a kid in california ”, the girl voiced with a small smirk.

enzo snorted, “ that’s something to be proud of. ”

needless to say, it was pleasant taking a walk around the french quarter. hope would have shown them more but lunchtime was coming around and she didn’t want them to be too hungry. so she stopped by her favorite restaurant, brennan’s. they served perhaps the best food in the entire city.

upon requesting a table, hope waited in line and took a quick look around. the walls were still painted green and the floor still checker-patterned. and the food smelled magnificent, as it always did.

they managed to get a big table by the window and hope helped quinn settle into a secure space before taking her seat in between vivienne and enzo, dominic and dawn sitting beside each other. hope’s never taken notice of it but they seemed to be close. even peeking at them at times, she sensed an amorous feeling from them, proximity. like her proximity to connor.

it was . . . cute.

when the time came to order, hope ordered a plate of gumbo with prawns and rice, and for the first time in a while, she settled with some water to drink on the side. whilst everyone else ordered and waited for the food, vivienne sprouted some conversation to fill the silence in.

“ so . . . you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to ”, the girl began and hope turned her attention to her. “ you spoke of your brother yesterday, but not the fact that he . . . has a disability. ”

hope hummed and looked down, “ i don’t see why it’s relevant. my brother’s been sick with muscular dystrophy since he was four. first, it started with his feet and over time it rose up to his legs. it’s just below his knee now. it just means he can’t walk, hence why he’s in a wheelchair. hence why i was able to get that one for quinn until he gets better. ” she motioned to where quinn sat with a slight smile.

“ c-can he not get treatment? ”, dawn raised, appearing concerned when there really wasn’t any reason to be. connor had been sick for a while and the alarm that hope used to feel had been blocked from her senses, she can’t spend some years of her life just waiting for her brother to do. she prefers to do something about it first.

“ he’s been getting treatment. but ever since my dad’s accident, no one’s been working and there’s not enough to pay for it. it’s . . . kind of the reason why i joined voyage. to raise funds. i don’t want connor to go at such a young age, it’s best to treat it before the loss of muscle power reaches vital organs ”, she stated and shook her head. “ there’s nothing i wouldn’t for him. ”

enzo’s hand met the girl’s back, feeling a gently pat on it. “ that’s admirable, hope. really admirable. and i think that with your hard work, within given time, both your father and your brother will be healing ”, he said and hope returned the smile he offered, it was good to be encouraged at times.

because sometimes she felt like she was fighting this battle all alone and that people thought it was meaningless, that everyone had lost faith in her. but to be smiled at and encouraged really brought some warmth to her.

she appreciated it. wholeheartedly.

when the food came, it was compliments all around to the chef, and the bounty hunter couldn’t blame them. they appeared famished to an extent, but the quality of the food really made a difference. vivienne even offered to ask the chef for the recipe in case she wanted to serve this meal on the go.

the dish really brought that sense of nostalgia in a ripple effect, her senses tingling once more with the richness of the food that incited memories of her childhood; going out to the bayou for a boat ride, playing hopscotch in the veranda, riding her bike around the neighborhood. it almost drew tears to her eyes.

she noticed she had tuned out and tuned back in whilst the pirates were talking amongst themselves. hope has never really sat to watch and notice them individually, and the way they spoke to each other, conversations jumping and attention shifting and bursts of laughter and groans of dread at bad jokes, it was like sitting in a family dinner.

hope remained quiet as she didn’t want to disturb them, just because she was there didn’t mean that they couldn’t have their bonding moments. besides, when was the last time they got to be out in the open like this? she stood up, excusing herself to go pay for the meals.

it wasn’t expensive and the waitress gave her a discount as she’d known hope for years. it’s magical, being a frequent customer. as she was tapping her card on the reader, hope’s gaze wandered to the door when it opened, and her food, which had settled so well, began to brew into a cyclone of dread within her.

it was like the sweetness and saltiness had become pure sourness and the food was beginning to rise, the water she’d drank couldn’t calm down the raging way her blood was running. it was fear, it was dread, it was a cluster of emotions that left her speechless and immobile for a moment.

when those bleak, black eyes met hers, she really felt like she was going to faint and she would have turned away and walked back to the table but it was too late now, he’d seen her, and his eyes looked like they would pop from their sockets.

“ hope, is that you? ”.

“ h-hi, malakai. ”

the said male scoffed and approached and pulled her into a tight hug that she felt like she was going to burn from. it was like her heart was about to shoot out from her throat, she was so nervous. and not the good kind of nervous, the worst kind of nervous.

he pulled back quickly and took a good look at her. he way taller than her, it felt like she was being stared down at like some sort of animal, an ant, one that could easily be stepped on by the intimidated aura of this particular young man.

malakai worked for voyage. he had joined at the same time as hope and they trained in the same squad for a while until he got moved to communications where he worked as a messanger in between colonies, carrying important messages from leader to leader.

aside from being relatively smart, malakai also harnessed the looks that brought quite the attention. those luminous ebony eyes, the tanned skin and dark hair, the pretty nose and soft details, he was quite frankly the epitome of perfection in terms of visuals, he never failed to leave hope stunned at times but his beauty at times . . . startled her.

“ it’s been a long time, wow! ”, he commented. it has been a while, it’s nearly been four, going onto five years since she’s seen him. “ you’ve changed. still short, though. ”

hope laughed slightly, “ don’t get rude now. i didn’t think you’d come to celebrate easter, i thought perhaps you’d be with your folks in portugal. ”

malakai quickly shook his head, “ nah, portugal gets boring. lisbon never changes so sometimes i stay in new orleans for special events. besides, i have family friends here so i’m not exactly alone. ” hope nodded and looked down at her hands. “ are you here alone? ”.

quickly shaking her head, hope nodded towards the table in the corner. and for a second, she saw enzo rise up in his seat slightly. like he was observing, or perhaps about to smash someone’s face in, she couldn’t tell the difference. “ lunch with some . . . uh, friends. they’re staying with us for easter so you’ll meet them eventually ”, she uttered softly.

looking back at malakai, his gaze remained on the pirates and hope couldn’t describe at his expression was. because he had just been smiling and now it looked like . . . nothing. plain, a colorful canvas splashed with white, monotone and blank.

but then it changed into a soft gaze as he looked back at her, “ i hope so. ” rolling her eyes yet again, hope chose to keep her gaze on the ground. he suddenly tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and then finally took a step back. “ anyways, i’m just here to pick up a delivery. i’ll see you around, then. ”

“ o-of course ”.

malakai nodded and upon collecting his food, blew the bounty hunter a kiss and then left. just like that. hope walked back slowly to the table, trying to recover from the revolting feeling she sensed when he had entered. it always happened, like a reflex action.

“ who was that? ”, quinn questioned. “ friend? ”.

“ boyfriend? ”, dom inquired. enzo’s eye seemed to twitch.

hope quickly shook her head, “ n-no, he’s a friend. we grew up not too far from each other, went to high-school together. he was my prom date but then we were always friends. he’s also in voyage. ”

vivienne’s eyes lit up, “ you looked close, he was standing quite close to you. look at you, you’re a bit red. ” eyes widening, hope covered her cheeks with her hands. “ i think he likes you. ”

hope smiles shyly and took her seat once again. the chatter sprung up again and she zoned out because she was startled after seeing malakai after so many years. he was always nice to her, especially back in high-school, and he was a rather lovely prom date considering no one else had asked her to go. vivienne wasn’t the first person who proposed the idea of him fancying her, she’s heard it before.

but she doesn’t really see it. he is just an amorous person by nature, affectionate, and fond of physical contact, nothing more. he’s never really made a move on her, never spoke about romance near her. so she believed it was the trick of the eye when others said he liked her. people simply taking his kindness as something else.

after the long meal, hope decided that the pirates could stay at her place. they could very much stay in the ship but that wasn’t exactly polite, especially since her mother was welcoming of people hope introduced. which was rare, hence why she persisted in letting them stay.

there was plenty of room around the house, mostly because there was a spare bedroom for guests. usually, hope’s grandmother would stay there, but the woman had formally moved to new york and she hasn’t visited in a while. there was a double bed for at least two or three people, some sleeping bags in the attic, and room on the couch. if connor wanted to sleep on hope’s bed, there would be space in his room as well.

it was an odd feeling, allowing people she previously had a distaste towards in her house. but it was better than letting them stay on the ship. for some reason, she wanted to show them what she was . . . actually like. they probably took her for an arrogant, cold and lonely girl. but she had a family, a family she loved very much and one that might be welcoming to them.

when hope introduced them, it was like connor bonded with them immediately. to her family, they were still voyage members. yet they seemed to have given up on the fake names. before they could, though, hope ran a search through many pirate databases on voyage in search of their names.

and there weren’t any names, nor many obvious pictures, only descriptions on their appearances. they still had bounties but it was unlikely her father was in the right frame of mind to be hunting or arresting anyone.

when they came in, she heard he was on the roof, getting ready for another night of star-gazing as he wanted to see some new constellations moving in. it was always his dream to adventure out of the solar system to somewhere new, he was an ambitious man.

hope walked onto the roof with her hands behind her back and saw her old man there already. he had a work station on the roof, a little seat for him to relax on and his equipment which was somewhat scattered around. usually, when it rained, he would pull up a field to shield it. he’d paid quite a lot for it.

it is a strange feeling, seeing your father who changed whilst you were away. his right arm was nearly completely gone, only some bits of his forearm remained which he seemingly hid behind a leather jacket. he remained handsome despite it all, he’d lost weight and he was growing a neat beard that suited him well. there wasn’t a single strand of white hair on his head, he always took care of his appearance.

but there was something on the man that puzzled the girl, and it was the lack of that party-animal personality he had. he should’ve been dancing around, playing music, singing whilst working, perhaps calling for his wife to come up to see something.

that was gone. he was silent as he adjusted his telescope. his most prized possession, his only look into the stars now that flying was out of bounds to him. the tears came flying to her eyes again, hope stared so helplessly at the man she admired so much and how he was coping. if he was coping at all.

he had his back to her, but he turned when laughter was heard from downstairs. and then his eyes settled on his daughter. similar to connor, he seemed to freeze and then begin to tear up, hope rushed to him before he could call her name.

and threw her arms around him tightly, securing them around his neck and hiding her face within the crook of his neck, feeling his only remaining arm wrap itself around her. he still wore the leather jacket her and connor got him for his birthday, he still wore the same perfume his mother gave him on their anniversary, he was still the same man in body but perhaps not the same in his mind.

not a single word was spoken for a good minute as she tightened the hug, letting her eyes close for a brief moment to appreciate the peace that being home brought her. it was a relief seeing her father well. she thought he would have changed completely, shut her out for having taken too long or refused her embrace. but he didn’t.

then, he spoke. “ i thought i wouldn’t be seeing you until connor’s birthday ”, he mumbled softly, his voice also hadn’t changed. at all. oh, god one cannot explain how happy that made her.

“ i wanted to be here sooner. i’m sorry i took too long ”, she uttered with a frown, not looking to pull away any time soon. “ i missed you, dad. ”

her father chuckled and then hummed. “ i missed you more, hope. i can’t even express how worried i was. about you and how you were handling yourself out there . . . ”, was what he continued with. “ but you’re brave, you always pull through in the end. and you always come home. ”

her eyes opened and her expression remained empty for a moment until one pristine tear fell from her eye and spilled down the bridge of her nose, running all the way down the tip before it fell onto the ground. a single tear. she’s never given herself the freedom to cry over anyone or anything, crying was always a waste of time and energy.

but this time, she couldn’t help it. this was her father. she knew many people out there didn’t have one as amazing as this one, or a father at all. she knew many didn’t have mothers, brothers. she knew she was incredibly fortunate to having something like a family to go back to when she had to retreat from the world.

she had a home. and she never took that for granted.

her father gave her another gentle squeeze before moving back slightly and taking a good look at her face, wiping the remaining tears away and patting her cheek softly. “ don’t cry because of me, hope. you don’t want me to tell you the magical tear story again, do you? ”, he laughed at the face she pulled and then let her sniffle and wipe her face. “ did you bring friends over? ”.

“ y-yeah ”, she breathed through her sniffle, and then settled with her hands in the pockets of her dungarees. “ comrades. workmates. they’re newbies so they don’t know much about what happens. they don’t have a place to stay for easter. ”

he smiled, “ that’s fine, we can open some space for them. and i wonder if they prefer hotdogs or hamburgers for the barbeque tomorrow . . . are any of them vegetarian? ”.

“ lucas everhart, you are truly a complex man ”, hope commented, seeing how his eyes softened with a sense of innocence. “ i’m glad you’re here, dad. ” he moved in and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.

“ i am rather complex. now go, make your friends feel comfortable ”, he told her and ushered her away, she stood there for a moment, watching him go about his work. she wanted to speak more time with him, but she still had the whole of easter to enjoy his company.

heading down the stairs, she found connor in the living room with dawn and quinn, he seemed to be quizzing them about planets and whatnot and hope didn’t mind it so long as they avoided making it obvious that they weren’t a part of voyage.

in the kitchen, it seemed like vivienne and hope’s mother had started to get along. showing off recipes was always one of her mother’s favorite things to do, especially when feeding a large group of people.

she didn’t see enzo nor dom, however. she looked about but didn’t catch sight of them. “ they went out to the store, hope, they’ll be back soon ”, vivienne told her. the girl nodded and then went into the living room.

“ hey tyke, come here, give your sister some cuddles ”, hope said to the baby brother who immediately rose his arms to be picked up. when taking him into her arms, she was always gentle. looking at his face, they shared a sweet smile before she sat down on the couch, giving him space on her lap to relax. “ what are you guys talking about? ”.

dawn grinned, “ space-dust. he’s really smart, you know, he was telling me about the new goldilock planet they found in the milky way. ”

connor looked at hope and smiled eagerly. “ it’s really cool, but it’s too hard to explain it and i’m tired ”, he mumbled before resting his head against her chest. “ cuddles. ”

“ cuddles ”, hope repeated and looked down towards his small figure and the way his eyes closed, he did look rather tired and he smelt a bit like chlorine. “ did you go swimming? ”. connor hummed and nodded. “ see, i’m going to start crying if you keep things to yourself. tell me what you’re doing, connor, i wanna spend time with you. ”

he rose his head slightly and looked at her thought sleepy eyes, “ m’kay, i’m, uh . . . yawn, doing some swimming . . . a-and piano . . . an— ”.

“ okay, no, nevermind, shh, sleep ”, hope cut in and put his head back against her chest, smiling at the giggles that came from both him and dawn.

it was peaceful, the rest of the evening was composed primarily of introducing her family to the pirates. connor was fast asleep on her lap, worn out from the swimming and the excitement of today, he looked like he was going to burn with energy tomorrow so hope let him sleep.

her father wasn’t as curious about the pirates as she thought he’d be, and perhaps it may be because the topic of voyage may upset him. so they mostly talked about sports, music, art, things that anyone can join into. hope never stopped holding the sleeping connor in her arms, though, he looked too peaceful and too safe there.

the feeling of being home cannot be compared to anything else. being out in space is one thing but it’ll never replace the sensation of being in the walls you grew up in and being among the people you hold dearest to your heart. she made the most of it now, because things might change in a couple of years’ time.

in the midst of the silence, she rested her cheek gently against her brother’s head and closed her eyes. blocking out the sounds around her and only focusing on now, not tomorrow or the day after that, not yesterday or the week she had. now.

now, she was home. safe and sound.

[r3b3lgrrrrrrrl]

A LunaTic and her Gunn (Part 20)

"🎶It's Kismet🎶

@creatureofthen1ght-v3

Once out of the overly, steamy shower, Luna and Colson sit at the kitchen table sharing a cup of coffee. Colson is bare chested, as always, in a pair of joggers. Luna has her blonde hair half up, she's wearing a simple, long sleeve, white cotton shirt and cut offs, no makeup, but tons of jewelry as usual. He fires up a joint as they talk about their last couple of days, enjoying the rarely empty kitchen.

"She really is beautiful." He thinks watching the natural light play off of her.

*********************************************

"I don't think I'll ever get used to those Fucking eyes." She thinks, getting lost in him.

"Ready?" He asks breaking her thoughts once the joint is finished. She nods, following him downstairs.

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In the studio Colson's heart is racing. She knows nothing about his new album. It's killed him to not talk to her about it in detail as they got to know each other. But he wants to see her honest reaction and values her opinion as an artist. "Ok." He begins, setting her down on the couch by the shoulders. "I want you to sit and listen." He says "Just listen. What do you need to not move for the next hour? Weed, water, a snack?"

Luna laughs. She knows exactly the vulnerability he's feeling right now and finds him to be incredibly cute in his fluster. "We have weed and water. I'm good. So, ready whenever you are, Bunny." She smiles to reassure him.

"Ok..." He sighs sitting down at the sound board. The opening electronic beat has her immediately bobbing her head. She looks up when the woman speaks. He puts his hand up "Listen." She nods in agreeance as the next song begins. She likes this beat too and notices he's riding it much smoother than his other albums. And he's fucking FIERCE. As the next songs begins her ears perk up. He watches her eyebrows furrow as she nods her head, focusing on the beat. He sees the exact moment she makes the connection he's waiting for. Her head shoots up, mouth open, wanting to speak, but doesn't.

Her eyes immediately well up. "Oh, FUCK, it's "Numb." She thinks as one hard tear rolls down her face. They reach for each other's hand.

*********************************************

"I knew she'd get it." He thinks stroking her hand with his thumb. Comforted by her acknowledgment.

She doesn't let go of his hand, only giving him a fake shocked face over a particular lyric, through her tears. As a woman's voice comes onto the next song. Nodding to the beat, she squeezes it. He can see tears flowing down her face, as she's trying to control her breathing, listening as he runs through the last year. She lets out a whimper, when she hears a certain set of bars, referring to a night in his kitchen. She looks into his eyes aching, they had talked about it that night at the pool but hearing it on tape is different. He hands her his bandana as she climbs onto his lap, not bothering to wipe her tears. She slides her legs through the chair holes, straddling him. They're cheek to cheek as the next song slams her in the stomach too. She squeezes him tightly, listening to him expose himself to the world. The beat is catchy and she can't help bobbing her head by the end.

"UGH!!" She thinks, soul aching for her Lover. "It's heartbreaking and melodic, like truly great fucking songs are..... I'm gonna kill his fucking mother." She decides to herself.

Her thoughts break and she laughs loudly as she hears Pete's voice come on. Thankful for the small lift from the heavy, she kisses Colson on the cheek as she squeezes him again, climbs off him and settles back onto couch. Lighting a joint as the next song begins. She's bobbing her head again to the beat. Listening intently, he's coming hard. Popping her chin in her hand, on her knee, she tosses him a long glance, catching the second set of bars. She's still bobbing.

"Aight, Bunny...." She thinks to herself impressed, thoroughly enjoying his talent.

He's watching her reaction to every song. He loves how she catches certain lyrics and the way her face lights up as the beats change. She's swiveling her hips, couch dancing to this particular beat. She goes to say something again but catches herself as he shakes his head. One look. They smile, knowingly. The next is another banger. He rides the beat flawlessly, giving her 90s hip-hop flashback feels. Another lyric stabs her in the heart.

"Fuck. He's not playing." She thinks as he lays his shit bare, all over the table. Slaying the fucking beat. And her heart.

As another woman's voice opens the next track, Luna sparks another joint. She's on an emotional rollercoaster and needs a slight grip. She lays down on the couch, on her back, letting the smoke billow above her from the joint as tears roll down her face. She's listening as he explains unapologetically, all of his pain that they've talked about since meeting. Some parts truly scaring her.

He's still watching her. The next song comes off more poppy but she catches the dark lyrics instantly. She passes him the joint, sniffling, but laughs, shocked, as a certain "B" lyric by Redd slides through. She looks at him with an amused look as the next song begins. She knows what it's about as it continues. Not her favorite but it's still catchy. The next opens with Phem haunting the track. This song makes Luna sad for Colson too. She's back on his lap again, this time with an arm around his shoulders listening intently to the smooth, old west coast beat. Once the track finishes, he flips the sound off, looking up at her. He doesn't have to ask.

"That was a lot...That was amazing...I am so fucking proud of you...I HAVE to smoke a cigarette...all the cigarettes in the world...while we talk about this." She blurts out as her hummingbird hands fly, never taking a breath. Kissing him all over.

Colson loves when she gets excited like this. "C'mon, we'll grab you a beer too and sit on the patio." He says laughs, lifting her up to head upstairs.

"I fucking love YOU." She says, following behind him

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

They sit on the patio, unpacking the ride he just sent her on through his head. She mentions Cara to his surprise, not thinking anyone would catch that. She asks if that beat is by The Mark's, which only slightly shocks him that she knows her music so well, but makes him laugh with how she refers to them. He tells her that Casi is the ASMR on the one track. She didn't catch that one and it absolutely tickles Luna's soul. Her eyes well up again as they talk about Chester. She thinks it's a GREAT, subtle homage to their friend. They touch on all the little different shout-outs, lyrics and meanings. There isn't anything he needs to explain to her. Even though she finds it haunting and slightly worrisome, she loves the album and understands and relates to it completely. Getting SUPER hype over certain pieces, he loves how she knows and respects his career. She credits him for his raw fearlessness. How it is not simply an album but an experience. This pleases him, it's what he was aiming to accomplish. She does mention that it ends very heavy and abruptly. Comparing the entering of the hotel track with needing an exit track. He likes where her mind is as the wheels of his begin to turn.

"She's right. I need a smoother ride out." He's thinking of the song they're about to work on and the one he has going with Dom. "Maybe I can slide them in around 5:3666...." He decides to hit Dom up later.

Turning his attention back to Luna. "Wanna see what we've got together?"

"Most definitely." She agrees. They grab 2 more beers and head back down to the studio.

-------------------------------------------------:

He first plays her the beat he's come up with. It's her melody from the piano "So, I think you should open here..." Letting the melody flow until a beat drops. "I'd come in here." She nods, listening as her melody still rides in the background. Before it comes to the forefront again as he points at her. As the beat changes again, she's bobbing her head. He stops the music. "What do you think, open with you and we'll play off each other?" He asks her. She likes it.

"Yeah, lemme see what else you got.." She says pulling her lyrics out. They sit at the table and begin to build together, singing back and forth to one another. Everything's flowing easily, they're telling a true story.

🎶I want you forever//Even when we're not together//scars on my body//So I can take you wherever🎶

He sees her thinking "What?" He asks.

"I don't like scars line...." She shakes her head.

"Ok, what do we flip it to?" He asks.

She thinks for a minute. "What about tattooed? She asks.

"We getting tattoos?" He asks amused.

"Fuck." She laughs looking at both their bodies. "Is there even any open space on either of us?"

He lifts his arms looking around. "Here!!" He excitetedly points to a blank spot on his inner left arm. She looks at hers. It's covered mainly with the lyrics from The Beatles "Black Bird" blended with the silhouettes of birds and other imaginary. She looks to her right.

"AHA!!" She shouts pointing to a small bare space, in almost the same spot, just the other arm. They look at each other deviously.

"What do we get?" He asks?

"Lemme get a peice of paper, please." Once she takes it, she draws for a couple minutes before producing a cartoon style, punked out bunny.

"YOOOOOOO!! THAT'S FUCKING SICK!!!! Check him out!! I fucking love it" He shouts jumping out of his chair, bouncing around studio with the drawing before kissing her deeply. "Let's go!!! Right now!! WE OUT!!!" He says after he releases her.

She puts her hand up, laughing "Chill, Wild Boy... Let's arrange these lyrics, then we'll go. Then, we'll come back and lay the track."

"I love the way you think." He says kissing her before sitting down to finish their work.

Both are satisfied, agreeing the tattoo line is better. Luna stands up, kissing Colson before she heads upstairs to change into an easier shirt to be inked in. He calls his tattoo guy. Then Alex and Joe.

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

"Who's going first?" Asks Colson's tattoo guy, Kevin.

"Ladies first." Colson smirks. He wants to see how Luna handles the chair.

"Whatever." She shrugs, sitting down and getting comfortable. Kevin cleans her arm and sets the stencil. Luna double checks it's placement in a mirror before sitting back down. She nods her head, signaling to Kevin that she's ready to begin. The sound of the gun makes her nipples hard in excitement. As soon as the needle touches her skin she feels a warm wave wash over her. Colson is talking to her but she shakes her head, leaning it back, closing her eyes. She truly enjoys the act of being tattooed, taking it all in.

Colson watches her sit for her tattoo, completely relaxed. "She looks so peaceful, like she's on a fucking beach or some shit." He admires her. "She IS a bad ass bitch...."

Once Kevin finishes, she lifts her head, finally opening her eyes. She fucking loves it. Staring at it, she looks up at Colson. "Better not back out now, Motherfucker." She smiles at him as Kevin wraps her up. She's never referred him like that before. Her aggressiveness makes Colson's dick jump in pleasure.

"All in." He beams, hoping into the chair. They have two different tattooing styles. Colson chats uncontrollably. To Luna. To Kevin. To the fucking dog. Luna can't help but laugh.

"So how long have you guys been together?" Kevin asks. Luna and Colson look at each other, before bursting out laughing.

"I'm sorry, Man." Colson apologizes laughing still. "A week?" He asks Luna with a slight snort.

She shrugs, "I don't know." She says laughing honestly. "I don't even know what day it is after Seoul."

"It's Sunday, Kitten." Colson laughs.

"Seeeee, I thought it was fucking Monday, it's so fucking confusing!!" She exclaims. She's only slightly good at math. Counting the American days in her head. "11. We've been together for 11 days. I think" She laughs, opening her eyes wide.. Grinning at a happily staring Colson.

"I would've never guessed." Kevin says in the background "You two compliment each other really well." They hold each other's eyes and smile at each other knowingly. One look.

"11 days.." Colson says with wide blue eyes and a beaming smile, while nodding his head.

🎶What can I say, it's kismit, ain't it🎶 She sings to Colson. He laughs, pulling her in for an upside down kiss. Both if their bodies flushing from the physical and emotional touch. Once Kevin finishes and wraps Colson, they thank, pay and tip him before happily heading back to Colson's Rover.

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

"I FUCKING LOVE IT!!" Colson declares.

"ME TOO!!!" Says Luna cheesing like an asshole, bouncing around the passenger seat. Colson pulls her over to him. She submits easily, sliding over, on top of him. They kiss each other hungrily and wet as Colson runs his hands across her skull, thru her long blonde hair, gripping it at its base. His dominance makes her pussy gush. They're in the parking lot, in broad daylight but that doesn't stop them. Kissing each other sloppily, they pull each other's shorts off quickly. His dick is too big and her shorts too tight for a slide over. Lifting high, she works him into her. Making him moan with each shift. Once he's in, she rides him hard and quick. With his hands on her hips, she grips the back of his neck and hair. Holding him close. FUCKING him hard. They're both turned on by fucking in public. It's not long before they both moan for each other loudly, feeling that the other is ready. It's rare for them not to talk during sex. This is so quick and intimate, that it takes one last solid shift of her hips and that One Look before they lock mouths, cuming for each other instantly.

Luna lays her cheek against Colson's chest, as he rests inside her. Trying to catch her breath. He's rubbing her back trying to do the same, enjoying being inside of her.

❗BANG❗They're startled by a dirty man peering in, on the drivers side window. "WHAT THE FUCK!!??" Colson angrily shouts.

"Got any money?" He asks.

Colson's still looking at him in bewilderment. The New Yorker in Luna isn't fazed and has already reached into her purse. She puts the window down slightly, before sliding a 20 out it. "Now, go.' She instructs, putting the window back up. The man makes a prayer gesture and walks away.

"What the fuck, Loons!??" Colson is still angry.

"What, Colson?" She asks, sliding over to the passenger side so she can slip her shorts back on. Lighting a joint she continues "So, he got $20 because he was lucky enough to walk up and catch a show." She shrugs passing him the joint "He doesn't know who we are, and that probably made his week, if not his month. Fuck, don't make me think past a month." Her heart feeling sad "Plus, had it been a fan or a cop, it would've cost us a fuck more then a 20 and a little shock."

Side eyeing her with a smile, hitting the joint, he knows she's right as he buckles his belt before starting the Rover. Driving up the PCH she turns to him. "Besides, WHAT could truly ruin today? It's our first Bunny&Kitten MessAbout!!!" She leans over to kiss him before wiggling her fingers like a witch while dancing in her seat. "We wrote a fucking slamming song, got our first tattoos together AND got caught fucking by an old dude!!!!" Luna takes the joint, while she laughs uncontrollably causing Colson to join in with her. "Now, let's go lay down musical history." She says cockily, leaning over to kiss him. She hits it multiple times before passing it back.

"I fucking love her perspective." He thinks to himself laughing as he hits the joint and they pull into the driveway.

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

Alex and Joe are already at the house. Colson greets them warmly before introducing them to Luna. They "know" of each other through The Industry. "It's nice to finally put a face to you guys!!" Luna says, causing them all to laugh.

Down in the studio, Colson and Luna get set up in the booth. As the melody begins playing in their headphones, Luna waits for her cue. Turning herself with the mic, she begins singing to Colson directly.

🎶I know I'm outta my head. But I haven't lost my mind. How is it that you know the bad things I like? We're so good, I can't explain it. What can I say, it's kismet, ain't it🎶

🎶All things you say. All the things you do, make me fall more in love with you. Oh, Bunny, I can't escape it. I'm all in, there is no maybe🎶

She's giving him THAT look, swirling her hips.

As the beat shifts Colson jumps in. Resting his hand on Luna's hip. Rapping to only her.

🎶We both bad, but it feels so good. And you "come" again, like I know you should. And we both wild. And the night's young. You're my drug. Breathe you in 'til my face numb. Drop it down to that bass drum. I got what you dream 'bout, fingers pulling my hair out. Eyes closed while you scream and shout. And you keep me in with those hips. While my teeth sink in those lips. While your body's giving me life and you suffocate in my kiss🎶

🎶Then you said I want you forever. Even when we're not together. Tattooed you on my body so I can take you wherever, Like, I want you forever. Even when we're not together, tattooed you on my body so I can look at you whenever, yeah🎶

He sings the last part as they exchange knowing smiles before she starts again. Leaning herself and the mic towards him.

🎶I know I'm outta my head. But I haven't lost my mind. How is it that you know the bad things I like? We're so good, I can't explain it. What can I say, it's kismet, ain't it🎶

🎶All things you say. All the things you do, make me fall more in love with you. Oh, Bunny, I can't escape it. I'm all in, there is no maybe🎶

Colson comes back in. Leaning into her, grabbing her ass.

🎶I can't explain it. I love our range. And I love the way your breath numbs me of novacaine. And we are, always high. Keep it strange🎶

Luna jumps in to harmonize with him , smiling as she sways her hips in his hands. They sing in unison. Pushing playfully against each other.

🎶Okay, yeah, I'm insane. But you the same🎶

Colson continues rapping

🎶Let me paint the picture. Counter in the kitchen. Taking all your clothes off. Losin' our religion. You're my pretty little vixen and I'm the voice inside your head. That keeps telling you to listen to all the bad things I say🎶

Colson continues. As Luna dances loosely in his grip. Singing again.

🎶And you said I want you forever. Even when we're not together. Tattooed you on my body so I can take you wherever, Like, I want you forever. Even when we're not together, we're not together, tattooed you on my body so I can look at you whenever, yeah🎶

Luna kicks back in. Running her thumb across his bottom lip, dragging it across his jawline.

🎶I know I'm outta my head. But I haven't lost my mind. How is it that you know the bad things I like? We're so good, I can't explain it. What can I say, it's kismet, ain't it🎶

🎶All things you say. All the things you do, make me fall more in love with you. Oh, Bunny, I can't escape it. I'm all in, there is no maybe🎶

Continuing Luna lays down the hook, making finger guns as she snakes her body, holding the mic. Colson to grins, shaking his head, trying not to laugh, as feels his dick perk up even more.

🎶I'm just a LunaTic, with her Gunn. When we're together, Bad Things happen. The way you touch me, is better than ecstasy. When we're not together, I still feel you coursing through me🎶

Together they sing, pushing and playing off of each other still.

🎶And you said I want you forever. Even when we're not together. Tattooed you on my body so I can take you wherever, Like, I want you forever. Even when we're not together, we're not together, tattooed you on my body so I can look at you whenever, yeah🎶

Luna continues smiling...

🎶I know I'm outta my head. But I haven't lost my mind. How is it that you know the bad things I like? We're so good, I can't explain it. What can I say, it's kismet, ain't it🎶

🎶All things you say. All the things you do, make me fall more in love with you. Oh, Bunny, I can't escape it. I'm all in, there is no maybe🎶

Hearing the beat fade out, Joe comes into they're ears. "I think we got it guys!! He says excitedly. They look at each other grinning.

"Ahhhhhh!!!!" She squeals jumping into his arms, he laughs as she wraps her legs around him, kissing him deeply. "That was fucking AWESOME." She beams, pulling back to look at him. High from singing with him.

He's grinning too "It was fucking AMAZING!!" He squeezes her ass tight. Touching her pussy. "I wanna fuck you so bad right now!" He whispers into her ear. Making her moan and giggle, before letting her slide down his body, against his hard cock.

They come out of the booth to a pumped Alex and Joe. "One fucking take guys!!" Alex shouts in disbelief. "ONE FUCKING TAKE!!" Luna and Colson high five each other. "I want Luna in for some solo vocals to layer in, in mixing and the same for you, Kells."

Joe jumps in "But after that. Polished and its done! Solid fucking work guys!!!" They share a celebratory beer and joint while listening to the rough track before Luna heads back into the booth. Everyone beyond pleased with the authenticity between Luna and Colson.

"Dude, she's AMAZING!!" Alex says to Colson. "Obviously you hear about people in the industry, you know...but, fuck. She's got them Billie Holliday pipes on her!!" He looks at Colson seriously for a second. "So, I'm guessing you guys are together?"

"Don't even fucking think about. Ima bout to wife her up." He gives Alex a look.

"Can't blame a brother for asking." He replies, making Colson chuckle. Once she finishes, he steps into the booth. Luna shares another joint with Alex and Joe. Chatting but never taking her eyes off Colson.

After Colson steps back out, they begin the mixing process. Luna's fully engaged until she sees the time. "Fuck, Bunny!! I have dinner with the girls soon!!" She exclaims in a panic.

He grabs her hand. "It's ok, Kitten. Go to dinner. I'll finish up here and show you when you get home." He kisses her to reassure her.

"Home?" Her mind takes a big breath. She shakes it off.

"I fucking love you." She declares before thanking the guys and heading towards the door, she stops "You want me to bring you back anything?"

"Nah, I'm good." He pushes his chair across the room to kiss her again, appreciating her thoughtfulness. "Thank you, though." They exchange sweet I love yous before she heads upstairs to change and head to dinner with Frannie and Paris. She's excited to have some down time with them and doesn't want to think about what home entails.

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

To be continued.....

[ionfyr-newepirion-blog]

Puppetry

By Ion Fyr

©2019 Ion Fyr

ISBN: 978-1-7331291-1-4

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means with out explicit permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real or imagined people or events is purely coincidental.

I wish to thank M, K and R for their support.

Published by Jon Rodebaugh

Ion.Fyr@gmail.com 

I

Londbridge, Terra, the year 247 of the World Commercial Congress.

The vast and populous city stretched from the coast inland for a great distance, its boundaries clear along the southern rim, where the depopulated agricultural land was a deep green against the grey of the city. Arcologies reached skyward like geometrically formed mountains. They stretched up through the brownish-orange fog, to the bottoms of intermittent, low hanging clouds. The wind off the sea to the west pushed the ground-hugging smog inland, where it flowed over the plastic and concrete housing blocks of the low-slung slums and wards.

Crude, steel rectangular blocks—massive airships—plied unseen lanes in the air. Some were a kilometer long, many were far less than that. They were cargo ships of the air, haulers of raw materials and finished products and everything in between. There were passenger transports and the occasional Corporate-emblazoned Skyship. Among them was a car shaped like a scarab of ancient Kemet.

The car was a low profile, sleek oblong of metal and synthetics. It’s skin was somewhat dark and greener than iridescent and there were no windscreens visible from the exterior. Unlike many, far less expensive vehicles with protruding nacelles, in this case the gravity-repelling Naskovich drives were enclosed in four slightly visible hips, two on the front sides and two on the back, otherwise it was featureless. It settled into the local traffic lanes at a lower altitude as soon as it crossed the perimeter fence separating urban squalor from automated farmland.

Inside was a man, lit only by the glow of dimmed wraparound screens showing the view outside mingled with telemetric data and a map overlay. He was of Mediterranean complexion, tanned by the sun, having thick black hair reaching his collarbone and a matching beard which he unconsciously stroked. He was bare-chested and muscular, and wore linen pants and sandals. It would seem he was ill prepared for the climate of northwestern Europa throughout most of the year.

Connect-device -car6 | Course-plot -new -1605 Attilastrass/178th Ward/Londbridge District -efficient | Velocity -LocalityLegal

Force-thinking, for those with wireless internal drives, was a simple process once one got used to it. It amounted to running code with one’s brain. Preprogrammed commands and related implanted hardware augmentation allowed wireless interaction with the ubiquitous Network. 

Wireless worked effectively to a hundred meters, beyond that without a wired network connection or light-node semaphoric line of sight coms, one was out of luck. The wired part of the network spanned much of Eurasia and the Sint—the subcontinent embedded in the south of Asia, and the northern half of the Farad, the southern continent.

Luc knew he was already connected to the the car, but it didn’t hurt to initiate the connection to “car6” again. 

Change-IdentCert -car6 | New-IdentCert “12hA126334w6”

A little sloppy. More important on the way out. He should have changed the vehicle’s identification before coming into range of the city’s cameras. The slop in the air will do something to obscure their visuals, though. He was going to church.

The Attican Universal Church on Attilastrasse was largely a tourist attraction these days. Once it’s gothic architecture drew supplicants and worshipers from all over Europa. Now, hardly anyone believed the the ancient Neoplatonic version of the gods. Not even in backwater Hellas.

He already missed the white and blue visual textures of Hellas. 

The car chimed warmly at his arrival. Luc slipped his feet into his sandals. Looked first left, then right, and found his holstered pistol. He clipped it to his belt, in the small of his back. He then looked around. He was not a believer, by any means, but him entering an ancient sacred space without a shirt would have horrified his mother. 

Luc didn’t have a shirt. 

Instead, he pulled a barely used leather jacket from an under-seat compartment and slipped his arms into the stiff sleeves, the leather rustling like new. He had worn it once before on a trip north in the winter. He dimly remembered he had a shirt back then, too.

It was black, vat-leather and remained unzipped. It was almost too tight to zip anyway. From a different under-seat compartment, he shifted some detritus and pulled out two loaded magazines for his pistol, slipping these into his pocket. He also found a breather, one that would cover his nose and mouth and allow normal breathing under the toxic haze. For good measure he put on his sunglasses, which formed seal around the edges, protecting his eyes against the air as well. The sun was not even visible at the street level here, but that wasn’t the point.

With a fluid motion the car slowed to landing velocity and the four landing legs unfurled themselves just as the car settled to the ground.

Luc opened the gull-wing door and set foot on the damp pavement outside. Despite the smog-cover, the bright lights did their part in illuminating the street. There were other vehicles parked without regard for orientation or pedestrian traffic. Even beyond the 100 meters of practical visibility, one could still make out the multi-hued urban glow.

Surface traffic on the road had ceased a century ago, at least by passenger-carrying surface vehicles. There was a crunch of debris underfoot, forming heaps in some spots.

He could feel cool air on his chest, along with a slight chemical sting. While standing, the jacket just barely covered his pistol.

Luc scanned the street. There was at least one (albeit damaged) camera to the left, two indeterminate ones to the right. Six vehicles sat on the street, perched on their legs like giant plastic beetles, mostly shit economy rides.

The ancient architecture of the temple, or church, had been damaged considerably during the Wars of Consolidation over two hundred fifty years ago. Sometime after the half-destroyed structure was refurbished and stabilized in an unfortunately clashing architectural style. Its collapsing roof was now supported by cylindrical steel columns and a monstrosity of a replacement wall.

He pulled open the right side of a set of double doors and entered the tall building. Luc’s footsteps, the soft flap of his sandals on the cold stone floor, echoed. The building’s shattered acoustics still reflected the sounds from the left side.

The interior was thick with sandalwood incense, even detectable through his breather, and despite the efforts of the building’s atmosphere scrubbers. There were perhaps a dozen ancient, gilded, life-size bronze statues representing the Olympian gods. Each was enclosed in a plasti-glass cube, to prevent unwanted touching (or theft.)

At the fore of the temple was a massive stone sculpture of Zeus. On the floor in front of the king of the gods was a smoking bowl of some intentionally antiquated looking ceramic. There were only two other individuals in the place, a man and a woman. They were not together. The man crouched close to the incense bowl and was old. He looked Hellic. The woman was younger and was sketching with a stylus on an open scroll, its screen unfurled from its cylindrical shaft, it’s bluish glow reflected off her features.

Luc walked down the center of the building, imagining what it would have looked like when it was built hundreds of years ago. He did not like the aesthetics of mingling late Industrial Age girders with ancient wood ceiling beams. He scowled faintly at the the plasti-glass enclosures. They were eyesores and were smudged by hundreds, maybe thousands of tourists pushing their grubby fingers and noses against them, hoping to gain a better view or wondering if the gilded bronze was actually gold.

He walked toward Aphrodite and stood, admiring the beautifully sculpted figure. He waited.

A few minutes later—late—footsteps approached. Commando boots on the worn marble of the floor, echoing more boldly than his sandals, expressing the strength of her approach.

Luc turned slowly, his right hand on his hip, near the butt of his pistol, more out of paranoid habit than anything else. He knew who he was expecting, and could tell by her stride it was her.

“Lucretius, welcome back.” The girl was exuberant. Pretty, Luc thought. Vandalian emigre, north Farad complexion, from the other side of the Mediterranean. Black hair in two braids, one dyed a glowing pink. Leather head to toe, a jacket longer than the one he wore, matching pants with lots of pockets, boots.

“Hey, Nosrit, I haven’t spoken Standard for three years. Forgive me.” The words were spoken slowly, with concentration on the correct pronunciation. 

“That’s ok. You look the same. Still no shirt. Aren’t you cold?”

“You look...older.” No longer a child. “So, Muskrat tells me there is a problem with some twat in Tanic Park?”

“Yeah, I’m just supposed to give you the contact data.” She slipped him an external, a little black wafer of data, a few millimeters square. Not wireless.

“I will look into this. Tell Muskrat I will contact him.”

Back in the car, Luc wired into the external. Data cascaded through him through the intermediary encrypted wireless node. There was a mafioso wannabe thug pressing his people. 

Tanic Park was a poor community in the shadow of Dogtown Arcology, a mix of peoples from all over, some from outside the WCC. They were too poor to merit protections from MetSec. Londbridge Metropolitan Security was at best a hinderance, if not an outright threat. Only their drones patrolled Tanic, and then only in some areas. Nets strung across streets kept them out of certain others.

In the lawless, refuse-filled streets, an economy developed. In the polished halls of Dogtown Arc people lived in a heaven of sorts. The unaware upper echelons of Londbridge went about their shallow lives oblivious to places like this. Luc was fully aware that arcology life was far from perfect. He just resented their compliant, obedient comfort. 

Here it was far from that polished existence, though from most places in the Park residents could see the looming monolith of the Arc. Automation brought riches to some, but there was no work for the majority of the residents of Tanic Park. No work. No money. Amidst the untold wealth, in the shadow of gilded statues, people starved. And starving, they fell prey to petty thugs with balls and uppity ambitions. 

Marcus Dusselberg was a small time gangster with such ambition. Somehow, he had gotten himself a military grade assault bot, one of those things that were like cement blocks propped on two legs, bristling with guns and sensors. His muscle.

Out of retirement, I guess, Luc thought. Dank Londbridge was not where he wanted to be, but his friends were here. Family.II

Muskrat was a skinny man with a badly shaved head and an unflattering mustache. He had jacks—five of them—but the gossip was that only one of them did anything. The rest were cosmetic. He smelled of booze and cheap cologne, which he used to cover the smell of the booze, as if any of that mattered in the Park. 

The warehouse where they met—the address coming from the data chip—was spartan and bleak. Muskrat’s battered breather was under his chin. Luc kept his on. The air here was shit.

“Mr. Lucretius, thank you for coming,” he began, sniveling.

“What do you want, Muskrat? You call me back here to deal with some shit who you don’t have the balls to fight back against?” Brethmanic Standard was coming back easily.

“Luc, these are your people. They asked me to send for you.”

I did come all of this way. Luc thought, still not sure what he was doing back. He knew he always would have come back to help his people—that wasn’t the problem. What was the problem? What led to Muskrat being left in charge?

“This man threatens the community with a robot?” Knowing the answer. The 1500 kilometer flight was not spent idle. I did some thinking and some research.

“Military. Bought surplus from some Aquacorp off-load.” Muskrat stuttered. 

Who named themselves after extinct animals? Wolf or bear he could see, but Muskrat?

“When I left, Muskrat, I left you in charge. I had faith that you’d look after the community. I know it is hard. I did it myself for years. It’s five fucking blocks, man. What the fuck are you doing? How do you lose that to some petty shit gangster?”

“Mr Lucretius, you didn’t leave us with any weight. We are light. Only boys and girls and old women.” An attempt to swagger. It’s not about being a man or not, not in any literal sense.

Nosrit will be experienced enough in a couple years. She’s got it. But what is it? Enthusiasm. Drive.

“I mean no disrespect,” Muskrat held himself back, stepped back.

“Ok. So the shit has a mech, a mec, a meh?” How do you spell robot warrior from future, from entertainment fiction? Luc laughed out loud at his own joke, disquieting Muskrat who stepped back again another half a meter.

“I need a truck that can fly 300 kg and handle urban-use projectiles thrown at it. I’ll do the ops and code myself.” Luc’s mind was spinning, churning. “Truck needs to be stripped and off-net, Can Nosrit drive?”

She couldn’t. She didn’t have to, though.

The code was not complex. Once the identity of the vehicle was wiped and also, once the net was wiped of any hint of Luc, Muskrat and Nosrit, Luc was somewhat satisfied. The absence of information would eventually appear on the State servers like shadows from unseen objects, but for now they would be invisible.

The truck was a bulbous monstrosity. It sat on its landing legs like an egg with parasite-like nacelles. The ass-end opened with two curved doors. It will do the job.

Nosrit was there. She hadn’t had the three lateral piercings across the bridge of her nose when he had seen her last, years ago, and he hadn’t even noticed them in the church on Attilastrasse. Six steel balls lined up between her eyes that weren’t there three years ago. Community. She was going to drive. 

Connect-device -ShittyTransportVehicle | Course-plot “Londbridge Metropolitan Security/Floor 67”

“Remember, girl, ditch this thing after we are done. It will go fast. And by that I mean, our activities will,” he added, “This piece of shit won’t go fast.”

Nosrit giggled a little, then pulled herself back into adulthood and tried to look serious.

The truck dropped up into the local traffic lanes. Nosrit looked nervous. Luc had confidence, both in her and the plan. Even though he hadn’t seen or talked to her in several years, he had kept tabs on his community. He still knew every one of them, remotely pushed them in beneficial ways. I need to be here. Gods, I hate Londbridge.

There was a grating buzz when the truck/car/cargo transport pod—however you render it—arrived at the destination. 

The plasti-glass windscreen, through decades of abrasions, showed floor 67 of Londbridge MetSec HQ. 

Luc turned it, so that the aft end was facing the building.

“There will be a slight impact. Are you strapped in?”

She was. He accelerated in reverse, crashing the truck through the window panel. Glass rained down into the street below. The bulk of it flew into the 67th floor of the building.

“Open the doors.”

Nosrit unbuckled and moved to the back of the truck. The doors butterflied out and open. The truck was still hovering, the Naskovich drives keeping it aloft, though the ass-end was two meters into the building.

“Stay here...” Luc drew his pistol. He was shirtless, jacket less, and his breather hung around his neck, its rubber pulling at his beard. He cranked up the intensity of his goggles. The ambient light was exaggerated, revealing the contents of the room.

It was storage. Dozens of anthromorphs—humanoid robots—designed to be controlled wirelessly by remote human operators, stood in ranks. Somewhere, outside of this space, this storage place, were the wireless repeaters that allowed humans to control them well outside the range of even most standard military wireless tech.

Don’t have time for that. Put it on the wish list. Luc could probably crowdsource a solution to make up for that anyway. 20 million cred for a mesh-network!? They’re all scamming each other. Focus now, Luc. Small fish to fry this time. Luc dropped out of thoughts and back into the contours of the meat-sac realm.

Luc quickly, and with purpose, walked to the nearest one and abruptly ripped a wire out of the back of its head. Contact point. Wireless connection. Stupid design.

He pushed it and it made a loud crash as it landed on its back. It was armored and harden. It would be unharmed. The dim red glow of its internal mechanisms didn’t even flicker. 

They were made of some hardened version of plasti-glass, classified stuff. The material itself was transparent. Anthromorphs, after construction, after the biomechanical servos and structure were in place, were cloaked in counter-projectile armor. The gaps in the armor glowed red, a design feature intended to create an effect—especially since their interiors glowed red all along. 

Just gave us something to aim at, idiots. 

Luc took it by the feet. Only seconds had passed.

It was heavy, but he was strong. Nosrit added her slight weight to the pulling as he got to the truck, which shifted slightly, either from their movement or from some fluctuation in the Naskovich field, maybe even from the wind.

Glass dropped out of the gape as they accelerated out of the building, dropping with stomach-churning speed, into the lower-city murk. They returned via a circuitous route.

Nosrit was driving, which really only consisted of issuing commands to the vehicle’s otherwise autonomous navigation system. She had no visible wireless nodes, but that didn’t mean anything. Neither did Luc.

III

The truck rested on its reinforced, weight-handling legs in the same warehouse where Luc had recently met Muskrat. 

“They didn’t even see you?”

“They probably did. Someone probably did. The truck needs to be destroyed.”

The anthromorph was heavy. It took all three of them to get it upright. Nosrit had enthusiasm and contributed more to the effort than Muskrat.

There would be a brief microsecond, after replugging the coms cable, when the thing could call home, recontact MetSec servers, looking for its proper master.

Luc had the code waiting though. It would reroute the anthromorph’s command and control to him, as well as block out every other user.

“Do it,” he ordered. 

Muskrat reconnected the wireless controls with strands of wires looped over his forearms. Luc streamed his override package the same instant.

The thing stood more erect, coming to life. The red glow from its biomech insides increased. Was there a biological component?

Luc could feel it, feel its extremities, feel it like a second body. It was powerful.

It was unarmed.

“I will need a weapon, Muskrat.”

It took a day, but Muskrat found an old energy gun, rifle shaped, glass rods in the place of a barrel. It was sticky and covered in grime, like it had spent decades in a shed or storage locker. They charged it up to around 80%. The battery wouldn’t take more than that. Luc and Nosrit spray-painted the anthromorph a matte black, masking its eyes. Every other part of it was black. Some loose oversized robe was gathered and the sleeves slit from wrist to armpit and this tent was draped over the thing, giving it the appearance of an oversized streetfella, if one didn’t look too closely. The gun would be noticed, especially by other streetfellas.

Luc, in control of the MecSec commando anthromorph, took the weapon into his symbiotic arms. The bio-feedback was precise and intense. This will do, he laughed, high on the feed back with the mech, or was it meh?

 IV

Dusselberg was in a low, two story building in Tanic Park, in a very precise location that Luc had scoped out years ago. Five blocks, he thought. Someone—not him—had long ago hollowed out much of the second story and connected a series of flats, which had then been reinforced, fortified and hardened.

Luc being Luc drove there himself in his own car. Nosrit and the anthromorph sat behind him. She looked at the anthromorph like she’d look at a set-up date, some guy her parents wanted her to hook up with. No, she thought, repelled them. I am not that girl.

The car could seat eight comfortably and, honestly, could probably sleep at least six. It was spacious. The anthromorph had the gun across it’s lap as it sat, approximating a human sitting posture. It was a tight fit. The thing was two and a half meters tall, big enough to be imposing, but just small enough to move in normal human environments, hallways of buildings.

Word had it that the mech belonging to Dusselberg was in the cellar beneath the housing block. Luc maneuvered between the gaps in the nets that the locals had  put up to impede MetSec security drones. The things weren’t good with nets. Tended to get caught—nacelles tangled. Gutterpunks would then strip them of essentials.

The block, Luc remembered, was in a camera-free dead-zone. That meant no cameras for Dusselberg. No cameras for him either.

Why was he bringing Nosrit? Maybe she could drive if he was injured, though that was unlikely. He liked the company. It also gave her valuable trade experience. Someday she might run her own missions, look out for her community, the community.

He set the car down in the street outside the block. First the anthromorph stepped out. Luc was sure of that as soon as it did. Shit would unleash. He was right.

A trio of hired thuggery stood outside the main entrance to the block—some cross-sections of streets from two hundred years ago—becoming suddenly alert to the MetSec anthromorph stepping out of Luc’s car, despite the streetfella “disguise” they had come up with.

It was never easy to switch back and forth between moving his own body and piloting the anthromorph, but he managed to slide out of the car behind the thing, loosely holding his pistol in his hand.

The anthromorph fired at the men. A pink-blue beam crackled and arced from the thing’s gun at them like a lightning bolt. They fell, smoldering on the way down, bodies filigreed along the path of the current. The door behind them now hung from its hinges. Their bodies were entangled on the stoop.

The speed of the anthromorph was better than a human’s. Luc force-thought its actions, seeing what its eyes saw, superimposed on his own vision. The door was flung aside and the bodies were stepped on, stepped over.

Dusselberg must have been alerted, because a stream of heavy caliber projectiles sliced through the floor of the building’s atrium from below.

The mech was awake.

Ratty carpet fibers drifted in the wake of the bullets strafing up from the basement. The projectiles would land miles away at that angle, probably killing people somewhere else in the city. Luc rolled the anthromorph to the side and leaned against the car. Nosrit was watching the screens inside. Why did I bring her?

The anthromorph fired down, through the floor. This was not going to work. New plan.

He called the anthromorph back to the car. He and it hung out the opened door. Nosrit flew them to the roof of the building, while the surplus mech extricated itself from the cellar, using a freight elevator in the rear of the building, by the loading dock.

The roof of the building had an open-ended car shelter, big enough for two or three cars. Nosrit set Luc’s car down in the open though, near the small shed that contained the building’s roof-access stairs. The second floor had reinforced windows.

The anthromorph, followed by a appreciably clumsy Luc, dropped to the roof’s surface as soon as they were close. Controlling the anthromorph made Luc’s equilibrium sketchy.

The plasti-glass-armored commando android fired at the shed, turning the door and most of the housing into metal and plastic slag.

In the hallway below, down the aging, crumbling stairs, they faced the mech. It had come up—Luc wasn’t sure if it was moving under its own automated volition or if Dusselberg was controlling it. It didn’t matter. Luc swung himself back into the stairwell as the thing sprayed the hallway with high-velocity ammunition, shattering the wall at the far end, over the entrance. It had to hunch down, keeping its girder-like legs bent, with its weapons-bristling, block-like head scrapping the ceiling.

Luc looked at the MetSec anthromorph next to him, shielding it by moving it back from the fire in the doorway of the stairwell. It was dizzying controlling it and his own body at the same time. The android had taken some hits. Luc could feel them. One to the hip. Three to the torso. The armor took most of the impact, however. There was no loss of function.

The anthromorph swung out, just as the mech was reaching their location two meters from the entry to the stairwell. Its lightning beam strafed the hallway, blacking the walls, searing them and the mech’s metal block-head.

Ammunition stored within—its magazine deep within its steel bulk—erupted in a fizzing explosion, held in by its own armor plating. Sensors, cameras were thrown out, burned out by the fire within, ejected violently by the internal pressure. The smell of electricity and smoldering plastic filled the hallway.

It listed to the side, the servos in its right leg cutting out. It broke through the wall while still sparking from an inferno inside. Magnesium-white fire flared from its empty camera sockets, sparks falling into the smoldering carpet.

Luc looked at the doors on the other side of the hallway, the side with the reinforced external windows. Dusselberg was in there.

The doors were more than likely reinforced. Luc force-thought the anthromorph to fire at the wall between them. By this point the hallway was full of smoke. A lick of flame ate at the wall around where the mech fell through.

Lighting ripped through the opposite wall. Luc was glad for his breather, now on his nose and mouth, though he should have worn the goggles also. He squinted against the heat and the searing light of the energy weapon born by the anthromorph.V

The space on the other side of the wall was open and, at some point, had been gutted, opening a large space that had once been five or six flats. Dusselberg hadn’t been here long. He also had little taste in furnishings.

He sat in a swivel desk chair surrounded by monitors, a scrawny little man. He was armed. He had his own energy gun, not as big as the anthromorph’s, but just as effective. That gun’s beam practically cut the anthromorph in half, and would have cut Luc in half had he not rolled to the ground. 

Luc fired a half dozen shots at Dusselberg from behind a wheeled tool chest. The anthromorph was dead, its connection to Luc’s mind broken. Its servos still tried to get it upright with a futility that approached that of an animal struggling to live.

Luc fired a few more shots from the pistol. His ears rang now from the cover fire. It was a distraction while he pulled the energy weapon from the anthromorph’s hands. Back behind the tool chest, Luc checked the power level remaining in the energy gun. 

It had plenty. The thing was made for combat. He could hear movement. Dusselberg was trying to flee. 

“Luc?” said Nosrit, sticking her head in through the hole in the wall. 

“Stay down! Out!” He yelled.

She pulled her head out, back into the hallway as Dusselberg’s beam burned an arc across the wall. The distraction served well, however, as Luc took the opportunity to burn a gaping hole in Dusselberg’s chest. The man fell to the bare floor, smoking and oozing. His own smaller weapon sliding from his hands. Some of the wall behind him burned as well. Nosrit peaked in again hesitantly, then smiled when she saw that Luc was intact.

“Welcome back, Lucretius,” laughed Nosrit.

Out of retirement, I guess.

[thedcdunce]

Lilith

“Thanks for the compliment, but this "doll" kicks like...a mule!” - Lilith 

Real Name: Lilith Clay

Aliases:

Omen

Lilith Jupiter

Gender: Female

Height: 5′ 6″

Weight: 104 lbs (47 kg)

Eyes: Green

Hair: Strawberry Blonde

Race: Demigod

Powers:

Precognition

Telepathy

Teleportation

Abilities:

Hand-to-Hand Combat (Basic)

Enhanced Intellect

Weaknesses:

Power Instability

Universe: 

Earth-One

New Earth

Base of Operations: Los Angeles 

Citizenship: American

Parents:

Loren Jupiter; father

Thia; mother

Marital Status: Single

Occupation: Dancer

First Appearance:Teen Titans #25 (February, 1970)

Appearance of Death: Titans/Young Justice: Graduation Day #2 (July, 2003)

Powers

Precognition: At the start of her career, Lilith was a mildly powerful precog, able to predict future events with limited degrees of accuracy.

Telepathy: Lilith's telepathic abilities developed later in life and evolved from her inherent precognitive powers.

Teleportation: Lilith had the ability to instantly teleport from one location to another through force of will. Visually, this ability produced a bizarre swirling affect around her physical person.

Abilities

Hand-to-Hand Combat (Basic)

Enhanced Intellect: Lilith held psychic "templates" of the members of the Titans within her mind, granting her continuous access to their memories and psyches.

Weaknesses

Power Instability: Whenever Lilith used her telepathy on another person, she absorbed a portion of that individual's psyche. An imprint of those she encountered was left within her, slowly turning her into a psychic reflection of the individual. When others looked upon Lilith's face, they often saw one of these psychic reflections rather than her real face. This is what caused Lilith to begin obscuring her features.

Origin

Originally living in peace at home, Lilith started to manifest strange mental powers at the age of 13. She read her parents' minds to find she was adopted, then left home to try to find her birth parents. After some trouble, she ended up working as a dancer at the Canary Cottage disco. During this time, she encountered Loren Jupiter, and began to aid him in his cause.

Soon, Lilith approached the Teen Titans and asked to join. She saw premonitions involving a political figure, who inevitably died, proving her power. She then became a member of the Teen Titans.

Eventually, she left the team and resettled on the West Coast, where she started a new branch of the Titans. She briefly dated one of her team members, Don Hall, before the team disbanded.

During Trigon's siege on Azarath, Lilith played a key role in tracking down the former Titan Raven, who was at that time possessed by her evil demonic father. Eventually, Lilith made some type of psychic connection with Raven's mentor, the goddess Azar, and hosted the souls of her followers in a successful attempt to cleanse Raven of evil.

Lilith stayed on with the Titans briefly, during which time she accompanied the team on a trip to Donna Troy's home island of Themyscira. During this mission into the realms of Greek myth, Lilith finally learned her true parentage: her father was a normal human who had been seduced by Thia, the mythological Greek Titaness of the sun. The power-hungry Thia attempted to take over Olympus, but the young mortal Teen Titans helped defeat the Titans of Myth and returned home safely--all except Lilith, who elected to remain on Olympus, claiming her birthright as a demi-goddess.

Post-Crisis

After the Crisis on Infinite Earths, Lilith was not heard from for a time; however, the mythological Titans showed as a benevolent pantheon and adoptive parents of Donna Troy. This rewritten history effectively negated Lilith's origin. Her only significant appearance at this time was a brief cameo in the War of the Gods, in which she received a premonition that her friend Donna was once again in trouble; this showed that she was indeed alive and well, and living on Earth as opposed to Olympus.

Years later, Lilith once again found her birth parents. Her mother's identity was never revealed, but it is known that she helped Lilith unlock untapped abilities. Her birth father turned out to be none other than the Teen Titans' old benefactor, Loren Jupiter. She took the name Omen, and became part of the Teen Titans team lead by a teenaged Atom and founded by Loren Jupiter; initially, the team did not realize that Omen was Lilith. She was captured by her half-brother Haze, who used her powers to augment his own. Haze was defeated by the Teen Titans with the aid of four of the original Titans: Nightwing, Tempest, Flash, and Arsenal. Her Teen Titans team eventually disbanded.

She aided the Titans in protecting former team-mate Cyborg's soul from the Justice League. Shortly after that, Lilith was abducted by Vandal Savage, who wanted her to divine a perfect team to take down the Titans. Savage forced Lilith to submit, but she purposely chose members who wouldn't work well as a team. She was rescued by the reformed Titans.

Lilith stood with her old friends when a mysterious corporation called Optitron approached the Titans and Young Justice with an offer to fund the two groups. Before they could discuss the offer, the teams were attacked by an android from the future called Indigo. The malfunctioning robot accidentally activated a Superman android believed to be long destroyed. The rampaging Superman android managed to both snap Lilith's neck and pierce Donna Troy's heart, killing both beloved Titans. This tragedy led team leader Nightwing to disband the two groups.

However, Lilith was resurrected by the newest Brother Blood as the latest in his doomed line of mother-figures. Despite the request of Speedy, Kid Eternity did not allow her to stay among the living.

A statue of Lilith is in the Memorial of the Titans Tower in San Francisco.

During the Blackest Night, Lilith was reanimated as a member of the Black Lantern Corps and attacked the Titans. However, she and her fellow Black Lanterns were inadvertently destroyed by Dawn Granger, who bore the "white light of creation".

Fun Facts

On the rare occasions Lilith was forced into a physical altercation, she used basic Judo moves and nerve-strikes taught to her by Dick Grayson.

Lilith once developed the ability to project intense waves of heat. It is believed that this ability may have had some connection to Lilith's ties with the space angel Azrael.

Lilith's history is long, confusing, and the 'Titans Tower' website does a very good job of explaining it all. For example:

Just before the Crisis, Lilith's birth mother was revealed as Thia, the Titaness of the Sun. She spent a brief amount of time on Mount Olympus as a Goddess, before the Crisis negated her new found origin... and gave it to Donna Troy.

Post-Crisis, Lilith actually found her birth mother – she's the one who 'unlocked' the rest of Lilith's powers. This woman told Lilith that her father was Loren Jupiter, and then made Lilith promise not to tell a soul who she was. This information was never revealed, even after Lilith's death.

Lilith was a member of or affiliated with each incarnation of the Titans, if only temporarily in some cases.

It is suspected, but not confirmed, that Lilith remembered the world as it was Pre-Crisis and Pre-Zero Hour.

[secondreckoning]

Chapters: 3/7 Fandom: Overwatch (Video Game) Rating: M Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Fareeha "Pharah" Amari/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler Characters: Fareeha "Pharah" Amari, Angela "Mercy" Ziegler Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Slow Burn, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual S*x, Blood and Injury Summary: In a world where people share dreams with their soul-mates, Angela, a weary trauma surgeon, walks her dreams alone. Nearing forty, she believes she’s simply not one meant for a soul-mate until vivid visions of Egypt begin to brighten her nights.

Hand in hand with her dark-haired dream woman, Angela traverses the sun-blessed streets. Heat and sun fill the paths before them, but it never taxes her body as the real world does. More noticeable is the warmth of the hand gripping hers, the palm pressed against her own. Twice, Angela tries to speak up, to say something—to thank her guide for the tour, for her hand, for her smile—but of course, no words come.

Together, Angela and her dream partner wander through the street.

Angela wakes, warm, still breathing in sunshine and breathing out wonder.

Through the nights—nights on Angela’s part, she has yet to pinpoint her soul-mate’s location—they wander up one side of the street and down the other. Sometimes, when she dreams, she meets her soul-mate at the height of day, in pure sunlight and sometimes they wander the streets in a hazy dusk, the air sweet and heady with lotus blossoms. But in every dream, her soul-mate waits for Angela, quick to flash an encouraging smile her way and always bearing an open hand to hold.

Her soul-mate.

Angela’s soul-mate .

Angela nurtures the idea of a soul-mate, her connection to this woman. She cradles it in the hollowed out spot in her chest, where she used to carry her nanotech aspirations, her dreams of saving the world. They’ve left an empty space—big dreams leave behind big spaces—and once she calls it such, once she writes it down in her journal, the idea of a soul-mate is neither big or daunting or unfulfillable,

It is small and comfortable and warm.

Angela flips her journal around and writes from the back heading in:

I see a woman in my dreams.

I see a woman when I sleep.

I share my dreams with someone.

And twenty or so variations later, she writes, in slow deliberate letters:

I think I have a soul-mate.

Tingles creep up her hand and wrist and arm, and Angela’s throat tightens. She lays the pen across the page and rises. She walks a loop around her apartment, eyes blurring, and then another, until they clear. Upon her return, she stretches out on her bed and writes whatever she’s learned, every precious bit of knowledge about her soul-mate.

(Her soul-mate.)

(Her soul-mate .)

(Her soul-mate.)

Good grief, this is why no one ever shuts up about it, isn ’t it?

She writes, so there is no uncertainty:

Angela’s Soul-mate (!!!!)

- Taller than I am. (At least 5’8”) - Age: Late twenties - mid-thirties. - Perfect smile - Perfect hands - Tattoo beneath right eye. (Ouch!) - Likely Middle Eastern. - Very good facial structure. - Beads / bangles in hair (Significance?) - Okay, good overall structure.

What’s your name? Angela traces a loose circle with her fingertip over the page. Who are you? What can I show you ?

Am I good enough?

She inhales once, sharp and sure, and kills the thought. Pulling her phone in across the coverlet, Angela pulls up a list of possible countries: Israel, Iran, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, Egypt, Syria, Bahrain, Cyprus, Jordan, Kuwait, Lebanon, Oman, Palestine, Qatar, United Arab Emirates, Yemen.

Angela runs her teeth over her lip. Where are you?

More importantly , she thinks, switching to a list of timezones, why are you asleep in the middle of the day?

She compares her time on the west coast against a list of possible countries: depending on the country, there’s a ten to twelve hour time discrepancy between them.

Angela picks up her pen, runs the opposite end over her lips, and writes, tentatively: Doctor?

Why else would her soul-mate sleep at noon?

***

Angela catches her soul-mate most often when she sleeps at home, in her own bed, on regular hours and on occasion, whatever late night naps she sneaks at the hospital.

Emily remarks, once, “You slept? On your own? As in, you came to the realization you were tired and decided to lie down and sleep? On your own? Of your own free will? ”

Angela rewards Emily’s snark with an eye-roll, but she’s not wrong. Sunlit streets and soft smiles await her when she sleeps and oh , these days Angela sleeps . Together, with her soul-mate ( her soul-mate!) Angela sees dusty, sturdy structures in sandy tones, clearly aged, but their history lost on her without context. Once they wander the street’s length, down one way and then up the next, Angela’s soul-mate waits for her outside the old gate the next time she sleeps. They begin a new journey down past the vendors and their wares.

Tonight, at the hospital, it’s past four in the morning, and Angela expects a normal dream, maybe a poor one. Likely an average, soul-mateless one, which creep in more often now when she finds time to sleep on a shift.

Pager and phone aligned by the hospital-standard pillow, Angela adjusts a starched sheet once more and shuts eyes.

She’s thinking of patient stats and an encroaching vacation and does the hotel have a pool and probably and oh I need new swimwear and is that buy one get one half off yarn on until Thursday or Friday and she doesn’t expect to sleep at all, really. But one second she’s repositioning her arm under her pillow and chastising herself for trying to pull off a particular shade of yellow with her last bikini and then she’s out—

***

Angela stands in a hazy dream.

It is not a grey anxious nightmare or a loud crimson-stained one or a sunlit soul-mate dream.

Later, she’ll clock it as a normal, desire-driven dream. But asleep and unthinking it’s—

—it’s a bar—

—it’s a hotel bar—

—A faceless man in grey pants and vest over a white shirt polishes a glass. Behind him is a wall of liquor glasses and taps, back-lit with lights. In front of him is a bar of dark wood, polished to shine and lined with bar stools—

—and a dim, golden haze lingers over it all; over Angela; over the barman; over the other guests—

—the other bar patrons are there, but not there; a cacophony of chatter buzzes in Angela’s ears and movement blurs just outside the range of her vision—

—Angela squints; the other patrons only possess noses and eyebrows and mouths when she looks at them and thinks about it—

—with the exception of the dark-haired figure at the other end of the bar, perched atop a stool, sleeves rolled up—

—oh—

—her heart flutters high in her chest and she swallows, hard—

—Suddenly, quite suddenly, Angela is aware of herself, of her own body. She’s aware of her legs, bare to an inch above her knees and the bareness of her shoulders. She’s wearing a dress, a specific dress. One of her own: a black cocktail dress, the skirt a soft flare around her knees and the halter neck high—

—she’s not worn this dress in years, really, not even to charity galas the hospital puts on—

—it belongs to a different Angela, an Angela who left a long, long time ago—

—but she finds it fits her now; the skirt of the dress narrowing at her waist, a pair of black flats on her feet in complement to the outfit—

—because, at the end of the bar, sleeves rolled up to bear her forearms sits Angela’s dream woman, Angela’s soul-mate—

—and—

—there’s Angela’s heart again, fluttering away—

—her soul-mate’s in dark dress pants and a navy blue shirt, lightly tailored to fit, two darts the only concession to curves beneath. Heat washes through Angela, from the base of her throat to her thighs—

—there’s no fear here, in this dream, no hesitation; there is action and there is desire—

—Angela approaches. She reaches out a hand and trails her finger down the length of the bartop as she closes the distance—

—she is beside her now, beside her soul-mate, with her rolled-back sleeves and the golden light catching on the adornments in her hair. Angela leans in and guides the same wandering finger over her soul-mates bare arm; from the inside of her wrist to the folded edge of her sleeve—

—Golden beads swing with the motion of her head, and the woman glances up at her. She catches Angela’s eye; a smile breaks over her face—

—and—

—oh—

—here’s that wave of heat again, coating Angela’s senses, honing her focus on her soul-mate; on her bared arms, on the outline of her form beneath her shirt—

—Angela’s soul-mate rises. She lifts a hand to Angela’s face, fingertips curve over her ear, pushing any hair neatly aside. She leans in and whispers—

—it’s not a true whisper, or a true voice, but a voice in the way voices work in dreams: Angela’s ear tickles at the passing of her breath and she knows what the woman means—

—Got us a room—

—Angela’s heart picks up a fresh beat. She needs not reply; she smiles up at her soul-mate and her soul-mate knows—

—They turn to leave and her soul-mate’s hand comes to rest in the small of Angela’s back—

—The dream is quickening now, skipping forward with Angela’s heartbeat—

—and they’re in the hotel room—

—Angela registers: a plush carpet, a numbed champagne glow from a single wall sconce, night sky and sea glittering out of a window to her left and on her right, a grand bed, coverlet pulled back to expose dark silk sheets glistening in the low light—

—and she’s kissing her soul-mate. They stand before the windows. Angela’s arms are up around her soul-mate’s neck, entangled in her dark hair, guiding her head down to her own hungry mouth. Her soul-mate’s threaded one hand through Angela’s hair and the other’s on Angela’s side, cradling her ribcage—

—oh—

—Angela’s at the buttons on her soul-mate’s shirt, swift and sure fingers working down the line between kisses—

—and her soul-mate returns the favour: back to her soul-mate, Angela catches glimpses of their outlined reflections in the windows. Fingers unzip and part the fabric over her back. Lips brush the crook of Angela’s neck. Her dress is free and a single finger trails down the length of her spine—

—again, the dream stutters forward—

—she lies in silken sheets, her soul-mate bent over her. She breaks a long, deep kiss and presses softer ones to the tender spot on Angela’s neck; along her collarbones. Every moment is heightened; every touches sings with an electric undercurrent of delight. Angela grips her soul-mate’s shoulders and hooks a leg over her hips and—

—Angela flips the script—

—she grins down at her baffled soul-mate. She’s on top now, blonde hair loose and tickling her soul-mate’s cheeks as she straddles her. Their hands are entwined, her soul-mate’s pinned gently to the pillow. Angela leans forward and bridges the space between them—

—lips brushing her soul-mates ear she whispers—

—you’ve done so much for me, it’s your turn now—

—she kisses her again, deep and pointedly. She grips her knees tight around soul-mate’s hips and—

—and—

***

Angela jerks back to reality.

Noise—incessant, aggravated, perky noise—hammers into her eardrums.

She’s awake: painfully, rudely, cruelly awake.

Courtesy of her pager.

Jaw-clenching, she swats at it, and it clatters off the bunk and into the dark. Plastic cracks and the beeping stops. Someone below her murmurs, “Hey ,” in a thick voice.

Right, top bunk.

Angela stretches, arms out and toes down. “Stupid pager.” A needy itch courses under her skin, hot and begging for relief. But the on-call room is the wrong place to scratch it. It’s the wrong place to dream hot, needy things in the first place.

She sits up and slides to the floor. Her bunkmate grumbles when her feet hit the linoleum, so she murmurs a quick “Sorry,” and goes off to the dark corner to grope for her pager.

Stupid pager. Stupid pager, stupid pager, stupid pager . How often does Angela ’s brain grant her a good dream? Not a normal one or, more rarely, a nice one, but a truly good dream, courtesy of her own neurons and grey matter? She pulls her phone out and casts the dim screen light along the wall and into the corner. Stupid pager .

It’s there, sitting in three pieces: body, battery cover and a battery. Angela scoops it up and pockets it, cursing it all the while.

Angela tugs her white coat back on and straightens her scrubs. Lifting a hand to check her hair, she corrects herself: Stupid Angela .

And it is stupid. Stupid of her brain to piece together a scene. Based on the scenery of their shared dreams, her soul-mate is very likely from a Middle Eastern country, and wouldn’t drink. The hotel bar angle? Moronic. Moronic and insensitive.

And her happy little rendezvous in the hotel room?

Hopeful, wishful stupidity.

Halfway out the door, Angela pauses.

Happy little rendezvous .

Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it?

A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.

Something happy.

***

At some point, Angela’s third-wheeling vacation with Emily and Lena has turned from a distant foreign thing to plan about into an official countdown. She breaks the time between into chunks: after this shift she has twenty-four hours off, a seventy-two hours shift, another day off and then her final three-day shift. Three weeks of sun, city beaches and whatever the local art scene offers.

And at some point, Angela’s thoughts turn from “Is it socially acceptable to knit at the beach?” into something else.

Angela clears her throat. “Question,” she says, “How would, uh, someone—someone with a soul-mate—control the, um, destination in a dream?” She pulls her glasses off her nose, hooks them over her pocket, unhooks them and pushes them back on. “A soul-mate dream.”

Hospital halls stretch out on both sides. Angela’s dropped in on Emily’s last round of patient check-ins for the day, overlooking a handful of patients on the out-patient ward.

Emily’s marking a chart. “Asking a lot of questions about soul-mate dreams lately, Dr. Ziegler,” she lifts her head and fixes Angela with a squint. “Any chance you’ve got something to share?”

“I meant— they’re theoretical questions.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

“Theoretical questions, about theoretical soul-mates.”

“If you’re certain.”

“From someone like you, who has experience. With a soul-mate. A non-theoretical soul-mate. And non-theoretical dreams.”

Emily scribbles her signature on the bottom of the tablet and clips the plastic pen at its side. “You want to clarify anything, Dr. Ziegler?”

Angela shoves her hands into her coat pockets until they’re wrist deep and pushing at the seams. “I was just thinking, you know, if I had a soul-mate—that’s IF , Emily—it might be nice to share some of my experiences with her. Since, presumably, this vacation will produce some of them.” She looks pointedly away. “You know. Theoretically. If I had one.” She pauses. “If.”

“If?”

“If,” Angela insists.

Emily’s eyebrows are high and skeptical when Angela turns back. “Well,” she begins, “If you have—”

“Ever have.”

“—ever have a soul-mate, I guess you just, I don’t know, focus?” Emily finishes.

“Focus?”

“Truth is, I don’t know.” Emily shrugs. “It’s never been a problem for me and my non-theoretical soul-mate. It just... happens. She saw here as much as I saw London before, and now it’s mostly mutually-shared spaces.”

“Helpful.”

Emily continues, “But when I did have something to show her, I focused. Think of it like meditating, with a mantra.” She shut her eyes and sucked in an exaggerated deep breath. “I will show my bed to my soul-mate tonight. I will show my bed to my soul-mate tonight.”

“Theoretical soul-mate,” Angela corrects.

Emily fixes her with a no-funny-business-now look: all narrowed eyes and squared shoulders. “Are we talking about theoretical soul-mates or actual soul-mates here, Ange?” she asks, voice surprisingly gentle.

Angela backs up two steps. “Thank you for your input, doctor.”

“Angela—”

“I’ll see you tomorro— Ow.” Her spine comes up against a door frame.

“Get back here—”

Angela smiles and lifts her hand in a broad final wave, and then ducks into the room and out of sight.

***

Angela really, truly wants to share some of her life with her new soul-mate. Her upcoming vacation is at the top of her list.

They’ve never visited any of Angela’s locales. Angela’s held hands with her soul-mate in markets and streets steeped in history, the years worn into the grooves between stones like dust. Always her soul-mates choice. Angela cannot complain—when someone carries places so rich in their blood, they want to show them off. All Angela has to offer in return are stark hospital walls and the blank canvas of her apartment.

What, exactly, is she supposed to offer in return?

Thank you for showing me what must be one of the most culturally relevant places in the history of humankind. Here ’s the apartment I’ve never decorated. On your right’s a drop of spilled nail polish. Tour’s over! Have a wonderful day!

Angela stares down at the list of possible locations in her journal. She’s pre-emptively axed her apartment for now, along with the hospital. Who wants to see a hospital? Most people avoid hospitals. At best, hospitals offer healing. At worst, dead loved ones and test results they never hoped to hear. Even then, at its best, healing went hand-in-hand with hurt. The threshold between unwell and better was a hard boundary of pain and vulnerability. Not everyone reached the other side.

Chewing the end of her pen, Angela decides: her favourite craft store. It is small, the focus on fabric and string based crafts. In the back corner, two entire walls of yarn selections meet. A bin nearby holds over-sized balls of specialty yarn, a novelty item for novelty blankets. No other place in her waking world holds as much colour as her soul-mates dreams.

Angela’s got on what she considers her comfiest pyjamas: a thin, over-sized cotton shirt and shorts with a tie at the waist. Her co-conspirator for her test run is a bottle of Merlot. She finds its moral support more than sufficient.

A few more sips and teeth marks in the end of her pen and she’s picked out a mantra: Tonight, my soul-mate comes to me.

More purposeful than yarn store yarn store yarn store yarn store , in Angela’s opinion.

She sips Merlot and scrawls it down in her journal, once and then another, and another. She writes it twenty times. Her hand aches—one of her surgeries ran long today. Is this how miscreants at school felt when teachers punished them with lines? Angela never wound up in much trouble. During times a teacher punished the whole class, they usually found an excuse to send quiet, smart, good-natured Angela off on some errand. Especially after her parent’s death.

Angela shuts her journal and sets it aside. She stands, stretches and massages her hands, focusing on a particular ache by her index finger’s knuckle. She tucks her Merlot to bed in the kitchen and then tucks herself into bed.

In her head, she caresses her mantra: Tonight, my soul-mate comes to me.

Tonight, my soul-mate comes to me.

Tonight, my soul-mate comes to me.

Tonight —

***

Tonight, a red nightmare cold-cocks Angela.

Tonight she is in a stifling plastic tent, incendiaries beating hot light outside the walls, and everyone she’s ever loved is on her table.

Tonight is nightmare variety number two: the stench of charred flesh and blood in her airways, the ground rolling with explosions under her feet, the bodies more ruined flesh than human being—

—and a diluted red light coats everything in sight—

—and a nurse hovers over her shoulder—

—Angela’s lungs seize tight—

—these are old words, words she’s known since a child, words ready to rip and tear—

“—Angela, sweetheart, there’s been an accident— ”

—super-imposed over—

“—Doctor, two car crash victims, incoming!— ”

—always the same patients—

—always—

—always—

—always—

—always her father, first—

—his face is calm, even regal in its composure—

—but it’s a grey face, a lost face—

—and black bruises mottle his chest—

—and his gut is split open and black blood congeals at the edges—

—and Angela’s hollering for someone to start fluids through a sob-choked throat—

—and she’s ready to intubate, the plastic line shaking in her hands; she’s prepared to snake it down the cold meat of her father’s trachea—

—and two impulses, two separate Angelas tug at her—

—the combat medic urging her He’s already dead, move on, move on—

—and the hospital surgeon reminding her You try everything, so when you tell the family you’ve tried everything—

—and the tube’s hanging out of his mouth now, connected to nothing—

—so she threads a needle, and she tries to stitch—

—stitch the pieces back together—

—and his skin refuses to yield; Angela grits her teeth and pushes the needle—

—and it’s as though she’s sewing mats of rubber together; thick and unyielding, their forms resolutely set—

—and outside the tent, thunder crashes—

—and Angela knows it’s not thunder, not really—

—as a child, she based her assumptions off movies and television, but as an adult, she’s heard the sound; felt it—

—a car crash is all the roar and violence of thunder, but it reverberates through bystanders, shudders right down the length of your spine—

—Angela gasps as it rolls through her—

—and her father’s gone now there’s no saving him, no more work she can do—

—and now before her is her mother, and—

—outside the tent, lightning flickers across the sky and the horrible crash plays over and over—

—a voice so close hot breath blasts the side of her face hollers, “You’re the only one who can help her, Doctor Ziegler!”—

—and staring down at her mother’s body, memories surface; memories carved into a younger Angela’s tender brain—

—in fragments, she hears:—

“—T-boned at the intersection—”

“— the side of impact—”

—and in her memories she’s small and vulnerable with grief; adults pat her hair, her shoulder—

—and they murmur soft things to her, kind things—

—It was over quickly, sweetie—

—They’re at peace now, Angela—

—No more pain, no more suffering—

—take good care of you—

—but they say nothing about why her father’s casket is open, showing off his waxy dead face and why her mother’s face is shut and hidden behind the casket’s lid—

—and now, Angela cannot move at all—

—and she’s staring down at what’s left of her mother, bile rising in her throat, needle gripped to the point of pain in her fingers—

“—Do something, doctor!—”

“—Doctor Ziegler, you need to act now!—”

—Angela palms a scalpel, looks down and away from her mother—

—and her own breath rattles in her lungs and the heat seeps into her skin and the voices holler into her ears—

—Angela grips the scalpel, looks down and plunges it into her own thigh—

—she gasps; electric pain surges through her—

—and they’re yelling again, yelling—

“—Angela, this is your last chance!—”

—and she looks up and it���s another familiar face: dark hair, kind eyes, golden beads—

—Angela’s looking down at her soul-mate’s body, at a body she longs to learn, and it is mutilated by the course of war—

—shrapnel ravages a line from her shoulder to her opposite hip, bisecting her body with metal; crimson seeps through her plain tank top where it pierces through to her skin—

—she meets Angela’s eyes—

—and now she’s thrashing on the table, calling out, begging—

—there are no words in shared dreams, but her meaning suffuses Angela—

—she wants her mother—

—and as Angela stares, she flickers—

—once—

—twice—

—and her soul-mate’s in her usual blue Henley, body intact—

Her soul-mate sits herself up, both hands stretched behind her. She glances down at herself and sucks in a deep breath. Shifting, she offers a hand out to Angela. Skies of blue and sandy stones flicker at the edge of Angela’s vision.

Outside the tent, noise fades to silence. Beneath her feet, the ground stills. Lucidity drenches her, crisp and clear as an overturned bucket of cold water.

This is a soul-mate dream.

This is a shared dream.

This is my doing —

—and chaos crashes back—

—familiar brown eyes lose focus—

—her mouth opens in a scream—

—and the hand outstretched to Angela is a bloody stump—

***

As if her brain is a puppet and someone’s tugged the string, Angela jerks awake and sucks down a gulp of air. Sweat slicks her body, from head to toe, and loose hair clings to her face. She’s fisted handfuls of sheets in her sleep and drawn them close to her chest.

And she cannot breathe.

Hands clawed and shaking, she tears sheets away from herself. Darkness hangs over her room, the only familiarity in the outlines of her bedroom, traced with yellow streetlight. Angela frees herself, crawls to the edge of the bed and throws herself to the floor.

Cold wood meets her sweaty palms. Angela’s mouth is open and she’s sucking at the air, but her chest is squeezing in on her lungs, on her heart and she can ’t breathe—

In the dark of her room, on the chilled varnished floor, the only arms Angela has to wrap around her are her own.

So she does.

Breathe, she commands her body. Breathe, dammit.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breath returns to her, five or ten or twenty minutes later and the vise on her chest eases up. Something heavy rises in Angela’s throat in its place; she leans forward until her forehead brushes the floor and parts her lips in a sob.

[autumnpawtribe]

The Naming

((Preface: one, this is SERIOUSLY long.  This RP took place on January 26 of this year.  I know, I am slow to post things, you may make fun of me for it.  A special thanks to @seilune, @varianwrynn, @zynros and the multitude of others who came to celebrate))

Janaret sat on the wall, watching out on the road.  His troll mate's brothers sat with him, watching as well.  He spoke in Zandalari , playing with a peice of grass and waiting on the visitors.

Rythyren flapped, carrying his companion to their destination with a huff of frosty breath.  "Do you still have Mox'tilek? I know she cannot keep up with me.." "Your little one is fine, I assure you..." Ryleyth hummed thoughtfully, ears twitching, and cradling the little whelp in his arms. When they landed , Rythyren was quick to shift, revealing both dragon and the magister were clad in similair attire. The dragon in a silken robe of blue and white, with a cloak that ended in scale like designs of pearlescent white. Ryleyth was quick to give the sleeping whelp back to her father, adjusting his own robes. The magister was wearing crimson and gold, flowing, with a cloak that sported phoenix feathers along the bottom hem. Meanwhile, Zul'Jaryn was never far from Kit'raka, and elsewhere, Draigarth was not far from Lowenthal.

Janaret smiled, recognizing the dragon he had recently met.  He was in full Zandlari Prelate regalia, holding his weapon up high next to him as he watched and waited.

Sam arrives via gryphon, flying low, lazy circles over the gathering party to ensure he's in the right spot before landing nearby.  The bird, small and white, follows him after he dismounts, pressing her beak into his neck, his hand, his shoulder--anything, really, in hopes of a treat.  He laughs at her softly, scritching her neck and adjusting his dark travelling cloak.  His armor, where it shows through at hands and collar and feet, is silver, ceremonial, polished to a high sheen: nothing like anything he ever wore at the Cove.  His distinctive blue-crested helm sits on the pommel of his saddle. His eyes seek out Ryleyth, never a difficult task given the other man's distinctive wardrobe, and he makes his way in that direction--still with the gryphon at his side.

A portal tore through the air out of nowhere, leaving behind a shimmering shower of arcane dust that sparkled across the ground. Out from the other side stepped the mage who had spawned it, all adorned in fine Pandaren silks in shades of blues and golds, and various trinkets of Zandalari jewelry. In tow was his husband, the ranger Draigarth, who he smiled upon before turning to Janaret. "I believe I landed us in the right place..."

Rythyren seemed thoroughly distracted as he approached the trolls, offering a bright smile towards the prelate, Stepping forwards with snoozing whelp draped over his forearm. Ryleyth seemed somewhat distant, his arms folded over his chest after he had handed the young one off, his golden gaze shifting here and there, for faces he recognized, which were surprisingly few. When one in particular started his way, however, he froze, and his ears slowly perked, mouthing the name without actually speaking. Draigarth stumbled a bit on entry. Portals had never been his forte.. Adjusting chainmail with a soft grunt. "Looks like it.. Don't think there's many groupings of trolls in Hillsbrad.. I.. think?"

A loud Kodo was heard marching in, a young adult was apon its back. Hitching the beast to the ground, he'd hop off, lifting a cigar from his side, half tempted to smoke to avoid the awkward conversations he'd endure. eh.. He'll be fine. "Hau, tauren for hello." He'd smile to the group that were there. "Right place, I hope for damn sure." He'd grit his teeth. harmfull memories. but also good ones as well. It was time to barry the axe.(edited)

The troll that awaited the guests sat on the wall of the rundown keep, another male troll next to him laughing as he told jokes in Zandali.  He was dressed very simply not formally; black shirt, leather pants, shoeless as his people tended to be.  On his face was a line of blue pigment, just under his left eye, bright red hair braided down his back just past his shoulders.  His staff was a long gnarled stick covered in flowers and mushrooms, both living and in full bloom.  The druid smiled around tusks that stood straight up and angled out a bit.  His amber eyes glowed in the setting sunlight.  As he rose, he called attention to himself and spread his long arms wide as he stood tall.  The second male, standing up next to the druid, was dressed in the traditional clothing of a wandering grandmaster monk and wearing his smile proudly, face clean of all but a matching orange stripe of paint under his right eye.  He was as Red-haired as his companion, both with matching deep amber eyes.  The pair were definitely siblings, though the monk seemed to have a few years on the druid.  Next to them sat a Zandalari, standing in full regalia as the druid spoke.

“Welcome, Guests of mah bruddah Vol’raka an’ ‘is mate, Xiao Chun.  Ah be called Jura.  Dis be ouah bruddah, Venyabi and Janaret, Vol’raka and Xiao’s mate.  We ‘ere ta guide ja ta da ritual site.  Aftah da namin’, ja all welcome ta stay, eat, sing an’ dance ef ja feel da desirah, an’ make new friends mebe?  Come should ja be followin’ en peace.”

A large fel bird, green and purple in plumage, flew in from high above, circling the area before letting out a great cry before landing and flapping its wings. "There there, girl" the man said before hopping off the bird and patting her side. The great bird flapped again and took off into the sky to either perch or hunt somewhere, who knew. Zyn was dressed in his finer clothes, an ornate black leather vest with silver inlay over a black satin long sleeved shirt. Form fitting black slacks tucked into black leather boots with ornate silver inlay. His eyepatch, normally just a leather one, was also custom made (by him) of black leather with a silver inlay...lots of silver inlay.

With that, Jura shifted to a great, pale stag.  Feathers and bones dangled from a thick leather collar of sorts that lay over his shoulders at the base of a furred neck.  Turning his antlered head to the group, he began walking toward the sea on the southern coast of the region.  The monk moved to float upon a cloud of chi, beckoning those assembled as Janaret called upon a golden direhorn.

An odd-looking spiked rock moved slightly, shaking as dirt and brush fell away from its base to reveal a shell of some kind. An ankylodon wearing a silver torc rose from the earth to follow the group, eying many of them warily... perhaps even hungrily? It was hard to tell, but it seemed to slowly improve in its mood as it walked behind the group.    

The group would come upon the cliffside, the sun not quite setting in the west and the sounds of the Great Sea not far away.  There were torches around the area, tables set with food and drink set apart a little from a ritual circle closer to the cliffside.  There were several figures, mostly troll, and a few orcs in the circle as final preparations were made by an orcish girl.  Two small troll boys were playing among the tables, the older, red-crowned boy of about four chasing a green-haired barely toddler as he crawled around.  A pale haired troll woman was off to the side caring for two other small trolls, one of them squealing loudly.

Tal flew in separately from his mate, likely so they could have enough room for the children they were bringing. Anyone who might babysit was already here, so the entire family showed up, split between the backs of their two drakes. Tal's recognizable and rather massive black nether drake flew down carefully before landing and allowing its passengers to climb down. Cradled in each arm, Tal held a bundled Balore and Luna, the older Kal'dorei girl known as Ely for short, around six years of age, also climbed down; though she stuck incredibly close to Tal, nearly clinging to his leg. He offered a smile to those gathered and then spotted a few faces he did not expect to see. He immediately stared down Sam and Kagtu, his blindfold folding inward on its ever so slightly as he narrowed his eyes, trying to determine if they were friend or foe. Surely friend, since they were here. He shook himself of the worry and moved to stand beside his fiance, looking to pass him one of the twins and smile at Vynnie who was surely beside them now as well. "There is a nice crowd here, this will be a wonderful ceremony I can already feel it." He said as he began to follow along and gaze out over the cliffside as they came upon it.

As they walk, Sam heads over to Ryleyth's side quickly, the gryphon aiding in clearing a path through the crowd, but then slows down considerably.  By the flush on his face, he seems not quite certain of what to say, and settles for something neutral: "It's a beautiful location, isn't it?"

Lowenthal glanced around at the gathering crowd, curiosity glinting in a green gaze. He wasn't completely seasoned on the traditions of trolls nor pandaren, and it was easy to see his interest was piqued. Looking around for familiar faces, he made sure to wave at Rythyren, and made a mental note to meet with the dragon as well as Vol'raka at some point after the ceremony.

Kagtu tagged along, lifting both of his hands into his pocket. He'd look conflicted, being here. Along with some of the people here as well, but the past is the past, and it'd be better to look to the future. with a deep sigh, he'd look back to Tal. "..Hey." He'd say softly. yet weakly. like he was afraid to say anything else. "Didn't know you turned babysitter." He'd tease.

Vyn had ridden with his dad and had hopped off Melody with the man, but where Zyn was dressed like a proper noble (though he wasn't one), Vyn was awkwardly dressed in black slacks tucked into simple leather boots and a loose fitting black cotton shirt. He did, however, have a couple of ribbons tied to his horns thanks to his little sister Ely. "Dad...who're all these people?" he asked while standing between his two fathers and taking his baby sister in his arms.

Amongst the few orcs present, one massive male seemed incongruous with the rest- a 7 foot wall of toned muscle, clad in hide pants and a set of ornate engineer's goggles was rushing about, taking turns between hanging around a short orc woman and fussing over one of the troll babies nearby. Spotting this, the dino-thing that followed the group let out a low rumbling noise... was it laughing?

The druid called Jura spoke and letting his voice carry, addressing the gathering.  “Come, stand around da circle.  We ask ja not step en til et be time ta speak.  At da end, da Farseeah gonna ask ef ja wish ta say a few words ta mah baby niece an introduce jaself ta ‘er.  Ef ja not want ja children seein’ some tings what be a lil scary fer em.  Best leave em wit mah mate, Zaita ovah dere.” Another troll walked up to join the brothers and Aret, his own visage painted in white and green, bright orange atop, spiked, but cut at his neck and the simple robes of a druid covering his body.  He seemed to want to disappear into the crowd and sat next to his kin.  He spoke in his native tongue, looking at the crowd for a moment longer.  “Fi riva difus Deh so yeyewata honnah dim fus dim cyaa fus deh'yo cyaa chaKa deh craaweh.”

((Tsal: “So many elves.  Not my favorite people, but the one with the silver-white hair isn’t bad looking.”))

Draigarth stuck close to his husband, amused by the sparkle that had been absent in his eyes for a little while hence. He seemed pleased enough to follow along for now, though he was clearly close enough, that the predator within him would read as possessive of the Cryomancer.. at least, for a fellow predator. Rythyren smiled cheerily, nodding to Lowenthal when he noticed his adopted son. Rocking the sleeping whelp from side to side, he picked a place to settle out of the way, waiting and watching, himself. He settled off to one side with a curious expression as they were told where to settle. Ryleyth offered a weak smile, tense, as if he feared all the worst reasons for the paladin to be before him. "Y-Yes.. Yes it is... H.. How have you been?" Zul'Jaryn shifted on his feet, adjusting his garb, which consisted of traditional attire, bones and feathers hanging from robes and headdress clearly styled for the Loa he followed. Bwonsamdi.

Tal offered him a small, slightly tentative smile when Kag spoke. However, when he mentioned babysitter, Tal broke into a grin and chuckled. "Is it considered babysitting if they are your own children? Hm... I never considered." He said with a shrug. "I think you met Balore and Luna." He looked back to the sheepish Kaldorei behind him now and wrapped his free arm around her to pull her forward with a quiet nervous whimper from the girl. "This is Elysara, we call her Ely. We adopted her after Teldrassil..." He murmured the words in Orcish, glad the girl couldn't speak it well just yet, knowing that it made her upset to think about it. It was then they were called to stand around the circle, moving to guide Ely to follow him as he stood where he was indicated to so he could bear witness to the ceremony.

Lowenthal glanced at the source of the Zandalari words, and then raised a brow, looking around. Now was his chance to socialize, perhaps. "And who would that be?" he said, smiling as he pronounced the foreign words carefully.

Seilune materialized at the designated spot in a faint, amethyst dust of arcane, remnants of the magic lingering on her tulle gown as she sauntered over to the gathered group. A glowing, lilac gaze slowly swept across the woman's surroundings, taking in the spectacular sight of the cliffside view of the Great Sea, and a soft, blissful sigh escaped between her lips. "Greetings, everyone," the woman spoke with eloquence, bowing deeply to the band of faces that were both familiar and foreign to her. "A beautiful locale indeed. Most fitting for such a joyous occasion. I thank you for the humble invitation, I have not attended a ceremony of this kind before."

Kagtu moved with Tal. odd considering he was a demon hunter. The human paused. face twisting with guilt. he'd switch to Orcish as well. "..We should-" Once more, he'd pause. thinking about the past.  His face showed it. Kagtu waved to the two kids. he'd look up to Tal. Guilt cleaving his face in two. "..I'm glad your out." He'd look around, using his right hand to point to the group. "To this band of misfits. family, even, if I am bold to call it that." He'd say with a hit of heart in his voice.

Zyn gave a wave to Kagtu with a grin before moving over with Tal when they were all motioned, Vyn following his parents and probably remaining silent for the remainder of the ceremony.

The altar was not fancy.  It was a simple flat stone, propped up on three other stones to keep it off the ground.  A piece of leather, crossed with sky-blue silk, woven with tiny silver phoenices covered and kept the stone’s occupant clear of smudge or damage.  On the altar lay a simple, but heavily bound book.  The leather did not look like it came from an animal.  The pages covered in drawings and runes that could be seen from a few feet away.  It was a focal point for the troll family gathered around to welcome a new soul to their lives.  This book was their guide to the rite they sought to complete that evening.

A female troll farseer stood at the small stone altar, clad in simple leather robes, but with items and adornments that she only pulled out for very special occasions.  Traditional pigments graced her cheeks and nose, blue, red and gold over face, arms and neck where her clothing did not cover sky-blue skin.  Red and blue axebeak feathers and golden beads were woven into the shaman’s straight thin braids as she looked to her right and left, gold hoop earrings jingling from her ears.

To the shaman’s right was a tall, well built and fierce looking troll woman, standing in a simple brown linen cloth skirt and short top, forearms covered with bone and iron bracers.  The warrior woman was painted in blue and red as well, a collared, golden-scaled raptor standing quietly at her side.  The woman, her violet hair pinned and braided behind her ear on one side and shaved on the other to show off the golden hoops in her ears, gave the well trained beast an occasional scratch on the chin.

On the Farseer’s left, a small half-orc mag’har girl stood with an obsidian knife and stone bowl, a small smile on her face.  She was painted just as the other two, her hair braided simply in comparison and tucked behind her ears.  She did not wear golden earrings, but iron as her own people.  Her own robes tied at the waist by a leather strap decorated with bone beads and laced up with a black strap of leather at her chest like a bodice.  The bowl she held was old, rough and not at all ornate, but it radiated with magic for those who could sense such things.  It was  well used, and passed down along this family’s line.  The runes upon it denoted it as Zandalari in origin.

Tsal blushed, looked at the elven mage and just grinned.

"Home," Sam says to Ryleyth in a low voice as the ceremony begins, "and glad of it.  One of the others followed me and took up work there as well--I had thought to offer the same to you but...I understand if you don't wish to leave whomever you've found a place with now.  Still, you're welcome to come visit whenever you'd like."  It's awkward; he doesn't want it to be but it is, and the fears that he'd abandoned Ryleyth there echo in his voice.

Lowenthal chuckled, but seemed to take that for an answer and went back to minding his own business. He observed the altar, then whispered to Draigarth. "I wonder what they meant when they mentioned things that may not be safe for children... I am not familiar with these ceremonies."

"Ah guess et be rude fer meh to stay like dis for de ceremony," grumbled out the dino-thing as it began to be enveloped in a halo of green energy. Standing upright, the Zandalari druid strode off to one side, examining the wrapping around a 3 foot parcel nestled safely away from the group.  

Across from the druid, stood a giant of a troll and his very small pandaren mate.  The troll stood upright and was dressed in a soft gray leather kilt slung low on his hips, held up and fastened with a darker gray leather strap and small silver medallion that resembled a Rush’kah mask on his hip.  His face was free of its usual warpaint, but his shoulders were coated in blood-red pigment.  The line of what did not look like paint crossed from his right shoulder to just below his left pectoral muscle, where a new looking tattoo in the shape of a tiny gray troll handprint lay just in the palm of the pandaren paw print already on the left side of his chest.  His hair, green and gold down to just above his ankles, was not braided.  He had it bound with leather in places to keep it from flying everywhere as the evening had a bit of wind from the nearby cliff face.

The unusually small Pandaren wore something as equally traditional as that of his mate, but starkly different from the Trollish design of the others. Wrapped around his form were silks of a deep crimson with brilliant threads of gold designs inlaid into the fabric. It was a traditional Pandaren kimono, draping along his form until it was cinched in the middle with a matching crimson silk belt tied loosely at his waist. It didn’t seem to fit him just right, and the aged look of it would imply it likely wasn’t made for him and instead was passed down from someone else; perhaps a woman, given certain folds in the material that would likely be made to compensate for breasts where this Pandaren obviously had none. His hair that was usually tied up in a loose topknot of sorts was instead tied back in a tight bun with ornate Pandaren chopsticks poking out of the brightly colored locks; the chopsticks having matching intricate gold-leaf designs on them to compliment the kimono. In the Pandaren’s arms, was a snugly swaddled and slightly fussy baby troll, with light blue-gray skin and the bigger male’s green and gold hair, with a dusting of sapphire blue.  Amber eyes looked around, not focused, but following the face of her pandaren father who held her in a sling over his shoulder and chest.  The fabric, a deep green, was embroidered with intricate cloud serpents and lined with black and white rabbit fur to keep her warm.

Intrigued by the ceremony and the prospect of learning more about Troll culture, the ambassador approached the alter a touch closer, just enough to get a take a closer look but distant enough to not disturb. Seilune bowed her head to the two Trolls respectively in greeting, the woman's gaze lingering on the young Mag'har girl as a grin spread across her visage from ear to ear. "Beautiful braids," she spoke, gesturing to the hairstyle with a single, slender finger. The trail of her gaze continued to the alter itself, closely inspecting the necessary tools with a slow nod of the head, a brow lofting in curiosity at the Zandali runes etched intricately into the stone. With the flick of a wrist, a floating tome and accompanying ivory quill conjured from a puff of arcane, the writing utensil scratching away at an open page to recreate the runes she saw.

In the middle of the circle as all saw it, was a stack of dry wood that stood about three feet tall, with small parcels of herbs tied up and tossed in regular intervals around the base.  The circle was cast with white salt, a bag from the Echo isles leaning against the stone altar.  She spoke first in Zandali, then switched to Orcish. “Lok'dan honnah reespek sca tor Wha fus Deh atuad iman fus'obeah Wha im ting cyaa is difus weh cyaa ju”

((Kit : Welcome, nieces, nephews, brother and kin.  May the Loa bless this gathering.  May no harm come to those who join us.))

“Ah welcome ja, all who come ta dis place ta welcome new life.  Ef ja ‘ere, ja welcome ta da fa’das of dis child.  Ef ja mean harm, leave dis ritual, for when da spirits be comin’ da loa will be sought fer blessin’s an da family of da lil girl who be named taday.  Dem what mean harm will face da consequences of dey actions.  Ah be called Kit’raka, and ah welcome ja ta da namin’ ceremony en da way of ouah family.”

Kag looked over to were Sam, Ryley and the other guy that he met in Dalaran. He'd was tempted, The young adult desided to move his way to behind the Elf. He'd didn't bother nodding to Sam. More or less wanting to make sure nothing was pulled. "Hau." He'd reply dryly. and his gaze was put back to the Ritual. looking back at it once more. Hopefully this wouldn't be.. bloodly.(edited)

Hands clasped neatly before her as the ceremony began, Seilune's eyes snapping to Kit'raka as she began to speak. She listened closely, nodding with a soft smile on her painted lips, the tome floating idly at her side still being documented with the sights and sounds the woman was experiencing so that she may reference later. The last thing she ever wanted was to appear hostile, her eyes widening a touch at the mention of harm being inflicted , idly looking to the others who were gathered at her sides. "I wish for prosperity for ba, papa, and child," she assured with a nod. "No hostility will come from my hands, and I hope none comes at all this day."

Zyn took Balore from Tal so his fiance could focus on Ely while watching Kit, he understood some of what she was saying in Zandali, enough to put it together. Vyn on the other-hand was completely lost on the troll language, poor boy.

Rythyren's attention went from the trolls, some of which caught his interest more than others, to the ceremony as a whole, quiet, even as his little one awoke, and he pulled out something small and soft for her to chew on, a crimson colored object that smelled faintly of blood, and emanated frost. Ryleyth seemed to relax slightly. "A-ah.. I had.. thought you.. were.. s-still with them.. It.. It is good to know that you are back where you wished to be..." He swallowed hard, before looking down at his hands. "I.. I have not... been... With.. them for several weeks now.. I.. I was.. forced to leave.. by Kou.." "I don't know.. certain there are .. some form of rituals they do not wish children seeing.. Not sure what though.." Came Draigarth's response with a chuckle. Zul'jaryn was settling off to one side, watching the proceedings as he shifted a small leather satchel in his hand.

The warrior troll and mag’har woman knelt on either side of the shaman, each with knees tucked under themselves and forearms on the winter grass beneath them.  Their heads touched the ground as the druid lay down on his belly.  Xiao and Vol’raka did not kneel, but both bowed their heads in reverence as Kit’raka spoke.  The element of air seemed to toss her braids up playfully as her arms raised.  Wordlessly, the farseer seemed to call fire to lick and begin to consume the wood, the bundles of herbs slowly beginning to burn.  The sweet smell of shaman’s smoke filled the area and those that inhaled the fragrance and were affected by the shaman’s grasses, would see three ephemeral forms standing next to the parents and now sleeping infant. For those who may react negatively to certain ‘intoxicants’, even the Shaman variety, it seemed there was another bundle of herbs smoking as well. These were of Pandaren origin, smelling of the sweet calming scents known to many as the tranquility incense that many Pandaren leave lit on long journeys. It brought peace of mind, calm, serenity, and most of all would help keep people prone to paranoia from certain smokes, Shaman or otherwise, from reacting negatively and panicking. “We call ta ja, spirits who come bearin’ witness ta da namin’ of dis girl.  Come ta give ja blessin’s ta dis one of ja blood.  Cyaa Uptfeel cyaa Craaweh Cyaa difus weh weh yu iyaz dim nehjo difus smadda ting skam Difus weh yudo sca nehjo difus deh'yo”

((Kit : Come, Mothers, come fathers.  Come those who are at rest, but guide their family from afar.  Those who once, and still, grant wisdom.)) Kit gave the Shal'dorei a small smile of acknowledgement, looking to the rest of the circle of people and nodding to those she may know, which were not many.

Lowenthal tilted his head, deeply inhaling the sweet smoke that mingled with the air. It certainly brought the tranquility it promised, balancing out the effects that the shaman's smoke brought. Blinking, the mage rubbed his eyes, wondering if anyone else could see what he was suddenly seeing.

The smell hit his mind like a truck. fingers wrapping around his face. as he'd breath the smell in. "What.." He'd say softly, as he'd look back up to the Ritual, some of his paranoia was eased, The young adult looked around. he'd look to his hands. giveing a small smile. smelt like home, sweet home. Kagtu lifted his gaze once more, over to Seilune, He'd only say one thing, "Arcwine Lady!" He'd wave happly, oh man. he loved that time he tasted Arcwine.. Oh, right, the Ritual. he'd dart back. breathing heavly. calmer, more.. at peace with himself for the moment.

"For those who ain sure of what ya be seein, yes ja be seein dem," said the druid who joined the circle after he finished his inspection.

Tal smirked as he saw the smoke forming, taking a deeeeeep inhale to let some of the smoke take effect. However, he didn't think of the fact that Ely was standing right beside him. The little girl did a little sway and tugged at Tal's pants, speaking in Darnassian in a low murmur. "Papa I feel funny..." Tal looked down and bit his lip to bite back a chuckle. "Zyn, I think our little Ely just got high for the first time. Here I thought I would be the one to do it." He scooped the girl up into his arms and brought her over to Jura's mate, speaking in Zandali. "I made the mistake of not thinking about the smoke, she may be a bit anxious due to separation anxiety, but she should be alright. Jura mentioned you could watch her?" He said in a hushed tone, not wanting to distract from the ceremony.

A mirroring smile pulled at the woman's lips at the sign of acknowledgment, idly looking to Xiao and Vol'raka as Kit'raka continued to speak in Zandali. Being one who did not partake in many substances other than arcwine, the intoxicants within the fumes began to take effect on Seilune almost immediately. Her eyes fluttered shut as the fragrance sifted through her nostrils, a blissful smile pulling on her lips as a sense of calm and relief washed over her body. Upon hearing Kagtu's, her eyes snapped open, the woman nearly jumping out of her skin as she looked to him with surprise. "Oh! Hello, Kagtu!" She said, laughing awkwardly. "Please, Seilune will suffice."

Upon seeing the herbs and smelling the scent, Zyn looked to Tal before frowning and glancing over to Vyn. "Hey, take the kids te the babysitter over there fer me, aight?" With a nod, Vyn took his baby brother before nodding to Ely to follow...hopefully she followed as he moved through the crowd to keep the babies at least from getting high...they were hungry enough on a regular basis as it was.

Those influenced by the smoke would see the spirits that came most clearly.  One was a Zandalari woman, the bearing and demeanor of a matriarch in her power.  Her violet hair was spiked up and falling in braids over shoulders and back.  On her neck was a high golden collar, long ears graced with large hooped earrings, and deep amber eyes that matched the trolls who stood around the circle of whom she was ascendant.  Her clothes were in black and dark blue, a simple dress that clung to her form loosely with an obsidian bat hanging from a leather strap around her waist.  The spirit bore no accent as she spoke, her words the native language of the listener.

“I, Azu’lana, come to greet my great granddaughter.” The spectre grinned at Shu'kilo, looking around at the ones gathered to see the girl.

A smaller male, Darkspear from his look and build, materialized.  Green-skinned, he was clad in white and black, the colors of his order.  The mask he wore was that of the visage of the Loa of graves that he had served in life.  He did not pull the mask away, his balding head covered with feathers protruding from the mask.  He wore no other adornments, but his voice was full of mirth and a bit of snark as his words mimicked the Zandalari woman’s.

“I, Un’lai, come to greet my granddaughter.”

Lowenthal's eyes widened and he nudged Draigarth, speaking in a loud, awed whisper. "A ghost..."

A small pandaren woman manifested, starkly similar to the red-furred Pandaren holding Tiny, materialized. Red fur just like Xiao, long flowing hair that was tied up into a bun with chopsticks holding it in place much like Xiao was wearing. She was actually wearing the same kimono Xiao was wearing, except it was clearly made for her and the unusual folds in Xiao’s now made sense as they were filled out by the Pandaren woman’s natural curves on her upper half where Xiao had none, being a male. She looked at those gathered before looking directly at Xiao and smiling with a brightness that carried to her eyes. When she spoke, her voice was like a melody on the wind, feminine and gentle, rich with the love and warmth of a mother.

"De honored ded, I hear you have dem too."

When the voice of Mei Ling rang out, Xiao’s eyes nearly popped out of his head with how wide they opened. It was a good thing Tiny was cradled in the sling because Xiao’s head whipped around to look at her in shock and disbelief as his hands came up to his mouth and cupped over it as he gasped. “Mama…?” He whispered, his eyes glistening. When he pulled his hands away, he was smiling wide, a single tear trailing down his cheek now as he composed himself for the ritual, though not breaking eye contact with the spirit of his mother for several moments before looking forward to Kit’raka again as he needed to focus on the ritual.

Draigarth smiled softly and nodded. "So it would seem... Yes.. I.. I have spoken to my mother before... Thanks to a very kind shaman."

Azu'lana, the first spirit pointed at Shu'kilo.  "We speak Latah, Shiftah."

All that were around the salt circle stood once more, waiting patiently.

The cryomancer fell silent, looking as though he were deep in thought -- wondering why it had never occurred to him before to reach out to his own deceased kin.

When the ghosts began appearing Zyn just raised a brow before nodding and giving them all a grin, "neat". It wasn't the first time he'd seen the ghosts of others ancestors...man Xiao looked like his mom. She was cute!

Kagtu /really/ wanted to speak back to Seilune, but now wasn't the time, he'd give a salute to the Elf, then back to the Ritual. "Holy fel.. those are the spirits.." He'd saw with awe. the tauren /were/ right. Should- no. don't. the Wolfmane are your own kin. your blood, you are no human. These thoughts were pushed away as Kag gained a smile, As he said, Just like a family.

As the phantasmal apparitions manifested from the fumes' psychedelic influence, Seilune's attention was stolen by them, her eyes widening to the size of saucers in intrigue and a touch of fear. The scratching of the quill against the tome quickened, the pages turning at a rapid pace as the woman's thoughts were being recorded. "Oh Stars..." She muttered quietly to herself, a hand lifting to her mouth as she noticed Vol'raka and Xiao overwhelmed with emotion at seeing their ancestors.

“We welcome ja spirits.  May da Loa ja serve…”  Kit’raka smiled with a bow of her head.  “Or Ja Celestials as et be…  Guide dis child.”  She turned her head up to the sky, arms raised to shoulder height and palms out before she let her head drop in reverence.  Lifting her head to gaze at the fire, her voice rang out, singing her words in lyrical Zandali. “Gonk, Riva fu fus Worl, Icense fu fus Yudo. Ju caang wha deh fus oondasta fu iman siame fu siare. Ir dim iyaz quashi iman t'ief is iman difus weh cyaa is ackee iman dim skam Ting siame skam godehsi deh riva sca ju weh whutless is wha worl deh weh or'manley.  Iresh’ka, Vahari.  Quick as ja can.  No sufferin’.”

((Kit: “Gonk, Lord of the Pack, Master of the Hunt. We thank you for the offering of this child of yours.  He has been chosen this night to feed those who come to greet this new life.  Your child will provide for many and we are grateful to you both for his sacrifice."))

The troll and orc nodded, Reshka standing with knife and bowl in hand.  Vahari spoke softly to the raptor, the golden tinted animal almost cooing as she quickly snapped its neck.  One hand on the back of the beast’s head and one on the muzzle made quick work of it.  She held the animal in her arms as it attempted to slump to the ground. She stood behind the raptor’s head as the mag’har waited a moment before slicing into the dead reptile’s neck and letting blood pool into the bowl.  With great care, she left the bowl on the altar and helped the troll woman carry the beast away, their task done.

Lowenthal couldn't help but flinch at the sound of bones snapping. "Ah... so that's what they meant..." He crinkled his nose at the sight of the pooling blood, but continued to watch, curious nonetheless.

"Mmm, can smell its blood" Zyn mused, but he didn't seem to say much else, focusing on the ceremony rather than the hunger starting to build from the scent.

The human watched as the blood pulled down into the bowl. figured, he'd asume some blood would be needed. The young adult gave a soft twitch. as the crack of bones were heard. yet.. he was dull, giveing a dull yet amused face watching this.. tribal practice. In a way, he felt pride, his inner animal pleased for the ritual, even if he wasn't a Troll or Pandaran. His blood was calm, not raging. good thing he took a pill before he got here.

Janaret stood back with Jura, Venya and Tsal, watching Hari and Reshka take the raptor away, murmuring a small prayer to Gonk out of thanks.  The Three brothers watched, quietly, bending their heads as well, both Tsal and Jura Druids of the Master of the Hunt.

Like a siren beckoning the tides, the rhythmic uttering of Zandali that Kit'raka spoke lulled Seilune to its melodic effect, the woman swaying from side to side idly in her intoxication. Being an elf who followed not patron deity or religion, the mention of Loas and Celestials held not personal meaning to her, but she could appreciate the sentimental value behind the presence and offering. In her trance, she barely reacted to the grisly sound of bones snapping, her pearlescent brows merely flicking as the kill was made.

Xiao carefully removed the sling from his form and cradled Tiny in his arms before carefully passing her off to Vol’raka. He looped the sling over his mate’s neck for him as his mate held onto their daughter and then moved to the front of the circle before the altar, standing in front of the woman, his mate, and the spirits. He cleared his throat and spoke out to those gathered. “We would like to sincerely thank you for coming to our daughter’s naming ritual. I know some of you may affectionately know her as ‘Tiny’, but after today she will be granted her true name in front of all of those that matter to our little family. As some of you saw, there is a little bit of blood involved, but for those of you who might be squeamish, the worst of it should be over.” He said with a reassuring smile to those gathered. “Once we prepare the ritual and our daughter is named, we will have words from those who wish to speak them, any of you who wish to introduce yourselves to our daughter before the spirits of her ancestors. Once we finish with the formalities of the ritual, there will be a traditional meal served to honor this ceremony that I hope you all will be happy to stay for.” He looked back toward the working Trolls behind him and saw they had just about finished up and smiled back toward those gathered. “With our little greeting out of the way, it’s time to get to what you all came here for. Without further delay, I will pass this back my mate’s lovely family.” With that, he offered a small little bow of his head before making his way back beside Vol and smiling at his mate, hoping he did well for their daughter.

Zul'jaryn watched them as well, a softness in skull paint framed eyes as he watched the Raptor's sacrifice, before returning his gaze forwards, unblinking, or so it would appear.

Kit turned her head to smile at Zul'jaryn, Medi and Tir, their sons, having broken away from Zaita and sitting quietly next to their father.

Seilune smiled to Xiao fondly as he removed the sling from his body, the woman nearly squealing in excitement as Tiny was procured from the cloth and handed to her mother. She nodded slowly as he made his speech, bowing her head in turn to him as he returned the floor to Vol'raka and their kin.(edited)

Ryleyth had settled somewhat stiffly next to Sam, his ears twitching slightly. Somewhat embarrassed, and cautious, it would seem, a bit awkward, but it didn't seem to be directed at any one person, moreso if others grew too close to the effeminate mage. Rythyren, on the other hand, was all up as close as he could get, a soft chuckle escaping him as Mox'tilek bobbed lazilly out of his grasp, having to snatch her up again. "Not right now little rose... After the ceremony.. you can't cuddle yet.." The little whelp let out a soft chirrup of disappointment, looking towards her friend's bundle. Draigarth frowned slightly, letting out a low murr as the Raptor was sacrificed, somewhere between  curiosity and something more primal, like the Felidae within had been upset it couldn't join the kill, an urge he suppressed, in respect for his companions. Zul'jaryn's unblinking stare softened once more, as he briefly brushed a hand across each of the boy's backs, and offered a nod towards Kit.

Reshka, the mag’har girl, came back with a large basket of bones, stripped of most of their meat and sinew.  She was not quite covered with blood, but her arms and parts of her chest were the crimson of the drying fluid.  She placed the bones in the fire, the smell of the flesh that was left becoming charred filling the air.  The smell was a bit strange between that and the shaman’s smoke that still lingered, but not unpleasant.  At the bottom of her bundle, she pulled out the sacrificial beast’s head, moving to place it before the altar.  The jaw was removed, only the golden-scaled skin covering the bones, and glassy green eyes staring into the crowd.

Vol’raka walked up to the shaman, tiny troll in his arms snuggled in her fur-lined blanket and the big troll waving Xiao over to them.  Kit’raka dipped her fingers into the bowl of raptor’s blood and spoke to each father in turn.  The infant was between them as they faced each other, Kit positioned at the child’s feet, the assembly only able to see the top of her head once the sling was pulled away.  The hunter knelt so that the child and he were more at eye level with her pandaren father and the shaman as she performed her rites. The woman’s blue finger, coated in blood, ran from between the male troll’s eyes up above to his hairline, leaving two lines of blood again on the hunter’s left cheek.  “Vol’raka Raptahblood, dis be ja daughtah?”

The towering Darkspear nodded, smiling around his tusks as he looked down at the child and then to his aunt then mate.  “Dis be mah daughtah, Ah claim er as mine by blood.  She be ouahs.”  The tiny infant took the opportunity to whine and wiggle before settling back down again.

Turning to the pandaren monk, she left a similar mark on Xiao’s forehead, fur only lightly coated in blood.  She touched his right cheek, leaving two small marks of raptor blood on that side, marking him in the exact opposite from his mate.  “Xiao Chun Autumnpaw, dis be ja daughtah?”

Xiao smiled widely despite the blood, seeming to take it better than most would anticipate given how fussy he could get about the condition of his fur. He nodded happily and stared down at his daughter with such love in his eyes. “This is my daughter, our daughter. She may not be mine by blood, but by spirit, love, and a bond I know will never break, I claim her with all of my soul.” He looked down at Tiny and took the opportunity to lean down ever so slightly and give her a little kiss on her forehead, eliciting a happy little squeal from the girl as her Ba’s fur tickled her face ever so slightly.

Shukilo forced a smile as he watched the ceremony, stealing glances towards the babysitter's group of young ones now and then. The druid seemed both happy and profoundly sad, and after a bit of time passed, he mumbled something and had to turn away for a moment, as if hiding something.

The presence of dried blood on the girl took Seilune aback a tad, much more so than watching the earlier raptor kill. It was certainly unlike any practices performed in Suramar involving children. In her youth, she had attended parties with cakes and sweet treats, and children were covered with streamers and confetti. But this contrast to the customs to which she was accustomed only intrigued her further, the woman watching closely as the bowl of blood was brought forward for the ceremony. As the scent of bones and raptor flesh blended into the fumes of the smoke, the woman's nose twitched slightly, trying to identify its properties but soon discovered she was unable to. Part of her felt she should be slightly disgusted, given that she was aware of the grisly remains that were laid before her, but yet the rather pleasantness of the smell prohibited her to be. She smiled with fondness at the parents' combined words and expression of love for their daughter, the woman's gaze lingering on Tiny.

Kit’raka dipped her fingers in the blood again, looking down with a smile at her great niece.  “Xiao Chun, Vol’raka.  What name ja give dis child?  Da one ja claim by blood and spirit.”

Xiao’s smile turned into a grin as he looked to Vol, biting his lip in anticipation before happily speaking out. “We bestow upon our daughter the name of Tarja Tian Autumnpaw.” He was practically beaming, the epitome of pride and joy as he stood beside his mate and gazed down at their daughter.

Kagtu struggled to get to his feet, he'd start clapping. living the place up. "Tarja!" He'd lift a fist up. "Tarja! Tarja! Tarja!" He'd chant. man, was he going to remember this? Though.. he sounded full of pride, for someone he only met once.

Tarja Tian Autumnpaw, he liked it! Zyn also decided to join Kagtu in chanting "Tarja! Traja! Tarja!", full of his uncle pride.

Lowenthal merely grinned widely, clearly happy for the two parents and sharing their pride. He began to applaud in tandem with the chanting.

Tal smiled happily as he watched the beautiful ceremony before him, but when Kagtu... and then his own mate began chanting, he just facepalmed and broke into a giggle. He slowly shook his head, just grinning. "Ohhhh gods..." He didn't seem embarrassed in any way, simply incredibly amused.

"Tarja? Oh, what a beautiful name," she commented, nodding with approval. The woman looked to her left and right as the chanting began, a pale brow lofting in confusion. Was this customary at a naming ceremony? She hadn't the slightest clue, and thus she chose to stay quiet, smiling in soft amusement.

There was an audible smack as Draigarth facepalmed. Cheering? "I.. do not know if that is.. entirely.. appropriate?" The pridelord sighed. Rythyren blinked, while Ryleyth muttered. "Kag..." Zul'Jaryn spoke, a low rumble escaping that skull visage. "Calm jaself an Listen.. we ainna done yet boy."

Kit gave the human teen a look then her employer...and went back to working her magics.  Medi and Tir looked up at their mother and then to Zul'Jaryn, confused. With a nod and using her thumb, the farseer gave the tiny girl a small brush of blood on her forehead and lines on both sides of her face to mimic her parents.  The girl didn’t seem to like the fluid on her face very much letting everyone know her disapproval with a soft cry.

“An’ who ja dedicate ja child to, be et Celestial, Loa or Spirit.” Vol’raka straightened his back, smiling as Tarja wiggled in his arms, still upset at the blood on her face.  “She be dedicated ta da Spirit of da Old Shadowhuntah, Vol’jin Darkspeah.”

Kagtu paused. looking like a fish out of water. he'd slowly stop, and chuckle. Muttering a sorry under his breath, but damn, didn't he feel alive today.

Kit nodded, Vol’raka still kneeling down to be at eye level with his mate and aunt.  The woman’s voice rang out to the assembled crowd, hands in welcome and looking toward the blue tiger druid.  The old troll shifted, gray-haired and Amani in looks, walked forward toward Kit, Vol’raka and Xiao with a blue candle and small box in hand.  Kit resumed speaking as she looked to her brother. “En ouah family, dere be traditions.  Dis one, da ritual of namin’ passed down fer da generations dat stem from da Zandalari, da people of mah mothah.  Fer a male child, a bone rattle be blessed and presented by da fa’da.  A female child be gifted two paiahs of golden earrings on ‘er namin’ day.  Da first be fer ‘er childhood.  Da second be fer when she an adult.  Dis traditionally given by da ma’da.  Dis a child wit more den one fa’da.  Today, dey give ‘er da gift of er earrings.”

The old male druid stood next to the shaman, holding the candle and box, opening it and holding it out to the pandaren.  In the box was a silver needle, an ornate golden Pandaren-styled dagger, and two pairs of earrings.  Both matched save for size, golden and inlaid on the inside of the hoop with deep green jade.  Kit pulled out the needle and spoke, her voice clear and even.

“Xiao Chun, nephew, et be ja place ta complete dis task.”  Holding out the long needle and held the candle above the now fussy baby who seemed to know something was going on.  “Dis needle be da one what pierced da ears of her ancestahs, aunties, cousins, an’ morah.  Et be mah hope dat da same be said fer ja grandchildren, one day.”

Volraka held Tarja as still as he could as he looked toward Xiao, smiling seriously and giving a nod.

Zyn didn't seem ashamed at the chanting, just giving a grin up to Kit as they continued on. He had to admit, the whole ceremony was really interesting to watch!

Xiao offered a small smile and spoke toward those gathered. “I suppose since this is traditionally done by the mother, it makes sense for me to do it, hm? I am not going to be so idealistic as to think we do not all know who is the man and who is the woman in this relationship.” He said with a small chuckle before looking a bit more serious again. He murmured something in Zandali now to Tiny, though loud enough for those gathered to hear if they were listening hard enough and spoke the language. Though it was a bit stilted due to Xiao being a novice with the language, it was still coherent enough to make sense; having likely been coached by his mate. “Godehsi fu flimeff zutopong fus yudo skam ir ting cyaa J craaweh”

((Xiao: “Forgive me, dearest daughter, the pain will be over soon, I promise.”))

After he spoke, he reached for the simple yet beautiful small Pandaren blade and took a small inhale. He closed his eyes and brought the blade to the furred flesh of his palm, biting back a wince as blood slowly dripped down from his hand onto the ground. He let out a breathy sigh and reached for the needle now and carefully held the tip over the lit flame of the candle. After letting the heat sterilize the needle for a few moments, he pulled it away and placed his other hand behind the small earlobe of their daughter. He closed his eyes for a brief moment and let a bright teal energy form around the hand behind her ear, the distinctive essence of Chi gathering around him as he channeled it into their daughter. As he did, he gave a small squeeze in the cartilage of her ear, triggering some small pressure points to numb some of the pain that would soon come. He pulled his hand away now to hold the needle with the unbloodied hand and squeeze his cut hand over the tip. Another wince came with the squeeze as blood dripped out from his hand and coated the tip of the needle thoroughly.(edited)

He switched hands and put the needle between the fingers of the bloodied hand, though making sure to keep the blood from the actual part of the needle he was gripping so it wasn’t slippery, and continued to prepare. With that same hand now, he brought it back to her ear and let the mists gather in preparation before separating his fingers to leave room for the needle. In a split second, he moved the blood-soaked tip of the needle forward with lighting precision and pierced it through the sensitive flesh of their daughter’s earlobe. Immediately an ear splitting cry broke the silence as she still felt pain, even if it was lessened. However, the cry quickly began to dull to a fussy whimpering and whining as Xiao’s mists filled the wound as quickly as it formed. He made sure not to heal it completely, instead simply sealing the flesh back together where the blood was coming from but making sure not to close the actual hole and instead simply cause the flesh to seal itself shut around the needle without adhering to the metal. Once he had healed it enough to slow the bleeding but not so much as to make the needle be stuck, he pulled it back out seamlessly and finished the healing so that only a bit of pink was visible inside of the fresh piercing. He carefully took one of the gold earrings and slid them through the piercing, eliciting another whimper from Tiny before it settled in place and no longer bothered her as the metal stopped moving against the freshly healed flesh. Soon after he repeated the process on the other ear, mirroring his actions perfectly. Heat, numb, coat the needle in his blood, pre-heal, pierce, more screaming, seal the wound, remove needle, insert earring, and one last touch of healing on both and it was done.

While Tiny still fussed a bit, the second touch of healing and soothing mists seemed to be enough to soothe the infant as her fussing slowed mere squirming and unhappily babbling as Xiao nodded to Kit upon being satisfied with his healing job on them, offering their daughter an apologetic smile after. “Now you will always be mine not only in spirit… but in blood as well. Our beautiful little Tarja.”

Ryleyth winced. He did not envy her the pain of that piercing, his own hand briefly going to the delicate amethyst studs he yet wore. and his were far smaller than troll jewelry. He yet fidgeted where he stood, seeming to attempt to avoid touching anyone. Rythyren was wincing, holding a squirming whelp who didn't understand what her friend's cries meant, only that she was in pain, going so far as to feebly scratch at her father's arms. He hushed her softly in draconic, reassuring the small violet creature that everything was alright. Draigarth, too, winced, the memory of a few recent piercings leaving him with sympathy pain, though he was sporting a warm smile at the family that showed before him. Zul'jaryn seemed to be concentrating now, his swirling eyes of blue and amber closing for a moment as he recalled the words and actions he would have to commence soon.

Lowenthal empathized with the small girl; the sound of a baby's cry made his heart ache, and briefly he wondered how Calam was doing back at home before he continued to concentrate on the events.

Kagtu felt a frown, but didn't say anything, wasn't his rules. besides, ear piercing were bad ass. he thinks.

Illustrations of the objects being used for the naming ceremony were scribed into the floating tome while Seilune watched the process closely, her eyes widening and gut twisting a touch upon seeing the procurement of the Pandaren dagger. She acknowledged Kit's words with a nod, knowing that the piercing of a female child's ears was custom for these ceremony, but yet she couldn't fight the grimace that appeared on her countenance. The woman reeled at Tarja's crying, looking to the child with a sympathetic look, the  sounds of her wailing making the Shal'dorei's heart ache.

It seemed the tiny troll baby getting her ears pierced didn't bother him, though her crying made him want to calm the poor child. He also wondered how his four kids were doing, though once he looked back and saw Vyn helping with the babysitting of all the kids he knew they were all fine. Poor boy.

When the deed was done, the girl no longer fussing and her pain healed by the skills of her experienced mist weaver father, Kit waved to have them stand to the side as they passed their daughter to the shaman.  She bounced the little girl in her arms, smiling at her great niece.  “Child, da spirits gonna smile on ja, da be mah sincere wish.” “Xiao Chun, Vol’raka.  Who Ja choose ta guard an’ guide should da Loa take ja before she can care fer ‘erself?” Vahari and Reshka came back at this point, the raptor butchered and ready, both clear of blood and clothing changed  to simple half shirts and kilts.  Reshka moved to stand next to Dumbuss and watch him work, Hari moving to wrap an arm around Shukilo.

Xiao spoke up again now after Vol nodded at him, looking out in the crowd toward those he called the names of. “There are four people we trust with the life of our daughter. There are many we consider close friends, family even, but these four are ones we would trust not only with her life, but even ours if push came to shove. The woman who raised the man I love so much. Kit’raka, daughter of the Redwalker, and her mate Zul'jaryn. The other two are… well, they are my closest friends and they very well may be Vol’s as well.” He said with a smile now. “They are kind, caring, protective, and parents in their own right. Talrethriel and Zynros. Between those four, caring for our daughter if anything ever happened to us… I would have no fear for Tarja’s fate. With your collective knowledge; Darkspear,  Frostmane, Thalassian, and all of the worldly knowledge you each have between you. I trust you will raise her well in our absence, Celestials and Loa willing that never happens, but Vol’raka and I instill that trust in all four of you."

With a nod, the farseer called forth the three males that were to be spiritparents to the girl.  “Talethriel Shadethorn, Zul’jaryn Frostfirah, Zynros Shadestriker.  Ah be called as well.  Ah be acceptin’ dis task ta raise Tarja Tian Autumnpaw en da old ways of da Zandalari an Darkspeah, an da edicts of da celestials.  Ja accept dis task?  Et will be ja charge da rest of ja days an’ er’s."

Tal comes forward as he is called, grinning widely with happiness and a bit of pride at being granted such a honored position in the little girl’s life. He opened his arms as Kit offered Tarja and carefully cradled her against his chest. He was only wearing a kilt, formal at that, but simply a kilt all the same. As such, Tarja felt the warmth of exposed flesh and warmed right up to him, making happy little babbling noises as babies do while the large Sin’dorei held onto her. “I accept the honorable task of raising Tarja Tian Autumnpaw to the very best of my abilities, should the day ever come. While I am neither Darkspear nor Pandaren, I will do my best to teach her the ways of her people, if the time ever comes. Thank you, you two… really. It means a lot.” His smile was warm, his words heartfelt and genuine. He was truly honored. After leaning his head down to give Tarja a little kiss on the forehead, he carefully passed her to the man on his left who happened to be Zul’jaryn.

Taking the child gingerly from the elf, he offered the demon touched fellow a slight nod, before looking down at her. The elemental mage was wearing his finest ceremonial attire, which was to say a full length kilt, beaded halter and thick headdress that rested over his head and about his shoulders. The caster leaned down, smirking slightly. "Lil Tarja be a strong'n.. dis da bones be tellin me..  She be a fightah.. an one ah would be happeh ta teach all o' what ah know, should dere ever be a need. My eyes be seein many a ting. Ah be raised in tha old ways by a darkspear ma'da an ah be trainin her da way ah was trained, should it eva come ta pass. Till Bwonsamdi be takin us all, ya have ma word." Gently, he offered  her then to Zynros with a slight nod, his hand once more falling to the leather pouch at his side.

Stepping up to the front, Zyn eyed the crowd, nervous a little bit but just nodded before turning to the tiny troll baby. She wasn’t his, but he already loved her like family. “So uh, I’ve never done this before...I mean ye haven’t either, so here goes.” Clearing his throat, he glanced around and eyed Vol and Xiao before looking back to Tarja. “I, Zynros Shadestriker, accepts the role’a bein’ one’a ye god fathers. I promise te protect ye like me own, te sit ye when ye dads need’a do stuff, te spoil ye like the proud uncle that I am.” He also had a gift for her, his own blessings of sorts (even though the gift of blessings wasn’t happening yet). Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a tiny little braided leather bracelet, carefully putting it around her wrist. “This’s more fer ye parents than fer ye, but with this bracelet, ye dads will always know ye safe.” After he put the tiny bracelet around her wrist, he would hand her back to Vol’raka.

Vol grinned, taking Tarja back as she made noises, she liked looking at the new people.  "Ja lil one, ja gonna meet everyone who wantin' ta do so, en a bit." Kit nodded, beckoning each of the three forward to place a line of blood under their right eyes.  She brushed a line under her own right eye to match the others.  “Ah name us all fouah ta be da guardian’s of dis lil troll.  Ja be obliged ta fulfil ja oath ta dese mons an da babe.” She nodded a dismissal to the elves, turning to her own mate, Zul’jaryn.  “Ja who be called Uncle ta Vol’raka.  Ja been asked ta roll da bones.  Ja tell us da fortune of dis girl.  What da Loa speak?”

The mage, blue eyes shining a bit in the lowering light, came forward.  The book that rested on the altar was set aside a little as the big male moved to kneel on the outer side of the altar.  Zul'jaryn knelt and pulled out a bag made of leather.  The leather strap, where usually tied with a knot, was held shut by what looked to be a tooth, small and sharp, like that of a young raptor.  His hand came out with a pile of what looked to be large chips of bone, dark runes cut into the white polished pieces. He studied the ossein fragments quietly for a moment, a finger scratching his chin as he speaks.  One ear twitched, causing the chiming sound of one his chains, marks of Bwonsamdi’s claim on him.  It caused one earring to clatter as he ducked his head, looking closely at the three that came first to his sight.

"Da first be As Or Os.  Action, Thought, Inspirin' Enthusiasm.  Et brin wisdom and favah da intellectual.  She gonna go through a time where ever'tin' be about Talking, discussin'.  Time be comin' where knowledge be necessary, more den we all be knowin.  Tarja be needin' ta listen tadem what be know ta be wise an' informed en da ways of da world.  She do dis, et be a positive fer all involved.  Patience gonna be a powahful ting fer dis lil life.

Da second be Is.  She gonna need ta learn ta stand back.  Sometime et be where et best ta not take action.  Too many tings get en da way."  His hand waves from side to side, as if sweeping things from before his vision.  "Things will be troubled, en many ways.  En dat time, et be a time ta wait, ta watch.  She gonna know when et time ta take action, ef she listen ta wisdom of 'er own an othas."

He moved his finger to a third bone, smiling.  "Ger Or Gar, da third.  Transition.  Heraldin' da end of dark times.  Ever'ting happen en ets own times.  She gonna have ta learn ta adapt.  Be a willow, not a mighty tree.  Da reward be worth et when she able ta do dis.  Adapt an' be calm when tings be gettin' crazy.  En' da end, She gonna use dem skills ta do great tings en da name of 'er people.  One day, she gonna help bring change.  Othas be involved, but she gonna be one what help wit da change." "May one day, lil Tarja, ja help right da wrongs.  Be kind ef ja gotta impose ja will.  Bein' a good person be hardah den ja tink, but ja loa, ja spirit reward en dey time."

“Now, dis be da time fer blessin’s.  From da Fa’das, da spirits, da guardians, and Ja.  Ja what be ‘ere considered family en some way ta dis new family.  Et be time fer ja ta speak should ja wish.  Et not be required of da family, but et mebe nice fer a lil hello da ‘er?  Come wit’in da circle, be careful of er’ head when she given ta ja fer ‘er blessin’s.  Some of ja be from otha traditions an’ faiths.  En dis place, dem blessin’s welcome and wanted.”  Kit chuckled softly as she stood to the side with Zul’jaryn, their own sons sitting remarkably quietly next to them, but just inside of the circle with their parents.

Vol moved to take Tarja back from his Aunt, sitting on his haunches, pulling Xiao to stand next to him.

“Mah Tarja.  Daughtah.  Ah, Ja Papa Vol'raka and ja Ba Xiao Chun, choose and gift ja da name Tarja Tian.  Ah declare myself to be one who will teach you the old ways of da Loa, Zandalari an da Darkspeah.  We be helpin’ ta guide ja path and care fer ja until ja ready ta do fer jaself.  As we be settin’ ouah foot upon dis path wit’ ja, we be promisin’, ta Loa an’ Celestials both, dat we be givin’ ja what knowledge we be possessin’ and hope dem what witness dis be doin’ da same.

Wit raptor's blood we grant ja courage, wisdom, patience an’ strength of will.  Wit dese virtues, may ja fight for ja Loa, protect dem what be ja’s an’ be successful en ja walk en dis world an othas.” The troll mon passed her to her Ba, smiling down at Xiao Chun as he kissed both his daughter and mate on their foreheads.

Janaret smiled from the side, looking at his little family, grinning proudly.

While his mate was holding Tarja, Xiao picked up a nearby sealed box and carefully opened it, setting each of the seemingly mundane objects in four distinct places. One East, one North, one West, and one South. Upon finishing his preparation, Xiao took Tarja back from his mate and gazed down at her, such love in his eyes as he spoke. “I, your Ba, Xiao Chun, declare myself to be one of the ways of Pandaria. Even as Troll blood courses through you, you will be just as Pandaren as those who are furred head to toe. I promise to teach you in your Ba's ways, to pass along our ancestral knowledge and show you how to live your life to its fullest, under the Celestials and Loa both." He smiled down at the relics he had placed and continued. "With these four relics of the August Celestials, a tuft of fur from Niuzao, a shed scale of Yu'Lon, a broken claw of Xuen, and a lost feather of Chi-Ji, we grant you the fortitude of the Black Ox, the foresight of the Jade Serpent, the agility of the White Tiger, and the mindfulness to keep your hope burning as bright as the Red Crane against all odds."

Azul’ana did not take the babe, but her spirit moved to stand before Xiao Chun as he held the child in his arms.  “Great granddaughter.  Great things will come from you, equally great things expected.  There will be happiness and tragedy, wonders and pitfalls.  None here can nor should shield you from that adversity, for because of it you will grow like a flower in sand.  Never forget to grow.”

With that she moved to float behind the altar.

The beautiful kimono-clad Pandaren spirit moved forward to stand before her son and her granddaughter, smiling down at them now. As she spoke now, more than her simple announcing of her presence before, those gathered would hear where Xiao got the melodic undertone to his voice. Mei Ling had a voice that sounded like music on the wind, sweet and rich, gentle and soothing to the ears. The smile on her face carried to her words, making the harmonious notes of her words that much more euphonic. “My dear granddaughter, while I may not be living and breathing beside you, I will always be there to watch over you…” She paused to look at Xiao, her eyes sparkling with joy. “... and you.” She then looked to Vol. “All of you, in this beautiful family. Your life will be filled with more love and compassion than you will know what to do with and I know that you will become an amazing woman with an even more incredible soul. The Celestials smile upon this one… and your life will reflect that. Never forget that you have the love and support of those in the realm of the living and beyond. Your mama Mei will always watch over you.” Her smile only widened now as she stared down at the baby girl for a moment before offering one last lingering look toward her son only for him to return it with a grin of sheer joy as she moved back to stand behind the altar. Xiao didn’t even hide the tears that were streaming down his face. He was too happy to care.

The masked spirit came forward, smiling down at his youngest granddaughter.  “There were ones before you, there will be others after you.  Forget about none of them.  All will have something to teach you.  You will have something to teach them.  Lessons come in many ways, granddaughter.  Teach and Learn.  And, don’t forget to laugh.”  His spirit moved to stand behind the altar, all three watching.

Tal came forward now, Xiao smiling at him and offering his daughter over to the Illidari carefully. Tal cradled her against his chest again, more happy babbling coming from her at the unusual warmth of his skin against her. He couldn’t help but to chuckle a bit. “You beautiful little girl… you are truly lucky to have such a loving family. No matter the strife, no matter what mess life may throw at you… I know that you will always have this entire village of loving people to hold you up and make you strong enough to face anything. I am more than honored to be part of that village, to be able to be part of your little family as one of your spiritfathers. Whether you need, no matter the time, no matter the place… I will always be there, all you need to do is call. Celestials, Loa, and whatever other Pantheon may be looking… this one is special… and I know they know it. You are going to have an important life, little one. You deserve it.” With that, he smiled and carefully passed her off to Kit as she came up next.

Kit came forward, holding Tarja yet again in her arms.  Her words were in Orcish, soft and sung as a lullaby would be to her own two sons.  “Da loa keep ja safe, Ja heart guarded from harm, ja blood strong.  One day ja grow ta fight fer what ja believe en.  Dat could be da path of da motha, da path of da warriah, da path of da healin’ crone.  Whatevah et be, little Tarja, we all ‘ere ta help ja.”  She said a few more words in Zandali that caused Vol’raka to give her a look and the Spirit that was once Un’lai cough.  “Deh'yo dim J skam difus wha fu yu so han smadda fu ir smadda fu fu Iyaz Deh deh yahsoda worl m t'ief ting fu deh fus'obeah Wha skam deh ackee fi fus craaweh fu ting.”

"Tarja, ja gonna go on ta great tings.  Ah be a creature of da Loa of graves.  One day we all gonna meet 'em eat at 'is table.  Dat inevitiable.  When ja go, make sure ja sent many before ja."

Zyn took baby Tarja into his arms to hold her close to himself, smiling down to her. "Tiny...Tarja. I'm not  as good with words as ye Uncle Tal, but I as I said before, ye part'a me family an' that means ye under the protection of Shadestriker. May the Shadows ever be beneath ye, give ye a place te hide if ye need it, give ye safe haven from dangers that may lurk.  An' know that when ye be old enough, if ye wantin', I'll teach ye how te be one with the shadows." Leaning in, he kissed the girl on the forehead before handing her over to Kit with a nod.

Rythyren perked his ears, listening, thankful that when Tarja had stopped crying. After a moment, he spoke softly, with a smile. "If.. I may?... I have you lovely gentleman but a short time, however I find myself fond of you, if for nothing else than you have given someone very dear to me a new friend, and I think, perhaps, lifelong, if she has anything to say about it. As you may be aware, I hide little about what I am.. I am yet young, my youngest, however, has an eternity ahead of her." Mox'tilek perked up, before squeeking out softly. "Can I be with Tarja now?" Her snoot wiggled and a tiny serpentine tongue blepped out from where she rested in her father's arms. The entire display made Ryleyth giggle, if a bit hesitantly. The delicate magister, crossed his arms over his chest as he did so, his head down and his ears back, a flush to his cheeks. Draigarth was amused as well, though he wrapped an arm around Lowenthal, clearly something on his mind, but he wasn't talking, as he glanced sideways at his beloved.

Kit wandered to Zyn, standing next to him. "Now fer all da assmebled, et be ja time ta say hello, ef ja wantin'.  Step up an be speakin' ja words as ja be seein' fit.  An ja can aftah everyone who wants ta has held er, lil ting."    Kit now waited for whomever came up to hold her and speak.

Tal watched everything play out, grinning at the little whelpling and her incredibly adorable display. However, his gaze remained on Ryleyth the longest. Seeing the man giggle, show any sign of happiness at all really, it was something that made the Illidari incredibly happy to witness again.

Shukilo shifted from foot to foot, looking to Vahari for guidance."If et be de time for meh to speak, ah ave a gift for de family o de babe. De Loa I revere bade me make dis for jah, and ah know bettah dan ta disabeh de masta of shapes." Striding over, he collected the large hide-wrapped parcel and carried to rest before the family. Slowly he unwrapped the package, revealing a stone plinth much like the ones seen for the fallen in Pandaria. Almost three feet tall, its sloping rectangular form was topped by a silver-and-steel bowl for incense, and its base was almost a foot wide and nearly square. engraved on all four sides of it was a modified version of the Darkspear spear-and-shield that would take a moment to Identify. At the foot of the front was a metal weapon bracket, empty as Shukilo unwrapped a beautiful stone and silver mockup of of a specific glaive, of which no other quite like it had been known to exist. Reverently, he placed it in the bracket, and then stepped back and proclaimed "By order of Gonk, de master of shapes, ah shrine ta da fallen chieftain o' de Darkspear ta watch over ya home."

Vol bowed, looking to his sister and his brother-in-law of a sort.  "Ah be tankin' ja,  Dis be a blessin' on mah family, Shu'kilo, an ja too, Sistah."

Lowenthal smiled at his beloved. What do you think, love? Quite touching... I almost wish we had given Calam something like this. He communicated to his husband via thought, and through their link he wondered what the ranger was thinking.

Seilune stepped forward as the invitation for others to come forward and given their blessings to Tarja was made, the woman gingerly taking the child and cradling her in her arms as she spoke broadly. “Friends and family of this beautiful child, I am Lady Seilune Astrande. I thank all of you for the humble invitation to bear witness to Tarja’s naming ceremony, as well as for being welcoming of me. I have no tutelary deity that I follow. In fact, many of my people have abandoned the religion of old over the span of ten thousand years. But with that being said, I bestow best wishes and tidings onto Xiao, Vol’raka, Tarja, and all of you gathered here today. May this child always walk an illuminated path, one that is paved with success and strength, and that each and every one of us can give her the love and help that she needs to fulfill her goals and wishes.” A lilac gaze swept slowly to the child, resting on her cheerful visage before fluttering shut. The Shal’dorei pressed her nailed thumb upon the child’s forehead, and as she did so, the sound of soft Shalassian could be heard emitting from between the woman’s lips. “E’rath omnas…” Intricate, leyline tattoos inscribed across her periwinkle skin shifted to an amethyst hue as she muttered the incantation, a prismatic barrier of arcane engulfing Tarja’s form before becoming invisible. “I have placed a shield upon the child, one that is invisible to the naked eye to protect her from any and all that could, Titans forbid, attempt to do her harm.” Before passing Tarja to the next person who wished to speak, Seilune conjured a leyblossom with a quick flick of her wrist, carefully tucking the efflorescent flower behind the child’s pointed ear. “Erana-dora isil.”

Vol smiled, Tarja making a happy little newborn noise at the flower.  "Ah tank ja, Lady Astrande."

Reshka came forward, taking Tarja and bouncing her a little.   “I’m your cousin, Reshka.  I hope that anything I teach you will at least be positive.  I hope you have a far easier time keeping your temper than I ever have.  You should know that you have a great big family who loves you and will help guide you.  There will be punishments, and rewards.  Life’s not easy, Tarja.  The family who you choose as yours will help you through.”

Draigarth smiled softly. It would have been nice, yes... but... perhaps.. He glanced towards Rythyren, thoughtfully for a moment, before glancing back to Lowenthal. Perhaps... ah.. nevermind.... this is hardly the time.. He responded in kind.

Lowenthal lifted a brow, looking concerned. If you say so... but would you tell me later?

Xiao remained silent, watching the ceremony with a proud smile... but then Seilune's magical display made his eyes widen a bit and an impressed look crossed his features. The conjured flower caught his attention the most, grinning widely and having to resist from reaching out to touch it. "It is beautiful, and so is that gesture. Thank you, really."

It's nothing bad my love, I promise.. just.. ideas... He blushed , ducking his head and offering another smile.

Sam steps forth and takes the baby, uncapping a tiny bottle of scented oil and anointing each cheek with a little.  "I offer to you two gifts: the ferocity of Goldrinn, and the peace of the Light.  May your heart always know the balance between them, and may you never lack for the courage to do what you feel is right."  He kisses her forehead to seal the blessing, and passes her on.

Tsal, the orange-haired brother of Vol’raka smiled as he held the youngest of his niece.  “Ah be ja Uncle Tsal.  Ah not got much ta say, but May da Eart’motha guide ja en er wisdom.”

The cryomancer looked rather relieved, and smiled. "As long as you are untroubled... I think I will go congratulate the parents and meet the baby." He planted a kiss on the ranger's forehead, and stepped away into the gathering, waiting his turn patiently to meet the youngling.

Dumbuss got up and walked up the the young one, smiling wide with a box in hand. Opening it slowly, he addressed the babe as he handed an ornate mechanical raptor in Zandalari styling To Vol. "Dumbuss bring companion thingy for little one. Give to papas for now. will be fun for you when are allowed to play with later. Will help protect too. Dumbuss is with Reshka, you ever need Dumbuss, Dumbuss will smash things for you."

Reshka grinned.  "Awww its cute!  Dumbuss, no smashing one elf with other elf..."

"Well.. I mean.. Can't argue with the outcome of last time.." Jested Draigarth with a low chuckle.

Lowenthal glanced over at the mag'har woman. "Ah, that story certainly has made its rounds, hasn't it..."

"They are mated.. I'm certain he bragged about it.." Draigarth smirked.(edited)

The little Mag'har smiled.  "Oh Runda and Harken have even been regaled of THAT Exploit!"

Lowenthal exclaimed. "The only one allowed to smash Draigarth here is me."

"LOWEN!" Now the pridelord was blushing.

Dumbuss spoke.  "Need help 'frostypants'?"

The cryomancer grinned devilishly, but the gesture was countered by an innocent grin.

A bright redhaired male came forward, “Ah be Ja Uncle Jura.  Ah hope ja like mangoes.”  He gave a chuckle as he held the tiny sleepy child.  “Ja got two good fa’das.  Ja got all dese people ‘ere ta see ja.  May ja one day find ja place an’ ja footin’.  An' et sound like ja got an interestin' otha side da family as et be.."

Rythyren cleared his throat, covering mox'tilek's head. "PLEASE...."

Xiao made a quiet 'Oooh' as he saw the raptor, deciding to hold it for his mate for now. It was his curiosity that got the better of him as he found a little dial to turn and promptly began to turn it and set it down to see what it actually did.

"Of course not!" The mage let out a harrumph, flipping his ponytail over his shoulder.

Janaret:  “Tarja, Ah am Janaret.  A am new to your family, and newer to your life than you are.  Ah am welcomed by your fathers as theirs, welcomed as a new love in their life.  They welcome me as father to you as well.  I hope to be a good one, a good member of your family, So Zutopong."

Zyn moved from the group crowding around the baby over to his own kids on the far side with the babysitter and Vyn to check up on them all as well as bring Luna and Balore and Ely back over now that the scent was gone. "Hey, Tarja, why don'tcha meet ye cousins? This's Luna an' Balore." Holding a baby in each arm, he held them up to the troll baby and whoever was holding her.

As the raptor was set down, it whirred and clicked, its eyes flashing red, then yellow, then green and finally to blue. Looking around, it cocked its head one way, then the other, and let loose a tiny roar as it scampered around through peoples feet.

Lowenthal peered over shoulders in order to see the child, letting out a soft "aww".

Hari held Tarja up to see the babies, the infant very interested in looking at EVERYTHING.  “Ah be Ja Auntie Vahari.  Bwonsamdi guide ja.  May all da Loa smile.  Make sure da firah en ja belly nevah go out.  Fight fer et.”

Vol laughed, kneeling down and looking at the raptor. "Can ja make em.. full size?"

"... Oh Celestials, wait come back!" Xiao said as he hurriedly tried to scamper after the construct, looking to snatch it up and try to turn it off.

“Ah be ja Uncle Venyabi.  Not seen ya before this day, little one.  Mah blessin’ be simple.  Ef all ja can save en dis world be one, be sure et be jaself.  Nevah set jaself on firah ta keep anyone warm.  Remembah othas, but not forget jaself.”  The othre redhaired male grinned down at the girl before He and Tsal dragged Jura off.  They would be found by the fire, drinking beer and roasting pieces of raptor and Tsal inspecting the hide.

Dumbuss nodded once, then looked thoughtful. "Expensive, need to keep light.  Would need lots of special metals and would want actual hide from large dinos."

A moment into the mad scramble after the raptor, it was floating above the pandaren's head, shrouded in a glow that bordered violet and a firey orange, as Ryleyth's hand held outstretched, golden eyes glowing as he concentrated on holding it still. "Missing something?"

"Ja an Ah gonna talk latah, Cousin."  Vol nodded at Dumbuss and Reshka smirking.

"I didn't necessarily prepare a fancy speech or anything, but could I hold her for a moment?"

Hari handed Tarja over, letting Lowen hold the wiggling infant.

Xiao hadn't even noticed it was off the ground until he heard the whirring of the gears above his head and looked up. He chuckled and reached up for it, smiling as he recognized that hue of magic. He looked over to Ryleyth and nodded. "Thank you, yes. I did not realize how fast that little thing could run." He looked to Dumbuss now. "This is nicely made, Tarja will love it. I am more intrigued with it than I should be as well, but some things can't be helped, hm?" He said with a playful little glint in his eyes before he finally turned the knob the other way to cease its whirring and running.

Ever so carefully, the mage took her into his arms and held her close. As he stared down at her, he could only think of one thing: don't make her cold, don't make her cold... He smiled, cooing softly. "Hello there, pretty lady... look at how lucky you are, surrounded by love and warmth."

Rythyren smirked slightly, padding forwards a bit, before murmuring quietly to Vol'raka. "I.. did bring you something as well..." He paused for a moment, before offering a small package. "This... may help.. when her teeth begin to press farther..." The small semi-squishy object looked like a leather pouch, shaped to look like a Zandalari mask, cool to the touch, clearly enchanted.

Vol reached out to take the pouch.  "Dis bet bettah den booze on 'er gums."

Lowenthal rocked the child gently, beginning to regret having not brought a gift. After mulling it over a few moments, his eyes lit up with an idea. Balancing Tarja in one arm, he used his other hand to conjure something made of ice -- it was a small rattle, the handle shaped like an icicle. He let the baby observe it. "This is enchanted so that the cold will not bother her, but it is very delicate. If it breaks, I can make a new one without issue."

Tal waited for Lowen to finish his greeting before heading over. "May I?" He asked kindly once he finished, taking the little bundle into his arms now. “Perfect little Tarja… I am your uncle Talrethriel, one of your spirit fathers. Whenever you need help, support, advice on men even… who knows maybe you will like the Shimmerweed as much as two of your spirit fathers do.” He said with a small chuckle now. “You already have my heart even so soon after your birth. I always told Zyn children were hit and miss for me, but our beautiful twins, our wonderful Elysara, and now you… you all are a wonderful exception to that rule. I could not love any of you more if I tried and I look forward to getting to know you for the rest of your life.” He gave her a playful little boop on the nose and smiled before passing her off to the next person.

After Tal finished his speech, an unfamiliar form to almost everyone would appear near the back. An older, grizzled Pandaren with the more traditional black and white fur, spotted with bits of grey edging on the black, observed from the shadows. He was dressed in full Shado-pan formal wear, his full uniform with the low-brim hat, a large glaive strapped to his back with an ornate dragon acting as the head with the blade coming out of its mouth. He cleared his throat and stepped forward from the shadows now, speaking in an even more accented Orcish than Xiao did. “I… would like to introduce myself.” He said tentatively, staring at Xiao. Xiao’s mouth just about fell open, gaping slightly as he stared at the older man. “I-... ah… yes, please.” He said quietly, gesturing for Tal to hand Tarja over to the mysterious Pandaren. Tal seemed uncertain, but he nodded and brought the small girl over to the Pandaren as he moved to the front of the group of onlookers who had either already given their speech or were waiting to do so. The Pandaren took the child and held her against his chest, the cool leather seeming to not bother her much. He cleared his throat and spoke up. “Tarja… I am your grandfather, Lin Xuen Autumnpaw.” He a took hard swallow and offered a small smile, looking almost a bit choked up yet slightly conflicted. “I… have made my share of mistakes in life, with your father. I… look to fix those with you.” His speech was stilted as he spoke, odd pauses here and there as he tried to find the right words in Orcish without anything coming out wrong. “I may have had trouble coming to terms with… what your father chooses to do with his life, in truth, I still do. You… my granddaughter, are far too important and far too precious to let any of that get in the way of me meeting you. I am sure your fathers and I will have a long discussion after this, but right now all that matters is you and that you know… your Yeye.”(edited)

He smiled now, looking up to Xiao. “Thank you, for… inviting me.” He bowed his head slightly before offering the little girl back to her Ba. “I… am honored to meet my granddaughter.” Xiao looked like he had just seen Vol’jin come back to life, do a little dance, and then shapeshift into one of the Celestials. The shock was apparent on his features. It was only upon Tarja being given back that he snapped out of it and took her into his arms. He took a slow inhale and nodded at his father, offering a tentative smile. “I am glad you could make it. Shocked, but… glad.” It was only then the spirit of Mei Ling let out a scoffing chuckle, giving her husband all kinds of side-eye. “He knew he better come or I would go and haunt his Shado-pan tiger everyday to the point of it bucking him off every time he tried to ride it had he not.” She spoke rather hurriedly in Pandaren now, fluent and exotic, the tone pointed. “Nǐ zhīdào wǒ bùnéng xiāngxìn nǐ děngle zhème jiǔ cái jiēshòu nǐ wéiyī de érzi. Suǒyǒu zhè yīqiè dōu shì wèile nǐ yúchǔn de chuántǒng, méiyǒu rén guānxīn. Nǐ hěn xìngyùn, wǒ bùnéng dǎ nǐ yúchǔn de móhú de tóu…” Xiao had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing, the noise still escaping him as his father paled before chuckling a bit as well. “I forgot how feisty your mother is.” He murmured to Xiao before the ginger-furred male nodded back. “So did I. I have not heard one of those berratings in a very long time.” After a shared smile, Lin cleared his throat and looked at those gathered. “I will go back to the crowd, I… will see you after, I would guess.” With that, he turned back to the crowd and snuck back into the shadows of it to let the introductions continue as he watched silently.(edited)

Vol just kinda.. blinked, looked down at his furred mate, looked at the spirit again and spoke.  "Dunno Pandaren...  but..  she mad." Janaret smirked, nodding.  "His mother is.. displeased."

Vol’raka stood, Xiao in front of him, their daughter in the Pandaren’s arms and a bottle of goats milk being devoured by the tiny creature.  He spoke first in Zandali to his family.

“J ju cyaa is caang wha J iyaz honnah iman bwoyar ting oondasta Fidong sca Craaweh iman bwoyar ting reespek deh wha Ju wha deh ir ackee fu ting wehnehjo J iyaz difus Worl Noh saakes ju dim skam riva or'manley riva siame fu fus duti Ju  iman tor han wassa wehnehjo honnah wassa Tor han worl J iyaz cyaa Wha sca Duti skam iman difus han smadda wassa deh difus han whutless J craaW Caang wha deh wehnehjo fu fu wi'mek quashi is cyaa is iman dim.”

((Vol: I, we, want to thank you.  I know coming here caused some conflict.  Zulana and Alashzu have caused some trouble for you.  We may not be close as some families.  I know since Mama Azu passed, we all  just.. scattered like seeds in the wind.  We have our own lives, families, people, loves.  Our own ways.  I know soon Kit and Hari will have their own naming rites for their own children.  I just…  Thank you for thinking of me highly enough to come to this one))

His words changed to Orcish, the words far less well pronounced, but carrying.  “Tank ja, ones who may not be blood, but be family.  Ah be raised wit da teachin’s of Family ja be born ta an’ family ja choose.  Ah happy ta call all dat come taday family of mah choosin’.  We be happy ta see ja here and hope ja consider us a small part of ja family too.  Now..”  Blue hands clapped together softly, even that upsetting his apparently hungry daughter.  “Tarja be awake at leas’.  Xiao be havin’ dinnah prepared ef ja wanna eat.  Meet new frien’s, dance round da fiah.  Ef ja curious, Da Raptah, be name of Tigah.  He feed ja dis evenin’.  But der Rice an’ vegetables fer dem what not like etin’ raptah.”

When everyone did make it over to the food, they would find that alongside the raptor was a medley of Pandaren vegetables as well as freshly steamed rice. The rice had a very unique flavor, jasmine most prominently but there was something more exotic and slightly bitter. To those with a trained palate, they would be able to identify it as being Golden Lotus, the rice apparently having been steeped in the sacred Pandaren herb to bless the meal before being flavored with jasmine for taste. It was all masterfully made, the raptor counterbalancing the delicate flavors of the Pandaren cuisine with the wonderfully biting spices of Darkspear cooking. All in all, it would be delicious all around!

[lovehaswonangelnumbers]

New Post has been published on https://lovehaswonangelnumbers.org/planetary-energy-february-2019-manifest-joy/

Planetary Energy February 2019 ~ Manifest Joy

Planetary Energy February 2019 ~ Manifest Joy

Today is February 4, 2019, the new moon occurred at 1:04 PM PST. We had snow last night here in Seattle and it is beautiful. The temperature is 25 degrees, so I think the snow will stay for a while. It is like a holiday here. Tomorrow is the beginning of the Chinese New Year of the Pig. Happy Chinese New Year to all. The Pig is supposed to bring a fairly good energy to the Earth during this upcoming year although the planets will be very intense until the full moon of February 19, 2019.

The sun and moon are on 15 degrees Aquarius on this new moon day. This degree means “A big business man at his desk. This man has the ability to organize the many aspects of an enterprise involving a large group of people.” Maybe we will hear something in Trump’s speech tomorrow night that will affect many people. In the past lunar eclipse on January 20, Saturn was affecting the degree of Washington D. C. The energy from that lunar eclipse will last at least until the February full moon. Saturn was in a square aspect to Mars at that eclipse and this is when the challenge between Nancy Pelosi and Donald Trump occurred. This new moon will bring a continuation of that past eclipse energy.

Today, Mars in on 23 degrees Aries conjunct Eris on the same degree. Eris is the Goddess of chaos and both Mars and Eris are in opposition to Lilith the dark moon. This energy is affecting us here in Seattle with all of the accidents that are occurring because of the snow and I am sure it is also affecting other parts of the world. Eris is on the degree of “Openness to the influx of spiritual energies. The wind blows through this open mind – window and brings into the house of personality a promise of more-than-material potency. The mind opens to an influx of spiritual and creative energy.” The wind really blew here at my house last night and this morning. There are storms all up and down the West Coast. California has been hit pretty hard and this weather will continue for a few more days.

The above aspect was also square Pluto, which is on 21 degrees Capricorn. This degree means: “By accepting defeat gracefully, a General reveals nobility of character”. The fact that this energy is over Washington D.C. is very interesting. I wonder how this energy will work out.

Chiron, the healer is on 29 degrees Pisces. It has been in that sign for the past nine years. Pisces is a very emotional sensitive sign and is sometimes called the poor-me sign. It is the last sign of the zodiac and the people born in that sign sometimes choose to have many challenges in this life-time. Chiron was going through the sign Pisces between 2010 to 2019. This is when many of us went through a process of releasing all of our old stuff. On February 18 Chiron will move into Aries where it will stay for 9 years. This will be the beginning of a new cycle of healing methods, or new inventions will come forward that will heal people instantly. This will be a very exciting time period.

Mars will move from Aries into Taurus on Valentine’s Day February 14. What a present! Mars will no longer interact with Eris and on March 6 Uranus moves into Taurus. This is when the energy for peace will finally start manifesting. I’m not saying peace will start on that day. I am saying we go into a new 7 year cycle of Uranus in Taurus which is ruled by Venus, the planet of peace and love. The Spring Equinox will bring a new beginning.

The Energies of the Full Moon The full moon will be on February 19, 2019 at 7:54 AM PST. The full moon always brings a culmination of what started at the new moon. This full moon will be on 0 degrees Virgo. This means we will have the desire for perfection and will want to see our ideals incarnated into material form. In other words, it is time to focus on our thoughts and create what we choose to experience.

Regulus, the Royal Star of the Lion is on the degree of this Virgo full moon. Regulus ushered in a 2,000 year cycle of Virgo, the Goddess, on July 11, 1991. This is when we entered the sixth sun in the Mayan system. The sixth sign is Virgo. The year 1991 started the age of the Goddess. Woman started feeling this energy and said to themselves “let’s start changing the world”.

At the last election in November of 2018 women won many seats in Congress in the USA. This started activating women power big time and it is now time for this women power to become very active. It is time for Goddess energy to become dominant. Goddess energy represents the love we carry in our hearts and this includes both men and women.

The sun will be on 0 degrees Pisces on this upcoming full moon. This degree means it is the beginning of the end. Pisces is the last sign of the zodiac and this will give us another month to release anything else that we might still be holding onto that needs to be released. The new beginning comes at the time of the Spring Equinox on March 20.

Saturn will be on 16 degrees Capricorn on this full moon. This is the degree of The Tower Struck with Lightning in the Tarot. Saturn rules governments and control. We will see how this works out, although it does not look good for the ones who have been controlling us for so long. This process will probably last until the Spring Equinox.

Jupiter is on 20 degrees Sagittarius at this full moon and in the Tarot this card rules judgment. Sagittarius rules courts of law, lawyers, truth and justice. Jupiter is the symbol of the father in Greek Mythology and at this time Jupiter will want justice for all. This could mean that the full moon of February will start the process of actually judging the people who have controlled us for so long.

The last paragraph in Revelation Chapter 20 talks all about judging everything. We are now in that energy. Once we stop judging we will manifest a higher frequency and be able to see the New Heaven and the New Earth. Here are a couple of links I thought you might enjoy. The Event – The Fifth Dimension is Here! And Mass Pineal Gland Awakening. [click on white area of post after following second link.]

Walk softly in the energy of love. Be kind to people. You never know what people are experiencing and a smile might just make their day. Enjoy life. Laugh at your troubles, are they really that bad? It’s all an illusion anyway. Dance and listen to happy music. Go for a walk and enjoy nature. Do whatever makes you happy. A smile a day keeps the doctor away. Live, love and manifest joy.

So Be It!

***** Mahala Gayle *****

~~~~~~~~~

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