#also the way if i put them in chronological order it goes short -> tall -> short but slightly taller than the first short -> tall again

[beehop]

reorganizing my albums and the ateez ones are making me unnecessarily annoyed i cannot make them look nice. why is the world ep 1 a different size square than the treasure albums?! why is from the witness a different rectangle than the fever albums?! just whyyyyy

[lucky-sevens]

mechanisms fiction!

also known as: i read all the fiction so you don’t have to!

under the cut: summaries of each fiction, word count, and content warnings! the summaries are of my own writing, and unlike the ones on the website, i’ve opted for useful rather than intriguing. i’ve also ordered the list to make a bit more sense/fit better timeline-wise!

some of the fiction has an audio version; i’ve included links to TheVoidSings’ lyric videos of said audio where applicable!

i’ve put the ones with relevant lore in bold, the ones i personally like in italics, and i’ve put a * after all the ones that include the mechs!

AURORA AND THE CREW

breakup*

summary: nastya and aurora have an argument and then both go off to sulk. mostly focuses on nastya. interesting thing: scuzz is in this one!

word count: 707

content warnings: implied nsfw

the story of the toy soldier*

summary: it’s the toy soldier’s backstory! covers what’s probably at least a decade and has a lot of lore! also has illustrations, most likely courtesy of ts!

word count: 605

content warnings: murder, images of choking, implied rape

who killed doctor carmilla?*

summary: carmilla’s just been pushed out an airlock and various mechanisms are going around trying to get an alibi out of everyone.

word count: 647

content warnings: n/a

interview transcript 34/08/7012*

summary: a police officer attempts to interview jonny when he’s in prison. includes a lot of information about him that’s nice to have for characterization!

word count: 782

content warnings: discussed murder, including child murder; attempted suicide

archive footage*

summary: an ivy character study, pretty much! goes into her fucked up brain and how it works. one of my personal favorites, as it’s very well written.

word count: 1390

content warnings: death, minor blood/gore

octokittens*

summary: a short one-off featuring some ashes and jonny banter!

word count: 208

content warnings: guns, animal death

feeding the octokittens*

summary: another one-off: this one has some quality tim, ivy, and nastya content. very fun!

word count: 455

content warnings: animal death

tales of the blogbot*

summary: comes off as an odd fiction, addressing the ‘blogbot’, the thing that used to send out the updates on the mechs mailing list (among other things) and makes passive-aggressive comments about them occasionally. goes through a few answers to what the bot is, and comes to no conclusion, but directly links to the next fiction in my list, ‘ghost in the machine’.

word count: 988

content warnings: referenced mass murder, implied nsfw

ghost in the machine*

summary: what happened to aurora’s programmer when jonny and carmilla took over ‘her’ ship (which is explained/expanded on in ‘how the aurora was won’); lots of aurora lore, as well as a more close view into the actual atrocities the mechanisms commit.

word count: 1152

content warnings: death

how the aurora was won*

jonny steals the aurora from the cyberian navy, in the most unsettling way possible!

word count: 631

content warnings: suicide, graphic depictions of violence

a bedtime story*

some fluffy nastyaurora for the soul!

word count: 326

content warnings: n/a

drive the cold winter away*

part of a group with cyberian demons and nomadic spacers! i think i’ve arranged them chronologically, but might have messed it up.

nastya visits the ruins of cyberia. jonny and ashes are there.

word count: 432

content warnings: n/a

cyberian demons*

a nastya character study- reflections on her memories, as she works on destroying what is left of cyberia.

word count: 1699

content warnings: blood, violence

nomadic spacers*

an outsider pov on the events of ‘drive the cold winter away’ and ‘cyberian demons’.

word count: 1120

content warnings: death

out*

nastya leaves the mechanisms for good after she finds her love, aurora, is no longer who she once was; presumably, this is her death.

word count: 1210

content warnings: suicide

ONCE UPON A TIME [IN SPACE]

gingerbread

hansel and gretal’s villain origin story! (they were the scientists speaking in ‘the twins’)

word count: 609

content warnings: child neglect, murder, needles/syringes

midnight

a bit of a cinders character study/some more of her backstory!

word count: 628

content warnings: n/a

mirror, mirror (audio version here!)

post-pump shanty/snow’s flight. the beginning of snow’s descent into a worse person, and how it overlaps with the myth of snow white/how she begins to take on the role of the evil queen.

word count: 860

content warnings: smoking

a fireside chat

a radio broadcast by scheherazade, king cole’s chief propaganda minister.

word count: 842

content warnings: mentions of concentration camps, death, and bombings

a rebel yell (audio version here!)

counter to ‘a fireside chat’- a radio broadcast by tom thumb, the voice of the rebellion! one of my personal favorites, as it’s very funny.

word count: 574

content warnings: mentions of mass murder

chapter’s end*

mad jack spratt and jonny d’ville play cards.

word count: 790

content warnings: discussions of death

by any other name

basically all the lore around briar rose, in a form of a report by hood, the rebellion’s hacker!

word count: 2023

content warnings: murder, graphic depictions of violence

this little piggy

all of the (incredibly fucked up) lore around the three little pigs!

word count: 993

content warnings: child abuse, brainwashing, non-consensual body modification, medical abuse (it’s a very intense one, please stay safe!)

what big eyes

all the lore we have on hood, in the form of king cole’s intelligence officers trying to figure it out.

word count: 1946

content warnings: mentions of war crimes and death

in the army*

the toy soldier and a group of rose reds hang out in a bar together! it’s a very fun one, with lots of banter! presumably takes place before the toy soldier met the mechanisms, but we don’t know that for sure. lots of lore about the rose reds, as well!

word count: 707

content warnings: mentions of war crimes and death

true love

colonel belle’s report on her efforts to manipulate adam ‘the beast’ bete into joining the resistance. (the mechs’ take on beauty and the beast). also a small bit of lore about rose!

word count: 1151

content warnings: manipulation, torture, unhealthy relationships

one thousand and two

a character study of scheherazade- the thoughts running through her head as rebels are about to find and kill her.

word count: 2236

content warnings: suicide; mentions of torture, concentration camps, and child death

ever after*

you know how jonny was being annoyingly cryptic about what happened to briar rose! well, they have a fiction that says!

word count: 680

content warnings: graphic depictions of violence

ULYSSES DIES AT DAWN

you’ll have to tell us the story sometime*

the mechanisms explore the ruins of the city, thousands of years after the events of ulysses dies at dawn!

word count: 469

content warnings: n/a

death in the metropolis

not anything super relevant- a news article about gang violence and the increased shifts for acheron workers as a result, setting a bit of a mood for the city as a whole. establishes hermes’ role in olympus.

word count: 547

content warnings: nothing to note, but there’s the background fucked-up-ness of the city going on and mentioned!

how not to die

another news article, this one focused on a group of people (’helljumpers’) trying to escape the acheron.

word count: 926

content warnings: suicide

fao: hermes – not urgent

a bit of a followup to the previous two fictions! the editor, herodotus, gets in trouble for discussing the helljumpers.

word count: 453

content warnings: n/a

orpheus, dionysus, muriatic acid and the strange whirring thing*

a look into orpheus’ character and how he ended up in the ulysses job! (mechs don’t heavily feature- just a note of the role brian took on, as well as mentions of ashes of course)

word count: 5017

content warnings: addiction, suicidal thoughts, police; implied nsfw, but only in the context of orpheus being a sex worker

orpheus and narcissus go to the seaside

i personally really love this one! it’s low-key the mechanisms’ take on the great gatsby- takes place a few years prior to the above fiction, and explores orpheus and narcissus’ friendship! it’s morbidly funny, with lots of very good banter/interaction! 

word count: 6300

content warnings: eating disorders, addiction, implied nsfw (again in the context of sex work), suicidal thoughts, mental institutions (even if that’s not normally a problem for you, they get very dark and graphic, so be careful), non-consensual drugging; technically self-harm, but it’s a lighthearted joke

in the madness of war

how ulysses was forced into the war (a darker take on the story about him attempting to avoid it at first).

word count: 817

content warnings: n/a

the hacker’s mistake (a fiction to accompany prometheus)

prometheus is revealed as corrupt, but that doesn’t stop people from believing in him, so he is made an example of.

word count: 903

content warnings: torture

one of the chosen

another low-lore worldbuilding piece- this one about a teenage girl who gets conscripted to the acheron early.

word count: 824

content warnings: n/a (it’s fairly dark, though, so be careful).

eskhatos*

after the events of ulysses dies at dawn, the mechanisms leave, but not without causing a bit of chaos first.

word count: 464

content warnings: cannibalism

HIGH NOON OVER CAMELOT

the fastest shot

guinevere’s backstory! 

word count: 792

content warnings: murder, child abuse, alcoholism

the sharpest aim

a western-style tall tale, starring lancelot!

word count: 1667

content warnings: relationship abuse, murder, violence

i will rule this town*

another personal favorite! expanding on ‘ten caliber railgun he got off a bandit in the flooded sectors’, it deals with arthur’s attempts to bring down nimue, the lady of the lake, and gain control! also has some lancelot/arthur/guinevere fluff, and a bit of an insight into his friendship with brian- as well as his original hopeful mindset, and how that diminished.

word count: 1488

content warnings: murder, drowning

the wake

morgan le fay (mordred’s surrogate mother)’s funeral, and mordred’s decision to go seek out camelot.

word count: 1045

content warnings: death (but only in the context of it being a funeral), cultural cannibalism

pellinore and the beast (audio version here)

this one’s a bit of an odd one- i’ve included it for the sake of completion, as it’s on the fiction list, but it’s just the lyrics to the mechs song pellinore and the beast? i’ve excluded the word count and content warnings for this one, as it’s literally just the lyrics. unsure of what to do here.

OTHER

the prisoner of dorian gray

the mechanisms’ take on the story of dorian grey! this one is part fiction, part song lyrics with a note of the tune they should be sung to.

word count: 1746

content warnings: suicide, torture

and that’s it! the fiction is all very good and well written, and i’d highly recommend reading at least a few of these!

[sparklegemstone]

Taking a break from work so time to write up more of my Loki trailer thoughts since all the cool cats around here seem to be doing it :-D.

In chronological order:

1) Personally I was 'meh' about the trailer starting with the Endgame scene just because I think the Russos did a terrible job matching the tone of that scene with the tone of the original Avengers film's conclusion and I want the Loki series to feel like a continuation of Avengers.  Alas, the Endgame scene grates on me as feeling inauthentic to the story it's supposed to take place in.  But I certainly understand the practicality of needing to put it in to give the audience the context for when/how this new story with Loki is taking place.

2) But five seconds later on the other side of the wormhole…yay, Kate Herron fixed the tone!  This feels much closer in tone to when Thor and Lok depart for Asgard at the end of Avengers.  Excellent job Kate.

3) Was so pleasantly surprised by Owen Wilson's portrayal!  Very different than any of the comedic characters I strongly associate the actor's acting style with.  I like his character a lot with what we've been given so far.  It's instructive reflecting back on the potential concerns I had and that were being discussed in the fandom when we were working with scraps and rumors that we now know don't have merit: things like 'Hiddleston is only there to narrate the series' and 'How comedic in tone is this going to be if Waldron from Rick and Morty is hiring Owen Wilson?'.  Ah the good old days of baseless speculation.

 4) I mentioned the frequently low camera position in another post -- it does a poor job of conveying how Loki carries himself, tall and straight and elegant.  It makes him seem more ordinary, but maybe that's the point -- equalizing him with Mobius rather than it being an Asgardian in a non-Asgardian's presence.

5) The way Loki goes from locked down and not letting any sense of what's going on his head slip to Mobius (what I feel is in-character for Loki) to suddenly being a lot more open with what he's actually feeling and having less guarded, more friendly/casual attitude toward Mobius is weird to me.  I think it's a cut just for the trailer and hopefully it will make more sense in context, but Hiddleston's acting here and the way he has no qualms about being physically guided out of the elevator by Mobius is one of the points where it felt more like Hiddleston playing a different character than playing Loki to me (and lacking Loki's costuming doesn't help that perception certainly).  Which I know is nitpicky, but I was just curious to see to what degree this would actually feel like 'fresh off of Avengers' Loki and so I'm paying close attention to what feels in and out of character for me.  Does Mobius say something to really throw Loki for a loop that would cause him to drop his guard like that?

6) "Glorious" -> YAASSSS that's the Loki I wanted to recognize.  He's back!  I'm still having a hard time wrapping my head around how blessed I am, but we've got him back for more screen time.  Also, with him back in Stark Tower and the later image of post-apocalyptic Manhattan, I am super intrigued by the possibility of Loki (and me too!) experiencing different ways things could have played out on Earth, if he'd succeeded in his conquest for example.

7) Loki's going to learn about what happened in the main timeline and the choices he made in the future?!  That's huge!  Should be a fascinating character moment.  This bit of Loki turning away from the projector gives me a lot of hope that the writing in the show is actually going to explore, honor, and authentically run with where Loki was as a character at the end of Avengers and the context of what he experienced rather than Marvel just plopping the "general" character of Loki into a genre-fied crime thriller show basically disconnected from the events of Thor and Avengers so they can say they made a Loki show.

8) Do I like Loki in the beige detective jacket?  Nah, not really.  But I do appreciate that even with the earth costume they kept Loki's style of being completely covered up.  Also creates contrast with him not being in control when he's in the TVA prisoner jumpsuit that has short sleeves.

9) Thought that was Nat on Voromir at first because of the purple environment.  Been reading some thoughts on how that's probably not Nat, and while the theories make sense, if that's true, why would Marvel put in a shot of a character that looks so much like Nat that it would cause confusion and maybe get her fans' hopes up?

10) I agree with @delyth88​ on the D.B. Cooper scene.  Didn't think I'd want Loki looking like Hiddleston, but I don't mind it / it's not taking me out of the scene as I might have expected.

11) The fight choreo and edit into the twirling -- I already discussed this before, but the physicality of it is giving me human-strength!Loki vibes.  If instead the guy he's fighting is also super strong, wouldn't the plastic or metal disc thing between them break upon impact?  Also the fact that it seems implied that Loki would get hurt by jumping out of the plane w/o Heimdall’s help to catch him.

12) The twirling -- is Loki legitimately, celebratorily, uninhibitedly happy?  I feel like we've never seen him like that since the Thor cut scene before they all made that fateful trip to Jotunheim.  I read a theory that the roman numerals on the building in this frame might mean he is in Pompeii the year the volcano erupts, which is interesting.

13) Loki saying "Brother”,  “Heimdall", coordinating with at least Heimdall, traveling on the Bifrost -- HOPE!  BEAUTIFUL, WONDERFUL, HOPE!  I was honestly expecting the show to make no mention of anything connected to Asgard, except maybe segueing into Thor 4 at the very end, so the fact that Loki is (indirectly) interacting with Heimdall -- calling Thor "Brother" (even if not to Thor) !!!!!!!!!!!! -- interesting!  

14) The idea of him being D.B. Cooper is very fun! (though I didn't know who that was in advance).  It's very easy to pretend that Loki is real and has been an unidentified part of our history all along.

15) I do not like the last scene with comics!Loki suddenly being brought to life.  In fact I had a very kneejerk dislike of it the first couple times I watched the trailer (so many watches ago :-P) because it presses a very personal button of mine, which is how the MCU is moving toward becoming more spectacle-driven and comic-book-y and therefore away from the grounded, character driven storytelling that I enjoy about the MCU.  I'm here for the character of Loki that I love as he is already established in the MCU, not the comics versions of the character.  Also, IMO the acting is out of character for MCU Loki and more goofy.

That said, I'm hopeful context will help a whole bunch here as @iamanartichoke​ has said.  Given all the timey-wimey multiverse shenanigans, it's probably not even Avengers!Loki anyway, and I'm certainly not going to begrudge the many fans who are excited to see comics references on screen.

Overall impression?  Very excited, very hopeful.  Would I selfishly want a story that's just a direct continuation of the Avengers and hyper focused on the exact context of the character of Loki as he was in Avengers, fleshing out the off-screen bits and up-until-now only implied emotional impact of what Loki experienced between the end of Thor and the start of Avengers, digging into his relationships with the Black Order, and family, reconciling with his heritage?  Uh…duh ;-).  

But you have to give an audience what they need as opposed to what they think they want, and from a craft perspective, this has to be its own story.  The Thor and Avengers stories are their own stories, they're told, they're done, even if certain emotional threads were left hanging / implied / off-screen that we as very detail-oriented Loki fans would like to see dealt with explicitly.

But given that this was always going to be its own story, I'm very hopeful that the series has an explicit creative goal of telling a story that also does a great job with emotional continuity and exploring the fallout of Thor and Avengers and what that means for Loki's character; of honoring, picking up from, and running with Loki as a character in the context of who he was when he surrendered to the Avengers and where he goes from there.

The Marvel Studios executives could have easily decided to make an isolated story featuring Loki that general MCU fans that don't think overly deeply about the character would have been very happy with and probably it would be very successful, and I would have gladly taken that over nothing.  But I'm optimistic that that isn't what we're getting and that they chose to ground their story in the specific context of Loki's character.  We'll see!

[lostinmymindpalace-m]

The Light of Knowledge

A warm comfort fanfic about Dead Poets Society introducing Diana Williams. Might not always be (chronologically) accurate, but has the intention to warm your heart and take you to a wonderful place. Will (hopefully) be updated, because I love wrtiting it. Feel free to give feedback and correct linguistical mistakes <3

Chapter one, in which the thoughts are free

Wer kann sie erraten,                      Who can guess them sie fliehen vorbei,                           they flee away, wie nächtliche Schatten.                 like nocturnal shadows. Kein Mensch kann sie wissen,       No man can know them, kein Jäger erschießen.                    no hunter can shoot them. Es bleibet dabei:                             It stays like it is: Die Gedanken sind frei.                 the thoughts are free

Ich denke, was ich will,                 I think what I want und was mich beglücket,               and what makes me happy, doch alles in der Still,                    but all in silence und wie es sich schicket.               and how it acquiesces. Mein Wunsch und Begehren         My wish and desire kann niemand verwehren,              nobody can deny, es bleibet dabei:                             it stays like it is: die Gedanken sind frei.                 The thoughts are free

(from a German folk song)

I stop and take a deep breath. The time-honoured school building looks stunning against the setting of trees, whose leaves are starting to turn colourful. I still can't believe I'm really here. My heartbeat accelerates with excitement as I let my gaze wander over the dark, weathered brick bulidings and the adjoining school grounds. A river runs through the valley and flows into a lake aside the houses. Welton Academy. I actually made it. A blast opens up the cloudy sky and the golden sun rays of late summer bathe the school building in their light. I close my eyes, hold my face against the warmth and then set out for the Academy, for a new life.

In front of the entrance door, an old man with grey hair is waiting for me. He introduces himself as Dr. Hager and shakes my hand. „You must be the recipient of the Eisenhower-Scholarship. Diana Williams, right?“ I nod. „Yes, Sir.“ „Well, in addition to my function as teacher of mathematics, I am residential supervisor for grades eleven and twelve, a cordial welcome to Welton Academy on my behalf. Please follow me to the director now.“ I tightly sqeeze my suitcase as I walk behind Dr. Hager. In the entrance hall, the walls are covered with pictures of former years and special awards of students. One day, my picture will be on these walls, too, I think and feel like I could scream with joy. But of course, I controll myself. Keep it upright, a slight smile on my lips, just like my mother told me to. Dr. Hager stops and knocks on a door made of the same dark wood the walls here are covered with up to shoulder height. „Come in!“, it sounds from the director's room. I square my shoulders, adjust my glasses and step in. Behind the huge mahogany desk sits a man with short, white hair. For a moment, his eyes behind the round glasses linger on my school uniform before he signifies for me to sit down. „Miss Williams, it is a pleasure to welcome you to this school. Your parents don't seem to have arrived with you?“ „No, Sir. They were both indispensable, so I took the train here by myself.“ Director Nolan takes notice with a nod and then continues. „You certainly understand why the school has asked you not to attend the traditional welcome ceremony. Students and parents have been informed about the project, but the school administration considered it appropriate to avoid any possible disruption of the ceremony.“ In other words, the teachers think the presence of a girl would lead to inappropriate behaviour on part of the students? I internally roll my eyes. „Miss Williams, as you know, your admission to this school is a pilot project. An attempt to see if teaching female students at an institution like Welton is possible. Of course, you are familiar with the rules of this school as well as our four pillars?“ „Yes, Sir. tradition, honor, discipline and excellence, Sir. It is a great honor for me to be able to attend this school.“, I say in a steady voice. Nolan nods again, almost approvingly this time. „Here, you are expected to adhere strictly to the tried and tested standarts and to understanf the four pillars as the headstone of your life. Be aware that your success or failure at this school contributes a major part in the decision about an enlargement of the pupils.“ I can feel his stern look on me, but I don't even blink. I have been aware of the efford and the responsibility this scholarship would entail from the very beginning, when I was suggested by my principal. „As for your school uniform“, Nolan throws a glance at my legs in the suit pants, „an alternative will be found as soon as possible. You will understand that until now, this institution hasn't had any need for adequate skirts.“ That's what I was afraid of. Why can't I just wear pants? Skirts may be pretty, but most of all, they are impractical. Well, my school uniform surely doesn't have top priority here. Who knows how long it will be until I actually have skirts to wear. „It also goes without saying that you won't exploit your position as, well, unique. It is an important requirement for the continuation of your scholarship that the concentrated working atmosphere in the classroom won't be disturbed. For this experiment to be successfull, you too are expected not to let living with male students diminish your achievements.“ „I assure you this won't be an issue, Sir.“ Nolan hands me a paper on which my schedule appears to be printed. „From tomorrow on, you will attend class with your classmates and, based on your last report cards, you will take part in the following extracurricular activities: Pupil's magazine, yearbook and debate club. Dr. Hager will now lead you to your room and I will have your class representative lead you through the school during the afternoon. He will also tell you where to pick up your books. Dinner starts at preciely six o'clock. He rises and so do I. „Thank you for your time, Sir.“ After a quick handshake, I am dismissed.

My new home is a small room, the last one on the left side oft the hallway, that has my name on it's door. The walls are dirty white and it's very plain, but at least it has a window with a wide ledge. It was probably originally used as a storage room or something, but now it has everything I need. A simple metall bed, a wardrobe for my clothes and a desk with a chair and a small lamp. It reminds me of home. I slowly put down my suitcase and step up to the window, from which I have a beautiful view of the school grounds. A slight mist is rising, making the lake and the far edge of the forest seem blurry and mystical. I feel tears rising in my eyes and I can't tell wether it's the beauty of nature or the fact that I'm actually here, at the best preperation school in the United States. Six month ago, I couldn't even dream of an opportunity like this. But now, with a lot of work and a degree from Welton Academy, I should even be able to go to college! Almost floating with happiness, I start unpacking my possesions. I didn't bring much, just a few everyday clothes, my coat and a pair of shoes, which I put into the closet next to the school uniforms that have been sent to me. I have just stored my books and writing material and am wondering what to do with my bathroom stuff when I hear muffled noises outside my door. A moment later, someone knocks. That's probably the class representative, i think and quickly put away my bathroom bag. When I open the door, a boy in grey Welton uniform is leaning against the frame and looks at me with a mischievous grin. Behind him stands a group of boys around my age whose facial expressions range from enthusiastic to mild panik. It's hilarious. I slightly raise my eyebrows. „Can I help you?“ The boy that's leaning in the door frame casually extends his hand. „Charlie Dalton. Welcome to Hell-ton.“ „Diana Williams. Pleased to meet you.“ As I shake his hand, he looks deeply into my eyes and pulls my hand to his lips. I sigh internally and stifle a grimace, but I continue to smile nonchalantly. Of course, I knew what kind of attention I would get here. Remain polite and kind, I admonish myself. Mother taught you the best way to handle situations like this. Fortunately, another boy steps forward and I can withdraw my hand. The boy's school jacket is covered with pins. „Diana, I'm Neil Perry, the class representative. Mr. Nolan sent me to show you around and“, he gestures to his companions and gives me an apologetic look, „these guys absolutely wanted to welcome you, too.“ I inconspicuously wipe my Charlie-Dalton-kissed hand on my pants before i extend it to Neil Perry. „That's nice of you“, I say, even though I can't quite avoid a mocking undertone.  „I understand that it must be rather unusual to have a girl here. Let me tell you, it's a weird situation for me, too. But please, come in if you want to. We really don't have to talk with one foot in the door.“ I sit down on the window sill and watch the whole group enter my freshly occupied room. Charlie Dalton immediately makes himself at home on my bed and another one takes a seat on my desk chair, but the others keep standing more or less awkward in the middle of the room. For a moment, nobody speaks, until I tilt my head and casually ask: „Alright, and how is the rest of my eloquent guests called?“ Charlie Dalton's grin widens as he begins to introduce the other guys. „This right here“, he points to the boy that is sitting on the desk chair, „is Steven Meeks, the genius of the class.“ Steven Meeks makes a face and slightly rises his hand. „To his right, we have Gerard Pitts.“ The boy is so tall that in order to stand unter the pitch of the roof, he has to crouch uncomfortably. „Those two are Knox Overstreet and Richard Cameron...“ A smiling boy and another one with a very neat haircut nod to me. „And this“, he points to a guy that is kind of shyly standing next to Neil Perry, „is Todd Anderson. You already know Neil here. We are the best your class has to offer, the rest is dull.“ I have to smile. „Alright Charlie Dalton, Steven Meeks, Gerard Pitts, Knox Overstreet, Richard Cameron, Todd Anderson and Neil Perry“, I say without missing a beat, „it's a great pleasure to meet you.“

The guys seem smart and adorable and I feel much more comfortable with them than I expected. We talk for a while, then Neil shoos them to the common room so he can carry out his duty as a guide. He shows me where to put my stuff in the bathroom and leads me through the school buildings and the classrooms in which I'll have class tomorrow. Neil chats to me cheerfully and tells me stories about teachers, but i hardly listen. I'm enchanted. The escritoires made from dark wood, the chalkboards, the pin boards, the smell of ink and paper. With every breath, I can feel all the knowledge, all the thoughts and hard work. In the room we have english class in, I sit on one of the escritoires, pull my knees to my chest and stroke the wood, that generations of students chafed with the back of their books, with my fingertips. „There is one thing I don't get“, I say and draw a circle around an ink stain. „You are telling me all these awful things about the teachers and how exhausting the classes will be and yet all I can think about is how beautiful it is here. Don't you feel the freedom this place is radiating?“ I look up and see Neil frown. „Freedom? If Welton lacks in one thing, than it's freedom, believe me on this one. You do have to be disciplined, or else you'll get penalty points.“ I nod pensively and jump off the escritoire. „Hm, I don't think that's what I mean.“ So we go and pick up my books. On our way back to the living quarters, we meet Todd who apparently has been waiting for Neil. Both of them accompany me to my room, where I store the books. Neil turnes to Todd. „Do you get a feeling of freedom when you enter Welton?“ Todd shakes his head. „No, if anything, the opposite of freedom.“, he says quietly. „Why?“ „That's how I felt.“ I turn around to face the boys. „And I think now I know why. You may not feel this way, but for me, this place is more than I could ever dream of. When I can make it here, then...“, I gesture vaguely, „basically anything seems possible.“ Neil and Todd nod. „I'm glad you feel this way“, Neil says with a smile. „You are right, your situation is just different. You didn't expect to go to Welton. But you'll see how little controll they give us here.“ I shrug as I watch the last rays of the dying sun slowly fade away. „The thoughts are free, boys.“ Before I can go on, the bell calls us to dinner.

[theyearoftheking]

Book Twenty-Four: The Eyes of the Dragon

“His mother pointed from GOD to DOG. “These are the two natures of man,” she said. “Never forget them, because someday you’ll be King and Kings grow up to be great and tall- as great and tall as dragons in their ninth moltings.” 

I don’t really have much of a process when it comes to this blog, except reading all the books in chronological order, and making sure I have at least the next two books on my shelf. Abibliophobia... the fear of running out of books... it’s a real thing, kids. 

I was surprised to find a new(ish) copy of The Eyes of the Dragon on my bookshelf. I had never read it... the husband hasn’t read it since grade school... neither of us could remember buying it. But there it was, with yellowed pages and an un-cracked spine, just waiting to be devoured. Or something. 

I would not say I devoured this book. And I have a friend who is going to light me up for this review (sorry, WP); but I thought The Eyes of the Dragon was a watered down GRRM novel. Like, suuuuper watered down because the mass market paperback was only 380 pages with fairly large text.

The only thing that was remotely interesting about this book was the Dark Tower seeds it sowed. First, you’ve got King Roland, even though he’s a far cry from Roland of Gilead. King Roland is pretty much the Robert Baratheon of Delain. He’s fat, bowlegged, usually drunk, super into hunting (he killed a dragon once!), and shitty in bed. As far as being a king, he’s neither impressive nor a total snore. He just is. Much like this blog, he’s a solid C+.

In GOT, Baratheon had a pretty questionable small council: Grand Maester Pycelle, Petyr Baelish, and Varys to name a few. Likewise, Roland has Flagg. I don’t know if it’s Randall Flagg, or some other guy who just shares the same last name; he’s only ever referred to as Flagg. But he’s a wicked magician. Imagine Qyburn, except younger and craftier. My apologies, I didn’t mean for this to devolve into a Game of Thrones discussion, but here we are! 

Roland was married to Sasha, and they had two sons: Peter and Thomas. As far as we know, Sasha was NOT having sex with her brother, so the GOT comparisons end here. But Sasha was murdered during childbirth with Thomas (two guesses who murdered her); and Roland becomes even more ineffective after that. 

Peter is the golden son everyone loves, and they can’t wait for him to succeed his father. Thomas is as mediocre as his father, and wah-wah-wah... Daddy never loved him as much as his perfect brother. Eye roll. Flagg sees his opening and goes for it. He shows Thomas a hidden room in the castle where he can spy on his father’s chambers via (wait for it) “the eyes of the dragon”. Roland had killed a dragon in his youth, and had it mounted in his chambers. You could go into this hidden room, and spy via the eye holes. Clever, right? 

So, Flagg poisons Roland with a glass of wine, and Thomas happens to see it. But he also kind of talks himself out of what he saw. He’s a weak ass bitch. Flagg is smart enough to make it appear Peter had poisoned his father in an attempt to take the throne. Peter is arrested, convicted, and stashed up in The Needle, a tall ass tower where the convicts are held. 

Thomas becomes king, has no idea what the hell he’s doing, and begs Flagg to be his advisor. 

Flagg convinces Thomas to tax the hell out of farmers, which Thomas does, and everyone pretty much hates him. The stress of the job is getting to him, so he drinks too much, and can’t sleep at night. Thomas and I are pretty much the same person these days.

Meanwhile, up in The Needle, Peter finds a locket and a note from a former inmate, claiming Flagg also set him up for a crime he didn’t convict. Peter is pissed, and decides to plot his escape. He takes several threads out of his napkin at each meal, and uses a tiny, doll-sized weaving loom to weave them together. 

Several. Threads. At. A. Time. 

This takes him years. Literal YEARS. He’s far more patient than I am. I would have just kept the napkins, tied them together and used them to repel down the side of The Needle. But Peter was too worried people would notice the napkins were missing. He shouldn’t have worried; there was an entire room filled with napkins. No one would have noticed. Sweet irony. 

While Peter spends his days using a dollhouse sized weaving loom, and his brother drinks his way to cirrhosis; Peter’s friends and allies are convinced of his innocence, and work to free him from The Needle. Two of his allies are Ben and Naomi... named for Steve’s daughter Naomi, and Peter Straub’s son Ben. So that was kind of fun. The book ends with them married... which did not happen in real life. 

The book ends in a climactic chase where the allies and Flagg are in a race to either free Peter from The Needle, or kill him. It ultimately ends in two tons of irony. Or napkins. I’ll let you decide. All and all, it ended much happier than any GOT book/episode ever did. So there’s that? 

While Flagg’s true identity was never revealed (Randall or Random), the book ended with Thomas declaring, “He’s out there somewhere. In this world or in some other, he’s out there. I know it; I feel his poison in the wind. He got away from us at the last second. You all know it, and I do, too. I would find him and kill him. I would avenge our father and make up for my own great sin...” So, that’s a pretty sweet way to tie Flagg into all the other villainous roles throughout the Steve universe. 

One other Dark Tower reference... there’s mention of Rhiannon the Dark Witch of the Coos. Um. Anyone who has Wizard and Glass memorized knows all about Rhea of the Coos. So there’s that. 

Obviously no Wisconsin mentions, but that’s cool. 

The book was solidly okay. At least it was short, and I got to show my true nerd skills by comparing King Roland to Robert Baratheon. This little lady would be supes proud of me...

The best. Truly. 

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 16

Total Dark Tower References: 19

Book Grade: C+

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

The Talisman: A+

Different Seasons: A+

It: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

Skeleton Crew: B+

The Dead Zone: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

Cycle of the Werewolf: B-

Danse Macabre: B-

The Running Man: C+

Thinner: C+

The Eyes of the Dragon: C+

The Long Walk: C+

The Gunslinger: C+

Pet Sematary: C+

Firestarter: C+

Rage: C

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Roadwork: D

Christine: D

Next up is Misery, which my aunt pointed out is a terrible book to read during quarantine. I disagree, it makes me appreciate my roommates more. Even if I have to put headphones on and force them out of the house so I can get writing done. 

Until next time, Long Days & Pleasant Nights,

Rebecca

[iamanartichoke]

I’m just gonna write it down now while it’s still fresh in my mind, and hope I don’t forget anything. It already feels like it wasn’t real. 

1. Getting There.

I fucking got lost. I’m staying in NJ, so I had to take the train in and then the subway into the city. From the stop where I got off, it was supposed to be a ten minute walk to the theatre. However. Google Maps is terrible and New York City doesn’t clearly label their streets and long story short, I literally ran, in heels, like six blocks bc I was panicking that I wouldn’t make it in time and they wouldn’t let me in. Not the best start to the evening.

2. The Performance. 

The actual play was amazing. When the lights went down and the curtain went up and I saw Tom there on stage, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. He has such a presence, like, right away I was enthralled. (Also - he’s very thin! Thinner than he looks in pictures/on screen. And tall!) 

I loved the structure of the play. The events unfolded in reverse chronological order, so it started with Charlie and Zawe’s characters meeting a couple of years after they’d ended their affair. And then it goes backwards, all the way back to the beginning when the affair first started. I was close enough to see all the actors’ facial expressions and all the little nuances they put into their performances. And the performances were so good. I don’t know how to describe it except that I was just completely engaged the entire time, and invested in the story, and the play did not feel like it was 90 minutes. It just flew by. 

It was much funnier than I realized it would be. Tom has great comedic timing and I loved how he was able to switch so quickly between humor and heartbreak. It was the kind of play - and performance - I would watch again and again if I could. 

3. The Stage Door. 

After the play ended, all the actors came out and took their bows. Tom got huge applause, of course, but they all did. Tom thanked everyone for coming out, and then it was time to leave. I didn’t bother trying to hurry or anything, bc I was still kind of just absorbing the performance and the surreality of even being there. So by the time I got outside, a decent-sized crowd was already gathered, but it wasn’t so big that I couldn’t find a place. I was decently close to the barricades. 

We stood out there for maybe ten or fifteen minutes before Tom came out. Before Tom came out, though, the security guy said that they weren’t going to sign anything but that they would take photos, so we should get our phones ready. It was drizzling by that point and I was just hoping it wouldn’t downpour. (Also it was fucking cold.) 

There were these two women behind me being kind of obnoxious - like, talking loudly about how Tom’s fandom is intense, and comments like, “this isn’t their first rodeo,” when girls started taking out their phones and positioning them to get good footage. Like, just acting like they weren’t there for the same fucking reason we were. So the thrill of anticipation I may have otherwise felt was kind of diminished bc of their negativity. I don’t know why people have to behave that way - but, whatever. 

When Tom came out, he just worked his way up and down the line. I was kind of in the middle, so he went to one end, moved down toward me, and then past me to the other end. Then he came back along the line and, by then, the crowd had thinned a little bit so I was able to get super close - I mean, I was kind of right there. The moment that he was right in front of me, though, and all I had to do was move in and hold out my phone and ask him for a picture, I just froze. I couldn’t move. Tom passed by and I was completely invisible to him, like, not even any eye contact or anything to make the moment special or memorable. And as soon as he passed, I wanted to kick myself. 

He went back inside just a minute or two after that, and then security cleared the area and barricaded it off so that Tom could safely get to his car. I hung around bc obviously, but not a ton of other people did, so I was able to stand pretty close when he came out with his dog. He stood there for a few minutes bc the dog was trying to “do his business” and kept circling around a pole. And then Tom got into the back of a black SUV and they drove away and he was gone. 

And that was it. I took some pictures outside of the theatre (including a few of myself in front of the Tom posters, so there’s my selfie I guess), and by that time it was close to eleven and my feet were killing me and I just kind of came crashing down into exhaustion, so I headed back. (Note that I did not get lost making my way back from the theatre to the subway station - go figure.) 

All in all, I feel like ... I am really glad that I got the opportunity to see the performance and that I got as close as I did; I’ll definitely remember it forever and it was truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience for me. I am really disappointed in myself for not saying something to Tom when I could/should have, so that’s going to sting for awhile, but I still feel like I did this amazing thing and came away from it feeling mostly positive. But now I’m exhausted and I want to go home, but my flight back isn’t until Monday. I weirdly feel like I just want to sleep for the next 24 hours. I think my mood’s going to be kind of all over the place for a few days, bc I’m not a normal human being. 

Anyway, that’s more or less it. Sorry to babble. I’ll definitely be posting some pictures/video footage tomorrow! 

[sergaku]

Tales of Chloix Chapter 2: The First Kiss

Authors Note: I want you to know that the Tales of Chloix is not set in chronological order of the events that happen. They happen as I gain ideas for the story. It is only five chapters long so there are only 5 events. The wedding may have been first, but that is what I came up with first. What you are about to read now is the first time they discovered the feelings for each other as two 16-year-olds. Enjoy!

10 Years In the Past

Chloe Bourgeois was walking down the street, texting on her phone as her short companion was beside her. Alix was chewing some gum, her rollerblades thrown over her shoulder as she walked with Chloe. She couldn’t stop herself from glancing over at her every few moments. The way her blonde hair reflected the sunshine, giving it a heavenly glow. Her confident stance, how she didn’t take any bull from anyone. Sure Chloe was a bitch, but Alix kinda liked that about her. And hoped that she could help change her. 

“Ugh, so where is this shoe store again? They better have those Gabriel brand shoes for that lower price like you said or I am so out of here!” Chloe snarked at Alix, causing the girl to flinch. 

Truth be told, she had no idea if the shoes were there. She just saw a pair that looked expensive and had a cheap price. Her real plan was to woo this girl, hopefully, get a genuine hug out of the deal. 

Chloe looked down at her, trying not to blush a bit as she looked in those dark blue eyes. She had no idea why Alix was different than her other classmates. She didn’t hate her as much and actually thought that they could be friends. If she wasn’t hanging out with that loser Kim. She just groaned to herself, not wanting to be caught staring. One thing that she did admire was that Alix was a free spirit. She didn’t care about what others thought and was very expressive. If she played her cards right she might have been in a trio with her and Sabrina. 

They arrived at a small shop, it was a one-story building that looked cosy and had a light brown exterior. The only window to the shop was a single large window that had a door to the left side of the building. The logo was a giant shoe with the text, “Right Sole for You.” The two walked in the store, several people inside as it seemed fairly busy.

Alix sat down on a small bench, taking off her shoes and revealing her bumblebee socks underneath. She wiggled her little toes to stretch them out, letting out a breath. Chloe covered her mouth to hide her laugh. 

“Wow, nice socks that you got there. What did your mom get them for you?” Chloe smiled her little evil smirk, looking at her as she had her hand on her hip. 

“Actually, yes. I wanted them because my favourite superhero is bee-themed” She stuck out her tongue and ran her way down an aisle of shoes. She looked back, seeing the blushing face of Chloe as she tried to process what she just said. 

Chloe covered her face, feeling how hot it was as a smile crept up her face. No one had told her before that she was a favourite. Except for her father, but she was also his only child. She hoped. She just shook her head and began to go around and inspect the shoes. 

Most of the shoes were nothing special. Sure there were some ones that were cute, but she didn’t have outfits to match them though. She grabbed a pair of yellow flats, putting the box with her shoe size between her arms. She looked around only grabbing two more pairs of shoes. She grabbed some red heels to be about 4in and a pair of black stilettos.

She looked up and spotted a couple, two girls who were giggling to each other at the counter. Chloe just stared, looking down a bit as she felt envious. She had never been in a relationship herself. She was always jealous of couples who showed their affection to each other in public. It made her feel lonely. 

“Wow, those two are so pretty,” Alix said as she sat down, a big smile plastered on her face. “You know that blonde girl looks like you but older.”

“What! No she doesn’t! She is like forty! I am way prettier than her.” She crossed her arms and turned away. “Whatever. I found some shoes and I am gonna try them on.” She began taking off her shoes, throwing her socks in them as she slipped on the red heels.

“What, you got something about calling girls pretty? Because that would be pretty sucky if you did.” Alix crossed her arms as she looked at Chloe, her fingers crossed that Chloe wasn’t actually one of those people who hated anyone who wasn’t as straight as a line.

“Why would I have a problem with two consenting females getting in a relationship with each other? What is this the 70s? Who cares what your sexuality is. Just be happy but don’t be a super creep about it.” She finally slipped her heel inside the tight shoe and smiled triumphantly. 

A giant smile plastered on Alix’s face, her cheeks gaining a hint of pink at this response.

She stood taller, being about 6’ tall now as she walked around the bench, doing her best to not trip over herself. She straightened her jacket, looked down at the blushing Alix.

“Damn I look good in these shoes. I don’t know why I don’t wear heels more often.” She said with a giggle as she stood in front of Alix. The red-headed girl looked up, staring up at Chloe as she gulped visibly. “W-Why are you staring at me? Do you think that I look ridiculous?” She looked down, balling up her hands as she scoffed toward the ground. 

“What! No I think that you look beautiful. You always look beautiful. No matter what you wear.” Alix darted her eyes away, rubbing the back of her neck gently as she began to tap her foot. She felt nervous all of a sudden. Chloe just showed a bit of vulnerability and it wasn’t something that anybody ever saw. 

“You...you think that I am beautiful? The only person who has told me that is my father.” Chloe looked down, taking off the heels and sitting down next to Alix. She sat very close, to a point where their thighs were pushing against each other. “Why did you really take me out here? I know that this place wouldn’t be able to even afford to get Gabriel brand shoes.”

Alix flinched at these words, looking at Chloe who kept her eyes to the ground. The tension around her was tangible, and it was only going to get worse. She needed to say something that will bring Chloe back to her usual self. The one she...fell for…

“I-I brought you out here so I could spend some alone time with you. I have been watching you for a while now. I have been wanting to talk to you, do something with you but you were always with Sabrina or you had your own thing going on. I felt like..if I did tag along then I would just be some third wheel. So alone was the best shot I had at being with you.” She took a breath to let everything settle in. Then she thought about the last thing that she said. ‘Crap I didn’t mean it like that. Well I did but she doesn’t know that. I better fix what I said before she gets the wrong idea. 

“What I meant was-” 

“A shot at being with me? A shot at being with me, Chloe Bourgeois?” She just chuckled and held her sides. 

Alix looked away, closing her eyes tight as she felt tears sting the corners of her eyes. ‘I am such an idiot! Why would I say that! Of course she doesn’t like me! I never had a chance in hell to be with someone as amazing as her!’

“No one has had a shot at me. The only person who tried to shoot their shot was Kim. But he is...Kim. Not someone I could see myself dating. Though…” She lifted the head of Alix, who opened her eyes with a look surprise in them. 

“You probably think I am going to be dumb for saying this. But I have watched you too. That day you became Timetagger was kinda horrible for me. I never wanted to see you Akumatised and it was my fault. But you never blamed me. And I just wanna say.” She let out a shaky breath, grabbing Alix’s face and kissing her cheek. She quickly let go of her, turning away as her face was beet red. 

Alix held her cheek and tried to process everything that was just told to her. Was this really happening? And if it was she did not want this to be over. She quickly grabbed Chloe, pulling her toward her and kissed her lips. She closed her eyes, not caring about what anybody might say about this PDA. She was kissing her crush right now and she was so happy. 

Chloe just went wide-eyed, looking at Alix. She didn’t take long to recover though, as she threw her arms around the short girl’s shoulders. She melted into the kiss, pulling her in close. After about a minute of embracing each other’s lips, they pulled apart, both panting and pressing their foreheads together. 

“We have a lot to talk about don’t we Chloe?”

“Yes. Yes we do.”

___________________________________________

The older couple left the store, the blond girl wearing a dark blue jacket with a white undershirt clenched her fists. She wore black pants with ankle-high brown boots. Her hair was let loose and hung to her lower back. She was grumbling to her self, shaking her fists in anger as she walked. 

Her companion, a redhead who had her short hair tips dyed black chuckled at her wife’s flustered state. She had a yellow sweatshirt on, blue jeans and a pair of black converse style shoes. Her hands were in her sweatshirt pocket as she shook her head. 

“Can you believe the nerve of that nappy-headed little twat? Calling me forty! I am only 15 years older than her. If she was only two years older I would have kicked her ass for sure.” She sighed and dropped her hands to her sides. 

“Well besides that, did you like your anniversary gift my dear?” The redhead wrapped her arm around the blonde’s shoulder, kissing her jawline as she gave a coy smile. 

“Yeah I did. It was nice to see our first kiss happen all over again. Even if I was super rude to myself. Little brat.” 

“Well hey, just goes to show, that if it not had been for us being in the past, I might not have had the courage to go and talk to you on that bench and kiss you. 

“Speaking of which, how does that even work anyway? Not like you knew that it was you when you were 16.”

“If time travel has taught me anything, it is you do not question it and go with the flow. Happy 5th anniversary Chloe Kubdel.” 

“Happy 5th Anniversary Alix Bourgeois.”

[curewhimsy]

So I wrote some sort of essay all about Octavia. It gets weird at the end. At the end, it becomes less about her and more about the Whimsica series itself? But it’s also about how she pertains to it.

Stuff about Octavia

Octavia Scherzando is a middle school teacher who teaches 6th grade with a supporting yet important role in the Whimsica series. Due to her long last name, she is called Ms. S by her students. During the start of the story she is 27 years old. Octavia‘s ethnicity is half Indian and half Korean, but she had been adopted by a white Italian family. She is quite tall at five feet and ten inches.

She teaches the subjects of math, music, social studies, geography, and PE.

At first, the students in her class think she might be a vampire because she likes bats and black cats, wears all black (usually trench coats), loves gloomy weather, and is a bit eccentric. Eventually they find out this isn’t true and she’s just a very nice teacher. They grow to trust her immensely.

Octavia is non-binary demigirl, usually presents as feminine and goes by she/her pronouns. She doesn’t mind being called “they/them” however, and sometimes even “he/him”. She enjoys dressing masculine sometimes. As a drag king, she has another persona named Octavian, who is a male. Octavian can be described as a stylish and dapper man who loves the ladies, and is suave and outgoing.

Octavia is a lesbian. At one point, she is prejudiced against due to her sexuality and is told she is not suitable to be teaching young students. However, she is a well loved teacher due to her kindness and her entire class stands up to her in that moment. One student who looks up to her a lot is Joy Smiley, a shy girl with confidence issues. She helps her students with many situations, including personal and emotional problems along with academic ones.

Octavia is very protective over her students and anyone in need. As a teacher, she however isn’t afraid to put her foot down when needed. She wants more than anything for all her students to succeed and be treated fairly.

Octavia likes music and likes to perform. She is able to play cello, bass guitar, and piano. She is also a contralto vocalist whose trademark is her “booming bass voice”. Octavia previously had a complex about her voice, which she thought was too deep. Before, she tried to fake a higher tone when singing and resulted in damaging her voice. Eventually however, she began to embrace her uniqueness. She can also make her voice even deeper when performing as Octavian, her masculine persona.

When Octavia was in high school, she struggled with severe depression and confidence issues. At the time, she was a quiet girl with long hair. She hadn’t found her true personal style yet.

In her final year of high school at the age of 17, Octavia met a friend named Hibiki who helped her with a lot of her problems. Hibiki was a wild child. Her approach to life was to live it to its fullest and not care what others think. She was a masculine goth girl, who ended up influencing Octavia’s style a lot. Hibiki was also in a band called Crescendo who happened to have needed one more member. Octavia had taken singing lessons for 3 years. She also always wanted to learn to play bass guitar, and wanted to start now so she could join Hibiki’s band.

Octavia eventually discovered that her lower voice range was much more powerful and began to sing in a way that made her seem very confident during her performances. Eventually, her confidence did build up. She hacked off her long hair, began dressing in dapper, all-black men’s wear, and became a new Octavia. It just made her feel alive.

In a short time, Octavia’s demeanor went from a that of a meek little lamb to a loud, wild cougar.

She calmed down a bit after high school and college in order to become a teacher, but still retains her wild passion within.

Octavia was in love with Hibiki and they dated for three years after high school. However, they broke up, still remaining close friends. Hibiki, along with the other members of the band Crescendo, Ursula, Santana, and Ruya, remain as Octavia’s group of friends into adulthood.

Octavia eventually does find romance again when she meets Aria. At the time, Octavia is 26 and Aria is 27. Aria had already been a middle school teacher for a year. Octavia was new teacher looking to follow in her footsteps. She cares for the younger generation and wants to work with students.

Octavia then realized Aria was somewhat cold and strict. However, Octavia reckoned that Aria must have a soft spot because she chose to work with students. Octavia was then determined to figure out Aria and get her to smile more and be happier. She one day found out Aria had been abused by an ex-boyfriend, which is why she acts like she can’t let anyone in her heart. Octavia confronts Aria about this who keeps running away. Eventually she breaks down and tells Octavia that she wants to be someone more like her, who doesn’t seem to let anything get in her way.

Octavia then says “Actually, I’m a lot like you...” and tells Aria about her own insecurities from her past, and how she still struggles every now and then, but learned to be optimistic. The two then become close friends, and eventually start dating and overcoming obstacles together. They keep their love a secret at first.

A year later, starting in September, the story of Whimsy Quartet begins to take place. Octavia and Aria are about to have their first experiences in their entire life with the magical world of Whimsica.

Whimsy Quartet is about Joy, Vivi, Maia, and Bonnie, all students of the school, becoming magical girls who are able to freely warp to and from Whimsica. Usually, only Whimsica’s High Royals would be able to do this, but it turns out that the middle school is blessed with a certain power that allows the people who go there to be able to warp back and forth freely from Whimsica.

(By the way, Bianca and Camille (of the other story, Whimsica Saga), go to the high school across the road, which is why they are unable to go back home once their in Whimsica, and why it’s such a big plot point.)

It turns out villains and enemies are escaping from Whimsica into Earth and brainwashing and attacking the people in Joy’s class. It’s the Quartet’s job to stop the enemies. It also results in a lot of their classmates finding about the magical world. Octavia and Aria eventually find out about the girls’ magic and what is happening. They then are allowed to enter Whimsica as long as they try to keep it as secret as possible.

Octavia and Aria then find out they have connections with the land of Whimsica. Octavia’s original parents actually were Whimsicans, but they decided to put her in an Earth orphanage because the Whimsica-Monochrome war was getting bad at the time and didn’t want a child who would get caught up in the calamity.

Aria, who was adopted as well, also had Whimsican parents.

Therefore, Aria and Octavia have powers. Actually, everyone does have powers, only visiting Whimsica is how to unlock them. But Aria and Octavia might have inherited their powers from their birth parents. At times, they actually begin to follow the Whimsy Quartet as their support, and to make sure they’re okay.

To make it even more like they’re companions, Octavia gains the power to turn into a bat. Aria gains the power to turn into a mink.

In December of the same year, Whimsica Saga begins to take place. This story is about Bianca Luna, a 9th grader in high school, who ends up in Whimsica and cannot get home. Throughout the story she has a long adventure where she meets a lot of friends.

Around January, Bianca and the others end up meeting Octavia in Whimsica. Octavia therefore makes her debut in her second chronological story, Whimsica Saga.

[moonraccoon-exe]

Carry Me Back Home

For @gladnisweek, Day 5

Prompt: ‘Five times Gladio carried Ignis, and one time Ignis carried Gladio’.

Summary:  Following Gladio and Ignis’ relationship through the years, from childhood to adulthood, Ignis speaks about the most iconic times that Gladiolus carried him and compares them to the only time he’s returning the favor.

Warnings/Ad. Tags: NSFW (smut) at some point. Swings between Happy and Sad. Goes from Brotherhood Gladnis to Older Gladnis and post story. Heavy Angst. Please, be careful, maybe it’s just me but I think it gets rudely angsty.

Also on AO3 here.

A/N: I AM SO NERVOUS BECAUSE I AM SO PROUD OF THIS ONE. This is my last entry for Gladnis Week. If you read it, please do tell me what you think about it, it’d mean lots to me. :) I apologize a little in advance.

Five times you carried me, and only once did I return the favor.

Five times, of course, counting only the most significant times; had I counted each and every time that you carried me, I would have the head so full of numbers I could probably discover a new one. You always had a particular passion for picking me up, especially after that time in our youth when I told you I hated it. I loved it too, but I too had a particular passion for messing with you in my own way. There are countless places and moments in these lands and this timeline of the universe where and when you decided it would be a good moment to carry me; sometimes out of necessity, sometimes for pleasure, and most of times for mere fun. But now that I stop to philosophy about it for a moment, and if I had to summarize only the most important of those times that you carried me, I would say they were five.

Five times did you carry me in a particularly important event of our lives, seen as most if not all these times that I’m counting not only involved both of us but also affected us in similar if not the same ways, our caused a great impact each their own way. I’m pretty positive that, among all the thousands, millions of times that you picked me off the ground, you too would end up choosing the same five that I have chosen if I asked you to tell me which would be the most significant for you.

And every time you’d mention one, I would smile and agree, and we would stop to talk on each of our choices, and number them in chronological order.

The first time that you carried me you were fourteen. I don’t believe I was ever too short for my age, but you, my dear, you were always much taller and bigger for yours. I could easily pass as twelve and you could go as sixteen, if it wasn’t due to your still too childish face features. I had always felt intimidated in your presence, or just glancing your way; the incredibly tall and strong older kid, always keeping watch and training. That’s why I hadn’t dared get close to you or befriend you; I felt intimidated just glancing your way, and I must add the fact that I always thought you looked incredibly stunning in that uniform of your teenage years. I couldn’t even dare look at you. I was afraid of you, in some way.

 That day, a little pebble made it into my shoe, except I had close to no idea; it was small and fitted in between my big and index toes so that it went mostly unnoticed. For my terrible immediate luck but my not-as-immediate blessing, the pebble made it out of its hideout right as I was going down a staircase in a messenger task around the Citadel. I had very dumb feet and I had the entire opposite to the grace or skills that Crownsguard training would give me in a couple more years; when the pebble decided to sneak right under my sole, I stepped on it and harmed my own foot, and like it had not been enough, the immediate reflex of the body as reaction to the pain had me stumbling and losing balance, and I ended up falling and rolling down the rest of the way downstairs.

 I was too focused in the piercing pain of my ankles and from the hits across all my body, too focused in all this physical pain that I did not hear you approach, and only noticed you there when you were already at my side.

“Dear Six, are you okay, buddy?” even though I too had always felt intimidated by your voice, I was paining too much to think about anything else but how much I needed or wanted someone there. I looked up to find you down on a knee in front of me, stunning in your uniform, frowning and looking at me with worry. “That looked bad.”

“A-apologies…” I let out, putting my head down again and pulling myself up onto my knees, only to find that as soon as I moved your hands had finally decided to get a gentle grip of me to help or guide me.

“No, not that kind of bad” you seemed to smile, but there was no fun in it, only some sort of sympathy. “I mean that it must have hurt. Are you okay?”

“Ah” now that I had finally processed who I was talking to, I switched to inhibition and lowered the head, thankful for having dropped the papers as they could serve me of excuse not to look at you while I gathered them. “It’s okay. I’m fine…”

 And you, however, started helping me in the task. You reached for as many papers as you could and helped me gather them in one bunch. It was quiet for a moment, and then you tried to help me stand up.

I couldn’t.

As soon as I stood on a sole, a piercing pain made me wince and whine, and I returned back down to the floor. And you returned there with me, not letting go but not forcing me to stay on my feet. I sighed a trembling ‘Gods…’ and focused with all my might not to burst into tears in front of you. I already felt intimidated because you were so big and so amazingly skilled and strong, the least I wanted from some of your first impressions was to think me a weakling.

 “You okay, buddy?” You asked once more, and even though I tried I couldn’t give you an answer. “What is it? The ankle?” Despite your looks, your voice was incredibly soft both in color and dynamic, and it felt comforting and welcoming. I couldn’t answer verbally, so I nodded. “I see. Had you broken something you’d possibly be screaming, so thank the gods it’s not the case, but still, it must be very bad.”

I let go of the finger that I was biting onto and relaxed a little. It was then that you put one of your gloved hands to my shoulder. When I turned to look at you, you looked serious but innocent.

“Say, the infirmary isn’t too far” you said and then you got closer, slipping one of your arms under my knees and the other around my shoulders. “At least you had luck in that!”  

And it was then that you did it.

You picked me off the ground, as easy as if I weighted the same than a feather. I didn’t even need to hug or hold you back for support.

I let out a little sound entirely out of surprise, though you could have confused it with some discomfort from my injury. You quietly apologized but smiled brightly at me. All that I could do was blink, mouth open and disbelief everywhere inside me.

You started walking, and almost by reflex I said something about my papers. You brushed it off saying you’d pick them later for me, and the rest of the way to the infirmary was quiet.

I still couldn’t believe it. For an odd reason, Gladiolus Amicitia, the tall and incredible, wonderful older kid, was carrying me and treating me like an equal and even better. The boy I feared turned to not be a scary behemoth, rather a big and soft teddy bear. I almost felt pampered and cared for. I almost felt a little loved, in a way I could not understand. All my life I had assumed you disliked me for being as opposite to you. But you behaved like a guardian with me. I was not your prince, but I felt like one with the knightly treatment you gave me.

You never mentioned to me that you got awfully reprimanded for dropping your watch spot and hence breaking your formation as a soldier, by Clarus the Shield, and metaphorically rewarded for showing so much kindness to an ally, by Clarus your father, but I found out anyway.

The second time that you carried me is very far away from the first one. After we ‘met’, I lost most of my fear towards you, and all that intimidation transformed into absolute admiration. You had turned from a dangerous demon into a soldier angel that I admired and looked up to. You inspired me to join Crownsguard, you inspired me to become a better version of myself in more ways than the physical. And you were attracted by that good vibe I had started to radiate. Inevitably, like magnets, we started approaching each other just to hang and befriend.

The years passed, each day we grew more intimate, we grew taller and older, and our bond grew with us. It went from platonic to a stable friendship, to best friending, and into a brotherhood.

And yet it continued to grow. Until our bond skipped past the border of Friendship and started shyly stepping into the zone of Romance.

And we started getting stupid in front of each other. I stared at you instead of the exam we were supposed to be solving; you stared at me more than you read books; we grew flustered in front of each other, and we would go nuts and a blushing mess if somebody teased us about being a couple.

I grew sick of not being able to focus in my work because of your stupidly gorgeous grin and eyes invading my head all the time. I confessed. Unexpectedly to me, you confessed back.

We went out in a date. For my surprise, we went out in a second. A third, a fourth, a fifth and a sixth, and then we shared our first kiss together.

And then we held hands when we walked together, and we hugged more often, continued dating until it turned into an official and stable relationship.

And then the months passed, with a romance that grew as we did; it grew from the puppy love that it started as and step by step it developed. 

And then we had spent a year together. We were left alone in your house, and we didn’t plan it. It was as unexpected on you as it was on me. We kissed and kissed, but it was suddenly not enough. And we ended up in your room, on your bed. You had half-stripped me, and I had half-stripped you. We were mature enough to know we couldn’t and didn’t have to go all the way, because we were not prepared, neither physically or mentally, and because it had been unplanned and we had no protection. But that didn’t stop us from digging into intimacy; from biting on our lips, from making-out while we jerked each other off, from grinding against one another. You allowed me to take the pace on top of you, and then we touched each other, lost the breath, stared at each other until we had to close the eyes and throw the head back almost at the same time.

And since then, we started exploring into our sexuality together. Handjobs that led to dry humping that led to oral sex, until we started exploring with penetration, too. And oh, there were awkward and silly moments, and some painful ones too, but it was all so dearly worth it and I would never change them for the world.

We continued exploring and doing it until it became usual.

And then the years passed.

We lived a fully healthy relationship that had the perfect balance between sweetness, care, sex and friendliness. We experimented and explored through many aspects of our sexual life both together and on our own.

But it was when I was twenty and you were twenty one that we first did it like that.

Like the first time we got intimate, it was not planned. Unlike that first time, we were now very well acquaintance with sex and a few different practices. Yet, we had never thought about trying this new thing until we were already doing it.

You had to leave for two weeks with some other Crownsguard members to camp somewhere nearby the outside of the Wall, and we had already spent another two without intercourse because, at first, we didn’t have any particular desire to, and then we had gotten too busy to have any time for it. Which left us on a month without sex, in an age where one as a male with a longtime and stupidly attractive (not to say very well endowed) boyfriend has it hard to keep the hormones content. No matter what I did to myself, it wasn’t your hands or other body parts and I was missing you in many more ways than just the sweet one.

And you were not much better than I. After a good while with Noctis and Prompto and when we got to my place, it was a miracle we didn’t just drop in the hallway to my apartment. You pressed me to the door as soon as we closed it, and even if you hadn’t I had already reached for you to pull you against me anyway. You muttered something about being glad that you weren’t the only one as desperate, and I tried to make a sarcastic comeback denying myself to be in such state, but I was so…desperate that I swallowed my pride and silently accepted it. We furiously undressed each other, tongues and teeth and lips destroying each other, and we tried to make it to my room. We dropped a few books and fell onto a table in the way, and still tried to reach our destiny.

I pulled out a condom and lube from a drawer of the living room. I had already asked you to take the dominant role, and you lost no time; you took the things from me from behind and poured lube in the crack between my ass cheeks, starting to caress my soft entrance while slipping the condom on at the same time. I leaned against the wall and you started fingering me, but got too impatient after a moment; you pulled your fingers out and grabbed my hips, but I stopped you and told you I wanted to see you. You turned me around, said Fine and picked one of my legs up. I let you. Taller than me, it got a little awkward despite my great flexibility that allowed to rest my ankle on your shoulder. I had to still hold to you and stand full on my free tiptoe, and while it would work, it was awkward. But we did not want to wait; you growled, reached down, and picked my other leg up as well.

And you were carrying me. Almost fully naked, legs spread open, and needy. You hooked my legs on your arms, and guided my hips until the tip of your member rubbed against my entrance. I moaned out in pleasure and let you guide me all the way to the bottom.

All that it took was that; I threw the head back and groaned hoarsely. It felt stunningly delicious. We had done this in many other positions, but never before had we done it like this, with you standing, carrying me, my legs hooked onto your arms and my hands on your neck. The angle and position were allowing you to reach deep inside me and poke places you had only rubbed at before. It felt so fantastic I asked, I begged for more. And you started moving. Your hands held my hips in place, and I was marveled at how easy it was for you to carry me; I was no skinny teenager anymore, I was a fully grown and worked-out man. But, darling, you have always been too tall for your age, too strong. It was simple for you to keep me in that position and move your hips at the same time. We maintained eye contact most of the time, and your hips went full animal mode; fast, rough, raw, out of instincts and hungry of sex.

You stopped only for a moment, in which you moved my ankles one by one so instead of staying on the air, you had them rest against your shoulders. My flexibility allowed us such position with no troubles, and the position allowed you to go even deeper. Right when I thought I couldn’t be more full, you could bury yourself so deep inside I growled out a raw sound of pleasure and got very close to reaching my orgasm. I begged, and begged more, and a bit more desperately. All you were doing was to stare at me, grab my hips so hard you left a few bruises, and continued slamming into me like both our lives depended on trying to break me in half. 

We did make it to the bedroom, but not the bed. We seemed to have fallen in love with this new position that we had discovered, and all that you did was press me against a wall that we used instead of the mattress. This support allowed you to both get in even deeper and to have a firm support for you to move faster. I’m sure I was screaming by this point; your weight was all on me as you pressed me against the wall, my legs were spread open and hooked again with your arms, I was hugging you as tightly as I could by the neck, and I lost senses even before reaching my orgasm; I only wanted more and that was all that I was thinking and asking for. You were moaning, almost screaming into my ear like you were the one on the receiver side, and continued slamming your hips at a speed, angle and force we hadn’t experienced before. 

The orgasm that waved onto us was so fantastic that we dropped on the floor and cuddled there for about an hour, entirely speechless, too weakened and too loose and too marveled to get on the bed that was a few feet from us. It would be, for a few couple years more, the best orgasm we had ever experienced. 

It was not the first time we had sex, but it was the first time an orgasm had me pass out for at least some moments, the first time we tried that position, and the moment we discovered one of our absolute favorite positions. 

The third of the most important times that you carried me was not as joyful as the previous ones.

You had carried me in our youth out of mere fun, some times to help me when I twisted an ankle or got hurt from Crownsguard training, many times for our sexual enjoyment, and ninety percent of the times just to mess with me or to pamper me. You had carried me to some bedroom like I was your prince and you were my knight, you had carried me to a sofa, wrapped in a blanket, you had carried me to be playful and spin around (and sometimes to drop me on a bunch of fallen leaves or blankets, and once or twice onto the floor), you had carried me just so ‘I wouldn’t have to use my beautiful feet’, to not walk onto puddles of water (even though I always complained I could just round it), to get me away of work when you thought I was overdoing it, or to pat my ass cheeks. 

During our journey across Lucis, you had carried me after or during a battle to a safe spot so I could have time to use a potion and heal, you had carried me after a particularly long day, you had done it so to make me laugh, a few times to throw me into a lake or into the sea, and a few times you carried me away of camp or away of Noctis and Prompto to find and spend some time together.

But this one time, the third in the most important ones, it was to save my life. 

I was majorly injured. I often denied I was in pain even when it was true, but in that moment I was fully aware that this was major, too fragile, and that I almost gave up the ghost. I was aware that I was too injured and that the most probable was that I would last only a few minutes more. But that consciousness only made me push myself even further; if those were my last moments, then I could bring my king and brother a few steps closer to safety, even if only two steps, even if only half a step.

My face bled in alarming quantities, the left side more than anything. Everything hurt to the point it was both torture and absolute numbness at the same time, as senseless as it sounds. Everything burnt, and my left hand was starting to feel literally on fire.

Literally unable to open (or feel) the eyes, bleeding, and majorly injured, I was carrying Noctis to my back and trying to continue walking away of the spot where I lamentably had to let go of Lunafreya’s body and where I faced and miserably failed to defeat the Chancellor. 

I gave a step, trembling. Two, three, and each felt like an eternity and a whole life of effort to give. The ring was going to set me on fire if I didn’t take it off soon, but I could not let go of Noctis. I still needed to get him to safety and he was in no state to get that on his own.

It rained, not too heavy nor soft, but constant. I was not sure of how many hours or how many steps I walked, but my body had too much and far more than enough.

I collapsed.

I am unsure of how, but I somehow managed to move Noctis so he stayed underneath me, as if in some last attempt of protecting him, like the raindrops were bullets instead.

I lost consciousness, but between the little bits that you told me and the holes that Prompto helped me to fill into the story I believe I can recall things as they went. 

You were first to see us, and you yelled for Prompto’s attention. Both of you hurried in our direction. It was your duty to see to Noctis first, but underneath me as he was, I had forced you to look at me first.

And when you saw my face, you forgot about your duty for a moment.

You hurried a Phoenix Down on me after giving instruction to Prompto for him to look after Noctis, and it worked for me to not die, but it did not heal me nor did it wake me up nor did it give me any strength. Still, you knew duty was first, even before mourning or before the love of your life, as we had agreed it would be for us both. You two decided that it was best if Prompto carried with Noctis, not because you particularly wanted to carry with me, but because of our sizes; smaller, Noctis weighted less than I, so it was only logical the strongest carried the heaviest. 

And you did. You carried me. Hurried your jacket off and wrapped it around my shoulders despite how ridiculously wet we were. You picked me up from the ground and into your arms, and I was unconscious, almost dead was it not due to the Phoenix Down. My blood stained your clothes and skin, my head fell back and my arm hung loose and unresponsive.

The two hurried back to the government palace, where they were attending the injured. And you roared for help; we had travelled our journey undercover, but as soon as you entered all that you did was to roar out for help. Because you were losing me; because that had been our last Phoenix Down and it had not woken me up, and you were scared I would need another one as soon as the effect of the first would fade, and if I died then no item or medicine could do anything about it. 

And you carried me. Carried me across the ruins of Altissia, carried me into the palace, and you carried me into the room where they would attend me. And after that you carried me to the hotel, carried me to the room, and carried me to the bed. Because we didn’t have any other option. You did; you could have expected anybody else to do it, or just leave me in one place.

But you didn’t it. No matter the obstacles, you carried me because you didn’t want ‘To leave him there’ to be an option.

The fourth important time was not any happier than the third, but at least nobody was bleeding and nobody was in danger, at least not immediate. There were ten years of difference between the third and the fourth time; some of those years we spent apart of each other, some others together. Things got profoundly difficult for the world and for our relationship. We parted ways more than once without really breaking up, only needing the space. You understand the situation so I will not go too profound into it.

And then we got reunited, a few months before the return of our king and brother. We were there when he came back, and we tried to give him a good time together in the few days that he stayed. We laughed like in old times, we talked silly matters like we were still teenagers, and we were careless for a few moments. And I realized how agonizingly much I had missed you. It was like his presence cleared up the darkness and let us see how much we love each other, whether it’s you and I, or you and Prompto, and me and Noctis, and Noctis and Prompto and Prompto and I, and you with Noctis. It was almost like the presence of our king and brother was that light that made us see the real size and depth of the bond the four of us shared; it was never gone or broken nor did it ever grow smaller. Only we could not see it without him. 

And then we went back to Insomnia after ten years of war and darkness and sorrow and so many events in our lives. We crossed it together, we fought the terrors of the night together, we opened our path through it. Sometimes we would stop for a rest, to chat for a moment, to answer a few of his questions, to rememorize old times spent together. Prompto even retook his passion for taking photographs as we walked and as we fought together, like a team once again after so long.

We made it to the Citadel. We got the impossible, and only the four of us managed to bring down an Astral. We got to the interior of the Citadel, chatted a little more, and walked much slower because, as prepared as we were, we really were not. Only doing things does one notice how hard it can be. But there are some things that simply cannot be put off as easily.

We reached the doors we needed to open. Noctis travelled through some photographs Prompto was keeping with himself. I couldn’t see them, but you would describe them to me in whispers as Noctis passed through them. Sometimes you just needed to say ‘that once when we went here’ or ‘the once we did this’ and I needed no description to see the photograph in my head.

He picked one, we sighed, and he opened the doors. We faced the Chancellor. And then nothing for us. And when we woke up, Noctis was not there. We hurried to the outside, and he told us what had happened. And one of the two main duties he had to fulfill were done. Now he only needed to recover daylight.

And he did. All that I did was to ask him to take care, not because I had the naïve and senseless hope that he would survive. Well…maybe, a small part of me did hope so. Senselessly, hopelessly, stupidly, naively, but I did hope so even if just in a one percent. But even if he did not, I wanted him to take care in whatever would come next for him. He was going somewhere I could not follow, so I could not protect him anymore; he would have to do it himself. So, ‘take care’.

We accepted him as our king, and we bid our goodbye to him. He bid his own goodbye, and he turned onto his heels, went upstairs, and disappeared. 

I did sense the light when dawn broke, but I had never before felt as terribly in the dark as in that moment.  

You said he looked very, very handsome in his funeral. We had gotten him prepared; shaved, cleaned, and dressed into what we had once hoped would be his wedding suit. I tried tracing his face with my fingers for about an hour or two, and his hands and his arms and his shoulders, and his hair and his ears, and his eyelids and eyebrows, trying to build a mental image. Ten years without him had been a torture for me, and I had missed him greatly. I had grown very content with my new lifestyle, but I profoundly hated to not be able to see him. He was more than just my little brother; he was almost like an extension of myself, or, as I like to put it better, I was an extension of him. We were part of each other. Except I depended on his existence, emotionally wise, more than he depended on mine. 

I was able to stay firm and in one piece across the funeral. I could give my own speech without troubles, and only one or two tears.

It was only after the ceremony and after everyone else had already left that I shattered.

All my life had been dedicated to him; all that I ever did and learned was always for him. I was raised that way, to live my life for the sake of his. And now that his life was no more, in some way so wasn’t mine. My life was not senseless, but I had spent thirty-two years living for him so, when he died, all those thirty-two years collapsed as well. It was only logical I would break down and shatter with those years.

I am unsure of how long I spent there, literally thrown in front of the altar where he laid. At times I was conscious, at times I was not. When I was not, it was not out of exhaustion or tiredness; it was literally out of pain. My heart and my soul pained and hurt so much, too much, to the point where it was unbearable and my mind switched me off because if I stayed awake standing that pain I would die out of it. I cried like I never, ever before in my life had done. It was hours, hours of tears and sobbing and some screaming. None of these hours was I able to stand on my feet. Sometimes I could be on my knees, but most of the hours I spent there I was simply thrown on the floor. It was already night when I started, and dawn when I could react to something that was not Noctis’ loss and the pain that I felt inside, so I couldn’t tell how long I spent there. 

Sometimes I was alone, because you understood I needed my space for this. Sometimes, you sat nearby but never touched me. By dawn, I had stopped crying but now I was exhausted, more mentally and emotionally than physically. I breathed with some troubles, but calmly. You got close to me, and caressed my hair until I reacted and my blind eyes looked in your direction.

“It’s dawn, darling” you whispered as softly as only you knew how to do it. “You should get some rest. Is it okay to leave now?”

I looked away even though I could not see. It took me a few moments, and all that I could do was to nod weakly. But I didn’t move. It’s not that I didn’t stand up, it’s that I didn’t move a single inch. I was too emotionally drained to have any connection with my body. 

And that’s why you carried me. You pulled me up until you got me to sit, and I could react a bit with my hands, except they were all stupid like I was just waking up from anesthesia effects. You shifted me to a better position, slipped your arms around my shoulders and under my legs, and you picked me up as effortlessly as you had always carried me all of our lives. My head rested against your shoulder; at least I had strength enough to keep it there instead of dropping it on dead weight like the rest of my body. I was feeling numb in every sense, so you carried me instead. You took me to our house, laid me and tucked me in our bed, caressed my hair and kissed my head, and you waited there until I could get some sleep. 

I knew you were brokenhearted, too. And yet, you gathered strength enough to carry me to safety, comfort and protection, in more senses that I could list. 

The fifth is possibly the happiest of the times, despite it taking place only two years after the previous one.

We took a year of recovery, and that was when you dropped the question. Like it was necessary to ask, like we did not know the answer already. I had not done it myself because I still felt that, as an Amicitia and hence head of the second most important family of the Lucian history, it was on you to choose a definitive partner. Not like I ever thought you would deny me, or like royal families had any importance now, but it felt morally right to leave it to you. 

It was lovely. Nothing too extravagant, thankfully not through a prank, but nothing vulgar or rubbing on simplicity either. I did and do still feel a little sad that I did not get to see what the scenario looked like. Back then it was still crystal clear in my visual memory, the looks of our special park, at the south district of Insomnia, but I was still sad that I could not see it. From all the things that I did feel bad about my blindness, your proposal is still somewhere on top of the list. It was one of the happiest moments of my life, but the drop that spilled the glass and made me cry was that hint of sadness in among; what did the sky look like, how bright were the stars, had the park suffered many changed after Insomnia’s reconstruction, what the grass looked like, what color palette did our surrounding look like. Which colors you dressed…if you had a stray lock of hair you had not noticed hanging at your forehead…if you had grown any wrinkle by now…how did your new facial hairstyle fit you… 

Your smile…dear, sweet, not-so-merciful gods, your smile was always and will forever be number one in the list of things that do make me hate my blindness… 

You picked me up the ground that day, too, but that is not the one that I’m counting. Not that it was not lovely, how you basically tackled me after I said Yes, picked me in arms and spun us around so many times you grew dizzy and we ended up stumbling and falling. Downhill. I loved it.

It is just that it cannot compare to the moment of our wedding itself. 

The ceremony was fantastic on its own. I was delighted to not sense you nervous; it made me feel like you were absolutely calm and entirely firm on this decision and it gave you absolutely no reasons to be any nervous. If anything, you only showed a bit of overwhelming of emotions when we met at the altar; Iris and Monica had taken long enough on me so that I felt extra confident, but I still wondered what you were seeing that made you gasp, then hold my face, and breathlessly whisper to me about how good I looked. This was another of those times when I did hate to be blind. I wished I could tell you the same without it having to be a joke or sarcasm. 

After the ceremony ended and after a few photos at the altar, we walked down the aisle to the doors of the temple, and we were received by our friends and family. The ones that the world let us keep. A family impossible to complete, but a blessing on its own. Besides their cheering and clapping, they received us at the doors with thousands of petals and confetti. Prompto, Talcott and Iris enjoyed throwing fistfuls that could hit us on the face on purpose, and all of us laughed. You got to grab Prompto by the back of his jacket, and that was all that it took for the three to run away screaming (after you let go of him) and stop their ambush. We still laughed and enjoyed some moments together, and we were asked to stay there for a few more photographs. 

At some point we turned to face each other and kissed for a picture. We stood there, hands on each other, sometimes kissing and sometimes just staring. At some point, somebody screamed ‘Long live the newlyweds!’, and that’s when you laughed out of emotion and a joyed heart rather than out of amusement; while I grinned back, you bent down enough to wrap your arms around my hips, and you picked me up. It took me off guard at first, but I started laughing almost immediately, as happy and overjoyed as you were, and I wrapped my arms around your neck. I rested my forehead on yours, and allowed you to carry me by the hips, my thighs at each of your sides.

“He said yes!” you yelled like instead of having just gotten married we had just gotten engaged. It made me laugh even more, quietly and softly but oh so dearly happy in yours arms. 

And you didn’t put me down. You stayed like that for a couple minutes, carrying me. Sometimes you rocked side to side, and sometimes I reached down to kiss you, whether on the lips, or the eyes, or the nose, or the forehead. Our friends continued throwing petals on us, sometimes having to gather the ones already on the floor just to throw them again to complete the beautiful image we were forming. Time seemed to matter too little in that instant; it was you, you holding me, and I in your arms, us together, and us having just united our lives. Officially, that is; it is not like we ever had plans of giving up on our relationship. But to have an official pact of love, it’s strangely beautiful. I used to think in my youth that it was an unnecessary weight that made us promise eternal love out of compromise rather than free will. Maybe I too am metaphorically blinded by love, but…I believe I was wrong. It is not always just that. 

Sometimes it’s a very beautiful and marvelous way of celebrating that decision of free will; we were not promising to start loving each other and start spending the rest of our lives together.

We were already doing all that. A wedding was only a way to celebrate it. And, darling, I treasure our wedding on a place nearby the top of my other list, the one that contains my most beloved and treasured memories. 

They said that the loveliest photograph taken that day was from that moment; at the doors of the temple, a shower of ethereal-like petals around us, the perfect light, us smiling, and you, carrying me.  

And here I am. Only once carrying you in a situation important enough to be worthy of mention and comparison to yours, not in feeling but in impact. Only once, only one important time did I carry you, but if we are talking about the impact, I believe that mine outstands and shadows all five of yours very easily. 

It feels a little silly, that what I’m thinking about is comparing the times and circumstances under which we carried each other. Competitive, like all life, so long it’s about you, my dear. But in that silly way, it feels a little unfair. You carried me five times more than I did, and so many more. You gifted me countless laughs, thousands of orgasms, saved my life, healed my injuries, took care of me, took me places and so much more by carrying me, all in different circumstances, but all so caring, so loving, so correct and so right, and so wonderful and so sincere. You never once complained, even when you had to stop working-out and your muscles started to grow smaller. Never once did you complain, and you did not usually have to wait until I asked you so you could carry me. You always did it because you wanted to, never complaining, you gifted me such sweet and wonderful moments that started or ended or happened with you carrying me, you did it many thousands of times, five important ones… 

…and here I am, having waited too long, and getting the chance to do it only once. One of the saddest parts, my darling, is that I couldn’t even do it alone. Your muscles could have grown smaller, but they for sure did not entirely disappear, and you have always been a very big and tough creature. Maybe in younger days I could have done it, with the appropriate method. But my back maybe would not stand now. I still could have tried, but the method to carry someone bigger than yourself is not the most respectful or correct for this situation. You always carried me on your own; only your two strong arms, only you. And I, in this unfair payback I give, don’t have the strength or the morality to do it like you; personal, private, only something shared between the two. 

Talcott’s son helped me with the lower part of your body. It would have been easier if he had carried the upper part, but I insisted to do it myself. I feel like every day I become more like a stubborn obstacle for everyone. But I believe they understand my sentimentalism in this situation.  

And there you lie, my dear soul, on gladioli and irises, and a few sylleblossoms, on the altar of the temple for everyone to admire and bid goodbye before cremation.  

It is a Lucian tradition, unlike Niflheim; we incinerate as the usual method and we bury as the unusual one. Our ashes ascend to the skies and it frees our souls from the body, and the smoke helps them to become ethereal and cross to the other side and the whatever exists after death.

I do have to admit that, as much as I believed it a beautifully tragic process, only now I feel a little sad in a fully egocentric way that I will have no physical something to cry to, other than a golden plate with your name on it. A plate I can’t even see, with letters I can’t even read. 

My old man. Oh, my sweet, dear heart. I know you were exhausted. I know you were so tired. That’s death, and death is, ironically, part of life. We cannot avoid it. When it’s our turn, that’s it. Just like Noctis, and his unavoidable fate. Like Prompto, our sweet little brother, dead too young and still a fresh wound almost four decades later. Sometimes, after Noctis’ death, I had spooky and terrifying thoughts about how the four of us would leave. Prompto was an easy answer; his biology did not let him go much further mid-fifties. The gods bless and take care of his soul. He deserved that rest, for much that I hated seeing him go.

And we stood together, the two of us, having outlived our little brothers.

And we grew older together. Sixties, seventies, eighties.

Ninety-three is a very beautiful number. I think it will have a pretty aesthetic look on the biographies that they make about Gladiolus Amicitia, brave Shield of the King of Light. 

I tried tracing your features like I did with Noctis, tried to feel everything. But the more the years passed, the harder it is to recall any visual memory. I am old. It is not as simple anymore. It’s been long since I could last remember with perfect accuracy your face. Your smile. Your oh so precious, so dearly beloved smile…

I felt wrinkles. So many of them. Which made me smile because wrinkles mean that you made a lot of facial expressions, which means you laughed a lot, and cried, and made silly faces and lived a lot. There’s hair, very short, like your father kept it in his last days, too. I was too scared of touching your eyes, and even though I did not say it aloud, I think it was because I was scared of not sensing any life underneath the eyelids. It’s almost as if a tiny grain of sand in the endless ocean of certainty still has the senseless hope that you will sit up, yawn, and come carry me back home. 

They say you’re in your wedding suit. I wouldn’t know; I couldn’t see it back then, and I can’t see it now.

On a side, this is another of those moments in which I hate being blind, because it does not allow me to carry a last memory of yours to carry with me for however long I still have to live. On another side, this is another of those moments for which I’m grateful that I’m blind. Because I’m not sure I could stand to see you there, and know it’s not you anymore. And see you lifeless. It would confirm this as real, and I would not stand that. Seventy years since my injury, and for the first time I’m grateful, but not happy, that I cannot see you.  

And that’s how silly it is, that it crossed my mind the unimportant comparison of the times you carried me and how I’m paying back. Carrying you from the symbolic coffin out and onto the altar set for the last viewing. My payback is poor and completely unfair; you gave me sweet and happy moments, and I gave you this incredibly sad, lonely one. You gave me privacy and intimacy, and the only time I carry you I couldn’t even do it alone. Poorly, unfairly, miserably, I did it. 

But I think that the saddest part of them all is that you won’t even know that I did it. 

I have always felt I gave you a pebble of love, and you gave me back a mountain. You always reassured me you felt the same way, which had to mean we were even and equal. But with thoughts like this I can’t help but wonder if I really demonstrated across my life how dearly I loved you like you did oh so wonderfully to demonstrate it to me. Thoughts as silly as how many times and under which circumstances we carried each other. 

Like in Noctis’ funeral, it’s been hours since the last person that said goodbye left. Unlike that day, Prompto isn’t and couldn’t be sat nearby. So aren’t you. Even if I wanted or needed, I don’t think my weak body could do such a thing like lying in front of the altar. I barely sit without any effort. 

So, instead, I’m sat at the bench closest to the altar. I don’t even glance your way. With two useless eyes, it makes absolutely no sense. It used to make sense, it used to feel important, to glance your way and make eye contact even if I was blind. But, for some reason, this just…has no sense to me now. Glancing ways, it feels so senseless and stupid now, ridiculous. So empty.

I’m resting both my hands on top of my cane. I had to retake it not only to walk on difficult bones of the legs, but also because of my blindness. It’s been decades since I had to retake it, so I’m used by now. It’s not like in younger days, when I could sense and move as freely as if I could see. I’m old. I can’t sense. I almost can’t hear. And I most definitely can’t see.

My head is down. I’ve been silent for hours, unlike Noctis’ funeral. Sometimes I do cry, and they help me clean my face and nose. Some other times I just do this; I sit here in complete silence. 

After what felt like an eternity but barely five minutes at the same time, I feel a hand on top of my head, that caresses my white and weak hair with tender, almost motherly care. She is a mother, after all.

Our daughter caresses my hair and reaches to kiss my temple. I do nothing. I say nothing. I just keep my hands on the cane, the head down, as if though I too had died or as if I had a turn-off switch and I was currently not functioning.

Our daughter says nothing for a moment. Our grandkids were present for many hours, too, but most have left for a well needed rest. These young adults have been taking turns to look after the stubborn and brokenhearted grandpa that refuses to do or say anything and has spent exhaustive hours sat there. 

My daughter stands behind me, behind the bench, but caresses my arms. Her hands are like yours. Or at least they remind me of you. Or maybe I’m just thinking too much about you, and she’s just a greater reminder of you. 

“He was exhausted” she whispers very tenderly to me. I say nothing. I do nothing.

I know. You were exhausted. We all have a time to go, we cannot choose that. I know you wanted to die at the same time I would, you told me. But I cannot control it, and I was cursed with living longer. I believe now I understand how the Marshal, rest in peace, must have felt back in his days. I thought I was empathetic enough and could understand him when he outlived Prompto. Turns out that only now do I really understand what I think he must have felt. Nobody can tell the pain of losing everybody you love, no matter how empathetic and understanding, until it’s you.

But I understand. Your strength had started to fail you; your heart, too. And ninety is old enough, at least in these times. It was only natural. And after all that you lived, after the weight of your duty, after the great pains you’ve been through, after living with strength, courage and truth in your life, after these wonderful decades of a calm life, a good rest is always well deserved.

Your legs had started to tire after all the walking of your life. Your arms had started to tire after all the hugs you gave. With all the love you spread and gifted, it was only natural that your heart, too, grew tired and needed a rest. 

My dearest. My piece of soul. My moogle nose. Oh, darling, darling, I know you were exhausted. And I do not blame you for it. I am not upset at you for leaving without me. If anything, I am happy that, if we could not leave together, then you were first to go. At least, that way, you would not have to live through my loss. You deserved this calm death, surrounded by the people that love you, your love holding your hand. At least, that way, you would not have to die with the painful memory of my loss weighting down on you. At least, that way, you were accompanied. At least, that way, you did not suffer. 

I can take that for you.

Our daughter reaches down to press a kiss to the top of my head, before letting go and going to sit somewhere else while staying nearby; like you, knowing I need my space but not leaving me alone either. I barely hear her talking in whispers with one of her kids, though ‘kids’ is something they’re not. I hear somebody stand up from the bench and then quiet footsteps that grow quieter. I quickly assume she came to replace one of our grandkids, he or she has left to rest, while our daughter stays to look after me. ‘Grandpa is brokenhearted’ I heard her murmur to someone, hours, hours ago, ‘so we have to be with him and see if he needs anything, okay?’ 

I do am grateful for that, but I’m hating how it feels. That they’re taking turns to look after me, it makes me wonder if I’ve really turned into a stubborn old man that’s far much more an obstacle than anything else. I feel like so. 

Besides, it is not like I need them to look after me. Not because I’m stubborn and refuse the help. It’s only that they think that I’m brokenhearted. 

Oh, darling. How could they know? 

I cannot be brokenhearted. I need a heart for it to break, and mine died with you.

[themildestofwriters]

Because Tumblr’s going down the shitter tomorrow, I’m going to post a chapter of the up-coming novel “short”-story I’m writing, ‘The Weird and Wonderful Sexual Awakening of Babette Melwyn’. This is chapter four, six seven and follows Babette after having her sexual reawakening and deciding to experiment a bit more. Does it spoil what happens? Well, it was already a foregone conclusion anyway and this is only one part of the story which has quite a bit more then just the smut.Quite a bit more.

Anyway, on to the story!

Babette Visits Pandora’s Box

Breath—in, out. In, out.

My skin prickled uncomfortably, suffocating heat washing all over me. Like the pounding of war drums, my heart was hammering in my chest. I knew that, if anyone saw me, they would see bright-red blush across my countenance.

I didn’t want to here.

I really didn’t want to be here.

Of course, the option to leave was there. It would be so simple. Just turn around and walk away, but I couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Indignant pride—along with incessant curiosity—kept me rooted in place. I survived hell and beyond, led armies, ruled an Empire and fought against everything from the Third Reich to the very gods themselves.

Yet… here I was, terrified. Petrified!

It infuriated me, how I felt, and it was all Josephine’s fault—or mother’s fault. It fluctuated now and then.

Weeks had passed since mother asked the question that changed everything, and it had been quite the journey. Now, here I was, standing before a building that was in no way discreet. It was only one story tall, sitting at a corner beside a few other stores—a mechanic and hardware retailer. Cement walls were painted black with a long and thick purple strip running through it, merging with a great eight-ball painted on its side; however, instead of there being an eight in the centre, there was an eighteen-plus. To finish it off, atop the flattened roof was a broad sign that read: Pandora’s Box Adult Store.

It was quite a distance from home, at least another suburb over. As sure as I was that it was far enough from school and home that I wouldn’t meet anyone I knew, the fear still lingered like a miasma. If I locked eyes with someone from school, a friend, a family member or, worse, Josephine herself, I knew I’d die from utter humiliation. That, or I’d bury myself somewhere on Pluto for the next century or two, at least until everyone who knew me was dead.

With that in mind, I took precautions. So, nobody would recognise me and hadn’t arrived as myself, per se.

Nobody walking by would see little Babette Melwyn visiting an adult store, no siree. Instead, they would see a man right out of a modern interpretation of Lord of the Rings. To put it simply, he looked like an elf—if a particularly strange elf—with a very thin and lanky frame, a strong aquiline nose that sat flush with his brow, and bright crimson eyes. His clothes were simple, a pair of plain black pants, a forest green shirt and a satchel that hung across his body. Finally, there was the black beanie that sat on his head, hiding a pair of long elfin ears.

I couldn’t remember the last time I used this form. In recent millennia, I hadn’t much use for it: No need to go undercover; no need to hide from the authorities; no songs to sing that simply sounded better with a masculine voice. I would have preferred a slightly different form from this—mostly because changing sex was a rather odd experience—but it was the only one I had that looked human enough and didn’t look a thing like me.

Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I adjusted my new clothes and began crossing the car park.

The streets were relatively empty, and I couldn’t see anyone out and about on a walk nearby, so my fears eased. Despite this, I still flung the entry door as open as I could and stepped inside as quick as I could. Unfortunately, in my haste, I almost slammed my face into another door a few feet away.  Jerking back to save myself, I quickly noticed the large poster plastered on it—big bold letters declared a warning to minors, stating that this wasn’t the place for them.

Well, I’m certainly no minor, at least chronologically, though mentally? I mused. Completely different story.

I gave the poster a further few seconds of consideration before passing through.

The first thing I noticed was the front desk. A few advertisements and products decorated it here and there—lubricants and condoms mainly—but it wasn’t that which interested me, rather it was the human manning the desk who caught my eye.

I didn’t really know what I was expecting when I entered Pandora’s Box: A leering man with questionable stains on a rumbled spotted shirt; an Amazonian sex goddess with thighs that could crush skulls; or maybe the extravagantly dressed Madame who secretly owned a trafficking ring out back. There were many ideas and expectations I had when I first planned this trip. What I got instead was an old lady with greying hair who looked to be in her sixties or seventies. She wore modest clothes, a pale pink blouse with a short red cardigan over top.

It was… odd.

Nevertheless, what she looked like didn’t matter much at all to me. The fact that she was here, staring at me, however, was something else entirely.

She smiled, warm and welcomingly.

“Good morning,” she said, her voice as sweet as any grandmothers should.

“Hey,” I mumbled back, nerves and social ineptitude making it difficult to say much else.

I turned away quickly, wanting to forget she was even there, only to recoil in shock as the rest of the store revealed itself to me.

Just what in the Abyss had I gotten myself into?

Along the walls, hanging from hooks and on display in little island tables was an ungodly supply of dildos—some small, some so large I wondered how they’d even fit! There was more as well: lingerie, butt plugs, handcuffs, vibrators and so much more. Some of these things I couldn’t even name let alone determine their purpose.

Cheeks flared red and, much to my further embarrassment and dismay, I could feel my pants tighten. My eyes grew wide and for the next couple of seconds, all that went through my head was a steady stream of unholy screams and curses.

I had forgotten about that little fact.

I was biologically male and so I had to deal with all the aspects of being a male.

I took a deep breath and accepted that this was going to be my life for the next hour or so. Reluctantly, I began browsing, all the while attempting to reposition my newest appendage as subtly as I could. By Anu, it was uncomfortable.

As for what I was looking for, I didn’t want anything too fancy nor anything too big—just something to satisfy my curiosity—but it soon became apparent that I had absolutely no idea what I was looking for. Silicone versus rubber; double ended verses suction cup; veiny verses smooth; strap-on compatible verses that one weird dildo that looked more like featureless snowman: there were so many options to choose from that tackling size alone was its own chore, and I had no idea what any of it meant!

Oh, sure, I did spend a few weeks online researching the subject. I read a few articles about sex and masturbation, I learned that what I felt when with Josephine was “being horny” or “aroused”, and I’d seen many videos of people having sex. Yet nothing mentioned anything about the specifications of different dildos and what they meant. I didn’t even think this was going to be an issue! I just thought most of the different designs I’d seen were purely aesthetic based!

Unfortunately, it appeared my ignorance must have shown in some way as, after roughly ten minutes of staring at the shelves with confused horror etched on my face, a voice spoke.

“Would you like some help, dearie?” the old lady asked, her sweet voice unnervingly at odds with everything around her. In fact, the entire store felt off. It was quiet, casual. It was like I just walked into a convenience store but instead of lollies and Stanley knives, it sold riding crops and ball-gags.

I turned to the woman, trying my best to keep composure, and paused—at a complete loss for words. Should I ask for help? I had no idea. I didn’t want to look like some idiot, but I also didn’t want to be here any longer than necessary.

Once again, I cursed my stupidity. Of course there would be different types of dildos, each with their own pros and cons, yet all I did was get off to watching those wretched videos.

After much deliberation, I decided “to hell with it” and accepted her aid.

“Yes, please,” I replied meekly.

She smiled tenderly and left the counter, soon joining my side. It was then I realised that I was an entire head taller than her, a completely useless fact that left me feeling uncomfortable for some inexplicable reason. “Do you know what you’re looking for exactly?”

“I—ah…” I wasn’t really sure how to reply to that. Should I just out and say it? Would that be socially accepted? Or would a euphemism be in order? I had no bloody idea. “I’m looking for… I’m looking for a dildo.”

“Is this your first time?” she asked, this time with a knowing.

First time? I blushed. “Is it really that obvious?”

“Don’t worry, dearie,” she said. “I’ll help you out.”

One misunderstanding and many uncomfortable questions later, I had my vibrator in hand. While I would have much preferred a normal dildo, it at least looked far less complicated than the other toys recommended. The entire vibrator verses dildo dichotomy confused me, but not being an expert left me little room to complain. Of course, getting to that point wasn’t easy nor fun. Not only did I realise how deep the well of my stupidity goes but I think I somehow convinced the old lady that I was trans. After all, how else are you supposed to explain away a man looking for a dildo to use on his vagina?

Soon after paying, I hid the vibrator away in my satchel and left the store as discreetly as possible.

Once out, I wandered around for a bit, eventually arriving at a wooded park nearby. Hiding among the trees, I made sure none were nearby before returning to my old skin.

Shapeshifting was a queer affair. Disorientation was always something to worry about if one was unaccustomed with the art or shifting into an unfamiliar body with different proportions. However, that was only a minor inconvenience for me as it was the shift itself that was more unusual. It was by no means painful or anything, it simply felt weird. It was as if my skin and bones were melting and reshaping again and again until my body fit what form I desired. The first to change was my height, becoming noticeably shorter; my shoulders narrowed; my hips widened; my chest expanded; features became less elvish and more feminine; and then finally, my eyes shifted from a red to vivid gold.

It only took a second at the most, but I was grateful that my body was mine once again. What’s more, the annoying erection was no more, yet I still felt the tingling of anticipation twisting in my gut below, aching for release.

I fought down a shiver and took a deep breath. Every thought I had went straight beck to the vibrator in my bag: what I would do with it; what it would do to me. I was eager, ready, but I couldn’t just fly home right now—I needed batteries.

After once again checking to see if the coast was clear, four great black wings burst from my back, tearing through my shirt. A few seconds, I launched into the sky, vanishing from sight moments later.

A short stop to buy an eight-pack of batteries later and I was on my way home.

I had the house all to myself, what with my family being out for the next few hours, so I had time to satiate my curiosity. There was a reason I chose today to go out to the store.

Locking the front door behind me, I silently set the alarm spell just in case anyone attempted to break in. I then retired to my room, closing and once again locking the door before flopping onto my bed.

I was home, all alone.

The strange aching sensation had tapered off during the flight, but now that I was back, all I could think about was the vibrator and what would come next.

Sitting up, I opened my satchel and removed my newly bought toy, still sitting inside the box it was sold in.

I removed the packaging and examined the purple disembodied member. It was roughly seven inches long, curved slightly, with a realistic mould of the male genitalia. Apparently, it was a high-quality product, not only being waterproof and made of silicone but also with seven different intensities to choose from. Let’s just hope it was worth every cent I spent.

I bit my lip, my legs squirming together as the tingling warmth began spreading throughout my body. I was eager—more than eager—to find out how it would feel. Fingers were one thing, but these were supposed to be ten times better.

I smirked despite myself. Everyone said masturbation was a healthy and natural thing, even my therapist, but their words still didn’t change how I felt. Masturbation was a dirty thing, so depraved and selfish in my mind; a taboo I had never considered, yet a taboo all the same. However, these thoughts only seemed to make the action all the more exciting as if to spite it all. It was a forbidden fruit, something I shamefully tasted once and was left only wanting more.

Quickly, I summoned a Shroud of Silence around my bedroom and got ready.

With the batteries placed inside, I quickly discarded my clothes—my beanie, hair tie, shoes and socks—and threw them onto the floor with everything else that wasn’t necessary.

Next came the tattered shirt. I didn’t really need it anymore and considering the fact that it was already ruined, I tore it off and threw the remains to the floor. Without a bra, I was left bare-chested, everything from my pale lavender-grey skin to my scars—some faint, some not—and my small breasts.

I looked down, I inspected myself—the dark room, a bright monochrome to my eyes. My body felt all warm and sensitive, hyper-aware of the tingling pressure below my navel begging to be attended to. My hands roved, tempted to simply forgoing the vibrator and take matters into my own hands. The slightest touch was like sparks of electricity to my skin, enticing.

I forced myself to stop, to think clearly. I crawled onto my bed. With pillows to act as a buffer, I leaned against the headboard and spread my legs. Absently, I summoned the vibrator to hand and… stopped.

This was the first time I had ever used anything aside from my fingers and pillow, and I had no idea what I was going to expect. Of course, I had seen videos of people using them but seeing and experiencing were two completely different things.

I pressed the button sitting flush with the black base of the vibrator and instantly the room was filled with a low hum.

I squirmed at the noise, the vibrations stimulating my imagination. My legs clamped shut and I could feel my body ache to feel the massaging touch of my new toy. Like tunnel vision, the vibrator was the only thing on my mind at the moment—the desire to feel it against me, inside me; the carnal pleasures it would bring. But before I began, curiosity pushed me further. I pressed the button a few more times, each rewarding me with a new and enticing setting that picked up in intensity until it was buzzing madly in hand.

My breath hitched and quickly I switched the thing off with a final press of the button.

By Anu, I would certainly not be using that setting tonight. That was far too… too potent. I smiled nevertheless, excited to see what this night would bring.

Relaxing against the headboard, I spread my legs once again.

Slowly, the fingers of my left hand ran down my body, past the tuft of silky black pubic hair before gliding over my warm mound. I wanted to ease myself in, not be overly hasty.

First, I started with my middle digit, circling my clitoris—each movement of my finger sending sparks of pleasure, some more often than not, flowing through my body. I varied myself, trying to find that right touch, that right rhythm to get the best effect. Sometimes I would slide my finger between slippery lips, delving deep into my warmth; at other times, I would use two or more fingers, playing with myself until my head became hazy.

The only constant was how deep my breathing became and how slick my fingers got. I felt as if I could go on and on, slowly building myself up and up until that bright flash of absolute paradise. It would be easy to give into temptation, but I stopped myself, huffing a deep breath as I did.

Bringing my fingers up for inspection, I saw they were glistening, lines of wetness connecting finger to finger like a spider’s web.

I blushed. I had never been so wet before.

I knew I was enthusiastic—shamefully so—but I didn’t expect this!

I stared, almost mesmerised by the lines of fluid that coated my fingers. I had seen video after video of men and women using their mouths and tongues, tasting the viscous juices of others. I wondered how it tasted—the girls surely looked like they were enjoying themselves from what I remember.

I tilted my head and, in a fit of impulse, brought my fingers to my lips, dragging my middle finger down my tongue.

The taste… it tasted kind of… I wasn’t sure.

There wasn’t much of a taste to be honest, perhaps a bit sweet? It was underwhelming, to be honest. It wasn’t ambrosia and I certainly wouldn’t drink a glass full. But, somehow… the thought that this was what a woman tasted like?

I wondered if this is what every woman tasted like or if it was different. Did Josephine taste this way? I didn’t know but I wanted to find out—to feel my tongue running along her slick lips, tasting every inch of her. I could almost see it when I closed my eyes, her body writhing beneath me; my tongue explored every inch of her.

I brought my fingers back to my mouth, slowly lapping up the remaining nectar from each digit. This was the closest I could ever get to Josephine and I savoured every last bit, moaning as I did. My tongue grew and reformed, becoming longer and pointed, wrapping around my fingers and tasting every last drop.

Only when I was done and there was none left did I sigh, deep and content. The taste wasn’t anything special but the thought of my tongue exploring Josephine’s depths just made it so… so… delectable. My body was already hot and bothered before, but now I could barely think straight.

I turned my attention back towards my vibrator and then down towards my vagina—aching heat calling desperately to be tended to.

Readjusting my grip, I turned it on to the lowest setting and brought it down slowly. The second it brushed against me, I jerked up, stifling a small cry—a powerful jolt of pleasure, intense and sudden, shooting through me.

It… um. I— I didn’t expect that…

Suppressing a grin, I repositioned myself and pressed against me again. Just like before, pleasure shot through me, but it was more than that—a near constant assault as I pressed it between my lips. The vibrator changed pitch, and I groaned and squirmed.

I tried to be quiet, but I couldn’t help but mutter under my breath.

“Fuck…” I groaned, beginning to move the head, watching it roam around my vulva. I never let it overstay its welcome, exploring around and between soaking lips to my sensitive clitoris and everywhere else. As I did, more jolts of pleasure racked through me, soliciting moan after moan, threatening to overwhelm me.

My head lulled back, eyes closed, as my free hand moved slid up my waist and ribs, tickling my side before cupping my breast. With thumb and finger, I teased myself, pinching my hardened nipple as fresh waves drowned me in carnal delight.

My groans became louder, hungrier. I could feel that presence below my navel growing and growing as time ticked by—tense, like a spring, as if it were ready to release at any moment.

I didn’t just want more, I needed more.

I pressed the button on the base and—

“By Anu!” I cried. My body arched suddenly, an entirely new world of ecstasy taking root. I pressed the button again and again, lost in my insatiable craving for more. “Oh, fuck!”

My mind blanked, the world around me darkening as I focused purely on myself and nothing else. I felt as if I couldn’t stop, even if I wanted to. All I could think about was feeding my blind hedonism until I was left a drooling mess.

Pinching and teasing turned to rough kneading—my hand massaging and squeezing my small supple breast.

Soon, fantasies began filling my mind to tempt and stimulate. I remembered back to that particular video I watched—the one of the two women sharing in each other’s company. They would kiss deeply, their hands ever wandering, caressing, teasing. Soon, one girl began to kiss lower, down the other’s neck, past her breast and between her legs.

I couldn’t help but put myself in the other’s position, completely at the mercy to another’s masterful tongue.

But then the girl changed. No longer was she a blonde white woman taking deep pleasure in lapping up every inch of me. Instead, her skin turned a dark caramel, her hair curlier and now a deep chocolate brown. She looked at me, parting hair that obscured her face and—

My heart skipped a beat.

Josephine…

I could see her plain as day in my mind.

She crawled to me, slowly and seductively, her delicious arse swaying so tantalisingly as she did—her enthralling green eyes never wavering from mine. There was a look in those eyes, some unrestrained hunger that scared me, excited me and awoke something deep within me.

Pure bliss flooded every part of my body. I moaned her name, feeling shameful desire swirl at my desperation. That presence below my navel called out, demanding to be filled, and I obeyed.

My lips parted as I eased the vibrator in. First the head then, slowly, the rest of it began to fill me. It was unlike anything I had ever felt before. Instantly, I was intoxicated, drunk on unabashed lust. I groaned loud—loud enough that, had anyone been home, they surely would have heard.

In and out, I pumped the vibrator, building speed as I yearned to feel more. My free hand soon joined it, massaging my clitoris as the vibrator continued to send wave after wave of crushing pleasure through me again and again and again.

My fantasy continued, Josephine’s splendour still in my mind.

I soaked up every last bit of her I could remember—her eyes, her skin, those lips. Oh, how I longed to feel those luscious lips upon my own, on my neck, on my breast, teasing me with teeth and tongue.

Down, down, down, down.

How I longed for those beautiful soft lips to mark me all the way down to between my legs—to feel her tongue dance a most wicked dance around and inside me, exploring my warm depths.

Oh, how I wanted her here.

I wanted her, I so desperately wanted her here it was frustrating. I wanted her here to make me her plaything. I wanted her here to ravage me so completely that I couldn’t think straight. I wanted her here to fuck me hard and rough until I was nothing more than an incoherent babbling mess in the palm of her hands.

I gasped.

My entire body seized up, legs slamming shut onto my hands. I clenched down hard onto my vibrator. My entire body rocked. Hips bucking wildly as absolute euphoria flooded my entire body.

I felt as if I was being shattered deep into my very core—a feeling so strong and intense it almost hurt.

Muffled whine turned whimpers tried desperately to be heard as white hot bliss shot through me again and again and again and again.

Jolt after jolt of agonising pleasure ruined me, never-ending and omnipresent. I could feel it building me up and up, just as before. Every inch of me felt so sensitive, like the slightest touch could send me spiralling down all over again.

I cried out, every last moan loudly declaring my depraved deeds to the world.

I couldn’t handle it. It was just too overwhelming.

I removed the vibrator as quickly as I could, fearing that I would break. The second its ravenous touch left, I surrendered to fatigue.

My heart raced. Blood thumped loudly in my ears. My breaths, long and laboured. I was utterly exhausted.

I laid there for a moment, trying to recover my lost strength. The buzzing of the vibrator continued but a quick spell later and all that could be heard was my heavy breaths.

That was unlike anything I had ever experienced.

It was just so… so… pure. So utterly all-consuming. I could barely describe it.

Slowly, my faculties returned. My mind became clearer and my breathing soon became more measured. When my body relinquished control back to me, I summoned the silenced vibrator to hand. I could still it vibrate against my hand and so I quickly cycled through the various settings and turned it off, placing it on my bedside.

I continued laying for a time, staring up at the cream ceiling as my muscles began to relax.

After a minute or so, I pulled myself up to a sitting position and quickly looked down, noticing a sudden wetness against my leg.

I frowned, cheeks flaring hot as I realised just how soaked I, and the bed, was. Not only were my thighs glossy with the clear coating of my release, but there was a large dark stain on my sheets, intermingling with the marks of sweat.

I sighed and reclined on my bed. It’d be a pain to clean up. Next time, definitely bring a towel.

Next time.

I smiled wistfully and turned to the veiny member sitting innocently on my bedside. There was no doubt that I wouldn’t be using it again.

But now? I need to clean up and probably have a bath. A nice warm bath.

[gguksgalaxy]

Sheltered pt. 1

Sheltered  – Engraved <– Engraved 11 | <– Crowned 2 | Engraved 12 –> | Sheltered 2 –>

Short: Law student and intern Kim Jongin uses his charms for a dangerous pastime behind the screens, but he falls for the most normal girl. Words: 3080 Type: Angst/Fluff Pairing: Kai x Miyong (oc) Warnings: mentioning of an accident A/N: This will run chronologically with Engraved, but it’s not needed to read this to understand Engraved, but the parts posted for Engraved after this will contain spoilers. It is also not necessary to read Engraved to understand what is happening here. But it will make things more clear.

AFF link Engraved line AFF link Sheltered only

Kai pov

The office was in it’s usual bustling state of busy. Sounds of rustling paper, the copy machines, nails on keyboard filling his ears while he was going over his merger case. The two companies had a lot in common but their client was trying to get more out of the deal. He was searching through databases and e-mailing people to try and get the information he needed to let everything go as smoothly as possible. His booth was at the far corner of the room, and he had the wall on his left and the rest of the room on his right. He liked it, this way he could see everything. It wasn’t too big of a room, there were about 10 paralegals and interns in here. Everyone knew each other by now, much to his tries of keeping to himself. The people were nice and it was nice to be around them, sometimes they went out for a drink after work, or all got lunch together. The girl beside him leant over the booth, her head on her hands on the small wall. “What are you working on?” she asked, warm caramel curls falling over the edge and framing her face.

For a second he looked up a little shocked. “Oh, merger, nothing big.” She nodded and smiled. “You got a lot of work left?” He smiled back at her, for a second he had forgotten she was there, too caught up in his work. But she was always in the booth beside him. Her name was Miyong. “Nah, I’ll probably be done early tonight, really. I need to study for ethics anyway and Nigel said I could leave if I finish this and it’s okay.” He leant back in his chair, closing his eyes for a second. “I’m drained.” “How about we go for lunch?” she asked, cocking her head to one side. There was something so nice about the way she smiled, big brown eyes sparkling with excitement. She was a really nice girl, and they’ve been hanging out for a while now, but he hadn’t really done anything. For now they were just friends. But she was nice to be around, and she was open and sweet and calm. On the other hand she was a little childlike, like him, and when she talked about something she loved her voice sped up to a point where he could barely understand. “What are you thinking to get? You want to go sit somewhere?” he asked. She shook her head, curls bouncing. “I was thinking to get coffee and a bagel or something and then walk for a bit. It’s not that warm but the sun’s out. We can go to the park.” “Sure!” he said, and he wondered if he sounded a bit too excited then. Whether the smile on his face was a little too big. Whether she knew that he liked her this much. They got up and went to get their coats. He was wearing black pants and a simple white button up, she was wearing a grey skirt with a dark pink coloured turtleneck that framed her body perfectly but wasn’t too tight. Both of them wore long coats, her brown and his black. And they walked outside with their hands stuffed in their pockets, making sure to sign off at the secretary. Anna, the secretary smiled at them. She was probably over fifty but she was the nicest lady. One time, when Jongin had to work late she had brought him something to eat. “You love birds, so cute together.” She mused and winked at them. Jongin felt the warmth spread up his cheek and neck and he rubbed the back of his head. Miyong chuckled and pulled him outside. She walked with her arm linked through his, hands in her pockets to protect them from the cold. Miyong leant against him, shivering a little and he chuckled. “I thought you said it wasn’t that cold.” “No, I said the sun was shining, but we’re still in the shade.” She mumbled and walked a little faster. Her usual place to get coffee was just outside the park, she’d taken him once before, their coffee was really good. It was a small barista place hidden between the larger restaurants their terraces. They arrived pretty quickly and as soon as they left the tall building lined streets and the sun his their face he did feel it was warmer. He took in the feeling, and hoped spring would come soon. Sadly it was only just becoming winter and harsher times were to come. “Ah, I want to go to the park when there’s snow.” She said randomly as they entered, it was warmer inside and the fresh scent of coffee filled his senses. He loved the smell but for quite some time he didn’t like the taste. But now he liked it a lot better with sugar. “You still drink caramel macchiato?” he asked her as they stood in line. She nodded pulled her arm from his to reach into her bag, he touched her arm to stop her. “I’ll buy.” “No you won’t, this was my idea.” “Don’t even try.” He said. “I’m paying and that’s it.” She pouted and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ll buy food then.” He rolled his eyes. “Fine.” A light chuckle left her lips as he ordered their coffees and paid. “What?” he asked. She shrugged. “Nothing really, you have a nice smile. You’re always really polite, I just don’t see it that often with guys like you.” He frowned at her, a little confused. “How do you mean?” They were waiting in the back until the barista had made their coffees and he looked down at her. She was quite a bit shorter than him, but it suited her. “Oh, just…” She blushed lightly. “You’re like really handsome, when I first saw you I thought you were some rich model kid or something. I expected you to be slightly arrogant or bratty. But you’re actually not.” She was the one to grab their cups when they were placed on the counter, and she thanked the girl who made them, wholeheartedly. Outside he spoke again. “I used to be a lot more arrogant I think.” It wasn’t a confession he made often, and it made her look up with confusion, small hands cupped around the coffee. She walked close to him again, and he followed her to the bagel place that she always talked about. He hadn’t been there before but she was really excited about it. “What made you change?” she asked, taking a sip of her coffee and the blowing little clouds of steam into the cold air. “We go left here by the way.” She guided him around the shoulder by lightly pushing him with her body. He sighed. “I used to go to the Dancing academy here. Bu-“ “What??! You went to Lee-Young’s?!” she exclaimed with big eyes. “Oh…yeah.” “I didn’t know you danced, let alone were that good.” She mumbled, pouting a little. Jongin chuckled and bumped her lightly. “It’s not that nice of a place really. It’s all competition and no friendship, and I guess that’s why I was so arrogant. I felt like I was better than others because I got in there, but I wasn’t.” “Did you quit?” He shook his head, and brushed a stray strand of hair back up with the rest. And he felt the sudden nerves in his shaking digits, should he just tell her? “I was thrown off.” “What?” she gasped, and she stopped him by grabbing his sleeve. “What happened?” Jongin reverted his eyes to their shoes, her low heeled ankle boots, his dress shoes. “I got into a car accident.” A soft gasp left her lips and she touched his arm. “You don’t have to tell me, it’s okay.” He was silent, and then looked at her. She was looking up at him, round eyes full of concern. “I just couldn’t dance anymore after that.” “I’m sorry.” She whispered. “Are you okay now?” Jongin nodded. “I am, thank you.” “Let’s go, I’m starving.” She linked her arm through his again as they walked on, but she didn’t put her hand into her pocket. He felt her small hand slide into the pocket of his own coat, and reach out for his hand in the small space, intertwining their fingers. Her hand was much much smaller than his, and he felt her manicured nails lightly scrape over the top of his hands. It was cold, but both of their hands quickly warmed in the confined space. After walking a little more they turned a corner onto a little square with all these tiny shops. “It’s right there, Sweet Bagels.” “Sweet Bagels? Really? How much of a sweet tooth do you really have?” he laughed. “I still hold up to my suspicion of you filling up that candy jar of yours regularly so that it seems like you don’t eat that many.” She squinted her eyes at him. “I do not.” “Miyong I see you munching on those things all day through at the office, and that thing never goes empty!” he was laughed and she pushed a finger into his chest. “You’re just jealous that you’re not getting any!” He rolled his eyes and she took their intertwined hands from his pocket to pull him inside the small shop. But unfortunately he missed the little step and he tumbled, twisting his ankle and finding support on a neighbouring chair. He gritted his teeth, groaning, as pain shot up his leg. “Fuck.” Miyong was beside him in an instant, touching his back lightly. “Shit, are you okay?” Jongin stood up straight and tried to stand up on his leg. Hot pain, like sparks, all the way from his ankle to his knee. “I will be I just need to sit. Is that okay?” “Of course. Oh my god. Like don’t worry about it. We can sit inside and eat. We’ll take a cab back, it’s cold outside anyway. The park will be there next time.” Next time. He thought and smiled lightly through the pain. “Thanks.” She helped him sit at a table as he limped slightly, but the pain ebbed away quickly as it always did after he twisted it. “I’ll be okay really, I’ll pay for the cab.” “No, seriously I pulled you and you tripped. I feel bad, please let me just.” Jongin shook his head, stretching his leg out under the table and bumping her foot accidentally. “You pay enough Miyong. You have your own place, you drive your own car, pay your own tuition. My family pays a lot of my expenses, so please.” She studied him, and sighed. “Okay.” He smiled and touched her hand on the table. “It’s okay. It’ll be gone in an hour or so, it happens a lot.” “Is it the leg you hurt in the accident?” He nodded. “It was trapped underneath the steering wheel, I broke it in 4 places. I was lucky they weren’t open breaks, or I’d have lost my leg.” Sadness crossed her face and he squeezed her hand lightly. “Hey, don’t worry about me I’ll be fine.” After she looked at him for a little longer, studying his features, she nodded and grabbed a menu to open it up in front of him. “Let’s eat.” “Okay,” he chuckled. “What’s best here.” She pointed out various things on the menu , and meanwhile Jongin was a little wary of them other people in the place. That had by now adverted their eyes from them. “So my favourite is the apple cinnamon one, but the snickers, or cookies and cream are really nice too. Oh and the white chocolate raspberry.” He cringed his nose at the last one. “So sweet, I can feel my teeth aching already.” “Says the guy who drinks his coffee with two cubes of sugar and heaps of milk.” She mumbled under her breath and he smirked. “What?” “Nothing!” Soon a waiter came to their table, he seemed young, maybe 16, but he was really nice and polite. “Can I take your order?” Jongin motioned for her to order first. “Ahh for me, a green tea, and a white chocolate raspberry bagel.” She smiled sweetly to the boy and he tapped everything in on a small tablet. Then he turned to Jongin. “For me a green tea too, and a cinnamon apple bagel.” The boy nodded and left the table to pass through the order. He returned quite quickly with their drinks, placing them on the table. “I’m surprised you drink green tea, no coffee?” he joked as he opened the teabag and placed it in his water. “I mean I suspected you were quite as much caffeine addicted as you were to sugar.” She gasped and place a hand over her heart in fake hurt. “Jongin, why are you so judgemental. I cannot believe. Not everyone who loves coffee is addicted, and people can love both tea and coffee. I just think the taste is too strong to have it with food.” “There you are right.” They were both laughing, and talking about the little things. What tv shows they watch and bad sleeping habit. Miyong apparently sleeps with her socks on, and Jongin told her about how he sometimes wakes up hugging his pillow. And she’s jokingly replied that he needed a cuddle buddy to which he didn’t really know what to reply. So they’d left the topic and moved on to annoying people on the office, bad habits when writing. “Hi, I have a raspberry white chocolate bagel?” the waiter said from beside the table. “Oh that’s mine.” Miyong said and he placed her plate in front of her, Jongin’s in front of him. “We should probably hurry though.” Miyong said looking at her phone. “We’ve been out for like half an hour already.” Their breaks were about an hour, and they were checked. So they’d have to hurry a little indeed. “Let me call a cab, it’ll save us some time.” She nodded and he got out his phone to order a cap via the app they used. They being him and the guys, not his company. The bill would be issued to their place and Suho would just take it with the rest of the expenses. “They’ll be here in 20 minutes.” “Quick then.” “You’re going to get sugar rush from that thing if you eat it too quick.” Jongin said to her taking a first bite of his own bagel. The flavour was amazing, and the apples were slightly warm. “Oh, this is really good!” She chuckled. “Yeah, I told you didn’t I!” With warm brown eyes focused on her own bagel, she cut off a little piece and offered it to him. “Try this one.” He frowned a little but leant over the table to take the bite from her fork. It was a little odd, the sweetness of the raspberry and the heavy buttery taste of the white chocolate. The bread however, sort of made it perfect, dulled out the tastes and complimented them in a way he never thought he’d enjoy. “Hmm.” He said with his mouth full. “Okay, you win.” She did a little victory wiggle in her chair and he laughed, so cute. “I like your smile.” She said, wiping a little white chocolate of the corner of her mouth. “It’ s cute.” He blushed and looked down. “Thank you.” “Ah, don’t get shy on me now. It’s true.” There was a bit of silence after that, as they ate their bagels. Until Jongin decided to speak up. “I think you’re really pretty.” A frown appeared on her face but it soon turned into a smile. “Thank you. But don’t feel like you have to say that just because I gave you a compliment.” He was shocked and it probably showed on his face. “No, I mean it, I really think you’re pretty.” She chuckled. “I enjoy spending time with you. You’re really easy going, more so than I thought you were.” “Likewise.” He said, but then he corrected himself. “Oh, no not that I didn’t think you were but…” “Ah, I know. I don’t know if I mentioned it before, but I teach at this dancing school back at home.” His eyes widened. “You dance?” “Have I never mentioned?” she asked cocking her head to the side. He shook his head. “No, I’m sure I’d have remembered. What style?” “Oh, I don’t really dance myself anymore. But I used to dance ballet before I went to law school.” There was a hint of sadness in her voice, but Jongin knew how much time it took up to study law, and he knew that keeping up ballet on the side was a hard thing to do. “I was too short and chubby anyways to get into anywhere big.” She mumblingly added. “I think you’re beautiful as you are. Dancing shouldn’t be limited to body sizes, it’s a stupid rule.” She smiled genuinely at him, but he also knew that he had it easy. Always having been lean and tall. He felt for her though, he once knew a guy that got kicked of the program because he grew too tall. “But I didn’t want to let go of it completely, I’ve been dancing since I was a little girl. So I agreed to teach one group of little kids on wednesdays. They’re so cute, tiny little boys and girls.” There was a sparkle in here eyes and he looked at her in awe. He could hear her passion in the way she talked. “I don’t know if I’m being too forward, of if it makes you uncomfortable. But if you like it you could come along in two weeks, I’m sure they’ll love you.” He was stilled for a moment and he looked at her. He hadn’t danced since the day of his accident, because he couldn’t really. He needed an insole to stop himself from limping due to the multiple breaks, and sometimes his leg hurt after the tiniest wrong movement. It would be a lie to say that he wasn’t a little scared to go, but he didn’t want to turn her down. “Yeah, of course. I’d love to come along.” “It’s a date.” She smiled the brightest smile yet.

@oh-beyond @xingtrash @chenbootysoo @minniescutiehands @nunchiwrites @bootyfulohsehun @damn-jongdae-slay @thawingsnowwolf @i-am-foyo @littlekatlizzy @xiubaek13 @kaori-yuki-chan @dashi-dorawa @sherbatchan @junmyeonsthighs @yoongi-insfires-me @melyyexo @i-learned-thatfromthepizzaman @yeollieollie @taeminte @ravyeolii @ruke-pammant @lolxiuminlol @kpopmafiaaus @wheredidmylifego-ohyeahbtsandexo @crowleys-crossroads-inn @yixingsbeauty @gwaenchanhajagiya