#i will perfect my craft <- makes one page every blue moon

[unlimitedgolden]

ok hi turns out my favourite thing is to make fake magazine pages for splatoon (outfit inspired by @splatsvilles-fashionista's recent prompt !!)

[the-fae-folk]

How to Build a World?

Some time ago, I answered a writing question as Quoth the Raven that dealt with how to go about Worldbuilding for your story (Found Here). I’ve now rewritten the piece because I was struck with inspiration for a much more poetic form. I rather like it this way... ______________________________________________________________ Every story has to start somewhere. Some start with an endless void, a dark abyss where spirits drift over the waters, an egg which has not yet hatched to reveal the universe contained within. But in my opinion the best beginnings are found on a blank page.

Sing an ode to the whiteness of a screen, to the sterile form of an unfilled notebook amidst a pile of notebooks you keep buying but never write in. I call upon thee, oh Muses, let the divine speak into the shadows and let there be light. Fountains may spring up from the deeps and the oceans pay homage to the moon above. I am but a humble supplicant to the gods of paper and ink, where multiverses of verse and prose are crafted from words alone.

A world must be made through the number seven. Seven days, seven dwarfs, seven epochs, seven sins, seven virtues, seven founding principles of building a world.

The First is of Magic. All worlds begin with magic in a way. You can call it by any name you desire; Nature, physics, deity. First a word is spoken, a rule, a way of being. Whether the universe is filled with blinding empty light and shaded to sight by suns of shadow and fires that burn black enough to repel the light of night, or if the endless skies are oceans where planets drift in bubbles of air and stars keep the endless ice of the galactic abyss at bay with their warmth.

It is a question of how your world works, a list of rules that cannot be broken by even you as the rest of the pieces fall into place. A willing suspension of disbelief is a fragile thing. If it breaks, you are dashed to pieces beneath the weight of fallen expectations. A reader betrayed is rarely forgiving to those who have broken their own laws.

So write, write of the shifting of stars and the fundamental forces of love and duty. In your canon proclaim the laws of wind and gravity, atoms of justice, and the blessed radiation of whimsy and wonder.

But once you have finished, and the last law carved upon the last stone atop your own Sinai, you must heed them always. From gods to grains of sand on a distant shore, none can break these commandments.

When you speak a second time, it is of Place. Of mountains and mayhem, of vast oceans where secrets lie forgotten far beneath the waves.

Reach out your hand to carve canyons from the paragraphs on the page, riverbeds that flow swift and pure into great lakes and down into silent aquifers below the very earth itself. Whether one sun, or seven, or none at all, this world must be made known through careful descriptions and prose.

And as long as it does not contradict your rules, you can have islands that fly through the skies, glass rain, giant geodic structures that have never seen the light of a single day. What of glaciers that chill the whole land into an ice age? Or a supervolcano that belches molten glass from its summit?

Then, as your world is forming, think on the third principle of building a world. Life.

Deep down in the depths of the darkest seas you might form creatures so alien they defy the very mind, drifting on currents and living without sun or sky, only in eternal shadow and crushing pressure. Or you may begin on land instead, with green skinned goblin-like folk who live among the trees and speak in song and melody as they hunt the fire breathing dragonflies. Perhaps even the sky might be your dominion. Pods of whales that swim among the clouds, blowing geysers of wind high into the abyss of blue and white that turns to stars at the highest heights.

Each living thing lies in connection with one another. Eating, growing, changing, moving. Flowers make bioluminescence in forever darkened woods and caverns. Gas filled balloon-like pods could carry creatures high into the sky with them, letting them escape from predators.

Here and now your pen is the fountain that begets creation, your mind is the tree from which all life springs. This world is your garden to cultivate, your Eden cradled between life giving rivers.

Wherever you touch there will be life. In the most scorching of deserts, in the deepest caves and wells, in the furthest canyons, upon the coldest glaciers. And as long as you remain true to your rules of reality, your world can take even the most whimsical of forms. Trees whose roots tangle among the clouds and whose boughs hang down towards the distant earth below, people who can see colors that neither you nor I have ever heard of. Each new thing makes your world more complex, more real, more connected.

Perhaps you know what comes next? In truth it has already begun, for your fourth is of Cognition.

It may be that somewhere in your world there is a creature or plant, perhaps many, or even all, who have tasted that forbidden fruit and became more than they were, became aware that their eyes had been closed and for the first time knew that they could open them and look.

What might it be like? To look out at the world and for the first time see it anew? Before there was survival and safety, food and mating. There was no time for beauty, no time for dreaming, no time for such things when every moment was needed. Yet at some point, there was time, and someone stopped to look. And everything changed.

Most creators prefer the humanoid form when building cognizant peoples, though not all, some few might choose different shapes. Plant, reptile, insect, or even stranger forms the likes of which might not be found here in our world, but only in that world of their making.

But the shape isn’t the important thing. No, what is vitally important is the manner of cognizance. How is it that your people understand the world? What are they aware of? What things can they hear? Or touch? Taste? See? Smell? Or perhaps they have senses that can only be described in roundabout ways to readers who will never entirely understand what it is to perceive in such ways, like blind men who try to know what it is like to see.

Now it is time at last for your fifth. This is the culmination of all things thus far, the laws of reality, the geography, the life, the cognizant peoples… Your fifth is Culture.

Peoples gather together. They make laws to protect or to divide, to ensure and ensnare. They farm or hunt for food, creating new ways with new generations. And best of all they tell stories. Oh those stories. These are the things of which culture is made. Stories that are woven into tapestries or painted into murals, songs are composed to evoke the emotions of such stories, even food is cooked to be eaten as the stories are told.

But there are other things which can affect your peoples and persons. Where do they get their clothing? Animal hides or plant fibers? Perhaps wool or cotton? And how is it obtained? Technology? Magic? Labor? Do the people even wear clothing at all? For some might not find it necessary if they are perfect for the place they dwell in their world.

What foods can they eat? Would you or I even recognize it? Let alone be able to digest it without agonizing pains in our stomachs? A fruit that glows might transfer its glow to those who eat it, giving them light to see in the dark and energy to live another day. Certain beasts are only slaughtered on certain days of the star calendars, for festivals and holy feast days, for ceremonial reasons and never secular ones.

Here is the most dangerous part in your journey, for the building of culture can become a mire or a maze, a labyrinthine pit from whence you can never escape no matter how much you build. Every detail begets another, and cultures are more than any one person can make. World Builder though you are, you still have limitations of your own.

So you look to the sixth, which is history. From whence did they come? And where do their journeys go? And of course, what happened at every step in between? Kings and emperors to the feuds of petty farmers. Did the dragons lay claim to the seven clawed mountains in the forty ninth century or did the Arch Astronomer falsely claim they did so that he might turn his people’s thoughts to southern trade?

Culture takes time to move and once it begins it will not stop. From the grand world point of view to the shortsightedness of individuals, each and every step will be important. Religions and wars, cataclysmic events, heroes, and even plagues. Everything that arises when you add time to the world you have created is history. The world is a living breathing thing that will move on its own if you let it.

The seventh day arrives. Some deities might rest, seeing that all is good. But not you, for your world is made in slavish worship to the Story. A world built so that it might contain, for good or ill, a tale of your telling.

So write, prideful one. Your hubris has driven you to follow in the footsteps of the gods themselves, building a world where before was nothing. It is time to look closer, to follow a single strand of thread in this tapestry you have woven from dreams and shadows.

Now that you have crafted for us an entire world, tell us your tale. We are listening.

[sailorfailures]

I fell in love with these postcards from the Girl’s Night Out popup cafe the moment I saw them! I knew I had to get my hands on them, and the lovely @blaze-rocket was able to help that happen.

I cannot get over how perfect these postcards are. To me, this is what Sailor Moon is; a testament to the little moments from the series that made us fall in love with the characters, especially how their personal preferences were reflected in their fashion choices. In a world of merch where it’s easy to just slap a random crescent moon on something pink and say “look, it’s Usagi,” the designer responsible for these graphics went the extra mile to take imagery from the show itself that needles its way deep into our nostalgia-cortexes.

How many references do you recognise? Quiz yourself against this comprehensive (image-heavy) list! 👇

The inners’ postcards all reference the eye-catching sign for Game Center Crown, the iconic arcade where Motoki Furuhata worked and the gang would all congregate to play games and share information.

Starting in R they switched to hanging out at Fruits Parlor Crown, a cafe attached to the arcade staffed by Motoki’s sister Unazuki, which the Inners’ postcards all also reference. They would often get brightly-coloured drinks there, but the drinks pictured on these postcards seem to specifically line up with the real drinks available at the Girls Night Out popup cafe.

Sailors Neptune, Uranus, and Pluto’s postcards all reference “Café Étrangère,” which was the name of the cafe they were seen dining at in the Sailor Moon S movie. Even the logo is replicated faithfully from a scene only a few seconds long.

All the girls’ clothes are hanging on coat hangers shaped like Luna/Artemis/Diana.

Ami / Sailor Mercury’s references:

Ami’s casual outfit is an unusual choice since she only wore it a handful of times over the entire series, and half the times she wore it, it was given a different colour scheme with a green jacket instead of the yellow version pictured here.

Her “mini data computer” is her most iconic tool/weapon/accessory, revealed in episode 009, directly after her introduction.

The pink package is how Usagi and the other girls wrapped up her transformation stick and communicator watch as Ami’s going-away present in episode 062.

The ice cream may be a reference to the same episode, as she shared a cone with Chibi-Usa before she left, and returned to the store to protect her friends from the Droid Nihpasu.

The flash cards are a method Ami commonly used to help her study, and are particularly similar to the ones shown in the SuperS short “Ami’s First Love”.

Rei / Sailor Mars’s References:

Rei wore her casual outfit fairly frequently, starting and most notably in the beginning of the Sailor Moon R movie.

The small red o-mamori charm is from Hikawa Shrine, seen frequently but introduced in episode 010.

The paper ofuda ward was used frequently by Rei to fight evil, even before she could transform, but most notably in the attack sequence for “Akuryou, Taisan” (“Foul Spirit, Begone”).

To my knowledge the purple bag isn’t a specific reference, but Rei did throw a similar purse at a Cardian as a makeshift weapon in episode 048 before she got her Guardian memories back.

The gift-wrapped shopping boxes are the exact same ones as carried by Rei in the Sailor Moon Sailor Stars opening sequence before she trips and falls, right down to the patterns on the paper...

... which in itself may be a reference/callback to Rei’s tendency to make Yuuichirou carry her shopping (maybe so she doesn’t trip).

The phoenix-shaped pendant is a reference to episode 183; it’s made of glazed ceramic, crafted by Rei’s cousin Kengo Ibuki, given to her as a child after she convinced him not to smash it even though he his pottery a “failure”.

Makoto / Sailor Jupiter’s References:

Makoto didn’t start wearing her casual outfit until around S, but she wore it frequently after that, especially as she became more confident wearing “feminine” clothing. They even remembered her iconic gold wrist watch worn over her sleeve!

Her uniquely decorated bento bag debuted in episode 026, her introductory episode, along with the rounded green cutlery. The pouch has been featured a few more times since and its design is a mainstay in almost every Sailor Moon canon.

The teal hairtie and the rose-shaped earrings are two of Makoto’s iconic accessories, some of the only non-magical fashion accessories in the entire series to stay the same whether the character is transformed or not (the other being Minako’s infamous red bow). Her earrings also served a dual purpose as makeshift projectile weapons in episode 025.

The blue book is 月夜の天馬 (Tsukiyo no Tenma, “The Moonlit Pegasus”), a novel which was written by Tomoko Takase and introduced in epsode 134. Makoto knew Tomoko from her old middle school, before she transferred, and was the first one to read her first draft after retrieving it from bullies. She encouraged Tomoko to try and get it published. Makoto meets with her again and helps her overcome her writer’s block to finish her sequel, 天馬幻想 (Tenma Gensou, “Pegasus Fantasy”).

Minako / Sailor Venus’s References:

This is one of Minako’s most-worn casual outfits, especially if you consider the additional outfits based off it. Despite its prevalence, she didn’t start wearing it until the beginning of S.

Minako’s red hair ribbon is her most iconic accessory, but did you know why she started wearing it? The Codename: Sailor V prequel manga explains that she started wearing the ribbon instead of her usual red hairtie on the suggestion of her “first crush” Higashi. But when he turns out to be an enemy in disguise, she decides she looks good with a ribbon anyway, and keeps wearing it for her own benefit.

The red mask is a reference to Minako’s role as Sailor V before joining the team as Sailor Venus. Sailor V was known as a mysterious vigilante superhero and a fictional video game character as early as episode 001, but in episode 033 Minako revealed herself to the rest of the Sailor Team, dramatically removing her mask one final time.

Minako was known to be a skilled volleyball player, especially in the manga, and it was especially relevant in episode 100 where she had to delicately return the serve of an energy sphere containing the Pure Heart of her old volleyball crush, Asai.

The sign with Minako’s name can be seen hanging off the front of her bedroom door in episode 192.

[Manga scan courtesy of Miss Dream.]

Usagi / Sailor Moon’s References:

Usagi wore this outfit in the Sailor Moon R movie, making it a memorable choice. Although the movie aired roughly midway through R, Usagi didn’t start to wear this outfit casually again until the S season.

Usagi is shown eating a lot of food, especially sweets, but she seems to have a particular fondness for crepes, snacking on them in several different episodes.

In episode 143 we can see that Usagi is very technologically trendy - for the times. She’s carrying that blue-and-pink pager which she and Mamoru use to contact each other by way of goroawase, that is, deciphering messages based on the different pronunciations of numbers, a precursor to modern texting. Mamoru pages her the numbers 84 51, which could be read as hachi yon go ichi; reading only the first syllables, and substituting go for the related sound ko, Usagi would interpret the message as hayo koi, which sounds a bit like “come quick” - she’s late for their date. Oops!

By the way, pagers were often called “pocket bells” (pokeberu) in Japan, and became so rapidly popular they even found their way into the lyrics of Rashiku Ikimasho, the ending song for the SuperS season; 「泣きたい時には ポケベルならしてよんで、戦士の休息」 [Nakitai toki ni wa POKEBELL narashite yonde, senshi no kyuusoku] “If you feel like crying, send a page thru the Pocket Bell, take a break from [being a] Guardian”

Chibi-Usa / Sailor Chibi Moon’s References:

Chibi-Usa doesn’t technically have a school uniform, but her casual clothes are often styled after sailor suits as a reflection of both her idolisation of the figure of “Sailor Moon” and of her desire to be seen as older and more mature than she appears. She changes “uniforms” every season, and this pinafore outfit is the version she wears in SuperS. She wore the other outfit in the SuperS premiere episode.

The handgun is from episode 060, Chibi-Usa’s introduction to the series and arguably one of the most iconic absurdist scenes in all of Sailor Moon. The gun itself is actually a toy, probably a transformation of the Luna-P sphere, which Chibi-Usa uses to try and threaten Usagi into giving her the Legendary Silver Crystal. When she “shoots” Usagi, the bullet is revealed to be nothing but a suction-cup flower, also pictured. (By the way, if you were wondering, Chibi-Usa’s fake gun is based on a real Colt M1911A1.) She transforms the Luna-P into a toy gun to shoot Sailor Moon again in the Sailor Moon R movie, this time as a way to motivate Usagi to fight.

The Luna-P sphere was a mysterious gadget Chibi-Usa kept with her for the duration of R and parts of S. It’s unknown where it came from, but it could be assumed to have been created from advanced 30th century technology. It was a combination toy and tool which could transform itself into a variety of objects, formulas, and even weapons, though none were shown to be particularly powerful. It could also be used to communicate with Sailor Pluto at the Time-Space Door. When Chibi-Usa was manipulated into becoming Wicked Lady in episode 085, the Luna-P sphere also transformed into an “evil” and much more dangerous version.

The Space-Time Key was a special tool given to her by Sailor Pluto that allowed her to travel between the past and the future, though it was difficult for her to wield effectively.

The sunhat was given to Chibi-Usa by Ikuko, so she treasured it greatly. In episode 112 it got blown away and was retrieved by Hotaru Tomoe, which allowed her to meet Chibi-Usa and marked the beginning of their close friendship.

The blue-and-red package was a gift containing two manga books (”Drop Drop” vol. 1 & 2 by Ukon Katakuri) which Chibi-Usa intended to give to her new friend Hotaru in episode 113.

In episode 127, Chibi-Usa returned home to the future, and the girls all made her some going-away gifts. Ami made her a floppy disk (lol) to help her study, Rei made her a casette tape (double lol) of her music, Makoto packed her a lunch, and Minako made her a photo album of their time together. Usagi hand-sewed Chibi-Usa the rabbit-shaped backpack using a real outfit she used to love when she was a child.

Michiru / Sailor Neptune’s References:

This is a somewhat unusual choice for Michiru’s casual outfit, as she only wore it for two episodes, and that’s only because they made up a two-part story. But perhaps because the episodes were so pivotal - with Haruka and Michiru almost learning Usagi’s true identity - the outfit itself became more memorable.

Not only do they include Michiru’s violin, but they included the lemon she bounced off the instrument as she played to show off her skills in episode 093.

The teacup, teaspoon and saucer are the same set Michiru was seen drinking from at Fruits Parlor Crown in episode 094.

Michiru and Haruka both reference episode 095, where they had to enter a “true love” contest as part of their investigation. The contestants were asked to find their partner’s hand in an anonymous lineup, and Haruka was able to identify Michiru’s hand immediately.

Michiru used Haruka as a model for an illustration in her green sketchbook in episode 106.

Michiru’s Talisman is the Deep Aqua Mirror, revealed in episode 110 and used in her attack Submarine Reflection. She could also use it to receive prophetic visions. Visually, it was based on real-life art nouveau hand mirrors, and symbolically represented the mirror from the Three Sacred Treasures.

Haruka / Sailor Uranus’s References:

Conversely, Haruka wore this outfit a lot. Maybe more than she should’ve.

The teacup and saucer is the same set Haruka was seen drinking from at Fruits Parlor Crown in episode 094.

Haruka’s postcard also references the lovers contest in episode 095 (see above).

The purple scarf is from episode 096; Haruka was wearing it as a necktie when she almost ran into Makoto on her motorcycle. Haruka used the scarf to bandage Makoto’s road rash, which she returned later, though now smitten.

Not only is Haruka’s motorcycle included, they also referenced (one of) her car(s), the 1968 Toyota 2000GT.

Haruka’s Talisman is the Space Sword, revealed in episode 110 and used in her attack Space Sword Blaster. Symbolically it represented the sword from the Three Sacred Treasures.

Setsuna / Sailor Pluto’s References:

Setsuna didn’t have a school uniform, since she wasn’t a student, so she got to double-up on her casual outfits. Her mauve outfit is her most recognisable, wearing it so often it may as well have been her uniform. In fact, she was rarely seen wearing anything else until Sailor Stars, where she started experimenting with other outfits, including the Time Lord-esque suit on the right.

The potted plant is a Tellun, the energy-draining plant created by Tellu in episode 121. Setsuna was investigating it when it attempted to attack her, but she was protected by her Talisman, the Garnet Orb (also pictured, representing the jewel in the Three Sacred Treasures). She then went on to destroy the remaining Tellun plants and defeat Tellu with the help of Sailor Moon, Sailor Chibi Moon, and Tuxedo Mask.

The teacup and saucer are the same set Setsuna is seen drinking from at Cafe Etranger in the Sailor Moon S movie.

In episode 182, the girls are discussing the mysterious arrival of Chibi Chibi while eating ice cream on a hot summer’s day. Setsuna appears out of nowhere to confirm their suspicions... carrying that popsicle of her own.

Hotaru / Sailor Saturn’s References:

Hotaru tended to wear the same thing, mostly all-black, but she did occasionally adventure into rich colours like this bottle green two-piece outfit and iconic raspberry beret.

The sunhat belonged to Chibi-Usa; it symbolises the beginning of their friendship, when Hotaru caught it after it blew away in episode 112.

Chibi-Usa gave Hotaru the rabbit backpack in episode 116, using it to pass a note inviting her on a picnic.

Hotaru collects lamps, and the two referenced here are seen in her bedroom, which she keeps dimly lit to manage her pain.

The window might seem random, but it was random in the series, too - it’s one of the curtained window which looks out from Hotaru’s bedroom, and when a Daimon experiment goes terribly wrong in episode 118 and transforms her house into a Bamboozled-like inter-dimensional maze, one window overlooks a vast ocean while the other overlooks a strange jungle.

Hotaru’s weapon as Sailor Saturn is the Silence Glaive. It’s said that she possesses enough power to destroy the world with a single drop of her scythe.

That’s it! You made it! How many references did YOU know? 🌙

[humans4vampires]

Cold Heart

Context: This story was inspired by a tumblr post from tumblr user @cozycullens. The post outlined the potential for sappy holiday content that the original story lacked. The post noted that Twilight fans had to fill in the blanks; I thought it would be fun to write out what Valentine’s Day could have looked like for Edward and Bella. The timeline of this story edits the original canon, meaning the breakup in New Moon and subsequent recoupling happens earlier, allowing the pair to be reunited in time to spend both the Christmas holiday season together and Valentine’s Day. This is before the events are set in motion for the vampire army attack in Eclipse. I’d also like to mention that this story addresses a scene that occurs later in the timeline of the novel. I’ve edited it here to give Edward and Bella a bit of private time that is free of the pressures that the later happenings of Eclipse bring to the moment. In this, I have used direct quotes from Meyer’s novel, and I do not claim to own that content in any way. As stated, this is purely for fun and to share with my fellow Twilight fans.

READ PART TWO HERE

 ______ 

The dull blue grey light of the morning filtered through my window in a haze, waking me gently from inconsequential dreams. My natural instincts to unfurl myself from my usual swaddle of blankets to reach for him felt empty and unnecessary. Rather, I found myself spread across my bed in a sweaty mess of fabric.

“Edward?” I said softly, propping myself up to take in the room. I blinked quickly and tried to brush the mess of my hair from my face, speaking his name again as a question. There was no reply.

I tried to think back to the night before; I didn’t think he had gone hunting. No, he had surely been with me when I fell asleep. A compilation of Victorian poetry was open face-down on his side of my bed. We made the trip to Seattle a few weeks ago to get the book I needed to get started on my research paper. I had chosen the topic of Tennyson and Rossetti as an ironic gesture toward him – my very own post-Victorian era angel. He was reading his favorites to me, his voice a velvet whisper when I had fallen asleep in his cool embrace.

No, I was sure he had been with me throughout the night. I ran my left palm over the bare sheet beside me and felt the lingering presence of his wintry skin. It was unusual for him to leave before I woke. It was my favorite part of each day, and his. I was wondering what had called him away as I picked up the heavy text to see where he had left off. As I turned the pages to face me, a small piece of paper fluttered into my lap. The note he had left in his elegant script explained his absence.

‘Who are wise in love, love most, say least. Happy Valentine’s Day, love.’

He quoted Tennyson, I was sure, but the poem he had left open was not the same one he referenced. Instead, the book was open to Tennyson’s ‘Crossing the Bar,’ which was certainly not a love poem. I scanned it quickly, trying to garner any meaning from it without success. My mind was racing elsewhere, my heart beating quickly with exultant dread. So he had gone to prepare whatever exorbitant Valentine’s Day surprise he had planned. As fate would have it, this holiday had arrived on a school day and would provide a public audience to witness the surely over-the-top display Edward had planned for me.

Edward’s obsession with making the most of my human experiences had only intensified since reaching our compromise for Carlisle to turn me after my impending high school graduation. Christmas had been a deluge of cheer and merriment thanks to Alice, who was overcompensating for lost time with me – while also, just being Alice. I was still convinced it hadn’t snowed quite as much as she’d wanted and she had somehow managed a snow machine to fill in my yard for Christmas morning. Alice had laughed off my assumptions as absurd, but Charlie was still trying to work out how our yard had had a good three feet more snow than the rest of our neighborhood.

The halls had certainly been decked in Cullen home, too. It had to be visible from space from the sheer amount of Christmas lights neatly hung on every eave and railing. For the entire month of December, the house smelled of fresh gingerbread and pine. Every surface had been transformed with fresh garlands and shiny decorations. The fireplace in the grand living room was constantly crackling a gentle fire, flickering its light against the enormous tree trimmed with ornaments gathered over the many decades of Christmases past. And the gifts – oh – I couldn’t even bring myself to continue the thought.

I was brought back to reality, the sweet valentine in my shaking hand. I took a staggered breath and made a passing glance at the clock as I rushed to the bathroom. I tried not to think about the day ahead as I dressed. Charlie had already left for the station and the rest of my morning at home seemed to move in a blur of anxiety. I stumbled out the door in a black turtleneck, jeans, bean boots, and my mustard yellow coat. I thought my very standard attire might signal Edward to my disinterest in any outlandish public displays of affection. I drove slowly to Forks High School through the rain muddled snow. My truck dredged through the sludge into the parking spot beside the familiar silver Volvo.

The parking lot was already full and busy with the usual Friday commotion. I looked out my rearview mirror to take in the pops of pink and red from the Valentine’s baubles that everyone seemed to be toting. I had always found the holiday rather arbitrary – a well-marketed event to boost the sales of chocolates and flowers. Until my mother had found Phil, Valentine’s Day was usually spent in front of the television with a pint of ice cream, two spoons, and a chick-flick. I was trying to remember the last Valentine’s Day movie my mom and I had watched together when a quick knock on my driver’s side window snapped my eyes from my rearview.

The morning’s panic melted from my bones as I took him in. Edward was standing there, my favorite crooked smile on his lips, a single and perfect red rose held up in his hand.

“Good morning,” he murmured as I opened my door and got to my feet to stand in front of him. “Did you get my Valentine?”

“Mmm,” I hummed. “Tennyson?”

He nodded, a smirk crossing his expression. “Happy Valentine’s Day, love.”

I felt a blush beginning to mark my cheeks and looked down at my feet as he handed me my rose. He moved to rest that now empty hand above my head on the frame of my truck, leaning to tighten the space between us. His free hand swept down my jaw, his gentle fingers stopping below my chin to tilt my head up. He bent down to press his lips to mine, his cool breath sending my delicate humanity into a tailspin. The kiss was, as expected, refined… at first. Unexpectedly, he draped an arm around my body to pull me closer to his frame. He lifted me effortlessly to continue the kiss as my free hand found its way around the base of his neck and into his bronze hair.

When his response became rigid and he began to return my feet to their reluctant ground, I realized I had forgotten to breathe. My legs trembled against the sudden gravity and he steadied me as I took in sharp breaths. He chuckled lightly and shook his head.

“What am I going to do with you?” he teased.

“With any hope, that, again.”

He took a slow step back and smirked, “I do enjoy sweeping you off your feet.”

My head was still spinning as I grabbed my bag from the truck and shut the door behind me. Edward took my right hand as we walked to class, my single rose in the left.

The rest of the day continued on and I was a happy bystander to the couples declaring their love for one another throughout the day. It seemed each period passed with another sudden delivery of roses, large teddy bears, or chocolates. Joyce Lowell in Government received a loud serenade from half of the school’s marching band, her boyfriend, Aaron, the faux-conductor. Each time the door to the classroom opened my heart skipped a beat with the fresh fear that Edward might have some embarrassing demonstration planned. I wasn’t eager to hurt his feelings and so I kept the question from him all day. I had cracked by fifth period when he finally asked, “Why is your heart is thrumming like a hummingbird’s?”

“I’m worried that you have a grand romantic gesture planned,” I took a sharp breath, anxious for his response. My heart rate only increased when he shrugged and walked ahead of me into the classroom.

I was at a loss for words when he chuckled. “Am I not allowed a grand gesture on Valentine’s Day?” Panic rushed through me before he continued in a more serious tone, “Do you honestly believe that my romantic displays are akin to those of someone like Mike Newton?”

His eyes glanced down at the trinkets gathered in my arms. I thought this tradition had been left in elementary school, but it seemed my friends still enjoyed giving each other Valentine’s treats. Jessica and Angela both had given me small paper crafts and chocolates to mark the occasion. Even Tyler and Eric participated, handing out boxes of tiny heart candies.

The only class Edward could not manage to work out to have with me our senior year was math – considering my being in a far lower level than was excusable for him to fail into. This, of course, was the only class I had exclusively with Mike. I had found it funny that it bothered Edward in the slightest; until today, when Mike seized the opportunity to give me a large stuffed bear, a rather huge box of chocolates, and a clearly handmade valentine. All platonically, Mike had assured me, as he was still on-and-off with Jessica and I was still very much Edward’s – only Edward’s.

I shook my head as I fumbled to stack all of my favors onto a pile on my desk, keeping the rose in my hand to tap lightly on the tip of Edward’s nose.

He tilted his brow at my playful gesture. “You have nothing to worry about. I simply have arranged for us to have a night alone. My family have their own Valentine’s Day traditions and we’ll have the house to ourselves. For this one night could we try to forget everything besides just you and me?” he pleaded, unleashing the full force of his eyes on me. “It seems like I can never get enough time like that. I need to be with you. Just you.”

“No,” I shook my head again. “Just you is good.”

The hitch in my tone caught his attention, but he didn’t have a chance to respond. Mr. Banner began lecturing on optics and light. I couldn’t focus on Physics; I could only hear Edward’s methodic voice repeating ‘I need to be with you’ again and again. Each passing thought brought a new blush to my cheeks that I tried to hide behind a curtain of my hair. I was sure he could hear my fluttering heart, but I couldn’t focus on that either. I was entirely clouded with thoughts of him. I stared at his strong hands, folded together in front of him on the table. How I imagined them on my body a million times, his cold fingertips grazing over my bare skin in the places he refused to wander. It was all I could think of the rest of the day.

When I was back in my room, a different blur of anxiety plagued me than when I had left it in the morning. Edward and I went our separate ways after school. He had filled me in on how exactly he had planned to handle the issue of Charlie. My father was still learning to trust me again and another night out of the house was certainly going to come under some heavy interrogation. I was technically still grounded even though Edward had been following Charlie’s very strict rules to a perfect degree. I was sure that Charlie hadn’t missed the fact that it was Valentine’s Day and I could only imagine the things he would think Edward and I would be doing if left alone. I was pressing the subject when Edward said, “Esme spoke with Charlie today and let him know that Carlisle is taking my brothers and I on a long-promised camping trip. You’ll be having a girls’ night with Esme, Alice, and Rosalie, as Charlie knows it. He’s been hoping you’d be spending more time with Alice soon.”

I felt a twinge of guilt for all the lying that had to be done to protect Charlie. This lie was much less to protect him from the perils of life threatening vampire attacks and much more about protecting him from the thought of his teenage daughter being alone with her boyfriend on Valentine’s Day. The guilt subsided when I remembered that I would get to be alone with Edward.

I stood in my room, hands steadying me on my dresser, knees shaking from the anticipation. The mix of emotions kept wracking me in waves. Edward had made it very clear; we could not be together physically until I was changed. My safety, was not something he was willing to jeopardize to satisfy any desire – which, to his credit, was entirely the reason I was alive. It was difficult to argue with Edward on that fact, but it was so incredibly difficult to argue with my own desires, still. And yet, I felt foolish all the same. I was so intensely human. Though he’d told me many times that he felt the same way for me, I knew he couldn’t possibly lust for me the way I did for him. I was able to reason that point logically, but part of me questioned it in this moment. Had he changed his mind?

I knew what was waiting for me at the Cullens’. It hadn’t been much more than a month since the last time I had genuinely spent the night there for a ‘girls’ night.’ Edward didn’t want me anywhere near Jacob and so Edward had been avoiding distant hunting trips to keep a close watch on me. Alice was all too eager to babysit to allow Edward a satiating hunt; it left me free to be played with as if I were her life-sized doll. That wasn’t what I was fixated on now. The image of the intricate wrought-iron bed burned in my mind. The thought of Edward and I wrapped tenderly in its golden threads made me quiver again, a sigh escaping my lips.

A knock at the front door made my heart stutter. I heard Charlie gather himself up off the couch to get the door. I stopped listening and only heard the light murmur of greetings as I rushed to find something appropriate to wear. What kind of outfit were you supposed to put together to seduce your vampire boyfriend? I was clashing hangers together across the pole, a bit frantic, when I heard her behind me.

Alice shook her head. “You look like you need to sit down. Let me handle this,” she said.

I decided it was better not to argue with her. I was, in all fairness, a mess, and there was only so much harm she could do with my own wardrobe to work with. She confidently pulled my small duffle from the top shelf of my closet and began packing things without truly looking at them. She had already seen what she would need.

I was sitting in my rocking chair when she looked back to me, still absently packing my bag. She looked like she was waiting for me to say something, but I swallowed uncomfortably rather than working up the nerve to talk.

She cast me a sympathetic smile as she removed something from my closet and tossed it toward me. “Try this,” she said.

I stood to change into the hyacinth blue sweater Alice had given it to me as a Christmas gift. Unlike many of the other fashion pieces Alice had tried to dress me in, I did like it. It was soft, probably a thin cashmere, with a plunging V neckline. It fit my frame tightly and was flattering in a way that I couldn’t justify being embarrassed by. She moved to my dresser then, digging through the very bottom drawer to pull out a short skirt she had also gifted me that I was not particularly fond of. Before I could argue, she slung it onto the bed.

“Work with me here, Bella,” she said sternly.

I pulled on the black skirt without a fight. Alice finished off my outfit with a pair of expensive black leather boots.

“And those were a gift from Esme, before you think of disputing them,” she lectured.

“No, I like them. At least they’re covering more of my skin,” I said, zipping them up.

Alice peaked her eyebrows, a smirk budding on her face as she closed my bag. I felt the rush of blood on my complexion again. “Alice – “

“Come on, let’s go before you lose it,” she said quickly, pulling my hand and leading me out of my room and down the stairs.

Charlie didn’t bother looking away from the television as we called a quick goodbye to him. Alice carried me through the slush in a movement so brief that I had no time to process it, placing me in the passenger seat of her small yellow Porsche. Forks blurred outside the windows and in the darkness of the car, it was easier for me to talk about what I was getting myself into.

“Does he…” I asked in her direction, not finishing the thought.

“I don’t think I should really say anything, Bella.” She answered, plainly.

“Since when do you keep things to yourself, Alice?”

She chuckled quietly, “Whatever I say now is not going to help. I’m just dropping you off. You’re not the only one with Valentine’s Day plans, you know.”

“That’s not fair,” I complained. “He’s seen whatever you’ve seen. He’s not going into this blind like I am.”

“Oh, yes he is,” she said proudly. “I’ve been careful to stay away from him today – and it’s not quite clear what’s going to happen. You’ve only been growing bolder in the last few hours.”

Bolder? I certainly didn’t feel it. In the light of the dashboard, I saw Alice turn to me as the car began to slow. We were already in the driveway. When the car stopped, I felt a quick breeze from the opening and closing of her door. She had slung my bag over her shoulder quickly before arriving at my door to help me to the porch steps. I doubted even Alice thought I was that uncoordinated to walk a few feet without falling; she was carrying me everywhere to keep the boots safe, I thought. She set me down on the porch and walked ahead of me into the house. I followed her in, confused.

“I thought you said you were just dropping me off?”

                  We were in the living room when she said, “I am. Edward isn’t here yet. He had an errand to run. He’ll be here soon and we’ll be gone – don’t worry.”

                  A fresh blush met my cheeks as I locked eyes with the another set in the room. Rosalie was perched on the edge of the sofa, bent over the coffee table arranging what looked like a large photo album. She had small papers and photos scattered all over the table, some in small piles on the floor beside her. She gazed up at me with the come-to-be-expected level of enthusiasm I generally received, but there was a hint of something else in her expression. It caught me by surprise and left me gawking at her silently. Rosalie’s appearance always struck me, but tonight she was especially beautiful. Her tight satin dress was just the perfect shade of red to compliment her equally satin skin, her golden hair a perfect, elegant twist, and her long bare legs crossed in front of her were only further elongated by her strappy, red stilettos. Alice had done her best with me, but I felt myself self-consciously tug at the hem of my skirt.

                  That inexplicable look that I had caught in Rosalie’s expression seemed to grow stronger as she gauged my assessment of her. A small smile crossed her lips as she looked back to what she was working on and I looked to Alice, who was dancing back down the stairs now. I hadn’t noticed her departure, but she was already redressed in an ensemble that mirrored the glamour of Rosalie’s. Alice bent one leg up behind her, fastening the tiny buckle on the strap of her heel, careful not to bend and crease the fabric on her burgundy slip-dress.

“Alright, Rose. Let’s not keep them waiting any longer.” Alice rolled her eyes at me quickly before Rosalie noticed. Alice had her keys in her tiny hands as she walked my direction to head for the door.

“I will see you tomorrow,” she said with a coy grin.

Rosalie was out the door faster than I could follow. I turned to Alice as she moved at a more mortal pace. “Where are you going?” I asked.

Alice waved as she replied, “Happy Valentine’s Day, Bella!” The door was shut behind her then. I heard the muffled roar of her Porsche as she and Rosalie left me behind. I assumed that I was completely alone then. I was curious to know where they were going, but my mind was busy calculating other worries. I stood in the Cullens’ living room, taking in the sheer silence. The only sound was coming from the low burning fire still crackling dimly in the fireplace. I unlocked my tense limbs to move toward the heat. I stopped briefly to survey Rosalie’s project and flipped through a couple of pages on the bound album.

Were these all valentines? I picked up a few loose papers from the table and skimmed them quickly. It seemed that Rosalie had been collecting notes from her admirers for decades, compiling the highlights in an album with cards dating back to 1929. Some of the earlier letters were from when she was still human, if I wasn’t mistaken. A few authors were brave enough to sign their names, but most were anonymous confessions. I spent more time snooping through Rosalie’s valentines than I should have, but part of me thought that she must have wanted me to see them. Why else would she have left them all here?

I focused myself again and took a seat on the edge of the hearth.

                  I was glad I had a moment to gather myself and took the opportunity to take a few deep, but unsteady, breaths. Why was I so unnerved? I closed my eyes and tried to summon my buried fantasies of Edward. There I let myself imagine him, pulling me tightly to his chest, letting his lips roam my jaw, my neck, and the dips of my collarbones. What would he look like bare? I’d only been able to guess the parts of him that were always just beyond my reach. I let those thoughts in too, imagining my own fingers tracing patterns around the curves of his muscles. To bring him close to me, skin to skin – the thought alone painted my face in a soft blush. I bit my lip, letting go a full breath I had been holding. I opened my eyes then and immediately found him.

He was standing across the room from me, a statue of indescribable, sculpted beauty, leaning on the wall casually. He had a peaceful expression resting in his features, but his bright golden eyes were burning with something I couldn’t explain. My favorite crooked smile slowly crossed his lips as his eyes seemed to search my body. I blushed more deeply, a decision forming more firmly in my mind.

I loved him, purely, and every ounce of my body and soul ached to be his. It was exactly the reason I had asked him to change me himself. I wanted his venom to alter me permanently, his lips on my skin to be the last human sensation I’d ever feel. I wanted to be tangibly his, forever; for Edward to lay claim to me in an absolute and eternal way. If I was his, then he was mine. This desire burned in me more brightly in this moment than it ever had. But there were other human sensations I ached for now. And suddenly, I was sure I was not willing to sacrifice them.

Edward moved slowly across the room to perch in front of me. The height of the hearth and his tall body in a crouch before me, leveled us to be equally face-to-face. As he bent, he balanced a small, thin velvet box on my knees. I made no move to open it, so he chuckled lightly and opened it to reveal a small glittering heart-shaped charm. Even in the dim firelight, the brilliant crystal’s intricate cuts glinted countless sparkling rays of color. It was hung on a silver chain as thin as thread.

He was the first to break the silence.

“It was my mother’s.” He shrugged deprecatingly. “I inherited quite a few baubles like this. I’ve given some to Esme, Alice, and Rosalie throughout the years. So, clearly, this is not a big deal in any way.” I could feel his eyes on me, but I continued to stare down, not quite ready to speak. “A hand-me-down,” he reminded me sternly. “You said that was allowable.”

“I guess I did say that,” I said in a whisper.

He chuckled at my reluctance. “I thought it was a good representation,” he continued. “It’s hard and cold.” He laughed. “And it throws rainbows in the sunlight.”

“You forgot the most important similarity,” I murmured. “It’s beautiful.”

“My heart is just as silent,” he mused. “And it, too, is yours.”

I offered the box to him and moved to gather my hair away from my neck, turning to the fire. As he moved to clasp the chain around my neck, I said, “Thank you for both.”

His fingers seemed to linger on the skin of my throat as I turned back to face him. Our lips were only inches apart now. I moved my hands to wrap them around his neck.

“No, thank you. It’s a relief to have you accept a gift so easily. Good practice for you, too.” He grinned, flashing his teeth.                   His eyes wandered down to take pride in his accepted gift. I was grateful for the plunging neckline of my sweater when his gaze lingered where the crystal charm hung delicately above my chest. I made a mental note to thank Alice later and took a steadying breath. I began to feel cautiously optimistic. Perhaps getting what I wanted would not be as difficult as I’d expected it to be.

No, of course it was going to be just exactly that difficult. I cleared my throat lightly and braced myself. “Can we discuss something?” I asked. “I’d appreciate it if you could begin by being open-minded.”

He hesitated for a moment and returned his eyes to mine. “I’ll give it my best effort,” he agreed, cautious now. He unwrapped my arms from around his neck as he moved to put space between us.

“I’m not breaking any rules here,” I promised. “This is strictly about you and me.”

“Listen to your heart fly,” he murmured. “It’s fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings,” he repeated the analogy he had applied to me earlier in the day. “Are you all right?”

“I’m great,” I said formally. I wondered why I was being so formal.

“Please go on then,” he encouraged.

“Well, I guess, first, I wanted to talk to you about that whole ridiculous marriage condition.”

“It’s only ridiculous to you. What about it?” He was backing further away from me now.

I leaned closer to him, placing my hands on his knees to keep him near me. “I was wondering… is that open to negotiation?”

Edward frowned, serious now. “I’ve already made the largest concession by far and away – I’ve agreed to take your life against my better judgment. And that ought to entitle me to a few compromises on your part.”

“No.” I shook my head, focusing on keeping my face composed. “That part’s a done deal. We’re not discussing that now. I want to hammer out some other details.”

He looked at me suspiciously. “Which details do you mean exactly?”

I hesitated. “Let’s clarify your prerequisites first – matrimony?” I made it sound like a dirty word.

“Yes.” He smiled a wide smile. “To start with.”

The shock spoiled my carefully composed expression. “There’s more?”

“Well,” he said, his face calculating. “If you’re my wife, then what’s mine is yours… So there would be no issue with Dartmouth tuition.”

“Anything else? While you’re already being absurd?”

“Time. I’m finding it quite ephemeral… like it’s slipping through my fingers,” as he spoke, he rose his finger tips to sweep a gentle line over my exposed collarbones.

I shook my head, trying to forget his distracting touch. “No. No time. That’s a deal breaker.”

He sighed longingly. “Just a year or two?”

I refused to give into his burning amber eyes. “What else?”

“That’s it. Unless you’d like to talk cars…”

He grinned widely when I grimaced, then took my hand and began playing with my fingers. “I didn’t realize there was anything else you wanted besides being transformed into a monster yourself. I’m extremely curious.” His voice was low and soft. The slight edge would have been hard to detect if I hadn’t known it so well.

I paused, staring at his hand on mine. I still didn’t know how to begin. I felt his eyes watching me and I was afraid to look up. The blood began to burn in my face.

His cool hand cupped my cheek. “You’re blushing?” he asked in surprise. I kept my eyes down. “Please, Bella, the suspense is painful.”

I bit my lip.

“Bella.” His tone reproached me now, reminding me that it was hard for him when I kept my thoughts to myself.

“Edward,” I said, nervous, staring at a freckle on my wrist. “There’s something that I want to do before I’m not human anymore.”

He waited for me to continue. I didn’t. My face was hot.

“Whatever you want,” he encouraged, anxious and completely clueless.

“Do you promise?” I muttered, knowing my attempt to trap him with his words was not going to work. But he was unable to resist my coaxing.

“Yes,” he said. I looked up through my lashes to see that his eyes were earnest and confused. “Tell me what you want, and you can have it.”

I couldn’t believe how awkward and idiotic I felt. I was too innocent. I didn’t have the faintest idea how to be seductive. I would just have to settle for flushed and self-conscious.

“You,” I mumbled almost incoherently.

“I’m yours.” He smiled, still oblivious, trying to hold my gaze as I looked away again.

I took a deep breath and leaned closer to him, pressing my lips to his. He kissed me back, bewildered but willing, his lips gentle against mine. I began to slide my hands from his knees, up his thighs and slowly toward his waist. I hadn’t gotten very far when I all but heard the click in his head as he put together my words and my actions, his lips freezing in place.

He pushed me away at once, his face heavily disapproving.

“Be reasonable, Bella.”

“Edward, I –. “ He had cut me off, placing a single finger over my lips to quiet me.

“No.” His face was hard.

I was surprised by my reaction to his dismissal. I raised my hand to swat at his. My action didn’t move him, of course, but he moved his hand from my mouth in response. “You are not going to shush me,” I said sternly. “We’re here discussing terms of an eternity together – marriage and other promises – but sex?” I said the word louder than the rest. “Edward, why can’t we talk about sex?”

He was frozen there, hands at his side, eyes locked on mine. I felt the charge of adrenaline passing quicker than it had come. We sat there for a moment in silence with only my quick breathing and rapid pulse as audio. I shifted my gaze down as the rush subsided. It took me a minute to recognize why I was staring at my freckle again, the blush returning – why my stomach felt uneasy, why there was too much moisture in my eyes, why I suddenly wanted to run from the room.

Rejection washed through me, instinctive and strong.

I knew it was irrational. He’d been very clear on other occasions that my safety was the only factor. Yet I’d never made myself quite so vulnerable before. It was hard to beg for the mercy of an angel.

Edward moved then, bringing his hand up to my chin to pull my face up until I had to look at him again. He scrutinized my face for a long moment while I tried unsuccessfully to twist away from his gaze. His brow furrowed, and his expression became horrified as I continued to fight off the onslaught of water in my eyes.

His other hand rushed to my cheek, his thumb stroking there reassuringly. “You know why I have to say no,” he murmured. “You know that I want you, too.”

“Do you?” I whispered, my voice full of accusation and doubt.

He held my face at my jaw now, his fingers on my neck at the base of my hair. “Of course I do, you beautiful, oversensitive girl.” He laughed once, and then his voice was bleak. “Doesn’t everyone? I feel like there’s a line behind me, jockeying for position, waiting for me to make a big enough mistake… You’re too desirable for your own good.”

It seemed like he wanted to press on, anxiety flooding him as it had me throughout the day. I took a breath.

“Tell me if I have anything wrong,” I tried to sound detached. “Your demands are marriage, college, more time, and a faster car.”

“Only the first is a demand,” he said taking a breath. “The others are merely requests.”

“And my lone, solitary demand is – “

“Demand?” he interrupted, on edge again.

“Yes, demand.” I said confidently, looping my fingers around his wrists and tugging until he dropped them. I was not going to concede, now that I knew he wanted this as badly as I did. I would have to be brave for the both of us. I kept my gaze locked on his, placing a hand on his chest to request more space between us.

Edward immediately responded, backing up slightly and resting on his knees with room in front of him. Without breaking the contact we had, I slid down so that we were both on our knees. I brought both hands to the collar of his shirt and began to unbutton slowly, never moving my eyes from his.

“Please,” I begged. “There is nothing I want more than you.”

He took a deep breath. I was surprised that it sounded a little unsteady.

“I could kill you,” he whispered.

I had the last button undone then and slid the fabric from his shoulders to the floor. I was gliding my hands down his chest and placing my lips over his heart when I murmured against his skin. “I don’t think you could.”

As I kissed him there, a low sound escaped his lips. A moan? My body ached in a way it never had. I felt electrified. My heart jolted, words tumbling out of my mouth to take advantage of the sudden uncertainty in his eyes. “Please, try,” I pleaded.

His hands were wrapped around my biceps then, his head bent down to bring his lips to my ear, making me shiver. “This is unbearable. So many things I’ve wanted to give you – and this is what you demand. Do you have any idea how painful it is, refusing you when you plead with me this way?”

“Then don’t refuse,” I suggested breathlessly.

He didn’t respond. I tossed my head back to catch my breath, letting my hair fall down behind me. Edward’s hands still held my arms firmly. “Please,” I tried again.

He bent his head to my neck. “Bella…” He shook his head slowly, but it didn’t feel like denial as his face, his lips, moved back and forth across my throat. It felt more like surrender. My heart sputtered frantically when his lips finally stopped to embrace my skin. The same low sound spilled from my lips now, which seemed to hit Edward with the same electrical shock.

His grip tensed instantly and I was sure he was going to push me away again.

I was wrong.

His lips were on mine, his hands pulling me up to close the space between us. His mouth was not gentle; there was a brand-new edge of conflict and desperation in the way his lips moved. When his hands moved into my hair, I locked my arms around his neck, tightening my hold on him. To my suddenly overheated skin, his body felt colder than ever. I trembled, but it was not from the chill.

He didn’t stop kissing me. I was the one who had to break away, gasping for air. Even then his lips did not leave my skin, they just moved to my throat. So quickly that I wasn’t even sure how it happened, I was in his arms, his lips still exploring my skin, as we nearly flew through the house. Human velocity was not fast enough for him. We were in his bedroom then, still locked in each other’s arms as he fell onto his back on the bed.

The thrill of victory was a strange high; it made me feel powerful. Brave. My hands weren’t unsteady now and my fingers traced the patterns I had dreamed of a thousand times. He was too beautiful. What was the word he had used? Unbearable – that was it. His beauty was too much to bear…

I was on top of him, our lips pulled together again and moving in heated sync. Edward’s hands were exploring my body. His hands were tight around my waist, straining me closer to him. All I wanted was my skin to be bare against his ��� his grip made it difficult to reach to remove my sweater, but not impossible. Just as I had my stomach exposed, cold iron fetters locked around my wrists, and pulled my hands above my head, which was suddenly on a pillow.

His lips were at my ear again. “Bella,” he murmured, his voice warm and velvet. “Stop trying to take your clothes off.”

“Do you want to do that part?” I asked breathlessly.

“Not tonight,” he answered softly. His lips were slower now against my cheek and jaw, all the urgency gone.

“Edward, don’t –,” I started to argue, trying to free my hands and arching my body to mold myself more closely to him.

“I’m not saying no,” he reassured me. “I’m just saying not tonight.”

I had never felt frustration this way before. I was restless, eyes wild and questioning on his.

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” he laughed. “Out of the two of us, which do you think is more unwilling to give the other what they want? You just promised to marry me before you do any changing, but if I give in tonight, what guarantee do I have that you won’t go running off to Carlisle in the morning? I am – clearly – much less reluctant to give you what you want. Therefore… you first.”

I exhaled with a loud huff. “I have to marry you first?” I asked in disbelief.

“That’s the deal – take it or leave it. A compromise.” Edward pressed himself to me, urging me to accept his terms. His arms wrapped around me, and he began kissing me in a way that should be illegal. Too persuasive – it was duress, coercion. I tried to keep a clear head… and failed quickly and absolutely.

“How did this happen?” I moaned, and not in a good way. “I thought I was holding my own tonight – for once – and now, all of a sudden – “

“You’re engaged,” he finished.

“Edward, no.” I objected.

“Are you going back on your word?” he demanded. He pulled back to read my face. His expression was entertained. He was having fun.

I glared at him, trying to ignore the way his smile made my heart react.

“Are you?” he pressed.

“No,” I groaned. “No. I’m not. I just need time to think. I can’t think right now – give me some time to think.”

He kissed me again quickly. Another too persuasive kiss.

“Take all the time you need.”

He kissed me another time. “Do you get the feeling that everything is backward?” he laughed. “Traditionally, shouldn’t you be arguing my side, and I yours?”

“There isn’t much that’s traditional about you and me.”

Neither of us would surrender in this moment – that was clear. But there were compromises that were pending on the horizon. And, if nothing, I had this night to service my fantasies for awhile. I bit my lip and chuckled.

“I’m curious,” I sighed. “What exactly did you have planned for tonight?”

He didn’t answer. Instead he was up and out of the bed, a hand extended toward me.

I let out my last sigh of contest and threw my hands down on the bed to heave myself up. Edward laughed to himself as I slid to the edge of the bed and stood. I fidgeted in my sweater and straightened my skirt as I walked toward him. I took his hand and noticed him taking in my figure again.

I raised a brow. “Did you want to get back in bed?”

Edward chuckled again, shaking his head. “No, but please do remind me to thank Alice in the morning.”

I rolled my eyes as he led me from his bedroom and into the rest of our romantic evening alone.

PART TWO

 ____

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Twilight Saga world, which is trademarked by Stephenie Meyer and Little Brown Books. All characters referenced are owned by Stephenie Meyer, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the Twilight Saga. The story told here is of my own invention. This story is for entertainment only – fun – and is not part of the official story line. I am grateful to Stephenie Meyer for the creation of these characters and I in no way am profiting from the creation and publication of this story. Some lines are directly quoted from Meyer’s book, Eclipse, and I do not claim to own Meyer’s words.

References:

Meyer, Stephenie. Eclipse. Little, Brown, 2013.

Tennyson, Alfred Tennyson, and W. E. Williams. Tennyson: Poems. Penguin, 1985.

[inspired-by-the-music]

For You: Stand By Me

Taglist: @jineunwootrash @angels-from-california @jayjaydawn

If you would like to be added to the taglist of any of this blog’s works, please ask!

Recommended Reading: For You: 4 O’Clock; these works have separate, independent, but deeply interwoven timelines.

Chapter 15: The Girl Who Woke Me Up

Sehun's POV

It wasn't like Lei to be late, but she was nowhere to be found half an hour into the New Year's party. Although she had been helping her mother set up just a few hours earlier, Lei was not by Manager Kim's side as she made frantic rounds about the room, tiptoeing carefully around Donghae's lingering gaze. Although she and Lucas were nearly inseparable, Lei did not stand by him as he downed another glass of champagne while laughing with Mark Lee at the NCT table.

I was about to send her a concerned text when Taemin said from his side of Jongin, "She is so beautiful."

Like everybody else at the table, I looked toward whoever managed to turn Taemin's voice into a lyrical whisper. It didn't matter that it was none of our business who held Taemin's heart. When somebody loves that openly, everybody wants to watch for a second or two— even me.

My jaw dropped as my eyes settled on her. She was Lei.

Walking beside Baekhyun, Lei held three hearts in the palm of her hand: mine, Baekhyun's, and Taemin's. And I don't even think she knew what she held, what she could destroy with a single touch should she so choose. I think she only felt the weight of my heart because I forced it upon her through forever-kisses at that Christmas Party.

But how— how light, how insignificant might my heart feel compared to that of her ultimate idol? How cold and callous and uncaring might my voice sound compared to his?

How dark, how dull might my love look compared to that of the boy standing next to her? How rough and careless and frozen might my touch feel compared to his when he catches her before she can fall?

My stomach twisted as I fought (and failed) to tear my eyes from the visual of Lei and Baekhyun. They matched so perfectly from head to toe that, had I not known better, had I not believed that she loved me, I would have assumed that she coordinated her outfit with him.

Their dark hair was parted on the left side. Their clothes were crafted from the same sparkling midnight blue material. Their silver masks were a perfect pair that accented their best facial features. Their flowers— their flowers were the worst part. Atop her head, Lei wore a crown of white roses accented by blue baby's breath; she looked like a princess. In the suit pocket over his heart, Baekhyun tucked a white rose; he looked like her prince.

At that moment, I realized that it is much harder to believe in coincidence than it is to believe in fate. At that moment when she was so far out of reach, it was easy to see that Lei and Baekhyun were written in the stars, and I— where was I written?

Suddenly, it was as clear to everyone in the banquet hall as it was to me at the foot of the stairs in Lei's house: they were meant to walk together. Lei and Baekhyun were meant to be viewed as a pair.

As whispers about them, some approving and some disapproving, overtook the party, the tips of my ears burned. My hands formed tight fists under the table. And all I can remember thinking is I have to hide my breaking heart. No, I have to keep it from breaking, at least for now, because it is in her hands. My heart is in her delicate hands, and the jagged shards will make her bleed.

It didn't matter that Baekhyun was standing right there, willing and ready to bandage her. It didn't matter that Taemin could stop the bleeding with a single smile. I didn't want to hurt Lei ever again; I didn't want to scar her anymore. If protecting her meant suffering silently— well— that wasn't anything I hadn't done before.

Quietly, Jongdae whistled. "Who knew that sweet little Princess Lei would grow up to be so pretty?"

Chanyeol laughed loudly as his elbow dug into my ribs. "Someone did, right, Sehun?"

Obviously, I wouldn't have responded to Chanyeol's jest even if I could have found my voice. I wouldn't have known what to say.

Afraid of saying or doing something to shatter the loving image I left with Lei on Christmas, I turned to walk away from the scene that threatened to destroy me. Of course, I wasn't going to hide forever. The plan was to stand some ways away long enough to untangle the knot in my stomach. The plan was to stand aside to remind myself that choices are as significant as fate, and I was Lei's choice. I am Lei’s choice. 

The problem, of course, was my promise to stand where she could see me. I won't go far, I told myself. I'll stand right there, right against that wall, and maybe— hopefully— wouldn't it be nice if she comes to me?

That's pathetic, isn't it— the fact that I still dreamed that she would take the first steps? I'm sorry that I wasn't stronger. I'm sorry that I wasn't bolder. Always, always I was aware of my inadequacies. Always, always I daydreamed about filling them with her. At that moment, however, it occurred to me that that was not right; it occurred to me that that is not love. Above all, it occurred to me that I wanted to give Lei the purest love in her life. 

And I— I didn’t know how. Nobody ever taught me how. 

On my walk, I nearly collided with Taemin. Despite his eagerness to escape the table, he said, "Excuse me, Sehun," through a small smile. The smile wasn't a forced display of manners; it was genuine. I could tell because little wrinkles formed around his eyes.

I had never seen a smile like that before. Although faint, it was not at all sad or indicative of a broken heart even though we were walking away from the same scene: the one we loved beside another. Taemin's smile was joyful, inspired merely by seeing Lei from afar.

I needed to be more like Taemin, I realized as my back pressed against the wall. I needed to learn to love Lei a little more quietly, a little more peacefully, a little more selflessly. Rather than loving her like the careless teenager I had been when we met, rather than relying on her for constant assurance in our relationship that endured storms over a decade, rather than hoping for her to meet me most or all of the way—

I needed to grow up. I needed to find assurance in the steady beating of my own heart. I needed to take the first step for the rest of forever. I would. I will. That’s the promise I made to myself, the promise I made in one of the hearts she held. 

I will love you. I won’t love you perfectly. I won’t love you through a smile as gentle as Taemin’s. I won’t love you with an unmistakable, inescapable warmth like Baekhyun. But I will love you in the best way I know. I will love you with every word I say. I will love you with the words I am not yet brave enough to say. I will love you so deeply for the rest of my life that you will never wonder how I feel. You will never wonder who hung the moon and stars in my sky. 

While Lei defended herself against Chanyeol’s allegation that she had broken my heart as if she could ever be cruel enough to do such a thing, I wrestled with the best way to express my feelings. A verbal conversation wouldn’t do; she enjoyed debating and pressing my buttons too much. I couldn’t very well write a song; that would require enlisting the help of someone like Chanyeol who had better knowledge of music production, and I didn’t want to share my feelings with him (or anybody else, for that matter). 

While Manager Kim captivated the entire room with her heartfelt good-bye’s to Super Junior and Heechul declared that she was resigning from her position as their manager because of her feelings for Donghae, I decided that I could best express myself in writing. Starting from the beginning, I could map out our stars, and there— there I would be written. 

There, I could point to myself on a page and say, ‘I belong here too. I love her too. Even if she wakes up tomorrow and chooses one of you, even if my nightmares come true and she outgrows me, once upon a time, she chose me. Once upon a time, she loved me. Once upon a time, we were the best love story ever written, and I— I— I will never forget that I was her first love, so you shouldn’t either.’

That’s what I wrote on the inside cover of the leather-bound notebook containing our story, by the way. That’s the first of my thoughts that Lei read in my handwriting; it made her break into laughing tears. By that, I mean she was gasping through laughter and tears. So I was also gasping through laughter and tears when she set the book on our bed, crawled to me, and cupped my cheeks with her soft, warm hands, whispering onto my lips, “My first love, my endless love, my Sehun— I am so glad the road led to you.” 

And I believe her. 

When I found Lei standing alone on the terrace where everyone gathered to watch fireworks an hour early at Changmin’s urging, I embraced her. I didn’t think much of the fact that somebody was always watching. I didn’t much care about lingering stares, and I told Lei plainly when she mumbled into my chest, “Someone is going to see, Sehunnie.” 

“I love you,” I reminded her in a whisper per her request. My heart melted into a warm golden puddle in my stomach because of the spoken nickname and because she didn’t push me away. She didn’t argue with me as I declared, “I love you so much that I want everyone to see.” 

That was a funny thing to say, considering that we were huddled together in the darkest corner where no eyes would have strayed. 

I dropped a kiss onto her flower crown because it marked her as a princess— my princess— and it didn’t matter that Baekhyun gave it to her. The affection, I hoped, I prayed, would make me her prince. 

“I love you so much,” I muttered against a rose, “that I want everyone to hear.” 

That was a funny thing to say, considering that I spoke in the faintest whisper that only she could hear. 

Lei giggled as she linked her hands around my waist beneath my jacket. Her laughter was, is, always will be the most beautiful melody in this world. I loved being its conductor. I loved being its audience. 

“I’m so happy, Sehun.” She said my name with the brightest smile I had ever seen. 

It so closely resembled the smile she gave me all those years ago when she first gave me her name. It was still too big for her face, and it made her look much younger than the scowl she hurled at Chanyeol in the banquet hall. The only difference was that she no longer spoke through a gap in her front teeth; the gap was closed. 

After assuring her that I was happy too— far happier than I ever imagined because she stood near— I said, “I miss your gap, Lei. You’re beautiful, and I wouldn’t change a single thing about you, but I really wish I could see your gappy smile one more time.” 

“There are plenty of pictures of it.” The tips of her ears burned red at the compliment, and I thought that I had to call her beautiful every day. From the dimple forming in her chin, however, it was evident that she knew the limitations of photographs. “You know, I miss my gap too. I hated it when I had it, but the thing is: I always picture myself with a gap in my front teeth.” 

I stared into her wide eyes, finding my lovestruck reflection within them. “I always think of you with stars in your eyes.” 

I heard her breath hitch as she held me closer. Breathlessly, she reached for my hand. “I always think of you with my heart on your hand.” 

After bringing my frozen, trembling hand up her lips, she left a ruby-red kiss mark where she once left a fingerprint heart. I wanted to carry that mark everywhere with me. I wanted to boast it to everybody, and I promised to learn how to do that. I promised to learn who to tell. I promised to learn what to say to make them understand how much it meant to me— how much it means to me. 

I think I have learned. I think I have made you understand. I hope that I have. Please, tell me that I have. 

Her gesture rooted in our past, her touch— still electric— made my heart flutter. Her touch, even as my favorite memory, still makes my heart flutter. 

Her touch compelled me to say out loud, “I fell in love with you the day you marked your heart on my hand, you know. All at once, I opened my eyes and realized I was on the edge of a cliff, and I—” I choked on my emotions, but I forced myself to continue— “I was so scared that you wouldn’t wait for me at the bottom.” 

The wind blew and filled my eyes with tears that I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to become an overtly sentimental person, but every wall I ever built around my emotions tumbled at her touch. I didn’t want to shed a single tear, but Lei brought both hands up to my face, wordlessly promising to catch each tear before they fell. 

Lei loved me. She loved me so much from the day we met, and I— I am so grateful. I did not know whether love was meant to be repaid, but I resolved in that moment under her moon and all of her stars to return every loving gaze for the rest of my life. 

I held both of her hands against my cheeks because her touch made me brave enough to speak. “You said that I could walk with you anytime. And I just want you to know that I want to walk with you forever. I want you to know that I’m so sorry for—”

For trying to walk away. For breaking her mistletoe crown. For failing to regard her heart as the treasure it had been all along. 

But I couldn’t say any of those things she deserved to hear. My throat tightened around my words. 

Wiping my tears, Lei promised, “I forgive you. I forgive you, Sehunnie. Everything— everything painful is past, and now we are walking hand-in-hand on a path that doesn’t end.” Her thumbs stroked my cheeks, raising goosebumps in their wake. “Don’t carry things we don’t need, angel. Don’t carry things that will only hurt you. It’s okay.” 

Lei pulled me into the sweetest kiss. It lasted for about a millisecond, a blink in time, and I knew that was all we were, but God— God— we felt infinite. I think— no, I know this is love: when somebody makes you, a mere mortal, feel as though time has stopped; when somebody makes you feel as if forever, eternity, and fate were words written for you. 

“In case you forgot,” Lei said, “I love you too.” She beamed up at me, so I had to smile even as she winked in an attempt to dig under my skin: “In case you forgot, I loved you first!” 

Because I couldn’t argue with the truth, I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. Okay. You loved me first, but—” I caught her around the waist and leaned to whisper in her ear— “I’ll love you longer.” 

“As if,” she scoffed, pushing me away so I could catch the furrowing of her brow. “How can you even make such a bold claim? I told you, Sehunnie, I’ve loved you forever, and I’ll love you forevermore. What could last longer than forever?”

Feigning deep contemplation, I hummed through puckered lips, hoping that Lei would rise to kiss them. (Note: Lei never disappoints.) “Maybe forever in writing? I think I heard once that a love recorded on paper, in a film, or in a song lives forever.” 

“If you’re planning to write about me,” she said, “you should know that I’ve been writing about you too. I’ve been trying to map out or stars since we kissed in your car, but I— I can’t figure out how the stars aligned.” Her head went aslant. “But I also can’t figure out how we could have ended up anywhere else with anybody else.” 

It had been made clear to me that any misstep could have led Lei to Baekhyun or Taemin. Maybe she will find her way to them someday no matter what I do, but I gave no voice to those thoughts. Taking a deep breath, I soared at the imagination of Lei writing to pinpoint the correlation between the me of the past, the me of her dreams, and the me of right now. I hoped she was proud to have created a place where we could be together forever, even if someday we should wake up on different paths. 

It’s romantic, isn’t it, that we separately experienced the same epiphany concerning our stars? 

“Some things are just meant to be,” I figured, sounding unlike the version of myself who struggled to believe in things like destiny, the version I had been for almost all of my life. “You and I— Lei, we are the greatest meant to be I can imagine.” 

When I stepped into the warmth of the agency building from the winter snow, I quickly found Lei asleep at that table by the vending machine where we met. Her face was almost completely nuzzled into the bend of her elbow, into the cloud-soft baby blue sleeve of her sweater. Her dark hair sprawled over much of the table; it was so long then, almost reaching her waist. She shouldn’t have been recognizable, but I would have known her anywhere, from any distance. 

“Wake up,” I whispered into her ear as I settled into the chair next to her, wrapping an arm around her waist. “I’m here.” 

Once Lei sat upright and set to rubbing her sleep-swollen eyes, it was obvious that we couldn’t go out on an adventurous date. That much should have been obvious, I know, determined by our roles as idols, but I hadn’t shaken that image of her and Baekhyun standing together at the New Year’s party from the front of my mind. 

I wasn’t jealous anymore. That initial towering wave of nausea and the drowning sense of inferiority had passed without casting me overboard. It just occurred to me once the storm cleared and the sun broke through the clouds that I wanted to be the person by her side forever; I wanted to stand by her in the light; I wanted it to be obvious to strangers from a glance that we were meant to walk together. 

Rising to her feet and slinging her bookbag— the tiny pink Hello Kitty bag she carried since childhood, the bag still donning the keychain I bought for her tenth birthday— Lei groaned, “I’m exhausted! And I didn’t even realize it until I woke up.” 

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” I said as I followed her, “but there are more comfortable places to sleep, you know.” 

Lei had worked herself to the point of exhaustion, I know without a doubt, because she made no argument; she loved to argue. 

On our walk to the door, I reached for her hand, which was always much smaller than mine. She flinched at the contact probably because my hands were always cold, maybe because she wasn’t yet used to affection, hopefully because my touch was electric. 

As shocked as she had been at the start, Lei was the one who interlaced our fingers. Lei was the one who whined when I had to break the contact to open the passenger door and then round to the driver's seat. Lei was the one who reached for my hand as soon as I set it on the steering wheel. 

“I just want to feel you.” Her words blurred together drowsily, but her eyes shot open— wide awake— when I glanced at her. “Your hands are so warm, Sehunnie, and it’s so cold outside. I’m freezing!”

After turning the heat up, I said through a budding smile while starting down the familiar path to her house, “Nobody has ever called my hands warm. Then again, nobody ever held my hands before you.” 

“And nobody will hold my hands after you,” I almost said. Because I didn’t want to think of a time after her— I didn’t want to think of a time without her— I bit down on my tongue. I left those words unsaid. Unspoken words hold power too. 

“Your hand was warm at the drive-in too,” she told me. “Holding your hand made me feel like the moon and stars smiled down at us.” 

There was no moon and there were no stars that night, I remembered clearly, but I didn’t remind Lei. Maybe this sounds crazy, but I hope she misremembered a lot about those days before I could love her. In a way, I hoped she romanticized them; I hoped she saw them— I hope she saw the past me— through love-colored lenses. I hoped the stars smiled in all of her memories. 

With an almost childlike quality of honesty— the kind that I never wanted to argue with, the kind I only thought I had to argue with— Lei said, “Holding your hand makes me feel like spring has come.” 

Butterflies raged in my stomach and told me the perfect thing to say: “That’s funny. Looking at you makes me feel like spring has come.” 

I think that might have made her squeal had she not been drifting to sleep. Her head banged against the window every few seconds. 

“Lay back,” I tried to demand sternly, but my voice was nothing but a gentle whisper around her after Christmas. “Lei, lean your chair back and go to sleep. You’re gonna bruise your face or give yourself a concussion if you keep hitting your head.” 

Without opening her eyes, she argued, “I don’t wanna go to sleep! I wanna stay awake with you!” 

She was being rather childish, I thought, but she repeated that sentiment once we sat together on her living room couch, which was no longer tainted by the memory of finding Lucas atop her on her birthday. 

“But you’re tired.” Tightening my arms around her waist, I pulled her closer and encouraged her to lean into me, to fall asleep on me. “Just close your eyes, and I’ll go to sleep with you.” 

Lei didn’t resist my pull. Her eyelashes tickled the skin on my neck as she laid against me and allowed her eyelids to flutter shut. Without mumbling another word, she fell into that deep heavy-breathing sleep, and I wondered how many nights she had avoided sleep. I wondered how I was supposed to fall asleep with her laying so close. I wondered how I was supposed to close my eyes while my heart pounded in my chest, eager to break free and unite with hers. I wondered how I was supposed to breathe while her breath whispered across my skin. 

I was wide awake— I am wide awake— and I never want to sleep again.

[snowdice]

Little Kestrel (Actual Part 13)[Birds of Different Feathers Series]

I messed up and published chapter 14 as chapter 13. This is the actual chapter 13 and what I put out yesterday is chapter 14. I guess you get a bonus update this week. XD

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan & Patton & Virgil (future Virgil/Patton but not in this story)

Characters:

Main: Logan, Patton, Virgil

Appear: Thomas

Mentioned: Janus

Summary:

It was supposed to be a quick job either way. Either Virgil would assassinate King Thomas of Prijaznia or he’d be caught and get executed. Yet, when Virgil gets the wrong bedroom and gets caught by Prince Logan and his future royal advisor, Patton, the job ends up getting way more complicated for the 14-year-old. He also ends up sleeping in a (actually pretty comfortable) closet for a few weeks…

Notes: Implied/referenced child abuse, assassination attempt, knives, torture mentioned, captivity, teenagers being really dumb

This is a prequel to Kill Dear. I wrote it 100 words at a time on my blog, but this is the edited version. If you want to see how it was crafted, look at the tag proofread stories.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 is this one Part 14 because I messed up and published that chapter first on accident.

Logan was able to quickly set up the station for making protection charms. Patton had always liked making them, though he often used his more as fun accessories than for protection. The one he was going to show Virgil how to make was a very simple low level one used for little more than to keep bugs off of yourself and, in the event of a well-made one, alert one to imminent danger by changing temperature. It was a nice thing to hold in the middle of the night if one was frightened by real or imagined threats. It would be warm to the touch when one’s environment was safe; he thought Virgil might appreciate it.

He and Patton decided to wait until Virgil woke up naturally which only took about 30 minutes. Then, Logan brought him to his set-up supplies. He explained briefly the process for making a protection charm. “I will be the one performing the enchantment for today,” he told Virgil. “I will show you how to make your own later, but I thought seeing how to make them would help with the learning process.”

“Plus, it’s fun!” Patton said.

Logan flashed a smile at him. “And that as well. I’ve prepared a small number of possible pendants for you to choose from. You can choose the shape and color, then we will put on a custom engraving, as well as decorations.”

“Glitter! Glitter! Glitter! Glitter!”

“Yes, Patton, everyone knows you’re going to choose glitter,” Logan said, amused, “but why don’t we let Virgil decide for his own pendant?”

“Fine,” Patton said, “but mine will be glitter.”

Logan grabbed the box of blank pendants and offered it to Virgil. “Choose whichever one feels right,” he suggested. Virgil moved forward and looked over the box. “You can touch them,” Logan said. “In fact, I would suggest it as it is meant to be held when it’s done, and you may as well get a feel for it.”

At his prompting, Virgil did. He reached into the box and shifted a few to the side. Eventually, he started picking a few up. “I like the crescent shape for holding the most,” he said, holding a blue one up, “but I don’t know.”

“What’s your favorite color?” Patton asked.

“Oh, um,” he mumbled. “I dunno.”

“Well here,” Patton said, reaching for the box. He dug through it and pulled out every single crescent moon shaped pendant and lined them up. “What do you fancy?”

Virgil considered them all for a long moment and then tentatively pointed the purple one out.

“Great!” Patton said. “Then, we’ll use that one.”

Virgil nodded and Patton picked up the pendant to drop it into his hands. His fingers curled over the shape and he seemed satisfied by the choice, so Logan turned to Patton. “Your turn,” he said.

Patton happily grabbed out a heart shaped blue one, but then paused and exchanged it for a purple one. “We match!” he said.

Virgil smiled slightly at his enthusiasm, and Logan dug out a blue crescent moon shape for himself. “Now that you have your base, you get to choose the engraving.” He opened up the instruction book to the correct page and showed it to him.

Virgil looked over the two pages of designs with careful focus. He wavered between the spiral sun and the flames for a moment, but eventually settled on the flames. Patton chose the interlocking hearts design as anticipated; it was his favorite, and Logan chose the spiral sun design for himself.

“Now, I’m going to engrave this design onto yours,” Logan said getting out the thin pen like instrument and dipping it into the slightly glowing bottle of potion he’d set out. “In the meantime, Patton will show you what we have for decorations.”

He was careful to get the symbol as perfect as he could and then started on Patton’s. Patton apparently managed to corrupt the boy because both of them came back with brushes and glitter to add as decoration.

Logan shook his head and handed them their freshly engraved pendants. “Apply the glitter how you like,” Logan said, moving on to his own engraving. Once he was finished, he selected some glow in the dark paint to decorate his own.

Once he’d finished decorating his own pendant, Logan looked up. “Are you finished?” he asked.

“Yep!” Patton said, shoving his pendant at Logan while Virgil nodded. Virgil had been far less enthusiastic than Patton, having carefully brushed glitter into the flame design only whereas Patton had haphazardly covered his own all over with glitter. Logan took both pendants.

“This,” Logan said, bringing over a different potion, “is used to make sure the decorations never fall off. It basically allows the other substances to become a part of the stone. “It isn’t too dangerous, but I’d suggest you stand back for the moment.”

Virgil stepped back farther back than was strictly necessary and gave the potion bottle a wary look. Logan moved all three pendants to the prepared surface (else they ran the risk of also getting stuck to the table) and put on gloves, having learned that magically gluing rocks to ones hands was not fun years ago. Then, he carefully drizzled a bit of the potion onto each rock. The rocks fizzled loudly, and Virgil gave off a startled yelp before toppling over flat on his face with his wrist glued to his sides.

“Oh no, honey,” Patton said immediately crouching next to him. “I’m sorry. We should have warned you about the noise.”

Logan wasn’t sure what type of action he’d tried to take when the sound started up, but whatever it was, it had caused him to move his arms fast enough that he’d activated the binding potion and it snapped his wrists to his side, overbalancing him.

Patton’s hands hovered over the startled boy, but he didn’t touch. After a few moments, it was clear that the magic keeping Virgil’s hands at his side released because his hands slowly crept forward to push himself up, so his face wasn’t planted against the ground. His eyes still looked incredibly startled.

“Are you alright?” Patton asked.

Virgil blinked. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said.

Logan took his words as permission to move without risking startling him more. Virgil’s eyes bopped back and forth between him and Patton a few times as he crossed to his wall of potions and grabbed one.

He also selected a clean cloth from a basket on his way over to them. “A light healing potion,” Logan explained as he knelt in front of Virgil. He uncorked it. “May I?”

“I’m fine,” Virgil said with a frown. “I’m not even bleeding. It’s barely anything.”

“Which is why it’s a light healing potion,” Logan said. “You are sure to bruise with the way you hit. This will prevent it and make it stop hurting.”

“Okay,” Virgil agreed after a moment. Logan dribbled a bit out onto the rag. After a moment of thought, he touched the damp part of the cloth with his own finger, just to quash any fears that it would harm him.

“It will tingle slightly,” Logan warned. Virgil tilted his head to let him dab it onto his nose and the light scrape on his face. His nose scrunched up and he moved to rub the sensation away quickly only to have his arms slam back to his sides.

Patton caught him so the sudden involuntary movement didn’t cause him to fall back, and then giggled when Virgil titled his head to what could only be described as pout back at him.

“Aw, poor thing,” Patton cooed, reaching forward to rub a hand across the top of his nose and then his forehead where the potion had been applied for him.

“Better?” Patton asked.

“You’re really bad at this being captors thing,” Virgil commenting, willingly leaning back into Patton. Patton just smiled happily.

Logan took the bottle and got to his feet, before returning it, and then glanced at the pendants as Patton helped Virgil to his feet. The pendants had stopped fizzing, so Logan felt okay reaching in and grabbing them all.

He handed both Patton and Virgil their pendants when they walked closer to the table.

“And now for the actual enchantment,” Logan said. “For today, I already prepared the potion up to the last step as it has to sit for a few hours, but I will show you the last step and eventually teach you everything if you are still interested.”

Virgil nodded, but said. “No more noises?”

Logan smiled. “No more noises,” he confirmed. Then he pushed forward all of the ingredients he was about to put in the pot for Virgil to study one by one before putting them each in it in the correct order. Then, he demonstrated how to stir it correctly and told him how many times, though he doubted he’d be able to retain all of the information from this one demonstration. “There,” he said, setting down his spoon. “Now we just all put our pendants into the pot, and they should be ready in 25 minutes.”

Logan showed Virgil around his potion’s lab while they waited, explaining what certain pieces of equipment did and a bit about his organization system. Virgil followed him around, looking at the things he pointed out curiously. He, however, got very distracted when Logan showed him one of the experiments he’d concocted. It was a thick liquid that was super attracted to itself and would form a small ball that could be disturbed by touching it. He seemed to like the sensation of squishing it down onto a table… over and over and over again.

“We should get him a ball of yarn,” Patton said out of the corner of his mouth. He may have been enjoying watching Virgil play with the substance more than Virgil was enjoying playing with it himself. And that was saying something.

Eventually, however, the pendants were finished, and he dragged Virgil away from his new toy to show him the finished product.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“Is it supposed to be warm?” Virgil inquired.

“Yes,” Logan replied. “It’s temperature changes based on if the magic on it senses a threat or not. Warmer temperatures mean you are safe.

“Oh,” Virgil said softly, hand squeezing around it. “I like it.”

Logan found himself smiling. “I’m glad. It’s yours.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“If you would like, I’m sure Patton has some suggestions if you’d desire a way to keep it attached to your person. He in particular likes to make them into necklaces or clip them to his clothing.”

Virgil looked over at Patton and nodded shyly. Patton immediately perked up. “I’ll go get some supplies!” he said.

Want to read more? Click below!

AO3 Part 14 Part 15

[ahatintimepieces]

Wake of Stardust

Got a drabble request from EclipsesEnd on AO3! The request was for the song “Boats and Birds” by Gregory and the Hawk! :D Hope this was something you were looking for and thanks so much!

There was something Snatcher couldn’t articulate. But it manifested in the art hanging on the walls of his tree.

There was something Moonjumper couldn’t articulate. But it manifested in the sheets of music with quarter notes dotted with hearts.

Treasure or cherish; there wasn’t a word that measured how much each picture or each song meant. The prince knew, painfully so, how fragile love could be. How even the most careful of nurturing could fail to prevent a sudden break.

The prince knew that holding something too carelessly or too desperately both risked tearing hearts asunder. He knew. But it was so hard to find that balance. What did he need to do? How did he find the textbook, how did he craft the perfect contract, that would ensure his love could only be whatever she needed it to be and nothing more and nothing less?

“Whatcha got, Kiddo?” Snatcher asked as Hattie popped out of his coil, revealing her latest drawing.

It was a family portrait of her sandwiched between him and Moonjumper, holding their hands. It was nighttime in the image, and the moon shone a spotlight on them, making it easier to see Snatcher’s ghostly image against the backdrop of a galaxy pinpricked by bright stars.

“I tried to pay attention to light, like you said!” She beamed, her blue eyes shining. She pointed at herself and Moonjumper. “See? I added shadows away from the light. But I didn’t know how to do that for you.” She furrowed her brows, pensive.

His golden smile stretched, and he let out a cackle.

“Probably because I am all shadow!” He flicked her hat brim, causing it to shift over her eyes.

Giggling, she pushed back the brim.

“Can we hang this one up too?” She pointed at the tree hollow wallpapered with her drawings, each better than the last as Snatcher gave her tips and pointers from his days as a painter.

“Well.” He leaned back and gingerly took her picture in one talon as he ran the other through his mane. Attempting to look serious as he appraised her work, he continued, “The halos of light around the celestial bodies is a stellar effect and brilliantly executed. Drawing the hands as circles is a bit of a shortcut but you’ve gotten better at the arms and legs. And,” he released his mane and held up a talon pointedly, “you did get my good side so it’s a masterpiece.”

Hattie laughed as he scooped her up. She immediately leaned against him, balancing on his arm as he snapped his talons and summoned a new thumbtack. Returning her picture to her, they both examined the walls.

“There’s a spot!” She pointed towards the stretch of bark by the clock.

“Hmm.” Snatcher felt that was too far. It was a rather special portrait… after all. Of his family. He wanted… he wanted to see it. Every time he looked up. “How about we swap it with this one? Of the hourglass?” He floated over to the space directly across from his chair. She seemed a bit confused and he added, “And the hourglass can go by the clock.”

“Okay!” She nodded, letting him hold her up so she could trade the hourglass for the portrait. Once the drawings were in the right spots, Hattie cheered and threw her arms around his neck.

“Whoa!” He stiffened from surprise before relaxing in her embrace. “What was that for?”

“I’m just happy,” she mumbled. “I love you, Dad.”

The ghost’s golden mouth thinned into a tight line. He blinked rapidly, to keep the rising lump in his throat at bay.

“I love you too, Kiddo,” he whispered, hugging her close.

They remained, and Snatcher worked to not let his fear of losing this love cause him to hug her too tightly. Gentle. He had to be ready to let her go.

Moonjumper taught her to read music, later that evening, while Snatcher cooked dinner. They sat perched on the left side of the ramp, and Moonjumper used his violin to play the notes on the page.

“This is a dyad,” he explained in a breathy voice, pulling the bow across the strings.

“Can I try?” Hattie beamed, reaching out. Moonjumper chuckled before handing over the violin and bow that were a touch too large for her. Unperturbed by the size, she tried to mimic the clear sound he had made but it came out as a pained screech.

“Straighten your back and lift your arm,” he instructed, gently guiding her arms into position.

She tried again and managed to draw out a better sound, but the dyad was still shaky. He encouraged her to strengthen her hold on the strings and her next attempt was even better than the last.

“I’m learning!” She perked with excitement and Moonjumper grinned.

“You are!” Moonjumper agreed. “I’m very proud of you, Little Heart.”

“Will you teach me how to play our lullaby on the violin too? And the other songs you wrote?”

“I can,” Moonjumper promised, “though it might take a while.”

“That’s okay!” Hattie preened, puffing out her chest, “I’ll practice a whole lot! We have all the time in the world!” She handed the violin back. Her comment made him pause.

All the time in the world?

“This is an E, right?” She pointed at the sheet music, tilting her head.

“Mmhmm.” Moonjumper played the note on the violin to demonstrate.

She continued studying the music and Moonjumper watched, lowering his arms.

He wondered, vaguely, about the day she might want to go where he couldn’t follow. She would grow up—how special! How grateful he was that his darling daughter lived and could grow—and growing up might mean she would want to set sail beyond the reaches of this planet, further than even the horizon. No doubt she would thrive in any world or time.

But he would miss her. He would miss her so much.

“Papa?” She frowned, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Leaning over, he brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. He gave her nose a boop for good measure before pulling back. “Shall I keep playing? Or, if you want to stop, that’s okay too.”

“Keep playing!” Hattie propped her chin on her hands and kicked her legs in the air behind her.

He felt relieved.

Later, that night, the trio sat in the observation deck, stargazing. Hattie had set out a blanket and leaned back against Moonjumper who leaned against Snatcher who curled his tail around Hattie and she held it in her lap, petting its soft fluff absentmindedly.

“That’s the goat constellation,” Hattie pointed to the only star pattern she recognized. “She found enlightenment, right?”

“That’s the story,” Moonjumper hummed.

“Do you think she’s lonely?”

“What do you mean, Kiddo?” Snatcher prompted.

“Well,” she huffed, snuggling deeper into Moonjumper’s chest, “she just… became part of the sky. Didn’t she have friends or family?”

“Maybe,” Moonjumper offered slowly, “but I think the idea of enlightenment is finding your own path. Her curiosity and awe outgrew what the planet could offer.”

“She became a series of stars, with more room to fly,” Snatcher explained, propping his head on his talon.

“But… doesn’t her family miss her?” Hattie’s nose was crinkled, like a sour taste was in her mouth.

“I’m sure they do.” Moonjumper lowered his head onto hers, hugging her gently.  

“But part of loving someone is letting them go,” Snatcher whispered.

Silence hung over them for a moment. Each thought about the silence of a cellar, cold and fraught with chains.

Yes, part of loving someone is letting them go, but…

Snatcher and Moonjumper startled when Hattie sniffled.

“I-I don’t want to let you guys go,” she said, voice cracking and ending in an unsuccessfully stifled whine.

“Hattie—”

“Oh, Dear Heart—”

“I’m sorry!” She sobbed as both halves of her father wrapped around her.

“We’ll always be here for you,” Moonjumper muttered, keeping one arm around her while he used his other hand to cradle her cheek, wet with tears.

“We aren’t going anywhere, and we don’t want to,” Snatcher added, lacing the tip of his tail through her fingers while pressing his forehead against hers.

“We just meant,” Moonjumper sighed, unsure what to say.

“If you ever wanted… more than what we could give,” Snatcher finished, “then we would support you.”

“But, being with you,” Hattie blubbered through tears, “was all I ever wanted. You’re my family. I’ve always just wanted to go home. And now I’m here. You’re my home.”

“Kid.” Snatcher smiled, genuinely, as his form relaxed.

“You’re our home too,” Moonjumper finished, the tension falling from his shoulders.

Hattie could only nod, lip quivering as she tried to hold back her tears. The two halves of her father held her, waiting patiently for her smile to shine again.

One day, she might change her mind, as all living and growing things tend to do. She might go on journeys in galaxies farther than the prince would have ever fathomed. But her home would always remain, tethered to her by a wake of stardust. There, she would always be loved and there, she would always love. There, she could always return.

Because the other part of love is returning.

[cheliceraekisses]

Vintage Voidcraft

F/F - android/mechanic - nsfw 18+

A mechanic from the frontier of space gets her dream girl and her dream ship, all in one day.

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26112583

The bell over the door of the hangar rung, pulling Jay’s attention away from the magazine she’d been poring over. She sighed. Customers were good, but she’d been hoping to spend the rest of her day with the latest issue of Vintage Voidcraft. Hopefully they’d at least driven something interesting into her shop, and not another one of those boring, sterile ships Rekko kept putting out. She tossed her magazine on the table, putting on her best customer service smile before leaving the office.

She rounded the corner to the lobby area she’d set up in the hangar and froze, looking at the prettiest girl she’d seen since, well, since coming to Ceres Station, this backwater in the middle of nowhere. Her practised smile fell away immediately. She was short, maybe five feet, and dressed all in pastels, a leather choker with a heart shaped ring at the front topping it off. Her blue skirt went down to mid-thigh, with pink knee socks and plain white flats. Her long white hair, streaked with pink and blue, fell over her shoulders, framing a lacy white blouse. Really, in every way, the opposite of Jay’s black tank, red flannel and half undone overalls. She would have done up the other side, if she knew where the button had gotten to. The pretty girl was looking up at the bell with an amused smile on her face.

Jay cleared her throat to get the girl’s attention, but before she could launch into her usual welcome, she was cut off with a giggle.

“Why do you have a bell on a sliding door?” The girl asked, her voice melodic and sweet and just as pretty as she was.

“Huh? Oh, that. My parents owned a mechanic shop back on Earth, I guess it reminds me of home?” She looked at the work she’d done, attaching a short rod to the door to hit the bell on its way past. “It’s kinda silly but it didn’t feel right in here without it.” She gave an embarrassed chuckle, blushing furiously.

Desperately searching for something to say, her eyes landed on the empty hangar. “So, what brings you in today?” She asked. “Don’t see a ship in here, did you fly in?”

“My ship broke down in an asteroid field a couple parsecs out,” came the reply from behind her. “Had to hitchhike here. I heard you could give me a tow, so here I am.”

“Yeah, sure, give me a minute to bring my ship around and we can go. You can wait in the office if you like.” She gestured to the small building she’d set up in the corner and, trying to hide her blush, fled the hangar far faster than she’d meant to. The dingle of the bell as she left did nothing to help her embarrassment.

The second the door was closed, she pulled out her phone, pulling up the camera and checking to see how obvious her blush had been. Very obvious, apparently, her cheeks almost as red as the old flannel shirt her dad had given her. No way the girl didn’t know she was totally smitten. Worse yet, she realized she’d forgotten to even ask for her customer’s name. Smooth. This run was going to be the death of her.

She took her time starting up her ship, checking the cockpit to make sure she hadn’t left anything embarrassing around. The ship was old and reliable, and she made sure to keep it in good shape despite it’s age. She’d had it since she left earth and never had a problem she couldn’t fix. She was saving up to buy herself a second, personal ship and leave this one for work, but nothing on the market now interested her and vintage craft were always expensive.

The engine sputtered to life, roaring in the commercial hangar full of silent, modern ships. Jay never understood the point, every engine was silent once you got it into space anyway. Besides, how could you drive a ship when you couldn’t hear what it was doing? She just couldn’t get the hang of looking to the screens for every little thing. It took too long, and half the time it didn’t tell her what she wanted to know anyway. She hoped the pretty girl waiting in her office agreed.

The drive around Ceres station took around ten minutes, but it was another five before Jay worked up the courage to step off the ship and find the mystery woman. She found her in the office, reading her copy of Vintage Voidcraft and smiling to herself. She looked up when Jay walked in, dropping the magazine where it was, open to a page on N.A.I.A.D. class ships.

“Paper? Not digital?” She asked, gesturing to the magazine.

“Oh, yeah, the relays out here suck, half the time it’s quicker to get the paper copies in.” It really was, the slow sub-FTL connections completely flooded with the station admin’s traffic. God knows when your data would get through. “Plus, this way I’ve got stuff to leave out for customers to read. It just, uh, you know.”

“Feels like home?” Her voice had taken on a teasing lilt that made Jay’s heart jump into her throat.

“Yeah, that,” she finally managed. This girl was gonna kill her. “By the way, I forgot to ask your name before?”

For the first time, Jay felt like she’d gotten the upper hand, the question making the girl start. “Um, my name? It’s, er,” she floundered for a moment. “Nadia. It’s Nadia.”

“Mine’s Jay,” Jay replied easily, still basking in having made the gorgeous woman flustered. Nadia, pretty. It suited her.

“I know,” Nadia said, the smile returning to her face. She knew? Well, it was on the door, Jay supposed, and it’s not like she had any employees.

“Well, tow’s here. Should we get going?”

“Sure,” Nadia said, moving to the door and ending up very close to Jay. Too close, she thought, looking down at the other girl. Her eyes really were gorgeous, a bright, coppery brown with a vertical line of pale gold cutting through the irises. Definitely robotic.

Her staring was cut off after several seconds by a gentle cough. “Are we going?” She asked, fully recovered and back to teasing by now. Jay jumped, spluttering out an apology and leading the way to the ship.

Jay prepared herself for the worst as Nadia came back out to the hangar, looking at her old beater of a ship. Surprisingly though, Nadia just smiled at it. “You take good care of her, huh?” Was all she said, running her hand over the paint before boarding. Jay beamed, her whole month made by just one bit of praise from a pretty girl.

“So,” Jay said, dropping into the captain’s chair and pulling up a map, “where did you say you left your ship?”

“Just over here,” Nadia said, pointing to the screen.

“Just over here” turned out to be several hours out, and Jay groaned inwardly, realizing how long she’d be spending in close proximity to the prettiest woman she’d ever met. They’d barely met an hour ago, and already she could barely contain herself. The next six hours were going to be rough.

Thankfully, Nadia opened up the conversation and saved her. “So, you like vintage ships too, huh?” She asked with a warm smile.

“Too?” Jay asked hopefully.

“Yeah, spaceflight used to be so much more classy. New ships just feel so cold?”

Jay was over the moon. Not only was this girl damn near exactly her type, she loved old ships. They slipped into conversation easily, swapping stories about the coolest old ships they’d gotten to drive, repair, and even just see in the wild. Before Jay noticed two hours were gone and they’d nearly reached the asteroid field.

“So,” she asked, slipping back into work mode. “What kind of ship are we looking for out here, anyway?”

“Don’t freak out too bad,” Nadia said with a smug grin. “It’s a N.A.I.A.D.-3.”

Jay freaked out. How could she not, the N.A.I.A.D.-3 was her dream ship, the one that cost way more than a frontier system mechanic would ever see and made her consider a career shift to piracy whenever she’d gotten to work on one. That settled it, she had to marry this girl. Guiltily, she hoped the ship would be more than a little damaged, so Nadia would stay around Ceres station for a while. There wasn’t much at the station, but she figured she could pull a decent date together if she tried.

Sadly —no, happily, she reminded herself— the ship appeared perfectly fine from a distance, floating safely behind an asteroid. She pulled her ship up next to it, feeling more than a little jealous parking her blocky old tow ship next to the gorgeous little dart. The N.A.I.A.D.-3 was built for speed, with an engine that purred like a cheetah and a beautiful, sleek profile. Nadia’s ship was in perfect condition too, clearly well-loved and taken care of.

“Before you get the tow hooked up, wanna go over and look around? Engine’s busted but the ship itself is still working fine,” Nadia said, with an easy smile. Not waiting for an answer, she turned on Jay’s short range boarding system and jumped across. Jay didn’t hesitate, jumping out of her chair to follow.

The interior was just as gorgeous as the outside, clearly redone recently. Every surface was polished, onyx panels with gold controls laid out before a black leather captain’s chair. The lighting was warm, easy on the eyes but bright enough to see everything. Standing next to the chair, Nadia threw a jokey salute. “Have a seat, Captain,” she practically purred, laughing. So this was what love felt like, Jay thought, relaxing into the comfiest chair she’d probably ever sat in.

Nadia bit her bottom lip, moving the second Jay’s eyes were off of her. She casually crossed the small cockpit, climbing into the chair and dropping into Jay’s lap, facing her. Jay’s eyes went wide, her cheeks glowing. “Nadia? What are you—”

“Shush,” Nadia whispered, leaning in to kiss her.

Jay returned the kiss enthusiastically, almost immediately realizing something. Nadia wasn’t human. More than just the natural excitement of kissing the prettiest girl she’d ever seen, Nadia’s tongue made her’s tingle, like licking a battery. So she was an android then. Jay spared a thought for a few of the magazines she ordered that didn’t make it to the rack in her lobby. That was just fine with her.

What was quickly becoming a problem however, was that Nadia clearly had no need for oxygen. Jay pulled away from the kiss to breathe, feeling light headed, and before she could gasp down a single breath Nadia was chasing her down, pinning her head to the chair and sucking her tongue, hard. Jay finally had to push her back, just for a moment, to catch her breath.

Nadia laughed, watching Jay intently and worrying her lip while Jay breathed. Idly, Jay wondered if she was one of those androids who were just, well, into humans. She certainly seemed to be enjoying the show.

After a moment, seeing Jay wasn’t going to be done soon, Nadia spoke. “I should apologize, I told you a couple lies earlier.” She reached behind Jay, pressing a couple buttons on the control panel, and the ship’s engine roared to life. “The ship’s not broken at all. I...” She paused, looking nervous. “I brought it here to give it to you. As a gift.”

Jay just stared, all thoughts of catching her breath gone. After a moment, Nadia continued. “I... I fell in love with you a while back. So I brought you this...” She laughed awkwardly, waiting for Jay to say something.

“Do we... Have we met before?” Jay asked quietly. She figured she would have remembered meeting someone so exactly her type.

“Not exactly,” Nadia sighed. She took a moment to gather her courage. “Nadia isn’t my name. I’m the N.A.I.A.D.’s control system. Er, not just this one. All of them.”

Jay had stars in her eyes. She’d met androids before, of course, and she knew the N.A.I.A.D. class ships had a networked control system, but for a whole system like that to wake up as an A.I. was the kind of thing you only ever heard rumours about. “Wait so, how did you fall— No wait, better question. Your name’s Naiad and for your fake name you went with Nadia?”

Naiad pouted, looking away to the side. “Look I... Set all this up, bought this body,” She indicated herself. Er, her android self. “Picked one of my ships, had the whole thing refitted for you, came up with this whole story, I had a lot on my plate. I forgot you humans cared so much about names anyway, and when you asked me I—”

“You panicked,” Jay said, stifling a laugh. Naiad’s pout deepened, and Jay threw her arms around her with a laugh. “So, can we kiss some more?” She asked.

Naiad didn’t bother responding, instead diving right in, shoving her tongue in the butch girl’s mouth. The shocking feeling was stronger this time, nearly making Jay’s tongue numb. She moaned into the kiss. She could get used to this.

At length, they stopped kissing, just sitting together comfortably. “So,” Jay started, “What did make you fall in love with me then?”

“I... My bodies... That is, the ships, obviously they’ve been to a lot of mechanics. Most of them hated working on such old ships, or they were just... Rough on me, or sometimes they’d recommend scrapping the ship entirely and buying a new one. But every time someone brought one to Ceres, they’d get directed to your place, and you always took such good care of me.” Naiad looked embarrassed, and if she could have blushed, she probably would have. “Perfect replacement parts, pretty new paint jobs, I could feel how much you love your job every time I visited. Pretty soon... I guess I wanted to return the favour, and take care of you as well,” she said, her tone making it clear exactly how she wanted to return the favour.

Jay could feel herself getting harder by the second, as Naiad’s tone steadily turned to honey. Of course, she wouldn’t deny being taken care of, but... “Naiad,” she whispered, “How do I take care of you too? Do I just have to do maintenance on the ship while we fuck?” She laughed at the image. She’d never been with an android before, and even if she had she imagined Naiad would be a special case.

Naiad quietly took Jay’s hands, raising them to her breasts. They felt surprisingly real, and the moan she let out was genuine, the hottest sound Jay had ever heard. Her body must have cost a small fortune. All to fuck a mechanic from the backwaters of the frontier. She couldn’t help but laugh.

“Well,” Naiad began, pausing to gasp loudly as Jay groped her. “I can feel everything you do to this body.” She started to slowly roll her hips, ghosting her apparently uncovered slit over Jay’s growing bulge. The light tingle between her legs told Jay Naiad had the same electricity coursing through her pussy as through her tongue, and her cock twitched, spurting pre at the thought. “But maybe I bought a few special upgrades for the ship as well,” she gave Jay a lustful look, biting her lip as she slid herself back off the chair and onto the floor, palming Jay’s cock through her overalls. As she did so, a flash of silver pulled Jay’s attention upwards, to a pair of steel tentacles extending from the cabin’s roof. Tenderly, they pushed her flannel off her shoulders hooking their way into the arms and gently pulling it away to fall behind the chair. Naiad smiled up at her, a mischievous glint in her eye, and popped the button on her overalls, pulling them down while the tentacles hooked through the straps of her tank top, tugging it off as well. Naiad’s fingers played softly across her abs, watching in wonder as the muscles tensed under her touch.

It took Jay a moment to realize how quickly she’d been stripped, only registering as she felt the cool air of the cabin on the head of her cock. She looked back down to see Naiad playing with her, bringing her the rest of the way to attention. She smiled up at her lover, searching her face for any signs of discomfort before giving the same half salute she’d given before. “You’re so big, Captain,” she drawled, kissing her way up and down the shaft in front of her, eyes widening with every twitch.

Meanwhile, with a soft sound of metal scraping, the tentacles opened, revealing something akin to suction cups. One attached itself to Jay’s breast, and the other went to her neck, suckling, sure to leave an enormous bruise. She closed her eyes, focusing on the pleasure, trying to think how she could repay the favour.

She got her answer when something bumped against her lips. Opening her eyes in shock, she saw a third tentacle had descended from the roof, this one with an artificial dick not unlike the one she kept by her bed at home on the end. Except for that this one likely cost several thousand dollars more, judging by the sound Naiad made as she excitedly leaned forward, taking it into her mouth as deep as she could and swallowing around it. So she could feel through the tentacles then. She raised a hand to rub the tentacle, matching pace with her bobbing head, trying to draw more noises from the beautiful girl in front of her.

Jay’s pace broke when Naiad’s tongue touched the tip of her length, sending a jolt coursing through her. She bucked her hips, hard, accidentally sinking the head of her cock into Naiad’s mouth fully, locking up, fearing the stimulation would overwhelm her. After several seconds of somehow managing to hold back, her lover turned up the power, flicking her tongue over the head of her cock and driving her over the edge, cum flooding Naiad’s mouth and spurting past her lips, falling down her chin and splattering onto her blouse. She kept sucking, doing her best to draw forth every drop, before sitting back, proud of her work, watching her tentacles roughly handle her love.

Jay pulled the tentacle out of her mouth, giving it a long, wet lick, and reached a hand out towards the android. “Come up here,” she said with a smirk, “Let me undress you.” She pulled the girl into her lap, kissing her passionately, moaning at the taste of her own cum and the tingling sensation that accompanied kissing Naiad. Her hands went to her hips, sliding under the blouse and lifting up, fingers dancing up along her back before pulling the blouse over her head, smearing more than a little cum on her face and hair in the process. Naiad didn’t seem to mind, laughing and running her finger through the cum splattered on her cheek, slowly licking it off.

Next went her skirt, shimmying it down her hips, revealing a cute little patch of artificial hair, pastel pink and blue split down the middle, over a very realistic looking pussy, wet and inviting enough to have Jay stiffening all over again, despite how sore her cock felt. Having the girl of her dreams in her lap and the tentacles, now both on her small tits, sucking away was certainly helping. Naiad’s shoes hit the floor at some point while she was staring, but when the android reached to remove her knee socks Jay reached out to gently push her hands away. Naiad cocked an eyebrow at her, moving her hands to gently tug at Jay’s cock instead.

As Jay relaxed into the feeling of Naiad preparing her cock for another round, she felt a pressure from below her, coming out of the chair she sat in. A moment later, sure enough, a fourth tentacle slipped through the chair, pushing itself up against her ass, already lubed. It wormed its way, slowly opening her up but barely going inside her. Meanwhile, a fifth tentacle slid out, fondling at her balls and the base of her cock. She moaned, grabbing the tentacle still waiting near her mouth and sucking it down into her throat, hoping to provoke some action out of her new girlfriend. Well, hopefully girlfriend.

Naiad moaned, falling forwards to lay her head against Jay’s neck. Fine, if she wanted it so bad, she could have it. All at once, she slid her tentacle inside her lover while dropping her hips down in one smooth motion, taking her right to the base. Rather than waiting for the girl to get used to it, she started bouncing, timing the sucking and thrusting of her tentacles perfectly with the roll of her hips. For the first few seconds anyway. Riding in a body she wasn’t used to yet turned out to be harder than she’d anticipated, and she quickly found herself falling forwards, only for the mechanic’s strong arms to catch her. Jay tried to look as smug as she could with a tentacle-cock in her mouth, moving her arms around Naiad’s hips and steadying her, guiding the roll of her hips and showing her exactly how to move.

A particularly deep thrust had Naiad moaning lewdly again, only this time she moaned through the ship’s speakers as well. She gripped tightly to Jay’s arms, seemingly taking as much pleasure from the mechanic’s manhandling of her as from the fucking. The lights flickered, the tentacles perfect rhythm faltered, and the noises of Naiad’s pleasure came out of the speakers at ever increasing volumes. Several of the monitors around the room flashed warnings, as various safety features, convinced the ship was suffering a catastrophic core meltdown, fired off. Through it all, Naiad refused to give her lover even a second of rest, pulling the tentacle from her mouth and stuffing it between their joined breasts, pushing the suckling tentacles to tug at Jay’s neck and pulling her into a passionately violent kiss.

Naiad finally came with an explosion of sound, as her final cries of “Don’t stop” and “I love you” blasted over the speakers. The tentacles jerkily continued their assault, spraying thick, white simulated cum over the two of them, the power in her body ratcheting up further, the shock coursing through Jay and dragging her over the edge as well, her cock spasming and flooding Naiad’s cunt with her seed. The thought of getting the android knocked up flashed through her mind, pulling her back to the brink, and it seemed the same had occurred to Naiad as she moaned the words into Jay’s mouth, redoubling her efforts despite the orgasm only just finished tearing through her. Relying entirely on Jay’s arms to guide her, Naiad slammed her hips up and down, milking a final orgasm out of each of them before her body’s safety features kicked in to prevent her from literally fucking her lover to death.

Naiad collapsed onto Jay, lying still against her chest. Jay breathed heavily, finally having the opportunity to breathe easily again. She watched as the tentacles retracted, pulled Naiad close in her arms, and let herself drift off.

---

Jay woke up looking around to find she was in her bed at home. She briefly panicked, thinking perhaps the whole experience was a dream, before catching sight of pink and blue through the door to her room. She dragged herself out of bed, finding Naiad on her couch, playing with her collection of old video games. She smiled, plopping down on the couch next to her and hugging her close.

“Morning sleepy,” Naiad said, looking slightly embarrassed at having the mechanic’s arms holding her again. “Sorry, some of us don’t need to sleep,” she shrugged, missing an easy jump for a moon and falling to her death. Cute, they’d have to work on that.

“Nah, it’s okay.” Jay blinked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “So, like, uh... What... Happens now?” She was too tired for this discussion, but she wanted to know sooner than later.

“The ship’s yours to keep, like I said. It’s a courting gift,” Naiad shrugged. “I got it all registered to you when we got home. As for me,” she turned her head to the side, ignoring the sounds of her character getting knocked off the stage by an enemy. “I’m yours to keep as well, assuming earlier meant as much to you as it did to me,” she said, hopefully.

Jay kissed her, deeply, quietly reaching over to move her character out of the way of another pointless death. She pulled back, looking into her gorgeous, coppery eyes, a satisfied, easy smile on her face. “Of course, beautiful. I love you too.”

[kathyprior4200]

Hazbinphobia: Arrival of Adina

Adina fan art collage

Adina artists: (PLEASE GO SUPPORT)

Vivziepop

Hele-nae https://www.deviantart.com/hele-nae/art/Adina-and-Fitch-594650932

Buhitter https://buhitter.com/search?q=zoophobia

https://buhitter.com/author/AngelOfTheCode

MatrixArt28 https://www.deviantart.com/matrixart28/art/Adina-VivziePop-600498071

http://www.tjhongshengyuan.com/video/av33912053/?spm_id_from=333.788.videocard.5

SLoad666 https://aminoapps.com/c/hazbin_zoophobia/page/blog/a-d-i-n-a-fan-art/eYJp_lgQt3uEb4KZR62402Lp0ZnDe7DgDz6

 “Here There Be Dragons”

 “In the very beginning, a primordial force (known as Mother V by mortals), existed in the dark antimatter in space. The force caused a major explosion, one that mortals call the Big Bang. After stars and galaxies were formed, planets soon followed. Crafted from that very explosion was an all-powerful being: God. He was everywhere, where there was light, He existed within it. With a flick of His finger, He created the sun, moon, stars and the planets in the Milky Way Galaxy. Then, three main dimensions were formed: Heaven, Earth, and Hell.”

 “The first one was Heaven, His residence. It was a marvelous place, with buildings made of gold, sitting on top of fluffy white clouds. The sky was endlessly blue, the environment a paradise. Angels were formed, divided into nine hierarchies: Seraphim, Cherubim, Thrones, Powers, Principalities, Dominions, Virtues, Archangels and Angels. Jesus was the son of God who was killed on Earth, then reborn. God soon created His Archangels: Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel, Azrael (black haired Angel of Death), among many others. His favorite one, however, was Lucifer, the Light Bearer. Lucifer was the embodiment of pride and perfection. The Rings of Moon, Mercury, Venus, Sun, Jupiter, Saturn, Fixed Stars and Primum Mobile were formed, God existing in the last one.  (Also called the Rings of Faith, Hope, Love, Charity, Fortitude, Justice, Temperance, Prudence, and Wisdom). C.H.E.R.U.B. was an organization that saved lives on Earth, traveling to the living world via the Bible. It consisted of sheep cherubs and a cherub boy.”

 “The denizens of Heaven were animal-like (like those in Hell), and were ignorant to those suffering in Hell. They took on traits of flowers, harps, doves, dogs, cats, swans and other things considered “holy” or “pleasing” (unlike the spiders,  and mythical monsters in Hell). Heaven, too, consisted of councils and Overlords who ruled certain Rings of Heaven, though they were far more just than the ones in Hell. Like in Hell, there were those born in Heaven (the Heaven Born) and do-gooders (the opposite of sinners). Like those born in Hell, the Heaven-Born had more power and a higher status than the do-gooders who had formerly been human. In God’s garden stood the Tree of Life and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.”

  “For many years, all was well.”

 “Then one day, God decided to create new beings in His image, who could reproduce and unite with Him after death. They were called humans. The prideful Lucifer did not like the thought of God favoring man over angels. To Lucifer, he and the other angels were superior to humans and mostly immortal…why would God favor man instead?”

 “Flooded with pride and anger over God’s strict rules, Lucifer ignited a rebellion against Him. Using his Morning Star sword, Lucifer fought Michael and Gabriel, leading other angels who followed him. God told Lucifer to submit and to end the madness, but the light-bearer refused. Michael defeated Lucifer and soon enough…Lucifer and the angels on his side were banished from Heaven.”

 “The second world was Earth, consisting of oceans, land, animals, plants and humans. It was a neutral world between Heaven and Hell. Mortals there could be good or evil or many shades in between. The majority of them were flawed in God’s eyes, so only those worthy enough could go to Heaven. This often translated to straight, white, faithful men getting first pick. Humanity evolved from cavemen to farmers, to townsfolk and city-goers. Wars were fought, inventions were made, and lives were lost and gained. For the most part, humans were concerned with themselves, for better or worse.”

 “Lucifer roamed the Earth for a thousand years before being sent to Hell, the fiery third world. There, he became king, while Lilith became queen after her banishment. Together, they created Hell and Pentagram City as a place where fallen angels and sinners could freely express themselves and take whatever risks they wanted. Drugs, murder, rape, and thievery were rampant. Overlords were placed into positions of power, ruling territories and districts. The Rings of Limbo, Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Wrath, Heresy, Violence, Fraud, and Treachery were formed, Satan being trapped in ice in the last one. The Immediate Murder Professionals consisted of imps who would travel to Earth to kill humans upon the requests of their demon clients. Lucifer and Lilith raised their princess daughter, Charlie, who always saw the good in everyone. Charlie would later form the Hazbin Hotel to try and redeem sinners so they could potentially go to Heaven, in order to stop the yearly purges.”

 “Parallel to the Hazbin world was the world of Zoophobia. It was a world where humans, animals and anthromorphic beings (bi pedal animals with human traits) coexisted. Bi-pedal animals took refuge in Safe Haven to escape the humans who despised their differences. Safe Haven was one of the districts where Xirxine Labs and Phoenix Academy resided. A human named Cameron was sent to the academy by a mischievous goddess, knowing she had an extreme fear of animals. She eventually got to know the staff and students there, working as a therapist to help the teens. A Heaven and Hell also existed in the Zoophobia world. In Hell, there lived mythical monsters, Lucifer, his fox wife and trouble-making son Damion. Up in Heaven were angels, the same God as before and an angel named Adina.”

 “Who is Adina? She is a white, centuries-old angel with glowing teal eyes, long lashes and long white hair. She has large white feathery wings extending from her back. She wears a white dress and robe, bordered by dark teal trim with little white Christian crosses along it. Adina is the mother of dragons in Zoophobia and spiritual consort to God. She was created by God to “save” some people while torturing others. In this way, she performs many tasks: 1. Instilling fear in sinners 2. Encouraging more people to worship the Heavenly Father 3. Gathering information and allies to use against Hell 4. Caring for her sons, whom she created. Adina is also the head of the Exorcists or Exterminators who purge demons in the Hazbin Hell every year.”

  “Like Samael and the Exterminators, Adina enjoys torturing demons and sinners, often creating illusions of their worst fears. Her methods and the annual exterminations are ways of keeping demons in line, for them to know their fate and to not rebel against God and Heaven, like Lucifer did. She also has the ability to possesses others and convince them to take her side. Those influenced by her will have teal glowing eyes. (Take Mirage, the killer demon who possessed a brown-haired young woman. She caused havoc until Adina took control of both of their souls, creating a formidable ally.) Chainsaw, a white being with a chainsaw weapon with a cross on it, is Adina’s merciless ally.”

 “However, Adina’s closest allies in the fight against sinners are us dragons.”

 “Oh? Allow me to introduce myself…”

 Surrounded by a teal aura, a humanoid silently walks forward. He is slender with a pointed dark teal tail, black pants and a green vest with white sleeves. He has a white face, a pointed chin and nose and rectangular glasses. His analytical eyes are light green sclera and glowing teal irises, like Adina’s teal eyes. His hair is dark green with two tall furry tufts with light teal tips atop his head.

 “I am Fitch, dragon shapeshifter and oldest son of Adina. My large dragon form is in various shades of green: light green stripped underbelly, dark green tail and wings, spikes going along my back. My tail, claws and horns form my head all have teal tips, followed by forest green colorations. My mouth looks beak-like when it’s closed, but my teeth are sharp as ever.”

 “I am a demon hunter along with my mother. From a very young age, I have learned to wield a variety of weapons to use against the demons of both Hells. (I’ve only been to the Hazbin world once, and I barely remember). One of my signature weapons is a staff with several spinning blades on it. Many people think I’m heartless, a merciless killing machine, but like Azrael, I’m merely doing my job. My mother enjoys manipulating people and killing demons…it’s just the way she is. My mother also supports Xirxine Labs, the facility where scientists perform experiments on Zoophobia denizens. They may be unethical, but sacrifices must be made in the phases of progress.”

 As for me? I feel no remorse nor joy in particular. Demons are like rabid animals wrecking havoc across the realms…someone has to interrogate them and take necessary means.”

  “I have three younger brothers.”

 Another dragon walks forward, surrounded by dark purple and yellow. He wears thin yellow shoes and long black pants with yellow ends. His curvy black tail is decorated with several dark bows shaped like butterflies. His undershirt is yellow and his tailcoat is the same color as his pants, complete with buttons and a black bow tie under his neck. His face is pale, his eyes have lavender sclera and yellow irises. Finally, his hair is dark black, almost purple, with yellow bangs and tips on his two tufts.

 In his dragon form, his skin is thick and purple. He has the black bow tie and buttons along his back, spines down his back, large wings and two sharp horns.

 “Marx is a film producer and believed to be a former stage actor. He considers himself a victim of circumstance and is often very grumpy and bad-tempered. Marx and I are no longer in contact, due to disagreeing with certain life choices we have made. He makes me sick. Seriously, he goes around trying to impress others with his so called theater performances instead of doing more important work. Not to mention, joining the mafia, no less! You, know, the shady flirtatious black and yellow Castello, his brother Ribbon who does his dirty work and Salem, part of his black cat army. That mafia is almost as bad as that Italian Hazbin one with Henroin, Angel Dust, Arackniss, and Molly.”

 “Safe Haven is supposed to be a secure place where the bi-pedal animals don’t have to worry about paranoid humans hunting them down. But the mafia and the monsters who keep entering the world thanks to that troublesome goddess makes things difficult. At least Lesson, the white cat, helps encourage people to seek the right path and convert to Christianity, like my mother wants. In fact, he works for her and Heaven (Though, his too-wide smile and eagerness gives me the creeps.)”

 “Gustav, that German self-centered snake student teacher is Marx’s adopted son. He only likes students with talent; I heard he was very mean to a shy girl on stage.”

 Fitch sighs deeply.

  “Marx going against our mother’s wishes is seriously going to get him into major trouble. Thanks to Adina, my place in Heaven is already guaranteed. (And yes, “thou shall not kill” is in the Commandments but sometimes killing evil is necessary).”

 “Alright, enough about him.”

 Another dragon enters. He has a large goofy grin, a green shirt and a pale green face. His eyes are cloudy white, indicating blindness. His hair is jet black, black bangs going sideways and black tufts. In his dragon form, he is slender with light green and dark green colors blending into each other.

 “Malcom…I rarely think about, actually. He is a blind dragon teacher at Phoenix Academy. Apparently, he’s friends with another teacher named Perci. His blindness helps heighten his other senses. He’s passionate about learning and helping others. Meh. I consider him a coward, as he’s not willing to kill off any demons. At least he’s not like Marx.”

 “And finally…”

 The last dragon emerges, surrounded by orange and red. He wears black and white shoes, long red pants, and a black tank top. A spiked collar is around his neck, giving him a gothic look. His claws are black and his skin is white with an array of lines and symbols on it like tattoos. His sclera are orange, his irises red. His hair is a fiery bold orange, as are his two ear tufts. In his dragon form, he is white with black spikes down his back, tattered wings with the black designs, and a tail with sharp orange spikes at the end. His clawed feet are red-orange.

 “Hatchet and I see each other often. He is a handful, but admittedly, my closest family. Hatchet can create things with his fire and loves eating rabbits. His acid is acidic, so others would best steer clear. When he’s not eating rabbits or goofing off, he does pyrotechnic tricks, such as twirling flaming batons around. Perhaps he grew attached to me back when I would take care of him when we were younger. He was often the wild one, always getting into mischief. We all live distant lives now. Like Malcom, Hatchet always tries to get along with all of us. Though Malcom and Marx are perhaps closer to each other, like Hatchet is with me. Heh. Strange how two dragons with opposite personalities could get along so well. Adina likes all four of us, but she and I are closest.”

 “Yes, that’s about it. Adina and I have been through a lot.”

  “I remember those moments when Adina would coax people, like the green haired Iggly student into her wings, getting him to tell her everything. I’ll never get over that terrified look on his face.”

 “Or when Adina tortured a white spider demon with his worst fears and said, ‘There is no mercy for the damned.’”

 “She once saved this pink bi-pedal animal, embracing her and saying, “Let me save you, my little creature.” My mother always tries to do what is best, even though other people seem to be afraid of her.”

 “One other time, I fought and interrogated an uncooperative demon with red eyes. Adina hovered by my side as I raised my teal weapon over his head. She declared, ‘Such is the will of the Lord, so shall it be…’ Later I accidentally killed a delicate white butterfly creature in my hands. I’ve been mocked over my love of butterflies by my brothers, my father, and by many in Zoophobia.”

 “Whenever I would get tired or hesitant about my job, my mother would give me a warm smile and say in her soothing voice, “Just remember, it’s for the greater good.” Those words have stayed with me since. It always hurts when Adina says she’s disappointed in me after I fail a task, which is rare, thankfully. But I do what I do for her…it’s my one purpose in this life.”

 “I know that those demonic beasts have a safe haven in the Hazbin world like the demons do in Zoophobia’s Hell. Maybe once mother and I find it, we can stop those scum from spreading and planning devious things. Of course, we would need to take out the powerful ones when we can. Everyone knows that angelic blades can instantly kill demons. That’s why I carry mine wherever I go.”

 “Adina has summoned all four of us to go on a mission. Not like the interrogation or cleansing missions in Zoophobia Hell. No. This mission was very special. The four of us were to accompany her to the Hazbin Hell world, and find out more information about the princess and her hotel. Some say that the princess wants to unite Heaven and Hell’s denizens of the Hazbin world to create a larger diverse culture full of music, laughter and dancing creatures. Preposterous.”

 “God had heard about the program from a distance. Rumor was, if demons were to be redeemed, Heaven would get overcrowded and chaos would ensue. The unwanted guests would disrupt the entire Heavenly system, possibly creating an apocalyptic war as deadly as the one where Lucifer tried to fight God. God only allows those with no flaws or sins to enter Heaven; it’s been that way for centuries. Adina, God, the angels and exorcists all agree that those in Hell are dangerous and should not be allowed into paradise.”

 “Hatchet and I remain loyal to mother, though for Hatchet, it’s mostly because he cares for me and doesn’t want to let me down. Marx is grumpy and reluctant as usual. Perhaps he’s upset over a broken relationship or a show or something, not that I care. I briefly saw him drinking at a bar one time. Malcom, blind as he is, looks concerned. He obviously doesn’t want to leave his students and partake in this mission. Alas, Adina is a powerful being, perhaps second to God, so no one dare disobey her if they want to live a pain-free existence. Being dragon-shapeshifters, we can easily fight when needed. And in our bi-pedal forms, we can easily spy and blend in with Hell’s inhabitants.”

 “Adina brings out a special device, shaped like a music box. It is golden and pink in color, nearly indestructible. After typing in a code (A24, 921028, VVZPP), the music box slowly opens with a faint whirl, revealing a figure of a fluffy cat. The cat slowly turns around on the stand as cheery music begins to play from the box. The cat stops and from its eyes, flashes a black outline of a portal in the air.”

 “The portal lights up in neon pink, revealing elaborate symbols and one spot shaped like a horse named Spindle.”  

 “There was only one other device in the Hazbin world that could open a portal to Zoophobia, Heaven and perhaps Earth (along with open any door in the Hazbin Hotel), it was another music box with a black winged Sinner’s Key. All that was needed was the key or a grimoire) and a powerful demon or angel who could open portals.”

 “A golden Do-Gooder’s Key (The kind used in Heaven) is revealed from an outward moving slot from inside the box. Adina picks it up with her delicate white fingers and places it through a glowing key hole in the portal. After she turns and releases it…”

 “Vivienne, Vivienne, Aperiam in porta!”

 “Adina chants the phrase to open the glowing portal in front of us. It is the only known gateway to the Hazbin world. The fabric of Zoophobia fades in front of us, revealing a hole to a crimson sky world.”

 “We all get ready to go through...set to fulfil our destinies…”

 “But let’s go back to the past a bit…”

“The Dragon’s Keep”

 Many years ago, my brothers and I were born from special eggs in the Zoophobia world. Adina became lonely over the centuries. Although she had lots of power, it was tiring to travel to different worlds and interrogate denizens all the time. She eventually wanted someone to help her out in her work. Although she was ruthless to demons, she did care deeply for those in Zoophobia and Heaven. She felt like she was part of something bigger; she was doing part of His work, after all.

 “Oh what a marvelous place Heaven is,” she sighed to herself. “But the days drag on. I feel my legacy will eventually go unnoticed. If only there was a way I could pass down my values to a new generation.”

 Then, it came to her: she wanted children of her own.

 But in Heaven, casual sex was seen as one of the many sins not allowed. Plus, angels and demons were creatures that could not reproduce, unlike humans.

 Adina soon went to God for advice, bowing respectfully when she saw Him. She stood on a light blue rug that led to a set of marble steps. Golden pillars reached up into the sky, hovering on clouds that appeared on both sides of the open space hall. Two guards dressed in white stood hovering on either side, with flames for faces and six red wings flapping softly from their backs. Above Adina were the fixed stars and galaxies, shining brightly overhead, in contrast to the sky on the sides. Not too far away, angels were darting around large white roses, spreading songs and feelings of joy to other beings born within the petals. She was briefly reminded of her own birth, her name meaning “gentle” and “mild.”

 “Your Heavenly Grace,” Adina said, soon standing up, folding her white wings behind her. God appeared as a large golden eye surrounded by golden wheels with eyes covering them and small angel wings spread out from them. The wheels and wings were moving, but God as the eye stared unblinkingly at her. A white marble throne stood behind Him.

 “My lovely consort,” he replied, kindness in his voice. “So wonderful to see you again. What is it that you seek?”

 “I grow ever lonesome, and feel that what I do isn’t quite enough.”

 “My dear, your work is more than enough. I chose you to be the angel of Divine Retribution. You have organized and led countless Exorcists to Hell and back. Not to mention you saved so many souls who almost lost their way. Are you not happy?”

 “I truly am, my Lord. It’s just…I want someone who can help carry out my work. One who could work with me, but also be cared for by me. I’d like to have children of my own.”

 “Ah,” said God. “A beautiful wish. Alas, you know that angels cannot procreate.”

 “I do know. That’s why I came to you for help.”

 “Well, there is a way,” He said. “You remember you were created from holy starlight and dragon’s blood, right?”

 She nodded.

 “You have the ability to give birth to offspring. Dragon shapeshifters, and powerful ones. Here’s what you will do.”

 Adina listened intently.

 God had sent her on a journey across the world of Zoophobia. She was to retrieve four special items and bring them to a nest in a vast cavern. She remembered the instructions she was given:

  “Find the fur of a polecat on a rock during the full moon.

Find a gold frowning theater mask in the camp of rule breakers by the river.

Find the hatchet that lies within a volcano, where fire roars to life.

Find a religious text in the hands of St. Columba where the wind blows high.”

 Earth, water, fire and air.

 Finding the polecat pelt was easy; she traveled to the forest and there it was, illuminated and clean in the moonlight.

Getting the mask was harder. She had to ward off several shady looking creatures, and a few monsters as well.

After grabbing the ax from the volcano and nearly plunging into lava, she had to use lots of holy water to heal her singed skin and wings.

Finally, she found the leather bound book in the hands of a St. Columba statue, high up in the mountains.

 “Head to the largest habitable cavern. Create a large secure nest and place the objects inside.”

 At last, she traveled to the cavern, created a large nest of sticks and twigs, and gently placed the objects inside. Her glowing eyes allowed her to see in the dark. Toward the back of the cave was a pile of gold coins and a few precious gems scattered around.

 “A decent lair for dragons. They will reside here before being introduced to the rest of the city.”

  “Recite this spell to begin the transformation and birthing process.”

 Adina hovered her hands over the objects and chanted in Latin. The objects lit up in flaming spheres of light, transforming into speckled oval-shaped white eggs.

 The effort of doing the spell made Adina fall unconscious for several days.

 Adina stirred awake, her eyes fluttering open. She could hear some movement coming from the eggs. She stood up from the atone floor and let out a soft gasp.

 Her children were about to hatch!

 She carefully took the nest, flapped her wings forward, and placed it in a secure spot on top of a high cliff near the cave. She made sure that it lay within the sunlight and not too close to the edge.

 The eggs then gradually turned different colors. The one from the polecat pelt turned dark green and teal. The one from the mask became yellow and black. The one from the hatchet was red and orange. Finally, the egg from the book was light green and black.

 The green and teal egg wobbled first. A dark crack snaked slowly over the surface. More cracks began to appear, creating intricate designs. Ever so carefully, bits of shell fell off from different spots. A beck poked through, and the rest of the shells fell away.

 There I was, small with a dark green body, wings and a pointed tail. My new green-teal eyes scanned the area, curiously. It was love at first sight when I saw my mother’s smiling face. Adina stroked my head and back lovingly with her fingers, me letting out a pleased sound. I nudged my face repeatedly into her hand, a musical chuckle coming from Adina.

 “You are going to do great things, my little Fitch.”

 Around thirty minutes later, two eggs began to stir. The fiery colored one and the yellow-black one. The eggs bonked into each other several times, and chirping could be heard from inside.

 “Oh? Who’s coming next?” she asked.

 Adina soon had her answer. A part of the yellow and black shell was shoved off, landing onto the nest like a door breaking down. A dark purple and yellow dragon did a little pose before stumbling out of the shell remains. He shook off the embryonic fluids from his scales, showing a grin of small teeth just beginning to form. Moments later, the fiery egg beside him exploded, sending shells and sparks everywhere. I jumped into mother’s hands, terrified, while the purple dragon covered his little head with his arms. A slender white dragon appeared, shaking away bits of shell from his small horns. (This was before he got all his tattoos). His red-orange eyes darted around excitedly, spotting the purple dragon.

 “Hatchet!” Adina scolded as the white dragon began to play-wrestle his brother with loud croaks. “Leave Marx alone!”

 But little Marx soon joined in the fun, pushing his brother back with his little feet. Hatchet’s small spiked tail smacked Marx in the face and the dragon squeaked in brief pain. Little me jumped from mother’s hands, biting Marx’s tail.

 For several minutes, the three of us rough-housed in the nest, testing out our new senses and bodies.

 Adina soon grew concerned. “What about the last egg?”

 Indeed, the last egg had remained as still as ever. Adina shooed Hatchet away when he tried to knock on the hard light green shell.

 “Oh dear,” she sighed. Was it a stillborn? She couldn’t bear that. Minutes became hours. The egg still hadn’t hatched by the morning.

 Finally, in the evening, after Adina had almost given up hope, a small chirp was heard. The other dragons peered to get a closer look. Cracks snaked along the egg shell in multiple directions. At long last, holes appeared in the egg, before a closed eye was revealed through one hole. The egg split open and a light green and darker green dragon was revealed. He was slender, with thin see-through wings and a thin pointed face. He sniffed and slowly opened his eyes.

 “Malcom,” Adina exclaimed, overjoyed to see her youngest son. Malcom took several shaking steps forward, and bumped right into Marx. Marx growled in protest. Malcom’s eyes were cloudy white.

 “He’s blind,” Adina realized.

 Malcom’s ears picked up the sounds of bats fluttering from above the cave. He jumped into the air, but fell flat on his back. I helped him up and licked his face.

 “You guys will need flying lessons one day,” Adina said.

 For several days, Adina brought in meat, game and other foods for us. Hatchet, in particular, loved to eat rabbits. The four of us were much closer back then, than we are now. Eventually, we would learn to breathe fire, fly, talk and hunt for ourselves. We were to go to school and learn to live a more civilized life when we turned one year old, (equates to five human years). Adina had given us brief glimpses of the city and some tidbits.

 “Bi-pedal animals wear clothes,” she said. “But full animals don’t have to. Eating humans or other creatures is forbidden.”

 “Awww man,” Hatchet groaned.

 “Shut up and go chase a rabbit,” Marx muttered to him.

 “Rabbit? Where?”

 Marx rolled his eyes as Adina continued.

 “Do not go outside the Safe Haven border without permission. There are dangerous humans out there with weapons that can kill you.”

 “But we’re dragons,” Hatchet mentioned in his child-like bi-pedal form. “We live longer than them and are more powerful. Can’t we just burn down their cities and stuff?”

 “Did you not hear what mother just said?” I chided him. “They have weapons that can pierce through dragon scales. Interacting with them would only put the districts in danger and confusion. Idiot, I swear.”

 “Swearing’s not very nice,” Malcom added. “I heard one guy say something really bad to another, he was like, ‘oh no you didn’t,’ the other was like, ‘yeah huh, I just did,’ and then…”

 “You talk too much,” I deadpanned.

 “You didn’t even let me finish.”

 “Pay attention, my sons,” Adina said, before continuing her lecture.

   A week after we were born, we had gotten the hang of hunting for ourselves. Me and Hatchet, in particular were the better hunters among the group. Hatchet would eat rabbits whenever he could. (To this day, I don’t understand his obsession with them). We steered clear of bears or black horned monsters who could overpower us or swipe us down with their paws.

 Adina taught us how to speak, read, write, and, of course, how to fly.

 “Feel the direction the wind is blowing,” she said. “Flapping your wings propels you forward but don’t overdo it. Deep breaths and remaining calm are key. Try and land straight on your feet…”

 She said this just before Malcom came in for a faulty landing. He bashed into a rock face, tumbling down onto the ground in a heap. Marx tripped on his tail and almost fell, but managed to straighten himself up. Hatchet laughing whenever I fumbled only encouraged me to work harder. Hatchet was doing pretty well, if you didn’t count the time his white wings got torn up a bit from flying through tree branches.

 It took a few years for us to fully master our flying and shapeshifting abilities. But I grew fast and learned fast.

 I led my brothers when we practiced diving off a cliff. Taking a deep breath, I jumped off the cliff, morphed into my dragon form and spread out my wings gracefully. Adina’s face blended into the clouds; she looked proud. Hatchet was up next.

 “Whoo-hoo!” he roared, as he morphed into his white dragon form and took off. A gust of yellow fire shot from his mouth, creating a ring for him to fly through. I smiled a bit and rolled my eyes at him. We weren’t at full size yet, but we weren’t too far off.

 “Isn’t this amazing, Fitch?” Hatchet called as he flew beside me. We stared at the canyons and rocky ground below us. “Rawr!” he called, pleased to hear his voice echo through the air.

 “Focus, please,” I said. “Mother’s looking for grace and agility, not loudness.”

 “Fitchy…am I being too quiet?!”

 His loud voice and laughter rang in my ears.

 “Sorry, I can’t hear you over your need to shut up,” I retorted.

 Hatchet scoffed. “You’re always so…erm…stuffy. I’d say almost as grumpy as Marx back there.”

 Marx was pacing back and forth back on the cliff in his bi-pedal form. We all wore white loincloths over our waists that would appear even after we had transformed from our dragon forms. Our chests had thin fur that matched our hair colors.

 He appeared to be talking to himself, as if planning some kind of imaginary show.

 “Jerry the knight gallops through the woods, only to tremble in fear at the four mighty brothers. Then the camera…one of the objects from the city that Adina told us about…pins up and down as we stomp toward our victim. He runs and runs, the scene going by in a blur…”

 “Are you going or what?” Malcom asked.

 “Right!” Marx called, raising a fist and standing straight. “Life is but the next grand adventure. We now roll too…”

 He spread his wings…

 “Marx of Karl, taking off!”

 He jumped into the air. Malcom misjudged his next step and plummeted rapidly to the ground with a shocked yelp.

 Hatchet and I turned around. “Malcom!” Hatchet cried in fear.

 Malcom was briefly scared, but soon got over it. With a new happy look on his face, he spread out his green wings and swirled toward us. “Speak up so I can hear you!” he called out.

 “We’re going this way!” I said as I led the group once again.

 “What the…” Marx began, looking at Malcom. “You’re not scared.”

 “No. Not really.”

 “This is only your third time in the air. And you can’t see anything!”

 “I can hear, smell and feel where things are. It’s easier on the ground but I’m just happy to be with my dragon bros!”

 “Bros?” Marx raised an eyebrow.

 “Hey look, I’m not even in my full dragon form! You should totally try it!”

 The three of us morphed into our bi-pedal forms, while still retaining our wings. We huddled close to support ourselves.

 “W-w-w-whoa this feeling sure is new,” Hatchet muttered, trying not to look down. I, too, was feeling vulnerable, flying for the first time in this form.

 “Don’t look down,” I suggested.

 But of course, he didn’t listen.

 “Oh, no, Fitch, I’m looking down! Yaahhhh!”

 “Get off me!” I said, pushing him off when he grabbed my back. He clawed at the air in desperation.

“You’re not drowning, Hatch,” Marx sighed.

  Marx muttered some prayers as he grabbed hold of Hatchet to steady him. Hatchet took some deep breaths, settling down.

 “Hahahaha!” Malcom laughed in bliss. “You’ll get used to it eventually!”

 “How long is eventually?” Hatchet asked.

 “How should I know?”

 The four of us landed haphazardly into a nearby lake after a wind knocked us slightly off course. Water splashed everywhere after we landed. Hatchet shook off water droplets from his scales and wings.

 “Bleh! I hate baths!”

 “I’ll say you needed one, Hatch,” Malcom said with a grin.

 A deep growl rumbled in Hatchet’s throat. “Wanna see what it’s like to drown? Oh wait, you can’t.”

 “At least I don’t have to lay my eyes on your monstrosity of a form.”

 “What was that?!”

 “Heheheh. You heard me, Hatch.”

 “Empty threats and callous fighting, per usual,” Marx remarked, crossing his arms as his brothers landed some kicks and punches in the water. I stood up and narrowed my eyes. I had trouble seeing things off in the distance. Those things Adina called glasses would be very helpful.

 “That’s quite enough, both of you!” I commanded, a burst of teal fire escaping my mouth. It was enough to make Hatchet and Malcom pay attention. Good.

 “Anyone up for a swim?” Malcom asked.

 “Absolutely not,” Marx replied.

 “For once, I agree. I say we find ourselves some food and get out of here,” I advised.

 “Alright,” Hatchet agreed, separating from Malcom with a grin. “What are we waiting for? Food would be great right now.”

 “When are you not hungry?” Marx asked Hatchet.

 “Let me think…Never!”

   Turning back into our dragon forms, we hunted for food before heading back home.  Hatchet had a knack for finding rabbits almost anywhere…and wouldn’t share with us.

 “That’s my rabbit!” Hatchet declared.

 Marx tried to grab the small dead carcass from his brother’s hands.

 “For Viv’s sake!” cried Marx. “You’ve had enough of them already! It’s my turn.”

 “Let go!”

 “You let go!”

 The boys struggled for a bit until Hatchet accidentally ripped off Marx’s loincloth.

 Marx turned red and angry in the face as Hatchet stuck out his tongue and laughed.

 “You’re such a filthy hothead!” Marx spat as he picked up the cloth and tied it back around his waist.

 We found a river of fresh water for us to drink. In our dragon forms, we spit water at each other playfully and had a contest to see who could spit the farthest. It came as a tie between me and Hatchet. Hatchet, being the most athletically inclined, won intense races we had, both on the ground and in the air. A black creature with horns chased after us and nearly devoured poor Malcom, but thankfully, several hard punches from me and the others caused the beast to flee. In celebration, Hatchet juggled fireballs in his hands before catching them all in his mouth.

 “That beast will be “dragon” himself to oblivion! Haha! Get it?” Hatchet chuckled at his joke. Malcom giggled while Marx and I groaned in annoyance.

  Once we all got back, we turned into our bi-pedal forms once more. Adina said that those would be our default forms most of the time, so she encouraged us to get used to them.

 As we reached the mouth of the cave, Hatchet stuffed a severed brown rabbit’s head into his mouth with a greedy look on his face.

 “You know that is considered bad manners, don’t you?” I asked, referring back to mother’s lecture. Hatchet wiped off some blood from his pointed face with his arm.

 Hatchet scoffed. “Who cares? We aren’t going to the city for…another month, at least.”

 “It’ll be here faster than you know it, Hatch. It’d be best if we all prepare ourselves soon.”

 “Whatever you say, Fitchy.”

 “Stop calling me that. It’s Fitch.”

 “Same thing.”

  Our steps echoed as we arrived back into the cave at dusk. Hatchet shot a jet of fire up toward hanging bats, who screeched in protest, flapping their wings.

 One scorched bat fell down and landed right into Malcom’s mouth as he yawned. After a look of surprise, he happily chewed up the creature and swallowed.

 “I guess food can fall from the sky,” he said, licking his lips.

 “Jeez Malc, you’re even blinder than the bats,” Marx mentioned.

 “Technically, bats use echolocation to track down their food and figure out their surroundings. They aren’t as blind as you think.”

 “Hmpth. Know-it all.”

 We curled up in our bed nests that were spread out among the cave. They were nests with a few pillows and some blankets inside them. Malcom was the only one who hadn’t outgrown being tucked in. Since mother was busy, Marx came over and helped relax his brother. Malcom’s nest was by a chest of gold coins and some fancy books. They were some of many treasures that Adina magically provided for us. (She had a knack for spoiling us when she wasn’t stern.)

 Marx sighed and hopped into his nest by a pile of royal robes nearby. Hatchet slept near, well, a hatchet, along with a few golden goblets and gems. I soon curled up in my nest, the one nearest to some discarded swords, and bladed silver weapons. Apparently, Adina said she would teach me how to use them later on.

 “If you want to protect yourself and your brothers,” she had said, “You’ll need to learn how to defend yourself.”

 Of course, she hadn’t told me anything about hunting demons until I was older, but I was still eager to learn, nonetheless. The full moon and stars shone through a hole in the cave, a beautiful sight. Before long, the four of us were snoozing peacefully away.

 The assassin, the actor, the punk, and the nerd. A very unique dragon family indeed.

[songwriting-ready]

How to rhyme- Try these rhyme schemes to get your songs poppin’

Grab my new Songwriting Blueprint to guide your song idea from start to finish.

Perfect Rhymes - rhymes in which different consonants are followed by identical vowel and consonant sounds, such as in moon and June. The stressed sound that ends the line is identical. 

Imperfect Rhymes - a rhyme in which there is only a partial matching of sounds (e.g., love and move ).  I have heard these described as hard rhymes.  They are perfectly acceptable and can really change the course of you song

One Rhymes (masculine) - a rhyme of final stressed syllables (e.g., blow / flow, confess / redress ).  This is where a single syllable rhymes or the last syllable in a multi syllable word is rhymed. 

Two Rhymes (feminine) - a rhyme between stressed syllables followed by one or more unstressed syllables (e.g., stocking / shocking, glamorous / amorous .).  These are two syllable rhymes with the emphasis on the first.  The vowels and inner consonants must match. 

Three Rhymes - These are where the last three syllables rhyme and the preceding consonants differ (e.g., medium/tedium, facilitate, rehabilitate.).

Open Rhymes - Open rhymes do not end on hard consonants.  Try to use these them on notes that are to be sustained (e.g., glow/snow, fly/try.).

Closed Rhymes - These are rhymes that end in a consonant.  You can use phonetics to correct the sounds of closed rhymes when singing into a microphone.  You can pronounce b’s with v’s etc...

Closed rhymes make us close our mouths when singing and can be touch to pronounce when singing. 

Inside Rhymes - Inside rhymes are internal and occur within the line (e.g., that takes the cake for goodness sake.). 

Rhyme Rules

- make rhymes consistent

- use the same rhyme pattern in all verses

- use the same rhyme pattern for your verse and chorus

- use a different rhyme scheme for your bridge

Types of Rhyme schemes

The ABAB - The abab scheme rhymes the first and third lines & the second and fourth lines of a verse)

A - shaking

B - hands

A - baking

B - pans

The AABB - The aabb rhymes the first and second lines & the third and fourth lines

A - tuck

A -buck

B -save

B- rave

The AAAA - The aaaa rhymes all four lines. 

A - poor

A - chore

A - more

A - floor

The ABCB - The abcb rhymes the second and the fourth line

A - best

B - choice

C -  gets

B - moist

The ABAA - Rhymes the first, third, and fourth lines

A- fat

B - blue

A - cat

A - hat

The AAB - Rhymes first and second lines

A - pine

A - fine

B -fly

Final thoughts on rhyme

- Keep it simple - Focus on one idea throughout the song.

- Keep it clear - Use specific pronouns that tell who is doing the talking (e.g., him, her, they, them it.). 

- Keep it tight - Make every word count.  Eliminate empty adjectives adverbs that aren’t necessary.

- Keep it focused- Use short strong one syllable words.  Put the important words at the end of the line. Rhyme the words you want to stress.

- Keep it consistent - Keep the language and tone the same throughout the song.  Keep your themes consistently literal or consistently figurative. 

- Keep it coherent - Make sure every cause or reaction has an effect.  Maintain logical chronology from line to line.

- Keep it specific - Go into detail about your subjects and try to show an emotion rather than tell it.

- Keep it unified - let the elements of time, place, and action blend together into a unified piece. 

- Keep it real - nothing beats the real thing.  Make sure your putting yourself into your songs.  The craft is just a guideline not a substitute for the real thing.

[genskigen]

Another Story

As I am writing this, I have Life Goes On in the background. You may have heard about the latest single of BTS even if you did not want to. That’s how, I guess, unstoppable the boys are.

Unstoppable, indeed, because look at where I am now – enjoying every second spent in the rabbit hole. Isn’t this the best place on earth? I would say so.  It’s nothing like being trapped in a labyrinth as this has been my escape room; my safe chamber where I have found sanity for the last three months despite the unfortunate circumstances.

Writing a blog is probably way too much, but I must find a way to let my emotions out of my system. I know I just have to, and I want to talk about the group that gave me the very reason to go on, to be more accepting of myself, and to be just the person I am. The group that swiftly turned my mundane life in full 360. No other than, BTS.

They’ve been dominating the world for 7 years, but never did I bat an eye until they gave me a taste of my own medicine after watching their VMA performance of Dynamite. If this is how good karma could get, then I am all for it and I would even volunteer as tribute.

As days passed, the curiosity and interest started to pique after checking random recommended videos on Youtube without me realizing that I was (I can��t say gradually) being dragged by the inevitable force the rabbit hole has. In a matter of days, I became a fan and there’s no asking why because I clearly know the reason. The boys’ genuine spirit has captured my very own life-force and has tamed my restless mind.

They are the only global stars whom I can relate and connect with regardless of the differences because they keep their feet on the ground. We all know that fame requires a great deal of strength for an artist to not grow into another individual s/he wouldn’t even recognize. They are just who they simply are.

They are the monsters we see on stage, but I admire how naturally goofy and dorky they are off cam that filming them 24/7 wouldn’t even matter because what see is what we get. It is incredibly empowering how they can sustain their positivity despite living in a high-pressured environment. Their selfless effort to remain blissful to keep their fans happy is through the roof. Undoubtedly, the boys are bulletproof.

It’s also no news to us that they almost have everything and they can buy anything with a snap of a finger, but it is moving how they remain appreciative of the little things – that they’d choose to have gummy bears over fancy candies; that they’d choose to eat meat over skipping meals and how unafraid they are to show the entire world their idiosyncrasies most likely millions can relate to. They are shouting and screaming loud that they are normal human beings to the point we feel they believe they don’t deserve all the recognition they are getting. For them, they are these seven human beings who sing and dance although it’s no surprise  it’s in their DNA to be great at what they do. And for us, fans, this is what sets them apart.

As I near the bottom of my page, I want to take this time and mention that their professionalism unquestionably speaks volumes. Going back to the time I saw Dynamite, I can’t deny how complex the steps were and I know for certain that these were not easy to learn, but they were able to deliver like one person was multiplied into seven! Just thinking about what they have to go through so they can give their fans the performance they want to see makes me shake my head and back down already. It is impressive that all seven of them have been in the industry for seven straight years of blood, sweat, and tears.

Now that we are in the Life Goes On era, the boys have shown evidence of how hardworking they are based on what they have included in the album, and every artist who plans on going back should learn from them. That this is how a major comeback is done. It’s ironic how they pulled off another record that doesn’t seem hurriedly done considering that their last release was made a few months back. There is no question that all of them poured their hearts out in writing every word of the songs in BE. They are the perfect epitome of loving their craft a thousand-fold and that for them, there is no in between. They have their own way of saying thank you for all the love that they receive because for them, they are not seven without their ARMYs.

Speaking of ARMYs, I am one of the millions thankful for the existence of the group. They have become a massive inspiration to take off the blanket and get out of bed each morning; they have been a constant reminder that the world has tons of setback to offer, but life goes on. They have been the voice in my head whispering that it is never wrong to believe in myself when I start to question my purpose; that the road to where I want to be is a long journey, but with burning passion and desire, it’s not impossible to make my dreams a reality.

They have helped me understand the intricate map of my soul; they have awakened the wings that have long been broken; and they have let me experience the epiphany of unravelling the true worth of myself – that I can be where and who I want to BE.

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

 In your magic shop, you are your own idol; you are your own Anpanman. There’s no one else to make it right; there’s no one else to save you and save me.

If you feel you are ready to let go, wait for crystal snow; wait for spring day – the day we’d feel euphoria and be over the moon -- and let the mic drop.

Life sometimes becomes blue & grey, but life goes on. We are here to stay.

Keep burning up! Like a dynamite!

[coffeedrivenfiction]

Ba Sing Se Can Wait

"You know what the scary part of trying is?"

"Duh. Failing."

"I used to think that, I really did, but as we keep going… I've come to realize that the scary part about trying is actually succeeding."

"Succee—what? You're gonna have to explain that one to me. I was with you, for a good while, up until this point… I mean, I sorta get it—no, I get it… I do, I get it, I just wanna see where you're coming from with it. Just so we're on the same page. You and me. I. You and I…."

When Sokka glanced over at that the boy sitting next to him, the boy with the resplendently bald head adorned with a blue arrow tattoo, he could tell by the Avatar's quaint expression that his smooth talking had just bought him some time to figure out just what in the hell Aang was talking about.

The true fear of trying was... success?

How?

In what world?

The last he had heard, the last life had taught him, how he had been raised all throughout his short yet noble life, success was the manifestation of boundless trying, numerous attempts. The concept of being fearful of trying because it might—and should—lead to success was baffling.

More baffling than Katara still attempting to waterbend even at this late hour.

The sky was a twinkling landscape marked with stares and other wonders that seemed close enough to reach out for yet far enough to wish upon. Below that cosmic carpet, Toph had been the first to fall asleep, having crafted the most majestic castle along the shoreline, a castle with four bedrooms, one of which Appa occupied quite naturally, a built in jacuzzi, and this weird little effigy of Sokka that sat in the main hall that looked absolutely nothing like Sokka. The poor earthbender was knocked out, having been lulled into an early sleep by the sound of Katara relentlessly practicing a new waterbending maneuver.

Admittedly, the sight of Katara, free of her hair tie and bathed in the pale light of the moon on high, was an impressive one. Every one of her attempts at trying to combine twin ropes of water into one that would then split into four other tendrils was amazing, especially when she failed or lost focus and the water exploded into glistening sparkles so much like diamonds.

A few feet back, Sokka and Aang sat, previously in silence before the sound of Katara's enervated grunts and growls propelled them into subdued speech. Conversation that was by no means important or worth repeating, just something to break up the tension while occasionally yelling out an encouraging word or two.

An hour ago, Sokka had suggested calling it a night—"We're gonna need our strength for tomorrow, it's the biiiiig move, and we don't wanna take forever getting to Ba Sing Se and"—but after Katara whipped a lance of water at him, both he and Aang summarily decided that Ba Sing Se could probably wait another day or two.

It was part of the Earth Kingdom, after all; it wasn't going anywhere.

"Being taught by Master Pakku really lit a fire under her," Aang continued softly, observing the delicate yet fierce way Katara's arms flowed through every stance she stepped into. It was almost like witnessing a performance, one in its infantile stages to be sure, but the promise of something great was there, shining underneath all the sweat and failure.

Shifting somewhat on the boulder Aang had brought forth for them to use as a chair of sorts, Sokka scratched at his nose. To say Aang's words were an understatement would also, in itself, be an understatement; his sister might as well have turned into a firebender for all the flames he could see flickering just beyond those normally docile pupils of hers. There was unmistakable drive there, a hereto unforeseen degree of determination that was on full display tonight as they watched Katara step and shift and pivot, upsetting the ocean before them into a frothing, bubbling mass.

To tell her to stop now would be tantamount to ending his own life, he felt that much was certain.

Of course, Sokka knew he was stronger than his younger sister—everyone knew it, as a matter of fact—but even he knew better than to disturb her when she was focused.

"She wants to be better than the best waterbender," Sokka responded in a drone, legs drawn up and elbows to his knees. He swished a pine needle between his lips. "What's that got to do with what we were talking about, though?"

"How many times do you think she's gonna fail on the road to being a waterbending master?" For the first time in a long while, Aang adverted his gaze away from Katara's intricate dance and observed the sky. Despite the sparkling darkness above, it was a truly humid night, perfect for stargazing. "Becoming a master isn't something that comes in the span of days... or months... or even years. The title comes with decades of practice, combining wisdom and technique and power..." Something tight settled into his eyes, furrowing his brow. "How many failures is that?"

"How many...? Uhh..." Sokka glanced at his hands, flaring his fingers several times before his head started to hurt and he gave up with an exasperated shrug. "I... Aang, I don't know, probably a lot... a bunch of a lots, why?"

"Because..." Aang gripped himself by the shoulder, squeezing under his knuckles cracked. "Failing is... it's pretty easy."

"You're kidding." Sokka looked affronted and leaned in closer. "How is failing easier?"

"It really is, especially when it's something like this," and Aang indicated toward Katara, who was picking herself up off the sandy shore and brushing grit from her clothes for what seemed like the tenth time, "because nothing is for certain. When it comes to exploring new territory... learning something new... you don't know what you're doing, do you? There's no ingrained roadmap, it's not like you jump outta bed one day and you suddenly know every technique and every hand movement. It takes time."

On the verge of arguing, Sokka lowered the finger he had lifted and instead placed it on his temple. That... made sense. A little. After all, he was a bonafide master with his throwing hatchet—able to knock whatever food Momo had stolen from him right out of those greedy little paws—but as awe-inspiring as his talent was, Aang had a point. It took a lot of effort, many tosses, many fails, many lumps on the backs of the heads of the people from his village...

"Okay, I get that," Sokka started slowly, lifting that finger once more and prodding Aang in the cheek. "So... that's where success comes in! And there's no way that's a bad thing! It means you reached the goal you were striving f—GUH!"

A ball of concentrated water burst over Sokka's face and he flailed about, nearly toppling off the rock.

"Wh-what in the—"

Katara stood stock-still before them, leaning forward as though caught in a breeze and glaring out into the ocean just with one her arms aimed behind her, palm face-up and fingers joined together like that of a spear.

Scrunched up like he had been struck, too, Aang was wide-eyed, staring at the back of Katara's head.

"I need to concentrate," was all she ground out, through gritted teeth even, and neither Aang nor Sokka dared breathe until she had picked up her routine again, elegantly flicking her wrists and summoning great ribbons of water to her call.

"Your sister's pretty crazy, though," Aang whispered, lowly, behind his hand, and Sokka frantically nodded.

"You're telling me this like I wasn't raised with her," Sokka retorted under his breath, wringing out his sodden shirt. "Let's just keep it down, I don't wanna get lassoed into the sea..."

"Agreed."

The two waited for a few more tense moments, once more getting lost in the elegance that resonated from Katara's every move, before picking up their earlier conversation.

"When you fail, nothing really happens," Aang sighed, "except you get to learn. You get to learn from what caused you to fail... if you're lucky. You can take a misstep, a wrong chop, a mixed hand movement—you can take all of those things and smooth it out. Every fail is jagged until it's smoothed out with success."

"Exactly my point." Sokka spoke so lightly that his lips didn't move. "Success is easier because once you're there... you're there."

"Except... that's when everything changes, like when the fire nation attacked," Aang continued, almost as if Sokka hadn't spoken. "When you fail, okay, cool, you know what's going to come next. You're going to try again—"

Sokka nodded stoutly, wondering how much longer he would be able to take sitting on their borrowed boulder until his butt went completely numb.

"—but when you succeed, when you become that master? A whole list of new responsibilities open up like that"—Aang pantomimed snapping his fingers—"and nothing's the same."

Exhaling all the tension that came from anticipating Aang snapping his fingers out loud and suffering another strike from Katara, Sokka slouched forward, letting his arms dangle. "That's... but that's kinda how things go, isn't it?"

"I dunno. I think I'm figuring that out as we go," Aang admitted with a nervous grin. "I just know when you succeed, things can't be like how they were when you failed, can they? Like, look at Katara... she's failing pretty hard right now—"

"—please don't hear, please don't hear, please don't hear—"

"—but we know she's gonna make it. Course she is, she's Katara." It was barely noticeable, the soft smile that lifted the corners of Aangs mouth, but Sokka didn't miss it. "When she does, she's... there's gonna be expectations. With that knowledge and power, people are gonna wanna learn from you, they're gonna want you to teach, and lead, and—and help prosper. They're gonna come calling, near and far, everyday, looking for your services. That's... that's a lot to deal with, ain't it? More than just failing."

Beyond that smile, Sokka could see the trepidation settling into Aang's stare.

"It's just... when you fail, nobody expects nothing, you can keep on going like you were, semi-sorta free? The moment you succeed, though... you can't go back. You can't unlearn what you've mastered, you've got to... your road changes and you gotta walk it."

The night air was powerfully refreshing, and more than a little chilling while Sokka sat there in damp clothes. He stared out at his sister, silently observing... tracing her every step to memory. "I can see that," he said, pulling the pine needle from between his lips. "Yeah, I can see why that would be kinda..."

"Scary," Aang supplied hoarsely, bringing his own legs up and wrapping his arms around them. "I don't fear failure, Sokka. I fear success. I fear making it exactly where I need to be... and not being enough to stay there."

Of all the fears Sokka struggled with, known and unknown, a fear of success had never been one of them.

Until this very moment.

The grating splashes that signaled another failure on Katara's part were growing noticeably infrequent. If Sokka was developing a chill then Katara, weighed down by her waterlogged garments, had to be downright frozen, but she didn't drop her arms, she didn't relax her fingers or allow her aching legs to fold. Every breath she drew in was ragged and every exhale came out as a puff of visible air; she blinked like she had a tick, paying no mind to the streaks of sweat curving down her face, dripping off her chin; she paid no mind to the roaring fatigue settling into each of her limbs, invading her thought process, begging her to give in, to try again tomorrow—

"We're not a species meant to bask in failure," Sokka said, sporting a grin when Katara lifted her trembling arms up high, "that's not our style, it's not in our nature, Aang."

Growing wide-eyed, Aang watched as Katara flexed her fingers, once more drawing a great swell of water to her command before sharply shifting her body, bending it with her.

"Failure is... well, you're right. It is easy," Sokka admitted, feeling anticipation twist at his insides, knotting tighter and tighter as the rivulets of water under his sister's control shivered and twirled. "Which is why we can't settle there. We have to strive for success and all the terrifying new roads that it opens up for us... 'cause those roads will open up new roads for others who will go on to open even more roads. And yeah, success might lead to new opportunities to mess up, that's the cycle, ain't it? At least one thing's for certain..."

He suddenly threw an arm over Aang's shoulder the moment before Katara slammed a foot down, flexed her fingers, and made an intense tearing motion, one that caused the giant water whip overhead to lash apart into a flurry of thrashing tendrils.

"You won't be alone, Aang. We're gonna fail together and succeed together. A lot."

Almost immediately after its birth, the wild creation lost its form and fell apart into a torrent of water that splashed back to the sea. "YEEEESSSS!" A prideful cry left Katara in the same instant feeling left her knees and she hit the ground. But she didn't fall over. She refused.

"I DID IT! I REALLY, REALLY DID IT!" Face smeared with sweat and grime, Katara whirled around on her knees to the boys behind her and somehow, despite having no energy left, managed to punch the air with a tightly coiled fist. "Did you guys see that? I DID IT!"

"She did it!" Sokka cried, latching onto Aang. "Oh thank God, she did it! Now we can finally go to sleep!"

"Congratulations, Katara!" Aang yelled, thoroughly impressed while trying to shove a weeping Sokka off, and he would have showered the beaming waterbender with more well-earned praise if the boulder the two of them sat on hadn't suddenly been violently snatched out from underneath them.

As Sokka and Aang collided with the unyielding sand, Toph poked her head out the front of her sand castle, groggily rubbing sleep from her eye. "HEY! It's way-too-late-for-this-mess o'clock! Shuddup and go to bed!"

"Th-that chick has some serious anger issues," Sokka groaned, trying to untangle his limbs from Aang.

Katara just giggled tiredly, "I'll agree with you there...," then she fell out.

The End

[romanroths]

howdy. my name is mar, i’m 23, i’m out here in est, i go by she/her. this is my emo fuck, roman rothschild as titus. i don’t have a connections page set up yet so fjslkfj. just like this badboi and i’ll come hit you up. so mf excited to be here! feel free to add me on discord @ nyc's salad rat#9307

the basics.

skeleton: titus name: roman alexander rothschild age: 22 faceclaim: nick robinson  gender: cismale  pronouns: he/him degree: chemistry 

the start.

his mother and father were only seventeen when roman was born, freshly out of high school. it would be a lie to dub the pregnancy as anything other than a massive accident, born out of the incessant desire to be known and seen by someone else at that age, right down to your core. what better way to do that then to let them in fully, spreading yourself open so wide that maybe someone might like even the ugly bits of you? maybe they loved each other, but maybe they didn’t. roman never did quite figure it out. they must have at least liked one another to some extent to stick it out, to produce two more lives after him. augustus and lucretia. they weren’t many things but they were consistent. 

new money. how very fitzgerald for a boy from england. how very ironic it is with a name like rothschild. roman’s mother had always claimed they came from royalty, that their blood was tinged with blue. that always seemed like bullshit as far as roman himself was concerned. just because things sounded important did not always mean that they were. but then, one day they were important. fortune has a funny way of finding the most entitled. childhood was almost painfully boring. no traumatic stories or wondrous tales. he was born in bath, and was raised in a flat that was under furnished and a bit small, but cozy nonetheless. he loved it there, and even after moving into their cavernous home in london when the money trickled in, felt more at home in bath amongst the olden architecture. the city was ancient, just like his soul. most of his youth was spent under the sky, devouring books by natural light, a quiet and calm boy who hardly ever even scraped a knee. his mother had resigned herself to looking after roman once he was born, dashing her dreams of being a grand actress for wiping the spit off of roman’s chin. maybe that’s why she harbored a hair of resentment for him. his father went forth to achieve his mba, specializing in computer sciences. he’d later go on to invent some very important, very complicated anti-virus system that ensured the protection of your pc. it was bought and then patented by apple on roman’s eleventh birthday. money was no longer an object. 

graduating to a higher social bracket proved to be more difficult than roman had anticipated. his mother had no issue in the matter, almost immediately swapping her dulled coats and modest silver for furs and diamonds. his father seemed relieved somehow, even if he spent even more time away than before. (though, it was later revealed that this was no longer due to work but due to the twenty-five year old secretary that seduced him. the family functions on a very, don’t ask, don’t tell basis. they all still pretend they don’t know.) even his siblings seemed more taken with their situation, getting lost in harrod’s with his mother, fetching treats they never used to be able to afford and filling their rooms with fun and frill. only roman was miserable. he longed for home. the nosiness of their street caused him to spend the night gaping at his ceiling, tears brimming his eyes. no matter how badly he willed it, he could no longer remember what the air in bath smelled of. he could no longer make out what the local bakery’s hot cross buns tasted like. all the money in the world could not cure his seemingly terminal case of homesickness. 

the preparatory school he attended was a buffet of different flavors of the rich and very posh. some who were even actually were related to the crown, and not in the naive sort of way his mother had claimed. most of them seemed to speak a language of their own, already so determined of their futures. future parliament members just like their parents, or perhaps diplomats. there were even a few children of celebrities, who roman discovered either had a thirst for the crafts of their parents or absolutely abhorred it. there was no middle ground with the children conceived by artists. 

during this period of solitude, roman as we know today was formed. once a sweet and relatively shy boy, he became a scribble of snark, sarcasm, and wit. it was not meant in malice, like many of his classmates and peers thought, but simply his sense of humor, outlook, and demeanor. anyone who was willing enough to befriend him, found him to be composed surprisingly of boyish grins and mischief. he was not the block of ice people made him out to be. all one had to do was offer him the warmth of their trust for him to melt. 

the skill that permitted him into imperium happened somewhat accidentally. worried that their eldest son was falling into a depression, his parents had him seated with a psychologist at fifteen. unbeknownst to him, his mother had stolen the journal he faithfully confided in and presented it to the spidery woman responsible for unspooling the tangle of roman’s thoughts. while she did find some of the contents troubling, most of all she was impressed with the nature in which the boy wrote. a penchant for words, able to bewitch the page and to turn it into the picture perfect image of whatever he envisioned in his brain. poetic and dark, like a brewing storm. she encouraged him to follow this talent, to untether it from his moments of melancholy and allow it to speak for stories. which is what he did. by seventeen he had published two books of poetry, and was working on a murder mystery story, involving two reunited lovers piecing together the murder of a recently deceased childhood friend. despite the fact that the works that he had published were done so anonymously, ashcroft was able to uncover the truth. and so as he entered university, he was accepted with much prestige into imperium. the one and only place that roman felt as though he might belong. that he might actually be happy.

until octavia’s death, of course. 

roman had loved tragedies until he had become one. that all he was now, tragedy with a heartbeat. was it better to love and have it taken from you? or was it better to have not loved at all? all he knows is that he was certain his heart had endured enough when she’d left the first time, he did not know what egregious sin he’d committed to lose her the second time. there was no peace for him anymore. nothing could quell the rainstorm in his soul. not even the things that used to work. laying out in the library with leather books in hand, walking around campus with the rest of the club and laughter in their voice, coffees with too much sugar, the first snowfall. all of it, devoid of anything but misery. ache. death. the only cure would have come in the form of her, octavia’s nimble fingers in his hair. missing her was so jarring, he felt that it was only a matter of time before he too would join her. 

as naive as it was, roman felt grateful for the ghostly visits. first he’d chalked it up to insanity. what else could it be? at least now he could see her, he could hear her, beyond the times when he pulled up videos of her on his phone while the sounds and sights of her were snuffed out by the sounds of his own wailing. he’d rather a shadow of her presence than nothing at all. 

rage came next. he wanted it to be lysander. needed it to be. lysander was responsible for all dissolution of his happiness. it was lysander who had seduced away the one person he’d ever loved. clearly it had to be lysander who had selfishly expelled her from the world too. it felt easier to condense his hatred to one person… roman wasn’t sure if there was enough space left in him to hate anyone else. but to learn this was wrong? roman had no idea what to make of it. it caused him to wet his sheets each night with sweat, to carve bloody moon imprints onto his palms. he felt ravenous for revenge. 

the brain.

[ based off loosely off of: camille preaker, theodore laurie, ponyboy curtis, & draco malfoy ]

+ romantic: it’s no secret that ro is a massive romantic. anyone who saw him interact with octavia could see it clear as day. he genuinely enjoyed the little things in a relationship many thought organically lessened with the hands of time. however, he continued to be spontaneous, attentive, and sweet. he continued with love notes, and presenting flowers whenever he could. even in the way he looked at his love seemed to be veiled in something ancient, something innate like he’d always known her in all of his lives. roman’s romanticism did not stop at tiv, though. it leaked into his poetry, as intense wafts of emotions always seem to steal our words. but there is even a romantic manner in which he treats his friends. he’s a little bit of your boyfriend when you’re close enough friends, to be perfectly honest. the boy has a earnest love for making those he cares for feel looked after. not all loves are amorous in nature, but that does not mean they are not to be cultivated with the same dedication to magic as the one he shared with his beloved. 

+ empathetic: sometimes a negative, mostly a positive roman has the unbearable burden of a heart too large for his mind. he sees whispers of goodness in every person (save for fucking lysander) even if he does not want to. if someone is under duress, or is wallowing in some sort of pain, roman’s instinct is to alleviate their plight. sometimes it comes begrudgingly, as though someone is holding a gun to his temple to execute such a task. not even a hint of a smile dressing his face, but he does it nonetheless, knowing he may be robbed of his sleep if not. but for his friends, he’d gladly die doing right by their hearts. 

+ noble: perhaps roman is of aristocratic blood after all, because roman is the most noble of them all. he’s not quite sure when the moral compass forged itself into his soul, and when it began to guide nearly all of his actions, but one day he woke up and was highly aware of the importance of sticking to one’s words. once he adopts something as the decent thing to do, he has a hard time shaking it. it shackles him. it ensnares him to do the right thing each time. for this reason, he’s been in trouble a few times for sticking his nose where it doesn’t necessarily belong, getting into tiffs with moronic bullies who pick on others or sleazy men with wandering hands. sometimes he wishes he could just mind his own fucking business. it certainly may have prevented him a black eye or two. 

- cynical: you could almost say that from the moment that roman kissed octavia, he could taste the doom on her lips. he certainly did not anticipate her grim ending, but he always knew she was too good for him. too beautiful, too happy, too perfect. just as her fickle gaze wanders, so shall she. but, this frame of mind was not unique to just this singular circumstance, it was roman’s entire mantra. all good in life would be expunged from him eventually. one must always anticipate the worst, and be pleasantly surprised when things pan out. for example, he’s a writer and yet he studies chemistry. why? because he’s afraid that his writing isn’t as good as he believes and will need a fall back. as of now, his fallback is pharmaceutical school. he finds happy endings in movies to be unbelievable. how is it realistic that everyone ends up happier than ever? bullshit. no fucking way. 

- self-destructive: (tw: drug/alcohol mention) he drenches himself in gasoline with the cynicism, but he lights the match by participating in self-destructive behavior. drinking and drugs become a regular part of ro’s life when he’s lounging in a pool of his own pain. he finds it best to numb it, to muffle the screams of doubt in his head with sharp shops of bourbon and snowy lines of cocaine. besides, he always tells himself it may make him a more interesting writer. what’s life without a little scandal, anyway? 

- aloof: despite having a pure heart, roman has a difficult time expressing himself. with page and pen, he manages to do so, but in person? to unlatch your cage of ribs and let someone inside? to watch the softness in your eyes when you admit a secret, or a snippet of deep affection? his shrink had chalked it up to the fact his parents never told him that they loved him. awkward kisses on the head on birthdays and maybe a stiff hug or two in between, but roman himself has always had a painfully hard time coming across as soft as he truly was, no matter how hard he tries. 

the quirks. 

has a tattoo of joan of arc on the left side of his ribcage. that sounds poetic but he also has a tattoo of the lochness monster with sunglasses on that he got while drunk in mexico one summer break.

presses flowers. usually he presses them to make bookmarks. leaves his favorite ones in his favorite books at the library for people to enjoy. if you ask him directly if he’s behind this random kindness though, he’ll tell you to fuck off.

has a pet goldfish that he’s successfully kept alive for six whole fucking years. her name is peaches. i think he’d fully lose it if peaches kicks it sometime soon too.

incredibly gifted when it comes to billiards. is known to drive further out of town to new bars to hustle people for money.

very much a “here’s my other headphone, let’s stare out the window together depressively” when on buses and train with his friends.

if you listen really hard in the library at like 8 pm, you will find him softly cry into the last book octavia checked out. come say hi, pals!

has very conflicting senses of style. likes clean lines and pristinely clean shirts and slacks which he then pairs with his most worn out chucks, and most lived in sweaters. if his shoes are clean and tidy then he has to be in a leather blazer. has this man ever brushed his hair in his life? absolutely not, but literally nothing he owns will ever appear wrinkled.

only has one pin on his leather messenger bag: “eat the rich” it says, as if he and literally most of his friends don’t consist of “the rich.”

his favorite book is love in a time of cholera

is a bit sentimental. he’s the type to keep movie tickets and receipts from good days he’s had with friends. he has them all in a big box, and when things are too heavy to bear he likes to sift through it all and remember all the pieces in time where things didn’t feel so ghastly. 

carries around a disposable camera. roman’s too lazy to get into actual film, but he likes the concept of physical photos, so he’ll usually have his wallet, keys, a book, and the shitty camera stuffed into his coat at all times. please note that his keys have an obnoxious amount of keychains for a man of his age. his favorite one is a koala whose eyes pop out when you squeeze it, gifted to him by his little sister. keeps a photo of his sister, octavia, and his best friend in his wallet, always.

he still hasn’t finished his book. needless to say, his publisher is really fucking pissed. every time someone brings it up, he says, “it’s almost done.” it’s not. not even close.

always always always makes wishes in fountains. keeps coins on him just for that purpose. and no, he never does reveal what he actually wishes for. 

the letter.

tivi, 

the other day i read somewhere that drowning is relatively quick. between the midst of the panic and terror, the average person only has between thirty to sixty seconds before they involuntarily suck in a mouthful of water. the pain of this process is supposed to be so severe, that you pass out. but just before you do, the lack of oxygen sends you into a state of euphoria. you feel nothing but the swath of water’s gentle embrace. it blankets your thoughts, and the water’s clasp around you is meant to bring you comfort, the same way babies like pools. it feels maternal, safe. i used to think love was like that. both terror and elation ribboned and sandwiched down into a single person. it was morbid, to compare death and love, i know that now. but perhaps my self conscious was always preparing me for this. the death of you. the death of my heart. the death of all things colored and pure in this life, all of which is to be buried with you and our child. do you think our baby would have liked pools? 

the pain is visceral. i can feel it, heavy and harsh in my lungs. in the crevices of my bones. in my arms, where the warmth of you lacks. i can even fucking taste it, even the bitter burn of scotch turning to ash in my mouth. no one knows how to approach this, or what to say to me. i keep receiving tight-lipped looks of people awash with pity and sympathy. you always hated when i cried. i did that a lot, didn’t i? a stupid fucking commercial about a father taking his daughter to ballet class and suddenly i’ve got my fists balled up hot and tight, and my eyes are at the ceiling trying to evaporate the ocean in my face. you were the only one i felt safe enough to be a complete an utter wreck in front of. but don’t worry, your headstone will get regular updates of my too loud, too long series of sobs. i’ll be forever faithful. 

i found ten synonyms in the thesaurus for “miss.” pine for, long to see, ache for, feel the loss of, regret the absence of, yearn for, feel nostalgic for, long for, need. none of them seem to fit this all consuming rot that you left behind in my heart. nonetheless, each of these substitute meanings live inside me. when i walk, i can feel them all shifting around, clashing around my insides, against one another, like bits of a snow-globe. except none of this feels glittery. i know it sounds childish, but before the day begins, and just as the misery begins to sink in, my first instinct is always to reach for my phone and call you to tell you about it. there was always honey to be found in your words. god, i fucking miss you.  

i have much to thank you for. it’d be naive to believe i could shrink all of it down into a single page, but i’ll try my best to do you justice. thank you for your patience, that of a saint at times. thank you for allowing me the great honor of your affection. thank you for every shard of laughter you extended to me. thank you for never calling me out on being a fucking awful dancer when i most certainly was. thank you for being the shepherd to my darkest secrets. [ REDACTED SECRET, BAYBEEEE ]  thank you for existing in my life, and washing my world with worth. i wish i could forget it now, but i’m afraid i’ll be chasing this, you, for the rest of forever. at least i have something to chase, i guess. thank you, thank you, thank you. 

tiv, wherever you are… please know that i love you and have loved you from the very moment we met. i would have died for you, but i don’t know if i can live like this for you. i feel carved out, hollow. you took with you every glimmer of light i had left. it’s too dark now… and enough of the prose for a second, i keep crying so god damn much i can barely see. like literally, i think fucking going blind too now. great. guess it really is dark now, huh baby? you would have hated this joke. 

come back. even just for a little while. i love you. i love you, i love you. should have said it more. 

i love you. 

forever yours, 

ro

the extras. 

pinterest board

spotify playlist

thank you for reading all of this if you did lol.

[thoughtsthatwontstop]

Endless Circle of Self Fat-Shaming - Adele Edition

It’s Summer of 2020, we are in midst of COVID quarantine life that seems to have already lasted a year. My daily life may have drastically changed now that I’ve temporarily moved to my parents’s home to quarantine comfortably, but I still spend quality time browsing through my notifications first thing in the morning. Upon opening Instagram today morning, I was flooded with posts about Adele’s new skinny body. What a drastic transformation, boy I am impressed! To be honest, Adele has always been talented, witty and gorgeous in my eyes. While I celebrate her hard work and discipline, I’ve spent whole day wondering if she is happy with the results. Don’t get me wrong, it’s her body, she should do whatever she feels like doing with it. But the soul in my size six, not-skinny body is wondering if following Adele’s path will finally give it the happiness and self-satisfaction that it has been longing for last 10 years.

 Flashback to my first boyfriend when I was probably 18, he was a gym -freak while I couldn’t care less to work out/eat healthy. Opposites attract I guess? We were best friends before we started dated, he was my cheer-leader and loved me for who I was. His attitude towards me tweaked a little now that I was his girl. That cheer-leader of mine started cheering me to hit the gym and workout, you know “just to be healthy.” That “cheering” slowly turned into strong suggestions after few months. And eventually, into pestering. Believe it or not, we had a big fight one time because I ate a banana at night! It goes like this - I couldn’t sleep due to my late-night food craving, so I ate a banana – healthiest snack that I could find in my kitchen. When I bragged to him about how proud I was of myself for skipping ice-cream for banana as my night snack, little did I know that it was going to start a dramatic as fuck fight. His POV was that bananas have lot of sugar and how I should have just curbed my craving and slept without eating anything instead.

 You know how beer is an acquired taste? I fell in love with beer when I was 23. I clearly remember that night with my friends, when all liquor shops were closed and the only alcoholic beverage available was beer from a 24/7 smoke shop. I think I drank nine Blue Moons the first time I properly drank beer (can’t stand them anymore TBH, my spoiled ass prefers craft beers). This is when I had just started my grad school. No one warned me about the weight gain that would be accelerated by drinking 6-pack of beer on a regular basis. My cues for drinking beer came up often – whenever I was homesick, or at a party (which happened often - we were in a business school), or when my toxic roommates did/said something to upset with me (which happened often too). Six months into the school, I had to fly to India to attend my distant cousins’ weddings. I was going to be in my hometown for 15 days and was looking forward to all the amazing Indian food. I made a fucking list, you know. I was also excited to meet all my relatives and friends after years. Oh how I wish I had lowered my expectations for this trip. Instead of hellos and hugs from my relatives and friends, first reaction I received from pretty much every person I interacted with was “oh, you have gained weight”, “oh my god, I couldn’t recognize you”, “you really need to do something about that weight.” To give you some context, I must have gained 11 lbs. I remember breaking down in front of my mom on Day 7, when she suggested we should go out for dinner. “I don’t deserve it,” I said.

 After graduation, I moved to New York City. Beauty of this is city is that is accepts you exactly the way you are with open arms. I cherry picked my people to ensure I weed out all the possible toxicity. Since I was starting on a fresh page, I made up my mind to work on all the aspects of my life that I’ve been upset by in past. Working out and losing those beer pounds were on top of my list. I eventually tricked myself into liking yoga, boxing and HIT workouts. I was feeling healthier and stronger, yes. I lost those beer pounds, yes. Was I eventually at content with my body, a fucking hard no. I was still not good enough for me. A very sad realization hit me, the toxicity I was running away from was deeply embedded in me already.

I am not size 4 yet - look at those Soho girls, why can’t I be as skinny as my friend – I want to wear dresses like her, can’t find swimsuits that flatter me – I hate my tits, I don’t want my pictures taken – I know I’m not going to like what I see, I don’t want to approach that boy – I am not skinny enough. How I’ve felt guilty every single time I’ve eaten a snack, or slice of pizza, hell even dinner. I’ve somehow developed a mindset that dictates I don’t deserve dinner because I’m not skinny enough. “I don’t eat after 8 pm” is what I say when I’m capable of skipping dinner without passing out. I’ve googled “workout to lose weight” too many times. I’ve had a mental breakdown when an outfit doesn’t fit me, too many times. I’ve slept hungry too many fucking times. The guilt that overtakes me now when I don’t workout has been an easy gateway to depression. I am sad to say my pant size is holding me back. I worry about it way too often, maybe every other day. When the truth is, I’ve been blessed with an extremely healthy body – which hasn’t slapped me back despite of my unhealthy and toxic habits (cigarettes, not eating veggies despite of being vegetarian, not eating enough actually). Instead of feeling utterly grateful, I criticize it with every breath that I take.

How do I stop criticizing my body so harshly? I know no one else in my current life has a strong opinion on the way I look. How do I stop feeling guilty every time I eat? No wonder I’ve skipped so many dinner parties with my friends, have not baked at home often, and have not fallen in love with cheese. No wonder I prefer layers when dressing up. Where do I go from here? For one Jameela Jamil’s body positive “I_Weigh” Instagram account, there are thousands of Kardashian and Jenner lookalikes preaching the idea of perfect body upon me. Maybe starving more and working out often will give me results that Adele achieved. But coming back to that, will that make me happy? 

[parisianartistic]

title: Fairytales

about: Sèbastien gets treated to a day on the west coast

when: February 14, 2020

warnings: Age gap relationship, prostitution mention

[DEAN] Hello babe.

[SEB] Bonjour, mon chéri!

[SEB] Tu me manques.

[DEAN] You’re so charming. Are you doing anything for Valentine’s Day?

[SEB] No. I took the day off because it’s my birthday, but I don’t have anything in particular planned.

[SEB] My birthday wish is getting to see you, though. ;)

[DEAN] I was waiting to hear that. Check your email.

Less than thirty minutes later, Sébastien's email pinged with the airplane tickets. He opened them to check the time and also the location. He lifted his eyebrows at the destination. San Francisco, California. A bright smile swept across his face, as he pulled up a chrome browser and started to search the new location.

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

On Thursday night, Sébastien flew out right after his shift. He took his usual position in first class and settled in to the plush relaxing chairs he’d got so used to over the past year. His long legs stretched out far in front of him, and leaned back. Even though it was the middle of the night, Sébastien watched the cities of the states drift by, 10,000 feet below him. Eventually, he fell asleep under his warm blanket.

Typically whenever he came out of the airport to meet Dean, there would be a driver there waiting with his name on a sign. His green eyes scanned the chauffeurs. To his surprise, none of them had his name. But then he caught a glimpse of the tall, dark figure leaning on a shiny blue Mercedes. Sébastien's smile brightened as he rushed to go meet the familiar man.

With enthusiasm that could be seen from the moon, Sébastien wrapped his arms around Dean. “Salut!” He cooed, planting a fat, excited kiss on the other's cheek.

“Hey!” Dean greeted as he instinctively wrapped his arm around Sébastien's thin waist. “How is it you seem to have got taller every time I meet you?” He chuckled as his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of the skinny jeans, allowing him to feel Sébastien's hip. The motion only lasted seconds, but Sébastien felt the skin burn long after. Sébastien chuckled, “It’s the heels,” as he proudly showed off the brand-new boots that he had got from his last shopping spree.

“Oh, those look familiar! They look super-good on you,” said Dean, glancing down at the Doc Martins he was displaying.

Dean reached behind him and opened the car door for Sébastien. “Thank you for coming to pick me up. Sébastien said, slipping into the passenger seat.

“Babe, you deserve it.” Dean closed the door, walked around to the other side, then got in. “Tomorrow is going to be your day.” Dean said, reaching over to place a hand on the top of Sébastien's thigh. He kept it there as they drove off into San Francisco traffic.

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

Sébastien stared out at the bright California morning light that shone through the curtains. He moved slowly, taking in the position in which he fell asleep. There he was, naked and in bed next to a rich counterpart. His bright green eyes scanned the room for the evidence of what happened the night before, then went straight to the clock. Carefully, he removed the blankets, and put on a tight pair of boxers.

He started the morning ritual he and Dean had. First, he filled the room with the fresh aroma of coffee. Sébastien always made sure that he would be able to make French Presse coffee for Dean. He would even make the effort to call the hotel a day before to ensure his request would be fulfilled. He collected his supplies, then started the process, singing a soft French melody. He hopped over to the door before 7:30, and opened it expecting the breakfast to arrive. He glanced to see the cart rolling up the hallway, then thanked the man as he took the cart,rolling it to the dining area of the suite. His ears pricked up at the stirring in the bedroom, which meant that Dean was awake and Sébastien made sure to peek into the room.

“Good morning!” Sébastien said in a sing-song voice, as he peeked into the room. He made sure to show Dean a bright charming smile and his ass, neatly pressed into those tight boxers, before he twisted around and continued his song. A smile wreathing his face, when he knew that Dean had reached for his phone to snap a picture of him.

Dean went for a shower, and in the meantime, Sébastien placed everything perfectly on the table. His OCD drove him to adjust everything to be just so, and the exact image of an upper-class setting. Lastly, Sébastien put his iPad on the table and placed the newspaper next to Dean’s fixed plate. When the man came out, he grinned from ear to ear when he spotted Sébastien bringing over the coffee. Sébastien curiously eyed the box that Dean had in his hands and knew it was for him, but studiously chose to ignore it. They shared a kiss on the lips, and Sébastien met him at the table, pouring the coffee for him.

“Did you sleep okay?” Sébastien asked Dean, as he added the sugar and cream to his liking.

“Of course! I had you sleeping next to me.” Dean said fondly, as he put a hand on Sébastien's naked thighs,  softly stroking his skin with his thumb.

“What are you doing today?”

“Eight hour meeting at nine. From there, we’re going to do whatever you want.” Dean’s hand moved up Sébastien's leg, stopping at the top. His strong hand gripped Sébastien’s leg.

“Ohh-laa,” Sébastien jumped involuntarily. “Oh jeeze, you’re frisky today!”

“Well, it is Valentine’s Day. And your birthday.” That’s when Dean brought out the box.

Excited, Sébastien held out his hands for the square box. His smile brightened as he opened it, to find the gold-plated watch. At the sight of a Citizen watch, Sébastien's eyes lit up, and his fingers moved to feel over the beautifully crafted piece of bling. Very delicately, as if the watch were so fragile it might break if he manhandled it, Sébastien handed it over to Dean. Sébastien hurriedly unclasped his old watch, while the older man removed the new one from its casing. Eagerly, Sébastien held out his wrist and let Dean slip it on, adjusting g it on his left wrist.

“C’est beau. I’m in love,” he announced excitedly, as he flipped his wrist this way and that, admiring the luxury item against his pale, almost translucent skin. "Did you have it sized for me? It fits absolutely perfectly.”

“I got a smaller size just for you.”

“Oh, you’re so thoughtful,” Sébastien commented, as he took Dean’s rough hands into his own.

Rather than eating the breakfast he ordered, he made sure to keep the conversation going with Dean. He would only eat or drink while listening to Dean’s talk of his company, or general life. Sébastien made sure to bring up old subjects, such as Dean's daughters, or something else that came up previously. Dean ate up Sébastien's excitement. Even though he barely ate his breakfast, when Dean stood up, Sébastien followed suit. While Dean was dressing, Sébastien examined himself in the mirror, admiring again the new luxury timepiece that was now adorning his wrist. His fingertips smoothed over the fine details, and when he accidentally smudged the face, he wiped it vigorously.

When Dean was finally dressed in his suit, Sébastien took the tie and fashioned it into a perfect Windsor Knot around his neck.

“Can I walk with you to your car?” Sébastien asked in a polite tone, as he pulled the tie straight and removed his hands, to allow Dean to adjust it himself.

“I would love you to.”

Quickly, Sébastien pulled on some clothes, then met Dean at the front. Together they walked down, Sébastien making sure to loop his arm into Dean's, holding onto it, as if it were a life-line. Dean continued to chatter on about his work and Sébastien always replied in a sing-song manner. Once they reached the the parking-lot, Sébastien turned to Dean:

“What are your plans for lunch?” He asked.

“Company lunch.” Dean squeezed Sébastien's hand.

“Ohh-laa. I’ll be so lonely without you.” He pouted. “Maybe I could have some lunch money?”

“Of course.” Dean chuckled. They got to the car and Dean opened his wallet. Sébastien waited patiently as Dean pulled out the familiar Platinum card. He handed the slick, well-worn plastic over to Sébastien, who took it gracefully. He leaned in and gave Dean a kiss on the cheek. “Merci,” he whispered. Dean turned his head to give a kiss on the lips. Sébastien pulled away with a shy, polite smile.  

“I know you have a day planned. How about you go out and have fun and meet me for dinner,” said Dean. Sébastien nodded his head at the command, then opened the Mercedes' door for Dean, waving him off as he drove away. Sébastien turned on his heel, and headed back to the hotel. Once he was inside the suite door, he sighed out in relief. He stripped himself, and went to bed for a nap.  

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When Sébastien awoke some time later, he picked up his discarded clothes from the floor. Showered and dressed, Sébastien pulled on his backpack, shoving the Platinum card into his wallet. He looked at his journal, smiling at the list of things that he wanted to do.

First it was lunch on the docks. He walked up to the top deck of a restaurant with an oceanic view, flashed his fake ID to the host, and sat at the bar. His brilliant green eyes scanned the beautiful, dark beach. There were a couple of people enjoying the beach, but most of the tourists were probably waiting until later that day. He took a sip of the deep red Merlot wine while he waited for his meal. Taking out his journal, he opened a fresh page, sketching out the scene in front of him.

When a group of high-school students stormed the beach, his heart bloomed with fond memories. His mind traveled back to France, where he and his friends would plan trips away to the white sands of the country. Even though Sébastien could barely afford the luxury, he would tag along. He knew that most of them could afford the marketplaces along the beach, from which locals picked their cuisine of choice. Instead, they would all get together the day before the beach trip, with ingredients for homemade sandwiches, snacks, as well as juice. One day, his best friend had even offered Sébastien new swimming gear, so that Sébastien didn’t have to go in with an old pair of boxers. Sébastien’s eyes started to brim and feel gritty, due to unshed tears.  

Gulping deeply, helps to push down the unbidden tears. Sébastien continued to sketch, filling the page. Though the California water was in front of him, Sébastien's thoughts were filled with the fresh, powdered sand and crystal blue water, of his beloved home country.

Sébastien sat there for well over an hour, picking at his three course meal. He chewed slowly, taking in the scene of California, as its citizens woke up and started their day. Even though he was alone, he didn’t mind watching the people around him. France always got interesting tourists - in fact the country got more tourists per year than its own population! Unlike his French peers, Sébastien made a habit out of people watching. The free sport entertained his art with funny stories, and gave inspiration to some of the characters he invented for possible comic ideas. He had multiple records of people he’d seen and conversations he'd overheard.

The cheese platter was set in front of him, along with the check, and Sébastien handed over the Platinum card, without bothering to check the price. He smiled brightly at the woman as she took it, and Sébastien used a fork to poke at the small cubes of cheese. The bliss of the tart flavor brought him closer and closer to home. He was still picking away, when the waiter dropped the check off, and Sèbastian glanced at it eyeing the $150 cost. He quickly calculated the tip and then shoved the card back in his wallet.  

Then he was onto the rest of his day. A haircut, and a full day of limitless shopping.

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Dean sent Sébastien the address, while he was standing in line at the store. Sébastien smiled warmly, ordering an Uber to be ready for him when he was done. At the designer store, Sébastien handed the card over to the cashier for the items he had in his hand. Today he was getting a fresh new outfit. He happily raced back to the hotel to change.  

An hour later, Sébastien stepped boots first out of the Uber. The dark blue jeans, stuffed into his Doc Martins, complimented and elongated his long legs. A red and white thin striped shirt went perfectly with his dark navy blue Ralph Lauren jacket. He pulled down the sleeves to show off the gift that Dean had given him earlier. Lining the inside of the jacket, and wrapped around his neck was a dark black scarf, perfectly finishing off his preppy French look. 

Sébastien's eyes lit up when he saw the blue Mercedes, noting the license plate, and smiled brightly. Dean stepped out of the car after a valet opened it for him. On cue, Sébastien walked over to Dean, giving him a big kiss on the cheek, then taking his arm. The older man greeted him in the same manner, then ushered him into the hotel. When Dean mentioned his name, they were seated immediately, regardless of the long wait.

“Do you like what I got?” Sébastien swept his hand down his body, showing off the fresh clothes he had on.

Dean chuckled. “Oh? Is that new?” He asked as his hand ran over the soft clothes.

Sèbastian nodded.

“Looks sexy on you,” Dean commented. “And it complements the watch, I like it. I’ve never known men with style like yours. Then again, I’m surrounded by suits all day long”

They sat down and Sébastien immediately ordered a particular wine for both of them. Impressed, Dean tilted his head. “I didn’t even know they had that here.” Dean said. “Oh, and I loved that picture you sent me from the bar. You looked absolutely stunning in the sunlight.”

“Thank you. I called ahead and asked. Even reserved a bottle specially. They only have 20 at the moment. And you’ll love it. Its sweetness compliments the cheeses that they have here.” Sébastien informed him, as he carefully placed his hand on Dean’s leg. “Did the tour go well?”

Dean spiraled into his day and Sébastien interjected wherever it felt appropriate to do so. He kept himself engaged during the full two hours, and paced himself with the wine. At the end of the meal, Dean took care of the check, and Sébastien was once again on his arm as they walked out of the hotel. Rather than going to the valet, Dean turned the corner.

“Let’s take a walk.” Dean told him.  

“Ohh-laa?” Sébastien trilled, as they continued to walk down the path with Dean guiding them. Sébastien observed how the lights illuminating the statue in front of the museum, brightened it up, and instantly, he knew exactly where they were. His smile brightened. “Waow, incroyable!” Sébastien excitedly uttered, as he pointed at the large frame.

“Here, let me take your picture.” Dean unlooped his arm, placing a soft hand on Sébastien's lower back.

 Sébastien walked quickly over to the statue, standing below it, and looking back over his shoulder at Dean. He smiled as he observed the other fiddling with his phone. Sébastien used his considerable height to reach up, and allowed his fingers to brush over the marble surface, feeling its aura and marvel. When he looked over his shoulder again, he realized that Dean was about to take his picture. He flashed a warm, bright smile in Dean's direction, as he stood patiently underneath the statue. Sébastien motioned Dean to join him, and the elder walked over to him.

As Dean walked over, Sébastien took out his own phone, starting to take a series of selfies. When Dean reached him, Sébastien drew him in for more pictures. In one, Sébastien coyly turned his head to give a sweet and innocent kiss to the other man's dark cheek. Not long after, they continued into the art museum that the statue was adorning.

They spent hours together, standing in front of paintings. Sébastien rattled off facts as they walked up to each one. It was lucky for them both that going to a museum on Valentine’s Day was a very unpopular idea. Sébastien was by now used to the odd stares they got. In fact whenever he was with Dean, he had become a professional at ignoring them.

He didn’t care about the looks, nor the hushed whispers. This was how he was going to be able to afford college. A fat percentage of the savings he had built up, was comprised of the money that Dean had given him. Let’s not even talk about the clothes, technology, and art supplies that enabled him to function from day to day. Though he didn’t care what his peers thought of what he did, Sèbastian made sure to keep it on the down-low. He had read several articles criticizing his actions, and some even went to the length of calling what he did prostitution! That simple conclusion was enough to make Sébastien "X" out of the site. He’d made so much money so far just by going on dates and appearing naked. This all helped to give his ego a huge boost. In addition, all it was to him, was an extremely rich male benefactor, who would pay Sébastien for anything he did with him. And overall, Dean wasn’t that bad looking either.

As they approached the art pieces, Sébastien instantly recognized them, rattling off some fine details he knew about the artist. Dean would listen politely, interjecting with his own knowledge of the paintings, if he had any. Sébastien pointed out techniques the artist used, explaining how he could tell the sheer merit of each. They even went so far as to take pictures in front of some of the rarer paintings and statues.

After three hours of standing, Sébastien plunked himself down in front of a large oceanic sculpture, leaning on Dean.

“Thank you.” Sébastien said in a dry, dreamy voice. He hadn’t spoken for that long since the first time he was with Dean. His hand was entwined with Dean’s, and lay in the elder’s lap. His emerald eyes glazed lazily over the statue, going over its finer details. The explosion of colors the sea creature statue in front of them radiated, seemed to dance with the lighting that the museum had focused directly onto it, in order to show it off at its finest. Sébastien turned his head and caught a whiff of the man’s old spice cologne. “You smell nice.”

“Anything for you baby. Happy birthday.”

“Merci. What happened to Cindy?” Sébastien questioned lazily. “I thought you were going to call her.”

The other man chuckled. “I was thinking about it, but I thought about you first,” Dean said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I hadn’t seen you since school started, and felt like having a nice conversation. Not that Cindy doesn’t. I just missed you.” Dean stroked Sébastien's hair.

Sébastien smiled. “Are you ready to head back now?”

Dean nodded, and they stood up and left the museum.

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When Sébastien got to the room, he took Dean’s jacket for him, then hung it up. Dean walked over to the love seat, sat down, and loosened his tie.

“I’ve been standing all day. I don’t know if this is good for my age," Dean laughed as he rubbed his neck. He found the TV remote and turned it on.

Sébastien automatically went to dampen a towel, then put it in the microwave. After it had heated up, Sébastien brought it over, carefully placing it on Dean’s neck.

He sat on his knees in front of the couch, then carefully pulled off the man’s shoes. At the motion, Dean let out a soft moan at the sweet relief. Tenderly, Sébastien also removed the other man's socks, and began to massage his feet. The soft grunts and huffs signaled to Sébastien that he was on the right track. Sébastien shifted slightly, so that he was between Dean’s legs, and continued massaging his feet.  

During the first commercial break of the news, Dean reached forward and removed Sébastien's scarf, setting it aside. He then made quick work of shedding Sébastien from his jacket and shirt. After his shirt was removed, Sébastien carefully unclasped the expensive watch, putting it aside for safe keeping. Sébastien continued his motions, then after he had spent enough time on Dean’s feet, he washed his hands, toed off his Doc Martins, removed the new pair of pants, and returned to Dean, wearing only the other man’s favorite pair of boxers.

Using his elbows for momentum, Sébastien felt over the stiff joints. He started to hum softly, and that transitioned into soft, melodious singing. Sébastien’s hand trailed lazily down Dean’s arms, befoee he swooped down and planted a kiss to the back of Dean’s shoulder blade. His soft kisses trailed up to Dean’s ear, continuing across his jawline, where Sébastien nibbled softly. Dean lifted his hand, brushing his fingers through Sébastien’s new fade, as he beckoned Sébastien to come around. 

Sébastien complied with his instructions, turning off the TV, then standing directly in front of Dean. He allowed the man’s hand to reach for his smooth torso and pull him down. Sébastien giggled like a schoolgirl, as he straddled the elder man, leaning over and pressing his soft lips to Dean’s, as he continued to strip for him, while Dean's fingers purposefully trailed over Sébastien's lightly defined abs.

The next morning, Sébastien got ready to fly back to Lima with over $1000 in gifts, hair cuts, and shopping, as well as $1500 in hard cash. 

[mentalanalyzer]

Unadulterated Uncensored Bigotry

Maybe it’s because I’m tired, maybe it’s because I’m pissed at the world around me, but this has been on my mind for quite some time. Does your ethnicity define you? Are they ingrained in your genes? Nature vs. Nurture? While I find many parts of my personality are due to the American environment I have been brought up in, there are aspects of my personality, that I only see in Persians, despite the lack of that upbringing. Aspects that I only see shared amongst those back in Iran. How could have such aspects of my personality if I’ve never been exposed to it? And that brings me to the topic of the day. Profiling. 

This is for me, my ideas, this page is seen by me (I don’t even know why I get followers when I post once in a blue moon). I will not use politically correct terminology, because my terminology comes from a universal language, and that is the fact people are defined by their appearance. Black is black, not african american. Everyone in the world calls African Americans black people. Most consider Asians almond eyed people. This is how people are defined. I will be using generalization and stereotypes, and yes there are exceptions to everything, but generalization exist for a reason. Observations are not inherently racist, unless used as such. I have nothing against races of people, there are aspects of each culture I dislike and like. However, as stated before, people do seem to be potentially defined genetically by their culture. Without further ado. 

We shall start with Persians. Never have I met a group of individuals so arrogant with such a lack of humility. They are smart, crafty, intelligent, even attractive and physically fit. And they know it. And yet, we always fall. Because we are always arrogant, always thinking we’re better than everyone. We have no sense of humility, doing whatever we want with no regards to others and the consequences. Our society always rises because of our innate abilities, but always falls due to the flaws inherent in our personality. Our women, vain. They also have intelligence, and beauty, and they know it. Never have I met a group more vain than Persian women. Always striving to better than other women, insecurity rampant, and always jealous. Persian women have the most potential in all races of women, and yet I despise them the most out of all races of women. Their intelligence is rotted away with their obsession over looks. Their definition of power defined by their man. They are dominant, but become submissive as they are unable to do anything without their man. The women is battling her man, other women, and herself. A war on 3 fronts, is a war you cannot win. And it is for this reason, they always lose. The worst part is, Persians know this. This upsets me the most. They are aware of their arrogance and intelligence, and yet do nothing about. Like an alcoholic who refuses to quit. 

Asians, smart crafty devils, with an absolute lack of compassion for other races and usually severe racism as well. Robots? Not quite. Robots would be indifferent, Asians are not indifferent. Similar to Persians in intelligence and their understanding of it, but without the arrogance. The feeling of superiority, masked by humility, by sub-conscious racism (giving them the benefit of the doubt). They’re quiet, and always make themselves seem less than they are, but are always planning to best their competition. Drive and determination, but with a flawed premise. No love to bring others up with them, but rather leave everyone in the dust. To use the common man for self use, and make sure he doesn’t get to the same level. A comrade has no meaning. The women are the same, but their disdain for others is even worse. The perfect counter-part as they support and go hand in hand with their man. However, often times, they find themselves weak against their man. They are driven and determined, but as soon as they find an Asian man who stands to oppose them, they crumble. As if admitting superiority. See that’s the entire problem here with Asians, the concept of superiority. Persians are always brought down by our stupidity induced by our arrogance, but Asians always see themselves as superior as above. As soon as that image is crushed, they crumble. As if being below anyone is the realization of failure. This is what I mean by a flawed premise. 

Black people. Incredibly emotional, and lazy. Quick to anger, rash, lashes out easily. Uses great effort to build something, only to quickly destroy it. Hardworker...and yet I said lazy? Works hard, but not smart. Not that they can’t, just that they don’t want to. Life is hard, and yet if it’s simple, it’s not too bad. Yet complains that it’s not better, that they want it to be better, and yet doesn’t want to put the effort to make it better. Living in dreams, but never wants to make them a reality. An uphill battle that they can fight, but just that they don’t want to. Let someone else fight it for them, let them reap the rewards. Only fighting when they become emotional, but fighting out of anger, is a short fight. The fuse is only so long, and after it burns, back to mediocrity. Mediocrity isn’t a problem, if they didn’t find it a problem. Like a slouched spine. Works hard to keep you upright, but never quite does the job right. The women are similar to the women. Unsuprisingly, the women actually have more drive than the men. A culture so driven by emotions, it makes sense that the gender with more emotion is more driven. Dominant, aggressive, demanding....yet with all things extreme, easily broken. Unlike Persians with it being a fight against others and their own insecurities, and Asians with it being a fight against superiority and intelligence, with black people, it’s the fight of emotions. Don’t attack a black womens confidence or intelligence, attack her heart. That’s the walls weak point. 

Arabians, all the bravado of Persians, with none of the attributes. Take the arrogance of Persians, and take away the craft and intelligence, and you get Arabians. There is a difference though, see Persians arrogance is against everyone, including fellow Persians. This causes conflict amongst Persians, which is why we are always bringing ourselves down. Arabians create a heirachy, with arrogance designated towards others that are not Arabian. Targeted arrogance you might say. A shared ideology and common belief, is all it takes to becomes uneasy friends with Arabians. You are part of the “cool kids table” now as they say. They have no superior quality outside of numbers and co-operations (which may be a quality in and of itself). One of the most unified cultures out there. This is what makes extremism so likely however. A unification of simple ideals is all that is needed to make one part of the cool kids and having disdain and arrogance towards everyone else. But who defines the cool kids? This is the infighting for Arabians, and makes it so they always form unified groups fighting unified groups; whereas for Persians it’s always a free for all. The women are basically the same. Lack of intelligence, lack of looks, and yet vain and demanding. Inferior in every way to Persian women. I’d feel bad for their conditions, if it wasn’t the fact that they treat the men just as badly as the men treat the women. They’re submissive state is only due to the fear induced by the mens aggression. Against any other physically submissive group, they would dominate. There are other cultures with men physically dominant (like black men), but they only tolerate Arabian men. 

Indians. What is there to say? Racist, sexist, aggressive but weak? Out of all the groups, Indian men are the most sexist and treat women the worst. They make Arabian men look like angels. They have an inferiority complex, that they take out on the weaker groups due to lacking the balls to take someone on their own size. Their cowardness is unmatched in the world. Like the Asians, they too have a heirachy, and they strive to be the top. Unlike Asians though, they have compassion, and guilt. They will screw you over to get to the top, but they will feel bad about it (doesn’t mean they’ll do anything about it). Like Asians, they are quiet, but not out of disdain and contempt, but out of fear. They don’t bring themselves down like Asians (strategic), but rather only see themselves as lower due to the inferiority complex. This doesn’t mean they lack drive however, as they will still compete to be the top of their heirachy. Take the intelligence of Persians, but without the arrogance, and add the heart the Asians are missing, and you get Indians. Indian women on the other hand, are incredibly racist. The potential to be smart, but kept ignorant by their Indian men. Demanding, aggressive, insulting. Whereas Arabian women are physically abusive, Indian women are mentally abusive. They are like a peach, soft on the outside, but hard on the inside. 

Finally....the white man. Individualism as an ethnicity. Congregation by like minds for a greater purpose, but for everyone else below them, they are tools. The white man will not come above others like Asians, but will bring others down below him. The white man doesn’t look to live like the black man, or to congregate like the Arabians, or look to fullfill a superiority complex like the Asians, or to fight off an inferiority complex either. The white man looks to control for the aim of bettering his life. Arrogant, but aware enough of that arrogance to curb it to the point it is still deterimental, but not as severe as Persians. As for the women, they are used as tools just as everyone else for the white man. The women are emotional, ignorant, arrogant, with little drive and purpose outside of be the useful tool of the white man. A blanks slate....literally. Easily influenced and written, by the white man, or other cultures. This makes it so the white women is able to congregate more easily with other cultures; if the other cultures racism allows. 

Now, this may all appear negative, and it may appear I just hate all cultures, but that is just not the case. As is with everything, each culture has it’s positives and negatives. 

Persians have so much potential. Their men are smart, intelligent, and can become experts in any field (as many are). Their women have the most potential out of any group. Looks and brains, can’t beat them. Asians are also smart and intelligent, always raising the bar, always increasing the competition. The women as well. Smart and determined, but humble and quiet. As long as they are empowered, they can achieve just as much if not more than the man can. Everyone can learn from black people. From all the groups, I love being in the company of this group the most. They have....soul.. would be the best way to put it. They are what it means to be human, to express yourself, and to live. Arabians demonstrate the power of Unity and tolerance. With their empire being one of the most peaceful and prosperious for it’s residents. The ability to set the petty aside and focus on the main ideals that unite all of us. Their women demonstrate how despite being oppressed and put down, you can always keep that drive and determination to be better. That no one can stop you. Indians are the nicest people in existence. Bettering their neighbor, and always trying to live with love and compassion. Their women are in fact the reasons this is the case, with mothers who teach the importance of loving oneself and ones neighbors. The white man, the centerpiece of all of this. Having the potential to unify all the groups, and have them cordially work with one another. While Persian woman are born with the most potential, white women are designed with the most potential in mind. The blank slate, combined with beauty and grace, enables them to create their own personality, and to be influenced by other cultures. Allowed to fluorish on their own, the white woman is one of the purest in all the groups.