#and treats being handcrafted pieces of my soul

[plaingrumpy]

y'all know where i can post writing to be like

"you want this? do you find this interesting?"

[hooniee]

   — ꒰‧⁺celsia *ೃ༄

↷ jungwon x reader  ⋯ ♡ᵎ: 

↷ genre: romance | mystery ⋯ ♡ᵎ

↷ warnings: mention of blade to cut open book! | not proofread!⋯ ♡ᵎ

↷synopsis:  (y/n)’s boring life gets a little bit better, finding a mystery journal⋯ ♡ᵎ

⇢˚⋆ ✎ author note: hello! this is for @enhypenwriters​ event of the month! strangers to lovers <3 this one out of the three stories i made! this one was definitely fun to write and maybe i’ll expand on it later! enjoy!ˎˊ-

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*

“celsia’s kingdom was-”

the abrasive scraping of white chalk on the chalkboard had come to a halt. the bell chimes, the more petite hand of the clock was precisely striking 3:00 pm.

ms. jeon glimpses up before allowing a long-awaited sigh, laying the chalk in its corresponding place. dusting off her hands of residue, she concluded our class.

“alright, guys! let’s stop there, we’ll proceed where we left off tomorrow.”

the class arose from their seats, bowing to her before she exited. classmates exalt their breath and stretch their bodies from being restrained in a desk for the prior eight hours.

the rackets of shuffling books being shoved in bags and hurried footsteps came from every corner of the school. chatter goes throughout regarding how dull ms. jeon’s history lesson was.

“who even cares about the past anymore?”

“the princes were never found right?”

“you guys up for some norebang? at han’s?”

while your classmates debated on what karaoke place they intended on hanging out at, you hastily shove the remainder of papers in your bag, not minding if they would be creased.

readjusting your hair slightly, you rise from your seat and attempt to quickly boot it to the door.

“(y/n)! don’t you want to come with us?”

someone seized the end of your sleeve. you turn around to see shin ryujin, the class president, and someone you could view as a friend. 

her freshly tinted grey hair nevertheless had a shock factor on you.

“sorry ryu! i have to get to the library,” you warmly took her hand and squeezed it, before dashing off.

“this girl,” ryujin sighs

"where is (y/n) going?" vice president asked ryujin

"library again"

you had quietly forced your way through the masses of people before having a hand tug at your blazer, causing you to lightly tumble back.

you turn to see heeseung.

“(y/n)! where are you going in such a hurry? i was just about to try to find you to ask you if you wanted to come to the arcade with us? we invited some of our friends from saebom as well,” heeseung interrogates.

sunoo pops up from behind him, “come on (y/n)! i’ll be so much fun, please it’ll be so much fun.”

sunoo was your classmate while heeseung was your upperclassman. sunoo and you were selected to be lab comrades last year and have been friends ever since. that's where he introduced you to his remaining friends, heeseung and underclassman, ni-ki.

as much as you desired to accept their proposal, you remember the library and time was ticking before it closed.

you bowed your head, “i’m sorry guys! but i have to do something important. what about we all hang out tomorrow? you can invite your friends from saebom and i’ll treat all of you guys to a meal? how does that sound?”

sunoo pouts, “alright then”

“get there safe,” you bowed your head.

“see you-” before heeseung could complete his sentence, you had already fled off.

“where is she in a hurry too?” ni-ki abruptly enters the discussion, studying your disappearing silhouette

“OH MY, don’t give me a heart attack ni-ki” heeseung holds his hand above his heart.

“whatever grandpa,” ni-ki snorts before sprinting

“what did you just say to me? get back here,” heeseung commences chasing after him

“i wish (y/n) would have come,” sunoo shakes his head before attempting to catch up with them.

you eventually arrive at the library, catching a few breaths in and noticing ms. kim sitting down in her normal spot.

you take a deep breath, before entering the library. the tiny bell above the door executes a noise, gaining ms. kim's attention.

she glances over to see you and smiles widely. she gets up from her seat to welcome you, “(y/n), you’re here just in time! the new books are on the back table, left side.”

“thank you ms. kim!” you bow to her, with a big smile on your face.

glimpsing round, the library was moderately bare except for two or three students that were distributed from tables.

you headed back to see the fresh heap of new history books that rested on the small birch polished table.

these weren’t unspecified history books, they were royal books.

ms. kim was a historian before a librarian so she was capable of getting her hands on some books about the disappeared royal family from centuries ago.

you smiled at the collection that grazed your eyes. you choose a book that was nearly the measurement of a binder.

you had tenderly dusted off the cover, as you open it. you slightly cough at the quantity of dust the books have garnered 

the publication titled read, “celsia, the royals”

the backbone of the book had been fastened back together, implying you must be cautious when reading.

turning each rusted paper sparingly, you could observe the old castle in which the royal family had occupied before it grew abandoned. 

it was a beautiful interior, built out of the most luxurious rose quartz that anybody could fancy of in that era.

the chandelier that draped in the main room was constructed in the purest gold that was handcrafted by only the best chandelier.

their disappearances were continuously something that was whisked beneath the rug.

we studied briefly about it in history class but we always end at a set point because there was nothingness beyond that.

there remained no traces of foul play at all, it was like everything had vanished inside the castle. all belongings of the families were taken and the only items they could find were some rings that showed to be discarded.

there were three rings, made for the three succeeding crowned princes.

sapphire; purity, wisdom, and chastity

assigned to the oldest of the sons as he was waiting to be the next crowned prince, a face and personality that reflected purity

ruby; nobility, purity, passion

assigned to the middle son, fascinated about archery. the desire to be the greatest hunter in the kingdom. a soul abundant of passion

and lastly,

emerald; wit, eloquence, and foresight

assigned to the youngest son with a voice that could put the whole town to slumber. though the youngest could wield the responsibility like the oldest son.

you softly caress the pages while browsing through the information. it was practically always the identical facts but you couldn’t help but learn how each historian put it in their own words. 

you had gingerly closed the book before proceeding onto the next one.

this book, strangely, didn’t have a name.

the cover was made of brown leather, with J, engraved on the silver button that fastened the book closed.

matter a fact, it wasn’t like a textbook but as a diary

‘who has diaries like this anymore?’ you thought to yourself.

you shrug the thought aside and undo the clasp.

brushing at the pages, you could scarcely obtain any of the words. they were inscribed in cursive and it seems that the ink has smudge.

flipping through the so-called journal, you could gain some phrases.

“castle”

“my older brother”

“rose quartz”

to you, the messages didn’t correlate with anything considering the smudged ink left the words in ruins.

flipping to the end of the diary, you scan the back of the cover.

if you happened to not spare a secondary glance, you wouldn’t have noticed that petite tear that was sliced into the leather.

peering closer, you could see the incision that was nearly flawlessly adhered together.

you were further too curious to place it down, so you went to ms. kim to check it out.

“is this all you want to take home (y/n)?” ms. kim inquiries, scanning the book and your library card.

“yup! that’s all for now,” you chirp.

she pauses for the receipt and fixes it on top of the diary.

“see you (y/n)!” ms. kim waves.

you bow before hastening home, diary in hand. you quickly fish out your keys from the backpack.

the door unlocks before you barge in and toss your bag on the floor. you slide off your shoes and quickly speed to the kitchen.

“where are they? where are they?” you ransack around the cabinet

“ah! there they are,” drawing a sharp box cutter.

setting the diary on the countertop, you open it to the back page. you mindfully compose the incision larger beginning from where the adhesive is and all the way down.

“got it!” you shout, placing the box cutter down.

you thoroughly unfold the slit a little wider to see a piece of something in there. you pull it out to reveal a photograph.

you smile, thinking it was probably a journal of someone’s life story and this photograph has special meaning to them.

you glance over and your eyes widen as you examine it. 

"that's not-"

you squint your eyes at the worn photograph and go straight to the lamp, shining light to see more precisely.

your mouth drops wide open when you realized it was true, clasping your left hand over your mouth.

though the photograph’s colors were faded, there stood the three princes wearing suit colors that matched their rings.

it was a miniature photograph that could comfortably fit in someone's wallet.

sapphire; puppy-like, doe eyes that are filled to the line with love

ruby; the fairest skin, plump lips that were painted red like his passion

emerald: sharp eyes that won’t deceive, dimples that mark his cheek

‘did i just find one of their journals?’ you question.

no photographs of the princes or royal family were ever recovered. it was rumored that they had a significant family portrait, but even that was nowhere to be found in the castle.

holding tightly to the photograph, you hasten to your laptop. there was no rush but the adrenaline that was elevating in your heart said otherwise.

you had opened a new browser tab and started typing swift.

“photograph on the missing three princes”

“celsia’s crowned princes”

“celsia royal family photos”

no matter how much scowering on the internet you did, you couldn’t find any traces of this photo anywhere.

you were gazing at the screen for hours, working to find any data you could.

your eyes became weak as the room grew dim but yet, you still didn’t budge from your spot.

‘maybe i should try the news tag’ you thought.

you clicked on the tag and the first article that popped up

“belongings of the three princes are being found after centuries"

browsing through the article, the grip on the photo became tighter.

it didn’t make sense to you. for centuries, they’ve never attained anything in the castle or anything about the castle. now suddenly, items of the three princes were coming into play.

it appeared like they were planted there on purpose, but it would be impracticable. the whole royal family would be deceased by now.

you looked at the photo one more time to admire the handsome princes. though all were handsome in their own way, emerald caught your eye.

sharp eyes and sharp jaw, yet the eyes hold so much sweetness and the smile holds so much grace. he caught your eye the second you studied the photograph.

emerald was someone interesting.

you cried, “only if guys looked like this in my school.”

the clock ticks, making you look up at it. it just became 8 pm.

you yawned. you desired to do more investigation but tomorrow's test in history was retaining you back.

that clicks in your head.

‘i’ll just ask ms. jeon! maybe she’ll know something’ you made a mental note, as you had just physically printed it on your brain.

you decided to call it a night, eyes dropping down from the intense amount of looking at the computer.

the next morning, you were depleted with your brain being over-exerted last night. you made sure to get up a bit earlier to study on your way to school.

you were ready were putting your shoes on, the photograph caught the corner of your eye. 

you debated whether you wanted to keep it at home or take it with you.

‘it would be safe here but what if someone tries to break into my house?’ 

irrational thoughts came to mind and in the end, you decided to seal it in the journal and bringing it to school with you.

before any second-guessing, you shove the journal into your backpack and rush your way to school.

you wanted nothing other than history class, last period. your mind was tingling with problems that needed solutions.

you hardly made it when the bell went off. you rushed up the stairs, to study hall, seeing ryujin already there.

ryujin sees you and flashes a smile, signaling to you

“(y/n)! over here,” ryujin pats down the seat next to her.

you smile, heading over and sitting down.

"sorry for leaving so suddenly yesterday, the library got new books! you know? the usual" you acted cool

"no problem. i know you well, book nerd," she snorted.

letting out a big sigh, you bring out your history textbook to aim to recall as sufficient information as you could in this brief 25 minute period.

ryujin resumes playing on her phone before she peers over to you. she corks her eyebrow in puzzlement.

“what are you doing?’

now it was your turn to be confused, “studying for our history test for ms. jeon?"

“ah you didn’t hear? ms.jeon isn’t here so that means no test, isn’t that amazing?” ryujin cheers.

the news disheartens you ever so little.

thought you didn’t have to cram information, your heart sinks a little with your curiosity raging as a furnace overflowed with gold.

why did this tug at your heartstrings? it was simply because you were curious right?

“yeah that’s amazing!” you shakily cheer.

you restlessly bounce your leg and illogical reasoning surge your brain.

‘i need to ask her now! but why do i? why do i feel so anxious? my heart feels like it’s beating out of control’

and your head wouldn't stay still even when ms. jeon class rolls around, the time ticks by way too slow. 

“and make sure-”

the bell jolts you out of your seat and you immediately gather up your things. if people were to see you, they might think you were being pursued.

you were strained as is and you try to bolt out of school before someone clutches your wrist.

“where are you going?” 

you turn around to see heeseung clinging onto you

“home?” you cork an eyebrow.

why was heeseung asking an impractical question? it was a wednesday, where else would you be going?

“home? aren’t you coming with us to the arcade? we invited our friends from saebom as well,” heeseung asked, troubled

your mind clicks. you have plans with heeseung and his friends today. you weren't in the best headspace and entirely blanked.

“ah right! i’m sorry, i forgot. let’s go,” you stiffly smile.

“you’re fine. sunoo! ni-ki! ready?” heeseung calls them over, swinging his arm over your shoulders.

sunoo rushes over while ni-ki trudges behind. ni-ki yawns while sunoo squeals at your presence.

“is (y/n) coming with us today?” sunoo cheers linking arms with you.

“yup, and she’s treating us to a meal,” ni-ki smirks

“you boys are going to be the death of me,” you groan, recognizing the deal you presented yesterday.

heeseung laughs and you make your way to the arcade. you guys, the disordered and noisy quadruplets, stumble in.

the arcade was a generous size than the ones you've been to previously. they had more selections of machines and the building was coated in bright colors.

it’s jammed with students in diverse uniforms from all around town with their friends. probably trying to shake the pressure of exam season.

“heeseung hyung!” someone calls out.

“jay!” you glance over to see a boy with bleach blonde hair with silver, swaying earrings, coming over with three followings behind him.

they do a bro-shake, asking each other's day before jay’s eyes land on you.

“oh i don’t think we’ve met before, i’m jay,” he stretches his hand out to you

jay was a few inches shorter than heeseung, stocky rings on both hands, a few piercings on his ears, and someone who was attentive to his fashion.

“i’m (y/n). nice to meet you,” you softly shake his hand

the three boys jostle jay aside before speaking.

“we haven’t met her either, let us,” a soft voice intervenes.

you glance up and at that moment, you assumed your eyes were playing tricks on you.

meeting with the pair of doe eyes that were meant to be captured into a photograph.

your heart sinks to your abdomen, blood drawing through your veins so harshly, causing your whole body to flush.

'there was no way that this was them?' you soothed the uneasy thoughts.

sapphire

“i’m jake! it’s nice to meet you”

his gummy smile reflects the happiness from his tone

ruby

“park sunghoon,”

he bows his head, fair skin that gleams that only princes could accomplish

emerald

“i’m jungwon, it’s nice to meet you”

his sharp eyes turn into small crescents, dimple prominent.

you glance around at the three boys.

"jungwon or jake?"

you vaguely remember the notebook, having the engraving of J on the button of the diary.

"the book addressed his older brothers. that indicates it would be jungwon since he was the youngest and jake was the oldest"

you bow to them, wanting to see if getting a glance of their hands would lead to anything. 

no rings on

right, the rings were founded in the castle. they wouldn't possess it on their body.

“it’s nice to meet you too, i’m (y/n)”

glancing at them, you see capture something from the arcade light. on all of their left ears, hangs an earring that correlates with their colors

gold chain with a small, round sapphire on the end

silver chain with a small, triangle ruby on the end

rose gold chain with a small, heart emerald on the end

it was them. this couldn't be a coincidence.

emerald or jungwon was standing directly in front of you

“let’s go play some games guys!” sunoo shouts before he drags you.

sunoo breaks our introduction. grabbing your arm, he pulls you away to an air hockey table.

sunoo plays against ni-ki as you watch. jay and heeseung verse each other on the basketball game.

you watch around the arcade, observing the happy smiles of people. you smile too before feeling a tap on your shoulder.

you turn to see jake, sunghoon, and jungwon. the three princes.

it became quiet for a minute as you look eye contact with jungwon before sunghoon talks up on the behalf of his younger brother.

“um, jungwon has something he has to tell you,” sunghoon says before bumping jungwon ahead.

“u-um,” jungwon stutters out.

you smother a laugh. one of the crowned princes of celsia kingdom was in front of you, stuttering and reddening.

“don’t be nervous jungwon! i don’t bite”

“can i have your number?” he blurts and now it’s your turn to be startled

'that was unexpected'

“s-sure,” you stutter out as he hands you his phone.

his phone wasn't anything out of the ordinary. an iPhone 8 plus and there was nothing that symbolized he was a prince. the home screen packed with several games.

you enter your phone number and hand him back his phone.

he bows and the three princes are about to leave before you stop them.

this could be awkward if this was synchronicity but you were practically sure it wasn't. reactions will tell the truth.

“jungwon! i need to say something to you, can you come closer?” you smile.

he's confused but complies, leaning into you.

you whisper in his ear, “ whether this applies to you or not, i’m onto you, emerald prince”

he lets out a choked sound, alarming you. you smirk, bowing and heading towards jay and heeseung who were near to destroying the basketball machine.

'bingo'

jake tugs jungwon back and the three of them head to one of the secretive corners of the arcade.

“what did she say?” jake questions

"yeah, what made you choke up like that? you never get surprised like that," sunghoon examines. 

“she’s onto us,” jungwon grunts.

sunghoon and jake look at each other, eyes widening in the process.

“b-but how? we made sure no traces of us would be found-”  sunghoon rambles.

the three princes grew anxious together, questioning how they could meet you again. 

this was the secret that they were expected to remain to the three of them and now an added person knows.

“i don’t know! but she somehow knows and we can’t let her tell anybody,” jungwon groans

"we have to do something," jake sighs.

you felt holes being pierced onto your back, generating an unsettled vibe within you.

“i’m keeping an eye out for you (y/n) “ jungwon flashes.

[twistedcharismaaa]

Lost & Found Pt 4

Summary: You’re living a suffocating life and you finally find breath in Masego.

Author’s Note: Hi guyssss! I’m finally back with another chapter. I really struggled piecing this chapter together so I really hope you guys enjoy! Leave a comment for ya girl! You know I live for the commentary, I love you guys so much! Enjoy!

Micah’s eyes left yours for a brief moment. He inhaled and leaned his head back on the wall and readjusted his shades on his face. He watched his calculated chaos unfold in the elevator which gave him much delight. 

“You know I told you my name…” he said while raising a finger and wagging it dramatically.

“You even told me your boyfriend’s name, but you never told me yours.” he continued.

You slowly pulled off your rubber yellow cleaning gloves one by one and tossed them on the supply cart. You crossed your arms and leaned back on the wall behind you letting your eyes trail the many lit elevator buttons. 

“Charisma,” you answered with a subtle smirk on your face. 

“Charisma? You know I’m full of that,” he said while placing his right hand on his chest proudly.

Again, you found yourself laughing. You shook your head and rolled your eyes towards the ceiling before eyeing him once more with a half-smirk.

“That I can clearly see,” you answered.

“You know what I want to see right now?” he quizzed while pulling off his black shades and stuffing them in the pouch of his all-black hoodie.

“Indulge me,” you responded completely intrigued. 

“Me and you having lunch,” he said while waving his hands in the air theatrically as if he was actually visualizing it.  

“So, are you hungry, lady?” he asked with a raised brow.

You inhaled silently and eyed the elevator for a short moment. Letting your eyes wander from wall to wall. Finally, you fixated on a painting that rested on the wall behind him. You’ve seen this painting a thousand times before but today, for whatever reason, it caught your attention. You admired its simplicity which made it even more elegant. You visually found pleasure in the contrasting colors of blue and red. The uneven brushstrokes seemed to tell a story that mirrored yours. It was a painting of a cup that was half-full. Or was it half-empty? Looking past Micah you spoke lowly.

“If I told you a secret, would you keep it?” you asked still eyeing the painting.

“Absolutely,” he responded. 

“This is the most I’ve laughed in a while,” you admitted while swallowing slowly. Now locking eyes with him, you continued to lean on the wall behind you for support. You bit down on your bottom lip nervously and waited for his response.

“And why is that?” he questioned.

“Life hasn’t been so kind to me lately. I’m figuring things out - figuring me out actually. So I don’t know if I’m the perfect candidate to have lunch with.” you said while changing positions. This time, you shifted your weight off of the wall’s surface and placed both hands on the supply cart. You watched the elevator doors close and open. The classical music playing in the background seemed to intensify. Or maybe this moment was intensifying?

“I have a secret too since we’re sharing,” he admitted. You enjoyed his speaking voice. It oozed calmness and embodied serenity. 

“I saw you last night at the club. You looked beautiful by the way. While I was on stage, all I wanted to do was dive in and save you. I would take you away if you’d let me. Lunch is just the first step.” he said while eyeing your frame subtly.

Your heartbeat quickened as your palms grew sweaty. He watched you like you were the only thing that mattered. His intense, penetrating eyes piercing right through made you weak. It scared you but intrigued you.

“You’re famous. You whisk away every girl that you find pretty?” you quizzed trying to make sense of it all. Just last night, you had a man that refused to touch you. Just hours ago, you were neglected in every way that you could think of. And now, you have a caramel kissed man standing in front of you treating as if you were the purest diamond. As if you were rare, unique, and completely hard to find. 

You watched a smile dance across his full lips. He shook his head and licked his lips before answering.

“I hate being famous actually. For many different reasons that I, unfortunately, don’t have enough time to tell you. We’re running out time lady.” he said while watching the elevator buttons. “It’s hard finding authenticity in people. It’s hard finding real love, real emotion, real music - I can literally go on and on. Everyone hides behind facades and masks. You’re different. You’ve always been you it’s just no one was insightful enough to pay attention.” he continued.

You finally reached your destined floor. The doors opened and you felt your heart sink. You didn’t want him to go. 

“Thank you for making me smile today,” you said softly.

“Best believe, it was my pleasure. See you around Charisma,” he responded while holding the elevator door open for you. You reluctantly exited the elevator and waved him goodbye.

--------

After a tedious day of working hard, you decided to attend your appointment with Tiffany, your trusted therapist. After the loss of the baby, you’ve been seeing a Tiffany inconsistently. By nature, you were instinctively self-reliant due to your own insecurities and the insecurities forced on you by others. Desmonde thought it was a waste of money and your friends who you barely speak to now had their own speculations. You viewed Tiffany as a human diary, holding your precious secrets - holding your darkest memories. There were times where you made progress and had these astounding revelations ready to make leaps and bounds in life and unfortunately, there were times you left feeling the absolute same. Consistently, inconsistent with your mental health, with your emotions, with your goals, and with your dreams. Maybe you cared too much? Too little? Maybe you were broken beyond repair? You grew up in a single-parent household where your mother showered you in the healthiest love and attention. Every time you needed her she was there. Constantly, going over and beyond for you - with you. But with her passing at the tender age of 20, it seemed as if life came at you like a raging storm. Quickly, devouring you piece by piece and brick by brick. At 21, you dropped out of college. Working like a dog and living check to check. At 21, you met Desmonde and fell for him and by 22 you were pregnant. Now at the new fresh age of 23, you were alone again.

Tiffany opened her office door and greeted you with the brightest smile. She wore a sky blue buttoned blouse and grey slacks. She wore her hair down making her amber highlights easy to notice. You greeted her with a smile and a warm hello before entering her office. Casually taking a seat, you noticed that she redecorated. Had it been that long since you’ve been here?

“How are you feeling today?” she asked while opening her mustard yellow notepad.

“Confused,” you said while tugging at the sleeve of your dark red hoodie.

“Hmmm. Why is that? Oh, and happy belated before I forget,” she quizzed attentively.

“Thank you. I actually broke up with Desmonde on my birthday. I don’t mean to make it as aggressive as it sounds. I just didn’t know how else to um say that.” you admitted still fidgeting with your sleeve.

“What brought this on?” she asked now actively scribbling in her notepad.

“At this point, I’m convinced it was inevitable,” you answered now making direct eye contact.

“How so?”

“He didn’t touch me, nurture me, educate me, push me - He didn’t do a lot of things. My cup was always half empty with him.”

“You’ve been together for quite some time, right? So why did you stay? If he didn’t water you or stimulate you? Why give him so much of your time?”

“I stayed because I thought he was what I deserved,” you admitted.

“Why do you think you deserve to be wilted and neglected?” she questioned.

“That’s a question I keep asking myself honestly,” you responded.

“It sounds like this break up with Desmonde brought self-awareness to you,” she suggested.

“Can I ask you something?” you quizzed.

“Of course,” she answered smiling meekly.

“I’m naturally closed off. But today, I had the deepest conversation with a stranger. What does that mean?”

“What did you talk about?”

“I admitted to him that I was practically unhappy,” you said while finally resting your busy hand. No longer messing with your sleeve.

“That’s very interesting. And his response was?”

“His response was that he would rescue me if I’d let him. And the crazy thing is I believed him,” you said feeling a smile grace your lips.

“This stranger sounds like quite the charmer,” she said smirking and taking more notes casually.

“His name is Micah. He’s a guest at the hotel,” you admitted.

“So not a stranger then?” she quizzed.

“ An acquaintance I suppose?” you replied.

“So, you’re questioning why you’re doing something that’s typically out of your guarded character? Yes?”

“Yes,” you stated.

“Maybe subconsciously you want something different. Different responses attract different reactions. You put out a different response because internally you’re longing to break routine. After feeling half-empty for so long, it’s only normal to crave to feel full.”

“He asked me to lunch. I declined at first of course. But now, I’m reconsidering because of note he left me while I was cleaning his room.”

“What did it say?” she asked completely enticed.

“I-I have it in my pocket. I’ll read it to you.” you stuttered.

Slowly pulling the note from your pocket, you cleared your voice and read it aloud. 

“Listening to music doing nothing but thinking of you. Thinking of your body and how it was handcrafted by God. Each curve sexier than the last. My mind keeps reminiscing about your sweet smile and how it fiercely ignites me while softly illuminating my soul. Those soft plump lips begging to be kissed on. I never have seen a woman so radiant. I’ve never seen eyes so captivating and so pure. I continuously watch you - study you in hopes that I can understand your beautiful complexity. I can see the brokenness. I know we barely know each other, but everything happens for a reason. I hope that you’ll let me kiss you in every area that he’s hurt you. But first, let me be a friend. - Micah”

Before you knew it, tears streamed down your cheeks connecting down to your chin. 

“Why are you crying Charisma?” Tiffany inquired.

“I haven’t had a friend in a very long time,” you answered honestly.

“There is no perfect way to heal. Healing comes in many different forms. It can come through isolation, art, family, new scenery, and friends. Charisma, maybe it’s time for a friend.”

You nodded in acceptance and quietly thought to yourself about the painting from earlier. Cup half-empty or cup half-full? It’s all open to interpretation. All you knew is that you’re ready to be full. To be whole. 

Interrupting your thoughts, Tifanny posed a question.

“So what do you say Charisma?”

“I say, it’s a date. I need a friend more than I need anything else right now. It’s a date.” you answered.

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

Part 3 Part 5

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[v1ren]

Hello, hello @mariquitascadoodles​ !! Happy Holidays, my dear~! I was your Secret Santa for the @tdpholidayexchange​ !! I hope you have yourself a happy holiday season and enjoy the fic! 

Title: Stay For A While

Series: The Dragon Prince

AO3 Link: Click Me!

Pairing: Ruthari

Ethari was his name. The soft spoken, seemingly harmless elf responsible for embarrassing him in front of every one of his partners. 

They had been mere moments from leaving the Silvergrove, all running through the mission details a final time. A plan was set, positions were assigned - all that remained was getting to the destination and completing the job. It was standard routine, really, and one that Runaan took pride in. He was good at it. Talented, even. It was no surprise that he became the leader of their little team, and no less surprising that he took the role very seriously.

Thus, when Ethari, a well-known {because the Silvergrove only had one} blacksmith that was highly praised for his skill, approached the assassins with a wide smile and a wrapped package in his hands, Runaan took it with the utmost grace. Thanking him, but inquiring about its contents, the shorter of the Xadians simply replied, “It’s a gift. Saw you strugglin’ with that thing on your back. Thought I could help.”

The “thing” in question being a bow that the elegant-leader-of-assassins had handcrafted himself. Admitted it wasn’t the most...appealing piece of weaponry, but it got the job done and that was all that mattered. Implying that he were struggling with it was simply...not-- true. Runaan trained most of his life with a bow. It was another piece of him. It was a skill that he was highly praised on and now, this blacksmith dared to take that away from him? Undermine him and his work?

It was with a furrowed brow, an annoyed glare, and a pout that he finally opened the package. The other elves surrounding him stepped closer, peering their heads in whatever direction guaranteed them a better view.

An immediate silence fell over them, every pair of eyes now scanning the weapon held delicately in their leader’s hands; a hushed awe overcoming him. Runaan ran a hand down one of the limbs, fingers smoothing over each and every groove. Every carving. It was beautiful. It was wonderfully unique. Not just a bow by any means, but a perfectly constructed bowblade.

“Much better than that old thing, don’tcha think?”

The blacksmith pointed to the bow still hanging from his back, a smile spreading wide across his face. Runaan gave him a pointed look, lifting a single brow.

“Thought’cha might do better with one of them. More suited to ya. Anyway, good luck on yer mission.”

He turned on his heel, leaving without saying another word. Without so much as a single glance behind him.

The assassins stood huddled around the piece of art, eyes aglow at seeing something new. Something handcrafted into an item of mastery. It stole their leader’s breath away. Left him speechless for a much longer amount of time than he liked. It was only after one his teammates labelled the action as a random bout of “kindness” that Runaan breathed anew. Snapping himself out of his shock, shunting the bow off his back and replacing it with the new weapon, the elf strode forward and regained his composure. Centered himself back around to the mission and the importance of their duties.

Upon using the weapon and praising it {internally} for its natural ability to perfectly compliment him and his fighting style, he was filled with a frustration that clung to his chest. It captured his very soul in a vice grip, making the Xadian rather insufferable through the remainder of the mission. 

No one simply gave a gift without expecting one in return. And if, by some rare occurrence, the blacksmith wasn’t expecting a gift in return-- then Runaan would appear at his doorstep with one regardless. One that blew his own gift out of the water and made him feel like an idiot for ever having extended a hand of kindness toward him.

Yes, that...that sounded right.

Thus, several days after the start of his mission and several days after his return, Runaan stood at the door of the Silvergrove’s finest {and only} blacksmith; Ethari. With gift in hand, a wrapped, smaller box light enough to be held with one hand, the assassin lifted a fist to the door; knocking against it three times. 

Waiting patiently for said door to open, he fidgeted awkwardly where he stood. This was nothing more than a meeting, an exchange, a means of returning a favor so that he owed this elf nothing. He would hand over his gift, say his goodbyes, and be done with all of this. All of the thoughts that drifted to him, the emotions that aroused themselves upon hearing his name, the memories of his smile and voice and the way he--

“...Runaan?”

Turquoise orbs lift from the box in his hand, words sticking in his throat as soon as he locked onto the sweaty, shirtless blacksmith in front of him. The smile he receives in return sends heat rushing to his face immediately.

“Sorry. Wasn’t expectin’ company.”

Soft, brown eyes lower to the item in the assassin’s hand. Runaan instinctively tenses, opening his mouth to speak, but Ethari is much too quick.

“Oh. How’d ya know it was my birthday?”

Oh. Oh no, this was horrible. Everything was going wrong. Horribly, embarrassingly wrong. Why did he have to-- look like that? Why did his voice have to be so smooth and so gentle? Why did his birthday have to fall on a day that should have been filled with spite and an end to the ever weighing guilt of a gift?!

“I...uhm...”

But...no. That couldn’t be right. The Moonshadow was joking. Pulling his leg. Ethari’s birthday had been last week, hadn’t it? He remembered overhearing an elf or two mentioning it.

Scoffing aloud, the taller of the two rolled his eyes and straightened his shoulders; Ethari releasing a small chuckle at the obvious display of feigned confidence.

“...Today is not your birthday.” Runaan breathes, pursing his lips together.

“Ah, well...” Ethari trails off, nodding his head slowly and giving the comment pause before continuing. “I knew that, but how did you know that?”

“I...w-well...”

The heat returned to his cheeks in full force, the blacksmith releasing a warm, boisterous laugh as he steps back into his home. Extending a hand, he attempts to speak through his laughter:

“Please, c’mon in.”

Hesitating for the briefest of moments, the assassin exhales deeply before opting to enter the humble abode. Ethari shuts the door behind them, padding further into the room and nudging his chin toward a nearby table.

“Yer welcome to take a seat. Can make us some tea or--”

“I’ve brought you something.” 

He needed to end this. Stop this form of familiarity before it got out of hand. Before the pounding heart in his chest burst from his ribcage and spilled over his lips. If he could just...give the gift away, say his adieu’s, and never have to think about the perfectly toned backside in front of him again-- he could {possibly} leave the rest of his days in peace.

The blacksmith turns around, smile still in place even as the assassin continues to glare. 

“Don’t...don’t you wish to open it?”

Runaan holds out the box, watching the other admire it quietly. The heat at his face is quickly spreading to his ears, even before the frustratingly gentle elf replies:

“If I open it...will you stay a while? I’ve got dinner cookin’ and I don’t think I can eat it all.”

His heart is in his very veins now; pounding erratically. Sending his mind racing and overpowering any control he may have had left. Swallowing hard, the assassin nods slowly.

“...Yes, that...I can do that.”

 “Good,” soft hands remove the package from Runaan’s sweating pair. “Then let’s see what we have, eh?”

Standing awkwardly beside him, the assassin keeps his eyes on the blacksmith as he steps over to the nearby table. Laying the small box down and working delicate fingers at the bow on top, the process is nearly painful. 

It wasn’t much of a gift and he knew that, but it was handcrafted - exactly as Ethari’s was. He needed a gift of equal or greater value; perfectly severing whatever sort of debt the other had tried to put him into. A debt of emotions and heavy thoughts; all of which Runaan did not wish for, but yet, somehow, found to be more persistent when in the Moonshadow’s presence. 

There was simply something about the way he moved. The way he spoke to everyone in their community. He was resplendent in every turn of his body. Every blink of an eye. Every soft word that ever graced the light of day. He was--

“Oh, Runaan...”

The voice breaks him away, focus returned to the blacksmith in front of him; eyes suddenly wide and jaw hung open. Ethari lifts from the box a violet cloth, a scarf, hand-stitched to perfection and made from the finest fabrics this side of the border could offer. It’s plain in the sense that it’s not decorated in symbols or ornate designs, but the assassin felt that it would do its job. It would symbolize the end of something that never existed and--

“It’s beautiful.”

The words leave him frozen; eyes staring at the beautiful sight in front of him. The way this blacksmith, so strong and powerful, caresses it as though it were a newborn. Presses it gently between his fingers and against his face and smiles at it as though he’s never seen anything like it before. Its a reaction that strips away any other reason for Runaan’s coming here aside from seeing this wonderful, addictive elf. 

Their eyes meet in that moment and he swears he’ll never be the same again. Feels the stars align and the moon’s glow as their hearts connect on levels he’s never known before. 

In this very moment, words spoken silently between them, they are one in the same.

Ethari starts to wrap the scarf around his neck, smile stretching from ear to ear. Runaan watches him, eyes never leaving him. Not for a second.

“You’ll stay a while, won’t you? Let me treat you to dinner?”

Their eyes meet a second and final time; the meaning behind such words clear as day. Runaan swallows hard, clasping his hands behind his back and flicking his gaze from the scarf, to the beautiful face in front of him. The eyes gazing deep into his soul; holding it close and keeping it safe. Protected. Loved.

“...Yes, I...I’d rather like that, thank you.”

[scarlet-nin]

To Fix What’s Broken Is Not Enough

Summary: The first time Dazai sees Yosano, hears how she speaks, the way she threatens her patients into submitting to her care with the promise of a smile, the steel in his grin melts into quicksilver, a poison so potent flowing through his veins he can taste the bitterness of metal on his lips.

The first time Yosano lays eyes upon Dazai all it takes is a smile.

One smile for the warning bells inside her head to shriek alarm.

The first time Dazai sees Yosano, hears how she speaks, the way she threatens her patients into submitting to her care with the promise of a smile, the steel in his grin melts into quicksilver, a poison so potent flowing through his veins he can taste the bitterness of metal on his lips.

His heart misses a beat. The walls he spent years on building fall together like a house of cards in the summer breeze as deep inside his chest something blooms from beyond the ice, a flower. Fragile like the fluttering wings of a butterfly it festers.

“I can’t wait to treat you.”

She says, eyes glinting in the dim-light of the office with a leer for blood after he’s gotten the courage to move past the roots having taken to his legs to speak with her. A curtain of dark hair falling into her face is a sharp contrast to her paperwhite skin. Eyes fierce as they puncture into his own, scraping past the surface of his face with her scalpel to tear off his mask without mercy. The sight of her pristine coat of righteousness laying on her shoulders, imposing with its demand for respect. A coat to call her own. Just like him. A white to his black.

“Seeing all of these bandages…you’re going to end up sooner in my office rather than later. My new regular. It’ll be like unwarping a present.”

The moment passes. His head clears of the smoke obscuring his vision, the flower wilting inside his heart. Petals dropping into acid.

Her image bleeds into another one, twisting once more before the pieces click into place, creating a picture so vivid inside his mind he makes the mistake to smile in her presence.

Yosano stills, losing her sharp edges, the stubborn crease in her brow smoothing out in a single fluid movement as the shock sweeps her along to crush her against the rocks of the ocean.

She sees his shadow in all his twisted glory draped across his shoulders like the coat he used to wear. The invisible hands pulling up the corners of his mouth as elbows settle on his shoulders, the weight of the devil hard to bear.

Part of him wants to cover his eye, shield himself from having to see her. The urge to disregard Odasaku’s last act of life pushes his thoughts into the right order.

“What a pretty lady! Too bad you’re not my type.”

He whines, clutching at his chest. A doctor is dangerous. Always, regardless of ability. Whether man or woman. The sight of them is enough to stir the horrible apprehension of weariness inside his soul.

She blinks, scoffs and shakes her head. He wonders if she knows. Of the doll. How her existence shaped another.

She’s a replica. An inspiration. A faceless base of bottomless horror.

The memory of her skips around in the ghost of a little girl in a red frilly dress. Draws pictures of nightmares as she bosses around and feeds into the delusional born out of loneliness for companionship of a man loving nothing but a city cursing his name in the shadows of the night.

Would she disappear if he were to touch her?

“No, I guess I wouldn’t be.”

She storms past him, heels resonating like gunshots across the office as she slams her door shut with enough strength to rattle the frame.

Off to a bad start, then.

The first time Yosano lays eyes upon Dazai all it takes is a smile.

One smile for the warning bells inside her head to shriek alarm. Head buzzing as she reels back from this demon in human skin, terror is sinking into every crack of her handcrafted armor, slipping past the stiches she made to keep herself together. He rips them open with the sharp edge of his empty smile, eyes darker than the blackest abyss and leaves her to bleed out.

Veins freezing it’s the first time she doubts the President’s judgment. He let death walk in the door with a smile. Despite all the warning signs. This man will be the death for them, either by extension or his own hands.

After all, it’s in the nature of the student to surpass the teacher.

But she keeps her mouth shut and her eyes open. Kunikida plays with fire, throwing around a ticking time bomb while being none the wiser of the possible consequences. Dazai whines and acts more like a big child than an adult most of the time. Doesn’t spare her more than a glance in parting as they avoid each other. He flirts with the older women walking into their office doors and after months of observation her conviction falters.

The comment about her age might not have been about her age at all.

She doesn’t know how young or old he must have been when Mori sunk his claws into him.

All she knows is he smiles like the devil but acts like a fool.

His plans are a handiwork of her worst nightmare. Functional without major casualties or injuries. Efficient. The extent of his grasp on their reactions despite working in the office for only a few weeks is terrifying. An impressive display of pulling the strings. A master manipulator at his finest.

Another Mori. This time right among their midst.

As long as the blood staining his hands isn’t the Agency’s, she could put her grudge aside.

Perhaps even her fear.

The doll and the doctor. Two parts of a whole man.

As the doll, Dazai is void of feeling. Having no sense of wanting nor of happiness, he plays his act with little regard to the well-being of others. No matter how hard he tries, the lives of faceless people dying doesn’t bother him on a personal level.

Not like it does Yosano. Full of will and a passion to save the lives put in front of her with a world of pain and a simple touch of her hand. She breathes life into them, Dazai takes it away.

“Can you undress them?”

“I’d rather not.” Alone in her office with the smell of her personal perfume of disinfectant he tries his best to be compliant.

She frowns, a hint of annoyance creeping into her face as she turns to face him.

“How am I supposed to fix you? I’m fully capable of doing so without the use of my ability.”

“I can do that myself.”

The chance of her giving in due to knowing who must have taught him what little first-aid he knows is slim. But she nods, snapping her head to the side while gesturing to the door without another demand for him to undress.

“Get out of my office.”

“Yes, Mam.”

He winks, the beat of his pulse drowning out his the one in his heart. He flees, ignoring Kunikida’s yell to rest when he’s staying home tomorrow and to call in sick instead of worrying them.

The stiches he does on his arm are messy, a bit uneven and throb painfully but as long as he doesn’t have to be a prisoner to the infirmary, he’ll patch himself up in his apartment, locked into the tiny space of his bathroom with no doctor looming over him.

“You don’t like doctors at all, do you?”

There’s a faint hysteria of laughter hidden in her voice. She’s sure Dazai catches it anyway, judging from the tightness around his eyes, lips going white with the force it takes to keep his smile in place.

“No, sorry, can’t say that I do.”

The cheer in his words is nothing but a lie. She can see the truth in the faint tremor in his hand, the too short breaths in his pattern. The notion of what it means is reducing her to shaky hands, unfit to treat any person until she’s calmed down. It’s absurd. The thought of Dazai being afraid of her, when she’s been scared of him this entire time, is laughable. Or perhaps wary would be the better word to use in this odd case.

Neither one making a step. Not daring to cross an invisible line drawn into the sand by their own hands. Both too afraid to inflict a different kind of Mori’s wrath on themselves.

Dazai with his effortless manipulation could have torn the office apart if he wanted to. He didn’t for reasons Yosano is starting to grasp. Her danger lies in her authority as the doctor. Her words carry more weight in the Agency than his own. At least in concern to his health and she knows how easy it would be to spin a tale to her liking. Her word was law and if she wanted to make his treatment painful, he could do little to complain or protest.

Studying the bandages concealing the skin from her sight, she’s grateful her ability does not work on him. Like throwing a glass against the wall, he would break in the light of resurrection. While Dazai’s mind is his biggest weapon, the additional strain on top of having to shoulder the weight of his misery would have ruined him.

Ruined him like Mori ruined her.

“Can’t fault you for that. Some doctors are shit at their job.”

She says, the smile on her face honest and soft as she holds out her hand for him. The wound isn’t life-threatening so she isn’t going to hurry him.

“Want me to take a look at that now? If I wrap it up quick, I can give you something for the pain. I’d give it to you before, but you could run off afterwards. So, think about it as a treat.”

Slowly, he puts his arm out. She’s careful with her hands, touches feather light if she hasn’t had to use force. As if he were a child she works with quick hands, aware of how painfully stiff he is.

“I felt like I should have given you a warning. A shovel talk if you will. About messing with the Agency but I doubt I’ll have to do that at all. I’m not too prideful to admit you could run circles around my head.”

Giving him a grin full of teeth, she warps the cut up, keeping the pressure as light as she can before giving him a pill for the pain. He blinks, eyes wide as he looks from his newly warped arm to glance at her face.

“We’re done if that’s all. You’re free to leave or you can lay down here for awhile if you want to rest. Try to raid my medicine cupboard while I’m on lunchbreak and I’ll put you on paperwork duty for at least two months.”

She pats him on the shoulder before turning around with a flap of her skirt to clean her equipment. Dazai waits for a moment before stands and leaves, hesitating at the door like he might have wanted to say something but he remains silent.

Dazai, she learns is not an enemy, but a kindred spirit.

Yosano, Dazai learns, is a doctor who works to heal her patients. Her aim is not to fix them, to glue shards back together so they could break again and be shaped into something functional and exploitable, but to care. Her personal gain is of no importance in her job. Her motivator is compassion. Nothing more, nothing less.

Her touch is too kind for a doctor. Ruthless as she may be with an audience, the pain she inflicts is for the greater good of the person. The occasional revenge put aside.

Healing is more than just skin deep. Yosano lives by those words. So, he lets her patch him up, uses her to slack off during working hours and calls her when he needs someone to get himself out of hospital.

The doctor and the doll are so similar, no wonder they share a soul. Both hating their ability for the effects on others. Two people knowing the meaning of death.

The Angel of Death prevents death. The Demon Prodigy inflicts it.

Therefore, it’s only fitting he’s the one to return to hell. To Mori, who has more use for another doll than for a healer as a doctor.

“Dazai-kun,” The devil coos, eyes filled with blood.

After all, an angel has no business in hell.

“—Welcome back to the Port Mafia.”

But a demon can conquer the throne.

[bardicknowledgeblogger]

My RPG Characters

Alright - so here are the characters I have in any ongoing games (note - none of the games I am in or run are by the book D&D. They have a lot of homebrew stories, settings and gameplay)

I tried to keep things short and sweet, and then started to fail a little bit, so I’ll have the characters below the cut. It’s not SUPER long, but definitely longer than I had intended :/ 

I probably won’t ever remove characters, even if their games end, just so that if they are brought up there is a standing reference of who they are. I’ll keep it alphabetical though, and add new characters as they are made.

Alexis

Background: A human character from a Dark Fantasy Homebrew campaign. Alexis woke up on the table of some being calling himself The Sculptor, and was told he had died at some point, and that his soul had been pulled from the beyond and put into a carved stone body. He was being asked to fight back strange horrors invading this foreign land - the more he remembered and did, the more like his old self he would become. Before that he had simply been a man who loved life, travelling to meet all he could and write their stories, sing their songs, and experience all that life could offer. A true renaissance man.

Appearance: Currently he’s of course completely made of stone, barring a few cracks and random patches where his “true bodY’ peeks through. Before that, however, he was tall and lean, with light brown skin, bright blue eyes, and sunkissed brown hair that feel in loose waves and curls to about his shoulders. He generally had a bit of stubble on his face but never had a full beard. He always wore the finest things he could find - embroidered silks, handcrafted lace, and finely tooled leathers were all common parts of his wardrobe. He had a few slight scars with grand tales behind them (in reality they were generally caused by his own negligence in highly embarrassing ways, but he’d be damned if he was going to admit it) and the most charming smile you’d ever seen.

Personality: Outgoing and friendly, Alexis made friends easier than enemies. He took up work as a bounty hunter, but regularly would talk with his targets and convince them to turn themselves in without a fight. He made friends in places high and low, and could find something to talk about with nearly anyone. He has a high appreciation for the arts, and thinks it is the duty of all who live to preserve and share the stories, experiences, and creations of those around them. He truly loves life, loves people, and loves discovery.

Ariyna

Background: A Pantoran Character from a Star Wars Homebrew game. Ariyna was a young heiress and only child, growing up in the lap of luxury as her parents served in fairly high political positions (not the she paid that much attention to it). She always dreamed of seeing the galaxy around her but for various reasons was always kept at home by her parents. When she found out they were arranging a marriage for her with an available noble, she took her chance and ran away with the help of a bounty hunter, dragging her poor guard along in the process. Unfortunately, she was almost immediately captured by Sith who sensed great potential within her...

Appearance: Ariyna has soft blue skin with intricate gold markings on her face (one of which looks similar to an upside down lotus flower between her brows, the symbol of her family). Her hair is bright white and falls in very slight waves to her lower back. Her eyes are a soft pink that is so pale it almost appears white. She is incredibly petite, barely coming to 5 feet in height and is small enough that most larger aliens she meets are able to lift her one handed. She strives to wear the most current fashions, leaning into pinks, berry tones, and golds that compliment her best. The best way to think of her is as being “doll-like”

Personality: Ariyna grew up learning to wear different masks depending on her setting. However, at her core she’s selfish and rash, but still cares about others. She will act without thinking, then immediately regret her choices when she sees the consequences of her actions. She doesn’t like others getting hurt, but will let them get hurt before she allows harm to come to herself. She does good things, helps people, and pursues grand goals, but deep inside it’s because she wants the attention and validation from others for doing so. She’s not a good person.... But she knows how to make people think she is. And all in all - she’s scared. She makes choices based on self preservation, and a desire to find somewhere she belongs and feels safe.

Edwina

Background: Human Character from a Bloodborne homebrew game. Edwina joined the church of healing right before Old Yharnam had to be burned due to the scourge of beasts. Was too low down the chain to know much, but had seen enough to suspect the church was responsible, and tried to run away before being conscripted into being a hunter. Has worked her way into the choir where she has been able to learn about great ones, and is actually fairly sympathetic towards them (based on her understanding of them) and has shared dreams with them. Trying to experiment and find ways to use the dreams and the presence of the great ones to counteract beasthood.

Appearance: Pale skin (does not get much sun AT ALL), black curly hair that she haphazardly iles on her head, brown eyes. Likes long sleeves, lots of layers (long tunic, with a vest, and then her robes, and then a coat), fairly average height, slender build with little to know muscle - kinda bony. Currently has some pretty nasty twisted scars along her shoulder, chest and right forearm, and again in her lower legs due to some cultists attacking them with bear traps and nailed planks.

Personality: Very introverted - would love to curl up with a book and tea at home. Very curious and likes to learn things. Will definitely lie and attempt to go where she maybe isn’t supposed, but will also crack under even the slightest amount of pressure. Has a very low threshold for bullshit of any kind. Very inexperienced with ost worldly things (got hit on by her current beau, did not realize what was happening and never would have if he hadn’t specifically explained himself). Very low self esteem that she hides by just not talking. Currently really struggling with the thoughts of being physically intimate now that she has a bunch of nasty scars that she wants to keep hidden.

Fitz (Full name is Fitzgerald, but he hates that)

Background: Fitz is an automaton (magic robot, basically) in a heavily magic based setting where said automatons cannot use magic. Instead he is a skilled tinkerer and craftsman, and makes many fine tools, baubles and decorative pieces, along with an impressive array of mechanical things. One day he did such a good job for one mage, that they decided to enchant him with the ability to do artificy, but only on metal he has gathered and forged himself. Now he has to occasionally travel about for fancy materials that people want him to artifice so he can continue to amass more wealth. Even though it’s super inconvenient. On one such excursion he wound up getting caught in a sort of… compound for discovering the next “architect” - a being who gets to live a life of luxury and get access to untold power, in exchange for keeping the people of the world safe from outside threats. He has to go through a gauntlet of tests, challenges and more to earn this spot, and he is greedily doing everything he can to play the other contestants and get the prize for himself.

Appearance: Made of dull gray metal with bits of clockwork and other mechanical parts occasionally peaking out at the joints of his body. A fairly unassuming automaton, and he’s okay with that. His eyes glow a nice blue color, and he wears a loose tunic with a vest and tight trousers that have many loops for tools and pouches for bits. He has a lovely pair of cuffed boots that he wears as well. He is always accompanied by his companion - an artificed bug that holds a number of his most commonly used tools and is able to come when called and produce the proper item. It can’t speak or understand anything else, but that doesn’t stop Fitz from talking to it like it can.

Personality: Fitz is kinda an ass. He prefers to be able to just live a calm and relatively boring life, because he has no desire to incur the dangers that adventuring brings. However not using his artificey skills, now that people know he has them, is becoming more of a difficulty as people harass him about it. So he begrudgingly goes out and collects what he needs and will absolutely complain the whole time. He really doesn’t care about other people and will not hesitate to leave them behind if it’s easier to do so. However he will help them if they provide more benefit to him alive, or if it isn’t too difficult to do so. The biggest thing that can entice him is the promise of the easy life that power and money can bring. It’s not a big enough draw for him to hunt it out, but if the path is laid before him… well he’d be a fool not to follow.

Kati

Background: Her father was a highly respected doctor who worked tirelessly to help people by treating sickness and disease. he was very strict and good, and held high regard for the accepted morals of society. Her mother was a bit more eccentric - she was mortician, and treated death as just another stage of the lifecycle. This allowed Kati to develop an… unusual, and at times unhealthy, interest in death. She was very intelligent, and extremely curious, and she moved into medical research. She studied diseases, how they spread, their symptoms, etc… But began to push the limits of what all “research” entailed. She began allowing patients to die for the sake of documenting the entire cycle of the disease. She stole samples of diseases and took them home, where she would effectively poison others and document what happened to them. Eventually she began soliciting her services as an assassin, using diseases commonplace enough to not be suspicious, but difficult enough to treat that death was all but guaranteed.

Appearance: She is a young woman in her thirties, with olive toned skin and deep brown eyes. She has thick, black curly hair that is almost always worn up. She wears glasses all the time, even though she really only needs them to read or work on delicate, small scale things. She is fairly plain, and is okay with it as she has little interest in relationships (or people in general, for that matter). Her style is mainly about what is comfortable, and is usually loose pants and simple blouses that can have the sleeves rolled up. She does have a few outfits that are tight and dark that she wears when working as an assassin, along with a black cat mask that she uses to cover her face. She is thin, more from poor health choices than anything else, and does not do well with too much physical exertion.

Personality: Very blunt and frequently thought of as cold and uncaring. Mainly just socially awkward and not sure how to engage with people - which is fine, as she doesn’t really care to do much with others anyway. Has little regard for human life and is extremely curious about the concept of what the afterlife may hold. Collects any paraphernalia she can that relates to death and the macabre, including skulls, mummified body parts, etc… Concerned with herself and her own wellbeing first and foremost, but learned enough from her father that she will help others if she has nothing to gain from leaving them (for example, she will not leave a child to die from pnuemonia, if for no other reason than it isn’t interesting and provides her nothing to learn). She will not hesitate to justify death with the pursuit of knowledge, however. Has little care for what others think of her, and has been called things like weird, quirky, ugly, unapproachable, rude, etc… her whole life. Attempts to be minimally polite when required, but rarely succeeds.

Kyllä

Background: Dwarven character from a homebrew-y psuedo gothic fantasy world. Woke up one day in the middle of a city with no memories. A human woman who ran an herbalist shop took her in. She didn’t really fit in, because most of the dwarves rejected her due to her lack of knowledge and reverence for their ways, and everyone else is just a little bit racist. Developed skills for thievery out of boredom and a desire to save for the things she wanted, and now relies on it as a general lifestyle. Primed to take over the potion shop her adopter runs, and was travelling to expand it when she was forcibly made a “reaper” - someone who uses elemtnal magic to defeat dark, demonic beasts infiltrating the world. Now that kind of serves as her primary focus.

Appearance: Short, a bit squat but not as much as many other dwarves (strives to make sure she is light on her feet and can squeeze through small places), fair skinned with slight tanning on cheeks, shoulders, etc... Auburn hair that is wild and unruly. Wears leather and dark clothing with hoods, gloves, face wraps, etc... has a blade that straps along the length of her forearm and can be popped out into a scythe. Uses shadow based magics.

Personality: Loud. Will say what she wants, when she wants - ifshe doesn’t like you, she will absolutely tell you. Enjoys fucking with people, and will use trickery to overcome obstacles when given a choice. Does not like to be looked down on and will go to great lengths to prove you wrong. Does not like the idea of commitment due to intense trust issues, but will not hesitate to indulge herself in whatever way she wants at the time. Prides herself on her ability to seduce just about any woman she comes across.

Petra

Background: Naive faun girl who lives in a tiny town in the middle of a wild forest and has literally never left. Her husband goes out adventuring and stops writing one day. She decides to go after him and experience the wonderful world! Surprise - the world is actually awfully. Cinnamon roll faun girl has a few exestential crisis before finding her husband who had become a revolutionary to try and make the world better before she could ever come see it. (It didn’t work). The world she is from is one where most people can use magic, however faun’s are born with “half” magic. They can bond with someone to give them their half of magic, meaning that between two bonded fauns, one can use magic. She gave her magic to her husband, and so in order to survive on her adventure has taken to collecting a meangerie of magic knicks knacks and items to compensate. Not all of them are good.

Appearance: Very small (smol) - just over 4 ft. Broad, branching antlers. Long wavy pale blonde hair that turns to a rose color at the ends. Very dusky brown skin with white freckles. Deer ears and a tail, as well as soft fluffy fur on her chest, forearms and lower legs. Big blue doe eyes. Wears impractical pretty clothes and an eclectic mix of jewelry (namely a gaudy collar of different gemstones that her husband had sent from a treasure trove - it does NOT match her clothing and is VERY expensive, but it was a gift so it doesn’t come off)

Personality: Cinnamon Roll that has had to witness too much cruelty of the world for her taste. Wants to make things better, but has doubts on her ability to do so. Has struggled with questions like what makes someone good, what is right and wrong, etc... and is still not settled on an answer. However, this challenged naivity has led to the development of the idea that most people are bad, and to assume people are bad until proven otherwise. Takes betrayal like a knife to the heart and can hold a grudge - especially if she thought you were better than that.

Vivian

Background: My longest running character who has ascended into some ridiculous territory. Vivian was basically an Aasimar Cleric. She was descended from a race of near immortal beings with the ability to access different dimensions (an ability that was awoken within her in her mid twenties). She has an angelic companion named Ezekiel who gives her some of her magic abilities and travels with her as both a fighting companion and a romantic partner. She is currently considered a God on 2 different worlds/other dimensions (one of which is basically dead so...)

Appearance: Tall (like... 7ft. tall), lean muscle (she is trained with a sword and shield, hand to hand combat and a crossbow, and wears heavy plate and chain), Sun-Tanned skin, long bright red hair, quite a number of scars (legs are covered in acid-like burn scars, chesst has a magic internal scar that runs along the veins, assortment of smaller scars from other attacks). Was missing right arm which was replaced with a magic prosthetic, but had it... replaced? When she ascended to Godhood (like you do). White angel wings with gold accents. WHEN ON A WORLD SHE IS A GOD OF her scars are replaced with ethereal gold filigree patterns, her hair dissolves at the tips into a sort of galaxy thing and her eyes glow a bit. Gold and White aesthetic.

Personality: Neutral Good - Values what is right and just abov eall else, even if she must kill or lie for it. The good of the many outweighs the desire of the few. Doesn’t believe that anyone is beyond saving, but will not risk others to try and save someone who doesn;t want it. A mediator - will try to find a middle ground of peace if she can before escelating things. Loves to find flowers to braid into hair, will adopt literally any kind of animal (which has included a giant spider in the past) and likes feeling pretty even when covered in heavy armor that can obscure almost her entire being.

[du3list]

@thepharaohisdead-longlivetheking replied to this post.

Atem’s demeanor softened, but only barely, like a hurricane lessening into a tornado, as he turned and very gently wrapped his arms around his beloved, lifting him up and holding him tightly, showering kisses against his face, silently begging his tears to stop

“My darling Heba, you are to be my First Wife, my Great Wife, my ONLY wife, you are the only soul who will ever capture my heart, touch my flesh, or carry my heirs, you are the most sacred jewl in the entirety of Egypt, a soul handcrafted by the gods just for me, to hold my love, to give your love to me in return, such importance, such honor and sacredness… and yet some fool DARES attempt to tarnish you, the things that she said to you are tantamount to her slapping me in the face, to lay such insult to a GOD is nothing short of unholy,”

He reluctantly set the neko down, but kept him close, his eyes burning with fury once again, softness gone, as he turned his attention back to the visiting princess

Never had he held his power so clearly before, never had he looked so much like a god about to strike down a lesser being

“You will bow to my bride, apologize, and BEG for his forgiveness, only then will I even consider any form of mercy,”

The feeling of the pharaoh’s arms around him are a comfort, for sure. He is the one constant in this palace, the one thing that anchors Heba and lets him feel like he has some kind of security. Every piece of his past is gone, and Atem was the first and only person to ever treat him like more than just a pet. 

He buries his face in his mate’s chest, closes his eyes and just clings to the front of his shirt. He does not like seeing him so furious, does not want to see his anger turned on the girl no matter how cruel she might have been. His tail waves back and forth, flicking with distress as he lets Atem shuffle him out of the way but does not withdraw far.  The princess pauses in her step, her eyes incredulous as she looks at the pharaoh. She falters when she sees his fury, but lifts her chin and speaks in a soft, proud tone. “ Why should I apologize to your little pet, Per’a’ah? He is not fit to be the wife of a god - he is not even fully human! Would you have your heirs be nothing more than half-breeds? “ she asks, her eyes glowing with anger. “ Did you fail to consider my country’s influence? You cannot have me killed, or my father will soon rain down war on your country. Would you risk that for a neko? “

[mygarage]

6 Tucson-Based Online Stores You Should Definitely Visit

Introduction

Stores and businesses are finally reopening here in Tucson, but it’s doing so only at a gradual pace. It’s rather slow but a good sight to see that businesses are bouncing back from this crisis.

While we wait in our homes for the economy to rise back up and for our favorite restaurants and shops to re-open, we can take advantage of the gift we call the world wide web.

While some stores weren’t allowed to re-open physically, operations were allowed to continue virtually.

Here are 6 Tucson-based online stores you should definitely visit.

My Garage Rentals

The first Tucson-based online peer-to-peer rental platform; My Garage Rentals seeks to connect the Tucson community, making it easier to rent from friends, neighbors, and other locals nearby with just a message away.

Whether it’s tools, musical instruments, kitchen utensils, or even cars, My Garage Rentals is the platform to rent anything under the sun.

It can be used to make money out of the tools and things we only use occasionally by lending them to others for a price of your choice.

It can also be great leverage for those looking to save money instead of buying something only needed momentarily; obviously, when you rent you pay less and in turn, you save.

Another reason you would use My Garage Rentals for would be to explore new hobbies. Like renting out a camera for example and just testing the waters of photography first. A lot of people set out to try new hobbies and end up letting go mid-way, already spending more than they should have.

I can go on and on about how My Garage Rentals is quite an efficient platform, there are countless benefits. But we’ll leave you to imagine and discover for yourself as you give this website a try.  

Sign up now and start renting! Click Here to visit My Garage Rentals today!

Pueblo Vida Brewing

Recently nominated for “Best Brewery of 2020” by Tucson Weekly, Pueblo Vida Brewing is known for its high-grade brewed craft beers.

Their tap list boasts of a wide variety of unique flavors ranging from their Bavarian-style Hefeweizen to Coffee Brown Ale.

Their beers are sold in cans, with each flavor owning their distinct artistic design.

And if you just can’t get enough of their amazing brew, you can always order an entire 1/6bbl keg.

We wouldn’t be giving Pueblo Vida Brewing enough justice if we did not acknowledge their kind and accommodating crew, which you will meet as you pick-up your order.

The staff shows how Pueblo Vida Brewing does not only desire to sell you their great tasting craft beer but that they seek all the more the satisfaction of the local community with every pick-up.

You can order their craft beer and their merchandise as well, head on over to their online store by clicking Here!

You can visit their official website for more details. Click Here to visit Pueblo Vida Brewing now!

Laura Tanzer

Winner of multiple awards such as the “Best of Tucson Clothing Designer of 2017 and 2019” and “Best Designer in Tucson Fashion Week 2013,” there is no denying the raw talent and passion of clothing designer Laura Tanzer.

Designing clothes since 2013, Laura Tanzer has always aimed at incorporating sustainability along with style and comfort in her designs.

Laura Tanzer flaunts a wide selection of clothing from various categories; from her latest Antique Linen Kimono Origami Jacket to her Convertible Knit Dress, every piece exhibiting their unique kind of chic.

Leaning towards the greener and more ecological approach; Laura Tanzer chooses to produce her clothing with sustainable natural fabric and donates the left-over tatters to schools, later to be used for art projects, according to Green Living Mag.

Did we mention that Laura Tanzer makes facemasks too? Talk about being safe with elegance and style!

Laura Tanzer is open for business online, you can order over at their website by clicking Here!

Old Paint Records

Good news for all of you classic music geeks living in the town of Tucson. Old Paint Records is up and running for online shopping.

For those of you newcomers in Tucson who haven’t heard of Old Paint Records, it’s a vinyl record shop and miscellaneous store found in Old Town Artisans.

They sell only classics in almost every genre; from Rock and Soul to Country and Blues, Hip-hop and Jazz to R&B and Punk, name it and they surely got it.

They have an impressive collection of only the most acceptable music for vinyl, some of these you may not even find elsewhere on the internet.

So even though you’re spending more time indoors, you can still slap a brand-new vinyl on your record player and dance to the likes of Marvin Gaye and Miles Davis.

You can purchase vinyl records and other Old Paint Records merchandise over at their website just by clicking Here!

El Be Goods Boutique

From handcrafted greeting cards to clothing and accessories, there is no lack with El Be Goods Boutique.

This is the perfect online store to go shopping for your girlfriend or your mom, being that most of their merchandise is targeted towards female consumers.

Just by looking at their products, you can very well tell that they were made with heartfelt effort.

Whether it’s a last-minute gift for someone or just a treat to cheer yourself up, El Be Goods Boutique is the store to shop.

Visit their website now and start shopping, click Here!

Or if you're willing to get out of the house to see their products in person, you can most certainly do so by setting an appointment on their available business days which are on Thursdays to Saturdays from 12 noon to 5 PM.

You can find El Be Goods Boutique at 245 E. Congress St. #115, Tucson, AZ 85701.

Shahida Parides

Founded by Shahida Clayton, this women’s contemporary clothing collection was birthed from a dream to make all of its wearers experience power, chic, and comfortability altogether.

Shahida’s style is breath-taking in a sense that it evidently expresses the elements of the desert and its dwellers, promoting the beauty that is found in Tucson while still revealing power and chic.

Shahida Parides has been responsible for several celebrities’ gowns, dresses, and tuxedos; Sofia Vegara, Kyle Richards, Lisa Vanderpump and Paris Hilton for example, have been spotted wearing Shahida Parides clothing.

Kaftans and Halter dresses are Shahida Parides’ specialty, we recommend that you have a look at their selections under these categories.

Shop with Shahida Parides online today, visit their website Here!

[rnrmarineservices-blog]

Spirit Yachts: behind the scenes of the P70 wooden motoryacht in build

Spirit Yachts may be best known for their stunning sailing boats, but in a remote corner of Ipswich docks, a beautiful motor cruiser is gradually coming to life

I should have known better than to rely on my phone's sat nav system. It has taken me three-and-a-half hours to drive from Southampton to Ipswich, braving the M25 at its rush-hour worst, and I'm not in the mood for a confrontation with Google Maps. There's no mention of Spirit Yachts at the entrance to the docks, a steel barrier is blocking my path and even after the nice lady in the marina office has pointed me in the right direction, I still can't find what I'm looking for. My phone's screen suggests it's less than 100 metres away but the road seems to end abruptly at the slipway outside Fairline's testing centre, where a crane is inching a Squadron 53 towards the water. It's only when the man operating it moves out of the way that I realise the track carries on round the side of the Fairline facility to reveal another building beyond it. The rolling shutters are open on both sides and through the safety netting I can just catch a glimpse of an arrow-sharp wooden bow picked out by the sun's rays. Even from here I can make out the sensuous curves of the hull, so smooth and pale it looks like a sculpted piece of driftwood bleached and burnished by years of gentle erosion from the sun, sand and sea.

This is Spirit Yachts' stock-in-trade, elegant sailing yachts with long overhangs, low freeboards and svelte lines that hark back to the glory days of the 1930s. All of them are handcrafted out of wood but built using the latest hi-tech methods to make them light, fast and surprisingly tough. What's less well known is that they also build powerboats. Not in huge numbers and often for existing owners of Spirit sailing yachts, but that is starting to change thanks to a very special project taking shape in one of its two main sheds.

Known only by its project name of P70, it has been commissioned by an experienced motoryacht owner who was born in Norway but lives in Britain. He currently owns a semi-displacement Fleming and wants his new yacht to exceed the seakeeping, engineering and build quality the Fleming offers, but with the soul of a wooden craft built to suit his precise needs.

Wooden heart

If this doesn't sound like a challenging enough brief, his key requirements are that it has to be capable of cruising comfortably at 18 knots non-stop for 1,000nm through the North Sea. That's because although it will be based on the Hamble most of the year, he wants to be able to cruise to the Baltic for the summer months without having to worry about refuelling en route. And in case you're wondering, he doesn't bother with crew either; it's usually just him and his wife or a few good mates to help with rope and fender duties.

It's the kind of brief that would have most production yards thanking the customer politely for their enquiry before suggesting that they might like to look elsewhere. Not Spirit Yachts. Head designer and CEO Sean McMillan enjoys a challenge and the beauty of building in wood is that the usual constraints of fixed moulds don't come into play. It's not the only advantage; when used properly wood is remarkably light and strong with excellent insulation properties against sound and cold, as well as being infinitely repairable and environmentally friendly. Nor does it suffer from the leaks, rot and constant need for maintenance that wooden boats of old used to. The trick is to use it and treat it in much the same way as the layers of gelcoat, glassfibre and foam cores that make up a conventional GRP sandwich construction.

The process starts with the creation of a set of ring frames made up from multiple layers of sapele, shaped and bonded to the exact dimensions specified by a computer program from Sean's original hand drawings. These are fixed into position on a laser-levelled jig and planked over longitudinally with 27mm-thick strips of interlocking Douglas fir screwed and bonded to the ring frames. Once the glue has set all the screws are removed and the holes filled to make sure there are no mechanical fixings to corrode. If this sounds worrying, bear in mind that Boeing bonds the wings of a 747 to the body of a plane for the same reason. With the main structure now secure, between two and four layers of 3mm-thick kaya wood veneers are laid diagonally over the planking in opposite directions, marked, cut and attached using plastic staples, which are then sanded off, before being bagged and vacuum infused with epoxy resin. Kaya looks similar to mahogany but has a more open grain, which allows it to soak up the epoxy in much the same way as woven roving glassfibre matting. Last but not least, a thin layer of transparent GRP scrim is added to create a perfectly smooth and watertight finish that can be painted or even varnished to show off the wood beneath. The end result is a totally inert structure with much the same strength as carbon-fibre but without that material's brittle, unforgiving nature that transmits sound and vibration almost as efficiently as a drum.

Spend a few minutes talking to Sean and you begin to wonder why more yards don't build in wood. His answer is as telling as it is believable: building in wood requires exceptional skill and experience to achieve the necessary strength and finish expected of a high-class yacht as well as a lot of man hours. In other words, it's neither easy nor cheap. But the best things in life rarely are.

Being a Spirit Yacht it also has to look the part. Its sailing yachts are inspired by the elegant proportions of J-Class yachts but the P70 has no obvious forebear to pick up on. It does share some of its design cues with the handful of P40s already built, such as the flared bow and tumblehome stern, but the size and volume needed to accommodate the owner's wish for three double cabins, a covered wheelhouse, saloon and dining/galley area meant some fresh thinking was needed. The exterior profile alone went through 22 different iterations before being signed off and even now some of the details like the angle of the bow and design of the air intakes are still being worked on – the latest idea draws inspiration from the intakes of a classic Mercedes 300SL. The end result has a recognisable 1930s motoryacht aesthetic but with its own distinctive style and layout. The length-to-beam ratio of 4.5:1 is much slimmer and more efficient than the 3:1 ratio of most modern motoryachts, while its dry weight of 22 tonnes is almost half that of a normal 70ft GRP flybridge. This in turn enables it to use smaller than normal 800hp MAN engines while still pushing its semi-displacement hull up to a maximum of 24 knots. Four separate fuel tanks with a combined capacity of 10,000 litres and a built-in polishing and balancing system provide the final link in the chain needed to reach the required 1,000nm range.

The layout is equally unconventional with the saloon forward and half a level down from the wheelhouse, and the dining and galley area aft another half a level down.

The owner's cabin sits below the saloon for maximum peace and privacy, with the two twin guest cabins tucked at the opposite end of the boat in the stern. The wheelhouse itself sits proudly aloft at the centre of the action with one door out to the port sidedeck and another to the open flybridge astern with its raised outside helm position and well-protected seating. The only area that rivals it for sheer drama is the engineroom, which enjoys the kind of towering headroom, space and clinical lighting normally reserved for operating theatres.

Soul trader

It all speaks of an owner who knows what he wants and isn't afraid to ask for it. It's a relationship that Sean clearly revels in, praising the customer's vision and technical knowledge. For instance, he insisted on fitting Seatorque's oil-filled BOSS shafts for quieter running and reduced maintenance, and the electrical system is built around a li-ion battery bank so that it can power the air conditioning and Sleipner curved fin stabilisers overnight without having to run the generator. Even simple things like the deep bulwarks, which allow crew to move safely around the decks without the need for ugly stainless steel guardrails, smack of someone who has extensive experience of boating in all weathers.

Above all you get the impression the owner is enjoying the build process almost as much as he will enjoy cruising the finished boat. It's not hard to see why. Stroll around the P70's carcass and you can feel it coming to life. Everywhere you look there's a craftsman or woman using their skills and experience to create their own little work of art. This isn't a production line, it's a group of artisans breathing life into somebody else's vision. I had always assumed that the Spirit Yachts name was a reference to the looks being in the spirit of a 1930s classic. Now I'm starting to wonder whether it's simply because each of its boats, and the P70 in particular, has a spirit and soul of its own.

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This article Spirit Yachts: behind the scenes of the P70 wooden motoryacht in build appeared first on Motor Boat & Yachting.

[topicprinter]

I really liked this, so I transcribed it here to share:“The More You Tell, The More You Sell.Your ad is your salesman. Don’t gag him by limiting his words.The one unquestioned “truth” most big ad agencies buy into is…people will not read a lot of copy in an advertisement. Online, offline, on Websites, in magazines, on TV.They believe this with the fervor of a Kamikaze pilot. That’s why they come up with – and base entire campaigns on – cute slogans, meaningless slivers of copy, and incoherent jingles.On the other hand…the one proven truth that all direct marketers known from experience is…Customers Love Long Copy When It’s Targeted To Their Passions.I once wrote a 23-page letter (twenty-three!) to bodybuilders, which mailed profitably for several years. It was all about a hot new supplement that helped you recover faster from brutal workouts, skip the soreness other guys suffered, and enjoy a measurable surge in testosterone that would create powerful new muscle faster than you ever dreamed possible.Included were five pages crammed with detailed analysis of ingredients with unpronounceable names. Two pages of charts. No photos at all. It was page after page of dense, detailed copy.And bodybuilders ate it up, because it was all about them. Every sentence connected with their passion for their sport. Challenged some notions they had about weight training while supporting others which seemed like revelations. And every page read like a…“Can’t Put It Down Detective Story!”I’ve written dozens of three and four-page magazine ads. And I’m talking about ads that run in major publications, like Golf Digest, Muscle and Fitness, and Men’s Journal. One or two small photos, at most, and the rest of the pages thick with copy.These “monster sized” ads often work so well…they actually change the way the magazine looks. After other smart marketers see my ads appearing time and again, and rightly figure out these super-long pieces are raking it in, they follow suite. It usually takes about 18 months…but suddenly the magazine is rife with long copy ads.Some of my most successful Websites are single-scroll pages that equal over 30 sheets of manuscript (By “single scroll”, I mean there are no links on the site – you just keep scrolling down to read the entire site. The only link I usually use is for sending the reader to the shopping cart, when he’s in a lather to buy.)I’ve written ads that fill entire pages of newspapers. That’s equivalent of 4 pages of manuscript copy, single spaced.The average direct mail letter I write is at least 8 pages long, with several other pages of accompanying material. I’ve penned magalogs that took 30 pages of manuscript to fill.In fact, the 3 x 5 postcards I’ve written contain twice the copy you would find in an average ad agency-created advertisement.Why do I write such long ads?Because That’s What Works!Salespeople who work face-to-face with customers know “The more you tell, the more you sell.” They wouldn’t dream of sitting across from a prospect and trying to win them over with cutesy slogans, or, God forbid, by singing to them.No. A great salesman knows – to make the sale – he must present all the benefits of his product, in ways that directly affect the selfish desires and needs of his customers. He must meet an entire menu of objections, with clear, honest and believable answers that satisfy completely.No one wants to be an “easy” sell. It’s not in our nature. We need to be persuaded. And that takes some dedicated talking.Well, guess what?Your Ad Is Your Door-To-Door Salesman!Your letter or print ad or Website or video is literally going door to door at thousands of residences. And that little ad is completely alone. There’s no back-up. No second chance to clarify anything.You wouldn’t send a salesman out there dressed like a clown, would you? Have him approach potential customers, do something silly, then run off singing an inane slogan? Would you?Of course you wouldn’t.Your ad is your salesman. Your customers won’t know about the handcrafted details, the rare ingredients, the Swedish design, the way women will look at them when they use your product…Unless You TELL Them!They didn’t ask for your presence in their lives. They didn’t invite you in. You barged into their awareness completely unannounced.So, if you have something to say, say it. And don’t handcuff yourself by setting limits on the number of words you use.Remember: The more you tell, the more you sell.There is one “catch” to this of course. Your customer will NOT be bored, and will NOT struggle to finish your thoughts. He will NOT “make the connection” of your vague metaphors.He will NOT do your pitch for you.However… if you share his passion…and focus your copy on things that excite him…and meet his needs, and counter his objections…and feed his own interests…He Will Read Every Friggin’ Word You Write!Have you ever sat around talking with a car nut? He will prattle endlessly and with palpable passion about overhead cam shafts, Hearst 5-speed trannies, and why the only ’62 Chevy Impala worth owning is the muscle car with the beefy 326 cubic inche engine, not the one with the anemic 283.Or a musician. He’ll swoon over talk about a rhythm section in the pocket, single-coil lipstick pickups, tube screamer stomp boxes and the ethereal tone of a tweed Fender Twin. Did you know that the great bluesman Stevie Ray Vaughn filled the recording studio with Twin Reverb amps, and le ft them on for days until the tubes were brittle with heat…just so he could get the exact tone he wanted for blues guitar? That is dedication, man.That is also a great example of targeted detail. I lost all the non-guitar enthusiasts way back there…but I "got” all the musicians. If that was my intended audience, I won. I’ve now got their undivided attention. And who cares if you lose the part of the audience you don’t want?Don’t waste a moment trying to appease anyone who doesn’t share your passion. Instead, concentrate on selling your soul-mates.How do you write long copy that stays in the “pocket” of your intended customer’s passion? You use…“Reason Why” Copy.“Reason Why” copy simply means that you explain everything you say…using good, catchy, believable reasons that convince the reader.Great copy explains itself as it goes along. With a folksy swagger that the reader can trust, because “It’s just us car nuts talking, man”. Forget about all that stilted prose you see in most ads: “When one feels the temptation to engage in libations, one chooses a superior Scotch…”Horseshit. Write like you talk. And talk like you would if you were sitting face-to-face with your reader. Just yakking away about your shared passions.And, oh, by the way…you have something here he might find very interesting.In order to sell, you must romance. Seduce. Use a little foreplay, for God’s sake. Show that you can be trusted, that you know what you’re talking about, that what you have to offer really is a fabulous deal.And you can’t do that while talking like you…Have A Stick Up Your Ass.Have you ever bought anything from a salesperson you really liked? You felt a small bond with him, agreed with his worldview, felt he really was on your side and honestly wanted to see you happy?It’s a funny thing. Often, the best salesperson on staff is NOT the guy with perfectly coifed hair, the sharp dresser with the handsome profile and deep baritone voice.No. Often, the best salesperson is the schleppy little mutt who always looks like he slept in his clothes, always seems to be having a bad hair day, tends to mumble a bit.What’s his secret? Personality. The guy understands his fellow humans…and actually cares about them. He’s a little odd, sure, but he’s lovable. And he knows what he’s talking about.That’s how you want to write. Put some goddamn personality into your words, Bucko. Let the reader know there’s another human being on the other side of your letter. Someone with hopes, fears, desires and needs…Just Like His!Romance him like you would a lover. Be that guy other people love to hang around…because you’ve been places, seen things, discovered some really juicy and exciting secrets. Secrets you are here to share.Treat your reader the way you want to be treated. (That’s the Golden Rule, isn’t it?) If you were gonna consider buying a product like this…wouldn’t you want to know what was in it? If it really performed as advertised? If it really was a good deal? If this thing could actually satisfy your passion?It takes a lot of copy to cover those bases.And be honest. This is a master’s level sales secret. Be completely honest about your product. Reveal a flaw or two. There’s never been a perfect product manufactured in the history of man. Everything has something wrong with it. And everyone knows it.When you admit the limits of your product, you gain credit for being honest. You’re a straight talkin’ guy. You’re someone who can be trusted to tell the truth.The thing is…by revealing a flaw or two…you shine a brighter light on the positive benefits of your product. Normally, people won’t believe anything you say. They take all boasting with a big grain of salt. They…Assume You’re Going To Stretch The Truth.So astonish him. Be different. When you’re honest, and you prove it… you are no longer in the same category as all other advertisers. (Those lying bastards.) Nope. You’re a straight shooter. You tell it like it is.You’re one of us, man.A few last points: First, never talk down to your customers, as if you are the teacher and they are pitifully inadequate students. Readers will not be put down. They will not be lectured. Or bored.Instead, use yourself as the bad example: “I used to be that cocky guy who thought he would never get sick. And I don’t have to tell you what a shock it was to wake up one day and realize you arthritis. Yes, you and I share this crippling disease…”Second: Consider the personality you put into your writing your “secret weapon” against competitors… especially if your product is pretty much identical to everyone else’s. Personality is how you set yourself apart. Given the choice of dealing with a soulless corporation, or a passionate, but slightly eccentric guy…all other things being equal…you will win the sale.Lastly: your sales pitch must be complete. You need the same detailed persuasiveness to sell a $19 widget as you do to sell a $199 gold-plated widget.In fact, experienced marketers know that it sometimes takes MORE persuasion to get a customer to part with twenty bucks than it does to part with hundreds of dollars. It’s human nature. We tend to sweat the pennies, and be oddly casual about the dollars.The lesson: Don’t scrimp on your sales pitch. Cover all the bases, every time.

[daniellesmithtv]

Give Good, Get Good: Gifts that Give

Gift giving is my love language.

Seriously. I LOVE to find the perfect gift for the people in my life. I love to surprise them and see the look on their face when I get it right.

But there is a little something else I love to do: give back.

I have a fairly robust list of people I gift –  between family, my tribe of friends, colleagues and people I like to surprise spoil. That means I’m constantly on ‘gift alert’…..what would they LOVE? But I also ask myself another question, “Is it possible to spoil the people I adore (or surprise them) AND make the world a little better at the same time.

Why yes, it is.

Because this matters to me, I’ve curated some of my FAVORITE places you can buy for the people you love AND give back at the same time. You’ll find jewelry, t-shirts, accessories and a slew of options your family can commit to – from easing the burden of a family with a sick child, to sponsoring a child in another country to helping to feed little ones right here in the United States to supporting the efforts of a family in a third world country to pull themselves from poverty.

Give Good, Get Good: Gifts that Give

Brave New World Designs– Have I told you that I have brilliant, kind, compassionate friends who are working DAILY for a better world? My friend Christine Koh is one of them. This past year she started Brave New World Designs. I will allow her beautiful words to describe her mission, “Brave New World Designs is on a mission to make the world a little better each day by giving voice to the virtues of creativity, humor, wisdom and love. Our work is part poetry, part adventure, part advocacy and part silly.” I have three of her t-shirt designs in my closet and my small girl has a favorite as well. She wore her ‘Love Fiercely’ shirt to school for picture day and it is PERFECT.

Shop Compliment – I have a personal policy of complimenting ANYONE I find deserving. Have a kind heart, beautiful eyes, lovely manners? I will tell you. My friend Melissa has built a beautiful business with the same mission. She and I actually found each other here online and I’ve been addicted to her heart and commitment to offering education for girls ever since. 5% of each purchase from ShopCompliment goes to a scholarship fund for girls. It is magic. And so are Melissa’s products. She started with jewelry – and each piece comes with a personal ‘compliment’…but she has expanded to inspirational coffee mugs, candles, notebooks and so much more.

Pura Vida – Have a cause that matters to you? I’m fairly confident Pura Vida has you covered in their charity bracelet collection. You can support animal awareness, education, mental health, cancer, diabetes, the military, Parkinson’s disease and SO MUCH MORE. Each and every bracelet is handcrafted by artisans from all over the world. The bracelets are worn by millions of people around the world (I have a few dozen!) and provide full time jobs to more than 150 artisans around the globe. They are partnered with more than 190 charities around the world and have donated more than $1.5 Million dollars. And they have more than just bracelets. They are a go-to for gifts for me. Ohhh – and they have a subscription service!!

Chavez for Charity – I have told you I know extraordinary people, yes? Julie Marie Chavez is a fellow University of San Diego Alumni and someone I knew in my time at the University. She graduated and created the magic that is Chavez for Charity. As with Pura Vida, you can support some of the causes and organizations that mean the world to you. From the Matthew Shepard Foundation to the Malala Fund and Erin Brockovich Foundation (and so many more) – the purchase of each and every bracelet means you are making a difference. And the options are gorgeous. I regularly give them as gifts.

I am Just One. – If you have  ever thought, ‘but I am JUST ONE PERSON…how can I better the world?” – you aren’t alone. I AM JUST ONE is built on the premise that yes, yes! you can make a difference. Just One has the beautiful goals of offering hope, raising awareness and creating advocates. They are offering fair trade jewelry that subscribes to the notion of a ‘hand up’ not a ‘hand out’ so that you know, with each and every gorgeous purchase you are helping to allow a beautifully talented artisan to support themselves and maintain their dignity.

Cause Box –  You know I LOVE subscription boxes. This is one that offers not only a series of gifts for the receiver, but each and every item in the box has a story and makes the world a better place. The boxes are curated for women and each item you receive is either in partnership with CauseBox or comes as a limited edition product from a socially conscious company. Boxes arrive quarterly and subscriptions are about $50/quarter if you pay annually. I LOVE MINE. The products may be jewelry, art work, fashion, apparel, accessories or beauty products. There also have a limited edition box for men for the holidays.

Intangible Giving

The benefit of giving the intangible – you are blessing someone you love (and possibly that ‘person who has everything’) with the gift of having helped someone in need by your gift in their honor.

No Kid Hungry – I have long been committed to ending child hunger. It shouldn’t even be A THING. And yet, it is. ONE in SIX children in the United States don’t get the food they need. That makes learning, living, just being a kid nearly impossible. Share Our Strength is an organization working to make sure all kiddos get the food they need where they live, where they learn and where they play. I’m happy to join friends like Tim McDonald who have been advocates for this cause for years.

Additionally, through its Cooking Matters program, the No Kid Hungry campaign educates and empowers low-income families to stretch their food budgets so their kids get healthy meals at home.

Take a look at their work here.

Unbound – This is a gift you can do as a family – sponsoring a child in need in another country. A portion of Unbound’s mission is to ‘see potential, not poverty’. By sponsoring a child as we have (Karen and Jacqueline both live in Guatemala), my small people are learning not only about another culture as they can communicate with both girls, but also what is means to truly give to someone else.

In order to qualify for sponsorship, Jacqueline and Karen, (like all other children) must be enrolled in school. Dropping out at any time prevents them from being sponsored. Now that my family has committed to both of them, the folks at Unbound sit down with the family and determine how the sponsorship could most benefit them – food, clothing, school supplies and items that can help them break the cycle of poverty – like pigs, chickens, seeds for farming and trees for growing fruit – are all options.

The $60 ($30 each) we spend each month to sponsor these two girls clearly provides much needed financial assistance for their families, but it is equally beneficial for us: My children are seeing good works and love in action, they are learning about another culture, and they have a connection to another child who is opening their eyes to an entirely different way of life.

St. Jude – You are likely not a stranger to St. Jude’s Research Hospital in Memphis. I bet you know it is committed to saving the lives of children living with rare forms of cancer. But did you know the doctors, nurses, and staff treat each child and each parent like family?

The atmosphere is warm and inviting, it does not smell like a hospital (despite being a thoroughly sterile environment), the walls are painted with kids in mind and decorated with heartfelt art work created by the kids living there.

Though there are only 78 beds on campus, there are three different housing options available based on how long a child will need treatment – from a week to a handful of years.

No matter how long a child receives treatment, no matter how long their family must live in St. Jude’s housing, no matter how far they must travel for the life-giving, life-saving treatment they need, they will never receive a bill – not for medical care, not for housing, not for food and not for travel.

It costs $2.2 MILLION dollars A DAY to keep this miracle in Memphis open and saving lives…and it all comes from donations. (That’s SIXTY-SIX million dollars a month for those of you doing the math). Here’s another fact that just might blow your mind – 75% of the money that comes in is from individual donors and the average gift is a beautiful and heartfelt $35. Think about this fact the next time you head out to dinner, or pay your monthly gym membership.

$35 is life giving. 

Power of 5 – Two years ago, I visited Zambia, Africa as part of the Power of 5 Program and that experience has never left my soul. There is so much I take for granted. My small people have enough food to fill their bellies every day. They have electricity and education. I sat with mothers who worry daily their children may not make it to the age of five. They worry….are their children getting the nutrients they need to grow and thrive?

It is heartbreaking that in many cases, that answer had been no, but Amway™ and its Nutrilite™ Power of 5 Campaign are making great strides, one child, one family at a time. As the largest vitamin distributor in the world, Amway provides a micronutrient supplement to families with great need in five different areas around Lusaka (as well as ten other countries around the world.)

This micronutrient is mixed with a child’s food once a day in order to provide the nutrition they need.

Every 30 days, the families I met, along with 200+ other families trek to one of five distribution centers in Lusaka, Zambia to listen to an educational talk, see their children weighed and measured for tracking and pick up their monthly nutrition, their Little Bits, for their little ones.

Amway is doing this work in nearly a dozen countries – with a commitment to continue expanding.

Consider supporting them?

Heifer International – This is a beautiful way to gift a tangible item that is life-changing for a family in need. For 70 years now, they have been working to combat poverty in some of the areas that need it the most (125 countries around the world) – but not simply by  – if you will allow the adage – giving men and women fish, but actually teaching them how to fish. Their goal has long been to provide farmers with the opportunity to learn skills and change their circumstances rather than strictly benefitting from gifts from others.

A goat can be purchased for $120 and once given to a family, not only will it be a source of food for them – milk, cheese and yogurt, but these products can be packaged and sold at market, helping the family to earn an income they so desperately need. Other animal gift options include a heifer (naturally) for $500, an alpaca for $150, a pig for $120, rabbits for $60, honeybees for $30, a flock of chicks for $20 and so many more. If the amount you would like to give is less, you can also gift a portion of any of these animals. They also support women’s empowerment and there are ways you can give specifically to this category.

As part of their core mission, Heifer supports Passing on the Gift – this means the families who are gifted don’t allow that gift to stop with them. They share the training they receive and pass on the first female offspring of their livestock to another family.

Check out their gift catalog.

How do you give back this time of year? I would love to hear any additional ideas you would add to this list.

Happy Holidays! And happy giving.

    The post Give Good, Get Good: Gifts that Give appeared first on Pretty Extraordinary.

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[v1ren]

Title: Stay For A While

AO3 Link: Click me!

Characters: Runaan & Ethari

Pairing: Ruthari

Ethari was his name. The soft spoken, seemingly harmless elf responsible for embarrassing him in front of every one of his partners.

They had been mere moments from leaving the Silvergrove, all running through the mission details a final time. A plan was set, positions were assigned - all that remained was getting to the destination and completing the job. It was standard routine, really, and one that Runaan took pride in. He was good at it. Talented, even. It was no surprise that he became the leader of their little team, and no less surprising that he took the role very seriously.

Thus, when Ethari, a well-known {because the Silvergrove only had one} blacksmith that was highly praised for his skill, approached the assassins with a wide smile and a wrapped package in his hands, Runaan took it with the utmost grace. Thanking him, but inquiring about its contents; the shorter of the Xadians simply replying, “It’s a gift. Saw you strugglin’ with that thing on your back. Thought I could help.”

The “thing” in question being a bow that the elegant-leader-of-assassins handcrafted himself. Admitted it wasn’t the most...appealing piece of weaponry, but it got the job done and that was all that mattered. Implying that he were struggling with it was simply...not-- true. Runaan trained most of his life with a bow. It was another piece of him. It was a skill that he was highly praised on and now, this blacksmith dared to take that away from him? Undermine him and his work?

It was with a furrowed brow, an annoyed glare, and a pout that he finally opened the package. The other elves surrounding him stepped closer, peering their heads in whatever direction guaranteed them a better view.

An immediate silence fell over them, every pair of eyes now scanning the weapon held delicately in their leader’s hands; a hushed awe overcoming him. Runaan ran a hand down one of the limbs, fingers smoothing over each and every groove. Every carving. It was beautiful. It was wonderfully unique. Not just a bow by any means, but a perfectly constructed bowblade.

“Much better than that old thing, don’tcha think?”

The blacksmith pointed to the bow still hanging from his back, a smile spreading wide across his face. Runaan gave him a pointed look, lifting a single brow.

“Thought’cha might do better with one of them. More suited to ya. Anyway, good luck on yer mission.”

He turned on his heel, leaving without saying another word. Without so much as a single glance behind him.

The assassins stood huddled around the piece of art, eyes aglow at seeing something new. Something handcrafted into an item of mastery. It stole their leader’s breath away. Left him speechless for a much longer amount of time than he liked. It was only after one his teammates labelled the action as a random bout of “kindness” that Runaan breathed anew. Snapping himself out of his shock, shunting the bow off his back and replacing it with the new weapon, the elf strode forward and regained his composure. Centered himself back around to the mission and the importance of their duties.

Upon using the weapon and praising it {internally} for its natural ability to perfectly compliment him and his fighting style, he was filled with a frustration that clung to his chest. It captured his very soul in a vice grip, making the Xadian rather insufferable through the remainder of the mission.

No one simply gave a gift without expecting one in return. And if, by some rare occurrence, the blacksmith wasn’t expecting a gift in return-- then Runaan would appear at his doorstep with one regardless. One that blew his own gift out of the water and made him feel like an idiot for having ever extended a hand of kindness toward him.

Yes, that...that sounded right.

Thus, several days after the start of his mission and several days after his return, Runaan stood at the door of the Silvergrove’s finest {and only} blacksmith; Ethari. With gift in hand - a wrapped, smaller box light enough to be held with one hand - the assassin lifted a fist to the door; knocking against it three times.

Waiting patiently for said door to open, he fidgeted awkwardly where he stood. This was nothing more than a meeting, an exchange, a means of returning a favor so that he owed this elf nothing. He would hand over his gift, say his goodbyes, and be done with all of this. All of the thoughts that drifted to him, the emotions that aroused themselves upon hearing his name, the memories of his smile and voice and the way he--

“...Runaan?”

Turquoise orbs lift from the box in his hand, words sticking in his throat as soon as he locked onto the sweaty, shirtless blacksmith in front of him. The smile he receives in return sends heat rushing to his face immediately.

“Sorry. Wasn’t expectin’ company.”

Soft, brown eyes lower to the item in the assassin’s hand. Runaan instinctively tenses, opening his mouth to speak, but Ethari is much too quick.

“Oh. How’d ya know it was my birthday?”

Oh. Oh no, this was horrible. Everything was going wrong. Horribly, embarrassingly wrong. Why did he have to-- look like that? Why did his voice have to be so smooth and so gentle? Why did his birthday have to fall on a day that should have been filled with spite and an end to the ever weighing guilt of a gift?!

“I...uhm...”

But...no. That couldn’t be right. The Moonshadow was joking. Pulling his leg. Ethari’s birthday had been last week, hadn’t it? He remembered overhearing an elf or two mentioning it.

Scoffing aloud, the taller of the two rolled his eyes and straightened his shoulders; Ethari releasing a small chuckle at the obvious display of feigned confidence.

“...Today is not your birthday.” Runaan breathes, pursing his lips together.

“Ah, well...” Ethari trails off, nodding his head slowly and giving the comment pause before continuing. “I knew that, but how did you know that?”

“I...w-well...”

The heat returned to his cheeks in full force, the blacksmith releasing a warm, boisterous laugh as he steps back into his home. Extending a hand, he attempts to speak through his laughter:

“Please, c’mon in.”

Hesitating for the briefest of moments, the assassin exhales deeply before opting to enter the humble abode. Ethari shuts the door behind them, padding further into the room and nudging his chin toward a nearby table.

“Yer welcome to take a seat. Can make us some tea or--”

“I’ve brought you something.”

He needed to end this. Stop this form of familiarity before it got out of hand. Before the pounding heart in his chest burst from his ribcage and spilled over his lips. If he could just...give the gift away, say his adieu’s, and never have to think about the perfectly toned backside in front of him again-- he could {possibly} leave the rest of his days in peace.

The blacksmith turns around, smile still in place even as the assassin continues to glare.

“Don’t...don’t you wish to open it?”

Runaan holds out the box, watching the other admire it quietly. The heat at his face is quickly spreading to his ears, even before the frustratingly gentle elf replies:

“If I open it...will you stay a while? I’ve got dinner cookin’ and I don’t think I can eat it all.”

His heart is in his very veins now; pounding erratically. Sending his mind racing and overpowering any control he may have had left. Swallowing hard, the assassin nods slowly.

“...Yes, that...I can do that.”

“Good,” soft hands remove the package from Runaan’s sweating pair. “Then let’s see what we have, eh?”

Standing awkwardly beside him, the assassin keeps his eyes on the blacksmith as he steps over to the nearby table. Laying the small box down and working delicate fingers at the bow on top; the process is nearly painful.

It wasn’t much of a gift and he knew that, but it was handcrafted - exactly as Ethari’s was. He needed a gift of equal or greater value; perfectly severing whatever sort of debt the other had tried to put him into. A debt of emotions and heavy thoughts; all of which Runaan did not wish for, but yet, somehow, found to be more persistent when in the Moonshadow’s presence.

There was simply something about the way he moved. The way he spoke to everyone in their community. He was resplendent in every turn of his body. Every blink of an eye. Every soft word that ever graced the light of day. He was--

“Oh, Runaan...”

The voice breaks him away, focus returned to the blacksmith in front of him; eyes suddenly wide and jaw hung open. Ethari lifts from the box a violet cloth, a scarf, hand-stitched to perfection and made from the finest fabrics this side of the border could offer. It’s plain in the sense that it’s not decorated in symbols or ornate designs, but the assassin felt that it would do its job. It would symbolize the end of something that never existed and--

“It’s beautiful.”

The words leave him frozen; eyes staring at the beautiful sight in front of him. The way this blacksmith, so strong and powerful, caresses it as though it were a newborn. Presses it gently between his fingers and against his face and smiles at it as though he’s never seen anything like it before. Its a reaction that strips away any other reason for Runaan’s coming here aside from seeing this wonderful, addictive elf.

Their eyes meet in that moment and he swears he’ll never be the same again. Feels the stars align and the moon’s glow as their hearts connect on levels he’s never known before.

In this very moment, words spoken silently between them, they are one in the same.

Ethari starts to wrap the scarf around his neck, smile stretching from ear to ear. Runaan watches him, eyes never leaving him. Not for a second.

“You’ll stay a while, won’t you? Let me treat you to dinner?”

Their eyes meet a second and final time; the meaning behind such words clear as day. Runaan swallows hard, clasping his hands behind his back and flicking his gaze from the scarf, to the beautiful face in front of him. The eyes gazing deep into his soul; holding it close and keeping it safe. Protected. Loved.

“...Yes, I...I’d rather like that, thank you.”