#forgot to tell the teacher I’m only familiar with the men’s style…

[mycological-mariner]

Trying to search for affordable flamenco boots because I’m taking classes in august and ngl when I tried it as a kid without shoes I may have done irreparable damage to my heels rip

[the-swedes-knees]

Time in A Bottle (Agent Mobius x Reader)

Summary: Everyone has a guilty pleasure. For Mobius, it's a slice of pie in a very specific slice of time.

Word Count: 1.8k

Located in the middle of Downtown, bordering on the corner of old-time druggies and newly gentrified condos was a moderate sized building with an exorbitant monthly rent. 

It was a theme restaurant, if the theme was 'we opened in 1953 and we'll be damned if we change the decor'- done up in chrome and frosted glass windows that clashed against the surrounding brick and mortar. The neon sign bearing the establishment's name had burnt out years ago, but it wasn't the type of place one would seek out.

Unless you were Mobius, that is.

[09:45:00]

Technically, he shouldn't be here.

His unit was nearly a mile out, or, more accurately, they would be within the hour. Dates like this, where a simple flap of a fat pigeon's wing could ripple into Nexus event after Nexus event had a name. A proper designation in their severity and frequency of necessary resets.

But he just always referred to them as 'a real pickle'.

You glance up at the front door as the brass bell affixed to the frame jingles loudly. The man that enters looks around the place before making eye contact with you and smiles. He points to the empty bar and you nod your head.

Once you finish refilling the other customer's drink, you see that he's made himself comfortable in the middle stool.

"Hey there." You greet from the opposite side of the counter. He offers a sheepish greeting in response as you set a water down in front of him, balancing a plastic straw on the rim of the glass. "Can I start you off with some coffee? Just made a fresh pot."

"That'd be great, thanks."

You place the mug and matching saucer in front of him and pour. For a moment you look up at him, and he's smiling a very genuine smile- something very rare these days.

As soon as it's full to the brim you're reaching under the counter and grabbing a clean glass sugar pourer, placing it right next to his cup.

"How'd you know?"

"Customer service intuition, I guess." He thanks you before unfurling the napkin containing his flatware. Like someone with real proper manners, he drapes the napkin over one of his legs before stirring an ample amount of sugar into his drink.

You can't help but notice just how much he fits in to the whole aesthetic with his well fitted brown suit and slim tie. New York offered a multiplicity of personalities, and you'd become quite numb to anything and everything that would walk through that door.

Yet, someone about this man was intriguing, familiar in a way. Like in the past life he was a PI that you hired to confirm your husband's affair.

Both a confidant, and a stranger.

"Feel free to take your time, but, do you know what you'd like?" You note his closed menu pushed to the side. He raises his eyebrows and nods while mid-sip, and you pull out a notepad and pen from your apron.

"Sure do, could I get two slices?" He points the vintage rotating pie cooler to your left and specifies his selection.

Easy enough. You put two generous slices onto separate plates, and he declines your offer of whipped cream or ice cream on top.

"Good choice, this one's my favorite."

"You don't say." The knowing twinkle in his eye wasn't noticed as you busied yourself with refilling his coffee. He holds his hands up in mock defeat and sighs. "Well, I guess you'll have to join me." The ceramic scraped against the quartz tabletop as he pushed one of the plates across the bar, directly opposite himself.

"I'm on the clock-"

"Don't worry, another customer doesn't come in for-" He pauses to flex his arm, riding his jacket sleeve up just enough to check his wristwatch. "12 minutes and 43 seconds."

[09:52:16]

"Am I supposed to trust you on that?" You raise an eyebrow, and his only response is a slight head tilt and pushing the second slice a nudge closer to you.

It wasn't every day courteous men offered you a break in the form of your favorite desert. Your face screwed up in contemplation as you looked at the only other two patrons in the diner before giving in and grabbing a second set of flatware. "Well, it is slow-"

"For a Friday?" He has another bite before setting down his fork and dabbing at his face with his napkin.

"Is it Friday already?" You sigh, bent over the counter to take a bite of the pie. Delicious as ever. "Hardly feels like it, all the days are melding together."

"I think this one will stand out."

"What is the date, anyway?"

"May 4th." You make a hum of acknowledgement and he gives you a lopsided grin. "2012, incase you forgot the year too."

"I'll mark it in my calendar," You laugh, using your hand to cover your mouth as you continue to chew. "'The Day I Met-'"

"Mobius." He introduces himself, extending his hand over the counter and you shake it. His grip is firm, authoritative. Before you can reply with your own name, he refers to you by it while maintaining perfect eye contact.

You can't explain why, but it feels so right when he says it. Like it was perfectly made to be pronounced in his charming Texan drawl with just the faintest hint of gravel.

While you're fixed in a stunned silence his eyes deliberately dart to the lapel of your uniform. You follow his gaze and laugh at yourself for neglecting that you were indeed wearing a nametag.

"So Mobius... like, from maths?"

"Yeah, like math." He eyes his untouched water and picks up the plastic straw. His fingers move carefully, removing the straw from the perorated paper. You watch with curiosity as the man twists the paper once and pinches the two ends together with his thumb and index finger.

Mobius holds his opposite hand out to you, confident, waiting. With a bemused smile you allow him to guide your hand. His skin is warm, presumably from the way he had cradled his coffee mug, but it's comforting in a way. His rough hand guides you, your finger tracing the geometry of the paper-straw shape.

"A path that twists and turns... but always ends back at the same spot."

"I wasn't very good at math." You admit, and gesture around as if working in a place like this was a testament to that fact. "Why does it matter that it always ends where it began?"

"Well, that all depends on perspective. Maybe it doesn't matter. But to the one who observes it, it makes all the difference." You quirk an eyebrow, silently pressing him to elaborate. "Maybe that point's... where you got your first kiss, the feeling when your favorite football team scores a winning touchdown, a perfect sunset-"

Mobius catches himself trailing off, and looks down at his plate. He puts another bite onto his fork and cheers it to you.

"Or having pie in good company."

You look around the mostly empty diner before bracing your arms against the counter, leaning in as if you were to whisper some great secret.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a bit odd?"

[09:59:06]

"No-" His eyes crinkle as he laughs. "No, that's a new one. But you find it charming." He winked, actually winked, and leaned back in his stool, smirking into his coffee.

Your fork was halfway to your mouth as your just stared at him, frozen. You feel your mouth open and close a few times as you try to think of a somewhat dignified response.

"How would you know that?"

"I just know things." He shrugged.

"Like what?" You challenged.

"How about, Paul- over there." You crane your head to follow his line of eye, your coworker currently bussing a table that had just left. "Worked in this place five years, loves Coke- from the glass bottle, nothing else. Has a girl on the Upper East Side and runs a decent sized internet radio station out of his apartment."

"You're one of his listeners." You narrowed your eyes at him, a perfectly reasonable explanation.

"Oh, no. Hyperpop... not my style."

"Alright, BBC Sherlock-" You countered. You give a subtle head tilt to a woman sitting in a far off booth, papers spread out on the table around her pancake combo. Whoever she was, she definitely wasn't a regular. "How about her?"

"Mrs. Braverman. Youngest of eight siblings, English teacher at the charter school up the avenue. Actually prefers imitation maple syrup to the real thing."

You know very well Mobius could be talking out of his ass. But he's confident, nonchalantly so- like this was a game to him and he was obviously winning.

"What about me?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Your anticipation is palpable as he swallows his final bite, taking the time to wipe his face of crumbs before smiling softly at you.

"You are... a poem of a person. Charming, capable, when you walk into a room people notice- even if you convince yourself that they don't." His gaze is steady, patient, and he's looking at you as if you're the only person in the universe. "You have big dreams, far beyond all... this... and you're gonna make it."

[10:04:59]

The sound of the door chime breaks you out of whatever hypnotic state you had found yourself in. Sucking in a breath and blinking away the very beginnings of tears in your eyes you tell the new customer to sit wherever they like.

Mobius took this chance to check his handheld, sighing at the time and the ever-growing slope of the branch variation.

The reset charge would be set soon, with or without him there.

"Look at that. Duty calls." He stands up and pulls a billfold from his jacket pocket, not even counting as he puts the cash down on the counter.

Mobius turns to leave, but hesitates. He turns back around to face you and places his hands on his hips. Allowing himself to play into the fleeting illusion just a tad longer.

"One more thing I know about you-" Mobius rubbed his chin in careful consideration. "You have a date tonight."

"Ah-" You wag your finger at him and shake your head side to side, "got one wrong."

"Did I? Ah- well... How about we change that?"

You pause. The plates you had been holding found their way back to the counter as you set them down slowly. Once again in a very short time span, he had left you speechless.

"That... was possibly the lamest pickup line I've ever heard." Though you mean it to be snarky, it sounds more like praise coming from your smiling lips. "I get off at 6:30."

"Alright." He looks perfectly pleased with himself as he lightly knocks on the counter with his fist. "It's a date."

Walking out the door, Mobius gave one last look at the diner before reporting to the event site.

He knew would see you again, always at 9:45.

[writingabouteverything]

The Perfect White Flower--and Other Nonexistent Things

a/n YALL THIS IS PROBABLY DUMB BUT I HAD THIS IDEA ABOUT A HARRY STYLES X READER FIC THATS BASED ON THE PLOT OF JANE THE VIRGIN AND I WANTED TO WRITE IT SO BADLY I MADE THIS ACCOUNT

disclaimer--wont follow the show exactly 

Pairing: Harry Styles x latina! reader (a key factor of the show revolves around the lead being latina, and im latina and honestly love writing for us but anyone can still read and understand/hopefully enjoy and the fic doesn’t involve any physical descriptions:)) 

Series Summary: Y/n l/n has had the world figured out since she was a child. She won’t be a writer because it’s risky, she’ll just focus on school and becoming a teacher. She’s never been a child, because her mother had her at sixteen and hasn’t aged a single year since. That’s part of the reason the promise she made to her grandmother means so much to her--if she doesn’t have sex before marriage, her child will never have to grow up as quickly as she did. And Harry Styles is at the top of the world--his music has never been more successful, he has a lovely girlfriend, and he’s never been more in demand. He has everything in the world...except a child, and through a series of unbelievable events--y/n might be his only chance to have one. Ever. 

Chapter One Summary: Who knew getting a pap smear on two hours of sleep and three cups of coffee was as bad as having unprotected sex? 

There’s something dangerous about taking public transportation in LA. And no, I don’t mean it in the ‘there are bad people in the world’ type of way. I mean it in the ‘I live in one of the casual influencer, celebrity, tourist hubs of the world and each time I step onto the bus I find myself mesmerized by all the stories I see in them’ way. Kind of pathetic, I know, but sometimes a child with blonde pig tails or a woman streaming on instagram live will catch my eye and the urge to pull out my lap top and start something I’ll never finish. 

I know that writing isn’t some kind of disease. But I can’t let myself fall in love with it the way I want to. There’s nothing wrong with writing a short story or two, but trying to write a novel? That’s impractical. It will distract me from school, from the four year plan I’m almost done with.

Sighing, I brave taking at my surroundings. I deserve this today, after the anonymous, rude costumer at the hotel today, I need positivity. No one is particularly inspiring. The bus stops and I watch out the window. At first the crowd is ordinary, and then i see them...paparazzi. Flashing cameras from all angles, grown men violating all rules of personal space. It never sits right with me, but I guess it’s just part of living in LA. The bus starts moving again. When it stops again, I see even more paparazzis, but their cameras aren’t flashing. Good for whoever escaped that. 

The bus door opens and I snap my attention back to my computer screen. I rub my eyes as I stare at my word document. How is there more that needs to be edited? This professor is the harshest grader I’ve ever had, and my friend, Gisa, is kind for giving me even more notes. But I’m exhausted. Two tests and an essay due before 12:00. And it’s...11:38. Great--I have to upload it the second I’m at my doctor’s office and have WiFi again. 

I spend some time highlighting and rewording sentences, and once I’m done I reward myself with more people watching because I deserve it and I can’t fall asleep here. I’m kind of invested in the girl live streaming her bus ride...maybe she’ll say her instagram handle. 

But when I look up, she’s not on the bus anymore. Almost no one is. An elderly couple is sitting towards the back. A woman with a toddler sit two rows in front of me...and there’s now a man directly across from me. I blink for a moment, imagining a story for someone who’s face I can’t quite see beneath such dark sun glasses. His dark waves and strong jaw do most of the imagining for me--he deserves a mystery, a dramatic one with a happy ending and just enough romance to keep the people interested. A good romance, too--not too sappy. Enemies to lovers, maybe. A mysterious stranger that’s not really a stranger because something about him is just...familiar. 

He turns his head and I drop my gaze immediately. There’s no doubt he caught that, but I still pretend to edit the title of my essay. “You’ve been typing stubbornly since I first got on the bus.” There’s an accent--of course he’s english. But it’s more than that, I’ve heard that voice before. I’ve been...soothed by it. And--oh my god, I’m sitting across from Harry Styles.

Okay, don’t freak out. Don’t freak him out. He’s probably on here to escape the the whole ‘oh my god, you’re Harry Styles!’ thing.  

“What are you writing?” Harry Styles just spoke to me. I greeted my one direction poster every single day in middle school, and Harry Styles just spoke to me. Okay--relax, breathe--it’s only weird if you make it weird. 

There’s a kind of curt curiosity to his question. He could have been ruder, considering how blatantly I was staring at him. “I um...an essay.” I’m temped to turn the screen so that he can see I’m telling the truth. Though he wasn’t hostile, a part of me is paranoid that he thinks I am writing about him. It’s a fair assumption, for all he knows I’m drafting a tweet about who I saw on the bus this morning or preparing to send something in to some gossip girl-esque blog. “It’s due today at noon and normally I’m way more on top of things, but I had this last minute doctor’s appointment rescheduling because my usual doctor is out of town and--” I cut myself off before I can tell Harry Styles that I’m ovulating and that if I don’t go to my OBGYN now, I have to wait an entire month and I’ve already been off birth control longer than I’d like. I might not have actual sex in my near future, but my cramps have been extra terrible. “An essay, I just finished an essay.”

He nods once. Maybe he feels bad for so thoroughly startling me into such a rambling, because the corner of his mouth tilts upwards. A soft smile adds even more grace to his features, I focus on the dimple that appears in his cheek. “An aggravating essay, I take it, considering the death glares you’ve been giving your laptop screen.”

I smile at his polite humor. “It’s for the harshest grader on campus. She took three points off of my first essay freshman year because I spaced my bibliography wrong.” 

He cringes in sympathy. “Good luck.” 

“Thanks,” I hum, proud of myself for not letting him know that I know who he is. The bus stops, I can see my doctor’s office behind a few paparazzi. “This is my stop.” 

Harry nods once, ducking his head slightly. A tiny part of me feels sympathy for him; from what I’ve gathered, he genuinely loves his fans and the relationship they have, but it must be draining to never have a moment of privacy. Especially when it’s people who care more about selling your picture than your mental health. 

I linger on the bus’s step, watching the men with large cameras look around. “Excuse me, are you guys looking for Harry Styles?” Most of the men disregard me, but one looks at me. “I know he’s near here because I’m a really big fan and my friend just texted that she saw him.” This gets me the attention I wanted. “He’s at Northfield--a cafe like three blocks down. I just know that if she got a picture with Harry in like a magazine or something she’d totally lose it--in a good way, and she’s been having a bad time so if you see her can you try to make it happen? Knowing her she’ll be at his side, she’s blonde, shortish hair.” 

The men seem skeptical, but I guess they realize that this is the best lead they have. I think the fact that I gave a reason to justify selling Harry out for no reason helped. They disperse together, heading at least three blocks away from Harry. I don’t know if I’ve actually helped him, but I hope I have. 

“Essay girl.” I freeze, half cringing. Did he hear that? That’s embarrassing. I consider darting away, but decide that would just make me cringe more. So I turn on my heels. “You...you forgot your phone.” 

He just saved my life. “Thank you.” I take my phone from his outstretched hand, ignoring the slight thrill that runs through me when our fingers brush. “You’re my hero--the last thing I needed today was to run all over the city searching for my phone.” I finish the awkward admission with a partial laugh. 

“Least I could do,” he mumbles, “especially considering what you just did.” 

...He did see that. “Oh um--it was nothing, I just kind of made a connection and assumed the only reason you’d be on a public bus is because you were trying to avoid some things, and you make really great music and a lot of people happy, so you deserve that break.” Why does it feel like I’ve been talking forever? “Anyways, thanks for the whole phone thing, and I hope I got them off your tail.” 

My joke seems to somewhat land. His lips part, like he’s planning on saying something else. A timer on my phone interrupts him. I instinctually look down--great, the alarm on my phone warning me that I’m only ten minutes away from being late. “I’m late.” I turn towards the bus’s exit. “I gotta go, but thanks again, and I hope you have a good day.” 

I disappear after that, still not sure that that whole thing wasn’t some kind of hallucination. Did I just meet Harry Styles? He...he gave me my phone. Harry Styles has touched my phone. I can’t wait to tell Gisa, she’ll lose it.

I’m still thinking about Harry Styles when I finally reach my OBGYN’s office. When I get there, things are a lot more hectic than I thought they’d be. Many people crowd the waiting area and the receptionist’s desk is clearly understaffed. Two young girls are trying to address multiple upset pregnant women and take phone calls at the same time, all while practically buried in a sea pf paperwork. Wow, I didn’t realize that transferring was such chaos. One of the girls waves me over and barely checks my name before shoving a form towards me. I fill out as quickly as possible. 

 I upload my essay quickly after checking in. Who knows, maybe Harry Styles’s blessing will get me an A? A third person in scrubs emerges from the back after a moment and ushers me into a room. I tell myself to focus on going over the facts I need for the test I have to take in a little over an hour. Or to focus on the fact that I just met Harry Styles. But instead, I feel my heavy eyelids fall shut. 

I don’t know how long I sleep, but I know that I wake up during the middle of a doctor’s sentence, “...I know I’m not your usual, so I just want to make sure you’re comfortable.” 

“Hm...Yeah, yeah I’m comfortable.” She nods once, her wide eyes slightly red. “But I do have a class today in like an hour, so I was wondering if this was going to take longer because of the office’s move?” 

“Oh, no,” she shakes her head. “Just because Dr. Rodriguez gave us no notice before deciding that she no longer wanted to work here...or in the country. Or even live in the US, despite the fact that we just signed a lease on a place together...” Tears well in the stranger’s eyes, pity settles in my stomach. 

“That sounds incredibly complicated, I didn’t mean to rush you.” 

She blinks twice, her expression blanking as she fights against the pain of what’s clearly a terrible break up. “No, no--you have every right. Today is your day and if..honestly, if you’re strong enough to go to a class after this, and do what you’re about to do by yourself, then I’m strong enough to get through today.” 

Um...didn’t realize a pap smear counted as something that needs moral support, but I’ll chalk it up to her heightened emotions. “Thanks.” 

She snaps on her medical gloves. “No, thank you for your patience. Now lay down.” 

I do as told, preparing for a sensation I haven’t often experienced. A moment passes and I know she’s started. She’s moving away from me much faster than expected. Oh--I guess pap smears are a lot shorter than I expected. 

“That’s it?” 

“Yep,” she hums, pulling her gloves off. “Now just take it easy, and hydrate.”

Weird...but that’s like general doctor advice. “Thanks!” 

--

I’ve never wanted to keep a secret from Gisa, but sometimes I really regret telling her I met Harry Styles. It’s been almost a month and I find my mind wandering back to the moment in which our fingers brushed more than I should. Sometimes I let myself wonder what he might have said if my phone hadn’t rang. I was probably just imagining the way his lips parted, but my ind refuses to let it go. 

“...You know it’s kind of sad, I read an interview in which he spoke about the fact that he has some genetic condition that makes it hard to have kids. He has so many godchildren, and I feel like he’d make such a great father.” 

I try to keep up with Gisa’s words, but the dull ache in my head makes it feel so far away. “Yeah...he seemed really patient.” 

Gisa nods, turning to face me. “You alright, you’re looking kinda green?” 

“Yeah...” I reach for my canvas bag. “I think I just...I probably just need some water.” 

My hand grazes the metal of my water bottle and then the corners of my vision blur into blackness. I sway, Gisa’s hand is on my shoulder...and then it all goes black. 

--

I sit uncomfortably on the hospital’s cot. Gisa is a traitor for telling my mom that I fainted. I knew she’d just drag me here--hispanic mothers, they either believe they can cure you with vic’s vapor rub or they want you in the ER. No in between. 

“I know you didn’t want another test, but you’ve been throwing up in the morning for days and now you’re fainting.” 

“Fainted,” I correct, “it happened once.” 

“C’mon, mija, it’s just one doctor’s appointment.” 

Speaking of, an ER nurse returns. “Fainting and nausea spells explained,” he says, glancing at his clipboard, “you’re pregnant.” 

My mom and I can’t help but exchange a look before bursting into laughter. Pregnant. If I’m pregnant then the second coming is here. “That’s impossible, I’m a virgin.” 

He glances at my mom, “maybe we should have this conversation in private.” 

“No, what you say in front of me you can say in front of my mom.” 

My mom raises an eyebrow. “Y/n, did you and that guy from your english class--” 

“No! No, we did not. I am a virgin and there’s no way I’m pregnant.” I glare at the nurse. 

He then ushers me to a bathroom so that I can provide a urine sample. After I’m finished, he shows me a pregnancy test strip. “Pink means pregnant.” I bite my tongue as he tests the strip in my sample. He pulls it out and it’s...it’s bright pink.

“I’m calling my doctor, because this has to be a mistake. It has to be like a hormonal thing.” 

“Exactly, pregnancy hormones.” 

I glare even harder, calling the doctor that I saw last week. “Hello, Dr. Ash? I was wondering if I could get a consultation because I’m in the ER and some crazy doctor is trying to tell me I’m pregnant.” 

Silence on the line for a long second. “...I actually cleared my calendar for you.” 

[thefloresgarden]

Sad tales of a 20 something. -FRIENDS AND WEIRD WAYS TO FIND THEM-

Hello! Back again from a long ass time of taking a break from this site and my 2 followers who don’t even reblog my writings.

Anyway, the reason i’m back is because i actually show this blog to one of my bestestssss friends in the world and encourage me to keep going and well here i am.

So i was thinking, maybe since a friend of mine made me come back, I should write about that. So this is it, an Ode to my friends.

I have always been sort of a friendly character, at least in my mind i am. Even when i was a kid and used to cry a lot and be a bit on the side shy, I always had a lot of friends. I even dare to say I was one of the first girls in my fifth grade class yo have actual good guy friends, not only the “popular” kids that chased girls to see under their skirts. Actual good and close friends that I’m still friends with.

So, I went to the same school from elementary until high school, meaning that i had been with the same people for around 12 years, and damn i was tired of it, not from my friends, not from a lot of people to be honest, but maybe more with myself and my lack of abilities to make new friends.

That leads me to my new found weird way to make friends. It started in college when i started as a music engineer major before switching to media and film. Engineering not always equals to men, in this case i guess it did. Some may say having all guy friends is easier no drama and shit, and is true for some part, I’m still grateful of all the guys of my Music engineering program that adopted me and ate lunch with me every day, not to the rest of engineering students that are “nice guys” by mansplaining anything on the math class board before the teacher (female) started explaining, though not gonna lie i didn’t understand shit, i still didn’t want some greasy hair guy with a weird stain on his shirt,that i pray it was toothpaste, to explain me shit. I can fail this class on my own thank you very much.

My first girl friend in college was a girl on the bus that i knew my cousins was a friend with but never formally met her before and i chatted her ear off in the way home, i was so excited i forgot i could be a chatty bitch when i feel happy. When they left the bus (her and her roommate who is lovely too) I started to replay everything we talked about and was already very much regretting living because i was so cringey. I guess i wasn’t that bad, I got a Facebook friend request and became pretty close after that.

First friend I made in my new major program (who i made before switching because of mutual clases) was a girl that i always saw in my favorite class, “Signs, symbols and significances” she was funny, very friendly and clearly friends with at least three quarters of the class. I decided that was my next mission, i left my guy friends side after an exam in our common class and went literally running towards her and another girl (amazing person too) I asked them in the most awkward way how the exam was for them and even if they thought i was weird they didn’t show it and were so nice with me.

I made a mistake though, I told the girl i had a mission on (to be close to) she seemed familiar outside class and she said i did too but we couldn’t remember where from. Until I realized she was the girl that i met in my first day of school in math class and sat next to her. That, until i didn’t hear my name while checking the list and was told that wasn’t the math class, everyone laughed i stand up and trip and yell “puta madre” so hard everyone laughed again. I then found out that story was so funny to her she actually used it as an ice breaker when meeting new people and started introducing me as the “puta madre” to everyone. At least she got me a lot of new friends, and besides having passed more than 5 years, she still reminds me of it and she still is one of my closest friends.

Another story, I was an exchange student and knew nothing about the culture (only basics, didn’t want to be rude), the language or anyone in this new country. I was so lost I literally was trying hookup apps to meet friends (never works tho, at least on me). It was my second day in Seoul and saw there was a kpop concert of one of the three groups I actually knew and my baby brother was a fan of, i checked and there were some tickets left, bought them, put on a pretty dress and left. Going to a concert alone is not that bad, going to a concert alone in a country you have been for 5 minutes and also understand shit, that is a fucking nightmare.

I met some friendly girls from USA that helped me out to figure the shit out in the venue, they told me they were living in Korea for like 5 years and still couldn’t even read, which i thought wow kinda disrespectful but anyway i wasn’t going to let go of anyone friendly anytime soon. Met some other girls that came to the country only for the concert which wow commitment. And then I was left alone again when taking the seats (standing spots to be exact). The concert was cool even if I didn’t understand shit and I’m 87% sure I even caught eyes with some of the guys in the group a few times. The concert ended and I wish I could say I captivated one of the kpop guys and that is my next friend meeting story but, nope is not and honestly i wouldn’t change it for any of the hot men that were on stage.

Fast forward the first day of school, i was lost and ask a girl for a classroom, she was very nice and told me where it was but that the class was in like 30 more minutes. We made small talk and i sat on a bench in the opposite way of her. The girl next to her was saying she had this next class that sounded kinda familiar, and I realized it was my same class so I told her to go together. Once inside the classroom I saw her phone and she had a familiar face as her screensaver, it clicked, it was one of the guys of the concert! I asked her and she said it was him and that she went to the concert too and we decided to had lunch together. From that day on we became pretty much inseparables, until she got the sleaziest guy in the world as a boyfriend but we don’t talk about shit in my safe space so that is a story for another day. Besides that terrible guy and his best friend who dated me only to dumped me weeks later to play LOL 24/7, I got my baby, my mijita who i love so very much and again, wouldn’t change a bit.

Lastly in this post, not in life nor in place of my heart, is a little blessing (literally) that came to me from heaven! She didn’t even know this, but a semester before she was having her abroad year in my country I was in one my deepest holes in my life. My mind was empty but my eyes always filled with sad tears. That semester before, nothing major changed in routine, in my family, in my life as in general. But somehow it did in my brain, my heart was feeling agitated for no reason, my palms were sweaty and shaking all the time and my brain was as it was shut down. I got the big D, and not as in a big nice dick getting me fucked, but another type of fucked nonetheless. Depression, the kind of weird illness that can’t be seen but oh dude it can be felt, and felt is all i did, i felt sadness, loneliness even with a full house and a full line of friends ready to help me. Sometimes shit just happens.

Took a semester off and when I came back I decided to faked it until i made it, and it was going great. I did cry back at home a few times a week but i could hold it during classes or in front of people, great advance. I decided to focus in what made feel best, dressing in my favorite shit and letting everyone out of my arts and humanities department have a nice view of it. And then I see her, weird to say i still remember how cool she looked, tall as fuck, wearing all black, shaved head and what i got to find out were her trusty black vans. I got obsessed with her fashion style and decided my next mission, be friends with her, or at least for her to acknowledge my presence. I saw her talking to a close friend (another great meet cute story for another day) so i decided it was my moment, I said hi and was introduced to her, we chatted a few minutes and got along pretty well. Her amazing style and bad ass british accent made me feel i was in bad rom-com where we were both straight and platonically soulmates. I saw her again outside the bathroom while i was waiting some friends, we talked for an hour, she invited me to a party and we had dinner first (so romantic, I know) at dinner I thought it was going to be awkward until we both realized our mutual love for SZA and Idris Elba. We never stopped talking after that, she even went back to my hometown for 2 weeks with me, where all my family loved her and strangers treated her like a celebrity. She calls my parents tíos and we talk as much as we can now that she is back at her country.

I miss her everyday and there is not a minute I am not grateful i met her.

These are some of the stories of how I met some of my friends, my closest ones and those that are still with me in every step I take. I can tell you one million more ways of how i met friends i love so dearly, but that is for some other day my hands aren’t hurting for writing only with my thumbs in my phone.

And what I care and love most about all these, is that I would never want to change being the weird girl that catches a hunch and runs towards people that will mean the world for.

FRIENDS I LOVE YOU ALL. 

[mossnotes]

LMC - Excerpt 01

// On Friday afternoon, I walked out of the English department alone: I’d stayed behind to ask Emily about the passage - it was from Stoker’s Dracula, a book which I’d devoured that summer - and by the time I left through the big oak doors and stepped out into the courtyard, it was near deserted. I was wearing a heavy tweed jacket, and my mind went to the weight of my lighter and pack of cigarettes in the right hip pocket. I tilted my head up to look at the sky above me; grey, melancholic clouds twisting across a greyer still sky. Leaning against the brick behind me and digging out my lighter, cigarette hanging from my lips as I lit it, finding some difficulty from my aching fingers, cramped from writing. 

I hadn’t been smoking for long, and I certainly didn’t intend on continuing the habit during my time at St. Martins, and yet here I was. I’d highly doubted it would have been permitted at all, but somehow actually seeing teachers walking around campus was a rare occasion. I fancied that they each had some kind of portal, maybe the forgotten cabinet at the back of their classroom, that whisked them to and from the staff room, so they never had to walk in the cold. Rules were strangely relaxed here - sure, they were big on presentation, but their was a definite distance between students and teachers in that, unless you shared a classroom, they would act like you didn’t exist. Once, I’d passed a teacher in a near-empty corridor and smiled at her, as one does, and she’d actually glared at me with a look of absolute disgust. It was for that reason, then, that I was able to stand here in the outside air, even if I was partially hidden from view of the windows opposite by the large trees in the centre of the courtyard, and smoke without being dragged off of the school grounds by my neck. 

It only ever started as an experiment, at some hazy farewell party in midsummer. I’d never spoken to most of the people there, but as the night drew to a close and I found myself shivering on a sofa that had been dragged out into the garden, trying to look as nonchalant as possible to the group of girls chattering drunkenly beside me, they’d offered me a cigarette and I’d taken it. 

I’d spluttered and coughed pathetically, of course, and they raised their eyebrows and didn’t offer it again. 

A few more parties and nights spent in corners of beer gardens trying to avoid overbearing family functions later, though, and I’d quite taken to smoking. It was strangely therapeutic, to breathe so deliberately. I wouldn’t go as far as to say it was pleasant, but for a while at least, it made me feel better. Now it was habit. As far as I knew, Dean didn’t smoke, although sometimes when he emerged from his room the smell of tobacco clung to his clothes but when I asked about it, he always pleaded innocent. 

I heard the doors beside me open again, and quickly stomped out my cigarette on the pavement. I looked up just in time to see Emily appear from the doors. She had donned similar colours to me again, only she wore a bulky knitted cardigan over what looked like a silk blouse. I couldn’t help but notice - I’d observed it once before in a lesson, and now unconsciously found myself thinking of it whenever I saw her -  the way her gold necklace hugged the lines of her collarbone, quivering with each trembling breath, whether for exhaustion from the stairs or more to do with whatever caused the nervous tremour in her fingers. 

“Rhy!” She said breathlessly when she saw me. “Thought you’d be heading back to your dorm by now.” 

“I am.” I nodded, risking a glance downwards. 

She followed my gaze, and saw the cigarette stub by my heel. Her mouth opened and she nodded knowingly. “Ah,” Then, after a pause. “Could I maybe bum one?” 

I snorted before I could stop myself. She snapped her mouth shut, and I hurried to straighten my expression. “Ahem,” I said, recovering myself. “Sorry, I just… ‘bum one’ isn’t a phrase I expected from an English teacher.” 

Emily inclined her head jerkily in an odd gesture of awkwardness. “I don’t know what you mean - it’s a perfectly ordinary phrase.” 

I shook my head in resignation, but reached into my pocket again and handed her one. When she placed it between her lips, I held out my lighter for her and she cupped her hands around mine to shield the flame. 

Stepping away, she joined me in leaning against the wall and I glanced at her as she blinked hard and exhaled smoke. It was evident she was a rookie. 

“How do you think you did?” She asked. “On the test?” 

I shrugged. “Alright, I think. It’s hard to tell, this essay writing style is pretty new to me and all.” 

She nodded and suppressed a cough before she continued. “Yeah, it’s different to what you guys are used to. But you’ll get the hang of it quickly enough, and already you’re an excellent class and you’re clearly all really intelligent people so I expect you’ll all have done well… you have the added bonus of already being familiar with the passage, of course.” 

“Mhm.” I didn’t know what to say, so I let Emily continue - I still squirmed at calling her that, as if she didn’t already seem far too young to be a teacher with as many years of work under her belt as she did. 

“What did you think, then, when you read it yourself?” 

“About Dracula?” She nodded. “Um, well, I preferred the first part, I think. When Jonathon is at the castle alone. That idea of being entirely solitary in a foreign, hostile place is what makes it so effective because he is so truly helpless, rather than later when he has the doctor and the other men for help. And obviously we all know the story of Dracula but when you actually read the original there’s so much you didn’t realise or just forgot about.” 

It was Emily’s turn to stay quiet. Then she nodded, and stamped out her cigarette. “I agree. Shame we don’t study it, actually… anyway, I’m sure you have things to do, as do I, so I’ll leave you be. Have a good weekend, Rhy.” 

“Bye, Miss.” I called as she walked away, but when I said it she stopped and turned back and fixed me with a look. 

“Please, Emily.” She said exasperatedly. “Do I look like some stiff, old teacher who demands that kids respect their elders?” 

The corner of my mouth quirked up. “No, Emily.” 

“Thank you.” She smiled. “See you Monday.” 

“See you.” I waited until she was all the way gone until I pushed off of the wall myself and made my way back to my dorm.

[touchmyhobi]

Professor Kwon: Chapter IV

Genre: Teacher AU, Smut, Fluff, Angst.

Word Count: 3,119

Chapter: 4/?

Pairing: G-Dragon x Reader

Warnings: I know I said there was gonna be smut here but I changed how I’m going to plan my chapters so you’re just gonna have to hold on until then ;))

Although I hadn’t lived there long, the light brown hallway leading to my apartment had become a huge comfort for me. I observed each pathway the patterns of carpet could take as I slowly walked down the corridor, using the time to clear my mind of Mr. Kwon’s strange mood shifts. Just as I found a new intricacy to follow, my shoulder hit something, causing me to lose my balance and fall backward.

“Shit! I’m so sorry, I should have been paying more attention. Are you ok?”

I looked up to see an oddly familiar stranger peering down at me with a hand outstretched and offering assistance. As I cautiously took the help, my eyes analyzed the man’s every feature in an attempt to make a connection. His brown hair was quite long and styled into a middle part. However, his most obvious features were his sharp, serious eyes and beautifully tan skin.

“Are you ok?” he repeated his question.

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine. It was my fault anyways, I always daydream when I wander down this hall,” I tried to laugh it off.

“No, it’s all on me. I was too busy staring at my phone to even notice you,” he apologized yet again. However, the contorted face of worry did little to help me match his features to that of those I have met.

“Don’t worry about it,” I reiterated, causing the man to look down at his feet and that’s when I recognized him. “So do you live on this floor?” I asked.

“Oh no, but my girlfriend lives in apartment 26,” he pointed behind him as he spoke.

“That’s where I know you from!” I exclaimed, much to his confusion.

“Excuse me?”

“I live in apartment 26 as well. Your girlfriend is my cousin!” I explained, but his face was still twisted with confusion. “What I mean is, I saw you over the other morning when I was leaving for school. I’m Y/N by the way”

“Oh, well it’s nice to finally meet you Y/N. I’m Youngbae,” he looked as if he was going to speak again until his phone began vibrating uncontrollably. “Listen, I have to get going but next time I’m over we’ll get to know each other.”

With that, he was speeding off down the hall before I could even respond. I watched him as he disappeared, before shaking my head and skipping to the door of my apartment.

“Ji Soo! I’m home!” I exclaimed. However, she did not respond. “Ji Soo?”

Suddenly, a head popped out of the bathroom and a hyperactive Ji Soo came barrelling toward me.

“Hello lovely. How are your one on one sessions with Mr. Kwon going? Did you kiss him yet?” she giggled as she wrapped her arms around my waist and clung to me like a koala bear.

“No, Ji Soo!” I scolded her with a smack to the arm. “We’ve done nothing but strictly school work. I can promise you that.”

“Ugh, boring!” she yelled loud enough to create a minor echo. “You need to get in on that action soon before you miss your chance.”

“Enough Ji Soo!” I raised my voice at her, growing tired of the teasing. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What action have you been getting?” I interrogated her. “I just met your boyfriend in the hallway.”

Suddenly, Ji Soo’s eyes widened and her face changed to one of concern.

“You didn’t!” she nearly shrieked.

“Oh I did! Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend!”

“Listen to me Y/N. I can’t tell you why but you need to stay away from him. There’s a reason I don’t want you to be around when my friends are over and he is part of that reason. So please, do not speak to him. Ever,” she warned me and the frantic look her in eyes scared me into compliance.

I nodded and swallowed nervously. Ji Soo looked so far away, as if the cousin I had known all my life was hidden and longing to be released. Suddenly her phone vibrated in her hand and her face contorted into an undecipherable expression.

“I need to go again kiddo, I might not see you tomorrow either. Take care of yourself okay? Promise me you’ll actually eat supper for once tonight?” I promised and she pulled me into a desperate hug. “I love you Y/N.”

“I love you too Ji Soo,” I mumbled into her shoulder. “Please stay safe.”

She pulled away and looked at me with an apologetic expression before running towards the door.

My heart sank with worry. Ji Soo’s taste in men had frequently gotten her into trouble in the past and I could see it unraveling before me once again. But, no matter how bad the situation ever got, she always managed to find a way out. With a sigh, I dismissed my worries and prayed that this would once again be one of those circumstances.

Staying true to the promise I made her, I grabbed the food Ji Soo left me in the fridge from yesterday and set up my laptop at the kitchen table. I pulled out the notes Mr. Kwon had given me and decided to work on my sonnet to take my mind off of Ji Soo.

My mind refused to grasp the words on the page and soon numerous lines faded into one giant black abyss.

-

“Many sonnets have been written on the topic of lust. Most notably forbidden lust,” Mr. Kwon looked at me from behind his desk. A devilish smirk teased his lips as he made his way towards my desk. “You’ve felt that before, right Y/N? That overwhelming feeling you get when someone is so close and so willing but you have to restrain yourself simply because, it’s the ‘right’ thing to do?”

I swallowed, preparing my dry mouth to speak only to discover my inability to form words. Mr. Kwon’s face was now mere centimetres in front of mine, staring daggers into my eyes.

“You’ve felt it haven’t you? The immense tension. That heat in the very core of your being whenever that certain someone is around. It’s thrilling isn’t it? Imagine what it would be like if you acted on it,” he was closer than ever. His hand had snuck onto mine and soon he was running his fingertips gently up my arm.

I couldn’t move or speak. I was frozen in place and I began to panic as I struggled to communicate with my provocative professor.

“Admit it Y/N, we’re both aching for it. Make your move,” with that he leaned in and I finally managed to release the tension in my muscles and move toward him.

Suddenly, I woke up only to find myself lying on the floor with Mr. Kwon’s course outline held tightly against my chest. As I regained consciousness, I realized my steamy exchange with my teacher was all just another one of his malicious appearances in my dreams. In a bout of frustration, I sat back up at the table determinedly and proceeded to do exactly as I was told in my dream and write a sonnet about forbidden lust.

The next morning I made the dreaded trek to school with the poem tucked away safely in my book bag. With each step I took toward Mr. Kwon’s room, I felt a strange burn building in my stomach. However, the moment I entered the room, the heat exploded and spread like wildfire to the rest of my body. Without even bothering to look at my professor, I looked down and made my way to an empty seat near the back of the class. I didn’t dare look up until my temperature had cooled and when I did I found Mr. Kwon staring at me with confusion woven into the lines on his forehead.

My gaze shot back down to my desk immediately and I stared at the carvings in the wood until I heard his voice.

“Now that everyone is settled let’s get started,” was all I heard before I spaced out; my mind now occupied by much more pressing matters than grammar.

Am I being too bold? Is he going to tell me off when he reads it? Am I going to look like a fool?

I was treading into very risky waters. Although it wasn’t blatantly about him, the poem was obvious enough that the risk of him understanding the inspiration was all too real.

“We’re going to begin a novel study as you all may know. I hope you’ve all brought your books today. I’m going to give you the rest of class to begin your novels if you haven’t yet. You should have three chapters done by next Wednesday,” he instructed the class before turning around to erase the words he had scribbled on the whiteboard mere minutes ago.

Fuck, I totally forgot.

I must have been so focused on the poem that I forgot to check my other due dates. Stress immediately overwhelmed me as I now had to worry about Professor Kwon’s reaction to not only my poem but my lack of preparation as well.

To avoid looking like I was doing nothing, I took out my notebook and finished writing out some definitions for my philosophy class. Hoping to God my absence of a novel did not catch my teacher’s eye.

Nearly twenty minutes into the reading time, footsteps rang out within the depths of my ears. The distinct sound of expensive dress shoes clicking against the ground. I knew who it was, but I refused to face him. As the footsteps reached my side I heard them come to a sudden halt and I immediately immersed myself into shamelessly not doing the assigned work. Much to my surprise, his footsteps resumed yet again and before I knew it, class was over and everyone was collecting their things in an impossibly fast blur. I struggled to keep up with the pack and ultimately ended up being the last student to exit the classroom.

I approached Professor Kwon’s desk. Looking up only to meet his suspicious gaze.

“I - ahem - I finished my sonnet,” my shaky hand delivered the papers to his steady one.

“I’ll take a look at this tonight. Thank you Y/N,” he said and I started for the door only to be stopped by his gentle voice. “Oh and I expect you to have your independent study novel on your desk by tomorrow. I appreciate you putting so much effort into extra studies but you cannot let your main class work falter as a result,” I nodded again but was met the same disruption. “Also, take care of yourself Y/N. You seem off today.”

If you only knew, I thought to myself before finally exiting the room.

The train ride home was comfortably lonely. As I normally spent the entire commute home with Seungri talking my ear off, having some time to collect my thoughts in seclusion was more than welcome. Unfortunately, that peace of mind proved to be short-lived.

“Why didn’t you get off at your stop?” a soft, foreign voice whispered from behind me, shocking me like a jolt of electricity. Before I knew what my body was doing, my hand had connected with the side of the stranger’s face. Only to discover he was not a stranger at all. He was Seungri.

“Why would you do that? I thought you were a stalker?!” I scolded the boy as he clutched his rapidly reddening cheek.

“I thought you would recognize my voice!” he whimpered.

I looked around the train at the scowling faces surrounding the scene Seungri had inspired. I sighed heavily in an attempt to gather what little patience I had left.

“I’ve only talked to you once. How would I know your voice?” I pulled his hand away from his rosy flesh to survey the damage. “I’m sorry for hitting you. Next time please just approach me face first so I don’t feel like I’m about to be abducted.”

“Fine,” he pouted, continuing to play up the hurt little baby act.

I rolled my eyes and proceeded to treat him like the child he wants to be and ignore his tantrum. Turning my attention back to the window in front of me, it didn’t take long for the boy beside me to suffer from attention deficit.

“Well?” he urged, causing me to stare at him expectantly. “Why aren’t you getting off the train?”

“Why aren’t you?” I shot back.

“Because we’re hanging out. I go where you go.”

“Since when?” I began to challenge him until I realized what would truly deter him. “You know what? Fine. If you want to hang out so bad then you can come along with me to the bookstore.”

“Why would you want to do that?” the disgust in his voice was evident.

“Because I need a book for class. If you don’t like it, don’t come!”

“No, no! I love the bookstore, go there every day!” he slapped his hands together and rubbed them as if he were about to sink his meaty paws into a large feast.

I just stared at him in disbelief.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Thank you!” he beamed.

“I didn’t mean it in a good way,” I muttered.

Seungri must not have heard my final comment as he jumped straight into another topic. As he rambled on about the party he somehow ended up at on the weekend, I began to realize something about Seungri; he genuinely loved the sound of his own voice. Which surprisingly made his company quite easy to swallow. Albeit annoying, I soon realized that I could just space out and leave a few “hmm’s” and “ahh’s” of understanding to keep him validated. Maybe we could be friends, I thought to myself as the train halted at my stop and I exited, Seungri following diligently behind.

Jiyong’s POV

“Lee Seungri. Fifth year student, hoping to be final year student. I’ve written this paper five years in a row. Therefore, do you need to know more?” I spoke the final sentence of my recurring student’s four sentence paper with a sigh.

“When is that boy ever going to leave my class,” I chuckled to myself as I gave him a zero and moved on to the rest of the papers waiting to be marked.

I reached for what felt like the final paper, but as my eyes met the 12 point font I soon realized it was not an essay but rather, a sonnet.

Eyes locked on the sheet below me, I retrieved my special crimson pen. A strange urge built within me. I longed to actually use that marker of error this time. Why? I didn’t know. I didn’t want her to fail. In fact, I desired her success. However, that itch remained and with that I immersed myself in her thoughts.

Wicked whispers of naive schoolgirl desire,

Tantalize my ears long before my tardy eyes.

A pulse pounding in my veins, a fear of fire.

My averse pupils become gossip’s allies.

Fleeting glances of observation trace,

Features that could grant any absolution

Inky strands frame a benevolent face.

The forbidden fruits of bland institution.

Omens of red flash hazardously in my mind,

Resistant, I heed the inflamed warning.

But discovery finds his grace entwined,

In a silken, dreamy web before morning.

With lust now on his lips, I feign control.

Whilst frantically seeking the shreds of sanity he stole.

My arms went numb and my heart began to pound until my chest rattled like a cage. The realization of what this poem was about struck me immediately. However, this violent physical reaction I was having was not a negative one. Although the situation was taboo and inappropriate, it only made me more excited. My student had feelings for me, lustful feelings. Feelings that I reciprocated. A smirk caught the edge of my lip as I re-read the poem and felt just how frustrated she was becoming.

However, as excited as I was, I knew I shouldn’t get too ahead of myself. For all I know her feelings may have been unknown to her, totally subconscious. So I decided to lay low and wait until she makes the first move. I’ve worked too hard to achieve my position and I would not let a mere hunch jeopardize my life.

With that thought, an alarm went off on my phone, signalling the beginning of my class.

“Y/N, when are you going to tell me what’s going on?!” a familiar voice echoed through the exodus of students filing through the door.

“Seungri! Enough! Stop asking!” my head shot up at the sound of the second voice and my heart sank.

Y/N was staring back at Seungri with an aggressive, warning glare.

If looks could kill, I thought to myself.

However, that glare was beside the point. What truly caught my eye was her unusual state of appearance. From the puffy eyes, black bucket hat, and uncharacteristically oversized clothing, I could tell she had a rough night. I couldn’t hold myself back…

“Seungri, do us all a favour and find your seat,” the blonde-haired boy stared at me briefly before turning to Y/N and sending her the most indiscreet eye roll I had ever witnessed. “Far away from Y/N,” I added and he sighed pathetically before stomping away. Without missing a beat, I looked at the hidden girl in front of me. “Are you okay?” My words took form in a whisper as I was careful not to show too much emotion.

“I’m fine,” she spoke without looking beyond the rim of the hat that was currently eating her alive. “You didn’t have to do that. To Seungri, I mean. It’s my fault for making things obvious”.

“What do you mean? What did you make obvious?” I asked as my head clouded with confusion.

“It’s nothing,” she peered up at me for a split second. Her eyes looked nervous, scared almost. “Thanks anyways”.

I tried to stop her. I nearly reached out to grab her sweatshirt clad arm, but I restrained myself. I had to remind myself that she was a student and grabbing a student would only spur an investigation. Instead, I watched her retreat to a seat at the back of the room. Far away from me.

The patient gaze of twenty-something students brought me back to reality. Although tearing my heart away from the faceless girl proved to be a more of a struggle, I proceeded with my lesson. My torn priorities taking solace in the fact that I would have her alone after class. I just hoped she’d reveal to me her face.

[shenglingyuan]

title: the impossible duet (ao3) pairing: senju hashirama/uchiha madara Madara has been used to being alone, playing his violin in the solitude of his brother's grave.Then, a cellist named Hashirama comes along. For @beneath-gloved-fingers, happy birthday!!

 Pulling the violin out of its case gives Madara a feeling of familiarity, a sense of coming home. Music has always been his sanctuary since he learned playing, it had embedded deep within his soul. Izuna had told him he makes the most wonderful music he has ever heard. What his younger brother never realized was that he only played like that for him and no one else. He loved his brother so much that only he was able to pull out the sweetest melodies residing deep within his heart. 

 Now that Izuna has passed away, only he and his lingering memories are able to pull out the saddest songs from Madara. He has sworn long ago that he would only play for his brother alone, that only his ears will be graced by his music. 

 Now that he is gone, there is only his gravestone to listen.

 -

 "Hey."

 A soft wind blows and the scent of summer is all around the air. Madara turns around to look at the stranger who dared listen to him play. He sees another man with an easy smile and bright eyes.

 "Who are you?"

 "Just a regular. I usually visit around here and many times I've seen and heard you play. You're great, by the way. Your music is always so heartfelt and moving."

 "I don't need your opinion." He starts packing up, slightly infuriated by the sudden intrusion. How come he never noticed him before? If he had, he wouldn't have played with him around. Izuna is the only audience he needs and wants.

 "Wait." The stranger calls after him. He stops in his tracks, already regretting giving this person another chance to talk. "I'm sorry if I offended you or anything. I just wanted to talk to you after all this time. Your music always speaks to me. I feel like you will understand."

 "Understand what?"

 "My loss." Madara turns around then. The stranger smiles again. "My youngest brother died over two years ago. We saw it coming, but I guess I never was prepared for the actual losing part. His death left me an empty feeling in my chest I so try to fill these past years. I never did, that is, until I hear you playing one rainy afternoon."

 Madara remembers that afternoon well. He woke up screaming his brother's name, clutching at his sheets, his back damp with cold sweat. The walls of his room seemed to close on him, looming over him like predating shadows. He left before he lost his mind and ran to the cemetery with his violin in hand. The rain had been pouring steadily and he brought no umbrella with him. He was drenched by the time he arrived in front of Izuna's grave. The sight of the gravestone calmed him, and after a moment, he had pulled his violin outside its case and played despite the weather. He never thought someone must have seen him.

 "I am sorry for your loss, but if you're looking for someone to wallow with, you're talking to the wrong person."

 A soft laugh escapes the man’s lips. "It's not like that. I just thought we could be friends."

 "Friends?" Madara had none of them before. He never needed them.

 "It might not look like it, but I play an instrument, too. My favorite is Vivaldi. I usually play in the restaurant downtown as a part time job. They pay quite well. The people there are nice but I'm the only musician, so I don't have anyone to talk to about this."

 Madara stares at him for a moment. He seems rather a spirited man and he now realizes trying to push him away when the person is obviously so bent into talking with him will be for naught. 

 "I'm not really fond with those dead white men who composed during their times. I play what I feel like playing."

 The stranger's eyes brighten at his reply. He extends a hand forward. "Oh damn, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Hashirama."

 He shakes it after a moment of hesitation. "Madara."

 "It's nice meeting you, Madara."

 “Is that-” Madara narrows his eyes as Hashirama approaches him with a goofy smile on his face and big cello case in tow. They have been meeting a lot frequently in the graveyard though not for long, and Hashirama has been really talkative. By now, Hashirama has even shared to him his dreams of performing in a concerto someday.

 “Madara, meet Kawa, my most beloved cello.”

 “Why did you bring it here?”

 “I thought we could play a duet together. I even brought a music sheet.”

 “I’m not playing with anyone or for anyone, didn’t I tell you that before?”

 “But I’m not just anyone, am I? I’m your friend!”

 “I already said no.”

 Hashirama pouts and leans against his cello dejectedly. “Don’t tell me I brought this here for nothing?”

 “Sadly.”

 “This cello is really heavy, you know.”

 “I don’t care.” He pulls out his own violin from its case, feeling the familiar silk strings beneath his calloused fingers. It looks he has to replace them soon. Ignoring Hashirama’s depressed figure on the ground, he rests his chin on the plastic and positions the bow over the neck. He sees Hashirama shift in the corner of his eyes. The moment he saws through the strings, he feels him being captivated.

 He easily loses himself in the music. This certain piece doesn’t have a confining structure and changes fluidly, jumping from style to style just how he likes it. Music is supposed to be the expression of one’s soul, and he believes it must be free from the bindings of form and progression. It is a bird soaring high, feathers ruffled by the strong wind, eyes directed to a land faraway. A creature that is free but with a clear goal in mind.

 He ends the music with a flourish. Hashirama brings his hands together for a round of applause. Despite his reservations about playing in front of Izuna alone, Madara feels accomplished somehow.

 “That was Vivaldi, wasn’t it?” Of course Hashirama would identify him anywhere. “I almost didn’t recognize it, I heard more of you still.”

 “La Folia. I looked up Vivaldi. He’s inventive with his music. I like it.”

 “Do you now?” Hashirama smiles, seemingly recovered from his bout of depression from not being able to play a duet with Madara. “I like him exactly for the same reason.”

 “Don’t flatter yourself, I’m still not playing with you.”

 “Another time, for sure. I’m just glad you let me listen to you.” He slings the cello case on his back and cocks his head to the side. “Come with me. I have a duty today. You might want to see me play.”

 “In the restaurant you talked about?”

 “Yeah. You will get free food, too. Sounds good?”

 He isn’t really interested with the food, but Madara’s curiosity about Hashirama’s music makes him go. They walk together while Hashirama leads the way, talking about how he first learned playing when he was just about ten. His brother that immediately followed him - Tobirama - was the original student, but he didn’t grew affectionate with the instrument and discarded the cello in a corner of their house. Hashirama decided to play around with it once, having a prior knowledge with strings, and the cello spoke to him like no other instrument ever had.

 “How about you?” Hashirama turns to him. “When did you start playing the violin?”

 The question brings back a sudden flood of images in Madara’s mind. He stops and closes his eyes to block them out. When he opens them again, he sees Hashirama a few steps ahead of him, looking back worriedly.

 “Hey, it’s alright if you don’t want to answer it.” He smiles in a comforting way. “I suppose it concerns your late brother.”

 “Izuna loved classical music.” Madara answers anyway. There is now way he could move on over his death if he will not allow himself to talk about his life. He continues walking, passing Hashirama. “We found this stack of old recordings in our house back then. They were all classical. He listened to it all the time, and once he declared he wanted to play like them. 

 “For his eighth birthday, our parents bought him a violin. We normally can’t afford a luxury like that, so I knew they saved up for it for quite some time. A music teacher is out of the question, we have no money for that, either. I tried learning by myself so that I can teach him. We practically learned the violin together.”

 “He sounds like a really adorable younger brother.”

 “He was.”

 “And you’re a good older brother to him, being that dedicated and caring.”

 “It wasn’t enough. I couldn’t even protect him.”

 Hashirama doesn’t push for more details, that Madara appreciates. He only rests his hand on Madara’s shoulder and squeezes reassuringly. Surprisingly, it is a gesture he welcomes.

 -

 “Here we are.”

 Madara stares at the retro sign hanging above the entrance: The Bistro. Antique looking posters adorn the window glasses, ornamental figures and books line the walls, and a simple but classy chandelier hangs from the ceiling. It is a decent-looking place, a unique one at that.

 “Come on.” Hashirama holds the door open and motions him in. It’s already after lunch, yet the small restaurant is still considerably filled with people. A white-haired young man with an obviously forced smile is behind the counter. Upon seeing the two of them enter, the man’s expression changes to that of relief.

 “Brother! You’re here.”

 Hashirama turns and waves excitedly. “Tobirama! I’m not late, am I?”

 “Barely.” The man - Tobirama - looks at Madara then, his eyes narrowing a bit. “Who’s that?”

 “Ah, he’s the one I talked to you about: Madara. He’s the violin player in the cemetery. I brought him here to listen to me play. Take care of him for a while, will you? I promised him free food.”

 Hashirama leaves, running to a room on the far corner of the restaurant. Madara stands unmoving in front of the counter as Tobirama eyes him from the feet up. He feels a bit of hostility coming from Hashirama’s younger brother, and it surprises Madara how these two people can be so different from each other.

 “Well, what food would you like?”

 “It’s fine. I didn’t come with him for the food.”

 “I suggest you get even a little something. He’d either insist to give you food later anyway, or he’d blame me that I’m not treating his friends well. He’s that kind of guy.”

 In the end, Madara asks for a cup of coffee and waits on a small table. Hashirama appears not long after in a much finer set of clothes. He seems to be quite popular within the audience because people cheered as he sits on the chair meant for him in front. Hashirama smiles at everyone and the crowd quiets down. He looks at Madara last as if beckoning him to listen well.

 When he starts playing, Madara listens. And more than that, he actually hears.

 Hashirama plays the cello as if he’s strumming and sawing on the very strands of his soul. Madara is pretty sure he’s playing some dead white man’s composition, but with the way the music comes out of his instrument, it’s as if the music is his own. Every note and every chord is very him, and despite the short time they have come to know each other, Madara feels like Hashirama is baring his soul for the whole world to hear. His fingers itch for his violin. 

 Hashirama plays five songs, and all the time Madara’s full attention is on him. His cup of coffee has gone cold by the time Hashirama stands from his place and bows. Everyone brings their hands together for an applause. If his fingers aren’t just trembling, Madara would have done the same. 

 The usual noise of chatter returns as soon as Hashirama leaves his stage. Madara drinks his beverage as he waits for the other man to return. When he does, he’s wearing a satisfied smile on his face.

 “You play well,” Madara finds himself commenting.

 “I know.” Hashirama laughs as he takes the seat in front of Madara. “I wouldn’t be this good if I didn’t have an ounce of confidence. Think I’m better than you?”

 He scoffs, surprised at the sudden air of challenge. “Not in a hundred years.”

 -

 Madara becomes a regular in The Bistro, much to Tobirama’s surprise. He doesn’t look like the type to hang out in restaurants at all. Besides, he can’t actually fathom how his older brother enjoys that man’s company. He always looks brooding, depressed with the world. His brother, in contrast, is a walking ball of sunshine (but with occasional bouts of cloudy days). 

 His brother has once told him that music binds people’s souls. Tobirama never really quite understood that, especially not now when it is music that bonds these two together.  

He himself is not quite fond of music. They tried to make him play the cello before, but he never liked it. Hashirama loved it, though, and together with Itama who played the violin, their house was always a small concert house. That was until Itama died. From then on, it had mostly been quiet.

 But recently, he’d find his brother playing his cello in the house again. It’s almost as if he has returned to his  own self before Itama’s death. Almost. 

 “Here’s your order.”

 “Thank you.”

 Tobirama watches as Madara takes a sip from his drink, not moving from where he is. He can’t quite figure out what this man really is.

 “Do you have anything else to say?” Madara looks at Tobirama then, an eyebrow raised in question.

 “I’m still wary about you.”

 “I’m aware of that,” he throws him a lopsided smile. “I can feel your coldness all the way from the counter. It’s a wonder why.”

 “My brother has been acting weird ever since you two knew each other. It has naturally raised my concerns.”

 “Acting weird? How so? Isn’t he always like that?”

 “You don’t have to know. But, I want to be sure, why are you hanging out with him?”

 “That question would be best asked to your brother. I still wonder to myself why he hangs out with me.”

 The slight smile that lines Madara’s lips stirs uneasiness in Tobirama’s mind. It feels like he’s looking at something that is developing, but he can’t identify  exactly what it is. He leaves as soon as his brother arrived, taking the chair next to Madara. 

 Madara’s smile turns into a full one.

 -

 Madara finds himself pulling out his violin that night at the stillness of his apartment. He never played unless in front of Izuna’s grave, not even when he is alone. He does it now, however, thinking it strange to hear his own music echoing back at him in the small room.

 There is a certain peace and quiet with the way every chord flows through the silk strings and bounces off the walls back to his ears. It is less mournful compared to the music he makes in the wide, open cemetery. He imagines the progressions of the first piece Hashirama played the first time he listened to him in The Bistro. That piece could have a violin duet; he imagines he’s playing alongside him.

 For a long time since, melodies are now pouring out of his consciousness.

 His fingers are trembling again, and he’s afraid of what it means.

 -

 The Bistro feels quite incomplete that day. Madara never passed by, and he wasn’t in the cemetery either. (Hashirama checked, just to be sure.) A part of his mind has not been quite with him. It is fortunate that his other muscles already know his music, and he didn’t have to think much to play his repertoire for that afternoon.

 “Waiting for someone?” Tobirama asks him then while counting that day’s tips. 

 Hashirama is bent over the counter, his chin on the cold granite. He’s been looking at the minerals that glistened on them.

 “He always tells me beforehand if he wouldn’t be coming.”

 “You’re not his keeper. He’s not in any obligation to tell you all his whereabouts,” Tobirama closes his eyes in irritation. “And you shouldn’t be worrying about him. He’s not a kid.”

 “Still.” Hashirama presses his cheek harder on the countertop. “That guy lives alone, I can’t help it.”

 “Have you contacted him by phone?”

 “He doesn’t have one.”

 “Seriously. How does that person live?”

 “On another matter though,” Hashirama pushes himself up and leans his elbow on the counter, letting his chin rest on his interlocked fingers, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You still don’t trust Madara.”

 “You are the one befriending him, not me. I don’t necessarily need to feel the same as you do.”

 “I think you’ll get along quite well if you try.”

 “No, thanks.”

 “You don’t have friends, Tobirama.”

 “I don’t need one.”

 “You’re going to die alone.”

 “Fascinating.”

 “Hey,” Hashirama seems to have given up at that point, “Okay, I won’t force you to befriend Madara, as well. But you can be nicer, yeah?”

 “Anyway,” Tobirama keeps the money he earned that day in his pockets, purposely not answering his brother’s question. “Let’s go home.”

 “Fine.”

 They bid their farewells to the manager and the remaining staff. Hashirama carries his cello behind his back, its familiar weight lifting his spirits a little bit. He starts humming Moonlight Sonata, a piece Tobirama knows all too well.

 “Aside from the music,” Tobirama asks after a few minutes of hearing the tune, “Why do you hang out with Madara?”

 He has asked the same question to Madara some other day before, and he wanted to know what his brother himself thinks of it.

 “Should there be a reason why you hang out with people?”

 “Well if it’s a person like Madara, there should probably be a very sound reason why you do it.”

 “You make it sound like he’s a fugitive or something.”

 “He came out of nowhere!”

 “There’s no reasoning with you at all,” Hashirama rubs a hand over his forehead. His brother is among the most stubborn people he knows of.

 “I’m just warning you, brother,” Tobirama’s tone seems to have softened somehow, “You easily trust people and get attached. You seem to forget how easily they can come and go through your life.”

 “Knowing that, then is it wrong to enjoy every moment you have with that person?”

 Tobirama wonders how his older brother can be so naive.

 -

 It is as if a storm just left Hashirama’s spirit the moment he sees Madara entering through the doors of The Bistro. It has been four days since he last heard from him, and to be honest, he had thought he would never hear from him again. The restaurant has a handful of customers, Madara goes straight towards the counter where Hashirama is sitting.

 “Hey,” he greets tentatively, seemingly calculating the atmosphere around him.

 Hashirama’s arm is around Madara’s shoulder at once, clapping him at the back simultaneously so. “Madara! Where have you run to? I thought you’d be gone forever.”

 “As if I could get you off my back for that long?” A small smile forms on Madara’s lips.

 “Indeed. If you haven’t dropped by today, I would have already had your face posted all over the city by tomorrow. Where have you been?” It’s only then that Hashirama notices the case that is slung behind Madara. “Is that…your violin?”

 “I’ve been practicing.” Madara looks almost embarrassed to be saying those three words. Nevertheless, it solicits a smile on Hashirama’s face.

 “Which piece?”

 “The first piece you played the first time I was here. I practiced the violin part.”

 “Oh?” He scratched his chin in a feigned contemplation, “I don’t seem to remember which was that. Can you remind me?”

 Madara seems to have bitten the bait at first, but Hashirama’s slight chuckle gave it away. “You idiot. Are you trying to make me play right now?”

 “Am I?” Hashirama laughs. “Why did you even practice it?”

 “You wanted a duet, right?”

 This surprises Hashirama, his eyes widening. “A duet,” he repeats in disbelief.

 “Would you like to try?”

 Hashirama didn’t need to be told twice.

 They head to the back of the restaurant where a small room is solely dedicated for Hashirama to rehearse in. Once settled, Madara pulls out his violin along with several pages of music sheets. He gives some to Hashirama.

 “Passacaglia, wasn’t it?”

 “I’m surprised you managed to find it.”

 “By ear.”

 “Now you’re just bragging.”

 “I’m better than you, Hashirama. It’ll do you good to know this as early as now.”

 “We haven’t even started playing yet,” Hashirama retrieves his cello then, getting into position, “Talk to me after the duet.”

 After making sure that both of their instruments are in tune, they proceed to play the first movement of the piece. The music sheet before them only served as a formality for the two of them are able to play the piece smoothly with minimal reference to the music sheets. They play in earnest, occasionally glancing at one another to ensure that they are still in sync with one another, something they didn’t find hard to do. 

 When they finish the piece, they are met with a couple of applauses. Looking at their unexpected audience, Hashirama sees the owner of the restaurant.

 “Hashirama,” the owner greets them with a smile, “Who’s this friend you’ve brought?”

 “Sir, this is Madara. He’s a friend of mine.”

 “Good afternoon, Madara. It’s nice meeting you,” he offers his hand. Finding no other choice, Madara shakes it.

 “Nice meeting you, too.”

 “You make very good music, the two of you. Do you have a job at the moment?”

 “Not really,” he answers tentatively. Living off your parent’s funds don’t sound quite nice for an adult of his age.

 “Good. What do you say about working for us?”

 -

  Interest in The Bistro and classical music has increased since the week when Madara has been officially employed and started playing duets with Hashirama. Their performances moved hearts and even made some people tear up, almost forgetting about their meals. Madara couldn’t care less about the attention he’s receiving from the others, but he sure cares about how ridiculously beautiful Hashirama looks everytime they play together.

 Yes, he just said it.

 He finds himself staring many times, and Hashirama has caught him staring many times as well. The other man still seems oblivious about Madara’s growing fondness of him, just throwing back his signature smile everytime their eyes meet.

 Tobirama does notice something, however, and he makes sure Madara knows of it. It’s when Hashirama is doing a solo performance in front that Tobirama pulls hims aside for an important conversation.

 The resonant sound of Hashirama’s cello can still be heard at the back of the staff room.

 “Could you be honest with me?” Tobirama asks him the moment they faced each other.

 “It depends on what you would ask me.”

 His response makes Tobirama frown even more, but the man is able to compose himself. “I see how you look at my brother, and I see how he looks at you. I don’t know about the two of you, but I see something going on right here. What do you actually feel for my brother? And no, don’t give me any bullshit.”

 “I do like your brother,” Madara admits. There is no point in denying it. “But trust me when I say that it’s all that there will be.”

 “What do you mean by that? You won’t act on it?”

 “Do I have to?”

 “I don’t know!” Tobirama hisses frustratedly, “All I know is that my brother has been happier since he has made your company. He started playing music again for the fun of it. The last time he was like that was when before Itama died. I may not approve of who you are completely, but you’re making my brother better. And that’s what is important to me.”

 For the first time, Madara wears an expression of incredulity. After a short while, he lets out a mocking laugh.

 “You are certainly very imaginative.”

 “The last thing I would want to imagine is my brother taking a liking on you. Why do you find it hard to believe that Hashirama would feel that way?”

 “Probably the same reason why you disapprove of me.” He hears the last movement of Hashirama’s piece. Madara proceeds then to tie his hair back. “Look, if you think I’m helping Hashirama be better in our current set-up, then why must there be a need to complicate things? Am I right?”

 Tobirama seems to comprehend where Madara is getting at. “So you’ll stay as his friend even if you like him a lot?”

 “Yeah.”

 “Fine,” he closes his eyes, letting out a defeated exhale, “But if you dare hurt him when my brother finally realizes what he feels for you, we’re going to have another talk. It won’t end well, I assure you.”

 “You can sleep soundly tonight, Tobirama. I wouldn’t want to hurt him.” With that, Madara turns his back on him and returns inside. Applauses come from their customers, Hashirama has just finished his performance. It’s Madara’s turn to entertain.

 The truth is, Tobirama believes Madara on his word. What he’s afraid of is that it’s Hashirama himself that will be the cause of his own heartbreak.

   “You really didn’t have to come with me today.” Madara is fumbling with his keys as Hashirama waits behind him excitedly.

 “As your duet partner, I believe I have equal rights into deciding which strings you should pick for your violin. I can’t believe you almost did not pick the Pisastro Olive.”

 Madara finally finds the right key and lets themselves in. 

 “Would you like coffee?” Madara offers, “Or tea?”

 “I’d rather the tea, thanks.”

 “Well then, wait for me here.”

 “Can I look around?” The smile on his face is terribly innocent and pleading that Madara seems compelled to let him.

 “Try not to break anything.”

 He sets the water heater on before rummaging through his cabinets. Madara tries to locate the box of tea bags he hasn’t used for many weeks. He finds them pushed back to the far corner, slightly covered in a thin layer of dust. Making sure the tea is not yet expired, he pulls it out and proceeds to get two cups to prepare the tea in. Just in time, the water boils. He finishes preparing the cups of tea and returns to the living room.

 Hashirama is in the middle of going through a photo album of his childhood. Madara takes the spot next to him on the couch and settles their cups on the table.

 “Is this you?” Hashirama asks, pointing to an almost faded photo of a boy in school uniform, holding a violin on his hand.

 “That’s my brother, Izuna. I was the one who took his photo.”

 “Ah, I see,” Hashirama continues browsing through the pictures, “He looks like you.”

 “He does,” Madara laughs softly. 

 “Are you just living alone here? This place seems big for you.”

 “We used to live here, the whole family I mean. Ever since Izuna died from…his cancer, my parents opted to live back in the province. They tried to make me come with them, but I didn’t want to mope with them. They do give me money to get by.”

 “Is this you?” Hashirama now points at a picture with two boys, knowing all too well that he has breached a sensitive topic. Madara is easily identifiable by the mess that is his hair. Izuna is the shorter one, smiling widely for the camera. “You really seemed happy with your brother.”

 “He was my everything.”

 “I understand where you’re coming from,” Hashirama closes the photo album and places it on the table. “Itama was very precious to us as well. Especially to me. He’s always my audience everytime I practiced the cello, that’s why it became hard for me to play ever since he died two years ago. Sure, the restaurant job required me to play, but aside from there, I didn’t play anymore.”

 “You seem recovered from it now, though.”

 “Tobirama tells me the same thing, actually,” Hashirama smiles widely. “I still think it’s because of you.”

 Madara almost spills his cup of tea at the statement. He coughs, putting down his cup for a moment.

 “I’m sorry?”

 “You challenged me in a good way, I think. Ever since I made your acquaintance, I’ve become more attached to my music than ever. Comparing the past two years, playing music now makes me…happy.”

 “Then I’m glad to be of help.”

 “How about you?” Hashirama prods on, looking earnestly at Madara, “Have I helped you in some way?”

 Madara looks at him then as if searching for something in his eyes. Hashirama holds his breath. It seems his heart is beating slower than normal. After what feels like an eternity, Madara flicks his forehead much to his surprise.

 “Maybe after you help me replace my violin strings, I can answer ‘yes’ to that question.”

 “Right,” Hashirama lets out a laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound nervous, “Now where’s that precious Pisastro Olive that we bought?”

 They spend the next twenty minutes or so replacing the old strings of Madara’s violin. It hasn’t been replaced in over a year, something Hashirama finds very horrific. Once they are sure that the strings are properly attached, Madara retrieves the bow from the case and wipes it clean.

 “Might as well test the new strings,” he tells Hashirama. He rests the violin on the corner of his neck, remaining seated on the couch. “Who should I play?”

 “Vivaldi, of course.”

 Madara indulges Hashirama’s request, playing his own rendition of his Concerto in G Major. The new strings sound quite nice, much to Madara’s satisfaction. Hashirama brings his hand together for an applause after Madara finishes the piece.

 “Encore?” Hashirama suggests with a smile on his face.

 “How spoiled are you?” Madara rolls his eyes, but nevertheless, he cracks his neck once before readjusting the violin’s position on his neck. It takes him a moment to think of a new piece to play, and when he finally does, he closes his eyes and plays.

 It’s almost like a spell, the way Madara fluidly moves with his violin, the way the bright music flows from the strings. Even if Hashirama wanted to look at Madara’s face, his eyes get drawn back to how Madara’s fingers move over the strings. He’s never seen such an exquisite set of fingers.

 Madara finishes playing, and to be honest, Hashirama wishes he didn’t. Only Madara’s ragged breathing and the echoes of his last note filled the silence in the air. 

 “Well-“

 Without any spare for a second thought, Hashirama closes the distance between the two of them, reaching for Madara’s face and touching his lips with his own. It all happens in a flash of a second, and when Hashirama realizes what he has done, he quickly pulls away with a gasp and stands up, leaving a very surprised Madara on the couch.

 “Shit,” Hashirama mutters under his breath. “Shit.”

 “Hashi-“

 “I’m going.”

 Without waiting for Madara’s reply, Hashirama hurries to the door and walks out. 

  -

 The moment he arrives at The Bistro and Tobirama sees him, Hashirama plants his face on the counter and groans loudly.

 “Let me guess,” Tobirama starts, “You did something you’re regretting right now.”

 “I…messed up. Big time.” 

 “Weren’t you supposed to be with Madara today?”

 Hashirama groans once more.

 “Ah.” Tobirama gets an idea of the situation at hand. “You messed up? What did you do?”

 “For the record,” Hashirama finally shows his face, putting his hands up in the air, “I didn’t mean any trouble. I seriously was just enjoying the music when…”

 “When what?”

 His brother’s face turned into several shades of pink. He covers his face with both hands and groans again. In a hushed tone, he says, “I…kissed him.”

 “Am I hearing this right?” Tobirama leans closer towards his brother, “You kissed him? Not the other way around?”

 “Don’t be an idiot, why would Madara kiss me?” He pulls at his own hair in frustration. “Why did I do that?”

 “I don’t know, maybe you like him.”

 “I like him? Romantically?”

 “Well, you were stalking in the cemetery-“

 “I wasn’t. I was just appreciating his music.”

 “-and you’re obviously smitten by how he plays his violin-“

 “He’s a great musician, I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

 “-and how fifty percent of the time, you’re always ‘Madara this’ and ‘Madara that’-“

 “I am?”

 “Yes,” Tobirama crosses his arms and nods, “Honestly, brother, you could have had anyone. I think your sense of judgment is severely damaged, but, yes, you like Madara. For a long time now, actually.”

 Hearing it directly from Tobirama seems to have a calming effect on Hashirama. He removes his hands from his hair and sits up straight, gathering his bearings.

 “I like Madara,” he repeats, testing how the words sound from his own mouth. “I like him.”

 “Please don’t repeat it again,” Tobirama stops the urge to roll his eyes. “What do you plan to do now that you’ve come to realize one of your life’s greatest mysteries?”

 There is only one answer to that. “I’m going to tell him.”

  -

 Intuition told Hashirama to head for the cemetery, and so he runs from The Bistro hoping to find Madara.

 Everything is as it was the very first time Hashirama talked to him, except that this time, summer is being chased away by the cool autumn winds. Hashirama finds Madara standing over Izuna’s grave, his usually unkept hair tied in a neat ponytail. He’s playing the violin, and the music is the same one he was playing on that day he finally had the courage to approach Madara. Hashirama’s chest aches at the sight; Madara is beautiful.

 Seemingly being aware of his presence, Madara turns his head a bit. Still, he refuses to look directly. He continues playing, and Hashirama waits for him to finish. When the last note of the piece ended, Hashirama steps forward.

 “Madara-“

 “If you’re here to apologize, you should just go.”

 “Could you at least listen to me first? I’m not here to apologize.”

 “Then what are you here for?”

 “To face what I foolishly haven’t realized myself. I know…this sounds crazy, I don’t even understand it myself. Tobirama tells me that my sense of judgment is severely damaged but, I know that being with you makes me happy. And I look forward to every single moment I could spend with you, especially the moments when we create music together,” Hashirama inhales deeply, “The fact is I actually really, really like you.”

 By the time Hashirama has ended his hastily thought-out confession, Madara’s lips are turned up in a coy, knowing smile. He looks pretty damned satisfied with himself, and somehow, Hashirama realizes another thing.

 “You like me as well, don’t you?”

 “Now that’s a pretty arrogant claim you have there, Hashirama.”

 “Are you saying I’m not correct?” he raises an eyebrow at him.

 “I’m just saying that you underestimate me, Hashirama. I don’t just like you. In fact, I really, really like you, as well.”

 “But…how?” Hashirama looks at him dumbfounded, “You’ve always been cold to me since the beginning.”

 “I ask myself the same question, believe me. But recently, it’s not just Izuna that I want to play for. I’ve also found myself wanting to play for you.”

 “That’s why you practiced Passacaglia?”

 Madara nods.

 “And why you accepted the offer to work in The Bistro?”

 “You’re all realizing this just now?”

 “I was so oblivious.”

 “I wasn’t exactly being obvious, either. Your brother is very observant, though. He talked to me about this, and I believe he has threatened me into another talk if I ever hurt you.”

 “Tobirama did what?” Hashirama makes a mental note to have another private conversation with his brother later.

 “I’m sure Izuna would have had a comment or two as well if he was here, but never mind that.” Madara returns the violin to its case. “I believe you owe me something.”

 “Owe you what, exactly?”

 “A proper kiss?” Madara holds Hashirama by the wrist and pulls him closer, “No running away this time.”

 Hashirama laughs, a sound that makes Madara smile fondly. He’d like to be with his new audience for quite a long time.

 “I’ll try not to.”

[crowteeth]

Let me be real with you.

I mean really real. I’m gonna tell you about my dreaded home life.

I’m always seeing posts about tips for people who are abused at home, or people with homophobic families. How to sneak food, how to move to the bathroom without being noticed, all of the handy tips that can save your life. I always view myself as separate from someone who has an abusive family or a violently homophobic family.  That does not mean I saw myself as better than them. It doesn’t mean I didn’t feel terrible that parents and families can have such hate towards a group of individuals or people in their own home. It was a form of dissociation. If I don’t think about how my mom slammed me (still in my desk chair) into my dresser repeatedly as she yelled at me, words I don’t remember because I was too afraid that I was going to die that day, that she would be the one to kill me, if I don’t think about how she was trying to grab the collar of my shirt while she did this and ended up cutting my chest with her nails, if I don’t think about the fact that I still have scars from that day, maybe, just maybe it didn’t actually happen. Maybe it was a bad dream.

If I don’t think about the day I was telling my mom about the fanfiction I was reading (before I came out of the closet) and how frustrated I was the two characters were in love but didn’t know the other’s identity, but when they found out, they stubbornly refused to admit they loved each other, and I let slip that they were both men how she said if she ever caught me reading any garbage stuff like that again, she’d never let me read anything ever again. (I put a lock on my tablet that night so she couldn’t go through it and find the stuff that I was writing)

If I don’t think about it. The countless scars on my thighs that I put there because “she can’t hurt me I’m the only one allowed to hurt me” became my mantra.

If I don’t think about the day I came out. (My mom was driving us home after a trip to a different town for the lung doctor. We had just found out my lung function was down to 54%. 25% of that drop happened in the last three months, and they needed to get it up quickly. She was asking me why she found bible pages in my pocket and why I had ripped them out of the bible. We bickered for a bit before I finally said, “Well I’m going to hell anyway, might as well go in style.” “No, you’re not why would you say that!?” she responded quickly. She sounded worried.

“Well, I’m gay as hell so yes I am.”

Silence. And then,

“We’re not having this conversation right now.”)

If I don’t think about how a month later, after yelling at me and embarrassing me in front of my teachers during a meeting for my accelerated classes, how I felt like I was going to cry in front of all those people, and how afterward, when everyone except for my case manager my mother and I were gone, my mother and case manager said I needed to stop with the “shock factor” and drop the “being gay” garbage. My mom’s exact words after I told them I was gay, and it wasn’t for attention, “You can be gay all you want, but you aren’t allowed to talk about it at home and you can’t bring any of your girlfriends to the house. I don’t believe in gay.” Her not “believing in gay” was the funniest part, but only because she was so flustered she forgot a word. She meant to say “I don’t believe in being gay.” It still hurts though.

It hurts hearing the slurs. They don’t care if I’m in the room or not. It hurts when she jerks me by my hair from my bed if I leave the room to have a panic attack or cry. It hurts being afraid to walk past my own mother. It hurts to think about not being able to tell my own mother about my love life, how my best friend who is like a brother even though we’re not related, cares about me more than the person who raised me. It hurts being hated by your own mother.

If I don’t think about it, if I don’t try to find familiarity in the posts, then maybe I can pretend everything is ok.

[graveyardshift-writer]

Endearment and Enmity: Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Yugioh. Title: Endearment and Enmity Rating: T-M depending on chapter, M overall Summary: When you’re literally married to the person you despise. Warnings: Homosexual relationships,vulgar words and adult situations. Author’s Note: I don’t know why I wrote this.

Chapter 4: Blind Date

Wednesday was Jonouchi’s chosen day off - he worked weekends overtime for the compounded extra pay, since he kept a separate bank account from Kaiba still. He was keeping to himself in the loungeroom on his floor of the mansion. His angry texts to Honda had not yet received a response, so he was sulking over it. He’d already gone to the gym that morning and still his frustration hadn’t been worked off, so he was drowning his sorrow into a bowl of Kappa Ebisen(1), something he’d often indulged in as a teen but didn’t so much anymore (he maintained a healthy diet to keep up with his steadily slowing metabolism).

He was so alone. His sister Shizuka was still giving him the silent treatment over his ‘secret two-year-long relationship’ with Kaiba, Honda wouldn’t respond to his angry text messages (although starting them off with “You asshole” probably wasn’t the best conversation starter choice), Yugi and Anzu were currently in NYC for a Broadway show she was dancing in, Bakura was in Kyoto, and Otogi was too busy parenting to hang out with him, which Jonouchi knew because unlike his husband the dark-haired man was actually willing to respond to his texts.

Kaiba was most likely at work, as far as Jonouchi knew. He didn’t interact with his… spouse, very much. He hadn’t bumped into him in the mansion in three solid days so far. Usually he kept himself entertained with either electronics, are talking to the mansion servants. The main cook was pretty hot so he talked to her often. She had a penchant for short skirts too, which made Jonouchi really, really glad that Kaiba never put forth a dress code for his hired help. Not that he’d do anything with her, for one he would always respect the sanctity of marriage even if he hated who he was married to; and he also knew it would severely displease Kaiba, not because the brunet respected the sanctity of marriage, but because he didn’t want a scandal to make him look bad. For now he was content with looking but not touching.

“You look ridiculous.” He heard all of a sudden - his head snapped to the entrance to the lounge room, where Kaiba stood with his arms crossed. He hadn’t noticed the CEO enter, although it was hard to ever sense the guy coming because he had the lightest steps known to man. Jonouchi scowled - his attire consisted of a green plaid tshirt, which were tucked into blue jeans held up by a brown belt with a big metal buckle, and brown cowboy ankle length cowboy boots (under the jeans).

“Have you ever looked at yourself?” Jonouchi scoffed in return, referring to Kaiba’s overdramatic trench coat and BEWD worship dressing taste - he’d spent so long in Texas he’d adapted to the modern southern style, at least he didn’t do the ten gallon cowboy hat and shiny tassels that some of the older southern men still did. He loved his Red Eyes Black Dragon, sure, it was still his trademark card, but not enough to worship it and dress in tribute to it like a patron god.

“What do you want, Kaiba?” He asked between munches of prawn chips.

“Tonight at six, we’re going to Kozue.” Kaiba announced, because anytime he told the blonde something it was because they were going to do it, no if ands or buts about it.

“Kozue?” Jonouchi echoed, his brain scrambled for a second trying to remember the place he was talking about “…That famous restaurant in Tokyo?”

“Indeed.” The tall brunet clarified, Jonouchi gave him a long stare before speaking.

“…Dude, we’re two hundred mi- I mean, over three-hundred kilometers from Tokyo(2). It’ll take a whole day of driving to get there.” Jonouchi quickly converted from the imperial system of measurement to metric. He almost forgot that Kaiba most likely either didn’t know miles, or was at most rusty with that system.

“I’ll take us in my private jet.” Kaiba reassured in his ever present monotone. The blonde nurse groaned loudly at the thought of that embarrassing dragon themed jet that he remembered Kaiba having when they were younger. It seemed kind of cool when they were teens, but now that they were mature adults he really realized how childish it was. And people called him immature.

“Oh come on, Kaiba. Not after that business banquet we had to go to; I’d serious prefer camping out in duelist kingdom over the torture of another lame product related speech.” Jonouchi grumbled, but as usual his former rival wasn’t the type to negotiate.

“Be ready by five thirty(3).” Kaiba commanded “Put something presentable on.” His eyes narrowed a bit more at the blonde. It was no secret that Kaiba did not approved of the westernized style that he’d picked up. Jonouchi absent-mindedly nodded but said nothing, although he did make his eye-roll as visible and obvious as possible, as the CEO finally left him alone.

Jonouchi looked at the clock - it was only eleven in the afternoon; well shit he still had a lot of time to kill. He looked to his half-empty bowl of kappa ebisen’s, that talk with Kaiba really ruined his stress-eating appetite.

People of Domino, unlike his… spouse, didn’t really care about the way he was dressed, mostly because they were used to seeing American tourists and probably assumed he was one, and they actually minded their own damn business. It was a relief to not be talked down to as he walked the streets of Domino, many of those streets familiar from his late childhood and his teenaged years. He paused when he saw the all-too-familiar Kame Game Shop, one of the most common stops from his past.

Yugi definitely wasn’t there, but his grandfather most likely was, as indicated by the sign on the door which was flipped to the 'open’ side. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Jonouchi walked over and stepped into the shop, lo behold the old man indeed was standing behind the counter, talking to one of his customers.

“Gramps?” Jonouchi addressed, not realizing he was speaking English again. Nonetheless it seemed to gain both Sugoroku and the customers attention. The old man lit up at the sight of his grandsons best friend.

“Jonouchi my boy.” Grandpa Motou said with a gruff chuckle as he walked slowly over from behind the counter. He didn’t look too different from how he had eight years earlier, besides his gait and slightly cloudy eyes indicating the fragility of old age. “I wasn’t expecting the visit.”

“Yeah, I’ve been a bit… Busy.” Jonouchi said with a weak grin as he rubbed the back of his own head sheepishly. “I was walking and saw the shop and thought it was finally time to pay another visit.” Oh he had indeed visited before, Sugoroku lived in the game shop alone now, Yugi had moved out and his mother now lived in the countryside with her husband who had finally retired (4). They wanted to take the old man to live with them as was customary, but he refused, he wanted to continue to run his game shop.

“Jonouchi?” The customer inquired, the blonde nurse finally took notice of the man; he had short dark brown hair that was spiked at the edges and had a splash of violet at the middle of his hairline. He had sharp brown eyes with narrow pupils, slightly tanned skin, and stood a few inches under Jonouchi’s height, at maybe 5'8. He was also wearing a cream dress shirt with black slacks, and a dark green tie.

“…Ryuzaki?” He came to the conclusion slowly, and the other man slowly shook his head. It was surprising really, the brunet seemed to have grown out of his awkward phase and wasn’t cringy to look at anymore.

“Ah yes, he’s a frequent customer these days.” Sugoroku told the blond with a gentle smile still intact.

“You… Still duel?” Jonouchi awkwardly asked his old enemy; Ryuzaki used to be highly ranked in the region, up until Yugi and the gang entered the scene with their obsurdly skilled foes, and his popularity dwindled from there along with his running mate Haga.

Ryuzaki looked to the newly acquired card in his hands “Sort of, well, mostly to amuse my kids.”

“YOU have kids?” Okay, that was shocking too. “Well yeah - no! No, not my own.” Ryuzaki quickly and embarrassingly shook his head “My kids as in - I’m a primary school teacher. My students is what I mean.”

Jonouchi nodded at the explanation, this made slightly more sense; although it was still unexpected “Ahhh I see. You and Haga still… friends?” Were they friends or were they rivals? It was hard to tell with those two with their constant arguing.

“We’re more than friends Jonouchi… couldn’t you tell? We’ve been dating since Battle City…” Ryuzaki told him, straightening up his tie. Although the blond did not reply out loud, he couldn’t help but think of something he dare not say aloud, especially in the presence of Yugi’s sweet if old fashioned and very modest grandfather.

'Am I the only guy around here who likes pussy?’

Catching up with Ryuzaki by chatting over a quick half-hearted table duel proved to somehow lift Jonouchi’s spirit from the proverbial dumps they had been in earlier. The runt had indeed grown mature in more than looks. H e worked at the local primary school for students in Grade Three, and many of the ankle-biters loved duel monsters just as they generation of kids before them had. Although the violet-fringed man did not competitively duel anymore, he still taught and played the game during breaks with his students.

Jonouchi spoke about the antics of his coworkers and patients, and things that had happened while he had been schooling, and likewise Ryuzaki did the same but with students rather than patients; they found both groups to be trying at times. They also lamented the struggles of being male in female-dominated occupations, an issue they had a hard time discussing with their male friends, or even female friends if they were in similar situations, as it was quite the… different, experience.

It was refreshing to make a friend again, even if in the form of a former enemy. Speaking of which, it turned out Haga was working as a Entomologist for the local university; and was actually currently lecturing for a semester at Universiti Putra Malaysia, a research university in Seri Kembangan, Malaysia. He’d gotten far in life, that lanky nerd did. According to Ryuzaki, while they did live together they had no children, and did not plan for any, while Ryuzaki (surprisingly) loved children, his partner had very little patience and absolutely no desire for one, and he respected that.

Jonouchi surprised himself when he found himself to be disappointed when Ryuzaki left, mostly because he had seen so little of his friends and family, and didn’t exactly have the most engaging relationship with Kaiba. He was just so… so freaking lonely. The silver lining was that they exchanged numbers and agreed to hang out another time.

“Say, Jonouchi, what brings you to this part of town?” Grandpa Motou asked as he brought his surrogate grandchild a cup of green tea, which the blond thanked him for as he sipped it.

“I just wanted to kill some time before me and Kaiba are going to a restaurant in a bit.” Jonouchi practically muttered, drinking half of the cup in only a few sips..

“A date?” The old man inquired.

“…You can say that, I mean, usually it’s business gatherings. I don’t really make a point to ask Kaiba anymore because either way it’s lame and I don’t get a choice.” The blond complained.

Sugoroku stared at him for a hard minute, which made the nurse feel awkward because he knew that look too well, it was look he’d gotten so many times when he’d asked the old man to teach him how to play duel monsters, and subsequently trained him. “Why do you call him Kaiba?”

“-…” Jonouchi froze, no one ever questioned him calling his… spouse, Kaiba. It was just so natural of him, but he realized how strange it was to call your own significant other by their family name and never their first name, especially after supposedly dating for over two years and getting married. While he could lie about the whole facade no problem, he still had trouble making things up for small details like that. “W-Well uh, you know… it’s just, isn’t very respectful to call him by his first name with people who aren’t on a first-name basis with him too-”

“Are you lying my boy?”

“…” A hand fell on the blond’s shoulder, squeezing it softly but firmly.

“Are there… underlying circumstances to you marrying Kaiba?”

“Gramps…”

“You don’t have to tell me… but, if you’re unhappy, don’t be afraid to admit it. To me, or him. Or yourself.”

“I can’t believe you kept those ridiculous westernized clothes on.” Kaiba told him sharply, not bothering to look back from the steering mechanism of the jet as he scolded him. Honey brown eyes rolled in response, indeed Jonouchi had not bothered to change from what he was wearing earlier, mostly out of spite but partially because he just didn’t feel like changing. “Why are you insisting on trying to embarrass me?”

“…Dude you know I don’t like you right.” Jonouchi muttered; it wasn’t entirely true, he didn’t hate Kaiba or anything, he just didn’t like being bossed around by someone.

“Well you could have pretended to like me long enough for this dinner.” The blue eyed man sharply retorted, still steering his ridiculous jet that Jonouchi had the displeasure of boarding, and soon enough the displeasure of being seen coming out of it.

“Whatever, what kind of business dinner is this anyways? You trying to buy someone out or something?” Jonouchi only really had a vague idea of how business worked, mostly he knew about healthcare management when it came to the subject of business. Big-wig multibillion dollar gaming companies were a whole other topic.

“This isn’t business related, Katsuya.” Kaiba stated, irritated as if he’d just said the most obvious thing to the biggest idiot ever, which was probably how the brunet saw it.

Jonouchi exasperatingly placed his hands into his lap “Then why the hell are we going to some fancy restaurant in Tokyo?” Not that he minded dining on some of the fanciest food in Japan, but being demanded to do anything left a sour taste in his mouth nonetheless, and anytime Kaiba invited him for a meal, something terrible happened. Okay, so it only happened once, but that one terrible thing of ending up hitched was bad enough for him to always be on edge about it.

“Because we’re a married couple, you do realize we have obligations other than business and living arrangements right? Does your undersized brain understand how this process works or has the exposure to the anesthesia caused it to shrink even further.” Well there’s the jerk-Kaiba that Jonouchi knew all too well, but the statement did make the gears in his head slowly turn.

“We're… going on a date?” He had difficulty even suggesting such a thing, oh god he was pretty sure the word date made him throw up a little in his mouth. “That is something that married couples do, Katsuya.” Kaiba stated bluntly, not realizing the effect it had on the other man.

A date? A date with Kaiab of all people? Somehow that was worse than just being married to him, because being his hostage bride so far only required that he live with him and give up his original family name, not actually have to spend time with him for anymore than a few hours a week. Tonight’s sobbing into his pillow wasn’t going to be dry.

TO BE CONTINUED…

(1)Kappa Ebisen (かっぱえびせん) prawn chips by Calbee (2) I imagine that since Domino city has docks, it’d be a coastline city, so I’d say close to the Japanese city of Tsu, which is roughly 198 miles from Tokyo, roughly about 321 kilometers. (3) I don’t know how fast the blue eyes white dragon jet it, but for the hell of it let’s say it’s mach one speed, which travels about 750 miles / 1207 kilometers an hour, they could very well get to Tokyo before six. (4) Yugi’s mother, although never seen in the 4kids dub, lives with Yugi and his grandpa in the game shop. Her husband, Sugoroku’s son, is supposedly always away on business. Authors note: Jonouchi’s negative feelings towards Kaiba are for the most exaggerated for comical purposes, he does in fact not hate Kaaba, but he doesn’t really like him that much either. This discontent could be seen as both of their fault, as Kaiba is work-oriented and Jonouchi won’t even try to get close to him. So Ryuzaki/Rex Raptor makes an appearance, unexpected I know. And apparently him and Haga have been dating this whole time. Will he show up again, and what was the significance of him showing up again? Will anyone else show up or make unexpected appearance? Will Jonouchi ever stop dramatically sobbing into his pillow? Will he and Kaiba ever get along? Is Jonouchi really the only guy in this story who likes vagina?

[rionebuys]

The meeting (chapter 3)

"Sir we've landed." A voice awoke Daniel from his nap on the plane. He opened his eyes and looked out the window, it was still light. He had arrived in Cape Town, in time for the recital. It's been years since he had a nap or any proper sleep for that matter. But at this very moment Daniel felt very much awake. He looked up and made contact with Travis. Nodding he stood up. "Thank you Travis." Daniel said as he exited his private jet. As he started walking down the plane's steps, he took a deep breath of the salty but refreshing air. He loved the beach, ever since he was a kid, the beach was just calming. Much like music, you could leave your problems there and just fade. Travis opened the door for Daniel to his SUV and Daniel got settled in the back seat. As they drove Daniel couldn't help but keep his eyes on the horizon where the sun was closing in to meet the ocean. It was a truly beautiful sight to see. His phone pinged and buzzed but he paid no attention, this was breath taking, the ocean was beautiful and calm today. Arriving at the hotel, both Daniel and Travis exited the car, took their bags and went inside the hotel. It was not your typical glitz and clam hotel. It was just an ordinary four star hotel that looked extremely comfy and homey. All browns and white but beautifully decorated. Daniel made his was to reception, Travis following his every step. "Hi, two rooms under Bowman please." The receptionist nodded her head getting their room keys along with papers to sign. Daniel checked it taking the keys from her with a friendly smile. Walking towards Travis he handed him his key. "I want to take a quick shower and I'm sure you do as well. Let's meet back here in twenty minutes?" Daniel asked Travis. Travis nodded. "Yes sir." Daniel nodded taking his suitcase and walking towards the elevator, pressing the button for the second floor. Stepping out of the elevator as soon as the doors open on the second floor, Daniel walked down the hallways in search for his room. Opening the door to room 215, he stepped in closing the door behind him. The room itself was very beautiful, all a dark brown wood color, wooden floors, white couches in front of a TV, kitchen on your right open planned and same color as the floors, to your right you get the one bed room with an- suite. On the left side of his bed was a small balcony. Daniel immediately opened the doors and looked at the view. It was perfect, a view of both the city and ocean. Daniel  took a few minutes just to observe before retreating to the bathroom getting ready. Daniel couldn't help but wonder where his future laid. Would he also have a loving family like his sister has? Would he find a beautiful wife whom he could call his own? Would it be soon? Or maybe in the next five years? Oh he hoped not that long. Daniel shook his head and let out a dry laugh as he fixed his tie in the mirror. He was dressed to impress, a black Armani suit with a white dress shirt and elegant black tie, his light brown hair was perfectly styled as a comb over. For a last touch he put on his favorite cologne, Jimmy Choo for men. With one last look in the mirror, Daniel was ready and out the door. Arriving at the theatre, Travis looked at Daniel after he closed the door. "Mrs. Call sir?" Travis asked, he knew exactly who and what she was and he didn't like her one bit. She had no self respect and definitely didn't have it for others. Travis didn't even think she had a heart to begin with. But luckily for Daniel, the two men created a signal for when she became too much, Travis would dispose of her quickly. Sometimes Travis would signal Daniel telling him he wanted to leave which always made Daniel laugh. Daniel confided in Travis, he was his confident and friend, he trusted him with his life. "I'll take care of her but be ready for the signal." Daniel said making Travis chuckle. "Always sir." The theatre had a red carpet and paparazzi ready when Daniel stepped towards the theater, Daniel wanted to roll his eyes as Mrs. Call's attempt to get seen with him in public but let it slide. After taking a few photos for the public, Daniel entered the Theatre. He was astounded by how beautiful it was in there, glass and reds where all over the place, it reminded him of a typical old school theatre. "Wait until you see the office Mr. Bowman." A voice whispered in his ear making him turn around abruptly. Daniel sighed, clenching his jaw. "Mrs. Call. What a... Surprise. You look elegant." He really tried to be polite, she was wearing a yellow dress, so tight it looked like a second skin, not that it sounded bad but let's just say, some woman shouldn't be wearing something like that. "Oh well thank you, and you could call me Charlotte, please I insist." She said bashing her  at him. "Mrs. Call." He said giving her n tight smile making her smirk drop a little. "Excuse me." He said and without waiting for a reply, he left. Seeing his face, Travis walked towards him handing Daniel a Gentleman Jack with two ice. Much relieved Daniel smiled and nodded at him taking a gulp. "Just what I needed, thank you." After he took the last sip, Daniel and Travis made their way through to the actual theatre, only to be stopped by Daniel's phone ringing. Travis looked at Daniel with a questionable face. "Go ahead Travis, it's just Sophie." Daniel said looking at the caller ID. Standing just outside the doors so he could still see inside he answered the phone. "Sophie? Something you need?"  He asked conceded, not knowing what this could be about. As she replied he heard the audience applaud in the background. "Hello to you too brother, miss you too. Doing good? Same here." Was Sophie's reply. She had just as much sass as Claire did, and that made Daniel roll his eyes at her. Always so childish. "Sophie, I'm at an event, can you hurry this up please?" He heard her snort and rolled his eyes at her. What's a good day without any family bickering? "Fine, look I just want to make sure you remembered about Tuesday's plans with Donovan and Matt." After long silence Sophie groaned. Daniel totally forgot that her husband and son had a bonding day arranged with him. "Daniel, how are we related? Look just say yes and spend the day with them okay? Please? Both of them need guy time and Matt misses you a lot." "I'm sorry I forgot, I didn't mean to. Look if it makes you happy I will put it on my phone's calendar right now." Daniel felt a little guilty, he hasn't seen them in three months and he missed Matt and Don very much. He just could not help himself, he didn't know how to act in front of them, he was very distant and busy with work. The family hated him being like this but nothing would change him especially since it's been like this for thirteen years. But He could make a day out of Don and Matt. It should be fun. "Perfect!" She squealed. "So I was th-" Sophie was cut of by Daniel the minute she wanted to keep talking. This woman could talk your ear off if he didn't stop her she never would. "I got to go, bye." And with that he hung up. Ever since his Father's death, Daniel struggled to say I love you. He wasn't able to say it to his father when he died, but now, try as he may it just won't come out. Heading back into the theatre, he took his seat next to Travis and Mrs. Call as a boy kept singing. The night passed very slowly for Daniel. Fifteen students had preformed already including a ten min break, from guitar to xylophone were played. He was very impressed with their progress and the way they were learning. This school was one of his loudest investments and he was happy to have been a founder. "Thank you Egan." Mrs. Call said as the boy finished and the audience applaud. "Now, last but not least, Annabelle Parker. Belle has been at this school for the last three years and have been growing profoundly. As we end this year, she steps into her last year at this school and we could not have been more proud and honours to have had her as a student. Please welcome to the stage, twenty two year old, Annabelle Parker, gracing us with her piano and beautiful vocals. " Daniel alongside everyone else in the auditorium gave a warm applause as Annabelle made her way onto the stage. She took a seat at the piano and and started playing. Daniel checked his watch and saw that it was past nine pm. His mind was on it's way to mentally go over work files when she started singing. It was a familiar tune she was singing and playing, it was to the point of perfection on every single note. Daniel looked up in awe, and for the first time, he saw her. It was like a door had opened. She had so much grace and passion in her performance. He sat up straighter in his seat. Her fingers moved effortlessly on the piano keys, her face making a frown as she experienced the raw pain of the song, her eyes was closed as if she saw it all in her mind. And that right there was the most beautiful picture he had ever seen. His mouth was dry, his eyes burning from the lack of blinking and yet, he refused to look away, to even move. He didn't want the song to stop, he didn't want her to leave. He needed her, the music she was playing, he needed it all. But like all good things it must come to an end. As the audience applaud, Daniel took hold of Mrs. Call's arm before she could go upstairs. For a moment Charlotte thought this was it, this was her day. He was going to notice her, to ask her to dinner. He was going to- "I want to meet her." He said and her face fell. "Annabelle, I would like you to meet Mr. Daniel Bowman, our other founder. Daniel, Belle." Mrs. Call said. After the whole recital, there was a nice snack and coffee bar where everyone, students and parents as well as teachers got together. Mrs. Call decided against her better judgement and brought the two of them together. As they were shaking hands she heard someone call for her. "Alice!" She exclaimed and walked away, leaving the two alone. "Annabelle." Daniel said politely. Her name was very angelic much like her. He took this time to properly gaze at her and was in awe. She was beautiful in all aspects. She was breath taking and he could we that she didn't even know she was. "Mr. Bowman, it's nice to meet you."  She gave him a sweet smile which he returned. "That was a beautiful piece, have you always been fond of opera and classical?"  Daniel asked her too curious to get to know this angel. "Yes, I love any classical piece, Bach mostly. Since I was a little girl that piece had just brought me happiness in some form. I don't know what it is, the notes synchronizing just..." "... Gives you emotions you long to feel." He finished her sentence. She looked at him with wonder in her eyes and surprise. "Yes. Music has always been my escape, now it's my reality." She was extraordinary he thought, he liked her presence it was as if she calmed him some how. He wanted to get to know her. But he was more than surprised as he recognized her from the you tube video. "I must say I am impressed as well as with you videos you make on you tube."  As soon as he said it she flushed. "Shoot, you saw that?" Daniel laughed at her reaction, she was being cute without noticing it. "Yes, but your piece of Bach's Prelude was by far my favorite." "Well thank you." Annabelle looked down at her watch and saw it was almost ten pm. Her eyes widen and she looked at Daniel with a guilty face. "I'm so sorry Mr. Bowman, but I have to get home. It was lovely meeting you." She said in a rush and collected her things making a run for it. Panicking Daniel followed her out. "Wait Annabelle, are you free tomorrow? I would like to get to know you more." Annabelle stopped dead in her tracks turning around slowly to meet his eyes seeing that their genuine. Daniel had no idea what was happening to him. All he knew was that, she couldn't leave him like Cinderella left the Prince. He wanted to get to know her before going home tomorrow evening. "I- Y- Why?" "You intrigue me, please just one afternoon. That's all I'm asking for." Daniel frikking  Bowman just begged. Daniel wasn't a begged but right now he was feeling all kinds of vulnerable. Something inside him told him that his angel right here in front of him could be his saving grace. What if he could find happiness in her? Even as a friend? She was the only girl he ever met that looked at him and continued talking about music, his other passion. He could see the wheels in her head spinning. She bit her lip playfully and tugged a strand of hair behind her ear. That made him break out in a smile. "Okay, tomorrow, Anne's café, noon sharp. Not a second later." She said with a playful dominant voice. "Or a second sooner." She gave him a all  trying to suppress a blush and nodded, getting into Jesse's car and driving off, leaving the Prince on the side walk. Daniel smiled to himself, biting his lip he did a 'breakfast club' fist pump. For the first time in a while he felt happy and giddy. Smiling to himself while humming a tune he went back inside. Cinderella left her Prince after all, at least this time, she left him with an excited heart in hopes of seeing her tomorrow. Copyright © 2015

[ghoultyrant]

FoZ Notes 2

Continuing adventures in posting notes on Familiar of Zero. They’re still formatted primarily for my use, but hey other people might get something out of reading them.

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

Louise's home is 3 days ride from the academy. The lake with an island and some kind of building that Louise likes to hide in is canon. The father has retired from military duty, whatever that means given he's a medieval noble. Louise has a dream conflating Saito with Viscount Wardes. First clear sign from the story that she's Tsundereing at him.

... and Saito is convinced she loves him and is trying to do Japanese-style noncommunicative signaling of such. Because Saito is a moron, and doesn't understand that the culture he's in now is different from the one he grew up in. How, exactly, has he not cottoned on to that?

Oh god Saito stop being a rapist. Derflinger, stop encouraging him.

Jesus fuck Saito is a rapist.

Frankly, Louise's abuse of him following this is completely understandable. Holy fuck. [Reader note: yes, Saito attempts to have sex with Louise while she’s asleep on the idea that she wants him to do so. And Derflinger cheerleads this while stroking Saito’s ego. Saito makes everything worse]

Genoa, maximum security prison in the city of Tristain. I'm unsure why a faux-medieval culture has a maximum security prison? [Future note: we never hear about this place ever again after this]

Wood can't be transmuted. [Future note: I think this is never violated, actually. Then again, transmutation drops off in relevancy after this volume] Mages need wands to cast, except when they don't, because consistency.

Fouquet is also known as Mathilda. She's apparently an Albion noble whose father was, she claims, killed by the Albion royal family and her family's lands annexed by the same. She gets approached in prison by someone wanting to recruit her to fight for the Albion anti-royal revolution. He claims to be a part of a border-spanning group of nobles that wants to reunite Halkeginia into one empire, like Brimir made back in the day. [Reader note: Reconquistador is the name of the group, if the following notes don’t make that obvious]

Elves are east and control "the holy land".

Eventually Fouquet accepts, because otherwise the Reconquistador will just kill her. (Odd that we're using a Spanish name in a world with no Spain-expy) [Future note: the official translations seem to go with ‘Reconquista’, but I’m not sure why they would do that]

More casual social abuse of Louise. Claim that Kirche can't use water healing spells, playing around with Kirche's "runic name", but not actually connecting it to affinity or otherwise explaining why Louise would think such. [Future note: Eventually affinity-based stuff largely stops cropping up. This is probably for the best, as the author doesn’t use it for much of anything and can’t keep it straight anyway]

Louise has literally made Saito act as a dog because of his attempted rape. Whips him extensively, continuing to suggest the author has no clue how horrible a whipping is.

While people are uncomfortable with the whipping, at least the degree of it, nobody intervenes. Halkeginia is fucked up.

New teacher: Kaita the Gust. He's basically Snape. Massive ego. [Future note: I’d forgotten about this guy. I think all he does is deliver his nonsense about wind being the strongest element to set up for the Wind Clone Jutsu and then stop existing in the plot]

Henrietta has been visiting Germania, probably visiting the school on Brimir's birthday.

A unicorn "crossed" with a "crystal staff" is a symbol marking the carriage as Henrietta's. Her carriage is drawn by unicorns, which "legend" says only the purest of maidens can ride. [Future note: Later we have men riding unicorns without commentary or explanation. The author seems to just treat unicorns as ‘fancy-pants royal horses’]

Cardinal Mazarin has an even more ostentious carriage, showing who's got the power right now. "Rumored" to "have commoner blood". [Future note: This plotpoint never pays off] In spite of having his own carriage, rides with Henrietta??

Magic Imperial Guard is made of "most prominent" noble families. Male only. Question: how does this work, bar being based in taking only non-heir sons for its ranks?

Henrietta is "of course" a mage, royal blood. (Question: if it breeds that true, why are mages a minority?) [Future note: Answer? Because shut up] 17 years old. [Future note: Probably by Halkeginian standards, which would make her over 18 by our standards]

... okay Henrietta and Mazarin playing off of each other is legitimately great. [Future note: This doesn’t last]

The two of them know about the Reconquistadors, establish that they [The Reconquistadors] may win in Albion any day now. Albionese royalty is all family to Henrietta, Germania not so much. Albion is the "White Country." It is one of three countries whose royal family apparently traces back to Brimir's time, supposedly bestowed by him outright. (Interesting variation on Divine Right to Rule) [Future note: Wait, three? I’d think it would be four]

Mazarin takes a surprisingly Survival of the Fittest mentality to royal families. If they can't handle their shit, they "don't deserve to exist." Harsh.

The alliance with Germania is supposedly intended to protect Tristain from the Reconquistadors.

Wardes shows up, mounted on a Griffon. Interestingly, he has a long beard. Mustache, too. The Mage Guard apparently has three divisions, of of which rides Griffons. Wardes is "the Lightning".

... Saito is so stupid that he thinks his rape being rebutted means he can't be jealous of a man who has Louise's attention. How are you this retarded, Saito?

Saito molests Louise. Goddammit.

Henrietta shows up in secrecy at Louise's room. Louise drops into formality, because Duty And Honor. Henrietta wants to have SOMEONE who can be informal with her!

... Henrietta manipulates, rather transparently, Louise into asking what her problem is. Dammit. This leads into "Louise, go get my love letter to Prince Wales for me, so as to prevent scandal wrecking my Germanian marriage I don't even want". Except she refuses to reveal the contents.

Louise voluntarily decides to depart immediately. School? Whatever!

Guiche is in love with Henrietta... volunteers to go on the mission, having eavesdropped. Huh.

Henrietta gives Louise a "Water Ring" that was her mother's, calls it a good luck charm and explicitly tells Louise she can sell it if she needs funds. Wow, Henrietta.

Guiche's familiar is a mole the size of "a small bear", called Verdandi. He thinks it's adorable.

Wardes is assigned to the group...

Port City La Rochelle: two days ride from Tristain-the-city. So closer than the Valliere estate. Fouquet hires a bunch of mercenaries on white-mask's orders. White-mask informs the men that if they run in battle, he will Commissar them himself. [Reader note: In the 40k sense]

Griffons tire slowly?

... so no, the Guard is NOT sensibly designed. Viscount Wardes is his family's head, and became a Griffon Knight AFTER his father died. Goddammit.

Louise literally forgot about her engagement prior to the dream reminding her. Surprisingly, she's actually questioning whether she loves Wardes or not!

Kirche and Tabitha have been following our morons the whole time.

Kirche woke Tabitha up to follow, and Tabitha didn't even bother changing out of her pajamas. Louise, for some goddamn reason, reveals that they're on a secret mission from Her Majesty. It's not secret if you tell everyone about it!

Kirche then hits on Wardes for no reason. This is "the first time" a "male" has turned her down flatly, somehow. She didn't realize Wardes is Louise's fiancee. She's quick to move on and latch back onto Saito afterward, because she thinks Saito is jealous. She wants to be wanted?

Wardes recognizes the Gandalfr runes on sight. Tries to convince Louise she's awesome because she can "control" such a one. Claims it proves she has great magic. WTF, Wardes? [Future note: In retrospect this makes even less sense]

Louise is 16 years old. (Wardes, thus, is 26) one year younger than Henrietta, and actually fairly old/adult by medieval standards. [Future note: I think the math puts Wardes at 30 or so in Earth years]

Louise knows Siesta often feeds Saito. So Louise is apparently willing to pretend ignorance when others soften the cruelty of her actions? Interesting. [Future note: Louise is later flanderized such that this is unimaginable of future Louise]

Apparently just holding a weapon can be exploited to turn you into a ninja. Okay?

Derflinger has an odd habit of making weird comparisons.

Inconsistent treatment of "potential fall from two stories" -is it mild, amusing semi-violence or is it genuinely potentially lethal? [Reader note: As in, the story has people both reacting like such a fall is potentially serious and acting like pushing someone off a flying dragon is something plausible to do in good fun]

Wardes claims he dug through a royal library to find out Saito was the Gandalfr.

Wait, the hotel is an ex-castle? Huh.

Derflinger has 180-ed, going from "I'm a sword, so romance is incomprehensible to me" to constantly making remarks about Saito's love life. Consistency! [Future note: It gets worse]

One moon is white, the other... is pink?... and apparently Albion's motion through the sky is connected to lunar cycles??

Louise explicitly saying her treatment of Saito is because she's a noble and is trying to prevent rumors. Honor And Duty.

Louise claiming she wouldn't lie because she's a noble. Honor And Duty.

Fouquet showing up, which admittedly is fairly plausible since Albion-accessing-port etc.

Kirche doing this weird Japanese frenemy thing of "just to be clear, this thing I am doing to help you is not actually a thing I am doing to help you, I TOTALLY have a selfish reason." Ugh. [Future note: So yes we’ve gone from Kirche is a horrendous bitch to Kirche is a frenemy in one volume, and later the story drops the ‘frenemy’ thing entirely and just has Kirche friends with Louise outright. It’s as dumb as it sounds]

At this point I'm pretty sure the "one spell manipulation at a time" thing the fan-thread brings up is bullshit, at least in regard to golem mechanics. [Reader note: I read a thread on Spacebattles summarizing FoZ canon info before starting reading the story. The thread makes the story seem more consistent than it actually is] Also, Kirche is a moron putting on makeup in combat.

How is "roflstomping our attackers" a DISTRACTION?

... why the fuck does setting a golem on fire with OIL result in it sinking to its knees, where before the golem simply ignored the flames? And why are we doing Comedy Burning for Fouquet? [Future note: Eventually the story stops mixing Comedy Violence in with Serious Violence. This is one of the very few ways things improve]

A griffon can't make the flight to Albion, supposedly. Given it tirelessly flew overland, I'm a bit skeptical. Oddly, Wardes sort of implies a dragon could make that distance. [Future note: Whether or not it’s plausible to fly to Albion with any given flight ability remains entirely dependent on the whims of the writer far into the future. Eventually it stops being an issue by virtue of the plot largely ignoring Albion, not by virtue of the author becoming any more consistent]

Sleep spell involve blue-white smoke. Or possibly green-white, because Japanese. [Reader note: Historically Japanese had one word covering both blue and green. Nowadays it’s reserved for one of the two... except when it isn’t]

Louise is surprisingly quick to tear her sleeves to use as rags. [Future note: This kind of practicality on the parts of characters goes away eventually]

Louise refuses to be depressed as long as there's the slightest chance to survive. Kick ass. [Future note: Another trait that vanishes]

Louise has no Honor And Duty problem with lying to scum. Surprisingly practical of her. Wardes finds her saying that unbecoming, though he doesn't actually dispute the opinion. [Future note: Future Louise is a bad liar because who cares about consistency?]

... the pirate captain is Prince Wales. Uh. Okay.

Magic royal rings that react to each other. Water for Tristain, Wind for Albion. [Future note: This ‘reacting to each other’ thing never crops up again]

Wales has 300 men to fight 50,000. You're not Spartan enough if you think you can't win!

The Albionese nobles refuse to take the opportunity to flee on the Eagle when offered. This includes the women?

Wales refuses to flee to Henrietta BECAUSE he loves her and knows it would just be used to justify an invasion.

Wardes wanting to marry Louise on Albion, Wales as their whatever, is indeed canon. He also contradicts his earlier claim that the Griffon couldn't make it, Saito calls him on it... and Wardes' response is that it will be exhausted afterward. Uh. Either the author or Wardes is ignoring the obvious point that going UP is different from gliding DOWN.

Louise finds it upsetting that someone would seemingly value something higher than the one you love, proving she didn't understand Wales earlier and also proving she hasn't connected said thought to Henrietta sending her on this mission.

Saito finally is less of a piece of shit. [Future note: No no, before you get too excited, this character development I’m implying here? It doesn’t last]

Narrative explicitly informing us of Derflinger pretending greater ignorance than he actually has.

Interestingly, the wedding is the moment Louise realizes she needs to make decisions, herself. Implies she's been coasting up until this point.

Wardes seems to know she's a Void mage, seems to want to marry her for it, wants to rule the world or something? Having a bit of a breakdown when faced with Louise's refusal, contrasting starkly with his eternal calm before.

Saito can see through Louise's eyes because of fucking course. [Future note: Astoundingly, the plot occasionally remembers this plotpoint later on]

Louise 180s once she learns Wardes only wants her for her power. Sorry, girl, you're a noble. That's how your life goes.

Wardes is a Reconquistador, was on the trip to marry Louise, get the letter, and kill Wales. Also "prepared two complete spells" already. Seriously, what are the rules here? [Future note: The rules are “whatever the author thinks is coolest or most dramatic in this particular scene”] The white-masked man is just Wardes' Shadow Wind Clone. Wardes reveals this because fuck you writing good is hard.

Derflinger "remembers" that Gandalfr is his partner and that he's an antimagic sword. Sure, "remembers". [Future note: Derflinger’s memory operates on the rule of “Whatever is most convenient to whatever the author wants to write at this very moment”. I preferred it when I thought he was lying about his bad memory] He glows more when sucking in magic.

Also, no explanation for how Saito literally Kool-Aid-Manned his way into the chapel. Dialogue suggests that tapping Louise's sight gave him hearing, too, because why not?

Gandalfr is literally emotion-powered. A Necron Lord would be a miserable Gandalfr. [Reader note: When I started reading I was sort of considering writing a Necron Lord-as-Familiar story, even though it’s been done at least twice. Hence this note]

That dragon comment earlier turned out to be foreshadowing: Sylphid was able to fly the distance.

... and Saito kisses Louise when he thinks she's asleep because he's still a rapey bastard. Ugh. [Future note: Saito stops with the incessant rape-y-ness... but this is because all the women, everywhere, are throwing themselves at him. It’s not because he stops being horrible]

End volume 2.

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The arc is basically Henrietta's mission, with some sideplot stuff happening along the way.

[sylviathewanderer-blog]

Today I took the first step down the road in the long journey that is my life. I have tried, and failed miserably, to live my life as the person I was told that I was born to be for 32 years. Every day I looked at his face in the mirror and tried to avoid eye contact with him as I brushed his teeth, combed his hair, and cleaned his body. Then I'd put on his heavy, coarse threaded clothing and plod my way along the path of his life, doing my best to try and play his part in the world the right way all the while knowing that I am not the right actor for his role. I've known my entire life that something wasn't right, that I was the problem. I comforted myself by saying that I'm just different from the other guys. I couldn't have been more right. Well. . . Perhaps instead I was so wrong that I became right coming the other way around. I'm different from all of the other guys because I was never a guy to begin with. I have been a woman all along. I've been a woman wearing a terrible man-skin coat doing her best to stand up and roar loud enough to scare all of the real men away so she could be alone to plant her flowers, care for her animals, and write out her long fantasy stories. At first I thought this feminine side of myself was something new until I became curious about the person I heard pounding on the other side of the walls I had built around them as a child. When I ripped away the cracked bricks and mortar I found a familiar face staring back at me. We hadn't seen eachother since I tried to bury her back when I was 7. When my sister became 10 she got her ears pierced as is tradition in our family. From that day she was a big girl and couldn't be bothered to play with her annoying little brother anymore. I loved my sister more than anything and cherished our time together especially since I could always count on her to chase away all of the bullies who tortured me every day at school for being weird. Her pulling away tore out my heart and so one day I came up with a solution that would make us both happy. I asked her to help turn me into a girl. Because I was 7 and she was 10 (aaaaand our father was a MAJOR homophobe who thought that even hanging his clothes on a pink hanger would make him magically turn gay. Try to visualize the logic there! "Honey, did you put my favorite shirt on a pink hanger again?" "No, I don't think so. Why?" "Because I am FAAABULOUUUS!!!" lol A couple of grizzled bikers sit at a dingy bar. One looks over at his drinking partner after a long ride and notices something off about his undershirt. "The wife wash yer whites with a red sock again?" "Yeah. And now I wanna go out and kiss all the boys, dammit!" He says sullenly staring into the golden froth. "I know how that goes. Mine hung my leathers on the pink hanger yesterday!" He growls draining another beer. The man in the pinkened shirt looks over curiously "You wanna go make out?" "Yeah, sure." (Sorry, I'm an amateur comedy writer so I am prone to these odd drifts of thought!)) We decided that the best way to make me a girl was to dress me in her clothes. I stripped down and put on her panties and night gown and we talked, played barbies, and listened to the radio all night. I became so comfortable and felt so natural that we lost track of time and forgot what I was wearing. . . Then my father came home from the bar! That night was so traumatic that I became afraid to ever express that side of myself again and so I sewed together my man-suit, locked my true self behind those walls and did my best to forget about her. She is stronger than we knew though, and she has manifested herself all of my life. Once I became a teenager I grew my hair out. It was always my best feature and became the only thing that I felt was really me. I would swell with an odd pride whenever a woman complimented me on my hair and being told how jealous of it they were thrilled me to know end. Once I got my first job and was buying my own clothes I picked out light, breezey khakis, white undershirts and cotton button up shirts to wear open over them. They were mostly brightly colored Hawaiian shirts or subdued floral patterns in more traditional male colors. I loved them and they became a part of my unique style. Then there were the flowers. I love gardening and growing any kind of plant, so I kept baskets of flowers on any surface in my room that got enough light to support them. And then there's my tea set collection. My mother caught me playing with the first one in a shop and went back to buy it for me for Christmas that year. I loved it and it quickly grew into a collection that I now have decorating my room in an array of shadowboxes. I've struggled with this identity for all of my life that I can remember, and I suspect it goes back even further than that, but who really knows there. I can remember getting bullied in school for months when I curtsied while the music teacher was teaching us the ediquet for our school play. Turns out i was supposed to bow instead. Whoops! Not that it mattered, really. Those kids had sniffed me out as being different long, long before that. Could have been because I was shy and meek. . . Oooor maybe it was the clover flower crowns and necklaces I taught the girls to make and would even wear around the playground myself. Could have been that. *sagely nod* I met another trans woman recently and I told her about how much I loved my hair and that it was killing me that I am going bald and that my hair looks terrible now. She smiled at me and made a joke about giving me her hormone pills that could regrow my hair so long as I didn't mind also growing breasts. I felt such a sudden and deep yearning that I must have made a face because she quickly hid the bottle and changed the subject, though she did offer them again later with the same joke, probably to test the waters and confirm what she was suspecting. I made a joke and brushed it aside. Later, I would go home and while staring at my scalp in the bathroom mirror, brake into tears. I hadn't cried in over a decade so it turned into a sob, then bawling, and then into full blown weeping. I sat on the toilet trying to collect myself and had an epiphany. I was mad at myself for being too weak and timid to accept her offer. I knew then that if given the choice I would happily, gladly, and proudly trade my penis to whomever I had to to get my hair back. I've been an asexual my entire life so it's not like I use the damned thing for anything other than urination anyway! What use do I have for it? Give me back my damned hair!! It was then that all of those feelings and all of those dreams about being turned into a woman made sense to me. All of the female characters I had made in video games and had spent more time designing than I did doing whatever the game was about seemed like obvious signs. So there I was, the crumbled debris lying at my feet. And there she was, my true self, a golden outline of a woman with soft kind eyes staring through my soul telling me that it was alright. I could cry now. I was finally safe. She smiled at me and I tried to smile back, but couldn't. I already was. We were finally one again. We were whole. We were just I again. Somewhere, I felt as if my male persona was waving at me, laughing like he always did when he knew things were going to be their toughest. Somewhere The Drifter faded away and left me alone with myself, with The Wanderer. So I smiled again, and took the first step on my long road. I am going on my first journey, the one to get back my long, golden brown hair and to become the woman I was always meant to be. I came out to my mother today. She told me she always knew, but thought that I would always stay the effeminate man I was. She told me that she is proud that I found my strength to fight for what I really want. She told me that she loves me and that she will always love me unconditionally. Then she text me a few hours later to tell me that she loves me again. I am so lucky to have her as my mother and my guide. Many of our brothers and sisters aren't so lucky and find themselves disowned or worse. She divorced my father when i was 16 and I havent talked to him in at least a decade, so I don't care what he thinks. I'll mail his name and legacy back to him when I find the time. I don't need them anymore, and they never really belonged to me to begin with. This is my first day as an open trans woman and I don't even have a real name yet. I haven't talked to a doctor about hormone replacement therapy, but I absolutely will. I am going to begin saving money for my surgery too. So on this day, I declare to the world, to myself, and to the people of Tumblr that I am a transgendered woman! I am proud! I am strong! And I am coming for my GOD DAMNED HAIR!!