#it’s hard to make colors coherent when it’s meant to be a rainbow but i think i managed it

[plagueislost]

secret santa gift for @insect-asylum

[mymegumi]

cœur fidèle

pairing: ushijima wakatoshi x fem!reader

genre: fluff, minor angst, childhood bestfriends au, royalty au, and friends to lovers

word count: 2.1k words

warnings: mainly ushijima’s thoughts, not a lot of dialogue/actions. fluff & sad ideals about unrequited love.

summary: he wants to make a life with you, and yet you’re meant to build a life as someone else’s lover.

notes: i’m almost positive this isn’t coherent bc i’m just rambling <3 also the end was rushed as fuck so sorreh bout that <3

dedicated: to thalia, may you continue making me and everyone else around you smile. ( @wak4tosh1 )

Royalty, by definition, are those of royal blood or status. A league above normal people, and meant for wealth and luxuries that people would only dream of even seeing with their own eyes. It’s a life of luxury, of people to work at your beck and call, and of never truly worrying unless you had to.

Why does Ushijima feel so empty then?

A prince in his early twenties, he’s in the prime of his life—a father that loves him unconditionally, friends by his side that love and value him for things other than his title and wealth, and even a hobby he can do when things feel so suffocating he can’t come up for air.

He’s grateful for everything he has, don’t get him wrong, but it’s always felt a bit… lonely somehow.

Ushijima, as the heir to a king’s throne, knows the weight his decisions will make on the kingdom his father’s built up, and yet he can’t help but wonder about what kind of life he could have had if he’d just been born from a peasant woman. Would his life be so much more insignificant than it was now?

He thinks the first time he really truly wondered about a life without a crown, a life without power and influence, was when he met you for the first time.

A princex from a neighboring kingdom, you were everything that Ushijima wasn’t.

Where he was more reserved, tending to keep his thoughts and opinions to himself, it seemed as if you were always willing to give yours. You were bright and beautiful in all the ways that Ushijima tried to keep himself in the shadows, the brightest star on a black sky.

When he first saw you, he thought you were otherworldly. An ethereal being at the ripe age of fourteen and his cheeks dappled with heat, but he thinks that this is what ladies in the court meant when they talked about love.

Ushijima is only fourteen, and yet when you pull on his hand to tug him into the gardens, laughter on the wind and sunshine beating down on your backs, he thinks about the love beginning to blossom in his chest without knowing the word for it.

It’s warmth on a summer day, and the way you smile at him when he says something snarky about the other royals.

“Ushijima!” you called to him, hand curled around your mouth in an attempt to amplify your voice, trying to get it to carry throughout the courtyard, “I know you can hear me, stop hiding from me!”

“We’re playing hide and seek,” he called back, hands behind his back as he peeks his head out from behind the tree he’d chosen as his hiding spot, “You’re ruining the point of the game, you’re supposed to seek, and I was supposed to hide.”

Your bottom lip jutted out, arms crossed across your chest as you walked towards him, “Okay, but I didn’t think I’d have to walk around by myself, this is only my first time being here. I don’t even know any of the good hiding spots!”

“Do you want me to show you for the next time you come?” He hadn’t hit his growth spurt at the time of first meeting you, so he’s not yet looking down at you from his height above you. “The best ones are in the kitchen because sometimes the chefs will give me snacks.”

“Snacks?” Your eyes lit up, and Ushijima remembers feeling something in his chest tighten a bit, the smile you gave him was one of the first, and yet he remembers it like it was the most recent, “Okay, let’s go then!”

You grabbed his hand, then, and it was warm, and Ushijima was sure he could do that for the rest of his life.

He asked his father about you, later in the month when you went home, and he just smiled at him. His father put a hand on Ushijima’s head and ruffled his hair. Ushijima didn’t know it back then, but his father was sad, most likely knowing his son lost his heart.

Perhaps it was when he was first learning about marriage and the concept of having a ruler by his side that he realized that feeling he got whenever he was with you meant he was in love with you.

“Are you here for very long?” You tilt your head to the side as you contemplate Ushijima’s father’s question, “We haven’t seen you in a few months, and I’m not sure if Ushijima did, but I certainly missed you, princex.”

Ushijima always misses you when you aren’t around, he decides in his mind.

“I probably have to leave soon,” you respond, hands curled delicately around a porcelain cup that his father had made shortly after he turned eighteen. His country’s colors look good on you, he thinks, “Forgive me for not sending any letters, I’ve found it hard to write lately since my life has been so busy.”

“Yes,” his father smiles, and his face is all Ushijima can concentrate on, because he knows what conversation topic is coming up, “how are the wedding preparations coming along?”

He forgets sometimes. He forgets when you smile at him like he’s the only thing in the room, eyes focused on him and only him. He forgets when you call his name, light with laughter and filled with sunshine. He forgets when you pull at his hands, begging him to dance with you to music that only you can hear, but he always pulls you in, savors the feeling of you pressed against him as you sway together.

He’s always reminded again when he sees the foreign country’s pin claiming you as theirs.

Sometimes he wishes his father had introduced you earlier. That he met you before you were promised to someone else, and yet, he fantasizes about a life where he met you before.

Before what? He laughs to himself bitterly, fork pushing his dinner around the plate as he listens to you talk to his father about your wedding—sometime in the next few months, with blush pink roses and carnations the color of strawberries, even if he knows you hate carnations.

Before you were someone else’s, before you were going to be leaving him, before he could tell you he had loved you for what he thinks is his entire life.

His father told him thinking about ‘what ifs’ only hurts you in the end, and he’s starting to think he was right. In a life filled with expectations in return for nothing, Ushijima supposes he could just settle down with anyone. He won’t be an unloving husband, he’d hate to be what his mother was to his father, and yet, he’s sure he won’t ever be able to give his heart away as willingly.

“Wakatoshi,” god, he hates when you use his first name, and yet it’s worse when you use his last name, because yours will never be the same, “want to walk in the gardens? Your father told me about the renovations he’d done a few months back, I’d love to see them.”

He places his fork and knife over the plate easily, quiet and refined since utensils were one of the first lessons he’d learned, and looks at you, face as neutral as he can make it, “Of course.”

You push back from the table, and fold your hands behind your back, ever the polite guest. Ushijima stands and pushes in the both of your chairs before holding an arm out for you, a polite gesture disguising his desire to hold you as close as he can.

Perhaps most of his life had been spent selfishly hoping for you. In a way that someone in love would, he’s kept his distance from you before, but you’d just barged back in like you were a storm and he was a loosely latched window. He held you at an arm's length away, and you always managed to press as close to him as you could, fighting against his every instinct to turn you away.

He doesn’t mean to monopolize you, not really. Sometimes he just wishes to keep your smile to himself, but he knows you, and when you smile at him the way you do, with a little sparkle in your eye and a tease on your lips, he knows you’re only smiling for him.

He wonders if your betrothed has ever made you smile like he has.

“The roses always look so lovely this time of year,” you muse, both of your shoes clicking in time with his as you make your way to the gardens. A window overlooks the winding green plants, and the cut glass showcases the evening sunset, rainbows splaying across the concrete walls of his father’s castle, “It’s a shame this genus won’t be in bloom when my… wedding is to occur. I’d love to see some Shiratorizawan roses in my bouquet.”

Maybe he’s imagining it, but you sound sad—perhaps it’s only because you won’t have his country’s national flower as a set of your wedding piece, but a man can hope.

“Perhaps we could arrange for a bouquet of dried roses to be set aside for you,” he murmurs, holding the door open for you as you settle into the courtyard, “The scent will be immaculate, and they’ll stay for a good few years.”

Your smile is sweet, but your eyes are sad, he notes.

“Mm,” you pull away from his arm to cradle a wilting rose bloom in your hands, thumbs pressing feather-light against the wilted edges, “I wonder what it would be like to see such gorgeous roses every morning from my balcony. You’re lucky, Wakatoshi.”

“You could,” he says without thinking. A fumble in his normally stoic nature, he tries to cover it with a cough, but you have always been more perceptive of him than he’d like.

He can’t see your face, but he can see the way you release some sort of tension from your shoulders. Dropping the flower, you turn back to him and press a hand to the outside of his arm, “You mean it?”

“Maybe not from a balcony,” he murmurs, hand setting at your waist, his head begins to tip towards you without him even realizing it, “from a kitchen window, perhaps?”

“Overlooking a flower garden, and a vegetable garden?” Your hum is inquisitive, and Ushijima smiles at you, grateful you’re playing along at his fantasy, “Let’s do it, then.”

Oh. Maybe not a fantasy, then.

“Run away with me, ‘Toshi,” your hands reach up, cupping Ushijima’s cheeks as he blinks at you, “I don’t want to get married to anyone that isn’t you.”

“But, my father… I can’t just leave my family like this,” he pulls you into a hug when you sigh against him, thumbs brushing along the highs of his cheeks, “My sister’s not yet ready to take the throne, I can’t just abandon them. What if something happens to father?”

“Your sister’s always wanted to take the throne,” you whisper back, voice tight with desperation, he wants to go with you more than you know, and yet there’s something holding him back, “Let’s go somewhere where we can live like normal people. No crowns, no kingdoms to rule, just you and me.”

“What about your husband?”

You laugh, arms winding around his neck as you press closer to him, “Toshi, darling, don’t think. You’ve always thought too much, just. Let’s just go.”

You rocketed into Ushijima’s life like a shooting star, streaking across his sky without a single thought for the effects you’d leave behind. Yet he can’t help but watch you go.

“Of course.”

The lavender plant that grows along the edges of Ushijima’s house has always offset the harsh pinks of the roses he’d planted underneath the windows. It’s convenient, of course, that his father had left a baby rose bush on his desk the night he left.

“Toshi! The ladies in the town are asking after you again, they want you to come fix the gutters again.”

“I just fixed them last month,” he calls back, back of his hand wiping away the sweat forming on his brow as he looks up. He has to block the sun from his eyes, and your figure is shrouded in shadows instead.

“Mm, perhaps they’re looking for an excuse to see you work again, darling,” you call back, basket in hands as you smile at him. He really will never get tired of your smile, he thinks, “But, while they were distracted talking about you, I managed to sell everything for a little higher price than normal.”

By now, Ushijima has gotten up from the ground and is in front of you, his shadow over your face to block the sun, “My little swindler.”

Your smile loses its intense edge, and instead softens, “Do you ever regret it?”

“Regret what?” He mumbles, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek, “Being with the love of my life?”

“Mm,” you nod, eyes dreamy as he smiles.

“Not even for a second.”

[demyxdancer]

Lapidot for Professionals - Mystery and Malaise

I’ve never participated in one of these prompt weeks or even posted on Tumblr before, but now seems like the best possible time to post fic for a finished TV show on a dying platform. Wouldn’t you agree?

Peridot shifted positions on the couch as she tried her hardest to not let the malaise set in. Lapis had been out for hours, all of her friends were busy, and her personal projects weren’t holding her interest. Those were perfectly good reasons for her to have spent the past three hours aimlessly fishing in Creature Junction. After all, that house wasn’t going to pay itself off.

She sighed, and the controller slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the floor. Nope, as much as she tried to deny it, that was definitely malaise.

Maybe she should head up to the greenhouse for a while? Some of her tomato plants needed transplanting. The thought of even moving off the couch filled her with a deep sense of ambivalence.

She was shaken out of her stupor by her phone suddenly buzzing.

Steven!: Hey Peri, what’s up?

PERI5XG: STEVEN. I REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT I HAVE FOUND MYSELF IN THE THROES OF AN INESCAPABLE MALAISE

PERI5XG: PLEASE TELL ME YOU AREN’T BUSY SO I HAVE SOMEONE TO TALK TO OTHER THAN THE ADORABLE YELLOW DOG IN CREATURE JUNCTION

Steven!: I’m sorry, Peri, but I am pretty busy :(

Steven!: The good news is I have something else to tell you!

Steven!: A mysterious gem has asked me to pass a message to you!

PERI5XG: A MYSTERY?!

Steven!: Yeah!

Steven!: She says, “Next to the swords, you’ll find something to shield you.”

Steven!: Better go check it out ;)

PERI5XG: THIS IS JUST LAPIS, RIGHT? THE MYSTERIOUS GEM IS LAPIS.

Steven!: Who’s Lapis?

PERI5XG: REALLY STEVEN

PERI5XG: REALLY

Steven!: Haha I don’t know!

PERI5XG: WELL I HAD BETTER GO SOLVE THIS MYSTERY GIVEN TO ME BY A GEM WHO IS NOT BLUE AND CAN’T CONTROL WATER

Steven!: Yeah, you’d better!

Peridot had no idea where Lapis -- because obviously -- was going with this, but she was so pleased to have something even mildly interesting to do that she certainly wasn’t complaining.

The clue told her to look next to the swords, so that probably meant Bismuth’s forge. When she entered, she was greeted by ear-splitting ringing noises, as Bismuth was working hard pounding an enormous, heated piece of metal into a curved shape. “Hey, Peri! Sorry I can’t talk right this second, I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

“That’s okay, Bis, this should only take a second.” Peridot headed to the back, where Bismuth kept a barrel of assorted swords for sparring practice and for demonstrating how to make weapons. Sure enough, there was an umbrella leaning up against the barrel. It was bright green with yellow stars, making its purpose unmistakable.

“Oh yeah,” said Bismuth. “You left your umbrella here.”

“This isn’t my umbrella.”

“You sure? ‘Cause it sure looks like you.”

“Cute, Bis, very cute.” Peridot picked up the umbrella and headed out of the forge. It wasn’t raining, but the umbrella was actually nice for shielding her against the hot summer sun. She was not surprised to get another text as soon as she had left.

Steven!: Hey Peri! Got another message for you!

PERI5XG: OF COURSE YOU DO

Steven!: It says, “You’ll need some protection from the Stormy weather.”

Peridot squinted at the message. Stormy weather…? And why was it capitalized like that��?

Oh, right, Zircon’s cat was named Stormy.

PERI5XG: TELL LAPIS I GET IT

Steven!: I’ve never heard of a Lapis!

Peridot rolled her eyes and put her phone away, walking towards the office tower. A few minutes later, she was knocking on Zircon’s door.

“Come in!”

Zircon had her feet up on her desk and was reading intently from one of her holographic screens. She seemed surprisingly at ease, given that she had assured Peridot earlier that she was absolutely swamped in urgent work and couldn’t possibly spend time together. In what Peridot assumed was a bit of thematic coherence, her soothing rain noise machine was set to thunderstorm mode.

It didn’t take Peridot long to spot a bright yellow raincoat, folded neatly and sitting in Stormy’s cat bed. Stormy, naturally, was not in her bed, instead snoozing in a sunbeam on the floor. Underneath the raincoat was a matching rain hat and shiny red galoshes. 

“There’s a lint roller in the drawer next to you if you need one,” said Zircon.

“I’m guessing I’m supposed to put these on, then?”

“Are you normally in the habit of putting on random clothes you find in cat beds?”

Peridot narrowed her eyes. “Are you seriously going to pretend this wasn’t all set up by Lapis?”

“That depends,” said Zircon, an insufferably smug smile on her face. “Are you going to let your girlfriend do something nice for you, or are you determined to be a pain in the gem about it?”

“Nyaaaaah,” Peridot groaned, pulling out the lint roller and cleaning the cat hairs off of the rain gear before putting it all on. “There. How do I look?”

Zircon stifled a laugh. “Like a very irritable duck.”

Peridot slumped over, her new raincoat making squeaky noises as she did. “Fine, I did the thing. Text Steven and tell him.”

“If, hypothetically, I were going to do so, I would most certainly wait until you had left.”

“Fine.” Peridot stopped to give Stormy a few scritches on the chin before leaving the office.

PERI5XG: HEY STEVEN WHAT NOW

Steven!: I’m not sure, I haven’t heard from the mysterious Gem!

Steven!: Oh, wait, I think I’m getting something! 

Steven!: She’s transmitting a message through my teeth fillings! I’m going to have to start wearing a tinfoil hat!

PERI5XG: WHAT ARE TEETH FILLINGS?!

Steven!: The message says, “If the items you’re wearing painted a picture for you, come to a place where you can do just that.”

PERI5XG: TELL LAPIS THAT ONE IS NOT VERY HARD

Steven!: Have I met this Lapis?

PERI5XG: YOU’RE RIDICULOUS

PERI5XG: SHE’S RIDICULOUS

PERI5XG: BIS AND ZIRCS ARE ALSO RIDICULOUS

Steven!: Yup! :D

Peridot walked out of Little Homeworld into the nearby woods, using her ferrokinesis to hover the umbrella in exactly the right place to shade herself from the sun. She felt a bit silly wearing a full set of rain gear on a bright, sunny day, but Lapis must have some reason behind it. 

When she reached Lapis’ morps studio, there was a wooden sign out front. Painted on it was a very simplistic portrayal of herself in a raincoat and a blue arrow pointing to the right. She looked in the direction of the arrow, and saw another sign pointing into a clump of thick trees and foliage.

She pushed through the tall grass and tree branches and emerged in a peaceful clearing where the trees blotted out most of the sun. There were dozens of multi-colored umbrellas hanging upside down in the trees, scattered across the ground, and floating in a couple of small ponds. Cheerful, rainbow-colored lanterns strung on ropes provided light. 

Peridot grinned. “This is beautiful, Lapis,” she said, assuming her girlfriend was somewhere close by. There was no response apart from the wind ruffling the leaves. “C’mon, Lapis, I know you’re there.”

She spotted something moving in the trees. It was one of the Robonoids Peridot had made for Lapis, one outfitted with a camera to help her with her photography and filmmaking projects. Before that could fully register, she was drenched in a sudden downpour. Her yelp of surprise turned into laughter. “Lapis, what are you doing?!”

She was swept off her feet by a sudden stream of water and deposited into one of the ponds. “Lapis! Hey!” A moment later, she was shooting upwards into the air on top of a column of water. Nearby, several more columns of water launched umbrellas into the air at the same time. The water column turned into a twisting slide, Peridot shouting happily as she bounced up and down on the ripples and splashed into a pond. Before she could pick herself up, she was rising again, this time encased in a bubble. Small fish swam by her field of vision as she floated, her umbrella and hat long gone. 

The bubble suddenly popped, and Peridot was caught in Lapis’ arms. “Lapis!” she said, snuggling her girlfriend. “What was this all about?”

“It’s a performance morp, starring you!” said Lapis. “I wanted to capture surprise and joy. What do you think?”

“I think it’s brilliant, Lapis. I loved it. I love you.” Peridot pulled off her visor -- which she couldn’t see through anyway, due to the heavy rain -- and pulled Lapis in for a kiss, one which was eagerly returned.

“What was with all of the clues and the scavenger hunt, though?” 

“Anticipation is a critical element of performance morp, Peri.”

“And how’d you get everyone else on board?”

“I don’t know if you noticed this, but all of our friends are hopeless saps for romance.”

“Oh. Yeah, that is true.” She looked up at Lapis, a fake serious expression on her face. “I don’t know how to break this to you, but it’s possible that I’m a hopeless sap for romance too. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” she said, smiling and holding Peridot close.

Lapidot for Professionals - AO3

@lapidot-week

[catflowerqueen]

A trend that’s going to become apparent within a lot of my “What if...?” stories (when I finally have the time and energy to sit down and write them) is that Laura can actually reliably figure out her identity as the Rainbow Child--she’s never going to know for absolute certain until she turns thirteen, of course, but she’s definitely going to have a strong suspicion about who she is. And a lot of that certainty and ability to guess actually comes from the fact that she has amnesia, ironically enough.

While the identity of the Rainbow Child is supposed to be kept a secret from her until she ascends, it actually isn’t that hard to figure out. For one thing, even if the adults around her don’t tell her outright, there’s no way that all of them act completely normal around her since all of them know who she is. (Think in the vein of Naruto--while he didn’t know the exact reason the rest of the villagers didn’t like him, their actions made it pretty clear that it was something to do with him specifically because of how wary and strange they acted around him. Laura’s incarnations typically have the same problem--if in the opposite direction--whenever she grows up among Relatia’s people. Which is most of the time). Also, even if the stories that she and the other kids hear are slightly edited in order to keep out identifying details (The Time Gear legend, for example, omits describing the eye colors of the Rainbow and Golden Children until the listener is at least thirteen), hearing enough of them definitely helps one put together a pretty convincing picture of who the Rainbow Child is, just because of all the shared similarities.

It gets both easier and harder in regards to the pokemon world. Harder because the wider world doesn’t have the same traditions and shared stories, simply because Relatia’s people/the legendaries are more secretive and the information simply isn’t as easily accessible, but easier because they’re just freer in general when it comes to sharing that sort of thing. The Rainbow Child typically didn’t visit until after ascension, anyways, so it isn’t like they really had to worry about hiding that stuff. And even then... well, most of them didn’t see the point in hiding it anyways. Relatia’s people were secretive about that sort of thing due to mostly tradition--compared to the Guild or Grovyle, for example, who are editing and keeping some of Laura’s exploits a secret from her due to genuine worry.

So with that in mind... while there is a lot more puzzle-solving and searching out information in the what if...? stories, the lack of baggage from other Relatia worshippers means that no one is going to try and actively hinder Laura from finding out her identity. The Guild won’t know or care, at any rate, especially since the only part that would actually concern them--i.e., the time gears--isn’t known to the wider world anyways. It’s not going to come up because literally no one except Relatia even knows about the truth in the first place--though, admittedly, it wouldn’t really come as a surprise to many of the others. And even with how cagey Uxie was being, it was less about “hiding” Laura’s identity from her and more about being genuinely unsure if she was actually the Rainbow Child or not. 

That isn’t to say that he would be completely honest in other scenarios where circumstances meant he was more certain about things, however... but even then, it would be less “I need to actively hide her identity from her” and more “even if I do tell her, it isn’t going to mean anything to her since she has amnesia,” coupled with the fact that the current crisis is more important at the moment anyways, since even beyond it meaning nothing to her at the moment, it also isn’t very conducive to the rest of the world since she would be too young to do anything with the information even if she was made aware of it. And he can’t even pull that stunt he tried in the World’s Treasure, since, first off, she hasn’t ascended yet, and, second, they don’t actually know what the problem is this time, and have no reason to believe that a Rainbow Child could actually help much beyond possibly being another expert on the case/being able to call Relatia for help--but, again, they would need an ascended one for that.

The other part of why Laura’s amnesia would make it easier for her to figure out her identity if given enough puzzle pieces is that she wouldn’t have the emotional baggage that comes along with the Rainbow Child’s identity. Among Relatia’s people there’s a mostly unspoken rumor/belief/what have you that the position of the Rainbow Child is just the slightest bit cursed, and that for all the power and blessings she has, she’s also burdened with a lot of hardships and pain. Many Rainbow Children lead unhappy childhoods, or otherwise have bad things happen to them in the line of duty. (Ironically, a lot of this is due to the “protections” put in place that try to give her a normal life--i.e., all the secrecy. For example: Pupil, the Little Imp’s stalker, and Laura’s formative years. For a start. And even the first Rainbow Child had her own share of unhappiness).

Whether this is actually true or not--especially in light of Pupil’s circumstances--is up for debate, since that sort of thing is easy to spin either way since things like pain/unhappiness and their circumstances are relative anyways... but the point is that it’s widely believed and subtly threaded through the background of any stories that nascent Rainbow Children would hear. And people are very good at denying information and deliberately ignoring/thinking around things that would hurt them--so while things might be obvious to Laura and other Rainbow Children in hindsight, especially with their insider’s perspective, none of them are going to go out of their way to confirm it until they literally have no other choice at age thirteen--barring certain circumstances--since--again, barring certain circumstances--no one would deliberately seek out something that would hurt them.

But Laura wouldn’t know a lot of those stories or histories. She wouldn’t have told Grovyle the sadder parts of her people’s history--partially because her young age at the time of her kidnapping by Dusknoir meant that she didn’t know too many of those tales to begin with--so when he’s met with an amnesiac Laura in these what if...? scenarios, he doesn’t have the full story either. And even though Dusknoir probably knows more because of his friendship with the Little Imp, who really knows what all she told him--and how much she accidentally omitted simply because she didn’t stop to think that what would be common knowledge to her, given her upbringing, wouldn’t be the same for him.

(For example, most pokemon probably wouldn’t catch the significance of her eye color. Sure, they might know from the story that her eyes are rainbow colored... but since humans are so rare anyways, they may not clue in on the fact that such a color is actually unusual for humans--so Dusknoir probably has no idea why, exactly, Laura was so important to Dialga. And even Uxie was going more off of the familiarity of her mind than anything else)

So while Grovyle and Dusknoir can help offer her pieces and put the puzzle together enough that she can figure it out... it really isn’t going to “mean” anything to her--or them--besides maybe explaining Dialga’s interest in her or make her feel more obligated to help out with the crisis than she already is.

It also might motivate her slightly more to figure out her past once she turns thirteen and actually go to Uxie for help immediately, since the whole “turning into a pokemon thing” and all the weird stuff and reasoning going on behind why, exactly, that happened means that she’s still going to be facing the same memory issues she had on her birthday in The World’s Treasure--except this time it’s going to be more obvious that something is actually wrong, since she’ll know that she’s supposed to be getting more from this ascension than she currently is. Which would definitely help out in terms of interpersonal relations between the Spirit Trio and everyone else rather than devolving into the absolute fiasco that ended up happening, even if they don’t actually figure out the solution to their problems any sooner and will still need to involve Relatia in order to actually fix things.

...Was any of that actually coherent?  I feel like I may have lost track of things at one point... ah well.

[veridian-nougat]

home stretch!

1:13 am friday morning is still thursday, right?

here’s my fic for the prompt bloodbending by the lovely @zutaraweek​ as always. i totally didn’t pound this out in the past hour and a half. not including breaks to snuggle with my cat.

anyway, hope you like it! if you squint reaaaaaaally hard it’s just a teensy bit dark but not really.

there’s also a rainbow rowell quote hidden in there, so lemme know if you find it.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15560079

It’s been a hell of a long time coming, but Katara’s been pushing it off and dreading this day since Kya first showed signs of waterbending. She hadn’t told Zuko about any of it, and she’s pretty sure he hasn’t given bloodbending a thought in ages. It haunts Katara though, on every full moon. She feels the power run through her veins, quite literally. She’s tried it on herself on many occasions to hone the skill. Even though she made a promise never to use it, Katara never knows what could happen to her or her family. She’d break a promise in a heartbeat if it meant saving someone she loves.

Bloodbending isn’t even all bad. Hama may have claimed to invent the skill, but Katara found ancient scrolls older than dirt hiding deep within the archives of the Fire Nation. They depict bloodbending not as a way to act as a puppeteer, but instead to heal. The first time Katara laid eyes on this scroll when poking around once venerable libraries that have collected several inches of dust, she read up on a technique used to stop the bleeding of open wounds. The interest superseded the caution in Katara’s mind, and she, in a split-second decision, grabbed the knife hidden in her boot and sliced open an almost always covered piece of skin on her hip.

There was a second of blinding pain, but Katara soon regained focus, and making sure not to use her healing powers, bloodbended the wound closed, or at least stops the flow. The blood coagulates in mere seconds without having to apply pressure, and upon further inspection of the scroll, it prevents infection too. Best of all, since using bloodbending for healing wouldn’t be forcing the liquid to move against someone’s will, it requires less energy than completely healing the cut. This, Katara thinks, could prove to be very useful.

Of course, she doesn’t tell anyone about her new discovery. Zuko obviously knows that she’s been looking into old texts, specifically on waterbending, but he’s busy with his new reign, and the young couple has more important things to do than talk about dusty libraries.

Katara experiments with bloodbending a couple of more times before the guilt became overwhelming and she just couldn’t deal with the sleepless nights and waving off Zuko’s concern. She grabbed all of the scrolls she found, hid them in a chamber she had Toph carve out long ago within the giant fountain in their main garden, one only accessible by a waterbender, and vowed never to look at them again unless it was absolutely, completely necessary.

But Kya’s sixteen now and the one time she traveled to the market by herself (the one time!) there was an attempt on her life. She survived, of course, no physical harm done to her or any innocent bystanders, but Katara begins to have sleepless nights once again and resolves on teaching her baby girl the one thing she vowed never to touch, but it seems like Katara’s breaking a lot of promises these days.

She pulls aside Kya four separate times, and loses her courage during every instance. It’s the fifth time that Katara asks her daughter if they could have a word in the garden that Kya finally makes her mom spill the beans.

“You’re not pregnant again, are you?” she asks, and Katara lets out a small, tight laugh. If only it were that simple.

“No, darling, I’m not pregnant, and I’m not planning on being pregnant ever again.” Katara pauses for a moment, and then asks shakily “Are you?” She doesn’t know if she wants to know the answer.

“Agni, Mom, no way! I’m like sixteen, and I’m a freaking master waterbender, which means I’m a master healer. I’m young, not stupid.” Katara lets out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. One less thing to think about, but she always knew her daughter was responsible.

“Okay, good. I wasn’t implying that you were. Actually, the reason I wanted to talk to you today, and the reason I’ve been trying to talk to you for the past couple of weeks, is because I think you are responsible.” Taking another deep breath, Katara musters up the courage to tell her daughter what she was once told decades ago.

“Have you ever heard of… bloodbending?” The immediate color change of Kya’s face tells Katara the answer in a way no words can. “Where did you learn what that was?”

In a moment, Kya’s face goes from shock to embarrassment. “Don’t worry, you’re not going to be in trouble, I just want to know how you found out so that we can make sure Roku doesn’t find out before he’s supposed to.” Roku was Katara’s youngest of four, also a waterbender, but only seven years old. It would be long time before Katara had this conversation with him.

“I… may have snooped around your journal from when you were younger?” Kya’s inflection makes her drawn out sentence seem like a question. She braces herself for a thorough scolding, but is surprised to see that her mother seems amused instead.

“I always knew that your Uncle Sokka gave you the troublemaker gene!” Katara confesses with a smile. Wow. She’s really not mad then.

Their conversation quickly changes to a somber one, though, when Katara continues what she came here to say.

“Well, I guess it’s easier on me that you already know what it is, but I guess now you’ll know that I broke that promise.” Kya gasps loudly, immediately recalling the fact that Katara had once never wanted to think about bloodbending again.

Katara continues. “I found a few scrolls, a long time ago. It was before I married your father, definitely before I had your older brother, and I was reckless. Katara shifts her casual skirt down a few inches to show her daughter a faint scar along her hip.

“I was dumb, and I tried it on myself. Nothing happened, of course, but it’s something that I expect you never do, okay? You are never to bloodbend without me and my explicit instructions.”

“You mean… you’re going to teach me how to bloodbend?” Kya’s expression is a mixture of shock, disbelief, and something else Katara can’t quite place. Fascination, maybe?

“Yes.” Katara ceases conversation to suddenly stand up. She motions for her daughter to follow her to the rim of the fountain. Doing something she hadn’t done in over twenty years, Katara waterbends the streaming jets in the fountain away from the very center of the stone structure. She holds the water away from the ice covered pocket hidden there, letting it pool around while she melts the ice with her other hand. Instructing her daughter to retrieve the scroll, Katara stands still, parting the water like Kya is some sort of god. It makes her feel powerful in way she hasn’t felt in a long time, but that’s for a reason.

A few minutes later, Katara and Kya are settled a couple of yards away from the fountain, and Kya opens the first scroll with excitement and horror. It’s thankfully one about healing, and she studies it intently, while Katara is flooded with memories of the first time she bloodbended. They are not very pleasant.

Katara allows her daughter to view all of the scrolls except for one particularly gory one that depicts crimes so gruesome that even Katara threw up the first time she saw it.

“Later,” she promises. “When you’ve seen worse things, you can look at this. But I promise you with all of my heart, not this one.”

Kya nods solemnly, trusting her mother’s words. She focuses her attention back to the multiple other scrolls, and analyzes them intently. Before either of them know it, the sun has set and the moon has risen. It’s both a full moon and a blood moon, making Katara and Kya more powerful than they have been in years.

“Good timing,” Katara remarks, “Your first time bloodbending will be easy.”

****

Katara and Kya return to the house only after sunrise. Zuko knows that with the blood moon, both of them would have been especially powerful that night, so he doesn’t comment on their nightly endeavors, but he knows something’s up when Katara slumps into bed and pulls the covers over her head. In over two decades of sharing a bed with Katara, he has never once seen her fully cover herself with the blankets in the Fire Nation. Not a single time.

He knows, though, that prodding the answer out of her won’t work by a long shot; Katara, if nothing, is amazingly stubborn, but maybe he can get something out of Kya. She seemed equally, if not more, disturbed.

Zuko decides to wait a couple of days before approaching his eldest daughter for information. “Kya, honey?” he asks gently. “I know that you’ve always been your mother’s daughter, but I was hoping you could tell me what you guys were up to during the blood moon. Your mom seems pretty shaken up and she’s been out of it for the past few days, and I really want to help her.” Kya breaks immediately. She may be strong, but she’s very, very in touch with her emotions, and she can get genuine tears flowing faster than someone can say “pepper spray”.

Kya tells her dad everything that happened that night, from studying the scrolls to Kya bloodbending her mother to Katara cutting herself, but Kya not being able to heal it.

“She was bleeding out,” Kya sobs out, barely coherent, “and I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t stop it!” Zuko holds his daughter against his chest and rubs her back soothingly. “Hush now, it’s okay little turtleduck. Everything’s all right. You’re safe, and your mother’s safe, and that’s all that matters. You’re okay. It’s okay.”

****

Zuko stays with his daughter for another hour, getting the rest of the story out between heaving sobs and endless tears that have been threatening to break out since that night, and decides that he needs to speak to his wife that night. She may be stronger and older and more experienced than her daughter, but that doesn’t mean she’s heartless. Katara’s one of the most tender people he’s ever met, and he intends to make sure she stays that way.

It’s the fourth night after the blood moon when Zuko approaches his wife. “Katara?” he asks slowly, making sure his presence is wanted.

“I talked to Kya today. It seems like you guys had an,,, interesting night a few days ago.” Katara snorts. “Interesting is a light way to put it. It was downright horrifying.” She laughs without humour, and waits for her husband to continue. She knows Zuko must have some sort of outline to guide the conversation with.

“Well, first, I wanted to make sure you’re okay physically. We don’t need to call the healer, do we?” Katara whips her head around, hair flying behind her.

“Who the hell do you think I am?” she almost shouts. Zuko puts his hands up in imaginary surrender, and Katara blinks the anger away,

“Sorry,” she whispers, “I’ve been kind of on edge lately.” The very first tear of the night comes streaming down Katara’s cheek, and Zuko gently brushes it away with his thumb.

“Hey, hey look at me.” He waits to continue speaking until Katara looks into his eyes.

“It’s okay that you’re not okay. Whatever you’re feeling is okay. I’m not expecting you to be the same person you were however many years ago. I’m not expecting you to even be the person you were two weeks ago. The only thing I’m expecting from you, the only expectation I will ever have for you, is that you talk to me. I love you, and I’m here for you, and I will never, ever tell you that you’re anything less than perfect. Because you are. You’re perfect. And you always will be.”

[thearcaneescape]

Chapter 9

It’s not that Yoongi and his twin didn’t get along, it’s just that Yoonji was far more vocally aggressive than he was, which more often than not got both of them in trouble. She didn’t take anyone’s sass, she’d been involved in several fights, and she was highly protective of both Yoongi and her girlfriend.

“They were calling her names, Yoon! I wasn’t gon’ let them talk shit abou’ my girlfriend! If you ‘ad your own sap, wouldn’t you do the same?” Her voice, as quiet as it could be, could also reach levels that could be heard over the music booming through the club.

“Alrigh’ sure, I would defend them, bu’ I wouldn’t take on dickheads twice my size, are you mental?” Yoongi shouted over the music, shaking his head when his sister laughed.

“I took ‘em down, I ain’t a fuckin’ wimp.” She grabbed her brother’s hand and started dragging him towards the stairs that led to the downstairs lounge area. “Fuckin’ place is givin’ me a headache.”

To anyone new to the club, the Min twins would look completely out of place, Yoonji in a black high-waisted skirt with a black crinoline under it, white blouse tucked into it, pearl buttons all the way up to her throat, puffed sleeves and vertical-stripe black and white tights. Her jewellery was dahlia bite piercings in heavy copper and iron, and 30 mm plugs with found objects, nuts and bolts and cogs, some of which also decorated her heavy black-red, knee-high boots. Yoongi, on the other hand was wearing a pair of distressed black jean shorts with a faded white pelvis printed on them over black tights with white bats all over them. His shirt was black and loose, tucked into the shorts, a Ouija decal printed on it in white, and over it he wore a pastel pink harness, the two straps around his belly sporting heart-shaped rings. He’d exchanged his matte black nose ring for a pink one, small pearlescent bits of rainbow quartz studding it, and his labret hoop was still black. The plugs on his lobes were rose-gold plates silver tunnels with little cat ears and whiskers on the edges, and the facemask tucked under his chin was a similar pastel pink with a kitty nose and whiskers decal on it in black. The highlights of the outfit were the pastel pink collar choker on his throat with a large kitty bell hanging from it and the pink creepers on his feet, with small paw prints all over them. They stood out from the crowd of ripped jeans and colorful clothes, but no regulars in there dared mess with them.

“It’s much quieter down ‘ere.” Yoonji fixed her bangs, striking black hair cut into a bob that reached her shoulders, one of the few things that distinguished the Min twins. They could easily switch places, and had done so during their school years, exchanging uniforms to get out of exams they hadn’t studied for.

“Yeah.” He turned to look at the bartender, ordering their usual, which was a whiskey sour for Yoonji and a mint julep for himself. “Where’s your girl then?”

“Got an early shift at Waterstones. Can’t have her loose sleep.” Yoonji fiddled with her plugs, the heavy metal making her earlobes swing. With a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and a smile, Yoongi then looked around, playing with the pastel pink cat-skull hair clip in his bangs, scanning the lounge area before he caught a glimpse of bright red hair sitting in one of the settees, surrounded by 5 other men. “Ah, are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

Yoonji followed her brother line of sight, a smirk falling on her black lips. “Is that the chav you talked about earlier? Talk about coincidence. If I believed in that kinda bullshit, I’d say you’re soulmates.”

“Ah, fuck off.” Yoongi pushed his sister playfully, motioning towards the lounge bar with his head. “Let me drink first and then you can make fun of me, alrigh’?”

-

Hoseok was the only single in the whole group and he hated it. Well not hate, but really, deeply, profoundly, didn’t fucking like it.

“I’m going to get a drink.” Joon stood up, brushing down his jacket. “Anyone coming with?”

“Sure, I’ll go.” Hoseok stood up as well, placing his bomber on the settee. He needed a drink, despite how much of a lightweight he was.

“We’re gonna go dance for a while, are you ok alone, Jinnie?”

“As long as Joon gets me a cosmo, I’ll be fine.” Jin smiled, leaning back on the settee. “Besides, Joon and Hobi are literally right there, the bar is not that far.”

Hoseok and Joon nodded and then made their way to the lounge bar, Hoseok’s eyebrow flying up at the sight of a young woman dressed like a Victorian lady, down to the ruffled blouse. Her and a guy with a pink facemask on walked away from the bar at that moment, going to sit at the darkest corner of the lounge.

“One cosmo and one greyhound.” Joon had to raise his voice a bit, because the bar was the closest to the stairs, which meant the music was louder there. “What are you getting, Hobi?”

“Ah, I’ll have a cosmo as well.” He smiled brightly at the bartender, who nodded and started mixing their drinks.

“So, are you going to do as Jimin and Tae want and hook up with someone?” Joon leaned back on the bar, looking at where Jin was sitting with a fond look on his face.

“To be honest, no. I’m not a hookup kind of guy.” Hoseok sighed, a small smile starting to form on his lips. “You have to promise not to tell Jimin or tae about this, but I saw this guy at the Oxfam near their flat. He was so fucking cute, Joon, you have no idea.”

“Shit, really? How cute was he? On a scale of corgi to sleeping kitten.” Joon perked up, turning his body completely to face Hoseok.

“Like a whole litter of sleeping kittens, mate, but here’s the thing, his voice is so fucking deep, and I think he’s from North London, cuz I could barely understand his fucking accent.”

“Mate, you just fucking met him and you fell hard. I wanna meet this guy.” Joon chuckled, straightening up when the bartender cleared his throat and pushed their drinks towards them, Joon grabbing his and Jin’s drink. “Let’s get going.”

As soon as he said that, a shout went through the lounge.

“Oy, cuntmuffin! Didn’t’cha hear the guy!? He’s got two fuckin’ partners! Can’t you take a fuckin’ hint and piss off!?”

Hoseok whirled around, panic setting into his belly, and by the looks of it, Joon was also both panicked and furious. They ran towards where Jin was standing, the guy who apparently had been harassing him now looking at who had shouted at him. It was the young woman dressed in Victorian clothes, an eerily familiar look on her face.

“It’s none of your fuckin’ business, bitch!”

“Hey! It’s a hundred-fuckin’-percent my business if you’re harassin’ someone in front of me, you absolute bell-end!” The girl was in the process of tying her hair back, a fierce look on her face. “If you want this to fuckin’ escalate, keep going, mate!”

The young man with the kitty facemask had stood up at this point, grabbing the girl’s arm. He pulled down the facemask and Hoseok would’ve melted to the floor if the situation wasn’t so high-pressure.

“You heard her, get the fuck away from my boyfriend, fucker.” Joon’s voice, raised just a tiny bit in anger, was a booming growl throughout the lounge, and suddenly everything seemed to freeze as everyone turned to look at him. He wasn’t the tallest one there, but the aura he had around him was enough to make everyone shrink down.

“O-oh fuck.”

“Oh fuck is correct. Now step away from my partners, cunt.” Jungkook’s voice made Hoseok turn his head to look at the younger, who, dressed head-to-toe in black, arms bared in a tank top that had such wide gaps for his arms that more skin than fabric was showing. His anger was scarier than Joon’s because he seemed to agree with the Victorian lady’s sentiments of a fight. The guy almost literally ran off, bumping into equally-as-angry Jimin and Taehyung.

“Thank you for standing up for my boyfriend.” Joon was still tense, but he managed a warm smile to the young woman, who waved her hand, a wide gummy smile on her face.

“No problem. I know the type, and it’s easy to undermine them.” She tugged on the band holding back her hair before outstretching her hand. “I’m Yoonji. The shadow behind me is my twin brother Yoongi.”

“Oh, hey. You were at our bar last week.” Jin brightened up, smile returning to his face. Yoongi’s eyebrows quirked up slightly, making Jin laugh. “I was the one that greeted you at the door.”

“Ah, yeah. Hey, nice to see you two again.”

Hoseok was almost shaking with excitement, because not only new friends, but also his new crush was standing in front of him for the second time in one day.

“Shall we all sit together?” Jimin had already sauntered over, all smiles. The twins looked at each other and nodded, going back to where they had been sitting to get their drinks.

“Joon, where’s my drink?”

“Fuck.”

-

“So, you all work together?” Yoonji’s eyes were sparkling, just a smidge more expressive than Yoongi’s but he was also invested in what the others were talking about.

“Yeah, we all work at this bar called The Arcane Escape. We all pitch in in some way. Us four perform, Joon and Kookie are servers.” Jimin was on his fourth glass of gin and tonic, still quite coherent. Hoseok was slowly working his way through his second cosmo.

“I do some waitressing as well, but yeah, I’ve started performing with Jimin, Tae and Jin.” He took a sip of the sweet pink cocktail, feeling the beginnings of an alcohol-induced blush on his cheeks.

“So you four have, like, different names and shit?”

Jin laughed, his cheeks already dusted with pink from his third drink. “Yeah, we do. Mine is Jeannie Heart.”

“I go by Gigi Diamond, mostly because me and Tae stone the shit out of our clothes.” Jimin giggled, downing the remains of his gin.

Taehyung took the glass from Jimin, he was the only sober one left in their group, a glass of strawberry juice on the table in front of him. “I chose the name Victoria Nike.”

“Oh, I get it. Victory in Latin and Greek. It’s a cool name.” Yoongi piped up from where he was lounging, his metal cup held precariously from his fingertips.

“Wait, is that what your name is supposed to be?” Jungkook’s eyes were almost bugging out of his skull, slightly addled by the alcohol. Everyone laughed, making him look around, bewildered before Joon and Jin, both sitting on either side of him calmed him down with simultaneous kisses on the cheek. A furious blush bloomed over the already-apparent alcohol flush, and he covered his face with his hands, making everyone laugh again.

“What about you, Hoseok? What’s your drag name?” Yoonji aimed her eyes at him, cat-like eyes sharp and piercing, just as much as Yoongi’s.

“Ah, it’s Jolie Hopper. I didn’t choose the last name, I was just playing around with like “très jolie” and jolly, and when I told Sugar I was planning on dancing swing, he said something about lindy hop and the last name just came from there.”

“Wait, Sugar? Fuckin’ tall, bleach-blonde hair and way too many tattoos?” Yoongi leaned forwards, a frown on his face.

“Well, he’s got black hair now, but that sounds like our Sugar. You know him?” Joon also leaned forwards, one eyebrow raised, mouth set in a way that made one dimple appear.

“We met him when we were 18, he went by his real name back then, but he used Sugar when he did drag. Got us out of a bad situation at this one bar, it got closed down after that.” Yoonji pursed her lips, eyebrows slightly raised. “Small world.”

Hoseok could feel a chill run up his spine. What the hell was going on here?

[justherefortaylorswift]

there’s glitter on the floor after the party...

Taylor,

*About 9 days ago, on May 22nd, 2018, I had just arrived home from your Seattle show at CenturyLink Field. It was 4am and I couldn’t sleep. I had so much on my mind and was still on a high from your show. So, in the early hours of the morning, after my friends had long gone to bed, I began to write. I’ve revised my original note quite a bit since then. I’ve also had the opportunity to do some additional reflecting since tour, and I have some thoughts. So, I guess this is the end-result of a mash-up of 4AM overly-emotional rambling, combined with well thought-out, fully coherent, mature writing. I feel like I really over-explained this. I could have been a lot less-awkward in setting this up. Let's just get into it:

[SO. I just got home from your Seattle show. It's 4 am and I can't sleep. This was my 6th tour, and I made what seems like an infinite amount of unforgettable memories with a group of incredible people I call my ‘Swiftie Fam” (the name needs work...). There's Cecil (my long-time, Canadian Swiftie friend, you’ll see him in earlier posts), Wanda (Cecil’s wife), Kaeden (7. Cecil & Wanda’s son. Major Swiftie. His first concert!), and finally the beautiful Maile (a recent addition to the fam, and now a life-long friend!).  It’s hard to explain in words, but we all have developed a connection that’s special and unique because of what we experienced together. I couldn’t have asked for a better group of people to stand by my side tonight. We danced, laughed, and cried together… I don’t think I’ve ever felt more understood. These people ‘get’ me.

Not surprisingly, I screamed every single lyric at the top of my lungs and subsequently lost my voice almost IMMEDATIELY. With that in mind, I suppose a more accurate description would be: I wasn’t so much singing, as I was gasping for the remainder of the show. I literally danced with until I was out of breath. I cried (ok, SOBBED) all of my make-up off (a Long Live/NYD mash-up… are you kidding me?! I FEEL ATTACKED). 

By the end of the night, I resembled a pathetic, overly-emotional, glittery, drowned rat.

and I was living my absolute best life.

Also, I was REALLY proud of our outfits this time around! I think we did a decent job of recreating your Direct TV commercial, with my rainbow two-piece, and Cecil’s interpretation of Olivia Benson dressed as a Caticorn (I can’t say I ever thought I’d use that in a sentence). It consisted of around 8-10 hours total of gluing, painting, and hand-sewing, leading up to the show. Everything turned out awesome, way better than expected. Totally worth the man hours! Wanda hand-made matching these adorable matching t-shirts for her and little Kaden (Big Rep & Little Rep), and Maile constructed a beautiful MASTERPIECE from the mountain LYWMMD outfit- it was freakin’ incredible and HOT!

There was something a bit different about this tour for a couple of reasons:

[The production.] I don’t think I’ve experienced such sensory-overload in my LIFE. The whole time it was like a constant stream of frantic, internal dialogue with a lot of run-on sentences, like, “WHAT IS HAPPENING SHE’S GIVING US CHOREO OMG YAAASSS WERK HONEY IF A MAN TALKS SHIT WE DON'T OWE HIM A DAMN THING OH MY GOD ITS RAINING CONFETTI I MUST COLLECT IT I HOPE THESE MULTI-COLORED FLASHING LIGHTS DON’T GIVE ME AN EPILEPTIC ATTACK WHERE THE F-CK DID THESE GIGANTIC SNAKES COME FROM THERE ARE LITERALLY STAGES EVERYWHERE I’M OVERWHELMED OH SHIT SHES PULLING A SPEAK NOW BY WALKING THROUGH THE CROWD WHAT'S GOING ON OH GOD F-CKING FIREWORKS THESE VOCALS ARE LIT THO I'M SWEATING I’M DEFINITELY GONNA NEED THERAPY AFTER THIS NEW YEARS DAY/LONG LIVE MASH UP IS THAT A FOUNTAIN WHATS HAPPENING OH GOD IT’S REAL WATER AND SHE’S IN THE FOUNTAIN I’M HAVING A 2008 SHOULD’VE SAID NO ACM AWARDS FLASHBACK MOMENT HOLY SH-T MORE F-CKING FIREWORKS SO MUCH PYRO IS THIS EVEN LEGAL” I’ve gotta say, you have BEST band (Paul, Amos and Mike..OGS), vocalists (Eliott and Kamilah…the TALENT), and all the dancers. Every single person on that stage was on FIRE, and their talent, passion, and individual personalities made the night sparkle.

[The fans.] I freaking adore this fan culture. I’ve never met a Swiftie who wasn’t ridiculously friendly, welcoming, and super relatable. The vibe was so positive. I’ve never smiled, waved and taken pictures with so many random strangers in my life. It felt as if we were literally in a different world that day. It felt like home.

[YOU!.]  We need to talk about this major GLO UP you’ve got going on, honey. You exude SO much confidence and you're just pure sunshine. When I think about the way you’ve carried yourself these past couple of years through all of the BS drama, I can’t help but feel damn proud. You’ve successfully converted pain into art, into music. Real music, that’s poignant, raw, and just BAD ASS. Your lyrics continue to foster a special connection you maintain with the audience...a connection that often times breathes life into brokenness.

I felt like the luckiest girl in the entire world tonight. 

This may have been my best concert experience ever, which is actually pretty ironic because:

Unlike Red, I wasn’t in the Pit

I didn’t have VIP seating, like 1989

You weren’t close enough for any potential high fives, waves, or eye contact like I experienced at Speak Now at B-Stage

We were not chosen for Rep Room (or T-Party, Club Red, or Loft 89)

…But, it was OK. It was way more than OK. It was truly a dream.

Listen: Something I've always deeply admired about you is that you make it a priority to maintain a personal relationship with the fans.  It’s clear you want to meet as many of us as possible, and you make a conscious effort to do so. You get to know us as individuals and you CARE, and that means everything us and makes such an impact. I mean, you invite us into your HOME for crying out loud, you walk through massive crowds and give high-fives, you lurk our Instagrams and Tumblrs and interact on social media, and you always make a notable effort to meet as many of us as possible at tour.

However, this can sometimes turn into a bit of a "Catch 22" situation for people. The downside, is that it’s honestly SUPER easy to fall into the “trap” of being consumed with the possibility of meeting you after your shows. Due to the fact that the “selection” process is both intentional, yet also random. To be transparent, it's quite difficult to not obsess with the idea of ‘trying’ to get chosen. I witness this behavior so often, in others and in myself just as much, if not more. Selfishly, I often feel not only jealous, but UPSET when I see photos/read experiences of other fans meeting you. I sometimes feel like the only one who hasn’t yet gotten the opportunity.  It can quickly turn into a mind-game if you're not careful, which has the potential to become toxic if we allow the idea of meeting you to rule supreme over what it's actually about...which is the MUSIC. And, this amazing show you put on for us night after night. And somewhat understandably so, I've witnessed the obsession with being chosen to meet you become a main focus point for a lot of us (including myself a bit!). It's pretty stressful, and can easily dampen or cheapen the concert experience, if you're not careful. As dramatic as this probably sounds, Tumblr (and social media) can be brutal within this fandom, and dare I say ‘cut-throat’ at times. It's easy to get upset watching (what seems like) literally EVERYONE get that opportunity, except you. 

That said, I had a wake-up call/mini-epiphany recently, which manifested while driving home from your show at Midnight on May 22nd with my friends, feeling so amazing and so grateful for what I just experienced…but also a little guilty because I feel like I’ve spent way too much time worrying about the possibility of meeting at you when you come to Seattle, how to get the attention of Taylor Nation, where to find Mama Swift, getting that guitar pick from Papa Swift, and this time was no different. Granted, my intentions are 100% pure and it’s only because you’ve meant so freakin much to me for so many years, and it's almost as if my life won’t be complete until I finally get to tell you in person. That said, there is certainty a valuable lesson to be learned here. I am confident that you and I will come face-to-face one day (hopefully with my Swifie fam!). The stars will align at the exactly the right time, and I will have my moment with you, and it will be SO worth the wait. You can't "force" stuff like this, you know? The privilege of meeting you is almost ‘sacred’ in a sense. At least in my opinion. Anyway, my point is: I refuse to a continue to attempt to “create fate” by attempting to "earn" my worthiness in fandom. It’s not productive, it's not healthy, and it’s not cute.

Alright, this is getting out of hand. I need to wrap this up. 🤣 I’m not sure whether or not you’ve seen any of my throwback photo-posts I posted the week leading up to the show. They definitely explain a lot more about me, and my history being a fan. Either way, I must reiterate how grateful I am to have you in my life, and that support you 100% and will always be here. The amount of hope, joy and comfort you've given me over the past 10+ years is insurmountable, and I'll never be able to repay you for that. And I mean that in the most sincere way. Not a lot of things make me as happy as you make me (especially lately). This experience was the ‘boost’ I needed, I think. And like I said, the relationship I have with my friends/Swiftie Fam is invaluable, and I look forward to making memories with them at your shows in the future. You’ve brought the most random group of people together and created a bond that’s unique, unconditional and unbreakable, and I think that’s so cool.

This was A LOT longer than I originally intended it to be. This escalated quickly. Haha. Thanks for listening. 💗

Don’t read the last page…]

Love you, T

Crystal

@taylorswift

@taylornation

@ceunit

@maileswiftie

[photos]:  1) The whole crew: Cecil, Wanda, Kaeden, Maile and myself at our seats. 2) Kaeden the night before the show. SO EXCITED!! 3) Testing out the Caticorn onesie w/ Cecil 4) Cecil and myself FULLY DECKED and ready to go. 5) Wanda and Kaeden: Big Rep & Lil’ Rep! 6) the girls! Maile, Wanda and Me pre-show 7) Us at the end of the show! And yes, that’s me in the middle..in disbelief, exhausted, sweaty, and a physical and emotional wreck (see also: ‘drowned rat’ description above). 8) All of us after the show literally in a hotel lobby (and glitter on the floor after the party!), waiting for traffic to die down before we headed home.

[arithemergal]

Valentines Day Surprise SFW

This was a little Discord exchange that went on during my absence! I was able to manage something cute out! I know its a little late. 

This is for the wonderful @syntheticninjas

“Oi Hog what's with tha British gal?” Junkrat was struggling to keep track of Lena, or better known to him, Tracer. She was blinking around frantically through the base leaving a trail of petals behind her.

“Valentines day… she’s got a girlfriend Jamison…” Junkrat continued to try and watch the girl blink before a headache began to take over, he closed his eyes groaning and looked up to Roadhog.

“Tha hell is a Valentine?” For a moment Roadhog went completely still his signature mask looking down at Junkrat. That was right, how many years has it been since Junkrat had even heard the world valentine? How many years had he missed out on? His entire childhood really. The shitty card making, the boxes of chalky hearts they called treats, he hasn't gotten the chance to experience any of it.

“It’s… a holiday for couples… to celebrate your love for someone else… or to confess your love for someone else…” Junkrat just scrunched his nose his eyes narrowing as he stared at Roadhog, a holiday for couples? Junkrat didn't have to say anything, his expression gave it away.

“Jamison… you have someone you love right?” Junkrat perked up, as if a dog that had been given a treat. His thoughts immediately going to you, how you didn't mind his tinkering while the two of you were together. The way you laughed with him, when you snorted from laughing too hard. The way you smiled at him, like that smile was only meant for him.

“Jamison.” The shake to his shoulder make him twitch, he had become oddly quiet. The idea of Junkrat quietly thinking was quite unnerving in a way, leaving Roadhog on edge.

“I’m gonna do somethin’ for my lil’ sheila Hoggie… When’s this Valentines day?” Junkrat perked up at the ideas already bouncing through his mind vibrating with excitement as he grinned.

“Tomorrow.” Junkrat squaked and looked at Tracer as she continued to blink through the halls.

“That lil chickadee runnin’ around because she fergot to get somethin’?!” Roadhog only let out a grainy laugh as Junkrat bounced off towards his room, he had no time to lose and you to impress.

“Have you seen Jam-Junkrat?” You were wandering around the place looking for Jamison, he hadn't called you or come to see you since you landed yesterday night after a mission. Finding it a bit strange since Jamison always rushed to the landing platform to take you up in his arms. A sloppy kiss ready for you.

“Sorry love can’t say I have, think he left for a mission. No one seen him or Roadhog since last night.” Tracer saluted you before blinking away, apologizing for her lack of help. Hanging your head you began to head back to your room slowly, holding the little package in your hands.

“Guess I could call him…” You sighed as you entered your room reaching over for your little transmitter, checking for any missed messages first.

Heart constructing as you were saddened to find nothing. Pressing the icon a few times you listened to the hollow rings before failing to connect. He must of really been on a mission.

Rolling over in your bed you placed the box down poking at the ribbon gently, sure heroes had a job… but you were hoping to spend some time with Jamison. You came to the conclusion the valentine festivities could be held off until tomorrow.

Knock, knock.

The echo of a knock on the door made you sit up quickly, “Coming!” You stood up walking towards the door, stopping suddenly you looked over your shoulder before grabbing the small package again, no harm in holding onto it.

Upon opening the door you looked up, the familiar leather pig mask staring back down at you.

“Roadhog!” You practically cheered whipping your head around quickly in search for the other giggly junker you've come to love. But the male was nowhere to be found, strange.

“Outside.”

“Outside?” Probing for more answers you cocked your head to the side before Roadhog simply thumbed down the hall. That’s when you saw them. The rose petals.

Walking after the trail you looked down at the half hazardly ripped petals, an entire head of a flower sitting in the middle of the floor. This mess was no doubt Jamison’s work, and the very thought made your heart swell.

Did they have valentine’s day in the wastes? Did they even keep track of the days? You thought about the over used calendar Roadhog marked on, keeping track of days, keeping some kind of humanity in his grasp.

But yet they don't really celebrate any holidays, you were so caught up in your thoughts you didn't even realize you were coming to the end of the trail. The door was slightly ajar, tempting you to come in and see what was on the other side.

He knew your weaknesses that was for sure, and one of them was your need to know more, you couldn't help but slip outside. You wouldn't believe your eyes at first, Jamison standing in the midst of a borderline well pleased scene. He must of got Mei’s help, or maybe Symmetra’s.

As if sensing your presence he spun around, his eyes wide as he fussed with a bouquet of red roses. It really struck you then, he did this all for you. Himself. You looked around silently, the tell tale signs of his presence decorating everything, his oily handprints smudged on the little blanket he laid out, edges he so obviously tried to smooth out.

A few roses bundled together, wilting however, you eyed a few stems off to the side. He must of ripped them apart to create the trail.

“Oi love didn't think ya would jet ove’ so fast! Wasn’ able to grab tha boba or nuthin’!” He was hiding something behind his back as he approached you, vibrating with his giggled as she straightened up. Towering over you with a large grin, gold tooth shining in the weakening light.

“Ya like it?” You had to remember to breathe taking a fast inhale as you felt a smile tug at the corner of your lips.

“Then ya gon’ like this even betta’ love!” He grabs your free hand, slipping something into your middle finger. Looking down you stared at the scrap, it probably was once a gear of some sort.

The rusty color of it giving you that much information, it was also much too big for your finger. Bouncing around as you brought it closer to your face, you curled your hand into a fist. He had gone through the work of shaving it down, polishing it until it felt as smooth as a rusty gear was going to get.

“I… I…” You couldn’t for a sentence let alone a coherent thought, tears bubbling in your eyes as Jamison looked over you. The fear beginning to become apparent on Jamison’s face.

“H-Hol’ on there love! I know it’s ugly! Yer stupid junker made a last minute gift, didn’t have the time ya raid a store or somethin’!” You laughed now, hysterically in fact as he began to blabber, those big eyebrows shooting up as he froze.

“I love it!” The scrawny male suddenly slouched once more smiling as he stared at you.

“Sorry that it don’ fit love…” He took you hand in his twirling the ring around your finger as his brows scrunched together deep in thought.

“It’s perfect.” You simply drew your hand away to dig in your pocket, pulling out a bit of string you had. Slipping the ring onto the twine you smiled before tying it off around your neck. Beating down at the little bit of metal as it laid against your chest.

“I’ll get ya a better one promise…” You felt your heart flutter.

Did he just?

“A better one?” The words spilled from your mouth quickly as you looked up at Jamison once more. He only giggled before stepping forward taking you up in his lanky arms.

“You are my lil’ sheila n’ all I’ll get ya a better ring… promise…” You still couldn’t believe your ears, was he talking about…

“Oi, stop givin’ me ‘at look… thought about it a bit… Hog asked me ‘bout it…” You watched as a pink blush filled his cheeks, his eyes darting around as he spoke in a hushed tone.

“Mayb’ not anytime soon love… maybe when the world don’ need heroes anymore…” He was mumbling a few incoherent words now, lost to his own thoughts, you only leaned your head up and captured his lips with your own.

Shaken from his daydream it seemed, his arms eagerly tightening around you as his mouth moved against yours.

“Crikey, ‘fore I ferget!” He suddenly pulled away, flicking his metal fingers creating a spark together as he knelt down in front of a suspicious little fuse.

“Fire in tha hole!” You flinched as it was set alight, Jamison scurrying back to you as the fuse disappeared. The high pitched wizz of the firework snapping your attention to the sky. Instead of a colorful rainbow, you were met with a bright explosion. Jamison must of rigged his explosives to act like fireworks.

“Ah that reminds me. Here!” You shoved your own gift his way watching the way his eyes were dragged away from the sky to look down at you, a pout forming on his features. Though when he saw the little box his entire demeanor changed, snatching it out of your hands as he tore through the box. He pulled out the little gold chain with a raised brow. Turning it over a few times in his hands.

“Whot’s ‘is ‘en?” You slipped the bracelet from his hands before putting it onto his wrist with a smile, snugly clasping it in place.

“It’s a bracelet. I got the day we met engraved on it, so no matter what happens you’ll never forget the day.” Jamison smiled down at you threading your fingers with his own, tilting his head down he pressed his forehead to yours.

“I love ya sheila.” Those words made your heart skip a beat, filling your body to the brim with the nervous excitement you knew would never go away.

“I love you too Jamison… happy valentines day…” As the explosions continued overhead Jamison leaned down once more to capture your lips in another kiss.

[hauntedbunkbeds]

Day 6: Zen Space

Day 6, Fantasy or Magical Realism: It may get a bad rap, but Fantasy is full of gems! *haha!*

Zen Space

At mile fifteen I usually hit the zen space. The sound of my breathing becomes the only sound I can hear. I focus on the ground in just the few feet of space ahead of me. I become my own little world. I think every thought at once. I am God of this little world, God of myself. I guess that’s the Runner’s High people talk about. I didn’t know what it felt like until I started doing ultra marathons--fifty to one-hundred miles in the woods with a handful of strange people who I have come to love. We’re all the same kind of strange, the be-your-own-God kind.

This race was different though. Bad different. You can always tell when you’re going to have a bad day, sometimes immediately, sometimes before you even start, like a premonition. I’ve seen world champs drop out in the first ten miles. There’s no shame in it. For an undertaking like running one hundred miles in a day, your mind and your body have to be on the same page or one is going to slip off-course, literally or figuratively. I’ve seen runners veer into the woods at a sprint, I’ve seen runners arguing with people who aren’t there. Strange things can happen when you push your body to its limits. It’s like peeking over the edge of a steep cliff, you better have a tight grip on something or you might just slip off into the abyss.

When I didn’t reach my zen space, I got worried. The races usually start hard, then get gradually easier for me as my body falls into its familiar stride. Today, it stayed hard. The Pandora 100-Miler was a notorious course, one I had never run before. The first fifty miles were literally over mountain after mountain, but the second fifty was even worse: A straight shot down a two-lane highway, no shade til nightfall. Just when your prayers of “Please God, not one more hill” are answered, you’re met with sizzling roadkill and blistered shoulders. A man died along that road last year, a drifter, and his body was discovered by one of the runners. I’ve heard the spot is marked by a small white cross.

“When you hit the cross,” my trainer (and girlfriend) Amelia had told me in the dense 4 A.M. fog, “then you’re home free. Twenty miles to go from there.”

I squeezed her hand. Something already felt wrong, but I didn’t want to let her down. She planned to meet me at mile fifty with a flat coke (don’t knock it til you try it) and run the remainder with me as a pacer. I met Amelia at the Rushmore fifty-miler seven years ago. She beat me to the women’s first place spot by fifteen minutes, but I also beat my own PR trying to catch up with her. She was wearing rainbow shorts and her long blonde hair was in a perfect french braid. We ran a few miles together near the middle without saying a word to each other, but I was already in love with her before we even spoke.

...

It was mile twenty-two when I saw the first one. It was pink, but others were blue, green, yellow--all with a soft glow about them like they weren’t quite there. I thought they were lightning bugs at first, and then I thought they were the little spots that dance before your eyes when you get lightheaded or pass out, and then I saw one up close: Fairies. Real fairies.

Okay, I’m losing my mind, I thought.

I ignored them. They were figments of my imagination, after all. I ignored them for a mile, until I realized I wasn’t ignoring them at all, I was following them. I looked up and felt a wave of shock as I took in my surroundings: Deep, lush woods, not a trail in sight.

Oh fuck, oh fuck. I’m lost. I’m one of those runners you read about who went crazy in the woods and never came back. They’re going to find me naked with a flower crown on my head, days from now.

“You’re not lost,” came a voice, the sweetest I had ever heard. I looked up, and it was Amelia. My sweet, perfect Amelia.

“Amelia,” I cooed. “I’m not even close to mile fifty. You shouldn’t have met me here.”

She gave a coy laugh. I noticed she wasn’t wearing her running clothes, but a long, deep green gown, and she wasn’t Amelia. She just looked like her. She had gorgeous long, blonde hair, an amazing athletic build, and long pointed ears.

“I couldn’t wait any longer to show you what I found,” she said.

“What you found?” I repeated. I was walking towards her, but every step I took was met with one step backward as she retreated deeper into the thick woods.

“When I ran Pandora last year,” she said. “I found this place. I had to show you.”

I reached out, wanting to kiss her so badly, but she was always just out of reach.

“Shh!” she said suddenly, and stopped walking. I realized all at once how tired my legs were, how badly I wanted to lay down in the moss-covered ground beneath Amelia’s bare feet.

She pointed to a distant spot and I followed her gaze. There, so deep in the woods I could barely see him, stood a man, or at least, the face and torso of a man. His body was that of a sinewy, muscular horse, white with black and grey freckles. His tail swatted lightly side to side.

“Don’t scare him off,” Amelia whispered. “He’s good luck.”

“Am I dreaming?” I asked. “Am I going crazy? I didn’t feel good this morning. I didn’t want to tell you, but I don’t think I’m going to finish the race.”

“I don’t think you are either,” Amelia said with a little laugh. God I loved her laugh.

“Take this,” she said, and from a small satchel I hadn’t noticed, she pulled a can of coke. “I opened it this morning so it would be completely flat by the time you reached me.”

She handed it to me and I drank deeply. It tasted so real, it felt so real in my hands. The metallic, sugary taste shocked my system back to life. I couldn’t be dreaming, could I?

“Do you want to run now?” I said, trying to snap myself back to reality. I felt energized by the coke, and scared of what I was seeing.

Behind Amelia, the woods began to thin, and through it I began to make out the details of a vast city, a beautiful jigsaw of straw huts, stone towers, colorful tents and leaning rotundas.

“When I found this place last year,” Amelia said. “They told me I was their queen.”

Beyond the city, a castle rose from the mist. Vines climbed up towers, and white flowers bloomed from the vines.

“I told them I would only accept if I could bring my wife,” she said, her eyes not leaving mine.

I blushed, though I don’t know if it would have made a difference on my sunburned and dirt-smeared cheeks. My back of my legs were muddy and my knees and palms were scraped from a little spill a couple miles back on a hidden root. That morning I had put my short hair up in two tiny pigtails which had certainly gone lopsided by now. I felt suddenly out of place as Amelia led me out of the woods and we passed vividly green pastures containing animals I had never seen before. I swear I saw one breathing fire.

“You’re asking me to be your wife?” I asked, just wanting her to say it again. I had suspected she might ask me after the race, part of the reason I was so keen on finishing. She had been acting secretive and overly lovey-dovey the past couple weeks. I thought...a ring. Not a kingdom.

She smiled and nodded, and finally took my hand.

“Run with me?” she asked. She took my toothy grin as a yes.

She squeezed my hand and sprinted ahead. I struggled to keep up, my breathing feeling shallow as she got faster and faster. Soon, the fairies appeared again, only it wasn’t fairies this time. This time it really was the little lights you see before you get lightheaded or pass out, and it was the latter.

...

“Baby? Baby?”

The voice came from a distance, but Amelia’s face floated right above me, wavering like my own reflection in a pool of water. I was on the ground.

“Oh my God,” she said. “You’re alive.”

She had tears in her eyes.

“I thought I had lost you,” she said, falling on top of me in a hug that both crushed me and gave me life. I kissed the side of her head where I could reach it.

I smelled like shit. She smelled amazing. The tip of her french braid grazed my cheek as she lifted herself off me and looked down at me.

“So, I don’t want to rush you, but you didn’t answer my question,” she said in a low voice, a touch of hesitation.

In her hand she held a thin, silver ring embellished with a single deep green stone.

I swallowed back tears from a combination of exhaustion and emotion that had coalesced in my throat.

“Say yes, and it’s all yours,” she whispered.

I looked past her at a deep blue sky, bluer than I’d ever seen in my life. I could almost see the stone turrets rising toward the clouds, green flags fluttering from each window, bearing Amelia’s initials, as a creature with scaled wings rode a current across the skyline, smoke billowing from its nose.

But they weren’t there. I was on the ground at the mile thirty medical checkpoint.

I learned later that Amelia and a volunteer had found me asleep against a tree, just barely off the course. I woke up when they called out to me and was talking coherently the entire time we walked to the medical checkpoint, though I have no memory of this. I also have no memory of Amelia crying as a nurse inserted an IV into my arm, telling me how she thought I was dead, pulling her tiny, precious ring out of her backpack, and asking me to be her wife. I have also conveniently forgotten passing out cold the moment I saw the ring.

“I dreamed you were a queen,” I said, as she slid the ring onto my finger, waiting for her clever retort.

I swear I saw something in her eyes, then, a moment of recognition, and she saw me notice. Her eyes flitted toward the nurse and back to me.

I never asked her about that look, what it meant. I know she’ll tell me eventually, I’m hoping around mile fifteen, right when I hit that zen space.   

[xenoshadel]

Saving Colors

Context: Rewrite of the ending of episode 9 because fuck that episode where Akira reaches Miki in time. Miki's life was another color in the grey world, one that needed to be saved and Akira hopes they can save more together despite the insanity around them.

Ao3 and perhaps a ko-fi?

“What does it mean to be human?”

A clear question with answers blurred together. Simple words asking to define what came to be impossible, or so it seemed to be with how humanity acted as a whole. Miki heard the question when she ran, and she thought how similar it was to the time someone asked why she ever ran. Humans weren’t meant to run, but it was something she liked to do and it was the thought that maybe—just maybe—moving forward will change something.

To run, to move forward, to be colors in what was otherwise a grey world.

Yet it remained grey the further she ran and heard multiple gunshots behind her. She gritted her teeth, hoping that someone will have an answer to that question and she strained her ears. Maybe someone will have an answer that could also change something and add more colors to the world, if not just clear a bit of the insanity.

“Save Miki Makimura!”

Bang!

Unless those colors were red and yellow, glistening and vibrant from the bodies they left. While those colors were temporary when they stained all around them, the physical bodies were forever lost without a beating heart. Disappearing like rainbows in the sky: once beautiful, but never meant to last long for eyes filled with hate.

“Miko…”

Miki almost choked on her words. The ground became blurry the harder she ran, her feet pounding as she wiped tears with her sleeve. She clenched her hand as she ran, hoping that she can go a little farther—just a little more for her to raise her hand and pass the baton. It was the same run she had always run, where she’d wait until Miko passed the baton and sprint once it’s in her grasp. The race still needed to be finished, she told herself, and determination kept her stride steady.

Bang!

Miki gasped aloud at the sting in her leg. A bullet grazed her thigh and nearly made her lose her balance from the shock, and her stride wobbled when she forced herself to keep running. To keep the baton in her hold had always been her top priority, whether the race was real or not, and she raised her hand when angry shouts behind her grew coherent.

“Akira…!”

Her eyes widened when a van sped down the path and stopped in the distance before her. Miki blinked to see clearer, running faster when she caught sight of Wamu at the passenger seat of the van. She exclaimed happily, and her heart would’ve leaped in joy if it wasn’t for the thud of a fallen body when the door swung open.

A terrified gasp caught in her throat once Wamu’s body toppled from the van and the shouts grew louder, then a few men scrambled out with knives glinting in their hands.

There the world slowed and Miki heard nothing more than the muffle of cries yearning for her blood to spill. She turned around to see the mob catching up to her, and climbing up the hill will only be a race for either side to reach her first. The sting of her leg, the heavy sensation in her hand even when nothing was in her grip, Miki’s scream was silent as she ran and hoped to spread the distance between her and an oncoming man with a knife.

She had to pass the baton… she had to! Empty words she tried to convince herself as she ran, even as she felt the footsteps behind her. Still she didn’t think about the flash of knives all around her nor the insanity, but the only person that helped her run.

“Miki!”

A break in what felt like a fuzzy world and Miki glanced around, only to have the wind knocked out of her when a force crashed into her body. Little breath to scream or to thrash around, but the shouts resounded and her feet suddenly felt lighter.

“There’s the devil!”

“After him!”

Fur tickled her nose and gunshots rattled her thoughts, and while all resumed to chaos around her, Miki heard a low “hang on” when a large arm held her body. Realization then hit her after a member of the mob cursed at them.

“He’s got the witch!! Shoot them down!”

More gunshots came to life and Akira winced when he jumped over the hill, keeping his body low to run with a careful hold on Miki. Headlights flashed from the oncoming cars but couldn’t outshine the crowd of angry eyes. If hate fueled their bodies, then they were no different from the corpses they stepped over and fired at the one who saved more lives than them.

Feet pounding against the gravel, the buildings towering over him, no other life seemed to breathe in this part of the city. Miki shuffled and turned her head to look up at Akira. “Akira!”

“Miki… are you alright?”

He jumped over a damaged car and widened his eyes when Miki gasped after his landing. Quickly glancing at their surroundings—and hoping the shadows will remain empty—Akira halted his sprint and gently brought her to the ground. He noticed blood on her left leg and Miki nearly fell forward when she put weight on both legs, her hands clasping onto Akira’s when he caught her.

“You were shot?” he asked, his words soft in horror.

“I’ll be okay, Akira,” Miki said. Her shaking voice didn’t convince him, but she still mustered a smile when she looked up at him. “So this is what you really look like as a… devilman.”

He cracked a small smile back. “Yeah, this is my body but my heart is still human and mine. And”—he crouched down—“I’ll need you to ride me until we get out of this part of the city.”

Green eyes curiously glanced at the flutter of wings on his head and Miki nodded, her hands still holding onto Akira as he guided her to sit on his back. She bit her tongue once she felt the sting in her leg while adjusting herself, and she held onto him when Akira resumed his sprint.

Faint gunshots were picked up from faraway buildings and Akira grimaced. “Maybe Ryo can help us. I’m sure he will—he has to.”

“Ryo?” Miki asked. “You mean you didn’t already find him?”

Akira paused. “I was looking for his hotel until I found a crowd of humans throwing rocks at people they tied to stakes—at humans they thought were devils. I couldn’t fly away from that, so I tried to stop them even when they threw rocks at me. I wouldn’t kill a human, I never will and yet they were willing to kill me after I said I had the heart of a human.” His breath hitched at his next words. “I don’t understand why they hate each other so much, why they’re so willing to destroy everything for… what exactly? I just… Nothing is gained from all this.”

The houses they passed blazed brilliantly, bringing more life to an abandoned settlement in the grey world. Miki caught sight of a scrapped building and fire devouring much of the framework until, much like the sanity of a human, it couldn’t withstand the fire with its collapse. An explosion of broken glass and forgotten memories, all to later become dust and rubble once the flames were satisfied.

“I knew your heart hadn’t changed, before and after you became a devilman,” she softly said. “You… cried for them, didn’t you?”

Akira felt his throat close up. “Yeah, I did. And just like everyone else, they laughed and mocked me until… a boy came up to me and you know what he did? He hugged me. Another kid went to hug me, and then more of the others stopped to drop their rocks. I hugged everyone there, and at that moment I felt peace and had hope. Hope that maybe everything will be okay in the end, whenever that will be.”

“Until?”

“Until Koda attacked me. I didn’t understand why because he was a devilman like me. We both have human hearts, but still he wanted to kill me. Those humans I hugged were dead, if there weren’t just a few left, and… well. I realized I had to come back to you when I took care of other demons.”

Akira jumped over a ditch in the road, his frown deepened at a sudden thought. “Miko and Wamu… the others?”

He felt Miki tighten her hold on him. “Wamu… Gabi… they didn’t make it. And Miko? She… She died protecting me, Akira. We ran the same path we always ran, and I’ve always known that she loved me. I loved her too, it didn’t matter whether she was human or a devilman but her heart was always true—just like yours.”

The city degraded into a wasteland, where bodies and rubble littered the area and vegetation lost its color. The grass was grey, the roads were black with burn marks and dried blood, and Akira narrowed his eyes at the sight.

“Good people died… so many good people for no reason, humans or devilmen. No one could explain why to me other than they thought they were doing the right thing,” he said. “I guess I will never know what the right thing was all along, other than trying to stay alive.”

Green eyes grew heavy at his words. “Akira… You're more human than them, and I don't understand it. Why do they keep fighting and killing when your tears were always for them?” Miki wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, her voice breaking. “It's not fair. We're all humans at heart and yet… and y-yet...”

Akira listened to her, unable to respond when tears welled in his eyes.

They continued in silence, trying to ignore the waste around them and piles of bodies stacked near playgrounds and buildings with removed names. Names of people reduced to dirt and blood, forever forgotten and replaced with hate by those they thought they loved. Love was nonexistent, save for those who still fought for their lives and the good in a human heart—whoever’s body it was in.

Tears fell from them, adding a little life to the world before the ground swallowed the drops eagerly. Akira slowed his pace and looked around when they reached a hill. Miki felt his body shudder and she spoke softly, “Akira?”

“It’s… hard to run for long when you’re crying.” Akira raised an arm for her to grab onto his hand and guided her to the ground. He watched her slowly put her weight on her left leg, wincing slightly when she straightened her posture. “I’m sorry, Miki.”

“For what?”

Even when their bodies were vastly different, she still kept the same determination, the same look of compassion he saw from her for as long as he could remember. Tears continued to spill from Akira’s eyes when Miki gave him a gentle smile, and he gestured his hand, flexing his fingers for her to see his claws.

“For… this. For your family, for everyone and everything that happened. I’m so—”

Miki grabbed his hand and he stopped in surprise. The markings on his face, the fangs he revealed and the horns on his head, all were taken in with warmth radiating in her eyes. “You have nothing to apologize for, Akira. Don’t blame yourself for all that had happened when the fault isn’t yours. And like before”—she stepped forward to hug him—“it’s okay to cry.”

The insanity of the physical world, the blood that had spilled and the stolen lives, all seemed to have paused when Akira crouched to hug her. He noticed tears streaming down her cheeks and he tried to keep his cries quiet, but like all the times before, the walls broke down. There he poured his heart out, crying for her, for the people that were once alive, and for how fate played its cards.

Miki listened to him, her voice soft and steady. “You saved me again, you know. You always had but this time you were the actual anchor. Miko passed the baton to me and… now you have it.”

She gasped quietly when she felt Akira’s form shrink and his skin against her face. Akira pulled her close in a tighter embrace, his breathing shallow as he whispered, “I can remain human because you exist. My humanity was based on you, Miki, I just didn’t realize it until now.” He pulled back to smile at her. “The thing I wanted to protect the most was you, after all.”

Someone always had to pass the baton, and Miki returned the smile. She motioned it with her hand, fingers curled and raising it to give it to him. “You may be the anchor but we’re still finishing the race together.”

“Yeah, we are.” Akira curled his fingers to hold the baton, his smile growing. He peered closer at a sparkle on her ear. “And hey, where’d you get the earring?”

“Ah, Wamu gave it to me. He said it’ll protect me if I wear it, but I wanted to lend it to you.”

“To me?”

“Well yeah.” Miki tilted her head to remove the earring and on tiptoe, she reached to touch Akira’s ear. “I felt like I wouldn’t see you again, and this is just to be sure that you’ll be safe.”

Akira watched her curiously, feeling the earring settle in with a gentle push of a finger and he touched it when she stepped back. “Think it’ll really work?”

“I can say it worked on me and hey, I am a witch.”

“Heh, the witch and the devil. I’m sure everyone would lose their minds if they thought we were working together or something,” Akira chuckled. His laugh cut short when he glanced around them, not that he hadn’t been mindful of their surroundings but the weight of the grey world crept up on him again.

A soft sigh, a heavy look when Miki followed his gaze. “It’s not the end, Akira. You saved others before, and you saved me so I know you can save everyone else, if not just those who believe in you.”

“You sound so sure… but I have to believe it. I only wish I saved Miko and Wamu a little sooner, and despite all that we’re up against, I think we still have a chance.”

“You mean us finding Ryo?”

Akira’s eyes narrowed at the name. “Ryo… yes. I don’t understand why he exposed me like that or allowed everything to happen but at the same time… We can still fight through this. I want to believe we're still friends and I know we can survive with his help.”

A hesitant pause and after a moment, he tensed and wings sprouted from his back. Although far from angelic, they fluttered in the same delicate matter when they reached their full size. Wings of a monster but with a body full of love, and Miki watched him transform in awe.

While he towered over her, Akira kept a gentle smile when he gave her his hand. “How’s your leg?”

“It’s just a flesh wound, but I’m okay now.” Miki grasped his hand, her feet dangling in the air when he lifted her up. She settled herself comfortably on his back. “Probably better, when I think about it.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

He crouched, a deep breath in, and he jumped up. His body spiraled and at another breath, his wings flared up. Defying gravity for a moment before the world realized a new color in the sky, the breath released and they soared through the sky. The rush of wind on her face, the same sensation she felt whenever she ran and Miki couldn’t help but laugh. A brief moment where they could forget the insanity around them, where they could smile a little at the cold air hitting their faces. Yet after taking in the ruined cities and fire Akira glided over, the smiles grew pained. Miki watched the piles of bodies, the fire licking away anything that held any life to it, and the stranded running far from those who chased after them until they stopped dead after a gunshot.

While they held colors in the grey sky, color drained from their faces at the sight below them. Akira sighed heavily, lamenting thoughts racing through his mind at the possibility that maybe he can save them—that he could’ve saved them. To save more colors in the world if they allowed him to, even when the rest of humanity wanted nothing more than to see the color of his blood on the ground. He was brought back to reality when he felt Miki tighten her hold on him, her face pressing against him.

“Miki?” he softly said.

“Just in case, Akira. And… thank you.”

He hadn’t noticed it before but with her embrace, he felt her heartbeat against him. A strong, steady rhythm—a heart he was able to save—and Akira smiled at the sensation. He did save the most vibrant color of them all, after all.

“I remembered your father’s promise. We’re in this together. Always.”

Different in body and yet their hearts remained the same, even more so when tears spilled from both their eyes. Their faces glistened and even when they heard the chaos below them, they kept a bit of faith in the world. If not just hope in those below them, then hope in another person to bring more color in a grey, grey world.

[modernbookfae]

Court of Nightmares

For the @acotarkinkmeme here is Nesta and Cassian’s visit into the the Hewn City!

Prompt: Pretend Dating Trope; Nesta and Cassian go to an event in The Court of Nightmares and they have to pretend to be dating. Cassian loves it a bit too much, Nesta is a bit overwhelmed but decides that two can play at that game. Feel free to make it as sexually tense as possible. Bonus points if Nesta gets to wear a dress like the one Feyre wore under the mountain and makes Cassian forget his own name (this is basically the scene where Feyre + the Inner Circle go to the Court of Nightmares but for Nessian)

Read on AO3 | TAGS: smut, pretend dating, dominant Cassian, Court of Nightmares

The plan was straightforward. Go to the Court of Nightmares and figure out who was the traitor that gave away secret intelligence to Hybern.

Cassian and Nesta were the ones chosen to go on the mission.

Their roles were simple. Cassian was to maintain the persona of the High Lord’s General who eagerly waited to sink his sharpened blade into anyone who so much as gave him a wrong look.

And Nesta was to be a meek female who was Cassian’s latest conquest.

The amount livid words that spewed from Nesta’s mouth was more colorful than the Rainbow of Velaris.

Even more so when she found out that the dress she was to wear was a sheer fabric that revealed more than it covered up.

She strode to the large room where she was to meet Cassian and Rhysand who would winnow them there since Cassian’s wings were still in recovery.

Outside the door she stopped when Cassian’s voice filtered out.

“I’m not going with her Rhysand,” Cassian said loud enough that Nesta could tell he had been arguing with his High Lord for some time.

“We don’t have a choice with Mor and Azriel on their own mission,” Rhysand replied in a controlled tone. “Why are you so afraid to let her go to the Hewn City? She can handle herself and with you there no other male will approach her if they believe she has been claimed by you.”

“She’s not ready,” Cassian gritted out. “Honestly I’m not ready for her to be in that wretched place. How can you expect me to treat her like a whore?”

“The same way I had to with Feyre for the sake of human and fae alike,” Rhysand said a bit sharply. For a moment there was silence before Rhysand continued softly enough that Nesta barely caught.

“I know you care for her and you don’t want to ruin the trust you’ve built so far with her, but we need you to do this Cassian. You and Nesta could be what shifts the war in our favor if this goes well.”

Cassian said nothing. Nesta decided that she didn’t want to hear anymore of this if Cassian decided to keep talking about her as though she were some child who couldn’t handle herself.

She would show him that the Court of Nightmares should tremble before her.

Nesta glided into the room, Making sure that Cassian saw the full effect of her entrance.

And his reaction did not disappoint.

His eyes widened as they took in the sheer silver fabric that hugged every curve of her body. Whorls of black beading covered the more intimate areas of her cleavage and lower regions. Enough to tease, but clearly showed off the emphasis of her shape.

Pale skin was visible through the sheer fabric that plunged between her breasts and the low cut line in the back of the dress.

She stepped forward with her long leg slipping through the long slit that ran up the length of her lower thigh. One wrong step could mean a disaster of modesty if Nesta wasn’t careful to walk in even strides. Yet considering this dress and all that it showed rather than hid perhaps modesty was already tossed to the side.

Cassian’s gaze wandered her entire body. Devouring the unexpected sight of Nesta revealing so much skin with that flimsy piece of fabric he couldn’t even believe was a dress. He could easily tear it apart with a flick of his fingers.

He watched her in rapt interest as she closed the distance between them. Her stormy blue eyes were lined with kohl to give the illusion of smoke and stardust intertwined. That look of fierce determination accompanied by that revealing dress made Cassian forget his own name for a second.

The only thoughts running through his head were of Nesta and how it would feel to run his fingers between that slit in her dress to find her core and see if he could bring his name from those glossy lips of hers.

Ravenous hunger written openly across his face made Nesta shiver in triumph though that was short-lived when Rhysand interrupted the moment asking if they were ready to leave.

“I’m more than ready,” Nesta answered. “So let’s stop wasting time. Unless Cassian wants to keep acting like a drooling dog with his mouth open.”

Cassian blinked and realized the baiting tone she was using. “If you don’t like me drooling then perhaps you would prefer licking sweetheart.”

Because we both know how much you like my tongue on your body.

Nesta shot Cassian a scathing look at his voice in her head. She still didn’t understand how he was doing that, but apparently it worked both ways since on occasion he would respond to whatever unspoken thought she directed at him.

“Keep your tongue to yourself,” Nesta replied. “Unless you prefer me to rip it out.”

“Maybe you would reconsider if only you knew what my tongue could do. Especially when I’m tasting your-”

“Save it for the Hewn City Cassian,” Rhysand interrupted and grasped both of their hands before winnowing them outside the city’s gates.

Nesta stumbled a bit to get her bearings after the disorienting folding and passing through darkness. Cassian used quick reflexes to steady her with his arm. Immediately Nesta straightened from his grasp and brushed off a piece of non-existent lint from the transparent fabric that held her dress up at the shoulders.

He didn’t comment on her reaction and simply nodded at Rhysand. An unspoken signal that resulted in Rhysand winnowing back to Velaris. Leaving Cassian and Nesta alone.

“Follow me and stay close,” Cassian led the way without a backward glance as he strode through the massive doors to the Hewn City. Nesta matched his pace and followed a few steps behind for safety. Not that she felt threatened as they entered a place where nightmares roamed free. She could easily use her fae powers against anyone who sought her as a target.

But it was fear of getting too close to Cassian that made her keep a healthy distance.

Their banter had slowly shifted into a dangerous game that was confusing Nesta’s and all that she had worked for. She wasn’t supposed to feel these emotions or let her walls down for a male she had only known for a span of months.

Yet she was doing just that. And the fact that recently she could literally feel a slight tugging in her chest that always seemed to lead back to him left her with more questions than answers. It was as if they were connected by ancient fae magic.

This was not simply attraction that was occurring. Though Nesta begrudgingly couldn’t help to admire Cassian during his training sessions. She watched the sweat running down his bare chest until reaching the band of his pants where a line a dark hair disappeared underneath the fabric.

Curiosity and another feeling Nesta wouldn’t admit aloud made her wonder what would happen if it were her fingers following down that path across his rigid muscles.

A cough abruptly came from Cassian causing Nesta to rip her mind away from the image her mind had conjured.

Cassian’s lips rise into a knowing smile. He gives Nesta a glance out of the corner of his eye. She wouldn’t be surprised if those perceptive hazel eyes could see right through her and the embarrassing picture she imagined that still left her cheeks slightly flushed.

He noticed the blush spreading across her cheeks even as they walked through the dimly lit streets of the Hewn City.

“Is it just hot in here or are you blushing over me?” Cassian’s voice lowered than normal next to her ear. Nesta can’t tell if this is part of the role he is supposed to play as the ruthless Illyrian Commander or something else entirely.

“Perhaps from your hotheadedness,” she softly replied so that only he could hear as other fae wandered the dark pathways inside the mountain.

“Then I should remove some layers to cool down if I’m that hot to you,” Cassian toyed with the top clasp on his leather armor and released it. Tattoos across the top of his chest peeked out from the opening gap in his clothes.

A group of fae walked toward them and Nesta felt the sudden urge to stop Cassian from stripping any further.

“Stop that-!” Nesta hissed in embarrassment, but once the words came out she immediately found herself pushed against a pillar by Cassian.

The warning look in his eyes made Nesta’s protest die on her lips.

She stilled as his body towered over her. He stood so close that their bodies molded together in the shadows of the building wall. Nesta’s heart pounded beneath her breast that was pressed against Cassian’s leathers. Her exposed skin crackled with energy as his skin burned hot to the touch.

One of his thighs moved between Nesta’s legs. She could easily feel the muscles that hid underneath his black pants. But it was the firm weight of his manhood pressing hard into her hip that smothered any coherent words she was about to say.

“Do not ever give me an order,” Cassian’s voice deepened with a growl. Nesta knew then that this was the role he was meant to play. The one he was frightened of her seeing. “I am the Commander of the Night Court’s armies. And I will not tolerate you making demands.”

Nesta remained silent with wide eyes as Cassian traced his calloused fingers down her cheek until his whole hand clamped her jaw and tilted her face up to look up at him. His grip wasn’t tight enough to hurt, but the message was clear to the onlookers who now watched in feral interest.

He had to make sure they understood that Nesta was not free to any advances. If any of these fae filth tried so much as look at her wrong – there would be bloodshed. But right now he had to focus on the female in his arms.

Cassian leaned back to contemplate her stunned facial reaction. Gently his thumb moved against her skin in a soothing gesture. No one would notice the tiny movement except Nesta. He had to make sure she understood that this was only act.

His eyes carefully searched hers. What he found was a determined gaze that and acceptance of what they had to do.

I’m fine Cassian. Now get on with it so we can find this traitor. Nesta’s firm statement rang clear down the bond.

Then play along sweetheart. And we’ll be home for dinner yet. Cassian sent back and saw the brief shock gracing Nesta’s features at having heard his internal response.

“The only things that better come out of those soft lips are the sounds of you begging me for my cock and screaming my name,” Cassian spoke aloud. His authoritative demeanor came forth and his wings spread out wider in a display of dominance. “Is that understood wretch?”

At this point Nesta noticed their audience of other fae. Which was why Cassian had reverted completely to into this dark assertive role that he only showed in the Court of Nightmares.

But she could only stare in barely concealed astonishment. Admittedly she was a bit startled by his actions at first and hearing his voice in her mind. But surprisingly she was slightly aroused by the commands he was now giving her. Wondering if he would use that same tone in bed.

She fidgeted at the imagery that came forth of them tangled in the sheets and so entwined that it was impossible to tell one of them began and the other ended.

Nesta moved her leg to find more friction to ease the burning want that was overcoming her. Instead she found to her mortification that she was already wet between her legs. Evidence to a need to satisfy a hunger that could only be sated with the male who held her close.

Cassian’s nostrils flared at the scent. He could smell Nesta’s desire and it latched onto a primal instinct to claim.

His free hand tightened around her waist as he resisted the temptation to fuck her right there against the wall with his tongue or cock that was throbbing inside his pants. He smothered a groan against her shoulder as he shuddered against her.

Nesta was lost in the strangled noise that came from Cassian’s throat. Her delay in answering his previous question must have taken too long or his control was threatening to snap, because he abruptly pushed her into the wall again.

And rolled his hips against the sensitive spot that had Nesta arching her back in pleasure. Her hands reached around to grip his shoulders that flexed beneath her clinging fingers.

Nesta lost all senses except the focus of feeling him grinding in a languid motion. Heat pooled in her stomach and Nesta had to bite her bottom lip to contain any noise that threatened to escape.

“I said is that understood Nesta?” Cassian repeated in a rugged tone as his lips brushed against the juncture of her neck. He rolled his hips to punctuate his last words. Each one harder than the last.

The pressure of his warm body against hers made it difficult for Nesta to form an answer.

Cassian moved up her neck and his teeth nipped at her ear. “Or do I need to take you against the wall and teach you the lesson?”

A soft moan came from Nesta’s throat as she leaned into Cassian and moved her head to the side to give Cassian access.

The pleased rumble Cassian released at her offered neck was easily felt through their layers that barely kept them apart. She moved her leg to rub slowly against his impressive length.

“I understand,” Nesta breathlessly replied. She tilted her head to look up between lowered lashes and saw lust filling Cassian’s heated stare. His hands trembled in restraint before they released her. Hovering inches above her waist.

Yet he still wasn't done. Not until Nesta truly understood.

His nose trailed down the length of her neck before stopping right at her collarbone.

The first lick of his tongue had Nesta grasping his leathers tighter. But then when he began to suck on that spot Nesta’s sigh of bliss was followed by her fingers moving higher up Cassian’s frame.

Her knuckles brushed against the joint where is wings and back connected. Nesta had a faint idea of what it meant to touch an Illyrian’s wings, and so she continued stroking him. Each touch eliciting a hungry and sensual growl that did wonders beyond imagination to the rising wave of desire she was currently riding.

Cassian continued marking her with his tongue and teeth until he broke away with a satisfied smirk.

“Now every time you see that mark you’ll remember the lesson I warned you about,” Cassian purred. “But I fully expect that you’ll make this up to me in bed tonight.”

Nesta nodded and gave his wings one last caress for good measure. He may be the strongest Illyrian warrior, but she wasn’t about to let him get the last word in. Cassian’s member twitched as she stroked his wing and his eyes narrowed in warning. But he couldn’t help the thrill that ran down his spine at seeing Nesta enjoying herself.

“I promise Commander,” Nesta murmured demurely for the act, but her eyes were far from timid.

And Cassian let a true smile break across his face as he saw the clear passion that burned within his mate.

Perhaps that promise would become a reality in the near future. That was if he could control his cock long enough not to pounce on her right here in the Court of Nightmares.

So long as she kept those nimble fingers to herself for the time being he could survive this trip. And when they arrive back to Velaris he would return the service with his own fingers in the privacy of a room where no one would hear the little noises coming from her mouth.

Or even the sounds of her screaming his name as he would make sure to finish what he started.

[must-be-mythtaken]

Perpetual Motion

“A place where there isn't any trouble. Do you suppose there is such a place, Toto? There must be. It's not a place you can get to by a boat or a train. It's far, far away. Behind the moon, beyond the rain...” It’s at about that point that Dorothy starts singing about a perfect place, a land beyond the rainbow, full of bluebirds and lemon drops, where dreams come true and everything is just peachy keen. Dorothy, in a way, is defined by the way she sets her sights on the horizon, and that same tendency emerged in the self-portraits that I chose for the first part of this project. Each person was defined by movement—through either time or space—but always towards an end goal of happiness; each of my three themes dealt with different ways in which people tried to find that happiness.

My first section, entitled “Personal Lives—Personal Loves” was at first meant just to be about ineffable and often obsessive loves, but as I read and reread the snippets, another aspect moved to the forefront—each person who talked about this thing they love, be it a song or a movie or a book, they seemed to shy away from really owning their opinion. “I don’t think this song would have the same reaction with anyone else. Or that anyone else would get it the way that I get it. I don’t mind that people don’t get me or get the things I get” (Trevino) and “When I explained it to my boyfriend, he said I was crazy, which was utterly correct” (Wallen) are prime examples of this attitude, an attitude that springs directly from our increasing use of the internet as a means of communication—platforms like Twitter and Facebook especially—and our newfound ability to constantly change and edit our opinions. I was taken in by the same need: in my original draft of my first self-portrait, I ended my story of obsessive love on a “this probably makes me sound crazy” note. “Unlike newspapers, which would eventually publish corrections in a box of printed spinach far from the original error, bloggers had to walk the walk of self-correction in the same space and in the same format as the original screw-up” (Sullivan), and the same goes for anything you post on a social media platform.

“Success in the Electronic Present requires the ability to adapt instantly and to be multifaceted” (Butt), and part of that is a certain distance from opinion; as Liz Gilbert would say, “You have to stay mobile, movable, supple. Slippery, even” (Gilbert). If you stand by your love for, say, Evanescence during a goth phase in high school, with no hedging or prevarication, when you later decide that really, black is not your color, odds are you’ll be hit by a barrage of comments about why you have suddenly changed so much. However, if that love had been couched in terms of “it’s stupid but I love it,” that love would be much easier to run away from later. On the one hand, our culture of personality rewards passionate displays of feeling, but on the other hand, the need to be approachable and likeable when writing about yourself makes it hard to allow for loving something too much.

There is also, of course, the movement between different emotional states—the Oprah narrative of hardship, overcoming hardship, and becoming a stronger, better, happier, more complete person through that mastery of hardship. I once was lost, but now I am found, and in the future I will find many more things. My exhibition explored this idea in the middle section entitled “Everything Is Okay—Comparatively,” and I feel that “comparatively” is the most important word in that title. As my dad likes to say when I complain about difficult times in my life, “If I hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t be here.” Happiness is inherently relative—strawberries taste much better when they aren’t Brussels sprouts. As Elise wrote in her second self portrait, “But that’s just it. I’m only 22. As long as I don’t do anything stupid, I have plenty of life ahead of me to accomplish the goals I have for myself…I’ll have my own version of happily ever after” (Cho).

This attitude is reflective of much of what Butt claims in the Xena essay; we are constantly remaking ourselves, constantly in motion—like sharks, we die if we stop swimming. “In the episodes immediately preceding ‘The Way,’ Xena is tormented by the question of whether she has followed, and is following, the right path in her life. In ‘The Way,’ she learns from Hanuman that for each person there is only one ‘way,’ but once found, that way can be applied to be successful in any situation” (Butt). Life is a path, and we know how far we’ve come by looking back at where we’ve been, and the choice of so many people to define themselves through that movement is interesting. Even if they were trying to avoid the travel narrative trope, movement still worked its way into their portraits. Chronological narration is easy to digest—it’s expected, and just as the new Timeline feature of Facebook conveniently organizes so many random snippets into a coherent narrative, it is easy to define the self in that same movement through time.

What I find most compelling about this is the tendency to frame happiness as not a static point but as a pause on a continuously moving path. As I noted in part one, the “pursuit of happiness” is something America was founded on. Not having happiness, living within happiness, possessing happiness—pursuing happiness, as if it exists somewhere over the rainbow. “That’s why I like this song, I feel like there’s something perfect just out of reach, but I’m coming up on it” (Trevino). Just as the impossibility of the existence of a utopia exists within the very structure of the word, none of the self-portraits I read claimed a perfect happiness, or a state of happiness that could be inhabited permanently. Happiness is a project, a hobby, but also an acceptance of the current state of affairs—and why not, if you are constant coming up on “something perfect” on the horizon? In a very Taylorist move, happiness has become something to be accomplished efficiently and in small, sensible steps.

Another way in which my collection of self-portraits incorporated definition through movement was in the classic travel narrative, the Gilbertian story arc of self-discovery, the constant search for that perfect somewhere on the horizon.“The iconography…places the viewer in the position of the tourist who, in Dean McCannell’s words, “simply collects experiences of difference (different people, different places)” and “emerges as a miniature clone of the old Western philosophical subject, thinking itself unified, central, in control, etc., mastering Otherness and profiting from it” (Nakamura). Just as getting some distance from a problem allows you to see it more clearly, getting distance from familiar surroundings can allow you to see yourself more clearly: self-identification through what you are not. The assumption that travel will change you is inherently problematic, at least as far as I see it. As a friend of mine said, “Even if you go to India or France or whatever, it’s still the same person in France or India that was in Seattle.” Travel will only change you if you want it to, and even then, arguably that change could have happened without the traveling. Toward the end of the conversation, the same friend remarked “Travel if you want. Sure, maybe it’ll change you. But traveling just because you want to ‘find yourself’ is dumb.”

Another attitude that I feel is prevalent is the idea that somehow moving to a different place will make you happier. If you are unhappy in a place, clearly the place is at fault—and the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence, so why not climb over and live a better life? “In the figurative sense, this is a border that is always moving—as you advance forward in your studies and realizations, that mysterious forest of the unknown always stays a few feet ahead of you, so you have to travel light in order to keep following it.” (Gilbert).

To lean on an impressively over-quoted line, “be the change you wish to see in the world,” but then take it a step further: become the change you wish to see in yourself. The constant remaking of the self that is required in our Electronic Present is like aiming at a constantly moving target—but if all of these explorations of the self have illustrated anything, it is that that remaking must be an internal choice, without relying on the crutch of travel. The prevalent cure culture of this country these days leads to the commonality of self-definition through a quest for happiness and self-improvement, and “along the way we generate more options, more opportunities, more connection, more diversity, more unity, more thought, more beauty, and more problems. Those add up to a more good, an infinite game worth playing” (Kelly). At the end of her journey, as she is about to click her heels together and “no place like home” herself back to Kansas, the Tin Man asks Dorothy what she’s learned from everything that happened. She looks thoughtful for a moment, and then gives her answer in her halting, accented voice: “Well, I - I think that it - it wasn't enough to just want to see Uncle Henry and Auntie Em - and it's that - if I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I won't look any further than my own back yard. Because if it isn't there, I never really lost it to begin with! Is that right?”

[flyonmylovee]

For @stjarnhalsband, inspired by All The Things That I’ve Done by The Killers

“Mimi! Mimi!” Koushiro called out, dashing to the girl’s side. Sora watched from across the battlefield as Mimi was thrown backwards from the force of an attack. She felt her nails press into her palms as she turned white with fear. Still, she couldn’t will herself to move her legs. It was like she was separate from her body, like she was watching a scene from a movie. Sora echoed Koushiro’s words in her head: ‘Get up.’

Koushiro continued calling Mimi’s name as he dropped down by her side. “Mimi! Wake up!”

As the girl stirred and her lids fluttered open, Sora felt her fingers uncurl with relief. She saw the way Koushiro looked over her with concern, eventually helping her back to her feet. The battle raged on around them, but all she could see was the way he looked at her, and then the two girls knowingly locked eyes. 

“Sora? Sora?”

His voice called her from her daydream. She blinked and Koushiro came into focus. He clutched his oolong tea nervously in his hand. 

“Are you okay?”

“What? Er, yeah...” she softened her visage, unsure of how long she’d been lost in thought with her brows furrowed. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

Koushiro peered skeptically at her but seemed to write the confusion off. “Mimi,” he clarified, “what do you think?” He finished his drink and pushed the empty can away from him. 

Sora was at a loss. It’d been awhile since she realized Koushiro had feelings for Mimi. He was incredibly bad at hiding it, and at this point, everyone knew. Koushiro could barely look her in the eyes without blushing. He couldn’t converse with her without fumbling over his words. He looked for her first when there was danger. Sora would always see it happen. It was partly because she was good at picking up on those things, and it was partly not.

That was probably why Koushiro had asked her to get dinner. She had certain instincts. Sora was used to acting as translator for those that were less emotionally attune. The two chosen sat across from each other, empty dishes between them, but it took until the end of their meal for Koushiro to start the conversation he’d been intending on having all along. Should he confess his feelings to Mimi? 

“She already knows.” he had sighed, “but like, officially.”

Koushiro finished his sentence like he’d pulled a band-aid off Sora’s skin. It stung. What was she supposed to do? Sora shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Her answer wouldn’t be the one that Koushiro wanted to hear and she was dizzied at the thought of being the one who’d have to say it. She wished she hadn’t finished her drink so she’d have a reason to pause and form a coherent response. Words bounced around in her head but she couldn’t grab them to piece them together. Sora glanced anxiously from Koushiro, to her empty glass, and back to Koushiro again. Each time she met his gaze he looked more and more defeated. 

None of it was supposed to feel like this.

“I... er...” she stuttered, scrambling. Sora couldn’t tell him the truth- not all of it- but maybe a white lie could get the point across. She sighed, her shoulders slumped. “I... think she’s seeing someone.”

Koushiro looked perplexed, like shock and disappointment were fighting over which could be more visible. “Oh... I see...”

Sora shifted uncomfortably again as she watched his reaction unfold. She bit her lip and lines of worry formed above her brows. She was well acquainted with the concept of a white lie, but she couldn’t rid herself of the guilt. This was Koushiro. Mimi may have been his first crush. He specifically sought Sora out because he thought she’d be the most encouraging, but she turned out to be the exact opposite. At least he seemed to be mistaking her guilt for concern. 

He spoke quietly. “Who is it? Do I know him?”

The question gutted her. She must have grimaced, because Koushiro instantly offered her an apologetic look. In any other circumstance she would have understood the probing. At least he opened the door for another white lie to wander through.

“No.” She narrowed her eyes and averted her gaze towards the ground. “You don’t know him.”

“Alright.” Koushiro stated, his voice low and monotone but his face revealed relief. “Well, thanks for telling me.”

Sora’s lack of response was only awkward in her own head. Koushiro didn’t realize that she was unwilling to accept his gratitude. As the conversation fizzled out, the silence filled with the clanking of silverware and the mumbles of strangers. Koushiro instigated their exit as he got up and sauntered outside. He looked dull against the city lights- his hands shoved in his pockets and his posture slumped. Sora didn’t even feel like she had the right to apologize. 

They parted ways and Sora felt like she was torn in half. Her legs wanted to run back towards Koushiro and tell him everything. Her head and her heart directed her somewhere else. There were other obligations to fulfill. Besides, Sora knew who she really needed to talk this out with. 

The lights that ran across the Rainbow Bridge blinked in the distance like a finish line. Odaiba was quiet but alive. Sora passed late commuters, kids getting out of night classes, and couples holding hands. She paused to check her hair in a store window. It was frizzy from humidity, so she took her palm and patted it down. She dawdled at the storefront and looked in at the chocolates for sale. After glancing at her phone, she realized she had some time to kill and wandered in. 

The bell above the door chimed and the shopkeeper acknowledged her entry. Sora tilted her head down out of respect and moseyed through the aisles. There were chocolates crafted in the form of children’s characters and others boxed in heart-shaped containers. Either option seemed to be too extreme for the occasion: one much too considerate, the other not considerate enough. Still, Sora thought about how much sweets would be appreciated and became determined to not leave empty handed. 

Sora caught sight of a display of chocolate covered strawberries. Some were clearly meant to be romantic gifts with different colored chocolate syrups drizzled over them and flowers mixed in. Others looked like they were simply ready to be eaten. Sora grabbed a box she thought might be appropriate for someone’s first date. They were thoughtful, but the recipient wouldn’t be put off by it being too much. 

With her purchase under her arm, she headed back out into the night. The sky was a deep blue that faded to pink towards the horizon. The moonlight reflected off the water, ushering away the bay’s darkness just like her walk had lifted her mood. Sora didn’t feel as peaceful as she had before meeting Koushiro, but it was hard to feel so negative once she was almost there. Three blocks... two blocks... she was still a minute too early so she slowed her pace. There was something about the buildup that gave her butterflies- the kind of butterflies you envied when everyone else had them- so she wanted to enjoy them.

The apartment was right near the rainbow bridge, across town from her own. She climbed the stairs anxiously, her heartbeat fluttering for reasons other than being out of breath. She’d found someone who could make her feel like a primary-schooler with a crush, and she was as bad at controlling the excitement as she would have been years ago. As Sora reached the right floor, her gift in-hand, she wondered how it was possible for someone else to hold this much magic over her. She reached the door, it’s nameplate an ironically fitting heart, and a better question crossed her mind. How had this person managed to go unnoticed in front of her for so long?

Sora rang the doorbell and someone shuffled around inside. She bit her lip nervously, instinctively patting her hair down again just incase the humidity nulled her previous adjustments. Tugging her shirt so the wrinkles flattened out and straightening her shoulders, Sora tried to tell herself not to blush. As the door opened, though, her cheeks helplessly flushed red. She knew it would always be useless.

“Sora ! Right on time, as usual. Don’t you look nice!”

“Mimi...” Sora sputtered her name, her heartbeat picking up at the sight of her. “Hey..”

Hey? That was it? Sora scolded herself in her head, but she was saved by Mimi’s eyes falling on her gift. “Ooh- did you bring something? For me? What is it?”

“Give me a second!” Sora laughed, her visage easing at Mimi’s interest. She stepped inside and took off her shoes. The apartment smelled like cookies. Clearly someone’d been busy. 

Sora handed her the paper bag and Mimi rustled through it, her eyes lighting up once she pulled out the box of chocolate-covered fruits. “You shouldn’t have!” she paused and giggled. “But I’m glad you did! I better put them in the freezer for now so the chocolate doesn’t melt.”

Mimi hustled off down the hallway towards the kitchen and Sora exhaled with relief. She gathered herself and slowly followed after her, wondering when it would be appropriate to bring up her conversation with Koushiro. 

The overhead lights in the apartment were off- asides from the kitchen. The place was being lit by some end-table lamps in the sitting area. Sora wondered if Mimi used the low-lighting on purpose. She was often thoughtful that way. Low-lighting created a certain mood, and as Sora turned the corner towards the kitchen, she watched Mimi pull oatmeal-raisin cookies from the oven. 

“You made those?” Sora asked, a soft smile pulling at the corners of her lips, “But you don’t like oatmeal raisin.” 

Mimi twisted her head around to smirk at her as she shut everything off, setting the treats to cool on the stovetop. “But you do, right? You may be the only one in the world whose favorite cookies are oatmeal raisin, but I’ll make them as long as you keep coming around !”

Sora loved the way Mimi ended her sentences so brightly. Her words danced into Sora’s ears, leaving little room for Sora to question whether Mimi actually enjoyed baking them or not. The girl then motioned for Sora to look towards the other side of the counter. A bottle of wine was sat next to two empty glasses. Sora humorously narrowed her eyes at it and turned back to see Mimi’s mischievous grin. She decided that the low lighting was probably purposeful. Everything was. Mimi always got straight to the point.

Still, Sora frowned- a reaction that Mimi couldn’t have expected- and let out a hesitant sigh. Some of her guilt still hung over her, and she knew she couldn’t completely enjoy the moment until she got it off her chest. “Can we talk about something?”

Mimi furrowed her brows in confusion. “Sure. Is something wrong?” 

“No, not really...” Sora muttered, “It’s just... remember how I told you Koushiro asked me to get dinner?”

“Oh, yeah.” Mimi lightened up a bit. “How’d it go?” 

Sora leaned up against the counter, her palms gripped around the edges on either side of her waist. “He asked about you.” 

“Me?” Mimi asked, looking more confused at first until she realized what their meeting was likely about. “What did you tell him?”

Sora averted her gaze. “I told him I thought you were seeing someone.”

Mimi blinked. “And?”

Her tone wasn’t harsh like she was expecting an explanation. Rather it was soft, if only a bit annoyed, like she didn’t understand why it was such a big deal. 

Sora felt the same frustration she had at dinner when she repeated Koushiro’s words. “He asked if he knew him.” 

Mimi rolled her eyes and laughed. “Well, he’s in for a surprise, isn’t he? When he finds out that he is actually a very pretty girl.” 

“Mimi!” Sora tried to raise her voice, but she felt her cheeks heat up. Her blushing made her lose her ground. 

“What?” Mimi asked, “Wasn’t it you who wanted to keep this whole thing a secret in the first place? You can’t blame him for not knowing. Besides, it’s only a schoolboy crush.”

“I’m not!” Sora quickly interjected, tinged by Mimi’s interpretation of Koushiro’s feelings. As Mimi spoke, though, Sora struggled to put a label on her own. She already knew that she couldn’t blame Koushiro, but she still felt defensive in a way that was new to her. 

“Good,” Mimi added on before Sora had a chance to sputter a semi-coherent response, “because you know, if it was anyone else who wanted to keep me a secret...”

Sora shot Mimi a pleading gaze, a non-verbal “I know, I know, I know.”

They’d been here before... awhile ago.

“Sora, I don’t understand you.” “I don’t need you to understand me. Just believe me, okay? It has nothing to do with you. I would never want to keep you a secret. Look at you... you’re-” “It’s not about Yamato, is it?” “What? No! That was forever-” “Good! Because you know, there’s winners and there’s losers and as far as I’m concerned-” “It’s not about Yamato! Can you listen?!” “Do you not think-” “Mimi! I think you’re beautiful, okay?!” “......Sora..” “I would never want to hide you. I think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I just need some time... it’s early... it’s...” “It’s fine. Take the time you need.”

Sora could still recall the feeling of Mimi’s hand reassuringly resting on her shoulder. She understood. The two of them weren’t exactly ‘official’, not yet anyways, and Sora wasn’t the kind of person to broadcast a romance if it wasn’t necessary. Perhaps she felt so flustered at dinner because she knew it was getting to that point. Sooner or later Koushiro was going to find out. Sooner or later Sora would have to confront the fact that she lied to him. Sooner or later, he’d realize that he kept unintentionally wading into their business. Sooner or later, she’d have to admit something about herself, too, or else she’d gamble with losing her.

Sora sighed. This was an awkward situation that no one was really at fault for. Feelings between friends could often spur these sorts of dynamics. After Yamato, Sora decided that she never wanted to date within their team again, but for as logical as she thought she was, somehow her heart always got what it wanted. 

What it wanted now was Mimi. What it wanted now was the truth. Sora hated feeling out of control, and Mimi already gave her enough of that. What would it be like to confess their relationship to everyone? To Koushiro? She knew he would understand their romance, but deep down, she questioned whether he’d understand the lie. That’s truly what made Sora feel sick. 

And who liked getting sick on the honeymoon? Here she was, in an apartment they’d have to themselves for the night, standing between Mimi and an unopened bottle of wine. Perhaps it was a mistake to keep everything a secret in the first place. This was different than anything Sora’d ever experienced. She could have written herself a whole new code of conduct. She could have...

“Hey...” Mimi had made her way over to Sora’s side and wrapped an arm around her waist. It’s like she could see all the ‘what ifs’ buzzing around in Sora’s head. “Don’t let it ruin the night, okay? He’ll understand eventually.” She pulled her close and rested her head on Sora’s shoulder. 

As Sora peered down at her, she could feel her guilt surrounding Koushiro fade into her guilt surrounding Mimi. The girl took Sora’s comfort seriously. She said she’d wait as long as it took. Who else would do something like that? Sora wrestled with the uncomfortable feeling forming at the back of her throat- this situation wasn’t actually no one’s fault. It was hers. Mimi is what made her happy. This was her truth, and she was tired to lying about it. 

Sora took a deep breath. There was no going back after this, but she was ready to take the leap. Even if Mimi would actually wait forever, Sora could never do that to her. What was the point in putting it off? In forcing a girl of purity to lie? “We should tell him.” 

Mimi’s eyes widened. She lifted her head again and scanned Sora’s face like she was nervous she was pulling a prank. “Tell him? Koushiro?”

“Everyone.”

“Everyone?! Sora, I- mmph!”

Before Mimi could finish her sentence, Sora pulled her into a kiss. Their lips met and Sora’s worries melted away. She was nervous about everything. All of this was new to her, but as long as she had Mimi’s support she was sure she could do it. Besides, this was much better than the alternative- telling no one and losing everything.

Sora pulled back, already aching for more, and mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ and ‘I’m sorry.’ There was no one like Mimi who could teach Sora to be so true to herself. Would there ever be a way to return the favor?

As the two stared at each other, Sora’s eyes glowing, Mimi grinned in anticipation. “So what was it that finally convinced you? Was it jealously?! Was that it?!”

Sora smiled back, her nose crinkling up with happiness. There were some things that words couldn’t explain, so she pulled Mimi in close to her again, tangling a hand up in her hair as their lips met. It would be her uncomfortable duty to make everything right tomorrow, but for now, perhaps there was one way to start making up.

This.

[butitprobablyis]

The Bright Side By Ria Restrepo

I’d been observing him for several weeks. Every morning, he came into the art museum where I worked and sat in front of a particularly moody painting. It was a Turner called “The Shipwreck” that we had on loan for a few months. He was an attractive man, a little older than me—maybe in his mid-thirties. I thought he might work in one of the nearby office buildings, because he was always dressed in business casual. But his golden-brown hair was a little long and there was always a day’s worth of stubble on his strong jaw. I never thought I liked the scruffy look, but on him it was hot. So naturally, I noticed him the first time he came in. With a dour expression of his face, he’d sit on the bench in front of the Turner, his elbows braced on his legs and his shoulders slumped. He stared at the painting so intensely I wondered if he was trying to teleport himself into the turbulent scene. My mind was overrun with curiosity. Just for the heck of it, I read my horoscope every day—not that I really believed it. However, that morning it read: Be the light. Brighten someone’s day and show them all the colors of the rainbow. And that was exactly what I intended to do. “Good morning,” I said brightly as I sat down beside Mr. Gloomy. He looked at me for a long moment, clearly perplexed, but politeness won out. “Hi.” I nodded my head at the Turner. “You must really like this painting.” “Yeah, it’s…powerful.” “And depressing.” He looked down at my blouse and the nametag emblazoned with Teresa. “Don’t you work here? Aren’t you supposed to tell me what a great work of art it is?” “Oh, it’s a masterpiece. Truly. It’s also depressing as hell. I can’t imagine coming here every day and brooding over it for half an hour.” “You noticed, huh?” “Yep. You’re much too good looking to be so morose.” The corner of his mouth quirked up for a second, but then he sighed. “I’ve had a rough time of it.” “So I gathered. Want to talk about it?” “I don’t want to bore you with my problems.” “Hey, I offered.” I nudged his shoulder with mine. “Besides, it’s part of my job here to make sure the patrons have an enjoyable artistic experience. You are clearly not having a good time.” “No, I guess not.” “And your mood is contagious.” I leaned closer and stage-whispered, “You’re bringing everybody down, dude.” He huffed a laugh that sounded kind of rusty. But hey, it was a start. “My ex is making my life hell and all my supposed friends are traitors.” “That really sucks.” “Yeah.” “But you know what?” “What?” “Screw ‘em.” He snorted. “Okay, I know it’s radically simplistic.” “Not to mention easier said than done.” “Do you want her—or him—back?” “Her. And hell no.” “Also, friends like that you don’t need.” “True.” “Let me ask you this. Is wallowing in your misery making you feel any better?” “No.” “It’s just playing right into her hands. Don’t let her win. As they say, living well is the best revenge.” He nodded thoughtfully. “So you should look on the bright side of life. Like the song.” He gave me a blank stare. “From Monty Python.” When he continued staring, I rolled my eyes. “Please don’t make me sing it.” I got a real, full-blown smile this time. “I know the song, but I really can’t see a bright side of this situation.” After a moment of thought, I said, “Well, was there anything that you enjoyed that you couldn’t do with your ex? Either because she didn’t like it or wouldn’t let you?” His eyes widened, then his expression turned guilty. “Not really.” “Liar. I saw that look. There is something.” He shifted in his seat. “I can’t tell you. It’s…sexual.” “Ah, I see. Just between you and me, I’m fairly open-minded about sexual matters.” I leaned in closer. “I’m actually kind of freaky.” He looked at me speculatively for a moment. “Really?” “Oh yeah.” I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose. “Try me.” After glancing around us, he leaned closer to me and said in a hushed voice, “I’ve always wanted to give a woman a messy facial, but my ex thought it was demeaning.” I chewed on my bottom lip, but then grabbed his hand and pulled him up off the bench. “Where are we going?” he asked as I led him down a hall. “My office. We need privacy for this.” Once we were inside the closet I tried to spend as little time in as possible, I shut and locked the door behind us. He was leaning against my desk when I turned to face him. With my back to the door, I unfastened the top button on my blouse. “We’re going to make your dirty fantasy come true.” He swallowed. “Okay.” I smiled at his casual response, because I saw the heat burning in his blue eyes. As I undid one button after another, he watched intently, his gaze going from warm to scorching. I pulled the blouse free of my skirt and shrugged it off, revealing my lace bra dyed in a rainbow pattern. The whole naughty scene was getting me hot, too. Desire unfurled low and slow in my belly. A needy ache thrummed between my legs and moisture quickly pooled there, soaking into my matching panties. As his gaze devoured my breasts, my nipples tightened, pushing against the fine lace. I sauntered up to him and placed my blouse on the desk. “I didn’t want to risk getting it messy.” “Good thinking.” His gaze was still focused on my tits. “You should lose the bra too.” Grinning, I reached back and unfastened my bra. Then it joined my blouse on the desk. “I love your big tits.” I traced my fingers over the blatant erection outlined beneath his slacks. “Do you want my hand or my mouth?” Lifting his gaze to meet mine, he hissed out a breath. “Both.” “Mmmm, my pleasure.” I meant it too. Kneeling between his legs, I unzipped his pants and freed his cock. He was gloriously hard, but I planned to make him even harder. My hand wrapped around the base, I slowly licked up his shaft, stopping just beneath the head to tease the sensitive spot there. He groaned and cupped the back of my head, his hand gently holding my ponytail. I took just the head into my mouth and softly sucked on it. Some pre-come oozed out onto my tongue, making me moan at the taste of him. I tried to ignore the growing ache in my horny cunt, focusing all my attention on pleasing him. “Fuck!” Sucking a little harder, I slid my mouth down his cock, taking more and more of him until my nose was buried in his thatch of pubic hair. I loved the heady, musky smell of him there. I gradually moved back up his shaft, then back down again. I set up a steady rhythm, up and down, the head of his cock nudging the back of my throat every time I took all of him. I could hear him breathing hard. “Your mouth feels so fucking good.” It made me even hotter that I was pleasing him so much—making him forget all the crap that had been weighing on him. I pressed my thighs together to relieve some of my neediness and sucked him even harder. His grip on my ponytail tightened, but he didn’t try forcing me into a faster rhythm. Reluctantly, I relinquished his now-slick cock and used my hand to stroke him. “Am I a good little cocksucker?” “Fuck yeah.” I really got off on dirty talk and especially enjoyed being called filthy names. But right then, I was more drawn to his balls. While I jerked him off, I took one in my mouth and lightly sucked on it, massaging it with my tongue. He moaned. “You are so fucking hot.” As I gave the other one the same attention, I stroked him harder and faster. “I’m going to fucking come!” He pulled on my ponytail, so I released him and looked up expectantly, my mouth slightly open. Still holding my head, he took over jerking his cock in forceful strokes. When the first blast of come hit my glasses, I closed my eyes reflexively. I heard his soft grunts as several more heavy lines of spunk fell across my face. Easing my head back even further, he shot two final ropes on my tits. I felt so wonderfully filthy and realized I was grinding my thighs together to get some much-needed friction. When he released my ponytail, I went to take off my messy glasses so I could see him, but he stopped me. “Wait, can I take a picture of you like that?” I chuckled. “Sure. Only if you promise to keep it to yourself.” “Of course.” I heard some rustling, then a click from what I assumed was his cellphone. Once he gave me the go-ahead, I set aside my come-covered glasses and captured a thick, milky dollop of spunk that was about to fall off my chin. While he watched, I painted it on my nipples. I moaned as I smeared the rest of his come all over my tits, luxuriating in the sweet filthiness of it. “Damn, that’s hot.” “Mmmm, fuck yeah. I’m so fucking horny right now I could self-combust.” Faster than I would have thought possible, he picked me up and had me sprawled out on my desk. “What are you doing?” He grinned down at me. “Returning the favor.” I groaned. “Thank fuck.” He didn’t waste any time pushing up my skirt and removing my drenched panties. All too soon, he had my legs spread wide apart and eagerly demonstrated what a skilled and talented tongue he had. “Your ex is a fucking idiot!” Then he slid two long fingers deep inside my cunt and I completely lost the ability to speak—or even form a coherent thought. After several mind-blowing orgasms and I finally came back to earth, we quietly put ourselves back together. I had a lot more fixing to do than he did, but I really didn’t mind. “Can I buy you a coffee after work?” I’d been using a wet-nap to wipe the come off my face, but stopped to look at him. “I’d love that.” “One thing…” “Hmmm?” “Leave my come on your tits for the rest of the day.” It was the beginning of a beautifully dirty friendship.