#this is the least amount of clothing i’ve ever packed and i am actually spiraling about it

[justalittlebluetiefling]

Packing is so stressful and I hate it.

[lizzy-williams]

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 ▼

((originally posted on my Wattpad, cinnamon_opal))

★ Warnings: Some angst, SMUT!!!

★Theme Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kmAZWKdCvmII 

(Wanna Be Adored by The Stone Roses)

masterlist

𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑶𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑬 𝑯𝑨𝑻𝑬𝑫 𝑺𝑬𝑬𝑰𝑵𝑮  you like this. Tears streaming, hair messed up from how many times you've run your hands through it, and your body quivering in dread. You were so lost. All you could think about is what you did wrong. You two stood in the kitchen for an hour now.

"What did I do, Timothée?" You sobbed, trying to wipe away tears, new ones replacing the old, "Why?"

"I'm sorry, I just...," he hesitated, "You just can't keep up with my life. I'm always away and you said it yourself, you want to see me more but you can't,"

"So that's what this is about? Tim, you've been in so many legendary movies to supply your life of luxury for at least another 30 years!" You were now angry, your emotions blinding you, "You're breaking up with your fiancé for a career that's plummeting??"

"Excuse me, plummetting? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Timothée paused and walked towards you and got so close, it frightened you as you bit the inside of your cheek, wishing you could turn back time.

"Everyone knows that your career is dropping. Your golden days are over, Tim. But you can't let go of that! Everybody knows it." You were now fighting back, raising your voice, "Maybe if you actually went on social media a little more, you could find article upon article talking about how everything is over. The roles you're booking are shit." You poked your finger at him angrily, an offended expression crossing Timothée's face.

"What the fuck do you know? I am one of the biggest names in Hollywood right now. This is what I've always wanted. You want me to throw away my dreams because you want to pump out a few babies and get married? I'm not meant for the white picket fence life that you dream of having!" his voice raised as well, his bare feet pacing across the wooden floor of the kitchen area.

You were now livid. You stomped towards the bedroom, wiping away the tears, no longer feeling like crying.

"Where are you going?" timothée asked annoyed.

"Stay there." You hissed in response, opening the door to your shared room and going right over to your bedside table and opened the top drawer and grabbed a magazine. A Hollywood gossip magazine. You had been meaning to bring this up for a few days.

You walked quickly back into the kitchen, slamming the magazine on the counter across from the one he was leaning against.

"Okay then, Mr. Hotshot, what the fuck is that?" You asked pointing to the cover of the magazine. It showed an image of Timothée with his arm around another girl - a pornstar - as they exited a limousine, the city behind them looking to be Los Angeles.

"Is that what you were doing on your 'work trip'?" You air-quoted, poison seeping from your mouth.

"Babe, you look way too much into this kinda garbage, you really believe this shit?" He asked, taking the magazine and slamming it back down.

"Then who the fuck is she, Timothée??!!" You were boiling over now, Tim seemingly doing the same thing. "WHO?" you pushed him back. You continued to push him until his back hit the counter edge.

"WE FUCKED, OKAY?" He yelled at you, pushing you gently back, "IS THAT WHAT YOU WANTED TO HEAR?"

Your world stopped. Everything felt unreal as you felt as if a million pounds was just added to your chest, feeling as if you couldn't breathe. The tears began to spill from your eyes again as your eyes met his. His were also brimming with tears. You two stood in silence, staring at each other, not even knowing what the other would say next.

"Did you really?" You finally broke the silence, your eye contact breaking as you looked at the floor.

There was a long pause, "Yes." He finally said.

You sink down on your knees, not even knowing what to say.

"It didn't mean anything, I swear-"

"Would you have ever told me?" You interrupted him, "Or would you have taken it to your grave?"

He stayed silent.

"Then why Timothée?" You were so heartbroken that your mind was going fuzzy, "Then why did you fuck a PORNSTAR??"

You couldn't help it, but you felt a wave of self-consciousness. He made love to her over you.

"Because you weren't there." He replied, guilt seeping from his words.

"Wow." Was all you could say. You stood up, brushing yourself off.

You then went back into the bedroom, grabbed a duffle bag from the closet, packing him some clothes, phone charger, toothbrush, etc. Storming back into the kitchen, you slammed down the duffle bag onto the ground.

"I want you out." Your eyes tearing up and your voice cracking, "Have fun with your porno slut, you asshole." You stood over the bag, Timothée staring at you in disbelief.

"Is this what you really want?"

"Just get the fuck out of my apartment. I'll get you the rest of your shit later. I just want you out." You were full-on sobbing at this point.

He stared at you blankly.

"Did I fucking stutter?" You cried, picking up the back and shoving to him, taking his arm, and dragging him to the door, "Get the fuck out!!" You screamed, shoving him out into the apartment complex's hallway and slamming the door behind you, your back against the door.

You sobbed harder, sinking down, your heart shattered, feeling so guilty for everything although you did nothing wrong. What the hell were you going to do now?

It was several weeks since you kicked Tim out. The tabloids were everywhere, people wanting answers and interviews with you to find out what happened. Thank god Tim still respected your privacy, because you were never going to talk about that kind of thing with the press. He had sent a friend of his to pick up his things, trying not to talk to you. When he was sober at least. At least 4 times a week, Timothée would call you laving drunk voicemails, pleading you to talk to him and allow him to explain.

Just like tonight.

You sat on the couch watching a show in your sweatpants and sweatshirt, trying to pull your mind away from the fact that the person you wanted most wasn't there with you.

Suddenly your phone rang, making you jump, reaching over to pick it up. The caller ID was as to be expected.

You pushed the green button, pressing the phone up to your ear. You were silent for a second until you spoke up.

"What do you want, Timothée?" You muttered, just loud enough for him to hear and for the phone microphone to pick up.

"Baby?" you heard shuffling on the other line, "Baby, h-hey...," he said softly. Just as you had expected. Drunk.

"Do you need something?"

"I just... wanted to call. To just hear your voice. I just... god, I love you. I'm so sorry, baby, I-" he sounded so sad.

"I'm gonna stop you right there, Timothée." You sat up on your couch, "You say that you love me... just tell me that when you're sober, okay?"

"Baby, please don't go," he whined, desperate for a simple conversation.

"I have to. Call me in the morning."

"No, no, don't you dare hang up this call," he would say through his teeth, getting angry.

"Goodbye, Tim."

"NO, LISTEN, DON'T-" he was cut off from you pressing the red button that hangs up the call.

You sighed, not in the mood for the TV show that was playing anymore. You stood up, turning the TV off and walking back into your bedroom, slumping down on the bed. You pulled the covers over you as tears began to sting your eyes the more you thought about the conversation you were just having. How empty your apartment felt after he was no longer there. Fuck.

Soon enough, you fell into pain-numbing sleep, escaping from what seemed like an endless spiral of negative feelings.

Bang.

The first time you heard it, you were still in a sleep-induced state, thinking it was nothing.

BANG.

Okay, it was definitely something. You slowly sat up out of bed, your bare feet touching the carpet and patting over and out into the kitchen area, hearing the noise again.

"Open up, baby, please, come onnnnn, just open the doooor," a voice on the other side of the door. You didn't even need any hints to know who was on the outside.

"Open the fucking door, babe, I know you're in there," he raised his voice, banging on the door more. Now you had to open up the door before he woke up all your neighbors.

You turned the knob, opening the door a crack. Immediately the smell of alcohol permitted your senses, almost making you gag.

"What is it, Tim."

"Baby, please let me in, I just wanna talk, please baby, I need to talk to you,"

Jesus, he looked like a mess. His hair was messed up to all hell, bags under his eyes, a dirty sweatshirt and black sweatpants. He was pale and looked ill. That's when you spotted the open wound on his forehead. It looked like something you got when you got a bottle hit over your head. You didn't even want to know.

You sighed, thinking you were going to regret this later. You opened the door, pulling him inside.

"We're going to the bathroom," you said, his hand holding yours as you guided him to the hall, his body stumbling back and forth, trying to regain balance. You opened the bathroom door, sitting him on the counter.

A few seconds later, you got some disinfectant and a few other things to help make him look less...that. You took off his hoodie that had its fair amount of stains on it. After you had finally finished, you ordered him to take a shower to help him sober up at least a little bit.

You sat there reading a book on the bed, waiting for him to find his way out of the bathroom. You heard the bathroom door open, Tim walking out with sweatpants he had left at the apartment. You had put his other clothes in the wash.

"Hey, uh... I'm done with the shower," he said, your gaze going to him and away from the page of your book.

You nodded your head in confirmation, Tim smiling, trying to act like there wasn't anything wrong.

"You can spend the night on the couch if you want, just until you sober up." you offered.

Timothée stopped and smiled, you could have sworn you saw him tear up, "Even when people are so cruel to you, you always had kindness in your heart for them."

It astounded him that even after everything he'd done, everything he'd said, you still went out of your way to care for him.

"Words can't describe how sorry I am, I...," this time his tears were threatening to fall.

As much as you hated to admit it,  you still loved him and cared for him. You still had a soft spot for him, despite the fact he had done things to you that should never be done to another human being. You could see that he was having a hard time without you. He was a mess, and you could see it when he walked in.

You closed your book and sat up off the bed, opening your arms, motioning him to embrace you. He gave a weak smile, tears finally falling as he walked over to you, taking a seat next to you on the bed as you wrapped your arms around him, his head burying itself into your neck as he began to cry, your hand rubbing his back.

His nose grazed your neck as he lifted his head to give a small kiss to your neck, the pecks continuing to progress, soon turning into passionate kisses along your throat, making you squirm. You couldn't lie, you missed moments like these. Intimate moments.

"Timothée," you started, not wanting to take advantage of his tipsy state.

"Shh, baby, just let me make you feel good," he continued, going down a little lower, nipping and sucking on your collar bone.

"Timothée, you're drunk," you pushed him back slightly, his eyes meeting yours.

"I've wanted nothing more than to come over and show you how much you meant to me. I know I fucked up, and I want nothing more than to take everything back. But without you, I'm so lost. I can't think. You're my everything," he paused, taking your hand in his, "Just please, let me show you how much I need you,"

You nodded your head slowly and quietly. His lips attached to yours, a feeling you had been longing for ever since you shoved him out the door. He began to undress you, throwing your shirt to the side, exposing your breasts making him curse under his breath, his mouth attaching to them almost immediately, swirling his tongue around them, making you release an erotic mewl, the sounds only driving him to kiss down your stomach.

Once he reached the hem of your leggings, he put his fingers underneath the waistband, pulling down both your underwear and pants in one swift movement, making you gasp as he discarded of them quickly, his long fingers grasping the inside of your thighs, gently prodding them apart, completely exposing you.

He slowly leaned his head down to where you wanted him most, his tongue giving you a rough kitten lick right on your clit, making you whine in anticipation. You loved how he knew your body so well, even better than you did.

Your hands found their way to his scalp, running your fingers through his hair, beckoning him to continue. He then took your small hands from his hair and put them in his hands as he began to go down on you, licking and sucking your pussy, making you moan out and grab his hands tighter, his thumb sub-consciously smoothing over the back of your hand, making your legs tingle and your fingers twitch.

"Fuck, Tim," you sighed, his tongue finding its way inside you, making you bite your lip.

"You taste so good, baby," he groaned, the vibrations making you moan out, your head burying itself in the back into the pillows as your eyes began to roll back.

He then detached one of his hands from yours, inserting two fingers, replacing his tongue, making you moan louder, a familiar knot beginning to form, your pussy tingling as he continued to work you, your mind going fuzzy.

"FucK - g-gonna... cum-," you gasped out in parts, Timothée now inserting his fingers quicker and quicker.

Your legs began to shake as you began to release, Timothée taking out his fingers, watching you - marveling - in the sight that he caused. Your back was arched, your hair slightly messy, lips swollen, cum gushing out of your entrance. Your mouth hung open as loud primal moans escaped your mouth, making you feel amazing.

Once you had calmed down, he moved up, pressing a loving kiss to your lips as you kissed back, your hands once again going to his hair, his body pressed up against yours. He then swung his leg over your body so he was straddling you, his head going down and sucking your neck as he lines himself up.

He pauses, looking into your eyes, "I missed you, baby, I missed you so fucking much," he mutters, beginning to insert himself, making you grab onto his arms.

When he fully inserted himself, you let out a small exhale, his lips meeting yours as be gave you time to adjust. It had been a while.

After he paused, he waited for your nod to continue, which you anxiously allowed, determined to have him make you reach nirvana. You were's disappointed, his thrusts gaining speed quickly, more erotic mewls and groans erupting from your chest, only egging him on to continue... to go faster.

"Fuck, I missed you," he breathed, "I missed this tight fuckin pussy. My tight fuckin pussy. Nobody can make me feel the way you do, baby."

His words mixed with the knot once again tightening in your stomach was almost too much, the need for a climax almost painful, as you felt him get close as well. Your core clenched, making his bite his lip, his head going to the side of your neck, going fast as he could manage, which made the feelings in your pussy all the more mind-numbing.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm gonna cum," you whimpered out, making him groan in confirmation.

"Me too baby,"

Suddenly, you felt your legs twitch, your body seizing up so much your muscles felt week, your eyes rolling back as you saw stars in your eyelids. You reached your rapture with complete and utter bliss, Timothée climaxing inside of you, knowing you were on birth control.

He helped you ride out your orgasm as well as his own. Your head was so clouded at this point, you didn't even know where to begin. He pulled out, laying down next to you, pulling you close as your body shook slightly from the leftover pleasure still coursing through your body.

"We don't have to talk about this now," he started.

"Shut up, don't ruin the moment," you snapped with a smile on your face.

"I love you," he said gently, his hands playing with your hair.

"Goodnight, Timothée."

[thetravelerwrites]

Cetzu (Part 2)

Rating: General Relationship: Male Changeling/Human Woman Additional Tags: Exophilia, Lizardfolk, Changeling, Interspecies Romance, Monster Boyfriend Words: 4998

Part 2 of 5 generously commissioned by @ivymemnoch​! Cetzu and the reader set up a stall to sell their wares in a local town. Unbeknownst to them, the town is gearing up for a music festival, which is something the reader is excited about. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

Cetzu sat with you as the wagon ambled onward down the lane to the crossroads that would lead to Coleville, giving you more than enough space on the driver’s box. In fact, he was so far away that he was squishing himself against the rail, his knees pressed together and his tailed gripped in his clasped hands, purposefully not looking at you.

“Do I smell bad?” You asked him. “Am I repulsive looking?”

He looked up at you in surprise. “What? No.”

���Then why are you sitting like you’re trying to climb off the wagon like that?” You asked him, an eyebrow raised and a slight smile on your face.

“Oh, sorry,” He said, making an effort to relax. It was marginal at best.

Well, this was boring.

“You’re family is… unique,” You said, attempting to start a conversation.

He seemed to understand what you were trying to get at, because he chuckled and relaxed a little further. “Yes. We’re all adopted. Mama and Papa couldn’t have children naturally, so they began taking in any child that had no place to go and needed a home.”

“That’s very kind of them,” You remarked.

“They’re very kind people.”

“People don’t end up away from their birth families without some sort of sad story, though, I imagine,” You mused.

He sighed. “You imagine correctly. We’ve all got our own unhappy tale, Mama and Papa included.”

You thought to ask him what his unhappy tale was, but then again, you’d only known him a day. Perhaps it was still too early to ask such a personal question.

“What’s the farthest away from home you’ve ever been?” You asked instead.

“Willowridge,” He replied. “My brother is the sheriff there, and I visit him often with his twin, Kurra.”

“Only that far?” You asked. “Goodness. No wonder this job seems daunting to you. I’ve been all over the country with Dad.”

“I thought you said you were isolated,” He said, tilting his head in confusion.

You shook your head. “That’s just been since Mama died eight years ago,” You replied.

“Oh,” He said, looking mortified. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” You said, smiling at him sadly. “She’d been sick a long time. She’s not in pain anymore. Dad never really got over it, though, so he stays home now and constantly builds new things to stay busy.”

“How has he been selling his work if he never leaves his home?”

“Normally he gets commissions from the nearby town and the clients pick up their items from our house, but because he never stops building, he has all this spare furniture just sitting around, taking up space. I figured I could earn us some extra coin and clean out the house by selling them for him.”

“I see.”

That effectively crushed conversation for quite a while, though at least he seemed a little less tense.

Coleville had a healthy mix of humans and monsters, so Cetzu wasn’t completely out of place there. You went to the town official that oversaw the merchants and paid for a space to set up your stall for a few days. After finding your spot, which was wedged between a candlemaker and a fletcher. Cetzu helped you set up the open-faced tent and put out the furniture under the awning. On one long table, you laid out a nice maroon velvet drape to display Cetzu’s carvings, which were all wrapped in cloth to protect them.

In addition to the figurines and amulets, there were also practical household and personal type items, such as combs, kitchen utensils, mugs, drinking horns, sewing and knitting needles, lace-tatting and string bobbins, lucets, awls, beard combs, hair sticks, bracelets, brooches, pin containers, beads, dice, small boxes, and many other useful things, all ornately carved of stone, bone, horn, and wood. All intricate and beautiful.

As you were helping him pull the items out from his trunk and set them on the table, you grabbed a lovely dark wood trinket box with mother-of-pearl inlay in the shape of a cherry tree. Out of nowhere, he snatched it from your grasp as quick as lightning, and you pulled your hands away up around your face, taking a startled step backward.

“Sorry,” He said, ducking his head and taking a step back as well, clutching the box to his chest. It rattled strangely. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snatch or frighten you, it’s just… this… this isn’t for sale… it’s private. Personal.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” You said quietly. “I--I should have asked.”

“No, it’s alright,” He said, carefully rewrapping the box in its protective cloth and putting it under the pile of his trousers, which seemed to be the only clothes he wore. “I probably should have left it at home were it would be safe, but… it felt wrong to leave it.”

Considering his reaction, you figured it best not to ask what was so special about it. You doubt he would have answered anyway.

Ryel and Declan had sent you off with enough food to feed an army, so there was no need to buy food like you normally did. There were enough pieces of furniture there that you and Cetzu could sit and eat lunch comfortably and still have plenty on display, though almost immediately Cetzu’s wares began to draw attention.

“What a beautiful comb,” A young human woman with a bun in her hair said, picking it up to examine it. It was a decorative hair comb with a honeysuckle blossom carved into it. “What’s it made of?”

“The shell of a box turtle,” Cetzu replied softly. He seemed rather unpracticed in conversing with strangers.

“I love it,” She said, turning it over. “It’ll be perfect for the festival tomorrow. How much?”

“Uh…” He looked at you helplessly.

“Eight pence,” You said. The business side of your personality was much different than your normal timid personality. When it came to bartering and coin, you were far more confident. Haggling with your father had helped you develop an eye not only for what things were worth, but also for what people were willing to pay. Cetzu’s carvings were priceless to your eye, but you were savvy enough to appraise an item’s worth and weigh it against what a buyer would be willing to part with.

“Done,” The woman said, fishing out the coins and handing them to you. You shook your head and motioned to Cetzu.

“They’re his work,” You said. “Pay him.”

She shifted her arm toward Cetzu, and he slowly held out his hand for the coins. She deposited them in his palm, took the comb, immediately putting it at the top of the coil of her bun, and walked off with a smile, leaving Cetzu staring at the coins.

“Is that the first bit of money you’ve ever earned?”

Cetzu looked at you and nodded. You smiled at him and reached into your side satchel and pulled out a small drawstring pouch, just about the only thing you could sew well with any consistency.

“Here,” You said, handing it to him. “A place to put your money.”

“Thank you,” He said quietly, opening it and sliding his new earnings into it. “I don’t know what to do with money. I’ve never needed it before. What should I do with it all?”

“It’s your money to do with as you wish. And remember, I’ll be paying you at the end, too. We’ll be here in the market for a few days. You may find something you like. Or you could buy souvenirs for your family. You could always give it away; plenty of charities that could use some coin. Or you could give it to your family, and they could do with it as they wish. It’s yours to use or not use.” You noticed he had set the pouch on the table. “But don’t leave it out in the open. Keep it in a safe place. Lots of sticky fingers in a place like this.”

He looked at you in surprise, then tucked the pouch into a pocket of his trousers.

Throughout the day, Cetzu sold a third of his merchandise, and you sold a dining set and several armchairs for a sizable amount of coin. As the sun began to set, you and Cetzu decided to tear down the stall and pack it back into the wagon before it started to get cold.

“I’m curious about this festival that woman talked about,” You said. “I might go and find out about that after we get done here, if you wouldn’t mind staying with the wagon to guard the goods?”

“If you wish,” He said.

“Will you be alright here by yourself for a few minutes?” I asked him.

“I think so,” He said. He was kicking the ground a little and crossing his arms across his chest, looking around at the unfamiliar surroundings uncomfortably. “Just… don’t take too long.”

“I won’t,” You promised. “Would you like me to bring you back an ale?”

“Sure,” He replied, reaching for his pouch to give you some coins. “Thank you.”

You waved his money away and instead grabbed two of his mugs. “Alright. Be back.” And you headed for the local tavern.

You came back a few moments later in a tizzy. You handed him his mug, nearly sloshing him, and set yours down on the back of the wagon.

“It’s a music festival!” You exclaimed, twirling in place. “Oh, I’m so happy we came when we did! There will be singing and dancing and musicians and oh! I can’t wait!”

He was holding his ale loosely and watched you flit about with a smile on his face. “I’ve never been to a festival. What are they like?”

“Well, it’s good you earned some money, I’ll tell you that!” You said. “There will be all kinds of food and games and prizes and all sorts of fun things! Look!”

You pointed at several of the lampposts that lined the thoroughfare. You hadn’t paid attention earlier, but there were ribbons and streamers hung from them and spiraling the posts. Many of the houses and businesses had flowers and festive decorations on their exterior.

“I should have noticed sooner, but it’s been so long that I just didn’t realize. I haven’t been to a proper festival in years!” You danced a little on the spot in elation.

He actually laughed at your giddy antics. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone as excited as you, and I’ve been to four weddings.”

You giggled. “I am excited! I haven’t danced in ages!”

“You dance?” He asked in a curious tone.

“Yes, I love to dance,” You replied. “Do you dance?”

“No,” He said with a self-conscious chuckle, sitting on the back of the wagon, carefully arranging his tail so he didn’t squish it under one of his legs. “Lymera plays music on special occasions, but she’s the only one of us who is musically inclined, and none of us dance much.”

“Well, maybe I can convince you to dance, just once,” You said playfully.

He laughed again and took a gulp of his ale. “You are more than welcome to try.”

Figuring out the sleeping arrangements were a little difficult. The merchandise was safely secured and strapped down for the evening, and at one side there was space for a single cot. You offered to stay with the cart and put Cetzu up at an inn, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

“You hired me to guard the wagon,” He said. “That’s what I’m going to do.”

The compromise was that he would move the wagon close to the inn and sleep in it, and you would rent the room. If there was any trouble, he would come and get you. You had a funny feeling he just didn’t like the idea of staying in a building full of strangers.

Early the next morning, just after dawn, you met Cetzu outside as he emerged from the wagon, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

“Did you sleep well?” You asked him, handing him a citrus-y breakfast mead.

“Not really,” He said, taking it and downing it in one gulp. “It was a little cold. I’m cold-blooded and used to sleeping in a pile with my brothers for warmth.”

“That’s still adorable,” You said.

“Not when Asahi is farting in your face all night,” He said, though he was smiling.

You looked around you and saw food vendors and game stalls being set up and you started getting excited again. There were also platforms being set up for the musicians and dancing.

“I wonder when the festival is going to begin,” You asked, bouncing on your heels. “Probably soon. They usually start around the same time that businesses open.”

Sure enough, just as the stalls and games were put together, the callers began yelling out and people flooded the street in droves. Initially Cetzu seemed uncomfortable, but when no one seemed to pay him much attention, as there were apparently plenty of lizardfolk families living in this town, he relaxed and began to enjoy himself.

In fact, at some point that morning he got roped into a game of chase with several of the young lizardfolk children, shortly to be joined by children of other races as well, and he happily snatched them up and tickled them breathless before setting them loose to chase another one as parents cheered them on. You watched with a huge grin on your face, thinking to yourself what a good father he might make one day.

You convinced Cetzu to try some of the games, and though he excelled at both the axe-throwing, strongman, and archery games, he lost at cups, hazard, and passage. You watched him play with a shrewd eye, and it strangely seemed like he was losing the games of chance on purpose.

“Just unlucky, I guess,” He said with a smile. You let it go and said nothing.

Around noon, you decided to set up your stall and try to sell while the festival was going. Thankfully, the space you had rented was in a perfect position to watch the dancers and hear the music. There was apparently a schedule, as no musician overlapped with another. A perfect balance. You wondered how they had managed that; you’d seen fights between performers over the length of their allotted play time.

“Aren’t you going to dance?” Cetzu asked, taking coins from an older man buying a dragon toy made of bear ivory with a segmented neck and tail. Cetzu’s carvings were selling faster than anything you’d ever seen. He’d be out of merchandise by dinner time at this rate.

“Later,” You replied. “These are performances by professionals. There will be a big dance later for everyone. At least, that’s how they usually do it. I don’t know if it’s different here.”

“And you’ll dance then?” He asked.

“You’re awful eager about me dancing,” You said with a sly smirk in his direction.

He shrugged a little bashfully and didn’t meet your eye. “I’m curious.”

“Well, I can’t dance like this,” You said. “I have to put on my dancing dress.”

“You have a dress specifically for dancing?” He asked inquisitively, smiling.

“Of course! Doesn’t everyone?” You replied with a giggle, getting up and going into the wagon. You pulled down the flap for privacy and got out your nicest, fanciest, flashiest dress to put on. The skirt was a bright gold with red embellishments. The bodice was bone white with golden embroidery that glittered in sun and firelight. The chemise was wine red with dangling beads on the half sleeves. It was a dress made to catch the eye. The only time you ever wore it was to dance.

You also pulled your hair out of its long, practical braids and let it fall loosely around your shoulders to your waist. Digging into your personal effects, you found a lip rouge and dabbed some on carefully with your pinky finger. You also got out your one good necklace and put it on, as well.

You opened the flap and stepped out. “What do you think?”

Cetzu wasn’t looking at you when you came out; he was watching a troupe performing across the thoroughfare. When he turned to see, some sort of force propelled him to stand slowly. His jaw dropped and he stared at you silently.

You laughed a little self-consciously. “I can’t tell if that’s a good reaction or a bad reaction.”

“You… look beautiful,” He said. His voice was hushed, almost reverent.  

“Oh,” You replied with a blush. “Thank you. My mother made this dress for me. I’ve always been so shy, but she said she poured all her courage into this dress when she sewed it, so that it would give me courage.”

“Do you feel braver?” He asked.

“I do,” You said with a smile.

He stood staring for a moment longer, then started as if pinched. Turning, he rummage through his trunk and pulled out a soft, woolen pouch, extracting a beautifully carved hair fork from it. At the top was carved a water lily with a teeny-tiny dragonfly, and dangling from the lily were two thin chains that had little dragonflies on them, as well. All of it, even the delicate chains, were carved entirely of moonstone. Seemed like he was keeping his best pieces to himself.

“Here,” He said. “Turn around.”

Your brow furrowed but you obeyed, and you felt him gently gathering and lifting tendrils of your hair away from your face, his claws deftly weaving them behind your head and securing them with the fork.

“Now your hair won’t get in your eyes when you dance,” He said quietly.

You turned around and looked at him, a little stunned, patting the back of your hair. It wasn’t coming loose any time soon. “Where did you learn to do that?” You asked.

She shrugged again. “Sisters.”

The two of you stared at each other for a solid minute without moving or speaking. You were suddenly aware that you were very, very close to him and you blinked, your throat going a little dry.

Stepping back, you cleared your throat and said, “I’ll go get us something to drink. Any requests?”

He was avoiding your eye again. “No. Anything you can find will be good with me.”

“Alright,” you replied, and made your way to a food vendor.

You used the walk to slow your heart. What were you doing? Sure, you’d spent eight years in seclusion with your dad, but that was no reason to get butterflies around the first guy you’d spent any amount of meaningful time with! Besides, the only women he’d ever spoken to were his mother and sisters. Of course he’s going to find the attention of a woman unrelated to him flattering. It doesn’t mean anything would come of it. And just because he seemed a little receptive was no reason to be… hopeful. And what were you hoping for, anyway?

Shaking your head, you bought some meat and ale and brought it back, determined to stop acting like a flustered teenager with her first crush. Especially considering you’d never had a crush.

The day wore on, and the two of you watch the festivities happily. To your delight, you both sold out of your wares before the big event that night. The various musicians were beginning to congregate on the platform adjacent to the dance floor.

“Come, ladies and gentlefolk!” A festival caller cried over the crowd. “If you’d like a dance, come up to the stage!”

There was a cheer, and you pulled Cetzu toward the stage. He stopped at the edge of the dance floor and rooted his feet, going no farther, but shooed you on with a grin. Laughing, you hopped up and waited for the music to start with the other amateur dancers.

It began with a simple estampie dance, and then a branle, and then a complex farandole, ending with a rondeau. The caller then called for a break, and invited people to come up and dance on their own. You decided to go down and watch a few of the dancers before going up yourself.

“Having fun?” You asked Cetzu as he gave you a hand down.

“Yes, very much!” He said with a wide smile. “You looked like you were, too.”

“I told you, I love to dance,” You replied.

“Are you going to do a dance solo?” He asked.

“Yes, but I’d like a drink first.”

“I’ll get you one,” He said, and darted off.

Wha--” You began, then trailed off when you realized he was already halfway to a mead vendor. You couldn’t help but notice at this distance how his scales glittered silver and gold in the light of the lamps and bonfires. When he turned and saw you, he smiled toothily, and your heart flipped over.

Stop this, You told yourself. You’re going home tomorrow. He may decide he doesn’t like this job and end it. Then where will you be? Don’t make this more complicated.

Sighing, you gave him a strained smile when he returned and took a long sip of your mead.

“Who’s next, who’s next!” The caller asked the crowd. “Who’s next for their dance?”

Well, that was your cue. Handing your mug to Cetzu, you stepped back up onto the dance floor and waited for the music to start. As soon as it did, it was like the noise and faces of the crowd fell away. All there was was the music in your ears and the floor under your feet. You began to stomp to the beat, and flew into a dance, leaping and skipping and twirling as if you were alone and no one was watching. You were in your element, and knowing Cetzu was there, watching you, made you want to give your very best performance.

When the band concluded their song, you bowed to uproarious applause. When you stood up straight again, you saw Cetzu there, clapping with everyone else, smiling the widest smile you’d ever seen. His eyes looked like quicksilver, fluid and glowing. You leapt from the stage and into his arms, and he caught you without thinking, letting you down to the grass slowly.

“You were wonderful!” He said brightly. “You were so graceful and lively! That was definitely worth waiting for!”

“Thank you!” You shout over the crowd. “I’m very tired now!”

He laughed openly. “I’ll take you back to the wagon.”

The two of you spent the rest of the evening sitting on the tail of the wagon, enjoying the festival comfortably, sipping mead and enjoying snacks from Cetzu’s farm.

That night, as the festival wound down, the two of you decided to bed down in the wagon together, since there was plenty of room now that it was cleared of merchandise. It was a little awkward, but the two of you made your cots and lay down next to each other with a full two feet of floor separating you.

It had been a long, full day for the both of you, but while Cetzu fell asleep quickly, you were completely wired and could do nothing but stare at Cetzu as he slept. It was dark, but you could make out the lines of his face, the contours of his body. The hard muscles, the strong jaw, the teeth. At first, those teeth had made you nervous, but his big goofy grin was anything but terrifying. It was… charming. Endearing.

This could be over tomorrow. But tonight, you could dream.

The next morning, while he was helping you hitch up the horse so the two of you could get going, Cetzu stopped for a moment when he saw several of the children he had played with the night before exit a large, square building at the end of the lane to play in the fenced front yard. A matronly woman followed them outside, too old to be their mother, watching them as they played.

“What is that place?” Cetzu asked.

“I think it’s an orphanage,” You replied. “As far as I know, it’s the only one in this part of the county, unless they built another one.”

“They’re orphans?” Cetzu asked, staring at them. Before you could say anything or stop him, he began walking up to the building. You followed, curious.

Many of the children recognized him from their game last night and greeted Cetzu happily. He waved back at them before approaching the older woman that was keeping an eye on the children as they ran about.

“Madam,” He said, clasping his hands behind his back and attempting to make himself look a little smaller. “It’s it true these children are parentless?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” The woman said. “We were hoping that one or two of the festival goers my take an interest in some of them, but no one did. You wouldn’t be interested in adopting any of them, would you?”

Cetzu laughed a little sadly. “Oh, believe me, madam, I’d take them all if I could. Is there any other way I could help?”

“We always accept donations. Mouths to feed costs money.”

Cetzu reached into his pocket and handed her his purse and gave her the entire thing. All of the money he had earned from his carvings. The woman gaped at the offering.

“Sir! Are you certain you want to give us this?” She asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” Cetzu said. “Feed and dress them well. When I return next time, I’ll have toys to bring them.”

“Oh, thank you!” The woman said, surprising Cetzu by hugging him. “Divines bless your kind heart!”

Cetzu bowed, waved goodbye to the children, walking back to the wagon with you trailing behind.

“That was very kind of you, Cetzu,” You told him.

“From one orphan to another,” He said simply. “I only wish I could take them with me.”

“Why don’t you?” You asked him.

“I don’t own the farm, my parents do. And I’m sure they would love more children, but they’re getting older. These children have a roof and food and clothing. They’re cared for and safe. That’s something, at least.” He looked at you and smiled. “Besides, if I take them, they’ll be my responsibility, and if I’m going to be traveling with you, I won’t be there to take care of them. That wouldn’t be fair.”

“So you’ll take the job long-term, then?” You asked him, your heart lifting.

“Yes,” He replied. “This was fun.”

“It won’t always be like a festival,” You told him with a chuckle. “Sometimes it’s very boring. Sometimes no one buys and you’re just sitting there, twiddling your thumbs.”

“But we can keep each other company, can’t we?” He asked, his smile widening.

Your heart was going to explode at this rate. “Yes.”

It took two days to get back to your home, but when you got there, you were eager to introduce Cetzu to your father. You found him in his workshop.

“Dad!” You called. “I’m home!”

Your father looked up from his work and smiled. “My girl! I’m so happy you’re back!” He stood up and hugged you tight. “How’d it go?”

“It went amazing,” You said. “I hired a guard. We had no problems at all, and everything sold!”

“Wonderful!” He said. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“I’d like you to meet Cetzu. He’s the one who helped me.”

“Of course,” You dad said. He stepped outside and saw Cetzu unhitching the Jackdaw and leading him to his small stable.

“Big guy,” Your dad said out of the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, but he’s alright,” You whispered back. “Cetzu! Come meet my dad!”

Cetzu nodded and stepped up, holding out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

“And you as well,” Your father said, shaking Cetzu’s hand.

“So you took care of my girl, I hear.”

Cetzu chuckled. “It’s more like she took care of me, but yes sir. It was a pleasure.”

“That’s good to hear. She always takes care of me. It’s hard to let her go out in the world, with all the trouble she’s had on her own, but I feel better knowing she’s got someone looking after her.”

You reached into your coin pouch and took out Cetzu’s fee and handed the rest to your father. “Would you put this in the safe, Dad?”

“Sure,” He said. To Cetzu he asked, “Would you like to come in for tea?”

Cetzu smiled but shook his head. “No sir, I’m needed back home. But thank you.”

You father nodded and bid Cetzu farewell. He then went inside and left you and Cetzu alone.

“So, how will I know when you’ll need me again?” He asked you.

“I’ll send you a letter,” You told him. “It could be a few weeks, though.”

He shuffled his feet and looked sideways awkwardly.

“What’s the matter?”

After a moment, he asked, “Would it be okay if I sent you letters, even if we’re not going out to sell?”

You smiled. “Like a penpal?”

“Yeah,” He said. “I’ve never had a friend outside of the family. It would be nice to talk to someone who isn’t related to me.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I’d like that.” I held out the money. “Here, your money.”

He waved it away. “Keep it. I had a wonderful time. That’s payment enough.”

“Won’t you need it to get home? Food and inns and things?”

It was his turn to laugh. “I’ll be going through the forest to get home. It’s quicker, and there are few threats for someone like me. I’m familiar with it.”

“I see.” You held out your hand, and he took it, holding it for a moment. “Well, until I see you again, then.”

“Until then,” Cetzu said, surprising you by pressing his lizard lips to your hand before disappearing into the woods, leaving you stunned in his wake.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience!To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[segenassefa]

2: On Consumerism, Fighting Demons, and Societies Inevitable Collapse

Quarantine has been lowkey surreal. My constant complaint of never having enough time to do all the things I want/should be doing has now left me bored in the house, bored in the house, bored with nothing but time to get said things done. However, it is a dual edged sword - with the collapse and subsequent reformation of civil society outside my doors, it leaves me wondering – as well as a lot of other people – in the words of Miss Juicy…what the hell we gone do now?

Nearing the end of the first leg of my university career, I should be thinking about getting ready to transition to the next logical stages of adulthood - saving for an apartment, applying for permanent residency, as well as graduate schools and part time jobs. Yet, I’m worried about if these things will even be a possibility within the next month, six months, or even the next year.

On top of ALL of that, the recent BLM protests and the way that people (read: white people, Latinxs, Black men, homo/transphobes, etc.) have shown their asses the past few months is beyond mortifying - especially regarding the treatment of black women and how our value as individuals as well as a collective to society is really perceived.* This is not to downplay the murder of numerous black men in society, BUT who the fuck is riding for black women aside from other black women? And not just the ones who find attractive, or are racially ambiguous, or the ones you feel as if you get “guilted” into supporting and demanding justice for, I mean each and every black woman. I’m just saying, it gets pretty disheartening to feel like the legwork of the revolution is on the back of one category of people, and that your value to society is measured by the amount of emotional labour you’re ready to do for others, or how fat your ass is (but I digress…).

I feel like most people have used material things as coping mechanisms instead of actually facing their feelings and dealing with the things that bother them. Just think of the number of packages that have arrived on your doorstep the past few months. Breaking the glossy seal of packing tape is similar to therapy, until all the boxes are open, and you start feeling like shit again. And now, more than ever, there’s a lot to be bothered about. Western society has dedicated phrases based on the phenomenon of substituting true self-work with figurative emotional bandages (Phrases like comfort eating and retail therapy come to mind).

It’s nice to think that we – the people entering their adolescent and young adult years – will be the one to change these things, but suddenly it’s 2 am, you have twenty different things in your Amazon cart, (who the fuck needs a metal straw cleaning kit?) and you’re trying to see how far you can stretch and grab your debit card before falling off of the bed.

The conflicting messages pushed by society don’t help all that much either. If you look up “Kondo method” or “decluttering my closet” on YouTube, the numbers of videos that come up is astounding. Pages and pages of sweaty-faced, smiling YouTubers monetizing from this kind of faux “minimalism” only to post haul videos a few days later because “I threw everything out and now I have to rebuild from scratch sksksk!”. Does this not just perpetuate a cycle of buying and throwing and buying? I am....confusion, to say the least. Still I watch them, because I’m a hypocrite, and am also easily amused.

I will be the first to admit I have always had a very unhealthy relationship with money, with self-image, and with measuring my self-worth in proximity with “stuff that stems from a complicated relationship with physical self. Follow along:

Growing up, I was a fat kid. We don’t even have to sugar coat it. Think Terrio, but better eyebrows and more hair. Except I was not killin’ em, just myself. I always envied my friends who were able to go shopping at regular stores – read: Hollister, Abercrombie, Urban Outfitters (yes my friends were white), meanwhile I was condemned to shopping in the women’s department.

So, to compensate, I would buy trinkets – things like nail polish, lip gloss, journals, you get the point. My proximity to worthiness was measured not by the things that I bought, but within the act of buying. Growing up with parents who were also financially frugal also altered my relationship with money and blessed me with crippling buyers’ remorse after every purchase, even on things that are important (read: groceries).  

But as a kid, buying “stuff” was fun for me – it gave me some sort of purpose, and the acquisition of things (even if they weren’t the same things my peers had) made me feel like, to some extent, I could compete on the same playing field. As I got older, and I started to have real expenses, I moved towards second-hand shopping. I would religiously find myself at Goodwill on weekend, after school, or with friends. I could literally feel an endorphin rush when I would find something that I would consider a “good deal”, and it made me feel (again) purposeful, to be spending money, even if I didn’t need whatever I was buying.

I should also add that the people in my immediate family does not believe in thrift stores (“Why am I working for you to wear other people’s clothing?”, I remember my dad asking me one day), so the act of second-hand shopping was also my form of rebellion.

I began to amass a collection of clothing that would put Kylie’s closet to shame. I began buying things for events and situations that were yet to happen, for other people, for when I lose ten pounds. It was a madness.

In freshman year of university, I had an unhealthy relationship with clubbing clothes. Did I have the figure for clubbing clothes? Absolutely not. The funnier part is, I couldn’t even go clubbing because I wasn’t 19 at the time. And yet I had drawers and drawers full of the stuff. Not to mention that clubbing clothes is incredibly similar to summer clothing and living between Minnesota and Canada meant that these things were barely seeing the light of day.

The moral of this was – I could never figure out my relationship with stuff, This quarantine has forced me to try and break down the compulsion behind my behaviour.  I felt like I was spiralling the six weeks that they closed thrift stores, and I knew myself well enough to not try and online shop with the same kind of frequency as that. But the crazy part was, I didn’t die. I didn’t go into withdrawal (ok, I did a little bit, but whatever), and I was able to take the time to go through the things I already owned and find some hidden gems that were routinely buried in the cracks and crevices of my closet. It was like the episode of Family Guy when Peter realizes he has a vestigial twin – alarming and cool at first, but then it’s just alarming and annoying.

Its more embarrassing to realize that some semblance of myself image is tied to the frequency with which I am able to spend money. I would never say that participating in capitalist society gives me some kind of purpose as a black woman because God forbid. Also, considering that a lot of big names companies are actually racist and fatphobic as hell creates a whole new dimension for analyzing the power of my black dollar, sometimes creating another spiral of guilt leading to you guessed it – more spending.

As much as it seems like it, however, this self-reflection was not in vain. In the past month, I’ve cut down my closet from +200 pieces of clothing and shoes to about 40. If you ever want a fun, humbling activity this quarantine, just clean out your closet and be honest with yourself about how often you wear certain things. It was revolting to see the number of shirts, dresses, pants, skirts that I had bought and convinced myself wholeheartedly I was going to wear, only to pull them out of my closet months later with the tags attached *insert Marge Simpson covering her face meme*.

But at the end of the whole ordeal, it felt really good to look at my space and not feel burden or guilt. It was somewhat philanthropic realizing that not only will these clothes make someone else happier (I donated pretty much everything because it’s not always about money), but that my quality of life was not dramatically impacted in owning (or not owning) certain things. The past few weeks, I’ve spent more money on going out and sharing experiences with friends, but still nowhere near the same amount of money I would have spent buying clothes and other material possession.

Youtuber Kelly Stamps has a video on how minimalism “cured” her depression**, and the whole thesis boils down to the idea that owning less things gives you less to compare yourself too, thus making you happier (in a sense) and allowing you to focus the energy and time that would have been centered around maintaining and building your collection of possessions other things.

This still doesn’t break down the root of the issue, but it’s a start. I think when you have traits or patterns that you’ve participated in for so long, it becomes hard to step back and be objective enough to realize that you – yes, you – are part of the problem. I can blame my habits on a lot of things but at the end of the day, it’s important to realize that certain cycles seem never-ending because I actively choose to participate in these kinds of behaviours (accountability is sexy, huh?). While I’m not ready to face all my demons quite yet, it’s easier to do it with a nice wardrobe and a streamlined sense of mind.

Notes

*When I say black women, I mean ALL black women. Not some limited, cis-gendered, heteronormative view of what a woman is. Over here we ride for all those who identify as women.

**She emphasizes that she doesn’t actually means that it cured anything, but rather helped with her anxiety, and in turn, helped with her depression.

Links

That Family Guy Episode

The Kelly Stamps video