a/n: the encouraging feedback prompted me to offer a little more
writing up to the table (believe me when i say i have a large backlog of one shot
pieces all regarding the same pair of characters - though i must admit their
real story is much more intense)
so! i was inspired by a candid photo of two people, stranded in different cities, but
connected by a phone call
there was something very peaceful about that scene, but also something inherently
lonely
i think i wanted to capture that feeling of being alone, awake in the very dead of
night, when there is nothing but detached quiet, and the the thought that maybe this
time morning might not quite make it for once
technically, technically, this would act as an insert in a canon (thus the
a/n: the encouraging feedback prompted me to offer a little more
writing up to the table (believe me when i say i have a large backlog of one shot
pieces all regarding the same pair of characters - though i must admit their
real story is much more intense)
so! i was inspired by a candid photo of two people, stranded in different cities, but
connected by a phone call
there was something very peaceful about that scene, but also something inherently
lonely
i think i wanted to capture that feeling of being alone, awake in the very dead of
night, when there is nothing but detached quiet, and the the thought that maybe this
time morning might not quite make it for once
technically, technically, this would act as an insert in a canon (thus the
preconceived characters, the names, and the allusions to story verse events)
but i hope the feeling and their longing is enough to keep this afloat

as always, reviews, critiques, thoughts or simple hellos are forever appreciated
i do just enjoy the simple pleasure of making others pause for a moment to think just
a little, or even ask a question of what universe it is that i'm created (i kinda do
have a lot of this stuff building up here and there - but nothing like the big
project i'm so involved in constructing now let me tell you)

as a general aside, this is a little old
to be truthful, it doesn't even fit with their canon any more!
oh, but it's just so tremendously them

 A Long-Distance Phone Call

He does not believe words stretched so thinly over copper wires should be so
difficult. But they are. Shouldn’t the distance of four thousand miles dilute the
way in which he drowns helplessly in his seized-up throat? There are cracks running
through his bones, and the distance makes them creak as they splinter beneath the
dial tone. The days seem more plentiful, when his youth escapes him.

Her voice is a tender kiss in this cold world.

"It’s snowing here." The paper-white flakes are building up a blanket-fortress
outside his window – on the balconies across the street, on the roofs of cars
dozing below. He presses his hand to the window; the air condenses around his slender
fingers. He creates smears on the glass. This city is like glass: transparent.
There’s nothing bold and brackish here. He finds no soul in office walls and
concrete floors. He wishes for her, opaquely.

"Yeah, here too." He dreams of the frosty cape which covers and caresses neon signs.
Of petals of snow silently dancing, spinning, swaying – fleeting to the ground and
filling up the window ledges of his apartment, like white lace upon pale, glassy
skin. Glass. Does she stare beyond it too, immersed in the winter flurry?

He wonders if he woke her, or if she has been sat beside the phone for hours, waiting
for his call. It’s late there, after all – really late, so late that the night
has reached that truly hopeless stage where it seems like morning might not come this
time. His touch trails the glass. He envisions.

"Have you been to bed yet?" He hopes that she has, because, in his fogged-up head, he
does not want her hanging on his every waking need to call her, text her, see her.
But then, in that darker place, where his dreams tend to pool abyssally, he finds
himself secretly glad that he has found someone who cares for him on such an
intrinsic level.

"I was sketching." She answers his question indirectly; he imagines her captivation
with the snow she views through the frosted glass tunnel to the outside world, and
guesses that to be the fascination which prevents her sleep.

"I’m glad to hear your voice," he says, and he knows he’s stepping on a threshold
which seems to transcend their friendship. There are words he cannot yet say. And so
he limits himself to dipping his toes in waters of moonlight-dappled temptation. The
world seems quiet, save for her gentle breathing in his ear. "There’s no-one to
talk to here. It’s a little lonesome."

The candid breath catches in her throat – or is that just a hiccup in the line? He
imagines her graceful hands around the receiver, tightening. The darkness of the
apartment absorbing, until she is the only thing illuminated by the portal of glass
connecting her to the city beyond. He sees a masking silence.

"What is there like?” she breathes – her voice is like braille because he reads
her and his body responds fluently to her words, fingers squeaking across the misty
glass.

"You’d like it," he sighs. His eyes close. He dreams of her beside him, behind that
same pane of glass, looking out. "You’d find so many things here which I have
not."

"I wasn’t asking if I’d like it.” Her timid voice fizzles across the miles of
static between them, and a world turning through a transient infinity of night. He
hears the sound of tenderness which pours like iridescent stardust from between her
fingers – his longing intensifies.

"I miss you." He hides a lot behind warm smiles and soft hellos, because he’s
afraid of asking her: what do you think of me? (The demons inside him say her answer
will be: I don’t.) Still, he carries on, because sometimes these words cascade like
flurries of this white snow from his quivering lips, before he can stop himself to
appease them with thoughts of what could be. (But when he thinks more than he wants,
his thoughts begin to bleed.)

"Don’t say that." Her voice trembles, barely a whisper beneath the buzzing static.
Has he stepped too far this time? He closes his hand in a fist, rests his forehead
against the glass. It’s cool.

"Why not? It’s true." Does his exasperation come across too loudly, too
obtrusively? He squeezes his eyes as shut as he can muster – he wants to block out
that blue city light, the hypnotic lace swirls beyond his window. The city beneath
him is yet to fall asleep – it only lingers on the cusp of drowsiness. Save he
seeks the solitude of darkness.

"I know." Timeless, the world stops spinning. "But there’s nothing we can do." Her
voice trails off, and for a while, is lost to the distance between them. "I don’t
want to dwell on it." He wants to tell her that it hurts because it matters, but he
feels his words seep between the cracks in those splintering bones of his.

They dwell perpetually in a grey silence, the sound of her breaths through the phone
soothing on his city-swollen heart. He could lie for many years in such a gentle
purgatory, but fears it is not a feeling shared. He incites the feathery touch of her
voice once more.

"Talk to me." He does not doubt the desperate longing in his plea, submerged in a
grey, translucent light, too grainy, too dreary to see beyond. He retreats from the
glass, the hollows of his knees meeting soft linen – he collapses backwards,
expended. The bed is too hard, the pillows too lumpy. The sheets do not smell right,
something too pristine, too artificial. He presses the phone harder against his ear,
praying, somehow, it’ll lessen the distance.

He lies very still, even though the white-washed ceiling holds little interest. He
hangs on the slight sighs and delicate rustling, and pictures her twirling her hair
between her thumb and forefinger, or a gentle hand upon her neck. There’s something
about those little breaths that clears the monochrome haze transparently.

"About what?" He’s jealous of that place where she is, because it’s not here. Why
does it take four thousand miles for him to realize the intensity of his emotion?
It’s a little too cold in that room where he lies; the heating is broken, or maybe
the contractors forget to double glaze the windows. He feels the chill on his chest,
on his arms, on his rising throat as his breathes deeply. He must steady himself.

"Anything." His world is black and white and grey, until she speaks – how deeply he
is stained by her colour. "I want to take you out for dinner when I get back. Can you
think of anywhere we could go?"

"Yes." She pauses, for breath, for thought. He thinks that threshold must really
sting (it does for him, after all). Her glass begins to mist. "I’ve got somewhere
in mind… I went with my friend a few days ago."

His brow furrows, his world seems more translucent. The snow beyond his window blends
into opaque obscurity. Blackness. And whiteness. She does not often speak of others.
"Which friend?" Really, he cannot fathom the myriad of universes within her. Too
often, her character draws upon another unopened faucet, the water first slowly
dripping, and then gushing out all at once, in the manner by which one falls asleep.
If he was dismally tame, she was so tremendously fascinating.

"Thomas." He feels his jealousy is like the snow, for he cannot push it back with his
bare hands – it slips between his long fingers and freezes in those bone-crevices.
It’s cold, and shouldn't be building up like this. He runs a hand through his hair,
loosens the tie around his neck. The city murmurs. He thinks he’s been waking up
alone for far too long.

"Oh." He wonders if she can read the way in which his naked soul deflates so
selfishly. "You haven’t mentioned him before."

"I know." Her words are crystalline, and fragile. He imagines the static could –
will break them. The night beckons. Its black fingers curl and uncurl. He cannot help
but be ruled by the greenest of sins. If she is glass, he is paper, because his
emotions blot like ink upon his surface, and make his weak and rippable.

"He’s lonely. But he doesn’t realize it," she explains, solemnly. The line
splutters. Her breathing is lost to the inaudible static for a moment. His breath is
baited – it clings to his lips. "He surrounds himself with people he does not care
for."

The snow on the streets does not settle for him; as water, it begins to absorb the
dancing white petals, gobbling up their energy. The air groans, for it is tired.

"This boy interests you." Be it snow or rain that falls silently beyond the window
pane, there is no mask he can create to conceal the truth his words cradle. In
solitude, he feels the weight of loneliness.

"Reasons are simple," she says with clarity. Her voice resonates so close now – his
skin prickles in the dark. "But not for him. He’s different. I want to understand
him a little better."

The grey night breathes heavily down his neck – it bothers him. He feels its
fingers fleetingly along his throat, his jaw, like the memory of an all too distant
lover. His silence sweeps the four thousand miles.

"I miss you." A tender kiss melts the haze upon the glass. Her words alone, they
tremble. The greyness flees.

"I thought you didn’t want to dwell on it." He sits up, spine hunched. He cares not
for the white-washed ceiling, nor the snow-turned-rain beyond the confines of his
hotel room. All becomes inconsequential now. The dream she writes becomes his
tether.

"That’s not what I meant." She means she hates the distance, the miles of copper
wire, the way words become suddenly so difficult, yet mean so much. She means she
misses the way she exists only when he touches her. The rest of her is smoke. "Come
home safely."

Silence descends. The rain is quiet. The glass sings.

...
.....
show full post

a/n: hello all
i'm still writing (thought this one's a little bit different - kinda like a long or
extended poem; thought without rhythmic structure because i do suck at that stuff)
i hope you enjoy (or at least pause to think a little) - that's all i really
ask (but drop my a response if you have thoughts to share)
a little companion piece to a slightly larger project on the go

tw: self harm, alcoholism (mild)

When She Was Five

When she was five, she said,
a/n: hello all
i'm still writing (thought this one's a little bit different - kinda like a long or
extended poem; thought without rhythmic structure because i do suck at that stuff)
i hope you enjoy (or at least pause to think a little) - that's all i really
ask (but drop my a response if you have thoughts to share)
a little companion piece to a slightly larger project on the go

tw: self harm, alcoholism (mild)

When She Was Five

When she was five, she said,
"Mummy, I want to be an artist."
- “That’s nice dear,” her mother said.
For her birthday she was given a paintbrush,
and didn’t know how to use it
- from red plastic it was made and the bristles always tickled her nose
(“That’s not what you’re supposed to do with it,” her father chided.)
Her father drank copious amounts of tea 
- too much, she thought, how can grownups like tea?
She drew a picture with her mother and father holdings hands,
with her in between
- her father pinned it on the kitchen door and showed it to the neighbours when they
popped ‘round for tea and biscuits,
(one day it disappeared, but it was okay because she didn’t know any better).

When she was nine, she said, with youthful determination,
"Mum, I’m gonna be an artist."
- “You can’t make any money out of that,” her mother sighed. 
For her birthday she was given an easel,
and felt like a proper painter
- she painted real pictures and gave them to her parents
(“Don’t go encouraging her,” her mother said.)
Her father still drank too much tea
- its herby scent clung to every carpet in the house.
She drew a picture of the conductor from the station,
because he always bobbed his happy head
- her father pinned it on the kitchen door, but her mother took it down
and told her to go play with the other kids,
(who didn’t like her, but it was okay, because she had found her secret place
and they couldn’t catch her there).

When she was thirteen, she said,
"Mum, I want to study as an artist."
- Her mother didn’t say anything, she only shook her head.
For her birthday she was given a calculator,
because she didn’t have a choice anymore
- she painted real pictures and hid them from her parents
(“She needs to study more,” her mother said.)
Her father got antsy when he didn’t take his tea
- he shouted a lot at her mother.
She drew a picture of a boy in her class, who made her laugh,
but only to herself
- but the others stole it from her hands because they thought she fancied him,
(which wasn’t true, but it was okay, because they normally let her be).

When she was sixteen, she said,
"Mum, I’ll be an accountant."
- Her mother smiled, but she was bitter, because it look lies to keep her parents
happy.
For her birthday she bought herself a paintbrush,
because her mother kept on shouting
- and her father always counted numbers on his fingers
(“She’s not doing good enough,” her mother said.)
Her father stopped having tea and drank his weight in whiskey
- even when she went to bed at night. 
She drew little butterflies upon her wrists, because she knew
her parents couldn’t throw her away
- the others still laughed at her, and her skin wasn’t so tough anymore,
(and it hurt; it wasn’t okay anymore, because she was losing hope).

When she was eighteen, she said,
"I’m trying to become an artist."
- And she didn’t tell her parents, but she did tell him.
For her birthday she was given a promise and a kiss,
and she felt greedy
- because she hadn’t asked for either of those things
(“I love you,” he said.)
She didn’t think much about her father and his tea
- because he was not the only man in her life now.
She drew pictures of that man she loved, but didn’t show them to her parents or her
friends,
because she didn’t need the gratification from anyone but him
- he pinned them all around their house and kept saying how proud he was,
(which was okay, becaue he told her that it was).

When she was twenty-one, she said,
"I wanted to be an artist."
- And there was no-one there to tell her otherwise.
For her birthday she was given nothing,
because that’s what she felt inside
- she was lonely and it hurt
(“This is my punishment,” she thought.)
She remembered her father and his tea when she cut damned crevices into her wrists
- in the places where she used to draw the little butterflies.
She scribbles a picture of her gruesome soul, but now there’s no one to say:
silly girl, look at the mess you made
- her blood stains the kitchen door,
(and it doesn’t matter if it’s okay anymore).

...
.....
show full post

hello all i am here

who am i kidding, it's questionable even if anyone remembers me here

you'll probably notice some changes
like, i don't take my self as seriously (─▽─)
i speak fluent nonsense these days - it's been a long time since i've acted upon my
obsessive grammar-correcting tendencies let me tell you
i stg i'm a nicer person just give me a chance

i like to make people feel happy and stuff
and play social justice warrior here and there ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ 
hello all i am here

who am i kidding, it's questionable even if anyone remembers me here

you'll probably notice some changes
like, i don't take my self as seriously (─▽─)
i speak fluent nonsense these days - it's been a long time since i've acted upon my
obsessive grammar-correcting tendencies let me tell you
i stg i'm a nicer person just give me a chance

i like to make people feel happy and stuff
and play social justice warrior here and there ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ 
glad to be doing my part in something worth while

still hoping desperately to be a writer
or an artist
or a designer

but it looks like i'm about to head off to university to study a bit of chemistry
that's fun too
i'm super excited to meet new people

anyone still around from back in the day and wants to strike up a bit of a
correspondence? 
or even try a fresh start if i successfully offended you when i was a grumpy twat
i'm up for that (unless you are a scumbag)

in the meantime for anyone curious my most common haunt these days is my good ol'
tumblr
which you can find at www.theprophetlemonade.tumblr.com

much love kupiiks (▰˘◡˘▰)

...
.....
show full post

Seeing as my general activeness on Kupika has dwindled as of late, I thought
I might as well spam the place with some writing a little to personal to put on my
blog/personal social network sites. I know not many people read my diaries anymore,
but there's always the hope that someone might stumble across my writing by accident
one day, and I might be able to change their opinion about something, or sew new
seeds of thought in their minds, or just open their eyes to the wider world around
us. It saddens me how narrow minded and shallow people of my generation truely are: I
wish people would not just learn things just for the sake of learning, to pass exams,
or get qualifications. I wish that people learned new things because they were
willing to know more about the world around them, and become better individuals.

Anyway, I should stop my rnamblings about our disintergrating society. Here's a
Seeing as my general activeness on Kupika has dwindled as of late, I thought
I might as well spam the place with some writing a little to personal to put on my
blog/personal social network sites. I know not many people read my diaries anymore,
but there's always the hope that someone might stumble across my writing by accident
one day, and I might be able to change their opinion about something, or sew new
seeds of thought in their minds, or just open their eyes to the wider world around
us. It saddens me how narrow minded and shallow people of my generation truely are: I
wish people would not just learn things just for the sake of learning, to pass exams,
or get qualifications. I wish that people learned new things because they were
willing to know more about the world around them, and become better individuals.

Anyway, I should stop my rnamblings about our disintergrating society. Here's a
little something I wrote in mid-November last year, as a continuation from an earlier
piece, which you can find here as "The Space Between":
http://kupika.com/diarypage.php?id=r4e01176990dabk9wz2z The inclusion of the
collective "Us" in this second title has reason... but I don't feel the need to
express why. Hopefully you can figure that out.
It is a direct continuation, but I don't really feel that calling this part two, and
that part one, because I believe it can stand alone - my intentions are to convey a
very strong, pure emotion in what I'm about to post... what emotion that is, I leave
to you.

Enjoy!

---

The Space Between Us

"You do me many favours," the young Lord Aoyama purred, his tongue carressing every
syllable that escaped his lips. As the dim, receeding candle-light danced whimsically
across the chiselled features of the woman who captured his desire so, he could not
place a moment in his lifetime more captivating, more moving to his core, than that
very one; he repeated her name effortlessly, letting the word taste like rich,
viscous honey in his mouth.

"Grace."

The corners of her alazarin-red lips twitched upwards, a delicate, feline smile
embracing her features- she edged just a few inches close, inclining her torso
towards the Lord - did she even realize that her body defied her?
No, that was not possible, the young Lord decided, generously inhaling the potent
aroma of her perfumes (both woodsmoke and plum) that not hungrily licked his nose and
throat, enibriating his senses erotically. She never moved unintentionally, she was
always a woman of calculated plan. She sought to tease him. Entice him. Didn't she?

"I believe you truly enjoy the sound of my name," she mused, her Southern-accented
voice lowered and husky: a most sensual tone that the young Lord could only liken to
the though of supple hands exploring tender flesh.
Oh, how he ached for her, this bird of paradise, this delicate peony amongst
the coarse strands of yellowing grass that could only pale in comparison to her. His
body begged to betray him, shouting, screaming, wanting her to offer him a
signal, to coax him forward and give her slender, rippling body unto him.

"... am I right, Taiko?"

It was like an explosion of fire, an inextinguishable pleasure, every time she spoke
his name, that shuddered down his arms, across his shoulders, up his spine. It was
like a shot of opium in his veins, heating his soul.

"I do enjoy it," he uttered, clinging to his composed countenance and good nature,
despite the overwhelming, lustful need to hold her and embrace her then and
there. To become hers, and only hers. "It has been, up until now, a foreign sound
upon your lips."

Her ebony eyelashes fluttered against her palid skin, creating spidery shadows across
her flawlessness; coyly, she chewed her lower lip, drawing the Lord's dark eyes
instantly there. Was she aware of the unwavering command she had over him, body and
soul?
She must have realized, how much he wanted that. Those swollen lips on his,
leaving the powdery residue of her makeup on his own skin. How could she not?
Do you want this? truly, that is what he wanted her to say, an idea or a hint
that she recognized the unquelled emotion bubbling ferociously within his chest, and
even that within his abdomen. It was a courtship that had lasted four years; four
years of an almost intolerable silence because she had barely expressed a desire to
him until that night. Almost intolerable, he stressed. Because it was her, he
could tolerate.
What was this fevrent gaze that she rested on his face? Again, he wished that she was
not so much a significantly better reader of people that him. Was there teasing in
those topaz pools of her eyes, daring him to make a move and test his intuition? Was
this a game to her, to see how far he could truly go for her? Or was there a warning,
urging him not to pressure the situation further, telling him that he was neither the
first nor last poor, unfortunate soul intoxicated by this mighty phoenix?
She had once told him that she was lonely; perhaps in not so many words, but the
implication had been there, that night on the balcony. Did she still suffer from that
depresing loneliness, waking, sometimes, in the dark of the night, shivering and
convulsing, with no body beside her amongst the sheets to warm her?

"You are in deep thought," Lady Grace observed candidly and curiously, her skeletal
fingers aimlessly drawing circles on the taupe decking. "Are you troubled?"

Lord Aoyama drew his legs up from out of the grass which was then beginning to
irritate his bare feet; he tucked his calves neatly beneath himself, straightening
his posture, and allowing himself the moment to edge his body just slightly closer to
the object of his adoration.

"I am thinking about you, my Lady - Grace," he replied, quickly correcting himself in
the use of her title. "Are you lonely?"

"Why do you ask?" Her response was immediate, but answering his question with another
question was merely a testiment to how defensive she could really be.
How could he even answer? He could not simply divulge these innermost desires to her,
for that would be improper. There were no words known to him that could aptly express
his feelings adequately enough anyway.

"My Lady," he murmured, with detectable exasperation; her shaped brows furrowed, her
claret lips falling slightly a part. Her gaze was intent on him, both cautious and
curious. Gingerly, the young Lord breeched the space between them, and gripped her
fidgetting hand in his muscular one. "You are avoiding the question."

There was no teasing implied in his words, merely intense sincerity as he watched her
reaction, his thick, glossy hair concealing his eyebrows as it fell over his face,
which was titled, as one might imagine a faithful dog to act.
Her hand was like he had always imagined - delicate and fragile, with bones
protruding from beneath the translucent flesh, calloused in some places, but
ultimately soothing on his anxiously beating heart.
She turned her head away from him, highlighting her graceful profile, illuminated by
the subtle, aureolin glow seeping from the lanterns behind her. Though her line of
vision had been altered, she did not withdraw her hand from the young Lord's, even
when he relaxed his grip so that her fingers were only resting in his open palm.

"You are an intuitive man," she whispered, hesitantly, "But I would imagine my words
to be lost when I am certain you have already devised an answer to your own
question."

Truly, she was a woman of riddles, and certainly lived up to the rumours and stories
and folktales, that floated about the city, by not responding with simplicty. But he
had never expected it of her. He moved to speak, but she surprised him by continuing
her thoughts.

"... I do not feel lonely in this moment."

She glanced up, despite her face being titled away from his, and remet his gaze,
offering her guest an enthralling smirk, goading him on, though tinged with an
unfathomable bitterness. Evidently, she was amused by his sudden fluster and his
stumbling to extract the words he need:
"I... I am glad, My Lady."

"Grace," she corrected playfully, twisting her slender fingers around his wrist,
tugging gently on his arm as he inclined his head closer to hers, onyx eyes wide,
displaying innocence, inexperience, and a positively child-like quality.

"... yes, I am sorry, Grace," he mumbled, inwardly trying to claw back the
composition he had possessed moments before with blunt talons.

"I shall accept your apology," she purred, the sight of her tongue gliding over her
canines, provocatively, just glimpsable between her lips. She crawled up onto her
knees, her scrutiny of her being never receeding, and edged forward, so that the
sprawling cloths of their kimonos were intermixed. Elegantly, she swept her tressled
locks over one shoulder, leaving the smooth, white curve of her neck thoroughly
vulnerable to the desire in his eyes, and presed her hands into the niches of his
collar bone.
He tried to sit up, so that their faces might meet at the same level, but she kept
him pinned down, so that he could only gaze up at her sublime features.

"I believe that I am not the only lonely one, Taiko," she hummed, though with
solemnity. "And to think that you do not realize that I see those glances of yours,
feel the desire in every breath. Sometimes I cannot even bare to look at how, because
it smothers me. Because you hold me in such a regard that I could not possibly
compare to." She stroked the hair from out of his eyes, tucking it behind his ears as
she allowed her hands to trail his face and scultped cheekbones. "Why must it be like
this with us? Why must you do this?"

She phrased it as if it were something that pained her, but that she was unable to
avoid, something that she revelled in, despite the harm that it brought to her
already fatigued being.

"Gracem" he soothed, reaching up to curl his warm fingers around the nape of her
neck, meshing in the curtain of her tawny, tangled hair. "How could I possibly not?"

Where their knees now touched, she could feel the full intensity of the heat
radiating from his core, the sickly-sweet taste of lust in the air. His words grieved
her in a sense, for they were still pure, those of someone still clinging to their
last slither of childhood before adulthood whisked them away. Her mouth formed a
tender smile, tinged with a degree of sadness, as she shook her head.

"This obsession is bad for me, my Lord," she gushed, draping her silk-swamped arms
around his neck, pressing her red lips to the skin where his jaw and ear met, where
she knew he would be tender. Electricity flooded the yound Lord's system in an
instant and he trembled under her sensual touch, back arching, chest rising, a groan
of incomparable pleasure rising in his throat.

"Grace," he moaned, moving to press his fingertips against the small of her back,
drawing her fragile, lithe body into his heaving chest, encacipitated by the heavy
wafts of her perfume enveloping his senses. With her attention honed on his pulsating
jugular, she peeled his hands away from her back without returning to look upon his
flustered face, pinning his arms to his sides as she applied her menial weight onto
him.

"You are eager," she breathed, sultry breaths tickling his ear and arousing his
senses. "And I thought you were more chaste than this."

How could he remain abstinant any longer, now that she draped herself so willingly
over his body, kissing him, touching him, enjoying him? He was, after all, a man, and
would react accordingly to the advances and affections of such an enigmatic and
enthralling woman.
He begged for her to kiss him, to consummate the affair they had both started out on,
the nights of fevorous desire lain in heated thoughts of one another. He wanted to
taste her, to bruise those pinkened lips and make her fruit swell with his passion.
He wanted her so much that he feared the ferocity of his needs might trample her.

"Please, kiss me," he urged coarsely, as she coerced him onto his back, running her
painting nails across his jaw, reddening the skin. The flickering light of the
lanterns had finally floundered, giving way to the dappled, lilac glow of the moon
through the bows of the weeping willows doubled over the pagoda's balconies.

"Patience is a virtue," she whispered in response, "Can the young Lord not control
himself for a few moments longer?"

She treated him as her domain, her possession to do what she would with, but Lord
Aoyama found himself beyond the realms of eloquent thought; if he could be her
treasure, if he could bring her pleasure, however fleeting, he would seize that
chance and throtle it with both hands.
Her hands dipped in and out of his extravagant, teal-blue robes, toying between the
exquisite silk and his muscular chest, enjoying particularly the curve of his breast
bone and the rise and fall of his chest beneath her fingers. Once or twice, her touch
strayed a little further than she had dared before, first carressing his heaving
ribs, tracing circles around his naval, and even gracing his eager hips - if only to
hurriedly return to his jaw and neck seconds later, teasing, perhaps even trying to
tempt him with her coy chastity.
A gravelly moan rumbled in his throat as her thumbs reached the coarser trail of hair
across his lower abdomen, a mix of ecstasy and impatience fueling his being as he
silently prayed for her not to halt in her advances every time.

"You body betrays you, Taiko," she mused, sliding her dainty hands from his chest, up
her own thights, and to her waist, where she began to work meticulously on untying
the harlequin-green obi belt that bound her robes. "Are these fantasies of yours that
I ought to indulge?"

There was no doubt in his mind that she was aware of his heated state of arousal, but
though she spoke words of seduction into his ear, he wondered if she realized there
was a far more basic urge beneath his lust for her. His upmost compassion, loyalty
and adoration was there for her, burning ever so brightly, and he just wanted her to
let him kiss her, in order to prove that devotion he could so willingly provide. He
sought tenderness.
The swamps of her kimonos fell from her shoulders as she shrugged, the moonlight
casting cresent shadows beneath her pert breasts and illuminating her protruding
ribcage; it surprised Lord Aoyama how a woman capable of the slaughter of hundreds
could appear so fragile and vulnerable unto him. For an instant, she appeared almost
sheepish, a bashfulness until then unseen, as she revealed her form to him. Could he
have been the first for her to act this way with?
She no longer bound his arms to his sides, so he captured the instant vigorously,
swopping an embracing arm around her back, drawing her naked body to his chest as he
caught her chin with two fingers.

"You don't have to be like this with me," he breathed, his lips just catching,
brushing hers as he spoke at such a proximity. His grip about her was unrelenting,
but she made not one move against him, willing to her capture and imprisonment in his
arms. "This is not the true Grace."
This isn't everything you are.
So quickly she changed from a prowling huntres to a timid creature clinging to him in
the dark, breathing deeply in the silence, making no sudden moves.

"You are an interesting young man." Her voice had become less commanding, but not yet
quite as timid as she appeared, for it still contained that sultry purr which he
favoured so much. "I only wish you might have a wiser taste of women in the
future..." She trailed off, but the lack of words thereafter spoke for itself: a
bitter, pitiful warning. You are becomming involved with the wrong sort of
people, it said.
It pained the Lord to be treated like a child who could not make decisions for
himself; his heart was set on what he wanted, and where she had lost count of the
passing years, he had clung dearly to every passing day, for it was one day more he
might be able to spend in the presence of this noble woman.

"There will be no need for a wise taste, My Lady," he stressed, "Can you not believe
that I have made a decision? A decision that has brought me here tonight... am I
misguided to think that there is some bond between us? From the very moment that we
first-"
She hushed him with her fingers over his lips, a painful blockade between their
faces.

"Reasons are always simple... so please don't explain yourself. I understand."

It was apparent that her understanding was not merely what she made it out to be;
Lord Aoyama could read it clearly in her eyes, that unwavering, golden stare that
bored into his soul, understanding everything.
Tentatively, she kissed him, not urged by his prompts or his begging, but for her own
overwhelming desire for someone to complete the part of her that she was missing, the
gaping hole where she desperately needed comfort. Compassion. Selfless kindness.
Everything that the fibres of his being were constructed from.
This man was offering himself to her, mind, body, soul, all of his being. He wanted
her to use him, just so she wouldn't have to writhe in the agony of a
comapnionshipless existance any longer. Was this what was referred to as love?

Her lips were tender, moist and clammy with the artificial layer of cosmetics, tinged
with the taste of sharp rice wine - was this the first kiss that he had imagined
between them? He could not recall. It did not matter.

He moved with her, breathing with her, tugging at her lower lip, inhaling her cent
saturated with wanton love as if for the very first time; their noses pressed
together, her ebony eyelashes fluttered against his flushed cheeks, two pairs of
hands grasping, clutching at metaphysical desire and raw skin.

"I fear that I have done you wrong, Taiko," she murmured breathlessly, insinuating
the idea that some sort of innocence had been lost. Perhaps it was true, the young
Lord decided, or could it be considered that instead of him losing some purity, she
had gained some? 

No, purity was the wrong word for it; she was a being of purity already.

---

Fin.

If you've read some of my other work before, you will be familiar with Taiko and
Grace, two of my reocurring characters... their relationship is very complex and
multi-levelled, so I adore to write about it in varying scenarios. This particular
one is not the original, but it was of the purist forms of their relationship that I
like to study - the Grace in this version is very raw and pure, with a rather dark
past, which makes the angsty romance all the better!!

Uhm, yes. Thanks for reading, if you did! I would appreciate comments, reviews,
criticques or just a simple "hello!"

NB: Whilst writing, I was listening to: Snow Patrol This Isn't Everything You
Are, Gorillaz Feel Good Inc., Simon and Garfunkel Bright Eyes,
Annie Lennox Into The West and Woodkid Iron.

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I didn't really know where to post this... I guess I should really set up a
personal blog on one of those Blogger/LiveJournal/Blogspot/Tumblr things. The only
problem is that I really don't have the time to learn to use them.

I was browsing through DeviantArt, as I do every night when I get home from school,
regardless of time or amount of homework, and I stumbled across a very unique,
individual Mexican artist called www.betteo.deviantart.com (I thoroughly recommend I
look through his gallery!). I was drawn in instantly by his style upon seeing on of
his pieces illustrating some of the great musical geniuses that were lost at age
twenty seven (Kurt Cobain, Jimmy Hendrix and Amy Whinehouse, just to name a few), and
then, I began searching through his other stuff, and I was attracted to some of his
more simple, free hand pencil sketches.
I didn't really know where to post this... I guess I should really set up a
personal blog on one of those Blogger/LiveJournal/Blogspot/Tumblr things. The only
problem is that I really don't have the time to learn to use them.

I was browsing through DeviantArt, as I do every night when I get home from school,
regardless of time or amount of homework, and I stumbled across a very unique,
individual Mexican artist called www.betteo.deviantart.com (I thoroughly recommend I
look through his gallery!). I was drawn in instantly by his style upon seeing on of
his pieces illustrating some of the great musical geniuses that were lost at age
twenty seven (Kurt Cobain, Jimmy Hendrix and Amy Whinehouse, just to name a few), and
then, I began searching through his other stuff, and I was attracted to some of his
more simple, free hand pencil sketches.

One, in particular, was a very simple street view done whilst sitting on the
sidewalk, with just a pencil... an although the art did speak to me, his passion and
ability very evident, it was most certainly his words that reached out to me the
most... and so I'd like to share them with you here:
When outside life-drawing, we...

...have to take special care for scale, proportions, perspective and detail.

...have to avoid polluting our masterpiece with our twisted personal style.

...have to be brave, in case we forgot the eraser at home. And clean, if we sweat a
lot under the sun.

...have to be fast, before the parked cars change places. Besides, the light changes,
the butt hurts when seated on the sidewalk and probably we get bored after 30 mins.

...have to be zen, because all the bystanders looking "accidentally" over our
shoulders.

With which one you feel most identified?
Obviously, this man's primary language is Spanish, but he has a grasp of English too
- his not complete fluency, I believe, gives his words more purity, more
believability... and I found them quite poetic. Please, consider them, and take a
look at his marvelous gallery.

www.betteo.deviantart.com

PS. I have written 666 diary entries. How amusing.

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Q: What is your cosplay alias?
A: On the Internet, most of my profiles are under "BooTheGhost" or our group name,
"LunaticsWithLemonade". Other than that, most cosplayers know me by my normal name,
Lucy, though I do sometimes get called by my nickname of "Bal"/"Bao", or simply by my
character name. I still get "Police Girl" to this day... even though it's been over a
year since that cosplay.

Q: How many years have you cosplayed?
A: I started in 2007... so I'm now half way through my fifth year.

Q: How did you get into cosplaying?
A: I've always been into anime, but I only became aware of it's background when I
Q: What is your cosplay alias?
A: On the Internet, most of my profiles are under "BooTheGhost" or our group name,
"LunaticsWithLemonade". Other than that, most cosplayers know me by my normal name,
Lucy, though I do sometimes get called by my nickname of "Bal"/"Bao", or simply by my
character name. I still get "Police Girl" to this day... even though it's been over a
year since that cosplay.

Q: How many years have you cosplayed?
A: I started in 2007... so I'm now half way through my fifth year.

Q: How did you get into cosplaying?
A: I've always been into anime, but I only became aware of it's background when I
started highschool. I then got into manga, and from there, I guess it was a natural
progression. My friend StarDust saw a small cosplay gathering at her local
bookstore, so we figured we might as well give it a shot.

Q: What was your first convention and how did it go?
A: First event was... well, fun, but I was such a n00b! That was at a bookstore,
September 2007. Officially, I regard my first event as MCM Expo May 2009, which was
just bloody fantastic! ♥ Perfect weather, loads of new friends and some pretty
popular cosplays~ even if I look back on those cosplays and shudder nowadays... haha

Q: How many cons have you been to?
A: Officially... I've done six MCM Expos in London, but I also regularly attend local
meetups with BCMU in a nearby city.

Q: How many cosplays have you done?
A: Officially, I'll say seven, but really, it's more like nine: Edward Elric (FMA),
Rangiku Matsumoto (Bleach), Ume Noyamano (Air Gear), ANBU Tsunade/Artbook Tsunade
(Naruto), Kirenenko (Usavich), Seras Victoria (Hellsing OVA), Rei Miyamoto
(Highschool of the Dead), Mashiro Moritaka (Bakuman) and Molly Grue (The Last
Unicorn).

Q: What was your first cosplay and why did you choose it?
A: Edward Elric. I liked the character. But let's not talk about that. Officially, I
count my cosplays starting from Ume Noyamano (Air Gear) in 2009. That was mildly
acceptable.

Q: What is your favorite cosplay you've done so far?
A: Either Seras Victoria (Hellsing) or Rei Miyamoto (HOTD), both because the cosplays
were comfy and attractive, and achieved a lot of recognition. Through Seras I met a
lot of my closest friends, who were mainly wearing Hellsing at the same event - it is
easily one of my favourite fandoms, because everyone in it is just made of pure
awesomness.

Q: What is your least favorite you've cosplayed?
A: A part from the first two, which I dare not talk about further (Edward Elric,
Rangiku Matsumoto), I'd have to say Ume from Air Gear - it was enjoyable, and very
comfy, but I feel I could do it so much better nowadays.

Q: What cosplay is the most uncomfortable?
A: ANBU Tsunade is annoying because the wig is itchy and my leg bandages always fall
off, but Kirenenko was also quite annoying because of the ears... and always having
to remember to duck when going through doors.

Q: How do you research the cosplay before you make it?
A: I usually only cosplay frm series I know well - so I make sure I have read/watched
most of the series and have a confident grounding in my character, particularly the
costume and the mannerisms. I then study things like hair and facial features in more
detail, thinking about how I might to my makeup, and also what materials would be
effective, but also cheap to use to make the cosplay. I also look at oter people's
attempts at the same character, paying close attention to what material they use and
why.

Q: Do you sew your cosplays yourself?
A: Yes, always.

Q: If so, how did you learn to sew? If not, do you plan to learn?
A: I asked my almost-step-mum to teach me, seeing as she's very good herself, as is
her mum (who used to work making wedding dresses for Liberty's). I already had a
grounding in basic stitches (running stitch, back stitch, blanket stitch and cross
stitch), thanks to school, but I wanted to learn how to use a machine, and sew
quicker in general. I also wanted to learn how to use sewing patterns and compose
garments from scratch.

Q: Do you make your own props?
A: yes, as far as possible. I built my Harkonnen cannon for my Seras Victoria cosplay
from cardboard tubing, flowerpots, plastic guns and takeaway boxes. For under £10,
it was acceptible, but I will go back and improve it for our next photoshoot. I am
most experienced in making guns. Sometimes, obviously, it is not possible,
particularly with swords - I have no experience in making them, so I prefer to buy
them and then customise the paint job.

Q: If so, how did you learn to? If not, do you plan to learn?
A: Not so much learning was involveed... merely trial and error.

Q: Do you style your own wigs?
A: Yes. When you buy a wig, it is never okay to wear it straight out of the bag/box -
styles always need a little bit (or a lot) of maintainance, even if it's just a quick
brush, or spritz with hair spray. I particularly like styling spikes and ahoges (I
had a field day with Moritaka), and I'm practicing my layering skills, particularly
in cutting fringes.

Q: What other skills do you use to create your cosplays?
A: Paiting, mainly. There's often a lot of detail that is easier to apply with a
brush than a needle and thread. I'm also improving my embroidery skills for the same
reason. Besides that, the three key things you need to make cosplays yourself are:
patience, initiative and MONEY.

Q: What skill has been most useful for making your cosplay?
A: Obviously, sewing. But a part from that, creativity and initiative are so
fundamental... it is very common to have to face problems when sewing, and coming up
with last minute plans seems to happen quite a lot. Planning things about how you
might be able to double up props/wigs/material for other cosplays comes under this
initiative thing. Also, being able to cut corners efficiently, without ruining the
look and durability of your cosplay.

Q: What is the hardest thing when making a cosplay?
A: Cutting patterns, although fun, can be very tedious, as it takes a very long time
and you can't afford to make a mistake. 

Q: What was the biggest screw up you've had making a cosplay?
A: I mistakenly bought a pattern which was made for a fabric with a 400% stretch...
and the material I had barely had a 125% stretch. It went pretty wrong. We then had
to quickly change the design of the project and buy new material and a new pattern...
and I'm still not entirely happy with my work whenever I see pictures of it. But, it
was a lesson learned.

Q: How often do you injure yourself while making a cosplay?
A: My fingertips are often peppered with white dots of dead skin where I have pricked
myself repeatedly with sewing needles. Currently, I haven't used a hot glue gun for
any projects, so I have no soldering burns to speak of yet, my I often end up burning
my skin with idiotic use of super glue.

Q: Do you try to stay cheap or do you splurge on materials?
A: You should always buy the best you can afford. The colour and look of the material
will always be more important than the price. Accuracy, durability and appeal is
key.

Q: Have you ever cosplayed with a partner or group?
A: YES. ALWAYS. I am part of a very loving, awesome cosplay group called
LunaticsWithLemonade (find us on dA or Facebook!), consisting of five members. Myself
and StarDust founded it in 2007 when we started cosplaying as a pair,
RAWR_Igirisu joined in 2008, Muffinbake in 2009 when we attended our
first MCM Expo, and then finally my friend Donnie in late 2009, when she saw some of
our stuff on Facebook.

Q: Do you try to act in character?
A: In photos, it's absolutely necessary to try to recreate your character's
mannerisms and personality (otherwise what's the point of the dressing up?), but when
just socialising, I think I can get a bit weird and irritating... particularly those
god damns Hetalia-nerds, the Narutards and the Vocaloid-ers. -stabs-

Q: Have you ever done fan service at a con? (yaoi, yuri, etc)
A: Not really - I haven't really done any characters than are involved in key
pairings. But that will probably change with my next cosplay... hehehe.

Q: How do you react to cosplayers dressed as character from the same anime/game/etc?
A: There's the unspoken acknowledgement that you're both awesome - a nod of the head,
a raise of the eyebrow, a smile, a thumbs up. Usually these people become my best
friends, because when you start talking, you instantly have something in common.

Q: Do you try to duplicate your character's expressions, walk, movements, etc?
A: Expressions, yes. Most notably in photos. For example, Kirenenko is an
expressionless character, except for when he gets angry, so the result was that I
spent most of the event looking like a right misery-guts. Poses and movements are the
same, and as for walking... that's a bit weird, but whenever one of our group is
cosplaying a particularly manly man (I'm looking as you, Muffinbake), we
encourage them to work on a more manly walk. But it always ends up hilariously
funny.

Q: When crossplaying, do you try to act as much like the gender as possible?
A:  Yes, though currently, the majority of my cosplays have been of similar females
(a part from Moritaka, and Kirenenko... a rabbit). My next cosplay, however, is a
man, so I hope to work on my mannerisms for that.

Q: What was your funniest experience of acting in character?
A: I enjoyed acting as Tsunade, as she's a character that came very naturally to me.
Being able to act drunk was amusing, to say the least. Also, as Seras Victoria, I
enjoyed referring to Muffinbake as "Masterrrrrr" for the whole weekend (she
totally enjoyed that too!)

Q: What was your worst experience acting in character?
A: As I said before, being Kirenenko meant I couldn't smile.

Q: Do you compete in cosplay contests?
A: Currently, no official ones, but we're hoping to eneter our next group project -
HAKUOUKI SHINSENGUMI KITAN - for the Masquerade in May this year.

Q: Have you won anything?
A: No, see above.

Q: Do you prefer skits or walk-ons?
A: I would personally prefer to do walk-ons, but when skits are done well - either
artisically, or with good humour, I think they can be very enjoyable. Though usually,
it's mostly the n00b kids dancing to Hare Hare Yukai. When they're not even
cosplaying Haruki Suzimiya.

Q: How many friends have you made because of cosplay?
A: Countless. Actually, that's a lie. 183, to be exact. I have a specific friend's
list on my Facebook for "people I've met through cosplay".

Q: Do you attend photo shoots and meet-ups outside of conventions?
A: Yes. As a group, we regularly like to do our own photoshoots for our newest
cosplays, and we also sometimes attend BCMU, which is a local meetup in a nearby
city, run by one of our good cosplaying friends.

Q: What is the funniest reaction you've gotten cosplaying from people outside of the
community?
A: Oh goodness, I keep a record of the best ones.
"Are you a hen party?"
"The things kids do these days."
"... they must be college art students."
"Holy fuck, she's a rabbit!"
"Look mummy, she has pretty pink hair!"
Countless more, including some insanely funny facial expressions on public
transport.

Q: How long do you think you'll be cosplaying for?
A: Does that need to be measured?

Q: Name a few cosplays you're planning to do next:
A: HAKUOUKI. *achem* The official list is as so:
May 2012: Okita Souji (Hakuouki Shinsengumi Kitan)
Summer 2012: Okita Souji (Hakuouki Sweet School Life), Wanda Fairywinkle (Fairly
Oddparents)
October 2012: Gumi Megpoid (Vocaloid ELR or Secret Police)

Q: What is your dream cosplay?
A: OKITA SOUJI. ♥ Any and all versions of his outfits!! Luckily, my dream is
coming true very soon~
I would also die to cosplay Queen Vivaldi from Heart no Kuni no Alice, and also Lan
Fan with automail from Fullmetal Aclehmist.

Q: What do you take into consideration when picking a character to cosplay?
A: Body type and face type, mostly. And obviously, whether or not the costume will be
flattering and easy enough to make. I also consider which characters will work well
within my group of five... we like to have a mix of male and female characters, and
different hair/colours, but we wouldn't choose characters that had never (or rarely)
have met in the series. I also choose characters that I like, but there are
occassions when it's necessary to do a character you don't have particularly feelings
for, in order to create an effective group set (ie. Molly Grue).

Q: Is cosplay serious business for you?
A: Interesting question. It annoys me when people treat it as a childish hobby,
particularly my family, and members of the joe public. It's been very important for
my self esteem, for my creativity, and for making friends for me - it's quite easily,
my life. ♥ However, it's also annoying when some cosplayers take it too
seriously - particularly when they get angry about other people doing similar
cosplays to them, or about larger people, or people of different races/colours doing
certain characters, or when people do cosplays better than them. It's a hobby, it's
an art. It's not worth getting in a fuss over it.

Q: What is your favorite thing about cosplay?
A: The people. Easily. I have met some beautiful, wonderful, hilarious and amazing
people through cosplay. It amuses me how I'm closer to the people I've spent less
than a week with in total than with the people I see at school every day. Other than
that, I love the feelings of donning a new group cosplay for the first time, just in
the hotel, by ourselves, and just seeing how badass we look together.

Q: What is your least favorite?
A: When we have to go home.

Q: What is it that makes you keep cosplaying?
A: The idea that people are relying on you to create beautiful, inventive and
down-right COOL art. ♥

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Two days ago I turned five years old on this site. That means I'm now into my sixth
year of being a Kupikian. That's rather old.

In all, I guess I'm just tired now. Tired of logging on every few days and not being
greeted with the endless flurries of messages I used to receive back in the old days.
Tired of the lack of community there now is - this place was once bustling with
friendly faces, and now it's a graveyard full of emo kids pretending to be cool, and
hipster, and depressed, and pregnant, and photographers, and nerds and so indie it
hurts. Grow up already! Sometimes I feel far beyond my sixteen
years. Tired of watching tumble weeds roll across my home page and friend's
list, where I can only sit and stare at the people who are now long gone. I guess I'm
also on my way out. My life is pretty hectic these days, with my new course and my
Two days ago I turned five years old on this site. That means I'm now into my sixth
year of being a Kupikian. That's rather old.

In all, I guess I'm just tired now. Tired of logging on every few days and not being
greeted with the endless flurries of messages I used to receive back in the old days.
Tired of the lack of community there now is - this place was once bustling with
friendly faces, and now it's a graveyard full of emo kids pretending to be cool, and
hipster, and depressed, and pregnant, and photographers, and nerds and so indie it
hurts. Grow up already! Sometimes I feel far beyond my sixteen
years. Tired of watching tumble weeds roll across my home page and friend's
list, where I can only sit and stare at the people who are now long gone. I guess I'm
also on my way out. My life is pretty hectic these days, with my new course and my
(new) friends...  and my old ones too, of course.

There just aren't the hours to squander on this website anymore.

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