The Pen and Book Files

Within every world, there are always those who silently declare themselves apaart. Full of a more ancient magic and a history stretching father back than the longest rope, they set themselves apart for the sake of watching over the world in a place untouched. Fae are different from the elves, with their abilities that range in power and capability. Each fae possesses a rare, more powerful magic within that category of an element. If nothing else, this is an excuse for those Elders within the fae to keep their people apart from the remainder of the species that dot the land. While the lore itself and composition of the fae villages depends on the world, it remains true that in their hands lies knowledge. Not quite dangerous, but close, if irresponsible persons were to get ahold of it when they did not understand such a thing. Shiro was one of those fae, born under the name Sena Akamatsu as the eldest son in a family. From birth, the child was shown to have a magic leaning towar...

This day has been like nothing I ever imagined. That’s what Shiro thought as she opened the box from Sophie. Upon seeing the dress inside, she was unable to hold in a gasp. It was beautiful, unlike anything she had ever seen. Somewhere in her mind, Shiro started matching the dress with accessories in her possession. She wanted to feel beautiful, in this dress from Sophie. Carefully holding the dress to prevent it from wrinkling, Shiro went into her room. She was still grateful to Sophie for what she did. This room bore traces of Shiro’s personality, in the fairy lights along the back wall and the bed pillows, all in shades of brown and white and gold. There was storage underneath the bed; Shiro had asked for it as a special request, and was grateful to Sophie for accepting. Opening one of the drawers, Sophie retrieved her butterfly bracelet from its box. Putting on the bracelet, Shiro matched the rest of her accessories to the dress. She undressed, letting her clothes pile up in the co...

  The girl reached up towards you, her hand shaking. She sees you walking away,  blurring at the edges  just out of sight and the  screams of her telling you to come back, not wanting  you to get hurt by people who don’t understand  language is a precious gift to keep memory sleep under the stars as children  holding close a lullaby. stay close in the dark, where things are not danger and she does not have  nightmares of you on the ground and bleeding the love away. History there, too much history, you in her shadow  so many times to keep her safe at school  blurring at the edges, just out of sight and memory long after they tease her for  trying to hide. Native voices keep memory and bring it back to a place that does not remember you because of the distortion. “You do not belong,” they say to her when they see she loves a girl  but she loves that girl because she doesn’t look like you  The way you are separated by a gu...

 When the music turns on, I can see a scene in my mind’s eye. A woman maybe in her 20’s, wearing a halter dress with a sweetheart neckline. She holds the sides of the dress and smiles as she looks at an unknown someone, lips painted with a dark red. When she extends her hand, the scene changes and she is dancing with that unseen person.  It’s an old-fashioned scene, from the 50’s or 60’s. She dances with the person that I can’t remember even in the midst of my own daydream. They spin around each other and smile. It is with a man, because that is how we are taught to dream. Man marries woman and produces the next generation, leading the way for his queer sons and daughters and Those Who Do Not Wish To Identify to wonder at the system which allows for their continued prosecution. I do not love a man; I do not wish to ever know one at the mandated depth. Yet, our society makes it so imagination does not include those who dare to have it. The scene changes, leaving the girl to spi...

 I would be lying if I said that I knew where to start off here. Like most of the decisions in my life, this one was made pretty quickly and probably not thought out all that well. Regardless, I’m continuing to write now. I’ve been through a lot since I stopped posting stuff here, a lot of it complicated and not all that good. I’m here now, though, and I have survived everything. The thing about anxiety is that it makes things worse, especially the things that make you anxious normally. That’s a huge part of the complications that I’ve been dealing with, especially when it came to the rough patch that was during the holidays. I never stopped writing during that time, but all of it wasn’t exactly happy.  No fluff pieces, for example.  Most of the time, things that I considered writing about were based completely off of my own experience and I knew that presented a huge problem for me. Writing about your own life could only take you so far, especially when your anxieties we...

  She fell into your arms, trying to ignore the pain that ripped through her body. Every time was the same, ever since the first time she had changed. It started with a sensation of pins and needles, the way your foot feels when you sit on it. Sleepy and tingly and kind of stabbing. The sensation would get worse as she changed, as her legs fused and melted together. She could almost hear the bones in her body growing and rearranging themselves for this new form. The scales always grew quickly when she changed, turning from the color of flesh to a deep red in a matter of seconds. They started at her hips, and went all the way down her tail. Although she didn’t know why, her fins were different. A lighter red and somewhat see-through, her fins moved easily even when not completely submerged. She could easily flick them; she did so now, sending droplets in a hundred different directions. Trying not to laugh, she reached out and tried to wipe some water from your head. Feeling somethi...

 January 7, 2020 Each day starts the same now. I wake up, trying to figure out what is happening and where I am, as my brain wakes up slowly. My brain wakes up slower than my physical body; I lay in bed, trying to force my thoughts into a line.  It’s lounging in bed for a little while, followed by forcing myself out of bed and to get ready for my day. I would rather just talk online... talk to my best friend ... but I can’t get ready just by sitting in bed. The knowledge that I can keep talking to her later is what drives me to get dressed and eat breakfast.  We try and talk as much as we can. I don’t think it’s an obsession; I think it’s a real, deep connection. We were talking yesterday afternoon, just like most days. I had a web browser open in the background, shifting through things and answering roleplays. I saw the news article between 2 and 3 in the afternoon, while we were talking, but I didn’t process it. I thought people were just being over dramatic, because po...