Spirit song: the elven wanderer finally has a home.

“I wish I did too. But, we do what we can,” he nibbled along her neck down to her collarbone.
 
"Hopes and wishes....baby steps towards improvement in the things we want...pretty much all we can do." She whispered as he kissed her.
 
"You truly are good for me," he murmured against her skin as he nibbled his way back up her neck breath tickling her ear. "You help me to not get so overwhelmed wit hthis whole process."
 
"I will have to trust your word on that." She said as she shivered. Goosebumps formed on her skin from his breath. She then giggled and wriggled away a little. "That tickles."
 
He laughed hands sliding around her back pulling her in closer, “Maybe, it’s supposed to also excite you,” he said before kissing her, hands sliding up her back as he pressed them together.
 
"Just maybe? Pity...here I was hoping..." She smiled playfully as she whispered to him. She moved closer, letting her arms circle his neck.
 
He pulled her even closer smiling at her playful flirtation. "I love exciting you." he admitted fingertips trailing feather light along her skin.
 
"I am glad." She wriggled in his grasp, the light touches both tickling and stimulating her. "So that is what you were trying for? Not just maybe..." Her tone continued to be light and flirty.
 
“Definitely more than maybe.” He teased back leaning down to swipe his tongue across her nipple, tasting the stalt of the water as he did so, a grin playing over his lips.
 
Life seemed so far removed from that stolen moment with his kitten. There would be more stolen moments together, he knew it, he couldn't wait in fact. It was even coming up on 2 years since they had met and started writing together. Had it really been that long? There was a special bond there, both as writers and friends. Life had drifted them a bit, but they both knew the other cared.

for now though, in this moment the elf needed to express his inner demons once again. This space had once often been a home to such thoughts and expressions. He hadn't expressed such emotion here in some time, preferring to focus his energy on the joy and pleasure he felt when she was in his arms here. Yet, there were times when emotions got too big and they needed expressed in some way. He knew this space was too public to truly express many details of what was going on in his mind, in his life, so again, he would turn to metephor and vague expression of hurt to get at least something out. He knew he should journal privately, that it might help, yet he never found an outlet there like he did when he posted here. That seems weird to him, but yet, he's ok with it.
It probably has something to do with how even here there's a bit of rp to it which helps him to write, to find a voice in a world where fantasy could live, where he could be more than what he really was outside the screen.

He stood in the waves, such a reflection on the outside of the waves within. The emotional termoil that roiled and sook to shatter him from within. There were days like today that he wanted to give in, to let it break him. He wished sometimes to be washed away into oblivion. Maybe that wouldn't hurt then. Probably not though.He didn't want that, did not want a perminant solution to problems that they said were temporary. They didn't feel temporary though. His health was declining, the medications were stealing pieces of his being that he couldn't afford to lose. He was so scared he would lose the last vestages of that part of his life too. Who would he be without his sexuality too. Surely he would lose his rw s/o should he not be able to please her. Maybe that wasn't true, but it didn't stop the fear. His entire being had been wrapped up for so long, entertwined with his sexuality. Anyone that truly knew him, which admittedly wasn't that many people knew how much that part of him meant to him. To watch it slip away because of his diabetes medications broke his heart. He could remember angrily growling to the cosmose that the medications were stealing the last thing he liked about his life.There were more things of course, but itdidn't really make the pain of losing even part of that critical portion of himself less.

This honestly only scratched the surface of what he felt inside. Worry about his health that caused the need for so much medications, his inability to control his health physically was driving the downward spiral of his mental health too, not that that was ever overly healthy. The elf felt another wave try to batter him down. He stood firm, but he gave a little, let it sweep him down shore a bit before regaining his footing. He was slipping but he hadn't fallen yet.He honestly felt so alone. He didn't live alone, but he couldn't express himself to people around him, didn't know how to ask for help, they were all overwhelmed with life too, he had to try to find the strength within.He couldn't even find the right words to tell his s/o especially how much she helped him or what he needed what might help. Why did depression do this, fuel a fear of reaching out. Where was the line of not wanting to be a burden, yet recognizing that this was too big for himself and that he needed help. He didn't know. Maybe he would figure it out in time. Until then there was just the waves.
 
Life seemed so far removed from that stolen moment with his kitten. There would be more stolen moments together, he knew it, he couldn't wait in fact. It was even coming up on 2 years since they had met and started writing together. Had it really been that long? There was a special bond there, both as writers and friends. Life had drifted them a bit, but they both knew the other cared.

for now though, in this moment the elf needed to express his inner demons once again. This space had once often been a home to such thoughts and expressions. He hadn't expressed such emotion here in some time, preferring to focus his energy on the joy and pleasure he felt when she was in his arms here. Yet, there were times when emotions got too big and they needed expressed in some way. He knew this space was too public to truly express many details of what was going on in his mind, in his life, so again, he would turn to metephor and vague expression of hurt to get at least something out. He knew he should journal privately, that it might help, yet he never found an outlet there like he did when he posted here. That seems weird to him, but yet, he's ok with it.
It probably has something to do with how even here there's a bit of rp to it which helps him to write, to find a voice in a world where fantasy could live, where he could be more than what he really was outside the screen.

He stood in the waves, such a reflection on the outside of the waves within. The emotional termoil that roiled and sook to shatter him from within. There were days like today that he wanted to give in, to let it break him. He wished sometimes to be washed away into oblivion. Maybe that wouldn't hurt then. Probably not though.He didn't want that, did not want a perminant solution to problems that they said were temporary. They didn't feel temporary though. His health was declining, the medications were stealing pieces of his being that he couldn't afford to lose. He was so scared he would lose the last vestages of that part of his life too. Who would he be without his sexuality too. Surely he would lose his rw s/o should he not be able to please her. Maybe that wasn't true, but it didn't stop the fear. His entire being had been wrapped up for so long, entertwined with his sexuality. Anyone that truly knew him, which admittedly wasn't that many people knew how much that part of him meant to him. To watch it slip away because of his diabetes medications broke his heart. He could remember angrily growling to the cosmose that the medications were stealing the last thing he liked about his life.There were more things of course, but itdidn't really make the pain of losing even part of that critical portion of himself less.

This honestly only scratched the surface of what he felt inside. Worry about his health that caused the need for so much medications, his inability to control his health physically was driving the downward spiral of his mental health too, not that that was ever overly healthy. The elf felt another wave try to batter him down. He stood firm, but he gave a little, let it sweep him down shore a bit before regaining his footing. He was slipping but he hadn't fallen yet.He honestly felt so alone. He didn't live alone, but he couldn't express himself to people around him, didn't know how to ask for help, they were all overwhelmed with life too, he had to try to find the strength within.He couldn't even find the right words to tell his s/o especially how much she helped him or what he needed what might help. Why did depression do this, fuel a fear of reaching out. Where was the line of not wanting to be a burden, yet recognizing that this was too big for himself and that he needed help. He didn't know. Maybe he would figure it out in time. Until then there was just the waves.
I'm sorry that I didn't see this until now. I was hoping that the situation might be improving. I know that it's hard to reach out, to put what you're feeling and fearing into words, to ask for help. I know that, sometimes, it feels like nothing can help, so what's the use even trying to ask. While I can't offer any wisdom, know that you are not alone. I will wade out in the water every time to stand beside you, even if I don't know how to get you back to shore.
 
Sometimes there aren’t answers, sometimes there isn’t a quick solution, that’s frustrating to me and the people that support me, but trust me when I say just knowing you and others are there, that you listen, that you read my words and that I’m not alone helps. Every little bit helps. Thank you.
 
Long had it been since he’d been in this space. He was almost sure he had abandoned it. So many wonderful memories here, yet also bittersweet because all they seemed to be of late was memories.

He sat idly on the porch swing, overlooking the river one foot curled beneath him and the other idly shoving himself back and forth, back and forth. The perpetual movement seemed to sooth something dark inside the elf. His eyes were red rimmed from emotion, he had long since given up trying to hide them today. It was just too much today. His life weighed on him sometimes. It was frustrating to him when he seemed like he should be so happy, yet many times he was not.

As he sat he huddled around himself. He was coming to realize how isolated he truly was, he had lost touch with so many friends along the ay, and missed many of them so dearly. This place felt like a haven for nastalgia if nothing else. Taking a deep breath he let out a long sigh. Should he take on new writing, seek the companionship of new partners and new ideas, did he even have the time. Oh there was plenty of writing for him elsewhere and even with his Lily, but he did miss writing in public, it had always motivated him to write more and push himself, knowing others might be reading. Perhaps then there was space for both. Time was short and yet it was all a matter of what he wanted, he was positive if he wantedit badly enough, he would make the time. For now he would enjoy the evening air, lost in his thoughts.
 
He missed writing.
There were two storylines he was thinking about a lot over the past few days. Brandon was calling him, the half-elf assassin was truly one of his favorite characters, and his stories had been stalled for over a year. Could he find someone to write anew with that character or should he finally get off his ass and write his story himself.

He also wished to restart royal duty. The idea had always intrigued and appealed to him. To play a character that was that hated by his own people and then be king, the fight between honor and the lure of getting even. Also the drive of being seduced, the angle that the former queen’s wife would seduce him to preserve their alliance had also appealed to him. It was ironic sometimes how he learned to love a character, had a clearier image of hoow to play them after their thread had died. That one he doubted he’d write alone, but he’d enjoy writing it with someone for sure.

He had so many past stories that he would love to revisit. He was of course open to new ideas but nothing truly new had struck him in some time.
 

It had been far too long. As dark tendrils of ash brown hair dangled far past her shoulder blades and bounced in time with her steps, she made her way towards the home she had heard of by the sea.

It was more of a force of will than a trick of the light; the mist that often surrounded her engulfed her and teleported her form from the darkness of the internet dwellings she had fallen prey to, a prison of her own mind, back to this place, this refuge, this escape house of a friend she hadn’t forgotten.

As her bare feet touched the soft sand on the beach, a nostalgic sigh escaped her. She may have never come to this place, vanishing into obscurity far before her maturity date here, but she had hoped that one day she could reemerge. Life had changed her; the white blonde of her hair had long been chopped away to give life to new growth. Many people came and went in the time between, but still, she had an ache in her that only could be satisfied by nostalgia.

Her eyes wandered the coast as the overwhelming rhythm of the tide lapped at the salty shore. If she were younger, she’d dance to it, holding the ebb and flow within herself like a puppet under its hypnotic control, and in some suppressed parts of her she wanted to do just that. Instead, turning towards the beautiful, yet virtually abandoned home, she knew he’d come around eventually. She meandered towards the deck, taking short steps while devouring the details of this glorious home with her honey ambered eyes. A curt smile pulled at the edge of her lips as she scaled the stairs. Eventually, she’d stand at the peak of the view, allowing it to take her breath away as moments dripped slowly like molasses, even in the night—illuminated only by stars and a sliver of moon—she watched the waves dance into the horizon. It was peaceful, even with the chilly air nipping at her skin, she wanted to stay a while.

Turning to the chair that once housed her elvish friend when he first constructed this charming homestead, she would pull a small note out of her satchel, place it on the chair, with a perfectly preserved horse conch seashell and a single black rose.

“My dear friend,” it read. “I hope life has treated you with kindness, and I hope that the hunger to write still overcomes you from time to time. I have missed you, and though I suppose you may have forgotten my short time in this domain, I hope that you have often wondered of me as I have of you.”

The calligraphy ended the note in garish copperplate script: “B.T.”

The swell of mist overtook her once more, and as if she hadn’t existed at all, she vanished into another realm, in another time, far from this paradise.
 
He sat by the water. the waves moved ever back and forth. He stared out at them, wishing so much, wanting so much. So much had changed.

He had felt the thrum of his home, alerting him to the presence of another. It was not a presence he had ever thought to feel again. Surely it was not who he thought it was.

He rose on light feet and moved through the trees, along the river until he climbed up to the porch of his home. There just waiting for him was a note, right there, on his swing.

Long fingered hands lifted the note and read it. He sat on the swing as his mind traveled back through the mists of time. He had known her, twice had they crossed paths. He did remember her, and wondered how the real world could steal promising friends away so easily. Perhaps she would visit again, he would keep an ear out to the ether to see if it was a one off or would she be around for a longer visit.
 
She leaned against the entrance to his home, her arms folded over her chest, her legs crossed at the ankles as she watched him, not wanting to intrude upon him as he read. There was a slight smile upon her lips as her eyes wandered about his private space. For whatever reason, she didn't remember coming here before, why she wasn't sure. She and Glad had had their ups and downs but she always considered him her friend. Perhaps it was time she visited him here while Logan was out roaming here and there. Her own life was quiet for the moment.

"Welcome home, Glad. It's good to see you back here again."

Her voice was quiet so as not to startle him as she made her presence known. Though completely capable of masking her presence when the times called for it, this was not one of them.
 
“I wondered if I’d ever see you here.” He murmured a slight smile playing over his lips at the familiar presence. “Though it has long been since we graced one another’s homes.” And indeed they hadn’t crossed paths outside of the pearl in some time. She had told him once that she would always know when he returned, so it seemed. He smiled a bit at that thought.

His thoughts mirrored hers in a way. They had had their ups and downs but neither were the person they were 13 years ago. Good god had it been that long. At least, he knew he wasn’t.

“Time marches ever on doesn’t it my friend?” He asked green eyes flicking to her from the note in his hands. “I love this place, but sometimes it’s bittersweet coming here.” It was unclear if he meant spirit, or if he meant lit in general.
 
It seemed as if the real world had pulled her away. She would be back. She was welcome here, old friends were always so.

He sat on the swing and idly slid his left foot beneath him and let his right trail down to the ground to idly push himself back and forth. He gazed out into the sunset, so many thoughts on his mind. He missed so many here. Missed so many in the real world too. Worried about others. Such is life he supposed. He took a deep breath and let it out. He would keep on, he always did.
 
Another day found him on his swing, idly kicking himself back and forth, the perpetual movement soothed something inside him. It was kind of like the waves or the waterfalls that he loved, there was just something about it. The elf took a deep breath. He had been thinking and planning for the first time in a while. He felt the urge again. He was almost done rereading an old story with an old friend. He needed to remember the track of the story. He was still so grateful to write with her even if it seemed as if she had gone from this place. Though she may never see this post that didn’t stop him from thinking about her. There were many people he missed, but some of what he missed most was the passion, the driving urge to write that consumed everything. He wondered if just like things got more physically difficult with age, did things like writing, creative pursuits require more effort and forthought where they once came so effortlessly.
 
“I wondered if I’d ever see you here.” He murmured a slight smile playing over his lips at the familiar presence. “Though it has long been since we graced one another’s homes.” And indeed they hadn’t crossed paths outside of the pearl in some time. She had told him once that she would always know when he returned, so it seemed. He smiled a bit at that thought.

His thoughts mirrored hers in a way. They had had their ups and downs but neither were the person they were 13 years ago. Good god had it been that long. At least, he knew he wasn’t.

“Time marches ever on doesn’t it my friend?” He asked green eyes flicking to her from the note in his hands. “I love this place, but sometimes it’s bittersweet coming here.” It was unclear if he meant spirit, or if he meant lit in general.
She simply appeared as quietly as the real world had pulled her away. She sat on the floor, cross-legged, not far from his swing.

"Time does march on, my friend. People come and people go from our lives."

A slight smile formed on her lips.

"What has you in such thought, Glad? I think passion fuels our desire to write, perhaps so for many. For true writers, we always desire to write. Sometimes, we have to compel ourselves to sit down and do so or the real world will gobble us up. For me, writing comes easy but I do have to force myself to sit down and do so."
 
She simply appeared as quietly as the real world had pulled her away. She sat on the floor, cross-legged, not far from his swing.

"Time does march on, my friend. People come and people go from our lives."

A slight smile formed on her lips.

"What has you in such thought, Glad? I think passion fuels our desire to write, perhaps so for many. For true writers, we always desire to write. Sometimes, we have to compel ourselves to sit down and do so or the real world will gobble us up. For me, writing comes easy but I do have to force myself to sit down and do so."


“I do not know that I have the words to describe it. Feelings of mortality perhaps, just coming back here and seeing posts with some people and knowing so much has changed, missing so much of it. Knowing that some here I still talk to on some level or another, others I may never speak to again, it’s just.” He shrugs.

Shifting his eyes to her he smiles, “On the subject of writing when I’ve been doing it writing comes easily to me. If it has been long since I’ve done it, the doubt, depression and anxiety tell me I cannot do it anymore. But if I can make myself start again it will flow again. Sometimes it feels stilted or rusty at first, but I am probably my own worst critic. But yes, like you I feel the pull to write. I go without it. I never fully stop, though may go months without it, but still it returns. It feels good to write again. I have picked up my stories with Lily elsewhere as she has withdrawn from lit, and I have started something new here, a somewhat alternate take on an old story, It’s relit the fire inside to write again.”
 
“I do not know that I have the words to describe it. Feelings of mortality perhaps, just coming back here and seeing posts with some people and knowing so much has changed, missing so much of it. Knowing that some here I still talk to on some level or another, others I may never speak to again, it’s just.” He shrugs.

Shifting his eyes to her he smiles, “On the subject of writing when I’ve been doing it writing comes easily to me. If it has been long since I’ve done it, the doubt, depression and anxiety tell me I cannot do it anymore. But if I can make myself start again it will flow again. Sometimes it feels stilted or rusty at first, but I am probably my own worst critic. But yes, like you I feel the pull to write. I go without it. I never fully stop, though may go months without it, but still it returns. It feels good to write again. I have picked up my stories with Lily elsewhere as she has withdrawn from lit, and I have started something new here, a somewhat alternate take on an old story, It’s relit the fire inside to write again.”
She smiled, "I'm just happy to hear you're writing again, my friend. The RW has a tendency to suck me dry.... Oooo, that sounded naughty but seriously, not in a good way. So much has happened to me recently that not only making the time to write but to actually sit down and do it? I'm finding hard and do not speak to me of mortality, my dear friend, I sense I am older than you so I am closer to the end of my trail than you are even if we cannot predict when our trail ends," she sighed deeply, "I've come close at least three times and I am blessed to still be here.

Change of subject, it does feel good, doesn't it, to actually see the words flow from your brain, through your fingers to see it actually in print. It always makes me feel good and like I've accomplished something for the moment. Something that's just mine and when shared with a partner? Even better. I like writing with a partner more than writing on my own. Even though I've been lazy lately, I do find myself enjoying the moment of creating with others."
 
She smiled, "I'm just happy to hear you're writing again, my friend. The RW has a tendency to suck me dry.... Oooo, that sounded naughty but seriously, not in a good way. So much has happened to me recently that not only making the time to write but to actually sit down and do it? I'm finding hard and do not speak to me of mortality, my dear friend, I sense I am older than you so I am closer to the end of my trail than you are even if we cannot predict when our trail ends," she sighed deeply, "I've come close at least three times and I am blessed to still be here.

Change of subject, it does feel good, doesn't it, to actually see the words flow from your brain, through your fingers to see it actually in print. It always makes me feel good and like I've accomplished something for the moment. Something that's just mine and when shared with a partner? Even better. I like writing with a partner more than writing on my own. Even though I've been lazy lately, I do find myself enjoying the moment of creating with others."


Mortality finds us all I suppose.” He chuckles. “I am glad you too are still here.”

His smile returns as she moves back to. Writing, “We are much on the same wave length. I would love to write on my own but the motivation is just not there. Writing with others provides a spark that I need to stay motivated, it is fueled by my connection with the other person too. Though I’m still learning Sam with you and my story writing with you though we’ve not done a ton of it has a degree of ease, you know a good deal about me. More than anyone that still comes here I’d suspect. It provides a level of comfort I suppose.” He shrugs unable to quite put into words what he means.
 
Mortality finds us all I suppose.” He chuckles. “I am glad you too are still here.”

His smile returns as she moves back to. Writing, “We are much on the same wave length. I would love to write on my own but the motivation is just not there. Writing with others provides a spark that I need to stay motivated, it is fueled by my connection with the other person too. Though I’m still learning Sam with you and my story writing with you though we’ve not done a ton of it has a degree of ease, you know a good deal about me. More than anyone that still comes here I’d suspect. It provides a level of comfort I suppose.” He shrugs unable to quite put into words what he means.
She reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "We're one of the old crew around here, Glad. Even though we're still learning a characters, it is nice to write with someone you know."
 
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