white knight.

"The broken boy who failed to be the blade "-- everything you needed.
This regal knight, who is a benevolent hooligan at heart, has a black card for his riches and a network of insurances for all his agendas. Despite the slurry of mistakes, bloodshed, and chaos that has encroached his adolescence, his fractured heart fights, relentlessly, to be a guardian without a chariot.


Got accepted to UCI, UCSB, and UCLA… :) Now the only one that is really gonna hit home is UC Berkeley, next Friday. Lets see what happens.


"You used to be too broken to talk back."
hoisum: / smooshes your cute face and gives you cheek smoochies. <3


All dem smoochies, yey~<3!

"I wonder how everyone’s doin’— I hope thing’s are goin’ alright for y’guys! Missin’ you guys like— a whole bunch!"


      In California, the air was sometimes stale because the sun never set and the people were caught in between the motion of every swift step. People were always power-walking around, trying to innovate new ideas and art to live by, trying to connect themselves with others in more ways than they ever knew they were capable of. Life in SoCal is not compiled of a bunch of stereotypes, reflected off the hot-mess of inaccurate “Hollywood” movies or reality T.V. shows. Places like L.A., Orange County, Long Beach, and San Diego are moving murals, built on the idea that no one single person is ever just one person for long. Everyone is everything and everything is everyone, all the time, sometimes never, sometimes-sometimes, and the trick is never knowing exactly who, why, or when, someone is, but that everything and everyone is exactly all things moving and creating, rising and setting, every afternoon and every break of dawn.

      It isn’t about satisfaction, no. The sandy shores of popular beaches, the professionalism of famous art museums, the air of prestige in every grandeur school, and the awe of world-renowned amusements parks like Disneyland, are about satisfaction. But satisfaction is temporary, it is a sniff of some pleasurable scent that could be taken away with a mere gust of wind. Sure, those scents can return day to day, and they often do, but they don’t belong in the palm of anyone’s hand. They cannot be nurtured and they cannot be held within one’s chest. Things that are satisfactory are blue prints for growth during times of nostalgia, fever-pitched youth, and relaxing age. But the sun, sparkling over tumbling waves, blanketing over warm sand, and shining on every unsuspecting eye, invigorates people with energy, enticing them, challenging them to look for less reasons to be satisfied and for more reasons to be fulfilled.

      Yet, fulfillment, a sense of entirety, is not found in books, on the shore beneath one’s surfboard, or in the confines of art; it is found in exploration, in knowing that when one is born every bit of everyone’s body, from the superficial skin to the deep heart, are open wounds. People are open to the vastness of the world at birth, laid out to the confusion of the home in youth, stripped raw to the bone by peer pressure, expectation, and disappointment in adolescence, and then tossed out to dry in a world that assumes “A” is always “A,” and “F” is always “F,” and that circumstances in between, such as “B,C,D,” and “E,” are supposed to be accounted for because everyone who graduated adolescence knows exactly what they’re doing. There is a sort of hypersensitivity that everyone has. At some point, and to some extent, everyone starts to walk down the street with the sense that the man, who just brushed shoulders with them, had lost his eldest daughter, his middle son, and his wife in a terrible car crash 5 months ago and was suffering from some intense, developed stage of depression and paranoia. At some point, to some extent, every young man and woman begin to realize that the sun was a ploy, because a middle-aged business woman, walking across the street, secretly has cancer and is on the verge of kicking the bucket, but she has yet to tell her boyfriend who still thinks they’re going to get married in six months. At some point, to some extent, every person, including a Ventus Knight, realizes that the sun sets in the middle of the day, because the nights are frivolous filibusters in the name of recklessness and desire, and rises at the break of dawn slowly, because the night relentlessly harassed it through one insatiable heart after another, not because people are greedy or have nothing better to do with their lives, but because there lives an old woman in a run down house outside “uptown,” where she wonders when she’ll see her husband again. He died, by the way, after World War II, but before The Eagles ever got popular.

      The old couple never had kids. She explained to Ventus that her husband and her were content with just each other, and were more than happy enough seeing other people’s children grow up. When she walked on two legs, and not on three, the woman was a high school English teacher, and her husband was a professor at University California, Los Angeles (UCLA, for short), with a doctorates in Psychology. They lived in modest conditions, but in no way did they live modest lives. Her husband and her traveled all over the world, teaching any willing mind, every where they went, from third world countries, struggling to develop, to the rural tribes in the midst of African planes. It was obvious they loved each other; they were attracted to each other’s minds and infatuated by the other’s kindness of heart.The woman kept plenty of pictures of her and her husband’s travels together in her living room, and in every picture it seemed that the surroundings behind them moved and yet they were the only ones that standing still. It was a beautiful relationship they had, and she misses him every day. She says so when she and Ventus are sitting, sharing cold, sweating glasses of Coca Cola and Dr. Pepper on the front of her porch. Actually, she says a lot of things when they’re sitting on her front porch, and at some point, Ventus started visiting her, every day after work.

      Some days she’s too tired for long conversations or to have company for too long, but Ventus was always sure to pay her a visit, to make sure that her microwave wasn’t fizzing out, her fridge wasn’t leaking, or that the heater out back didn’t bust a cap again. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have warm water for days, and the last time that happened Ventus spent hours trying to fix it! But today, today was Thursday, and on Thursdays, Ventus always came out after a long day at Knight Co., to see his favorite, Mrs. Lyon. “Leave it alone, son!” She would exclaim to him, her brittle shoulders shaking with vitality, “I’ll phone someone in the morning to fix it! Frank, or Jim, or — what’s-his-name at Tidy Fixings! They work fast, and they’ll give me a senior discount!”

      ”No, no! I got this! I’m almost done, it’s almost fixed!” Ventus insisted, as he reached further and further up into the high perimeters, outside her little home, right underneath the tiling of her roof. The air conditioning was out, and Ventus was sure he could fix it, just like he fixed his own air conditioning once or twice before. The sun was still out, but it was slowly beginning to set. Ever since daylight saving’s time, the sun didn’t set completely until maybe seven or eight o’clock. “Why do y’gotta call Fixin’s anyway, when I’m here and I don’t charge you?” The blond haired spike inquired, as he continued to screw around with the bolts and nuts of the metal, air conditioning box.

      ”The younger one!” She hollered excitedly, as she lifted up her cane and patted Ventus upon his leg, careful not to tap him too hard lest she shift his balance upon the ladder. 

      ”Y’mean Frank?”

      “‘Frank?’ Shit, I thought his name was Jim!”

      ”Is it Jim? I thought it was Frank!” The Knight scoffed lightly, his shoulders shuffling on the metal box above his head.

      ”It’s Jim, hunny!”

      ”Oooo’kay. Jim, then!… What about ‘im?”

      ”Oh, my, he’s just a sight to see! That sweet baby face of his; he’s such a cute boy. I love when he comes over to fix my sink! He bends over and has the cutest rump!”

      As if appalled, Ventus lashed his eyes back over towards the woman, and nearly dropped the wrench in his hand. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! What’cha tryin’ to say, huh? I’m here, fixin’ your conditioner, stretchin’ over a ladder, and there you are with a front row seat, but all you can think about is Jim’s butt?!" His shoulders rolled forward as a small smirk splayed across his lips, digging modest, half-moons into his cheeks. Wiping his brow with the forefront of his arm, he further rolled up the sleeves to his white button up shirt. Meanwhile, the loosened, black skinny tie dangled across his chest the more he fussed with the air conditioner.

      ”I see your rump all the time, Ventus Knight, and although it is cute in those suits of yours, Jim wears those jeans!” Mrs. Lyon cooed, playfully drawing on their most inappropriate conversation of someone, behind their back.

      ”…’Those jeans?’”

      ”The jeans.”

      ”Are they like—” Ven’s smile widened and he redirected his attention to the air conditioner as soon as he readjusted the waist of his pant line. He had unstrapped his suspenders when they started rubbing against his shoulders uncomfortably, whenever he’d reach higher and higher onto the box. “—James Dean kinda jeans, or do they just make his butt look like two fat peaches and that’s why you like ‘em?”

      ”I love eating ‘fat peaches.’” Mrs. Lyon stated in the most hoarse and vulgar tone of voice she could manage. She had an innately soft, and tender voice.

       Glancing over to the woman, Ventus’s smile widened with humor and they both began to laugh, reminiscing about one joke after another, and one “cute” plumber after another, until Ventus finally finished fixing up the air conditioner. The machine chugged and cranked with a roar before the fan finally began to speed up, and blow fresh, cool air into the heart of her warm, California home. 

      “Alright, Ms. Lyon—” Ventus began.

      “I’ve asked you, so many times, to call me by my first name.”

      With a wet rag, Ventus began wiping his hands clean of dirt, rust, and a little bit of grime, but as he cleaned his hands, a light sheen of sweat glistened over his brow. His cobalt eyes would gently wander onto the aging lines of the woman’s face, and still, he would honestly kiss her and say she’s beautiful. “Only your husband called you that,” He answered tenderly, his smile softening as he began to pull up the suspenders, draping on either side of his waist, to strap them to his shoulders once more. “‘sides, I already got names for you.” Folding up the rag, he held it in his hand as he walked the woman around the side of her house, her arms linked around his. ” ‘Member them?”

      “Oh, dear— you call me so many names!”

      “Well, yeah— c’mon! Name a few.”

      “Well, alright… There’s ‘Beautiful, Lovely, Woman of my eyes,’ and my all time favorite, ‘Mrs. Lyon.’” The last name she could recall Ventus referring to her as, lingered on lips like the heat of her husband’s kiss. The elder woman’s smile brightened, and she held on more tightly to Ventus’ arm as he walked her up the steps of her front porch.

      “Y’know…” Ventus lingered as he opened the door to her house and helped her to slowly pass the door’s hinge. He remained outside, waiting for her to turn her attention back to him but she kept walking, and Ven’s attempt to part ways with her at the door became imconceivable. Curiously, and yet humbly pained, he watched her walk silently into her kitchen, where she pulled a chair out at the dining room table. The piece of furniture screeched across the wood of her floor, and once she had retrieved the chair, she sat down upon it, staring across the table top. Ventus took a moment to glance over his shoulder to see that the sun was almost gone. The California coast kissed the apex of the sun and nearly engulfed it, if not for just a few minutes more… Dim specters of orange and yellow frolicked across the horizon, and he saw how far time had traveled before them, always keeping them at arm’s length.

      Steadily, Ventus walked into the woman’s home, and his black, leather oxfords clicked lightly across the floorboards. No matter how warm it was, there was an emptiness in her home, and that emptiness didn’t foster from what Mrs. Lyon now harbored, but what she had lost. The years felt slower and slower, and yet the days went faster and faster. “…That’s my favorite name for you,” The Knight stated softly as he approached the woman, pulled out a chair, and sat intimately next to her. “Mrs. Lyon…” He reached out across the table, and took her hand within his. A silent sliver of time passed, and the Knight’s smile embraced her with a light that reminded her of her husband’s embrace. Mrs. Lyon embedded every detail of Ventus’ handsome, gentle, kind, charismatic face into her memory, and then took his hand within her’s, shaking it gently within her warm grasp, appreciative of his presence beside her, keeping her company. ” ‘Course,” Ventus began to add in some tender whispers, “I like those other names too — ‘Beautiful, Lovely, Woman of My Eyes,’ ‘n lets not forget, ‘Peeker-of-Jim’s-Booty.’”

      A laugh emitted from the woman, a hearty, fire spiraling laugh, and Ventus laughed along with her, eager to see the way she aged with grace and strength. “You have to stay for dinner!” Mrs. Lyon exclaimed, as she patted Ventus upon the wrist.

      “Oh, no, no— don’t worry about it, I just—”

      “Ventus, don’t make me bring out your middle name! Stay for dinner; I won’t have no for an answer! After all that time you spent working on that damned air conditioner it’s the least I can do! Besides— you liked that pork sirloin I made last time. I think you deserve it again.” With that, she was off into the kitchen, sprawling over ingredients and pans, bustling about as fast as as her old body could take her.

      Patiently, Ventus watched her. The way she moved, the way she spoke to her husband without him looking, the way she connected to him even when he was gone, the way she loved him through every day she stayed alive, and the way she saw him in every other little thing that Ventus did. His soft smile, having never left his lips, began to fade and nestle into the corners of his mouth, but it was there, faintly. Standing up from his seat, he took the rag within his hand, and walked over to the sink. Quietly, he rinsed the rag and once it was clean enough, he set it aside elsewhere, out of the kitchen’s reach, and silently began to help her cook. At first, she insisted on him getting out of the kitchen, but he smiled to her, with that soft, warm smile of his, and said: “I want to help you. Let me do this with you.

      Helpless, she sighed and allowed for him to scramble about with her in the kitchen. They spent only so much time with one another, and each of their visits were always so warm but quick in a way they couldn’t put their finger on. This time, however, they shared the better portions of their lives together even though someone was missing.



It really means a lot that so many of you have followed and I’ve met such great roleplayers who have begun developing wonderful storylines with and developed great friendships in and out of character. I wanted to give back, so here’s my thanks to you all for being so awesome. For following, and sticking around! I come here to write stories and find an escape and each and every one of you contribute to that and I can’t even explain how much it means to me. You help me embrace my creativity. So, thank you!  

     * This is only for people who have followed me up until I made this post. But if you follow afterwards, I will have more of these giveaways with more prizes and such later that you can take part in! 

: Must Reblog this post only ONCE. Likes don’t count. If you reblog it more than once, you’ll only be submitted one time so, don’t spam! 

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ENDS APRIL 13TH. Thank you for following & participating! 


by らもち

"Sometimes, I can’t even believe how awesome my friends are! Gosh, dang— you guys are just too great!”