a collection of thoughts that always abruptly en

Xavier doesn't speak; he writes.

A collection of tragedies of sorts, of demons or angels (whatever you'd fancy to call them) that lurk and/or gleam in my mind. Written when the moon's dreary and the sun's near awakening. Obnoxiously metaphoric, subtly inspirational. © Jake Sullivan, 2014

Quinn scribbles tainted emotions across thin layers of white paper. But to who? To someone who blinks once, sees her, and blinks again-just to make her disappear. To someone who sees her as a symbol of the ocean. To someone who thinks the ocean is disgusting and hideous, filled with trash and pathetic wandering fishes. To someone who believes that Quinn needs to be a size zero to be labeled as 'beautiful.' If she isn't, why in the world will anyone care to love her? She's disgusting. Worthless. An enormous sailboat that makes the world sink. But how long will it take until she sinks herself?

It's an endless search for something that even the sharpest eyes cannot see. [Beautiful cover made by rigor_samsa.]

"i miss you." © 2016

There in those city lights, there was no her and there was no him. There was just everything and nothing and the spaces in between, like flickering lights against a never-ending, black sky. There in those city lights, there was no love and there was no hate. There was just listening and talking and understanding every single thing, like the 'ready, stop, go' of car-chasers and dream-makers. There in those city lights, there was no sadness and there was no happiness. There was just candid smiles and wasted tears and bottom lips chewed off, like the overflowing boulevard of things unseen. There in those city lights, there was no lady and there was no man. There was just a boy and a girl, who promised to fall in love, not with each other, but in those city lights. [a blind collaboration by @hepburnettes & @cityscape]

what's an adventure without a little bad blood?

Sometimes all you really need is a place to call home. *** Claire is lost and scared and utterly alone. Her family is in shambles after the death of her older sister Ina, and she's left to pick up the broken pieces of herself as her life heads into a downwards spiral of loneliness. Her heart leads her to 5:48, a little cafe by 33rd street, where she finds her new home. With a broken heart and a speech disability, Jasper has his heart and mouth sewn shut by the winding threads of hurt and fear. Painting and serving coffee in cafe 5:48 are one of his last few saving graces, but the smile he's been painting on himself will soon fade away as everything he's ever held dear slips away from his grasp. Ezra is out-of-sync and oddly cold by the way life has treated his young self. Abandoned by his single mother at an early age, he has grown up thinking that he is a mistake. His constant shaking hands are a reflection of what he often thinks of himself, but the delightful pastries he bakes for 5:48's customers are a reflection of what others see of him. Drew is a quirky rarity. He is a dash of loud, a pinch of exuberant, and a cup of eccentric - just like the meals he serves in the cafe as the only chef there. Behind his playful grins and outlandish clothes, however, are his jutting ribs, hollowed cheeks, and too-thin arms. Sometimes he cannot stomach being in his own skin as much as he cannot stomach food. This family has gone a long way from finding each other, and they'll be going a long way together too as reality comes catching up to them, threatening the newfound happiness they've found with each other. Secrets are revealed, pasts become presents, and lives are changed. Slowly but surely, they find their way back home. *** NOTE AS OF 08/2026: This is the old version of the story from 2012, posted in FULL. Another story that will be considered a reprise of this old version is in the works, and will be posted under the name "Hiraya House."