I hail from the supposed land of the vampires. Not a good place, but it's a land. I have not been once proud of coming from such a place of whimsical bats and dished-out corpses, but I guess I know a thing or two about blood.
Say, Mr. Dino, how would you feel if I sucked nice and tight on your blood? Well, of course, cute Mr. Dino filled with life, I will not be sucking it without purpose.
You see, sadly, in this life, people do judge anything by the shells of others. I simply detest it. I wish I could suck on your soul, but sadly, I cannot. When we have our orange hour, I would love it if our jewelry would be infused with the blood of another—perhaps mixed?
It seems as though in the minds of the common, this peculiar and spiced want is a taboo. But for me, to talk and move and feel your blood grazing me each time I do anything? What else could make a cute little vampire Apa like me happy? Nothing else, my dear.
I will suck on your blood a bit, like a "nom nom nom," and put it into earrings, bracelets, and rings. Fun fact, my dear Dino: I really used to hate jewelry, but now I do not! Why? It is because it makes me happy imagining you on your knees with a ring for me. Hehe.
I love being your wife. Your vampiric wife indeed. I love being your mommy and treating you as my good boy. I didn't like it before I met you, but new shades of love are pretty nice.
A dinosaur and a vampire fell in love, huh? That's a new shade.
Shadows are so peculiar, aren't they? But if it's a right one, and it isn't as minute or humongous, it might be of help to the restrained and hurt, explosive mind. I personally feel this closed-off feeling. Picture this for me:
Pressing against the forehead, sensing the circulation of blood, feeling lonely in the butterfly... a land of disgust and putrid, fucked-up fuckery you cannot escape, because if you were to try, it would molest you with the pressure of people you don't like.
I myself am so intertwined in the routine of disgust and shame. However, you are the only anchor that ever manages to somehow, even a bit, put me on the surface.
"I don't understand how come you love me, Mr. Dino."
"Well, my Apa princess, you do. That's why I love you."
"I don't really remember or know why."
"But you actually do."
"I'm telling you, I don't know."
"Maybe try to think about why you hate yourself, then you will see why I love you."
"I mean, I hate myself because I cannot live nor breathe nor have blood in my system the way I want to. It really does put a toll on me. So perhaps I feel like I have potential, which is why I hate myself, since I haven't been able to spew it out yet."
"Mhm. And now, why do I love you? Why do you think I love you?"
"Maybe you love me because you see the potential and want to nurture it?"
"You are wrong, Apa. Try again, sweetie."
"You love me because I love you?"
"Yes, sweetie. It's really that simple."
"Oooh, I lovy lovy you."
So, anyway, back to it, back to the narrator: it sure is hard to express love with spice, isn't it?
Talking about blood, it kinda turns me on, just a bit, but it does. If I could have been born female, we would have had some blood. I often times feel robbed of such things, don't I? They are so small, ranging from a period to feeling intense pains and giving birth. I really wish I could have.
"Hey, Mr. Dino."
"Hey, Apa."
"I know that you accept me as your woman, but sometimes I feel like due to time and stagnation, I feel insecure."
"I want you to know I lo—"
"Yes, I know you love me, Mr. Dino, but I still feel like shit."
It sure would have been better if Apa could be a normal girl. She has to identify as a transgender woman rather than just 'woman,' and yes, both types of women are the same at the core, but the traumatic experiences and normal living is so much harder for trans people rather than their cis counterpart.
Gender dysphoria is an uncomfortable feeling. It is different for every individual, but for Apa, it's like being trapped inside a barrel and possibly never opened.
It is extremely hard to live with dysphoria.
Often times, Apa's only thought of happiness was being a bride, dressed in a wedding dress, with her hubby kissing and dancing, going home and getting dick stuffed full and maybe getting pregnant. But you know, I think her chord progression is written in octaves that are too high.
She can layer drums and 808s, she can spill blood writing poetical lyrics, but it will never hit that same octave. Apa will still be happy with her hubby, but she sometimes wishes her existence and gender wasn't a painful experience. She often wonders if maybe some things would have been better if Mr. Dino and the vampiric Apa would have been more Dino and more piric.
Blood bonds, huh? So cute and so sexy, so red and so angry. So much turmoil yet so much happiness. I want to see you in a tuxedo stained with my blood and I want my dress to be crimson with your scarleted soul.