#If you see me blundering remember that I am only little. As my name suggests

[littleguyconnor]

fun new thing about my autism (not fun) is that I can’t remember common phrases well enough. Like I can’t remember the correct words/order. So I’ll mix up phrases like “as far as I can tell”, “or so I’ve heard” “from what I can tell” and create new embarrassing versions of them that probably don’t make sense

[1kook]

BORN SINNER III

→ MASTERLIST

summary; Regardless of whether you are a liar or not, that didn’t make it okay for Jungkook to lie to you. warnings; virgin jungkook, timid jungkook, church boy jk, a LOT of religious themes/discussion, catholic guilt, fear of sinning, mentions of masturbation, heavy doubts, a little paranoia/fear of being outcasted, jk has a crush, confessions, making out, boob lover jk has his boobs touched, groping/petting, light praise, very brief/light choking, jk is horny like 75% of the time, positive character development <3 rating; m (18+) wc; 9.5k

banner; as always, by @jamaisjoons​ !! ty ty ty!! <3333

notes; i have to apologize for delaying this update for so long. truth is, it was difficult to write the next part bc i felt like i had trapped myself in pt2-- jk wasn't showing ANY progress & i started to really hate his character. LUCKILY, with the help of my amazing editor n wife @kigurumu​ *audience cheers* i was able to put him back on the right track towards redemption! (& even more painful angst in the future!) sadly, that means that this part doesn't include any explicit smut, you'll see why. still, I'm very proud of how much i was able to build his character in this part and i hope you enjoy it!!! lemme know what u think <3

in the future, i will try my best to make sure the chapters aren’t so spaced out. again, i am so so sorry about taking so long to update this series

He gets your text the following Tuesday morning. 

Now, Jungkook has never been one to be overly invested in his cell phone; he uses it as much as he needs to, just checks his emails, takes some photos, and sends texts when necessary. But you had set up a particularly unique ringtone for yourself the other day, had sweetly asked for his phone as he laid against your chest. His skin had felt warm and the slightest bit sweaty, his body pressed so closely against you that he couldn’t tell where he ended and you began. “Did you have fun?” you asked, fingers combing back his hair. He had hummed, eyes fluttering shut to the faint tapping of your fingers across the keyboard. If he closes his eyes, he can still remember the soft beating of your heart beneath his ear, the leg you had hooked around his waist to pull him closer. The memory makes him shiver. 

It’s a high-pitched bell sound that alerts him of your messages now, completely unlike the classic default tone he had set for everyone else. 

From the other side of his room, Jungkook immediately pauses to look at it, the lit up screen glaring back at him from its idle place on his bedside table. He always leaves it there in the mornings, beside his rosary and the picture of his family, as he gets ready for work. 

He knows exactly who it’s from— after all, that’s what you wanted when you stylized your ringtone —which is why his hand trembles in excitement as he unlocks his phone. 

[❤️]: picnic tomorrow? 🥰

[❤️]: after my last class of course

Jungkook’s first thought is that this was a date, his first one with you since he had met you. His heartbeat hammers at the thought, at the mere suggestion that the two of you would be able to spend more time together this week outside of your usual weekend… acts. Additionally, if you’re asking him on a date, then surely it means you view Jungkook as a potential suitor, just as he does you? Do you want to maybe date Jungkook? Jungkook certainly wants to date you— in fact, if he starts gathering his courage now, he might be able to properly ask you out tomorrow. 

Jungkook’s second thought is of that guilty, gross feeling that’s been gnawing at his insides for three days now, and how it was inevitably going to get worse when he saw you again. 

He had lied to you, Jungkook recalls, sinking down against his mattress, shirt half buttoned, as he stares at the screen. He had lied to your face during a critical moment, had felt that seed of doubt in his chest blossom more than ever. And not only had Jungkook lied to you, but he had lied to you about his feelings toward you. How could he ever hope to hold you close, to date you, when he couldn’t even be honest with you?

The memory of your curious gaze presents itself at the forefront of his mind, the soft sound of your laughter ringing in his ears. 

You had been so sweet to him despite his blunder, had cupped his face and kissed him on the lips when he dropped you off outside your apartment. “Not today,” you crooned, unbuckling yourself as Jungkook’s eyes trailed over your throat— ignoring your cross —and down your chest. “I have schoolwork to catch up on. But soon, okay?” Another sweet peck had left him trailing after your touch, your finger bopping the tip of his nose playfully. “Call me when you get home.”

And because he was so terribly, irrevocably smitten with you, Jungkook had done as you said and called you. He’d called you and then had whimpered against his sheets as you generously talked him through another sinful deed. You had softly sighed his name over the line, told him he was handsome and that you missed him. That you wanted him in your mouth—

And of course, he had felt… something afterwards. 

This is where his dilemma begins: Jungkook had felt something afterwards, and he’s not sure if it had been entirely good or bad. The longer Jungkook stays around you, hangs out with you, does things with you— the more he can feel parts inside of himself change. Because after the phone call, Jungkook had felt two distinct emotions within himself, both of which were up for questioning. 

First, there was that one feeling he was becoming all too familiar with, the crushing guilt that would consume him following any sexual interaction with you or himself for that matter. Why was he like this? Why did he indulge himself in such heinous pleasures when he knew, knew better than anyone, what committing such acts meant for the future of his soul? He was practically dooming himself the way he was now, but Jungkook just didn’t understand— why did something so bad feel so good?

But alongside that gnawing guilt was this tiny, weirdly pleasant satisfaction, a gratification that superseded the relief felt by an orgasm. It was this oddly serene feeling that settled over Jungkook in the moments following a climax, the soft brush of your hands through his hair, the low lilt of your voice. They made him feel like he was floating on the softest of clouds, kissed and pampered by its wispy tendrils. It made something inside of Jungkook feel different, new. Good. 

(In the back of his mind, Jungkook realizes he’s always felt that way. At the height of his pleasure, at the faintest brush of your hands against his. It was a staple of your presence, one that made Jungkook feel like he was walking on air.)

From whatever angle he looked at it, it just didn’t make sense. They were contrasting emotions; while one made him feel godawful, the other one practically made him transcend. The fact they could coincide, exist all at once, had Jungkook’s brain folding in on itself as he tried to figure out why. They kept him up the last few nights, eyes blankly staring up at his ceiling following his evening prayers. Mulling over everything he’s ever learned and been told, always circling it back to your beautiful presence in his life. 

He knows sex in itself is not bad— after all, that was how the beautiful process of life came to be —but years upon years of studying his religion, cultivating his faith, had all led him to the same conclusion: premarital sex was wrong. And for the past few weeks, well. That’s all Jungkook had been doing with you. 

It seems like every time you meet, you’re dead set on pleasuring him, turning Jungkook into a shivering, teary-eyed mess while you grinned from above. That confused him too— as far as Jungkook knew, the whole point of sex was to chase after your own pleasure, something you admittedly did not do. It was always Jungkook’s pleasure, Jungkook’s enjoyment that you wanted, covering him in languid kisses and long caresses until he was inevitably shooting his hot cum all over your lap and into your hands. 

You had told him it was okay, that he should never feel bad for enjoying himself. But, to return back to his original dilemma, he doesn’t quite know if he can trust your word. 

You’re a liar, that much Jungkook can look past his rose-tinted glasses to admit. While you may not have lied to him (or at least, Jungkook wants to believe you haven’t), the fact still stands that you are quite willing to deceive others in order to get what you want. He already knows you aren’t the biggest believer of the Church yourself, that you frequently brush off your religious duties in order to fulfill your own desires— the aforementioned sexual cravings probably the biggest one —so, quite frankly, Jungkook is untrusting of the rest of your practices. Were you lying to him, telling him all was well, just for your own benefit? Just because you wanted to drag him along on your lustful adventures? He wasn’t sure, and as much as he wanted to trust you wouldn’t, there’s a shred of doubt that plagues him. 

But still. 

Regardless of whether you are a liar or not, that didn’t make it okay for Jungkook to lie to you.

He taps his phone against his chin, brain a frenzied mess. 

If Jungkook really wanted to pursue this relationship with you, he needed to be honest with himself and with you. Did it bother him that you were so flippant with the Church, the one he himself feels so devoted to? Yes and no. Jungkook has never been one to impress his beliefs on others, and truthfully, he would not be the slightest bit bothered if you don’t believe in the same things he does. Would there be some awkwardness in your relationship? Certainly, but at least Jungkook would know the real you from the very beginning. 

But to him, posing as an avid follower when you really aren’t rubs part of him the wrong way. He’s slightly put off by that aspect of you, and justifiably felt that anyone would feel such a way if someone were to use something they love as mere leverage for their own personal gain. And to make matters worse, now that he’s been made aware, it weighs down heavily on his conscience. 

Part of Jungkook, as selfish as it may be, wishes you had never revealed your secrets to him. He may have been left in the dark a total fool, but at the very least he would have been a happy fool. Would he still feel guilt about all the sexual deeds he’s partaken in with you? Sure, but at least he would only have himself to blame. The way things are now, he’s unsure who really needs to be condemned. 

Realistically, it is Jungkook’s fault. He knows how you are and even more, he knows you would never proposition him for any such sexual deed if he told you no, if he simply denied you. But he doesn’t tell you no, and that’s the problem: Jungkook really likes you as you are now, questionable behavior be damned. He likes you when you make him cry and when you pinch his cheeks and when you snake your hand down his pants. 

He still thinks you’re amazing, gets this fluttery feeling when you look at him with that sparkling gaze of yours. Your laughter makes him smile, even if you’re not laughing at something he said, because the sound is just so comforting, warm and soothing, makes his entire body relax when you chuckle. You have this gentle touch, these delicate hands that carefully comb his hair back for him in the car sometimes, tracing the side of his face softly. Your smile makes him dizzy, makes him want to cup your face in his hands and kiss you breathless. And, of course, he can’t complain about your… other talents when he’s only been on the beneficial receiving end of said talents. That aforementioned satisfaction, as small as it may be and as difficult as it was to admit to, was something Jungkook has begun to look forward to on the occasions that you meet. 

But his inability to overlook his own beliefs and your confusing nature brings about a great strife within Jungkook. It’s the reason he hesitates outside the church after dropping you off, his car running as he glares at his steering wheel. Everything in him says to go inside and confess to his sins, relieve himself of this overwhelming sense of guilt and shame to the closest person to his Lord. 

But he’s scared. 

Scared that, despite the oath of confidentiality, word will get out. His fellow brothers in faith will hear about what he’s done and call him out for his lecherousness. But even worse, he’s scared of what will happen to you. Would Jungkook’s life be over if he were thrown out of his beloved church? As dramatic as he may be, no. But he recognized that there were different standards to which men were held in this society, that an act of desire by him would not ruin his name the same way it would you. 

And Jungkook didn’t want that. He wanted to keep you safe. Wanted you to be happy and smiling, regardless of how conflicted it made him, because he likes you. He likes you so much, despite the fact he has yet to uncover the true extent of your character. 

But the cloud of mystery is partially what intrigues him, has him pondering over your very existence instead of getting ready for work as he is now. He’s terribly enamored, thinks about you and prays for you every night. So maybe Jungkook is still the fool, because he still daydreams about you when he knows he shouldn’t. 

His phone buzzes in his hand—

[❤️]: i miss you bunny ☹️

—and his decision is made. 

Tuesday passes by in a blur and before he knows it, it’s Wednesday afternoon and you’re texting him the location of one of the parks in the city. You had told him not to worry about the food because you would bring it. Jungkook’s only job was bringing the picnic blanket, a huge checkered thing he had spent all morning rifling through three stores for. He wants to impress you, desperately so, that he’s even wearing a nicer outfit today, darker tones unlike his normal warm palette because he had heard a woman at his job say men look cooler in dark colors. 

Suffice to say, he sticks out like a sore thumb at the park, the stark black of his jeans contrasting with the vibrant green of the neatly cut grass. Jungkook has half the mind to feel self-conscious about it, but then you’re calling his name from a couple meters away and his breath leaves his lungs. 

“Hi,” you greet, the handle of your wicker basket held tightly between two hands; Jungkook rushes to relieve you of the weight. “Did you wait long?” you ask, rewarding his gentlemanly behavior with a chaste kiss against the corner of his mouth that kick-starts his heart back into action and has his face burning up. 

In all honesty, you have never dressed very modestly— not that you had to, nor that there was anything remotely wrong with that. Jungkook has spent many a mass service fighting the urge to glance down the front of your dresses and tops, ignoring the cleavage you liked to show off now and then. But apparently, what Jungkook had seen up until now was your version of dressing modestly. The dress you show up with today, an off day where there are no church ladies to impress and no unspoken dress codes to follow, makes his brain short circuit. The thin, thin, straps that hold it up giving him an all access view to the broad expanse of your shoulders and chest and collarbones and boobs—

“No!” Jungkook rushes to reassure you, fighting down the blush that threatens to travel further down his neck when you carefully straighten out the collar of his shirt for him. “I- I, um, just got here.” 

You beam at the news. “I bought cheesecake,” you tell him, looping your arm through his as you tug him along. “I hope it hasn’t melted yet!”

By the time the two of you settle at a suitable spot near the lake, the cheesecake hasn’t melted. It’s still cold and solid, tastes like heaven on Jungkook’s tongue, and you laugh when his eyes light up. You look gorgeous like this, nestled against the checkered picnic blanket with a glass bottle of sparkling water in your hand, sandals just beside the edge of the blanket. There’s the faint chime of a bicycle bell somewhere to his left and the chatter of birds as they flock over the pond. Wonderful sights that would normally take his breath away and make him marvel at their beauty, but when you smile at him so gingerly like that, all Jungkook can think about is you. 

He watches you slip a strawberry past your lips. “Tell me about yourself,” you hum, seemingly out of the blue, wiping the corner of your mouth with one careful finger. “Other than, like, church stuff,” you tease. 

As you lean forward for another one, Jungkook’s brain stutters for a moment, eyes focused on the curves of your boobs as they naturally follow the movements of your upper body until he’s dizzy. “Huh?” he says, and you snort. “Oh— me, right, yes um—“

“Your favorite color?” you suggest, tugging the skirt of your dress tighter around your legs. It’s not cold, but there’s a slight breeze that keeps rolling over the two of you, pushing your floral scent over Jungkook and fluttering through his hair. “Right now, all I know is that you like cheesecake because you ate three slices at the bazaar the other week,” you chuckle.

It’s such a basic question, the bare minimum of knowing a person. But when you look at Jungkook like that, blinking those long lashes at him, it makes him forget his answer. “Um… Red,” he murmurs, watching you tug off the stem of the strawberry in your hands. “And white.”

You nod, and then you’re stretching a hand outward to offer him the aforementioned strawberry. When he doesn’t open his mouth right away, you silently demonstrate first, until Jungkook is slowly parting his lips and accepting your strawberry. The flavor bursts on his tongue, sweet and sticky, coating the very tips of your fingers when you don’t pull away fast enough. Jungkook averts his gaze when you pop them between your own lips and suck them clean. 

“Red and white,” you repeat, unaware of the lustful images that flicker through Jungkook’s mind, the way his eyes unconsciously drop to the front of your dress, at the crevice between your breasts that he remembers oh so well, the tight suction around his cock as you— “They make pink, which is my favorite color.” He desperately clears his mind of the memories that flash before his eyes. 

It’s a pretty color, fit for a pretty girl. Jungkook keeps the thought to himself as he watches you sift through the contents of your basket. It’s the perfect compliment to give you, he knows it’d make you happy, but his valor disappears when you throw him a soft grin and he’s transported back to a more recent memory, the memory in the car instead. 

A bad influence, he had called you, had watched your eyes well up with an emotion he had never seen on you before. Sadness? Disappointment? Disgust? He wasn’t sure, all Jungkook could really remember was the acidity on your tongue when you had repeated the words back to him, the ghost of your touch when you had abruptly pulled away from him, shut him out. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you so closed off before, not even when he had first met you and you were parading around with that staged shyness. 

And even when Jungkook had corrected himself afterwards (read: lied to you to cover his tracks), the emotion had lingered. Even when you had playfully brushed him off, he had caught your reflection in the window beside you as he drove to your place. The sullen look on your normally happy face, lips down-turned, eyes lowered. A look he had put there. 

And now he’s watching you carefully rip apart bread to throw at the birds with a tender smile. A cloud moves and suddenly the sun is beating down on your little picnic again, casting a beautiful glow across your skin that renders him breathless for the shortest moment, trapped by the sheer beauty you exude. You’re absolutely ethereal, and yet he had questioned you. Your morals, your character, everything. 

“__?” he says before he can stop himself. 

You hum, “yes, bunny?” before pausing your little feeding task to glance back over at him. When you look at Jungkook like this, meet his gaze straight on, he doesn’t see an ounce of ingenuity in your eyes. It might be Jungkook’s lovesick heart speaking, but he can’t imagine you ever lying to him. He looks away first, frowning at the various fruits sprawled between the two of you. 

You care about him, that much Jungkook wants to believe. And his beliefs are confirmed, when your voice drops an octave lower, becomes softer, as you murmur, “is everything alright?” The fruits are carefully set aside, breaking the wall between the two of you until you can shuffle forward, your knees bumping against his. Hands reach for his, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against his skin. 

Before you can repeat your inquiry a second time, Jungkook finds himself asking, “do you like me?” 

Jungkook’s sudden inquiry makes your cheeks heat up just the slightest, your startled inhale barely contained. 

It’s like a scene straight out of a teenage romcom— a confession in a park, your hearts bared for each other. But it’s a little awkward, you have to admit, unintentionally giving Jungkook’s soft hand a nervous squeeze as his question rolls over in your mind. 

Duh, you want to say. But there’s something about the look in Jungkook’s eye— the eyes he very purposefully turns towards your hands, the hair he had let loose today providing him ample protection from your gaze —that has you pausing, carefully considering your next words. 

You had hoped by now that it was obvious, that Jungkook understood how much he meant to you, and didn’t require some dorky confession in the park. Partially because, well. This wasn’t your usual role. Usually, it was the guy confessing to you, raving about all your redeeming qualities in an effort to win you over. But with Jungkook, all you know about relationships is flipped upside down, forcing you to play a position you’ve never played before. 

Jungkook wasn’t like you; he was soft and sentimental, practically wore his heart on his sleeve for the whole world to see. And it was a massive heart, filled with so much love and adoration for the world around him, that you felt bad when he wore such sullen expressions on his face.

Expressions like the one he has now, lips pressed together tightly as he misreads your silence. He has honest eyes, a dark toffee color that sends tingles down your spine when he looks your way. They glimmer with a sort of innocence for the world, a thin sparkle that makes him look like a prince sometimes. He was devastatingly handsome, and now he was upset. “Um— it’s okay,” he stammers, trying to move the conversation along. But his eyes flicker around nervously, anxiously. Like your silence has left a burn mark on him, painful and delicate to the touch. 

His comment isn’t completely unexpected. How very on-brand for big-hearted Jungkook to try to save you from an uncomfortable interaction, even if it was caused by him. “Um…” he murmurs, “it’s okay. If you don’t, uh. Like me?”

It sounds flimsy, even to you. 

“No, no,” you rush to correct, your ability to speak slowly coming back to you only after the fact. “I do,” you admit, nerves on edge at this rather foreign situation. “I… like you a lot, Jungkook.”

You shouldn’t be surprised by his reaction. Jungkook blinks slowly, like his brain is still processing the information, and then, ever so artfully, goes up in metaphorical flames. “O- Oh,” he stutters, reaching a free hand up to press his knuckles against his face. The rosy hue that had first blossomed over his cheeks has now started crawling down his neck now, up his ears. It’s terribly endearing. “I— um. I didn’t know,” Jungkook rambles, and it’s so cute, so sweet, how a simple confession from you renders him this flustered.

His face emanates a warmth tangible even on your own skin, lips cutely quirking to the side as he fights off a bashful smile and the raging blush your words bring about. It certainly is a sight to see. His hair tickles his eyebrow, swept out of its usually neat style, but it makes him look all the more gorgeous. “Cute,” you chuckle, feeling the slightest bit shy at such a warm response from Jungkook. You sit back, giving him the space he needs, and turn your attention up at the big blue sky instead. “Really? I thought it was obvious,” you hum.

Part of you actually feels really awkward; as you said before, everything is so brand new with him.  With Jungkook, he flips everything around for you, makes you actually admit to your emotions as opposed to simply going along with his. It’s a nice change of pace, as difficult as it may be, and the results are rather… cute as well. (He bites down a smile, but the action makes his normally soft cheeks look more pronounced than usual.) 

“Because, I, um. Me too,” he says, voice wavering. He clears his throat and tries to meet your gaze under his fringe, but doesn’t last more than a second before he’s pointedly glancing at the picnic blanket beneath the two of you. “I’m— I like you too,” he admits, ears tinted a bright red. You figured as much but it was always nice to hear, especially from someone like Jungkook. “A lot.”

“Thanks,” you smile, placing a hand on his thigh. 

His lips pull into a shy smile, aimed at your knees because he can never look you in the eye when you shower him in praise and other gooey, mushy feelings. It’s the same in the car or against your front door— he always manages to give your hand a tight squeeze, maybe even a kiss if he’s feeling brave. But the second you try to tell him you’ve had fun or that you’ll miss him, it’s like all his courage fades away, leaving him a blushing, smiley mess.

He was cute like that. Despite being so kind and caring, it was like Jungkook’s entire being stopped functioning when those types of gestures were aimed at him. So you relished those moments, looked forward to them with a fluttery feeling in your heart that couldn’t be tamed. 

Today, he throws you for a loop. Just as that proud, giddy smile appears, cheeks and ears a pretty pink, it fades away. The excitement from your mutual confessions seems to remind Jungkook of something else, something less warm, that has him quietly mumbling, “I’m sorry.” 

It’s confusing, to say the least. Just a moment prior, he had been pursing his lips in a silly attempt to hold back a smile. Now he’s staring at the ground with a rather pensive look, his apology sitting heavy in his throat. “What for?” you tentatively ask after one long beat. It had been so sudden. In your mind, there isn’t a single reason for Jungkook to be apologizing to you, especially so out of the blue. There is, however, an inkling of fear brought upon by what can only be classified as insecurity; you had just confessed your feelings for each other, why was he sorry about that? 

Jungkook exhales, a quiet sound that is nearly lost among the bustling noises of the park. If you hadn’t been sitting so close, maybe you wouldn’t have heard it at all. “I just,” he huffs, pointedly glaring at some random spot of grass beside you. His features look sharper than ever now, jawline defined, brows narrowed together. It’s a rather misplaced realization, but Jungkook looks absolutely gorgeous with distress painting his face. “I was… being selfish before.”

In the few weeks you’ve known him, you’ve come to realize Jungkook was many things. First and foremost, he’s an absolute gentleman. Raised on manners and compassion, looking after others everywhere he went. He was caring and sweet, loved this world and the people in it so much. Soft-spoken but straightforward. He was dreamy, disgustingly so. 

But selfish? It definitely sounds like something Jeon Jungkook is not. 

Before you can interrogate him even further, it seems like Jungkook is dead set on getting through this alone. “I- I’m sorry,” he repeats, eyes downcast. Noticing his wavering confidence, you resign yourself to listening, hand giving him a reassuring squeeze. Finally, after a short moment, Jungkook murmurs, “...in the car.” You tilt your head to the side curiously, waiting for him to go on. “I said, um. Something rude.” 

It takes a moment for the memory to load, and when it finally clicks into place and begins rolling, you find yourself muttering a faint, “ah.” 

If it’s what you think it is, he’s talking about last weekend outside of the church. That terribly awkward encounter that had left a sour taste in your mouth afterwards. A bad influence, you recall him saying, the memory of his voice looped in your mind the entire drive to your place. 

In all honesty, it had stung a little. While you were aware that Jungkook had an ongoing mental battle, you hadn’t realized your role was that big in it. It’s the reason you had sent him home that day, made up a lie about schoolwork just to give him some space. It’s nothing new, everyone’s had someone think badly of them before; gossipy classmates, rivals, maybe even random strangers on the street. But it felt different when it was coming from someone as sweet as Jungkook, so polite and righteous, who wouldn’t even hurt a fly. Like he was stating a fact, not an opinion. 

It was a slip-up on Jungkook’s end, that much you could tell. Because he had been frantic to correct himself afterwards, had looked at you with these fearful eyes, like one wrong move and you’d slip from between his hands. Luckily, you weren’t that sensitive— definitely not as sensitive as him, at least —and such a comment had been practically meaningless moments later. 

Still, in those few moments where it was meaningful (read: the short period it took for Jungkook to get home and call you, the words looping around your brain until the harsh ring of your cell phone finally interrupted), it had left you wondering. Have you been pushing him too far, asking for too much? The way you saw it, you always gave Jungkook room to object to any of your advances. You know he’s trapped in his thoughts more often than not, but you pay attention to him, you really do. You make sure to take his reactions into account, try to offer solutions where possible. But, for the briefest moment, all of those efforts had felt fruitless that day in the car. 

What you say next is not a complete lie; sure, Jungkook’s comment had hurt for a bit, but here he was now apologizing for it. That was a good sign… right? “It’s okay,” you brush off, patting his cheek softly, hoping with every fiber in your being that it really was okay.

Your voice is gentle, soothing his doubts. Just moments prior, Jungkook had felt like he was asking for too much, especially when your feelings toward him were up in the air. But your earnest confession soothed the ache in his heart. It’s all he’s wanted these past few months, to belong in your heart like you do his. 

But the guilt from before, the tumultuous feelings he’s been harboring towards you since the weekend, dampens his excitement. From your confession alone, it doesn’t seem like you questioned Jungkook. You weren’t put off by who he was, what he loved. So why couldn’t Jungkook be like you, think like you?

“I’m still sorry,” he says again, feeling like a broken record when he catches this sympathetic smile on your face. The scraps of eloquence he had gathered while originally apologizing seem to fade away, leave him a stuttering mess when he tries again. “That was— I shouldn’t have said—“

“Hey,” you cut off, placing a hand against his cheek. It stops his fidgeting, forces him to meet your gaze head on. There’s a smile on your face but something inside of Jungkook says it doesn’t feel real. “I like you, Jungkook.” 

And it’s true and genuine, your words so honest it pains him to think he had ever thought otherwise. And you’re still smiling, even after being hit with the implication that Jungkook questioned your character and maybe that’s what hurts the most. That you still try to put on an easygoing expression for him after he’s said something hurtful. It’s the car all over again, that blank look in your eyes when he had spoken carelessly. 

Before he can apologize for the umpteenth time, you’re shaking your head softly, smiling anew. But this time, he can’t tell if it’s real or not. “I brought orange juice,” you say, expertly moving the conversation along. And just as Jungkook has been thinking for weeks now, it’s like you know him so well. You know when things make him anxious or uncomfortable, know just how to help him out. 

There’s a feeling of guilt that blossoms in his chest, but this time it’s different. 

It’s not the usual sticky gross feeling of before, the one that has him staying up at night repenting for all his wrongdoings. It’s a personal kind of guilt that comes along with the frank realization that, while you have been learning and adapting to being around Jungkook, he has not been doing the same for you. 

Though you may be a little playful at times, you don’t tease him for who he is, don’t stomp all over his beliefs as much as he deluded himself into thinking you do. (That whole, faux-believer thing was a different circumstance.) Like with the cross in his house the other day. As much as Jungkook wanted to believe what you had done was evil, he had, quite honestly, enjoyed himself afterwards. There wasn’t that heavy discomfort sitting on his chest anymore, that sense of shame lingering as you’d kissed his body and let him caress yours too, in the safety of your eyes only. It was enjoyable and fun, had felt exhilarating to be so intimate with you. 

And instead of being thankful for your mindful efforts, he had questioned your sincerity. 

The picnic goes by in a flash. Jungkook is sad he can’t enjoy it to the fullest, his brain filled with clamorous thoughts that circled around to torture him every few minutes. Still, the entire date feels like a dream, vibrant and beautiful, leaving him in a daze. He doesn’t want to wake up. 

By the time you suggest wrapping up, the sun is setting over the horizon, the windows and lights of the buildings around you slowly flickering to life like a sea of tiny stars. He feels weak in the knees as he helps you pack everything back in your basket. “All set,” you smile, walking beside him, knuckles brushing against his until you fulfill Jungkook’s wordless wish and slip your hand into his. 

Jungkook agrees, hoping his hand isn’t sweaty and that you mean what you say. “I- I liked the food,” he remembers to mention, the fact that you had so carefully and lovingly prepared all this not entirely lost on him. His compliment, as simple as it may be, has you beaming at him as you exit through the park’s front gates. His car is parked along the street, the sleek vehicle coming into view as you round the street corner, hands still fastened. “Um,” he mumbles, pausing beside it. You turn to face him, eyes clear and content. 

All good things come to an end, he supposes, reluctantly letting go of your hand when you tug. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” you say, stepping up close, chest pressed against his. His breath hitched in his throat, eyes going wide when you nuzzle against his neck. Your hands slip around his waist. They wrap around him perfectly, make Jungkook feel like he was made for you. 

By the time he’s springing into action, jerkily raising his free hand up to your back, you’re stepping away. “Call me when you get home,” you wink, sending shivers down his spine when he remembers what happened the last time you said that. 

But Jungkook doesn’t think he can wait that long. 

You’re slipping further and further away, fingertips just barely brushing against his forearm, when Jungkook jolts into action. “How are you, um—“ he stammers, feels too big for his shoes when you tilt your head curiously. And then, “d- do you need a ride?” he mumbles, cheeks warm. 

It’s a feeble attempt at asking what he really wants. Offering you a ride home, while not a bad idea considering it was late and you had taken the bus here, is nowhere near what Jungkook really wants. What he wants is standing before him, thin spaghetti strap slipping down their shoulder, eyes sensually half-lidded and you know this too— because, again, you know Jungkook so well, know what he wants even if he can’t say it —as you step into his bubble again, peer up at him with your arms held behind your back. 

“A ride home?” you ask, blinking your long lashes in a way that robs him of his breath. And he can see that switch flick on inside of you, watches that pure and innocent gleam in your eyes slowly become replaced with something mischievous. Jungkook nods dumbly. “I’d love that.”

Jungkook blinks. “Great,” he chokes out, neatly dropping the wicker basket in his hands. In a way, it brings him back down to reality, lets him snap away from your hypnotizing gaze as he reaches for the keys in his pocket. “Let me— I just have to— yeah,” he stammers, clicking the button on his car keys one too many times, has it perkily beeping. Your lips press together into an amused smile, the last thing Jungkook sees before ripping himself away from you and yanking the back door open. 

He nearly throws the basket in like a madman, glassware be damned. It’s his last shred of rationality that tells him not to, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge as he steps up to the edge of the sidewalk and carefully places it on the floor behind the passenger’s seat. 

When Jungkook rises back up, there is a hand that brushes against his forearm, a gentle touch that has him throwing a curious glance your way. He’s not expecting to be so entranced by the dreamy look in your eyes, feet glued to the ground as you trail your hand down, catching his wrist between your fingers. You’re standing so close, making Jungkook feel like he’s trapped between you and his own car. His entire body is on edge when you lean in, placing a soft kiss against the very corner of his mouth. It leaves a tingling sensation, and accompanied with the growing warmth beneath his skin, feels like he’s been burned. “I had fun,” you murmur, voice low. It sends a shock of electricity down his spine, a wave of exhilaration that has him fully turning to face you as you eventually step away, that same playful grin on your features again. 

A surge of confidence and greed overcomes him, has him stepping forward into your space despite the nervousness that builds within him. There’s a hint of surprise in your eyes that you quickly mask, placating his bumbling nerves with a delicate hand placed over his heart. He can’t breathe when you lean in, softly humming, “kiss me?” 

Jungkook’s lower lip wobbles. “O- Okay,” he concedes, voice but an airy whisper that is soon swallowed up. You taste like fruit and orange juice, remnants of your picnic clinging to your lips as you slowly consume Jungkook’s entire attention with this soft brush alone. It’s a rather short affair, one that ends all too soon when you pull away with a soft sigh against his lips. 

Your smile is so pretty when you angle it at him, has him taking one jerky step backwards. His back hits the car, feels trapped. But he isn’t scared, doesn’t find himself anxiously awaiting your next move. “Good boy,” you purr, reaching one graceful hand forward, playfully tugging at his tie, wrapping it around your knuckles as you use it as leverage to pull him close again. 

You’re just so pretty, Jungkook has always thought so. From the moment he first met you until now, there is something about you—a glint in your eyes, a quirk to your lips—that has had him under your spell for weeks now. 

Had Jungkook seriously despised you and your ethics, perhaps this feeling would have gone away. But the fact of the matter is that you make Jungkook’s heart hammer dangerously in his chest, a shot of adrenaline through his veins when you look at him with those low-lidded eyes, touch him with those experienced hands. He wants you so bad, even after all he’s learned, all he’s seen. He wants you over him and under him, pressed against him from head to toe. He wants and he wants, and he knows it’s bad to want so much, to be so greedy. But with you around, Jungkook finds himself giving into that greed, clutching at it like a lifeline. “We can, um—,” he stammers, placing one uncertain hand against the top of the door frame beside him. You raise your brows, egging him on yet patiently waiting all at once. 

Your gaze is so strong, and it’s in moments like these that Jungkook feels that feeling crawl up his throat. A serpentine gaze, a sticky sweet tongue. Everything he’s ever known says it’s wrong, but his heart and your confession says otherwise. He looks away, throws a bashful glance at the plush leather seats behind him. “In… inside?”  

And the offer has you positively beaming before him, that same flirtatious shimmer in your irises doubling at the words that roll off his tongue. “Oh my,” you swoon playfully, stepping back to, Jungkook assumes, allow him to get in. 

He plops down, feels like he would break out in a sweat if the evening temperature wasn’t so cool. The car’s interior blends into the shadows, his clothing practically indiscernible against the dark shade of the seats. A stark contrast to the pretty floral dress that suddenly spills itself over his lap when you climb in, the door tugged shut beside the two of you. All is silent, your thighs over his, hands on his shoulders. “Hi, bunny,” you murmur, lips pulled into a smirk, provocative yet playful, like you know something that Jungkook doesn’t. 

Jungkook’s throat feels dry but he still manages to gulp. He’s drowning in your perfume and your body lotion, in the faint smell of the outdoors clinging to your clothes and your hair, the absolutely heavenly scent of just you in your entirety. “Hi,” he whispers back, voice lost beneath the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears. And his quiet greeting is rewarded with two soft hands that crawl up his neck, cupping his face in their palms. 

“You were so sweet today,” you purr, nose nudging against his when you finally lean in, pressing your breasts against Jungkook. A tiny gasp catches in his throat, his hands instinctively going to your waist. “Can I kiss you again?” 

Jungkook has never wanted anything more. “Please,” he exhales, feeling like he’ll explode if you don’t kiss him soon. You take his request in stride, jut your face forward just the slightest bit until your mouth is pressed firmly against his, the movement of your lips a practiced rhythm that he just can’t seem to master. He still tries his best, puckers his lips when he feels it’s right, tilts his head when you urge him with a soft nudge. He tries his best and hopes it’s enough. 

By now, Jungkook has come to understand that there is a pattern to your kisses. You always start off slow and relaxed, mouth languidly moving against his as you lure him across a tightrope of anticipation. They gradually become more intense, pulling out whimpers and sighs from Jungkook that he had never known were possible. It’s a carefully crafted art form, the tongue that slides out from between your pillowy lips, dips into his own mouth with a giggly pant. “Good boy,” you hum in between, hands burying themselves in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Always so good.”

Jungkook shudders when you eventually part, can’t catch his breath fast enough before you’re reaching for the buttons on the front of his shirt, easily undoing the casual tie too. “Relax,” you tell him, bypassing his lips for the warm expanse of skin just below. You kiss over his chin, down his neck, as your hands crawl beneath his shirt and around his naked waist. 

He’s ticklish, and when you brush against his ribs, he unwillingly releases a sharp huff of laughter. It’s followed by a wide-eyed look of embarrassment, cheeks a warm hue when you lean back in surprise at this new bit of information. “I— sorry,” he blurts out, because he doesn’t know proper make-out etiquette, doesn’t know anything really, except what you’ve shown him. 

But the sound makes you snort, looking at him with this gaze that drips with honey. “So cute,” you tell him, placing a chaste kiss against his lips, before disappearing back down to lavish his throat with filthier kisses. And with you laving your tongue across his skin, biting at every inch available, Jungkook is left to fuzzily stare over the crystal clear windshield. He’s struck with the faint realization that if someone were to look hard enough, they would see him through the tinted glass as he fell apart into the hands of a pretty girl. 

The soft smack of your lips against his skin is sensual, makes every hair on his body stand stiff. Your lips trail down the column of his neck, placing a bruising kiss at the juncture where it meets the rest of his body. “Oh,” he sighs, eyelids fluttering when a hand squeezes at his chest, thumb against his nipple. 

Another muffled giggle pressed against the base of his neck, and when Jungkook focuses his eyes again, he catches his own gaze in the rearview mirror. 

The sight of him is… weird to say the least. 

Even in the dark, his lips look thoroughly debauched, puffier and redder than usual, slick with saliva that isn’t entirely his. He doesn’t tell himself to, but his mirrored counterpart peeks his tongue out, runs it along his top lip sinfully. Startled by his own appearance, Jungkook jolts in place, feeling you shift in his lap with a soft little whine. “Bunny,” you frown, and Jungkook watches your side profile in the tiny mirror as you sit back up, press your lips against his ear. “Sit still for me,” you tell him, hand slithering up his chest, around his throat. Over his Adam’s apple, squeezing just the slightest. It’s not tight, but it knocks the air out of his lungs when he sees the action mirrored back at him on the reflective surface. 

That familiar guilt sticks in his throat, evident when your hand slips away and he swallows harshly, the protrusion just beneath his skin bobbing up and down. 

In the back of Jungkook’s mind, he can recall the religious story that surrounded this bodily feature; a sin and the consequence. A garden and a fruit, a beautiful woman by his side. 

Your hand creeps down between your bodies, palming over his quickly fattening cock, and Jungkook swears he sees stars, a strained whimper escaping from his lips that you giggle at. “Oh my,” he huffs, clutching at the skirt of your dress. You nuzzle close again, pressing a tender kiss against the side of his neck. 

Your hands are so soft and sweet, brushing over his cock like you’re simply caressing him out of adoration and not because you want him to cum, staining his seats and your dress. Either way, Jungkook can’t even begin to imagine what you must be thinking; before the date and his confession, he had been afraid that you would discard him. Maybe Jungkook wasn’t what you wanted, maybe he wasn’t what you needed. You were so confident in yourself and your actions, a stark contrast to Jungkook and his constant uncertainty, his fear of doing the wrong thing plaguing him at all hours of the day. 

Even now, with your hands expertly tugging his zipper down, he finds himself going back to that story. That apple in the garden, the consequences it had hailed. Never mind the fact you’re on top of him, claiming to like him, with your hands touching every inch of his skin. He keeps looping back to that Biblical verse instead, thinks about it when your fingers meanly let the elastic band of his briefs snap against his skin. “Ouch,” he flinches, voice a soft whine. He turns too quickly and too suddenly, nose bumping against yours because you’re still so close. 

You smile, puckering your lips for the lightest of kisses. It’s the little things like that that make Jungkook’s entire thought process stall, distantly aware of the fact that it’s, like always, you leading the majority of your encounters once again. Even during your picnic, it had been you who had practically held his hand as you navigated through basic information, asked for his favorite color and his favorite drink. Had it not been for your own proactive tendencies, Jungkook fears he would have never known your favorite color was pink or your favorite day of the week was Thursday. 

It’s a fact that makes him pause, jaw tightening as he once again realizes how little effort he was putting into knowing you. For someone who claimed to like you a lot, he rarely did the work to prove it. Even now, he’s too unsure of who he is and who you are to indulge you properly, instead watching you lead the scene as usual. Before he can stop himself, a sigh is escaping his lips. 

It must convey his emotions perfectly, because it’s enough to make your wandering hands pause by his waist. “Everything okay?” you ask, always knowing what he’s feeling. And it sucks that he couldn’t say the same for himself. 

“N— Yes,” he rushes to say, looking up at you with round eyes, the moonlight painting half of your face a paler color than usual, the other side shrouded in darkness. It makes your eyes look darker, makes Jungkook gulp loudly when you turn those inquisitive eyes on him. 

His answer doesn’t seem to convince you, and it’s with little to no hesitation that you sit back. It puts a distance between the two of you that Jungkook can’t say he’s a fan of. “Jungkook,” you say, voice stern yet warm, one hand reaching up to brush your knuckles against his cheek. “Tell me what’s bothering you?” 

It makes Jungkook nervous. He knows he thinks too much. Part of him fears that oversharing with you will drive you away, put you even farther than you are now. Maybe next time it’ll be a room’s length away, a football field’s length away. And he doesn’t want that; he wants to hold you close, he really does. But there are traditions he carries and beliefs he holds dearly that make it hard for him to do so, as much as it pains him. 

The only reason he knows he’s frowning is because you press your pointer finger against the corner of his mouth. You lean in close, nose bumping against his. It sends your scent billowing over him, makes him dizzy when he becomes aware of the hand he’s got on your bare thigh, the rumpled skirt of your dress pushed away. “Talk to me, bunny,” you murmur. You don’t make a move to kiss him, a fact that Jungkook feels both grateful and disheartened by. “Please?”

And he can’t deny you, not when you ask so nicely. You have this metaphorical grip on Jungkook, a tight hold around his throat that has made him act impulsively these past few weeks, desperate to be with you, to please you. Even now, despite how much he wants to withhold his thoughts, he finds himself quietly admitting them instead. “I want to know you,” he mumbles, unable to meet your eye. You don’t push him to. “I really, um. I like you, __. A lot.” It’s a repetition of his earlier confession. And still, it makes him nervous. A thumb brushes against his cheekbone, encouraging him to meet your solemn gaze even if it means being a blushing mess afterwards. “Before we, uh, do… things.” 

His words may be choppy and incoherent, but you understand him all the same. “You want to go out some more,” you clarify, removing your hand from his cheek. The phantom trail of your fingertips on his skin remains, feels colder when you lean away to allow him some more space. 

Jungkook nods quickly, hoping this rush of adrenaline might help him through this. He bites down on his lower lip, carefully analyzing your expression for any signs of disbelief or disgust. But all he sees is understanding, a cool expression that makes Jungkook’s heart thunder. “I…,” he says, glancing down at where he’s still got his hand on your naked skin. Something inside of him tells him to rub his thumb across it, an action he doesn’t think through until he hears a sharp inhale, watches goosebumps rise over the skin. “I’m sorry,” he rushes out, snatching his hand away before he can do something else of a similar sort. “I- I just—“ said hand now waves around wildly beside him “—I really like you, as a, um— uh. A person. And I—“ and this is where he becomes aware of his unbuttoned shirt and the way you’ve got your pretty pussy pressed against his thigh now “—I, um. I want to know me— I mean, you —better? More? Like—“

His embarrassing babbling is cut off with a gentle kiss to his lips. No tongue, no saliva. Just soft lips against his, a delicate hand against his shoulders. When you pull away, Jungkook unconsciously trails after the touch, eyes half-lidded and in a daze when you place a palm on his chest. “I got it,” you say, lips quirking into a tiny smile. “I want to know more about you too, bunny,” you admit, reaching for the front of his shirt. He watches on with flushed cheeks as you slowly button it up for him, finishing it off with a playful tap against the underside of his chin. 

You glance out of the window thoughtfully. Jungkook is suddenly reminded of how pretty you are, your skin practically glimmering under the pale moonlight. It catches on your necklace, a thin chain with a cross on the end. If he focuses his eyes behind you, his own reflection stares back once more. Jungkook’s entire body threatens to lock up tightly, but a single kiss on the cheek from you interrupts the process. “Do you wanna date?” you ask, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. 

Jungkook can’t agree fast enough. “I— yes,” he gasps, leaning forward too suddenly. It makes you flinch back in surprise, back pressing up against the driver’s seat behind you in surprise. You wouldn’t have fallen or anything, but Jungkook reacts like it was a serious possibility anyway, grasping at your waist and pulling you snug against him, soft thighs sandwiching his tiny waist. “Oh, God,” he frets, immediately moving to release you. 

But you catch him with two arms thrown around his neck, pulling Jungkook close to you for another kiss. Deeper and… meaningful, your satiny lips carefully slotted against his. While it surprises him at first, Jungkook finds himself melting into it soon enough. This was okay, he tells himself, and for the first time in a few weeks, he finds himself believing it. 

It was just kissing— intimate yet appropriate kissing —between two people who were seeing each other. Him, properly seeing you. His heart threatens to burst out of its cage for a second. It’s the first time since he’s met you that he can fully say he hadn’t felt nervous about his actions, hadn’t felt like he was committing some grave sin for chasing after your touch. It was just a kiss, simple and sweet, making both of you smile bashfully when you eventually pull away. There was no lying and no guilt, no tears and no stress. 

It felt good.

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[jisungsplatforms]

Pairing: Lee Felix x gn! reader

Genre: fluff, small angst (in the beginning); non idol au, reincarnation au, kinda strangers to lovers (but not really? you’ll see)

Warnings: character deaths in the beginning (Salem witch style oops)

Tears streamed down their faces as they smiled lovingly to one another. The male leaned his forehead onto his lover’s own, holding each other as close as they can be. It was unfathomable, really, how lucky they were to find each other in this convoluted world. The amount of love they had for each other was suffocating; it was a love that was too good to last...

“Burn the devils!”

“Repent for your sins, you vile wenches!”

“May you suffer in the hands of your lord, filthy worshippers!”

The cries of the townspeople could not be heard over the sound of their synchronized heartbeats and declining breaths.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Flames of red and orange engulfed the couple’s forms. The man was terrified, not for himself but for his significant other. He silently prayed to the Lord to set them free; to guide them to the gates of paradise, where they can finally live peacefully together at last. “May we meet again in another life, my beloved,” his lover proposed with one final breath, letting the fiery madness swallow them whole. Only the wind could carry the last words of this bittersweet love story.

- 🕧 -

Felix jolted in cold sweat, the speed of which he sat up nearly gave him whiplash. He looked around to find he was just in the comfort of his bedroom. “Again?” he groaned as he hunched over, rubbing his face. Ever since he turned 18, he’s been having the same damned dream almost every night, leaving him with a heavy heart the next morning. It was driving him mad! All he wanted was for it to stop; though deep down, he also didn’t want to. He knew his conscience was trying to tell him something, rather, it was as if he needed to find someone. He flipped his phone over to read the time. ‘8:56am’ He sighed, getting up for the day.

“Do you believe in second chances?”

Everybody turned to Jisung in question, who was giving the 3 boys the purest look they have ever seen. “Like, if they did something bad?” Seungmin replied, “Yeah, I guess but it really depends on how grave the situation is.”

“No! No! Like, second lives and stuff like that!”

“Reincarnation?”

“Yeah! That’s the word,” Jisung smiled. Felix looked at him in interest, feeling antsy for some odd reason.

“Why?” Seungmin asked. “Is this from another one of those stories you read in that silly book?”

“Hey! Minho gave me that book! Respect it!”

Seungmin sighed as the other two boys laughed. “Hey, we should just be happy that he can even read, Seungmin,” Hyunjin laughed, earning a punch from Jisung.

“Come on, it’s not silly! I think it’s really cool,” Jisung pouted, everyone ignoring Hyunjin’s cries of help. “Hyunjin, You read it and thought it was cool too!”

Hyunjin stopped and scoffed, “Yeah, but it sounds a little...unrealistic? I think it is a cool concept but it can just never be true.”

“Agreed,” Seungmin chimed in. “Sounds too far fetched. You die? You die. That’s the end of it. No such thing as ‘second lives’.”

“Boohoo, you guys are such downers. Hope you guys stay dead when you die then,” Jisung jokes. “What about you, Lix? You never said anything.” The boys turned to the uncharacteristically quiet boy.

Felix hummed. “I think…” he draws out, “that it could happen? To me, it doesn’t sound that impossible”

“See! Felix is with me!” the chubby cheeked boy cheered. “He has a vision unlike you haters.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes sassily. “Okay, then what did the book say? Does it explain why reincarnation is a thing?”

“Yup! It said that reincarnation often happens when someone dies a tragic death or lived a miserable life. They are granted a second chance of one to make amends for their hardships, so that they can finally live the happy lives they deserve! And sometimes, people will still have memories from their past life.”

“Fake,” Hyunjin faux coughed. Jisung turns to him with a glare.

“Shut up. Don’t act as if you didn’t cry when you read the story.”

“Hey!” The two boys argued while Seungmin went on his phone to ignore the commotion. Meanwhile, Felix was lost in thought. So it is true...I was reincarnated. Those dreams really were memories of my past self! This is a sign!

“Hm,” Seungmin said to no one particularly, “I wonder when will anyone bring up that fact that Minho gave Jisung a literal children’s book?”

- 🕘 -

The boys left Hyunjin’s house after 5 hours. It was already the afternoon, and they were starving, seeing how they spent the whole time playing video games. Instead of ordering food, Seungmin suggested they go out to physically buy the food, much to Jisung and Hyunjin’s chagrin. Jisung and Hyunjin went to buy pizza, Seungmin was in charge with buying them food that’ll actually fill their stomachs, and Felix went to buy the drinks and desserts. Hyunjin went on about “eating like kings!” or something like that.

Felix was lining up in the ice cream shop, already carrying the bag of sodas for them. He was waiting for his turn when he heard a sweet voice from the line beside him; a voice that he has vaguely heard before. “Hello! Can I have-”

He turned his head to find the most breathtaking person he has ever seen. Felix felt his heart racing. It was as if his world stopped. Is that-? What’s happening? Is this it? he gulped. “Hello sir? Sir!”

He immediately snapped out of it, remembering he’s still in line. He looks back at the line to find that he’s next. “I am so sorry!” he bowed, quickly moving to the counter to place his order. Felix hastily spoke with the employee in hopes of speaking to the mystery beauty. He turned around to see his self-proclaimed soulmate already walking out the door. He cursed, ready to run out the door, when he heard his name being called. Felix hissed, snatching the bag of ice cream from the employee, with a quick ‘thank you’.

He sprinted out of the shop and into the direction he saw them leave. Either he ran that fast, or his soulmate was slow, he was able to catch up to them. “W-Wait!” he called out, breathlessly. His heart wanted to burst when he saw their form up close; when he saw you up close.

“Yes? May I help you?” you responded with a gentle smile. Felix had this strange urge to kiss your lips, fighting hard against it since you two are still technically strangers in this life.

“U-uhm,” he cleared his throat, “I’m sorry but- I think I’ve seen you in my dreams.”

Your eyes widened, caught off guard. Felix only now realized his blunder. “Crap- I’m sorry that was-”

He was cut off by the sound of your laughter, causing his face to burn even more. “Isn’t that a little cliché?” you giggled. Felix bit his lower lip in humiliation, looking down to the cement under his shoes. He wanted to run away. The situation was too embarrassing for him to handle. He felt your soft hands bring his face up.

“Hey hey, no need to be embarrassed. Don’t worry about it,” you smiled, “my beloved.”

Felix was stunned. Holy sh- I was right! It is you! he cheered mentally. He smiled as wide as he could, dropping his bags and bringing you into his arms. The two of you laughed in relief, happy that the two of you were together at last. You buried your face into his shoulder.

“I’ve missed you, Felix.”

“I’ve missed you too, Y/n,” he sighed, kissing the top of your head.

You looked up with tears in your eyes. You whispered, “I told you we shall meet again in our next life...my beloved.”

🕛 End 🕛

[kireiwoo]

red, blue, my yellow. [jwy!]

˚➶. EXPO ↓

#𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 bestfriend!woo x fem!reader.

#𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭 in which woo is your teasing florist of a friend who can’t seem to pick between red and blue; so you add a third option for him, yellow!

#𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 bf2l, fluff, crack, blasphemy(?), animal death, cursing, 6th grader jokes, two dorks being oblivious, kissing <3

#𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 2.0k+

“Okay, so Sky Blue or Cherry Red?”

“What the fuck? Those are so contrasting.”

Wooyoung whined at your indecisive and absentminded response, leaning his head against your turquoise, sweater-clad shoulder while watching reruns of Scooby-Doo on your old TV. You sipped on the sugarless vanilla latte he purchased for you, relishing in the brief but welcomed warmth the drink radiated in waves. Wooyoung obsessively shoved two paint-cards into your face, gaggling over how bright and saturated they were.

He visited earlier with the guise of simply hanging out with you, claiming that while occupied with his 9-5 job downtown as an optimistic florist, he missed your company. Initially he picked the job because it sounded delicate and comprehensively easy. Objectively, the work was relatively standard; water the daffodils and make sure his small, secret rose garden he called ‘wonderland’ was receiving enough sunlight; but his back ached with hauling boxes filled with seeds and bags packed of faux soil.

“Why are you seriously no help?” He chirped. You grumbled in response, focusing on the graphics of the late television show rather than Wooyoung’s juvenile complaints. Your hair was an unkempt rat’s nest and your spongebob pyjama pants were ruffled considerably, but you allowed Wooyoung into your house regardless of your external appearance. You knew he wouldn’t judge you anyways, too occupied with picking a paint colour for his new apartment.

“How about Sunflower Yellow?” You calmly, dismissively suggested, taking another long swig from the now-empty pale brown paper cup before tossing it behind your couch. You’d clean it up later anyways, but for now you had a whiny best friend to deal with. “Dunno if you’re hard of hearing or colourblind but yellow wasn’t an option.” Wooyoung quipped, his eyes flashing with a teasingly stumped mirth.

“You and I both damn-well know who has the better hearing, and she’s lookin’ right at ya.” Wooyoung giggled at your pouty disposition, finding your blushed cheeks and deep eye-bags adorable. He sat casually against your couch, dressed in his own quirkily mismatched ensemble. A pair of khaki shorts accompanied by a dark green sweatshirt and multicoloured socks, his scuffed three-year-old tennis shoes laying by your door. You found it endearing how Wooyoung still tried to come up with his own fashion trends, ending up looking like a stitched together version of brand-name and value-village. But he was being expressive in the form of seasonal apparel, and you were proud of him.

“Byeol?” He teased, gesturing to your mangy, blue-eyed siamese feline as she sat back and observed your get-together, scattering away once the attention was on her. Wooyoung sighed.

“Look, you chubby-cheeked wench, just answer and I’ll leave you to sleep in your little cocoon of grandma blankets.” You huffed at his insinuation, plonking your deft fingers against his cheek softly and gently.

You met Wooyoung in third grade, when sex didn’t determine friendship and the bounds of society were turned away by your blind infant eyes.

You’d been retrieving wild bluebells and dandelions, bunching them in your sweaty grasp as a sort of dedicated bouquet, explaining to the boisterous boy that you needed to leave it as a parting gift to a squirrel you saw that got run over (you called him Tootles). Looking back, it was innately bizarre how indifferent you were to the concept of death, but Wooyoung supposes that it was a sweet thought anyways. From then on, the two of you blundered together—but part of the reason Wooyoung stayed was also because of his obvious attraction to your lopsided pigtails and thrifted summer dresses. He remembers that you always had a food stain somewhere on your clothing.

Now looking at you, still messy and even more vulgar, he can’t help but think that he doesn’t regret any moments. You’ve gone through everything together; Wooyoung was present for your first period when the stomach pain and hunger cramps were immense, and you were there when his family suffered through a rough patch, assuring him that everything would be okay when in reality, the decision of divorce between his parents was settled a week later. Those were some of his most difficult moments, but he can look back at them fondly only because it brought him closer to you.

“Wench? What are you saying? I’m a god.” You offered in the most dramatized tone you could.

“Might wanna get your facts checked,”

“Might wanna get your mom checked,” You snorted, biting your lip while procuring finger guns just for the hell of it. Wooyoung sighed in mock disappointment, his frizzy purple-tinted fringe falling onto his forehead. You grinned and giggled, catching his attention cutely.

Your whiny puppy rolled his eyes before wailing a cacophony of displeased sounds, loudly filtering his discontentment with having a plain apartment. “(Y/N) you don’t understand the seriousness of my situation! Who wants to tell their grandchildren that their first—that’s right, first!—apartment was a boring cream colour?!” Fed up with his childish bumbling, you quickly smacked his forehead, chuckling quietly as he squeaked and softened his stiff posture. It was honestly so lovable how he got so passionate about the smallest, almost insignificant things.

“Listen, we’ll figure something out. I still think Sunflower Yellow should be an option though.” Wooyoung swatted at your covered tummy with an overzealous and enthusiastic expression, clearly excited with the concept of letting you help him. The soft scent of peppermint-chamomile flooded into your nostrils from his clothing, making you mentally note to ask him what detergent he decided to try. “You think wrong, settler! Now choose between these two colours or I’ll be obligated to steal half of your lifespan.” You laughed loudly at the unprecedented silliness of your best friend, shaking your head while sending a fleeting but absolutely enamoured stare in his direction.

“Honestly, at this point why am I letting you help me?” He hummed. You gurgled at his feigned distress, gasping and tackling him against the couch. You straddled his waist, pointing a manicured figure at his face while you fondly cursed at him. “As I recall, Mr. Jung; you arrived to my residence at exactly 12:01 PM with the excuse to hang out, only to badger me with your issues about... paint colours. You came to me.” Wooyoung sat enthralled by your change in attitude, bathing in the flawlessness of your execution regarding exposing him for his wrongdoings.

“Just boom, bam, pow: There’s that dude I’m in love with.” Wooyoung’s eyes widened considerably, a snarky smirk falling across his countenance as his cheeks devilishly flushed, looking similar to that of a ripened strawberry. Immediately you backtracked, wondering what you said that provoked this reaction, and realization struck across your face like a sharp slap.

Oh shit. Shit.

“I-Uh—you didn’t hear that.” You waved shy but frantic hands into his face, as if hypnotizing him into forgetting about your embarrassingly personal confession. But all he did was giggle and take ahold of your wrists, pulling your body forward so you were chest to chest with him.

A soft, addictingly brief kiss was placed against your creased forehead, the perfect lips of your best friend brushing against your heated skin. You swallowed thickly, placing your hands over his sweater-clad chest with confusion written all over your face. What in the hell kind of reaction was this—? Whatever it was, it was warm and delicate and felt right.

Then again, there’s nothing that ever feels wrong when it comes to Jung Wooyoung. Or maybe that’s just you.

“Y’know, you’re not very... secretive.” He settled, making perplexities skip through your mind like stones on water. Had he known? Was this the end of your life-long friendship? Questions ran through your mind endlessly, your heart rapidly beating and mind berating you for admitting your tini-tiny, small-as-a-planet crush. “I had my suspicions but you actually saying it was my sweet confirmation.”

“The fuck? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I-I—Hey! Don’t be angry at me!” He pouted, melting your heart into a pile of mushy and fragmented puddles. “What I was trying to say is, I love you too.” Immediately your face blanched and you dropped your head into the crook of Wooyoung’s neck, appreciating the small dust of red that decorated his ears. You simply couldn’t face him in fear that this was all a simulation; a seemingly harmless gaffe constructed firstly to tease you, and knowing Wooyoung with his wildly oblivious tendencies and boyish lack of empathy, you had no doubt that it was something he would try.

And yet, you couldn’t even force yourself to be angry at him. Because while you speculated that he was joking, somewhere in your heart you knew that he was being honest—simply in denial with the prospect of your long-lasting crush actually returning your feelings. “Hello? Earth to (Y/N)? Airhead? Loafer?” You snapped out of your reverie, staring at Wooyoung’s pinked face as his prying eyes drifted around your facial features, slowly tracing each detail.

“You love me too?” Shock ever-present, you searched in Wooyoung’s loving gaze for some kind of testimony, a confirmation, for some truth to be shed. And when all you could see were the glimmering, almost glowing sparkles in his large pupils, you felt the slightest bit reassured.

“Of course I do, bean!”

“As a friend though, right?” Wooyoung’s face screwed into an intense concentration, expression looking fragile and breakable. But in his wandering mind, he questioned how you could even consider that. He loved you as something more—with your tangled tresses and wrinkled clothes, even down to the fact that you couldn’t handle sugar but grimaced every time you drank your vanilla lattes, simply because they weren’t sweet enough.

It was the little things that he found himself so affectionately obsessed with. He remembers your bleached sundresses in elementary and how you couldn’t tie your shoes without help from a teacher. How you loathed wearing glasses because you thought they made you look nerdy, but complained because you just couldn’t see.

“Jesus Christ, Loser. No, I love you like... like a crush! Yeah, like a crush. Romantically.” He gushed, and if this wasn’t one of the most immature confessional moments in history, it sure was a cheesy one.

“Wait, really? You like-like me?” Good god. Your fingers trembled and lips twitched.

“Yes, how many times do I—” Wooyoung breathed out a shaky sigh as you leaned forward and smoothly took his lips with your own. He tasted minty and sweet, like petals and chocolate. His eyes fluttered closed as your lips meshed together, pushing against each other in a romantic twine of burning passion.

Suddenly, your hands were on either side of his head and one of his deft, spidering hands pressed onto the small of your back. The other hand trailed up to the back of your neck, twirling the loose strands of hair at your nape, his tongue breaching the space between your lips invasively—but then he tried to card his fingers through your hair; and you hissed and pulled away like a disenchanted cat, baring your teeth from the unprecedented pain.

“Shit! Sorry, baby.” Whereas your head flooded with spiking pains from small hairs being plucked, your heart was palpitating at the new but definitely embraced pet-name. “I told you that you should’ve washed your hair! But someone doesn’t like listening!” You tutted at the nagging, harrumphing before placing another complacent kiss against his lips.

“Oh shut up, Mr. I can’t choose between red and blue.” You never thought you’d get the chance to tease Wooyoung after directly smooching him; it was a fantasy and a reoccurring fever dream to feel his plush, pillowed lips against your own. Perhaps a perverse imaginative scenario, but it was a reality now. And reality suddenly didn’t seem so harsh; crowded in the warm arms of a starry-eyed shortie with calloused hands and a knack for gardening.

“You’re right, I can’t. But it’s okay, I prefer yellow anyways.”

Who knows what awaits you in life? Maybe the sky will drain of it’s blue and the roses will deplete of their red—but no matter the changes and disparities that occur over the years, there’s always one thing that you’re forever sure of:

“You’re my yellow, Jung Wooyoung.”

🥽 all rights reserved © kireiwoo. do not : plagiarize, counterfeit, or translate, & thank you for reading <3!

[365days365movies]

March 16, 2021: Legend (1985) (Part One)

Hi, Tim Curry. How are you doing today?

Yeah, that tracks. Been a while, always good to see you. Man, actually, when is the last time I saw you? Clone Wars? I think so, although I don’t know if that really counts. I think, in person, it was...oof, Criminal Minds in 2012?

Yeah, dude, you were FUCKING TERRIFYING, HOLY SHIT. I feel like people don’t talk about that performance as much, but you were goddamn amazing, buddy. Sorry I didn’t open with this, but...you were my childhood, Ti. Like, from Clue to The Wild Thornberrys to Muppet Treasure Goddamn Island GOD I LOVE YOU IN THAT MOVIE TOO

Amazing. And let’s not forget Ferngully, of course. Look...I love you, OK? You’re beautiful. And I know that recently, you’ve been through a lot of health struggles, and I wish you the absolute best, I sincerely do. You’re the best, man. Hang in there. 

Actually, while I have you...settle a bet for me, I’ve got it with myself. Have I...have I already seen this movie? Because I feel like I might have, but I don’t think so. It’s like the Mandela effect, y’know? I mean, if I’d seen it before...would I not remember you in this get-up?

I mean...come ON, RIGHT? I know FOR A FACT that I’ve attempted to watch this movie with friends before, and that didn’t happen. Then, I tried to watch it on my own, and that didn’t pan out because I’m pretty sure I fell asleep after 15 minutes. It had been a long day, I’m sorry. But...I don’t get it, Tim Curry? What the hell happened?

Well...whatever. I guess we’re going to take care of this ONCE AND FOR ALL. Now, who directed this movie?

Oh shit, REALLY? RIDLEY SCOTT! Kick-ass, he did Alien, and this - 

And then this - 

OOH, and this!

Oh, and we can’t forget this!

And also this!

And...and this...

...And this...

Oh. Fuck, and this.

...

OH GOD STOP I FORGOT ABOUT 1492

...OK, this could either be a very good movie, or a very VERY bad one. I mean...it’s got Tim Curry in it, so it can’t be that bad? And hey, Scott was on a hotstreak at the time, right? What could go wrong? Let’s do this!

SPOILERS AHEADOH FUCK IS THAT TOM CRUISE

Recap (1/2)

...Ahem. Um. OK. Maybe I imagined that image, or it’s from a different movie. Cool. Let’s keep going, nothing to see here.

The opening text scroll tells us that once, long ago, before time was even a concept, the world was shrouded in darkness. But Darkness hid from the light, which brought to the world laughter, love, and...unicorns. Yeah, really. Unicorns harbor the Light in their souls, as the most mytsical of all creatures. They’re safe from Darkness, and can only be found by a pure-hearted mortal, like Jack, a denizen of the forest. He is loved by Lily, and both believe only in goodness. But not for long, as a struggle for the balance between Darkness and Light is about to commence, and in that struggle will be born...Legend (1985), dir. Ridley Scott.

As the opening credits roll and confirm that Tom Cruise is in fact in this movie, I take a brief moment to vomit lightly.

At night, walking through the forest, there is a creature with some...bad-ass makeup and costume design GODDAMN. Like, yeah, that category’s already looking good. Anyway, the creature goes through the forest, and finds a den of fire and torture, all lorded over by a horned man, who speaks Mother Night, asking for her protection.

This is Darkness (Tim Curry), and...fuck me, holy shit, I GET it. Like, this dude began an entire movement and aethestic, and it makes a fuckton of sense. THis dude must have given birth to, like 10,000 goth children, goddamn. Anyway, he commands his goblin henchman Blix (Alice Playten) to find a unicorn and kill it, and to bring its horn back to him. Blix, the rhyming cretin, asks how to find them. And Darkness answers with the perfect lure: innocence.

That innocence is symbolized by Princess Lily (Mia Sara), a maiden cavorting happily about the wood, without a care in the goddamn world. She visits her friend Nell (Tina Martin), and briefly has a vision of winter in the cottage. Nell notes that it’s time for her to grow up a bit, but Lily’s only concerned with finding her sweetheart, Jack.

And Jack is...well, Jack o’ the Green (Tom Cruise) is a young man who lives in the forest, with his animal friends. An innocent himself, he’s basically Peter Pan, with Lily playing his Wendy. Except, well, they’re not THAT innocent, because they, like, IMMEDIATELY make out on the forest floor. Which has to be uncomfortable, real goddamn talk.

Jack teaches Lily to speak with the birds, then takes her to see something wonderful and rare. All the while, they’re being followed by Blix, who believes that their innocence will attract the mystical unicorns. And, uh, yeah, Blix is entirely correct about that, because here they come! And they’re making whale noises?

Apparently, as long as unicorns roam the Earth, evil can never harm the pure of heart. They express only love and laughter, and dark thoughts are unknown to them. Which Lily takes as an opportunity to go hang out with them, despite Jack’s urgings.

But the unicorns seem receptive to her, to Jack’s...frustration? He just kinda leaves her behind for some reason. And Blix takes the opportunity to hit one of the unicorns with a poison dart, causing them to be startled and storm off. Lily flees into the forest, and is immediately scolded by Jack, saying that what she did is forbidden by magic forest law. OK. She’s as confused about that as I am, but she still apologizes to him.

The two kiss, and Lily makes a promise to him and the universe, I guess, and says that whomever finds her ring will have the right to marry her. She throws it, and Jack IMMEDIATELY JUMPS OFF A CLIFF AFTER IT GODDAMN MY MAN! Lily screams hysterically after him for...some reason?

However, this isn’t great timing, because Blix and the goblins have caught up to the poisoned unicorn, and they cut off its horn, immediately plunging the forest into a fierce winter, similar to what Lily saw in her vision. Jack, in the river looking for the ring, is trapped underwater, beneath ice. By the time he breaks out, Lily’s already run away, to Nell’s place. Nell is frozen solid for some reason, and the goblins are also coming off after Lily for...some reason.

Lily hides, as Blix and his two companions Pox (Peter O’Farrell) and Blunder (Kiran Shah) exposit the whole thing so that Lily’s caught up on her fault in all of this, and once they leave, she promises to make it right. No idea how she’s gonna do that, but sure.

Jack, meanwhile has collapsed in the woods and snow. He’s woken up by a spirit of the forest named Honeythorn Gump (David Bennent), who is...interesting. He asks Jack what in the FUCK happened, and Jack admits that Lily, a mortal, touched a unicorn, which is apparently the ultimate no-no. Gump’s pissed, but the ACTUAL SECOND that Jack says that it was for love, Gump’s just...totally cool with it? They have a drink with Brown Tom (Cork Hubbert), and agree to help him find Lily...like, immediately.

They quickly find the dead unicorn, and yeah, the unicorn is FUCKING DEAD after losing its horn, and its mate shows up to mourn. Jack and Gump mourn with the magical creature, which looks REALLY BIG for a horse, Jesus. She stays with her fallen mate, and Jack goes back to the group, delivering the news that they’re cursed? No idea where that came from. 

To lift the curse and get the horn back, they must find a champion bold in heart and spirit. Gump IMMEDIATELY nominates Jack, and takes him to some cave where he can find weapons and armor. He’s guided by Oona (Annabelle Lanyon), a fairy who is LITERALLY NAVI FROM ZELDA, I CANNOT STRESS THAT ENOUGH

Oona reveals her true form to him secretly, then notes that she could be anything he wants her to be, even his heart’s desire. COMIN’ ON A LITTLE STRONG THERE OONA. Anyway, in the vault of golden weapons and armor and...gold, Jack grabs a sword.

Meanwhile, Lily follows Blix and his group, where Blix uses the magic of the Unicorn Horn (or the Alicorn) to demonstrate his newly found prowess. But as he’s claiming to take over Darkness’ kingdom. Just then, Darkness shows up and claims the Horn for himself, and kills Blunder when he talks back. Darkness asks whether or not the Unicorns are both dead, and reveals that his power will not be complete until the female Unicorn is also dead.

Lily runs off and makes her way back to the Unicorn and Brown Tom, and warns them of the Goblin’s approach to kill the Mare. Brown Tom, who I think is either a leprechaun or a brownie, fends the Goblins off, while Lily and the Mare...DON’T RUN? FUCKING RUN YOU ASSHOLES!

Tom gets shot by an arrow...in the hat. He immediately falls dead, despite being totally fine, the dick. And Lily and the mare are captured, BECAUSE THEY DIDN’T FUCKING RUN WHEN THEY SHOULD’VE. Jack, Gump, and the leprechaun/gnome/brownie/halfling Screwball (Billy Barty) come to “rescue” him. He tells them that Lily’s alive, and Gump takes Jack to the Great Tree for the next step, accompanied by Screwball and Tom. There, they find...

WOW. THAT SHIT IS COOL. This is Meg Mucklebone *Robert Picardo), and this thing is absolutely my favorite thing in the movie so far...AND THEN JACK KILLS HER IMMEDIATELY. JAAAAAAACK, WHAT THE HELL, she was really cool. Goddamn it.

The group gets to the great tree, then falls into an underground prison, where Blunder is also held. The group is NOT where they want to be, right in Darkness’ lair. Nice job, Gump. In the prison, the guys, now joined by fellow brownie/dwarf/gnome thing Blunder, hide from one of Darkness’ men, as he takes Blunder away to the torture table.

Stuck in the cell, Jack suggests that Oona go and get the keys. However, her ability to transform into a humanoid form was a secret between her and Jack, and she’s upset by him revealing it. Gump’s also upset by the secret in and of itself, but she defends that her secrets are hers to keep. You tell him, Oona!

She then says that she’ll only do what Jack wants if he kisses her, GODDAMN IT OONA. NOW IS NOT THE TIE TO GO ALL TINKERBELL IN HOOK! He gives her a little peck, but she transforms into Lily to make him give her a real kiss, dear lord that is CREEPY, OONA! Jack almost kisses her, but refuses at the last second. He notes that human hearts can’t be won over that way, which greatly upsets Oona. Still, she ends up getting the keys for them regardless, and sets them free.

And at this point, we are halfway through, so FUCK IT. PART TWO! See you there.

[holly-benji]

9X02 BRETTSEY REVIEW

Here I am today talking about my impressions of the 9x02 episode of Chicago fire. Ready? First of all let me tell you that: 1. English is not my first language, so forgive me some grammatical errors. 2. I have written a lot (maybe too much) so I hope you have the patience to get to the end. 3. It is not a post against Monica Raymund or Gabby Dawson. Just some of my considerations about it. I do not want to start any war.

Let us begin! I will try to analyze what happened for the different phases that followed during the episode

RESCUE SCENE:

I start by saying that Sylvie Brett is really badass. She's really grown up and I think it's going to be a real PIC for Mackey.

Moving on to Casey: "61 respond. Do YOU hear me?". I think that YOU has a great value for him. I think this phrase encapsulates all of Casey's concern about losing Brett. The face he makes immediately afterwards when no one answers on the radio is discouraging. And when he asks Stella "we should have seen them by now", he is looking for some support in Kidd (of the series tell me that nothing serious happened Stella please).

When Casey sees the wreckage of the ambulance he can’t wait to know if Sylvie is ok. First of all, for him is not ambulance 61, but Brett's ambulance. The difference is substantial. 

"Let me out". This scene is beautiful. Fortunately, after jumping out of a moving truck, Brett has already gotten out of the ambulance.

When Casey sees her, apart from screaming her name, he doesn't just ask her if she is okay. He looks at her everywhere, as if to see to himself that she is in one piece. Even afterwards he suggests to her to go to the hospital and when she refuses, he takes her to the truck to take her to the firehouse. With him. Brett's gaze is the mixture of being confused about the accident, and why Casey is there.

When Sylvie wants to save the crazy guy, he yells "Sylvie wait!". And then together they do what they do best. Saving lives.

IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN YOU

Of course Casey has to reach Brett to ask her once again if she is okay and tell her that he is glad if she is ok. What big scare did he get? But strangely enough when Brett asks him how he got there so quickly and why it was only him, he omits a few details in the reconstruction of how things went. Brett KNOWS him so the "it always been you" comes out of her. Remember that THE ONE she's been looking for for a long time, and she talks to Matt about in the 8x07 episode? She finally realized it was him all along. From the beginning of everything. And when she realizes that she practically told him that the key to everything is him, she tries to make up for the blunder she just made. In fact she says "such a good friend". Casey is amazed by this sentence, and wants to understand what else is underneath (because it can actually be sibylline), but is interrupted by Capp for the report.

SYLVIE AND STELLA

So Brett is in love with Casey. But she can't tell him. She doesn't want to tell him.

Let's make a brief summary of what happened between Brett and Casey from Sylvie's point of view. Gabby's departure marked a turning point for both of them. I think for both of them it was just a simple friendship at least until the episode 7x16. When Casey was almost shot with a gun. The two of them started talking more and more and became confidants of each other. Brett's feelings I think were initially seen in the 7x21 even if at the time as a simple attraction. She has been trying to suppress them ever since. It was said that they were not right. So she got engaged to Kyle and tried to carry on a meaningless relationship. In fact, not only did she want to suppress what she felt, she WAS CERTAIN that Casey would not have seen her any other way than as a friend and the 7x22 gave her confirmation. Casey involuntarily pushed her into the arms of another. After her return in the 8x03, Casey and Brett bonded more and more. And every time someone saw the chemistry that the two of them shared, she diminished. She did it with Olivia, Foster, Kidd and even Julie. Things changed in the 8x17 when Sylvie seriously started working on her feelings. In any case she became more and more convinced that the feelings she felt were not reciprocated, and mostly WRONG. He was still her best friend's ex, and she knew that he would not easily forget Dawson.

So when talking to Stella in this 9x02 SYLVIE DOES NOT WANT TO SPEAK TO CASEY BECAUSE IT IS SURE THAT HE IS NOT IN LOVE WITH HER, BUT THAT HE IS  IN LOVE WITH DAWSON. So she thinks the solution is to pretend this conversation never happened.

CASEY ASKS HER OUT, IN HIS OWN WAY

Casey wants to understand better the exchange of jokes that there have been between them in the dormitory. And on top of that he wants to ask her to get out of the 7x22, so I think it was the right time to do it considering that he could have lost her. The way he asks her out is very funny. How he claps and waves his hands. I HAVE NEVER SEEN THIS SIDE OF CASEY. The faces of Hermann and Mouch say it all.

THE DATE AT MOLLY’S

The way Casey gets up when he sees her and asks her if he can offer her something to drink, it makes me laugh my head off. He's in serious trouble: he doesn't know how to handle it.

Here the evening takes a completely unexpected turn. Gallo does what he should not do. He explains everything that happened at the beginning of the episode and Brett FOR THE FIRST TIME questions Casey's feelings. She asks herself "maybe he feels something for me?". The answer is clearly yes. Just look at their exchange of glances. One feels too much between the two of them. In any case, Dawson's shadow always makes itself felt in her head, and moreover she would like to kiss him but she can't because of a ban she has imposed herself. So she runs away. She is afraid.

The way Casey gets up is so sweet. He still doesn't understand what's wrong. But he knows there's something he did that Brett didn't take well.

AVOID CASEY

When the shift starts Casey tries to say goodbye to her, but she doesn't answer. On the contrary, she runs inside the firehouse. And the same thing happens when they are reassembling the ambulance door. Severide's words are prophetic. Sylvie avoids Casey because on the one hand she wants to kiss him, and on the other hand she is afraid that she will not be able to take Gabby's place and that there is no game for her. There will always be Dawson in first place. Casey realizes once again that something is wrong (he still can't figure out what it is though). But his look says it all, and Severide notices it too. And it gives him the best suggestion. UNDERSTAND WHAT THAT LOOK MEANS.

I would like to point out that Stella, Severide, Mouch, Hermann, Gallo, Capp and Tony all saw the connection that brettsey have. The whole firehouse know. Even Tony who speaks very little says for the first time his own ("we don't know what happened").

THE KISS

First of all I find it beautiful that Casey went to ask for explanations. Their "talk to me" is the key to everything. They have always confided in each other, and have done so very much in these two years (7x02 and 8x16 for example). Tell each other what's wrong is the basis of a solid relationship. Sylvie then reveals the reason and kisses him. She makes the first move. And I found it fantastic. Clearly Matt gives in immediately. I want to point out that during the kiss they smiled, even with their eyes. Their happiness could be felt in the air along with their sweetness. It was beautiful and I loved it as all the time there was delicacy. I don't think we need other words to describe it. And they both wanted it for a long time. At least from 7x21. What patience.

THE PROBLEM: GABBY DAWSON

Let us now analyze the Gabby Dawson problem. As I have already widely explained Sylvie is afraid because she could take a place that is complicated to replace at best. She fears the confrontation with the one and only woman she thinks Casey has loved and will love. So she decides to clarify this issue with him right away, and I find it an extremely mature attitude. I want to emphasize that until now Brett has had messed up stories, broken engagements, so now she is looking for THE ONE. She finally found him, but there is the Dawson problem. Let's remember that in the 8x09 Dawson came back and Matt ended up back in bed with her. Can you build something serious and lasting with a person who as soon as the ex returns there is a risk that he will end up in her bed? That's what Brett is afraid of. Maybe for him it's just a desire to have sex, while for Sylvie it's trying to make the choices to start a family. Let's try to unravel the skein, and clarify some of my points of view.

I loved the Dawseys, very much. I found them beautiful. Their story was all passion, and I loved it. Gabby was a tough girl, Casey was a good guy and I liked them a lot. Then at a certain point (maybe due to the problem of becoming parents), each of them started to take a different path, in fact to be precise Gabby did. Matt and Dawson communicated very little, especially in recent times, and the important decisions were ALWAYS AND ONLY HERS. She confronted Matt at the end, when the decision had already been made. I've always admired Dawson's resolution, but in some attitudes I found it exaggerated. The choice to try to have more children even with a pregnancy at risk ONLY HERS, the choice to move to Puerto Rico? ONLY HERS AND OVERALL IS THE ONE THAT LEAVES CASEY, THE ONE THAT SENDS PAPERS FOR DIVORCE. SHE RETURNS, THEN SHE LEAVES. The one that says if you want, there is always a place in my tent. 

Until now the decisions have been unilateral. Casey tries in his own way to make a new life for himself. He succeeds very hard. Initially he has a flirt with the journalist, then a flirt with the smart girl who interrupts immediately, and then from 8x03 let's say that his feelings for Brett, already present in my opinion from 7x19 at least ARE ALWAYS GROWN. 

But why when Sylvie asks, he doesn’t respond: “I love you”? Simple, he hasn't understood it yet. Let's understand each other. Matt can't explain how he feels about Sylvie because he has never felt it before. He has these strong feelings, totally new. Here, in addition to a strong passionate component (which the Dawseys certainly did not lack) there is a strong mental component that makes all the difference. Brett and Casey have very similar characters, something that certainly could not be said with Dawson and have created a deep friendship. Basically speak his actions for him. Jumping out of a truck, asking her nervously if she wants to go out with him. These are all attitudes that have not been seen in Matt Casey before. They are attitudes of a person who is in love. His not being able to answer is dictated by the fact that he has never faced the problem. He has never closed the door with Gabby and he has always left a gap, at first very big, that he believes that that is still open, but which actually lacks a small push to close it permanently. 

In essence Matt has to close definitively with the past and with all the drama that the relationship with Dawson has left. For example one of these is the problem of being rejected. This explains his nervousness towards Sylvie. He is not giving up completely. So Matt has to work on his emotions and he can't answer because he never asked himself the question. He took it for granted that he had moved on, but he hadn't put an end to it. I'm sure he will. Because he has to make his mind understand what his heart has already understood long ago. It must work on himselt and let off steam, talk to someone. These feelings for Brett have always been kept to himself. He has to shout it to the world instead.

Fortunately Matt and Sylvie are friend before lovers. They have built a strong foundation, and they are still communicating. I’m sure they will find their way back to each other.

I hope you enjoy my “review”. Let me know if there is something you want to add, or if you think I’m wrong. I’d like to chat with you, so write me!

Love you all, and always ship Brettsey!

I would also ask @hamburgerheroes if she wants to participate in the next reviews with her fantastic GIFs, and maybe alternate in the work if you like to comment together also the next episodes. Let me know. 

[nodusomnis]

title: brilliance of land pairing(s): tsuzuru minagi & reader characters: tsuzuru minagi, reader, citron, sakuya sakuma, masumi usui, itaru chigasaki, izumi tachibana, omi fushimi synopsis: even the land can be admired by the sky, too. word count: 6.7k

@emilycollins00 ‘s entry:  Morning! ^^ Uh, I'm getting a bit shy suddenly! I really love your edits and writting style! and I was hoping I could ask, if you had time of course and wanted, a TsuzuruxmatureUnistudent!reader? as,Tsuzu starts getting selfconcious around them but doesn't connect dots and some member mention it or make fun! It doesn't have to end in kiss/confession, I wanted to see how they would react in the situation. Maybe it's a little too vague...? in any case, thanks in advance, keep up the good work!

a/n: My apologies for taking me this too long to write. I was too caught up in the moment that it took me ages to finish this LMAO on the same note; the premise provided me an inspiration, so I was so avid to write for this 😅 well frankly, the other reason was because I was busy with my online classes, too. So I do apologize for making you wait this long 🙇‍♀️ anyhow, thank you for loving my edits and writings 😊💖 I’m truly grateful! Thanl you for requesting as well! I hope you like this one. Enjoy reading! 💛 

Tsuzuru’s recent bearings had him befuddled quite a lot in these past few weeks, which affected the performance in his classes, and mostly during their practice for the forthcoming spring troupe’s next play. He was altogether aware of how he’d easily become strained and a stuttering mess when confronting someone sometimes. However, the action he presents you doesn’t correspond to the individuals he has interacted with before. Rather, it was unfathomable for his intellect to bring in the answers he desires to know. Prior to these inexplicable emotions unfurling in his chest, he hasn’t endured these sorts of sensations that were surprisingly pleasant, yet with a smidge of pain blooming in the depths of his heart. If he were to ask as a scriptwriter to describe the feeling he’s experiencing as of late, Tsuzuru would effortlessly say that it was similar to a beautiful flower blooming in its perfect season, yet has thorns adhered in its stem.

It’s so poetic that he, himself, was even surprised to muse about such things.

It’s true that at the beginning of your rendezvous, he was tense and tripping over his words. He could not even look at you straight in the eyes for his timidity reining over him. But he already reckoned the reason; it was only natural of him to do that toward the people he has yet to meet before. And now that he has known you for about almost a year, he guaranteed that the shameless behaviors of his would launder and was comfortable to be around you. But to his dismay, it only reverted to him.

In university, it was inevitable to see and cross paths with you. After all, you are his classmate in one of the subjects he’s taking. More importantly, you two are seatmates, so how can he avoid you? And if ever you detected his preternatural actions, it would alone incite your suspicions and inquire what problem he has to be so apprehensive around you. And if you are, then he doesn’t know how he will explain it because he, himself, does not know where to begin with. He has no notion as to why he's being like this anyhow.

Well, to be honest, he got comfortable, but those unpleasant emotions only came back as though it brought him back to your first meeting.

It was hell for him, and he won’t deny it.

He could not concentrate on their lessons as he would occasionally glance at you and noticed himself that his head was over the clouds for staring at your face for too long.

Most of the time, when the two of you were in your breaks hanging out in the library or any facilities with fewer crowds, his actions seemed to be so limited that he felt like there were shackles wrapped in his wrists and ankles, restricting his every move. Furthermore, his answers were deliberate that it would take him quite a long time to answer the questions you had asked him. The only reason he can hand over is that he doesn’t want to screw himself up in front of you, especially since he refused to give you comments or suggestions that won’t be of any help at all.

For what it’s worth, he wants everything to be perfect, which he wasn’t like that toward someone even to his friends—well, except to his scripts by all means. But for some reason, whenever he was with you, adrenaline would rev up, and the torrents of rush would drive him in frantic that Tsuzuru sorely knew it would only make the situation worse.

Therefore, that winds up to him being so darn lame in front of you by tumbling over his words excessively rather than usual. He was getting restless and reckless at the same time. Not to mention, he would invoke a disaster in your environment by tugging someone and spilling their drinks or foods by accident. He was so foolish for being like that when he didn’t intend to from the get-go. The only thing he has done was a mere contradiction of the actual situation that he covets.

Damn, he was so ashamed of his recent demeanor that Tsuzuru wishes to vanish into thin air, or the ground would just split up into two to eat him fully. Every time he recalled his upsetting blunders had him wishing to melt to where he was standing at this exact moment.

In spite of not knowing his newfangled emotions, he does somehow remember when these feelings sprang up.

It was the time when he spotted you in the school’s field, leading your classmates with your current project for the upcoming event of your program. He discovered that you were the leader of your group and appointing them to a task they have artistry in so it won’t be onerous for them to manage their positions. There were some instances he’d pass your classroom and then would take a peek, only to discover that you were working with the arrangements for the forthcoming event until the sun would set on the horizon.

He could vividly see how zealous you were in your task and doing your best for your group mates. It wasn’t a hurdle for him to recognize when he’d witness the way your eyes would glisten every time you found a lead, followed by the corners of your lips bending into a smile like a child getting an ice cream. With just that one simple smile, Tsuzuru couldn’t help to form a smile as well and feel the warmth starting to swell inside his chest. It was like a scene in the films he has watched, a scene that will seize your attention and will never forget even if time goes by.

It was picturesque for him. He couldn’t get rid of that scenario until now.

And that's when he mostly paid attention to you.

“Tsuzuru. Hey, Tsuzuru!”

“E-Eh?” The mentioned guy has awakened from his trance after hearing his name being called. “A-Ah, (Name)-san. Sorry for spacing out like that.”

You scrutinize him for a brief second before eliciting a sigh. Face brandished with worry about the guy “Why are you saying sorry? It’s only natural for you to be engaged in woolgathering like that, considering you’re a student, a part-time actor, and a scriptwriter, too. It’s justifiable that it would take its toll on you. If there’s anything I can assist you with, don’t be shy to ask me, okay? I’m always here to help you.”

Tsuzuru hastily whips his head to the side as he feels the heat soaring to his cheeks and heart hammering fast from seeing your bright smiling face once again. He was thinking about your smile not too long ago, and you’re already attacking him like that. He’s not prepared!

If only you knew what he’s thinking about… and yes, it’s somehow important to him, he figured.

“It’s nothing, really. But I appreciate the thought,” Tsuzuru assures you before deflecting his attention back to his book.

Both of you are in the library as it was your lunch break for today, and it’s your duty as a library assistant to be present in the place. Tsuzuru utterly knows that he likes to evade you at all costs since these idiosyncratic feelings will abruptly overflow like water breaching the walls of a dam once his eyes catch sight of your form. However, despite recognizing the consequences, he still dared to visit the library. It seems like there was some alien voice in the back of his head, whispering to him to go, just for him to see your lovable face.

He has no idea why he acquiesced with it as though his entire existence was being enchanted by an unknown. For that reason, he is now in the library meeting with you like he normally does, and the sensation of apprehension washes over his being again.

“You know, you’re acting odd these past few weeks. You’re getting more jumpy than necessary, you see.” As soon as he hears your claim, Tsuzuru nearly chokes on his own saliva and falls off his seat. He tries to keep up an undisturbed facade, but his attempt was all in vain once his eyes locked with yours.

“I-I am?” Once the words slips out his mouth, Tsuzuru urges of slapping his face so hard for asking a stupid question that is already obvious.

“You’re good at looking after people, but when it comes to yourself, you can’t.” A light chuckle tickles through your throat as the scriptwriter merely shows a bashful look because it was a fact. It was insurmountable for him to dispute your remark.

His grip on the pen tightens as he senses the weight of your stare on him. Because of that, Tsuzuru feels the sweat gradually emerging on his temples as he is positive that you are inspecting his gestures and expression to figure out what was troubling him. You’ve always been like that. Trying to scrutinize him as possible, for you can lend him a hand with the heavy burdens he is bearing. Although he never asked or confided in you about his problems sometimes, you were quick to determine what it was, and before he knew it, you were already there beside him and awaiting him to confide to you.

“(Last name)-san.” Both your attention diverts to a familiar girl walking toward your way. Tsuzuru realizes that it was one of your classmates he has seen during your scheduled meetings.

He doesn’t understand why you were so ardent of helping him out when you have other personal concerns as well? Tsuzuru couldn’t help but be culpable for boosting the baggage of your onus. That being the case, he was compelled to return the benevolence you had given him, too.

“Enomoto-san, have you discussed it with the program chair?” you immediately ask once the said girl approaches you.

“Yes. Currently, we’re reviewing the expenses we had for the event. The program chair wants to note every material we used and bought.”

“Is that so?” you say with relief as though your load has been alleviated. “Then, we should recheck the preparations and the venue we’re going to occupy. I will later make a list of the materials and give it to the program chair. Anyhow, is Suzuki checking the technical equipment?”

Your classmate nods in response. “Yes, he’s with Hiyori-kun. By the way, (Last name)-san. The program chair’s asking for your presence in the faculty room. She needs to discuss the guest speakers coming next week.”

Tsuzuru merely listens to your exchange. Seeing you working this up-close had made him admire your diligence and the way you carry out your responsibilities as the organizer and leader at the same time. You do your duty with calm and confidence, as though you’re already a professional working in a certain industry. Tsuzuru doesn’t have those outstanding qualities for which he envies you for having the poise when confronting someone. If he’s in your position right now, he knows for sure that he will be scatterbrained and couldn’t utter a sentence without stumbling over a word.

Even in your part-time job, you handle the customers with discretion and decorum. You would not forget to show them an amicable smile and talk to them with a careful articulation that would eventually convince them and give you their trust. No wonder why some customers would often call your name and greet you with enthusiasm like you were friends for a long time. After all, you’re an approachable and trustworthy woman for them to just scorn.

You two sure are opposite to one another. You’re like the sky, and he’s the land. You’re unattainable, yet so exquisite and bright. And as for him, he’s just a land who would keep looking at you from below, but won’t get tired from admiring you in the meadow.

“Ah, Tsuzuru, I should go ahead. I have to do some important matters to take care of,” you notify him, to which he snaps out from his musings again and sloppily nods his head.

“Sure. Take care, (Name)-san,” he says, moot in his voice.

Staring at him for a moment, you shove the thoughts away and grin at the chap. “Well, see you later. And don’t forget what we talked about, okay?”

With your last giggle, you saunter toward the counter to inform the librarian about your leave. And subsequently, you skedaddle from the library with your classmate.

As the spring troupe’s practice went on until the clock struck to nine, Izumi dismissed the practice for them to take a rest and continue tomorrow. The members agreed and sat down on the floor to regain their normal breathing and have their usual meeting after every practice. Sakuya was the first one who initiated the discussion about their performance just recently. They looked back at their mistakes and gave each other’s advice on how they will improve their acting for their specific roles.

While they are in the middle of their analysis, the sudden ringtone of a phone had paused them from their doings and looked to one another to ask if it’s theirs. Tsuzuru instantly knew that it’s his due to the familiar ringtone. Therefore, he rummages through his pocket and takes out his phone to see who the one is calling him at this hour.

As soon as he saw your name, his senses had woken up from the weariness he just had from the practice.

“I-I’ll just take this call,” he says to his fellow troupe members. Tsuzuru takes a breath before accepting the call.

“H-Hello, (Last name)-san.”

“Hi, Tsuzuru! I apologize for calling you at this hour. Am I not bothering you?” you worriedly ask.

“No. A-Actually, we just finished our practice. So, why did you call?” Tsuzuru feels his throat getting parched by the minute the call goes on. Everyone was quiet, even Citron, who would start a noise around and spout some words they don’t understand. He doesn’t know why their eyes are on him, seemingly scrutinizing and eavesdropping to your conversation.

“About that, I was just wondering if you’re free next Saturday. I want to invite you to the after party of our program’s event. So… are you?”

After hearing your sudden invitation had rendered him mute. His jaw slackens, and his eyes blink a few times before processing the message into his brain. And not only that, his loud beating heart is resounding in his ears that he’s not quite certain if you’re still talking on the other line.

“Hey, Tsuzuru. Are you still there?” Thanks to your voice, it broke him from his stupor and for showing a ridiculous face in front of the members.

“Y-Yeah. I-I’m free next Saturday.”

“Sweet! Then see you tomorrow. Don’t take it back, okay?” Tsuzuru replied yes, and you cutely chuckled, which isn’t good for his poor heart.

“That’s a promise! Anyhow, if you don’t mind, can you reserve me a ticket for your troupe’s next play? I’m looking forward to watching it.”

“I’ll tell the Director about it. I’ll give it to you as soon as she gives me the ticket.” Once he said that you squealed in excitement out of the blue. And that alone shocked the scriptwriter, and his heartbeat only intensified.

“Thank you so much, Tsuzuru! I’m excited about what script you have written for this. Watching your scripts getting converted into plays sure does make me overwhelmed and happy for you. I really love your scripts, Tsuzuru. They are beautiful.”

Your sudden adulation left him stunned without failure. It appears that time had slowed its tick, and his cognizance was only directed to the dynamic thumping of the organ in his chest, making it harder for him to breathe. And there’s this funny feeling in his stomach that is like a feather being slowly rubbed across his belly. It tickles, yet he wants to feel it more. Above all else, he’s sensing himself wallowing in the warmth engulfing his body, like he’s bathing in the warm rays of the sun in the morning, kissing his skin with its golden light.

“Well then, I guess I need to go. I still have to do my homework,” you say, almost whispering. “I hope you have a good night.”

Tsuzuru suddenly felt his heart drop at your announcement, and the tingling sensation in his stomach instantly vanished.

“Sure, (Name)-san. Good night, as well.” Once both of you said your farewells, Tsuzuru ended the call, and a sigh escaped his lips, knowing the fact that he won’t hear your voice for this evening any longer. He does admit, hearing your voice during calls makes him feel at ease for some reason.

“Are you okay, Tsuzuru-san? Your face is red,” Sakuya remarks, causing him to look at their leader with confound.

“What are you talking about, Sakuya?”

“Was that (Name)?” Citron follows a query. With just a mere mention of your name had Tsuzuru felt the flow of heat ascend to his face and couldn’t constrict himself from answering with his usual stutter.

“Y-Yeah, she only asked if I’ll be available next Saturday.” Upon his response, Citron abruptly hollers and jumps on to his manzai partner.

“Oh! Is this a date?!” When he announces it aloud, Sakuya’s face instantly reddens, and Itaru whistles in amazement, whereas Masumi charges at him with a frown etched on his face.

“How dare you be the first one to be on a date before me?” Masumi’s voice was baritone, glaring daggers at him in proximity.

Tsuzuru doesn’t know where to begin since his mind is becoming clouded with embarrassment, and more importantly, he refuses to confront his fellow troupe members, for he knows that they will take the information erroneously. Particularly Citron, who has a penchant for misunderstanding the story he has heard. Then, everyone will believe him with his incredulous disclosure. Although Itaru knows that it’s the contrary of Citron’s word, he will still ride on it and teased him about it just for his own amusement.

That being the case, his vengeance for the salaryman was to give him an arduous role through his written scripts.

“It’s not a date!” Tsuzuru exclaims, abstaining the two who were surrounding him and interrogating them with their folly. “(Name)-san only invited me to come to their event. She’s one of the organizers.”

“But it’s still called a date if a girl invited you to a special event!”

“What kind of mind do you even have to assume like that, Citron-san?!” Tsuzuru rebuts to the grinning foreigner beside him.

“This is unforgivable.” Masumi hauntingly closes the gap between him and the scriptwriter. The frown on his face does not seem to dissolve despite clarifying the misinterpretation Citron had announced.

“I told you it’s not like that!” He asserts and then looks over at Sakuya and Itaru who are watching him being swarmed by the two. “A little help here, Sakuya, Itaru-san!”

Hearing Sakuya’s name being called had snapped him out from his stupor and drew his attention to the poor bloke who’s being crowded by their two fellow troupe mates. As Sakuya was about to lend him a hand, Itaru, who recently finished his quests, adheres him in his place by putting his hand on his shoulder.

“Eh, Itaru-san?” The leader confusedly questions. But the aforementioned guy only presents him a whimsical smirk before casting his fuchsia irises on the interrogated university student.

“We should leave him be. This is a good opportunity for our dear scriptwriter to experience romance once in a while,” the salaryman says, voice hinted with mischief.

Tsuzuru hadn’t misheard what the oldest had said to Sakuya. In honesty, he heard it loud and clear despite Citron’s and Masumi’s annoying voices reverberating throughout the practice room. That alone incites the foreboding that he has, and his lingering irritation for the two only heightens due to Itaru’s provocation.

Asking for help from the working man was the worst decision he had made for now. He had forgotten that he can be immature from time to time, albeit that he’s already an adult and has the authority in their troupe. It’s supposed to be him who would manage and mollify everyone from their mess at his age. However, it wasn’t. Itaru is also one of the pain in the asses to deal with, and to his misfortune, Tsuzuru was the one who fell in the position that was supposed to be Itaru’s.

He couldn’t even clean the mess in his room and not eating a proper meal sometimes. Tsuzuru doesn’t know why he was the one cleaning his room even though it wasn’t his. Well, he couldn’t help himself because it’s already in his nature to look after others first before him, especially that he's been taking care of his little brothers in most of his life. Hence, he has grown to carry it wherever he goes, and despite that he refuses to do it, his instincts tell him otherwise.

“Good luck with your date, Tsuzuru. You have our blessings. It’s now your time to show your charming side to her,” Itaru encourages with his shit-eating grin that did nothing but exhaust and aggravate him.

“Itaru is right! You also have my blessings!” Citron enthuses as though he was his mom, congratulating her son for his breakthrough. “You should give him your blessings, too, Sakuya.”

“E-Eh… Do your best, Tsuzuru-san! I give you my blessings, as well!” Sakuya says, quite frantic, which Tsuzuru doesn’t know if he’s afraid or ecstatic about his situation.

“I refuse to give my blessings,” Masumi emphasizes with obstinacy in his tone.

Tsuzuru knows full well that his efforts to clear the misunderstanding will only pass through their ears and tease him further. That is why he surrenders from his attempt to defend himself and just let them do what they please. He refuses to exhaust himself to a greater degree by simply convincing them with the truth. It will merely drive him insane.

The closing night for the second play of the spring troupe has come to an end. It was an absolute success in which everyone congratulated each other and knowing the irrefutable fact that the audience loved the play and the actors performing on stage. The cheers and applause were indeed delightful to hear. Their hearts were pounding in rapture as their smiles grew wider by the second they heard the ovation of the audience. They can even witness the merry faces of their director and their manager behind them. It was an eye-tearing experience. Despite they already knew the feeling of success during their debut show, the second is still the same as they had known of.

Once the curtain had closed and said their gratitude to everyone, you congratulated them and gave them a bouquet as your present for the cast in the staff room. The director was happy to see you as always. You never missed watching their troupes’ performances, even if your initial purpose was to only watch the spring troupe’s play because of Tsuzuru, who you knew, for he is your classmate.

However, you had grown to love the other troupes, for they have their own charms that drew your regard to each one of them. They have their aptitudes and themes that you’d never get tired of watching everyone shining and sparkling on the stage with their content smiles and sense of devotion to acting their roles with perfection and thrill. It was a magnificent view for which you couldn’t stop yourself from admiring the Mankai Company’s troupes.

They are charming in their own way.

The director invited you to their after-party in their dormitory, which you gladly accepted as you were timid to decline her humble invitation. Moreover, you have been celebrating with them every now and then when you have nothing else to do for the day.

As you had figured, Omi was the one who cooked the food for the party, and being the kind and considerate person he was; he cooked their favorite dishes and treats. Although he’s a guy, he has this cooking skill that you surely commended. His talent for cooking and baking anything amazes you. Whether the dish is foreign to him, he’ll cook it with the same delicious taste just as his usual cooking.

“Good evening, It’s nice to have you here, (Last name)-san,” Omi greets you as he puts a plate of dishes on the table.

You smile and return the greeting, “Likewise. Your cooking is amazing, as always.”

“(Name), I’m happy that you joined us for the after-party!” Citron says with excitement while pushing Tsuzuru toward you.

“Citron-san, what are you doing?!” complained the scriptwriter, struggling to free himself from his hold. But the mentioned guy solely flashes him a grin that Tsuzuru swiftly notices the underlying meaning behind that smile of his. He suddenly felt his stomach churn, having a bad feeling about this.

“Tsuzuru’s script is amazing as always, ne?”

“By all means.”

The only reaction that Tsuzuru dispensed was to blush at your compliment and stare down at his feet for you not to see the pink hues spreading across his cheeks. Even though you’ve been giving him credits ever since the start of their debut, he’s still not used to you suddenly blurting some beautiful words to him. It wouldn’t fail to make him on edge and as if his heart was going to burst in his chest.

In all honesty, it’s a delightful feeling but really not good for his heart.

The party commences. Everyone was talking about their hurdles before the outset of their second show, particularly Masumi and Itaru, who didn’t get along well at first. But their relationship had progressed when the adult visited him in their school and tried to understand one another by playing a game.

You couldn’t help but laugh at their humorous circumstance. In the end, they didn’t understand each other, but their relationship had developed.

As the conversation went on, suddenly, you became the next subject of their discussion.

“We learned that you invited Tsuzuru to an event!” Citron pipes in, causing the said man beside him to let out a sharp intake of breath.

“W-Why are you suddenly including that in the conversation?!” Tsuzuru frantically says, seeming to reprimand the foreigner.

“Eh? But I wanna know if it’s a date or not.”

With that, Tsuzuru’s face starts to color in a bright shade of red as the director gives you two a surprised reaction. You were quite astonished as well if you say so yourself. Well, there’s no point denying it since you did invite your classmate to come to your program’s event. But one thing that grabbed your attention is why he’s asking if it’s a date or not. You don’t blame Tsuzuru if he’s getting embarrassed since you’re equally embarrassed as he is.

“I told you countless times already, Citron-san! It’s not a date!” That’s when Tsuzuru’s last thread of patience snaps. He hadn’t intended to shout at his manzai partner, but considering that he’s making the atmosphere awkward between you two is something that he will never have the patience with.

He recognizes your confusion and discomfort with the current situation. He feels obligated to tell you a sincere apology, but the words he wants to tell across seem to attach in his throat. His mind is getting hazy by the minute, making it difficult for him to recompose himself in this dire plight.

“W-Well, if you take it into consideration as a woman and man, it does seem that I’m saying it will be a date in a roundabout way,” you chuckle with a grain of humor in your voice. This immediately catches their attention and presents you with bewilderment written on their faces.

“I told you it’s like that,” Citron laughs, feeling satisfied upon knowing that his hypothesis is true.

Unbeknownst to you, your answer was the last straw for Tsuzuru’s heart to explode. His heated face only increases its temperature, which he assures that everyone can notice that he is blushing.

Why are you always attacking him unannounced like that? If you’re often like this, it will drive him crazy.

“Heh, Tsuzuru looks like he wants to be splashed by cold water on his face,” Itaru teases before he takes a sip on his drink, not removing his apparent diversion toward his troupe mate.

Sakuya, who heard the older’s comment, merely grabs a cold water and hands it to him. “Your face is red, Tsuzuru-san. Are you okay?”

Tsuzuru doesn’t know what to do anymore. Being with his troupe mates is surely gonna be the reason why he has white hair growing on his head at such a young age. Sakuya’s not helping in the situation, too. He’s too gullible for his own good in which everyone is taking advantage of, particularly Citron, who loves to tell stories about his adventures that are not even true.

He’s not really okay. He just wants to flee from the place and go to his room to rest.

“You know, whenever you’re around, Tsuzuru’s getting self-conscience!” Citron chirps, which makes you bewildered at the particular word he said.

“Self-conscience?”

“You mean self-conscious,” Itaru corrects.

“Yes, that’s it!”

“I am not!” Tsuzuru instantly defends, but the two ignore his complaints and tease him further.

You haven’t had the slightest idea why Tsuzuru’s becoming self-conscious when there’s nothing to be in the first place. Recalling the scriptwriter’s recent strange bearings only affords you an idea from your question of why he was suddenly becoming uneasy when you were with him. And on top of it, his habit of stuttering became worse than the original. Now you piece all the confusions you had together.

So he’s getting self-conscious? But why? You don’t understand.

“Remember the day when you and (Name) went to the mall to buy some school supplies? I was there, too! I saw that you were being fidgety and stuttering a lot! It was hilarious to witness you like that, Tsuzuru!”

“Ah, now that reminds me,” Itaru begins. “I saw you on the terrace, calming yourself and even taking a breath before you answer a phone call back then. At first, I thought it was one of your bosses in your part-time jobs, but I discovered that it was only (Last name).”

“Then, that means he’s really self-conscious!” Citron asserts.

Tsuzuru’s tongue-tied, doesn’t have any words to say in this exact moment knowing his troupe mates had seen him in those shameful moments of his with you. He can’t dispute since it’s all the truth. Even he was bewildered by his actions as of late. He has no idea how to describe his current situation. It was making him perturbed and left him with tons of questions that he was desperately seeking to know.

Now that his troupe mates had given him the answer to his quaint actions, he accepted the words they had pointed out. There’s no room for him to be defensive, considering the answer he was seeking to find out is already there. Furthermore, he has no escape from this embarrassing situation. You already heard everything that he doesn’t want you to discover.

His troupe mates certainly are troublesome fellows.

“Tsuzuru,” you call his name to get his attention. However, it seems that he hadn’t heard you as he didn’t move in his spot. You elicit a small sigh before attempting to slap his cheeks gently with both hands. It didn’t take you seconds to pay you his heed.

“(N-Name)-san?” he stammers, surprised to see your face up-close and holding his cheeks with care. You beam him a gentle smile.

“Let’s talk,” you softly say before retracting your hands from his cheeks with a smile still intact on your visage. Tsuzuru felt his stomach twist, feeling nervous all of a sudden. He utterly knows that you’re going to talk about today, which is why he’s preparing himself for the worst. It will be reasonable if you’re going to avoid him after this. After all, the recent occurrence a while ago is indeed uncomfortable and embarrassing.

Everyone is quiet. The atmosphere is still. No one spoke, even Citron, who’s fond of initiating a commotion in the dorm with others. The director’s only looking at him with a worried face, and Masumi is still the same as ever, looking at Izumi with heart-shaped eyes, not even bothering with what occurred earlier.

He envies his roommate’s ignorance with this circulating tension around them. It must be nice to be so carefree.

“Where are we going?” he manages to ask despite his parched throat.

Upon his query, you direct your gaze to the director. “If you don’t mind, can I borrow Tsuzuru for a bit?”

Izumi blinks her eyes before answering you in a bit of a panic. “S-Sure, we don’t mind.”

You say your thanks and signal to the scriptwriter to follow you to the courtyard.

The journey toward the yard was disturbingly restrained. Only your footsteps and Tsuzuru’s were the one thing you can hear. You didn’t mind the silence since afterward, the two of you are going to talk about today.

You don’t even know that Tsuzuru’s fidgeting and his whole being is getting wallowed in the sea of his anxiety. His fear of cutting ties with you is something he can’t take. After all, you’re the only woman he has befriended this close with whom he can share his problems and rants about his life. And just because of his troupe mates being a busybody, it will estrange your relationship with him.

Once the both of you step into the courtyard, the fresh breeze of spring season whirls through your bodies and affords you a sense of tranquility. You continue to walk as he follows you to the center of their dormitory. The scent of the flowers planted by Tsumugi wafts through the air, which surely helps Tsuzuru to relax his stiff shoulders.

As you two reach the center, you halt your steps. Tsuzuru mimics your action, and a dreadful feeling eventually washes over him. His repose because of the calm ambiance of the garden was only a fleeting moment of his because his apprehension came back to him once again.

“Hey, Tsuzuru,” you say; your voice is still the serene one that he had known, almost subduing the abnormal beating of his heart. You turn on your heels to face the man. “Am I that intimidating for you to be self-conscious around me?”

Tsuzuru breaths in, recognizing the playfulness in your voice. Your famous smile didn’t seem to disappear as it was still the same smile you wore every day. It baffled him for a second. He assumed that you’re going to give him a serious look with no smeared of jocularity in your eyes. But it was all the opposite of what he presumed.

“E-Eh?” That was the only reaction he could give. He was still in the process of understanding your words.

Your grin expands before letting out a giggle. “So that’s why your behavior is strange these past few weeks. It’s because you’re self-conscious around me.”

Your friskiness had Tsuzuru’s face to blush and lips to tremble in shame. No coherent words are available for him to say. He remains still in his spot as he simply watches you laughing at his embarrassing acts.

When he paid his attention to you, it seems that you’re too far away for him to reach. Every time he saw you from afar, it looked like you were sparkling in his eyes. Your smile that couldn’t be tarnished, your confidence that he admires, your etiquette in various circumstances, and also your benevolence that isn’t exclusive for just one; it’s for everyone.

Everything about you, Tsuzuru adores. And knowing that you two are the exact opposite, his chest would unwillingly wrench. It pains him to look at you because he's completely aware that he’s out of your league. You’re too bright for his dim light.

“(Name)-san,” he subconsciously calls you, and it catches your attention in an instant. You wait for him to speak, and Tsuzuru wants to retreat. However, his melancholic musings are encouraging him to do it. “If you only know how I greatly admire you as an individual. It’s like you’re too far from me and I can’t reach you. You’re like the sky that is so bright, too beautiful, and pure for me. Me, as a land, doesn’t want to tarnish your beauty. My position was to merely admire you from afar. I'm too way out of your league. There are so many who want you, people who are well-known, and have more recognition than me. They’re the ones who have the right to be beside you, unlike me, who’s dull and a complete nobody.”

Tsuzuru looks up to watch the stars glimmering in the night sky. After that speech of his, both of you didn’t utter a single word as you let the silence engulfs you two. Distinguishing his impression of you had rendered you stunned, as you hadn’t expected him to give you such regard.

Tsuzuru shifts his body, inserting his hands in his pockets while not averting his gaze from the sky. “We’re completely opposite, (Name)-san.”

You purse your lips, jaw clenching since Tsuzuru was not giving credit for himself. His degradation makes you upset. You do appreciate how he sees you in high regard, but you dislike it when he’s self-deprecating when there are things and qualities that you admire him for. He doesn’t know that he’s much better than you are. He’s too blind to notice the wonderful qualities he has.

“You see,” you say as you stare at the view above. This time, Tsuzuru diverts his notice to you. “The land is much better than the sky itself. The land gives life to all the living things; providing animals and humans with shelter, growing beautiful trees and flowers with its soil, a place where people can freely walk to, magnificent landscapes that are breathtaking to capture, and especially nature that is essential for our survival. Isn't it similar to you, Tsuzuru? The land is an all-rounder; it has many attributes that it can provide. And you, you can do almost everything, even everyone is aware of that. Your troupe mates can spell it out for you if you still doubt yourself. They even called you jack of all trades, aren’t they?”

You tear your gaze away from the sky to peer at Tsuzuru, whose eyes are wide. Afterward, you shoot him a smile, assuring him that you’re sincere to the words you had said.

He’s too speechless to give you a meager response. He feels his chest fluttering in glee and as if someone’s caressing his heart to feel so fuzzy inside. Tsuzuru will be lying if he says he’s not happy to hear your words, because the truth is, he’s elated to the point he wants to leap in ecstasy and hug you right here, right now. But Tsuzuru still has the decency not to breach that boundary. Therefore, he controls himself from caging you in his arms.

“I-I…” Tsuzuru had strived to speak, but to his dismay, the shock was too much for him to recover immediately.

You let out a hearty chuckle. “That’s the brilliance of land, which is why you need not degrade yourself like that. You’re perfect in your own way. Further, you have so many things you can offer. You’re not out of my league. We’re only the same. I admire you because it’s you, and you admire me because it’s me. We have our own abilities, so there’s no such thing as inferior and superior between us. We’re equals. Moreover, you have this unique potential that many don't own, so don’t neglect it. Be that as it may, okay?”

With that, Tsuzuru couldn’t help but smile at your encouraging words. You sure know how to uplift his spirits. And he’s glad to know that your relationship won’t get estranged because of his pain in the ass troupe mates. He really felt relieved.

“I really adore you, (Name)-san,” he declares before tilting his head upwards.

“I admire you, too, Tsuzuru.” You look at the sky, as well. Then without hesitation, you grab his hand.

Tsuzuru flinches at the warmth of your small hand on him. That’s why he hastily snaps his head to you, only to see you grinning at him so cheekily. Comprehending that you're holding his hand makes him flustered and unable to think. His heart is strenuously beating against his rib cage that he's compelled to rip away his hand from you in order for you not to notice his violent heartbeat.

But in spite of it, the other him is melting in your touch and refusing to let go of your hand, especially because your warmth is transporting to him, which makes him calm and feel comfortable like his home.

Therefore, Tsuzuru squeezes his hold on you and shows you a sheepish smile, fending off the worries and shame that’s intruding on his mind. Those emotions aren’t needed in this heartfelt situation with you.

Both of you look up at the sky at once and savor the moment that was given to you by God.

[blackcloverdatabase]

English Translation of Novel 3: Chapter 3 – The Sun Doesn’t Set For Troubled Women (Part 1 of 2)

Here’s the rom-com chapter from Book of Yuno! Apparently, there’s a holiday called Three Leaf Day in Clover Kingdom. Because of this, Bell, Noelle, and Charlotte are looking for a gift for their special someones. Get ready for a wild a ride. This is one disastrous trio.  

--- The Sun Doesn’t Set For Troubled Women: Part 1 ---

Three-Leaf Day.

Each leaf of the three-leaf clover has meaning attached to it: good faith, hope, and love. Three-Leaf Day is a special day which comes only once a year, where you a give a gift to someone in return for giving you at least one of these three things. That day is today. Thus, all the townspeople of every town were talking excitedly about to whom and what they were planning to give, and shopkeepers have been inviting customers to their stores with more enthusiasm than ever. It was a day which livened up the whole town…… no, the whole country.

However, among all this,

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm~~~~~~~~~~~”

Just before noon, in a corner of the shopping district of the royal capital, Bell let out a groan. She couldn’t decide on a present for Yuno.  She had wanted to prepare a gift for him earlier, but she and Yuno had been taking care of Gram (Julius’s pet pig) until just the other day, and then Mereoleona took them on a tour to that power spot (which was not a tour at all; they were coerced into capturing a dungeon). Anytime they had outside of Mereoleona’s unlawful abduction or being forced along with someone else’s schemes was spent training for the Royal Knights Selection Exam, so Bell didn’t have the time to go out into the city before today.

Finally finding the time to go, Bell came to the shopping district with the pocket money she had been saving up for a very long time now, but…… she couldn’t quite decide what to buy.

“……Huh? Aren’t you that wind spirit who’s always with Yuno? Bell, was it……?”

While she was looking in distress at the clothing showcased at the front of the store, Bell heard a voice call out to her from the side. When she turned to see who it was, she saw a girl with beautifully long, straight silver hair wearing big, black-rimmed glasses.

‘I feel like I’ve seen her somewhere before……,’ Bell thought to herself. Then, looking as if she had just remembered something, the silver-haired girl gasped and suddenly turned around.

“S-sorry. I mistook you for someone else!”

“No, you’re not wrong, and how would you mistake someone my size for someone else, anyway? ……AH!”

Realizing where she had seen her face before, Bell circled around toward the front of the silver-haired girl and yanked her glasses from her face.

“Ah, hey! Return those at onc-

“…I knew it! You were at Mereoleona’s hot spring camp, right?

Generally speaking, Bell had no interest in anyone other than Yuno and herself, so she wasn’t very good at remembering the names and faces of other people. However, this girl left a bit of an impression on Bell since she often saw her with her detestable rival…… Asta.

‘If I recall, this girl’s name is…...’

“Your name was…… Noelle, right? Your hairstyle looks different today, but you’re Noelle, aren’t you?”

“!!”

Upon hearing her name called by Bell, the silver-haired girl, AKA Noelle, became visibly agitated as she opened and closed her mouth again, until finally, with a face so red that it reached her ears, she screamed,

“Y-y-you’re mistaken! It’s not like I…… came here to buy a present for Asta or anything!!”

“I haven’t said anything, though?”

“I-I was just shopping for myself, and…… I thought that, while I was here, maybe I should look around a bit for a gift, but I didn’t come here with that intention!! So don’t say anything weird!!

“Like I said, I never said anything!”

“……Huh!?”

There, Noelle came to her senses and looked around at her surroundings. The people around them had stopped in their tracks, staring at her in surprise. It was only natural. After all, she screamed so loudly in the middle of town. Bell scratched her cheek awkwardly as she said,

“…...Umm, a-anyway, how about we get out of here?”

Unusually for her, she actually read the mood of this place.

 “I-I’m telling the truth! I’m just giving him a gift out of courtesy, like during Valentine’s Day**!”

“Jeez~, I get it, okay? You’re so stubborn!”

After their escape, Bell and Noelle talked as they walked through the city. Her full name was Noelle Silva, member of the Black Bulls. She was cursing her blunder from earlier. Today, she was planning to buy a gift for Asta incognito. She even bothered putting on a light disguise, and she has been wandering about through town since early this morning. However, she was surprised when she saw that Bell was also there, and so she talked to her without thinking. Having exposed her own identity and ever her purpose for coming here, she was just about ready to blow a fuse.

“Also, don’t tell anyone about today……”

And now, she was walking with Bell, trying to convince her to keep her secret…… or rather, she was just trying to correct her misunderstanding. That’s all.

“Sure, whatever.”

Bell sighed before continuing,

“…...You know, I don’t think there’s any reason for you to be embarrassed about giving something to someone important to you. If anything, I think that’s a very lovely thing to do.”

“H-he’s not that important to me!”

“You’re more trouble than I thought…… Then, I’ll rephrase. Imagine that the person you were planning to buy a gift for bought a gift for you.”

Upon being told this, the movie reel of Noelle’s imagination began to play. She imagined that Asta worked with all his might to choose a present for her. And, as he handed it to her, he had his usual innocent smile as he said,

“Thanks for everything, Noelle!”

Then, he grabs her shoulders, and……

Suddenly, Noelle was filled with so much happiness that she melted, a smile spontaneously forming on her face.

“See? You’re ridiculously happy about this!”

“……A-am n-eh heh heh. I’m not happy at all!”

“You’re angry, but you’re still smiling…… Anyhow,”

Bell zipped right in front of Noelle’s nose as she said with furrowed brows,

“A gift is something you choose while thinking about that person, trying your very hardest to make that person happy! A gift implies that the other person spent that time thinking about you! That’s why receiving a gift is such a happy thing! It’s rude to the person you’re buying a gift for if you buy it all sneaky like that!”

“Y-you talk too much! It makes it hard for me to talk back to you!”

“What’s with you trying to get the last words in! We’re ending this argument here and now!”

While the two argued with each other, at that moment,

THUD

They heard a sound from behind them, causing the townspeople to clamor about. Bell and Noelle turned around, where they saw beautiful woman with hazelnut-blonde hair had collapsed to the floor.

“H-hey, are you alright!?”

Without a moment’s delay, Noelle rushed over to the woman, lifting her body in her arms.

“……Huh?”

The woman spoke. She wore a beret, as well as a scarf which covered her mouth. Thus, it took a moment for Noelle to notice, but this beautiful woman was……

“……Captain Charlotte?”

 “I-is it really alright for you to be walking so soon?”

“…..Yes. You needn’t worry. I just got a little dizzy while shopping. My apologies.”

“Jeez~ be careful, okay? We thought something happened.”

After that, Noelle, Charlotte, and Bell all walked together through the town as they talked. The Captain of the Blue Roses, Charlotte Roselei, was cursing her blunder from earlier. Today, Charlotte had put on a light disguise to buy a gift for Yami incognito, but then she saw Bell and Noelle walking through town. They looked like they were looking to buy a gift, so she decided to follow behind them to use them as a reference for what she should buy.

But…… she messed up. She had overheard their conversation, when Bell told Noelle to imagine being given a gift from the person she was planning to buy a gift for. This caused Charlotte to begin imagining the same. She imagined that Yami worked with all his might to choose a present for her. She imagined him saying something to the effect of,

“I like strong women, but that cute side of you ain’t bad either.”

As he wrapped something like a necklace around her neck, and…...

Suddenly, her blood rushed to her face, and, before she knew it, she fell to the ground.

“……Knowing of this would only cause my squad members to worry, so could you please keep the fact I fainted a secret……? A-also, if you could not tell anyone that I was here…”

Charlotte walked with them, frantically trying to convince them to keep her secret… or rather, she was just trying to convince them not to worry about her. That’s all.

Bell completely rethought her earlier stance and clapped her hands together as she said cheerily,

“Well, this is perfect! The three of us can go shopping together!”

“……Huh?”

The two said this simultaneously with eyes wide in shock at Bell’s sudden proposal. Well, perhaps it was not so abrupt after all. It was only natural to do this after meeting fellow acquaintances in town. Also, being able to consult with someone else as they shopped for a gift sounded great. However, Noelle and Charlotte also thought,

‘If I do as she suggested, isn’t it going to look like I’m really enthusiastic about buying a gift for him……!?’

‘I want to be like “Well, I guess it can’t be helped,” but……’

These girls were truly troublesome. However, Bell said the magical words they needed.

“I’m looking for a gift for Yuno, but I’ve been having a lot of trouble deciding what to buy him. If we discuss it with one another, then we can all decide on what to buy, right?”

“!!”

With those words, the two were grinning ear to ear internally, but they tried not to show that on the outside. Noelle responded first.

“Hmph…… Well, I guess it can’t be helped~ If you’re going to be that insistent about it, then I guess I can shop with you.”

“If you put it like that, then I cannot refuse you…… Ah! Aah, that’s right! A few days ago, during the Star Festival, I ended up owing a small debt to Yami! I’d hate to leave it unpaid, so maybe I should buy him something…... Ha ha, this is a good opportunity, after all. Let’s do it.”

After Noelle, Charlotte responded with a tone of voice that would suggest that she found all this to be a bit of a bother, but her inner enthusiasm was so great that it showed in her gait. An acquaintance of hers was buying a gift, so of course she would “help” and accompany her.

‘If I can approach from this angle, then it’s not so bad……!’

These girls were truly troublesome. Not knowing of such troublesome considerations, or rather, not being interested in the troubles of others, Bell quipped, “Well then, it’s decided!” and sat on Noelle’s shoulder.

“Ah, I’m so glad! I’m beat after flying around for so long. Plus, I stand out more when I’m by myself.”

“…I bet that was your goal this whole time.”

‘She’s annoyingly cute……,’ Noelle thought. Noelle then asked Charlotte,

“Well, whatever…… Anyway, where should we go first?”

“Central avenue should be fine, right? Most things can be found there.”

Charlotte answered as she walked beside Noelle. At that moment,

“……Huh? Big Sis? You’re Big Sis, right?”

“!!”

Hearing a voice she knew all too well call out to her from behind, Charlotte stopped dead in her tracks. She turned her head in an unnatural fashion, much like a robot, only to see…

“It is Big Sis! And you’re wearing civilian clothes…… You look so good in civilian clothes! What a treat!”

Sol Marron, squad member of the Blue Roses and Charlotte’s close aide. Standing behind her were several more members of the Blue Roses.

“Oh, hello…… Sol…… Fancy meeting you here.”

For the time being, she was able to return Sol’s greeting with dignity and grace, but, internally, Charlotte was thinking,

‘……T-this is bad. If they find out I was planning to give a gift to a man, they’ll……!’

The Blue Roses was a squad who hated men, and Charlotte ruled this squad at the top. She had no clue what they would tell her if they found out she was going to give a gift to a man.

‘I mustn’t allow them to find out……’

Charlotte thought to herself vehemently. In contrast to Charlotte, Sol indifferently came closer to them.

“Oh, on Noelle…… it’s the wind spirit! What a rare honor~”

“……So. what. are you all. doing here?”

Charlotte unintentionally butchered the coherence of her words as she asked. Sol…... and the rest of the Blue Roses shouldn’t have had any missions that would require them to be here, so why…...?

“We heard that the Original Sin was sighted around here. We came to ask around about that.”

‘That Original Sin! To think that it would show itself even here! As one would expect from such a dangerous magic tool!’

While Charlotte thought this angerly, Sol tilted her head to the side with a grin.

“So, why were you here, Big S-

Before Sol could finish, Noelle interjected as if she were about to blow a fuse,

“To-today, we’re helping Bell shop!”

In response, Charlotte nodded her head so vigorously that she looked like she was headbanging. That’s right. In her agitation, Charlotte had not realized this, but there was no need for her to be so worried. Right now, they had a convenient excuse.

However, those feelings of safety lasted only for a second. The reason being that Noelle, caught up in her own temper, declared,

“C-Captain Charlotte and I also, um, p-plan to buy a gift, but only…… only because this is a good chance to do so!”

‘HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!’

While screaming internally, Charlotte glared at Noelle with all her might, but it was already too late.

“……Present……?”

The second they heard Noelle, Sol, as well as all the Blue Roses members behind her, narrowed their eyes sharply. Then, to make things worse, Bell, in her inability to read the mood, dropped this bombshell.

“That’s right. We’re all going to buy a gift for the person precious to us. Eh heh heh, isn’t that great~?”

‘HOW ABOUT I DO SOMETHING “GREAT” TO YOU, HUUUH!!?’

Charlotte thought to herself as she glared at Bell, but to no avail. Her squad members’ narrowed eyes were so sharp that they shone like daggers.

“……The person…… precious to you…...?”

“Y-you’re mistaken…… before drawing any conclusions, you should listen to a person’s whole story……”

While trying to calm down her squad members, Charlotte was racking her brain, trying to think up a good excuse.

“……I’m listening. I’m listening, all right. If it’s Big Sis, I’ll listen to whatever you have to say……”

However, before Charlotte could think of an idea, Sol stepped forward with a sway, drawing nearer toward Charlotte. She opened her eyes, revealing that the light had completely disappeared from them, and sloppily tilted her head to the side as she hoarsely said,  

“……So, tell me…… the person you plan to give a gift to…… your precious person…... who is it?”

She sounded like an evil spirit as she spoke. She spoke with such vigor that Charlotte felt like if she answers this spirit incorrectly, she’ll haunt her for the rest of her life…… no, she’ll haunt her even into the next world while groaning, “Big Sis…… we’ll be together forever… forever……,” or something. Even so, Charlotte couldn’t think of a good reply. What should she tell her to escape such a difficult situation……?

“……A ‘precious person’…… I know!”

Though Charlotte felt cornered, she found a clue in those words and said,

“……Good grief. I guess it can’t be helped that you would find out.”

She sighed, then, one by one, she looked at Sol and all the other members of the Blue Roses straight in the eyes before quietly saying with a smile,

“My precious person…… that’s all of you, the members of the Blue Roses.”

“………!!”

The sound of falling in love echoed inside every single member of the Blue Roses, and a vision of a flower garden spread across the background. Charlotte continued,

“Our rank in this year’s Star Festival went up by one compared to last year, remember? That was all thanks to the strenuous effort you put forth every day. That’s why I planned on secretly preparing gifts for all of you, but…… it seems that I’ve been found out.”

“Aah……. Ah……. Aah! B-Big Sis……. Big Sis Big Sis Big Sis!!”

A stream of tears flooded from Sol’s eyes as she staggered before sinking to the floor.

“Even if it was only for a second, I can’t believe I doubted such a wonderful person who’s so thoughtful about her squad! I’m such a fool!!”

Sol began bashing her forehead against the stone pavement. The surrounding pedestrians were shocked by the sight, and mothers with small children quietly covered their children’s eyes before walking away.

“That’s enough, Sol. I should be the one apologizing for confusing you, so please stop that.”

‘Because that’s honestly terrifying to watch……,’ Charlotte thought. This snapped Sol out of it. Charlotte then declared,

“The Blue Roses is an honorable squad composed of only the purest of women! From here on, let us complete our duties with zeal so that we do not fall behind those other squads led by such vulgar, vile men! Do I make myself clear!?”

“Yes ma’am!”

Charlotte sent them off with those words, and the members of her squad walked away with 70% more fighting spirit than before. Charlotte waited until they slipped into the crowd before gripping her chest. Although she somehow managed to avoid a crisis, it still hurt her heart that she had to trick them like that. Moreover, buying presents for ten people is going to be quite painful as well… for her wallet, that is. While Charlotte was thinking this, Noelle and Bell said in surprise,

“You’re amazing, Captain Charlotte…… you’re giving a gift to Captain Yami AND all the members of your squad?”

“You sure are generous~ But are you really going to be okay? Aren’t you going to run out of money that way?”

‘This is your fault!’

Of course, as much as she wanted to, Charlotte didn’t say this. Instead, she replied with,

“If it’s just every once and a while, it’s fine.”

A suitable reply. In truth, the one keeping secrets is her. It’s not those girls’ fault. They’re airheads, but it’s not their fault.

……At any rate, just meeting a few acquaintances caused this much of a fuss. She had the feeling that that there were other traps lying in wait as well. She could tell that this shopping trip was not going to be a smooth one.

“……Anyway, shall we go? Our time is limited.”

Although this incident marked only the beginning of their troubles, the girls’ quest to choose a gift had begun. With the curtain rising on their quest, the three of them came to a large street which cut through the shopping district. A variety of stores, both large and small, lined both sides of the street, where a wide variety of goods were on display. The three of them decided that they would start at the beginning and walk down this street, thinking that they would surely find something worth buying here. As they walked, Bell became completely stumped for the second time that day as she said to Noelle,  

“I know I’m repeating myself, but having so many choices makes it even harder to choose.”

“You’ll just have to start by narrowing down your choices, like by picking out things that would look good on Yuno.”

“Hmmm, but……”

Bell glanced at all the people walking through the street before looking straight into Noelle’s eyes.

“My Yuno is so handsome that he can’t possibly be compared with any of those other guys! He’s so stylish that he looks good in absolutely anything, and every accessory you could possibly find looks like it was made for him!”

“You don’t have to say it so bluntly.”

Noelle wondered if the concept of “humility” existed in the spirit world.

“If you can’t decide on what would look good on him, why not buy something he can use?”

Charlotte said as they walked toward a nearby clothing store. While rummaging through the clothes that were piled at the front of the store, her face flushed a bit red as she continued,

“For example…... Yami wears the same kind of tank top every day, right? If I buy him something like that, no matter how many he already has, he’s sure to use it, I think.”

Hearing Charlotte’s opinion, Bell said with a displeased look on her face,

“That doesn’t sound fun at all. That’s no different than if he bought it himself.”

“That’s why you choose a different design than what he normally would, or you choose something made with higher-grade materials. Then, when he needs to wear something more formal or if he just feels like wearing something a little different, he can wear what you bought him.”

“I see……”

Noelle nodded in agreement. As one would expect from her senior, not to mention a captain of the Magic Knights. Perhaps what she said wasn’t all that special, but Noelle was impressed that Charlotte could come up with such an idea so quickly and put it into action. Her taste in clothing must be superb as well.

Before long, Charlotte picked out a shirt from the pile and turned around toward Noelle and Bell.

“Something that he wouldn’t normally choose himself, as well as something a little more expensive than what he usually buys…… In other words, something like this.”  

Saying this, the shirt she presented to them was…...

“………”

A tank top with black skulls plastered all over it, one of incredibly poor taste.  Red studs lined its sleeves and collar, and there were gold chains strewn across here and there.

“I was thinking something on the lines of this, but…… what do you two think?”

For some reason, Charlotte had a smug look on her face as she held the tank top(?) in front of her and asked for their thoughts. Noelle and Bell were brutally honest with their answers.

“It’s so lame, I could vomit.”

“If I had a boyfriend who wore that, I’d break up with him.”

“I see. Well, I must say, I really outdid myself this…… HUH!? Wai- what!? I-It’s no good!?”

Charlotte couldn’t believe what they just said. As if to shock her even further, Bell ridiculed,

“Of course it’s no good! That’s not something expensive that he wouldn’t buy for himself, that’s something pointlessly expensive that nobody would ever buy for themselves.”

“Wha-, but…… i-isn’t this cool!? It even has chains!”

“So what!? Actually, that’s exactly why it sucks! Both fashionably speaking and functionally speaking!”

“No, but…… it has skulls……”

“You can’t just buy something just because it has skulls! Just how much appeal do you think skulls have, huh!?”

Charlotte Roselei: 27 years old. Before now, she has never bought a man a gift. She remembers giving her father a gift when she was very young, but giving gifts to blood relatives isn’t really comparable to giving gifts to a member of the opposite sex. Moreover, the last time she gave a gift to him was when she was 10 years old. In other words, her sense of gift giving hasn’t matured since then. This serious accident was the result of her trying to join two words she heard boys around her at that age describe as “cool”, such as “skulls” or “chains”.

Not knowing of Charlotte’s circumstances, Bell let out a sigh and said,

“Get yourself together. Let me just say this in advance, I’ve already prepared my main gift for Yuno. I’m just looking for something a little extra to buy for him today!”

“……Wait, Bell. You say you already bought your main gift for Yuno?”

Noelle said in surprise.

“Of course I have!”

As she said this, Bell puffed out her chest with pride. Charlotte somewhat sadly returned the tank top to where she found it and sighed,

“……. Please tell us these things sooner. Didn’t we agree that we would use each other’s gifts as a reference to help us choose our own?”

“So, what did you buy?”

After Noelle asked her this, Bell self-importantly paused to add a moment of suspense before saying with a smug look on her face,

“I didn’t buy it! I wrote it……. I wrote a poem about forty cantos** long, all for Yuno!”

‘…………Eww’

Not noticing that the two had backed away from her, Bell started a longwinded speech while gesturing grandiosely with her arms, much like an actor would on stage.

“How much I think about Yuno every day, how much I love Yuno, what it is I love about Yuno…… even forty cantos wasn’t enough to fit it all in, but I composed it using the love I have for him every day. Fu fu, I’m sorry! My gift is far too amazing to be usable as a reference for the two of you!”

Charlotte and Noelle interjected before Bell could get any further.

“You have a lot of nerve making fun of my sense of gift giving when you yourself are in possession of such hazardous material.”

“You’d be better off throwing it away as soon as you can.”

“HUUH!?”

Bell yelled, absolutely livid, but Noelle tilted her head like a delinquent and returned fire.

“Don’t you “HUUH!?” me! A letter might be okay, but a poem…… if I received something like that, I wouldn’t know what to do with it! I’d just be plain terrified!”

“How rude! Every time he reads it, he would feel my love for him, wouldn’t he!?”

“That’s why it’s so terrifying! It’s almost stalker-like…… No, even a stalker would say “No, I’d never do that!”!”

“But I even have it all bound into a book! The book even has a ribbon!”

“No buts! All that just adds to the creepiness! I mean, what’s up with you!? I have no doubts anymore. You’re nuts!”

The wind spirit, Bell: age unknown. She loves Yuno, and she also loves herself. She loves hearing herself talk, she loves what she does, and she loves what she writes. In short, she thinks that anything she creates must be good, which means that the poetry she wrote must, of course, be good. Anybody would be happy to receive it. She would later testify that it was this distorted love that led to such a crime.

“G-grrrr!! If you’re gonna go that far, then let’s hear what you plan on buying!”

Bell retaliated in tears. In response, Noelle pushed up her glasses and said,

“I’ve known what I was going to buy him since the moment we came here…… it’s over there.”

Full of confidence, she pointed her finger at a store where a cat plush holding a grimoire was displayed. It was a specialty store, dedicated to selling book pouches.

‘……That’s a good idea, actually,’ Bell and Charlotte thought.

Book pouches are made of sturdy materials, but they can break, especially if they get damaged by a foe’s attack, so many Magic Knights like to have spares on hand. On the other hand, there are many slovenly men who don’t bother to buy another book pouch until their old one has completely fallen apart. In other words, just as Charlotte was saying earlier, it was something that the other person won’t be troubled by having more than one of, while also being something he wouldn’t buy for himself. In addition, book pouches often feature rather tame designs, so something like the tank top incident they had earlier is unlikely to occur if you buy a book pouch.

“I see…… not bad, Noelle.”

Charlotte said without thinking. Bell, too, couldn’t deny that Noelle’s choice was a good one once she saw where Noelle was pointing, begrudgingly admitting,

“W-well, that’s not a bad choice……”

Noelle flipped her silver hair over her shoulder with a swish.

“Of course. It’s one of a kind, so I’m sure he’ll be happy with it.”

She walked toward the specialty shop as she talked…… but, for some reason, she stopped before entering the shop. She then started cuddling the two-meter cat plush that was displayed at the front of the store to attract customers and boasted,

“But, this is the gift I’m giving to Asta! You two should find your own gifts!”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not for sale! And wait a second, you were talking about the cat!?”

Charlotte retorted without a moment’s delay, causing Noelle to look around restlessly.

“Huh?...... Yes, but……? What else would I be talking about?”

“Plenty! In fact, of all the things you could have chosen here, why would you choose that! No matter how I look at it, wouldn’t that just be in the way!? It’s too big!”

“But that’s what makes it so cute!”

Noelle Silva: 15 years old. Her tastes are rather simple, but they can also be a bit odd at times.

“You’ve lost me! All I can say to you is that you have completely lost me!”

Completely unaware of this aspect of Noelle, Charlotte retorted with all her might, completely out of her usual character…… and then, at that moment, the three of them realized –

They all suck at this.

All three of them were somewhat aware of the fact that their tastes were a bit “off”. They decided to go on this shopping trip together in an attempt to remedy that, but…… they never thought they’d all be this far gone. All they’ve been doing is roasting each other and getting roasted. This hasn’t gotten them any closer to choosing the right gift, and, at this rate, they’re never going to get to the right choice. They’ll only continue to wander eternally through an endless corridor filled with bad choices. Recognizing the danger of their current predicament, they silently exchanged glances with each other.

“……U-um, excuse me? Did you w-want something…… from my store?”

A woman came out from the store which sold book pouches and fearfully spoke to the three of them.

“……….!!”

All three of them turned toward the woman in an instant before turning back toward each other and nodding. Then, after wordlessly hatching up a plot together, they all stepped toward the shopkeeper. Now that things have come to this, they’ll have to rely on their last resort,

“……I want to buy a present, but what would you recommend?”

Consulting the shop owner.

— To be continued in Part 2 —

This isn’t quite “half” of the chapter since this was the best break-point I could find and I had to study for exams, but I promise part 2 is longer than this one. The below are some supplementary notes about this chapter:

** In Japan, there are two types of chocolate a woman can buy for a man on Valentine’s Day. Giri chocolate is “obligatory chocolate"  and is given to male coworkers or colleagues in expression of friendship, gratitude, etc. In contrast, Honmei chocolate is inspired by romantic interest and given to husbands, boyfriends, or a potential love interest if confessing on Valentine’s Day is your thing. The idea is that, when Noelle gives Asta a gift, she’s going to insist it’s like giri chocolate. It’s not honmei or anything, b-baka!

** A Canto is a subdivision or part in a narrative or epic poem, consisting of five or more lines

** The original title is Kojirase Joshi wa Tasogarenai. Kojirase Joshi doesn’t translate well into English, and is a term that required a ton of research (well, in the sense that you can’t find it in a dictionary so you just look it up on Yahoo Japan instead). Apparently, it’s a slang term coined in 2011 from Amamiya Mami’s book, Joshi wo Kojirasete. It refers to young women who "just can't get it right”, hapless in love and lacking self-confidence in their own femininity. It can even describe women who have an inferiority complex about their own femininity, which causes them to have difficulties in their social life. In short, they’re troubled women, hence my decision for the title of this chapter.

[ryik-the-writer]

The Audacious Storybrooke Mirror Advice Columnist (Wednesday Paper Edition)

In which Lacey French is a smutty advice columnist for the Storybrooke Mirror.

Ch. 2: Gold discovers he sent Lacey the email

This took way too long guys, sorry!

A03

                                                   *-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-*

When Mr. Augustine Gold opened his eyes he had a three-to-four second grace period before he remembered who he was and where he was before his body announced its condition.

And, as always after a night like last night, it started with a blinding, pounding headache, followed by a wave of nausea, and soon, the cold sweats.

Groaning pitifully, he pushed through the stars flashing before his eyes and slowly eased out of bed sideways, holding his head. The room was dark as a tomb, but he could see he was still wearing yesterday’s suit, abet a bit more rumpled. He’d even worn his shoes to bed.

He kicked them off, his body jolting in pain from the movement, and he felt for his cane, having to practically crawl across the floor to get it.

The little light that greeted him in the hallway felt like a snakebite to his senses, and he almost screamed when he cut on the bathroom light.

He turned on the cold water but could not bend over without his head killing him so he cupped his hands and splashed the cold water in his face.

His hands were shaking as he opened his medicine cabinet and crammed down two Alka-Seltzers, three aspirin and a Valium.

Now all he needed was an ice-cold beer and he might live.

He felt his way to the head of the stairs and wondered how the hell he was going to get down them in his state.

Then he heard Jefferson snoring from the living room and he immediately returned to the bathroom and drank water from the tap.

Now slightly stable, he removed his clothes, crawled into bed and jacked his electric blanket on high, quickly drifting off to sleep.

It was just after noon when he awoke again. Now his stomach was hot and burning, screaming for carbs. He quietly unlocked his door and made the careful trip into the living room.

Jefferson was gone, thank Gods, and Gold grabbed his phone and called in an order for two grilled cheese sandwiches, a large fries and, for the hell of it, a chocolate shake. He rolled his eyes when granny charged him double for delivery, obviously sensing his massive hangover and choosing to punish him from it.

He devoured the food in barely five minutes, feeling disgusted with himself for more than just his eating habits. He fell into such bad habits when he was falling off the deep end again, and boy had he fell.

It would be easy to blame it on Jefferson, his tacky business associate and friend on a good day.

Last night had not been a good day, but somehow still lead to Jefferson coming by for drinks as he tried to help him create an online portal for his tenants to pay their rent.

It would take out the need for him to run all over town on rent day, Jefferson had explained, and Gold half liked the idea of not having to soak his leg for a week straight, so he said fine.

The website was forgotten about as soon as the hat-making fiend found the good scotch, and frankly Gold couldn’t remember what he did after that.

His computer was still on in his study, Gold discovered when he wondered around his home, picking up the remnants of the night before. An unfolded blanket here, several crystal glasses there.

A blurry memory was tugging at his brain and demanding he sit at his desk.

He obeyed, only because his body still hadn’t recovered. The memory was becoming clearer. Jefferson’s chaotic laughter as Gold did … something. He was sending out an email to someone, and no doubt had received a response by now.

Gold rolled his eyes and waited for his email to load. No doubt he had sent a grueling message to the mayor, probably something immature that Jefferson had egged him to send.

He blinked and saw that he had no responses, so he went to his Sent emails. One look at the last one he sent and his stomach lurched harder than any amount of alcohol could warrant.

“No…no, no, no!” Gold panicked, her name alone heating him and draining him all at once.

Racy Lacey. Lacey French. His tenant and the target of his desires for well over three years now.

He dared read the contents of the email and started shouting. He was going to kill Jefferson and then himself!

He grabbed his cane and marched back to his room, throwing on his rumpled clothes back on. Damn a hangover.

He’d tear Jefferson’s head off first, he decided as he descended down the stairs.

Then he’d dip his entire body into a vat of acid and use his skeleton as a prop in his shop, he agreed as he opened the front door.

All thoughts left him when the piercing blue eyes he often dreamed about met his, and her curled up fist knocked him in the mouth.

“Whoa! Sorry!” Lacey apologized.

Gold rubbed his lip, staring at the girl that had his heart in a painful knot.

“Miss French,” he greeted, trying to lay on an air of sophistication despite his appearance. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Lacey gave him an incredulous look. She recognized a hangover anywhere, and this one, judging by the tint of green to his skin was pretty bad.

She managed to keep from laughing and remain serious. After all, she was here to figure out if he really meant in his email, among other things.

Cruella had suggested she “jump his bones” at a hastily set up breakfast between them the morning after she had gotten the email.

She hadn’t revealed the name of her current admirer, just the text of it.

It could have been Leroy Miner for all she cared.

“This one looks serious, darling,” her equally lewd co-work had pointed out as she snuck a dose of Kahlúa into her coffee. “If you don’t grab him, I will.”

Cruella would need a whole cabinet of the stuff if she knew her “admirer’s” true identity.

A look over at Mr. Gold didn’t quite turn her on. Mind you, the rumpled look was indeed alluring, and the shadow of facial hair and mused hair had its own appeal.

But she wasn’t her to gander at her landlord, she was here to set him straight and bury this whole thing, no matter how it ended.

She held up a printout of the email he had written and watched as his mightier-than-though look quickly faded.

“You’ve got quite the talent,” Lacey said. “Though it’s a bit Harlequinn for my taste.”

“Did you come all the way here to insult me,” Gold growled. The email may have been a drunken spur, but he had meant every word he said. He did find her attractive, but that didn’t mean he was going to let her say whatever she wanted to him.

“Not at all,” Lacey returned. “I just wanted to know … well … what are we going to do about this?”

If Gold had more courage—or at least if he were les sober than he was now—he would tell her exactly what he wanted to do about this blunder. However, he was hungover and still in his bathrobe of all things and far from confident.

“Nothing,” he said, grabbing the email from her. “Forget about it and have your rent on time this month.”

Before he could slam the door and push her out of her life, her heeled shoe divided his door and the glare in her striking blue eyes threatened to do the same to him.

“Are you bloody kidding me?” she hissed, a bit loud.

“Miss French, control yourself,” he warned, sure he heard one of his neighbors doors open.

“I am in complete control, you wanker,” she shouted. “You’re the one that caused all of this.”

Gold fought the flush creeping up his neck.

Lacey crumpled the email in her hand, sick of this nonsense already. “Whatever, like I’d want to be seen with the likes of you.”

Gold scoffed, solidifying his hurt. “Same to you, dearie, Gods only know what you have at this point.”

Lacey paused and stared at him, the blush on her cheeks from embarrassment.

Gold shut his mouth. Why the hell did he say that? He didn’t mean a word of it! Not to her, never to her.

Lacey turned on her heel before he could say anything, and he almost went after her, but there were spectators watching them from their porches, and he only had the courage to slink back into his living room.

Lacey clawed at her face as she stalked back to the office, Gold’s email still curled up in her hand. She wouldn’t cry over him. Lacey French did not cry over men, though she could occasionally get them to cry over her.

The Mirror was mostly empty due to the lunch hour and Lacey allowed herself to stew in anger without having to explain herself.

She was grateful for the hum of her old computer through the silence. It was a comfortable familiarity. Many people hated their day-to-day jobs or even just lasted long enough to get their paychecks and leave.

Lacey legit liked her job. She didn’t live to work by any means, but she loved her role in creating the little glorified newsletter they pushed out every other day, like that people read and liked what she wrote and came back for more each week.

She liked the admiration and the scrutiny in all forms it came as. It made her life an adventure.

And currently her adventure had reached a stalemate.

Mr. Gold was an obstacle she could cross easily, but Mayor Regina fucking Mills was not.

The woman controlled the town, and one word from her would get her cast out.

Lacey felt sick as she logged into her account and gazed over the subject lines of her email.

All of these were too delicious damn it! How the hell was she supposed to keep this clean!

She threw her head back with a groan. All of these were too delicious! She was finished if she didn’t have something in by Friday.

She turned her head onto her cheek, glaring at the crumpled up email she wished she had thrown at Mr. Gold’s head. She picked at the ball until it unfolded to reveal its contents.

She reread it again, ignoring the little twist in her belly at the words.

Gold had a way with them, she’d give him that. She was sure he had the ability to woo a few women once upon a time.

Lacey lifted her head and scanned over the note again, an idea coming to her.

Gold wrote her a mesmerizing, flattering letter. Sultry, yes, but a few tweaks could have fixed that.

She wondered, what other words did Mr. Gold have under his belt, and just how well could he use them?

[justfandomwritings]

United In Fear (Part Two - Soulmate!Robb)

Pairing: Robb Stark x Reader; Soulmates AU 

Word count: 4.4k

Warnings: literally just chit chat fluff and character building

Summary: The names were the greatest mystery in Westeros. Each kingdom had their own telling of the story. None of the kingdoms could agree on where they were from or how they came to be. Each thought a different god, their own interpretation of religion, was responsible, but all seemed to agree on one thing: they were a gift.

Notes: sooo... I like Tywin Lannister. This is kinda fun I think. Let me know.

Previously On... Part One

“A Rose of Gold?” (Y/n) scoffed. “Do we look like Tyrell’s to you?”

“I-I,” The bard stuttered over his words, “I could play the Lion and the Lady for you, Lady Lannister.”

A guffaw went up around the group of Lannister soldiers. There was no worse Westerlands song he could have chosen to play for (Y/n) Lannister than the one effectively about how she should not exist.

“Best choose something else,” An older soldier, named Tygett after Tywin’s younger brother, advised.

None of the group who’d come up with (Y/n) from Casterly Rock felt particularly welcome in Winterfell. Every morning since she’d sent word for her father to ride north, (Y/n) had left the keep in the early hours of the morning to join her men in the barracks to break fast; and every night since her father replied that he was on his way with all haste, she had dropped all pretense of social interaction with the Starks or the King’s party and taken all of her meals with her men.

The twenty or so soldiers were camped around a large bonfire behind the stables of Winterfell, as they were every night. The meal was soup, one of the large pots Winterfell’s kitchen had delivered to the barracks for any men not invited to the feast. A few well-placed coins by (Y/n) had managed to get all of the rolls baked for that night’s supper delivered, instead, to the fireside, and some of the North’s musicians who had been displaced by those brought with the King had thought to join the Lannister to earn some gold from them.

“It’s a bit late for lively music. Can we trust you to know the Song of the Seven?” (Y/n) asked the Northmen.

The bard hesitated, “We know to play it, but we keep faith with the old gods so we…”

“Cannot sing it. Yes, I understand.” (Y/n) pushed off the barrel she’d made use of as a chair and walked around the fire to toss a copper to the harpist. “Play it. We will do the singing.”

As the men prepared their instruments, (Y/n) approached one of the squires sitting in the dirt behind the circle of soldiers. “You were the one singing on the journey to the Kingsroad?”

“Yes, my lady?” The young squire looked on confused.

“Well,” She ushered him to get up, “On with you then. I can’t very well sing alone.”

The boy scrambled to his feet and followed the Lady of the Rock into the center of the circle as the notes began to play.

“The Father’s face is stern and strong, he sits and judges right from wrong. He weighs our lives, the short and long, and loves the little children,” The squire took the first verse.

(Y/n) smiled; she was right. The boy could sing. She’d remember that for the journey home. “The Mother gives the gift of life, and watches over every wife. Her gentle smile ends all strife, and she loves her little children.”

The squire traded verses with his Lady, singing the deeper masculine verses to contrast her beautiful harmonies. “The Warrior stands before the foe, protecting us where e'er we go. With sword and shield and spear and bow, he guards the little children.”

“The Crone is very wise and old, and sees our fates as they unfold. She lifts her lamp of shining gold to lead the little children.” Tyrion used to tease her that it was the mention of gold, but (Y/n)’s favorite verse to the common lullaby had always been the verse of the Crone. As a child, she’d loved joining in for the one verse as her brother sang her to sleep.

“The Smith, he labors day and night, to put the world of men to right. With hammer, plow, and fire bright, he builds for little children.”

The squire finished his final solo, and (Y/n) picked up, “The Maiden dances through the sky, she lives in every lover's sigh. Her smiles teach the birds to fly, and gives dreams to little children.”

Together, the pair sang to the men the final verse, “The Seven Gods who made us all, are listening if we should call. So close your eyes, you shall not fall, they see you, little children. Just close your eyes, you shall not fall, they see you, little children.”

Applause went once around the men, more for (Y/n) than the squire. It was applause nonetheles, and from the way the boy was beaming, (Y/n) thought his talents were not often appreciated.

The boy scampered back to his place behind the men, and (Y/n) took up the barrell as her seat once again, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees in a rather unladylike fashion.

The men began discussing another song the pair could sing, mostly calling out for the typical Rains of Castermere. (Y/n) laughed when someone suggested that perhaps the squire could play a bear and let her sing the Bear and the Maiden Fair. The men poked fun at each other, and it wasn’t until their laughter died down that they heard a new voice.

“You are in the North,” All heads around the fire turned except (Y/n)’s. “Our songs aren’t as famous in the South, but given the setting one of them might be appropriate.”

Silence prevailed after his words, and (Y/n) stared straight ahead as she spoke in a low, commanding voice. “Leave us.”

None questioned it. As one, the soldiers rose to their feet and began collecting their things.

“Your name, squire?” (Y/n) called after her singing partner without averting her gaze.

“Podrick Payne, my lady.” The boy bowed in her peripheral vision.

(Y/n) nodded. Ilyn Payne’s kin, she wouldn’t have guessed from his temperament. “Thank you, Podrick. Go with the others.”

Robb Stark didn’t approach until the last of the musicians had blundered away towards the barracks. “You have a beautiful voice.” He said as he picked out the nearest barrell one of her men had been using and rolled it over to her side.

“Thank you, my lord. Many years of lessons would hope I did.”

“I hadn’t thought that part of lessons to become a lady.” Robb noted curiously. “Though in truth, I never paid much attention to what my sisters’ were being taught by their Septa.”

(Y/n) shrugged, not having an answer. “I can’t say, truthfully. I wasn’t educated by a Septa.”

“I thought all future ladies were?”

(Y/n) chuckled to herself and finally looked over to Robb. “And since when did rules start applying to Lannisters?”

Robb smirked and waved a hand to the empty seats around him. “They seemed to follow rules well enough. My father’s men don’t scatter so quickly at my word, let alone my sisters.”

“I’m a Lannister.” (Y/n) sat up off her knees and looked on Robb with all the majesty her entrance to Winterfell had possessed. “We don’t tolerate insubordination in our soldiers or weakness in our leaders.”

Robb diverted his gaze quickly, “I would never dare call a woman who stood up to the King as you did weak.” He knew the bruise was still there, but he was sitting on the wrong side of her to see it. In a way Robb was grateful for that. His first sight of her skin discolored by the hands of his King had been at the noon meal after she returned from sending a raven for her father, and it had infuriated him beyond reason. When the King ordered her brother to escort her to the seat at Robb’s right hand side the damage to her face was in full view. Robb had done the only thing he could to keep himself from leaping for Robert Baratheon; he’d pushed himself from the table and stormed out of the hall to find Jon. No one, not even his mother, tried to stop him.

In truth, Robb had been looking for Jon again when he’d found her by the fire with the soldiers. He hadn’t meant to interrupt, but as far as he knew, (Y/n) hadn’t spoken to anyone but her soldiers and her two brothers since Robert laid hands on her. Robb wanted to know for himself that she was fine.

“It takes very little to stand up to a man like Robert Baratheon,” (Y/n) mused. “All one needs is sufficient anger, sufficient bravery, or sufficient stupidity.”

“And which one are you?” Robb chuckled, “Angry, brave, or stupid?”

“None of those, I suppose. I like to think that I stand up to him because I see him for what he truly is.”

After the encounter, Robb saw Robert Baratheon as many things. “I presume you see him as a tyrant?”

(Y/n) shook her head and sighed, “No, Robert Baratheon isn’t smart enough to be a tyrant. He isn’t smart enough to be a king, yet people believe he is for some ridiculous reason.”

“What is he if not a king?”

“He’s a sheep.” (Y/n) and Robb both turned, and their eyes met for a long moment before (Y/n) looked away. “As Father always says, a lioness doesn’t concern herself with the opinions of sheep, even the King of sheep.”

Robb watched her carefully as her gaze lazed away from his. “I hardly think anyone else would describe that oaf as something so innocent as a sheep.”

“He’s not a sheep because he’s innocent.” (Y/n) corrected. “He’s a sheep because he’s simple and foolish. He thought a title would protect him from laying hands on me, but I am the last person in Westeros any man should want to cross.”

“Because of your father?” Robb looked as though he wanted to laugh. Her father was a man to be noted, but he wasn’t the King. “You think the King respects Tywin Lannister so much?”

(Y/n) had heard that tone once before. Long ago, at the docks in Lannisport, a sailor from the Iron Islands had spoken to her in such a way, long before the Greyjoy Rebellion. He’d laughed when she told him about how smart and powerful her father was and jeered her story of his bravery and honor. (Y/n) had told her father about the sailor, and years later when the Iron Islanders burned the Lannister fleet at Lannisport, her father still remembered. He made her look at every coat of arms from the Iron Islands before they left. House Botley, the flag the sailor’s ship had flown, was burned to the ground.

“It’s not a matter of respect. You’ve met the King.” (Y/n) turned her head around and tilted it up in the dying light of the embers to show him the bruise still coloring her cheek. Her hand pulled aside the collar of her dress to show him her bandaged shoulder, “The King did this, and that is the man your father respects more than any other man in the Seven Kingdoms. So tell me,” (Y/n) waited till Robb met her gaze, “do you? Do you respect the King?”

“No.” Robb kept his eyes on hers, not daring to flash them to her injuries. His fists were already clenching his pants; he didn’t know what more he could do to hold back his anger. “No, I don’t.”

(Y/n) dropped her dress back into place, contemplating whether to continue. Robb was her mate, but Robb was a Stark. She didn’t trust many people, and none of the ones she did trust were Starks. How much could she actually divulge to him without risking her head? Not much, but then again, she doubted anyone would believe she said whatever he repeated, assuming he repeated it. Even if they did, Robert Baratheon had already struck her once. The look in his eyes when he did told her Robert knew better than to do so twice.

“Your father doesn’t respect my father. The King doesn’t respect my father, and for all the gold to my name, to have the disrespect of a man like Robert Baratheon is the greatest honor in the Seven Kingdoms. I pray one day men like him talk about me the way they talk about my father. Not with respect, but with fear. Because men like that deserve to be afraid of someone, and I hope it’s me.”

Robb said nothing because what was there to say.

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He joined her again the next night. Later this time, after the fires had died down and the singing had stopped and her soldiers had left to fall asleep.

“Tell me about him.”

“About who?”

“Your father,” Robb explained. “You don’t speak about him as though you love him, but you certainly admire him. He is important to you. I’d like to understand why.”

(Y/n) chuckled to herself. “I must be the only lady in the Seven Kingdoms who ever has to explain why she cares about her father.”

“I apologize,” Robb immediately began to backtrack. “I meant no offense.”

“None was given.” (Y/n) waved him away, slipping off her usual barrell so she could sit in the dirt and lean back on the wood. “I genuinely find it amusing that you all think my father some heartless beast of a man that no one could ever love and who can love nothing in return when his very life proves that not to be true.”

“You mean Joanna?” Robb wasn’t sure if mentioning Tywin’s first wife was a good idea, but he was curious how it affected her.

(Y/n) hedged at the name, though not in the way Robb thought she would. “Yes and no. She was certainly Tywin’s greatest act of love, but people think he feels nothing with her gone. In truth, he cares deeply about a great many things.”

“Like what?”

“Gold for one,” Robb and (Y/n) laughed together for a moment before a look crossed (Y/n)’s eye again and she felt the need to say, “He does love us all, in his own way.”

“What was his way with you?”

His question was met with nothing but the crackle of the fire and the huffing of horses in the stable behind him. The night air filled with sounds of the North that kept them from complete silence, but that didn’t calm the tension that suddenly gripped Robb’s chest. He wasn’t sure if he’d asked the wrong question or simply a hard one to answer, but given what he knew of his mate so far, he doubted very strongly any question was too hard for (Y/n) to answer.

Robb’s eyes darted down every few moments to where (Y/n) sat on the cold earth. Her eyes twinkled reflections of flames as she stared into the fire, but there was not even a twitch to her gaze when a spark danced out of the flames and died only a step from her feet. She was looking, but she wasn’t seeing. Wherever (Y/n)’s mind had gone, it wasn’t Winterfell.

“If I’ve caused you any discomfort…”

“I never knew my mother.” (Y/n) spoke over him as if she hadn’t realized he was speaking. Robb wondered if she ever registered that he was still there. “I barely knew the twins growing up. The only people I had at the Rock were Tyrion and Tywin, and Tyrion, while a wonderful brother, was still a child himself and had his own difficulties plaguing him. The moment I was out of the nursery, all of the maids and septas and nurses were gone. My every waking hour was spent at my father’s feet.”

The idea of Tywin Lannister caring so intimately for a child was disturbing with every notion Robb had of the man, and he found himself shifting uncomfortable on his makeshift stool as he tried to grapple with the idea.

“In meetings with his council, I would be sat in a chair playing with dolls. He taught me to ride a horse while heading out to deal with bandits on the Gold Road. I learned to read by peering over his shoulder at the ledgers of the Rock.” A fond smile pulled the corner of (Y/n)’s lips. “He was as strict and harsh as you imagine, but he was always fair.”

(Y/n) turned then, turned her whole body around to face Robb, as if she needed to be sure he heard her every word perfectly clearly. “He did not raise me to be just anyone. He raised me to be him. You see, my father did not raise me to be some poor beggar’s wife, because I was not supposed to beg. He did not raise me to fall for the first knight in shining armor who rode to my rescue, because I did not need anyone to rescue me. I was never going to work as handmaiden to another lady like any unmarried second daughter would, because I was not going to bow in service to any house. I wasn’t even raised to be the wife of a lord, especially a Lord Paramount and Warden as you.”

Therein lied their problem. Robb could have guessed from her earlier rejections that Tywin did not raise (Y/n) to marry him, not that he would have guessed Tywin raised her. The Lannisters’ influence was evident in her every word, but from the tales, Tywin didn’t seem the fatherly type. Robb just assumed the similarities were a familial trait.

“You can ask.”

“What?” Robb looked on with a heavy crease in his brow that reminded (Y/n) of the constantly heavy appearance of his father. It didn’t suit Robb’s lighter feature the way it suited Ned Stark’s. Robb shared too much of his mother.

“Why. You can ask why. I know you’ve wanted to since I stepped in that room with your parents and the King.”

She was right. It had been the one thing eating at him. Robb liked to think he was good looking enough, kind enough, strong enough. He would be one of the four Wardens one day. Her father already controlled the West.  Jon Arryn’s son in the East was far too young. It only left Robb or Doran Martell’s son. The Martell’s were certainly richer, but their lands and armies were much smaller. More than that, they despised the Lannisters even more than his father. The only hope (Y/n) could have for a better match than Robb Stark was Crown Prince Joffrey himself. Still, he was her nephew, and Robert already intended him for Sansa. Being her soulmate, baring her name on his arm, should have been an afterthought.

“Why?” Robb didn’t hesitate to pose the question.

“Because my father raised me to be him in all things.”

Robb took a second longer than he probably should have before his eyes widened. “You can’t honestly mean…”

“Jaime is sworn to hold no lands, and Cersei is the queen. In a perfect kingdom, I would have been born a son, but even as a daughter, he still prefers me to Tyrion.”

“You’re the heir to the Rock.” Robb said in disbelief. “The Warden of the West.”

“Yes.”

“That’s not possible.” He murmured, more to himself than her, as he lowered his head to staring at the ground in complete shock.

(Y/n) couldn’t hold back as her eyes rolled in her head. “I assure you it is.”

“How?”

“Cerelle Lannister already set the precedent. She was an only child at the age of three when Tybolt died, and the Rock fell to her by way of a regent. She did not live to maturity to rule for herself, but she allowed for female inheritance.”

“Even if you discount your twin siblings, Tyrion is a male and your elder.” Robb insisted on pointing out.

(Y/n) nodded, “Yes, but he does not want the damned thing, thinks I’m better suited to it anyhow. Once I marry, he’ll recuse himself from the line of succession, and I will be left as the last alternative.”

“Won’t your uncle object?” Robb motioned up towards the keep. “He has sons; does he not? Robert Baratheon’s squire. Surely he would expect to be the next heir.”

“Kevan knows of all of this, and he does not object. That is rather the point.” (Y/n) referred back to her earlier ramblings, “I was raised for this, made for this, born for this. In the Westerlands, they already know not to question me. They know I am my father’s daughter in every way. It’s only a matter of time before the rest of Westeros falls in line, and it begins with Robert Baratheon.”

“When he struck you?” Robb bit out.

(Y/n) ground her teeth, “Yes, not how I intended to acquaint myself with our king, but since it has happened, it will have to serve a purpose.” A smirk pulled at the corner of her lips, pulling away the noise of her teeth rubbing together, “I am a Lannister after all, and I now owe the King a debt.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” In honesty, it probably should have occurred to Robb to ask sooner. His mate or not, she was a Lannister, as she loved to remind him.

(Y/n) pondered the question for a moment. “I don’t really know,” she confessed. “Under normal circumstances, there would be no reason to reject a match to you, but these aren’t normal circumstances. Maybe it’s that you deserve to know what the circumstances are. I suppose you have a right to know these things. They aren’t just things about me, after all. They are about us.”

“I suppose there’s no hope for a change of circumstances?” Robb smiled to try to lighten the mood. The expression on both of their faces had quickly turned sullen, and he didn’t want what little time he had with his soulmate to be wasted dwelling on dark memories. He would never know her the way he wanted to, but he could at least know her as a friend.

“Only if you’re willing to forsake your inheritance, remove your sigil, leave your family, and follow me to Casterly Rock where you and your children will be known as Lannisters and never be allowed to bear the name Stark?” It was a rather blunt answer, but she said it in such a teasingly optimistic tone that it only lightened the mood further with amusement.

“No,” Robb smirked. “I don’t suppose I would. Perhaps you would turn your back on your father, give up becoming the most powerful woman in Westeros, force Tyrion to become heir to the Rock, leave your gold and all your other lavish Southern possessions and join me in the cold, barren North for the boring life of an incredibly traditional lady?”

Part of him hoped she would say yes, but he wasn’t surprised when she responded with a tinkling laugh of, “No. I don’t suppose I would.”

“Shame,” he smiled to himself. “Perhaps I shall pray to the old gods that my father and the King manage to steal you out from under the lion’s paw by distracting him with something shiny.”

(Y/n) playfully rolled her eyes at him. Her tone was one of fake exasperation, “Perhaps I shall pray to the new gods that Ned Stark doesn’t wet himself when my father arrives or all hope of convincing Tywin to rob Winterfell of its heir will be ruined by his impression of your family.”

The image of his father being scared by anyone’s arrival in their home was amusing enough, but the image of Lord Tywin Lannister dressed head to toe in gold, wiping another man’s piss of his boots was almost too much for Robb. Within a few moments, Robb’s loud guffaw sent both of them into a fit of laughter that was far too loud given the time of night. It ceased rather suddenly only one a loud whinny went up from the stables behind them to sign the horses’ discontent.

“He can’t truly have enough power to work such a thing, even with the help of gods.” Robb’s tone was still light, but there was an underlying question to it that (Y/n) immediately picked up on. He’d never been to the South. He’d never been to royal court, so he didn’t really know the answer to his unspoken question outside of tall tales. How much power did Tywin Lannister truly wield?

“For decades, a Targaryen wore the crown and wielded all the power in Westeros, while my father sat on the Iron Throne and kept the Kingdoms running as their Hand. Now the roles have reversed. Robert Baratheon and his man of choice might sit on the Iron Throne. They might run the Seven Kingdoms, but they know where the crown, where the power, truly lies.”  

“Seven Kingdoms united in fear of Tywin Lannister.” Robb repeated the famous saying. “I don’t think you’ll find the North afraid.”

“Only because you haven’t met him yet,” (Y/n) smiled to herself. “If they don’t fear him when he arrives, they will by the time he leaves, just as they do everywhere else.”

(Y/n) pushed herself to her feet. She took a moment to brush her skirts back down into position and rid them of any obvious dirt. Then, Robb watched her turn and walk away, calling back over her shoulder, “When you see Lannister banners on the horizon of Winterfell tomorrow, watch the King.”

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The banners of House Lannister broke the horizon, signifying the approach of the Warden of the West.

The only thought in Robert’s mind was that this would surely be the day he died. Robert might be a fool, but he wasn’t so mad as Aerys to think that Tywin Lannister ever truly came in peace.

Tywin had taken the lives of every man, woman, and child from two of the Westerlands’ richest and oldest houses, and he had done so with a smile. All over some gold that was a drop in the bucket to House Lannister’s riches. Tywin had sacked King’s Landing and slaughtered the royal family, including his oldest friend, because Aerys forced him to remarry a beautiful young woman. Slights by comparison to Robert’s offense.

Robert Baratheon had struck the Lady of Casterly Rock, Tywin’s daughter and youngest child, in front of her mate, the Heir to Winterfell no less. She still bore the bruise.

At the least, Tywin would have his offending hand. At the worst, he would end Robert’s dynasty. Robert feared both were within the Lannister’s grasp.

As (Y/n) had told him to do, Robb watched his namesake. Robert Baratheon was a large man and a warrior at heart. He had long grown fat and let himself go with the pressures of the crown and the grief of his loss, but that hadn’t made him any less the man who killed Rhaegar Targaryen.

Robb thought Robert was not one to be easily intimidated, but as he watched, he saw the Baratheon’s stern face begin to crack. He saw what (Y/n) had sent him searching for. Fear. The King of the Seven Kingdoms was afraid of Tywin Lannister.

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Taglist:

Forever Taglist: 

@maybe-a-fangurl / @libbymouse /

United in Fear Taglist: 

@wonderboygenius / @bluestaratsunrise / @lost-my-sanity / @megzdoodle / @redroomassassin / @trickstersteve / @loveofshows / @htariq / @savingprivatecass / @sharktooothfairy / @emotionallysalty / @hi-there-x / @iamaferitale / @stylesamour / @kaylathekittykat225 / @kai-by / @brittanymcsharry / @supernaturalonice / @balbigalum / @purrfectowl / @santa-feigh / @cassiopeia-barrow / @fallfrxmgrace / @quickies-with-quicksilver / @v0idbella / @the-soulless-spider / @batmansbanana / @frozenhuntress67 / @brynthebulldozer and I’m assuming @scarhades, you will want to be tagged in this lol 

If you’re listed under United in Fear taglist and would like to be tagged in all Game of Thrones fics please reply to this to specify that. Otherwise, I’ll leave it be. 

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

Non-Valentine Valentine

An AK short for the season I hope you all like a bit of fluff. 

Warnings: Soft Kitsune, a worrying warlord and a reluctant princess

Masterlist

---

Non-Valentine Valentine

It was a cold wind that blew through the castle town. Birds were singing, flowers were trying to bud and the townspeople were busy in preparations for yet another successful day with the market.

Everything was peaceful…

“Princess! Aerion… wait!” An all to familiar voice rang out in the castle as the man attached to it rushed to the wooden walkway that led to the gardens following hot on the heels of the reluctant Princess.

“Why? So you can shoehorn me into that outfit? No way!” Aerion called out over her shoulder as she dropped down on to the gravel, minus her shoes, and ran in nothing but socks towards the gate.

Almost everything was peaceful.

The people in the market glanced towards the gates as the Princess burst free of its shadow. One pair, in particular, watched as she ran towards the lake.

“Wasn’t that Aerion?” Yukimura stood up frowning slightly in the direction of the noise.

“Looks like it.”

“Damn girl really is like a wild animal.” Yukimura shrugged and went back to laying out the trinkets Shingen had sent him to sell mumbling complaints about girly things being annoying. Sasuke continued to stand there for a moment watching as his friend disappeared further into the distance, and the figure following in her footsteps.

---

The sunlight was blinding as it played around on the surface of the water. She had to squint and hold her hand up just to try to focus on the fishermen and boats in the distance. Aerion sighed as she moved along the shore and found a slightly sheltered place to sit. She dragged her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her knees as she watched the birds floating on the water.

Nobunaga was expecting a visit from some traders and Hideyoshi had suggested that she join the meeting and support Nobu in his attempts to secure supplies. She had no issues with that as a general rule of thumb but there was something wrong with the requirement that she put on fancy-dress costumes that didn’t allow her to breathe in order to just sit there like a statue and have some random sailor ogle her.

“I wish I could be a bird…” She muttered lost in thought.

“Well, now there is an idea. What an interesting imagination you have my dear. Do tell me how you expect to succeed with such an plan when you cannot even remember to put on shoes.”

She nearly jumped out of her skin as she turned and saw a white figure standing behind her leaning against a tree in the shade. His smile was mocking but the warmth in his eyes was as bright as the sun on the lake.

“I might have known it was you. How do you always find me anyway?” Aerion shrugged and turned back to resting her chin on her knees watching the birds on the lake. Mitsuhide came closer and sat next to her a fabric bundle in his hand.

“That would be a secret Princess.” He chuckled softly stealing a sideways glance at the small female. Her feet were once more so muddy it was difficult to tell if she even had tabi on. Her hair was partly pinned up and falling down. He reached his long fingers up and teased some of her tangled hair free of the pins and began to comb his fingers through it. “Let me guess Hideyoshi was the reason for your sudden departure from the castle?”

“Isn’t he usually?” Aerion sighed and relaxed as the pressure on her head vanished. She really did fail to see the point in all this fuss. What was so wrong with just dragging your hair up into a side ponytail anyway? She became aware of a change in sensation and realised Mitsuhide had produced a comb from somewhere. “You brought a comb?!”

“I learnt when it comes to you little one that I should be prepared for most things.” His smile softened as he watched the teeth of the comb glide through the soft as silk hair in his hands. He had long since given up on the idea of denying the fact that her hair was something that pleased him. He still couldn’t quite place the feelings in himself when it came to mind that someone else had tried to tame the unruly locks, even less when it was another man. For the time being, he would play it safe and push aside those unhelpful flights of curiosity and focus on the way her hair tumbled through his hands.

“Hard to imagine you not being prepared for anything Mitsuhide.” Aerion spoke again turning away from him. He wanted her to look at him again.

“Mm, well there are times when a certain Princess goes beyond even my expectations.” He grinned knowing his teasing would draw her eye back to him.

“Hey! That’s just a fancy way of calling me difficult!” She exclaimed as she batted his arm playfully.

“And no less cute for it.” His voice was softer with no edge or tease to it. Her blue eyes remained locked on his wavering a little.

“That joke is in poor taste even for you.” Aerion huffed a little like a child which only caused him to bark out in amusement.

“Agreed. If it were a joke that is.” He didn’t miss the rosy shade her face had taken and took a little delight in knowing he was the cause. “Now little girls really shouldn’t go running around outside in bare feet.” He put the comb away in his sleeve again and made a poor show at acting scandalised.

“I don’t have bare feet I got socks on. See?” She lifted the hem of her Hakama enough to wiggle a foot at him.

“Poor dear Hideyoshi. I fear he will collapse at the sight of those.” Contrary to his words Mitsuhide was doing admirably poorly at masking his delight at the idea of the castle’s mother hen going insane over laundry. Picking up the fabric parcel he had been carrying he handed it over to the Princess.

“What’s this?” The knot was fairly tight and took a little effort to work it free. “Mitsuhide since when do you carry around sandals and socks?” Aerion could feel her jaw drop at the sight of a pair of fresh white tabi and some geta with low teeth on the soles.

“As I said before my dear it pays to be prepared when it comes to you.” From watching her practice with Hideyoshi as he instructed her in behaving like a real Princess he chose a pair that would at least allow her to walk without major risk of falling over.

“…. I’m surrounded by men trying to dress me up or treat me like a doll.” Aerion grumbled. Seriously if it wasn’t Masamune trying to feed her or Ieyasu handing her some sort of medicine complaining she was too soft to survive without it. Hideyoshi was trying to wrap her in so much silk she could be a Daruma doll and it felt like someone was always trying to gift her things.

“You are mistaken, my dear. This is not a desire to dress you up. Merely a means to prevent your feet from becoming injured.” Mitsuhide slipped the geta on her feet and then held out his hands to her so he could pull her up to standing. “Now then. It is rather late and I doubt you stopped at all in your escape to have lunch.”

“You’re going to feed me?” Her eyes sparkled with the idea of food. It was not something he could really say he understood but he could enjoy her expressions all the same.

“My my now you’re not so much a doll as a lost puppy.”

“Oh, shut up!”

---

The place he took her too was just off the main road in town. They had ducked under the fabric covering the door and instantly were transported into a world where the air was filled with warmth and mouth-watering smells.

“Is this your usual place?” She asked as she took a seat at the counter next to him.

“There are many shops in town, I frequent a few. This I discovered recently and thought you might enjoy it.”

“Oh? Well, now I really am curious.” Aerion looked over to the small window that showed the kitchen. A man with his sleeves tied back was standing in front of a pan that looked like it was hot as larva. He picked up things from a plate that seemed to be dripped and plopped them in causing the pan to crack and sizzle.

It took a few minutes but eventually, a platter covered in what looked like a battered and fried jigsaw was placed between them.

“Tempura?” Aerion marvelled at the unexpected golden clusters.

“You’ve had it before? It’s relatively new.” Mitsuhide masked the crestfallen feeling he had as his stomach suddenly felt like a cavern had opened up inside him.

“Oh? No, I mean I’ve heard of it but not really eaten it.” Aerion backpedalled. She had naturally eaten it before but attempting to explain time travel was just going to complicate things. Plus if she were completely honest she wasn’t certain she could explain wormholes even with guided notes from Sasuke. “What have we got here?” She picked up her chopsticks and tried rather clumsily to pick up a small piece.

“A mix of vegetables, fish and meat. The soy sauce is brought in from the same province as the sake.” Mitsuhide took on the role of a teacher as he explained more. Suddenly Aerion vanished and he couldn’t help but think that was rather a good trick for one to pull in front of him. Before he could look for her or call out someone else did.

“Mitsuhide?”

“Hideyoshi. And just when I was enjoying my food.” Mitsuhide turned to greet the approaching Warlord flashing his trademark smile.  

“You never enjoy food.” Hideyoshi ended whatever might have been of Mitsuhide’s planned teasing whilst looking dubiously at the platter far too large for one person.

“Forthright as ever. What brings you here? Don’t tell me the castle staff have gone on strike after being told to prepare a feast for the guest?” Unwilling to give up their accustomed game of trading jibes Mitsuhide persisted so as to distract from what Hideyoshi might question next. Namely the portion control for the establishment.

“What? No of course not. I –” On cue Hideyoshi began to blunder his way through spoken language.

“Lost the Princess again?” As he said this Mitsuhide felt something touch his ankle.

“If you know then why ask? Have you seen her?” Hideyoshi pressed closer as if sharing a secret which caused the grip on Mitsuhide’s ankle to tighten.

“A Princess? I’ve seen a few…”

“I’m not asking about your trip to see the ladies at court I am looking for Aerion. She bolted like a rabbit from the castle earlier and I haven’t been able to track her down since.” Seemingly taken that Mitsuhide was being his usual difficult self Hideyoshi sighed and absentmindedly looked around the shop.

“How unfortunate. No, I haven’t seen her, I did have a mind to look for her myself later.” Mitsuhide’s smile became wider as he was now keenly aware that he had two targets at his mercy. And the one under the table had claws currently digging into his lower leg.

“And what did you have planned? You know she is Lord Nobunaga’s favourite. I won’t let you—”

“Oh relax. Why don’t you try some tempura?” Mitsuhide graciously indicated the stool next to himself. He didn’t imagine the small barely audible gasp as he shifted it slightly with one hand.

“Thanks, but I really should find her before it gets too dark and cold.” Hideyoshi declined and looked anxiously out the window at what he could see of the sky from this angle.

“You might try some of the stalls in town. A few traders have returned and I do know she is rather fond of their wares.” Mitsuhide picked up a piece of battered fish with his chopsticks and dipped it lightly with some soy before filling his mouth. He really couldn’t get the flavour but this texture was exquisite.

“Yeah, I’ll do that. Oh, and Mitsuhide?” Hideyoshi paused before leaving. “If you find her before I do…”

“I’ll be sure to bring the Princess back to the castle.” Mitsuhide gave a noncommittal wave without really looking at the other man. Five beats later and Aerion appeared at his elbow again.

“You enjoyed that far too much.” She grumbled looking adorably flustered.

“You wound me little one. You were after all the one to pull a vanishing act during dinner.” Mitsuhide brought both his hands up to his head cradling it as if in pain.

“You rather Hideyoshi caught me and joined us for real?” Aerion leant over and swiped the cup of sake from in front of the main cause for her desire for a strong drink.

“Certainly not. I make a point of avoiding conflict during dinner, does absolutely nothing for the digestion.” With a cheeky grin he dropped his hands and retrieved his chopsticks once more. “Come on now eat up I have to walk you home.”

---

When Aerion came back to her room there was a note left on her futon. She recognised the scrawling sand script anywhere.

I’m glad you managed to find your smile again. I’ll be gone for a week.

Talk soon. Sasuke p.s. Happy Valentine’s Day

“It’s Valentine’s day!?” Aerion let out a cry as she let that bit of information register. She looked at the postscript several times before falling to her futon and looking across the room at the pair of sandals she had carried in with her. “Shoes and a meal. I might not have known the date but I don’t think I’ve had a Valentine’s in years that went this well.”

Not bothering to get undressed she lay back, snuffed out the lamp and closed her eyes. Within minutes she was out like a light.

---

Mitsuhide stood in silent observation secreted nicely in the gardens away from prying eyes as he watched the light dance in the Princess’s room. He smiled as he saw the shadows move knowing she was back safe. She had insisted on walking herself in and almost as soon as she said that he found a desire to stop that from happening. As with most of his recently discovered desires though however, he suppressed it and simply said “Goodnight Princess.”

Today had been eventful and he had enjoyed himself far more than he thought he should be allowed to. As the lamp was snuffed out in her room, he found his mind drift back to her by the shore. That hair like spun moonlight as it fell through his fingers. He picked his way through the grounds before leaving to return to his manor.

“Sweet dreams… Aerion.” With one last fond look back, his ghostly figure melted into the town and vanished.

[the-entity-down-the-street]

Memory Eater

Since a few of you have expressed interest in reading my terato stories, I’ve decided to start posting a few. This first one is actually from a workshop I did for class back in the spring of 2019. I wrote it when I was going through a bad mental health period, and BPD was kicking my ass. Mental illness is a frequent theme in my work,and I’ll tag accordingly. I’ll the put the story under the cut. if you aren’t interested in my stories, blacklist the tag “entitywrites”

Hope you guys enjoy!

Dahlia woke up in her closet with one hell of a hangover, a hollow void where last night should’ve been, and a sticky note on her chest. She peeled it off to read.

Call me so I know you’re okay, if you could. Thank you, babe! – Love, Gideon

Her questions were caught between a pounding headache and a desperate need to vomit. Dahlia stumbled out of her closet and dashed to the bathroom.

Once her stomach was emptied, Dahlia wobbled over to the mirror and assessed herself. She was still wearing her nightgown, but the front was stained irreparably by something that looked like wine. Old, faded eyeliner wings clung to the skin around her eyes. Her hair looked less like a neat, curly bob and more like a mishappen stormcloud.

Dahlia rubbed her eyes until colorful blotches danced before them. She tried to organize the evidence she had at hand into a cohesive narrative. She had somehow worked up the nerve to go out partying, in skimpy pajamas no less, and in the process found enough charm to get a number. She couldn’t even remember leaving her apartment.

Then again, memory had always been an issue for her. It was easy for things to get lost and liquify into a gray mush, sometimes five minutes after they happened. Dissociative episodes did the worst damage, of course. She blundered through the days half-aware, divided from herself, plagued by a suicidal itch. Those memories were static at best. It was a stress response to the Borderline Blues. But this was different. This was a black hole where the static should be.

Dahlia dug her fingers into her scalp, as if that would squeeze something out of the void in her head. When that didn’t work, she shambled over to her bed, a little nest of unmade sheets in the corner of the apartment. She considered getting breakfast from the kitchenette, but the mere idea made her stomach want to upend itself again. Dahlia wrapped herself in a blanket and thanked whoever was listening that she didn’t have work today.

A glint of light on the nightstand caught her eye. She lifted her head up. There was a glass rose pink liquid sitting next to her lamp. The amorphous shadow it cast over the wood highlighted the second note beside it. Dahlia propped herself up on her elbows and snatched it.

For the hangover you’re going to have! Home-brewed cure. Drink it in steady gulps, don’t stop until the glass is empty. – Love, Gideon

“We add another layer to this fuckery,” she mumbled. So, this Gideon had been in her apartment, huh? Did he walk her back? Did he stay the night and bail before she woke up? If that was the case, why did he offer his phone number? None of these theories got her any closer to why she fell asleep in the closet.

Dahlia rested her head back on the pillow. The world was spinning around her aching brain, as if she were the center of a cramped, painful universe. Thinking was becoming a rigorous exercise. She tried to backtrack and grasp onto something, anything, from the night before.

Nothing. Empty. Null and void.

Dahlia tried going back further, knotting her brows together in concentration. There barely anything in her memory from the day before. And the night before that. And the night before that. Her memories were suddenly spotted with jagged holes of time. Was it the migraine blotting everything out?

Desperate, and a little panicked, Dahlia picked up the mysterious concoction left for her and began to gulp it down as suggested. It was flavorless, like water, but each gulp came with a pulse of gentle, radiating warmth. It calmed the storm in her stomach and suffocated the agony in her head.

When the drink was completely gone, Dahlia set the glass down and sank into the bed with a heavy sigh. The warmth died out and left clarity in its place. She basked in the bliss of clean, painless sobriety for a few minutes. Wow, when Gideon said a cure, he meant a cure.

Dahlia tried backtracking again, hoping for better results. Sometimes pain made her symptoms worse. Yet, when she shuffled through her head, the holes remained. Even going back to the beginning of last semester, there were missing patches of time.

Shit.

This was bad.

She thought of the note Gideon left and grabbed her phone. She clicked contacts. Sure enough, his name was second in her “frequently contacted” list, right below her therapist. That raised a whole new set of questions, but she could only take one mystery at a time. This was the only clue she had, so she figured there was nothing else to lose.

The phone rang. And rang. And rang. Dahlia sat up and tapped her fingers against the snowy hill of her kneecap.

“Hello?” a drowsy voice answered.

She cringed. Shit, did she wake him up? “Uh, hi, Gideon?”

“Oh, good morning, Dahlia,” Gideon replied. His voice was instantly perky and pleasant. “Are you feeling okay? I hope my cure did its job.”

“Yeah, yeah, worked like a charm. Thanks for that. I’m, uh, much better now.”

“Wonderful, wonderful. I figured you’d need it after all that wine.” He laughed, and his voice rang like tinkling bells in her ears. It was oddly familiar, and more oddly relaxing. “We’ll have to do that again sometime.”

“Yeah, for sure,” Dahlia said agreeably. “So, uh, speaking of, what exactly was that?”

Another chuckle. “Memory a bit lacking, I assume?”

Dahlia tensed. “More like completely lacking.”

“…Completely?”

“Uh, yeah. Completely.”

There was a long pause. Painfully long. The silence stretched like a rubber band primed for snapping. Dahlia nibbled at the corner of her lip.

“D-do you know who I am?” His voice cracked under the weight of its own horrified tone.

She shook her head, despite the pointlessness of the gesture in a phone conversation. “No, I’m sorry. That’s kind of why I called. I need answers and your number was my only lead.”

“I see.” Another pause. Some shuffling, a whoosh of sheets being tossed back. “I don’t think this is a conversation we should have over the phone. Would it be possible for me to come over this evening?”

Dahlia quirked an eyebrow. Curiosity bubbled where the headache had been.

“Dahlia?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. What time?”

Another pause. “I can come by around nine. Would that work for you?”

Dahlia shrugged. “Sure. I’m not doing anything.”

“Alright. Nine it is.”

“Do you need me to text you my address?” Dahlia asked, realizing she could’ve just texted him like a normal person instead of calling and waking him up. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“No, I remember where you are. I’ll text before I knock, okay?”

“Um, okay.” Weird, but okay. “See you tonight.”

“See you tonight.”

They hung up. Dahlia hunched over and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Where the nausea had been, unease took its place, plopped into her gut like brick, as she wondered what she’d mixed herself up in.

#

Dahlia had latched onto the stress ball her therapist gave her, but the little smiley face printed on it did nothing to reassure her. She had struggled to pick an outfit. She chewed through a whole pack of gum. She fidgeted and paced and fussed over cleaning the apartment up. Was she nervous about meeting this man she couldn’t remember? Was she nervous about what he knew? Did it matter? Either way, Dahlia was a tense bundle of nerves when the clock struck nine. She sat on the couch as she waited for his text.

A minute passed. Nothing.

Five minutes. Nothing.

Ten. Nothing.

Dahlia tapped her foot impatiently. “Where is this guy?”

Just as she asked, her phone buzzed.

Hey. I’m here. About to knock. Please don’t scream.

Well, that was the creepiest thing anyone had ever texted her. She clenched her stress ball so hard that the little smiley face caved in on itself. She dialed 911, the call button poised for pushing at any time. As she was comparing escape routes and rushing for the kitchen knives, the knock came. From her closet door.

“Good evening,” Gideon said. “Sorry for being late. Things took longer than expected. May I come in?”

Words dissolved on Dahlia’s tongue. She tried and failed to scrounge up logic. The way she saw it, there were two possibilities. Either she was hallucinating, and she had another mental illness to worry about, or something supernatural was going on. She had never prayed before, but she prayed it was door number two.

“Y-yeah, come in.”

Gideon stepped into her living room. A gasp wound down Dahlia’s throat as she took in the sight of him. Two curling horns stuck out of the stringy grey hair that fell to his shoulders. The eyes staring at her were painfully large, painfully blue orbs with reptilian slits in their centers. His skin was bluish grey, corpse skin. Even subtle things, like the number of knuckles in his fingers, and the way his skin stretched over the bones in his face, were unsettling and alien. It was almost comical in comparison to his clean plaid button-up and black slacks. A monster in business casual. She thought she could see something glowing in his pants pocket, but that barely registered when looking at everything else.

“Thank you for not screaming,” he said.

Scream? She could barely listen. The static of her own stressed thoughts made it hard to hear. Was this the onset of schizophrenia? Was this why her brain was full of holes? Was that symptom? Her feet began carrying her across the room in search of an answer. She crossed the span of carpet between them until she had him at arm’s length. Her hand reached out, almost of its own free will, and gently poked Gideon’s cheek. Warm, living flesh greeted her. She nearly collapsed with relief.

“Oh. Oh, thank God. I’m not crazy.”

Gideon chuckled weakly. There was a strange warmth in his eyes that made Dahlia’s stomach flip. “No, love, you’re not crazy. Never crazy.”

He reached up to cup his hand over hers, but Dahlia pulled away and stumbled back before he could. With the worries about her tenuous mental health soothed, Dahlia could now focus on the fact that a very real monster was standing in her living room trying to reassure her of her sanity. Amazingly, that wasn’t an easier pill to swallow. Dahlia plopped onto her couch and grasped at the cushions in leu of a stress ball. It was something solid and normal.  

Gideon looked more than a little hurt. He slowly put his arm down and shrank back. “R-right, you don’t remember me. I’m sorry.”

Dahlia put her head in her hands and pulled at the roots of her hair. “What the fuck,” she said, because it was the only thing her brain would let her say. “I- I don’t… what…”

“Overwhelmed?” Gideon asked.

Dahlia nodded. Thoughts were pouring out of her head and leaking onto her tongue. The overflow made it impossible to get a single coherent question out.

Gideon took a hesitant step forward. “Do you have your stress ball?”

Dahlia shook her head violently. She couldn’t even think about her lost stress ball right now. It was one thing too much.

Gideon chewed on his lip. “I know I’m kind of the reason you’re panicking right now, but I want to help. May I sit with you?”

Would that help? Probably not. Then again, nothing was making sense and there was a clog in her brain and the world was suddenly too bright, so she might as well try something. Dahlia gave him a weak, shaky nod to affirm. He was by her side not a moment later.

“Close your eyes for a moment, deep breaths,” Gideon said. His voice was suddenly much softer, but not exactly quiet. It was a gentle, soothing, like windchimes in a breeze. There was something comforting and familiar about it.

Dahlia closed her eyes. The world went mercifully dark. She laid back against the couch and began to take in slow, controlled breaths.

“Focus on something banal. Think about the texture of the couch. Or the carpet between your toes. I can get something from the kitchen if you want something to taste.”

Dahlia shook her head. “No, no. Just need quiet.”

“Quiet. I can do that.”

They sat together in silence as Dahlia let the static and chaos settle. She absorbed herself in the cool, textured leather of her sofa and sank against its plush backing. Her breathing steadied. Her head lolled to the side, and she relaxed.

“Better?” Gideon asked.

She nodded.

“Good. Now, I know this is a shock to you,” Gideon continued. “You have every right to be shocked. But I promise that everything is alright.”

Dahlia furrowed her brow. She was almost giving herself another headache trying to gaze into the holes where her memories should be. “I find that hard to believe.”

A sigh. “Fair enough. Okay, things aren’t alright yet, but they will be soon. That I definitely promise.”

“How can you promise that?”

“With these,” Gideon said. Dahlia heard the distinct scrape of skin on rough fabric, followed by a clacking noise. It sounded like hard candies knocking against each other. A new source of light danced in front of Dahlia’s closed eyes. Curious, she opened them.

“What the fuck.” The light was coming from a large cluster of glowing, electric blue orbs. They were about the size of marbles. “What are those?”

“Your missing memories.”

“…Okay then. Um, why are they in your hand and not, you know, in my head?”

“They were stolen. Thank the Gods you called when you did, otherwise I might not have been able to track them down.”

Dahlia’s eyes widened painfully. “Stolen? How? When? W-why?”

Gideon closed his fist around the memory orbs and held them close to his chest. His expression grew dark. “There are some people that think our worlds should remain separate. Someone stole every memory you had of our world, and of me, during my house party. Right under my fucking nose.” His voice was knife sharp and angry. Dahlia could tell he was directing it at himself just as much as he was the perpetrator. “It was pure luck and timing that allowed me to get them back.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dahlia said. A deep, profound dread crawled up her spine and settled on her shoulders. She imagined a set of spindly fingers reaching into her skull and plucking memories likes grapes from a synaptic vine. The mere thought sickened her to the soul.

“When I saw you’d passed out, I took you home. I thought you just had too much wine. I never suspected…” He lowered his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Dahlia.”

Dahlia put a comforting hand on his shoulder, almost instictually. Her horror of him had been surpassed and subdued. “No, don’t be. You got them back. Thank you.”

“Of course. You have a right to your memories,” he said. He glanced up at Dahlia, then back down at the memory orbs. There was a noticeable dark flush to his cheeks. “Besides, these are important to me too.”

Before Dahlia could comment, Gideon held out his hand, offering her the orbs. She cupped her hands and let the little balls trickle into her palms. They felt like gumballs. Dahlia estimated there were a hundred of them, if not more. Her vision was taken up by their collective glow.

“How do I…”

“You eat them.”

“What?” Dahlia snapped her head up.

“Eat them. Pop one in your mouth at a time and bite. The memory will come back to you.”

“Do I, like, eat them in chronological order?” Dahlia asked, bemused by the string of words that just came out of her mouth.

“No, no, just eat them as you like. You can’t tell the orbs apart anyways. As long you eat them all, you’ll be fine.”

Dahlia grimaced. “Is this safe?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t make a hobby of eating your own memories, of course, but there’s no harm in taking in information that already belongs to you,” he explained. “But if you ever feel unsafe, I’ll be right here to help.”

Dahlia looked over at him. His hollowed-out face had taken on an inviting, comforting demeanor. There was something very reassuring about the little smile that was playing across his lips.

“Who are you?” she asked. “To me? How do you know what I need to calm down?”

“Take a bite and find out.”

Dahlia turned back to her palm full of orbs. She picked one up from the pile and held it up to her mouth. She snuck a glance at Gideon, who nodded encouragingly. After a heavy, nervous gulp, Dahlia popped the orb into her mouth and maneuvered it between her back molars.

She bit down.

We were sitting next to each other at the counter that separated my kitchenette from the rest of my apartment. “So, where do monsters come from? I mean, aside from closets.”

He tapped his fingers against the counter. “It’s like a pocket dimension. We hide in the nooks and crannies of space-time, only popping out when necessary.”

“Is this necessary?” I teased. I nibbled a cookie from the small plate I’d set out.

“The cookies or your company?”

“Either or.”

He smiled. “Both are absolutely necessary.”  

“Whoa,” Dahlia breathed as the vision faded and settled back into its rightful spot in her head. Remembered happiness spread through her.

“What? What memory was it?”

“I was just talking with you over there.” She pointed to the counter. “You were telling me about where you came from.”

“Ah, yes, that was some time ago. We’d known each other for a few months. I’d just started to trust you,” he explained. His smile brightened. “Go on, have another.”

Dahlia snatched another orb up and bit into it.

#

Our lips met gingerly, hesitantly at first. Amazingly, I made the first move. We’d been passing sidelong glances and lingering hugs like the currency of pining. I needed to cash it in.

While we were watching our usual Friday night movie, I scooched close to him. Closer. Closer. He turned his head away from the screen and towards me. I leaned in. He leaned in.

Ginger, hesitant kisses deepened. His tongue dipped into my mouth. My hands snuck up his back. The movie was forgotten in the haze.

#

“Oh.” The memory nestled into its spot. Dahlia sank back into the couch. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so at ease when kissing someone. The slop of saliva and the bumping of teeth didn’t make her self-conscious. It was expected. It was okay. It was natural.  

“What memory was it?” Gideon asked.

Dahlia turned to Gideon like she was seeing him for the first time. In a way, she was. “We were making out while Monsters Inc. played in the background.”

Gideon blushed. “Oh, yes, that night.”

“Are you my boyfriend?”

“Would you be horrified if I said yes?”

Dahlia opened her mouth to answer. She closed it and knotted her eyebrows. Contextually vacant, the memory of their kiss brought a surge of conflicting feelings. The remembered happiness, and a fresh, squirming discomfort. The emotional paradox of sudden closeness with a stranger.  

She held up a finger in a wait sign and popped another orb into her mouth. Then another. And another. As soon as one memory faded, a new one was already waiting between her teeth. Flashes of dancing and love-making and cuddling and comforting found their spots in her head. Dahlia patched more and more holes, sewed memories to memories, feelings to feelings, creating a mostly cohesive quilt of past events. A few times she had to stop and catch her breath from the overload of information. But, eventually, the pile was reduced to a singular orb. Gideon watched with vigilant, silent eyes as Dahlia bit down on it.

#

We were curled up in my closet. Gideon knew I liked to be somewhere small and quiet after a breakdown. I’d been bashing my fists against my skull over something, though I couldn’t remember what. Reasons blurred together. With no emotional skin, I’m hurt by the slightest provocation. But in here it was safe, we were safe, and everything was okay.

“Why do you put up with me?” I asked. “I don’t even want to put up with me.”

“You’re under the assumption that you’re a burden. You’re not.”

I settled into his chest more. “But I’m sick, Gid. I don’t function right.”

“Maybe you need to change your definition of right, then.”

My lip quivered, and I wrapped my arms around him. “…I love you.”

#

Dahlia blinked. She was surprised to find tears on her cheeks. She looked over at Gideon, who was still waiting for her reply.

“No,” she said. “I wouldn’t be horrified at all.”

A bright, goofy grin spread across his face. “Then yes, I’m your boyfriend.”

She returned the grin with equal amounts of brightness and goofiness. “Good.”

FIN

[sophrosinn]

the (un)lucky ones

story description:

“the story’s great, but I think it would be better if the story ended like this”

Affronted at the audacity of the comment, she furiously replies, “then write your own story, asshole!”

word count: 2,048

a/n: happiest solar anniversary to one of my best girls @vanaera! thank you for being the bestest friend a girl could ever ask for. this short story, which is loosely based irl, serves as my gift to you. i hope you’ll like it! 

shout-out to @senfleurs for being the best gal and helping me out with this. she even stepped up and edited this omg, and i cannot stress how much I’m thankful, lol especially she made sure that I get to finish this on time

—

3.

In retrospect, she knows better than to let some dumb comment, especially from someone on the Internet, rile her up this much. Even her followers tell her as much: it’s unwarranted, insensitive even. One of her followers, hippopopo tries to take it a step further, justifying by saying, verbatim: It’s her story anyway!!! So only she knows how the story should end best, okay! 😤😠💢

(in actuality, she has qualms about that, mostly because she had read some books which she thought didn’t end well. but that would take time to unpack and this story isn’t about that, no. she’s flattered at the support, nonetheless.)

And yet, there she is at 8 in the morning, her fingers furiously gliding across her keyboard as she writes a spite-filled story in response. Oftentimes, her muse for writing comes from movies she watched with her family, or from songs she heard on Korean dramas, or those meet-cute scenarios she gushed about with her best friends. This time, however, spite’s her main gal.

She finishes at 10. Later at 4 in the afternoon, she posts it. About an hour later, she doesn’t even try to contain the smirk lighting up her face when a familiar notification pops up.

—

1.

The story starts with an inconspicuous like from a user named agust-d five months ago. Back then, she thought nothing of it. A day later, agust-d comments on a story from her drabble series. Since then, every day without fail, agust-d leaves a small token of their appreciation for her works; brief, concise comments such as, “nice job on the flower descriptions,” or “i liked it.” 

Belatedly, she wonders if agust-d is a person of few words, because why else would they leave comments with only six words or less, even on her works with over 30k words? Don’t get her wrong, of course she’s eternally grateful for all the support she receives from her affectionate dears. But sometimes, especially on days her self-confidence plummets and she’s in need of reassurance, she ponders if all her efforts are for naught. (of course not, never, she gently reminds herself.)

And each day, she resists the growing urge to reply: don’t you have anything more to say!!! (but alas, she isn’t a rude person—unless provoked—she can’t so she settles with letting her mind wander.)

Three months of this and she finally caves in. With her interest piqued, she browses through agust-d’s posts. After two hours, she learns that agust-d goes by suga online. Coincidentally, Suga is a male student at the same university she’s currently attending. For a moment, she briefly considers a possibility—what are the chances that they’ve met, have fallen into step alongside each other, have passed by him in the large hallways, or have shared her table with him at the library during exam season? The possibility of knowing someone without actually knowing them? 

(that’s the funny thing about the online world, she supposes. you may know all that matters about someone: their likes, dislikes, kinks, fears, and horrid taste in music, absolutely everything except that one thing that matters the most: their names.)

Suga, she eventually learns, is not a man of few words. In truth, he’s got a few words too many to say about a diverse range of controversial topics. In his words, his passion burns bright and clear, but for her, he doesn’t shine any brighter than when he talks about music. It shows in his blog, which consists of a myriad of album reviews across different genres (fascinating, she notes, their music interests align as well).

Occasionally, he posts his renditions of some popular rap music, and as sporadic as this happens, she admits that his covers are her favorite part of his blog. And naturally, she refuses to acknowledge that it has everything to do with her fascination with deep, raspy voices, which, (un)fortunately for her, Suga undoubtedly has.

After some serious debating with herself, she decides to not follow him back. But she makes sure to check his profile every other day for no real reason, really, her soul wallowing in denial. In her defense, when did anyone need a reason to stalk someone?

And so, it begins, her fascination with this stranger on the other side of the screen. Never in her whole life did she imagine herself harboring a (teeny-tiny, infinitesimal) crush towards someone on the Internet. Certainly, she knows there’s always a one-in-a-thousand chance that it happens in real life, it’s just that out of all the 7 billion people in the world, she wasn’t expecting herself to be the (un)lucky one.

—

2.

The fateful day begins like any other. She wakes up to a brand new day, at 7 am, and like clockwork, she begins to stretch atop her pink yoga mat. Halfway through her workout, her phone pings with a new notification. Immediately, her phone screen lights up: agust-d has left a comment on your work!

Her traitorous heart skips a beat in the utmost display of betrayal. It’s Suga!

Ever since she scrolled through his blog two months ago, she has been exchanging messages with Suga. Her covert mission to surreptitiously listen to his song covers ends miserably when she accidentally double-clicks on a post he made two years ago. A string of expletives followed as she stared agonizingly at the post. She attempts to remove her blunder, but soon accepts defeat as it doesn’t even take a full minute until she receives a message notification from Suga. The internal debate resumes as her finger clumsily hovers on the computer mouse and she hesitantly clicks. From thereon, the rest, as they say, is history.

She ends up following his account the day after.

Although, if she were being truthful, all they’ve been sending back and forth are pleasantries. Suga seems hellbent on keeping the conversations polite and distant. She doesn’t understand, it’s not like she’s flirting with him! All she just wants is a compelling conversation with someone (because the Lord knows how much she needs an intellectual to talk to; and suga seems like an intellectual, if his posts are anything to go by).

She unlocks her phone and throws herself onto her bed. Normally, her lips quirk up automatically in response to seeing his name pop on her notifications, but it is not the case for this time. Instead, a frown mars her forehead as she reads his comment.

agust-d: the story’s great, but I think it would be better if the story ended like this

For a moment, she can’t believe her eyes. She blinks a few more times in the hope that her eyes were just playing tricks on her. Nada, it remains the same. 

If there’s one thing to know about her, it’s that she meticulously plans out every detail in her stories. She even spends weeks to outline a draft, and even then, it must be decent enough before she puts it in writing. Publishing her works online, for all the world to see, still intimidates her even after all this time. Not knowing how people will respond to her works frightens her, but what is life without a little fear?

In addition, she’s receptive to constructive criticisms, but criticisms that come from those she looks up to? It’s a bitter pill to swallow sometimes. Suga—he’s become one of those people, and seeing his comment really hurt. She turns her phone off and does her chores for the time being. The moment she logs back in, she is taken aback by the multitude of comments expressing the same sentiment. 

bubbleboy: “Yeah, I agree, I think it would be best if the story ended in this manner.” 

She can’t help but feel the bubble of anger gradually rising. Another even started with, 

orange-gloss: “No offense, but the ending being suggested by others is kinda good.” 

The audacity and the entitlement in this comment! Asking her to not be offended when it is within her right to take offense is absolutely laughable. Furthermore, who are you to even tell me how I should react? 

When she reaches the 20th comment, she explodes. The next two hours find her furiously typing out a decent response disguised as a story, albeit with passive-aggressiveness, addressed to all of the comments, but primarily to the one left by Suga. She talks to the rude commenters with the sweet addition of a phrasing 101 lesson. In her contained rage, she ends with the note: remember, it doesn’t hurt to be nice, and if you have qualms about how I ended my own story, do me and yourself a favor and write your own story!

She makes up her mind to take some time off her blog for a while. But after a familiar notification pops up at 5 PM, she resists the urge to run away and instead, opts to open the messages he sent.

agust-d: i’ll admit, the way I said it was rude

agust-d: but I stand with what I said

agust-d: you should consider the possibility as well

seen

(In hindsight, she realizes that, for once, Suga’s comment surpasses 25 words.)

—

4. 

After the whole debacle with the barrage of rude comments and her consequent outburst, everything has never been the same. Understandably, some of her fans have left since then, but the majority stayed with her and for that, she’s eternally grateful. Although she still publishes her stories and interacts with her followers, a certain emptiness fills her at times. 

A part of her thinks it has a lot to do with Suga, who she doesn’t talk to anymore. She… doesn’t know how to respond to him after her outburst. In a span of a moment, she manages to both defend her honor and drag agust-d through the mud, which was never her intention to begin with. Okay, well, maybe just a little bit. But she’s hurt, so it only makes sense to retaliate.

If only she could easily strike back in her current situation. 

Unbeknownst to her, someone with the handle void-mayo tags her on a malicious post the night before, calling her out for being fake. Apparently, she’s a ‘copycat writer wanna-be with no real ideas of her own.’

She only discovers it when her followers start sending her messages of reassurance and appreciation. Of course, she checks the post at once, reading carefully and taking in everything that was written. (Shit, at least I have a better username, she muses). And not for the first time, she feels hurt, uneasy, and anxious at the same time. Void-mayo is already an established writer, with years of exposure under her belt and a large army of rabid fans at her disposal. Meanwhile, she’s just started her writing blog. And although she’s diligent, thorough, and ensures that each of her stories has its own personality and flavor, most of void-mayo’s fans wouldn’t care. She can’t risk losing her credibility over a baseless accusation such as this! 

And with that, she feels anger bubbling from the pit of her stomach. She doesn’t get the purpose behind the destructive post. She gets humiliated, her reputation tarnished, and worse just because she had written a similar scene with an ice cream . It certainly doesn’t help that others are quick to join in calling her names and ‘cancelling her’ without even bothering to check the facts. 

And as she contemplates on how to proceed with such a delicate situation, her dashboard refreshes. At the top, she notices that agust-d reblogs void-mayo’s post with the addition of his response and for once, the word count exceeds 100.

—

5. 

In a roundabout way of saying sorry and expressing her gratitude, she proceeds to write the ending Suga requested. And illuminated by the dim light of her laptop screen, she can begrudgingly admit that he does have a point; his version of the ending does make sense.

—

fin.

—

omake

agust-d: so am i forgiven yet?

you: i don’t know

you: maybe you’ll have to make it up to me

you: and get me some coffee first?

you: 😉

—

a/n pt. 2: happiest birthday to you again! i’m so grateful to have met you in this lifetime. truly, like you’re the best. even if your internet connection’s always shitty, you always find ways to join our chats and discord parties. just thank you, for all the countless laughs that i’ve had with (and because of) you, for the counsel with my writing, and for the stories and advice you’ve willingly shared with us. here’s to our three years of friendship and counting! i love you so much! enjoy this day and stay safe! 

p.s. keep rocking and keep writing! we’ll always be here with you! muah! ❤️❤️❤️

p.p.s. hihi 🦆🍄

[chemicalmagecraft]

A Black Wind Howls Chapter 2

A/N: So I decided to do that "Previously on Avatar..." thing they do before like all the episodes in ATLA to remind you of some plot points that'll be relevant because it's cool and stuff. I mean I'll probably regret it later but oh well.

oOoOo

Previously on Avatar...

"Look at this, guys!" Aang said, pointing to a board of wanted posters. The poster he was pointing at showed a person wearing a black mask with a swirling pattern on it, reminiscent of the insignia of the Air Nomads.

"The Black Wind is a spirit that started to appear after the start of the Hundred-year War. It's said to have powerful control over air, akin to a master airbender, and can become one with the air itself."

"Maybe it comes from an airbender who escaped the Fire Nation!" Aang added.

Frigid, gale-force winds battered the firebenders, their mounts, and even the trees. Blades of wind sliced at every surface, cutting through the firebenders' armor and even killing some outright.

The taller shadowy figure stood in the center of the swirling crater made by the blast. His face couldn't be seen behind his swirl-patterned black mask, but it didn't need to be for everyone present to know he was scowling.

"My name is Dorji. I'm an airbender."

"Y-you have to understand, my father..." She sniffed. "M-my... my father..." She started crying, still trying to explain herself between sobs.

"The power of airbending may have survived through my family line, but unfortunately the spirit of the Air Nomads lives on only through you." Aang winced at that comment.

Aang frowned for a moment, but forced a smile. "It's... fine. Don't worry about it."

oOoOo

Aang sat on Appa's head, silently brooding as he held Appa's reins. Dorji sat in the back of Appa's saddle, curled up with her arms hooked under her knees.

"So, uh... what do you do for fun?" Sokka asked her, cutting through the awkward silence.

"Training," Dorji muttered. "Sometimes I play Pai Sho too, though only when one of my family members wants to play. I'm told that most people underestimate the value of the White Lotus tile."

"Really?" Katara asked.

Dorji shrugged. "There are a few unusual strategies you can do with it." She took one arm out from under her legs and started rubbing Appa's fur. Momo flew up to her and curiously sniffed at her. Dorji started petting him too.

"Do you like animals?" Katara asked.

Dorji nodded and picked up Momo. The lemur purred as she rubbed behind his ears.

"I think I see the thing you told me to look for," Aang said. "What are we doing here, again?"

"It's a surprise," Dorji said.

Aang frowned. "Well, we're landing."

oOoOo

"Is this... a moon peach orchard?" Katara asked. Dorji had had Aang land Appa in a small clearing surrounded by moon peach trees in a large plot of land mostly filled with neat rows of trees.

Dorji nodded and walked over to one of the trees. She jumped to pull down a branch and appraised one of the moon peaches on it, cutting the stem with a swipe of her thumb when she was satisfied with its quality. "We grow more things too, but this part is where all the moon peach trees are." She leaned on the tree and started eating her peach. Momo flew onto her shoulder and stared longingly at the peach. Dorji picked another peach and handed it to him.

"Should you really be stealing moon peaches?" Aang asked her in a slightly accusatory tone.

Dorji shrugged. "Not stealing. Take some if you want."

Aang's frown deepened slightly. "What do you meant by that?"

A very tall woman walked between two trees. "Dorji, is that you?" she said and bounded over to the girl. Katara and Sokka got ready to fight, but relaxed when the woman scooped Dorji up for a big bear hug. "We were so worried about you!"

"Hello, Lhamo," Dorji said, returning the hug. Her facial expression and tone of voice didn't change too much, but she still looked like she was at ease with the woman. When the woman released her she climbed onto and sat on her broad shoulders. "Katara, Sokka, Aang, this is my cousin, Lhamo. Lhamo, this is Katara, Sokka, and Aang. They're my... acquaintances."

Lhamo gasped and hugged the three. "Dorji has friends her age!"

"Acquaintances," Dorji muttered.

Lhamo put the teens (and child) down and beamed at them. "So, how'd you guys meet my cute little cousin?"

"Um... We stumbled across each other after freeing some earthbenders from the Fire Nation?" Aang said.

Lhamo chuckled. "Yeah, that sounds like something she'd do."

Dorji shook her head. "I deserve no honor for what I did."

Aang frowned. Before he could think of what to say, the giant woman crouched down to get a better look at him. "Wait a second, you're an airbender! Wow, I thought Grandmother, Uncle Wangchuck, and Dorji were the only ones left!" She paused. "You are an airbender, right?"

Aang nodded morosely.

Lhamo straightened back up and grinned. "I've gotta take you to Grandmother, then! She was actually around before the Hundred-year War!"

Aang perked up a bit at that. "Really?"

She nodded. "Yeah! She was kinda young, but she was raised in the Eastern Air Temple. Apparently she met the Avatar a few times before he disappeared." This made Aang tense up again. "Is something wrong?"

Aang flinched. "Oh, no it's..."

"Aang's the Avatar," Dorji chimed in from Lhamo's shoulder.

Lhamo tilted her head. "You don't look like you're older than Grandmother."

"We found Aang in an iceberg," Katara said. "He was frozen for one hundred years."

"Still not sure how that works, except 'Avatar magic,'" Sokka added.

"Wow," Lhamo said. "Yeah, I have no idea how that'd work."

"Why don't we see Grandmother now," Dorji suggested.

Lhamo nodded. "Right, follow me." She guided the three out of the clearing and down a row of trees to a large house. They walked by a few workers along the way, who all greeted Dorji and told her they were worried when she went missing. She tersely thanked them, but didn't really say much else. When they got to the house Lhamo let them inside. The room on the other side of the doorway was empty save for a few sofas surrounding a small table. "Huh, she was here when I last saw her," Lhamo said.

"Grandmother is perfectly capable of movement," Dorji said. "Very fast, when she wants too."

"And nobody knows where I am, when I don't want them to," a slightly distorted voice said. It was clear that it belonged to an old woman, though. The door suddenly creaked shut. When everyone looked at it they saw a rather short old woman with long white hair appear with her hand on the white lotus design in the middle of the door, as if out of thin air. She was wearing dark clothes of a similar fashion to Dorji's, though instead of forest green it had hints of dark orange. "Where the hell were you, kid?"

"Grandmother," Dorji said, then hopped off Lhamo's shoulder. She bowed down, her forehead touching the floor. "I have failed you and Father. Father was captured by the Fire Nation because of my blunder, and after he was I... I ran."

"Dorji," the woman said sternly. "You know my back is bad. Get up so I can fucking hug you already."

Dorji tensed up. "But..."

The woman didn't so much as twitch but Dorji was pushed back onto her feet, the lightest expression of surprise on the girl's face. The woman hugged her and stroked her hair. "You idiot. Did you really think your own grandmother would hate you for making a mistake or two?"

Dorji sniffed. "But I..."

"Kid, even I make mistakes. It's okay to be scared." Dorji started crying again. "There, there. Let it out. Dooon't worry about getting snot on my clothes," the woman said softly.

"Aww, c'mere you guys!" Lhamo said and also started hugging Dorji. Aang, Sokka, and Katara just stood there, not sure of what to do but not wanting to interrupt.

"Now then," the old woman said after Dorji stopped crying and the two released her, "you brought guests. Why don't you two go make some tea for us?"

"Okay, grandmother!" Lhamo said. Dorji nodded and followed her into the kitchen.

The old woman sat down on one of the sofas. "Ah," she sighed. "Getting old fucking sucks. Why can't I go back to when my legs didn't hurt if I stood up for more than ten minutes?" She looked at her guests. "Well? Sit down already!"

"Oh, sorry," Katara said. The three sat down.

The old woman frowned at them for a few minutes. "Now, speaking of old age... Aang, how the hell do you still look twelve?"

Aang blinked. "What are you..." He thought for a moment. "Wait... is that you, Tsering?"

The old woman, apparently named Tsering, chuckled. "I'd gripe about you taking so long to remember me, but to be fair I think I have a few more wrinkles than the last time we met."

"What happened to you?" Aang asked.

Tsering grimaced. "I survived. I was eight when the Fire Nation attacked the temples, you know. It was pretty damn traumatizing. I still have nightmares sometimes..."

Aang winced, looking very guilty. "I should've been there. I'm the Avatar, I could've...

Tsering snorted. "You would've died. I did some research on what the fuck happened that day. Apparently the Fire Nation took advantage of a firebending-enhancing event called Sozin's Comet that happens once every hundred years to enhance their attack. I only got out through sheer luck. And after that the Fire Nation started hunting down what few airbenders were left. I stumbled upon this very orchard when I was on the run and the man running it took me in, no questions asked. That's the only reason I survived."

'We've got tea!" Lhamo said as she returned from the kitchen, holding a tray with a tea set on it. She set it on the table and Dorji silently distributed everyone's teacups. Lhamo poured the tea.

"That was fast," Sokka noted as he looked at his steaming tea.

"Thank you," Tsering said. She waved her hand over her tea, causing a miniature whirlwind to stir it and cool it down considerably before she drank it. Dorji blew on hers like a normal person, though. "Your tea is delicious as always, you two. So, Aang, you never really answered my question. What happened to you?"

Aang sighed. "I... I ran. I heard that they were going to take Gyatso away from me and I got so angry, so I ran. I'm sorry."

Tsering stared flatly at him and made a flicking motion in his general direction. Aang flinched as he felt a light blow on his forehead, like he was flicked by air. "Kid, were you not paying attention to what I said when I was consoling my granddaughter?"

Aang rubbed his forehead. "Yeah, but I'm the Avatar. I should've been better than that..."

"Bullshit," Tsering objected. "You were younger than Dorji is now, don't feel like you always have to be this great spiritual leader all the time."

"Wait, Aang's younger than Dorji?" Katara asked.

"I'm fourteen," Dorji muttered, slightly indignant.

"So what happened after the iceberg?" Lhamo asked.

"We went to Aang's childhood home, the Southern Air Temple," Katara said.

Tsering nodded. "I went back there once, after the Fire Nation heat died down. It... wasn't very pretty."

Aang shook his head and took a sip of his tea. "After that we, uh, went to Kyoshi Island. That was a lot more pleasant."

Tsering grinned. "Enjoying the warrior women, eh? Don't worry, I did that too when I visited that place."

Aang blushed. "N-no, I..."

Tsering laughed and slapped her knee. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding."

"And after that we went to Omashu. It was surprisingly terrifying," Sokka said.

"We met an old friend of Aang's, though," Katara added.

"So you met Bumi, then?" Tsering asked.

Aang smiled. "It was good to see an old friend. The same goes for you, too." Then he frowned. "Wait, I didn't know you knew Bumi."

Tsering chuckled. "All old people know each other. Shouldn't you know that by now?" She drank some of her tea. "We met a few times, when I was a young lass of thirty-something. Got to know each other. Carnally." Aang spat out his tea at that last comment. Tsering raised her hand, causing the flying tea to turn into a small cloud before condensing into a liquid marble held in place by an air ball. She dropped the tea back into his cup with another lazy gesture. "Let's not waste tea."

"No offense, Tsering," Aang said, blushing, "but I never thought you'd... well..."

She shrugged. "The last time you saw me I was like eight. I'd be more offended if you did."

"R-right."

"This is awkward..." Dorji muttered.

Lhamo stood up. "Right, so Dorji's gonna go with you guys, right?"

Dorji nodded. "I would like to."

Lhamo rubbed her hands together. "Then why don't you and I bake them all Dorji's favorite moon peach pie, Grandmother?"

Dorji and Tsering both stood up. "No, you sit back down," Tsering said.

"I can help bake the pie," Dorji offered.

Tsering shook her head. "No, this pie is for you. Plus, if you wanna be useful you could probably see to getting Aang's bison fed. Aah, what was his name again, Aang? Opa?"

"Appa," Aang corrected.

"Appa. I'm sure the big guy would like something to eat."

Dorji nodded. "I can do that. Follow me, Aang."

"Yeah, sure..."

oOoOo

By the time the pie was done the sun was starting to set, so Tsering offered (demanded) to let Team Avatar sleep over for the night. Dorji and Katara were to sleep in Dorji's room, while Aang and Sokka took the guest room.

"Your room is... nice," Katara said hesitantly. It was a little minimalistic. There was a wardrobe in one corner, a bed with a nightstand in the other, and a rug on the floor. The bed had a few stuffed animals on it, though. One of them looked like a homemade sky bison plush.

Dorji picked up the sky bison and sat on the rug, hugging her plush. "You take the bed. You're the guest."

Katara shook her head. "No, you take the bed."

"I'm fine on the floor."

"Tell you what," Katara said, then sat down on the bed and patted it. "Your bed is kinda big and you're... not that big. Why don't we share it?"

Dorji thought about it for a moment. "Sure. It shouldn't be too uncomfortable." She got in the bed with Katara.

Meanwhile, in the guest room, Aang was sitting up in his bed while Sokka was under his covers. "Something wrong, Aang?" Sokka asked.

"N... no, I'm fine," Aang said. He didn't turn to Sokka so he couldn't see his frown.

"Was there something wrong with the pie?" Sokka asked. "I mean, you looked like you were pretty uncomfortable while you were eating that pie."

"No," Aang said gloomily. "The pie was delicious. I haven't eaten a genuine Air Nomad fruit pie in a while, and it was as good as I remember." He chuckled. "It was nice to see something from my culture preserved."

Sokka sat up slowly. "Actually, I think I know what your problem is," he said somberly.

"You do?"

"Yeah. I've been there before." Sokka sighed. "When I was young, my dad and the rest of the men of our tribe left to help fight the Fire Nation. I was the only male left in our tribe. Well, except for the ones who were babies at the time..." He clenched his fists. "I felt like... I had to be the man, y'know? I know it was just stuff I was putting on myself, but I felt so much pressure to do all the man stuff. I had to learn how to fight, I had to provide for the tribe, I had to train the kids when they grew up. I was surrounded by people, but I just... felt like there was nobody I could talk to about it..." He sighed. "Sorry, that might not be exactly what you're going through. Just... remember that you do have people to talk to."

Aang sighed. "Thanks, Sokka..."

"You're welcome." He yawned. "Right, I'm gonna sleep now. Don't stay up too late!" Sokka's head hit the pillow and he almost immediately fell asleep.

Later, around midnight...

For the first time in her life Dorji had a very flustered expression on her face. At some point Katara had shifted in her sleep, ending up with her arm hooked around Dorji's waist. Judging from the red glow dusting her cheeks and ears Dorji had some very conflicting feelings about this. "Shiiiiit..." she muttered softly, realizing that this would be a very long night.

And in the guest room Aang was also still up as well, though without anyone hugging him in his sleep. He had gotten under the covers, but in all his restless fidgeting he'd thrown them back off. Despite what Sokka had said, Aang simply couldn't sleep. How could he when all he could think about was how little of the Air Nomads were left?

oOoOo

A/N: So this was the first of hopefully multiple storylines original to this fic. Ideally I'd like to do more of that, but as of right now I kinda don't have any ideas for them... If you have any suggestions I'm open to them. Though originally this and the next chapter were going to be one chapter but I decided to maybe cut them in half because it was getting a lil long.

Also.

Aang: Spends the night worrying about being the last of his kind and the implications thereof Dorji: gay panic

[fortheheavenssake]

PG MM Anon Interpretation Collection- 12

77: Oct. 6

💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

October 6,2019 1407 hrs CST

MM Anon

MM ANON … the Queen …… “ one can’t choose ones family “…… “ Philip loves me doing Melania” …… “I rather liked Donald “ …… “ l frightening Vlad…… “ on our day together she never stopped yapping “ … “Harry ‘ we all make mistakes “… “ the little one, she’s a fireball “ …… “Camilla says she’s illiterate “ … “ what sort of name was that!!!!!”…” What!! Christmas ‘she’ll be lucky “ … “LG ‘ that’s why it’s called the Queens speech ‘ so f#@ck them!!

Oh this is going to be fun!!😄😁😁😁

the Queen

This is a fun riddle, call it HMTQ Greatest Hits DVD 🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂 An assortment of HMTQ comments!

“ one can’t choose ones family “

The old saying you can choose your friends but you cannot choose your family! In processing, strategizing, meetings etc etc, things have been on overload with madam, Harry, and BOJO, that whole political situation. There has got to be some angry frustrated emotions regarding PA, Harry having been caught up in this mess and how things have dragged on and out! All the hacking, invasion of privacy and just generally very poor choices in life by family members.

“ Philip loves me doing Melania”

I hear HMTQ has a wicked sense of humour and loves riddles and mimicry. I can only imagine her trying to do an impression of Melania Trump, her accent, everything. This is hilarious, PP Is reportedly also having that wicked British wry self deprecating or mimicking others too. Oh how l would LOVE to be a fly on the wall!!😁

“I rather liked Donald “

HMTQ gave President Trump and his huge family a real Royal welcome literally! The time spent the Formal dinner, the dinner apt the U.S. Embassy that PC and Camilla attended. It sounds like she got on well with DT, We know he takes such pride and joy in his Scottish heritage from his mum. We also know that he has great respect for HMTQ, so much so he brought his entire family with him. We also know he brought some intel/evidence with him. Thank you sir! HMTQ enjoyed him and the time they spent together!

“ l frightening Vlad

Vlad is not the vampire, it’s Vladimir Putin. I am a bit confused by this because it seems a word is missing, like l am frightening, or l like frightening, hmmm. I think l will go with, he concerns her greatly.

“ on our day together she never stopped yapping “

This is madam and their train overnight trip together. It was seen as such an honour because HMTQ is rare to invite others along on the train and/or an overnight trip. We know from the videos and photos, how hyper madam was, she cut in front of the Queen and entered the car first. During the performance she looked hypomanic, laughing non-stop yapping according to HMTQ’s words. Poor your Majesty, you were able to endure that trip!

“Harry ‘ we all make mistakes “

As a reassuring loving granny, she took his hand in hers and spoke with him. No one is perfect, yeah he screwed up a few times in life, who hasn’t? He was ensnared in a plot that had done years of planning, reconnaissance, and he had absolutely no idea what he was in, until it was too late. Kind of like quicksand, you slowly get sucked in, and the more you move and wrestle trying to get yourself out the quicker you sink and drown. God bless you, your Majesty!

“ the little one, she’s a fireball “

She is talking about Lottie, our beloved Princess Charlotte! She was trending worldwide with her hairflip her first day of school. She is a real ham for the camera, ham meaning like to have fun when her photo is taken. She has a fantastic personality and watching her grow up will be joyous. I also think Savannah Phillips, Princess Anne’s granddaughter, fits this for sure she and Prince George 🤣🤣🤣😂!

“Camilla says she’s illiterate “

We all know Camilla loathes madam, love the video where she repeatedly asks for help🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂😂. Sounds like her opinion of madam is in line with many others about madams skills in the writing, reading, and language usage and comprehension!

“ what sort of name was that!!!!!”

Arche🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣😂😂. I cannot believe to this day, that name, amw!! I know some think LG played a trick with this name being the same as the last Duke of Sussex eons ago!

” What!! Christmas ‘she’ll be lucky “

Madam is assuming another Christmas with the family she never had. Also that she will still be free and easy, sounds like HMTQ suggesting if she’s still free at Christmas she will be lucky. Lordy please let the handcuffs come soon, let them have their ducks all in a row and clang clang slam, locked cell, orange jumpsuit!

“LG ‘ that’s why it’s called the Queens speech ‘ so f#@ck them!!”

This whole issue of BOJO manipulating HMTQ, now today’s paper saying he didn’t really apologize he just said regret. He is willing to squat in No. 10 if there is a non-confidence vote and he is ousted as Prime Minister. He said they will have to take him in handcuffs! They are trying to sort out who would be the new PM, Brexit deadline, and if an election it would need at least five weeks. So John Bercow, Speaker of the House of Commons could be interim PM. It’s all up in the air. The Queens speech to the House is to take place October 14,2019. This is her telling LG in no uncertain terms she is duty bound to do this and refuse to be dragged any further into swaying politics on either side. Her job in weekly meetings with PM , is to be informed what’s happening, offer advice but never ever tell what’s to be done!No one else will be giving her speech except her. In a previous riddle we had something about someone else delivering her speech due to health or stress issues, l can’t recall exactly.

💜💜💜MM ANON💜💜💜 I HAVE HAD AN AWESOME FUN TIME DOING THIS RIDDLE💜💜💜

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

October 6,2019 1445 hrs CST

This is great PG such fun for us all! Love it….and love your personality shining through!😊💜💜💜💜💜

Ask Skippy submission

Oct 6th, 2019

——————

78: oct. 7

💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜

MM Anon

MM ANON … Calapornia Dreem-in…… “ To be ‘ or Not to be…” …… “ I made a bit of a boob”……… “ the real Mc- COY darlings “…… “ artistic lie- sense …… “ not my best work”

October 7, 2019 1305 hrs CST

Well MM ANON , This riddle looks short but very unsweeten, the usual saying is short and sweet!

Calapornia Dreem-in

We had Calipornia in a riddle the other day. Today it’s Cala pornia .It seems that alleged tape has risen like a Phoenix from the ashes, online, but lots of disagreement on who the female is. I have ABSOLUTELY NO INTENTION of exposing myself to that. Reminds me of my old Sunday school song, be careful little eyes what you see, ears what you hear, mouth what you say..does anyone else remember that song? Dreem -in, a play on the song California Dreaming by The Mamas and The Papas, it was redone by Wilson Phillips, daughter of Michelle Phillips, Carnie Wilson daughter of Brian Wilson, l cannot recall the third member. They were great, remember Hold On! Great music. Anyhow, l digressed, Dreem,from wiki , is a sleep device that monitors, analyzes, and claims to enhance quality of sleep. It’s a miniaturized and autonomous headband that monitors the quality of sleep and then uses sound to help fall asleep faster, get deeper sleep, and wake up at the optimal time through smart alarm. End wiki.

So we have Calapornia Dreem-in, note California is spelt Cala, either way, the sirens currently flashing loudly is this alleged sex tape online. As l speculated the meaning the other day, is she doing a runner to Cali or Cala?? There are definite spelling alterations to confuse, MM ANON🤨🧐🤔.

Is someone having great difficulty sleeping from hobbies, stress, being picked on by the big bad royal reporters? Might the sleep aid device Dreem being in use, hence the addition of in after the hyphen? To clarify a hyphen is the sign here. - It is used to connect words together so they combine their meanings.

Alternatively perhaps Harry is using this sleep aid to help him sleep. We know all the things we have noticed, weight loss, scruffy clothes/shoes, look very sleep deprived, l am sure he is suffering tremendously as he serves this tour of duty for HMTQ.

“ To be ‘ or Not to be…”

MM ANON is taking us back to Shakespeare, Hamlet’s soliloquy on suicide to deal with all that has happened in his life. Has there been suicidal ideation on part of madam or Harry? Madam l highly doubt, a narcissist never goes there except by accident. We have see a slow descent in our Harry over the last two years, Wright loss, hair loss, scruffy clothes, looks sleep deprived etc etc, adding to that, the pain he appeared to be in, stepping onto that stage in SA and her grinning like a Cheshire Cat, sorry Cheshire, at his agony. I have said numerous times now but l hope upon immediate return to London he was given medical assessment and care, as well as emotional assessment and care. I pray to God l am wrong on this, but l have been concerned. He has been under stress like l have never seen, for over two years!

“ I made a bit of a boob”

A boob, slang wise has had different meanings over the generations. A boob can be a dopey goofy person, it can be a blunder or a boo boo, meaning error or mistake, it can be a term for breast. So who made a bit of a boob? I see the usage here being an error or mistake. I would say the first boob was a bootycall and then underestimating who the attacker was.

I think this could also be a cheeky reference to an alleged video online.

“ the real Mc- COY darlings

The saying the Real McCoy, goes back, at least for me, in the old western movies, not sure if McCoy was a brand of saddle, shotgun, something anyhow. So when someone says, it’s the real McCoy it means it’s 100% real or accurate. Here MM ANON has hyphenated the word McCoy, and elevated the word COY. Coys definition is, according to google, especially with reference to a woman) making a pretense of shyness or modesty that is intended to be alluring. Ok, interpretation, MM ANON is clearly telling us that any alleged sex/porn video is 109% accurate, correct and the actress in it, is her acting role, is acting very coyly. Yuck, l need a shower!🤮🤮🤮🤮

“ artistic lie- sense

To take artistic license is a common phrase meaning , again l will use google, as l want everyone to be able to understand who may not be familiar, “Artistic license (also known as poetic license, historical license, dramatic license, narrative license, or creative license) refers to deviation from fact or form for artistic purposes. It can include alteration of the conventions of grammar or language, or the rewording of pre-existing text.”

I have had a number of comments of appreciation from anons for being more elaborative as we have readers from all around the 🌎 🌍 world.

So example, a movie about Invention of the light bulb, let’s say, they add a romance to it, or drama , l hope l am explaining this clearly.

So here MM ANON says Artistic lie-sense, another hyphenated word. So madam as we well know has exaggerated EVERYTHING about herself, some may say lies. Her age, her number of marriages, not knowing anything about the BRF, fake pregnancy etc etc etc.

So , since this alleged sex video is the hot topic, l am thinking the acting would be very fake over dramatic moaning groaning etc etc, likely a person would, to cover past sins, would be inclined to lie about it, say it never happened or the great song by Shaggy, It Wasn’t Me!

“ not my best work”

Again another commonly used phrase especially, like me, l am so self-critical about how I type my interpretations of the riddles, typing, thinking of something after l have submitted it, or just having a bad day at it , l think l might have even wrote this here, this is not my best work.

Artists, musicians, creative people, common phrase!

So if there were an alleged tape, that proved real, one might use that phrase. A tv show might have been the pinnacle or the height of greatest work!

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

October 7,2019 1355 hrs CST

Fantastic, thank you so much PG! You make it seem so easy, yet we know there is nothing easy in doing these interpretations! Hats off to you! 😁💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

gstqaobc

Thank you MM ANON 💜💜🙏🏻💜💜 This was quite challenging, l find it’s extremely important to me, as this blog of our dear 🐼, has a worldwide readership and l am trying very hard to explain phrases, words, slang etc, as l take this work very seriously, and l want everyone to be able to understand! Also l am, by character, a very verbally elaborative individual 🤣🤣🤣😂😂. Thank you dear 💜🐼💜 for posting this. GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Source: skippyv20

12 notes

Oct 7th, 2019

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79: Oct. 7

💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON, THE FIRST ONE WAS TOUGH ENOUGH, THE SECOND RIDDLE IN ONE DAY MEANS SOMETHING BUG🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

MM Anon

MM ANON … lets move on!!!!…… fab unfore-tunate…… pre tour panic… …a fleet-ing vengeance …… “ don’t take this personally”…… “ you have TWO choices”…… “ get your bloody head out the sand”…… “it’s crumbling around your feet”……… “ baby ‘ what baby?”…… “we’re gonna need a bigger Bank”…… 🎼” if I was a rich man”🎼

Riddle Number Two on October 7, 2019 1735 CST

lets move on!!!!

Time to move on and restart life. Put this information out, let the chips fall where they may. I am certain, based on the FIRST riddle today, that Harry is done, he can take no more. Oh my , how will this be handled, l for one would NOT want to , after several years of being a horrible person, want to be on the receiving end of Fleet streets vengeance! How will details , hundreds of them be told or explained to the public, all the things that have been kept secret, the public will perceive being lied to and paying for that wedding, her clothes etc etc etc. Never mind that, the bigger picture of the plot, the backers!

fab unfore-tunate

Fab Four, the original was the Beatles. When madam came on the scene, and video of them, working on a Heads Together, the media, not sure which, dubbed them the Fab Four. As we know their offices have separated as well as their charities also.Rumours of dodgy money being missing from the charity. They are completely separate in every way now, at least publicly, this has caused an uproar because of madam spending and the varied rumours surrounding merching, and hobbies, and other things that have been on fire today! So much beloved was Harry , everyone wanted him to have the dream of family come true. His madam is loathed, that’s putting it mildly. There is so much public distress at seeing the boys, l will forever call them the boys, break up, fight and publicly sever ties.

pre tour panic

Have unexpected security issues arisen on the upcoming tour to Pakistan of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge scheduled for October 14-18/2019?

We know security is a major issue, as in the memo it stated this is their most complex Royal tour to date. I will keep them in prayer. This tour is essential in continuing relationships building.

a fleet-ing vengeance

Remember Fleet Street, how l explained that in a riddle the other day. MM ANON, l take this as the sh** is going to hit the fan imminently, l have felt an agitation inside for several days. Will they lay bare, pun intended, EVERYTHING they have in the dossier. OH PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PULL THE HANDLE LET IT ALL SPILL OUT!! It’s time! Harry is at the end of what he can take! SO ARE WE! How this will all be done and handled l have no clue but it’s going to be earth shattering across the U.K., the Commonwealth, the EU, whilstBrexit is so precarious, and the world too. I cannot fathom how HMTQ is feeling and how and when to proceed!

“ don’t take this personally”

So who is not to take this personally? This clue mystifies me. My head is so full, is this relating to BOJO non-apology, in that he regrets what happened with Parliament? That HMTQ being tricked, she shouldn’t take that personally because he was trying to get his own agenda through, the Courts over-ruled him. Of course she is going to take this personally! She needs to be able to trust the PM! BOJO , according to the paper, if there is a noncon vote and he is ousted as PM, he will refuse to leave No. 10 unless in handcuffs. So, yes, BOJO HMTQ is taking it bloody personally!

“ you have TWO choices”…

Two choices, go quietly or a fight will ensue. l remember professionally saying this many times. Cooperate or things will be enforced. In this case confess, plead guilty or not guilty. Is arrest imminent, are these two choices?? Oh please , make it so, to quote Captain Jean-Luc Picard! Are the choices, leave the U.K. of face charges. I can’t see that totally but then again a lot of money laundering trials have brought down mob bosses.That song should l stay or should l go now? Is blaring through my head!!

“ get your bloody head out the sand”

Whose got their head in the sand on this? This is definitely PP, might he be taking a stern tone with HMTQ? Action needs to be taken imminently, the press are on the precipice of unloading a ton of very very bad things. It would be easier, although none of this will be easier, but it would be easier if HMTQ gave a public video, like Christmas Day, and as she did with Diana. If they can publicly get ahead of the media, might soften the blow. Perhaps announce a separation, then the press can go hog wild. Either way it’s going to be Annus Horibilus on steroids!!!

“it’s crumbling around your feet”…

The love and loyalty towards Harry is doing exactly that, crumbling around him. If things continue and madam resumes appearances in the U.K. or joint appearances , PARDON THE PUN🤣🤣🤣😂 joint🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂 sorry, l need a laugh, this is a tough riddle and the second one of the day!the reception will be vile, also possibly dangerous, such is the loathing at this point. This is having an effect on the entire BRF . The continuing question, why doesn’t HMTQ do something. Thank God for the Cambridges.

“ baby ‘ what baby?”

Oh are we going to play ignorant know?use those fabulous acting skills. I never had a baby, never was pregnant what are you talking about all innocent? Whose baby was that in SA? His or her photo will go down in history as being passed off as a royal baby.This could also be read, as to a lover, baby( name for lover), what baby? Many many people knew it was a fake pregnancy, surrogate used but whose egg and whose male DNA was used? Was it done in SA. Or was that a rent-a-baby? This is all so seedy makes my skin crawl with disgust!

“we’re gonna need a bigger Bank”

Again with the Jaws reference🤨. MM ANON DO I GET A TREAT FIR WORKING OVERTIME DIING TWO RIDDLES IN ONE DAY?🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂😂😂😂This hacking lawsuit is going to cost tens of millions, however it may well possibly reveal the identities, the length of time, what they did with the information they gathered,and was it a bad actor or actors who did this. Now when l use the term bad actor, it has nothing to do with movies or tv. A bad actor has become the term used when talking about individuals who betray their country, spy, commit crimes etc, it cal also be a foreign national also. . Has that decision been rescinded, just to pay her off, she can leave go back to U.S. I don’t know, there are alleged crimes, the British people and Commonwealth who haven’t taken the time to look below for the facts still loathe her. How this will all play out without totally destroying the Monarchy l do not know.

As far as paying madam to go, there was a one time deal offered before the wedding, it was allegedly accepted but changed her mind and went ahead with the unhappy day. Is there a chance they have decided to offer again just to leave, the legal case she filed is her problem. Any potential legal problems, or illegal acts that may have been committed and money owed on taxes, all her problem. I can hardly think after all this they would cave in, I HOPE NOT!

… 🎼” if I was a rich man”🎼

I have been singing since l saw this clue. This is from the musical Fiddler on The Roof! The entire song, sang and performed by a poor beggar man living on the slums but he had a fiddle AKA a violin. The whole entirety of the lyrics are him imagining being a man of fantastic wealth and the houses he would build, the life he would live, endless time to do whatever you want, buy whatever you want, just completely unencumbered. This is how many see the royals. Harry especially has taken unbelievable backlash for his spouses extravagant clothes spending, repeated use of private jet, the perception of being preached at regarding climate change . The last straw for the media was that blasting furiously letter , that accompanied the information that he had filed in court, directed at the media after what had by and part, in comparison with the other behaviour was a positively reported visit to various countries in Africa! The last snap though, was his perceived treatment of Rhiannon Mills of Sky News when he scolded her, as some saw things, watch the video, decide for yourself!

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

October 7,2019 1850 hrs

Great job PG! Wow! If I could, one scenario has been they let MM go, and she is taken care of back in the US….so that might be the reference to two choices…she will NOT walk…she will face justice..in UK or in US! Thank you for doing these riddles today! So appreciated!😊💜💜💜💜💜💜

gstqaobc

It could be any, l am exhausted after two riddles, the last one being extremely difficult in how to word things without opening oneself up to legal issues and to not offend etc etc etc. As for Fiddler on the Roof, l deliberately not bring up his ethnicity because sometimes people do not like that, l bend over backwards, metaphorically, TO NOT UPSET ANYONE or be perceived as judgemental etc. My brain 🧠 is tired, my words aren’t flowing right. GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦 I do my best, give my all, we all work together. 💜💜🐼🙏🏻🙏🏻🐼💜💜 Thank you 🐼 for creating this wonderful place💜💜💜🐼🙏🏻🙏🏻🐼💜💜🐼😊😊🐼👋🐼💜

Source: skippyv20

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80: oct 9

💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

MM Anon

skippyv20

MM ANON … fab two ‘ future Queen……future king …… also rans …… three weddings and a refusal …… Archie-bargy …… a dog with no name …… silent screaming past…… 🎼” there may be trouble ahead “🎼…… “ if I tell you ‘ I’d have to…… “…… everyone is scarfing …… (another private flight)…… Branson island … Mail on payday… … “ please boo the buggers”

October 9/2019 0105 hrs CST

SORRY l am so late, l had a rest day😊💜

fab two ‘ future Queen

Well who on earth could this possibly be referencing 🤣🤣🤣? Of course it is our beloved Cambridge’s, Their HRH Duke and Duchess! Who needs a Fab Four, when we have the FAB TWO? They are brilliant. The Royal tour to Pakistan (unless something happened whilst l slept the day away, haven’t read the news) will be a Master Class in how a Royal, representing HMTQ, conducts oneself. Catherine, HRH The Duchess of Cambridge has fully come into her own, in this role and it’s been marvellous to watch her bloom. I think some of us kind of took her for granted until we saw the horrors of the other one. She will make a brilliant Queen Consort, once the time comes.

future king

This could be referencing Prince Charles, Prince William or Prince George. Are we not blessed to live in a time with three future kings? Amazing! Given the pending Royal tour representing HMTQ in Pakistan 🇵🇰, l believe this is referencing HRH Prince William. He too, has come into his own, fabulous, loving supportive wife, they have a beautiful healthy family. Their minds are sound and are raising well rounded children. We will se William, on this tour, conducting himself above reproach, and can envision him well in his penultimate role as His Majesty, when the time comes.

also rans

Let’s head to our favourite friend google for a few definitions, a loser in a race or other contest, especially by a large margin, OR, PAY ATTENTION KIDS😁an undistinguished or unsuccessful person or thing. Now let’s just skip past the first one and jump on the second definition. Undistinguished person, BOJO fits, only because he manipulated HMTQ, but we’re not political. I know without a lot of explaining or elaboration because you have all been passengers on the Skipoy🐼 train, you know of many undistinguished deeds that are public, just you wait Henry Higgins, just you wait, sorry l jumped into a My Fair Lady song 🤣🤣😂😂, can’t help myself!

three weddings and a refusal

Three wedding and a Funeral, the write of that film, Richard Curtis, is working with Catherine on a mental health campaign, l can’t recall what it’s called just now. Anyhow this is three weddings and a refusal. William and Catherine, Harry and her, Eugene’s and Jack, whose the refusal? Are we referencing CD? She goes way back, but …..but…..but…… l am saying no more!

Archie-bargy

Is this boss Prince Louis’ name for Archie or the other Cambridge children? We know twitter calls a baby bubs 🤮🤮Or is it LG? Not joking at all about a real child but at the persona created for this infamous fauxmegnancy, fauxmegbirth, fauxmegworld, etc etc etc etc.

a dog with no name

I know , my friend, rescued greyhounds from the racetracks in America where they were , can’t say it, but used and abused, and brought them to Canada. This is a well known animal/humanitarian organization that rescues a variety of animals. The title literally, it means they want no dog to not have a name. When an animal has a name, it gives them meaning, they’re smart they know what their name is and respond to it, maybe not always the way we want🤣🤣😂😂, but they do? So who is the dog with no name in the human form , is it the victims of JE? The ones that have come forth have a name. I know there has to be many more, unnamed to us at this time. Or worse will never be known. When you see and hear VRG speak and tell of her experience it adds the real humanity factor, it takes it from words on paper or hidden abstract to literal, in your face truth! I pray for all the victims of human trafficking known and unknown 🙏🏻.

silent screaming past

Does anyone recall the documentary The Silent Scream? I most certainly do, its about abortion. I wonder who this might be about? I have long suspected there might have been several of those in the past of someone.

🎼” there may be trouble ahead “🎼

But music and dancing, MY ABSOLUTE FAVOURITE PAUR , THANK YOU MM ANON FOR THIS CLUE. Memories, Fred Estaire singing this, dancing with the unbelievablly gorgeous Ginger Rogers. Fred used to say, or was it Ginger, no, matter, he was talented, but she was amazing because she had to do everything backwards and in heels🤣🤣😂😂.Now interpretation, let’s face the music, it means face your reward but more often it’s face your punishment and own up to what you have done wrong. Here we have it, PA, it’s time for him to not dance but face the music. Sounding like an order from up top has been given, he must comply with authorities, be interviewed, be truthful! Face the music!

“ if I tell you ‘ I’d have to…… “

This is an old saying, does anyone remember the spoof spy show Get Smart? Hilarious, l grew up watching that, about spy who goofed up, had a phone in the sole of his shoe?🤣🤣😂😂 Anyone, the saying is, if l tell you, I will have to kill you. My oh my oh my, what secrets are held, l certainly wouldn’t want to be in this position! But who is!

everyone is scarfing

William adjusting his scarf to avoid interacting with madam, has taken on a life of its own online🤣🤣🤣😂😂. We know, the entire BRF, to the public, is scarfing, the Harry, and her, l believe 100% behind the scenes, there is plenty of love and support for Harry to get through this horror!

(another private flight)

Have they taken another private flight? And to where? Necker Island?? Or points beyond? I think they any public appearance in the U.K. now would be disastrous especially for a narcissist. I wonder how Prince Harry’s appearances on the 10th for International Mental Health Day will go? I do so hope that he is well received 🙏🏻🙏🏻.

Branson island

Sir Kenneth Branson owns his own island as well in the Caribbean, he calls it Necker Island. Do you recall the horrible fire that occurred there a few years back? Kate Winslett, the actress literally went in and rescued either his mum or grandmother. No matter, this island has been a getaway for many celebrities and royals for years. Is there a connection with JE and his island?

Mail on payday

Ha ha, when the storms blows in, they will get a massive payday, of that l am certain. In public opinion, the DM comments are full of loathing and anger, they sometimes have comments that things are not appearing ie comments or they vanish. When the story(or stories, truth) are published ad revenues and sales will skyrocket!!

“ please boo the buggers”

PP voicing his approval for this to happen when a certain couple or individual appears in an official capacity or not, just do as he said!!! Now that would be above Camilla’s video begging help! Help! 🙃🤣🤣🤣

Submitted October 9/2019 0204 hrs CST

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you dear PG! This again looks interesting…oh what fun lies ahead! Thank you, much appreciated!😊💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Ask Skippy submission

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81: Oct. 9

💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

October 9/2019 1500 hrs CST

MM Anon

MM ANON …… “ sorry, not today thank you “…… never EVER explain …… “what happens in house, stays in-house”. ……a special briefing …… another cover-up?…… … glowing anticipation …… special forces …… “unprecedented care”…… a very tired PR …… public appearance nerves …… “we’ll pay you handsomely”…… “she’ll do it or suffer the consequences”

“ sorry, not today thank you “

Jeremy Corbyn, Labour leader, has said today, that the Queen should appoint him as PM if BOJO loses a non-confidence vote. Firstly HMTQ does not appoint leaders, they are elected by the public. So sorry, Mr. Corbyn, not today, thank you.

never EVER explain

Since the Queen mum was Queen, it has been the motto of the way the Royal family has dealt with any rumours or gossip about themselves or their work. Never complain, never explain. This has an extra ever, all caps. So MM ANON is telling us , when this happen, as things unfold legally or with the marriage, there will be a considerable amount of things that will not ever EVER be explained to us. We must prepare for that. They have been playing this game a long time and are champions, the Crown never loses. So we ask ourselves how will things come out, what will happen to madam or Archie, lots of things will remain classified, this is a big thump warning us!

“what happens in house, stays in-house”.

The saying what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. In other words, confidentiality and discretion are key. So whatever may be observed or noted by staff they cannot talk about outside of the house they work in, be it KP, BP, Windsor Castle etc etc. I think LG is running a tight ship, we are nearing the destination of an endpoint in this masquerade and he wants no leaks out , no warning at all of their plans, lest their attackers use that information. Perhaps in reference to Richard Palmer?

a special briefing

Did the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge receive a special briefing regarding their upcoming Royal tour? It would be very important that they be aware of exactly everything that is planned, possible changes and security issues.

another cover-up?

What on earth could this be referencing? Is this related to PA and his connection with JE? There are some conflicting facts that l have read in different articles. The latest l read, was that New York visit, when he was at JE mansion, the purpose of that visit was to end his friendship due to JE arrests and crimes/pedophelia in Florida. Now one would think a simple phone call would suffice. At the time this first arose he denied having been intimate with VRG, the Palace statement reflected that, Met case closed. Many people feel that was washed away. Now it’s come back, he is still denying having been intimate, VRG is sticking firm with her story. And then there is that pesky photograph!!! Is there something else being cleverly hidden? I surely hope not and for HMTQ sake, l wish PA would do the right thing and cooperate. He will drag his feet l am sure, he’s done so thus far.

glowing anticipation

They say women who are pregnant have a special glow about them. Are we anticipating an announcement?? Who could it be? Princess Eugenie, to me, is the most likely candidate. That would be simply marvellous news!

special forces

Is this related to the Pakistan 🇵🇰 Royal tour? I very well think it might be, the security risk is high, we have high ranking royals, and ongoing assessment, along with tightly kept destinations and places they will visit. Safety first!

“unprecedented care”

Is this medical/emotional care for Harry after returning from Africa? Is that the type of care meant here? Or is there unprecedented care and concern expressed for HMTQ and PP through this incredibly stressful time, adding Her Speech to the House this Monday, October 14/2019. Or more concerning yet is this regarding HMTQ or PP health? I think ultimately this means, the Pakistan 🇵🇰 tour, they are undertaking their most complex tour, as per statement on the tour stated, and security and their staff are taking unprecedented care and implementing measures to ensure safety, security and a very successful Royal tour and relationship building.

a very tired PR

I am sure the Palace PR staff are beyond exhausted as madams numerous PR firms are at it, and being well paid. Tired can also mean blah, sedate, uninteresting, repetitive, and that’s what her PR is, the same fantastical stories, fabricated and dull.

public appearance nerves …

Harry will make his first official day of events tomorrow, to recognize October 10/2019 International Mental Health Day. I imagine he is a bundle of nerves given all that has happened on and since his last day in Africa. Not scheduled but l wonder if madam will gatecrash or attempt to.

“we’ll pay you handsomely”

Are they purchasing a video, l thought certain they already had it. Perhaps there is more information from past or lost years on offer, l am certain there would be no doubt if it was authentic and verifiable it would be purchased. Usually when the term pay you handsomely is used, it’s kind of like someone keeps your secret or in tv/film, it’s a private detective digging up dirt and gets rewarded handsomely for his work. MM ANON, l would love to know where some of these clues come from,,they can go many ways and some l can’t figure out!!

“she’ll do it or suffer the consequences”

They need madam to do something or appear at some royal event, but she’s terrified of the crowd, if there is a crowd, of whomever is there, what their response will be. There is to be no discussion, she must do this! I just wish l had a clue what ‘this’ was!

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Submitted October 9/2019 1605 hrs CST

Thank you dear PG! Things are sure getting interesting. Again…in awe of your riddle skills! So appreciated😊💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Ask Skippy submission

Oct 9th, 2019

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82: Oct. 10

💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻PLEASE PRAY I HAVE NO MORE POWER OUTAGES!

It’s Thanksgiving weekend, we have a massive snowstorm that is supposed to go until Saturday 🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

MM Anon

MM ANON ……corespondents under the radar …… “MA to MM”…… 🎼” gimme a ticket for an aeroplane”🎼…… “ my baby wrote me a letter” “ I’ve seen the contents of several”…… ‘ thank you LG.”…… “were in need of another f#@ing hole”…… Sheeran a common problem ……” drag her along ‘ your joking”… not seen’ not heard, GOOD!!!!…… Christmas 🧣 scarfs …… 🎼Back in the USA”🎼…… “friends thou hast and their adoption tried ”…(very trying!!!)

October 10/2019

1430 hrs CST

corespondents under the radar

Oh dear oh my, madam, and creepy eyes guy have kept in touch. I can only imagine the level of filth, schemings and depravity in those conversations, emails, snail mails, after all she is a calligrapher, roll eyes now. Well this is very interesting!

“MA to MM”

Hmmmm sound abbreviated, oh they’re so clever those kids, surely no one would recognize those initials and connect them back to those two!! I truly wonder what he has been up to, was he the last guest at Misha NoNoo wedding who arrived in big car, huge hat and coat, immediately surrounded by guards protecting him. Where has he been? Good gracious l have a zillion questions needing answered!!

🎼” gimme a ticket for an aeroplane”🎼

Old song, l know the song, looked on google for the performer, never heard before but they are called the Box Tops. The lyrics are all about someone desperately longing to be with their baby again, because a letter was received. l think baby is lover, not a baby baby🤣🤣. I think she’s begging him to send her a ticket to leave London !! Anyway anyhow before next week!! To avoid that public appearance? Running scare are we Rachel?

“ my baby wrote me a letter” “ I’ve seen the contents of several”

It’s lyrics from the same song as previous clue . Letters, plural, the plot thickens. I shall, out of respect for LG, assume that all of their contacts and interactions in every way shape or form, have been well monitored and documented. LG, were l wearing a 🎩 hat, l would take it off to you sir! You played her brilliantly!!

‘ thank you LG.”

Just what l was thinking and just typed. I am sure many have been thanking him, he has played the long game and has won. The timer isn’t out yet, but there is no way for her to win. I think this may be HMTQ speaking to LG. He has returned to serve HMTQ, serving her until the end!

“were in need of another f#@ing hole”

Oh dear, oh dear, how much more horrible trash about madam are they having to bury because it’s so extreme? I know there is so much that will need to be kept classified , buried if you like, for the BRF to recover. What on earth is all going on? There is so much unknown and the British people, all of us who care, are at the end.

Sheeran a common problem

Ed Sheehan, who has massive problems with his neighbors and his building things, that’s a whole other topic. Ed Sheehan , the musician, did a clever bit of humour, GINGERS UNITE🤣🤣😂😂. But in all seriousness, today is International Mental Health Day, Sheehan is a play on the word sharing a common problem. They both have experienced times of depression and feel the strong need to destigmatize it. Whilst here it’s a massive winter storm, as l type this, my power has been out for a good hour, good thing l saved the riddle and charged the iPad. BUT I AM FREEZING 🥶!

I just called the power, they said so many outages they have no idea when it will return😩😩😫😫😖😖I AM 🥶 COLD!!!

” drag her along ‘ your joking”

Prince Harry and madam are due to attend the Well Child benefit October 15/2019. I assume madam has zero or less than zero, great film by the way, l digress, interest in doing anything remotely public for fear of what could happen. Booing, throwing rotten tomatoes? This was referred to in yesterday’s riddle. Harry has been told to drag her along if she refuses to go. He is being given firm order on what he is to do. In no way, shape or form, will she be allowed to NOT attend!

not seen’ not heard, GOOD!!!!

There is an old saying, children should be seen and not heard. With madam, who doesn’t posses a gram of maternal instinct, this is her delight, she can do whatever she wants, a doll can be ignored. However l truly believe this is how the British people and people around the Commonwealth and the world are elated not to see or hear her word salad speeches. Hence the all caps, exclamation marks GOOD!!!

Christmas 🧣 scarfs

I wonder if this is going to be a gag gift, l know it has taken a life of its own online! This truly, l believe means, if madam is still around at Christmas, she will be “scarfed” from any Royal family Christmas dinners etc. A general, familywide scarfing, the ultimate! 🧣

🎼Back in the USA”🎼

Old song, classic Chuck Berry, fabulous when no computers for instruments, guitars were needed. This song is entirely about someone returning home to America, describing the sites and sounds of various places. Madam is deeply homesick and wants to go home. Yet she wants a massive celebrity life and fame. She has become infamous, history will tell of this. I think l have said this before but she may just end up in a massive, massive very expensive fully staffed home. However, the home may have locks but she gets no key to it!

“friends thou hast and their adoption tried ”

Shakespeare again MM ANON , again to my favourite , Hamlet. I will share the entire piece.

“Those friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,

Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;

But do not dull thy palm with entertainment

Of each new-hatch’d, unfledg’d comrade.”

Loyal friends, keep them as close as you can. Hold onto them, deeply in your very soul. This can be healthy or a very sick relationship. This is mm and ma, they are interwoven in each other, evil purpose, money, lust, filth, disgust. The hoops of steel MM ANON has challenged us with this before. My, my, my , are these two, who have been bound by this sick relationship going to be bound by hoops of steel aka handcuffs at the end of the day?? Oh l hope so. I want all this filth gone!! Banished!

(very trying!!!)

INDEED, DISGUSTINGLY SO!!!

October 10/2019 1700 hrs CST

SORRY SO LATE WE HAD A TWO HOUR POWER OUTAGE!

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you dear PG….so sorry about the power outage….the west suffer through these often…….Then again so does the east! The joys of Canada fall/winter. I’m just sorry you are so cold. We too have snow. This riddle is now tying the connection to MA and MM….as is our new Anon…Emails, sexting, and videos. So, we can expect more on the pair! Thank you dear PG, I know it’s been a battle for you today, so much appreciated!🙏🏻💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

Ask Skippy submission

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[ivadeshin]

Careful Steps (Essik/Caleb) (3/n)

(catch up over on ao3) 

One can often determine how much a person values a topic by how closely they hold it to their chest. Essik notices the moment Caleb determines that it is safe to discuss his colleagues with Essik. And after one story, it is a deluge.

A mention of high-ranking officials trying to conceal their personal lives leads to a strange anecdote about Jester, the tiefling, encountering and exposing several such officials in her youth. A discussion of preferred methods of travel leads to a brief summary of Fjord, the half-orc, and how his previous experience with the sea was crucial just months ago when they had to travel by ship.

Caleb speaks of his colleagues warmly, almost without exception. Many groups of adventurers or mercenaries get along solely in order to secure wealth, or to complete necessary objectives. Essik is professionally and personally familiar with many. However, these defectors seem to defy one standard after another..

Essik listens to the anecdotes with interest.

**

Caleb’s new attire is not from Essik’s tailor near the Conservatory, but it is certainly an improvement. The maroon silk shirt has fine stitching, with some modest shards of onyx embroidered into the v-shaped neckline.

“The woman at the front insisted I would look like a commoner if there weren’t any stones anywhere,” Caleb is saying with some tension.

Essik is trying not to be distracted by the orange-blond curls of chest hair visible from the neck line. The line of his throat, the curve of his collarbones, are an even fairer cream than that of his face. It is. Deeply unique and distracting. “Your tailor was correct. I understand that men of the Empire often avoid even semiprecious gems, but here, such an absence would indicate an inability to afford it.” Caleb looks mollified, so Essik continues: “I assure you that onyx is neither particularly expensive nor ostentatious.”

“Thank you.” Caleb nods a few times, fingering the lapel of the new black coat and trying on a weak smile. “I did try to follow your recommendation, near the Marble Tomes... a bit too rich for my blood, I’m afraid.”

A euphemism for being unable to afford it. Essik bows slightly at the waist. “Please accept my apologies. My suggestion was clearly unhelpful.”

“Nein, no, it is fine.” Caleb actually laughs. “Trust me, I am used to not being up to snuff in places like that. And, while I was getting stared at in the lobby, I got to see some displayed outfits that looked nearly as good as your cloak and mantle!”

Essik is far too modest to beam.

**

His most recent cultural discovery has been about about the delivery of flowers.

Either by messenger or in person, they have additional value if they are a type particularly admired by the recipient. Essik, having little botanical knowledge himself, goes to his garden and points at the ones Caleb admired upon his first visit. His servant informs him of the genus and assures him that they are only moderately difficult to acquire.

Essik arranges for six bulbs to be purchased, and planted in the garden outside Caleb Widogast’s Rosohna house. Such romantic gestures certainly make more sense in a place like the Empire, where flowers are said to be much more plentiful and even grow by the fields on wild plains. But Essik is not a man without means, and his younger servant, Ruanill, happens to have an aunt who specializes in the cultivation of non-fruiting plants.

He sends Ruanill with special instructions to only plant the bulbs where the firbolg and/or tiefling will permit. Essik remembers that those two were absolutely responsible for that building’s... upgrades, upon moving in.

**

There is a knock on the library door, and Ruanill enters and bows deeply. “Shadowhand.”

Essik looks up from the codex on the desk. “I trust everything went well?”

“Mr. Widogast was not at home. The firbolg, Mr. Caduceus Clay, received the gift with deep gratitude. He requested that he assist me in the planting process.”

“Considering his appearance and the tree, I fail to find that surprising.” Which is to say, Essik does not mind the change in plans. The cultural texts mentioned nothing of who did the dirty work.

“Mr. Clay also... invited me in for tea, sir.” Ruanill sounds uncertain.

Essik straightens a little in his chair. This must be a misunderstanding. “You made it clear you were visiting as a servant of my house?”

“Of course, sir, I made it very explicit that the gift was from you and for Mr. Widogast.” Ruanill bows again, deeply, and rises slowly. “He... asked for my name, and upon receiving it, used it to ask me inside to take tea.”

After taking a few moments to ruminate over this, Essik sighs deeply. Ruanill has been reliable and steady in his employ, and does not deserve such bizarre treatment. “Was anyone else present?”

“No, Shadowhand.”

This sounds like another social blunder, stressful but meaningless. “And did you discuss anything of tactical interest?”

“No, Shadowhand.” Ruanill’s eyes reach the ceiling as he tries to recall. “Mr. Clay inquired about my family,” Essik cringes in sympathy, “and then, about the care of flowering Xhorhassian plants, and then, about my knowledge of you.”

This is alarming. Essik rises out of his chair to his full height. “Explain.”

Ruanill shrinks immediately. “I must assure you that-”

To be so low as to press one of his employees, who visited his home in good faith, bearing a gift, is unforgivable. Caleb has mentioned Caduceus’s gift for extracting information from subjects... “Was he asking about my movements? My contacts over enemy lines?”

“Shadowhand, his questions were that of, of a,” Ruanill trembles a little as he rearranges his headpiece. “Please forgive my inelegant wording. His questions were that of a working class mother. Inquiring about her child’s suitor.” Seeing no interruption, he continues: “Your temperament. Your interests beyond magicks. How much time you are given by the Bright Queen to pursue personal interests.”

Essik’s eyebrows raise in disbelief. “And I assume he also inquired about the salary, and number of rooms in my home? The value of my estates? How many royal festival gatherings I attend?”

“N-no, Shadowhand, although that is a known line of questioning in some lower households.” Ruanill squares his shoulders, reclaiming his courage. “If I may be so bold, I would theorize that the firbolg acts as a maternal figure to the defector group. These... casual digs for intel are an attempt to determine whether you are a suitable personality, not financial or societal match, to the human.”

Essik digests this. “A... an interview by proxy, perhaps.” And how can he know how he fared in an interview he did not attend?

“Yes, Shadowhand.” Ruanill bows his head. “It is common for such questioning to be aimed at someone who is knowledgeable about the suitor, but not motivated to lie for them.”

“He underestimated your allegiance.”

“I was not offended by the implication.” A beat. “The tea was very sweet and included honey. I believe Mr. Clay was satisfied by my descriptions of your loyalty, conviction, and work ethic. Is that... sufficient for the report?”

“...yes. Please take the rest of the day off. I am sure you are out of sorts.”

**

The firbolg is considered a very wise, if unusual, font of knowledge by the others among the defectors. Caleb has told Essik as much. Essik’s anxiety has shifted from concern that one of the defectors is a mole, to concern that one of the defector’s opinion of him may sway his human’s feelings on him.