#i asked my mom if it was some sort of joke and she was straight up like 'bro this was in the 70s. of course we meant it' slay.

[orbitofdesire]

found a high school picture from 1977 of my mom and her friend wearing a keffyieh around her head only showing her eyes, and all i could think of was that such a political statement in a french school today would unquestionably be criminalized and the kids probably put in detention/expelled

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for threatening to get my best friend sectioned?

This actually happened 2 years ago, but last night he made a joke about it that kind of seemed like he might still be mad at me about it. So. Anyway, ages and all are written as they were at the time.

For context, my (18m) mom took guardianship of my friend (17m), called “J”, after his grandfather passed, a few months before this happened.

Not going into specifics, but J has struggled with OCD and an ED for years, and I suspect when he’s an adult he’ll probably get diagnosed with Narcissistic Personality Disorder at some point.

(Update from the Present: no dice… yet.)

A close family friend of his passed away and it caused his mental issues (particularly the ED) to get a lot worse really quickly.

Even thought my mom was technically his guardian, she kind of relied on me to keep tabs on him because he’s usually pretty honest with me compared to other people. Like, if he’s not doing well, I have the best chance of finding that out.

So. His family friend dies, he gets worse, I report all of this back to my mom, who starts trying to get some sort of more intensive treatment lined up for him (difficult and time consuming because of where we lived at the time).

My mom tells me not to tell J, because he “talks a big game” about not wanting treatment or whatever and she firmly believes it’ll be easier if he doesn’t have time to stress himself out about it before it happens. Okay. So I don’t tell J.

Somehow, he finds out anyway, and also finds out that I knew and had chosen not to tell him, but doesn’t tell me that he knows. (Convoluted, I know, sorry.)

I pick J up from an after school thing one night, we end up talking about pretty heavy shit in the car for a /long/ time, and after the conversation died, he put a hand on my shoulder, leaned over, and kissed me. And like not a short kiss either. It was like a 3 to 4 second kiss.

Context again, I realized I was gay and that I liked J in a not particularly friend-like way when I was 13. I never told him and never planned on telling him. I told him a lot of things but I intended on growing old and dying with that one kept nice and secret. Even if he was some form of not-straight, which I was 99.99% sure he wasn’t, I didn’t think it was worth jeopardizing my closest friendship with romantic and/or sexual feelings that could at best confuse him or make him uncomfortable or at worst outright disgust him.

Anyway. We don’t talk about it, I end up going to stay for a few days with a guy (20m but not really relevant) I’d been sort of seeing/sleeping with for a couple months because I literally couldn’t be in the same house as J or I would probably implode.

Fast forward a week, I’m picking J up from a hospital 2 towns over because he ran away (? unclear really, haven’t discussed the particulars w him and I wasn’t staying at home at the time) and ended up having to go to the ER.

In the car (best time to talk to someone because they can’t run away), he apologizes for kissing me. I’m thrown off by that, because he hadn’t said anything up to this point and it honestly wasn’t even in the top 5 things I was thinking about.

I asked him why he did it and he just sighed and explained in this tone of voice that, I don’t know how to explain it, but had just the right lack of empathy or affect that I knew he was being 110% honest.

Condensed version: he found out I was reporting everything he told me to my mom (still don’t know how). He was pissed. He was aware he needed more intensive treatment, and he knew my mom was aware. He did not want treatment. He knew I had liked him for years. He knew that I was relatively fragile about it. He knew that if he did something (like kiss me for example) there was a good chance it would break my brain and I would freak out.

He essentially kissed me to decommission me for a few days so he could formulate a plan to run away.

FINALLY we have arrived at the AITA part.

After hearing all this, I tried very hard to come up with something rational to say, but ended up saying (essentially), “You’re fucking insane, and I’m telling my mother you need to be committed.”

I know I wasn’t wrong to be angry. But I also know from past knowledge and experiences that he had a deep fear of being deemed “insane” or unfixable or whatever, and also that he was really afraid of treatment in general.

Idk. I go back and forth on whether or not I was out of line, or needlessly escalating the situation, by threatening him. It was a much bigger threat in his mind than it was in mine, and so even though I know I said it as a reaction to a fucked up situation, there’s still the idea that I blew it completely out of proportion and weaponized his own mental issues against him.

So AITA for threatening my best friend by telling him I was going to get him committed to a long term psychiatric hospital?

What are these acronyms?

[beneathsilverstars]

hello for the ask game 9: any theories on stuff unexplained by the game?

I always love theories and thoughts and worldbuilding hcs etc so anything in that vein works :3

I think my favorite little worldbuilding headcanon is that Ka Bue is super chill about aromanticism and asexuality! Not in the same way as irl activism, but it's something that is understood and respected in their ideology, like transgenderism in Vaugarde. So if we combine the powers of everyone in the crew we'll get an entire queer-friendly worldview going lmao!

Maybe... Something about an overarching philosophy of understanding the self? In Vaugard they see the self as something you refine through making, creating and destroying and rebuilding, but in Ka Bue you're supposed to be uncovering and polishing what's already there. And part of that is understanding your position in relation to others, so they have a lot of little descriptive words for flavors of relationships and dynamics, and being the sort of person who seeks those dynamics. Like "oh i'm usually the comedic straight man of the friend group and i seek out jokesters who play well off of that". And that means that nonsexual romance, nonromantic sex partners, QPRs, etc, are all understood dynamics, and various kinds of friend and family and colleague relationships are seen as distinctly important, and being alone is seen as a valid dynamic!

Now that I've typed this out I love it more and more... I was originally just thinking about the metaphor of cutting and polishing a gemstone, but having a lot of little Dynamics that various people may find more or less relevant to themselves is a similar approach to having thousands of Expressions! And it meshes with the transphobia as well - you can describe yourself as having dysphoria but you're not supposed to go and try to change that.

And there's that Odile + Isabeau conversation where she gets really specific about their relationship: "We're not friends, we're associates. Colleagues. Allies at best." And she's obviously joking, but this hc puts some extra weight behind her making that particular sort of joke! Plus she's the one who's like, "I wouldn't call you all friends, that would be weird, we're more like family," and she gets mad about being called the mom. I love the idea that she has Very specific dynamic classifications in mind for her relationship with each member of the crew, and gets pissy that Vaugardian doesn't have the same nuance/connotations!

And this philosophy being the total opposite of the Change belief is so interesting for Odile in particular! It would definitely flavor people's perception of her in Ka Bue - oh, she's one of those fickle Vaugardians who change masks every day and will never truly understand themselves. No wonder she wanted to get actual Vaugardian perspective on their belief. Oh, how lovely it will be for her to synthesize the two extremes, and both discover and create who she is!!

[linkspooky]

Hey, since you said it was fine to send asks, and it will take me a while to comment the recent chapters, I'm taking this as my chance to proclaim my love for Li. Like go off lil' one, act as an abused child lashing out instead of the miniature saint your sibling described.

Jokes aside, I guess she's based on the popular fanon interpretation of Azula as a 'psychopath'? After seeing your post about Lio, I'm really curious about what went in her creation, and can't wait to see how she is in present day and how she will interact with Azula and the Gang. If she's still alive. Especially because I don't really take Azula's visions as gospel truth, but neither Lio's tales so I really want to see if the real Li swings more on one side or the other or if both versions are true at the same time.

Kudos for making such interesting OCs and intricate plots!

Thank you so much for the ask! Your comments gives me so much motivation to write.

I'm glad you like Li, here's some concept art from @oakyvii of the siblings Li and Lio. You are one hundred percent correct that Li is just fandom Azula.

Specifically the tendency of people to try to armchair diagnose Azula with some form of aspd or sociopathy in order to invalidate the abuse she faced as a child and how it played a role in shaping who she is. The popular "Azula sets turtleducks on fire" headcanon that's not substantiated in the show whatsoever.

The way that these bad faith interpretations want to use Azula's mental illness as a sign of some sort of internal wrongness in her. Proof she was always bad from the beginning, because as a child she was a little bit off-putting and demonstrated low empathy.

One of my biggest objectives with this blog is deconstructing "Good Victim / Bad Victim." I believe the origin is a lot of those armchair diagnosis of Azula is that people want to downplay Azula's victimhood in comparison to Zuko's. Instead of making Azula and Zuko both victims who react differently to the same abuse because they are different people, and there's no right way to react to the abuse Azula was just a psychopath all along. People want to make Azula into a mini-ozai who was like that from the beginning.

It sort of runs contrary to the whole idea of Zuko's redemption arc, because instead of Zuko having to work hard to be a better person every day of his life. To make this narrative that Zuko was innately good all along, just misguided and Azula was a sociopath who lit turlteducks on fire at the age of eight. Zu

Good and Bad Victim is bad because it assigns moral values for how people react to trauma, and usually the people who are assigning that value are people who've never been under the same trauma. Therefore it creates this expectation that people have to endure pain with saintlike in patience. If you're a victim the moral thing to do is to shut up and take it, and definitely do not make a fuss for any one else. Good victims can only express their victimhood is socially acceptable and easy to understand waysTM otherwise they're not worthy of human empathy.

This rant is pertinent to Zuko and Azula, because while Zuko does sometimes react to his trauma in ugly and violent ways he's still pretty easy for the audience to empathize with. In the first season he's incredibly incompetent at being evil. Even in season one when he's a straight up antagonist he's part of a charming comedy duo with Uncle Iroh. Zuko can be angry and violent and treat his Uncle and crew poorly, but he never like kicks puppies onscreen or anything. He's marked as the brooding, byronic character, but he's no Heathcliff. He's not even really Spike or Sasuke, he doesn't hurt a beloved character. He never does permanent irreversible harm to a named character. Even Catra from SPOP helps kills Glimmer's mom.

Compare to Azula who in her second episode burns the net underneath Ty Lee tight rope for daring to say no. Ty Lee is someone who both the audience considers a friend and the audience likes, so Azula's treatment of her is incredibly hard to swallow.

Even if you look at the way Zuko is when he's young, in Zuko alone he's made out to be a classic underdog, a soft, put-upon young boy who's desperate to impress his father. Whereas in the same episode people diagnose Azula as a born sociopath because she at eight years old, is already acting like daddy's little child soldier. Nevermind that Zuko, Azula and Ursa all laugh at the burning of Ba Sing Se together. It's easy to empathize with Zuko being a sad, underdog who wants his father's love. It's a bit harder to wrap your head around Azula's disturbing unchildlike behavior even if she's a product of her environment too.

That's actually what I liked about Toya's character in MHA. That Toya is the bad victim of the Todoroki family. That he's incredibly unlikable. He's not a big brother who secretly cares about his younger siblings all along. He's a selfish monster that demands his father's love and will do anything to get it. He was considered the problem maker in his house as a kid, he made a fuss and made things worse even though everyone was telling him to shut up. He yelled at his mother and didn't sympathize with her as much as Shoto did. He was in too much pain to notice everyone else in the house was suffering too.

(That's actually what I like about the Zuko and Azula sibling dynamic too, that Zuko isn't a magically forgiving big brother, that he holds a grudge about Ozai and Azula's treatment, that it's messy on his end even post character development).

This is why I introduced Li into the story, to make a character out of "Fandom Azula" or the way people want to characterize Azula as a sociopath so they don't have to acknowledge her victimhood.

There's one more character Li is based off of, or two more characters really. You could say that Li is based off of fandom Katara. That the fandom has a tendency to simplify women into either wholesome or toxic, nurturing figures or poisonous women. Li is partially based off of that heartbreaking line where Sokka says (I'm paraphrasing) "I can't even remember what my mom's face looks like, I just remember Katara."

Or rather, my idea for Li came from the concept of what if someone was forced into the role of playing mother to take care of the emotional needs of someone else and they got sick of it. What if the emotional labor of having to care for your brother, when you're still a child yourself exhausted you, took everything from you until there was nothing left. Like the darkest possible interpretation for Katara having to step up and parent her brother when their mother died and Bato left for the war.

The reason why Lio is so overprotective and emotinoally dependent on Li, is that Li is practically the one who raised Lio in the place of their missing mother. Li is a parentified child, and all of her problems stem from being a first born daughter expected to be a mother to a brother who's only two years younger than her. Li is also much worse off than Lio since she's illegitimate in court, but she's always had to suppress her own feelings and push her feelings aside in order to take care of her brother's feelings first.

Lio and Li's relationship is a direct mirror for Zuko and Azula's. Both Zuko and Lio don't see their sisters as people. Zuko swings wildly between demonizing his sister as the bad one because she's always had Ozai's favor and he sees Azula as an extension of Ozai's abuse and also putting her on a pedestal for her talent and envying her for it. Whereas Lio pedestalizes their sister as well, by making her out to be a perfect saint. Lio seems to love their sister more, but neither of them seem to see their sisters as fully realized human beings separate from themselves. Lio doesn't even mention Li's name when they're ranting at Zuko, they just call Li "my sister" because that's all they see Li as. An extension of themself.

Li is based off of one more character and that's Tsumiki Fushiguro from Jujutsu Kaisen. If you haven't read Tsumiki is the big sister of one of the main characters. Despite protecting her being Megumi Fushiguro's main motivation, she literally never appears onscreen once, she only ever appears in her brother's flashbacks, and then is brutally butchered by the main villain and fridged for Megumi's character development.

I thought Tsumiki was a missed opportunity because we never got to learn who she was. Megumi put her on such a massive pedestal as his ideal of what a good person was, the person he lived to protect, but in the end she was just a sleeping beauty figure. It didn't matter who she was as a person to Megumi, she just needed to lay there in bed and be helpless so Megumi could continue to play fairytale knight.

I thought about what kind of effect would having your own brother put you on such a big pedestal have on you? What would Tsumiki think about her brother objectifying her? About her brother making the entire reason for his existence protecting her, but not really caring about who she is as a person?

So I decided it would be interesting if Tsumiki wasn't actually that good of a person at all. She never was, that was just Megumi's projection of her. What if he jsut wanted to make her into some like Madonna-like figure, or some pure princess in need of protecting? What if Tsumiki strangled cats when no one was looking? How lonely would it be for Tsumiki if she knew her brother loved her very deeply but the person he loved, wasn't her?

That's basically where the original concept of Li came from. That eventually morphed into making Li into Fandom Azula. She sets turtleducks on fire and strangles cats when nobody's looking. Not only is she a joke about fandom Azula, but she also in story foils Azula by being the monster that everyone thinks Azula is.

Azula tries so hard to deny her own humanity, but Li is just that way naturally. Azula can't go all the way into making herself a weapon, because she isn't Li. She's torn up and broken on the inside because she does feel guilt and know on some level she was wrong. She probably wouldn't have had her mental breakdown if she wasn't capable of feeling guilt like she is. Ursa in confronting Azula in the mirror also points out Azula knows that the way she treated Mai and Ty Lee by trying to control them with fear was wrong, Azula just wont' admit it.

Other people see Azula as Li. Azula tries to be cold and unfeeling like Li, but when faced with the real deal she finds Li to be incredibly disturbing. o the point where eight year old Azula, who was a little bully and good at getting her friends and her brother to do anything she wanted doesn't know what to do with Li. Li's just too offputting to her once she reveals her true nature, she's an unfeeling, dead, thing and Azula doesn't want to be like that.

So yes, Li is fandom Azula. She's just genuinely a sociopath. Now the challenge is to make you guys like her even if she's just a flat sociopath, and I hope I succeed!

[ninyard]

Okay I NEED some Allison headcannons

Here’s some ideas if you need any lol:

Like how does she help Neil feel more “normal” after everything that happened? I feel like Matt, Dan, and Renee would probably walk on eggshells around him for a while, even after Nathan dies and the championship game and everything, cause now the adrenalines over and now they have to deal with the aftermath. I feel like Allison would just treat him normally. Not unkindly, but give him a sense of normalcy, yk?

favorite ice cream flavor

How does she react to Seth’s death post-aftg? How do the rest of the Foxes help her process her grief about Seth? Cause from Seth’s death to the last championship game is about 8 months, and death (especially of someone you love) doesn’t just go away like that fast ofc

Favorite brands? (She definitely owns AT LEAST once juicy couture set)

Music taste?

How do you think her relationship is with the other foxes? What are some things that she talks about and does with one person, but might not do with another?

How motherly she is with Neil. Seriously we all know she dragged this boy by the ear to the mall so she can buy him some real clothes.

Some chaotic Allison cause this bitch (affectionate) definitely has done some crazy, weird shit

Girls night with The Girls!! (And Neil, he’s an honorary member)

her friendship with Andrew (srsly i so hc them being friends..they’re both judgy rude bitches (in a good way) so there’s no way they’re not like..secretly watching shitty reality tv together)

Sorry about how long this is! Make sure to go eat and drink some water Nin :)

-💜💜✨

YOU CANT DO THIS TO ME bc now i just. want to write about them all so

I feel like Allison wouldn't tiptoe around the things Neil's been through or done. She's been straight up with him before about all of his lies and how she doesn't/didn't trust him, so I think if there's something on people's minds, she's not going to step around it or avoid the elephant in the room. If she's pissed, she'll tell him. If she doesn't understand something, she'll say it. But I think Neil would appreciate that more than knowing people are talking about him but won't just come up and ask him something themselves. It'd feel more normal if she addressed it, rather than just leaving a tension in the air/nobody feeling like they can joke about it or anything with him.

Some sort of sorbet. She used to say something like lemon, but truth be told her favourite is raspberry.

God, grief works weird. I think she cried. A lot. I think she spoke to Bee about him a lot, and I think every time she heard his name or saw his picture it was like she was finding out he was dead all over again. I think it was really, really hard for her. As much as they fought, as much as they broke up and got back together again, he was her rock. He was all she had, he knew her. She doesn't really have family to rely on, she can't call her mom or dad up to be like "My boyfriend died and it's destroying me". I think it was a very lonely time for her no matter how much the team insisted they were there for her. (I would worry about her recovery in the immediate aftermath of his death - I like to think that Abby was really looking after her for those first few weeks to keep her on track and make sure she was being safe and kind to herself)

Youre SO right with the juicy couture. That's just such a given when it comes to this series. Maybe she wore Abercrombie and Fitch too but i don't really know any other brands from 2006 oops

She's a bubblegum pop girly i think. Probably fucked with Avril Lavigne and Rihanna at the time. In my head she's a girls girl so Kylie, Britney, Fergie, P!nk and Beyonce. All the ladies like that.

I've mentioned my thoughts on her and Kevin before and how their relationship as friends develops post-TKM but as for the others. I think Dan, Matt and Nicky are the ones she's closest with, but the first one she'll call for advice is Renee. I feel like Nicky is literally like her gay best friend and they're ALWAYS arm-in-arm. If she needs someone to go shopping with it's always him. They're always bitching and gossiping. Her and Aaron aren't very close, especially considering the choking incident, but I feel like they still appreciate each other on the court and still with hug and congratulate each other when they do well. I don't know about her and Andrew either. That's a tricky one, also considering the choking thing, but I know she's also not afraid of him, either. She sees what he did for her after Seth's death, and so that have a sort of mutual respect, but I don't think they're exactly friends. I feel like her and Neil would be pretty good friends, but aren't exactly going out of their way to hang out with each other.

I LOVE how much she cares about Neil. I think he's cute to her. I think she literally wants to pinch his cheeks and cuddle him even though she knows everything about his past and what he is capable of. He has that Wesninski smile and she's like AWWWW

Like. Listen. I do feel like Allison can be NUTS. I feel like if she didn't restrain herself she's the kind of girl to key someones car for cheating on her or pop someones tyres because they catcalled her. She'd fight anyone on a night out to stick up for her friends, even if she's just about blackout drunk, she's ready to fight. I feel like she's had one of those movie moments on the court where she screams. Like you know what kind of scream I'm talking about. One of those movie girl screams. She can be a total cunt if she wants to be. But most of the time she doesn't

okay i want to write more about the last two but im trying so hard rn to clear my inbox and drafts because i feel like so many ppl think i'm ignoring them so i will leave you with these few thoughts on Allison <3

[yansimstorythatiwillnotworkon]

#15

Friday

__

Ayano’s day started off with speaking to Kashiko, the first gyaru she ran into. She seemed about as relaxed as usual, typing on her phone in the hallway- about as productive as usual. That was, until Kashiko spotted Ayano. “Hey, Yan-Chan!” She called, walking over to the girl immediately.

Before Ayano could even greet her back, Kashiko beams. “Musume said you were gonna do some favors for the girls and me! Are you free?” She asks immediately, raising a hand to puff her ponytail, making sure it’s still straight. While Ayano had technically never agreed to such a thing, it was good that these girls had a reason to bring tasks Ayano’s way. It was much less work for her, at the very least.

“..yes, I am. What do you need?” Ayano asks, crossing her arms. It was probably better if they got straight to the point, anyway. That would quicken the entire process, after all.

“Coolness! So, I’ve sorta got something I wanted you to tell someone, but…” Kashiko pauses, realizing that she was speaking far too vaguely. She looks around briefly at the other passing students before taking Ayano’s wrist. “Actually, let’s go talk somewhere else. You know rumors spread like wildfire here.” She claims.

Ayano doesn’t bother commenting on who’s fault that is as Kashiko brings her up to one of the upstairs bathrooms. She leaves Ayano to stand in the middle of the bathroom and turns to look in the mirror. “So, Tokuko. She’s crashing with me for now, something about her ma smoking or something? I don’t know, but that’s a really good reason. If you smoke enough, you can end up looking 70 at 30, did you know that?” She asks Ayano, taking out her ponytail briefly.

“Yes, I did. What about Tokuko?” Ayano inquires, trying her best to keep the conversation in one place for the sake of saving time.

Kashiko removes all of the bead accessories from her hair and pulls out a spray bottle from her bag. As she sprays all over her hair with it, she continues her story. “Right, so she’s crashing with me, and that’s all well and good, but, like… Do you know how expensive rent is these days?” She rolls her eyes with a scoff, “The only reason I agreed with Tokuko living there is because I only have myself to provide for, but now I have her y’know?”

Ayano nods. “I get it. So you’re providing for yourself?” She questions, watching as Kashiko pulls out a somewhat intimidating looking brush with an obnoxious head of bristles.

“That I do. My ma’s getting old, so I took the cheapest apartment I could find and moved my stuff there recently to get out of her hair. I work at that big hair salon place, Koibito Cuts, so I’m paid enough to support myself. But I’m not sure about Tokuko.” Kashiko says again, shrugging with a frown.

Pulling out a small jar of gel or something of the sort, Kashiko proceeds to comb through her hair with it on her fingers, giving it a somewhat shiny look. “Hmm…” She hums in thought, looking doubtful as she pulls her hair back into a lower ponytail with her hands.

“If Tokuko had a job, then she could probably help you pay for rent.” Ayano suddenly suggests.

Kashiko gives her a somewhat surprised look in the mirror. Not at the suggestion, but likely at the fact that she had to say so little to make Ayano come to that suggestion. “That’s actually such a good idea, Ayano! I didn’t realize there were any other geniuses in school.” She jokes, letting her hair spring back out momentarily. She frowns just as suddenly and groans, “Ugh, I dunno if I could ask her, though. I’d feel super guilty if I did. She’s going through a lot with her mom right now, you know.” Kashiko says, suddenly changing her voice to sound sympathetic.

Ayano lowers her gaze in disinterest but smiles, trying her best to look up-beat or more flattering to Kashiko. “I could always ask her. Or, I guess, suggest it to her. I think she’ll understand.” She reassures Kashiko, although based on the purple-themed girl’s sudden spring of joy, she didn’t really need much reassurance at all.

“Ugh, you’re literally such a doll, Yan-Chan.” Kashiko says, taking a comb headband out of her bag and sliding it on carefully. She puffs her hair up a bit, shaking her head a little before turning to Ayano and raising her hands. “Thoughts?”

Ayano looks the hairstyle up and down. It was different from her usual ponytail, but not so much so that it made her look too different. Not many of the students came to school with varying hairstyles like Hashiko did, so this was nothing out of the ordinary for her anyway. “It looks good. I like it. It’ll definitely draw some stares.” She claims with a nod.

“Thought so!” Kashiko huffs, proud of herself for putting something together so quickly. She puts all of her items back in her bag and zips it close. “Alright, I’m gonna air all this out. Toodles!” She waves briefly, exiting the bathroom. Immediately after she left, Ayano could make out a compliment made to Kashiko. She did always have a way at wowing her peers with her hair styles.

__

Tokuko blinks at Ayano, tilting her head in question. “Did Kashiko tell you that?” She asked, frowning. Ayano had just asked Tokuko about her living situation with Kashiko. It looked like she wasn't supposed to know.

“Yes.” Ayano replies casually, leaning against the stage as Tokuko sat on top. Her voice had been getting better thanks to Ayano’s advice, so she was back to practicing with her clubmates. “She kept saying how nice it was to have a housemate since she stopped living with her mother.”

“Hm.” Tokuko takes a long drink of her water bottle, before sighing and wiping her lip a bit. “I guess it’s fine if you know since you sort of helped out. It’s just… I don’t really want people to know how… I guess- unreliable my mom has been. Y’know?” She asks, looking at Ayano hesitantly.

Ayano nods. “I get it. ‘I live with Kashiko now’ would eventually lead to questions as to why. And answering honestly might give people bad views of your mother.” She explains for her.

Tokuko exhales briefly. “Yeah, that’s it. I’m glad you understand so well. Really. I know my mother isn’t… I mean she’s obviously not perfect, but… I don’t want others to think bad things about her.” She murmurs, sheepishly pulling the water bottle back up to her lips. “But anyway, yeah, I’m crashing with Kashiko now. Why do you ask?”

With a hesitant hum, Ayano lifts a hand up to her face thoughtfully. “I ask because.. I was thinking of moving into a friend’s living space as well. Or… I mean, moving someone into my house. A friend that I trust for… company.” She claims.

It wasn’t common knowledge, but enough people did know that she currently lived alone. It would make sense that someone living alone would want company, right? Especially if it was a friend from school. “I just wanted to know how you and Kashiko were going to handle the whole thing. Like, if it’s her place then do you pay her? I feel like that’d be really important. Depending on the situation.”

Tokuko frowns with a short hum. “Well, I did ask her about it, but she was all like ‘no, don’t worry about it!’ Which is genuinely what I’d expect to hear.” She gives Ayano a troubled look. “I’m sure that she was just trying to be nice, but I do think it’d only be right to pay her. Chores are one thing, but the fact that she owns the apartment and pays rent with her own money is another.”

“I agree.” Ayano agrees with a nod. “But wouldn’t you have to have a job in order to do that? I thought your schedule was filled with voice practices and whatnot?” She points out, lifting a hand to her chin in thought.

With a nod, Tokuko folds her arms. “Yeah, mostly. I might have to quit my voice lessons or something in order to make time for a job. I’ll… see. Honestly, not attending voice lessons might even save me some money to help Kashiko out more.” She decides. “I’ll talk to her about it after school.”

“As for your general question, I admit I’ve.. never lived with anyone other than my mother. So, I can’t say I know much about the whole situation just yet. I’m just following Kashiko’s lead.” Tokuko explains, twirling the ends of one of her drills around her finger. “Anyway, if you have any questions later I might be able to tell you how our situation’s going.”

“Right. I get it. Thanks.” Ayano nods. “I think I’ll go ask Hashiko about that now since she seems to know more.” She bows her head briefly. “See you.”

“Mhm.” Tokuko nods back, returning to her break.

__

Ayano decided that completing each girl’s task and then speaking to them after school when they usually hang out in the bathroom would be a pretty efficient plan. At least more so than looking for each girl after completing their task. As Ayano looked around for Hana, someone suddenly slammed their hands against her back.

“Boo! Are you looking for me?!” Hana cheered with a mischievous grin. Ayano had heard her feet approach her, so she wasn’t much surprised by Hana’s sudden “appearance”. More so by how hard her hands slammed into her back.

“..yes. How’d you know?” Ayano asks, although she assumes that Hana was just told by her fellow chatty gyarus.

Hana frowned at the fact that Ayano didn’t show much reaction to her little scare attempt. Still, she smiled as she began explaining herself. “So, I was heading to the bathroom, cuz, I mean it’s obviously the best place to not get harassed by teachers and student council and whatever.” She huffs, but continues. “And while I was in there Musume comes in like ‘girl, did you see that prank on Horuda? it was sooooo funny!’ and whatever. And then Scilla comes in with, like, twelve different photos of it because apparently he was there to take the picture with you and Hoshiko. And then she tells me that you were gonna do favors like that for the rest of us girls so I was like ‘oh my god i can’t fucking wait!’ because there’s this thing I’ve been wanting to do for a while, right? But I can’t do it myself becaus…”

“Sure, I can. What exactly?” Ayano nods confidently, placing a hand on her hip.

Ayano waves her arms quickly, silently slowing Hana’s rant down. “I– ahem, you said something about your task?” She asked, trying her best to immediately cut off Hana’s extra rambling and just get to the point. “What was it you wanted me to do again?”

“Oh, weeeell…” Hana seemed to immediately forget what she was saying and continued with Ayano’s question. She held up her nails with a sheepish expression, looking at them, around the hall just in case, to Ayano, and then back to her nails. “..can you, like… tell Kokona something for me? About Riku..” She asked, puckering her lips in a faux casual expression.

Hana twirled a piece of hair around her finger with a thoughtful smile. “Weeell… You didn’t hear this from me, but I heard that Riku was seeing someone outside of school. Like, daily. In fact- don’t tell Kokona I said this, but I’ve seen them with my own eyes!”

“Are you sure she’ll believe that?” Ayano asks, lifting an eyebrow at Hana. Kokona seemed like a pretty reasonable person, albeit overwhelmed due to the recent events.

“Duh!” Hana rolled her eyes. “Have you seen her? She’s practically leeching off of Riku. She’s all like ‘Oh, I can’t take your money, Riku, that would be so embarrassing because I need to make my own money!’ but if he offers again she’s like, ‘Oh, well, if you insist! Gee, I’m sure glad my tits solve all my problems for me!’ A complete skank, that woman.” Hana clears her throat before smiling sweetly. “But again, you didn’t hear that from me.”

Ayano averted her gaze. Kokona wasn’t at all as Hana had described her, which was obvious for most of the school. But still, Ayano had to wonder what her last mocking comment of Kokona meant. She was sure that if Hana had known about Kokona’s secret- especially considering she seems to hate Kokona so much- then she would have spilled that secret already.

“...well, yeah, I can gossip a bit to Kokona.” Ayano eventually agrees, nodding.

“Perfect! She should be on the rooftop or something. Riku’s practicing with his club right now so he shouldn’t hear a thing!” Hana says in a matter-of-fact tone. So much so that if Ayano cared at all, she’d ask her how she knew both of their positions at this very moment. Still, she nodded as a farewell and began her walk up to the rooftop.

__

When Ayano got to the rooftop, she only had to walk around for a few minutes before finding Kokona. She was sitting on the rooftop alone with what looked like a photobook in hand. Scattered across the ground were several photos including her, several friends, her dad, and so on.

“Hey, Ayano.” Kokona smiled up at her, pulling her legs beneath her to appear more proper.

“Kokona.” Ayano greeted quietly. “What are you doing?” She asked, looking down at the photos surrounding Kokona. A closer look showed that most of the photos were that of Saki and Riku. Some more including Kizana and the general club, as well as some younger photos of her and her father.

Kokona scratched her cheek with a flustered smile. “Well, I guess I’m just… reminiscing? I was looking through my phone’s old photos and they all just felt really nostalgic to me. Like… look, Saki used to have just straight pigtails back in middle school, but she thought that drills at the end would look cuter. And I think they do!” She beamed, holding up a picture of what looked like Saki and Kokona’s last day in middle school.

“That’s cute.” Ayano says quietly with a brief smile. “How many of these do you have?” She asks, sitting down near her.

“A lot, actually, hehe. I asked Fureddo to get them printed so that I could put them in a book like this.” As Kokona explains this, she pushes a few more over to Ayano for her to see. One of them included what Ayano could assume was Riku and Kokona’s first date. This was a perfect time to start on the Riku rumors, not that Ayano thought about it.

“That reminds me..” Ayano pulls a hand up to her chin in thought. “...so, you said you and Riku aren’t officially dating?” She asks, leaning against the railing with a curious expression.

Kokona seems to hesitate, confused as to why Ayano was even asking that. “Well, yes, technically speaking. And- you know why, so why do you ask?”

Ayano frowns, humming a bit with an uncomfortable expression. “It’s just… I’ve been hearing a lot of chatter recently about Riku seeing some other girl specifically on the days that you aren’t with him after school.” Before Kokona can react, Ayano quickly continues. “I don’t really believe it because I’ve never seen it myself, and you know rumors spread like wildfire here. But it had me wondering if you two had some sort of… agreement, or something..?”

“...I- um, well, no, we haven’t ever talked about it. But, as far as I’m concerned, during the time we’ve known each other we haven’t really been attracted to anyone else, so it’s… the subject never came up, I guess.” Kokona frowns deeply, looking troubled at Ayano’s line of questioning. “...I’ve really never thought of it before.”

“Do you think Riku would be seeing someone?” Ayano wonders, tilting her head to the side. She gave Kokona the best innocent question-asking expression that she could manage and awaited the taller girl’s answer.

Kokona thinks for a couple of minutes, clearly struggling to come up with a certain answer. “I- uh, w-well, maybe not without telling me..? But… we aren’t officially dating, so it might not really be any of my business… I’m…” She blinks rapidly, trying to keep herself from crying again. “..I mean, it’s not like I’m exactly being ‘loyal’ either, I guess. That’s why I refused to date him, but…”

Ayano offers Kokona a pat on the back, which always seems to help somewhat, regardless of how little. The purple-haired girl continues, her voice low and quiet. “...he could be, but I don’t think he’d go out of his way to hide it from me. He’s an honest person. A really good, honest person, so I feel like… the only way he wouldn’t tell me is if he thought that it wasn’t important or any of my business. Which I don’t think is… entirely bad? Still, I… I’m just…” She shakes her head and lets out a long, heavy sigh. “..I’m overthinking this. I’ll just talk to him about it.”

Ayano nods, “I see. That seems like the best course of action. Talking usually solves the problem one way or another, right?”

“Right.” Kokona offered a small smile, although she still looked troubled. “Thanks for telling me, Ayano. I’ll talk to him when the time comes.”

With a light bow of her head, Ayano stands up. “Alright, good to hear. I’m going to head back downstairs. Good luck with your book.”

As Ayano leaves, Kokona frowns down at the pictures, looking sadly at the ones including Riku.

__

“Oh, is it my turn now?” Kokoro asks, turning off her phone and tapping it against her lip instead. She and Bea were in the announcement room, which served as their usual hang-out place.

“Turn for what?” Bea asks, spinning around in one of the available chairs lazily. She stopped the chair and blinked to tone down the dizziness. Once her vision settled, she nodded at Ayano. “Oh, hey Yan-Chan.”

Ayano nods back and Kokoro turns to Bea to explain what the deal was. “Musume says she’s doing favors for us one at a time.”

“Aw, a little errand girl!” Bea giggles. “How adorbs.” She flips her hair over her shoulder with a light huff. “I take it Musume never mentioned a favor for me, then, huh?”

“You’re a part of the group, too…” Kokoro mumbles, tapping her fingers together hesitantly. Bea lifts an eyebrow her way and she adds, “...technically.”

“I’m open to doing a task for you as well, Bea.” Ayano says, but Bea simply waves off her offer.

Instead, she returns to spinning around in her chair. “Nah, don’t you worry about me. I’ll nag you and blackmail you into helping me whenever I need it.” Bea claims, her voice fading in and out because of the spinning.

“..right. So, is there anything you need as of right now, Kokoro?” Ayano asks, gaining the pink-themed girl’s attention again.

“O-Oh, right. Um…” Kokoro hummed in her usual, soft voice. She lifts a finger up to her chin again in thought. She shyly, brings her sleeve up to her mouth and averts her gaze. “..well, I… heard something about Akane from last year.” She blushes, looking ashamed to bring forth a rumor, despite doing it so often.

After a second of mental preparation, Kokoro mumbles. “...she might…on…one..?”

“Pardon?” Ayano raises her eyebrows, not having heard the girl clearly.

“Speak up, Momo.” Bea kicks Kokoro’s shin, nodding to Ayano to show her that Ayano hadn’t heard her.

With a long sigh, Kokoro says, “I heard that she might have a crush on someone..” Bea laughs at that, but Kokoro continues. “I-I don’t really know for sure, obviously, but, I-I just thought that some… or, uh… all…? Of the boys might want to hear about it, maaaaybeeee?” She stretches out the last word, clearly nervous to be exposing this.

“So… Do you want me to follow her around for a little while and see if she has any sort of… unique reaction to any of the guys in school?” Ayano wonders, to which Kokoro nods immediately.

“Yeah! Oh, but, like, not in a creepy way or something… obviously. Just, um… walk to each club room. She’ll… probably be there since that’s where she usually wanders… right?” Kokoro turns to Bea for affirmation, but only getting a languid shrug. “Bea…”

Akane, despite her sweet, almost ditzy persona, seemed unnaturally sharp-eyed whenever Ayano was around. So, in order to make this seem like Ayano’s nth time rounding the clubs, she chatted with some of the club members again.

Ayano nods to Kokoro briefly. “I’ll see what I can do.” She says. Kokoro gives her a quiet ‘thank you’ as Ayano leaves the announcement room.

__

Ajia, Seiyo and Shoku still didn’t come to school, so all Ayano did was chat briefly with Kenko. Nothing significant, although Himari was sitting with him in the cooking club and chatting with him.

In the drama club, Kizana was obnoxiously whining about Tokuko possibly using her makeup. Tsuruzo seemed busy keeping them from clawing at each other, so Ayano just waved and left. Akane seemed slightly concerned, but continued when she saw that Tsuruzo ‘had it handled’.

Daku was in the club room as per usual, but for some reason still didn’t seem willing to speak to Ayano at all. This time, Chojo took up the chatting, and Ayano had to take it upon herself to sneak away as Akane left while he was turned to Daku. Akane didn’t spare much of a glance at either of them.

In the art club, Enpitsu started whining about how horrible her hair looked today specifically. He was likely making a point somewhere, but both he and she lost it during his blabbing. Akane seemed just as irritated as Ayano to hear Enpitsu’s whining.

Miyuji asked Ayano about her favorite instruments, which she wasn’t really able to answer due to her lack of experience. Her first thought went to a piano, so Miyuji tried to bribe her into the club with the promise of their next big purchase being a keyboard. Ayano’s answer remained as ambiguous as usual. Akane seemed quick to leave the light music club, likely so she wouldn’t get caught up in a conversation with any of the members.

Budo was far too happy to start up a conversation with Ayano. During the conversation, she realized that, despite the fact that the members of the martial arts club were generally nice people, none of them went out of their way to converse with her like Budo did. In that case he really was unique from his club. Akane simply peeked into the martial arts club and continued on. Maybe she felt that the club wasn’t one that needed much monitoring, Ayano thought.

The Gaming Club was a room Akane didn’t bother with since it wasn’t an official club. Ayano visited very briefly so it didn’t look like she was following Akane, but couldn’t stay long due to having to keep an eye on her. So, Ayano poked her head in, asked where one of the missing members was and got a half-assed response from Gema. This worked perfectly for her, of course.

Horo was busy, but was able to ask a random question Ayano had asked about Maka. Thankfully, since he prioritized her in terms of questioning, he was willing to answer. Speaking of Horo, when he went to continue on with his task, he nearly bumped into Akane on his way out. This warranted her to send him a look that likely would have been a glare if her eyes weren’t closed. That was the most unique reaction Akane had had to any of the club members thus far.

The Photography Club was the last room that needed to be visited inside of the building. Just as briefly, Akane walked inside, peeked through the curtains for a moment, nodded to the club members as a greeting, and continued on her way. Ayano was going to go to the Sport’s Club just to seem less suspicious, but was surprised to see that Akane was heading the same way.

Rather than looking into the only club that had all males, and likely would have given Ayano some form of gossip to give Kokoro, she only stopped to speak to Shiromi, who was heading the opposite way. Ayano pretended to get some sort of notification on her phone and listened to the two’s conversation.

“Shiromi, dear. Have you checked on the delinquents?” Akane asks, swaying back and forth as per usual with her typical smile.

“‘Checked on them’?” Shiromi tilts her head to the side. Akane’s smile falters as Shiromi continues. “I… looked at them? Am I supposed to check ‘em for contraband or something..? They seem like pretty cool dudes.” The white-haired girl shrugged, causing Akane to stifle a sigh of disappointment.

Akane shakes her head. “Never mind. Just… walk with me for a moment, will you?” She asks, holding her hand out to motion to the path that led to the incinerator.

Shiromi nods, and follows the taller girl that way. Ayano’s notification suddenly became less interesting as the two girls walked off. After a brief look at the track, Ayano tailed them, a bit farther behind.

Akane and Shiromi walked by, chatting about something likely not very important. The delinquents quieted down as they passed, which Ayano learned that they did whenever a student council member passed them by.

Outside of brief glares their way, neither party showed much of a reaction. That is, until Ayano caught Akane looking their way subtly. Rather than looking as uptight as she did near Ayano, she opened her eyes a bit to study the delinquents a bit. It wasn’t often that Akane bothered opening her eyes, unless it was in a serious situation.

Something that caught Ayano’s attention, though, was Hokuto. The delinquent, who usually wore purple, briefly looked Akane’s way as she opened her eyes. He smirked slyly at Akane with a quick wink, before returning to pretending to brood like his other fellow delinquents.

This seemed to cause some form of sigh to exit Akane, and with a tired look, she parted ways with Shiromi. Guys flirting wasn’t too rare, and Akane’s reaction didn’t exactly hint at anything romantic, but it was the most tame reaction she’d had with anyone. Especially considering she seemed more relaxed in reaction to whatever it was Hokuto had done, and less so with Horo, who was a rule-abiding student.

It likely wasn’t as romantic as Kokoro was hoping, but it certainly was something that she could use to form some sort of rumor. When it came to the student council, each conversation and reaction mattered for people as gossip-obsessed as the gyarus.

__

Classes had started before Ayano could reach Hoshiko, so the time was now 1pm. When Ayano had reached Hoshiko, she was just walking out of the changing rooms in her bathing suit. She immediately spotted Ayano and smiled. “Ah, the famous Yan-Chan. I’ve heard a lot about you.” She chuckles lightheartedly, although her smile doesn’t exactly portray the same.

“Um.. yes.” Ayano nods, folding her hands in front of her. “If I can interrupt… is there any particular task you want me to help you with at the moment?” She asks, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Hm…” Hoshiko hummed in thought, lifting up her hands to undo her ponytail. This allowed her hair to fall down to her elbows as she hummed in thought. “..well, since you’re asking… I can think of one thing that I’ve been struggling with as of recently…” She reaches a hand back to allow her curled hair to loosen up.

Languidly, Hoshiko flicks a piece of hair back behind her and raises a hand to her chin in thought. “It’s something I’ve been struggling with a lot. You see, there’s this girl. She’s not very well known around the school because she’s scared of being harassed.” She frowns, a sympathetic look on her face. “I’d like to learn a bit more about her, maybe help her socialize more, but she’s always hiding somewhere.”

“Who is she?” Ayano asks, folding her arms, “I can look for her if you want.”

Hoshiko grins, “Perfect! I was hoping you’d say that.” She holds up her phone, with a picture that looks to be already prepared on the screen. The girl she showed was Horuda Puresu, which was somewhat expected. If not her, it was likely going to be Kuu, Homu, or one of the girls from the occult club. Just based on the information that they’re usually alone.

The picture itself was a curious one. She looked nervous- more nervous than usual. More pale, more sweaty than usual, but she still had that same smile on her face. The picture seemed to be taken in the bathroom based on the wall texture and the stall peeking out from the corner of the picture.

“Horuda. I know of her.” Ayano says. “I’ll search for her and tell you if I find her.”

“Much appreciated, Ayano. And.. to help eliminate some places…” Hoshiko holds up her hand, counting with each thing she names. “I can never find her in any of the bathrooms, the rooftop, or the spare rooms of the school. …and by spare rooms I mean outside of the club rooms and classrooms.”

Ayano nods. “I’ve got it. I’ll search… outside, then, I suppose.” She decides, looking around the space.

Truth be told, Ayano had no idea where Horuda could be. After she’d parted ways with Hoshiko, her first thought was to check behind the auditorium, although she found no one but a regularly sulking Lorelai. Based on his irritated glare, it was wise of her to flee while she had the chance.

“Perfect. Tell me once you’ve found her!” Hoshiko flashes a charming smile Ayano’s way before walking past her to head to the pool area to sunbathe.

__

Afterwards, she checked the gardening club and found nothing. She checked inside the gymnasium, the zen gardens, and even in the pump room. Still, Horuda remained hidden. While she was looking, she happened to run across Amise. She’d nearly bumped into her, and likely would have had Amise herself not stopped in her tracks.

“Ayano. You look like you’re looking for something.” She says, frowning and crossing her arms suspiciously.

Ayano wasn’t entirely sure what had changed recently, but Amise’s attitude towards her had become a bit more stale. Rather than being as charming and charismatic as usual, she’d completely changed to not putting up an act at all around Ayano. Ayano wasn’t quite sure if this was her being more honest about her personality or her being more cold towards Ayano.

“I’m looking for Horuda.” Ayano replies, turning to Amise. “You two are friends, right? Where can I find her?” She asks, tilting her head to the side a bit.

Amise furrowed her eyebrows. “That’s something I’m not willing to tell you.” Before Ayano could ask why, Amise continued. “Before you ask, there are certain things I'm allowed to refuse. Even if I am your labeled ally according to Info-Chan, I’m not bound to whatever it is you order.” She sighs, “Although, I suppose that would feel quite nice compared to listening to Info-Chan’s every wish.”

“Are there no certain deals that I can crack with you, then?” Ayano asks, folding her arms.

“Not in this situation. …what do you need with Horuda, anyway?” Amise returns Ayano’s question immediately with one of her own.

Stubbornly, Ayano replies. “I’d be willing to swap that information with Horuda’s location.”

“Touche.” Amise doesn’t seemed too bothered by Ayano’s lack of willingness to reply. If anything, she feels relieved that Ayano accepts that she won’t be giving her information.

Unfortunately for Amise, her phone vibrates. Considering the sour expression that crosses Amise’s face briefly, followed by an irritated sigh, she was just unpleasantly visited by their least favorite informant. “...she’s in the hedge maze.” She folds her arms.

“Did… Info-Chan make you say that?” Ayano asked.

Amise nods, her expression still one of irritation. Frankly, Ayano wasn’t under the impression that Amise was able to be forced by Info-Chan to do anything. That just meant that she likely had some sort of blackmail held against Amise. Getting a hold of that could do Ayano wonders…

“I can’t hold Info-Chan accountable for her BS, so I’ll hold you accountable instead.” Amise wags a finger at Amise. “Horuda Puresu is off of your list of victims, do you hear me?” She gives Ayano a nasty look. “Let me find one plucked hair from her head by your hand and I will not be happy.”

Ayano averts her gaze. “She shouldn’t get in the way, anyway.” She rationalizes, mainly to herself. She nods briefly. “I get it.” She says, not allowing Amise to add anything to that deal before she heads to the hedge maze, at least to check.

After Ayano checked to make sure that Amise’s statement was true, she went to class. The gyaru’s were likely busy keeping up their tan, and lunchtime was nearly finished, so she decided to inform them of their completed tasks later.

__

One by one, Ayano listed off what her searches had led to for each girl. “Kashiko, Tokuko said that she was going to talk to you about paying you for her stay. Hana, Kokona seems to still trust Riku, but she is very hesitant about their relationship now. Kokoro, the most unique reaction I saw from Akane to any male was Hokuto, one of the delinquents, after he winked at her. And, Hoshiko, I learned that Horuda hangs out in the hedge maze during lunchtime.” She exhales, putting her hands on her hips. “I… hope this is satisfactory.”

“Hell yeah, it is!” Hana slammed her hand onto Ayano’s back, shocking her a bit.

Kokoro blushes, putting her hands to her cheeks. “Hokuto… So does a student council member have… a relationship with a delinquent..?”

Musume gaped, pulling out her phone immediately. “That is it! That’s exactly the kind of gossip I want!!” She nearly squealed.

As the other four gyarus continue chatting up a storm, Hoshiko pats Ayano on the shoulder, nodding her head towards the exit of the bathroom.

“Good job completing all of our favors! I guess I owe you a favor or two after this, huh?” Hoshiko grinned, giggling lightly. “I actually have something to offer right now. I’m not sure if you like gossip as much as we do, but here’s a little piece of gossip I got a hold of recently.”

Hoshiko pulls out her phone and sends Ayano a message instead of saying it out loud. Ayano reads the message.

Hoshiko: You can get away with acting out if you blame it on the delinquents! :O

Ayano raises her eyebrows in interest and Hoshiko only giggles. She pulls a finger over her lips with a wink and says. “The guidance counselor has history with those boys, so keep that in mind if you ever get in trouble!”

“...I’ll keep this in mind. Thank you, Hoshiko.” Ayano nods to her, her gaze wandering back down to the text message.

“Mhm. Consider that a beta favor for now.” Hoshiko winks again. “If you ever need something else we can provide, make sure to get in contact. Mwa!” Hoshiko sends her an air kiss and trots back into the bathroom to the other chit-chattering young ladies.

Info-Chan wasn’t currently nagging Ayano, but part of what she said was right. The connection with the gyarus may prove to be incredibly beneficial. Of course, time will tell, but that’s a time Ayano finds herself willing to wait for, if in the end, the gyarus’ information can get her out of serious trouble.

[miradelletarot]

Trauma Dump Hours

Apologizing in advance. This is gonna be HEAVY FEELS. I just...need somewhere to put all of my thoughts down so feel free to scroll past this.

**This is HEAVY mental and emotional trauma with mentions of abortion within so please be mindful of the content below the cut**

I have made mentions of my parents before, but never really went into too much detail about my relationship with them because of everything else going on. But, in light of some things that have happened recently, I need to just get these thoughts out in some sort of order...which might not happen but here we are. So my relationship with my parents has been interesting to say the very least. i was raised in a very conservative catholic home. Silent gen dad, and a boomer mom. both very intolerant of anything they don't agree with. My dad is the epitome of hating everything that doesn't align with his beliefs...If you aren't white or straight especially, and do not live the traditional lifestyle that he feels one should abide by. (hopefully that paints a picture for you).

Anyway, I am the baby of my family. My brother is 50 and my sister is 49 (they are a year and 4 days apart). I arrived 12 years later. I was very well and truly an OOPS. My brother is the golden child, my sister, the problem child (former, anyway, but she was definitely more wild than they liked,) and I...well, I had to be the perfect one to do as my parents wanted 100% of the time.

my mom had no self-esteem and raised me to be the same way. never be too confident and sure of myself b/c it was unbecoming to do so. I had to always get good grades, and always follow the rules. If I ever did something wrong, i got the wrath of my father (that stern, military rage). So, as i got older, my mom would hide things from him on my behalf, but only if I did something for her. Things like keeping secrets from dad, hiding mail so she didn't get in trouble with the finances again. If i ever dared to stop doing that shit for her she would blackmail me...would threaten to tell my dad all the shit i did wrong if I stopped helping her. Basically, I was scared and brainwashed into having ZERO autonomy or individuality. If I showed any emotion other than happiness I always had "an attitude." But, I saw my mom's behavior as if she was the only one in my corner...my buddy who kept my secrets for me because no one else would.

I struggled in school, but almost always got As and Bs. I had to work my ass off for it too. Math was always a sore subject that made me and dad lock horns. He's a math wiz, and I'm not. I'm not well read because I HATE reading books. (thanks school for ruining that for me). history? forget it. i have a horrible memory. But, if i ever got a C? holy shit i was a failure in their eyes. I feel like I am so far behind everyone intellectually that it's hard for me to have conversations with people sometimes because I feel like I can't keep up. By the time I got to high school was when I finally started to see what they were doing to me, but I was too afraid to break free. Honestly? i didn't know I had a choice in the matter. When I was in college, I had to be in remedial math. When my dad found out (b/c he was paying for college,) he literally screamed at me in the financial aid office b/c he couldn't believe I was in such a low math class. His apology? "I just worry about you, and i want you to do well." What a fucking joke. Again, in college, I was big into choir. we had a huge spring performance that we NAILED and we wanted to celebrate. So, we carpooled and went to a nearby club. I was barely 20 so i had the wristbands of course. I CALLED my mom to ask if i could go. Told her who i would be with, where i was gonna be, and that it would be WAYYYY late before I get home. Said I would keep my phone in the car b/c I knew i wouldn't hear it or feel it vibrate, but i could call her when I leave even if it was like 3 am. She said no need, and let me go.

So, in I walk at 330 am to both my parents in the living room, and my dad SCREAMING at me that I am just like my sister. out partying at all hours doing "god knows what." I was dumbfounded. My mom didn't even look at me...just sat there as I got ripped into. Wanna know why that happened?? Because SHE PRETENDED SHE NEVER GAVE HER PERMISSION. She told me later that her and dad had to have a "united front" and I had "no right to be mad" at her. When I tell you I leveled my room into an absolute mess that night and cried myself to sleep. the betrayal I felt...as a 20 yr old, a legal fucking adult, and I had no voice. no independence. My relationship with them has gone south ever since.

Of course, several things have happened between now and then. Their relationship is very transactional, and always comes out with me needing to serve THEM for them to be happy. for them to see me as worthy. But, my mom likes to throw it in my face whenever she can about how great my brother is. How stable he is. that bitch is single and has no kids. fuck him. he's an incel anyway.

Mother's day this year was the last straw for me. I called my mom out of obligation. in that 15 minutes she gushed about my brother's financial stability knowing how hard i have been struggling since I left my husband. I told her how proud I was of myself, that I was doing all these things with very little help, and making so much progress in such a short time. her response? As deadpan as possible "Congratulations. You're finally adulting." Finally? FINALLY? Not like I had been trying FOR YEARS when my irresponsible idiot of a husband was the one who had the control. I left my childhood home and walked into another relationship with a person who was just like my parents. A transactional, mentally and emotionally abusive relationship. I was his shadow because i felt like i HAD to be. When he wanted to leave me in 2021 for that very reason i thought i would literally die. That's when I found my spiritual practice. when i started to really change and try to find myself. and yet, he STILL didn't like who I was. Hence, why i finally found the strength in me to leave him back in December. I got no support from my parents. They wanted me to move in with them....ACROSS THE STREET FROM MY EX...just so i could be close to my children. I'm only 15 mins away from them. I see them when I can with the 2 jobs I work for shit pay. I'm busting my ass to pay off my car. Have they ever called in the 6 months I have been gone to ask me how I am??? If I need help?? NO. And why would they?? Between my mom and dad both, I was told on three separate occasions that they wanted to abort me. But I SHOULD BE GRATEFUL THAT THEY DIDN'T. Why would I? I have lived my life feeling like I was never good enough, that i was a worthless burden to the world. All because i was conditioned to believe as such. Thankfully for my sister, she saw through their shit a long time ago, and left home when she turned 18. i wish I understood why back then...but I was a kid. All i knew was how hurt my parents were, or how they seemed to be, and I believed that if I did anything to hurt them i was a bad person. I couldn't be like my sister. because that was a bad thing. But...nothing makes you feel more unloved and unwanted than your parents telling you they didn't want you. Then act surprised when you block them and don't want to speak to them. I can't go thru 38 years worth of shit they did, but this was some of the bigger/more recent stuff. It's amazing i never blocked them sooner (though, being across the street from them at the time was certainly a factor...)

It's why my identity means so fucking much to me. i felt like my name is not my own, my existence isn't my own. Why I want all the labels that I feel make up who I am so i can have some fucking semblance of understanding about what makes me "me."

Aside from spanking as a kid (which was normal back then sadly,) i was never physically abused. i had a roof over my head, I had food when i needed it, I was clean, had nice (not name brand) clothes...all the necessities, but I never *ever* had a healthy grasp on my mental health. never had healthy coping mechanisms for my emotions, and I never felt truly loved by my parents. better seen than heard, and if i was seen it was always to do something that made my parents proud so they could brag about me. I was a trophy. A puppet.

And today, as i sit here, wondering how tf to deal with my parents...I am anxious and scared. i feel like a child all over again, trembling like I am about to be scolded. All because i was conditioned to believe that my feelings were worthless and wrong. I have gotten 2 voicemails today from my dad, telling me I "need" to call them. To explain what's going on. Suddenly, they are worried. Suddenly, they care. But I know it's only for their satisfaction. part of me wants to pour my soul out and light it on fire so they can see how much they hurt me over the years. Part of me wants to pretend they are dead and forget they exist. I am not sure what to do.

So, if anyone ever wonders why Gale means so much to me...why i have such a mental and emotional attachment to his character. this is why. because aside from my 2 bffs, he was the only other entity that made me feel loved and worthy, and it breaks my heart that he isn't real. For now, though, he's a beautiful escape.

idk if I need anything rn...I'm not sure where to go from here. I have no idea what will make me feel better. getting some of it out helps. Being in therapy definitely helps. If you read this then you're a damn trooper...or a glutton for punishment, idk. Either way, thank you for listening to me.

I really don't expect anyone to say anything or even read this. It really isn't necessary. But please know that for the many of you whom I have befriend on here since I joined tumblr...I am grateful for you all. Just being in this space has been so healing for me. thank you.

[axailslink]

Help me dip my hair

Some snippets of how that situation ^^^ with all of the characters I write for.

A/n: this is for my black readers especially because well this is a black reader thing. (Dipping your hair after getting braids by the way that's what's happening here.)

Shuri Udaku

Shuri looks at the pot of water then back at you before shaking her head "I'm not doing that" you laugh seeing her weary facial expression "I'm not doing that you're not about to be mad at me because I accidentally burned you I'll have Okoye help you but I simply refuse." You grab her hand with a serious face "Okoye doesn't have hair what makes you think she knows anything about hair?" Shuri laughs "I don't know I just know I will not be blamed when you are burned." You grab your towel and press it into her hands anyway but she continues to shake her head she gently grabs your hair and pulls your head back a bit "this is giving me flashbacks." Shuri laughs as she grabs the pot and carefully dips the ends of your braids "dip them a bit further" she does as asked and you flinch purposely "damnit you burnt me" Shuri pauses in her actions "I'm sorry baby where!?" You laugh and she straight faces you as she sits the pot down "babe I'm sorry" she just glares at you as you catch your hair in the towel before it can drip all over the floor. "So you gone give me the silent treatment? It was just a joke I was joking" Shuri walks off leaving you in the kitchen you can't help but laugh to yourself.

Riri Williams

Riri happens to be a pro at this she has you sitting in the chair and wraps a towel around your shoulders "babe don't burn me" Riri nods "I got you but you got to be still" You nod slowly as she gently dips the ends of your hair she slowly pulls the pot away and grabs your hair in the towel with one hand as she carefully places the pot out of the way. Riri gently dries the hair pulling down so it doesn't curl she sections the hair off and continues to dry it when she's done she taps your shoulder. "Baby you're good" you're honestly not surprised because you knew someone was doing her hair when it wasn't you.

Vivienne Scott (Scotty)

Scotty is shaky as she pushes your head into the sink she grabs the pot and slowly pours it over the ends of your hair. Her mom watches from the couch curiously "Viv you know how to do hair?" Scotty puts the pot on the other side of the sink and places a towel under your hair "yeah I worked at a hair shop for a while." There is honestly nothing that Scotty can't do in your eyes people assume she's some kid but she's had many jobs she knows more than the average adult. "As she dries your hair over the sink you lean up and press a firm kiss to her lips causing her to smile and look away "hold on you can't be doing that all of a sudden you got me smiling." More knowledgeable than the average yet still easily flustered.

Jamie Harrison

Has absolutely no idea what she's doing so you end up doing it on your own. "You sure you just don't want to cut it short like mine?" You raise a brow at her "Jamie if you come near my head with any sort of blade I I'm going to beat the dog shit out of you." Jamie looks at you confused "I don't know what the fuck that means..." You roll your eyes and shake your head "how does that even make sense Y/n? You can beat someone until they shit like a dog... Oh my God that's what it means?" You can't help but laugh at her moment of realization even though she is still very wrong. You end up doing this on your own however Jamie does pay close attention just in case she has to later.

Rosalie Otterbourne

(help me style my finger waves since you know her character is set in the 1930s)

Rosalie eyes you from over the counter but says nothing as you play a hard game of spades with her aunt. "Rosie can you do my hair for me? Me and Salome have a big performance tonight" Rosie smiles "why you telling me like I ain't know? I arranged it" she carefully comes behind you and takes the rollers out of your hair you hand her the bobby pins which she holds in her mouth as she carefully places them. Rosalie will tell you and anyone else she knows nothing about hair but when asked oh Rosalie will deliver she's a bit heavy handed but she definitely knows what to do.

A/n: not going to lie doing these saves me so much time

[decadentworld]

※ Sub Bottom Eddie Munson/Dom Top Steve Harrington.

※ 1,224 words.

※ Personal work (not request).

※ Both characters are canonically 18 or older.

※ Content & warnings: Daddy kink. Mating press. Virgin Eddie. Unnegotiated kinks (but they’re very into it). Very short fic.

Something something Eddie finally catching up to everyone treating Steve like the ‘mom’ friend in the group. And he’s amused. But secretly immensely supportive of Steve on this one.

Like, how couldn’t he be? He knows it’s gotta be exhausting at some point.

Dustin’s amused, “Okay, mom.”

Or Mike’s irritated, “You’re not my mom.”

He’d be rolling his eyes and snarking all the time. He’s impressed by Steve’s patience nowadays. So he decides to poke at it just a little bit.

“Oh, Harrington,” he sing-songs, stomach swooping hotly at the annoyed look on Steve’s face; he knows he can joke around with Steve. They’ve gotten sort of close after everything they’ve gone through.

Only, Eddie has no idea if Steve’s lingering looks are just a figment of his imagination.

The counter at Family Video kind of needs a cleaning, but Steve’s leaning on it anyway. “…I thought you had to pick the kids up today? After all, you’re like the mom of the group.”

“Jesus, dude. Not you too,” comes Steve flippant response. “It’s Billy’s turn. I’m making this a brat-free day.”

“Sooo, what I’m hearing is… Steve Harrington doesn’t like to be treated like a fretful mommy?”

“Would you cut it off?”, answers Steve, though it’s not an entirely mean response.

“Okaaay.”

To Steve, it sounds like that would be it, but nothing good ever comes out of that playful little smile of Eddie’s, because he’s absolutely not ready for what he says next:

“Then does that mean we have to call you Daddy?”

Oh, ha-ha. It must be so funny to Eddie, seeing that he can’t stop snickering behind his hands after saying this.

It’s not that funny to Steve, who just stills, turns around, and starts walking straight into the employee bathroom. All with the deepest blush Eddie’s ever seen on anyone. Oh. Eddie fucked up, didn’t he.

Robin comes out of her break. Sees Eddie, alone at the counter, now covering his mouth. He’s not laughing anymore.

“Oh my God.” She looks in the direction of the bathroom, knowing Steve must be there. “What did you say to him?”

“Nothing! Why do you think I said anything to him?”

She gives him the stink eye. Eddie just leaves.

Later in the evening, some time after a thorough play with himself with images of pretty boys and hairy chests and pink faces in his mind, Eddie receives an unexpected visitor in the form of Steve Harrington, on the steps of his trailer.

Neither of them are saying anything. Steve’s face is unreadable. It kind of makes Eddie want to bite his nails. But he lets him in, and closes the door behind him.

A tense silence takes over the place. That is, until…

“Can you— Can you say it again?”

The croak in Steve’s voice is somehow delicious to Eddie; it sounds like Steve’s throat is dry.

“Wh-What?” And he has to chuckle nervously. He feels the pull of his hand, wanting to take one lock of his hair to hide behind it.

“Today, you… you said something. Called me something. And…” Steve’s face is an enigma. He looks like he wants to flee at any second, but still keeps going. “I kind of haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

Oh, he’s got Eddie where he wants. He knows Eddie’s the queerest guy in town, but what he’s asking of him… Surely, this is just him taunting Eddie, is it not? A good old game of chicken between guys never hurt anyone.

But Eddie is weak.

Giving in to his impulse, knowing he’s probably sporting the darkest blush ever known to mankind, Eddie pulls on his own hair. Puts it in front of his face, covering everything but his eyes. And mutters:

“Daddy.”

The reaction is stronger this time. More visible, unconcealed. Something about the heavy breath Steve releases sounds, to Eddie, like a grunt, and he just has to avert his eyes.

“Louder.”

Now wide eyes return to Steve, pupils unable to stop widening from pleasure. Steve walks closer, and it’s Eddie’s instinct to take a step back in return, but he forces himself to stay where he is.

He gives in, like any weak man would.

“Daddy.”

It’s only slightly louder, and Steve comes even closer, until he’s in Eddie’s space. Takes Eddie’s hands in his, noticing the hitch in his breath as he’s forced to release his own hair.

Grabs his wrists. Puts them to his sides.

“Look at me when you say it.”

They’re sharing the same air. Eddie feels himself faint from it.

“Daddy.”

Steve closes what little space was left, making Eddie tremble and sag against him in his first kiss. Pushes Eddie back until his back collides with the wall next to his bedroom’s door, all the while giving Eddie a new succession of firsts: first kiss with tongue, first heavy petting, first dry humping. All until Eddie has to withdraw with the most erotic gasp Steve’s ever heard.

“You’re fucking unbelievable, you know?” Steve’s voice already has Eddie weak in the knees. A hand finds Eddie’s long hair and pulls, and Eddie’s so sure he’s already close. “A fucking brat.”

Eddie moans, pulls himself together long enough to say: “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

The big imprint of a cock against his pelvis tells him he’s not the only one affected. “Yeah, I bet you are. Teasing me in public like that. Bet you were looking for a spanking.”

There’s an obscene moan now, so loud Eddie has to hide in Steve’s neck from the embarrassment of being so needy. “Fuck me, Daddy.”

And a groan next to his ear carries a lot of promises.

Eddie loses his virginity to a man he calls Daddy in his trailer bedroom, music blasting as an afterthought to conceal the loud moaning he knows he won’t be able to quiet. Steve makes him cum an impossible three times in a row. Puts a twist on missionary that leaves Eddie’s insides so thoroughly fucked out he cums a first time, just from that. Makes Eddie ride him, aiding his trembling thighs by pushing up into Eddie, and as if that isn’t enough, spanks Eddie like he said he would, receiving a chestful of shaking, orgasming boy who somehow says he still can’t get enough, so he turns him around, puts him on all fours and presses his face into the pillow. Puts an arm around his windpipe. Envelops him so wholly it almost feels suffocating, pounds into him so hard Eddie would be screaming by this point if it weren’t for the small pressure against his throat, feet kicking to the sides of Steve’s legs on the bed. Makes Eddie cum a third and final and convulsing time as he too does.

“What the hell, Steve.” Robin points at something Steve can’t see on his neck. “Did you get mauled by an animal?”

Both Steve and Eddie blush in the gentle lighting of the Family Video store.

“Wait…” She looks between them two. “You.” She points at Eddie. “What did you say to him yesterday? And how did it lead to that?” And then, as if that wasn’t the most important thing to her, as if Eddie and Steve weren’t on the brink of passing out from embarrassment, Robin says: “Ugh. Great. I owe Billy five bucks.”

Work available only on Tumblr and under ArchiveOfOurOwn pseud of the same name (DecadentWorld). Do not repost, edit, or redistribute. Do not use for TikTok or YouTube videos.

[mamawasatesttube]

hey I sent another person this ask but I GOTTA know your opinion on this. do you think Kon would call Jon + Kara weird mash-up terms (and vise versa) on purpose to be funny and confusing to outside people because of the whole nontraditional family ties thing. like

"hello brother-uncle Kon how are you" "I'm good nephew-bro Jon I just visited our cousin-aunt Kara she says hi" and Clark is just standing there like "you two *please* keep it down I don't want people actually thinking our family is the product of incest"

if anyone i think jon would be the one getting a kick out of that moreso than kon. it feels to me like the ongoing bit a kid would do just to get a rise out of their parent lkdfjs

like to me i guess kon's just straight up Not labeling most of his relationships. there's no brother-dad-uncle-cousin-guy in his life, there's just clark. ma isn't "mom" OR "grandma" she's just ma. lois isn't any sort of mom or stepmom or sister-in-law she's just lois. jon himself is kind of the exception bc kon points at him and goes "baby brother. my baby now" but i think that's about the Only one who gets a label that isn't just. them. you ask him what he and clark call each other and he just goes uh... he's just? kal-el? and then gives you a weird look bc why does it matter. kara gets simply "cousin" bc that can be vague and general enough it doesn't imply any specific relationship.

but also not to overthink a joke ask but that DOES also have me pondering the way "conner kent" has to define his relationships to outsiders. if jon's his little brother, people will assume he's clark's son. which he doesn't really like, but at the same time, they definitely have a strong resemblance (haha, #justclonethings, amirite fellas?) and clark's adopted, so it's hard to say they're just brothers or cousins as opposed to the story people assume, which is he's the product of some sort of teenage fling clark had. i don't think kon likes this story at all, but it's probably the most convenient, secret identity-wise. hmm... much to ponder.

[separatist-apologist]

Red Earth & Pouring Rain

Remember what we found? No one can ever take that away. Something forever.

Summary: When Feyre's father tries to set her up with one of his high society friends' sons, Feyre does the only thing that makes sense in the moment: she fakes a Scottish fiánce. Writing him letters detailing her escapades, Feyre never expects anyone to read them. But when a mysterious uncle leaves her and her sisters three scattered castles, Feyre's forgotten fiánce appears on her doorstep, determined to make an honest woman of her yet.

Or- that time Rhys fell in love with a stranger writing him letters.

Big thanks to Unhinged Bookclub for help with the moodboard and @the-lonelybarricade for being my UK consultant (which consisted mostly of me asking about swear words)

Part 1/2: I've Got Something Burning, Coursing Through These Cold Veins | Read on AO3

Dear Rhysand Campbell-

Today is my sixteenth birthday, which ought to be cause for celebration. I want to be happy about it, but I’m not and I can’t tell anyone. My sisters already think I’m terribly spoiled and my father probably would, too, if he ever cared enough to notice me. Ugh, that sounded spoiled, too. Maybe they’re right. I don’t suppose you understand.

Of course you don’t. You aren’t real. And I guess there’s no danger in telling you about this miserable birthday party (if you could even call it that) or worrying you’ll think I’m spoiled and a miserable brat (like my older sister accused me of) (don’t worry, I pulled out one of her extensions in front of Tomas Mandray which…in retrospect…maybe proved her right on the miserable brat front. It was pretty funny, though. Even Elain cracked a smile.). 

It all started with my father. He woke up one morning a month ago, looked me straight in the face, and asked me how old I was. I didn’t know what to say (I might have forgotten), so Elain told him I would be sixteen in a month. And he said we should celebrate, which made me so happy. I rattled off a list of things I wanted to do, and I thought he was listening.

I should have known he wasn’t when he put Elain in charge of planning. It’s not that Elain is malicious, she’s just…prim. Perfect, really. The sort of daughter he actually wants, I think because she doesn’t make a lot of fuss and maintains his calendar for him like mother used to (she died when I was nine). 

And I definitely should have known we were NOT going camping when Elain had me measured for a dress. She looked so apologetic and I couldn’t bear to hurt her feelings when I know she’s trying really hard to fill the gap mom left when it comes to me, even if it makes her spineless when it comes to dad. And I could have asked Nesta to ruin it, but I guess I’m a little spineless, too.

So by the time the day arrived, it’s this huge party for all of dads friends, one of whom is running for parliament and needs money. And I look so very stupid in a floor length ball gown and—I am not joking—a jeweled tiara while all these old men in their fifties whore themselves out for cash. There was a cake (five tiers and chocolate, which is my favorite flavor, at least), there was singing, and of course the aforementioned incident in which several of Nesta’s extensions were pulled from her head unceremoniously. 

Some leering prick told me I was a woman now. Well, he said it to my breasts, not really me. What is it about men that makes them think that’s a normal thing to do? Am I supposed to be flattered? Elain whisked me away, a smile plastered on her face and when I asked her how she stands it, she only laughed and said, “Oh Feyre.” Like I was the silliest person in the world. 

She looked like a princess, and I don’t envy her for it. Every man our father is friends with is trying to trick or trap her into marriage. I think she could be a princess like Kate Middleton if she had the interest. 

Anyway. 

Father made some grand speech right before the cake cutting, where he talked about peace and, for some unknown reason, Brexit. He also thanked God for  our monarchs, which, I didn’t realize he was that religious but I guess for this crowd, he is. 

You know what he didn’t do? Say thank you for his daughters? Imagine, blessing Charles but not the daughters who enrich his life. Nesta was gripping a steak knife so tightly I thought she might actually stab him and Elain’s eyes were glassy and sad, even with that plastered smile.

And despite how Nesta thinks I’m a miserable brat, she DID stand up and demand everyone sing me happy birthday. And Elain led everyone in an off-key rendition of the song, which was nice. Serving staff cut the cake, and there were, of course, no candles.

Happy sixteenth birthday to me.

And at the very end of the night, some lord (I think—honestly, I wasn’t even listening at that point, I was just thinking about getting those miserable shoes off my feet) told father that his son was single, and also sixteen. I could see father's interest peak and I can’t be like Elain. She’s always letting those awful boys take her on dates, and they always make her cry. So I blurted out,

“Actually, I have a boyfriend.”

Father asked who, but already he didn’t care. So I said the most made-up, Scottish name I could think of—Rhysand Campbell. Maybe you do exist, somewhere. Actually, there are probably hundreds of you, though who's counting? What’s important is that YOU, Rhysand Campbell, are not real and this address is to a post office in the middle of nowhere Scotland. I expect it’ll be shredded. Perhaps the mail worker will read it and have a laugh at my expense. 

Still.

Thank you for saving me tonight. 

All the best,

Feyre Archeron 

Dearest Rhysand–

I didn’t think I’d write to you again, but I think I have to confess my lies, and you are the only person I know who won’t judge me.

Of course, you’re fake, but in my mind you’ve become a little real. Everyone wants to know how we met, and if you’re curious why they would ever want to know that, well, you are very convenient. You see, most girls my age want to date. And in some ways, so do I. There are some very handsome boys, nice boys, even.

But none of my family approves of. If they found out I slept with Isaac Hale, I think they might actually kill me. He’s a fishmonger, which is a very real job thank you very much. It only sounds fake and like something from an eighteenth century book because of the word monger. Which made me laugh the first time I heard it. Anyway, I thought maybe it was better to just get things over with, and he really was so nice that I just…kept going back.

He has a girlfriend now, and I’m trying to pretend it doesn’t hurt my feelings a little. Even though I know I could never bring him home. Nesta would sneer and call him smelly and Elain…well, Elain would probably be nice but her eyes would be pitying. So maybe it’s for the best.

I’m sidetracked again.

So Isaac has his girlfriend from Milton Keynes, which I am absolutely NOT  jealous of, even if her eyebrows made her look insane. I admit, I was brooding which Elain says is going to give me frown lines around my mouth. And of course father took that moment to stroll in and say he knew just the thing that would cheer me up.

That thing??? A MAN. In what world has a man’s presence ever made a woman feel better? Even Elain turned her head to roll her eyes, thinking no one saw. Nesta was in a mood, though I didn’t ask why—I don’t care, so long as she keeps yelling at father on my behalf. She told him seventeen was too young to worry about marriage, which made him remember that Elain is nineteen and Nesta is twenty-one, so I suppose we’ll all be dealing with that fall out later.

But the Lord of Rose-something-or-other has a son. Tamlin? Timothy? I was not paying attention. What I did say, was, “You know I’m dating someone already. I’ve told you all about him.”

I probably could have gotten away with that if Nesta and Elain weren’t in the room. We talk more frequently and they’ve never once heard me say your name. Of course Elain was fascinated, and Nesta was suspicious. Father is far easier to gaslight. 

“Ah, yes,” he said, that liar. “Remind me, who’s son is he?”

And I said, of course, that you were no one’s son, but just a regular Scottish man.

Nesta, that traitor, narrowed her eyes. He can always tell when I’m lying. “Oh? How did you meet this London-living Scotsman?”

Murdering your sisters is a crime. I’m saying that as a reminder to myself, because if she invented a fake suitor to get father to leave her alone, I would have gone along with it. So I said we met in a tea shop. I made you charming. I said you saw me from across the room and couldn’t help yourself. In this fictional meet-cute, you were enamored at first sight, and I, of course, believed you were the most handsome man I’d ever seen (I did not mention that because I was talking to my father). 

That was important, because NO ONE thinks that about me. They think it about Elain, who is so beautiful it makes my teeth ache, and they might think it about Nesta if her eyes didn’t promise violence all the time. But not me. And I have mostly made my peace with it, but it would be nice if there was one man who didn’t prefer my sisters to me.

Even if I have to make him up in order for that to happen. 

He told me to invite you to dinner. Please, oh please, Rhysand Campbell, will you do me the honor of dining with my dysfunctional family? Father will want to know all about your father, and if your family could be of use to him and his shipping business. And Nesta will hate you on principle alone, while Elain won’t be able to help but like you. 

Of course I like you, if only because you are not real.

It’s a shame you can’t make it because you’re heading back to Edinburgh to take care of a sick relative. You’re so compassionate, so selfless. This is why I like you. 

Thank you (again) for rescuing me. Too bad you’re just me, rescuing myself,

Your beloved,

Ferye Archeron

Darling Rhysand, 

Last names are formality by now, don’t you think? I’ve officially taken things too far. The nice thing about being overlooked is everyone kind of forgets what you’re doing (or that you exist), which means you and I have been happily dating for the last two and a half years. If I go out with someone else, no one questions it because they assume I’m seeing you.

And no one cares that they haven’t met you, because you’re some nobody they assume I’ll eventually tire of. Which would be all well and good if I hadn’t blurted out, in front of god and EVERYONE, that you asked me to marry you. Let me set the scene:

I panicked. 

Okay, I guess I didn’t need to set much at all. It was another party and as you can guess, I was in another stupid dress. Have you ever seen Gone With the Wind? You know those kinds of dresses? That’s how I feel, no matter how sleek and lovely the dress actually is. And I know I look perfectly fine in them, but I feel out of sorts. Like a doll, like someone who LIKES when men stare down my dress despite their wife right beside them, and tell me I’m beautiful.

They never say that when they’re looking at my face.

Anyway, do you remember Tamlin? Well, he’s a baron and his father and an MP, despite having so much money he doesn’t need to work (I suspect he just misses when the nobility could boss around the english populace), and he is quite taken with me. Rhys (can I call you Rhys? I feel like since you proposed I could probably call you that), he’s actually really handsome, too. The first time I saw him, I almost considered breaking things off with you. No hard feelings, of course, it’s just…you’re not real.

But he’s duller than dry paint. BEIGE dry paint. We have nothing to talk about, and believe me, I’ve tried. I thought if I could get him to talk to me for even thirty minutes, we could get naked.

But it’s like pulling my own teeth, dragging answers out of this man.

And, between you and me, he once told me “your hair looks clean” as a compliment. He couldn’t even lie and say I was pretty? So you and I continue our romance, implausible as it is. Tamlin’s father was saying how handsome we’d be, and Tamlin jumped in to ask me on a very public date and I am a coward, I think. 

Because I said, “Rhysand proposed.”

And Nesta burst out laughing, the bint. It was Elain, eyes brimming with hope and pleasure—she so badly wants to see one of us do whatever we like, father be damned—who asked to see the ring.

Of which there isn’t one. So I’ve made you poor, I’m so sorry. I lied and said you didn’t have one, because you were working toward affording something nice and of course I don’t care about it (because I don’t). Father demanded to meet you and Tamlin was humiliated (a silver lining to this whole affair, truly). 

Any reasonable person would have just confessed the whole plot right then and there. But I am not reasonable, my darling fiance. I am, I think, a little crazy because I slipped out the next morning and purchased a ring myself from Boodles, and since I bought it, it was perfect. Nothing terribly fussy—a sapphire cut in the shape of a diamond, with little diamonds haloed overtop, like falling stars. Set on a delicate silver band, it really is quite lovely. 

I showed father, who was rather impressed with it. I lied and said it had belonged to your mother, who was so overjoyed at the thought of getting a daughter that she solved your ring dilemma on the spot.

It doesn’t fix the problem of everyone wanting to meet you, of course. 

Our engagement is going to be short lived, I think—just as soon as I can figure out what to do next. If I’m not careful, I’ll be saying I eloped and then what? 

What then, indeed.

Yours, faithfully,

Ferye 

Rhys,

Well. 

It’s officially over. Why am I so sad? You were never anything more than a figment of my imagination, and yet telling my family you had ended things drew real tears from me. Elain comforted me, and Nesta called you a self-serving asshole, which is her way of assuring me she loves me. Father, of course, just barely remembered you existed despite the ring I’ve been wearing for a full year. I tucked it in a box as a token of how far I’m willing to commit to a lie (and because it was pretty expensive, and I don’t think I can return it). 

Even though you’re fake, I didn’t have the heart to make you an asshole. I said your mother had become gravely ill and you had to care for her. That it was with your deepest regrets you ended things—that you thought I deserved someone who could be in London fully, and you would always regret me. 

Nesta called it “typical male bullshit,” so I suppose she believes me now. Or she’s willing to pretend, given how sad I am. I’m mostly sad that I think I should probably stop writing to you. I’m twenty, now, and I think it’s time to stop indulging in my fantasies and be real. I’m nearly finished with school, and I should devote more time to paintings.

And besides, Elain is practically engaged, which has taken the pressure of marriage off Nesta and I, for now. Lord Graysen Nolan. How I wish you were real, because you would think he was a total twat, too. Nesta begrudgingly tolerates him because Elain is so head over heels, but he is awful. A scourge, a plague upon mankind and CERTAINLY upon my beautiful sister. He’s going to dump her in some ancient country estate, fill her with babies, and crush her into dirt and she can’t even see it. 

He is handsome and charming, though, and he has my sister wrapped around his finger. I think it’s because he doesn’t think she’s beautiful—though, I think he says so in his effort to break her down. She is so used to everyone finding her impossibly lovely that the first man who insults her is worthy of her heart.

I’m rambling again. Anyway, this is my official break-up, fake boyfriend slash fiance. I have loved you, though you never existed. You were the perfect man (because you were fake), and I’m not sure how any others will compare. Maybe I’ll try boring Tamlin again. 

What’s funny is that we could have been together, if you’d been actually real. Some dead uncle gifted my sisters and I three castles—one apiece—and mine is in the Scottish highlands. Isn’t that wild? He was my mothers uncle, so technically an uncle twice removed? I’m not sure how that works, honestly. But in his will, he left us each a castle in need of repair to do with as we like. Elain has dreams of turning hers (of course it’s located in the English countryside) into a charming bed and breakfast while Nesta wants to live in it as, and this is a direct quote, “the local bog witch all the children are afraid of.”

As for me, well…I’m not entirely sure what to do with it. I intend to go visit at the end of the month with my paints to see if inspiration might strike. I admit, I’m curious about a real life castle—maybe I will start a farm and remove myself from society instead. Everyone will ask (no one would, because that would require remembering I exist, but lets pretend they would), “What ever happened to Feyre Archeron?”

And my father would be forced to tell them I own a multitude of cows. All of which are named—and perhaps even treated like my children. Who can say? I am not sure if I’m cut out for livestock, or farming or even castle living. Maybe I’ll make it a museum or something else that requires little effort on my part. 

The caveat seems to be fixing it up. I can do that, I suppose.

This whole letter is rambling. It is supposed to be me telling you goodbye, and putting this whole messy affair behind me. Thank you for being my only friend, which I recognize is pathetic. I hope the postal worker who has been reading these takes pity on my plight, however pathetic it was. 

I will think of you fondly.

Yours, forever, 

Feyre 

Feyre wiped her nose on the back of her hand, breathing rather hard for someone who was in decently good shape. Six months since she’d moved to the highlands, thinking replacing the inner workings of a centuries old castle would be easy. Replace the plumbing and the floors, rework the electric, and fix the broken glass and she’d be done.

If only. Every day there was some new, horrible discovery. Bats in the attic and rodents in the cellar. A crumbling foundation that had to be nearly rebuilt. A leaking roof that flooded water into the great hall, which then ruined all the flooring Feyre had installed, causing it to be ripped up and replaced again. 

It cost a small fortune before the sprawling structure was decent enough to sleep in, let alone live in. And though she had her uncles inheritance to go along with fixing the god forsaken castle. Of course, that money was only for castle repair, and was just barely enough. She’d used her fathers money, too, a paltry sum given just how much of it he had to give away when it was for one of his friends or some do-nothing politician looking to cut taxes in a way that personally benefited her father. 

Feyre also considered she was far luckier than Elain, who’s castle came with a rather surly occupant that swore he also owned the castle—and after a little digging through legal records, was found to be correct. Feyre would have lost it if she had to compromise at all.

Except, now she had a nearly finished castle she had no idea what to do with. As it turned out, Feyre did not have the aptitude for farming like she’d hoped, and rather missed living in the city—though, she didn’t miss London. She missed people, and things to do, but not London itself. 

There were enough rooms to turn it into a hotel, like Elain was considering. Feyre also thought it made a rather nice venue for people looking to host events or get married. The view of the Scottish highlands was breathtaking, and the castle itself was really nice. Stone on the outside, mostly modern on the inside. Full, working plumbing so long as no one shoved too much toilet paper into the drains, claw baths, and big, four poster beds in circular rooms overlooking the hillside. There was a full, working kitchen Ferye had never used, a ballroom, a grand hall, dungeons—anything a person might want, if she could only figure out how to market it. 

It was just a passing idea. For now, Feyre was living in it with a small, paid staff to keep herself fed and the bats from sneaking back in. 

It was pure privilege to spend her days painting, and yet Feyre felt like she’d earned it. Without her father and his obnoxious social circle breathing down her neck, she could run wild like she’d always wanted to. She had a little hammock in the courtyard she frequently fell asleep in, a barbeque she’d spent an exorbitant amount on only to use twice, and was even considering digging out a pool. Why not? Who could stop her? 

No one. 

She’d have to go back eventually—home, that was. Her father’s calls were becoming more frequent and becoming more annoyed. All three of his daughters had just vanished, leaving him to manage his own life for once. Who was he going to build life-long alliances with if he couldn’t move Feyre and Nesta around like pawns. 

Elain was all but sold to the Nolans, if the ugly engagement ring Graysen had given Elain was any indication. Feyre supposed she’d have to come home for that tragedy. Sometimes Feyre wondered if Elain wasn’t dragging out the business with her castle in an attempt to avoid wedding planning.

Maybe that was just wishful thinking. 

Feyre woke that warm, summer morning like she did every day. Breakfast was waiting in the small dining room on the main floor—a simple fare of sausage, beans, and toast. She dressed, braided her hair in a long, french tail, and gathered her art supplies, intending to make her way to the furthest point on the grounds. 

Outside the heavy, rounded doors lay a neat stone path meant to feel old, though it was very modern. She’d watched the workers lay it herself. And standing at the very end of it, dressed in a black shirt and a blue and green plaid kilt, was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. His dark, blue black hair ruffled in the wind, while eyes so blue they seemed nearly violet, stared openly at her.

She saw plenty of Scotsmen, given she was in Scotland. And yet there was something about this man, with his toned shins clad in high, black socks and his tall, powerful body, that gave her pause. She could see the hint of ink just above his knees and the curve of his neck, and when Feyre looked back to his face, his mouth was curved into a sensual smile. 

“Feyre Archeron?” he asked with a rich, dark accent. 

Feyre cleared her throat. “Yes, that’s she—I ah—I mean, that’s me.”

His smile widened. “Aye, ye are, aren’t ye?”

She blinked. “Can I help you with something, Mr…?”

He chuckled, placing a broad hand against his muscular chest. “Ma apologies. I’m Rhysand Campbell.”

A soft scream escaped Feyre’s lips. “Liar.”

He took a step toward her, reaching into the leather sporran hanging from his waist. Feyre couldn’t breathe, watching in horror as he pulled a stack of letters out and offered them to her. 

She didn’t take them, shaking her head back and forth. “Prove it.”

He was still grinning, reaching for his wallet. Feyre’s hands shook when he pulled out a license, proving he was exactly who he said he was.

“How…?”

“Did ye think there was no one in all of Dornoch with the name Campbell? It’s quite common a last name.”

Feyre’s heart was mere seconds from jumping out of her chest. 

“It was luck I happened to be named Rhysand.”

“Luck,” she repeated, looking skyward. “All those years and you never thought to write back/”

He merely shrugged, taking back his license from her shaking fingers. “At first? It was charming. I figured ye’d stop eventually. Ye wrote a lot of things.”

“Oh, I get it,” Ferye said stiffly. Prick. 

“I’m sure ye don’t,” he replied with that insufferable smile.

“No, I do. You got my letters, figured out who my father was, and now you’re here for money. Is that it, Mr. Campbell?”

“Not quite,” he replied, coming closer still. 

“Enlighten me, then.”

“Where’s tae ring, darling?” he all but purred. Ice slithered through Feyre’s veins, her eyes landing back on those letters. She’d spent three years writing to him, pouring out her secrets, venting about her family…and telling him all about their nonexistent romance. At best, Ferye had imagined an elderly postal woman reading those letters with a mixture of pity and amusement before tossing them. Never, in her wildest dreams, did she imagine that an actual man was reading what she wrote. 

“It’s here, isn’t it?” he pressed, those eyes flashing with delight. “Sentimental, lass.”

Feyre shook her head again. “No. Absolutely not. Send father those letters—”

“And Nesta? Or Elain?” he pressed, preventing Feyre from turning on her heel and leaving him standing in the garden looking foolish. “What about them, hm? What do ye think they’d think of yer scathing assessment of them?”

Feyre exhaled. “What is it that you want? A sham engagement?”

“Oh, a wee bit more than that. I’ve come to claim my wife.”

“You don’t even know me,” Feyre protested, wondering if she ought to just call the police. He was blackmailing her—into marriage, for a purpose she couldn’t ascertain. 

“We’re in love,” he said, some of his smile fading just a little. 

“So I’m supposed to, what, exactly? Call up my father and tell him—”

“The engagement is back on,” he interrupted, closer still. She could smell him, then—like citrus and the sea, washing over her with the warm morning breeze. Rhysand blotted out the sun with his large body, peering down at her with enough intensity to make her uncomfortable. “And we’re in love.”

“Lies.”

“Ye should be verra familiar with that, darling,” he replied, an edge to his voice. 

Feyre ran a hand down her face. “For how long?”

He shrugged. “Who could say?”

Prick prick prick! 

“A marriage built upon the foundation of blackmail. You are too charming, Mr. Campbell.”

“Just as ye always imagined,” he replied with a wicked grin. “Now. Are ye going to invite me in? Or do I have to beg?”

“Why not?” Feyre grumbled, eyeing those letters. Rhysand caught her, offering them up again.

“Take them. It’s not like I didnae make copies.”

Still, Feyre snatched them from him all the same, holding them close to her chest. She’d hoped she might undo this mess simply by throwing them away and thus, removing his leverage. In truth, were Rhysand ever to show her father her letters, it would merely force him to pay attention to her. Elain and Nesta would forgive her, with time.

But the idea of her father knowing just how much she loathed him, all while craving his validation and approval, was too much for her pride to handle. It was enough to make her think that, perhaps, this wasn’t such an awful idea. If she could set some hard rules, having a ne’er-do-well for a husband kept her from ever having to get married to someone awful.

Like Tamlin, who still sent the occasional too-formal text inquiring after her help.

And this man was hot. Surely he knew it, too, if that wide smile and the way he kept running his hand down his chest was any indication. How long could he tolerate her? How long before he realized his new wife had no intention of sleeping with him, of showing him any affection? 

He couldn’t blackmail her into sex—even Feyre had her limits and had to assume he did too.

Or hope, anyway. The bar was in hell, even for a man who’d shown up on her doorstep and declared his intention to marry her. 

She forced a smile on her face. “Right this way, Lord Campbell.”

His smile vanished. “I preferred when ye were calling me Rhys. All my friends do. My wife should, too.”

“I’m not your wife yet,” Feyre reminded him. “My sisters are going to be so thrilled. Elain will want to throw an engagement party, and father—”

“Elope,” he said, stepping through the threshold with big, wide eyes. “I’m not going to London for a wedding.”

“Your wife is from London,” Feyre reminded him through gritted teeth. “You’ll have to visit them eventually.”

“Why? Invite them here. Surely there’s space.”

Feyre whirled on her heel, smacking straight into the hard plain of his chest. Rhysand reached for her arms, steadying her with a soft chuckle. “Careful, lass.”

“Let me get this straight. You will make no concessions in this sham marriage? Because, despite what you’ve imagined, blackmailing is a crime and my father has a lot of money.”

“Do ye want to go back to London?” he asked patiently, one perfectly groomed brow arched. As if he already knew the answer to that. As if he knew Feyre would have done anything to stay exactly where she was—far from London, far from her father and his circle of friends. Feyre crossed her arms over her chest, hating how smug he looked.

“It will be an actual wedding. And you will invite yer family—”

“I have none,” he interrupted, a shadow crossing his handsome expression. Feyre faltered.

“Friends?”

A soft smile. “Aye. Friends I do have.”

“Okay. Then friends. And you will keep your hands to yourself the entire time. Separate beds. Separate lives.”

He clenched his jaw for a moment before nodding. “Aye. I can do that. Any other demands ye have?”

“Once we’re married, I want you to burn those letters,” Feyre said, feeling suddenly small and vulnerable. “I’ll—marriages are not so easily undone.”

“And how do I know ye won’t back out tae moment they’re gone?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. 

She considered pleading with him. Was it not enough, she wanted to ask, to make her go through with this? That he knew things about her she’d never wanted anyone to know? He couldn’t let her forget it? Feyre took a deep breath and willed herself not to cry. Not in front of him.

“Very well,” she said, trying her hardest to channel Nesta’s icy disdain. “Let me just—”

She turned, and he caught her by the arm, spinning her around. “Give me a reason to trust ye, lass, and I’ll destroy them.”

“And will you be giving me a reason to trust you?” she asked, wrenching her arm from his grasp. 

“I could have gone straight to ye father. Shown him what ye did, demanded he pay me to keep quiet. I came to ye, instead. I don’t want yer money, Feyre. Just…”

“My home,” she finished with a sigh. 

“Aye,” he agreed solemnly. “A castle that belongs to Scottish blood, not the English.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” she snapped.

“Tae only way,” he murmured, and despite the softness of his tone, it was clear he didn’t care for disagreement. Feyre dug the heel of her hand into her eyes and sighed loudly. 

“Call him,” Rhys said, nodding toward her shorts and the phone outline in the tight fabric. “Tell him the good news.”

“He will never accept you as a son.”

Rhys only shrugged. “As long as his daughter loves me.”

“She doesn’t,” Feyre snapped, but it didn’t matter. She pulled out her phone and dialed.

Took a breath. And then. 

“Dad? It’s me, Feyre.”

-*-

Living with Rhysand was a mixture of insufferable and tolerable in equal measure. The castle was sprawling, big enough that for the first day, she didn’t see him at all. She’d instructed the staff to serve him and slipped that ring back on her finger in order to keep up appearances. Absurd, given any truly happy couple reuniting might have spent that first night locked in bed together, and Feyre had very much shut her bedroom door with the letters Rhysand had given and begun to pour through them.

They were worse than she imagined. Not only had she complained about her family, she’d divulged personal secrets, told him about her hopes, her dreams. She’d sent him sketches, she’d told him about the people in her fathers social circle, along with all the most embarrassing and hilarious gossip. Things that Rhysand could have sent to a trash magazine and humiliated half of London with. 

She’d treated those letters like a diary, never thinking there was a real man on the other end. Feyre couldn’t sleep that first night.

Or the second.

She did sleep the third, but only because Elain had promised to come down that weekend, delighted to meet the man she’d heard so much about. Nesta had sent back only three words.

Are you sure?

If Nesta came, she’d see straight through Feyre, so Feyre supposed she ought to be grateful Nesta was embroiled in some kind of property dispute with her castle and a local reenactor who took to staging battles of Scottish victory over the English on her front lawn with loud enthusiasm. Feyre suspected Elain was rather happy to escape for a bit, and might soften Rhysand ever so slightly.

And maybe if he realized there were more interesting Archerons, he might take to courting Elain instead of insisting with the sham wedding. Not that Elain would ever agree to it, but…men had always gravitated toward her. Feyre thought Rhysand simply wouldn’t be able to help himself. 

On the fourth day, Feyre slipped back through the castle, lugging her art supplies in a canvas bag with her. She expected the grounds to be empty, that Rhysand would be inside lording about her staff like some kind of king.

She heard the sound of wood splitting in the courtyard before she saw him.

Shirtless, in that kilt and the same black socks, rolled halfway down his shins from sweat and exertion. He’d found an ax and with a mighty swing of his powerful biceps, brought it screaming onto a block of wood.

Feyre couldn’t take her eyes off the slick, taut muscles of his stomach, his back, tattooed in dark whorls of ink. Rhysand seemed far too pretty to do any sort of manual labor, which brought Feyre back to the present.

Though, he’d absolutely caught her ogling him. He halted, pushing one booted foot up onto the heavy stump he was using to split wood while using the hem of his kilt to wipe at his forehead. “What are you doing?” she demanded. Didn’t he know she paid someone to bring in firewood? Besides, there was heating the castle—she’d also paid for that.

“Chopping wood,” he replied, his eyes sliding to the neat stack at his feet. His tone was polite, though perhaps annoyed. As if he really wanted to say, what does it look like I’m doing? 

“I pay someone to do that.”

“Of course ye do, lass,” he said with relish. “I don’t see why—I am more than capable of helping.”

Feyre hesitated. “You want to help?”

“Aye.” He frowned. “What did ye think I was gonna do? Sit around waving my hands like some kind of fancy lord?”

“Yes, actually—that’s exactly what I thought.”

“I already told ye. I don’t want yer money.”

Yes, he had said this, hadn’t he? Feyre sniffed. “Fine. You want chores? There are bats in the attic again.”

He offered her a handsome smile. Coupled with the bright sunshine and his warm, brown skin, Feyre’s knees wobbled a little. Why couldn’t he look disgusting? Her traitor body had not gotten the message that they hated him.

“I can do that,” he said. “And anything else ye have for me.”

“I’ll make a list,” she said tartly. 

But later, when Feyre was alone with nothing but her thoughts and her canvas, all she could think about was Rhysand, midswing over that block of wood. She thought of the tight expression on his face and the controlled movements of his body.

And even though she hated herself for it, she reached for a piece of charcoal.

And began to sketch. 

-*-

Elain arrived at the end of the first week of Rhysand’s arrival. True to word, Rhysand had done every chore Feyre had left for him without complaint. He’d cleared out the bats and fixed several burnt light bulbs, digging out a ladder from god only knew where. And when he ran out of things to do, he turned his attention to the dilapidated stables Feyre had never bothered with. In truth, she’d always meant to tear them down.

It seemed Rhysand meant to fix them up.

He was out there when Elain swanned in, tan from a summer outdoors in the English countryside. She grinned the moment she saw Feyre, throwing her arms around her sister's neck.

“It’s so good to see you,” Elain said, squeezing tight enough to make Feyre’s ribs ache. “How are you holding up?”

“Me? How are you holding up?” Feyre asked, pulling away to search her sister's expression. A faint blush bloomed over Elain’s cheeks.

“Well—I’m, well, I’m perfectly lovely, if we’re being honest.”

“Oh?” Feyre asked.

Elain held up her hand, wiggling bare fingers while Feyre just stared. “You got your nails done?”

“You’re so terribly observant. I’ve called off my engagement—just in time for you to be married. I’ve come to see if you want any of the things we put deposits on, so they don’t go to waste.”

“You—what?” Feyre gaped, realizing only then Elain was trying to show her a hand without an engagement ring. “What happened?”

Elain only shrugged, though more pink crept up her neck. “It wasn’t right. I was…I was deluding myself, I think. It doesn’t matter, because I know you hated him, so you don’t have to pretend. I’ve brought pictures so you can see everything, and it would be no trouble to have it all brought here for you. I know how much you hate planning,” Elain added brightly. “I only wish I could be more helpful.”

“This is already too helpful,” Feyre said, pulling her sister through the open hall toward the spiraling stairs that led both to the left and the right. Elain drank it all in as the skirt of her buttery yellow sundress swished around her legs. She looked every inch a princess, and it took no effort at all to imagine her walking these halls four hundred years before while poets and bards sang songs about her beauty. 

“Are you going to introduce me to your husband?” she asked, looping her arm through Feyre’s. “I’ve always wanted to meet him. Nesta used to swear you made him up and I told her you’d never do such a thing. It’s nice to prove her wrong sometimes.”

“Yes,” Feyre agreed. “He’s working on the stables. I’ll take you to him.”

This would be the moment of truth. Rhysand would see her and realize his mistake, just as all men did. He wouldn’t be able to look away—and Elain seemed radiant that morning, glowing like the midafternoon sun beating overhead. Her golden blonde hair was perfectly curled, a cascade over her slim shoulders while a set of pearls graced her ears. She’d put on make-up, which Feyre never did, and had the air of someone both effortless and yet unattainable. 

The same air Rhysand had, if Feyre was being honest. They’d make a smart couple. Why did that thought annoy her so much? 

Feyre led Elain over the grounds slowly, giving her a tour and pointing out all the work she’d done while Elain explained how her bed and breakfast was going. She’d created a tentative peace with the other occupant and owner of her castle—a man with a distinctly French sounding last name and decidedly French first one. Lucien Vanserra. He sounded snooty, and given the difficulty he’d created for Elain, likely some seventy year old man looking to exert his control one last time before his time on earth ended. 

“Oh, he’s not so bad once you get to know him,” Elain said, which was a very Elain sort of thing to say. She could charm a wild bear holding a sword. If the man had eyes, it likely hadn’t been hard to talk him into a small compromise. 

Rhysand was coming out of the stables as Feyre and Elain began to walk in. He didn’t see them approaching as he mopped up the sweat on his brow with the hem of his shirt. Feyre’s breathe caught at the sight of peeking abs, vanished the second he saw Elain. His eyes slid from her sister back to Feyre, some answered question flickering in his gaze.

“Elain, this is Rhysand,” Feyre told Elain just in time for her sister to plant her foot in a wet container of wood stain.

Elain screeched, yanking herself backward. Her lovely white flat was ruined, which was a shame, truly—though Rhysand? wasn’t looking at Elain at all, but Feyre. His expression very much betrayed his annoyance, some shared secret she didn’t quite understand, as if to say oh. I understand now.

“I’m so sorry,” Elain said, looking at the mess pooling around them. 

“No need,” Rhysand replied, though there was some disappointment in his tone. “I was going to do tae floor as well.”

“Of course. Probably not like this, though,” Elain replied with a small laugh. 

Rhysand only nodded, looking back to Feyre for some guidance. But it was Elain who was the conversationalist, and when she realized he didn’t know what to say, pressed forward. “How is your mother?”

Oh, christ. Feyre had forgotten that lie, amid the others. Rhysand became rigid for a moment, haunted by Elain’s ask. “She passed, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” Elain whispered. Rhysand only nodded, his jaw tight with emotion. So that had been true, in some way. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not yer fault,” Rhysand murmured. “But I miss her.”

Elain nodded. “Well,” she said, wiping her hands on her dress nervously. “We should ah, probably let you get back to…”

“I’ll see ye both at dinner,” he replied, offering up his most charming smile. And that was that. Elain, holding her shoe by the crook of one finger, waited until they were out of earshot before she said, “You really undersold how handsome he was.”

And when Feyre turned to look over her shoulder, she found Rhysand leaning against the wooden door frame, eyes wholly on her. 

It was that night that both Feyre and Rhysand seemed to realize they could not sleep apart in opposite wings of the castle. Elain had made some little quip about how nice it must be to have all this alone time and Rhysand’s fork had clattered to his plate while Feyre’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. 

He’d come to her, at least. Feyre sat up against a sea of pillows when she heard him knock, sucking in a deep breath.

“Come in.”

A moment later, the handle turned and there he was. He’d put on plain black sleep pants and a white t-shirt, and his still damp hair told her she’d just freshly showered. If she’d been smart, Feyre would have dragged a divan up from another room so he could sleep on it. As it stood, there were two little chairs facing a small breakfast table and then her rather large, four-poster bed. 

And Rhys was a tall man. He looked around, drinking in the cream colored rug and the sand and stone walls, illuminated by an overhanging chandelier. A little potted plant sat half dead in the circular window at the far end of the room, while books were stacked on beneath the television stand haphazardly.

“I’m not sleeping on tae floor,” he told her when he realized their predicament.

“I assumed,” she replied, scooting to the far side of the bed. “No touching.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied with a theatrical eye roll. As he padded toward her, he asked, “How long will she be here?”

“The weekend,” Feyre replied, trying—and failing—not to notice how good he smelled. “Why?”

“She’s not what I imagined,” he finally said, dragging a hand through his hair with contemplation.

Feyre immediately felt defensive. “She has that effect on people.”

He frowned. “Oh? And what effect do ye imagine she’s having on me?”

“She’s just very…”

“Verra…” he prompted, waiting for Feyre to spit it out. “Dull?”

“What?” Ferye gaped. “She’s not dull.”

“Proper, then. A real English princess,” he amended. 

It was asking for pain, and still Feyre couldn’t help herself. “Then what does that make me?”

He smiled again, his face blooming with warm affection. “Wild. Free,” he added, thinking to himself for a moment, as if he needed to choose his words carefully lest he insult her. “Ye are far more lovely than her—”

“Don’t,” Feyre snapped, unable to stand the lie. “No one thinks that.”

She turned to her side, angrily fluffing a pillow before turning off the bedside table.

“I think that,” Rhysand murmured defensively. “I saw a picture of tae three of ye, once.”

She half twisted to look at him. “How?”

“We do have the internet here too, lass. It was simple enough to google ye. I wasn’t sure which of ye was which—but I hoped ye were…well…Feyre. I thought ye must be Elain, given how much you talked of her beauty.”

Feyre’s heart pounded. “You’re such a liar, Mr. Campbell.”

“Not when it comes to ye, darling.”

There was a pause of silence between them, hanging thickly as Feyre digested that information. Hoped. She didn’t know what to make of that.

“I’m sorry about your mother.”

“It was one of the things I liked about getting tae letters,” he murmured, settling into the bed. After turning off the lights, it felt easier to peel back some of her defensiveness, to listen to him talk. “My sister died when she was wee, and my mother, well. She never quite recovered from it. When ye wrote that first letter, she was ill again and my father was in one of his rages. And there ye were, in a similar predicament. I thought maybe it was fate.”

“Why didn’t you write back?” she asked, turning fully to her side, her head resting on her elbow.

“Cowardice, I suppose. Ye were a bit younger than me, too. Sixteen, but I was nineteen. It dinae seem right, and truthfully, I didnae want spook ye.”

“Is this your attempt at not spooking me, then? Demanding I marry you for reasons you’ve yet to divulge?” she asked, this time without her usual anger. 

“Aye,” he murmured, twisting so he was facing her, too. “I never said I was a good man, Feyre. Only that yer letters were never funny to me.”

“Will you tell me why all this was necessary? I might be able to help, you know—”

“One day,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “When all this is done and ye aren’t so angry, I will. I want to. Not tonight. Hate me all ye like, but I know ye—you’ll be trying to get out of this marriage if ye think you can solve my problems with money. I don’t want yer money.”

“Yes, so you keep saying and yet once we’re married, you’ll have it, regardless. Surely you’ve considered that.”

Rhysand’s pause betrayed him. So he hadn’t realized he’d become unspeakably wealthy the moment Feyre said I do.

It settled some wild, ugly thing in her. “That’s yers,” he finally said. 

And with nothing left to say, Rhysand turned over and left Feyre to fall asleep.

-*- 

Feyre agreed to take the least offensive things from Elain’s wedding, which, to be fair, were few and far between. The cake was nice, along with the flowers of which Elain would always be the expert. Tables and chairs, and of course, the caterer. Elain had been delighted, in no small part, Feyre suspected, because it meant Graysen wouldn’t be getting his money back. What had he done to her? It wasn’t like Elain to be so petty, but with each thing Feyre said yes to, Elain’s smile grew wider and wider until Feyre wasn’t sure how her sister's smile didn’t split. 

And then, with an exasperated sigh, Elain was gone to check on Mr. Vanserra, who was likely wrecking everything in her absence. Feyre thought she’d be sad to see Elain go, but the minute her sister's car pulled out of the drive, Feyre felt the smallest hint of relief.

Rhysand, too. She caught him peeking around a corner, muddy boots on a rather nice ivory floor runner she’d need to wash later. 

“Is she gone?” he asked, as if Elain were some terrible creature and not just chatty and maybe a little nosy.

“For now,” Feyre agreed. “She’s putting together your dream wedding, you know.”

“Ours,” he amended. 

“No matter how many times you say that, it will never be true.”

He stared her down, straightening to his full height. Feyre’s heart leapt into her throat. “Will ye tell me tae truth about one thing?”

“I doubt it, but you can ask,” she replied primly, wedging her way past his obnoxious body.

“In yer letters, ye said I was tae most beautiful man ye’d ever seen. Is that true?”

Feyre froze. If she turned, he’d see her answer written all over her face. “Everything I imagined about you in my letters was a fiction, Mr. Campbell—”

“For fucks sake, Feyre, call me Rhys,” he snapped. “I cannae stand hearing ye call me Mr. Campbell.”

Feyre forgot she wasn’t supposed to look at him, turning to argue only to find him so close she could smell him. Eyes wide, she backed up only for him to slam his palm against the stone wall behind her, trapping her with his body. 

“Tae truth, lass.”

“Why does it matter?” she whispered, hating herself for wanting him and hating herself for not being able to send him away. 

His fingers brushed her cheek. “It matters.”

“You can’t have it all, Rhys,” she hissed. He winced as she spat his name, saying it as though it were a curse. “You can’t have your secrets, this marriage and my affection.”

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t!” she shouted, shoving him away from her. Rhys let her, though she knew if he’d wanted to keep her where she was, there was little she could have done to stop him. “I’m guessing you’re the kind of man who just snaps his fingers and gets exactly what he wants. You could have asked me on a date! You could have been honest and told me who you were, that you got my letters! I would have said yes, you know. If you’d just asked. And if you told me the truth, I would have helped you. You want your secrets, fine. Here I am, playing along. Whatever else you want from me, though? Forget it. For the rest of your life, just forget it.”

“Feyre!” he called as she stormed off. “Feyre, come back!”

She didn’t turn, her heart pounding so hard in her chest she was certain she was going to explode. Feyre didn’t pay attention to the direction she went, running through the halls as fast as she could, just in case he was following her.

He wasn’t. She heard a door slam somewhere in the distance, and if she had to bet, Feyre would have guessed he was headed to the stables. It slowed her just enough to make a decision. He wanted secrets? Well, Feyre didn’t. She’d been too wrapped up in her own misery that past week to bother thinking rationally, but she’d seen him drag in all his things.

Surely there was some answer to the Rhysand question up in his room. 

Feyre didn’t feel even a little badly flinging open that door. Where she was messy, Rhysand was immaculate. His bed was made for the morning, draped in silken black that was just like him.

He’d tucked his suitcase beneath the bed, and when she opened his drawers to the dresser, everything was neatly folded and in its place. Feyre rifled a bit, feeling like a creep as she shoved aside his underwear and socks. 

The curtains to the windows were pulled open, allowing gloomy gray light to filter through. Outside, she was certain a storm was brewing. If it rained, Rhysand would retreat indoors and she’d have to try again another day. 

She didn’t know what she was looking for when she dropped to her knees, sitting on the plush, circular sand rug she’d put in all the rooms. Feyre pulled out his suitcase, unzipping thinking she’d find a passport with his real name, or maybe a criminal record that would explain this whole thing. And then she could call the police and be free of him.

Her stomach clenched when all she found was a large manilla envelope, unsealed.

Feyre. 

With trembling fingers, Feyre pulled out a stack of letters. They were stapled individually before he’d folded them into quarters. She reached for the one on top, surprised to see it was the very first letter she’d ever sent him, highlighted and starred with a blue pen.

And beneath, was the letter she’d said he should have sent her. 

Dear Feyre Archeron,

Don’t be embarrassed, but I have received your letter. I am curious—do you possess the gift of sight? It seems too much a coincidence that you would mail a letter addressed to Mr. Rhysand Campbell to my home in Dornoch. I’ve decided it’s fate, or at least luck. Tell me, though, this one thing: is your birthday on Christmas? I received this at the new year, and I have been trying to figure out when, exactly, you were born.

I guess it doesn’t matter, though it would be nice to send you a birthday gift next year. If you’re wondering, my birthday is in August. Not that you have to send me a gift. It just seemed fair, since I was asking, to tell you my birthday, too.

And, if it makes you feel better (I’m guessing it won’t, but it did make me feel better), my father also forgot my birthday this year. He was working, and I think he expects my mother to handle those things. I shouldn’t care because I’m an adult, and adults don’t need birthdays (or, that’s what I tell myself at least), but it stings every time he looks me in the eye and asks how old I am. 

I think he thinks I’m disappointing. Maybe I am. 

Anyway. I am happy to be your pretend boyfriend if it keeps you from having to date wankers. If you decide you’d like to write me back, send it to my address in Edinburgh. My mother lives in Dornoch, and I visit when she’s ill (which, to be fair, is pretty often), but I don’t want to miss one. 

That is, assuming you don’t find this horribly creepy. 

Yours in pretend,

Rhysand Campbell 

P.S. I think Nesta deserved to have her hair pulled, just between you and I. 

My silly Feyre,

You keep sending letters (that I devour), but I can’t make myself send one back. I’m starting to suspect I’m a coward, which is a terrible quality in a boyfriend. Maybe you should end things with me and date the beige paint (don’t do that). You’re so honest, and I’m so jealous because without my secrets, who am I? The thought of stripping myself bare makes me feel sick, and so I fold these letters up and pretend you read them and they didn’t disgust you.

In truth, I think you’d stop writing if you knew the truth about me. I’m back in Dornoch and mother is ill and father is working and I am just here. Barely existing, both in Edinburgh where I’m trying to be diligent and finish my education, and in Dornoch, where everyone thinks I’m a good son.

Am I? Can I tell you something? 

My sister died when she was nine. It was no one’s fault—except, I suppose, the man driving the car who hit her. We were out together and Ainsley darted out of reach. Father was closest. He lunged, but he wasn’t fast enough, and by the time mother and I could react, it was all over. 

I was eleven. 

I think we tried to rally together for a while, but the days following Ainsley’s death all blur together. Mother cried all the time and father began yelling. Everyone blamed themselves because we couldn’t blame each other, until we were just festering. Father stayed in Edinburgh, and mother went home and I was in-between. 

It’s like she’s lost in a fog, and I’m so angry sometimes because I needed her, too. I needed them both, and it was like, if they couldn’t have Ainsley they didn’t want me. Or anyone—I think mother wishes she’d died, too. And I think father is too busy punishing himself—and by extension, me—to take care of mother. 

I wonder what will happen to him when she dies. He loved her better than he ever loved either of us. And deep down, I think he’s ashamed he failed her by letting Ainsley die, and it’s better to yell at her, to stay away, to pretend none of it matters to him.

I can’t send this to you, but I like to pretend you’re reading it anyway. That you’d understand, because you feel forgotten, too. That’s how I feel. 

Anyway. Tell Tamlin to stay away. I’m fond of you, pretend girlfriend or not.

Your mess,

Rhysand 

Feyre, my darling,

Engaged? I admit, I laughed out loud when I saw what you’d done. I knew the English were awful, but surely there must be one tolerable man among the lot of them. I’m tempted to drive all the way up there and rescue you, if only to spare you the embarrassment from when this falls apart. I’m also curious to see the ring I got you.

I’d like to have it, if only so I can get on one knee and ask you to marry me myself. It’s strange how much affection I feel for you. How often I think about you, how I miss you without knowing you. I feel as if I do (maybe I’m crazy, too). 

I graduated last week. Father wasn’t there, though he did call in the after to ask me what my plans were. I nearly told him I planned to marry an English lass–but I have no plans for that yet, and no idea how to announce myself to you. It’s been almost three years, and I think I should have been less of a coward back then and just said hello.

I think, sometimes, you would have liked me. More than that other bloke (Ian? I remember his name, but it makes me feel better to pretend I don’t.), at any rate. And maybe my plans wouldn’t seem so far-fetched, and you wouldn’t have to keep lying to your family because I would be asking you to marry me.

For now, things seem possible. I feel like my own man for once, even if I don’t know what I’m doing with myself. Only that whatever it is will bring me closer to you. Of that, I’m certain. I am looking forward to hearing of our fake marriage, though—I hope you tell me exactly how you imagine it, so when we do meet, I can impress you.

Is that charming, or does it make me creepy? It’s a question I keep asking, and I think I’m walking a very fine line when it comes to you. Perhaps this will all be charming to you—or maybe you’ll have me locked up. I look forward to finding out. I’m certain I will never live it down, regardless.

For now, just know that I find you endearing.

Yours,

Rhys 

Feyre,

Your ability to tell the future is unnerving. Our relationship is over because my mother is ill—and though you don’t know it, you were right. I don’t think it would give you solace to hear she finally passed, but in a way, it gave me peace thinking you’d written me to say goodbye. That you understood, even if you didn’t know it, why you and I were just a foolish dream. 

Father and I stood in the rain to bury her. I didn’t think he’d come and it would be just me, watching them set her beside my sister. Reunited, at last, just like she’d always wanted. And for one moment, he and I stood there, shoulder to shoulder, silently weeping for all we’d lost and all the things we’d never have again. Ainsley should be here and so should mother. 

Her heart failed. I didn’t think you could die of a broken heart, and today I think I could, too. I thought I’d prepared myself better for this moment. As I so often am, I was wrong. Father left, and I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again. Or if I even want to. Maybe that moment was enough. Maybe enough passed between us to call it even, to start over.

I think I’ve been trying so hard to forget when I should have been trying to remember. And I think you were just another way to pretend I was someone else, at least for a little while. You don’t know me—you don’t know Rhysand Campbell and neither do I. Not your once betrothed, anyway. That man was a fantasy, someone I wanted so badly to be. 

I would have disappointed you. I’m not a good man, Feyre. I don’t think you would have liked the real Rhysand Campbell, and I would have loved you. That’s the tragedy of us, at least to me. You are witty and funny and charming and I am…I am this. I am not the sort of man you fall in love with, but you. 

Oh, you, Feyre. I don’t know how everyone isn’t in love with you. How you don’t walk onto the street and have everyone at your feet, wishing they knew your name. Begging for a second of your time. And even though I know you’ll never see this, and so it doesn’t matter what I think or what I say, I feel as though I’ve been drowning in endless night, and you were the first bright thing that came along.

It would be wrong to go looking for you, no matter how strong the impulse is. You’ve said goodbye, and I am saying it, too. I need to figure myself out and maybe that will take forever. I know one thing, though. I will always be thinking about you. Always be wondering about you.

It’s your birthday (I think), today. That’s what started this whole thing.

Happy birthday Feyre.

Yours, eternally,

Rhys 

A crack of thunder sent the letters flying from Feyre’s hands. Was she crying? For one wild moment she twisted to look up at the ceiling, certain there must be a leak. Only, no, it was just her, dripping salt onto the elegant penmanship of Rhys’s unsent letters. 

“So,” a dark, masculine voice from the doorway intoned. Feyre’s head snapped to the side, drinking him in. His expression was carefully blank, fingertips holding the frame as he leaned forward. Ferye had been caught, had been so engrossed in the parallel lives they’d been living that she hadn’t realized the rain had started or that he’d retreated indoors.

His wet shirt clung to the contours of his chest, slicking that dark ebony hair to his forehead. 

“So,” she agreed, her voice trembling.

Feyre held his gaze. Waiting for his ire.

“Now you know.”

[cybernetic-panda]

Okay so I finally got the spell slots to write my first little fanfic! Any feedback is appreciated andddd whatever else!

It's been a year since the events of the movie. Orm traveled for a while but still wanted to grow his familial connection with Arthur and Atlanna. Arthur has a friend relatively nearby to the lighthouse. Allowing space between the two brothers, but Orm is close enough for Arthur to tap his guidance. 

Noelle works as a blacksmith. She sells stuff online and travels for conventions, is obsessed with Atlantis weaponry and armor. Met Arthur when he was younger training with Dafoe Char and begged to see his cool ass weapon. Is a metahuman essentially like a wyvern. Her scales are bronze she can withstand high temperatures and can hold her breath for 60 minutes. (Like a water dragon essentially) Functions okay in society mostly wears under armor to cover the scales that show on her limbs and makeup on her face. 

The high point of Noelle's year was finally being able to get her hands on Atlanis scrap metal. After nagging Arthur for years she'd finally got the best gift from him. Well, not so much from him but telling his fantastic mother, Atlanna, what she wanted to make. Low and behold not less than 24 hours later Arthur presented himself at her workshop with a beautiful haul. 

"Can't believe you complained to my mom Noe." He huffed throwing down the sack of metal. "I was gonna get to it eventually."

Humming Noelle nodded and started to sort through her new treasure trove. "Christmas is right around the corner Arthur. I can't make Orm's gift with the shit I have here, it had to be from Atlantian metal." She pauses and turns to give him a stern look. "If you had gotten the scraps I asked for I dunno, fifteen years ago when I started asking I would've been done AND been able to make you kickass weapons for those last couple big bad fights you've had. So swim off my friend I will see you in three weeks, as you still took your sweet time I have to work straight to the day of to make Orm's gift."

Arthur breaks out in a grin and begins to walk away."I expect a cool gift too this year! And a fucking kickass weapon for Junior!"

"Of course, I'm making Juniors' first trident, I'm the royal blacksmith!" Noelle quipped back without looking at him.

"Yeah still gotta go through "official" channels for that, still hell ya!"

-Fast Forward Three Weeks-

"Sorry for being late! Doing some finishing touches." Out of breath, Noelle breached the front door of the lighthouse. 

Tom was the first welcoming face Noelle catches. "Don't fret you're not late, just finishing up Junior opening presents first.' Wrapping his arm around Atlanna he places a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Heard we'll be seeing something impressive from you this evening." 

Laughing awkwardly "Well I certainly hope so, if it's okay I wanna give Orm my gift really quick. Don't think I can wait another second! I wrapped it and whatnot but I'm excited to see him open it." Tom motioned to the back porch where Orm and Arthur were having what looked like a heated debate. "Thank you!" Noelle placed her bag of gifts to the side and clutching the weapon case proceeded to the backdoor.

"You cannot just allow anyone to come into Atlantis if they beat you in an arm wrestling match. That one makes no sense, two is not a basis for immigration or visitation. I agreed with you in revealing Atlantis to the surface world, but I cannot agree with such a pufferfish-brained idea!" Orm finishes his tangent with a huff and runs his hand through his hair. Looking up he spots Noelle coming out and unfurrows his brow. "Noelle tell Arthur that flexing his muscles at everything is not the answer." 

Chuckling Noelle breaks into a large grin, "You know he's joking Orm. I mean if it's the same 'arm wrestle to barter, debate, etc.' idea he had when he was seventeen then I assume he's joking." Turning to Arthur Noelle cocks her head questioningly. "Ruffling his feathers again for fun?"

Getting up from where he was leaning on the railing, putting his hands up in a defensive manner, "Ya got me! I already took your notes for an ideal visitation selection and immigration policy for surface dwellers and Atlannians. Still working on conditions for both to visit safely, but eh ya know nerd stuff. Anyway, I'm gonna head inside and let you kids enjoy a moment.' Wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at Orm and Noelle, Arthur sauntered back in the house. 

"Alllll right well whatever on that. Orm! I have a Christmas gift for you!." Noelle thrusts the case on Orm with an oomph! and began to watch him with giddy anticipation. 

Orm takes a second to recover and evaluate the case in front of him, as he does Noelle not being able to contain her giddiness starts to describe the case.

"SO I was thinking of a combination of land and sea, you'll notice them with the whole gift. The case is made of a couple of layers of driftwood and I got your mom to help with the Atlantian Script."  Orm runs his hands over the Orm Marius etched into the box and smiles. He places the case on the railing has his carefully opens the case. As he opens the case completely his breath catches in his throat and he freezes. Sensing some confusion Noelle steps closer and continues her description. 

"So all royals have a trident annndd yours broke so ta-da! The handle is made from a piece of your mother's original trident Arthur was able to find. And then.." Noelles' voice fades away as Orm focuses on each inch of the trident. After a moment he finally starts to grasp the the weapon with both hands to take it out of its case. Miracously its feels like an extension of himself, the weight of the weapon feels right. When moving his hands a bit more something catches his right hand he lifts it up closer and sees inscribed on the handle in Altantian 'OceanMaster'. Noelle's voice fades back in," I had put OceanMaster because ya know I think it fits you in the way you've Mastered the ocean and are an advisor to the King of the Oceans. I can buff it out if it is too much." Noelle nervously sways back and forth on her heels looking down and waiting for some form of answer.

"I accept." Orm finally replies after what feels like hours. Noelle looks up in confusion as Orm gingerly leans the trident on the railing swings around picks up Noelle in a bridal carry. "I accept your proposal and will be honored to be your husband. I'm sorry I have nothing prepared in return." He kisses her tenderly on her lips as she still processes what he's saying. "However," He leans in close to whisper, "I can certainly make it up to you when we go home this evening." 

[coffee-with-mint-syrup]

Incredibly messy list of reasons why Saiteru is real and why I ship them (with occasional examples)

(and a little fan art to draw the attention)

Disclaimer: I did not read the manga, I watched anime and then searched for examples in manga as in supreme source

A little introduction.

There's a two things about Saiki K. that I need to mention before I will try to prove that Saiki actually likes Teruhashi back.

First of all, hope we can all agree on that, Saiki as the protagonist is unreliable narrator. This comes both from a) the form of the series - the fact that we as viewers don't see things the way Saiki does (just like with his X-ray vision, he's unable to see Teruhashi's appearance, but we actually can - so he says she's not that special or pretty while we can appreciate her beauty) and b) his view of relationships he has. He can deny his friendship with Nendou, Kaido and others all he wants, but we, as viewers see in every episode that he loves them dearly. He can say all he wants about how he's not gonna solve other people problems, but he helps every time and so on.

An secondly (kinda follows the last statement) he is tsundere. Not even kinda tsundere - he's hereditary tsundere and takes this after his grandfather.

Those two points I based my proofs on establish one big thesis - we're not gonna get any real straight verbal confirmation from Saiki that he has any feelings towards anyone, especially Teruhashi. So instead we gonna do what shippers do best - thoroughly search for any indirect evidences that something in fact goes on between them.

This list is based purely on objective and subtle changes in Saiki's patterns of behaviour.

So here's reasons why Saiteru is in fact real in no particular order:

Mixer issue.

The thing going on between Saiki and Teruhashi changes after Mixer date (there's also a post here on the subject of how it changes everything which I do not intend to repeat). I just wanna say that there were a million of ways of how it could go with the basically same outcome. But no. From Saiki actually showing up at the mixer to control things like some sort of power broker to the very end of the issue there is:

Kusuo's irritation at those guys generally;

his mentioning that he knows Teruhashi's preferences (like, yeah, he reads people minds, duh, but how much exactly he had to read her mind to know her favourite song or joke? It's not something you think about all the time, you know);

appreciation of her thoughts about him;

smile;

admitting he would/does enjoy this;

and rock-paper-scissors. This just blows my shipper mind - he actually participated in gambling on Teruhashi and actually won the game on purpose just for the sake of it. Of course it played out as a joke, but guys, GUYS! He literally won Kokomi-chan! On purpose! He participated in something this ... morally questionable, even though if he felt indifferent about her he would'd just thought something like "she's not an object to gamble on her")

Saiki usually tries to ignore his friends inviting him to some special events (New Year eve or Kaido's secret base and so on) until it's absolutely rude to decline or there's a chance something will go wrong or his mom is nearby. But these few times Teruhashi didn't even ask him to go somewhere (milkshake incident, mixer) he avoided her asking him but still followed her around.

He did in fact say "of-fu". Out loud. While being completely silent all the time. No more comments (mic drop).

Cultural festival lottery.

This one is tricky and requires analysis. So there's actually two lotteries involving Teruhashi - first one to choose her group for Okinawa trip and second one is cultural festival committee members. Both lotteries is drawn by Teruhashi knowing she will draw Saiki with Kami-sama's help and Saiki knowing she's gonna succeed. But in the Okinawa lottery he overplays her and uses X-ray vision and telekinesis to change her draw.

And in the cultural festival committee member (which happens after mixer) he just...don't.

And it's not even about avoiding Teruhashi personally, this time it's about avoiding huge pain in the ass cultural festival committee member is. As for me, personally, crush or no crush, I would do everything to not have such responsibilities. And he just chooses not to do anything? Even though this time it would be worse than a trip in one group of six, it would require them actually working together, possibly with no one around.

Cultural festival issue #2. Saiki admitted that their superpowers work together perfectly and when combined they are in fact invincible. While doing something so trivial as school play.

Prior to that he worked together with his actual psi-team with some actual superpowers over something not so trivial (stopped train) and even though he admitted he wouldn't do that with such efficiency without them but he didn't say a word about their powers complementing each other, their working together this well or something like this - but he did say something this cheesy to Teruhashi, your usual perfect bishoujo.

Kusuo felt incredibly irritated when his brother bothered her (and kinda proud of her when he paid him back with her powers). Saiki from first chapters would've just use the crowd to teleport (like he actually did with Teruhashi when he didn't say "of-fu" for the first time) and left those two alone. Also, do you see it here? Saiki, you're being a little bit hypocritical, don't you?

He stops avoiding her or plotting so that she fall out of love with him after mixer issue.

He's incredibly annoyed at her brother but still deals with him instead of just disappearing out of his sight (especially birthday present episode).

I don't actually think that issue with her overwhelming herself fits here. He would do the same for Kaido or anybody of his friends. He's irritated at guys but it kinda rational reaction for him about the cause of someone's suffering. He kinda opposes himself and them, but he has a god complex, he always does this.

He constantly complements her after mixer. Constantly. It's basically praises to her whether they are working together and he complements her superpowers, or he helps her with press club and compliments her anti-stalker skills or her overwhelming herself just to maintain her perfect bishoujo image and he compliments her dedication.

He actually thought that she's pretty at the end of the series. Legitimately. No other comments, just this. Okay, maybe also that I'm happy that he had a chance to look at her without his powers. But also it means that if he really did like her before this, which I think he did, he liked glowing skeleton/humonoid body of muscles. You know, perfect form of liking other person without knowing how they actually look.

Reasons why I personally ship them.

(Obviously) Kami-sama is on Teruhashi's side. No matter what. Like come on guys. Its inevitable at this point. Even Saiki stopped resisting.

Teruhashi feels super comfortable with Saiki's friends - as opposed to literally every other guy in their school when she has to overwhelm herself just to talk to them. On contrary, Nendou, Kaido and Kurosaki usually have no problem hanging out with Teruhashi. Like yeah, they blush sometimes and act like she is blessing them with her presence, but they do not put the same kind of pressure that everybody else does.

They both have super weird (pervert) elder brothers they suffer from.

He sees all her imperfect thoughts and feelings and still choses to respect Teruhashi for both her good qualities and her flaws. (But guys, actually, how great this trope is? Someone knows all your dirtн secrets and bad thoughts and still chooses not only to love you (not talking about Saiki, cause it's debatable, even though I do think he loves her back, but generally speaking) but actually respects you for that?)

Saiki's almost omnipotent powers can't beat Teruhashi's powers of luck and ability to be loved by Kami-sama. And her powers are only powers in the show he has to reckon with constantly and that challenges him on multiple occasions. Not only that - he actually loses to her almost every time. Which is ironic, cause the only time Teruhashi did really lose against him in every possible way - it was the first time she appears in manga, when he didn't say of-fu and she eventually kinda fell in love with him.

This one goes a bit deeper then this post meant to be, but Teruhashi's life is actually terrible. She learned to enjoy it and to get the best out of the situation she's in, but that is truly a nightmare. Her brother is a pervert who is able to give her underwear as a present and wishes he could marry her. All of the boys literally block her way on regular basis. She has a fanclub who can approve or disapprove her social interactions (i don't think she pays much attention to them, but what if she knew they tried to tell her crush not to talk to her?). Press club is constantly after her, trying to take or photoshop embarassing fotos of her (borderline pornography). And every one of them sees her as an object. As a doll. A beautiful picture. So it's only consistent for her as a character to fall for guy who doesn't fall for her act and sees her as she is. It's beautiful. She needs that.

In conclusion (if someone will actually read to this point) I wanna say that for me the best ship is the ship that didn't happen but was implied. Especially with such complicated characters like Saiki K. It gives so much place to debate, to search for subtle evidences that there is some sort of affection or that there's not, to interpret facts and play with them, trying to understand authors intentions and finding some clues and hints...it's just so much more fun that established ships.

[sour-heart-treats]

[Almnesia was His Name Pt.2 - CW: Memory Loss, Minor Alcohol Mention - Previous, Next]

Putting the kid to bed was a lot easier than he'd expected. Once tucked into the blanket, she was out like a light. Almond closed the door to the child's room as slowly as possible, taking care not to have it creak while he did so to wake the little one back up. It was with a heavy sigh that Alm would pull out his flip phone and scroll through his contacts. Despite not recognizing half of the list, he'd find Latte's number and give it a ring. Sure, it was late, but Latte was probably partway through her bedtime routine. Probably. So inconsistent, that professor...

"Hellooo?" The warm voice of the fellow professor was nice to hear, though he can't linger on that. "Latte. You left a kid at my house today, right?" Straight and to the point, getting Latte to pause before she'd respond, bewildered. "Um. Yes? Hun, I hope you're not referring to Walnut as just 'a' kid." Yes, he was. "Right, Walnut. Why did you bring her here?" Such seriousness in his tone only seemed to make the latte mage on the other line all the more confused. "Because that's... where she lives? With you? Almond, sweetie, you're acting awfully odd..." It almost felt like an impromptu interrogation. Then again, that's just a part of the detective's life when it comes to getting information. Hell, he'd even wandered to the living room for the sake of having more space to walk around. "Latte, I don't know where you got that information, but I am certain that I don't have a child. You just dropped someone's child at my house without telling me."

The silence on the phone was deafening. What felt like a full minute would pass before Latte would pipe up again, even with Almond prodding with a slightly irritated 'Well?' to the quiet. Had she been drunk? Was she still tipsy or something? "Almond..." Latte would start, voice more worried than anything else. "Walnut is your child... what are you talking about?" There was some sort of shuffling on the other side of the line, that of which the investigator couldn't decipher. "What are YOU talking about?" He didn't mean to raise his voice promptly clearing his throat to correct himself. "Look, I dunno what's going on here, but this is some sick joke if you think tricking a kid into thinking I'm her mom... What, was she an orphan and you took pity?"

"Good coffee..." "Dear sweet stars..."

The similar reactions would have brought out a laugh from at least one of them if it weren't for the strange circumstances they were in. Latte would continue whatever scrambling that was catching on the line. It sounded like papers getting flipped and tossed around. Then again, Alm wasn't any better, pacing circles around a coffee table. "Almond, sweetheart. I think... I think we should have you see a doctor." The uncertainty in the mage's voice was palpable. 'There's no way...' she'd whisper to herself, unaware that her phone caught it. "I mean this with the utmost truth. If you're acting like this... I don't know what, but I think something's wrong with your memory." "You're calling me crazy?" "No, not that at all! Goodness, what is with you...?" Something that she didn't understand, but that sudden aggression felt very out of place. Was the stress getting to him? Was that it? "Look, I'll try and schedule something for you within the week. Just... stick with her until then? Play along?" Great. Almond put a hand to his forehead in irritation. "I already have two jobs, and now I have to take care of a kid on top of that? As a single 'parent'? Latte, I don't think you know what you're asking me. I'm not even good with kids." There was a laugh that the detective nearly took offense to, but the other professor would speak before that would let itself sink in. "From what I've seen, you're great with kids! Especially ones like her."

The remark made Almond scoff, getting him to cross his arms. Well, arm considering one was holding his phone. Him? Good with kids? Doubtful.

"Fine. But if this is some trick, you're never going to hear the end of it. My prosecutor friend will hear of you." The private eye would give a small snicker, unsure if he's laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation or the fact that he may just have to resort to filing a case of child abandonment and endangerment. What was the name of that prosecutor, anyway? Eh, he'd remember later. At least Latte seemed to find the remark entertaining. "Sure, sure. Take care of yourself, hun." It's always odd hearing her speak so maternally when he's the older one here. "And hey... Make sure to make Walnut breakfast, okay?" How old was this kid if she couldn't even make food for herself? When he was her age, he-... Almond shook his head, he didn't even remember what it was like back then. Though, he had a feeling he didn't really want to. Some faint and unpleasant vanilla scent came to mind.

"Guess I'm being forced to care for someone else's kid... Fun." He could hear the younger professor sigh on the other side of the line. At least all that incessant background noise had stopped. "It will be just for a week at most, I promise. Please take care of her, okay?" Almond rolled his eyes. "With how you're talking now, makes me think that she's your kid rather than mine." The dry laugh that the mage would give wasn't reciprocated. "And give up my free time? Love," "Don't call me that." The detective snipped. "...just know that I wouldn't ever have a child if my life depended on it." The unnaturally dead seriousness was certainly enough to make the sentence believable. Though her pitch would upturn; "I get enough of kids at work, anyways! Plus, with how much Creampuff is around, I'm practically her mother anyhow." Why did that name barely ring a bell?

Almond dismissed the accusation in his mind, figuring there was no way that Latte would ever withstand being a mother to two kids. She was too lax for even one, but that's not his place to judge. "Right, right... Let me know whenever you have that appointment set so I can schedule off. Or... try to." The M.E.H. was so strict on time off he'd be lucky to get even a few hours 'off-duty', let alone not being on-call in case something happened. Latte would give a small 'mhm', voice getting quieter, probably from the phone being moved away from her face. "I'll let you know as soon as I can. And if there are any scheduling conflicts, I can always reschedule it. Uh... Is there anything else that you need to discuss?" "Not that I can think of... I just needed some information on the kid situation. You can get back to your routine." There was a breath of relief from Latte. At least he remembered something as silly as her routine, even if he didn't remember something as major as Walnut's entire existence. She'll... she'll get this sorted, certainly.

"Right, then... 'Night, hun." "Goodnight, Latte."

Without someone on the phone, the darkness of the living room finally sank in, along with the silence. It felt almost... lonely. Blinking slowly and processing the room before him, Almond would have his thoughts wander to the possibility of actually enjoying having someone around. He valued his alone time, certainly, but... Maybe this 'Walnut' kid would provide a little bit of life to the house. 'Play along,' he was told. So just... pretend to be that child's mother? It's worth a shot. Hell, maybe after that doctor's visit he can prove that he's not going mad or something worse. Running a hand through his hair, he noted the texture of grease. A hot shower before bed didn't sound too bad for his aching bones. The thought of being called a 'Roasted Almond' came to mind as he wandered out of the living room to head to the bathroom. It brought a smirk to his face as he tried to think about who would call him that. Ha... Sounds like something a kid would do.

Not his kid, though. He didn't have one. ...not until now, apparently.

[eternalwritess]

Hi! I’d love to request a matchup for Helluva Boss! <3

I’m Italian, my pronouns are she/her and I’m asexual biromantic (so any gender is fine). I’m an ESFJ and a Gemini. I have green eyes and dyed cherry red hair. I dress with vintage/fairy grunge clothes. Long skirts and corsets are my fav type of outfit. I wear lots of rings and crystal/pearl necklaces and love to exchange them with others.

I also have tattoos, currently I have three but I’m planning to get more. I love to wear makeup and come up with something creative and different everyday. Also if someone lets me do their makeup they’ll have my heart forever. I’m the mom friend of the group, always there for everyone and my friends say that I’m really good at comforting people. I’m also calm and responsible, I usually am the one that takes care of other people. I’m very optimistic, I always try to see the good in everything and I often put other’s needs before my own. I love making others laugh to lighten the situation. I’m not afraid to stand up for myself or for someone else but sometimes it’s hard for me to say no to things. I also dislike when someone is too serious and really can’t take a joke as I tend to use humor as my coping mechanism. I’m also very ambitious, I always try to achieve my goals.

My love languages are, receiving, physical touch and words of affirmation and giving, quality time and words of affirmation.

I absolutely love listening to music, it helps me relax and I really like reading (I love reading out loud to others, when I read dialogues I act them out a little to help picture the scene). I especially love fantasy and I recently got into greek mythology. I also love watching horror movies even though it’s impossible to scare me. I also play Dungeons and Dragons with my friends anytime I can. also, I absolutely love musicals and I’m definitely a theatre kid.

have a good day 🫶🏻

𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕕 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙…

𝓕𝓲𝔃𝔃𝓪𝓻𝓸𝓵𝓵𝓲!

First off I just get the feeling that he would absolutely vibe/love your aesthetic. Its probably what got him talking to you in the first place

He would adore your tattoos and would constantly ask you questions about them (even if you only have three)

He would also trace his hand across them and smile at you as he did so (I don't know where you have them but he would definitely somehow make it spicy-)

"This one looks especially pretty on you~"

Yeah he uses your tattoos to flirt with you

Since you're there for everyone I'd imagine he was probably having some sort of panic attack one day and you comforted him through it

Speaking of which I feel like you'd comfort him a ton with physical touch, things like hugs, kisses, and cuddles. It helps calm him down :)

He lets you do his makeup. Sometimes he'll just straight up march up to you and demand that you do it.

"Can you do my makeup for me today?"

He loves your optimism and it gets him through the day all of the time, especially with Mamon being his boss

Even though you like putting others before yourself he would try to treat you and calm you down convincing you that you don't need to worry about him or whatever it is thats going on

If he sees you stressing out over something he'll give you something or try to bake something for you (try being the key word- ... hope you like burnt cereal)

"So uh... I tried making you something"

Yeah no you don't have to eat it- he wouldn't be offended. He'd probably encourage you not to eat it actually

Hey! Humor is his coping mechanism too :D

You guys both seem somewhat ambitious so I think you'd be great together in that sense

I feel like he's a big music fan, he'd blast your playlist as loud as he can throughout the house. No questions asked.

*FIZZ SINGING NOISES*

You'd show him horror movies and he'd freak out

He'd also use it as an excuse to just cuddle up with you and snuggle

Also kisses. Tons and tons of kisses.

[karaonasi]

KitKat: Flashback (Prologue)

continued from

Playlist:

💜💜💜

Flashback 5 Years

I was thirteen and it was the night of the Cypress’s annual Summer Soiree. I had gone before, of course. I had gone every year. I had even danced at them--I usually danced at them since, while Lizzy had taken up golf instruction at the club from a young age, I had taken up ballroom dance. I could have just as easily taken up tennis, but with swimming and surfing, I felt I already had enough sport activities and wanted something different. Besides, dance was something my cousin Lee and I could connect over. Dancing and singing.

The difference was that this year my parents were treating us kids more as adults now that we had both hit our teens--Elizabeth by being allowed to stay home alone for the first time, and me being allowed to bring a date. I kinda wondered why she had chosen staying at home rather than taking a date herself. But I guess she just was in that phase where she wanted nothing to do with any of her family. It hurt a little bit. Because while she was often bossy and a bit of a pain, she also was the first one to come to my aid when I fell and skinned my knee or got some other injury from being the active kid that I was. She was, afterall, usually already there on the scene. She was almost like a mini-mom at times, mimicking our own mothers. But when she hit her teens, that changed. She was always out with friends or, if not, was on the phone with them rather than playing with me. And I missed her. I missed our closeness. I guess that’s how Cove and I had gone from friends and playmates to best friends so close that we were almost brothers.

So, when I was told I could bring someone with me to the Soiree, I naturally thought of Cove--not as a date. I didn’t think of him that way. But that was the problem. I didn’t think of anyone that way. I had never had a secret crush, never felt that…something that other kids had talked about, the thing that every movie seemed to have as its central theme.

I had gone down to the beach to find Cove, intending to ask him as a friend. But when I just mentioned that I was going to a fancy event at our country club, the crinkle of his nose in disgust and the look of pity on his face told me all I needed. I should have figured. ‘Fancy’ had never been Cove’s thing. And when I thought about it later, the guy probably would have gone to support me if I had asked, but he would have been miserable. Nah. It was better for me to go alone.

So that's how I ended up there at the edge of the dancefloor. I scanned the edges of the crowd for a partner. It wasn’t like I had ever been shy. So I never really lacked a partner if I wanted one. Often I found a girl either from school or from dance classes here at the club. Always a girl though. Not because I found myself particularly attracted to girls. I didn’t find myself attracted to anybody (well, except perhaps having noticed that both Cliff and Kyra had rather nice…um…chests--not that I would ever have admitted that to Cove). But because I had never quite felt up to facing the possible scrutiny if I chose a partner that was a boy. That’s why I was surprised when the tap on my shoulder turned out to be a boy. A boy with deep brown eyes. He was around my height, but his expression and the way he carried himself marked him as being older, more mature than me.

“Are you planning on dancing?” he asked. His voice was deep for our age and pleasing. Smooth. Soothing. And yet hearing the low purring quality of it made me feel anything but relaxed. Instead, I found this…exciting somehow…

I guess it was that unexplainable excitement that led me to crack a joke, my go-to move when feeling a little out of sorts. “Actually, I was planning a bank robbery. Looks like I got the address mixed up. Dancing might be an okay second choice.” What was I saying? What if the boy didn’t like the joke and decided to take back the offer? My chest clenched slightly at the prospect.

But the boy smiled instead and nodded. “We should dance then. It’s perfect timing, a new song is just about to start.”

My heart pounded in my chest. This boy stood there so calmly, so easily, asking another boy to dance in front of all these people. Not caring what they thought or if they might judge him for it. He was so…brave! I felt a surge of admiration for this older boy, my smile growing visibly brighter, my violet eyes shining at him. Those soft brown eyes met mine and, with an elegant roll of his wrist, he held his hand out to me. I took it without question, unable to look away from his confident gaze.

I have a tendency of getting a bit hyper when I feel particularly happy or excited. I had even been tested for ADHD at one point due to this tendency, though with my ability to focus and good grades I didn’t qualify for a diagnosis. But in this moment it took a great deal of focus for me to keep my excess energy under control. Because I wasn’t merely happy, I was ecstatic! Meanwhile, my partner wore a casual smile. He probably did this all the time. And yet I hadn’t seen him dancing with anyone earlier. I had never seen him at any previous functions at the club either. So I couldn’t help but feel a little pleased by having been singled out by him.

Together, we walked the few paces to the dance floor, hand-in-hand. I had the strangest sensation running from the warm hand in mine--as if electricity zinged up and down my whole arm…charging my entire body with electrical energy. I looked down at our combined hands in confusion. This was new. I had held a lot of peoples’ hands--family, Cove, friends. It had never felt like this. And though I felt a little nervous from these strange sensations, the boy was steady and sure next to me, lending me stability. I let out a breath of relief when he struck a stance, the proper form for leading a foxtrot. Good. That answered the question of who would lead, taking the burden of that awkward question off of my shoulders. I was proficient at following as well as leading, and honestly it was probably for the best that I wouldn’t be responsible for the lead with all these strange and unfamiliar sensations running through my body and mind. His free hand went around my waist and he confidently guided my body into position. He obviously wasn’t one of those kids whose parents had enrolled in last-minute classes before a big event such as this. From his form and confidence, he had taken lessons for some time--like I had myself.

The first notes of the new song pulled me from my thoughts and my partner began to lead me. Now it wasn’t only the hand in his that tingled, but the zinging energy also radiated from where he touched my waist and along the small of my back as well. I had to stifle a small gasp of surprise as the feeling spread further along my body where I definitely had never felt with another person before, and I could feel my cheeks prickle with heat. As we started moving to the music, the familiar rhythm of dancing helped to overcome the less familiar sensations. Muscle memory took over my movements under his guidance. His eyes lit up as he ascertained my skill and ability to match him. They were…so pretty…deep brown but as the lights caught them, I could see that the brown was closer to a deep dark honey, giving off amber highlights in certain lights. Wow. I was a bit disappointed when the boy’s eyes closed in simple enjoyment of the dance, cutting them off from view. But then I could really look at him. HIs skin was so pale, so delicate--only enhanced by the ebony of his hair. Just as delicate were his features. His nose was almost elfin with a small swoop at the tip, so different from the blunted curving under tip of my own nose. And his lips…they were just as delicate…and looked so soft…so…touchable. I bit at my lower lip and tore my gaze away, grateful for my hands being otherwise occupied so I couldn’t succumb to the unfamiliar impulse. I heard a low chuckle. Great. Did he catch me staring at him? I hoped he didn’t think I was some sort of weirdo. I braved a peek at him under my lashes to see the same lop-sided smile as before, only softer, those brown eyes warm and inviting.

I couldn’t help but wonder why, of all the teens here, he had picked me. Could he tell somehow that I had experience in dance? Or was it simply that I had very obviously been looking for a partner? Or was it completely random on his part? There was no way to really know, and I wasn’t about to ask.

Instead of dwelling upon the question, I simply chose to enjoy the dance. The style of dance meant that our bodies were close. My usual dance partners were people I knew. But he was a stranger--a stranger who was…exciting… Brave and confident, yet with a delicate beauty, topped by being an excellent dancer. I had never in my life met someone like him--met someone that made my mind so…aware, my heart race, my body tingle everywhere, and…that made me…interested in ways that were completely foreign to me up to this point in my life. I had never experienced a moment so…perfect and I wished the song would never end. It was odd. I didn’t even know his name, but I felt like he had changed something in me forever…

All too soon, the song came to an end. “Oh…” I let out with unveiled disappointment. I looked to his beautiful face with a hopeful raise of my brows, a silent request for another dance. But his hands released mine and he politely took a step back. As he did so, I noticed a cute little birthmark on the right side of his neck.

“Thank you for dancing with me,” he said, his smile so bright it made his lovely face seem to light from within. I was about to open my mouth to reply when he continued. “You have nice legs.”

That was not something I expected. I blinked at him in confusion, then looked down at the items in question. But…I was wearing pants. How did he know? When I looked up again, he had drifted away.

“Wait!” I called out, hoping to at least get his name. But the music had started again and the boy didn’t look back. Then he disappeared into the crowded dance floor. Wait! I tried to navigate around the crowd myself. I was tall for my age, but still couldn’t see over the taller adults. There was no sight of him. And despite my gaze searching for him the rest of the evening, I didn’t see a glimpse of him. Nor did I at the next function. Or the one that followed that. Or the one after that.

I never saw him again at all.

Until this moment--

💜💜💜

To be continued: Present Time