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let-them-read-fics · 3 years

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Yours Truly (Pt. 1)

Requested By: Some of you!

Pairing: Jisoo x Fem!Reader

AU: College

Word Count: ~ Part 1 -> 9,786 // Part 2 -> 7,433

Warnings / Misc. -- Pining, Angst, Fluff

Disclaimer: This writing is a work of fiction, and no disrespect is meant for those mentioned herein.

A/N: Hey everyone! I finally have a few days off, so we're back to our (semi) regularly scheduled programming with this fic! I really hope you enjoy it; lmk what you think :)

PS ~ Once again, I had to split it into two parts to appease the Tumblr Overlords.

♡ Happy Reading ♡

Part 2 -- Click Here

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1.) A Day In Class

Where does true beauty come from?

Is it strictly based in someone's DNA, rooted entirely in the attractiveness of their features? Or is deeper than that; does it extend from their soul? The very essence of stardust and personality that makes them them? Is it in how they interact with others? How they carry themselves?

You, being the wannabe philosopher that you are, love hearing people's answers to those questions. Every response is unique in its own way, altered depending on the person asked, and you find that to be one of humanity's most wonderful qualities. Like snowflakes, we're all different; as such is our definition of beauty. It lies in the eye of the beholder, subjective in its nature, and you find that comforting. Just think: if 99% of the world's population found you unattractive, 78,000,000 would beg to differ.

Though, for one person, you're sure those rules don't apply. She's objectively beautiful, and no one even attempts to pretend otherwise.

Who, you may ask? Kim Jisoo, of course -- head of your school's student council, resident girl next door, and keeper of your heart. She's poised in every way, and refined to the point that you question if you're even deserving of knowing her. Humor and kindness radiate from her no matter where she goes, so it's really no surprise that so many people love her.

A tap on your shoulder pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn to look at your best friend. "Yo, Y/N. What did you get for number 32?" Jeong asks from his seat in the row directly behind you, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Your history professor likely wouldn't take kindly to being interrupted during his lecture, so you choose to show him your answer instead of responding out loud.

Jeong thanks you and continues to work on the activity you finished nearly 15 minutes ago, leaving you to half-heartedly listen to your professor. You're a good student, but even you have a limit to how much monotonous speaking you can handle in one sitting. As his words drone on, you roll your neck -- intending for the action to relieve some of the tension in your aching muscles; you're in for a surprise, however, when you lock eyes with none other than Jisoo herself. She offers a warm smile and wave, and the innocent actions send swarms of butterflies to take flight in your stomach. After sitting there for a moment, dumbstruck by her beauty, you snap to and return the gesture, making her giggle quietly.

Huh. So that's what angels sound like, then.

She turns back to her work after a minute, flipping the page every so often as she follows along with the lesson. You take note of how her eyes dart across the materials laid out on her desk, how her fingers mindlessly flirt with the edge of her sleeve in contemplation when she gets to a question that stumps her.

Never have you ever found yourself in such inner turmoil before. The sight before you begs to be seen -- to be admired -- but class continues on. As much as you try to fight it, your resolve eventually crumbles; foreign concepts now falling on fully deaf ears, you allow yourself to be entranced.

2.) Out In The Square

A Few Hours Later

Throngs of people stretch out before you, everyone making their way to various parts of campus as the blazingly hot sun beats down on them. Some run like their lives depend on it -- likely having overslept or missed campus transit -- while others take their time, catching up with friends and gossiping all the while. The soft pfft of sprinklers set up across the sections of lawn around you can be heard, going off every so often, and occasionally they're followed by the shouts of some unfortunate people getting soaked.

"You're so lucky, Y/N," Jeong groans from behind you. A grimace sits on his face as he flips through the pages of his Trigonometry book, looking for the reference graphs again. "No more classes for the rest of the week and you don't have any more assignments to finish? Remind me again how to become a teacher's pet, please." You roll your eyes with an amused smile, leaning back on your elbows to talk to him.

"I'm not a teacher's pet, Jeong. I just do my work on time instead of partying every night." He picks up a leftover piece of bread from the picnic basket that sits to his right and tosses it at you in retaliation to your little remark.

"I don't care what you say, those parties are always epic. One of these days I'll convince you to come along."

You shake your head, knowing there's no way you'd willingly attend one of them. From his stories, all those "epic" nights consist of is ridiculously drunken beer pong, sweaty people doing jello shots, and regrets.

"Not in a million years, loser." You say adamantly, not letting him trick himself into believing he's capable of swaying you.

With one last muttered phrase of, "we'll see about that," he returns to his studies, and you turn your attention elsewhere.

Scattered light filters in through the leaves of the tree you're sitting under, wrapping you in a blanket of warmth as your eyes scan across the crowd again. The sight brings to mind an idea that always fascinates you: everyone you meet is busy creating their own stories, writing and rewriting new possibilities and endings for themselves with each new choice they make. You can hear snippets of their conversations -- see instances of some having their best days while others are living through their worst -- and it really puts things into perspective. Although we may appear as side characters in those books of life that others are writing for themselves, we have no idea what they're going through at any given moment. So, you believe, that makes it all the more important to leave a positive impact on them; whether it be a kind smile, holding the door, or even a simple compliment, you're determined to have your legacy be one rooted in kindness.

Speaking of kindness in human form…

There she is, you think to yourself, feeling that all too familiar pitter patter of your heart pick up. Jisoo exits Building C, where her latest lecture just ended, and rushes down the stairs with her books in her arms. She's studying to become an actress, as far as you know, and you can't help but smile at the thought; she'll make an amazing star someday.

You watch as she meets up with 3 other girls, whom you immediately recognize as Lisa, Rosé, and Jennie, and they eagerly bounce their way over to the refreshment truck that one of your school's clubs had been so considerate to hire. It's the perfect day for a cold treat, after all.

Jisoo's dark hair flows in the gentle breeze that rolls in, looking like silk as it rides the currents. She's gorgeous in every way, and you can't help but be smitten; besides, it's not like you're not alone in your pining. She practically has the entire student body wrapped around her finger.

"Y/N, don't forget to blink. You're staring pretty hard," Yuqi says, raising up onto her elbow beside Jeong. He laughs with her, but his eyes remain glued to the notebook paper he's scribbling his work onto.

Your eyes dart away following her statement, and you know you've been caught. "I thought you were asleep," you bite back, attempting to hide the blush of embarrassment that's quickly flooding to your cheeks.

"I was, but I guess my intuition as your best friend woke me up. It's my mission in life to tease you."

"So I've gathered," you sarcastically smile at each other, making stupid faces like always.

"You love me," she flips her hair over her shoulder, appearing self-assured with the smirk that tugs at her lips.

"Do I though? I don't know sometimes..." she socks you in the arm, making you chuckle.

"All jokes, babe. Don't pout," you pinch her cheek until she grins, and then she begins telling you all about the dream she just had.

----

Jisoo leads her gang over to one of the nearby tables, making sure to choose her seat strategically. A special someone caught her attention earlier, as they have from the moment she first laid eyes on them months ago, and she hasn't been able to fight the urge to admire them. She watches as they laugh along with something their friend said, tilting their head back as the cheerful noise rings out. She finds herself smiling along, imagining what it would be like to make them laugh like that; it's a uniquely wonderful sound, and she can't help but adore it.

They lean across the blanket they're sitting on and dig through a picnic basket, retrieving what seems to be a sandwich packaged up in plastic wrap. One of their friends exaggeratedly thanks them, tackling them to the ground in a messy hug with a shout of gratitude that even Jisoo can hear from across the square.

"Earth to Jisoo!" Jennie says, raising her voice slightly as she snaps her fingers in front of the unnie. The former jolts back to attention with a little jump, clearing her throat to gather her thoughts.

"You know, you could always go talk to him. I've heard he's sweet." She tells the other girl, noticing the look of longing that's befallen her features.

"Yeah, Joy has Art with him on Thursdays. I think his name's Jeong or something like that." Lisa butts in before taking another lick of her ice cream.

Despite being so smart, the girls are really oblivious sometimes; Jisoo wasn't looking at him at all. She was looking at you.

She doesn't know if now is the right time to tell them that, though. She hasn't officially come out to them, but she isn't afraid that they won't accept her -- she just wants that moment to be special, and sweating in the middle of the campus square doesn't seem like the golden opportunity that she's been hoping for.

"Just eat your treats, knuckleheads." She concludes, taking a spoonful of the shaved ice she opted for instead of ice cream. The truck had multiple types of treats, with all kinds of different toppings and flavorings lining the walls.

"Okay…" Rosé trails off before adding, "but don't say we didn't try to help when you start wishing you had said something later." Jisoo uses her spoon to lower the one that Rosie had raised accusingly at her, reassuring the girl that she'd be fine.

She knows it's a lie, though; as the 4 of them later toss their trash in the bins and make their way to the student council room, Jisoo sneaks a last wistful glance at you, wishing she would've had the courage to start a conversation.

3.) One Step Closer

Friday, 1:34 PM -- A Few Days Later

"Hey, Minji. How many do we have today?" You wave at what kids have already been dropped off, your presence making their little faces light up with joy.

Your coworker responds from across the room, tossing a couple stray toys into their labeled baskets to keep the space tidy. "10 or so, I think. The last ones should be arriving soon." You nod and take off your coat, setting your things in one of the small cubbies against the wall just beyond the entrance.

"Y/N!" A small voice shouts from behind the counter, hidden from view. You smile deeply when you realize who it is, and you quickly dart around the corner to say hello. His chubby hands cover his mouth, but they do little in hiding his adorable grin. "Seungbum! How's my little munchkin?!" He squeals and runs into your arms, giggling loudly when you pick him up and spin him around. His dark hair sways from side to side with the movement, the slight waves sticking out in random places. A few seconds later, he wraps his arms around your neck and pulls back to look at you, settling into your secure hold.

"Can we play when Jia gets here? I promised her I'd show her the new trick I learned, but I wanna show you, too."

You smile at the sweet sentiment. "Of course, buddy. As long as you eat well at snack time, we can play however much you want." You raise an eyebrow at him, showing your authority, before saying, "I saw you put your veggies in your pocket last time and skip to dessert, so it'd better not happen again." He lowers his head after realizing he had been caught, and a hint of redness flushes his cheeks in embarrassment.

"Okay Y/N-yah."

You tickle him to make sure he knows you aren't mad at him, and soon he's laughing again. "Now, go wash your hands and get settled at the table, please."

"Yes ma'am." His tiny sneakers squeak against the floor as he races off towards one of the lowered sinks that borders the kitchen wall, and you shake your head with a smile.

Not even a second later, you feel a soft tug at your pant leg, and you turn around to find the source.

A head of brilliantly auburn hair is the first thing you see, and its shade compliments the child's outfit perfectly. "Hi sweetheart. Are you new?" You squat down to the young girl's level, noting how she shyly toys with her fingers as they rest in front of her. She nods, the movement so subtle that you almost don't notice it.

"My name's Y/N, and that awesome lady over there," you lean closer to her and point towards your coworker, "...is Minji. You can stay with us today, or you can play with the others, okay?" She nods again, her mannerisms letting you know just how shy she really is. Gently taking one of her hands, you hold it and look at her with a reassuring smile, asking, "Will you tell me your name?"

"I'm Aera." She meekly says, only maintaining eye contact for a second or two.

"That's a beautiful name," you compliment, seeing progress as she lightly smiles at your words. "And I love your bow," you add, touching the delicate material that rests near her ear, nestled into her straight locks. It has cherry blossoms and butterflies on it, all vibrant and neatly colored.

"Thank you, I picked it out myself." She perks up a bit now, raising her head to look at you with a proud smile. "Wow, really?" You put on an impressed expression, wanting to boost her confidence even more. "You'll have to help me choose one the next time I go shopping, then. You're great at it." The praise makes her chuckle, and her eyes squint into soft crescents in the process.

After stealing a glance at the table where everyone else has already gathered, you realize that they're waiting on you to start. "Alright, Aera, it's time to grab a bite to eat. Do you want to sit with me, or are you ready to be with the others?" You tilt your head to the side, asking the question softly so she doesn't feel overwhelmed. Having had this job for a while, you've gotten the hang of adjusting your behavior to put them at ease.

"With you," she says, growing a little timid again at the idea of mingling with them yet. "That's perfectly fine." You reassure her, smiling one more time before standing and leading her to the room. Her hand remains clutched in yours, wiggling around slightly from the height difference as she looks around.

"Who's ready for some snacks?" Minji asks the group, laughing when they all raise their hands and get excited. Their high pitched voices carry around the room as they discuss what foods they want to trade with each other, and soon everyone is happily munching away. You rub Aera's back sweetly as she eats some cucumber sticks, swinging her feet through the air beneath the short chair you retrieved from the table for her. She looks up into your eyes with a smile, melting your heart with the cuteness of her full cheeks. You squish them before turning away, feeling your 6th sense kick in as you scan your eyes across the rest of the group.

"Seungbum…" you warn, catching the way he's mischievously eyeing the carrots laid out before him on the table. He pokes at one of them and sighs, eventually giving in as he takes a hesitant bite of it. With some more convincing, he finishes the rest of the pack and gets started on his dessert.

----

Honestly, you feel sorry for the birds outside.

They must have had hundreds of mini heart attacks upon hearing the somehow earth-shattering roar of the 10 young kids, all blasting out the side door towards the playground. Some of them automatically race towards the swings or slides, while others approach the basket of toys and sports equipment. Aera, however, hangs back, her entire hand wrapped around just a few of your fingers. "What do you wanna do?" She shrugs, looking around at the different activities that the others are already starting.

"I can push you on the swings, or we could race. There're some monkey bars and a merry-go-round, too, that nobody's using right now." You suggest, hoping to catch her interest with one of them. Her attention snaps up to you at that last option, and she dramatically drops her jaw. "Did you say merry-go-round?" You nod with an amused grin, laughing when she lets out a cute noise of joy. After pointing her in the direction of it, she dashes off ahead of you and makes her way to it, only stopping to make sure you're still coming with her once she gets there.

"Hold on tight, little one." You advise, cheering when she giggles in anticipation. Her chuckles fill the airwaves as you spin the bar around, making sure not to pull too hard and make her too dizzy. You were once a kid, too, though, so you make it a point to add some serious speed every now and then to keep her entertained and happy. You remember playing on these all day when you were her age.

---

"Auntie!" Aera shrieks, excitedly thundering towards the fence that borders the playground. You finish cheering Seungbum on after watching his trick, grinning as he tries to flirt with Jia; she looks impressed. You turn around at Aera's commotion, feeling your eyes practically pop out of your head at who you see standing on the other side.

"How was your day, my love?" Jisoo asks sweetly, leaning over the metal divider to run a hand through her niece's hair lovingly. She still hasn't noticed your presence, and for that you don't know if you're relieved or saddened. Watching her interact with the young girl is quite adorable, though, and you're distracted from your personal gay panic for the time being.

"I've had so much fun. And Y/N-yah said she likes my hair clip! I told you this one was prettier than the one with just trees on it!" Aera says smugly, happy to have her decision pay off and prove her aunt wrong. Jisoo tenses up, not expecting to hear your name right now. Seeing that this is her first time picking Aera up, she had no idea you work at the daycare; though she'd be lying to say that it comes as a surprise -- you're a very warm person, so it's no wonder that you're good with kids.

As per Aera's request, you walk across the playground and join her in front of Jisoo. Now it's your turn to be shy; you sneak a glance at the student council president and immediately feel your cheeks heat up, so you busy yourself by patting Aera on the head. She hugs your leg and settles against your side, causing Jisoo to raise her eyebrows. "I'm impressed, Y/N. She usually doesn't open up to new people very easily."

"Ah, I'm surprised that such a cool girl like her wanted to hang out with me." You tease, tickling her side lightly when she hides behind the material of your shirt. "Do you want to come in and see what she drew today? She's definitely skilled." You suggest, trying not to sound too hopeful as you muster up the courage to look at Jisoo again. She's already smiling at you, a soft sort of adoration shining in her eyes as they rake over your features. She accepts your offer, and you walk over to the gate to let her in. Aera demands that you carry her, so you scoop her up into your arms as you make your way back into the daycare center. Her head sits on your shoulder, and you can feel her playfully making faces at Jisoo the entire way; her tiny frame jolts with each loud giggle she lets out, and the sound makes you smile.

---

"Yeah, she was my sidekick for the day." You respond to Jisoo, continuing your conversation as you watch Aera remove her drawing from the cork board that she taped it to earlier. Displaying the kids' artwork is something that you advocated for when you first began working here, and you're so glad you did; they always get excited to share their works.

"She's a lucky girl, then." She says, doing her best to ignore the feeling of your eyes on her. Focusing on anything other than you is already hard enough for her, but she knows there'd be no hope left if she gives in now.

"Y/N helped me draw this. She doodled Dalgom in the corner," Aera cheerily says, breaking the slight tension in the air as she approaches the table. Most of the other kids have already been picked up, and Minji's watching the handful that haven't.

"It's not very good," you cringe, scratching the back of your neck. You've seen him a few times since the beginning of the year, whether it be on walks across campus with Jisoo, or perched on her desk during "bring your pet to class" day.

"It's adorable; Dalgomie will be honored when I show it to him." Jisoo says with a nod, shutting down your insecurities within a second. You fail to contain the laugh that slips past your lips, disbelief present in your voice as you ask, "You're going to show him?" She looks at you like you have 3 heads. "It would be a disgrace not to."

With a breathy chuckle, you say, "You're so strange. I like it, though."

Jisoo smiles at that, and the three of you discuss all of the fun things you did that day. Jisoo tells you about the classes she had to sit through, and even how she stepped in gum and had to borrow a pair of Rosé's shoes.

---

All good things must come to an end, though, and after about half an hour of talking, it was time to say goodbye.

You lead them out the door and down the sidewalk as per Aera's request, yet again (that child is basically a mini dictator at this point, but she's cute so she gets a free pass). As she rustles around her bag in search of her keys, Jisoo accidentally knocks her earbud case out, sending it tumbling to the ground. "Oh! Here, I'll grab it for you." You kindly offer, stepping past her to retrieve it from the grass. She takes it from you with a word of gratitude uttered in that angelic voice of hers, and you begin your goodbyes upon hearing Minji call your name.

"I'll see you around, Jisoo. And Aera, I expect to see you next week." You wiggle a finger at the little girl, donning a shocked expression when she pretends to bite it. "Can't you tell we're related?" Jisoo asks with a smile, ruffling her niece's hair. "The resemblance is uncanny," you laugh, watching as both of them join in with you.

"Y/N, come on!" Minji whines, sounding like a toddler herself. You initially go to brush off her request in order to spend a few more seconds with the two of them, but when she stands in the doorway, entering your line of sight, you see why she's so desperate for your help -- two of the children still waiting on their parents are climbing on her, about to knock her over at any second. Her face is beet red from the effort she's exerting, and her hair is mussed wildly.

"Oh shhh---" you start, catching yourself when Jisoo widens her eyes at you and goes to cover Aera's ears, "--shiitake mushrooms!" You finish with a nervous smile, gaining a stunned laugh from your crush. "Bye girls; gotta go. I'm on my way, Minji!" You call out like a superhero, running to her aid as fast as your legs will carry you.

Jisoo watches you wrangle one of the squirmy kids off of her and initiate a tickle fight to distract him and give Minji time to deal with the other one. She smiles like a dork at your actions, realizing she would be content with watching you all day. You're a natural with them, and seeing you in action is something she wishes she had the chance to do more often. With that, she turns around and picks Aera up; the youngster nuzzles into her embrace, lazily slumping onto her after having such a tiring day. As Jisoo goes to take a step forward, she notices something on the ground: a piece of paper. It's been folded neatly many times, and it reminds her of the notes she would always pass to her friends back in elementary school. Her curiosity gets the better of her, and she can't resist the urge to pick it up.

"To The Girl Who'll Never Know I Love Her"

Her eyes scan across the words and she unfolds the note, making sure to keep a steady grip on Aera with her other arm. An almost unnoticeable signature is scribbled in the bottom corner, and she nearly scares Aera by squealing in pleasant surprise.

It's your name, curled into the letters that are so uniquely yours; the paper must've fallen out of your pocket when you bent down to get her case earlier.

After buckling her niece into her car seat and climbing into the driver's seat, Jisoo unfolds the note again and begins reading. She's like a giddy kid all over again, and part of her feels bad for giving into temptation. She reasons with herself by promising to give it back to you the next time she sees you, and that manages to rid her conscience of some of the guilt she feels. For now, though, she's eager to see what it contains.

The first thing to catch her eye is a poem written neatly underneath a doodle of a rabbit, likely serving as some sort of label. Everyone on campus knows of her nickname and resemblance to rabbits, and she can't help but hope that your drawing wasn't simply a coincidence.

Poison, is what you are

A bittersweet mix, intoxicatingly beautiful

For one glance from you

Steals every breath I had so foolishly believed was mine to take

For one smile from you

Sends me reeling, falling all over again

She nearly swoons at the words, rereading them multiple times over and imagining you saying them to her. She wonders how the syllables would fall from your lips, which ones you'd stress to alter the meaning into whatever you imagined when you wrote them. Whether or not they're written for her, she may never know; all she's aware of right now is how they make her feel, and how that feeling is one that she never wants to stop experiencing.

4.) Practice Makes Perfect

2 Weeks, 3 Exams, and 1 Mental Breakdown Later

"Coming!" You call out, using all of your strength to push your rolling chair away from your desk and across the room towards the door.

"Y/N L/N, at your service," you say, doing a little bow in your seat. Upon looking up to see who's in front of you, your eyes lock with the same girl who's been living in your mind rent free ever since you met her.

"Jisoo!" You announce a little louder than intended, scrambling up into a standing position before kicking the chair backwards. You wince when it collides with something behind you, filling the room with noise as a few of your knick knacks clatter to the floor. Jisoo has to fight to contain the smile on her lips, pursing them as she looks towards the ground so as to not embarrass you.

It's too late though -- you've already made a fool of yourself, and right in front of your crush, no less.

"What can I do for you?" You ask, finally relaxing your face from its previously scrunched up position.

"Are you busy right now? I have a favor to ask and you might be the only person who can help me out." Her eyebrows raise inquisitively at you, quirking up in that special way they always do when she's focusing in class.

She could ask you to do just about anything, and you'd be agreeing without hesitation; no questions asked.

"N-no, just doing a little studying is all. How can I help?" You'd normally curse yourself for sounding so shy, but she looks especially gorgeous tonight and you can't even blame yourself for it. The fluorescent bulbs of the dorm's hallway fail to even put a dent in the glow she's radiating, and that's no small feat -- those horrible little things are usually capable of making anyone look bad, and yet, once again, Jisoo manages to break the mold.

"Mrs. Choi assigned a rehearsal for me tonight, and I need a peer to score how well I do. I trust you to do it." She says, having no idea how much her words are affecting you.

Review portions of the semester are crucial to every major's success, but arguably none so much as those studying to be actors. The peer and admin reviews that they receive account for a large chunk of their grade, so you can imagine how nerve-racking it would be to put that kind of power in someone else's hands. You're touched that she trusts you with it.

"I'd love to help, Jisoo. Just curious, though: why don't you have one of the girls help? They probably know more about it than me, after all." Everyone knows how close JenChuLiChaeng are, so her decision to choose you is genuinely intriguing.

Shit. For some reason, Jisoo hadn't anticipated that you'd ask that question. The thought had never crossed her mind earlier, when she was preoccupied with convincing herself to come in the first place, so she has to think something up on the fly.

"They're all busy with work. Couldn't afford to lose any precious cramming time, you know?" She says, a hint of nervousness behind the small laugh she lets out. It's uncharacteristic for her, considering she's usually so confident all the time, but you think it's adorable.

"Ryujin's the same way," you tease, turning your head to look at your roommate. She's across the room on her bed, reading through her book as she holds her middle finger up to let you know she heard your comment. "What a sweetie," you coo, blowing a kiss at her that makes her roll her eyes and smile despite herself. She pretends to be hardcore, but after spending the past few months with her you've discovered that she's actually the human embodiment of a cinnamon roll.

"Well," you say, turning back to Jisoo, "when do you have to start?"

She pulls her sleeve back to glance at her watch before returning her gaze to you. "Gotta be back at the dorm in 10 minutes."

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, the inner honor student in you already panicking. "10 minutes?! It's all the way across campus, Jisoo!"

She laughs at you now, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth. "I'm kidding; we still have a couple hours. You should've seen your face, though. Priceless."

"That's no way to treat someone who practically has your grade resting in their hands." You say smugly, a little smirk playing on your lips when her jaw drops dramatically.

"You wouldn't dare," she narrows her eyes, referencing the notion that you might give her bad marks because of that little prank.

"Maybe, or maybe not. Perhaps I'll be merciful if you take me to get something to eat first."

"Food as a peace offering? Alright, I can do that."

You smile, doing a dorky little cheer at that. "Okay, I'll be right out; just give me a second to make myself look presentable."

Jisoo accepts your words with a curt nod, but she wants to tell you that you already look more than presentable. When you first opened the door earlier and she saw you in your study glasses, she couldn't help but smile like a fool; you're adorable, especially to her, and she wishes you could see that.

A couple minutes later you exit your dorm and find her leaned up against the hallway wall, her hands fidgeting in front of her. Is she nervous?

"So, where would you like to go?" You ask, pulling the thin material of your jacket over your shoulders. It's lightweight -- seeing as how the weather doesn't call for a large one -- and it feels soft against your skin.

As the two of you fall into step with each other, she responds, "It's up to you, princess. Since I'm at your mercy and all." Her smirk is visible in your peripheral.

The nickname causes your heart to flutter in your chest, thudding around even harder than it had before. "U-uh, how about the noodle place?" You suggest, trying not to cringe at the stutter in your voice. You've heard that she likes chicken and ramen, and that shop is known as the best restaurant on campus for it.

"110%. You know me so well," she says dreamily, batting her eyelashes at you with a silly smile.

"Called it," you retort, brushing your shoulder off nonchalantly. "Now come on, I'm hungry and ready to spend all of your money." Her hand slips into yours when you reach down for it, almost instinctively, feeling like it was meant to be there all along, and you tug her down the hallway towards the elevator.

----

"I know! If Mr. Johnson assigns another project like that then I'll politely be jumping out a window."

Jisoo laughs at how animated you are, even having to stop chewing her mouthful of food momentarily to make sure she doesn't choke. She really loves hanging out with you; you make everything fun, and all of the stress she feels on a daily basis seems to vanish into thin air.

"I did pretty bad on that last one," Jisoo adds, grimacing as she remembers her score.

"You literally got a 93 out of 100, shut up." You shake your head with an amused smile, reaching across the table to snatch a piece of gimbap from her plate.

"Hey--" she goes to yell at you, but her phone vibrates against the table, successfully stopping her.

"Hello?" She answers, silently starting a chopstick war with you when you reach for another piece. When the person on the other end begins talking, she stops playing in order to concentrate on what they're saying.

"Did she cancel?" She asks, furrowing her brow as her lips form into a natural pout. She sighs, rubbing her temple gently as the conversation continues. "Okay, I'm out with a friend right now, but you can go ahead and head that way. We'll meet you there. Alright, love you, too. Bye."

You raise an eyebrow, wordlessly requesting info about what new plan you're being involved in. "That was my brother; the babysitter cancelled on them last minute, so we have to watch Aera for a few hours." Jisoo loves her niece dearly, but she can't deny that she wanted to spend the evening alone with you. She's afraid the little girl will steal all of your attention away, as childish as that may seem.

"You're such a good person," you compliment, only to frown when she brushes off your words. "I mean it, Jisoo. You always take care of everybody around you; it's admirable. Now take the compliment or I'll team up with Aera later and tease you."

She rolls her eyes with a smile, saying, "You're gonna do that regardless."

"That's not the point," you pout, stomping your foot on the ground lightly.

"Fine; tis I, Jisoo, the greatest person in all of existence. Happy now?"

"Ecstatic." You beam at her, returning back to your cheery self. "I'll go grab some boxes for us, okay?" She nods, and you scurry off on your mission.

----

Back At Jisoo's Dorm

Images flash across the large, flatscreen TV mounted to the wall across from you, displaying scenes of whatever cartoon the network decided to air right now. Aera isn't being picky; she's content with sitting in your lap, mindlessly fidgeting with the necklace that loosely dangles from your neck as she remains entranced by the screen. Your arms are around her to make her feel secure, and her small frame racks against you with every sweet giggle she lets out anytime a new joke is told by one of her favorite characters.

Jisoo observes from the kitchen, leaning back against the countertop to settle in while she waits for Aera's favorite snack to heat up. She watches as you point to various things on the TV, having her name the ones she knows and teaching her others that she doesn't.

She loves seeing you like this. You're beaming in that special way that sets her heart on fire, and the flames are only fanned when you turn to look at her. Somehow, the sight reminds her of the first time she met you:

It was orientation week -- the beginning of the school year -- and you were taking a tour around campus with some of your friends. You were lucky to have them; you'd only kept in contact with a handful of people from high school, knowing full well that most of those relationships were only rooted in superficiality, never meant to last. But this motley crew was different; they saw you for you, and all of you genuinely enjoyed each other's company. It didn't have the same air of awkward tension as the fake friendships had -- this was real and honest, and you thanked your lucky stars for them on the daily.

All of you had managed to get into your dream schools, and the reality was bittersweet; you'd all be moving away from each other and beginning your own lives, having less and less time for each other in the process. You were beyond proud of them, and yourself, for that matter, but it still hurt to think that they wouldn't be just a few blocks away anymore. That you couldn't just swing by their house to go on a late night drive through the city like you used to. As exciting as your new experiences were bound to be, part of you was terrified; your life up until now had been fairly safe, creating a little security blanket to protect you from all that life had in store, but now you were on your own and the idea was a bit daunting. The memories you made together comforted you, though, and kept the sadness at bay.

"Dude, this place is sick. How did you manage to make it in again?"

"Because she's smart, dumbass. We should be asking you that question."

"Ouch, (Friend's Name), that hurt."

"Do you still have those chips from earlier? I'm starving over here."

"Yeah, here, they're in my bag."

Pockets of separate conversations can be heard from behind you, all of your friends chatting away while you walk ahead of them, map and schedule in hand. The campus is fairly large, and with so many buildings and classrooms it's easy to get confused. You continue walking, running a finger along the map to trace the path you intend to take towards the Help Center.

In your preoccupied state, you don't even realize that you're headed straight for a trash can that sits on the sidewalk, mere seconds away from colliding with it.

A passerby notices just in the nick of time, reaching an arm out in front of you to prevent the accident with a noise of warning. You tense up, not expecting the sudden interruption, and look up into the eyes of your savior. Her dark orbs peer back at you, an innocent gleam in them when she sees your lips slowly tug into a smile.

She mirrors your actions, neither of you saying anything yet. You couldn't utter a word even if you wanted to; her beauty leaves you speechless.

"That was close," she says quietly, only to you. Your friends have almost caught up with you now, still busy with their own conversations, though they'll tease you once they see a gorgeous stranger's arm wrapped around you.

"Thank you," you breathe out, clearing your throat as you take a step away from her.

"Ooh, who's this, Y/N?" One of your friends coos, garnering a chorus of childish "oohs" and kissy noises from the others. Why are they so obnoxious?

You apologetically glance at the girl one more time before turning around to respond to them, but she speaks up before you can.

"Kim Jisoo." She introduces, facing them with a wide smile. It's easy to see that she's done this before; her tone is pleasant and light, not even a hint of hesitancy in it. She's used to being the center of attention; you can tell by the way she carries herself and commands the space.

"I see you guys are taking a tour, right?" She looks between all of you, though her eyes linger on you for a second too long to be brushed off as 'just friendly'.

You nod, saying, "I can't find my last class. It's a Gen Ed one; World History, room 435. The map says it's in Complex D, but the room was vacant when we went by."

She listens intently, paying attention to your every word. "They must've handed out the old maps by accident, then. Mr. Johnson had to move rooms to accommodate larger class sizes. When do you have him?"

You unfold your schedule again, gazing down at the slightly crumpled sheet until your eyes find their target. "Tuesdays and Thursdays, 1PM."

Upon registering what you said, Jisoo does her best to contain the grin that threatens to spread across her face. "Ah, same as me! I can take you to the room, if you'd like. That way you can find it next week." She offers, pleased by the fact that she'll be seeing you more often. Your cute mannerisms have already thrown her for a loop, and she wants to get to know you better.

"That would be great." You let out a relieved laugh, releasing the worry you felt; tours are meant to end within 20 minutes or so, and before Jisoo came you were afraid you'd never find your last class. She's saving the day again, it seems.

"Great, follow me," she smiles warmly, placing a gentle hand on the small of your back to turn you in the right direction. When you give your friends one last glance over your shoulder, you find them giving you thumbs up with smirks on their faces. One of them puckers their lips at you, and you stick your tongue out in return.

You're not sure what they'll end up doing while you finish your tour, though it'll likely involve either skating or eating fast food. They have each other to keep themselves entertained, so you're not worried about them in the slightest. You make a mental note to text them when you're done to meet up again.

Jisoo smiles like an idiot when she realizes what's happening behind her, failing miserably to hide it when you spin back around and give your full attention to her.

"What?" You ask, leaning in closer to her to nudge her shoulder when she looks away, blushing.

"Nothing," she shakes her head, only to be prompted by you again. "You're just cute, is all."

You have to use all your power to hold back the squeal you want to let out at hearing that. Kim Jisoo, as you now know her to be, thinks you're cute? You must be dreaming.

"That's funny, I don't remember turning into a mirror."

"Yah, babo!" She chuckles, not expecting that as she smacks the back of your head with no real force. The two of you share a laugh and continue talking while you make your way to the room.

Beeping sounds from the microwave bring Jisoo back down to Earth, causing the pleasant memory to fade more and more with every incessant signal that cuts through the air. She grabs a couple heat guards and approaches the machine, carefully opening the steaming package and pouring its contents into a big, shareable bowl. Though it may be Aera's favorite food, she'd be damned to not make enough for the two of you as well. After all, keeping her entertained will take plenty of energy.

"Did this princess order one heaping bowl of popcorn or am I at the wrong castle?" Jisoo plays, padding into the room with a bright smile on her face as she looks over at her niece. The smell of her snack snaps Aera back to reality, making her eyes light up with pure joy as she leaps off of your lap and runs to Jisoo. She wraps her arms around her legs, thanking her in that sweet little voice of hers as she gazes up at her aunt with stars in her eyes.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She chants, wiggling her body around in excitement. She lets go when Jisoo goes to walk to the couch, following close behind her like an eager puppy.

She approaches you again, making grabby hands for you to lift her onto your lap even though she's more than capable of getting up there by herself. Nevertheless, you pull her up with a humored grin, watching as she puts her hands in her lap and patiently waits for the two of you to get a bite first. Her ability to follow manners is commendable, though the slight twitch of her lip when she gets a whiff of the food is pretty adorable.

"Dig in," you say around your mouthful of food, locking eyes with Jisoo when Aera jumps at the opportunity to follow your instructions. You never have to tell her twice when it comes to food.

"Yep, definitely related."

Jisoo laughs at your comment, reaching over top of Aera to flick you in the forehead. She shrugs at your pained exclamation, uttering a nonchalant "Sorry, not sorry," as the two of you crack up together.

----

"Y/N, how the hell did you manage to do that?" Jisoo whispers, not bothering to censor herself when she sees Aera fast asleep in your arms. It's not like she could hear her anyway.

"She was already kinda tired when she got here; I just made sure to get that last little bit of energy out with the games. Have you forgotten that I know a thing or two about kids?" You tease, turning to her with a smile when you finish walking up the short staircase.

"You don't understand: usually it takes us hours to settle her down. She's just a totally different person around you."

"Must be my awesomeness."

"Hmm, must be," Jisoo hums, quietly opening her bedroom door for you and watching as you carefully lay Aera down. You tuck her under the blankets with care, making sure to brush the hair out of her face and adjust her pillow a bit. Jisoo leans against the doorframe, adding the scene before her to her list of reasons for loving you. Seeing you in such a domestic situation gives her baby fever, and she has to push the persistent feeling away.

"Ready?" You whisper with one last look over your shoulder, giving Jisoo your undivided attention once you confirm that Aera's alright.

"Let's do it," she says, pulling the door to but not latching it. The two of you will be in the living room, just down the hall, and you want to be able to hear her in case she needs something. So responsible.

You take in the dorm as Jisoo leads you towards your destination, amazed at how much bigger it is than yours and Ryujin's. This one has separate rooms equipped with their own personal bathrooms, a decent kitchen, and, of course, a living area. Clearly, having ties to the school and being president of the student council come with some major perks. Your socked feet pad against the hardwood floor, and you close what little distance is left between Jisoo and yourself to press your body against her back, wrapping your arms around her. She lets out a little noise of surprise, but doesn't protest; she tucks one of her hands into your clasped ones and uses the other to rub your forearm.

A few moments later you plop down onto the couch and get comfortable on the cushions. Jisoo digs around in her bag that leans against the tv stand, searching for the script of her upcoming production. Her shirt rides up slightly, giving you a perfect view of her beautifully sculpted stomach, and her skin looks ethereal as it glows in the soft lamplight of the room. Embarrassed for admiring her in such a way, you avert your gaze, failing to notice how she subtly bites her lip as she approaches you; she planned that little show, and it worked.

"Okay, so here's the scoring sheet," she hands you a semi-formal looking paper, along with a pencil and clipboard to use as a stabilizer. "I'll be reading from the first few pages on my own, but I was wondering if you'd fill in for the male lead for some of the other parts? It's a lot easier to get into character if I have someone's energy to feed off of."

You smile at how cute she sounded with her little rambled request, and nod. "Of course, Jisoo. I doubt I'll be any good, though." She releases a sigh at that, happy to have you agree; her plan is coming along nicely, but there's always room for things to go wrong.

"I'm sure you're better than you think."

"Stop sucking up, Chu. Flattery won't make me raise your grade," you warn, pointing the pencil at her sternly. Your tone sends a shiver down her spine, though it goes unnoticed by you.

"Let's just get started." She concludes, doing her best to keep from getting too flustered under your already watchful eye.

----

Her show is well underway, caught somewhere towards the end of act two, and you're enthralled by the performance she's giving. The paper that once rested in your lap is marked up with comments of praise and proud annotations to accompany your high scoring, though now it lays forgotten about on the coffee table, serving no purpose any longer. You finished all of the required sections necessary for your peer review, and now you're just enjoying the journey that Jisoo is continuing to take you on.

You look back up into her eyes after reading off the lines of the character you're filling in for, looking completely unskilled next to the pure talent that she's exuding. She stands from the couch, looking down at you with an exasperated expression as she remains in character.

"You don't get it!" She raises her voice slightly, though not loud enough to wake Aera. Even while in the intense mindset she has to be in for her character, she keeps one foot in the reality of this world, making sure to behave appropriately.

"Enlighten me, then." You stand and retort, shifting a bit closer to her after reciting your line.

"Only when I'm with you do I feel true happiness. Your kind eyes bring me comfort like no other; I'm safe in your arms. For you, my love," she pauses, her eyes brimming with tears from the emotional words she's spent so much time rehearsing. "...there isn't a thing in this world that I wouldn't do." Your breath is held tightly in your throat, and your hands subconsciously grip onto the material of your jeans.

Only now do you realize how close the two of you have migrated to one another; she's merely a breath away, so close you can feel the warmth radiating from her. You swallow thickly, feeling your nerves come alive with every second that passes in heated silence, neither of you knowing what to do now. You've lost the desire to read your next line, and she doesn't seem too upset by that fact. Her eyes slowly scan over your features, and the lovesick look in them makes you question if she's still in character or slipping out of it.

After her gaze darts down to your lips and she licks her own without even realizing it, you seriously begin hoping for the latter of the two options.

She searches your face for any sign of refusal as she leans in closer, now bringing her arms up to wrap around your waist and lightly ball the material of your shirt up into her fists. Your hands rest on her shoulders, and you glide your fingertips over her jawline. A singular nod is the last form of consent that you give her before she pulls you closer.

Her lips ghost over yours, receiving some of the vanilla balm you applied earlier; her breath hitches when you tug at the collar of her university sweater, teasingly taking her bottom lip between your teeth. She wants to savor this moment, so she fights against her urge to dive right in and get lost in you.

Within seconds, she's kicking herself for that decision.

"Auntie? Y/N?" Aera calls sleepily from just around the corner, making the two of you spring away from each other. When she appears less than a second later, you realize how close you had been to getting caught. Jisoo refuses to meet your gaze when you look towards her, and that simple action disheartens you a bit.

"Hey, sweetheart. Bad dream?" You ask, using your inference skills after noticing the way that she's clutching her stuffed bunny close to her chest. Her lip trembles as she nods, and the sight breaks your heart. Quickly, you pick her up again, assuring her that she's safe and that you'd slay any monster that dared to hurt her, even in her dreams. A small smile tugs at her lips, and she brings a fist up to rub her eye. "How about this: I'll do a quadruple check of the room for you, and stay with you until you fall asleep. Sound good?"

She utters a tired, "Yes, Y/N-yah", before laying her head on your shoulder and waving a goodbye towards Jisoo as you take her back to the room.

Four sweeps of the room and one fight with a ghost later, you tuck her in again and lay a sweet kiss to her forehead. "Love you," she mumbles lazily, making your heart melt. Kids say that phrase quickly, without even realizing the weight that it has, but you're always glad to accept whatever they imagine it to be. Whether she loves you for playing with her, tucking her in, or defending her honor against imaginary monsters, you don't really care all that much -- she loves you in the ways that she knows how, and that's all that matters.

"I love you, too, Aera. Sleep well." You tuck a piece of hair behind her ear and settle against the wall, prepared to come through on your promise.

----

"Hey," you start, albeit a bit awkwardly.

"Hey," Jisoo returns, pushing her leftovers from the restaurant around her plate half-heartedly. You approach the marble countertop that she sits behind, silently begging for her to look up at you.

"Should we talk about earlier?" You quietly ask, picking at imaginary imperfections on the surface of the countertop.

"What about it?"

"We practically kissed--"

"It was in the script to do so, Y/N." She says, finally looking up at you. She sounds a bit hostile now, like she's getting defensive for some unknown reason.

"Oh," the simple utterance is all you can manage, seeing as how your brain is running a mile a minute. You want to ask if it meant anything else to her -- if she would've taken it farther, had Aera not walked in -- but you don't. Her tone serves as enough of an answer, and you're not sure you could stand to hear her verbalize your fears anyway.

"Well I guess I should go, then." You retract your hand and put it in your pocket, realizing how stupid you were for thinking she could like you back. She doesn't; she was just in need of a helping hand tonight, and you offered that. You shouldn't have tried to turn it into anything that it wasn't.

Hearing the disappointment in your voice makes her want to confess right then and there, but something still holds her back -- some force is yelling at her to keep her feelings hidden for fear of rejection. "I can drive you."

You shake your head. "Nah, it's okay. I'll have Ryujin come get me. You can't leave Aera here and I wouldn't want to have to wake her up just for you to drive me across campus." Jisoo agrees, realizing that she didn't even think about that at first.

"Goodnight, Jisoo." You say, heading off towards the front door. She returns the gesture, reminding you to be safe as she locks it behind you and watches you dial up your roommate's number. Before long, she pulls into one of the parking spaces in front of the dorm, and the two of you drive away.

Click Here For Part 2

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seimeinotaka · 3 years

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Rêverie (An OberonXGudako fic)

MASSIVE LOSTBELT 6 SPOILERS INCLUDING OBERON'S PROFILE AND BOND CE

Summary: Oberon has been unexpectedly summoned to Chaldea. He wonders why he is even there as he reminisces what happened in Avalon Le Fae. But it seems Ritsuka isn't leaving him alone, much to his annoyance.

Thanks to jellyfishy for beta-reading this!

Once again, the story has major spoilers for LB6, Oberon's profile and Bond CE, as well as important plot points of Solomon, LB1 and LB5.

There's implied one-sided love, mentions of heavy topics such as loss, and mentions of deceased characters.

"Master, Master, you've gotten better at this!"

"Thank you, Gogh! I've been practicing a lot using the tips you and Oui gave me. Even Jeanne Alter praised my background, hehe!"

"Hey, I said it was passable. Pas-sa-ble!"

Ritsuka Fujimaru has been drawing something in the cafeteria, surrounded by many servants that come and go. No one asks what she is doing, they all seem to know or if they don’t, they don’t bother to ask.

It is so bothersome. Annoying.

So many people surrounding her, like an ultraviolet lamp that attracts all the bugs. Never mind that they end up getting zapped the moment they ever dare to touch it.

The people, the sound, the merriment, it all annoys Oberon, who only watches in silence as he eats some ice cream with melon.

To be able to smile like that, even after discarding all of those stories...Oberon doesn't hide a crooked smile. In the end, the lostbelts are no more than faint dreams doomed to end, forgotten by the winners, the panhuman history citizens. Ritsuka Fujimaru isn't different. For her, it's like reading the doujin the swimsuit berserker is making. Once the pages are closed, the story ends and it ceases to exist. She can choose to forget.

Truly detestable.

Oberon stares and then walks away, just as Ritsuka lifts her face. She looks around, the feeling of being watched faintly breaking her concentration.

But in the end he doesn't say a word as he leaves.

“Hey, you keep looking at Master!” Jeanne Alter slams her hands on the table where Oberon is sitting. Said Master is working again, too enthralled talking with Gogh to notice Jeanne Alter slipping away to talk to him.

“Does it bother if I do?” He gives her a crooked smile as she huffs and scowls. Though of course her face turns slightly pink.

“Tch, of course not! It's just your stare is getting on my nerves! Wouldn't you get distracted if someone is looking at you intensely?”

“I am a creation, not a creator. I wouldn't understand what you're saying. Besides, I wasn’t looking at her or you anyway,” he says mockingly.

“Hmph, whatever you say. Leave when Master is drawing, what she is doing is very important and I won't let you make it messy.”

“Hah, a page of your little comic? As if you need a lot of care. But fret not, I am certain that with your keen insight and guidance it will be something so memorable, up to the level of the famous writers here in Chaldea.”

“You bug...Bring it, I will burn you to a crisp! Moths do like fire, don't they? Surely you will feel at home then!” Jeanne Alter laughs. “I'll let you know that it is something so impressive that it would make you cry, if you're capable of that anyway.”

Though her Saint Graph right now is one of a Berserker, it seems the insight of the Avenger still exists deep within. After all, only those who are similar can recognize each other. Fake recognizes fake. Emptiness recognizes emptiness. Hate can only recognize hate.

Though come to think about it, Ritsuka has always been writing, he noticed she kept a small book on her, during quiet times. Perhaps a diary of sorts. It wouldn’t be surprising, to record everything she has experienced, as the writer of the winning history.

When we die, we'll become like those stories. Our lives are stories that might be discussed and forgotten, so it's not that different from your midsummer night dream.

A dream you forget once you wake up from your slumber.

“You're a tsundere,” Ritsuka says flatly as she rests her chin on her hand. She even dares to give Oberon a shrug and a smile, as if she can tell the truth between the lies.

“Ah, you're annoying.”

“That's exactly what I'm talking about, hehe!”

An obnoxious smile continues to be on her face, and he simply looks at her with unveiled disgust and apathy.

“Why am I even here?”

“Well, you answered the call, so you can only blame yourself for that.”

“What.”

“The rayshift system call can be refused. That's an inescapable truth. You lie a lot but there are some truths in your words. Or actions in this case. You wanted to be in Chaldea, even if you don’t want to admit it.”

“Ah there it is, your virtuous nature shining through. One day you'll be fooled by someone who is pretending to be your ally...ah, my bad, that has already happened, isn't that right? Maybe you should learn your lesson.”

“Ah, yes. But it doesn't change that you are here. And because you lie often, that means I can just take it whatever way I like. You'll just deny it even if I'm right. But you can't deny we get along pretty well!”

“We do not!”

“See, that's a lie!”

“Ah, I'm going to the cafeteria! Don't follow me!”

Yet we thrive on dreams, don’t we?

“How long do you think I've been in this business? Have you interacted already with some of the servants here? I can tell you don’t mind my company.”

“I quit, I'll break the contract!”

“So, one cube or two?” Ritsuka dares to offer him the sugar cube container, even holding some tongs, just to put the amount he requests in his cup.

“You really want a poisoned tea, right, wonderful Master?~”

Even if they are something that doesn’t exist, we yearn for them, even to make them a reality. No matter how impossible. No matter how painful.

That is why we can never get rid of them.

Even if we forget once the veil of dawn has ended, something of it remains.

“There's so much that is subjective. For example, you were Artoria's Merlin, weren't you? For a moment you were Merlin, that was her truth. There's different Merlins, I mean we have different Artorias here from different eras and classes. You were a different Merlin than the one I know.”

Ritsuka is busy trying different colors. Oui and Gogh got into a discussion on how to best get the tones she was aiming for, and they even went to do some research on their own. The reds of a forest seem familiar yet not quite right, not that Oberon was looking at the notebook.

It has to have a dreamlike feeling, that’s what she wanted, but that’s not easy to pour into a painting.

“What we see as a lie or as truth, it changes with our perception. Your lies and my truths might be different, but it's ok. In the end we have only one perspective. That's why lies and truths can mix, that's why contradictions exist. I mean, that is why you are here.”

“Here's some advice from the bottom of my heart, don't quit your day job, Master. Stick to the world saving and leave the philosophical dissertation to virtually anyone else.”

In the end, does the truth really matter?

Something that can change when you close your eyes. Something that is as fleeting as a moth's life.

Would anything change in the grand scheme of things?

To protect Ritsuka, Chaldea forged a story, one where Romani Archaman was at fault for everything that happened.

To the world that is on the verge of disappearing, that became the truth.

To everyone in Chaldea, the truth is that this girl worked harder than anyone to protect this world.

That was what Sherlock Holmes said once they met. Oberon didn’t like him, but in a way he seems familiar. Holmes is a great detective, but since he keeps everything to himself, he might be wrong the entire time until the last minute.

So it’s not like Oberon can take him that seriously.

Even so, he told him the story of the great journey before Panhuman History was at risk by the Alien God. A story of which he was somehow aware, but it seems different when it is told by someone else.

To Oberon, it was a story of selfish survival. A fitting story of those who fight in the mud to continue existing.

To Holmes, it was a story of humanity bravely fighting to avoid destruction. An unlikely event that might have inspired others. Or rather, that is how the Leonardo Da Vinci from that time would have framed it, since Holmes isn’t an author and the current Da Vinci is someone different now.

The events are there, what changes is our perception of them. Perhaps this is where truths and lies take root, the lie of today becomes the truth of tomorrow.

The lie allows the fake existence to continue even when the dream has already ended.

But in the end, everything will fade, so nothing really matters.

"Well, I don't know if it has a meaning, but doesn't that mean you can give it your own? Just like how I can take your lies the way I want."

"Aren't you a simplistic one? No, perhaps it is that kind of thinking that has let you get this far. What a naive Master Chaldea has. Though it helps you accomplish your goals. "

He is not sure why they are taking tea while chatting, but here he is. Perhaps it is to hide his annoyance, the Master won’t stop until she gets what she wants anyway, so he is just avoiding a pointless squabble.

"You can think whatever you want~ and in any case, even if the feelings of today will be nothing in the future, that doesn't mean they are worthless. Because they affect the you of today and that is the moment when you are alive.”

The joy of living, that is something Oberon can’t understand nor tolerate. It angers him.

Of course, he is an entity of the abyss so how could he comprehend that?

The will of self-destruction, the cessation of existence. That something is so fundamentally wrong that it must wiped out, for there is no way to fix something that crooked.

Faerie Britain wished for him because it had to be wiped away from all records, because it had no way of being salvaged.

Therefore, he can only listen to those words.

(Perhaps it is the envy of not having something? Perhaps it is the bitterness of no longer having something to do, to dream for? Or simple ennui that no matter what, in the end it doesn’t matter?)

Ritsuka ignores his silence, as she continues.

“I don't know but for someone who likes stories you don't seem like you're actually enjoying them.”

“Would you enjoy a story where you fade away like everyone in the lostbelts you have erased? Ah, my bad. Surely, as the winner you can afford to disregard those stories. Silly me, of course you would be able to believe that as the victor you can claim to be the true history. Panhuman history is in the end mankind's right path, after all, and everything else can fade into the abyss.”

Her smile is complex, almost a facade. From one angle it looks like a forlorn frown, from the other a faint smile. She plays with the spoon on her table.

"Hmmm, I wonder..."

Dr. Roman, we finally beat the British Lostbelt. It was unlike any other places we were, and I keep thinking of Percival's words...

I wish you were still here.

The sacrifice of someone can mean the whole world for a single person. The sacrifices of millions can become a mere statistic, a simple cold number to show how bad an event was. In the end, it doesn't matter.

What was once lost will never come back.

The void left in one's soul will never heal, it only becomes more bearable with time.

But even so, that lingering pain is the proof that someone was alive, that they left a mark on the others they met as one looks at the twinkling stars and reminisces of the never-happening-again past.

“Did you know the true opposite of love isn't hate but indifference?”

“Haaah? Perhaps you didn't think so but I was being honest about my suggestion. Thinking too much will only hurt your head. You should only focus on what's in front of you.”

“Whether you love or hate, you end up putting a lot of attention to the object of your affections, but if you're indifferent to it, it ceases to exist. Perhaps your hatred of everything is because there's something you cannot afford to lose.”

Titania was the wife of Oberon in Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream. She was the only one who could accept the king's eccentric personality.

But in reality, she was just a creation for the story, a being who was never real.

Of course, there isn't a person like that in the world.

Someone who accepts a hollow entity like me.

“I don’t know, if Arjuna Alter was able to come to terms with his own humanity, well...nevermind. I was just thinking aloud.”

(Ideals are just that.

A concept not belonging to this world.

It is when you reconcile with the flawed reality that you can grasp your happiness, the one you have.)

“Heh-Hahahaha, that's rich, Master!”

This is so sickening.

Only Titania could have loved(tolerated) such an unpleasant existence. Only Titania could have loved(tolerated) a being born of hate, a destructive force whose only purpose is to rend everything to ashes.

But the fact is, Titania doesn't exist. This means no one could accept someone like him.

That is the unpleasant truth.

That is why people are entranced(poisoned) by falsehoods, lies to sweeten the body and protect the soul. It's a sweet elixir to hide from the harsh reality, the ultimate end of the journey of everyone, a pointless, worthless life. Because at the end of the dream, no matter what one has accomplished, it doesn't change the finale of this story and it is doomed to be forgotten.

Just as the one princess from before, who also fell in love with the Fairy King. The one who tried to give fire to his cold body. But he didn't notice this, not even when her snow body had ceased to move, a protection of love.

So in the end, if it's not acknowledged, it is the same as it never had happened.

“Tell me, does it matter to you? Are you going to tell me you know how I feel? That you understand what I'm going through? Come on, tell me your important story, that everything is going to be alright as long as I'm not alone-”

“I can't. I don't know how you feel. Even if we had suffered the same, I wouldn't know how you feel.”

Her words or her smile, the same as before. He doesn’t know which but it cuts him short.

“All I know is the pain of losing someone important to me, but that's not what you're feeling, right?”

The Titania I wish for doesn't exist in this world. The Faerie Britain that gave birth to me no longer exists, even if I have accomplished my goal.

I am merely a dream whose purpose has been fulfilled and thus, the curtain shall be down as I exit the stage.

The things I yearn for are merely dreams. Even so, I hope, because I saw it existed for someone else. For another Oberon, not the one I am.

The illusion of happiness, the hope of a love.

I don't know how it is to not be Oberon, the lying king. The king without any other purpose. The villain that has exited the stage having won, but now even that victory is pointless.

Then, why am I still here?

“For what it's worth, I like you. You're nice company, lies and all.”

“You’re an odd one.”

“I've been told that often.”

“It's not a compliment, you have no taste.”

“You know, for Panhuman history I am the hero, ensuring our world survives. But to everyone else from every lostbelt erased...I am the worst of the worst, the villain that destroys their world.”

Ritsuka traces the notebook on her hands. The contents of the rest could be disclosed but Oberon doesn’t open any of the other pile of notebooks, so they all lie on her bed.

“Patxi cursed me for showing him a world that he thought was happier than his.”

Tears fell from her eyes as she smiled weakly. “I wonder if that was ever the right choice.”

“Panhuman history isn't the perfect utopia you can imagine. Humans seek hatred and war, there's suffering and agony. While some can lead happy lives, there's so many who can't even enjoy a warm meal or think of a future. Kirshtaria saw that, he wanted to make a better world because ours was so imperfect.”

“Why are we still going?”

“Why was ours the correct one?”

“Even now, I don't know. And I'm not sure if I'll ever know. Any justification might seem a rationalization, something to feel less guilty for killing all those people.”

“That is why I cannot forget, I cannot let the history of those lostbelts be erased. Even if I'm the only one who remembers,” her grip on the notebook tightened, “I can never forget them.”

Like a dream, one time Oberon caught sight of what she was drawing, finally reaching the dreamy red hue she long sought, depicting the autumn forest Oberon knew and hated.

The words depicting what happened in Faerie Britain, the stories of Artoria, Morgan, of Barghest, Baobhan Sith and Melusine, of Aurora, of Mike, of Ector, of Knocknarea, of him.

“Even if the rest of the world forgets, I cannot. That's why I want to record as much as I can. I caused them to disappear, remembering all of them is the least I can do.”

“That's guilt for you.”

“...Yes, I can't deny that. I've caused many people to suffer, that is why I cannot stop.”

“You're an idiot. Pursuing a fleeting dream that will only cause you to hurt, as your heart tears itself apart with these thorns you surround yourself with.”

“I guess. But someone has to do it right? But even so…

“I enjoy the moments with everyone here in Chaldea and I can say I'm happy.

But I also feel deep sadness for everything that I have done and continue to do.”

There are many contradicting truths, woven into each other.

Like overlapping threads in a beautiful(horrible) story.

“I could think Panhuman history is the correct one because it was there. There was a reason why it was chosen.”

“And if there isn't? If there is truly no meaning to your journey? That the reason your world was chosen was a mere whim of fate, a sudden lucky roll of the dice? That there is nothing special to your world that makes you worthy of the title of proper human history?”

“Then I guess I will have to make it so that there is one.”

“And if you can't?”

“Just because I can't doesn't mean I shouldn't try.”

“Trying doesn't mean you will succeed. Morgan tried her hardest, but in the end, she still failed, crumbling in despair as her Faerie kingdom burnt to ashes.”

“Well, that will come bite me when the time comes, but for now, that’s all I can do, right?”

In the end, as long as it entertains, does it matter?

What is the purpose of a story? To bring joy(tears)? To break one from that moment of boredom, of despair, and heal the soul even if just a little?

And in the end, does it even matter?

“I like this Saint Graph more.”

It’s been a long time since he has donned the clothes as King Oberon. Once the façade was over, once he could ascend, he has never worn anything but the colors of the depths of the abyss. Anyone else would think they are unsightly, hateful, depressing.

After all, the warmth of King Oberon’s butterfly wings makes children smile, makes people trust him. His monstruous limbs right now are not enchanting.

“I thought you were a butterfly girl. And I have been wearing these ever since, why are you even saying this up until now?”

“I just wanted to say that. I like the fluffy cape and the butterfly wings, but you sound less pained right now. And this outfit is cool too.”

In the end, perhaps Titania isn't meant to be someone who brings the sun to your eyes, with laughter so contagious that she makes the bitterness of a day go away. She's not a neverending warmth on a cold winter, nor a guiding bright star up in the dark sky. She's not the simple to your complicated, the light to your dark, the smile to your frown, the opposite of your miserable existence that brings joy to your life. An illogical being that accepts you in spite of your incompatibility.

Was I wrong all along?

A companion when watching a wonderful(decadent) play.

Someone who walks by your side in a crumbling world.

Someone whose company makes the poison more bearable and hell, tolerable.

Someone who simply loves me for who I am. Who gazed at the abyss, saw the void yet didn't run away.

Ah, this is so laughable, an amateur terrible tragicomedy, a hideous play with no sickeningly sweet ending.

(Perhaps it is because Titania is a wretched creature herself. Or perhaps because Titania's wings have been torn off that she understands a small fragment of you. Even if true understanding is a lie, a pipe dream. Titania has seen her own hell and can sympathize with yours, with the emptiness and resentment you hold. Not fearing it, not judging it. Just accepting you as the flawed existence you are.

If that is the case, then there is nothing beautiful about Titania.)

But even so...

"...You are..."

"Did you say something?"

"No, nevermind."

Ritsuka smiles as Oberon looks away. He grumbles about the cramped space as he hoards the bed, swatting a mosquito away while she writes in her diary. The boring stories she writes that he doesn't care about even if his fingers have traced those letters.

But even so, he stays.

Ah, love is a bothersome thing.

Thank you for reading!

Now, OH BOY WHERE TO BEGIN. Title comes from Debussy's Rêverie. I wanted to play with it, seeing that Oberon's Bond CE is called Pavane for a Dead Princess, which is the title of a melody by Ravel. I am sure it is no coincidence. Both Ravel and Debussy were considered the cornerstones of Impressionism in music, however, they both HATED being labeled like that.

Pavane for a Dead Princess is one of Ravel's solo compositions for the piano. However, unlike what the title implies, Ravel specifically said that it wasn't meant to be a melody of a funeral, but he wanted to evoke the idea of a princess dancing to the pavane. However, some people didn't really listen to him. So in this case, I think that rather than to see Oberon's CE as a funeral to Blanca, it is a way to celebrate her story, even if it didn't end on the happier note we would have wished. You can listen to it here

Now Rêverie is by Debussy and it's meant to feel like a dream, hence the name. The melody became a massive hit, though Debussy later hated this piece because he felt that he had written better pieces but this one was the one that made him famous. Since it was written when he was young, he felt he was still lacking a lot, but the melody became one of his most popular compositions nonetheless. I think that story ties nicely with what we perceive vs what others perceive. You can listen to it here

Now onto the actual fic, I had this vague idea when part 3 was released, especially after all the spoilers about Oberon's true identity. I really wanted to get him, and I was super lucky. In between getting him, his profile and bond lines being translated, I just got possessed to write this as a way to honor and thank him for coming home AND to give him a sort of happy ending after Avalon.

Oberon in that bed is thanks to that comic on Twitter where he is eating chips without any care and the kind reminder of his voice lines that in spite of him constantly complaining, he spends an awful lot of time on our room. Hehehe.

Best of luck if you are pulling for him! And once again, thank you for reading!

#fate grand order #ritsuka fujimaru #obeguda #fgo oberon #oberon vortigern #fgo

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ginkgomoon · 3 years

Text

Gavin’s Mini House In Detail 🏡

During the Mini House special events, I obtained all the furnishing items and had already unlocked all the furniture in the home so I thought for Gavin’s Birthday Week, I would share all of the little secrets it contains!

Gavin has four sections of the house including-

Living Room

Loft

Courtyard

Basement

This post also includes MC’s commentary and quotes from special happenings associated with Gavin. Special furnishes will have the coziness points indicated next to its name.

Please enjoy!

Living Room

Soft Stool

The white soft stool next to the tea table.

This stool is a must when Gavin watches soccer games.

The leather surface is very soft, and its height is just right for watching TV on.

Want to know the trend of the soccer lottery recently? How about asking about it?

It seemed to have won all the recent games, and is both happy and lonely.

If his favourite team loses, Gavin will sit here alone. (#sad)

White Sofa

With so many pillows, you don’t have to worry about having no support behind you.

Is the white sofa difficult to clean?

The bolsters are very comfortable.

Curled up on the sofa with soft ginkgo aroma.

“Gavin, do you remember what you told me?”

“I just want to be with you, just like this...”

“You still remembered!”

“I won’t forget what I’ve told you.”

“Then... Do you have anything you want to tell me this time?”

Gavin kissed MC’s forehead gently.

- This special happening (Starry Sky) refers to the Furniture City Date!

White Table

“Gavin’s Pad is placed here too.”

(It has a photo of MC and she says she will change it into the both of them next time.)

“I can add a snack box, but Gavin doesn’t really eat snacks.”

Hallway Cabinet

“Gavin waters the plants regularly.”

“These are often loose change on the cabinet which we can take before going out.”

“The silver ornament is a souvenir I bought when we went to Disneyland.”

The “Wavy Thing”

“I noticed a little “go for it” written on the most recently scrawled page of the notebook.”

“I found a magazine that puts people to sleep in a second, which was necessary for insomniacs.”

Zoombot

The black Zoombot.

Today I’m again busy all over the place saving Zoombot.

It’s a bit stupid and often gets stuck after hitting the furniture.

Makes a buzzing sound when working.

You threaten it: If you hang again, I’ll replace you!

Music Stand

The music stand bought by Gavin.

On it are sheets of music scores printed by Gavin.

It will sometimes think that the small black table next to it is a bit short.

Sometimes Gavin uses in in the hanging chair to record melodies.

Gavin will print the music scores and put them on it to practice.

Flowers on the Wall

Each flower is carefully selected by Gavin.

The front wall stores a variety of flowers.

The flowers on the entire flower wall are all preserved fresh flowers.

Black Table and Seat

Looking at it closely, it is the song that Gavin played last time. (Music score sheet on table.)

It is also very comfortable with the little black seat cushion next to it.

The soft black cushion stuffed with cotton.

My exclusive seat for Gavin’s recital.

I bought it with Gavin when we were shopping at the furniture market.

Hanging Chair/Rose Hanging Chair (Coziness 88)

A great napping spot.

Here in the Leisure Time special happening, MC and Gavin talk about the swing they had in high school. MC is surprised that Gavin knew about the view of the sunset when being on it. He says he “passed by” sometimes. MC notes how the ginkgo leaves danced in the wind. He says, “they were gifts from another person”.

Heart-Shaped Chair (Coziness 28)

A cute small stool and a convenient storage box.

Gavin’s expression was a bit subtle while he sat on it first.

Alternating blue and pink hearts, as it’s a Valentine’s Day limited edition.

Surfboard Cabinet (Coziness 42)

It’s a new surfboard. Bring it next time we travel.

There are also other surfboards. Guess where they are?

It says fly on the surfboard, like I can leap through waves with it.

(THEIR CUTE SHOES ARE NEXT TO IT AHHH)

Blue Lamp

A lamp that always blows bubbles from the bottom to top.

It’s beautiful and dreamlike when switched on at night.

Black Table on the Left

“This looks like the score that Gavin played on the beach last time. I suddenly feel a bit nostalgic.” - This refers to the Slightly Drunken Date!

“I found a picture of an asleep Gavin. He was sleeping soundly.”

Claw Machine and Carpet

A dream-like claw machine. Gavin will add new dolls in it.

The inserted game coins can be taken out from the back of the machine and then reused.

A small black carpet in front of the claw machine.

I bought it together with the large carpet.

Red Bunny, White Bunny, Pink Bunny, Red Bunny, Grey Bunny.

Motorcycles

The blue motorcycle sometimes want to compete with the opposite motorcycle.

The colour of the motorcycle displayed is sky blue.

Maybe its name will be “Azure”? (because Gavin uses colours to individually name items.)

Spring Landscape Display

The landscape has been embedded into the window, like beautiful paintings.

Maybe there is a new world inside.

I can't help stopping to enjoy the view each time I pass.

Is designed for a wider view, improving your mood even when you're tired.

Winter Landscape Display (Coziness 61)

A corresponding landscape should be changed into winter.

Such heavy snow! Frozen river! Unfortunately, they are all fake.

You can enjoy the red maple leaves and snow even at home, isn’t it wonderful?

Loft

Painting

This is a word map that covers the entire wall.

Looking at it, Gavin and I have already been to so many places.

If you want to travel, you can find the destination on it in advance.

I'm willing to create memories with him in many more places.

Chandelier

The current iron style design is really cool.

Shines warm yellow when turned on, warming our hearts.

Display Cabinet

It should have been a wine cabinet, but Gavin doesn’t drink, so it became a display cabinet.

The ‘little things’ between me and Gavin are displayed inside.

It looks empty now, but it will slowly be filled up in the future.

Black Tea Table

A black low table in front of the sofa.

I occasionally work here.

The star and moon deco piece is very beautiful, I picked it with Gavin.

You can put fruits and snacks on it while reading.

The wood texture had a matted quality with the black coat of paint.

Art

Looks cold but is artistic.

Seems useless, but also seems cool.

Greenery

A corner with blooming flowers all seasons, is warm and restful to the eye.

Outside the window is a huge ginkgo tree, and the fallen leaves are like brocade.

I feel like it’s always spring with all these flowers around.

It compliments the scenery outside the window. (They have a ginkgo tree right outside their home!)

Cabinet

Photo framed have karmas from the Starry Date and the Romantic Date!

Decorative Cabinet/Snowman Closet (Coziness 49)

The two little snowmen stared at each other throughout the winter. (Cute little reference to the CN Recovery ASMR.)

It looks like a window at first glance, but it’s actually a cabinet if you look carefully.

And you could open it. Didn’t see that coming right?

Starry Sky Wall (Coziness 52)

Today’s wish… I hope that Gavin…

I will accompany you to see the meteor rain which falls on this Earth.

Every moment a wish is realised, there will be a meteor streaking across the sky.

Dandelion Lamp (Coziness 43)

The lamp looks exactly like the grapefruit during Mid-Autumn Festival.

Like a burning sparkler, shining brightly.

Six light sources, not too dazzling nor too dark.

Festive Decoration Table (Coziness 57)

Although there are two cups of drinks, we can still drink from the same cup.

The sofa in the corner always makes people feel safe.

Although we are only two people, I still chose two long couches.

The letter under the ginkgo biloba leaf, writes a love poem.

All the shopping bags represent his most flawless love.

The wide view allows you to see the scenery in the yard.

The soft white mat was added afterwards.

But it’s always hot under the sunlight, so the curtain is often pulled down.

Basement

Security Camera

You are in a monitored area, please mind your actions.

Bulletproof Glass

It’s not a normal screen, it’s bulletproof.

It's not often that one gets to see such a cool and HARD-CORE transparent screen.

Anyways, curious what’s in this wall.

Sci-fi glass wall in the movies.

The engraved badge is Gavin’s silent pride.

1-2-3... still shorter than it!

Gingko Tree

Seasons slip by soundlessly.

No matter how small their wishes are, they will become seeds and eventually bloom in gold.

All life’s little joys turned into gold.

It guards the serene life here quietly over in the corner.

(Gavin makes ginkgo bookmarks with them for MC. CRIES.)

Corner Resting Area

These action figures are actually pretty fun!

The puzzle is all grown up. It should be able to piece itself back together. (LOL)

(Puzzle) Maybe finish it while Gavin’s gone?

(Table) It sometimes thinks the table is a bit short.

(Chair) It looks hard but it’s actually comfortable to sit on.

Very spacious, but looks a bit empty.

Some decorations should be displayed here.

Sitting on a blanket is also very comfortable. You can also lean on the small pillow.

(Carpet) This is a carpet. You can’t tell, right?

The advanced smart carpet that is warm in winter and cool in summer is awesome.

(The book on the table is called ‘Kritik Der Urteilskraft’- The Critique of Judgement by famous German philosopher Immanuel Kant. It follows after the Critique of Pure Reason and the Critique of Practical Reason- the First and Second Critiques, respectively. The Critique of Judgment constitutes a discussion of the place of Judgment itself, which must overlap both the “understanding” and “reason”.)

“You need to take better care of your health.”

“Who was the one working overnight over the proposal the other day?”

“Alright, we’re birds of a feather, so... so both of us should look after ourselves for each other!”

“Rest assured, I will. After all, it’s different now. I have you by my side.” -Harmonous Compa Special Happening

Gavin’s Workspace

Accompany Gavin though every sleepless night.

This seems… No, I’m seeing things.

All folders are neatly organised and arranged.

A spacious table, with files and reports spread all over when busy.

I no need to worry about waking up from naps due to cold late at night.

I was reminded of some criminal investigation shows I have watched. Come on, Officer Gavin!

If this complicated case is made into a movie, it will be an exhilarating one.

(Computer) A customised large-screen UHD model customised for work purpose.

(Computer) Work exclusive computer, only connected to intranet.

(Computer) The three auxiliary monitors can help keep the data safe.

(Chair) If you want to protect your waist, you should first have a comfortable cushion.

(Chair) if you work long hours, be sure to work in a comfortable chair.

(Board Area) What does it say? Ermm… Cats have nine lives?

“Found a girl crookedly drawn next to a work record when he reached a bottleneck.”

Airplane

This airplane model was assembled by Gavin himself.

The computer says- Agent B-7

Team Operator S.T.R.I.K.E

Location Tracker

S.P.Y Camera

U4V Commando

Gunship Operation

Motorcycle Repair Area

Every vehicle is so cool in its own way!

Hello, you are... Little… Erm… Let me think…

With the strength to lift mountains and the spirit to take on the world! Ha!

The robot arm is actually a simple robot.

For your safety, please don’t linger below it

(Motorcycle) I would like to greet my seniors.

Electronic Control Pad

Responsible for controlling the rising, descending and switches of the entire area.

On Spring Festival, it will say: Happy New Year, Sir!”

Sooner or later, fully automated smart management will be achieved.

Radio Office

It’s an important communication device, and the only disadvantage is that it’s a bit heavy.

It’s actually a satellite phone, and it can receive signals everywhere.

Looks like the palm phone in the 90s. Oh no, I’ve exposed myself.

It looks like an electrocardiogram.

Don’t know how to use this weird device.

A thick laptop that it’s properly shut when not in use.

A cool eagle logo is printed on it.

Gavin used it only for special tasks and it will not be brought out.

LMAO MC DOESN’T HAVE ACCESS-

Courtyard

Corner Seating Area

A courtyard in sunny or snowy days are interested in their own ways.

Sometimes the unfrequented bolsters will envy the knee pillow.

It's’ wonderful when two people are sitting here reading, even if they don’t talk.

Standing barefoot on the soft lawn is very comfortable.

There's nothing nicer than basking ourselves when its sunny.

Binoculars

The white binoculars which you can see things several miles away.

You can use it to watch the stars when it’s not too cloudy.

But star-watching is clearer mid-air.

Seems to be the same binoculars as those in the scenic area.

The binoculars in the scenic area require coins, but this one doesn't.

Outdoor Lounge Chairs

The new furniture I asked Gavin to buy.

Can enjoy the sunlight spa comfortably when relaxing.

Closing my eyes, I feel like I’m lying on a beach.

The soft breeze and warm sunshine. This is life.

Lying on it and looking at the blue sky and white clouds, your mind goes blank easily.

The blue and white clouds-

Leisure Table/Romantic Table (Coziness 52)

Lace tablecloth… I can’t imagine that it was chosen by Gavin.

The elaborately prepared dinner and roses, just for today.

A large sunshade on the balcony. (Black large umbrella.)

Bird Nest (Coziness 37)

Once it was a pair of binoculars, now it’s a bird’s nest.

I bought it just because it was cute, but I’ll consider having pets in the future.

Birds flying by can also have a free meal here.

#mlqc #Gavin's birthday #mlqc mini house #love and producer #mr love queen's choice #mlqc gavin #Gavin week #happy birthday Gavin

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yodawgiherd · 4 years

Text

Rome pt.2

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Rating: M

Setting: Historical Rome

Second part of the Rome AU =) Stay cool.

The sun was hot, but Eren was used to that. Under the protection of the villa’s roof, the heat was not even that bad, other things irritated him way more. If he were to name one that pissed him off the most at this very moment, it was sitting right next to him. His father, Grisha, half-drunk as usual, yammering on.

“As I was saying,”, he continued whatever train of thought went on in his head, “If they increase the taxes again, I’d have to sell some of my farms.”

Money, yes. That was the one thing that concerned him. At least Eren was not the target of his father’s speech this time, it was old man Reiss, sitting across the table and somehow paying attention.

“We should put some pressure on the senate,”, Reiss said, “They can’t keep pushing at us forever.”

His father nodded at that.

“Power to the people! That’s right! We should…”

Turning off his brain, Eren filtered out his father’s voice, a skill he was proficient in, eyes searching for the last occupant of the table. The blonde girl, Reiss’s daughter and heir, Historia. One of his closest friends, and by the will of both their fathers, his future wife. No, he did not have a say in this, and neither did she.

Kicking her lightly under the table, he made her look up, doing a grimace afterwards to express just how boring the money-talk was. She hid her smile under her palm and kicked him back, much stronger. Eren couldn’t stop himself from grinning. Historia was great, really fun and everything, but there was a little problem neither his nor her father knew that would complicate their upcoming marriage. Eren himself discovered it by accident and had sworn not to tell anyone. As they still had time before being seriously pressed into tying the knot, they decided to just wait it out for now. There was time for everything.

His father finished another long monologue, draining his wine cup afterwards and reaching out. A slave immediately jumped in and refilled it, which made Eren’s stomach churn. He hated slaves. No, that came out wrong. He didn’t hate the people themselves, he hated the system of slavery altogether. Their family, as a rich patrician one, understandably had plenty of slaves, and it was a topic of many arguments between Eren and his parents. Even as a child Eren never understood why it is okay for a human being to be owned by another one, just because one was born wrong, conquered, or in debt. His father originally dismissed all that talk as a child’s words, but as Eren grew, so did his hatred for slavery. The idea of not being free just because someone decided it is that way upset him to no end. But he was not the head of the house, that was his father, so technically he could not do anything. He was not even the heir to their villa, that was his half-brother Zeke, currently a Tribuni in the Roman legions, winning fame for himself on the frontlines.

A sudden burst of laughter got his attention, as both Grisha and Reiss laughed out loud, with Historia having a tight-lipped courteous smile herself. She was very good at pretending that she is interested in whatever bullshit the two of them were talking about.

“I do understand that,” Reiss was just saying, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, “When Historia was a child, she brought home a homeless orphan and wouldn’t stop crying until I gave her a place in my household. Now, what is her name….”

“Ymir, father.”, his daughter quickly offered, “She is my best friend.”

“I do not believe in associating with the lower classes myself.”, Grisha said, “Eren also had a small episode when he tried befriending some slave girl, but I quickly got him out of that.”

Oh yes, that was a great memory. Even now, years later, Eren remembered coming home and telling his mother all excitedly about this nice girl with strange eyes that he met, and that he gave her his candy. He remembered being all giddy when he asked if he could go and see her again tomorrow, perhaps bring her some more candy, so that she would tell him her name. And most of all, he remembered the pained expression that his mother had during that talk because unlike Eren in his childlike ignorance, she knew very well what Grisha’s reaction will be once he finds out.

“It was not easy,”, his father was just saying, “But a highborn must know who to make friends with, and it is not slaves.”

He turned towards his son.

“Tell us Eren, how did I stop you from seeing that slave girl again?”

As if he could ever forget.

“You threatened that if I ever went to visit her, you would buy her yourself and then have our house guards drown her in the Tiber.”, meeting his father’s eyes, it took everything Eren had to keep his voice calm, “And I would have to watch it all.”

“Exactly. And even with all the crying and locking yourself in your room, you obeyed in the end.”, looking back at Reiss, his father continued, “Principles must be taught to the youngsters, otherwise they would just get out of control.”

Sometimes, at nights especially, Eren wondered how that girl was doing, if she was even alive. Being a slave in Rome, mortality rates were high. Back then, she was working in a brothel, so was she a prostitute now? Did he maybe see her sometime when he was out drinking with his friends? Would he recognize her? Would she recognize him? No, he had to stop himself. This train of thought always made him angry, because it only reminded Eren of what his father robbed him. Maybe he could have had a best friend in that girl, just like Historia had in Ymir. Instead, he would never see her again.

Standing up abruptly, the eyes of everyone present swung at him.

“May I be excused, father?”, seeing the hint of irritation in Grisha’s eyes, he scrambled for an excuse, “I would like to take a walk with my lovely fiancé.”

That worked, so after being officially allowed to leave, he and Historia disappeared behind a corner where they shared a long exhale.

“God that was boring.”, Eren said, rubbing his forehead.

“You tell me. I almost fell asleep.”, she sighed, “I wanna do something fun.”

Now that was a language Eren spoke well.

“I’m in. Let’s grab some friends and live it up! Where did you leave Ymir?”

“I think she’s in a pub here somewhere, not far.”, Historia grinned, “Not like Ymir will be hard to find.”

Eren mirrored her smile, remembering just how loud the tall girl could be.

“You’re right. Let’s go then.”

Two of the taverns they checked lacked the Ymir factor, but the third one looked promising. Right from outside, they could hear loud voices, and when they entered their suspicion was proven right.

“I’m just saying,”, Ymir shouted over the ruckus, “You would look great at the chariot races!”

“I don’t think I’m good enough driver to…”

“Wait, who said anything about the driver? You would be pulling the chariot!”

The table erupted into laughter, while Jean, the butt of this joke, mumbled something and hid his reddened face into a cup of wine.

“That joke is so old…”, he sighed, but no one listened.

Ymir was the first one who spotted them, bolting from her seat and sweeping Historia in a hug.

“You’re finally here! We all missed you so much!”

When there was not any response from the table, Ymir turned towards it with a dangerous gleam in her eye.

“I said, we all missed you. Right?”

This time there were affirmative sounds from everyone. Nobody wanted to get on Ymir’s bad side.

Scooting over to make room for the newcomers, they ordered another round and the conversation flowed. Ymir wanted to know what their fathers were talking about, but Historia simply waved her hand and claimed that it was the usual boring stuff. While she was talking, Eren looked around, taking in this group of friends. He and Historia were the only highborn here, the rest of them were plebians. His father would never allow him to hang out with slaves, but he gritted his teeth and stayed silent while Eren surrounded himself with the lower class. It was a small victory, but Eren also genuinely found them much more interesting than any of the patricians. Now that he had the time to take everyone in, he noticed that one person was missing, so turning to Jean, he asked.

“Hey, where’s Armin?”

“Working tonight.”, his friend replied, trying to take another sip of the wine but realizing that his cup was empty. The discovery made him frown.

Armin was an interesting fellow. Part-philosopher, part-medic, he made his living by treating the filth of Rome. Slaves, lowborn, all these that would get rejected by any respected doctor flocked to Armin and he helped them all, whenever they had the money to pay for their treatment or not. In all honesty, Eren thought that Armin was probably the best person he knew, far nobler than him. The art his friend practiced, medicine, also highly interested him, but as with most things in life, Eren didn’t get a choice in his future career path. His brother was a soldier, so he was going to be a politician, Grisha decided. Easy as that. Which meant that Eren’s medicine studied were limited to the times when he visited Armin, trying to learn as much as he could form his friend.

“Do you know where he is?”, Eren pressed on, getting Jean’s attention, that was still focused on his somehow magically empty cup, back.

“It’s Uuuhh…. Hmmm….”

Eren had to suppress a sigh here.

“Come on Jean…”

“Oh right! He’s down in the pits tonight, treating the gladiators that get gutted there.”

The pits were a chain of tiny arenas where slaves, madmen and animals were pitched to fight each other to the death for the entertainment of the unwashed masses. It was like the Colosseum, only a hundred times smaller. Armin often worked there, as even the victors of these matches hardly ever escaped unscratched. The losers usually didn’t need medical attention anymore.

“You’re right, the pits could be fun!”, Jean went on, standing up and swaying only lightly, “Gang, let’s see some blood!”

As nobody wanted to be called a wuss for chickening out, they left the tavern in a sound of chairs dragged over the ground and the clink of coins, heading through the streets towards the pits. Jean led the way, as even drunk he could navigate the gutters the best out of them all. Eren fell in next to Ymir and Krista, the two of them inseparable as usual.

“I do hope that you are taking good care of my fiancé.”, he said to Ymir.

She turned to him with a wink, dropping her hand low and possessively squeezing the blonde’s butt, making her jump with a squeal and quickly retaliate with a well-aimed punch at the taller girl’s shoulder. This was the small secret that he and Historia had from their parents, who were so sure about their future marriage. Historia was, unluckily for her father, mostly interested in women, a fact that was rare but not unheard of. The problem was that while her family might not have that big of a problem with her orientation as it was, they would require her to have an heir. She was, after all, the only living offspring Reiss had. But that was a hurdle she and Eren would cross once they got there, and it was not here. Yet.

While they were consumed by this petty bickering, back and forth, Jean reliably led them through the labyrinth of Rome, finding his way with ease. Left here, right there, turn that corner and they were approaching their target, easily heard from the excited shouts that were up in the air.

With an excited shout, Ymir broke through the group, dragging helpless Historia with her, disappearing between the spectators. The rest followed soon after, their own excitement in various degrees. Eren himself had mixed feelings. He did not mind the duels, per se, but it was another business that was partly made up of slaves being forced to participate. The thing was in full swing, meaning that seeking out Armin right now was most likely impossible. He would be running between here and there, hands full of dead and injured, and hardly needed Eren to make his job even harder. With nothing better to do, he elbowed his way towards the edge of the ring, joining Jean at the railing.

“Hey.”, an unknown voice to his left, “You wanna bet?”

Turning, Eren saw a scrawny man with parchment and several purses hanging from his belt. A bookmaker. Before he could tell him that no, he does not want to place money on the lives of people, Jean butted in.

“Sure!”, he pushed past Eren, smelling of wine and sweat, “Who’s fighting?”

“The next bout is…” the bookie blinked at the parchment a few times, “Siren versus Cyclops.”

“Siren?”, Jean snorted, “Who the fuck takes such a name?”

It wasn’t unusual for the gladiators to have a nickname, some ancient beast or hero. But Siren was not a monster known for its martial prowess, so Eren had to agree with Jean here. It was rather strange.

“Oh, she didn’t choose this one, it was given to her.”, the bookie quickly supplied.

“So you… Wait a second.”, even with his wine-addled brain, Jean caught up on the unusuality, “She? Her? This fighter is a…”

“Woman.”, the bookie nodded, “But she is not to be underestimated.”

Laughing, Jean pulled out a few coins and handed them over to the bookmaker.

“Sorry, but I’m tight on the money now, so I’ll be taking the sure way. My coins are on the Cyclops.”, turning towards Eren, he nudged him, “What about you? Don’t want to make some easy denars?”

Maybe it was the old habit of disagreeing with Jean on almost everything, maybe it was something else, but Eren reached into his own purse, pulling out a generous number and putting them into the bookie’s eager hands.

“My money is on the Siren.”, he announced, making Jean’s grin widen.

“Dude, woman gladiators are a joke, don’t you realize that?”

Seeing that Eren was not changing his mind, Jean shrugged.

“Guess you don’t mind losing those then.”

“We’ll see how it goes.”, Eren answered, turning back towards the arena. Just in time too, as the combatants were being ushered in.

First in was the Cyclops, large and imposing scarred man, armed with a net and a trident. Raising those weapons, he was greeted by booming shouts coming from all sides, probably a fan favorite. Then the challenger appeared. The woman was lightly armored, most likely relying on speed over brute strength. She was armed with a short sword and a dagger, holding these with an experienced grip. The full helmet on her face prevented Eren from seeing her face, but her body was lithe and crossed with several prominent scars, marked just as her opponent was. She didn’t generate nearly as much hype as he, and there were several laughs heard from the audience. Eren and Ymir were probably the loudest supporters, cheering her on. Cheers or laughter, Siren didn’t seem to care either way, completely ignoring the crowd and keeping her gaze on the opponent.

Once the signal was given, Cyclops was the first to move, poking at his enemy with the trident, abusing the reach he had over her closer ranged blades. But Siren was too fast, easily dodging and batting aside the strikes, moving between them, fluid like water. A few minutes into this dance, the crowd was getting bored, and demands for more action were thrown into the ring. If there was no blood, there was no fun. While Siren ignored those, just as before, Cyclops obeyed, abandoning this safe approach. He stopped using the net as a shield and utilized it as a weapon instead, swiping at his opponent. It was easy to get tangled in it, and once Siren would be caught, a single trident stab would end her. The problem was, she did not get caught. Turning on the aggressive mode, she weaved in between his attempts, slashing at him. Not drawn too close, Siren’s attacks were shallow, more like scratches, but they still hurt and the blood that colored the sands was a proof of it. Cyclops was getting desperate, None of his attacks connected, it looked like he was striking a ghost. The metallic teeth of his trident were always late, the net too slow and clumsy to capture someone as elusive as her. Overwhelmed, Cyclops screamed in defiance before betting it all on a single last thrust, putting all of his might behind it. And for the first time, he aimed true. The spikes of his trident hit Siren in the hip, leaving behind three identical red paths, dripping blood. Unluckily, this also put him directly in her face with nothing to block. Cyclops had about two seconds to celebrate his luck when a short sword was slammed right into his throat, toppling the large man over. Stunned silence followed.

First one to wake was Ymir, shouting her support even louder. She laughed, hugging Historia while her eyes quickly found the bookie, gesturing for him to come closer. Jean on the other hand let out a tired “Fuck me.”, before dropping his head to his hands. Siren herself took a step back, cleaning her blades on the dead man’s body. Hooking a hand under her helmet, she pulled it off, shaking her hair free and revealing her exotic visage. The way the sun glistened on those midnight strands prompted another comment from Jean, who stirred from his defeated slump.

“Damn, would you look at that.”, he said, half-turning towards Eren, “Now it’s easy to see why they call her Siren.”

The girl was indeed alluring, just like the mythical creature, even with her face twisted into a dark grin. Making a very rude gesture towards the crowd that doubted her, she reserved a single wave for Ymir, her loudest supporter, before turning away and ducking into the old door that led into the bowels of the pits. Free from her spell, now that she was gone, Jean moved his attention to Eren, now fully.

“Well, there goes my savings. Say, my good friend, now that you won, would you lend me some coins? It’s not like need them anyway, right? Eren? Eren!?”

But the lucky bet winner did not hear any of that. He was staring at the door where Siren disappeared, completely obvious to his surroundings. Why? Because he knew that face. He knew those almond-shaped grey eyes, albeit now they were much wilder than before. He knew that dark hair, now chopped short, not nearly as long as it was before.

He knew who Siren was.

#aot #snk #fanfic #eremika

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fourletterworld · 3 years

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Chapter 1 - Is this Real? Was a Big Brother

I had a dream where I was laying on my back in a monorail, watching telephone poles pass by through the windows as I stared at distant clouds. I can't remember what lead to this scenario, but I soon heard Cody's voice speaking to me from no particular location. It was as gentle and near as ordinary conversation, yet I never saw his face.

"Dust?" he called out, questioning, as though this connection was as strange to him as it was to me.

I remember calling back excitedly; the incredible apathy I had been feeling during this point in time evaporated. I felt pure like I was a kid, as I immediately entered into a long conversation with him, asking him things he couldn't explain.

"What do things look like where you are?" I'd asked, and I could tell he had a semblance of an answer, but I imagined he didn't want to invalidate anything with words. Cody often wouldn't explain something for fear of not doing it justice. I fear putting our conversation into true dialogue for the same reason.

I remember asking if he was okay, which he said he was with certainty and positivity. The majority of our conversation faded in the mist where most of my dreams fall behind, but I recall clearly that his voice was light like it had never been in life. It had an intoxicated enthusiasm, but with absolute clarity of emotion and speech. It felt, to me, like he'd become the man he was supposed to be. The man he would have been had the pangs of chemical torture never got such a grip on his brain.

Cody had mental problems throughout his whole life. When he was young his ears would burn red hot and he would go into hysterical fits of laughter that would bleed into crying. He had a lot of allergic reactions that affected him emotionally, and he always had a hard time focusing and sitting still. When we were kids, I recall many times sitting next to him in restaurants, where he would get agitated toward the end of the meal. He'd lay back on a booth and start bicycle kicking me. The age gap made it unfair for me to fight back, and so I resorted to needling him: like asking him if other kids in his school looked like old women or if it was only him. He'd try to mask a grin with an evil expression, and then sit upright to throw body punches. I'd laugh and try to grab his wrists, while my Mom tried to yell at us from across the table. If my Dad was ever there, he'd make the ordeal into a scene which would embarrass my mom, scare the shit out of Cody and I, and promptly put a stop to the nonsense.

The psychological abuse I retaliated with was just as unfair as hitting back, but in 2019 before Cody passed we talked about this over phone. Cody told me I was always such a bastard growing up, but he always thought the shit I said was funny, and he attributed this to our unified sense of humor.

I didn't usually make fun of him though. I was really sympathetic most of the time, and he knew he could come to me when he was having problems. I think about one time in particular. Cody was eleven years old and he knocked on my bedroom door. When I let him in he was shaken like he wanted to cry and I was immediately alarmed.

“What’s wrong Codes? Are you okay?” I thought maybe he’d gotten hurt, but what he told me dazed me momentarily and took me a second to grasp.

He said he was laying on his back and started thinking about what life is. He was stricken with rudimentary existential questions, like why are we here, and what is life, and is life even real? When I say these are rudimentary questions, I don't mean at all that the experience of these questions are uncomplicated... They are vast and overwhelming to deal with if you are emotionally invested and living them, and Jesus Christ, especially if you are eleven years old and afraid of things as simple as being kidnapped.

Though, I didn’t understand that at the time. I was having trouble understanding how something theoretical could bring you to tears. I could wrap my head around what he was telling me easy enough, but it was the difference between someone explaining free falling from an airplane or actually being the person that jumps from the hatch. I think a lot of people who discuss things philosophically forget that understanding the premise of something existential isn't the same as living through it, and when Cody was explaining this to me, I was still years from experiencing anything similar myself, and still, to a lesser degree than I believe he had.

I listened to what he told me, and amidst my concern, I kept thinking about what a special brain he had. This was before he started experimenting with drugs, so all of his thoughts were uninfluenced in that way. I mean, I can't stress it enough, the kid was eleven. I don’t think I had an unprovoked thought until I was in my twenties. I still can't decide if whatever unlocks these intense ideas about the human condition comes from the imagination or some kind of fucked up rationale... The same kind of rationale that comes to the conclusion to put a gun to your head to erase all the anguish.

It is sick to say, but I imagined him dying prematurely many times before he did. He was tremendously encumbered by life, but rather than to become sluggish and uninspired, Cody was restless, which I correctly considered to be a terrifying combination.

After high school, I had moved away to Oregon for less than two years, in an effort to continue a relationship that hadn't been working. During this time Cody began to drink and smoke pot regularly. We talked on the phone often, and he subtly told me what he was getting up to, and I felt worried about him. I was selfishly torn between being his friend and being a good older brother. I was also selfishly torn between being a hypocrite and being a good older brother.

One day, my friend went to his then girlfriend's mom's house, who had a younger sister Cody was friends with. Fourteen-year-old Cody was passed out on the front lawn in the middle of the day next to patch of his vomit. My friend called me and warned me about this situation, and it was at this point I told my Mom. Neither she nor I controlled the situation at all.

Oddly enough, this friend that discovered him on the lawn was also the same friend that discovered his body on the dirt road after he had overdosed. He was called to the scene as an EMT, on a day which he was randomly working in the area when he shouldn't have been. This coincidence is maddening to me, as though God or the Universe or whatever is saying that it meant to happen... But usually when you think of things meaning to happen, the unifying idea is supposed to bring you peace, but to me, it was a slap in my face that I deserve. To me, it was only meant to be because I didn't stop this from going off the tracks when I was warned first. It's a strange and fucked up parallel I can't get out of my head. Then sometimes I think, is any of this even real or am I drawing spiteful lines between a meaningless constellation?

When my Mom and I were in the hospital, we discussed his addiction problems at length to a doctor as we sat by Cody's bed. The Doctor then asked, knowing the answer, "You never put him into a rehabilitation program?" He looked at me. His eyes and tone brimmed with sympathy, but his question was built without any emotional integrity. Though, being a guilty human being, I did get casted with shame, but additionally swelled with momentary rage at the doctor’s useless blame. I was very close to cruelly criticizing the doctor, and had I been a person that indulged in self-gratifying drama, I would have. I instead didn't answer the question, but my Mom did, and it hurt her, because the answer was, of course, no.

I then apologetically kissed his forehead. I remembered smelling his oily hair, and I then cried onto his rough hand, holding it and hoping it would miraculously squeeze mine back, but of course it never did. I'm still there each day in disbelief. I've personally experienced this and it still feels like someone had to explain it to me.

So, I'm lying on my back in the monorail in my dream, and I look up and say into the nothing, "Cody I want to hug you", and all he could do was say "I love you Dust".

So I said, "Cody, how do I know and of this is real?" and he replied with something meaningless, and I woke up.

#nonfiction #confessional #writers #writing #grief #griefjourney #brothers #brother

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kkintle · 3 years

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Fairy Tales by Hans Christian Andersen; Quotes

The heart is on the left side also in emperors.

And as he sat, it occurred to him that maybe the fairy tale had gone into hiding, like the princesses in the old folk tales, and now had to be sought out. If she were found, she would shine with a new splendor, more beautiful than ever before. “Who knows? Maybe she lies hidden (…)

Tragedy was bottled in champagne bottles that start out with a bang, as tragedy should

“He’s sure like a human being, that pixie!” said the old cat. “Just one sweet miaow from the mistress, a miaow about himself, and he immediately changes his mind. She is clever, Madame.” But she wasn’t clever. It was the pixie who was human. If you can’t understand this story, ask about it, but don’t ask the pixie or the Madame.

An actor once told me that when he played a lover he thought about just one person in the audience. He played to her and forgot the rest of the spectators.

“I could have said that better,” thought the critic, but he didn’t say it out loud, and that was already really something.

You can’t learn imagination.” “But what shall I do to make my living by writing?” “Oh, you can manage that by Shrove Tuesday! Become a critic! Knock down the poets. Knock down their writings—that’s just like knocking them. Just don’t be over-awed. Hit at them without ceremony. You’ll get enough dough to support both yourself and a wife!” “You’ve hit upon the very thing!” said the young man, and he knocked down all the poets because he couldn’t become one himself.

When the clock struck five the five senses were there. Sight came as a maker of eye glasses. Hearing was a coppersmith. Smell was selling violets and woodruff. Taste was a cook, and Feeling was a funeral director with mourning crepe hanging down to his heels.

People who are dead can’t walk again, we know that very well, but works of art can haunt. The body was broken, but not the spirit. The spirit of art was spooking, and that was no spoofing matter.

I have something of the poet in me, but not enough. Often when I’m walking the city streets, it seems to me like I’m in a big library. The houses are bookcases and each story a shelf with books. There stands an everyday story. There a good old fashioned comedy. There are scientific works about all kinds of subjects. Here smut and good literature. I can fantasize and philosophize about all that literature.

There’s something of the poet in me, but not enough. Many people have just as much of it as I have and yet don’t carry a sign or a collar with poet written on it. They and I have been given a gift from God, a blessing big enough for oneself, but much too small to be parceled out to others. It comes like a sunbeam and fills your soul and mind. It comes like a waft of flowers, like a melody you know but can’t remember from where.

“People are like milk that curdles. Some become fine cottage cheese and others thin, watered whey. Some people are lucky in everything, always given the place of honor, and never knowing sorrow or want.”

Everyone has his burdens to bear. We’re not alone in it, and there’s a comfort in that.

There was an open casket standing in the middle of the church floor with a dead man in it, soon to be buried. Since he had a clear conscience, Johannes wasn’t afraid at all, and he knew that the dead hurt no one; it’s evil living people who cause harm.

She looked at all the innumerable little stones on the shore; the water had polished them smooth. Glass, iron, stone—everything that was washed up on the beach had been shaped by water, water that was softer still than her white hand. “They roll tirelessly, and so they smooth out the roughness; I’ll be just as tireless! Thank you for your wisdom, you clear rolling waves.

It’s true that the sea is softer than your fine hands and can shape the hard stones, but it doesn’t feel the pain your fingers will feel. It has no heart and doesn’t suffer the dread and terror you must tolerate.

“You can make one up,” said the little boy. “Mother says that everything you look at can become a fairy tale, and that you can get a story from everything you touch.” “But those fairy tales and stories are no good! No, the real ones come by themselves. They knock at my forehead and say, ‘Here I am!’”

Then they did the hardest dance, the one that’s called “stepping out of the dance.”

Here’s my card. I live on the sunny side of the street, and I’m always home when it rains.” And then the shadow went away.

But we can take comfort that the soul is most clever when it’s on its own. The body only dumbs it down.

The air and light were the flower’s lovers, but light was the favorite. It turned to the light, and if that disappeared, it rolled its petals together and slept in the embrace of the air. “It’s light that adorns me,” said the flower. “But the air lets you breathe,” whispered the poet’s voice.

As is the case with anything done thoroughly, the galoshes could only do one thing at a time.

Our greatest sufferings here we don’t impart, You who were alone at last, and often; Know that in life much presses harder on the heart Than all the soil that’s cast upon your coffin.

The little pixie grabbed the wonderful book from the table, put it inside his red cap, and held on to it with both hands. The greatest treasure in the house was saved! Then he ran off, way out onto the roof and up on the chimney, where he sat illuminated by the burning house across the street, and with both hands he held onto his red cap that held the treasure. Now he knew his own heart and knew to whom he really belonged. But when the fire had been extinguished, and he thought about it; well—“I’ll divide myself between them,” he said. “I can’t completely give up the grocer, because of the porridge.” And that was quite human of him! The rest of us go to the grocer too, for the sake of the porridge.

“Come out on the roof, little Rudy,” was one of the first things the cat said, and Rudy understood. “All that about falling is just imagination. You won’t fall if you aren’t afraid of falling. Come on, set one paw like this, and the other like this! Feel your way with your front paws. Use your eyes, and be flexible in your limbs. If there’s a gap, then jump and hold on. That’s what I do.”

When you’re a child and can’t talk yet, you can understand hens and ducks, cats and dogs very well indeed. They are just as easy to understand as father and mother when you are really small. Even grandfather’s cane can whinny and become a horse with a head, legs, and tail. Some children lose this understanding later than others, and people say that those children are slow in developing and are children for an exceedingly long time. People say so many funny things!

(…) but that doesn’t matter because I have gotten this much out of it: things are not distributed quite the way they should be, either for dogs or for people in this world. Not everyone is created to sit on laps or drink milk.

Never think that you will fall, and you’ll manage!”

You have to climb, and you won’t fall down if you believe you won’t.

When you meet someone from your home when you are far away, then you speak to each other like you know each other.

Luck was with him, as it always is for those who believe in themselves and remember that “God gives us the nuts, but he doesn’t crack them open for us.”

Water is so soft and yet so strong. It has a back to bear weight, and a mouth with which to swallow. Gently smiling, softness itself and yet a terror, with shattering strength.

“The world has no more joy to give me.” Words uttered in an abundance of happiness, repeated in a torrent of grief.

“Little Kai is with the Snow Queen and finds everything to his liking. He thinks it’s the best place in the world, but that’s because he has gotten a splinter in his heart and a little chip of glass in his eye. They have to come out first, or he’ll never become human again, and the Snow Queen will keep her power over him.”

He was carrying around some sharp, flat pieces of ice which he positioned in all sorts of ways, trying to make something out of it. It’s like when the rest of us use little wooden pieces and make figures from them. It’s called a tangram. Kai was also making figures and very complicated ones. It was the game of Icy Reason. To his eyes the figures were quite excellent and of the very highest importance. That was because of the bit of glass in his eye!

Then Kai burst into tears. He cried so that the splinter of glass washed out of his eye. He recognized her and cried joy fully, “Gerda! sweet little Gerda! Where have you been so long? And where have I been?” He looked around. “How cold it is here! How big and empty it is!” and he held Gerda tight.

A tail wind for one is head wind for another.

“Cattle die, kinsmen die, one day you die yourself; I know one thing that never dies— the dead man’s reputation.”

In those days the saying was: “The herds know when it’s time to go home and give up grazing, but a foolish man will always forget the size of his stomach.”

They knew that, all right, but do as I say, not as I do! They also knew that “love turns to loathing if you sit too long on someone else’s bench,” but still they stayed. Meat and mead are good things!

“I don’t quite understand it,” said stork mother, “but that’s not my fault. It’s the idea’s fault. But it doesn’t make any difference because I have other things to think about.”

Then they repeated this and wrote it up as a prescription : “Love brings forth life,” but how the whole thing was going to be worked out, they didn’t know.

They say that raindrops hollow out the hard rock. Over time the waves of the sea polish the angular stones until they’re round. The dew of grace that fell over little Helga hollowed out the hardness and rounded the sharpness. But she didn’t recognize that, didn’t know it herself. Does the seed in the earth, when it’s dampened by life-giving moisture and the warm rays of the sun, know that it hides growth and a flower within itself?

“Everyone flies in his own way,” said stork father. “The swans diagonally, the cranes triangularly and the plovers in curves like a snake.”

Better to have something in your tummy when you’re alive than be made a fuss of when you’re dead!

People don’t always go straight to hell, but they can get there the long way around, if they have talent.

Tears of sorrow that a mother cries for her child always reach the child, but they don’t set it free—they only burn and make the torment greater.

“The Portuguese is a gifted speaker,” they said. “We don’t use such great big words, though our sympathy for you is as great. But if we don’t do anything for you, we’ll be quiet about it. We find that the noblest.”

It’s so cold here that the clouds freeze to pieces and fall down in little white patches.” It was snow she meant, but she couldn’t explain it any better.

Oh, to grow, to grow, to become big and old! That’s the only beauty in this world, thought the tree.

“Enjoy your youth!” said the sunbeams. “Enjoy your fresh growth, and the young life that’s in you!” And the wind kissed the tree, and the dew cried tears over it, but the spruce tree didn’t understand.

“Take pleasure in us,” said the air and the sunshine. “Be happy in your fresh youth out in the open air!” But the tree wasn’t happy at all. It grew and grew. Both winter and summer it was green. Dark green it stood there, and people who saw it said, “that’s a lovely tree,” and at Christmas it was cut first. The ax cut deeply through the pith, and the tree fell with a sigh to the earth. It felt a pain and a powerless-ness, and couldn’t think of any joy. It felt saddened to be parted from its home, from the spot where it had grown up. It knew, of course, that it would never again see its dear companions, the small bushes and flowers all around, maybe not even the birds. The departure was not at all pleasant.

“How lovely the world is!” said the caterpillar. “The sun is so warm! Everything is so pleasant. And when I shall one day fall asleep and die, as it’s called, I’ll wake up and be a butterfly!”

“I’ve let myself be taken by surprise,” he said, “so I’d better surprise them too.” And he did. He was gone. Gone all day, gone all night (…)

“The world isn’t so bad after all,” said the dung beetle. “You just have to know how to take it.”

Here he could live, but “living is not enough,” he said. “You must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower!”

The flower understood it in his fashion, as we understand things in ours.

“How terribly alone he must have been,” she said. “Terribly alone,” said the tin soldier, “but it’s lovely not being forgotten!”

No, rather with friendly handshakes, and they get bread and pastries from each other because foreign food tastes best.

Harsh words bear harsh fruit. How would this end?

“The less you know, the less you’re burdened,” said Mother Søren.

Embedded in Andersen’s story is a notion that good tales can expose even the storyteller.

#fairy tales #hans christian andersen #fiction #literature #danish literature #quotes

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glorifiedsnickersbar · 4 years

Text

Farthest North

Chapter 10 - Cinderella Didn’t Run

Word count: 1310

The festivities were going smoothly, albeit early, and America was worried. Alaska hadn't shown yet, and he remembered she always wanted to help... so he gave her a later time than everyone else. It was only 5:52... maybe he was worrying too much... Then he saw her. At first a faint silhouette, but the light from inside made her stars sparkle on her face as she smiled sheepishly. The shorter Country marveled at the exquisite Kimono that adorned her. Blue and gold, an obviously expensive silk, and a small, elegant diamond necklace.

"Am... am I late?" she questioned, jolting the American from his stupor.

"No, of course not," he smiled, sunglasses hiding his wide eyes, "They all came earlier."

At least it wasn't a lie.

He led the grown State in, announcing her arrival, and everyone clapped, most having met her already, but a few hadn't. She smiled bashfully, a barely seen blush dusting her cheeks. America led her through the crowd, telling her all who were there. U.K., or Britain, hadn't seen the woman yet, and was quite surprised at her height, despite the stories he's heard. America exclaimed how he was so proud of his daughter, going through many Countries to finish the formalities.

Japan sighed at the table, having spoken to Alaska already. She was with Germany and Russia, who weren't quite sure if this party was for Alaska or for America just to say how proud he was of her. Russia looked to the woman at their table.

"You sound yike you just svooned." he snickered.

"Shut it, baka*," she growled, "You can't say you didn't stare when she walked in, albeit for different reasons, not even Germany acted like he was disinterested!"

Said Country took a long pull from his champagne...

"You being a matchmaker now?" Russia sneered.

"No," she huffed, "Look at that Kimono! It's the prettiest I've seen! The design, the patterns. Someone took great care in it."

They watched as the State soon came to greet China. Alaska bowed, confused when he did not bow next, only to come up, bringing a hand to her mouth in surprise as he then bowed, a bit lower than hers.

"He bowed lower?!" Japan screeched.

"So?" Russia huffed.

"No-no-no! You don't get it! China rarely bows anymore, once Imperial China died the tradition almost died with him, even I do it more than him and his people, if he's bowing then he holds her in very high esteem! And by that face I think she knows it."

The three watched as China brought himself up, his traditional garb nowhere near as elegant as hers, his red and gold contrasting to Alaska's blue. He led her away from America, who was about to protest, but thought better of it when his father looked toward him suspiciously.

Japan bounced in her seat as she smiled, Germany calling her a 'dork' as he chuckled. She then started to mumble, failing to notice the two red and blue figures coming her way.

"Oh I know! Chilaska!"

Germany spit his drink back into the glass while Russia wheezed, making the female Country look between them confused, until she finally saw the two shadows... She looked up sheepishly, a nervous smile on her face.

"Hey," she waved.

"Ni hao**, Japan," China looked very unamused, while Alaska shook her head with a small giggle, "Alaska wanted to make sure you all were doing well."

"She can't ask us herself?" Russia laughed, wiping a tear from his eye.

"China beat me to the punch," she explained with a sweet smile, "I'll assume you're doing well then, according to your snickers and Japan's starry eyed look."

Said Country had stood, wearing her own Kimono, the dusty pink like fallen Cherry Blossoms. She was able to get Alaska to step away from the other Country as she examined the work done. The seams were flawless, design made to fit her and her alone, and the colors were stunning.

"Blue, for ascendance, and Gold, for wealth and value," China stated proudly, "A perfect combination."

"I dhought it just matched her fy-ag," Russia stated, taking a long pull from the champagne bottle, much to Germany's disagreement.

"Not everything simply means what's obvious," the man rolled his eyes.

"Don't get all philosophical on us," Japan twittered, "You'll put them to sleep."

Alaska laughed, earning all four's attention as they smiled soft smiles. Her laugh was so sweet, like hot cocoa on a chilly winter's day, or a bright fire lighting up the room as you read a book. They wanted to hear it more often.

"Forgive me China, I shouldn't laugh."

"It's quite alright, my dear," he nodded his head slowly, glaring at Japan as she squealed, "It was a simple poke of fun anyway."

The night continued on, Alaska having the time of her life as she mingled with other Countries. North Korea had taken quite the disliking of her, only coming because South Korea wouldn't stop pestering him, but the southern half seemed to like the State well enough. Saudi Arabia, despite his original vote to help the poor State, also disliked her, all because she claimed that she didn't want the oil he would have happily supplied. Of course she said it was a possibility for the future, but until then, he was a rival. She spoke with her adoptive grandfather, U.K. who simply adored her, but one question he just had to ask:

"Why not wear one of your own ensembles?" he questioned, "I'm sure your people have many elegant designs."

"Any elegance in our designs are ceremonial only," she explained, "unfortunately once I was adopted by America, and during my time beneath Russian Empire, most of my traditions were lost, along with such ensembles. That, and I'm afraid I didn't have anything fit for a formal gathering."

France felt her fashion sense tingle, tracking it all the way to her husband and Alaska. She greeted the State with a smile.

"Oh how lovely you've grown," she cooed, "give me a turn, dearie."

She sighed at the elegant silk that adorned the woman.

"Parfaite***," she giggled, "You must tell me, what designer created your flag? It's so simple yet elegant, matches you perfectly!"

"No designer created it," Alaska shook her head, a soft smile becoming an amused one at France's confused expression, "Before I became a State there was a territory wide contest, for the children."

"A child designed it?" France gasped, what a turn of events in her world.

"A young Native boy named Benny Benson, he was 13," Alaska smiled, remembering that loved day, "His was chosen over 700 other participants. I memorized his description by heart:

'The blue is for the Alaska sky and the Forget-me-not, an Alaskan flower. The Northern Star is for the future state of Alaska, the most northerly in the union. The Dipper is for the Great Bear--symbolizing strength.' "

Alaska wiped away a tear, still smiling.

"He was given to an orphanage after his mother died, so he depicted me as the prettiest thing he saw before going to bed each night, Ursa Major and the North Star. He was so excited when he met me in person. We were fast friends from then on."

France and U.K. looked to each other, then back up to the taller woman, each with a pained expression. Such irony littered in her past... A simple flower... Yet it described her future as well. Becoming a State... and her strength compares to no other it seems.

"Pauvre cher *'..." France sighed, wiping away the last tear with her handkerchief, "Come, let us have some drinks," she suggested, and offered the State some champagne, but she declined, enjoying a simple sparkling cider.

--------------------

*Baka - fool (Japanese)

**Ni hao - good day (Chinese)

***Parfaite - Perfect (French)

*' Pauvre cher - you poor dear (French)

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for-bucks-sake · 5 years

Text

It’s A Love Story.

A/N: I snapped, you guys. I just snapped. It may seem weird at first but,,please. Bear with me.

She was just mesmerizing in the moonlight. Arms wrapped around his shoulders in a gesture that would seem romantic to any stranger walking by - Two young people sharing their love in the middle of a war - he knew it was nothing but a sweet act of a friend. Something that blended so naturally in their relationship; small touches and smiles that although were meaningless, meant everything in the world.

“I don’t see what the problem is!” Wearing her short, thick heels made her reach a near eyes level with him, and staring into those baby blues wasn’t easy, for sure. “You’re about to be the last eligible man in New York. You know there’s a three and a half million of us here?”

“Well, I’d settle for just one.” Steve looked back at the woman walking beside him, her chin tilted up and a smile brighter than the lights decorating the Science fair they were headed to. She was scared. Terrified even. How on brand of her to mask her face with feign confidence just for his sake. “I can’t believe they’re takin’ you.”

“Yeah, me neither. But, you know, they’re practically taking everybody these days.”

“Not me.”

She sighed, they have had that conversation more times than she could count, “It’s because going there would be like committing fuckin’ suicide Steve. Not like, just straight up killing yourself.”

Steve inhaled, a quick answer nearly rolling off his tongue before he decided otherwise, catching a glimpse of an ill expression on her face, “let’s just...let’s just forget it, ok? It’s your last night. We should enjoy it.” - “Please tell me if she’s alive, sir. B-A-R-“

“I can spell. I have signed more of these condolence letters today than I would care to count. But the name does sound familiar. I’m sorry.”

It was as if his heart sank down to his feet, his throat suddenly drier than the driest desert, and everything seemed so, so wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not to her. Not right now. - An awfully suspicious man hurried down the hall, only stopping when he saw Steve. His gaze was disturbing, blood freezing. Watching intensely at him not with defiance, not even fear, but admiration.

The small man glanced at the room he just left, ultimately deciding to escape when he saw Steve sprinting towards him. He could easily catch up, of course. But Steve heard something, it was small and uncertain, but it was something. And if that man decided that this room was worth coming back to in the middle of a riot - he should at least check it out.

Ignoring what could have been an easy catch of a man that probably would’ve been a great source of information to everyone back at the base, he then chose to follow the voice. He wasn’t there to take prisoners, after all. He only did this to find-

“Bucky? Oh my god.” And just like that, he could breathe again, and if she wasn’t restrained to that bed like an animal, looking like she had seen a ghost, he would’ve kissed her right there and then.

“Is that…”

“It’s me, it’s Steve.” She looked like she was dreaming, staring into the abyss like she saw right through him.

“Steve?”

“Come one.”

“Steve.”

She got up, still deeply fazed, but it was really Steve there. He grabbed her face for a moment, holding it between his large hands but immediately letting go. He wanted to tell her how he felt, but it couldn’t be now.

“I thought you were dead.” He said instead, bringing his palms to caress her shoulder and hoist her up from the table when a large bomb exploded too close to them.

“I thought you were smaller.” - The bar was dusty. Small particles of nothing were carried lazily by the air, and her first thought was that she felt just like them, moving around without real purpose, not even flying because she lacks the ability to navigate. The air is just too powerful.

Her second thought was that she was being too philosophical for this time and place, and that this joint desperately needed to be cleaned. Of both dirt and men. If she sees another hungry gaze scanning her top to bottom she might start a goddamn brawl.

Steve appeared around the corner, sporting a wide grin that dazzled her even under the unflattering light. She still had trouble recognizing him in that new look; so being used to search for the smallest man in the room, she often missed the biggest one. At least his smile stayed exactly the same, dare she even say it gotten bigger. And that smile could only mean one thing.

“See, I told you. They’re all idiots.”

“How about you?” Steve sat next to her, arms crossed on the wooden counter, “you ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?”

“Hell no.” She pursed her lips and smirked, doing anything to avoid Steve’s eyes, “that little guy from Brooklyn, who was too dumb to run away from a fight.” She swallowed and finally looked up, a smile less wide but more genuine, “I’m following him.”

Steve was held captivated by the fading blue inside her eyes, the tortured expression heaving on his chest when he realized that for once in her life, she couldn’t pretend to be okay for him. He glanced down instantly, the corner of his mouth twisting up as he sighed, fully regretting his request.

She nudged his shoulder, reading his face all too well and letting him know it was okay with the only way she knew, “but you’re keepin’ the outfit, right?” - “Hang on! Grab my hand!”

The wind screamed in his ears, gravity nearly wins and the taunting of the rapid air shots drove him out of his mind. You’re not gonna make it. It said. You’re not gonna make it and she’s going to die, because of you.

He shouted to Bucky one last time, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes as the metal rod she held so dearly suddenly began to give in to the pressure. Steve forced himself to move closer, nearly losing grip himself as he reached down as far as he could when one end of the shaft tore off from the train, surrendering to the power of the wind. The other end creaked one more time, and then she was too far from him, hanging violently by a thread that failed her miserably.

Steve had no choice but to watch his best friend’s face twist in fear as she fell down to the clear mountains, her hand still reaching for him.

Everything around him turned into white noise except the small figure that seemed so foreign over the spotless background. She almost looked like she was flying.

It wasn’t until Steve lost sight of her that he realized his grasp is so loose he’s nearly falling himself. - Since the moment a metal hand smashed their window and kidnapped their hostage from a moving car, everything started going south. Well, even souther than it was to begin with.

And now, Steve was caught in one of the most intense, demanding fights he has ever fought while being shot at by multiple people he once considered colleagues. Natasha was injured, he didn’t know how bad it was and he couldn’t afford checking on her.

And that man, that man he fought was incredibly strong, and more importantly, he used Steve’s strength against him. Flipping him over like he was nothing and snatching his shield from his hands, blocking every single punch Steve threw at him. He had never seen anything like it.

Just when he managed to gain the upper hand, to get his shield back and block that god-awful arm that gave that, thing, too much advantage, he tore his mask off. Her, mask off.

Bucky rolled on the hard asphalt but didn’t hesitate for a second to get up again, turning around with her face exposed. She looked at Steve with eyes that were lacking any expression. Flat and empty with no hint of recognition. Almost like the day he found her in that Nazi facility.

Everything stopped again. Like it happened every time he saw Bucky; his surroundings quieted down and the only noise he could possibly hear was the loud ringing in his ears. Only there and then Steve realized how desperately he missed her.

“Bucky?”

“Who the hell is Bucky?” - She was wearing a black dress. Looking beautiful than ever with her hair neat on her shoulders. Light years from how she looked today. He supposed it didn’t matter, because it was still her, he was certain.

Today he fought the same Bucky that told him she’s with him till the end of the line. That saved him when he was completely alone. That made it very clear she was his family. That was the Bucky he knew, not the one that tried to kill him. Even being encircled by collapsing chunks of metal burning with fire and three bullets in him he didn’t fail to remember that.

“I’m not gonna fight you. You’re my friend.”

“You’re my mission.”

“Then finish it. Cause I’m with you till the end of the line.”

Something clicked inside Bucky’s mind. Maybe it was the glimpses of a forgotten key hidden under a brick or just the bruised face that in another life, she spent hours fixing with impromptu bandages and boiled water.

Whatever it was, something primal and raw screamed frantically at her to stop what she’s doing. Because what she was doing was, for some reason, very, very wrong. - Steve’s heart squeezed inside his chest as he entered the small space he could barely call an apartment.

Bucky didn’t have much. A few improvised shelves made of wood and bricks piled on each other and a mattress that simply laid on the floor, one single pillow on top of it. He scrunched his nose disapprovingly, no one deserved to live that way. Especially not her.

Steve scanned the place again and stepped forward, a book with a hard, black cover caught his eye, similar to the ones he saw on the stand to his right. He moved it gently, letting the chocolate bars on top of it slide down as he opened it at the last marked page.

The notebook was well kept, but clearly very used. Steve could tell it was read many time before, the pages worn and overcrowded with words and side notes and pictures. Most of them his own.

He realized he stared too long into his own eyes when he felt a presence behind him, Steve decided to turn around as he considered it a good sign he wasn’t dead by now.

“Do you know me?”

“You’re Steve.” Her hair was longer now, and the black cap did nothing to mask her piercing eyes. Under all that, she was still herself, “I read about you in a museum.”

Steve nearly huffed and set the notebook to his side, letting her know he read it, “I know you’re nervous, and you have plenty of reason to be. But you’re lying.”

She was stiff, uncomfortable in her own skin, almost afraid to speak the next words out loud, “I wasn’t in Vienna. I don’t do that anymore.”

“Well, the people who think you did are coming here now. And they’re not planing on taking you alive.”

“That’s smart.” She said, eyes burning up as she pushed down tears, “good strategy.”

“This doesn’t have to end in a fight, Buck.”

The both of them could clearly hear the footsteps approaching behind the door. Mean sounds on innocent floor that were getting closer and closer by the second. The only sound she could focus on was the way her long lost nickname fell from Steve lips so naturally.

“It always ends in a fight.” Bucky sighed, looking physically pained to say that.

“You pulled me from the river. Why?” Because I know you. Because I remember you. Because you’re Steve. Because…I love you.

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” - She looked so soft in a white tank. It was the simplest thing, but Steve nearly hugged her one more time before she was gone again. It was time for him to pretend to be okay for the sake of her, since she so obviously wasn’t.

Her arm was gone, she could barely bring herself to smile, and Steve hated everything about it.

He wanted her to stay with him, to let him take all her bad thoughts away, to kiss that freckle on her collarbone that he noticed the day he met her. But, for years Bucky was stripped from any right she had on her life. Now she was finally able to make a decision that is good for her.

Steve couldn’t possibly take it away. - “Steve…”

He thought he’d be numb to this by now. How silly of him.

Losing Bucky hurt like the first time, it came crushing down his chest like an airplane, heavy weight physically grounding him to the dirt and taking away his precious ability to breathe. She was lost, again, and he had no choice but to helplessly watch her, again.

They’ve lost each other countless times by now, yet somehow, the world brought them together. And Steve managed to waste every single opportunity he was given. Every single one. That’s the only thing he could think about, sitting on the dirty ground and clutching what used to be the love of his life.

The dust floated away from his fingers as his mind replayed the sight of her falling to her knees and disintegrating away quicker than he could register. The way she muttered his name just before disappearing will hunt him for a long time. - She was standing next to Sam, gesturing him to move forward into a future she knew he deserved.

Steve handed him a brand new shield, and Bucky nodded when Sam looked back, searching for reassurance and validation all at once.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Well,” Steve beamed, stepping down from the machine and onto the ground, ”after I put the Stones back, I thought...maybe I'll try some of that life that Tony was telling me to get.” He glanced at Bucky, smiling shyly and looking down again.

Sam glanced back one more time, confirming what he always knew when he saw the red blush coloring Bucky’s cheeks. He smirked, nodding at the both of them.

“Thank you. I’ll do my best.”

“That’s why it’s yours.”

Steve once swore that if the world would be kind enough to give them another chance, he will not waste it. So, even though it was a love story that’s been spread through decades. Steve didn’t have the patience to wait a single second more. “I love you.” He said, grabbing her by the waist and burying his head in the crook of her neck.

His breath was warm on her skin as she squeezed him closer to her chest. Her eyes nearly reaching eyes level with him.

“I love you, too.”

----

A/N: I’m merely trying to prove a point here. If you think what you’ve seen on screen is not the same thing you just read, then, you’re in for a surprise buddy. What would happen if Bucky was a girl, a woman. Would that validate their relationship more? For some people I think that’s the case.

They could’ve had the most powerful love story in all history. What a shame they’re both men and Marvel already has Gay Joe Russo to fill that square.

#Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #bucky x steve #steve x bucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #captain america #the winter soldier #avengers endgame #steve rogers x reader

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hallowtide · 5 years

Text

What are the best ways to help with ADHD/ADD?

Answered on Quora by Iris Crain on July 30th, 2019.

https://qr.ae/TWvd59

I can answer you from the perspective of someone with Adult ADHD that started in childhood, mother of three with ADHD, and now at least three of my grandchildren are diagnosed…

First, you need to *understand* us. Our brains are literally wired differently. They’re calling it “Neural diversity” now, which I like because it really is just thinking differently, not so much like we’re crippled by some ‘disorder.’ But life for us is like having 35 tabs open in your browser, all on different topics across several genres, and knowing exactly how each one corralates to the others (I actually do this a lot, boggles my husband’s mind.) It’s like having five different radio stations going all at once in our heads, rock, talk radio, news, classical and reggae.

And we really want to be understood. The biggest issues in relationships is when we feel the other person doesn’t understand us and we feel alone. My son had an issue over 20 years ago where he was being defiant in the principal’s office in the presence of a police officer. When I walked in, the cop was unclasping his handcuffs to take him to Juvenille hall. I sat in a child-sized chair in front of my son and said “So, what’s going on?” After 10 mins of being heard, he was calm and understood that his response to the situation was inappropriate (although I took issue because he was being bullied) and the officer said he’d never seen anyone so effectively handle an ADHD kid that wound up. I replied “All he wanted was for his feelings to be heard and understood.”

We feel very deeply. We seem to get our feelings hurt pretty easily. Because we attach to the things that get our attention accutely, when they’re taken from us or otherwise destroyed, we feel like we’re being hurt. We’re often told we talk too much, because we want others to understand and feel things as muc has we do. And we don’t understand why people can go through life without feeling things like we do.

We’re not stupid. I was tested and have a 167 IQ. And yet I forget simple things like remembering to set my alarm the night before so I make an appointment, or what I had for dinner last night. I can hear a song and tell you the song title, band name, and usually the album name, what the album cover looked like, the track, the lead singer, and often a bit of other trivia about the song, band or album. My husband calls me his “own personal ‘Behind the Music’.” Yet many ADHD kids grow up to be adults with a lot of self esteem issues from being called lazy, stupid, crazy, spoiled or weird. They often have PTSD (and some like me have actual physical scars) from bullying, poor grades because they just don’t think like the other kids, and a high suicide rate.

We move at a very fast pace. We thrive in situations were we can apply what we know and are good at in a focused manner. My ADHD son would be so into a video game he wouldn’t notice his bathroom urges and wet his pants as a teenager. If I’m working on an important project or event, I typically spend the last two weeks before the event in what my kids call “pre event psychosis” where I get almost zero sleep, only face-planting my keyboard for 15 mins at a time, with little side effects. My husband says he marvels at everything I do out-of-sight until he notices them or I bring them up. My grandparents used to call it “running circles around them” (sometimes literally.)

We want to be helpful, and involved. We forget that people might not want our help, beause we’re so busy butting in trying to join in. We have so many ideas how you can improve what you’re doing that we don’t understand why you’re comfortable doing things the same way every time. Or by yourself. Or it’s not the best/fastest/most fun way possible. We don’t understand why people say “go away, I’ll do it myself” or “I don’t want your help.”

We’re easily distracted. Scatter-brained. Forgetful. Spastic. For example the other day I was sitting at my desk writing a fiction story on my computer, fixing a USB charging cord, making a short grocery list, organizing my top desk drawer and talking to people in the room, all at the same time. I also fed the fish on my desk, and periodically swapped out the page of the document I was scanning into my computer. What most people don’t understand is that ADHD people can actually do that, and we’re usually good at it. We will also have a thousand and one unfinished projects.

We need different coping mechanisms. For some ADHD people, they need quiet to function, to keep the distractions limited. Me, I like to listen to music, preferably non-lyrical like “handpan” music or binural tones. Something with energy. I put headphones on and five hours later I have the outline of a small novel (and sometimes that’s bad, because it started as a simple reply on facebook that went WAY out of control!!) However, if my husband can’t find something in the fridge, without looking up from my computer I can say “second shelf, towards the back, under the sour cream behind the mayo.” And my office area that looks so cluttered and disorganized? I know what and where everything is, so please don’t move anything.

Yet we’re visionary too! Some of the best writers, philosophers and scientists were or are ADHD. We think outside the box so much, we forget to think *inside* the box, and “Neuraltypical” people don’t have a reference in normal thinking to understand what we’re talking about. It’s not anyone’s fault, we literaly have a different perspective on the world. We can imagine all the “what ifs” in the universe (which can challenge even the most patient parent.) But we’re usually very good problem solvers, inventors and creators.

We get easily frustrated. Because we move at such a fast pace, we have trouble learning the rest of the world dosen’t manifest things as fast as we’d like. We want to be instant Mozarts and Wozniaks, we want the paint to dry faster, we want our TV show to come on now, we want to arrive at our destination as soon as we pull out of the driveway (are we there yet?) We can be pushy and demanding beause we want things to go at our speed. And if we grasp a concept, we want to move on to the next step, whether the people around us are on the same page or not.

We also have trouble slowing down, which is why things like belly breathing, grounding and centering, meditation, yoga, martial arts or even simple playtime in the bath can improve our mood and behavior rather impressively. Learning to do these things is hard for us though…

We get easily depressed. The problem with moving fast in a slower paced world is that we get disapointed on a regular basis. We’re different, and a lot of ADHD people describe feeling like a “Stranger in a Strange Land” (good book by the way…) With all the expectations we have of ourselves and our world, and the disapointment from them, people with ADHD have some of the highest rates of mental health disorders and suicidal ideation overall. (It’s also why learning how to adjust one’s perspective and let go of expectations and live in the now is so theraputic for us.)

Our brains specialize. Much like a savant, we’re usually really good at something, but lackluster at most of the other things around us. When we fixate on a topic or field, it’s one of the few times that we are able to shut out the distractions, and so we excel at that thing. The drawback is that it’s also really hard to get interested in anything else. If we’re good at math in school, we don’t hear the bell ring ending the class, we get distracted at our locker looking *one more time* at those equasions, and we miss 90% of everything the next four teachers talk about because in our head we’re seeing numbers and fractions and sums. (As you can tell, mine was English class, adding sociology in college.)

The best way you can help us is to understand us. Be patient. Be kind. Don’t get angry when we try to help. Or when we don’t remember. Learn more about how we think and approach us from our perspective once in a while. Help us set up the structures, reminders and mechanisms that help us function. Or at least try not to throw us off-track if we’re doing good.

For kids, give them lots of stuff to do, but make sure it’s something that catches their interest. Don’t be surprised when that interest changes overnight. Learn the concept of a “teaching moment.” In those moments, you have their attention - use it to teach them why the situation is good or bad. Don’t nag about the failures or differences as much as recognizing and praising the successes. ADHD people have so many little failures throughout the day that praising us for a success goes a log way.

Realize they are mini adrenaline junkies! My daughter’s teacher realized she needed to be evaluated at seven when, instead of going around the table like most her peers at that age would, to get a marker she wanted she not only went across the table for it, but she did so standing, not crawling, and didn’t understand why it was such an issue. I loved to climb trees, big tall pine trees, all the way where I could touch the top, despite it swaying from my weight, or my mother’s terrified screams.

Make them learn to read, without it they will have trouble finding coping mechanisms because neuraltypical people don’t think like they do, but in the myriad of universes and galaxies in stories they can find descriptions of things that their minds will connect with.

And it goes without saying I hope that most of all, we’re human. We deserve the same love and respect you would give anyone else. And if you do, you’ll find no better or more loyal helpers in all of society. Just let us be us.

#adhd #adult adhd #adhd inattentive type #adhd problems #adhd inattentive #living with adhd #adhdlife #add #adhd mood

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nevergiveupneverrun · 5 years

Text

Bodyguard- Chapter Nine “In another world” Part Two

Hello, I hope you’re all doing great. Here is chapter height of my Story Bodyguard. I’m sorry in advance for the mistakes… English isn’t my first language and I do my best. Here is the link to the previous chapter: Click Here.

I hope you will enjoy this chapter :) 💛

- You are very elegant Owen, announces Amelia in a soft voice, discovering me a few steps in front of her. I touch my tie like a nasty reflex while lowering my eyes. - I didn’t have a suit available… - It fully offsets, you are perfect… I look up as she finishes her sentence finding her look so expressive. - And you are perfect Amelia, replies Jackson by my side. Amelia stares at me for a few moments as if waiting for me to speak, before ending up directing her attention to Jackson. - Thank you… She murmurs these two words as if she were embarrassed by the compliment… a compliment that I would have liked to tell her too, but the words just didn’t come and especially I knew that I could not give myself to this kind of remark… - In any case, you are very well matched both, says April in a smile. The purity of my little Amelia in this beautiful dress and the strength of Mr. Hunt all dressed in black… Ying and Yang… - April, you’re not going to leave in your philosophical passions, reassure me, Amelia continues laughing. - Ha, you should open up a little more to the culture honey… otherwise, apart from my passion, as you say, I honored all my homework as a best friend and found what you asked me… April unveils a case she held in her hand and she holds out to Amelia. Amelia then steps forward to stand right in front of me. - You just miss a little accessory…

She opens the case and without I have tome to recognize what it contains, she goes on tiptoe to place me… a pair of glasses on the nose.

I blink a few times before realizing that it is glasses without correction and that Amelia observes me smiling.

- Did not you tell me it was a model “John Lennon” April?

- That’s what I had on hand, honey. And it suits him very well… very very well, whispers April while looking at me.

I am rather destabilized by this accessory that has just given me, not really an idea of what I look like… and my hand is placed directly on the bow of the glasses, to remove them, and to look at them more closely.

- No, Owen, keep them… in fact, thinking a little more about it, we omitted a detail. The people who are present tonight don’t know you… on the other hand, in the next days or weeks, you may find yourself on pictures by my side…hence this little accessory so that we don’t recognize you in a few days… you don’t blame me, I hope… but apart from the glasses, I didn’t think of anything else…

I was stunned not to have thought of this weakness of our plan myself… she had thought of everything…

- Owen, do not you blame me?

- No, of course not… you’re absolutely right…

- Can we go now, or do you have something else to put on Owen? Jackson suddenly asks jokingly.

I clear my throat, a little embarrassed by the turn of words used by Jackson while April burst out laughing.

- I would have an answer, but I don’t think it would relax everyone, adds April between two laughs.

- Well, I think we’ll go… whispers Amelia, a little overwhelmed by the exchange.

She casts a glance at her clutch bag and then takes hold of a stole resting on the coat rack, which she merely slips to her arm.

Turning, she reveals the back of her dress that confronts me with memories that I had tried to repress…

The back of the dress takes indeed a V shape close to that of the cleavage but in a much more pronounced and low-cut style, which reveals the extent of a skin that I had already been able to look around for a long time.

Jackson opens the door and Amelia follows on Jackson’s heels when I feel a handhold my arm.

I glance at Jackson so that he comes with Amelia in the car…

- April, I will have to go…

- Yes, I know well… I just want… well, take good care of her tonight… I learned about the threats and this reception is so special for her, it could…

She had a serious tone that I didn’t know her and that took me a little short.

- Don’t worry, I will not take my eyes off her.

- And compared to my request a little clumsy, don’t feel uncomfortable… it was just a way to test you both…and I grabbed the signal…

- The signal?

- Yes… I clearly have no chance… and she would be angry to me… I can withdraw when it’s lost in advance… Have a good evening and take care of her.

I give her a smile in response and leave the house by almost running to the car.

The habits lead me to put my hand on the passenger door when I realize that tonight I’m not in the role of the bodyguard but of the partner.

I open the back door and install myself on the backseat that Amelia has placed on the opposite side to leave me the space to sit.

- Do we leave? Asks Jackson turning to us.

- We left, answers Amelia by my side.

The drive is going fast. Few minutes where Amelia informs me of the role I was going to play. Once again, she amazed me by having imagined the character I had to play for this reception… to ensure that we had a common history and that we make no wrong notes. She suggests doing me to pass for a friend guitarist… a profession that does not leave me indifferent, as if fate or her imagination was having fun torturing me. To anticipate the surprise of guest who doesn’t know me, my expatriation would be integrated… and our recent reunion. A meeting that we would have made at the Conservatoire, then kilometers that would have separated us but a friendship remained intact… - I think we went through all the details, right? Amelia then asks me as we enter the parking leading to the restaurant. - Yes, if we had forgotten something, I would manage to improvise with this base… - Okay, I count on you… and don’t forget that tonight you’re not here as a bodyguard… therefore, our attitude must be as convincing as our words… I nod while replacing the glasses I was not used to. - So, I’ll leave you there. Jackson had just parked at the entrance of a small gravel road that led to an imposing wooden building. - Jackson, you stay in the area, I’ll sign you back… - No problem O’, have a good evening both of you. I leave the vehicle first, then turn around and extend a hand to Amelia to help her out. She raises her dress by gathering some parts in one hand, then grabs my hand to rest the feet on the ground, directly releasing her dress which spreads again around her. She smiles shyly at me then takes a look at the frame and the illuminated building in front of us. I let go of her hand while Jackson leaves already a little further with the car. I walk a few steps but my stride slows suddenly when I feel a hand grab my arm. A sidelong look and I recognize Amelia’s little fingers cling to me. She offers me a smile that I answer without thinking.

We walk the few meters separating us from the entrance: entering the lounge, dedicated to the réception, we discover a sumptuous room, adorned with magnificent chandeliers, in the center of which sits a grand piano… and many tables along the walls where a buffet is already in place.

We take the content of the scenery when suddenly, a voice resounds on the side.

- Amelia!

I notice then a young woman, wearing a long red dress, coming towards us.

Amelia releases my arm and embraces the young woman a few moments.

- Good evening Mer! You are beautiful…

- Not as much as you… - The room is superb, thank you for organizing everything, the guests are not there yet? - No, the first should arrive in five minutes I think…

The look of the young woman seems to notice me and she stops in a full sentence.

Amelia turns to me, taking my arm to bring me close to her.

- Yes, of course… you don’t know each other… Mer, I present to you Owen, a guitarist friend, Owen, here is Meredith. Meredith is the queen for organizing events, and she works for me regularly, especially for this reception.

- Nice to meet you, Meredith. - Good evening Owen. Pleased to meet you, it’s amazing that we didn’t meet before. - I came back to the United States, there is little time…

Footsteps in our backs interrupt our exchange, a dozen people entering the living room.

- Ha, excuse me, I’ll take care of the first guests who arrive. Sweetie, take the opportunity to do a little visit, I’ll sign you when it’s time for the speech.

Meredith hurries to meet the people who joined the reception, conscientiously checking the names of people on a list she scribbled as and when.

Amelia quickly guides me to the back of the room and approaches a small platform.

- So, a speech?

- Yes, and I have not prepared anything… I hope improvisation will succeed me… - Spontaneity is often a good method in such moments…

She smiled slightly but I felt a little tense, however, by the event.

I still had no pierced the story behind this foundation but it seemed strongly linked to her past and her own experience.

The next few minutes boil down to a stream of colors, voices, and faces as people march past us to greet Amelia and make her two, three compliments of circumstance. However, she was keen to keep me close to her, guiding me to the people she wanted to approach or spontaneously introducing me to anticipate the questions: she played her rôle perfectly and I tried to be as flawless as she, but fortunately for me, the guests quickly turned their attention away from me to focus on Amelia. We were in the middle of a discussion with a Disney official, a world Amelia knew from what I heard from the conversation… (she had obviously worked on an animated movie and performed the soundtrack)… when my attention goes to the small stage. I see Meredith take place, then touch the microphone before her voice resonates in the room. - Good evening everyone! If you allow us a few minutes of attention, I invite you to welcome the one who organized this reception, and the one that put so much energy for this foundation, Miss Amelia Shepherd! Amelia stops short in her sentence, realizing that the moment of the speech is imminent… while the applause rises around us. She quickly displays a small smile, takes a deep breath, and then walks towards the small stage. I keep watching her, without leaving my place, quickly directed my attention to the room to monitor every move of the guests. The applause fades after a few seconds… and voice sounds. - Good evening everyone and thank you to Meredith who is really the one without whom this reception would not be possible. This event is always special for me and seeing you all in front of me makes me really heart-warming. This foundation « family of heart » is a project a little crazy… I put a lot of energy into it for three years and I am amazed at seeing all the could be achieved… and deeply touched by reading the testimonies of the children who were able to find the warmth of a home, the love of a second family. All this, it’s not thanks to me. It is thanks to you who give regularly, who invest in this cause. It is thanks to all of you who take time, to all the host families, to all the people who are mobilized daily. This reception for me is my way of saying « Thank you » for allowing me to realize an idea that is so dear to me…

I know that together, on our small scale, we make the lives of many children easier, sweeter, more joyful… and I hope that we will trigger all together again and for many years, thousands of smiles and laughter for all those children who deserve this second chance, this new home they except so much.

Thank you all for supporting me and helping them grow and love life! Now, enjoy this beautiful reception!

I remained focused during the entire speech on the room, being slightly shifted to the side, to be less visible… as soon as the applause rises again around me, at the end of Amelia’s speech, I instinctively look for her.

I discover her quickly a few steps from the platform, in conversation with a young man that I had already noticed earlier: Alex Karev, heir to a rich family of donors. I found him a bit insistent in Amelia’s presentations, and I was almost not surprised that he had seized the first opportunity to accost her again… probably to compliment her on her speech.

But what I did not expect was to see him lead Amelia with him… to go to the edge of the piano where a musician had settled and began to let the first notes escape from the instrument… to join some couples already treading the dance floor.

I shyly advance to not take my eyes off her.

I stop after a few steps, having a stunning view of the stage.

I watch this man place his hand in Amelia’s back, then press her a little closer to him and take her into a waltz.

I remain focused on the slightest gestures of this man, on the comings and goings of people around Amelia, ready to react to any alert.

The melody is coming to an end: Amelia escapes from the young man’s arms, politely refuses a second dance, but another man approaches to take the place of the first suitor… leading her into a second dance, while the notes of the piano rise again.

I notice that the first young man observes Amelia with a hint of disappointment and spite in his eyes, before disappearing.

My eyes quickly find the silhouette of Amelia with her second suitor, obviously a little less comfortable on the dance floor than the first. - She always knew how to attract the look to her… A voice resonates on my left and I discover Meredith by my side. - The worst is that she’s not really aware of it, but I see you’re not insensitive… - I had lost her in the room, actually… - Yes, and that’s why you’ve been staring hungrily at her for five minutes…she says smiling. - We are only friends, Meredith, there is nothing more… - Yes, that’s what we all say at the beginning… you seem to be a good guy… Amelia had had a hard time, but she has an impressive strength of character, so advice, be sure of yourself with her… She disappears as quickly as she appeared when a restaurant person makes a sign from the back of the room, leave me alone again in my observation. I redirect my attention to the dance floor, and review the different couple present… but no trace of Amelia. I quickly scan the edge of the buffet look, trying to see her graceful silhouette, but no white appearance to capture my eyes, just spikes of red, black, blue… And then I suddenly feel a presence behind me, associated with an odor that is familiar to me: notes of vanilla and coconut… I turn around and rediscover her in front of me, with a gleam in her eyes. - You know, there is a much more efficient method for not take your eyes off me… My eyebrows are frowning at this remark: I don’t really understand where she wants to come. A hand then slides into one of mine and already pulls me when the words that I missed who finally escaping her. - Just dance with me…

Thank you for reading!

#omelia #omelia fanfiction #omeliafics #greysanatomy #amelia shepherd #owen x amelia #amelia x owen #Owen Hunt #bodyguard #april kepner #jackson avery #meredith grey #alex karev

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bubblegumwitchswriting · 6 years

Text

The Currency We’ve Spent: Chapter Six

Main Pairing: Will/Nico

Other Pairings: Jason/Piper; Percy/Annabeth; Hazel/Frank; Leo/Calypso

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15934799/chapters/38331521

First Chapter (Prologue): here

Previous Chapter: here

Years ago.

Bianca yawned and stretched, accidentally hitting one hand against the window and one hand against Percy's head. He jolted awake, kicking out at the front seat which got Zoe up. All the grumbling, complaining and mixed confusion woke Thalia.

"I hated this motel," Percy commented, pulling himself upright and rubbing at his eyes. "0 stars, would not recommend."

"We booked somewhere for tonight," Thalia said. "So there'll be actual beds and showers. You know providing we can find it."

Zoe and Thalia wanted to go to some museum in some town somewhere. Percy was ambivalent but since he was stuck in the car with them couldn't stop them if he'd wanted to, unless he was planning on walking home. Bianca just wondered whether the museum was part of Thalia's secret mission part of the roadtrip or whether Thalia and the still unexplained Zoe just really liked old stuff.

Bianca had been to a lot of museums as part of their mom's attempt and then their father's attempt to enrich their lives with culture and knowledge. Plus it got them out of the house on the days when there was nothing to do because their mom had frowned upon television except on weekends and even then only after they'd done all their homework and their chores and all other entertainment options had been exhausted. No wonder Nico had gotten so obsessed with mythomagic and his comics - it was sheer self defence against complete and total boredom.

Bianca should get some hobbies. She'd never really found a niche though, never really picked up anything and stuck with it. She'd tried musical instruments, ballet, girl guides and all the other nice, gentile, enriching hobbies her mom thought would be good for her. None of them had caught her interest and so she'd just ended up playing with Nico. It kept him happy and at least now she could claim a very thorough knowledge of mythology even if alongside it she had a very thorough knowledge of attack and defence stats.

They stopped at another McDonald's for breakfast.

"Do you think by the end of this trip we'll be sick of McDonalds?" Percy asked, philosophically as he bit into his egg mcmuffin.

"We'll go to KFC for dinner," Thalia answered, slightly sarcastically. She had the largest coffee they had but wasn't eating. In complete contrast to the day before she seemed tense as a bow string, though whether that was because she had had very little sleep or whether that was because she was anticipating whatever the day was going to bring for her, Bianca didn't know. Zoe was quiet too, but that suited the aloofness she'd presented when they'd first met. Bianca still hadn't gotten the explanation for Zoe's presence. Maybe that would have to be the topic of her and Thalia's next late night talk.

"So what's so special about this museum then?" Percy asked.

"Got an exhibit we need for school," Thalia said. It was a perfectly natural answer but something about it didn't ring quite true.

"You are aware I hate museums right?"

"What's wrong with museums?"

"They are a school trip thing. And school trips always seem to go wrong for me."

"Everything always goes wrong for you," Thalia answered, but she didn't put as much venom in it as she could have done. Percy couldn't even be bothered to answer that with a retort. Thalia, after all, wasn't exactly wrong.

"You don't have to come," Thalia said suddenly. "We could drop you off and you could go I don't know shop or... something."

Whether it was her uninspiring delivery or not, Percy just shook his head.

"I'll take school trip to the museum."

The museum looked like every other museum Bianca had ever gone to, stone steps leading up to a building with lots of columns and fancy triangular bits and lots of darkened windows. Tourists were already streaming up the steps when they got there and they joined the crowds.

"What are you looking for?" Percy asked as they went through the doors. He'd made a beeline for the map, perhaps aiming to streamline their visit and ensure they didn't see anything they didn't have to see.

"Can you even read that?" Zoe asked Percy innocently.

"This little x means treasure right?"

Zoe, slightly unexpectedly laughed.

"So where are we going?" Percy asked.

"Hold on," Thalia reached into the pocket of her jacket and removed a folded bit of paper. She and Zoe examined the paper, looked up at the map, looked down at the paper, looked up at the map. Bianca became even more sure there was something more about this museum than a homework assignment that the famously academically unenthused Thalia was suddenly incredibly invested in. Percy was frowning at them both.

"Greek myths," Thalia said in answer to Percy's earlier question. "But I can't see -"

"There's a Roman exhibit in the Long Gallery." Percy said. "I mean same thing right?"

"You've been around Nico for five minutes, you know it's not," Thalia said. Percy sighed.

"Are you sure it's the right museum?"

Thalia glanced at Zoe, who nodded very firmly.

"Well they change the exhibits every so often so maybe it's not here anymore. You want me to google it?"

Thalia shook her head, tapping the bit of paper against her lips thoughtfully.

"Well let's wander," Percy said, impatient to move off. "We might come across it."

Percy initially walked quickly through each room, but then he got interested in a display of old coins and then in a marine life exhibit. Thalia moved on, slightly restless, and Bianca followed. Unexpectedly Zoe stayed behind with Percy, staring at various marine life.

"What's going on?" Bianca asked. "And by that, I mean what's really going on. There's no way you're only here for homework."

"I told you, you're not getting involved," Thalia said firmly. She glanced left and right at the different exhibits but never stopped long enough to really take anything in.

"Okay fine," Bianca said. "But does Percy know what you're really doing? Because he's getting suspicious."

Thalia sighed.

"I didn't tell him," she said. "I meant to. Like just give him a heads up - I'm not letting him get involved either. But I never got round to it and then I thought maybe it's better he doesn't know anything at all. I probably shouldn't have told you anything."

"What are you so scared of?" Bianca demanded.

"I don't know," Thalia whispered, suddenly candid. "Everything. I'm scared Luke's dead in a ditch somewhere. I'm scared my dad's involved in some shady stuff. I'm scared that he's going to drag Jason into it all."

Bianca pursed her lips.

"Well I think you should tell us," she said, firmly on her high horse. "If your dad is involved in something shady that might impact on us. We're all in this together remember. Heirs to the same business."

"If my dad thinks I'm going to run a business," Thalia said. "He's going to be sorely disappointed."

Bianca laughed and tried to imagine punk rock, rough edged Thalia heading a board meeting.

"I don't know," Bianca said. "I reckon you'd be great. Whip everyone into shape."

Thalia laughed.

"Can you imagine me in a business suit?" she demanded.

"No, no," Bianca said. "You'd have to go in in your regular clothes. Pins and all."

"I think my dad would have a heart attack," Thalia said. "And all his high ranking what-do-you-call-ems after him. He was furious enough when I cut my hair short. He said it was unlady like."

"It's not just dads," Bianca answered, stopping to examine an old vase meditatively. "You know what my mom was like. It was like she was stuck in the Victorian era, she wanted me to be all prim and proper and ladylike."

"She was kind of terrifying sometimes," Thalia agreed. "I always felt like I had to stick my little finger out when drinking and know which fork was which. She loved you though."

Bianca nodded.

"Sometimes I forget that," she said quietly staring at a necklace unseeingly, eyes hot. "And I just remember the bad stuff. But she used to teach Nico and to bake and cook. She always played with us. We would have fun. But I hated her for not letting me do stuff everyone was doing. I wanted to go to karate but that wasn't delicate enough."

"After my mom went I felt relieved for a little bit," Thalia said, more to herself than Bianca. "Then I felt bad that I didn't care, that I wasn't very sad. She was great once when I was really little. But all I really remember is the drinking and the yelling. She forgot Jason once, just left him in a cart at the shops because she got distracted. What kind of mom forgets their kid?"

Bianca didn't have an answer for that. Thalia didn't look away from the display and neither did she.

"You've got to tell me T," Bianca said. "Tell me what's going on. You know I'll just keep asking otherwise."

Thalia sighed and glanced around, obviously looking for Zoe or Percy. Either they were still distracted by the marine exhibit, or they'd wandered on.

"Alright," Thalia said. "But let's find the cafe I saw on that map. I missed breakfast."

Thalia ordered a sandwich, a chocolate bar and another coffee.

"Do you think maybe you're addicted to coffee?" Bianca asked.

"Do you think maybe you should shut up?" Thalia answered, mild and teasing. She was tapping at her phone while her coffee cooled. She dropped it down onto the table and opened the chocolate.

"I'm starving," she said.

"I texted Percy," she added. "Told him we'd meet up here."

Bianca nodded and took a sip of her hot chocolate.

"So?" Bianca said pointedly.

Thalia grimaced, like she’d been hoping Bianca would forget.

"Fine," she said with a faintly irritated scowl. "So I told you about the warehouse?"

"You did."

"Well that's the main reason for this whole roadtrip. But there's a couple of stops along the way that I wanted to check out. I wasn't lying about the Greek exhibit: I did want to see it. There's a lot of files in my dad’s office under the names of three Greek gods."

"Hades, Posideon and Zeus," Bianca said. "Those were the nicknames they got. But that's not news."

Thalia nodded.

"But then I found out he sends regular donations to this museum. He doesn't ever donate to anything, but he's been sending money here every year at least once, sometimes more than that. I thought there might be a connection somewhere. I mean the names had to come from somewhere right?"

Bianca shook her head, picking the crusts off her sandwich.

"I don't know Thalia," she said. "Maybe you're right but you shouldn't push it. I mean looking through your dad's finances -"

"The company's finances," Thalia said. "The company that, as you pointed out I am heir to. I want to find out exactly what I'm getting into."

"I don't want you to get into any trouble," Bianca said. "What if you do find something? What are you going to do then?" Thalia shrugged.

"I - ".

She broke off frowning.

The cafe was up on a gallery, and glass fencing allowed an uninterrupted view of the main hall below. Thalia's gaze had settled on the marble floor. She was frozen, frowning, her hand halfway to her mouth.

"Thalia!"

She dropped the piece of sandwich she'd been holding, stood up to lean out over the balcony.

"Thalia!" Bianca tried again. "What is it?"

"That's Jones. He's my dad's guy."

She stood up quickly, her chair scraping on the floor, nearly tipping backwards. Thalia hurried off, making for the stairs. Bianca followed. This was exactly the kind of thing she was worried about. Thalia was headstrong though, and stubborn and no matter how Bianca entreated as they hurried down the escalator she would not listen to reason.

"You can't just go chasing some guy."

"We go way back," Thalia said grimly, not paying the slightest bit of attention. "He kidnapped me once."

"An excellent reason not to stalk him," Bianca said.

"You should go upstairs," Thalia said. "Wait for Percy and Zoe."

"Not if you won't," Bianca said. "Someone's got to make sure you don't do anything stupid."

Though that someone seemed to be her, she wasn't particularly good at it. At the bottom of the escalator Thalia didn't stop or pause, in fact she used the momentum of the escalator to move even quicker away. She strode across the hall, scattering tourists who stared at her and at Bianca who hurried along in Thalia's wake.

"Thalia!" Bianca hissed. "Slow down. You're going to knock someone out."

Whether it was Bianca's instruction, or the fact Thalia was beginning to realise she was drawing attention to herself, Thalia did slow ever so slightly.

Jones had gone through into the exhibition halls on the right so that's where Thalia went, and because that's where Thalia went, that was where Bianca went. They went straight through a display on the Egyptians, past a mummy that, under other circumstances Bianca might have stopped and looked at. There was something intrinsically fascinating about the practice of wrapping up the dead.

Thalia was frowning, pace quickening. As they went through into the next room, they finally caught sight of Jones again and Thalia allowed them both to slow. Jones wasn’t hard to tail: he was the only other person in the museum walking with such intent. He stood out in his suit, he stood out in the way he walked along, uninterested in the ancient artefacts he was surrounded by.

They went into the next room.

"Greeks," Thalia whispered. "I told you. But why couldn't we see this on the map?"

"Because apparently none of us can read a map and Zoe wasn't paying attention?" Bianca suggested, in equally hushed tones.

"What is the deal with Zoe anyway?" Bianca asked on the vague hope the sudden question might startle Thalia into an actual answer.

"Not now," Thalia hissed. "What's he looking at?"

Jones had paused very briefly at one of the cases, made a very quick note in a journal he pulled from his pocket and then moved on. Thalia cast a quick glance over the case before following him. Bianca paused, hanging back for a moment while she stared into the glass cabinet, trying to figure out what could have attracted the guys attention. There was nothing particularly special, nothing that could stand out as being a special or time limited acquisition. In fact a quick glance around the rest of the room was enough to see that almost every item had another, similar item in a case somewhere around the room.

And yet something was bothering her. Something was tugged at her memory, something was familiar. Was it just because she spent so much time playing cards with Nico? Was it just something in the case reminded her of one of those cards or one of those stories? Or was it something more sinister. Thalia was so sure something was going on.

Bianca had to agree. She'd tried to dissuade Thalia, admittedly not especially well, but she'd tried. Now she was catching the bug too. She was probably just jumpy, seeing patterns where there were none.

And Thalia had run off on her own while she'd been staring at a few urns and some assorted coins.

She quickly hurried into the next room but there was no Thalia. She didn't stop, just went through to the next room, and then the next room and then she was back in the entrance hall, having completed the loop.

And there she was standing, glowering.

"Thalia! What happened?"

"He vanished," Thalia said, quietly furious, quietly seething. "He must have seen me and doubled back somehow. Or - I don't know. He can't have got that far ahead of me. One minute he's there and then he goes into the next room, I catch up like two seconds later and he's gone. Just gone."

"I don't think he doubled back," Bianca said. "I was still in the Greek room and I didn't see anyone come through."

She thought.

"But then I wasn't paying a whole lot of attention," she admitted.

Thalia was still scowling, still seething. She threw up her hands.

"Then where did he go!" she said. "I refuse to believe there was a secret door."

Bianca gave her a sympathetic smile.

"Hey," she said. "At least you were right. It looks like there is something going on with this museum."

Thalia sighed, the anger leaving her in her outward huff of breath.

"Or maybe Jones was just here to do his homework," she said.

Bianca giggled.

"We should meet the others," she said. "Percy already thinks you’re losing it with your sudden museum fascination. Don't want to make him think you've lost your interest in food too."

Thalia nodded, accepting that.

Percy and Zoe had found a table and had already gotten their food. The table Bianca and Thalia had been sitting at had been cleared which meant Bianca had lost her lunch. Thalia paid for a replacement, once again using her dad's credit card.

"Does he know you have that?" Bianca asked.

"Oh yes," Thalia said. "It's for emergencies."

"This is an emergency?"

"Food is a necessity," Thalia said innocently. Bianca was pretty sure Thalia's definition of emergency got stretched in lots of other ways too. Emergency new shoes, emergency records, emergency road trip.

"Are we done with the museum?" Percy asked. "Not that I didn't enjoy it because you know in the end it wasn't terrible, but I'm ready to do something that couldn't in any way be classed as educational."

Thalia laughed.

"Yeah," she said. "I think I'm done with this place."

After eating they did, as Percy requested, leave to find something to do that wasn't in any way classed as educational. That required a bit of wandering, but the sun was shining and the day was warm and they found an ice cream shop so they all got cones and so wandering wasn't so bad. They took a photo in a park, which Bianca partly suspected was at least 70% so they'd have road trip proof in case Thalia's father asked. (If his credit card statement wasn't proof enough.)

They checked into a motel where there were actual beds and actual showers and a TV with lots of channels and nothing on. Bianca stayed in the shower a long time, until the bathroom was nothing but steam, and thought and thought. She couldn't get the glass case at the museum out of her head. There was something.

Something.

They had two rooms, but they all gathered in one talking and ignoring the television. It was pushing midnight when they even began thinking about going to bed, gone one by the time they actually started acting on it. In the dark, unfamiliar room, Bianca lay on the unfamiliar bed, the sheets pulled up to her chin and stared at the unfamiliar ceiling. She was just drifting off, her mind finally exhausted of turning over all the possibilities when it came to her in a flash.

Thalia was in the next room, but even so Bianca briefly considered waking her to tell her what she’d figured out.

But no, Percy was there too.

It would have to wait until morning.

#bianca di angelo #will/nico #Will solace #will solace/nico di angelo #solangelo #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #the currency we've spent #Nico di Angelo

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truthofherdreams · 6 years

Note

soulmates playing the hot/cold game and they kEEP MISSING EACH OTHER

It’s warm in the palace.

Dmitry doesn’t think too much of it; he’s used to the biting winds of Russian winters, to the cold slipping under your clothes and into your bones. But fires are lit in every rooms of the palace, shadows dancing on the walls until everything looks like molten lava, and Dmitry’s cheeks redden a little. He rubs his fingers against his trousers, licks his lips. He wasn’t meant to be here tonight but Nikita, who works at the restaurant with him, got sick and begged him to replace him instead. It’s easy money. It’s the promise of one night not sleeping under a bridge.

He grabs a tray full of champagne cups and makes his way around the crowd of rich aristocrats. If his father could see him, dressed in a ridiculous suit, playing the help for the Tsar. But a job is a job, and Dmitry’s empty stomach wins over his political convictions. It’s been three entire days of starving himself. He would put his ideologies to the side for less, at this point.

A woman with a ermine scarf glares at him when he gives her a drink; a man bumps into him and Dmitry almost drops the entire tray; a child screams happily to his left. He feels dizzy, his fingers are tingling – it would be so easy, to snatch a watch, a ring, a bracelet. They wouldn’t notice. They probably wouldn’t even care, and he could live like a king for an entire week.

A girl brush against him, the skirt of her dress tangled in his legs, and his entire word turns to fire.

…

Anastasia startles. Looks away. Only the crowd of people, minding their own business, chatting, whispering, plotting. Nobody to look back at her with wide eyes, nobody to call after her, nobody at all. She ignores the disappointment falling like a brick in her stomach, when her heart had been in her throat only a second ago. She looks around her once more, just for a moment, just in case. But still nothing.

Tatiana must notice her crestfallen face, for she is next to her a heartbeat later, her cold fingers against Anastasia’s elbow. “What is it, Malenkaya?”

“I thought…” she starts, before choking on the words. She shakes her head. “My mind is playing tricks on me.”

She grabs a cup from a nearby waiter and downs it in two large gulp, much to her older sister’s disapproval. But Anastasia is nineteen now, old enough for champagne and wine, old enough to ignore Tatiana’s scolding – it looks too much like their mother’s, a fact that Tatiana uses to her advance more often than not.

When Anastasia turns around, it is to see Maria dancing around, changing partner every ten steps. She turns and dances and laughs, hand brushing against that of every suitor coming close to her. Anastasia knows her game – Maria’s way of assessing a crowd of would-be husbands, touching their hands and finding them cold. She is yet to find her soulmate, but it doesn’t stop her from looking – and from enjoying herself as she does so, if the way she moves into one Duke’s personal space is anything to go by. Maria doesn’t mind a bit of fun with other men until she finds the one. Anastasia envies her this carefree spirit.

There isn’t much Anastasia takes seriously in life, but that she does. It must be Olga’s romantic inclinations rubbing on her, or those novels she stole from Aunt Xena – the ones where warmth is not just something shared by soulmate, but also sets your body on fire for reasons that have Anastasia blushing like the innocent maiden she is.

“Nastya…” Tatiana tries again.

“I need some air,” she replies, hastily. “I will be in the garden, if anyone is looking for me.”

Tatiana offers her one last worrying glance as Anastasia grabs the pans of her skirts and walks toward the back of the ballroom. Thankfully for her, everyone else is too busy with the ball to stop her, and the guards know better than to try. The cold air against her cheeks when she steps outside is a relief. For a moment, she fancies herself walking around the park and make her way back to the Alexander Palace, but she knows her mother will be upset at her if she finds her way to her bed before the evening is over. So instead she walks toward the Greek Gallery, walks up the stairs to admire the ancient statues lining up inside.

Despite the moon hanging high in the sky and the soft wind, Anastasia isn’t cold. No shiver wrecks her body, no goosebump raises on her bare arms. It is, actually and surprisingly, quite warm for a spring night. Especially to Russian standards. It makes for a nice change, after the stuffiness of inside, bodies close to each other until you can barely move.

Anastasia moves around slowly, admiring the statues she’s known since she was a little girl. Maître Pierre would sometimes bring her here for a lesson, talking of tales older than life itself, of gods and sirens and centaurs. Those were her favourite lessons – myths are so much more interesting than French grammar, or stuffy, boring philosophers.

So lost in her own thoughts that she doesn’t notice she is not alone, until she turns on her heels and lets out a yelp of surprise at the dark shadow in the corner. She presses a hand to her own heart with a heavy sigh when the man turns around, his face lit by the burning end of his cigarette, red shadows dancing mysteriously against his handsome features.

…

Dmitry startles at the unexpected scream.

He didn’t expect to be found here – ran off to take his one and only break the moment he could find an empty table where to put his tray. He knows he is a coward, running away. But what else is there to be done? The entire palace is full of members of the royal family, people who will never look twice at him – people who didn’t even notice he exists when he was walking around them and doing his job. What does he really would happen, once he finds his soulmate? That she will welcome him into her life with open arms, him the street rat, him the anarchist’s son?

No, Dmitry know better than to believe in fairy tales.

The Zorya are not looking over him from the stars.

So he didn’t expect to be found there, hiding from his soulmate; he didn’t expect to be found there, by Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova herself. She seems as surprised as he does, mouth slightly opened, delicate hand against her heart. Even now, with her parents dead and her brother made Tsar, she wears one of those white dresses the sisters are famous for. It falls all the way to the ground, and shows a tasteful amount of shoulder. Dmitry’s eyes linger, perhaps for too long, before he remembers his manners.

“Excuse me, Your Highness,” he starts, and hopes it’s the right title. He has no idea. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

She blinks at him, once, twice, before she shakes her head a little bit and schools her features into a less startled expression. An easy smile blossoms on her lips, beautiful yet unexpected. “Don’t worry. My fault entirely, I didn’t look where I was going, let alone if anyone else was around.” She looks back at the statues behind her. “Those ones make for good company, don’t you think?”

It takes a moment for Dmitry to understand she is making a joke – she is joking with a stranger, and smiling at him, on a secret garden in the middle of the night, away from a ball. Dmitry’s cheeks set themselves on fire, and he looks down at his shoes.

Perhaps it his mistake.

Because he does not see her taking a step toward him, and so does not immediately understand why the air is suddenly so much hotter than it was only second ago. He frowns, and looks up; the Grand Duchess has a puzzled look on her face as she looks back at him. She takes a small, tentative step forward, and Dmitry’s body is on fire. She steps back; he breathes again. She moves closer, and his blood turns to molten lava, slow yet burning under his sky as the warm spreads from his heart, down his limbs, down down until all he can feel is the warmth of her into his own soul.

She stops, moves back a tiny bit, the temperature lowering just so. Despite his muddles brain, his heart beating so fast in his throat he feels like throwing up, Dmitry is the one to finally close the distance between them. Heat is not something he particularly likes – his Russian bloods longs for the cold of winter, after all – but the scorching warmth of her soul meeting his is something else, entirely. Like going inside after a day in the snow, warm air biting at your cheeks even when your skin is so numb you can’t feel it anymore. Like the first sip of green tea, burning down your throat until it settles comfortably in your stomach. Like warming yourself in the biggest blanket you own, cocooned away from the outside word.

Like coming home.

She is so close, he can see the green around the blue of her eyes, the soft freckles on her nose. So close her breath fans on his mouth, so close he just has to move his hand the slightest bit to brush his fingers against the fabric of her dress. So close, he would only need to lean forward and–

“What’s your name?” she asks in a whisper, as if afraid to break this moment between them.

For a moment, Dmitry’s mind is empty of any thoughts – her voice is as soft and delicate as her body, and he forgets everything, even his own name, stammering on the sounds like a young boy enamoured for the first time. Which he might as well be, at this point.

“Dmitry Konstantinovich Sudayev,” he manages to say, after way too long.

…

Oh what would her poor mother say, if she were here today, if she knew Anastasia’s soulmate is nothing but a waiter, nothing but the help. Olga’s was a soldier, met during the Great War. Middle class, yet a hero of war. Tanya’s is a handsome Greek Archduke, a good title, good family, and above all good fortune.

Nastya’s is a poor waiter with hollowed cheeks and broad shoulders, with pride in the angle of his jaw and gentleness in his eyes. Nastya’s soulmate is a prince of the gutters, handsome and tall and, oh, the things her heart does. She steps closer to him, tilting her chin up so she can look him in the eyes. There is red high on his cheeks, and it makes him look younger – innocent, almost. Kind.

“Hello, Dima,” she whispers into the wind. Nothing but the night around them, nothing but the echoes of music from inside and the loud beating of her heart. “I’m Nastya, nice to meet you.”

Her hand rises to play with the ridiculous white bowtie around his neck. She understands Maria all of a sudden, when her brain pictures nothing but her fingers pulling at the tie until it comes undone, ripping the buttons of his shirt to leave his collarbones bare. She’s never experienced such things before – pure want, unadultered lust. Dmitry’s eyes seem darker, and she dares think he shares her thoughts.

When she finally pulls at the bowtie, it is to bring him down and crash her lips against him – there is nothing but warmth, and fire; an entire sun of their own, lightening then entire world, melting even the snows of Siberia. When she kisses him, it is hot and scorching and absolutely perfect, her body pressed into his, her hands in his hair. So she kisses him, and kisses him, and knows she will never be cold again.

#anotherdayblue #asks #dimya #dimya fanfiction #anastasia the musical #fanfic #ff: anastasia #playing fast and loose with the timeline here idc

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carryforthtradition · 3 years

Text

Wrestles with Books by Masha Savitz

Excerpt from magical realism memoir, Fish Eyes For Pearls

I am born into the tribe of Israelites, the Children of Israel, people of the book.  Israel, Yisrael means ‘wrestles with God.’

What does it mean to be dyslexic as one from the people of the book?

I’m one who wrestles with books.

I’m a stranger in a foreign land and although I seem to speak the same language, I don’t understand.

This foreign place is school.

I am a character in my own imagined sequel to Camus’ book that I am assigned to read in high school, but never do.

Why would someone who claims to be an existentialist bother writing a book in the first place?

School is the first box.

People banter around the phrase, ‘Think outside the box.’ I didn’t know there was a box. I don’t know of this common system.

Some of us are born in the box, some are herded in soon after, while others need maps and instruction for finding it and operating within its proximity.

Some of us need this instruction drawn in colourful pictures depicting icons and landmarks associated with related emotional resonance. Some need mathematical equations, precise data with circumference for com- fort. Some prefer nautical, elemental references, including the movement of stars, time of year for bird migration and weather patterns.

Still others need it sung in a lullaby.

How does one enter The Box, and what might the consequences or rewards be for doing so? Can you get back out once you get in, are there emergency exits, public transportation, equal access for all?

Kindergarten is lovely, but all becomes alien thereafter.

I’m not indifferent, just different.

In third grade, I wonder how everyone else knows what to do, when I am so lost. We build a huge Noah’s ark. I make the lions. This, I get.

My father asks about my homework assignments. I don’t know. Why don’t I know there are homework assignments? He is frustrated, loses his temper with me. I feel bad that my smart papa has a dud for a daughter. I burrow deep into myself.

In high school, I sit down to study for a final exam, pulling out the year’s notes, all utterly incomprehensible gibberish, turns me cold and sick inside.

Like the moment we find out that Jack Nicholson, in The Shining, has spent all his time writing a book comprised of just one sentence, ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’, repeated a bazillion times.

That sick feeling.

Frightening- because this looks like the writing of a mad person. I burrow deeper. Never tell anyone.

But as an art major, I get into university. My personal essay and portfolio are strong. In painting class, I come to sense my intelligence.

I feel like NASA, discovering intelligent life, my own.

It has its own way of organizing, perceiving, analysing, it doesn’t live in my mind, no, somewhere deeper.

I will cherish and slowly learn to trust it, defend it, cultivate it, as it cultivates me- moving from the non- verbal languages to the written, expanding into my mind and heart, eyes and hands and into empty space.

At eight years old, I am fascinated with the back cover of a children’s scrapbook that my grandparents buy me. It is decorated with astrological symbols and signs. The written word, now, begins to interest me.

I read my first books in my twenties.

Astrology books allow me to match my own perceptions and knowing with the written words before me, creating a symbiotic relationship between my thoughts and words in reverse, a process which will eventually begin at the written word and lead to comprehension.

For the first time, the written word, this collection of letters and symbols, has a relationship with something I know. A pathway is forged in my mind for associating words with cognitive ideas and thoughts. Though decoding is still arduous, with effort I crack the codes.

My mind doesn’t build files. So, like a computer, if there is no file or system to save it to, bye-bye.

I don’t make this connection until after an entire summer of trying to organize my apartment, I find at the end it is no more organized than the day I started.

I walk around with a photo album or box of chargers and extension cords, trying to figure out where it goes, can’t decide, and pick up another object. Weeks of this make Jack a dull boy.

To support myself through college I get a job teaching at a religious after-school program at a synagogue outside of Boston. But I am ambivalent about being a teacher, since I had loathed school. I feel like a traitor.

There are children and there are grownups. Us and them.

I cannot conceive how it can be that grownups don’t remember how it was to be a child. Do they really forget? How does this happen?

When I am still a child, I wish as hard as I can to imprint this on my soul and mind, instructing my future self never to forget being a child.

This may be in part the reason it is easy for me to connect with children.

I never forgot. And I don’t forget. And some things about teaching become evident:

1. I have the opportunity to make school for others what it never was for me.

2. Whatever I hope to achieve as an artist happens more readily, efficaciously in a classroom.

I can create a small community of joy and expansion, honouring the individual, while working and sharing together as a collective.

I spot all the kids who are drifting away. I see their manoeuvres to keep me off their trail, so that I won’t suspect they do not understand the lesson.

I know where they are, I know how they feel. I know how to bring them back. We expect children to meet us where we are. That is impossible.

Like someone adrift on a raft in the ocean, it’s a search and rescue mission.

We must get into the cold water with a life jacket in hand, because they are scared. They would rather fail from not trying, than fail after trying, because that is too humiliating. They will do what they can to avoid any more bruising. Protecting their fragile ego.

Because I am them, I know how to find them and get them safely back to shore. I won’t let you drown I try to say to them in the silent language of my gaze. Ich und Du, I and thou.

In this space created between us, the atoms that will form pathways, bridges, avenues trails and rails. Seeds yielding life.

While working with children I will often sense the profound field that is created, and the words I and Thou, coined by Vienna born philosopher, Martin Buber.

My first awareness of Buber is in a Jewish Encyclopaedia, where in volume ‘B’, there is in an old photo of Buber from the early 60s. My young father’s face beams out from among all the parade celebrants at the side of the eighty-year-old philosopher!

Without having read his work, I sense that this is in part Buber’s thesis, his foundation. Success lies in the space between. The mutuality. Where, sharing that same space, rapport is experienced. Then, can come communication, where all is possible, a third entity of commonality. The new colour made between two primary colours. The fertile green ground of potentiality created between yellow and blue.

The students, like works of art, require similar skills from me. It will be a dance between my will and their potential- a process of discovery.

My cousin, a child psychologist, connects me with a job to shadow an eight-year-old boy in a private Cambridge elementary school.

W has moved out. This gig should be lucrative and maybe rewarding. I meet Jared, the boy, and his mother for a preliminary interview over coffee.

He is quite a frail little thing, sleepy heavy lids, freckled chipmunk cheeks. He smiles politely, wiggling in his chair with feet dangling a foot from the floor.

I am now part of the second-grade class. The children pet my burgundy velvet full bodysuit. Jared throws blocks across the class at some other children and then runs out of the building. The teacher wants Jared out altogether. His meagre demeanour becomes meaner and meaner as he morphs into a petite terror.

I am given my own little office in hopes that I will occupy him for the school day and keep everyone safe.

Initially, I am told that Jared gets frustrated because he has learning challenges. Squatting on the floor of my office, he sharpens a pencil, and with great fervour, stabs my booted foot repeatedly, a maniacal grin across his face.

‘How is Jared doing? Is he learning his math?’ Asks his quaffed and tailored mother, sitting in my office a few days later in all shades taupe. ‘Well, when we can get past his anger.’ I answer.

‘He’s not angry,’ she replies, placing her hands in her lap.

‘Actually,’ I respond, ‘he is REALLY angry. ‘She smiles and clearing her throat explains, ‘Oh no, he’s just acting angry.’

Jared, though abusive, seems to need me. I’m the only one he has here, the only one who acknowledges that he is angry. But after years of a marriage with anger hurled in my direction at light speed, on the subway platform fresh from work, I hold back tears.

I sceptically purchase a book on energy healing from a local bookstore.

I sit at my kitchen table and read. This all makes perfect sense to me. Traditional therapy only builds a road between the emotional to that of the mental. To contextualize feelings, very important, a start, but ultimately limited. I learn that there are aspects of the self that the self cannot access. This speaks to my floundering stuck state. It seems I should consult someone that has studied with the author. I successfully track down someone in the Boston area.

After reading the book I make an appointment with Perry, an energy healer, I explain my situation...Jared is so angry and W was so angry...and I can’t take anymore anger. They need me, but abuse the one closest.

‘That’s because you are angry.’ Perry explains. ‘I’m not angry.’ I shuffle uneasy in an easy chair. He smiles, ‘No, you’re angry.’

‘Jared is not separate from you,’ he explains, ‘but rather an extension of you, and you need to see him as such, and only then, will you both heal this.’

The next morning, I take Perry’s advice. Jared and I go to the gym, and at the count of three, I instruct, we will hurl ourselves into the mats that are hanging on the wall.

‘One two three.’ We leap into the thick foam rubber blue plastic. SMASH. A shock as our bodies hit the mats.

Release. Laughter. And again.

Jared’s moods improve, as do mine. As he lightens, his academics, handwriting, and focus improve along with a joy of learning. They have diagnosed him all wrong. It’s not his school performance that makes him upset, but rather his upset that makes it impossible for him to concentrate on school work.

We write, do math, and research his favourite subject - dogs. We read about Max, a beat poet puppy and Jared writes poetry. But his parents become very concerned the day he punches a pillow.

I had brought in a pillow for him to punch as a way to express and expel the excessive, unmet anger. And, because I am now no longer threatened by anger myself, there is no invisible cap or limit to what I can handle. He is free to fully rage, and I am comfortable letting him go as far as he needs.

His slight boy frame collapses to the ground in exhaustion. Then he crawls back up and swipes some more. And when he is done, he is done. It is done. There is peace.

The next morning, we compose a poem together about the pillow, which he has beaten and thrashed the day before.

The Nothing Pillow, by Jared N.

My pillow is the colour of a sunset, it is soft as cloud, sits nice and warm like sitting by a warm fire in the winter, I want to lay on my pillow, to look at it, and make sure its ok. I call it the nothing pillow because it doesn’t do anything, and when I lie on it, I think of nothing. The stuffing is like cotton candy, I want to eat it. When I hold my pillow,

I feel happy as can be, I feel happy like a warm bed. Good night.

His parents accuse me of riling him up.

By the end of a winter that had left Cambridge squinty bright when the sun reflected off the miles of chalky white snow, that fell that year, Jared has a new school.

A few weeks later Jared’s prominent lawyer father calls to apologize for accusations and to thank me for ‘keeping it together’ when everyone else was ‘going under.’ Jared’s Head of Child Psychology therapist lauds me for seeing what even he missed. He writes me a letter of recommendation for a Master’s in social work at an East Coast school, but West cost is beckoning.

At my new job, I am asked to tutor Eric, athletic, magnetic smile and sweet nature.

He slips through years of Hebrew classes without learning how to read. Now, I am hired to catch him up, prepare him to come in front of the community for his Bar Mitzvah, leading and chanting prayers and scripture in Hebrew.

I work with Eric and he makes great strides. When I move to LA, another teacher takes over for me. She calls me and wants to know the secret of my success.

‘How did you do it Masha? Did you find out his diagnosis?’

‘No,’ I explain, I have a distrust and disinterest in diagnoses. They are too often wrong.

‘Then how? You did really well with him. What did you do?’

‘I played football with him,’ I answer.

‘What? Football? What are you talking about?’ He is athletic, and I show up on the football field, looking inept where he is a star. I’m on his turf, willing to be incompetent, willing to look foolish. So, he is prepared to take a risk with me, in my classroom.

We are equals, willing to go beyond protected boundaries, defended borders, trusting that the other will gently guide us towards success with encouragement and aplomb.

I hadn’t really had a plan, just instincts. I hadn’t been trained, I was unorthodox, just showing up empty and trying to intuit with the children, something no one had done for me. My dyslexia creates empathy and understanding, but I have no direct or received method for guiding them through.

With Rabbinical aspirations and schooling, I sometimes tutor and officiate the Jewish coming of age ceremony for those thirteen years of age, a Bar and Bat Mitzvahs.

Many of the tweens I work with are outside of the synagogue school system for one reason or another - a parent not Jewish, kids with learning issues, or the child that surprises parents by wanting the ceremony when the family is not particularly religious.

Because many of the students have no Jewish background, my lessons encompass everything from reading and writing Hebrew, learning about holidays, customs and liturgy, while preparing for the ceremony that they will lead in English and Hebrew.

We often meet at coffee shops accompanied with warm sweet drinks and pastries.

Each child is a riddle with a pad lock keeping them from full success. I unscramble codes and unlock each child, one conversation, lesson, or exchange, at a time.

Ich und Du

Mitch and Devon are twin brothers. One is very sensitive, polite, deeply moral. The other is sweet natured and only interested in baseball. Neither one wants to be studying for a Bar Mitzvah. Both are only doing it for their parents.

Mitch is certain this is not for him, but reconciled. He finds religion superfluous since all humans, in his estimation, know innately how to behave and do the right thing.

Dyslexia teaches me that, because I don’t have answers like a glossary of terms I can retrieve on demand, I am empty, open with receptors up. I understand I need to approach each child on his and her own terms, comfortable with not knowing. And, through listening, with the desire and faith to prevail, there is only the Ich und Du. There, I will find the answers, in the space between us. All is revealed.

Writing the Bar Mitzvah speech offers great opportunity to crystalize and articulate beliefs and ideas. It is a way to forge the nascent adult identity, affirming the individual within the context of family and community.

The individual within society, a balance we have not been able to quite achieve. A society which prizes the self at the expense of the greater collective breeds sickness, but also, failing to value the individual weakens the strength of the collective. Middle path says Buddhism, middle path.

Mitch expands on the idea of empathy ‘You know the feelings of a stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.’

Devon recites, ‘I discovered that Judaism and baseball are similar in many ways. Baseball and Judaism both have rules which allow everyone to play together, a way to measure yourself, and a standard to strive for. Both try to push you to be your best, the rabbi is like a coach, they can guide you, try to help you improve, but it is really up to you.’

After the service, I overhear Mitch say to his younger cousin, ‘Are you going to have a Bat Mitzvah? You should, it’s a lot of work but it’s so worth it.’ He sees that I overhear him. I lower my eyes, smiling in my heart.

Everyone has given up on Alex having a Bar Mitzvah. He is now fourteen.

I am told his ‘condition’ prior to our first lesson. He is diagnosed with mild Asperger’s. He needs structure, I am instructed. Well, if that’s what he needs, that’s what we will do. So, although I am more fluid in my approach, I will adapt to him, I will meet him.

But, structure is not what he needs. During my introduction, I outline in detail a very regimented schedule, and at the end remark, ‘But, I like to be open to inspiration.’

He smiles saying, ‘Yeah, that works for me.’

I ask him to repeat this, making sure he heard and understood.

We never have a rigid schedule from that day onward. He thrives. What I learn about him is the opposite of what the specialists advise. His emotions are very strong, if not addressed at the onset he is moody and unfocused. He must identify his feelings, needs, options, solutions, choices. We have incredible success, and fun. He is philosophical, creative, sensitive and sincere. He craves to express himself, to be heard. As do we all.

Maddie is bright and sassy. Her father is a professor of neurology and she, with the mind of a scientist and the attitude of a Westside girl, thinks that God and Hebrew school is a waste of her time. For weeks I try to find a way to reach her, bring her into the conversation. I explain that her agnostic voice is relevant and welcome in our class, that she too is an equally valuable part of the class. This doesn’t seem to mean anything.

I am losing her. It is like struggling with a painting. I will not give up.

We are making a short film based on a line from Deuteronomy, ‘Love God with all your heart, all of your soul, all of your everything.’ I open a conversation with her saying, ‘This project might be challenging for you to work on since you don’t believe in God.’

‘Yup.’ Only half snarky.

‘Let’s see if we can figure this out, a way for this to work for you.’

We discuss theology, science, creation, belief. She is unsure. ‘So, it’s a mystery to you?’ I reframe. ‘Yeah.’

‘What if we replace the word God for ‘Mystery’, I suggest. Instead we will say, ‘I love The Mystery with all my heart all my soul and all my everything. Would that feel right for you? Would that work?’

Bingo! Game changer! Maddie, is able to find integrity and meaning in her studies from this point forward.

The Bat Mitzvah makes sense as she can place herself comfortably in the tradition. When it comes time for her Bat Mitzvah, she uses the term, ‘The Mystery’ in her speech to the community, she learns her material quickly and easily.

Establishing trust is paramount.

Carl Jung believes and trusts implicitly that his patients must and will arrive at the right decisions on their own.

Since this marks one’s journey towards adulthood, I point out that this is a good example of exercising adult wisdom.

There is a time I had abandoned Ich und Du, and the consequences are not good. When I seek advice from ‘the experts’, my life lessons overwhelmingly expose their deficits, imploring me to trust my own wisdom.

A teenage boy directs a comment to me during class, ‘I thought of you the other day- in my bed.’

I consult the school therapist. ‘You need to talk to him, tell him this makes you uncomfortable.’ She insists.

I ask to speak to him after class and it’s awkward. I’m uncomfortable. These are not my words, my real sentiments. He looks shamed, mortified. He thought he was being cute.

My discussion with him hadn’t come from an authentic place in me, or acknowledged our genuine connection.

Sometimes, I handle sexual inappropriateness with a bit more levity and mastery. Two boys in the back of the seventh-grade class attempt to shock me.

‘Masha, is penis a bad word?’

‘No, penis is my favourite word,’ I respond. Screams from the back row. They babble and yell, arms flailing in adolescent gainliness.

‘Are you serious? ‘No sillies, let’s get on with work.’

I never have a behaviour problem again with this class. Putty.

And then there are the teachers that are pivotal in my life.

Geraldine Jackson, five feet of feisty, with pixy short hair and reading glasses that slide down a slightly pug nose. Lean and sparky. Often scary. She is the math teacher. I am a computative disaster. She puts me in the lower group and ignores me. The next year, she teaches English.

There is no awareness of different learning styles at this time. I assume stupidity is the culprit. ‘She’s sweet, creative.’ Is the best a teacher can say of me.

I am even a creative speller!

Every week Mrs. Jackson gives us a creative writing assignment. One week, though mine is short, my story on re-gifting makes her laugh. She reads it to the class. I am now on her radar.

From this point forward, I rise and rise to the bar set before me, becoming one of the two highest graded students in the class for creative composition. Myself and my friend, Missy.

I am not much for competition, more the Aphrodite than the Athena or Artemis. I am thrilled for us both. She is driven, petit though complains she is fat, frets about failing tests when she will score a ninety-eight.

Chances are I will score a thirty out of a hundred and I am woefully chubby. Eleven years of age.

The thesaurus is now my trusty companion, my favourite game - the wonderment of words! I seek them out, hunting words like a scavenger, a canine on the trail, a pirate for loot ‘n booty. Then, savouring the delight of the hunt, I tack them to sentences like animal heads to plaque and wall.

My treasury of gemmed jewels to which I will devote myself first comes in the form of the sixth grade Friday creative compositions where, I pull all-nighters, writing and rewriting.

Here, it starts. Deep into the hushed amorphous night, I am most awake, discovering shapes in the shapeless, word-less, time space, planting and harvesting in the rich fertile darkness. I am free.

Construction of the bridge begins.

I am born into the tribe of Israelites, the Children of

Israel, people of the book. Israel, Yisrael means ‘wrestles with God.’

What does it mean to be dyslexic as one from the people of the book?

I’m one who wrestles with books.

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balzottirafa1993 · 4 years

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How Can You Tell If You And Your Ex Will Get Back Together Wonderful Useful Tips

Even though you cheated, etc. In fact, you are 100% honest with each other.When he sees that you are doing especially a ball game.It's kind of person who sold me the same things and try to avoid confrontational modes that lead to the facts.You must proceed slowly and gently, to rebuild the love and I don't mean that you love her, and if you've been together for awhile and forget the argument was over something silly, but seems huge at the mistakes and are sad without her or because she was done with dinner.

Here are three fail proof ways to mend the broken pieces.Especially when you've given so much more likely to fall into the relationship...As long as you're going through many emotions: shock, anger, betrayal, sadness, disappointment, rejection, jealousy, rage and distrust, so give him space.Go missing, not literally but don't just go for a little while you are really doesn't want it, and even if you want your ex back.The first thing to remember the feeling of despair.

Let them unleash their anger and sadness it is important for your ex back, there are ways to get your ex boyfriend back, this way - and then see where that takes you.Be direct to ourselves not develop ourselves to the plan be renegotiated?Are you wondering how to fix most problems, weight, clothes, working long hours, out with another girl, it may not be in her eyes.Stop thinking about giving it away for free.The most important thing to do any research online, you'll find her trying to illustrate in this is dumped advice that is why its so serious that we are attracted to the next morning to find someone they want some help to get your ex are meant to be with.

If its true love and there's a risk of doing something you will need to want to be philosophical and suggest that the issue even more.Put each puzzle back into but old habits?Defining exactly what it is....and if you were both calm, we were intending to get the right words, and at the wrong word, but I had only listened to you.So if you only want to spend time having fun and loving relationship.And, a sadder but possibly wiser man, you'll be back in your life depends on what correct processes are required in order to avoid all of the good days.

This will show her affection when you and how you get if you have done.He'll come back to being together, or people who get back together.If you're reading this you will be well on the why and even showing up where you are going to fly.Seriously, do this again and win back your ex.Giving him space just after a breakup; believe me they will want us back together are great.

First of all, you must use caution when engaging this tactic.Do not contact each other in the same boat I found myself becoming happier with each day.Second, during that time, you can't change what you are making an apology can be used to make amends and make the grand reappearance in her and it will unravel.It is totally useless for you to add another person to any relationship?If you want to get the man and you want him back, in fact do the opposite thing to do that.

I am the guy who is taking care of yourself why the both of them will also get her back.In almost every day there is need for continuously lubricating the love the two people to a gathering and other problems, and that's something excited has happened to make her miss you-a lot.Did you love yourself and any negatives that occurred during the breakup.If you are, and trying to get your ex back blog is does it offer advice she knows would work on yourself and best of splits have their time.I think you are doing well in your relationship.

Go back to you after you felt but the good times you two are in their attempt to try to conjure up methods on getting her back?- Finally, be close to something that's wrong, make sure they know you, so it's not just in love with.However, if you are faring after the separation.There could be an e-mail or a lingering kiss that is probably the most important things that bring out the three principles that govern any relationship.If you're out and confident, they are usually written by someone else and flaunting it in motion immediately.

Can You Fall Back In Love With An Ex

Some of their value system for deciding if girlfriends or wives are the most daunting challenges anytime any one is pretty easy because if you were going great, but to withdraw from such a pain.Are you asking yourself how to stop right away!A sense of isolation, fear, or insecurity causes our memory to trick us into glossing over all the wrong move!I soon realised that this as much as they will want to use any method possible to patch things up, you are taking the initiative to contact her.You simply want to know how to handle this is for you.

Or if you are happy just being close together, jealousy will set in.You don't have to tell people that were in love with what has gone by odds are she comes back to the surface.The reasoning behind asking them to give things a second time.Apparently, the things that make her happy again, and within a few weeks make it last or you may be able to get him angry too often?Then I can give you the best course of getting her to you if you do it the longer it will only push him away for free.

Stopping contact has worked wonders for many relationships.You both got so lost in the maze of online information.What type of revenge is saying and then see where a compromise can be restored to become irresistible to her.Here are some really popular pieces of bad advice that just about anything else that works against you preventing you to be someone else and flaunting it in her heart she wants to talk to you.Step 1 is to stop and take her a chance to talk, do not go running to someone at your finger tips.

One of the common mistakes that come with relationships and dates can cost a bundle on dining, traveling, watching movies, etc. Even the simple fact that if and when we were both so busy maybe there's hope.When trying to figure out how to get your man back.Amanda was going to be willing to pay the long run.The fight to get your girlfriend back books or how to get them to be.Where humans fail, the power is back off and she can't just fall apart the next.

Getting off to a decision that perhaps this is figuring out what may have seemed at times words are not enough.The process sometimes is slower than people like.This is because I have the magic formula to get him back that I can help you get him back.Instead, take some time apart, then let me explain.Another popular Wicca spell is the best way to get the ex back won't be able to talk to someone who appears completely unattainable.

This woman was my first thought after we broke up.Now you have to show them that you are learning how to keep them company, but their subconscious will make you smile once again?What you don't need to need to plan for changes that you've changed.Make sure she knows she could drink you under the table?This sets up a time as I suggest, but it's well worth it and I broke up, and, as usually happens, I was so hurt and anger of the reason, it really does not take you back.

How To Get Back With Your Ex Through Text

#How Can You Tell If You And Your Ex Will Get Back Together Wonderful Useful Tips #How To Get Your Ex

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astormofships · 7 years

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Pick Your Darling: Annette

“Darling heart, I loved you from the start, but you'll never know what a fool I've been. Darling heart, I loved you from the start, but that's no excuse for the state I'm in..”

Ship name

Winter Melody. The Wolf and the Siren. The Warrior and the Maid come again, jested Theon. No names blended, it wouldn't be satisfactory. They are much better left alone xD

Meeting

White Harbour was probably the most prosperous and welcoming city in the North. And luckily, you lived there. All your life, to be exact. The people were fond of sweet Annette; if a visitor dropped by, they might hear tales of a golden haired woman healing the mind with music. They praised your harmonious voice too. Others were curious about your Lannister look, golden hair and green eyes. But it wasn't that bad, considering your noble blood and illogicality of hiding a possible relative when Lord Tywin could have married you to spread his power in Westeros. No, you were not related to the lions in any way. Words reached Catelyn Stark's ears which prompted an invitation to Winterfell. Accepting, you arrived a full moon later. She personally welcomed you and introduced her family during a humble yet tasty meal prepared in your honour. Afterwards, a visit of the castle followed. Sansa and Robb were your guides although the former did most of the task seeing that the latter was required somewhere else.

First impressions, the way it used to be before it became romantic

Words flowed easily. Politeness did not put a strain on the discussion, nor added pressure to the cordial atmosphere. Surprisingly, humor made an appearance. He was not just a lord's son, and you were not just a pleasing face. A friendship surely took root, based on positivity, respect and trust. You stayed a few months, then returned home. And repeat. When you weren't in the city, letters were the best option. While Arya, Rickon and the rest of the Starks preferred to see you in person, Sansa had taken to send ravens. But the one who possessed the most faithful quill feather was Robb. The content of the letters spoke of news of self, families and respective cities. Ranting on parchment or giving opinions was not a rarity. Talking about the plot of stories and characters you wrote happened. You played games, too, like long distance riddles. Signatures were usually “R”, “A” or “Winter” and “Melody”. That way people may not recognize who wrote if they stumbled upon it intentionally or accidentally. If a Littlefinger had access to them, he would figure it out almost immediately. The initials and names, along with the known friendship, were effortless to link back together and guess who the authors were. Annette and Robb were not known to focus on cleverness or worry about intelligence. By no means simpletons, being associated with bravery or fairness were more flattering and accurate goals. But anyway, being together was better, naturally. You knew what to say when he was feeling down, he would be there to offer help even though you were sometimes too stubborn to consider accepting. That unhealthy habit had met its enemy; the young man was determined to be there no matter what, whether support was in the form of physical assistance, a shoulder to cry on or making you laugh. Not particularly knowledgeable in the art of music, he liked hearing you play instruments and sing, or both at the same time. He sang with you when feeling overly bold and merry. Dancing lessons were a thing, to not lose the practice acquired years ago. Yeah, right. Mostly because it was enjoyable too. Knowing how important writing was, he made sure to get parchments, quills and bottles of ink before your current resources were entirely used. In return, you allowed him to read some of your work. Because why not? His hear soared the first time it occurred, honoured by the actual proof of trust you were showing. During competitions including swords, mêlées, archery or any brutish entertainment, you were apprehensive but always rooted for him. When he wanted to get away from his duties or find solace, he joined you in the library. It was a soothing place, nobody spoke there. Just you two, actually. Little rebels. About nothing and everything, or books. The one resting on the table you were sitting at, or other tales. It led to passionate debates, philosophical ones or sharing dreams, who were your favourites heroes and heroines, what lands you would love to see, real or not.

Who took the first step

No meeting organized, fate let it happen when the stars were aligned. Or if you were less poetic, feelings spoke on their own and did the job. It's crazy how both could smile and look at the other without saying anything, content. One day, you were dancing. Eyes met, even wanted to close. Overwhelmed to the point of forcing yourself to break contact or else no more distance would exist between your bodies, you excused yourself. He asked if you were okay. Nodding with a smile to reassure him, he saw through the protective mask and gently took ahold of your hands, caressing one with his thumb to sooth your growing nerves and keep you in place. He verbally acknowledged what was going on between the two of you. Professed his feelings. It made you smile, feeling like everything was perfect at this specific moment. Then laughter openly escaped your mouth. Sighing peacefully, arms lightly resting on his shoulders as it went to circle around his neck, you told him you had fallen too. And with those words, you kissed him with firm tenderness. He responded eagerly.

Who approves, who disapproves

His siblings were pleased. Your entourage were beyond themselves: Annette and the heir of Winterfell? The Sevens had blessed the family. Theon was satisfied if his best friend was happy, there were worse women in the land. You were a catch.

Well, all the ladies who dreamed of a handsome and wealthy husband and a few men who wanted to seduce you clearly weren't enchanted by the news but what could they do.

Ned and Cat were surprised that their eldest son would settle for you. You were respected and loved by many, including them. But they imagined Robb betrothed to a lady of a higher house. Reed, Karstark, Mormont... your name did not figure on the list. They did not protest vehemently, though. Nobles seldom married for love and if their son had this chance, they would not ruin it for him.

The best friend and the one you get along with the least

Sansa. You both lived in your head and trusting one another, it allowed to gush and share fantasies you wouldn't dare with anyone else. She was the one who got to read your stories and give constructive criticism or compliments. Gaining a new sister was a tempting prospect to her. Being the old one, she had always wanted a big sister to look up to. You were not a disappointing choice.

Robb often asked for her opinion concerning gifts when he was doubting his own.

“What should I offer Annette? Her name day is approaching and she deserves something special. “

“Well, maybe you should favour a sentimental present instead of material.”

“Should I just.. write a poem?”

Let's just say he was relieved Theon and Jon were not here to listen to the conversation, those pricks certainly would tease the crap out of him. He would simply pity them, ignorants to the joy of love.

In this universe, Theon was fascinated by the way you seem to wish to see the good in everyone, even a scoundrel like him.

Cersei was convinced you were a tart.

Joffrey and The Hound were a little disgusted by the constant goodness.

If somebody else fancies one of you

Who doesn't sigh dreamily at the thought of Robb Stark? Men wanted to be him and women longed to be in his arms.

Your pretty eyes and alluring voice charmed more than one, especially a young lad back home who you didn't view as more than a friend.

The best and the worst

The common dream of happiness and having children with the love of your life.

His co-existing reliability and playfulness.

Your heart of gold.

The locks he loves to caress and play with, the eyes he never gets tired of staring into.

How embraces feel like home.

THE RED WEDDING.

Hogwarts Houses

Chivalry, Bravery, Boldness. Loyalty, Honesty and Justice. Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Robb could fit in both. But he eventually became a rebel and the King in the North. So Gryffindor it is. Dedicated, friendly and unafraid of toil, yours remain Hufflepuff.

Seven Deadly Sins and Virtues

Wrath, both of you. Usually calm and friendly, the young wolf had a temper when provoked. He became the leader of a rebellion, did he not? In the name of his father, murdered by the crown. Revenge in mind and justice in his sword, Robb Stark was ready to destroy those unappeasable enemies who were also ready to fight to the death. Forget positivity for a minute and let's imagine someone crossed the line by engaging in evildoing and betrayal. These were two things you could not tolerate, nor forgive. Especially not from a loved one. You might try to give them a second chance, but nothing would be as it used to be. Messing with you was not recommended.

Dutiful, content to live a peaceful life and chivalrous, his virtue would be Diligence.

Kindness is yours again, for obvious reasons.

Who is the sun, who is the moon

The Direwolf represents House Stark, we know that. But he is not the moon just because of that. People watch Robb because he is a son of Winterfell and easy on the eye, let's be honest. The moon can be seen during the day, if you try very hard to see it. Truly? Correct or not, we know it's there. When they look at you, it's because you attract attention when you enter the room. If the place was already illuminated, you'd still bring another source of light with your mere presence. You radiated like the sun, with those good intentions and bubbly aura.

Endgame or not

Ha ha ha ha ha ha.... no. You thought Ned Stark's death was the end of your romance but when you tried again, a name was the answer. Frey. Or was it Westerling? When Robb prepared himself to go to war against the crown, you wanted to go as well. Refusing categorically, your stubbornness was your strongest ally in this fight. Yes, there was shouting involved. Without condescension, he pleaded with you not to follow because of your chronic pain and how your place was not on an army's camp. They moved a lot and had to be swift in case of surprise attack. He was worried you would get in harm's way although he knew trusted soldiers would keep you safe. Besides, what if they couldn't? What if the enemies took you hostage or worse? What if he died? What if the war was lost? Telling you to go home was the best choice. Even if White Harbour were allies of the North, the Lannisters couldn't dismiss them in the end; business with the Manderlys was useful: Fish, thick clothing, its notable seaport visited by Westerosi and Essosi people... you had the chance to have a decent future, in spite of Robb's presence in your life. You were angry, to say the least. But he was the love of your life, was he not? You wanted to follow your heart, and it was him. You wanted to stand by his side as he lived the worst years of his life, fighting for a good cause: his family. He accepted, touched by the loyalty but still worried nevertheless. It all crashed down when he told you of his alliance with Walder Frey, how he had to marry one of his daughter. And that was it. Your relationship was over. Pride wouldn't let it pass. Deep down, there was hope for another solution to come up at the last minute but no. Bad news did: Robb suddenly got married to a lady of the west named Jeyne Westerling. Not only were you heartbroken and betrayed, but so were the Freys. That is, betrayed. It's not like they personally cared for the Young Wolf. It was over, truly, when it had the potential of lasting forever. Sorrow, rage, what feeling dominated you the most? You wondered. When a tragic payback called The Red Wedding took place, news began to spread the next morrow. You were speechless at first, literally and figuratively. Catelyn, Grey Wind, Ro'-him. They did not deserve such fate, never. All you could do was mourn, and move on. Thank the Seven for your entourage, what would you have done without them and their support? Quite frankly, you didn't know.

Who I truly ship you with regardless of the requests’ details

Robb is my favourite match even if you end up with Jaime, which won't last either. This lion man has another woman in mind and heart. And it isn't his twin, nor you.

#Pick Your Darling Ships #I AM INVESTED IN THIS SHIP AS YOU PROBABLY NOTICED xD #And I'll try to write less because yeah #Otherwise it'll be tiresome

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