{A/N}: Thanks again to everyone that have added this to their alerts and favorites. And some of you are even adding me to their favorite author lists! Dshfjkshdf. My birthday and the year anniversary of this fanfic has recently passed (*tosses confetti*), so as a gift to you all, this chapter is especially long.
Like always, please let me know if any errors are present and reviews are lovely!~
P.S.- There's an extra note at the end!
: : : :
8-Over Manholes and Under Bridges-
: : : :
While Fjóla had held her hopes high on Sóvat helping her, she was still surprised when he actually agreed to do so. The moment the request had left her, he gave her a calculating look, his mouth twisted up in skeptical thought. He was considering how desperate she was for her to pull such an act, she was sure of it. And her realization of that must've shown, because his expression intensified. She nearly bit her nails in worry as he just stared at her like that, for almost an eternity if felt like. But he relented, saying…
"I have a few contacts, some acquaintances. I'll see if one can show you the way."
She was so ecstatic that she willingly hugged Sóvat first, his expression of complete bafflement squeezing a genuine laugh from the nymph as well. But a sliver of concern blanched her joy at that moment-she hoped he wouldn't bring up this favor when the time came for her to decline his offer. And she almost felt bad, when he returned her embrace with authentic fervor. The feeling faded, however, once his hold turned overly tight. Her elf friend must be important, she had felt him mutter into the crown of her head, if she was willing to go there.
Perhaps…Fjóla had thought, blinking from past moments into the present. Enough for her to come back to city, search for him, and apologize. And she realized that the second she laid eyes on the creature that was to be her temporary guide. At first glance she was confused; he appeared…human. A little old man, shorter than her with a hunched back had been waiting outside the appointed meeting place. His features were hard worn and stark, the grimace he gave her seemed permanent on his small face. Then, with only a 'Hmph' he turned to lead the way, and that's when she really saw him. A minor flare in his glamour or, perhaps, Fjóla's fae heritage allowed her a peek of the…whatever he was, that hobbled ahead of her.
After continuous flashes of green, timeworn flesh, pointy ears, and large yet shrewd eyes, Fjóla just had to pause a moment and simply comprehend. When he saw she no longer followed, he stopped to give her an incredulous stare. In either form, the creature's voice was the same harsh rasp, and with an impatient sound he turned to face her and chipped out,
"If yer gonna be standin' round, gawkin' like some idiot, don't get upset if I leave you!" When Fjóla continued to stare, her guide screwed up his face. "I don't have all night to be tourin' you about! What's got you stopping anyways?"
She only tilted her head. "Well then, spit it out!"
Had she been anyone else, she might have been offended. Being called an idiot, so suddenly and without real reason (She only stopped for a mere minute, and they were the only ones occupying the dark cut they slipped in and out of. How could she possibly lose him?) Maybe a bit frightened at his unfamiliar appearance, put off by his lack of decorum and snarky outburst.
But a sparkle caught in Fjóla's violet eyes, and hands clasped together she practically crooned, "You're like…a-a little gremlin…thing… person!"
He was clearly not amused by her classy assessment.
She had to run after him, with her apologies and questions leaving her as shouts as he sped off. And he literally sped off. Between groups of people and his lightening pace, if was hard for Fjóla keep up! He was still heading to the market, she hoped, but if he ended up losing her…well, that seemed to be his intention in his exasperated state. (And she only said one little thing!) Oh goodness, she must've looked insane! Chasing a little old man, asking if he could eat after midnight, as she followed him through the more crowded streets.
Fjóla was unbelievably elated and amused by the situation. The wood nymph had the night air tittering with her laughter, mini petals from her hair trailing the ground behind her. And her guide did appear to care after all if he lost her; he would give her a glance over his shoulder, as if making sure she was still keeping up. She'd admit Sóvat was right in the regard that she needed to mingle and get out more. Locking herself away in the woods hadn't helped much; minus her interactions with Nuada.
Concern was a small thing, but still present within her. Normally she would be reserved in public, with her strange eyes cast down and a forced muteness upon herself. Yet now, in her excitement of seeing another inhuman being, along with the promise of seeing even more, and eventually Nuada, Fjóla found she almost didn't care. She vaguely wondered if this is what her mother felt, as she bound through clusters of staring people, when she would go out to 'frolic in the delight of the forest', and come back with utter bliss on her face. She always found it weird, really, who frolics anymore? But Fjóla regretted not doing so now, along with the fact she was doing it in the city. With the wind in her hair, a strange lightheartedness filling her, and a gremlin trying to shake her (That childish part of her saw it as a delightful game of tag.). It was exhilarating! In honor of her mother, she would most definitely be sure to do it proper within her forest once she went home.
And maybe I can get Nuada too as well, to share this feeling, as an apology. But then she was struck by the image of the prince doing such a thing…
Fjóla was chortling by the time she caught up to the small male, the noise coming out breathless as she came to halt at his side. He gave her a disproving glare, muttering under his breath about sprites and such, yet amusement reflected off his dark eyes. Fjóla chuckled, still catching her breath as he struggled with a pair of large metal doors.
"You're fast!" She exclaimed, adjusting the strap of the satchel slung over her shoulder. He glowered over to her. "I, uh, I'm not a sprite, by the way." She looked away then, to hide her smile when he continued to glare. Her overjoyed attitude was beginning to bug him.
"Yeah? And I ain't a gremlin." He declared, though she swore she could almost see a grin. "Now, if yer done twittering about, get this door open. Darn thing is always stickin'… "
She cast a questioning look around. There were people about, yet they paid no mind as they loitered in the alleyway. She absently wondered if there was a glamour spell on this place as well. Fjóla hurried to assist in opening what turned out to be a meat locker. The frosty air whooshed out in a heave, drying the small sweat she had worked up in an instant. Though the smell that hit her was far better than the reek of garbage surrounding them, she wasn't fond of raw meat. Nose wrinkling, she took a step back. This was the way to the Troll Market? Skeptical, she shot a frown to the dangling cuts of bagged beef, and the hooks hanging about, before turning to her guide. He spared her no glance, just trotted forward into the cool room, to the large poster (Happy Cows!, it said. Dead cows, she grimaced.) set on the back wall of it.
Fjóla felt her mouth dropped as he pulled it back with a grunt. It was door. A door that covered the massive hole knocked into the cement wall, which she figured lead to something more. It was a secret entrance she wasn't expecting!
"Well," The little male stretched, popping his back. "down there's the door to the market. C'mon then, you've been wasting enough of my time as it is!" Then he hobbled forward without a care.
Fjóla, however, was all of a sudden apprehensive. A weak roll of laughter left her as she stared into the hole, dark and ominous from where she stood. All her giddiness was flushed away with it, and anxiety was there, digging a pit within her gut. She didn't know what to expect. She heard of the Troll Market only from the small things Nuada told her. There were going to be so many different things here, and creatures she never seen before. Would they…notice she wasn't fully dryad? Would there be something about her human traits that would put anyone off? The wood nymph had taken care to be look more dryadic; small flowers braided in her -now disheveled- hair, eyes vibrant from her previous mirth without the contacts she usually wore, the marks resembling tree rings that swathed her forearms and palms unhidden. She thought she did pretty well. However, her guide only seemed to dislike her frolicking, (Regardless if he played along…) heck, he called her a sprite even! So perhaps she didn't have to worry so much about that…
…But then, what about Nuada? Would she even find him? And if she did, what made her think he would want to talk to her? What if she came all this way for nothing? What if he-
"Miss sprite? Don't tell me yer still standin there?!"
Fjóla jumped, startled from her inner musings. Deciding it was too late to think of all that now, she swallowed the lump in her throat and stepped onward. The only thing she could do now was try! She wanted to apologize, to explain, and she felt she owed Nuada that at least. So taking in two deep breaths, she crossed over into the hole.
"Not a sprite…" She huffed lowly, assessing her surroundings. Weren't they supposed to be little fairy-like creatures? She was taller than him, and lacked the obvious wings. But…how could she know, Nuada certainly changed her perspective on elves. Maybe all those old cartoons and Disney movies she watched got it wrong?
There was more garbage-dear sweet Gaia, that stench! Fjóla walked past several piles that decorated the corners and walls of the capacious extension of the alleyway she'd come from. Everything was so…decrepit, besides the lights that were extra bright against the dull colors of the area. To think, all this space was hidden behind such a normal looking poster! Squinting her eyes, she focused her attention down the passageway. The one that lead her there was on the other end, and as she neared him, Fjóla fully gazed upon the door separating her from the troll market.
"Looks like clockwork." She murmured in awe, taking in the tarnished yet impressive interlocking gears, working her head from the left, then slowly to the right a she tried to read the letters set in the stone above it. When she failed to make it out, Fjóla looked to see what the little creature was up to.
He was working at what looked to be combination locks. Hunched over them, he twisted and turned each rusty dial, slowly, like he was a bit unsure if he was getting it right. When he caught her peeking, he made a shooing motion with his hand. He couldn't focus with her breathing down his neck-his words- and Fjóla only sighed, sober with her nervousness where she would originally be overbearingly curious. Or talkative.
Surprisingly, he was the one that spoke up, still turning at the locks.
"Then what are ya?"
"Excuse me?"
"You say you're not a sprite. Then what are ya?"
"Ah." She didn't know he heard her. "It's funny. You're the second person to as me that in the past two days…or, ever, when I think about it." Then noticing she hadn't answered and the look he gave her, she rushed out, "Oh! Sorry, sorry, a dryad. I'm a dryad." Or, at least half of me is.
"Wood nymph? Don't see a lot of those here." He gestured about, a bushy brow raised at her. Did he just sniff at her? "Or any at all. I heard talk of 'em being overseas, in their homeland."
Though it was just a short statement, the dryad still flinched. It brought up that flaring heartache she always got whenever she was faced with the topic of her kind and their whereabouts. And the way he said overseas…like she was some odd European fad that didn't catch on.
Her expression an echo of past melancholy, Fjóla cast down her eyes. "Many nymphs of my variation have…" She paused, thinking of her mother. "As far as I know, I'm the only one left. In New York at least."
He stared at her in silence, and then sniffed again, turning his attention back to the locks. "…Hm. Well, I almost got the door. Just wait a moment longer."
She didn't have to wait long. Only minutes later she heard a clanking and hisses, her head whipping up to witness the gears turning upon the door, the old metal creaking and groaning as it opened up.
"Well here we are; the troll market." came to her over the noise of the revealed marketplace and her heart thumping in her ears. Please, she mentally begged, eyes widening and darting over hordes of the unknown, let me find him here.
:
:
:
:
Several minutes later…
Down below, beneath the marketplace where a wonderstruck dryad wandered, an elven prince's lair resided. In which, he himself was located within it centre, spear in hand, and a single-mindedness directed to his next actions with it.
He twirled the weapon, handled it with an ease others could only dream to boast. Striking out against the empty air, he proceeded to parry with invisible enemies, his poise and grace perfect- centuries of battles fought and won making him a doyen of the art. He lost himself to his training completely, not noticing the magenta blossom descending lazily down until it breezed by his ear. Reflex caused him to strike out at it, snatching it out of the air.
Breathing harshly, Nuada scrutinized the blossom closely, his tense muscles going lax. Yet his face adopted a troubled look as a strange familiarity radiated from the small flower. Then after several silent moments of trying to figure it out, Nuada went tense again, inhaling sharply.
She didn't…
He whipped about to his friend, who had been watching quietly and waiting- he was supposed to have the gears in his mechanical arm checked today-
"Mr. Wink," He slowly lifted his eyes off the blossom. "I need you to do something for me…"
:
:
:
:
What had she gotten herself into now?
Fjóla's search for Nuada had not yielded immediate results. She didn't expect it to, but while searching her blind immersion into a world so vague to her had been going great! As she walked amidst trolls and goblins, had actual fairies flitter and chirp above her head, and a few very, very strange plant-like creatures wag tentacles at her, she practically went unnoticed! Fjóla had become so comfortable that her previous nervousness vanished like a past memory. Even though she was alone at that point; her guide (he hadn't given her his name) had vanished in the clogged streets of the market. She was far too caught up in the new view it provided her, and an insight to the skills and the durability of the magical beings that lived on, hidden amongst humans.
To think, that they made all this with what was around them! How did they even get everything here?
She supposed that was her mistake- she began asking question regarding the many shops she came by, the weird wares and merchandise that each sold, and less and less about whom she came for in the first place. Fjóla had been distracted from her goal. But a part of her wanted to be distracted- that coward within her that still feared what Nuada would think of her coming. She should have held stronger to her resolve, should have focused!
Now, in her effort to still her nerves and perhaps back out of facing the elf, she instead had a very upset troll looking to flay the flesh from her hide. In her awe struck state, she paid no attention to where she stepped, and made the mistake of foolishly bumping into them.
And knocked them over and down a small flight of stairs.
All of the items they were carrying-food, trinkets, clothing- went scattering to the ground, along with their owner. Oddly, that wasn't what they were upset about initially - it was what she said that got them mad.
Rushing over to helped them up, Fjóla blurted, "Oh m-! Please excuse me, I honestly didn't mean to do that sir! Are you alright?"
Apparently the sir was actually a ma'am. And…perhaps unintentionally shoving them down some stairs added to their rage.
The female troll shoved the poor woman back, Fjóla's smaller frame unable to take the hit flying backwards. She hit the ground hard, landing right on her butt and biting her tongue from the force of it. Blood overwhelming her taste buds, droplets rolling down her lip, Fjóla clamped her hand tightly over her mouth to keep from crying out. The troll still wasn't pleased even through she drew blood from the dryad! If anything, it seemed to spur her on, and she grew louder. She wanted an apology is what Fjóla figured, and she really did make an effort to do so.
"Ah am tho, tho thorry!" It wasn't very easy talking with a swollen tongue.
Other patrons watched with interest as the troll jacked the woman up by her shirt. Fjóla wasn't one for violence, and away from her forest, from the instinctual defense it set within her, she only went limb with shock. The troll yanked her about roughly, pointed wildly to the items still scattered upon the ground. They were filthy now, some crushed, and pretty much ruined. Fjóla, wide eyes going flaxen and growing terrified, looked at them, then back to the troll-lady. She made a gesture with her large, four fingered hand.
Now, she wanted the nymph to pay for it.
Shaking her head, Fjóla try to communicate the fact that she didn't have the means to pay for it. The troll took it as defiance and a refusal on Fjóla's part. So she cocked back her free arm, and all Fjóla could do was bring up her arms to try to protect her face from the incoming punch. Oh goodness, it was going to hurt!
She shouldn't have gotten side-tracked! She just wanted to see Nuada! Just wanted to tell him-
The hit never came. Nor did the pain or the crushing of her nose. No, she was simply dropped on her backside again, although much gentler, arms still up over her face. Nervous and cautious to the mercy that was granted, Fjóla dropped her arms with trepidation, and opened her eyes.
There was another…troll? He looked so much more different from the one whose hand he held back. Bluish and spiky and big with strange armor and an even stranger contraption fixed to his arm. Her savior…was a cyborg troll?
Her attacker and savior barked at one another in their rough, deep language. But Fjóla could see the male struck fear into the female, and after tossing her hand away, she made a quick retreat. She spared her things and Fjóla not a single glance.
He looked to her and scratched at his face with that mechanical hand.
"T…Thank…you?" Fjóla managed, slightly shaking as the adrenaline faded from her system. Could he understand her?
She couldn't tell, for his responding actions was to sniff was her, mutter something, then pick her up by the collar of her shirt. Carrying her like a mother cat would its young, he strode purposely from the dispersing crowd and the place of her attack.
He was unrelenting with his grip, and the dryad feared she was in even more trouble than before. Fjóla grew frantic again, protests and nervous words bubbling from her despite her sore tongue, as she wiggled about in his tight hold.
"H-Hey, wait, wait, wait! Where are you taking me? Wh- ouch! That was my neck, you're pinching my neck! C'mon, did I do something wrong? Well, besides that whole incident just then, and I'm really grateful you helped, but that really wasn't my fault! U-Uh, well it sort of was, I wasn't paying attention, if I had then I…"
:
:
:
:
Mr. Wink had found her. And as he went on to take her to the prince, he found it very, very pleasing to imagine dumping her back to the streets of the marketplace.
She just kept talking, and talking, and talking…
His curiosity of the woman still remained; who was she, and what exactly did Nuada want with her? But he didn't even dare to make conversation- he doubted he would get a word in anyway. After making something short of a roar to silence her and quickening his pace, he rushed to complete his task and deliver her down below. He was beginning to get a headache.
:
:
:
:
Within the dark grotto Nuada dubbed his home, hidden in the shadows of rusted pipes, he watched as Mr. Wink did as he asked. Disbelief was cold and ran chillingly through him as the troll deposited Fjóla upon the ground. Yet he held his place, even after his comrade spared a glance in his direction, and left the two of them alone. As the woman called after him, her fright and confusion echoing within his home with her voice, he just watched.
He wanted to see what she would do. To try and figure out why she would come after she…
Nuada's face twisted up, and he shook off the thought.
There was this part of him, that found joy in her ruffled appearance. He didn't try to put a name to it. After days of having his last memory of her, with uncaring eyes and that apathetic tone, playing again and again, distracting him, his exultant was hard and spiteful. The prince gave a wicked smile that was more of a sneer.
But then she was walking about carefully, into the light of the fire and the beams cast down through the manhole cover above. Even in such crude lighting, her features were amplified nicely. Loose braids hung about her shoulders, spotted with familiar blossoms, the shadows framed her face and cheekbones, bring emphasis to her full lips, small nose, and those eyes.
Nuada tore his gaze away as all those malicious thoughts died. No, he lamented reluctantly to himself, shutting his eyes tightly as if her image burned them. He was just pleased to see her. He shouldn't be. She was a distraction, a disruption within a schedule that was decades in the making. It was almost time for everything to be set right- his exile, centuries of traveling and watching the world wither- plans were prepared to be enacted.
He knew all this. Yet why did she draw his attention so? He could have forgotten her, moved on with or without his answers to her species and her reasons for hiding under the guise of another kind- one he so despised. What he worked towards was far more important than a single, irritating, nerve-grating, woman. And here she was again, playing the distraction. His mounting frustration turned from himself, to Fjóla, who was mere meters from him.
Pressing two fingers to the tense muscles between his brows, an idea struck Nuada, darkening his mind and expression.
In the mist of her observing her new surroundings, Fjóla's nerves jolted, causing her to jump when she suddenly found herself in the company of another.
"Why have you come?"
Peeping in surprise, she whirled a full circle to find the elf of her interests right there in front her. Right there! Two feet away! But her joy was very short lived, and her heart rapidly sunk as she caught sight of his face.
Stepping out fully from the shadows, he stalked right up to a frazzled Fjóla, who backed a step out of instinct. He wore only dark bottoms, boots, and a black robe that was left open to expose his bare chest. It billowed behind him, adding to the darkness of his emitting mood. The elf's temperament was palpable, so thick and heavy it threw the dryad completely off. It alarmed her as she froze in place, pinned by his stare.
She'd expected him to be mad, but this was…
Shaking and unsure, she stuttered a weak, "H…Hey."
Nuada gave no greeting back, and simply began a slow rotation about her, one pale brow rising.
"'Hey'? You've come all this way from your little forest, sought me out…to greet me?"
"N-No," She tried, building up the courage before it was too late. But his words were cold and cynical. It was unlike the playful sarcasm she was used to. He finished a full circle, pacing another as Fjóla twisted to keep him in her sight.
"Given the last meeting I thought it was clear I was not to be graced by your presence any longer." He stopped halfway, cutting his eyes at her. "You made it clear."
She said not a word, she couldn't. They were stuck in her throat, choking her, while Nuada's look soured at her silence and he stepped closer.
He broke her silence by making her gasp, grasping onto her hands that were, moments ago, wringing together in anxiety. Her scent of daffodils invaded the small space between them, and Nuada exhaled harshly against it. "So I ask again; why have you come?"
Fjóla, arms held away from her face and so close to him, was forced to fully take in the prince. The blue hue the lighting cast on his skin, darkening the shadows about his face, golden eyes stark and bright and holding something…surprising. Behind the glare, and his bitterness, she saw it there. Understanding and heartache hit her with such a ferocity, her nerves and fear finally yielded her words.
"I've come to apologize." She said firmly, gripping his wrists as tightly as he did her own. "And to explain, Nuada."
He was openly surprised by her answer, the resolution coloring her tone. But he was quick to compose himself, snatching his hands away. No, no she couldn't do that! Reject him one moment, then come offering amity the next. Shaking his head, he muttered, "No."
"You don't have to accept it, I'm not forcing it on you. But you are deserving of it. It 's all I can give you…" She was resilient. She had come all this way for him, to give him his explanation, the truth, regardless of his anger. She had rapidly came to terms with it, even as it melted away to something else.
"Then do not waste your time with it!" He snapped suddenly, "And most certainly do not waste my time, you have done so enough already." When she only stood there, violet eyes filled with sympathy and contrite, all the things gathered within him over the days broke free. He didn't wish to be mad with her, he just…
"What is it that you want from me?! Drawings? Company? I've given you both, against my better judgment to have nothing to do with you. It was only out of curiosity that I dealt with you, that I disregarded what I thought to be your humanity. That I allowed myself to be distracted."
Nuada took over Fjóla's space once again so fast she didn't catch it, not until he was holding her forearms within his large hands. His thumbs found the rings imprinted there, pressing gently into them.
"I grew to enjoy your company, Fjóla. With all my animosity for the ilk you hide among, it was a difficult thing. I even began to view our time together as penance for actions I have yet to carry out…" He frowned, still tracing at the markings. "Then you turn out to be something special after all…only to deny it and send me away. Rejecting me and what you are…"
Nuada had quieted and finally, finally, looked at her. Fjóla was biting at her lip, brow crinkled and her whole face flushed. Cheeks damp and eyes deep violet, she whispered, "I'm sorry, Nuada."
"I know. I would still like to know why."
Fjóla sighed. "All my life I've either had to hide what I was, or be told to do so. I grew so comfortable in denial that…I was afraid what admitting to you would bring. I was there to…" The thought of Sóvat momentarily ruined her flow. "ah, to just regain my balance. It only made realize my loneliness. It was silly of me to think I could hide it from you, of all people. I…I'm really sorry."
"Dryads are beautiful creatures. You shouldn't have been ashamed." Nuada drew his hands up to her shoulders. "You have my forgiveness."
"I…do?" She snapped her head up to meet his gaze. The heartache nearly vanished, the joy she had initially upon seeing him flaring back to life. "You really mean I- wait! How did you know…?"
He actually smiled when he said, "The markings. And I knew before, on that day, though it's strange I didn't detect it before." Golden eyes searching her own, he added, "You're a hybrid."
Fjóla's eyes widened. "My…mother was the dryad…Dad was from Iceland." He was good! But if he had an issue of thinking she was human before…
"…You're more dryadic in nature- I should have caught on much sooner. Wood nymphs, and nymphs in general, are very…excitable creatures."
Calming once more, Fjóla laughed, really laughed, and without hesitation flung her arms around the surprised elven prince. His acceptance in spite of her mixed blood rung through her, warming her in a way that was completely foreign and totally welcomed. Nuada grunted and held out his arms awkwardly, before giving in, resting a hand on her back, the other brushing along the back of her head.
When he nudged her away moments later, it was to capture her chin within his hand. Fjóla's heart leaped into her throat, and she raised a questioning brow at him.
He tilted his head, ghosting his fingers over her parted lips. She hit three shades of red in one second.
"N-Nuada, u-uh, what are y-"
"There's blood here." He noted, worry making the royal scars on his face look more severe. "Were you hurt while seeking me out?"
Remembering her little incident before finding the prince, and somehow finding it funny now, the dryad broke into another round of giggles. Nuada didn't hide his disturbed expression at her sudden merriment, but said nothing in objection when she removed his hands from her face to encase them in her smaller ones.
"It's a long story! But I'll tell you it once you teach me how to tell a girl troll from a boy one."
:
:
:
:
: :Bonus : :
"…Nuada?"
"Yes?"
Fjóla, with that gleam in her eyes and admiration coloring her voice, crooned;
"Where is your shirt?"
All the while running her hands along the prince's bare, scarred torso with the coyness of a thousand concubines.
Nuada, for his part, was absolutely still. "It's…gone?"
"I've never seen you shirtless before…" She ran her hands over his chest in awe. She meant not to appear lewd, but merely marvel. Although, she didn't even realize her own actions.
"You're so chiseled and buff!"
"…Hm."
Muse flaring, she boldly slipped her hands inside his robe and hastily shoved it down his arms. Oh, the tones she could shade with such a physique! "Good thing I brought my extra sketchbook. You must let me draw you!"
"…Mm-hmm."
: : : :
Fjóla Fun Fact; She's Trilingual!~
Extra Note: Ha-ha, Fjóla so grabby. This chapter was really fun, though I wanted more of Nuada's perspective it didn't quite work out that way. While I do have some more ideas as to what to do from this point on, I was wondering if you guys could give me suggestions. Ya know, like a scene you might like to read, or perhaps something cute to happen. Just let me know!