#I’m talking a work dedicated to them figuring out they have rights not just side mentioning they did at some point

[robotsdeservebetter]

Any fic recs about Hazel or/and Nico adjusting to modern world?

[merakiui]

The Most Dangerous Game [1]

yandere!jade leech x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, slight hints of dub-con, coercion, manipulation, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, friends with benefits, obsession, unrequited/one-sided love, brief angst, choking, pregnancy, implied baby-trapping, characters written as 18+ note - it is never a good idea to make mutually beneficial arrangements with jade leech. // split into two parts due to size. read the second half here.

Even though Floyd has yet to invite you to any of his practices and games, you’ve attended each one like a diligent, dedicated, devoted parasite. You sit amongst a sea of faces and watch him dribble down the court, sweat clinging to every curvature of muscle that composes his well-built figure. He’s glowing down there, a radiant sun that everyone, both offense and defense, seems to revolve around. And when he scores—when his lips widen into that goofy, good-natured grin you adore so dearly—you’re the first to rise from the bench and cheer like a marionette on strings.

For all of your support, Floyd never looks your way.

Why should he? You cannot expect light to acknowledge shadow when both are so contrasting. Instead you’ve contented yourself with admiring him from afar, sectioned off from his brilliance with invisible barriers and walls. He’s something of a celebrity in your eyes—an untouchable, unfathomable star.

He’s the reason you’ve started wearing your makeup a certain way—lavender eyeshadow and liquid eyeliner and the softest touch of glitters upon your skin. He never notices; you never expect him to. He’s the reason you’ve applied for a job at the Mostro Lounge, swallowing the anxiety that comes with nerve-racking interviews and social interaction in hopes of getting hired. You failed both times (you talked too much in the first interview and in the second you didn’t talk enough).

By the third attempt, you’ve made a modicum of progress. You’re certain all is right in your world when you leave the VIP room, still fidgeting with post-interview jitters. As you wander through the glorious tunnel hall, awash in dappled light and mulling over the worth of the position you applied for and whether it’s the best for Floyd-watching, you happen to cross paths with your star.

And he is so bright today.

“Oh, Floyd, hello!”

He turns, assesses you with a fleeting once-over, and then hums his lazy greeting. “Sup, Shrimpy.”

Shrimpy. Even though he hardly spares you the time of day, hearing that nickname—the one reserved only for you—is enough to soothe the sting of cyclical, never-ending neglect.

“We might be coworkers soon,” you tell him, unable to contain your enthusiasm.

“That right?” 

You nod, rocking back and forth on your heels. “I look forward to working with you! Um… Maybe you can show me the ropes?”

Floyd considers it, his lips twisting into a disinterested half-frown. “We’ll see. It gets kinda busy and Azul’s always puttin’ me out on the floor. I dunno if I’d have enough time. ’Sides, he’ll probably want Jade teachin’ ya. He’s better at that stuff.”

“That’s okay! I can handle crowded,” you blurt, desperate to reel him in before he can slip through your fingers yet again, an eel in every sense of the word. “And I’m sure you’re just as good, if not better, than Jade!”

It’s worth it if we can be closer. If I can stand next to you, admire you, watch you work…

Floyd stares at your clasped hands. If he notices the way your fingernails—each painted a delicate purple—pierce your palms, he doesn’t comment. His mismatched gaze flicks to your face.

“Ya hafta get hired before any of that.”

“Ah, that’s true. Well, actually, I just came out of an interview. I think I did well.”

“Who knows,” he says, grinning, and your heart sprouts ivory wings, bone poking through organs to shred them into ribbons. Floyd leans in close, his face centimeters from yours, and you can smell the wild ocean that clings to him—the natural scent of his home mixed with sandalwood cologne. You’d devour him if you could, but then that would leave you with a pile of bones and you like the energetic life that is just barely contained within so much muscle. “Shrimpy’d look good in my uniform.”

And before you can boldly cover the remaining sliver of distance, he’s floating away with a mystical giggle, pulled from your proximity by some invisible force. You’d follow him down the hall if you weren’t so overcome with joyous shock, nearly folding in on yourself with a pulse so rapid you fear it’ll ascend into your throat. Beneath makeup so meticulously applied, your face is warming with a ferocious heat.

He said I’d look good in the uniform. 

Your hands press against your cheeks to quell spreading embarrassment, and you’re unable to suppress the toothy smile that pulls your lips apart.

No, not just that. He said I’d look good in his uniform. His uniform! Floyd said that. Floyd told me I would look good in his uniform!

The space between ribs and lungs suddenly becomes a cage filled with restless butterflies, each fluttering amidst pearly bone and velvety organs. You replay his words as if they are the finest song, a tune uniquely produced by Floyd, and it sets your heart on a frenzied track. But then it sinks into your stomach when you realize you forgot to reapply the expensive perfume you procured from Sam’s shop. Could he still faintly smell it even with the closeness? It’s sultry-sweet, smelling of vanilla, patchouli, and a handful of blossoms you can’t recall the names of.

You can, however, remember what the perfume is called—Date Night. You bought it solely because you were certain it would be to Floyd’s tastes, but even now, as you yank your sleeve up to sniff your wrist, you realize you have no idea what constitutes a pleasant scent for him. Like his moods, his interests are always mercurial. Today he might like youthful scents. Tomorrow he might prefer something mature. Next week he might hate both.

“Black orchid,” he says, and you whirl to face him, your tongue tied in knots.

“Flo���” It promptly unties itself the minute you recognize who stands before you. “Oh, it’s just you, Jade.”

“My, how dejected you sound. Have I made you unhappy?”

“Not at all. I just…thought you were Floyd for a minute.”

“Most often do.”

“Right.” You fold your arms behind your back, looking anywhere that isn’t at him. “Um… Could I trouble you with something?”

“I suppose I have enough time to lend a listening ear.”

“Okay, so I was interviewed again for a server position and I think I did well, but I’m still not sure if it was well enough. That’s why I’m hoping you might be able to put in a good word for me. Since you’re close with Azul, you know.”

“I wouldn’t say we’re as close as you think.”

You cut through him with a sharp scowl, unamused with whatever game he’s playing. “This is important.”

“As is the distinction in how we define closeness. Is it a matter of time that molds a bond, or is it a matter of physical proximity? For example, our proximity allows me to make note of your perfume. Would that make us just as close, if not closer, than where I stand with Azul?”

Your brow furrows, but then you’re grasping at his lapels, eyes wide and crazed. “You noticed?! Do you think Floyd would notice? Does he like black orchids?”

“He has a keen nose, yes.”

“But…”

Jade tilts his head at you, his hands closing around yours and expertly peeling them off. He smooths the nonexistent wrinkles in his blazer. “There is no but.”

“But Floyd can’t identify flowers and he might not appreciate it like you do.” You peer at him, frowning. “There is a but. Two buts.”

“Ah, you know him well.”

“Hardly. I don’t even know if he likes this kind of perfume.”

“Have you tried asking?”

You open your mouth to answer—yes, yes of course!—but the lie sticks in your throat.

“My record is five minutes,” you say instead, which is arguably more telling than the inquiry you’ve left unanswered.

Jade raises a perfect eyebrow. “You keep track?”

“He usually gives me five minutes or however long his interest in me lasts. Sometimes he doesn’t even spare me a glance. I go to all of his games and practices. I cheer the loudest. I make sure to offer him a water bottle and towel after everything’s over. Still, no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, I’m only afforded a few minutes.”

“How unfortunate.”

“You don’t sound very sympathetic.”

Jade chuckles. “Am I meant to?”

Cold-hearted ass. Floyd would never be this mean to me.

You almost give him the pleasure of an icy retort, but you catch yourself. “Can you please just tell Azul to seriously consider me? I want to work at the lounge! And isn’t he always saying he could use more help? Well, here I am—and it’s all willing. No trick contracts necessary.”

Jade hums, stepping around you to assess…something. You aren’t quite sure what that something is, but after a moment of silence he looks at you and says, “The Mostro Lounge is an establishment, not a place for play.”

“I wouldn’t play. I’d work.”

“Work and play are essentially the same when you’re so blinded by certain distractions.”

Unsurprisingly, he sees through your motives. Jade has always been perceptive as a pinpoint, slicing to the heart of matters until the bitter truths leak out. Although your interest in Floyd has never been secret, it’s still troublesome that you can’t fool him with excuses.

Your shoulders deflate. “How else am I supposed to get closer to Floyd? I can’t join the basketball team and I might not get hired for the lounge. I can’t even transfer to Octavinelle either because I’m head of Ramshackle! This is so unfair.” To cement the complaint, you scuff your shoe against the tiles, huffing noisily. “I’m a loyal customer, too! I always pay the one drink minimum when I visit, and sometimes I get more than one just so Azul won’t kick me out for loitering. I even have the menu and its prices memorized by heart! I’d be a perfect worker.”

“And yet your only motivation for wanting to work is to see Floyd during his shifts.”

“Exactly! He served me once, you know. It was a really good day…”

You sigh, smiling dreamily as the memory surfaces like foam on a rising tide. He’d balanced the drink on a silver tray, weaving smoothly through the aisle spotted with servers and customers alike, and there was a certain bounce in his step. It was a great day solely because Floyd’s mood was sunny, and when he’s pleased you’re pleased. When he stopped at your table, he set the drink down—a fizzy slush dyed blue and purple—and said, “Shrimpy likes sweet stuff, yeah?”

Not always, you thought, but you nodded and wrapped your fingers around the cold glass, savoring his voice more than the pretty presentation itself. You purchased this one solely because it reminded you of the Coral Sea and its ice floes during winter. Floyd didn’t seem to make the connection, but you didn’t expect him to. Just knowing he was the one handling your beverage was enough for you. You must have been admiring him for too long because he was smiling the next moment, one arm draped over the booth so he could observe you much closer than before. You’d shrunk into the booth, fearing he’d taken issue with such blatant staring.

And then he giggled, angling his head in that cute, childish way. “Shrimpy’s eyes are reeeal pretty.” He hummed to himself, seeming satisfied with your mute shock. “Just like shiny stones.”

If you had been sipping, you’re certain the fruity liquid would have gone down with a choke. Before you could insist on an elaboration—what sort of stone? Why do you say that? Are they really that pretty?—he was slinking away, practically sparkling with a potent thrill.

For the rest of the time you spent in the lounge, your heart was packed full of feathers.

“He said my eyes were pretty. Isn’t that just wonderful?”

“It’s the truth,” Jade echoes, a hand held over his heart. “When the light hits your eyes at the right—”

“Oh!” Your exclamation seems to startle him, but you pay it no mind. “Azul probably thinks I’ll be subpar because of my interest in Floyd, but if I can prove that I won’t be distracted he’ll definitely hire me!”

“I…” He pauses, furrows his brows briefly, and then assumes his usual countenance. You miss the flicker of hurt that fizzles out in his eyes, snuffed like candlelight at midnight. “I suppose it would certainly give you a better chance at securing a position.”

“Then I’ll just say everything I’ve always wanted to tell him and I’ll be able to focus.”

“My, aren’t you a bold thing?”

“You wish. There’s no way I could do something like that.” You clap your hands and raise them above your head in pleading prayer. “So please let me practice on you instead!”

“Practice?” He blinks. “On me?”

“Don’t play dumb. It’s not cute.” Huffing, you reach up and flick his forehead, a daring gesture that might’ve earned his ire if he wasn’t smiling like a scheming devil. “You’re Floyd’s twin. If I pretend you’re him and run through a practice speech, it’ll be easier to confess when the time comes.”

“Do you honestly think so?” His feet carry him towards the lounge, shoes clicking out a rhythm of departure. “I’m afraid I’m not a charity. You’d have much better luck discussing your problem with Azul.”

He’s deliberate in his movements. If he walks away from you, it’ll leave you with a sense of urgency—if you don’t negotiate a deal now the discussion will end here and you’ll never have another chance to broach this subject again. You know his game. You hate his game, but playing it is the only way to get through to him.

He really does look like Floyd when his back is turned, and watching him walk away from you is more agonizing than a knife to the stomach.

Swallowing your rationality, you hasten your steps and seize his arm. He stops and cranes his neck to peer at you.

“Wait. Just…” You scowl at the floor, hot with shame. “Please help me. I’ll do whatever you want in return. Just let me run a practice confession by you and then I’ll never bother you again.”

“You were so confident before. Where’d your bravado go? If you’re going to confess, you must have courage.” You can’t bear to lift your head to view his knowing smirk. “I’m even willing to cheer for you.”

“Stop dragging this out. Just tell me what you want.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Lithe fingers curl under your chin to raise your stare to his. His eyes flash with mischief, softening in a way that’s so reminiscent of his brother. And then, as if to inflict even more emotional damage, he adds in Floyd’s nasally timbre, “Shrimpy likes havin’ fun, yeah?”

Oh.

Oh, he’s good.

Too good.

You jerk back so fast that your sneakers squeak on the floor, gratingly explosive in the otherwise empty, silent hall.

“You… You—how did you—” Your heart is thrumming beneath your shirt, a ticking bomb just waiting to blow your chest open. “That was a perfect impression of Floyd.”

“It’s nothing special. I’m merely putting on a voice.”

“No, it’s really special. It’s everything!” You twirl towards the glass, suppressing a squeal. “That was so Floyd! I can’t believe you can do such a good impersonation! Jade, this changes everything. You’re just what I need to make this confession work!”

He stares at you as you spin and giggle like a drunken ballerina. “Is that so?”

“Yes! Very so!” You skip over to him and clutch his hands, grinning like a maniac. “Please help me with this and I’ll do whatever you want. And if I get hired, I’ll pull more than my weight! I promise!”

He peers at your face, speechless for a brief second, before his heterochromatic hues flick to your hands clasped around his. “Very well. I’ll help you, but in return I’d like your assistance with something.”

“With what? Come on, Jade. Don’t be an ass.”

“I would never.”

“You’re doing it right now.”

He chuckles. “I’d like a taste-tester.”

“A…taste-tester?”

“You heard correctly.”

“For the lounge?”

“For my own personal hobby.” He smiles sincerely—or about as sincere as he can get when he’s Jade Leech—and adds in a mournful tone, “Azul and Floyd are rather stubborn when it comes to trying my mushroom dishes, so I would appreciate it if you could offer your time and taste buds in exchange for my aid.”

“Oh. Wait, really? You’re serious?” You narrow your eyes. “Somehow I don’t believe that’s all you want…”

“Are you willing to offer more? If so, I’d gladly like a mindless scapegoat who will do anything and everything I ask without question, a personal assistant who excels in mathematics for calculating the lounge’s monetary affairs, and a—”

“Yeah, I think I’ll stick with being your taste-tester. Those other occupations don’t sound very fun.”

“Then if we’re both in agreement, shall we shake on it?” He extends a gloved hand. You peer at it, hesitant. “Well, how about it? I’ll be your Floyd if you’ll be my Shrimpy.”

“And you promise I’ll get hired?”

“I never said that. However, if you do manage to claw your way into the lounge, congratulations will be in order.” Gracefully, he removes his scarf and wraps it around your waist to draw you in closer. The slightest scent of brine clings to him, but beneath that there are notes of lavender and vanilla. A fragrance that could be Floyd’s if you deceive yourself. With a sly grin, he murmurs in Floyd’s voice, “Ya’d look damn fine in my uniform.”

For a moment, you stare at him, unblinkingly infatuated, before a smile sharpens on your lips. You twirl out of his grasp, taking his scarf with you. Closing your hand around his, you meet his tone-toned eyes and shake firmly.

“I’d look even better beneath you,” you tease, captivating with an addictive, amorous charm, and return his scarf to its rightful place upon his shoulders. “I look forward to working with you, Jade. In more ways than one.”

You swipe invisible dust particles from his blazer and take a step back to admire your handiwork. Before he can get another word in, you’re strutting down the tunnel hall, bathed in whimsical blues, and humming a fluttery tune. Jade gazes at the space you once occupied. He brings two fingers up to his neck to feel his pulse. It’s pounding beneath his touch, a rush of blood and endorphins. With a trembling inhalation, he holds his breath, lowers his arm, adjusts his scarf, and peers at his reflection in the glass. Exhaling slowly, he notices his cheeks are tinged pink.

“The figures for this month’s budget…” he mumbles, continuing on his way, his shoes clicking a steady rhythm upon the tiled floor. He’s calculating the numbers, but they hardly matter when his thoughts drift elsewhere. “The figures for…the budget.”

Gradually, color drains from his face until he’s pale as paper, stoic as stone, but his restless heart continues to run laps within his ribs.

“So this is the kitchen,” you marvel, admiring the cramped space for a short moment before peering at your distorted reflection in a metal colander. “It’s smaller than I imagined.”

“The dorm kitchen is much larger. Keep in mind the Mostro Lounge is merely a sliver of space Azul acquired. It’s only natural that it’s smaller,” Jade explains, as if it’s riveting information you absolutely must know. He’s flipping through a thick cookbook and scanning each recipe. “You should familiarize yourself with the layout if you intend to work here.”

“I’ll do that when I get hired.”

“If you get hired.”

“When I get hired, asshole.”

He tuts. “One of the basic requirements for becoming a Mostro Lounge employee is that you must display a certain level of maturity and respect, both of which you seem to lack.”

With a scowl, you turn away from the array of hanging kitchen utensils. “I have plenty of both.”

“Is that so? I couldn’t tell.”

“Floyd doesn’t have either and you let him slide.”

“Well, of course. I would never police his habits, or lack thereof. Why should I risk relinquishing my front row seat for free entertainment just for the sake of peacekeeping?”

With a petulant eye-roll, you stalk towards the countertop and lean against it with your arms folded. Jade glances at you.

“So why’d you have me come here again? I wanna go back to Ramshackle and sleep.”

“If I recall, you wanted to practice your confession.”

“Here?” When he nods, you gasp. “No way! I can’t confess in a kitchen—of all places. That’s not romantic at all.”

Jade angles his body towards you. “Any place can be romantic enough if you make it so.”

“I’m not confessing in a kitchen, Jade.”

“Not even during the intimate hours of night?”

“Not a chance.”

“In that case, what are your preferences?”

Taking pause, you consider the many locations spread across Night Raven’s spacious campus. Floyd has always been so spontaneous, so it’s difficult to determine which places he might frequent. With a furrowed brow, you narrow your list to four key spots.

“The botanical garden, the locker room, the library, and Floyd’s room,” you admit, ticking each off on your fingers.

“A locker room doesn’t seem very romantically appealing. Ah, might this be a human’s ideal aesthetic?”

“Not exactly, but imagine how perfect it’d be if I caught him after one of his games and confessed! It would totally look like a scene from a movie, right?”

With a halfhearted, mostly distracted hum, he traces a finger down the length of the page and then draws away to procure the needed ingredients. You watch him, noting a bowl piled with mushrooms and a cutting board already situated near the cookbook. Jade flits about the kitchen with the grace of a ballerina, his long legs carrying him to and fro in the small space. By the time he’s returned to the island in the center, you’ve already read through the recipe.

“Mushroom brownies?”

“Precisely.” He smiles at you, his eyes bright under the dim kitchen lights. “The healthy kind.”

You peer at him and frown. “Healthy as in good-alternative-to-junk-food healthy or…”

“Your distrust stings. When have I ever strayed from a recipe? It doesn’t call for hallucinogenic or poisonous mushrooms, so I won’t add any.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

He sets the items on the countertop. “Perhaps you’ll have to watch carefully then. My hand might just slip…”

“I’m supposed to practice a confession. I can’t do that when I’m dying!”

“And in compliance with our deal you’re required to share your opinions on my cooking, so fortunately for you I must keep you alive.” Jade tilts his head at you, beaming amiably, and pushes the bowl of mushrooms into your chest. “Now if you would be so kind, please wash these mushrooms for me.”

Your fingers curl around the bowl and, grabbing the colander from off its hook along the way, you drag yourself over to the sink. “Fine, fine. But please promise these won’t kill me or make me see and feel things.”

“You have my word.” His hand splays across his chest, a genuine gesture of honesty. At least you hope that’s what it is. “Those mushrooms are safe to consume. In fact, the Agaricus bisporus is known to be very low in calories and sugar. You’ll get lots of protein and vitamin D from them, which is why they’re often used in nutritional, plant-based dishes. Hence why they’re a key ingredient in this recipe.”

“Is that right?” You set the strainer down and empty the contents of the bowl into it.

“Indeed. I managed to find quite a few on my last hike and so I’ve been saving them for this very moment.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot you’re in the Mountain Lovers Club.”

There’s a brief silence and then Jade asks, “You were aware?”

“I found out from Floyd during that one time Vargas made us all go camping. He said you were pretty bummed about not being able to go, but you really didn’t miss much. I, on the other hand, did.” You twist the knob and cold water spills from the faucet, wetting the mushrooms and washing away soil and grime at once. “I heard Floyd and the others went up against Vargas. I would’ve loved to see it, but instead I was tied to a tree.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“It was such a lame way to spend my evening. I would give anything to watch Floyd in his mer form. Curse Vargas! It’s his fault I missed the fight!”

“Why not ask? I’m sure he’ll show you if you’re so desperate—ah, forgive me—curious to see.”

“Maybe.” You shake the colander to stir its contents and sigh, reminiscing the few times you’ve witnessed Floyd in his element. “He’s really handsome…”

“So you’ve said.”

“I wish he’d talk to me more.”

“So you’ve griped.”

You whirl to pin him with a hateful scowl. “You’re not helping.”

Jade giggles. “Aw. Is Shrimpy sad I’m not givin’ her enough attention?”

You open your mouth to snap at him—not funny, asshole—and immediately close it. Lowering your gaze to the mushrooms, you grip the handles of the colander more tightly.

“Yeah,” you mumble instead, shaking off any form of shame that attempts to crawl its way up your spine. “Yeah, I’m sad. Really sad! I want to have a genuine conversation with you, but I can never get past feeling so…amazed. Like… Like everything that leaves my mouth—I feel like it’ll sound stupid and then you’ll think I’m weird or boring. I just… I’ve always liked you, but I can never put it into eloquent terms and so instead all I can do is admire you from afar and hope you’ll come talk to me.”

Exhausted from your word vomit, you wilt against the sink. And then, before you can think to turn around, a pair of hands rest upon your waist and you turn to find Floyd pressing himself against you. He smiles and runs his hands up the length of your hips, mapping your body’s shape with delicate strokes.

“No need to be so tongue-tied,” he says, resting his chin upon your shoulder. His breath ghosts over the shell of your ear, wispy and tantalizing. Instinctively, you shudder, pushing back against him, your eyes darting from the hands that cage you in on either side to his face, so close you could practically yank him by the collar and kiss him. “I don’t need fancy words. Just be yourself and talk to me. S’not so hard, yeah?”

“But it is!” you insist with a whine. “It is when I… When you… When… Ugh! It’s impossible!”

“But you’re talkin’ to me just fine. What’s so different?”

“Because… Because you’re just like Floyd and this confession sucks!”

Like a spell that’s been broken, the sensual tension dissipates before it can reach its peak and you find yourself standing rigidly straight between Jade’s arms, the silence only shattered by the rushing water. He blinks, momentarily stunned, before clearing his throat.

“My apologies. I assumed this method would help resolve some of your reservations regarding Floyd.”

You tear your eyes away from him, settling on the floor tiles beneath your feet. “It helped too much. It felt so…real.” With an embarrassed groan, you reach to turn off the faucet just as Jade does, and his hand covers yours like a blanket. You manage a sheepish half-smile. “Sorry for being a mess.”

His features soften considerably. “Let’s split the blame evenly and be a mess together. How does that sound?”

You snort. “That definitely makes the shame tolerable.”

With his hand still on yours, the two of you twist the handle and the flowing water ceases. He seems to remember you’re still holding the colander, for he nods towards it and then withdraws.

“The mushrooms look clean enough. Let’s take a break and bake the brownies. After that, we’ll try a new approach.”

“That sounds good!” Confidence partially restored, you empty the mushrooms into the bowl and skip over to him. “Do you usually forage for ingredients by yourself? Doesn’t anyone want to go with you?”

“Well, Azul doesn’t share the same enthusiasm for my hobbies, and Floyd doesn’t fancy mushrooms.”

“I meant someone aside from those two.”

“Then no. I’m afraid I’m all alone on my excursions.”

You poke at a bulbous button mushroom. “Why’s that?” And then you hastily add, “Never mind. You’re you, so of course no one wants to go.”

Jade gathers a handful of mushrooms, sets them down on the cutting board, and gently pats them down with a paper towel. “I don’t mind solitude. In fact, it’s quite comfortable.”

You pass him a knife. “I’ll join you on your next club thing.”

He stares at you, astonished. “Will you now?”

“Yes, I will! I want to collect cool-looking rocks.”

“Cool-looking rocks…” he repeats and slowly runs the knife through the mushroom held between his fingertips. “You want to accompany me on a hike for the purpose of finding…cool-looking rocks?” 

“You’re correct. Or am I going to interrupt your comfortable alone time?”

“For a reason as wonderful as the one you’ve proposed, I’d say you’re more than welcome to interrupt.”

“Hell yeah!” You bump your hip against his, giggling. “Rock hunting with Jade! I can’t wait!”

He peers at your waist for an abnormally long time before asking, “I assume you want to find rocks for Floyd?”

“Mhm! He gave me a pretty stone once and I’ve displayed it on the mantel ever since. I pat it every morning before leaving for class.”

“How routinely predictable of you.”

“Why, thank you.” You procure a knife for yourself and, setting a handful of mushrooms on the board, mimic Jade’s precise actions. “It’s been my good luck charm ever since.”

“If I may pry, why did you take a liking to my brother?”

“If I’m allowed to interrupt, then you’re allowed to pry. For now. As for why I like Floyd… I guess it started shortly after we first met. I thought he was scary at first—and he was—but he’s really sweet once you get to know him. And there’s something so…Floyd about him.” You gaze at Jade. “You know?”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t. Please enlighten me.”

He slides the rest of his mushrooms towards you and busies himself with opening a package of medjool dates. While considering your response, you watch him pit each one before setting them aside to be diced. Eventually, you decide on a solid answer.

“Well, he’s always himself. He doesn’t care what others think. He’s energetic and playful. He’s annoying in the best ways, and he’s really smart when he applies himself!”

“So far you’ve only listed adjectives. I fail to see how any of that explains your feelings.”

“That’s just it! It’s difficult to put it into words. I like Floyd because he’s Floyd. Because he’s entirely himself without any restraint. Because he’s lovable and funny without trying to be. Because he’s always nice to the ones he cares for. Because he’s genuinely, honestly, unapologetically Floyd.”

Jade’s hand slows and with it the knife comes to a halt. His knuckles whiten around the handle. “Well.” He shuts his mouth, stares at the oven as it preheats, and fixes his lips into a thin smile. “Those are certainly heartfelt sentiments. I’m sure Floyd would appreciate them if you told him.”

“But I can’t! I have to prepare myself for the inevitable rejection and I’m just not ready yet. Not to mention, I can hardly hold a conversation with him without sounding awkward! It’s impossible, Jade. He makes me feel stupid.”

“Stupid in love.”

You shove him lightly. “Hush.”

“Perhaps…” He reaches for your free hand, fingers twining with yours. “You needn’t speak at all.”

“What’re you getting at?”

“Body language is a very important facet of moray courtship. I could teach you. Alas, if you’d prefer to do this the human way…”

“Moray courtship?”

“You aren’t aware? It’s rather fascinating to land-dwellers.”

“What is it? Is it like a kiss on the cheek and then you’re married? If that’s the case, all I need to do is kiss Floyd and—”

“Not quite. It’s much more complicated than that. Although I suppose a kiss is just as meaningful on land as it is in the sea.” Jade’s leaning in now, his face centimeters from yours. “Well? Why not tell me all the things you wish to express to Floyd in a single kiss?”

“But…” You turn your face away from him. “I can’t. I’m saving my first kiss for Floyd.”

There’s a stifling silence that fills the space between you and Jade. For a minute, you think he might break your wrist, what with how tight his grip has become, but then it loosens. He runs a hand through his hair to tousle it in a way that’s reminiscent of Floyd’s disheveled style. When you look at him again, he’s Floyd.

He’s not. You know he’s not. You tell yourself he’s not. But tonight he’s temporarily Floyd, and that lie patches an empty hole in your heart.

“Hmm? Savin’ a single smooch for me? Shrimpy’s too nice. I gotta pay ya back for bein’ so cute.”

“Jade—”

“S’not fair to say another guy’s name when I’m here. Ya want me to squeeze ya out? Well, do ya?”

Stop pretending! you think, torn between what you want to do and what you shouldn’t do. But if I practice on him… No. No, I can’t do that to Jade. It won’t mean anything and first kisses are supposed to be special. But he’s right here in front of me, and he sounds and looks just like Floyd. Damn it! Maybe it doesn’t have to count as my first kiss. Just one kiss. Just so I know what I’m working with. That’s all there is to it. A new approach—like what Jade said. Kissing instead of talking. I can do that.

You swallow every logical inhibition, each one burning your throat like fiery whiskey, and set the knife beside the chopped mushrooms. You admire his toothy grin, ignoring the strand of hair that falls in the wrong place, and tug him towards you by both ends of his scarf. His breath ghosts over your lips, and suddenly your entire throat feels dry and your palms are clammy with sweat.

It’s just one kiss.

Your mouth fits awkwardly on his at first, hesitant like you’re attempting to force the wrong pair of puzzle pieces together, and you fumble for a place to put your hands after he’s gathered you in his arms. With your eyelids fluttering shut, you attempt to lose yourself in the moment, in the sounds of your frantic heartbeat as he tilts your head, gently molding your lips to his, and eventually everything clicks into place. You lace your arms around his neck, the stiffness in your shoulders slackening, and part your lips to offer more of yourself to him. Floyd’s a brilliant kisser, all rough edges smoothed out in a kiss that’s so short you greedily pursue him for more.

“Open your mouth,” he murmurs, stroking along your jaw. And you comply, desperate to please, to be all that he ever sees. He laughs, breathlessly alive with energy, and sandwiches your face between large, smooth palms. His thumbs hook into your mouth, prodding playfully at your tongue. “Not too wide, Shrimpy. Else you’ll send a totally different message…”

You’re adrift in his arms, heart aflutter with adoration, brain fuzzy with cotton fluff and static, and you can’t stop yourself from smiling like a fool when you pull away. “Your lips are soft…”

He giggles and runs his index over your plush lips. “Shrimpy’s softer. Sweeter, too.”

“I hope…” You wipe saliva from your mouth, looking everywhere but at him. Your nerves are buzzing with adrenaline. I kissed Floyd. I kissed Floyd. We just kissed. “I hope kissing conveyed my feelings for you.”

“Mm, hard to say. Ya gotta do somethin’ more than once, otherwise it’s never gonna stick.”

“Wait. What do you mean by—”

He’s leaning in again, his lips brushing yours, and this time you’re clinging to him, so ready and willing to have your breath stolen yet again. Unfortunately, before the kiss can deepen any more than before, the oven beeps, shattering the fantasy that’s been building over time. You tear yourself away from Floyd, panting from both the exhilaration and the embarrassment, and gaze at the oven.

“Oh… The oven… Right. Yeah. Brownies.” Flustered, you pat his rumpled uniform—just how hard were you gripping his clothes?—and take a measured step away from him. “We’re baking brownies.”

Floyd—no, Jade watches you skim through the recipe. He presses two fingers to his mouth and traces his bottom lip. In the heat of your inexperience, you nipped at that very spot, your blunt teeth almost clicking against his razored ones. He returned the favor, nibbling your lip between his pearly points, led on by the welcoming warmth of your body pinned to his. Though he didn’t break skin, the thought that he could’ve—that he could’ve tilted your head back, bitten your lips bloody, and savored slick iron—is a delicious temptation.

A faint heartbeat thrums beneath the pads of his fingers, nestled deep within the flesh of his lips. His chest is tightly wound, not yet close to bursting, and when he inhales it’s thorned wire—painfully unpleasant.

He kissed you.

“Okay… Okay. Mushrooms finely chopped. Done. Now… Next—uh. Combine the minced dates and mushrooms. Easy enough. I’ll…put them in a bowl.”

Surfacing from the enchanting trance of the past few minutes, you and Jade soon begin to work in tandem, wordlessly following the recipe step by step. Unlike previous times, this silence isn’t nearly as overwhelming. You’re certain it’s only because the both of you are so focused on baking, too distracted to confront the matter at hand, but a deeper part of you says otherwise. And you’ll never confirm this unless you take a hammer to the ice barricade that has erected itself between you and him.

Sighing, you place a tray now filled with brownie batter in the oven, shut the door, and set the timer. Jade’s stare bores into your back every step of the way—as it has been for the past fifteen minutes you’ve refused to meet his gaze. Now you turn around, and immediately your face begins to warm.

“A-About everything that happened…” you start, watching him as he works to clean the countertop. It’s now or never—say it before you lose your nerve and shame devours you in one ruthless bite. “Maybe it’s asking too much, but can you teach me more about moray courtship?”

His posture seems to become even more prim and proper upon hearing your request. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to—”

“But as Floyd! You have to teach me as Floyd.”

Jade’s hand, which had previously been wiping a layer of almond flour away with a rag, stills. He nods and resumes cleaning seconds later. “Of course. As per our agreement, I’m meant to be your Floyd. I wouldn’t teach you as anyone else.”

“Okay. All right. Cool.” You gather the dirty dishes and bring them to the sink, shaking off your apprehensions as you go. “If I know moray courtship, I’ll be able to craft a better confession. Or we could kiss and maybe he’ll understand what I’m trying to say.”

“In that case, you may want to improve your technique.”

“Shut up! My technique is… Actually, yeah, you’re right. It’s a mess. I suck at kissing.”

“I wouldn’t put it like that. You just need practice.” Jade meets you at the sink and offers you a washcloth. “I’d be more than happy to be your practice partner.”

You scowl at him, unimpressed with his friendly nonchalance. “You just want to see me fail when I try to kiss you.”

“That’s an added bonus.”

Rolling your eyes, you snatch the rag from him. “So how exactly is kissing part of moray courtship?”

“It’s not. Kissing is just a basic form of showing affection. All mers kiss, just like how all humans kiss. There isn’t much significance.”

You stare at him, your fingers curled into the sodden dishrag, and your mouth drops open in disbelief. Jade chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement, and guides your mouth shut with his slender index.

“Now a mouth left agape… You’re dangerously bold, Shrimpy.”

“You… Y-You… You!” Acting purely on instinctive impulse, you cup water in your palms and toss it at him. He doesn’t do anything to dodge, allowing the water to soak through his uniform with a patient smile. “You’re the worst! I genuinely believed you!”

“Obviously, otherwise you wouldn’t have been so willing to kiss me.”

“Not you!” You try to slap him and this time he smoothly side-steps your flailing arm. “Floyd, Jade! I want to kiss Floyd!” 

“And you will.” He shrugs his blazer off, folding it neatly, before adding slyly, “In your dreams.”

You round on him, intending to smack him silly, but he catches your wrist. Your face explodes with a newfound warmth and you rip your arm free, loathing his growing smirk with every passing second. Grumbling a slew of empty threats, you distract yourself with the dishes. Jade observes you as you clean a bowl, content to exist in silence once more. It’s a relief for you because you no longer have to battle his scintillating wit or entertain more annoying banter. But the longer you spend at the sink, meticulously scrubbing, the more you linger on the past few events.

You kissed him, and it wasn’t as terrible as you thought it’d be—likely because he was Floyd during that moment. Even the words that left his mouth were so undeniably Floyd, filled with a fondness only he’s capable of twining throughout his speech. And hearing that prized nickname Floyd reserves for you was more magical than any sort of delusion you might conjure in a dreamscape.

Despite the fact that the kiss had been the result of your inability to see through a simple trick, it did, embarrassingly enough, soothe your fear of rejection. If it’s Jade impersonating Floyd, you’ll never need to mourn whether or not your feelings will be reciprocated. And isn’t that just the perfect panacea to your situation?

If it’s Jade, you can immerse yourself in the romance you’ve always wanted with Floyd.

If it’s Jade, you’re allowed to be delusional and lovesick because it’s only a game.

That’s all it will be. A game. A dangerous game, but a game nonetheless. And in this game, both sides can win. You get love from Floyd, and in return Jade gets critique on his cooking. It’s a beautiful arrangement, so why should you spend time regretting and fretting over little details that will sour your fluffy fantasy?

“If you’re actually going to teach me moray courtship—real moray courtship—” you begin, choosing each individual word with the utmost care, “Floyd can’t know about this. It has to stay between us.”

Jade pantomimes locking his lips and tossing an invisible key. “It shall be our special secret.”

You stare at him, brows knitted in scrutiny.

Jade allows this to carry on for an extended moment before asking, “What reason would I have to disclose our private affairs to Floyd?”

“I dunno. Maybe sabotage my chances with him? Make him think I’m weird? Make him hate me?”

“All wonderful ideas, but I’m not that viciously vindictive.”

“You literally are.”

“I literally am not,” he mimics with a sharp smile.

You groan and set the final dish in the drying rack. Wringing excess water from the rag, you pretend it’s Jade. He’s lucky he has his brother’s face, or else you never would have considered agreeing to an arrangement as wildly detrimental as this.

“So why brownies?”

“Why not?”

“Fair.” Drying your hands on your shirt, you walk over to the island, where two stools have been positioned near it. You lower onto the one across from Jade and prop your elbows on the countertop. “You know, I never took you for a sweets guy. Or should I say a sweets eel?”

He chuckles, heterochromatic hues glittering in the amber light. “Confections are rather scarce under the sea, and since I’m here on land I might as well explore all manner of culinary delights.” He leans over the table, nearly conspiratorial, his head angled almost adorably. “Especially sweets.”

“No sweets in the Coral Sea, huh? Then what’d you eat in place of that?”

“Our diets usually consist of a variety of fish and crustaceans. However, at establishments like the one Azul’s mother manages, you can find all kinds of desserts. Sugar is considered a luxury where I’m from, hence why it’s so popular at undersea restaurants. And like most land products that aren’t compatible with water, it’s imported from the surface and stored with magic.”

“Oh, so it’s kinda like fish eggs. They’re a wealthy thing here on land. Except I don’t think fish eggs need to be stored with magic…”

“I suppose that’s one way of connecting the similarity. Sugar is plentiful on land, whereas it’s scarce in the sea. And there’s no shortage of eggs where I come from.”

“That makes sense.” Jade nods but refuses to elaborate further on the subject and so, rather clumsily, you attempt to segue into another topic. “Do you prefer life up here to life down there?”

“Well, I’m always going to be a moray. That fact will never change.”

“But if you had to choose land or sea, which one would it be?”

“If I had to choose between the two… Both are charming in their own ways, each with different appeals, and not every mer is granted the opportunity to live so freely on land.” He hums, considering. “If you were in my position, what would you pick?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “How artfully you dodge the question… But if I was picking, I guess I’d go wherever Floyd goes.”

“Oh?”

“If we’re married, I mean! Or in a relationship of some sort. I’d go wherever my partner’s going because anywhere will be wonderful with them by my side. We’d have fun together, see new things, and enjoy each other’s company. The place is just a plus. What matters most is that I’m with someone I care about and we’re making memories together.”

“How nice of you to confine yourself to such a romantic delusion.”

“Says the guy who avoided answering,” you snap, turning your chin up with a huff.

“Perhaps it’s avaricious, but if it’s acceptable I’d like to choose both the land and the sea.”

“Greedy. Greedy.” You tut at him.

His lips curve up with a sincerity you’ve never seen before. “One day I wish to show my beloved the wonders of the sea, and I hope she’ll be willing to share the beauty of the surface with me in return. But if she isn’t very partial to the cold, dark depths, we could live on the land before retiring to the sea as we near the end of our lives. My preferences needn’t be considered so long as she’s content.”

“Now who’s the delusional romantic?”

“Is sharing a life with the one you treasure most not a saccharine ideal?”

As if in agreement, the timer on the oven pings and Jade rises from his seat. You sit with his question, mulling it over like it’s the world’s most complex mathematical equation. But it only takes your brain seconds to arrive at a truthful answer.

Of course I want to share my life with the one I love. Preferably with Floyd…

But that presents another question: What sort of future would Floyd want? Perhaps he’s like Jade and wouldn’t care where he settles so long as he’s with his special someone, or maybe he has a sentimental attachment to the sea and would rather shed his human form and exist in the deep, spiraling blue. Maybe he’d make an exception for you and keep his feet planted on the ground. There are so many possibilities with him, and each one is more random than the last. The longer you dwell on it, the more uncertain you become. Jade’s viewpoint is so agreeable, but it isn’t Jade you want to spend an eternity with. His words are not Floyd’s, however much you wish they were, and you’ll never know what Floyd wants unless you ask and get it right from the source.

But you can’t because you fear surpassing the boundaries of the friendship you’ve worked so hard to maintain. If that crumbles all because you were too blinded by your heart’s desires, you’d never forgive yourself.

“Why is love so hard?” you bemoan just as Jade places the tray on a cork trivet. He slides the oven mittens from off his hands, sparing you a glance before leaving to pour two glasses of milk for the both of you. And then, after hanging the mittens where they belong, he selects a knife from the block and returns. While he scores the brownies into squares, you watch steamy strands curl up in a hypnotic dance. “Love should be sweet without any sadness. Like a brownie! It’s delicious and makes you happy when you eat it.”

“If that was the case, it would be much easier to digest when it isn’t reciprocated.”

“Right! If I’m able to experience a sweet heartbreak, I can move on quickly.” You avert your gaze. “I hope…”

Sighing, somewhat sympathetic, he slides a plate and glass towards you. “For now, why not start small?”

You take the fork he offers next and poke at the dessert. And then you snort, a wide, silly smile blossoming on your features. “You just want my critique.”

“Indeed. Minus the sob story, if possible.”

“Yeah, whatever.” You stab a sliver of the brownie and bring it to your lips. “Hey, wasn’t I supposed to be a taste-tester? Why’d I end up helping you bake?”

“The results of a team effort often taste more delicious, do they not?”

“We’ll see.” You chew slowly at first, expecting the rubbery earthiness of a mushroom. Instead, you find yourself indulging in the rich taste of chocolate. Humming your approval, you eat another bite. “It’s way better than I thought! To think mushrooms could make a dessert so yummy… No wonder why you like them so much. They’re very versatile.”

Jade’s shoulders seem to droop, as if he’s just been relieved of some terrible tension, and a smile flickers on his lips. “I’m pleased it’s to your liking.”

“Mhm!” You lick chocolate smears from the prongs of your fork. Jade tracks the movement of your tongue, but you don’t seem to notice as you work to polish off the brownie. “I’d say it’s a ten out of ten.”

“And so the judge has spoken,” he jests, sampling the brownie on his plate. He nods to himself. “I agree with your assessment. This dish is certainly worthy of praise.”

You sip from your glass next, eyeing him as he runs his fork through the brownie. “I’m not a food critic, so I don’t know what else to say other than it’s delicious and not overwhelmingly sugary. It’s a fun way to mix mushrooms and dessert. So… Uh, bravo? Go us?”

Jade hums around a mouthful. “Your honesty is much appreciated.”

“Should we save some for Floyd? I know mushrooms aren’t his thing, but he likes candy and we don’t have to tell him the ingredients.”

“So you’d rather lie.”

“Not lie. Just…skirt around the details. I think he’d enjoy them.”

“He’ll enjoy squeezing you once he learns you indirectly fed him mushrooms.”

You slap your hands on the countertop and jump up from your seat. Jade blinks at you, fork poised at his mouth. “Wait! I’ve got it! Maybe a kitchen confession is worth it. I could invite Floyd to cook with me and when we’re in the middle of everything I can confess. Then I won’t have to trouble him in the locker room—because chances are, if his team lost, he might be in a bad mood—and I won’t bother you either if I try confessing in his room—because you share a room. The botanical garden would be nice, but I have no idea when or if Floyd would ever visit. And the library… Oh! Maybe a study session? Or should I try tutoring him? But then I’m also not getting high scores and I don’t know how romantic studying is…”

A laugh that sounds more like a gasp yanks you from your hasty monologue, and your quizzical stare slices through him. He covers his mouth with his hand, his shoulders shaking, and you think you see tears spotting his lash line.

“Forgive me,” he says after he’s calmed down. (You won’t.) He dabs at the corners of his eyes with a napkin. “It was so pitifully amusing I couldn’t contain myself.”

Your glower is as fierce as the humiliation. “S-Shut up! You wouldn’t know anything about how it feels to be in love! I want the location and my confession to be perfect because that’s what Floyd deserves. Laugh all you want—I’m going to confess! E-Eventually…”

“You’ll get there one day. Until then, I look forward to witnessing this spectacle.”

“You’re seriously the worst.” Scoffing, you have enough decency to clear your area at the island before rounding on him, jabbing your finger at him in accusation. “And because of that I rescind my previous compliments! The brownie is a solid eight now.”

“Only an eight?”

“Seven. We can go lower.”

“We certainly can.”

The look he gives you is nothing short of lascivious, and your heart leaps up into your throat. Jade steeples his hands like he’s about to brief you on some confidential mission while his eyes rove your body from top to bottom. Even though you’re fully clothed, you feel vulnerable and bare standing before him.

“We certainly won’t,” you retort, clipped and curt. To give your hands something to do, you check the time on your phone. “It’s late. I should get back to my dorm.”

Jade smirks at your not-so-subtle escape attempt. He gestures to the brownies. “Why not take some for yourself? It wouldn’t be very fair if I kept all of the spoils after you put in the time and effort to help.”

“I don’t want any.”

“Would you take some if I was Floyd?”

“Yeah, obviously. Taking anything from you feels like a trap just waiting to be sprung.”

“How cruel. I mean well this time.”

You’re already walking towards the door. “You keep it. It’s your food anyway. I’m only supposed to try it and judge.”

Jade stands from his seat to meet you at the doorway. You turn to view him. He’s holding the tray like it’s a consolation cake. “Won’t you take a sliver? You can have it for breakfast tomorrow morning. Doesn’t that sound marvelous? A delicious brownie with some milk—the only way to start your day, no?”

“Jade.” Your voice takes on a sultry purr, and you bat your eyelashes at him. His entire body seems to perk up at this, and for a moment he reminds you of Floyd with his tightly wound mannerisms, each one unfurling like a sporadic spool of thread when he’s interested in something. If there were stars in his eyes, you’re certain his gaze would hold an entire galaxy with how they sparkle hopefully. “If I take a slice, will you stop being so pushy?”

A Cheshire smile curls upon his lips. “That’s all you needed to say.”

To spite you—or sweeten your sour attitude—Jade sends you home with the entire tray.

The botanical garden is bursting with vibrant life, housing plants of all species, each flourishing within the sticky humidity that blankets the expansive space. You undo a button on your blouse, desperate to abandon your layers in hopes of cooling off. There’s a book in your hands, opened to a page with scientific names and facts of specific flowers. The one you’re currently searching for is a heliotrope. According to this helpful guide, it’s a beautiful bloom meaning eternal love.

It’s the perfect gift to pair with your work-in-progress confession. And, to make it even more symbolic, it’s purple! If that doesn’t scream Octavinelle, what will?

Now if only you could find this flower. It feels like you’ve already seen every available area in your tireless hunt and still haven’t come across the prized heliotrope. But you’d asked Professor Crewel earlier today and he’d confirmed such a flower exists within the gardens, so you refuse to leave without one.

I’m not looking hard enough, you conclude, fanning yourself. This is for Floyd. I can’t give up.

“Ugh. But why can’t Floyd appreciate flowers like Jade?” you grouse, flipping through the book as you walk, admiring other blossoms under the same letter category. “I love him, but he’ll never understand the significance. Is it even worth it to go through all of this trouble? What am I saying? Of course it’s worth it! It’s for Floyd! Who cares if he’s not interested in flowers like Jade? He can still appreciate the sentiment.”

You turn the corner and look up from the paragraphs of text. At the very end of the pathway, hunched over a metal bench and tending to what looks to be a chunk of driftwood, Jade stands in his lab coat. You stop yourself so fast that your shoes screech against the concrete path and you almost trip. Jade glances in your direction just as you leap out of sight, now hidden behind a tall trellis of thick, twisting greenery.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear…

Quietly, you shut the book and eye your various escape paths. On all sides, plants line the walkways, some growing taller than you. Surely it’s possible to leave without stirring up unwanted trouble. Before you can think to move from your current hiding spot, Jade’s silky voice permeates the air.

“Romantic Blooms: A Guide on the Language of Flowers,” he reads, peering over your shoulder at the textbook’s title.

You don’t flinch, having expected he’d come to investigate. Though knowing him, he probably suspected it was you the moment you entered his peripheral.

“Jade.”

“(Name).” He smiles, ignoring the frigid way you address him. “What a lovely coincidence running into you.”

“I was just leaving.”

“Oh, is that so? I was going to ask if you needed anything, but since you seem to be in such a hurry I won’t keep you any longer.”

It’s not worth it.

It’s not worth it.

It’s…really worth it.

“Actually… Would you, by any chance, know where I could find a heliotrope?”

“Is there a particular reason you’re in need of one?”

“It’s for Floyd.”

“For me?” he mocks, tone high and nasally, while he leans in close.

“Yes, for you.” You poke his chest, pushing him away from you. His smile widens. “Heliotropes mean your love will last forever.”

“Aw. Shrimpy wants forever love with me. Ain’t that adorable!”

“Do you…want that with me?”

“Course I do. You don’t need some silly flower to prove it, y’know. ’Sides, flowers aren’t eternal. It’s gonna wilt eventually. What kinda flower can’t last as long as the thing it symbolizes?” Floyd grasps your chin, tilts your head towards him, and captures your lips in a chaste kiss. When he pulls away, you’re still processing it. “Morays aren’t the monogamous type. Some are. Like my Mama and Pops.”

“O-Oh. Is that… Does that mean…” He kissed me. Again. Floyd kissed me. “W-What about you?”

Floyd peers at you, smirking mischievously, and within seconds he’s plucked the book from out of your hands. “Take a guess.” He slinks away before you can settle on one, laughing as he goes. “S’not a hard one!”

By the time he’s turned the corner, obscured by the foliage, it occurs to you he’s taken your book. Gasping, you hurry after him, not at all offended with his thievery. Rather, when you spot him on the other side of a row of vegetable plants and he challenges you with his typical come-and-get-me look, your heart fattens with adoration, on the verge of imploding like a grand star in a dusky outer space.

It plays out much like a fantastical dream, only this time the distance isn’t as harrowing, and you manage to catch up to him after he takes you all around the botanical garden, giggling the entire way. If you were sweating before, you’re drenched now, but it’s worth it to capture him in an embrace. The hug is short-lived, for you pull away in hopes of cooling down and catching your breath. While you do that, Floyd fumbles with something. He’s cutting a cluster of blossoms with pruning shears.

He offers the flower with his trademark theatrics. “Ta-da! One heliotrope for Shrimpy.”

Gathering yourself, you admire the flower held between his fingers, resisting the urge to cheer. “It’s very pretty. Thank you.”

“Not as pretty as Shrimpy.” Gingerly, he tucks it behind your ear. “Anyone ever tell ya your eyes get reeeal big when you’re happy?”

“Oh. Um. N-No…”

He leans down to your height, beaming sincerely. “Now ya know.”

“Yeah…” Delicately, you run your fingertips over the violet cutting, your whisper swelling with joy. “Now I know.”

Floyd watches you pet it, abnormally still. You’re so used to seeing him fidget when he’s forced to linger in place, a creature unable to restrain his energy for even a moment, that it’s almost uncanny when he stands straight as a board. A large hand, encased in a gardener’s glove, reaches for you and you don’t have the foresight to meet him halfway. Instead, he awkwardly pats your shoulder, seemingly unsure of where to place his hand after it started moving towards you.

“If we were together, I’d give you more than a flower.”

For a minute you think you hear Jade’s deeper intonation slip through. His hand slides down the length of your arm, and his fingers interlace with yours. His stare, filled with forlorn longing, pins you in place. His hands fit seamlessly in yours, as if they were intended to all along. Rather hastily, you slide the gloves off to rid him of his fabric barrier. Smooth, soft digits entwine with yours next. Floyd shuffles closer, caging you between himself and a metal workbench.

“You don’t have to! A flower’s more than enough for me.”

“No, it ain’t. You deserve so much more.”

“Then…” Your breath hitches when he slots his knee between your legs. Nimble fingers slide under your blouse, palming at your stomach. “What would you give me?”

“Everythin’. Whatever ya want. I’d never let ya be sad or lonely again.” He noses your collarbone, sighing moonily. “I’d give you an entire garden of heliotropes if it means you’ll never look at anyone else ever again.” As if realizing something, he sighs, clears his throat, and adds, “I want ya so fuckin’ bad, Shrimpy. I just want you to be happy.”

You reach to pat his head, and he seems to preen at your touch. “I… I feel the same. I…”

I love you.

Floyd’s fingers dance beneath your clothes, mapping every inch of skin as if he’s trying to commit it to memory. He’s slowly rutting against you, his breath hot in your ears. Perhaps it’s the humidity, but you feel dizzy in his embrace, lost in a lustful haze.

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” he confesses, roughly tugging your bra down until your breasts spill free. He cradles them in strong hands. “Always thought about it when I saw ya sittin’ pretty in class.”

You blink. It’s not a dream. He’s touching you. You blink again for good measure. It’s still not a dream.

“Do what?” A dumb question. You know what he means, but you wish to hear it right from his mouth.

“Kissin’ and touchin’. Ya have no idea how many times I wanted to pull ya into an empty classroom and just…” His teeth graze your pulse, tasting the stuttering beat beneath. “Make a mess of ya.”

“What… What was stopping you?”

“Didn’t think you’d feel the same,” he mumbles, nipping at your throat. When he speaks next, it’s in an octave lower, and he’s lost Floyd’s whimsical vocality. “So I would content myself with observing you in secret. You never noticed I was there, but I saw you. Every single day at every hour, studying tirelessly in the library or sharing a meal with your friends at the cafeteria…” He twists your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, prompting a shuddering gasp from you. “You’re captivating when you exist in oblivion.”

That…doesn’t sound like something Floyd would say.

“Floyd, wait…”

He pulls away to look at you and his pupils are blown impossibly wide, almost as if he’s high off the scent of you, the warmth of your skin under his palms as they wander lower, and the daring thrill of exhibitionism. He seems to snap out of his trance moments later when he offers you a toothy grin. You chew your lip, uncertain.

What was that all about? Looking pretty when I’m oblivious? Watching me in secret?

“All good?” His fingers curl into the waistband of your uniform pants, and for a moment you wish you were wearing a skirt so he’d have easier access.

Feebly, you nod, your every nerve alight with an insatiable yearning. “I’m okay.”

Maybe I misunderstood him. Maybe this is how Floyd flirts.

“Promise?” One hand massages your hip, enticing you to agree.

You pull him in so that your bodies can connect. He hums at the contact, whether in pleasure or approval you can’t tell. “I promise,” you whisper, abandoning logic to breathe him in like he’s the worst kind of addiction. A fatal temptation, but it’s impossible to stop when you’ve come this far.

Floyd giggles and resumes his fondling, closing his hands around your breasts. You whine your grief, mourning the loss of his lingering touch on your waist. Although a deeper part of you is relieved he didn’t stray further in his exploration. Had he done so, you wouldn’t have had the sensible conscience to stop him. You almost direct his touch downwards, but instead your hands grab at his face to drag him up and away from your neck. He fills in what’s left of the space between the both of you, capturing your lips in a searing smooch. This time, rather than flailing about foolishly, you hold him still, savoring the sloppy exchange of breath and saliva. He licks into your mouth, chasing your tongue, and though it isn’t a competition you let him overpower you.

Victory hangs in the air, but you’re not sure which of you has won.

It’s everything you could have ever coveted from Floyd: a saccharine, movie-esque moment in the middle of a flowering garden. For this singular moment, he’s all yours. Your star only has eyes for you and he’s all over you, unable to keep his hands to himself as he ruts his hips in time with yours, panting against your mouth as if you’re the only oxygen source to be found at the bottom of the sea. His touch is firm and gentle all at once, hungrily impatient, and when he kisses you it’s as if he does so with the intention that this may be the last chance he’ll ever have.

Without much forethought, you fumble with the buttons on your blouse, undoing two more so that he may slide it from your shoulders to reveal the oh-so-inviting bareness of your neck.

You catch his face in your hands, eyes narrowed with an unspoken threat. Mind where you bite.

He reads you loud and clear, for he flashes his teeth at you and places one of his hands over yours, his entire body rumbling with laughter. “Why not?”

“Because,” you hiss, shaking your head.

“Then I won’t bite.”

“But…”

“If ya don’t want it, don’t ask for it.”

“Floyd—” His lips brush against your skin and you shiver. “Please…” 

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p.’ Rather than bite marks, open-mouthed kisses pepper your skin. “Next time.”

You intend to object, to plead that you want nothing more than to be bloodied with bites, but he’s drawing all sorts of sinful sounds from the depths of your throat and it’s impossible to voice your disappointment when pleasure’s quickly taking over. You grab his chin and smash your mouth against his instead, determined to out-kiss him—if such a thing is even possible. Floyd giggles, invigorated with the challenge you’ve initiated, and angles his head to kiss you more deeply.

It makes up for the lack of bites, you tell yourself, and the outlandish assurance soothes you. With the way he’s breathing into you as if you’re his lifeline, a buoy floating on rocky waves, he’s shamelessly unslakable. But then so are you when you nip at his tongue, taking it in your mouth until your chest is begging for reprieve, unable to compete with the lung capacity of merman. His hands are still roaming and you mirror his actions, clumsily unbuttoning his lab coat and pulling it from his person. Floyd would never dress so neatly, every button buttoned and tie tied expertly, but you ignore this detail in favor of receiving another starved kiss from him.

Your hands drift lower until they’ve settled over the strain in his pants. Momentarily, you hesitate, your heart collapsing into your stomach.

This is real. He’s actually… Because of this, Floyd is… You swallow thickly and palm it carefully. Floyd groans low in your ear. He bucks against your hand to force friction.

“You’re so cute,” you murmur, tracing the outline with your fingertip, wickedly cruel in your tentative, experimental petting. “All of that from a little—” you put on his voice next, a poor mimic— “kissin’ and touchin,’ huh?”

“S’not nice when you…tempt—ah, tease me…” He shakes his head, stumbling over Floyd’s trademark drawl. He buries his face in your shoulder, gasping when you apply just a little more pressure. “Shrimpy’s so meeean, makin’ me wait for it.”

You giggle and run your fingers through the sturgeon scales hanging from his ear. The disturbance has them clicking against one another. His earring’s in the wrong place, but for today it’s right. So right.

Your lips part in a frenetic smile. Oh, how you adore him.

“Sorry, sorry. I won’t be mean.”

Led onwards by lustful impatience, you reach between your bodies to undo the zip on his trousers. Floyd sighs again, as if your touch is the greatest relief, when you squeeze him through the fabric of his boxers. You’ve always theorized how big he might be, but now that you’re finally approximating his length you’re wondering how you’ll ever fit all of him. The delicious fantasy of a filthy struggle—of trembling around him as he eases himself inside, filling you up thick inch by thick inch—renders your temperature volcanic.

“About moray—” You inhale sharply when he rolls his hips, and the last of your restraint rots away. With your tongue tucked between your teeth, you concentrate on massaging the bulge between his legs with newly restored confidence. “Moray courtship…”

“Mm, yeah… What about it?” His voice quivers against your mouth, wet and wanton.

“What’s it like?”

“Ah. Well… Hah…” He slows his fervent humping and presses his forehead to yours to look you in the eyes. “I’d bring ya lotsa stuff. Food and shiny treasures and—haa… And I’d pretty up the cave. Protect ya from predators. Keep ya comfy and content.”

You imagine Floyd dutifully prowling the perimeter of your shared living space, all taut, lean muscle, senses on high alert, while you remain swathed in soothing shadows. The fantasy is so vivid in your mind that you almost reach out, fingers chasing the distant delusion of a Floyd who loves you more than he’s ever loved anyone. Instead, you grasp the phony. His hands are on your waist, steadying you, and you embrace him like he’s the lover you’ll never have.

“And you’d never leave me?”

“Never. Not once. Not ever.” The promise is made between kisses, each more pleasurable than the last. It sets your entire body aflame with an intoxicating exultation. Tears prick your eyes. “I’ll stay with ya forever, Shrimpy.”

“But what if someone else—”

He places a finger to your lips, silencing what’s left of your doubt. “I don’t want someone else. You’re all I’ll ever want, so there’s no need to worry about things that will never come to pass.” A smile adorns his features next and he slides his finger down your lips to trace your jawline. You sigh at his touch. It’s everything and nothing. Too much and too little. Everlasting and fleeting. “You’re always gonna be my Shrimpy, ya got that? No one else can have ya. Promise me.”

Your face aches from smiling so much, but this time you can’t help it. Those words, coupled with his actions, renew your once-dampened, self-conscious spirit. You drink him in, doing away with hesitation.

“I promise, Floyd. I’m all yours.”

There’s a spark of something sad in his eyes then, but it passes like a short sunshower, swallowed up in a sea of salacity. You fail to take note of it when you’re so busy stroking him through his boxers, imprisoned by the magnetic force of attraction that’s settled between the both of you. He hums his appreciation, sliding his hands up the expanse of your stomach to squeeze your chest. You can’t seem to keep yourself off of him for more than a minute, pulling him into you for more of everything. More friction. More kisses. More connection.

More. More. More.

The steamy press of his mouth to yours is prurient, teeth clicking against teeth and warring tongues, but it’s so addictive. You wish to remain like this forever, savoring kisses and exchanging tender touches. Everything about this version of Floyd matches the one you’ve spent countless nights picturing. You feel enshrouded in cotton when he grinds helplessly into your hand to chase a mounting climax. It’s all you’ve ever wanted to experience—a physical culmination of real, raw love.

Floyd’s pace is frenzied now, and he’s chanting how good you feel like it’s the gospel. He’s close; you can sense it, see it, hear it in the way he gasps and groans. His fingers dig into your sides, just beneath your ribs, to keep himself anchored as he rests his head on your shoulder. His eyes flutter shut, lips parting slightly to reveal the pointed beginnings of his razored teeth, and with just a few more touches and gyrations he shudders through his orgasm.

He’s almost boneless in your arms when he resurfaces, lips pursed in a tight line. His face is flushed scarlet, a rare vibrancy you’ve never seen on the face of Jade Leech.

That’s right. It’s Jade you did all of that with. Jade. Not Floyd. Jade.

But it felt like Floyd.

“You good?” You offer him a warm smile when his eyes flutter open.

He leans into you and then slowly retracts himself. “Ah. Yes… Yes, I’m all right now. Forgive me for getting so carried away.”

You follow the direction he’s looking at to your hand, which is still pressed to his boxers and is sticky with his spend as it seeps through the fabric. Embarrassment trickles down your spine.

“O-Oh! Sorry. I… Um, let me just…” Eyes darting elsewhere, you yank your hand away, intending to wipe it on your pant leg. Your attempt at a carefree chuckle sticks in your throat when he grasps it instead. “Uh, Jade?”

He holds your gaze with startling intensity. For the few moments that pass between both of you, you assume he’s still playing Floyd, but there’s something about his mannerisms that tells you otherwise. He’s distrait, distant, dazed—whatever you choose to call it—and he’s studying you as if you’ve just hung the stars in his sky.

What’s he looking at? Is there something on my face?

“I never understood why Floyd calls you Little Shrimpy,” he whispers, curling his fingers around yours. “You’re more than a tiny, trifling shrimp. To me, you are the moon—hypnotically radiant, a pretty pearl in a pitch-black sea—capable of influencing the very ocean I reside in. And like an enchanted tide heeding the moon’s call—like a fisherman mesmerized by a siren’s lullaby—I’m drawn in by your beauty and brilliance.” He leans close, breath fanning across your lips. “I exist to revolve around you. To drown in you. Forever.”

You stare at him.

It’s all you can do. Stare and pretend you aren’t stunned by this revelation—like it didn’t just sap all of the oxygen from the air. What is he talking about? You’d expect something like this from Rook, who’s known to wax poetry as easily as he breathes. But Jade? Sure, he’s eloquent, but even he wouldn’t say something so…

What’s the right word to describe it? It’s not cheesy; you don’t think so, at least. It’s not heartwarming either. You feel like he might wheedle you into a scheme if you’re readily receptive to his flowery adulation. It’s nice to be compared to the moon, though. But then the moon is forever out of reach, unobtainable for a merman like Jade, who can only ever observe from the sea. It’s a love birthed from the yearning of a gap that can never and will never be closed.

You’re thankful it’s hot in here, otherwise your embarrassment would have been explosively obvious.

“Jade, do you like—”

“Jaaade, you there?”

Upon hearing the real Floyd, the tendrils of the fantasy you once entangled yourself in snap. And amidst the fragments, a dozen anxieties come rushing forth. Hastily, you push Jade away and shove his rumpled lab coat at him. Fear-laced adrenaline has you struggling with the buttons on your blouse. He doesn’t seem nearly as panicked as you currently are, merely hugging his coat to his chest and watching you, smitten beyond sanity.

“Hide!” you hiss, smoothing the wrinkles in your shirt and then cursing when you realize you’ve missed a button. There’s no time to fix it. “Hurry! Before he finds out—”

“Before who finds out?” Floyd whips around the corner just as Jade vanishes from sight. You miss the way he grips his magic pen in a tight fist, pupils blown with a crazed sort of excitement. You’re equal parts relieved and grateful for his swift reflexes, but you’re more grateful for Floyd’s interruption. You weren’t interested in knowing the answer to your half-spoken inquiry. “Ah! It’s Shrimpy! Whatcha doin’ talkin’ to yourself?”

“F-Floyd, hey! Hi! I… I’m just looking around for…flowers.” You smile, full set of teeth on display despite your disheveled and mildly panicked appearance.

Did he hear us? Did he see us? Please tell me he didn’t. Please. Please. Please.

Floyd’s eyes rove over your too-tense form. He leans in close, and you jerk away with a nervous chuckle. His nose wrinkles, and then a curious smile pulls at his lips. You’re certain that can’t be good.

“What… What’s up?”

“Ya smell like Jade.” He’s gazing at your ear now and it dawns on you that the heliotrope is still snugly tucked there. “Didja see him?”

“What? No!” The look he gives you next is so skeptical you almost kick yourself. “I mean, not today I haven’t…” Swallowing another uncomfortable laugh, you remove the flower from its current resting place and crush it in a tight fist. The limp petals flutter to the ground when you release them from your hold. “Maybe it’s my perfume! I… I bought a new one, so I’ve been wearing it a lot lately.”

“Mhm… Perfume,” he muses, grinning up to his ears, his thumbs hooked casually in his pockets.

You’re a bad liar, you scold yourself, ashamed.

“Anyway, why’re you looking for Jade? I can pass on a message if I happen to run into him.”

“Could ya? Thanks, Shrimpy,” he says, pulling away to give you space. “Azul’s been on my tail about him all day. Super annoyin’ with it. Says he needs Jade at the lounge cuz it’s busy or somethin’.”

You intend to say, “So why not go in his place?” but then you realize something unusual.

“Hold on. Is Jade skipping work?”

Floyd shrugs. “Dunno. Jade never skips anythin’ important. He’s got a schedule he follows, y’know? Real diligent.”

“And I’m assuming the lounge is a big part of that schedule?”

“Prolly.”

Then why was he here in the gardens? Did he lose track of time? It’s an impossible thought; you fail to trick yourself into believing it. No, Jade would never.

“Oh. O-Okay…” You fidget in place while Floyd continues to look at you. He rocks back and forth on his heels, seemingly waiting for you to speak up. A minute stretches between the both of you. “Um… Is that it?”

He gazes past you then, at the spot where you’re certain Jade’s standing. “Yep. S’all I wanted to say. If ya see Jade, let him know Azul’s lookin’ for him.” He turns around, pauses, and then looks over his shoulder at you. “Your new perfume’s lame. Ya gotta get a nicer scent.”

And then he’s disappearing into the foliage, shaded under wide, full boughs. You stand stupefied and replay his words in a loop. Out of every detail gleaned, the strangest was Floyd’s claim that you smelled like Jade. You feel foolish for dwelling on it, but it’s starting to eat through your organs with its implications and now all sorts of questions are sparking in your brain. Why would Floyd pick up on your scent? Was he being truthful, or was that intended to make you squirm with discomfort? Is it an unpleasant sort of smell? Does he mean to say you smell salty like the sea because that’s where Jade’s from? But what does Jade even smell like? With the reluctance of a cat near water, you raise your wrist to your nose and inhale deeply.

I’m not wearing any perfume…

Groaning, you bury your face in your hands next.

And I forgot to give him the heliotrope.

You spin around just as a patch of Jade becomes visible, pieces of his figure slowly gaining clarity as the effects of the illusory spell fade. Neither of you says anything, opting to decode the message on the other’s face. You think about crossing the distance to scold him in close proximity, if only to break the thickening tension, but that urge falls away as soon as it comes.

“Do you think he knows?”

“It’s possible. Mages can always sense magic, even the smallest of spells. At the very least, he was aware a third party was here.”

“So you weren’t really invisible then.”

“Physically, yes. It only works on those who neglect to notice or aren’t adept in spellcasting.” He slides his arms into the sleeves of his lab coat, gracefully unruffled. “I thought I’d spare you the chagrin if I made myself scarce. Unless you wanted Floyd to know, in which case I’ll be more than delighted to divulge our secret affair.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. And don’t call it that! It’s just convenient that you’re his twin and can do a good impression. Convenient, okay?”

“Conveniently an affair. Or should we settle for ‘dalliance’ instead? How about mutualism? Partnership? Which do you prefer?”

You rub calming circles into your temples. By the Great Seven, he’ll annoy you to death before you can even confess. You’re buzzing with irritation, but it’s not directed at Jade. Instead, you’re frustrated with your failure. You let Floyd leave. You had an entire conversation going and it fell apart because you sent him away. Because you just had to ask if that was all he needed from you. On top of that, it’s blisteringly hot in here and Floyd said you reek of Jade; and you’re not even wearing any perfume, and you probably smell and look so gross; and your nonstop sweating might be ruining your makeup and—

“(Name)?”

“What?” It’s harsh on your tongue, a demand rather than a question. He offers you a handkerchief. You stare at the pristine, frilly white blur clutched between his fingers. “I’m fine. I don’t need your sympathy. In fact, I don’t want it.”

And then the first tear traces a line down your cheek.

“Oh. Um. Hold on.” You wipe it away with your wrist, sniffling as you do so. “Fuck, I’m a mess. This is the worst. I can’t even… I can’t do anything right. I had the perfect opportunity to ask him or…talk to him—say anything I wanted, change the subject—I don’t know! And I… I blew it. I completely r-ruined it and now he thinks I smell like you, but we’re not even together like that and if he thinks I’m taken I’ll never have a chance!”

“I understand how devastating it must feel, but you shouldn’t let that discourage—”

You swat him and the handkerchief away when he takes a step closer. “Stop. Just…stop. You don’t understand. You have no idea how it feels. Don’t act like you do.”

Jade hesitates, opens his mouth, and then shuts it.

“I love him, Jade. I love him so much, but I don’t know where to start. It sucks. I feel so lost. And… And he said I smelled like you! Does he think I have a bad scent? Am I really that terrible?” You wipe at the onslaught of unstoppable tears and hiccup through a blubbery sob. “O-Or am I boring? Is that it? If I smell like you, does that mean I have a boring smell? But then it was my fault for ending the conversation. And then… And I didn’t even get to give him the flower…”

“You’re far from boring, (Name).”

“But I must be if Floyd—”

“I disagree.”

“You’re just saying that because you can. Because you’re not Floyd.”

“But I know Floyd, and Floyd only returns to those he deems fun or fulfilling. Furthermore, if he thought you smelled bad he would have said so, unfiltered and brutally honest. As one of his most devout admirers, this should be beginner’s knowledge for you.”

“I know. I know. I—” You pause, brows furrowing, and suddenly it isn’t so heart-wrenching anymore. “You’re right, actually.”

“See? There’s no need to sully your pretty visage with tears and snot. It was just one interaction. There are many more to come, surely.” He snips a new heliotrope from the bush and holds it out to you. “If not the handkerchief, will you accept this and try again?”

You stare at the cutting, shakily taking it. A wet, weak laugh forces itself from the constrictive confines of your throat. “Yes, Jade,” you mutter, scrubbing the salt from your eyes. “Yes, I’ll try again.”

He smiles, but it isn’t duplicitous. “Please don’t let me keep you any longer.”

“W-Wait, you meant now?”

“Well, I certainly didn’t mean tomorrow or next week.”

“Be quiet, smart-ass.”

“You say that and yet you’ve started smiling. What happened to ‘I’m the worst’ and ‘I ruined my chances’?”

Flustered, you slap your hand over your mouth to curb your growing grin. “I’m not smiling! It wasn’t funny! I… I’m still upset!” You back away on quick feet, ducking around the corner with a final, “I’m still the worst! A total failure!”

Jade laughs into his fist, savoring the fleeting sounds of your soles upon the concrete. As if coming down from a miraculous high, he allows his short-lived joy to ebb away. Sadness soon sets in when he glances at the scattered petals on the ground, and he can only hope the new heliotrope won’t meet the same wilted fate as its predecessor. He’s just about to gather them when you pop into sight once more, your chest heaving as if you just ran a grueling race. He stares at you, a single brow raised. Suddenly, feeling glum is the last thing on his mind.

“Back so soon?”

“I—” you huff, gathering both your thoughts and breath— “I forgot…to give you…a message!”

“Oh?”

“Azul needs you at the lounge.” You wipe sweat from your brow, rushing through the words. “And just so you know—skipping work doesn’t really seem like your style, but it’s not a bad change of pace for you. I kinda like rebellious, sweets-loving Jade who’s greedy for both land and sea. Can’t say Azul will agree, though.”

For once he doesn’t seem to have a clever retort at the ready. But that doesn’t matter because you’re already bounding away, light on your feet as if you’ve just won a lottery. Maybe you have and it’s the premise of a second chance that has you feeling so filled with luck. Jade shakes his head at the foolishness of it all, his close-lipped smile widening.

If anyone’s won anything today, it’s him. But despite this, it feels far more empty than he imagined it would.

You’re humming as you skip along, tracing the path you’re certain Floyd traveled. With the heliotrope clutched in your hand, you dry what’s left of the tears in your puffy eyes and hurry along. You won’t mess up this time. You’re going to give him the flower and then!

Your gait slows to an abrupt halt. And then… And then what? You’ll have to say something else. You can’t just wordlessly bestow a flower to the love of your life and think that’s enough. Great Seven, you’re not even prepared!

For a small, vulnerable second you consider turning back and returning to Jade to get his opinion on this predicament. He knows Floyd best; he’d have plenty of advice. But you don’t want to face him. Not after everything that happened. Reminders of your intimacy with him creep in like an intrusive thought, overwhelming with its lewd imagery. You can’t believe you allowed it to go that far—to stray into a territory you’ve never navigated before. Kissing is one thing. Working Jade towards his orgasm is another.

There’s a bingo card for this, surely. An invisible one you’re steadily marking off as you go: Kissing with Jade? Check. Feeling certain assets below the belt? Check. Being compared to a celestial body, which is arguably the most romantic thing anyone’s ever told you in all of the years you’ve lived your life? That’s oddly specific, but it’s on the card. Check.

It’s a bingo card for a mutually beneficial partnership. Not the kind for a pair of lovers. Definitely not.

You’d mourn your inability to draw significant boundaries if it weren’t for the fraction of yourself that hungers for the attention, drinking it in like it’s a frosty glass of water on a humid night. It’s wrong to fool yourself over and over—inane, even. Why would you subject yourself to this torture if you know what waits for you at the end of this: heartbreak at the hands of delusion? You shouldn’t use Jade like this either. That’s also wrong, but he’s so accessible. So willing to indulge you. It’s a fair trade. A fair game. No one gets hurt. No one wins and no one loses.

But then fairness is never promised in a trade with Jade—with anyone from Octavinelle, really. You fall into the especially desperate souls category and so your situation is very different from those who look for easy academic cheats or social hacks.

Shaking your head, you free yourself of these thoughts, pushing each one aside as if wading through murky water, and trudge onwards. There’s no point in dwelling on what’s already happened.

It’s not even real intimacy, you remind yourself, hardening your heart. It’s just physical. We both agreed to help each other. He’ll role-play as Floyd and we’ll go from there. It’s Jade who’s being weird with his silver tongue and stupid poetry.

“The moon, huh…” you mutter, twirling the heliotrope between your fingers. “That’s a first…”

Nice try, Jade. A few hollow compliments aren’t going to convince me to be gentler when I rate your mushroom dishes.

Your feet take you across the bridge, leaving the botanical garden and the alchemy workshop far behind, to the cobbles that extend past the Hall of Mirrors and towards a stone staircase. You take each step one at a time until you’re standing in front of the Mystery Shop. Surprisingly enough—or maybe it’s not because you were hoping for this—Floyd’s there, leaning against a tree trunk and scrolling on his phone. Your arrival seems to pull him from whatever was occupying him on his screen, for he glances up at you.

You shake off every nerve that tightens at the premise of interacting with him. Pretend he’s Jade. I talk to Jade just fine, so maybe if I can just—

Floyd kicks off from the tree, falling into a lazy step that looks more like a slither as he crosses the distance to get to you. Or maybe you’re paying too much attention to his legs. Either way, he’s standing in front of you now, his phone pocketed and arm outstretched. You follow the length of it, taking notice of the gift bag that hangs from his grasp like bait on a fishing lure.

He’s not shifty like Jade, you think. Okay, maybe he’s a little shifty. But he means well! Most of the time…

“Is… Is this for me?”

Floyd nods and shakes it. “Gonna open it?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Shrimpy’s askin’ lotsa questions.”

“Because Floyd is acting suspicious. What have I done that would make you buy something for me?”

“What if I wanna treat Shrimpy? S’nothing wrong with a little somethin’ every now and then, yeah? I think you’ll like it.”

“That doesn’t sound very comforting…”

“C’mon. Just open it.” He presses it into your hand. “Trust me.”

You roll your eyes, a smile playing at your lips. Pushy just like his brother.

“I trust you.” Cautiously, you stick your hand inside and withdraw a pink box patterned with red swirls. In looping script, the words Cherry Crush are printed. You almost drop the heliotrope in your excitement, and you tear the box open to get to the bottle that rests within. “No way!” You look at Floyd. He confirms your disbelief with a grin. “For me? Seriously? Really?”

“Who else? Course it’s for you.” He tilts his head, watching you a little too closely. “You like it?”

“Wait, I haven’t even put it on yet!” The cap comes off and you spritz some on your wrist. Waving it around so it’ll dry faster, you feel yourself break out into a dumb smile. “Yes, I do like it. A lot. Thank you.”

“No prob. I’m glad,” he says, pronouncing it in a hum. “You like smellin’ sweet, so I got ya somethin’ sweet.”

You catch a sugary whiff and sigh, wholly satisfied. It’s perfect, everything you could’ve ever wanted, and you hope it washes away whatever scent Floyd had previously detected on you. If love smells like Cherry Crush perfume, you never want to fall out of it.

“Oh, speaking of that, I actually got you something, too.”

“Gonna take a guess and say it’s that flower you’ve got.”

“Yeah! I picked one from the botanical garden. It’s a heliotrope.”

Floyd takes it from you, turns it over in his hand, and whistles. “Pretty. Why’s it for me? It looked nicer in your hair.”

Your skin prickles as the memories spring forth.

“Oh. Uh, that… I think it would look much prettier in a vase or something…”

“Mm, nah.”

The once freely flowing conversation halts. You kick yourself for putting yourself in a corner. Why is it so challenging to keep a chat going? With Jade, you could go for hours, bickering and bantering about the smallest details. With Floyd, it feels like you have to carve your insides out just to keep him engaged. But if that’s what it takes, you’ll do it. Anything for Floyd.

“I think it might look pretty in your hair.”

“You think so?”

“Y-Yeah! I mean, purple is such a beautiful color and it matches Octavinelle’s aesthetic. You could even wear it as a pin. Oh, but you’d have to make it into one first. Or you could tuck the stem into the breast pocket on your uniform! That might work best.”

Floyd chuckles. “Shrimpy’s really into this, huh?”

“Oh. Ah. Um… It’s only a suggestion.”

“You like flowers then?”

Mutely, you nod. You can taste your heartbeat in your mouth—frantic and metallic. Or maybe you’ve bitten the inside of your cheek in the midst of your hasty ramblings and it’s the river of blood filling your mouth that you mistake for a heartbeat. Either way, you want nothing more than to curl up in the soil and disappear forever.

“You should see ’em in the Coral Sea. It’s real nice down there. Lotsa flowers and plants and stuff.”

“Oh, I’ve actually seen some of them before! When we went to the Coral Sea to get that photograph from that museum, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.” He giggles at the recollection. “Good times.”

“You gave us a proper fright. You and Jade. Slippery eels…”

“Had fun doin’ it, too.”

You snort when he flashes his teeth at you, not apologetic in the slightest. “I’m sure you did.”

Again, the conversation glides to a halt. Floyd seems content to stand and stare, and it pains you that you must, once again, direct him towards something interesting.

“Um, Floyd, I actually wanted to ask you something.”

“Sure thing. Shoot.”

“Well… Um, I don’t know if you like baking or anything—or maybe you’ve never tried it—but I was thinking… Actually, since you’re here, I thought that we might be able to… No, sorry. I meant, since we ran into each other, wouldn’t it be fun if—oh, wait! About my interview! Yeah, that. Is… Is it possible I could get another interview?”

If there was a competition to see how many times you could bumble in front of Floyd, you’d take first place and you’d still feel like a loser.

“Mm, I dunno. You’ll have to talk to Azul about it.”

“Then could I talk to him now?”

Floyd nods and steps ahead. He doesn’t look back to check if you’re following, and while you drag yourself behind him poisonous thoughts dig into your skull, threatening to split it open and infect the squishy brain matter beneath.

Why can’t I just ask him what I really want? I said all of those embarrassing things to Jade without any problems. So why can’t I say it to Floyd?

“Shrimpy’s so set on workin’ at the lounge. Why’s that?”

“I need to fill my resume,” you lie.

Floyd nods. You hurry to match his stride, lest he leave you and your crumbling heart behind. “I getcha.”

“Do you know why Azul won’t hire me?”

“Cuz ya don’t have much experience workin’.”

“Hey! I have lots of experience! Azul’s missing out on a very good worker, I’ll have you know.”

“Sure he is.”

“What would you do—if you were the boss, I mean?”

“Hire ya. Then it’ll get a lot more fun in the lounge.”

You finally fall into step beside him, your eyes wide with wonder. “Really? You think I’d be a fun coworker?”

“Yeah, totally.”

Your grip on the bag tightens, courage filling you at once. He thinks I’m fun…

For all of his boasting about being accessible and willing to listen to everyone’s troubles, Azul is unimpressed when Floyd drops you off at his VIP room. Your beloved eel winks just as you step inside, offering you a sing-song, “Good luck,” before slinking off. You were confident for all of ten seconds, but then the door closes and you’re left with Azul, who looks very unwilling to hear you out; and suddenly your not-so-rehearsed speech doesn’t seem so foolproof anymore.

He doesn’t flinch when you rush him and slam your hands upon his desk. In fact, you don’t think he even looks up to acknowledge your boisterous presence, too engrossed in a stack of documents to even bother.

“Azul, you have to hire me! Please give me one chance. I won’t let you down. I’ll do everything you ask!”

“This again?”

“I’m serious. I want to work here.”

“Jade tells me otherwise.”

“What? That I’m not serious?”

“I’d hazard an assumption that you’re more serious about Floyd than you are about contributing to the lounge.”

You gasp, offended, to which Azul rolls his eyes, foregoing his usual lofty decorum. “That is…very true, yes. But I’ll work hard, and I’ll show up on time. I’ll even sign a contract! Please, Azul, I’ll do anything. I need this job.”

He hums, unconvinced. “You do realize it’s not guaranteed you’ll become any closer to Floyd than you already are.”

“I know.” You gaze at the perfume box resting within the bag. There’s hope. “But… But I’m not going to give up. I’ll keep pestering you about interviews until the end of your days.”

Sensing an in, Azul straightens the documents, sets them on his desk, and gazes at you. The atmosphere shifts in an instant with his newly stoked interest, or perhaps he’s feigned apathy all along just to see how far you’ll lower yourself.

“As it happens, there is an open position, if you’d be interested in hearing more.”

“Go on…”

“If hired, you’d join my staff as a waitress. We could use the extra help when the foot traffic peaks, and since you appear genuinely motivated—as wildly misplaced as this motivation may be—I could consider giving you the job.”

“Wait, seriously? You’d hire me?”

“Only if you work as you’ve so dutifully claimed you will.”

“I will! I’m not lying about that.”

“If you were so desperate, you could have looked to Sam for a job. The Mystery Shop is always hiring.”

“But it doesn’t have Floyd.”

“Of course. One-track as ever… Well, if you’re truly so determined, let me ask you something.”

Danger thickens in the air when you spy his sticky smile, but if Azul is all who stands between you and Floyd you’ll take the risk.

“I’m only listening if you’re going to be honest. No strings.”

“Why, that smarts, (Name)! And I thought we were thick as thieves!”

“Not as thick as your delusion, no.”

“How rude. Is that any way to speak to your future employer and boss?”

“We’re getting distracted. What did you want to ask me?”

Azul tuts. “Ever the impatient one. If you must know, I’d like to ask if you’d be willing to make a deal.”

“Yes. Absolutely. Whatever it takes.”

He’s thrown somewhat off course at your readiness. But before you can take his momentary hesitation and twist the conversation in your favor, he recovers with an admirable level of poise. With an airy chuckle, he plucks his magic pen from his breast pocket and swishes it in an elegant motion. A contract scroll, its contents written in perfect cursive, materializes within seconds. You stare at it, mesmerized by the aureate shimmer.

“The terms are fairly simple. You’ll work your hours as scheduled. You’re permitted to turn to Floyd for guidance so long as you remain focused on the task at hand. I’ll even align your schedule with his if it pleases, but I can’t make any promises that he’ll show up for his appointed shifts. He’s mercurial, you see, but you’re likely aware of this.”

You nod, soaking in the information like a rapacious sponge. “And? What’s the catch?”

“The catch,” he says, eyeing you with predatory intent, “is that you’ll have every opportunity to prove to me that your work ethic is as authentic as you say it is. Fail thrice and you’ll lose your job and, consequently, your chance at currying favor with Floyd.”

“That’s all? Sounds oddly safe coming from you.”

“Oh, did you think I was finished?” He chuckles and withdraws a vial from his desk drawer. The colorless liquid inside the glass sloshes when he sets it down.

“What’s that?”

“A potion.”

“I know that. I mean, what’s it supposed to be a potion for? Is it a love potion?” You gasp and hurry to snatch it from the desk. Azul beats you to it, levitating it out of your reach with a swish of his magic pen. “Seriously, what is it? I’ll drink it if that’s what you want, but I need to know what I’m working with.”

“It’s meant for you, yes. I’ll need you to add part of yourself to the mixture and let it sit for, say, a few minutes. Three should suffice. Then you’ll be free to drink it.”

“What should I add?”

“Let me phrase it this way—what are you most comfortable drinking? Blood? Saliva? Something else?”

Your face falls and he laughs. “That doesn’t sound appetizing whatsoever.”

“Most potions never are, but this one is special.”

“Special how?”

“A lady of many questions, aren’t you?”

“Forgive me for being cautious, but you’re a man of many tricks and lies. Can you blame me for being suspicious?”

“If that’s the case, shall I call Floyd in here and have him give you the overview? Would that ease your worries?”

“Absolu—wait, no. No, not at all. I’m focused on working!” You open your palm to receive the fishbone pen he offers, its tip already submerged in pitch-black ink. “Work is in my brain. Not Floyd. I promise.”

“We’ll see.” Azul places the vial on the desk once more, its foggy opacity an unsolved mystery. “To review: You’ll work for me, show me that you’re not just here to follow a fluffy daydream—” his nose scrunches at that phrasing, as if it leaves a foul taste on his tongue— “and in return I shall so graciously provide you with plentiful opportunities to be near Floyd. You’ll also be expected to drink that potion at some point and retrieve a few things while under its effects. More on that at a later date.”

That sounds so suspicious! Is he even hearing himself?

“And if I mess up three times, that’s it? I’m fired?”

“Three strikes and you’re out, as they say.” He smiles and gestures to the contract lying before you, an empty line awaiting a hasty signature. “Do we have a deal?”

You stare between the perfume and the scroll. Exhaling slowly, you steel yourself and scrawl your name in messy script. The dim lighting contorts his enthused features into something devilish. Before you can even think to peruse the contract for its fine print—a trademark of any Azul Ashengrotto contract—the parchment rolls itself up and vanishes in a fantastical poof.

“A pleasure doing business, (Name). Should you find yourself in need yet again, you’re always welcome to consult me any time.”

You almost thank him, but instead you catch yourself and say, “You made me wait on purpose, dragging your decision out so I’d come to you when I was most desperate. You were probably going to hire me all along, weren’t you?”

“Let’s say my considerations have been successfully swayed.”

You roll your eyes, a fiery quip bubbling on your tongue, but a knock at the door draws your attention away from Azul.

“I’ll cook you if you’re playing any tricks,” you threaten before swiping the vial and stuffing it in the bag alongside the perfume. And then you pivot on your heel. “Turn you into something healthy. Like an octopus salad.”

“Oh, anything but that. I’m so terrified.” (He’s not.)

On your way out, you pass Jade. He looks partially surprised to see you, his widened, mismatched hues following you for a long, starstruck moment until Azul squawks at him with an impatient huff. You catch his chiding words just as the door eases shut: “Where have you been all day? I would expect this behavior from Floyd, but never from you.”

Your feet carry you into the busy lounge. Inhaling scents of food and drink, you hold your breath and let your achievement sink in.

I got the job.

It fizzles out of you in a satisfied whistle.

I got the job.

And then you’re jumping up in celebration, punching the air with clenched fists, uncaring that students are turning to scrutinize. “Hell yeah! I got the job! Eat your doubtful, hater words, Jade Leech!”

You whirl towards the VIP room, all smiles and giggles, intending to barge in there and rub your success in his face. But then you take a bewildered pause.

Why do I want to tell him so badly?

Is it worth sharing with Jade? Would he even truly care? Something tells you he would—a tiny, nagging something that’s doing everything it can to convince you of a fact you’ve yet to prove. You think back to the night you spent in the Mostro Lounge kitchen, discussing the differences between land and sea while waiting for the brownies in the oven, and wonder if he was telling the truth when he said he’d choose both options. Maybe he only cares about the amusement and the entertainment and not the sentimentality of following a love across land and sea. He’s sly, a natural sycophant, and so that seems probable and much easier to believe.

Still…

“Ah, forget it!” you hiss, choosing to make your retreat now before you can talk yourself into divulging the good news. He’ll find out soon enough. He doesn’t need to hear it from you, but it would be immensely pleasing to be the one to deliver it.

Floyd is waiting for you in the tunnel that connects the lounge to Octavinelle. Backdropped by swirling blues and marine life, looking like a painter’s finest pièce de résistance, he slinks over to meet you halfway.

“What’s the status? Didja get it?”

You stare at him, overwhelmed with love for his unruly charms, and nod ecstatically. Thoughts of Jade and revenge evaporate altogether, irrelevant now that you’re with your star.

“Hey, congrats! I knew you’d get it.” He leans over to wrap you in a harmless chokehold. “This means we’re gonna be workin’ together from now on. Make sure to pull your weight or else I might hafta squeeze ya…”

“Oh! Of course I’ll pull my weight! That and more.” Your fingers curl around his bicep and you lift your head to peer up at him, studying the droopy eyes, the messy hair, the sturgeon scale earring, and the curiosity curved on his lips. He’s perfect. You wish he was yours. “Floyd, can I tell you something?”

He perks considerably. “What’s up?”

You’re inches from kissing him, hoping to confess your love in the most bodily of ways. Rather than acting impulsively you seize his fedora and, shimmying out of his arms, fit it on your head.

Before bitterness can seep into your smile, you strike a dramatic pose and ask, “It suits me, doesn’t it?”

Floyd’s eyes sweep over your form, starting at the hat and working down to your shoes. He grins. “It’s a good fit, yeah. Makes you look official.”

“Officially Octavinelle!”

Floyd’s brows knit together in concentration. He skips over to you and bends down to press a chaste kiss to your cheek. “Now you’re officially Octavinelle. Got the seal of approval and everything.”

You gawp at him, hot all over, and bring your hand to your cheek. Though it was a quick kiss, the feeling lingers and sinks into your skin like a brand. Floyd pulls away, his hat in his hands.

“Cute,” he whispers, stoking the flames even further. “You look just like a li’l shrimp when you’re surprised. You get all small and hunched.”

“I do not.” You swat at him, but you aren’t annoyed with his observation. “Cheeky eel.”

He dodges your arm. “Aw, c’mon. Shrimpy knows she likes me.”

I do, you think. I really, really do.

“You’re delusional,” you say instead, stalking ahead. If you stay here any longer, your heart might just burst.

Floyd doesn’t follow, but his laughter floats down the tunnel hall, cloying like Cherry Crush perfume.

Jade is radiating an unusual energy when you step into the lounge kitchen. Restless is a good way to describe it, which can only mean one thing: Something’s up.

He’s wringing a rag in his hands, features alight with just barely suppressed ebullience. “You haven’t eaten dinner yet, yes?”

Yeah, something’s definitely up.

“You told me not to in your text. Why? Was I supposed to?” Skeptical, you sniff at the air and catch all kinds of savory scents. “Smells yummy!”

He nods, smiling wider than he usually does. You peer at the many pots and pans lining the stovetop, and he steps aside to obscure your view.

“Please close your eyes. I’ll guide you to the table.”

It’s then that you realize “the table” is not the island you ate at previously but an actual table set with a frilly tablecloth, utensils for two, and a vase of heliotropes. You gape at the display, wondering what in the world is happening.

“I don’t trust that. You’re gonna do something weird the minute I shut my eyes.”

“I would never. Not this time, at least.”

“You’re unbelievable. What’s all of this for anyway?”

“For you, of course.”

“I’m not following. Wait… Wait, hold on. Is this a dinner date?”

“Would…you like it to be?”

It clicks then, the decorations and the classy ambience.

“Oh, I get it! You’ll play Floyd and it’ll be like I’m on a date with him. That’s actually genius! I haven’t even thought about date ideas yet, but with this I’ll be able to better prepare myself for when we—”

“You start your first shift tomorrow,” he interrupts, uncharacteristically crass. Although he smiles, his expression is tightened with turmoil. “I believe you’re due for a celebration.”

His startling abruptness aside, you smirk and rest your hands on your hips. “That’s right! I got the job and all it took was patience, persistence, and positivity.”

“Surely you mean to say impatience, annoying the ink out of Azul, and some self-deprecation, right?”

“S-Shut up. We’re not going to talk about it.”

Jade holds a hand over his heart. “Well, allow me to extend my sincerest congratulations. I look forward to seeing how you’ll fare tomorrow.”

“Do you work as well?”

“Azul tasked Floyd and me with training you. He doesn’t trust you to be alone with Floyd for more than three minutes.”

“I wouldn’t trust myself either. I mean, have you seen how he rolls his sleeves up when he’s in waiter mode? And when he’s balancing so many drinks without breaking a sweat… Ah, he’s the best!” Your sigh sticks in your throat when you register the rest of his words. “So it’s not just Floyd training me?”

“Fortunately, no.”

“So you’re just going to be a third wheel.”

“Not in the slightest. I’ll be your supervisor.”

You pull an ugly face at that. Being under Jade’s supervision sounds like a punishment pulled right from the recesses of hell, but it’s not like you have any sort of power to debate the decision. After all, in the eyes of every other employee, you’re just a new hire sitting at the bottom of the ladder. Or, if you want to be more accurate, at the bottom of the sea.

“That’s even worse. Ugh. You’re totally the villain in my love story!”

“Have I not been aiding you this entire time? Surely that warrants a title far kinder than that.”

“Okay, fine. You are…my sidekick—yeah, sidekick—and with your help I’ll get my happy ending with Floyd. Right! Speaking of, he bought me perfume and then he kissed me the other day! Kissed me, Jade! He said it was a seal of some sort. I’m ‘officially Octavinelle.’ Anyway, it’s definitely good progress!”

“Did he now?”

“Here, smell! I put some on before I came here.” You raise your wrist to his nose and he obeys, leaning down to sniff at it. “Isn’t it nice? He said it suits me because I smell sweet all the time.”

“He isn’t wrong. You wear the most delightful scents. Now, that aside, if Her Highness would allow her ever-so-faithful sidekick to serve dinner…”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. I’m going.” You step towards the table and lower into the seat he pulls out for you. “So what’s on the menu, Chef?”

“I’ve prepared a three-course meal. You do know what that is, yes?”

“I’m not a fool.”

“Sometimes your actions tell me otherwise.”

“If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it at all.” You fold your arms over your chest and scoff. “Asshole eel.”

“Contradictory.” He tuts.

The two of you stare at each other. You laugh first, the sound coming out as a snort, and Jade soon follows your lead. It’s not a particularly amusing exchange, and yet neither of you can cease chuckling.

Jade manages to settle himself before you do, but there are still traces of mirth evident on his face. It crinkles his eyes when he says, “Shall we put this conversation on hold for now? I’m not sure how partial you are to cold dinners.”

You grin. “I’m ready to feast.”

At your request, he serves the appetizer and entrée together. You’re too hungry to haggle him for dessert, and so you simply sit back and watch as he sets various dishes on the circular table. A large garden salad with tongs and a dozen different dressings in small bottles. A loaf of fresh, crispy sourdough bread and a tiny plate of margarine. Two bowls of a soup you can’t name, but one smell has your stomach growling like a starved beast.

Jade senses your blatant staring and looks at you with raised brows.

“Is something the matter?”

“Just admiring the food.”

“You flatter me.”

“Not you.” You struggle to contain your giggle. “Okay, maybe you.”

“Because I look like Floyd from this angle?”

“Mm, no. You look like Jade.” You bat your lashes at him. “And Jade looks very handsome when he’s doing something he likes.”

Jade stands there, nonplussed, his face reddening. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him fluster outright.

By the time you’ve started snickering, he’s already recovered. “You never fail to surprise. Might I ask why you’re suddenly so kind to me? It’s unlike you to think of anyone else outside of Floyd.”

“Consider it my very late revenge. For that time you compared me to the moon, remember?”

“And you claim I’m the vindictive one.”

“You’re not the only one who gets to catch others off guard like that.”

He hums, folding the rag away after setting the final dish down. It’s so wrinkled from his previous twisting and turning of it. “I suppose that makes us even.”

“Hell yeah it does.” You motion for him to sit and he does, stretching his napkin out and placing it on his lap. “Did you really make all of this from scratch?”

“Indeed. That is a wild mushroom and farro soup. It’s a recipe I recently learned. Do tell me how it tastes.”

“No fair. It’s hard to be mean when you’ve done all of this for me. And from complete scratch, too.” Pouting, you stir your spoon through the soup. It’s packed full of sliced mushrooms, carrots, celery, and onions. In short, it smells divine. You’re certain it’ll taste so when you bring a spoonful to your lips, blow gently, and indulge. After three more scrumptious spoonfuls, you conclude with an obnoxious assessment: “The broth is exquisitely…exquisite. And the vegetables taste fresh and…super good. Yeah, it’s really good! One-hundred out of ten! Kinda heavy for a soup, though, but that makes sense if you’re using it as the main course.”

Jade’s smile reaches his eyes. “Thank you for saying so.”

As if those are the magic words, he samples the dish for himself, wasting no time in eating more. You peer through the heliotropes while you reach for the bread and butter, watching him savor his meal. It’s almost…cute.

Almost.

“What’s your favorite food?”

“Octopus carpaccio.”

“How come you’ve never made any for me?”

“I wasn’t aware that the nature of our deal has strayed into domesticity. Shall we get fitted for wedding attire next? Are you fond of rings? How about pearls?”

“Shut up. You know that’s not it.” You spread margarine on your slice before dunking it in the soup. “I just wanted to ask.”

“In case you were wondering, Floyd favors takoyaki.”

“I know.”

His spoon stops at his mouth. Seconds after, he exhales through his nose, smiling behind his hand. “I would expect nothing less of his greatest fan.”

“I’d get perfect marks if Professor Crewel taught Floyd 101. But octopus carpaccio sounds delicious. Kinda awkward to think about it when Azul’s an octo-mer, though. Oh, he actually gave me something—a potion I’m meant to take as part of our contract. Do you know anything about that?”

“A potion? I’m afraid I only know as much as you do.”

“Bummer.” You munch on your bread, contemplating. “It’s not a love potion. That much he confirmed, but he said I have to add part of myself to the mixture, let it sit for a little bit, and then drink it.”

“How curious.”

“You’d tell me if you knew, wouldn’t you?”

“For the right price.”

“Ew, no. Forget it. You’ll just scam me.”

Jade chuckles and fixes himself a plate of salad. He drizzles a tangy vinaigrette over it next, pushing the greens around with his fork so the flavor soaks into every crisp vegetable.

“But whatever it is, I hope it’s safe. I’m sorta in the dark right now. That instruction about adding a part of myself isn’t a helpful clue.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out in due time. I’ll be rooting for you.”

“Please don’t.”

“You never did tell me. How did your second attempt go?”

“My second attempt? Oh, the heliotrope! He accepted it. Told me it was pretty and that it looked even prettier in my hair. That was when he gave me the perfume. I’m just not sure why. I mean, I guess there’s probably not a real reason. He’s Floyd. He does whatever he wants when he feels like it. Still, I can’t stop myself from wondering…” You gasp when it hits you. “Do you think he gave me perfume because I smelled bad that day?”

Jade shakes his head, unfazed by your panicked conclusion-jumping, and continues to eat. “I can theorize,” he finally says, dabbing his lips with a napkin.

“Okay, so do it. Please tell me it wasn’t because of what I think it is.”

“Moray eels have a very robust sense of smell. We can tell many things apart purely by smell alone in the sea. We commit recurring scents to memory, such as that of food or family. Smell helps us return to those we cherish, so it acts as a helpful beacon.”

“I…don’t really get it. Are you saying you use smell to guide you? But you’re on land. Visibility must be easier here than down there.”

“To merfolk, one’s smell can evoke a variety of feelings. When you smell something delicious, does it not make you happy? This is much the same for us, even more so when it comes to other mers. Family smells like home and thus we feel safe and comfortable when wrapped in such a distinct scent. The smell of someone you care for will fill you with affection and tranquility. If that same someone is distressed, we can often smell it. Essentially, smell is special to us in a way that differs from humans’ understanding of it. No matter how far we may stray, we can always follow familiar scents to reach our destination. Our home. Our heart.” His hand splays across his chest to illustrate that last point.

“Wow. That’s…really romantic,” you mutter, chewing slowly. “So smell is like a type of unspoken communication?”

Accompanied by the gentle jazz notes from the radio, Jade’s voice is musical. “More or less. We don’t have to speak all the time to know what the other is saying.”

“Merfolk are fascinating…”

“I could say the same about humans.”

“Yeah, but we’re not that fascinating. Not like that.” You study your warped reflection in the soup. “So he gave me perfume to locate me?”

“He gave you perfume to cover my scent.”

Your head snaps up to look at him. Even though he appears unbothered by this possibility, his lips are pursed in a thin line. You think he doesn’t like this admittance.

“Oh.”

“We’re rather territorial, you see. Relationships in the sea are unlike those up here.”

“Floyd—ah, no, that was you. Uh, you mentioned that once—something about morays not following monogamy. But I’m not dating Floyd. I want to, but even I’m not that delusional. So why would he do something like that? I really doubt it’s a jealousy thing. He doesn’t strike me as the type.”

“Perhaps he just wanted to play. See if I might take notice.”

“So he did it to test you?”

“Amusing, is it not?”

“I…guess?”

I really don’t understand your sense of humor.

Jade reaches for another slice of sourdough just as you do, the both of you seeming to need something to occupy yourselves. Your hand covers his, and for a taut minute you observe him with undivided attention. He twists his hand around to hold yours and something tells you to pull away—to run from this moment and never look back—but you remain, allowing the contact.

“Regardless of his reasons, your smell will always be identifiable to us no matter how much perfume you wear.” He squeezes your hand once and then releases you. “Shrimpy’s left her imprint on me and I ain’t gonna lose that so easily. Not ever. Not even in the middle of a feeding frenzy.”

You open and close your mouth like a beached fish, embarrassment crawling up your spine. You shove a slice of bread at him. “You forgot your bread, idiot.”

He laughs. “How kind of you to remind me.”

You’re the worst, Jade Leech.

You spend the rest of dinner with heavy thoughts, your heart caught in a warring debate. If Jade’s theories hold any water, you might just have a chance with Floyd. Maybe he really does feel the same and smelling Jade on you triggered some sort of moray eel instinct. It’s all you can consider even when you attempt to distract yourself with eating.

Meanwhile, Jade regales you with exciting foraging tales and you try to feign attention, too occupied with dissecting his body language as if it’ll open a new avenue for clues. He’s so unlike Floyd—so different with his hobbies and interests and demeanor. But he masquerades as Floyd so seamlessly, reflecting that same level of capriciousness you’ve come to admire. It’s possible Jade just said something to satisfy your endless questioning. Maybe it had nothing to do with either of your scents after all. Maybe Jade’s just a liar, which isn’t news.

But to say that it was because he wanted to wash Jade’s scent off of me… That’s so embarrassing. So then he knew what we got up to in the botanical garden and he didn’t say a word about it. Does that mean he thinks we’re a thing? No, maybe not. Otherwise why else would he have been so adamant on giving me perfume? But then Jade could be lying, spinning some silly story just to trick me. Ugh, why can’t he ever be serious? My love life’s at stake here.

By the time he’s brought out dessert, a warm blackberry cobbler with scoops of vanilla ice cream situated on top, you abandon all of your conflicting thoughts and focus on enjoying your slice. As expected, it tastes like heaven and you lose yourself in the flavors, quickly forgetting about your burdensome romantic complications.

“Thanks for this, by the way.”

“There’s no need for that. It’s part of our arrangement, is it not?”

“Yeah, but I feel like I’m half-assing my part. You put in all of this work to be Floyd and you’re cooking amazing meals, and then all I’m doing is giving you useless critique.”

“It’s useless, yes.” He smiles around a bite of cobbler. “It isn’t very helpful either, but it is entertaining.”

“Way to soften the blow.” Suppressing a groan, you add, “And you’re also teaching me about moray courtship. I’m not contributing at all.”

“If you’re so desperate to do so, why not share some anecdotes about being human?”

“I doubt you’ll get anything out of it.”

“You never know.”

“Sure. All right. Um…” You stir melting ice cream with your spoon. “Dancing.”

“Dancing?”

“Floyd likes to dance, so I just sorta thought of it.” You chuckle sheepishly. “Uh, did you guys ever dance in the Coral Sea? Is that even possible?”

He nods, his lips quirking up slowly behind the convex of his spoon. “It is very possible.”

“Right. Of course it’d be. Sorry, stupid question.”

“Not at all.” He tilts his head, licking the metal. “Have you ever danced before? Ah, allow me to amend my phrasing. Can you dance, or is that not part of your skill set?”

“I can! I’ll have you know I dance best when I’m trying to impress. And when I’m alone! I’m practically a professional.”

“You’re so practically, professionally delusional. How simple a life you must lead.”

“Not true! Also, rude!” Scoffing, you scoot away from the table, the chair legs squeaking in protest. With a huff, you hold your hand out. “I’ll prove it.”

Jade’s lips split apart in a wild grin, his face tinged pink under the dim amber glow of the kitchen lights. “Oh? And have you prepared yourself for the humiliation that will soon follow when you prove inadequate?”

“I hope there’s enough appetite left in that bottomless stomach of yours because you’ll be eating those words soon enough.” You smirk, cocking your head. “And don’t look so excited. This is a competition, not courtship.”

“And yet they become one and the same under the sea…” You miss his whispered musing, so instead he rises from his seat and bows before you. “Do try to avoid stepping on my feet.”

“Hah! You wish I was that bad!”

“I truly do.”

You brush past him, swaying your hips. The challenging lilt in your voice is a siren’s song, tickling his ears with tantalizing tones. “Only one way to find out, no?”

He stands there, watching the kitchen doors swing shut.

You don’t have to wait long, for he steps through seconds after to join you in the lounge. It’s strange to admire the interior after hours, so empty and devoid of the usual bustling energy it’s known for, but it’s not particularly unsettling. It’s a serene silence, broken only by Jade’s clicking steps as he covers the distance to reach you. Backdropped by the colorful aquarium, bathed in pretty purples and beautiful blues, you really are what the moon is to merfolk: utterly, indescribably breathtaking. Every part of you, from your infectious smile to the way you stand with such confidence, is so magnetizing it leaves him mesmerized.

With a flick of his magic pen, the lights in the lounge dim, giving way to stretching shadows and aquatic phantasms, and the speakers crackle to life. The sophisticated notes of a whimsical waltz come tumbling out. Jade smiles at you, his eyes bright and warm.

“May I trouble you to close your eyes?”

You can feel your own smile carving at your cheeks and so you obey, your lashes fluttering. “I’m trusting you just this once.”

“I shan't let you down,” comes his suave promise.

There’s a mystical tinkle and chime, a bright flash of light that tries to sear your eyelids, and then you’re wrapped up in a soothing warmth. Silk rustles and flutters, twining itself around your body like a boa. The accessories come next, draping across you like an ocean lapping at the shore.

At Jade’s gentle command, you open your eyes. He’s conjured a mirror, which allows you to see yourself dressed in an azure gown, its train swishing with every twirl you take. The ruffles and ribbons, in white and variations of lighter to darker blues, bounce when you, overcome with childish glee, shimmy. They settle in waves, refined in a way that speaks of marble and alabaster. Even the dress’s straps, made of pearl strands and cut out at the shoulders, fascinate you. It’s masterfully crafted, all the way to the snug, form-fitting bodice adorned with more pearls and a pretty bow with a rose. Like a cherry on top, the matching choker is secured around your neck.

Lifting the gown to reveal a pair of shiny black heels, you peer at the frilly white stockings, your mouth dropping open in awe. The mirror is magicked away, and now nothing stands between you and Jade.

“It’s so… It’s amazing,” you mutter, running your fingers over the shimmering fabric.

“A transient illusion befitting my moon princess. Ah, but your attire suggests otherwise… Perhaps you’re more of a jellyfish princess.”

You gasp, flattered beyond words. “Can I be both?”

“Greedy. Greedy.”

“You’re one to talk.” Rolling your eyes, you offer your outstretched hand. The corners of your lips twitch upwards. “Well, will you have this dance, loyal sidekick of mine?”

With his hand resting over his heart, he bows. “It would be an honor, Your Highness.”

The music swells just as his hand closes around yours, fingers twining, and the two of you settle into the proper stance. His other hand rests delicately on your waist, and for a moment you struggle to place your free hand somewhere. He smirks at you, his eyes narrowed in unspoken jeer. Your glower isn’t harsh in the slightest, for your scrunched features give way to a wide, toothy grin when you tug him towards you. His delight is palpable, and he falls into the pace you set with measured finesse.

It’s easy to recount the steps crucial to a standard ballroom dance, and you execute them as if it’s as natural as breathing. The two of you glide effortlessly across the sleek floor, your reflections cast in dappled light. Swaying to and fro like a marionette, your dress billowing behind you, you lift your gaze to his. He’s smiling—truly smiling!—and the sight fills you with satisfaction. You can’t explain it, but it’s so very wonderful to behold a side of Jade that isn’t the reticent walking danger he subjects the school to. Not that that side is bad. For all of the trouble he causes you, you don’t mind it.

You thought you could dislike him, if only to make it easier to pursue Floyd, but rather you gravitate towards the companionship he provides. And not because he’s a phony Floyd, but because he’s Jade.

“See? I told you I could dance.”

“I didn’t doubt you for a moment.”

“Said the liar.”

“My expectations were quite low to begin with.”

Jade twirls you with minimal effort, and you giggle, following the pace he sets alongside the magnificent tempo. You gaze into his mismatched eyes. He’s nothing like Floyd. Tonight he’s Jade, and for the first time that’s much better than any performance he could ever put on.

“I learned back home, but I never stuck with it because I didn’t have a partner to try the routines with. But then I was transported here and I found out Floyd loves to dance, so I practiced in hopes that one day I might be able to—whoa!”

He lowers you into a dip just then. Startled by the sudden change in position, you cling to him while your heart spikes up into your throat.

“Oops.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny.”

Jade smiles down at you, unaffected. “You’re a wonderful dancer.”

“I could’ve told you that.”

“You just did.” He lifts you up, spins you gracefully, and pulls you flush against his chest. “Your body says everything your lips do not.”

“Yeah? Then what am I saying now?”

Standing on the tips of your toes, you hook your arm around his neck and turn to smirk at him. His arm wraps around your stomach, firmly holding you in place against him, while his other hand splays across your chin, guiding your gaze towards his. You hold his stare with a smoldering determination, your hearts beating as one amidst intimate proximity. And then, with his eyelids fluttering to a near-close, he tilts your head further up, leaning down to capture your waiting lips in a soft, soulful kiss.

There are no squirming tongues, clicking teeth, or bloodied maws. Just a precious press of his mouth to yours, an unvoiced declaration of desire.

“That you’re immensely proud,” he whispers, his lips now centimeters from yours, “because you’ve proven my assumptions wrong. More than that, you hoped to catch me off guard.”

“And did I?”

“Why not read my body language and find out for yourself, hm?”

“Sly eel,” you mutter, impressed with his temerity. “You know that’s not gonna work on me. Not unless you’re Floyd.”

“Perhaps not.” Jade spins you out of his hold, disentangling the both of you from your propinquity. “But it’s worth a try, no?”

“A valiant effort.” You pull him along, easing back into the waltz like well-oiled clockwork. Your feet follow the steps in time with the tinkling melody. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Can’t get enough of me?”

He flashes his teeth at you in a menacing grin. “Is honesty not the best policy?”

“It is when you follow it.”

“In that case, we share a commonality.” His fingers crawl up your shoulder to brush the ribbon around your throat. “We’re both liars seeking the comforts of dishonesty.”

“Don’t group me with you.”

“Are you not just as shameless, or am I mistaken?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Yeaaah? Even though I’m Shrimpy’s favorite? Ain’t I the most congenial?”

Despite yourself, you laugh. “You think he’d say it like that?”

“Not in the slightest, and yet you’d still manage to fall for it.”

“Every time. Without fail.”

Exhaling a disconsolate breath, his smile thins and his eyes cloud over with despondency. “Very predictable.”

The two of you waltz until midnight, exchanging banter and recalling dance-related stories while gliding across an illuminated floor. Your gown falls away in diamond-shaped patches when you step out of the lounge and into the tunnel hall, now back in the clothes you were wearing when you first arrived. You frown when you catch sight of your plain reflection, the fast-paced, upbeat glamour of the evening withering into something slow and quiet. As if it was all but a fleeting dream.

“I can’t believe I’m admitting this,” you say after he’s caught up to you, “but I had fun tonight.”

Jade nudges you. “Ain’t it always fun when you’re with me? You sayin’ this is the only time?”

“Oh, shush.” You return his Floyd-like prodding with some of your own antagonizing pokes. “I had fun with Jade when he’s Jade. There. I said it. You’re not so terrible to hang out with.”

“What was that? I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch that.”

“You heard me.”

“One more time.”

“You wish.”

He chuckles. “I suppose I should return the favor. You aren’t so difficult to manage either.”

“That’s a completely different statement. And so backhanded, too!”

“Was yours not worded the same?”

You roll your eyes as the both of you exit Octavinelle via magic bubble. Pressing your palm against the smooth surface, you admire the endless sprawl of ocean, lit by deep-sea bioluminescence and the few artificial lights surrounding Octavinelle territory. Despite the creeping shadows and occasional darting of sea creatures, it’s prepossessing like a mystery. You’re so absorbed in your ogling, so transfixed by the aquatic scenery before you, that you fail to notice he’s watching you closely.

It’s so pretty… I wonder if Floyd thinks so every time he returns to Octavinelle. Or maybe it’s nothing spectacular to him because he lives this back in the Coral Sea. You spot Jade’s reflection then, your eyes zeroing in on his placid smile. Jade probably thinks the same. Actually, what even goes through his head? I can never tell.

With a contented sigh, you turn to slump against the bubble and cross your arms over your chest. “You don’t have to walk me back, you know. It’s out of your way.”

“No, but I insist.”

You shoot him a dubious look, wondering what it is he might possibly want in return for his act of goodwill. Unable to read his intentions, you resolve to take it as it is: a kind gesture.

“Well, thanks for being so chivalrous.”

Under a velvety sea of stars, Jade escorts you all the way to Ramshackle. You hurry to hold the gate open for him and he catches on to your scramble with pointed perception.

“In case you’re unaware, I am capable of doing good deeds without the need for compensation.”

“You’re such a liar!” you exclaim, shaking your head and ushering him through. “No Octavinelle student has ever said that and meant it.”

“Then I shall be the first.”

You swat at his arm and then skip ahead two stone steps. “Yeah, right. You’re way too opportunistic for that.”

Jade stops beside you at Ramshackle’s front door. “I’ve heard a new hire will be joining us. It would be quite convenient if she was made to do all of the work under the guise of training, wouldn’t you agree?”

“That poor new hire. I wonder who it could possibly be,” you say, your delivery flat and unamused. “It’ll be my first day. Have mercy on me.”

“I’ll consider it.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “I’m demoting you back to villain. No more sidekick privileges.”

“I hardly had any to begin with.”

“Hey! Not true! You—”

Just then, a cacophony of chortles pierce the air. You whirl and find three transparent heads poking through the front door, their features alight with mischief.

“Aah, young love. Takes me back.”

“To what? The last century?”

“Hah! I’m surprised you can even remember that far back!”

Your eyes widen to a comical size. “G-Ghosts?! What’re you doing here? How long were you listening in?”

“Long enough,” they answer in eerie unison, all giggles. Hungry for gossip as usual.

“You finally get your kiss with the Leech boy?”

“Yeah! We were waitin’ for ages.”

“Can’t really age anymore, though, but it sure did feel like an eternity. You’d think we’d be dead by now.”

“Oh, wait, we already are! Hah!”

“Sooo, didja get your kiss?”

Burning with embarrassment, you swat at the three of them, seething through your teeth. Your hands pass through their frigid apparitions no matter how much you flail. They reshape themselves with ease, laughing throughout the process.

“Ew, no! Wrong twin!” you hiss, shaking your head. “That’s Jade, guys. Jade.”

They peer past you at him. He smiles and lowers into a respectful bow. “Good evening.”

“So it is indeed Mr. Jade!”

“Apologies. We mistook you for your brother.”

“Greetings! Fine evening for a little smoochin’, don’tcha think?”

“Stop!” You gasp, your face hot with humiliation. “You’re making it worse! Please go back inside. I’ll be in in just a second.” Your attempt to push them through the door is made in vain, for they can’t be moved or touched. “Shouldn’t you guys be scaring Grim or something? Give me a break!”

Jade catches your wrist just as you attempt to bring your fist down against the door. The ghosts vanish into thin air, their cackles a haunting echo.

You huff, offended that they left before you could scold them. “Don’t listen to them. They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

He squeezes your hand to soothe your bubbling temper. “There’s no need to fret. They’re merely teasing.”

You’re slow to snatch your hand back. “Yeah. Well… Still.”

“Still?”

“It’s awkward!”

“You’ve made so many bold declarations regarding Floyd, so I was under the impression you weren’t capable of feeling even the tiniest shred of shame. If I recall, weren’t you begging to be bitten in the botanical garden? You wanted my teeth in your shoulder, did you not? You wanted ‘Floyd’ to mark you in such a way so that everyone would know—so that they’d see physical proof of our relations.”

Your mouth drops open in horror. He remembers that?

“S-Shut up! Stop talking!” You bound forwards, pushing him down the stairs and towards the exit. Jade allows this, covering each step without scrimmage. “Seriously, you just love to run your mouth, don’t you?”

“You’re more than welcome to remedy that. According to your friendly poltergeists, tonight is prime for kissing.”

“Kiss me and I’ll kick you in your kneecaps.”

“How cruel.” He feigns a pout, eyes glossing over. “Shrimpy’s so violent…”

You’re about to retort when you remember the kiss he snagged at the lounge during your waltz, and suddenly his crocodile tears are rendered ineffective.

You shove him through the gate, refusing to dignify his nonsense with a reply. “Goodbye! Farewell! Get out!”

“Sweet dreams, Shrimpyyy.”

“Yeah, yeah. Good night.” You flick your hand at him in a shooing motion before latching the gate shut. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jade.”

Shrugging off his Floydness, he returns to himself and pauses as if reflecting. He places his hands on the fence and leans closer to you. Without thinking, you meet him halfway. Before either of you can linger, he closes the distance to kiss your cheek.

“Officially Octavinelle,” he reminds you with a wink.

You stumble away so fast you almost trip. Jade chuckles behind his fist, annoyingly kittenish.

“I hate you.”

“You don’t mean that. Shrimpy loooves me,” he calls out in Floyd’s voice as he departs.

“As if, asshole!”

You scowl at his retreating figure until he’s a mere speck. Once he’s gone, you relax and rub at your face. The feeling of his lips is branded into both your skin and memory, and you fear it will remain like that for a long time. Not wanting to think about what that could mean, you spin on your heel, stomp the rest of the way to your dorm, and throw the door open.

“Ghosts, get back out here!” The authority in your voice morphs into uncontainable glee when you spot them peeking at you from the ceiling. You squeal and jump about the foyer, spinning and whooping all at once. “Oh my gosh! I have so much to tell you! Wake Grim—he’s gotta hear this!”

second part.

[beforeimdeceased]

IM SO HOOKED ON CRYBABY I NEED MORE OMG

CRYBABY! - (E.W) PT6

pairing: mean/cruel ellie x sensitive/emotional reader.

synopsis: you’ve had enough at this point.

a/n: the next chapter is already in the works and guys…things get so… like there’s no going back i think this is the end point 😭

i don’t care if it hurts

masterlist.

no one can get a word in before jesse breaks up the fight. “we go on in two minutes. get it together. fucking get cleaned up.” he pulls at ellie.

you’re baffled, really. such a silly word but it’s the only one you can use. abby never really got into fights, that you’d known of. she was one of your best friends. and you never had the heart to tell her about what ellie had done, so how did she figure everything out? why are you spiraling? ellie probably said or did something to get herself punched. maybe this has nothing to do with you?

“and i’m very excited to introduce our next performers. watching them go from garages, to performing on stages, to signing record deals has been a beautiful journey. i’m happy to say i’ve been here since the beginning. now please make some noise for, seattle revival!”

you and abby are sat backstage as you dress her wounds. you wait to hear a familiar string of notes from jesse as he starts their first song, but you’re surprised by ellie’s voice on the mic.

“guys i just want to start the show off by apologizing to someone very near a dear to me. a very special person in my life who i’ve hurt—“

“we love you ellie!”

“aww i love you too. i want to say i’m sorry to her because i did some really fucked up shit in the past and i hope that she can forgive me and that we can move past it.”

the crowd cheers.

“and go back to being lovey dovey girlfriends. please forgive me babe. it’ll never happen again.”

abby’s mouth falls so far to the ground you could stick your fist in it. her face has never turned red faster. “what the fuck is she talking about? you guys were—are dating?”

you frantically shake your head. “no abby she’s lying. i don’t know what she’s gaining from it either. i think we should go now.”

“and this next song is dedicated to her—“ she points to you, an employee tugs at you to make you more visible, pulling you to the stage. a spotlight falls on you. everybody’s phone is up. everybody’s flash is on. here come the waterworks, fuck. didn’t you say you weren’t gonna cry today?

and then a familiar string of notes plays. jesse and dina catch on quickly, and your heart seeps. there was no way she was playing this song right now.

“when you were here before.”

you’re taken back to that first rehearsal. stuffed in jesse’s parents garage on a gloomy day. you were sitting on a scratched up couch, petting his cat. ellie looked over to you with a smile on her face. “you listen to a lot of music?”

you nod. “i love music. i was honestly so excited to hear you guys are starting a band. i’ll be your first groupie! handmade merch and everything.”

she laughs before whispering something to jesse and dina, then returning to the mic. “we’re gonna dedicate this one to our first groupie.”

“couldn’t look you in the eyes.”

dina and jesse slipped off after that practice and you knew they’d gone to go fuck somewhere, so you stayed with ellie. “they have no idea how to be discreet about it.” you laugh. she shrugs. “good on them, atleast i’m not alone dealing with it anymore.”

she’d convinced you to grab icecream with her. nestled in the booth of the old restaurant over an icecream sundae. soft music playing from its speakers. it was nearly empty, and it had started to rain outside.

“so how long have you known jesse and dina?” you ask, dipping a spoon in your side of the sweet treat. she grabs a cherry from the top, popping it into her mouth. “since we were kids in highschool. those are my best friends. i’m excited to be starting a band with them, and i’m glad i got to meet you.”

you blush.

you’re crying now. onstage, you’re crying. you can feel the tears slipping down your cheeks and underneath your chin. you wipe at them but they just won’t go away. she was so sweet to you a couple years ago. she was the sweetest person you’d ever met. how could you even compare the person singing to you now, and the person you’d met back then?

then you get a glimpse of her. it’s in her eyes. you’re flashing back between that memory and now. her hand in yours, running through the rain. catching the bus back to jesse’s. staying up and watching movies all night. waking up the next day to the lovebirds apologizing, while you and ellie laugh about it so hard your stomachs started to ache.

and you’re conflicted because this is the same ellie that got drunk at a party and threw up all over you. twice. then the next day said, “atleast it was better than what you’d been wearing.” jesus, she was addicting. she’d hooked you in and completely destroyed you. your self esteem. and now she was trying to play nice?

out of the corner of your eye, before you can catch it, abby is walking onstage. she takes a moment to look at you, tears streaming down your face, and decides to turn around. she walks away and it takes you a minute to follow behind. calling for her. begging her to come back.

“abby stop. where are you going?”

“no, just stop. you’re pathetic. why do you take the shit she does? don’t you have any respect for yourself?”

you’ve never heard her speaking to you this way. between your head rushing from the crying and the whiplash you’re getting from her harsh words, you feel like you’re going to pass out. “i don’t just take it abby. how do you even know about that stuff—“

“because jesse and dina told me! i’m supposed to be your best fucking friend but you can’t even communicate the simplest of things. the things i know are hurting you inside. i was gonna— never mind. fucking forget it.”

and then she walks away, disappearing into a hallway. fading away slowly like a ghost. body blurred from your tears. you feel your feet get weak first, then you drop to your knees and onto the ground. huddling within yourself. letting all your tears fall.

the “seattle revival’s last show after party” is one you refused to miss. with everything happening between abby and ellie, you were more than prepared to let it all go. to get drunk or high or whatever the fuck, and stop feeling. this very thought picked you up off that floor, and led you to the dressing rooms. you enjoyed the rest of the show from there, wiping at your face so hard you felt like it would bruise.

when the band found their way into the dressing room, dina and jesse rushed over to comfort you. “i swear i’d bash her head in if it didn’t interfere with the tour. i’m sorry, i shouldn’t be apologizing for her but it’s the only way you’ll get a real one. i’m sorry.”

you had sat with the pain for long enough. you’d cried enough. you didn’t know where abby was or why she said what she did but it was your breaking point. if you were a house, she had pulled a loose brick. making everything collapse within itself. and tumble over everyone else in its path. you felt like…ellie. the world had darkened. the small light, the tiny bits of happiness in you, had melted away. you didn’t care anymore.

you get up to face ellie, her smile fading when her eyes meet yours. everything had left them. all that purity. all that love, was gone.

“honestly i’m over it. let’s go to the after party.”

[hellishjoel]

seven days, six nights

5.6k / pairing: joel miller x f!reader

← masterlist

summary: You get jumped in the QZ after a deal gone south and hide yourself from Joel to keep him safe. After eventually finding you and learning the truth behind your injuries, he heals you and promises revenge. 

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), post-outbreak Joel, living in the Boston QZ, somewhat established relationship, mentions of falling ill, mentions of hunger/starvation, mentions of weapons, mentions of sleeplessness, descriptions of a fight/brief assault, descriptions of bodily injury, talking about medical shit (and I ain't no doctor, I used google, don't sue me) thoughts and descriptions of murder (… isn’t he just so dreamy?), angst, light fluff at the end, half-ass edited (apologies in advance)

A/N: So happy to practice some post-outbreak writing! Enjoy this angsty one shot (inspired by this lovely ask!) that I fuckin loved writing. Dedicating this to @macfrog, as I pictured this entire plot with pixel Joel. 

“Joel, I’m so sorry, I lost you the battery-” “Someone stole it from you.” He corrects, shaking his head as a sinking feeling washes over you. Your eyelashes flutter as you feel a droplet of water land on your nose. You glance up at the sky, seeing the clear summer day has turned into dark clouds overhead threatening to flood the city in rain. Joel doesn’t look up, he stays watching you. You can’t seem to meet his eye contact. “But the battery-” “Don’t care about the battery right now, care about you.” 

Joel doesn’t know where you’ve been. You haven’t returned to his apartment in the QZ for days. He keeps track. Every time the sun rises and shines blistering beams of light into the quiet apartment until the moon replaces it and casts light silver streaks between the torn-up pieces of newspaper taped to the windows. Another day gone.

You had a routine. Make the smaller drops or pickups on your own, return to Joel, and report back to him with anything you think he might find useful or interesting. Five days ago, he sent you off to negotiate a truck battery with that West End District piece of shit, Robert. He shouldn’t have let you go alone. Fucking smugglers, you couldn’t trust any of them. Hell, Joel was even surprised you trusted him at first. He regretted not insisting on being by your side, even if it was just as your personal attack dog to keep Robert  on his toes. 

Despite Boston being one of the more “well-managed” QZs to still exist, the black market that emerged from it was just as strong. That’s where Joel came in. He figured if he could smuggle himself into one of the most protected quarantine zones in the country, he could smuggle just about anything else. 

Drugs, weapons, ammunition, illegally forged paperwork, counterfeit ration cards, you name it, and Joel could work it in or out of the city.  Joel’s reputation was usually enough to keep you both out of imminent danger as he became popular with not only the inhabitants of the QZ, but also with fellow smugglers. You all needed each other to stay alive, in one way or another. 

Don’t be mistaken; the Boston QZ wasn’t perfect. It went through its fair share of scares. Food sources dwindled occasionally, leaving people angry, starving, and rebellious. Fireflies were a constant nag on depleting military resources. The fighting never truly stopped. This partially made Joel’s life easier. When times got tough, people searched for Joel to procure particular goods to help keep them afloat or, more importantly, alive. 

That’s the problem Joel ran into after spending a night in FEDRA lock up. He was the one in need of supplies. 

Joel was sick. Not infected sick, not cordyceps sick, some kind of infection he got from poor sanitation in the lock-up that attacked its way through an open wound Joel had gotten. He didn’t know if it was from work duty or from the recent street attacks, hence his stay in the FEDRA lockup. No matter where he got it from, an infection in the bloodstream wasn’t easily curable. 

The doctors, what very few the QZ had, were scarcely treating the sick due to a lack of supplies. And Joel was only getting worse. 

He was fighting a high fever, his breathing was fucked, as was his heart rate. Only a few days into his symptoms, he was crashing. He was damn near on the devil’s doorstep. He wasn’t made for heaven’s gates. 

Joel didn’t have friends in the QZ, but there were certain high-powered people who needed items smuggled, too. And the guards paid him well to keep his mouth shut about what he saw going in and out of those gates after curfew. That’s why when one of his more popular clients heard Joel was an inch from  death, they sent you. 

You burst through his apartment, the door nearly flying off its hinges as you fled to his bedside. He pushed you away with what little strength he had at first, the infection was making him lose his damn mind. His skin was scarlet red, and he was clammy with sweat. He didn’t know you, you didn’t know him. But you weren’t going to let him die. 

“Joel, I’m here to help you, hold still.” 

Then you started your search, tearing Joel’s clothes off one by one until you found the sizeable cut on his upper bicep near his shoulder, a huge scrape from a metal blade that had gotten infected. The man had tons of scars, all in varying sizes, shapes, and places on his body. You didn’t know his past, but his body told his story. He was a fighter. 

Your fear was how far into sepsis Joel was. Any further or even just a few hours later, you might have witnessed his organs begin shutting down. 

Despite his hazy state, Joel was struck by your amount of supplies. You weren’t a Boston QZ doctor, he would remember a face like yours. It took a smuggler to know a smuggler, and you dealt in medical supplies. 

Joel passed out not long after you got there. You caught him up in the morning, you never left his side. You monitored him, kept checking his vitals, pumped him with water, shoved antibiotics down his throat, cleaned his wound before it could fester anymore, and tried to regulate his body temperature. This could have been a lot worse. It should have been a lot worse. 

This was your first time experiencing Joel Miller’s tenacious stubbornness. He wouldn’t fucking die, not last night, and not today. 

A few weeks later, with Joel improving, he picked up on you around town. The way you blended in with just about everyone else. Not much slipped past Joel these days with his eyes like that of an eagle. But you slipped right through his fingers, didn’t even know you existed,  despite running the same territory. 

That’s when he decided he wanted someone like you on his team. Not just for your medical skills, but the type of supplies you ran was in high demand. You never did tell him where you got it, or how it was funded, all he had to know was that you were in. And you have been in ever since. 

Joel introduced you to heavier smuggling, like weapons and bundles of cash. Even people for the right price. He taught you how to make fake documents of verification and how to forge other paperwork. This was a lot bigger compared to your clean syringes and medicine. 

You learned a lot from each other. You taught Joel patience, and to thank you for saving his life, he taught you how to orgasm in less than five minutes. 

The relationship you shared, if you could even call it that, wasn’t strictly a romantic one. Both of you were too guarded for something like that. But also, life was too short and unpredictable right now not to crave pleasure to erase the pain from the past. 

It was hard to admit, considering how independent you’ve grown since being accepted into the Boston QZ, but you were thinking about Joel in ways far beyond a slightly romantic relationship. He had protected you and cared for you in the Joel sort of way that’s hard to read but you know exists. 

Joel worked extra hours to hand you off extra ration cards, shaking his head and not looking at you when he said it was no big deal, just take’em. Or when he didn’t want you to stay in spare housing, he offered to let you live with him in his nicer, non-shared apartment. It was a small slice of heaven in this fucked up world. You liked him, hell, maybe it was more than like. 

That’s why when you got jumped by Robert’s guys on the way back to Joel’s with the truck battery, they damn near killed you. They left you passed out in the alley. Robbed you of your ration cards, stole back the battery, smashed your head so hard into the brick wall you had passed out. All you wanted to do when you came to was crawl to Joel. So you did. You were outside his door, beaten and bruised, about to knock. Then you just stood there and spiraled. 

You listened from the other side of Joel’s door to the floorboards creaking as he paced the old wooden beams. You were late and left him worried. He was waiting for you to come home. 

The thought made your stomach twist. You looked like shit. You knew what Joel was capable of. One look at your bruised and bloodied face would send him flying down the street with a rifle in his hands and a pistol shoved in the back of his jeans.  You couldn’t bear the thought of him getting hurt in a war with Robert. 

Joel was smart, a hell of a lot smarter than Robert, but their smuggling operations varied greatly. Robert was an arms dealer, with henchmen all around the QZ. Joel only worked with a handful of people, he kept his circle small. If Joel went after Robert, you were more likely to find him dead in the street than anything else. And you couldn’t do that to Joel, not after all he’s done for you. 

If Joel saw you hurt, he would kill Robert. He’d kill anyone that laid a finger on you. No one touches what’s Joel’s. Not merchandise, not weapons, not the pills he smuggles in and out of the QZ, and certainly not you. 

So you tiptoe back down the stairs and run to the spare housing blocks just before the curfew alarm sounds. What Joel doesn’t know won’t get him killed. 

---

Joel stands in line during the heat of summer, ration cards stuffed in his back pocket as he waits with others in the queue for a tray and some food. The dining hall was packed, and by the looks of other people’s trays, the food was low again. All he can think about is how he worked extra shifts all last week to get more ration cards for both of you. Without these cards, you were going hungry. You were supposed to be by his side, where were you? 

By day six, Joel was restless. He didn’t realize how accustomed he had grown to having you in bed beside him. All he could picture during his sleepless nights was his body spooned in behind yours, the heavy weight of his arm curled around your waist, being able to sense even the tiniest of movements. You’d push off his arm in the middle of the night, telling him that you just needed to use the bathroom or get some water. 

It wasn’t always like that, though. Sometimes, you have nightmares. Ones that left you shooting up straight in the middle of the night, gasping for breath, crawling backward in bed like something or someone was chasing you. Joel didn’t know everything about your past and vice versa, but he knew wherever you came from before Boston was a different form of hell. He would hold you in his arms, console you, wipe your hot tears, lay your head on the warmth of his chest, and tell you to level out your breathing by listening to the beat of his heart. He held you in his arms until you eventually fell back asleep. Most of the time, you’d wake up and wouldn’t remember a thing. 

What if nothing was wrong with you, and you just realized you didn’t want to be with someone as broken and battered as Joel? He didn’t make being in his company easy. He gave you a lot of shit, pushed you to the limits, told you on more than a handful of occasions he just wanted to be left alone. You’d ask about his daughter, the one he sparsely spoke about, and he’d bark at you until you regretted even thinking about her. He didn’t make things easy on you, but Joel did care about you. Even if he was shit at showing it. 

He pushed you away, maybe you took the hint and left him. 

On day seven, he started asking around about you, something he saved as a last resort. The less you two were seen together, the better. You had him worried sick, and he was damn near ready to raid Robert’s warehouse to see if he had taken you, made you his girl against your will.  

That was until he caught a glimpse of you going past the market. It didn’t take much, he recognized your figure and trailed you with his eyes.  You were walking towards spare housing, with a heavy backpack and a sweatshirt on. Your arms were wrapped securely around you, and your head was down. 

He navigated through the crowds, jaw tight, putting down heavy steps on the broken gravel road as he pushed people out of his way with a guided hand on their shoulder. He followed you out of the crowd and down the street lined with stone barricades and rubble from a recent building that was raided by patrol on the hunt for Fireflies. You turned sharply down an alleyway, and Joel followed you, needing to see if you were okay, looking for answers. 

As soon as Joel took the alley, he was attacked and harshly shoved backward, his shoulder blades smacking the red brick wall behind him. A small switchblade was then shoved against the protruding vein in his neck, heated puffs of breath leaving him. He initially panicked in the moment, his hand tightening around the wrist that held him there.

“Why the hell are you following me?” You bark at him, head still lowered. Joel’s eyes narrow at the sound of your voice. 

He speaks your name.

Your strength relaxes, and you lift your head up to see you had pinned Joel. Shit, you thought one of Robert’s men was following you from town. You let out an exhausted breath of relief. 

“You’re really holdin’ me up with the knife I gave you?” Joel asks. He smacks the back of your hand, reflexes making your fist open up and lose the grip on your switchblade. Joel snags it with his free hand and glares at you. He takes the opportunity to shove your forearm off his chest, the one that was pinning him against the wall, and sending you a few paces back from the force he exerts. He hesitates but folds the blade back into the handle, and offers it back to you.

You let out a sigh of relief to see that it was just Joel. But this was still a problem. 

You retrieve the switchblade you accidentally surrendered to him and stuff it into your sweatshirt pocket. You cross your arms and look away to the entrance of the alley. “What the hell are you doing following me, Joel?”

He lets out a scoff through his nose and shoots daggers out of his eyes that you won’t meet. “What the hell am I doin’? Where the hell have you been?” He tries not to bark so loud. You won’t stop staring at the entrance of the alley, and Joel’s not sure if you’re thinking about running or thinking about being ambushed. 

He grabs your arm and drags you further into the alley, sunset on the horizon. He brings you to the back of an old school that was ready to collapse. He pushes you back against the wall and stands close, too close. 

“Answer me, what the hell happened to you?” His voice shoots goosebumps across your skin, low and growling for answers. 

The grip he has on your arm tightens and washes a flood of heat over your injured arm. Your mouth hisses with hurt, trying to breathe through the pain. You shake him off of you and clutch your arm lightly. “‘M fine, Joel, I can manage.” 

You’re speaking with a break in your voice that Joel can’t quite place. The hood you’re wearing is working overtime to shield your face. 

He pauses before he slowly looks over you. “Why are you wearin’ a sweatshirt in the middle of summer?” 

The silence he’s met with only leaves him more curious. What are you hiding? He swiftly pushes the hood off your head before you can stop him, and he’s not prepared for what he sees. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, his large hands delicately coming up and caressing your cheeks.

You sigh and roll your eyes. The skin around your right eye is blueish-purple. You lightly twinged at the contact, no matter how delicate he was being. “It’s not as bad as it seems, it doesn’t hurt-”

“Like hell it doesn’t,” Joel mutters, lightly taking your chin between his thumb and index finger as he angles your face from left to right, allowing him to get a full look at the damage done to you. You glance down at his broken watch for comfort, the band fraying and the glass shattered, but he still wore it. 

You can’t exactly explain why your lower lip starts to wobble. It was so hard to stay away from Joel, to distance yourself, but it was all for keeping him safe. Your small fists lightly clutch the button-up shirt he’s wearing around his abdomen, finally feeling a slight sense of security. 

“Joel, I’m so sorry, I lost you the battery.”

“Someone stole it from you.” He corrects, shaking his head as a sinking feeling washes over you. Your eyelashes flutter as you feel a droplet of water land on your nose. You glance up at the sky, seeing the clear summer day has turned into dark clouds overhead threatening to flood the city in rain. Joel doesn’t look up, he stays watching you. 

You can’t seem to meet his eye contact. “But the battery-”

“Don’t care about the battery right now, care about you.” His thumb gently examines the cut on your lip. You curl it inwards to stray from his touch. “Robert do this to you? His guys?” Joel’s asking accusingly, and you know better than to lie to him. You swallow the growing lump in your throat and gently nod, blinking back tears. 

His face grows taut with anger, his brows furrowing and the creases in his forehead are set in stone. His jaw is clamped shut while he grits his teeth. Joel’s probably thinking of a million scenarios of how to put Robert down. Which way would last the longest, string out the torture, make him apologize to you, and beg for his life. Make him apologize to Joel for ever touching a hand on what was his. 

“Joel, you need to take a breath. Focus.” The last thing you wanted was for Joel to go on a rampage tonight in search of Robert. “I’m fine, this shit happens. We’ll get back on track and-”

“Can’t believe they let you live.” He murmurs, taking a look at the damage that he can visibly see before lightly sighing and releasing your face. You’re quick to pull the hood back up and cross your arms in front of you as some sort of shield. 

His eyes are sunken in, his chest is lightly heaving as he tries to sort through his muddled thoughts. The rain is starting to scatter more, hitting your muddy sneakers and Joel’s dark denim shirt. The setting sun meant curfew was just around the corner. 

“Come on. We’re goin’ home. Need to take a look at you in the light." You hesitate but his eyes are pleading for you to just let him take care of you.  So you let him. 

---

You travel up the same staircase you did just a week ago, limping and injured, broken and feeling guilty. Joel needed that battery for the truck. He was going to leave Boston and go to find his brother, Tommy. Neither of you had discussed if you would come with. For Joel, you think you might do just about anything for him if he asked. 

He stabs his key into the lock of his door. You hear a crying baby in a neighboring apartment, it was probably startled awake by the blaring of the curfew alarm. Lightning and thunder crack outside as Joel pushes open the door. You follow him inside and set down your backpack by the door like you usually do. Another strike of lightning makes his apartment flood itself with white-silver streaks of light, if only for a moment. Joel flips the lock back into place and hits the switch to the one overhead light in between the kitchen and the living room. You’re sweating up a storm in your sweatshirt. 

Though living in Boston’s QZ wasn’t great, you had to admit that not every quarantine zone had clean water and electricity. Joel had an old standing oscillating fan that was stationed at the foot of his bed during the summers since he ran so warm all the time. He said he traded about four or five meals worth of ration cards to get it, said that it was considered a steal. You shed the heavy material of your sweatshirt and sit tiredly down at the end of his bed, closing your eyes as the fan wicks away your sweat and cools your face. 

Living in spare housing the past week was hell. You barely slept. The homeless, sick, and injured all found their way to spare housing. You weren’t safe there. And you didn’t have any ration cards to your name. You had to trade one singular, perfectly clean syringe to afford four rolls of bread. It was all you could get at the time being. Everyone was fighting for work, knowing ration cards and food were low. Since you were still somewhat new to the QZ, you weren’t given privileges. You laid on a nasty, old cot for a week. Joel’s small apartment was heaven. The solitude was peaceful. 

Joel was standing at the sink, water running over a cloth as he stared down at the water circling the drain. He needed to take a breath, set his anger aside, and get you to talk. 

Joel wrings out the rag, loose droplets of water splattering in the sink before he sits down at his small wooden kitchen table. “C’mere.” He whispers, taking your attention away from the fan. You slowly stand up and make your way to the table under the central light in his living room, sighing softly as you slowly sink into the accompanying chair. Now in the light, he observes your injuries closer. 

Without your sweatshirt on, he can see bruises and scrapes along your arms, residual blood on your knuckles and under your nails. His little fighter. He notes that your tanktop is a bit shredded, and he fears the worst. 

You catch him staring and intervene. “Don’t worry. I didn’t let them get close enough to touch me like that.” You glance down at the sweaty tank top and lightly tug on the hole. “Just got this while I was running away, trying to hop a fence.” 

Joel frowns and slowly works his eyes over you. “‘S not like you to get caught. You’re pretty damn fast.”

You held down a bubble of laughter as your fingers played with the fraying material of your top. “Yeah, well, they already got one or two good hits on me, so I was a little hazy.” Your words don’t settle him. They infuriate him. 

He brings his attention to your face. Your eye must have been swollen at one point, but it wasn’t anymore. The puffiness had gone down, and the bruises were in their final stages of healing. You have another more prominent bruise on your cheekbone, black and blue, but it’s not broken. That’s good. The cut on your eyebrow and the matching one on your lip catches his attention. A man with a ring. 

“Red hair? Crooked nose, missing a front tooth?” 

You blink a few times rapidly, curious as to how the hell Joel knew the characteristics of one of your attackers. 

“How did you…” You start to say until your words trail off, shaking your head in confusion. 

Joel sneers lightly and brings the wet rag up to gently dab at the cut on your lip. “Not a lot of men are stupid enough to wear a ring that basically signs their name on whoever’s face they’re knocking in.” How he describes your fight makes you flinch and shift uncomfortably in your chair, evading his eye contact. “Sorry.” He mutters quietly. “His name is Chase, Jase, somethin’ stupid like that. One of Robert’s guys.” Joel’s words lightly flitter off as he shifts his attention to your lip once more. 

It was still swollen and angry. You probably tried to eat with it still agitated and delayed its healing. But you know this already. You ate because you didn’t have a choice. It was that, or starve. He hated knowing you were roaming the streets in a horrible hunger, especially when he had ration cards waiting for you at home. 

Your eyes twitch closed as Joel’s wet rag rinses the blood out of the cut on your lip, the old excess blood lightly trickling into your mouth. Your tastebuds catch the tang of metallic and salt. You did what you could with the medical supplies you had, but you didn’t want to waste on yourself what you could potentially sell. If you were avoiding Joel for a while, you needed to be able to make trades of your own. You did use some supplies to clean the cut on your head. You were lucky the wall you were thrown into didn’t leave you with a concussion. 

Joel is still wrestling with why the hell you didn’t come home, why he had to go out and find you. Why, why, why? Why did he let you go alone? Why did the deal go south? A terrible feeling soured his stomach.  Robert’s men were ruthless, they must have felt kind enough to let you live. Or it was a message to Joel from Robert. You’re next. 

Joel wasn’t scared of Robert, but for them to be scared of a young woman was a mystery for the masses. 

He tosses the rag down on the table and stands up. “I’ll fuckin’ kill ‘em.” He grunts up, his lips snarling and his nostrils flaring in heated fury. 

He storms to the kitchen and impatiently fills up a glass of water. Joel was fantasizing about plunging his thumbs into Robert’s eye sockets and squeezing until his head turned into mush. Or maybe Joel could take him to the Eastern district, throw him in the Massachusetts Bay, and hold him underwater, only bringing him up from the brink of drowning before pushing him down again. And again. And again. 

Your sweet voice breaks Joel’s murderous thoughts. “Joel, I owe you the battery, and I promise I’ll find another one. Just give me a little time and-”

Joel slams the glass of water on the counter, the clatter of it echoing around the room. “Don’t care about the damn battery!” His back is to you, broad and strong shoulders heaving lightly as his head hangs low. His hands are gripping the edge of the counter. “Thought they fuckin’ kidnapped you! Or worse!”

You shift uncomfortably in your chair, your lower lip wobbling once more as he slowly starts shaking his head. 

“I almost lost you, and it’s my fault.” 

Your eyes soften at his words. He’s felt this way before, and he’s been haunted by the mistake ever since. His daughter, you think. 

His low, southern drawl makes you focus on him once more. “Tell me why you hid. Why didn’t you come to me? We could have figured things out, for fuck’s sake!” He shouts as he turns to face you, his body falling back into the counter as he crosses his arms. 

Your chest swells with heavy emotion. You stand up so fast from your chair that its sent scraping backward. “I did come here! I did! I heard you inside and I..” you pause and shake your head, still finding your voice. 

“I was scared you’d be upset with me letting someone steal the battery, I was afraid you’d go after Robert and get yourself fucking-- killed, Joel! I don’t want you to die, okay? I need you!” 

“And I need you!” He shouts back, lips parted with heavy breaths, both of you trying to settle with the newly shared revelation. 

You both stare at each other from across the room, watching as Joel’s jaw slowly begins to click loose. He shoves himself up off the counter and closes the distance between you two. You hesitantly take a step back, and he pauses his footsteps. His eyes soften, and he looks as broken as you do. 

“Please,” he pleads, gently shaking his head. “Would never hurt you, baby.” He puts his hand out, a gesture of kindness and warmth that you’d missed all week, yet you still hesitate. You almost wait too long, he’s already reeling his hand back into his side. 

“Joel,” you whisper with soft relief. You eagerly take a few steps forward, ignoring his hand, and gently settle your head on his chest as you tightly squeeze your arms around his lower back. You close your eyes and melt into him, finding solace in Joel’s embrace. 

Joel’s arms stay hovering in the air for a moment, lips parted as he looks down at the top of your head. He shames himself for even hesitating. He puts one hand on the side of your head and holds you to his chest, while the other settles low on your back. He breaths peacefully for the first time in a week. 

You stay like that for who knows how long. He’s warm, and you feel protected. You sink into his arms, he takes on your weight. He walks you backward to the foot of his bed once more, letting you delicately fall back into the mattress. You watch with tired eyes as he unties the laces of your sneakers, one after the other. He shucks down your jeans, making you giggle. 

“Joel, you don’t wanna fuck me right now, I smell like spare housing.” 

The right side of his mouth twitches up as he shakes his head at you. “I know you do. ‘M takin’ you to shower.” 

You sit up on your elbows as you smile a bit bashfully at him. “Good. Because I’m too sore to fool around anyway.” You whisper with a teasing smile as you grab the bottom of your tank top, peeling it up and off of your sticky skin. Joel tries not to stare. You’re not sure if he’s clocking your naked figure or the bruising around your ribs and legs. 

You’d need some time to heal. Joel knows you do. While you shower, he makes you as big of a feast he can muster up with the canned goods he has in his cupboards. You try to eat the first real meal you’ve had in a week slowly, to savor the taste, but you end up shoveling your spoon into the bowl and scraping it clean.  

Joel’s eyes are on you the whole time, watching you, observing you. He won’t let you out of his sight for a while, but maybe that’s what’s good for you. You meet his gaze and he speaks a silent vow. We’ll find Robert, steal the battery back, then kill him and anyone else who laid a finger on you. He nods. You nod too. 

Joel’s not sure how late it is by the time you two fall into bed together. He doesn’t know how to tell you how much you mean to him, but he says it in the way he holds you. Back in his arms, he’s more alert of how sore you are from your fight. He gently cups your face, watching your eyes slowly flutter closed with long blinks. You must be so tired. And he doesn’t want to keep you awake. He’s afraid to look away, like if he lets you out of his sight, you’ll disappear again. 

He speaks your name and gently stirs you awake. “Hm?” You softly murmur, bringing your hand up and gently feeling over the planes of Joel’s chest, fingers lightly grazing his chest hair. 

He looks down at you for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. “Don’t run away like that again.” His words are stern before he pauses again,  lightly pushing some hair behind your ear and touching you like a delicate flower. You watch him attentively. He cups your jawline and angles you to look up at him.  “We’re takin’ that battery back, and we’re gettin’ the hell out of here. You hear me?” 

Your heart swells at his words. We. You slowly nod in agreement. You feel Joel’s gentle kisses on your forehead and the tip of your nose. You lean up to capture his lips, but he falters by an inch. A confused expression crosses your face. 

“You’re hurt.” He mutters, referring to the cut on your lip. Don’t wanna hurt ya, sweet girl.

You roll your eyes and take his face in your small hands. “Don’t care.” You whisper before you pull him in, and the two of you share a featherlight kiss. You let it last, both of you soaking it in after a week apart. A week too long. 

Joel’s the first to pull away, giving you a playful little glare. The bruising on your face reminds him of the boxing movies he grew up watching. “Easy, Rocky.” 

You look at him confused and cock your head. “Who?”

He rolls his eyes at you and sighs, gently running his hand down your side. “Go to sleep. I’ll teach you about Rocky one through five tomorrow. D’you at least get a few good hits on Robert or his guys?”

You hum quietly and let your eyes dip closed. “Mhm.”

“Like I taught ya?”

“Just like you taught me. Gave ‘em the ole left, right, goodnight." You bring up your fists to demonstrate. "Made Robert’s nose bleed, think I broke it.”  

Your head falls into Joel’s chest, feeling it rumble with laughter and a sense of pride. “That’s my girl.”

His body shields you from the outside world. You sleep like a rock for the rest of the night. You live another day, and so does Joel. But with Joel’s promise, you know Robert’s days are numbered. You’ll be sure of it. 

---

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[thesuperiorrobin]

𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐚𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞~

Pairing: HockeyPlayer!Damian Wayne x Reader

Word count: 1.9k

Warning: mentions of blood, slight cursing, might not be accurate to real ice hockey so I apologize in advance.Damian being a demon on the ice, I wrote Damian OOC, mostly likely, he’s just in love

Damian looks flawless in ice, I’m just going to put that out there. I know he would.

He gets a bit carried away, ramming people up against the walls. That’s what he’s known for when he’s on the ice so the other team tries to stay far away from him, but also try to take the puck from him. Never really works out.

Always get penalized for it too and put in penalty for 2-5 minutes. Is pissed off at that for no reason.

The MAIN reason why his team wins. (Most of the time)

Really loyal to his team. If the opposite side ‘accidentally’ hurts his teammates he’s the first one to skate over to them. Might throw the first punch but it depends 🤷‍♀️ (100% will throw the punch no matter what :))

He gets hurt a lot. Whether it’s him digging with other or simply ramming into thing to hard , theres bound to be blood, a lots of it sometimes. But he always comes back with bandages around the wounds or maybe stitches.

If he does get hurt he puts out a little signal that only you know telling you he’s okay.

His signal in telling you that he’s going to make a goalie and dedicate it to you is literally stopping right in front of you and placing his gloved fist on the clear barricade, giving you a grin.

Buys you the tickets to go to his game. You never miss one. That’s because he says your his lucky charm during the games. That’s why his team wins all the time.

First row right next to his team where he can keep an eye one you and hold small conversations before it’s his time to go back on the ice

Likes to show off.

A lot. Only does it to impress you 

Gives you the puck he made a goalie and won with (is that allowed?)

The crowds get louder and louder as the seconds count down. You're anxious and you don't know why. Damian’s team and the opposing team are tied with points. You’ve noticed Damian’s actions get more violent as time goes on. The more violent he got the more penalties he got which is a time out on the benches. Which means the other team gets a chance at scoring a point without Damian roughly ramming them against the wall. You’re cheering him on as he glides against the ice, but soon find yourself taking a break from the yelling.

Your eyes follow his figure as he glides against the ice, hockey stick in hand as he moves the puck back and forth against the base of the stick. There’s another figure coming for him, one from the opposing team. You cringe, knowing what’s about to happen to the poor person.

Lucky it wasn’t another penalty, but you would hear the crowd gasp witnessing the sight for what seemed like the nth time in less than twenty minutes. But, every time he did get a penalty and put in the penalty box, or as you call it the time out box, you can’t help but laugh. Knowing that Damian was put out for being rough much like how a small toddler would be put in the corner for not listening at all. It was always such a funny sight. Damian rams into the person hard, knocking him down.

“OH!” Dick says from behind you “that’s gotta hurt!” You know he wasn’t talking to you but you hum and nod. Dick and the others know first hand how rough he can be, having been practicing with him last time it didn’t end will with. “I think he gave him a concussion” Tim was also behind you sitting next to Dick, while Jason was no where to be seen.

‘Probably went to go shove his face with food’

Despite being on the other team you feel bad for them and the bruises they’ll be getting the following day. Not to mention the sore body’s they’ll have to work through. You’ve been sitting in the same spot for more than an hour with each game period being at least twenty minutes long, with fifteen minute breaks. Maybe they were shorter but you really couldn’t tell.

Damian misses his shot by a few inches away from the goalie, not being able to stop in time he slams himself up against the wall, the people behind it cover their mouths out of shock and you slap your forehead, shaking your head as you watch him brush it off and continue to play. However, his coach calls him out to replace him with another teammate. He compiles but has a sour look on his face, once he reaches the dry ground he throws his stick. Clearly angry and frustrated all you could do is watch for a while as he takes off his helmet, hair slightly damp from the sweat—giving him helmet hair, all messy and pointing in different directions. It makes you laugh a little. But your sudden mood changes quickly as he sits down head in his hands—running over his sweaty black locks. You don’t think twice as you tap on the screen that keeps his and your row apart.

Damian has good hearing with a small sound so it wasn’t hard to hear you tapping away. He turns to your directions, giving you a small nod. You frown and tilt your head down a little and he rolls his eyes knowing what you're implying and gives you a forced smile. You give him a thumbs up as he scoffs, he watches carefully as you pull out your phone and type away. His eyes never leave you until you place your phone, screen side up against the clear glass divider. Green eyes squinting as he reads away:

‘don’t worry. You got the next goal. I know it!’

That sentence alone makes his heart swell. Damian takes off his right gloves and pats his chest—right where his heart would be two times. A way of saying he appreciate the small gesture.

You take your phone off the glass and erase the previous sentence replacing it with a new one—placing it back on the glass: ‘Have a plan for when you get back on the ice? He quickly reads and nods his head. At least he has a plan, you thought and place your phone back in your pocket. Hands shaking for the cold and lack of warmth you had for them considering the fact that you had forgotten your mittens at home. You focus your attention back on the game. The opposite team ahead by one point— but Damian’s team can do good without him for a while.

He’s out for about half of the game until his coach decides to replace him with another one of his teammates. He taps on the glass to get your attention and once he has it, he Winks at you before making his way back on the ice.

“So are they losing or what?” A familiar voice says beside you and you turn your head, Jason takes his seat next to you with two cups in his hand. “Where the hell have you been?”

“The line for hot chocolate got long” he hands you one “I got you one too, know you stressing over the Demon playing Disney on ice right now” the warm drink warms up your hands a little.

“Thanks. That’s nice of you Jason” You ignore the comment and he hums before he takes a sip of his one drink, eyes scanning the ice before he yells out with the audience. Someone from the Damian team made a shot and they’re tied with the other team.

You go back to cheering him on, the warm drink soothing your throat from all the yelling earlier. It’s later forgotten as you place the half empty cup on the ground right beside your foot— watching the minutes pass by quickly like seconds.

Your heart skips a beat, and not in a good way when the other team shoots their shot but thankfully they fail. With time becoming shorter and shorter it was only a matter of time before Damian took matters into his own hands and his teammates are quick to learn to stay out of it when the time was cutting short and they were off by a point or two, or in this case tied, They had faith in him and so did you.

The seat is now cold from your absence, you’re up on your feet cheering and screaming right along with his brothers who seem to be cheering louder than you. Your eyes glued to Damian as you try to keep up with his figure. He has the puck, sliding it back and forth against the curve of his stick once more.

You don’t have time to think—especially when his helmet makes a horrible sound right up against the clear barrier as one of the players from the opposite team slams into him harshly. Right in front of you as you flinch back. Cheering can be heard from the opposite side of the ice rink which is where the other team supporters were.

Your side falls silent, few gasps and murmurs could be heard. Damian’s back up on his feet, his gloved fist pressed up against the clear barrier. His eyes locked on yours with a glint of mischief and something else. One of those grins grace his lips, one that makes you smile as he waved at you before he leaves.

He’s much faster this time and it makes you think if he was slacking off all this time—or maybe it was the adrenaline that runs high in his veins with these last few minutes. He was going to make a goal, dedicating it to you. Your body feels warm and your heart skips.

“ Ohh~ I know that look” Jason teases from beside you, Dick and Tim are leaning down giving you cheeky grins.

You roll your eyes trying to hide the smile that tries to form itself on your lips “I don’t know what you mean.” You play stupid as you glance back at the game.

fifty seconds left of the last game, everyone seemed to be cheering and calling out those who were on the ice. Damian pays no mind to his teammates as they let him do what he needs to do. You cheer for him, calling out his name. Despite there being hundreds of others yelling out at the same time his mind blocks them out, every single one of them but you. they get louder the minute he gets ahold of the puck swiftly, quickly making his way to the goalie.

His main priority was to get the puck around the goaltender and into the net. He was doing this all for you and you knew that. Those fifty seconds go by quickly, as if you’ve blinked and when you open your eyes ten seconds we’re now left. Everyone counted down, even you. It felt like time went slower once it hit that five second mark, you’ve quiet yourself down and the only thing you can hear is the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. You watch Damian has he left up his stick and takes a hit.

Pointing and loud gasp could be seen and heard, half of the ice rink goes quiet—as if the loudness would mess up his plan. Right as the Puck glides under the goaltender and into the net the timer makes a sound—indicating that the game is now over and Damian scores a point, officially breaking the tie. Relief washes over you, hands thrown in the air as a yell of excitement leaves you as Damian’s brothers cheer alongside you. The other side slouches, defeated as your side basically rubs it in their fasts by how loud they were being, but you didn’t care.

A win is a win.

You can see Damian, as he is pulled into a group hug by the rest of his team, some patting his pack and some patting his helmet and shoving it gently as a gesture. The part you don’t notice is him escaping from the group and skating to the Net where he had thrown the puck before he picked it up, waving it in the air like some sort of trophy—however, in this context, it was. He shows it off with pride, making his way towards you.

With a loud yelp you’re picked up by the others, Jason, Dick, and Tim, as they lift you up until you're basically above the spectating glass. Your lover stands below on the other side with his arm stretched out high, he waits. With the help of the others, they hold on to you as you lean done and over the glass.

Your own arm stretches down as you grasp the puck in your hand. His gloves are now off and so is his helmet, his hair pointing in all directions much like earlier when he was away on a penalty, his warm hand grasping yours with the puck still in your hand

“I did that just for you, habibti!” Eyes glistening, you Can’t really tell if it’s from his sweat or his love for you.

“I know!” You laugh “I love you!”

“And I too, love you!” The crowd fills itself with loud cheers and small ‘awes’, watching the sight of the son that belonged to billionaire Bruce Wayne was a rare sight to see, considering how he would rather keep private about his relationship with you.

His warm lips connected to the coldness of your knuckles , making a mental note to bring an extra pair of gloves just for you in the future.

“If you lean down further you’re going to eat shit”

“shush I’m having a moment here”

“just saying”

Tried to make it as accurate as possible bc, again I know nothing about ice hockey. I had googled the rules and watched videos

And god knows how many references pictures I tried to find about hockey. Probably spend like an hour trying to find them just to draw Damian :|

I will be taking a short break from writing requests just bc school is starting in like a few days or so. So I can get my life together and actually have time to mentally prepare myself and fix my schedule seeing as I’ve been up most night until 6 am and waking up at 2pm.

[recreationalfanfics]

I Won't Say I'm In Love: RoR Loki x Reader

Requested by Anon: Hi! Could you do a loki one shot or headcanon! Maybe he's in denial on having a crush on a nurturing type human? And maybe him realizing it is a crush (Love your writing btw)

You were one of the human healers who helped humanity’s champions heal after their unfair win against the Gods and even a champion of humanity selected by Brunhilde herself. The green-haired god honestly didn’t understand why she chose you, you were boring, at least in Loki’s eyes. You were a renowned humanitarian when you were alive, Loki recalled when he saw your draft name, described as an angel on earth because of how dedicated and skilled you were in your craft. You revolutionized a lot of medical history, working miracles that were almost supernatural as people who were nearly as good as dead were able to live their lives once again because of your excellent work, but it was your tender nature and passion for the well being of others that made you memorable. Sadly, if there was a prize for rotten judgment, there surely would be no fitter winner than the God of Deceit himself since he was not so convinced that  you were as good as everyone said you were.

Even when his fellow Gods sang your praises, begrudgingly albeit, he still had his doubts. No human is a saint, not even the ones that were known for passion and love for the earth. Not that he cared much about those types of humans, it was just a fact of life that all humans were wicked to some degree, and it appears that you might just be better at hiding that cruelty than other philanthropic figures in history. In other words, aside from your healing abilities, you were nothing special. 

So why can he not stop thinking about you?

When you healed some of Sasaki Kojiro’s more severe wounds from Poseidon, the ones that needed to be treated right away, Loki’s eyes felt fixated as you worked diligently and somehow managed to reverse the damage that was created by a God. You, a mere human, smiling and comforting the swordsman as you worked on his wounds. Despite finding you dull compared to your fellow champions of humanity, Loki’s mind sometimes would trail back to that gentle and warm look you had on your face as you did it. You were attractive but by no means by a God’s standards, so he didn’t understand when he’d be pulling tricks and doing his usual antics that that image of  you would randomly pop back into his head. Why would he even be thinking about you when you were just an insignificant little mortal?

When the rest of the pantheons met up together, if your name was ever mentioned, Loki seemed to be a bit more interested in the conversation or he’d zone out, not really sure what he was thinking but knowing that his thoughts would eventually form your shape in his mind. It was frustrating honestly, putting him in a bad mood, and making him even more horrible and unpredictable than he already was. Thor and Odin, who were usually the best at predicting the moody deity’s mood and the source of his frustration, were at a loss for his recent behavior. They almost considered talking to him about it…almost.

After provoking another God who was a lot faster than Loki originally had thought, he growled angrily and irritably as he held his side where the God had attacked. He didn’t even know what he was thinking at that time, all he knew was that the way the God spoke down on you….well, he didn’t mention your name but when he was lecherously describing a certain human healer and how he’d love to add them into his concubine, it just bothered him for some reason.

His mind screamed at him to get a grip on himself, that he didn’t even care about you and now here he is, bleeding for you. Sure, maybe you were always one of the more politer and sophisticated of your kind, showing the Gods respect, including Loki (who was usually and rightfully treated as a ticking time bomb or a wild animal that can attack any second). But surely that wouldn’t be enough for him to like you.

 He stopped in his tracks.

Like you? Why did he think that? He didn’t like you!...Right?

He hisses in pain as he grips his side again, feeling some of the stinging pain. No, of course he didn’t like you, you were just a human, and he was a God. A being who was above you in so many ways, it’d be an insult if he ever allowed himself to stoop so low as to consider you as a love interest for him.

“Lord Loki?” A familiar voice called out to him.

He turned around, his tunic still soaked in blood along with his hand, and he saw you. There was concern on your face, but you knew better than to panic and freak out. You still run over to his side and try to inspect the wound.

“What happened to you?” You asked him in concern, he blinked, clearly dumbfounded, before pouting and looking away.

Great, speak of the measly human. Not only did you invade his mind but now, you got see him in a rare moment of weakness. If it were any other God or human, they’d laugh at his injures the fact that karma appeared to catch up to him…but not you. You inspect him a bit before speaking up again, “Lord Loki, can I please inspect that?” 

“It will heal.” He hisses, although he didn’t mean too. You nod your head in understanding and give him the same smile that you gave Sasaki when you healed him, it felt...nice to be on the receiving end. 

“Of course but at least allow me to see to it that’s properly taken care of, it looks pretty nasty and I’d hate to see anything heal wrong.” You convinced. He rolled his eyes, the only reason he was like this was because of you...Still, there was something about those (e/c) eyes of yours that he couldn’t deny, so with a small grumble, he raised his arm and allowed you to inspect the wound while ordering you to; “Make it quick, mortal.”

      Turns out his tunic was a lot more damaged than he had expected but luckily, the wound simply needed to be cleaned up and patched up. Taking out the medical kit you always had on you, you began to clean it. Loki simply watched you in silence, his purple eyes gazing and scrutinizing you. Only to soften once he felt your fingers brush against his exposed skin as your started to clean around the wound.

     “I’m sorry.” You apologized, not looking up at him and focusing on your work. He doesn’t respond, he just continues to stare. You were very...gentle.

     With every brush of your finger, a foreign warmth would bloom in his chest and soon his gaze softened as he stared at you. He...he can’t recall the last time someone had treated him so lovingly and gently before. Or when someone worried over his well being but it’s not like he could blame them, he was horrible but he was proud of it. Yet this felt nice...being with you was nice...even if it did upset him a little.

      Putting on a sheet of gauze and using medical tape to attatch it snugly to the god and prevent anymore bleeding, you smile up at him.

     “All better!” You cheer, your voice caused him to smile. 

     Not his usual sly grin. Not his smug smirk. But a genuine smile...even if it was a small one, he couldn’t stop it from forming. Not when you looked at him like that.

    “Thank you for allowing me to help you, Lord Loki!" You say as you stand up, "I know you probably didn't need it but I couldn't allow someone to walk around with such an injury, God or not."

"You're welcome." He grumbles again, although his tone seems softer with you.

Nodding your head respectfully one last time, you tell him that you can't wait to see him during the next match, which was ironic given the circumstances but he stays silent, wanting to tell you he also wished to see you again, maybe even sooner than the next fight. But the words stay stuck in his throat and he allows you to leave without saying anything.

When you're gone from view, his hand lightly touches the area that you fixed. He comes to a realization, one that makes him happy yet slightly annoyed, but not as much as he thought he would once he accepted the truth. Maybe he did like you a little more than he thought.

And maybe...he even loved you.

~ADDITIONAL HCS BC I HATE HOW THIS TURNED OUT AND IT FEELS A BIT OOC~

- Okay, so, the whole thing is that Loki was not his usual unhinged self because he had feelings for you but was denying them HARDCORE. however, once he accepts that he likes you, them he's back to his usual self with a tinge of love sickness.

- The gods just have to accept that he's back to his annoying self but now he seems to be hanging around you more, talking about you more, and gushing over you more.

- Like he's sitting next to Odin during a match and you're checking over your teammates to make sure the Völundr was successful and he just sighs dreamily and is all: "Isn't she just the cutest??" and Odin stays silent but he's pretty surprised.

- You didn't question Loki's unusual and grumpy behavior the day you met him, after all, he was literally bleeding from his side but now he seems to just pop in wherever he feels like it when you wander the neutral grounds of Ragnarok.

- Floating above you and looking at you upside down, his smile widening when he makes you laugh at his silly behavior. Sometimes he can get a bit clingy, though, like if you have a patient and you have to check them over.

- For example, you were fixing up Jack after his battle with Hercules and your nurses had to keep Loki out (they were terrified the God wouldn't take no for an answer) but when you personally said he couldn't see you because you were in the middle of a procedure, he understood but he left and was once again a pouty mess the God's had to deal with.

- Loki: AAAARGH! NO FAIR THAT THAT STUPID RIPPER DIDN'T DIE!

- Ares: Exactly! Hercules was a much more noble-

- Loki: NOT BECAUSE OF HERCULES, he's hogging all of (Y/n)'s attention!😒

- Hermes: It is quite literally her job to make sure he doesn't die-

- Once he accepts his feelings, he makes it very clear that he likes you. Snatching you away from where you're supposed to be and Brunhilde and Thor have to try and pry you from his arms. Popping into your office and scaring the shit out of your patients.

- You never seem annoyed with him, though. You actually quite appreciate his company and when you tell him, he just smiles and is all: "You can indulge in my company forever if you become mine."

- "Loki, wouldn't that be a bit cruel? After all, the God's are once again ahead of us humans. If things go wrong, I won't be yours for very long."

- Ah...right...he's trying to destroy your kind. It's funny how he forgets that when you being human was literally the reason he was having such inner turmoil. Hmm...Maybe, the gods can only keep HALF of humanity?? or even better, just you!

[microwave-core]

Serenity

Lusamine x Fem! Reader

A long work day is enough to wear down even the most dedicated workaholics. Despite your tired state, the knowledge that your family was eagerly awaiting your return helps keep your fatigue at bay.

Your feet drag across the pristine marble of the courtyard. Shoulders slumped, attire wrinkled, and hair disturbed from the fly back home, you slowly walk towards your abode, knowing that your family were close by. 

Trailing close behind you, with far more energy than you could ever wish to have, is your dear Petilil, who hums happily, knowing dinner time was fast approaching. You envy her energy, even if it was food motivated. Her hobbled steps only increase in speed as yours slow, allowing her to easily beat you to the door, hopping up and down in sheer excitement. Life truly was simple for her, wasn’t it?

You open the door with a clumsy hand, nudging the rest of the way open with your shoulder. Petilli rushes inside as you stop to pull off your shoes, listening to the chatter from a few rooms over. Petilil’s figure in the nearby doorway quickly disappears, only to be replaced by an overjoyed Silvally, bounding up to you before you can free your hands from your heels.

You’re left defenseless as he licks up one side of your face, a gesture that was in equal parts loving and disgusting. With shoes pulled off and thrown to the side, your hands turn to the overgrown man-made dog, gently petting the sides of his head, preventing him from licking again. He barks in response, clearly content with your presence and affection, but your attention is elsewhere.

“Mom!” Lillie comes rushing through the door, as fast as the two pokemon before her, and throws her arms around you. She’s rocking back and forth on her heels, smiling brightly, eyes brimming with excitement. You're about to greet her in return, moving one of your arms around her back and shoulder, but she cuts you off.

“You won’t believe where we went today! We went to Heahea City!” Her words come out quickly, clearly looking forward to unraveling the tale that took place earlier in the day.

“All the way out to Akala, huh? I’m sure you got to see all kinds of pokemon out there, didn’t you?” “Mmhmm! Mom let us go to the nearby beach, and we got to chuck all of the Pyukumuku that washed up on the shore.”

“You didn’t even touch any of them, Lillie.” Gladion appears in the door this time. His tone seems slightly annoyed, which his expression reflects. Still, you knew that he was just as excited to talk about their day as Lillie, he just didn’t like to show it. He’s a teenage boy, after all.

“That’s not my fault. They were all slimy!” Lillie uncoils her arms from you, grimacing at the mere memory of the water type’s feel. “Besides, I had to watch Vulpix so she didn’t swim too far away from the shore.” Gladion scoffs at her reasoning, about to fire back before you step in. You loved them both dearly, but a petty sibling squabble wasn’t something you had the energy to deal with right now.

“So you chucked them back into the water all by yourself then, Gladoin? I’m sure that was real fun, and I’m sure the Pyukumuku appreciated it, too.” 

“Are you kidding? It was the best!” This causes him to smile, patiamiming his throwing stance. “They just let you pick ‘em up and do whatever. Silvally tried to chase after them, even caught one midair before it hit the water. I wish we could have stayed longer.”

“We couldn’t stay, we had to go to-” Lillie is caught off by Lusamine calling after them both, finally appearing from the dining room. She looks at them kindly, but there’s a hint of exasperation behind her gaze.

“There you are. I know you’re both excited to tell mom all about what happened today, but you should let her get further than the front door before jumping on her.” She looks both of them in the eyes before meeting yours, flashing a closed-eye smile. “Welcome home, dear. As you can see, we missed you dearly.” She walks over, maneuvering around your daughter and Silvally to press a kiss to your check, causing Lillie and Gladion to wretch and groan. Parents showing affection was truly the most repulsive sight they’ve ever been subjected to.

“You two go run back to the table and finish dinner, alright? We’ll be there soon.” Gladion mutters something under his breath, walking away in fear of witnessing the creation of more cooties, Lillie (and Silvally) following shortly behind.

You breathe out a sigh, shedding your coat before fully leaning into Lusamine’s touch, head against her chest. She laughs, running a comforting hand up and down the length of your back, coaxing another, more content sigh from your lips.

“Seems like you had a long day, hmm?” “Far too long. What I would have given to join you all on Akala... I would much rather chuck sea cucumbers into the ocean for eight hours straight instead of… well, you know.” You peel away from her loving embrace, fighting your pleaing mind’s desire to stay.

“And you know we would have all loved that, too, even if some of us won’t say it outloud.” You snort at her comment, knowing how she loathes grappling with Gladion’s ‘I’m too cool to be hanging around my parents’ attitude. 

“What brought you out there, anyways? Just decided to take a day trip to get away from work for a bit?” Arceus knows that’s what you would have done if you had the chance.

“Actually, I went to speak to Professor Burnet at her lab. They’ve made quite a few discoveries over there, and I just couldn’t help but talk with her about them in person.” There’s a glimmer in her eyes as she speaks, obviously enthralled with whatever complex discussion they had. From the look alone, you know you wouldn’t understand a lick of it.

“So it was work after all? Well, at least you got to relax on the beach for a bit, or at least watch after Lillie and Gladion clean it up.” A yawn breaches from your lips, stretching as you finally begin to move into the kitchen. It was high time you got some dinner in you, and it was only a matter of time before Petilil came to harass you for hers.

“Who’s to say I didn’t pitch in? Even if they can live on the sand, it’s much better for them if they stay in the shallow water, and it protects them from being tripped over, as well.” Despite her elegant appearance, your wife’s physical strength was nothing to scoff at.

The image of her throwing them alongside Gladion, along with your desire for food, makes you forget all about Lillie being cut off from before. Of course, it wouldn’t remain a secret for long, as Lillie and Gladion will likely blab about their short trip to Konikoni before you even sit down.

But if Lusamine’s lucky, she might be able to present the darling necklace she spent the afternoon picking out for you in complete surprise.

[ohheyjudesummers]

Pride Aside - Gojo Satoru fanfic

Generally, this story is Minors DNI. 18+ PLEASE (but this first part doesn’t rightly need a warning since its set in the past while they’re young with nothing inappropriate)

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen (As regular humans for the most part with little to no/nonexistent cursed energy or sorcerer ability. Some supernatural abilities are present).

Character: Gojo Satoru (As he is currently in JJK221 as of right now. Meaning some spoilers as far as his *New appearance* but not regarding the office JJK plot line story and character outcomes/circumstances)

Summary: It’s always come natural for you to look out for your little brother (by a couple of short years) and even his best friend, Gojo-or at least it used to come naturally when you guys were kids. Now as Adults, Gojo is womanizing, flippant, cocky, and tends to play agitator; and while you still care about him, sometimes it isn’t the easiest being around him.

Even so, you still care about Gojo. You’ve seen vulnerable sides of him that he’s never shared with anyone and provide a listening ear to him when he needed. You wouldn’t of quite described him as a second brother, but you did feel an attachment and appreciation toward him; and you imagined he felt the same.

So, for the life of you, you can’t figure out why his behavior has shifted toward you. His smile towards you always seems to have a hidden cruelness in it, his stare, if hes not busy overlooking you, feels as if tis piercing through you when no one is looking. And when-IF-he talks to you? its feels damn near condescending. It’s as if hes trying to make you annoyed on purpose to get a rise out of you…or maybe it’s something much more personal that he’s been harboring over the years.

General author’s note: If you've read any of my previous stories or even my original works, you'll know that I typically write stories with girls of my culture in mind (even if it’s X reader) so by default, my stories are black!coded /implied. While I can’t control who reads my work and I do write for the women in my culture to be represented and be included! Not necessarily to exclude anyone.

 I’m not typically against anyone reading my stories with respect . I believe people are capable of reading and enjoying interactive literature or general writings, even if the coded/implied “Y/N" or character doesn’t look like them (Especially since girls of my own culture have had to silently use their imaginations to feel included in stories coded for lighter audiences or readers) However, I will still continue to use and include black and POC fem tags to make it easier for my people to find stories. 

Also, my fanfiction stories can be found on both Wattpad and Archive of Our Own, as well as on Tumblr (all linked on my page). Thanks so much for reading!

Also like my other fan fictions, I’m not sure if there will be a second part to this one. it depends on both my imagination and the genuine responses/interactions towards it.

As of this moment (I’m writing this 4/20/2023* this is important cause as we know, Gege could add more info to the JJK universe) we don’t really know about Gojo’s family life in depth at this moment. but even so, the info written about his backstory in this fan fiction is crafted by me *along with some other info* and is no way associated with his actual official story.

Some notables in this chapter: Black!reader, Hockeyplayer!Gojo, Jock!Gojo, slight age gap as well. Slow burn, and a bit of fluff. Think of this chapter as building a foundation for the next installment. <3

❣

*Some time ago*

Even the gloomy gray skies outside your window couldn't keep you from smiling as you admired your masterpiece in front of you.

“Finally got it right! Drew is going to love this!” You gushed, slowly spinning the revolving cake stand.

It wasn't just years and passion that made you such a dedicated and aspiring baker, but the circumstances: it was your little brother's birthday tomorrow. Even though you loved your brother to death, you knew he could be a picky eater. While he's never complained about your baking, you didn't want to give him any reason to start. 

Before he left a few days ago to be with your father and his smother, he kept dropping hints at how much he wanted to try homemade Tres Leches cake topped with fruit. Most would have been annoyed with their younger sibling ‘pushing’ at them to work on their days off, you were silently grateful. Drew, as annoying as he could be, was actually quite considerate when it came to you. He had given you something to keep you occupied while he was away. Sure, you had your part-time job, but you were on break from classes and had more time to think about your late mother than usual this time of year.

Your step mother, Drew’s mom, was a nice lady and always open to you as a daughter, but she wasn’t your mom-not that you were looking for a replacement. You always found yourself apprehensive about family life as a whole. But at the same time wanting it. Because of this, you always got an array of conflicting feelings. Mainly, they consisted with being both content with being along in your apartment after Drew finished his stay (for however long he decided) and lonely when he went back home.

 Even though your dad wasn’t keen on the idea of you moving out so early when you just turned 18, he navigated through this as best as he could. He was always proactive in making sure you knew he was there and that Drew was allowed to stay over at your spacious apartment usually whenever. However, Drew’s schedule has become more rigid this holiday due to hockey practice. But now, he had some time spare and asked for a specially made cake- the perfect motivation for you to zone out  and kick you in gear.

The size you made in front of you wasn't overtly large compared to the other you had sitting in the fridge, which is fine considering this was a tester. You wanted to test the aesthetics Outside, it looked good; the perfect amount of  cream topping was added, and it didn't appear soggy. The only thing that made a frown twitch at the corner of your lips was the fruit topping, a cherry. It wasn't as if it weren't aesthetically pleasing. You actually liked the idea of adding fruit to the top; you just knew Drew didn't like cherries; he was more of a strawberry guy. 

“No worries, I’ll use the last few I have for the official cake in the fridge.” You say, lifting your spirits back up. “For now, it won't hurt to have some of this for myself." 

Just as you're about to pick up a nearby fork, a ripple of knocks comes at your front door. Your brows furrow as you take a glance at the clock: 7:30 p.m. Not inordinately late for someone to stop by, but one look outside the window would leave one to believe that not even delivery would feel inclined to go out in the sudden downpour.

More knocks come at the door, just as light but more rapidas the ones before. 

“Y/n? Are you home? It's me."

Me?

You recognize the voice.

Stepping away from the counter, you take the disposable mesh net off your head of curls, tossing it in the trash. Once you untie your waist apron and drape it on a chair, you step across your apartment's threshold to the front door. When you swing it open, you're met with a pair of piercing ocean blue eyes staring up at you.

Gojo. Drew’s best friend, and teammate on his hockey team. Drew did ask earlier this week if his friend could stay over for a bit. Even if, as a younger teen his independence was peculiar to you,  it wasn’t an anomaly for him to stay at your place shortly before Drew came by. Or to just sleep over entirely when he was here. You didn’t know exactly where Gojo’s family stayed but you  imagined it didn’t much matter since Drew did live a bit further than both of you. Because of this it was easier for Gojo to use your spot as a meeting place for himself. so, he tended to come over whenever he pleased.

On one end you didn’t mind this. But on another, Gojo’s free ability to roam wherever, was interesting from a certain perspective; a paternal one. From what you gathered, Gojo himself and his family weren’t really normal. You never bother to push on the subject. This was only because you didn’t notice any real red flags in his overall condition. His bottomless appetite *for sweets especially* you learned, was not out of malnourishment but more so gluttony (You’ve seen the size of his school lunches before. And he was always clothed and cleaned-even though he had this annoying habit of preferring to using the bath at your place. You didn’t know why at first, until you realized your favorite shea butter, honey scented body wash was depleting faster than normal. Initially you had suspected Drew but then you remembered his preference in scent was something more ‘manly’ as he put it.  

Be this as it may, He hardly seemed eager in elaborating on his mannerisms and family life. Maybe it didn’t matter much.

He always seemed in high spirits and overall fine. Much like now.

 A wide, Cheshire grin appears across his face—a typical greeting of him. 

“You’re here a bit early this time, Gojo. Drew doesn’t come back till tomorrow." You say as you observe his face. That’s when you pause. Wisps of his damp, snow white hair stick to his forehead, and his clothes are splotched with droplets. “Boy, d-did you walk here in the rain? Are you crazy? You'll get sick!"

Without a second thought, you grab his slender wrist and pull him into the apartment. You wait until you close the door behind him to turn your scolding gaze back in his direction.

“Why would your family let you walk in this weather? at this time especially? Could they not drive you?" 

“My family doesn’t care about what I do as long as I don’t skip on my studies.” Gojo chuckles, letting his backpack slide off his shoulder. 

A question edges itself at the tip of your tongue hearing him say this, but something stops you. Specifically, the sound of a soft ‘thud’ when his bag hits the floor. Actually, now that your eyes zero in on it, his bag looks rather full for more than a day or two stay like Drew had informed you it’d be.

“Why is your bag so heavy? What did you pack- Hey, what exactly are you doing?”  By the time you pull your eyes from the backpack, Gojo is no longer standing in your living room, but in the kitchen. Particularly near the counter where the Tres leches cake sits. 

Oh, you knew from previous events what he was thinking. Past experience had taught you that Gojo, like your brother, enjoyed your baking. However, unlike your brother, Gojo wasn't picky when it came to his food. Because of this, you *usually* enjoyed giving him the results of any recipes you were experimenting with, and he gladly inhaled accepted them. But sometimes it felt like feeding him had no end. That in itself could be exhausting for someone even if they liked to cook.  

“Do not touch that cake.”

“Huh? why not? It's just sitting here. Wait, is this…for me? Can I have it now?"

“Gojo, I like you, really, I do. But your sense of self-importance is beyond what I can comprehend sometimes.” you tell him, approaching his side. “You really think when I make sweets and Drew is not here that its always for you?”

Gojo's produces a ponderous, audible grunt with the tilt of his head. His gaze is fixed on the cake, and his fingers grip the stand as he slowly begins to rotate it. After a moment, he breaks from his awe-struck trance and looks over to you, “Well, not always. But this time, can I?” 

There’s  no real harm in allowing him to eat it. But you wanted it. How exactly could you explain that without sounding immature? Never mind that you two were still teenagers-you were still a little older. 

He’ll be fine this time around. it’s not like he absolutely needs it.

Even with your rationality, a thin slice of guilt swipes past you. You couldn't help it; you'd inherited a portion of your mother's nurturing mannerisms. 

At the same time, you couldn't see why Gojo couldn't just go out and buy one or have someone make it for him in his own family. This didn't apply to Drew; his predicament was different since no one in your father's household was a decent cook. You'd experienced more than one family dinner before coming to this conclusion yourself. Gojo, on the other hand, while he didn't speak forthrightly about his family dynamic, you could tell he was well-off enough to have someone buy him a cake made by the best pastry chefs in town

But you're not convinced he'd do something like that.

You'd grown to know Gojo as a confident young man since Drew introduced him to both street and ice hockey, and this was a fair assessment.

Gojo appears to be a talented young athlete, based on what you've seen so far. But that was the extent of his boasting—what he could offer in terms of physical ability. His usefulness when he was present. Not his finances . Money, could be replaced. But people—specifically, their abilities? Not so quickly. And Gojo was unquestionably of that nature.

Money, even if he hardly mentioned it, you knew it wasn't a concern for him. He always seemed to have more than he considered necessary, and his clothes were nice.

Aside from the water droplets on his clothes, his pale orange hoodie and loose black track pants appeared brand new and of high quality without even seeing the label. His demeanor was also relaxed, as if he didn't have a care in the world.

You clear your throat, pushing past the unsettling tenseness in your chest that usually accompanied with having to be firm. "No, you can't have this one. Not this time."

You expected Gojo to react with a joke or something witty. Instead, your gaze is drawn to his collapsing shoulders. And then he turns to look at you, his face a mix of uncertainty and hurt.

“But why? Drew said you usually make cakes for birthdays. Doesn't that mean I can eat this now?"

“Well, yeah. But it was a test for Drew's birthday. And I kind of wanted to eat it myself," You smile sheepishly. 

This discipline lesson was becoming far more trouble than it was worth, and his somber expression wasn't helping matters. You were on the verge of giving in and letting him have it. But Gojo shocks you with a terse head nod and a feeble smile.

 “Ok then. I'm gonna go wash up before bed. I know we have to set up for Drew's birthday tomorrow morning." Is all he says before going back into the living room to grab his bag and bolting down the hallway. 

You didn't realize the tension you'd been holding on your shoulders until you felt them sag at the sound of the bathroom door closing. 

Well, great. I feel like shit. 

Your sweet tooth had suddenly vanished, so you began cleaning up the small mess you had made in the kitchen area while cooking. But something catches your eye—a notification on your phone on the counter not far away.

Picking it up, you shuffle through some of them until your gaze is drawn to notifications from Drew that you missed earlier this morning.

I really need to be more prompt with these things. 

You sigh as you unlock your phone and read his messages.

Thnks for Gojo stay over! But do you think you can do me a huge favor? (ಠ_ಠ)

 I know it's last minute, but I'll pay you back and do dishes for the next two weeks!   before he swings l8ter today, do you think you could bake a small cake for him? When I was texting him earlier about how you make special cakes for my birthday, can you believe he asked me why? (⚆_⚆)

I thought he was joking around, but he told me he'd never done something like that in his family. something about how they acknowledge it as a hallmark in their family's history—whatever that means. But it’s not an actual moment they celebrate with or for him—they don't even give him a cake. 

I want to be there for it, but we're still driving back. Plus, today is the official day, and I want him to have something for himself. So please do me this solid! thanks! 〵(^ o ^)〴

oh..god. 

You placed your phone on the counter before clenching the area of your shirt where your heart was beating. In that moment, if it could sink, it would end up at the earth's core.

“Wait, is this for me?” His small voice of innocent curiosity-- It'd been genuine. Not out of self-centeredness, like you initially assumed. 

You wanted to give yourself some comfort by not believing someone would be so cold toward a child as to not give them a birthday celebration for the 14-going on 15- years they've been alive. You didn't want to believe someone who could literally be so sure of himself around his peers, and his abilities, was robbed of something so basic as human contact by his own family for that special day. 

But as you thought more about the matter, you realized you had to be realistic with yourself. With Gojo's mannerisms, and what little you know about his family, Drew's words about him didn't seem so farfetched. Not in the slightest.

You'd been blessed with some logical adults in your life; they'd taught you that multiple things can, on occasion, be true at once about an individual, whether they make sense to you or not. 

❣

Gojo emerges from the bathroom now wearing his pajamas after taking a much-needed hot bath. There was another special reason he felt better, in addition to the simple fact that his skin felt warm, fresh, and spotless. A small smile appears across his mouth as he breathes deeply while aiming his face at his shoulder. He presses his nose much more firmly against the softness of his shirt, to his shoulder. The scent of your body wash hits him; the aroma of flowers, sweet citrus fruit, and Honey—His new favorite scent since his visits at your house started—was delicate as well as prevalent.

It's almost like... She's hugging me. Honey.

The thought emits a dull ache in Gojo's chest. It's a strange reaction, along with the floating, warm feeling he gets whenever he's close to you. But it's not a new sensation; rather, it's been with him since the first time he saw you on the sidelines at one of Drew's street hockey games—before he knew either of you officially.

But Gojo never gave much thought into the feeling other than him appreciating your company to the point where he wanted to be around you more. Thankfully you allowed it without much question. yet, still, Gojo silently couldn’t help but feel it was a luxury he could never seem to be able to afford. Gojo loved Drew like a brother he’d never had, truly he did. But whenever he thought about Drew’s relationship with you for long, he could feel envy grip its cruel green fist around what felt like his heart. The tightness would increase Moreso when he thought about how Drew could have access to your time whenever.

Despite having more money than he knew what to do with, being applauded and acknowledged as a possible prodigy of hockey; He felt inadequate to his best friend simply because he had you. Not as an older sister, but as someone who was concerned and…loved him. But Gojo would do his best to hide this ugly side of him; always brushing it off as best he could and having a good time. Like now

Except for one difference.

For the first time since entering the corridor, Gojo noticed how quiet it was. In the past, even when it had just been the two of you hanging out, he would at least be able to hear you moving around the house.

“Y/n?” He calls for you, but gets no answer. puzzled, he steps further down the hall, just nearing the corner to round leading toward the kitchen archway-only to be stunned at the sight. 

“Happy Birthday!”

You beamed, holding a rectangular glass cake pan angled toward him. Gojo freezes at the sight in front of him. His blue eyes blink rapidly before locking back on toward the cake. It's similar to the one you told him he couldn't eat, with the whipped topping evenly spread out. Aside from being bigger, this one was thoughtfully topped with fresh strawberries along the frame of the cake. And in the middle, in red, carefully pipped lettering, were the words, "Happy birthday, Gojo!"

Even after seeing his name on the surface, Gojo, as self-assured as he depicted himself to be, began feeling unsure at the display. "I get to have a cake?”

“It's December 7th, isn't it?” You tease. “Of course, you should have a cake; today's a special occasion." Your smile widens as you set the cake down on the kitchen island. You motion for him to sit on the stool in front of the cake as you round the opposite side of the island, which he does.

Even though Gojo took long baths, you felt that the amount of prep time you had to make things to your liking was nonexistent. Granted, you already had this cake made with the intention of giving it to Drew tomorrow, so that cut time down by a bunch. But decoration wise? You wanted it to be a little more presentable with something besides a clean application of whipped topping. So, in your haste to finish the last-minute cake, you decorated it with strawberries and practiced piping a few fonts before writing on the cake itself. Everything was at least acceptable to you, but you could only find one box with a single red and white striped candle.

It'll do for now. 

You think, as you remove the candle from the box and gently insert it into the cake's surface. Gojo watches attentively as you grab a nearby lighter and angle it over the candle wick.

“You know, it's tradition to blow the candle out, but you have to make a wish first. You can ask for anything you'd like." 

“A wish...?” he repeats slowly, wrinkling his nose. “Why would I wish for something when I can just go and get it myself?"

Your lids lower.

Why am I not surprised that he would say something like that?

You fight the urge to  follow up his remark with something witty; that would be immature given the situation.

“Not everything is easy to get—that's why.”

“It doesn't need to be.” He shrugs lightly. “ I'll have it if I really want it.” 

It's so annoyingly amazing how this boy can be so innocent but at the same time so sure of himself. 

“Fine, Mr. Confident." You chuckle, lowering the lighter. “If you're so undoubtably confident that you don't need even an inkling of help from a wish to afford every luxury this world has to offer, then we don't have to—"

“Wait!” His hand clasps around your wrist suddenly. "I mean, we can still do it. For fun, I mean.”

Your brow furrows at the sudden change of heart. You're almost tempted to question him about it, but you quickly dismiss the idea. It didn't matter right now. 

The vivid orange flame peaks from the lighter with a soft 'click' and ignites the wick.

"If you need a second to think of your just-for-fun wish, you can give yourself a little time."

“I don't have to say it out loud either, do I?”

“You don't," you confirm with a kind smile. “Just close your eyes, think really hard about what you really want, and then blow out the candle.”

Even with your genuine patience, you can't help but notice the way his eyes fidget back and forth between you and the flame on the candle. Regardless of whether it's a harmless superstition that he claims he doesn't believe in, his body language towards this part puzzles you. Then, a faint pink rose to his cheeks. It's almost as if he feels embarrassed or protective of his superstitious beliefs being reveled to you.

Maybe he actually does have something unobtainable that he wants, but can’t admit it —boys are so stubborn. 

You think humorously. 

It wasn’t so hard to believe. you distinctly remember overhearing him and Drew once talking about some rare hockey trading cards weeks ago. 

But you weren't going to poke fun at him about it-even if it was a silly superstition, this was a moment—a hallmark for him...

His long, snow-white lashes flutter close as he leans forward slightly. His chest inflates slightly as he takes a breath, and he expels the flame in one whisk of breath. 

…cause in that innocent instant, neither of you knew how much of a hallmark that moment was and how it set off a butterfly effect promised to intertwine your lives for the long haul. 

❣

End note from the author:  I enjoy and appreciate comments, likes, reblogs (on Tumblr), and kudos (on AO3). I don't always have the spare time to respond back or properly view in a timely manner, but please know that I appreciate the interaction purely because I love sharing my imagination with people who enjoy the escape from reality <3 also, heres a pic of the vision I had of the budding hockey start Gojo

©JUDESUMMERS. Please do not copy, Translate, Plagiarize, or repost (sharing via link is excluded). This story is only uploaded on Tumblr, Wattpad and AO3. Anywhere else under any other name besides JUDESUMMERS is prohibited

[longbobmckenzie]

Tips for writing a villa fic

If you pay attention to Love Island the Game fanfiction at all, you've probably read a villa fic or two, or a hundred. They can be a lot of fun, and the nature of the game lends itself really well to the concept. Which is why so many people have started writing villa fics of their own... and yet, so few finish them, or even come close.

Well, I’ve written more than my fair share of villa fics, ranging from a 3k word oneshot (yes, really) to a 230k word start-to-finish Season 2 Bobby fic, and I’ve read a whole lot more, so I've learned a thing or two about the genre.

So, I figured I’d share some of my tips, and ask some of my writer friends for their input (thanks @queen-of-boops, @rebelrayne, and @thoracic-orchid), and here we are!

Buckle in, because this gets long (much like my fics!)

Tip #1: Recognize that it’s a lot of work

It takes a long, long time to write a full villa fic, especially if it’s Season 2 and you’re starting on Day 1 and going right up to the final (and beyond?). We’re talking months of work, maybe even years depending on how much time you have to dedicate to it. My first fic (230k words) took me 9-10 months to write, and that was during COVID lockdown when I didn’t really have much else to do.

This isn’t meant to discourage you at all, but I’ve seen so, so many villa fics get published and never get past the first few chapters. Sometimes they even get 20-30 chapters in before the author loses interest or just plain runs out of free time. It’s a commitment, but it can definitely be done!

This especially applies to “All Star” villa fics or season crossovers. Kudos to those who attempt it and especially those who finish (I know of only one person who’s managed this off the top of my head), but trust me, it’s hard enough writing a villa fic, writing a crossover is putting it on evil mode.

Also consider if you’re writing from a male character’s POV (the LI, perhaps, or a male MC) that you’ll probably need to write more “boys only” scenes, so a little extra creativity is required (I could never, honestly).

Tip #2: Have a plan

I cannot stress this enough. Easy for me to say since I’m an outliner at heart anyway, but I’m in the middle of writing a villa fic and even with an outline, I’m still going back and tweaking early chapters (tip within a tip: write a few chapters before publishing anything!) when my plan changes slightly.

But having a clear direction of where you want to take the fic and planning out plot points, recouplings, dumpings, etc. is extremely important. Especially when you start going off-canon (more on that in a bit) or when you get to days where literally nothing happens in the villa.

The nice thing about villa fics is that you’ve already got a structure to work with, you just have to plan how you want your characters’ relationship(s) to develop and how to drive the plot.

Tip #3: You don’t always have to stick to the plan

That said, characters sometimes do things you didn’t plan for. And that’s okay! Sometimes. There are times you need to assert your will, but other times, things will change and you just need to re-evaluate your outline. And that’s okay… within reason.

For example, in Whiskey & Scotch, my plan was always for Bobby to be the endgame LI. Somewhere along the line, I fell in love with Henrik, and people really liked him and my OC together (mild spoiler: they were coupled up for a time). I was extremely tempted to blow up my outline to make it work for them, but the groundwork was laid for Bobby to be endgame, and I had scenes planned that had been living in my head for months by that point that I was excited for. It just didn’t make sense to make Henrik the LI (which is why I’m now working on a rewrite/alternate ending, because I still love them together even years later).

On the other side, at the post-Casa Amor dumping, Noah was single and I’d planned for him to save Hope. She was already a bit of a villain, they had history, it just made sense. But when I was writing the scene, I was completely stuck on his speech. I got a crazy/evil idea and had him save someone else instead. It changed a lot and I had to rework my outline a bit, but it worked out so well that I can’t imagine doing it the way I’d intended.

Tip #4: Watch the show

This is optional (technically, they all are), but it really is helpful on so many levels. It can give you an idea of the villa layout (Seasons 3-5 and 7 of the show all use the same villa), give you ideas for challenges, dialogue, plot ideas, etc. The show uses a host instead of the opening scene and some of the dumpings being done through text, generally it’s the boys picking the girls on day 1 instead of the girls, etc.

There are also more rules on the show that don’t make it into the game. Again, totally optional, but to make it a bit more realistic you could limit the islanders’ alcohol consumption (or let them get completely shit-faced if that works for your plot), take away all clocks, refer to their microphones occasionally, etc.

Also, like… I’ve never seen anyone on the show have sex on the terrace, but it happens in the game. You want your characters getting it on out in the open like that? By all means. But if you prefer a bit more realism, stick to the bedroom and hideaway. The bathroom is communal, but hey, the shower works too.

If you want to add challenges to your fic, I like to use this website for ideas. It lists most of the challenges from season 3 onwards, including results and video. It’s a great resource.

Tip #5: Kiss canon goodbye

There are definitely readers out there who prefer fics that follow canon, and to each their own. Personally, I’ve played the game over and over, read a whole bunch of fics, and written a bunch of fics, so I’m kinda sick of canon. Plus, sometimes canon just sucks or doesn’t make sense. So don’t be afraid to stray from canon, toss it into a ball and throw it out the window, or stomp all over it.

First, the dialogue. We’ve all read it over and over, got it practically memorized. Feel free to change it! In fact, please do! You can keep some lines and change the responses to completely alter a conversation, or make slight adjustments, or just… not include it at all, if you want. You can take out canon scenes and replace them with your own. Or keep them and just change who-did-what. Etc, etc. Make it your own!

Second, individual scenes. It’s okay to cut them. We don’t need to see Noah singing Toto on the daybed with Hope and Rocco walking by singing Wonderwall. Cutting it will not negatively impact your fic in any way.

What about challenges? Well… they can be cut too. Ask yourself, do they drive the plot? Is it necessary? For example, the day 4 slime challenge. Priya grinds on Noah despite not needing his colour, Lottie gets mad, blah blah blah. We know. The reader most likely knows. But unless you’re making MC’s drama the primary focus, you can cut it and just write a paragraph of narration telling us why the girls are fighting. The reader will understand and most likely appreciate that they didn’t have to skim through it.

Hell, you can skip recouplings, dumpings, even whole days. Trust me, I’ve done it. If you’re primarily sticking to a timeline that generally follows canon and not really messing with what’s going on with the other islanders, you can absolutely skip over that stuff and keep the focus solely on your MC and their LI. You can even still make slight changes to canon and just narrate what happened.

Basically, what you keep depends on what you’re trying to do with your fic. If you want to do the whole villa experience thing, keep as much as you want. If you just want to write a love story between two people who happen to be in the villa, you can cut out anything and everything that doesn’t in some way develop their relationship.

Also, you don’t have to start on day 1. Or if you do, you don’t have to start with the MC arriving at the villa. Be creative! And along the same veins, you don’t have to end it with the final. Heck, your characters don’t have to even make the final!

Tip #6: Read other fics

Again, you don’t have to do this. Plenty of villa fic writers don’t read other people’s villa fics. But I do think it’s a good idea, especially if you want to write a Bobby or Lucas fic (picking on the most popular characters because they have the most fics written for them).

You’ll be able to get some ideas of how other people did it – how much canon they kept in, how much they cut, how they made the story their own – but you’ll also get a good idea of what’s been done before. MC and Bobby are immediately attracted to each other right from the start? Great… but how are you going to make yours different from the other hundred fics that do that? Lucas switches to Blake? Okay yes, that’s canon – but are you going to keep it? What motivations are you going to give him? Maybe MC switches too?

And this isn’t to say that if someone else has an idea for something, you can’t do the same thing. Especially for people who watch the show, there have been a number of situations where people will have the same ideas. I’ve had it where I’ve had scenes planned or written only to read someone else’s fic and seen almost the exact same thing. It happens! Obviously don’t plagiarize, but it’s okay to have the same idea. And if anyone accuses you of stealing ideas, have them send their hate mail to me (don’t actually do that).

Tip #7: Write what you want to read

The reason I got into fanfiction and wrote my first villa fic in the first place was because I had an idea that I thought would be really interesting to read. I didn’t think anyone else was gonna come up with the same idea, though, so I wrote it myself.

I don’t know what sort of motivations other writers have when they start writing their fics, but if you have an idea, you just might be the best candidate to write it.

Tip #8: Don’t do it alone

Find a beta reader if you can (note: it’s not always easy, especially since villa fics are a huge commitment), but even if you can’t get someone to edit for you, getting someone who can give constructive criticism is extremely helpful – if you’re open to listening. They can help you figure out what works, what doesn’t, and what to work on.

Most importantly, though, find someone you can bounce ideas off of. If you’re struggling writing a scene, or need some ideas to help with a character’s motivation or dialogue, or you have a crazy idea and need some validation or advice… having someone you can go to is the best. All of my fics are better thanks to the people who helped, whether it was in big ways or little.

Tip #9: Develop your main character

Okay this is the tip that I don’t actually listen to myself 🤣 I’m a storyteller, so my fics tend to be more about the plot than the character arc, but having more well-rounded, developed characters is something I wish I were better at. If you know who your character is – their voice, their habits, their likes and dislikes, their family and relationship histories – it’ll be easier to write them. And the same goes for the canon characters as well! Give them more of a backstory! Give them siblings and heartbreaks! Especially with a villa fic where, unless they’re doing a challenge, they do nothing but sit around all day and have chats, you need stuff for them to talk about. This goes for group conversations, too – sometimes you just need to have some ideas of things they can talk about.

Now, I will say that I don’t think every MC needs to have heartbreak in their past (maybe they’re the heartbreaker?) or some sort of sob story. Those are common tropes in your regular run-of-the-mill romance story, and there’s nothing wrong with it, but it all goes hand-in-hand with your character’s motivations and how you want their relationship with the LI to develop. You can go that direction, but don’t feel you have to. If the story you have planned doesn’t need a character with a tragic past, then just have them be an average Joe.

Also, just a minor pet peeve of mine… your MC doesn’t have to be this super perceptive person who gets everyone’s answers right in Two Truths and a Lie. It’s day 2, c’mon. And they don't need to be the girl that all the guys in the villa are falling all over themselves to be with – is it more interesting for 4-5 guys to be into MC or for MC to be interested in someone only to be turned down? Just food for thought.

Tip #10: Choose the right POV

There’s no right or wrong POV, so choose whatever’s comfortable for you and your fic. But just note that readers do have their preferences (some people are strongly opposed to 1st and/or 2nd POV, for example). For a chaptered villa fic, it doesn’t really make sense to use 2nd person POV (“you” pronouns) because you’re telling the story of a main character who isn’t really generic. For oneshots/series where you’re writing snapshots of the villa, that might be what works for you, though.

As for 1st and 3rd, there are pros and cons to both. I chose to write my first villa fic in 1st because I really wanted the focus to be on my MC and seeing the villa through her eyes. Basically, if she didn’t see it or hear about it, I wasn’t going to include it. Other than that fic, though, I’ve primarily written in 3rd and it’s made me a better writer.

If you want to alternate POV between your MC and the LI (and maybe some of the side characters as well, as there are some people who do that), I recommend sticking to 3rd POV, because it can be a little confusing for the reader to remember whose POV they’re reading when it’s in 1st.

And there you have it! Ten tips to think about before (or during) embarking on your own villa fic. Good luck!

[ashipiko]

hi SO UM. IM KINDA OBSESSED WITH DECO*27 AS OF LATE AND LIAR DANCE…. HAS ME IN ITS GRASP…. FUNNY THING IS. IT WORKS REALLY WELL WITH ASHI’S OB!!! SO YEAH. here’s a whole post dedicated to her OB

(dunno if this group exists but if anyone is like?? interested in Ashi lore/deep ashace lore I hope you enjoy 🫶🫶 they’re v deep i prom)

INCLUDES: art (you can see it!!!) and a long ashace lyric breakdown to liar dance 🫶

HIGHLY RECOMMEND LISTENING TO RACHIE’S COVER OF THIS SONG WHILE READING! IT HELPS A LOT ESPEC IN THE END OF THIS BREAKDOWN

"I stole it?"

No, I don't know what you’re talking bout

You bluff away with this charade that I can't

Figure out

(“it” refers to a show, like “steal the show”. This is all from Ace’s point of view so he refuses to agree— He doesn’t like and doesn’t understand Ashi’s habit of putting up a front, hence why he dismisses it.)

My darling

You cross your heart and then you hope to

Die

So keep on lying to my face and see if I

Comply

(Ace going “OK BET keep slowly killing yourself and see if I stop trying to save you”. Spoiler, he doesn’t.)

"I stole it?

No, I don't know what you’re talking bout

You speak clichés and reap the praise of all the fools in doubt

My darling

Why can't you see that there's no fooling

Me?

Our love is much more of a mess than even you could be

(Again, same thing with the “steal the show” bit. Ace refers to everyone who falls for her front as a fool, and he insists that no matter what, he can’t be fooled. He’ll forever see Ashi for who she really is. Ace tries to convince her that all of the mess that they’re causing right now is way more of a mess than what she is.)

Blah, blah, blah, blah, do me a favor and

Shut up for now

You think you sound clever, but 'cause I

Know better, you sound just too loud

Try to escape and you'll see that you don't

Have a place left to hide

So speak of the devil, but know that you're

Summoning me to your side

(Ace wants her to shut up so that she can stop and be saved. He thinks that he’s the one with the superior mindset in this situation, and that Ashi should listen to what he’s saying, which is that no one will run away from her for who she really is.)

1,2... 1,2,3

Dance away, you li-i-iar

Your loving burns like fi-i-ire

Only you, only me, let's tear these vows to

Shreds

And let death do us pa-a-art

(Ace refers to Ashi as a liar— It’s what she sees herself as, and what Ace sees her as (a person lying to people with her front in order to please them), but Ace just believes that it’s a faulty way of living. Only you, only me, bit refers to their relationship and special connection. It can also be seen as an attempt to comfort Ashi as well, since she’s the most comfortable with Ace. Ace promises that he’ll forever stay by Ashi’s side, no matter what.)

Poison me, you li-i-iar

Our love is old and tired

So cover your nose and swallow me away

I’ll get into your veins

And then we’ll meet our end

(I interpret this line in a way that Ace persists and continues to go “I’m gonna keep knocking down your walls, no matter what” and he hopes to finally get to Ashi’s head. He does BTW! Eventually. In the future.)

"I stole it?"

No, I don't know what you’re talking 'bout

You bluff away with this charade that I can't

Figure out

It's hidden

It’s tucked away somewhere that's safe and

Sound

I hear you loud and clear, so baby, there's no

Need to shout

(Ace once again references this charade and front which Ashi uses, but the thing that’s hidden and tucked away is her true nature. There’s no hiding that from him— It’s no use to attempt to hide it.)

"You got me!

No wait, I've got no clue, what could you

Mean?

Caught you again today, again you slip away

From me

You're sinking

Digging your grave deeper and deeper down

For all your talk, I see you're nothing but a

Helpless clown

(Refers to Ashi’s slow descent into overblot! She slipped between Ace’s fingers and became distant, only to emerge as her jester, clown faced, blot. Ashi’s slow, lonely descent into madness is greatly shown through the grave line.)

Everyone and my own mother is starting to

Make fun of you

'Cause nothing about all the lies that you tell

Yourself seem to sound true

But in the end, you're the beautiful liar who's

Stolen my heart

You're just the devil, but I'm on your level

So drag me down now

(The first bit references the fact that after this is all over, everyone will know Ashi’s secret (which Ace finds a bit stupid) and that by the end of it, Ace believes that no one will really care. Everyone will accept her, and nothing will change, and that all of her doubts aren’t true. In the end, Ashi’s the one that stole Ace’s heart, and he’s willing to go through so much to save her.)

1,2... 1, 2,3

Dance with me, you li-i-ar

I'm gonna take us higher

Only you, only me, we're guilty as they come

And though our love is wro-o-ong

(Ace trying to convince Ashi that she’s not anything special— People will be empathetic towards her. He’s here with her too. The love is wrong line references the fact that Ashi thinks Ace is wrong for loving her true self.)

Now I've got you, Ii-i-ar

So look me in the ey-y-ye now

Hello, how are you?

Our punishment and crime

Will never go awa-a-ay

No, it's far too late

(Ace trying to catch Ashi’s attention and get through her blotted state. It’s too late to turn back now.)

Dance away, you li-i-iar

Your loving burns like fi-i-ire

Only you, only me, let's tear these vows to

Shreds

And let death do us pa-a-art

(Let’s change gears for these repeated lines. I’ll paint a picture for you. The way that Ashi’s overblot works is that she carries a marionette doll. The doll represents her front that she puts up, and how “that Ashi” would react to this situation. And so, through the entire fight it holds a concerned and scared expression. Ace notices this, and the scene changes.)

Poison me, you li-i-iar

Our love is old and tired

So cover your nose and swallow me away

I’ll get into your veins

Veins

(He figures it out, and everything clicks. Overblotted Ashi represents her true feelings— What she wants people to love, but everyone turns for the puppet version of her. If he’s going to save her, he has to be the most straightforward he can to get through to her blotted mind.)

Dance with me, you li-i-ar

I'm gonna take us higher

Only you, only me, we're guilty as they come

And though our love is wro-o-ong

(Ace uses all of his strength that he can muster after going at this fight for a while. to jump around Ashi as she proceeds to attack everyone around her. He moves swiftly, almost in a dancing motion— He needs to destroy the marionette. Destroying it proves the point; that he doesn’t need all of this fake stuff. He needs the real Ashi, and he’ll care for her.)

Now I've got you, Ii-i-ar

So look me in the ey-y-ye now

Hello, how are you?

Our punishment and crime

Will never go awa-a-ay

(Ace finally catches Ashi’s attention and is able to talk to her. Once again, he tries to get through her head. All of the memories and journeys they’ve been through will never fade away, and all the things that Ashi believes people will hate are things that Ace will love.)

No, it's far too late

All the things that I should hate

But the moon is in the sky

So guess

This is goodbye

(Ace is able to pry the doll from Ashi’s grasp as he gets her distracted. The goodbye is the final hit, as Ace smashes her marionette to pieces, and from there, her overblot is finished.)

NOTE: I used Rachie’s lyrics, but I know for a FACT there is a line that says “turn me inside out and I look just like you”. This line is really important too (so I’m sad it’s not included here), but I think it’s a really good one because Ace and Ashi are really similar when it comes down to it. Ashi’s so scared of showing it, but in the end Ace is there, to be by her side and be the absolute worst with her.

[variousqueerthings]

so the whole thing about BJ for me, is that actually he’s not my favourite character (I was just going through the characters and I’m no good at playing favourites -- purely based on amount of words written it may be Hawkeye, but every one of them, including BJ, has something that makes me go !!!!!!!!!!)

but right now BJ specifically is someone I circle back to a lot, because of the mask of it all. no character on MASH wears masks as well as BJ does

when I first started watching I knew that there was a guy (I at some point had the name “honeycut” and was like... “honeycut? is he a bond girl??” (yes, he is)) who would be there after Trapper and stay until the end of the show

and then as I was watching I got sent some fanfictions and generally got an impression of BJ through the lens of devotion to Hawkeye and overall good guyness, maybe a little bland even

and around s6 I was really wondering... where are they going with this guy? Did learn later that there was something going on on the writing-side of things, so the inconsistencies I was noting were... noticeable, but often that can give unexpected things to work with. at the time I figured “I will wait until I’ve got the whole puzzle” (I say, like I wasn’t writing a dozen BJ-related posts while watching, but I was just... prodding at him: what’s up with you my guy?)

so now I’ve got the whole puzzle and it’s quite devastating. I’ve joked along with others that BJ is the villain of the piece, and it is kind of true that a lot of later seasons inner-MASH conflict comes from him, but the whole thing about the end is of course that none of the people at the 4077th are villains (except for Frank, of course, Frank is a bastard as he was meant to be), they’re just reacting to all the awfulness in different ways 

I feel like Hawkeye, Charles, and BJ react the worst to it (although everyone has their Stuff) and out of the three of them BJ reacts in the most unpalatable ways to a viewer

Hawkeye is Hawkeye -- could go on about him (and have done) forever, but I think I’ll leave it at that here. We have had Episodes Dedicated To Hawkeye Is Being Hawkeye, we Know.

Charles is introduced as intensely closed-off, strongly disliking everything and everyone around him, even casually bigoted -- every example of him growing and changing and allowing his door to wedge open just a bit is bound to be catnip to a certain kind of engager of these sorts of stories (me). and this is also at risk of becoming paragraphs of text, so I shan’t continue for long, but Charles in the last episode was perfectly everything that is Charles, in all his fascinating contradictions -- and in a lot of ways, Charles is quite open with who he is, and who he is is someone who hisses angrily at the idea of sharing his deepest emotions with others and then occasionally he does and I 😭

BJ though!

BJ is introduced as a good guy. he’s the new Trapper. he’s going to be there for Hawkeye. he’s in many ways everything Hawkeye is not (clean-cut, a little traditional in a charmingly white knight kind of way, married to a beautiful woman with whom he has a beautiful kid -- there’s even that line from Hawkeye where he basically says words to this effect, and ends it on “and despite that I still like the guy”) 

so when BJ starts knocking on the walls of being this Type of character --- what if he fully knows the connotations of being Trapper’s replacement and hates it? what if there’s no way to maintain an All-American ideal in a place like this and he’s floundering because he’s never had to consider himself outside of that perspective? what if the ugliness makes him ugly? (in how he treats others, not physically, fully once he got that moustache, the little gay boy from the 1970s inside of me went 😳 oh hello. sidenote, does Mike Farrell know this? surely he must know what he was evoking with all of that??? I hope Mike *I need to talk about gay rights* Farrell got fanmail from gay guys that he cherished). 

and what if he still acts, in many ways... not even so dissimilarly from how he did in the beginning, with the exception of the sudden outbursts and jealous rantings? what if the cheeky smile feels a bit... off now? more like a smirk. what if you go from “aww he’s got a letter from peg,” to “oh no, he’s got a letter from peg”? what if he obfuscates and tells half-truths and outright lies in the exact same tone of voice as when he’s being sincere? what if that means you just never know when he’s being real? what if he’s all-mask and no answers? and when did he start being this? was this somewhat disconcerting man always who he was?

and, like with Charles, there are little glimpses into the answers (I think war co-respondent is a not universally beloved episode, but the stuff about being a prisoner of war and needing to look towards home was wonderful stuff to me, dunno if I can imagine him ever admitting any of that to Hawkeye -- not to mention period of adjustment, in which some bit of truth only comes out after literal violence and binge drinking)

when I was watching s10 I noticed that this got especially intense, not so much in the period of adjustment way, but just the casualness of cruelty. there were barely any examples of BJ really being there for Hawkeye (and I have another post I want to do about times he aggressively projected onto him and how Hawkeye reacted to that within episodes) and I wasn’t happy about it, because I wanted to see mutual support dammit! I wasn’t prepared to consider the tragedy that maybe the ability to do that is just eroding (take away why things were written the way they were and just looking at the narratives themselves) -- maybe all that’s left is the projection and the familiarity and the trudging onwards with bits of mad impulsive abandon the only way of dealing

and after Goodbye Farewell and Amen, I reconsidered (we’ll see if I feel the same way on my second watch though). I do on some level wish that BJ had gotten to be more in the final seasons than mostly petty and mean, but I’m also warming up to the reading of him and the ways that reactions to trauma can be incredibly unkind -- and also that BJ maybe doesn’t naturally come to kindness, but it’s hard to say. I quite like that read, personally, and there are hints of it (the fact that he played tricks on people before he ever came to Korea is one. the fact that he’s an easy-going privileged white guy who was popular in a frat house is another.)

the other thing about BJ is the gradual slide of his character. in the beginning he’s confidently able to play the Role Of The American Hero Man Who Is (kind of bland) A Good Guy Here To Pick Up The Pieces Of That Other Guy Who’s A Mess and we have a clear enemy in Frank. It’s a simpler story, even though it actually gets complicated almost immediately in the first episode by the way BJ starts out in his nice pressed dress uniform and ends it having thrown up, having fallen into the mud, having had bombs dropped on him, having taken a girl who stepped on a landmine to an ill-equipped local hospital, etcetcetc. and at the end getting mind-numbingly drunk. in hindsight it feels easy to see all of this and go: ah yeah, he’s not going to be okay

and yet he spends seasons in which he just seems to continue and then seasons in which he does increasingly unhinged shit, while still acting as if he’s just continuing. masks under masks under masks. 

the first crack might be when he cheats on Peg. it’s totally antithetical to what he believes in. it makes no sense for it to happen. I wrote a whole post about how I didn’t understand the reasons from his side at the time when I was watching it (I believe it was the first episode to really give him a POV), and I’m not convinced that it was intended at all this deep in any way, but through the lens of this read, it’s the first of BJ’s sudden, destructive behaviours -- but he’s still Good Guy BJ, he’s going to explain it to Peg, he’s going to fix it... until Hawkeye tells him not to (and once again obligatory mention of how Hawkeye inserts himself in the Hunnicutt family over and over). Who knows if that was the right decision, the point is that there are no right decisions, but maybe for a man like BJ... idk, maybe it would have been good to let him face the facts and take responsibility. he’s increasingly not very good at that, after all

I also think “BJ Papa San” is one of the most affecting pre-s8 episodes. more scales falling from his eyes, there are no heroes, including him, nothing here matters, why should he try to make things matter? and it’s in s8 when period of adjustment hits and I do think (and again I may find myself reconsidering once I rewatch) that there’s a pre-s8 BJ and a s8-onwards BJ and the changes can be pinpointed down to specific episodes -- those episodes turned a slow slide into a waterfall, until you end up with something like “Bombshells” in which BJ’s hurt leads him to blame Hawkeye (and really himself) for essentially judging the average soldiers who come through, when Hawkeye has never been cruelly simplistic like that in how he fights against the war

*

in GFA BJ finally hits the wall with his way of dealing, and he deals with that really badly too. every bit of how he goes about trying to get home to Erin’s birthday makes me want to shake him. he triggers Hawkeye, he doesn’t consider the needs of the 4077th in terms of surgeons, he feels weirdly manipulative in the way he shows her picture around like, “see, this is why it’s important I leave right now, rather than in idk, two weeks, you wouldn’t break the heart of this little girl, it’s all about her actually and not about me, when you think about it!” -- then he leaves without saying goodbye to Hawkeye or even just leaving him a note (and yeah, sudden short timing, but like... dude... you had time before that and also that’s the thing he’s sensitive about! that’s... that’s literally the thing that happened that meant he met you how he met you, you were there my guy!)

and he gets sent back and once again doesn’t acknowledge that he really may have hurt him. Over and over again in that final story, BJ runs from direct confrontation of how he feels, down to the feelings that must arise from allowing the word “goodbye.”

when Hawkeye confronts him on that (and I love love love that it wasn’t about how BJ might have hurt Hawkeye or about the mutual projection they may have done on each other, or anything about the past time of BJ being kind of a shit, it was Hawkeye asking for the thing underneath all of those things) it’s in a way that’s very raw and puncturing, and feels like slightly to the left of an argument (you know when someone brings something out during a fight that seemingly has nothing to do with what it’s about?) + Hawkeye’s highly sensitive way of dealing with things invoking his actual death to try and get BJ to just do the fucking thing! It was pretty shocking, I will one day rewatch, but I am remembering that feeling of it like a kind of slap to BJ’s face, because he’s trying to not think about things like that!

it reminds me of the example of “times men are allowed to show emotion and be close and be intimate include when a buddy is holding his dying buddy on the battle field,” except in this case it’s fascinatingly meta, because it’s Hawkeye calling BJ out on it through that example, because Hawkeye, as we know, has no problem being emotional (filtering those emotions though... somethingsomething fascinating that we have two examples of Hawkeye being so emotionally wounded that he literally deals with it by repressing the whole memory! ANYWAY!) -- would it be enough then, BJ? would you say goodbye if he was literally dying, or would you be a coward then too? I’m doing some hyperbole and stretching of how Hawkeye says it, but it’s the slightly left to an argument feeling of it all... you’re asking, how much does this question contain?

and hey, what do you know: having to look directly at the violence without a haze of genial “I’m just a blank space where a guy should be”ism, is the thing that BJ is sensitive about! but they’re about to leave and Hawkeye can’t let him not look directly at him anymore, he needs them to say goodbye!

*

BJ is also a guy who’s been really hurt and is continually hurt by all the ways war is a near-constant violence. they’re all just hurt people doing their best, and I like the idea that maybe Hawkeye is quite aware of what BJ is doing and absorbs the blows knowingly, because they’re all just trying their best to get through it okay and Hawkeye’s way is self-sacrifice

at the end BJ does say goodbye

he makes the tremendous effort to do so, and it’s done in a very BJ type way, big and grand. it feels like an acknowledgement that what happened here did affect him, Hawkeye mattered to him, and despite everything and the likelihood that they may never see each other again (or maybe they will, but only once or twice), there was something in it all worth saying goodbye to. in a sea of nothing mattering, that mattered

another thing is that I think if this had been a different show, with more traditional types of masculinity, BJ would have fit right in. Hell, he might even have been “the sensitive one” because ultimately he’s a very passionate healer of people and he’s against war on principle and he’s a wife guy, but this narrative doesn’t let him stop at that point. things that might go under the radar in that type if story become red alarms in this one. maybe the original MASH, full of snark and cynicism would have let him get away with it

but in this one he says goodbye, dammit, he hugs Margaret (twice), he says fond goodbyes to his friends and salutes Potter, and he hugs Hawkeye as hard as he can like he’ll never let go, and he makes the grand gesture! 

and I don’t know, I might reconsider so many things as I go along... like I said, he’s... *pokes and prods* what’s going on here, huh buddy? how can we make this writing make sense now we have all the puzzle pieces we’re going to get?

how hard can I fixate on the act of saying “goodbye”

[weekend-whip]

Hi! I wanted to say I LOVE your fic, and how you characterise the ninja - they’re so realistic in how they act and they have such unique ways of thinking! I also love the way they all interact with one another - the shenanigans never fail to make me laugh. I’m trying to write something myself atm, and I was wondering if you have any tips on how to do consistent characterisation/character arcs? It’s something I struggle with lots and I think you do it really well! Tysm

Thank you!!

I've gone into a few details on my approach to writing overall right here, but for specifics relating to your question:

Characterization:

Revisit the source material often! It can be easy to forget some of the more nuanced aspects of a character the longer you go without directly experiencing it (and being influenced by ~fanon~ which is not always a bad thing), but that right there is the foundation for consistency and for finding ways to expand on the character too!

A few examples of things to pay attention to when doing so are a character's dialogue/infliction (what phrases they say, how they say things, etc), how they react in average situations vs extreme ones vs personal ones, the ways they act/stand/look when not saying anything or aren't the focus, or trying to imagine what might be going through their heads, whether they're speaking or not!

Plus, it can even serve just as a quick refresher! Even I still go back and do that once it a while, especially when I need to figure out how to write a fresh character's voice (totally not as an excuse to rewatch ninja pfft what)

Read fanfiction! Yes, I know I just said we can get a little too buried in ~fanon~ sometimes, but something that can help your understanding of a character is to study how other people understand a character! Maybe they do things with Kai you agree with! Maybe they handle Cole in a way you disagree with! Either way, that does help sort out what you want to do when you write, and help you come up with idea you might not have considered otherwise!

It can also help you with the "filling in the blanks", for stuff like character dynamics for people that haven't ever spoken/interacted at all, or how a character would react in a situation they've never been forced into in canon and you're not sure where'd you start with it otherwise. If nothing else, it gives you a nice place to jump off from! And something to talk about with other fellow writers!

I just personally think it's important to remember a character's base foundation before pushing them outside of their establish box—bending without breaking, so to speak

Character Arcs:

Sometimes development can happened within a single chapter. Sometimes it's something that is contested across the entire story! One of the first things to determine is how big of an impact a character's arc is going to have on the overall plot. Is their development the plot itself? It is developing at the same time as the plot, or because of it? Is it something that happens on the side but works in service to the plot? Or does it happen independent of the plot entirely?

After asking these questions, you can then determine how important the character arc is going to be, and from there sort out how much focus you want/need to put into it. Does it all happen throughout the story as whole, just when the timing is right, or do they get a subplot dedicated to it? Those types of questions can help you decide how you want this development to unfold too.

The way I generally do it (primarily in my rewrite) is to block out the main events of the overall plot, and then detail where each character would be at in their growth corresponding to the event and/or the point in time, that way I can pace things a little easier, and figure out how potential changes can/will ripple effect down the line. Of course, this may not work for everyone or for every story, but it could be something to try!

Always!! Write!! It!! Down!! Maybe you've got it so well planted in your head and you'll only ever glance at it once, or maybe you'll make a bunch of changes to it in the future, but write out your overall plan(s) for the character(s) at least once, and then go from there. It's just good to have for a reference, and having it all in front fo you can help you visualize some of the finer details down the line (since you don't have to waste brain power constantly recalling the order of events or whatever—you can start digging deeper into the fun stuff!)

Remember it's okay if a character is static too! Depending on the plot/setting, there's going to be characters more situated for the plot at hand than others, and it's okay if everyone isn't going through something at the same time. A character might not need to undergo some astounding personal revelation; but whatever they can contribute can still be important!

So, if some of your struggle is that you can't figure something out for a character to do/learn, it's okay to put them in the backseat until they are needed, or give them smaller, less dramatic goals to overcome! That way there's not as much pressure to cram everyone into the spotlight, and gives you more breathing room to write their moments more naturally, rather than forcing something that might not even be necessary!

Anyway, hope that helps somewhat! ^-^)/

[karla-the-elemental-dreamer]

Terra Week 2023 - Day 7 Package

@terrakhweek

Pieces: 1. Reflection from Terra 2. Drawing of Terra, Aqua and Ventus (as per Terra’s request) 3. An encore that Terra doesn’t see coming – Song Dedication

To be acknowledged/shared: TUE 28 MAR or WED 29 MAR

Requires mod/re-share on Twitter (written pieces)?: No – published via Twitlonger

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

Firstly, here is the drawing done of the reunion in KH3. I thought this scene captured the Wayfinder trio the best, and their raw emotions, especially Terra’s:

I must say, Terra Week really pushed me to improve my drawing and do things I’ve never done before.

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

Here is the conversation I had with Terra for Day 7. Ideas were still a mix-up when we had this chat, so it sorta goes all over the place but works out in the end. Terra also decides to give some of his own closing statements:

START CONVERSATION

Terra: “Hey, what’s going on? I heard there’s been some trouble with me?”.

Me: “Yeah… This energy has been seemingly messing with you lately and trying to derail me from my Terra-Week work”.

Terra: “Oh! Oh.. Awe. Would you like to tell me more about it?”.

Me: “I don’t think we need to regail the Terra-Week audience with that”.

Terra: “Alright; we’ll save that for another conversation then. But you said you’re stuck right?”.

Me: “I was stuck, and have been for days; but then I jammed all these fines up my subconscious this morning, and I think it finally got the message… Again”.

Terra: “Oh; hahahahahaha!… Gotta pay per disruption. So. What did you want to pick my brain about this time?”.

————————

Me: “Well, firstly; two benefits to when you speak. One; it’s a suitable way of showing our connection”.

Terra: “Mmm”.

Me: “And two; we get to hear from the man himself. I think that one time you spoke about being a Wayfinder and Caretaker, they enjoyed it last year. So I figured we had to give more this year; although I didn’t anticipate so many sensitive prompts for you this time; so once again, sorry about that”.

————————

————————

Terra: “It’s alright. I did I say I was gonna help you. Does this one need a hanky [handkerchief]?”.

Me: “It depends on how you answer it. Since I didn’t know what to do about ‘Hero’, I’ve decided to go with last year’s Day 7 prompt which is ‘Self-Reflection’. So I was just wondering if you could pretty much reflect on yourself”.

Terra: “I think I get where you’re coming from, but that’s a bit of a vague ask. Can I have more details?”.

Me: “If you could just simply talk about your Kingdom Hearts life, any of it. Re-tell some stories from your own perspective, or look back on some of your actions and state if you would do them the same or differently this time around”.

Terra: “Ah, alright. Well as you know yourself, I would have done a lot of things differently, especially if you remember what I said for your Day 3 thing. In terms of how I went, not only did I fail my Mark of Mastery exam, but I screwed up everything else after that. I’d rate that experience with a big fat doughnut, only I got my friends back in the end, so I guess it’s not entirely that bad”.

Me: “Connections are important to you, aren’t they?”.

Terra: “Totally. And that’s the reason I made it to the other side. Like I said; amongst all the anger, despair and trickery, Aqua and Ven served as a reminder for hope, and were my reasons to not completely give in”.

Me: “That’s where the Lingering Will came from”.

Terra: “That’s right. The entity that would keep fighting on even when my heart and body could not. And the Lingering Will also wears a cape… You said you didn’t know what to address for a hero?”.

Me: “Well; not all heroes wear capes, Terra. But I get the visual tie-in”.

Terra: “Well I’ll ask you a question then. Do you think I’m a hero?”.

Me: “In some ways I guess you are, being unbiased here of course. You did come in when Ventus was about to be exterminated by Eraqus, so you spared Ventus in that sense. And then in your comeback, as the ‘guardian’, you swooped in and broke the chains that were about to end the lives of Aqua and Ventus, as well as Sora. And then only after Sora proved himself worthy enough to you [KH2.5 Secret Boss], you sacrificed yourself when then Terranort guy wanted to blast Sora. With the ‘rule of three’ in mind, I did manage to list three things, which confirm you’re a hero, sooo… Yeah”.

Terra: “Mmhmm”.

Me: “Wait a minute… You just led me to addressing the prompt I thought I didn’t know how to address”.

Terra: “That’s me doing my job as your dream guide [one of three]. But aren’t you forgetting something big about the word ‘Hero’?”.

Me: “What do you mean?”.

Terra: “”Well, there’s someone in Olympus Coliseum that I met with. We had a match or two, although one was a bit off”.

Me: “Zack”.

Terra: “Yeah. So only if you have enough time left, you could draw me with Zack”.

————————

————————

Me: “It sucks that I still can’t do custom posing though”.

Terra: “It’s alright. All your other drawings have been fantastic so far. Hey; I’ve got one request if you’re okay with it. For the last day, could you please also draw me with Aqua and Ven? I understand that it’s supposed to be ‘Terra-Week’. But it doesn’t feel right not recognising the hearts of those who led me back here”.

Me: “In the case, I’ll prioritise that one over the Zack drawing”.

Terra: “And I’ve also got another idea for Day 4”.

Me: “Okay Terra; but aren’t we doing a bit much discussing our itinerary out in the open?”.

Terra: “It’s the last day. I’m sure the Terra-Week team would be interested to see how you did your work. So I was thinking about that 2022 prompt of New Friends and Hangouts. Your household and reality are basically my new friends. So why don’t you draw yourself and I, and a bunch of those teddies doing something together? I’m sure that’ll be appropriate, and we can add some Kingdom Hearts flare to it to make it more-so. And hey, if you’re wondering what happened to me, I’m making up for when I seemed to be missing earlier in the week”.

————————

Me: “Hey Terra, we’ve hit three pages [in the writing book]. Would you happen to have any final comments for Terra-Week as this will be posted on Day 7?”.

Terra: “Hmm, let’s see. Well… I know Terra-Week is supposed to be all about me, but then there are people that make it happen, like you. So I want those guys to know that I’m giving you a massive shout-out. What I find fun, but also a bit confusing, is that there are other versions of me? So I guess I’d be fascinated to see how other people choose to interact with me; or if they just make pieces about me. Like I wanna see what I’m doing in all their works. I must say that despite some difficult prompts, you’ve been very kind to me, and again, I’m sorry about any trouble I put you through. Like at least in your reality, I’m not too angry; crying all the time; wanting nothing but violence *chuckles*. But like I said, each person has something special to bring to the table; and I know everyone doing this project loves me in their own way… So thank you. And if there’s another Terra-Week next year, I’ll definitely be back. To the ‘mods’ though, could you not give such painful prompts next year that I have to bite my tongue while trying to help Karla?”.

Me: “Sorry Terra; that’s a ‘no-can-do, or more than half your cannon character would be gone lol. But I’d like to make a special admission before we close. To this day, I still sometimes want to wring the life out of Aqua and/or Eraqus for their occasional insensitivity which planted seeds for my dream guide’s ‘ruin’. However, Terra is always begging for me to let it go, and sometimes I perceive an energy where he gets hurt from my rants. That’s how much he cares about everyone and has a really good heart. This person had mountains of integrity, which is why in my reality, I’m trying to show him what he can become with his highest potential and minimal obstacles or doubts”.

Terra: “Mmm. Thanks to you, and the green guys too; the tots that come after me when I’m not feeling good. I’m also blessed to have Riku as a dream guide partner; so he and I get to strengthen our bond, and no matter what happens to the others, Riku and I have been guaranteed to experience this new reality together. Oh! And I can’t leave without quickly mentioning Karla’s mom. Once she found out about me… I’m the only dream guide in the house that’s loved by more than just one person, which makes it a house I never want to leave. Her mom’s said heaps of times that she feels bad for me. Alright, I think that’ll do it for Terra-Week this year. As the star, I’ve gotta be the one to finish it”.

END CONVERSATION

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THE ENCORE THAT TERRA DOESN’T SEE COMING:

I could talk about the last minute song dedication all day lol. When you go to the YouTube link, be sure to read the description if you want the info and reasons behind it, rather me me filling up this space so much. I will reveal though, that I wrote the song 😮.

Here is the link to the surprise Day 7 piece:

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I declare this the end of Terra Week 2023 from my end. To help the mod out, you can work with the above resources if you wish to construct a comment.

THE END!

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The reason I ended TW above is because I have also written a Behind The Scenes reflection on how I felt going through the production process, and then some of the other KH ppl also added their insights.

Therefore, I am not obliging the wider audience to be bored by this. Please only go to the G. Drive link if you have time and are interested in everything I went through to deliver the show: WARNING: Heavy Reading.

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Thank you!

[wander-wren]

steps onto my soapbox

i am going to be so meticulous in my sideblogs. just so you all know. and my guide for flfverse when i get that off the ground (it’s in the works! yay!). why?

let’s talk about fandom history and archives and the internet and art, friends

when i was first getting into the baby beginnings of writing free falling/flfverse, which is my first attempt at a bdsm au, i was already familiar with the trope from honestly too many years of fanfic given my age. but i went to the fanlore page and….it barely resembled the trope i’d been reading, and hadn’t seen major updates since it was created in 2011.

at first, i thought some of the info was just straight-up wrong, so naturally i went on a deep dive to figure it all out. i’m still picking at threads on that, the hyperfixation ran out so it’s slower going now, but the fanlore page has been updated with some more of the info i found since i started the project, if you’re curious.

but it is/was an absolute goddamn nightmare to look through. the trope is generally agreed to have begun in 2006, when one fic (Stargate Atlantis fic, General and Doctor Sheppard by Xanthe) created it and then people started copying that fic etc etc. but ofc this was still in a time of purges on ffn and livejournal, ao3 was in the works but wouldn’t be online for real for a couple more years, and fandom was also spread across other individual websites run by creators. which makes it really hard to track things.

i’m currently working on closing the gap between the early 2010s (when the trope started appearing on ao3) and 2006-7 (when it was initially gaining popularity) and let me tell you, very few people bother to note where they got ideas from, or if they made things up themselves. i can see the shapes of certain trends but can’t pin them down yet. it’s fascinating and frustrating because i don’t know, ever, if i’m just not looking in the right place or if some info is just lost forever to purges and the like.

but it’s not like it matters, right? i mean, who actually cares about mapping the origins and spread of a kinky fanfic trope. no great loss of culture if it all vanished tomorrow, right. it’s not like, in the grand scheme of things, my projects mean a lot to the world.

maybe, hear me out, all art is important and valuable. maybe i find this interesting and that’s enough reason to look into it. maybe the trope is just an excuse to write a lot of smut; maybe, sometimes, it’s something else. i could go on about that angle but i won’t, not in this post. i’m not an 18+ blog. but sometimes, yall, the sex is a metaphor. or something.

i work on fanlore in my spare time for a reason. i’m looking to volunteer at ao3 as soon as i can for a reason. fandom history is really more fucking important to me than it has any right to be and i wish i could articulate why but i can’t do any better than this:

if i don’t care, who will?

a big chunk of the world already dismisses fandom, or at least fan labor, as fast as it can. i’ve dedicated countless hours of my life to this and i would drop my life plans in a heartbeat and dedicate everything to it if i could make a living but it’s fan stuff so i can’t.

what i can do is make my little guides and my blogs and keep separate archives for myself and document everything as meticulously as possible so 17 years from now when some small internet sleuth comes looking for answers to a question no one else thought to ask yet they will at least have that much.

maybe that’s dramatic. i don’t know. i tend that way. i don’t mind much.

(side note: talking about my little quest for knowledge isn’t really me asking for help with it. for one, i’m very protective of it; it’s my job to do, i got here first. for two, no offense, hypothetical internet person, but i can almost guarantee i know more than you. every time i’ve cast a line out so far on the off chance i get useful info i only get things i already know or things that are straight-up wrong. if you want to try to contribute anyway, knock yourself out.)

[tipsycad147]

Create a Powerful Witchy Altar with these 7 Top Tips

Today I want to veer off in another direction again and talk about something I haven’t covered yet, which I probably should have, namely how to set up your witchy altar!

Learn all about the best ways to set up your witchy altar below!

As I mention all the time, how you want to do things like set up your witchy altar is completely up to you. There are some guidelines that I’ll outline below about how many people like to set things up, but just because most people do it one way, definitely doesn’t mean that you have to follow suit. 

Altars are a very personal thing and each and every one of us will set them up differently. Some people love to have an elaborate altar in a prominent position in their home and others prefer a more simplistic and pared-back version somewhere out of the way. Because your witch’s altar is so personal, choose whatever you are more comfortable with. I’d suggest starting out simple and then adding to your altar if it feels right. 

My 7 Top Tips for Setting Up Your Witchy Altar

So, let’s get into it! Here is my guide to setting up your witchy altar.

Witchy Altar Tip #1 Figure out what’s important to you

Your altar is a personal space, which celebrates and symbolises your spirituality. It’s the place where you’ll put representations of your hopes and dreams and where you’ll set intentions for spell work you might be doing. 

Figuring out what’s actually most important to you and your life is vital here. What are your future plans? Why do you want an altar? What energy do you want to channel? Why are you drawn to witchcraft? Do you honour a deity? Are the cycles in nature important to you? These are all good questions to set about answering before you start setting up your witch’s altar.

Witchy Altar Tip #2 Choose your location

When choosing a spot for your altar, think about how often you’ll be using it and how much space you want to dedicate to it. Some people will have an entire altar room (I don’t know many people who have that much space but that’s beside the point really) and others will have a very small space set up in a corner of their desks. Either is totally ok and you need to decide how much space you have to spare.

When choosing a space to set your altar up in, be aware of getting in the way of other people that you live with. Maybe you have housemates at home and the dining table might not be the most appropriate place to set up on. Maybe you’ve got kids and that lower side table might be in reach of inquisitive little hands. Maybe your cat (this is me) is a little less graceful than she might like and enjoys jumping onto things only to find herself falling off again and sending everything crashing onto the floor. What I’m saying is, pick an appropriate spot that won’t bother the other creatures you’re living with.

Is the bathroom your happy place? Set up your witchy altar there if that’s where you feel like your best self.

When thinking about the location of your altar, it’s also nice to consider how good the energy feels in that space. I tend to get morning sun in my apartment and I’ve positioned my altar to make the most of that. I love that it gets bathed in natural light every morning and I feel like this brings a really special energy to my altar. Maybe you have a favourite plant you’d like to incorporate? Or a favourite window? A favourite room? Your altar is meant to be a space that feels special to you, so choose your location accordingly. 

Witchy Altar Tip #3 Direction of your Altar

Did you know that many people choose to face their altars to the north? If you’re curious as to why this is, let me explain. 

The 4 directions on a compass have a corresponding natural element that they represent.

Elements and their corresponding directions

North Earth South Fire East Air West Water

Because Wicca is an earth-based religion (and I’m coming at this from a Wiccan perspective), many of use choose to have out altars facing to the north.

This is absolutely not something you have to follow, however, and feel free to choose whatever direction you want for your altar, even if this is no specified direction at all. Maybe one of the elements speaks to you more than the others, or maybe you appreciate them all and choose to rotate your altar every 3 months. Decide what’s important for you and go with that. Test out different orientations and see which works best for you.

Witchy Altar Tip #4 Altar Decorations

This is such a big one, that I’m going to write a separate post on all the things you can add to your Witchy altar and the reasons that you might add them. Check out my witchy altar decorations here. 

In the meantime, here is a small selection of things you might want to include. Again, choose things that you love and that give you good energy and raise your vibrations. 

Salt – keeps away malevolent intents (see this post for my recipe for banishing salt).

Water – It’s great to represent the 4 main elements.

Favourite plant – this represents earth in the 4 elements.

Candles – I actually use one candle to represent air (fire can’t burn without oxygen) and one to represent fire. In this way I’m covering my 4 elements.

Anthame – for drawing energy to you.

God and Goddess figures – this can be whoever you choose to worship to. It can be just one, both, many or none depending on what you believe.

Pentacle – this is a common one within the Wiccan community. If you don’t identify with it that’s totally ok too!

Possible Witchy Altar Layout

This is a common way to lay out an altar.

Witchy Altar Tip #5 Free Space 

To me, it’s really important to leave a little free space on your altar. I know that it’s really tempting to fill it up with everything you love, and realistically you’ll find more and more things to add to it as time goes on (if you’re like me and love flea markets). This being said, everything needs some breathing room. Think about how you feel when you’re in a room full of way too many things, it’s stifling! Your altar feels the same way. Make sure that you only add things that are relevant to you RIGHT NOW.

Adding too much clutter can end up making this weird mash of energetic energy that doesn’t quite know what it’s doing. Too many things hold too many ideas and the whole thing ends up confused. Again, this is just my opinion, so if you love lots of things then go for it!

Witchy Altar Tip #6 Crystals

While this falls under Altar decoration, it can be an important addition to your altar. Crystals carry a lot of power in them, so if you want to add them to your witch’s altar, make sure you know what kind of energy they are bringing with them before you add them to the altar. 

You can make a crystal grid on your altar if you want to channel something specific.

Witchy Altar Tip #7 Have fun!

While creating an altar can feel heavily loaded and full of ways you can “mess up”, remember that we’re not talking life or death and this is something that is meant to bring you joy and make you feel good. 

An altar is there to enhance your craft, not to make you feel guilty or to browbeat you with a set of rules that you feel like you have to follow. A witch’s path is meandering and what you liked yesterday you may not like tomorrow. Remember this when creating your altar, and don’t fixate on how you might be doing something “wrong”. If you aren’t a ceremonial or super traditional witch, then you have all the freedom in the world to create an altar which brings you joy.

Do you love plants? Make a plant altar, with herbs, cacti, flowers and whatever you love most. Enjoy crystal more? Cover all your bases with crystals which correspond to each of the 4 elements. Do you love cooking? Make your kitchen your altar and your kitchen knife your ceremonial knife. 

Make your witchy altar on a shelf in your kitchen. That’s where mine is sometimes…

My loves, whatever you do on this path, make it your own! I’m here to give you suggestions and tips but never feel like you have to follow anything said here 100%. Being a witch is all about claiming your own power, and if you have ideas different to mine, embrace them!

You’re all forces to be reckoned with, don’t ever forget it.

Blessed be and until next time,

Amaria xx

[absentcaryatid]

This part, this is why you read a writer dedicated to the idol they base a character on:

He laughs. You’ve seen Seonghwa laugh before and it’s always fascinated you how it looks like he’s in mild pain when doing so. Now, it is kinda endearing.

I never would have picked up on this trait if not for seeing a deliberate compilation of his laugh thanks to a GIF set I reblogged from the author. Touches like these letting me know Seonghwa was the only possible idol for this character always make a story better.

Her office life is again making me feel so terrible for her working conditions. The computer update took about ten minutes and the awful coworker who scared off Seonghwa droned on that whole time. So glad the reader has something right brewing with her new "friend" that luckily is not likely to stay just that.

Seonghwa has such wise advice:

“A lot of the times, we just go after something because we are told we’re supposed to want it either by parents, or society or whoever. But in quiet moments, we should think about what we want."

He's talking about job advice, but in this story it is also the flip side of the reader ignoring ignoring her desire for Seonghwa and his nerdy tastes because he is not the things she is expected to want. Her dream guy checklist of traits rules him out, yet he is very apparently attractive to her but she is not ready to accept that.

I'm hurting for Seonghwa who already seems to have an interest in the reader but settled for "friends with benefits" if that is all he can get. He is comfortable enough to infodump and that is a great start through. Seonghwa has such clear concern and caring for the reader, and seeing her slowly figure it out is such a draw. It really makes me pleased to be familiar with an author's style, and happy endings for developing couples are Lyla's thing. I can survive the heartbreak of his pining and that of the reader betting it will go well for them over the chapters.

One last thought. Lyla, I'm laughing as I wonder how did you ever get into the mindset of a character so different from yourself?

“What movie?”  “Well, this week the theatre in old town is showing the Star Wars movies and tomorrow night is The Empire Strikes Back. I’m too tired to go tonight for A New Hope but if you’d like to come with me tomorrow…”  You think you saw the movie randomly a long time ago because a vague memory of a ship flying around an asteroid field comes to mind. If it were anyone else but Seonghwa, the refusal would come quickly and easily. But…

Wallflower - Part Two - Seonghwa x Reader (NSFW)

PART ONE HERE.

🌻 Summary: The events of Sunday morning won’t leave your mind, and you are determined to figure out if every aspect of the rumor about your nerdy coworker, Seonghwa, is true.

🌻 Word count: 11.5k

🌻 Genre & warnings: nerdy seonghwa with coworker reader. fem pronouns for reader. dirty talk. fingering. oral sex. unprotected sex. creampie. 

🌻 Tags are now moved to the bottom of the fic.

this fic is not meant to represent Seonghwa in any way, shape or form.

               You have a problem and it is one of your own making. In fact, it could even be considered two separate problems that are colliding.

               Problem one? You have no friends. After spending years striving to climb the corporate ladder in your quest for money and job security, all your real friendships fell apart and faded away. That meant that every one of your ‘friends’ were actually coworkers. The unhappier you got at your job, the more distant you felt from them, leaving you increasingly isolated.

               Problem two? You fucked around with a coworker. Most people would agree that to fuck a coworker, especially in an office setting, is a bad idea. Sure, it hadn’t turned into full on sex but you believed a general consensus of the situation would be that having your coworker eat you out to orgasm twice could be a short term pleasure without thinking of the long term ramifications.

               The way these problems collided was in the fact that you couldn’t talk to anyone about Seonghwa because you had no friends who aren’t directly tied to work.

               This meant that, while pressing the button in the elevator on Monday morning, you are left to the spiraling thoughts in your head without anyone’s help or advice.

               As the doors open and you step onto the floor, you immediately scan the area for Seonghwa. But you don’t spot him. All that you see is the usual Monday morning bullshit – people cramming donuts in their mouth, the scent of that cheap break room coffee, the typing of many keyboards, people gossiping by the water cooler about the party on Saturday, and the sound of various boring and tedious phone calls.

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