#probably just little shy budding romance crush things

[iturbide]

Tell me about prisoner of war au plz!

Okay so with the understanding that this one is more conceptual than anything at present (I have very little solid plot for it but I really enjoy the general idea of it):

Prisoner of War is basically a what-if AU: what if Chrom’s father didn’t die, and in fact managed to siege and finally capture the Plegian capital? If Validar kept quiet about Robin’s birth, allowing the information to be known only among the cult, it’s entirely possible that Plegia might fall, since I tend to think that news of the Heart’s birth helped give the army a morale boost and allowed them to withstand and even repel the Exalt’s forces; even in canon, where Robin’s mother flees and the Heart goes missing, I think the fact that Grima’s Heart had returned to the world makes them fight harder because they know that their divine is somewhere, even in hiding, and they want to see the day when the fell dragon returns to them. But without that boost, the halidom’s forces might have reached the capital and finally stormed it after a long drawn-out siege, and from there the people scattered, as did the remnants of the army.

This is the world Robin and Chrom both grow up in. Robin is raised in a broken nation that has suffered nothing but war since before she was born; she’s raised in hiding for her own safety, but the community she’s brought up in is, effectively, an army brigade. With their central command gone, Plegia’s resistance to the halidom now comes in the form of guerilla camps hidden throughout the country, raiding Ylisse’s army for necessary supplies, performing ambush assaults at every opportunity, baiting soldiers and vanishing in order to pick off large forces bit by bit. These fighters end up creating communities, but ultimately every member ends up as part of the fighting force — and that includes both Robin and Henry (himself not only an orphan, but a victim of the halidom’s cruelty; he was rescued from an Ylissean outpost, and his scars and pain tolerance both are the result suffering he endured at their hands). Chrom, meanwhile, is raised in a nation coasting on the exultation of its victory, where the anti-Plegian propaganda has reached a fever pitch and the nation at large is baying for the complete annihilation of the Grimleal nation. He’s trained from a young age for combat and command both, and his father intends that his only son will follow in his footsteps and, as necessary, complete the eradication of Grima’s followers and the fell dragon’s memory; to this end, he publicly bypasses his eldest daughter in the line of succession and names Chrom his heir apparent.

While many oppose the notion of Robin taking part in the efforts to defend her home and her family, General Mustafa (the man in charge of their particular camp) allows it on certain conditions: that she never be alone (and she never is, because she always has Henry) and that she never enter an Ylissean camp (she toes the line on that one a lot, and he knows but can’t prove it). Meanwhile, the Exalt makes a point of bringing Chrom into the fray, granting him command of a battalion and charging him with rooting out the Plegian resistance in the southwestern woodlands. This is how the two end up meeting: the guerilla forces attack the halidom’s troops in the dead of night, raiding supplies in the chaos and vanishing into the dark — but Chrom happens to see a stranger rushing off into the dark and gives chase alone while the other troops tend to the fires before they can consume the camp entirely. He finally manages to corner the pale-haired Plegian in a clearing deep in the forest and far from the camp...and realizes, far too late, that he’s the one who’s been led into a trap. Immobilized by magic, he’s quickly bound up and carted off on the back of a wyvern, and none of his struggles or snarls make any difference — but he’s taken aback by the fact that this young woman goes out of her way to check his bonds when he shows signs of discomfort, and openly apologizes as she loosens them, citing that her companion has trouble gauging how tight things should be due to his own lacking sensitivity. Neither of them seem to mean him any harm, and when he demands answers she openly admits that this is only for bartering: the halidom’s soldiers certainly won’t talk to them otherwise...though she is sorry about putting him through this.

Robin actually has no idea of who she’s caught until she and Henry get back to their camp, a warmly lit den at the heart of a twisting honeycomb of caves. Mustafa is shocked and deeply concerned when he sees the Brand on Chrom’s arm, but knows that what’s done is done (and can’t deny that it’s potentially a great stroke of luck on their part). Chrom ends up...ostensibly being a prisoner, but one with significant freedoms, and finds the Plegians to be amicable if understandably wary; Robin and Henry keep him company quite often, and he gets frequent visits from Robin’s mother (especially early on, since she’s the one who treats the rather nasty welts his struggling in Henry’s over-tight binding left behind). Nothing he finds bears any resemblance to the stories of his childhood, and he finds it difficult to reconcile the truth from the fiction he was fed growing up; when it finally comes time to face the Exalt, Chrom realizes that he’ll likely face the hard choice of siding with his father and the nation of his birth...or the friends he’s grown so close to and a nation far different from the one he thought he knew.

[angst-fairygodmother]

Prompt 10 // Dialogue6 with Nathan from Misfits since the last one was so good? This could be scary&ever so slightly steamy !

A/N: Aw, you’re so sweet darling. I’m so glad you enjoyed it. This didn’t Halloween...but it’s pretty intense/scary? I hope it satisfies. Word Count: 3487 Content Warnings: fire, near death experiences, implied death, Major Character Death (temporary), panic attack, references to Misfits S2

“Beth is throwing a big party this weekend at her doctor boyfriend’s beach house,” Alisha said nonchalantly while you and she, plus Kelly and Nicki, were out to brunch. “Maybe we should all go?”

“Wot? The four of us at some fancy bloke’s party?” Kelly asked, gesturing with her burrito.

“Well, and the guys…” Alisha shrugged. “I thought it would be fun. It’s the first time we can go wherever and not have to worry about getting busted for curfew.”

“What is the point of going to a beach house in October?” Nicki asked. “It’s too cold for swimming.”

“I don’t know! To be at a party and have fun?” Alisha snapped, volume raising enough to catch the attention of the next table over. “If you don’t want to come, don’t.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” you piped up. “They’ll probably do a bonfire, and if it’s a party thrown by rich people the booze will be quality. What have we got to lose?”

Alisha smiled at you gratefully and nodded. “See, Y/N knows. Come on, it’ll be a great time.”

By the end of brunch, you and Alisha had convinced Kelly, and Nicki said she would go if Curtis wanted to, which was the best you could get from her (now that she was being slowly but awkwardly integrated into a friendship built on a core bond of murder and near death experiences that you hoped for her sake she’d never actually understand). You were confident that Simon would be uncomfortable but willing to do whatever Alisha wanted, and Nathan...well Nathan could easily be bribed by the promise of booze and drunk girls. 

You sighed a little sadly at the thought. You liked him a lot, when he wasn’t being totally obnoxious for the sake of a laugh, but not once in all of your time together had he ever indicated that he might be interested. If anything, you thought he might hate you, at least in comparison to the others. Still, you tried not to dwell on it as you said goodbye to the others and headed off to work, where you would undoubtedly see him, since he always dropped in to try and convince you to give him free lunch (which you did, not telling him it came out of your already meager paycheck). 

~

The night of the party, you linked sweater-covered arms with Alisha as the two of you staggered down the dunes toward the gathered crowd, the thick sand making you move as if you were already drunk. 

���So are you finally going to say something tonight?” she asked you as you walked. 

“What are you talking about?” you countered, turning to give her a puzzled look.

“Oh come on. Everyone knows you fancy Nathan! Except him.”

Even though you couldn’t see her face in the dim light, you knew her well enough to guess the look on her face.

“As if it matters. He’s definitely not into me, so why waste my breath humiliating myself?”

“You don’t know that for sure. He’s probably never matured past the whole ‘be mean to them so they don’t know you like them’ from grade school. And tonight could be perfect. The glow of the bonfire, the stars overhead. It’s actually pretty romantic if you think about it.”

“I think I’ll leave the romance to you and Simon,” you laughed, giving her a gentle shove toward her boyfriend where he stood on the fringes of the group, bobbing (dancing?) awkwardly with a beer in hand. 

She turned around to stick her tongue out at you before greeting him with a shy smile. You shook your head, happy for the both of them and their budding romance, before wandering a little further down the beach to get yourself a drink.

“Nice turtleneck,” a familiar voice drawled sarcastically.

You rolled your eyes, plucking a beer from one of the massive buckets of ice, and turning to face him. 

“Hey Nathan,” you sighed.

“Aw, don’t say it like that,” he pouted dramatically. “Ya know yer happy to see me.”

“Ugh, actually I was hoping that for one night you’d not be hangin around,” you muttered, half-lying. 

He looked shocked for a moment, hurt flashing in his brilliant green eyes before he turned away with a shrug. “Fine then, I’ll leave ya alone. I’m sure there’s way prettier than ya around anyway. Fanny for days, and I don’t need ya.”

“You’re a prick!” you growled at his retreating back, fumbling to open the bottle in your hand and take a deep drink, slicing your hand on the edge of the cap in the process. “Shit.”

“Need some help with that?” a new voice asked. 

You looked up into a pair of friendly brown eyes and smiled softly. “Uh, sure. Thanks.” 

He smiled back at you, introducing himself as John, and held out his hand for you to place yours in. He poured water over it, wrapping it in a napkin after, holding pressure on it for a long moment before checking to see if it had stopped bleeding.

“So what’s the verdict?” you asked jokingly. “Do I get to keep my hand?”

“Actually, I was hoping I could,” he attempted a wink and laughed when it came out more awkward than suave. You couldn’t help but laugh along, feeling your face grow warm as he did in fact maintain his hold on you and ushered you back toward the fire and the group.

“He’s wrong you know,” he said. 

“What?” you asked in confusion.

“That guy. He was wrong about there being prettier people around. You’re the most beautiful person on this beach.”

You bit your lip, looking shyly down at your feet. “Oh…I mean, probably not…”

“I think so. And I graduated top of my class, so I think I know a thing or two.” Seeing you shift uncomfortably, he smiled. “Hey, let’s dance.” 

Not having any reason to deny him, even though he really wasn’t the one you wanted to be dancing with, you nodded, shifting so that your arms draped around his shoulders, your still mostly full beer clutched lightly by the neck. His hands came to rest on your hips, large and warm even through your shirt, and the two of you swayed to the music drifting over the crowd.

~

Nathan watched darkly as Y/N danced with some other guy. His chest felt tight as they laughed and swayed together, as he leaned in to whisper something that made Y/N blush, and his lips twisted into a scowl. He took a swig from the red solo cup of mystery alcohol he had snagged and was just about to storm over and interrupt when Kelly cut in front of him.

“Wot do ya think yer doin?” she asked, gesturing in that scolding way of hers. 

“I was just going over there,” he said, innocently. “Wanted to meet Y/N’s new friend.”

“Don’t,” he glared at her. “Ya’ve blown at least a half dozen shots with Y/N. I don’t blame ‘em if they decided ya ain’t worth it.”

Nathan’s face dropped. “Ya don’t know what yer talkin about Kel,” he muttered.

“I didn’t mean it like that Nathan, and ya know it. I’m just sayin, there’s nothing wrong with Y/N dancing with a cute guy and wanting to just stay mates with ya.”

“Except we aren’t even mates. Y/N barely tolerates me.”

“Well maybe if you weren’t such a prick all the time, pushing their buttons almost as bad as you do with Simon…”

“I do not!”

Before Kelly could respond, someone screamed, echoing over the dark beach and causing everyone to turn toward the water.

“There’s something out there!” the girl cried, pointing shakily. 

People began looking restlessly around at each other, no one sure what to do. And then someone laughed. 

“Real funny, Beth,” a voice called. “Ooh something spooky in the water! Next you’ll be saying there’s ghosts in the attic.”

A few nervous chuckles ran through the group as people returned to their activities, the air of tension not quite lifting. 

~

“You don’t think there’s actually something out there do you?” Nicki asked, her and Curtis appearing near you and making you jump, almost spilling your drink on John.

You took a shaky breath, bringing the bottle to your lips to give yourself time to reply without sounding scared. 

“Nah,” you said eventually. “I mean, what could be out there?”

“Yeah, it was probably just like a seagull or something,” John said, laughing. “Beth is always so overdramatic.” Something about the way he said it grated on your nerves but you tried to shrug it off.

Curtis raised an eyebrow at the hand still on your waist. You shrugged slightly. Of all your friends, he and his girlfriend would probably be the most proud of you for trying to move past your unfortunate crush on Nathan, but the attempt was only half-hearted so you almost didn’t want to admit it. 

Another scream rang out. A different voice this time. High and sharp and insistent that there was something out there in the shadows. One of the classic dudebros made some joke about “chicks being hysterical” and started heading for the water. Several people tried to stop him, saying that it was too dangerous. He ignored all of them. Shortly after he hit the water, his outline suddenly disappeared. 

After that, chaos ensued with people screaming and running in all directions. Some headed for the water, phone flashlights glancing off the waves as they looked for the missing man. Most seemed determined to just be anywhere but there. Someone crashed into the corner of the pallet stack that formed the base of the bonfire, going down in a scream of pain under the now fallen and spreading fire. Nicki swore, the explicative disappearing as she vanished. 

You lost track of both Curtis and John in the crush, struggling to keep your feet as you waded through the loose, stirred up sand. 

You wanted to help but you didn’t know how.

You tripped. Falling onto the uneven ground, you tucked in on yourself, trying to protect your head and organs from the stampede now over and around you.

~

“There you guys are!” Alisha cried, her and Simon running up to the group as they huddled together up the beach, standing on a rocky hill and looking down at the churning crowd and roaring fire, spitting below. 

“We have to do something,” Simon said, frowning. 

“Like wot?” Kelly snapped. “None of us can fight fires. And whatever’s in the water…” she shuddered, not wanting to think about some shark or other horrifying sea monster.

“Wait, where’s Y/N?” Nathan asked, looking around and realizing you were missing. 

“Shit,” Curtis said, running nervous hands over his head. “They were right behind me...I must have lost ‘em in the crowd…”

“Y/N is smart…” Alisha tried to reason. 

“Yeah. Yeah. Probably just on another part of the beach…” Nicki sounded more scared than convincing.

“Hey.” Nathan jumped, turning to see Y/N standing behind him, no worse for wear, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Oh thank god. Jesus, Y/N. You had us worried,” he sighed, trying to calm his racing heart. “I mean...they were worried. I wasn’t...ya know cus I don’t…aw fuck, I was worried too. Thought ya might be buried under all that mess.”

You bit your lip, raising your eyes as you nodded to the rest of the group. He looked back to realize they were all staring at him in concern.

“Nathan, what the fuck are you on?” Alisha snapped. “Y/N’s not there. No one is.”

“No. No no no. That means…” he turned back to look at you, desperation in his eyes as reality dawned on him.

“I died. Tripped and got trampled. Lame right?”

He shook his head, tugging at his curls. “Shiiiit.”

“What else did you think I was apologizing for?” you tried to tease, tears rolling down both your faces.

“Nathan, is Y/N…is she dead?” Simon asked hesitantly. “Are you talking to her ghost?”

He swallowed heavily, nodding reluctantly. Curtis gasped.

~

“There you guys are!” Alisha cried, her and Simon running up to the group as they huddled together up the beach, standing on a rocky hill and looking down at the churning crowd and roaring fire, spitting below. 

“We have to do something,” Simon said, frowning. 

“Like wot?” Kelly snapped. “None of us can fight fires. And whatever’s in the water…” she shuddered, not wanting to think about some shark or other horrifying sea monster.

“Wait, where’s Y/N?” Nathan asked, looking around and realizing you were missing. 

“Down there somewhere!” Curtis answered, craning his neck as if he could spot you in the crowd.

“Wot?!” Kelly shouted. “How do you know?” Her face fell. “You already did this at least once. Which means…” she couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence, but they all knew how it ended.

Nathan was panicking. He could feel it. It was like dying. Except that he was fine, physically. Still his throat felt constricted and his blood was racing in his ears. He couldn’t think straight. All he could focus on was the fact that Y/N wasn’t there, was somewhere else and in danger, that Curtis had changed time and it was connected to their absence. He refused to think of what that meant. He refused.

He took off running.

“Nathan!” Kelly called after him. “Wot the fuck are you doing?!”

He barely heard her. His trainers sank into the sand, slowing every step he took and he wanted to scream in frustration. People pushed and shoved him and he started swinging fists and bony elbows as he fought the flow of fleeing adolescents. Somewhere nearby, fire reached one of the big open vats of jungle juice and roared up, the wave of heat knocking people off their feet. 

“Y/N!” he screamed at the top of his lungs, hoping that you could hear and answer him. 

The air smelled like burning plastic, and hair, and other things he didn’t want to think about. 

“No, no...I can’t...not again…” tears stung as he continued to push his way through, even though he didn’t notice it. It was just like Jamie and he was just as useless. He was always useless.

He stumbled over something large, and swore, barely keeping his balance. He muttered something about damn rocks when the something groaned. He looked down. It was hard to see but he was pretty sure...yeah, that was a familiar green turtleneck. He actually laughed in relief as he dropped to his knees, scrabbling to pull you up and get you to move. 

~

All you could think was that this was how you died. No, that wasn’t true. You also found yourself wondering if you would end up a specter, haunting Nathan, or just a charred skeleton and no one would ever know for sure what happened. 

And then there were hands. Soft, pulling hands. Hands that wanted you to uncurl, to rise up, that wanted to help you do it. You ached, and your eyes stung (there was definitely sand in them, plus the smoke, at the very least). Your breath came in short coughs. The hands were attached to arms that were now around your shoulders and waist, supporting you, helping you stand, helping you run, or rather limp, onward. 

Eventually, the world became cooler, and your breathing became a little easier. You were still scared to open your eyes. You were still sure this was a dream in the moments before death’s embrace. 

You couldn’t run anymore, dropping down onto the sand once more, not even caring enough to guard your squishy bits.

“Y/N?” Nathan’s voice, strained and quiet. 

When nothing immediately caused you more injury, you rolled over onto your back, relieving some of the strain on your aching neck and chest.

“Y/N, say somethin,” he pleaded.

“Owwww,” you groaned, slowly peeling open one sand-coated eyelid and then the other, blinking rapidly to clear away the debris.

Nathan was beaming down at you. You marvelled at the way his hair flopped so perfectly over his forehead and the fact that this might have been the first real smile that you had ever seen. It was beautiful. 

“What’s that dopey look for?” you snapped, a little annoyed but only because you were in pain. 

“You alright?” he asked.

“I just got trampled by a stampede of co-eds on a burning beach. What the fuck do you think the answer to that question is, pretty boy?” The sarcastic nickname slipped out unintentionally, but you couldn’t deny it, he was pretty.

“Sounds t’ me like you’re just fine.” 

You struggled to sit up and his hands shot out to brace you. Surprisingly, most of your bruises felt minor, except for the persistent pounding in your head, and now that you were in the clear air and not scared shitless, breathing wasn’t so hard. 

“Guess so. I take it, I have you to thank?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

He nodded. “It was nothin’. I mean I can’t die right?”

“You can. You just don’t stay dead. And you’ve said before that it still hurts. So I guess I owe you for riskin’ that for me,” you said.

He suddenly pulled you into a hug, long arms curling tightly around you. You buried your face in his chest and the several layers of jackets he was wearing. Now that the ordeal was over, you felt like crying. You weren’t sure, but you thought Nathan might already be.

“I’m really glad yer okay, Y/N,” he mumbled against your hair. “I was scared I’d lose ya without tellin ya I fancy ya.”

“Sure ya do Nathan,” you said, rolling your eyes and trying not to wince as it made you a little dizzy. 

He sputtered indignantly. “I do. I fancy ya and I know yer way too good for me, so I tried not to. But...I don’t wanna do that…”

“Nathan…” you fought to keep your voice from cracking. How long had you waited for this? How many times had you dreamed of him saying it? Except maybe without the self-deprecation. 

“I know I cocked it up. But ya know I’m not good at the feelings bullshit,” He continued as if he hadn’t heard you.

“Nathan.”

“And if ya’d rather that other bloke, the one ya were dancin with...I won’t get in the way.”

“Nathan!” you finally shouted.

He startled. “Yeah?”

“Will you shut up and kiss me you dunce?” you asked, leaning back to look into his bright green eyes.

He licked his lower lip nervously and you felt your gaze drawn to it. Then his soft mouth was pressed to yours and you felt like you were melting. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding each other close. You traced your tongue over the path you had watched his take and he parted, dancing together with you. He groaned, fingers tightening on your waist. 

Slowly, you drew back, smiling at the sight of him sitting there, his eyes closed and lips still slightly parted. You looked around at where you were: far enough down the beach that you were safe from the spreading fire, and completely alone but not so far that you couldn’t see it, wouldn’t know what happened. You knew you should get back to the group. 

“In case it wasn’t obvious,” you said softly. “I like you too, Nathan. A lot.”

“I mean, duh. I’m gorgeous,” he said, gesturing to himself with one hand which quickly returned to its place on your side. 

You laughed. Alisha’s words from the beginning of the night echoed in your head, feeling like they were uttered a lifetime ago, like a prophecy across the ages. ‘The glow of the bonfire, the stars overhead. It’s actually pretty romantic if you think about it.’ Maybe it wasn’t how she’d meant it, but you had always been good at making the best of a situation. 

“We should probably stay here, wait out the emergency crews or the fire to die out on it’s own before we go back…” you suggested, smilingly devilishly.

“Yeah. I don’t exactly love the idea of goin back through there,” he agreed, nodding up the beach. 

“Of course, who knows how long that’ll take. We might get bored…”

His eyebrows shot up. “What are you suggestin, Y/N?”

“Well that depends.”

“Oh? On what?”

“You.” You cocked your head to one side. “The night is young, the moon is full, so what are you going to do with me, Nathan?”

He returned your smirk with one of your own before slowly laying you back on the sand. 

“You saucy minx,” he teased, leaning in so his lips brushed yours. “I have a few ideas.”

[solarheiress]

Literally all of the lovesquare is trash not just ladrien lmao

I personally don’t think of it as trash, but I appreciate your input?

Don’t get me wrong I do like the lovesquare, so these kind of messages kind of lose their impact on me. It’s more that, some ways they interact are better than others to me.

To sum up my opinion on the lovesquare dynamics and ranking them from best to nah here:

1) adrinette

2)marichat

3)ladynoir

4) that thing I’m trying not to accidentally put this post on the dash of people who like it. And am hoping that anon not blocking out the word won’t put it there if it does I’m sorry

I obviously prefer marichat more than tumblr does, everything else lines up and I still feel pretty vaild and plenty petty. If you want an explanation behind my reasoning, click below!

Starting with la/////drien, my point is that “cute flustered” bit never came through for me, I never liked it, they always just seemed awkward and distracted and the situation was uncomfortable. That side is my least favorite mostly because of two things.

1) how it started. As the show goes on, they’re obviously acknowledging that the other person involved has flaws, but at first they were really just putting the other person up on a pedestal and that mentally lasted a lot longer than I’m comfortable with. I’ve see the “all crushes are like that” argument going around and I just.... they aren’t? Maybe for the first little while, or, certain crushes, but it’s just weird to me in this case.

2) in this situation the masks actually bother me more. With lady noir, they’re both wearing masks and if I’m being honest that’s one step above lad////rien for me anyways, but, there is equal anonymity.

On the other hand, I think I like marichat because, in my opinion, adrien would f**k up the whole secret identity thing pretty fast in that scenario while Marinette wouldn’t? Or at least, adrien would do it sooner.

What I mean is that, in my opinion, Adrien’s behavior towards Marinette would change noticeabley and faster. I mean, we already saw this with evillustrator, the first thing he tried was asking her about his super self lmao? It’s going to take a lot for Marinette to be less flustered and awkward around Adrien, even being in her superhero persona didn’t really help all the way, plus secret identity keeping is really her thing at this point. Plus I believe they have a better chance of really getting to know the sides of one another that they don’t usually see. No awkward flustering or dumb distractions, they’re best buddies who know each other too well and can’t be best buddies at first and have to try very hard to not let on how well they know each other.

Adrien has to fight his way around not mentioning school and Marinette can’t remember their superheroing to well, friend running the ladyblog or not. Plus the whole concept of Adrien supporting Marinette’s crush on who he presumed is luka/Nathaniel/whoever is hilarious, and the chaos that would ensue if she followed Chat’s suggestions around Adrien would be hilarious too. (There’s an amazing fancomic where he comes across her upset after another failed confession and wants to know who the asshole is and she tells him and his brain stalls at “I’m the asshole?”) it’s just perfect to me lol.

But back to the masks! For one, whether you like it or not, they do act differently when they are and aren’t wearing them, specifically towards eachother! Marinette being so awkward and flustered almost solely around Adrien isn’t really her whole personality, it’s a consequence of her crush. When Adrien isn’t chat noir, he’s more.... well behaved and proper are the best words that come to mind. I’m not saying that these things aren’t apart of their personalities, but when the masks shift in certain ways they’re amplified in such a way that it sells the dichotomy perfectly. To Marinette, Chat is fun and goofy, and Adrien, although similar, is more reserved and polite. To Adrien, Marinette is shy, nervous and endearingly clumsy, with moments of confidence to be proud of while ladybug is confident and capable after a few bumps in the road. This does affect how they see the other person (ie, as two distinct people) and change how they act towards one another, as well as how they react to what they’ve perceived as a different person. Marinette obviously doesn’t fluster as easily and can be sarcastic and serious around Chat, and even though it isn’t quite as simple as I’m going to phrase it, Adrien is almost more... gentle, in the way he interacts with Marinette vs ladybug, almost like he’s seen her freak out so much that he feels a potential freak out is around the corner if he missteps.

(Back to Marichat lol) Another reason marichat bothers me less is that romance isn’t the goal from the outset. Befriending someone you don’t know a lot about is no big deal. Even though it’s a bit ironic for them, wanting to meet/befriend a superhero is a realistic goal for not hero people, and chat noir has interacted with Marinette a lot, so it’s not surprising he’d want to get to know her better. And they aren’t obsessed with dating/marrying each other, so they get to be goofy and also run the gambit of emotion when they realized they f**ked up and fell for each other by accident.

It’s simultaneously a cute friendship, a budding attraction towards one another and a somewhat stressful and unknowingly mutual game of cat and mouse as they’re both trying not to screw up identity stuff. With Lad///rien it’s just.... dramatic sigh and swooning nonsense.

(One last thing, the idea that chat noir would start paying more attention to where Marinette is and accidentally f**k up her chances for transformation by trying to make sure she’s safe is hilarious because unlike Adrien to ladybug, Marinette would appreciate the concern but start to get annoyed at some point and maybe even attempt to talk to him about it as ladybug, to get him to focus on fighting and not “some girl” which chat can easily misinterpret as jealous could you imagine)

Back to where we started, Ladr////ien just doesn’t work for me in a way that Marichat does. But beyond just the hero/civilian self sides, ladynoir works better in my opinion because again, equal anonymity, and second, Marinette would be consciously choosing chat noir instead of Adrien, not just getting an accidental 2 for 1 deal. I know they’d probably end up happy eventually, but I have a feeling that finding out Chat Noir, who ladybug turned down, kind of used the fact that she didn’t know his identity to date her anyways wouldn’t sit well with Marinette. And even though Marinette hasn’t really confessed, adrien might get the same feeling of, almost a betrayal in a sense.

(Marichat is also like ladynoir because they’re consciously choosing not ladybug and not Adrien, even though they get a surprise 2 for 1 anyways, and in that circumstance, finding out that they accidentally fell in love with the same person twice would probably smooth things over).

Adrienette will always be the part of the lovesquare that is the best because it’s.... it’s just them. It’s what the ship would be called if not for the secret identity complication. It’s probably where they’d pretty quickly land in the event of a reveal. Obviously, the dynamic would be something different if they revealed themselves, but in my opinion it’s also the most..... stable, I suppose, and equal, in the sense that, while, yes, they’re both hiding superhero secrets, I doubt they wouldn’t tell eachother eventually. They could meet each others friends and parents (if Gabriel didn’t suck so badly). It works in a way that ladynoir, lad////rien and even marichat doesn’t because even though they are hiding something from one another, it’s not a massive factor in how they interact. Ladynoir can’t happen without the constant reminder that they don’t even know each others names. Marinette would probably start to get frustrated with the idea that she’s dating Adrien but can’t hold his hand at school because she’s the wrong her. Adrien, well, as I said my theory is he’d flirt with Marinette by accident as himself rather than chat and complicate matters, but not like Marinette will “oh no two boys I like like me back what now”, instead she’d “two boys who like me look and act very similar and I’m starting to connect dots I’m not supposed to connect”

[devintrinidad]

Aw those hcs are adorable! 

I like that green tea is such a staple for 1146 even cells who know him treat getting accepted by him like a pet owner does when their cat bring them a dead animal offering. At least he brings them tea instead of a dead germ. XD

I’m now being reminded of the S1 ending where Platelet sits on top of 3803’s cart. Only replace it with NC now. I can imagine all the weird looks they get when she’s carting around adult Normal Cell like he’s a child. Neither of them care. NC probably just gives off a smug ‘you wish a strong pretty girl would give you a ride on her cart all over the body’ (and he’s right. Some are jealous). But I also see Leader Platelet come running after them because she’s used to 3803 doing that for her too. Instead of making NC leave, Leader Chan plops gerself in his lap all three go on a adventure together (3803 is a disaster and curiosity magnet so eventually things could always get wild). 

It’s funny to think NC is in fact very protective of her. But because he’s a Normal Cell now he’s much weaker then her. She ends up acting more protective over him and carrying him around when he can’t walk. That or she gives him piggy back rides.  It probably takes him awhile to get used to this new reversal. But then he’s like 'eh she’s caring about me and that’s all that matters’. He definitely still acts very protective but he’s more of the nagging type like 5100. But he does it more grumpily. He’s actually bonded with 5100 when it comes to worrying about 3803 (which is pretty ironic). The only difference is he focuses more on how tough she is too and likes it when 3803 goes off the beaten path and does things a RBC isn’t known to do. Since 5100 thinks so little outside the box, NC also sasses her but she sasses right back and then they can squabble (in a non hostile way that never goes to the levels he and 1146 squabbles can) about how she thinks 3803 should just do as expected of her. While NC praises 3803 for doing more then what’s expected of her and even uses the time she called the Calvary on Cancer as an example (which is also ironic). 

Lol, 1146 takes awhile to figure out he’s not over senstive about NC acting affectionate with 3803 because of the past (at least post finally accepting NC in their lives by giving him tea). He’s just straight up jealous and territorial. He’d hate any guy kissing her on the cheek. 3803 doesn’t mind because she actually gets that NC is not doing this out of romance (he’s just as dumb if not dumber then 1146 when it comes to that). Granted she knows he has a crush. But he’s also still very affection starved and not very good at getting social norms. He’s trying his best though and these days wouldn’t dare do anything to upset her. After awhile she notices 1146’s sheer grumpiness and NC tells her he’s upset he’s too shy to kiss her cheeks too. 3803 being 3803 quickly tells 1146 what NC told her and she informs him 'of course  he can kiss her cheek too’. She waits for him to kiss her cheek but he just stands there frozen like all the life got sucked out of him. NC is trying not to laugh out loud. 3803 gets tired of waiting so - thinking it might help - she gives a quick kiss on the cheek to 1146. Then his clothes explodes off him as his face turns more red then her hair. Normally NC would get a little jealous but even he’s in a little awe by the reaction. 0_0

Normal Cell would cry tears of joy that NC managed to find two friends. That’s a lot more then he expected. He’d be such a busybody like that overly enthusiastic momma bear who’s so proud and invested in her child. NC would stop him from getting too excited over 3803 being his girlfriend because she’s not. Normal Cell also shows 1146 all of NC’s most embarrassing photos because he sees 1146 as a nice upstanding guy who is like NC’s best friend. 1146 is polite enough to leave before laughing his head off and subtly making fun of NC about it later. That’s the quickest way to get NC to behave once he realizes all the blackmail ammo 1146 has on him.

 Aw, I bet 1146 gives the best hugs to 3803. He just envelopes her into his big arms and she feels so safe and warm in them. Sometimes when he’s particularly happy or sentimental, he sweeps her off her feet for a tight hug while she laughs. 

I can imagine 1146 just has his iconic dour face when he’s carrying them and thinking he’s the only adult in this trio.

NC would make fun of 1146 for liking boring vanilla best. 1146 would defend his choice saying it’s vanilla Bean! Very different from ordinary vanilla. Then he’d point out lemon suits NC just fine because they’re both so sour to deal with. 

Aw NC trying his best to find a good dynamic with 1146 and 1146 leaving to cool off instead of exploding at him. They’d definitely have a ways to go and NC would be grateful deep down how patient and kind 1146 really is with him. The sass will always remain but NC is definitely forcing himself to learn how to not hurt others when previously that’s what his entire existence was about. NC probably cried once when he accidently made 1146 REALLY upset. Then 1146 ended up getting flustered and giving NC way more treats then he could consume in one sitting because those tears would stop coming. That’s their weird dynamic. 

NC will never stop treating 3803 like a queen. Making her happy is the one thing that eases his guilt a little. She definitely sees herself acting like a big sister for him and always accepting his gifts. She’ll pat him on the head and hope someday he’ll hate himself a little less for a life he hadn’t picked. Her forgiveness is the one thing that helps him sleep at night. 

As much as NC would never admit it, he doesn’t want to ever move out of Normal Cell’s apartment. He knows he’ll get lonely without his creator and sees him as a security blanket despite all his visible annoyances over said mentor’s clingy ways. He’ll probably treat Normal Cell’s next clone like that annoying younger sibling he never asked for and is his mortal enemy by birth (you know in a normal sibling way). 

~~~

Hiya! Are you new? Your email is unfamiliar to me....

Hahaha, now I’m getting images of 1146 covered head to toe in blood while dragging around the mutilated remains of a bacterium for his friends. It’s somewhat adorable but also terrifying. 

That’s a great callback! I actually wanted to reference that time in 3803/NC’s relationship back in RBA (basically one of the first times they meet and 3803 saves Cancer by running for her life with Cancer hanging on for dear life in her cart). But the reference to the season one ending is also a great detail! And yes, Leader Platelet (and a few of the other platelets), also like to ride on 3803′s cart. 

(Sometimes, other RBCs will get their own platelets and they’ll go have races around the body). 

I am living for the friendship with NC and 5100. Although I’m pretty sure 5100 will never know the true story behind the kidnapping and NC’s true origins, they will surely bond over 3803. (But let’s face it, NC gets 3803 roped up in his shenanigans and it’s up to 5100, 4201, or 1146 to bail them out. And no. NC regrets nothing). 

Protective NC is best NC, even when he’s being a sassy little child when doing so.

1146′s CLOTHES EXPLODE??? HEHAHAHAHAH! 3803 is left mystified while Dendritic Cell swoops in for a few photos. 

(NC pays Dendritic Cell with a few humorous stories of 1146 in exchange for a few photos... to which Normal Cell promptly sticks into his budding scrapbook for NC).

1146 gives the best hugs. Sometimes, when he swoops 3803 in his arms, he sees NC looking off to the side, an angry blush on his cheeks. 1146 isn’t one to gloat, but that’s probably what he’s doing when he sees the look on NC’s face. 

(Don’t worry... some day down the line, 1146 hugs him... but they will never admit it). 

If there’s anyone interested in the Abnormalities verse and also happens to be an artist or likes to doodle... please draw grumpy 1146 holding his two friends like they’re a sack of grapes? Please? It would make my day, haha. 

Hehehe, I gave NC lemon flavor because of his “lime green eyes”. But he is definitely pretty sour to begin with.

Aw NC trying his best to find a good dynamic with 1146 and 1146 leaving to cool off instead of exploding at him. They’d definitely have a ways to go and NC would be grateful deep down how patient and kind 1146 really is with him. The sass will always remain but NC is definitely forcing himself to learn how to not hurt others when previously that’s what his entire existence was about. NC probably cried once when he accidently made 1146 REALLY upset. Then 1146 ended up getting flustered and giving NC way more treats then he could consume in one sitting because those tears would stop coming. That’s their weird dynamic.

^^^ I won’t expand on it, because you worded it better than I ever could. You broke their relationship into their barest essentials. 

Oooohhhh, I love the image of 3803 patting him on the head. While NC isn’t that much taller than 3803, the height difference is still apparent. I can just imagine that whenever NC gets really down or especially guilty, he hunches over himself, becomes smaller, and bows his head (reminiscent of his first reincarnation as a child trying to hide from the big, bad immune cells). When 3803 sees this, she immediately goes into mother/big sister mode and starts patting his head and smoothing his locks. Maybe she even kisses him on the forehead/cheek (depending on how she’s still dealing with the trauma). 

After that, NC beams at her, but doesn’t sass or say anything. 

He’s content with what she has given him.

Hehehe, I bet Normal Cell has to explain that there are rules and regulations to this sort of thing. So, they compromise. NC and Normal Cell will live on the same floor of their apartment complex and NC gets to visit whenever he wants. 

(He totally comes over every day just to annoy his younger sibling). 

Thanks for the lovely add ons! They were really cute and adorable! :D

[goldencored-arc]

Ship Bias + Mo Xuanyu ?

Send ‘Ship Bias’ and I will share up to 5 Ships I have a bias for for my muse! (+ specify a muse)

1.  Jiang Cheng. I have a lot of feelings about this ship. JC was MXY’s second crush, because I personally wholeheartedly believe that NMJ is every baby bi/gay’s awakening into liking men. Just LOOK at him! Anyway, since I don’t particularly like canon’s timeline and treatment of MXY, I have him at Lanling for five years, from ages 13 to 18. Unlike JGY, he was allowed full access to JL before JGS’s death, and adored him endlessly, doting on him between his studies. After the deaths of JL’s parents and JC was more in the picture, they did, in my opinion, strike up something of a friendship. MXY was definitely a little starry eyed over JC, and JC was kind to him because MXY so adored JL. Of course at the time JC was preoccupied with sect business and JL, and MXY was at points too young for anything to truly blossom, but POST-CANON, well...

The trope of two lost, broken souls finding each other and helping each other heal and grow is... so good? JC seeing MXY on the streets of Lanling for the first time in years? After thinking him dead? MXY seeing him too? Recognizing him and rushing over in a flurry of robes and excitement? It’s... so GOOD. The world has been very cruel to them, and they deserve a soft epilogue filled with a sweet blossoming romance.

2. Nie Huaisang. Ohhhhh my GOD the angst. I read a very, very good, but very sad fic with this pairing that has converted me to it forever. Elegy of the Celestial Crane and it’s fix-it, Orioles Singing in the Willows. I’m not overfond of the assumption that NHS overtly tricked MXY into summoning WWX. I believe MXY took it upon himself to do it, in a rare moment of clarity, because with this he could end his own suffering and perhaps bring someone else who needed, in his opinion, to be in this world back. It has all the makings of a tragic love story, but I hate sad endings, so of course, post-canon, when MXY is free of the trappings of the Mo Family and those horrible memories (they’re trickling back in, but now he’ll have help to deal with his ptsd), they can sort things out and be together.

3. Lan Xichen. This is lowkey on my ‘give mxy a sugar daddy’ agenda but, listen. LISTEN. The potential here is...good. Angsty, but good. LXC agonizing over falling for MXY’s sweet, sad smile, knowing that he’s his lost love’s younger brother? On the flip side, LXC spending too much silver to pamper MXY and provide him with the comforts he was denied of after being locked within a dirty shed for so long? How could MXY not get a little starry-eyed over that? There would definitely be issues that would complicate things— Lan guilt runs HELLA deep, MXY’s insecurities, but if they communicate ( which LXC probably learns after this Whole Mess that communication is key ), things will turn out good for them.

4. Xue Yang. They’re likely around the same age, and were definitely in Lanling at the same time. There’s no way XY wouldn’t spot another budding demonic cultivator when he saw one. Canon says MXY wasn’t very good at demonic cultivation, but canon is invalid and therefore, he was. I love the idea of them studying together, and of course MXY is unafraid to use his own blood for arrays and talismans. MXY is unbothered by XY’s stealing and troublemaking, especially if XY’s stealing makeup or pretty hairpins to give to them and food for them to snack on while they’re pouring over the Yiling Patriarch’s notes. It’s a little high school romancey, until MXY disappears one day.

XY eventually finds him in that shed, and murders his entire family for him. Or with him. Either way, it’s romantic in it’s own dark, twisted way. Good for them.

5. He Xuan. This one is fucking out in left field but hear me out. There was a thread on twitter I read once ( i wish i could find it now but alas ), about MXY doing the sacrifice in Black Water’s name. Now, think of MXY becoming a fierce ghost because of all his anger, sorrow, because it’s HUGE. And think of HX, in a moment of seeing himself in MXY, takes pity on him in the way he couldn’t do, too caught up in his need to see his revenge through, for SQX. So he takes this little ghost under his wing. Let’s face it— HX is probably lonely without SQX chattering in his ear all of the time. He thought he wouldn’t miss it, but now that it’s gone, and gone forever, well. It’s nice to have another voice around. MXY isn’t as chatty as SQX— he’s shy, more introverted, but he’s incredibly curious, he likes to learn.

There aren’t many similarities between MXY and SQX, but there’s a familiar vein of regrowth, how they both enjoy more ‘feminine’ things like makeup and pretty hairpins, their boundless curiosity. 

HX begins to check on SQX less and less— SQX is being well cared for by PM (surprisingly) and others— that love is lost. Perhaps one day, far in the future, they can be friends again. There’s no way around not seeing each other because of his association with HC and SQX’s with XL. But maybe... just maybe, revenge fulfilled, he can say all the things he wished to say, do all the things he wished to do, with this bright, budding little ghost who is also now finally free.

[abbeyfangirl]

dragon age: all characters (companions)

I’ve been in this fandom for a hot minute now and I want to update my opinions on characters :)

Origins

Alistair: super sweet dude who literally is not the stereotypicalchantryguyfightme. He’s a great example of healthy masculinity and I totally wish he was bi because I have an entire essay on that— also: he’s a poc! His mum was brown. In game he’s got dark features. if you really want a blond/blue-eyes/white guy, make your warden that. or accept that brown people can be noble and moral. or just draw cailan, idk. just because BioWare whitewashes doesn’t mean you should.

Leliana: someone hug my singing girlfriend before I crush her under with my own hugs. Also: nugs. Yes! Shoes. Yes! She likes how I style my hair? YES!! I honestly think she’s super duper and it pisses me off whenever someone’s like: yeah she enjoys killing people and the Game. ok. and michel de chevin willingly participated in genocidal marches through the alienage he grew up in with his elvhen mum. 

Morrigan: dirty swamp witch that i stan and also have a v big crush on. tiddies. Have a son with a GW so we can raise him with our tiddies out in the forest. she’s also white-passing, as her father was chasind and all people we’ve seen that are chasind are black. therefore, she is biracial. therefore, poc can be goths and don’t shy away from giving morrigan a darker skintone. if the devs had of been thinking, she’d have a darker skintone.

Zevran: Actually is the best romance, I think. Loves consent, therefore I will stan him so hard my skull cracks a little. Also: he is a very brown boy and if he’s white in da4 I’m seriously going to throw all canon out the fucking window. genuinely a good person who needs to be told so. 

Wynne: grandma who only likes my friends who go to church. but also super sweet and I’d rest my head on her bosom (in a platonic way omg ZEVRAN)

Sten: angry quiet boi. the bestest boi. I totally would give him a kitten for a gift and bake him cookies. Thicc softie. I think if I had DA:O and i knew how to use mods i would mod the fuck outta him. sorry.

Sha(y)le: who’s gender? idk her. See also: fuck birds and authority. pound ur ass into the ground you feathery meatbag little shits. fuck songbirds.

Dog: such a good boi. thicc. thinks Alistair is a whiny fuck and is Morrigan’s only friend. love him. he’s the cutest companion. bet.

Ohgren: honestly forgot about him bcc he’s such a shitbag. also: he could’ve been a really cool addiction recovery type but NOPE. probably would have a trump shirt in a modern au and would catcall wlw and hit mlm. no thanks.

Awakening

Anders: he acts like rlly straight but he’s so gay I can smell it. also he’s rlly cute and fun and I love him so much.

Justice: MAYBE i’M selF CONSCious OF THE twitchING. is the friend that genuinely doesn’t get dick jokes but is ur 110% ride or die.

Nathaniel Howe: honestly is sort of a white knight/neck beard a little, but it’s kind of charming with his whole velanna m’lady?? grump boi. annoying soul patch that I’d mod out SO FAST—

Sigrun: would have ROMANCED the FUCK out of her. why she even entertains the idea of fucking with ohgren makes me realize most of the writers are dumbfucks.png. peppy little emo. 12/10 would die if she kissed my cheek teasingly.

Ohgren: why. why. why. I’d have brought Shayle over. Maybe Zev? Definitely Dog.

Velanna: she was written to be an annoying feminist and you can tell but I deadass am a kindred spirit with her bcc I too am deadpan annoyed with Thedas’ general population too. love her. Would’ve loved to romance her. She’d totally be one of those who’d get all tsundere and be like “n-no i hate you” *kisses the fuckin soul out of you then blushes so hard she’s now a tomato*

Dragon Age II

Anders: fuck the cops. i don’t care. fuck the cops. (vine reference). also: do i hate him for blowing up the chantry that would eventually annul a huge collection of his people? no. read dalishious’s meta on Anders. v intriguing. didn’t they retcon the fuck out of the reported deaths too? like there was like eight Templars and Elthinia in there. Templars killed more “abominations” in a day than Anders in the game canon—

Aveline: initially thought she was fine and then realized she’s shit to my lil brother and I will fucking clap her ginger ass. See also: whorephobia isn’t a joke so fuck off with treating Isabela badly, you tit.

Bethany: sunshine. Literal sunshine. I feel my freckles grow in her presence and i love it. she’s my little baby sister and I’d slam that ogre so fuckin hard before it touched either twin.

Carver: there has to be a mod where both twins survive. I love them both to bits. My babies. carver is my bitter, angry little brother and I can relate because I too am very angry and would totally clap my own ass. hes so genuine and I don’t get the competition between Beth and Carver. Like, both are fuckin stellar in different ways. In this essay I will—

Fenris: honestly, I don’t get the general hate between him and Anders. Fenris’ main arc should’ve been a recovery arc, not drunken moping and revenge. he deserves better. give him a soft sweater instead of his spikes and let him love himself as much as I love him for MAKERS SAKE. like when you really think about their relationship, it could’ve been an eye-opener for fenris and finally some legit sympathy for anders. but we all know that if they had of teamed up that Meredith would’ve been dead before the end of Act 1 so.

Isabela: whorephobia is not a joke. oversexualizing your only appearing brown woman is so poorly written. how about we appreciate her and her lovely bosoms but also let people tease her about her heart of gold? her innate understanding of freedom? instead of just a wave of dick? please?? can we give her some pants for when she fights? can we accept that i fall for rogues who hate themselves?? fuck. also whomever draws her x femHawke x Merrill literally is after my own heart.

Merrill: my fucking babygirl MARRY ME. Fenris could’ve been her older brother type, but NO. she and Isabela should’ve been canonical gfs instead of Isabela/Fenris (no shaming the pairing tho!!). I love how she’s written as neurodivergent. V nice. Sometimes I just look her up and cry because she’s fucking everything. Also: she’s in the Dalish origin and she’s far from being white. Why did they make the most innocent/naïve character really white? hmmmm.

Sebastian: whew that boy. Would totally be that annoying Mormon at your door but you still let him in bcc he’s super sweet. Also: huge ass bible thumper and should get his head slap because you said the maker loved all his children why do you defend a complicit old hag you annoying attractive fuck—

Varric: totally is a bard and the devs couldn’t handle the idea of him being one bcc it might make him look less straight. is the only grey morality person I don’t want to fucking bash in with a fry pan. he sees people and I like that, but you totally know he’s siding with mages every time bcc him and Anders are like besties. I’m sorry. I don’t make the rules. “Professional Younger Brother”.

Tallis: I know nothing about her but she seems okay. I think she was an escaped slave and honestly? Fucking props. Spy on a shitting organization, idk what you’re doing, but your VA was that cool lesbian from SPN so I think ur okay?

Inquisition

Blackwall: Redemption Arc 101. Love him to bits. Sad dad bunwall. good man. actually atoned for his sins by actively becoming a good person. his initial design is 80% hotter im so sorry but so not.

Cassandra: was way browner in the last game. would romance the fuck outta her. I love me a butch lady who melts at my dorky recitation of poetry. BioWare is a coward. also is the worst choice for divine. but not a bad person. could use some more guidance or get her ass whipped by a dalish elf about religion or a circle mage kid whos like “yeah bud i didn’t ask for the templars to whip my ass everyday for existing.”

The Iron Bull: I think the Qunari/Vashoth were a little based off black people (the whole anti blackness thing where ppl are scared of them bcc of whatever reason) and it pisses me off that he had a weird ass dubcon thing with Dorian in banter. It doesn’t make sense— he’s an A+++ dom and would not jump straight in role play without at least checking in at first like wtf BioWare.

Cole: his mother was chasind so he’s like not supposed to be that white? or like biracial? albino? idk. love him to bits tho. He’s neurodivergent and I deadass love him. romancing him? idk. I see why ppl think it’s fuckin nasty but also like as a writer I’d age him the fuck up so fast before my inquisitor even THOUGHT about that. like idk. I’m down with him being a sweet little bro character tho. he’s a babe. love him.

Sera: had the worst fucking writer I’ve ever seen and I willingly read the twilight saga twice by a shit ass racist white lady who okay’d pedophilia. like. Fuck you Kristjanson suck your own dick you fuck. had the worst options in regards to speak to her. has a thicc case of internalized racism that literally most of the fandom just loves to use against her. my lesbian neurodivergent queen. Would write a thousand fix it fics for her. Love her to bits. im gay.

Varric: I haven’t played DA2 so i don’t get why everyone wants to romance him but like. a dwarf romance? yes please. Idk he reminds me of my uncle so I only see him as fun uncle material. Deadass should adopt Cole and Merrill and co parent with Blackwall for Sera. dads? fuck yeah. love me some wholesome, present fathers.

Dorian: is a gay stereotype that I love/hate so much. and he’s also just as bad about being a creep bcc he sexualizes qunari men (in banter). I attribute that to shit writing tho. I want to protect him from all the “omg gay best friend!” people. he’d clearly be that tired gay that wouldn’t give a diddly damn about ur het romance. wanna talk about politics? he’s ur guy/gay.

Solas: “me, an intellectual:”. I don’t hate him, but I’m not about him. He comes off as mysterious and suave (which he totally is) but I deadass would not save him from himself because he’s a racist, exclusionist eggshell. idk. not my cup of tea, but I can totally see the appeal. And he’s interesting, I’ll totally say that. “I think the Dalish are garbage but they made you” is not a compliment. it’s so offensive. and such bait for “quirky girls” which I’m no fan of. Would be Achilles and let Patroclus (Lavellan in his case) die before he realized how his pride is literally a waste of time. If he gets a redemption arc I hope Lavellan gets to slap him before getting him to teach all about ancient Arlathan and show that the Evanuris weren’t all total dicknozzles. (Aka I really have a hard time believing that they’d be slavery cult things. especially since they’ve compared elves to indigenous ppl, Jews and the Romani.)

Vivienne: it’s so racist that they’d make a black woman be pro-slavery. That’s such internalized racism. She could’ve been the cool ass “educate yourself first before you speak, fool” ice lady, but NO. the devs could’ve kept the “Templars are a tool that I proudly can mandate” and the “circles are very good education” and we. Could. Have. Romanced. Her. Like. Fuck. Sake. I just wanna give her a hug and say “love yourself omg!!” and not even in a romantic way. Also: she and morrigan should not have been so antagonistic towards each other. I’d expect them to have great respect for each other, as they both moved up in the world through hardwork and very little help. They could learn different magic from each other too and still maintain that rival respect “oh you” mood. Sidenote: probably the cooler option for Divine. if her approval is high enough she’ll love and be loyal to you forever and i can’t see her agenda being bad. she improves the circles exponentially and tells all the antis to suck her pretty painted toes.

Josephine: an actual disney princess. romanced her my first playthrough. I love her so much. she just makes me so happy. And she’s like: “Integrity, Loyalty, peace. That is what it means to be a GREY WARDEN good fucking person.” she’s the person who would let you hold her hand if you got anxious and she’d be that person who shouldered the whole group project with finesse and poise and would probably lie for everyone as to not be mean. i love josie. her and leliana’s relationship is so cute, too. whether it’s romantic or not: women supporting women.

Leliana: if you leave her hardened you must hate her. why. she becomes so against herself. i like how shes feminine and lighthearted because that’s so powerful-- to remain hopeful when the world is hopeless. (its hard to know when to soften her/harden her so i get it but. google it. she deserves to be happy and sweet again.)

Cullen: uwu war criminal with shit ass “redemption arc” that was actually a half-assed (at BEST) recovery arc. Recovery isn’t linear, it isn’t pretty, and even the broken need to be told they are wrong in order to heal right. Like I’m offended by that bullshit. I’ve had to do some mental health recovery in the past and unlearning lots of toxic ideologies— which I’m still unlearning— and it bothers me that he gets an easy pass because he’s hot. It’s one thing if you like Cullen, it’s another thing if you hold him accountable.

[txladyj-blog]

This Time Around - Chapter 22

A Daryl Dixon x OFC collaboration written by @xmistressmistrustx​ by request of @txladyj-blog​

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character

Tags: Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Awkwardness, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Crush, Fluff and Humor, Angst and Humor, Mild Smut, Strong Language, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Some Canon Scenes and Dialogue

Chapters 26/?

Smoke filtered out through the open window, plumes of grey rising up to the sky from the illuminated bud at the end of Daryl’s cigarette. His morning cigarette was probably the one he looked forward to the most. He took up his usual spot on the window ledge with a coffee in one hand and his smoke in the other and watched the sun peep over the horizon. The streets were always empty save for the guards and it was one of the things he was grateful for at Alexandria, one of the small home comforts he had gone without for so long. It was now part of his morning routine once more. Rise early, shower, grab a coffee and smoke by the light of the sun rising before setting off on the hunt.

He would usually always see Jess around the same time, sitting on the same fallen tree trunk and checking her bow and bracers. It became more than a coincidence after the third time he’d ran into her there that the both of them somehow just accepted that it was now a rendezvous spot and the place they’d use each morning to greet one another and throw the odd competitive comment around. Daryl was aware he was the better hunter, but he had been hunting since he was old enough to hold a crossbow without dropping it. Jess only had a years’ experience but was holding her own, rarely returning to Alexandria empty handed. Whoever turned up the most fruits of their labor, he enjoyed their trash talk regardless.

On this particular morning, she was nowhere to be seen and he compelled himself to pay no heed to the fact that she was absent. She had fast become the highlight of his days and was the first thing he looked for when he embarked on yet another twenty-four hours of uncertainty. The air was crisp and he could see his breath form small, white clouds as he moved out into the woods and began to look for animal tracks, a task which usually commanded his complete attention but this time, only garnered a small percentage of it. His mind wandered and soon, he found himself wandering without a purpose through the trees and paying little attention to anything but putting down the odd Walker and his lack of self-restraint when it came to entertaining the memory of the captivating curves that Jess possessed.

It was uncommon for Daryl to think of such things, to see the women he encountered as anything more than acquaintances, friends or just other human beings. He never understood why Merle objectified them so much, it never seemed to get him much further than a slap in the face or a punch from an unhappy husband in a bar. There was a time, during high-school that he ruminated upon something being wrong with him due to his lack of interest in the opposite sex. He knew he wasn’t gay, but felt very little pull towards girls either. One female in particular did pique his interest and while he felt a connection to the strange personality of the girl that ate lunch with him and drank hard liquor with him in the park, he wasn’t sure if he could call what he felt an attraction at all. He thought her to be pretty, nicer to look at than all the others, but it was more of a comfort, to have someone else around other than Merle that wasn’t going to cause him harm and that genuinely liked his company. But it was short lived and he quickly found out that he wasn’t up to the task of conveying how he felt, resulting in his only potential mate giving him the cold shoulder and acting as if he didn’t exist. However, it wasn’t an issue he spent much time deliberating over, he had other things to worry about, like the abuse he would have to go home to or the drugs he carried in his bag to save Merle from getting arrested for dealing.

It wasn’t until he was in his late teens that a physical attraction to women finally presented itself. But Daryl wasn’t like other young men his age, not under the tough, troubled and violent façade he presented. Deep down, he was shy, sensitive and broken by years of beatings, run-ins with the cops and his brothers shadow looming over him as the only role model in his life. No, Daryl was certainly not gay, but he did find himself gravitating towards quieter girls with intelligence rather than the overdone, brash women that his brother spoke so highly of.

“Skirt like that, it’ll do anything ya ask if ya get it drunk enough, little brother” Mere would say.

Daryl laughed along in encouragement, cheered with the rest of them in dive bars when Merle managed to bag himself someone that looked halfway between a stripper and someone’s grandma, he even hit on women in his brother’s presence to save face which was the only extent of his flirting expertise. But underneath it all, he simply didn’t understand what all the fuss was about.

Fear wasn’t something he was familiar with either, not since he was a child and had to endure the horrors of a poor, substance addicted, violent family living in the Georgian mountains. He’d honed his fear, turned it around and used it to mold himself into a survivor, and as a result was always one of the first to run into a fight or dangerous situation. It wasn’t that he never felt fear, it festered in his mind and trembled in his hands just like everyone else, he had just learned to acknowledge it and soldier on anyway. But there are different types of fear and what lay heavy on his heart as he trundled through the woods and slumped to the ground against a tree was a kind of fear that he’d never felt before. It had bounded out of nowhere like a wolf in the night and struck him so powerfully that he could barely apply himself to much else, other than thinking of her. It angered him, it was not who he was and such a distraction made him feel weak and vulnerable.

But her effect on him was now wildly out of his control. She terrified him with what she made him feel. He had no names for it, no way of explaining it and all he could do was to persevere in the hope that one day, he would figure it all out. But when she looked at him and made him crazy, when she giggled in response to his flirting, when she wore tight clothes and when she teased him about near enough anything, she was striking fear into him at the same time because for the first time in his life, he felt something so strong for someone of the opposite sex and didn’t have a clue what to do with it.

 That afternoon, Daryl leaned with his back against the wall by the gate and waited for Jess’s arrival. He couldn’t deny that he’d been looking forward to this day since she invited him on front porch of Aaron and Eric’s house with her faintly suggestive invite that he hadn’t been expecting in the slightest.

Aaron wandered past with a box of canned goods from the pantry and nudged his head up in acknowledgement. Daryl pushed away from the wall and approached him, with one hand fiddling, absentmindedly with the foil from the empty packet of cigarettes he’d just disposed of.

“Hey, no recruitin’ run today?” He asked Aaron.

“Ah, nope. Rick Still hasn’t found any traces of that group you and Jess saw. Recruiting is on hold until we know we’re not going to be bringing back public enemy number one.” Aaron explained.

Daryl grunted and nodded, smoothing the foil between his fingers into a ball and flicking it across the street.

“How’s the leg? You don’t seem to be limping much anymore.”

“S’good. Thanks to Jess hassling me all the damn time.” Daryl remarked with a squint from beneath his hair.

“Ahh, she’s a good one.” Aaron responded “It’s nice to see you two so close these days.”

Without having any control over his defenses, they shot up and Daryl immediately became suspicious.

“What does that mean? We’re friends.” He stated.

“Oh, I know. I just noticed that you get along well. You make a good team.” Aaron offered casually in the hope that it might suppress Daryl’s obvious irritation. His comments seemed to work and Daryl shifted his weight to his stronger leg, glancing back and forth from Aaron’s smiling face to the area around them, looking for any prying eyes or listening ears.

“She uh…she tell ya about this boat she lived on?” He inquired nervously. Far from wanting to seem too interested in anything to do with Jess for fear of someone figuring out what was happening in his head, he was curious as to why she would invite him to such a place, and figured that Aaron may be his best shot at some information.

“Oh, yeah. She lived there for a few months. Said it was the best place she’s ever lived. She was self-sufficient, safe, sounded to me like she was quite content there before the big freeze hit and the lake froze over. I think it’s her happy place.”

Aaron’s answer only turned up more questions for Daryl, who was now closely watching Aaron’s expression.

“Any idea why she’d wanna take me there?” He risked.

Aaron’s eyebrows shot up and he tried to disguise a wide smile. He knew exactly why Jess would invite him there, he just couldn’t disclose it. The boat was indeed, Jess’s happy place. She got to live in the lap of luxury in complete safety, surrounded by fish to eat and sun to bask in. It was the only place she’d lived that didn’t feel like it was in the middle of the end of days. For her to invite Daryl there, meant she wanted to share her happy place with him, because she loved him.

Aaron knew he had to proceed with caution, saying the wrong thing could land Jess in a whole world of humiliation and he was pretty sure she would chop his head off with her machete.

“She’s never taken me or Eric there. Just…consider yourself honored.” Was all he said with a small wink. “Anyway, I should get this box home, we’re making cookies for the Monday meeting. Eric roped me into it. I’ll see you later.”

Daryl stayed in the same stance as Aaron moved off, confused and questioning the reasons why he would provide such a shady and vague answer and also wondering who else may have noticed how close he and Jess had become. Then, he realized just how long it had been since he’d arrived at the gate. Jess was late.

“Hey, wait a minute” He called out. Aaron paused with his box clutched to his chest. “Ya seen her today? She’s ‘sposed to be meetin’ me here.”

“Yeah, she’s in the armory.” Aaron chirped with a nod before resuming his journey back to his home.

 Daryl was confused. It was unheard of for Jess to be late and he couldn’t figure out why she would be in the armory when she’d told him to be at the gate at the same time. He set off in the direction of the underground, firearm’s storage room with his pace quickened as he approached the building. Taking the steps two at a time, he halted halfway down and felt fury explode in his chest.

Inside the armory, Jess was sitting on the desk with her leg propped up on the arm of the chair below her. In that chair, sat Abraham who was carefully showing her the components of his assault rifle. She appeared completely fascinated and totally unaware of Daryl’s presence when he materialized in the doorway with a scowl on his face and his skin crawling with jealousy.

“See, honey. Ain’t nothin’ like a man with a great, big gun.” Abraham beamed at her.

She leaned back and laughed loudly, covering her mouth with one hand and slapping his arm with the other. Decked out in her usual, dark armored clothing, she was a world apart from the breezy, shorts and vest clad woman he’d sat with on the decking that night. But her smile was still the same, and he still loved the sound of her laugh, even if it was for someone other than him.

Jess raised her vision when she noticed the figure standing in the doorway and dropped her leg from the arm of Abraham’s chair. The big, ginger man swung the seat around to follow her sight-line and raised a hand, coupled with a wide smile.

“Hey, Daryl! Come to join firearms 101?” He cheered.

Jess’s face quickly dropped when she registered the anger written all over Daryl’s body language. His arm was positioned across his body, holding onto the strap of his crossbow over his shoulder and creating a barrier. His head was low, he glared at her through the gaps in his hair and he stood unwaveringly still.

Then, she remembered.

“Oh my god!” She gasped with wide eyes, throwing her hands up to her face and covering her mouth. “Was that today?! I forgot! I’m so sorry, Daryl!”

“Huh. Figures.” He spat. He wasn’t sure what he was even going to follow it up with, all he was sure of was that he was getting sick of seeing how happy she seemed to be around Abraham. So happy in fact, that she’d forgotten about the trip they’d planned. The trip he’d been looking forward to. The trip he was starting to think of as a pinnacle in the evolution of their friendship. It wasn’t that he had plans to confess his feelings or anything of the sort, but it was a chance for them to be together, alone and away from everyone else in an environment where she felt comfortable and at ease and who knew what possibilities that may have held.

“Daryl, just give me twenty minutes and I’ll-” She started

“-Naw, It’s fine. Really. I wasn’t waitin’ on ya like a fuckin' idiot or nothin’.” He bit at her.

“I’m sorry, please-” She begged, jumping down from the table and reaching out to him. He pulled away, his eyes flicking from her to Abraham, who was watching the drama unfold while gently stroking at his mustache.

“-Y’know what?” Daryl growled at Jess “I aint interested.”

With that, he vanished through the door and was up on the street, thundering towards the gate before Jess could even exhale and begin to figure out how to make things right.

Channeling Carl, Jess spent most of that evening sitting on the bench by the pond and ruminating over what had happened in the armory. She hadn’t expected such a fierce reaction from Daryl and she could only figure that he’d been looking forward to getting out and doing something other than hunting. Since Rick’s small group had been scouring the area for the group the man that shot Daryl was from, all runs and recruiting had been put on hold unless there was a desperate need, which there wasn’t. Hunting was still allowed and that was the only saving grace for Daryl, who was getting serious cabin fever and as a result, Jess could see it affecting his mood. He’d been angry at her before, but this time had been different. His eyes held something other than rage and it was still staring her in the face in her memories. He was disappointed as well.

She removed her jacket from the bench next to her when Rick strolled over and sat down. At first, he said nothing ad Jess noted the dark circles under his eyes and the weariness with which he held his body. He was exhausted.

“Evening, Sheriff.” She hummed. “Any luck?”

A deep sigh was detected from the noble leader of the group, the man that was fast becoming a secondary and well-respected leader of the entire town along with Deanna.

“It’s like they’re everywhere, but nowhere. All at once.” He replied.

“They have spotters.” She mused “The guy that shot Daryl. That’s what he was.”

“Yes, he was. You’re right. They’ve been out there long enough to know how to cover their tracks” He said with a nonchalant raise of his hands while he leaned forwards on his knees.

“Keep going.” She urged. “You’ll find them. I know you will.”

Rick murmured a small thanks and relaxed back on the bench, he threw one leg over the other and picked at the seam of his jeans at his knee. The sun had gone down and the only light illuminating the pond other than the moon was the orangey glow through the windows of the nearest house. Jess looked down at the jacket on her lap, it was new. Or, as new as new could get at the end of the world. She’d picked it up in the same abandoned house where Daryl had told her about the girl that liked him in high-school. She’d noticed it hanging on a coat rack as soon as she arrived and shoved it into her bag straight away. It was black leather, fitted and with a fabric hood attached to the neckline. She remembered the comment that Daryl had expressed when he first saw it. Apparently, she was stealing his style.

“Carol said he’s not spoken to anybody all day.” Rick stated. He didn’t need to give her any context, confident that she would know exactly who and what he was talking about. After all, it was the only reason she was still in Alexandria, sitting by the pond and not at home at the Fairground.

“Oh god.” She whispered.

“What happened?” he wanted to know.

“I arranged to meet him today at the gate. I have this boat. I used to live on it. I wanted to take him there. Y’know, get him outside the walls for something other than hunting? And…before you say anything, it’s way out of the search zone. So, I wouldn’t have been breaking your rule or interfering with the search in any way.” She paused to take a deep breath, seeing shrug a shoulder and shake his head as if to convey that he knew she wouldn’t have done anything to hamper his search anyway “I got the day wrong. I forgot. I was with Abraham in the armory.”

Rick took a moment to let her explanation sink in before he reacted, but he didn’t have much at all to say, already knowing that Daryl would have made it quite clear what he made of the matter.

“Oh.”

“Oh? You say that like it’s the worst thing in the world!” Jess cried.

“You should try and talk to him. It’s been a few hours; he might have simmered down.” Rick suggested.

“Depends how many walls he punched and how many cigarettes he smoked.” Jess remarked as she slid her arms through the sleeves of her jacket and wriggled it on.

“He’s done a whole pack according to Carol. Although the walls in our house are still untouched” He informed her with a small smile. Jess stood up and gathered herself, hoping by the time she reached the Grime’s house that Daryl would have calmed down.

“Right. OK. I’ll try. Thanks, Rick.” She sighed. He reached up and pat her arm as she passed.

 *

The porch light was on but the usual occupants of the front porch reading session were nowhere in sight. Even Carl and Judith were nowhere to be seen, which only made things worse for Jess. She’d imagined Daryl keeping his temper under wraps in front of spectators, especially children, but without their presence he was free to yell at her as much as he wanted. She regretted refraining from seeking him out earlier, but her gut told her it was best to let him be, she only hoped that it didn’t look to him like she didn’t care. Because she did. In fact, her whole day had been taken over by sitting around and trying to find ways to make it up to him.

Her knock on the door seemed to be louder than she’d ever heard. Maybe it was her heightened awareness of everything or her nerves, but she glanced over her shoulder, thinking she’d alerted the attention of the entire street. She stepped back and waited. Slowly looking up when the door clicked open and Carol stepped into view. She wore a floral blouse, much the same as she usually did. But it did little to soften the hard look on her face and all of a sudden, Jess was painfully aware that she was not Daryl’s only friend.

“Evening Carol.” She squeaked, stopping briefly to clear her throat. “Is Daryl here?”

Carol tilted her head back and pursed her lips, looking down her nose at a very sheepish Jess.

This woman is like the gatekeeper. She thought

“You were with Abraham, weren’t you?” She asked.

Jess furrowed her brow and thought over the relevance of Abraham being in the equation.

“Yeah, how did you…? Why?” She questioned back.

Carol steeped further out of the doorway and turned, peering through the gap to ensure no one was listening. She pulled the door almost to a close and faced Jess again. When she spoke, her voice was only slightly above a whisper.

“He’s not mad that you forgot. He’s mad that you forgot because you were with Abraham.” She explained.

Jess was still confused but bit by bit, the pieces started to add up. The reason he’d asked if she had friends here, the reference to her drinking with Abe, the way he averted his gaze or huffed to himself every time a suggestive comment was directed at her. She pondered that maybe just didn’t like Abraham but remembered that they were on the road together for a long time and when they were on runs, they worked well together. Could it be some other reason? Could it be that Daryl was Jealous of her friendship with Abraham? She tried to remember a time aside from forgetting to meet him at the gate when she’d treated Abraham any different to Daryl and could only conclude that she actually felt, and acted, closer to Daryl.

“He tell you that?” She questioned Carol.

“He doesn’t need to.” It was a stony and arrogant response that told Jess; I know him better than you and I can tell why you’ve angered him. But Jess could be just as difficult if she wanted to be and she wasn’t about to be patronized again.

“I don’t need another telling off from you.” She snarled “Please… is he here? I just want to apologize to him and then I’ll go.”

Carol deliberated for a few moments, detecting the sincerity and genuine sadness in Jess’s demeanor and rolled her eyes, pushing the door open behind her.

“I’ll go get him.”

*

By the time Daryl appeared on the front porch, Jess was nearly convinced he wasn’t going to show up at all and was readying herself to get up from where she was sitting at the table and make tracks back to the fairground. She breathed a sigh of relief when he crossed the decking and took up a seat opposite her, lighting a cigarette and reclining in the chair. It was difficult for Jess not to notice the arm that propped up on the table, toned and highly aesthetically pleasing. She wished he’d worn his jacket, meaning she wouldn’t have to adopt a constant awareness of what she was staring at.

For the most part, he seemed calm enough, but he had refused to look at her since he’d taken a seat. Jess didn’t really know how to approach the situation and decided to just run in full force with her apologies or, she was likely to sit in silence and stare at him all night.

“I’m sorry, Daryl.” She uttered. At the sound of her voice, his head twitched slightly to one side and he exhaled a large cloud of smoke. “I’m so sorry. What I did today was shitty. I’m a shitty friend.”

“Naw, I get it.” He told her “Ya got a better offer.”

“No, Daryl! No! That’s not it!” She pleaded, her voice rising and her body leaning across the table to him. She didn’t notice until her palm connected to the cold surface of the glass topped table that she was literally reaching out to him “Please, let me take you to the boat tomorrow. I’ll make it up to you. Please.”

It was enough to urge him to twist in his seat and make eye contact with her and in the moment that he did, his anger appeared to vanish completely.

“Ya actually gonna show up?” He asked.

“Yes! I know I messed up. I didn’t mean to upset you.” She assured him “I would never…I-I screwed up. Okay?”

“I ain’t upset.” He spat, turning back to the road and taking another drag of his smoke. Jess could see with her own eyes that he quite clearly was upset, but his tough exterior and disinclination to acknowledge his emotions meant he wasn’t about to admit it.

“Uh, I think you are.” She scoffed to herself.

I know you, Dixon. Don’t lie to me.

Jess retracted her hand and began to tap at her thigh beneath the table, anxious that he would just get up and leave without a word, or refuse her offer and never speak to her again. She knew in her heart that he was a little more forgiving than that, if he could get over her abandoning the quarry and hiding her identity from him for weeks, he was probably going to forgive her for this mishap. But the insecurity in her meant she jumped to the worst conclusion and found it problematic to get past it.

Minutes past and Daryl extinguished his smoke. He didn’t move. Didn’t even look at her. Jess was becoming so on edge she started counting what felt like the longest seconds she’d ever tolerated in her life. She got to three minutes before she detected that the drumming on her leg had increased and was actually loud enough for Daryl to hear. She stopped moving and searched her mind for something to break the silence.

“Tomorrow.” He finally said.

“Ok. Yes. Tomorrow. Thank you.” She blurted out swiftly.

Daryl stood and slowly walked back to the door. Jess, not wanting to linger for any longer than she was welcome, decided to follow him and veer off to the steps.

“Hey” He rasped from behind her. She turned as she balanced on the second step, on tenterhooks. “How ‘bout we just write-off today? Start over.”

The air left Jess’s lungs in a whoosh and her shoulders sagged, a thankful smile spread across her lips.

“I would like that very much.” She admitted.

“Alright” He agreed, “If I don’t see ya huntin’, I’ll meet ya by the gate. Midday.”

“Definitely” She said to herself. “Goodnight.”

He watched her leave the steps and cross the grass verge outside and took a minute to evaluate their conversation. He was angry, very angry and for a number of hours. But in holding onto it, he would have backed himself into a corner. A corner where he would be driven to come clean about the exact reason for his rage; that she had forgotten about him in favor of Abraham. Seeing her had chased away his fury in an instant and as long as he’d lived, no one had ever managed such a feat. He’d missed her. Not even a full day had passed and he’d missed her chatter and her jovial attitude. There was no way he could stay angry at her for long and as he stood there and watched her near the gate, he was glad of that.

*

The drive was gratifying enough for Daryl, the sun was high in the sky and the comfort of its warmth glowed in the trucks cab as Jess drove them along back streets and dirt tracks with the windows rolled down and a quiet tune being hummed for the duration. Conversation was minimal, as it had been from the moment that he’d met her at the gate. It wasn’t that he was still mad at her or was trying to prolong the silent treatment, he simply didn’t have much to say and preferred to steal glances at her as she switched gears, took corners and maneuvered the vehicle over bumpy terrain.

He noted that outwardly, Jess conducted herself much the same as she normally would but with a hint more enthusiasm than usual. A small change that could have been for a number of reasons; she could have been excited to show him the boat or, she was making a genuine effort to do as he’d suggested the previous night and start over. Whichever it was, he was pleased to be by her side again and grateful to be outside the walls.

Jess pulled the truck into the well-hidden track that led down to the gate. Rolling it to a stop, she climbed out and wandered up to the fence, peering through and checking for any signs of life. There were no footprints, not even any animal tracks and that in itself was a miracle to her. She was still baffled as to how no one had found such a diamond in the rough, but thanks to its overgrown track, fortified gate and high fences, the lake prospered in a world that was dying.

Hearing Daryl close the truck door behind her, she beamed at him and pointed in the direction of a hole in the fence that she’d used as an access point when she lived there. A dense and layered line of undergrowth provided a lot of cover for the man-sized hole in the wire that Jess rolled up and secured as she gestured for Daryl to duck through first. Once he was safely on the other side, she joined him and fastened the fence back together again, leaving it looking as thought it was completely untouched.

From the small, deserted beach, Daryl could see a jetty and one, single boat floating in the middle of the lake. It was a large boat, big enough to hold a family of four, maybe more and looked to be modern and well-kept save for some aesthetic issues like algae growing on the hull. He spied Jess smiling next to him and fiddling with her hands excitedly.

“You kiddin’ me, right now?” He asked “that’s your boat?”

“Well…technically not mine per se” She reasoned “But no one’s claimed it so, yeah. It’s mine.”

“That ain’t just a boat, Jess. That’s a frickin’ yacht” He observed with an impressed tone.

“Uh huh” She agreed as she set off for the jetty. “C’mon, I drove so you’re rowing.”

It was as innocent a request as any, that was as long as Jess kept her ulterior motive to herself. Sitting cross legged opposite Daryl as he rowed them to the side of the yacht didn’t make for a terrible sight at all. In fact, she made a mental note to request that he always do the rowing in future.

When Daryl climbed aboard the deserted, luxury boat, he blinked rapidly at the sight before him. Everything was spotless and as impressive as the outside was, the inside was even more so. A vast living area was split on two levels with a fully fitted kitchen at one end. The while upholstery, accessorized with gold, floral cushions was spotless and aside from a few specks on the carpet, the whole room looked as though it hadn’t long been bought from brand new. The kitchen counter tops were littered with empty cans and packets of food  and mounted on one wall, were fishing rods, axes and various tools, including shovels and other gardening equipment.

Jess dumped her bag on the counter top of the kitchen island and began rummaging through it, looking for the packets of nuts and potato chips she’d managed to get from Olivia at the pantry. It was uncommon that she asked for much, so on this one occasion, Olivia agreed to let her have her pick of the snacks and nibbles provided she was conservative with her selection. As she searched and gathered everything up, Daryl slowly paced around the room, trailing his hand over surfaces and spending a while examining the fishing rods on the wall.

“When I found it, it was only occupied by two very well-dressed dead people. They checked out. Blew their own brains out. I tossed them overboard and it became mine. Funny how Gucci belts rot like the rest of them.” Jess explained as she pottered about “I’ve never seen another soul in this place since I’ve been living here. Not even any footprints on the shore. The water is clean and the fish are edible. Like a parallel universe. Without rowing out here it’s pretty difficult to get to so it’s secure enough.”

Daryl reached a cabinet by some dining chairs and a table and opened it up to find a vast array of different types of glasses. One for every possible beverage. He shook his head in disbelief and started down the narrow hall.

“This place is amazin’. Like some kinda famous person lived here.” He commented.

“I know, it’s three times the size of the apartment I had before the turn. I just can’t use it in the winter. The lake freezes over.” She told him “The door at the end is the master bedroom. It’s a little messy. It’s only ever been me here so I didn’t really have a need to make the bed. The door on the left is the bathroom and the one on the right is a smaller bedroom. It’s full of dead crops at the moment.”

Taking everything in, Daryl opened one door at a time, peering inside and sometimes stepping into the rooms before reappearing again and moving onto the next door or cupboard to discover what was inside. To him, it was like entering another world. He’d been on plenty of boats in his time, but never a yacht and never one with such amenities. He noticed that even the toilet was compostable, meaning it probably worked and with the help of a generator for water heating, the shower most likely did too.

Jess watched his amazement with a satisfied smile as she leaned on the kitchen counter. In all the time she’d known him, she’d never seen him so fascinated and interested in something besides hunting and his motorcycle and she felt proud that she was able to provide him with a break from the norm and one that he would enjoy.

“Bring me the generator from the smaller bedroom and we can have dinner here. I’ll pour us some drinks” She stated.

He nodded and ducked into the room, returning seconds later with a small generator which he handed to Jess with an awkward glance. Now, he was all too aware that the two of them were alone and would be for a number of hours in an environment that, aside from Alexandria, was the nicest and most bloodstain free as he’d seen since before the turn. What’s more, it was one of her domains and he felt like a teenager being invited over to a girl’s house while her parents were out. Not knowing what to do with himself, he hovered near the door and scanned the beach in the distance through the window.

“Why don’t you grab a seat outside? I’ll meet you out there.” Jess suggested.

Grunting in agreement, he clicked open the door and entered the warm sunshine. The deck was clean, the chairs and table scrubbed and neatly arranged, in the middle there was a raised semi-circle with fixed bar stools around the outside. He charged over to it, his eyes wide in astonishment just as Jess joined him with a bottle in one hand, two glasses pinched between her fingers and a bag of potato chips under her arm.

“There’s a fuckin’ bar out here?!” He exclaimed. She chuckled at his surprise, placing the bottle and glasses on the top of the bars surface as he took a seat. “See why ya come back here sometimes” he mentioned.

“It’s not just because it’s a nice boat. It’s because I made it mine. Just like the fairground. I worked hard to secure it and make it somewhere I could stay until I had no choice.” She surmised. Daryl hung on every word until he noticed the bottle of whiskey in her hand as she poured their drinks.

“The hell ya get that?” he demanded

“Secret stash. Thought you’d appreciate it. Although it’s Texan, so it’s better than all the rest.” She winked, taking a seat across the bar from him. The surface wasn’t any more than two feet wide, meaning with their hands resting on the top, they were closer than either of them realized. “Think of it as a peace offering. I really am sorry for what I did yesterday.” She met his eye but he quickly looked away while taking a gulp of his drink and wincing at its warmth.

“Guess he’s just more entertainin’.” He let slip, closing his eyes momentarily in frustration as he internally cursed himself for being so off the cuff. Jess stilled with her glass halfway to her mouth. She slowly returned it to the bar and tilted her head at him.

“Why would you say something like that?” She asked.

That just great. You fuckin’ idiot. You’ve screwed yourself over now. May as well just ask what you want to ask.

He fidgeted in his seat and Jess pushed her lips into a thin line when he threw the rest of his drink down his throat and slammed the glass on the bar. She didn’t know why, but his body language had changed considerably in the passing seconds. His jaw was pulled tight and he sat back away from the bar, crossing his big arms across his chest and hugging his torso. He appeared so uncomfortable that Jess almost told him to forget she’d even asked.

“You n’ him, you like a thing or somethin’?” he muttered with his vision cast out to the gently lapping waves around the boat.

“What?! No!” Jess cried, ruining the peaceful sound of the water tickling at the hull “We’re friends. We just get along. That’s all.”

He didn’t move an inch other than performing his usual, deep thinking ritual of nibbling his bottom lip.

“Just…seem close.” He mused.

Jess sighed and did a small double take at the potato chips. She stuffed her hand in the bag and chucked a couple into her mouth, chewing as she picked through possible responses to his observation in her mind. To everyone else, she did seem close to Abe and she knew that. But it was quite clear they were just friends and she enjoyed the kind of banter with him that she had with the male friends she’d had before everything went wrong. But what she had with Abraham was different to that of the connection she felt with Daryl. Very, very different indeed.

“I’m not that close to anyone.” She commented “Except you.”

He nodded once and finally awarded her the eye contact she wanted so she could at least try and work out what was going on in his head. Feeling the need to clarify a significant factor on the topic, she leaned towards him slightly and gestured to him with her glass as she spoke.

“Did you know that Abraham is actually with Rosita? Like, she’s his actual girlfriend.”

Another nod was his sole reply and Jess was altogether more confused than ever. Why would he ever have an issue with her being friends with Abraham if he knew that he was paired off with someone else? It was becoming evident that she was going to have to apply a little more pressure to get to the bottom of what was now a baffling conversation.

“Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” She asked.

“Depends how personal.” He grumbled.

“Please” she urged.

“Alright. Fine. Can’t promise i’ma answer.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

Adopting Carol’s directness and ability to demand the truth, Jess readied herself for a flat refusal to reply to her question, but she needed to try anyway. She thought of the possible implications; he could flare up and get angry at her again, he could close up altogether and cement his defenses, or he could give her what she wanted, which was a straight answer. Whichever way, if she didn’t ask, she would never know.

“Were you mad at me because I forgot, or were you mad at me because It was Abraham I was with?”

If he was trying to hide his discomfort, he was failing. Jess observed him sigh loudly, his exhalation laced with a growl and she hoped it wasn’t aimed at her. He leaned forwards on the bar stool, using his elbows to brace himself and taking time to rub at his beard with one hand. The energy he was giving off was palpable and there was a discernible testiness, especially when she heard him cuss under his breath. She didn’t know why and it may have been out of place during such a tense moment, but she panicked and decided to top up both glasses and help herself to more chips. By the time she’d finished tinkering with everything on the surface, she found him glaring right at her.

“Both” He uttered.

Carol was right

“You were jealous.” She acknowledged.

His eyes dropped and he stared down into his drink for a moment. Having not touched his refill, Jess wondered if it was wise to be drinking during such a taxing conversation. He chewed on his bottom lip and she waited with bated breath for his response. She was learning; just wait and he would answer. Push him, and he would retreat into himself.

“Maybe” He grunted. “I dunno”

She exhaled a large breath and blinked as she looked down at the decking between her knees. Terrified of prodding at his temper again, she was at a loss for what to say and the silence between them was thickening. She forced herself to speak, having no idea if he was jealous in a romantic way or because she spent time with Abraham in general. She decided to play it safe and be honest, to an extent.

“OK. Um. OK.” She started “You…” She reached across the bar, gently placing her hand on his forearm. “…are my favorite person. Ever. I have never met anybody like you before and I highly doubt I ever will again.”

“Ya ain’t gotta do that.” He snapped, moving away from her and rising to his feet.

“Do what?” She inquired.

He flicked a dismissive hand in her direction. “I don’t need that reassurance bullshit.”

While she was busy fretting about Daryl’s temper, she’d neglected to maintain her own and it rushed to the surface at his comment. Before she could contain it, she was on her feet and slapping both hands on the bar.

“It’s not bullshit.” She told him. “And I think you do need it. No matter how vulnerable it makes you feel. I’m trying to be honest with you and it’s fucking terrifying and kind of irritating so if you could take me seriously, I’d appreciate it.”

Shocked at her clap back, he let a let out a brief huff and quickly diminished the slight smile of disbelief on his lips. It dawned on him from the irate look on her face that he’d offended her and a wave of regret engulfed him. He cleared his throat and gave her a quick nod, hoping that she would recognize that reassurance was not something he’d ever had the luxury of experiencing and therefore, was way out of his depth in dealing with it.

“Can I continue? Or would you like to pity yourself a little more? I don’t have all night” She spat.

It was one of the things he now knew he liked about her; the fact that she wouldn’t take any crap and if she was pushed, she could fight back like the best of them. He suspected she was always like that but it was heavily masked when he knew her back at the quarry due to the big personalities and overwhelming similarities Sarah and Jodie had to high school bullies. Showing her that he was, in fact, serious. He sat back down on his bar stool and managed to hold back the need to smile at her defiance.

“I like Abraham. He’s nice and funny and we share a lot of the same interests now I want to get to know my firearms. He’s the type of guy that I just get along with. But he’s not you. I’ve never had a connection to someone like I do with you. It’s weird and nice and scary all at once. So, there really is no need for you to be jealous.” She paused “He just flirts outrageously with me from time to time”

He watched her closely as he exhaled slowly and Jess secretly worried that she might have made things worse by the expression on his face. He seemed troubled, almost pained but he was too difficult to read. He looked away, back at the beach while he finished up his second drink, placing the glass on the table in front of them and taking in the sparkling view of the water and the clear blue sky. Jess finished her drink and accepted that it may well have been the end of the conversation and she still didn’t feel like they’d reached any kind of compromise. It felt unfinished but she was at a complete loss as to what else she could say to him. So much time passed that she felt her stomach growl and picked up the bag of chips, nibbling noisily on them and wondering why the hell they were even still sitting there.

“Can’t blame him. You’re real pretty.” Daryl mumbled out of nowhere.

She rapidly turned her head to face him, her mouth falling open, full of partially chewed potato chips. She was astonished and could only gawp at him for what seemed like forever. Daryl was positive he could have counted at least a full minute before she spoke.

“That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” She whispered before quickly chewing the rest of what was in her mouth and swallowing hard.

Daryl had now waded so far out of his comfort zone that he didn’t seem to be giving any thought to what came out of his mouth which was unheard of when he was with anyone else but Jess. Somehow, she made him say and do things that were out of character and how she managed it was a complete mystery to him. Nervously, he played with a loose piece of thread hanging from the bottom of his shirt under his vest with his head dipped, but he could sense the burning of the tips of his ears.

What the fuck am I doing?

“Oh my god.” Jess whispered to herself.

“C’mon, don’t make it no big deal” He pleaded self-consciously.

“You think-you think I’m pretty?” She stammered having already made it a huge deal. It was a first. Having believed for her whole life that she was not the girl that guys wanted to date, Jess hadn’t been the happy recipient of such compliments and while other girls reveled in them, she could merely hope that one day, she would be able to do the same. She didn’t see herself as pretty, or attractive in the slightest and as a result, she struggled to take Daryl’s admission as gospel. Now, she was the one that needed the reassurance.

“Yeah.” He grunted.

“Really? For real?” She continued. If she was coming across as a little flabbergasted, she didn’t care in the slightest.

“S’what I said, ain’t it?” He snipped at her, feeling out of control and exposed. After a deep breath he regained his composure and softened his voice “Course I do, dumb-ass.”

“Thank you.” She blushed “that’s a huge compliment. Especially coming from you.”

Her cheeks and nose were raging with warmth and she could see her reflection in the chrome beam around the bar’s counter. She was a deep shade of red and expected Daryl to be smiling at her smugly like he always did when he’d managed to embarrass her. But when she flickered her eyes up to his face, she was met with confusion.

“Why?” he asked.

She shifted about in her seat and huffed nervously. Should she have another drink, or was that a bad idea? It would provide her with the liquid courage to say what she wanted, but once it was said, it couldn’t be taken back and there was one, sizeable confession that she did not want to admit off the back of a drunken conversation on a boat that wasn’t likely to remember. She pushed the bottle away and Daryl noted her intention, internally agreeing with her.

“Um…” she tried “you even seen yourself?” She said under her breath

Daryl couldn’t help it, he flinched.

Does this mean she still has a crush on me?

“I ain’t nothin” He shrugged.

“Oh, shut up.” She scoffs with a small, nervous laugh “badass, big-armed, blue-eyed archer with a soft side. Yeah. Sure. You’re ‘nothing’” Her air quotations only made it all seem even more ridiculous. Like Jess, Daryl was never on the receiving end of a compliment, let alone so many in one sentence and from someone that occupied his thoughts on an uncomfortably regular basis.

“Get outta here, girl.” He laughed shyly.

That really what she thinks of me?!

The delicate pink hue across his cheeks and nose diminished rapidly but she loved every single second of the sight of it she did that. She made him blush and that told her that maybe, just maybe, he was happy that she thought him to be more than just a redneck from the mountains.

“You’re just as bad at taking a compliment as I am, it seems.” She pointed out.

“Not used to it.” He told her.

“Same” She agreed “You believe me though, right?”

“You believe me?” he shot back, feeling braver once his cheeks had simmered down and locking eyes with her.

“I believe that’s your opinion, yes.” She expressed.

“Same with you.” He smiled.

Neither of them could tell how much time had passed between Daryl's last comment and when he finally jolted and coughed, breaking the tense silence around them and the searing eye contact that had left them both teetering on the edge of making some kind of move, even if neither of them knew exactly what.

They finished off the bag of chips and after Jess retreated inside to fix them up some food, Daryl hovered around the deck, pacing and thinking that this might be the closest thing he’d ever had to a date. That was, if she felt the same. He knew she thought him to be decent looking and that thought alone was enough to make him smirk to himself. The longer he spent with her and the more he tested the water with flirtatious lines and compliments, the surer he was that he liked her more than he liked anybody else. He’d never breathed a word to anyone, but Merle had known it too and on the odd occasion, he wished he could just speak to his brother and ask him how he managed to pick up on it before he even had a clue himself. One thing loomed over it all; she was his best friend, his one and only exceptionally close soul who he would miss horrendously if it were to change

He refused any more whiskey for fear of bringing an abrupt end to what was becoming one of, if not the best days he’d had since the turn, maybe even ever. His limits when he drank became blurred and his personality changed, he altered to a more aggressive, blunt and unpredictable version of himself. A version that he hated and never, ever wanted to inflict upon Jess. Far from wanting to tell her as much, he simply suggested that he should save the rest and make it last.

When night began to fall and the crystal clear, blue sky made way for the velvet blanket of night with it’s twinkling stars, Jess and Daryl lay on two sun loungers on the decking, both staring up to the sky and enjoying the blissful, noiseless ambiance of being on a boat with the best company they could have wished for. With no more than a few inches between their sun loungers, Jess wished she could just reach out and take his hand on more than one occasion. But it would stay as a subtle fantasy and something she could only hope would be allowed to happen one day.

“Your leg seems a lot better” She observed.

“Yeah. At last.” He replied. He was positioned with one arm behind his head, his black shirt pulled up and revealing a slither of bare skin above his waistband. Jess had already clocked it, and shifted onto her side so she could admire the view, which was turning out to be much more entertaining than the stars. “Listen, thanks for everythin’ ya did.” He continued “I know I ain’t easy to be around sometimes.”

“You don’t need to thank me. I’ll always be here for you.” She wanted him to know. “Although, I should point out that you’re lucky I was even around to help you. My mother almost became a nun and if she had, I’d never have been born.”

He turned his head to see her grinning at him. He wished he knew more about her, about her past and who she was before. He knew of her nerdy side and it wasn’t lost on him that she was sometimes shy and nervous, disbelieving that he could possibly think she was anything other than the ‘little, fat chick’ that his brother had referred to her as. He wanted to know more and he raised an eyebrow in interest.

“Really? A nun?” He questioned

“Yep and if it wasn’t for my love of a couple of the deadly sins, namely Gluttony and Sloth, I may have followed suit. Right into the convent.” She said. Her finger traced along the seam of the sun lounger, up and down in front of her.

“Can't see you as a nun” He chuckled

“Hey, don’t mock. I’m a nice, innocent girl” She insisted “I mean, I certainly wasn’t going to miss one of the sins. Never really been the object of anyone’s Lust.”

It was a tempting concept to him, to tell her that she most certainly was the object of someone’s lust now and before he could control it, the words were tumbling from his lips, albeit in an a barely-there whisper as he looked back up at the sky.

“Yeah, that ya know of.”

For a split second, Jess almost laughed out loud from thinking his comment was intended to be funny or some kind of joke. But when he didn’t laugh and acted as though he’d said nothing at all, she suddenly grasped that he had meant to think it rather than voice it.

Does that mean he…? No. Surely it doesn’t mean…? Oh, god!

Once again, her face exploded with heat and she rolled over onto her back, praying that he wouldn’t catch a glimpse of how coy she’d become.

But he already had. From his peripheral vision, he could see her raise her hands and cover her face for a few seconds while his heart raced in his chest at the prospect of her overhearing something that was supposed to be an innermost thought. He lay still on the lounger and acted as though he had no idea she was listening, ignorance was bliss.

She swung her legs over the lounger and announced that they should be getting back, it was dark and they had to hunt in the morning. Automatically, Daryl mirrored her when she stood but had very little desire to go back to Alexandria at all. The pause between them had been laden with so many things that had gone unsaid. Neither one of them were able to look away at first, neither of them wanted to.

“Why don’t we just stay here?” He suggested, lifting his arm and scratching at the back of his head. It wasn’t needed and it was more of a grounding gesture, to make him come across as certain and confident of his proposal when he was actually quite the opposite. In reality and to Jess, it made him look like a nervous teenager.

“We have to hunt in the morning” She reminded him.

“Can just get up before sunrise n’ go straight there.” He put forward. “I mean, um…it just- it makes more sense than drivin’ back in the dark. Y’know, safer n’all.”

She hoped he didn’t pick up on the slow and deep breath she hauled in before agreeing to his idea. She wanted nothing more than to spend the night on the boat with him and his suggestion had both startled and pleased her. After a good-natured argument over who was sleeping where, it was determined that Daryl wasn’t to sleep on anything but a bed because of his leg and because Jess had thrown out the spare mattress to make room for her crops, there was only the master bedroom left. Having shared a bed before, they both set about acting as if it wasn’t an issue, that it was nothing more than two friends sharing some space but in the back of his mind Daryl was anxious and so was Jess.

She pulled the ladder up at the side of the boat, preventing anyone from climbing aboard during the night and locked the door, switching off the decking lights. In the bedroom, she lit two pillar candles on the shelf above the bed which were a brilliant arc of gold in the blackness, rendering the shapes of the room so muted they turned a deep grey. Daryl sat up on one side of the bed, his boots left on the floor beside him. He shamelessly watched Jess through a side glance as she sat on her side of the bed and peeled off her layers one by one. Her jacket, her armored clothing and her boots. Leaving only her camo pants and a black tank top. There was a dull ache across her ribs from her injury at the fairground that was still sometimes problematic. With her back to him, she tugged the elastic from her hair which held her braid in place and raked her fingers through her hair, sending a shimmering curtain of waves across her shoulders.

He closed his eyes and looked away, shrugging off his leather vest and enduring the guilt stinging him for the way he thought of her sometimes. He had little interest in objectifying her, but he was human and his appreciation of her was now reaching much further than that of a friend who thought her to be pretty. He waited for her to settle beside him with her legs drawn up and glanced over at her with a small smile, their shoulders were a hair's breadth apart on the headboard and Daryl did his best to ignore the pleasant warmth that he felt emanating on his bare shoulder from her relaxing next to him.

“Never shown anybody the boat until today” She said thoughtfully.

“Appreciate it.” He replied sincerely. “Needed to get out n’ do somethin’. Goin’ crazy sittin’ on my ass all day. Carol keeps harpin’ on, throwin’ that damn physio book at me.”

Jess giggled happily and rolled her eyes at him, not bothering to mention that if it wasn’t Carol hassling him about physio, it would be her.

“Was good to see one of the places ya live too.” He added.

“It was a nice night. I had fun.” She concluded. It was the most fun she’d had in as far back as she could remember and there was not a single doubt in her mind that she would have had anywhere near as much of a perfect night if she was there with anyone else. She scanned the wall opposite, making animals and mythical creatures from the shapes that flickered there and she was content. As content as she’d been in recent weeks, maybe months. His company beside her just seemed right. It made sense and she couldn’t wait for a repeat of the last few hours.

“I ask ya somethin’?” He whispered

“Sure”

“Will ya let me visit ya sometimes? At the fairground. I mean, actually let me in.” He requested.

By showing him her floating fortress, a part of her survival story and a place she sometimes called home, she’d already let him into a small part of her world. The fairground was only the next step.

“OK. But only you” She agreed with a wide grin. “Why do you want to visit me there anyway?”

In the yellow glow she saw him lick his lips and start to shake his head before pausing and fixing in her such a penetrating stare the skin on the back of her neck prickled and her palms began to sweat.

“You know.” He breathed.

“No, I don’t.” She whispered back.

It was there, on the tip of his tongue waiting to be released. The huge secret he held locked in his heart. She’d come along and picked the lock and drawn it out and now it was teetering on the edge and he was so tempted. So, tempted to just tell her.

Jess, I really like you.

“I rea…” But then, his gusto vanished “…I don’t like not seeing you”

Just like that, it was gone and he resigned himself to the fact that he would never have the courage to confess how he really felt. Not without the certainty that she felt the same. However, the words that came out of his mouth were not untrue and were enough to insert a sparkle in her eyes and create a suspense between them that he really wasn’t ready for.

“I don’t like not seeing you either” She told him.

His eyes dropped to her lips and she held her breath, unsure by what was happening but feeling certain that the energy around them had changed drastically into pure suspense. She didn’t like to assume, but she was willing him to kiss her. Repeating it in her mind over and over, all the while struggling to comprehend that anything of the sort could be happening to her. There was a vulnerability to him, a look of intent while his lips said nothing and it made her heart flutter. The perfect blend of sexy and adorable.

Daryl was literally on the verge and his mind was engaged in a war that was getting louder by the second. If he kissed her there and then it would be the first move that he’d made on someone he genuinely liked and that would be an achievement in itself, let alone that it would be on Jess. The only girl to ever have made him so crazy, he had endured the resentment, inadequacy and helplessness of jealousy. Uncertain if she would back away and take their friendship with her, it wasn’t enough. He blinked and broke the chains between them, snapping Jess out of her trance.

“Should get some sleep.” He mumbled.

“Yeah.” She quickly agreed. “Goodnight.” Before either of them could say anymore, Jess had slipped under the covers and dragged them so far up, her head was barely visible and there she stayed. On her side, facing away from him, for the entire night.

*

“You got it bad, little brother. Look at you, all snuggly n’ shit. Since when did you get to be such a pussy?”

Daryl shot up from the pillow, unable to catch his breath at first. Merle. He’d heard Merle. His head snapped from side to side, scanning the room. He’d definitely heard him. Then, he was there. In the corner, shrouded in darkness and balancing on a dresser stool, smoking a cigarette. Daryl couldn’t smell it, even though the smoke filled the room. He glanced down at Jess, motionless. Fast asleep. A throaty chuckle emanated from the darkened corner.

“M-Merle?” Daryl croaked.

“Us Dixon’s always had to fight for what’s ours.” Merle pointed out as he leaned closer, into the light. His face was mostly obscured but Daryl could see the bullet hole in his white vest, a deep crimson circle on his chest. His mind raced. Where did he come from? How is he alive? He turned into a Walker; he was gone. It didn’t make sense. “We was never good for much, but we was always survivors n’ ain’t much use in survivin’ if ya miserable as sin. All them folks in them nice houses? They all think you’re just redneck trash and one day, they’re gonna scrape you off their shoes like dog shit. Need to show ‘em. Ain’t nothin’ like provin’ folks wrong”

“You died. I saw you die. I put you down.” Daryl breathed jaggedly

“Are we ever really gone?” Merle sneered “Where’s the fun in that, now?”

“What are you doin’ here?” Daryl asked

Merle nodded towards the sleeping form of Jess beside him, clutching the covers to her neck and breathing a slow and steady rhythm.

“She’s a good one.” He stated “A little straight-laced but she’s got stones bigger than yours Darlina.”

Daryl's breathing was still labored and rapid at the sight of his dead brother talking to him from the corner of the room.

“You don’t know nothin’ ‘bout her.” He growled.

“Oh, but I do. That’s the fine thing ‘bout bein’ dead. You see all kinds of shit n’ I see you followin’ the little, fat chick around like some kinda hound dog beggin’ for a treat. You know what you gotta do. I told ya. So, why ain’t ya done it yet?”

Dead? Daryl began to hyperventilate. He was talking to his brother from beyond the grave. Shock washed over him and he blinked and shook his head, but the effigy remained. Merle had not moved a muscle. The smoke from his cigarette was turning everything cloudy, engulfing the room in smoke as if a fire were ablaze somewhere. Jess continued to sleep soundly, the smoke forming a funnel as it entered her nose upon each inhalation.

“Put the smoke out, ya gonna choke her to death.” Daryl ordered. But Merle merely grinned.

“Well?” He asked.

“I-I can’t.” He stammered “It ain’t that simple.”

“Oh, you ‘can’t’?” Merle mocked with pursed lips and a sniveling tone “Buck the fuck up, boy. All those years I spent, tryin’ to make a man of you and this is what I get?”

“It ain’t like that for her, bro.” Daryl mumbled in defeat. “She deserves better anyways.”

“Now you listen to me” Merle announced as he rose from the seat and hovered in the corner. The shadows cast a blackness over most of his face, leaving one, piercing blue eye scowling at Daryl. The smoke around them grew thicker and thicker and seeped into his lungs, it was hard to breathe, difficult to suck in a shallow breath. “I always said ain’t nobody ever gonna care ‘bout you but me, little brother. But I’m off meetin’ my maker… or, down in the depths with a whiskey in one hand and a bag of crystal meth in the other, whichever way ya wanna look at it. So, you gotta take your chance on her.” He paused to look over at Jess, cocking his head to one side thoughtfully. It was like the shadows followed his movement, keeping him concealed “She did right by me, would have been dead a whole lot sooner if it wasn’t for her. Like I said, ain’t no point survivin’, lettin’ all them pansy asses thinkin’ you a damn fool, when you could have somethin’ better.”

Rubbing his eyes with one hand, Daryl expected Merle to have vanished by the time he reopened his eyes, but still, he lingered in his cloud of intoxicating, yet odorless smoke. He hadn’t told Jess, but Merle had indeed told him what he needed to do and so far, he’d ignored the advice given to him.

“I need to know for sure, man. Can’t lose her.” He told him.

Merle slowly unfurled an arm, coated in blood and dust, his hand missing and replaced by a metal prosthetic and bayonet. He pointed it at Jess, stepping out from the corner and Daryl’s eyes widened at the multiple, bloody stab wounds to the side of his face. His stomach clenched and he felt nauseous. Stab wounds that he was forced to inflict. Violence again at his brother, or the shell that was left of him, at his own hand.

“This aint sure enough for ya, dummy?” Merle questioned with a rattle from deep in his chest. “You can’t see what’s right in front of ya. Time’s a wastin’, Daryl. Get to it.”

The smoke was now so thick that Daryl could barely see his brother anymore. He sat up further on the bed and squinted through the smog. Jess was blanketed in swirls of grey mass, undetectable. Holding his blue gaze, Merle smiled at Daryl, the half of his face that was still intact a painful reminder of everything he’d lost.

“M’ sorry I couldn’t save ya.” Daryl uttered, his voice a husky whisper “I just want my brother back”

“Don’t be no sissy” Merle smirked. “It’s time to wake up.”

“What?” Daryl asked, confused

“Wake up, little brother.”

*

His entire body jolted and his eyes snapped open. The room was clear, the air not clogged with smog and his lungs able to work properly again. The corner of the room was illuminated by the slither of the sun’s rays working their way through the drapes as morning crept in. He blinked and was suddenly rooted to the spot when he noticed the position that he was curled into. His body was flush against Jess’s back, his head resting on her hair and his face a mere brush away from the skin of her neck. To make matters worse, his hand was resting on her waist. He racked his brain to try and figure out how he managed to end up here, on the other side of the bed and spooning the girl he liked.

He regulated his breathing so as not to wake her and lifted his hand from her side, slowly rolling over and away from her. His other arm was entirely numb, his fingers starting to tingle when he flexed his knuckles. He sat up against the headboard, craning his neck to try and see if Jess was awake and was relieved to find that she was still fast asleep.

“What the hell….?” He said to himself under his breath.

Merle. He thought. If he was visiting him in his dreams it would be just his style to make sure he left with one more, embarrassing parting gift by ensuring Daryl woke in position he couldn’t explain and that would leave them both red faced. He was grateful that Jess was still asleep and hadn’t stirred when he moved or he would have a lot of explaining to do. It wasn’t his nature to be so bold as to cross such a physical boundary, especially without permission and that only added to the feeling of bafflement and worry that he experienced as a result. He decided to get up and head outside for a smoke before he woke Jess up for the hunt.

 *

On her side of the bed, Jess’s eyes sprang open when the door to the bedroom closed softly and she rolled over onto her back, laying both of her hands across her forehead and gawping at the ceiling. Little did Daryl know; Jess had been awake long before he was. His murmurings and flinching in his dreams had coaxed her from a deep sleep and she lay there trying to decipher his muffled and almost inaudible ramblings. When he’d finally quietened, she was stunned to find he curled up behind her, easing his face into the gap behind her head and gently sliding his hand onto her waist. Once the initial shock had faded, she allowed herself to enjoy this one, small joy. The sensation of being snuggled into, having someone that wanted to be so close to her he had mimicked the position of her body and fit to her like a jigsaw piece. Because that’s what he was to her, this missing piece to a complex puzzle that had been destroyed when the world went away but was now coming back to life. The pictures were brightening and the edges weren’t so frayed. He was repairing it single-handedly and she let herself reap the benefits, closing her eyes and reveling in his close proximity.

So, that’s what it would be like. She thought I could definitely get used to that.

 She found him on the deck, sitting on the edge with his legs dangling from the side. She offered him a coffee cup and settled beside him while sipping her own. The sun was beginning to peep over the canopy of trees beyond the beach and Jess had forgotten just how beautiful it was at the boat when the sun was rising. Aside from a quiet greeting and thanking her for the coffee, Daryl said nothing, his legs swinging back and forth and his attention moving from the smoke he was finishing, to his coffee cup and then up to the sunrise.

“Sleep OK?” Jess squeaked, unintentionally sounding a little more awkward than she would have liked.

“Yeah.” He nodded without turning to look at her. “Had the weirdest dream.”

Of course, she knew he’d been dreaming, she’d watched him whimper and mumble and jolt in his sleep. But she chose to claim ignorance, thinking it to be the better option than admitting to watching him sleep like some kind of stalker.

“What about?” She inquired

“Merle.” He stated simply.

The lack of information was no more than Jess could have expected and she figured that should he want to offer up anything else, he would have done so.

“Are you alright?” She asked in the knowledge that it couldn’t have been an altogether good thing to be dreaming about his deceased brother.

“Mmhmm” He hummed, quickly glancing at her and attempting to assure her that he wasn’t as unsettled as he felt.

“You miss him.” She said. It was a statement rather than a question, but one Daryl needed to respond to.

“Everyday.” He mumbled.

Jess gently reached out and squeezed his forearm. It was a motion that lasted less than two seconds before she was wandering back inside but he remained where he was, staring down at where his skin was tingling from her touch. Merle’s words floated through his mind.

‘You know what you gotta do. I told ya. So, why ain’t ya done it yet?’

*

Wandering through the trees as a duo was something Daryl had been looking forward to, as he always did when Jess joined him on the hunt. But hunting that morning was more strenuous than Jess could have planned for. The heat was so strong it was like wading around in an oven and sweat soaked through her clothes, which she was beginning to wish were not mostly black. On top of being on the verge of heatstroke, her lower abdomen coiled and tensed as though it was being wrung out and it meant she often had to stop and take a deep breath to stave off the pain. Daryl noticed straight away, keeping a close eye on her before she halted completely and clamped her hands around her middle. He was aware of the high temperatures but couldn’t say he was suffering as much as Jess appeared to be and he ran to her aid, taking hold of her arms and standing at her side to steady her.

“What’s goin’ on? You’re burnin’ up. What hurts?” He pleaded but Jess just brushed him off, determined to press on and finish their task.

“I’ll be fine.” She sighed

He didn’t argue at first, but it wasn’t sitting well with Daryl. Not one little bit and his focus shifted from hunting to watching her as she staggered through the woods, clinging to tree trunks and sucking in sharp breaths.

Jess was horrified. She knew exactly what was wrong with her but in the company of not only a male, but one she was hopelessly in love with, she was left with little option but to soldier on and pretend that the crippling menstrual cramps that were wracking her body didn’t exist. She cursed herself for not planning this better. Thinking she would have been back at the fairground the night before; she’d neglected to remember when Daryl suggested staying at the boat that there was a very good reason why she wanted to be at home and behind closed doors. She’d got herself so excited about the prospect of him wanting to stay longer and be alone with her, that she found herself in the most humiliating and awful of situations.

“Jess, just go back. Go to the infirmary or to Aaron’s.” Daryl tried from behind her.

“Did you not hear me? I said I’m fine. I can handle it.” She snapped back at him.

Her outburst had surprised him but he put it down to her being in a reasonably evident amount of pain and being stubborn enough not to do anything about it. She surged ahead, stopping briefly to check for tracks on the ground. Daryl hung back, hovering around her like an overprotective husband and It was fortunate that he did because Jess soon succumbed to the pain in her abdomen and ended up leaning against a tree, doubled over and baring her teeth.

He wasn’t going to take no for an answer and if she wanted to fight, he’d fight her, but he was not leaving her out there to trundle through the woods when she should have been in the infirmary. He ran to her, pulling her hair from her face and noticing how sweaty her forehead was.

“Nope. C’mon. I’m takin’ ya back.” He told her as he looped her arm over his shoulder.

“No!” She cried “No! I’m fine!

“Shut up” he groaned, hooking his arm around the back of her knees and lifting her from the floor. She clung to his shoulders and glowered at him.

“Remember that Walker alarm I said I had back at the quarry? Well, if you don’t put me down this instant, I’ll scream at the top of my lungs and have every rotting corpse within a twenty-mile radius hot on your heels. I said I am fine. I’m not going to toss my cookies all over the damn woods.”

Daryl sighed loudly and began to take the same path they’d followed on the way out.

“Yeah, big threat.” He stated “I don’t care. Set Walkers on me. Fight me if ya want. Ya ain’t stayin’ out here.”

It was becoming clearer to Jess that the only way she was going to get out of this aside from actually fighting him, which she did not want to do, was to tell him the truth. She was a private person when it came to such issues and after the tampon incident at the hotel, she hoped that she could avoid any further references to such things. But it was not to be and she was now backed into a corner. She swallowed hard and released a frustrated and throaty growl of frustration.

“OK. Fine” She complained “I know what it is and it’s nothing to worry about. I have cramps. Cramps that I get every month. Feminine…cramps. I get hot and irritable too. So, I don’t need a doctor, nor do I need my gay friend. What I need is to continue with my day with my dignity intact and lord knows it’s all but abandoned me right now.”

Daryl stopped walking and tried to speak but nothing materialized at first. He stood there with her clutched to his chest, his lips parted and his mind blank.

Well, this is new. He eventually thought.

He switched direction, swerving from one path to another without a word and carried on, refusing to put her down.

“What are you…? Daryl?!” She demanded.

“Just shut up, Jess!” He suddenly argued when his temper had worn thin. “There ain’t no way I’m lettin’ ya hunt in this state. What kind of guy would I be if I just fuckin’ left ya to it, huh?! Ya can’t even walk. So, I’m takin’ ya home.”

“Oh my god, this is so humiliating.” She huffed under her breath as Daryl ignored her protests and ducked under low hanging trees, carrying her back to the fairground.

 *

Outside the infirmary, he tapped his foot on the porch nervously. Delivering Jess to her home had been one thing, but leaving her inside her gate with no painkillers and extremely mad at him was another altogether. When he left the fairground, he told he would be back with something to help, quite what he was referring to was lost on him, but he had to do something. Jess raged at him that she wanted to be left to her own devices and that she didn’t need him to return. But he could be just as hard headed as her and the thought of him leaving her in so much pain was not a nice one at all.

The door to the infirmary swung open and Denise appeared, clearly not expecting to find Daryl standing on the other side of the door.

“Daryl. Hi.” She greeted.

“Hey Doc. Need ya help with somethin’.” He informed her quietly. She noted the low tone of his voice. Drawing her hoodie around her body, she stepped closer to prevent him from having to speak up.

“Okay, are you alright? Is it your leg?” She questioned with a concerned look.

“Uh, no. It’s Jess. She got this issue. Need some help from a…a female.” He tried to explain. All the while, he hoped that he would not have to be forced to explain in any more detail and that Denise would just connect the dots.

“Oh? What kind of issue are we talking about?” She asked.

No, he was not going to get away with minimal details. Uncomfortable, he shifted his weight and leaned on the doorframe, wondering when he'd transformed into that guy, the guy that runs out to the store to buy his girl sanitary products and chocolate. 

“A uh, a monthly one.” Was all he could think of to say.

“Oh!” Denise exclaimed, finally figuring out what the awkward and clueless man in front of her meant “What does she need?”

Daryl unintentionally waved his hand around in front of his own stomach “She’s got these… cramps.”

A slightly bemused expression crossed her face before she remembered her professionalism and shrank back into the room. “I’ll be right back.”

Left on his own, Daryl slowly walked the length of the porch and back again with his hands pushed into the pocket of his ripped, black jeans. He struggled to believe the situation he found himself in and never could have imagined over a year ago that he would be in the middle of the apocalypse, begging a doctor for help because the girl he liked had cramps. It was a ridiculous notion, but there was no way he was about to leave Jess and pretend that everything was fine, when it wasn’t. He considered for a moment what Merle would have said and cringed slightly at the thought.

Yeah, you’d fuckin’ love this, wouldn’t you? You asshole.

Denise returned with a small, plastic bag containing two pills and a bright blue hot water bottle. She held them out to Daryl who took them from her grasp.

“I’m not supposed to dispense pain meds for this kind of thing because it goes away on its own but for you to be standing here, it must be bad. So, keep it to yourself and give her those. I am also prescribing this hot water bottle, I filled it for you, and some light exercise.” She explained to a nodding and uneasy Daryl.

“That it?” he checked “There nothin’ else that helps?”

Denise knew there was and although she thought it to be admirable and brave that Daryl had shown up out of nowhere to ask for such assistance and she wasn't entirely aware of his relationship, or lack thereof with Jess, the temptation was too great to ignore.

“There’s also orgasms.” She shrugged as she tried with all her might not to burst into fits of laughter at the shock on his face. “Y’know, one or… two players, if you’re game. But you might want to buy her a drink first.”

She was met with a thick silence followed by a grunt. She couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“I’m sorry. I’m kidding.” She laughed “I mean, orgasms do work though.”

“Pain meds, hot water bottle, exercise. Got it.” He clarified very deliberately while holding up the hot water bottle. “Thanks Doc.” He mumbled with a quick jump down the steps.

“Daryl?” She called out to him. He glanced over his shoulder to see her about to close the door. “It’s cute. What you’re doing for her. It’s…it’s cute.”

“Yeah, keep that to yourself.” He huffed.

*

He waited ten minutes with no response from inside the fairground and was growing increasingly irritated as each minute passed. From his place at the gate, he could see through the disused rides to the door of the diner that Jess now called home and he wondered if, with some well-aimed throws, he could make her mad enough to open the door and yell at him. At least then, he would have a shot at passing on the painkillers he’d endured a very awkward encounter for. Just as he began to look around on the ground for some small rocks to throw, he heard the door swing open inside. Jess appeared and walked along the path towards him, wearing some baggy, grey sweatpants and a Star Wars T-shirt. She’d scraped her hair up into a messy bun and wore her unlaced military boots, pulled open at the top.

“Thought I told you I didn’t need you to come back here.”

Daryl said nothing, instead opting to press the hot water bottle against the fence with one hand and display the tiny packet of pills in his palm with the other. Jess was quickly put in her place without a word and swallowed the anger she’d felt when she noticed his valiant effort. Now not angry at all, she was touched. He’d gone out of his way to help her even though she was being difficult and bordering on rude. She edged closer until she was standing inches from his face with the fence in between them.

“You didn’t have to do that.” She croaked.

“Don’t like you bein’ in pain.” He uttered.

He didn’t need to ask to be let in. Jess unlocked the gate and stepped aside, to allow him past. He waited for her to secure the lock and let her lead the way to the first time he would be allowed inside her home. Guiding him inside, he saw that it was an old cafeteria but it barely had the same characteristics anymore. She’d ripped out the insides and turned it into a home with a bed, animal skulls decorating the walls, a working stove and lights powered by a generator in what was once the diner’s kitchen. Her windows were blacked out to avoid any passers-by noticing the place was occupied. Handmade bookshelves were stocked to the brim and a stack of journals rested on the top. It was apparent to Daryl that Jess liked her personalised, home comforts and she wasn’t about to let the end of the world change that. Her wooden-framed bed, which he assumed was brought in from a nearby house, was covered in animal furs and blankets and a thick rug covered the main living area, giving it a homely and warm feel.

Jess climbed onto the bed and held out a hand, gesturing to the other end of the mattress. Dutifully, Daryl accepted her wordless offer for him to make himself at home and sat down before handing her the pain meds. She ripped the bag open so quickly it reminded Daryl of some addicts he’d seen when he’d delivered their fixes for his brother. Only this was much more innocent and once she swallowed the medication, he instantly felt like he’d made a difference.

She gingerly pulled the hot water bottle towards her from beside him and placed it between her bent legs and her stomach as she leaned back against the pillows that she’d propped up behind her.

“Doc says you need to do some light exercise.” Daryl relayed.

“I will, once the pain subsides a little.” She replied shyly.

He could tell she was still quite disturbed from having to admit something so personal to him and guessed it was made worse when he’d showed up with help after refusing to let it go. But she was coming around, he could see it in the soft way she looked at him every now and then.

“Anythin’ else I can do?” He asked.

Jess didn’t know what to make of it all. She was skin crawlingly humiliated and wished she could turn back the clock and change the events of the last few hours, but at the same time, she wouldn’t have been able to witness the gallant efforts of Daryl and his quest to rid her of the pain she suffered. If it wasn’t confirmation that he cared about her more than he cared about anyone else, she didn’t know what was.

You’re a sweetheart under there, aren’t you?

“No.” She whispered. But really, she was trying to think of a way to ask him to stay. “Do you…?” She started “…Actually never mind.”

“Naw, what?”

“Was going to ask if you wanted to say with me. But I know you’re probably weirded out and that’s okay. So, forget it.” She said, waving her hand in the air as if she were literally brushing the idea out of the room.

“Don’t be stupid. Course I’ll stay.” He affirmed. Leaning across to her nightstand, he slid a pack of cards from the surface and held them up with a raised eyebrow. Jess smiled at him and gave him a small nod and they spent the next couple of hours playing poker. Jess thought herself to be quite the advanced player, but was put to shame when Daryl won every single game and told her that losing wasn’t an option when you grew up in bars and didn’t eat if you didn’t win your bets.

Jess couldn’t remember a time when she’d had more fun doing nothing of significance other than playing cards and laughing with someone that she credited with being one of the best people she’d ever met. She could have sat there for hours more, just reveling in him smiling, which was something he rarely did around anyone else but her. She noticed it on runs, during meetings, even when he was with Rick. His smiles were reserved for her and if she was his only reason to reveal such a side of him, then that was more than good enough for her.

Daryl didn’t want to leave but when he noticed the sun starting to go down through the one, unblocked window, he figured he’d best get back to the house and offer up at least some explanation for where he’d been for the past two days and one night. That was the problem with living in such a close-knit place, his housemates would only send out a search party if they thought him to be missing and that put lives in danger. It was tempting to check in, then head back to be with Jess, but he didn’t want to push his luck or outstayed his welcome. Being in her home was like jumping a huge hurdle and he realized he’d finally broken down her barrier and been let in not just to the building but to a higher level of their friendship that spoke volumes of her trust in him.

“You feelin’ better?” He asked while walking the path to the gate with her in tow.

“Yes. Thank you. For everything.” She replied. He stopped and turned back to her, pushing past the urge to wrap her in his arms, something he’d never wanted to do to anybody. “I’m kind of embarrassed.” She admitted.

“Don’t be. It’s just me.” He told her, lifting a hand and nudging at her elbow with the back of his fingers

She could have put it down to hormones, or said the moon phases made her crazy or blamed the painkillers, but she hugged him. A thoughtless and automatic hug that was perfectly executed. She slid her hands around his torso, feeling him tense slightly and breathe in sharply, but instead of overthinking it, she just rested her head on his chest.

It was what he wanted. He’d thought about it moments before. But when it actually happened it felt like…finally. A simple hug had never meant anything to Daryl, so much so that it wasn’t something that ever crossed his mind. He never hugged his family, or women he’d met, or anyone else before he found himself stood with Jess’s arms around him. Far from knowing what was an acceptable level of enthusiasm he gradually raised his hands, finding that they were trembling slightly and placed them lightly around her waist. Finally, able to breathe out his anxiety about being touched, he rested his chin on her head and felt her sway subtly with him in her grasp. It was, incontestably, one of the most meaningful few seconds of his life.

When she pulled back, she was happy to discover a certain lack of awkwardness between them. It was almost like a line had been crossed and it didn’t need to be overthought or clouded with too many questions. But Daryl did have one question.

“So, um… I get one of those every time I help ya out now?” He smiled.

“You get one any time you want.” She answered confidently. “Didn’t have you down as much of a hugger. Guess I took a risk on that”

“I ain’t a hugger” He confirmed. “Just seem to make a lot of exceptions… for you.”

“Then, I’m a lucky girl” She flashed him her best, flirtatious grin and could only dream that it meant he saw her the same way she did. When she let him through the gate, he glanced back at her twice before disappearing into the trees and she was left pondering if all close friends acted the way she and Daryl did. If it was normal to have many long, suspense laden silences and telling instances of eye contact. Or, was that all her imagination? She had no idea. But she knew in her heart that every time she set eyes on him, she loved him a little bit more.

--- tagging as requested ---

@lilred254​ @woundmetender​

[zephyrises]

character sheet.

full name.  ventus pronunciation.  ven-tuhs (which is not at all how the latin word is actually pronounced but don’t worry about it) nicknames.  venty-wenty

height.  5′5″ age.  verse dependent. 12 in ux, 16 in bbs and going on 17 in post-kh3. zodiac.  taurus, with his new birthday. original unknown. languages.  japanese. everyone understands everyone else in kingdom hearts anyway, though?? doesn’t matter which world they’re on. it’s that Disney Magic(tm), ig.

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS.

hair colour.  golden blonde that edges towards platinum. eye colour.  forest green. skin tone.  pale with yellow undertones. body type.  slight, but athletic. accent.  none, per se, but he will shorten words, mash words together and use some slang. dominant hand.  ambidextrous. he tends to stick with his right, though. posture.  very lax and casual. in battle, he uses a unique and antiquated, backhanded stance. tattoos.  none in any of my canon or canon based verses, even though he likes the idea of it! but in my collegeverse, he’s saving up to get lines drawn between the birthmarks on his back so they look like constellations. most noticeable features.  definitely his eyes, freckles, smile and the armor he wears on his feet, upper arm and abdomen. i’d say that the way he moves around is pretty attention catching in and of itself, considering how speedy, floaty and bouncy he is even without necessarily needing or intending to be. he’s also a bit small for his age, both in terms of height and weight.

CHILDHOOD.

place of “birth.”  daybreak town. hometown.  likely daybreak town. birth weight / height.  unknown.. manner of birth.  as weird as it sounds, necromancy. first words.  unfortunately, “yes, master.” siblings.  luxu could technically constitute in uxverse, depending upon how the both of them would view their situation. otherwise, he starts to think of terra and aqua as his older siblings sometime before the events of birth by sleep and then forever onward. parents.  in a terrihorrible way, the master of masters. if he had any parents before his body was re-animated, then it would be impossible to trace them now. he thinks of eraqus as a father figure, but his feelings on the matter are a big ol’ can of worms. parental involvement.  mom locked him up and used him for experiments. eraqus locked him up, good intentions notwithstanding, and tried to kill him. in other words, not the best!

ADULT LIFE

occupation.  post-kh3, he’s a guardian of light and keyblade master in training. the way aqua and yen sid have it slated, he’ll be taking his mark of mastery exam when he turns 18! current residence.  the land of departure, for now. even though he wouldn’t say it aloud to terra or aqua, he’d really like to leave and live somewhere new someday. close friends.  based off current canon, terra, aqua, lea, isa, sora, minnie, stitch, lilo, cinderella, jaq, hercules and peter pan. i see him having really good chemistry with vanitas, kairi, naminé, roxas, xion, ienzo, riku and demyx too, barring some development and circumstances! relationship status.  i don’t portray ven as having been in any romantic relationship or harboring romantic feelings towards anyone up until post-kh3. what happens from then on is a toss up depending on who i’m interacting with. i.e., right now, he’s dating @midnightpapllion​​ and has a budding crush on @rxcusant​​‘s vanitas! he’s a good-natured cutie, though, so other teenagers have flirted with him plenty during his travels. he’s just inexperienced and completely oblivious to the intent unless it’s spelled out for him, which tends to discourage most. financial status.  eraqus left a small fortune that he, aqua and terra use exclusively for groceries and supplies for missions. otherwise, he’s got a modest amount of spending money from traversing the worlds. he just doesn’t spend it on much aside from snacks and souvenirs. driver’s license.  cars are Completely nonexistent in his world. he only rides a keyblade glider and, even though there prrrrrobably should be, there’s no actual license required for that. criminal record.  this one time, he harassed some old men in the woods and beat up a cat about twenty times his size. those instances aside, he’s not necessarily above crime or violence as long as it isn’t Too uncouth and serves a purpose, so he’s probably got at least a little more on his rap sheet.

SEX & ROMANCE.

sexual orientation.  pansexual. romantic orientation.  demi and panromantic. preferred emotional role. submissive | dominant | switch |  unsure preferred sexual role.  submissive |  dominant  |  switch |  sex repulsed libido. turn on’s. turn off’s. love language.  even though he’d fail to notice a lot of the patterns himself, ven’s would consist predominantly of physical touch, acts of service and gift giving. as of terra and aqua’s involvement in his life, he’s become a huge touchy feely type. shoulder, arm and back touches, hugging and hand holding are all pretty normal for him in any sort of relationship, but lingering touches would be the big cue where romantic attraction is present. longer or more common hugs as opposed to just short lived hugs of greeting, parting or comfort. increasingly consistent tapping, leaning, nudging or hand holding for no particular reason other than because he gets a random urge to instigate it. acts of service would mostly just boil down to doing a lot of cooking or baking, but if he was in a position to and it wouldn’t be Weird to do so, he’d happily tidy up for someone or do their laundry, too! since the person in question would be on his mind a lot, he’d feel inclined to grab something up if it reminds him of them. probably stuff like flowers, pretty rocks or shells, accessories, snacks, things they’ve mentioned/he’s Noticed they enjoy, etc. etc. relationship tendencies.  mileage may vary for all of this depending on his partner’s personality and boundaries, obviously, but i’m willing to bet he’d be doting and clingy. he’s clingy with pretty much everyone once they give him an inch anyway, so i don’t think anybody would be too surprised or put off if they’ve already been hanging around long enough for him to develop feelings. definitely a little shy when it comes time to say i love you, kiss, go out or snuggle non-platonically, but not awkward or uncertain. the friendship that came before would be the foundation, after all, and he wouldn’t view a romance as something separate from that. more like another layer on top that they can navigate and define together. baseline, his flirting style is a combination of undisguised adoration and big time teasing. aaaand generally, he’d also be very attentive! he accounts for the tinier details, even if he can’t always make sense of them without posing a question or two.

MISCELLANEOUS.

character’s theme song.  i love the canon version of his theme, but i’m linking project destati’s version in particular because it’s orchestrated and extended and kills me dead. hobbies to pass the time.  adventures, walks, star gazing, star charting, flower pressing, bird watching, cooking, ukulele, and the biggie.... NAPPING. mental illnesses.  depression and ptsd. physical illnesses.  you could definitely argue that having his darkness stripped from him is more of a spiritual or mental condition, but to me, it’s a physical one. i think of it like having an organ removed from your body (say, a chunk of your goddamn HEART) or being on the receiving end of blunt trauma. there are mental and spiritual effects, sure. it contributed to his ptsd, depression, and an amnesiac episode, but xehanort stabbed him to make it happen and he’s got the scar and near death experience to prove it, so we’re calling it a physical illness in my house. a reaaaally strange, completely unparalleled, chronic fantasy illness. left or right brained.  right brained for sure. he’s really imaginative and artsy. fears.  being abandoned, especially by those he holds dear. not being smart or strong enough to prevent someone from getting hurt or worse. being deprived of control over his own body or decisions.  self confidence level.  veeeeeery low. when he acts confident, he’s just faking it until he makes it,.which, unless he addresses the root of the problem, won’t be anytime soon. but i’m behind the wheel so this kid’s not going to let being abused define him forever. mark my words. vulnerabilities.  impulsive and bad decision prone. he’s not very physically strong or durable, either. fast, sure. definitely determined to stick it out until the very end. but once you get a couple of good hits in, he’s down. he’ll also undermine his own value and throw his life and safety away on the off chance that it could help someone else, so jot that one down.

tagged by: @kissafist​​ THANK YOU!! ♥ i had so much fun with this. tagging: in addition to livi and sammi who i already pinged above, let’s do @localmagicalboi​​, @feraliix​​, @galaxycrxss​​, @blackasteriia​​ and YOU! but only if you feel like it!

[charminglatina]

Riverdale Couples and Ships as Romantic Tropes (Part II). 🌹

Here is Part II of the list!

#11. Bughead (Jughead Jones & Betty Cooper; ROMANTIC TROPE: CHILDHOOD FRIENDS ROMANCE)

Childhood Friend Romance

Childhood Friend Romance is a part of romantic plots, when characters develop romantic feelings for someone who they spent their childhood years with. Often the pair will see each other as Just Friends (and may even deny accusations that they might have a different type of relationship); then, when puberty hits or when they meet again after being apart for some time, they will realize that the other is all grown up. If the pair goes through a Puppy Love phase from the very beginning, a Childhood Marriage Promise may be involved. Resistance to see a childhood friend as a potential romantic partner is known as the "Westermarck effect", a theory that claims that people who grew up together before the age of 6 are likely to become hardwired to think about each other Like Brother and Sister, with a Stupid Sexy Friend squicked reaction to the notion of romance. (Other studies question this on the basis that though few of the people they examined had major romantic relationships with childhood friends, many had crushes and romantic feelings that just didn't make it.) Subtrope of Childhood Friends. See also Patient Childhood Love Interest, a subtrope common in Harem Series. Compare also with High-School Sweethearts. Often benefits from First Girl Wins.

#10. Veggie (Reggie Mantle & Veronica Lodge; ROMANTIC TROPE: SLAP-SLAP-KISS)

Slap-Slap-Kiss

"[Punches Hiccup on the arm] That was for kidnapping me. [Kisses him on the cheek] That was for everything else."— Astrid, How to Train Your Dragon

This trope is nothing but universal in romantic stories. It frequently brings to a close the Will They or Won't They? phase of a Romance Arc. When a male and female character spend a lot of time bickering, it is all but inevitable that sooner or later he will interrupt her in mid-rant by suddenly grabbing her and kissing her. (Less frequently, she grabs and kisses him.) The kissed one rarely resists, and usually responds wholeheartedly. Usually this is triggered by their hostilities reaching a climax that results in an exchange of slaps, followed by a moment where both stare at each other in combined confusion and shock, after which they dive into the kiss. Either way, the kiss prompts both to realize that they've been in love all this time — the rationale being that they wouldn't argue so much if they didn't give a damn about each other. Normally results in some kind of permanent change in their relationship. The concept is related to the theory that hate is not necessarily the opposite of love so much as its twisted twin; its opposite would be apathy. Ergo, lots of contained emotion towards a person might be translated into lust given the proper catalyst. Pulled off successfully, it can be... quite satisfying. Otherwise, not so much. This trope is a major factor in Foe Yay shipping, since such arguments between those characters in the actual shows are often similar to examples of this trope (or even get Why Don't You Marry It? reactions). It should be noted that in Real Life it's not exactly a sign of a healthy relationship, with the exception of a little roleplay between consenting adults. Note that this trope is mostly Exactly What It Says on the Tin. If there is no kiss, that's Belligerent Sexual Tension. Dating back at least to William Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing. Compare "Shut Up" Kiss, Love at First Punch, Belligerent Sexual Tension, "Take That!" Kiss, Vitriolic Best Buds, and Destructo-Nookie. Often considered in similar terms to Foe Yay. Tsunderes are often involved on at least one end. Kiss-Kiss-Slap is this in reverse (kissing, then fighting).

#09. Jarchie (Archie Andrews & Jughead Jones; ROMANTIC TROPE: HO YAY)

HoYay

Homoeroticism, yay! Those moments of plot, dialogue, acting, etc., that fans delight in interpreting as homoerotic. It probably originates from the old days, when the homosexuality taboo was serious enough that every gay pairing was considered a Crack Pairing, so when authors wrote same-sex characters as very intimate with each other, audiences largely accepted that they are just very good friends, and moved on, or when authors wrote outright references to homosexuality, most just laughed at the sheer absurdity of the thought. With the gradual dissolution of homophobic moral codes, more and more writers have been able to publish and share their work uncensored, changing media forever. Nowadays, Yaoi Fans and Yuri Fans willingly interpret any interaction as potentially gay, for characters without canonical orientations and even for those specifically stated by their creators to be straight (in which case the author may be very annoyed by the fans' insistence otherwise). Cultural differences also have their say here. The level of accepted physical intimacy between close friends and adult relatives is hardly constant across various eras and nationalities, so, for example, the hugs and kisses which seemed mundane for an antiquated reader may appear blatantly erotic in the eyes of a contemporary one. In particular, the concept of Romantic Two-Girl Friendship — and Romantic Two-Guy Friendship — highly intimate yet platonic, only began falling out of use in the latter half of the 19th century. When this is done intentionally, it's Homoerotic Subtext, or possibly Implied Love Interest or Ship Tease. In the related trope called Foe Yay, even rivals or mortal enemies can get this treatment by fans and writers alike, especially if they have a more friendly past together, or one is inordinately obsessed with the other. In Fan Fic, this is the direct cause of many a Slash Fic.

#08. Choni (Cheryl Blossom & Toni Topaz; ROMANTIC TROPE: OPPOSITES ATTRACT)

Opposites Attract

"Strange extremes meet in love's pathway."—The Scarlet Pimpernel

Strong relationships, in both TV and real life, thrive on how each member compensates for the other’s weaknesses with their own strengths, and vice versa. A Motor Mouth just isn’t as funny if he doesn’t have the Straight Man to torment. Similarly, only when a sweet, shy person is paired up with an equally jerkish one is their kindness and shyness made all the more noticeable. It is all but guaranteed that the characters’ differences will cause more friction than harmony between them. That’s what gives the Odd Couple its fuel for Slap-Slap-Kiss, Will They or Won't They?, and Aww, Look! They Really Do Love Each Other situations. Bickering and mushiness in one package. What’s not to like? The Odd Friendship also has elements of this, but tends to focus on how the differences make them see each other, and maybe the world, through new eyes. Perhaps the serious one is Not So Above It All, or the Shrinking Violet has an inner strength they never knew they had. A Moe Couplet also does something similar to this, focusing on how each half of the couplet brings out the other's endearing or nurturing traits. Opposites attract has become so widespread in buddy cop shows, in the form of Serious White Guy meets Loud Black Guy, that it branched off into its own subtrope. About the biggest challenge in creating a day-and-night dynamic is to keep the attract and repel cases relatively balanced. When the pendulum swings too far toward the repel side and the characters seem more interested in torturing each other than helping out, it’s no longer cute to watch; it’s just masochistic. The key (both in fiction and in Real Life) is to watch the pair's goals. If they want the same thing but use completely different methods to achieve it, it's this trope. If they want different things entirely, it's a divorce waiting to happen. If you add a third-party mediator for balance, you get a Power Trio. Contrast Birds of a Feather. Compare Too Much Alike.

#07. Cheronica (Cheryl Blossom & Veronica Lodge; ROMANTIC TROPE: VILLAINOUS CRUSH)

Villainous Crush

"Just fear me. Love me. Do as I say, and I shall be your slave."— Jareth the Goblin King to Sarah, Labyrinth

This trope applies whenever a villainous character has romantic and/or sexual feelings for a heroic one. If this crush takes a turn for the perverse (and most such crushes tend towards this), this can lead to tropes like I Have You Now, My Pretty, Forceful Kiss, Bathe Her and Bring Her to Me, And Now You Must Marry Me, Scarpia Ultimatum, and Go-Go Enslavement where the villain tries to force their desires upon the character, although none of those require a Villainous Crush. Additionally, the villain may become a Stalker with a Crush. If the crush itself is a motivating factor in their Start of Darkness, then it's Love Makes You Evil. This trope isn't always negative, though. This trope can conversely be a very humanising trait for an Anti-Villain. The heroic character may become a Morality Pet, and can be fairly certain that their villainous admirer will never harm them or allow harm to come to them, barring certain exceptions. They may even step in to protect them from other villains who have fewer compunctions. Taken all the way, it may become Love Redeems. If the feelings are mutual or an actual relationship develops, then it's Dating Catwoman instead. When this is purely subtextual, see Foe Romance Subtext. The specific variant when the Evil Empress captures the hero to seduce him is Villainesses Want Heroes. Not to be confused with Foe Yay, which are purely audience reactions.

#06. Archosie (Archie Andrews & Josie McCoy; ROMANTIC TROPE: BIRDS OF A FEATHER)

Birds Of A Feather

Grace: My mum always said opposites attract. Rich: That's magnets. We're people.—Skins

Relationships, particularly romantic ones, tend to thrive when the people involved are similar. People are simply more likely to get along if they share common interests, values, beliefs, and goals. Thus people with similar personalities will often flow together easily, whether romantically or not. The dynamic of this pair differs widely from Opposites Attract pair. Their personalities can often be interchangeable and both of them can have a same role if they are a part of a group. However, their common obstacle is having a harder time to compensate for each other's weaknesses. Be warned, writers: while often Truth in Television, this trope can sometimes be seen to create a poorly written Love Interest who just happens to be a Gender Flip of the main character. When the commonalities are much fewer but still create a bond, see Commonality Connection. Contrast Too Much Alike.

#05. Beronica (Veronica Lodge & Betty Cooper; ROMANTIC TROPE: ROMANTIC TWO-GIRL FRIENDSHIP)

Romantic Two-Girl Friendship

"It was perfectly acceptable at Baker & Inglis to get a crush on a fellow classmate. At a girls school a certain amount of emotional energy, normally expended on boys, gets redirected into friendships."—Middlesex

At the beginning of adolescence, there is a time when friendship is emphasized, usually junior high/middle school. These friendships can have very strong emotional bonds, and, when two girls develop a close bond, it will almost appear to be a romance. They hold hands. Getting together to do something is a "date." Fights are treated as a "break-up." They're willing to sleep next to each other in the same bed (and maybe even cuddle). They're also sometimes capable of moving and speaking in perfect unison. They may not actually be in a romantic relationship, but it is emphasized in such a way that if they were, you'd assume it'd look this way. In the Western world, this was far more common up until the late 1800s, and applied to both men and women, even into adulthood. It was referred to as "romantic friendship." This practice waned at the turn of the 20th century as adults, particularly men, did not want to be mistaken as homosexual. Note Generally, it still only occurs between young girls, where it is more socially acceptable and not indicative of sexual orientation. In Japan, this is known as "Class S" and is far more common than in the West. Due to the influence of Western female literature,Note the Japanese developed a belief that young girls are expected to have friendships with each other that emulate boyfriend–girlfriend relationships. This is considered a temporary but wonderful part of adolescence, which they can later "graduate" from to "real" relationships with boys. To remain in a "Class S" relationship past middle school is seen as a sign of immaturity, although it is expected that these friendships will continue into adulthood without the romantic elements. The possibility of one or more of the girls involved in a "Class S" relationship being truly invested in the other romantically is usually ignored. If the romance starts to become too passionate, parents may try to intervene to separate the girls. This should never become physical that way; it would "corrupt" the Incorruptible Pure Pureness, which is then traded in for marriage. If the girls do cross the line into sex (or even passionate kissing), they are no longer this trope, instead becoming Schoolgirl Lesbians, and are treated differently. Compare Heterosexual Life-Partners, where it just doesn't seem as romantic but remains a tremendously important personal bond, above and beyond a genuine romantic relationship. Also compare Experimented in College.

#04. Varchie (Archie Andrews & Veronica Lodge; ROMANTIC TROPE: UPTOWN GIRL)

Uptown Girl

"She's a rich girl, she don't try to hide it, Diamonds on the soles of her shoes. He's a poor boy, empty as a pocket, Empty as a pocket with nothing to lose."—Paul Simon, "Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes"

You know the story. It's a love story. Our lovers are from different worlds — one wealthy, one not. The poor girl has fallen in love with the Gentleman Snarker, or the Unlucky Everydude secretly courts the daughter of the richest man in town. And she loves him too. Maybe it was Love at First Sight. Maybe she has a habit of slipping out to the seedier side of town for a night of fun. Maybe they've been friends their whole lives and the difference in status never really mattered. Will their love be enough to let them be happy together?

In any case, this is usually played out in one of three ways:

The poor guy and rich girl mutually fall in love, and neither one cares about their differences in wealth. People around them, however, do, and conspire to interfere with True Love.

The poor guy falls for the rich girl, even though he knows that she's out of his league. Undaunted, our hero engages in some Zany Scheme to get her to notice him or be impressed by him. This usually ends with the girl revealing that she doesn't care if he's rich or poor, and that she loves him for who he is.

The poor guy and the rich girl fall for one another, but he doesn't know she's rich at first. When he finds out, he's either intimidated by her wealth once he finds out, or else doesn't think he's good enough for her. As before, she doesn't care about such things, and has to convince him that he's the one she wants.

When the rich girl wants nothing to do with the poor guy, but slowly warms up to him, it's a different trope entirely. Note that the roles aren't locked by gender: a working-class girl who loves a rich boy also fits this trope, as do two lovers of the same gender. A relationship variant of the Odd Couple and quite often overlaps with Nobody Thinks It Will Work. Also often leads to cases of I Can't Believe a Guy Like You Would Notice Me, either with severe case of insecurity (like the third type above), or simply the poor guy being constantly feeling lucky and appreciative that someone so rich could fall for him. If it's not just the fact that she comes from money, but that he feels like she's above him, she's a Peerless Love Interest. Compare with All Girls Want Bad Boys, which often follows the same socioeconomic groups (or the inverse, if the girl is The Ingenue and the boy is an Gentleman Snarker or Spoiled Brat). Can overlap with Single Woman Seeks Good Man as it is the guy's personality that wins her heart (as is the case mentioned above). Not to be confused with the Brittany Murphy film Uptown Girls, which doesn't use this trope. Not to be confused with City Mouse either. This is transitioning into Dead Horse Trope territory, since interclass marriage is no longer shocking, and the expectation that men should be the breadwinner in the family is much weaker today than it used to be. On the other hand, it may become an Undead Horse Trope with the emergence of culture wars and new waves of social stratification. For the non-romantic variant, see Interclass Friendship. For the version endemic to India, see Type Caste, although that trope is not restricted solely to marriage and relationships.

#03. Falice (FP Jones & Alice Cooper; ROMANTIC TROPE: UNRESOLVED SEXUAL TENSION AKA UST)

Unresolved Sexual Tension (UST)

"To repress one's feelings only makes them stronger."— Yu Shu Lien, Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon

Two people are obviously attracted to each other, but some element of the story is keeping them apart. This tension is frequently referred to as UST in fandom, where it is pronounced "oost" or Yu-Ess-Tee. Also known as "Long Unresolved Sexual Tension". Belligerent Sexual Tension is a way to keep the UST by having the couple fight each other too much to actually get together. They Do is when it gets resolved (Literally Falling in Love might help). Shipping Bed Death and Strangled by the Red String are when it gets resolved badly. Compare All Love Is Unrequited, Will They or Won't They?, Just Friends, Moment Killer (a staple of a UST relationship), Maybe Ever After (a more uncertain version), Cannot Spit It Out. Contrast Official Couple, when the couple is already together, and Friends with Benefits, where the primarybond in the relationship is sex.

#02. Barchie (Archie Andrews & Betty Cooper; ROMANTIC TROPE: WILL THEY OR WON’T THEY?)

Will They Or Won’t They?

"Pam is very attractive, no question. If I didn't have an award show to host, I could easily see having two or three seasons of will-they-won't-they sexual tension that ultimately goes nowhere."—Conan O'Brien, Emmy 2006 opening skit, after crashing, The Office (US)

Two characters, often combative but with obvious Unresolved Sexual Tension, resist going into a full blown relationship for a rather long time. Usually the two characters will be presented so that "they will" is the conclusion to root for; only rarely is the question of whether the writers think they should in any real doubt. Actually ending the dance is a tricky business. It is difficult for shows to recover from the loss of a major source of dramatic tension represented by an unrequited relationship. Many shows Jump the Shark or suffer Shipping Bed Death when the two characters finally get together. A common problem is that the show suddenly becomes about the relationship rather than remaining true to its original premise. Sometimes an attempt is made to introduce a new source of dramatic tension, but it is frequently cheesy and lame. To avoid this, many shows choose to answer the question and end the show nearly simultaneously via a Last Minute Hookup. Of course, the opposite can also occur. Shows can go out of their way to avoid resolving the relationship, making ever-more-desperate narrative leaps. In longer-running shows, they may even have the characters hook up for a little while, only to split up over and over again, until by the time they finally let the characters get actually, technically married, the show has lost its viewership anyway. Belligerent Sexual Tension is often a victim of this. Sometimes a Love Epiphany can be used to have a character realize his/her feelings, but still not resolve the question, just add a new dynamic to it. A fundamental Shipping-inducement strategy. See also Almost Kiss, Held Gaze, Relationship Upgrade, Moment Killer, Everyone Can See It. When a series ends without even a hint of resolution to will-they-or-won't-they, it's No Romantic Resolution. If it's more ambiguous, it's Maybe Ever After. Contrast Friends with Benefits, where they definitelydo it, but without the emotional baggage. Compare Just Friends and They Do. Contrast Platonic Life-Partners and Ship Sinking — they won't. See Just Eat Gilligan if it's a major plot point. See also Break-Up/Make-Up Scenario when they separate for some dramatic reason, spend a time apart, then reconcile (usually with a kiss, which breaks the Will They Or Won't They)

#01. Jeronica (Jughead Jones & Veronica Lodge;  ROMANTIC TROPE: BELLIGERENT SEXUAL TENSION AKA BST)

Belligerent Sexual Tension (BST)

"Wonderful girl! Either I'm gonna kill her, or I'm beginning to like her!"— Han Solo about Princess Leia Organa, A New Hope

There's a couple, usually a sometimes sweet, sometimes grouchy female (Tsundere) paired with a secretly-kind jerk (Jerk With A Heart Of Gold), who are not able to admit their feelings. At the top of their lungs. Despite the conflict, there is an attraction. This is usually obvious to everyone around except the couple. Confront them with the obvious, they'll deny deny deny. Sometimes they will progress to admitting their friendship but insist they are Just Friends. Eventually, they can admit their feelings to practically anyone except their loved one. It ends up where both characters dance around admitting their feelings as if the words "I love you" are some sort of death curse, much to the frustration of the audience and the other characters. Older Than Steam, since this is used in Much Ado About Nothing, and has varying degrees of popularity at different times. If there is a Love Epiphany with one of these characters, expect it to change nothing, at least in the short term. This can even be true in established long-term relationships; see Like an Old Married Couple. If the whole relationship is defined by the belligerence, it can become The Masochism Tango. If a pair of outright enemies has this sort of attraction, it's a case of Foe Romance Subtext and when it ultimately goes from subtext to text, then it's Dating Catwoman. See also Slap-Slap-Kiss, No Accounting for Taste, Well, Excuse Me, Princess! and Defrosting Ice Queen. If we're lucky, at the end we may get to see a moment of Aww, Look! They Really Do Love Each Other. Expect this couple to be either extremely popular or completely hated by the fandom. For the platonic version, compare Vitriolic Best Buds and With Friends Like These.... Not to be confused with Hate at First Sight, although it may overlap.

[chroniccombustion]

Ipomoea Alba pt 2

From “Seven Days to Eternity“, part of @souyoweek2019

Genre: Hanahaki Disease, angst w/happy end, romance, M/M Rated: T Characters: Souji Seta (Yu Narukami), mentions of the Investigation Team, mentions of Nanako Dojima Warnings: minor descriptions of blood and vomiting Status: oneshot collection, incomplete

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“Ipomoea alba, sometimes called moonflower or moon vine, is a species of night-blooming morning glory… It symbolizes dreaming of love, or a love in vain…”

Day 3 (part 2!): Illness/Injury or Holding Hands

Yosuke stares at him from a few feet away. His scarf dangles from one hand as he stands there, frozen mid-action, with eyes wide and mouth agape. Fear and shock lace his expression. “Partner, wha— what happened?”

The sky is light again when Souji next opens his eyes.

He doesn’t really know where he is for a few minutes, his body tired and aching and his head pounding so hard he can barely think. He exhales and his stomach feels empty, sick; he inhales and his chest feels tight. As he tries to breathe he finds that his lungs will barely expand, that each breath is shallow and weak. It leaves a squeezing sensation behind his eyes and dots his vision with dull grey splotches.

Slowly he turns so that he can get one arm under himself and maneuvers until he’s able to sit up. He weaves for a few seconds and thinks that he might topple over, but he’s able to steady himself by leaning back on his hands. Afterwards he has to sit there motionless for a bit and reign in the overwhelming vertigo that threatens to make him vomit if he dares to open his mouth. He looses track of time after that.

Souji blearily fades in and out of focus for what seems like days. There is no sense of reality as he tries to piece together what’s happening, taking stock of himself one tiny little piece at a time as the haze in his skull allows. Beyond the persistent feeling of something being horribly wrong with him and the way his breathing is slow and labored, there is the painful, catching burn down deep in his chest. Part of it seems to be leftover from the fit that took place a little bit ago, but there is an ache there that speaks of muscles long strained, so whatever this is it’s been damaging him for a while now. Several hours at the very least – overnight more likely.

(Longer than that, highly probable.)

He licks at his lips and finds that they taste like iron and salt. Blood. Okay, he remembers blood… right? Yes. Somehow last night he had been bleeding. He runs his tongue across the backs of his teeth to discover another lingering taste, this one bitter and earthy, like what he would image licking a patch of unclean grass to be like. It sits on his taste buds like oil floating on water and he instinctively tries to swallow it back to wash it away – only for his dry, ruined throat to protest with a sharp, metallic pain.

Oh.

The memory of coughing violently, of heaving up splatters of scarlet, comes trickling back into his mind little by little as he picks apart the way his body hurts. Blood in the bathroom, flowers on the floor, pain and fear and asphyxiation; blacking out from weakness and lack of air after missing Yosuke’s calls.

Yosuke.

Shrieking, tearing pain lances through Souji’s body as violent coughing suddenly wracks him. He crumples over like a discarded paper crane, coughing so fiercely that he cannot even pause long enough between them to pull in more air. His vision goes white for a moment as what little oxygen he does manage gets lodged in his chest, catching just shy of actually making it into his lungs. Something clenches hard around his heart.

The feeling jolts him forward in a convulsion, forcing his diaphragm to constrict in a mockery of a hiccup, and Souji can feel something slithering up his windpipe into the back of his mouth. He brings cold, shaking hands up to cover his face as it hits his tongue and give a final, core-deep wretch. The object dislodges and Souji wheezes like he’s been punched as the airflow to his lungs is cleared enough for him to inhale. He pulls his hands away.

Terrified, he slowly opens his hands to reveal a perfectly formed white and yellow flower sitting in his palms, the edges stained red with watery crimson.

He isn’t dreaming. As much as he’d wanted to not believe his own memories of the night before, as much as he’d been hoping that it had all been a trick of his imagination and that he really did just have pneumonia, there is no way to deny that this is real and that he is horribly, undeniably screwed.            

Hanahaki, the “Heartbreak Disease” – a rare affliction in which repressed feelings of love cause flowers to take root in the infected person’s heart and lungs, slowly growing until the victim either asphyxiates or dies of heart failure. There is no treatment, no cure. The only way to combat it is to either have the love that sprouted the flowers requited, thus withering them at their source, or to surgically remove them, which only ever has a 10% chance of being done before it’s too late. Even then, on the all-too infrequent chance that the surgery is successful, the victim is left permanently apathetic, unable to ever feel the emotion of love towards the same person again.

Souji knows what it is, has heard enough about the disease at school, on news segments, during his cleaning job at the hospital. He knows what it is and what it does and he knows how destructive it can be when it isn’t caught in time. (And it is almost never caught in time.)

Souji feels his vine-ridden heart sink. He’s dying. There’s no way around it, he’s actively dying. Hanahaki can only be removed up to a certain point before it leaves irreparable damage behind; the longer it gestates, the more time it takes for the infected to seek help, the lower the chances of survival drop. And Souji has been feeling the tickle in his throat for over two months now. It’s spread from his heart to his lungs, up his windpipe, to the point where he’s now choking on the blossoms as they work their way further and further into him. The love must be deep then, he thinks, for his symptoms to have gotten so severe so rapidly. He wonders just how long the roots have been growing, buried deep inside his heart where he’d been blissfully unaware of their existence until last night.

And he isn’t stupid – oblivious at times, yes, but when he’s being smacked in the face with context clues it’s hard for him not to notice. Every time he’d felt the worst of the tickle, the ache, the cough, it had always been around one particular person. The constant visits, the gentle way he’d taken care of Souji when Souji hadn’t had the motivation to take care of himself, the way he’d made sure to check up on Souji every single night; it had exacerbated the illness until it seems that now Souji only has to think about him anymore. Whenever Souji had smiled at one of his partner’s stupid jokes via text, whenever he’d remember a wink thrown his way after class and feel that giddy, warm sensation of butterflies in his stomach, the flowers had been shifting in his chest. After last night, after the way Souji had nearly choked on New Year’s Eve because his friend had whispered against his ear and sent a thrill down his spine, Souji has no choice but to make the obvious conclusion.

He’s in love with his best friend.

And oh, if that doesn’t throw the whole previous year into a brand new light. The twinges in his chest whenever the other boy would call him “Partner”, the way Souji’s breath would catch whenever his friend looked at him with those eyes. It had been so easy at the time to write them off as just weird situational quirks and stamp down the idea of it being anything more. Yes, he’d found the other boy attractive, funny, wonderful, but he’d never allowed himself to imagine his feelings to be anything other than objective, platonic. His friend had made it clear a long time ago that he was indisputably straight, and so if Souji had ever once harbored any sort of feelings for his partner then he made sure it stayed well and truly buried.

But that had apparently backfired in the absolute worst possible way.

Instead of burying away a crush he’d been planting seeds, watering them, incubating them until they grew into something else, something more, and now, like a Shadow, they’re clawing their way out and demanding to be acknowledged. Except he can’t deal with his sickness the way he could a Shadow. He can acknowledge it and accept it and embrace it all he wants, but no amount of dialogue is going to make this okay. In fact, he wonders if that would make it worse somehow. If he let himself pine openly and allowed himself to imagine all those scenarios he’s secretly wished he could (holding hands, leaning on one another, resting his head on the other’s shoulder, things his heart wanted but his head blocked out), would it give the flowers fuel to wrap ever tighter? Would fighting it back the way he has been give him any more time?

He wishes he knew.

Because as terrifying as it is to admit, Souji knows that at this point it’s only a matter of time before the vines strangle him. He’s living on when, not if, because as far along as he is, to where it makes his chest constrict just thinking his friend’s name, there is no possible way that emergency surgery would give him back a full, unhindered life. He would either die on the operating table, or he’d be sent home with an apology and a “there’s nothing we can do.” Confessing is his only viable option but why seek out the humiliation when he already knows full well he’ll just be rejected, leaving the flowers to spread even more rapidly with the confirmation of his inevitable heartbreak. It wouldn’t even be his partner’s fault – no matter how much his friend might want to help him, it would be impossible for someone so entirely heterosexual to ever feel the same for him as what Souji felt. And maybe there was love there, but it was philia, platonic love between friends, and Hanahaki was not a disease that could be driven out by technicalities. At best, it would only serve to give Souji a quicker, less drawn-out demise.

Souji stares down at the flower in his hands, the blood slowly drying and turning into crackling red flakes against his skin. He doesn’t know what to do. (There’s nothing he can do.) With a heart heavier than even the weight of the vines around it, Souji slowly drags himself out of bed and pushes to his feet. He shuffles like a zombie over to his desk and drops the wilted bloom into the trashcan beside it, taking a moment to brace himself on the chair and combat the dizziness before turning and making his way out into the hall. He leans against the wall the way he did the night prior, and uses its sturdiness to keep him upright as he moves towards the stairs. It’s only because he’s so numb, that his brain is still in thoughtless shock, that he’s able to make it down to the first floor of the house and into the kitchen without another bought of agonized coughing.

He washes the blood from his hands in the sink and collapses into a chair at the table, where he stares at the wall without seeing it, tears slowly building in his eyes until they fall.

 ---

 There is a knock at the door.

Souji blinks himself out of his disassociation, his eyelashes stiff and sticky with dried salt. How long has he been sitting there?

The sound of knocking comes again.

A glance over at the wall clock tells him that it is now very late morning, bordering on midday, and that he’s been sitting at the kitchen table for far, far longer than he’d realized. He isn’t entirely surprised. Having slept like garbage and not eating for more than twenty-four hours, plus the life-draining flowers and the loss of blood, it’s little wonder Souji is functioning like he’s only a hair’s breath away from slipping into a coma. He actually might be right now, for all he knows. Maybe that would be better.

The knocking returns, louder and more insistent this time, more like a banging than a regular knock. It sends a pulse of pain through Souji’s head each time the person’s fist connects with the wooden door, and he leans forward to prop his elbows on the table and grip at his temples with unsteady hands. He just wants to be left alone with his newfound fatalistic depression, thank you; he doesn’t want anyone else to see just how badly he’s doing.

But the banging doesn’t stop. It pauses for a few moments, tricking him, and Souji can just barely hear the muffled sound of his phone going off upstairs – but as soon as it stops, the noise at the door picks back up again. It’s clear that whoever is trying to get his attention is not going to give up until they get it, whether it be by phone or by forcing him to answer the door. He frowns.

Souji feels like utter hell; his chest is on fire, his breathing restricted and ready to cut off entirely with a single misplaced thought. Not only that, but he hasn’t had any kind of food or decent sleep or even water since the night before last and his entire body is making him acutely aware of it. He’s sick to his stomach with a blinding headache and is more than likely dehydrated, all in addition to dying. He is in no condition to be awake, let alone dealing with people right now.

His phone buzzes from upstairs with two more missed calls.

Souji groans into his hands, wincing at the ensuing vibrations as they rattle through his skull. There is a part of him, a very big, very loud part, which wants to just sit here until the person gives up and goes away. Maybe if he pretends he doesn’t exist then whoever is trying so hard to make him answer will simply forget that he does. A smaller, more logical part of him, however, knows that if the knocker is this determined to get hold of him then they more than likely will keep going until he either gives them a reason to stop, or they go over his head and get someone else to try and make him reveal himself. Like the police.

(And Souji really doesn’t want to get the cops involved; it seems like a lot of trouble to go to for someone who’s beyond helping anyway, and he especially doesn’t want it getting back to Dojima that he’s barricaded himself in the house. Or Nanako, for that matter.)

So, with all the strength that he doesn’t have and all the willpower he can muster, Souji tediously, painstakingly pulls himself into a standing position with the edge of the table and begins making his way over towards the entryway. He won’t let them in, he tells himself; he’ll just let hem know he’s alive and then tell them to go away.

The knocking has thankfully paused again by the time he reaches the door, the buzz of Souji’s phone slightly more audible now that he’s closer to the stairs. Outside, he can just make out the sound of someone cursing as the call goes to voicemail yet again, but the voice is too quiet, too muted through the wood for him to guess at the person’s identity. There aren’t too many people it could be, though, he thinks with another frown. If the person knows his phone number then it’s likely one of his friends.

He wants to go back upstairs and hide under his comforter.  

Against every single cell in his body screaming at him not to, Souji reaches out and twists the lock. On the other side of the door, the sound of movement stills. Souji grips the door handle and turns it slowly with a hand that shakes from illness and rising anxiety. He doesn’t want to do this, doesn’t want to open the door and explain to this person why they need to leave and not come back, doesn’t want to have to see one of his – probably worried – friends get hurt when he refuses to let them help. There’s nothing they can do for him, and he can’t tell them the reason why that’s so. Not without hurting them even more. (He doesn’t want to eventually die knowing he’d been an asshole to the people that he’s come to think of as family.)

He turns the handle further until it clicks and tugs on it just enough so that the thinnest sliver of light breaks the seal between the doorframe and the door. “Who is it?” he rasps, voice broken and weak. It feels like acid in the back of his throat.

There is a sharp inhale. “Partner?”

Souji instantly feels sick.

He tries to push the door shut again, to put that barrier back between himself and the compass point of his ravaged heart, but Yosuke is too quick for him. The other boy surges forward while Souji is distracted trying to quell the twisting of the vines and presses his weight against the door, outweighing Souji’s own weak body and accidentally opening it up enough to get his hand inside. The door itself is knocked from Souji’s trembling grip and he stumbles backwards a few steps before catching himself on the wall and gripping onto it for dear life, head spinning and vision whiting out as he gasps for breath. Yosuke, oblivious, clambers inside.

“Dude, what the hell?” he snaps, voice irritated but underlined with obvious worry. “Where’ve you been?”

Souji hears him shutting the door behind him, hears the rustling of fabric as Yosuke presumable wrestles off his outer winter layers. He stays as still as possible, clenching his teeth against the nausea, the vertigo, the shortening of his breath. Maybe if he doesn’t look at Yosuke – even when his sight returns – then maybe he can stave off some of the worst of the flare up.

Meanwhile, Yosuke is still speaking as if he hasn’t yet noticed the state that Souji is in. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you since yesterday!” he scolds. For a moment his voice is muffled slightly, as if obscured by fabric, but then the muffling is gone and the sound is back to normal. “First you disappear in a hurry on New Years, then you won’t answer your phone. Now you’ve got me standing outside your house, beating on your door like a nutcase and you can’t even---oh my god.”

Souji peels his eyes open from where he’d apparently squeezed them shut without noticing. He blinks away the lingering white edges of blurry film over his vision and slowly lifts his heavy head to look at the boy whose flowers are killing him.

Yosuke stares at him from a few feet away. His scarf dangles from one hand as he stands there, frozen mid-action, with eyes wide and mouth agape. Fear and shock lace his expression. “Partner, wha— what happened?”

Souji can’t even begin to imagine what he must look like. Pale probably, sickly. He’s still in his rumpled sleep clothes, hair limp and tangled in places from where he’d fallen asleep with it wet; he can feel his entire body shivering from the cold and the strain of holding himself up, even though he’s still half slumped against the wall. He can’t see them, but he’s sure there are probably deep purple circles beneath his barely-focused eyes, just above where he can feel the lingering traces of tear tracks over his cheeks. (He prays there isn’t any blood leftover on his lips.)

Souji swallows thickly, a tiny cough escaping and causing his shoulders to jerk. He closes his eyes and slumps a little further down the wall as he pulls in a shuddering breath through his teeth and grimaces at the way it makes his throat crackle with pain. He hears Yosuke take a hurried step closer as he slides a bit more out of his pitifully upright position and cracks his eyes open just in time to see his friend reaching for him.

“Don’t,” Souji croaks, and it takes a herculean effort not to start coughing at the way speaking feels like death. He slides sideways against the wall as best he can, just a little further out of Yosuke’s reach. “…Sick.”

Yosuke makes a strained sound in the back of his mouth, eyebrows furrowing together in growing concern. “Holy shit, man, I’ll say. You look like you’re about to drop dead!”

A harsh bark of sardonic laughter catches Souji off guard as it spills from his mouth; he disguises it with a short round of hacking coughs pressed into the crook of his elbow. “Should go home,” he wheezes once he can manage words again. He doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to keep from spitting blood and flowers with the object of his affections standing so close. He pointedly shoves aside the budding feeling of warmth that tires to grow at the thought of Yosuke, sweet and amazing, being worried for his well being.

He has to swallow back something dense and bitter as it tries to lodge in his throat.

Thankfully, Yosuke doesn’t seem to notice the odder-than-usual behavior, of if he does he likely attributes it to Souji’s illness. He frowns, though, eyes scanning every inch of Souji’s wrecked form with an intensity usually reserved for enemies in battle. He’s not a navigator like Rise, or even Teddie before her, but Yosuke is eerily observant in a way that he rarely gets recognized for; there’s a reason he makes such a good lieutenant, after all.

Just as Souji starts to feel the creep of anxiety from his partner’s assessing stare, Yosuke huffs loudly through his nose and takes a step away, rolling his shoulders back and straightening up with a decisive nod. “Alright,” he says to himself, nodding again. “Alright, okay…”

He reaches for where he’s already hung up his coat next to the door, and for a moment Souji is hopeful that his friend has actually listened to him. But then Yosuke dumps the scarf still clutched in is hand over top of the coat’s hood and turns back to look at him with his face set into a look of stony determination. Souji feels his stomach drop out.  

“You know,” Yosuke says as he toes off his shoes and steps further into the entryway. “I would ask why you didn’t tell anybody you were messed up, but after seeing you close yourself off for the past two months I think I can already guess.” He steps right into Souji’s space, ignoring the way Souji tries to shrink back away from him, and goes to place a hand on his shoulder.

Souji’s eyes go wide. He presses himself closer to the wall as the trickle of panic becomes a stream and Yosuke’s closeness spurs a wave of heat to Souji’s face, the flowers shifting in response. “No…” he says, voice quiet and sandpapery.

Yosuke pauses with his hand still outstretched.

Souji takes a rattling breath, feels it catch on the vines in his throat. “Go home, Yosuke,” he says again. “I don’t want—“ His words cut off abruptly as the roots in his chest pierce deeper, cutting off his air supply and sending him into a startled, painful coughing fit. He slides the rest of the way down the wall as his legs finally buckle and give out, throwing his hands over his face to catch anything that his body might try and expel.

Suddenly there are hands on his shoulders, an arm sliding around the curve of his spine, lifting, helping him to sit up and forward, fingers rubbing small circles into his shoulder blades. The new position helps; the hands and the faint scent of spice and Yosuke does not. His partner’s hands practically burn against Souji’s chilled skin, and while he tries to lean away from it, to jerk to the side and put as much distance between the two of them as he possibly can while fighting for breath, there is a small, stupid part of him, wrapped in choking vines, that wants. He wants Yosuke’s arms around him, wants to turn his head and breathe in the way his friend smells like orange tea and sunlight and the lingering chill of winter. Tears prickle at his eyes and he tells himself it’s just from the tearing feeling in his lungs but somewhere in the back of his mind he knows there’s more to it. He’s wanted for months now, even obliviously, and now that there is the tiniest example of his longing made real he’s in no position to enjoy it, or even to let himself pretend it’s something other than what it really is.

Flowers, bitter and limp and clotted with the metallic tang of his own blood, crawl up his throat and into his mouth. Souji clamps his teeth together until they ache and presses his hands against his lips to keep them sealed. He keeps the flowers trapped in his mouth and does not dare spit them into his palms.

Eventually, miraculously, the coughing thins out enough for Souji to part his lips behind his fingers and suck in a ragged, shuttering breath between his teeth. He does it a second time, then a third, and by the time he’s on his sixth or seventh half-successful inhale, he pushes the blossoms to the back of his mouth and swallows. The taste is awful, worse than when they’d been sitting on his tongue; the feeling of them sliding down into his stomach nearly makes him vomit them immediately back up.

“Don’t want me getting sick, too, or don’t want me seeing you vulnerable?” Yosuke whispers as Souji sags against his arms. He tightens his grip slightly, supporting Souji’s weight with ease. His voice is quiet, knowing, and somehow – in the lower, subtler notes – he almost sounds hurt. “Partner…” He trails off with a defeated sigh.

Souji lolls his head back with a muted ‘thunk’ against the wall. He keeps his hands gripped tightly over his face, labored wheezing muffled behind them, and looks up at his friend through heavy eyelids.

Yosuke’s face is pained. There is deep worry etched into the crease between his eyebrows, his mouth downturned and his lower lip held hostage by the points of his teeth. His eyes, however, are sad. The rich brown of his irises is dulled, deepened to something closer to a muddy charcoal grey, and as he watches Souji watching him, an unnamable emotion flits across them and the lines of worry deepen around his mouth. “Come on,” he whispers, “let’s get you off the floor.”

Souji has no energy left in his dying body to protest.

Yosuke wraps his arms tighter around Souji’s limp form and hoists him up until he’s somewhat standing again. He tugs at Souji’s elbow to try and dislodge one of the hands still clamped over Souji’s face, making a frustrated sound when Souji refuses to move it. “It’ll be easier if you put your arm over my shoulders,” he says softly, gentle and coaxing even in his worry.

(Souji has the idle thought that Yosuke will make a wonderful father some day and then has to shut his eyes tight to keep away the tears that mental picture tries to bring.)

Yosuke seems to think the action means Souji is fighting off another coughing fit, or maybe a wave of nausea, because he pauses in his attempt to move Souji’s arm and stays still to wait out whatever might be coming.

Souji focuses on the way his breathing hitches and snags, on the bitter aftertaste of the flowers still sticking to his tongue even now after he’s swallowed them down. He can feel the vines and roots seeking deeper purchase in his chest because of the image he’d unwittingly called forth, but his exhaustion actually works in his favor right now; he’s too tired, too resigned to hold onto anything for very long, so for now his lungs still work at least a little. The solid weight and warmth of his partner next to him, though, that is what prickles at his ribs and sets more flowers to bloom inside them. He cannot block out the very real person standing next to him, holding him up, breathing softly against him so that Souji can feel the way Yosuke’s chest expands with each inhale. Even without the sickness spreading through his body, Souji doesn’t think he’d be able to stop his heart from pounding with the boy he loves so close.

He coughs a few times into his hands, weakly, and when nothing dislodges or threatens to come up, he finally relents to Yosuke’s gentle grip on his elbow – though he does keep his blurry vision trained on the hand he relinquishes, scanning his palm for any sign of blood. Thankfully, there is none. He uses the back of his other hand to wipe at his mouth and it, too, comes away miraculously clean. The backs of his teeth still taste like metal.

“You good?” Yosuke asks him, taking Souji’s arm and draping it around the back of his neck.

(This isn’t fair, Souji thinks as he does it, because how many times over the months has he secretly wished he had the courage to lay his arm across his friend’s shoulders like this, the way that Yosuke so causally has taken to doing to him?)

Souji tilts his head to try and give his partner a semblance of eye contact, just barely falling short when he realizes he can’t bring himself to meet Yosuke’s gaze and looking at the corner of his lips instead. He gives a shaky nod in lieu of a verbal answer – all that he can manage at the moment for fear of his voice bringing up more blooms.

Yosuke’s frown deepens. He stays silent for a few moments, simply watching Souji’s face, until eventually he slides the arm around Souji’s back lower to settle his hand around Souji’s waist just under his ribs.

Panicking, Souji hisses, terrified that with Yosuke’s hand so closed to his ribcage that the other boy will be able to feel the roots of the plant through his skin. He brings his own free hand up to awkwardly brush at the one causing his distress, and pushes Yosuke’s fingers down until they come to rest against the curve of his hipbone instead.

Yosuke startles at the sound that Souji makes, gasping softly in shock and what can only be immediate guilt. His own breathing seem to stutter in his chest for a second, and he readily lets his hand be guided lower until Souji stops frantically pawing at him. “Shit,” he whispers, quietly terrified, ”shit, I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

Souji still doesn’t trust his voice, still doesn’t trust his plant-riddled chest not to betray him, so he squeezes his eyes shut against the way Yosuke is looking at him and settles for another nod. His heart feels heavy for reasons other than the vines – he doesn’t like the way he knows his partner is going to blame himself for supposedly being the cause of Souji’s pain.

            Yosuke gives another, “shit,” under his breath. He shifts so that he’s pressed more tightly up against Souji’s side and settles his grip more firmly around Souji’s hipbone.

The action makes Souji feel warm. Yosuke has always been very expressive with his hands – gesticulating wildly when he’s excited or agitated, waving them around almost like a miniature shield when defensive or nervous. It’s something Souji has noticed about his best friend many, many times in the months they’ve known each other. At first it was nothing more than an observation, a simple, “oh, that’s a thing he does”, but then he stared watching.

He’s watched them enough to know that Yosuke’s hands have calluses on them: lines across his fingertips from his guitar strings, roughened patches across his palms from the hilts of his kunai, thins white scars from where he’s fumbled them and been nicked on the blades. He knows that not only are Yosuke’s hands sure, steady, capable of slicing a Shadow’s head clean off with the right weapon, but also that they’re strangely gentle. Souji has seen Yosuke ruffling Nanako’s hair, playfully shoving at Teddie without malice when Yosuke pretends to be more irritated than he actually is. Souji has also felt those same strong, long-fingered hands on himself – on his back when Yosuke prods him in the middle of class, on his arm when Yosuke reaches out on his more tactile days, on his shoulders when Souji had broken down at last outside the hospital and cried out every last bit of pain and stress that he’d been keeping bottled up.

(And maybe, if he tugs at the end of a memory that might be a dream, the one from back when he’d been too depressed and hollow to tell when he was awake and asleep, Souji can imagine that the careful fingers through his hair were real, too. He doesn’t have the courage to do anything but imagine.)

He lets himself lean against Yosuke’s side as his friend starts to guide him towards the stairs. It’s for balance, he tells himself, that’s it, just balance. He refuses to acknowledge the way it makes a tiny thrill go down his spine; his throat twinges regardless. The leaning actually does help, though, despite causing more tension in Souji’s body than it reasonably should. He’s still sick, after all, and weak from exhaustion and what is probably dehydration on top of the inability to breathe. He isn’t entirely sure how he managed to make it down the stairs this morning without just straight up passing out on the way, but as he lets more of his weight sag against his best friend he realizes that the likelihood of him getting back up the stairs on his own would have been nonexistent.

They don’t really speak as they go – Souji keeping his lips pressed tightly together and keeping his breathing as controlled as he possibly can through his nose – but every so often as they make their slow assent, Yosuke murmurs encouragement. “Come on, I got you”, or “easy, that’s it”, or “almost there”, all spoken so softly into Souji’s ear that he thinks he could cry. The petals clog his throat and he swallows them back with a dry mouth.

They come to rest at the second floor landing, with Souji out of breath for more reasons than he could ever say out loud. He droops forward, still in his partner’s hold, and brings a hand up to his chest to try and equalize the pressure he can feel building around his heart. He breathing gets louder, harsher, more like a wheeze and less like a normal inhale-exhale – though to say it’s been anywhere close to normal for the past couple of days would be lying. His entire side feels hot from where he’s been pressed against Yosuke’s body, leaving Souji flushed and nervous, shivering both from the exertion of moving around and the melancholy happiness of being so close to the boy he’s dying over. He closes his eyes again and presses his hand harder against his sternum.

Beside him, Yosuke makes a worried noise behind his teeth and adjusts his stance to better hold Souji’s weight. The fingers on Souji’s hip shift a little, seeking better purchase, and the pad of Yosuke’s thumb accidentally brushes against the hem of Souji’s shirt, almost-but-not-quite touching the skin beneath. Souji feels himself burn hotter. Heat floods his neck, his face, and he bites down hard on his tongue to stifle another wave of coughing as his chest tightens.

But being as close as he is, there is no way that Yosuke doesn’t notice.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Dude, I think you have a fever, you’re really hot.”

Souji lets out a startled, raspy bark of laughter. What he wouldn’t give to hear the last half of that sentence in an entirely different setting. Months ago, maybe, if he’d been able to figure himself out instead of bottling up what he can see in hindsight were the beginnings of a crush. Too late now, he thinks, and there is a desperate sort of angry resignation, a bitterness towards himself, the circumstances, everything. It isn’t fair that he’s just now able to come to terms with his feeling when it doesn’t even matter anymore. And how ironic – knowing that he’s going to die anyway should alleviate the fear of confession, but it’s because of how much he loves Yosuke that he can’t tell him. If Yosuke knew he was the reason Souji had a garden of life-sucking flowers in his chest, if Souji died and Yosuke knew the reason why, then Souji knows his partner would blame himself for another death he’d been unable to prevent.

Because as much as they might care about each other, Yosuke is unequivocally straight, and there is no way he’d ever be able to love Souji back in a way that would whither the flowers twined in his ribs. Souji could tell Yosuke everything and it wouldn’t do anything but leave Yosuke feeling like Souji’s death was his fault because he was too heterosexual to love another guy. Even if he wanted to, even if he tried – and he would try, that’s the part that breaks Souji’s heart the most.

Souji opens his eyes to pull himself back out of his rapidly spiraling thoughts and finds that Yosuke has tilted his head to stare at Souji’s face beneath the silvery fall of his hair. Souji forces himself to meet the other boy’s eyes, to try and outwardly pretend that he’s only mildly sick and not slowly succumbing to an incurable disease, and while he doesn’t manage to smile or even to shape his expression into something reassuring, he does manage to croak out a quiet, “Flatterer…”

Yosuke blinks at him.

A moment of silence passes where they both just stay the way they are, paused in the upstairs hallway with Souji trying not to imagine a different scenario, a better scenario in which he and his best friend are close enough that Souji could lean in and rest their foreheads together. He wants to. He wants to; not even to kiss, just to be close, but of all the stupid things his ragged heart has been crying for today, that idea is among the worst thus far. So instead he keeps his spotty vision focused on Yosuke’s eyes and the way they seem to flick downward for a moment, away from his own. Souji swallows the taste of bitter petals.

Yosuke’s lips twitch slightly into the ghost of a smile that doesn’t quite reach the corners of his eyes. “Dude, really?” Yosuke finally says, voice still quiet and pitched so low Souji thinks he can feel it rumble in Yosuke’s chest.

(He feels something twist inside his lungs in response, like the flowers are turning towards Yosuke’s warmth the way normal ones face the sun.)

Yosuke straightens back up as best he can with Souji still slumped against him and glances down the hallway towards the bedroom. “For real, though? I know the house is cold and all but you seriously feel like you’re burning up. We need to get you into bed.” He looks back over and shifts a little more, adjusting Souji’s arm across his shoulder. “You good to keep going?”

Souji only offers a weak nod in reply.

Walking on a flat surface is much easier than the stairs had been, and it takes far less effort to make it to the door leading into Souji’s room – which is good, because he honestly doesn’t know how much energy he has left to spare. Yosuke helps him into the bedroom and over to where the futon lies unfolded and unmade in the corner. He makes another odd, wordless noise (this one more like an aborted exhale), and slowly, carefully, he lowers Souji onto the mess of blankets.

The change from being upright to sitting down makes him dizzy. Grey eyes clench shut as Souji fights back the lightheadedness, bringing his hands up to cradle his head in one and cover his mouth with the other. Just in case. He can’t see Yosuke at the moment, but he can hear the other boy moving, hovering near him while tugging at the blankets to bring them around Souji’s legs. Souji wheezes through his fingers. “Been in bed… for two days…” he whispers. His chest seizes for a second, his breath catching on his next inhale; he bites down on his lower lip and coughs once, twice, shallowly into his hand. His throat aches.

He hears Yosuke sigh next to him. A hand, strong and long-fingered and calloused and gentle presses against Souji’s shoulder and guides him downward until he’s lying back on the futon. Energy already sapped, he doesn’t fight it. He brings his hand down from his forehead – the one on his mouth still tightly in place – and cracks his eyes open. It takes a few seconds for the blurry swath of colors at his bedside to refocus into the form of his friend.

Yosuke gazes down at him, worrying his lip between his teeth. “When was the last time you ate anything?” he whispers.

Souji shrugs.

“Okay… Water?”

Souji shrugs again. “…Dunno.”

“You don’t—! Partner!” Yosuke runs a hand through his hair and clenches at the roots in obvious upset. He lets out a long breath through his nose, sitting back and crossing his legs, before dropping his hand into his lap and bouncing the knee beneath it in a silent display of nervous energy.  Despite this, his voice, while rougher, more agitated, is still quiet, his words a harsh stage whisper as he says, “I’m staying here tonight.”

Souji immediately feels the roots dig deeper, wind tighter into his heart. He stares at Yosuke with wide eyes, struggling to pull in a new breath, to keep the taste of iron from the back of his tongue. He opens his mouth to protest, even knowing that his voice won’t come, but Yosuke gives him a look and barrels over any words Souji might have been able to form.

“No. I don’t care. You’re sick as hell – you’ve been alone this entire time, you can barely move on your own…” He trails off and gives Souji a very intense look that could almost read as anger or annoyance were it not for the way his brows arch upwards in clear distress. “Partner, you just admitted you don’t even know when the last time you ate was. I’m not gonna leave you here to just… I dunno, die in your sleep because you still can’t tell me when something’s wrong.” Yosuke looks away then, down and off to the side like he’s staring at the floor beside his right knee, but even with the grey spots at the edges of his oxygen-starved vision, Souji can see the gleam of something wet in his best friend’s eyes.

Yosuke chews at the corner of his lip, taking a long, deep breath in before letting it out slowly. His shoulders droop with the movement, making his whole body seem to deflate. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. He keeps his eyes trained on the spot he’s glued them to, unseeing and unblinking as the shine of salt water gathers on his lower eyelashes. “I should have come by sooner to see how you were doing. Like… I felt like something was off when you didn’t answer your phone, but I just… I guess I thought… after November… that you’d know you could come to me if you needed anything, ya know? Even if it wasn’t super important, cuz it’d be important to me…” He sighs. Ducking his head, he rubs at the back of his hair, hiding his face by turning it further away so Souji can’t see him. His voice is even quieter when he speaks again, carrying in a different direction where Souji almost doesn’t hear it.

“I should have been here…”

Souji stares at his friend, stunned. There is a new weight in his chest, one that has nothing (or possibly everything) to do with the flowers growing inside his ribs – this isn’t right. The whole reason he hasn’t said anything about the true nature of his condition is because he doesn’t want Yosuke to think any of this is his fault. Souji can handle Yosuke being upset with him for not telling anyone he was sick, he’s alright with Yosuke believing Souji was just being stubborn or hiding a perceived weakness; for Yosuke to blame himself for any part of Souji’s illness, even not knowing what it is, or for him to think he’s done something wrong or failed Souji somehow is the one thing Souji isn’t alright with.

He wants to tell his friend that it’s okay, that he didn’t know, that Souji didn’t tell him because he couldn’t. He’d tried, last night when Yosuke had been calling him, but he’d been too messed up to answer the phone in time, and for the hours preceding and directly following, Souji had either been head-first in the sink coughing up blood and petals, or he’d been passed out cold. He wants to explain that he’d been too sick too suddenly to even have any sort of warning for himself, let alone anyone else, but as he opens his mouth to try and find his voice, Yosuke takes a sharp, shuddering breath in and scrubs at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“A-anyway, yeah. Sorry. Uhm.” He straightens up, forcibly rolling his shoulders back and giving himself a decisive nod before finally looking back to where Souji is still staring at him with all the pain of a shattering heart. Yosuke does not meet his eyes.

“You just… stay here, okay? I’m gonna go shopping real quick and get some stuff to try and help.”

Souji licks at his lips in an attempt to unstuck his tongue. “You don’t have to do that,” he manages, voice crackling and impossibly quiet.

Yosuke makes a scathing, sarcastic noise that sounds like a mix of a scoff and a half-choked, mirthless laugh. He shoots Souji a hard look with pinched brows and replies, “No offense, dude? But uh, yeah, I kinda do.” He plants his hands on the floor and eases himself up into a crouch with a grunt. He braces his arm on his knees and leans forward, reaching out his other hand and placing it gently over Souji’s forehead.

Souji’s heart hammers against the vines encircling it, his breath hitching as the careful, calloused fingertips make contact with his skin. In that moment, before the flowers can surge to the back of his throat and bring the tang of blood and bitter petals to his tongue, Souji feels like he’s been suspended. Yosuke’s palm is warm, soft despite the barely-there scars, too thin to be detected. The touch itself is so vastly intimate, completely innocent and born from selfless concern and it hurts in a way that is devoid of physical pain. He can’t stop himself from instinctively leaning into it, pressing his forehead closer to the warmth of his partner’s hand. His face flushes; the tips of his ears and the bridge of his nose, the high points of his cheekbones – all burning like the last flicker of a candle just below his skin.

Yosuke frowns. “Yeah, that feels like a fever, alright.”

He pulls his hand away and Souji nearly rolls over to try and follow it, to chase the contact that made his pulse race but somehow didn’t launce him into a coughing fit. Souji feels the absence like a shock of cold – an involuntary whimper escaping, only for the sound to stay trapped in his sandpapery throat. A fresh wave of flowers begins to peel open low in Souji’s ribs.

Yosuke, however, seems to remain thankfully oblivious to the nature of his friend’s newest turmoil. He pushes himself to his feet and takes a few steps backwards so that he isn’t looming over Souji’s bed like some kind of nightmare. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he promises, already started to back further towards the bedroom door. He keeps his focus half trained on Souji as he moves, clearly reluctant to let his partner out of his sight again. “I’ll get… I dunno, cold meds or something, fever reducer. Just…” he pauses, looks at Souji with a kind of desperate pleading shadowing his features. “Don’t move? Just rest? Call me immediately if something happens, okay? Or even text me, I’ll come right back.” He hesitates in the doorway, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he anxiously watches Souji for a reaction.

Souji grits his teeth and forces himself to nod. He doesn’t have the voice to tell Yosuke that his phone has probably been dead for hours, nor does he have the heart to tell him that cold medicine is a lost cause. Souji has taken cold medicine, has been taking it, but no amount of it – or anything stronger – will work. Not against the flowers blooming in his chest.

(He also doesn’t want to tell Yosuke that there is still at least half a box of medicine left in the bathroom; his memory of the night before is hazy and Souji has no idea what state the bathroom is in, or whether there is blood still caked on the floor.)

Yosuke gives Souji one last long, searching look. He nods once, seemingly to nobody, and Souji can hear him mutter a quiet, “Okay…” like he’s gearing himself up to leave his sick friend behind. Souji settles into the futon as best he can with a body that feels like lead and watches Yosuke watching him. Finally, reluctantly, Yosuke steps out into the hallway and pulls the door almost shut behind him. He leaves it open just a crack, enough that he could probably hear if Souji were to call out for him to come back if he really tried. Souji doesn’t. Instead, he listens to the sound of Yosuke’s retreating footsteps – hesitating several times before cautiously picking up again – until he can hear the far-off sound of the front door opening and then closing with a faint click of metal.

Souji lets out a long, slow, shuttering breath as some of the tension bleeds from his body, leaving him far more drained than he thinks he’s ever felt before.

He rolls his head so that he’s staring up at the ceiling, blinking back a wave of wet-hot, choking grief that bubbles from the pit of his stomach and spreads to every last part of him. It’s like he’s drowning, submerged in a rising, boiling tide that threatens to spill out of his eyes and scald a trail down his face. He coughs, sucking in a mouthful of air through his teeth afterwards, and for once it’s not from the flowers in his throat; it’s what’s left of a sob that he can’t quite manage to suppress. Souji brings his hands up to his face, weak and shaking, and presses the heels of them into his eyes to try and stem the flow of tears before they happen. He can feel them building, prickling behind his eyelids, but he’s so dehydrated that there is nothing left to fall. He doesn’t know whether to be thankful or not.

He doesn’t like that he’s relieved about Yosuke leaving for the time being. He shouldn’t be, he doesn’t want to be – even without the romantic feelings now strangling him, Yosuke is the best friend that Souji’s ever had and the fact that Souji had been desperately wishing Yosuke would go hurts him. It feels like he’s betraying Yosuke’s trust somehow, especially since his partner had been genuinely concerned about him, but every second Souji had spent near the boy he’s in love with had been pure, phsyical hell.

Which makes Souji feel guilty, despite the fact that he very much is not spitting up flowers on purpose. For every coughing fit Souji had had to try and push down, for every petal that threatened to climb his throat and expose or choke him, there was – as there always has been – a very large part of him that was instinctively happy to see Yosuke. He enjoys the other boy’s company; it’s why he’d gone and fallen in love with him in the first place and wound up contracting a horrible, heart-stopping illness. Honestly, if his life had come with a complaint department, Souji would have kicked down the door by now.

Souji contemplates taking Yosuke’s words to heart and trying to sleep. He’s tired enough, physically and emotionally exhausted enough that he could probably pass right out if he closed his eyes. The thought holds no appeal, though. He’s spent the past day and a half asleep and it’s more than a little disconcerting to think that most of it was involuntary. Besides, if he sleeps he might not wake up again and Yosuke could come back to a garden of blood-covered flowers. He shudders at the thought.

But that still begs the question of what he should or can do with himself until Yosuke comes back; because that’s the thing, Yosuke isn’t gone for good, just gone for now, and when he comes back he’s planning on staying the night. Any other time, Souji would be excited at the prospect of his best friend sleeping over; now, though, it fills him with anxiety. There is no way whatsoever that Souji will be able to hide his sickness from Yosuke for the entire night – what if he has another fit without warning? What if such close proximity to his crush (although it’s inarguably far deeper than a crush at this point) for such an extended period of time exacerbates his symptoms? The longer that Yosuke is around him, the more likely it is that the other boy will find out somehow, will see the flowers and the blood, will know.

And that’s something else that adds another loop to this maddening spiral Souji’s thoughts have decided to take now that he’s awake and alone and trying not to have another panic attack. Provided Souji is still alive when Yosuke finds out (because he will, eventually, if not today then after the disease has claimed Souji’s life), if Yosuke already knows what Hanahaki is he will definitely try to figure out the person causing it. He already hounds Souji upon occasion as to whether or not there’s someone Souji likes, what sort of girl is Souji’s “type”, and faced with something like this there’s little doubt in Souji’s mind that Yosuke will begin the quest anew with frantic fervor. Souji selfishly hopes he’s unconscious or already dead by the time any of that happens, just so he doesn’t have to expend the last of his energy trying to come up with reasons not to give Yosuke a name.

Something else he doesn’t want to think about dealing with is the thought that Yosuke might try and push him to get the surgery, even if it’s already far too late for it to be of any help. Souji remembers, back in middle school when they had first mentioned the disease in class, wondering why people would ever opt not to have the surgery if it meant saving their life. He thinks he understands now; the thought of never feeling anything for Yosuke ever again is enough to make the vines squeeze painfully inside his chest. Even if he did survive, even if the damage to his heart didn’t kill him within the next couple of years, Souji doesn’t know if he could handle living with all-consuming apathy where love and friendship once bloomed. He could live with loving Yosuke from a distance, if the flowers would let him, as long as he could stay by his side as his “Partner.” But to look at the best friend he’s ever had in life and feel nothing would just be…

He thinks it might almost be worse than death.

Souji can feel the prickle behind his eyelids returning and he presses his hands harder against his eyes. Alone, he finally lets out a dry, shuttering sob like he’s been wanting to for ages now. Crying over his predicament is unproductive, a waste of what little time he might have left, but seeing as how there isn’t anything else he can do that will help, he might as well be childish for a moment and let out some of the building pressure before that alone kills him. There’s no one around to see him, anyway. (And besides, just like before, he’s too dehydrated to actually be able to shed much in the way of physical tears anyway.)

Souji is afraid. He doesn’t want to die, but he’d rather do that than see Yosuke hurt or lose him entirely; he loves Yosuke too much to live without him, even if it’s just as friends. He would have been perfectly happy to lock that little piece of himself away, to hide his affections for the rest of his life and never love anyone else if it meant the two of them could always stay as close as they are now. He would never have pushed, would never have wished for anything else, been content with what he had, but it seems that whatever counted as fate in Inaba’s already-weird existence had decided that Souji hadn’t given enough just yet. It had taken a chunk of his teenaged years and turned it into what would likely have been a PTSD nightmare somewhere further down the road, it had taken his family and nearly destroyed them, it had taken pieces of his sanity and left him with trust issues and what was probably budding paranoia. Now, in its cruelest theft yet, it was forcing him to make a choice between his own life and the one person he couldn’t bear to live without.

He feels sick. Actually, physically nauseous. His stomach is well beyond empty, to the point where he doesn’t feel the hunger, only the acidic sensation of his body trying to eat itself to compensate. The only thing in there is the mouthful of flowers he’d choked back earlier to keep from coughing them up in front of Yosuke, and they sit sour and heavy in his gut like he’s swallowed wet cardboard. His whole body feels weak, too – a combination of the oxygen-deprivation, the exhaustion, and the constant, simmering fear mixed with his sickness and a minor loss of blood. He doesn’t think he can do this. He doesn’t think he can pretend he’s not dying for very much longer, not in the face of his worried best friend, not when Souji is already so tired in so many ways. The temptation to break down and pour out his terror and pain and desperate desire to not die where his partner can hear is already overpowering and the more Souji thinks about it the more can feel the hopelessness creeping into his throat to drown him.

This isn’t fair! How much more is he supposed to give? He’s already stretched himself thin for months to keep his friends alive but heaven forbid he be allowed to think his job was done, heaven forbid he be given the chance to rest. He shouldn’t be petty or selfish, he knows, but right now he’s running out of energy to care. He’s dying, damnit, he’s earned the right to be upset right now!

Souji forces his body to move and rolls onto his front with a tiny burst of energy born from sheer frustration. He takes advantage of the house’s empty silence and buries his face into his pillow, biting into the fabric with all the strength his jaw can muster and screams. Out comes a gravelly, cracking sound that embodies every ounce of fear, of desperation, of anger, sorrow, disappointment, everything that Souji has been trying to bottle up and just can’t anymore. He screams until he’s out of breath and gasping into the pillowcase, until his throat and chest are raw, until he can feel the twist of angry vines inside his ribs. Then he takes a long, broken breath in and screams again. The end of it catches on his grief and folds in on itself until it becomes a sob. Tearless, he cries into the pillow until the last of his strength gives out.

He feels like a corpse when it’s over.

Wiped out in a way he didn’t even know he could still be, Souji lays there on his stomach with his face smothered in his pillowcase, sucking in what air he can past the fabric and the rising pressure in his windpipe. It burns on the way in, like coals in his throat, bright and sharp with a glow that grows brighter with each inhale. He shifts, lifts his head from the pillow to try and give himself easy access to fresher oxygen, and to his slow-blooming horror it does nothing to help. 

Oh no.

No, nonono, not again, not now.

Souji takes in a breath as deeply as he can – and immediately drops his head back into the pillow as a massive, wracking cough shudders through him. He tastes metal and salt sliding along the length of his tongue, feels the light spatter of blood as it hits the backs of his teeth. Something lodges in his chest just before it hits the line of his throat and the next reflexive breath in never makes it into his lungs.

He wasn’t aware he still had the energy left in him to panic anymore, but as Souji prizes his head back up off the pillow and sees the faint smear of crimson on the white of the fabric, he feels his stomach dropping out. It’s like being plunged into the coldest water possible, so frigid that it nearly slams into him as solid ice. Yosuke will be back soon. Yosuke will be back soon and Souji had been holding onto hope that he could at least make it a few more hours without an attack, without his friend seeing. Once again, it looks like the universe has decided to steal that shred of hope away.

Souji pushes himself up on arms that nearly buckle beneath him and climbs to his feet with help from the nearby furniture. He almost collapses before he can ever take a step. Woozy, head reeling, he throws out a hand and plants it down on top of the dresser so hard his palm stings, but manages to steady himself once more and stands there swallowing against the flowers until he can get a breath in. This is quickly becoming a habit he would give his sword arm to be able to break.

Like an awful recreation of the day before, Souji stumbles – somehow – out into the hallway and then down it towards the bathroom door. The last few steps are practically at a run as he over exerts his failing body and has to let the forward momentum of his wavering balance keep him moving those final few feet through the door. He doesn’t make it to the sink this time. Instead, the moment he makes it into the room his legs give out and he falls, landing on his knees with a vibrating ‘CRACK!’ against the tile. Pain lances through him like lightning, stealing the last of his breath. He doubles over onto his elbows and curls into a wretched little ball as the shock to his body sends a spasm through his mutilated chest.

The flowers push their way up through his windpipe, coiling their roots ever tighter around his heart until it feels like it’s going to burst inside the greenhouse that his ribcage has become, and Souji coughs and gags and wheezes until the floor is slick with red and scattered blossoms and his vision clouds over black.

He falls to the side like a ragdoll when the last of his strength finally leaves him, narrowly avoiding bashing his head against the edge of the bathtub as he slides down onto the bloody, sticky tiles. Blindly, like a dying twitch just before the final spark goes out, Souji kicks at where he remembers the door being, trying to find it with his foot to push it closed. His heel connects with the bottom corner and he shoves with what little energy he has left until he hears the metallic click of the latch.

He slips away into limbo then, with only a muted sense of sound remaining. He hears the rush of blood inside his skull, the slowing beat of his pulse in his ears, and somewhere, as if from deep below the crushing water of unconsciousness, he can hear the far-off thumping of footsteps coming briskly up the stairs.

Souji fades in and out of existence, never quite making it into oblivion but far enough in that he can scarcely feel his body. He can’t move, doesn’t have the wherewithal to try. His breathing is shallow, ragged, with his throat and lungs burning and his mouth tasting of iron and acid. He can feel the damage to his windpipe causing it to swell, leaving a tight, harsh pressure after every forced exhale. His lungs barely respond as he struggles weakly to fill them, the vines wrapped between the spaces of his ribs preventing them from expanding. But it’s his heart that’s the worst. There is a horrible, stinging, pinching sensation around his heart; even in his semi-conscious state, Souji knows that the roots have probably begun to pierce through it. Oddly, perhaps because his brain is slowly powering down, he finds he feels… not quite peaceful, per se, but something bordering on acceptance. Resignation, maybe. He doesn’t have the energy to think about it too hard.

From off in the hallway, he can hear what might be a voice calling his name. He can’t be sure if it’s real or not, thinks it might be a hallucination. It doesn’t matter either way – his voice is gone and his body too destroyed to find the strength to answer anyway. Please don’t find me, he thinks, just in case. Don’t see me like this….

“Partner? Where’d you go?”

Please no.

“Dude, answer me, where are you?!”

I don’t want you to be sad.

“Why is there blood on your pillow?”

Yosuke’s voice grows noticeably more anxious with each unanswered plea, cracking slightly on the final word as Souji’s absence stretches on. The footsteps return, this time getting louder as Yosuke presumably draws closer to Souji’s hiding spot. There is a knock on the bathroom door.

“Souji?” Yosuke calls again, and the mounting distress is clearer now without the distance to obscure it. “Souji, are you in there?”

Souji doesn’t answer, wouldn’t even if he could. Childishly, foolishly, his half-conscious mind thinks that maybe if he stays quiet enough then Yosuke won’t find him – that his friend will keep moving, keep looking elsewhere. Or better yet, just give Souji up as a lost cause and go home so that Souji can die quietly. It’s against Yosuke’s nature, though, and there is a small part of him that knows this, even through the haze that fills his head and weighs him to the floor.

True to form there is another knock, louder this time, more frenzied. “Souji, if you’re in there, please fucking say something.”

There is a pause, like he’s waiting for a response, listening for words that Souji doesn’t have the ability to give. Souji can hear a faint sound of shivery breathing behind the door and an image of the worried, tense expression that had spread over Yosuke’s face just before he’d left flickers across the dark of Souji’s vision. He can picture the way Yosuke bites at his lip when he’s anxious or scared and trying not to let it show, the pinched look around his eyes. It’s not a look that someone as full of sunlight as Yosuke should ever be made to wear.

The door handle rattles like someone has taken hold of it from the outside. “Souji, please, please say something, I’m seriously freaking out right now.” There is another pause. Then, harsh and sad and cracking, there comes a whispered, “There’s a fucking bloody flower in your trashcan…”

Souji feels his tattered heart give a tiny lurch.

No…!

A shuddering, damp inhalation comes from behind the wood of the door and the doorknob turns until the latch clicks, but the hinges themselves do not squeak as if they’re being used. “Fuck it,” Yosuke whispers, voice bordering on panic now, “fuck it, I don’t care if you’re naked or something, I’m coming in!”

Before Souji can try and will his body to curl up tighter in a vain attempt at instinctive protection, the sound of the door being swung open reaches his ears, followed immediately after by a horrified rush of air like his friend has just been punched in the stomach.

“SOUJI!”

Footsteps on tile, the wet sound of socked feet on drying blood, someone dropping to the floor beside him and grabbing at his shoulders, tugging him, pulling him into a warm lap, trembling fingers sweeping the red-matted hair from his face. The touch is nice despite the circumstances, like a balm on his clammy skin, and Souji lolls his head slightly to chase after the feeling.

Yosuke shakes him gently, frantically. “Souji look at me, look at me, please! Wake up!”

Souji tries to peel his eyes open, the lids feeling like they’ve been glued shut. He feels them flutter a little, thinks he might have managed to let a sliver of light through, but his vision is still dark.

“Come on!”

I’m trying, he thinks. I’m trying, I’m sorry…

One of Yosuke’s arms circles around Souji’s shoulders, holding him closer, keeping him from sinking back to the freezing floor; the other disappears from where Souji can feel it. There is a rustling of fabric, then a tinny beeping sound overtop a plastic clicking before the quiet, obnoxious burble of a distant phone line. Souji leans into Yosuke’s heat as best he can – he hadn’t realized just how cold he’d been until now.

“I need an ambulance,” Yosuke says in a single desperate breath. “My friend is sick and he collapsed and there’s a lot of blood and I think he might be dying!” He makes a noise that’s somewhere between a whine and a sob and it tears at what’s left of the heart in Souji’s burning chest. “There’s fucking–! There’s flowers everywhere – it’s like he threw up flowers, I don’t know what to do!”

Souji wishes he could get his limbs to move; he wants to turn onto his side and nuzzle his cold, bloodied face into Yosuke’s thigh, to throw an arm around his best friend’s waist and tell him without words the it’ll be okay. He wants to be able to take that heart-shattering fear and anguish from his beloved’s voice and bring back the sunlight that Yosuke always exudes. His body lies limp and uncooperative, though, and so all Souji can do is listen, hearing slowly beginning to fade, while Yosuke finishes the phone call with a cracking voice. He tries to ignore the droplets of something wet and hot that land on his face when Yosuke leans back over him and wraps his other arm over Souji’s chest.

“Stay with me, Partner,” Yosuke whispers, pressing their foreheads together, gradually starting to rock back and forth with Souji in his arms. “Stay with me…”

He repeats it over and over again into Souji’s temple like a despondent prayer, and it’s the last thing that Souji hears as he finally slips away into dreamless black.

 ---

 Sound is the first sense to return to him.

There is a whooshing, steady and hollow. It acts as a droning background to a high-pitched, mechanical beeping somewhere off to the side that makes his head ring with dull pain. Somewhere in the distance, muffled, there are faint voices exchanging words he can’t make out, and the sharp ‘tic-tic-tic’ of retreating shoes.

Next to come back is touch. Souji can feel himself lying on something soft; a bed, probably, but it’s firmer than his normal futon and seems to be slightly elevated so that he’s propped up and not lying completely flat. There is something he guesses might be a blanket draped over him that feels slightly scratchy and has little to no weight to it. Something kind of rubbery presses lightly into his face, just below his cheekbones, and apparently has been shoved up his nose. It doesn’t hurt him, which is nice, and as he breathes in he notices the cool stream of air that trickles from it. He breathes again. Nothing catches in his lungs.

There is a chill to the room around him. It doesn’t seep too badly through the blanket, but on the parts of him that are uncovered he feels it the most – his neck, ears, and face, and also, oddly enough, his right wrist all the way up to his elbow. His hand, however, is warm, with something slotted between his fingers. He flexes them just barely, and whatever is covering his hand gives a gentle squeeze in return.

“Partner?”

Souji tilts his head towards the voice. It’s quiet, rough, laced with tired hope. Even half alive, Souji would recognize it anywhere. He takes another breath, deeper than he thinks he should be able to take, and pulls at whatever strength his heavy, aching body might have left. He focuses on grounding points – the warmth on his hand, the voice beside him – and slowly, haltingly, Souji manages to crack open his bleary eyes.

At first there is pain. The light overhead is not particularly bright, but to eyes that have been bathed in darkness for an eternity, the florescence is like a blow to the back of his skull. He feels his face twist into a grimace involuntarily and he has to will himself not to squeeze his eyes shut and hold them like that, instead settling for narrowing them down to slits as he waits for the light to even out. Eventually it does and the room comes into bleary color, a collection of shapes finally fusing together to form a solid picture with fuzzy edges. Beside him, a blurr of copper and orange shifts into his peripherals.

“Hey,” Yosuke whispers, and the sound is so full of hope that Souji instinctively wants to reach over and bury his face in the crook of his friend’s neck and shoulder.

He shifts a bit more so that Yosuke is centered in his vision and squints at the other boy’s outline. It takes him a few seconds of stillness, of willing his eyes to focus properly, of blinking to try and clear the lingering static from the edges, before Souji is able to open his eyes a little further and actually see. Yosuke is an absolute wreck.

Tear tracks stain his cheeks and his eyes and the tip of his nose are red from crying. His hair is tangled in places along the sides and right in the front, as if he’d delved his fingers into it at some point and tugged mercilessly. He sits hunched over the side of Souji’s bed in a shitty plastic hospital chair that looks about as comfortable as their school desk chairs after a long night of fighting in the TV world, one arm draped over the mattress. The other arm lies crossed underneath it, with Souji’s hand wrapped up tightly in his own.

Yosuke feigns a smile, the expression looking strained and worn thin. “Hey,” he repeats, “you with me?”

Habitually, Souji parts his lips to try and respond, only to find his mouth and throat unbearably dry. He swallows a couple of times in an attempt to fix the problem and has to unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth, his throat raw and stinging like he’s poured down a bottle of bleach.

“Don’t,” Yosuke chides him softly. “Just nod if you can hear me.”

Souji does, and his vision only swims a little bit.

His partner lets out a long, deep sigh of relief, his entire body releasing a tension that had seemed almost embedded into his bones. He sags forward and drops his head onto his arms. “Thank god…” The hand over Souji’s own squeezes again, tighter this time, like he’s still afraid to let go, and his muffled voice cracks and stutters as he speaks. “I was so fucking scared, I thought…” He pauses, tightens his hold on Souji’s hand even more. There is the sound of a ragged inhale. “Don’t ever do that to me again, man. Ever. I can’t… I almost—!” He sits back up with a shuttering breath, fresh tears already spilling from his eyes and carving new paths down his face.

Yosuke lifts Souji’s hand from the mattress and curls his free one around it as well, holding it in both of his own like it’s something sacred. He screws his eyes shut and brings Souji’s fingers to his lips. “You dumbass!” he rasps against the backs of Souji’s knuckles. He presses a fervent kiss to each one, lingering for a moment before moving on to the next; when he’s done, he leans down to rest his forehead against the places his lips have just touched. “You absolute fucking dumbass…”

Souji stares at him, utterly gobsmacked as his partner cries silently against his hand. Surely this is a dream? One last hallucination before his brain finally shuts down and he succumbs to the choking, bitter flowers rooted around his heart. He takes an experimental breath in and while it does hurt, it’s more like an ache, a soreness that sits around his muscles and not deep inside his ribs. His chest moves, rises and falls with each new set of inhale-exhale – there is no catch, no halt. Nothing clogs up his sandpapery throat. Nothing tickles.

A fantasy then. Maybe he’s already died and this is what has been awaiting him; the illusion of a flowerless heart, of working lungs, of the boy he’s fallen helplessly in love with holding his hand and placing kisses across his fingers. There is no way that this is real.

But maybe, if all of this is nothing but a vision as the last few traces of his life flicker out, then would it be such a terrible thing for Souji to be a little selfish? Just this once? He’s either already dead or about to be so, just one stolen moment can’t be too much to ask for. He lifts his fingers, still unsteady in his body’s weakness, and brushes them through the copper strands of Yosuke’s fringe that lay within his reach. He’s always wondered what Yosuke’s hair felt like, if it would be coarse because of the dye or if it would be soft to the touch. He notes with quiet delight that it is, in fact, as soft as he’d hoped it would be.

Yosuke twitches at the contact. Eyes still shut tight, he nuzzles his face further down the back of Souji’s hand and closer to his wrist. The action pushes Souji’s fingers deeper into Yosuke’s hair and Souji delicately catches at a thin lock of it to stroke beneath the pad of his thumb.

Souji swallows again, licking a dry tongue over his bitter-tasting lips to try and make his mouth work properly. “Y’suke…” he breathes, his voice nothing more than an echo of the air slipping past his teeth. He has no idea if the other boy – the image of his beloved – can even hear him, but it doesn’t really matter. He just wants to say it. If only this one time. Because he knows he’ll probably never get the chance to do this again.

He just wishes it could have been real.

He shifts his fingers so that he can lovingly sweep a few strands of hair from where they’ve fallen across Yosuke’s eyes, a small, sad smile tugging at the corners of Souji lips. “Love you…”

To his surprise, Yosuke wheezes out a sharp, soggy bark of laughter. “Yeah, no shit, Partner.” He repositions one of his hands, sliding his palm around to fit against Souji’s own and slotting their fingers together once more. His grip is like gentle iron, tight and secure but not enough to be painful. He still doesn’t open his eyes. “Nice of you to wait until you nearly die on me to let me know.”

Souji is… confused. Even for a dream this is a little unexpected, and he’s still foggy-brained on top of everything, not yet fully “awake” and functioning.

He doesn’t get a chance to do much more than furrow his brows slightly, because Yosuke finally lifts his head from where he’s been reverently pressing it to Souji’s wrist. Red-rimmed eyes open, and the usual amber-brown of his irises has now turned a hurt, murky auburn. “You wanna know how I found out?” he asks, and there is an edge of near-hysterical sarcasm to his words. He doesn’t wait for Souji to react. “Turns out my best friend has something called ‘Hanahaki Disease’, which makes him grow goddamn morning glories in his heart, because surprise, surprise! He’s been bottling up his feelings again, and now it’s literally killing him.”

Yosuke pauses to take in a shuddering breath, glancing away as he sniffles and blinks against the new wave of moisture that has begun to gather in his eyes. “Do you have any idea how terrifying it is to sit there and be told that the most amazing person you’ve ever known is dying and there’s nothing they can do to save him? That unless someone can find whoever it is your partner is in love with and get them to love him back in the next couple of hours, you’re gonna lose him? Because it fucking sucks!”

Yosuke tugs away the hand not holding Souji’s like a lifeline and furiously scrubs at his face with the back of it. He pushes the hinge of his wrist against his eyes and ducks his head to hide the tears now freely flowing down his cheeks. He sobs once, quietly, his shoulders trembling as he suppresses the rest. “I didn’t— I didn’t even know you were sick before today, I couldn’t… I felt so useless!” His fingers curl and uncurl around Souji’s own, rhythmically squeezing as if he’s trying to remind himself of Souji’s warmth and solidity.

Souji squeezes back as best he can.

“And then they told me I should go ahead and start saying my goodbyes, that you might still be able to hear me if I talked to you, and I just… We already did this with Nanako, I couldn’t fucking do it again.”

Yosuke leans in again, resting his forehead once more against Souji’s arm and wrapping his free hand over the pulse point on Souji’s wrist. He just breathes for a moment, letting the steady ‘beat-beat-beat’ beneath his fingertips pull him back in. His eyes reopen and stare unseeing down at the white fabric of the bed sheets. “So I broke down,” he whispers. “I started talking, saying anything that came into my head cuz I guess I thought maybe if I begged hard enough you’d just get better or something. I told you if you woke up I’d go out and drag every single girl in Inaba over here until I found the one you liked, and if that didn’t work then I’d go to Okina and try there, too. Anywhere you needed me to look. And then when… when you just kept slipping away, I didn’t know what to do, so I got desperate and said I’d go look for you a boyfriend instead if that’s what you wanted and that you could even have me because fuck, I’ve been falling in love with you forever but I’ve been too stupid to ever admit it.”

Souji’s eyes go wide. Even in those tiny moments he’d allowed himself to have, back when he hadn’t known just how deep his affection for Yosuke truly ran, Souji could never have come up with something like this. He’d never fully let himself imagine Yosuke returning his feelings, never bothered to treat it as a possibility because he didn’t want to acknowledge his own crush or give himself anything like false hope. So this, all of this, is well beyond anything Souji thinks could feasibly play out inside his head. If this a product of a dying brain then it’s gotten well away from him and left him reeling; if it’s a piece of whatever afterlife he’s been given, then it would seem the gods haven’t been paying much attention.

If it’s neither, then Souji might just have lost his damn mind.

He steals a quick look around the room while Yosuke’s gaze is still fixed on the bedspread, grey eyes flicking from corner to corner as best they can with Souji still a bit too weak to move his head. This is definitely the hospital; he’d spent far too much time here in between his part time job and his family being bedridden to not recognize it. The beeping sound he’d heard upon first waking is a heart monitor beside the bed, connected to his body below the scratchy covers by a thin black cord. The steady whoosh of air is a different machine entirely, one with a clear plastic tube that leads to something lying loosely across his chest. He remembers the rubbery something over his face and up his nose and realizes it must be an oxygen pump, feeding air directly into his lungs.

(Souji swallows and expects the flowers to come rushing back up his windpipe, still baffled when there’s no sign of them.)

He glances back to find that Yosuke is now watching him with a look of wild-eyed caution.

“You had a… a seizure or something right after that,” he says, voice so low it’s almost drowned out by the ambient sounds of the hospital machinery. “Started convulsing, coughing up more flowers. At first they thought it was another attack but when they went to try and clear your airways they pulled a bunch of roots out of your throat.” He stops to inhale deeply, his shoulders rising and then falling again as he slowly lets the breath back out through his nose. “I dunno what happened next cuz they made me leave, but then they came back like an hour later and told me you were gonna live and that it looked like you’d kicked out the entire plant somehow, roots and all. They said the only way that was even possible was for the love that grew the damn thing in the first place to be requited. Considering I had literally just told you I loved you, it wasn’t that hard to piece everything together after that.”

Silence stretches between them. In the quiet, with only the machinery for noise in the background, it had been easy to mistake this for a dreamscape, to think that he’s finally fallen comatose and that this is his one final chance to be at peace before his body gives in to death. But… it isn’t. Souji blinks slowly, taking in his surroundings with an altered perspective. He can still feel the non-weight of the blanket, the chill of the circulated air, the pressure of Yosuke’s hands covering his own. He isn’t dead, nor is he dying. Souji is awake and alive and this is really real.

It’s almost too wild to believe.

Because he’s spent so long convincing himself that this could never happen, that this is something he’d never be allowed to have, Souji still can’t quite process it all. Yosuke, sunny, bright, wonderful Yosuke… loves him back.

Yosuke loves him back.

Like a man who’s spent his whole life in the darkness finally seeing daylight for the first time, Souji lets the fragile spark of hope within him stay lit. It catches on the love-starved ground of his battered heart and fans itself into a small, steady flame. “I love you,” he whispers again with a stronger voice than last time. Because he wants to. Because he can.

He doesn’t notice that he’s tearing up until the lines in his vision blur out. He blinks to clear it away. “I love you.”

Yosuke stares at him. His expression is unreadable, too many different emotions mixing together and Souji can barely see through the thin trickle of tears that have started falling in earnest now. He hears the scrape of chair legs on the floor, feels the loss of heat as Yosuke relinquishes one of his hands from the desperate clinging to Souji’s pulse point. There is a quiet sound of rustling fabric, the creak and pop of plastic as Yosuke rises slowly from his chair. Warm, calloused fingers brush through the wetness on Souji’s face, tenderly wiping it away.

“I love you, too,” is whispered near his ear, just before Yosuke nuzzles at his temple. “I love you so goddamn much, Souji, I was so scared I was gonna lose you.” There is a pause, a shaky breath, and then there are lips being pressed against Souji’s forehead, soft and reverent, and Yosuke’s fingers return to stroke though Souji’s hair.

Souji leans into it, revels in it without hesitation. A tiny shiver goes down his spine and for the first time ever he lets himself enjoy it. No flowers surge up to try and choke him, no clogging, suffocating mass of bitter petals fills his mouth with blood and bile. The tears gather faster as something new wells up inside Souji’s chest, bringing with it a feeling that might be budding joy. It’s been so long since he’s experienced hope; he almost doesn’t recognize it.

Yosuke dips his fingers down again to wipe futilely at Souji’s cheekbones. “I’m glad you’re alive,” he murmurs, and another kiss is pressed to Souji’s hair.

The hand in his own isn’t enough. Souji shifts his free arm, the one still under the blanket, and starts to try and pull it free from its cotton prison. Something tugs at his skin, causing him to wince, and Yosuke must feel the expression under his lips because he pulls away to awkwardly reach across himself and place his hand over Souji’s shoulder. He pushes down gently to stop Souji from tugging his arm out of the covers.

“No,” Yosuke tells him, quiet and firm. He pushes down on Souji’s shoulder slightly, as if to hold it to the bed. “You’re gonna knock your IV out.”

Souji whimpers. “Wanna hold you.”

Yosuke leans back enough to where he can blink down at Souji with a faint dusting of pink across the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just searches Souji’s face with his eyes.

“…Please?” Souji rasps, because now that his heart is beginning to understand that he can have this, it refuses to accept anything else. It strains against his heavy body, reaching desperate tendrils of want out in any direction it can in hopes of quelling a months-long ache.

Yosuke’s expression softens. “Okay,” he whispers, squeezing Souji’s hand again.

  The nurse finds them later, curled up against one another as well as they can be in the tiny hospital bed that only barely fits one. Yosuke is folded up like a cat at Souji’s side, head tucked into the space where Souji’s shoulder meets his collarbone, mindful of the breathing tube and the still-healing chest just below it. Souji’s cheek rests against the crown of Yosuke’s head and he’s long-since nuzzled into the softness of his beloved’s hair.

One of Yosuke’s arms is draped carefully over Souji’s stomach below his ribs – the other squished between their sides with their hands entwined.

--- --- ---

(A note from the author: I couldn't decide between a happy ending or an unhappy ending while I was writing this, so I put up a poll on my twitter asking for people to vote between the two and Happy Ending won by a good margin.

The unhappy ending would have seen Souji waking up in the hospital to find the doctors had performed emergency surgery on him to remove the moonflowers. He would have miraculously survived, but any and all feeling he’d had for Yosuke would have been gone, leaving Souji completely apathetic towards him and slowly causing their entire friendship to disolve until they were little more than strangers. The rest of the game’s events would take place and Souji would go back to the city at the end of the year. On the day that Souji left, Yosuke would have gone back home after seeing his former partner off at the train station and started coughing up sunflower petals into the bathroom sink.

>:3 Y’all dodged a bullet~)

[awkward-radar-tech]

A Valentine's Surprise

Summary: A response to an anon who asked “Could you do a Valentine drabble with Kylo/reader where he's disguised as Matt and they've kinda grown close and on Valentine's Day the reader gives Matt one and gives him another to give Kylo since everyone deserves a little love?” Also, the relationship can be read as platonic or a budding romance, whatever you want it to be, I left it open.

A/N: This is definitely longer than a drabble, 1350 words to be exact, but in the spirit of how I answer other asks, this is completely unedited. I just wrote this in a hour and posted it instead of going to bed since I have class in the morning...

Kylo was thankful the officers and stormtroopers who knew about his shenanigans as Matt on Starkiller were no longer around, either dead or on a different ship, far from where he is, and also with their memories of Matt wiped anyways. He had improved his acting skills, got a droid to put makeup over his scar, learned more about being a radar technician, and reused his Matt persona, this time just because he felt like it. His missions from Snoke had all but disappeared due to his failure of defeating the scavenger and letting her get away. Being Matt was the only thing he could do besides train and meditate and annoy Hux, although Hux wasn't too pleased with him being Matt, but he let it slide since he wasn't destroying anything.

Matt arrived for his shift, and you promptly greeted him. The two of you had been partnered from his first day as the new Matt, and have grown close, he would even consider you a friend. But Matt's friend, not Kylo's. The past 3 shifts you have been talking to him about the civilian tradition of Valentine's Day, which was allowed to be celebrated on board as long as it didn't interfere with the regularly assigned work. Kylo, admittedly, knew very little about the holiday because of being a Jedi when he was Ben and then being secluded from everybody as Kylo.

When Matt told you he hadn't known a lot about the holiday because of being a recluse his whole life, you knew you had to tell him about your favorite holiday. It wasn't your favorite holiday because of what it was celebrating, you just really liked the aesthetic.

While waiting for the diagnostics to load, you talked more about the holiday, “So in school, young children give out little cards to their classmates with cheesy sayings on them and a picture that goes with it. Normally it says something about how cool, awesome, or nice they are. And then candy. Later on in life it becomes romantic. It is a good day for secret admirers to send things to their crush, or just to let somebody you look up to or respect know you do so.”

“Have you ever given a card out like how you described?”

“As a kid I spent hours deciding which saying I wanted to give to which classmate, my favorite always went to my crush. As an adult, I have given a few platonically and one to a crush.”

“How did that go?”

You looked sadly at your feet, “They applied for a transfer to a different portion of the ship that day.”

“Oh, uh, I'm sorry. Sorry for asking.”

“No. No, it is alright Matt. It was a year ago. So it isn't that big of a deal anymore.”

“A year ago? How isn't that still a big deal. How could they have not thought you were great? I met you 9 months ago, you couldn't have changed that much in 3 months.”

“They said I was weird. Don't worry about it Matt. It happens. The results are in, let's get to work.”

He begrudgingly let it drop. He wondered if he should make you a card, a platonic one, but he didn't know what to do for it, so he decided against it. He didn't have time to research or order one before tomorrow.

He didn't know what to expect from you the next shift, but being handed two cards in envelopes with candy isn't what he thought would happen. One was black with red writing on it and the other was pink with black writing.

“I got you a card and candy. And I remember you said you know Kylo Ren or something like that, so I got him a card with candy too. His is the black and red one, I figured he wouldn't be too into the whole pink and white hearts thing. But he still deserves some love. Hopefully he knows about the holiday.”

Matt smiled, “Oh, I think he does. I'll make sure he gets it, I'll take it on our lunch break. Can I open my card now, or should I wait?”

You became nervous, “You can open it now if you want.”

He opened the pink envelope and pulled out a white card with a simple red heart on the front. Inside he found a note from you, “The F.O. is red/ Ren's saber is, too/ thank you for being kind/ from the moment I met you. - your best friend, (y/n)”

Matt smiled at you, “Thank you so much. I'm sorry I don't have anything to give you. As you know I didn't know about this holiday until a few shifts ago.”

“It is alright, Matt. I know. Now let's get to work before we get yelled at.”

At lunch, Kylo rushed back to his quarters and opened his card from you. The card was just plain red, and inside was a plain note, not like the poem Matt got, “Hi Commander Ren. I'm (y/n), a radar technician, and I'm partnered with Matt. I hope this is okay, I just wanted to make sure you got a little love this Valentine's Day. I really admire you and your power, although you do scare me still. I'm so glad you got off Starkiller safely. I hope you like the candy, Matt told me they were your favorite. P.s.- I think your lightsaber is really cool. P.p.s.- I know you probably won't answer this, but are you actually shredded and have an 8 pack like Matt says you do?”

Kylo decided he would write you a response. He took out his calligraphy set, folded a piece of cardstock in half, drew a couple hearts on the front, and then began to write inside. He fashioned a quick envelope and returned to work.

Matt handed you a plain envelope, “This is from Kylo Ren. He appreciated the thought, so he quickly made this for you. He asked me to tell you not to read it until you are back in your quarters after your shift.”

You took the envelope and put it in your bag, “Thank you for giving it to him, Matt. I'm glad he liked it. I was afraid he would come and kill me.”

The end of the shift couldn't come fast enough, and Matt secretly followed you to your room, changing into being Kylo in a supply closet. He discreetly used the force to observe you while you opened and read the card.

You sat on your bed as you read the card, you couldn't believe Kylo made you a card, let alone drew hearts on the front. You loved how neat and beautiful his writing was, “Hello, (y/n). Thank you for the card and candy. It really brightened my day. I've never participated in this holiday. That candy is my favorite. It is very wise for you to be scared of me, I'm a very dangerous man. And yes, I do have an 8 pack. There is one thing I have to tell you. I'm not always a scary and dangerous man. Sometimes I'm a shy goofball with dorky glasses. And a blond wig. That is a radar technician. And who kinda likes you, maybe. In case you didn't figure it out, I'm Matt. But you can't tell anybody.” There was a knock on the door as you read the final lines, “p.s.- that is me knocking on your door. P.p.s- I used the force to know when you got to that part, you think really loud.”

You opened the door and allowed Kylo to walk in, “Are you still going to be my work partner Matt?”

“Yes, I get bored easily otherwise.”

“Can I hug you?”

“Yes.”

You gave him a big hug and he gave you a hug back. He hoped this made up for what the jerk did to you last year. And that jerk may or may not have been transferred from life by his lightsaber.

[novamelt]

CONNECTIONS ARE WANTED !

   beneath the cut i have all of my muses, a lil’ description of them, & the    connections i need for them. please do not be shy if you feel like you    would like to fill one of these connections. feel free to ask questions if    need be.

ANY CONNECTION BOLDEDIS HIGHLY REQUESTED.

ANY CONNECTION ITALICIZED ARE MUSES I WANT CONNECTIONS FOR BUT HAVE LITTLE/TO NO IDEAS FOR.

synopsis: abby is the head of a russian cult. she’s more money motivated than loyalty motivated.  --  adult, pansexual.

FRIEND FROM HOME: this person would have to be russian. most likely sent from her family to keep a close eye out on her. 

LOYALIST: someone who is very head over heels for abby. maybe was manipulated this way. does a lot of her dirty work.

synopsis: aimee is a high school student. she doesn’t quite fit in to any crowd. she’s down to earth & very in touch with herself. -- teenager, pansexual.

GIRLFRIEND: aimee is trying to explore all of the possibilities her sexuality has to offer, but she would keep this girl a secret.

synopsis: alek is a construction worker. he doesn’t like his job, or anything really. he’s a very grumpy man, who enjoys liquor and solitude. -- adult, heterosexual.

SOFT BABY LOVER: this girl would be the opposite of him. someone gentle, sweet, caring. basically a girl willing to suffer to fix him.

synopsis: annalise is a high school student. she’s your local dungeon master & arcade dweller, despite not wanting to be, -- teenager, pansexual.

BEST FRIEND: this person would also be a fellow nerd. most likely very in touch with her family, plays d&d with them. can be any gender. 

WANNA BE FRIEND: this person would most likely be a cheerleader, but a popular kid for sure. ana would pursue them, try to please them - anything to try and make a break away into a popular crowd.

synopsis: anthony is part of a russian cult. he was sent to the american operations to watch over his sister, who they put in charge,. he’s very well mannered, and reclusive. -- adult, pansexual.

HIDDEN LOVER: the american operations is about abby, not himself. so any romance he found he would keep hidden and restricted.

synopsis: apollo is part of a russian cult. he’s stealthy, which you wouldn’t guess by just how goofy and laid back he is. -- adult, pansexual.

BUDDY: apollo is a good time and is very charismatic. he could easily make a fellow trouble maker his pal, and they could go around causing little bits of mayhem together.

synopsis: barker is a comedian. he’s very anxious and doubtful of himself, but hides it behind jokes. -- adult, pansexual.

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: barker just needs someone to comfort him, support him, and help him along his journey. this person can be any gender, but must enjoy puns.

synopsis: basketcase was recruited into a gang of psychopaths not very long ago. her loyalties are scattered. she’s quite the thief, too. -- adult, homosexual.

GIRLFRIEND: this would be an incredibly toxic relationship. basketcase is likely to be abusive, always wanting her way, and incredibly jealous. a girlfriend who is either soft and submits or a girlfriend who is just as feisty are equally good options.

synopsis: bernard works at a smoothie stand. he’s trying to get his life together, but he finds it hard since he lets everyone walk over him all the time. he’s a huge sweetiepie. -- adult, pansexual.

CO-WORKER: this person is just someone who also works at the smoothie stand. they would spend a lot of time together and be buds outside of work. probably one of bee’s only friends.

CRUSH: bee isn’t very good with his words or feelings, despite having a lot of them. even if the crush is requited, which it doesn’t have to be, he would be very shy and also scared to ruin a friendship.

synopsis: blaine is a survivor of a zombie outbreak. he’s on the search for his last remaining family member: his younger brother. blaine may be unrelenting but he’s also not lost touch with his morals in this world. -- adult, pansexual.

FELLOW SURVIVOR: this person could be of any type of personality. just someone who would have his back, and he would have theirs. someone willing to entertain the idea that his brother is still alive, despite the odds.

synopsis: blaire is a college student. she lives in her own little apartment, and has a book published. she’s minorly famous, in fact. -- adult, homosexual.

LONG DISTANCE GIRLFRIEND: this girlfriend would be someone who loved to read, or at least was book - smart. this girl would be soon moving a cross country to move in with blaire at her apartment, too. a very serious, steady relationship.

synopsis: buddy is your average loser. likes games, being by himself, and oh yeah, is a well known streamer under an alias. for someone who is so shy and unspoken, he has an incredible streaming persona! -- teenager, pansexual.

BEST FRIEND: buddy has a lot of love to give. this person would have been his friend since kindergarten, very close pals. plays video games, goes for bike rides, the whole nine yards. 

synopsis: canston is a rich man, but a charitable one. he’s kind hearted, naive, and very forgiving.

SUGGESTIONS/IDEAS?

synopsis: castor dooms is a police officer. he’s always wanted to be. worked his butt off to get to this point in his life. he has a hard time juggling work and home, though. -- adult, heterosexual.

FIANCE: this woman would be the girl of his dreams. probably an introverted girl who likes to dance, makes good breakfast foods, and forces him to watch sappy movies. their relationship would go under many strains as castor tries to figure out how to balance work and home. could even be pregnant. 

CO - WORKER: this would be a fellow police officer he would be buddies with. probably his partner that he does paroles with. knows what kinda donuts they like, all the good cop stuff.

synopsis: collins is a librarian. he may be quiet, but he has a lot of attitude. and a lot of knowledge. he’s your book smart, sassy man. -- adult, homosexual.

SUGGESTIONS/IDEAS? 

synopsis: colton is a high school student. he loves the water, fishing, and especially boats. he even designs his own. he can be introverted. -- teenager, pansexual.

SUGGESTIONS/IDEAS?

synopsis: daniel is a high school student. he survived a jigsaw trap, and lost his father in a very short amount of time. he’s very touchy, incredibly unstable, and quite the mess. -- teenager, heterosexual.

CLOSE FRIEND: this person would’ve known daniel before the saw trap, and would maybe even have disdain for the daniel that came out. nevertheless, this person would be caring and try to spend a lot of time with him.

synopsis: deacon temple is a gym over. he’s a german meathead, very inspired to work out and be the best him. he has far too much energy and just assumes everyone else does, too. -- adult, pansexual.

WORK OUT PARTNER: this person would be a gym regular that deacon took a liking too. they can work out together, be close buddies, and maybe even have a romance.

LAZY PAL: this person would be a couch potato, and deacon is set in his way to try and fix this! he loves this person to death, maybe has known them for a long time, and wants to see them be a healthy, fit, gym loving person like he is.

synopsis: delilah is a runaway. she has escaped a town where her family is essentially the mafia there. she is a wanted woman, especially since her father has never stopped his pursuit for her. -- adult, pansexual.

SPY: this person would be sent from her father, and has found her. but as the movies go, the two have fallen for each other, and delilah is unaware why this person truly came into her life.

synopsis: denver is a divorced single parent who owns a bakery. much like that title, he’s a lot to handle. he’s rather emotional and caught up in his own world, despite how much he wants to be there for other people. -- adult, pansexual.

GIRLFRIEND: this person would have to love kids, and maybe have a few of her own. he would try too desperately to make things work, probably be incredibly clingy and overbearing. she may either love this or hate this,

synopsis: dixie is a famous streamer. she’s very goal oriented and at times self absorbed. she can be very loving, but does love her social media. -- adult, pansexual.

RIVAL: this person can be someone she hates, but keeps a good face on for the media. they do streams together, attend cons together, the whole thing. but they actually hate each other!

synopsis: elliot jordon is a survivor of a zombie outbreak. he’s a previous boyscout who has survived this long by tooth and nail. he’s a hardass and not a very nice boy anymore. -- teenager, pansexual.

SUGGESTIONS/IDEAS?

synopsis: grayson is the sheriff’s son. he’s in training to also be a police officer. he’s clumsy, too caring, and just an overall good guy. he doesn’t often see the bad in people. -- adult, pansexual.

SUGGESTIONS/IDEAS? 

synopsis: jessica is a high school student. she’s a dick. not very nice to anyone, really. that bitch. but she can be incredibly funny, throws good darts, and has a car, so you can say she’s well liked. -- teenager, heterosexual.

BOYFRIEND: this boy would probably be the stoner type. jess would probably like to keep him hidden, especially from her friendgroup. they probably wouldn’t often get a long, but when they do, it’s like fireworks!

synopsis: lynn denlon is a doctor. she survived a jigsaw trap but lost her entire family in the process. she still is in grief, and can’t seem to get over it. she struggles in everyday life. -- adult, heterosexual.

BOYFRIEND: this would be someone she probably met at the hospital. someone who likely has children, and is very emotionally strong. someone she feels like she can depend on.

synopsis: mitchell is a high school student. he lost all of his friends in a horrible, deemed freak, accident. he’s incredibly wounded, spends a lot of his time with music and alone . -- teenager, heterosexual.

CLOSE FRIEND: this person would be someone that maybe even knew his previous friend group well. someone who would try to help mitch recover, or at the very least, move on a little.

synopsis: riley is a ceo. she fought her way to the position for the recognition of her parents, but stayed for the money. she’s become a greedy woman ever since. -- adult, pansexual.

SUGAR BABY: this person would be someone in need of money, but with a lot of time on their hands. someone willing to do what riley says, and she’s quite a bossy lady, for some money.

synopsis: randy, rumble, boons is a famous race car driver. but he’s a hopeless romantic who wants to get married and have a domestic life. it’s a stark contrast, the two things, but he doesn’t mind. -- adult, pansexual.

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: this person would be terrified of rumble’s career as a racecar driver. they would be in a long term, serious relationship. this would cause for a lot of bumps in the road.

synopsis: samuel beans is a high school student. he sells drugs on the side. he wears sunglasses indoors because he’s either high or has a bruise to wear from his father. he’s incredibly cocky, oftentimes rude. -- teenager, heterosexual.

SUGGESTIONS/IDEAS?

synopsis: sarah lost her parents when her younger brothers were only children. she had to assume the parenting role. this has shaped her into a responsible woman, but it keeps her wound rather tight. -- adult, pansexual.

BOYFRIEND: this boyfriend would oftentimes go neglected, since her brothers come first. this could be a challenge to overcome and cause for issues in the relationship. probably with someone shes known for a long time, so they have motivation to make it work.

synopsis: thomas bones is a single dad. he lost his first wife to disease, and has raised his son on his own. he’s very lost, confused, and in need of love and help at all times. -- adult, heterosexual.

GIRLFRIEND: this woman would have to like kids, or even better if she has some. someone who he can spend a lot of time with and doesn’t mind his quickness into a relationship.

synopsis: valerie is a high school student. she may be popular, but she isn’t well liked. probably because she’s a right bitch. -- teenager, heterosexual.

BFF: this person would probably also be a bitch. they can be bitches together, going to parties, sleep overs, and just trying to fuck up peoples lives.

FOLLOWER: this person would be new to school/a very soft, tiny individual. someone who is easily manipulated by val. a very toxic friendship.

[wrldtravler]

The Mystery of Oliver Queen & Felicity Smoak (1/5)

Hello!! I’m so pleased to bring this little side project to you all. I actually had this idea in mind before I even realized the Met Gala was happening a few months ago, but I shelved it to work on my other WIPs. But, it’s been begging me to finish it lately. I’ve got it almost complete, so I figured I could finally start posting! Which I’m really excited to do because this was something a little different for me. The chapters are relatively short, but hopefully they say a lot with a little! Since they are so short, and most of them are done, you won’t be waiting too long for the next parts! Enjoy!

The Mystery of Oliver Queen & Felicity Smoak

Chapter 1: The Meet at the Met

Summary: It started with a series of photographs at the Met Gala. From then on, everyone became obsessed with the potential love story surrounding award-winning actor Oliver Queen and the brilliant CEO Felicity Smoak. Follow along as the media, and the world, try to put together just exactly what is going on between the secretive pair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is not a drill, folks. Oliver Queen may be off the market. If he is, though, we can't be too upset because he's made a great choice. Queen was seen getting very cozy with the stunning, and stunningly brilliant, Felicity Smoak - CEO of Smoak Technologies - at the Met Gala after-party last Saturday. Inside sources say the pair seemed very familiar with each other already as they interacted with other guests together most of the night. It's well-known that Queen has quelled his infamous party-boy attitude in recent years, and maybe Ms. Smoak is the reason. Whatever the reason for the snuggly behavior, I'm sure we can all agree that they do make a stunning pair.

May 2018

Shifting a little in the mildly uncomfortable plastic chair, Oliver passed his fingers through his once neatly styled hair. A brief grin tugged at his lips. His stylists were going to kill him for ruining their work, but it wasn't his fault that they knew he had this habit.

"Oliver, tell us all about your upcoming role in this new film. The company has been very secretive, so we're dying to know what you're doing."

His eyes drifted to the interviewer as his "for-the-camera" smile graced his lips. She was nice enough. Someone he had done other promotional pieces like this with in the past. Because she was trusted, and safe. "I'm sworn to secrecy too, unfortunately. It's still early, so if I reveal too much I doubt I'll be doing any more of these interviews." He chuckled, earning a similar chuckle in response from the girl.

"Come on, there has to be something you can share." She pressed. "Let's start small. Tell us a what you can about your character."

Oliver hummed thoughtfully, a playful twinkle in his eye as he reached up and rubbed his hand over his scruffy jaw. "He's a little bit of a loose cannon. " Oliver started with a laugh. "He gets himself into a lot of trouble in the beginning of the movie, but that changes rather quickly."

"How so?"

Folding his lips together, Oliver took his time thinking over his answer. "Here's where I'm probably going to be fired if I say too much." He laughed. "But, something happens that sets his life on a new path, forces him to grow up in a way as he deals with the aftermath." He revealed cryptically.

"They really do have you on a tight leash, don't they." The interviewer joked, flipping through her materials. "Can I assume, that after that event is when Sara Lance's character comes into the picture?"

Oliver grinned knowingly, though he didn't really rise to the bait. "You are correct. She has her own story, one that's maybe darker than my character's. They're very twisted people." He breathed out with a laugh.

"But they're love interests?"

Contemplating his answer again, Oliver nodded slowly. "In a sense, yes. But, that's all I can really say." He offered with a slightly apologetic smile and shrug.

"Well, what you've given us and based on the previews, I'm certainly excited to see how it all comes together." She praised. "But, I must know, how does Felicity Smoak feel about you having an on-screen love interest?" She prompted, curiously holding his gaze now.

Oliver stilled, his perplexed gaze observing the girl. Then, he laughed. It was a hearty laugh. "Where did this come from?" He asked, his tone rather curious.

"I'm sure you've seen the photos from last week's Met Gala. You and Ms. Smoak have the nation captivated with just three photos. So, we're all dying to know what's going on."

Oliver glanced over to Dig, who was hovering a little ways off behind the girl's shoulder. Dig just shrugged, looking about as confused as he felt. "Do you have these photos for me to see? I don't really keep up with those things anymore." Oliver asked slowly as his eyes slid back to his interviewer.

"Of course!" She said with excitement, magically brandishing a waiting copy of a gossip magazine.

And there he was. On the cover. Staring down at the aforementioned Miss Smoak like a boy with a crush. Her own gaze was no less incriminating either. Not to mention the way her hands cupped his jaw so tenderly. Curiously, he flipped to the section with the "inside scoop" and observed the original photo in full, along with two others the paps managed to snap of them. The other photos were no better, perhaps even more suggestive in their own innocent way. In one, neither of them really seemed to be acknowledging the other while they chatted, but Oliver had his hand on her lower back and Felicity was a few inches away from being nestled into his side. The third photo was actually kind of funny, now that he recalled it. They managed to catch Felicity when she had been straightening his bowtie and made a playful swipe at his scruff.

A soft chuckle slipped from his lips as he handed the magazine back, his eyes following the pictures for a moment longer before sliding back up to the expectant gaze of the interviewer. "I can see how those are confusing. But, I assure you, it's not as it seems between Ms. Smoak and I."

"Oh?" She prompted, shifting slightly to lean forward.

"I greatly admire her work, and all that she's done with her company. I've met her a few times, but only briefly. I was fortunate enough to make her acquaintance more formally last week, and she's just as friendly as everyone raves. She has a knack for taking care of hopeless souls, so it's no surprise when she kindly offered to fix my abysmally done bowtie."

"And the other photos?"

Oliver shifted again. The smile fixed to his lips. "She's remarkable. But, I'm not the only one who's of that opinion. She's absolutely brilliant and has done amazing things for the STEM community and women in STEM. I admit, I might have been a bit star-struck meeting her." He said with a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck and tugging his fingers through the hairs at the base of his head.

"So, no budding romance between you two? Such a shame because it's clear the chemistry is undeniable."

A softer smile graced his lips for a moment, and his eyes zoned out briefly, but he quickly recovered and re-composed his features. "Ms. Smoak and I are friendly acquaintances who just so happen to admire the other's work and got the opportunity to tell the other that night."

The girl contemplated him for a moment before nodding with finality. Then, she turned her gaze to the camera over his shoulder and fixed a sad smile on her face. "Well, there you have it folks. Olicity is off, but we're still more than excited to see what Oliver will do in his upcoming film. Thank you so much for the inside scoop, Oliver."

"Thank you for having me." Came his easy, practiced response with a somewhat awkward wave to the camera fixed on him, paired with his usual dashing smile.

As soon as the camera's cut, Oliver looked back over to the girl with a curiously quirked brow. "Olicity?"

She laughed a little and shrugged at him. "That's what the public deemed your couple name was going to be. I can't believe how quickly it caught on."

Oliver shook his head and laughed right along with her. "People really are creative."

                      ________________________________________

"Ladies and gentlemen, today we have a really special guest. She's the fast-rising darling of the tech industry who's out to save the world – Felicity Smoak!" Ellen announced dramatically.

With a deep breath, Felicity strode out onto the set and waved at the crowd with a big smile. When she scanned the crowd, the abundance of young girls here to see her warmed her heart, and she made sure to acknowledge a few of them personally as she passed by. As she approached Ellen, Felicity shared a hug with her before they both took their respective seats. But, the cheering took a few more moments to die down and it had Felicity looking around in awe. She never fathomed, as a child of a single cocktail waitress from Vegas, that she would be here today for her accomplishments.

"Wow, this is insane." Felicity said, though she assumed it was quietly. However, the crowd and Ellen gave an amused chuckle. "Oh my god. I'm so sorry. That was louder than I thought. I've never done anything like this before." Felicity gasped, covering her mouth with a hand as she shifted in her seat to cross her legs.

Ellen waved a hand in front of her with an amused grin. "Don't be sorry. That's part of the charm that's captured the world's attention."

"Really?" Felicity faced Ellen with curious eyes.

"Absolutely! I mean, you graduated from MIT at nineteen with not one but two Master's degrees, started your company at twenty-four, and are now the youngest member of the Forbes 500 at twenty-eight." Ellen rattled off, periodically glancing down at the cards in her hand. "If that doesn't pique our interest, then someone's doing something wrong." Ellen punctuated with a laugh.

"You're too kind, Ellen. I'm just doing what I love, that's all." She brushed off with a shy smile at the applause she received after Ellen's generous introduction.

"Nonsense. You deserve it for all the amazing work you've done to revolutionize the technology industry and the treatment of disabilities. Can you tell us more about your work before we get to the good stuff?" She prompted, transitioning them to the main point of the visit.

"Maybe you shouldn't ask me that. I can talk for days about the implant." Felicity laughed, her nerves slowly ebbing. Iris hadn't been lying when she said Ellen was an expert at making guests comfortable. "This is actually a really personal project to me, Ellen. A few years ago, a good friend of mine was badly injured in the line of duty. My VP, Curtis Holt, and I had been tinkering with the idea of stimulus implant for a while, but we never had a catalyst to push the project forward. My friend, he... uh, lost the use of his right arm. Nerve damage, nothing gruesome! It was something we knew we could fix with this implant. So, after a year of some very late nights, we got the implant working and my friend has full functionality of his arm again – like the injury never happened." Felicity shared, beaming with pride and a more than a few tears making her eyes glisten.

Ellen shook her head, which rest in the palm of her hand now, with awe. "That's truly incredible. Complete functionality?"

Felicity folded her lips between her teeth, nodding twice enthusiastically with a hum. "Crazy right? There were times we didn't think it was ever going to work."

"How did you finally crack it?" Ellen prompted.

Scrunching up her face, Felicity pondered the best way to explain it. "The chip acts like an intermediary between the brain and the damaged tissue, by-passing the damaged nerve pathways so signals from the brain can still reach their intended target. The most troublesome bit was the power source. We struggled to develop a battery that was compatible with such a small chip. Partnering with Ray Palmer, we were finally able to miniaturize a battery and keep it efficient enough to operate for years without replacement."

"Thanks for making that understandable for those of us non-science people." Ellen laughed. "So, what's next? Smoak Technologies develops more than just the implant, but is that the main focus going forward?"

"Mainly." Felicity agreed with a hum. "We still need to figure out a way to make the product mass-producible and cheap, so that's the company's main focus. We're still producing our smart-wearables and advanced alternate reality technology, but the implant is the goal."

Ellen grinned, nodding along with Felicity's words. "Well, I wish you all the best." Ellen changed direction, turning to the camera at the center of the stage. "We're going to take a little break, but when we come back, I'll subject Felicity to your favorite game, Never Have I Ever, so stay tuned!"

                                                         *********

"Welcome back! We still have the delightful Ms. Smoak with us, and she's about to reveal her deepest secrets."

Felicity laughed, fiddling with the paddle with 'I Have' and 'I Have Never' written on separate sides. "I'm afraid I'm probably going to disappoint, Ellen. I'm not as exciting as you all seem to believe."

Ellen gave a hearty laugh at that, even holding her side. "Well, the game will decide that for us. Ready?"

Taking a deep breath, Felicity nodded, her fingers tightening on the paddles slightly. She wasn't provided the questions beforehand, but she took some comfort knowing this was a family show.

"All right, let's see..." Ellen hummed, reading the first question. "Never have I ever been in handcuffs?"

Immediately, Felicity lifted her paddle with the 'I Have' facing the camera earning few calls and whistles among the laughs and gasps at her response. Pausing, the paddle drooped slightly and her eyes went wide as saucers. "Oh my god, wait, no. Not like that! I was arrested once. Oh no, Ellen, I'm not responsible for my answers right." Felicity panicked, mostly because she couldn't stop babbling but also a little at what this would do to her reputation.

Ellen's shock gave way to full blown laughter, bringing tears to her eyes. "Complete discretion, I promise. What happens here, stays here." Ellen comforted, though they both knew that wasn't true, but the mirth in her eyes pulled a laugh from Felicity.

"Phew, good. Wouldn't want it to get out that I'm actually a delinquent." She quipped back, her smile relaxing into a more natural shape.

That had the whole crowd and Ellen laughing. "I knew I liked you." Ellen observed as her laughter quelled. "All right, never have I ever been high."

Again, Felicity raised the paddle with the 'I Have' to the crowd earning another round of shocked gasps and laughter. "Felicity Smoak, you've been hiding some things." Ellen said, her mouth falling open again in amused shock.

"There's a story there! It’s not what you think!" Felicity defended quickly. "I didn't know it, but I had a pot brownie at a college party. I might have enjoyed the high if it hadn't been for the walnuts in the brownies which sent me straight to the hospital." She laughed, recalling the irony of the situation all those years ago.

"Well, that takes all the fun out of it." Ellen laughed. "Um, let's see... never have I ever flirted to get out of a ticket."

Spinning the paddle, it was 'I Have Never' this time. "I swear I'm a good citizen!" Felicity laughed, shaking her head at Ellen's dubious look.

"Okay, okay. Never have I ever sexted." Ellen asked, leaning forward a little with a curious look.

Biting her lip, Felicity fiddled with her paddle a little, flipping it between the two sides. The crowd murmured, the interest in her final answer growing, just like the blush on her cheeks. Finally, she settled on 'I Have.'  

"Mmhmm, good girl, huh?" Ellen teased.

"I am!" Felicity countered. "It was one time!"

Ellen's brows raised, glancing conspiratorially between Felicity and the crowd. "Recently? Maybe with a certain Oliver Queen?"

Felicity stared at Ellen for a moment before laughing. "Oh my gosh. In my dreams maybe, but no, definitely not with him." She denied through her blush. "What gave you that idea?"

Ellen shrugged, that familiar twinkle still in her eyes as she shuffled the cards in her hand. "Ever since the Met Gala a few weeks ago, there's been a lot of speculation. Do we have those photos?" Ellen asked out to her production crew. "Oh, we do! These are... if you haven't seen these, then you must be leaving under a rock, because these two are very cute together." Ellen said towards the camera and crowd.

When Ellen spun to view the big screen behind them, now plastered with the three photos featured in just about every magazine lately, Felicity drew her gaze to them as well. Looking at the photos now, she laughed through her smile.

"You're telling me you're not sexting that?"

That pulled a true laugh from Felicity who shook her head adamantly. "Mr. Queen is certainly attractive, but any straight woman with functioning hormones would agree. I hate to disappoint but he is only a friend. We've met a few times in passing, and we happen to have mutual admiration for each other, but there's nothing beyond that."

Ellen observed her with a slight smile, humming contemplatively. "Well, he doesn't know what he's missing out on, but good news for all your admirers out there. Keep me updated if anything changes." Ellen winked.

Felicity laughed. "You'll be the first to know. I'll make sure you're on the wedding list too."

"You don't know what you've gotten yourself into because I'm holding you to that." Ellen teased before shifting in her seat to face the crowd. "Felicity Smoak, everyone!" Ellen closed with a laugh as the crowd's applause picked up, prompting Felicity to wave to them as her time was up.

My usuals:  @tdgal1 @miriam1779 @almondblossomme @muslimsmoak (HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIRL!!!) @wherethereissmoak @memcjo @1106angel @hope-for-olicity

[jungnoir]

language of the flora;

⇢ summary: jeno’s too shy to confess his crush on you with words, the barista who works next door to his flower shop, so he decides a clever alternative is through the language of flowers. there is only one problem... you’re not that fluent in plant.

⇢ relationship: lee jeno/reader.

⇢ genre: florist!au, romance, fluff, humor.

⇢ words: 9.9k

⇢ warnings: amateur understanding of flowers by author, probably.

a/n: this photo does things to me. also! i’m trying something new: no gif this time. this is technically a christmas story but i’m a day late ;-; pls accept

april.

There a few things that Lee Jeno is particularly good at; none of which include flirting, as though one might think.

It was hard to imagine the teenager having a hard time with love, seeing as he was so handsome and naturally charming without having to try. He was the type of boy high school students younger than him would giggle about behind their hands and draw hearts around his name in their diaries, though they’d never tell a soul. He was the type of boy old ladies thought reminded them of when they were younger, of a time when there was a boy just like him that made all the others swoon. He was the type of boy that you thought stepped right out of a slice of life drama or a shouju manga. He made you feel peaceful every time you saw him, all bright eyes and toothy smiles as he’d ask customers what special occasion brought them in that day. Sometimes, his smile really did put those flowers to shame.

But no matter how charming he was to everyone else, it seemed that he was either a really good actor or he was only destined to malfunction in the presence of one person. That one person being you.

You weren’t able to miss the flower shop the first time you’d seen it, nine months ago in warm July as you stepped up to La La Cafe for your first ever job interview. It was brightly decorated in flowers of all sorts of colors, the large glass windows out front letting in light from the outside and letting you peek in to the inside. You had only looked for so long, just barely catching a glimpse of a brunette employee at the counter handing a little old lady a bouquet of lilies before you realized you would be late to your interview if you strayed too long.

After you’d gotten the job, you’d found yourself passing the flower shop everyday to get to work, and each day you’d peek inside to look for the brunette employee. Everyday, he was there. He had utterly entranced you with those eye smiles of his and the sunny disposition he gave off as he helped customer after customer, and yet not once did he ever seem to notice your set of curious eyes following his movements for a few moments each morning.

It had gone on for so long that you had started to feel like a grade A creep, but you couldn’t say you felt bad for simply looking. Maybe one day you’d muster up the courage to go in and talk to him, but that thought had quickly left you the minute life started to pick back up for you. Between work and classes, you had somewhat abandoned your idea of visiting the flower shop and the handsome brunette who worked in it.

That was, until you started taking your break outside.

The coffee shop had a cute little veranda out front, staffed with tables and comfy chairs to enjoy your treats in the calm. In the summer, it was way too hot to be sitting out there, but you always loved the time before it. It was neither too cold (like winter) nor too hot. Spring had become a perfectly rainy, warm season that aroused annoying little allergies more than goosebumps. This was your favorite time to sit out there with a cup of tea and a sandwich as you enjoyed what little time you had after the majority of the lunch rush dissipated each weekend.

Had you not been so caught up in the sweetness of your tea, you might not have even noticed that someone was standing outside the veranda, wide eyes staring you down in an almost shocked manner. You realized with belated shock that it was the brunette you’d been eyeing for months.

He was currently holding a potted plant in hand, mid-turn it seemed when he had spotted you, and he looked a lot like a lost puppy when you waved to him after a few moments of silence, “Hi!”

Well, you were new.

Jeno had often come by the La La Cafe in his past to grab something quick before his shift started at the flower shop. Since he worked so often, he needed the extra caffeine to get him up and running for the customers he’d face throughout the day, though he hadn’t been in a long while. It also helped that his friends Donghyuck, Mark, and Renjun worked at that same cafe as well. If he wasn’t able to stop by, they would take it upon themselves to visit the shop with his usual in hand and pester him about this and that until their manager started to look for them. They usually never got in much trouble seeing as Jeno was a beloved customer, but still...

He finally registers that you’ve greeted him and it’d be polite to greet you back, raising his hand to wave to you. However, he realizes too late that both hands were needed to hold the pot in his grasp, and as soon as he lets one hand go, it falls to his feet and crashes onto the concrete.

You’re up on your feet in seconds, frowning and rushing over to the flower shop storefront where the mess now laid; pieces of jagged, brown ceramic from the once intact pot now lay scattered across the ground in the mess of a heap of wet dirt and a little budding flower in the middle of it all. You and the stranger drop to a crouch at the same time, both reaching for the same piece at once and flinching when fingers meet glove. The boy looks up, a dusty pink blush settling on his cheeks, “I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

You almost want to scold him for apologizing, “Don’t be! I distracted you, not the other way around... will you have to pay for this pot?”

He looks at the pieces and frowns, nodding minutely as he starts to grab another piece instead, carefully cradling it to his apron covered chest. He stops nodding when he sees the upset look on your face though, “It’s okay! My boss is really nice, it’s just one little pot. Please don’t feel bad.” And then he shines that familiar, sunshine-y smile at you and you feel your insides turn to utter goo. A breeze blows by and brushes his brunette locks into his eyes, making him look even more unreal. How could a boy look so much like the personification of warmth?

“Are you sure? I can pay for it.” You say, though internally you wince as you think of forking over cash for the pot. You were painfully saving up for that new car you really wanted, and every little bit counted.

Before you can think of going to retrieve your wallet, he places a gloved hand on top of yours and smiles again, “You can do something else for me actually, if you really feel bad. Can you scoop up some of the dirt here while I go get another pot?” He pulls off his gloves and hands them to you, you taking them with uncertainty in your eyes that he seems to ignore.

He stretches his long legs and nods at you, mouthing “one second” before disappearing back into the shop.

You aren’t sure what to make of the situation just yet, a little flustered from the handsome boy who you had been admiring for quite a while just... happening to show up like this. It left you a little breathless.

You decided if you were going to absolve yourself of this guilt you were feeling, you’d have to do your duty and scoop up the dirt like he asked. Slipping on his gloves and noting how warm they were, you start to carefully scoop up what you can, being careful as you come across the small, budding flower. Just in time, the boy comes back with a new pot and holds it out toward you as soon as he’s close enough, instructing you to drop it in.

Once it’s inside, he carefully presses down the dirt around the flower, checking that all is right with it. You can’t help but ask: “What type of flower is that?”

He looks surprised when he hears you ask, almost like he’d forgotten you were even there as he tended to the flower. He laughs nervously and holds it out to you for a closer look, “It’s going to be a calla lily. A little girl who comes by the shop sometimes wanted to take care of a plant, but her mother doesn’t think she’s responsible enough yet, so we made a deal for me to keep it here and let her come by and care for it... actually, you probably didn’t want to know all of that.” The boy suddenly shies away a bit, holding the pot closer to himself. You swear you’ve never seen anything more adorable.

“No! That’s really cute actually. Very nice of you, too.” “It is? I just want to share my love of flowers with others,” he looks from your eyes to the plant, never staring at one thing for too long. You wonder how he went from being so cute and bright to being a nervous wreck before you, but still think quietly to yourself that it’s endearing, “people who take the time to care for living things unlike themselves are usually pretty great people, in my opinion.”

“Sounds like you’re tooting your own horn.” You smirk mirthfully, watching as he stutters in astonishment. He looks mortified, stuttering over his words as he attempts to form a good reply when you wave him off with a laugh, “Just kidding.”

He looks both relieved and embarrassed, fumbling with the new pot so much that you think he might drop this one too. You have your hands open at your sides just in case. Carefully, you stand again and peel off his gloves, holding them out before realizing he probably still needs both hands for the pot. Instead of letting him make another mistake, you reach forward and stuff the gloves into the open pocket at the front of his apron, coming a little close to do so. You swear you can hear a muted breath of surprise from the florist before you’ve pulled away completely.

You glance at the time on your watch and curse softly, “Darn, I don’t have much break time left. Do you need help sweeping this up?” You ask, looking from the mess still on the ground to him, but he shakes his head stiffly in response. “Okay, see you around!”

You turn to go collect your food and make your way back to the cafe doors before you realize something, twisting around just in time to catch the boy almost disappearing into his own shop as well. You shout your name to him and he stops, looking over at you and blinking in confusion. You laugh, “That’s my name. What’s yours?”

He seems to start when he figures out your intentions and calls back at equal volume, “I’m Jeno! Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Jeno. Tell carnation girl she’s doing a great job!” You wave your hand and scoop up your things, smiling at him once more before entering the cafe with a genuine smile on your face. You brush past Donghyuck, the resident troublemaker at work, who looks you over a few times before following closely after you to the break room.

“What’s that smile for?” He questions, tone lifted in a curious tint that you know spells trouble for you. Regardless, you know withholding information from him would only make him stick to you more, so you relent.

Setting your things down on the nearby coffee table, you turn to him with your hands on your hips, “I was talking to the boy who works next door.”

Donghyuck’s eyebrows raise, “Jeno? Like a tall,” Donghyuck positions his hand a few inches over his head, “brunette, kinda awkward dude around our age?”

You blink at him, “...Yeah.”

The boy chuckles, face falling into an expression of unsettling (for you, anyway) contentment. He folds his arms over his chest and you watch his lack of muscle flex at the action, “I ship it.” “We just met.” “It’s too late. A florist and a barista? How cute is that?”

july.

From that day forward, you had found yourself taking refuge on the patio with your little lunch and your phone, mindlessly scrolling through social media until the bell on the door of the flower shop would ding, signaling your entertainment for the day. Jeno would walk out and get to work tending to the flowers that lined the storefront, spot you, wave, and then get back to work. You hated to stare, really, but you also really enjoyed watching the boy work. He’d drag his bottom lip between his teeth and furrow his brows when he was trying to be extra delicate with a plant, though you doubted he need focus so much.

You had even once likened him to an incarnation of Persephone, or maybe a child of her. His natural way with nature had kept you even more fixated on him for weeks, much to Donghyuck’s intense amusement. Word spread from him to Renjun and then lastly to Mark (the eldest having taken the longest to catch on, bless his soul), and by the time the season was over, all three of your goofy co-workers were trying to set you up with the florist who just had to be one of their good friends too.

It was a slow day one late summer afternoon, your eyes threatening to roll back into your head if you had to sit idle any longer. There were usually a good number of patrons when it was this hot out and people were dying for something to cool off with, but you hadn’t seen a soul in the last half hour and there was talk of even higher temperatures by next week that had you wanting nothing more than to slip into the nearest pool and chill. However, you had to save up for the holiday season, so you were cursed to be here for the entirety of your shift and to not complain.

Donghyuck was out sick (he’d actually fallen asleep sun-tanning and now had quite severe sunburn), Renjun was on a trip with his family, and Mark was currently napping on one of the tables, having left the entire shop to you (you had half a mind to scribble all over his face with your sharpie, if only he hadn’t covered for you so many times before since you’d started working there).

You’re about to let yourself rest when you feel a gush of warm air fill the air-conditioned room, your eyelids snapping back open to see who had decided to come in at that very moment.

And there he stands in a very loose blue tank and cargo shorts, hair recently cut short and sticking to his hairline with a light sheen of sweat. Jeno looks a little bashful as he enters, taking notice of the drooling Mark Lee and then you, eyes wide and staring at him like he had three heads. He walks further inside the shop, shooting you a tentative smile, “Slow day?”

Immediately you perk up, almost embarrassingly so, and try to plaster on the most not-sleepy smile you can, “Kinda! But you’re here to change that, aren’t you?”

Jeno giggles softly, taking out his wallet from his back pocket, “I feel bad I didn’t bring a steady flow of customers along with me, but I’m sure your boss will let you two off early. The streets are nearly dead. It’s way too hot to be walking around today.”

You look toward the clock on the wall and sigh, “I wish. What can I get you in the meantime, sweetheart?” You try really hard not to grin in triumph when Jeno’s cheeks turn an incriminating red.

“J-just an iced raspberry tea. Extra raspberries, please.” He sets down three ones and two quarters, the exact change for the drink, and you take it graciously.

Looking over the money, you decide to start up a little conversation, “You get this often?”

Jeno nods in confirmation, twisting this way and that as you make his drink for him. You take care to show just how many raspberries you were putting in it before capping it off and handing it to him, watching the way his eyes light up when the cool plastic reaches his fingertips. He takes a small sip and sighs in ecstasy, “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“But you said you get it often.” You laugh, tilting your head to the side at him. The boy takes another sip and nods, shuffling around cutely as he does so.

“Yes... but this is the first time you’ve ever made it for me. I think I prefer it to Renjun’s formula but don’t tell him I said that.” His compliment flusters you a bit and you wonder quietly if he was getting you back for making him stutter earlier, though you doubted he was so vengeful. Or was he...?

“As much as I’d love to see the offended look on his face if I did, I won’t get you in trouble. So long as you promise to keep visiting when I’m on shift. I don’t want you missing out on ‘the best thing you’ve ever tasted’ now, do I?” Feeling bold, you hold out your pinky to him for a promise, his own eyes zeroing in on said appendage in surprise before reaching out his free hand and linking his own pinky with it, blinking rapidly when you squeeze his tight and shake it up and down like a deal. You find it so adorable how Jeno can switch between borderline flirtatious and shy, nervous mess all at once. You couldn’t tell what would make him nervous next, but it was cute watching it unfold either way.

You hear something ringing in the background and you recognize it as your phone, somewhere in the break room and blaring your ringtone through the closed door. You jump in surprise and release Jeno’s pinky quickly, letting his hand hover awkwardly where you left it to go retrieve your phone, “Sorry Jeno, gotta get that! Enjoy your tea!” You call, shooting him a smile before rushing into the back.

By the time you actually get to your phone, you’ve missed the call. You stare at the screen as a text follows the missed call notification soon after, your mother alerting you that she would be picking up dinner from that Thai restaurant you both loved tonight. You send her a quick affirmative and make your way out of the break room, tossing the phone back on top of your backpack before letting the door close behind you.

It’s only when you arrive back at the counter that there is another customer there, looking relieved when they see you. You immediately put on your best smile (though it pales in comparison to the one you’d given Jeno), and greet the customer with the usual “hi, how are you?” spiel.

In the midst of taking and returning the change the customer gives you, you watch the woman point somewhere near the cash register out of the corner of your eye, your mind more focused on getting her exact money back than anything, “That’s a pretty gardenia there.”

You hum, not thinking much of it, and hand her her money back. Just as you’re about to turn around and get started on her smoothie, you realize that there is a flower there that you don’t think was there before. It’s white, the “gardenia” you guess, and it stands in the tip bucket right next to the register. You can’t remember if it was there before or not, but its presence is curious.

“A gardenia, you said it was?” You ask the woman, starting on her drink.

She nods and smiles, though looking a little surprised at you, “You didn’t know? That’s your tip jar, isn’t it?”

You nod, feeling a little out of it as you try to place if that flower had been there before or not. Its origin is tricky to recall in your mind, despite how blatantly bright it is for you to even miss it in the first place.

When you finish the customer’s smoothie and give it to her, she smiles and nods to the flower with a sparkle of something unknown to you in her eyes, “Hm, I guess it’s fitting you don’t know where it came from. Lucky you.”

You blank and follow her retreating form well until it has left the building altogether, still leaving you there with an empty silence, a sleeping Mark, and a “gardenia” you have no idea where it materialized from. You look at the flower in awe, plucking it from your jar and turning it this way and that. It’s real, and relatively fresh, which means it had to be placed there recently. You think back to how many people had come in today, but only one name sticks out in your mind.

Walking from behind the counter and up to a window, you peek out to where the flower shop is, finding no trace of Jeno outside at all, gardenia still clutched in your fingers with a question you aren’t sure how to ask. What had that woman meant by ‘lucky you’ after all?

november.

Your plans to google the flower’s meaning disappear like the summer season, and you’re back to working on weekends or after school like before. Your car funds have grown exponentially since last summer, and you were already getting on top of Christmas presents for your family distant and near. With the coming autumn weather, you had started to see Jeno less and less, adding to your disappointment coming into work. Yours and the boys’ schedules moved around naturally, and sometimes you’d go days without seeing one of them. You chalked it up to the cold weather making you feel lonely, but it wasn’t exactly fun being a high school senior these days.

Nothing makes you smile quite like music though, and you find yourself sitting outside the cafe with hands shoved in your pockets and earphones in your ears, if only to avoid the bustle of customers inside whose voices carry over the lyrics playing in your ears. While it’s cold, you don’t realize just how cold until you feel a warm, glove-covered hand press to your cheek. The temperature difference and sudden touch is shocking, enough to make you jolt and open your once closed eyes in surprise.

You hadn’t expected Jeno of all people to be standing there, bent double before you with a cutely red tinted nose. He blinks when your eyes meet his, and you can hear him say something behind his thick scarf wrapped around his mouth, but you don’t exactly pick up on the words. All you recognize is the hand he holds out before you, and without thinking you take it.

Before you know it, you’re in the warmth of the flower shop and letting yourself sigh in relief. Cold limbs shiver and unravel from their previous position all curled up against your body to fight off the weather, much to Jeno’s visible worry when he doesn’t leave your side for even a second. He unwraps his scarf and is wrapping it around your exposed neck, covering what your flimsy hoodie could not. Next, he’s taking off his large gloves and you’re reminded of the first day you’d met, his hands working to push them onto your fingers with a furrowed brow. You really had underestimated how cold it was outside.

“I’ll get you some tea... there’s some in the back.” He says quietly, surprising you when he doesn’t scold you like you’d expect from any of your other friends had they found you in the same position. He shrugs off his coat and walks into the back without a word, leaving you wordlessly fiddling with his gloves on your hands and the scarf that is damn near saturated in his warm scent and taking over your senses.

In his absence, you decide it wouldn’t hurt to look around.

You walk closer to the counter you’d seen Jeno at so many times, glancing around at the things that decorated his space. Your eyes took in everything, from the large, black pruning shears to the half-wrapped bouquet of what looked like yellow roses sitting on the wooden stool where you supposed he sat when he got too tired of standing.

The flower shop was so beautiful inside, but it had a much different atmosphere on such a cloudy, cold day. There ware a few warm lamps glowing here and there, the gloomy weather outside keeping away the sunny light you had grown used to seeing the place be filled to the brim with. You could see a few potted plants sitting near the front door, looking awfully out of place. It’s only when you hear the wind outside pick up in strength that you realized what might’ve drawn Jeno outside in the first place.

As soon as you think that, Jeno is walking back out with two steaming mugs of what you recognize at first smell to be green tea. You smile when the mug reaches your hands, Jeno being careful to hand you the handle despite the heat of the ceramic on his palm. You take a tentative sip and nearly moan in delight, the warmth reaching almost every part of your body the longer you stand idle. You can tell Jeno is smirking behind the rim of his cup, making you flush, “What’s so funny?” You ask indignantly.

He pulls the mug away and keeps an innocent expression, though you can see there’s something playfully secretive there, “How do you like the tea?”

“Good. Actually better than mine, if I do say so.” You praise, taking a few more sips and humming quietly under your breath.

Jeno’s smirk turns into a full blown smile and God, if you could sue him for giving you such a beautiful smile without warning you definitely would be collecting your dues by now.

He sets his mug down and looks away from you, leaning an elbow on the counter, “I made it.”

Your eyes widen and you look down at the cup as if you can’t quite believe it. You might’ve expected someone else at work to have made it, or maybe he’d bought some and split it into two clean mugs to fool you, but instead he stands smugly before you as he basks in your awe.

You take another sip and then mutter in shock, “Jeno... this is 100% homemade?”

He nods and motions for you to follow him into the back where you see a small kitchen, and there on the old stove is a traditional, purple teapot. The smell becomes stronger as you get closer to it. “I’m not just crazy about the pretty plants. My boss taught me; she makes her own teas and showed me how to make the perfect cup every time.”

“Why do you even bother coming to the cafe, I wonder?” You ask, folding your arms over your chest and staring at the teapot.

Jeno looks at you from the side, mouth shut tight in fear he’d say something he’d regret. Instead, he just shrugs and hums something that meant neither yes or no in your mind. Internally, he can only say “because you’re there”. Externally, he turns to the front of the shop again and offers a smile, “Are you still on break?”

You glance down at your phone and nod when you see the time, watching as the boy takes the initiative to walk in front of you, “I’m always in your cafe, but I don’t think you’ve ever come to my shop,” you giggle at the idea that the La La Cafe is yours and that the flower shop is his, like you both pay the rent and take care of the land, “shall I show you around?”

“Yes, please. I feel like I’m in a Studio Ghibli film with all this pretty nature surrounding me.” You say, trailing behind him at such a length that leaves him both within arm’s reach and still at a respectable, totally not-weird following distance. You watch as he crosses his wrists behind his back and glance down at his stiff fists, wondering if he was nervous and trying hard not to show it. The thought that he was still nervous around you but was trying visibly to make you feel a little more comfortable did quite a number on your already rapidly unfolding feelings for the boy.

Thus begins a mini tour of the flower shop, your guide educating you on each and every plant he came across. Most of the flowers were unaffected by the cold so far, while others seemed to be on their way out of season. With each new flower he introduced to you, Jeno would give you the meaning of it. Sometimes you would fumble on names, and sometimes you would mix up meanings between two similar-looking flowers, but Jeno would lightly correct you with a patient smile each time. He looked rather happy to be telling you about the flowers, and you felt the same hearing about them.

You recognized a familiar flower at one point, raising your hand to single it out, “That flower! Those are calla lilies, right? The one that little girl was taking care of?” You notice the several lilies standing proudly in an ornate pot, “What do those mean?”

Jeno notices the lilies at the same time as you, a little surprised you even remembered them from the first time you met, “Ah... well, calla in Greek means beauty. So, the calla lily is a symbol of beauty... amongst other things.”

It was no secret to Jeno how fitting it was that your first meeting featured the flower, meant for you or not. He’d been captivated by you the moment he saw you, so much so that he’d suffered a moment of surprise and clumsiness. It was almost cliche how he’d started to see you whenever he cared for the lilies, and thus spurred him into something one could only define as a “crush”.

Jeno was no stranger to crushes, having had his fair share throughout his young life, but he swore he had never been this cringey about liking someone before. What had been a simple meeting had become something more, his eyes always looking for you when he could. It wasn’t a coincidence he would go out and tend to the flowers outside whenever you were on break, and yet it also wasn’t a coincidence that he would avoid the La La Cafe whenever you were on duty. Sometimes, he wondered if he was more comfortable keeping a distance because Renjun was right: he was afraid you’d turn him down.

The older boy had told him time and time again that his way of getting your attention was seriously backwards, though Jeno opted to just not listen to save his pride. Deep down, he knew it was weird how he pushed and pulled with you. Surely, it most likely didn’t strike you that odd what he was doing. In Jeno’s mind, you didn’t particularly care.

That had been somewhat confirmed that summer, when you’d promptly ignored his (very indirect) confession.

Jeno had nervously awaited the moment you’d come by and question him about the flower, about the meaning, and overall about his feelings for you. But to both his relief and utter disappointment, you’d done none of that. In fact, according to Mark, he wasn’t even sure you’d seen the gardenia. All he knew was that it was missing, and if you had taken it, you hadn’t thought much about it.

Had you, you might have never talked to him again. And he guessed that was fine. Maybe that day and that bit of confidence he’d needed to leave the flower for you in the first place went ignored for a reason.

You continue to walk with Jeno, arms folded behind your back and curious eyes scanning the place for this and that. The atmosphere was calm, radiating life and warmth despite the dark chill outside. There was something so calming about the nature around you, about Jeno next to you. You almost felt like a part of another world.

You keep walking until you see another familiar flower, a sudden urgency filling your chest when you recognize where it came from. Instinctively, you tug Jeno by the sleeve in the opposite direction he was headed, ignoring the sounds of his flustered confusion as you both stop before the flower in question. The minute Jeno realizes which one you are frantically pointing at, his throat closes up dry. Not now...

“I totally forgot to ask you about this one the day I saw it.” You pull him toward the bundled gardenias and look back at him expectantly, “You left it for me, didn’t you?”

Jeno doesn’t bother trying to lie. He nods his head slowly and frowns when you beam. If you can sense his overbearing discomfort, you surely don’t show it.

You run a delicate finger over the flower and hum, “What does it mean?”

“I-It has several meanings,” he isn’t lying to you per se, “some are purity, friendship, innocence...” He lists off all the related meanings he knows like he’s reading off a grocery list, avoiding the big one that he knows would ruin the comfortable peace you two had built within the last fifteen minutes.

“And which one of those did you mean?” You blink up at him, seemingly oblivious to his inner turmoil.

Swallowing, Jeno breaks eye contact with you to look at the flower instead, cursing himself for ever thinking he could be so bold as to... as to confess.

He could tell you now that he meant nothing by it, that it was just a beautiful flower and he wanted to brighten your slow day. He could easily say that he’d been picking flowers and leaving them for all kinds of people that whole day. He could probably even bet that if he told you it was any of the meanings he’d previously told you about, you wouldn’t bat an eyelash.

But it was you, and he couldn’t lie to you. He couldn’t bring himself to do something so small in anyone else’s eyes to you, no matter how “easy” it could be.

He’s in the middle of figuring out how he’ll tell you when he spots something pink in the corner of his eye, and his train of thought gets lost altogether when he gets a rather ingenious idea.

Abandoning you by the gardenias, he instead approaches a completely different flower, his hand fluttering over the bud before turning to you and motioning you over. You follow out of curiosity, but you try to make sure you don’t drop your question about the gardenia just yet.

The flower he is looking at now looks a lot like something you’ve seen before, and when you look a little closer, the word falls off your tongue without thinking, “...rose?”

Jeno nods, “Technically. It’s a moss rosebud... and I have a challenge for you.”

You look up from the rosebud to Jeno, done admiring the moss covered leaves that keep the pink rose from blooming, “A challenge?”

He points to your pocket where your phone sits, “Write down the name of this flower and the gardenia, then go home and look up their meanings yourself. When I see you next, you can tell me what they mean.”

You wonder why he just won’t tell you here and now what they mean. He could save you the time and effort, but as you whip out your phone to follow his instruction, you find that your break is nearly up and even if he did decide to explain to you their meanings now, you would need to be back in the cafe before then.

Hissing a curse under your breath, you quickly make a note of the two flowers and give Jeno an apologetic look, “I’m sorry... my break is over. I should go. But I will look up the meanings!” You tell him, walking back out to the front to put his gloves and scarf back. Jeno follows at a much slower pace, hands deep in the pockets of his pants and eyes scanning you as you get ready to leave. Before you can, however, Jeno grasps your wrist.

“Can you promise me something?” He asks, looking from you to the outside where wind continues to blow unforgivingly. You look at him in surprise, but otherwise stay still so he can continue to speak, “When you find out the meanings of those flowers... please don’t leave me hanging. Please be honest with me.”

He releases your wrist as you stare utterly confused, instead placing a hand on your back and telling you to hurry before you were late to get back to work. You do as told in a sort of daze, the cold air immediately stinging your exposed skin when the door opens and pushing you to rush toward the cafe for warmth. You look back when you’re on the veranda, just to see if he’s still looking, and find that he has disappeared completely from your sight. A heavy breeze blows past you and forces you inside the cafe with a red nose and a list of things to distract you for the duration of your shift, courtesy of the flower shop boy. 

december.

You don’t get to go back to the flower shop even after you find out what the flowers mean.

You had spent the time in your car ride home staring at your phone screen in utter awe, so much so that your mother had likened your reaction to some illness and insisted you stay home from work the following day. At first, you had seen her worry as an overreaction and told yourself you’d give Jeno an answer the next day you worked... except your mother hadn’t overreacted at all.

You guessed it was some motherly intuition she had to have noticed you were inflicted with the flu before you did, but you guessed sitting outside in the cold for as long as you had that day had done quite a number on you and no amount of homemade green tea from Jeno could have fixed that despite your wandering thoughts’ insistence it could. You were bedridden for a week and a half, a snotty and depressed mess as each day passed and your thoughts grew more and more consumed with Jeno. You had texted all three of your friends at La La to tell Jeno the problem, and while they insisted he understood why you weren’t at work for so long, you wondered if maybe he had other ideas about why you were out sick as well.

What if he thought you were strategically avoiding him? Playing sick so you wouldn’t have to say anything when the time came?

That entire week and a half starting in November bled into early December and left you somewhere on the verge of a mental breakdown. As finals were right around the corner, your focus on work dwindled and all of your attention was focused on school. You tried your best to catch up on homework you missed and studied well into the night for weeks, your eyes wanting to roll right out of your head after every exam (but they resisted, mainly because you knew you’d need to shove them right back in for the next exam and you doubted your teachers would cut you slack for that).

Your heavy heart did not disappear however, and whenever you were working, you were spending every break you could get in the midst of the influx of cold customers searching for a hideaway from the winter winds looking for Jeno. Your normal break time was exchanged for sporadic 15 to 25 minute breaks where you were either showing the new kid, Jisung, the ropes or sneaking in something to eat in the little time you had available to do so. With everything on your plate piling by the day and holiday worries to fill your head, trying to catch Jeno was a lot harder than you anticipated. He seemed to never be at work when you were there, and it was starting to get frustrating.

Thankfully, by the time school is out (three days before Christmas Eve), you have considerably lessened your workload and found enough time to stop the flower shop at the exact same time you knew Jeno would be there.

It was perfect timing too, because tonight was the night you’d be seeing Jeno for sure. Mark was throwing a small Christmas party for all of his friends and you were invited, as well as Jeno. You knew it would be painfully awkward for him if you said all you had to say at the party, so you thought it’d be better to catch him at the shop earlier that day and get everything out. If everything went according to plan, you’d tie up your little conversation with a bow and a hopeful “will you go to the party with me?” to top it all off.

However, it’s much your luck when you enter the tiny flower shop and find that instead of the beaming boy you’d grown so fond of in the last year and a half, there is a sprightly old woman behind the counter keeping up conversation with a seven year old. Your heart drops into your stomach immediately.

The old woman looks up when you enter, and you can’t help but think she’s the boss that Jeno had talked about before. Her greying hair is tied back into a neat bun and there’s an apron similar to Jeno’s hanging from her neck. Her lips, tainted in a pale pink gloss, pull into a small smile when she sees you, “Hello, dear! How may I help you?”

You swallow your disappointment down if only to smile, walking closer to the counter and glancing at the little girl perched on a stool to the side of the counter eyeing you like a hawk, “Hi... is Jeno here?”

Every time you had been able to come visit, there was some other young person here working in Jeno’s place, but this was the first time you’d ever actually seen his boss, and you felt awfully less confident speaking to her than anyone else despite the friendly expression she sported.

Her eyes widened a little and then she made a small sound, looking around before resting her hand on her chin, “He’s out today, doing deliveries. In fact, he left a little while ago. You just missed him.”

It really was your luck, wasn’t it?

Feeling extremely lousy, your shoulders visibly droop and the old woman perks up at this, “Is there anything I can help you with? Did you need Jeno for something specifically?”

Looking up at her, she seems worried for your pitiful expression. You look at her for a while, “Well,” you sigh, “I just... I don’t have his number and I’ve been needing to talk to him for weeks now, but I keep missing him.”

“Oh dear, what a shame. I can tell him you came by...? I don’t know what time he’ll get back.”

You’re about to tell her that that’d be nice, that you’ll just be on your way after (to sulk in your own despair, though you wouldn’t say that part out loud) when an idea pops into your head. Turning around, you scan the rows of flowers for a moment before you recall where you’d last seen your target, “Actually, can I buy something?”

She nods and walks out from behind the counter, “What would you like, dear?” “A rose. One single rose, please.”

Something sparkles in her eyes and she walks over to where the bundle of roses are, pulling on her gloves and plucking one out. She walks back over to the counter and begins to pluck the thorns, her eyes raising to you in curiosity, “You must be (Y/N).”

You blink, looking at her in shock that she even knew your name. Had Jeno told her...?

She laughs at your expression and starts to wrap the rose in brown paper, taking a tiny, elegantly frayed piece of string and tying the paper around the rose delicately, “Jeno tells me a lot of things, you know. I knew it was you the minute you walked in the door.”

“He talks about me?” If your cheeks weren’t already burning from the cold outside, they surely were now.

“Of course he does,” the person to speak next is the little girl, surprisingly, “sometimes he won’t even shut up about you.” She rolls her eyes, though you doubt she means it rudely. Her tightly done pigtails swing when she turns her head to the old woman who is quietly smiling to herself, paying close attention to tying the paper neatly.

The old woman then straightens up when she’s done, setting the rose on the counter and telling you the price. You fumble for your card as the new information settles in. Suddenly, you had never wanted to be a fly on the wall more than when Jeno was talking about you.

“...He doesn’t hate me, does he...? I feel so bad for getting distracted lately-” “He could never. He adores you. He’s more like a lovesick puppy than anything.” The sight of lovesick Jeno makes your heart flutter and you can’t help the small giggle that passes your lips at the vision.

The little girl speaks up again, tugging your sleeve to get your attention, “You like him too, right? Cause if you break his heart, I’ll make you regret it.” The strength behind the little girl’s words has you tensing up, watching her scrutinizing gaze follow you. You highly doubt she’s kidding.

You notice that there’s a pot near her elbow that’s perched on the counter, and realize that it’s that same calla lily you’d seen the first time you met Jeno. She had to be... “I promise, I won’t,” you tell her truthfully, turning fully to meet her gaze head on, “I... really, really like him. I won’t break his heart.”

She stares at you a little longer and then gives you the tiniest of smiles, her gaze softening instantaneously. At the same time, the old woman passes you your card back and you put it back in your wallet, taking the rose in your hands and smiling at the beautiful flower.

“I expect to see Jeno back here after the holidays, glowing from head to toe.” She says, “And tell him Annie is rooting for you both.”

You giggle again, nodding at her and remembering to do just that when you’d see him later. “Have a good day, girls.” You say to the both of them, making your way back out of the shop with an embarrassingly large smile on your face. Even in the face of the biting cold, you can’t help but feel warm inside.

Tonight, you’d show Jeno you too could speak in flowers.

You arrive to Mark’s party early only because you and the rest of the boys find out rather late that Mark Lee is worse at putting together parties than he is at giving out Christmas presents (and he’s really bad at giving out Christmas presents).

From six p.m. until nearly nine, you’ve been at Mark’s house. He’d managed a pretty good setup with the help of you, Renjun, Donghyuck, Jisung, and Renjun’s friend Chenle. You had helped string fairy lights across the room, make gingerbread cookies to die for, and make sure Donghyuck didn’t go around shaking present boxes to figure out whose gift was what. Once all of Mark’s other friends had showed up, the party was in full swing.

The only thing is, you still hadn’t seen Jeno anywhere.

Mark had insisted he’d sent the invite and gotten the affirmative from the boy that he’d be there, but not a trace of him could be found. The falling snow outside made you think the worst: had he gotten stuck in the bad weather? Maybe he had cancelled altogether after realizing you’d be there. Your piling worries did nothing to sooth your anxiety, despite your attempts to calm them down with copious amounts of hot cocoa and sugar.

Your rose sat in the kitchen on top of the fridge, untouched and safely tucked away from the bustle of the bustling party-goers who were determined to touch nearly everything in sight. Mark had already had to have a talk with a few people who almost knocked over his grandmother’s vintage vase, and you had quickly made your way over to back him up in case anyone thought to get snarky. Thankfully however, tonight was going as smoothly as it could.

The later it got and the closer to the end of the party it became, the more on edge you got. If Jeno really hadn’t showed, you’d have to wait even longer to see him, and you really wanted to confess to him tonight.

It seemed Jisung was privy to your dwindling enthusiasm as the night dragged on, and while the others were enthralled in Christmas karaoke, you were sat on a chair a little closer to the kitchen door, swirling your eggnog back and forth in your red solo cup. You felt something plop into the seat next to you, and when you looked up, the youngest of your friend gang was smiling up at you, “Not in the mood to smoke Renjun and Chenle with a rendition of ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’?”

You snicker softly, though the amusement doesn’t last long. Jisung notices, scooting a little closer with a frown, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Jeno.” You say softly, not bothering to beat around the bush. The youngest had only been working there for a little while, but even he understood the weight of your crush enough to know that this was serious. “You don’t think he decided not to come because of me, do you?”

Jisung twists his mouth in a grimace, “I don’t think Jeno is that petty. And it’s not like he doesn’t know how hard you’ve tried to get in touch with him.” “Not hard enough, Jisung. It could easily look like I’m trying to be passive and that’s exactly what he asked me not to do.”

The more you talk, the further you wallow in your own upset. You don’t know why you’re even still here, moping in the corner and making the atmosphere darken by the second. Maybe you’re just too stubborn to accept he’s not coming to save your pride? Maybe you should just go home soon. People were already beginning to leave anyway, curfews and the like ensuring they’d get home on time or they would be in trouble. With the way the snowy weather was acting, it would take them quite a while to get back in the first place.

Jisung rests a hand on your shoulder and rubs, trying his best to comfort you as well as he can. Since Jisung wasn’t close with Jeno yet, he couldn’t really speak for him in his absence despite wanting to so badly. The younger boy had taken to you like an older sibling, and it made him upset to see you this way.

Just as he was about to say something to comfort you, you heard a chorus of loud, excited voice from the entrance. Raising your head slowly, you wonder if maybe it’s just one of Mark’s friends who showed up late.

And it is, but you know this friend.

Jeno is wrapped up in the same scarf and coat he’d had the day he showed you the shop and “confessed” to you, looking pink cheeked but happy regardless. He was surrounded by Donghyuck and Mark immediately, the both pair of them brushing snow off his shoulders and cracking jokes about his flustered appearance no doubt. You watched in quiet awe as his eyes turned into half-moons as he laughed, the sound making its way over to you even over the sound of Chenle blaring unnecessary high notes to “Last Christmas” over the karaoke speaker.

Without thinking, you stand, and then turn sharply so Jeno won’t see your face. Instead, you make eye contact with Jisung and hurriedly ask, “How do I look?”

Jisung looks you and up and down and laughs, “Like a lovesick puppy.” At your frown, he reaches a hand up and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear before giving you a thumbs up, “Jeno’s jaw is gonna hit the floor.”

You give the younger boy a big smile and a quick kiss on the cheek, thanking him for comforting you before sprinting into the kitchen and retrieving your rose. You have to use your tiptoes to even brush the paper, your tongue parting your lips and curling up unconsciously. You probably look silly as you focus on trying to get your rose, cursing asking Mark to put it up there for you in the first place. He’d set it so far back that your fingertips weren’t even touching it.

Your struggle lasted for barely a minute before you felt the paper touch the palm of your hand, and your little shout of victory was short-lived when you realized you hadn’t reached it on your own.

A warm chest pressed up against your back and an extended arm you hadn’t even noticed in your concentration had appeared beside your own, a familiar hand reaching for the flower and pushing it into your awaiting hand. You turn your head over your shoulder to find the person you’d be looking for all night. He looks bashful, avoiding your eyes as he steps back once he’s sure you’ve got what you were aiming for in your hands.

You quickly pull the flower down and hide it behind your back so he can’t see what it is behind the wall of paper it’s wrapped in, though you catch his eyes trying to see what it is regardless. “You’re here,” you say, embarrassingly out of breath, “I thought... uh...” “There was lots of snow. That’s... that’s why.” He has rid himself of his winter clothes and now stands several feet away from you in just an ugly Christmas sweater and some ripped black jeans that have you wanting to hide behind the rose in a puddle of mush.

“And you still came.” You breathe out, feeling a surge of admiration fill your chest. Could it possibly be because of...?

He says and does nothing to confirm it except for a small nod of his head, “Wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

The party? Or your answer?

“I’m really sorry,” you start, “between finals and holiday preparations, I kept trying to catch you at the wrong times. I’ve had what I wanted to say ready for a while but it was like every time I looked for you, you weren’t there. Like today.” You say softly, hand tightening around the stem of the rose in nervousness.

Jeno makes a noise, “I thought I recognized that wrapping paper from somewhere.”

You tug the rose further behind your back, cursing at yourself to keep going. “Right, well, you asked me for my answer. I’ll be honest, when I first found out the meanings of those flowers, I was in a state of shock... but I swear it was because I couldn’t believe you actually liked me back! Because... you may feel like the one to catch feelings first, but to be honest, I’ve been admiring you since last summer when I first started working at La La.”

Jeno’s eyebrows raise in revelation, but he doesn’t interrupt you.

“Anyway, Donghyuck, Mark, and Renjun knew that I liked you, but thankfully they never told. Today, I went to the shop to catch you because I finally had time and usually you’re there at that time but you were out doing deliveries, so I ended up meeting Annie... and bought this.” You pull the flower in front of you, avoiding his eyes to get your next words out, “she told me to tell you she’s rooting for us. No pressure or anything by the way. So, uh... will you go out with me?“

You chance a glance at Jeno, whose eyes are focused on the single rose. The longer he takes to say anything, the more nervous you get. You’re positive that you’re shaking now, but you still hold the rose and hope for the best.

You feel the rose being pried from your hands, and when you meet gazes with Jeno again, he has the nerve to be smirking at you, “Well, duh.”

You blink, “Wait, huh?” “I don’t know why you’re so nervous. I did confess first, you know. Of course I want to go out with you.”

He sets the rose down and looks at you fondly, pulling you with him toward the kitchen door, “Smart choice of flower, by the way.”

You snort as you lean into his side, basking in the warmth and feeling your shoulders slacken with relief. There he went again, bouncing between shy and confident and making you that much more smitten, “Thanks! It’s kinda the only one I know the true meaning of.”

Jeno is about to pull you into the living room when Donghyuck slides in front of you both, a knowing (and by association, terrifying) smile on his face. Jeno is, on the verge of asking what the problem is, interrupted when Donghyuck extends a finger and points toward the door frame where a sprig of mistletoe hangs above your heads dauntingly by a single strip of scotch tape.

Jeno’s cheeks flame red the second he recognizes it, eyes flashing from it to you, a look of pure sheepishness on his face. He looks like he’s malfunctioning or something, the poor boy can’t seem to form words. In his stead, you step forward a bit and give Donghyuck a look, “Donghyuck, it’s a little early for us to do that don’t you think?”

To your shock, Donghyuck laughs, “Who said anything about you two?”

You watch, somewhere between amusement and an utter loss for words as Donghyuck grabs Jeno by the sweater and down a little so he can plant a distressingly loud kiss on Jeno’s cheek, watching the eldest boy squirm in mortification.

When Donghyuck pulls away, he does the exact same thing to you, though you were fairly prepared for it after seeing the display on Jeno. You decide not to fight him like you and the boys usually would, letting him show his affection unhindered for one night only. He looks pretty pleased when you just give him a smile and pat his cheek, “Thanks for that, Hyuckie.” “No, thank you. I’ve been trying to get the others under the mistletoe all night. I think they’re on to me.”

[sweetasssuga]

Yoonmin Fic Recs

personal favorites = ♡

new additions = ϟ 

Leave Before the Lights Come On by doozy (jungtaeh) [1k] [general audiences] 

Yoongi calls Jimin his sweetheart and Jimin really loves that.

up all night (to get my luck) by cyphers for infires (infires_man) [3k] [teen]

“I just… Did someone in this room not just scream like they were about to be murdered?”

“Oh, that,” Taehyung says. “That was Jimin. He saw a spider.”

i don't care if you're not sorry, i forgive you by jflawless [3.8k] [teen]

Park Jimin doesn't understand Min Yoongi, but he wants to.

body language by awsuga [teen] [3.9k] 

Yoongi really liked to touch Jimin, for no special reason.

didn't sign up for this by reinvents [5k] [teen]

when jin tells him about jimin, he imagines a tall, lanky, university stud who showers maximum twice a week. one can say yoongi has a poor sense of imagination. 

dead roses by awsuga [8k] [teen]

Jimin was the sunshine the flowers needed. Yoongi was simply there to water them from time to time.

i'm fully operational (and at your disposal) by MauveTarte [8.5k] [explicit]

Five times Jimin helped someone, and one time Yoongi helps Jimin.

we're just lost stars by aegyofairy [8.6k] [rated explicit but i rate it as teen]

It's hard growing up, seeing your imperfections and having to face that you're in the spotlight 24/7, for Jimin it's even harder when you're falling in love with the only person who makes you feel perfect. Someone that probably just sees you as a kid anyways.

(or, that one where Jimin grows up, Yoongi takes notice, and basically all of bangtan ship yoonmin)

you don't have to say i love you (to say i love you) by sheabutter [9k] [teen] 

yoongi's so painfully and obviously in love with jimin, it sort of hurts the other members sometimes.

Sweeter Than Sweet by MissterMaia [10k] [teen] 

Yoongi hates sweet things. He hates sugary treats and pastries and candy, which is why he's less than enthused when Hoseok drags him to a Dunkin' Donuts to "cheer him up" after a run-in with one of his professors.

Yoongi hates sweet things, yes, but maybe he's willing to sacrifice his taste buds so he can come back and see the cute employee with hair as pink as the goddamn donut frosting.

Barbershop Romance by MissterMaia [13k] [teen] ♡

Jimin's impromptu visit to a salon called SUGA turns out to be more interesting than he expected. Way more interesting.

The Shape of It by Sharleena for diminies [14k] [teen] ♡  

It's not that Jimin wants much from life. Really. He's a simple man.

One thing he did not want, however, was to wake up to find out that the piano man in his snow globe suddenly came to life and is now sitting on his bed like he owns it.

Or

The au in which one of them is trapped in a snow globe but then comes to life.

The Devil's Mistress by springrain21 [16k] [mature]

Yoongi is Captain of the pirate ship, the Devil's Mistress, and he and his crew are racing against time to find a famous buried treasure, always one step behind and losing it to another rival ship. To gain the upper hand, Yoongi kidnaps a silver-haired beauty who is rumored to be a creature of great power. He isn't expecting to fall in love on the way.

You Make My Palms Sweat by heukhaneul [17k] [mature] 

Jimin is definitely not crushing on his best friend's other friend's best friend.

time follows you (and fades) by thebestofme [17k] [teen]

hp!au - how half-veela!jimin and yoongi fall in love in the Slytherin common room.

(or, two sides of one story: Jimin worries about the effects of his Allure and hides his veela nature; Yoongi loves Jiminie but is too confused by mixed signals to act on it).

Art or Pornography by onlyalivetonight [20.7k] [explicit] 

Yoongi is an art student looking for participants for his university project. It's an important piece for his final year project, but it's difficult to find people willing to agree to read a book with a vibrator inside of them on camera.

Enter Park Jimin, a walking morality issue who makes him question his sanity.

i'll be a gentleman ('cause i'll be your boyfriend) by yururin for offthebeat [21k] [mature]

Yoongi isn’t an easy man to surprise, but kisses out of the blue and sudden boyfriend proposals can do the job.

Barbershop Love by MissterMaia [22k] [explicit]

Jimin has never taken his best friend’s jokes about his alleged praise kink seriously, because that’s all they are and ever will be. Jokes. They’re stupid jokes that Taehyung makes at his expense to see the shy Jimin turn into a blushing, embarrassed mess of stuttering protests and meek curses. They’re only jokes, and they’re so stupid.

Or at least Jimin has always thought so, but then his hairdresser boyfriend asks him to pose as a model for his winter collection, and Jimin realizes that there might the teeniest, tiniest bit of truth to Taehyung’s persistent teasing.

he's what you want (i'm what you need) byjonghyunslisterine [24k] [explicit] ϟ 

jimin needs to learn how to kiss.

word on the streets is that yoongi's a very good kisser.

Maybe if our Worlds Collide (We Could Be Together) by Sharleena [24.7k] [explicit]

Amidst one of his lonely travels, Yoongi meets Jimin at a diner.

For some reason, Yoongi really wants to run away with him.

"I work in a diner, I'm really bored and you come along with your lonely biker aesthetic and ask me to run away. It's cliché."

Yoongi swallows. "Is that a no?"

"I didn't say that."

Boys who Talk Shit™ by internetpistol [26k] [explicit] 

When Yoongi enrolled in BTS (aka Boys who Talk Shit) Boarding School, he wasn't really expecting to be the only 'straight' (to be read sarcastically) guy in a room of seven geniuses (aka children aged five to ten, honestly). Plus four pet spiders. Yes, plural.

Chaotic episodes in A Place of Love and War, where Yoongi learns all about True Love via Park Jimin, Music and Marriage. Sort of. Brain bleach and ear plugs are strongly recommended.

we should just kiss, like real people do by annarosewrites (annaroserae) [26k] [mature] ♡ ϟ 

The light from the windows has painted him lilac and pink and red, and he’s a masterpiece of shattered mosaic and Jimin is drawn to him. Inevitably and wondrously so.

“Hi,” Yoongi whispers, sweet and a little tired. Sharp cheeks and soft eyes, and Jimin thinks this is as close to divinity as he’s ever been.

[jimin doesn't have time for pretty city boys who'll leave as quickly as they come, but maybe, just maybe, he has time for a boy named min yoongi]

Summer Wine by mintsoda [28k] [teen]

"'No, uhm—,' Yoongi lifts a hand to the back of his head and ruffles his hair a little. 'I haven't been in a relationship for a while, actually, if that's what you mean.'

Taehyung's face lights up like a Christmas tree set on fire and Jimin prepares himself for the unpreparable.

'Our Jimin here is single, too!' Taehyung beams and Jimin cannot believe he just said that."

In which Jimin and Yoongi are both the fifth wheel in their group of dating friends during their summer vacation on Okinawa – but not for long.

home is the sea reflected in your eyes by anyadisee [33k] [teen]

Yoongi doesn’t know what he was expecting, exactly, when Taehyung called the day before asking about the pool in his mini-greenhouse, but it certainly wasn’t this.

This being opening his door to find Taehyung and Jungkook on his porch, the former with his fist raised mid-knock even though the doorbell is right fucking there, the latter standing a few steps behind him and smiling rather sheepishly while bridal-carrying a mermaid.

A goddamn mermaid.

It is too early for this, Yoongi decides.

;;

[or: in which taehyung and jungkook are concerned friends, jimin dreams of being able to walk and travel on land, and yoongi is a genius witch who can help.]

maybe i hate you can be our always by ameliabedelias for 777335 [35.9k] [mature] ♡ 

When Yoongi thinks about it, really gives it genuine thought, it's possible that Park Jimin isn't the worst person in the world.

//

(Or, Yoongi and Jimin get off on the wrong foot.)

The Boy in the Music Box by MissterMaia [52.6k} [teen]  

Yoongi doesn’t really expect anything special when he finds an old music box in his grandmother’s attic and she tells him to keep it. Oh sure, he expects the music box to be a pretty decoration to add to the stale interior of his small apartment. He expects it to play a tune and he might even dare to expect the barely-functioning little ballerina to dance along to the soft chimes, but that's it, really. The last thing he expects is for the little ballerina to take human form at night and throw his life out of balance with radiant smiles, soft giggles, and a heart-wrenching story.

you wish i was yours (and i hope that you're mine) by awsuga [55k] [mature]  

Jimin is getting ready to sleep his summer away now that all his friends have left for college except for him. That is, though, until he meets Yoongi. A boy two years older than him from the city, who has been kicked out by his parents and is now living with his aunt.

Because of Yoongi Jimin learns more about himself in one summer than he has his entire life.

The Songbird and the Sea by MissterMaia [255.8k] [mature] ♡   (u gotta read this one. get her published bc she deserves it. also so she can post her sequel.)

In a world where dominance of the sea is an endless battle between pirates and mariners, Park Jimin is content living in his little village on a small, uninteresting island by the eastern mainland. He wants nothing to do with the bloodshed of good and evil, the heartless killing of both innocents and condemned, the constant establishment and disruption of order. What he wants is peace, to live his life in the same town he was born in, to spend his days in the beautiful forest, and to use the powers of his Blessed Rune to nurture the home he loves so dearly.

But when his island is attacked by pirates, Jimin will have no other choice than to do as they command and leave all thoughts of peace behind in favor of boarding the Agust, a pirate ship captained by the infamous Min Yoongi, Black Fox of the East.

[airquietworks]

The Scars Make the Man (IzuOcha One-Shot)

Summary: It is hard for Deku to wrap his mind around the fact that he is dating Ochako Uraraka, the best girl he has ever met. For an awkward guy like him, navigating romance was a monumental challenge. One that would lead him to try to hide the ugliest part of himself — his scars.

Some days Izuku wondered whether falling in love would be the death of him.

The idea of even being in love was something he hardly ever fathomed as a child, isolated and unpopular as he was. Nobody was interested in associating with a quirkless loser like him, even as a friend, let alone a crush. He hardly even interacted with girls; they tended not to acknowledge him and he was far too shy to try to change that. His childhood had left him with zero experience when it came to romance, and for a long time, he was fine with that. But now he cursed his social ineptitude and fortunes with all his might for leaving him wholly unprepared for the lovely, horrifying world of dating.

Trying to navigate the rules of romance with no real experience to draw from was making him trip up far too often — figuratively and literally. Trying to put out flirtatious banter and displays of affection simultaneously drove him into nervous madness and made him feel like he was going to combust. That was all besides his difficulty trying to manage his appearance with a vigour that was alien to him before he started his romantic escapade. He wanted to look and be as good as possible for her; she deserved that, and more.But despite fears that his heart might leap out of his chest any day now, the joy they shared made all the hardship more than worth it. Izuku was endlessly thankful that Uraraka was far more courageous than himself, in many ways. After over a year of longing glances, quiet smiles, unwitting flirting during sparring sessions, and overcoming life-or-death situations (which there were far too many of), she had finally worked up the nerves to ask him out. That was something he would probably have never been able to work up the gumption to do. After the shock wore off and he regained his thinking capacities, he blurted out a "yes" and he was almost blinded by how brightly she beamed at him. The next few weeks were a mixture of explosive nerves and blissful oblivion.With how strong the foundation of their friendship was, they flowed together so seamlessly that most of the dates proved fairly straightforward. Spending time with Uraraka was already so natural that most of their dates were very easy going. Just spending time with one another, laughing and enjoying each other's company made the ordeal worthwhile. But many of the technicalities of dating proved to be a source of constant consternation for him. Working through the awkwardness and the nerves of a first love was driving him to ruin. He needed information but he hardly had any good sources. The internet was polluted with contradicting information on dating that did not seem very effective (he had tried a couple of cheesy romantic lines from the web, causing Uraraka to laugh in his face while telling him to 'be himself'). Beyond that, he was hesitant to try to ask anyone for advice on this, especially since the pair were trying to keep their new relationship under wrap,  lest they face an onslaught of relentless teasing or worse.

Although given the number of knowing glances they had received over the past few weeks from their classmates, he wondered how effective that strategy really was. 

As a result, Deku relied on improvisation to navigate the uneasy waters of love, causing him to capsize on more than one occasion. For her part, Uraraka was not exactly sure of herself either and seemed to be winging it as much as he was.

But as they always could, they worked through it together and found a way to persevere, whether with a laugh or a helping hand. And the rewards of the effort — the contact, the intimacy, those kisses — made his blissful heart somersault in a way he had become addicted to. Life was good, despite the misgivings that his heart's regular pounding might not be good for his long-term health.

Thus, he found himself sweating like a hog as he tried to get ready for his next date with Uraraka. The still budding relationship and his desire to constantly impress had made him far more anxious than he usually was. He had developed a habit of rigorous cleanliness, fretting about what shirt to wear and trying to comb his hair to make it slightly less weird-looking (to little avail). Deku starred in a full-length mirror in his room (a recent addition after he and Uraraka started getting serious) after settling on a fancy green collared shirt and his nicest pair of jeans. The freckled boy peering back at him looked terribly plain. Were it not for his quirk, he would never stand out, but at an outward glance, you could hardly tell he even had one. The only parts of him that really stood out were the harsh scars that crawled around his right hand and up his arm; a mark from his extensive quirk usage. He had taken to wearing sleeves these days to avoid any awkward stares. Nodding to his own image, he stepped out of his room and trudged out to the dorm common area, ready to face the day with his...girlfriend (his own thinking still stumbled at the word). His heart was already kicking up a notch as his upcoming date with Uraraka approached closer with every footstep.

"Ooh, what you dressed up for Midoriya?" Kaminari asked from the couch as Izuku made his way through the commons towards the exit. Mercifully, Kaminari was the only other one there, with most students outside enjoying the spring sunshine. "Uhh...just heading out, nothing special," he lied through his teeth as he tried not to make direct eye contact. "See you around!" he blurted with a burst of speed towards the door. "Alright, have fun!" Kaminari called back. Izuku breathed a sigh of relief as he closed the door. "Ladykiller."

Izuku felt a shock down his spine at Kaminari's parting line. He slammed the door the rest of the way closed with more force than needed, groaning at the tease. Countless strategies they had tried — avoiding each other in class, exiting the building for dates at different times and repeated denial — seemed to have had little effect on sidetracking his classmates from their relationship. He supposed he might as well give up trying to keep things under ropes at this rate.

The bustle of the city outside Yuei gave him a merciful reprieve from thinking about his relationship's publicity as he walked briskly towards his meeting place with his...girlfriend. As he got closer to the pre-selected cafe of the week, he found his mood lifting ever higher. The nerves still bubbled beneath the service, but going on a date with Uraraka always brought with it an excited energy. "Deku!" Uraraka shone brighter than the sun as she waved at him from the cafe, beaming, her exuberance infectious but also making his knees a little weak. She was too cute, dressed up in a casual black skirt and grey t-shirt with her hair done up at the back, an almost pointedly dark-green vest draped over her shoulders.

She practically collided into him, relishing in a quick, forceful embrace. She had made glomping him a habit of greeting, a gesture he had come to appreciate. "Hey Urara-" Izuku paused mid-sentence as Uraraka disentangled herself from him before she shot him a dirty look that stayed his tongue. "O-ochako." She had insisted he start using her given name when they were alone together, another change he was struggling to adjust to. But the smile on her face as the name rolled off his lips was more than worth the hiccups.

"That's more like it," she said, quietly grabbing his hand. The skin contact and the soft sensation of her fingertips sent a few goosebumps crawling up his arm, but he managed to squeeze back gently. "Make it out okay?" "Mostly…" Deku scratched the back of his head and sighed as he recalled his exit. "Kaminari knows about us, I think." "Mina bumped into me before I got here...she would not stop wiggling her eyebrows," Uraraka shook her head while gently guiding the pair of them towards the cafe entrance. They managed to find a seat deep inside the bustling establishment, hoping to keep hidden from any prying eyes. "Maybe we should give up trying to hide it," Deku suggested. Even though he could never imagine flaunting their romance, the whispered teases were getting grating. Knowing their classmates, there would probably be an explosion if they came out in the open (figuratively and literally), but it would die down after a while and they might be able to exist in peace. "Yeah...maybe…" Uraraka bit her lip slightly, frowning. The forlorn expression, which she had once made a point of hiding from him, was something he hated seeing on her. "I'm just not sure yet. I don't...I don't know if I'm ready to go through all that, with everything else going on." "Hey, it's alright," Deku relented quickly, reaching out across the table and gently taking her hand as guilt stained her face. She looked up at him through her eyelashes, lips tilting upward in a small, involuntary smile. "We don't have to rush into telling people if you're not comfortable. Either way is alright with me." "Thanks, Deku," she replied, the smile growing a little wider. She looked down at their hands and gently curled her fingers in his. He gladly obliged the sweet gesture, his scarred hand sliding through hers with the lightness of a feather.

Uraraka's eyes wandered towards their clasped hands. Her face slowly fell and her hand flexed slightly. She bit her lip and winced. "Is...is something wrong?" His mind slowly accelerated as he analyzed her face and tried to figure out how he could lift her spirits again. He gently retrieved his hand from her clenched grasp, immediately missing the sweet contact but fearful it was somehow making her uncomfortable. "Huh? Oh, no, it's fine, Deku," Uraraka sputtered, cheeks flushing as she lifted her eyes back to him. "Sorry, zoned out for a moment. I just got a lot on my mind lately, you know?" "Yeah, I know what that's like," Deku said, nodding in understanding. But he kept his eyes affixed and steady on her. He had known her for long enough now to tell when she was hiding something. Uraraka did not let on what the wince was about through the rest of their date. She fell easily back into their laid-back camaraderie. Quiet laughter flowed plentifully from their table as they discussed the latest happenings of their dorm life (such as how Kaminari learned never to disturb Bakugo while he was brushing his teeth). They also exchanged gripes about school, internship duties and upcoming tests. They were both comfortable in laying bare their anxieties as they moved toward their futures, lifting each other up as needed.

But her wince nagged at him throughout their conversation, a wiggling little worm at the back of his mind. Why did she look so uneasy when he took her hand? The uncertainty ate at him, but he tried to ignore it as best as he could, with little success. Far too soon, the two finished their lunch and prepared to part ways outside the cafe. Uraraka had to get ready for a late shift with Ryukyu's office. Even as only regular interns, their time together was so fleeting. Deku tried to treasure every moment they had. "I had a really good time, Deku," Uraraka said wistfully. She stared up at him shyly, bringing herself right up against him. His heart leapt hard against his chest and he swallowed down his nerves. "Me too...Ochako…" he replied softly. Her arms extended around his neck, locking him in place. She was so close. He went still as a statue but managed to extend a shaking hand to rest on her hip. A small improvement from his usual motionlessness. She brought up her lips to meet his, gentle but firm. It was so hard for him to think, let alone move or initiate in these situations. He pressed back slightly, his mind swimming with the sensation of her soft mouth. "You're getting a little better," Uraraka teased as she broke away, grinning up at him. "Next time, you're going to be the one kissing me, alright?" "Yeah...sure…" he nodded in a slight daze. He shook his head and tried to reclaim his wits. He tended to go a little stupid when she did this, his mind becoming lost in the disbelief of Ochako Uraraka kissing him. "I'll give it my best shot." "That's all I'm asking," she responded, before digging her fingers in lightly as she slid her arms down his neck, causing him to shiver. "See you at the dorm later?" "Definitely…" he squeaked, causing her belling laughter to ring. It was music to his ears, despite his embarrassment.Izuku watched wistfully as she walked away, wondering what he could have possibly ever done to deserve his good fortune. However, despite all the mushy afterglow of a date with Uraraka, the question of her wince remained a spectre that sunk its claws deeper into his mind.

He walked slowly back to Yuei, intending to spend the rest of the day in a workout regimen, but remained lost in thought. He pulled at his lip and considered what exactly had brought that sudden unhappiness onto Uraraka's face. Did she not want to hold hands as much? Was it the lingering fear that they would get spotted in their casual intimacy by someone they knew? He stared down at his scarred right hand, the gate to his rather disfigured arm. The faded wounds were ugly marks on his skin and a constant reminder of what would happen if he pushed himself beyond his limits. A constant reminder of the price of being unable to control One for All. He would never take back his actions that got him the markings, but he regretted not finding a way to better control the power sooner. But as he kept his analytical stare down on his skin, he started to wonder. Was it...grotesque? Izuku had never been one to mind his own appearance too much. He had been described as "plain-looking" by many classmates growing up and he was more than happy to try to use that image to fade into the background of middle school, in the vain hopes of avoiding the bullying of his classmates. His mind was far too occupied with other matters — like gathering information on heroes — to care much about trying to stand out as a quirkless boy in middle school. But now he did have a reason to try to impress with his looks, which he didn't have much to naturally work with. He wanted to look good for Uraraka. And his scars...just didn't. They stood out, making his hand look broken — which they were, in a way. They weren't really the cool-looking marks of battle like some heroes had, showing their triumph over villainy. They were an etching of weakness and fragility. A reminder of how far he had left to go. Izuku clenched his right hand into a fragile fist, the appendage looking far older than it should. He trembled a bit as he thought about how off-put Uraraka might have been seeing this mangled thing between them. He pondered if girls cared at all for scars these days. He wondered if these markings hurt what little looks he might have. He committed then to trying to correct the failing of his hand in what ways he could. Whatever the reason, his hand may have made Uraraka uncomfortable, and that revolted him. He would have to calculate a way to adjust.

Nervous energy kept Deku pacing as he waited for the apple of his eye to meet him once again. He was particularly excited for today's excursion; a surprise picnic in a secluded spot of a park, underneath a shady tree. It might be on the cliche side, but he figured Uraraka would appreciate it nonetheless, and he had a lot of fun preparing the meal with his mother. He had dressed in a sharp, red checkered shirt and slacks. Accentuating the outfit — hopefully — were a new pair of red gloves that he had bought just for the occasion. If all went according to plan, it would prevent some of the awkwardness present at their last date. Uraraka appeared over the horizon, outfitted in a casual red tank top and shorts. His throat went a little dry at the loose wear, although it had a tendency to do that whenever they were alone together these days. "Hey Deku!" she became as she skipped over to him, eagerly wrapping her arms around him in a vice-like hug. Her eyes idly rolled over to the basket at his feet and she let out a light gasp. "Oh wow, you brought a picnic?" "Yeah, I thought we could just relax here for the afternoon. If that's alright with you, anyway." Deku idly crossed his fingers at his side. "Of course!" she exclaimed with a grin, clapping her hands lightly together "I'd love to! I haven't had a picnic since I was a little girl." "Me too," Deku replied before his cheeks flushed as he realized how that might sound. "I mean since I was a little boy!" Uraraka giggled, before gently taking his hand and pulling him down to take a seat on the grass. Her eyes widened a bit and her eyebrow quirked up as she was met not with the familiar soft flesh, but instead hard leather. "So...what's with the gloves?" she asked, idly pulling at his hand to examine the material. "Oh, uh, well it's...I thought it worked well with the outfit, you know?" Deku stammered while scratching his cheek and nervously retracting his hand from Uraraka's probing fingers. "I wear gloves with my suit and I kind of liked the style. And this way, people won't notice...uh…you know." "Notice what?" she eyed him skeptically, affixing him with a piercing stare. Deku gulped. "...The scars. I just wouldn't want anyone to be...disturbed by them or anything, just in case." Uraraka's mouth fell open a bit as the statement momentarily stunned her. Deku couldn't meet her eyes as he saw how taken aback she was by his words. He was hoping she might not notice or comment on the outfit change and started to sweat as he realized he might have misread things. "It's not big deal really-" "Deku, what would ever give you that idea?" she interrupted him with the slow question, a rocky tone to her voice that left little room for argument. "I...uh…" he gulped again as she stared up at him with fire in her eyes. It was usually the sort of thing she reserved for sparring sessions and it left him on edge. "I...the other day I saw you wince a bit when you looked at my hand. I just thought that...maybe…"

"Oh no, I...I'm sorry!" Uraraka's anger melted in in an instant as she realized she was the inadvertent catalyst to the choice. "Izuku, I...just…" she shoved her face in her hands and groaned, before letting them slide down her cheeks. "I didn't…" she sighed out, inhaling a deep breath as she tried to gain some composure. "Can you...give me a bit of time to explain?" "Take all you need," Deku replied quietly, scooching over to lean against the tree hanging over them. Uraraka moved over to sit next to him, an awkward silence filling the space between the couple. After weeks of the nervous, but blissful exuberance between them, he hated this feeling of suspense. "Could I hold your hand?" Uraraka asked politely, a question that had not needed verbalization between them since their first date. Deku nodded towards her as he extended his right hand out, which she eagerly grabbed, pulling the glove off of it and revealing the scarred flesh beneath. "I am really sorry about that Deku. I…it's…" she took another deep breath as she traced random patterns into his skin, tickling it slightly and sending a few goose bumps dotting up his arm. "I didn't think my reaction was noticeable or anything, I guess. It was kind of involuntary. But I could have been more open with you." Deu stayed silent as her fingertips traced the lines of his hands, listening intently as the skin tingled. "I see these sometimes and...I guess they do unsettle me. Remembering how you got them, that look in your eyes as you blazed forward without caring about what you're doing to yourself," she shook her head as she squeezed his hand. "It hurt a lot back then, worrying about how my friend was beating himself up all the time. And I was just standing there watching or...even helping you do it." "Ochako…" Deku whispered as her face grew more and more downcast. He instinctively reached his other hand out to try to comfort her but stopped himself as she went on. "But the....the strange thing is…" she squeezed his hand tightly, clenching with the hidden strength that make Deku grit his teeth a bit. "In those moments, even though it hurt seeing you like that, there was a part of me that...that admired you more than anything else." Deku was not sure how to process everything she was telling him. He felt frozen by the sudden outpouring of feeling from her and he wasn't sure if he should be happy or offended or something else entirely. Evidently, she was having a hard time processing this all as well. "When you get that look in your eyes…" Uraraka suddenly looked up, meeting his gaze directly. "That drive in them, showing the world that you'll be a hero no matter what. It...it makes me want to be a better hero. It's what I love most about you."

His heart thumped hard at the "L-word," not something they had casually thrown around in the fledgeling days of their romantic relationship. But Uraraka didn't seem to realize what she had let out as she charged through her confession. "I remember a lot of the dark things that happened to us when I see these scars," she continued, turning her gaze back down to the hand she still held tightly. "And it can be upsetting. But I also remember that we pulled through it," she weaved her fingers through his, gentler now. "Well, you did. I was more of a bystander. But that still makes me feel happy to know." He gave him a soft smile, but it didn't quite meet her eyes. He didn't like that. "The ends you went to save people...would they see it as a mistake?" Uraraka probed as she thumbed over the scars again. Deku blinked at the question that turned the cogs in his brain, mind flashing to the faces of Todoroki and Kouda. "It doesn't matter what I remember when I see them or that I have mixed feelings when I do. These hands are part of who you are, Deku. You may think they mark your mistakes, but I see them as a reminder of the people you save and the incredible things you can do." She leaned a little closer as her face shone vibrantly up at him. "And I don't think you should be ashamed of them. Especially not because I'm being silly." Unbidden wetness teared at the edges of Izuku's eyes and his lip quivered as a torrent of tears sprang forth. "T-thanks…" he murmured with a shaky breath, his beating heart seizing his vocal chords. "Thanks, Uraraka."

"Aww…" Uraraka cooed as she wrapped her arms comfortingly around him, putting her head on his shoulder. "I'm happy if it helped, Deku." "It really did…" he murmured into her hair as he wound his arms tightly around her. "You know you...you always make me feel better.""Right back at 'ya," she replied as he gently disentangled himself for her to hold her at arm's length. He took his time looking at her through his bleary eyes; her rosy cheeks, her warm brown eyes, the smile that never failed to ignite his own. She was wondrous. She seemed a bit taken aback by the unrelenting stare and her cheeks reddened a bit further. "Deku?" "You...you mean so much to me and I just…" he gulped. This was tough, but he desperately wanted to try to return the kind words. To address her doubts, too. "What you think does matter to me, a lot, Uraraka. Don't ever doubt that. And when I...do the things that...that get me these…" He pointedly eyed his right hand. "You're always one of the people I think about." "...Really?" she whispered, eyes sparkling with a light that made his heart clench."Real...really. You inspire me so much and I just...what you do for me, I'm just so thankful," Izuku stammered, squeezing her hand and wishing he could be more eloquent in moments like this. "And you shouldn't put yourself down because you're...you're so amazing and I just want you to know that and I'm sorry if this is awkward I'm not used to this kind of-"

Her lips cut off his rant in the sweetest way possible, pressing against his with a passion that threatened to burn him alive. It was so much fiercer than the chaste kisses they had usually gone through and he found it hard to press back or breathe or think. He was so caught off guard that he toppled over and she fell on top of him, never relinquishing her seal upon his mouth. The fog in his brain lingered after she finally came up for air and stared down at him with a cautious smile, nose lightly bumping up against his, her eyes filling his own vision. "Too much?" she asked at his slack face. "N-no…" he managed to blurt out with all his strength and she laughed at him. "Sorry, I just...really wanted to try that," she explained, lifting herself off of him while blushing. "It...it's a little much but I think I like it." She lent out an arm to help him sit back up which he gladly accepted, unabashedly placing his uncovered right hand in hers.

"I won't stop you…" he murmured and Uraraka chuckled a bit again. "Thanks, Deku," she said earnestly, grinning up at him. "I'm glad we could talk this way." "Me too," he nodded as he idly stroked the inside of her palm with his thumb. His own scarred hand felt so much lighter, somehow, as if she had used her quirk on it. "But there's just one thing…" she spoke with mischief in her voice, rolling her eyes and confusing him with the sudden tonal shift. "What?"

"It's Ochako," she stated simply, giving him a faux punch to the arm with her free hand. Despite her mild indignation, her cheeky grin showed she was still in good humour. But Izuku still gasped, looking away and smacking his forehead as he realized he had slipped. "Oh shoot, sorry about that," he replied as he bowed his head in apology. Uraraka chuckled and waved a hand in reassurance. "Don't worry about it. It's like you to get a little formal when you're talking about something serious," she spoke with an easy going understanding. Izuku quietly counted his blessings once again.

He felt a sudden, strong urge of affection for the young woman who had captured his heart. It boggled his mind that despite how awkward and unsure of himself in romance as he was, she always found a way to make it easier on him. He could endlessly thank and praise her, but he wanted to show her what it is she meant to him. Izuku grasped tightly onto the impulse, sitting up straight and closing the distance between them. He slipped his scarred hand out of hers and migrated it up to her chin, relishing in the soft skin there as he tilted her head gently towards him. "Deku?" she asked in a breathy whisper that made his spine tingle with energy. Her eyes were half closed as she leaned in expectantly. "You...you mean...just…" his face felt like it was going to combust. His words failed him, so he took action and plunged forward the rest of the way. The nirvana washed away the thought of his scars. Or anything else he could think of, for that matter.

Authors note: My latest contribution to the “there needs to be more IzuOcha fanfiction” pile. Hope you all enjoyed it. =) Thank you to it’s simply me on ff.net for editing.