Summary: It was at exactly 2:37 a.m. on a Tuesday morning when Dan realized he was in love with his best friend. It was approximately twelve hours later when he discovered the consequences of it.
Dan has hanahaki disease and tries his best to deal with it
Word Count: 2.4k
Warnings: lots and lots of angst, throwing up (kind of?), sad ending (nobody dies though)
It was at exactly 2:37 a.m. on a Tuesday morning when Dan realized he was in love with his best friend.
It was approximately twelve hours later when he discovered the consequences of it. It was certainly a surprise when Dan started to suddenly cough up bright yellow daffodil petals. A very, very uncomfortable surprise.
At first he thought he had hallucinated the whole thing, but as the minutes ticked by and the petals that had puddled at his feet weren’t disappearing, he started to panic. Dan’s body started shaking and his legs began to wobble, which caused him to collapse onto his knees. He took a quick, shaky breath and started to gather up the petals into a pile. He didn’t need Phil to see what had happened, especially when Dan wasn’t even sure what had happened.
the girls going out with their s/o to try out new clothes with them?
Sure! Hope you like!
You honestly didn’t quite expect her to be the kind to want to do this kind of thing
Hell, you don’t even know if she likes getting her clothes from stores and assumed that she preferred to order online.
But to your surprise, when she confronted you one day and hesitantly asks you to come along, you were more than happy to agree.
You imagine that it would be a nice, calming experience where she would calmly ask your opinion on a few select items of clothing, in which you would provide feedback on.
You were oh so wrong.
As soon as you reached the store she immediately stormed inside and made her way to a select table and began to sloppily throw aside articles of clothing as she attempted to find the perfect one.
All the while she snaps at you under her breath and mutters curses to the heavens, occasionally growling in frustration.
When she finally picks out a few articles of clothing, she storms to the changing rooms to pull them on, showing you with an annoyed expression every once and a while.
She eventually just ends up throwing anything she doesn’t like into a corner of the room, which to her dismay, turns out to be everything that she had chosen.
Something’s always wrong with it in her eyes
The color is off, it’s too tight, too short, too tacky and many other complications
She ends up sulking out of the changing room, muttering complaints complaints to you as she claims that she’ll give to store one more shot.
She goes to a table display, fishes around for a bit before commenting that she likes a certain shirt, holding it up for you to see.
To her utter dismay once more, she eventually realizes that it’s two sizes
too big, and has to surpass a pure scream of frustration.
She ends up flipping the table display in her fury and sending clothes flying everywhere
Long story short, you two won’t be returning to that store.
You don’t expect her to be one to obsess over clothes, but when she requests that assist her in shopping, you are happy to oblige
You expect her to be into one of those high class shops with fancy, overpriced places with posh furniture and displays.
But to your surprise, she pulls you into a department store, claiming that although it may not seem like much, they have good prices for quality clothing.
She requests that you accompany her to every rack and display, showing each and every thing they have on sale to you and getting your opinion.
You would think that her taste in fashion when shopping would match her formal taste, but she surprisingly is interested in a large variety of clothing.
At one point she holds up to you a shirt with a cat face on it and asks for your honest opinion about it.
You tell her that it looks lovely, and that she’d look hella cute in it, but she eventually dismisses it as childish and stows it away.
She ends up picking out a few articles of rich-colored clothing before bowing to retreat to the dressing rooms without you.
She mostly has it covered, but will appear to ask you to zip a zipper or button a button every once in a while
At one point, she appears in a gorgeous black dress and you have to hide your face as you begin to burn up
She quickly finishes and picks out a few articles before leaving the store with you and tow, not commenting much on it afterwards.
She loves wearing bright colors and her fashion sense is quite diverse!
She has to go shopping quite often, for she usually stains or burns her clothing when expressing heavenly will through beautiful masterpieces of art.
She loves it when you come along with her, and invites you along every time the thought crosses her mind.
She totes you along to a store one day, one she claims that God has blessed divine, and eventually tugs you into the brightly-colored boutique.
She demands that you attempt to carry her around on your back to every display, and you attempt to with full enthusiasm
She loves to go shopping for jewelry! Long necklaces and bracelets of shells are her favorite thing to buy at stores.
So of course she drags you over to the jewelry section and starts pointing out several beaded options.
She ends up scooping one of the necklaces she had her eye on and then tugging you away to go look at other departments.
She tells you that God is suggesting that she buys a new dress, one so bright that he can see her wearing it from the heavens.
She goes through so many options, trying to determine the perfect one
You didn’t even know that one store could even have this many dresses
She eventually pulls out what could possibly be the most ugliest dress in the store
It’s so old fashioned and bright, daffodil yellow
But she way she seems so excited about it, and how she absolutely falls in love with it overpowers your wish to tell her how unfavorable it might be
The cashier gives you a strange look as you exit, but Angie is far too overjoyed to notice as she drags you out of the store
Her good mood sticks around for the rest of the day, and she thanks you endlessly for coming with her
It was you who asked her to accompany you on a shopping trip
You know that she has an eye for cute things and wanted her opinion on what you should purchase
You bring her to a quaint store next to a creamery, promising her that you would get her a treat after you finish browsing
She laughs and says that you would not have to do that before grabbing your hand and leading you inside
She takes over for you and takes you around the store, pointing out shirts and accessories that she thinks would suit you best
-Of course she points out a few objects that fit her taste with a subtle wink
You laugh a bit at her actions before letting her stuff a few articles of clothing into your arms before she places your hands on your shoulders and steers you over to the changing room.
She perches herself on a stool outside and begs you to give her your own version of a fashion show and show her each and every one of the outfits she picked out.
She’ll clap and cheer for each one and gush about how adorable and cute you look in each outfit.
You accidentally get a couple of looks when she cheered just a b i t too loud
A few minutes later you get thrown out of the store
At least you still got ice cream out of the trip
She arranges to meet up with you one day and offers you a ride there.
You’re tempted to say no and that you’ll meet you there, but she begins to give you the doggy-eye look and you eventually cave in.
She is a terrible driver as she is reckless and easily angered by the ways of the road, and you fear for your life at least four times on the way to the mall.
During the trip you have to somehow convince her to not take you to a place with inappropriate clothing as it’s best seller and to a regular mall instead.
You somehow end up at the mall alive and as soon as she zooms into a parking space, she hops out and runs as fast as she can inside, completely leaving you in the dust.
You follow her inside and see that she had already rushed inside a store and began practically throwing clothes out of the way as she searched for a certain article of clothing.
You watch her for a few moments with a knowing smile on your face before you explore to pick out a shirt or two of your own.
She eventually returns with a few garments and other articles of clothing draped over her arm before she grabs your hand and drags you into the changing room with her.
She strips in front of you completely, much to your embarrassment, grinning at your flustered expression with a wink and her tongue poking between her lips.
You have to excuse yourself from the room afterwards, being a bit too flustered and having the need to cool yourself off.
You return and wait for her to finish swapping and trying on outfits, sitting down and staring at the door.
That is, until she tells you that she had picked out a special outfit to show you.
She slowly cracks open the door, revealing herself to be fully naked aside from her undergarments in which you immediately flare up in a blush, dash over and slam the door shut to protect the eyes of the innocent.
She laughs, dresses herself before returning in her normal gear and slapping a tacky hat she found on the head before walking out.
You end up ditching the clothes, except for the hat, which you pay for, and leave the store before you got in any sort of trouble.
It was a wild night
She doesn’t go shopping much, seeing that she spends most of her free days inside in the comfort of her sleepwear.
In fact, it is you who must remind her to go shopping for new clothing every one in a while for you know she would likely forget if you were not there to remind her.
You somehow coax her into accompanying you to your local store to buy her a new set of tights and maybe a dress of her choice.
She reluctantly agrees and you practically have to drag her there with her complaint about being low on mana the entire time.
You have to guide her to each and every rack and display and pick out the clothes for her to examine with a lazy eye
She pouted the entire time and would spend every moment there either clinging to your arm, or giving you a lazy hug as you attempted to sort through clothing.
You have to nudge her awake a few more times that you would have expected
She claims that it’s due to a low level of MP, but you suspect that she hadn’t slept well the night before.
You purchase her the tights before scooping her up and carrying her back to the car and driving her back to her house.
You then take her inside and place her on her bed as she murmured that your short shopping trip had wiped her out completely, and that she was sorry for forcing you to leave so early.
You end up laying with one another and chatting until she drifted off into a nap.
Despite having to cut your trip short, it was an overall pleasant experience
She loves visiting little boutiques and stores and admiring the of colors, designs, stitches and textures.
She also adores the friendly, cute aura that some of them seem to radiate, and it absolutely entrances her and draws her inside each and every one.
When you go shopping to one of her favorite stores one day, she practically talks your ear off about
how she may want to open one herself.
Sure she specializes in cosplay, but she has been designing a few prints and outfits of her own, and she would love to have them spread throughout the fashion community!
Plus she could pour her entire heart into creating her own little heaven, which could be her own little pocket of herself.
She could paint the walls blue or light pink with white trims and have plush seating…she can’t stop talking about it!
When you actually reach the store, she’ll eagerly rush in, ditching you completely.
When you follow her inside, you find that she’s already rushed to the racks to shift through each shimmering or pristine piece of clothing.
She works fast, muttering about how either the color is too bright, the stitching is unfavorable, or the design is simply unflattering.
She picks out a hefty amount of shirts, skirts and pants before grabbing your hand and excitedly tugging you over to the changing rooms.
She, to your curiosity, sets aside a few separate outfits before whisking away into the room and pulling on an outfit at a record time.
When finishing, she’ll practically throw the door open and present herself to you, asking for your brutal opinion on each and every thing.
She’ll mix and match several outfits together and admire herself in the long mirror, cupping her face in her hands with a frown.
You see that she chose a few flashy outfits, and when confronting her, she tells you that it is to bring out her otherwise drab and plain face and go prevent her from blending into the background.
You tell her that that’s nonsense, and she’s plenty pretty enough to stand out, in which she’ll wave a hand in dismissal before picking up her separate pile of clothing and presenting it to you.
She tells you that she chose the outfits for you, and would love it if you tried them on for her.
She claps when you show each outfit to her, smiling and seeming absolutely radiant.
She ends up ditching a few clothes but buying most of them, and when you question her, she tells you that it is just a gift for her favorite person in the entire world.
You offer to take the bags for her, and she refuses in favor of splitting them between you, and you hold her hand as you walk home, eventually noticing a happy bounce in her step and a sparkle in her eyes.
It turned out to be a pretty nice time.
She’s rather flustered when you ask her to go out shopping with you, and she eagerly agrees, nearly stumbling over her words as she gushes about how she would adore to do so.
She makes sure to pack everything you could need when you go out, treating it as if it was more of a date with you than just simply going out for shopping.
She doesn’t do much shopping considering her fashion sense is a bit too farfetched for most stores and she can never find anything that fits.
Whether she can’t fit it around her bust or it is stiff to move in, there is always some sort of problem.
She claims that it is some sort of curse she has had for a while, for she is simply just unlucky with finding the right fitting outfit.
You browse quietly with her as she flits between rack to rack, excitedly flipping through each and every garment they had on display.
She will energetically show you each and every shirt or skirt that catches her attention, either color or design wise, with a long string of laughs.
You help her pick out a dress at one point, and send her off to change into it, and when she comes out it is like the entire world lit up for you.
It is a simple green dress, but she looks too happy in it to care about the simplicity and tells you over and over that she wanted to spend her money on it.
You can’t resist such a cute face and eventually cave into helping her afford it
She hums a song as you leave, noticeably happier than when you came in and the smile she has could outmatch the light of any star.
“The Hanahaki Disease is an illness born from one-sided love, where the patient coughs up flowers or flower petals. The only cure is to have that love reciprocated, or to somehow wipe away all one’s memories of their beloved person. The infection can be removed through surgery, but the feelings disappear along with the petals.”
hahaha so i know i posted fluff and stuff but now its time to s u f f e r @natepat thanks as always bc i always thank you so its tradition now
Hanahaki Disease AU, lots of flower symbolism. meanings will be posted at the end
Matt wakes up with an ache in his chest and a lingering taste of spring in his mouth. He coughs and three bright yellow daffodil petals force their way out. He stares at them for a few moments, his mind blank. It’s still and quite in his bedroom and if he closes his eyes, he can almost believe everything is fine.
Except it’s not, because he just coughed out flower petals flecked with bits of blood and the taste of spring is bitter in his mouth. The silence shatters and is replaced instead with a flurry of quite, desperate “no’s” that quickly rise in volume and hysteria. He knows what this means, he knows what those disgustingly bright yellow petals mean. He doesn’t want to believe it because believing it would mean it’s true.
He spent days upon days trying to convince himself that no, no he doesn’t like his friend. He is not in love with Nate. He is not in love with Nate. He is not in love with Nate. He is not-
He coughs again, this time five petals flow out and the flecks of blood are more visible. He glares at them while tears start forming in his eyes. He can’t be in love with Nate. He can’t.
Matt blinks away the tears and swiftly leaves the room, returning moments later with a broom and a dustpan.
He hides the flower petals specked with blood easily, almost like he had always done it. (And technically, he had.) He hangs out with Steph and Jason and Nate and his girlfriend (girlfriend, he tells himself. girlfriend. he’s never going to love you back.) Megan.
The petals aren’t always daffodils, just most of the time. Sometimes they’re pink camellia’s, or red carnations. Sometimes they’re gardenias, or geranium. No matter what type of petals they are though, they’re always flecked with blood. He ignores how quickly the small flecks are turning to splotches to medium sized splatters.
They did a livestream together and Matt had to keep excusing himself to throw up flower petals almost entirely covered in blood. Despite the blood however, he can tell they’re marigold petals and daffodil petals. He only spares them small fleeting glances before he’s flushing them down the toilet and walking back to Nate. Matt ignores how the bitter taste of spring is returning full force.
They’re doing a musical together. The blood on the paws of the Freddy suit isn’t fake. He has grown used to having spring in his mouth constantly. Later, AJ would wonder who threw out all those daffodil petals.
Matt’s at YouTube HQ and he’s supposed to be doing a presentation. It helps keep his mind away from Nate and how the petals are almost always covered in blood these days, how hard it’s getting to breathe.
Except he gets on stage and a few moments later, he can spot Nate vlogging in a corner of the room and he wants to throw up. He swallows it down and focuses back on the presentation.
Nate visits unexpectedly one day and he finds Matt’s home in shambles. Furniture is flipped and broken, there’s glass everywhere, and it’s almost impossible to walk. What catches his eye however is the trail of blood and blood drenched flower petals.
He follows it to Matt’s room. The door is ajar and he peeks in. The ground is littered with various flower petals, the most common one being daffodils. Nate swallows and hopes it isn’t what he thinks it is. He steps past a pile of acacia blossoms to his friend’s bed.
He squats down and Matt’s tear stained, weary face greets him. There are daffodil petals scattered around him. Nate brushes them away and asks Matt who it is. Matt stares at him for a moment before a bitter smile forms on his face and he says, “You,” before coughing up a flurry of withered flowers because Matt already knows.
Nate stares at him with a guilty expression but Matt just smiles and somehow, coughs up a red rose in almost full bloom. It’s drenched in blood and there’s still a dribble of it running down Matt’s chin. He grabs it and gives it to Nate. He says “I’m in love with you.” while he breathes in but he does not breathe back out.
flower meanings in order of appearence:
daffodils mean unrequited love, usually bloom during spring (hence the “taste of spring”)
pink camellias mean longing
red carnations mean “my heart aches for you”
gardenias mean “youre lovely” or secret love
geraniums mean stupidity or folly (bc matt feels its stupid of him to have feelings for someone he knows he cant have)
marigolds mean grief or jealousy
acacia blossoms mean concealed love
withered flowers mean rejected love (technically its a bouquet of them but eh)
red rose means i love you
wOW this was super fun to write. enjoy suffering you fuckers (jk ily all)
Summary: Trixie is a closeted school teacher who has literally no love life for fear of losing her job. All that changes when she meets the crazy Russian Aunt of one of her favourite students.
Love don’t always go as planned.
A/N: Thank you all so much for your lovely messages. So this is a lot later than I wanted to post this but if it helps its over twice as long as any of the other chapters. (8.5K!) I hope you all find it worth the wait.
Request: Then for the working legs au, he goes to her class one day and teaches the kids about science and stuff since she went to his work and BARRY!!!!!!!! btw I absolutely love your writings and they make me feel happy inside when I go on tumblr :) <3
It isn’t that Barry lied to the Captain, he just…fabricated the truth to his benefit. Really, he did have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon, but it got cancelled. So, that gave him a little, or big, idea. At least, to him, the idea is big.
After storing away his equipment, he heads to the main lobby; wheels squeaking as Joe stands in front of him. Busted. Barry cringes, awaiting the long, drawn out speech about lying and ignoring your responsibilities. Except, it never comes. “It’s pretty cold outside, son.” Joe hums in his smooth tone, tucking his blue button down in his dress pants. “You might need a scarf…” he sways over to his desk, pulling a thick red scarf; it was Barry’s as a teenager. “Don’t need you getting sick.” He hangs it on his son’s neck.
Barry peers up at the man, thick eyebrows crinkled in confusion. The foster father wraps the ratty, faded scarf around his slender neck a few times, smirking. Before Barry can even question what’s going on, a crisp twenty dollar bill flurries from the old fabric, landing on his brown peacoat. “Buy her something on the way to the school.” Joe winks, patting his chest. How did he kno- well, he is his dad…
“Thanks, Joe.” Barry blushes, crumpling the money in his palm. With a tiny smirk, Joe nods, ruffling his messy brown hair and walking back to his desk. A smile teases Barry’s lips; he drives forward, opening the door and racing down the ramp, stopping abruptly at the end, yanking his cotton sleeve up to check his watch. 12:47. He has approximately two hours until school ends. Thank god for elementary schools.
Flinging the joystick forward, he zooms down the busy Central City streets, weaving through the crowd of people, occasionally throwing an apology over his shoulder. Okay, so maybe he is on the fastest speed, but, he can’t be late. Not this time.
The ends of his scarf fly behind him, making him feel like pilot Snoopy in those old Peanuts movies he used to watch as a kid. He’s so focused on getting there, he zips right by a flower shop. Wait. He reverses, hitting the automatic door button (a flower shop has one but the CCPD doesn’t?) and rolling inside.
Rows of colorful flowers line the mint green walls, causing the little shop to appear more open and full. Gulping, Barry slowly drives around the store, gazing at the flowers with a pained expression. Would you like flowers? Should he get roses? No, no, you two haven’t been dating that long. Not at that stage.
What about… he reads the tag, tilting his head to the side. Daffodils. They’re bright yellow and have long, floppy petals. Perfect. Barry nods to himself, pulling the bouquet out of the cardboard holder and rolling to the cash register. The woman smiles at him, ringing up the flowers. “$9.98.” He forks over the twenty dollar bill, sliding it on the gray counter. “Would you like a bag?”
Barry shakes his head, reaching for the flowers and change. “Thank you!” he exclaims, shoving the money in his coat pocket. Gripping the bouquet, he spins the joystick, heading to the door; he presses the blue button with his elbow.
If he squints, he can make out the school, which is a few miles away. Quickly, he drives forward, wheels spinning like a locomotive; he darts past a few elderly ladies feeding pigeons, holding the flowers to his chest while their wings flap around him in a sea of dark gray. “Sorry!” he yells, peering back with an awkward grin, still moving forward across the street. Luckily, he misses a truck, getting on the sidewalk alive.
A breath of relief escapes him and he runs a hand through his windswept hair. Okay, he almost died, erm, Joe doesn’t need to know that; what he doesn’t know won’t kill him, right? Barry blinks before heading towards the wood makeshift ramp. He cracks a smile; he wouldn’t be surprised if you made it. You’re thoughtful like that.
He opens the door using his method, gawking at the high ceilings. Barry isn’t an architect, but he still appreciates beautiful buildings. His wheels cause the sleek dark mahogany wood floor to creak and he looks down, just in case. He refocuses in front of him, watching out for the small lockers against the cream wall.
Doors pass by and he tries finding the office. After a little roaming, he stops, scratching his head in confusion. There has to be an office, right? “Sir, are you lost?” He hears a gruff, manly voice come from behind him. Spinning his wheelchair around, he peeks up at the tan man wearing a suit similar to Joe’s.
Barry gulps, tightening his grip around the base of the flowers. “Erm, yeah.” he admits nervously, pulling at the ends of his scarf. “Do you know where I can find, Miss Y/L/N? I’m her, um, boyfriend?” he asks, lips pursed in a tight thin line.
“Yeah, second floor. Room 108.” the man says; Barry’s heart drops to his stomach. The school barely had a ramp! He doubts they have an elevator. “But, her class should be coming down to the music room in a few minutes, so if you want you can wait for her there. Or by the stairs.” the man points to the wooden staircase.
Gulping down his anxiety, Barry nods, “Okay, thank you.” he whispers, backing up; the man nods, heading down another hallway. His wheels creak on the floor as he makes his way to the stairs, checking his watch when he parks at the bottom. Is this too romantic? Barry really isn’t the romantic type…now he’s rethinking all of this. Maybe he should just go -
Then he hears your perky voice echo through the hallways and shifts in his seat. Be cool, be cool, he reminds himself. “- good for Mr. Mandy, then afterwards we can read a chapter of Junie B. Jones, then you can go home!” you tell your students, following them down the steps; your black ankle boot heels clicking against the wood. He can see your shoes, then your black tights that hide under the skirt of your pearl white dress with black ruffles, a matching bow around your waist.
Barry glances down at his outfit, suddenly feeling underdressed; his black peacoat ends just below his ass, meaning that he’s sitting on it, and his blue jeans are cuffed at the bottom, topped with his signature converse. He flashes a smile when you see him, watching you cover your mouth with your hands, black blazer scrunching at your elbows. “Surprise?” he bites his lip, trying to ignore the nine kids staring at him.
“Who are you?” one of them says. Barry blushes awkwardly.
You put a hand on the student, grinning as you try not to cry. Can’t ruin the makeup. “Kids, this is, um,” you move your hands around your stomach, “one of my very…close friends, Mr…Allen.” Boy, that sounds weird. “Here, let’s go to music class!” you beam, ushering the kids towards the classroom. “Thank you. They are beautiful.” you whisper, taking the flowers and pecking his lips softly.
He blushes, smiling from ear to ear as he follows you to the classroom, making his chair roll at the same pace as you walk. “I, um, got off work early and thought I’d surprise you.” he mumbles. Wow, that came out lame. “I mean, I can go and come back later -”
“Are you sure?” you interrupt, turning to face him while walking; your silver necklace dangling on your stomach. His blush on his face matches his scarf. “You could always stay for music class…and I don’t know if you heard but I’m reading Junie B. Jones… But I understand if it makes you uncomfortable.” you smile, stopping in front of the door.
That smile. Oh boy. “Okay. I’ll stay.” he says against his better judgement, green eyes glistening as you let a gleeful cheer out. You peck his lips before opening the door, dress swaying around your thighs as you walk to the back of the room, Barry follows, turning his chair off when you plop down on the colorful carpet. The teacher, who he met earlier, has the children sit in a circle, clapping a song to his guitar. “I thought you taught first grade?” he asks, gazing down at you.
You crinkle your eyebrows together, looking at him with your hands in your lap, your hair falling in your eyes. “I do.” you nod proudly. Barry tilts his head to the side. He’s kind of like a puppy. “This, um, this school is for…” your hands twitch in your lap; gaze drifting to the group of children, “for children who need more help?” you say in a question, turning your head to Barry but keeping your eyes on the beaming kids. “I like seeing their face when they get something right and how…how we think it’s so…simple, yet for them, it’s like asking them to do the impossible… And when they do get it, it’s - it’s like they conquered the world’s puzzle.” you sigh, cracking a slight grin.
Oh damn. He thinks he might have a heart attack. He wants to say so many things; that you are amazing, that this is such a wonderful school, that he feels like he should make out with you right here, right now, in the music room… But all he breathes out is… “Wow.”
Natsu’s eyes fluttered open. He could hear the birds chirping outside the window and the gentle bustle of the city below. The breeze caught the wind chimes that Lucy had made from their trip to the beach last summer. He smiled looking at it glitter in the morning sun, admiring the beautiful pieces of sea glass that she had found strewn about the beach.
He pushed himself up to his elbow and laid there staring down at the beautiful celestial Mage who lay next to him. She lay still, with a special glow about her, her chest rising and falling in a deep and peaceful slumber. Natsu never did know if the glow was from the magic power she acquired or from the fact that he simply saw her as the only bright thing in his life. He supposed it didn’t really matter, it was most likely both. He was in love with an angel. Natsu used his free hand to brush Lucy’s hair behind her ear and leaned forward, planting a gentle and tender kiss on her cheek. Still asleep, she smiled, and letting out a tiny moan nuzzled into her pillow.
“Kukuku, how cute is she?” Natsu thought to himself, “I’m going to do it today!”
He rose from the bed slowly, so as not to wake the sleeping girl, shivering a bit as the cool, dewy air met his naked skin. The light from the window glistened off his defined muscles as he searched the floor for his pants. When he’d located them he slipped them on slowly. Lucy, who’d been laying very still so as not to give any inclination that she was awake, was watching the boy dress. She basked in the beauty he possessed, and admired the way that his jeans hugged his hips low accenting his chiseled torso and taught buttox. He turned back once more to smile at her sweetly, teeth bared and a look of excitement in his eyes the likes of which she hadn’t seen before. He crept out of the room silently, closing the door behind him. He was up to something. But what? Before she could muse any further, she was fast asleep again.
Natsu looked at the tray he had laid out. 2 pancakes shaped like kittywhompus hearts slightly burned around the edges, some fresh bread, toasted with jam, and fresh fruit from the market. In a vase in the upper right hand corner, were a tiny bouquet of daffodils, bright yellow to match the color of Lucy’s hair. Natsu gave a sigh that said,
“That went better than expected” and he nodded with accomplishment.
His eyes scanned the mess in the kitchen, but he ignored it assuring himself that he’d do it later. The fresh squeezed orange juice, splattered a bit as he climbed the seemingly infinite staircase to the bedroom. His hands shook more than usual. But this time not from anger, sadness, or nerves. This shake was the one of excitement. Of pure unadulterated joy. He reached the door. This was it.
“Rise and shine, Luce!” Natsu chided, door swinging open.
She stretched a bit and let out another small moan that made Natsu’s heart soar. Sitting up, she sang back in a voice so sweet it made him blush,
“Good Morning sweetie! Oh–” she looked at the tray excitedly. “You made me breakfast in bed, aren’t you just the sweetest!”
As he lay the tray across her lap he turned his head to see her smile and, without warning, lurch forward into a passionate kiss.
“Thank you, Natsu” she said.
She then turned her attention to the tray laid before her. The fruit was fresh and it sparkled in the light the flowers’ scent was so aromatic, Lucy felt as if she were on a picnic on the slopes of Fiorè’s vast mountains to the east. Lucy giggled at poor misshapen pancakes but blushed at how hard Natsu must have tried to get them to look like a heart. She turned to thank him but he was no longer standing.
When she turned Natsu was down on one knee, eyes wide with wonder and excitement.
“W-what are you doing?” She asked, heart aflutter
“Lucy,” he started “I have been waiting for this moment, for so long. The moment when I get to ask my best friend, a very important question.
He reached in his pocket and pulled out a little box and held it before Lucy. Her eyes grew wide and she shot a hand up to cover the stupid smile that she could hold back no longer. He opened the box to reveal the most beautiful ring she’d ever seen in all her life.
"I uhh made this for you. I knew that nothing I could ever buy would be even close to good enough for you. NOT TO SAY that you have high standards… Oh geez. I just meant that you deserve so much more than this… Than me.”
He removed the ring from the box and offered it forward,
“When we met I made you a promise that I’d always protect you. Today I want to make another one. If you’ll marry me, I will always love you. Forever.”
Lucy, could hardly contain herself. She burst out in tears of resounding joy.
“Yes, YES a thousand times yes”
She held her hand forward and Natsu slid his creation onto her finger. She gabbed him and pulled him into a long and deep kiss. Their supple lips pressed against one another. Natsu smiled. He knew he’d never again be as happy as he was at this moment.
and they say chivalry is dead - chivalry is dead; trevor wesley
i wanna last wanna last forever, i wanna dance dance dance all night - yoga; janelle monáe, jidenna
Contemporary dancing may the love of Marinette’s life, but if there is one thing that tests this love it’s spending hours at a time, every single day, in the presence of Chloé Bourgeois. She never signed up for the amount of patience required when she applied for her place in L’Académie de Danse François-Dupont—patience she doesn’t have. She’d hoped that she at least wouldn’t have the same classes as Chloé this year, but Marinette has never been that lucky.
Her Royal Majesty Chloé Bourgeois has spent the past two days coming up with a truckload of new insults with which to hit Marinette. Her nastiness is reaching new levels and with each variation of ‘duck-footed hag’ Marinette has to try harder and harder to keep a lid on her irritation.
It’s not helping that the idiot of a playboy Chloé calls her best friend keeps making rueful, Puss-In-Boots eyes at her every day from across the room. He doesn’t do it to her directly, but they’re in a dance studio, there are mirrors everywhere. The problem is, the more he gives his attention to her and not to Chloé, the more his behaviour is increasing her risk of ‘accidentally’ breaking an ankle.
To add to her bad mood, she’s had to train in her old dancing shoes. Getting the chewing-gum out of her current ones has proven impossible, and until she gets her paycheck next week, a new pair is out of her means. The ruined shoes sit on her desk, a sore reminder not to trust the attempted approaches of the boy who put them on them there in the first place. He even has the audacity to think he can buy her forgiveness with a new pair of shoes identical to hers (much to Chloé’s chagrin). He’d left the box by her bag the other day in class and it had taken everything in her to walk out of studio and leave them behind without so much as a glance. Throwing money at the problem won’t make it go away, and she’s determined he knows this.
She is adamant about not giving in to him, so when class finishes up for the day, and she sees him approaching to talk to her, she almost sprints out of the studio.
She pulls her phone out to read the three texts Nino has sent her, snorting at the screen.
‘made a new frnd,’ reads the first one.
‘ok so he’s more of a charity case.’ is the second.
‘he was sitting alone @ lunch nd he lookd like a stray. i cdnt leav him.’
She types back to him, ‘good for u. Pretentious Douchebag hsnt stopd sulking. chloé still hates me but that’s not a new develpmnt.’
His answer appears almost immediately. ‘that suks. we can go get gelato? b out in 5.’
‘sounds good. see u. :)’
She tucks her phone back into her bag with a smile and walks briskly to the front door of the academy. Rain pours down fast outside on the pavement and Marinette curses her luck for the fifth time today. She rummages in her bag, trying to remember whether or not she brought an umbrella, when her elbow bumps into someone’s chest and she stumbles forward from the impact.
A strong hand grasps her upper arm to keep her from falling and she instinctively latches onto the person’s arms, pulling herself back upright in a strange sort of embrace. She looks up to find the apple-green eyes of her classmate and current source of unnecessary stress.
“Hi,” he says, and when he smiles she can count every single one of his perfect, white teeth. She wants to knock them out of his mouth.
Instead, she snatches her arms back and turns away from him, huffing. The rain outside is falling softly, but quickly, the kind that soaks you through before you’ve even gone far enough to notice. She steps right into it, stomping down the stairs.
“Please,” he calls to her, and she can hear him running into the rain behind her. “Wait.”
Something small in his voice makes her pause on the bottom step. It pokes uncomfortably at her heart and she draws her feet together and hugs herself against the cold. But she doesn’t turn around and she still doesn’t say anything. He stops a few steps above her and she hears him take a deep breath before he speaks again.
“I’m sorry for causing you trouble. I want you to know that I didn’t put that gum on your shoes, I actually tried to unstick it.”
She almost doesn’t want to believe him, but there’s a sincerity in his words that’s as real and tangible as the rain on her skin. She can see it in the creases under his eyes and the twist of his tentative smile. Her determination to ignore him and his sad looks is crumbling fast.
“This kind of thing is a little new to me,” he continues, eyes dropping to the ground. “Going to school, I mean. Having—having friends.”
Marinette is at a loss for words. He is utterly vulnerable in front of her, putting himself and his pride on the line, just to tell her he’s sorry. He pushes his drenched hair back out of his eyes and she sees a completely different person, the rain washing away her first impression like ink. The dim afternoon light brings the colour out on his cheeks that she hasn’t seen in the studio and he is beautiful. His earnest gaze glues her feet to the ground and her heart to this moment.
He twists to reach into his duffel bag, pulling out a very small, crumpled bundle of flowers wrapped in very expensive-looking, wrinkled paper. “My friend Chloé likes me to get her flowers sometimes when she’s cross with me. I’m not sure if it’s a thing for other people, but I picked them myself and I wanted you to know that I really am sorry your shoes were ruined.”
He offers them to her with a hopeful smile and thunder rumbles in her ribcage. She’s unable to break from his gaze and when she reaches tentatively to take the flowers from him their fingers bump before he places the stems neatly in her grasp. It’s an odd gift, but oddly comforting, like a kiss on the eyelid.
“Y-you’re giving me flowers,” she says dumbly as she strokes the broken petals of the daffodils, bright and sunny yellow in a pond of pink peonies and red tulips.
“Is that okay?”
His eyes are wide and unsure when she looks at him. “Yeah, o-of course. Yes.”
His smile is brilliant. “Great. And here, please take this.”
He pulls a pink shoebox from his bag that she recognises as the same one he tried to give her two days prior and extends it to her. She takes it this time, tucking it under her arm.
A horn blares and a wave of water crashes down over her back, drowning her words and the rest of her along with it. She gasps and tenses, hugging the small bouquet and shoebox to her chest. The puddle water is warmer than the rain and it trickles slowly off her, clinging to her clothes and hair and leaving a layer of dirt all over.
“Oh!” he says softly, and she uses a finger to lift her sopping wet fringe out of her eyes and look at him.
Of course this has to happen, of course she has to humiliate herself at this exact moment—
He laughs. It brings her up short—her thoughts, her heart—and he looks like a child, wide smile and squinty eyes. Something inside her melts and heat rises in her cheeks as she giggles with him.
He stops all too soon, clearing his throat and muting that free beauty she could see a moment ago. She mourns its loss without quite knowing why.
It abruptly stops raining. At least, it does over her. She looks up to see a big black umbrella protecting her overhead in the hand of a grinning Nino.
“Agreste!” he says, clapping him on the shoulder. “I see you took my advice.” He turns to Marinette. “Marinette, you’ve had better fashion days. So it turns out my stray was your Pretentious Douchebag.”
“What?” Adrien says.
Marinette is horrified. She squashes the ball of her foot discreetly on Nino’s shoe and smiles weakly at Adrien, ignoring Nino’s quiet “ouch!”
“Nothing!” she squeaks. “He’s kidding.”
She punctuates it with a glare to the perpetrator.
“Right,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“Mhmm,” she nods. “Yep, see you row-moto—I mean, tomorrow! See you tomorrow!”
His smile warms her all the way down to her toes, even if she’s soaking wet and goosebumps are raised on her skin. It stays after he ducks into a sleek silver saloon car and even after Nino elbows her ribs to get her back for crushing his foot.
“That was unnecessary,” he grumbles. “You’re damn lucky I’m not the dancer here.”
She gives him the flattest look she can manage with her heart fluttering too quickly in her chest. “You are the worst.”
He shakes his head. “Nineteen years in this world, and still no one manages to insult me like you do. Be proud of yourself.”
She rolls her eyes and tucks the little bouquet into the shoebox, careful to keep both out of the way of more rain damage. Her fingers stroke the pretty cursive on the box for a moment before she smiles at the space on the steps where he stood.
“Huh?” she says, blinking at Nino.
He looks puzzled. “You good, man?”
She smiles. “You said something about gelato?”
Marinette blows her fringe out of her eyes and glares at the mirrored wall in front of her. She can see Alya sitting upside down on the rickety old couch that someone had dumped in the corner of the studio years ago, applying a cherry red lipstick with help from her phone camera. Her laptop sits forgotten on the couch beside her, a half-written article for her blog still visible on the screen.
They’re in the abandoned, dingy old studio that Marinette had found years ago, back in their curious teenage days. She’s been using the studio ever since to dance. When she and Alya met, Alya had introduced her to hip hop, and through that, breakdancing. Marinette has been exploring her ability for it here in the comfort of a dusty floor and silent walls, away from the watchful eyes of the academy. Here she can do what she loves without constraint.
Of course, with the absence of any formal instructors, it’s hard to improve as much as she wants to. She’s spent years studying and copying the methods of talented kids at the skate park and watching videos on the internet. When Alya used to compete she’d pick up tips from other competitors and coaches, and Alya herself has been a brilliant teacher. Nino too, when he cares enough to comment on her dancing. She even experiments with her own moves, and as her mother tells her, she can achieve endlessly as long as she has endless imagination.
She knows she’s not bad at it, but like everything else, there are nights like tonight when she just can’t get the steps right.
“Your feet are off on three,” Alya sings.
“I know,” Marinette growls. She’s been working on this routine for weeks, choreographing and perfecting it, but she always ends it stumbling with the same turn tripping her up every time.
Alya pops her lips, completely unfazed by Marinette’s outbursts of irritation this whole evening. “Try pulling your leg in earlier and tighter.”
“Okay. From the top, then.”
Alya hits a button on the speakers and the song starts to play again. Marinette bounces on her toes, swinging her arms back and forth until she finds her hook. Then she feels the beat in her bones, and her body starts to move in rhythm. She’s conscious of it this time around, concentrating on each and every movement she makes, each stretch and clench of her muscles and perfecting the dance to the extension of her fingers.
She makes it to the turn, Alya’s suggestion clear in her head and she tucks her leg in tight and fast, landing the spin perfectly. A broad grin stretches on her face as she continues, finishing the routine with an elated energy despite the sweat drenching her and the fatigue in her head.
Her final pose falls apart with satisfaction and she jogs over to high-five Alya before slumping to a knotted mess on the floor beside her. Alya passes her her bottle of water and Marinette gulps it down. She leans her head back on the seat of the couch and tries to breathe deeply against her fast-beating heart.
“Well done, babe,” Alya smiles at her, her glasses dangling dangerously off her nose. “I knew you’d get it. You nailed the rest of it too.”
Marinette bumps her shoulder affectionately against Alya’s head. “Thanks. What’s with the lipstick? I thought you said your blog needed attention, not your reflection.”
Alya sticks her tongue out. “Nino and I are going to check out this new club that just opened up tomorrow. ‘Papillon’, it’s called. They’re really hyping it up online. Want to come?”
“No, thanks.” Marinette shakes her head. She’s never been one for clubs, even if she enjoys the atmosphere on the dancefloor. Everything is always so sticky. “You guys have fun though.”
“You sure? It’s going to be our scene, our music, our people. Hip hop and b-boying and such.”
“I don’t want to third-wheel, thanks.”
Alya lightly smacks the top of her head. “You’d enjoy it.”
Marinette makes a noncommittal noise, drawing her knees up into her chest and resting her chin atop.
“So what are you going to do with it?” Alya asks, staring at Marinette through the mirrored wall.
Marinette ignores her gaze and raises a puzzled eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“The routine. What are you going to do with it?”
“I’m not going to do anything with it. Just like every other routine.” She knows exactly where this is going, and even after the hundredth time it manages to pull regret out from her heart and an aching in her body. She takes another drink and looks away from the Alya on the couch to the Alya in the mirror.
That Alya looks compassionately at her too, pointing the lipstick right at her. “Marinette, ma belle, you were born to dance.”
“I am dancing,” she says in a small, pained voice.
“But you can do so much more than you’re letting yourself! Audition for squad on Saturday.”
Marinette laughs humorlessly. “Alya, I don’t know what to tell you. If you can find a way for me to dance without losing my place at the academy, I’m all for it.”
“Just wear a disguise—like Chat Noir.” Alya covers her face with her hands for emphasis.
“Are we really calling him that?”
“It’s a good name.”
“Because you came up with it.”
“Case in point. Anyway, what I mean is no one can see his face. You don’t even have to give your real for this competition. We don’t know his real name. Who knows; maybe he’s in the same position as you are.”
“Uhuh. If you have any of his magic greasepaint handy, let me know.”
“Don’t be silly. Normal greasepaint would work just fine. Or—” Alya rolls over to swipe her lipstick over the upper half of Marinette’s face, ignoring her when she protests and tries to push her away “—lipstick! There. Completely unrecognisable.”
Marinette purses her lips at Alya, but when she catches sight of herself in the mirror she can’t help laughing. The jagged streaks of bright red do change her features, if only a little. But she looks ridiculous.
“Only because I look like a toddler drew on my face while I was sleeping,” she says, grinning at Alya.
Alya shrugs. “Hey, it’s working. No one’s going to be looking at your face anyway.” Her eyes turn serious. “You are so much more amazing than you think. Will you at least give it a shot?”
Marinette sighs and pushes herself off the floor, jumping up and down to get her blood flowing. She practices her turn again before meeting Alya’s gaze.
“I’ll think about it,” she says slowly. Entering in such a competition could blow her future out like a candle flame. She’s already in a precarious position as a scholarship student, she doesn’t want to upset the balance in her life. If her performance in class drops, she’s out. Her parents can’t afford to keep her in the academy, and her part-time job at the ice cream parlour won’t help nearly enough. If she doesn’t get through this school, she’ll have nothing.
But a small part of her recognises that Alya’s right. She wants to dance like this. She wants to perform like this. In front of people and crowds, feeling their energy pulsing in her veins the more she dances. This small part of her, no matter how much she tries to quash it, wants more, and it frightens her.
Marinette nods and looks down to her feet. “Let’s go from the top again.”
The music starts playing, and despite the conflicted knots in her gut, she executes the routine perfectly.
That night in her room, Marinette tries on the new dancing shoes. They’re comfortable to dance in, a good fit. She wears them in class the next day, and when Adrien gives her a radiant smile she decides that the fit might just be perfect.
It’s week two of promotions for our Summer Spectacle winning team, Falcon Helldiver!! This week we’re promoting some of the team’s lesser known treasures, so if you missed these gems the first time around, here’s a second chance to give them some love.
Derek tossed the duffel bags into the bedroom and flicked on the fans. He’d had someone come out and clean up the beach house and air it out, but it still smelled a little too much like cleaning supplies and stale air for his tastes.
He went back out to the main room, where Stiles stood between the living room and the kitchen, surveying the house with his hands shoved in his back pockets. “I can’t believe you have a beach house sitting out here that no one knows about.”
Derek woke to lips at the nape of his neck, brushing open-mouthed kisses along the skin, and a warm palm spreading right over his heart. He threaded his fingers through the hand on his chest and pressed back into the body curled against him.
A smile curved into the back of his neck. “Good morning, husband,” Stiles said between kisses.
Derek frowns and walks over to them. They have to be for Cora. Her scent is the only other one in the apartment, and Derek can’t imagine someone sending him flowers. It’s a beautiful bouquet, with red amaryllis, bright yellow daffodils, and in the very center, three red tulips.
But there’s a card on the table–an actual card, not just one of the small ones florists stick into the bouquets–and Derek sees his name on it in a familiar scrawl.
His heart catches in his chest, and he picks up the envelope and opens it.
Mika was never really a fan of flowers; actually, it’d be safe to say that he didn’t like them at all. Their supposedly sweet scent makes him sneeze and they were harder to manage than a teenager with a credit card on a mall trip. So it was really confusing to him as to why his sister, Krul, wanted him to go to the local flower shop today.
“What does she need a planter for anyway?” Mika grumbled into the neck of his jacket as he made his way down the somewhat crowded avenue on a crispy winded March afternoon.
Entering the shop that promptly read “Ichinose Flowers,” Mika began stalking around the small salon for what Krul desired.
“What even is a planter?” Mika mumbled as he was practically glaring at a bin of daffodils; the bright flowers seemingly mocking his irritated demeanor.
“Can I help you with something, Sir?” a voice from the nearby counter called, their tone as sweet as nectar.
Mika turned in the direction of the alluring baritone and met sparkling emerald buds, pink petals speckling their sun-kissed skin.
“A flower…” Mika thought in awe as he was sure his face was starting to color as a goofy grin began to stretch onto his visage.
“Uhh… I, I’m looking for a planter.” Mika stuttered.
A soft chuckle resonated from the other, leaving their station at the counter, Mika now being able to clearly see their name-tag read ‘Yuu.’
“Well, you won’t find any there, planters are the flowers already planted in the pots dangling above the display window over there.” Yuu pointed.
Mika wanted to slap himself for his cluelessness in front of the beautiful man, instead settling on his cheeks flushing more as he grabbed a random pot and took it over to the counter.
Yuu slipped behind the counter and began punching in the order on the register, “You don’t know much about flowers, do you?” he questioned.
“Is it that obvious?” Mika replied, rubbing the back of his neck.
Yuu continued to punch in the order as he answered, “You didn’t look too happy when you walked in, oh 975 yen.”
Mika dug out his wallet as he kept the conversation going, “They make me sneeze, I think I maybe allergic; or have an aversion.” he explained, handing Yuu a 1000 yen bill.
“Flowers make me smile, they’re bright and colorful and always seem to make me happy.” he said, putting in the payment and handing Mika his change.
“You make me smile.” Mika accidentally blurted out.
Yuu nearly dropped the planter as he was about to hand it to Mika; both of their faces shining a dark crimson.
“Huh?” Yuu gasped.
“Sorry! It slipped out!” Mika cried.
“It’s okay, normally I’d knock out someone’s teeth if they did that, but… You’re pretty cute, so I’ll let it slide.”
“Cute?” Mika gawked in thought.
“Is there anything else I can help you with?” Yuu asked.
Mika took a moment to ponder on his response, deciding to go for it.
Something I think about with startling regularity are the pet names new couple Scott and Stiles would use. I have a personal, visceral dislike of ‘baby’ or ‘babe’, so I don’t care how realistic it might be, I would never want them to use them.
I find myself imagining a scenario where Stiles is like, “I want an affectionate nickname, Scotty.”
“Stiles is my affectionate nickname for you. I can’t help that everyone else co-opted it.”
“Okay, how about nougat? It’s like soft and crunchy all at once, sometimes so sweet it’ll rot your teeth, sometimes so hard it’ll break them?”
“I feel like you’re not taking my valid concerns seriously.”
“Meerkat? Because you’re cute, always on high alert, and can kill vicious predators if provoked?”
“You’re a really mean boyfriend, you know? Everyone thinks you’re sweetness and light, but I know the truth.”
“Daffodil? You’re bright, you’re pretty, but at your roots you’re poisonous if consumed?”
“SO AWFUL. Good-day cruel sir.”
But later that week, they’re cuddled up together, Stiles gently stroking his hand through Scott’s hair, and Scott murmurs a word. One that stops Stiles short.
“What’d you call me?”
“Your name. Your birth name. That’s… it’s okay, right? I just. You wanted me to call you something. Everyone else has stolen Stiles, so. I just figured…”
“Scotty, it’s perfect. Say it again.”
So Scott does, in those quiet, private moments when no one else is around. When Stiles is beneath or above him. When they have their own little world. Scott says Stiles’ name with naked love and affection, and “Scotty” starts to sound like reverent litany.