One thing Steve has realised about his type in women is that he prefers them smart.

Sure, he's dated plenty of lipstick-wearing, empty-headed girls in his time but the ones who actually catch his attention, the ones who make his heart race and his palms sweat, are the smart ones.

Take Nancy and Robin, for example.

Nancy was the first girl Steve truly loved, the one who showed him what it meant to care about someone beyond surface-level attraction. Robin was the second girl Steve thought he could love, though that situation turned out differently than he'd expected. But what they had in common was that they were both incredibly smart. Like, way smarter than him. They were both sharp-witted, quick-thinking, and always three steps ahead.

Which wouldn't be something he thought he would like — especially not if you were asking him about it a few years ago when he was still King Steve, more concerned with his hair than anything substantive — but he's evolved since then. Or at least, he's evolving. Growing into someone he actually likes being.

He guesses that's why he fell so hard and fast for you.

He met you a few months ago through Robin, who met you through Vickie. You were Vickie's best friend, and have been since you two were kids, practically inseparable. And by gosh, were you smart. Intimidatingly so, at first. At the beginning, he had a complicated love-hate relationship with you constantly correcting him. “It's ‘you and I’, Steve. ‘Not me and you,’" Or "Actually, it's ‘could have’, not 'could of,'" delivered so sweetly that he couldn't even be annoyed about it because he knew you were just being nice in your own weird way.

But over time — and as he got to know you much, much better, as you opened up and let him see the person behind all that intelligence — well, he began to love it. Love the way you cared about words and their meanings, the way you lit up when explaining something you were passionate about.

It was stupid.

So fucking stupid, really.

He would mess up his grammar occasionally on purpose, just so you would give him a single second of your undivided attention. Just so you would glance in his direction with those gorgeous eyes of yours, maybe roll them affectionately, maybe touch his arm as you corrected him.

Robin noticed it almost immediately (of course she did). Called him a dingus for acting that way, for playing dumb when he knew better. Told him that if he just asked you out like a normal person, you would probably say yes. She seemed pretty confident about it, actually, which should have given him hope considering she was dating your best friend. But despite all the encouragement from Robin, despite her (and Vickie’s) increasingly obvious attempts to push you two together, he didn't want to risk a friendship again. He couldn't bear to

He's already messed things up with Nancy, let that relationship crumble because he didn't know how to be what she needed. Half-messed things up with Robin too, though in a different way — and honestly, if they had ended up dating like he'd briefly imagined, he was sure he would have messed things up with her as well.

It seemed to be his specialty, ruining good things. So he didn't want to put your relationship in jeopardy just because he couldn't keep his feelings in check, couldn't stop himself from wanting more than you were offering.

He would much rather just sit and listen to you ramble about a book you'd read, watching the way your hands moved as you talked, the way your whole face became animated. Or let you explain some complicated science concept to him in a way that made him 99% sure you were speaking in another language, even though he knew you were deliberately simplifying it for him.

He loved those moments, treasured them, even if they sometimes felt like sweet torture

So what if he wants to lean over and give you a kiss to stop your rambling, to see if your lips are as soft as they look? So what if he wants to hold you in his arms as he falls asleep, to wake up next to you and see you first thing in the morning? So what if he lies awake at night imagining a future where you're his and he's yours? He's yearned before and he can do it again. He's gotten good at it, actually, at wanting things he can't have.

Thank you to @rookanis-week for hosting!

Title: Flowers Amidst Thorns Rating: G (will become E by the end of the week) Words: 1,031 (2,686 total) Warnings: None

Read on AO3

Antiva, depending on who you asked, did not have a winter. It was true that Brynnlaw was as north as Qarinus and just as balmy, and Seleny, though south, sat sheltered by the river valley it commanded—but the cities of the Rialto Bay got cold. Chilled air flowed north up the Amaranthine coast and flowed west, funneled by the wall of Rivain; the warm southerly currents of the Boeric spent themselves against the broad northern coast, those kind breezes long cooled by the time they reached southern shores. Treviso might not see as deep a frost as Starkhaven or Highever come Wintermarch, but it did still see it. What the Hossberg Wetlands called winter was something else entirely. Lucanis, freezing in his leathers, could not comprehend it as the same season. The cold here was insidious, clammy and cloying down to the bones, the wind working its way into his collar no matter how deeply he shrugged into his cloak. Spite was little more than a distressed and furious muttering, its presence tight-curled and withdrawn as the demon pulled as far back as it could get from the marble-chill gooseflesh of his skin. Even Grey Hold itself seemed to radiate the icy damp. The Wardens had patched the ruin as best they could with the scant time and available hands they had, but a draft still flowed though the weary stones, and every fire in the keep seemed to struggle to warm anything past its own grate. The rag rugs and hangings the survivors had put up were better than nothing, and he was glad for their presence, but they did not bring what he would call comfort. Rook and Davrin, of course, seemed unaffected by the miserable weather, as did the rest of their Order. Lucanis could not help but feel a flash of sullen resentment at the thought. That was unfair. He could have said no when she'd invited him along. His blades were less well-suited to the work of clearing darkspawn than Taash's flames would have been, but they had been speaking softly with Harding when Rook had walked into the kitchen. Her eyes had landed on them consideringly before sliding to his, and he'd gone to grab his armor without so much as a frown.

Kisses, Rose

Hi Rose!!! oh yeah, here we go:

i have this hc that tecchou writes poetry as a niche hobby but nobody knows that ofc cuz tecchou never bothered sharing it since he assumed it wasn't that big of a deal.

jouno loves the sound of tecchou's voice when he's reading his poems to him, but he doesn't know that tecchou's the one who wrote them.

he always did find them soothing because damn the poet really has a knack for describing everything like it's the next best thing they found: simply the sound of a chair rocking, micro-analyzing the sight of a lone park bench with chipped paint, the fragrance coming from a bakery at the corner of the street, the feel of leather and polyester weighing down on their body— mundane things one wouldn't pay their mind to. jouno enjoyed this little shared activity of theirs as he would pick the words apart in his mind, unsuspecting that he too had become a muse for tecchou's poetry.

he only realised it when one day tecchou was narrating how snow is such a paradoxical thing; so gentle and fragile, looking absolutely beautiful to the eye yet brutal enough to burn your skin. however relentless, it allows an incarnadine rose to bloom amongst the blizzard as if being offered solace by the snow itself. an odd concept, really, but who even really understood the biasness of it. jouno had almost assumed that the incredibly targeted description of the intricate complexities of the snow wasn't meant to be about him.

Author: @walkhomewheeler

Rating/Warning: Mature

Chapter Count: 1/1

Description:

His lips quirk up at her words, “It would be a lot better if you were with me, Princess.”

“One day I will be, Promise.”

Chrissy’s promises have always been as good as a done deal and Eddie can practically see it already. He can’t wait to have her beside him on red carpets and to live in a house full of her art, Eddie can’t wait to have it all- But he needs to get through this fucking tour first.

“-I’m gonna make it happen, baby, We’re gonna have it all.” Eddie swears resolutely.

“I know you will, So go out with the boys and celebrate, take the world by storm, and when you’re done come home to me, Okay?”

If Eddie didn’t know any better, He’d think Chrissy sounded almost worried and well.. Eddie would rather lose a fucking finger than be the cause of her pain, “There's nowhere else I’d rather be.”

- - Otherwise known as 'Eddie Munson goes on tour and realizes he better put a ring on it' ft. a cute proposal.

Soooo hungover... trying to edit, mostly just fighting the urge to fall asleep. But here’s some evidence of nothing happening :)

"You're all right..." Merab reassured himself as Irakli's arms encircled him and he buried his face in Merab's hair.

Irakli's laughter was warm against his scalp. "Hey...yeah, I'm all right."