#when my friends ask about him I'm unable to be this articulate but I HAVE THINGS TO SAY REGARDLESS

[grilledkatniss]

What reminds you of home?(not the house, just things that remind you of the feeling) Do you believe in astrology? Now, say three nice things about yourself.

Don't think I have a home or some feeling I associate with home. I have like.. idk a few moments in time when things felt just right and I guess I felt safe and healthy and loved and normal, like a small period of time before middle school, and that's probably why I don't remember much of it but get a sense of comfort and simplicity. Like as if there was a right way to do childhood. Some smells and tastes and sounds take me back there. The summer mostly. But there's no specific place to be reminded of. Come to think of it maybe like summer camp or my aunts house when we'd travel there during most summer vacations, before it got too expensive to afford for 2 grumpy adults and 3 no longer toddlers. Like the smell of gasoline reminds me of being in my aunts car with my sisters and my cousin coming back from the mall where they painted whiskers on our faces bc they were doing promo for some local children's movie we couldn't afford tickets for.

I don't believe in astrology but I love constellations and a clear night sky far away from the city lights. I actually have been sleeping on my parents backyard these last few days just so that I could fall to sleep looking at the stars. There was also supposed to be a meteor shower going on this week but didn't see any meteor showering anywhere. When I was in high school and depression and anxiety weren't real words in anyone's vocabulary in a small conservative town for a lonely awkward mopey girl, there was one star I named Lauren that I'd always be eager to see and talk to. I'd be like "it's the second shiniest star on that side, far removed from the rest and the moon". It didn't occurred to me till years after that like... the earth rotates on itself and also around the sun, and the moon around us as well, while outter space "stays put" (it doesn't either) so of course the star wouldn't be in the same place all year round and couldn't use the moon as a reference point.. and I legit would cry when I couldn't find it. But also like up till the second year of college I thought the moon being right on top of you meant it was midnight, like the same logic as with the sun so feel free to judge my dumb ass.

I'm mostly always well intentioned, and empathetic but in a weird logical way. Like someone having x feelings and x reactions makes sense to me in x context taking into account x precedent and x experience etc, you know what I mean? I don't tend to get caught up in my own feelings anymore.. no one but my ex can really say I'm a mean person and mean it. (But he can go fuck himself, acting like Ryan Gosling's character in the second half of the notebook, absolute victim of neglect and accusing me of breaking his heart for sport, the manipulative lil shit). Let's say those are three different unrelated nice things about me.

[nqmonarch]

happy valentine's day!! <3 honestly anything for aventurine is fine, probably like what are your thoughts about him?

Happy very belated Valentine's day! I hope yours was wonderful anon!

Anyway I think my thoughts about Aventurine are uh... definitely out there. Normally when I write stuff I like to read the character's little lore things and read over character's quotes to make sure I'm depicting them well but Aventurine doesn't have much of that and my overall thoughts on him are straight up just my thoughts which are...

Aw he's baby :). I can't take him seriously x.x like I feel like under that haha let's gamble it all away front he is both terrifying but also so weak and vulnerable. Like I want to hold him in my arms and tell him he has meaning but at the same time I think he may be some kind of masochist (hot), I don't know he just gives off those vibes he's like "use me, as long as it's fun." Like okay man.

Aventurine is both the most and least predictable person you've ever met. His existence itself is like a gamble you can never tell what will come next, will it be the cocky and confident Aventurine edging you on to take his carefully laid out bait? Or would it be the pathetic Aventurine hiding beneath the surface of all his actions who's begging to be comforted?

He acts so nonchalant for someone that cares so much. It was the only reason you still tolerated him. You also cared about Aventurine but he didn't need to know that. He also didn't need to know about the lengths you went to in order to keep him out of trouble.

The two of you getting together was a miracle in itself. Because Aventurine would've never asked you out seriously. He would've teased you about it, and about your lack of a partner. Maybe he would've made a bet or two to make you hang out with him on a date. But he was too scared of commitment to give it a label.

Of course he would be scared of commitment when everything he's ever had, he's lost and everything he's gained isn't his own. How else would he be able to gamble everything he knows to be true so easily? It pissed you off to an extent, and made you hesitant to commit. What if that fucker used you in a bet? He probably wouldn't but everything with Aventurine was a gamble.

So one day after the idiot had almost gotten himself in trouble, only to be saved by his luck, you had angrily grabbed him by his neck and pressed him against the wall.

You were fine with him betting nearly everything from millions of credits to rare items. He wasn't allowed to bet his life though. Not when you were around. Because his life was yours. You wouldn't let Aventurine die.

Through an unorganized and incoherent train of thoughts you tried to express yourself to Aventurine and at first he teased you,

"You really care about me that much? You're a better friend than I thought you would be, how useful!"

But as those thoughts straightened out more into a heartfelt confession he began to quiet and freeze. Maybe if this was a game to him he'd be able to maintain his light hearted facade but you hoped you meant more. You'd known him for a while after all, and better than anyone else.

Aventurine, struggling to articulate his thoughts, only nodded at the end. Then you kissed him. His lips were hesitant against yours but his hands gripped onto your arms tightly, refusing to let go. He didn't want to seem desperate, he didn't want to seem like he cared, but the silent plea of his arms wrapping around you spoke words.

For the most part he acted as a complement to your personality. When you didn't go after him, he went after you always in an attempt to sweep you off your feet unexpectedly. When you went after him, he'd lay still and let himself be attacked unable to defend himself as a blush rose up his neck to his ears and cheeks.

A serious relationship was something new for the both of you. And given how Aventurine acted, and how you struggled to explain your emotions, the two of you ran into communication issues often.

But despite it all the two of you made it through. After all how can one better express love than saving the other's life?

Aventurine had foolishly bet his life again, this time for some inconsequential thing. The two of you had been talking to a new "friend" of his, that ended up having ties with your past. As such they'd managed to come across some minor family heirloom of yours and for some reason trying to barter with it for information.

You could've cared less but Aventurine for some reason took the bait. Inviting this "friend" to a gamble, in which if he won then he would receive Aventurine's life and assets something you thought to be overly dramatic. If Aventurine won he'd receive the heirloom and the information you'd actually come here for, the information that would allow you to blackmail the government of this planet into giving into the IPC.

Aventurine managed to lose, but it's not like it mattered. Since your bullet was through his "friend's" head in the next second. As he died you registered a small clicking sound and shielded yourself and Aventurine as the body exploded. Really? What a pain.

"The IPC will work even harder to get you killed if they know about this," You couldn't help but mutter, a frown on your face, "Is there anyone left we can contact for this?" Aventurine still had more contacts than you unsurprisingly.

Failure was always met with death for people like him.

"You want to talk to more people than me?" He spoke with mock offense and before you could retort he held out some papers, "He was useful until the very end." He joked and you frowned.

Your voice was beginning to raise in anger, "Did you have to go ahead and bet your life?"

He took a step closer, the documents disappearing, "You made the opening for me. Come on, don't be mad," His voice was coy as he grabbed your hand in his.

You didn't like it when he bet his life. If he was going to take such poor care of himself then his life would be safer in your hands. Aventurine had already begun to lead the way to your next destination and your eyes rested on him, analyzing every detail. They continued without pause until they found his neck, you wanted to cover that barcode on his neck up with bites.

When you got back to the hotel room you were staying at you found the heirloom resting on the bed, and you let out an aggravated sigh. "That bastard... I told him I didn't care about it." And you didn't but you opened up the music box nonetheless and a tune began to play out.

A few moments after it began you felt arms wrap around you and hot breath on your neck. You closed your eyes and leaned into Aventurine, "Your life will always be the most important thing to me," You spoke softly.

He stiffened and then relaxed, "That's a terrible decision."

He was annoying. Hard to communicate with. He was also always a gamble, you could never predict him. But he kept life interesting, he was interesting, and amusing. You didn't want such an adorable person to die.

Maybe one day the two of you would be able to have a completely serious conversation but that'd be a while, and for now you were content with the man that loves you who you love back.

Aventurine trying to avoid affection like an insect avoiding rain drops but you're a motherfucking tsunami.

I CANT BELIEVE I FINISHED THIS IT WAS SITTING IN MY DRAFTS FOR SO LONG

I started it like a week after I got it and then had writers block on what to do but anyway yeah this is my take on ya boy Aventurine. He's kinda pathetic but I'm into that.

[mm-lurking]

Die for you (Wriothesley)

Originally written for a friend, modified to suit readers. Wriothesley x fem! reader, no warnings needed, just pure fluff and diabetes I guess (Wriothesley + tension = best combo) Word count: 1379 --- I’m finding ways to articulate the feelin’ I’m going through

He knows she’s watching him. He can see it from the corner of his eyes. The Duke is perceptive after all, he is able to observe his surroundings easily. Why is it that any room he steps into, he looks for her first? Why is it when he scans the crowd he wants to see her figure?

I just can’t say I don’t love you

She watches him from a distance, afraid to get close and let her feelings slip. Clamy hands, flushed face, increased heartrate…she is no fool, she knows she’s fallen for him.

Cause I love you

He straightens his tie and clears his throat, not to the words coming out of the Pankraton ring’s manager’s mouth, but because he’s starting to feel like he’s suffocating from her eyes on him. He wants her attention, he wants her gaze yet he cannot handle it well.

It’s hard for me to communicate the thoughts that I hold

How many times has he tried to say something to her but only fail miserably? He has lost count about the amount of times he has nearly blurted out how he feels and covered it up with some nonsense that somehow sounded convincing to her.

But tonight I am gon’ let you know

How long is he going to continue hiding it from her? It's been weeks, months even. Why was he so afraid of letting her know? It's not like he was going to perish if she rejected him. He manages to finish his conversation with the manager and turns in her direction finally, only to see her gone. She left...

Let me tell the truth

He calls her to his office that night. And to his surprise she doesn't refuse, nor does she question it. He had asked a guard to forward his request to her in the dormitories and she sent back a message saying she agreed. Frankly, he wasn't sure if this was the right way to do this but he didn't what else to do. He needed an answer from her in the privacy of his office just in case things didn't go the way he wanted.

You know what I'm thinkin' see it in your eyes

The office door closes behind her and silence falls. She can hear the soft music of the gramophone playing and the rustling of papers but aside from that it is dead silent. The sudden change of atmosphere from the noisy machines outside makes her nervous and all the physical signs of her feelings rush back into her body. Slowly she walks up the stairs and finally faces him, the very man that's been playing with her heart. Neither knows that the moment they make eye contact, their heart rates shoot up beyond understanding.

You hate that you want me, hate it when you cry, you're scared to be lonely, specially in the night

It is for the first time she notices that he is breathing more heavily than usual. His face is flushed and he pulls on his tie continuously, fidgeting with it. Neither have broken eye contact yet.  These signs..., she thinks to herself, is he...? Does he feel the same way I do? Her eyes widen and she tightly clasps her hands. No...no way...

I'm scared I will miss you, happens everytime, I don't want this feeling, I can't afford love

He finally looks away and clears his throat. What should he say? What can he say? He pretends to look through a document and audibly mumbles a hi. She greets him back in a shy manner and silence falls once more. Unable to handle the fast beating of her heart she attempts small talk.

“So you wanted to see me?”

I try to find reason to pull us apart

“Yeah regarding your jail release papers.”

Lies. That was not why he wanted to see her. Here he was, avoiding the topic once again, just as he had been for the past few months. The woman curiously looks at him and tilts her head.

“Your Grace my sentence is not complete for another twenty years…I killed my friend’s perpetrator, remember?”

“Oh.” 

Of course, how could he forget? When he had first seen her papers he was immediately fascinated at the willpower she had exercised to commit such an act. A lifetime of jail and yet she chose to go this far. Somehow it reminded him of his own story…

It ain’t workin’ ‘cause you’re perfect and I know that you’re worth it

He slams the document down on the table and she flinches. He was upset at himself, frustrated at himself for being so stupid and silly. Why was he behaving like this? How hard was it to say three words?! 

“Y-your Grace…?”

He realises she was still in front of him and gets up to apologise. She watches him press the temples of his head before sighing.

“Forgive me, I just- this doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

She nods but her eyes are still wide. Something is off about him, she notes. I think he likes me but this is just…unexpected.

I can’t walk away, oh

“You.”

He walks around his table and finally stands in front of her. His heart is racing and his face is flushed again but he pushes through. She watches him, observing all his features, his large muscular biceps, the way his chest heaves up and down, the way his shirt is so tight that one button is all it would take to pop it off…she observes everything except his eyes. She can’t look into them no matter how hard she tries.

“There is something I would like you to know.”

He continues slowly. She blinks and he takes it as a sign to continue.

Even though we’re goin’ through it and it makes you feel alone, just know that I would die for you.

“I, I like you.”

He slowly says, exhaling with each other almost as if making sure he’s saying it correctly. She takes a step back out of shock and stares at him, her heart rate absolutely out of this world and her face so red even a tomato would be put to shame. His fists are balled up, afraid of rejection and afraid to know her reaction. The anxiety that races through him is one he has never felt. A few moments of silence follows as he waits for her answer.

Baby I would die for you, yeah

“I…I like you to your Grace…”

She shyly says while fidgeting with her fingers. She stares at the ground and her hair forms a curtain preventing her face from being seen. It’s a good thing he cannot see the cheeky smile she has on her face which has formed from amusement and disbelief. He stares at her in shock, not believing the words coming out her mouth.

The distance and the time between us, it’ll never change my mind ‘cause 

“You like me too?”

He asks her wanting to make sure he’s hearing it right, that this isn’t some hallucination of his from the twenty cups of tea he drinks. She stands tall and finally looks into his eyes with conviction.

“I like you. Very much.”

Baby I would die for you

“Well its a good thing we both feel the same way.”

He chuckles and smirks, the anxiety and nervousness vanishing as if it was never there in the first place. She smiles at how he returns to his normal self.

“So what are we?”

“Feelers.”

“Your Grace!”

“Call me Wriothesley, that title sounds too formal coming from you.”

“As you wish…Wriothesley.”

They both chuckle and she takes a step closer. He looks at her in confusion, unsure what she was planning. She tilts her head upwards and tiptoes causing his lips to almost touch hers. They both look at each other for a moment before letting go of the hesitation. He finds his arms snake around her waist automatically and hers wrapping around his neck. In the privacy of the office, no one would interrupt their kiss.

Baby I would die for you, yeah.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ ©mm-lurking 2024 do not copy, steal or reuse my work.

[user-needs-new-hyperfixation]

Hello, can I ask what do you mean "in canon it's impossible for Sherlock to settle down with a woman"? Like, as a fan of Holmes and always read the books since middle school, I'm kinda confuse here, I don't mean anything negative. Sorry, do you think Poirot (from Agatha Christie) is also queer?

Maybe because I grew up with very religious mother and lived in anti-LGBTQ country, I'm kinda slow in picking up subtext. Like until now I'm still kinda confuse with my friend who have ships from any fandoms (but I still love to hear and read her headcanons or fics about those characters)....

I really agree with you, I've seen many Holmes' adaptations (cartoon, tv series, manga) but Yuumori is clearly the closest to Doyle's works. Do you think the mangaka also love to read Holmes' books?

Story time! (Welcome to "Hyper answers asks like an old lady going on an hour long barely-on-topic tangent at the slightest prompting.)

I totally get where you're coming from, I was raised in like...knockoff Southern Baptist churches. Growing up, homosexuality was presented to me as a sexual perversion incapable of involving real love. It's kind of silly, but it's true: a ship was a big part of changing that for me. I read Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle as a teenager, and Kurogane and Fai had something that was inescapably romantic and beautiful but never strictly sexual (tho the potential is certainly there). Between that and an online community of LGBTQ+ adults who were incredibly patient and kind towards me even when I was suuuuper ignorant, I started to open up towards queer relationships as...well, just relationships. Relationships that can encompass sex and also encompass love and friendship and communication and partnership and all those other things I'd been taught were exclusive to monogamous straight people. And then, even as terrified as I was, I was eventually able to face the fact that I'd always had crushes on girls just as often as crushes on guys. So yeah, there's a reason Kurofai is my ship of all ships, the actual One True Pairing for me. Because it cracked open a door just enough that I could slowly lever it open the rest of the way. There seem to be quite a lot of anecdotes like this: women enjoying BL/mlm ships is often seen as fetishy (which can certainly be part of it) but for some reason I can't fully articulate it also seems to sometimes be a means for girls and women to explore their own not-straightness.

ANYWAY. SHERLOCK HOLMES. Tbh I'm not gonna go too in-depth because I would bet good money that there are a bunch of scholarly articles on Holmes' queerness. People have probably done their doctorate theses on this! Much smarter and more well-read folks than I have already covered the topic. For me, it really boils down to: he never outright expresses sexual or romantic interest in anyone (we must resist the urge to assume his respect for Irene Adler is romantic just because he is a man and she is a woman). He's almost certainly on the asexual spectrum. But when he does exhibit symptoms one might associate with romantic and/or sexual interest (particularly romantic, imo), it's always towards men (usually Watson, of course). For example, notable flirt John Watson saying that Holmes blushes at his compliments the way a girl does is...suggestive.

The whole thing is complicated by Watson being (in my opinion at least) an unreliable and sometimes downright petty narrator. He keeps going on spiels about Holmes being cold and heartless, only to turn around and describe him greeting his friends warmly and being emotionally moved by music and baby-talking puppies and charming old ladies. It makes Watson sometimes come across as one of those allo people who are so unable to conceive of a life without romantic and/or sexual desire that they start dehumanizing those who don't experience it. Alternatively and maybe more charitably, he just has a big ol' crush on Holmes, is understandably alarmed by it given the time period, and gets bitchy and defensive when he feels it might not be reciprocated.

But ultimately...do I think Arthur Conan Doyle sat down at a desk in the late 19th century/early 20th century and was like "I am going to write some ace queer representation for the tumblr girlies (gn)"? Obviously not. 😅 I do think he might have set out to create a character who very deliberately did not need to have the otherwise almost obligatory straight romantic side-plot. Holmes is never in any way set up as having a life headed towards marriage and children, in spite of how typical that was for the time. The companionship he does express a need and desire for comes in the form of another man. He's "lost without [his] Boswell." He sneakily buys Watson's practice out from under him so he'll be free to move back in and go on more adventures with him. He threatens violence when Watson is hurt. Etc etc. I think it's very fair to interpret it all through a queer lens, the quibble would be more in whether that queerness ever manifests sexually.

I definitely think the Yuumori creators have not only read ACD but also other fiction based on the stories, possibly even including some very old pastiches like this one. I love how seemingly nerdy they are about it haha! The series is full of easter eggs and callouts to other Holmesian works.

As for Poirot, I know very little about the character beyond a few episodes of the show I watched as a young'un, but that is not the mustache of a straight man (I'm joking I'm joking I have absolutely no opinion on that one! 🤣)

Thanks for the ask, and for actually reading this ramble if you got this far! 😅

[cho-aaacho]

(Flufftober 2023) Scary Movie

Main Masterlist I Archive Of Our Own

Flufftober 2023 Masterlist I Prompts List

Tags : Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Scary Movies, Flirting, Flufftober 2023, Reader is genderless.

A/N : Sorry for the late update. I'm stuck in Sword Art Online and I can't log out. lmao.

(Flufftober Day 30)

"Do you think it's a good idea if I'm watching this? Tell me if you have any good recommendations."

A contented smile dances upon his lips as he savors the gentle kiss of an iced Americano. A warm aura emanates from his presence every time you smile back at him, sending a million translucent hearts above his head. 

Once again, his azure eyes, which resembled a deep ocean, fixated on you, scanning the canvas of your face. You could taste a glimpse of a playful tease whenever he chuckled or when he teasingly called you by the wrong name.

After months of entwining about him, William Birkin always invited the most charming smile in your life along with elusive mysticalness every time your sight line met him. You didn't know what it was. It just happened every time he was smiling. 

Is it love? Or something more blissful than love? 

"Ah, I'm not good at picking, sir. But I'm sure you would find so much fun in my video rental shop! But as for me, I love scary movies!" You calmly reply, avoiding direct eye contact.

William laughed and sealed your presence in his realm. He shook his head and locked your very essence. "No, please. I would like you to pick one for me. I usually ask my friends for movie recommendations, but they aren't available right now."

You found yourself unable to stifle fits of smile every time your gaze fell on his eyes. Well, you couldn't lie; William is your best customer, or more than a customer?

You step away from the cashier and approach William, gaining a better angle. He's taller than you, has beautiful glow-blond hair, and the warm scent of a summer night's mystery.

"Hmm... let me see. Do you like horror movies? Scary movies? Sci-fi?"

"I loved scary movies as a child." He winked mischievously. "But now, my tastes have changed. I love something beyond the realms of fear—a genre hard to articulate. How do I describe it?"

He shared his gaze with the entire shop, eventually settling upon racks with a romance section. He blinked and chuckled to himself, almost like a mocking giggle. You don't even understand what that means.

While sipping his iced Americano, his focus remained fixated on other racks and then turned on you again. 

"Well... how about a movie where the main character falls in love at first sight? A love story where the protagonist is in love with someone and captivated by their cuteness, their kindness, and their sweet aura. He always has a chance to meet them, even if it's for just one minute, which he will cherish forever. He wants to have an intimate relationship with them, but he's too shy to express his feelings because he considers himself a loser."

As William describes this imaginary plot, a gentle smile blossoms on his face, heightening your nervousness. A rosy blush graced your cheeks, enveloping your presence with the color red.

"You couldn't find a movie like that. Because that movie doesn't exist at all," his laugh reverberates, filling the romantic ambiance. "But what if we bring it to life? You and I are the main characters."

"Eh, what do you mean?"

"The plot I described is about my feelings for you. The only thing that could scare me is not finding a place in your heart. So what about you?"

A/N : I hope you love the way I write about William. Akwmdjekekejenek. I always wanted him to be saved by someone else. Maybe Albert Wesker. But yeah... as you can see🥹🥹

[supeson]

timid trust, still displaced

part one, part two, part three

You quit your job. Or more accurately, you get a better offer for the same job you're currently doing at another place in the city. It's also closer to The Daily Planet, so Clark uses it as an excuse to check on you more often. You start making a real effort to eat real food. You're still working on actually cooking and making fresh meals, but for now the frozen ready made ones you eat are enough. At least you're eating. It takes you a while, but you finally fall into a rhythm.

*

You decide to stop your antidepressants. You spend a whole session speaking to your therapist about it, weighing the pros and cons. Pro: you haven't really felt like they've been doing anything for you lately with how well you've been doing. Con: what if you stop them and everything goes to shit? Pro: you have an actual support system now to help you. Con: you feel bad making people care about you.

"I wouldn't say you're forcing anybody to care about you," your therapist says. "People choose to care."

"Fair, I guess. I just hate making people worry. I can take care of myself; I'm an adult." She looks at you pointedly at that. "Alright I don't have the best track record but I've made it this far in life and that's gotta count for something."

She taps something into her laptop. "Well, if you do decide to, just know that there is a washout period, so don't be surprised if it takes you a while to feel normal."

*

You go out more. You find that while staying at home is nice and definitely what you prefer, going out for small things can help improve your mood. Even if it's just to the corner store for some chips.

Then Clark gets stuck in deep space for three weeks right before your birthday, and you spiral. It starts small, with minor annoyances making you angry. Then, your new friends at work seem to back off (through nobody's fault, really, but you can't help but feel like it's entirely your fault, and that they don't like you anymore). Your days off become days full of nothing but sitting on your couch trying to occupy your time with multiple hobbies, only to abandon them out of boredom or frustration when things don't go like they're supposed to. You want nothing more than to reach out to Clark, but he's indisposed.

You find yourself bottling up emotionally, unable to cry or articulate your frustrations. You feel stupid for feeling like this, for being unable to reach out to anybody for help. The loneliness is eating you alive, and you're content to sit there and let it swallow you whole.

*

You wake up from another nap to the sound of keys in the door. You heart leaps at the sound, but you roll over anyway, pulling the blankets more tightly around your neck. You feel achy and gritty from laying in bed since yesterday, but you can't find it in yourself to care.

Clark notices the groceries first. There are empty boxes of ramen noodles stacked up beside the garbage, and there are half eaten bags of chips stacked on top of your fridge. The inside of the fridge is almost barren, except for a gallon of milk and one shelf in the door full of condiments. He exhales heavily, having expected the sight, but disappointed nonetheless.

He makes his way to your bedroom, slips on your light, and puts down his bag. He knows you're awake, he can hear your heartbeat pick up when he sits down on the bed. Clark puts a hand on the lump he deduces is you, and you shift, rolling towards him and squinting up at him. You uncover your mouth enough to speak to him.

"Hey, babe." You voice is nothing more than a croak, from sleep and disuse.

"Do you want to talk about it now, or later?" Is all he asks in response.

You bristle, ready to go on the offense, then close your eyes and take a deep breath. "Not really."

He nods. "How can I best help you right now?"

You think. You gut response is to get angry, tell him to leave. But he loves you, you remind yourself. It's not fair to take my terrible mood out on him. "I have a headache."

"Okay, when was the last time you ate and drank anything?"

You silence speaks volumes.

Clark peels back the blankets, untangling you for the first time in a while, from what he can tell. "Okay, let's head to the kitchen and see what we can find, okay sweetheart?"

You're embarrassed by the backslide, but Clark is nothing more than helpful, willing to wait until you're ready to sit down and have a discussion with him. It makes your eyes water knowing you have somebody that cares about you in all aspects, and not just what you can do for them. You blink back tears as you clutch him, stumbling down the hallway together.

[scarletwix]

request: Jasico old men couple where they've been together for decades and now they're complaining about arthritis

Jasico nation I knew you'd come through!!

A/N: Have 1,320 words of pure, unmitigated sap-itude. Initially this was going to be a couple little scenes that all started with the same question, to highlight their lives together.... but it got away from me a bit in the middle there, ngl. There's truly minimal complaining (about arthritis or otherwise) tbh, not because they wouldn't but because the spirit of fluffy jasico possessed me, and since this is my first time writing for them since 2016(?????) I thought I'd just see where it took me. Enjoy!

"Did you ever think we'd make it this far?" Jason asked Nico, still beaming, still holding tight to Nico's hand, despite the fact that Nico knows his palms are sweaty and have to be gross by now. Nico's lips still burned from the kiss that Jason had bestowed upon him after Nico's (admittedly brash and over-the-top) confession. (He hadn't wanted to look nervous. He hadn't wanted to chicken out. Jason had taken his hands to stop them from shaking anyway.)

"No," Nico admitted. He'd been braced for rejection, anticipated the taste of it like blood on his tongue and been surprised when he was met with the smile on Jason's lips pressed to his instead.

"I..." Jason began, but he fell silent, unable to finish the sentence as his hands trembled at his side. Nico didn't answer him. He knew that some questions were rhetorical, some sentences were too big to articulate, and that some things didn't need to be said aloud.

He let Jason lean on him as they watched the reconstruction of New Rome. He pressed a kiss to Jason's temple, where laurels might have sat, in another life.

~~~

"Did you ever think we'd get to see something like this?" Jason asked, the joy in his voice tangible as Nico let his boyfriend spin him around the dance floor.

"Of course," Nico scoffed, as if he hadn't spent his whole life waiting for the knowledge that his friends had died. Waiting for the moment that he could feel their souls enter his father's realm.

He'd never thought he'd get to walk someone he loved down the aisle, never thought he'd cry at anyone's wedding, because for the longest time, he hadn't thought any of them would live that long. Even while helping plan the whole thing, while learning how to dance with an increasingly-flustered and clumsy Jason at his side.

He gripped Jason's shoulders a little more tightly when Jason swung him back into the circle of his arms. Outwardly, it appeared that he was holding on to keep his balance, but truthfully, the solid weight of Jason's shoulders under his hands grounded him.

He did as his therapist had bid and tried to bid the anxiety farewell, let it slip from his mind. He could always panic later, he reminded himself. He was determined to enjoy the night.

~~~

"I never thought, when I first met you, that you would turn out to be the love of my life," Jason was saying, both of Nico's hands in his.

Nico thought back to the boy that he'd been at fifteen. Gaunt and gangly and lonely enough to hurt, his very presence a weapon of it's own.

That had been before Hazel, really. Before Jason or Will or Leo, even, had dulled the edges of his loneliness and helped him remember how nice it had been, once upon a time, to have people.

He tried to think of how he would react, to meet that boy now.

"Bit of an oversight, on your part," he said, instead of any of that.

Jason snorted a laugh. "I'm - stop it, you're interrupting my speech," he protested. with no real heat behind the words.

"My bad," Nico said solemnly, "I'm listening, I swear," he schooled his features into a perfectly blank mask. "How's this?"

Jason pressed Nico's knuckles to his forehead, their fingers still twined together, as if staving off a headache.

"Insufferable," he said, but there was still a laugh wrapped around his voice. "But I love you anyway."

"Very generous of you," Nico felt the corners of his lips twitch at the sound of the word 'love,' the way that they always did.

"Very generous," Jason agreed. "I don't think anyone else could handle it."

Nico felt his face soften into a smile. Jason was clearly nervous, or he might have noticed the way that his smile widened a bit more. He nearly said 'you're absolutely right,' and let Jason have this, but...

He'd never get an opportunity like this again. Nico heaved a sigh, careful to make sure his smile didn't fade, so Jason's anxiety wouldn't have time to rise.

"Guess you'll just have to marry me, then."

"Guess s-what?" Jason squawked. Nico couldn't hold back the laughter that bubbled up in his throat. He felt his shoulders begin to shake with it. "Did you--" Jason spluttered, half outraged, half delighted, "Did you just hijack my proposal?"

Nico scoffed, though it was undermined quite a bit by the fact that he was still grinning from ear to ear, "Your proposal? I think you'll find that I just proposed to you."

To emphasize this point, Nico reached into his pocket for the ring that he'd asked Leo to help him make months ago. He held it up in the negligible space between them and waited for the shock to wear off and the gears to turn in Jason's head.

The awestruck look on Jason's face as he took in the sight of the ring was well worth the hours bickering with Leo about the design. And the hours upon hours of persuading Leo that no, really, Jason's engagement ring did not need special features.

Jason's cheeks flushed a bright, brilliant scarlet, and he hid his face in Nico's shoulder.

"Is that a yes?" Nico asked, shoving down the fluttering unsure voice that still tried to claw at him, sometimes.

"Of course it's a yes," Jason responded, his voice muffled by Nico's sweater. He sounded nearly offended that Nico felt the need to clarify.

"Hand," Nico demanded, his satisfaction at his victory suddenly overshadowed by the level of sheer joy he was experiencing.

Jason raised his hand, turning his head so he could watch as Nico slid the ring onto the appropriate finger.

He allowed himself a moment to be an absolute sap, safe in the knowledge that they were alone, and pressed a kiss to Jason's new accessory.

"Now," Nico said, unwilling to let it go entirely, "what was it you wanted to ask me?"

~~~

Nico smiled, looking out over their balcony. In the distance, if he squinted, he thought he could see the light from the sunset glinting off of the Campanile de San Marco.

"Need your glasses?" Jason teased, as if his own eyes hadn't gotten gradually worse, until his lenses were nearly as thick as Nico's pinky finger.

"I'm not reading, I'm enjoying the view."

Jason rose, albeit slowly, to join him. A few of his joints popped as he stood and Nico grimaced in sympathy.

"It is beautiful," Jason agreed. When he leaned on the banister, the sunset caught his hair. For a moment, it was the bright, burnished gold of his youth. For a moment, all Nico could see was the bright young man who had saved his life and demanded nothing but his friendship in return. "I'm glad you talked me into coming here."

"Ah, the water levels are still too high," Nico griped, if only because it was his response every time. "I wish you could have seen it before it began to really sink." Entire sidewalks he had walked in his childhood were gone, either lost beneath the water or deemed too dangerous to cross. Some things remained. Some things were new.

""Did you ever think we'd get this much time?" Nico asked, without really meaning to. Jason's face split into a wide smile.

"Not at all," he admitted. He reached out and took Nico's hand, running his thumb over the ring Nico still wore, despite the fact that his knuckles had warped with age, and if he ever wanted to take it off, now, they'd have to cut it off of him. He'd never admit that he liked the sound of that, particularly because from the moment Jason had put it on him, he'd never wanted to take it off. "But I'm glad we did."

[lollytea]

this is more a request for YOUR huntlow thoughts but who breaks and says their feelings first. does hunter even know how to articulate that. does he just start yelling

There's like a fic that I have no idea if I'll ever write but I'll yack away but how I pictured it going down cuz if I don't write it, at least I got to talk about it.

I kinda like toying with the idea that there's not gonna be any talk about feelings for a while. Not in show canon anyway. I figure by the time a year passes after the show's timeline ends, the tension between them is palpable. Neither are certain but they have an inkling that the other likes them too. But no words about it are ever exchanged. Absolutely none.

Hunter has decided that he wants to kiss her. Just once. It kinda overwhelms him to think too much about anything beyond kissing her, so he just fixates on that alone for whatever reason.

Theyre in her garden late at night. Hunter draws a light glyph in the dirt so he can see her face. And all the lines in his face crease as he tries to just. Ask her. That's all he has to do. Maybe she'll say no but at least he can finally say he tried.

Willow notices his efforts. She's been noticing how his eyes have been darting to her mouth this last while now. So she takes mercy on him, leaning in until their noses bump together and she asks "would you mind if I kissed you?"

It's a sweet awkward experimental little kiss in the dead of night that nobody will ever know about. Two kids who aren't really sure what they're hoping for but know that they've never kissed anyone before and they'd like to give it a try. And they can't imagine kissing anyone else but each other.

Neither asks it aloud but both are thinking "Now what?"

And theyre scared, man. They really didn't think of what comes after the kiss. Are they dating now? Dating sounds intimidating. And sure, not a word on the matter was exchanged but they've both kinda exposed themselves of having feelings for the other.

Hunter begins to panic and Willow takes hold of his hands until they stop shaking. "We don't need to get carried away." She says. "We can come back to this whenever we're ready. No rush. I'll still hold your hand if you want me to."

Luz and Amity dated for a few months and then built up to kissing. Willow and Hunter had a silly impulsive kiss just for the sake of it but decided that there would be no dating just yet.

Three years pass and they're in love. They never talk about it and they're not dating but they're in love and they both know it and they know the other knows it. They have their own ambitions, jobs, seperate lives, but at the end of the day, they're unable to go in completely different direction as they always circle back to each other. They're still best friends and they know each other inside out and my god. The tension, the flirting, the intense eye contact, the deliberate brush of hands every so often. The way they intertwine fingers when no one is around to watch. They still work hard to make the other blush and they can still pull it off. I think they are finally ready for this step as they are literally about to burst at the seams.

They're texting late at night when Hunter asks Willow to look outside her window. And lo and behond, there he is, standing in her yard, beneath her balcony.

"Hunter?"

"Hey, Captain. Does this look stupid from where you're standing. It feels kinda stupid from where I'm standing. But, well, we're in it now and there's no turning back."

"Are you....drunk?"

"I'm not. But now that you mention it, that would have been a great idea. Actually, I am fully sober and aware of everything I am saying and doing right now and I'm gonna be honest I'm in Hell."

"Is there a reason you're standing outside my window right now?"

"Luz said this sorta stuff is romantic. Do you think it's romantic? I need a second opinion."

"I guess if its the right person, you would consider anything they do romantic."

"Okay. Um. Do you think it's romantic if it's me?"

"As dumb as it is, yes I do. Pretty sure I used to hope you'd do something like this back when we were kids."

"Follow up question. Would this be an appropriate spot for me to tell you I'm in love with you?"

"Oh....um. Well. I-....to be honest, you could tell me you were in love with me in a garbage dump and I'd be happy."

"Do you....wanna go to a garbage dump? Because I can take-"

"No, Hunter. I like this."

"Great! Fantastic! So. Um. Me. Thoughts?"

"Too much in love with you for my own good."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Titan, you better be."

"I know it's been a while but...is it okay if I kiss you again? And....maybe kiss you tomorrow? And make it...a permanent thing?"

"I like the sound of a permanent thing."

[foster-the-moths]

more thoughts about adam murray in vol 4

disclaimer: i think adam is a huge asshole and he shouldn't treat the people around him Like That but i think understanding the reason of why he does that is just as important as understanding why his actions aren't justified

first of all i do believe it is in his nature to hurt the people around him but i also think he does not mean to. also i don't think his actions are justified but i AM questioning if they were really even his to begin with. sarah asks him "what's gotten into you" so this is obviously abnormal behavior for him, and (before he denies it) sarah seems to be under the impression that jonah is his best friend, not just some guy he hangs out with. even evelin says "he's always been the nicest guy" during her interview. I've already talked about the part in the second memorial video when he says he "never said that" and the whole "get out of my head" thing and i think sarah noticing him acting strange kind of cements that. it's hard to tell what he actually says and what might be someone else or what might be influenced by someone else so. idk but until it's confirmed one way or another i'm skeptical he actually meant any of what he said to sarah (maybe i'm in denial but. whatever).

Also i think he really shouldn't have brought sarah to cesar's house, and definitely shouldn't have pushed her like that, but i don't think he really understood how distressed she was. whenever he's around an alternate he seems to get a little obsessive over it and i think it blinds him to how the people around him feel. i don't think he meant to hurt sarah, and i don't think he ever had any malicious intent when he took her to that house, but i also think sarah has a right to be mad at him. it was fucked up.

idk. just kind of tired of people saying he has malicious intent behind everything he does when i don't think that's the case. and its just so much more interesting to look at him through a different lens. and maybe this has no real basis in canon but i think he wants to be able to feel the things he seems to be unable to. i think a part of him is disgusted by his own lack of emotions. i think he wants to understand. he sounds desperate when he says "it's the computer, not me, i swear." i think his entire reality is collapsing around him and he doesn't know how to pick up the pieces. i think he pushes other people away because they are horrified by him. viewing adam through a lens of tragedy is just so much more interesting then chalking it up to him being evil. if human beings would do the things he did in his situation then imagine being an alternate on top of that. and there's just still so much we don't know about him. most of what we've seen is things going to shit and high-strung emotions like we don't know what he does on a day-to-day basis. at the end of the day i think he is nuanced and until we get more information he's a bit of an enigma still (and i'm not as good as articulating my thoughts into words as i would like to be). but this is literally just the most opinionated and self-projecting analysis of this character as well so do with that information with you will lmao.

[nefretemerson]

Trigger warning for pretty much everything under the cut :)

i don't know how to articulate this properly, and I'm probably going to come off like an insane basket case, but I cannot stand those 'i love the way men love posts' because I don't. I hate the way men love. I've got a brother who thinks the 'women should not speak in church camp' has got a point and I've got a father who sent me a long-form article on the modern theological rebuttal to homosexual acceptance in the church (here's a secret - I don't know if I'm a homosexual or a bisexual. Do I love men or am I simply Desperate to love men because I'm religious, because my father is my pastor, because I'm a vile sinner for eating pussy). I love my father (he told my mother the woman-hating was all in her head when they hosted a deeply misogynistic pastor for dinner who required that he be waited on hand and foot by the women of the house, that he was probably just stressed and needed to relax a bit). I love my brother (he calls my sister-5'2 105 lbs-fat everytime he sees her and thinks women are inherently bad at math). The first time I was raped (executive-sous at the restaurant I was working for), I was so drunk I got kicked out of the club we were at. He walked me home for my safety and then followed me into my apartment. I was vomiting. I was so dry he broke three condoms trying to force his way into me until he decided they were too much of a hassle and fucked me bare. It hurt so much (here's a secret - I was no longer a virgin after that). I had the honor and the privilege of working with with for the next year. I ran into my rapist and his brand new fiance in town the other week. I congratulated them both.

I have a lot of best friends. Alisa was raped so severely at such a young age she is unable to orgasm. Liv was in a physically abusive relationship for four years that culminated in him strangling her till she blacked out. Do u know what's fucked up about manual strangulation? It doesn't actually bruise most of the time (the first time a man strangled me during sex he misaligned two of my vertebrae, pinched a nerve, and caused three weeks of light-headedness but there were no marks it was all in my head hysteria). Kara. Well. Kara got married at 18, had a kid at 19, was divorced at 20 (at least he pays child support even if his custody agreement is for one weekend a month and the dollar amount is pitiful) and then ended up in the sort of physically, emotionally, psychologically abusive relationship they write horror stories about. A cult of two where he was literally Jesus. He strangled her till she was blacking out, beat her,left her for dead (he is delinquent on child support and has no custody), and ran up 10k on her credit cards. We don't talk about Abigail. We simply do not talk about what happened to Abigail.

In my experience, This is how men love: they love through strangulation, through gagging, through dismissal, through gun in your mouth while you're making dinner, through the inescapable threat of violence, through shut the fuck up u bitch-ass whore u don't deserve to talk. This is how men love women: they don't (I love my father I love my brother).

there is one thing I ask of the Lord, for this I long: to not live in fear, to be loved as I love, to be able to speak 🩷

[barbex]

"I wish you would write a fic where" Fenris tries to teach Anders some Tevene and it all goes horribly wrong.

Thank you for this prompt! I don't know why, but it turned into a musical AU. I hope you like me writing about singing even though I know jack shit about it (apart from my secret singing career in the shower). For @dadrunkwriting on this Friday.

- - -

Fenris pinches the bridge of his nose. "You're making this needlessly difficult."

"Am not! I'm really trying to do this right," Anders says, trying to sound certain but failing. Fenris can hear the wavering in his voice. The man better not start crying now. 

Fenris is going to kill Hawke. Slowly. Not only did she ask him to help a friend, fluttering her eyelids at him, the friend turned out to be Anders. There is just something about Anders that makes him nervous. He usually avoids him, even if he had to accept that he is an unremovable part of Hawke's friend group. 

He is obviously educated, knowledgeable about all sorts of different subjects, but he is unable to pronounce the Tevene phrases he brought with him on a sheet of paper. "Let's try this again. Astia valla femundis." He makes sure to articulate every syllable clearly, even exaggerated. 

Anders nods, squares his shoulders — and obliterates the three words in ways that Fenris could not have imagined before. 

"Stop, stop!" Fenris wonders if elves used to be able to fold down their ears. What a useful feature that would be. He glares at Anders. "How? How do you even do that?"

"I don't know." Anders looks sufficiently sheepish and Fenris can't help but feel sorry for him. The man is perfectly intelligent, annoyingly so sometimes. He should be able to speak a few words in Tevene.

"You have a perfectly normal, if slightly Fereldan accent, but when you speak Tevene you sound like some hick from Texasia." It's almost adorable but he would never admit that to Anders. He looks at the sheet of phrases again. "Try this: Tutum te robore reddam, semper habebis liberatem."

He tries not to wince, but what Anders does with these words would probably be considered an insult in Minrathous. He is hopeless. Fenris pinches his nose again. "What are these expressions, anyway? I will give you safety by strength, you will always have freedom."

Anders falls into a stuffed chair and leans his head back. "It's a musical. I'm friends with the director and, well not the lead, but one of the bigger side-characters got into an accident last night and she asked me to help out, and —"

Fenris drops his hand. "You're meant to sing this?"

"Yes?" Anders looks confused.

Before he can pinch his nose again and possibly hurt himself, Fenris flexes his fingers a few times. "Singing uses an entirely different part of your brain than speaking does. Why didn't you say so?"

"Oh fuck, I forgot about that." Anders slaps his forehead. "I heard that before at the hospital. Okay, hang on." 

Anders jumps up and grabs the sheet of paper from Fenris hand and strikes a pose. He looks taller, stronger, his expression calm and convincing. He takes a deep breath, hums the beginning of a melody and then starts to sing.

"Donum habeo tibi, amatus. Amor est fortior quam mors. Tutum te robore reddam, semper habebis liberatem."

I have a gift for you, beloved. My love is stronger than death. I will give you safety by strength, you will always have freedom.

Anders' voice is incredible. He fills the too large hall of Fenris' decrepit house with the melody, warm, strong, beautiful. It echoes off the walls, almost humming in Fenris' chest. He sings of love and freedom and Fenris realises after the second verse that his pronunciation is perfect. 

Anders stops, smacking his lips a few times. "Was that okay?"

Fenris realises that his mouth hangs open and snaps it shut. "It was... adequate."

That was not the praise Anders had been hoping for, judging by the way his shoulders sink down. "Well, let me try again, I think I can do better on that rolling R."

"Yes, please, go ahead," Fenris says. His throat is scratching more than usual and he takes a long sip of water. 

Anders starts singing again. This time, his voice is even more like velvet, the words rolling gently from his tongue, dancing along the melody. There is a spot at the centre of Fenris' chest that flutters in an unfamiliar way as he listens. Anders looks at him the whole time, as if he sings just for him. 

"That was wonderful," Fenris says, when the last sound of Anders' singing slips from the air. "Your pronunciation was very good."

"Thank you. I'm glad I won't be embarrassing everybody tomorrow." Anders looks at him a while longer and then turns away, hiding behind strains of blonde hair falling into his face. "Maybe you want to come to the show tomorrow? It's at 19:00, I can reserve a ticket at the door for you."

"Yes," Fenris says after a short hesitation. "I would like that."

"Good." Anders grabs his papers and shoves them into his backpack. "Thank you for your help." He starts to walk past Fenris but stops, leans over, and brushes a tiny kiss on Fenris' cheek. "See you tomorrow then."

Fenris is too stunned to answer. He watches Anders rush out, his fingertip hovering over the spot where Anders' lips were just a moment ago. 

He might not avoid Anders anymore.

- - -

(yes, I've put Texas into Thedas 🤣🤣)

[stonewallsposts]

What does being "over it" look like?

I was thinking earlier today about something I wrote with the last family trouble update. I had mentioned that I no longer care what my sister thinks about me. 

In one sense, that's true, but in another.... probably not quite. 

Every once in a while, you'll hear someone, angry over a breakup, for example, say: I'm so over it! 

However, X having an angry reaction to Y probably means X is not really over it... not yet. 

Applied to myself, I said I no longer care, but this morning I was processing through some of what she had said and I had to recognize that I do, at least on some level, care what she thinks. I must because it's taking up space in my thoughts.

What then does that really mean to be over something? What would it look like? 

In general, I care what other people think. 

So first, I know that I am concerned, perhaps too much, about what people think of me. I consider this a bit of a character issue that I need to work on, since it can lead me to maybe deviate from a course I should take, in order to have someone else think well of me. My concern about what other people think has been somewhat mitigated over the last few years, after a very public incident I caused and then had to live through at the end of 2018. Lots of people were, quite reasonably, upset with me over the incident. I had always like to see myself as a "good guy", but in this incident, I found myself the bad guy. There was nothing to do except stand up and take my medicine. By publicly accepting the blame, it mitigated many of my friends bad feelings towards me and what I had done, but I still committed a wrong, people were hurt by it, and there was no escaping that. I had to sit through a particularly nasty condemnation session by my immediate superior, where the materials I had turned over to provide some accountability were read back to me, often with a little extra flavor added in that was never there. It was stated, to my wife, that she had every reason to leave me. I was told my word had no value. Some of this I thought was a bit unfair, especially since it was me that brought everything to light, but hey, that's the way it goes. 

I had to accept the consequences and part of that was that I couldn't be overly concerned what people thought of me since my reputation was already in tatters anyway. 

All that to say that the incident helped me to grow in an area that I needed the growth. But the desire to have people think well of me is still strong, and even though my sister is angry, wrongly I believe, it is still bothering me to some degree. 

Moving along a path to being over something 

So I'm trying to think what the distinction is between my genuinely not caring, and where I am right now. Maybe it's just a spectrum; and I'm moving, on the spectrum, towards not caring. But it feels like there is some distinction I could articulate, if I give it enough thought, between apathy about what someone thinks, and where I am now: which is that her negative feelings towards me bother me, but I also know it's unfair, and that I am genuinely unable to change it. So while I wish it could be different, and am bummed that she thinks so poorly of me, I also accept that it is what it is. 

Does being over something equal apathy? 

In talking with my wife on the way in today, she asked if I would be upset if I never saw my sister again. To be honest, not really. My sister and I were exceptionally close growing up; the kind of close that usually results in fighting and name-calling, but nonetheless... close. In early adulthood, she generally sought me out for advice and we used to be a lot closer. But as her kids grew, and she began to have more problems, that's when the distance between us increased. I could also mention that her ex-husband was the guy that got me started in art. We worked together for years, and I still love the guy and consider him like a brother. We see each other about once a year or so when we have our art studio reunion. But given my closeness with him, I was also privy to a lot of the struggles they had leading up to the divorce. I knew about her actions at home even when she wasn't telling me that part, and I knew the marital struggles they had because I talked him into staying a few times. But when she finally left him and then miscarried with another man's child a few months later, I knew that she had ended the marriage. I knew that much of the fights had to do with their clashes over raising the kids. And I knew that I aligned with his viewpoint much more than hers. So I knew that any difference I had would cause her to put up the defensive walls and start firing back.  

That's why I only got involved when she directly asked me. But that non-intervention left her with the sole responsibility for child-raising decisions, as well as the consequences. The results of her decisions have been obviously bad, and being unwilling to accept that she was wrong in her decisions, she has chosen to make me out as the bad guy. In her mind, she didn’t fail.... I did. Much easier to live with. 

Despite this, she is still my sister, and at any point if she decides she'll be decent, I start interacting again. If she's not, I just stay away and ignore her. But I don't think it would hurt me if I didn't see her again. Sad to say, but true. My youngest sister has already decided that once mom is gone, she doesn't want to talk to her again. I'm not quite there, because I don't think anyone is beyond forgiveness. But I don't see anything in my middle sister that leads me to believe she'll change. In fact, she seems to be just getting worse with time. 

To answer the question then, do I really not care? 

I think I don't care very much, but that doesn't mean it means nothing to me. If some rando called me an idiot on the street, I'd probably genuinely not care. I don’t know that I could really do that with my sister.  But over time I've also grown rather inured to her blasts. I'd rather it wasn't like this, and it still bugs me when she says stuff, but overall, I've accepted the situation as is. 

[themelancholyhill]

I really wanted to send an ask sooner than this but I've had a busy past few days. I'm glad I'm over my covid now and having had it makes me appreciate the little things so much more. I also felt very isolated, in every way. I didn't have the energy to care that I couldn't engage in social interactions, I didn't have the energy to eat well, I didn't have the energy to care for myself, all of these add up to a dangerous slippery slope. I was already dealing with episodes of depression and having covid on top of that did not help one bit. I said to my friends on my IG that I didn't like going on there anymore because I felt like I had to pretend I was doing well mentally and I wasn't. I intentionally isolated myself socially, it's one of my maladaptive coping mechanisms. I've since returned to my IG but it always feels more draining to me to be on there, I much prefer tumblr.

I think it would be so incredibly hard for you to try to move on from Ray. It seemed like you guys had a rare connection, those are very hard to come by. It's disheartening to see that he isn't as appreciative of your bond as you are. I am so sorry this is weighing on your heart but your outlook on what you've learned is valuable and it is the lesson you are meant to take away from this friendship. I think we meet people in our lives at the right times, some are meant to be there temporary, to teach us a lesson we otherwise would never learn had we not met them. All "breakups" are hard to swallow, it's a type of severing, and sometimes, one person is ready but the other isn't. You said "if he comes back it won't be the same" - I agree. However, it might be better. If you both decide to repair this friendship and put in the same amount of effort in keeping it, I think it could be even better than before. I wouldn't call him a narcissist so soon (even though I know nothing about him). He might not be in a good position to tell you how he feels, or he might just be unable to articulate himself. Either way, you have good memories of him and even though it is hard to move on from this, you seem like you've discovered some closure on your end.

I wish I had time to send you asks whenever I want to but I honestly don't have a lot of time to myself. I have a 5 year old lol. I debated whether to tell you or not, and decided I would.

I want to end this ask by addressing what you said in your reply: "Due to what happened with Ray, I've become more self conscious with the way I interact with people - trying not to talk too much and avoiding getting a bit too personal so I won't get attached!" This sentiment made me quite sad. I have also felt similarly in the past, but you know, even if the connection is meant to be short-lived, I'd still want it to be the best it could be, the most honest and authentic. So even with people who I think are only around temporarily, I still give as much as I can. I am not telling you what to do, I am simply offering another perspective. I've been more appreciative of different perspectives lately, maybe you would find mine useful to some degree. ✖️

I'm really glad to see your ask, and don't feel the pressure to respond super quickly, I understand that people get busy and it's OK cause I know that you're still around.

I heard that the side effects of Covid are long-lasting and it includes: inexplicable fatigue. It kinda reassures me and allows me to take a step back and rest. I've established a certain rhythm with my online friends. I tend not to use my socials for a certain period of time, and when I come back, I don't get asked about my long absence. Still, I prefer being on Tumblr—it's more peaceful, ironically since people are still referring to it as toxic!

Now, Ray is very special to me. I've felt this way the very first time we started talking—I caught myself wanting to talk to him even if I had nothing to say. I see him as special cause he taught me a lot without explicitly doing so. I don't remember if I specified what I'd learnt, but I'll do it regardless. Not only I felt at ease around him cause he wasn't judgemental so I could be myself, but he also pushed me to try out new things and be more open to topics completely alien to me. One thing that sticks out is how I approach music. This might sound like nothing, but I've been giving a chance to artists I under appreciated in the past and it's making me discover new perspectives and a way to be more tolerant towards people generally speaking. I think I mentioned this but I've also learnt how to take things with a grain of salt, especially when dealing with people online—if someone leaves me on read and then replies days later, I won't be mad!

I was going to mention that I was feeling like I'd never hear from him nor even see him again, but the way you assured me that with him coming back things "might be better" truly makes me feel hopeful. I don't want to call him a narcissist either, and call me naive, but the way you're doubting this probability, without knowing him personally, warms my heart. The more I read about this type of people, the more horrified I become. It's one thing to be confused about a friend's sudden absence, another is to see them as being the worst people that walked the earth. They're seen as manipulative and feeding on their 'victims'' heartbreak. They use the silent treatment to see if the one hurt will come back, begging on their knees. Their weapons are passive aggressive behavior, manipulation and gaslighting. You can imagine how I'm feeling and how my confusion quadrupled. But I'm trying to process everything going on in my mind and my heart and still hope for the best—either see him coming back or having a definitive closure.

I know that you're in a long-time relationship, but I couldn't guess that you were a mother—masha'Allah! We say the latter to avoid "jinxing" the people we are talking to and avoid any harm to befall on them! Regardless of how busy you are, you don't have to send asks on a regular basis unless you have the time to do so—and remember, I'm taking things with a grain of salt 🤭

Your advice is golden and what happened shouldn't alter the way I usually interact with people. I'll give them the right amount of energy without getting burned out—always be nice and kind while sensing when reality is ready to bite. It's like living romantically, and instead of wearing rose-tinted glasses, you'll wear prescription glasses... idk if this makes any sense, but this is how I see it; keep your head in the clouds and your feet grounded in reality—here you go, two analogies out of nowhere 😄

I hope you managed to go out often and enjoy the warm weather—I assume it's starting to get warmer where you are! Tell me about your day, if you have time of course.

It's almost 11 pm and I can't focus enough to form coherent sentences, so I'll talk to you soon—take care and thank you so much for being here 🤍

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Leafy 🍃 again! I loved that 💗! Marvelous ending. Making Thranduil the dancer was the best idea EVER! now I must request for Leggy because I feel like I betrayed him lol! 1. Night out 2. Nurse 3. Did you enjoy yourself last night? Please and thank you!

Hello 🍃 anon...How are you, my dear?

It is still my honour and pleasure to try and come up with something for you :D

So, here we go...Legolas this time, huh? I'm sorry, this got a little out of hand 😞

Words: 2,5 k

Warnings: blood, injury, cursing, harassment

“Come on,” the woman who was not only your best friend but also had been your only supporter through nursing school whined, “one drink.”

“Do you know if the Polo-team won or lost?” you asked distractedly as you stowed away your books onto the clean shelves in your living room while pride swelled in your chest.

“What does that matter? Since when do you care about those preppy boys?”

“When they win, they stay in the clubhouse, but when they lose, they come to the shady part of town to drink away their shame,” you explained with a sour quirk of your full lips; she was right, you held nothing but contempt for those rich kids who had – unlike you – been given everything in life to succeed.

You had had to claw yourself through your education, juggling two jobs just to make ends meet, and it was certainly not interest that made you ask about them; this one night, after all those trials and years of struggling, you wanted to celebrate in peace.

Originally, you had planned to stay in and open the bottle of top-shelf wine you had bought for the occasion, but your friend was decided that the diploma displayed on your flaky walls deserved to be toasted in a public setting.

“It’s just down the road,” she coaxed, “come on, babes, it will be fine. Polo-assholes or not!”

Unable to deny her – after she had been by your side through every setback and challenge – you slung your bag across your body and nodded slowly.

“One drink!”

Of course, they were there.

They won as often as they lost, so there had been a fair chance that you’d have the run-down pub at the corner of your street to yourselves, but – as was typical for your luck or lack thereof – this had to be one of the days where everything went just wrong enough to annoy you without destroying all your plans.

A bunch of mopey, spoiled brats would not take away the monumental victory you had hewn out of the unyielding mountain that was life.

“Hey poppet,” someone jeered behind you and your friend.

The sullen group of youngsters groaned; apparently, the winning team had been petty enough to follow them all across town to goad them some more over drinks about their recent victory.

Unfortunately, those childish metaphorical pissing-contests became secondary as soon as fresh meat appeared and – in this moment – that late-night snack were you and your friend.

“Do you want to drink something?” a big, burly man with short black hair asked, his voice sounding cavernous and badly articulated.

“No, we’re here for the charming décor,” you shot back, acid lacing your otherwise own overly sweet tone.

“Ah, come on,” he laughed, but there was something sinister in the sound that made both you and your friend retreat hastily.

For a good while, you chatted about your new job at the hospital you had interned in for your studies, trying to ignore the less than discreet posturing of the two Polo-teams who tried to murder each other with looks alone.

“Is that the silver boy?” your friend asked and nodded at a tall, elegantly lithe youth leaning against a jukebox that hadn’t worked since before any of you had been born; indeed, Legolas was some sort of a myth amongst all the single women in the local school system, and right in this moment, he waited his turn to throw darts at a woefully worn board.

Born rich and privileged, he was fabled to be excessively kind and righteous, and – which contributed much more to his reputation and fame than any golden heart – he was blindingly obviously handsome.

People said that he took after his father – the kind of man that made every woman within his direct vicinity fall over her feet whenever he appeared – with his long, sleek, almost colourless hair and those huge crystal-blue eyes that were changeful and deep as frozen lakes and summer skies.

“It is,” you muttered quietly; he was the star player of his team – fused to his horse, fast, and astonishingly strong – and you had already met him once or twice in the emergency room when you had been on duty.

He had never been anything but kind and patient with you, even when his teammates had been complaining about the delays and tiny errors or hesitations on your part; hence why you felt incredibly spiteful when you rolled your eyes behind his back as if Legolas was the worst person in the world.

The plain truth was that you were envious; his appearance, his status, his competence, and his general demeanour were benchmarks you’d never reach no matter how hard you worked or how much you changed. Some people were just not born with that kind of potential.

In the meantime, the other team had found a lone girl drinking away her sorrow in the corner of the room; the same idiot who had harassed you earlier was now aggressively flirting with her and – through the haze and under heavy lids – she tried to frown discouragingly at him.

As was usual with that type of self-enamoured prick though, her evident disinterest only spurred him on, and he redoubled his efforts to win you knew not what; some men just wanted to triumph independently of what was at stake.

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes,” you hissed under your breath, not sure if you were talking about the girl who had decided to get drunk in an unsavoury bar such as the one you were sitting in or the pompous ass who paraded around like a baboon.

“Maybe we should…” your friend started when he proceeded to poke the dazed young woman repeatedly.

“Leave her alone,” a cold, controlled voice cut through the ambient sea of noise, “she’s clearly not interested in you.” You had not noticed that

Legolas had stopped focusing on the dartboard and – instead – had made his way over to your side of the bar with the smooth, discreet movements of a predator on the prowl.

“Shut up, princess,” the man barked, annoyed by the interruption, “didn’t you have your fill of humiliation for today? Nothing better to do than to seek punishment?”

“There’s not much better to do at any time than to protect someone from being harassed by a dull meat-head such as you,” Legolas quipped, but you saw his fingers tighten around the single dart he was still holding; this was how all the stories you heard at work started and you tensed as all hell broke loose a single heartbeat after your prescient, almost prophetic thought.

As if nailed to your chair, you could but stare helplessly as that mooncalf of a man barrelled into Legolas at the exact same moment as he lifted his arm to deflect a potential blow, brow and elbow collided, and – grabbing onto Legolas’ shirt as he fell – the bigger fool of the two took down not only his opponent of the day but also an innocent table just doing its job.

Enmeshed and still struggling, both banged against furniture on their way down until they landed in a tangled heap of limbs on the dirty floor.

The cacophony of screams and grunts swelled and then was strangled into ominous silence.

“Jesus, Leg, you’re bleeding,” one of the silver boy’s teammates cried out as he extricated his friend from the human knot, “and you banged your head pretty good it seems.”

“Aren’t you going to check on him?” your friend asked you with a small nudge.

“I am off-duty,” you smiled mockingly, “and I’m sure he’ll be fine; he’s a sturdy fellow, I’ve seen him before…in the ER.”

Despite your words, you couldn’t help but throw a quick glance over at Legolas – swaying alarmingly – just to make sure that you had not completely underestimated the situation; also, there had been talk of blood and professional curiosity was rearing its annoying head.

A small snort of amused pity escaped you upon realising that this ridiculously sassy man had somehow managed to get his own dart stuck in his thigh.

Moreover, there was a visible bump on that fair brow now where Legolas had hit the edge of the crummy table on his way down; a smidgen of pity welled up in your heart and – when your friend announced that she’d make sure that the young woman would get home safely – you accepted that this jock was your charge for the night.

“We should take him to the hospital maybe?” one of his teammates mused aloud; the way he slurred his words told you that they had also indulged in more drinks than was reasonable to soothe their aching pride.

After a quick, perfunctory check, you shook your head: “His vitals are good; he needs to rest and put something cold on his forehead, but as long as he doesn’t get any worse than this, I don’t think that it’s worth spending hours in the ER.”

“But his leg,” the man whined, pointing at the dart still securely lodged in the muscular thigh, only – being slightly tipsy – he missed the moment to stop moving and nudged the thing hard enough for Legolas to grunt.

“Party’s over,” you finally declared after having assessed the damage superficially, “I live just up the street. I’m a trained and certified nurse as of today, and I’ll take a look at that leg. Good night, gentlemen.”

Legolas was considerably heavier than you had thought which turned dragging his dazed self along the pavement into the strangest choreography of your life.

“Hey,” he slurred, “you are my favourite nurse. I remember you from when my hand was…”

He held up said body part and you smiled at the thin, white scar crossing the back of it in a straight line; open fracture, not a pretty sight, but he had been very brave, and you had said so to your mentor at the time.

When he lay – stretched out and moaning quietly – on your couch, you frowned down at him.

“I am pretty sure that dart could transmit more illnesses than a damn mosquito,” you grumbled, “I’m going to take it out and you’ll get out of your jeans, please.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Yes, to get out of your slacks and let me see the wound,” you replied calmly, the professional persona taking over as you laid out your first-aid kit and carefully pressed a cold-pack that you kept handy for your wicked migraines on his swollen brow.

“Alright, beautiful,” he said with a lopsided grin and – without a moment of hesitation or the shadow of a doubt – he whisked off his trousers as if he was a professional stripper, revealing a pair of long, pale legs in an indecently tight pair of black boxer shorts.

The puncture was minimal and barely bled anymore, but you were meticulous in your efforts to clean the wound; it was a known fact that those darts were never cleaned, no matter what bodily or other fluids they might come in contact with.

“Am I alright?” Legolas asked after you had put a plaster on it and gave it a soft pat – out of habit more than real empathy – before getting up; in your concentration, you had almost – but not quite – forgotten that you had been bent over the open, naked legs of a stranger.

“Look me in the eye,” you demanded, shining a small flashlight into those blue depths that shimmered like underground caves in the garish gleam; his reactions were still very good, and you decided that it was most probable that all he needed was a good night’s sleep and plenty of hydration.

 “Drink this!”

The order – soft but decisive – fell easily from your lips and he complied immediately, downing the water and electrolytes obediently.

“You are very beautiful,” he whispered as you spread a light blanket over him, trying to get him to rest.

“Ok,” you laughed, “maybe we need to get you to a hospital after all.”

“Why? I was in hospital when I first noticed,” he answered suavely, wrapping his long-fingered hand around your gracile wrist gently, “I am feeling alright; believe it or not, I’ve hit my head before. Father always said that he’s dropped me once too often when I’m being foolish…I am not entirely sure that he’s joking.” The soft smile – affection and intelligence deepening it – on his face told you that he was lying, but he had achieved what he had set out to do for you relaxed and didn’t pull your hand out of his grasp.

“You should rest,” you heard yourself prompt him.

“Will you stay and make sure I did not split my fool head?” he murmured, fatigue and pain making his words sound blurry and slightly hollow.

“Yes,” you promised, “I’ll be right here. Just ring the bell if you need anything.”

Of course, there was no bell, and you spent your night sitting in your armchair – dozing off every now and again – and keeping watch over that fallen angel who seemed to shine with a silver light coming from deep within him in the semi-obscurity of your living room.

Two things were entirely clear to you: you had chosen the right job, and Legolas was indeed as handsome as they all said.

Early in the morning, you stretched your tired limbs and padded into the kitchen to prepare breakfast for your little patient who was still fast asleep.

Or so you thought.

“Hey, do you have a painkiller?” a voice – thick with sleep but smooth as silk – resounded behind you and you grinned to yourself before turning around and pointing at the glass of water sitting right next to a small, white pill on the kitchen table.

“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” you asked ironically, but – to your surprise – he gave the question some thought, digging into the eggs and bacon despite the headache, before answering.

“Let me see, I’ve got my ass handed to me at the game, I had to interrupt an asshole who was harassing a poor woman, and I had a minor accident that was not even a cool, sports-related, heroic incident…”

“I thought it was rather heroic…Well, it was at least decent and that’s rare and valuable,” you interjected and earned a warm smile for it.

“But then,” he went on, “that lovely nurse I didn’t catch the name of appeared and took care of me, so I guess…I’d give it a 4 out of 10. By far not the worst night out I had.”

“I’m not sure I even want to know,” you mumbled, sliding the rest of the food from the frying pan onto his plate.

“How about I tell you about it over drinks? No darts, no brawling, no Polo team?”

His smile was disarming, and you felt your heart flutter in your chest.

“I guess we can do that, 24-hour observation and so on…” you agreed with a serious face that did not fool him for a single second.

So, that was that...😇

Legolas being a drunk idiot...but a good boy :D

I hope you liked this, I am always happy to hear from you my beloved 🍃 anon...

Have a lovely evening ❤️

@fellowshipofthefics here's another one :D

[jennsmischievousmind]

Is he a good kisser?

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x fem!reader

Summary: Pedro Pascal and you, his co-star are known to be openly flirty since you've met on a previous movie. Currently promoting your new movie "Philocalist" as the lead characters, it quickly escalated.

Most knew that the two of you on set was total chaos, unable to concentrate, and shamelessly flirting yet the undenying chemistry made your characters' even better. Anyone in the businness unware of your friendship was quickly ill-at-ease and wary though, like in this interview.

Warnings: fluff? They are goofballs, tattooed reader, slight language

A/N: tried to proof read as much as my brain let me. Y/F/N = your full name (just in case)

You came on the white set a bit late, your eyes setting on your handsome co-star talking with the staff.

Handing your phone to your assistant she told you they were already recording for the bloopers and that they were looking for a chair for you because the other one was wobbly.

Pedro smiled seeing you stepped onto the set.

"So I don't have a chair,"

"Hold on," he started to get up his barstool like chair.

"It's alright, I'll just sit here," you climbed onto Pedro's laps, he laughed and hold onto you while you get comfortable.

His left hand hold your thigh and the other find his place on your low back. Your arm circling his shoulder blade for support, you were quite comfortable, he smelled really good, his warmth was soothing, you wish you could just stay here for the all interview.

One of the staff explained the segment, he looked a bit wary about the whole situation, you bet it was a first on the set.

"So sorry for the wait,"

"It's alright, don't worry about it" you reassured the stressed set assistant as he brought a chair.

You slid down Pedro's laps, brushing down your dark mesh dress, finally taking a proper seat.

Pedro pouted "You're far,"

"Oh," eyes searching for the set director you asked if you could scoot closer and he gave you a thumbs up. Before you could hop down the chair Pedro grabbed the chair's edge sliding you to him. A gasp turning into a giggle escaped your lips, you grabbed his bicep for stability when the chair came to a stop.

"Now that's better," he rearranged his cuff smiling at you, this man.

Silence, rolling

"Hello, I'm Y/F/N,"

"Hi, my name is Pedro Pascal, and we are here for the Wired_"

"Autocomplete_" he looked at you to be in sync

"In.ter.view" you both articulate.

His cardboard came first, after a few trivial questions, like were Din Djarin and Poe Dameron were to meet in the Star Wars universe. At which you frowned and explained the entire Star Wars timeline.

"Is Pedro Pascal ... a good kisser" you read out while Pedro removed the adhesive from the cardboard.

"I like to think I am," he threw the adhesive away.

"We previously, for the movie, shared a few kisses." You feigned an hesitation, Pedro nodded at your saying staring back at you "He's a good kisser!" you winked at the camera. Pedro puckered his lips your way and you leaned your cheek in, you frowned a smile as his stache tickled your skin.

Few questions later, they drew your cardboard handing it to Pedro.

Pedro squinted at the letters "Is Y/F/N single"

"Now that's something you'd like to know, little fuckers." You slapped your hand on your mouth as soon as it escape.

Pedro exploded in laughter collapsing on your shoulder, and holding himself on your knee. "Oh I'm sorry!! I am so sorry!"

"It's alright," the director set was chuckling "we'll bip it or edit it out,"

"Thanks, holy hell it came out of nowhere," Pedro recovered, sweeping a laughing tear from the corner of his eye.

"Does Y/F/N got tattoos" you shook your hand trying to get rid of the white adhesive.

"Yeah a few actually," you sighed as the paper finally fell from your finger.

"Do you?" He genuinely asked, as if he didn't know better

"In most of the movies I was in I had to cover them up for the character's sake but my red carpet pictures might show some of them," you shrugged

"How many?"

"They're tiny ones, so I lost count. I'd say more than 13"

"Ooh that's cool!" Pedro threw the cardboard over his head.

Another cardboard came in,

"What is Pedro Pascal's full name"

"José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal" you blurted out not missing a beat. Pedro was speechless a proud smile on his lips.

"Friends know Pedrito," you patted his thigh "friends know,"

"Does Pedro Pascal have a twin"

"Not that I know of," he grimaced

"Pedro Pascal is unique! ... Better that way for everyone's sake, two of them would be mayhem," you both started laughing at your burn.

You continued ripping the next one "What is Pedro Pascal doing"

"Promoting Philocalist with the lovely Y/N!" he chanted excited.

"What is Pedro Pascal zodiac sign"

Pedro looked at you, "you know?"

You looked back analysing his face, "Aries of course! Adorable and adventurous that's you." His arms wrapped around your shoulders, squeezing you against him.

"Is Pedro Pascal a hugger? Absolutely!" He said releasing you and pointing at the camera, you chuckled nodding vigorously.

On your last cardboard a question got Pedro's attention.

"Y/F/N dance scene"

"What, that's not even a question," Pedro frowned

"Oh I see what they're talking about. I had to dance on my own in one of my first movie and I'm an awful dancer. To this day it's the most embarrassing scene I've ever played. Compare to this one," your thumb pointed to Pedro "I'm no dancer."

Pedro giggled "I'll teach you,"

You mouthed a thank you.

Finishing the segment, you were already laughing with Pedro heading back to the dressing room. His arm laced around yours, he looked around entering the room.

"Almost lost it when you sat on my laps," you turned to him a cheeky smile spreading on your face, you sauntered to him placing a promising kiss on his lips. The twinkle in your eye was all he needed, to know you were going to have a long night back at the hotel.

Few days later, the Wired Autocomplete Interview was published on youtube, the bloopers in the end credit with you on Pedro's laps made a huge buzz. Tabloids and fans losing their shit at it. What better way to hide a relationship than in plain sight.

MASTERLIST

Ko-Fi (voluntary based)

[johnsamericano]

𝒯𝒽𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓃𝓎 𝓁.𝓉

This is a continuation to ten’s fic I wrote for 23 days of NCT, which you can read here. There will be more chapters to this, so I hope you enjoy!

warnings: mentions of sex.

summary: Your mother hires the most wanted tailor in town to design a new dress for the ball, who turns out to be completely different from what you’d expected. But you couldn’t allow yourself to catch feelings for him, not when you were finally so close to marrying your childhood crush.

Threads of destiny m.list.

“Is everything alright, miss y/n?”

“Huh?”

“Huh?”

“You’ve been locked in your room for about ten minutes now. Do you require my assistance?”

“Please, I'm having trouble with my corset.” You tried fastening it by yourself, but it turns out your arms weren't that long.

The maiden twisted the doorknob, walking in with her head down to avoid any sort of eye contact. Her cold hands slid along your back as she tied up the piece of clothing, triggering memories of what had just happened a few moments ago. Once again, you could feel that warm sensation installing at the bottom of your tummy.

“Mr. Seo looks very handsome, he's dressed in a white suit.” She said with a hint of mischief.

Ah yes, the white suit. A popular tradition amongst the town inhabitants. Whenever a gentleman intended to ask for a lady’s hand, he'd dress in all white to meet with the male in charge of her family.

You knew it was bound to happen, but not so soon, especially after your short encounter with the tailor.

“That’s...great.”

The special corset Ten had confectioned had to be discarded as neither of you knew how to adjust it. You never had the chance to look at the dress with it on, but it didn't look so bad with a traditional one.

“Let’s head out, Miss y/n.” The maid bowed, leading the way to the spiral staircase.

Johnny looked extremely handsome, his black hair perfectly slicked back as he spoke with your oldest brother, his best friend. But for some reason, the butterflies in your stomach didn't awaken at the sight of him like they usually did.

“There she comes.” Your mother stood up from the sofa she was sharing with your father, a bright smile plastered on her face. “You should leave for the ball already, it's getting late.” She encouraged.

Johnny and your father exchanged a firm handshake as if they were sealing a deal. Had he already asked for your hand?

“May I?” He extended his muscular arm your way, your fingers wrapping around it delicately, almost afraid you'd ruin the white fabric if you squeezed too hard. “Let’s get going.”

While riding on the carriage, Johnny was wearing his brightest smile, playing with something inside his pocket.

“You look adorable.”

Adorable. You didn't want to be adorable, you wanted to feel sensual, just like Ten had made you feel almost an hour ago.

‘Stop thinking about him.’

“Thank you, you don't look so bad yourself.” Johnny loved how cheeky you were, it was hard to find a woman like that in a small town like yours.

“I talked to your father.” He declared, unable to contain his excitement. But why couldn't you share his emotions?

“Really?” His hand rested on top of yours, warm as it squeezed your fingers, an improper action for an unmarried couple. Not as improper as letting another man touch your naked body, of course.

‘Stop thinking about him, y/n!’

Throughout the rest of your short trip, none of you brought up the topic again, but his hand remained on top of yours. The ride was calm, no sound but the birds chirping outside. A beautiful spring day.

“We’re here.”

If you’d known what awaited you inside the ballroom, you would've run in the opposite direction as fast as possible.

Not even half an hour into the event, Johnny dragged you along to the dance floor, wrapping his arms around your waist tightly while he gave small steps around the center of the room. Dancing was the only acceptable time where a man could touch a woman, and Johnny never missed the chance to use said privilege.

Normally, you enjoyed being pressed against his muscular chest, but not today. All your mind could think about was the tailor’s body, how well-formed it looked even though it wasn't nearly as big as Johnny's.

“Is everything alright?” Johnny inquired worriedly, his eyes looking for your lost ones. “Are you feeling sick?”

To be honest, you were. All those pairs of eyes staring at you with big smiles made the knot in your stomach tighten. The motive of the party was getting clearer with every person you saw leaning to whisper something to another with their eyes still glued on you.

“Everything’s alright.” You closed your eyes.

Just like your grandma used to say: out of sight, out of mind.

“Sure?”

“Sure.”

Nonetheless, Johnny decided it was best to take a seat, just to avoid any incidents. He sat down with a very pale version of you right at the center of the large table. Something was definitely going to happen.

“You made it!” With a dashing smile, Johnny stood up, walking towards a figure you knew all too well. “Look who’s here, y/n.”

Was this a divine punishment? Cause it sure felt like it.

“The dress turned out better than I expected. Nice to see you again, lady y/n.”

“H-how...?”

“We’ve been friends since we were kids, I recommended him to your mother.”

Ten remained as calm as ever, offering a comforting smile as his friend explained the nature of their relationship. But your mind was drifting to earlier that day when you let a simple tailor like him touch you. Stupid, stupid y/n.

“My lady?” He called for you with his high-pitched voice.

“Huh?”

“If you're not feeling well, I'll call the driver so we can get you home. Parties always come and go.” Your soon-to-be fiancee was about to stand up when you finally snapped out of it.

“I’m fine. You were saying your families had been friends for generations?”

“Oh, yes!” Your sickness was soon forgotten as he resumed the story. “He’s the first son of a foreign aristocrat family, though he gave up the family business to be a tailor. Quite a strange man as you can see.”

“A wealthy tailor, how odd.” It's all you had to say about the newly acquired knowledge.

An hour later, a group of maids came into the ballroom with treats of every flavor and cups of tea with the smallest flowers painted on them. Considering how nervous you were, having Ten just a seat away from you, you stuffed your mouth with every edible item on the long table. Johnny had taken notice of your strange behavior already, but he remained silent, not wanting to ruin the atmosphere the guests had created.

Right after the tea, the long table was quickly taken out of the room by trained butlers, leaving the dancing floor clear for any couple to dance on its elegant and shiny, cedar wood planks.

“May I have this dance?” The band had just installed themselves at a corner of the room, ready to start playing as soon as someone gave them a cue. Everyone seemed to be looking at you, expecting you to be the one to open the dance floor.

“You may.” Your elegant fingers wrapped around his hand, only squeezing lightly, a gesture proper of a lady like you.

As Johnny made his way to the center of the ballroom with your hand still in the warmth of his own, all eyes were fixed on you, the most popular couple in town. You were expected to be married by spring next year, though the idea didn't seem nearly as exciting anymore.

With a hand in the curve of your waist and the other one holding your fingers, he started spinning around, pacing his steps with the melody playing in the background. His chocolate orbs were staring into your soul with a tender smile, anxious for what would be coming after the ballad ended.

“Do you like me, y/n?” He didn't give you time to articulate an answer, the words coming rapidly out of his mouth as the beat started dying. “Because I sure do like you, and even if your feelings aren't as strong as mine, I'll make sure to even them throughout the coming years.” The room was silent, only the crack of his knee echoing through the fancy walls as he kneeled, pulling out of his jacket a small, wooden box with your initials and his written with gold. “Will, you, Lee y/n, do me the honor of being my wife?”

You were supposed to be looking at him, smiling at the good news. But your eyes were busy scanning the room, looking for him. Once your eyes met, he simply smiled, raising the glass of champagne he was holding as if making a toast.

He knew. He knew from the very beginning, and still, he decided to play innocent and steal your precious flower.

“Yes, my dearest Johnny. I'd be honored to spend the rest of my days with you.”

His lips gently pressed against the back of your hand, the sudden warmth of his plush, rosy pillows sending chills through your spine. You turned back to your now-fiancee right when Ten’s hand tightened around the glass, the tips of his fingers turning white from the pressure.

He envied his friend, for he’d never be able to have a lady such as you by his side. After all, despite his family’s wealth, he was nothing more than a simple tailor.