creep shame

Guys call out culture only “sucks” when theres no actual proof of the things they are doing, its things they’ve done 4+ years ago or its over things that dont matter like kin doubles or something

Calling out someone for being a nazi, transphobic, pedophilic ect is not something you should say “sucks” like. Expose those creeps stop trying to shame people for exposing them too.

hermione still flinches when ron’s hands brush her neck and she doesn’t understand why she does, because the cold, metal sting and everything that happened later, is painfully different from his soft palms. she stops wearing perfume, and starts casting protection charms.

remus despises his nature so much that the scars on his body are from his own hands. he knows what the taste of wolfsbane is when it doesn’t quite work; bitter and unmistakably sweet—it’s sirius’s blood when he goes too far.

ginny’s hands shake uncontrollably when she writes for hours at a time. the words will start to swim across the page and mix and scramble into anagrams. hi, i’m tom. what’s your name? hi, i’m tom. what’s your name? hi, i’m tom. what’s your na—

pansy knows what it’s like to cast unforgivables on first years. she learns how to enunciate the words with refined perfection, and learns how to want to hurt them. she throws up in the abandoned washroom after every lesson, and finds comfort in the absent arms of moaning myrtle.

ron faints everytime he apparates. he’ll wake up in hermione’s lap; his hair wet against his forehead, and his arms heavy with sweat. he always reaches for his shoulder and visibly relaxes when blood doesn’t rub off his fingers. he doesn’t know how to control his anger either, and feels the shame creep into his skin whenever hermione looks at his chest. he knows that she’s looking for the locket because he wishes that was what he could lay his blame on.

tom falls in love at the age of twelve—watched glimmering jewels glide down his own hand and pool at the bland tiles in the orphanage; started fires just to keep things lively. he collects followers like sheep in a mindless herd and finds that the acclaimed intricacies of a human brain is much more dull than he had imagined. he holds fear like a baby would with a blanket and spends nights wishing he had more time. he dies knowing he never had enough.

draco knows what it’s like to have your mind violated and out bare for all the world to see. he remembers severus saying that veritaserum has no taste, and discovers that he was wrong. the so called non dimensional potion is much too similar to the taste of the silent pleas he shouted when he watched snatchers salivate at the sight of his mother, or the copper droplets of red that sprinkled the surface of his cracked lips when he watched children slaughtered in the blink of an eye.

sirius has spent his entire childhood without the warmth of a mother’s embrace or the reassuring words of a father. he tells himself he’s okay with it—that he would rather have no family than one that wished his friends dead. he doesn’t know what to think when he has neither family or friends alive—the only embrace he will ever feel again is the one that lurks behind bars in his azkaban cell.

luna stops searching for wrackspurts, and instead, starts organizing her fathers office. she should be relieved when people stop calling her loony lovegood but all she feels is the absence of her imagination. war, it seemed, was not an adventure, but an old friend that came at inconvenient times in history.

harry doesn’t want to start a family because every father he has ever had has been hurt at his own expense. ginny rocks his body against her chest and brushes the tears away from his eyes as soon as they fall. she tells him that he’ll learn how to be a father—that it will come as naturally as magic had. the sharp pain that lodges inside of him whenever albus retreats back into his room is reflected so blatantly on ginny’s face. he wishes that he were a blind man so that he never had to see his mistakes out in the open, and rubs at his fading scar.

despite the years that had passed, it seemed that all was not well.

Jealousy (Richie/Eddie)

Summary: In which Eddie can’t help but feel jealousy creep against his thoughts.

Prompt 97“Are you jealous?”

Prompt: 26“Open your fucking eyes, it’s so obvious that I’m in love with you!”

A/N: Thankyou for this request @wrongsmakethewordscometolife! If you wanna ask me for prompts ask away HERE. If you want to ask an ordinary request ask HERE. THIS IS HORRIBLY RUSHED IM SORRY BUT I HAVE SO MANY REQUESTS AND I WANT TO POST AS MANY AS POSSIBLE

Eddie sighed in frustration with tired legs, crawling back up from out of the water with the rest of the losers club. He fixed his white briefs and found himself standing up despite his legs practically wobbling from kicking them that much under water; this was because Eddie was in fact too short to stand up properly under the water.

The others sat down, stretching their limbs and talking quietly amongst themselves whilst Beverly set up the boombox and somehow managing to get music echoing from the speakers.

Eddie zoned out, watching as the water swayed lightly in the lake and a grin took place on his lips. He didn’t need his inhaler today, he was fine swimming. Despite countless times of his Mom telling him to always be extra careful in deep water because of how weak he is, he was strong enough to keep his head above water and that’s all that mattered to him.

Eddie turned back around, going to engage in a conversation with one of the others until he noticed it.

Most, if not all of the boys were staring.

Eddie followed their gaze, his jaw slacked which revealed his open mouth as he noticed that all of them were staring at a sun bathing Beverly, relaxed and in her underwear. 

Sure, Beverly was pretty. Very, pretty. But what made her so enticing for all of the boys to stare at her in an alluring way? She didn’t have the best reputation with boys to begin with, which surprised Eddie as he would’ve thought some of them would’ve moved away from the thoughts that were currently going through their minds right now.

Eddie couldn’t help but feel out of place, especially because the only reason he was staring was because he was trying to find out what made he so special? Was it because she was a girl? Was it because she was a girl in her undergarments? Possibly so. 

Eddie’s eyes then shift to his friends, eyeing the way they were all in a trance. As Eddie wandered his gaze over to Richie he couldn’t help but feel his heart strings twist and turn and he helplessly allowed a sigh to release from his nostrils. Anger filled his thoughts. 

What was so special about Beverly? If she was wearing more clothes then he wouldn’t be staring at her like that, surely. She was a stupid girl. Does Richie like stupid girls? Does he like girls in general? 

Just as he stares back at Beverly with distaste roaming his tastebuds, Beverly’s head turns and glances at the boys through her fashionable shades.

All of the boys, including Eddie, look elsewhere and pretend to engage in conversation to disguise their actions. Eddie quickly squirms his steps across the path to where Stanley was sat and switches the song to something else to cover up his own acts.

Beverly merely shrugs, before looking elsewhere.

It was later on that day when the losers were all packing up to go home; Eddie and Richie left earlier than the rest as they both lived on the same road a few houses away from one another.

It was silent, with Eddie still having bad thoughts about Beverly due to an unknown emotion taking over him, almost alike to selfishness. Richie on the other hand was chewing upon gum obnoxiously loud, his mouth open when doing so. He followed up his actions by blowing a large pink bubble, before sucking it back into his mouth. He repeated this a few times until the silence was practically killing him.

“You’re awfully quiet, Eds.”

“Don’t call me fucking Eds.” Eddie grumbled, tightening his fanny pack around his hips to prevent it from slipping down his legs.

Richie was shocked at Eddie’s sudden tone, not to mention that he had been quiet for the majority of the day up until this point. “Damn, no need to be a bitch about it.” Richie mumbled, pushing his glasses up with his middle finger towards Eddie in hope he’d see it as a joke and lighten up.

He didn’t.

Eddie simply rolled his eyes and walked faster. “You’re not funny and I’m not laughing.”

Richie frowned, walking Eddie closer and closer to his house. He was growing impatient with the boys temper growing, but he was determined to find the cause of his lack of happiness and find the core reason as to why he was acting strange.

“Eds, c’mon. Don’t be like this.” Richie bounced against Eddie’s side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

Eddie scoffed, ignoring the taller boys question and grabbing Richie’s arm and shoving it off him. “Go wrap your twig arms around Beverly, I’m sure she’d fucking enjoy that considering all you did today was stare at her.”

Eddie walked quicker now, his tiny feet pacing forth. A lightbulb went off in Richie’s head as well as his lips spreading into a knowing smirk.

Richie cleared his throat, “My my, Eds. Are you jealous?

Eddie stopped in his tracks, heat rising against the skin on his face and spreading to his ears and clothed chest. He turned around with an angered look on his face.

“J-jealous? What the fuck of Richie?”

Richie’s smirk turned into a sly one, walking closer and folding his arms. “You’re jealous of me and Beverly, ain’t ya’?”

Just as Eddie was about to protest, Richie walked up and pressed his finger against Eddie’s lips teasingly, rubbing it around over them to force a funny face upon Eddie.

“Don’t answer that, I don’t want you blushing anymore than you already are.”

Eddie was horrified, he didn’t know that the heat sensation over his skin was him blushing. Why was he blushing? 

“I’m not-” Eddie stuttered, before being shushed by Richie’s finger again.

“Is this why you’ve been ignoring me all day?” Richie tilted his head, his curls flopping to one side.

Eddie averted his eyes elsewhere, feeling the shame creep up behind his shoulder. Silence was the best option for Eddie.

“Hm.” Richie hummed, moving his finger away and standing closer to Eddie. “Can I give you some advice Eds?”

Both of the two boys stood in front of Eddie’s house now, Eddie barely moving head to nod as anxiety took over. The anticipation of not knowing what ‘advice’ Richie was going to give him was killing him; Richie was dragging it out purposely to create suspense.

Richie finally spoke in a soft and gentle voice, “Open your fucking eyes, it’s so obvious that I’m in love with you.

Eddie opened his mouth, only for Richie to once again cut him off. This time, it wasn’t Richie’s finger but in fact Richie’s chapped, gum flavoured lips merging against Eddie’s own smooth pair of lips.

Eddie was quickly filled with anxious thoughts, he thought about how many germs were in a human mouth. For instance, there are actually more germs in a human mouth than a dogs. Eddie hitched for a second, before somehow gaining strength and pushing the thoughts away as he trembled into his first kiss with Richie, the boy he was falling for.

Eddie felt the heat run down his shoulders and smothering his spine, sending tingles as he twitched his fingers against Richie’s cheeks whilst on his tiptoes. Richie confidently wrapped his hands around Eddie’s hips to hold him in place for the kiss. Both of the boys had their eyes closed as they enjoyed their moment in perfect unity.

After what seemed like forever, which forever was 10 seconds in this instance, both pulled away for fresh air. Their eyes opened slowly, Eddie looking up at Richie through his eyelashes and Richie surprisingly having flushed freckles over his dotted skin.

Both boys giggled, stepping away from each other awkwardly.

“So.. so uh- don’t get jealous.” Richie chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“i don’t.. I don’t think I’ll need too.” Eddie whispered, clutching his shirt for mental and physical support.

Richie smiled down at the boy, “Well.. goodnight Eds. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With that, Richie quickly rushed off with quick steps and his arms frantically moving in-between his steps. 

Eddie watched from afar, his fingertips touching where Richie had kissed him. The bubblegum taste lingered on his own lips from Richie’s, his tongue licking at his bottom lip ever so slightly to remember how Richie melted perfectly against him with no flaws whatsoever. How Richie made him feel negatively about Eddie by making him jealous. How Richie managed to sweep Eddie up and off his feet in the end. How… Eddie loved Richie too.

“I love you too.” Eddie whispered to Richie, despite Richie being very much so far away and couldn’t possibly hear Eddie’s silent confession.

With that, Eddie turned on his heels and made his way back inside.

Nine to Five (Part 12)

Pairing: Stiles x Reader

A/N: There are three parts left of this, each part taking time lapses so look forward to them <3 for now, enjoy Part 12 and do let me know what you think!

Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13

“Hey Y/n, it’s me… Stiles but I think you know that already. Please just call me back.”

“It’s me, again… Stiles. I’m so sorry for how I acted, I should be more supportive but I don’t think I’m ready for Rosie to lose you as a…” Beep

“I always forget that these voicemails aren’t long enough, I’m sorry but 30 seconds to beg for your forgiveness is just not enough…” Beep

“For fuck sake… please just call me back, baby. I know it’s barely been two hours since you left but I’ve calmed down. Please call me.”

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A Messed Up Place | One

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Summary: How it all started out

Warnings: Bucky’s self-hatred is through the roof, suggestions of masturbation

Notes: For @hellomissmabel’s writing challenge, using the prompt Lacanian Love. Didn’t really do my final checks on this one properly, so lmk if you spot any errors. 

AMUP Masterlist

Love has a lot of cliches.

In fact, ‘a lot’ might even be an understatement. ‘A lot’ is a gross underestimate of the number of cheesy one-liners, overused phrases and endless passages made up of empty promises and meaningless words that couples in love throw around haphazardly. The thing is, there has to be some element of truth behind them. These cliches must have come about for a reason, no?

Bucky Barnes thinks that that reason might be you. He doesn’t believe in soulmates, but whatever the hell you are to him — well, it’s pretty goddamn close, that’s for sure.

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@froekenpest (is it working now?) and I are talking about Draco’s characterization, specifically having lots of life history and dealing with it.

Every now and then, Draco stumbles with his feelings. It’s shitty and he’s the worst person to be around ever because he’s moody and cruel and nasty and self-destructive, but he’s the type to disappear when that happens. He doesn’t want to be around anybody, and he doesn’t want anyone to see him–for vulnerability reasons, but also because he knows it’s not fair to lash out at people, even if he wants to (and he does).

I have this scene of Draco with his back to Harry. Harry trying to get Draco to talk about it, but the more he tries, the more infuriated Draco gets.

Harry just doesn’t get it. He couldn’t possibly understand the things Draco’s grappling with, because their lives have just been too different. He wouldn’t understand the way Draco needs to push at the bruises he’s harbouring until they hurt and feel like they’re bursting open, because that’s his catharsis: remembering every single mistake he’s made, every fucking choice that has led him to being where he is today, every cursed, wretched thing he’s ever done that make him this ugly amalgamation that’s more beast than human sometimes.

Harry couldn’t possibly understand, and that infuriates him even more. Harry, the perfect human. Harry, who is lauded as amazing, who saved the world and is treated like a hero, Harry who can do no wrong.

He’s so angry and bitter, and the next time Harry opens his mouth to say something, Draco jumps down his throat.

“Don’t treat me like your charity case, Potter,” he snarls, and behind him, Harry’s mouth clicks shut in surprise. There’s a second of silence, and then he exhales sharply, sounding angrier than Draco expects when he speaks next.

“Is that what you think this is–what you are? Charity?”

Draco smiles cruelly to himself, feeling the bitter words crawl up his throat and spill out of his mouth.

“That’s what you do, isn’t it, Potter?” he sneers Harry’s surname acrimoniously, and doesn’t have to be facing the man to see how he flinches at the animosity. “You take in the strays, people who can’t get by without your help. Isn’t that what you did with the  Weasleys? Pathetic and contemptible, too poor to even feed their children but too stupid to stop having more.”

Harry’s silence speaks louder than any words he could have said then. Draco feels the shame creeping up his neck, making his cheeks burn like he’s standing in front of a blazing fire.

See? He wants to shout into the silence. See what I am? Not so eager to help now, are you?

The quiet continues, and Draco tenses and relaxes at the same time, waiting for Harry to explode, to shout abuse at him, to hit him, assault him, call him exactly what he is and what he deserves.

Harry doesn’t do any of that. What he does is breathe, raggedly at first, and Draco counts the inhales, synchs up their breathing without really noticing.

Then, after what feels like a lifetime, Harry says:

“I won’t be here if you’re going to behave like this. When you’ve calmed down, I’ll be in the living room.”

He leaves, then: leaves Draco to his miserable desolation, and Draco triumphs in having driven him away. He’s fiercely glad that Harry’s left and incandescently angry at him at the same time. How dare he leave–how dare he not get angry–how dare he walk away?

He’s so bitter and angry and resentful in that moment, because Harry is supposed to be different. Harry isn’t supposed to give up on him, isn’t supposed to leave him alone: that’s just not what Harry does, and Draco is incensed.

How dare he be like everyone else? But then… of course. Of course he is. That’s what Draco wanted: he wants to be alone. He wants to push people away, because that means he’s right, that Draco is as big of a mess as he feels–that he isn’t worth staying for, and the thought burns and burns at him, making him even more furious.

Draco feels like a volcano is about to erupt inside him. It’s hot and angry and bubbling dangerously like if he so much as twitches, he’s going to burst and breathe fire more savage than fiendfyre, and he wants to let it–good god does he want to just let it out and let it consume him and burn the whole world to the ground.

It won’t come, he knows, because it never does, even when he’s burning brightest and wants it most, it refuses to manifest and Draco is trapped with it simmering just under his skin, zinging through his veins until he wants to tear at his own flesh to make it stop. But he can’t, because this is what he is. This is who he is–and that thought winds him higher.

(Of course, when he does come back down and regain sense of himself, he goes out and stiffly, unhappily apologises. He knows he’s wrong, he knows what he said is terrible and not true, but apologising still hurts, even if Harry–and the Weasleys–deserves it.)

I think that’s how Harry would handle Draco’s self-hating episodes. After the first couple times of them winding each other up and blowing up together, Harry would get smart and not engage when Draco was like that–just walk away and talk when he was less awful about things. And Draco would learn (conditioning, Harry is absolutely treating him like a dog, haha) that responding like that isn’t appropriate or even a good way to handle things, and they’d end up doing better together. And that’s how Harry helps.

I think what makes Taako resonate so deeply for me is that he is so unabashedly arrogant. LIke that’s a defensive mechanism a lot of gay people put on to feel comfortable with ourselves. I scream all the live long day on here about how gay I am but really? I can’t even think about really flirting with a girl without feeling that shame creep up my neck, I have to push through the dark thought about myself with petty self-aggrandizing. “I’m Gay and that’s awesome! Gay people are awesome!  I’m allowed to be gay!” and there’s Taako also has to fake it till he makes it through his insecurities, and he makes it, he’s got an awesome boyfriend, an awesome supportive family, an awesome *life* as the badass wizard who saved the world. It feels so good, it’s so important to me to see that crucial part of me represented in a cool ass fucking wizard.

Trust Me: Part 2

Originally posted by wild-punk

Not my Gif

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

Poe Dameron x Reader (eventually), Female Reader, fluff

Author’s Note:  Sorry, this part was giving me a surprising amount of trouble.  Hopefully I’ll have the next part up a lot faster.  This will probably end up being a three parter, unless people want me to write into the events of Force Awakens. 

Word Count: 3.3 K

          It had been six months since you left D’Qar and Poe still couldn’t get the final image of you out of his mind. 

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“You’re holding back.”

Zoro’s feet skidded across the deck as he is pushed backward from the sheer power of Sanji’s kick. “You’re imagining things, cook.”

Sanji spits his cigarette, his expression twisted with anger. “Bullshit," he snarls. "I have kicked those shitty blades thousands of times for the past two years. ‘Imagining things’ my ass.”

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Let me know

Originally posted by donewithjeon

☽Pairing☾ ; Taehyung | Reader

☽Genre☾ ; Angst

☽Word Count☾ ; 1.9k

☽Note☾ ; I only speak from my own experience.

☽Warnings☾ ; Depression | Mental illness 

“How is it going Y/N?”

A question shot into the frigid air of any type of office room, displayed with flowers, plants and simple dull paintings from kids that has been through your stage in early age. The woman in front, tipped her glasses onto the right spot, finding the clock ticking becoming louder and louder.

“It’s going well. Still tired” You simply answered, fiddling your thumbs as a mechanism of forgetting the demons, which haunts you whenever there is an opportunity to taunt your life.

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teach me something new

“You’re a really good teacher,” Will told him one day.

They were twelve years old, sitting in the treehouse, math homework sprawled out in front of them.  Lucas stopped from where he was writing down the steps of a problem for Will on a notecard and looked up at the other boy.  Will was smiling at him in that genuine way of his, and it took Lucas a bit off guard.

“Really?” He asked before he could find another response.  “Mike says I’m a shit teacher.”

“Mike’s a shitty student,” Will amended.  “You’re a good teacher.  You’re patient and you’re really good and breaking stuff down.  It’s cool.”

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anonymous asked:

Can you do an imagine to the reader being a guard to Noct & whilst guarding at camp, she sneaks off in the night to ward off the empire. The bros panic and look for her in the morning and find her seriously injured, wondering what to do next.

Okay, so I should explain that I got a bit carried away with this one— uh, a lot carried away actually. I think I just read “Noctis” and my sleepy-prince obsessed self just forgot that this was supposed to include the rest of the gang. Forgive me for that. Oh, and forgive the sinful fluff as well.



{1,654 words}

It had been just like any other night after everyone had their fill of Ignis’ cooking and retired for the evening. You were camping somewhere in the of south of Duscae, a small, remote little place, niched in between a thick forest and a steep crag, giving you ample protection. That’s probably why you had let your guard down more than what you often did— the false sense of security. You should had known that nowhere was safe with the Prince of Lucis in your party.

You bade Gladio a goodnight as he followed after Ignis and Prompto inside the tent, but Noctis lingered briefly outside, picking around the beans in his stew before setting the bowl on the folded table. With a check over his shoulder to make sure the guys weren’t coming back out anytime soon, he made his way over to you— a glint in his eyes.

“Hey,” he purred, hooking a finger in your belt loop and pulling your hips against his. You gave him a cheeky smile in return, your brain still subconsciously on high alert.

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kittykatkatfish  asked:

Lucio not feeling well after having a restless night and requesting cuddles from Mc

The nightmares seemed to get worse the sicker he got. 

Haunting images of blood soaked battlefields, searing pain in his shoulder and the smell of fire thick in his lungs tore him from his sleep, eyes blown wide as a ragged gasp leaves his lungs. 
His heartbeat is frantic in his chest, searching for the familiar feel of a dagger beneath his pillow. 

A soft whine tears him from his panicked frenzy, two pairs of wide, red eyes peering at him from the foot of the bed. 

of course, He sighs. He snaps his fingers and the dogs jump onto the bed, crawling over to him and curling around his shaking form. the dogs whine again, nudging his arm with their snouts. 
Lucio swallows the lump in his throat, absently petting them. 

He knew he wasn’t going to get anymore sleep, he lays back against the pillows, fighting the burn of tears behind his eyes and focusing on the dogs breathing beside him. He was not going to do this, not now, not ever

There is a soft knock at his door that drags him from his thoughts. For a few seconds he thinks perhaps it is Nadia, but he dashes the thought. it was foolish to think that the feelings that were once there would miraculously return. 
The door creaks open and he is prepared to snap at the servant who opened it when his voice dies in his throat. 
The person standing in the door, illuminated in the light from the hall is infinitely better than Nadia.

“The servants said you were yelling.” They say slowly as they slip into the room, shutting the door behind them softly. 

Lucio says nothing as they creep closer, Mercedes and Melchior glancing up at them, tails thumping against the mattress. 

their voice is gentle as they speak, and he finally meets their gaze. 

“Stay with me.” he feels shame creep up his neck at the desperation that clings to his voice, reaching for them. They only nod, coming onto the bed and curling up beside him, Mercedes moves so they can take their place beside him. 

“I’ll stay as long as you need me to.” they whisper, pressing a kiss to his head as he curls up to them. He holds them like a lifeline, shaking as he finally lets the tears well up and slip down his face. 

He didn’t deserve this, but damn if he wasn’t going to savor every precious moment he stole. 


He wakes up in a bed much larger than his own, covered by sheets softer than his. He looks to his left, surprised to see Thomas’s sleeping form still there. He had been persistent in his desire for his lieutenant to spend the night and at last James had broke, succumbing to silken touches and burning sapphire eyes boring into his own.

Now as he lays there he is fearful of the door. What if a servant came in? What if a servant even knocked? Would Thomas wake before the door was tried?

His fears creep up his spine, shame burning his cheeks, but before he can rise and dress a mumbled “Good morning,” comes from beside him. It is calm and sleepy and devoid of fear.

Thomas shuffles up against him and kisses him. There’s the feel of skin rubbing against skin, in all the places he’d only dared imagine. 

Soon he forgets all about the door.

anonymous asked:

Hellooooooo I need a jealous Ros who finally understand she is in love with ben! It's for science ! And my sanity ! Next monday is to far away 😭

Rosaline has never considered herself a possessive woman – how could she, when she possesses so very little? She shared her bed and clothes with Livia for far too long, and sold off most of her earthly possessions after their father’s death, in hope of gathering enough for a dowry. They’d only keep their mother’s most precious jewels, since neither she nor Livia had the heart to sell them.

Getting her title back – and with it all the privileges due to her rank – has left Rosaline confused and breathless. Once again, she finds herself at the market, comparing fabrics and necklaces while Livia bothers her to buy a particularly lovely pair of shoes. Once again, she gets to wear different dresses for different occasions. Once again, books pile on her bedside table and on the shelfs Benvolio installed for her. It doesn’t make Rosaline more materialistic, but she cannot lie – she likes having things she can call her own once more.

Still, nothing had prepared her for the deep gnawing feeling in her stomach as another woman laughs, her hand on Benvolio’s arm. The four weeks since the wedding ceremony gave Rosaline plenty of time to learn his smiles – the sarcastic ones were first too come, then more genuine ones, finishing by the smiles she thought for her alone. The ones where he shows very little teeth but with dimples in his cheeks, the ones that are both soft and caring, the ones she came to think as her own.

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