How DARE Tolkien omit in the final draft the information that the traditional hobbit marriage custom is to have unspoken vibes for years and then disappear without explanation for an indeterminate length of time!?
ive said it before and ill say it again: astrological signs, meyers briggs, uquiz tests; all fake bullshit that have nothing to do with someones personality. but the instrument you played in highschool band/orchestra? that shit’s realer than math. youre branded for life. i may not be able to guess which instrument you played but as soon as you tell me itll IMMEDIATELY make sense
dragon age inquisition is the only story i’ve seen that’s bold enough to ask - what if we attempt the found family trope, but half of your found family are so catholic they’re in line to be the pope and also you start out as pretty much a hostage
“I have my sights set on a ‘Yes’. That’s pretty much the first thing I do."
Inside Jeremy’s head a mantra was chanting like Dorothy going through a particularly traumatic chapter of The Wizard of Oz. There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home.
Other people have different ways, other people have different ways, other people have different ways.
He nodded, a polite smile gracing his lips.
"It’s not about the question I’m asking, but the way they answer it. I want an affirmative from them. Not a 'sure’, god, never a 'sure’. But even 'Of course’, or 'Yup’ isn’t good enough. It has to be 'Yes’. And I have to let them know that’s the right response, so they get to it quicker the second time.” The woman patted down her chest, pulled out a cigarette packet. “Excuse me a minute, have to drag.” She turned that last word into an onomatopoeia, somewhere between a Northern bark and a Mississippi drawl.
He stepped out of the way, turning a half circle until he slotted neatly into the conversation that had been going on behind him. A casual acquaintance was looking slightly bewildered. Geoff,an older man, thrust into the over-enthusiastic bosom of the new bloods and their new-fangled meetings by whichever twenty year old he was currently dating.
“I worry, you know."
It took Jeremy a moment to realise it was him that was being addressed. He looked up, took a sip from his pint, nodded. But the silence wasn’t being filled. It was expectant.
"Why’s that?” He threw Geoff a bone.
“Well everyone just seems to be going to such extremes, y'know? Before no one was connected enough to properly explore all this shit, and now there’s websites and meetups it seems like they’re getting onto the really fucked up stuff before they’re even in their second relationship.” There was a shrug, although he’d struggle to attribute it to any autonomous thought from the man. It was a social tick, some habitual world-weariness manifested in that simple movement. He smiled, sipped.
“The problem with all of it is just that there’s no time, y'know?” Each time Geoff threw one of those suffixes at the end of the sentence he’d would look up, expectantly, and then he’d nod, as if he’d got his agreement even if there was no such response from Jeremy. “You need to build trust, and that takes a little while. You can’t go for drowning with someone you pick up at a Munch.” It was his turn to sip his pint, and it was an excuse to slip away.
Rachel was at the bar, casually browsing her phone when Jeremy sidled up beside her, leant over the lacquered wood, and offered a polite smile. She glanced up for half a second before looking down again.
“Heat or conversation?” She sounded bored.
“Hmm?” He finished off his pint and waited to grab the attention of the girl behind the bar.
“Did you leave because of the stifling heat or the stifling conversation?” He didn’t have to look to know she was smiling. Smirking.
“Oh, you know me, little column A, little column B. Did you saunter out here because you wanted to make every man in the room watch your hips sway? Or was it because you so desperately needed to get yourself at least half-tight before you go back in?”
At this she looked up, and he remembered why he’d pursued her relentlessly for half a year before somehow shifting gear and ending up friends. It was the eyes, and the way they never seemed to stop moving, even when she was looking right at you.
“You know me.” She said, and left it at that. His eyes flicked down to her phone, and went a little wide. Two men were vigorously fucking on the screen. He laughed.
“You do realise this is a vanilla pub?”
She picked up her drink, smiled, and took a step away from the bar. A step towards him. Her lips grazed his earlobe and she whispered with all the subtlety of a B-52.
“Are you embarrassed for them or because you rather enjoyed that little glimpse into my arousal?”
They never could help but flirt with questions. She walked away. Sauntered, her hips swaying ludicrously from side to side.
so basically “hey, uh, so if shit hits the fan and we can’t protect your rights, it’s gonna be on you all to elect better officials, we tried our best.”
After finally getting a job in her field (Y/N) finds herself getting tangled up with some of the biggest mobs in New York. Becoming an accountant for a well-known mobster, Steve Rogers, (Y/N) comes into unlikely friendships, romances, and situations. With these unlikely relationships comes danger, betrayal, and heartache. Can (Y/N) handle this new life she has no choice but to be a part of?
A/N: I did not proof read this chapter. Idk why the format is weird im sorry. I’m actually really excited for this series and am PRAYING I don’t get burn out. Sam Wilson deserves all the fucking love and I’m happy to give it to him. Any information about New York that isn’t correct please ignore it geography is hard. This series will be pretty slow burn and this chapter is mainly an introduction to the Reader? Sort of? Idk sorry it’s probably boring. Regardless I hope everyone enjoys and feedback is always welcome!
one of the most important things i’ve learned in therapy is that when you’ve experienced prolonged trauma in your childhood, pleasure feels uncomfortable. like, not that you don’t feel it, but that when you do feel it there’s an impulse to make it stop, because it’s extremely unfamiliar. and pleasure can mean many things, as simple as feeling cozy, and as complex as feeling loved. the neural pathways for feeling good have not had a chance to develop, and the neural pathways for feeling bad are quite practiced. feeling good, too, takes conscious practice.
Roman hates Logan. He’s arrogant, uptight, and absolutely insufferable.
Logan feels the same way. In his eyes, Roman is unrealistic, flighty, and never takes anything seriously.
Roloves cares deeply for Nox. He’s brilliant, a joy to talk to, and makes Roman’s heart flutter never fails to brighten his day.
Nox feels the same way—that is to say, he cares deeply for Ro. In his eyes, Ro is full of light and passion, far more clever than he lets on to most, and causes him to blush at every little compliment makes him smile even after the worst of days.
And, curiously enough, these two relationships are not entirely unrelated.
Notes: i wrote this for my partner’s (!!!!!!!) birthday, so here’s to a Very Happy Birthday for the wonderful, brilliant, utterly dazzling@art-chive<3
and! many thanks to lex (heavenly-roman) for dealing with my Incredibly Obvious Simping throughout this entire fic writing process and for betaing as well :D
and and!! this time the other two chapters will be out in a timely manner I Swear
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Only Fools Rush In||Like a River Flows||Some Things Are Meant to Be
Everyone had bad days, Logan reasoned. Everyone messed up.
There was no reason for him to be reacting this way. None at all.
Logan sighed, shoving his quiz to the side as he let his head fall to the desk in its place. He didn’t even want to think about that quiz for as long as reasonably possible. Eventually, he’d have to go over it and see what he’d missed, but for now? There was no reason he had to be subjected to staring at the dark blue ‘82%’ scrawled at the top of it.
