#i think about this woman every time i'm tempting to look up people i dislike | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mokutone · 2 years

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after seeing ur hiruzen/third hokage thoughts i was wondering what u think abt tsunade ?

thank you for the question! well as far as villains go she's—

no im just kidding. i know she's not a villain. of all the hokages, she's probably my favorite, but...i suppose that's not saying much, since i dislike literally every other hokage skdjghsdkjghdkgh (it's true i don't dislike kakashi or naruto. but i don't like that they become hokages)

i struggle a lot with her because she's one of the most compelling female characters in the show, but she's also written into a lot of sexist tropes.

mostly, when i think of her, i think of this quote from john berger's Ways of Seeing

“You painted a naked woman because you enjoyed looking at her, put a mirror in her hand and you called the painting “Vanity,” thus morally condemning the woman whose nakedness you had depicted for you own pleasure.”

obviously, tsunade is not naked, but she is a 50+ yr old woman, who is drawn to look like she's in her 20s because she's doing a henge to look youthful always. all of the characters make asides about this, condemning her for her vanity, and we the audience are meant to agree. she never gives a solid reason for wanting to look like she's in her 20s, so we're meant to assume that she values her own beauty over everything else, and is afraid of losing that beauty. i have a lot of trouble getting over this point when it comes to her.

there could be something really interesting and fucked up to explore about a woman who is unable to let go of the youth that, due to war and loss and trauma, she never got to live out! about hanging on to that impossibly because she doesn't know how to grieve or move past a loss like that—but. the fact that nothing in the series gives that visual choice any emotional weight aside from a punchline about the vanity of women mean's that's not what's happening. she's just "vain." lol.

the reason she looks like she's in her 20s is probably just because kishimoto didn't want to draw a middle aged woman. that sucks. i have a really hard time forgiving him for things like this.

but, ah, whatever. this is turning more into me talking about kishimoto than it is talking about tsunade.

I'm disappointed that we see more of lady chiyo working with sakura than we do lady tsunade. not that i didn't enjoy the fight vs sasori but. tsunade is sakura's shishō...why don't we get to see them together....that would be so entertaining...

her gambling addiction and tendency to lose are interesting too, but i feel like i want to see that influence her decision making? like, the choices we actually see her make for the most part, she seems like a very cautious and calculating person, somebody who stares at tempting problem for a long time before deciding it's not worth it to risk that.

why is she so different at a gambling table?

i think i want to see a little more dysfunction from her. she's maybe the most functional hokage konoha has ever seen. I think I would've liked to see her try and make really rash calls, and either learn from the mistakes, or have to rely on the people around her to help her NOT risk it all on an off chance they'd succeed. basically. i want her to have a bigger character arc about handling power than "no i dont want to!!!" —> "oh well this little blond guy convinced me. guess ill do it."

her having lost her family is a backstory. I don't really have much to say about it. It's fine, I guess.

her relationship with the other sannin...i dont know what to say. i think i've seen more fanworks of them interacting than actual interaction, so I don't want to speak on that, my opinion will be skewed.

I think it's fucked up that she's the best medical ninja in the world, but technically Yamato's self healing properties are probably on par, let alone Hashirama's. don't you think that's fucked up? like, that's the one title she's got to herself, and just.........ugh. whatever. sorry im ranting about kishimoto again.

i think a lot about her relationship with yamato. it seems, in canon, that she doesn't feel she has any duty or connection to him (and! rightly so. just because he's connected by her former squadmate to her grandfather doesn't technically mean she's in any way responsible for him)

BUT obviously. i personally think it would be interesting regardless, if she did. I think that her having tea or meals with him sometime and just connecting with him over this shared fucked up little attachment would be funny.

I'd like to see both of them (Yamato who never had any family) and Tsunade (who lost her family) try and forge a connection where there really doesn't have to be one. I think that would be sweet. Not necessarily a mother and son thing bc. well. Idk.

like tsunade seeing naruto as like her son, canonically, is kind of sweet, but it sucks that its like. you know. she has to be hot. she has to be a mom. and we can say she's a total trainwreck but we can't actually explore what that would look or feel like for her because she has to fulfill those rolls, and being a trainwreck is neither hotcoded, nor momcoded and also she can't be old. we're kishimoto and we hate women. blarg blarg blarg.

i don't knoooowwww. i struggle with her a lot. I wouldn't have this many problems with her if kishimoto was better at writing women, or if he wrote more of them and gave them more screentime so I didn't have to look at the few crumbs he offers as intensely as I do.

#yamswers #tsunade senju #catboy-steve #im being mean to kishimoto but i do not care.#i hope this was interesting! it's another big long one.

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xiaq · 3 years

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Hi, I have a question re:sex and Christianity. Small background: I still go to church, and I still live with my parents even though I'm not much younger than you, because housing is very very expensive where I live (pretty common here, I would say about 2/3 of my friends live with their parents and we are decently privileged kids)

Anyway. How does one get over purity culture? To be clear, I've never been told in church not to have sex, I've never gotten the gendered lessons that you got. But I am terrified of having sex. My first real, multi-year relationship just ended and while there was hand stuff etc, there was never any p in v sex (lol I feel 12). But I still had insane anxiety about being pregnant despite being on bc. And I think its because I know my parents would be so disappointed if I had sex. And if I was pregnant I could imagine all the gossip. And honestly I think im from a pretty open church, b/c one of our previous ministers kids recently got married at 8 months pregnant and lots of church people were at the wedding and supportive and her parents were there and everything.

I dont even think I particularly like sex, i might be on the ace spectrum, but how do I remove it from all the anxiety that's tied to it so I can even give myself the chance to find out???

(Asking because it seems like you've been pretty open about purity culture/removing yourself from it)

CW for sex talk (again)

How does one get over purity culture?

Oh man. That really is the million-dollar question, huh? Obviously, I can only answer re my personal experiences, and this is something you should talk to a therapist about, but I can tell you how I’ve tackled it with my therapist at least.

Purity culture is, at its core, an ideology that is perpetuated by shame. If you’re indoctrinated into purity culture when you’re a kid, the concepts become baked into the way you construct your identity, your perception of self, and your perception of your sexuality. It’s practically intrinsic, by the time you’re an adult, to feel shame any time you’re reminded you have a body, much less a sexuality.

According to the chapels I sat through every week as a kid, a girl's body could be 3 things: an intentional stumbling block for men, an accidental stumbling block for men, or unnoticeable. Women were to strive for the third option so as to keep their (and their male friends/authority figures) purity intact. After all, if a boy, or even your male teacher, had impure thoughts about you, it was your fault for tempting them (which, holy shit. I still can’t believe that was a thing I bought into for so long. If my 45 yr old grown-ass teacher had impure thoughts because he could see my 12 yr old collarbone, that sure as hell wasn’t my fault. But I digress.) The Only time a woman’s body can be something else, is when she gives it to her husband, at which point she must suddenly flip the switch in her brain that she is now allowed to be a Sexual Being and she must perform Sexual Duties despite living in outright fear of her own body and sexuality for years (decades?) up until this point. Jesus take the wheel.

Purity culture isn’t a thing you can just decide to walk away from if you’ve grown up in it. Because its ideology is insidious and internalized. So first you need to submit to the fact that you’re going to be fucked up about sex. It sounds like you’re there. Second, you need to interrogate what you believe. If you’re leaving religion behind entirely, you’ll approach removing yourself from purity culture differently than if you still identify as a Christian. It sounds like you might be the latter, which meant, for me, separating what’s actually biblical and what’s shitty, contrived, doctrine that I was told is biblical but is actually more political than spiritual. This helps you address the shame issue.

You need to throw away I Kissed Dating Goodbye and Lady in Waiting and all those ridiculous books you read and reread in the hopes of somehow obtaining impossible marriage perfection and look into actual scripture interpreted within its historical context. I could write a book on this, but the TL;DR is that the text of the Bible was written, translated, curated, and changed multiple times over thousands of years by human beings with human biases and, often, personal and/or political agendas. It contradicts itself! Reading it as it is—a flawed historical document—rather than some sort of God-breathed perfect document—is incredibly freeing. When you do, you’ll probably realize that purity culture is bullshit on a spiritual level. Which is a good start, if that matters to you. Because any time you start to feel shame or guilt you can ask yourself: does God actually care if I wear a bikini or touch a dick I’m not married to? Probably not. Wear the bikini. Touch the dick.

The most important therapy session for me was when my therapist asked what I would do if I got to heaven and God was actually the God I’d been raised to fear. What would I do if he condemned me for being bisexual and having premarital sex and becoming educated, for arguing with men, and failing to isolate while menstruating, and wearing mixed fabrics? If Montero had come out at the point, I probably would have said I’d pole dance down to hell. Instead, I said I would spit on heaven’s gates. If a god that cruel and that pointlessly demeaning really exists—a god who would create in me condemned desire—I won't worship him. The good news is, I’m 99% sure he doesn’t exist. At the very least, he isn’t supported by scripture.

Okay. The final thing you need to do is figure out what you actually want, sexually speaking. This bit is probably the hardest. I’m still in the early stages of this myself. You say: “I dont even think I particularly like sex, i might be on the ace spectrum, but how do I remove it from all the anxiety that's tied to it so I can even give myself the chance to find out???” Bro, I wish I had an easy answer for you. For me, whenever I’m feeling anxious about Sex Things, I tell myself: 1. My God does not equate my worth to my sexual habits. 2. My partner does not equate my worth to my sexual habits. 3. I do not equate my worth to my sexual habits. It seems silly, but reminding myself of those three things is massively helpful. If, after I’ve sorted through those, I’m still anxious or uncomfortable, I stop doing the thing. I evaluate. Am I overwhelmed and I need to try again some other time? Do I just not like the thing? Sometimes it’s hard to tell. Sometimes you change your mind. Sometimes you just don’t know. That’s why having a partner who you trust and who’s willing to patiently explore your interests (and respect your disinterests) is so important. Half the battle, for me, was having a partner who told me they’d be ok with no sex at all. Because that took the pressure off me. If the bare minimum they need is nothing, then anything more than that is a bonus! Hooray! This is maybe TMI, but let me tell you. I thought I was asexual* right up until I was able to have moderately non-anxious sex. Never in my life did I think I would initiate a sexual situation but… I do now. It’s a fun thing to do with a person I love and, holy shit. I am furious that I nearly missed out on it.

Finally, re birth control: I don’t know how you can approach that fear in a way that works for you. If you don’t want to ever have penetrative sex, that’s fine! If that’s a point of anxiety you can’t get rid of, then don't push yourself to do it. If you find out you like other sex things, do the other sex things! If you don't like doing any sex things, don't do any sex things! Also, have you considered sleeping with people who can’t get you pregnant? Always an option if it’s an option you want to consider. ;)

Okay. I hope this was even a little bit helpful. Sorry if it’s a little convoluted, I typed it up in bursts during my work breaks.

*This is not at all to say that asexuality can be “fixed." Rather, it’s to say that things like purity culture can drastically confuse your sexuality in general. If you’re asexual, then this process is still important to discover what you like/dislike. Then you can be explicit about those necesities and find a partner who’s a good fit (if you want a partner at all, that is).

#purity culture #sex talk #christianity #sex and relationships #sex and religion #mylife #answered asks #aspec #cw sex

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johnsamericano · 3 years

Text

𝔖𝔲𝔤𝔞𝔯 ℜ𝔲𝔰𝔥 𝔧.𝔧.𝔥

Hi everyone! As promised, here’s one of the two most voted fic continuations. There will be more chapters to this story though I'm not sure how many yet. Thank you for reading!

warnings: sugar daddy jae, mentions of injuries and hospitals, language.

taglist: @thoreeo @trustmahluv

Sugar rush m.list.

The machine monitoring your father’s heartbeat was the only sound filling the quiet hospital room, where your once healthy father laid unconscious, his perfect, chiseled cheeks adorned with cuts and bruises. Would they leave a mark?

The machine monitoring your father’s heartbeat was the only sound filling the hospital room, where your once healthy father laid unconscious, his perfect, chiseled cheeks adorned with cuts and bruises. Would they leave a mark?

Where did everything go wrong?

Your string of thoughts was cut off by a call from your aunt.

“Hello?” Your voice was raspy from not using it. There was no one to talk to in the quiet, hospital room but the nurses, who weren't especially keen on chatting.

“How’s your dad, sweetie?”

“They let him out of ICU, but he doesn't look good to me.” Your fingers traced the cuts in his chiseled cheeks that would soon turn into scars, ruining his perfect skin. Your eyes then diverted to his head, thoroughly covered in bandages to protect his damaged skull.

“Honey, I've got bad news...”

“They rejected the case, didn't they?”

“Not precisely.” She deeply inhaled before continuing. “It’s a tough case, almost impossible to win, nonetheless, they're willing to take it. But their fee is a little...”

“Expensive.”

“Yes.”

As expected from the best firm in town, they wouldn't take less than $8,000. Your bank account didn't have enough money to even cover half of it, and with your job at the convenience store, you'd only earn so much to cover your expenses.

“We can take the lawyer that the government provides us with, it would be free.”

“But then I'm sure we’d lose.” You groaned in frustration, using your free hand to rub your forehead. “Don’t worry, I'll find a way to get the money.”

“Why don't we just accept the compensation they're offering? It could pay for the hospital bills and you'd still have some left to pay for your tuition.”

“That would be like putting a price on my father's life. I don't want their money, I want them to make themselves responsible for what they've caused.” The sound of wheels approached the door of your father's room, signaling the nurse was outside with his meds. “It’s okay, Auntie, I'll take care of everything. You can go back home, I know my uncle isn't doing so well.”

“Are you sure, darling?” It was undeniable that she wanted to head back to her little ranch fat away from the hectic city life to take care of her sick husband, but still, her brother was laying down on a hospital bed, fighting for his life.

“Yes, I'm an adult, I'll find a way.”

“Take care of yourself, and don't hesitate to call me if you're having any difficulties. I'll be there in the blink of an eye.” She said before sending a kiss into the speaker, proceeding to hang up.

You sighed. It was never usual for you to ask for help, as you were an extremely prideful and independent person, and you doubted this time would be different.

“Don’t worry, dad. Everything will be alright.”

Three failed job interviews and one more to go. Your feet were killing you, the high heels covering them already worn out from walking to avoid taking the bus. Every penny counted, and as long as your legs worked, you weren't spending any more money than what was necessary.

You sat down in the waiting room of the company, massaging your neck to relieve some tension. College was becoming a burden. Maybe you'd take a semester off to focus on working, that is if someone wanted to hire an inexperienced student.

“Y/n, Y/l/n?”

“Here.” You darted up, gathering your belongings to enter the room on which your life almost literally depended.

You gave all the right answers, earning a polite ‘we’ll contact you’ in return. But you could see that they weren't convinced with your lack of experience, no company in their right mind would be.

As soon as you arrived at your apartment, you slid out of the uncomfortable pencil skirt, tucking yourself under the covers with your phone screen almost hitting your nose.

To take your mind off things, you decided to watch some videos. Halfway in, an ad popped up, interrupting the interior deco video you were watching.

A picture of a girl about your age hugging an older man was right in the middle of your screen. Written with fancy letters, the words ‘make your life simpler’ could be read, followed by what you guessed was the title of the app. Sugar rush.

Out of pure curiosity, your finger tapped at the small icon that led to the app store, absentmindedly clicking the download button. A few seconds later, an icon with the letters ‘SR’ was added to your home screen.

“Log in?” You murmured out loud, squinting your eyes to adjust your eyes to the bright, white homepage.

Just as you were about to click out, the phrase from the ad reappeared, stopping your finger from moving any further.

You could always delete your account if something went wrong, right? Nonetheless, you decided to use a false name, and that's how Melanie Kim’s profile was created. You left the circle of your profile picture empty for now, only filling the spaces that asked about your likes, dislikes, age, and all that stuff that people care about so much.

You knew what the app was for, but that didn't stop you from being surprised when a list of men and women of different ages greeted you. Right then, a small rectangle obstructed your sight, two buttons offering opposite things.

‘Pick the role you'd like to develop.’

Sugar daddy/mommy / Sugar baby.

Clearly, you didn’t have nor the money or the years to be the first, so you clicked the opposite button without giving it more thought.

‘Welcome. You've been registered as a sugar baby at Sugar rush. Meet thousands of men and women willing to finance you for free!’

You hummed.

‘As we're always looking to make our users’ experience better, we've developed Sugar Rush premium, a membership to meet the richest and hottest people in your surroundings. Get the premium version for only $5.95 a month. Click here to get Sugar Rush premium.’

Your finger pad was dangerously close to the blue button, almost grazing the screen of the phone. It was then when you were pulled out of your trance, blinking as if just then you'd realized what you were doing.

“I must be crazy.” You turned off your phone, not bothering to turn on an alarm for the next day. You had no interviews left. You had nowhere to go.

Waking up was getting harder with every passing day. Not being able to call your dad to go out for breakfast or even sending a simple good morning message hurt you deeply. You missed him. But seeing him laying down on a hospital bed, unable to do anything by himself, was even worse.

Ding

A notification filled the silence in your room.

‘Come back, you haven't finished setting up your account yet!’

You scoffed at your past self. What were you even thinking when you downloaded the app?

You simply turned off the phone before standing up to take a relaxing shower. As the water soaked up your tense body, your mind started wandering off back to the app. A million what-ifs filled your head, nonetheless, there was one that remained the most persistent.

‘What if this can pay for a lawyer?’

Your part-time job surely couldn't, and you had no one to assist you financially speaking. The whole idea of paying that ridiculous membership seemed more tempting as your fingers started getting wrinkly under the showerhead.

You decided to take some time to consider it, after all, you still had a week to give the lawyers an answer.

Hot soup seemed like a good option to comfort you, and thankfully, there was a store right in front of your place that claimed to sell the best soups in town.

It wasn't bad, but not nearly as good as the one your dad cooked when you were a kid. You sighed, wondering if you'd ever be able to eat it again. Just then, a woman about your age came into the shop, carrying a couple of bags where names of popular brands could be read. A pinch of jealousy made your heart stir as you glanced at yourself through the reflection in the glass at your side. You looked devastated, your skin pale and your cheekbones slightly sunken, a sign of the lack of rest and food you'd been getting.

Out of pure impulse, you pulled out your phone, clicked on the app you'd recently downloaded, and finally accepted the charges for a premium membership.

‘Welcome, new member of our wide community, click ok to get started!’

Well, no turning back now.

Right after pressing the blue letters with your thumb, you were presented with a list of potential prospects, some of them including pictures, some of them only including name and a brief description of what they were looking for. The minority included their ages, but most left the space blank.

A bunch of old men looking for a youthful, pretty woman to be by their sides, some of them even went as far as writing the weight and height their ideal partner should have. Of course, there were also some women in the look for young meat, but the number of men overpassed them.

About to exit the app in defeat, a profile caught your eye. His pale pink hair was parted, allowing his thick eyebrows to stand out. His high cheekbones made him look like a statue, the details in his face almost too perfect for a mere human. He must be the incarnation of a Greek God, you thought.

‘Jung Yoonoh. 41 years old. Owner of N & C.’

“Should I...?” You asked yourself in a voice lower than a whisper.

He has probably gotten hundreds of messages, so what would be the point of sending one yourself? Your eyes scanned the picture over and over again as the remains of your soup started getting cold.

He was probably the only acceptable man in the whole app, so why not give it a try?

You already spent five whole dollars on it, might as well make it worth the money.

‘Hi.’ Sent.

“Holy crap.” You breathed out, regretting every single action that led you to take such a stupid decision. “Ah!” You squeaked as three small dots appeared beside his profile picture, signaling he was writing a reply.

What if he rejected you right from the beginning? God, that would be so humiliating. His message stopped your train of thought.

‘Hi!’

Followed by:

‘How are you?’

Sweating like a pig, thank you for asking.

‘Fine. You?’ Read.

‘Thrilled. No one had messaged me since I created my account two weeks ago.’

‘How is that possible?’ You imprinted your thoughts on a message.

‘It’s hard to trust people nowadays. I guess people might think either my picture is photoshopped or I'm lying about my job.’

‘Their loss, ig.’ Read.

He was taking some time to answer. Had you said something inappropriate?

‘Hahaha.’

The conversation stopped there, as you didn't know how exactly to answer his message. But a few minutes later, another text from him popped up at your chat.

‘If you're okay with it, we can start talking about a possible arrangement.’

Already? You've known each other for like five minutes. But then again, arrangements were the whole purpose of the app.

‘Sure.’

‘May I ask your reasons for joining the app?’

‘I need urgent money, but my job doesn't pay nearly enough.’ You omitted the part of your agonizing father, he didn't need to know that. ‘And you?’

‘I need someone to be my partner at public spaces.’

‘Alright.’ Read.

‘Do you happen to have some free time tomorrow at lunchtime? I think it’d be better to meet first before making any decisions.’

‘Yeah, I'm free.’

‘Great, I’ll send you the address.’

You thought a day would be enough to prepare yourself, but time passed by quicker than usual, and soon enough, it was time to get ready for your meeting with Mr. Jung. He was only a few years younger than your father, and calling him by his first name wouldn't feel right.

Unsure if you should wear something formal, you threw on a beige (the color you'd agreed on wearing so it’d be easier to recognize each other) summer dress, pairing it with the gold hoops you'd inherited from your grandma to make it look more elegant.

The hardest part of your routine was makeup. Your sunken cheeks couldn't be covered, and only after a few layers of blush and highlighter, you could bring your skin back to life.

On your way to the cafe, you went through the things you'd say when you met him. It was your chance to get your father what he needed.

You stood at the entrance with wide, scared eyes, shyly scanning through the place to look for your date.

“Melanie?” A hand on your shoulder had you jolting. “I’m Jung Yoonoh, nice to meet you.”

What you saw after turning around was breathtaking. A handsome, healthy man, with the most beautiful pair of dimples.

“Nice to meet you.” You managed to blurt out without stuttering, extending your hand to make the greeting more formal. The fake name didn’t seem necessary anymore. “It’s actually y/n, I didn't want to use my real name.”

“I understand. Let’s take a seat.” He offered with a kind smile.

He left you seating at the terrace while he made your order, a latte, and a chocolate cookie. Your fingers played with your hoops anxiously, trying to regulate your breath.

“They’ll bring our food in just a sec.” He offered a warm smile. “Your dress is pretty.” Yoonoh said out of nowhere.

“Thank you.”

“I see you're not a chatty person.” You were about to object, but he started speaking again. “It's not a bad thing! I usually talk a lot, so it’s a nice way to balance things.”

You nodded, seemingly uncomfortable with the man sitting in front of you.

“So, uhm, this is my first time doing this, so I'm not really sure where to begin.” He pulled out a folded paper from the front pocket of his dressing pants. “It’s a bit creased, but I can always print another one. I brought it so you could take a look and let me know if you wanted to change anything. I don't mean to pressure you, but you said it was urgent, so...”

You read the paper under his attentive gaze, making sure not to miss a single word. Everything seemed correct, except...

“Six months?”

“Is that too much?” A small wrinkle formed between his eyebrows, a sign of deep concentration. “Okay, so let's do this instead.”

He took back the contract, pulling out a pen from the pocket in his dressing shirt to correct the original stipulations.

“Four months, and if by the end of them you don't absolutely hate me, we can extend the time. Deal?”

“Just one more thing.”

You cleared your throat, conscious that your following words might jeopardize the whole arrangement.

“Are you sure you want to make it official already?” You had to stop for a moment as the waiter left your orders on top of the wooden table. “I mean, it's not that I have a problem with it, but it's your money and maybe you'd like to give it a better thought.” You resumed.

“The fact that you're concerned about me proves I'm making the right choice. Now, tell me, how much would you like to receive as a weekly allowance?”

Would it be too reckless to ask him straight up for the $8,000?

“H-how much are you willing to give me?” You felt dirty, accepting a stranger’s money like that.

“Whatever you need.” His hand suddenly reached forward to yours, causing every ounce of blood in your body to rush to your face. “There’s no need to be embarrassed, I'm here to help you.” His voice tone dropped, acquiring an almost soothing feeling.

“I need eight thousand by Thursday, next week.” His eyes were wide open, mouth having difficulties remaining closed. “I-I know it's too much, but...”

“I can find a way to give you that money, but I'd like to know the reason why you need it. Just to make sure it's nothing illegal.”

You puffed your cheeks, trying to find an excuse good enough to justify the amount of money you were asking for.

“It isn’t illegal, is it?”

“No!” You retrieved your hand from below his, now embarrassed at the possibility of him having a bad image of you. “I need it for my father.”

“I suppose you don't want to talk about it.” He started at his palm, lips pressed in a thin life. “But when it comes to arrangements like this, we need to trust each other, alright?” You barely knew each other, yet, he demanded to know a very personal detail of your life. Not that he didn't have a good reason for wanting to know, it wasn't a particularly small amount of money.

“He had an accident at work...” You started, fearful of looking up to find pity in his eyes. “I need a lawyer to make his company legally responsible. They intend to throw it under the rug and pay a somewhat decent amount of money to make it go away. The firm I intend to hire is supposedly the best in town, probably my only chance of getting justice.”

“And why don't you just accept it? There's no guarantee that your lawyer will win the case.” You fisted the delicate fabric of your dress, eyes watering as you tried to hold back your anger.

“My father’s life is priceless, and if you think what I'm doing is a waste of money, then fine, we can both look for someone else to help us.” It sounded more aggressive than you'd first intended, but you meant every word that came out of your mouth.

Before you could even stand up, his slim fingers had already wrapped themselves around your wrist.

“I never said that.” He whispered with an almost sad tone. “Come on, sit down.”

He tugged at your arm the slightest, showing off his charming dimples once again.

“I’ll give you the money on one condition...” He raised one of his thick eyebrows. “I’ll go with you to see the lawyer.”

“Why...?”

“That’s my condition, take it or leave it.”

“Okay.”

The days before your meeting with your potential lawyer were nerve-wracking. You'd seen Yoonoh another time to sign the contract, which finally made your arrangement official.

You’d visit your father every day, always hoping he'd be sitting with his arms wide open, ready to hug you. But nothing had changed ever since he first came into that room.

“I’m here to see Mr. Kim.” The secretary's gaze lingered on Jaehyun a few seconds before he finally snapped out of it. “Y/n Y/l/n.”

“Just a second.” He opened his agenda and quickly found your appointment. With a warm smile, he guided you through the corridors of the building, all the way to the elevator. “It’s the only office on the last floor, I'll be at my desk if you need anything.”

Once again, he shot Jae an uneasy glance before the metal doors slid close.

“What was all that?” To be honest, you couldn't care less. But a small chat might calm your nerves and prevent you from throwing up all over the place.

“What do you mean?” He grinned, pressing the button to the top floor.

“You know what I mean.” You scoffed, annoyed at his evasive behavior.

“We just happen to know each other, nothing special.” Before the conversation could continue, a loud ding resonated through the metal cubicle. “Let’s go.” His hand found its place at the small of your back, pushing you towards the glass door. Through it, you could see a black-haired man reading a pile of documents, occasionally raising a photo to examine it with his gold-rimmed glasses supported at the bridge of his elegant nose.

Jaehyun extended his arm over your shoulder to knock on the door, earning an almost annoyed ‘come in’ from the man inside.

“Let’s go.” Once again invading your personal space, he reached for the doorknob with you trapped between his arms.

As soon as the door opened, the man raised his eyes from the documents he was checking.

“What are you doing here, Jung?”

“I knew something was off...” You murmured, loud enough for the man at your side to chuckle.

“I brought you a client, you should be happy.”

“Miss y/n, I suppose. Have a seat.” His demeanor completely changed while speaking directly to you. “I spoke with your aunt last week, she explained the details of the lawsuit, but I must say, it isn't an easy case.”

“I know that, but I've been told you're the best firm in town, I know I'll have more possibilities of winning if you're my lawyer.”

“Best firm in town my ass.”

“Be silent or I’ll kick you out of the building.”

That was enough for Yoonoh to zip his mouth. For a while at least.

“I suppose she also told you about our fee.” He pushed his glasses up using his thumb. “We’d also keep 25% of the lawsuit money assuming we win the case, is that okay with you?”

“Yes-”

“Okay, stop.”

“I’ll call security, Jung.”

“Look at me, y/n.” He squeezed your arms. “This clown is trying to scam you...” He pointed his finger at the lawyer without breaking eye contact. “You’d be spending loads of money for someone who isn't even confident in his abilities. It isn't worth it.”

“And I suppose you'd do better than me, then.” The black-haired man scoffed. “If that's the case, then you can both leave. I'm quite busy at the moment.” With a turn of his wrist, he signaled you to leave the room.

You were fuming, stomping out of the building with Jaehyun right behind you.

“I found a great restaurant nearby, we can go there and-”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Calm down-”

“Don’t tell me to calm down when you just fucked up my only chance to give those bastards what they deserve.” The sun was starting to set, yellow light casting shadows over his tender cheeks.

“Can you listen to me for a second?”

“Are you laughing right now?” You bit your lip, hard, trying to hold back the tsunami of tears threatening to come out of your eyes. “Asshole.”

“Ouch.” He furrowed his eyebrows mockingly. Oh, how close you were to punch that pretty face of his. “Can I explain now?”

You remained silent, staring at the ground with the smallest frown between your eyebrows.

“How do you think I know Kim Doyoung?” Before even giving you a chance to answer, he continued. “That son of a bitch has been stealing my clients for ages.”

“Your clients...?”

“He isn't even that good of a lawyer compared to me.” He scoffed with fake arrogance.

“You're a lawyer?!” You slammed your palms into your face, whining at the newly acquired information. “Why didn't you tell me from the beginning?”

“Just wanted to swing by and annoy him a bit. Don't worry, I wasn't gonna let you accept his deal.” He winked playfully.

The sun was now hidden, the sky darkening as the moon rose to take its shift.

“Though I gotta say, I'm kinda offended I wasn't even an option. I'm a pretty great lawyer, you know?”

“Sorry.”

“I’ll forgive you if you join me for dinner. What do you say?”

As you walked into the darkness of the streets, his shoulder occasionally bumping yours, you wondered if meeting him was a casualty. Maybe the world was finally smiling at you.

#nct smut #nct angst #nct fluff #nct au #nct imagines #nct ot21 #nct x reader #nct #nct 127 #nct scenarios #nct jaehyun

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

I'm Not Into Sometimes, Chapter 2 (Rosnali) - SnowBun

A/N: Very proud of this chapter <3 finally feel myself getting back to the writing style I enjoy the most. I hope you like reading this is as much as I like writing it. much love everyone xx

Summary: When Denali goes viral for posting a dance video, she doesn’t expect it to lead her to becoming a choreographer for Rosé, an up and coming singer destined for fame. Denali thinks that this might be her first (and only) shot at achieving her dream. If only her dream wasn’t wrapped up in a flurry of pink hair, charm and a supposedly professional relationship.

—

Release comes in the sound of blades scraping against ice. It is the feeling of her core tightening as she pushes off the ground and becomes the world turning on its axis. She is this moment of weightlessness and control.

Then her head begins to fog with visions of spinning rose-colored tops across a dark wooden floor, so endlessly mesmerizing. Her mind fills with questions of intrigue and challenge, the first time she’s ever seen duality so up close. Oh, to be so breathlessly enamored by beauty and talent.

It’s the loss of focus that weighs her down, causing her to land shakily on her right foot. She extends her left leg for balance and slides not-so-gracefully on the ice. She hears Olivia cheer in the sidelines, all bright white smile and wonder. It brings her back to the rink and away from the studio.

She skates over, pressing her forehead to the fence. “It’s not so bad.” She thinks. The rest of the world is slowly but surely getting hooked on Rosé, and she lives up to every expectation and more. She thinks it’s perfectly normal to feel a little charmed by her.

Even if she was a bitch at first.

“What’s wrong?”

Then again, she can’t quite answer Olivia’s question. She isn’t a fan from half way across the world. She’s the damn choreographer. She’s in New York, seeing her old friends and grasping onto her dream.

Said dream just had to come in the form of pink hair and clear brown eyes.

She shakes her head and smiles. “Nothing’s wrong, Liv.”

—

At first, she thinks she’s just so tired that she’s seeing things. When she blinks, she realizes that her eyes aren’t lying and that Rosé really is right there, sitting on the dance studio floor at 6:30 in the morning. She’s staring at intently at her phone, with an expression that can only be described as upset fury. She becomes too absorbed in typing to even notice Denali come in.

“Hey.”

She looks up and her face softens into a small smile. There it goes again, that weird feeling of nakedness that comes with being looked at by those eyes. The combination of this and the lack of sleep is disconcerting, but she manages to smile back anyway.

“Hey.” Rosé procures a coffee cup from behind her and reaches up to pass it. “I got you coffee.”

It takes her a minute to process, way too taken aback by the gesture. She’s always prided herself on being difficult to phase, but when a woman who is basically her employer that she barely knows hands her coffee, it’s hard not to act surprised.

Nonetheless, she accepts it gratefully, muttering a ‘thanks’ as she sits down on the floor beside her.

For a while, she stills as Rosé continues to type with such force that Denali’s scared that she might end up cracking the screen somehow. She wonders in silence, but she’d be lying if she says she’s not tempted to cross the arbitrary line and ask if something is wrong.

“Sorry.” Rosé’s voice suddenly rings clear, but the world around them still feels quiet, tranquil almost. “Just a lot of stuff that needs to get done before the video shoot.”

“Mmm,” Denali says, as she sips her coffee. “It’s fine, I don’t mind.”

Even if the phone has been tucked into the pocket of her bag, Rosé opts for stretching out her legs in front of her and yawning instead of getting up. She turns her head to look at the choreographer whose gaze is directed at the cup in her hand.

“So,” She draws out the word lazily, cocking her head to the side. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“What do you think of Phenomenon?”

It’s a difficult question to answer. If she says something bad, she’s kicked off this project. If she says something good, she’s just kissing ass. She knows that the only right answer to this question is her own opinion, but when her mother told her that honesty is the best policy, she’s not sure this is the situation that she had in mind.

“Honestly?” Rosé nods. “I think it’s great. The lyrics are good, the production is amazing, your vocals are fantastic. Plus it’s your own brand of witty and self-assured. Not sure what’s not to like there.”

She isn’t sure if this was the answer Rosé expected from her. All she hears is a sigh and they sink once again into that comfortable silence while Denali finishes her coffee. She doesn’t really know much, or anything really, about the woman beside her, but in the stillness of the morning, she feels comfortable.

“Right,” Rosé’s voice is soft and she hates herself for the ache that starts to bloom in her chest. “What’s not to like?”

She tries to ignore it, that stupid idea that this true vulnerability and not just small talk between colleagues; but she sees those eyes staring into the empty space, watches the beams of sunlight give her a blush halo. The ache spreads through her body and she bites her tongue to stop from begging to know what she could possibly not like.

Denali stands up and throws away her cup in a bin in the corner of the room. “Anyway,” She reaches out a hand to help her up. “We should get to work.”

Rosé smirks up at her and she thinks that the ache is threatening to cause an implosion. “Oh, so she’s all work and no play, huh?” She says, grabbing at her hand.

Then they’re face to face and Denali can feel the tug, that back and forth that comes with the competition that is flirting. She laughs a little, tries her best to play it cool. “I have to work hard if I want to play hard, don’t I?”

She walks away with a pair of eyes on her back and an ache that won’t go away.

—

“Are you going to spill all the tea now or what?”

Her eyebrows raise behind the glass of vodka cranberry that she’s holding. Of course, Mik wants to get straight to the gossip. She’d be surprised with any other conversation starter to their Friday night, almost a week since she’d arrived in New York. The bar Mik chose is a little too crowded for her taste, filled with other women who have been eyeing her. She notices but she ignores it in favor of the woman in front of her.

“What happened to ‘how have you been, Denali?’ or ‘how’s New York, Denali?’”

“Okay whatever,” Mik rolls her eyes. “How are you?”

“Tired.” She answers in a heartbeat.

“And would that have anything to do with a certain singer whose name rhymes with… shit, I can’t think of anything.”

She purses her lips together. If she’s honest, working with Rosé is probably the least tiring thing on her agenda. The ice skating in the early evenings as a bid to tire herself to sleep hasn’t been working. All its led to is sleepless nights staring at the ceiling until she sees the first vestiges of day creep through the windows, signaling another turn on the earth’s axis.

In the studio with Rosé, she can at the very least find some peace. The understanding that they are both good at what they do and the comfort of knowing that each day with her is a chance to know her more drives her to get out of bed and into the studio.

“A part of it, yeah.” It’s the tiniest bit of truth and Mik doesn’t look one bit sated by it. “What else am I supposed to tell you?”

“Oh, come on,” It’s that signature Mik whine that finally gets a laugh out of her. “You have to tell me something, anything!”

“You’re an MUA that works with runway models. You know enough famous people as it is.”

“That doesn’t make me any less curious about them.”

She bites her tongue when she hears those words. It’s not like she’s any different. Every morning with Rosé is an established routine with coffee and curiosity on both ends. The existing respect for each other’s craft makes them both wonder about the person underneath.

So, they start to ask questions. How’s New York? Where’d you get the coffee? How’s your morning? What’s the name of that guy on TV who used to host Fear Factor and is a shithead now?

Like clockwork, the questions morph into flirting. It’s standard, innocent, verging on comfortable even. Rosé is always the first to break into a blush, true to her name. At times, Denali thinks that she may have gone too far, but then she sees those eyes again, all amusement and interest. Each interaction is a chance for the ache to spread somewhere new along with the growing assurance that there’s nothing to dislike.

“I don’t know, okay?” She finally lets out. “We work great together and we get along, but it’s not like, ‘ooo, you’re my new bestie’ or anything like that.”

“Hmm,” Mik lets out a him, popping the straw out of her mouth. “That’s interesting.”

“Why is that interesting?”

“Let’s just say my sources tell me she doesn’t get along with everyone.”

Her eyebrows scrunch together at that. Sure, she understands that Rosé isn’t exactly everyone’s glass of wine, especially with the cold seriousness that she handles her music, but she respects that about her.

What’s not to like?

“Well, I don’t think she’s a bitch, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Or maybe you want to be her bitch…”

“Oh, fuck you!” She throws a tissue at Mik’s face as the model cackles in delight. Her phone suddenly chimes, a message from an unknown number popping up on the screen.

?: hey, I got your number from Tamisha

“Who is it?”

Damn her and her expressive features. She keeps quiet, brain going at breakneck speed to think of all the reasons why she’s texting on a Friday night when she probably has at least a hundred different parties to go to and a thousand different women trying to catch her eye.

Denali: really hope this is rose and not the guy standing outside Tamisha’s office who keeps asking me out

“It’s just Rosé.” She watches Mik’s mouth turn into an O-shape and she throws another tissue. “No, no, not what you’re thinking, sweetie.”

At least she doesn’t think so. Harmless flirting is one thing, but getting her number from her manager? They keep stepping closer and closer to the line and she thinks she sees the chalk start to smudge.

?: sorry to disappoint, it’s just rosé

Denali: too bad. what’s up?

“She’s texting you on a fucking Friday night.” Mik sounds absolutely dumbfounded. “Sounds a lot more than professional to me.”

She knows that Mik is right. They don’t even have practice tomorrow, so she can’t justify it as a possible cancellation. She’s about to come out with some boldfaced lie when her phone vibrates on the table.

Rose: just thought you should have my number. ps: my name is not rose

Olivia arrives and she slams her phone right down on the table.

“I’m buying us a round of shots.

—

She hates this. She loves this. Saturday morning is now the distant tip-tap of heels against the floor, click in the brain, a switch to her soul. Wake up, wake up, wake up. This is not home, it’s not her hotel room. It’s just a cold floor where she has some peace.

Then she hears that voice, every note of the song a gentle wave rushing in to carry her away from her body. Her eyes are glued shut, but it doesn’t matter when she’s already left her body behind on the shore. The voice grows louder, closer, and the waves start to grow. Her body is too far away now and she’s not sure if her eyes will ever open again.

Wake the fuck up.

“Denali?”

A poke to the ribs sends her rushing back into her own body. An involuntary groan escapes her lips and she hears a laugh from above her. She scrunches her eyes shut, terrified that any form of light might cost her the ability to see.

“What the hell?”

Her voice sounds like a croak to her ears and she manages to roll over onto her back. With a moment of preparation, she cracks open an eye. She’s greeted by the sight of Rosé kneeling over her barely functioning body, clearly trying her best not to laugh. Again, she groans and Rosé can no longer help herself.

“Why are you here?”

Honestly, she’s not sure about the answer to that one. There are bits and pieces of memories from last night printed on the back of her eyelids, but it’s all too fuzzy for her to try to piece together immediately. She remembers the sound of Olivia’s laughter mingling with Mik’s voice as they watched her throw back a seventh shot. The memory causes pain to start creeping into her head and she makes a promise to herself to never drink again.

There’s the sound of shuffling and when she looks up, Rosé isn’t kneeling above her anymore. She assumes that she’s sick and tired of her hungover ass, a perfectly valid response in her opinion. Then she hears humming beside her and sighs, glad that validity has no place in this situation. She closes her eyes again, losing herself to the light behind her eyes to ease the throbbing at her temples.

“Isn’t it a Saturday?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you here?”

“I asked you first.”

Her hands fly up to her face. Rosé is laughing again and the pain starts to spread throughout every part of her head. If only it would subside, maybe she’d finally have the energy to actually be embarrassed about waking up on the floor of her workplace.

“Went drinking.”

“Ah, and how’s that going for you?” There’s a smile in her voice. Fuck it, she thinks as she jumps straight over the line of professionalism with a flip of her middle finger. Oh well, it’s not as if this whole situation has pretty much created a void where the line should be.

“Your turn.”

Rosé goes quiet. She focuses on the sound of their breathing. Inhale, exhale. The expansion of her sides with every controlled gulp of air. She hears a plane overhead, letting the escape of air follow it far away from city streets.

“Just wanted to get away for a while.”

She turns her head, sees pale pink rose petals sprawled out on the dark floor. In the gentle light of a Saturday morning, her eyes break her promise to herself, drinking in the sight of weary beauty. She thinks she’s just hungover, but she believes she’s never seen anyone quite so pretty before.

“Well,” She looks back up at the ceiling, stark white staring back at her. “Same here.”

—

By 10:00 PM, she’s burying herself in sheets. She’s never been much of a fan of stillness, but she thinks the last week might be changing her mind.

A few hours earlier, she’d replied to Mik and Olivia’s texts, asking her if she was okay. She cursed and reassured them in the same breath. When they’d asked her where she’d ended up, she had said, “passed out on the floor.”

Half a truth is good enough, right?

If she had told them everything, she’d have to tell them that she laid in the studio for half an hour with Rosé’s humming the only thing cutting through the pounding in her head. She would have to tell them that she’d stumbled as she got up, letting warm hands guide her as she learned to stand. She’d have to tell them of the exchange of tender smiles, so different from the tug of war of flirtation that she’s accustomed to.

Her phone lights up. She expects Mik or Olivia, even Kahmora. No, she only sees that name and she giggles to herself like a damn teenager, a quiet admission that she’s allowed something to change.

Rose: pls tell me you didn’t go drinking again

Denali: I actually like having more than one brain cell, thanks

Rose: great, don’t want to have to pick you up off the floor again

Denali: won’t you ever let me live it down rose?

Rose: only if you start spelling my name right

Denali: the accent’s too much of an effort

Rose: then use my real name

Denali: ???

Rose: call me rosie

A smile graces her lips and she shoots off one last message. She places her phone on the nightstand and buries herself in the blankets, drifting into her first good sleep in a long time.

Denali: alright, night rosie

—

Monday morning suddenly frees up when Rosé says she has to move their session to the evening to make room for interviews. She fills up the rest of her morning by replying to emails about skating gigs for when she eventually returns home. She has lunch with Mik and Olivia and when they inevitably begin to pry, she stays mum on what she can only now describe as her complicated friendship with Rosé. She returns to the hotel and lets herself sleep, turning the feeling of being well-rested into a brand-new addiction.

When she arrives at the studio at 7, there’s no one there. While it isn’t like Rosé to be late, she doesn’t text. She assumes that she’s coming from yet another one of many interviews that she kindly referred to as, “shitheads trying to get way too personal.”

She settles for freestyling to loosen up while she waits. When the music starts, she feels herself break. Every moment is grounded in her own brand of ferocity and well, sex. There’s comfort in her own body, in the knowing that it is a temple of worship to herself. A signal from her brain to move, a single fluid motion, all indulgent offerings to the pleasure only she will ever feel. She throws herself into the fire and the sensation of pleasure starts to build.

The door opens, but she doesn’t, can’t stop. She feels like she’s hovering over the floor, on the brink of climax. The song peaks and she almost gasps, dropping to her knees and letting her back hit the floor. She takes a deep breath, relishes the feeling of being alive.

“Sorry.” She’s apologizing, but she’s not sure for what.

“I…” For once, Rosé is at a loss for words. Her quick wit has been thrown out the window and is probably being dragged around under the wheels of a taxi. She laughs breathily as she gets to her feet.

When their eyes meet, the air turns heavy with unspoken words and desire. She tries to look away, but she can’t. Brown gazes meet and for the first time, she permits herself the thought of what it would be like to kiss her. Maybe, just maybe, that wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Uhm, okay! Let’s get started?” Rosé bursts out and she thinks that she might have won this round.

If the singer seems more distracted than usual, she doesn’t say anything about it.

—

The water in the shower is still cold when she receives a text that evening.

Rosie: no need to meet me for the rest of the week. We need four dancers for the video, auditions on wed

The water suddenly seems warm and for the first time in her life, she thinks she’s finally learning what it’s like to lose.

—

#rpdr fanfiction #rosé #denali foxx #rosnali #lesbian au #choreographer au #snowbun #s13 #im not into sometimes

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shift-shaping · 7 years

Note

I'm very sleepy, so apologies if you're not taking prompts.... But the female Solas post keeps popping up on my dash.... If you're up to it, would you perhaps write a bit with her perhaps meeting/flirting with someone of your choosing? (Bonus points if it's some weird version of the world where they know of the original Solas lol)

Glimpses: Lady Solas

@dadrunkwriting

Rating: G

Genre: Romance

Pairing: Female Solas x Lavellan because I guess we’re doing this now

Ellian had never been so obsessed with another woman before.

Sure, there were dalliances in her clan, pretty girls she enjoyed time with just as much as the handsome boys, but no one that caught her eye like Solas. She was statuesque and stunning, with long legs and toned arms. Her eyes reminded Ellian of a cat’s, gleaming and wise and mischievous, but her demeanor was always calm and controlled.

She was brilliant, too. Solas had something to say about everything Elvhen, and seemingly endless stores of information about the Fade. It was all absolutely fascinating, and Ellian hung on to her every word. Of course, all of that was made dangerously easier by her deep, painfully sexy voice. Ellian swore she could hear it in her dreams, or whenever she allowed her mind to wander.

After spending enough time trying not to fawn over Solas in the field, Ellian finally decided to seek her out in Haven. There she was, barefoot but comfortable, hands held behind her back as she observed the Breach high overhead. As Ellian approached her Solas smiled very slightly, almost imperceptibly. “The Chosen of Andraste,” she cooed, with a curious expression that made Ellian’s heart drop. “A blessed hero sent to save us all.”

“Ah, yeah. I guess I’m riding in on a shining steed.”

“Mmm… I might have suggested a griffon, but sadly they’re extinct.” The thought made Solas purse her lips and shake her head. “Joking aside, posturing is necessary.” There was a slight lilt to her voice, an accent Ellian couldn’t place. It had a hint of her own voice, the Dalish tongue, but not quite. It was more refined, somehow, more tempered.

Solas turned and Ellian followed. She saw how the taller elf’s brows knit together as she looked up at the Breach. “I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations.” Ellian followed Solas’s gaze, looking up at the torn sky. “I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clashed to re-enact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten.” Though she kept her tone light, Ellian couldn’t help but detect a note of somberness in it. Beautiful as it sounded, fascinating as she was sure such journeys were, there had to be difficulties as well. “Every great war has its heroes,” Solas said, eyes narrowing slightly as she looked at Ellian again. “I’m just curious what kind you’ll be.”

Ellian stiffened and tried to find words, but it was hard to think when such a gorgeous person was looking at her. “I… I’ve never of someone going so far into the Fade… that’s amazing.”

“Thank you, it’s not a common field of study, for obvious reasons.” She paused, smiling slightly, and held her arms behind her back again. “You are a mage, are you not? Tell me, what do you see when you dream?”

“I see…” She considered the question, not wanting to sound dumb or inexperienced. “Whatever is around me, usually. I can wander through the recent past of an area, speak to some of our ancestral spirits… things like that.

“Ah. Fascinating. Can you shape what you see there, in your dreams?”

“Not exactly, no… I can call things to me, sometimes, but only if they want to come.”

Solas nodded, looking away from her for a moment. “Dreaming is not as flashy as throwing fire or lightning, but the thrill of finding remnants of a thousand-year-old dream?” Her eyes flashed with interest, and Ellian was entranced by the wonder in her eyes. “I would not trade it for anything.” Solas paused suddenly and looked away, glancing out over Haven. “I will stay then. At least until the Breach is closed.”

Ellian blinked. “Was that in doubt?”

“I am apostate mage, surrounded by Chantry forces and unlike you,” she eyed Ellian’s hand. “I do not have a ‘divine mark’ protecting me. Cassandra has been accommodating, but… you understand my caution.”

“You came here to help, Solas,” Ellian replied, an edge to her voice even she wasn’t expecting. “I won’t let them use that against you.”

Solas was quiet for a moment, studying the Herald. When she spoke again, her voice was low and hushed, with a depth that made Ellian shiver with excitement. “And how would you stop them?”

“However I had to.” And Ellian knew it was true.

Now it was Solas’s turn to be surprised, her dark brows raising. “Thank you.” It was obvious she wasn’t expecting that kind of devotion, and knowing she’d caught the other woman off guard made Ellian smile slightly. “For now,” Solas started again, smirking. “Let us hope either the mages or the templars have the power to seal the Breach.”

“You sound disbelieving.”

“I do not have much cause to feel otherwise,” Solas said dryly. “Closing the Breach must remain our primary goal, but… I would hope we might also learn what means were used to create it. Any artifact of such power is dangerous. The destruction of the conclave proves that clearly.”

“I agree. We should recover it, if only to keep it out of the wrong hands.”

Solas nodded, frowning again. “Leliana’s people have scoured the area near the blast and found nothing. Whatever the artifact was, it is no longer there.” She sighed. “My apologies, Herald. Did you need me for anything?”

“No, I just- I was curious. Am curious. About you.”

“Me? I cannot imagine why…” The sarcasm caught Ellian by surprise, and she let out a short laugh before quickly covering her mouth. “Is there a reason?”

“Do I… need one?”

“You must understand, I take great caution here, and I value my privacy. The future of this Inquisition is unclear, and I… cannot risk putting myself in further danger.”

“I mean, you don’t have to tell me, of course, I just meant… it’s not official business, Solas.”

“I am sorry,” she said, heaving a sigh. “There is so much… fear in the air. What would you know of me?”

The question somehow made Ellian’s excited state even worse. “Why study the Fade? What made you want to do that?”

“I grew up in a small village to the north. There was little to interest a young woman, especially one gifted with magic. But as I slept, spirits of the Fade showed me glimpses of wonders I had never imagined.” There was a note of sorrow now, and she paused before going on. “I treasured my dreams. Being awake, out of the Fade, became troublesome.”

“The spirits must have tried to tempt you.”

She shrugged. “No more than a brightly-colored fruit is deliberately tempting you to eat it. I learned how to defend myself from more aggressive spirits and how to interact safely with the rest. I learned how to control my reams with full consciousness… there was so much I wanted to explore. But eventually i was unable to find new areas in the Fade.”

“Why?”

“Two reasons. First, the Fade reflects the world around it. Unless I traveled, I would never find anything new. Second, the Fade reflects and is limited by our own imaginations. To find interesting areas,” she looked at Ellian again, eyes narrowing slightly, and the expression made her feel much warmer than the cold mountain air ought to allow. “One must be interesting.”

“That is… interesting.”

Solas smirked and looked away from her again, making Ellian curse her nerves. “I am glad you think so. In truth, I have enjoyed experiencing more of life to find more of the Fade.”

“How so?”

“As a mage, you train your will to control magic and withstand possession. Your… indomitable focus is an enjoyable side benefit.” The phrasing gave Ellian pause, and she raised an eyebrow as Solas went on. “You have chosen a path whose steps you do not dislike because it leads you to a destination you enjoy. As have I.”

“…indomitable focus?”

Solas smirked and shrugged, her tone casual. “Presumably. I have yet to see it dominated. I imagine the sight would be… fascinating.”

Ellian blushed vividly and laughed, looking away. “Well, uh… yes. I- perhaps.” Solas tilted her chin up, expression measured but mischievous. This was only making Ellian’s situation worse. “I… have not seen yours dominated either.”

Solas raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you are not paying close enough attention. Many things have dominated my focus here. Just none that are so obvious to you.”

“What… what do you mean?”

She shrugged again, maddeningly. “If you watch carefully, you may see. Now then, Herald,” she looked over Ellian’s shoulder, and the smaller elf turned to see Cassandra walking towards her. “It appears you are needed elsewhere.” She winked and turned to leave. “Another time then, Ellian.”

“Right, yes…” She watched as Solas left, unable to tear her eyes from the woman’s backside. “Another time.”

if you enjoyed this fic, please hit the reblog button on this post. comments are cool but not necessary -you can leave no tags, a keysmash, or even just 'nice' if you'd like! thanks for your support -arden

#thejabberwokk #dwc #f!solas #okay but i honestly don't think she'd be very different #but lavellan would be way gayer #so here's solas being virtually the same but with a super gay lavellan #because tbf yeah same #glimpses #she's a little more teasing #but tbh i think m!solas would be too if lavellan were as silly as ellian tends to be

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so-caffeinated · 7 years

Note

Hey Janis, I love FiCon & you would know that by my tweets every week. Don't hate me but I couldn't help myself to chose Lillie over Amelia. I'm sorry but Amelia didn't work for me. I get that the heart wants it wants but I just don't understand why didn't she give her & Will a chance to see where it goes.He put himself out on front of her three times but she didn't chose him then nor did she chose him now. How am I suppose to root for them..? Will deserves better. I look forward to your answer.

First off, I love this question and I think it’s an important one to ask. (I asked her to ask it here rather than Twitter so that I could give a longer answer.)

Okay, let’s get down to it. You were supposed to like Lillie. Will liked Lillie. Lillie is cute and friendly and kind. I don’t like writing characters as bad guys unless they’re Bad Guys. There are no villains in this particular part of the story. And definitely you don’t have to like Amelia. There’s no character and no story that’s a perfect fit for everyone. But, I know you’ve liked her before and I'm thinking that the reason you’re disliking her now is that she turned him down three times, so I’m gonna go at this from that angle. Because I can tell you why she said no and from there... you can root for them or not. Totally up to you (and everyone else) and I will definitely not take offense if you don’t ship it (but I sure as hell do and the story is going there eventually).

So Amelia. We saw the first time he asked her out. By the third she was already dating Thad, though he didn’t know it. Neither Will nor Amelia is a cheat (though I’d argue there’s some emotional infidelity going on in the newest chapter, but action-wise... no). But Amelia’s reasons for say no can be boiled down to - fear and reputation.

Will’s a wild card for her. Amelia likes things that make sense. She likes the path in front of her clear. That’s her default mode. And Will isn’t that at all. She didn’t expect anyone like him in her life and she doesn’t know how to adjust her life to allow for him to really be a part of it. In the first line of the second paragraph after we first met her in Chapter 13 - it’s said “Everything in Amelia's life boils down to a series of plans.” That’s completely true and Will doesn’t fit in those plans. Veering off-course is terrifying to her and she doesn’t adjust easily. Unlike Will, Amelia is a very serious person. Too serious. She’s too focused. She desperately needs the playful sense of joy Will can bring to her life but she doesn’t know that yet. Not consciously, but I’d argue she probably does know it deep inside and that’s part of what keeps drawing her to him in spite of herself. He’s painfully tempting, but she’s not good at letting herself want things (or people or relationships) that are outside of her norm. She can’t step outside of her comfort zone. The level of chemistry they have scares her. The way he doesn’t fit into her plans for her life scares her. She’s angling for easy right now, not something satisfying, and that’s a mistake she needs to learn from.

Reputation... So she’s a very young political operative who got a job in the mayor’s office as a favor to the mayor’s son - also a politician - after meeting him one time. She doesn’t have a lot of clout, in spite of being brilliant at her job, and her job means a lot to her. How does it look to you if the super young, fast-rising star of the mayor’s office who got the job as a family favor suddenly starts dating the mayor’s grandson? And he’s a Queen besides? That doesn’t look so good to me and it’s a magnet for gossip fodder and dirty politics. She needs to be taken seriously and that’s hard for any 20-something woman in politics as it is. Add to that the fact that Moira views her as a protege and is staunchly against the idea of William and Amelia together and the whole notion becomes really, really problematic and an even bigger risk.

So... as for why you should ship them? I ship them because they each provide a bit of what the other needs, whether they know that yet or not. He makes her lighter and she makes him more serious. They both value family and friends tremendously. They share hobbies and interests across the board. And they click on a chemistry level that makes sparks fly and the world fall away. I get why you might not see it that way and it’s fine if you don’t. Lillie was a great girl and she was perfectly fine with Will, but there was also something lacking there. The same is true for Amelia and Thad (though you haven’t met him yet). They’re... I think Will called it “thoroughly unobjectionable” and he was right. But they’re also nothing special either. As lovely as Lillie is as a person, that was true for her and Will, too.

Thank you again for the asking. Thinking about why I ship them was actually super helpful.

AND AGAIN... I asked her to please send this to me on Tumblr to answer. I’m replying publicly because if one person questions it, others will too. I value this question and viewpoint a lot and I just want to make very clear that I consider this a constructive question and am grateful for it. [AKA - Please be nice to the lovely person asking even if you disagree with the PoV... no ship wars in my mini homemade fandom, pretty please]

cc: @dust2dust34

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artificialqueens · 7 years

Text

More Than I'm Supposed To (Witney) - Miss Bianca

Summary:

There was just something about Willam that just begged you to watch her. It was hard to look anywhere else, really, particularly when she smiled. And Courtney did pride herself on being able to make Willam smile more than usual.

A/N:

I’m so sorry. I’m supposed to be writing my multichap. But Witney would not leave me alone, and so here we are. It’s not really an AU, I mean, this could’ve happened. Please tell me what you think! - Miss Bianca

The plan to go for lunch with Willam today was long-standing. In fact, it was a tradition of sorts, something they tried to do every other week, at least. Courtney counted her blessings every time that neither of them had to cancel, and did her best to make it every time.

She’d even passed up doing gigs before in favor of keeping up the tradition - when given the choice between Willam and another paycheck, Courtney knew she’d choose to spend time with the other queen every time.

In all honesty, there was very little Courtney wouldn’t give up for Willam, money and reputation be damned. But she didn’t like to think too deeply about that.

However, while the plans for the lunch meeting were already set, the decision to meet up with Willam in drag instead of out was a last minute one.

Courtney wasn’t thrilled about having to go through the process of doing her makeup in the morning, but she did think it would be fun to see if she’d be clocked at the cafe when they went for lunch.

“Probably won’t be,” she said out loud to no one in particular, setting her lashes in place.

Her WeHo apartment wasn’t very lived in - in fact, it felt more like a hotel room sometimes - and Courtney strongly disliked being alone. This resulted in a lot of talking or singing to herself, like a crazy person, often without even thinking about it. It was usually random parts of her trains of thought, phrases that wouldn’t make sense on their own.

She hoped none of her neighbors had ever heard.

“Hopefully they’d just assume I’m talking to my cat, or something,” she murmured. “Wait, is that worse than talking to myself in the mirror? That might be worse. At least it’s less narcissistic.”

Courtney made eye contact with herself, and shrugged, going into her bedroom to pick clothes.

Willam would already be in drag from filming the Beatdown, and Courtney loved the idea of going out to lunch with a female friend. Both of them being in drag was both a pro and a con in this sort of situation, though, depending on which of them people noticed first in public.

The way Courtney saw it, either they’d see Willam first and instantly clock her, then realize Courtney was in drag as well, or they’d see Courtney first and assume Willam was a real woman without bothering to check.

“I’ll wear the red dress, then,” Courtney decided out loud, grabbing the sundress from the back of her closet and pulling it on carefully. “Make them look at me instead.”

Courtney doubted the strategy would actually work, though - there was just something about Willam that just begged you to watch her. It was hard to look anywhere else, really, particularly when she smiled.

And Courtney did pride herself on being able to make Willam smile more than usual.

Buzzing a little with nerves that she couldn’t quite explain, Courtney looked over her makeup again in her mirror. Her wig was simple and blonde, on the shorter side, and she knew that Willam would probably end up teasing her for not being a real drag queen at some point in the course of the afternoon.

She also knew that Willam would be tempted to brush back the few curls that hung around her face in this particular wig, and that was well worth the teasing. She tugged on one of the coils of hair, watching it bounce back into place.

If Willam wasn’t in the mood to be touchy and push the hair behind Courtney’s ear, she’d just end up wheezing and laughing at the strands getting in Courtney’s way as she tried to eat. And if Courtney was honest, that was even better.

“Alright,” Courtney said out loud, checking over her makeup again in the mirror near her front door before slipping on her brand new pair of heels. “Enough being a peacock, Courtney, time to go.”

Calling an Uber, Courtney stepped out the door, stumbling slightly on the stilettos as she hurried to the elevator. It only took her about thirty seconds to realize, with a sinking feeling, that she’d severely underestimated how uncomfortable the heels actually were.

Briefly, she considered popping back into her apartment to change them, but the Uber was a minute away and she didn’t want to make the driver wait.

“This’ll give me an excuse to lean on Willam, anyway,” Courtney muttered as the elevator descended. “She’ll probably call me an idiot, though. And she’ll be right. God, stop talking to yourself, Court.”

It was only another minute or so before she was in the back of an Uber, being driven to Willam’s studio by an abnormally talkative driver named Michael.

Traffic was a bitch, as usual, and by the time they finally pulled up outside, Courtney was twenty minutes late, and feeling terrible about it. She thanked Michael hastily, and wobbled over to the door of the building in the increasingly uncomfortable heels.

It only took her a few seconds of tapping on the buzzer for Willam’s studio before the lock opened, and she was hurrying inside and down the hall.

“I’m so sorry I’m late, Bill,” Courtney said as she stepped into the studio. “I - where is everyone?”

From what Courtney could see, the studio was empty except for a camera guy she didn’t recognize. He looked to be on his way out, finishing packing up his things.

“Court? ‘S that you?”

“Willam?” Courtney frowned, walking further inside and peering around. Willam’s voice sounded different than it should this early in the day, more slurred and higher, and Courtney wondered if someone had given her alcohol. At this hour? What, is she turning into Sharon?

“She’s on the floor,” said the camera guy, sounding bored and nodding towards the backdrop. Courtney stepped around a box, and her eyebrows shot up as she caught sight of the other queen.

Willam was indeed on the floor, lying flat on her back with her multicolored hair haloed messily around her face. Her knees were bent, skirt riding up her thighs, feet balancing precariously on the narrow heels of her louboutins.

She looked totally out of it.

Also, totally adorable, but Courtney pushed that thought away before it could even take root. She had to make sure Willam was at least partially coherent.

“What in the…” Walking over to where Willam lay, Courtney glanced worriedly over her shoulder at the camera guy. He shrugged. “Will, are you okay?”

“Courtney!” Willam exclaimed as Courtney came into her view. She grinned slowly. “You’re late, you dumb bitch.”

Courtney couldn’t help but smile back despite her alarm, crouching down next to Willam.

“I know, I’m sorry,” she apologized. “L.A. traffic.”

“‘S okay,” Willam said, nodding. “I can’t be mad at you. You’re too…pretty.”

She reached up in an attempt to touch Courtney’s face, but missed, hitting her nose instead. Giggling at her mistake, she let her hand fall back to her chest.

“Will, what are you on?” Courtney asked, now even more concerned.

“The good stuff,” Willam joked, smiling lazily. “Can you…”

She waved her hand in the air, making grabby motions until Courtney took it in her own and squeezed comfortingly. Willam sighed contently, blinking slowly as her fingers curled around Courtney’s palm.

Courtney swallowed thickly, distracted both by the gesture and by the undisguised, pure affection in Willam’s eyes as she looked up at her.

Willam wanted Courtney to hold her hand, had asked her to, for no other reason than the contact. And she was holding on, as if Courtney might slip away. It made Courtney’s chest tighten, like she couldn’t quite get in all of the air that she needed.

Then, she remembered how uncharacteristic Willam’s behavior was, and her stomach twisted anxiously.

“They’re pain meds,” the camera guy spoke up again, and Courtney tore her gaze away from Willam’s to look over her shoulder at him. “Her back started hurting, and she couldn’t stay standing, but she wanted to finish filming.”

“How much did she take, exactly?” Courtney tilted her head, frowning. She hadn’t realized Willam’s back was bothering her again, particularly not to that extent. But then again, Willam didn’t like to talk about anything that made her seem vulnerable.

“Dunno,” the guy shrugged. “A bunch, though.”

“Do you happen to know what kind, then?” Courtney asked, a little more bite to her tone.

“They were prescription,” he replied. “I didn’t, like, check the bottle.”

“Did it not occur to you that this might happen?”

“I’m not her chaperone,” the guy said with a frown. “I just got paid to film her for like an hour.”

“So it didn’t occur to you to maybe stop the person paying you from taking a handful of prescription pain pills?” Courtney asked sharply, now thoroughly annoyed and getting increasingly worried. “You just thought, oh, that’s fine, totally normal, not at all risky?”

She was spinning out now, and she knew it. Every time in the past four years that she’d worried about Willam and drugs, which was a lot, seemed to be coming back to her all at once.

“I -”

“Were you just gonna go, and leave her here, lying on the ground, high out of her mind?” Courtney cut him off before he could get a word in, the thought occurring to her suddenly.

Courtney was aware of how overly fretful her brain was, but she couldn’t seem to help going there anyway, imagining all the horrible endings to Willam being left alone like this, already happily dazed with a bottle of narcotics within arm’s reach. Willam lacked strong self-preservation instincts, and had virtually no self-control, and Courtney felt sick at the totally conceivable thought of losing her to something as preventable as an overdose.

“Court,” Willam said softly.

“She could’ve passed out, or, or even died, if you’d left her like this!” Courtney continued, ignoring her, her stomach twisting uncomfortably. “We don’t even know what the side effects of this could be!”

“Courtney,” Willam tried again, tugging on her hand this time. “It’s okay, I’ve done it before.”

“What do you mean, you’ve done it before?” Courtney said sharply, turning back around to look at her. Willam looked slightly hurt. “What do you mean?” She asked again, more gently this time.

“I didn’t take too many,” Willam said, words slightly slurred, her eyebrows furrowing as she struggled to focus on Courtney’s face. “I’ve done this before, tons, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Courtney disagreed, fighting to keep her voice gentle. “This is really dangerous.”

“My back hurt,” Willam said with a shrug, as if it was simple as that. She looked up at the ceiling, her gaze empty, giving up on trying to focus her eyes for the time being. “And I had to film.”

“Willam…” Courtney swallowed. The implication that Willam was regularly taking prescription pain meds carelessly like this, probably with no one else around, made her slightly nauseous with worry. She knew better than most that there wasn’t always someone there to make sure Willam didn’t go too far.

“Can you sit up?” She asked, deciding not to push anymore at the moment.

Willam nodded, and pushed herself up on her free hand. Courtney pulled her up the rest of the way, until she could lean against the backdrop.

“Ooh!” Willam exclaimed with a laugh as her bare shoulders hit the wall. Courtney looked at her questioningly. “‘S cold,” Willam said by way of reply. “I like it.”

Courtney smiled helplessly, because it was cute, and she couldn’t not be endeared. Squeezing Willam’s hand one more time before letting go, she stood up with a wince, abruptly reminded of the increasingly uncomfortable heels which seem to have it out for her.

“Alright,” Courtney said, walking over to talk to the camera guy, who was watching them rather nervously. “Listen, I know you’re not solely responsible for this,” she began, trying to be civil. “You don’t even know her. But did anyone else seem worried, watching her get more and more loopy?”

“Her producer was a little worried,” he replied.

“Anthony?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “But her husband seemed chill, so we all figured it was okay.”

“Wait, Bruce was here?” Courtney raised her eyebrows, surprised.

“He brought Warner!” Willam exclaimed behind her, and Courtney glanced over at her to catch the wide grin that Warner often brought to her friend’s face. Sure enough, Willam was smiling, her eyes narrowed affectionately.

“He said that she’d be fine,” the camera guy said, shrugging. “Said she could take care of herself, or something.”

No, she can’t take care of herself! Look at her! Courtney wanted to yell at him. She forced herself to take a deep breath.

“Well, I’m not sure about that,” Courtney said instead, calmly. “But I’m here now, so if you’ve got somewhere else to be, then, by all means.”

The camera guy nodded, picking up his things and heading out the door without another word.

Courtney sighed, and looked over at Willam, who was now humming absentmindedly, her head knocking gently into the wall behind her as she stared at nothing in particular.

She didn’t pretend to understand exactly how Willam’s relationship with her husband worked, but she sometimes doubted that he was really still in touch with who Willam was now. He spent a lot of time working - they both did - which meant that Willam was by herself a lot, handling a ton of pressure as well as her back issues alone. And on top of that, she hated asking for help.

Courtney couldn’t help wondering if she was compensating for the lack of support and companionship by over medicating to the point of losing lucidity. Luckily, she didn’t seem to be quite at that point yet.

“So Bruce didn’t seem worried about you doing this?” Courtney asked her.

“No, he was a little,” Willam said, nodding. “He offered to take me home with Warner before…before he went to work.”

“You said no?”

“I told him he could go, because you were coming to get me for…lunch,” Willam continued slowly. She paused for a long moment, and looked down at her feet, which were out in front of her, her toes tapping together rhythmically. “Can we go? I think I’m hungry.”

“No,” Courtney replied immediately. “We need to get you home. Or to a hospital…”

“No!” Willam said insistently. “I’m fine, Court, I told you. It’ll…it’ll wear off.”

“Home, then,” Courtney decided, walking over to Willam and holding out her hands to help her up. “We can go see Warner.”

“I don’t wanna see Warner,” Willam disagreed, shaking her head.

She stared at Courtney’s outstretched hands for a moment, seeming confused, before taking them and struggling to stand up.

“You don’t?”

“No, I wanna see you, dumbass,” Willam explained. She was now unsteadily on her feet, but still holding onto Courtney’s hands tightly, looking down at the floor as if it might start moving at any second.

“I can come home with you?” Courtney suggested, and Willam frowned.

“Can we go to your apartment instead?” Willam asked.

“Okay,” Courtney said. “I’ll call an Uber.”

“But, I have a car,” Willam protested.

“Yes, you do,” Courtney agreed. “You also have a bloodstream full of narcotics. You can come get it tomorrow.”

Willam sighed, and Courtney freed one of her hands to call the Uber.

A few moments later, Courtney was making her way down the hallway again, this time even less comfortable in her shoes than before, with Willam struggling to walk in a straight line beside her.

So much for having an excuse to lean on her.

“I like my studio,” Willam announced.

“That’s good,” Courtney said indulgently. “Why’d you pick this one?”

“It’s on the, uh, the ground floor,” Willam said, stumbling over her words a little. “So I can wear my heels on the way over, ‘n everyone knows I’m better than them.”

Courtney giggled. Willam was definitely still herself, even like this.

The Uber ride was shorter this time, even though Courtney started wishing for traffic the moment Willam pressed up against her side and started playing with her hand.

“I like your rings,” Willam commented at one point.

“Thanks, Bill.”

“Can I have ‘em?”

Courtney laughed, only to find Willam staring at her, completely serious.

“No, they’re mine,” she said.

“Fuck you,” Willam said good-naturedly, going back to inspecting Courtney’s palm. It didn’t take her long to speak up again.

“I think that’s your life line,” Willam mumbled, her thumb rubbing clumsily over one of the creases. Courtney’s palm tingled under her touch.

“Oh, yeah?”

“…Yeah,” Willam said. “Wait, no, that’s…” she trailed off, squinting. “‘S too short. You’d have to be dead by now. Court, are you dead?”

“Lemme see yours,” Courtney said, taking Willam’s hand instead and turning it over. She peered down at the same line that Willam had inspected on her palm. “Bill, it’s like, the same length.”

“Oh.” Willam blinked. “Court, are we both dead?”

“No, I don’t think Hell would be this comfortable,” Courtney said, her lips twitching as she tried not to smile.

“That’s good, I guess,” Willam said, nodding.

She started to play with Courtney’s rings again, turning them and sliding them around on her fingers.

“You wouldn’t be in Hell anyway,” she said after a moment, thoughtfully. “You’re too…good for that.”

“Then maybe you wouldn’t, either,” Courtney suggested. “You’re a good person, too, you know.”

“Maybe.”

“No, definitely,” Courtney said. “There’s a really good, sweet person underneath all that irony. I know, because I’m friends with him.”

“Yeah, just you,” Willam said. “You ‘n Lasky. And you’re both too good for me, anyways.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Nah, you’ll see,” Willam insisted. “You’ll stop caring, sometime, and then…you’ll go away. But it’s okay. I can take care of myself.”

There it was again, that same phrase - Willam can take care of herself. And just like before, Courtney instinctively wanted to say that she couldn’t. But she held her tongue, thinking for a moment instead.

Even though Willam was speaking simply, she was far more vulnerable than normal right now, and what seemed like her deep-seated beliefs about herself were coming to the surface. And as much as Courtney wanted to tell Willam how wrong was and pepper her with affection until she believed her, she knew it wouldn’t be well received.

“I know you can take care of yourself,” Courtney said instead. “But you don’t have to, not all the time.”

Willam shrugged.

“I’m not going away, Willam,” Courtney said after a moment. “I really do care about you, and I like being your friend.”

There was no response, but after a moment, Willam’s hand slid into hers.

They rode the rest of the way in silence, and Courtney hoped that she’d gotten through to Willam at least a little. Her friend seemed relatively relaxed, just staring into space and occasionally squeezing Courtney’s hand.

As soon as they reached Courtney’s building, Willam was leaning against her again, not balanced enough to stay upright on her own as they walked.

By the they stepped inside her apartment, Courtney was ready to chuck her shoes off and toss them straight out the window. She tugged them off, struggling to balance with Willam still leaning against her, and after a moment, Willam was kicking off hers as well, nearly taking both of them down.

Courtney started to move them away from the door, and Willam grabbed onto both of her hands, still seeming unsteady despite being flat on the ground again.

“I feel like a…what’s that thing with the neck?” Willam frowned.

“Ostritch?”

“No, spots,” Willam said, waving at her own body.

“A giraffe?” Courtney suggested, with a snort of laughter.

“Yeah! That’s it,” Willam nodded enthusiastically, a wide grin on her face. “But like, a baby one.”

“They’re cute.”

“Am I cute?” Willam batted her eyelashes.

“So cute.”

“Can I have a hug?”

The irritatingly familiar butterflies that Courtney often felt when Willam was being adorable were coming back in swarms, now that she was sure her friend wasn’t on the edge of death. Courtney couldn’t help but laugh at the hopeful look on Willam’s face, her wide eyes and barely there smile.

“I’d love to hug you, Bill, but you’re holding my hands too tight,” Courtney replied.

“Oh,” Willam said after a moment.

She blinked a couple times before letting go of Courtney’s hands, carefully steadying herself on her own feet. Her attempt at balancing on her own was successful for about five seconds, during which she smiled at Courtney excitedly, proud of herself.

Then, she took a stumbling step forward and into Courtney’s arms.

Courtney caught her easily, and wrapped her up in a tight hug. She expected Willam to be backing away in a matter of moments, like always, and so she savored the moment as best she could.

But instead, the opposite happened, and Willam’s arms remained firmly around her. After a moment, her head rested gently on Courtney’s shoulder, nose brushing her neck, and the metaphorical dam holding back the slew of feelings Courtney was trying harder and harder not to think about sprung a leak.

I love you.

Courtney almost said it out loud, by habit or accident, but her desire to prolong the moment thankfully kept her quiet. She didn’t want to scare Willam away by making any noise or sudden movements.

Willam smelled like faded perfume, and her breath was warm against Courtney’s neck, and her acrylic nails dug gently into her back, and Courtney was melting like white chocolate in her arms. Everything about it was just so Willam, a perfect combination of unexpected and warm and sweet and prickly all at once.

Courtney never wanted to let her go. She wasn’t sure she could if she tried.

If there was a way to photograph a feeling, Courtney would make this one her lockscreen and her homescreen. She’d tape it to her mirror while she put on makeup, and put an oversized print of it on her bedroom wall.

She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, but it wasn’t long enough. Willam shifted in her arms, and Courtney’s heart sank a little.

There was a brief, soft press of lips against the column of her neck, a kiss gentler than Courtney had ever dreamed Willam was capable of, and her breath caught in her throat.

And then, Willam pulled away, one of her hands still steadying herself on Courtney’s shoulder.

Courtney looked at her, expecting to see that unreadable expression on her face, and was instead confronted with Willam’s eyes already on her.

The other queen was smiling faintly, her eyes flicking almost nervously around Courtney’s face, her thumbnail scratching lightly at Courtney’s collarbone.

“What is it?” Courtney asked, her voice coming out weaker than she intended. There was a pause.

“I got lip gloss on your neck,” Willam said finally, her smile widening.

“I don’t mind,” Courtney said with a soft laugh. That was an understatement.

“I kinda like it,” Willam remarked, reaching up to brush her fingers over the spot she’d kissed. “Makes you look like mine.”

“Maybe I am,” Courtney said softly, before she could stop herself.

Willam only stared at her for a moment, and then smiled, taking her hand again.

Courtney took off her own wig, one handed, and then helped Willam tug off hers. They fell onto her couch side by side, Willam cuddling up against Courtney with her feet tucked under her and a pillow clutched to her chest.

“You can’t keep doing this,” Courtney said quietly. “It’s not safe, Will.”

“I know,” Willam replied. “It just hurts, Court. And I can’t stop working, I just…I can’t.”

“I know.” And she did know. To Willam, there wasn’t a choice in the matter.

It was silent for a little while. There wasn’t any layer of awkwardness in the room, even though Courtney knew that there was a lot of words left unspoken on her part.

“Can you at least tell me?” Courtney asked finally. “When the pain’s starting to get bad again? Or when it hurts, and you’re by yourself?”

After a moment, Willam nodded. Courtney grinned at the small victory, feeling triumphant, and Willam glanced up at her.

“God, chill,” she commented with a snort.

They fell quiet again, the only sound that of Courtney humming softly from time to time. Willam yawned occasionally, and after awhile, her head rested on Courtney’s shoulder.

It wasn’t until Courtney was sure that Willam had drifted off to sleep that she spoke again, unable to help herself.

She’d never been good at keeping her thoughts to herself, and now, cuddled up so close to Willam, she felt like the words were overflowing, and she was helpless to stop them from spilling out.

“I love you,” Courtney whispered, turning her head to press her nose gently against the top of Willam’s head. “More than I’m supposed to.”

“I love you too, idiot,” Willam mumbled back.

Courtney’s heart skipped a beat.

#witney #willam belli #courtney act #humor #angst #somebody's hopelessly in love!#miss bianca #tw drugs #rpdr fanfiction #submission #canon compliant

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