#just don't make it so obvious if you are trying to seem like an adonis or something | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sunny-bunnys-blog · 1 year

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A little fic about Ryoga/Shark and Astral/Apis's relationship before he ran away in my New Dawn AU :) btw, the flashback happens before Apis founds out that Adonis is his dad.

Italics = flashbacks

The school roof was always a strange comfort to Apis, even before his new friend group he just... Enjoyed being up there.

Apis had finished his lesson earlier than intended so he was given permission to leave class, this giving him time to be on the roof by his self for some time.

As he breathes in the pure air, a familiar, warm feeling snaked its way into his mind. He missed the days spent with Yuma and the others on the roof of Heartland Academy, but there was someone else he missed

Ever since Astral had used the numeron code, he was able to venture away from Yuma and the key. Though it was nice, it was extremely lonely to do so due to him being invisible to 98% of the population.

One particular cloudy day, he had decided to float to the roof after becoming bored of the lesson that Yuma was no doubt sleeping through. And there, he met a familiar face.

Ryoga Kamishiro seemed to be unkempt, his tie loosely tied and his hair knotted in multiple places, his eyes having bags under them.

There had been a incident after the war where many people turned their backs on the Barians, believing that they were no better than feral beasts, leading to harassment landing upon them. There was no doubt that 'Shark' had fallen victim to some of that horrid treatment.

"Oh, Astral." Ryoga said, looking at him with the dull expression. "Out of all of the people I expected to see me here, you were definitely not on the list. How are things?"

In truth, Astral felt awful for not being able to stop Ryoga and and the Barians from being harmed by people who failed to understand, but he didn't dare say it in fear of being misread and making it about himself.

"It has been well." "I can't help but notice that Yuma isn't with you, is that new? Or were you too scared to leave him before now?" 'Shark' teased, causing the Astral being to pout and turn away.

But even still, he couldn't help to giggle at the comment. "Perhaps. But, what about you? Are you not supposed to be in a lesson at this moment?" The comment made the former Barian emperor fall silent.

It was obvious, even if he didn't say it, constantly having to avoid the harassment had taken everything out of him, and it broke Astral's heart. "I apologize, you do not deserve that treatment, nobody does." "Hey, on the bright side, I don't have to deal with Rio's annoying voice or Vector, so I'm chill with it."

"Let's just say that people aren't treating me and the others the best, especially after all that's happened. So to avoid people ganging up on all of us, we've decided to not be seen together and not show up to lesson." He says, his tone more flat than it ever has been.

Astral laughed a bit more. After that day, they would never fail to meet on the roof each day to just... Talk. Talk about what? Anything really, they had found a comfort within one another that would be considered as taboo not even a year ago.

Apis held his phone and stared at the contact. It was Ryoga's. His mind was telling him to message him, assure him that he was okay and still alive, try to reach out. But his body wouldn't move, he was petrified.

What if 'Shark' didn't remember him? What if he was mad at Apis leaving without telling him? What if he tried to track him down? His mind filled with horrible possibilities before he was brought out of those thoughts by Yuki.

"Hey, Apis! How are ya doing?" Yuki clung around Apis's neck. "Oh! Hi, Yuki. I'm doing well, how about yourself?"

They were soon greeted by their others friends. "Honestly Yuki, and here I thought you only liked me." Minako said, making Yuki let go of Apis before clinging around her girlfriend.

"oh come on, you know you're my fave!" "Ew, get a room you two." Hayate said, smirking as he walked over to Apis.

As per usual, Saki was the last one there by 10 seconds, talking to Apis.

"You alright? I saw you leave class early, did anything happen?" Apis's face softened, putting his phone away before talking to his friends. Telling Ryoga could wait, at least for now

#heyy look who found out how to do the read more thing!#zexal #astral zexal #new dawn au #zexal ocs #barian emperors #ryoga kamishiro

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nyctophilin · 4 years

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Lmao, virgin.

#last night I was talking to some of my classmates about how homophobic and racist some of our other classmates are #and I remembered that I was in IT class(?) last year and we were working on some powerpoints #so I decided to make mine about lgbt #and the classmate that is most homophobic and racist somehow ended up sitting next to me #and he asked me if I'm part of the comunity a few times but my bi ass lied to him and told him no #he didn't believe me and rightfully so cause I'm big bi #and every time we'll emgage in a fight he'll call me a transexual trying to hurt me #which was so pathetic of him lmao #and then one of my classmates told me that every time he used to pass my desk he'd whisper 'lesbian'#and I was like #that's such a penis carrier move lmao #if you think you are so cool come say it to my face you dick face #he makes it so obvious that he's a virgin #not that there's something wrong with that #just don't make it so obvious if you are trying to seem like an adonis or something #i could literally make you beg for me to touch you #you bug sub asshole #don't get so cocky with me #I'll dick you down #lmao virgin

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waywardfangirl · 3 years

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For the fantastic @fight-surrender: You are a wonderful person with a brilliant mind and a kind heart, and I am so happy to know you! I really enjoyed the prompts you suggested for the Secret Snowflake exchange this year, so to give you something fluffy and happy for your birthday I combined a few of them into one sweet and silly fic - I hope that you like it! 🖤

A big thank you goes out to @carryonvisinata for her wonderful beta work and for making this fic even better for such an incredible friend 🖤 Purr-fect Strangers

Rated: General Audiences Word Count: 3208 Chapters: 1/1 Simon

"Die Hard? Really?"

I'm struggling to make the Redbox give me my DVD. Video vending machines sounded like a good idea when I couldn't find anywhere to stream my favorite movie, but the obstinate thing in front of me and the condescending voice behind me are now making me reconsider my choices.

"What's wrong with Die Hard?" I demand, momentarily giving up on retrieving my video to take some of my frustration out on the prick watching me.

Unfortunately, when I turn around to scowl at him, I make eye contact with one of the most attractive people I've ever seen. He's tall, with dark hair escaping the bun on top of his head and falling around his face, and a perfectly tailored suit hugging every inch of his body right on down to his shiny Chelsea boots. My brain shorts out, and he sneers at me.

"There’s nothing wrong with it, per se. But you have a near unlimited assortment of cinema to choose from, and you've selected Die Hard?"

(Read the rest on ao3, or keep reading here)

I scoff.

"Look, mate, some of us don't feel the need to watch pretentious films just to feel better than other people. I like Die Hard. I'm going to watch it while eating pizza and relaxing in joggers, and I refuse to feel bad about enjoying that."

He looks a bit startled, and his cheeks take on a slightly pink tinge, but he just arches an eyebrow at me. (And manages to make that look unfairly hot too, the prat.)

"What movie are you renting?" I say it like a challenge, and he pushes past me.

He deftly removes my DVD from the stubborn machine and thrusts it at me, before turning back around to get his own. I loiter behind him, just like he did to me, ready to see what movie he thinks is better than Die Hard.

"Two Weeks Notice?" I exclaim, when I see the poster pop up on the screen. "You're ridiculing Die Hard, but getting a rom-com for yourself? Unbelievable."

He pushes past me and turns up his nose. My blood boils for so many different reasons, and it's work to hold myself still.

"This has Hugh Grant in it. My tastes are superior."

Then he swans off, and I'm left standing on the kerb.

Baz

A year into my time at university, I started treating myself to a monthly visit to Sephora. It was easily excusable then, with parties every weekend to justify each new purchase, but I've kept up the tradition since graduating. (Retail therapy and good skin care never hurt anyone. And a little eyeliner does wonders for one's self esteem.)

This month, I'm browsing for something sparkly. My eyes are grey, but with a dark, glittery liner I think they might stand out a little more. I'm just testing one of the pencils on the back of my hand when I see him.

Blond hair, plain blue eyes, and a constellation of freckles and moles across his skin. The most lovely man I have ever seen, with the worst taste in movies, and (I'm sure) a well-deserved hatred for me.

For all that I try to appear cool and confident, my facade sometimes fails me. When I get flustered, I become cruel. The man renting Die Hard was so pretty that all I could do was insult him and then curse myself for it the entire way home. I couldn't even properly enjoy Hugh Grant, as mired as I was in self-loathing. And now, whatever second chance to impress him I've been granted with has surely been ruined by my actions last time.

I keep my head down and steal glances at him through my eyelashes.

He is entirely out of his element, that much is obvious right away. I watch him ask one of the shop assistants for help, and she points him in the direction of a display. His brow furrows as he picks up different containers, and he’s ridiculously precious and hopeless as he holds a lipstick tube next to a garish eyeshadow palette and closes one eye to look at them. (What is he even doing?)

Finally, his confusion seems to win out, and he turns to look around for help, when he suddenly spots me. I've been caught out; I can't pretend now like I haven't been staring, and he scowls a little as we make eye contact. I arch an eyebrow, watch as his face grows pink in anger, and decide I hate myself enough to try talking to him again.

"That's really not your shade."

"What?" It's a simple word, horribly enunciated, and does nothing to quell the wrinkle between his eyes.

"The purple. I don't think it would flatter you. Furthermore, that lipstick clashes horribly with every color in that palette."

He turns a bright red and starts to splutter. I am hopelessly endeared.

"That's not- I, I don't- it isn't-"

"Oh, calm down, there's nothing wrong with wearing makeup," I say, flashing him the back of my hand with the eyeliner tests on it. "You just need to pick a better shade." I pluck a different palette (for blue eyes) and a lipstick in a true red from the display and hand them over. "Something like this."

He stares at them dumbly for a moment, his mouth hanging open. (Mouth breather.)

"You think I should wear this?"

"I think it would flatter you if you chose to wear makeup. That purple will do you no favors." I sneer at the garish eyeshadow still in his hand.

"It's for my friend!" he finally bursts out.

"Are you mad at her?" It's a reasonable question, that eyeshadow is truly appalling.

"No? It's her birthday next week, and she said that she wanted to have some makeup for date nights and things."

"Are you in love with her?"

"No!" No hesitation at all. "No, no way. Penny is like my sister. She's my best friend. We're not…" he trails off, and I'm strangely reassured. He still probably hates me, but at least there is one woman in the world that he’s not dating, so my odds have improved marginally.

"Don't get your pants in a twist. I just thought you might be, since that eyeshadow would certainly drive away her current boyfriend."

He sticks out his chin and seems to decide something.

"Fine. What should I get for her, then?" The “if you know so much” is left unsaid.

I'm not really an expert, despite my monthly purchases, but I'll take any excuse I can get to linger around this starburst of a boy for a few moments more.

"Does she wear makeup normally?" He shakes his head no. "Then perhaps start with something more subtle for her." I take the offending palette away and hand him a more subdued one, with a faint shimmer. "Do you think this would look nice on her?"

He thinks hard for a moment, then pulls out his phone, swiping at the lock screen and turning it to face me.

"This is her."

His home screen background is a picture of the two of them, cheeks pressed together and grinning like crazy under the summer sun. His curls are being tossed by the wind, and he looks like a bronze Adonis. I think my heart actually skips a beat at the sight.

"That palette will be fine then. This lipstick, too," I add, handing him a plum shade. "Do you need anything else?" I ask, and then cringe when I sound like I'm working instead of flirting.

He shakes his head.

"No, this is brilliant, thanks."

He still looks a bit confused, and he bites his lip as he looks down at the makeup in his hand - the makeup for his friend, and the things I picked out for him.

I don't want to go, but I can't figure out any way to prolong our conversation.

"You should get that one," he says, pointing to one of the lines on my hand. I raise an eyebrow in question. He's right, but what does this mean? Is he flirting? Does he want me to wear eyeliner? Is he just trying to repay me for helping him? "Yeah. Definitely that one."

He raps his knuckles on the counter beside us twice, and then wanders towards the check out.

It's not until I'm trying to fall asleep that I realize - he bought the makeup for himself too.

Simon

One of my foster fathers had a workshop, and I spent a happy summer watching him build a table and matching chairs for the dining room. I didn't get to stay to see it completed, because one of his biological children kept stealing money out of his mom's purse and blaming me, but I still enjoyed the time I had spent watching woodworking. I liked it so much that when Penny and I graduated and got a flat together, I saved up to buy a few tools. I don't make anything major, but I've built small shelves and a side table and a pan organizer for the flat, and I really like it.

Recently, Penny has been complaining about not being able to reach everything in the kitchen, so while she's still at work I stop by the B&Q to pick up some wood for a step stool. I'm heading to the check out when I see him - the mean makeup guy. (Although he was actually quite nice when we were talking about makeup. He was just rude when we were getting our movies.)

He's dressed casually today, in tight dark jeans and a warm grey sweater, with his hair falling in loose waves around his face. He's glaring down at two wrenches, and I hate that he still looks so good when he's glowering.

Before I even register what's happening, my feet have carried me over to him.

"D'ya need help?"

He startles, and turns lovely grey eyes up to look at me. It's work not to gasp. He’s wearing eyeliner. I'm not entirely sure, but I think it may even be the eyeliner I told him to buy.

"The sink in my kitchen is leaking. I watched a tutorial on YouTube, and it should be easy enough to fix, but I don't have the proper tools."

He goes back to glaring at the wrenches, and I lean over to take a look.

“You want that one.”

“Why? How do you know?”

“Well, it’s adjustable. You can change it within reason, so as long as your plumbing isn’t something incredibly out of the ordinary it should fit just fine.”

He looks surprised (and maybe a bit like he wants to attack me, although I try to ignore that).

“How do you know that?”

I laugh.

“Basic home maintenance, mate, I’ve had to fix a leaky sink before too, believe it or not.”

I grin at him until one corner of his mouth tips upward in response.

“Thanks,” he says, his cheeks flushing a little. “I’ll get this one then. Yes. Thank you. Have a nice evening.”

He strides off, once again leaving me feeling a bit dazed.

He looks really good in eyeliner.

Baz

When Fiona discovered I hadn’t left the apartment in a week, she called in the cavalry. Daphne showed up at my door with a casserole and some flowers, and within minutes she had the kitchen feeling like a place that was less utility space and more home.

“Basil, Fiona is worried about you.” I rolled my eyes, despite knowing it wouldn’t get me anywhere. “I’m worried about you, too. You spend so much time by yourself, and you hardly ever go out to see your friends or enjoy the city.”

“I’m fine. Thank you for your concern.”

“Basil,” she had said, and that time it was a warning. “It’s not healthy for anyone to spend this much time alone.”

“What, do you expect me to get a cat?”

Daphne smiled, and I knew that I had said the wrong thing.

“Yes, actually. And,” she said, before I could object, “Fiona thought you should too. In fact, she made it a condition of your continued occupancy of this flat. We both think it might be nice for you to have someone else around to talk to.”

I arched an eyebrow.

“And you want me to talk to a cat?”

Daphne just gave me a Mona Lisa smile, handed me a plate filled with food, and told me when she left later that evening that I had forty-eight hours to send her a picture of a cat. (I asked what I should do if I didn’t like any of the cats I saw. Or if they didn’t like me. She said I had to at least prove that I tried.)

So, this morning, I made my way to the nearest RSPCA and talked to strangers for the first time in over a week. I told them that I was looking to adopt a cat, and they immediately led me to a room filled with individual cages and an assortment of felines. They said I could play with any of the cats that I wanted, and now I’m staring into the eyes of a fluffy orange tabby.

The tabby meows at me, and I swear that she’s telling me to get lost. I guess cats can tell when you’re out of your depth.

I stroll down the aisle and read the names given to each cat. It’s been years since I last had a pet and even then, the husky my family had wasn’t my sole responsibility. I was in charge of feeding him, but there was always someone else making sure that I did. And really, we only adopted him when my pediatrician suggested that an animal might help me after my mother died. Daphne is probably trying to do the same thing again now. (Is this how one becomes a crazy cat lady? Depression, anxiety, OCD, and an unwillingness to tolerate therapy?)

I keep walking slowly until I feel a tug on my sleeve. I look down, and a little orange paw ending in one very sharp claw has latched on to me. I unhook it before my sweater can snag, and then look into the kennel. There are two kittens, each only about ten weeks old according to their cards, and the orange one is peering up at me with big blue eyes. Its littermate is asleep in the corner, curled into a fluffy black puffball, but the tabby is ready to play. His tail twitches, and he pounces immediately when I wiggle a finger between the bars. He catches my fingertip in a far more gentle grasp than I would have imagined, then looks at me with what can only be described as pure adoration.

“Excuse me,” I say, moving my finger some more and feeling small claws dig in. Then again, louder, to get the attention of the woman, “Excuse me. Can I see this one?”

The woman comes over and flips the latch, then reaches in and comes out with a handful of fur and knives. The kitten opens its mouth in a fierce imitation of a vampire, then stretches it further as it lapses into a yawn. We spend the better part of an hour in a bright, cheerful room, just the kitten and I. At first it chases a string that I drag along the ground and runs after balls with bells in them, but then it calms down and curls up in my lap to sleep.

I’m petting it and cooing softly to it, trying to ignore the fact that Daphne and Fiona were both right about this whole thing, when the door to the room opens again.

“Oh. It’s you,” says the most beautiful man I have ever seen. My face flushes when I remember our last encounter and I pray he doesn’t remember my ignorance. (Of course he does. I didn’t know how to select a wrench. I am incapable of basic home repair and he knows it.)

“Do you two know each other?” The woman from before is back, this time holding the other kitten from the same cage, and looking between the two of us. “These kittens aren’t technically a bonded pair, but they are siblings, the only two remaining from their litter, and it would be lovely if they could still see each other.”

“Err…” the man says, shifting his weight.

“We’ve met in passing a few times now,” I say, trying to avoid encouraging this line of questioning.

“Great!” she says, clapping her hands brightly after handing the kitten off. “I’ll leave all of you to get better acquainted then!”

For a moment, there’s just awkward silence. Neither of us are looking at each other, both focusing on our respective kittens. Then, his kitten turns into the feline equivalent of a slinky, oozes out of his grasp, and runs over to tap my leg once before running away again. It hides behind his legs, and all I can see is a black tail winding around his ankles.

We both laugh, and the ice is broken.

“I’m Simon,” he says, and smiles at me. It’s the same radiant smile I remember from his lockscreen. It feels like looking into the sun, and I bask in it.

“Basil. Although my friends call me Baz.”

“Are you going to…” he trails off, but gestures to my cat.

“Yes,” I look down and give it a scratch under the chin. “I’m going to adopt it.”

“Same here,” Simon says, and then he blushes. “I mean, unless it rips my face off in the next few minutes, but I think this is the one.”

“Do you know which one you have?” Their names and genders were on the cage, but it didn’t specify who was who.

“No idea. I’m going to rename mine anyway though, I didn’t like either of those names.”

“I was planning on doing the same thing. If I’m going to have a pet, it needs to have a proper name befitting its personality. Not something mundane like Fluffy.” I scowl, and he laughs.

As his kitten comes over to touch its nose to my kitten, Simon clears his throat.

“So, um, like she said, they’d probably be happy to have playdates or whatever. I mean, since we’re getting them. And since we keep running into each other. It might make sense to, you know, exchange numbers?”

“Yes!” I say, far too eagerly. “I mean, that seems reasonable. It would be more convenient than waiting to happen upon you in the Waitrose choosing inferior crisps to set up a future meeting.”

He smiles. “Well, yeah, there’s that. And this way, it’ll be easier for me to ask you out, ”

Then the absolute nightmare sits down beside me and hands me his phone. He texts me immediately once I enter my contact info.

Unknown Number (11:27 AM) This is Simon Snow

Unknown Number (11:27 AM) Your cat is cute.

Unknown Number (11:27 AM) So are you

Unknown Number (11:28 AM) Wanna get dinner sometime? ;)

I blush, and send him a reply.

Baz (11:29 AM) I thought you’d never ask.

#snowbaz fic #Purr-fect Strangers #a gift for a friend!#fuff #my fic

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noshitshakespeare · 5 years

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Hello. I'm going through a very rough breakup right now (broke up three months ago, still not over it) that is partially my fault, partially not. at this point she has me blocked on everything, deleted things that we used to share joy in (her tumblr and pinterest) and we no longer write together. I am without a doubt in love with her and I don't think I'll ever get over her. Are there any characters or stories from Shakespeare that I could relate to? Anyone who never gets over someone? thank you

I’m very sorry to hear you’re having a difficult time.

I don’t know if it will be any consolation to you, but heartbreak and unrequited love is something people have felt for as long as literature can attest to and Shakespeare is one of them. In fact, Shakespeare is full of people who can’t get over the people they love, so I can easily answer your question.

In the ones that end happily (or reasonably so):

Helena in A Midsummer Night’s Dream is in love with Demetrius, who she used to have a relationship with.

Another Helena, this time in All’s Well that Ends Well, is unrequitedly in love with Bertram, and can’t get over it (I wouldn’t take her approach as a good example though).

A slightly different situation, but Viola in Twelfth Night is in love with Orsino, even though he’s in love with Olivia, and she can’t get over it. There are some characters, like Orsino, who do get over their love in this play, but there are also more tragic situations, like Antonio, who doesn’t ever seem to get over his love for Sebastian.

The Winter’s Tale contains the sad plight of Hermione, who endures a lot of cruelty from her husband Leontes; it isn’t just about the love between couples in this case, but the fact that she loses her husband’s love, and her reaction to it makes this a very interesting case.

Cymbeline This is a great one. Innogen is an amazing character, and her persistence in her love for Posthumous despite his cruel treatment of her is one of the best examples I can think of. Especially the scene where she thinks he’s dead.

Bonus: Julia in The Two Gentlemen of Verona. I’m including it because she never gives up even when her beloved has essentially left her, but the denouement makes this play rather too complicated and uncomfortable.

Another Bonus: Hero in Much Ado About Nothing. Bonus because it’s not a large part of the play and because the fact that she continues to want to marry Claudio is not fully fleshed out, because she’s not the main plot. Some might include Beatrice as an example, but that would require the interpretation that her anger towards Benedick is a bitter cover for the love that she still feels for him (not easily textually provable).

In Tragedies:

Romeo and Juliet is an obvious one, in the sense that even death won’t get in the way of love for the two titular characters, though it’s different to a breakup situation.

Antony and Cleopatra, both lightly mocking and sympathetic in its portrayal, shows a love that neither side can quite overcome, in spite of both sides acting at times terribly to one another. It shows how illogical love is, how powerful, and how, sometimes, cruel.

Another somewhat obvious one is Ophelia, in Hamlet. Her madness is caused by many different factors, but as her love songs make clear, her inability to get over her love for the man who treats her cruelly and who killed her father is one of the key factors to her madness. It’s one of the more poignant moments in this play, as the general obsession with such a small role shows.

Othello, because Desdemona continues to love Othello in spite of everything. As he threatens to kill her on their bed, telling her it is ‘thy death-bed’, she answers ‘Aye, but not yet to die’ (5.2.53-54), imagining that she will die on her wedding bed after a long life spent with her husband. And even after he has strangled her, she manages one last lie to try to absolve him when Emilia asks who did it by answering ‘Nobody - I myself’ (5.2.124).

Bonus: Troilus and Cressida. Features a romantic betrayal and heartbreak, but whether Troilus remains as true to Cressida or continues to love her is… Not the easiest thing to discern. It should be an obvious one, with Menelaus fighting for his wife, and with Troilus’ situation in love, but the way Shakespeare tells the tale, it really isn’t. As wonderful as the play is in many ways, I might give this one a miss because it’s not an easy one to relate to.

Poetry:

Venus and Adonis this one is interesting. It’s painted in a generous but lightly satiric tone, so maybe not the kind of poignancy you’re looking for. Still, the ending is quite beautiful, and in the sense that it features the goddess of love herself failing to get a response from the one she’s in love with, it fulfils the criteria well.

The Sonnets. If you want unrequited love and love that continues in spite of the other person’s indifference, the sonnets are for you. They’re hard but worthwhile.

In fact, if you’re looking outside of Shakespeare then Petrarchan sonnet sequences and Petrarchan poetry generally are about unrequited love, like Petrarch’s original sonnet sequence. Sidney’s Astrophel and Stella is a good English non-Shakespeare example; single poems include Wyatt’s famous ‘They flee from me’.

I won’t say you’ll get over your love, but I hope you feel better soon. Hard breakups only happen because it meant something, because it was a relationship worth having, and whatever happens I hope you treasure that for the rest of your life.

#love #anon anon sir!#long post #asks #there are some other characters who might just about count in this category but I haven't included them for one reason or another #Like Margaret in HVI #Or the Queen in RII #Sorry if my explanations are dry and scholarly

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myrish-lace-love · 7 years

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One more and then I WILL stop... Don't be silly, you don't have to get up for me - I'll just sit on your lap.

Sansa was glad the room was dark enough to hide her scowl as Margaery slid onto Robb’s lap and started pawing at him.

We get it, she thought, you’re in love, great, could you please stop showing off on movie night when I have to sit a good eight inches away from Jon on this side of the couch?

The four of them got together each week, squeezing onto Margaery’s sofa and snacking on the amazing popcorn Margaery had. The delicious, crunchy snack was a small solace for Sansa as she watched Jon maintain the distance between them like it was some kind of religious requirement.

She deserved it, she supposed. She hadn’t been all that kind to him when they were children. She’d been popular. Captain of the cheerleading squad. Jon had been bookish. Shy. Nerdy. He only hung out with his best friend Sam. Sansa had tried over and over to get him to talk when Robb dragged him to family dinner. She’d even ribbed him in a good-natured way about not having a girlfriend.

Which was some pretty sharp irony, considering he’d come back from his second year of college with a head full of gorgeous black curls and some sort of magic that transformed him into an Adonis. Not that she’d looked. She’d gawked, actually, at the Stark summer home, when Jon descended the pool in blue swim trunks.

When she’d asked him about it (once she could get her mouth to close) he’d shrugged and muttered something about hitting the gym a lot when his girlfriend left him.

He didn’t try to turn it into a pickup line, though. Or not-so-subtly flex in front of her, like other guys did. Which was great. Understandable, too, especially since he probably thought of her like an irritating little sister. She wasn’t disappointed. Not in the slightest.

She sighed. Who am I kidding?