#the love ache

[yujateaandpi]

y’all just— thinking about how excited Stanley must have been to host the twins— Alex says he smokes cigars but he doesn’t smoke once in the show— has a beer gut but he only drinks sodas in front of the kids— doesn’t swear when they’re around which must have taken INCREDIBLE effort— Stanley Pines, known crook, buying pancake mix at the supermarket and many bottles of syrup— learning to cook basic healthy meals and burning so many of them before he gets it right— buying new sheets, new mattresses— avoiding bunk beds because it reminds him of Ford— looking at the attic room he made wondering “is this enough will they like me”— trying to act aloof at the bus stop so he doesn’t betray the fact that he was there hours early— watching them goof around and thinking of New Jersey beaches— then the first night they’re there, he watches them debate running away and only stay because Mabel shook a magic 8 ball. That must have kept him awake all night.

[callmebeautiful]

HOLY SH*T

Something Old

Written for @harry-on-broadway's fic challenge.

Written prompt used: "What's this, then?"

Watching your childhood best friend (& the man you've been in love with for half your life) get married proves to be harder than you thought. Will you be able to make a quick getaway to avoid further heartbreak? Or is it finally time for the truth come out?

A/N: the pic represents more of an overall vibe rather than a definite representation of what he is wearing. but the vibes of the pic are absolutely accurate. some liberties have been taken with accurate chronology of his dating life bc this is fiction town usa baby. takes place during the fine line era, in a world with no covid. dream world. please let me know what you think!

-----

There was a huge water fountain, right in the middle of the hotel courtyard, making criss-cross patterns into the pool below and you couldn’t take your eyes off of it. It was soothing, in a way. Or at least you were trying to force the concept of being soothed upon yourself, trying to focus in on the sounds of the water and the lights reflecting off of it. Anything to not think about the background noise of the party, of the clinking glasses and what that sound would mean, to think of him – nope. Back to the fountain.

Your mother cleared her throat. Her eyes had been burning holes into the side of your face but you couldn’t face her or that look of pity in her eyes. Your fingers tapped against the handle of your suitcase as you kept your eyes on the water. Just keep staring at the water.

“Did you call an Uber or…?”

“I’m just going to take the rental back to the city and go from there.”

“You could always take it back to the house. Bit of a drive but…”

The thought of walking into your childhood home, alone, while his own childhood home sat right next door was too much to bear. “I don’t,” you cleared your throat as your voice caught, “I don’t think I can be surrounded by all those memories. God, Mum, this is so embarrassing –”

“Oh, baby, no. Come here” Your mom rushed over to you and wrapped her arms around you in a death grip as you let yourself collapse into her arms, feeling 8, 15 and 26 all at once. The tears which you had been trying to save for the drive poured out of you, your mum shushing you as you buried your face into her shoulder. She stood there and held you tight, letting you release all the emotions you had pent up since you got here. You had never had an explicit conversation with her about your true feelings for Harry but with the way she was holding you, you knew you never had to. She knew. The thought made you tighten your arms around her, burying your head a little deeper as the tears flowed. Just a few more minutes.

“I’m getting your dress soaked,” you said, trying to pull your head away and pull yourself together before your mum tightened her arms around you, holding you in place.

“Could give two shits about my dress.” “Mum!” “I’m serious, I don’t care. Not when my baby is weeping in my arms.”

“Okay, I’m hardly weeping,” you huffed a laugh as you took a step back and wiped your face, looking into your mum’s kind eyes, glassy in their own right.

“Are you sure you don’t want to talk to him? Tell him what’s on your mind?”

You shook your head before she even finished her sentence. You had tried that, years ago. Winter break 2013. He had been gone almost two years, touring and traveling the world while you watched from afar at uni. You had walked down your stairs, rehearsing your big speech in your head while smoothing down the new skirt you bought for the occasion, only to look up and find him in your living room with the most famous pop star in the world in his arms. He had brought her home to “meet the family” he said. Which included you. You were just family. And he dated pop stars now. A gut punch that you quickly healed with copious amounts of tequila. And a drunken hookup with a boy from sixth form. It was fine. You were fine.

You had been best friends since you were 8, neighbors since you were 6, and for years you brushed off your crush, chocking it up to an extension of affection for your first male friend - the boy who made you laugh until you cried, who always needed help with math homework, who dragged you onto the dance floor when everyone else was too nervous to at that first school dance. The boy who stood in front of you in his bedroom, nervously singing along to a Youtube track before asking you if this was something you thought he could do, for real. The boy who invited you to join him a few weeks each summer, riding bikes through muggy Colorado streets for late night froyo or hiking those Hollywood hills. The boy growing into a man who called you when you were studying at the library, in the middle of the night halfway across the world, feeling overwhelmed by the pressure and needing a piece of home to slow his exhausted, racing mind.

This crush was something you thought you would grow out of. Except you didn’t. His life had become drastically different than the one you two had shared in your small hometown but whenever you were together, it was like no time had passed. After that fateful winter break, you had tried to keep your distance but each time you saw him, you were sucked right back in.

There had been more moments - falling over yourselves during a drunken McDonalds run, or during a screaming match in the middle of a very competitive round of charades, or when he bounded off stage after that first solo night at MSG, wrapping you in his arms and holding tightly - moments where the words were about to burst from your chest, overwhelmed by the love you felt for him. But you knew it would never work - he wasn’t interested. And, even if he was, you were nowhere near his league. Even his one night stands were straight off the Forbes 500 list. Not that you were ashamed of yourself or who you had become, you just knew, for many reasons, that there was a disconnect there. He wasn’t interested. You were family. You had to keep it that way.

You steeled yourself to get over it, to be okay with just being his friend. And you had convinced yourself it worked. You had met his girlfriends over the years; no longer tearing yourself apart in comparison as you blossomed into that confidence that comes with getting older and finding your place in the world. Falling into relationships with some really great guys, guys that you really cared for, who made you laugh and met your family on your birthdays. But no matter how hard you tried, those relationships always seemed to fizzle out because you never felt that spark. That once in a lifetime spark. That spark you felt the second you saw him yesterday - a smile blooming across his face as his arms lifted up in a cheer when he locked eyes with you. All that hard work shot to shit in an instant.

You snapped back to reality, shaking your head more fiercely, desperately trying to get those memories to fall out of your head forever. “That’s not how he sees me, Mum. It’s not - this is just something I have to get over. But I can’t do it here.”

Her face fell, before she took a deep breath and steeled herself. “Okay,” she said, looking at you with new determination. “So, what’s the story? Work emergency? Appendicitis? Stomach virus? Uncontrollable pooping?”

“Mum! Oh my god!”

“What?!” she shrugged, her eyes glowing with a playful twinkle as she watched the smile grow on your face. “I just feel like the more details we provide, the more believable it will be.”

“Whatever you have to do,” you said, rolling your eyes as you pulled her into another hug.

“It’ll be okay, lovebug,” she whispered in your ear. “This pain won’t last forever. He’s not the be all, end all.”

“Why does it feel like it then?” you said softly, tightening your arms around her, unable to stop yourself when more tears began to fall. “I really have to get going, I don’t want anyone to see -”

Suddenly, the sounds of the party got progressively louder as the doors swung open. Your stomach sank as you heard the last voice you wanted to hear. “There you are! Been looking all over for you two. Ang? - Oh. ”

“Yeah?” Your mom turned to face him, blocking you from view as you furiously wiped away your tears.

“Mum’s been looking all over for you. Something about a bet involving tequila shots…”

“Ah, was hoping she’d forget about that. Tell her I’ll be in in a bit, just need to help this one -”

You cleared your throat, keeping your head down as you nudged her forward. “No, Mum, it's fine. Go in. I’ll be okay.”

She turned to look at you, eyes searching. “But you’re not feeling. well.” She emphasized her point by placing her hand on your forehead. Oh, god. No Oscar in her future then.

You looked at her, feeling his eyes on you, shaking your head. “It’s okay. Really. Have fun”.

“Love you.” She kissed you on the cheek as she squeezed your hand, whispering, “Be brave”.

You kept your eyes to the ground as you heard her walk inside, closing the doors behind her. Enveloping the two of you in silence. You looked up, taking him in for the first time all night. He knocked the wind out of you.

His white suit was tailored to perfection, the dress shirt open in a deep v down his chest, revealing the smattering of tattoos that you swore he’d regret one day, but that only looked perfectly in place as his muscles grew more defined. His hair, curls tousled just the way you liked it. The smattering of scruff along his chiseled jawline, held tightly as he took in the scene in front of him. He looked good.

You can’t imagine what you looked like. Tear tracks streaking down your face and hair messy from how often you had been nervously running your hands through it. Dressed for a cocktail hour while wearing your sneakers for the quick getaway. You had to get the fuck out of here.

“Thought only the bride was supposed to wear white.” The words slipped out of your mouth before you had the chance to stop them. This was not the time for banter. You should be in the car already, leaving all this behind you. You snuck a look at his face, his green eyes locking with yours, his brow furrowed in confusion.

He looked right at you, his deep voice rumbling as he shot back, “Wanted to be dramatic. It’s my day too.”

“Classic H.” you said. You could not get your feet to move. Your car was no more than 10 paces away and yet here you were, frozen under his questioning gaze.

“What’s all this, then?” he asked, as he took in your suitcase, the car keys fiddling around in your hand. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah. Uh, a work emergency came up.”

“Bullshit.”

“No it’s not -”

“Your mum just said you weren’t feeling well.”

Shit. “Both things are true. H, please just - I have to go.”

“No, I think I have the right to know why my best mate is leaving my wedding weekend early. Why you’re standing out here with your mum and - are you - were you crying?” He looks desperately confused, eyes searching your face. “Need you to talk to me.”

He takes a few steps towards you when he notices your hands visibly starting to shake. “Hey, hey…” He reaches his hands towards yours as you quickly put your hands on your suitcase, pulling it towards you. You take a few steps back and try to take a few steadying breaths.

“Please,” your voice was barely a whisper. “You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“I always notice when you're gone. Haven’t been able to find you all night, I’ve been trying to hang out with you. Wanted to spend time with you.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the look on his face, trying to not think too hard about those words. Trying to be casual, nonchalant. Trying to be anything but the crumbling mess you were in front of him. “C’mon, I’m not even in the wedding party it’ll be better -”

“Is that what this is about? You knew we were keeping it small on purpose, didn’t think you needed to be in the bridal party to know how much y’mean to me but I guess–”

Anger suddenly swirled in you, turning your cheeks warm, eyes blazing. As if you’d be out here having a full mental breakdown over something so trivial. You scoffed, “You think I’m out here crying because of some arbitrary fucking title? You know that’s never mattered to me when it comes to you.”

“Then WHAT is going on with you?”

“Can you please just drop it and let me –”

“It’s my fucking wedding, you’ve been avoiding me ever since you got here. I need you here and you’re just standing outside with your car keys and your fucking suitcase like it’s nothing. Like I’m nothing–

“Oh my god, how can you even say that – ”

“Well, what am I supposed to think? I’m flying blind here you won’t TALK to me–”

“I CAN’T WATCH YOU MARRY HER!”

The words were loud, louder than you meant them and out faster than you could stop them. Fuck. This was. Not. How This. Was supposed to go. You shut your eyes. Your mind was racing, mouth trying to move to make an excuse but you couldn’t think of anything and then you hear a derisive snort, your eyes flying open to see his, suddenly colder, taunting.

“‘S that what this is about, then? Never did like her, did you? Always wondered when we’d have this conversation. Thought you may have been a little more fair and try to do it before my wedding weekend but hey, guess I’m not the only one who can be dramatic.”

You stood there, gaping at him, tears pricking your eyes as he glared back at you.

“Let’s hear it, then. What’s so wrong with her?”

Oh, he misunderstood. You could let him think this is the truth, that you’re just some bitchy childhood friend who never approved of the fiancée and waited until the last moment to make a dramatic exit. You could leave right now and let him think that. But he needed to know the truth, as painful as it may be. You began to shake your head, the tears seconds from pouring out.

“No, that’s not - you’re not understanding me.”

“Am I not? Seems pretty clear to me” His tone was still taunting, angry. He had every right to be. This was supposed to be the biggest weekend of his life and here he was, out here with you, instead of partying with all of his loved ones mere feet away. The thought of it made the tears spill over, a small sob escaping you. Through the tears you saw his face drop, his brows furrowing.

“It’s not her. She’s lovely. She’s so lovely and you should be in there with her. You could be marrying fucking Beyonce and I wouldn’t be okay with it. I … I can’t watch you marry someone else without - without wishing it was me instead.”

You watched as he froze, his eyes widening. In shock? Anger? Pity? You weren’t quite sure.

You took a deep breath and kept going, continuing to dig yourself into the grave of your own making. Every part of you was screaming at you to stop, but now that you got started, the words kept coming, “I’ve been in love with you since we were like 15. You’re my best friend in the whole world and I…god, I can’t breathe when I look at you sometimes. You’re the first person I want to make laugh with a new lame joke, the first person I want to share good news with. The first person I want to do anything with. You’re kinda it for me. Always have been. You’re just my favorite person in the world. And I –”

You shook your head, cutting yourself off. Your heart was about to beat out of your chest, your cheeks burning. You stand there, slightly panting, watching him watch you, his own eyes glassy, his own breath coming in fast spurts. Neither of you dared to move.

You stand there, watching as your confession explodes between the two of you, helpless to do anything but stand in the carnage. It is deadly silent. A minute passes, then another. It could be five, it could be twenty. What did you just do?

“Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry.”, you said frantically, your brain finally catching up to your mouth. “You should go back inside. I’m –”

He inhales sharply, head shaking in disbelief, “Y’think - y’think I’m going to go back in there right now? After–? Fuck.”

He drags his hand down his face, bringing his other hand to meet it and standing there with his head in his hands. You wish you could get a good read on him, to tell how he’s feeling, but you just stand there, heart beating wildly, in disbelief of what you have done.

“I’ve got a reception hall full of people here.”

“I know.”

“People traveled for this.”

“I know.”

“Why - why now? I had no fucking idea. Why’d you never tell me before?”

“I tried, but the timing was never right – ”

“Yeah, well, your timing right now is impeccable,” he deadpanned.

You rolled your eyes, though his sense of humor reappearing made a zing of hope run through you. Maybe he won't hate you forever. Maybe, one day, the friendship could be salvaged. Maybe you didn’t just embarrass yourself beyond belief - though your burning cheeks indicate otherwise.

He clears his throat, pulling you out of your racing mind. “This whole time…you’ve felt this way? This whole time?”

You had been expecting to confess and run. For him to smile politely at you, let you down easy. You had spent your whole life believing this was a one sided thing. But here he was, looking utterly wrecked, his green eyes never once wavering from yours.

“Yes, H,” you told him. “I’ve loved you this whole time.”

You watch as his face crumbles slightly. He brings a hand up to his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, a mumbled, shaky “fuck” leaving his lips.

You clear your throat and wipe at your eyes, praying your waterproof mascara is doing its job. As much as you want to live in this fantasy of possibilities, you can’t let yourself make more of a mess of this than you already have. He was getting married. Tomorrow.

“H, the last thing I ever wanted to do is ruin this for you”, your voice shakes the more you look at him, “I will be fine. You should go back inside. I’m going to go.” You grab your suitcase and keys and start to make your way to the car. The sound of his voice calling your name stops you in your tracks.

“Don’t,” he says, his voice cracking.

You turn to face him, finding him staring right back at you. His glassy eyes ablaze, his jaw set. You don’t make a sound.

“Please.” He closes the distance between you in a few quick strides. Hesitantly, he lifts his hand to your jaw. You’re sure he can feel the warmth there, blooming at his touch. You lock eyes with him, both of you barely breathing. After a second, his thumb caresses your cheekbone, his eyes fluttering closed. He leans his forehead against yours and you can feel his hot breath on your lips, the smell of mint and tequila filling your nose. You might pass out.

“This is a lot to process,'' he whispers.

“I know.” You try to pull your head back a bit to give him space, but he holds you steady in his grip. His other hand falls to your waist, both of you inhaling sharply at the contact.

“I have to go back in there. Supposed to get married tomorrow,” he whispers as his thumb starts to draw circles on your hip bone. You’re sure even he can hear your heartbeat at this point, the way it’s thundering in your ears.

“Y-you don’t owe me anything, you know”, you whisper back, his brow furrowing as he feels your breath on his lips. “Just because I told you. There’s no pressure or anything. I know, like… I’m not….I’m not expecting - I should -”

He takes a step closer to you, pulling you flush against him, effectively cutting you off. “Don’t. You can’t. ‘S not pressure, I just - I don’t know”, he takes a deep breath, “I need time. Please. Don’t leave. You don’t have to go back in there but don’t leave tonight. Please.”

He kisses you on the cheek.

“Please.” His words fall across your lips as he moves to kiss your other cheek.

“Fuck. I wish…just - please don’t go.” He leans in slowly, kissing you once on the neck, right below your ear, inhaling deeply. His forehead falls to your collarbone, resting there. “You can’t go, not yet. Not until…Please. I need time to think. I don’t know. Promise me you’ll still be here later tonight.”

He lifts his head, holding eye contact with you until you nod, bringing your hand up to wrap around his wrist, moving your thumb in soothing circles. He stares at you, eyes dropping to your lips, then back up to meet your eyes. His grip on your hip tightens, his eyes dropping to your lips once more.

You hear glasses tinkering, calls of his name. Shit. You take a step back, his hand sliding from your jaw to your wrist, holding a loose grip. Your cheeks burning at how caught up in the moment you got, head reeling at what this could all mean.

“I have to -” “I know.”

He leans in, presses his lips to your forehead, not once letting go of your wrist.

He steps back, his glassy eyes flitting all over your face before meeting yours once more and holding your gaze. “You’ll be at the hotel later tonight? You promise?”

“I promise,” you say, squeezing his hand once before letting go.

He nods sharply, walking backwards towards the door, eyes never leaving yours. He stops right before the entrance, quickly wiping at his eyes, shaking his head. You can see him physically brace himself as he pulls the door open, a tight smile on his lips as he gets pulled into the party once more.

The doors close, once again surrounding you with silence. With your own thoughts. The feeling of his lips on your neck playing over and over again in your mind.

Holy. Shit.

[herhurthoneyheart]

I will forever be the person who says "it’s okay, I understand.." even when my heart is breaking into pieces..

[rainbow-sunshine-unicorn]

Remember when Anthony Bridgerton said:

And then it turns out that this is him with his wife:

[maudiemoods]

WAAAAAUAGRGGG!!

I love them so so so much!! AURGG!!

[feral-ballad]

Amy Lowell, from A dome of many-coloured glass; “The Fruit Garden Path”

[Text ID: “My eyes aches with the weight of unshed tears, / You are my home, do you not understand?”]

[pikaberi]

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Good morning, Sleepyhead.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[raikkonens]

simon: "so...marco you're a handsome young man. girlfriend?"

bez: "no girlfriend. uhhhhh thank you, anyway."

simon: "boyfriend?"

bez: "no boyfriend. I have my dog. he's my best friend."

[13dps]

Michael Dickman, (2011), Copper Canyon Press, Killing Flies, Flies

[shadowhaert]

missing someone bad for you

trista mateer / trista mateer / sue zhao / u.k / u.k / clementine von radics / trista mateer

[dahliacloud]

spy x family chapter 107 spoilers

this is such a funny part and also really interesting compared to the beginning of the story. anya's gone from thinking twilight's so cool because he's a spy!!! to being just completely done with his internal monologue

[ryllen]

appearance wise, at least

[bottleofangeltears]

[canisalbus]

Can I ask how Vasco reacted to hearing about Machete’s assassination? :o did he put on a brave face? Was he inconsolable? Does he imagine that if he were there, he could’ve done something (even if that isn’t true? I imagine it would be tortuous mentally and emotionally for him, poor lad

He most likely went through a mental breakdown, followed by years of paralyzing grief and depression. Vasco had proven to be outstandingly resilient and optimistic in adversity, putting on a brave face was his second nature. But this was his final 'break the unbreakable' moment. He turned withdrawn and apathetic. He had never lost anyone this abruptly before, and he became visibly paranoid about the safety and health of his family while failing to look after his own wellbeing.

Of course he kept rewinding the events in his head and second-guessing himself about whether he could've prevented this outcome somehow, even when everyone who knew about his situation kept telling him there was no reason for him to blame himself for it. He struggled with the suddenness of it, and the lack of closure, and couldn't get over thinking how the love of his life had died alone, surprised, scared and in pain, and that there was absolutely nothing he could do to remedy that. Ludovica's support was invaluable to him. Since he couldn't mourn openly she was one of the few people who were there for him.

Eventually he came to terms with what had happened and learned to live with it, and even though he slowly regained his good-humoured personality, he never fully recovered back to his previous self.

[feral-ballad]

Sayat Nova, from Anthology of Armenian Poetry, ed. & tr. by Diana Der Hovanessian and Marzbed Margossian; "My request"