#uugghhhhh

how to get ME, AKA THE GREAT AMAZING LUCIOUS AWESOME TARTJAMPIE HERSELF, to LEE OUT BECAUSE OF YOUR VICIOUS TOMFOOLERY???????? WHAAAAATTTT!!!!!! GASP!!!!!! MIND IS SO INCREDIBLY BLOWN!!!!!!!!!

who couldve IMAGINED that i would stoop THIS LOW. making such a HORRIBLE POST ABOUT MYSELF. toooootally not me. aaaaaaanyway fuck all of yall

TO START THIS ALL OFF ON A BIG NOTCH BECAUSE NOBODY WILL SEE THIS ANYWAY forcing me to say the damn word. that FUCKING. WORD bro. OOHHH MY GODDDDD DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED. THE THINGS GETTING TO ME EVERY. SINGLE TIME. AND I CANT EVEN SAY IT. BULLSHIT IM TELLING YOU ITS JUST BULLSHIT. YOU KNOW WHICH WORD IM TALKING ABOUT DONR EVEN.

okay moving on. literally any type of mention towards a spot of mine thats considered unnatural compared to others. i mean knee or back teases get to me like im being stabbed but if someone were to mention MY SHOULDERS. MORE THAN ONCE. I THINK ID BE BLEEDING OUT ON THE FLOOR AS IM TYPING OUT A RESPONSE /NSRS. HOOOMYGODDDDDD FUCK DUDE. FUCK. YEAH IM NOT PLAYING ABOUT THIS IMNOT LETTING THAT SLIDE

doesnt really count methinks but any and every comparison to lace DURING A TEASE. ID BE DYING IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE shes literally me gang trust. TRUST. if you somrhow dont know who THE LACE SILKSONG is shes seen in the gif i put at the beginning of this STUPID LIST

SPEAKING OF LACE. mMYEAH SPEAKING OF HER. dnot ever. EEEEEVER. TALK AS OR PRETEND THAT YOUR HER. NO SIGN OFFS WITH LACES NAME. YOU WILL GET SACKED. AND I MIGHT JUST DIE. OKYA OKAY??? PKAY???. PKAY. SHUT UP YOUR NOT MY SPOU

WHAT IF. I TOLD YOU. THAT I DIG MY OWN GRAVE WHEN IT CIMES TO NICKNAMES OR PETNAMES. VERY FOREIGN CONCEPT I KNOW RIGHT /J. I SWEAR TO JESUS DO NOT CALL ME THAT. IAM NOT A GIGGLEBUG IM NOT A LITTLE PIN I AM NOT A TBUG BLAAHHH BLAH BLAH BLAH. SHUT UP IM GONNA KILL YOU NOW. BYE. BYE BYE. BHE BYE BYE. SJGJXNNCDNSNNCNSFNKKWDVVQEFQKQFRKETQGNGT13MQGT3KGQT4HWT4KGK

you people, as in SUPPOSED "LERS", are TRULY SKILLED in using terms JUST TO BAIT ME. NOPE NO NO NO DONT CALL IT SPIDERING. YOURNKOT A BUG WITHEIGHT LEGS. STO.P IT SHUT UP NOW. NOW!!!!!!

March twists the last clasp on his latest project with a scowl. It’s a silver, intricate bracelet with a sparkling ruby at its center. A perfect ruby, to be exact. A perfect ruby excavated from the mines and gifted to him by a certain, sunny farmer.

March grimaces, the thought of the farmer bringing up that annoying, confusing feeling in his chest. Like he’s being squeezed like the bellows of his forge. Ugh.

But you’d brought him this ruby, late last night as you stumbled half-dead into the blacksmith’s. You’d been covered in nicks and bruises, smiling through the dirt on your cheeks.

You’d handed him your gift, opening your filthy palm to reveal a sparkling scarlet gem. It was the most beautiful thing he’d seen.

Well, besides you.

But that squeezing feeling happens in his chest again, and he does his best to push the image of your scuffed up, smiling face out of his mind. He surveys his work: the silver band inlaid with an intricate pattern, the dazzling ruby. Yes, this will have to do.

***

“Farmer,” March calls, seeing you walk into the inn. “Sit by me!” He grins, holding a frothy glass of stout beer. He knows that this liquid courage is exactly what he needs to get himself to talk to you, and not mess it up.

You smile, and make your way across the inn to slide onto the barstool next to him. He smells like ash, and sweat; it’s intoxicating.

“Made somethin’ for ya,” he slurs, fumbling out a small black box from his pocket. He slides it across the bar, cheek rosy. He crosses his arms on the bar, resting his chin on his forearms as he watches you open his gift.

You take the box, flattered at having received a gift from the town’s grumpiest neighbor. You open the box, and gasp. It’s a silver bracelet, with a sparkling perfect ruby at its center. There are leaves inlaid into the silver, forming an intricate design. You lift it from the box, examining the beautiful piece of jewelry in the inn’s warm lighting.

“Put it on,” March commands, reaching out to clasp the bracelet around your wrist for you. His fingertips brush your skin, sending tingles up your arm.

“Thank you,” you murmur, awed. You turn your wrist back and forth, watching the sparkle of the ruby play in the light.

“Thought ya deserved somethin’ nice,” March says, deeply blushing. From the booze or something else, you’re not sure. But the bracelet is beautiful, and you’re leaning over to kiss the blacksmith’s cheek before you can tell yourself not to.

“Thanks,” you whisper, before pulling back. March has stilled next to you, and for a moment you wonder if you’ve crossed some line. But March stands suddenly, and leans so close you can feel his breath hot on your cheek.

He whispers in your ear, “My place. Now.”