bakerstreet | They were roommates?

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They were roommates?

Fake Not-Dating/Married Meme

You've heard of the fake dating trope. Now, prepare yourself for...faking that you're not dating!

No sweat. This should be a walk in the park, pretending you're not with someone, right?
All you have to do is convince the world that you don't care for this person in any romantic capacity. That you don't want to hold them tight. That you don't dream about the colors and lights that dance in their eyes...

Easy. Easy? No, sell it.

How to play.

⤷ Comment with your character and preferences.

⤷ Check out the prompts here, if you'd like! Feel free to gank the ones you'd like and plop them into your top-level so it's no blank. Or not, it's up to you.

⤷ Reply to the lovely folks in the audience. Tell them what they've won! ~~It's a consolation prize of despair, complete with unresolved tension.~~

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ open to all the AUs! ]

[ there's an art to being in the spotlight that Margaery's perfected through trial and error. from ballet lessons in childhood lending to a natural grace as she moves, to the subtle way she tilts her head so the most flattering angles are caught on cameras, she's more than comfortable with the knowledge that there's a certain measure of security she feels in public more than she does in private. out here, evem with the flashing lights and makeup painstakingly caked to her face, Margaery knows what to expect and how to respond.

it's matters closer to home - now very literally - that ironically put her on the edge of uncertainty.

moving in with Wally had been as much of a hot topic as they'd both expected it to be, but it had been easier to ignore the fuss of the media than the way his presence permeated her life. she never expected to actually see him, as they both put in long hours at their respective jobs, but. she would follow a lingering trail of his aftershave in her sleepy walks to the kitchen early in the mornings, or come home late and wave tiredly in his general direction as she dragged herself off to her bedroom to faceplant in her bed after a meticulous skincare routine, mildly comforted by the sounds of him in her home.

then there were those nights, ones that woke her in a panic before she realized she was hearing Wally moving around in the dark, his walk oddly shuffled and heavy. the first time she crept out of her bedroom, she had bitten back a noise of alarm at the state of his injuries, but by the second, third, fourth times, Margaery had become a regular pro, unflinching in her enthusiasm to help.

and somewhere in between all this development, she'd also gradually developed feelings.

feelings that, unfortunately, seem to have embedded themselves deep enough that Margaery feels their effects no matter how much she'd like to pretend otherwise - sometimes she catches herself watching Wally with what feel like lovesick expressions, and desperately hopes he's too slow to catch them, at the very least. (they may be dating, but he doesn't have to know those kinds of embarrassing details.) and being so constantly aware of his entire existence is a curse that's followed her out here, in this charity gala where there are literally hundreds of people milling about.

it's the hair. it has to be. it's not the way Wally fills out a nice suit, or the way his personality alone could charge an entire city. Margaery poses for another picture with a fellow socialite before she makes the safe decision to escape to the bar to get a mocktail; the orchestra's just begun playing a lively tune and it'll be much easier to say no to any hopeful partners with a glass of something fancy in her hand. ]