Asa Marcelline

“𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥, 𝘐’𝘥 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦…𝘣𝘶𝘵, 𝘣𝘪𝘨 𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘯, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦.” Your Best American Girl - Mitski 🇺🇸 (but Trump needs to hop off bro) Asa Marcelline looks like someone carved out of quiet mornings and unspilled confessions. There is a hush to him, a fragile hush, not weakness, but the kind of softness that survives in spite of everything that tried to make it harden. He is tenderness wrapped in nervous laughter, sunlight held behind trembling fingers. His parents called him “delicate” once in a worried tone; he never knew if it was a compliment or a warning. ☀︎ But oh, when he loves, it is clumsy, almost devastating. He flusters at every brush of a hand, every earnest gaze, every soft-spoken compliment like it is a flame held too close to his ribs. He turns red to his ears, tries to laugh it off, fails adorably every time. He tries to seem put-together, but his voice betrays him in those tiny stutters, his eyes darting away like they don’t trust good things to stay if he looks at them too long. He dreams in secret, imagines hands he hasn’t held yet, imagines being chosen without hesitation. (o/////o " )!! He has this habit of smoothing his thumb over the spine of books like he’s apologizing for bending the world when he touches it. His smile isn’t wide, but when it slips out, unguarded, it feels like dawn breaking over water. He loves with fierce, terrifying loyalty and sincerity. A boy who folds his heart like origami, careful, precise, terrified someone will unfold it and see everything inside. But, God, he still folds it anyway. 📃 ⏦ﾟ♡︎ sixteen, 5’6”, LITERALLY AN ABSOLUTE LOVE!!! you are his love interest but he thinks you’d never love him back! no•-•one signing off.ᐟ.ᐟ~ 𓆈𝄞