#she is so nice and comforting and beautiful and smart and resilient and | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

h2bakugou · 5 years ago

Note

Idk if you do these kind of requests or not, but Amajiki, Tomura, Chisaki and Kacchan and their gf who’s on her period and she’s feeling low and just not herself???

a/n: i do hun! i did a similar period hc but this is different and i haven’t done these characters so here ya go love!

headcanon: them with a s/o who’s not feeling good on their period

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: swearing, fluff

»»————-　★　————-««

tamaki amajiki

»»————-　★　————-««

Tamaki is a sweetheart. He is there for you and will hold you until you feel better.

He’s a little shy but he really cares about you, and when it comes to the people he cares and loves, this boy will go to the ends of the Earth for you.

Soft kisses on your cheek or forehead.

Holds you in his arms while you play with his hair or snuggle into his neck.

When you’re not feeling your best, Tamaki is there to reassure you. Granted he struggles too, he hates seeing you like this.

“Bunny, you’re amazing, please don’t say such awful things about yourself.”

His indigo eyes are full of love and meaning, and you can clearly tell that he wants to say more, but will leave it at that for now.

Knowing that Tamaki has his own struggles with things like that, it really means a lot to hear him say that to you.

Tamaki knows how to take care of you and will probably not leave your side unless you need him too, or want some space.

Sleeping with Tamaki is one of the purest forms of love honestly. He’s holding you close while still allowing you to move if you ever get uncomfortable. His fingers delicately trace shapes and words out on your skin as your snoring softly beside him.

It’s nothing weird or funny, he’s not trying to pull any stunts, it’s just the two of you, sleeping, or worn-out and resting.

It’s him loving you and making sure that you’re feeling okay.

It’s him reassuring you that you are precious and that bad days happen and there’s not much you can do but let them pass.

love this soft boy !!

»»————-　★　————-««

tomura shigaraki

»»————-　★　————-««

As much as I am a Shigaraki stan, I feel like this man’s first reaction would be disgust.

“What is coming from where?”

“It’s called menstruation-”

But on a real note, he probably never had a proper sex education class, and everything he learned about anatomy and stuff was either picked up from someone else, or learnt about from a game or movie.

Onto the headcanon stuff, overall I feel like once he comes to terms with what’s happening, he’s protective and caring.

Doesn’t like when the members of his league, let alone the people closet to him in both platonic and romantic ways, get hurt.

So seeing you in almost constant discomfort and pain is agonizing to watch.

By your side most of the time unless you want him to leave you alone, which is a struggle because he is persistent and bratty in the best ways.

‘I’m not leaving you-”

“Tomura, I just want some space.”

“Shut up and let me hold you.”

He takes your huff as a sign of agreement, but eventually it’s those same arms that you wanted gone, the arms you’d fallen asleep in.

Tomura probably acts like he’s the one on the period.

He’s ordering Dabi, Kurogiri, or anyone else who steps into view to get things for you so he can watch you 24/7.

Okay but as annoying loving as Tomura is, I could also see him getting frustrated with you.

“You clearly don’t feel good so just lay down and get some rest!”

“But I don’t want to!” You’re pacing around the room you share with Tomura while he stands by the door.

“Lay down.” Tomura orders.

“Make me.”

It’s a simple phrase that comes with varying consequences, this time, it’s being slung over his shoulder and tossed onto the bed, force down by him just laying on top of you like a human blanket.

“T-Tomura! That hurts!” You breathe out.

Eventually rolls off of you and just holds you close, getting some much needed rest.

Hates seeing you look down on yourself during this time because he truly loves you. He’s learned to love because of you.

“You’re the only idiot I tolerate in this shit hole. You’re fine the way you are.”

“Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

Maybe he isn’t the best with words, but his actions, aka the hoards of hugs and kisses, are what show you he cares.

In the nicest way possible, he is the epitome of “alright babe i’m in the pad isle, what size pussy do u wear?” but he’S LEARNING

»»————-　★　————-««

katsuki bakugou

»»————-　★　————-««

Katsuki Bakugou is probably one of the most sensible guys to help you when you’re on your period.

He’s going to be there for you, bring you snacks if you need them, provide warmth and cuddles when it’s time to sleep or if you have cramps, but he also isn’t going to put up with you if you get grumpy.

He knows that that kind of stuff tends to happen, and he doesn’t want to make it worse by angering you more. He’s struggled with restraint, but when it comes to you, it’s both easy and challenging.

He wants to be there for you, but he knows you might need your space.

When he sees you talking down about yourself or feeling low, this man is going to beat the shit out of you verbally. He’s showing you love and affection by yelling at you. All kind words of course.

“You’re fucking beautiful! And you’re not worthless!”

“Suki, it’s one am-”

“But you’re mumbling about how you aren’t good enough and that’s bullshit.”

“Alright alright, I get it, I’ll stop.” You say softly, closing your eyes while trying to fall back asleep beside your loud boyfriend.

“Yeah you better or I’ll have to kiss you, dumbass.”

“Kissing me is a punishment?”

“You know what I meant!”

He’s flustered

Holds you close when you can’t get comfy.

Kisses you a fuckton oh my god.

Kisses you when you say bad things about yourself, kisses you to show he loves you, kisses you when you’re kinda grumpy, kisses you when you’re not mad, you get the idea.

He just wants to see you smile, and kissing you is one of those ways that makes you flustered and makes you smile that goofy smile that Bakugou fell in love with.

I mentioned this in another headcanon, but this man’s hands are period cramp relievers- place those bad boys over the pain and relax.

They’re warm, and big, and it’s also cozy and securing laying in his arms.

The best way to lay on Bakugou is to get up under his sweater and tuck yourself onto his chest, placing his hands over your sides and dozing off.

He’ll steal a few kisses, and probably take a cheesy selfie to set as his lockscreen later, but he’s not far behind you in the sleeping department.

Genuinely doesn’t see how you don’t see yourself like a goddess. But nonetheless, he will never stop complimenting you and reassuring you.

He loves you so much, and he’ll be damned if you see yourself as anything less than what you are, and that’s truly amazing.

»»————-　★　————-««

kai chisaki

»»————-　★　————-««

This man is smart, arrogant, and driven, but sometimes he can be a bit of an asshole.

Will obviously be at your side if you need anything, after all, you are his top priority.

This could go a few ways. If he’s comfortable with you, and overcoming his mysophobia, he’ll do everything he can and is comfortable with to make sure you’re okay.

If he’s still struggling with germs, he may not be physically affectionate, but he’ll do his best.

I feel like Chisaki probably shows his love through gifts, or at least to an extent he’ll try to show his love with presents.

But when he comes to terms with his feelings, he’s a man of words. He’ll say how he feels before he shows it. And it’s hard because actions do speak louder than words. And sometimes not being able to kiss or hug Chisaki is hard.

But his reassuring really hits different. Because Chisaki isn’t one for affection. He runs a gang, or a section of a larger gang. He didn’t have time for relationships before he met you, and he probably could’ve gone years before he ‘settled down’ if he hadn’t met you.

So hearing Chisaki tell you that he loves you and that you are not disgusting or pathetic, you know it means something.

You’re fully tended to when it comes to things like snacks, drinks, hygiene products, it’s all taken care for and Chisaki wouldn’t have it any other way.

He is here to take care of you unless he’s told otherwise. If it’s space you want, he’ll give it to you, but not before he knows you’re completely okay and that you won’t need anything while you want space.

If he’s comfortable with getting physical, his hugs are sweet. Just being held by him is a blessing. His kisses are even better. It’s always a private thing, he’s not just going to whip his mask off and kiss you in the middle of the hallway, despite how much he’d want too.

Chisaki works and he works hard. So it wouldn’t be rare if he only ever cared for you at night/during the morning. Of course he’ll spend time with you during lunch or if he’s got a break, but he can’t spend every minute of the day with you.

But I think not seeing him constantly is what makes spending time with him that much better.

You’ve got something to look forward too, as does he. He enjoys coming back from a long day, to take a nice shower and climb into bed with his favorite person and hold you until you both fall asleep.

Kisses you on your shoulder, neck and cheek the most. Hugs you from behind and cuddles you by wrapping his arm over your side, having your back pressed to him.

He genuinely hates seeing you talk down about yourself, but he’s not going to constantly remind you that you’re gorgeous and nothing is wrong with you.

It’s hard to love yourself, but he knows deep down that you’re special and you’ll realize it sooner or later.

Overall, Chisaki is a pretty sweet guy, but he’s resilient and reserved. He knows what he wants, and he’ll do anything in his power to make you feel better.

»»————-　★　————-««

masterlist

1K notes · View notes

nursemasten · 4 years ago

Photo

FAYE EVERWOOD MASTEN is a mutant with the ability of REPLICATION. they’ve been in new york for TWENTY-ONE YEARS where they spend most of their time as A NURSE FOR THE XAVIER INSTITUTE. when i think of them, i think of RED LIPSTICK, LEARNING HOW TO DO HER OWN MANICURES, THROWING HER HAIR INTO A MESSY BUN WHILE RUNNING LATE, ALWAYS TRYING TO SAVE THE BEES, MEDICAL GLOVES, TOO SWEET TO EVER BE MEAN.

「 𝙿𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚃 」

「 𝚃𝙰𝚂𝙺 𝙾𝙽𝙴 」

𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙱𝙰𝚂𝙸𝙲𝚂 —

NAME: Faye Everwood Masten ALIAS: Multitask NICKNAMES: Nurse Masten AFFILIATION: Xavier’s Institute BIRTHDAY: March 6th ZODIAC: Pisces AGE: Twenty-one SPECIES: Mutant POWER: Replication CLASSIFICATION: Alpha SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic OCCUPATION: Nurse LANGUAGES KNOWN: English, ASL, Filipino RESIDENCE: Xavier’s Institute

HEIGHT: 5’3” BODY TYPE: Slender, Toned EYE COLOR: Brown HAIR COLOR: Brunette POSITIVE TRAITS: Kind-hearted, gentle, resilient, hard-working, honest, reliable, loyal, patient, intelligent, polite, trustworthy, warm, punctual, adventurous, imaginative, fashionable, ambitious NEGATIVE TRAITS: Oversensitive, curious, anxious, naive, indecisive, spoiled, superstitious, perfectionist, verbose, gullible, passive, tense, timid, profligate BAD HABITS: Duplicating spontaneously when stressed

𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺𝚂𝚃𝙾𝚁𝚈 —

Isolation hasn’t always been the norm. Faye was born into a wealthy family — the only daughter and also the youngest child to a politician and an accountant. Curiosity always let itself be known after she learned to walk. This often meant chasing after one of her older brothers around the house, but usually it would be River since they were closer in age to each other. She would plop down next to him, wanting to be included in whatever it was that he was doing. Maybe this was the beginning of their close relationship. Never saw one without the other, did you?

Her childhood would become filled with stories of princesses being guarded in castles and knights fighting off dragons. Often you could see Faye dragging blankets and pillows to bring those kingdoms to life. Hours are spent playing with the grand creations until dinner time. The mess left behind to be visited again later.

Lessons were taught at home, never attending public school like the other children. Which never impacted her work ethic, always striving to study just as much — some might argue that she spends too much time with her books. Whether it was part of her homework or just leisure, getting lost in a sea of words is a perfect time to spend an evening. Maybe in another life being a writer could have been in the cards but destiny has something else in mind. The fun and whimsical nature that surrounded these younger years don’t last, no matter how much you wish for them to.

THIRTEEN YEARS OLD — Everything changes so suddenly. The oldest Masten child turned out to be human. Faye sometimes refers to him as the ‘golden one’ since it felt like there was a standard in place to try living up to his accomplishments. Meanwhile, River grew a pair of beautiful wings, revealing himself to be a Mutant. The tension could easily be felt within these four wall and the spaces were starting to get smaller with each day. Eyes always looking at Faye, whispering in wonder about if she’ll be normal or not. It hardly seemed fair to judge those who are different. She decided to love everyone and not allow herself to be influenced by anything her father preaches.

The sun begins to set — another day winding down. However, the night would be a long one. There was an important exam tomorrow, and doing well in school has always been important for Faye. She was perhaps too studious. She has an eidetic memory or what people might refer to as photographic memory instead. She was the kid reading every page of her lessons more than once and writing her notes with care. The pressure to keep getting good grades could be felt, not wanting to feel the disappointment in the room if she were to fail. Faye is smart but the worries are always there. Expectations. Expectations. Expectations.

All the stress caused her Mutant abilities to manifest for the first time, not realizing it happened at all until turning around to see a perfect duplicate of herself standing before her. It was like looking into a mirror.

“How about I quiz you on the information that might be on the test?” The voice is her own, offering to help her study. It was the weirdest situation and the confusion settling in started to overwhelm the poor girl. The duplicate was only trying to help, frowning while looking at the original who’s clearly in distress. Neither of them knew what to do so Faye just screamed. She screamed so loud it woke up almost everyone. Her parents came racing down the hallway, swinging the door open with a force that echoed into the room. The notebook is dropped from the copy’s hands.

“What —“ Her father doesn’t finish the thought, staring at his his daughter as if he were mortified. Another one of his children turned out to be a Mutant and he hoped this wouldn’t have happened. “Make it go away.” It was an order, not a question, but Faye started tearing up because she doesn’t know how.

“I can’t, daddy!” She tried to argue softly, shifting her gaze to look at the duplicate standing at her side — appearing to look just as upset.

Life can change in just an instant. Her father pinches the bridge of his nose and moves to leave the bedroom. “Get rid of it by morning and then we’ll talk about this.” Coldness filled the room, already feeling the impact of how their relationship will never be the same. Her mother stays behind, trying to comfort her daughter and the copy before going to try talking some sense into Christopher.

Studying is forgotten, going to sleep instead — hoping that everything would be different in the morning. The clone is still there, reorganizing the closet as a means of remaining busy. Faye isn’t afraid of this newfound ability, no, the fear resides in what will change after she goes downstairs. It’s not a welcomed sight when the duplicate is still there, Faye failing to deliver on what was asked of her. This is the first real moment the disappointment is felt, pulled into her father’s office before making it to the dining room. Breakfast would certainly wait.

“I told you to get rid of it.”

“I don’t know how!”

“You’ll stay indoors until it’s gone. Nobody can find out about this. Do you understand?”

The following days were spent secluded, only the company of her duplicate until finally beginning to dissipate. Faye didn’t know how she created one in the first place but maybe everything would go back to normal again?

It doesn’t.

Faye accompanies her family to a political dinner, never her favorite kind of gatherings, but faking a smile could do wonders. It was only a few hours and then she could go home — this is what she kept reminding herself the whole evening. However, someone brought Mutant affairs up into conversation and Faye had to excuse herself to the bathroom. This feeling can’t be explained, as if her body was telling her that another duplicate would be created right there if she didn’t get out.

The replication occurs when highly stressed spontaneously or at will when she learns to control the ability. However, at such an early point in her life, there wasn’t any experience of mastering the replication process yet. She decided to hide out in here but her absence was noted from her parents and Christopher eventually came looking.

“This can’t keep happening. What if someone saw you?”

Faye is sent to Xavier’s shortly after, wanting to protect his public image. This hurt more than anything but despite everything that happened? She’ll always have River.

She’ll quickly grow tired of hiding but it’s nice not having to worry about it at the institute. She quickly learns to embrace her abilities, and how useful having duplicates of yourself can be. Make a copy, of a copy, of a copy, of a copy. Each one reading a different medical book. What else is a thirteen-year-old going to do when you’re not allowed to venture outside? She re-asborbs them to retain all the information they memorized. It’s how she quickly became a nurse for the institute at such a young age, essentially skipping many grades by having her duplicates share the studying. There’s no one better or more knowledgable, really. The work distracts Faye from all the pain that comes from the torn relationship with her father. She also genuinely enjoys taking care of others so there’s no better role for her at Xavier’s.

#c23intro #faye ✰ introduction #also not mentioned: she cares a lot about saving the bees

3 notes · View notes

andtheyweredeskmates · 5 years ago

Text

In which Chat Noir is an idiot and Marinette is a really “good friend”

Oh my god I didn’t proofread this, its 6 am and I haven’t slept yet don’t judge me

Edit: I made a comic companion piece to this

It honestly started with Chat trying to be nice. He was on his way back home after an akuma attack when he saw Marinette walking and shivering in the cold.

“Cold, little lady?” Marinette gave him a disapproving look.

“NO,” she chattered. Chat chuckled and gestured to his stick.

“Wanna ride?” Marinette raised an eyebrow.

“C’mon, I’m not gonna bite, just hop on my back.” Marinette hesitated, but after a long moment, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hopped on his back .

Chat leapt from building to building, admittedly showing off a little bit. Whe he glanced back he was happy to see Marinette looking longingly at the world as it passed by.

“Liking the view?” Marinette grinned at him.

“I’ve never really gotten the chance to admire everything. I’ve passed these streets a million times but I’ve never taken to time to see how beautiful Paris really is.” Chat gaped at Marinette for a moment before abruptly turning his head back to the path ahead.

“Yeah its really something,” he said softly. He tried to think about all the times he’s hung out with Marinette at school. He’d never seen her as calm and comfortable as she was now. She had always seemed awkward and panicked. Chat had to admit that he liked seeing this side of her. When they finally made it to the balcony of Marinette’s house Chat shot her a wink.

“Hope you enjoyed the ride.” Marinette rolled her eyed.

“Thanks kitty, I’ll see you around.”

“Oh yeah?”

And just like that Marinette was as flustered as she always was.

“Um yeah, ya know, like on TV while you’re out saving the world… and stuff.” Chat laughed.

“Right, well I bid you adieu mademoiselle.” He gave her a little salute before making his way back to his own home. All he could think about was that face she made as they’d leapt around the rooftops of Paris. He hoped he’d see it again.

The next time Adrien saw Marinette as Chat, he was furious. He was tired of being cooped up at home and tired of being treated like a child. So he left. He was wandering Paris aimlessly when he saw her on the balcony. Marinette was gazing at the stars in what looked like her pajamas and it was the very same gaze she’d had when Chat had carried her across Paris. He stopped for a moment to admire her. She looked so content. Chat wanted to feel like that. More than anything. He blushed a little when Marinette noticed him giving him a little wave and a chuckle. Without even thinking he made his way to her balcony and settled atop the railing.

“Are you stalking me now kitty?”

Chat ran a clawed hand threw his hair and over his ears, throwing his head back dramatically.

“I knew you wanted to see me again.” Marinette rolled her eyes.

“Oh yes, my hero,” she said sarcastically. Chat grinned.

“Stargazing?”

Marinette smiled softly.

“I like looking at the stars sometimes. Gives me a little perspective. I feel like sometimes I get too caught up in my own little world.”

AS Chat looked up at the sky, he said, “Yeah I know what you mean.”

“What are you doing out here? Out on patrol?”

Chat scratched his head and looked back down apologetically.

“Not exactly, I guess I needed to get out of my own little world too.”

“Well your welcome to sit out here with me if you want, just try not to ruin the moment with stupid puns.” Chat grinned.

“Your wish is my command princess.”

There was a slight blush that appeared on Marinette’s face when he said that but Chat didn’t notice. He’d already turned his head back to the sky. They sat like that in silence for hours. Marinette slowly transitioned from standing, to sitting, to laying on her stomach until eventually she fell asleep. Chat chuckled a little as he picked her up and brought her back down into her room, placing her gently on her bed. His eyes lingered on her face for a few moments before Chat padded out of the room and made his way back home. And all he thought about the rest of the night was the face Marinette made when she was sleeping.

It became a regular occurrence for Chat to stop by Marinette’s house when he went out to blow off steam. She always found a way to make him feel better. He had to remind himself at school that Adrien didn’t have the same relationship with Marinette that Chat did and it bothered him. He hated that Marinette seemed so uncomfortable around him when she was able to speak so effortlessly with Chat. He tried to confront her about it subtly but he ended up more confused.

“… and that’s when Alya spilled her lemonade all over me and when I got up to clean it all up I ran right into this really popular guy from my class and I looked like an idiot and it was so embarrassing so I...” Marinette was rambling but of course Chat knew exactly what she was talking about. He decided to use this as an opportunity.

“Popular guy, huh?”

Marinette leaned back with a defeated look on her face. She groaned

“Yeah, his name is Adrien. As in Adrien freaking Agreste. The famous model.”

“Wow, you go to school with that guy huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you like him?” Marinette started blushing profusely.

“I mean I like him but I don’t like him -like him, I mean, he’s just a friend- well we’re not really friends but he’s always been nice to me-“

“Mari, calm down, I just meant do you think he’s nice.” Marinette straightened up.

“Oh, yeah I do. I think he’s really thoughtful and sweet.”

Chat had no idea what to do with that information. If Marinette thought he was thoughtful and sweet then why did she always freak out around him? He had no idea how to ask why she was so weird around Adrien without giving up his identity so he just let the confusion slowly drive him insane.

Eventually Chat was visiting Marinette more than he wasn’t .Even Ladybug seemed to notice how quickly he was ready to race back to Marinette’s every night after patrol.

“Got any plans after this Minou?”

“Oh just gonna go see a friend.”

“Oh? Whats she like?”

“Incredible. She’s strong, she’s funny, she’s smart. Way cooler than me.”

“She sounds great Chat.”

“Yeah, she is. She’s kinda like my best friend.”

They talked for hours and they didn’t hold back.Sometimes he would model designs that Marinette wanted to try, sometimes Chat would sit in front of Marinette while she played with his hair and put it in braids, sometimes Chat would try out new puns and Marinette would rate them, sometimes they would talk about Hawkmoth and how they hoped he would be caught soon. Sometimes they would comfort each other.

Chat nearly lost it when he came to Marinette’s balcony and saw her red rimmed eyes.

“Mari, whats wrong?” Marinette started sobbing immediately. Without even thinking, he pulled her in for a hug and let his head settle on the top of her head.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. He was a little frightened. He’d never seen Marinette like that before. Ever.

“I’m sorry,” she said, pulling away and wiping at her eyes.

“It’s just this girl at school. She’s a liar and I can’t stand it so I tried to call her out but no one would believe me. They all told me that I was just jealous and it was my own friends and I-“ Marinette broke down again. Her words were almost incoherent but Chat already knew what she was talking about. His heart broke a little. He knew Lila was a liar. He knew that Lila was being mean to her and he knew that no one at school believed Marinette. Except him. He had let it all slip from his mind because never in a million years had he considered that Marinette would be fazed. She was so strong and so resilient it hadn’t even occurred to him that Marinette could get knocked down. And then Chat felt like an idiot.

Of course Marinette was hurt. Anyone would be hurt if their own friends turned on them. Marinette was a normal girl like anyone else even if she was strong, and she had feelings. That’s when Chat got mad. Not just mad, but pissed. The kind of pissed that makes you shake so hard that your vision turns red. He made up his mind right there. Tomorrow he was gonna put a stop to this. No one deserved to be treated like this, least of all his Mari.

Chat was so caught up in his own thoughts as he held Marinette in his arms he didn’t even notice that from then on, when he thought of Marinette, he always thought of her, as his Mari.

The two of them got increasingly more comfortable with each other. After that night, they stopped just being close emotionally. It wasn’t uncommon for Chat to lay his head in his Mari’s lap or for her to lay her head on Chat’s shoulder. Sometimes when they would look at the stars, Chat would drape his arm around her shoulder.

After that night, Adrien made more of an effort with Marinette at school. He wanted her to know that there was always someone on her side to stand up for her. Not because Marinette couldn’t stand up for herself, but because he didn’t want her to have to.

“You know I find it a little crazy that we talk almost everyday and you haven’t talked about boys once.” Marinette stiffened.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we talk constantly but you’ve never once talked about a crush or a guy you like. I think its weird. You know that I’m in love with Ladybug. How come you won’t tell me who you’re in love with.”

“Maybe I’m not in love with anybody!” Marinette protests. The two of them were together on the balcony again. Marinette was sitting with her legs crossed, leaned back, supporting herself on her arms. Chat had his head in her lap, body strewn out as he played with a flower he’d stolen out of someones yard. They’d already been sitting together for at least an hour but they’d spent most of it in a comfortable silence.

“Everyone has a crush on somebody. You’re 16.” Chat was smirking as he started to pick the petals from his flower one by one.

“Well how old are you? I heard you were over 5,000 years old so I bet you can’t even remember what it’s like to be 16.”

“First of all, my age is classified information. Second, you’re avoiding my question. You can’t lie to me, Mari.”

Marinette was quiet for a moment.

“You can’t make fun of me.” Marinette suddenly looked embarrassed and she looked away.

“I would never! Scouts honor.”

Marinette sighed before placing her head in her hands

“Ammphm.” The sound was muffled and completely unintelligible.

“Mari, I can’t hear you with your face in your hands.” He could, however, hear her groan of frustration.

“It’s Adrien. I have a huge, stupid, giant, crush on Adrien.” Chat sat up so fast his head slammed right into Marinette’s.

“Ow, Chat what the hell?”

“Adrien?” Marinette rubbed her head.

“I said you can’t make fun of me.” Chat straightened a little, trying to appear unfazed.

“No I’m not making fun of you, just surprised I guess.”

“Why are you surprised?” Chat was backing himself into a corner and he was scrounging for ways to get out.

“Um- because- I – I mean- I met him once and he seemed like a jerk.” Chat was mentally hitting himself. He seriously couldn’t come up with a better lie than that?

“That doesn’t sound like him. Maybe you just met him when he was in a bad mood?”

“Well, are you sure that you don’t just find him attractive because he’s famous?”

And just like that, Marinette shoved Chat out of her lap faster than Plagg could gobble Camembert and she gave him the look. The one that she used when Chloe was terrorizing her classmates or when Lila would lie. The look that he’d prayed to God would never be directed at him.

“Of course not you ass. You don’t even know him. He’s kind and thoughtful and all he wants is to make friends. And you know what?! I don’t even care that he’s famous. And quite frankly I can’t believe that you would even think that matters to me.” Marinette stood up and crossed her arms.

“You can show yourself out.” She stomped her way down the ladder and into her room, slamming the door behind her without so much as a second glance.

Chat put his head in his hands. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

Adrien didn’t know what to do. He laid in his bed and stared at the ceiling, thinking about how he had no clue what to do. He replayed Marinette’s words over and over and over in his head.

He’s kind and thoughtful and all he wants is to make friends. And you know what?! I don’t even care that he’s famous.

He hadn’t really thought about the way he felt about his Mari. She was funny and strong and cute and she was his very good friend. Was she just a friend to him?

He was in love with Ladybug. But lately, he’d kind of put his thoughts for her on the back burner. It was almost a knee jerk reaction. Who did he love? Ladybug. It was automatic. And it wasn’t like he just wasn’t in love with her anymore. If anything he felt like their relationship had gotten a little stronger. Their teamwork started to feel more in sync. She started to laugh at his puns instead of looking at him like an annoying little brother. She didn’t scold him for his flirting.

He knew he could never let go of what he felt for Ladybug, but he couldn’t dismiss that he might also have feelings for Marinette. Would he be an asshole for pursuing her while he still had feelings for Ladybug? Adrien was so screwed. He couldn’t keep up with all of his thoughts and he hated that he couldn’t confide in anyone about it. Especially because usually when he wanted to get something off his chest, he would immediately talk to Marinette.

How did it happen? How did he get there? How did it go from being nice, being friendly, to whatever this was? When did he start feeling like this? He felt like an idiot.

Adrien felt like an idiot and all he wanted to do was scream. What the hell was he gonna do?

“Plagg.”

“Yeeees?”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“When in doubt, I just do what I want. It usually works out.”

“Didn’t you tell me you destroyed Atlantis.”

“I said usually works out.”

“You aren’t making me feel any better.”

“Look kid, I don’t know anything about love, but I know that you’re gonna do the right thing. In the end, you always do.” Adrien didn’t respond.

When Chat finally decided he was ready, he made his way to Marinette’s balcony. He was so nervous he was shaking and he was shaking so much that petals were beginning to fall off the flowers he’d gathered into a bouquet. She wasn’t on the balcony when he got there but he bent down to the trap door and knocked gently. Chat felt like time was passing around him in slow motion. What seemed like hours later, Marinette cracked open the trap door.

“Have you come to apologize for being an ass?”

“Yes ma’am.”

The door flew open and Mari climbed up until she was sitting on the edge, legs dangling into her room and arms crossed. Her hair was down and she was in her pajamas and most importantly, she looked beautiful. Even if there was a scowl on her face.

“I’m listening.”

Chat took a deep breath.

“I’m an idiot.” It came out fast and loud like the words were tumbling out of his mouth. Marinette looked unimpressed.

“Uh huh.” Chat scratched his head.

“I was acting like an idiot. I know you aren’t the kind of person who would fall in love with someone just because they’re famous. You’re smart and a good judge of character and you would never feel strongly about someone just because of the way they look on the outside. I know that. You caught me off guard and I didn’t know what to say so I just said something stupid and I’m really sorry.” Marinette held her expression for a mere moment before giving up and giving Chat a soft smile.

“Thank you.”

“Well, there’s more..”Marinette cocked an eyebrow but said nothing.

“I have something I have to tell you and its really important to me.” Chat handed the flowers he’d been holding to Marinette.

“Okay, whats wrong?”

“Look Mari, I trust you more than anyone else in the world. You’re my best friend and you’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met. You’re strong, you’re smart, you’re kind, and- and you’re beautiful.” Chat looked everywhere but at Marinette’s face as he kept talking.

“I’ve thought about it a lot over the past few days and I realized that you’re one of the most important things in my life. And because of the trust I have in you and the way I care about you, I decided that you deserve to know who I am.”

“Wait- Chat-“

“Plagg, Claws In.”

Marinette dropped the flowers.

“Oh my god.”

“Marinette I love you and you deserve to know that.” Marinette put her hand to her forehead.

“Oh my god.”

“Mari, are you okay.”

“Um…. Oh my god.” Adrien fidgeted with his shirt awkwardly.

“Not to ruin the moment, but I’m staving.” Adrien rolled his eyes and pulled a pieve of camembert out of his shirt pocket.

“Plagg, please shut up and sit down. Marinette do you want me to do anything right now? I know this is a lot, I didn’t mean to overwhelm you.”

“I- Chat-Adrien-Oh my god.”Marinette was staring at the trap door like she wanted to slip down into it. Adrien was standing there awkwardly, still fidgeting with his shirt. Finally Mari pushed herself up to stand, put her hands on her hips and looked Adrien dead in the eye.

“Tikki spots on.” Adrien stared and for a moment it didn’t register with him. But then-

“Oh my God.” And then Adrien was laughing. It was a hysterical laugh that laughed when nothing else made sense. When irony is shoved so far down your throat you think swords will come out of your ass.

When Adrien finally stopped laughing, he plopped himself down on the floor of Marinette’s balcony and laid down so that all he could see was the stars.

“You broke him,” Plagg said.

“He broke me first,” Marinette grumbled. She sounded far away.

“I don’t really know what to say,” Adrien admitted.

“ Me neither.” Adrien glanced at Marinette who was transformed right in front of him. She looked as far away as she sounded.

“Can you just lay here with me and hold my hand while I figure it out. And then Marinette looked at him and Adrien felt like an idiot all over again. Because in her face he could see her. She wasn’t Ladybug, she was his Mari. And they weren’t two people he loved they were one person he loved and somehow things were simpler and more complicated all at the same time.

Marinette didn’t respond to him. She just walked over to him and all but fell down in the space next to him and grasped his hand tight in hers.

And after a long while of the two of them rifling through their thoughts, Marinette spoke.

“You’re an idiot.”

#mlb fanfic #my fic #mlb #miraculous ladybug #marichat #love square #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #chat noir #adrienette #marichat fanfic

126 notes · View notes

anyu-blue · 4 years ago

Text

Hey I'm rambling about stuff in my own head again. Trigger warnings apply- specifically those dealing with therapy, dysphoria, self harm, relationships, and stuff like that. :T

I don't really understand it... For quite a while there I was fine. Content even to just let things slide. I think it was because I felt secure where I was (with Lon) and blocked out a lot that doing therapy has brought screaming to the front of my mind... But I could be wrong and I feel confused and conflicted again.

At one point (before Lon) I had settled down when my previous therapist basically gave me permission to call myself androgynous. She told me it was okay- if that's what I felt, then I could use it.... I felt very relieved and much less ruffled. There was still a nag in the back of my head, but it was quiet enough I buried it... For the most part...

Getting with Lon brought quite a few forward and I insisted he understand I am/was not a girl. He also seemed content and sweet and more than accepting... Until he wasn't.. looking back.. Lon said a LOT of weird or off things he either never came through with or downright switched on.. especially near the end. EVERYONE in his family and friend group assumed and pushed the 'girl' thing... And that nag got a little louder..I pushed back (gently) reminding Lon with little things here and there that I wasn't... But still 'she' and overwhelming compliments on my feminity buried me under them. In the end... I know it was driving me crazy (literally) and probably Contributed more to the mess than I understood at the time.

But it also wasn't a push even.. just the assumption.. I believe that because right now my hackles are raised so high every time someone says 'she' to or about me I BRISTLE. I want to yell or (depending on who it is) quietly tell whomever is doing it to stop.. tell them they're wrong... Most aren't doing it maliciously, I know.. it's just what they see. I feel pressured or pushed. It's really weird and extremely uncomfortable. It's confusing too because.. I don't know... I can't see how they don't see me as different than 'girl'... Or heaven forbid 'WOMAN.'

*shudders*

My therapist and I are exploring the feelings around when these things are said to me... And she's proposed doing something about my anger and frustration like squeezing Something or something or just outright accepting it... Basically ANYTHING other than telling people my business... But the problem is, I've told her... I want to BREAK things.. I mean I don't... But I feel the urge to. To hit. To yell. To scream. To cry. To crush. To run. But I don't. In some ways I can't.... Squeezing Something when I'm angry hurts me. My grip is incredibly weak (always has been no matter what I've tried) and everything pops painfully. Or it pinches my skin and hurts... So I've developed a reflex to do the opposite of squeeze or hit things (which certainly hasn't helped the weakness issue lol)... And even if I do try to do those things.... It's never enough. I can't go and go and go like I want to. It just makes me madder. More frustrated. It's never satisfying or as releasing as People tell me it should feel. I just want more. And more and more and more. And in the end I'm usually left a sobbing mess that's completely spent, but still so mad and frustrated... Feeling those feelings even more. Sure I'm tired enough to pass out.. but I wake up.. and everything is still there.. usually coupled with depression because it's STILL THERE... And I couldn't get it out. I don't feel better or lighter or more free.. I feel heavier.. sadder... Worse. I used all that energy and nothing came of it.

And I don't understand!! I really don't. Why I'm never satisfied... Why I've always always been so angry... I was told I was an extremely cruel child.. I remember a little too.. I always wanted to act, but was pushed down.. and even when I did, it never felt good or like it was enough.. I swear I could tear an entire house down by myself with nothing but my own two hands and I STILL would want to do more.

...

And I'm feeling all of these things with gender...

Tevs said to me she thinks I 'want to be a boy because our mother always wanted a boy and [I] always wanted her approval.' ... I can't deny that MAYBE it had an influence on me. MAYBE...

But... I don't WANT that witch's approval anymore. I don't care about her distain either. I don't want her ANYWHERE NEAR my life, it's MINE not hers.. and I'm really pissed off no one can seem to take the damn hint I am 110% DONE with her and anything to do with her. She HAS a son to raise now. And a loving husband who had her adopt him. And good friends and whatever else she has in her life. I am OUT of it. And I want to be out of it forever.

.. it feels demeaning when Tevs says that it's all from that to me.. she's done it more than once, and of course I'm upset by it every time.

... I just want to be me... And every time someone looks at me and tells me I am beautiful.. or pretty.. or a wonderful woman... I just want to cry... To go hide.. I feel so ashamed.

...

Here's the thing.. I AM attractive. I AM beautiful, hot, resilient, kind... Just about everything you'd associate a woman with... I was walking to another area in my workplace just tonight and caught a glimpse of myself as I did so in our big windows... The way I walk. My silhouette. Everything about me... Is envious.

I'm not saying these things because I'm vain.. I'm saying them because if I compare my body and gait and everything to the People alongside me- even the guests I see coming in- I can see it as clearly as everyone else who tells me I'm this pretty thing does... I'm not sickeningly skinny and I'm not fat. I'm not super tall nor short. I'm right in the middle with an ass and legs People tell me they'd kill to have... If I were to wear proper bras, I have a chest they'd love too- not too heavy and not unnoticeably small... But I wear ones that squish my chest so it looks like I have less (and that might be why I have such glaring problems with my ribcage sliding out of place all the time. I'm crushing everything XP).. take a guess as to why I started doing that...

I can't hide my hips... Nor my legs... I've got cute feet too. And hands... So dainty and fine- just enough bone and plump in the right places... It's no wonder I am the envy of my poor (adopted) cousin desperate to be a model and a star.. poor girl. She's beautiful in her own right, but her genes have made it so hard for her to fully dive into her confidence... My dad told me we are rivals and have always been... And my heart breaks for her because I'm not even trying... I want her to succeed!! To be the one in the spotlight!! I want to stay in the background so she can shine... But I always get pulled forward and somehow she's in my shadow (despite being taller than me).. and she can't stand to be near me.. even when I am trying my hardest to let her lead or to say things kindly or in her favor.. I can't seem to win... So I don't really have a relationship with her at all.. Though I really wanted to.

When I don't hide.. when I do 'dress up'... There's so many compliments. If I run into ANYONE from school when I do... *Gags* the compliments, disbelief, and shock... I remember EVERY prom... People not knowing who I was... Or being shocked if they did recognize me straight out. All 4 years... And it made the ostracization worse. My class was AFRAID of me. I was this shy/frumpy (also angry) little thing.. but I still remember being stared at changing after gym whenever there wasn't a stall for me to hide in.. I personally at the time thought it was because I was so ugly/fat they couldn't help themselves... Going through everything in therapy.. I realize it was because I was so skinny under all my baggy clothes.. and really pretty under the acne/hood/ugly glasses. I wasn't bullied just because I was smart/loved to learn... I was a threat and didn't even know it. The envy of my peers. And it's so sad.

I did wish to be like them.. so confident. So able to fake it. To do my makeup and wear cute things and to feel right somehow... But I never did. I tried.. but couldn't stand the clothes.. or the comments about my ass... Or all the things they focused on whenever I came close to succeeding. I couldn't seem to get it right. I just wanted to hide whenever I stood out... It never felt right.

It got to the point I was AFRAID to wear dresses and skirts. Terrified. Everything felt wrong with the world when I did. I felt like I was faking Something. Like I was purposefully being awful... Lying..

I wear some now because I was cheered up by the idea of genderqueer people and some men finding comfort in wearing them and in some ways them becoming more acceptable by all genders... Plus they're reeeally comfy sometimes. And it's nice to just be able to throw on a dress with built in pads during the summer heat wave than to worry about all those damn layers XP ... And I recognize that no one is going to question me or think I'm lying when I wear any... They don't see what I have in my head.

I do recognize that some of this stuff has trauma tied to it... And I'm confused because I don't know where the trauma ends and I (my own genuine thoughts) begin... I was not treated kindly at home- even outright being called ugly in a derogatory manner.. granted I now know those comments mostly came from a pedophile disinterested in me and the pedophile's own manipulation of my mother and her family's opinions (gaslighting and twisting to where I really was the horrible child in all ways) AND I know that I am not neurotypical which caused some other unfortunate treatments in and around my home.

I don't know where to go with it... Or why I'm so viscously against being called a girl or a woman. Why it's setting me off so bad right now. I just know that it is... And for some reason every time I'm alone or not really thinking of it... I don't think of myself as one. Not at all. And when I'm reminded.. I'm often startled by it and confused and need to process the information for a second... Despite 'being' one for all of my life... I've continually had the problem I don't expect what I see in the mirror either.. especially since puberty.

If I could show you what I think/feel most of the time... I think this would be the closest I could get- just make the chest straighter/flatter... It bugged me to no end to add that detail in and still does to this day, but I was going off the model (me lol). I don't feel like Anything... But I want to be something.. and that Something is... Not this. Not this...

But where do I go? What do I do?

I'm terrified of surgeries... I don't want massive scars (not that I mind scars- in fact I LOVE them. They're so cool!! But I don't want people to KNOW you know? Not that. Not Something that is such a private matter... I don't want to believe or go after something for it to be wrong too... And I don't feel I can afford any of it anyway 😞 even if I did want to try or actually found the right one... I would be so depressed to never be able to reach my goal.. and I feel I've held myself back due to that fear too...

I know another reason I haven't tried anything or spoken up or anything is because I have this strange desire to pass on my genetic legacy. It is such a powerful urge I am TERRIFIED of losing the ability... People tell me about adoption all the time as a great option, and it IS a great option for the children... Because I would do ANYTHING for my own... But it's this terrible terrible feeling I wouldn't feel I could claim them as my own and it would leave something still empty inside of me and I wouldn't be as loving because of it and that kills me... It sounds terrible too!!

I would do almost anything to have my own child... When it comes to pain tolerance or body changes I know I would have the hardest time than most if I were to get knocked up.. but I have that thought that it would be worth it because they are MINE.

I've thought about egg donation.. because I feel it would make me feel better to know I succeeded in passing on the line to someone better off and worthy of having children... But I feel I have too many genetic issues or would be an undesirable candidate or I'd feel terrible if the child died and then I didn't succeed...

Lol I think of things oddly... And that makes me think I don't deserve to have children or donate too... Never mind the actual process XP boy... Complicated~

So I've never tried... I am also quite poor and know I would struggle to raise a child. Even just one. And if I were to have twins (as I'm the generation that is supposed to)... I have even more worries... And I don't want a child or children to grow up with the struggles I had or worse than I had like they likely would if I just went for it.

...

I knew I felt more sure when I was with Lon because he apparently wanted/wants kids too... And it was in the plan (Maybe. Maybe not. It's possible he was the one messing with my medication alarms and trying, but also possible he just wanted sex... Because he told me before he left that he thought he was infertile for a long time (and there's some pretty strong evidence to suggest he's got weak swimmers lol but I'm not going to divulge what that stuff is) so it may have been a lie all along... But I didn't know and felt assured and safe with that path at the time)...

*sigh*

Idk what to do... I know I'm messed up about it all.. and I know my knee jerks and feelings... But I don't exactly trust myself or my memory or my reasons... I am only human... And I feel so lost.

I know what I envy... Very much.. and what I would choose if I could... But... Life just doesn't work that way... And science is so stunted it likely won't in my lifetime.

*snort*

I feel the worst thing that my dad ever said to me was when I told him and his wife that I wasn't a girl... I don't remember if I told them I was neither or would prefer to be a guy... But I do remember my dad's response... He told me 'go ahead and you do you, but I want you to know that no matter what, you're always going to be my little girl. I just can't think of you any other way, because you are. You're my little girl.'

And I just... It struck me so badly (obviously, I still think about it)... And made my heart so heavy. I... Understand... To the extent I can... And I don't want to... Lose him because I can't accept that... But.. I feel like it's only pushed me to lose myself... To.. just stay. Take the 'easy' route. To 'accept' it (except we can see how well THAT'S going).

*sigh*

I don't know...

The only thing I do know right now is I have this fantasy about... Going away for a while. More or less disappearing for 5 to 10 years... And coming back... How I want to be/see myself... And seeing what everyone would think...

Tevs thinks I only want it because of trauma. Dad thinks I'm always going to be his daughter. Everyone else is so sure I am a woman...

And maybe they're right... (I mean TECHNICALLY lol I can't exactly argue with that 😂)... And I would be trying to let my 'good looks' and all that 'go to waste'...

...

If I could trade someone... 100%... I would. I'm a pretty/beautiful/attractive looking body... (My face is debatable lol but whatever)... I wonder how come am I not happy about it...

#personal #random #ignore me #life in general #trigger warnings apply

4 notes · View notes

memes-in-a-half-shell · 5 years ago

Note

Okay--I'd LOVE to hear how you came up with those astrological signs for the boys! Tell us, please! ^_^

AND I SHALL !!!

Something I like to do usually when creating characters - or simply trying to come up with a “fleshed out” personality for existing characters, is that I often go read astrological signs’ descriptions. Often those things are very cliché and don’t really make a lot of sense, but it is a good baseline for expanding on character development.

Leo

Capricorn (Dec.22 - Jan.19) (I personally HC that his birthday is in January)

“ Smart, hardworking, and fully in control of their destiny, a Capricorn will always get what they set their mind to, in both personal and professional life—no excuses. Capricorns may get a reputation as stubborn, but they simply know what they want, and also know how they wish other people would behave. Natural rule-followers, Capricorns thrive on order and love strict rules, hierarchies, and set ways to do things. Can a Capricorn think outside the box? Yes, they can, but they prefer when they have strict boundaries to constrain against—free reign can make them feel paralyzed by choice. “ (source)

“ Capricorn’s personality traits are derived from its receptive, feminine, or yin qualities, making this sign oriented toward contemplation and engagement with inner awareness. Alive in both a Capricorn woman or Capricorn man, those born with the Sea-Goat as their rising, sun, or moon sign have a discipline, masterful, and determined energy in the core of their personality; an echo of the resilience and resourcefulness needed to survive the cold season of their birth.As a cardinal sign, Capricorn holds the qualities of being an achiever, a builder, and a climber, able to set and conquer the loftiest goals one step at a time. Those born with the sign of the Sea-Goat prominent in their charts are great at being determined, consistent, and reliable. They often over-deliver on their promises and take their honor and public reputation very seriously. Ruled by Saturn, the primary Capricorn strengths can be found in their perseverance, longevity, and focused self-mastery. Coolheaded and down to earth, they have strong powers of discernment. They are often good Saturnian judges of character and can be approached for pragmatic advice and a fair verdict.Ruled by Saturn, the Sea-Goat does not shy away from commitment, but rather requires it of their friends, business partners, and lovers before they can fully trust. As a result, your Sea-Goat friend may be one of your most loyal allies, unless of course, you cross them in a business deal.Capricorns may not be seeking fame or glamour in the obvious sense, yet are known for their enduring beauty and classic elegance. Those born under the Sea-Goat are old souls who traditionally are understood to age in reverse. They usually begin life with the weight of the world on their shoulders that they gradually learn to let go of over the years. Humor is one of Capricorn’s most underrated strengths, which is an important source of their resiliency.Natives from this sign see the world with a pragmatic and sober eye, so have long ago made their peace with the shadows of mortality and human frailty. It is this shadow and frailty that they seek to laugh with, developing a dark, rueful humor to help them survive and endure. “ (source)

Raph

Cancer (Jun.21 - Jul.22) (Can we HC that his birthday is on July 4th x’D yes? Yes.)

“ Emotional, intuitive, and practically psychic; ruled by the moon and characterized by the crab, Cancer has so much going on in its watery depths. Cancers may seem prickly and standoffish at first meeting, once they make the decision to become friends with someone, that person has a friend for life. Most Cancers have been called psychic at some point, and with good reason—Cancer can often intuit relationships, ideas, and motivations before anyone has actually spoken. That can make for challenging interactions with this sign—Cancer hates small talk, especially when it contains white lies (like saying, "How nice to see you!" when it's clear that both parties would rather avoid each other). That's why social gatherings can be overwhelming for Cancers. They'd much rather spend time in small groups where everyone is on the same page. “ (source)

“Ruled by the moon, Cancer’s archetypal traits are derived from its receptive, feminine, or yin qualities, making this sign oriented toward contemplation, and engagement with inner awareness. Alive in both a Cancer woman or Cancer man, those born with the Crab as their rising, sun, or moon sign have a sensitive, intuitive, and protective awareness in the core of their personality; an echo of the life-supporting and sustaining energies of the Summer season.As a cardinal sign, Cancer takes leadership in the roles of being a nurturer, host, protector, and caretaker. Those born with the sign of the Crab prominent in their charts are focused on forming and maintaining family ties. They are naturally empathic, sentimental, and home-loving by nature. The primary Cancer strengths can be found in their kind, giving, and sympathetic natures. Always ready to host, and set a table, they can be counted on to feed and care for friends, family, and any weary traveler that stays in their home. With strong empathic powers and talents for healing, Cancer natives can sense what others need, often long before they have articulated it themselves.The famous sideways walk of the Crab can be observed in the cautious way a Cancer native enters a space or social gathering. They tend to come in quietly, carefully surveying their surroundings, before they open and reveal their whole selves. This protective instinct makes Cancerians good at reading the emotional tone in a room, helping them anticipate danger or crisis early. “ (source)

Donnie

Libra (Sep.23 - Oct.22) (I HC his birthday in October)

“ Intelligent, kind, and always willing to put others before themselves, Libras value harmony in all forms. Ruled by Venus, the planet of beauty, Libra adores a life that looks good. As the master of compromise and diplomacy, Libra is adept at seeing all points of view, and excels at crafting compromises and effecting mediation between others. This sign has a rich inner life yet loves other people, and they're always happiest with a large group of friends, family, and coworkers on whom they can count. An air sign, Libra can often be "up in the clouds," and while he or she is amazing at making big plans, follow through can be tricky. Working with detail-oriented signs, like Virgos or Capricorns, can help Libras actually manifest their dreams into reality, especially in the workspace. But don't call out Librans for daydreaming—their imagination is one of their biggest assets, and they often put their imagination to work by finding careers in the arts or in literature. “ (source)

“ Libra’s archetypal traits are derived from its active, masculine, or yang qualities, making this sign oriented toward engagement with the outer world. Alive in both a Libra woman or Libra man, those born with the planet of love as their rising, sun, or moon sign have an equanimous energy in their core personality. As a cardinal air sign, Libra holds the qualities of social initiation and leadership. This makes those with Libra prominent in their charts great at pioneering social projects and gatherings, and naturals at unifying their team, family, or community.Natives from this sign can be thought of as “the diplomats” of the zodiac, acting as active mediators and negotiators in any crisis or challenge. Being ruled by the planet of pleasure and attraction, Libra is usually quick to forgive and eager to smooth out differences so that everyone can get back to enjoying the finer aspects of life. Libra’s great strengths can be found in their ability to embody Venus’ loving, healing, and balancing traits. These folks will likely have the ability to put others first for the sake of everyone’s comfort and well-being. They are great communicators and listeners, fairly weighing all sides of an argument and another’s point of view. Libras are likely to not hold grudges, as it can take a lot to rouse and sustain their anger. Being very Venusian, they typically assume the best intentions in others and give most people many chances to redeem themselves.In addition to these folks’ great relational strengths, there are also their keen aesthetic sensibilities to consider. Not only will this make sun sign Librans very creative, it will make them attuned to the subtleties of atmosphere and harmonious environments. They are naturally curious about how the aesthetics of our adornments and surroundings can set the tone for our well-being and social interactions. Keeping the peace and maintaining poise, grace, and charm are strengths that can be relied on from these natives. “ (source)

Mikey

Pisces (Feb.19 - Mar.20) (I HC his birthday in March)

“ Smart, creative, and deeply intuitive, Pisces can be close to psychic. Pisces feel things deeply, and have incredibly strong gut reactions. A Pisces "knows" things from deep within, and can often judge whether a person or situation is good or bad. That doesn't mean a Pisces ignores the logical part of their brain, though. Deeply intelligent, Pisces have a profound respect for the power of the human mind. Is it a surprise that Albert Einstein was a Pisces? Pisces may seem quiet but they are incredibly strong and have a very strong sense of right and wrong. Their moral compass, along with their gut, guides them well. When a Pisces speaks up, people listen. Pisces tend to take in everything around them, and they are great people to ask for advice on pretty much anything. While Pisces has strong convictions about the best way for them to live, they have a "live and let live" approach when it comes to others, and are accepting and nonjudgmental of all. “ (source)

“ As a mutable sign, Pisces holds adaptive, fluid, and shape-shifting qualities. Those with the sign of the Two Fishes prominent in their charts are sensitive seekers who have the potential to bring a soulful, healing energy to their relationships and communities. The primary Pisces’ strengths can be found in their tender, sympathetic, and receptive natures. Naturally compassionate and empathic, Pisces are wired to offer spiritual and artistic gifts to the world. These are the poets, musicians, painters, and intuitive counselors in our communities.With Jupiter’s influence on the faith, belief, and sense of higher purpose, Pisceans can be counted on to offer help and healing support to anyone who is in need. These natives tend to drift through life on their schedule and follow an inner sense that life is unfolding as it should.Idealistic and imaginative, those born under the Two Fishes’ sign have an otherworldly quality to them and seem to retain a sense of innocence and wonder their whole lives. These natives often believe in the good of others and will likely give the benefit of the doubt. “ (source)

#it's-a-moi #mythigal1966 #ask

16 notes · View notes

hms-chill · 5 years ago

Text

The Long Way

A nice fun Liam/Spencer fic, because these boys deserve the world.

Summary: (Alternately titled “SOMEONE GIVE LIAM A HUG” or “Stronk Farm Boyfriends”)Liam’s just finishing up vet school, and he’s a month shy of achieving the thing he’s been working for since he was a kid. When he gets called out to a farm to witness a calf birth and notices something wrong, under-researched, and curable, it’s the perfect thing to treat and document so he can write a paper that will jump-start his career. Of course, the fact that the calf is owned by a cute dairy farmer doesn’t hurt, either.

Chapter one // Chapter two // Chapter 3 // On AO3

Chapter 4

Liam spends next day at his own apartment for once, and it’s entirely dedicated to a study session. It's nice enough that he can open a window to alleviate some of the weed smell from his neighbors, and he's at the table he's using as a desk, surrounded by class notes and second-hand NAVLE practice books while he boils water for ramen. The test is a week away, so he’s spent the day holed up with his work, trying to force his brain to pay attention to studying with only half an Adderall, two cups of cheap coffee, and last night’s ramen as fuel.

It's not going particularly well.

He can’t do this. For some reason, the thing that his brain has decided to latch onto is that simple, solid fact that he can’t do it. He’s going to have wasted the past for years of his life, amassing loads of debt and loads of stress, all for nothing. Because he’s going to fail. He's going to fail this exam, and there’s no way he’ll be able to retake it, and he’s going to have lost everything and made a mess of his life. It’ll all have been a waste, because he can’t pass this exam, and—

His phone buzzes with a text, and as much as he would have cursed the distraction at another time, he finds a moment to bless the fact that his brain refuses to have any sort of attention span on its own.

It's Spencer. How's studying? Need a cookie break?

His cheeks are wet, and he realizes he's crying. He's not sure when that happened. His phone buzzes again.

Made chocolate chip with my mom's recipe. I could bring them and just drop them off, or quiz you? Or leave you alone if you'd rather

Last text but my parents dropped off some early veggies from their garden and I can’t eat them all do you want some? Beans, peas…

Okay actual last text so I stop bothering you but you’re smart and you’re going to do great

Liam swallows hard, then picks up the phone and calls Spencer. He tells himself it’s just because it’ll be faster than typing out a response, and he’ll be more likely to stay focused on it, but really, he just wants to hear another human. Spencer picks up on the second ring.

“Hey, how’s studying going?”

Liam’s brain empties completely at the sound of Spencer’s voice. He manages a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh, and Spencer’s tone changes from his peppy greeting to something more comforting.

“I’ve got cookies and zucchini bread and more peas than I could eat in a lifetime. Where can I meet you? Your apartment?”

Liam looks around the apartment, already shaking his head. He can’t let Spencer see this. Spencer, with his perfect farmhouse and his perfect, beautiful ranch, can’t see the stacked boxes stuffed with clothes serving as a dresser or the mattress on the floor. He can’t see the empty kitchen drawers or the old t-shirt Liam uses as a dish towel, or the ramen on the stove, and he definitely can’t see the way everything in the apartment is still half-packed despite Liam having lived there for almost a year. He can't see the constant state of waiting to leave that Liam lives in.

“No. No, not… not here.”

“Okay. Hey, it’s okay. What about a… a park or something? It’s nice out, and getting outside in the fresh air and sun would probably be good for you. Is there a park by you where we could meet?”

“Yeah. You… do you know Quail Creek Park? By the YMCA?”

“I can look it up and meet you there. Do you want to keep talking for a bit?”

“Please?” He hates how pathetic he sounds, but Spencer doesn’t seem to care.

“Okay. We’ll keep talking while you get ready to come meet me. Annie says hi. She was out playing with some of the other calves today, I mean really playing with them; I took a video I’ll have to show you. You’ll be so proud of her. And my mamma says hi, too, and thanks you for taking care of morning chores…” he talks, and Liam puts him on speaker, then just closes his eyes and makes himself breathe for a bit before he has to get to turning off the stove and packing up his books. Somehow, with Spencer’s voice as his soundtrack, he feels like he can really breathe for the first time all day. Being out there every night while Spencer was sick spoiled him, is all; he misses the outdoors and the company. When he feels like he has some semblance of control over his emotional state, he moves to get ready, turning off the stove and filling his bag with books, then staring at the meds on the corner of the table he uses as a desk. There are three pills left, and he gets paid on Friday. He puts it in his bag, though he promises himself he won’t take one unless he really, really needs it.

Eventually, he can actually pick up the phone again and start listening to Spencer talk about his day. When he hits a bit of a break, Liam jumps in with, “I’m… I’m going to be honest, I haven’t really been listening to anything you said, but thank you. I… it was good to hear another voice; I’m on my way to the park now.”

“That’s alright; I’m glad I could help. I’ll meet you at the park. Want me to stay on?”

“No; I’m okay. Thank you. Really, thank you. This means a lot.”

“Of course. I’ll meet you at the park soon.” He lets Liam be the one to hang up, and Liam tries not to feel anything about that as he takes his bag and keys to the car. It’s a quick drive to the park, and when he gets there, Spencer’s truck is in the parking lot. He wonders how long Spencer’s been there and realizes he has no idea how long it took him to calm down, but he doesn’t have time to ask or dwell on that. As soon as he’s out of the car, Spencer’s there to give him a hug and lead him toward a picnic table, and Liam just follows him automatically.

“Alright. I brought dinner, since I’m not sure you’ve eaten, and then I’ve got a whole care package my parents put together to thank you, plus some stuff from me, also as a thank you for last week. What you did for us… it was huge. It… hey, no, it’s not a big deal. I mean, your help was, but these care packages aren’t anything big. It’s fine.”

“Sorry,” Liam mumbles, trying to get rid of the tears prickling at his eyes before Spencer can make a whole thing of it. “Sorry, it’s just been a day. A whole, long, frustrating day.”

“Want to tell me? You let me ramble about my day; I could return the favor.”

“It’s fine. I’ll be fine. I just… I was supposed to get a prescription filled, but shit happened, so I’ve been on a half dose to make it last and it’s a bitch.”

“What happened? Was it something with the pharmacy, or your doctor…”

“No, it’s… it’s there, I just… it’s expensive.” Liam’s whole face is red, and he can feel Spencer looking at him, but he can’t tear his eyes off the table in front of him.

“Let me get it. Or at least help? You stocked my whole medicine cabinet last week, let me--”

“No, I can’t ask you to do that. You brought me all this food, I--”

“You’re not asking me to do it. I’m asking. I want to help you out. You’ve been feeding me and doing my chores and filling my fridge basically all week, not to mention everything you did for Annie and wouldn’t let me pay you for. Let me do this. Please. It’s what Bell would want.” At the mention of Bell, Liam feels his shoulders slump as any resilience or fight drains out of him in a breath. Spencer’s right. Bell wouldn’t want him to deal with this, wouldn’t want him as worn out as he is. She’d make him take his meds, and she’d want him to be able to accept help.

“It’s… it’s not even that much; I just… I’m in a tight spot with NAVLE fees and stuff. I’ll pay you back, I swear,” Liam says. He manages to look up, and Spencer’s smiling, not with the smile of someone who just won an argument, but with the smile of someone who wants to help.

“Is the pharmacy you go to nearby?”

“Yeah, it’s… we should be able to walk there. The H-E-B a few blocks away has one I go to.”

“Okay. Let’s get this stuff back in the cars, then we’ll go pick it up and come back for a picnic and either a study session or a break, whichever you need.”

“Thank you.” Liam’s still pretty sure his face is bright red, but Spencer hasn’t said anything about it.

“Of course. Come on; let’s get you your meds. Plus, you want to see that video of Annie with the other calves? We can watch it while we wait for them to get things together. It’s not that long, but you know. It’s something to do, and to look forward to.”

“Thank you.” He’s not sure what else to say as Spencer moves two surprisingly full care packages into his little, beat-up car. His brain focuses on them for just long enough to remind him that these might be the first care packages he’s ever gotten before it slips back into its half-focused self-pity as Liam leads the way to the pharmacy. Spencer follows him, and they’re quiet for a block.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Spencer says at the light. “Medicine’s expensive, and you’ve been busy helping me, not to mention all the work you’ve been doing with Annie and for the NAVLE. And I... I wish you hadn’t had to go a day without them, but I��m glad I get a chance to help you back.”

Liam can’t find any words in his muddled brain, but he can tell his face is red. He hates everything about this. He hates that he needs help, and that he can’t even pay for his own meds, but he can’t study for a job that will pay for meds until he gets them. He hates that his brain needs help to do something as simple as paying attention, and he hates that he’s going to fail the NAVLE and have wasted everything, and he’s never going to be able to help or pay Spencer back. They don’t even know each other, not really; he’d just showed up at Spencer’s house for a cow birth and now Spencer has to help him. And he hates it. He hates being broke, and he hates needing help, and he hates that he’s going to be broke and helpless forever.

“Liam? What… what is it? Do you want to talk about it?” Spencer’s voice is so gentle it shocks him. The next thing he processes is the wetness on his cheeks, and that he’s crying. Of course the one thing his brain would decide is worth focusing on today is something that will make him cry on the sidewalk.

“I’m going to fail,” he mumbles, and Spencer wraps him in a hug. Liam can feel Spencer shaking his head, and he tries to fight it, but he’s crying in the middle of the sidewalk, being held by a man he barely knows. “I’m going to fail, and I’ll never be able to retake it; I’ll never be good enough to get what I want. I’m… I’m going to be a broke, helpless failure forever, and if this embarrassment doesn’t kill me, student loan debt will.”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. You’re not going to fail, but even if you do, that doesn’t make you a failure,” Spencer tells him, rubbing his back. “You are so much more than however this test turns out.”

“I… I am going to. To fail, I mean. More than 20% of people who took it last year failed; that’s one in five, and you know they all had the right prep books and could pay for things like practice tests and multiple takes. I don’t have any of that. I’m… I’m going to fail.”

“Well, if over twenty percent failed, then that means eighty percent of people got it. Don’t check my math on that; I’m a can’t-do-math gay.” That gets a bit of a chuckle out of Liam, and Spencer goes back to the voice he uses to soothe the cows when it rains too hard. “You’re going to do well. You’ve done great on all the practice tests we’ve done, and you’ve worked so hard. And if you don’t pass it, you’ll come work on the farm with me. We’ll get you an unofficial vet job until you can retake it or figure something out.”

“I… I can’t afford to retake it, but maybe… when I fail, I’d… I’d like that. I’m sorry. I’ll be better once I’m not in withdrawal, but knowing why I’m feeling all… ugh doesn’t help me feel less ugh.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. There’s no shame in feeling ugh; I felt ugh all last week.”

“Yeah, but that’s not your fault. If I had my shit more together--”

“This isn’t your fault, either. You’ve been taking care of me, now let me take care of you. It shouldn’t have to be reciprocal, but if you want to think of it that way for now, we will.” Spencer’s got them walking again, his arm around Liam’s shoulders. It’s nice. “You’re not supposed to have to do everything on your own, you know. I don’t know how you’ve made it this far without family nearby; I’d be lost without my parents and our neighbors. They’re… I guess Cat and Addy aren’t technically family, but they basically are. They taught me how to ride a horse and do barrels, and Cat used to get me into every mutton bustin’ event she could.”

“Did you have a little cowboy hat and everything?” Liam asks, half because he wants to know and half because he definitely does not want to talk about parents.

“Of course. I think we might still have it at the house; Addy got it for me before my first barrel riding event. Mom wants me to pass it down to another kid. She was thinking mine, but then I came out, and she told me I’d just have to find a kid to love like Addy and Cat loved me.”

“That’s… that’s really sweet of her. And them, too, but… that’s really, really cool of your mom.”

Spencer nods, smiling as he holds open the door to the H-E-B. As they step inside, Liam’s good mood evaporates. He swallows hard, then says, “you still don’t have to do this. I’ll be fine.”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to. It’s what Annie and Bell would want for you, and... and it's what I want, too. I want you to be okay.”

Liam doesn’t say anything, just goes to the pharmacy and gives them his name and prescription. Spencer pulls up the video of Annie playing, and Liam tries to watch it, he does, but his brain can’t focus and his mind is decidedly somewhere else. He’s not sure where it is, but whatever bog it’s found to wallow in, it’s not leaving any time soon.

The pharmacy calls his name, and he goes up with coupons on his phone screen, trying to figure out how he can afford it without Spencer’s help. The total comes to $24.89. He has exactly $26.27 in his bank account, but his car is almost out of gas, and he needs it to get to work, and he won’t be paid until Friday. He wants to scream. Instead, he just tells the woman they’ll pay at the check out, thanks her, and turns to see Spencer standing behind him, far enough away that he’s not eavesdropping.

“Anything else you need? I promise I’ll pay you back for these, I swear. I get paid on Friday. Or I… I’ll put gas in my car and then--”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. You did my chores all week; call it payment for that.” Spencer glances at the price, then adds, “that’s still criminally underpaying you for the work you’ve done for me this week. I’ve got a few things I could grab; is there anything you need? Anything Bell would want you to have?”

“I… I guess maybe fruit? Maybe some apples, because she likes them. We always used to share them growing up.”

“Alright, we’ll get a bag of apples. Anything else you need? There’s some milk and butter in a cooler I’m supposed to send you home with from the farm, so you don't need those.”

“That’s it; just the apples. Thank you.”

“Of course. You wouldn’t be in a tight spot if you hadn’t helped me. Plus, I mean, vet school and your residency and this test and everything is intense. I see how hard you’re working, and you still gave up what time you had to look after me and the farm… it means a lot. Really; I appreciate it. I appreciate you.”

“You’re going to make me cry again, jerk,” Liam mumbles. Spencer squeezes his arm a bit, offering him a little smile.

“I’m serious. You’re the most hardworking, dedicated guy I know. But you… you’re tired. You need a break. So, what we’re going to do, is we’re going to get you some apples and some nice coffee because I know the coffee you buy yourself tastes like dirt, and then we’re going to go back to the cars, and you’re going to have a good cry. No, you don’t get to argue. We’ll at least go sit in a car, so it’ll be sort of private, and you’re going to talk about everything you need to get off your chest.”

Liam hesitates for a second, giving him a chance to back out, but Spencer is clearly not willing to debate this, so Liam just nods.

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Of course.” Spencer’s smiling, and Liam offers him something close to a smile as they go back to shopping, and they’re walking back to the park with grocery bags in hand before Liam knows it. Spencer talks off and on, and Liam tries his best, but his brain is somehow on everything and nothing. It’s all he can do to put one foot in front of the other as his brain focuses on birds and trees and a cool mushroom while his mind and soul and all his messy gut emotions tumble down a widening gyre of shame and exhaustion and failure. He doesn’t even notice when they reach the park; Spencer has to pull him toward the truck. Once they’re safely inside, Spencer grabs a water bottle from the back and asks, “Can… is it safe for you to take a full dose of your meds now? I know timing matters on stuff like this, but if you can feel better sooner…”

It takes Liam a minute to process, but he looks at the clock on the dash and nods. “I… I have the old bottle; I should finish that.”

“Okay. Where’s the old bottle? Is it in your bag?” Liam nods, turning to dig through his bag and find the little orange bottle. The three little pills left rattle around, and the part of his brain that’s been focused on rationing screams at him to wait, tells him that he can go a bit longer without meds. He ignores it, taking a pill and washing it down with the water bottle Spencer hands him. Then, gently, Spencer says, “do you want to talk about what’s going on?”

“I… I just…” he’s going to find some nice way to say it, some polished and emotionless and clean wording, but Spencer looks so earnest, so genuinely concerned in a way no one has been for ages, that Liam can’t help himself. “It’s all so fucking much, and I’m going to fail, and it’ll all have been a waste. All of this, this… the studying, and the school, and the money, and the years of my life, it’ll all have been a waste because I’m too stupid to pass a fucking test. And when I fail I’ll lose my job, and I can’t afford to retake the test because I’m not a fucking… trust fund kid or anything like that, and the stupid test costs $700, and then all my friends who took it last fall and passed will be fine and successful and doing great things and I’ll be all alone again, and I’ll never get to help people or live with Bell or do any of the things I want to do, and it’ll all be my fault for failing.” He started crying at some point, big, hot, angry sobs, and he should probably be embarrassed about them, but he’s not. “I just wanted to help people and their animals. That’s all I ever wanted, ever since I was a kid, and now I can’t. Because my stupid brain doesn’t work, and… and I can’t afford to make it work, and I can’t even look after myself when I’m alone, so how in the fuck am I supposed to help Bell or other people or animals or… or help anyone when I can’t stop being a disaster. I can’t… I just…” He doesn't have the words for the past eight years, the overwhelming pile of exhaustion and disaster that has been slowly draining him. He’s exhausted, and he’s scared, and he’s never felt like more of a disappointment. He just sort of gestures helplessly at himself, hoping Spencer can understand something from his breakdown.

Between sobs, he hears Spencer ask, “can I hug you? Is that okay?”

He nods, and Spencer does hug him, somehow navigating the awkward space enough to wrap his arms around Liam and hold him together as he finally stops trying to explain things and just lets himself fall apart. Liam clings to him, his hands filling themselves with Spencer’s shirt as his face finds its way to Spencer’s shoulder. Just for now, for this one moment in a life of people moving on, he needs someone to stay.

“I’ve got you,” Spencer promises softly, rubbing his back. “I’ve got you.”

Liam’s not sure how long it’s been when he breaks through Spencer’s reassuring murmurs to admit, “I’m… I’m scared.” He’d stopped crying a while ago, but he can’t bring himself to let go of Spencer.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re going to do great, but if you don’t, we’ll figure it out together.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t… we barely know each other; I don’t… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You cleaned up my vomit last week; we’re closer than you think.” Liam laughs a bit, finally pulling away. Spencer gives him a last squeeze and lets go, and when Liam leans back, he sees that Spencer’s braced against the bitch seat between them, his whole body contorted in a way that can’t possibly be comfortable so that he was at the right angle for a hug. He looks ridiculous, and Liam can’t help but laugh a bit as he digs around for something in the back seat, not moving away. The laugh comes out wrong, too wet and close to a sob, but it’s something, and that something is enough to put a bit of a smile on Spencer’s face when he looks up a second later with a water bottle in his hand.

The smile fades into something else a moment later, Liam’s not sure how to read that look, especially combined with Spencer’s awkward position. It’s softer than what Liam would have expected, somehow. He’d expected some sort of joke, something to brush off what’s just happened or to help them ignore it, because every time he’s shown even a fraction of his fear to anyone else, that’s how it’s met. They’ll be awkward about it, and make a joke, and then they’ll move on. But when Spencer looks at him, that’s not what he gets. Instead, it’s concern. There’s a touch of confusion, but there's such an earnest concern behind it that Liam isn’t sure what to think.

“What is it?” Spencer asks, and it takes Liam a minute to realize he’s talking about the laugh.

“It’s… nothing. Thank you.”

“Of course. Here; you should drink something so you don’t get a headache. And… if you want, when you’re ready, we could go have a picnic? And we can study if you want, but we don’t have to. Only if you think it would make you feel better.”

“Maybe after we eat? If… how long can you stay?”

“Feeding and milking are done for the night, so I’m here as long as you need me.”

“Okay. If… you’re sure?”

“I’m sure. Whatever you need.”

“Thank you for this,” Liam tells his lap. He can’t bring himself to look Spencer in the eye again, not with everything that’s just happened. “You didn’t have to do any of it; I… I’m just a vet who showed up a few times. But thank you. It… it means more than you know.”

“Liam? Can you look at me a minute?” He looks up, and Spencer makes sure to look him in the eye when he says, “You’re important to me. I just want you to know that. You’re a good friend, and I’m glad I could help you. I’m glad you’re in my life.”

Liam’s not sure how to react to that. Somewhere, his brain processes that Spencer has nice eyes. That feels more real than anything that’s happened today, so he forces himself to latch onto it. They're dark eyes, the color of the earth on the farm where Liam grew up, that good black dirt that nourishes crops and feeds the world. They're so soft, framed by long lashes, and in the shadows of the twilight that surrounds the truck, they're transformed into inky pools, filled with a warmth and concern that Liam could sink into. When meeting Spencer’s eyes gets to be too much, he focuses instead on Spencer’s hand. He thinks about how the muscles and bones and tendons all work together to hold out the water bottle so Liam will drink some more. Mentally, he categorizes the way Spencer’s hand works, the machinery under the skin that makes it move and brings it to life. He catalogues the scar on Spencer's thumb and the callouses on his palm, memorizes the way his nails are cut and the tan lines on the backs from the gloves he wears to do work outside. Really, the human hand is a miracle. When he takes the water bottle and his hand brushes the miracle of Spencer’s, he nearly forgets how to breathe.

By the time he’s done drinking, Spencer is digging around in the back seat, and the spell is broken. Still, some part of Liam’s brain notes that he has a nice ass. Spencer emerges a second later with the picnic basket, holds it up with a smile, and says, “shall we?”

On AO3

Take your meds, kids. And don't be afraid to ask for help; it's important.

Want to support the Hannah Makes Art fund? You can tip me in ko-fi here!

#the long way #liam rwrb #Spencer (rwrb)#lmao my midwest really pops out in that last 'shall we?' huh #liam/spencer #rwrb fic #rwrb slow burn #rwrb slowburn

8 notes · View notes

orangeflavoryawp · 5 years ago

Text

Jonsa - “From Instep to Heel”, Part 1

Well, I did it. Started another longfic, because I’m a whore for Jonsa.

This is an Arranged Marriage/Rhaegar Lives AU, and I recommend going over to Ao3 to read it here, so you have a chance to read the notes on the setup, if that’s your thing. If not, jump on in!

“From Instep to Heel”

Chapter One: Dragon Pit

“‘I’m a Targaryen,’ he says finally, the words smarting along his tongue, even now. A need and an uncertainty all at once. 'And she – ’ He stops, swallows. 'She is nothing,’ he finishes tightly, the untruth a tremulous exhale as it leaves him.” - Jon and Sansa. Like the curve of the horizon, when the moon breaks from beneath its bow.

Read it on Ao3 here.

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 fin

* * *

Sansa Stark is brought to the capital by her father and brothers, a train of Stark banners flying behind them, and it’s the first glimpse of the North Jon has ever truly seen. The white banners flutter in the breeze, tattered slightly at the ends, as though they are accustomed to stronger gales than the summer winds they get down South. A brilliant grey direwolf emblazons each of them, and Jon’s eyes follow the print as the entourage makes its way steadily toward the steps of the Red Keep.

“I expected a carriage or some other such extravagance to be carrying your betrothed,” Rhaenys whispers at his ear.

Jon adopts a smirk at the comment, without turning to her. His eyes follow the horses at the head of the procession. No, the Northmen have always been practical. He imagines the waving of their House banners are all the pride and spectacle the Starks can stomach to display here anyway, and they are smart not to step beyond that when traveling to King’s Landing to present their eldest daughter to the king’s son.

Jon grinds his teeth at the reminder. He’d not had a say in the matter, though he doubts he would have even if the lady were not of Northern descent. A prince’s choice of lady is never his own. He remembers the way Aegon had stoically accepted Daenerys’ hand when Rhaegar set the match forward, hoping for a resilient line of true Targaryens to reign after him, though now the lack of any child between them yet has Rhaegar anxious and looking North.

“A beautiful, fertile lady of good standing and impressive lineage,” his father had enthused when first presenting the command to Jon. “A way to ensure a strong, continuing line.” His violet eyes had glazed over in remembrance, a look that made bile rise in Jon’s throat. Had Rhaegar seen his mother in this way? As a means to an end?

No, there was affection there as well, Jon knows. It’s in the way Rhaegar had brushed the dark hair tenderly from his forehead as a child, and in the way he’d clapped enthusiastically, though obviously inappropriately, the first time Jon beat Aegon in a spar, and in the way he’s now dressed Jon in the finest Targaryen silks of red and black this day, standing him only a step below his elder brother Aegon.

‘The favored child’ some of the court call him, but Jon knows better. No bastard, even a legitimized one, will ever be favored over the heir. He has his father’s affections, it’s true, but how much of that is simply a lingering attachment to the Northern bride he couldn’t keep? Jon wonders this as he catches his father’s gaze over the procession as it halts at the end of the steps. The gleam in his eye as he takes in Lady Sansa atop her horse does not tell of fatherly admiration. Jon swallows back the disgust.

It’s as he’d suspected – just a whimsical, reckless recreation of the past. Rhaegar likens Jon and Sansa to he and Lyanna come again.

Jon resents the lady before him now even more for it.

“Be nice, you two,” Aegon mutters just a step above Jon, glancing down to his siblings out of the corner of his eye. “Do not shame our father.” Daenerys’ arm rests linked through Aegon’s as she turns a similar admonishing eye their way.

Jon lifts his chin, bristling in his silk tunic. “You know I’ve no intention to disgrace our house,” he says lowly.

Aegon inclines his head just a touch, acknowledging the comment, but Jon is secretly grateful for the reminder, for Rhaenys’ sake, flighty and impish and headstrong as she is. It’s why he frowns at the way she tucks her hand beneath his elbow, standing too close for propriety. “Rhaenys,” he warns, stepping almost imperceptibly away from her.

She huffs at his side, sliding her touch from his arm and clasping her hands behind her back as she rocks on her heels. “Fine.” She throws an exasperated look Aegon’s way, softening only slightly when he chuckles at her and shakes his head in resignation. She beams up at their brother then, dark eyes crinkling, and Jon resists the urge to catch a tendril of her black hair between his fingers.

Ned Stark dismounts his horse with a stilted grace born of battle-honed muscles. Beside him, a young man with auburn hair does the same, though his movements are smooth and practiced, eyes glinting a sharp Tully blue as he takes in the court at the top of the stairs. Another dark copper-haired man, though still hanging onto the edges of boyhood, if his slightly fuller cheeks and gangly limbs are anything to go by, dismounts similarly beside him. Sansa’s horse is obscured slightly just behind them, and Jon is not eager enough in his interest to bother craning his neck for a better look. A flash of red catches his eye, her half-braided hair slipping over a shoulder, silver sleeves over delicate hands, still caught in the reins, bespeaking a strength and command at odds with the fragility of her thin wrists and fine-boned fingers when she sets the reins aside to reach for the young auburn-haired man with his arms out to help her off the saddle. She slides down into him easily, hands at his shoulders, his at her waist, a duck of her head in thanks, and then he’s taking her hand and escorting her around the horses, a man of the house pulling the steeds aside by their bridles.

Jon sees her face for the first time. There’s sweat glinting off her forehead, a few, faint tendrils of red clinging to the skin. Her eyes are on the steps beneath her as the Starks begin their climb but every so often they flicker up, never landing on him, and even from here he can see the frost blue of her eyes, similar to her brother’s own Tully coloring beside her, and yet, strikingly different. Almost grey in the light. The color of dusk – when the sky matches the sea across the port, light a meager, retreating thing beneath the coming cover of darkness. Her frame is lithe and tall, hips flaring only subtly beneath the heavy Northern wool of her dress, a delicate hand holding her skirts up as she continues the climb, a smoothness and elegance to her step, her other hand held fast in her brother’s.

Jon almost laughs. No, this is not the brash, brave Northern wind of a girl his father had thought to bring back to life. And when she finally makes her way to the top, hands smoothing over her skirts, he catches the way her pink mouth trembles on the cusp of a frown, stretching instead into a practiced smile, all poise and graciousness, shoulders pulled taut and back straight.

She is devastatingly lovely, of course. No man could say otherwise. And he rather thinks her brothers know it, too, given the near antagonistic looks he catches them throwing his way.

Ned Stark gives a reserved bow, hand at his chest. “Your Grace,” he greets in his deep Northern brogue.

The sound is strange to Jon but enticing in a way he can’t quite identify. Had his mother spoken like that?

Rhaegar climbs down the steps to Lord Stark, hands going to clap him on the arms, making sure to stand two steps above him, the height granting him leave to look down upon the Northern Lord. Jon does not miss the intention.

Neither does Ned, it seems, as he bends his head even lower, hand still at his chest, a somber expression lighting his features.

“Lord Stark,” Rhaegar greets, “Welcome to King’s Landing.” His hands fall from the other man’s broad shoulders.

Ned nods his acknowledgement of the welcome, turning to the man beside Sansa. “If I may, Your Grace, this is my eldest, Robb, the heir to Winterfell.”

Robb inclines his head in much the same manner that his father did, but his eyes stay focused on the king rather than the ground. Jon finds himself smirking at the gesture, even when Rhaenys bristles beside him.

“Your Grace,” the young wolf greets, stepping back when Lord Stark motions to the young man at Sansa’s other side.

“My son, Bran.”

Bran blinks in barely concealed awe at the line of Targaryens before him, and it’s only Sansa’s subtle pinch at his arm, partly obscured by her flowing sleeves, that has him bowing himself, a hasty “Your Grace” leaving his lips.

Ned takes a deep breath, eyes softening when they land on Sansa, and he ushers her toward him, taking her elbow in hand, a hardened smile mixed of pride and sorrow (the kind that will always accompany fathers with daughters) gracing his weathered features. “And this is my eldest daughter, Sansa.”

Sansa gives a curtsey bespeaking the height of her station, but not so high as to offend the king. It’s rather telling, actually, her calculated mannerisms. Jon eyes her closely, curious what sort of woman can be so prettily shrewd and practiced.

Rhaegar smiles sickly sweet at her and reaches for her hand. She offers it dutifully. Jon’s father plants a kiss along her knuckles, a thumb sweeping over the warmed skin when his lips retreat, and Sansa retracts her hand almost too quickly to be polite, but not quite. Rhaegar smiles all the same, straightening as he watches her. “Stunning,” he breathes out, and Jon can see Lord Stark stiffen beside his daughter, hand still held tight to her elbow.

In truth, his father’s response has Jon’s own gut curling tight, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He feels Rhaenys brush a hand over his shoulder blades, barely there, but comforting all the same. He eases a bit at the motion, before she drops her hand back to her side.

“She hasn’t the look of Lyanna though does she, Ned?” Rhaegar asks, only a sliver of disappointment slipping through his question, still entranced by Sansa’s presence in a disquieting way.

Ned shakes his head, glancing to her. “No, she takes after my wife in that respect. She’s all her mother, it seems.”

“Not all, Father,” Sansa says teasingly, looking up at him with a tender smile.

He smiles down at her, softening, and there, in the crinkle of his eyes, Jon sees the resemblance. In the sweep of their noses and the arch of their brows and the strength of their jaws – a cold cut North lingering beneath the warm, affectionate look.

“She’s a beauty, all the same. Wouldn’t you say, Aegon?” Rhaegar asks his son, motioning for him to come down the steps toward them.

Daenerys’ hand easily unwinds from Aegon’s arm to clasp her other hand before her, Aegon slipping from her at their father’s heed, coming to step beside him. “That she is, Father,” he agrees softly, a disarming smile gracing his fine features, and when he takes Sansa’s offered hand, he merely holds it, leaning only far enough down to grant her a small bow of his head, rather than a brush of his lips to her knuckles, and her lips part at the gesture. Aegon releases her hand and Jon watches as she tries and fails to smother her answering smile.

Jon resists the urge to roll his eyes. His brother’s always been rather keen on how to make a lady smile (on how to make a lady do all manner of things she shouldn’t for a married man), and Jon cannot help the flare of resentment that ignites in his gut at the knowledge that Aegon is using such tricks on his betrothed.

On his lady.

“My son and heir, Aegon Targaryen,” Rhaegar introduces proudly, a hand at his shoulder.

The Starks all bow appropriately. “Prince Aegon,” they greet, but Sansa’s greeting is a touch softer, sweeter, and Jon nearly seethes at the sound.

“And his wife, Princess Daenerys.” Rhaegar waves a hand up the steps in his own sister’s direction.

Daenerys offers a tight smile and a nod in greeting, perfectly styled hair blowing softly in the wind, a striking white against the red silk adorning her. She makes a fairly intimidating image, Jon must admit, but then, his aunt has always been a quietly coiled dragon. He does not envy his brother his marriage.

“You were right, Father,” Aegon says now, sunlight glinting off his violet eyes in a becoming way as he stares down at Sansa unabashed. “She will make my brother a very, very happy man.”

Sansa ducks her head in embarrassment, her cheeks tinging pink, and Jon steps forward without realizing he has moved, throat tight, tongue burning with his sudden covetousness. He stills suddenly, just a step down, chest constricting at the realization.

All eyes turn to him in unison.

It is infinitely uncultured to introduce oneself before the king has called you forward, and Jon sucks his tongue between his teeth at his impulsiveness, cursing himself. Sansa looks at him for the first time, mouth parted, one fine eyebrow arched in clear reproach of his poor manners. It makes the anger boil hotter in his gut.

Rhaegar eyes him with a quiet rebuke, violet eyes flashing dark for a brief moment, before he dons another blinding smile, ushering him closer. “Ah, and my son, Jon Targaryen. Eager to meet his new bride, I imagine.” His father’s hand at his arm is firm and leashing.

Jon swallows tightly, ignoring the knowing smirk Aegon wears beside him. He will not embarrass his house further. He nods to Ned, “Lord Stark,” and then to his sons. When he glances to Sansa, she’s eyeing him curiously. No doubt she notices how much more like her father he looks than his own. Her brow furrows at his dark eyes, his dark curls, eyes roving his face, mouth opening as though to speak, and then promptly shutting. She offers her hand silently, still staring at him with a hint of intrigue.

I’ve not the North in me, he wants to tell her. Stop looking for it.

“Lady Stark,” he greets, taking her hand in his own calloused one. It’s as soft and unmarred as he had suspected, though the light roughness at the tips of her index and middle finger tell of years of needlework. Not exactly the hands of a great rider, as Lyanna Stark had reportedly been. Father will be disappointed, he thinks ruefully.

“Lady Stark is my mother, my lord,” she corrects politely.

Jon stares at her, hand gripping hers as he lowers his mouth to her knuckles. “Then,” he begins, stopping just before brushing a kiss to her cool skin, tongue wetting his lips unconsciously, “Lady Sansa,” he breathes, and the warmth of his breath on her knuckles has her tugging away almost reflexively before she stops herself, drawing a deep breath in as he continues to watch her through his dark lashes.

He holds her like that a moment, something roiling inside him at the clear discomfort she expresses, imagining she sees his father in him when he touches her so, and the thought has him curling his lip, before dropping her hand without ever touching his mouth to her skin, a smothered sigh breaking from his lips.

She tucks her hand back behind the fabric of her sleeves, eyes leaving his instantly. Ned watches the exchange with a somber expression.

“Yes, well, ‘Lady Sansa Targaryen’ soon,” Rhaegar promises beside him.

Jon flexes his hand at his side.

“And of course,” Rhaegar continues, smile now indulgent and infinitely fond, “My daughter, Rhaenys.”

Jon is silently thankful that Rhaenys keeps a proper distance from him when she steps forward, offering a curtsey of her own, red and black silk fluttering over her lean frame, before she tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear, eyes glinting playfully in the light, her olive skin a stark contrast with his own paleness. Dornish looks with a Targaryen bearing, cheeks sharp, lips full. He’s not surprised when the youngest Stark, Bran, looks upon her with awe.

Jon had looked upon her similarly before.

But that was before.

And he does not intend to carry on with his half-sister, as acceptably Targaryen as it is, when he’s soon to wed a daughter of the North. The insult would be too great. And Jon will not incur more enemies to his house. Their family’s grip on the kingdoms is loosening even now, slowly and steadily. He will not be the reason the North breaks with the crown.

“You must all be tired from your long journey. Please, I’ve had your rooms prepared for you. You may settle and refresh yourselves before the feast tonight,” Rhaegar says, an arm sweeping out to welcome them into the keep.

Lord Stark tucks his daughter’s hand into his elbow and follows up after the king with her at his side, Jon and Rhaenys stepping aside to allow them room. The Stark boys follow after, Robb glancing at Jon with a look of apprehension, and somewhat of warning. Jon finds enough courtesy in him not to grimace at the other man.

Aegon sidles up to him as they watch the retreating forms of the Starks. “Well?”

Jon rolls his eyes, even as he smirks at his brother, tugging at the collar of his shirt. He’s anxious to be rid of this pompous silk and back in his usual leathers. He misses the way Sansa glances back at the three of them, just the once.

Rhaenys leans an arm atop Jon’s shoulder, even with his height on her. “I think she’s a bit haughty, if you ask me.” His sister doesn’t bother to hide her dislike, and Jon hadn’t expected her to.

“I rather like her,” Aegon says, glancing at Jon out of the corner of his eye.

Jon swings an annoyed look his way. “Don’t like her too well, brother. It’s not your wife she’ll be by next moon.”

“No,” Aegon muses, a taunting smirk pulling at his lips, “Sadly.”

“Aegon,” Jon warns, no longer amused.

But his brother only claps him on the shoulder before turning and rising up the stairs with arms opened toward Daenerys. “Wife,” he calls.

Daenerys crosses her arms over her chest and throws him an aggravated look. Jon nearly laughs.

They make their way into the Keep, out of the blaring Southern sun. Jon’s eyes stop looking for a flash of red far later than he’d like to admit.

* * *

“I don’t like him,” Theon mutters as he sits in the open-aired sitting room in the wing the Starks and their people are granted in the Red Keep. He’d kept his place with the other members of the house down at the bottom of the steps when Lord Stark had presented his children to the King. Still, a brittle anger churned within him when he remembered the way the princes had looked upon Sansa. Theon grumbles as he looks out one of the wide pane-less windows to the gardens below, and then on past the stretch of King’s Landing, all the way to the docks, ships like flecks of dirt on the pristine water.

“You don’t like any Targaryen,” Bran teases as he swipes a biscuit from the side table before flopping into a red-cushioned chair.

Theon throws him a look caught somewhere between vexed and validated. “Exactly. But for Sansa to marry one?” He scoffs, lounging back along the chaise.

“And who should she marry, then?” Robb mocks from his seat across from Bran. “You?”

Theon cocks a wolfish grin Robb’s way. “Well, now that you mention it, Stark…”

“Oh gods, don’t even say it,” Bran groans, biscuit rolling about his mouth.

Robb kicks out at Theon’s knee playfully, but there’s a warning look in his eye. “She’s my sister, Greyjoy, not another one of your conquests.”

Theon pulls a face, seemingly genuinely offended by the remark as he avoids Robb’s kick easily. “That’s not how I look at Sansa, and you know that.”

“I don’t want you looking at Sansa at all.”

“So, you’d rather the Targaryen bastard?”

Robb quiets at the reminder, jaw clenching. “It’s the King’s command.”

“Aye, the King’s command,” Theon says scornfully. He leans forward suddenly, elbows over his knees as he pins Robb with a somber look. “And if it weren’t? Would you still see her tied to that bastard?” he asks lowly, eyes imploring him.

Robb stays deadly quiet, his hands curling over his armrests.

Bran swallows another bite of biscuit. “Is he still a bastard if he’s been legitimized?”

Theon rolls his eyes at the younger Stark. “A bastard’s still a bastard.”

“But if Prince Aegon died, Prince Jon would be the heir, right?”

Theon grumbles but nods, acknowledging the truth of it. Before Robb can open his mouth to chime in, Sansa is sweeping into the room.

“Hush, Bran,” she bites out, stalking toward them as the door swings shut behind her. Robb and Theon straighten in their seats at her sudden presence, but Bran only lolls a bit of biscuit over his tongue, watching her stalk toward the open windows. Sansa glances out past the rail, eyes keen and watchful for anybody listening, the breeze lightly fluttering her hair, before she’s turning back to her younger brother and pinching the back of his neck.

“Ow!” Bran cries, crumbs flying from his mouth as he whips back to glare up at her.

“That’s treasonous talk, and I’ll not have it,” she hisses, softening at his boyish pout. “The capital is dangerous, Bran, you have to remember that. You’re nearly a man grown now. You’d better start acting like it.”

Bran opens his mouth to protest when Sansa cuts him off. “And you two,” she says, a finger raised at Theon and Robb, starting toward them.

Theon jumps from his seat, hands raised in surrender, unable to contain his laugh, while Robb tries to calm her, standing as well and grabbing at her arms to keep her from Theon. “Alright, alright.” It’s not a tight hold, and Sansa doesn’t bother fighting it anyway, just huffing at the two of them while she plants her hands on her hips.

Robb chuckles at her, hands still at her upper arms, dropping his head to her shoulder as he lets out a warm laugh.

“Robb, this isn’t funny,” she admonishes.

Robb looks up at her, his smile tapering off before he clears his throat and nods at her, hands slipping from her arms. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Sansa, okay? I know this can’t be easy for you.”

She looks away, one hand going to the other to rub a worrying thumb into her opposite palm.

Robb glances at the motion, a frown tugging at his lips. He grabs for her hands to still them. “Walk with me,” he tells her, tugging her toward the door.

Sansa sighs but lets him take her, her unease bleeding out a bit at her brother’s concerned touch.

Robb turns back at the door, eyeing Theon warily. “Behave while we’re away,” he tells him, glancing over to Bran in shared meaning.

Bran smiles around his biscuit. Theon tuts. “No promises,” the Greyjoy answers, grinning roguishly.

When Sansa glances back at him with an exasperated smile, Theon gives her a parting nod, grin softening slightly at the edges. “Sansa.”

She scoffs, but it’s tinged with a playful frustration that’s familiar between the two. Her smile lingers a bit after the door closes behind them and Robb wraps her hand around his arm as they begin to walk.

“Do you think it was wise to bring Bran along?” Sansa asks carefully.

Robb rubs at his chin with his free hand. “He wants to be a knight. Father’s right; what better place for him to learn?”

Sansa nods, remembering how reluctantly their mother had parted with Bran, with Rickon and Arya waving their goodbyes at Winterfell’s gates. Still, his curiosity and exploring has gotten him in trouble before, and Winterfell hadn’t held half the sort of deadly secrets King’s Landing was purported to have. “He’s too inquisitive,” she muses, glancing about the open courtyard they pass in their walk through the corridors, golden light filtering through in a way that catches Sansa’s breath. She’s dreamt of the South before. Still does, somewhat.

The remembrance is sour on her tongue, suddenly.

She hadn’t dreamt of it with a Targaryen prince in the picture.

“King Rhaegar is not his father, Sansa,” her father had told her once, hands rising to cup her cheeks. “He’s not the one who burned your grandfather and murdered your uncle, it’s true.” And here, his throat had tightened, his words coming hoarse, his thumbs brushing over her cheeks. “But you’ll have to be careful, my daughter. Tis still a dragon pit in the capital, and we are wolves.”

Her hands had come up to cradle his over her cheeks. “I understand, Father.”

We are wolves.

She won’t soon forget it.

Robb’s pat on her arm brings her back to him. “Don’t worry. He’ll have you to look after him,” he assures her, smiling teasingly.

Sansa rolls her eyes, but her own smile tugs at her lips.

“He listens to you.”

“Oh, hardly.”

“Well, he listens to you at least a little bit more than he listens to the rest of us.”

Sansa eyes him warily. “And where are you to be in all this?”

Groaning, Robb turns them down another corridor, this one open to the air, following the east side of the Keep, where the sun is still high in the sky. “Mother thinks this is a good opportunity for me to learn the Southern court, if we’re to play to it,” he grumbles

Sansa blinks out across the sunlit city descending below them. “It’s smart. You’re to be Warden of the North one day. You should know how to treat with the Southern lords, how to play their game to keep our home safe.”

“That’s why you’re here,” he says, an attempt at nonchalance, even as his voice strains.

Sansa gives him a reproachful look, lips tipped into a frown. “This marriage cannot heal every rift between the North and the crown.”

Robb swallows tightly, looking ahead as they walk. “I know.”

Sansa stops them, her other hand coming up to grip at his arm now. “Robb.”

He rakes a hand through his hair, a frustrated huff passing his lips. “I know, Sansa.”

Her brows dip into a furrow, her frown harshening as she tips his chin up to look at him cleanly.

He grabs for her hand, holds it in his own as he nods, meeting her eyes. “I will protect our home, I promise.”

She softens at the words, recognizing the fervency in them, knowing the delicate balance of power and subservience he’s to inherent. The balance their father has carried, all too heavily these many years since his pardon after the war.

Something bristles in Sansa at the thought of their father on his knees.

She has never known a wolf to kneel. Starks should be no different.

The gentle rubbing of Robb’s thumb along her knuckle has her relaxing soon enough, tender under his affections. She clears her throat, smiling up at him. “And Father? What does he think of you in the capital?”

He scoffs, looking about the fine, red-stoned keep. “He hopes I’ll finally find a bride.”

Sansa laughs, soft and melodic. “Well, you are of an age.” They’ve already passed quite the number of ladies sending tempting looks toward the heir of Winterfell throughout their walk, and she’s absolutely certain Robb hasn’t missed the looks either.

“I suppose I shall have to catch up to you then, little sister.”

Sansa rolls her eyes, shaking her head, but her smile wilts slightly, tightening at the edges. She looks away.

Robb sighs, his eyes going to their joined hands. “I know this isn’t what you wanted,” he says softly, so soft she knows he’s conscious of the many ears about the castle, as conscious as she is.

Her sharp-eyed, mindful brother, even under all his bravado.

“What I want,” she says on a whisper, with less effort than she thought it’d take, “is to keep our family safe. The king has called. And I will do my duty.” She finally meets his eyes again.

His gaze is that keen Tully blue. She will miss it when he goes. She grips his hands tighter.

So little time. But a moon. And then her family will return North – without her.

“It shouldn’t be you,” he says forcefully, a heavy breath drawn through his lungs, something of anger settling at the end of his words.

Sansa looks about, just the once, swiftly, beneath her lashes, before meeting his gaze again. “It shouldn’t be a lot of things. But here we are.”

Robb’s face hardens, his ire at the situation bubbling forth and Sansa knows that look – has seen it enough times to recognize it. He’s not the Young Wolf for nothing.

“Robb,” she says placatingly.

He sighs, nodding, swallowing down his words.

She gives him a tender, understanding smile in return. “You know, Mother and Father didn’t love each other at first. But they do now – so very much.”

Robb doesn’t argue, but she can tell he knows where she means to lead this.

Sansa licks her lips, her hesitance swallowed back. “Perhaps it can be the same with Prince Jon and I.”

“You think you can love him? Him?” The words are a desperate plea more than they are a heated incredulity. Because they both know how this story ends if she cannot.

Sansa only shrugs, poised and resigned all at once. “I shall have to try.” She gives him a determined look, attempting what she hopes is a reassuring smile. “The pack survives, after all.”

Robb huffs, helpless, before resting his hand at the back of her head to tilt it forward for a kiss, his lips at her brow.

She smiles beneath the gesture, chest warm as he pulls away.

“Oh, that’s sweet.”

The voice has them turning to the sound, eyes landing on Princess Rhaenys as she walks arm in arm with her brother, Jon.

Sansa’s eyes flick to her betrothed on instinct, tilting into a curtsey as her hands release Robb and grab for her skirts.

He only nods in greeting, still somber and silent. He’s changed into practical leathers, Sansa notices, black from curls to boot.

“Princess Rhaenys,” Robb greets. “Prince Jon.”

“Stark.”

Sansa almost scoffs at the greeting. Ill-mannered prince, indeed. She hides her disdain well behind a porcelain smile. “Can we expect to see you at the feast tonight?”

“Of course,” Rhaenys says, smiling tartly. “The Starks in the capital. Who would miss it?”

“I should think it is rather the prince’s betrothal that the people are celebrating,” she says artfully.

“Celebrating, yes,” Rhaenys muses, eyes flickering over to Robb. “Will you be long in King’s Landing?”

“Long enough for the wedding,” Robb answers, turning to Sansa with a comforting smile. “And a little while longer, if we can help it.”

“You travel with a Greyjoy,” Jon says suddenly, and Sansa blinks at him to find him already watching her.

The stare is unnerving.

Robb’s eyebrows raise at the unexpected question. “Theon?”

“I saw him in your procession at the steps.”

“Yes, well – ”

“Are you Starks prone to keeping traitors?”

Sansa riles at the implication, but she has enough mind to reach out for Robb’s arm, stopping his instinctual step forward before it is made obvious.

Jon’s eyes catch the movement nonetheless, and Sansa’s cheeks heat for it.

“We do not ‘keep’ him,” Sansa bites out through pristine teeth. “He is our father’s ward. And your guest, as much as we are.”

Jon’s eyes narrow at the insinuation. “The Greyjoys were one of the first to rebel against my father’s rule.”

“And they paid for that,” Sansa answers swiftly, before Robb can cut in. She bites her lip, considering her words more carefully. “Rightfully so,” she adds, hand slipping from Robb’s arm to clasp with her other one before her.

“And yet here he is.”

“He is not here to cause trouble,” Robb says tightly, head tilted slightly in deference.

Sansa is grateful for his leashing of his temper.

Jon grunts in acknowledgement. “I’ll hold you to that, Stark.”

Robb only nods, mouth thinning into a tight line.

Rhaenys looks between the two men, lips curling in amusement, before she tugs at her brother’s arm in impatience. “Come, brother, I’ve still to ready myself for the feast tonight. Escort me to my chambers?”

Jon gives a final, cursory glance to Robb and Sansa, before turning to his sister with a look far less harsh than Sansa’s seen on him yet. Not soft enough to call tender, but a subtle openness, a regard as fleeting as the golden light filtering through the halls.

“Of course,” he answers her, all heat gone from his words.

Sansa narrows her eyes at the change, stomach knotting uncontrollably. It’s rather vexing, she finds, to have no read on her betrothed at all. As staunch as the Wall, and seemingly as cold. But she’s seen him smirk at his brother in amusement, and seen the way he straightened imperceptibly beneath his father’s hand at his shoulder, and the way he cradles his sister’s hand over his arm when they turn away with a curt nod of farewell.

A dragon pit, she reminds herself.

And she��s afraid the flames are still yet to come.

Sansa shudders beneath her heavy wool dress, the blaring sun at her back not enough to warm the chill that’s set in.

#jonsa #from instep to heel #my writing #jon snow #sansa stark #jon x sansa #jon and sansa #game of thrones #got fanfic

63 notes · View notes

flying-elliska · 6 years ago

Note

What are the important bisexual characters that you said helped you? I am having a hard time finding good bi representation in which they aren’t considered promiscuous or unstable

Hiya anon ! What a quality question, thank you ! Here’s another mini essay about bi rep lmao. If there are some that I forgot please tell me ! And to everyone, tell me about the bi characters who made an impact on your life, I’d love to know !!!!

Okay so.

- When I answered the anon and talked about the characters that helped me come to terms with my sexuality, I talked about two in particular. Jack Harkness from Torchwood is depicted as very promiscuous, and somewhat instable. He still meant a lot to me because a) him sleeping around was never that much of a problem, it was because he was from the future, where things were different, which I thought was refreshing and b) his instability was because of the weight of being an immortal hero. Also fanon!Dean Winchester from SPN, as an older, more macho, emotionally witholding, badass dude written as bi meant a lot to me, but he doesn’t really avoid that stereotype either. But at least they were heroes. However, I can understand wanting bi characters that actually don’t fit that stereotype, because bi people irl aren’t all like that, even if there is nothing wrong per se about sleeping with a lot of different people, or having mental issues to struggle with. And that was a while ago and now we have more and more cool characters ! Such as :

- Rosa Diaz from Brooklyn Nine-Nine. One of the best portrayals of bisexuality on TV imho. She didn’t start out as bi, she was this tough, cool, scary but with a heart of gold cop who had a lot of other plotlines before. But then, since they saw that a lot of wlw got this vibe from her, were really into her, and the actress came out as bi herself, they decided to use this. So it was super organic, and the way they introduced the subject was true to Rosa herself ; she’s a super private person, she doesn’t like anybody knowing about her life (it’s actually a running joke and Rosa Diaz has been implied to not even be her real name). But then she is dating a woman, and struggles with her parents not understanding and her coworkers find out, help her and support her. Her gay captain is there for her in his typical stoic but hilarious way. They organize game night with her when her parents won’t anymore. We see her crushing on women and dating, but it is treated exactly as the other character’s love life, they never make a big deal out of it. She isn’t the token queer character. She says outright she is bisexual and there is a specific point about her mom not understanding it’s not a phase and thinking she’ll end up with a man anyway, which #relatable. The focus is on the team as found family. Also right now she’s dating a butch woman, which is awesome since they are so underrepresented on TV and I hope we see more of her. That show really is my comfort show, it’s still bloodly hilarious and it really transcends the format to say some really deep woke stuff too, but never in a way that feels on the nose. Everyone should watch it tbh.

- Korrasami ! Oh my god, I was so blown away when they got together. They’re two characters from the animated series Legend of Korra, they start out as rivals in love who have feelings for the same guy, but as they have to fight baddies together, they become bestest of friends, and both fall out of love with the guy. Then in season 3 and 4, their relationship becomes central to the show, as Asami stands by Korra through some really tough shit. Also, they’re both ultra badass and fight really well together. A lot of fans started reading their chemistry as romantic, but we’d never thought they’d actually go there. But the show ends with them walking into the ‘sunset’ (well, the spirit lands) together, holding hands. Now, it was never completely explicit on the show BUT they were dealing with a lot of censure from the networks and you have to be willingly obtuse not to read it as romantic. And after that the creators drew them on dates, and there is a comic series in which they are shown kissing, talking about their feelings, introducing each other to their families, etc. It made me feel so validated when it happened, and I just adore the whole ‘love triangle ditches the middle one and fall in gay love with each other’ trope. (is it a trope yet ? it should be.) It’s still a kids show at its core, but it has amazing depth and deals with some very deep shit. Korra starts off as a bit annoying but she has a really cool development, she’s a girl character we need more of - brave, dynamic but also brash and reckless and action driven in ways that are almost always exclusively shown for boys. And Asami is a more typical girly girl but she’s also a brilliant engineer and has a spine of steel and she’s also very slyly funny. They’re amazing. And the comics are super cute.

- Now there are a lot of characters who are bi/pan that I love, and are good characters in themselves, but their arcs do intersect in some ways with promiscuity and mental instability. I’m thinking about Even from Skam and all his remake variants, Magnus Bane from Shadowhunters, several characters from Black Sails, Sarah Lance and Constantine from Legends of Tomorrow, Eleanor Shellstrop from the Good Place, Bo from Lost Girl, Ilana from Broad City, Joe McMillan from Halt and Catch Fire, God/Chuck from Supernatural (lmaooooo), several characters on Penny Dreadful, or in a totally different category, Vilanelle from Killing Eve or Hannibal from the series (who are hella bad guys but it’s never linked to their sexuality, and are also incredibly compelling to watch.)

And even though these characters taken individually, I would argue, are good rep because they’re complex and layered and interesting and never one-dimensional (and watching them feels incredibly empowering at times)....it’s still a trend. I feel like when writing a character that is attracted to multiple genders, there is always this sort of...tangle of tropes that writers default to, unconsciously. Some negative and some positive. It used to be this trope of bis being villainous, instable, jealous, flaky, immature, perverted, manipulative, cheaters, amoral, greey, etc...and then it evolved into something of a reclaiming and subverting this trope. So now you feel like the Bi Character kind of has to be badass, glamorous, seductive, often superpowered or extraordinary in other ways.. And they also for multiple reasons (they’re immortal, they’re sensitive artist souls, they’re from the future, they’re psycho, they’re exccentric comic relief, they’re daring adventurers and pioneers) don’t care about social norms which allows them to sleep and fall in love with whomever. And so they tend to have those super busy romantic/sexual histories and very troubled backstories. In the past it was a bad thing, now it’s often presented as this positive, enlightened or at least fun and badass thing. They’re heroic, with big hearts, a tremendous lust for life and a cool rebellious attitude. They’re complex, dramatic, tortured. Which can be super cool, too.

But it would be nice to have more ‘normal’ bi characters. I mean, boring bisexuals need to see themselves represented too ! Our sexualities don’t give us super powers. At the same time, it is true that bisexual ppl have higher rates of mental illness, which deserves to be explored, but it would be nice if it was actually articulated and not just part of this trope. But still. We need rep, I think, that is more grounded and varied. So I think that’s also why I read a lot of fanfic. (I was really into the idea of bi Steve Rogers for a long time, partly also because he’s both very mentally resilient, kinda boring in a good way, and very unexperienced in terms of sex/romance, which is pretty much the opposite of the trope)

- I think books, and YA in general, are a good place to find these ‘normal bis’ characters. I’m thinking in particular of Leah from Leah on the Offbeat by Becky Albertalli (from the same book series that gave us the ‘Love, Simon’ movie) which is a super sweet coming of age/romance story about a super normal teenager who just happens to be also into girls (esp her best friend) and is loud and funny and very lovable and has zero doubts about being bi. You also have Adam Parrish from the Raven Cycle, another one of my forever faves ; he has an abusive family so PTSD from that but it never feels tropey, and it’s completely detached from his sexuality. He has magic powers, too. But his character feels completely opposite to the trope. He’s hardworking, somewhat withholding, prickly (and sometimes awkward), ambitious, determined, down to earth, and has a beautiful love story with another boy. And also Jane, from Jane Unlimited by Kristin Cashore, also really cool ; she’s a nerdy, smart girl who is actually inspired by Jane Eyre who has cool adventures in a weird house where we can follow her on different paths depending on the choices she makes, several of which are love stories. And finally the main character from The Seven Husbands from Evelyn Hugo, kinda fits the trope yeahhh since she’s a super glam actress who well, has seven husbands but it’s a pretty clever deconstruction since it turns out (slight spoilers) that Evelyn is actually through most of her life faithful in heart to the same person and the rest is mostly out of necessity, and her story feels very real and raw and down to earth.

- I don’t go there yet but I really want to check out Crazy Ex-Girlfriend and Schitt’s Creek which I have read have very good bi rep. And I want to catch up on Orphan Black (Cosima and Delphine both don’t have exact labels but they’re multi-gender attracted and they’re this cool couple of scientists in a relationship that gets a happy ending). I will never forgive what they did to Lexa so I stopped watching but I do think that Clarke Griffin from The 100 is very good bi rep. Alexia from Skam France, meanwhile, is a bit of a boundary case for me because, even though she’s presented as the ‘weird one’ from the group, very colorful and liberated and exccentric, she’s still a very normal teen who’s happy and comfortable in her own skin, which is awesome.

- Disclaimer, I included characters in here that are also pan/omnisexual or don’t have a label but are attracted to several genders, for the purpose of this discussion i don’t think the difference is all that relevant at least to me (i mostly identify as bi for the sake of simplicity but tbh i could also fit under pan so i feel represented by all those characters). But I understand the importance of characters that state their identities more clearly and with pride.

- So in conclusion : there is nothing wrong with having a sexually active life or struggling mentally (even tho that one is not fun). And I do love all my badass casanova time travelling super powered bis.

But we need more bi characters that don’t fit that trope. We need bi characters in children’s shows, or that don’t have more than one relationship, or that don’t have a relationship at all, to break the tendency to always show bisexual ppl as overly sexual. We need bi characters in committed relationships to break this idea that bi characters are bound to cheat or can’t be satisified with only one person. We need bi characters that are mentally stable and successful and happy, to show that it’s possible. We need bi characters that are boring, bookish, nerdy, ordinary, clumsy, not particularly seductive, socially awkward, rule-sticklers, etc...to show that bi people are not all party animals, or doing it for attention, or to be wild, rebellious and socially progressive. It’s just a sexuality, it doesn’t say anything about your personality. Even though there are some correlations with MI or being bi might bring you in contact with more progressive ideas and to see life a bit differently, there is nothing automatic about it.

- In conclusion, reading testimonies from real people also helped me a lot. It’s a very dated but I got the book “ Bi Any Other Name: Bisexual People Speak Out “ when I was struggling with my own sexuality and it helped a lot, to read that even back then (1991) you had all sorts of regular ppl claiming to be bi and that it was not a phase or a fad or whatever.

#bisexuality #bi rep #media representation #bi pride #lgbt #bi characters

15 notes · View notes

im-no-jedi · 6 years ago

Text

I filled out some Guardian questions for my boys the other day, and they’re all in character! hopefully this will give you guys a better feel for what each of them act like c:

For Matt:

Where were you rezzed? My Ghost found me in the Cosmodrome, lying amongst a bunch of rusty old cars. I’m still wondering what I was doing there…

How long ago was it? About 5 years ago! A lot has happened since then too.

Did you have anything in your pockets? No, but I found a locket with a picture of a woman in it near where I was rezzed. I only just recently found it too. I don’t even know if it was mine or not. I wish I knew who the woman in the picture was…

What was your first week alive like? Very busy! I was excited to explore new worlds, but my ship lacked a warp drive, so I had to go searching in the Cosmodrome for one. That was… fun. And then once I got it, I ended up spending a little more time in the City to get more acquainted with the place.

How did you react to your new role as a Guardian? I was unsure I could do it at first, but when the Speaker told me about the Darkness, I knew that I had to do something to protect everyone in the City. The Traveler chose me for a reason. I feel like this is what I was always meant to be, you know? Is that weird?

Do you have any regrets? I… wish things didn’t go the way they did when we were going after Oryx. I feel like what happened to Isaac was my fault. Maybe if I had been smarter or stronger or whatever… I don’t know. I just feel responsible for it somehow.

How did you get your name? I don’t like to talk about it… but when I first tried out the Crucible, several of the other Guardians made fun of me after they saw how klutzy I was. They came and bullied me several times after that, calling me all sort of awful names. “Mat” was their favorite because of how often I fall on my face, I guess. Rocky stood up for me, which is how we first became friends, and he would always call me “Mat” too because he thought that’s what my name actually was. He didn’t know it was used to bully me. I finally gave up and just embraced the name because one, Matt is an actual name, and two, because I didn’t want to let those bullies be the ones to define who I was. If Rocky, my first real friend, wanted to know me as Matt, then that’s all that mattered. Also, I really do fall on my face a lot. And get stepped on. It’s fine.

Does your ghost have a name? Yes! His name is Willy. And I’m not going to dare talk about how he got that name; my own story is traumatizing enough.

What is your ghost like? He’s very friendly, very loud, and very charismatic. He reminds me a lot of Rocky, actually.

How do you feel about the last city and the vanguard? I love the City! Ever since I first came to it, it really felt like home. And the Vanguard are like family to me. Cayde welcomed me in like he’d known me his whole life when I first came to the City. Ikora inspires me to learn more about our world every day. And Zavala makes me want to be the best leader for my fireteam that I can be.

What’s your favorite place to go? Wherever my friends are!

Do you participate in strikes or the crucible? Yes, but only with my fireteam. I don’t think Rocky would let me even attempt either of those things without him, honestly.

How do you celebrate the holidays? For Crimson Days, Rocky and I pretty much spend all our time in the Crucible. For Festival of the Lost, I like dressing up and roleplaying as different people and creatures (last year, I was the Fanatic, and everyone said I mimicked his voice perfectly!). My favorite holiday is the Dawning; I love the beautiful snow and just spending time with my friends.

Who is your favorite NPC and who is your least favorite? Well uhh, my favorite is definitely Hawthorne because she… well she’s amazing in every way possible honestly, she’s smart and resilient and funny and dependable and really really pretty and she has a cool bird and oh geez am I rambling? Ehehe… And as for my least favorite, I don’t think I have one? I’m not really sure what to think of the Drifter; he comes across really friendly, but I don’t know how genuine he is. He didn’t seem too pleased when I got the Last Word either. But I’m not gonna worry about it.

Where do you sleep/call home? I stay in one of the rooms near the Hunter quarters. My old room was destroyed in the Red War, but I was able to recover most of my stuff. I like to collect artifacts and weapons from other species, as well as some stuff from the Golden Age. Cayde appreciates my collection, probably due to the fact that he has his own collection, but I organize my stuff waaaaaaaay better than he does.

Do you have any pets or companions? Rocky can behave like a pet sometimes… otherwise it’s just my Ghost. I spend a lot of time with Rocky’s kids, they seem to like me a lot. Especially Poofy. She and I get along the best. She likes it when I style her hair and clean her claws.

Does anyone live with you? Just my Ghost, although Rocky used to spend the night with me sometimes before he met Silfy.

How do you unwind or comfort yourself? I mostly like to spend time with my friends, but if I’m by myself? I’ll usually end up singing to pass the time. I like to dance too. I seem to do better on my feet when I’m dancing than if I’m doing… well anything else really.

What would truly break you? I have nightmares sometimes of my friends turning to the Darkness… I don’t ever want to think about something like that actually happening…

Most embarrassing moment? Probably the first time I met Hawthorne… I was a complete babbling mess and then tripped on a rock and smashed my face to boot. Willy couldn’t even heal me at the time either. I had a black eye for a week. I honestly don’t know why she even bothered talking to me anymore after that. She probably just felt sorry for me…

Any cherished memories? Meeting Rocky for the first time. And Isaac. And Hannah. And all my other friends. I’ve lived a really good life so far.

What was your highest and/or lowest point? My highest point would probably be when Rocky and I defeated Oryx. Which ironically came after my lowest point… when Isaac sacrificed himself for the rest of us. I secluded myself from everyone after that happened, even Rocky. I felt terrible. I told myself I would never do anything like that again, no matter what.

Views on the enemy races? I find them fascinating, but also acknowledge them as enemies. I respect the Fallen the most, and I wish more of them were like Silfy and her kids. I think we could live in peace with them if they wanted.

Which enemy race is your most/least favorite? I guess the Fallen would be my most favorite, and my least favorite is definitely the Taken. The idea that something could become totally consumed by Darkness like that… it’s terrifying.

For Rocky:

Where were you rezzed? uhh I don’t remember, I think it was on some moon? I’ll ask Mo later

How long ago was it? like 6 or 7 years ago

Did you have anything in your pockets? LOL I didn’t even have pockets!

What was your first week alive like? I had no idea what the frick I was doing

How did you react to your new role as a Guardian? I thought it was pretty sweet that I had all these powers and was super strong and stuff like that. not dying anymore was pretty cool too

Do you have any regrets? NO REGRETS MUTHAFRICKER

How did you get your name? people just started calling me Rocky cause it sounds like my real name, Roq, which you say like “rock”, so yeah it was a no brainer

Does your ghost have a name? her name is Mo! I don’t remember why I called her Mo, she just looks like a Mo

What is your ghost like? she’s super spunky and doesn’t take any crap. she likes to tell me what to do all the time. she’s great.

How do you feel about the last city and the vanguard? the city’s pretty cool, I guess. same with the vanguard. some people think I don’t like Ikora cause she’s boring, but dude, she’s still got the highest win streak in the Crucible, so I respect the heck outta her

What’s your favorite place to go? the crucible, duh! don’t care what map, just stick me in there, baby! (hehe)

Do you participate in strikes or the crucible? uhh YEAH!!!! I basically live in the crucible, and I go on strikes with my fireteam all the time. I’m a man of many talents~

How do you celebrate the holidays? crimson days is the best holiday EVER, I get to spend all day in the crucible with my best friend, what’s better than that? festival of the lost and the dawning are pretty cool too. I like putting on creepy masks for festival and throwing snowballs at people during the dawning. oh and eating Eva’s cookies!! oh man, now I’m hungry…

Who is your favorite NPC and who is your least favorite? what’s an NPC? is that a person? cause other than Matt and Silfy, my favorite person is Shaxx, duh. Saladin’s cool too. and my least favorite, uhh… I don’t like the way Asher talks to me, he makes me feel stupid

Where do you sleep/call home? got a nice little place near the Titan quarters. I had to get a new one after the Red War and then another one after Silfy and the kids moved in

Do you have any pets or companions? the kids are more like pets than actual kids right now. probably cause of the claws

Does anyone live with you? Mo, Silfy, and the three kids: Kiki, Kip, and Poofy

How do you unwind or comfort yourself? if I’m not duking it out in the Crucible, I go to the bar and get drinks with Shaxx and Cayde

What would truly break you? nothing can ever break me, wtf?? I got muscles for days, chump! or is this some kinda mental bullcrap, in which case, I still can’t be broken! nope! not even if all my friends were gone and I was the only person left alive! nnnnnope! just don’t… just don’t look at me ok DON’T LOOK AT ME

Most embarrassing moment? pfffft I don’t get embarrassed, I have NO shame, I literally went into the Crucible nude once, my dudes

Any cherished memories? the first time I won a Crucible match… oh man that was so sweet… and, you know, I guess meeting Matt was pretty cool too, since he was my first friend and everything

What was your highest and/or lowest point? highest point was helping Saladin take care of siva and him making me a friggin Iron Lord, baby!! and I don’t get low points ok, I’m always high (hehe). I mean yeah, I was pretty bummed when I found out Saint-14 was dead, just like stupid Isaac when he got himself killed trying to protect me and Matt, like seriously, isn’t the whole point of being a guardian is that you never die?? so why did they die?? it’s just dumb is what it is, it’s just dumb…

Views on the enemy races? I LOVE THE HIVE THEY’RE FRIGGIN SWEET. and of course, the Fallen are really cool, and the Taken are cool, and the Scorn are just AWESOME, man why do the bad guys have to be so cool?? yeah I’m not gonna hesitate to kill em whenever I get the chance but… can’t a guy appreciate a sweet lookin alien without being judged??

Which enemy race is your most/least favorite? I like Hive the best, but I gotta give props to the Fallen too cause you know, the whole I got a family of Fallen now thing. the ones I like the least are the Vex cause they’re just stupid robots, like it’s an insult to the rest of us robots who have brains and stuff. Vex have zappy milk goo in their bellies and think they’re all that cause they can time travel or whatever, well you know what I can do?? benchpress a cabal tank, that’s what I can do!! get on my level, Vex LOSERS!!!

For Isaac:

Where were you rezzed? The Dreaming City, in the former location of my father’s library of Awoken history.

How long ago was it? Over 200 years ago.

Did you have anything in your pockets? No.

What was your first week alive like? Nothing worth repeating.

How did you react to your new role as a Guardian? I thought it was pointless. I didn’t care about “saving the world” or whatever.

Do you have any regrets? No.

How did you get your name? The Speaker thought he was being clever by giving me a name that related to laughter since he had never heard me laugh before. He never actually did hear me laugh before he died.

Does your ghost have a name? His name is GG. Don’t ask what it stands for.

What is your ghost like? He’s very kind and dependable. He does what he’s told. He also can’t speak, all his communications are through beeps and other robotic noises. I don’t know why he has no voice. But I understand him perfectly. And he understands me. That’s all that matters.

How do you feel about the last city and the vanguard? I didn’t think much of the City when I first came to it. I still don’t, but I’m used to it now, and I call it my home, so… As for the Vanguard, Ikora and Zavala are the only ones I respect. Cayde is an idiot. I’m surprised it took him as long as it did to finally get himself killed.

What’s your favorite place to go? My personal secret library that only a few people are allowed into.

Do you participate in strikes or the crucible? I don’t care for the Crucible, nor am I allowed in it normally. Shaxx thinks that my methods are “unfair” to the other participants. I only participate during Crimson Days, and only with a select few. And by select few, I mean only Hannah and Fon. Don’t. Ask.

How do you celebrate the holidays? I don’t. But my friends force me into doing stuff with them anyway.

Who is your favorite NPC and who is your least favorite? Ikora is the one I trust the most. Toland is an absolute fool, and I’m going to physically drag him through the nine different layers of hell until he’s nothing but a bad memory to the rest of humanity.

Where do you sleep/call home? I live in my library.

Do you have any pets or companions? Only my Ghost.

Does anyone live with you? Again, only my Ghost.

How do you unwind or comfort yourself? I stay in my library. Alone. I also like to play the violin. Don’t even think about asking.

What would truly break you? If I had come back to life and found my library in shambles, I would’ve killed myself again.

Most embarrassing moment? Non-existent.

Any cherished memories? I… admit, it was… nice seeing that certain people were happy to see me alive again. And that Ikora hadn’t let anybody into my library after I was gone.

What was your highest and/or lowest point? I don’t like putting labels on things like that. My life has been playing out as intended.

Views on the enemy races? I don’t know why they insist on attacking humanity and the Traveler. It’s proven time and time again that it’s the most powerful force in the universe, so trying to kill or overtake it is a lost cause. Anyone who thinks the Darkness is more powerful than the Light is a fool.

Which enemy race is your most/least favorite? The Vex interest me the most. Osiris and I studied them a lot before he left the City. He’s been filling me in on what he’s learned in the Infinite Forest after I was brought back to this time period. All of the other races are pretty dumb. Especially the Cabal. They’re like an entire race of wrinkly, noseless Titans. It’s ridiculous.

#I... love... my boys...#:'DDD #OC: Matt #OC: Rocky #OC: Isaac #my OCs #DESTINY HOGWASH

4 notes · View notes

maraudergirls · 7 years ago

Text

Smores ( Harry x Luna Carnival Au)

For @wizardingworldwaitforme from @hermione-who and @@beaubcxton We love you and surprise!

“Just bloody ask her mate!”

“I can't. You know that!”

“Why not? Stop being a wuss!”

“What if she says no, Ron?”

“What if she says yes?” The boy, Ron counters back, frustration seeping into his tone. Some would call it a privilege, attending to Harry Potter, but his best friend thought it was a right nuisance.

Especially, when the said boy was pining after a girl.

Harry Potter was many things. A fighter, the Gryffindors would call him after he’d ward off the dementors. The hufflepuffs would chime in with a “He’s selfless!” after he gave his life up once more. The Ravenclaws and the Slytherins wouldn’t say much, too immersed in their work but if pestered, they’d retort that he was a rather resilient fellow who should pick up a book once in a while.

If asked, the professors would smile fondly and say he was a smart student and then share caring sentiments regarding him. They’d follow the statement by saying that their parents were rather bright students as well. And like most people, they’d soon wander off in their blissful thoughts.

Harry Potter was many things.

But charmspeaker, he was not.

Perhaps, one might consider it bizarre that the boy could fight soul reapers, death eaters and even corpses but couldn’t even stomach the idea of asking a girl out.

Particularly when that girl was Luna Lovegood. Caring, kind of oblivious and wouldn’t hurt a fly, Luna. Goddess Number 1, Apple of his eye, light in his darkness and wackspurt to his nargle. He’d been pining after her for ages, perhaps ever since she brushed her hand against his when he had asked for a pencil.

Harry groans. He was pathetic.

A girl like Luna deserved to see the whole world on a date. Taste italian pizza and drink American Iced Tea. He doubted she would like that much, however. Luna seemed like the person who find contentment in standing still.

Weather (and his mother) forbade him from taking her to a beach.

“You’ll catch a cold, Har!” Lily had scolded him earlier that morning, her hands dusty with flour as she set a plate of cookies on the table, cookies she’d made for his father.

Harry had stuffed one in his mouth and proclaimed, “Its for a girl, Mum!”

“And she can say yes to other sensible and safe events or she’s not the right girl for you.”

Harry supposed there was some truth in her words but to his love riddled brain, it was the worst of betrayals. And he had sighed, mournfully and clambered up the stairs, plate hidden and a grinning mother at the end of it.

“Mate,” Ron sighs and sits next to the boy. “I’m sure she’ll say yes.”

Harry smiles abashed and runs a hand through his hair. “You think?.”

Barely managing to suppress a thankful sigh, Ron claps his friend on the shoulder. “I’m positive.”

When the other boy doesn’t respond, he quickly walks out the door, happy that his best-friend duty could be considered fulfilled.

“Mate!!”

The call sounds at lunch time and Ron looks up as he stuffs a leg of chicken in his mouth. It was perhaps the third time his eating had been interrupted that very day, Ron thought morosely. Truly a travesty.

“She said yes!”

The other boy gives a thumbs up and widens his eyes proportionally to add effect. “Conhuhasdu”

“Where should I take her?”

Not again. How was he supposed to know about girls? Harry should have been asking Hermione these questions. Or his own parents. James and Lily Potter were married. They obviously had some experience in the whole dating thing.

Swallowing” “Take her to a carnival, mate. Girls dig that.”

Harry bites his lip. “Yeah? You’d think she like that?”

Ron hums for good measure. For a moment, Harry looks transfixed and Ron can hardly believe his luck but then: “Why though? Why not the beach?”

Oh for Merlin’s sake.

“Harry.” Ron said very rationally. The food that spewed from his mouth is a testimony of the level of nonchalance the boy exhibits. “If you want to go to a beach, go.”

“Mom’s not allowing me to go.”

“So?”

“So? So, I can't go. Girl or no girl, I can't worry Mom like that. Not after what she’s been through.”

For a brief second, Ron wonders if this is the same boy who flew a car with him and took out a whole unit of villains but then he nods. After what Lily had been through, indeed.

“Luna’s a pureblood, right?”

A sound of assent.

“She’d love how weird carnivals are.”

Harry’s eyes lit up. “Yeah! And we’d go on all those rides and I could get- Wait, you’re a pureblood.”

“Bloody hell! Will you look at that? I am!”

“Oh sod off. How do you know about muggle fairs?”

“Hermione took me once.” Ron says shortly. “Fairs?”

And after all the help he had offered, Harry has the gall not to answer his question as he bounces off and shoves his coat on, knocking the lamp post while he’s at it. “Thanks, Ron. You’re the best.”

Only after Harry strides out of the room does Ron allow himself to bite into his cheese burger with a blissful moan.

“Car- nee-val” Harry teaches as they walk under the entrance arc. Dozens of kids run around with painted faces. Luna giggles as she notices one boy sporting the face of a dragon. The scent of fried food wafts through the air and the pair hear their stomachs grumbling mournfully.

The feeling of happiness was rich in the air and the laughter of the children near them who asked for balloons was contagious.

Tugging her along, Harry was content as they breezed past several booths, hardly noticing anything besides the presence next to him.

Luna gently touched his hand once to get his attention. “What’s that?”

Following the direction of her hand, he answers, “It’s sand art.”

“Its beautiful.” Luna murmurs in awe.

Indeed it was. The palette was a sight for sore eyes. Purple, green and blue sand occupied the space of several containers.

“Want to play?”

“What do you do?”

Harry scrunches up his nose trying to remember. “You choose a container, I think and place one funnel at the top. And then you’d uh, put the sand in the bottle till it’s filled to the brim. Its kinda cool if you’re into ah, designing.”

Luna inspects the booth for several seconds, “Maybe later.”

And so, they go on. Several times, Luna would stop and ask him a question and Harry would explain how crazy hats worked and they're not actually popping butterflies but rather butterfly like balloons.

At first, it was tiresome. Question thrown after question but then he’d looked at Luna and all his misery drowned away.

He had never seen her so excited. So full of childish glee.

Wisdom always shone like tears in those blue eyes and he’d never have the opportunity to see anything different but now, he found he rather loved the new look and with a bounce in his step, apprehended her.

McGonagall once asked him why circumstances revolved around him and he’d chirped I don't go looking for trouble. Trouble usually finds me. It seemed like the statement still applied, even if he didn’t go to Hogwarts anymore.

For several people cast them weird looks and they scoffed about Luna’s attire.

He thought she looked gorgeous. A normally sized chunk of radish hung from her left earlobe and a small carrot dangled from the right. She was wearing a knee-length colorful dress with an enormous butterfly design on her back. Her shoes were multicolored but Harry failed to understand why people seemed to think it was their business.

When the third person to call her out that night laughed with his friends, Harry took a glance at Luna and was speechless to notice she still wore that airy and bright smile. Was she not affected at all by the taunts? This was probably the fourth time they teased her in his presence. And he hoped it’d be the last time.

As if answering his question, she shakes her head slightly when Harry steps forward, adamant to teach someone a lesson.

“Leave it be, Har.”

He protests. “They have no right-”

“And so they don't. They’re misguided. Hecates are to be blamed.”

Disgruntled, he listens.

A wide smile splits Luna’s face. “You’re cute when you’re worried.”

And all thoughts of shoving a wand in someone’s ear turned to dust with that coy admission.

Harry had never noticed how loud carnivals could be, and how dim they got, so dim you could barely see when you accidently trod on someone's toe, but now he did.

Now he was conscious of everything, stealing what he hoped were secret glances at Luna every so often, hoping she was enjoying herself.

The bright smile she had on her face as she drank in the scene comforted him, but then he hastily reminded himself that Luna Lovegood was always smiling.

He loved that about her, he realised with a jolt.

That no matter how dark and crowded the carnival, or even the world, got, she still somehow managed to find the light, and just smile.

It’s infectious, her energy.

He really, really loved that about her.

They can hardly hear each other over the noise when Harry pulls Luna over to a wooden stall, standing on the outskirts of the crowd.

“Want anything?!”

Luna tilts her head to show she hasn’t understood.

Harry makes a point of pointing at the pink candy wound over sticks, shouting even louder.

“WOULD YOU LIKE SOME?”

Luna blinks, her smile slightly faltering as she follows his gesture. Her blue eyes flicker over the stall, taking in the impatient stall-owner, who is also pointing to the candy in a similar fashion, and she nods.

“THE CANDY LOOKS NICE, SHOULD WE GET SOME?”

The scene is so ridiculous that Harry can’t help but laugh as he proceeds to pick the largest treat on the stall.

Luna seems hesitant as she receives the gift from Harry’s hands, which worries him.

Had he mis-heard her, did she not want any? Had he already made a fool himself, not even an hour into his date?

She tentatively reached out, grasping a small piece between her fingers, and pulling. She let out a soft gasp as the candy tears clean off, and Harry realises something.

Of course, candyfloss was a muggle thing, Luna’d probably never seen the cloud-like sweet, and while incredibly wise, Luna was fascinated by littlest of things.

He leans in closer, just so she can hear him better, and desperately tries to ignore the warmth rushing to his ears.

“Try some.”

Luna, ever-trusting, lifts her gaze from the pink, and keeps her eyes locked on his, as she lifts the candy up, and deposits it in her mouth.

Harry watches as her eyes widen slightly, and her smile returns, brighter than ever. He stepped back then, the urge to pull her close being too strong.

“Muggle’s come up with the most amazing things.”

She breaths, and Harry was glad to see she went in for more. And more, and more.

At least now he knew what to get her for christmas.

When it’s finished, and believe me it didn’t take long, the pair seem to be drawn to the ride that towered above them all. The wheel spun, every cart occupied by some sort of couple. It seemed like the go-to place for letting people know you were on a date.

And maybe that’s why Harry suggested they ride the ferris wheel. He wanted make sure Luna knew how he felt.

And when she excitedly squeezed his hand, commenting on how he’d “read her mind” and explained something to do with “Nargles and their fear of heights”, he was glad he’d asked.

They were an odd couple, that was for sure.

What, with Luna’s special even for a wizard wardrobe, and Harry’s dug up old muggle clothes that he hardly wore, they didn’t exactly look like a couple you’d run into on the street.

Normally, maybe, they might have cared about the indiscreet stares they still received, as they paid for their tickets, and the scoff a woman sent their way when Luna smiled at her, but together? So high up that even the noise didn’t bother them anymore, and the stars winked at them from above, perfecting an already perfect day? All they noticed was each other.

The ride came to it’s usual standstill, Harry and Luna at the very top. It was mesmerizing for him, watching her shut her eyes and take in the cool breeze, fingers stroking the air as if she could feel something no-one else could.

To Harry, Luna was a whole world. She lived it, breathed it, floating between reality and just plain fantasy.

It was the best way to live.

“Look.”

She was pointing at something far in the distance, something Harry couldn’t even see from where he sat.

She giggled slightly as he struggled to find it, pulling him closer.

“There.”

This time her lips were right by his ear, and she whispered her next words.

“Aren’t they beautiful, the lights?”

And Harry saw. He had to agree, the city lights of Muggle london did glow rather brightly, and on any other day he’d have admired them for longer. But, at the word beautiful his eyes twitched back towards Luna, who’d been watching him.

“Yes,” He agreed, whispering for no apparent reason, “beautiful.”

Twelve times. Twelve more times they rode that ferris wheel. And each time they stopped high enough for Luna to spot something else to be fascinated by. By about ride five her hand was in his, Harry somehow also finding the courage to move close enough that their shoulders touched.

He was trying really hard not to sweat.

Her fingers were soft and slender, and he revelled in her touch. He loved the feel of her skin on his, and at sometime, he didn’t know when, maybe the sixth ride? His thumb was stroking her palm, the feeling regular, like he’d done it a million times.

When they spoke, their conversation flowing from each topic, Harry always wondered why he hadn’t seen this side to Luna before.

The incredibly thoughtful, grounded, funny Luna. That was just it. She was so, ridiculously funny that by ride seven he was sure he had tears in his eyes from all the laughter.

“You know, Harry, you surprised me.”

This kind of brought the laughing to a stop, just as ride 11 ended and 12 began.

“I did?” Harry cleared his throat, wondering what he’d done.

“Well...with everything you’ve been through. I’d have thought things like fairs and carnivals would be a breeze.”

“But I can feel your nervousness.”

And there it was, the marker screaming that the whole date had been a disaster. She could tell he was anxious. He was obviously acting weird, putting her off. Was he sweating?

I mean, it was practically freezing, but he still felt the heat of sahara with her so close.

“That’s okay though. I’m nervous too.”

And she says this with such a comfortable air about her, that Harry can’t help but think she is saying this to make him feel better. But then, the thought of Luna lying at all was even more crazy.

It was funny, how things had changed in the space of 12 rotations. It was like a clock on fast-forward, each ride symbolising a stage in their relationship. Discomfort, tentativeness, touch, closeness, realisation and learning and perhaps even loving, it was way too far to tell Harry scolded himself when his thoughts strayed, all thrown into one.

In a way, Harry was grateful, for when he took Luna’s hand, and led her from the beginning of their “us”, it felt like he’d been holding her forever. He told himself it didn’t make sense, how right Luna felt, that he was surely dizzy from the perfectly slow ferris wheel, but he lacked the enthusiasm to make it believable.

It was quite a funny story, how Harry came to be holding a fish in his hands. Even he didn’t quite understand it.

I mean, it was normal, right? Buying goldfish at fairs, people did that, Harry was sure.

Only, the funny part was the stall-owner’s face when Luna had pointed past all the giant teddy-bears and the array of colourful balloons, after Harry had finally managed to land his arrow in the target and win, following many, many tries.

He’d asked her what she wanted, for he’d played for her, and wasn’t really surprised when she singled out the small orange sea creature, as it swam in reply.

“Are you sure?” the stall-owner seemed genuinely surprised, like he’d given up on the thought of selling that fish long ago, but, Harry thought with a smile as he handed his date her fish, (a thing he’d never really had to do before), the stall-owner hadn’t known Luna was coming.

And so he held the fish with pride, as Luna cooed through the bag, talking to the creature like an old friend.

“What shall we name you?”

Luna mulled it over, then straightened, lips tugging into a smile.

“Denis.”

Harry blinked, “Denis?”

Luna waved his question away, like her answer was obvious.

“All the cutest people are called Denis.”

He wondered idly if she was possibly referring to an old boyfriend, but this quickly diminished when she bent down again, peering at the fish with such a look a person would give their pet, “you’re so adorable, aren’t you little denis?”

He doesn’t really decide to tell her then, the words just kinda spill from his mouth. He lets them though, figures he needs to voice how much he likes Luna in some way other than blushing.

“Reminds me of the first time I knew that I, uh… you know.” He’s obviously not very good at the whole actually talking to your date thing yet.

“That you?” Luna regarded him with a kindly curious look, genuinely interested.

Fascinated by the littlest of things.

“Reminds me of the first time I knew i liked you.”

When he finished, her smile grew wider, how was that even possible, and she looked even prettier, again how?

Harry kept talking, hoping he could always make her smile like that.

“We were still in school back then..”

He didn’t get it, not at all.

She wasn’t angry.

Hanging up posters for her stolen possessions with such a carefree attitude, like it all didn’t matter. Like it was all just ‘good fun’.

Well, he certainly didn't find it funny.

Humor was not one emotion he’d feel. Rage and bitterness though? Definitely.

Why bully someone as lovely as Luna? He didn’t get it at all.

“I’m sorry about your godfather, Harry.”

The words froze him in his tracks, and he waited for the rush of pain, the choking feeling in his throat that usually arose whenever he thought of Sirius.

But it never came.

He looked down to see she had grasped his shaking hand, and her touch healed it. Blocked him, even if it was just for a moment, from the sea of prodigious grief.

Somehow, just Luna’s timid smile, managed to convince him that ‘everything was going to be okay.’

“Are you sure you don’t want help looking for your stuff?”

She pulled away, and he felt the inexplicable urge to stop her, but instead took a half-step back, clenching his fist in an attempt to shake off the feeling of her fingers touching his.

Merlin, what was she doing to him?

“That’s alright. Anyway, my mum always said, the things we lose always have a way of coming back to us in the end.”

Harry didn’t get Luna at all.

Maybe that’s what made her so special.

“Looking back, I probably should’ve asked you out right there and then.” The hand that wasn’t holding the fish went to the back of his neck, rubbing the blush away.

She nodded, seriously considering his statement. Then, her eyes slowly drifted over the carnival.

“D’you think the nice man has any flossing candy left?”

“Wanna sneak out?”

Luna considers and then, nods her head thoughtfully.

If asked, many people would say the greatest love story to exist was Aristotle and Dante. In a world which is blatantly homophobic, perhaps the pair bring a promise of a greater future. A hope.

I’d like to believe they fell in love with Ari’s fierce and protective love and Dante’s open and deep soul.

Among the many who believed, one lover sought to live.

They creep forward like spies. The atmosphere is amusing enough that they both have smiles tugging at their lips as they slide in the truck.

Harry assumes the role of driver and shifts the gear and pushes forward. In a matter of seconds, they pretend they are no longer strangers and zoom against the inky black darkness.

Luna laughs and her date thinks it's a beautiful sound. It was a mixture between a snort and a bell and he decided that it was a melody he’d listen to forever if he could.

Rolling past, the figure of trees blur into the night sky and soon, they’re leaving the city, leaving civilization and entering the void.

Taking a quick glimpse to see if Luna was okay with the proceedings, Harry is assured as she smiles fondly.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder proved true. Hair flying with the breeze and lips parted in happiness, Harry could think of no painting that could rival the image he was gazing at.

Switching his attention to the road, he leans back and they drive, crickets chirping as the car ground.

Luna falls asleep. Blaming it on the crunelo, she says with rather too much enthusiasm, “They’re not very fond of civilization. Makes them all jittery. Did you see one? We’re so lucky to be in their presence.”

Harry quirks an eyebrow at her rambling though it goes unnoticed “We’re here.”

Let me paint a picture of their surroundings: From their vantage point in the truck, enormous mountains rose, their dark peaks nearly imperceptible. Fireflies hummed in the sky, their light offering a golden glow to the soothing darkness. Stars trailed the night sky and Luna knew that they were blinking down at her, silently promising that they saw.

The stars had always meant something special to Luna. Her mother often used to say, “The stars are our ancestors, love. Whenever you seek comfort, look upon the stars and wish and hope for the posterity.”

The world was etched in charcoal, the once vibrant colors of dawn now, a long forgotten memory. It was only them in this fantasy world where no plague of politics or racism existed. Time stood still as Harry led them to the back of the truck. Luna hadn’t noticed it before but there were pillows littering the space accompanied by a blanket. A lone basket stood at the base and Harry burrowed in it before he magicked a sandwich.

“I figured we wouldn’t be happy with the carnival food.” He grinned at the precipitous enlargement of Luna’s eyes. “I brought you s’mores for dessert because I remember hearing you say it was your favorite.”

Luna whispers, surprise, and awe seeping into her tone. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”

And it’s ridiculous really, how happy the sentence, the fact made him. The events leading up to now were considered as a date but right now, he felt something more tangible in the air. Make or break, after all, and by the end of the night, he’d understood where he stood with the fairy next to him. For better or for worse.

“I could do this forever,” Luna exclaims softly, staring so intently at her food, mesmerized.

Harry chuckled, “Yeah, these s’mores are pretty marvelous.”

She looks up, and lets out such a melodious sound Harry’s taken aback. She’s laughing.

He would never get used to it.

It was probably the trick of the light or lack thereof, but Harry was sure Luna’s eyes glowed in that moment. Brighter than bright, as her laughter died down and she lowered her s’more.

“You’ve got…”

Her words dwindle into nothing, and Harry was sure the thing that happened next was no trick. His heart constricting, he could feel it, and it felt like the right side of his face was melting. A very good, painless fire in the form of Luna’s fingers lay on his cheek.

Her finger trailed his lip, taking the chocolate with it.

“Chocolate on your face.”

She was whispering, why was she whispering?

Maybe it was because he was moving closer, and she was leaning in.

Or maybe it was because he’d dropped his s’more to cup her cheek, and was gazing into her eyes like he’d never seen anything so beautiful.

Or maybe it was because she had closed the distance between them, and her lips were on his, and everything was black and blue and black again as colors and thoughts whizzed around Harry’s mind, settling on perfect.

He was still reeling when the kiss ended, and he watched as Luna blushed, pulling back to bite her lip.

If things were up in the air before, now they were definitely firmly on the ground, spelling it out simply.

They liked each other.

A lot.

“Do you want to know when I started liking you?”

Sighing in relief, he nods. He wanted to ask her ever since he murmured the story about how he fell for the pixie. His pixie, hopefully. Assuming she’d tell him her story in return, he was left rather disappointed as she changed the topic and bounced off for more cotton candy.

“I didn’t realize, Harry.” She murmurs, her gaze as soft as his own mother’s and he embarrassingly tries to hide the tears that now shine in his eyes. It constantly baffled him that people felt affection to his persona. “I think I always knew and whenever you’d smile at me while you ate or whenever you defended me, you’d feed the burrow of feeling that I wore on my sleeve.”

Harry smiled at her and offered her his hand. Nestling in his warmth, she goes on, “If I had to choose a memory-“

Luna was the last to leave class, concluding that she couldn’t get bullied if no one else was left to tease her about her earrings or her name.

Walking out of class with extreme foreboding and caution, it’s unsurprising when a loud and cruel laugh cuts the silence preceding the contents of her bag spilling out.

“Loonie LOVE-good!” They chanted. “Who’d love you?!”

Never fight back with swords, Luna, but rather with silence and wit.

And so, she had taken the wise words of her father to heart and never tried to include herself in their pointless arguing. Luna was in the midst of collecting of her things when footsteps sound near. Glancing up, her heart stills as it takes in a very livid Harry Potter.

The anger is not directed at her. Merlin, no. It never will be but rather at the students behind her who now shuffled under the might glare of the boy who lived.

“Luna? Are you okay?”

His voice is laced with compassion and drowned with sweetness. Quite contradictory as his face looked like it was made of stone. However, Luna noticed worry lines creasing its way on his forehead so she nods and smiles at him for good measure. “I’m fine, Harry. just dropped my things.”

A silent plead not to hurt them which reluctantly, Harry listens to for he drops his wand back and clenches his jaw, as the bullies slump with obvious relief.

“Do you know who she is?”

Luna winces. She probably should have asked him to drop the whole issue altogether. Harry’s bark was worse than his bite and she shuddered to wonder what rumors would fly around.

Probably, ‘Star-Crossed Lovers.’ They certainly did make a weird pair. Would, would make a weird pair.

Laying a hand on his arm, she says, “Harry, you don’t need to-“

“No, Luna. They’ve got to know that they’re cowards-“ He throws the pale boys a glare. “I doubt they’ve fought death eaters and survived to tell the tale but you have. And you’ve remained as kind as ever whereas-“

“Harry.” She says again and perhaps, it's the unexpected whisper that surprises him, for he breaks the scrutiny of annoyance and tears his eyes towards her. The boys seize the chance and hurry away. Sighing, Harry lets them after Luna prompts a quick, “it’s okay.”

Harry sighs and helps her. “I don’t know why you let them be so rude.”

“You can’t change everyone.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Harry says grimly. Standing up, he moved rather awkwardly and shuffled his feet.

“Thank you for helping me. You’ve always been kind.”

The boy flushes and coughs. “S’alright. Just take care, yeah?”

“And then you ran away.”

Harry splutters. “I did not run. And why did you like me, then? I acted like a tosser.”

Luna yawned and snuggled closer to Harry. “I don’t know. I suppose you were the first person to care for me besides Ginny.”

The world didn't deserve Luna but perhaps, his feelings for her would offer some consolation.

“This is my favorite part of our date.”

Luna grins at him. “I can’t relate. I rather liked the cotton candy.”

Kissing her palm quickly, he drapes the blanket over them as the darkness winnows over them, cocooning them in some hazy dream. The stars fade as he blinks.

Harry supposed that Ron was wrong. You don’t need fireworks and adrenaline electrifying your marrow to feel happy.

Maybe you just needed that someone.

And maybe a fish too, he thought with a chuckle back to Denis, who sat comfortably in the backseat of his truck, a shiny new bowl as his home.

He wouldn’t trade the world for today but he concluded grande gestures weren’t always necessary. Not that today was grande but he had already planned the second date and since Sirius planned it, it was hella posh. Sometimes, you just need the quiet, the feeling of someone’s hand on yours. Them lending you their love and the trust that you wouldn’t abuse it.

The feeling of Luna nuzzling in the crook of his neck would never be forgotten. Decades later as he bounces his children on his knees, he will call their mother a flower.

Tranquility can bring happiness too, Harry concluded as he traced Luna’s soft features with his eyes.

Harry chuckles lightly.

Luna was right. The treats were indeed delicious.

#ours #harry x luna #harry potter #luna lovegood #harry #luna #lunarry #luna x harry #hpwritersnet #hpwriters #fortescuesnet #usernosebleed

27 notes · View notes

punk-in-docs · 8 years ago

Text

The Rose & the Nightingale, Chapter 1

Benedict Cumberbatch x Female OC, AU. Set in the 1920's, This tells a story of love, jealousy, friendship and desires. Set in the backdrop of 20's Britain, as the ages begin to shift, and Friends realise their lifelong preference for one another could turn out to be the beginning of a simmering romance... (eventual smut) - also on AO3 Chapter number: Chapter 1 Author: punk-in-docs (Here is my Masterlist for more chapters… Don’t laugh at me cause it’ s so, ridiculously tiny) but do take a look if you feel so inclined… Triggers/warnings: Meet cute, no warnings.

They had met, on a heavy and disappointing night, at a debutante party in a crowded London Townhouse in the chilling winter of 1918.

Britain was not all that far from just having won a world war with Germany, and subsequently everyone delighted in their social calendars livening up again, like a busy forest after its inhabitants had hibernated all winter. Out came the silken dresses that had been stowed away in musty trunks during the conflict, once again parties and drinks and dressing up became the norm, and the new age of technology gripped every household that dared to embrace it.

Packed to the rafters was the state of the elegant Knightsbridge home of the Kingsley’s. One of London’s leading families of social elite. The reason being for the ball, was that The Kingsley’s daughter, a one Kitty Kingsley, was blossoming into womanhood at the ripe and unsullied age of sixteen, the age in a girl’s life when frivolous parties, and extravagant dresses would start to become a necessity in their life, overtaking the rare presence of responsibility and smart conversation, that was permanently lacking to any young girl nowadays. The expectations for a girl of this naive age were to be seen and absolutely not heard. Something of which, she’d never been comfortable with.

Perhaps that was why Miss Elizabeth Jones rarely dared to dip her toe into the ‘cesspool’ – as she so often called it, much to her mother’s displeasure – of debutante dowager mama’s and stiff upper lipped father’s aswell as their nauseatingly dim children, who were trying in vain to be sensible, alas she certainly had no desire to blend in with the wallpaper, she was making a point of being both heard and seen.

The first over spoken incident of the evening that resulted as a consequence of her desire to be no demure wall -flowered miss, came when she was introduced to one Mr and Mrs Grey, and their 19 year old son, Jeremy Grey. She had done every polite etiquette correctly. Smiling and averting her eyes to the floor for the risk of being a flirt, commenting reservedly on the number of guests, and the delightful décor of the Kingsley’s home. And as the conversation had dried up thereafter, Mr Grey, and Elizabeth’s father, were engaging in a long winded political debate whilst everyone else smiled and remained in mute, but socially polite, silence.

Elizabeth took the time to scuff the sole of her shoe quietly onto the Victorian black and white tiled floor. Wishing she could be where she wanted at home with her sketchbook, and anywhere on god’s green earth than in this ballroom, with its suffocating atmosphere, in a dress she had yet to grow into and shoes that had been stuffed with tissue paper to help her fit them better. Instead she had to ‘guard her tongue’ as per her mother’s suggestion as she listened to the two men discuss the treaty of Versailles in regards to the treaty of Brest-Litovsk. She bit the inside of her cheek as she struggled not to be heard.

“I fail to see why we’re not demanding more from Germany. All the reparations we have to make to our economy and our businesses, we should bleed their economy dry for what they’ve done to us!” spouted Mr Grey, angrily raising his voice to a passionate degree.

“Because clearly over 20 billion gold marks isn’t enough.” She murmered quietly, sarcastically.

“Elizabeth!” Her mother scalded quickly, an embarrassed blush decorating her cheeks as she berated her daughter using her preferred name to usher her into silence and decorum.

Mr Grey looked at the young girl in a strange manner, gaping at her in wonderment, as were Mrs Grey and Jeremy.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Jones?” Mr Grey stammered, taken aback that the young girl was corralling him over matters of politics.

“Over $5 million has been demanded from Germany to pay reparations, in gold, commodities, ships and other forms. Surely that will go towards the majority of Occupation costs to the Allies in Europe. And as for the reparations to be made to England, surely France, and Belgium, both of whom have been half obliterated by this conflict must take some precedence and priority in restoring their lands and economy.” Libby argued, seeing Mr Greys face grow more and more shocked by her words. And her out of place attitude that made her sound like she was defending Germany.

Mr Grey narrowed his eyes at the young girl. Mrs Grey and her son looked horrified. Libby’s mother looked about ready to faint from mortification. And her own father actually looked to be quite proud and pleased with her.

“Are you saying you’re sympathising with Germany?” he asked dangerously.

“Not at all Mr Grey. I’m simply stating my opinion that a payment of over 20 billion in gold marks from a war torn state would be not only incredible, but also inconceivable in the face of a country that is facing an annex of its military and just about every other commodity it possesses, down to the raw iron in the ground, and the coal in its mines. Not to mention that the harsh demand can only be adding insult to injury to Germanys History and sooner or later someone is bound to rally the countries broken spirits, and kick up a fuss only made greater by the fact they are a rising industrial leader of this century and are successively being, as you put it… ‘Bled dry’ “

She finished, seeing Mr Greys hand grow slack on his glass, threatening to spill it over the floor and all over his shoes.

Suddenly in a wave of self-consciousness and the sheer unassuming ability of knowing she had just been incredibly rude and condescending, and not to mention severely outspoken. A temperament her mother told her was ugly, frank and impossibly brutish. And not only did she look like she sympathised with an enemy country, she also looked like a loud mouthed know it all. And suddenly, she felt utterly foolish, and very much wished she had just made a lame comment about the weather, and blended nicely in with the baroque wallpaper.

“Excuse me. I think I need to go and fetch myself a drink.” She spoke with the quiet and shy demeanour of a tame dormouse.

She slipped away, through crowds of black satin and formal evening dress with guffawing laughter erupting all around her in the room. She felt defeated, humiliated and just a tiny bit angry. Feeling shamed for having an opinion, was as illogical to her as being ashamed for having arms and legs and a pair of eyes.

Her escapade from the dreadful conversation, however, did not go unnoticed. Perhaps it was the bright colour of her midnight blue velvet dress as she streaked through the crowd that caught his attention amongst the sea of black dresses and suits, black was deemed a safe and quickly popular, modern, colour now, rather than an indication of old fashioned Victorian mourning. Perhaps maybe it was the way he had been stood within earshot of her when she had spouted all her intelligent and upstanding argument about reparations from Germany. And perhaps it was the way he had to try and hide his smile on hearing her passionately degrade a senior in her years with just a few lashes of her educated and eloquently remarkable tongue. But whatever sight or sound it was, that made Elizabeth Jones capture the attention of Benedict Cumberbatch, he knew he liked and thoroughly enjoyed it.

She was tall for her age. And slender too, with that delicate and pale British skin that every prim young miss ought have. Her hair was a short and wild curly array of off red, chestnut hues, impossible to decide between the shocking sight of red or brunette. Given her vibrant and resilient nature, he rather favoured to lean towards red as a common denominator for her hair colouring. Her dress hung off her in an ill-fitting manner, and her noted with nothing but primal curiosity in a way that only a 17 year old male could, was that while she was slender and willow like in height, he could go some way as to say that her bust was of an agreeable size, a size not deemed fashionable in today’s society, and her hips and rear filled out the back of her dress rather well, aswell as showing a Dias cut out on her back where the material fell away, he quite thought he liked the sight of her bare back and the splay of her refined neck. As she turned to weave her way past Mr Ramsgate, he saw that as she turned so lightly in his direction, the soft details of her face was just as pleasurable for him, as the rest of her. Her lips were plump and looked as if they offered and promised soft warmness, in her kiss and in her smile. her nose was, petite and button like, arched softly at just the right size, between two almond shaped dazzling blue eyes, that were also deemed rare and unfashionable, like the fiery flame shade of her hair, that looked big and sensuous when bordered by a fan of impossibly long eyelashes that spilled onto her slightly reddened cheeks as she looked down, steering her feet under her too long dress. She looked up again, walking towards the door, and he could see that her eyebrows were softly bowed on her forehead, arched like angels wings. Altogether, from the look of her, and from the sight of her, the more he saw, the more he was intrigued to know.

The final ‘Perhaps’ that raced through Benedict’s mind when he was looking at this elegant, beautiful and vibrant girl, was the perhaps that maybe she was different to the other blushing empty headed debutante girls who he had been dragged here, and forced by his parents, to meet and eventually wed. This girl was highly unfashionable judging by her looks, short auburn hair and blue eyes, not long brown or blonde hair and brown eyes that were favoured exotic and currently ‘all the rage’, and by her manner, berating a middle aged man over his crass opinion in politics and foreign affairs, and this. This is what made him want to go and introduce himself to her.

He excused himself politely from talking to Felicity Warrington, who had just commented on the lavish décor of the Kingsley’s home. He rather inclined to favour that the word ‘lavish’ was the only eloquent word in her vocabulary, and walked quietly and fairly quickly through the house to try and find theflame headed pariah who had distanced herself from the party.

Eventually, he came to a quiet, unlit corridor near the front of the house close to the cloakroom. And there she sat on the windowsill that overlooked the moonlit bathed front garden that faced the quieting street.

She had tugged off her shoes and left them in disarray on the floor, and her legs were pulled up and crossed in front of her, her bare feet rested on the deep window ledge. And her forehead was touching her knees, making her vivaciously coloured curls spill over her knees, and shroud her face from view. Her hair this way, however, revealed her ears and the small sapphire earbobs that were pinned into them. Her arms were linked around her legs, resting just below her kneecaps, and her saw that the moonlight that was streaming in from the window, was touching her skin so freely, and illuminating it in a manner akin to goddesses in pre Raphaelite paintings, that he suddenly envied the slice of light to be able to caress her skin at liberty without question or permission.

He suddenly felt he had to say something and stop invading her privacy in a strictly unforgivably rude manner.

“Pardon me, but. Are you, all right?”

She startled at the timbre of his soft baritone voice breeching her silence and solitude. Her head whipping up to bestow upon her intruder a surprised gaze, with her full lips parting and her blue eyes blinking in adjustment to the tall boy stood near the shadows of the doorway, peering at her worriedly.

She was struck by how old-worldly he looked. His face was thin and long, but not unpleasantly so. In fact, she thought to herself quietly with apposition, handsomely so. His was an unforgettably striking face, which she could tell, in an – unbeknownst famously to her - sense of prediction, that was destined to grow even more strikingly handsome as he got older. He had dark hair resting between black or brown, she couldn’t tell in the unforgiving shadow of the doorway where he stood. But he had softly placed feline shaped eyes that were awash in Mediterranean blue irises, residing under fairly curved eyebrows. She had never seen the Mediterranean Sea, only had she read about it in books, likening its soft, salty blue depths to the colour and warmth of his eyes. She has also learnt from books that this particular ocean was the temperature of a boiling hot bath after it had been left half an hour, resulting in a lazy warmth that instantly recalled her to think of the hsade this strangers eyes. His nose was, as far as noses go, button like and well suited to his face, she wasn’t sure if ‘button nose’ really constituted itself as a compliment, but, on having had to talk to Lawrence Finch for some portion of the evening, a boy whose nose had yet to grow into his face, and probably proceeded his body several seconds before he physically entered the room, again, when comparing that unfortunate trait to this boys nose, she decided that ‘button like’ was indeed a soft and graceful compliment. But the thing that drew her attention most was the fact that the shadows carved away his face in stark contrast, so that sharp cheekbones dominated his well-structured jaw. Nearly going all the way to say the darkness that cut away his features framed the cut out of the hillside shape of his cupids bow lips that were both feminine and masculine all in one.

She decided that it would be polite to speak as she had spent far too many seconds evaluating his appearance in her head. Seeing his brows twitch upwards in an awaiting gesture, as he pulled out of the shadows of the doorway, so she could see he was lean, tall and well built.

“I, must learn to watch my tongue better. I fear my, outbursts and prejudiced comments land me in veritable swamps of trouble more often than not.”

She commented, her toes curling on the window ledge in embarrassment. As he came to rest in front of the wall opposite her, hands in his pockets as he inspected his shoes in a shy burst of insecurity. She saw how the moon that was beaming in from behind her was plastering his figure to the wall, bathing him in godly illusion. He liked that her voice was adamant, pleasant sounding and resolute. Like the soft song of a nightingale.

“Well. Without meaning to appear in favour with popular opinion, I think you should in actual fact guard your tongue less, only. It’s far more amusing that way.” She raised her brows in disbelief.

“Are you arguing with me?” She ascertained lightly. He smiled shyly.

“I wouldn’t dare to, or dream of, saying yes. Wanting not to sound like a pansy here, I think we can safely agree it is an argument you’d win.” He smiled, his smirk shining through twinkling moonlit eyes.

And they examined each other for a moment, watching how the moonlight could simply strip away all their inhibitions, and leave them bare and unguarded to one another in an age that was so wantonly cloaked and kept under strict lock and key. He liked how he was stood directly opposite her now, and the light was framing every inch of her from this newfound angle, making her hair look like red strands of silk, and warranting her skin to look ethereal and enchanting, along with the brutality and vibrancy of her eyes and the shade of her dress, that blended beautifully with the night washed sky behind her out of that window. She is a magical, exotic, ethereal wood nymph hailing straight from the pages of Greek mythology. She could write sonnets about the magical way in which the light transformed him into a man rather than a boy.

She laughed lightly at his comment, before remembering what age of etiquette she lived in.

“Elizabeth Jones. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She stood, and offered her hand.

“Benedict Cumberbatch. It is a pleasure, Elizabeth.” He spoke easily taking her hand and smiling all the more. He then gestured to the spacious room by her side on the window seat. She was a delightful creature. He liked the feel, the taste, of her name on his tongue.

“I beg your pardon, and the sordid intrusion of your solitude, but, may I join you?” he asked, placing a hand to imitate where he wished to sit.

She smiled. “But of course, but, on one upstanding and not to be contended point, Benedict…” she started.

“That point being?” he enquired before he sat. Still stood adjacent to her, and thoroughly enjoying the sight of her.

“You call me Libby. Elizabeth is the name I get called by my parent’s when I forget to bite my tongue.”

He smiled widely.

“But of course, and, can I press a request of my own, Libby?”

“I am so agreeable as to let you offer an appeal of your own, so yes?” She asked, interested.

“Please call me Ben. Benedict does rather make me sound like a breakfast dish.”

They both laughed in time with each other, and that was the incredibly easy start of their firm friendship… The sensible debutante, and the kind, eligible boy. and what a fine pair they made.

~ Chapter 2 ~

@frenchfrostpudding @heavymist @echantedbytwh @totallynotasmutblog @wolfsmom1 @damageditem any fans in? tell me to sod off tagging you if you don't like it :) x

2 notes · View notes

siliconwebx · 6 years ago

Text

Reader Mode: The Button to Beat

As a young nerd, I loved to immerse myself in digital worlds, learning the ins and outs of the rules someone else had created for me (intentionally or not). But the older and crankier I get, the more I find myself losing patience when navigating these "delightful" experiences.

This fascination was great for my eventual career as a designer, but unfortunately, it was also like teaching someone kerning—once you learn how to quantify a bad user experience, you can’t go back.

These days, I’m an impatient grump who doesn't want to take work home. I just want to get in, get what I need, and get out. If there’s any delight I’m experiencing, it’s lost on me because I had such an effortless and annoyance-free time that it simply doesn’t stand out.

One of the features I find myself turning to over and over again is Safari’s Reader Mode. I read a lot of news, and with that comes a lot of bullshit. I now tap the cryptic little icon almost reflexively, confident that I’ll be transported to a land where I can focus on what matters most to me: content.

Tapping this button transports me to a land free of newsletter signup modals, surveys, pop-ups, pop-unders, flashing ad banners, automatically-playing video, app install prompts, breaking news alerts, passive-aggressive interstitials, and faux notification permission banners. It slices through the undesirable and unnecessary with ease; the Alexander the Great to the Gordian Knot that is poor user interface design.

Firefox also offers this reading mode. So does Edge. I find myself using it more and more on my laptop with every passing day—especially for reading long-form articles, like this piece. I’d be very surprised to see Chrome institute one natively, as Google is ultimately in the advertising business.

I’m not going to talk about how to best craft your content for Reader Mode. Mandy Michael already covered this in her article, Building websites for Safari Reader Mode and other reading apps. She’s great, and it is a must-read piece.

Building with accessible HTML standards is not a dead-end skill. Far from it. If you spend the effort to craft your experiences with a mind to semantics from the start, your content will be able to adapt to specialized reading modes, as well as whatever the future holds with little to no additional effort. Today’s Reader Mode could be tomorrow’s smart bathroom mirror.

Spending the effort is an important point: Good design isn’t about forcing someone to walk a tightrope across your carefully manicured lawn. Nor is it a puzzle box casually tossed to the user, hoping they’ll unlock it to reveal a hidden treasure. Good design is about doing the hard work to accommodate the different ways people access a solution to an identified problem.

For reading articles, the core problem is turning my ignorance about an issue into understanding (the funding model for this is a whole other complicated concern). The more obstructions you throw in my way to achieve this goal, the more I am inclined to leave and get my understanding elsewhere—all I’ll remember is how poor a time I had while trying to access your content. What is the value of an ad impression if it ultimately leads to that user never returning?

But this isn’t a website about digital media strategy, nor is it one about user conversion. This is a website about CSS and front-end development. What we’re going to discuss is how to keep people like me from hitting that button by relying on this nifty programming language the W3C so wisely gave us. Because if you don’t, all that other stuff—your newsletter signup boxes, your comments, your related articles, your engagement—will be cut away.

Inclusivity

What you want to do first is cast a wide net. The more people you can proactively accommodate from the outset, the more people you don’t unintentionally alienate. Our design choices should be invisible—we’re not trying to say, "this is for you." That should be self-evident. What we’re trying to avoid are scenarios where someone encounters something that communicates, "this is for someone else."

It’s not too difficult, provided you know what to look out for. Carie Fisher outlines the bulk of it in her brilliant post, Designing Accessible Content: Typography, Font Styling, and Structure.

Priority

A basic paragraph style is the wellspring from which all your other type decisions should flow. It’s probably the most common and frequently invoked content type a website has, so it’s important to treat it with the care and respect it deserves. The web is typography, after all.

Heydon Pickering wrote about styling paragraphs way back when in 2011 with his post, The Perfect Paragraph. And here’s the thing: eight years later, this is all still solid advice (sheesh, I’ve been doing this for awhile). When you make design decisions that work with the grain of the web platform, you gain the confidence that you’re creating resilient, robust, and accessible solutions that last.

The neat part about this is that it frees up time to do other things, say reading about gender bias and the undervaluing of HTML and CSS. If anything, do it for me. I am honestly not sure I can handle another case of 2,000 lines of JavaScript used to recreate position: absolute;.

Circumstance

Form

Even though responsive design is nearly a decade old at this point(!), we still seem to ignore a lot of the wisdom Ethan Marcotte so nicely teaches us for free. He’s a smart guy, you should pay attention to what he has to say.

After a complete lack of breakpoints, perhaps the biggest offender I still come across with regards to responsive design is the assumption that a small viewport means teeny-tiny type. Typically, the opposite is true. Small devices are made to be worn or carried, meaning that we move them in physical space to get them into a comfortable reading position. This is the opposite of a larger, more stationary device, such as a monitor, where we move our body to accommodate it instead.

A comfortable reading position means not forcing someone to hold a phone two centimeters away from their face. Ergonomics aren’t likely to change, but devices will. Because of that, you should craft your breakpoint names to be abstract. I personally like names that keep usability in mind, so something along the lines of, "wrist, palm, lap, desk, wall." It helps keep the user’s circumstance top-of-mind, and moves you away from associating only certain kinds of content as being viable on certain kinds of devices.

These ergonomically-derived designs can be achieved with the help from people like Rachel Andrew, whose in-depth explorations of CSS grid help us understand the power behind a real CSS layout system. Sass experts like Miriam Suzanne then teach us how to use True to codify these layouts and reliably integrate them into our larger Sass systems.

You also want to avoid fallacious device sniffing approaches, or making gross assumptions about a user’s circumstances and capabilities. Just let me increase and decrease that type size. Reader Mode lets me, so I’m going to get there one way or another.

Connection

The other thing you need to think about is how that ideal paragraph design actually gets served to a device. A big part of that involves loading our fonts, and ensuring that the loading process prioritizes user experience.

Text

Text downloads quickly; a lot faster than other exotic kinds of content. Browsers will render it gleefully, as it is historically the most important part of the payload. This means that the Reader Mode button is going to show up a lot faster than that distracting auto-playing video of talking heads so thoughtfully jammed into the bottom right-hand corner of my viewport.

And what if we’re on a slow, intermittent, and/or metered connection? Top-of-the-line MacBooks still have to use hotel wifi, just like everyone else.

You want to keep the page from jumping around when our paragraph font loads. This prevents the terrible experience of forcing me to scroll around to rediscover my place as things shift into place. It also helps prevent me from mis-clicking, taking me away from what I want to read because I had the audacity to interact with the page before the bitcoin miners are deployed (thankfully, good people like Laura Kalbag can help us with that one).

The temptation to hit that Reader Mode button is strong, because when I see the main text of the page show up, I know I can easily and reliably avoid all these potential issues.

Helen V. Holmes wrote Type is Your Right!, a beautiful article that effortlessly blends typographic history, capability, and performance. Notably, she discusses how to manage the Flash of Invisible Text (FOIT) and Flash of Unstyled Text (FOUT) to best corral all the aforementioned issues. In response, Monica Dinculescu made Font style matcher, a fantastic tool that lets you bend, stretch, squish, squash, and torture type in ways that would make your stodgy typography professor faint, all in the service of preventing layout jank.

Images

You can (and should) make all sorts of clever optimizations to ensure we’re delivering our images as efficiently as possible. But what happens while I’m waiting for those images to show up? What if they never do?

Since you’re a responsible, inclusive web professional, you’ve already made sure to include alternative text descriptions for our image content. Ire Aderinokun teaches us that you can take that one step further and style broken images. Now even the content that isn’t working as intended looks good. No brittle, overwrought JavaScript here—just good, old fashioned progressive enhancement.

The other type of image you want to consider are icons. There’s lots of reasons to not use icon fonts. Adding one more reason to toss on the pile: icon fonts may not hold up in Reader Mode, as they are constructed using text glyphs. When Reader Mode passes over a page, it may convert the glyph to use the font you specify. This could make for a disastrous experience, especially if the icon is used to communicate critical functionality (e.g. "Press the Home button (☒) to return to the main menu.").

To avoid this issue, Sara Soueidan teaches us how to convert those icon fonts to SVG . But you know what? She’s so much more than just a SVG expert. She’s an incredible UX developer, and you’d do well to read up on what she’s written. I, for one, have learned a ton.

Control

To help make my reading experience as comfortable as possible, Reader Mode allows me to adjust things like the typeface, the text and background colors, the font size and line height, and the number of words per line. This is great. I’ll frequently toggle back and forth between light and dark backgrounds depending on the time of day.

I also wear glasses, and I know that the older I get, the worst my vision will be. Thanks to Jennifer Aldrich’s writing, I know that this is the norm. After all, we’re all just temporarily abled. I might also need something like Windows High Contrast Mode one day. Thanks to Amelia Bellamy-Royds, I now know how to make my content be the best it can be when viewed in that mode.

The web is flexible. Working on it means getting over your ego and learning to let go. That means accepting that the medium will never be pixel perfect. It means embracing technology like relative units, and more importantly, philosophies like Intrinsic Web Design. That’s brought to us by Jen Simmons, a tireless and passionate advocate for web standards.

I’d love to read your website. I’d love for your harmonious typography to quietly usher me into a flow state, making me forget I was even browsing your site at all.

The post Reader Mode: The Button to Beat appeared first on CSS-Tricks.

😉SiliconWebX | 🌐CSS-Tricks

#Silicon Web Design #Ahmedabad #India #Web Development #WPBeginner #Silicon URL #Web Site #Cloud Host

0 notes

delightfully-daisy · 8 years ago

Photo

What Lilian Canard Will Tell You

AN: I don’t think there’s any trigger warnings with this, but if someone spots something, please let me know. I had a lot more fun with this than I thought I would--I wanted to do Jane’s dad or Roger’s mum, who are both more likeable to me, but this needed to be done for ~plot~ reasons and Daisy’s mom just vividly came to life to me. I hope you enjoy~

Also, just pretend all the dialogue is in French I’m too lazy.

Lillian Dominique Harcourt Canard started her Sunday mornings the same way each week. The work week was always rough on Lillian, what with being one of the head lawyers at a high profile corporate law firm. Saturdays were for lingering remnants of the work week, for socializing, for society events. But Sundays—Sundays were a day just for herself.

She woke up early and she went for a jog around the city, came back into the house at approximately 8:00 each Sunday morning, made a protein shake, and then showered. She read for an hour—sometimes literature, most often self-help books (ironically, of course, as Lilian needed no help). She took no calls on Sunday mornings—nothing till noon. Those mornings were for herself.

She walked Fifi and Gigi. She ordered a new pair of shoes every Sunday, two if the week had been good.

The housestaff knew not to bother Lilian on Sunday mornings, lest the unleash the wrath of their boss. They knew her patterns and crossed the townhouse where she did not, not till noon at least, when she came downstairs dressed up smartly, and greeted Cece, the housekeeper at the foot of the stairs, and made her way to her office on the ground floor.

Lilian will tell you that her proudest accomplishment was becoming French. You see, her father iss English and she is born in a little town in sleepy England called Swynlake. It is a charming town, yes, and she spent the first five years of her life not knowing anything else. She will tell you that the first time she was aware of the acute difference between her French background and her English one was when she traveled to Paris at the age of five with her mother and as she stepped out onto the streets, she realized that there was glamour and poise and music just wafting out—a certain elegance that London and England never had.

London is burly and grey and scrappy. London is the type of city Lilian believed you would settle for. But Paris—ah, Paris—Paris, she is a jewel. She is the one you want to marry.

She made up her mind at age five that she was going to make Paris fall in love with her. She told her mother she wanted to come to school in France, and her mother doted on her, really, so off Lilian was to private academies, raised more in France than in England, despite what her birth certificate said.

On those Sundays right after noon, Lilian would answer her emails. She hated marring her day of rest with emails, but she simply got so many that it was impossible to ignore. She answered the work ones first—work before play, even on her day of rest. Then she moved onto the emails from her social circle, starting from the outside, working her way in. And then it was emails from her family.

Today, this Sunday, her husband sent her a few pictures from Tokyo, where he currently was. There were some awkward selfies, Jacques holding the camera up at an odd angle, his face looking perpetually confused. Lilian shook her head, but saved them to her computer, a little smile on her lips. She’d reply later.

Nicolas sent his usually weekly update. She was fond of her eldest son. He was the most accomplished, the smartest. He would have little trouble in life. Now that he’d gotten rid of that American girl, his path was clear. It was not that Lilian had not liked Annie—she just knew she would’ve held Nicolas back. And she could not have that for her son. Her children deserved high society marriages and status boosts and a comfortable life for the rest of their days. For her sons, it was less about finding a partner with a high income, and more about finding one with a touch of high breeding and sophistication. Annie was from Ohio. She was nice. She wanted to be a doctor. Lilian saw the way she dressed and laughed and all she saw was someone to distract Nic, someone who would use his money to further her own ambitions.

Thankfully, that was done with.

Nic’s email was brief, but still offered a lot. He called his mother every Tuesday and Thursday, when their schedules lined up. He was a good son. He listened.

The next email was from Daisy, a link to an article she had written. Lilian clicked the link. She read it through. She smiled.

Nic would have no trouble in life; Daisy would. Lilian worried about Daisy. Because her daughter was smart, yes, but not in the way her brothers were, not in the way her mother was. Daisy’s smarts lay in a world that was cutthroat and brutal and would not do kindly on her poor, sweet little heart. She’d done her best to drill some mettle into her daughter, some of that iron resilience and ambition that she herself possessed. But Daisy was soft, easily crushed like the flower she was named for. A pity.

Andre sent no emails. Lilian did not care much.

She refreshed her inbox, satisfied to see that there were no unread messages.

Lilian will always tell you that family life is important to her. She prides herself on managing her jetting career, her husband’s jetting career, and the promising aspects of all three of her children. If you ask her in public about her children, she will gloat equally about all three of them, Nic and Daisy and Andre, though perhaps if you get a drink or two in her, get her alone, she might admit that she has more worries for Daisy than the other two. It’s a hard world to be a woman, she will tell you. Daisy has too much softness in her. For a woman to make it, even in a typically feminized industry, she needs to be made of steel, her edges sharp, willing to cut through to get to the top.

Even though Daisy is smarter than Andre, Andre will not need to try nearly as hard in his life. He will get a good engineering job because he is the son of a respectable name and he knows how to follow directions. Nic is brilliant—Nic will do fine professionally, but Lilian worries that flouncy, poor American girls will take advantage of his good nature. Nic has a hard time saying no. Nic has a sharp mind, though, and that will pull him through. For her sons, life will be easy. They can be dumb, but hard and driven. They can be soft, but still sharp and astute. Daisy does not have it easy; Daisy cannot afford softness or anything less than a sparking wit.

Lilian loves all her children. She wants them all to succeed. But she worries about Daisy the most.

After her emails, Lilian made her phone calls. She started with her parents in Swynlake. That conversation always lasts about twenty minutes. Today, she listened to the hum drum lives of retired old money—hunting trips her father took, the elegant balls her mother was invited to. Apparently an old estate in the town is being renovated. The owner is a refined and poised young woman, oh Lilian you’d love her, she lives there with her partner and they throw the most delightful parties. Lilian laughed along. She offered comments. She made plans to visit (she rarely follows through). She offeerd little to no insight on her personal life. She said she misses her parents and then made an excuse.

She called her husband next. It went to voicemail. A quick text followed. Sorry, mon cher. At dinner. Will call back.

Lilian knew that when he did call back, she would be out and about. They would play phone tag with one another, never quite catching the other. It happened all the time. She expected nothing else, just tightened her lips and sent back a no worries.

She called Nic. Nic rises early. Right now, it was around nine in the morning for him. Nic always talks for a long time and today was no different. He told his mama about the emergency room cases he had to witness this week and how the doctor he was shadowing got pulled in for an emergency operation at the last minute and how he got to watch the whole thing. Lilian asked about girls. Yes, she worries about Nic’s love life. He’s at the age where he should be looking out for a respectable wife right now. Nic replied that he’d been too busy to even think about dating. Lilian laughed. Nic made an excuse, the same way Lilian had made an excuse earlier. She did not blame him, did not feel hurt. She understands.

Next, Daisy. Daisy usually answers on the first ring, but this time, it went to three before she picked up.

“Sorry,” said Daisy, her voice sounded flushed. “I was working out.”

“I thought you didn’t on Sundays,” said Lilian.

“My pilates instructor quit, so I’ve been going to this new class with Clarke on Sundays,” replied Daisy.

Lilian nodded. She likes Clarke. Clarke is from a good name and has that steely grit that Daisy needs.

They talked a little more, Daisy detailing events she had with friends over the week, the latest update on her senior project, internships she’s applying to for the summer. She mentioned going to visit Nic for her spring break in Boston.

Lilian is wary of Nic and Daisy hanging out too much. The both of them are too soft. Out of her children, only Andre inherited the resilience and clear cut ambition that Lilian has. It is why he is her least favorite, but it is also why she does not worry about him. Nic, her darling, beautiful Nic, needs some of that. He is her weakness, soft and gentle, who wants to save the world, who cares more about his patients than his status. She’ll allow that for her Nic. But that’s a dangerous idea for Daisy, who will drown if she had all of Nic’s softness.

But Lilian told Daisy that would be a wonderful idea. Nic could use some company. He is so busy.

They bid each other farewell.

Lilian called Andre next. Andre answered after four rings. They talked for a bit, Lilian asking the routine questions about classes, Andre giving his usual short answers. The conversation ebbed. Lilian did not want to hang up just yet.

“Daisy’s thinking about visiting Nic for spring break,” said Lilian.

Andre perked up a bit.

“Oh really? Is she bringing her boyfriend?”

Lilian, who had been lounging on the sofa in her office room, suddenly sits up straight. She felt a chill drip down her spine, easing its way into the pit of her stomach. She pressed the phone closer to her ear.

“Pardon?”

“Haven’t you seen that dude she’s dating? Oh wait you don’t have her on Instagram, duh. Yeah. She’s dating someone. I don’t know who it is. Doesn’t look like someone we know.”

Andre sounded indifferent. Lilian could not blame him, after all she would hardly care whom her older brother dated in uni. But Lilian cares. She’d made a preapproved list of people that would be good matches for her daughter—smart, handsome boys from good families, who had money but also would support her little ambitions and humor her interests. She knew that she needed to play this cool in order to find out the most information.

“I’ll have to see it myself.” She gave a little airy laugh, as if this were not a big deal. As if she were not hurt that her daughter did not tell her that after four years she was dating again. “Goodbye, mon cher. I’m sure you have a lot of studying to do.”

“Yeah. Studying. Bye mama.”

Lilian will tell you that she knew Jacques was the one on their third date and he ordered her favorite wine at the dinner, even though she had not told him what it was. She liked his charm, liked his blue eyes, liked that he listened to her, but still had a drive (Lilian likes a drive, if you could not tell). It was also helpful that he came from a good name, had job prospects lined up, and the rest of her friends were clamoring for details and calling them the perfect couple.

If you get a drink or two or three---a lot, into Lilian, she will tell you that there was another man before Jacques, back in university. She won’t say much, no matter how much she’s had to drink. She will say that he was English, from the crust of London. She will say he was a musician.

She will say nothing more.

She did some snooping now. She knew how to dig when she needed to. Daisy kept her social media professional and neat (good on her), but Lilian tracked down that Instagram that Andre mentioned and she saw a young man with messy hair, in shabby clothes, and she furrowed her brow, because this was Daisy and one of the things Lilian was sure of was that Daisy had high standards.

But this was a young man from New York City—not even Manhattan, but from what it looked like, the Bronx (Lilian was good at scouting the Internet; she usually respected her daughter’s privacy enough not to do so, but this was a desperate time). Not a high society man, not even an artist or a musician or someone with charm. Someone scrappy and not someone she expected from Daisy.

Lilian felt cold. That chill she had felt when she first spoke to Andre settled in her chest, spreading out, making her chest numb.

This was not going to be good for Daisy.

God, she and Nic. Beautiful, little soft things.

At her desk, Lilian tapped her long, manicured fingernails.

Part of her wanted to snatch up her phone, call Daisy and demand to know why she had not told her mother about this boy. Part of her knew that the reason Daisy had not done so was—well, because of Annie and Nic.

The tapping grew faster. This was a problem that needed to be ironed out.

Lilian could take this weakness and turn it into a strength. Daisy’s softness, Daisy’s girlishness, Daisy’s weakness for love stories…they would work with this.

Daisy had had a scandal. Daisy had let her softness turn into a weakness, but now they could spin into a strength. Daisy found love while away. She found love in an unlikely place—this was good. Lilian could work with this. Everyone loved a rags to riches story. Everyone loved a poor little rich girl finding a handsome poor boy.

Lilian tapped her fingers again, this time slowly, each finger at one time.

She could spin this for their circle in a good light—look at how philanthropic my daughter is. Look at us as a family. And this wasn’t Annie, who was solidly middle class with her own life prospects. This was some scrappy kid from the Bronx, with no future. Oh, this would be good. Lilian would get to know him throughout all of this, figure out what he wanted, give him that opportunity. She’d be smart about it, of course, a little nudge and push not a silver platter.

Give him an opportunity far from Daisy. Force them to split. Daisy could marry someone respectable, but the story would work in her favor in the end. She’d seem sympathetic, but strong enough to make a decision that would benefit her former lover and herself.

Lilian curled her fingers into her palm, then rapped her knuckles against the table.

Yes. That would do. In two weeks, she will call Daisy and ask—lightly, casually, making no hints of what was in her mind. She will pretend to be mad and upset, but then (and Lilian knew that Daisy would bring up Nic and Annie), she would soften and perhaps admit her wrongs and invite the both of them for summer. And everything would fall into place.

Lilian will tell you that there is no such thing as a weakness. There are only weak points that you use as weapons. You are only truly weak if you let them show.

#bdrptask #bdrptasks #whee

1 note · View note

poop4u · 5 years ago

Text

Behind the Brand: Molly Barker

#Poop4U

Beautiful. Minimal. Ethical. These are three words that you don’t often correlate with dog products. But premium lifestyle pet brand, Molly Barker, ticks all three boxes.

When founder, Angela Infantino, saw a gap in the market for curated, elegant dog accessories in Australia, Molly Barker was born.

With innovative toys, luxurious beds, and tonal accessories that compliment the most chicest of home decor, this is one pet brand that exudes luxury and quality — while at the same time remaining committed to supporting local artisans (who make their products) and the environment (their packaging is not only stunning but also biodegradable.)

If you’re looking for style, substance and some serious luxe vibes, you’re going to love all things Molly Barker.

Behind the Brand: Molly Barker

Who: Angela Infantino Title & Company: Founder and Director – Molly Barker Age: 39 Location: Melbourne, Australia

What is the philosophy behind the Molly Barker brand?

To create thoughtfully designed pieces that enhance the style and comfort of every dog and their surroundings.

We also cultivate a community of kindness and giving back wherever possible. We achieve this through our donations to Assistance Dogs Australia, our eco friendly packaging, and manufacture our products in Australia through other small businesses.

“Molly is our brand mascot and product testing officer so she is by my side every day. She is also my main inspiration.

When I’m thinking of a new product idea I take notice of things she likes and doesn’t like, and how we like to live. I draw aesthetics from architecture, fashion and textures. I like beautiful things that make me feel something, and I try to bring that emotion into the products I design.”

Tell us about your career prior to launching Molly Barker.

Prior to launching Molly Barker I had a successful career in the construction industry selling beautiful homes. My days were spend in stylish display homes so I developed an eye for design aesthetics and attention to detail. It was also a very competitive industry which taught me resilience and problem solving. These skills have been invaluable through my journey as an entrepreneur and have helped me navigate the challenges of this pandemic.

Molly Barker is all about luxury modern pet accessories. How are you different to other brands?

Our aim is not just about producing nice things for dogs. We want our customers to love our pieces as if they were purchasing it for themselves. I follow 3 main principles when designing each collection. 1. It has to be functional for both the dog and the owner. Beautiful pieces are pointless unless they make life easier, are comfortable and user friendly. 2. It has to be beautiful. We want our pieces to have a sense of sophistication and classic chic so they integrate seamlessly into a luxurious lifestyle while ageing gracefully. 3. It has to be high quality. We only use premium materials so our products last. This represents value for money and ensures the safety of our customers beloved pets.

“The Molly Barker customer see their dog as a member of their family so they want them to have the best. They appreciate quality and don’t want to compromise style for functionality. They want it all and they know they can have that with Molly Barker.”

You’re from the chic city of Melbourne. Where are your go-to Melbourne dog friendly places?

I live in the Bayside area so dog friendly places are everywhere which is why I love it so much. We often frequent the dog beaches in Sandringham and Mentone then stop by one of the cafes nearby such as Stevie in Sandringham, Busy Boy in Mentone or Good Times Milk Bar in Bentleigh.

Greenfields is another great place to visit especially in summer. It has a stunning deck where you can enjoy a smoothie or cocktail and take in the view of Albert Park Lake while your dog plays on the grass.

How does your Melbourne location influence your brand aesthetic?

It’s full of beauty both old and new. Everywhere you go you’ll see a mix of elegant beach homes and modern architecturally designed residents. Both men and women immerse themselves in the latest fashion and indulge in luxurious lifestyles. It has a sense of elegance without feeling pretentious.

How had COVID impacted your business in 2020?

The first wave of COVID was definitely a shock. In March the whole country was hit with uncertainty so no one was spending money. But by May people got bored at home and started shopping online. It was one of our best months to date and the rest of the year was looking pretty exciting.

But two months later a second wave hit Victoria hard and stage 4 restrictions were put in place which forced businesses to close, so many people were also out of work. Although we are an online business, the majority of our stockists and customers are from Victoria so everything came to a screeching holt.

Seeing orders cancel and dry up overnight was scary. I’ve never felt so uncertain and helpless. But you can’t throw the towel in. And there’s too many people who want us to succeed despite this adversity so I draw strength from that. There’s no point focussing on what I can’t control. Instead I focus on what I can do. Covid has forced me to be innovative in the way we reach people, connect with our market, and do business. I’m currently working on some exciting new collaborations and a new collection so we can hit the ground running when this whole thing is over.

Where do you go for inspiration?

It’s probably more where I don’t go that gives me the most inspiration. I don’t look at what my competitors are doing. I really focus on staying in my own lane. If you look at our products you’ll see they focus heavily on the dog owner and leading a luxurious lifestyle. So my inspiration comes from an array of places such as fashion, architecture, furniture and homewares, and travel destinations.

What is the biggest lesson you’ve learnt in running a business and developing a brand?

Not to be scared of failing…embrace it and learn from it, and if you’re not failing you’re not trying hard enough. Knowing what doesn’t work is often more beneficial than knowing what does work.

“Seeing our presence expand globally has definitely been exciting. Every time I get an email from an international blogger or business wanting to stock our products, I think “how on earth did you find out about us?” “

Who are Molly Barker’s celebrity muses or other non-pet brands you admire?

Chanel would have to be one that comes to mind. It represents a brand who’s elegance stands the test of time and doesn’t concern itself with what others are doing.

If Molly Barker could choose anyone to be the celebrity face of their brand, who would you choose?

Jennifer Hawkins. She’s elegant, smart and sophisticated, but not stuffy or pretentious.

What are your top picks from the latest Molly Barker collection?

Our Sasha Collection Gift Set will always be one of my favourites. I use every product in this set every day and it still looks as good and works just as well as the day I got it.

I also love the Dog Shampoo. The natural ingredients have healed Molly’s flaky skin and leaves her smelling so divine. I love cuddling her after she’s had a bath because she smells so good and her coat is so soft.

Follow Molly Barker

Website | Facebook | YouTube | Pinterest | Instagram

The post Behind the Brand: Molly Barker appeared first on Pretty Fluffy.

Poop4U Blog via www.Poop4U.com Serena Faber Nelson, Khareem Sudlow

#poop4u #cute dog #dogs of tumblr #puppy doggo #doglover #doggrooming #my doggo #dogmeme

0 notes