#the entwining of their lives into one is a project they share and take pride in!!!

[hello-eeveev]

Dorian: We were in your home! It was charming. Lovely.

Caleb, with a very genuine smile: Oh, thank you. We work very hard at it.

once again I am made a wreck by the building of a home together and the pride Caleb clearly takes in having done that 😭😭😭

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

One Shot- To The Stars And Back

Intro: Steve and Katie receive a message which Tony left before his death.

Warnings: “Language!” 

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: This was originally a full chapter, however I as I ended up publishing Stark Spangled Man I stripped out the flashback, and it left me with this little mini. It always sat in my head that Tony would leave personalised messages for Katie and Steve, along with the rest of his family, not just the generic one we saw at his funeral so here we are.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

“Happy?” Katie frowned momentarily as the man strode into her kitchen, followed by Steve. “Wasn’t expecting to see you today, not that you’re not welcome, of course you are.” She hastily added.

“It’s okay, Kiddo, I know what you meant.” He chuckled softly “The kids not here?” “Jamie’s gone to the park with Bucky and Sam, and Emmy’s taken Lucky for a walk.” She answered. “Why, do we need them?”

“No, I was just gonna say hi but I’ll see them tomorrow I suppose.” He smiled sadly at the thought of the funeral. “But, anyway, I came to deliver this. It turns out even, well, even when he’s gone your brother has me running errands.”

Katie smiled softly as he held up the box in front of her.

“He left three. One for you and Steve, one for Pepper and Morgan, and one for his Funeral….so…”

“His Funeral?” Steve frowned, as Katie opened a drawer and retrieved a knife before she walked over to the table. She had a feeling she knew what was in there, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she carefully slit the tape on the cardboard box and took a breath as she realised she was right.

Inside was an Iron Man helmet, one of his many spares from his suits over the years.

“He’s erm, ” she took a breath as she instantly recognised which suit this had come from. “He’ll have left a message or something, like he did all those years ago from Tennessee.”

Happy nodded. “He did. The boxes arrived at the house today. Along with instructions that if he had, you know, then they were to be distributed accordingly.”

“Thanks.” Katie set the helmet on the table and glancing into the box. There was another, smaller package inside, to which an envelope was attached. She smiled as she read her brother’s handwriting on the front. It simply said ‘Spangles’.

“We were just about to get lunch.” Steve tore his eyes away from Katie as he looked to Happy. “Do you want to join us?”

“Thanks but I should be getting back.” Happy declined the offer politely. “Stuff to do before tomorrow.”

Katie gave him a small smile, placing the smaller box on the table “Can’t say I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me neither.” Happy swallowed, dropping a hand to her shoulder “But we’ll get through it. We always do, huh?”

“I’ll see you out.” Steve said, as Happy gave Katie a hug before he nodded and the two men left the room.

Katie looked at the helmet which now sat on the table, and she took a deep breath before she picked it up and looked straight into the eye sockets. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, resting her forehead against the cool metal she held in her hands. She had no idea which suit this was from, but then again Tony had made so many of the damned things, it could be Mk500 for all she knew. The tears began to fall down her face as she screwed her eyes shut, head pressed against the helmet, before gently hands pried it from hers.

“Hey,” Steve spoke softly, dropping into the seat next to her, placing the helmet on the table. “Come here.”

She turned into him, pressing her face to his chest as she shook with silent sobs. His hand gently rubbed her back as he soothed her, waiting for her to calm down.

“Sorry,” She pulled back. “Stop apologising.” Steve shook his head, wiping her tears with his thumbs. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

Katie took a deep breath and glanced at the helmet, before she remembered something. “Oh, here.” She reached out for the smaller box, and nudged it towards him.  “This was in there for you.” Steve frowned and took the box, looking at the envelope. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes “That fucking nickname.”

“Open it.” Katie urged. “I wanna see what it is.”

Smiling at her ever impatient nature, Steve tore the envelope open. His eyes scanned the writing and his brow furrowed slightly, before his lips turned up in a soft smile and he handed the note to her.

Hey Old Man. My dad once told me that no amount of money can buy a second of time, yet he had a hell of a lot of expensive watches, so go figure. This particular one, however, I couldn’t auction for charity. I always intended to pass it to you, one way or another. And if you’re reading this note you’re getting it after my demise…so I best explain.

I did a bit of digging and it turns out that most of the guys involved in ‘Operation Rebirth’ and the Howling Comandos got one of these post the War. It’s a Wartime Rolex Oyster, probably worth a fair dime or two but the sentiment makes it priceless as you’ll see when you look at it. (Here’s a clue- check the back!) It only feels right that you have it. I had intended to pass it to you for your 40th,or your 107th, whatever you wanna call it, but again, as you’re reading this I won’t be there for that.  

I know Jamie’s surname is Rogers but there is half Stark in him so he’s not a complete lost cause, and maybe when he’s older you can pass this down to him. Or if you have any more kids that are boys, I dunno, maybe you can give them a strap each or something. Whatever.

I’m also assuming you’ll be reading this before watching the message I left as we both know Kiddo is an impatient brat so I’ll leave it there, I don’ t wanna spoil my heartfelt speech too much.

T 

Whilst Katie was reading, Steve opened the box and he gently took the watch in his hand. It was silver, with a black leather strap and a simple, classic face. He studied at it before he turned it over and he instantly felt a lump in his throat. Engraved on the back was the Howling Commando emblem- they had adopted the wings from his helmet which had adorned their uniforms in whichever place they chose- with the words ‘To The Captain’ arched over the top in copper slate writing.

He gently handed it to Katie and she glanced down at it, turning it over to read the inscription, her fingers running over the writing.

“Wow.” She whispered, wiping her eyes “I’ve never seen this before.”

“It’s erm, ” Steve cleared his throat, his voice thick, “it’s pretty…”

“Awesome.” Katie smiled up at him.

“Yeah.” Steve nodded as she handed it back to him, and he placed it back in the leather box, setting it to one side.  Seeing that had brought a wave of emotions crashing back over him. Nostalgia, slight sadness at the loss of not just Tony but his other friends, and pride.

Pride that even after he was gone they’d remembered him in such a touching and genuine way.

Shaking himself out of it, he looked at Katie and then nodded to the helmet. “Do you wanna do it now or…” She nodded and picked it up in a shaking hand, before she put it on.

“Retinal Scan authenticated” FRIDAY’s voice spoke “Greetings Mrs Rogers…accessing Stark Secure Server, hologram projection activated.”

Katie removed the helmet and placed it on the table, pointing it away from them as the footage beamed out from the eye sockets. She took a deep breath as the hologramatic form of her brother appeared and he smiled at them.

“Hey Kiddo.” He spoke, “Cap…”

Katie wanted to speak back, so badly, but she knew it was pointless, he wasn’t actually there. Steve gently reached for her hand and she linked her fingers into his.

“So, I thought I better record a message, you know just in case it all goes sideways tomorrow.” Tony sniffed, sitting down on a chair. “I’ve left one for Pepper and Morgan too and the gang, but I wanted to leave you your own. I hope that you’re watching this back and our plan worked, that everyone came back and we did it,” he took a deep breath, “but there’s a couple of things I wanna get out of the way before we get into the soppy shit. So, first off, I’m leaving half my shares of Stark Industries to you, the other half goes to Pepper who will more than likely keep it for Moo once she’s old enough. If you both come to the decision to sell then, that’s cool. It’s probably run its course anyway. If not then good luck taking it in whatever direction you choose, not that you need luck, you’ve proven yourself more than capable of running it pretty much singlehandedly over the last five years.”

Katie took a deep breath and wiped at her eyes with her spare hand, the one that was entwined with Steve’s tightened around his fingers.

“Second, most of the cash assets I have pass to Pepper, but I’ve left instructions that there’s some for you as well. I know you don’t need it but I want you to use it for the kids, however many you end up with. Tell them Uncle Nee wanted to leave them something. And thirdly, the house in Malibu. I knew we never got round to rebuilding it but I still own the land and I want you to have it, Kiddo. That was our home for years and I watched you grow up there into the strong, beautiful woman you became so it only feels right. Plus it’s where we buried that fucking turkey too so it’s probably haunted by the evil bastard anyway. There’s a fund set up as well which should let you rebuild it however you want.

I know you probably won’t want to move from Brooklyn, I mean Cap’s lived there pretty much all his life, well, maybe, if you don’t count the sixty-five years doing time as a Capsicle or the time in DC and then wherever the hell you were when, well, you know,” Tony waved his hand, “whatever, the point is you can rebuild it how you want and use it how you want, nice little holiday home maybe.” Katie took a shuddering breath as now her tears were falling thick and fast. She’d forgotten all about that house, their home that had been destroyed. The fact that Tony had never sold the land so she could have it back in some form was astounding and overwhelming at the same time.

“So now that’s dealt with, onto the good stuff. First off, Spangles.” Tony spoke and Steve shifted slightly “I know we’ve had our differences, but I just wanted you to know when it comes to Katie I trust you implicitly, I think I always have done in a way. I never really had any doubts in my mind since that day I spoke to you in DC. To be honest you’re such a straight guy I trust you with pretty much anything, well, maybe not quite, I’m still not sure about our driving but that’s a different story.” Tony winked and Steve spluttered a chuckle. The fact that Captain America was a bit of a speed demon behind the wheel and been a long running joke amongst the Avengers since the beginning. “You’re a good man with a good heart, everyone knows this, I mean that’s the reason you were chosen for the serum anyway isn’t it? Because it makes the good better. I know I’m leaving my girl in good hands, but just so you know,” he raised his fingers to his eyes in the familiar ‘I’m watching you’ sign and Steve smiled, “and that won’t stop now, because if you ever do let her down I’ll make it my mission to haunt you for the rest of your life.” Tony smiled “But I know you won’t. And because I know you probably still don’t believe me I wanted to tell you once and for all that I don’t blame you for any of the shit that went down. I Love you buddy, Take it easy.”  Steve took a deep breath and wiped his tears with his spare hand as Katie gently squeezed his other again as hologram Tony shifted in his seat and his attention turned to Katie.

“Kiddo,” he sighed, “I don’t even know where to start. I know I’ve said it and said it again, but my biggest achievement in life will always be how well and good and honest and…amazing you turned out, even with me as a role model. If Moo turns out to be anything like you when she’s older then…” he trailed off and shrugged, “well, I only wish I was gonna be there to see it, oh, and that reminds me, Spangles I’m counting on you to be there to vet all potential boyfriends for suitability.” Both Katie and Steve let out a watery chuckle at that.

“But yeah, where was I…oh, right…I watched how you took Emmy under your wing, then when you had Jamie and how they’re both growing into spectacular people, it’s awesome and I really couldn’t be any prouder of the woman you became. Never lose that will to do the right thing, never lose that Stark stubbornness, never lose that streak of ferocity that leaves everyone quaking in their boots. After everything you’ve been through, I’m just sorry that I’m bringing more shitty times to your door by meeting an untimely death, but I know you’ll get through the other side, you always do. Just remember, this was my choice to fight, my choice. So I don’t want anyone thinking they’re to blame. You know, I think, deep down, I’ve always known it would end this way ever since New York. And rather this than some crazy old bastard rattling round in a home not knowing what day it is.”

Katie took another deep breath as Tony wiped his hand down his face.

“Anyway, please make sure they don’t play any soppy shit at my funeral. AC/DC, Queen or Led Zep will suffice, maybe some Train, I dunno.” He winked and Katie smiled through her tears “And if Ross is there, give him this from me.” He raised his middle finger of his right hand before he chuckled. “But I don’t know why I’m recording all of this anyway as I’m sure it’s gonna work out. I’ll probably be sat here watching it back and grimacing at how ridiculously stupid I sound and look, but just in case…I want you to remember that I love you to the stars and back my girl, I always will, and I’m beyond proud of you.”

And with that the message cut off, leaving the kitchen quiet bar Katie’s shaking, soft sobs. Steve gently turned towards her and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in for a hug. She pressed her face into his chest, her hands sliding around his back where she gripped at his shirt her brother’s final goodbye to her echoing in her head.

**** Chapter 60

 **Original Posting**

[infinitevariety]

Pride

Crowley can hear the parade coming from a long way off. By the time he comes out of the back room, Aziraphale is already at the one window they can still see out of. The one window not covered in flags.

There are stripes everywhere, of every conceivable colour combination. Crowley is sure Aziraphale hasn't left out a single flag, and any that wouldn't fit in the windows are hanging from bookshelves.

It's lucky they get such a good view of the parade. And in this case lucky of course means miraculous. Crowley doesn't feel too guilty. The bookshop is only a short detour from Regent Street.

They've agreed they won't attend, preferring a quiet celebration with just the two of them. Best to leave the fantastically extravagant celebrations to the humans—they're really good at it.

Crowley stands next to Aziraphale at the window, their hands entwined, as the parade begins to pass by. A shock of colour and noise and joy.

When he sees a sign that says The first pride was a riot, Crowley speaks quite without meaning to.

"I was there, you know."

"Where?" asks Aziraphale.

"Stonewall."

Aziraphale doesn’t say anything, but turns to focus his attention on Crowley.

“After I called off the job when you gave me the flask—after what you said… I just needed to get away for a while. Get lost.”

“I remember,” whispers Aziraphale. “You sent me a note. Told me not to worry.”

Crowley nods. “And there’s no better place than New York to get lost.”

They both stare out at the crowds, but Crowley isn’t really seeing them.

“The Stonewall Inn was a haven, even for me. However I was feeling, whatever I wanted to wear—nobody there cared. It was so easy to get some peace and quiet.” He chuckles. “Though the place was rarely peaceful and never quiet.”

“But you were there… that night?” asks Aziraphale.

Crowley nods again. Not sure how to put words to something he’s never shared with anyone before.

“I knew something was going to happen that night, one way or the other. I could taste it in the air. I didn’t want to intervene—as much as I fit in there, it was the human’s fight, if they wanted it. That night, they did.” He pauses, feeling the weight of it just as he had back then. “And I didn’t intervene. Didn’t change the course of their own choices.”

“But?”

“But… I didn’t want their choice to stand up and push back to be for nothing. So, I tipped the scales. A little. A smidgen. Just enough to make their fight count.”

They are silent for a few moments, and Crowley fancies he can feel Aziraphale’s disapproval.

“I don’t regret it,” he states firmly, pointing out of the window.

“I’m glad you were there.” Aziraphale smiles up at him softly.

Crowley nods. “Okay, then.”

They watch the parade for a while longer. The people, the colours, the happy cheers.

“I never used to be fond of rainbows,” says Aziraphale.

Crowley just hums, knowing Aziraphale will be going somewhere with this.

“After the flood, I mean. They were beautiful, but to me they never represented the celebration of joy they do now.” He takes a breath. Smiles a little. “I happened to have found myself in San Francisco sometime in the mid 1970s,” he carries on casually. “Briefly met a fellow called Gilbert. Lovely chap.”

This time Crowley’s hum has the distinct uplift of a question.

“He had a bit of a project going on at the time. A symbol to design, something to represent pride and love for the community. All I did was mention how soft and fierce the colours of rainbows could be. Didn’t even really think much of it at the time.”

He turned to look up at Crowley, a dampness to his eyes. Crowley smiled at him.

“Rainbows are beautiful, Crowley, but they meant so little in the face of all the lives that were lost. And sometimes, I felt like people were drowning all over again. But I’m so glad my offhand comment could help inspire this.” He motions to the flags in the windows and around the room. “They took those colours and ran, and now there are so many different rainbows.”

Crowley slips an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders and pulls him close. Holds him tight.

Outside the riot of rainbows continues by.

--------------------------------------------------

Written for the Summer Omens challenge that @thetunewillcome is hosting. IDK. I've had this idea for a while, but I don’t know that I would’ve ever written it without this prompt.

--------------------------------------------------

(Series on AO3) (Sand) (Ice Cream) (Burn) (Camp) (Grass)

[aphrodites-law]

A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (7/?) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction.

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6]

Clarke usually went straight to the café, but the past few days she'd started taking a detour. Since the article in the Gazette, Finn's Coffee & Bagels had taken a serious hit. Costial was a city with a deep-rooted pride for small businesses; mom-and-pop stores that had earned their success and customers' fidelity. Hard work and honesty were appreciated - shortcuts and lies were not. In just the one exposé, Finn's shop had lost half its patrons. Other outlets had jumped on the bandwagon and word had spread very quickly that anyone who bought his food or coffee might as well buy it in super stores for the same mass-produced quality at half the price. Finn had lost the support of his backers, but, more importantly, the Mayor had publicly condemned his son's business tactics.

To be perfectly honest, Clarke took some joy in the fall of Finn's plans. She had no doubt he would come up with another project very soon, perhaps in the theater sector, but at least his future in restoration was bleak. Clarke knew gloating wasn't a good look on anyone, but she wasn't ready to climb down from her cloud just yet. She was sure something would soon come along to knock her down a few pegs, but these days she was feeling pretty confident.

The café had been busier, which Clarke and Wells planned to capitalize on with the right promotion. Today he'd surpassed himself with some mini marble cakes, one of which Clarke had shoved in her mouth as soon as he'd shown her. It was the perfect time to look more seriously into new hires, which Clarke had pushed back for far too long. Gaia and Harper had been noticeably excited by the news. Wells would vet any additional help in the kitchen, but she could tell it was a relief for him too. Their café was small, but the workload wasn't.

Clarke was drafting the job application at the end of the counter when she heard someone clear their throat. She looked up and closed the laptop with a mischievous smile, her heart doing its now familiar dance.

“Lexa.”

“Clarke.”

Lexa had her dark green raincoat on, hiding the plaid collar Clarke only associated with her now. It didn't seem like she'd ordered anything yet, bypassing the two people in line to find her.

“Have a good weekend?” Clarke asked.

“I did. Had a long chat with Semet actually.”

“And?”

Lexa smiled at Clarke's interest. “You’ll find my observations in the Gazette... eventually.”

"Nothing world-changing though, I take it?"

Lexa shrugged. "I think the world's seen most of the changes already."

"I'd knock on wood if I were you."

"Why? Wary of change?"

"No, but a break for… oh, the next five or ten years might be nice. I miss going about my day not wondering when aliens will come crashing."

Lexa laughed. "I assure you Semet's experience didn't give any indication we might soon meet our celestial neighbors."

Clarke glanced at Gaia and Harper, making sure they still had everything under control with the orders. 

“So um, I had an enlightening weekend too.”

“Oh?” Lexa asked, nonchalant.

“Yeah. I was thinking we could... discuss." Clarke bit her lip. "Maybe over dinner?”

Lexa's demeanor visibly shifted, not as casual as she'd been just a few seconds ago. “Is that really what you want?”

“Trust me, it’s become crystal clear what I want.”

Lexa seemed a cross between reticent and eager, like she was a wild animal in a cage and the door had just opened, but she didn’t quite know what might come from stepping outside- freedom or punishment.

“Clarke. Maybe we should... slow down.”

That was surprising. Clarke frowned. “Slow down from a glacial pace?”

“Just days ago you weren't even sure what to think of me."

“But then we- I thought the rooftop-" Clarke's cheeks felt warm. "I was under the impression we were on the same page."

Lexa looked away and Clarke felt her morning's happiness wither away. So much for staying on her cloud. She took in Lexa's demeanor: tense shoulders and the obvious inability to catch her eyes. Clarke truly didn’t understand her. It was frustrating - bordering on humiliating.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Clarke-"

"No, no. I don't know what game you think this is, but I'm not playing it."

Lexa seemed panicked. "It's not a game."

"Then what the fuck is it?"

Lexa looked toward the door as two people came in. Harper greeted them cheerily, waiting for their order. This was neither the place nor the time. She looked back at Clarke with pleading eyes, unable to offer an explanation.

Clarke shook her head, tired of the silence. "I told myself I'd stop sitting around and waiting for things to happen, but I won't waste my time on someone who can't decide if I'm worth the chase. You clearly don't want any sort of relationship-"

“It’s not that simple,” Lexa argued.

“It is that simple," Clarke gritted through her teeth, feeling both stupid and angry. She'd fallen for Lexa's charm again only to be disappointed once more. It felt like being doused in ice-cold water. "You either want someone or you don’t. So which is it?”

Lexa shook her head imperceptibly. There was something on the tip of her tongue, Clarke could tell, but she couldn't get it out.

Clarke glanced at the front door when it opened, a family of three walking in. She swallowed her disappointment at the turn in her morning before giving Lexa a hard stare.

"I have to get back to work."

"Clarke-"

“You need to figure out what you want,” Clarke snapped lowly. “Preferably without stringing people along while you do so.”

She took the family's orders with a smile, trying her hardest not to look toward the door as Lexa walked out with hunched shoulders.

* * *

Clarke posted the application on their website and several job boards in the afternoon. Resumes came fast, but Wells wanted to be a part of the process - usually less involved in the business side now that most things were squared away - so they'd set some time aside on Wednesday to reach out to applicants. Wells even planned to speak to a couple smaller theaters over the weekend to expand their partnership program.

And yet, the more good news and exciting plans came their way… the more frustrated Clarke became. Clearly she wasn't incompetent and had a firm handle on most aspects of her life, but for some reason her romantic aspirations had turned into a complete disaster. Was that really all that was in store for her? Had she somehow agreed to a bustling café in exchange for an empty home? Professional success so long as she slept alone? The exchange with Lexa had left a bitter taste in her mouth, like it'd been a cosmic reminder her happiness would always be short-lived.

She kept busy to avoid blowing the lid off her anger, forcing smiles while she chatted with patrons, made coffee, and watched the mini marble cakes disappear one by one. There were so many reasons to be elated, but not even Finn's fall from grace could lift up her mood anymore. He'd get on with his life eventually - people like him always did.

Maybe Clarke had made a mistake with Niylah. She was sweet and charming in her own way. They got along great and were certainly compatible in bed. What they had was easy and uncomplicated - Clarke had never given herself a headache trying to figure out Niylah and Niylah had never chased after her only to run the opposite way. She was straightforward and easygoing; eager to share every aspect of her life Clarke might be curious about. Niylah was a Costialite through and through: honest, hardworking, and kindhearted. She didn't make her heart race or take up her thoughts, but she didn't make her feel like a tightly coiled spring either.

Which meant Niylah deserved better than her. She deserved someone who looked at her like she was the only person in the room. She deserved someone who wanted everything with her. Clarke knew it wasn't their sexual relationship she missed, but rather that period of time when she hadn’t cared as much about her loneliness. She missed the whirlwind of planning and opening the café, the breezy attitude that had carried her through so many problems.

One vision had changed it all, and Clarke couldn't say it was for the better.

* * *

Wells was already gone before closing time, the kitchen immaculate and the next day's ingredients already prepared. Clarke didn't know how he did it - as if he had ten hours more in the day than the rest of them. The last patrons trickled out until eventually there was no one and Gaia turned over the OPEN sign on the front door.

"Go home; I'll clean up," Clarke told her, putting her hair up while Gaia grabbed the broom from the back room.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, give Poppy a good cuddle for me."

Gaia took her coat and purse. "You should come over soon. Give her those cuddles yourself."

Clarke smiled tiredly. "I do miss those big ears."

Gaia had the sweetest beagle she took on long hikes every weekend. She'd been born with one ear much longer than the other, but her lopsided anatomy only added to her personality.

"You haven’t even seen my new place yet," Gaia pointed out.

She'd moved into her mother's second building a few months back, the one on the same street as Lexa's, which only reminded Clarke how poorly she'd neglected all her relationships. 

"One day soon I'll pop in with wine and a pizza and you won't be able to get rid of me," she promised.

Gaia smiled brightly as she shouldered her purse. "Holding you to that, boss."

"See you tomorrow," Clarke said as Gaia walked out.

Clarke dimmed the main lights, wiped the last few tables and put the chairs up. She straightened out the coffee mugs and cleaned the front of the display case, giving herself a few more minutes before she headed home. The rush hour traffic outside was slowing down, giving Clarke some needed quiet.

To hear their small bell ring as the door opened was more than a surprise. Clarke turned around and stilled, watching as Lexa pulled down her raincoat’s hood and looked at her across the room. Her hair was out of its braids, damp and frizzy.

Clarke felt her anger roar back to life and stoke the fire inside her. Her heart pounded, furious that Lexa had had such an effect on her mood today. But she wouldn't back down. She wouldn't look away until it was Lexa who was forced to do so.

"We're closed," she told her coldly. It was so unlike her to be so curt.

Lexa didn't move, didn't even open her mouth to attempt a reply. It was infuriating.

"What do you want?" Clarke asked harshly, echoing her question from this morning.

Lexa's eyes flashed with similar ardor and her jaw locked. Then, in four strides, she was in front of Clarke and kissing her.

Clarke felt her hands on her waist first, and then the heat of her mouth against her own. She gasped, fisted her hands in Lexa's collar and then unraveled. She kissed Lexa back with the force of her anger, pulling and pulling until Lexa had her pressed against the display case and her body flush against hers. Her tongue felt like silk when it brushed the tip of hers, when it took a risk and was rewarded. Her hands felt like embers, leaving a trail of fire wherever they touched her, first on her waist and then lower, on her hips, until they became more dangerous and cupped her ass while she pressed tight against her. Desperate and possessive.

Clarke moaned loudly, overwhelmed by the sudden force of her desire. She needed Lexa to take her, to be inside her, to fulfill her incessant need for release. She couldn't imagine a second away from Lexa's lips, a second where Lexa didn't touch her.

“God, I thought of this,” she moaned between kisses, eyes closing when she felt Lexa's mouth down her neck. She smelled like the rain; felt like a storm.

“I think about you all the time...” Lexa breathed in her ear, almost like she hadn't meant to say it aloud.

Clarke pulled back, cupping Lexa's face to make sure she wasn't imagining this again. After a beat, their next kiss turned hungrier. Clarke wanted nothing more than to pull Lexa in the back room. She didn’t need romance or a bed. She needed Lexa’s fire to consume her and for the world to stop existing for just a moment. At the same time she was content staying there, pinned between glass and Lexa's body while they kissed into the night.

But her imagination was kinder than reality, as a car suddenly honked at another outside, startling Lexa. She ripped away from their embrace with wide eyes, stumbling back like she was dizzy, the reality of the situation catching up to her.

Clarke could read it all on her face: the surprise at her own actions, the realization of where they were and what they had almost done so publicly. She could've cried when Lexa suddenly looked like a deer in headlights.

It was the same expression from this morning. Clarke shook her head at her, begging her not to run. But a part of her knew it was futile - Lexa had already made up her mind. Still, she had to try one last time.

"It's okay."

Lexa's bottom lip trembled. "I shouldn't have done that. I thought I could, but-" She pressed her hands against her eyes in frustration. "I'm so sorry, Clarke."

Clarke's chest felt heavy. "Please don't go. Help me understand."

"I won't bother you again."

"That's not what I want," Clarke replied in frustration, stepping closer.

Lexa shook her head. "You don't want me."

"Why not?"

To Clarke, Lexa seemed broken. Like something in her had finally shattered.

"You started looking at me after your vision," Lexa whispered. "We never spoke until… until you had it. And I never realized it was you in mine until I saw you drawing."

"What does it matter?"

"You don't know me," Lexa told her, voice cracking. "If you did, your vision would never become true. You'd want nothing to do with me."

"Don't you dare put words in my mouth," Clarke snapped.

Lexa stopped short, so Clarke took a deep breath and stepped even closer.

"Lexa. I don't need to be protected. You're right, we don't know much about each other. So let me learn and let me make my own decisions afterward. Please. You can't pretend there's nothing between us - you can't."

"The visions-"

"I don't give a fuck about the visions," Clarke told her stubbornly. "Maybe it opened my eyes, but it didn't create feelings out of thin air. That's not possible."

Lexa still looked skittish, ready to bolt at any moment. Clarke reached out for her hand, relieved when Lexa took it. It was so different than the rooftop, where Lexa had grabbed hers so confidently. How could a person be so torn?

"Maybe you were right this morning," Clarke said softly. "We've skipped a lot of steps. So let's start over."

Lexa finally caught her eyes. "I hurt people, Clarke. I don't mean to, but inevitably it's what I do."

Clarke knew that was all she'd get out of Lexa tonight. Hesitantly, she cupped her cheek.

"How about this? If the rain lets up, I take you to the river this weekend. We bring some drinks, some snacks, maybe some hiking shoes. You can tell me about the Mountain Men and I can tell you about the weird resumes I'll inevitably get this week."

Lexa let out a chuckle, which made Clarke smile hopefully. "Doesn't sound too scary, does it?"

"No. That sounds nice."

Clarke felt hopeful for the first time. "Just two people hanging out, getting to know each other."

"I'd like that." Lexa glanced at her mouth and swallowed. "I do want you, Clarke."

Clarke pressed her index against her lips. "I know. Nobody kisses a friend like that. But…"

"Fresh start?"

"Right.” Clarke still had to speak her mind: “Lexa, you can't keep running away without telling me why. I'm patient but I'm not a saint. I get angry too. I get scared."

Lexa nodded quietly, looking down at their hands before she glanced around the room.

"You were closing up."

"Yeah, did you not notice the chairs on the tables?"

"I was preoccupied. Can I help?"

"Lexa… I think maybe you should go home."

Lexa looked down. "I'm sorry, I must be giving you whiplash."

"Just a little," Clarke smiled.

"I'll see you this weekend?"

"I didn't mean you can't swing by for a quick hello and a cup of coffee. Or not coffee. Wells is baking up a storm, it'd be a pity if you missed it."

"That sounds nice."

Clarke accompanied her to the door, where she noticed the rain had become heavier. It was incessant these days, washing down the streets of Costial and keeping the coffee shops and movie theaters busy. Nothing unusual for the season. She grabbed one of the forgotten umbrellas in the stand by the entrance, giving it to Lexa.

"That's alright-"

"Take it. I don't you want coming in sneezing and sniffling this week."

"Thank you, Clarke." Slowly, hesitantly, Lexa kissed her cheek. "Goodnight."

After Lexa walked out in the rain and turned the corner with one last glance over her shoulder, Clarke stood in the dark for a moment. Then, she walked to the back room and slid down the wall until she was sitting on the ground. She clutched her heart, eyes closing as she let the last few minutes rush over her. Whiplash didn't even begin to cover it.

In the resounding silence, she tried processing what had just happened. She could still feel Lexa's kiss, everything she had imagined and more. But then Lexa had pulled away. It felt like she was two different people, one aching with desire like Clarke, the other convinced it would hurt them both. But why?

Clarke thought back to when she had first noticed Lexa. Courteous, quiet Lexa who had placed her order and sat near the weeping fig tree for hours while she worked. What could have driven her to Costial? It couldn't be the job opportunities - she didn't work in theater and the Gazette was no more reputable than their neighboring cities' newspapers. Family was the obvious guess, but then why not come earlier? What kind of life had she left behind that still haunted her today?

Clarke wasn't sure she'd be able to shut up this weekend, too wrapped up in Lexa's mystery to keep herself from asking questions. She wanted to know everything but knew she had to be cautious. Still, spending time together was a step forward. She was relieved Lexa hadn't run after all, but it would be difficult to forget the pain in her eyes. Despite the uncertainty of their relationship, if it could even be defined, Clarke had a feeling it would be worth fighting for.

-

[part eight]

[chat-chouage]

“I love you,” she said almost silently, kissing me on the cheek while standing on her toes.

At the time, all I could do was stand there behind the high school building, dumbstruck. Lucy, the girl who kissed me, and I had known each other longer than I could remember. One of my earliest memories was of a playdate we had together when we were only 4. The last few years of high school, I had come to love her, though I assumed she thought of me as nothing more than a close childhood friend. At the time, I didn’t know that would be the last time I saw her for a very long time.

In hindsight, I should have heard the tone of her voice, the melancholy behind her bittersweet words, the warm tears on her cheeks. The next day, I didn’t see her, and again the day after, and the next week, and before I knew it a week had turned into a month, and a month into 3, and 3 months into a year.

Finally, after a year, I learned what had happened; Lucy had developed a rare disease, and the only doctor who could help her lived on the other side of the country. She hadn’t told me what was wrong, not wanting to worry me. The longer she was away, however, the more I worried, until one day I decided to stop worrying.

It’s now thirteen years later, and I can still feel her soft lips on my cheek, hear her whispered “I love you” in my ears. Over a decade has passed, and my life has moved on. After graduating high school, something at one point I felt I wouldn’t be able to do, having fallen deep into depression, I went to college, studying architecture, something Lucy had always encouraged me in studying in high school. I still haven’t married, never truly getting over her. I’ve designed several buildings in town, including an addition to the town hall, probably my greatest achievement in life thus far.

But, despite all I’ve accomplished, it feels empty to me. Distant. In everything I do, I think of that girl who would smile so sweetly with pride whenever one of my projects worked out, whose eyes sparkled brighter than the fireworks we always set off during the 4th of July. Though I’ve forgotten many things from my younger days, I will never be able to forget her face, or her smile.

By this time, I figured I’d never see her again; she probably forgot about me, the weird little boy who was always more partial to building little model buildings at recess than playing on the swings or with friends. She’s probably found a husband, a good job, had a kid or two… 13 years is a long time, after all.

Then, one day, while walking home from my office, I passed a woman in the street. Something about her reminded me of Lucy; was it her hair? The way she moved? The way she dressed? Whatever it was, it caused me to stop in my tracks after walking a little longer, the sun setting behind me. I turned back in the direction of the women who had passed by. Without thinking, I began to walk faster, and faster, until I was running down the dimly lit street.

Halfway to where I figured she would have gotten, as  I assumed she hadn’t even noticed me, she was waiting for me. The same light brown hair, the same gentle smile, and the same kind eyes. She was dressed plainly – she had never been a woman who liked ornamentation – and had a small bag in her hand. My body shook, and before I knew it, I had fallen to my knees. It was Lucy. She had come back. Tears began to stream down my face as I knelt in the street.

“It’s-It’s you… It’s really you,” she said, her voice catching in her throat as she walked slowly towards me, hesitantly, as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

“L-Lucy,” I said, tears still flowing.

I looked up at her soft face, lit like a beautiful statue in a museum by the setting sun, and saw that she was crying too. She fell to her knees in front of me, and we both sat like that for a while, before standing together. We smiled at each other, softly.

“I never thought I’d see you again…” I said, though I didn’t trust my mouth to say what I wanted it to say.

“Neither d-did I,” Lucy said, still crying too.

Before either of us could think, we were embracing, crying together. I could feel her body shaking with sobs as I held her against me, and feel her heart beating fast in her chest. We stood entwined for what I wish could be a life time.

After several minutes standing there, it began to rain. Our tears made way to laughter, as we both became soaked with the rain. We ran together through the streets, hand in hand. Neither of us could take our eyes off the other, but somehow we made it to my house.

After going inside, we shared our stories of the last 13 years. She told me that she’d been cured of her disease after 3 years of moving away, but by that time she had already become somewhat familiarised with the area she’d moved to. She said she’d wanted to move back to be with me, and that she thought about me every day, but that she had responsibilities. After she finally recovered, she went to college, studying art, her favourite subject, and then gone on to work at an art museum, something she’d always wanted to do. She had only recently moved back to town, after a museum affiliated with the one she worked at opened in town. After she shared her story, I shared mine, telling her about my life after she left, and how much I had missed her too.

By the time we both got too tired to talk any more, our throats sore from talking, we looked at the clock, and saw that it was 3 in the morning. Outside, the rain had stopped. We sat, staring into each others eyes for maybe 10 minutes in silence, before she got up.

“Well…  I guess I should get home. Tomorrow’s the grand opening of the museum,” she said, smiling.

“I’ll be sure to make it,” I said, smiling back, opening the door for her.

Standing on my porch with her, she looked at me, her eyes shining even more brightly than in my memories.

“I still love you,” she said, as she stood on her toes and kissed me on the lips before turning to go.

[irelise]

the yew tree - end!

Erik has worked with Sebastian Shaw ever since Shaw rescued him from human experimentation when he was a boy. He is reluctantly enlisted to assist in Shaw’s newest scheme: seducing the wealthy and enigmatic Lord Xavier to claim his vast fortune. With Shaw posing as Xavier’s doctor, Erik goes undercover as Xavier’s personal manservant to convince him to fall in love with Shaw.

But Xavier has secrets of his own, and it isn’t long before Erik starts having second thoughts about the whole thing…

Featuring mysteries, hidden agendas, and a whole heap of master/servant tropes. (the handmaiden inspired au - no canon knowledge required

part one and two now on ao3!

beginning of part 3)

Warnings for this part: References to past abuse Rating: M Word count: 1986 Notes: I CAN’T BELIEVE IT IT’S FINALLY FINISHED!!! special thanks to akasanata, steph, kernezelda, and gerec for the support, couldn’t have finished this on my own! I’ll be editing over the next few days and uploading to Ao3 soon!

The next few days stutter past in an odd series of mismatched rhythms. Sometimes the hours drag by, agonizingly slow. Other times, Erik feels like he has no time to even breathe with the amount of activity unravelling around him. Shaw’s body is handled with minimal fuss; the police rule it as an accident, drug overdose, case closed. Shaw is quietly and ignominiously forgotten by the humans.

Not so in the mutant community. Shaw’s death had left a power vacuum, and much of Erik’s time is now spent wrestling for control over the various factions now embroiled in petty squabbles. The safehouse becomes filled with the constant stink of sulphur as Azazel teleports in and out, ferrying messages and occasionally delivering a mutant for Erik to glare into submission.

“It would be easier if I just take you with me,” Azazel grumbles after one such delivery.

“Not a chance,” Erik replies shortly.

He can’t leave. Charles is still recuperating. He doesn’t wake at all that first day, and Erik would have been out of his mind with worry had their thoughts not remained so closely entwined with each other. Charles’ presence remains a warm glow at the back of his head, faint but steady.

He’ll be fine. He has to be.

The second day is worse. Midway through the afternoon, Erik is attacked by a flare of stabbing pain, fierce enough to drive him to his knees. He clutches at his head and bites back a groan – it’s like someone is driving a pick right between his eyes, like he’s being stabbed, his skull split open–

The pain stops abruptly. Charles’ presence vanishes with it.

Fuck. Taking the stairs two at a time, Erik slams into Charles’ room. “Charles!”

Charles had moved from where he was peacefully asleep earlier. Now, he’s a small, dark shape on the bed, curled into himself, the blankets drawn over his head. Erik crosses the room in quick strides. “You’re awake?��

“Unfortunately.” The word is muffled by the blankets. “Migraine.”

And that was that. The pain is bad enough this time that Charles has forming words, and he adamantly refuses to link his mind with Erik’s again. When Erik pictures his thoughts reaching out for Charles, Charles only shakes his head and winces. “I can’t stop myself from projecting the migraine,” he says tiredly, the stubborn martyr. “I don’t want you to share it.”

Erik would have pressed the point, but something about Charles softens his hard edges, and he reluctantly concedes the point. It doesn’t stop him from climbing into bed with Charles, a stack of reports in his lap.

When Charles reaches out to lace their fingers together, Erik lets him, absently running his thumb over the knuckles of Charles’ hand.

Charles’ migraine doesn’t abate that day, or the next. It’s not until the morning of the fourth day Erik wakes to find Charles smiling softly at him. He’s pale, his eyes smudged with dark circles, but the sight of him properly awake and alive is sweeter than Erik had ever imagined. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding in.

“You look tired,” Charles remarks, and it’s just like him to fret over Erik when he was the one who almost died from holding onto Shaw. Erik can’t help but laugh, just a touch reluctant, and shakes his head.

“I could say the same.” His voice is rough. He almost stops there, but then the words come spilling out: “I thought I lost you.”

A frown ripples over Charles’ face, then smooths into a look of resolve. “Shaw had to be stopped.”

“…He did.” And Erik would have killed him at the expense of his own life, but Charles’… Charles hasn’t even had the chance to truly live yet. He had demanded too much of him, he sees that now. “But I should have been more patient. Spent more time planning. Made sure you understood the dangers. What we did was incredibly risky.”

Still, he thinks about Shaw’s plans to consummate his sham marriage with Charles, and something cold and ugly twists in Erik’s gut.

Charles is scrutinizing him, his expression thoughtful but impossible to read. “I wouldn’t have said no to more time spent planning,” he finally says. “But, Erik, you mustn’t feel guilty. My choices were my own.”

“I know you didn’t want to kill Shaw.”

Charles’ mouth twists. “You didn’t force me into anything I didn’t want to do. Death is always a waste, yes, but for someone like Shaw…” He looks troubled, but only for a second. Then he looks Erik squarely in the eye. “I’ve been in his mind before. I’ve tried to reason with him. His pride and envy run deep, deeper than you can imagine. He would have never let you live. If it was a choice between him and you…”

Pressing his lips together, Charles shakes his head. “I don’t regret it,” he says with a sense of finality.

For a few moments, they sit together in thoughtful silence, then Erik asks: “Are you really going to go through with it?”

Four days ago – had it really only been four days? – during their telepathic conversation in the car, Charles had resolved to stop running away from Marko. More than that, he had resolved to fight back. Erik would have loved to track Marko down and kill him, but Charles already has plans. Plans that Erik isn’t sure he approves of, if he’s honest, but he concedes Charles has the right to his own revenge.

Justice, not vengeance, Charles had said into their shared link.

You’ll be ruining him either way.

Good.

Charles’ plan is a simple one on the surface: let the public know about Marko’s crimes. Drag his perversions into the light, his cruelty and his inhumanity. Let the public be his judge.

In the present, Charles is frowning. “Uncle and his associates cannot be allowed to walk free, you’ve convinced me of that. But informing the public of their crimes won’t just affect me. The truth about mutants may come out. Are we prepared for that?”

Erik had spent much of the last few days asking himself the same question. He has an answer now. “We’ve spent too long living in the shadows, in silence and in shame. Enough.”

“Do you think it’s that easy?”

“No. But I’ll fight to the last drop of blood to defend our people.”

“And you’d do the same for me,” Charles murmurs, sounding awed. He must have read the conviction from Erik’s thoughts.

Erik inclines his head, not seeing the need to say anything further.

“To be honest…” Charles exhales slowly, visibly steeling himself. “No, I don’t want to do this. Not everyone is going to believe me, you must know that, and many of them will be – unkind. But you’re right. I’m tired of the shame, Erik. I…”

He reaches out and Erik leans forward, allowing Charles to settle his fingers against his temples. Charles bites his lip.

Images rush into Erik’s mind. Suddenly they’re back in Marko’s twisted library again, then in the labs, only this time Erik is seeing himself from Charles’ perspective. It’s disorienting, made worse by the way the memories seem to skip around like a broken recording, weighed down by Charles’ fear and shame and despair. Erik sees himself raise a hand, sees an ugly wreckage of jagged steel and torn pages, red splattering everywhere. Charles’ memories don’t shy away from the violence of the scene. But rather than horror, Erik’s fury seemed to have inspired something else in Charles, muted and wavering but warm all the same.

Hope.

 4. BUSINESS MOGUL KURT MARKO FACES ALLEGATIONS OF SEXUAL ABUSE AND TORTURE FROM HIS NEPHEW The reclusive young Lord Xavier of Westchester breaks his silence today, stepping forward to accuse his uncle and legal guardian…[…]…Police investigations of the ancestral Xavier estate have revealed the presence of numerous obscene materials…[…]…Lord Xavier has also levied accusations at multiple business associates connected to Marko…

***

The water is at the perfect temperature. His limbs loose and languid with a pleasant post-coital haze, Charles relaxes deeper into the bathtub, smiling in drowsy contentment at the noises of Erik splashing around behind him. Eventually, Erik settles down, and Charles makes a pleased sound as Erik cards his fingers through his hair, scratching against his sensitive scalp with just the right amount of pressure.

“Oh yes, do that again, please.”

Erik obliges, and for a few minutes everything else melts away except for the comfort of Erik’s body bracketed around his, hot water lapping against their skin. But then Charles feels the gears of Erik’s mind clicking, purposeful and precise.

“I was going over some reports with Azazel earlier,” Erik’s voice is carefully even. “I don’t know if you’ve heard yet, but Kurt Marko will be going up for trial soon.”

Charles winces slightly, half-wishing that Erik wouldn’t talk about Uncle here, but that’s a childish thought. “I’ve heard,” he says, every bit as carefully neutral as Erik had been. “Several of his associates may be facing criminal charges as well.”

He hears a splash of water as Erik shrugs. “Not that it matters. Most likely they’ll all be let off the hook.”

“No faith in the justice system, my friend?”

“None at all.”

Charles can’t even disagree entirely, but as always, he opts for the diplomatic approach. “Well, do let’s at least give them a chance to get things right. Whichever way the trial goes, Uncle will no longer be a threat to us.”

“How are things with the lawyers?”

“Everything has been finalised. The estate, the fortune – they’re all under my name once more.”

Vicious satisfaction flares in Erik’s mind, but the motions of his hands are gentle against Charles’ scalp. “Good.”

“You know, I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh?”

“You could put the estate to good use.”

Erik chuckles. His breath tickles the back of Charles’ neck, sending a pleasant shiver up his spine. “What would I need a mansion for?”

“Think about it,” Charles insists. He turns to face Erik fully. “We – you could make it a safe haven. For mutants. You told me before that you’ve rescued children before. The mansion could be a safe place for them, or for anyone injured or unable or otherwise unwilling to fight. You’ve been there, you know there’s more than enough room for everyone.”

Erik studies him with dark eyes. “And what will you be doing while all of that is going on?”

Trust Erik to cut to the heart of the matter. Charles looks down, watching the way rivulets of water run down Erik’s skin. “I haven’t quite decided yet.”

But he doesn’t want to go back to the mansion. Not yet, anyway.

Erik is still watching him, and Charles takes some comfort from the familiar, metronomic tick of Erik’s mind as he works through a problem. “I think it’s a good idea,” he says finally. “I’ll talk to Emma and Azazel about getting something set up.”

“You’re not doing it yourself?”

“No.” The tiniest hint of a smile is playing around the edges of Erik’s mouth. His mind is a dizzying, intoxicating mix of fondness and determination. “I have other business I need to take care of. Shaw had a rather extensive overseas network. Now that things are settling down here, I’d like to continue dismantling his empire.”

Overseas. Somewhere Charles will be unknown, just another anonymous face in the crowd. No reporters dodging his steps, no one watching him with the sort of greedy and scorn that makes him feel as if he’s being flayed apart.

“Is that,” Charles’ tongue darts out to wet his lips, “an invitation?”

Erik’s smile broadens. “Come with me, Charles.”

The thought of refusing never crosses Charles’ mind. He leans in for a kiss, which Erik swiftly deepens, and for the first time, Charles allows himself to dream of the future.

[atruththatyoudeny]

Monthy Reads | APRIL 2019

Happy 28th! Wow, April has been fantastic! Thank you so much to all the amazing authors and artists for sharing their work. @onedirectionbigbang​ started posting so make sure to head on over to their blog and check out all the fics and art!

Counterbalance || YesIsAWorld || enemies to lovers - motorcycle racing - ballet - implied/referenced homophobia - 44k Harry Styles loves two things: teaching ballet and racing motorcycles. Those two worlds collide when his greatest rival on the track, Louis “Tommo” Tomlinson brings his tiny siblings to Harry’s class.

Face Your Fears || SadaVeniren || a/b/o - mpreg - kid fic - implied/dubious consent - famous/ not famous - miscommunication - slow burn - angst - 92k Harry is a single father, pretending to be a beta after his alpha mated him and left him. He’s getting by just fine raising the twins when Louis walks into his bakery. Too bad him and Louis will never be a thing.

Latching Onto You || reminiscingintherain || famous/ not famous - 34k The one where Louis wants to book Harry Styles to perform at his best friends' wedding.

That's What I'm Here For || taggiecb || boss/employee relationship - age difference - farms - fluff - angst - friends to lovers - grief/mourning - depression - 46k Louis Tomlinson is a dairy farmer on a tiny farm in eastern Canada. His wife of nearly thirty years has left him and his children are all grown up and out of the house. Louis needs help running his business but has no idea where to even start looking. Luckily for him his children know just the man for the job.

(Something's Been) Hiding In My Heart || lululawrence || Sweet Home Alabama AU - exes to lovers - emotional hurt/comfort - mentions of miscarriage - implied mpreg - angst - 25k A Sweet Home Alabama AU where Louis comes home to finally get his divorce from Harry finalized so he can move on with his life. Alderford holds its own set of challenges when he returns, but by facing his past maybe he can find the healing he so desperately needs.

An Unbalanced Force || FullOnLarrie || divorce - miscommunication - 110k Harry has the rest of his life planned. Marriage. Career. Kids. Happily ever after. But sometimes plans don’t work out. That’s not necessarily a bad thing.

Fondre ton absence || scrunchyharry || amnesia - World War I - historical - 41k Harry had never really given much thought to the future. He preferred to let life steer him forward and to follow in the footsteps of Louis, his best friend from as far as his memory went, his lover, his everything. Louis knew better than he did what was good for him. It changed drastically when Louis was ripped away from him, drafted and sent to the front to fight in a war that Harry had always been sure would never reach him. Too young and too sickly to follow, Harry was left on his own for the first time in his life. When he thought things could not possibly get worse, Louis went missing at the Somme and was declared dead. While everyone buried and mourned him, Harry never moved on. If Louis were dead, he was sure that he would know it. Their lives were too entwined, he would know if half of his heart had died. Determined to find Louis, Harry did everything he could in his quest to be reunited with him, except prepare for the state Louis might be in. He did not prepare for the harsh truth he would have to face: was love possible without memories?

The Post-War BP || jaerie || a/b/o - mildly dubious consent - dystopia - post-war - mpreg - 17k The eight year war has left the country's birthrate severely stunted with a lack of virile alphas left to bring it back up. To ensure the survival of the country, the government opens The Breeding Program where young omegas can apply to carry an alpha's child in exchange for benefits. Louis' family is struggling and the BP is one of the only ways to secure a roof over their heads. Harry was drafted at the age of eighteen and spent six years of his life defending a country he doesn't recognize when he returns home. The government made the bed but it's Harry that has to lie in it.

Graphic design is my passion || FullOnLarrie || college/university - mutual masturbation - 6k Graphic design student Louis Tomlinson has exams to study for and final art projects to complete, if it would stop raining long enough for him to walk across campus. Luckily Harry Styles has an umbrella, and he’s perfectly willing to share. Louis doesn’t plan to get his heart broken and he doesn’t plan to make almost a hundred silicone dildos. One of these things definitely happens.

Fiction Romance || rougeandtonic || collge/university - blind date - misunderstandings - 17k Harry has a type. He likes older, sophisticated, mature men. Well-educated men. Men with life experience and passion for arts and social causes. Men who are established in their careers, who've sorted their lives out. Niall knows this. And so Harry can't understand why he's sat here opposite Louis Tomlinson. A punk Louis/uni Harry blind date AU.

Flawless || Throwthemflowers || strangers to lovers - injuries - angst - hurt/comfort - 25k After a debilitating surgery, former concert pianist Harry Styles isn't able to come to terms with his new reality. Sundered from his high standards of performance, Harry can't seem to feel anything anymore, except perhaps interest in his favorite coffee shop's barista, a man who seems wholly unsuited for the job and whose blue eyes hold in them the same pain that Harry struggles with every day. When fate renders them more than mere acquaintances, Harry is forced to deal with the insecurities of his condition and his stubborn pride. Louis wants to love him, but Harry can't accept that, because he can't accept himself. And besides, he's never loved. He doesn't know how. He just wants to be able to play his piano like before, because it was safe, because at its keys he could control the roiling of his heart and funnel it into music. With love, things are much too risky. Why would he ever take such a chance?

Snow Big Deal || FullOnLarrie || smut - 8k Louis is a professional snowboarder set to appear in ESPN The Body Issue and Harry is an assistant photographer working for the magazine. They have more in common than they think.

The Way Her Body Moves || dimpled_halo || Girl Direction - friends to lovers - 2k “Need help?” Harry jumps, her eyes widening as she drops the manual. She puts her hand to her chest, breathing deep. Her eyes meet Louis', her gorgeous co-worker who’s stationed in the office right next to hers. Harry has the biggest crush on her. She and Louis started working at the company the same day, right after New Year’s, and it’s been torture being around such a pretty person. Harry has caught herself multiple times staring at her, the way she talks with those soft glossy lips of hers, and her eyes. God, those dreamy blue eyes are embedded in Harry’s brain. She dreams about those damn eyes every night, she swears. Louis clears her throat, shaking Harry out of her thoughts. As much as she’s tried to get this chair together on her own, she needs the help. Harry was barely able to lift the backside of the chair by herself.

O! Yes! || homosociallyyours || a/b/o - omega/omega - sex toy store - 2k Louis is a somewhat sexually awkward omega into other omegas. When an omega-centric sex shop opens near his favorite coffee shop, he definitely doesn't plan to check it out. One friendly ambush later, he's standing inside and talking with a too pretty omega about things that definitely make him blush. He's not the only one blushing, though. Harry, the cute and enthusiastic toy store employee is too.

Small Voice In The Choir || Star55 || Girl Direction - homophobic language - 8k Louis is just a little lesbian who wants to audition for the school choir. She doesn't expect to gain a new friend from it.

All we can do is keep breathing || thealmightyavocado || Greys Anatomy inspired - medical AU - slow burn - angst - character death - grief/mourning - emotional hurt/comfort - 310k A fated story of two broken and battered boys who barely survived the unimaginable and how the love of one little brave girl defies all the odds and somehow puts them back together.

Drifting || noellehenry || enemies to lovers - implied/referenced homophobia - misunderstandings - 18k Canal Boat AU Harry becomes the owner of a shabby narrowboat, quite unexpectedly. He decides to keep it and make his longtime dream come true; he’ll start his own business, afloat. He embarks on a new adventure in a small village along the Grand Union Canal with his boat ‘Gay Tunes’ where his neighbours are the musician on the 'Black Velvet’, a fitness centre owner on the 'Slow’ and an extremely annoying bookshop owner on the 'Floating Pages’; seriously, what is Louis Tomlinson’s problem?!

Pillow Talk || FallingLikeThis || sexuality crisis - mutual pining - fake/pretend relationship - 26k When Harry starts having confusing feelings for a male classmate, his sister's best friend, Louis, helps him figure himself out. Cue lots of kissing, sex, and falling in love.

Naked Attraction || reader_chic_2 || Naked Attraction AU - meet-cute - famous/ not famous - 12k Naked Attraction: a gameshow where the contestant views 6 naked possible partners and narrows them down based off of pure attraction. Harry was not a fan of the shallow gameshow, so he decided to mix it up a little. Louis Tomlinson was the only gay and unfortunate staff member chosen to step in for one of the six possible partners when someone dropped out. He hated working there, and he definitely didn't want to agree, but it was too good of an offer to be turned down. Nothing would come out of it, surely, and they even agreed to keep his identity a secret. That all changed when famous singer Harry Styles walked out. Louis had no idea who he was, and Harry liked that about him.

Everywhere And Nowhere || 2tiedships2 || a/b/o - strangers to lovers - secret admirer - 16k Niall took a seat and said, "Apparently Louis' downstairs neighbor is a fan of giving Louis creepy gifts. Maybe I should go introduce myself and tell him that Louis actually prefers food." "What has he given you?" Liam asked. Louis shrugged as it were no big deal. "There was a rabbit's foot keychain on the door a little after he left from introducing himself and there was a small teddy bear sitting by my door tonight. Obviously I can't prove it's from him, but they seem to have his scent. I could be wrong though." "Wow," Liam said, looking deep in thought. "That's old school." "What's old school?" Niall asked. "Giving creepy gifts?" "I've never known an alpha to do it, to be honest, but he's courting you." Louis couldn't contain his look of disbelief directed at Liam. "He's courting me. Like some sort of romantic shit they'd do in the 1800s or something?"

Play It Back and Press Rewind || crimsontheory || childhood sweethearts - angst - mentions of death - 22k Harry and Louis were high school sweethearts until Louis broke it off when he moved away for uni. Ten years later they both return to their small hometown for a funeral.

Love Will Tear Us Apart || lovelarry10 || childhood friends - punks - friends with benefits - alcohol abuse/ alcoholism - drug addiction - drug abuse - recovery - angst - major character injury - 103k A story of two halves. Louis and Harry had it all - a career, friendship, and some of the best sex either of them had ever had. But Harry ruins it all with one life-changing mistake ... and Louis is left to pay the price.

Take Me Down Slow (Don't Let Me Go) || jacaranda_bloom || a/b/o - friends to lovers - omega/omega - 26k The one where Louis wants to find the right kind of partner to love, Niall hates snowboarding, Liam wants to settle down, Harry is really good with his hands, and mother nature could be the thing that changes everything.

Medicine || SophiaSoames || enemies to lovers - 23k I've had a few, got drunk on you and now I'm wasted. Louis Tomlinson doesn't do feelings. He doesn't do relationships. And when he has an itch to scratch there are always clubs and hook ups. Quick dirty encounters in dark places that feed the need that brews in the pit in his stomach. He works every hour of the day as the Front Office manager or the Clouds Westminster hotel in central London. He's a good boss, and he knows his shit. Then that asshat Styles swans in like he owns the bloody place and Louis's carefully managed world starts to fall apart. Harry Styles needs. He's impulsive and stupid and childish and probably the last person in the world who should be allowed to run the Food and Beverage department at the Clouds Westminster, however many brilliant ideas he has and seems to manage to miraculously pull off. He needs. And he needs Louis Tomlinson. It's a match made in hell. A recipe for disaster. There will be a bloodbath one day. They all know. Everyone knows.

Streetwise hercules || jacaranda_bloom || collge/university - fake/pretend relationship - 7k Uni AU, where Louis pretends to be Harry's boyfriend to scare away his one night stands.

[scphixs-blog]

♡   ——   CHARACTER CHALLENGE !!

𝖈𝖗𝖔𝖜𝖓𝖘 𝖍𝖖𝖘 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖌𝖊 // 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖙𝖚𝖉𝖞 word count : 2.8 k // points : 30.

001.  describe  your  characters’  relationship  with  their  mother  or  father,  or  both.  minimum  word  count:  150.

Dismissive and deceptively distant. While Sophia is the embodiment of a teen who can’t stand her parents, this is massively untrue. Especially in regards to her mother. She perceives herself as emotionally detached from all persons but this couldn’t be further from the true disposition of her character. As a child, she ached for her mother’s affection that was distributed between three children. Being the middle of those three, it was seemingly difficult to be noticed which manifested into an unrelenting rage towards the only person she could project her anger onto; her little brother. As for her father, her connection to him was not as steadfast as the bond she upheld with her mother. Her relationship with her father was always more formal with brief moments of fatherly companionship. But her love for him was always viable and grounded.

002.  what  are  your  characters’  most  prominent  physical  features?  what  is  a  feature  that  they  are  most  insecure  about?  what  are  they  proudest  of?

Her most commonly attributed traits throughout her life were her blonde hair and green eyes. A very peculiar combination to many that invoked the bewitchment of many suitors in the french court. However, her height always made her feel relatively insecure but not so much as the moles located on her neck. She has heard such markings are the work of the antichrist and commonly associated with witchcraft. To avert attention from them, she prefers to wear bedazzling garnishments around her neck with a headpiece that cascades down her shoulders. Her proudest feature is awkwardly her nose. This feature appears particularly Austrian and Sophia is known to be incredibly prideful of her homeland.

003.  how  vain  is  your  character?  do  they  find  themselves  attractive?  what  is  their  worst  flaw,  and  are  they  aware  of  it?

Sophia doesn’t weight her value on her appearance nor is it something that commonly afflicts her. Growing up in the french court, she was known as an Austrian beauty. The French were besotted with her for her appearance and many suitors attempted to vie for her hand in marriage since she was 15. Her perception of beauty is more weighted on the characteristics of a person rather than their outwardly visage. In that respect, she does find herself attractive. But in consideration of her semblance, she thinks herself plain. Not ugly but not outrageously pulchritudinous. Her greatest flaw, in her own eyes, are the moles on her neck. She also has some sparse freckles around her nose she feels as though she could do without.

004.  what  is  your  character’s  ranking  on  the  kinsey  scale?

She scored a 2. I regard Sophia as being pansexual but favoring being heterosexual for the rate at which it’s accepted. She has had sexual fantasies involving women and her curiosity for it is wild. Mostly, her attraction is not weighted on gender, but the disposition of one’s character. She holds very high standards, but appearances and sex is not a defining factor in her attraction to anyone.

005.  describe  your  character’s  happiest  memory.  minimum  word  count:  150.

Sadly, Sophia’s happiest memory also entwines with her saddest. On the day of her husband’s death, she attended mass with the people of Luxembourg as it was a Sunday. Her bravery and composition was astounding enough to move several others to tears in mourning for both her and her deceased husband. The people of Luxembourg accumulated outside of the cathedral once the service was over to honor and praise her. As she made way from the cathedral to her carriage, a path was created for her where many stood to the side to bless her as she walked by during snowfall. Some were shivering and still awaited the moment of their opportunity to admire her. While she maintained her composure for the better half of the excursion, she broke into tears upon seating herself within her carriage, overwhelmed by the conflicting feelings of both love and grief. In her life, she had never felt so loved by a people. It was an intoxicating sentiment of reverence and something she desired even more after experiencing it.

006.  is  there  one  event  in  your  characters’  life  that  they  would  like  to  erase  from  their  past?  why?  minimum  word  count:  200.

So I hate to be this person, but there aren’t any regrets Sophia holds onto as everything does seem to happen for a reason; the continuity of fate and cause and effect. Even the death of her husband is not something she would take back for she would be taking back the sacred vibes of their memories together that i think she would be thankless for had his death not occurred. As well as her drive to strive for more for herself and her future kin. if she were to take back anything, it would be something as minute as a poor fashion taste when she was 12. Something that wouldn’t affect her timeline but perhaps spare her some embarrassment for sake of image. For all that she is and hopes to be, Sophia gives thanks to her past and every bad moment of that past no matter the circumstances. All of it was meant to be apart of her story no matter how sad or without justice it was. I also believe this ideal shows how much she has matured in the last few years as if you asked her this when she was little, she probably would like to erase a lot of things to spare her of her grief.

007.  let’s ��talk  favourites!  what  is  their  favourite  colour,  food,  and  season?   what,  in  a  modern  setting,  would  be  your  character’s  favourite  song?  

Sophia likes delicate colors, specifically whites and yellows. She definitely has a sweet tooth and adores dark chocolate but also enjoys fruits like peaches and grapes. Her favorite season is winter as she loves snow but she also greatly admires autumn for its colors. Her favorite song in a modern era would be All I Do Is Cry by Kim Petras. Honestly, she would be a huge Kim Petras and Slayyyter fan. She would have been so into Britney Spears as a child and would definitely need that modern Britney vibe in music she likes.

008.  can  you  define  a  turning  point  in  your  character’s  life?

i think the pivotal point in Sophia’s timeline of events was her being sent to France. It really did end up paving the way for who she would become and also aided in the union to Luxembourg that would ultimately show her a taste of leadership and power.

009.  is  your  character  an  early  morning  bird  or  a  night  owl?  at  what  time  do  they  get  most  of  their  work  done?

Both. Sophia doesn’t sleep very much and never has been a well sleeper which was a nightmare when she was a toddler. She suffers from insomnia, though this is not yet diagnosable so it’s just safe to say she’s terrible at sleeping and averages maybe 5 hours of sleep a night. In my head, she does wear very light makeup to cover dark circles from her lack of sleep but sometimes they can be particularly dark and difficult to conceal. 

010  a.  what  other  character,  a  npc  or  someone  apart  of  the  rp,  is  your  character  completely  real  with?  who  knows  them  best,  has  seen  them  at  their  most  vulnerable,  knows  their  innermost  and  basest  fears?   Sophia was incredibly reserved in the beginning of her marriage to Guillaume. She disliked him, being still young and naive when they first married as she trusted rumors he was ugly and disabled and his disposition matched his countenance. However, he was quite the opposite. His disfigurement was one leg was an inch shorter than the other which caused a limp and required him to use a cane to walk but he was otherwise handsome and kind. He was a solemn man, yet very humorous in her presence and considerate of her feelings. Even when he barely knew her, he prioritized her comfort. Slowly, Sophia eased up to him and became very open, sharing many of her secrets, desires and fears with him. She was most vulnerable to him, knowing he would never take advantage of this information. All in all, he was not only her husband, but her closest friend and confidant. His death made her a lot more reserved to opening herself up to others with the idea instilled that everyone goes away in the end and their love can only go so far.

011.  is  your  character  a  neat  or  messy  person?

She is very neat without question. Her organization skills are astounding as she believes organization is part of being a good leader. That and I do believe messes give her a great deal of anxiety for a lack of a better term. She already has a hard enough time sleeping, but trying to sleep when she knows there is a mess somewhere in her chambers? Absolutely not happening.

012.  does  your  character  have  any  irrational  fears  or  phobias?

A fear of becoming irrelevant in history. She wants to make her mark. She wants to be remembered for her accomplishments and contributions to the advancement of history. She’s very into philosophy and considers often the insignificance of life which frightens her. She can only prevent it the best way she knows how which is through her ambitions.

013.  does  your  character  have  an  underlying  passion  or  trait  that  influences  all  aspects  of  their  life?

I wouldn’t say it’s underlying considering it defines her existence. But her passion for leadership; for the advancement of humanity. She believes ideas and theories are constantly evolving and that they will one day live in a world so advanced beyond her recognition. Her duty to the world is to be a stepping stone in that advancement. To prevent sickness, cure and abolish poverty; these are all things she thinks the future holds and it’s important to her to be apart of that in her contribution. She absolutely strives for power but I think in a good way. Not for the purpose of unfound riches and praise but to propel her successors into a better, more viable future.

014.  what  might  your  character’s  ideal  romantic  person  be?

Someone who she can trust. Someone that respects her ideals and is capable of listening to her opinions. As well as a person she can share laughs with. I think she’s prepared to deal with the likelihood of infidelity given that she’s likely to marry into high status. I can’t say she would particularly like it, but it’s definitely expected in these circumstances. If things were more simple, I think she could easily have everything she dreams of in a companion. But because of the cards she was dealt and the life she continues to accept and even want, her standards for whats acceptable are relatively low. But for falling in love, she does have particularly high standards. I just don’t think she believes she will find true love in the same way she was fortunate enough to find it with Guillaume.

015.  describe  your  character’s  hands.  are  they  small,  long,  calloused,  smooth,  stubby,  dexterous  or  clumsy?  do  they  wear  any  jewelry  and  would  they  wear  polish  in  a  modern  setting?

She has elongated fingers with nails filed into an oval shape that slightly extend over her nailbed. Her knuckles and fingertips are red and both her middle fingers are crooked. She wears several rings on her hands but switches the specific rings out according to what she wears that day. So it’s often different. Jewelry and overall fashion is her way of displaying her wealth and I don’t think she’s afraid to go over the top. In a modern setting, she would be getting manicures every two weeks. The coffin shaped nails with rings stacked. I think she would primarily go for singular colors with an accent nail, but sometimes she will feel festive like during halloween or christmas and get specific designs done on her nails.

016.  how  does  your  character  smell?  what  is  their  favourite  scent?

Sophia is particular about smells but doesn’t like them to be overpowering. She prefers subtle hints. She likes to burn incense within the confinements of her chambers both for the pleasant smell and the calming effect they provide. She also keeps a bowl of rosewater in her chambers at all times to wash her hands and face. Most predominantly, she smells of lavender from the lavender oil she spreads on her wrists, neck and chest. Her favorite scent however is the smell of rain incoming. She also enjoys the scents of fruits and sweets which is perhaps why she likes them so much.

017.  how  would  your  muse  describe  their  religious  beliefs?

She is a devout Catholic but not extremely religious. She goes to mass like most others and prays often. But I don’t think it extends beyond that. She already trusts she has been accepted into God’s kingdom and will be rewarded for the things she will come to make of herself in the future. She is very confident in her future tenure and what she has already accomplished.

018.  what  rules  does  your  muse  live  by,  if  any?

Don’t trust anyone. Always have a purpose and direction. Never feel satisfied with your work as there is always room for improvement. I think these are her main principles that really guide her through life.

019.  does  your  muse  overshare,  or  are  they  more  private?

Definitely private. She has a tendency to not speak unless spoken to. However, she gives much voice to her opinions on significant matters. But as far as her feelings go, I think anyone is more likely to get struck by lightning than see the day Sophia opens up and overshares. And if she did, I think she would be absolutely mortified upon realizing she may have said too much. She is very cautious of what she says, giving consideration to her future prospects.

020.  is  your  muse  a  gossiper?  are  they  more  likely  to  argue  with  their  fists  or  tongue?  what  does  their  voice  sound  like?

Sophia is a listener. She does not engage in gossip by contributing, but she does encourage others to speak it to her through manipulative tactics. It keeps her a step ahead to know. She is definitely more likely to use her tongue as her primary weapon due to her sharp wit and power being Her Imperial Highness of Austria. Her voice is very soft and melodic. Despite Austrian German being her first language, she puts a profound effort in correct annunciation and even accents of other languages she knows. She is very fluid with her speech, though her accent will show through from time to time.

021.  is  your  muse  a …  pessimist  or  optimist …  lover  or  fighter … believer  in  happy  endings …  believer  in  love  at  first  sight?

She is more a realist than anything. If a situation is plausible, she’s definitely more on the optimistic side and does believe good things come to those with good intentions. But she can also tell when something is looking grim and doesn’t desire to get her hopes compromised. So she remains fairly neutral. I can’t say she believes in happy endings because everyone eventually dies and that’s not quite so happy but she does believe in accomplishing the things you want in a lifetime and departing of this world satisfied with what you’ve made of your time. She does not believe in love at first sight as she is not one to fall in love with looks. It takes time for her to fall for someone.

022.  what  sense  of  humour  does  your  character  have?

She can be a little vicious with her humor but this humorous side only comes out when she feels comfortable with someone so it’s still a good sign. Otherwise, I wouldn’t say she has much of a sense of humor. Just quick wit.

023.  what  bad  habits  does  your  character  have?

Nothing terrible like gambling or excessive drinking. Her bad habits are rather silly but her mother would always scold her for them. Like nail biting or rubbing her nose. For some reason, she likes her hands near her face as some sort of comfort mechanism.

024.  how  does  your  character  feel  about  growing  old?

She’s okay with it as long as she does something with herself. Elderly women are often regarded with much prestige and recognition as significant figures in politics. However, it does bother her she’s considered to be at a point where she should have two children by now. She fears her biological clock is ticking as a woman. Which is funny to me considering 23 is still a baby honestly.

025.  does  your  character  prefer  adventure  to  safety  and  security?

She doesn’t strike me as being super adventurous because she’s definitely more focused on other things like sovereignty. She loves being outdoors, especially in the winter, but I don’t see her venturing beyond confinements she’s familiar with. So I would say she prefers safety and security.

[elizasepistolarytravels]

A knife.

1.) I've never cried once when I waxed my legs. 

I can feel it though. 

as I can feel the breeze and the cold

and the salt evaporating from 

the sand caked beach. 

And its taste on scrambled eggs,

and your rain coat on the peg, 

and your stolen eyes 

stealing my body 

as the door screeches 

shut 

in that scream that I dread. 

And I can hear the sound of pop corn, 

and people in the street, 

their red mouths like 

poppies 

and bulls eyes

in a Rolling Stone magazine. 

Telling lies.

And yeah, I like my coffee black. 

S'how I decided to like it 

as I have once in a party 

sworn 

that I was born 

with my tongue flipped backwards,

my taste buds starting at the bitter bit instead.

Said that just to excite them. 

I love movies. 

But never cry in public. 

I'd never cry if it pleased the Republic. 

What I do is, I try to get a grip of their minds

See my vision through a 

screen.

But lets not get too dark, shall we?

I love the sight of wool-

Transformed and processed,

refined, 

Blessed. 

And how it scratches on my back, 

sharply.

And how it goes around and itches my neck, 

hungrily. 

And wraps around my waist and burns me. 

But that is how I choose to dress. 

And yeah I love the feel of rain and stuff,  

and cycling, 

and laughing, 

and falling, and scrambling 

and crying,and crying. 

And the crisp sheets on my childhood bed,

how when you got lost in them by yourself, tearing the sheets apart. 

I felt nothing. 

Not the wool, nor the the coffee, not even the leg waxing. 

As you saw, as you watched my eyes go forever red.

2.) 

The scent of her bluebell

earrings made them mad. 

She swayed a halo of hair at their 

bluebird eyelashes that wished to fly away 

and perch on her shoulders, 

adoring her teacups of cracked silence and 

dry toast. 

The love she held to them was bitter, 

conscious of her power, 

she did not let them see through 

her skin. 

Lotus palms higher chakra fingernails 

on her parchment thighs and a longing of 

consumption of trimmed misery, 

a pattern of stolen space shared in corners. 

They were all so beautiful. 

Their souls were white, I tell you. 

And one by one, she would let them into her room

and thank their lives.

Kissing their shoulders with 

whiskers of leaves. 

They would try to run their hands over 

sudden quivering glimpses of lake blue stillness,

that shattered across her eyes. 

They were making it worse for themselves, 

They were making her remind herself of 

the numbing stitches that lay as maps over her brain. 

2.)

How is it for you, 

as you sit pink eyed? 

Your skin, un-stretched 

from hurtling warship storms

shines golden, 

awesome disney penny golden,

slightly akin to our 

Kath Kidston bread rolls and hours of 

spiky cricket. 

It is easy to fall in love 

with your idea of an anxious 

death of new-boy, 

oxford- sandle- schoolboy. 

Beatings. 

I relish in your fire. 

In your even slightest oxygenation and combustion rust.

When clippings fall off your Thatcher-esque milk-carton teeth. 

But that barely satisfies pits of knotted words. 

And jaws pulled open to emplace chastity belts. 

Onions, 

Wikka crosses. 

Suffocation. 

My body is a battlefield of eyes, 

rashes, scratches, and many many apparent scars. 

I try to walk across your face, 

down expensive liquor suns. 

My life was an orphan. My hands

were open and a ghost took them.

Now I can only scream. 

Your sight makes me cry and you continue to shine,

And you sit down in the sand and - ‘help me’. 

This is snow globe ancient.

It is swoons of acid sooty waves, storms and storms 

of the shipwreck cleaner - the orphan. 

You explain to me life as if it were a mere 

plastic 

globe. 

Eccentric.

Disposable. 

And most probably Toxic. 

One of the reasons I am doing this project is because of trauma. 

Poetry is so wishy-washy and ambiguous so lets get straight to the point. 

Not many people detect this, some may sense pain and things like that, but on the whole, out of all the things this project has turned out to have a connection to, the trauma that also spurs it is not something not talked about a lot. It has paced my life, as good old trauma tends to do. It paces this piece of art. As so, it turns out that this is also an attempt to heal. I am taking courage, taking hold over my life now. I will write and speak and run until I don’t need to, until I feel at last at home in my own crawling skin. I will run to where I feel most protected, where I have felt I can breath at last, the warmth of the earth and the quietness of the fields of Nature. Where I feel I am of the same mud as the rest of this earth. 

Trauma. As it is for many others, trauma is insidious. It is a natural, scientific, real, proven, (blah blah look up the research) whatever you want to call it, phenomenon. It changes your brain. It is when something or someone through your childhood development and right into your adult life, comes in and disrupts the healthy boundaries of your body, your mind and your sense of self. When you are ok, you have a normal bubble where a healthy ego may develop and later on in life, thrive. When not your bubble is more this weird mashed potato. Or many different states of mashed potato. When you have not experienced trauma you know the boundaries of yourself and others and more importantly you know how to maintain them. My bubble, both physically and mentally, was distorted (made mash potato), from an early age. It was not for me one event, it was also a, combination of people and moments. The lines are blurry, and yes, I agree, the line of victim and perpetrator is difficult, and sometimes confusing, there there remains a constant. From an early age my boundaries were laughed at made lesser than, later used and twisted. It is the plight of the perception of women or anyone made lesser, their bodies made objects. Just to repeat: My existence, as for most of us, is a lot of pain. It is at times unbearable. You cannot demean this, or make this any smaller than the immensity I feel in my mind at some points of time. I guess this is speaking truth to survive. So back to the little talk on trauma. The healthy development I was meant to have by now is supplemented by the voices of those who opened me up and ate me raw. Psychologically, it is self-doubt and even hatred, somatically, it is sometimes a bodily fear of others or not knowing boundaries, exuding too much closeness and intimate energy and then at times freezing up out fear when my body suddenly realises the danger it put itself in. Or just fading away, giving in, not feeling. It is also crying and panic, yeah that happens. I can’t imagine what it must be like for people with trauma greater than mine, but this is not the point. I am here to talk about my trauma. Because it is time to take back what people took from me like chocolates, when truthfully, if he really cared for and respected me, he wouldn’t have ever fucking done that. There is no way to reconcile that in my mind. I have tried utter, truthful and surrendering forgiveness, but you know what that just didn’t work for me. So here is my story.

I met an old friend the other day, I didn’t expect him to be there, or ever see him again, although paradoxically I knew we would cross paths. This past month has been a month of giving for me, of building up projects like this one. I fucking stamped out the voices that were being stupid and managed to do the things I needed to do. I have had a precious time, I have met wondrous people. If you recognise yourself here, well done! I love you. I have made some true connections and touched others’ lives because I reached out in my truth, and so did hey. Spoke from the soul. It is something that I am proud of, my present life has taken a turn I really like. I am now again fighting for something that is outside of me, but in the process makes us laugh, connect, and feel at home. I am a fucking warrior. I did what I promised to myself, I fucking fought and got out of my hole of self pity, and I was happy for a while. But the golden light passes, as all will pass, and already, as a woman, I feel the end of the cycle coming, a time for darker thoughts needing to be processed. But also, this time was also powered by unsustainable energy, of escapism by excessively giving, and as I realised on the only day I was really sober, that parts of it were numbing. Some of you picked up on that, because after a while you see the cracks in my self, you see that something is wrong, does not quite align, you don’t know what it is, can’t put your finger on it, but something is very off. And that is when usually I ward you off or distract you with part of a persona I create. Frantically. No, I am not always OK. As many of us are. 

A person of my family, a close friend of mine, grew to take me and what I am  made me separate and lesser, a thing he could use. Anyway, starting off as a weird symbiosis of children it turned into an entitlement to the body of women,  because I don’t know, like our sick culture of disgusting posh all boys boarding schools? Just saying. And because of his parents and the rest of the family gradually built him up to think of himself as the best. That can hurt and damage a person forever. What does all that pride give you, when you are a hollow empty narcissistic vessel by night? Just saying. Anyway, that is my trauma, or whatever, or was my thing, I can make it public because I want to, and because I like the idea of revenge, and because you do not overstep my boundaries. This piece of writing is a knife.

When I met you again, dear friend, you reminded me of this. And yes, the beautiful, and real parts of this project, are a part of it, but they are not everything. The need to reconnect with people of my life is because I have presented a frantic, scared, fractured persona a lot of the time. I have manipulated and quickly attached myself to a few people, a few best friends that would fill up my broken terrified heart. I have a string of best friends, relationships, that I become intensely entwined with to feel safe, out of pure need to survive. And then cut them off without the batting of an eyelid. That is fucking terrible. I don’t know how you could stand me for the time you did. I was a manipulative piece of shit, that could probably not respect your boundaries also. And if you took distance, that was very wise of you, I thank you for that, because the pieces of me that can still feel want you to be happy. I would cut off my friends as soon as they saw this. Next. It was all just survival. I would then hunt for my next prey and hope they would fill in this hole by using them in a weird symbiotic way as a part of me. The letter writing is also to not hide anymore, to get back in contact with you, to say sorry, but also, to truly talk to you and laugh about our past, to feel kindred spirits in this world that is tough. Because this state of frenzy has to stop. This fear has to stop. It is time I take back the knife, and stab back where it hurt the most. Enforced empathy. Making you hurt like I hurt even if you don’t want to. Now you will all know. Now the world will know. That I will not shut up. Now we attack back. 

This girl fights. You seemed to have forgotten that. 

Trauma. We build up this conversation together my dear friend. You who monologues a lot like men do, who forgets that I made this myself too, a part of you may feel good for having helped me, but this is also fucking self-generated. We talked about this together, how trauma is the underlying epidemic to us all. It is the sweeping waves of suicide that we seem to find hard to explain (Duh??). It is the never-ending cycle of creating men (and sometimes steel women) who are not warriors, but machines. Of honouring psychopaths, capable of disguising themselves as heroes, but who are actually machines built up from a world that has taken out a piece of their usual empathetic development. It is not usual male aggression. It is broken boys. Fracturing other peoples sense of self, as traumatising a population becomes the greatest weapon of war. Civilians and women, children, weaker men. Today, battling in Syria and elsewhere, we are not fighting a just war. Our machine men from our psychotic culture are traumatising women and children, sexually abusing other men (remember Abu Ghraib in Iraq? that seemed hard to explain for some reason). The greatest form of destruction is to destroy the minds of a population. Fighting terrorism is a weird Freudian cover up of a will of our population to manipulate and enjoy destroying another. It is the need to keep our women quiet and useable, to satisfy this machine mentality of soldiers off to feel good about killing things. 

You and I were a microcosm. 

You took a part of me, as some have taken a part of you, to fill in the hole that they start to take out of us, to be part of this culture. We inherit the past of our parents. It is the Ouroboros. The never-ending cycle, a snake eating its tail. Until someone in the chain decides to say fuck off and break from it herself. You also had a choice when we started to see it happen. But you just wanted your own satisfaction really. Psycho.

My escape is a necessity. It has now gotten to the point that it is more dangerous for me to stay silent than to reach out and take control. 

This is me yelling. My art is me yelling. Our poetry is us yelling. This is me yelling about the very mantle of trauma that is stitched into the fabric of our society. It is so entrenched, as it has been in society, that it is barely utterable. Like a colour we cannot see, a collective amnesia. And it suddenly started spluttering out: Me too!

And me. 

I am one in three women, 

Lots of men told to kill their feelings.

Trauma comes in degrees, the refugee families and individuals I have met have amongst our laughter, our alchemy and dancing, talked about their trauma. I relate. It is not my trauma, nor my degree. But it is trauma. A category I relate to.

This is us taking back control. I do it for you but know that it is our turn to fight back. It is healthy to re-establish your boundaries of a world that took yours away. Create your knife.

So lets write, paint, sing, yell, make moments happen. Transform the world. Lets gain back control over narcissists that have fucked our world over. You are allowed to be the best you can. To brandish swards. 

So this is my life’s work. 

This is why I am doing this. And will continue to do things like this for all my future. And also, I am now going to have a fucking good time and enjoy life and not get caught up on this moment, or what ‘happened to me’, but it is important that it is out there, that it is not told to be kept silent. And if you every want to consider re-building your mind, or if you want redemption, this will be your life’s work too, or I will make it yours by force. Trust me, I am now the girl with the dragon tattoo, a dragon of my Mexican people that have been fucked over by white men like you (By the way, can you feel the power of Mexico and other countries starting to fight back? Being beautiful? Exciting right?). 

So these are the letters. The start to break silences, to have stabbing conversations. No I am not tame. No my parents. My family. I will not do this nicely and silently. If you want to write a letter that stabs go ahead, if you want to thank all those who truly saw you and your truth go ahead. If you want to honour the world with your words and your beauty, go ahead. Lets cut to the real. 

In a letter, you open the world. You can build and do other things you want from there. So lets start to stitch together connections of real discussions, or raw real open discussions, of the possibility of connecting networks between those who have seen trauma and who understand the pain of the world, and who alchemise it. We are the future. 

And fuck those who tell you to be less real, to tone it down. They are cowards. 

Dare, 

Dare to connect. 

We need truth more than ever.

We need reality more than ever. 

We need beauty more than ever. 

Fuck you Jack. 

Eliza. 

Right, now this is done, lets get back to life and cycling. 

[ryanjkohnson]

Leopard Spirit Animal | Full Guide With All Traits

Want to know all the traits and specifics about the Leopard Spirit Animal?

In this lenghty guide, I will try to give you all the facts and important know how’s about this spirit animal.

If you want to read more about spirit guides in general, you can check out this page.

High up in a tree in sub-Saharan Africa slinks a majestic creature.

This solitary feline enjoys its own company more than anything else.

You might catch a leopard or Panthera Pardus as it’s known in Latin.

Taking a mid-day nap before it’s nightly prowl, or perhaps you’ll catch a brief glimpse of the reddish glow of its eyes reflecting moonlight through the tall grass.

Crown Jewel of Nature

The leopard is undoubtedly a crown jewel of nature. The sublime leopard can make a noble guide for your soul. If the leopard is your spirit animal, it’s important to understand the symbolism that it embodies and how that correlates and entwines with your life. Let’s take a brief journey outside of the savanna grassland and into the realm of the symbolic to discover what it means for a leopard to be your spirit animal.

What is the symbolism of a leopard?

In order for us to get a solid understanding of what lessons, teachings, and symbolism that the leopard has for us, we must take a look at the various ways the leopard can be interpreted from multiple angles both figuratively and literally. First, we will take a peek at leopards in their natural environment and what qualities they possess.

Characteristics of Leopards in Nature

Leopards are perfectly satisfied with flying solo.

They rarely are seen with other leopards, except for when mating or raising their offspring.

They take great pride in being fiercely independent and are able to sustain themselves through their own cunning and might. These mighty beasts are nocturnal, spending most of their days high up in trees sleeping or grooming.

When night falls they tap into their intuition and intellect to guide them towards success.

Leopards are known as ambush predators.

They have mastered the art of stealth.

They are expert sleuths who keep quiet and hidden until the moment is right to strike.

Leopards are incredibly sagely creatures that seem to embrace a level of enlightenment rarely found in nature. They instinctively know the psychology of their targets when they have taken to the hunt. There is much reason why some ancient cultures held felines in high spiritual regard. They see and sense in ways that are not easily grasped by us humans. Agility is another one of the leopard’s great strengths. When in hot pursuit of their prey or running from danger, they’ve been known to run up to 24 mph (38 kph). Although they can be quite quick when the moment is right, they conserve their energy for when it’s needed the most.

Their Traits Make Them Excellent Guides

This highlights their keen restraint. From taking a look at leopards in the wild, we learn that they possess quite a few personality traits that make them excellent guides. We can learn much from these traits and they can also be the overlapping qualities that determine their role in our lives as spiritual escorts.

Leopard Personality Traits

Solitary and Independent

Intuitive and Deductive

Intelligent and Wise

Agile and Nimble

Prudent and Cautious

Leopards in Dreams – What They Can Mean

Our spirit animals often approach us in the dream world.

Dreams are rarely straight forward. They are often blanketed in symbolism and metaphor. If we can decode this ethereal language, we can better follow the instructions and wisdom of our animal guides. Encountering a leopard in your dreams may be a harrowing experience or one that brings us great peace and a sense of awe. Fear not, my fellow dreamers. An encounter with a leopard in the realm of your slumbers is nothing short of a life-affirming sign! Or at least most of the time.

Good Dreams

Leopards are often seen as a symbol of perseverance and reward. Your handwork has reached the stage of completion and will shortly pay off. Maybe you’ve been struggling with a task or a project for a long time. Your leopard spirit animal reassures you that your hard work and persistence have not gone unnoticed. You will be blessed for the investment you’ve made. Perhaps you’ve struggled with courage at times in life. Your leopard guide is visiting your dreams to tell you that you will overcome whatever obstacles stand in your way. The leopard shares with you a message of strength. Remember how fiercely independent leopards are? Well, that quality of self-determination makes them excellent archetypes of a strong powerful leader. Just like the leopard who steadfastly achieves all of its goals while providing for its own needs in full, you too possess those abilities.

Bad Dreams

Not every instance of encountering a leopard in your dreams is a message of triumphant victory.

Sometimes the context of your encounter with your spotted animal teacher can help you deduce the lesson. For example, if you dream of a leopard attacking you, this could be seen as a sign of great obstacles coming your way. Even though you will likely overcome these hurdles, it may be seen as a call to action to tap into your inner strength, cunning, and intellect to tackle the adversity on the horizon. Our leopard friends are excellent at hide-and-seek. Their coat is a beautiful example of camouflage. If your dream of just it’s coat their may a lesson about something hidden in your life.

It can be seen by some to a warning that someone in your life is being deceitful.

Be on the look-out for wolves in sheep’s clothing.

Not all that glitters is gold.

The Leopard and Your Strengths

Your spirit animal wants to express to you that you have a great deal of beauty within you.

Not only are you physically attractive, but your confidence is magnetic.

Just as the leopard is master of their domain, you too have control over your environment and the outcome of the situations you manifest in your life. The leopard gets what it wants. When you put an intention out into the universe, if you tap into that determination that the leopard embodies, you will surely come out ahead. You can achieve the apex standing within your social groups.

Don’t doubt yourself.

Grace and charm are tools in the leopard’s arsenal that propel them through their lives. When the leopard is your guide, you too hold the keys to finesse and elegance. The leopard is always sure-footed. You never see any of the big cats clumsily making mistakes. They never slip when they delicately walk across narrow tree limbs. They quietly stalk their prey without sounding any alarms. By taking note of your leopard guide, you can learn to fully embrace the poise that sits within us.

Your leopard spirit guide wants you to have faith in yourself. You are strong, powerful, capable, and equipped to succeed in your goals. You just need to believe in yourself and not fall victim to doubt or insecurity.

Why This Spirit Animal Can Give Luck

Not only are you extraordinarily lucky to have such an intriguing spirit guide, but the leopard is also a symbol of great luck coming your way.

Dance to the rhythm of your own drum. Be you and never look back. You don’t have to be someone you aren’t just to appease society and to find success. Will you give up when the going gets tough? Of course not! Your leopard spirit teacher is guiding you to assured success. You will easily leap over the barriers that life presents to you.

You can easily navigate through the darkness of night with sharp eyes and determined vision, because you know that failure isn’t an option for you.

The world is in your paws.

You Are the Center of Attention

It’s not always easy being at the top of the food chain.

When you excel in so many ways, it may make you feel like all of the attention is constantly being directed towards you.

This can be quite overwhelming especially when you’re having an off-day or going through some kind of hardship. You might even try to escape the limelight and evade the gaze of others. The leopard knows all too well what it’s like for its adversaries to be ever on the lookout for its flaws.

When you shine so brightly, you’re sure to make a few enemies.

Your spirit guide want’s you to brush that dirt off your shoulders. You know better. There will always be haters and those jealous of your successes. That’s just part of the circle of life. Hold on to your confidence. This is your opportunity to seize the day and prove your worth.

Final Words of Guidance From the Leopard

Navigating through this thing called life can throw you so many curveballs.

Obstacles will always be in our way. The important thing is to never give up when we reach these walls. You have the power, strength, courage, wisdom, and intuition to succeed even when it seems like a longshot. Remember the symbolism of the leopard when you’re going about your daily life. You will achieve your goals and reap the rewards of your success. Don’t be afraid to walk your own path. Take the road less traveled. You don’t need to follow others because you have the relentless spirit of independence that will guide you to exciting uncharted territory.

I really hope that you liked this guide about the Leopard Spirit Animal. Hopefully you have learned about their traits and how you can take advantage of those, if this is your spirit guide.

Also, PLEASE share this article with like-minded spirits.

Doing that really helps me to grow this blog.

Have a lovely day!

Bless you!

The post Leopard Spirit Animal | Full Guide With All Traits appeared first on Healing of Love.

Leopard Spirit Animal | Full Guide With All Traits posted first on https://healingoflove.com/

[ofstormsandwolves]

Catching up

Written for @legendslikestardust‘s pride month

After several years apart, the Doctor and Rose have a lot of catching up to do. And maybe a secret or two to share, too...

Metacrisis 10/Rose Tyler, bisexual Rose

AO3 (account needed) | Whofic 

“-And then there was the time that Martha and I-”

Rose shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and the Doctor abruptly stopped talking. They were halfway into the slow and arduous zeppelin flight from Bergen to London, and despite Pete booking them first class tickets (“They have little booths Rose! Little booths! We don’t have to share with your mother, do we?”), the flight still had Rose shifting every few moments and frowning out her window.

“Are you alright, Rose?” the Doctor asked after a long moment of frowning at her in confusion.

She nodded, offering him a weak smile across the table of their small two-person booth. Jackie was across from them in her own private booth, catching up on a few hours of sleep before they were back in London and little Tony was bouncing about.

“You’ve been very quiet,” the Doctor noted, voice soft. He leaned across the table, entwined their fingers, watched Rose with worried eyes. “I know this probably wasn’t what you had in mind when you started the Dimension Cannon project, but it is alright, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Rose told him, and although the smile still seemed a little strained, she squeezed his hand in hers. There had been a lot to wrap her head around in the four hours since they’d once more been left at Bad Wolf Bay, but she knew that that was the right answer for her to give. It was her honest answer.

“Is it the stories?” he questioned, still watching her in concern. “I just thought it’d pass the time, you know. We’ve still got a few hours till we reach London, and, well...” He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “I don’t have to talk if you don’t want me to.”

Rose sighed a little at that, and sat forward in her chair. “It’s not that, Doctor,” she told him, and her eyes were on their conjoined hands rather than his face. “Honestly, I’ve loved hearing about stuff you got up to. An’ I’m glad you had Martha and Donna to keep you company... It’s just, hearing you talk about what happened to you while I was gone made me realise, there’s a lot I need to catch you up on too.”

The Doctor nodded in understanding then. “It’s been a long day,” he said suddenly, though his voice was still soft. “Whatever you want to tell me, it can wait. It can wait till we’re back in London, or until tomorrow, or even next week. I’m not going anywhere, Rose.”

She gave him a soft smile then, looking relieved. He beamed back.

“Go on,” he told her softly, lifting her hand to press a soft kiss to her knuckles before letting her go, “get some sleep.”

~0~0~

Once in London, the Doctor and Rose made the decision to go straight to Rose’s posh apartment rather than heading to the Tyler Mansion, although Jackie made them swear that they would go round to the mansion the next day. They hailed a cab outside the zeppelin port, earning themselves some odd looks from the taxi driver when they explained they had no luggage (the cabbie looked even more perplexed as he seemed to recognise Rose, and she quickly tugged the Doctor into the back of the cab to avoid awkward questions).

Rose’s apartment was actually a modern-build in an old converted factory in east London. Close enough to Canary Wharf for Torchwood work but not too close, and distanced from the hustle and bustle of central London. The interior of the flat was decorated tastefully, although sparsely.

“Wasn’t expecting to still be here,” Rose admitted sheepishly once she’d let the Doctor into the apartment and he’d had a few minutes to look around. “Suppose we’ll have to think about redecorating now.”

The Doctor couldn’t help but beam at that. She’d said ‘we’.  Rose grinned back at him.

“Look at you,” she teased as she padded, barefoot to the kitchen-diner, “going all domestic!”

He knew she was teasing him, so didn’t dignify it with a response. Instead, he followed her through to the kitchen-diner and sat at the kitchen island while she made tea.

“So,” Rose spoke up while the kettle boiled, “from what you were saying earlier, sounds like you and Martha were travelling together for a while.”

“A few months,” the Doctor responded, suddenly becoming much more interested in her fruit bowl.

Rose frowned. “Only a few months?” she asked in confusion.

He shrugged. “More or less. It’s... Complicated,” he admitted slowly. “There was this... Thing. We lived through an entire year before it was reversed, so while I remember it, I’m not really sure it counted.”

Suddenly, Rose was beside his barstool, hands on his face as she gently encouraged him to face her. “Want to talk about it?” she asked gently.

The Doctor sniffed. “Nah,” he dismissed. “Not now. I’ll tell you about it, but not tonight. It’s... It’s sort of a long story.”

Rose nodded, but didn’t look convinced.

“Anyway, Rose Tyler, what about you?” he asked, forcing a sudden grin. “How is it being the Vitex Heiress?”

At that, Rose rolled her eyes. She crossed back to the kettle and finished off making the tea, her back to the Doctor even as she responded to his question.

“I suppose it’s not too bad most of the time,” she admitted slowly. “I mean, I have to attend posh parties sometimes, and Vitex events, but they’re not too often. And of course, there are incidents like the taxi driver earlier.” She glanced over her shoulder at him then. “But it’s not too bad.” She fished the tea bags out of the mugs and crossed over to the kitchen island, taking a seat beside the Doctor. “I mean, the worst thing is if and when magazines and that run articles on me. You know the sort, they get one photo of me while I’m out shopping and somehow it’s news.”

The Doctor’s brow furrowed at that. “They’ve not been hounding you, have they?”

Rose shook her head. “Like I said, it’s not too bad. But every now and then they’ll write an article about how I don’t seem to be seeing anyone, or why don’t I have a boyfriend. Or, worse, they catch a glimpse of me out with Jake, or Mickey, or someone from Torchwood and then start rumours that we’re dating.”

The Doctor blinked at her then. “And are you telling me that in, what, four years of being in Pete’s World you’ve not been on a single date?”

Rose flushed a little then, and studied her mug intently. The Doctor smirked a little. While he wasn’t too sure how he felt about Rose dating other men, clearly none of them had stuck around and thus weren’t a threat. And also, he had always liked it when she got embarrassed.

“A few,” she admitted. “But most were set up by Mum. She only set me up with about three people though, and when they didn’t work out, she left me alone. She understood what I was going through, I suppose, with her losing Dad- I mean, my original Dad-, so she didn’t push after that. An’ all the people she set me up with were nice enough, and they were, like, sons of Dad’s friends for years, but it just didn’t work out.” She paused. “Then there were two others, both from Torchwood. But that didn’t exactly work out either.”

“How long ago?” the Doctor asked, and he surprised even himself with that- he wasn’t jealous, he was just concerned. While it was clear Rose hadn’t wanted to be with anyone other than him, there was a hint of loneliness in her tone.

“The last one was nearly two and a half years ago,” Rose admitted softly. “The first three were all in the first year, and then the two from Torchwood were soon after.”

“And did any of the relationships last very long?” the Doctor asked, and yes, he did sound a little jealous then.

“Never got past a second date,” Rose told him, shaking her head. “The three that Mum set me up with never got past the first date. The only one I felt particularly drawn to was-”

She trailed off suddenly, ducked her head once more, and flushed. The Doctor frowned.

“Rose?”

She bit her lip, met his gaze hesitantly. “Promise me you won’t, I dunno, freak out or something?” she asked, her voice small.

“Promise,” he said, though his voice wavered.

“Ok.” She took a breath. “The last person I, well, went on any dates with, was a colleague from Torchwood. Her name was Tara.”

The Doctor blinked.

“I dated a girl, Doctor. I’m, well, I guess I’m bisexual.”

The Doctor blinked again. “Oh,” he said after a moment. “Ok.”

Then, Rose blinked. “Is that it?” she asked him, and she actually sort of sounded relieved.

He shrugged. “Why wouldn’t it be?” he asked her. “It doesn’t change who you are, Rose. And clearly you still love me, so... Why did you think I’d freak out?”

Her shoulders slumped. “I dunno,” she sighed. “It’s just, it took Mum and Dad a while to get their heads around it, and Mickey, too. I mean, they were supportive and everything, just... They still had to process it, you know? And I just assumed it would be the same with you, that you’d need a day or two to process the information.”

The Doctor just smiled and tapped the side of his head. “Still Time Lord up here, Rose. 900 years of time and space, and you being bisexual isn’t remotely a problem.”

Rose nodded mutely at that, staring at him. “I feel silly now,” she admitted slowly. “After all that panicking on the zeppelin back, and you’re not remotely bothered-”

“Wait, that’s why you kept fidgeting?” the Doctor asked, perplexed.

She nodded, biting her lip. “Well, yeah. You were tellin’ me all this stuff that had happened to you, an’ I realised we both had a lot of stuff to catch each other up on, and my dating Tara was one of them. I mean, we never got past a second date, ‘cause Tara could see that my heart wasn’t really in it, but we’re still friends, and I wanted to tell you before you found out from someone else. Like Jake, or Mum and Dad, or someone from Torchwood, an’ I just started panicking. ‘Cause I knew I had to tell you, an’ soon, but I didn’t know how. I mean, I never even realised I was bisexual before Tara asked me out, you know? Sure, Shareen and Keisha and I used to mess about rating girls at school and stuff, and I found some of them attractive, but I never really thought anything of it-”

Suddenly, her mug was pulled from her grasp and set on the kitchen worktop, then the Doctor’s hands were on her shoulders.

“Rose, calm down. It’s fine, ok? It’s all fine. Like I said, it doesn’t change who you are, and it certainly doesn’t change how I feel about you. You’re still Rose Tyler, ok?”

Rose nodded meekly at that, staring at him wide-eyed. Once she’d calmed down enough, she finished off her tea, and then the Doctor took her mug from her to put it with hers in the sink.

“I’ll deal with them in the morning,” he told her. “It’s getting late.” Indeed, the sky out of the kitchen windows was already a dark blue, punctuated by the street lights outside. “And I think that’s enough catching up for tonight. How about we get to bed?”

Rose nodded, took the Doctor’s hand in hers, and led him towards the bedroom.

[kendrixtermina]

Extra Typology Vol #3 - Part 9, A: The Leisurely Style (Basics)

This would be the quintessential “Type B” individual - sure, they’ll fulfill their obligations & put in whatever share of work is needed to have a solid living, but once that is done, they feel that they have the right to their personal pursuit of hapiness & see that as the area of life where the “worthwhile” stuff happens - That this is where life is & that the other part is the drudgery you do for the sake of your life.  

They feel that they have a right to their “me time” and while they might fill it with anything from plain chillaxing to hobbies to creative pursuits, it’s important to them that they are guranteed this opportunity, and though  they are generally easygoing, they will vigorously defend their right to do their own thing & have their time & space.

This seems to be vaguely 9w8, the Phlegmatic Temperament or the Ne-Si axis.

(Funnily enough I never thought of this as any sort of distinct trait, perhaps because it’s the most common one in my makeup - I always just assumed this is simply “everyone to some degre/default/common sense/normal people” which, in hindsight, seems to hold the implicit assumption that type A people are “weird” Sorry.  ^^° Well, at least I am now less stupid than I was before reading this book so yay for this book. Guess this just shows how we’re all vulnerable to & should be on the lookout for that type of thinking, as we’re all ordinary or unusual in some ways.)

The Six Domains

Self

The first priority for the Leisurely style is the inviolable independence of the self - The implicit idea that they have the intrinsic right to be who they are, to feel good, and to pursue their own pleasures and concepts in their own way - and that no person or institution has any business “meddling” or taking those rights away from then - They can be said to have a more fluent connection to the basic, default value of human existence. 

If a Conscientious person will define themselves & others through their work, Leisurely people are more likely to see their indentity as related to their hobbies and, as a corollary, will tend to ask others “What are you into?” instead and believe in their inalienable right to use their personal time however they choose. 

Unlike some of the more emotional “scattered” types they can operate quite well within systems such as the family, the workplace, the community... indeed those outer complexes are necessary to fulfill their needs, but they do not identify with or feel a need to cater to any outer authorities and generally don’t have a pronounced superego or any of the associated heavy self-critical burdens. - They’re aware of their obligations, but after meeting them - including those to their family - the Leisurely person will turn to what they see as “the things that really matter”: The pursuit of their private pleasure in life, be it sports, art, contemplating nature or watching TV with a beer in hand. 

Unlike, say, Self-Confident types who feel that they are inherently special, better and closer to the center of the universe than most others, Leisurely people perceive that, along with everybody else, they are small cogs in the cosmic wheel - and that’s okay with them. Leisurely folks are usually comfortable with themselves - but even small cogs are entitled to lucky breaks - which is how Leisurely people perceive the diference between the have and the have-nots. 

Most of all, they feel entitled to be happy and claim this right vigorously - Leisurely individuals will not enslave themselves to anyone or anything, or substitute anybody else’s values for their own - they might have a role to play, a job to do, services to perform etc. but they are individual and separate, subject to their own dictates - they’re willing to do their part, but beyond that, they reserve the right to feel good privately. 

Relationships

This same central attitude extends not just to work but also to their relationships, with the result that these can only work under a premise of “You don’t own me.” or contain a certain ambivalence -  Don’t misunderstand: People who have this as their dominant style are deeply entwined with other people - they’re family oriented and comfortable in groups. They like or even need to be taken care of and enter into relationships easily. 

At the same time, they are, like Vigilant types, vaguely suspicious of others, especially people in authority - Leisurely types lowkey  expect others to ask too much of them. But while Vigilant people stand emotionally clear of people until they are certain their autonomy is assured, Leisurely individuals have a much greater immediate need of companionship - as well as a foolproof defense against being ill-used: If anyone asks them to sacrifice their self-determination, they’ll simply refuse -  they are frequently skilled at saying no and will always be protective of their individual freedom.

They’re not the sort to change themselves or a lifestyle they are satisfied with for the sake of a relationship, and if that means the relationship has to stop, they can generally accept that, seeing little sense in trying to win back an ex-partner who has clearly proven incompatible with their life an not likely to be happy with them - that said, they do care about their relationships & are likely to experience emotional pain when their desires conflict with those of their loved ones - they’ll usually go their own way in the endbut not without a lot of soul-searching in the end. 

It’s not uncommon for people with this style to be read as lazy by those who don’t share their values, but that’s a misunderstanding: Not too different from archiever-types they’re dividing up their time according to what they want but what they want isn’t recognition or fancy stuff but to have a significant portion of their time to use as they please without outside encumbrance - they’re generally not rebels, mavericks, angrily defiant indvidals or anything of the sort: They won’t yell  or argue when asked to do something they consider far beyond their duties - they’ll simply refuse. 

They might simply not want or value the same things as their type A friends/partners & not find it as important that this or that is done - sometimes with the result that the other person feels obliged to do it & ends up comlaining about having to do all the work when the Leisurely person never asked or expected them to.

Work

To a Leisurely person, work and moneymaking are generally a means, not the end. They’re the sort to look at their employment as “just a job” rather than a career or vocation. 

Because they generally work not for fame or sucess, but simply to pay bills, get a pension, finance their pursuit of pleasure and maybe have fun, they generally won’t take work home, don’t worry about it after hours, won’t do work that they see as outside their responsibility & won’t do more than what is asked of them to please the boss or feel better about themselves - they feel just fine. 

They can be good, cooperative workers & are quite capable of fulfilling the requirements and taking pride in what they do, but they don’t find the meaning of their life in their work and won’t let themselves be pushed around by someone who does - However, they might not necessarily see how their apparent lack of ambition might account for receiving less approval, encouragement or reward that their coworkers who do go the extra mile and may resent another person’s success as unjustified.

That said, individuals with a mixed pattern containing traits like Conscientious or Self-Conscious do manage to find pleasure somewhere in the workplace - some may be able to mix pleasure and business, which is probably the easiest to accomplish in creative work - others may enjoy some aspects of their work and procrastinate on others, or find something incidental to their work that they actually enjoy (such as the office sports team) - they can do very good work and stand a lot of tedium but the job is rarely going to be the central focus of their lives. They work slowly & comfortably and won’t rush to beat the clock, or to make an unreasonable deadline.

This may annoy the occasional supervisor or boss because people in authority generally expect their employees and subordinates to share their values & dedication to the project even though they ‘ll be getting a smaller share of the rewards, but the Leisurely person may reply that they’re not paid to photocopy bills or work past five, in short, that whatever extra stuff is being demanded is “not their job”, and they will certainly resist being exploited - 

Leisurely types are at least mildly suspicious of authority in the workplace - they expect that the boss will want more than they are willing to give - which often proves true, especially when the job has no precise description, or when the boss is highly Conscientious, Self-Confident, Agressive or Serious. Leisurely individuals attempt to fulfill their obligations, but might feel ill-used if their supervisors or colleagues do not accept this as sufficient - if the boss asks them to do more or to work faster, they might begin to feel that they are being treated unfairly - in general, Leisurely individuals are very aware of their rights. Fair is fair, and anything else is exploitation - as such, they won’t hesitate to make use of such rights (like take off all the days they’re allowed to) and, for that, may be

While the promise of extra pay is usually not enough to tempt them to stay longer, being compensated with extra free time later on might actually do the trick - and if a Leisurely person happens to be self-employed, they’ll have much the same attitude toward authority and won’t let their clients make unreasonable demands of them. 

Emotions

In terms of emotional dynamics, Leisurely individuals often fall into the phlegmatic temperament (or possibly SanPhleg if extroverted), or, as Oldham puts it, reminiscent of Lizards basking in the sun: They’re placid, patient, slow-moving, mellow and not likely to get upset. 

Even when they’re angry, (usually because of real or perceived unfairness) they tend to be indirect about it and avoid head-on confrontation - instead they’ll sulk, assign blame elsewhere, act grouchy & sullen and half-heartedly neglect the tasks others want them to do, or act all scattered & procrastinatey until... ooops! The deadline has passed, basically doing a bad job so that they won’t be asked to do it again. 

Self-Control

 As a side effect of the above orientation toward chill, they tend to avoid things that might disrupt their “flow” - which might lead them to put off onerous tasks such as word deadlines, taxes, bill paying, christmas shopping etc. to the last minute. 

Apart from that though, their self-control is actually fairly good (just used for their piorities) - a halfway healthy individual is not driven to excesses, though many little indulgences can backfire by adding up, leading one to damage their health out of sheer habit from too much sugar, booze etc. 

Worldview

To people in which this style is predominant, the world is a fairly straightforward place, if populated with a lot of folks who claim authority over others and would have you working all the time on unimportant tasks - Leisurely individuals have a built-in immunity to these claims because they can see that work is only a part of what there is in life. 

They protect their identities by keeping a low profile, fulfilling only those obligations to the system that they must, wishing for a stroke of good luck (to which they feel as entitled as the next guy) and then concentrating on what they really want to do with their time, or, as they call it, the real life. 

Life Choices

Leadership

Predominantly Leisurely types are rarely found above mid-management, because they’re not that ambitious in their careers - they don’t want to devote themselves to getting ahead, don’t care about working hard enough to make tons of money and are very reluctant to make the kinds of sacrifices on their personal time that the fast track demands. 

Since Leisurely individuals often work for the same company, agency or military branch, they may rise to mid-management levels over the years - as managers, they expect of their subordinates what they expect of themselves: A day’s work for a day’s pay. They don’t push anybody too hard, but they do expect their staffs to follow the rules and not make life difficult for them. They’re not particularly creative or motivating managers, but in the beaurocracies that they find themselves in, they fit right in & allow the wheels to keep turning without rocking the boat. 

Job Recomendations

If this is your primary style (and you were unlucky enough not to be born rich), im for a good ‘ol 9-to-5 job in which you know exactly what is expected of you - Since people of your style like their challenges primarily outside the workplace, look for a secure job that offers good pensions & benefits (teacher, city hall clerk, civil service, union shops etc.) and avoid jbs where a lot of initiaive is required (eg. lawyer)

Be aware, however, that those more interested & invested in the job may receive more encouragement and rewards. While you might see self-employment as a way to ensure that you have sufficient time to yourself flexible working conditions, it might be a bit of a trap if you can’t muster the necessary self-discipline or switch from work to play - You might have better chances if you have traits of a more ‘disciplined’ style,  but it can also be hard to reconcile those two sides of yourself, as such traits can be in conflict inside a single individual as much as in society at large - A solution might be to become a consultant or freelancer, to combine pleasure & work by finding a job you enjoy (eg. creative work), or, you can try to focus on archievement while you’re young & kick back later once you’ve secured a foundation of cash and ressources. 

Stress Sources

Perhaps as a result of maing their lives very comfortable, they’re rarely ever tense & generally don’t end up with stress or anxiety related problems - they tend to be emotionally even, but with one important exception: When they’re pushed to do more than they think is fair, or when someone pressures them to change their priorities - such situations would represent the primary souces of stress for a Leisurely individual. 

In response they feel drawn to do things the other person’s way, but then react by resisting in a more demonstrative way, which can go from guiltily going along with it for a while to lowkey hostile, complainy passive-agressive behavior. If others keep insisting, the Leisurely person will indignantly justify their behavior and even try to rally others to their side. 

If left alone to do their thing, it doesn’t take much for them to find emotional comfort - they don’t really need any great things to be satisfied, just a little bit of chill time - ultimately this is a slow, easy, pleasure-seeking style. Hapiness can come just from sitting in front of the TV with a bag of chips - but if their relationships with mates and supervisors are constantly strained by arguments, sourness may become their primary attitude. 

Parenting

Generally speaking, Leisurely parents make for responsible breadwinners who are concerned with their children’s basic needs - their family life is an important source of pleasure for them and generally very important - they have a gift for enjoying themselves and can share in their children’s lives more memorably when they are all having a plain old wonderful time. 

However, there can be a tendency t believe that what is best for them is also generally best for their children & they do not generally go out of their way to adapt to their children’s needs and wants if those are different from their own - they can be sort of old-fashioned. That said, they are usually not inflexible and will bend if someone can get through to them that they must.

In the maladaptive extremes, though, such a parent may refuse to comprehend that their children may have different needs than the one they assume and end up being remebered as a stubborn & selfish person more comcerned with their own comfort than the child’s welfare.

Romantic Compatibility

Strongly Leisurely people need mates who are accepting, understanding and giving nd are content to orbit around them - they won’t put the needs of the relationship first and will only go so far to please others, except when it comes to brief acts of contrition - that said, they do value their relationships, like being cared for and all will be well if their partners don’t mind the responsibility of keeping the relationship together and doing a little more of the chores. Then, they will prove to be responsive, appreciative, loyal and loving mates.

(A/N:  Alternatively, try someone who gives just as little fucks about excessive neatfreakery as you do - worked just fine for me on 2 separate occasions. Or, have some arrangement along the lines of “the living room stays clear but my desk my rules”. I personally prefer not to burden or embarass another person with my dirty dishes - can we agree that neither partner should have to twist themselves into a pretzel?)

A strong degree of either the Devoted or Self-Sacrificing style might be conductive to a harmonic match as those will usually be able to tolerate the Leisurely person’s fundamental self-interest while providing a warm & caring quality

Those with with pronounced Conscientious traits should look elsewhere though - Chances are they’ll have a hard time understanding or accepting each other’s approach to life. While they might get together due to the Leisurely type’s appreciation for the Conscientious ability to take care of things, this pairing very often turns very sour in the long run -  Neither style is good at compromizing and both wants stuff done their way.

For similar reasons, the Self-Confident style is probably out - their “high standards”/”ongoing archievements” approach tends to clash with the Leisurely style’s “work until content & then chill” MO, and the Self-Confident partner will tend to expect concessions that Leisurely types are unwilling to give

They often feel comfortable with Vigilant types as they both mistrust authority - the Vigilant person will typically be responsible and make fallback plans in case the Leisurely person mucks it up.

Two Leisurely people will generally respect & understand each others’ rights, but as they like to be taken care of it might help if one of them had a tad of Devoted or Self-Sacrificing style in them - also, someone needs to step forward & take charge when less desirable things need doing so it would depend on the exact “trait coctail” of the people involved. 

Serious mates may provide a sense of resigned responsibility that can keep the relationship together - even if the Serious partner feels put upon, they don’t necessarily expect life to be all fun & games. They will likely support a highly Leisurely person’s belief that those who have it better ust got lucky, as well as their passive wishfulness and sourish attitude - they might not necessarily be able to share in the Leisurely person’t pleasures, but they certainly won’t keep them from pursuing them. 

They will generally not be comfortable with emotionally demanding styles such as Dramatic or Mercurial

Relationships with Sensitive types might well work, but the Leisurely type should take care to be there for the Sensitive when they need suppor with personal challenges

Like the Leisurely style, the Adventurous style is pleasure seeking, but they tend to break the rules rather than stay within them & play ball, so forget this match

Specific Issues

The Leisurely Style vs. Housework

Since their free time is their main source of joy in their lives, Leisurely people need a lot of time to themselves - Even if they’re the local homemakers. In that case the house will be presentable enough, the meals good if not elaborate (unless cooking is one of their hobbies), but nothing will be particularly well kept, prepared or organized.

Taking care of a home & family is one of the more demanding jobs out there so it may be a good thing if the Leisurely individual knows how to set their limits, but they may run into problems if their mate doesn’t think of housework as “real” work & sees their need to have a break from it and entertain themselves as self-indulgent. 

On the other hand, if the Leisurely mate is the one who works outside the home, they may mistakenly assume that their at-home partner didn’t have much to do all day & not be inclined to pitch in after they “did their due” on a long day of work (it’s easy to see how being raised with certain cultural expectation of what one’s “share” of the work constitutes can be unhelpful here ^^°)

In general, they treasure their non-work hours too much to give up too much of them for chores, especially if there’s other family members whom they feel could and/or should take care of it. 

Success isn’t Everything

Leisurely-style people can be found in virtually all manner of careers, including, say, Chemistry professors, but rarely on top of any, which is fine by them - Since their overall comfort in life comes from how they enjoy themselves away from work, they rarely devote the time or  push that hard.

A pitfall of the Leisurely type may be that some for whom the trait is very pronounced may drift off course or lose direction in their life, but this needn’t happen - generally they can and do make good lifes for themselves (according to their own priorities) even if others may say that they haven’t done as well as they “should” have. For example, they might pass up a prestigious job for one that is secure and easy-going & be happy with their life as it is, doing the things they do, and will prefer doing activities they actually like (be it at work or at home) rather than squeezing the maximum potential out of everything. 

[eulawilliams]

Leopard Spirit Animal | Full Guide With All Traits

Want to know all the traits and specifics about the Leopard Spirit Animal?

In this lenghty guide, I will try to give you all the facts and important know how’s about this spirit animal.

If you want to read more about spirit guides in general, you can check out this page.

High up in a tree in sub-Saharan Africa slinks a majestic creature.

This solitary feline enjoys its own company more than anything else.

You might catch a leopard or Panthera Pardus as it’s known in Latin.

Taking a mid-day nap before it’s nightly prowl, or perhaps you’ll catch a brief glimpse of the reddish glow of its eyes reflecting moonlight through the tall grass.

Crown Jewel of Nature

The leopard is undoubtedly a crown jewel of nature. The sublime leopard can make a noble guide for your soul. If the leopard is your spirit animal, it’s important to understand the symbolism that it embodies and how that correlates and entwines with your life. Let’s take a brief journey outside of the savanna grassland and into the realm of the symbolic to discover what it means for a leopard to be your spirit animal.

What is the symbolism of a leopard?

In order for us to get a solid understanding of what lessons, teachings, and symbolism that the leopard has for us, we must take a look at the various ways the leopard can be interpreted from multiple angles both figuratively and literally. First, we will take a peek at leopards in their natural environment and what qualities they possess.

Characteristics of Leopards in Nature

Leopards are perfectly satisfied with flying solo.

They rarely are seen with other leopards, except for when mating or raising their offspring.

They take great pride in being fiercely independent and are able to sustain themselves through their own cunning and might. These mighty beasts are nocturnal, spending most of their days high up in trees sleeping or grooming.

When night falls they tap into their intuition and intellect to guide them towards success.

Leopards are known as ambush predators.

They have mastered the art of stealth.

They are expert sleuths who keep quiet and hidden until the moment is right to strike.

Leopards are incredibly sagely creatures that seem to embrace a level of enlightenment rarely found in nature. They instinctively know the psychology of their targets when they have taken to the hunt. There is much reason why some ancient cultures held felines in high spiritual regard. They see and sense in ways that are not easily grasped by us humans. Agility is another one of the leopard’s great strengths. When in hot pursuit of their prey or running from danger, they’ve been known to run up to 24 mph (38 kph). Although they can be quite quick when the moment is right, they conserve their energy for when it’s needed the most.

Their Traits Make Them Excellent Guides

This highlights their keen restraint. From taking a look at leopards in the wild, we learn that they possess quite a few personality traits that make them excellent guides. We can learn much from these traits and they can also be the overlapping qualities that determine their role in our lives as spiritual escorts.

Leopard Personality Traits

Solitary and Independent

Intuitive and Deductive

Intelligent and Wise

Agile and Nimble

Prudent and Cautious

Leopards in Dreams – What They Can Mean

Our spirit animals often approach us in the dream world.

Dreams are rarely straight forward. They are often blanketed in symbolism and metaphor. If we can decode this ethereal language, we can better follow the instructions and wisdom of our animal guides. Encountering a leopard in your dreams may be a harrowing experience or one that brings us great peace and a sense of awe. Fear not, my fellow dreamers. An encounter with a leopard in the realm of your slumbers is nothing short of a life-affirming sign! Or at least most of the time.

Good Dreams

Leopards are often seen as a symbol of perseverance and reward. Your handwork has reached the stage of completion and will shortly pay off. Maybe you’ve been struggling with a task or a project for a long time. Your leopard spirit animal reassures you that your hard work and persistence have not gone unnoticed. You will be blessed for the investment you’ve made. Perhaps you’ve struggled with courage at times in life. Your leopard guide is visiting your dreams to tell you that you will overcome whatever obstacles stand in your way. The leopard shares with you a message of strength. Remember how fiercely independent leopards are? Well, that quality of self-determination makes them excellent archetypes of a strong powerful leader. Just like the leopard who steadfastly achieves all of its goals while providing for its own needs in full, you too possess those abilities.

Bad Dreams

Not every instance of encountering a leopard in your dreams is a message of triumphant victory.

Sometimes the context of your encounter with your spotted animal teacher can help you deduce the lesson. For example, if you dream of a leopard attacking you, this could be seen as a sign of great obstacles coming your way. Even though you will likely overcome these hurdles, it may be seen as a call to action to tap into your inner strength, cunning, and intellect to tackle the adversity on the horizon. Our leopard friends are excellent at hide-and-seek. Their coat is a beautiful example of camouflage. If your dream of just it’s coat their may a lesson about something hidden in your life.

It can be seen by some to a warning that someone in your life is being deceitful.

Be on the look-out for wolves in sheep’s clothing.

Not all that glitters is gold.

The Leopard and Your Strengths

Your spirit animal wants to express to you that you have a great deal of beauty within you.

Not only are you physically attractive, but your confidence is magnetic.

Just as the leopard is master of their domain, you too have control over your environment and the outcome of the situations you manifest in your life. The leopard gets what it wants. When you put an intention out into the universe, if you tap into that determination that the leopard embodies, you will surely come out ahead. You can achieve the apex standing within your social groups.

Don’t doubt yourself.

Grace and charm are tools in the leopard’s arsenal that propel them through their lives. When the leopard is your guide, you too hold the keys to finesse and elegance. The leopard is always sure-footed. You never see any of the big cats clumsily making mistakes. They never slip when they delicately walk across narrow tree limbs. They quietly stalk their prey without sounding any alarms. By taking note of your leopard guide, you can learn to fully embrace the poise that sits within us.

Your leopard spirit guide wants you to have faith in yourself. You are strong, powerful, capable, and equipped to succeed in your goals. You just need to believe in yourself and not fall victim to doubt or insecurity.

Why This Spirit Animal Can Give Luck

Not only are you extraordinarily lucky to have such an intriguing spirit guide, but the leopard is also a symbol of great luck coming your way.

Dance to the rhythm of your own drum. Be you and never look back. You don’t have to be someone you aren’t just to appease society and to find success. Will you give up when the going gets tough? Of course not! Your leopard spirit teacher is guiding you to assured success. You will easily leap over the barriers that life presents to you.

You can easily navigate through the darkness of night with sharp eyes and determined vision, because you know that failure isn’t an option for you.

The world is in your paws.

You Are the Center of Attention

It’s not always easy being at the top of the food chain.

When you excel in so many ways, it may make you feel like all of the attention is constantly being directed towards you.

This can be quite overwhelming especially when you’re having an off-day or going through some kind of hardship. You might even try to escape the limelight and evade the gaze of others. The leopard knows all too well what it’s like for its adversaries to be ever on the lookout for its flaws.

When you shine so brightly, you’re sure to make a few enemies.

Your spirit guide want’s you to brush that dirt off your shoulders. You know better. There will always be haters and those jealous of your successes. That’s just part of the circle of life. Hold on to your confidence. This is your opportunity to seize the day and prove your worth.

Final Words of Guidance From the Leopard

Navigating through this thing called life can throw you so many curveballs.

Obstacles will always be in our way. The important thing is to never give up when we reach these walls. You have the power, strength, courage, wisdom, and intuition to succeed even when it seems like a longshot. Remember the symbolism of the leopard when you’re going about your daily life. You will achieve your goals and reap the rewards of your success. Don’t be afraid to walk your own path. Take the road less traveled. You don’t need to follow others because you have the relentless spirit of independence that will guide you to exciting uncharted territory.

I really hope that you liked this guide about the Leopard Spirit Animal. Hopefully you have learned about their traits and how you can take advantage of those, if this is your spirit guide.

Also, PLEASE share this article with like-minded spirits.

Doing that really helps me to grow this blog.

Have a lovely day!

Bless you!

The post Leopard Spirit Animal | Full Guide With All Traits appeared first on Healing of Love.

Leopard Spirit Animal | Full Guide With All Traits published first on https://healingoflove.com/

[ecritetmort]

PrideFest Questions [part 1: me]

Picked from this wonderful post which personally I thought sounded cool but have received none from to answer. I wanted to take a chance to shamelessly talk about me  discuss certain aspects of my current projects and the characters of ATTWDC’s evolutions in particular (with them ofc).

[There will be a Part 2 with characters that I’ll add a link to here once it’s up.]

Without further ado:

Why do you write LGBT+ characters?

I won’t pretend that there isn’t already a whole world of LGBT fiction (and general queer lit, and lately more ace-centric lit). Representation, odd as it is to say, is almost secondary to something else that I remember reading about: when it comes to minorities, whether that’s physical disability, ethnicity, sexuality, or gender identity, those traits almost always end up the focus of the story. Don’t get me wrong--that’s hardly a bad thing! It’s good to see stories that document our struggles, and particularly with ethnicity and LGBT groups, our oppression. Especially in the queer community, it’s important to remember history; unlike other groups, we’re often disconnected from our elders.

For me, though, I write LGBT characters because I want more fiction that, frankly, doesn’t focus on sexuality. That doesn’t mean erasing gay culture, mind, it just means that I want to write more (YA in particular) fiction that shows us just... being characters. Books where we’re not ashamed to be ourselves and instead of worrying about bullies can focus on being rulers or studying medicine or finally being noticed by my crush, goddammit. I want more fiction where you don’t have to focus on coming out, because who cares when there’s a supervillain about to destroy half the city?!

So, yeah.

Have you always written LGBT+ characters? If no, what inspired you to start? Is it a deliberate representational choice?

Reveal time! Up until the summer before my freshman year of high school, I only had two LGBT characters (Life and Death, who at the time were both aroace). Although I knew before then that I was probably a-spec and had begun ID’ing as demisexual in eighth grade, I wasn’t really inspired until I had my first gay crush over the summer. Starting in my freshman year with some now-unused OCs and then over the course of my sophomore year, all of my characters became LGBT. To be honest, it was more of just a “this feels right” than deliberate at first. There weren’t really moments when it felt like I was changing anything, it was just sort of lifting this heterosexual curtain, and bam! gay, or trans, or both.

Do you use modern labels in your work? Why or why not?

I try to keep labelling period-accurate, particularly for my apprentices WIP, which takes place in the 1910′s-1930′s. Otherwise, I use modern labelling, though to be honest explicit labelling (using ATTWDC as an example) only happens for like, one character. which is Karyn, and mostly because a part of her character arc is discovering her sexuality. Part of this is that, especially among the characters of ATTWDC, it’s not like the plot is taking them to Pride, and outside of a few times, it’d just be awkward to insert scenes where characters detail their specific sexualities. That doesn’t mean it’s not glaringly obvious in most cases, but it does mean that labels aren’t really tossed around.

World builders: do you have any neat societal twists?

Explicitly mentioned in canon, everyone involved with the nations (Aquarius, Helike, Darvaz, Avalon) is LGBT.

Every. Single. Person.

Do you write outside your own experiences? (cis writing trans, wlw writing mlm, etc.) If yes, how confident do you feel about it?

Depends on how you define it. I have plenty of characters who are different from me (mlm, non-binary folk, trans dudes, aro). I have characters who are sexually attracted to people they don’t even know, and I have characters who are sexually repulsed. I have characters who experience dysphoria. I have others who just change to fit shifts in desired appearance. I don’t pretend to know how all of that feels, and while I try to absorb as many personal narratives as I can, I try not to focus heavily on recreating the “experience”, especially social, of groups where I know that I’ve never treaded before. No more than I would want a straight author to use homophobia to make a cheap enemy for a wlw character who is like me, I don’t want to use transphobia and dysphoria as cheap angst.

I’m confident on how I can include characters with different identities than my own (of which all of them are in some shape or form!) as characters, taking their sexuality and gender into consideration. I’m confident on how I represent sexualities that aren’t mine, gender identities other than my own, and the ways in which those two interact and intersect.

But if you’re asking if I feel confident talking about the journey of finding the pronouns that feel right, or about the specific anxieties of being a bisexual man in the 1940′s? No, I don’t, because I know there’s someone out there who has, and deserves to tell that story better than I ever can.

Any advice for someone else writing LGBT+ characters?

Read and listen to others’ experiences, both those who are of a different identity from you and those who share one. If you’re a-spec, read the stories about people’s sexual attraction, and read about other people’s experiences with being on the asexuality spectrum.

Listen to people who are of a different ethnicity and nationality, especially if you’re white and American. Sexuality and ethnicity are not isolated, just like how sexuality and gender are entwined. If you’re Asian-American like me, listen to people who live back in Asia. Listen to the experiences of people living in Poland and the Philippines and México.

[nicoleponseca]

I Am A Filipino with Adam Hyndman

Adam Hyndman is a dreamer and storyteller. Through narratives, he creates opportunities for people to connect and activate their purpose. A graduate of Princeton University (cum laude with a concentration in Anthropology and Theatre), Adam is a performing artist, writer, and life coach based in New York City. His self-published collection, Perfectly Imperfect, was inspired by his personal journey; social work as a counselor with The Trevor Project; and his coaching work with his clients within Core Rhythm Fitness, a boutique health and wellness company that created personal transformation through custom nutrition and fitness. As an interdisciplinary artist, Adam has performed on Broadway and on some of the world's most acclaimed platforms. Growing up in rural New Jersey with three older brothers, he is of Filipino and African American heritage. He is now based in Brooklyn. For this month's edition of I Am A Filipino, Adam shares with us a beautiful self-reflection on his name and identity. Keep reading to check it out.

What’s In A Name

“What’s in a name?” Through Juliet’s tongue, The Bard provokes his audience knowing full well the collective understanding: a name can make AND break a life.

My name, like yours, is a story. Human. We are beings that attribute meaning everywhere. At the beginning... we take our breath, and with the profundity of that first success (or struggle, rather) we earn and assume our name. To encounter a connection to my heritage; to grasp what being Filipino is, I need look no further than my name. Each of us given this gift. Each of us challenged to wrestle with the context of the story that it is. My story: Adam-Jorge Masculino Hyndman.

A name is not simply a moniker to differentiate you from your kuya… ate… bunso. It alludes to belonging. It, in itself, contains an intersectional narrative. It can preserve the pain and triumph of ancestors. And for the pinoy, if you listen hard enough, it can tell tale of an imposed identity. I could share about my experience with our culture through its many joyful aspects... its food, its soul, its generosity. However, I desire to explore the complexities from the other side of the island; where shadows and light are entwined.

With a Filipino name, lineage is passed down. As a combination, the name can be an epithet in its own right that edifies the story of brown bodies; struggling, surviving, striving, succeeding. Through a name you pay homage. You honor. You give your child all the names of your people. Ethnic folk seem to hold-on to that idea. We give names to harken to those that came before. A call and response. A breadcrumb trail. More names give birth to a lifeline so that both sides of the family can claim the legacy. Child; mother, father… future. It can allow the child to find his way back to their roots. It can haunt with crippling expectation. It can burden with past tragedy or disgrace. It can provide a testimony of perseverance. All contained in a name. A written space where our ancestors can live on. A history. Identity inscribed with filial responsibility. Allegiance assumed. Allegiance imposed.

Me: bi-racial; mama.... filipina, dad... black. “Pinoy Noir.” A multiplicity within itself. On a journey navigating through the margins of two complex worlds. The Black experience in America; a diaspora of massive (generalized) proportions. Conversely, to have pride in our Filipino roots is to embrace a legacy of cooperation, colonization, occupation, and assimilation. To be brown in America is to struggle with two truths: that you contain beauty, and that you are expected to accommodate.

Jorge Masculino, my lolo, was a man who grabbed hold of a poor man's dream. Ain’t it funny how that “American” Dream exists with its most potent realities in foreign lands....like on a Bicolano rice paddy in the foothills of Mt. Mayon. Jorge was one of those village boys that hit a jackpot in being able join the US Navy. There is a monument in his hometown with his name on it, along with all the other local boys who were selected among the masses and “made good” with Uncle Sam. However, if you read it, how would you pronounce it? Would you know that he spent everyday on American soil as “George”? Looking at this immigrant’s choice… are you surprised?

Great Grandpa Hyndman was the first allowed in a school house. One day he came home with an assignment that was, in turn, completed by the entire family. His teacher gave the admonishment that he was spelling his surname incorrectly as “Hindman” and that “it ought to be spelled H-Y-N-D-M-A-N.” At that time in St. Louis, Missouri if a white person with authority told you (as a Black person) to do something... you had to consider that there might be implications for you (or your family) if you chose not to do it. The family decided to adopt Hyndman as their own. Because Blackfolk are diligent, they even changed gravestones to be consistent. In their compliance, they closed a chapter of experience. In a way, the trail of breadcrumbs was erased.

Adam-Jorge Masculino Hyndman. Halo-Halo. Mulatto. Navigating the margin of belonging and rejection. Simultaneously occupying the duplicity of two multifarious heritages. Both with a narrative of imposed identity in their own right. One side, desperate to gain the rights and privileges assumed with an earned citizenship; the legacy making wave of Filipinos coming to this nation after the war had a propensity to not only swear allegiance to the nation, but also all things Americana in the lifestyle. Yet, on the other side, a collective experience desperate to release the ramifications of a seized belonging; we witness the erasure of discrete Black identity over time like sand in an hourglass.

There is truth in a name. There is a story. It makes the pride I have in my heritage complex. It challenges its depth. It assures its profundity. We are a profound people. To embrace the narrative is courageous. The shadows are nothing to fear or shame, for the light is present; just as involved… ready to shine from behind obstruction. It is a testimony of the resilience of folks of color. It is the sweet lemonade that is made. There is an incredible duality I find in this heritage: to be Filipino AND to be Black, inherently means to carry the experience of others with you. And if I were to ever forget that… I carry the story IN my name.