flippant

“Des nuits blanches à m'demander d'une voix hésitante, “ai-je fait les bons choix?” Prise de conscience froide et flippante, des fois j'aimerais m'endormir et m'réveiller l'année suivante”

Yuzu packs a lot of transitions and intricate footwork but never losing speed all the while and does it in a slightly flippant and off-the-cuff manner, whereas Patrick emphasises curves, edges and strong knee power and does it like, as AttnJack said it, ‘a studied virtuoso relaying precision’. Yuzu’s strength is his fragility and also the other way round, Patrick skates with an undercurrent, with power just seething beneath a calm surface. Yuzu is better in transitions, Patrick is better in skating skills, though both are top in the field with a huge gap between them and the other men. It’s quite interesting how they went totally opposite extremes while still displaying top class skating. Also, I think both are best suited where they are right now. Yuzu has tried simulating Patrick’s style and he said that he could only maintain such knee power for a short time, whereas Patrick will probably lose control over his jumps if he packs so many transitions in between since he enters them like a freight train currently and still sometimes spirals out of control.

Working on the next Ember & Serenity chapter…

##

Serenity had green eyes.

Pale green. Watered jade and celadon labyrinths, complex and intricate and twisting. Tempting visitors into mazes, where they’d get willingly lost.

Those remarkable eyes also held pain. This comprehension, visible and unguarded, stabbed Ember in the heart: his little book-thief could throw a flippant cliché of a bad opera line his way while bleeding.

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10

PAGE 10

I should really rename this comic “Keith’s suffering” because I just feel like I’ve been taunting him for the past few pages.

Also are you guys ready for it to get…. REALLY GLITTERY? BECAUSE I DON’T THINK YOU ARE. 

Next page

Previous Page

First Page

Some thoughts on the Shallura Plot thread in this comic under the cut.

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trottingalongthelines  asked:

In YOI episode 3 when Yurio is about to start his program and Yuuko is freaking out over his costume, why is Victor shown as if he's in deep thought? Or just why was the clip shown in the first place? I feel like they wouldn't have put it there just because, but I cant figure out what it's significants is..Do you know why?

I love episode 3.

It’s one of my favorites. There are so many interesting character moments to analyze, and this is one of them. 

There are several potential interpretations you could apply to this scene.

Yuri is scowling as he’s warming up to perform “Agape” - which is not Agape-like behavior. Victor could be thinking “Well, I guess he hasn’t tapped into the concept of Agape after all…” 

If you notice earlier in the episode, we see Victor looking at Yuri much the same way - particularly right before he sends him off to the waterfall. Victor is not seeing what he wants in Yuri’s demeanor.

You could also speculate that Victor might see a younger version of himself in Yuri, who is standing there in Victor’s costume from his junior years.

But here’s another theory…

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Quizzing Ben Winston (or, Shading and Cross-fading)

Four Hangout, 9 November 2014  (long post!)

Ben: A lot of people also talk about decisions, and who makes those decisions in One Direction. That’s something we touched on earlier.
Harry:
(singing) Decisions…
Ben: These days I guess, is it just always your call on everything, from albums—
[Liam: Modest.]  [Niall: No.] —to what you do— (Ben laughs) go on, Liam—

Liam: No, it’s us, it’s us, I’m just kidding. It totally is, it totally— Before we start, some strange stuff going on—

I’ve started something, now we’re here.
Ben: Maybe correct that.

Liam:
But yeah no it is totally us. Like I say, it’s amazing like, and the thing is these days it’s not even us trying to put our [—?] in everywhere, people ask us. Like when we worked with you on the videos, for example, if we like a shot, you go ‘do you like that, or don’t you like it?’ You’ll give us a piece of advice for something. I think we’re given a lot advice on certain things, but ultimately, we call the shots. …I actually call the shots, in total.

Niall: I really like your video for Night Changes.
Ben: Thanks very much.
Niall: It’s very nice.  Louis: Mm.
Ben: I’ve just shown them the video of Night Changes, and I think it’s quite exciting.

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i’ve seen a few posts that, although mostly intended to be jokes i think, have suggested isak acting jealous/aggressive/possessive in a potential scene where he meets mikael. i’m not trying to be a killjoy but i just want to say that i think it would be very very out of character for isak to react that way.

i mean, think about his reactions to sonja. even was literally the boy he spent all his time thinking about, and he never treated sonja with anything but respect. even trying to kiss him? “sonja is sweet.” even wanting to date him? “i’m sorry if it’s my fault, i hope you’re not sad.” and after sonja implies that even is manic because of isak, he believes that she is in the right.

the only connection between isak and mikael so far aside from him watching the video is the text asking even who mikael is which, if you think about it, is phrased cautiously. it’s like he assumes mikael wasn’t just even’s friend, but he’s afraid to ask if he was something more. even’s reply is flippant so isak matches that tone, but isak is an overanalyzer and i don’t think it’s a huge leap to think isak believes there is some truth to mikael being someone significant to even in the past. but pushing that question, opening the conversation to how many boys before me could lead to things he’s afraid to hear because he’s still internalized that fear that he’s not enough.

i know it’s fun to think about isak as the confident sassy grumpy kid we’ve grown to love but when it comes to his relationship with even, i think it’s important to recognize that he’s likely still overcoming an enormous amount of self doubt and self depreciation. those things don’t go away overnight.

so if you’re looking for someone to make silly jealous hcs about, might i suggest even “interrupts you and emma at every turn” næsheim…

anonymous asked:

"You dont want me" ladynoir

Ladybug sat at the top of the Eiffel Tower, her head in her hands, wondering how she could have possibly screwed things up SO badly. 

She heard the light footfall of her partner landing behind her. She couldn’t say she was surprised, he had never been one to leave her to stew in her own misery. 

“So…” he drawled, coming and sitting beside her, “that was an interesting broadcast today.” 

“It was a disaster,” she moaned, still not looking up at him, “I should just throw myself off this tower and put myself out of my misery.” 

“Oh come on, it’s not as bad as all that,” Chat said, patting her awkwardly on the back. 

She turned and glared at him. “It was a live stream, Chat! LIVE! It’s out there. Right now!” 

“True,” he conceded, nodding his head, “but it’s not like you said anything horrible. It was kinda cute actually.” 

“You don’t understand,” she moaned, slumping over so until she was curled up in his lap, “I’ve ruined everything! What sort of an idiot starts babbling about their crush on a live broadcast.” 

“Well, apparently you,” Chat said with a light laugh, cautiously reaching forward to play with the ends of her hair, “and about half of the rest of the known world. It could be a lot worse buginette.” 

“Do you think there is a chance he didn’t see it?” she asked hopefully, looking up at her partner’s thoughtful expression. 

He gave her a pitying smile. “I think you’re pretty much out of luck their bugaboo. You already have a ship name and everything. It’s trending on twitter.” 

“Ugh, that’s terrible,” she groaned, curling up tighter and burying her face against his leg. 

“I don’t know,” Chat teased, “I thought Ladrien had kind of a nice ring to it.” 

“This can’t be happening,” she moaned. 

“Hey, come on. What’s this really about? Is it really going to be so awful for the guy to know you like him? He might be flattered.” 

“It’s not that,” Ladybug said softly, “I mean, it’s MORE than that. I haven’t even told him I liked him- as myself, my not Ladybug self I mean. And now… let’s say he does feel flattered? That just means I have made myself my own competition! And it’s not like I can just go up to him and be like: Hey, by the way I’m Ladybug and, as you already know, I’m totally in love with you! Want to date me now?” 

“Oh god,” Chat said with a sudden sense of horror, “there are going to be so many desperate fangirls trying to do that.” 

“I didn’t even think about that! If he didn’t before he’s definitely going to hate me now. I might be the only person in the world who can simultaneously confess to her crush and make it harder for him to notice me!”  

“You really are one of a kind there bugaboo,” Chat said giving her another reassuring pat on the shoulder. 

“And what if this puts him in danger? I mean I might as well have stamped a butterfly tattoo across his back saying property of Ladybug, please exchange for one miraculous!” 

“Please don’t do that. I am told that models need to be very particular about what they put on their skin.” 

“It’s not funny. What if I honestly made him a target?”

“Hey,” Chat said “I promise you, if anything happens I will be the first person on the scene.” 

“Thanks,” she said gratefully, reaching up and catching his hand in her own.

“So, you’re in love with the model boy,” Chat said softly, rubbing his thumb absently against the back of her hand, “gotta say I didn’t see that one coming.” 
“Yeah well, it’s not like it really matters anymore,” she sighed, “it’s not like it would ever happen.” 

He scoffed at her, rolling his eyes theatrically to show his clear contempt for her pessimism. “So tell me My Lady,” he asked shifting slightly so that he could look down at her with a playful smile, “what is it that you see in this guy anyways?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” 

“You don’t want me, so clearly you aren’t after the guy for his looks,” Chat said wiggling his eyebrows flirtatiously. 

“No,” Ladybug laughed, “although they don’t hurt.” 

“Why My Lady, was that you finally admitting that you find me attractive?” 

“You’ve always been attractive and you know it,” she said reaching up and flicking his bell. “As you can see I’ve just had my attentions elsewhere.” 

“Oh so this is a long standing attachment then? How long have you been dreaming of being M’Lady Agreste?” he teased poking her lightly on the nose. 

“Almost from the first day I met him. It will be two years next week,” she said softly. 

“The start of school,” Chat murmured, “you know him then?” 

“yeah,” she admitted reaching blindly around to catch his other hand and pull him to her like a security blanket. “We were in the same class in college and we still have a few classes together now. Plus our friends are dating so we hang out a lot.” 

“You two are close then,” Chat said a little breathlessly, “that… well that certainly clears things up.” 
“Yeah,” Ladybug said, “it’s not just some creepy celebrity crush. I mean, it kind of was that too. I have like 2 dozen photos of him plastered on my wall that I used to practice talking to because for the longest time I could barely string a sentence together around him, it was kind of embarrassing. I got over it eventually, but by that point I didn’t really have the heart to take the pictures down.” 

Chat gave her a warm smile. “I can see it now, you stuttering and tripping and shooting the poor confused boy adorable awkward smiles before running off in the opposite direction.” 

“Shut up,” Ladybug said but she couldn’t help grinning at her partners soft tone and fond smile. “I got better.” 

“I know.” He raised one of her hands to his lips and gave her a delicate kiss. “So you still haven’t told me what you see in this guy,” he challenged, “If I am getting demoted to your rebound choice I deserve to know what I am up against,” he said slyly. 

“He’s kind,” Ladybug smiled, filling with warmth as she thought about her love. “He always wants to see the best in people,and he… he is just good, you know? The kind of goodness that doesn’t come from ignorance or being sheltered, but that has seen pain and and heartache and loss and yet still chooses to be good. 

“That is high praise indeed My Lady.” 

“You aren’t going to make fun of me for this?” 

“No My Lady. If anything I am going to love you more for it.” 

She gave him another grateful smile before sitting up. The sun had begun to set and she knew she should be getting home. She probably had a dozen of so missed calls from Alya waiting for her. 

“Well who knows,” she said attempting to be flippant. “Maybe he’ll finally just reject me and I will change my mind about you Kitty.” 

“Wouldn’t that be a twist,” Chat laughed climbing to his feet and offering her his hand to help her up as well. 

“It would probably be for the best,” she sighed. “It’s not like we can be together. Not with Hawkmoth still on the loose. There is too much at stake. And I don’t know if I could bear having to hide my identity in a relationship.” 

Chat grinned again. “You are very wise My Lady.” 

“Mostly I am just telling myself that so I can feel better,” she admitted and was rewarded with a loud melodious laugh. 

“You know,” he said, eyes twinkling “you are probably right. Clandestine meetings, midnight makeout sessions, it’s probably better to hold out for the real thing.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Besides, I hate to break it to you My Lady but I have a sinking feeling that #Ladrien is not to be.” 

“And why is that Kitty?” 

“Well,” Chat said looking out at the sunset, “not to be the bearer of bad news but I have it on very good authority that your lover is very much spoken for.” 

“oh?” Ladybug said trying not to let her disappointment show. 

“Yes, completely and hopelessly in love. Someone at his school in fact.” 

“And who is this mystery girl?” she asked. 

“It’s right on the tip of my tongue,” Chat said his eyes glittering with something she couldn’t quite name, “it will come to me. I’ll have to tell you next time I see you.” 

“Well thanks for the heads up,” she said leaning over to give him a kiss on the cheek, “and thanks for cheering me up.” 

“Always My Lady. I should probably get heading home myself.” he pulled out his staff and and extended it. 

“Oh,” he said, shooting her a final grin as prepared to depart, “I do remember one thing.”
“And what’s that?” 

“The mystery girl, I knew there was something about her that I found particularly delectable.” 

“And what is that?” 

“Her parent’s own a bakery.”  

Knighted- Chapter 1

Have ya’ll seen Tides’ art post for this? We started working on this at the same time, and trust me this is gonna be great. 

Please look at Tides’ art first before enjoying, trust me it makes the build better cause then you know what’s coming and how not serious this fic is gonna get.

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(I wrote this two days ago but anxiety made me delete it #ironic. Attempt No.2)

I feel like the Les Mis fandom needs to address how it approaches mental illness, as I’ve been a part of it for two years and some of the ways in which it’s presented is… Well, to be honest, gross. There are a lot of examples I could use, but I’m going to focus on Joly for now.

Health Anxiety (or hypochondria, as it’s commonly known) is where a person continually obsesses about their health, and usually derives from a ‘larger’ mental health disorder; for example, my health anxiety comes from my GAD.

Joly is canonically a hypochondriac, in a time where there was little to no understanding of how mental health disorders work. Maybe because the source material isn’t particularly detailed, or even flippant about it, the fandom therefore responds the same and thinks that it isn’t a serious condition. Too often, I’ve seen fics and headcanons along the lines of:

“Where’s Joly?”
“Oh, he’s diagnosed himself with mono, so he’s quarantined himself.”

The problem with hypochondria is that, to people who don’t have it, it can seem irrational, or even ridiculous. I have taken infinite amounts of pregnancy tests in the past few months alone, despite being celibate for half a year, because my tummy hurts a bit and my periods stopped from the pill. My friends this in itself is ridiculous; they don’t know that, once I ruled out pregnancy, I began to convince myself that I had IBS or colon cancer.

Health anxiety is debilitating. I cry myself to sleep because I think I’m dying and I can’t afford to pay for the doctors (even though, more often than not, I don’t need to go). I check my entire body at least once a day for any changes. I get so stressed that my body physically responds, which therefore scares me and makes me think something’s wrong, and the cycle continues. It goes beyond panic attacks; it can make me not leave my house, or think extremely dark things.

Obviously medication and therapy is available nowadays, as understanding has developed. If you have Joly in a Modern AU and you’re writing him with health anxiety, make sure that he is accessing these things, or realises he needs them if his anxiety is somehow important to the plot. Take time to research the ways in which we counter the anxiety, and ways in which it manifests, particularly if you don’t have anxiety and hypochondria yourself.

This goes for a lot of things; from Grantaire’s depression and alcoholism, to Bahorel’s anger issues. You have to be considerate that these are real things people suffer from and have to be approached with sensitivity. Representation doesn’t count if it’s treated as a punchline.

This isn’t me trying to attack any specific person; like I said, I think that most of the time genuine naivety is the cause of the offending material. But it is upsetting to see something that genuinely does damage my way of living treated so flippantly, especially in a fandom that I have been in for two years and am extremely invested in.

This is a pretty hard topic for me to talk about, but it needs to be said. Thanks for reading X

anonymous asked:

After Claire reveals the truth to Jamie about who she really is, he replays the day they met in his mind to see it from a new perspective.

Hail Mary

Premise: What if Jamie and Claire had 1) been more openly affectionate, and 2) not *had* to get married?

Part I  Part II  Part III Part IV Part V 



Part VI 

He couldn’t get enough air. 

No, he wasn’t just suffocating. He was being suffocated, being pressed downward, screaming, but with no one to hear, no mercy from those cruel hands pinning him down. He struggled against them, struggled against the evil and the darkness of —

And then he was free and Jamie roared upward, lunging for his attacker’s throat. 

He came awake in mid-air, the cold air hitting his bare legs, reality still swirling and shifting in the darkness as he flung the intruder flat on the bed, pinning THEM, choking them with— 

“Ja—MIE—” came a strangled female voice, throat muscles working desperately beneath his hands. “—s’—ME!”

CLAIRE.

He leapt backward off her and off the bed so violently that he staggered and would have toppled onto his backside if he hadn’t caught onto the tall dresser. He steadied himself and his mind, though both were reeling: 

Leoch 

His chamber 

Dead of night 

Claire Beauchamp 

on his bed

She had sat up, and in the dim, flickering light, Jamie could see that she was clad only in her shift, a flimsy shawl underneath her on the bed. 

His heart thundered—melted— to see her; to see how lovely she was; to feel how deeply she roused him; to be hit with the aching of how much he wished to touch her—take her in his arms and tell her how much—how deeply, painfully—he’d missed her these last three weeks—

But the ice around his heart solidified again almost instantly, the ice that had kept him sane for those three weeks; the ice that would continue to keep him alive as long as he was forced to see her around Castle Leoch, until he could get himself away to Lallybroch, away from her. 

And yet despite everything, that very ice shuddered to see the fear in her golden eyes, her hands clutched at her throatDespite everything she’d done and said, his heart contracted with panic. His voice came out urgent and strangled. “Have I hurt ye, Mistress?” 

She dropped her hands at once and shook her head quickly. “No, just startled. I’m not hurt, Jamie,” she said more firmly, seeing him unconvinced, searching her skin for marks. “I promise. I’m alright.” 

“Aye, well…I’m glad of it. I’m—I beg your pardon for—” he made a vague gesture toward the bed. “Ye took me unawares from my dream, and—I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” she repeated, giving him a weak smile. “No harm done.” 

He nodded, but the ice was firmly back in pace. “Tis time for ye to take your leave, Mistress Beauchamp.”

“No.” 

He shouldn’t have been surprised, not in the slightest.

“Mistress, ‘tis the middle of the night.  D’ye have any idea what they’d say if ye were found in my—” He took a step toward her. “Your reputation would be ruined.”

Her expression was hard, yet still somehow flippant in that damnable way of hers as she shrugged, “Don’t have a very good reputation to uphold, anyhow.” 

“Dinna be joking about,” he snapped, holding out his hand. “Come. NOW.”  

 “I’m not leaving. And before you threaten to carry me out yourself—” she said loudly, JUST as he’d been opening his mouth to do just that, “—know that if you so much as try, I’LL scream at the top of my lungs and see who comes running. I don’t give a rat’s arse about my reputation, and I’M willing to let the chips fall as they may. Do you want me to do that?” 

Damn her. DAMN her. 

No.” 

“Well then,” she said, raising her eyebrows, “look’s like I’m staying.” 

Defeated and all the more angry for it, he threw his hands up in the air. “What in God’s were ye doing creeping about touching me in the night, anyway?”

She glared at him. “To talk to you, of course.”

Talk?” He rubbed his hands backward through his hair to keep from throttling her in earnest. “Have ye no scruples, woman? Christ, there are proper times and places for—”

“Oh, there ARE, are there? DO be a dear and tell me when and where those might be, won’t you?” She made a sound of deep derision and crossed her arms sharply, apparently as angry and barely-restrained as he. “Jamie, you’ve spent THREE BLOODY WEEKS ignoring me—what else was I supposed to DO??”

*Avoiding* you, mo nighean donn; not ignoring you.

But avoid her, he had, and quite effectively, at that. Colum’s explicit instructions had been that she was not to leave the castle walls, nor had she, else she certainly would have come to find him at the stables, where he had spent every possible moment, save sleeping and mealtimes, though he’d contrived to eat at odd hours. She had tried half a dozen times to approach him, in the corridors, in the great hall, in the courtyards, but he’d said no more than a cool, “Mistress,” of acknowledgment as he took his leave.

Avoided, aye; never ignored. He had been as aware of her as of the daylight, her presence and absence fundamentally guiding his thoughts and activities. She was his light, whether he willed it or no. 

“What else was I supposed to DO, Jamie?” she was repeating, now standing just a few feet from him, moving with him as he stepped to and fro away from her, to MAKE him look at her.

He did look at her, hard. “Leave me be. That’s what.” Just go away. Go away from this Castle and rid me of the torment of having you near.

Jamie!” Frustration and desperation were battling for dominance in her wearied voice. “We HAVE to talk!”

“We dinna have to do any such thing. And, by all the saints,” he exclaimed, gesturing wildly at her body, desperate for anything to throw her off the scent, “even if we did, did ye have to come practically naked?? You’re in naught but your—” (thin-as-an-April-breeze) “—SHIFT and I’m—” 

He could feel the draft from the window sneaking up his legs, caressing every inch of bare flesh under his shirt, and his face burned

“—I’m not presentable.”

She didn’t budge an inch. “Put some damed clothes on, then.”  

When he didn’t immediately make a move, she rolled her eyes, turned, and walked to the bed, snatching up her shawl and jerking it around her shoulders and pulling it around her. 

Breasts now covered, she raised a defiant eyebrow.  He glared at her, but finally decided that even if he should risk her threats and carry her bodily into the hall and bolt the door behind, best to do so with breeks on. He threw open the trunk at the foot of the bed and rummaged until he found a pair, turning from her as he laced them.

“Can we talk now?” she said, as he turned back to face her.

In contrast to her evident amusement, his own voice was low and nasty. “Go ahead.”

She blinked and dropped her eyes to her crossed arms. 

A dhia, how he despised himself in that moment—he wasn’t the kind of man that spoke this way to women, not least of all to a woman that he—but Jamie simply couldn’t shake the anger and hurt that coursed through him at the sight of her. She didn’t want him for a husband—fine; but could she not just stay away? Go away. Just go away. 

When she spoke, she met his eye straight-on, quiet, but determined. “Thank you. For helping me talk my way out from under Colum and Dougal,” her eyes were shining with sincerity. “I truly couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You’re welcome. Anything else, Mistress?” He gestured toward the door.

She threw up her hands. “Jamie, for heaven’s sake will please just hold your goddamn horses and give me a chance, here? I’ve got things I need to ask you!”

He bowed his head. Stop being a child, Fraser.

“What is it ye wish to know, mistress?”

She heaved a breath and let it out, preparing herself, shivering. He strode to the fire and stoked it, to give them both a moment for it. The light danced on her face as he turned back to her, her face strained and urgent with her questions.  “Why did you help me with your uncles? After all I—You didn’t have to tell them anything. You had every reason to just leave me to my own fate. Why?”

He shrugged, uncomfortable, still fingering the poker. “Didna wish to see ye come to harm.”

“Harm?” That genuinely startled her. “You think they would have….ordered me tortured, you mean?”

“Perhaps not Colum….” He chose his words carefully. “But ye have—not the faintest idea of the—the depth of the hatred Dougal bears the English, even more than most Scots. If he truly believed ye to be passing on dangerous information…” 

He shrugged again. He had no doubt that she would have come to some form of harm, whether at the hands of the MacKenzies or the English, had he not interceded. No matter how deeply she had hurt him, he didn’t wish to see any ill befall her. Not ever.

“And do they truly believe you?”

“Aye, they do.”

She nodded slowly, then suddenly dropped her eyes and began fingering the hem of her shawl. “The ‘allegiances’ you spoke of…Was that…” Christ, she was squirming like a worm on a hook, “were you talking about Laoghaire?”

He snorted. “Certainly NOT.” The look on her face made him realize too late that infatuation with Miss MacKenzie would have been a perfect ruse to hide behind; but then again, Miss Beauchamp always had a knack with catching him off guard. Without waiting for her to press, he grudgingly added, “It was my allegiance to Colum of which I spoke. That’s why he took it to heart as he did”

“To Colum?” 

He couldn’t shake the glow that had lit the ice around his heart when her face had lightened instantly at his disavowal of Laoghaire MacKenzie. 

He cleared his throat, squeezing the poker. “Colum wishes that I should succeed him as clan chieftain, someday.”

“Oh! Oh, that’s—Jamie, that’s wonderful!” She looked genuinely delighted and impressed. “Such a great honor.”

“Perhaps, though it’s a honor I dream not of.” 

“No?”

“I’ve no intention of leading the clan, at least not until after Dougal’s tried his hand at it. He’d skin me alive for taking ‘his’ position, and I’ve no desire to start a clan war. The easiest way is for me to remove myself. Colum doesna ken that, yet, though.” 

“But how does—? What does that have to do with…?” 

“My taking a Sassenach wife—” the word cut his throat like glass, “—would have negated my eligibility for clan leadership outright.”

She dropped her eyes. “I see.”

Aye, I would have done it in a heartbeat, mo ghraidh.

He cleared his throat again. “And so, while Colum and Dougal dinna yet trust that you’ve no other motive for being amongst us, same as before, they do believe my tale about why ye fled.”

Why she fled.

“I had a LIFE, and I’m far past due to return to it!”

“I don’t need your ‘protection,’ Mr. McTavish.”

And still, most cutting of all, the coldness in those golden eyes as she had said: “You were mistaken.”

“I don’t expect your forgiveness,” she was saying, still facing him boldly, though he could see her twisting the fabric of her shawl again, faster and harder. “I don’t even expect you to speak to me again after this. And I’ll go, tomorrow, if that’s what you want.” 

Christ, she meant it. she would leave. 

Aye, Sassenach, just go. 

“I’ll tell your uncles to hand me over to the English and be done with it. It doesn’t bloody matter anymore.” 

Dinna leave me. 

He thickened the ice around his heart. 

“But—” A deep breath, and then her voice was softer. I can’t go another day without saying...I’m so sorry, Jamie.”

The depth of feeling in her voice was powerful enough to catch the breath in his throat… but the ice was powerful too. He only managed a quiet, hard, “What for?”

“For acting the way I did, the night I left. I was…” She paused, shaking her head, “—vicious….and you didn’t deserve that. Not at all. You are—were… are my friend, and I had no cause to treat you in such a fashion.” She took another deep, ragged breath. “The thing is—”

“Let’s just leave it be, aye?”Jamie didn’t think he could bear this. He moved from the fireplace to the window on the far side of the bed, quickly, that she might not see his face. “I accept your apology. There’s no point discussing it further, Mistress.”

“No point?” she whispered from behind him.

His anger flared and he had to grit his teeth. “Ye told me in no uncertain terms, that night, what your feelings were, Claire. Whether or not ye should have been nicer about it is truly neither here nor—”

“But Jamie—” He could hear her moving closer to him, her voice now with an edge of eager desperation. “—I had good reason to leave, I swear it, but—the most important thing you have to hear is—” Her voice was tremulous with emotion. “— you weren’t mistaken—and I came back for you.” Her hand came to rest softly on his arm.

“Jesus, Claire, can ye no’ hear yourself?” He threw off her touch and twisted to face her, hating the rage and scorn coursing through him, but feeling utterly powerless to halt its path. “So, your grand plans of returning to your old life came to naught, and ye came crawling back to Leoch because ye imagined I would be better than nothing, aye?” 

“Jamie,” she whispered, horrified, “it isn’t like that.”

“Oh, no?”

“No, you bastard!” she hissed, on the brink of tears, following behind him as he stormed back to the hearth. “it BLOODY isn’t!”

“Tell me, then, Claire,” he demanded, keeping his voice low. He’d come to stand behind the big armchair—to put some goddamn space between them— and he gripped the back of it hard with both hands to ground himself, “where did ye go?”

Silence. Fear in her whisky eyes. He could see the lie forming, see her closing against him in that glass face. 

“Ye left with haste and wi’ a purpose,” he pressed. “Why?”

Her eyes were down. Her head was shaking hard, fast. “I—I can’t tell you why.”

“You could.” 

“I CAN’T!” 

He nodded, shaking all over. “Then why on EARTH should I trust your word?”

She looked up with glassy eyes.

WHY?” he repeated, more angrily, more pained with every choking syllable “When ye sleep in my arms, hold me wi’ your head on my chest of a morning and then shun me twice to my face before the next sunrise? When your face and your body told me one thing, and then your words another?” His hands were fists, quaking with fury and pain. “When ye STILL willna tell me where it is ye came from or where it is ye went? Why should I believe a word you say, Claire?” 

Silence. 

“TELL ME!!”

“You shouldn’t.” 

Her sudden quiet startled him and he searched her face. No longer angry and defensive, no longer controlled. He watched it fall, moment by moment, into a blank of despair.  She continued her descent, apparently helpless to stop it, and sank down onto the trunk at the foot of his bed. “You shouldn’t—you have no reason to believe me.” She released a gasping sob and buried her face in her hands. 

A long silence, punctuated only by the heart wrenching sounds of her sudden brokenness. 

Heart-wrenching. His heart was wrenching apart to see her in pain. 

He tried to be indifferent, to see in this another charade; but after a long moment, he couldn’t help but speak, to reach out to her. “Claire?”

She gave no answer, only wept harder and shook her head back and forth.

Another minute. 

“Why d’ye say I shouldna believe ye, Claire?”

Silence. 

Gently. “Why?” 

Why, mo nighean donn

“Because—” Heaving breaths. Crying. “If I told you the—truth, Jamie—the real, actual truth,” she sobbed still harder into her hands, her voice a strangled wheeze, “You’d never believe me…you’d think me completely—completely mad…”

Would he? Could he ever believe this marvel of an individual to be out of her mind? A lunatic? No. That simply couldn’t be. Whatever it was that she’d concealed, whatever it was she didn’t want to tell him, needed to tell him—it was truth. 

Slowly, he moved from behind the chair, slowly settled beside her on the trunk. 

She exhaled, moved and overcome. “Jamie….”

He couldn’t touch her, wasn’t sure what he would do if he touched her; but he was glad that she knew he was  near. She was right, after all: whatever else passed between them, she was his friend. “I’m here. Tell me….lass.”

Lass. 

It was the first time he had called her anything close to an endearment since she’d returned to Leoch—no, since the night she left—and the saying of it—Christ, it sent a bolt of blazing lightning into the ice around his heart. 

My lass

The crack was deep, deep enough so as not to be repaired, smoldering, spreading.  

My own lass. 

“The woman of Balnain.”

“The—what?”  She had blurted it with no preamble, and he yanked himself back from the melting of his heart to try to understand. “The—Welshman’s song? What of it?”

“I am the woman of Balnain.”

He gobbled for a moment, looking sidelong at her. “Well, the—the words actually translate more to ‘I am the wife of the laird of Bal—”

She shook her head, eyes squeezed tight. “No. No, that’s not what I mean.” 

“I…dinna understand.” 

“I. AM. her.” she whispered, looking up at the ceiling and blinking hard.  “I, Claire Beauchamp, AM the woman of Balnain.”

The room seemed to crystallize and go silent. Even the fire was muted out, a faint humming in the distance. 

“The truth…Jamie….The truth is that I am not of this time.” She was still shaking with sobs but was nonetheless speaking with an intensity that he’d never heard from her, not ever before.  “I woke up one morning in the year nineteen hundred and forty-five…and I landed in seventeen forty-three.” She could barely get the words out. “I woke up in Inverness and went searching for a flower I’d seen on the hill of standing stones…” 

She recited the eerie song, her voice—God, her voice—

“I stood upon the hill, and wind did rise….
I placed my hands upon the tallest stone
and travelled to a far, distant land,

….but Jamie….it wasn’t a ‘distant land.’ It was a distant time. The eighteenth century.”

He was gaping at her. She gave another desperate sob, her eyes boring into him, despairing. “That’s the truth, Jamie; The truth of where I came from. I—traveled—back—traveled here—in time.” 

Nineteen hundred…and forty….

Back… 

in time….? 

There were tales, of course—folk being stolen away by the fairies and being taken to times not their own—

—but as an educated man, he’d always—surely those were only—

But with a jolt akin to being kicked by a great beast, all of it flooded into his mind at once, bowling him over: 

The strange shift she had worn

Her lack of friends and relations

Her inability to account for her background, her intentions among us

The way she had asked for the town, that night we’d found her—a town that must have been visible, two hundred years hence

The way even the most common words and customs seemed foreign to her

The daft words she herself had used

The way this remarkable woman had fallen into his life….

The way this woman like no other he’d ever encountered in his lifetime…

“I was born in nineteenth hundred and eighteen,” she was saying intently, breaking apart, “I was born two hundred years from now.” She make a desperate sound at his silence—anger—fear—tragedy. “Jamie, do you hear me?”

But Jamie heard her words as though from under water; silently reciting the rest of the Welshman’s song

But one day, I saw the moon come out
and the wind rose once more,
so I touched the stones
and travelled back to my own land
and took up again with—

“You’ve been trying to get back to him,” he moaned, the horror and the grief of it washing over him in a landslide, “’the man ye left behind.’

She gasped, then gaped at him, utterly dumbstruck. She couldn’t speak for a long time. Nor could he; could only hear the wailing of his heart. 

When she did finally find her voice, it was strangled and tear-choked. “You—believe me??”

“Aye,” he said at once, his own voice far from strong, but confident in that, at least. “I do believe ye, Sassenach.”

Beyond the memories, all the evidence of her otherness running through his mind like a vision, he could see it in her eyes; he could see it in the slant of her shoulders, broken, but no longer on guard, no longer holding back; he could see it across her glass face, finally free of secrets and lies. Finally free. Aye, he believed her…

…and the truth broke his heart all over again, into more pieces—millions more—than they’d been before. She was married. She wasn’t free to give her heart—Nor had she been; not from the first moment he’d laid eyes upon her. Claire Beauchamp was another man’s wife. 

“Forgive me, lass,” he murmured, rising and going to the fire, trying to keep his voice from breaking, to keep from showing her his despair. He understood, now; understood why she had acted the way she had, but the pain was too great. He had only enough strength left to appear strong. “Stay here for the night—I’ll find another bed.” 

“Forgive?” came her voice behind him, truly bewildered. “Whatever for?”

He had tears in his eyes and he blinked them away fiercely, gritting his teeth. “I canna even bear to think of the—the fool I made of myself in your eyes back wi’ the rent party. Proposing marriage, professing love, when ye already had—”

“No!” she said, jumping to her feet and wiping her own tears away, hard. “Jamie, no, please—that’s what I’m trying to tell you—you weren’t a fool.” 

She came close to stand beside him, and after a long pause, she took his hand. “Jamie…..you… weren’t mistaken.”

He wasn’t—? He hadn’t been—?

He couldn’t shake off her touch. Couldn’t look at her. Couldn’t even move at all from the inrush of feeling and hope and—

“I felt—just the same as you, Jamie—” she said, carefully but firmly through her tears and emotion. “—from the—God, the first time you held me here at Leoch,—From then onwards, I felt what it was between us.”

A Dhia, just slay me now, lass. Kill me here and let my heart be gone, rather than this torture. He felt like a boy, so eager for her love, and so frightened to hope for it.

“That’s why I left that night—” She was squeezing his hand so hard it hurt, and was staring up at him, her eyes unblinking and spilling with tears. Jamie was staring into the fire, trying to keep control of himself, but she wouldn’t look away. “—because I cared for you too and I felt—” She gave a wracking sob, “—so ashamed because it was like he—my husband—like Frank never—even existed to me—” 

She cares for me. 

She cared for me all along. 

“—And so when you—when you said those things—poured out your heart to me, and I—wanted to pour mine out to you—and I had to get away—and I ran—”

He was squeezing her hand to keep from flying apart. 

She ran because she felt she must 

She cares for me. 

“—and I was praying the whole time I rode it would have been a dream—that I would touch the stones and wake up, but it wasn’t a dream—you were real—and what I felt for you was real—”

—Jesus—

“—but I couldn’t have lived with myself if I’d come back—”

She ran because of duty .

Her hand in his shook. His hand in hers shook. 

Claire cares for me, too.

“—then I got to the stones and I—couldn’t get through—” She was sobbing, harder than she had yet sobbed in his presence, panic and weariness overtaking her such that she swayed next to him. “—I couldn’t get back—was pounding on that stone for hours—hours—but I—I couldn’t get—couldn’t—”

“Oh, lass—” And before he could stop himself, he was clutching her tight against him, comforting her, holding her, trying to shield her from the sobs that wracked her body.  “I’m so sorry…Claire, I’m so sorry…”

God, and he was, too. The pain and turmoil she’d undergone, that had been tearing her apart with no one to help keep her sane; no one to keep her from being alone. He held her, forcing himself to think only of her. “It’s alright….shhhh, it’s alright… Christ, I’m so sorry.” 

She pressed her cheek hard into his chest. “Jamie, I was so ashamed.” 

“Ashamed? Lass, you’ve nothing to be—”

She pushed back from him and staggered away toward the fire,  just far enough to look him in the eye,. “Because I was relieved—Jamie— I was RELIEVED that I couldn’t go back to him—” She raised her hands aimlessly to the level of her eyes, watching them quake. “—RELIEVED—and I think part of me will be ashamed of that all my life—But I don’t care.”

Jamie didn’t say a word, just let his eyes cling to the sight of her face, open and breaking along with his. ‘Breaking,’—no, he was being utterly torn apart by the gathering of joy and hope, the banishing of the anger and pain. His heart was a gushing torrent, now—the skeleton of the ice wall still standing, but with the current clearly visible beneath, roaring to be free. 

“The fact is that I was relieved. Relieved that I could come back to you.” 

She cares for me 

She left from duty. 

She came back. 

She—

“Jamie….?” she begged, repeating the word like a prayer of supplication. “Jamie…..?”

“Aye?” he croaked.

“Jamie, I’m so sorry—I hate what I did to you— the look on your face when I denied you and—shamed and—wounded you—it killed me—”

“Dinna spare a thought for it,” he started to say, but she quieted him, begging to be allowed to speak uninterrupted.

“—And I can’t bear how this will seem—Like it does seem,” she amended. “You said it yourself: my plans fell through and I’ve come crawling back to you. But that isn’t true.” She took a deep breath and her eyes spoke true to him as she said, strong and clearly even through the gasping and the tears: “I love you, Jamie.”

The ice wall shattered. 

She loves me. 

She loves me. 

SHE LOVES ME. 

“I love you—” she was saying, over and over crying, laughing as the joy of it rushed through her,”—and I care for you—and I respect you, and—” She reached a hand toward his face. “— and I want to marry you.” 

Before he could reach back to her, she was kneeling before him, taking his hand, bowing her forehead over it. “I haven’t anything—I’m no one, in your world— but all I have, and all I will ever have, they’re yours—if you’ll still have me.”

Later, he never would quite recall the exact moment when he moved; the thoughts that went through his head at seeing Claire before him, asking him to share her life. All he could recall was the feeling of her in his arms, the burning in his heart as he crushed her to him; the way he could barely speak the most important words of his life: 

“Yes, mo chridhe—All my life, yes.”

And then he was kissing her. He was kissing her and kissing her and kissing her and feeling her pressed against him. Feeling her kissing him back, the joy and relief in her tears. Sinking back into the armchair, letting her straddle him, holding her and kissing her and drinking her into him.

The rasp of her voice as she clutched his face and groaned into his mouth. “I want to stay with you. I need to be beside you tonight.”

The agony of forcing himself to slow, to still. “No, lass, ye must go now,” he whispered, though his traitorous body kissed her deeper and pulled her closer. “Else I’ll have ye here…now…..”

“Have me,” she moaned, bringing his hand up to her breast—Jesus Christ, the nipple was hard, shockingly firm even through her shift, and she groaned so exquisitely as he ran his thumb round and around it, as she moved her hips against him with shocking urgency. “—Have me—Jamie, please—”

He felt those words strike directly down into his cock and he thought he would die of wanting her, but he managed a soft laugh and pulled away. She gave a growl of urgent protest, of need, and he felt the same rip through his own body at remaining separated from her another moment…but he forced himself to take her face in his hands. “Ye must go. Because as much as I want to be inside ye right now—you’re so much more to me than that, mo chridhe.”

He kissed her, slowly and gently. Kissed the tears on her cheeks. Felt her kiss his as her fingers ran across his face, his hair, claiming him as she settled, quieted to a slow burning, her forehead against his. “What does it mean?” she whispered, her hair falling ‘round them. “Mo…cree?”

Mo chridhe. My heart.” He leaned his forehead against hers; the tip of his nose against hers. “It means, my heart.”

She took his face, then, her words strong and sure. “You’re more to me than that to me, too; than anything else, anyone else… mo chridhe, Jamie.


[to be continued]

anonymous asked:

So are you a bit mad that CN trolled us of the tweet yesterday? For me i'm a bit mad but impressed

Ah- nah? I kind of like those sort of silly fake-outs, it didn’t feel like a troll, and seemed like the kind of marketing I’d been expecting/wanting from CN for Steven Universe since day one. Better that than being outright spoiled over the introduction to a brand new gem.

-Attilee

call riverdale diverse all you want but it still:

mistreats their one (1) black main cast member and barely gives her screen time and character development (Josie)

side lines their one (1) canonically gay character (who is a token stereotype character anyway) and gives the character little to no on screen development (Kevin)

white washes kj apa, he’s half samoan but because he’s ~white passing~ the writers don’t acknowledge that (Archie)

didn’t acknowledge a canon asexual character, there by robbing the ace community of rare and much needed representation - there will probably be a flippant comment in season 2 where they back pedal on this and make him canonically asexual, which is gross as his sexuality should’ve been confirmed early on. ace kids need that rep and they deserve it. (Jughead) (before you few crazed stans come for me on this one like ‘omg!1;1!1!1! just because he’s dating bets (but i wish he was dating me XD) doesn’t mean he isn’t acesexywalls’, know that i myself am asexual and i will literally fuck u up)

qu**r baits the fuck out of beronica, then has betty end up with someone she has no chemistry with at all because no sorry they’re totally straight :))))

so yeah, get the fuck out of my face with that diverse shit and let me be angry at all this wasted potential.

ssilverstreak  asked:

“Maybe I’m just crazy.” LadyNoir

“Looks like I win this one My Lady,” Chat said twirling his baton before striking an arrogant pose. 

“That wasn’t a fair challenge, you are taller than I am.”

“You never said I had to play fair.” 

“Alright fine what’s your question?” Ladybug sighed. 

Chat tilted his head to the side clearly debating what bit of information he wanted to get this time. 

As much as she grumbled and teased Ladybug had to admit she rather liked these bizarre game they had begun with each other. On slow nights they would come up with all sorts of competitions and the winner would get to ask the other a question that they had to answer truthfully. He had never pushed for anything that would be a dead giveaway as to her identity, sticking instead to more neutral things like favorite dessert or what she thought the most important quality in a good parent was. It didn’t hurt that she won their little contests more often than not, and it had proven to be an extremely effective way of learning more about her partner without letting on how curious she herself was as to who the boy behind the mask really was. After all, he had made no secret of the fact that he would happily tell her anything she wanted to know right down to his name and address. 

Still, despite her insistence on continued secrecy, she selfishly treasured all the little tidbits that she had gathered thus far on her partner. He loved cheesy movies and liked to sing along with musicals- even though singing was not his strong suit. He had a terrible sweet tooth but hated having chocolate in the morning. He preferred tea to coffee and craved sushi whenever he was in a bad mood. He thought girls looked sexier when they left some things to the imagination and his idea of a perfect date was cuddling under blankets while watching movies and playing video games. While she had never said it allowed to anyone, part of her secretly hoarded these secrets in hopeful anticipation of the day she would walk the streets of Paris no longer clad in red and black, but still side by side with the laughing, blond haired boy who had become one of her dearest friends. 

“Ok,” Chat said, pulling her attention back from her musings, “I have my question.” 

She looked at him expectantly. 

“Why won’t you go out with me? And don’t give me the “I don’t know who you are, speech cause I know that’s not what this is about,” he said before she could launch into her usual argument. 

“Maybe I’m just crazy,” she said, fiddling with her yo-yo and trying to sound flippant.” 

“Look,” Chat said leaning against a chimney, “I am not gonna get upset, and I am not using this to try to guilt you into anything I promise. I just…” he dropped his eye contact, “You’re the only person I’ve ever tried to pursue and we both know that was a bust, so I want to know what I am doing wrong.” 

“I see,” Ladybug said, not sure how to interpret the strange mishmash of feelings his statement caused, “did you… I mean, have you met someone?” 

“No… yes… I donnow… Maybe. I just thought… I figured I should know where I am going wrong so if I do decide to try for something I won’t completely crash and burn.” 

“Oh, Kitty,” she said, torn between amusement and horror at his look of complete dejection, “it was never anything wrong with you. Any girl would be lucky to have you- or boy, I mean you never really said-” 

“It’s a girl,” he said, rolling his eyes playfully and giving her a small smile, “you haven’t completely ruined me for other women bugaboo.” 

“Well, regardless, it was never about you.” She felt her face flushing a little as she tried to meet his eye, “I never really said anything because I didn’t want to be mean but, I sort of already like someone else.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said looking panicked, “I didn’t… I mean I should have guessed-” 

“It’s ok,” she laughed, “it’s not like we are together. And besides, while you may be a flirt you are hardly overstepping. In fact you are a rather gentlemanly tomcat,” she teased. 

“Well of course My Lady,” he said with a bow, “you deserve nothing less after all.” He straightened with a smile but his tail still twitched nervously. “So I’m not completely hopeless then?” 

“Not at all,” she said warmly. “If it wasn’t for the fact that I already have someone I might have even thought about asking you out,” she admitted. He preened at the compliment, the familiar happy gleam lighting up his face at her approval. “But don’t take that as an excuse to sit around waiting for me,” she said poking him lightly in the nose.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said smiling and batting her hand away, “besides all I ever wanted was your happiness and if you think you can find that with… whoever it is you like, then that’s enough for me.” 

“Thank’s Chat,” she smiled. 

“Just make sure you invite me to the wedding.” 

“Chat…” 

“Trust me you want me at this wedding. A Ladybug wedding would be incomplete without Chat Noir you know.” 

“Ok. I promise you’ll be there.” 


(All drabbles for this series can be found tagged as #4 word prompt drabbles on my page.)

How they act when jealous

How would they act when jealous?


Leo:

Leo would be quiet but deadly. He wouldn’t come out and say he was angry and annoyed that you were studying with some guy. He would distance himself from you a little, because he knows is petty. So he wouldn’t speak to you.
That is until you break down the door, demanding he speak to you. He would falter for a moment, seeing the confusion and anger in your eyes. It would be then that he realised how long he had been ‘distancing’ himself, which you considered ignoring.
The second he saw you come into his room, be would break. He wouldn’t be able to pull himself away from any long. In long strides, he would walk up to you and wrap his arms around you. Leaning down, he would press a passionate kiss to your lips.
You would be slightly stunned due to his sudden change if behaviour but wouldn’t stop the kiss. You would wrap your arms around him and pull yourself closer to him because you had missed him. Leo decided that night that if you were going to leave him someday, he wouldn’t stop you. But he would make the most of the moment and not give you a reason to leave.

Raph:
Raph would hit the roof. He would appear to be angry, but inside he was crushed. He never felt good enough, strong enough or smart enough. SO he would do the only thing he can think of. He would push you away. He was yell at you over the slightest thing. He would try and make it so you couldn’t see how hurt he was. He would never force you to stay or stop you leaving. Even if you weren’t.
During an argument one night, you would break down in front of him, screaming about how much he was hurting you and you didn’t know how to stop him. He would freeze on the spot. Raph would never lay a finger on you so how could he have hurt you? You would continue to sob, asking him if he wanted to leave you, o break up with you. And that would break Raph.
He would fall to his knees in front of you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and pressing his s forehead against your stomach. He would spill out his heart to you that night. And you would blink in confusing, unable to believe Raph, this big, strong man would ever be threatened by a annoying little guy who was tutoring you. That night, you would make sure he knew you loved him.

Mikey:
Mikey’s reactions would be sunned. He wouldn’t be sure how to deal with it or bring it up to you. He knew you went to Donnie for tutoring in some areas but you had never been so someone else. He would try and act normal but every moment he spent with you was filled with worry. Anyone could tell there was something wrong, especially you. You would ask him one night and he would reply with a not so convincing “nothing, sweet cheeks” followed by a laugh. But you saw the pain in his eyes. After pressing him some more, he would sigh and turn away from you. He couldn’t couldn’t look in your eyes as he as he confessed his jealously to you. Mikey had to have this front, a wall almost, of never really caring. It was how he had dealt with his brothers, so it was strange to break it down. Like Raph, he would be unsure how to get passed that wall. But when he did, he’d be able to full say to you how he feels. You would walk around him and press yourself to him, wrapping your arms round his neck, pulling him into a kiss. He would instantly melt at your touch. When you pulled away, you would assure him it was fine. You said you were getting tutoring from this guy because he was in the lectures good book and he would get better warning about tests and assessments. Something even Donnie cant get. Mikey would laugh before swooping you into his arms.
Donnie
Donnie would try to rationalise it somehow. He would attempt to look at it from your angle. You were perfectly open about going to see this guy and he had no reason to doubt you. But why did it feel like he was being torn apart?
He’d lock himself in the lab, trying to figure out what the other guy had that he didn’t. He easily came up with a list along with a list as to why you would be better off alone in his eyes. He wanted to show you off, to treat you to romantic meals in fancy restaurants, to stroll down a sidewalk with you on his arm. But he couldn’t. in his eyes, he would never give you what you deserve.
So when you come along one night, he would pull you into his lab, his mind trying to memorise your face. He would watch as your eyes widened as he said the words he had always thought. “you’re better off without me.” He had prepared himself for you to start crying but you did something completely unexpected. You didn’t cover your eyes and run, screaming you didn’t want to see him again. You just stared at him, your eyes welling with tears and muttered “Are you breaking up with me?”. Donnie could hear the fear in your voice and the pain in your eyes. But he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. So he would say again you would be better off without him. You would look down, search the ground for something then look back at him. “And you?” You would ask, taking him by surprise. Donnie tried to say something. To be as flippant as Raph or as carless as Mikey but he just couldn’t. He could never deny his feelings for you. “I’ll always love you.” He mumbled, looking to the ground. Then something would crash against his lips. You threw yourself at him, smashing your lips to his in a heated kiss which broke him. He couldn’t leave you. He couldn’t just let you go. It would be that night, after you told him how much he meant to you, that he vowed never to take you for granted. He would fight for you.

ENTP and INFP. These two have a lot of chemistry, especially in the early stages of the relationship. The ENTP is attracted to the INFP’s innocent and pure demeanor, and INFP is attracted by ENTP’s upfront behavior (being bold, strong, etc) and quirkiness. They balance each other a good deal; ENTP helps INFP learn the importance of living life the way you want to, and INFP teaches ENTP the deep connection that is possible in a stable relationship. Only thing is…this usually lasts only for a few months before either the INFP or ENTP gets tired of the dynamic. ENTP, if they truly care for their INFP, will fear hurting their feelings and may keep many of their grievances to themselves (in essence meaning those issues don’t get resolved and ENTP becomes restless and desiring change). INFP may get sick of ENTP’s biting sarcasm and flippant attitude and their inability to express affection and begin showing passive aggressive behavior. BUT if the two can avoid those problems and talk things out appropriately, the relationship is promising for the long term. They’re some of the cutest pairs 😊